With hafte runs over ev'ry different room,
In pain to fee the whole. Thrice happy meeting!
Nor time, nor death, fhall ever part them more.
720'Tis but a night, a long and moonless night;

354

Which, from the crowded journal of thy fame,
Which of thy many titles fhall I name?

For, like a gallant prince, that wins a crown,
By undifputed right before his own,
Variety thou haft our only care

Is what to fingle out, and what forbear.

Though fcrupulously juft, yet not severe;
Though cautious, open; courteous, yet fincere;
Though rev'rend, yet not magifterial;
Though intimate with few, yet lov'd by all;
Though deeply read, yet abfolutely free
From all the tiffneffes of pedantry:
Though circumfpectly good, yet never four;
Pleafant with innocence, and never more.
Religion worn by thee, attractive show'd,
And with its own unborrow'd beauty glow'd:
Unlike the bigot, from whofe watery eyes
Ne'er funshine broke, nor fmile was feen to rife;
Whofe fickly goodness lives upon grimace,
And pleads a merit from a blubber'd face.
Thou kept thy raiment for the needy poor,
And taught the fatherlefs to know thy door;
From griping hunger fet the needy free;
That they were needy was enough to thee.

Thy fame to leafe, whilft others restless be,
Fame laid her fhynels by, and courted thee;
And though thou bade the flatt'ring thing give o'er,
Yet, in return, fhe only woo'd thee more.

How (weet thy accents! and how mild thy look!
What fauling mirth was heard in all thou spoke !
Manhood and grizzled age were fond of thee,
And youth itself fought thy fociety.

The ag d thou taught, defcended to the young,
Clear'd up th' irrefolute, confirm'd the strong;
To the perplex'd thy friendly counfel lent,
And gently lifted up the diffident;
Sigh'd with the forrowful, and bore a part
In all the anguifh of a bleeding heart:
Reclaim'd the headstrong, and with facred fkill,
Committed hallow'd rapes upon the will;
Sooth'd our affections, and, with their delight,
To gain our actious, brib'd our appetite.

Now who fhail, with a greatness like thy own,
Thy pulpit dignify, and grace thy gown?
Who with pathetic energy like thine,
The head enlighten, and the heart refine!
Learn'd were thy lectures, noble the design,
The language Roman, and the action fine;
The heads well rang'd, the inferences clear,
And ftrong and folid thy deductions were: [wrong,
Thou mark'd the bound'ries out 'twixt right and
And show'd the land-marks as thou went along.
Plain were thy reafonings, or if perplext
Thy life was the best comment on thy text;
For if in darker points we were deceiv'd,
'Twas only but obferving how thou liv'd.

Bewilder'd in the greatnefs of thy fame,
What fhall the mufe, what next in order name?
Which of thy focial qualities commend?
Whether of husband, father, or of friend!
A hufband foft, beneficent and kind,
As ever virgin with'd, or wife could find;
A father indefatigably true

To both a father's trust and tutor's too.
A friend affectionate and staunch to those
The wifely fingled out; for few thou chose;

Few, did I fay, that word we must recal,
A friend, a willing friend thou waft to ail.
Those properties were thine, nor could we know
Which rofe the uppermoft, so all was thou.
So have I feen the many-colour'd mead,
Brush'd by the vernal breeze, its fragrance feed.
Though various sweets the various field exhaï'¿,
Yet could we not determine which prevail'd,
Nor this part rafe, that boney-fuckle, call,
But a rich bloomy aggregate of all

And, thou, the once glad partner of his bed,
But now by forrow's weeds diftinguished,
Whole bufy memory thy grief supplies,
And calls up all thy husband to thine eyes;
Thou must not be forgot. How alter'd now!
How thick thy tears! How fast thy forrows flow!
The well known voice that cheer'd thee heretofort,
These foothing accents, thou must hear no more.
Untold by all the tender fighs thou drew,
When on thy cheek he fetch'd a long adieu.
Untold be all thy faithful agonies,
At the last anguish of his clofing eyes:
For thou, and only fuch as thou, can tell
The killing anguish of a last farewell.

This earth, yon fun, and these blue-tinđur'd

fkies,

Through which it rolls, must have their obfequies;
Pluck'd from their orbits, fhall the planets fall,
And smoke and conflagration cover all :
What then is man? The creature of a day,
By moments spent, and minutes borne away.
Time, like a raging torrent, hurries on;
Scarce can we fay it is, but that 'tis gone.

Whether, fair shade! with focial spirits, tell
(Whose properties thou once defcrib'd fo well),
Familiar now thou heareft them relate
The rites and methods of their happy state.
Or if, with forms more fleet, thou reams abroad,
And views the great magnificence of God,
Points out the courses of the orbs on high,
And counts the filver wonders of the sky;
Or if, with glowing feraphim, thou greets
Heav'n's King, and fhoutest through the golden
Atreets,

That crowds of white-rob'd chorifters difplay,
Marching in triumph through the pearly way?

Now art thou rais'd beyond this world of cares,
This weary wilderness, this vale of tears,
Forgetting all thy toils and labours past,
No gloom of forrow ftains thy peaceful breaft
Now 'midft feraphic fplendours shalt thou dwell,
And be what only thefe pure forms can tell.
How cloudless now, and cheerful is thy day!
What joys, what raptures, in thy bofom play!
How bright the funshine, and how pure the air!
There's no difficulty of breathing there.

With willing fteps, a pilgrim at thy fhrine,
To dew it with my tears the talk be mine;
In lonely dirge, to murmur o'er thy urn,
And with new gather'd flowers thy turf adorn:
Nor fhall thy image from my bofom part,
No force fhall rip thee from this bleeding heart;
Oft fhall I think o'er all I've left in thee,
Nor fhall oblivion blot thy memory a
But grateful love its energy exprefs
(The father's gone) now to the fatherlefe

85

87

ib.

88

91

97

102

103

104

109

113

115

EPISTLES AND SATIRES OF HORACE IMITATED.

THE SATIRES OF DR. JOHN DONNE, DEAN OF ST.

On receiving from the Right Honourable

Lady Frances Shirley, a Standish and two

Pens,

Tpiftle to Robert Earl of Oxford, and Earl

Mortimer,