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(2) When Homer, mentioning Achilles, terms him a lion, this is a metaphor, and the meaning is obvious and true, though the literal fenfe be falfe, the poet intending thereby to give his reader fome idea of the ftrength and fortitude of his hero. Had he faid, that wolf, or that bear, this had been falfe, by prefenting an image not conformable to the nature and character of a hero, &c.

(3) Hyperboles are of divers forts, and the manner of introducing them is different: fome are as it were naturalized and established by a customary way of expretion; as when we fay, fuch a one's as fwift as the wind, whiter than fnow, or the like. Homer speaking of Nereus, calls him beauty itfelf. Martial of Zoilus, Lewdness itself. Such hyperboles lye indeed, but deceive us not; and therefore Seneca terms them yes that readily conduct our imagination to truths, and have an intelligible fignification, though the expreffion be trained beyond credibility. Cuftom has likewife familiarized another way for hyperboles, for example, by irony; as when we fay of fome infamous fhe's a civil perfon, where the meaning is to be taken quite oppofite to the latter. These few figures are mentioned only for example fake; it will be under.food that all others are to be used with the like

woman,

care and difcretion.

(4) I needed not to have travelled fo far for an extravagant flight; I remember one of British growth of the like nature:

See thofe dead bodies hence convey'd with care, Life may perhaps return-with change of air. But I choose rather to correct gently, by foreign examples, hoping that fuch as are confcious of the like excefles will take the hint, and fecretly reprove themfelves. It may be poffible for fome tempers to maintain rage and indignation to the laft gafp but the foul and body once parted, there must neceffarily be a determination of action,

Quodcunque oftendis mihi fic incredulus odi.

I cannot forbear quoting on this occafion, as an example for the prefent purpofe, two noble lines of Jafper Main's, in the collection of the Oxford Verfes printed in the year 1643, upon the death of my grandfather Sir Bevil Granville, flain in the heat of action at the battle of Landfdowne. The poet, after having defcribed the fight, the foldiers animated by the example of their leader, and enraged at his death,

thus concludes:

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thought by any derogatory quotation to take from the merit of a writer whofe reputation is fo univerfally and fo juftly established in all nations; but as I faid before, I rather choose, where any failings are to be found, to correct my own countrymen by foreign examples, than to provoke them by inftances drawn from I cannot their own writings. Humanum eft errare. forbear one quotation more from another celebrated French author. It is an epigram upon a monument for Francis I. King of France, by way of question and anfwer, which in English is verbatim thus:

Under this marble, who lies buried here? Francis the Great, a king beyond compare. Why has fo great a king fo fmall a ftone? Of that great king here 's but the heart alone. Then of this conqueror here lies but part? No-here he lies all-for he was all heart. The author was a Cafcon, to whom I can properly oppofe nobody fo well as a Welchman, for which purpose I am farther furnished from the forementioned collection of Oxford Verfes, with an epigram by Martin Lluellin upon the fame fubject, which I remember to have heard often repeated to me when I was a boy. Befides, from whence can we draw better examples than from the very feat and nursery of the

Mufes ?

Thus fin, thy valiant ancestor did lie, When his one bark a navy did defy; When now encompass'd round, he victor flood, And bath'd his pinnace in his conquering blood, Till all the purple current dry'd and spent, He fell, and made the waves his monument. Where fhall the next fam'd Granville's afhes ftand? Thy grandfire's fill the fea, and thine the land. I cannot fay the two laft lines, in which confifts the fting or point of the epigram, are ftrictly conformable to the rule herein fet down: the word ashes, metaphorically, can fignify nothing but fame; which is mere found, and can fill no fpace either of land or fea: The Welchman, however, must be allowed to have out-done the Gafcon. The fallacy of the French epigram appears at firft fight; but the English strikes the fancy, fufpends and dazzles the judgment, and may perhaps be allowed to pafs under the shelter of thofe daring hyperboles, which by prefenting an obvious meaning, make their way, according to Seneca, through the incredible to true.

(6) Vitrix caufa Deis placuit, fed vita Catoni. The confent of fo many ages having established the reputation of this line, it may perhaps be prefump

Thus he being flin, his action fought anew,
And the dead conquer'd, whilft the living flew.
This is agreeable to truth, and within the compafstion to attack it; but it is not to be fuppofed that

of nature: it is thus only that the dead can act.

(5) Le jour qu'elle ráquit, Venus bien qu'immortelle, Penja mourir de honte, en la voyant fi belle,

Les

graces à l'envi defcendirent des cieux
Par avoir l'boreur d'accompagner les yeux,
E: Pameur, qui ne pût entrer dans jon courage,
Valut obfinément loger fur fon visage.

