Vitamque morti; Proh dolor! O graves Tonandis iræ! O Lex fatis afpera! Mercefque peccati severa Adamici, vetitique fru&us. Non pœna lenis! Quò ruis impotens ! Quò Mufa! largas fundere lacrymas, Sepone queftus, læta Deum cane Et rigidam penetravit aulam. Senfêre Numen Regna feralia, Latè refugit. "Nil agis impie, Trajecit hoftem. Nigra filentia Immane rugit jam tonitru; fragor Lectæque defignata genti Tartara disjiciuntur antris. Heic ftrata paffim vincula, & heîc jacent Spicula mors fibi adempta plangit. Io triumphe plectra feraphica, SUI-IPSIUS INCREPATIO. EPIGRAMM A. ORPORE cur hæres, Wattfi? cur incola terræ ? Quid cupis indignum, mens habitare lutum ? Te caro mille malis premit; hinc juvenes gravat artus Languor, & hinc vegetus crimina fanguis alit. Cura, amor, ira, dolor mentem malè diftrahit; auceps Undique adeft Satanas retia fæva ftruens. Sufpice ut æthereum fignant tibi nutibus aftra Tramitem, & aula vocat parta Cruore Dei. To Te manet Uriel dux; & tibi fubjicit alas Stellatas Seraphîn officiofa cohors. Te fuperûm chorus optat amans, te invitat Jefus, HE Excitatio Cordis Cælum verfus. EU quot sêcla teris carcere corporis, Wattfi? quid refugis limen & exitum ? Nec mens æthereum culmen, & atria 1694€ Magni patris anhelitat? Corpus vile creat mille moleftias, Cacas infidias ftruit. Non hoc grata tibi gaudia de folo Et picta aftra perambulans. * Cœli funima petas, nec jaculabitur. Iracunda tonans fulmina: Te Deus Hortatur; Vacuum tende per Aera Pennas nunc homini datas. * Vide Horat. Lib. I. Od. 3. Breath Breathing toward the Heavenly Country. ΤΗ Cafimire, Book I. Od. 19. imitated. "Urit me Patriæ Decor, &c." HE beauty of my native land I burn, I burn with strong defires, And figh, and wait the high command. There glides the moon her fhining way, And fhoots my heart through with a filver ray, Upward my heart afpires: A thousand lamps of golden light Hung high, in vaulted azure, charm my fight, Bright centinels who guard my Father's court, ye for ever walk th' ethereal round, For ever fee the mourner lie An exile of the sky, A prifoner of the ground? Defcend fome fhining fervants from on high, Build me a hafty tomb; A grafly turf will raise my head ; The neighbouring lilies drefs my bed; Here Here I put off the chains of death, My foul too long has worn: Or tear to wet my urn; Raphael, behold me all undreft, Here gently lay this flesh to reft; Then mount, and lead the path unknown, Swift I purfue thee, flaming guide, on pinions of my own. The HUNDREDTH EPIGRAM of CASSIMIRE. On Saint Ardalio, who from a Stage-Player became a Christian, and fuffered Martyrdom. ARDALIO jeers, and in his comic strains The myfteries of our bleeding God profanes, While his loud laughter shakes the painted fcenes. Heaven heard, and ftrait around the fmoaking throne The kindling lightning in thick flashes shone, And vengeful thunder murmur'd to be gone. Mercy ftood near, and with a fmiling brow "So goes the comedy of life away; When |