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Thou mak'ft the beauties of the Romans known,
And England boasts of riches not her own:
Thy lines have heighten'd Virgil's majefty,
And Horace wonders at himself in thee.
Thou teacheft Perfius to inform our ifle
In fmoother numbers, and a clearer ftyle:
And Juvenal, instructed in thy page,
Edges his fatire, and improves his rage.
Thy copy cafts a fairer light on all,
And ftill outfhines the bright original.

Now Ovid boasts th' advantage of thy fong,
And tells his ftory in the British tongue;
Thy charming verse, and fair translations show
How thy own laurel first began to grow;
How wild Lycaon, chang'd by angry Gods,
And frighted at himself, ran howling thro' the woods.
O may'st thou ftill the noble tale prolong,
Nor age, nor fickness interrupt thy fong:
Then may we wondering read, how human limbs
Have water'd kingdoms, and diffolv'd in streams,
Of those rich fruits that on the fertile mould
Turn'd yellow by degrees, and ripen'd into gold:
How fome in feathers, or a ragged hide,
Ilave liv'd a fecond life, and different natures try'd.
Then will thy. Ovid, thus transform'd, reveal
A nobler change than he himself can tell.

Mag. Coll. Oxon.
June 2, 1693.

B 3

From

From Mr. ADDISON'S Account of the ENGLISH POETS.

BUT fee where artful Dryden next appears,

Grown old in rhyme, but charming ev'n in years. Great Dryden next! whofe tuneful mufe affords The fweeteft numbers and the fittest words. Whether in comic founds, or tragic airs, She forms her voice, fhe moves our smiles and tears. If fatire or heroic ftrains the writes,

Her hero pleases, and her fatire bites.
From her no harfh, unartful numbers fall,
She wears all dreffes, and fhe charins in all:
How might we fear our English poetry,
That long has flourish'd, should decay in thee i
Did not the Mufes' other hope appear,
Harmonious Congreve, and forbid our fear!
Congreve ! whofe fancy's unexhausted store
Has given already much, and promis'd more.
Congreve fhall ftill preferve thy fame alive,
And Dryden's mufe fhall in his friend furvive.

On

On ALEXANDER'S FEAST: Or, The
POWER of MUSICK. An ODE.
From Mr POPE'S ESSAY ON CRITICISM, 1. 376.

HEAR how Timotheus' vary'd lays furprize,

And bid alternate paffions fall and rise!
While, at each change, the fon of Libyan Jove
Now burns with glory, and then melts with love;
Now his fierce eyes with sparkling fury glow,
Now fighs fteal out, and tears begin to flow.
Perfians and Greeks like turns of nature found,
And the world's victor ftood fubdued by found.
The power of Mufick all our hearts allow,
And what Timotheus was is Dryden now.

CHARACTER of DRYDEN,

From an ODE of GRAY'S.

Behold, where Dryden's lefs prefumptuous car,

Wide o'er the fields of glory bear :

Two courfers of ethereal race,

With necks in thunder cloath'd, and long-refounding pace.
Hark, his hands the lyre explore!
Bright-ey'd Fancy hovering o'er,
Scatters from her pictur'd urn,

Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.
But, ah! 'tis heard no more-

B 4

Oh!

Oh! lyre divine, what daring fpirit
Wakes thee now? though he inherit
Nor the pride, nor ample pinion,
That the Theban eagle bear,
Sailing with fupreme dominion
Through the azure deep of air :
Yet oft before his infant
eyes

would run

Such forms, as glitter in the Mufe's ray
With orient hues, unborrow'd of the fun :
Yet fhall he mount, and keep his distant way
Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate
Beneath the good how far-but far above the great.

MR.

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MR. DRYDEN'S

ORIGINAL POEMS.

*****************

Upon the DEATH of Lord HASTINGS.

M

UST noble Haftings immaturely die,
The honour of his ancient family,
Beauty and learning thus together meet,
To bring a winding for a wedding fheet?
Muft virtue prove death's harbinger? muft fhe,
With him expiring, feel mortality?

Is death, fin's wages, grace's now ? fhall art
Make us more learned, only to depart ?
If merit be difeafe; if virtue death;

To be good, not to be; who'd then bequeath
Himself to discipline? who'd not esteem
Labour a crime? ftudy felf-murther deem?
Our noble youth now have pretence to be
Dunces fecurely, ignorant healthfully.
Rare linguift whofe worth fpeaks itfelf, whofe praife,
Though not his own, all tongues befides do raife:
Than whom great Alexander may feem lefs;
Who conquer'd men, but not their languages..
In his mouth nations fpake; his tongue might be
Interpreter to Greece, France, Italy.

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