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The Muse came in more chearful than before,
And bade me quarrel with her now no more :
"Lo! thy reward! look here, and see
"What I have made" (faid she)

"My lover and belov'd, my Broghill, do for thee!
"Though thy own verse no lasting fame can give,
"Thou shalt at least in his for ever live.
"What criticks, the great Hectors now in wit,
"Who rant and challenge all men that have writ,
"Will dare t' oppose thee, when

"Broghill in thy defence has drawn his conquering I rose, and bow'd my head,

And pardon afk'd for all that I had faid:

Well fatisfy'd and proud,

[pen"

I ftrait resolv'd, and folemnly I vow'd,
That from her service now I ne'er would part;
So strongly large rewards work on a grateful heart!

Nothing fo foon the drooping spirits can raise
As praises from the men whom all men praise :
'Tis the best cordial, and which only those
Who have at home th' ingredients can compose;
A cordial that restores our fainting breath,
And keeps up life ev'n after death 1

The only danger is, left it should be
Too ftrong a remedy;

Lest, in removing cold, it should beget
Too violent a heat;

And into madness turn the lethargy.
Ah! gracious God! that I might fee
A time when it were dangerous for me

To be o'er-heat with praise !

But I within me bear, alas! too great allays.

'Tis faid, Apelles, when he Venus drew,
Did naked women for his pattern view,
And with his powerful fancy did refine
Their human shapes into a form divine;
None who had fat could her own picture see,

Or say, one part was drawn for me :
So, though this nobler painter, when he writ,
Was pleas'd to think it fit

That my book should before him fit,
Not as a cause, but an occafion, to his wit;
Yet what have I to boaft, or to apply
To my advantage out of it; fince I,
Inftead of my own likeness, only find
The bright idea there of the great writer's mind?

D E.

Mr. COWLEY'S Book presenting itself to the University Library of OXFORD.

H

AIL, Learning's Pantheon! Hail, the facred ark
Where all the world of science does imbark!

Which ever shall withstand, and hast so long withstood,

Insatiate Time's devouring flood.

Hail, tree of knowledge! thy leaves fruit! which well Dost in the midst of paradise arife,

Oxford! the Muse's paradise,

From which may never fword the bless'd expel!

Hail, bank of all past ages! where they lie
T' enrich with interest posterity!

Hail Wit's illustrious Galaxy !
Where thousand lights into one brightness spread;
Hail, living University of the dead !

Unconfus'd Babel of all tongues! which e'er
The mighty linguist Fame, or Time, the mighty trave-
That could speak, or this could hear.

Majestick monument and pyramid!
Where still the shades of parted fouls abide
Embalm'd in verse; exalted fouls which now
Enjoy those arts they woo'd so well below;
Which now all wonders plainly see,
That have been, are, or are to be,
In the mysterious library,
The beatific Bodley of the Deity;

Will you into your sacred throng admit
The meanest British Wit?

You, general-council of the priests of Fame,
Will you not murmur and disdain,
That I a place among you claim,
The humblest deacon of her train ?
Will you allow me th' honourable chain?
The chain of ornament, which here
Your noble prisoners proudly wear;
A chain which will more pleasant feem to me
Than all my own Pindaric liberty!

[ler,

Will ye to bind me with those mighty names submit,

Like an Apocrypha with holy Writ?

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Whatever happy book is chained here,
No other place or people need to fear;
His chain 's a passport to go every where.

As when a feat in heaven

Is to an unmalicious sinner given,

Who, casting round his wondering eye, Does none but patriarchs and apostles there espy Martyrs who did their lives bestow,

And faints, who martyrs liv'd below;
With trembling and amazement he begins
To recollect his frailties past and fins;

He doubts almost his station there;
His foul says to itself, "How came I here?"
It fares no otherwise with me,
When I myself with confcious wonder see
Amidst this purify'd elected company.
With hardship they, and pain,
Did to this happiness attain:
No labour I, nor merits, can pretend;
I think predestination only was my friend.

Ah, that my author had been ty'd like me
To fuch a place and fuch a company !
Instead of several countries, several men,

And business, which the Muses hate,
He might have then improv'd that small estate
Which Nature sparingly did to him give;

He might perhaps have thriven then,
And fettled upon me, his child, fomewhat to live.

'T had

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T had happier been for him, as well as me;
For when all, alas! is done,

We books, I mean, You books, will prove to be
The best and noblest conversation:

For, though fome errors will get in,
Like tinctures of original fin;
Yet fure we from our fathers' wit
Draw all the strength and spirit of it,
Leaving the grosser parts for conversation,
As the best blood of man's employ'd in generation.

D Ε.

Sitting and drinking in the Chair made out of the Relicks of Sir FRANCIS DRAKE'S Ship.

C

HEAR up, my mates, the wind does fairly blow,
Clap on more fail, and never spare;

Farewell all lands, for now we are

In the wide fea of drink, and merrily we go.

Bless me, 'tis hot! another bowl of wine,
And we shall cut the burning Line :

Hey, boys! she scuds away, and by my head I knoww
We round the world are failing now.

What dull men are those that tarry at home,
When abroad they might wantonly roam,

And gain fuch experience, and spy too
Such countries and wonders, as I do!
But pr'ythee, good pilot, take heed what you do,
And fail not to touch at Peru!

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