This is a lover's defcription of his miftrefs, by the grez Corneille; civil to be fure, and polite as any filing can be. Let any body turn over Waller, and He will fe how much more naturally and delicately the English author treats the article of love, than this Cleorated Frenchman. I would not, however, be

Cato, who is defcribed to have been a man of rigid morals and strict devotion, more refembling the Gods than men, would have chofen any party in oppofition to thofe Gods, whom he profefled to adore. The poet would give us to underftand, that his hero was too righteous a perfon to accompany the Divinities themfelves in an unjuft caufe; but to reprefent a mortal man to be either wifer or jufter than the Deity, may fhew the impiety of the writer, but add nothing

* Sir Richard Granville, Vicc-Admiral of England, in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, maintained a fight with his fingle ship against the whole Armada of Spain, confifting of fifty-three of their beft men of war.

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to

to the merit of the hero; neither reafon nor religion will allow it, and it is impoffible for a corrupt being to be more excellent than a divine: Succefs implies permiffion, and not approbation; to place the Gods always on the thriving fide, is to make them partakers of all fuccefsful wickednefs: To judge right, we must wait for the conclufion of the action; the catastrophe will beft decide on which fide is Providence, and the violent death of Cæfar acquits the Gods from being companions of his ufurpation.

DEFINITION OF LOVE.

LOVE is begot by fancy, bred
By ignorance, by expectation fed,
Deftroy'd by knowledge, and at best,
Loft in the moment 'tis poffefs'd.

WOMEN.

WOMEN to cards may be compar'd; we play A round or two, when us'd we throw away, Take a fresh pack; nor is it worth our grieving, Lucan was a determined republican; no wonder Who cuts or thuffles with our dirty leaving. he was a free-thinker.

(7) Mr. Dryden, in one of his prologues, has thefe two lines:

He's bound to please, not to write well, and knows There is a mode in plays, as well as clothes. From whence it is plain where he has expofed himfelf to the crities; he was forced to follow the fashion to humour an audience, and not to please himself. A hard facrifice to make for prefent fubfiftence, efpecially for fuch as would have their writings live as well as themselves. Nor can the poet whofe labours are his daily bread, be delivered from this cruel neceffity, unlefs fome more certain encouragement can be provided than the bare uncertain profits of a third day, and the theatre be put under fome more impartial management than the jurifdiction of players. Who write to live, muft unavoidably comply with their tafte by whofe approbation they fubfift; fome generous Prince, or Prime Minister like Richlieu, can only find a remedy. In his Epiftle Dedicatory to the Spanish Friar, this incomparable poet thus cenfures himself:

"I remember fome verfes of my own, Maximin << and Almanzor, which cry vengeance upon me for << their extravagance, &c. All I can fay for those "paffages, which are I hope not many, is, that I "knew they were bad enough to pleafe, even when "I wrote them; but I repent of them among my

<< fins:

And if any of their fellows intrude by "chance into my prefent writings, I draw a ftroke over thofe Dalilahs of the theatre, and am refolved "I will fettle myfelf no reputation by the applaufe "of fools: 'Tis not that I am mortified to all ambi"tion, but I fcorn as much to take it from half-witted judges, as I fhould to raise an eftate by cheating of bubbles: Neither do I difcommend the lofty style in Tragedy, which is pompous and magnificent; but nothing is truly fublime, that is not just and proper.'

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Sent to CLARINDA with a Novel, intitled,
LES MALHEURS DE L'AMOUR.
HASTE to Clarinda, and reveal
Whatever pains poor lovers feel;
When that is done, then tell the fair
That I endure much more for her :
Who'd truly know love's pow'r or smart,
Muft view her eyes, and read my heart.
WRITTEN IN HER PRAYER-BOOK.
In vain, Clarinda, night and day
For pity to the gods you pray;
What arrogance on heav'n to call
For that which you deny to all!
SONG

TO THE SAME.

IN vain a thousand flaves have try'd
To overcome Clarinda's pride:
Pity pleading,

Love perfuading,
When her icy heart is thaw'd,
Honour chides, and straight she's aw'd.
Foolish creature,

Follow nature,
Wafte not thus your prime;

Youth's a treafure,
Love's a pleafure,
Both deftroy'd by time.

ON THE SAME,

Clarinda, with a haughty grace,
In fcornful poftures fets her face,
And looks as fhe were born alone
To give us love, and take from none.
Tho' I adore to that degree,
Clarinda, I would die for thee,
If you're too proud to cafe my pain,
I am too proud for your difdain.

HER NAME.
Whofe eyes have kindled fuch a flame ;
GUESS, and I'll frankly own her name
The Spartan or the Cyprian Queen

Had ne'er been fung, had the been seen.
Who fet the very gods at war,
Were but faint images of her.

EPIGRAMS AND CHARACTERS, &c. Believe me, for by Heav'ns 'tis true!

