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What's this, ye Gods! what can it be?
Remains there ftill an enemy?

Bold Honour stands up in the gate,
And would yet capitulate;
Havel o'ercome all real foes,

And fhall this phantom me oppose?

Noify nothing! ftalking fhade!

By what witchcraft wert thou made?
Empty caufe of folid harms!

But I fhall find out counter-charms,

Thy airy devilship to remove,

From this circle here of love.

Sure I fhall rid myself of thee,
By the night's obfcurity,
And obfcurer fecrecy!

Unlike to every other fprite,

Thou attempt'ft not men t'affright,
Nor appear'ft but in the light.

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So much as of original fin,

Such charms thy beauty wears as might Defires in dying confefs'd faints excite :

Thou with strange adultery,

Doft in each breaft a brothel keep;
Awake all men do luft for thee,

And fome enjoy thee when they fleep.
Ne'er before did woman live,

Who to fuch multitudes did give

The root and caufe of fin, but only Eve.

Though in thy breaft fo quick a pity be,

That a fly's death 's a wound to thee; Though favage and rock-hearted those Appear, that weep not ev'n Romance's woes; Yet ne'er before was tyrant known, Whofe rage was of fo large extent; The ills thou doft are whole thine own; Thou 'rt principal and inftrument: In all the deaths that come from you, You do the treble office do

Of judge, of torturer, and of weapon too.

Thou lovely inftrument of angry Fate,

Which God did for our faults create!
Thou pleasant, univerfal ill,

Which, fweet as health, yet like a plague doft kill!

Thou kind, well-natur'd tyranny
Thou chafte committer of a rape!
Thou voluntary destiny,

Which no man can, or would, escape!
So gentle, and fo glad to fpare,
So wondrous good, and wondrous fair,
(We know) ev'n the deftroying-angels are.

She. W

DIALOGUE.

HAT have we done? what cruel paffion mov'd thee,

Thus to ruin her that lov'd thee?

Me thou'ft robb'd; but what art thou
Thyfelf the richer now?

Shame fucceeds the fhort-liv'd pleasure; So foon is fpent, and gone, this thy ill-gotten treasure!

He. We have dene no harm; nor was it theft in me,

But nobleft charity in thee.
I'll the well-gotten pleasure
Safe in my memory treasure :

What though the flower itself do wafte, The effence from it drawn does long and fweeter

laft.

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He. Never, my dear, was honour yet undone

By Love, but Indifcretion.
To th' wife it all things does allow ;
And car s not What we do, but How.
Like tapers fhut in ancient urns,

Unlcfs it let-in air, for ever fhines and burns.

She. Thou firft, perhaps, who didit the fault commit,

Wilt make thy wicked boaft of it;
For men, with Roman pride, above
The conqueft do the triumph love;
Nor think a perfect victory gain'd,
Unless they through the streets their captive
lead enchain'd.

He. Whoe'er his fecret joys has open laid,
The bawd to his own wife is made;
Befide, what boaft is left for me,
Whefe whole wealth's a gift from thee?

Tis you the conqueror are, 'tis you
Who have not only ta'en, but bound and gagg'd

me too.

She. Though public punishment we escape, the fin
Will rack and torture us within:
Guilt and fin our bofom bears;
And, though fair yet the fruit appears,

That worm which now the core does wafte, When long 't has gnaw'd within, will break the fkin at laft.

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BATHING IN THE RIVER.

HE fifh around her crowded, as they do
To the falfe light that treacherous fishers
shew,

And all with as much ease might taken be,
As fhe at first took me ;

For ne'er did light so clear
Among the waves appear,

She. Curfe on thine arts! methinks I hate thee Though every night the fun himself fet there.

now;

And yet I'm fure I love thee too!

I'm angry; but my wrath will prove
More innocent than did thy love.

Thou haft this day undone me quite; Yet wilt undo me more should'ft thou not come at night.

VERSES UPON A LOST WAGER.

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S foon hereafter will I wagers lay
'Gainft what an oracle fhall fay;
Fool that I was, to venture to deny
A tongue fo us'd to victory!

A tongue fo bleft by nature and by art,
That never yet it spoke but gain'd an heart :

Though what you faid had not been true,
If fpoke by any elfe but you;
Your fpeech will govern destiny,

And Fate will change rather than you should ¡ye.

'Tis true, if human Reason were the guide,
Reafon, methinks, was on my fide;
But that's a guide, alas! we must refign,
When th' authority 's divine.

She faid, fhe faid herself it would be fo;
And I, bold unbeliever! anfwer'd no :

Never fo justly, fure, before,

Error the name of blindness bore;
For, whatfoe'er the question be,

'There's no man that has eyes would bet for me.

If Truth itself (as other angels do

When they defcend to human view) In a material form would deign to fhine, "Twould imitate or borrow thine:

So dazzling bright, yet so tranfparent clear,
So well-proportion'd would the parts appear!
Happy the eye which Truth could fee
Cloath'd in a fhape like thee;
But happier far the cyc

Which could thy shape naked like Truth espy!

