MISCELLANI E S. THE мотто. W "Tentanda via eft, &c." HAT fhall I do to be for ever known, Whilft others great, by being born, are grown; In this fcale gold, in th' other fame does lie, Out of myself it must be ftrook. Yet I must on; What found is 't ftrikes mine ear? It founds like the last trumpet; for it can Raise up the buried man. Unpast Alps stop me; but I'll cut through all, And march, the Mufes' Hannibal. Hence, all the flattering vanities that lay Nets of rofes in the way! Hence, Hence, the defire of honours or estate, And all that is not above Fate ! Hence, Love himfelf, that tyrant of my days! * Come, my best friends, my books! and lead me on ; : 'Tis time that I were gone. Welcome, great Stagyrite! and teach me now All I was born to know: Thy scholar's victories thou doft far out-do ; He conquer'd th' earth, the whole world you. Welcome, learn'd Cicero ! whofe bleft tongue and wit. Preferves Rome's greatnefs yet : Thou art the first of Orators; only he Who beft can praise thee, next must be. But you have climb'd the mountain's top, there fit And, whilft with wearied steps we upward go, ODE. O D E. OF W IT. TELL me, O tell, what kind of thing is Wit, Thou who mafter art of it: For the first matter loves variety lefs; Yonder we faw it plain; and here 'tis now, London, that vents of false ware so much store, For men, led by the colour and the shape, Some things do through our judgment pafs And fometimes, if the object be too far,, Hence 'tis a Wit, that greatest word of fame,, And Wits by our creation they become, Admir'd with laughter at a feast, Nor florid talk, which can that title gain; The proofs of Wit for ever muft remain.. VOL. I. H 'Tis 'Tis not to force fome lifeless verfes meet With their five gouty feet. All, every where, like man's, must be the foul, Such were the numbers which could call The ftones into the Theban wall. Such miracles are ceas'd; and now we fee Yet 'tis not to adorn and gild each part; Jewels at nofe and lips but ill appear; If there be nothing elfe between. Men doubt, because they stand so thick i' th' sky, 'Tis not when two like words make up one noise Much less can that have any place At which a virgin hides her face; Such drofs the fire muft purge away: 'tis juft 'Tis not fuch lines as almoft crack the stage Nor a tall metaphor in the bombast way; Nor Nor upon all things to obtrude And force fome odd fimilitude. What is it then, which, like the Power Divine, In a true piece of Wit all things must be, As in the ark, join'd without force or strife, (If we compare great things with fmall) Which, without difcord or confufion, lie But Love, that moulds one man up out of two, I took you for myself, fure, when I thought And, if any aik me then What thing right Wit and height of Genius is, TO THE LORD FALKLAND. For his fafe Return from the Northern Expedition against the SCOTS. GREAT is thy charge, O North! be wife and juft, England commits her Falkland to thy trust; |