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

"My lover and belov'd, my Broghill, do for thee!
"Though thy own verfe 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,

1

"Will dare t' oppose thee, when

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

And pardon ask'd for all that I had said :
Well fatisfy'd and proud,

I ftrait refolv'd, and folemnly I vow'd,

[pen?"

That from her fervice now I ne'er would part;
So ftrongly large rewards work on a grateful heart!
Nothing fo foon the drooping fpirits 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 compofe;
A cordial that reftores our fainting breath,
And keeps up life ev'n after death

The only danger is, left it should be

Too ftrong a remedy;

Left, in removing cold, it fhould 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 fhapes into a form divine;
None who had fat could her own picture fee,
Or fay, 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 caufe, but an occafion, to his wit;
Yet what have I to boaft, or to apply
To my advantage out of it; since I,
Inftead of my own likeness, only find

The bright idea there of the great writer's mind?

O D E.

Mr. COWLEY'S Book prefenting itself to the University Library of O x F O R D.

HALL, Pantheon! Hail, the

AIL, Learning's Pantheon! Hail, the facred ark

Which ever shall withstand, and haft fo long withstood,
Infatiate Time's devouring flood.

Hail, tree of knowledge! thy leaves fruit! which well
Doft in the midft of paradise arise,

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 intereft pofterity!

Hail Wit's illuftrious 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 linguift Fame, or Time, the mighty traveThat could speak, or this could hear.

Majestick monument and pyramid!

Where still the shades of parted fouls abide
Embalm'd in verfe; exalted fouls which now
Enjoy thofe arts they woo'd fo well below;
Which now all wonders plainly fee,
That have been, are, or are to be,
In the mysterious library,

The beatific Bodley of the Deity;

Will

you into your facred throng admit
The meanest British Wit?

You, general-council of the priests of Fame,

Will you not murmur and difdain,
That I a place among you claim,

The humbleft deacon of her train?
allow me th' honourable chain?

Will you

The chain of ornament, which here

Your noble prifoners proudly wear;

A chain which will more pleasant seem 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 ?

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

As when a feat in heaven

Is to an unmalicious finner given,

Who, cafting round his wondering eye, Does none but patriarchs and apoftles 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 almoft his ftation there;

His foul fays to itself, "How came I here ?"
It fares no otherwife with me,

When I myself with confcious wonder see
Amidft 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, feveral men,

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

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

'T had

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 beft and nobleft converfation :

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 groffer parts for conversation,
As the best blood of man 's employ'd in generation.

O D E.

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

CH

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. Blefs me, 'tis hot! another bowl of wine,

And we shall cut the burning Line :

Hey, boys! fhe fcuds away, and by my head I know
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 fpy 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 !