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No good in Fight of that gay Burden knows,
But fears his own Arms weight, more than his Foes.
He loft himself in that difguife of War,

And guarded feems as Men by Prifons are.
He therefore to exalt the wond'rous Sight,
Prepares now, and difarms himself for Fight. (thofe
'Gainft Shield, Helmet, Breast-plate, and instead of
Five fharp fimoothStones from the nextBrook he chofe
And fits them to his Sling; Then marches down;
For Sword, his Enemy's he efteem'd his own.
We all with various Paflion ftrangely gaz'd,
Some fad, fome fham'd, fome angry, all amaz'd.

Now in the Valley he ftands,thro' his youthful Face
Wrath checks the Beauty, and fheds Manly Grace.
Both in his Looks fo join'd, that they might move
Fear ev'n in Friends, and from an Enemy Love.
Hot as ripe Noon, fweet as the blooming Day,
Like July furious, but more fair than May.
The accurdft Philistian stands on the other side,
Grumbling aloud, and fmiles 'twixt Rage and Pride.
The Plagues of Dagon! A fmooth Boy, faid he,
A curfed beardlefs Foe oppos'd to Me! (come!
Hell! With what Arms, hence thou fond Child, he's
Some Friend his Mother call to drive him home.
Not gone yet? If one Minute more you stay,
The Birds of Heav'n fhall bear thee dead away.
Gods! a curft Boy! the reft then murmuring out,
He walks, and cafts a deadly Grin about.
David with cheerful Anger in his Eyes,
Advances boldly on, and thus replies,

Thou com'it, vain Man, all arm'd into the Field,
And truft'i thofe War-toys, thy Sword, and Shield;
Thy Pride's my Spear, thy Blafphemy my Sword,
My Shield thy Maker, Fool, the Mighty Lord'
Of Thee and Battels, who hath fent forth Me
Unarmed thus, not to Fight, but Conquer Thee.

In vain fhall Dagon thy falfe Hope withstand;
In vain thy other God, thine own right Hand.
Thy Fall to Man fhall Heavens ftrong Juftice fhow,
Wretch! it is the only Good which thou can't do.
He faid, our Hoft ftood dully filent by,

And durft not truft their Ears against the Eye.
As much their Champion's Threats to him they fear'd,
As when the Monster's Threats to them they heard,
His Flaming Sword the enrag'd Philiftian fhakes,
And hafte to his Ruin with loud Curfes makes.
Backward the Winds his active Curfes blew,
And fatally round his own Head they flew.
For now from David's Sling the Stone is fled,
And strikes with joyful Noife the Monster's Head.
It ftruck his Forehead, and pierc'd deeply there,
As fwiftly as it pierc'd before the Air.

Down, down he falls, and bites in vain the Ground;
Blood, Brain, and Soul crowd mingled through the
(Wound;
So a strong Oak, which many Years had ftood
With fair and flourishing Boughs, it felf a Wood;
Tho' it might long the Axes Violence bear,
And play'd with Winds which other Trees did tear;
Yet by the Thunders Stroke from the Roof'tis rent:
So fure the Blows, that from high Heaven are fent.
Cowley,

XXV.

Acme and Septimius.
(1.)

W Hilft on Septimius's panting Breaft,
(Meaning nothing less than Reft)

Acme lean'd her loving Head,

Thus the pleas'd Septimius faid.

(2.)

My deareft Acme, if I be.
Once alive, and love not thee
With a Paflion far above,
All that e'er was called Love,
In a Lybian Defart may,
I become fome Lyon's prey;
Let him, Acme, let him tear

My Breaft, when Acme is not there,

(3.)

The God of Love who ftood to hear hint,
(The God of Love was always near him)
Pleas'd and tickled with the found,
Sneez'd aloud, and all around
The little Loves, that waited by,
Bow'd and bless'd the Augury.
Aome, inflam'd with that he said,
Rear'd her gentle-bending Head;
And her purple Mouth with Joy,
Stretching to the delicious Boy:
Twice (and twice could scarce fuffice)
She kifs'd his drunken Rowling Eyes.
(4.)
My little Life, my All, faid fhe,
So may we ever Servants be,
To this beft God, and ne'er retain,
Our hated Liberty again;

So may thy Paffion laft for me,
As I a Paffion have for thee,
Greater and fiercer much than çan,
Be conceiv'd by thee a Man.
Into my Marrow it is gone,
Fix'd and fettled in the Bone;
It reigns not only in my Heart,
But runs like Life through every Part

She

She fpoke; the God of Love alou'd
Sneez'd again, and all the crowd
Of little Loves that waited by,
Bow'd and blefs'd the Augury,
This good Qmen thus from Heaven
Like a happy Signal given,

Their Loves and Lives (all Four) embrace,
And Hand in Hand, run all the Race,
To poor Septimius (who did now
Nothing else but Acme grow)

Acme's Bofom was alone,

The whole World's Imperial Throne,
And to faithful Acme's mind,
Septimius was all human kind;
If the Gods would please to be
But advis'd for once by me,
I'd advise them when they spy,
Any illuftrious piety,

To Reward her if it be fhe,
To Reward him if it be he,
With fuch a Husband, fuch a Wife,
With Acme's and Septimus's Life.

Comley from Catullus

E

XXVI.

BRUTUSA

Xcellent Brutus, of all Humane Race, The beft, till Nature was improv'd by Grace Till Men above themselves, Faith raised more Than Reafon above Beasts before; D 3

Virtue

Virtue was thy Life's Center, and from thence
Did filently and conftantly difpenfe
The gentle vigorous Influence,

To all the wide and fair Circumference:
And all the Parts upon it lean'd fo eafily,
Obey'd the mighty force fo willingly,
That none could Difcord or Diforder fee,
In all their contrariety.

Each had his Motion natural and free,

(cou'd be

And the whole no more mov'd, than the whole World

(2.)

From thy ftrict Rule fome think that thou didst swerve
(Mistaken Honeft Men) in Cafar's Blood;
What Mercy could the Tyrant's Life deferve,
From him who kill'd himself, rather than ferve?
Th' Heroick Exaltations of Good,

Are fo far from being understood,

We count them Vice: Alas, our Sight's fo ill,
That Things which fwifteft move, feem to ftand still.
We look not upon Virtue in her height,
On her fupreme Idea brave and bright,
In the Original Light:

But as her Beams reflected pafs,
Through our own Nature, or ill Custom's Glass,
And 'tis no wonder fo,

If with dejected Eye,

In ftanding Pools we feek the Sky,
That Stars fo high above, fhould feem to us below.
(3.)
Can we ftand by and fee,

Our Mother robb'd, and bound, and ravish'd be,
Yet not to her affistance ftir,

Pleas'd with the Strength and Beauty of the Ravisher?
Or fhall we fear to kill him, if before,

The Cancel'd Name of Friend he bore?

Ingrate

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