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ADRIANI MORIENTIs ad Aniinam Suam.

ANIMULA vagula, blandula,

Hospes, comesque corporis,
Quæ nunc abibis in loca,
Pallidula, rigida, nudula ?
Nec, ut soles, dabis joca.

By Monsieur FONTENELLE. MA petite ame, ma mignonne, Tu t'en vas donc, ma fille, & Dieu sache ou tù vas: Tu pars

feulette, nuë, & tremblotante, helas! Que deviendra ton humeur folichonne ? Que deviendront tant de jolis ébats ?

I M I T A T E D.

POOR, little, pretty, fluttering thing,

Must we no longer live together?
And dost thou prune thy trembling wing,

To take thy flight thou know'st not whither?
Thy humourous vein, thy pleasing folly,

Lies all neglected, all forgot :
And, pensive, wavering, melancholy,

Thou dread it and hop'st thou know'st not what.

A Passage A Passage in the MORIÆ ENCOMIUM,

of ERASMUS, imitated.

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N awful pomp, and melancholy state,

See settled Reason on the judgement-seat :
Around her croud Distrust, and Doubt, and Fear,
And thoughtful Foresight, and tormenting Care :
Far from the throne, the trembling Pleasures stand,
Chain'd up, or exil'd by her stern command.
Wretched her subječts, gloomy fits the queen;
Till happy Chance reverts the cruel scene;
And apifh Folly, with her wild resort
Of wit and jest, disturbs the folemn court.

See the fantastic minstrelly advance,
To breathe the song, and animate the dance,
Blest the usurper ! happy the surprize!
Her mimic poitures catch our eager eyes ;
Her jingling bells affect our captive ear ;
And in the lights we fee, and sounds we hear,
Against our judgement, fhe our sense employs ;
The laws of troubled Reason the destroys,
And in their place rejoices to indite
Wild schemes of mirth, and plans of loose delight.




ORGIVE the Muse, who, in unhallow'd strains,

The Saint one moment from his God detains :
For sure, whate'er you do, where-e'er you are,
'Tis all but one good work, one constant prayer :
Forgive her; and intreat that God, to whom
Thy favour'd vows with kind acceptance come,
To raise her notes to that sublime degree,
Which suits a song of piety and thee.

Wondrous good' man! whose labours may repel
The force of fin, may stop the rage of hell;
Thou, like the Baptist, from thy God wast sent,
The crying voice, to bid the world repent.

The Youth shall fludy, and no more engage
Their flattering wishes for uncertain age ;
No more, with fruitless care and cheated strife,
Chase fleeting pleasure through this maze of life;
Finding the wretched all they here can have,
But present food, and but a future

grave :
Each, great as Philip's victor son, shall view
This abject world, and, weeping, ask a new.
Decrepit Age shall read thee, and confefs
Thy labours can assuage, where medicines cease;
Shall bless thy words, their wounded soul's relief,
The drops that sweeten their last dregs of life;




rise ;


Shall look to Heaven, and laugh at all beneath ;
Own riches gather'd, trouble; fame, a breath ;
And Life an ill, whose only cure is Death..

Thy even thoughts with so much plainness flow,
Their sense untutor'd Infancy may know :
Yet to such height is all that plainness wrought,
Wit may admire, and letter'd pride be taught.
Easy in words thy style, in sense sublime,
On its blest steps each age

and sex

'Tis like the ladder in the Patriarch's dream,

Its foot on earth, its height above the skies :
Diffus'd its virtue, boundless is its power;
'Tis public health, and universal cure :
Of heavenly manna 'tis a second feast;
A nation's food, and all to every taste.

To its last height mad Britain's guilt was rear'd ;
And various death for various crimes she fear'd.
With your kind work her drooping hopes revive;
You bid her read, repent, adore, and live :
You wrest the bolt from Heaven's avenging hand;
Stop ready death, and save a finking land.

O! save us still : ftill bless us with thy stay:
O! want thy Heaven, till we have learnt the way :
Refuse to leave thy destin'd charge too soon ;
And, for the church's good, defer thy own.
O! live; and let thy works urge our belief;
Live to explain thy doctrine by thy life;
Till future Infancy, baptiz'd by thee,
Grow ripe in years, and old in piety ;
Till Christians, yet unborn, be taught to die.


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Then, in full age and hoary holiness,
Retire, great teacher ! to thy promis'd bliss :
Untouch'd thy tomb, uninjur'd be thy dust,
As thy own fame among the future just;
Till in.laft sounds the dreadful trumpet speaks ;
Till Judgement calls, and quicken'd Nature wakes ;
Till, through the utmost earth, and deepest sea,
Our scatter'd atoms find their destin'd way,
In haste to cloath their kindred souls again,
Perfect our state, and build immortal man :
Then fearless thou, who well sustain’dst the fight,
To paths of joy, or tracts of endless light,
Lead up all those who heard thee, and believ'd ;
'Midst thy own flock, great shepherd I be receiv'd ;
And glad all Heaven with millions thou hast fav'd.

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CARMEN SECULARE, for the Year 1700.

To the K I N G.


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“ Aspice, venturo lætentur ut omnia fæc'lo:
“O mihi tam longæ maneat pars ultima vitæ
Spiritus, & quantum fat erit tua dicere facta !"

Virg. Eclog. iv,

THY elder look, great

Janus, cast
Into the long records of ages past:
Review the years in fairest action drest
With nored white, superior to the rest;
You, I.



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