A

Tranflation from the Antient British.

I.

WAY; let nought to Love displeasing,
My Winifreda, move your Care;

Let nought delay the Heav'nly Blessing,

Nor squeamish Pride, nor gloomy Fear.

II.

What tho' no Grants of Royal Donors

With pompous Titles grace our Blood? We'll fhine in more substantial Honours, And, to be Noble, we'll be Good.

III.

Our Name, while Virtue thus we tender,
Will fweetly found where-e'er 'tis spoke:
And all the Great ones, They fhall wonder,
How they respect fuch little Folk.

IV.

What tho', from Fortune's lavish Bounty,
No mighty Treasures we poffefs?

We'll find, within our Pittance, Plenty,
And be content without Excefs.

V.

Still fhall each kind returning Season
Sufficient for our Wishes give:

For we will live a Life of Reason,
And that's the only Life to live.

VI.

Through Youth and Age, in Love excelling,
We'll Hand in Hand together tread;
Sweet-fmiling Peace fhall crown our Dwelling,
And Babes, fweet-fmiling Babes, our Bed.

VII.

How should I love the pretty Creatures,
While round my Knees they fondly clung,

Το

To see them look their Mother's Features,

To hear them lifp their Mother's Tongue!

VIII.

And, when with Envy Time transported
Shall think to rob us of our Joys;

You'll, in your Girls, again be courted,
And I'll go wooing in my Boys.

On two Twin Sifters who died at the fame Time, and were buried in one Grave.

Air Marble, tell to future Days,

FA

That here two Virgin Sifters lie;

Whofe Life employ'd each Tongue in Praife;
Whose Death gave Tears to every Eye.

In Stature, Beauty, Years, and Fame,

Together as they grew, They fhone;

So much alike, fo much the fame,

That Death mistook them Both for One.

Upon Mr. HOBBES.

Occafion'd by a Copy of Verfes written by the Earl of MULGRAVE.

T

IS juftly thought! to praise is ever hard,.

When real Virtue fires the glowing Bard: But harder far, whene'er the Poet's Mind

Lab'ring creates the Worth he cannot find.
'Twill task a Cowley's Genius, to commend
False Brutus cringing while he stabs his Friend
To make the Trifler Hobbes unworthy shine,
Will ask the utmost of a Wit like thine!

The Reader's Malice makes the Satyr please: Yet Praises void of Truth are Flatteries,

Which steal from genuine Worth the Honours due;
Romantic Heroes thus obfcure the true.
The Wife and Good Morality will guide,
And Superftition all the World befide,

As

As Wife and Great no longer then must shine,
Good Socrates, or Plato the Divine :
On ancient Greece is past a gen'ral Doom,
And Tully pleading for the Gods of Rome,
All Statues to their Fame are overthrown,
And Hobbes, or Epicurus ftands alone!

Shall Chriftian Virtues too the Slander fhare,

And wait, as Captives, his triumphal Car?
As by fuperior Excellence compell'd,

Shall Anna bow? Shall Charles the Martyr yield?
Hyde, wife in Calms and faithful in the Storm,
Great to Record, but greater to Perform?
Wide-conqu❜ring Ralegh, and far-searching Boyle,
And Newton, Glory of our Age and Ifle!
Are these the vulgar fuperftitious Crowd,
That own the Maxims of th' Incarnate God
Rather than Heav'n, let Earth be disesteem'd,

;

And Hobbes exploded, than our God blafphem'd.

Hobbes!