For, as in angels, we

Do in thy verfes fee

Both improv'd fexes eminently meet;

They are than man more strong, and more than woman fweet.

They talk of Nine, I know not who,
Female chimera's, that o'er poets reign;
I ne'er could find that fancy true,

But have invok'd them oft, I 'm fure, in vain ::
They talk of Sappho ; but, alas! the shame!

Ill-manners foil the luftre of her fame ;
Orinda's inward virtue is so bright,

That, like a lantern's fair inclofed light,
It through the paper fhines where she does write.
Honour and friendship, and the generous fcorn

Of things for which we were not born
(Things that can only by a fond disease,
Like that of girls, our vicious ftomachs please)
Are the inftructive fubjects of her pen;

And, as the Roman victory

Taught our rude land arts and civility,

At once the overcomes, enflaves, and betters, men.

But Rome with all her arts could ne'er infpire,
A female breaft with fuch a fire:

The warlike Amazonian train,

Who in Elyfium now do peaceful reign,
And Wit's mild empire before arms prefer,
Hope 'twill be fettled in their fex by her.

Merlin:

Merlin the feer (and fure he would not lye,
In fuch a facred company)

Does prophecies of learn'd Orinda show,
Which he had darkly spoke fo long ago;
Ev'n Boadicia's angry ghost

Forgets her own misfortune and difgrace,

And to her injur'd daughters now does boaft, That Rome 's o'ercome at last, by a woman of her race.

D E

UPON OCCASION OF A COPY OF VERSES

OF MY LORD BROGHILL'S.

E gone (faid I) ingrateful Mufe! and fee.

What others thou canft fool, as well as me.

Since I grew man, and wifer ought to be, My business and my hopes I left for thee: For thee (which was more hardly given away) I left, even when a boy, my play.

But fay, ingrateful mistress! fay;

What for all this, what didit thou ever pay?
Thou 'It fay, perhaps, that riches are
Not of the growth of lands where thou dost trade,,
And I as well my country might upbraid

Becaufe. I have no vineyard there.

Well but in love thou doft pretend to reign;,
There thine the power and lordship is;.

Thou bad'ft me write, and write, and write again; "
'Twas fuch a way as could not mife..
M

VOL. I..

I, liks.

I, like a fool, did thee obey :

I wrote, and wrote, but ftill I wrote in vain ;
For, after all my expence of wit and pain,
A rich, unwriting hand, carried the prize away.

Thus I complain'd, and strait the Mufe reply'd,
That she had given me fame.

Bounty immenfe! and that too must be try'd
When I myself am nothing but a name.

Who now, what reader does not strive
T'invalidate the gift whilst we 're alive?
For, when a poet now himself doth show,
As if he were a common foe,

All draw upon him, all around,

And every part of him they wound,

Happy the man that gives the deepest blow :
And this is all, kind Muse! to thee we owe,
Then in rage I took,

And out at window threw,

Ovid and Horace, all the chiming crew;
Homer himself went with them too;
Hardly escap'd the facred Mantuan book:
I my own offspring, like Agave, tore,
And I refolv'd, nay, and I think I fwore,
That I no more the ground would till and fow,

Where only flowery weeds instead of corn did grow.

When (see the subtle ways which Fate does find, Rebellious man to bind !

Juft to the work for which he is affign'd)

Th

The Muse came in more clearful than before,
And bade me quarrel with her now no more:
"Lo! thy reward! look here, and fee
"What I have made" (faid fhe)

"My lover and belov'd, my Broghill, do for thee!
"Though thy own verfe no lafting fame can give,
"Thou fhalt at leaft in his for ever live.
"What criticks, the great Hectors now in wit,
"Who rant and challenge all men that have writ,
"Will dare t' oppofe thee, when

"Broghill in thy defence has drawn his conquering I rofe, and bow'd my head,

And pardon ask'd for all that I had faid :
Well fatisfy'd and proud,

I ftrait refolv'd, and folemnly I vow'd,

[pen ?"

That from her service now I ne'er would part;
So ftrongly large rewards work on a grateful heart!
Nothing fo foon the drooping spirits can raise
As praises from the men whom all men praise :
'Tis the best cordial, and which only those
Who have at home th' ingredients can compofe;
A cordial that reftores our fainting breath,
And keeps up life ev'n after death!

The only danger is, left it fhould be

Too strong a remedy;

Left, in removing cold, it should beget
Too violent a heat;

And into madnefs turn the lethargy.

Ah! gracious God! that I might fee A time when it were dangerous for me

To be o'er-heat with praise !

But I within me bear, alas! too great aliays.

'Tis faid, Apelles, when he Venus drew,
Did naked women for his pattern view,

And with his powerful fancy did refine
Their human shapes into a form divine;
None who had fat could her own picture fee,
Or fay, one part was drawn for me:
So, though this nobler painter, when he writ,
Was pleas'd to think it fit

That my book should before him fit,

Not as a caufe, but an occafion, to his wit;
Yet what have I to boast, or to apply

To my advantage out of it; fince I,
Instead of my own likeness, only find

The bright idea there of the great writer's mind?

O D E.

Mr. Cow LEY s Book prefenting itfelf to the Univerfity Library of O X FOR D.

HAIL, Learning's Pantheon ! Hail, the facred ark

Where all the world of fcience does imbark!

Which ever shall withstand, and haft so long withstood, Infatiate Time's devouring flood.

Hail, tree of knowledge! thy leaves fruit! which well Doft in the midft of paradise arife,

Oxford the Mufe's paradife,

From which may never fword the bless'd expel!