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The Sun in all his ample view
Sees nothing half fo fair or bright,
Not even his own reflected light.
So fweet a face! fuch graceful mien !

Who can this be?--'Tis HOWARD--or BALLENDEN.

THE

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Her weighty train two pages fcarce can bear; Perfia, and both the Indies muft provide,

To grace her pomp, and gratify her pride;

Of rich brocade a fhining robe she wears,

And

gems

furround her lovely neck, like ftars;
Drawn by fix greys, of the proud Belgian kind,
With a long train of livery beaux behind,
She charms the park, and fets all hearts on fire,
The lady's envy, and the mens defire.

Beholding thus, O happy as a queen!

We
cry;
but fhift the gaudy flattering fcene;
View her at home, in her domeftic light;
For thither the muft come, at leaft at night;
What has the there? A furly ill-bred lord,
Wlo chides, and fnaps her up at every word;
A brutal fot, who while fhe holds his head,
With drunken filth bedawbs the nuptial bed;
Sick to the heart, fhe breathes the naufeous fume
Of odious fteams, that poifon all the room;
Weeping all night the trembling creature lies,
And counts the tedious hours when the may rife:
But most the fears, left waking fhe should find,
To make amends, the monfter would be kind;
Thofe matchlefs beauties, worthy of a god,
Muft bear, tho' much averfe, the loathfome load:
What then may be the chance that next ensues?
Some vile difeafe, fresh reeking from the ftews;
The fecret venom circling in her veins,

Works thro' her fkin, and burfts in bloating stains;
Her cheeks their freshnefs lofe, and wonted grace,
And an unusual palenefs fpreads her face;
Her eyes grow dim, and her corrupted breath
Tainting her gums, infects her iv'ry teeth!
Of tharp nocturnal anguifh fhe complains,

And, guiltless of the caufe, relates her pains.

The confcious hufband, whom like fymptoms feize,
Charges on her the guilt of their difeafe;
Affecting fury, acts a madman's part,
He'll rip the fatal fecret from her heart;

Bids her confefs, calls her ten thousand names;

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In vain the kneels, fhe weeps, protefts, exclaims;
Scarce with her life the 'fcapes, expos'd to shame,
In body tortur'd, murder'd in her fame,
Rots with a vile adulterefs's name.
Abandon'd by her friends, without defence,
And happy only in her innocence.

Such is the vengeance the juft Gods provide
For those who barter liberty for pride,
Who impiously invoke the powers above
To witnefs to falfe vows of mutual love.
Thonfands of poor Cleora's may be found,
Such hufbands, and fuch wretched wives abound.

Ye guardian Powers! the arbiters of bliss,
Preferve Clarinda from a fate like this;
You form'd her fair, not any grace deny'd,
But gave, alas! a park too much of pride,

Reform that failing, and protect her ftill;
O fave her from the curfe of choofing ill!
Deem it not envy, or a jealous care,
That moves thefe wishes, or provokes this prayer;
Though worse than death I dread to fee thofe charms
Allotted to fome happier mortal's arms,
Tormenting thought! yet could I bear that pain,
Or any ill, but hearing her complain;
Intent on her, my love forgets his own,
Nor frames one with, but for her fake alone;
Whome'er the Gods have deftin'd to prefer,
They cannot make me wretched, bleffing her.

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THE WILD BOAR'S DEFENCE.

A

BOAR who had enjoy'd a happy reign

For many a year, and fed on many a man,
Call'd to account, foftening his favage eyes,
Thus fuppliant, pleads his caufe before he dies.

For what am I condemn'd? My crime's no more
To eat a man, than yours to eat a boar:
We feek not you, but take what chance provides,
Nature, and mere neceffity our guides.
You murder us in fport, then dish us up
For drunken feafts, a relish for the cup:
We lengthen not our meals; but you must feaft,
Gorge till your bellies burft-pray who's the beaft?
With your humanity you keep a fufs,

But are in truth worse brutes than all of us;
We prey not on our kind, but you, dear brother,
Moft beaftly of all beafts, devour each other:
Kings worry kings, neighbour with neighbour strives,
Fathers and fons, friends, brothers, huibuds, wives,
By fraud or force, by poifon, word, or gun,
Deftroy each other, every mother's fon.

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Purchas'd with fo much pains and coft,
Yet in a tempeft may be lost.

Pimps, whores and bawds, a thanklefs crew,
Priefts, Pick-pockets, and lawyers too,
All help by feveral ways to drain,
Thanking themfelves for what they gain:
The liberal are fecure alone,

For what we frankly give, for ever is our own.

CORINNA.

NORINNA, in the bloom of youth
Was coy to every lover,

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Regardless of the tendereft truth,
No foft complaint could move her.

Mankind was hers, all at her feet

Lay proftrate and adoring ;

The witty, handfome, rich, and greit,
In vain alike imploring.

