An Epiftolary Essay from Lord Rochester to Lord Mul

grave, upon their mutual Poems

A Satire against Mankind

The Maim'd Debauchee

Upon Nothing

A Tranflation from Lucretius, &c.

-315

318

326

328

331

The latter End of the Chorus of the Second A&t of Seneca's Troas, tranflated

ib.

To his Sacred Majesty, on his Reftoration in the Year 1660, written at 12 Years old

332

To her Sacred Majesty the Queen-Mother, on the Death of Mary Princess of Orange

An Epilogue

333

335

Allufion to the Tenth Satire of the Firft Book of

Prologue, spoken at the Court at Whitehall, before

K. Charles II. by the Lady Elizabeth Howard 344

POEMS

POE M S

B Y

THOMAS YALDEN, D. D.

OULD mournful fighs, or floods of tears, prevent
The ills, unhappy men lament:

Could all the anguish of my mind
Remove my cares, or make but Fortune kind;
Soon I'd the grateful tribute pay,

And weep my troubled thoughts away :

To wealth and pleasure every figh prefer,
And more than gems esteem each falling tear.

II.

But, fince infulting cares are most inclin'd

To triumph o'er th' afflicted mind;
Since fighs can yield us no relief,

And tears, like fruitful showers, but nourish grief;

Then

S

Then cease, fair mourner, to complain,

Nor lavish fuch bright streams in vain : But ftill with chearful thoughts thy cares beguile, And tempt thy better fortunes with a smile.

III.

The generous mind is by its fufferings known,
Which no affliction tramples down ;
But when opprefs'd will upward move,
Spurn down its clog of cares, and foar above.
Thus the young royal eagle tries

On the fun-beams his tender eyes,

And, if he shrinks not at th' offensive light,

He's then for empire fit, and takes his foaring flight.

IV.

Though cares affault thy breast on every fide,
Yet bravely ftem th' impetuous tide :
No tributary tears to fortune pay,
Nor add to any lofs a nobler day;

But with kind hopes fupport thy mind,

And think thy better lot behind :
Amidft afflictions let thy foul be great,

And fhew thou dar'ft deferve a better state.

V.

Then, lovely mourner, wipe those tears away,
And cares that urge thee to decay;

Like ravenous age thy charms they waste,
Wrinkle thy youthful brow, and blooming beauties blaft.
But keep thy looks and mind ferene,
All gay without, all calm within;

For Fate is aw'd, and adverfe fortunes fly
A chearful look, and an unconquer'd eye.

HYMN