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He. Whoe'er his secret joys has open laid,
The bawd to his own wife is made;
Beside, what boast is left for me,
Whose 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
Will rack and torture us within : [sin
Guilt and sin our bosom bears;
And, though fair yet the fruit appears,
That worm which now the core does
waste,
When long't has gnaw’d within, will break the
skin at last.
He. That thirsty drink, that hungry food, I
sought,
That wounded balm is all my fault;

And thou in pity didst apply The kind and only remedy: - The cause absolves the crime; since me So mighty forcedid move, so mighty goodness thee.

She. Curse on thine arts' methinks I hate thee
now *
And yet I'm sure I love thee too !
I'm angry; but my wrath will prove
More innocent than did thy love.
Thou hast this day undone me quite;
Yet wilt undome more should'st thou notcome
at night.

PERSES LOST UPOW A JVACER.

As soon hereafter will I wagers lay
'Gainst what an oracle shall say;
Fool that I was, to venture to deny
A tongue so us’d to victory !
A tongue so blest by Nature and by Art,
That never yet it spoke but gain’d an heart:
Though what you said had not been true,
If spoke by any else but you;
Your speech will govern Destiny,
And Fate will change rather than you should lye.

'Tis true, if human Reason were the guide,
Reason, methinks, was on my side;
But that 's a guide, alas! we must resign,
When th’ authority's divine.
She said, she said herself it would be so;
And I, bold unbeliever! answer'd no :
Never so justly, sure, before,
Errour the name of blindness bore;
For whatso'er the question be,
There's no man that has eyes would bet for me.

If Truth itself (as other angels do
When they descend to human view)
In a material form would deign to shine,
'Twould imitate or borrow thine:
So dazzling bright, yet so transparent clear,
So well-proportion'd would the parts appear !
Happy the eye which Truth could see
Cloath'd in a shape like thee;
But happier far the eye -
Which could thy shape naked like Truth espy.

Yet this lost wager costs 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 praises to rehearse:
Thy wondrous beauty and thy wit
Has such a sovereign right to it,
That no man's Muse for public vent is free,
Till she has paid her customs first to thee.

BATHING IN THE RIPER.

The fish around her crowded, as they do
To the false light that treacherous fishers shew,
And all with as much ease might taken be,
As she at first took me ;
For ne'er did light so clear
Among the waves appear,
Though every night the Sun himself set there.

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Jr a man should undertake to translate Pindar word for word, it would be thought, that one madman had translated another; as may appear, when he that understands not the original, reads the verbal traduction of him into Latin prose, than which nothing seems more raving. And sure, rhyme, without the addition of wit, and the spirit of poetry, (quod nequeo monstrare & sentio tantum) would but make it ten times more distracted than it is in prose. We must consider in Pindar the great difference of time betwixt his age and ours, which changes, as in pictures, at least the colours of poetry; the no less difference betwixt the religions and customs of our countries; and a thousand particularities of places, persons, and manners, which do but confusedly appear to our eyes at so great a distance. And lastly (which were enough alone for my purpose) we must consider, that our ears are strangers to the music of his numbers,

which, sometimes (especially in songs and odes)

almost without any thing else, makes an exce!. lent poet; for though the grammarians and critics have laboured to reduce his verses into regular feet and measures (as they have also those of the Greek and Latin comedies) yet in effect they are little better than prose to our ears. And I would gladly know what applause our best pieces of English poesy could expect from a Frenchman or Italian, if converted faithfully, and word for word, into French or Italian prose. And when we have considered all this, we must needs confess, that, after all these losses sustained by Pindar, all we can add to him by our wit or invention (not deserting still his subject) is not like to make him a richer man than he was in his own country. This is in some measure to be applied to all translations; and the not observing of it, is the cause that all which ever I yet saw are so much inferior to their originals. The like happens too in pictures, from the same root of exact imitation; which, being a vile and un

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