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E ! ff y things,

Had I the power of creation,

Poets or lovers let them be, As I have of generation,

'Tis neither love nor poesy Where I the matter must obey,

Can arm, against death's smallest dart, And cannot work plate out of clay,

The poet's head or lover's heart ; My creatures should be all like thee,

But when their life, in its decline, "Tis thou shouldst their idea be:

Touches th' inevitable line, They, like thee, should throughly hate

All the world 's mortal to them then, Business, honour, title, ftate ;

And wine is aconite to men ; Other wealth they should not know,

Nay, in death's hand, the grape-stone proves
But what my living nines bestow ;

As strong as thunder is in Jove's.
The pomp of Kings, they should confess,
At their crownings, to be less
Than a lover's humblest guise,
When at his mistress' feet he lies.
Rumour they no more should mind

Than men safe-landed do the wind;
Wisdom itself they should not hear,
When it prcsumes to be fevere :

Beauty alone they should admire,
Nor look at Fortune's vain attire,-
Nor aik what parents it can shew;
With dead or old 't has nought to do.

They should not love yet all or any,
But very much and very many :

TAKEN OUT OF A GREEK ODE, WRITTEN BY All thcir life should gilded be

MR. MASTERS, OF NEW-COLLEGE IN OXFORD. With mirth, and wit, and gaiety ; Well remembering and applying The necessity of dying.

And inspirations but of wind; Their cheerful heads should always wear

Take up thy lute, and to it bind All that crowns the flowery year :

Loud and everlasting strings; They Should always laugh, and fing,

And on them play, and to them fing, And dance, and strike tn' harnionious fring;

'The happy mournful stories, Verse should from their tongue so flow,

The lamentable glories, As if it in the mouth did grow,

Of the great crucified King, As swiftly answering their command,

Mountainous heap of wonders! which doft rise As tunes obey the artful hand.

Till earth thou joinett with the skies! And whilst I do thus discover

Too large at bottom, and at top too high, Th’ingredients of a happy lover,

To be half seen by mortal eye! 'Tis, my Anacreon! for thy fake

How shall I grasp this boundlefs thing? I of the grape no mention make.

What shall I play? what shall I sing? Till my Anacreon by thee sell,

I'll sing the mighty riddle of mysterious love, Cursed plant! I lov'd thee well;

Which neither wretched men below, nor blefied And 'twas oft my wanton use

fpirits above, To dip my arrows in thy juice.

With all their comments can explain ;

How all the whole world's life to die did not Curled plant ! 'tis true, I sce,

disdain ! Th' old report that goes of thee That, with giants' blood the earth

I'll ling the searchless depths of the compassion Stain'd and poison'd, gave thee birth;

Divine, And now thou wreak'st thy ancient spite

The depths unfathom'd yet On men in whom the gods delight.

By reason's plummet and the line of wit; Thy patron Bacchus, 'tis no wonder,

Too light the plummet, and too short the line ! Was brought forth in flames and thurder;

How the etcrnal Father did bestow in rage, in quarrels and in fights,

His own eternal Son as ransom for his foe, Worse than his tigers, he delights;

I'll sing aloud, that all the world may heas in all our heaven I think there ne

The triumph of the buried Conqueror. No such ill-natur'd God as he.

How hell was by its prisoner captive led, Thou pretendeft, traiterous Wine !

And the great slayer, Death, slain by the dead. To be the Muses' friend and mine : With love and wit thou doft bogin,

Methinks I hear of murdered men the voice, Falle fires, alas ! to draw us in ;

Mixt with the murderers' confused noise,
Which, if our course we by them keep,
Misguide to madness or to sleep :

* These verscs were not included among those Sleep were well; thou 'af learnt a way

which Mr. Cowley himself styled “ Miscellanies;” To death itself now to betray.

but were clafled by Bishop Sprat under the title It gricves me when I see what fate

by which they are here diftinguilhed. N. Does on th: bcft of mankind wait.

