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No atoms casually together hurl’d Could e'er produce so beautiful a world. Nor dare I such a doctrine here admit, As would destroy the providence of wit. 'Tis your strong genius then which does not feel Those weights, would make a weaker spirit reel. To carry weight, and run fo lightly too, Is what alone your Pegasus can do. Great Hercules himself could ne'er do more, Than not to feel those heavens and gods he bore. Your easier odes, which for delight were penn’d, Yet our instruction make their second end: We're both enrich'd and pleas’d, like them that woe At once a beauty, and a fortune too. Of moral knowlege poesy was queen, And still she might, had wanton wits not been; Who, like ill guardians, liv'd themselves at large, And, not content with that, debauch'd their

charge. Like some brave captain, your


pen Restores the exild to her crown again : And gives us hope, that having seen the days When nothing flourish'd but fanatic bays, All will at length in this opinion rest, “ A sober prince's government is best.”

This is not all ; your art the way

has found To make th’improvement of the richest ground, That soil which those imınortal laurels bore, That once the sacred Maro's temples wore. Elisa's griefs are so express’d by you, They are too eloquent to have been true. Had the so spoke, Æneas had obey'd What Dido, rather than what Jove had faid. If funeral rites can give a ghost repose, Your muse so justly has discharged those, Elisa's shade may now its wandring cease, And claim a title to the fields of peace. But if Æneas be oblig'd, no less Your kindness great Achilles doth confess; Who, dress’d by Statius in too bold a look, Did ill become those virgin robes he took. To understand how much we owe to you, We must your numbers, with your author's, view: Then we shall see his work was lamely rough, Each figure stiff, as if design’d in buff: His colors laid so thick on every place, As only shew'd the paint, but hid the face. But as in perspective we beauties see, Which in the glass, not in the picture, be; So here our fight obligingly mistakes That wealth, which his your bounty only makes.

Thus vulgar dishes are, by cooks disguis’d,
More for their dressing, than their substance

Your curious notes so search into that age,
When all was fable but the sacred

page, That, since in that dark night we needs must stray, We are at least milled in pleasant way. But what we most admire, your verse no less The prophet than the poet doth confess. Ere our weak eyes discern'd the doubtful streak Of light, you saw great Charles his morning break. So skilful seamen ken the land from far, Which shews like mists to the dull passenger. To Charles


her duteous love, As still the antients did begin froin Jove. With Monk you end, whose name preserv'd shall be, As Rome recorded Rufus' memory, Who thought it greater honor to obey His country's interest, than the world to sway. But to write worthy things of worthy men, Is the peculiar talent of your pen : Yet let me take

and I Will venture in your right to prophesy. “ This work, by merit first of fame secure, “ Is likewise happy in its geniture:

your mantle


your muse first

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« For, since 'tis born when Charles ascends the

throne, « It shares at once his fortune and its own."

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Learned and Useful WORKS; but more parti

cularly his 'Treatise of Stone-Henge, by him restor'd to the true Founder.


HE longest tyranny that ever sway'd,

Was that wherein our ancestors betray'd Their free-born reason to the Stagyrite, And made his torch their universal light. So truth, while only one supply'd the state, Grew scarce, and dear, and yet sophisticate. Still it was bought, like emp’ric wares, or charms, Hard words seal'd up with Aristotle's arms. Columbus was the first that shook his throne; And found a temp’rate in a torrid zone:

The fev'rish air fann'd by a cooling breeze,
The fruitful vales fet round with shady trees;
And guiltless men, who danc'd away their time,
Fresh as their groves, and happy as their clime.
Had we still paid that homage to a name,
Which only God and nature justly claim;
The western seas had been our utmost bound,
Where poets still mightdream the sun was drown'd:
And all the stars that shine in southern skies,
Had been admir’d by none but savage eyes.

Among th' afferters of free reason's claim,
Our nation's not the least in worth or fame.
The world to Bacon does not only owe
Its present knowlege, but its future too.
Gilber shall live, 'till loadstones cease to draw,
Or British fleets the boundless ocean awe.
And noble Boyle, not less in nature feen,
Than his great brother read in states and men.
The circling streams, once thought but pools, of

blood (Whether life's fuel, or the body's food) From dark oblivion Harvey's name shall save ; While Ent keeps all the honor that he gave,

learned friend, the least renown'd; Whose fame, not circumscrib'd with English


Nor are you,

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