Yet this loft wager cofts me nothing more
Than what I ow'd to thee before:
Who would not venture for that debt to play,

Which he were bound howe'er to pay?
If Nature gave me power to write in verse,
She gave it me thy praifes to rehearse :

Thy wondrous beauty and thy wit
Has fuch a fovereign right to it,
That no man's Muse for public vent is free,
Till she has paid her customs first to thee.

Why to mute fish should'st thou thyself discover,
And not to me, thy no lefs filent lover?

As fome from men their buried gold commit
To ghofts, that have no ufc of it;
Half their rich treasures fo

Maids bury; and, for aught we know,
(Poor ignorants!) they're mermaids all below.
The amorous waves would fain about her stay,
But still new amorous waves drive them away,
And with swift current to thofe joys they haste,
That do as fwiftly waste:

I laugh'd the wanton play to view ;
But 'tis, alas! at land fo too,

And fill old lovers yield the place to new.
Kifs her, and as you part, you amorous waves
(My happier rivals, and my fellow-flaves)
Point to your flowery banks, and to her shew
The good your bounties do;

Then tell her what your pride doth cost,
And how your use and beauty's loft,
When rigorous winter binds you up with frost.
Tell her, her beauties and her youth, like thee,
Hafte without ftop to a devouring fea;
Where they will mix'd and undistinguish'd lie
With all the meanest things that die;

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Th' ambition of thy love,

Metals grow within the mine, Lufcious grapes upon the vine; Still the needle marks the pole; Parts are equal to the whole:

And not one ftar in heaven offers to take thy 'Tis a truth as clear, that Love

part.

If e'er I clear my heart from this defire,

If e'er it home to its breast retire,
It ne'er fhall wander more about,
Though thoufand beauties call it out:

A lover burnt like me for ever dreads the fire.
The pox, the plague, and every small disease,
May come as oft as ill fate please;
But death and love are never found
To give a fecond wound,

We're by thofe ferpents bit, but we're devour'd by these.

Alas! what comfort is 't that I am grown
Secure of being again o'erthrown?
Since fuch an enemy needs not fear
Left any elfe fhould quarter there,

Quickens all, below, above.

Man is born to live and die,
Snakes to creep, and birds to fly;
Fishes in the waters fwim,
Doves are mild, and lions grim:
Nature thus, below, above,
Pufhes all things on to Love.

Does the cedar love the mountain?
Or the thirsty deer the fountain?
Does the fhepherd love his crook ?
Or the willow court the brook?
Thus by Nature all things move,
Like a running stream, to Love.

Is the valiant hero bold?
Does the mifer doat on gold?
Seek the birds in fpring to pair?

Who has not only fack'd, but quite burnt down, Breathes the rofe-bud fcented air?

the town.

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Roll it down, it never ftops
Till within the vale it drops:
So are all things prone to Love,
All below, and all above.

Down the mountain flows the ftream,
Up afcends the lambent flame;
Smoke and vapour mount the skies;
All preferve their unities;
Nought below, and nought above,
Seems averfe, but prone to Love.

Stop the meteor in its flight,
Or the orient rays of light;
Bid Dan Phoebus not to shine,
Bid the planets not incline:
'Tis as vain, below, above,
To impede the course of Love.

Salamanders live in fire,
Eagles to the fkies afpire,
Diamonds in their quarries lie,
Rivers do the sea supply:
Thus appears, below, above,
A propensity to Love.

Should you this deny, you 'll prove
Nature is averse to Love.

As the wencher loves a lafs,
As the toper loves his glass,
As the friar loves his cowl,
Or the miller loves the toll,
So do all, below, above,
Fly precipitate to Love.

When young maidens courtship fhun,
When the moon outfhines the fun,
When the tigers lambs beget,
When the fnow is black as jet,
When the planets ceafe to move,
Then fhall Nature ceafe to Love.

EPIGRAM,

ON THE POWER OF LOVE.

N. B. This is delivered down by tradition as a production of Cowley; and was spoken at the Westminster-School election, on the following fubject:

"Nullis amor eft medicabilis berbis."—OVID.

OL Daphne fees, and feeing her admires,
Which adds new flames to his celeftial fires:

Had any remedy for Love been known,
The god of Physic, fure, had cur'd his own.

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PINDARIC ODES,

WRITTEN IN IMITATION OF THE

STYLE AND MANNER OF THE ODES OF PINDAR.

"Pindarici fontis qui non expalluit hauftus."-HOR. I. EP. III. 3.

I

PRE FAC E.

