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TO MR. LAWRENCE.

Lawrence, of virtuous father, virtuous son,

Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire, Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire Help waste a sullen day, what may be won From the hard season gaining? Time will run On smoother till Favonius re-inspire

The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire
The lily and rose that neither sowed nor spun.
What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice
Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we may rise
To hear the lute well touched, or artful voice
Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air;

He who of these delights can judge, and spare
To interpose them oft, is not unwise.

TO CYRIAC SKINNER.

Cyriac, whose grandsire, on the royal bench
Of British Themis, with no mean applause
Pronounced, and in his volumes taught, our laws,
Which others at their bar so often wrench:
To-day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench
In mirth that, after, no repenting draws;
Let Euclid rest, and Archimedes pause,

And what the Swede intends, and what the French: To measure life learn thou betimes, and know Toward solid good what leads the nearest way; For other things mild Heaven a time ordains, And disapproves that care, though wise in show, That when superfluous burden loads the day, And, when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.

TO THE SAME.

Cyriac, this three-years-day, these eyes, though clear,
To outward view, of blemish or of spot,
Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot;
Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear
Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year,
Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not

Against Heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot
Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer
Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask?
The conscience, Friend, to have lost them overplied
In liberty's defence, my noble task,

Of which all Europe rings from side to side.

This thought might lead me thro' the world's vain mask Content, though blind, had I no better guide.

WHEN THE ASSAULT WAS INTENDED TO THE CITY.

Captain, or Colonel, or Knight in arms,

Whose chance on these defenceless doors may seize,
If deed of honour did thee ever please,

Guard them, and him within protect from harms
He can requite thee; for he knows the charms
That call Fame on such gentle acts as these,
And he can spread thy name o'er lands and seas,
Whatever clime the sun's bright circle warms.
Lift not thy spear against the Muses' bower:
The great Emathian conqueror bid spare
The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower
Went to the ground; and the repeated air
Of sad Electra's poet had the power
To save th' Athenian walls from ruin bare.

DRYDEN.

VENI CREATOR

CREATOR Spirit by whose aid
The world's foundations first were laid,
Come visit every pious mind;

Come pour thy joys on human kind;

From sin and sorrow set us free,
And make thy temples worthy thee.

O, source of uncreated light,
The Father's promised Paraclete!
Thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire,
Our hearts with heavenly love inspire
Come, and thy sacred unction bring
To sanctify us while we sing.

Plenteous of grace, descend from high,
Rich in thy sevenfold energy!

Thou strength of his Almighty hand,

Whose power does heaven and earth command.

Proceeding Spirit, our defence,

Who dost the gift of tongues dispense,

And crownst thy gift with eloquence !

Refine and purge our earthly parts: But, oh, inflame and fire our hearts! Our frailties help, our vice control, Submit the senses to the soul;

And when rebellious they are grown, Then lay thy hand, and hold them down.

Chase from our minds th' infernal foe, And peace, the fruit of love, bestow; And, lest our feet should step astray, Protect and guide us in the way.

Make us eternal truths receive,
And practice all that we believe:
Give us thyself, that we may see
The Father, and the Son, by thee.

Immortal honour, endless fam",
Attend th' Almighty Father's ..
The Saviour Son be glorified,
Who for lost man's redemptio. dâ '
And equal adoration be,
Eternal Paraclete, to thee!

POPE.

MESSIAH.

YE nymphs of Solyma! begin the song: To heavenly themes sublimer strains belong. The mossy fountains and the sylvan shades, The dreams of Pindus and the Aonian maids, Delight no more. O Thou my voice inspire, Who touched Isaiah's hallowed lips with fire!

Rapt into future times, the bard begun;
A Virgin shall conceive, a Virgin bear a son!
From Jesse's root behold a branch arise,
Whose sacred flower with fragrance fills the skies:
The ethereal Spirit o'er its leaves shall move,
And on its top descends the mystic dove.
Ye heavens! from high the dewy nectar pour,
And in soft silence shed the kindly shower!
The sick and weak the healing plant shall aid,
From storms a shelter, and from heat a shade.
All crimes shall cease, and ancient frauds shall fail;
Returning Justice lift aloft her scale:

Peace o'er the world her olive wand extend,
And white-robed Innocence from heaven descend.

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