How wild Lycaon, chang'd by angry Gods,
And frighted at himfelf, ran howling thro' the woods,
O may'st thou still the noble tale prolong,
Nor age, nor ficknefs interrupt thy fong:
Then may we wond'ring read, how human limbs
Have water'd kingdoms, and diffolv'd in ftreams,
Of thofe rich fruits that on the fertile mould
Turn'd yellow by degrees, and ripen'd into gold:
How fome in feathers, or a ragged hide,

Have liv'd a fecond life, and different matures try'd,
Then will thy Ovid, thus transform'd, reveal

A nobler change than he himself can tell.

Mag. Coll. Oxon.
June 2, 1693.

From Mr. ADDISON'S Account of the ENGLISH POETS.

UT fee where artful Dryden next appears,

BY

Grown old in rhyme, but charming ev'n in years. Great Dryden next! whose tuneful muse affords The sweetest numbers and the fittest words.

Whether in comick founds, or tragick airs

She forms her voice, fhe moves our fmiles and tears. If fatire or heroick ftrains fhe writes,

Her hero pleases, and her fatire bites.

From her no harsh, unartful numbers fall,
She wears all dreffes, and fhe charms in all:
How might we fear our English poctry,
That long has flourish'd, fhould decay in thee;
Did not the mufes other hope appear,
Harmonious Congreve, and forbid our fear!

Congreve! whofe fancy's unexhausted store
Has given already much, and promis'd more.
Congreve fhall ftill preferve thy fame alive,
And Dryden's muse shall in his friend furvive.

On ALEXANDER'S FEAST: Or, The POWER of MUSICK.

An ODE.

From Mr. POPE'S ESSAY ON CRITICISM, 1. 376,

H

EAR how Timotheus' vary'd lays furprize,
And bid alternate paffions fall and rife!
While, at each change, the fon of Libyan Jove
Now burns with glory, and then melts with love;
Now his fierce eyes with sparkling fury glow,
Now fighs fteal out, and tears begin to flow.
Perfians and Greeks like turns of nature found,
And the world's victor stood fubdu'd by found.
The pow'r of Mufick all our hearts allow,
And what Timotheus was is Dryden now.

CHARACTER of DRYDEN.

From an ODE OF GRA Y'S.

Ehold, where Dryden's lefs prefumptuous car,

BE

Wide o'er the fields of glory bear:

Two couriers of ethereal race,

[pace.

Hark,

With necks in thunder cloath'd, and long-refounding

Hark, his hands the lyre explore!

Bright-ey'd Fancy hov'ring o'er,
Scatters from her pictur'd urn,

Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.
But, ah! 'tis heard no more-

Oh! lyre divine, what daring fpirit
Wakes thee now? though he inherit
Nor the pride, nor ample pinion,
That the Theban eagle bear,
Sailing with fupreme dominion
Through the azure deep of air:
Yet oft before his infant eyes would run

Such forms, as glitter in the mufe's ray
With orient hues, unborrow'd of the fun:

Yet shall he mount, and keep his diftant way
Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate

Beneath the good how far---but far above the great.

Upon

II.

Tho' our beft notes are treafon to his fame,
Join'd with the loud applaufe of public voice;
Since heaven, what praife we offer to his name,
Hath render'd too authentic by its choice.
III.

Tho' in his praise no arts can liberal be,

Since they, whofe mufes have the higheft flown,
Add not to his immortal memory,

But do an act of friendship to their own:
IV.

Yet 'tis our duty, and our interest too,

Such monuments as we can build to raise; Left all the world prevent what we fhould do, And claim a title in him by their praise.

V.

How shall I then begin, or where conclude,
To draw a fame fo truly circular?

For in a round what order can be fhew'd,
Where all the parts fo equal perfect are?
VI.

His grandeur he deriv'd from heav'n alone;
For he was great ere fortune made him so:
And wars, like mifts that rise against the fun,
Made him but greater feem, not greater grow.
VII.

No borrow'd bays his temples did adorn,
But to our crown he did fresh jewels bring;
Nor was his virtue poifon'd foon as born,
With the too early thoughts of being king.
VIII.

Fortune, that eafy miftrefs to the young,
But to her ancient fervants coy and hard,
Him at that age her favourites rank'd among,
When the her beft-lov'd Pompey did difcard.

IX.

He private mark'd the fault of others fway.
And fet as fea-marks for himself to fhun:
Not like rash monarchs, who their youth betray
By acts their age too late would with undone.
X.

And

yet dominion was not his defign; We owe that bleffing, not to him, but heav'n, Which to fair acts unfought rewards did join; Rewards, that lefs to him than us were given. XI.

Our former chiefs, like fticklers of the war,

First fought t' inflame the parties, then to poife: The quarrel lov'd, but did the cause abhor;

And did not strike to hurt, but make a noise.

XII,

War, our confumption, was their gainful trade:
We inward bled, whilft they prolong'd our pain ;
He fought to end our fighting, and effay'd

To ftaunch the blood by breathing of the vein.
XIII.

Swift and refiftlefs through the land he paft,
Like that bold 7 Greek who did the Eaft fubdue,
And made to battles fuch heroic hafte,

As if on wings of victory he flew,
XIV.

He fought fecure of fortune as of fame :

Still by new maps, the island might be fhewn, Of conquefts, which he ftrew'd where-e'er he came, Thick as the galaxy with ftars is fown.

XV.

His palms, tho' under weights they did not ftand,
Still thriv'd; no winter could his laurels fade:
Heav'n in his portrait shew'd a workman's hand,
And drew it perfect, yet without a shade.

3

7 Alexander the great,

XVI. Peace