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But, worthy friend! the face of war
In antient times doth differ far,
From what our fiery battels are.
Nor is it like, fince powder known,
That man, so cruel to his own,
Should spare the race of beasts alone.
No quarter now, but with the gun
Men wait in trees, from fun to fun;
And all is in a moment done.
And therefore we expect your next
Should be no comment, but a text;
To tell how modern beasts are vext.
Thus would I further yêt engage
Your gentle Muse to court the age
With fomewhat of your proper rage:
Since none doth more to PH QE B U S owe,
Or in more languages can show
Those arts, which you so early know.
To his worthy Friend Master EVELYN, upon bis Translation of LUCRETIU'S. UCRETIUS, (with a stork-like fate,
, Börn, and translated, in a state) Comes to proclaim in English verse, ✓ No monarch rules the universe :
But chance, and atoms, make This All
In order democratical ;
Where bodies freely run their course,
Without design, or fate, or force.
And this in such a strain he fings,
As if his Muse, with Angel's wings,
Had foar'd beyond our utmoft sphere, :
And other worlds discover'd there.
For his immortal, boundless wit,
To nature does no bounds permit;
But boldly has remov'd those bars
Of heav'n, and earth, and feas, and stars,
By which they were before fuppos’d,
By narrow wits, to be inclos'd ;
'Till his free Muse, threw down the pale,
And did at once dispark them all.
So vast this argument did feem,
That the wise author did esteem
The Roman language (which was spread
O'er the whole world, in triumph led)
A tongue too narrow, to unfold
The wonders which he would have told.
This speaks thy glory, noble friend!
And British language does commend :
For here, LUCRETIUS whole we find,
His words, his music, and his mind.
Thy art has to our country brought
All that he writ, and all he thought.
Ovid translated, VIRGIL too,
Shew'd long since what our tongue, could do:
Nor LU can we, nor H ORAC E spar'd;
Only LUCRETIUS was.
LUCRETI US, like a Fort, did ftand
Untouch'd.; 'till your victorious hand
Did from his head this garland bear,
Which now upon your own you wear.
A garland! made of such new bays,
And sought in such untrodden ways;
As no man's temples e’er did crown,
Save this great author's, and your own.
To bis Worthy Friend Sir THOMAS HIGGONS,
upon bis Translation of the. VENETIAN TRIUMPH.
HE* winged lion's not fo fierce in fight,
As LIBERI's hand presents him to our fight : Nor would his pencil make him half fo fierce, Or roar so loud, as BUSINELLO's verse: - But your
translation does all three excel, The fight, the piece, and lofty BUSINEL. As their small gallies may not hold compare. With our tall ships, whose fails employ more air : So does th' ITALIAN to your genius vail, Mov'd with a fuller, and a nobler, gale. Thus, while your Muse spreads the VENETIAN ftory, You make all EUROPE, emulate her glory: You make them blush, weak VENICE should defend The cause of heav'n, while they for words contend; Shed Chriftian blood, and populous cities rase, Because they're taught to use some diff'rent phrase, If, liftning to your charms, we could our jars. Compose, and on the Turk discharge these wars; * Tbe Arms of Venice.
Our British arms the sacred tomb might wrest
From Pagan hands, and triumph o'er the eaft:
And then you might our own high deeds recite.
And with great Tasso celebrate the fight.
CHLORIS and HYLA S. Made to e
CHLOR I S.
Ylas, oh HYLAS! why fit we mute,
Now that each bird faluteth the spring?
Wind up the flacken'd strings of thy lute,
Never can'st thou want matter to sing : For love thy breast does fill with such a fire, That whatsoe'er is fair moves thy desire.
HY LA S.
Sweetest! you know, the sweetest of things
Of various flow'rs the bees do compose;
Yet no particular taste it brings
Of violet, wood-bine, pink, or rose: So love the result is of all the graces Which flow from a thousand several faces.
H LORI S.
HYLAS! the birds which chant in this grove,
Could we but know the language they use,
They would instruct us better in love,
And reprehend thy inconstant Muse:
For love their breasts does fill with such a fire,
That what they once do chuse, bounds their desire.
CHLORIS! this change the birds do approve,
Which the warm season hither does bring:
Time from your self does further remove
You, than the winter from the gay spring :
She that like lightning Thin'd while her face lasted,
The oak now resembles which lightning hath blasted.
In Answer of Sir John SUCKLING'S
TAY here fond youth, and ask no more ; be wise ;
Knowing too much, long fence loft Paradise.
And, by your knowledge, we should be bereft
Of all that Paradise which yet is left.
The virtuous joys thou hast, thou wouldA should fill
Last in their pride : and wouldst not take it ill
If rudely from sweet dreams, and for a toy,
Thou wak’d? he wakes himself that does enjoy.
How can the joy, or hope, which you
Be styled virtuous, and the end not fo?
Talk in your sleep, and shadows still admire !
'Tis true, he wakes that feels this real fire;
to sleep better: for who-e’er drinks deep
Of this NEPENTH E, rocks himself asleep.