An EPIGRAM on a Painted LADY
ERE men fo dull they could not fee
That LYC E painted; fhould they flee,
Like fimple birds, into a net,
So grofly woven, and ill fet;
Her own teeth would undo the knot,
And let all go that she had got.
Those teeth fair LY CE muft not show,
If fhe would bite: her lovers, though
Like birds they ftoop at feeming grapes,
Are dif-abus'd, when firft fhe gapes:
The rotten bones difcover'd there,
Shew 'tis a painted fepulchre.
EPIGRAM upon the GOLDEN MEDAL.
UR guard upon the royal fide!
On the reverfe, our beauty's pride!
Here we difcern, the frown, and smile;
The force, and glory, of our Ifle.
In the rich Medal, both fo like
Immortals ftand, it feems antique ;
Carv'd by fome mafter, when the bold
GREEKS made their Jove descend in gold,
And DANAE Wondring at that show'r,
Which, falling, storm'd her brazen tow'r.
BRITANNIA there, the Fort in vain
Had batter'd been with golden rain:
Thunder itself had fail'd to pass;
Virtue's a ftronger guard than brass.
Written on a Card that her * MAJESTY tore at OM BRE.
HE cards you tear in value rise ;
To do the wounded by your eyes.
Who to cœleftial things afpire,
Are by that paffion rais'd the higher.
To Mr. GRANVILLE, (now Lord LAN SDOWN) on his Verfes to K. JAMES II.
N early plant! which fuch a bloffom bears,
And fhews a genius fo beyond his years;
A judgment! that could make fo fair a choice;
So high a subject, to employ his voice:
Still as it grows, how fweetly will he fing
The growing greatness of our matchless King!
IRCLES are prais'd, not that abound
In largenefs, but th' exactly round:
So, life we praise, that does excell
Not in much time, but acting well.
Tranflated out of SPANISH.
HO' we may seem importunate,
While your compaffion we implore:
They, whom you make too fortunate,
May with presumption vex you more.
Tranflated out of FRENCH.
ADE, flowers, fade, nature will have it fo;
'Tis but what we must in our autumn do!
And, as your leaves lie quiet on the ground,
The lofs alone by those that lov'd them found:
So, in the grave, shall we as quiet lie
Mifs'd by fome few that lov'd our company.
But, fome fo like to thorns, and nettles, live,
That none for them can, when they perish, grieve.
Some Verfes of an imperfect Copy, defign'd for a Friend on his Tranflation of OVID'S FASTI.
OME's holy days you tell, as if a guest
With the old ROMANS you were wont to feast.
NU MA's religion, by themselves believ'd,
Excels the true, only in fhew receiv'd.
They made the nations round about them bow,
With their Dictators taken from the plow:
Such pow'r has juftice, faith, and honesty!
The world was conquer'd by morality.
Seeming devotion does but gild a knave,
That's neither faithful, honest, juft, nor brave:
But, where religion does with virtue join,
It makes a Hero like an Angel fhine.-
On the STATUE of King CHARLES the First, at CHARING-CROSS.
HAT the First CHARLES does here in triumph ride;
See his Son reign, where he a Martyr dy'd;
And people pay that reverence, as they pass,
(Which then he wanted!) to the facred brass
Is not th' effect of gratitude alone,
To which we owe the ftatue, and the ftone.
But, heav'n this lafting monument has wrought,
That mortals may eternally be taught,
Rebellion, though fuccefsful, is but vain;
And Kings fo kill'd rife conquerors again.
This truth the royal image does proclaim,
Loud as the trumpet of furviving FAME.
OT the brave* MACEDONIAN Youth alone; But bafe CALIGULA, when on the throne, Boundless in pow'r, would make himself a God; As if the world depended on his nod.
The + SYRIAN King to beafts was headlong thrown,
E'er to himself he could be mortal known.
The meaneft wretch, if heav'n fhould give him line,
Would never stop, 'till he were thought divine.
All might within difcern the ferpent's pride,
If from ourselves nothing ourselves did hide.
Let the proud Peacock his gay feathers fpread,
And woo the female to his painted bed:
Let winds, and feas, together rage, and fwell:
This, nature teaches; and becomes them well.
Pride was not made for men: a conscious fenfe
Of guilt, and folly, and their confequence,
Destroys the claim and to beholders tells,
Here, nothing, but the shape of manhood, dwells.
EPITAPH on Sir GEORGE SPEKE.
NDER this ftone lies virtue, youth,
Unblemish'd probity, and truth:
Juft unto all relations known,
A worthy patriot, pious fon:
Whom neighb'ring towns fo often fent,
To give their sense in Parliament;
* Alexander. + Nebuchadnezzar. Ecclus. x. 18.
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