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TO

THE RIGHT HON. JAMES CRAGGS, ESQ.

HIS MAJESTY'S PRINCIPAL SECRETARY OF STATE,

DEAR SIR,

I CAN

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last longer than the memory of our friendihip and, therefore, I thus publicly bequeath them to you, in return for the many valuable instances of your affection.

That they may come to you with as little disadvantage as possible, I have left the care of them to one*, whom, by the experience of some years, I know well qualified to answer my intentions. He has already the honour and happiness of being under your protection ; and, as he will very much stand in need of it, I cannot wish him better, than that he may continue to deserve the favour and countenance of such a patron.

I have no tiine to lay out in forming such compliments, as would but ill suit that familiarity between us, which was once my greateit pleasure, and will be my greatest honour hereafter. Instead of them, accept of my hearty wishes, that the great reputation you have acquired so early, may increaie more and more: and that you may long serve your country with those excellent talents,

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* Mr. Tickell.

and

and unblemished integrity, which have so powerfully recommended you to the most gracious and amiable Monarch that ever filled a throne. May the frankness and generosity of your spirit continue to soften and subdue your enemies, and gain you many friends, if possible, as sincere as yourself. When you have found such, they cannot wish you more true happiness than I, who am, with the greatest zeal,

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OW long, great Poet, fhall thy facted lays

Provoke our wonder, and transcend our praise ?
Can neither injuries of time, or age,
Damp thy poetic heat, and quench thy rage?
Not so thy Ovid in his exile wrote,
Grief chill'd his breast, and check'd his rising thought :
Pensive and sad, his drooping Muse betrays
The Roman genius in its last decays.

Prevailing warmth has still thy mind posest,
And second youth is kindled in thy breast;
Thou mak'st the beauties of the Romans known,
And England boasts of riches not her own;
Thy lines have heighten'd Virgil's majesty,
And Horace wonders at himself in thee.
Thou teachest Persius to inform our ille
In smoother numbers, and a clearer style;
And Juvenal, instructed in thy page,
Edges his fatire, and improves his rage.
Thy copy casts a fairer light on all,
And still out-thines the bright original.

Now

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Now Ovid boasts th' advantage of thy song, And tells his story 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 through the woods.

O may'st thou still the noble task prolong, Nor age, nor fickness, interrupt thy song : Then may we wondering read, how human limbs Have water'd kingdoms, and dissolv'd in streams; Of thofe rich fruits that on the fertile mold Turn'd yellow by degrees, and ripen'd into gold : How fome in feathers, or a ragged hide, Have liy'd a second life, and different natures try’d. Then will thy Ovid, thus transform’d, reveal A nobler change than he himself can tell.

Magd. College, Oxon.

June 2, 1693
The Author's age 22.

A POEM

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THE RIGHT HON. SIR JOHN SOMERS. LORD KEEPER OF THE GREAT SEAL,

1696

I pyet your thoughts are loose from fate affairs,

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Nor feel the burden of a kingdom's cares;
If yet your time and actions are your own;
Receive the present of a Muse unknown:
A Muse that, in adventurous numbers, fings
The rout of armies, and the fall of Kings,
Britain advanc’d, and Europe's peace restor’d,
By Somers' counsels, and by Nassau's sword.

To you, my Lord, these daring thoughts belong
Who help’d to raise the subject of my fong ;*
To

you the hero of my verse reveals
His great designs, to you in council tells
His inmost thoughts, determining the doom
Of towns unstorm'd, and battles yet to come.
And well could you, in your immortal strains,
Describe his conduct, and reward his pains :
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Attend * King William,

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