F a man fhould undertake to tranflate Pindar word for word, it would be thoug that one mad-man had tranflated another; as may appear, when he that underftand not the original, reads the verbal traduction of him into Latin profe, than which nothin seems more raving. And fure, rhyme, without the addition of wit, and the spirit poetry (quod nequco monftrare & fentio tantum") would but make it ten times mo diftracted than it is in profe. We must confider in Pindar the great difference of tim betwixt his age and ours, which changes, as in pictures, at least the colours of poetry the no lefs difference betwixt the religions and cuftoms of our countries; and a tho fand particularities of places, perfons, and manners, which do but confufedly appear! our eyes at fo great a distance. And lastly (which were enough alone for my purpof we must confider that our ears are ftrangers to the mufic of his numbers, which fom times (efpecially in fongs and odes) almoft without any thing elfe, makes an excelle poet; for though the grammarians and critics have laboured to reduce his verfes in regular feet and measures (as they have also those of the Greek and Latin comedie yet in effect they are little better than profe to our ears. And I would gladly kno what applause our beft pieces of English pocfy could expect from a Frenchman Italian, if converted faithfully, and word for word, into French or Italian profe. Ar when we have confidered all this, we must needs confefs, that after all thefe loffes fu tained by Pindar, all we can add to him by our wit or invention (not deferting still b fubject) is not like to make him a richer man than he was in his own country. Th is in fome measure to be applied to all tranflations; and the not obferving of it, is th cause that all which ever I yet faw, are fo much inferior to their originals. The li happens too in pictures, from the fame root of exact imitation; which, being a vi and unworthy kind of fervitude, is incapable of producing any thing good or nobl I have feen originals, both in painting and poefy, much more beautiful than their n tural objects; but I never faw a copy better than the original: which indeed cannot otherwife; for, men refolving in no cafe to fhoot beyond the mark, it is a thousand one if they fhoot not fhort of it. It does not at all trouble me that the grammaria perhaps will not fuffer this libertine way of rendering foreign authors to be calle Tranflation; for I am not fo much enamoured of the name Tranflator, rather to be fomething better, though it want yet a name. I fpeak not fo much all th in defence of my manner of tranflating, or imitating (or what other title they pleaf the two enfuing Odes of Pindar; for that would not deferve half thefe words; as this occafion to rectify the opinion of divers men upon this matter. The Pfalms

as not to wi

David (which I believe to have been in their original, to the Hebrews of his time, though not to our Hebrews of Buxtorfius's making, the moft exalted pieces of poefy,) are a great example of what I have faid; all the tranflators of which (even Mr. Sandys himself; for in defpite of popular error, 1 will be bold not to except him) for this very reason, that they have not fought to fupply the loft excellencies of another language with new ones in their own, are fo far from doing honour, or at least justice, to that divine poet, that methinks they revile him worse than Shimei. And Buchanan himfelf (though much the best of them all, and indeed a great perfon) comes in my opinion no lefs fhort of David, than his country does of Judea. Upon this ground I have, in thefe two Odes of Pindar, taken, left out, and added, what I please; nor make it fo much my aim to let the reader know precifely what he spoke, as what was his way and manner of speaking; which has not been yet (that I know of) introduced into English, though it be the nobleft and higheft kind of writing in verfe; and which might, perhaps, be put into the lift of Pancirolus, among the loft inventions of antiquity. This effay is but to try how it will look in an English habit: for which experiment, I have chofen one of his Olympic, and another of his Nemean Odes; which are as followeth.

THE SECOND OLYMPIC ODE OF They Agrigentum built, the beauteous eye

PINDAR.

Written in praife of Theron, prince of Agrigen. tum (a famous city in Sicily, built by his auceftors) who, in the feventy-feventh Olympic, won the chariot-prize. He is commended from the nobility of his race (whofe ftory is often toucht on); from his great riches (an ordinary common-place in Pindar); from his hofpitality, munificence, and other virtues. The Ode (according to the conftant cuftom of the Poet) confifts more in digreffions, than in the main fubject: and the Reader muft not be choqued to hear him fpeak fo often of his own Mufe; for that is a liberty which this kind of poetry can hardly live without.

UEEN of all harmonious things,

Q words, Itrings!

What God, what Hero, wilt thou fing?
What happy man to equal glories bring?

Begin, begin thy noble choice,

And let the hills around reflect the image of thy

voice.

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Of fair-fac'd Sicily;
Which does itfelf i' th' river by

With pride and joy efpy.

Then cheerful notes their painted years did fing,
And Wealth was one, and Honour th' other,
wing;

Their genuine virtues did more sweet and clear,
In Fortune's graceful drefs appear.

To which, great fon of Rhea! fay
The firm word which forbids things to decay!
If in Olympus' top, where thou

Sitt'ft to behold thy facred fhow;
If in Alpheus' filver flight;
If in my verfe, thou doft delight,
My verfe, O Rhea's fon! which is

Lofty as that, and smooth as this.

For the paft fufferings of this noble race
(Since things once paft, and fled out of thine hand,
Hearken no more to thy command)
Let prefent joys fill up their place,

And with Oblivion's filent ftroke deface

Of foregone ills the very trace.

In no illuftrious line

Do thefe happy changes fhine

More brightly, Theron! than in thine.
So, in the crystal palaces

Of the blue-ey'd Nereides,
Ino her endless youth does pleafe,
And thanks her fall into the feas.
Beauteous Semele does no lefs

Her cruel midwife, Thunder, bless;
Whilft, sporting with the Gods on high,
She' enjoys fecure their company;
Plays with lightnings as they fly,

Nor trembles at the bright embraces of the Deity.
But death did them from future dangers free ;
What God, alas! will caution be

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