But now grown old, fhe would repair
Her lofs of time, and pleafure;
With willing eyes, and wanton air,

Inviting every gazer.

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But love's a fummer flower, that dies With the first weather's changing, The lover, like the fwallow, flies From fun to fun, ftill ranging. Myra, let this example move

Your foolish heart to reafon; Youth is the proper time for love, And age is virtue's feafon.

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HY pines my dear? To Fulvia his young bride, Who weeping fat, thus aged Cornus cry'd, Alas! faid fhe, fuch vifions break my reft, The ftrangeft thoughts! I think I am poffeft: My fymptoms I have told to men of skill, And if I would-they fay-I might be well.

Take their advice, faid he, my poor dear wife, Blushing, the would excufe, but all in vain, I'll buy at any rate thy precious life. A Doctor must be fetch'd to eafe her pain. Hard prefs'd, the yields: From White's, or Will's, or Tom's,

No matter which, he's fummon'd, and he comes.
The careful hufband, with a kind embrace,
Entreats his care: then bows, and quits the place:
For little ailments oft attend the fair,

Something the dame would fay: The ready Knight
Not decent for a hutband's eye, or ear.
Prevents her fpeech-Here's that fhall fet you right,
Madam, faid he-with that the doors made close,
He gives delicioufly the healing dofe.
Alas! fhe cries: ah me! O cruel cure!
Did ever woman yet like me endure ?
The work perform'd, up riting gay and light,
Old Cornus is called in to fee the fight;
A fprightly red vermillions all her face,
And her eyes languish with unusual grace:
With tears of joy fresh gufhing from his eyes,
O wond'rous power of art! old Cornus cries;
Amazing change! aftonishing fuccefs!
Thrice happy I! What a brave Doctor's this!
Maids, wives, and widows, with fuch whims oppreft,
May thus find certain eafe.-Probatum eft.

ON AN ILL-FAVOURED LORD.

TH

HAT Macro's looks are good, let no man doubt, Which I, his friend and fervant-thus make out. In every line of his perfidious face,

The fecret malice of his heart we trace;
So fair the warning, and fo plainly writ,
Let none condemn the light that shows a pit.
Cocles, whofe face finds credit for his heart,
Who can escape fo fmooth a villain's art?
Adorn'd with every grace that can perfuade,
Seeing we truft, though fure to be betray'd;
His looks are fnares: But Macro's, cry Beware,
Believe not, though ten thousand oaths he fwear;
If thou 'rt deceiv'd, obferving well this rule,
Not Macro is the knave, but thou the fool.
In this one point, he and his looks agree,
As they betray their mafter-fo did he.

CLOE.

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COR. INNA.

10 well Corinna likes the joy,

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She vows fhe'll never more be coy, She drinks eternal draughts of pleasure ; Eternal draughts do not fuffice, O give me, give me more, the cries, 'Tis all too little, little measure. Thus wifely the makes up for time Mifpent, while youth was in its prime : So travellers who wafte the day, Careful and cautious of their way, Noting at length the setting fun, They mend their pace as night comes on, Double their speed to reach their inn, And whip and spur through thick and thin.

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TO MY FRIEND

MR. JOHN DRYDEN,

On his feveral excellent Tranflations of the ancient Poets

A

S flowers tranfplanted from a fouthern sky, But hardly bear, or in the raifing die, Milling their native fun, at best retain

But a faint odour, and furvive with pain:
Thus ancient wit, in modern numbers taught,
Wanting the warmth with which its author wrote,
Is a dead image, and a fenfelefs draught.
While we transfufe the nimble fpirit flies,
Efcapes unfeen, evaporates, and dies.
Who then to copy Roman wit defire,
Muft imitate with Roman force and fire,
In elegance of ftyle, and phrafe the fame,
And in the sparkling genius, and the flame;
Whence we conclude from thy tranflated song,
So juft, fo finooth, fo foft, and yet to strong;
Celestial Poet! Soul of harmony!

That every genius was reviv'd in thee.
Thy trumpet founds, the dead are rais'd to light,
Never to die, and take to heaven their flight;
Deck'd in thy verfe, as clad with rays they shine,
All glorify'd, immortal, and divine.

As Britain in rich foil, abounding wide,
Furnish'd for ufe, for luxury, and pride,
Yet fpreads her wanton fails on every shore
For foreign wealth, infatiate ftill of more;
To her own wool the filks of Afia joins ;
And to her plenteous harvefts, Indian mines:
So Dryden, not contented with the farme
Of his own works, though an immortal name,
To lands remote, fends forth his learned mufe,
The nobleft feeds of foreign wit to choose;
Feafting our fenfe so many various ways,
Say, is 't thy bounty, or thy thirft of praife?
That by comparing others all might fee,
Who moft excell'd, are yet excell'd by thee.

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