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re, and

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ser live

- now





CHEER.wp, my mates, the wind docs fairly

- Fate do, trce of knowledge! thy leaves fruit ! which 'T had happier been for him, as well as me; well

For when all, alas! is done, alliga'd in the midst of paradise arise,

We books, I mean, You books, will prove to be than be Oxford! the Muse's paradise,

The best and noblest conversation: m which may never sword the bless'd expel ! For, though some errors will get in, il, bank of all past ages! where they lie

Like tinctures of original sin;
enrich with interest pofterity!

Yet sure we from our fathers' wit
Hail, Wit's illuitrious Galaxy!

Draw all the strength and spirit of it, - famc

here thousand lights into one brightness spread; Leaving the gresser parts for conversation,
, living University of the dead?

As the best blood of man's employ'd in generation, that enconfuz'd Babel of all tongues! which e'er when he mighty linguist Fame, or Time, the mighty traveler,

ODE. That could speak, or this could hear. Kajestic monument and pyramid ! laid: here fill the iha des of parted souls abide mbalm'd in verse ; exalted souls which now

DRAKE'S SHIP. ri'd, njoy those arts they woo'd so well below;

Which now all wonders plainly sce,
That have been, are, or are to be,

In the mysterious library,

Clap on more fail, and never spare; The beatific Bodley of the Deity;

Farewell all lands, for now we are Fits *** Fill you into your sacred throng admit

In the wide fea of drink, and merrily we go. The meinelt British Wit?

Bless me, 'tis hot! another bowl of wine, ser lou, general council of the priests of Fame,

And we shall cut the burning Line :
Will you not murmur and disdain,

Hey, boys! fhe scuds away, and by my head i
That I a place among you claim,

know The humblert deacon of her train ?

We round the world are failing now. you allow me th' honourable chain?

What dull men are those that tarry at home,
The chain of ornament, which here

When abroad they might wantonly roam,
Your noble prisoners proudly wear;

And gain such experience, and spy too
chain which will more pleasant seem to me

Such countries and wonders, as I do! Than all my own Pindaric liberty!

But pr’ythee, good pilot, take heed what you do, h Will ye to bind me with those mighty names

And fail not to touch at Peru!

With gold there the vessel we'll store,
Like an Apocrypha with holy Writ?

And never, and never be poor, -:- Whatever happy book is chained here,

No, never be poor any more. No other place or people need to fear;

What do I mean? What thoughts do me misguide? His chain’s a passport to go every where,

As well upon a staff may witches ride
As when a seat in heaven

Their fancy'd journeys in the air, pe: Is to an unmalicious finner given,

As I fail round the ocean in this chair !
Who, casting round his wondering eye,

"I'is true; but yet this chair which here Does none but patriarchs and apostles there cfpy; Martyrs who did their lives bestow,

For all its quiet now, and gravity, And faints, who martyrs liv'd below; Has wander'd and has travel'd more With trembling and amazement he begins

Than ever beast, or fish, or bird, or ever tree, $" To recollect his frailties past and fins;

before : He doubts almost his station there;

In every air and every sea 't has been, His foul says to itself, “ How came I here ?" "T has compass'd all the earth, and all the heavens It fares no otherwise with me,

't has seen.
When I myself with conscious wonder see Let not the Pope's itself with this compare,
Amidst this purify'd elected company.

This is the only universal chair.
With hardship they, and pain,
Did to this happiness attain :

The pious wanderer's fect, fav’d from the fame No labour I, nor mirits, can pretend;

(Which still the relics did of Troy pursue,

And took them for its due), I think predestination only was my friend.

A squadron of inmortal nymphs became : Ah, that my author had been ty'd like me

Still with their armıs they row about the seas, To such a place and such a company!

And still make new and greater voyages :
Instead of several countries, several men,

Nor has the first poetic ship of Greece
And business, which the Muses hate,

(Though now a star she so triumphant show, He mighe have then improv'd that small estate And guide her sailing successors below, Which Nature sparingly did to him give;

Bright as her ancient freight the shining fleece) He might perhaps have thriven then, Yet to this day a quiet harbour found; And fetcled upon, me, his child, somewhat to live. The tide of heaven still carries her around.

you fee,


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