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And guiltless men, who danc'd away their time,
Fresh as their groves, and happy as their clime.
Had we ftill paid that homage to a name,
Which only God and nature juftly claim;
The western feas had been our utmost bound,
Where poets ftill might dream the fun was drown'd:
And all the stars that shine in fouthern skies,
Had been admir'd by none but favage eyes.
Among th' afferters of free reafon's claim,
Our nation's not the leaft in worth or fame.
The world to Bacon does not only owe
Its prefent knowledge, but its future too.
Gilbert 2 fhall live, 'till loadstones cease to draw,
Our British fleets the boundlefs ocean awe.
And noble Boyle, not lefs in nature seen,
Than his great brother read in states and men.
The circling ftreams, once thought but pools, of blood
(Whether life's fuel, or the body's food)

From dark oblivion 3 Harvey's name shall save;
While Ent keeps all the honour that he gave.
Nor are you, learned friend, the least renown'd;
Whofe fame, not circumfcrib'd with English ground,
Flies like the nimble journies of the light;
And is, like that, unfpent too in its flight.

2 Dr. William Gilbert, a learned writer of the feventeenth century, phyfician both to queen Elizabeth and king James. Anno 1600, he publifhed a valuable treatife on the magnet, or loadstone, and mag, netical bodies, and of that great magnet the earth.

3 From dark oblivion Harvey's name fball fave;
While Ent keeps all the bonours that he

gave.

Dr. William Harvey, an eminent phyfician of the feventeenth century, being lecturer of anatomy and furgery in the college of phyficians, communicated his difcovery of the circulation of the blood in his public lectures of the year 1616, which being afterwards publifhed to the world in the Exercitatio anatomica de motu cordis ei fanguinis, was attacked by Emilius Parifanus, who wrote a Refutatio Harvei, &c. to which Dr. George Ent printed a reply. He died in his eightieth year, anno 1657,

4

Whatever

Whatever truths have been, by art or chance,
Redeem'd from error, or from ignorance,
Thin in their authors, like rich veins of ore,
Your works unite, and still discover more.
Such is the healing virtue of your pen,
To perfect cures on books, as well as men.
Nor is this work the leaft: you well may give
To men new vigour, who make ftones to live.
Thro' you, the Danes, their fhort dominion loft,
A longer conqueft than the Saxons boaft.

Stone-henge, once thought a temple, you have found
A throne, where kings, our earthly gods, were crown'd;
Where by their wond'ring fubjects they were feen,
Joy'd with their stature, and their princely mien.
Our fovereign here above the reft might stand,
And here be chose again to rule the land.

Thefe ruins fhelter'd once his 4 facred head,
When he from Wor'fter's fatal battle fled;
Watch'd by the genius of this royal place,
And mighty vifions of the Danish race.
His refuge then was for a temple shown:
But, he reftor'd, 'tis now become a throne.

In the Dedication of this book to Charles II, is the following paffage, which gave occafion to the fix laft lines of this poem. I have had the honour to hear from your majefty's own mouth: that you were pleased to vifit this monument, and entertain yourself with the delightful view thereof, after the defeat of your army at Worcester,

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A

S feamen, fhipwreck'd on fome happy shore,
Discover wealth in lands unknown before;
And, what their art had labour'd long in vain,
By their misfortunes happily obtain :

So my much-envy'd mufe, by ftorms long toft,
Is thrown upon your hofpitable coaft,
And finds more favour by her ill fuccefs,
Than fhe could hope for by her happiness,
Once Cato's virtue did the gods oppofe;
While they the victor, he the vanquish'd chofe
But you
have done what Cato could not do,
To choose the vanquish'd, and restore him too.
Let others triumph ftill, and gain their cause.
By their deferts, or by the world's applause;
Let merit crowns, and juftice laurels give,
But let me happy by your pity live.
True poets empty fame and praise despise,
Fame is the trumpet, but your fmile the prize.

I This lady was for many years a favourite mistress of Charles the IId. and was afterwards created dutchefs of Cleveland. She was daughter of William Villiers, lord Grandifon, who was killed in the king's fervice at the battle of Edgehill in 1642.

You

You fit above, and fee vain men below
Contend for what you only can bestow:
But those
great actions others do by chance,
Are, like your beauty, your inheritance:
So great a foul, fuch sweetness join'd in one,
Could only fpring from noble Grandifon.
You, like the stars, not by reflection bright,
Are borne to your own heaven, and your own light;
Like them are good, but from a nobler cause,
From your own knowledge, not from nature's laws.
Your power you never ufe, but for defence,
To guard your own, or other's innocence :
Your foes are fuch, as they, not you, have made,
And virtue may repel, tho' not invade.

Such courage did the ancient heroes fhow,

Who, when they might prevent, would wait the blow-
With fuch affurance as they meant to fay,
We will o'ercome, but fcorn the fafelt way.
What further fear of danger can there be ?
Beauty, which captives all things, fets me free.
Pofterity will judge by my fuccefs,

I had the Grecian poet's happiness,

Who, waving plots, found out a better way;
Some God defcended, and preferv'd the play.
When first the triumphs of your fex were fung
By thofe old poets, beauty was but young,
And few admir'd the native red and white,
Till poets drefs'd them up to charm the fight;
So beauty took on truft, and did engage
For fums of praises till fhe came to age.
But this long-growing debt to poetry
You justly, madam, have discharg'd to me,
When your applause and favour did infuse
New life to my condemn'd and dying mufc.

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EPISTLE the FOURTH.

то

Mr. LEE, on his ALEXANDER.

TH

HE blaft of common cenfure could I fear, Before your play my name should not appear; For 'twill be thought, and with fome colour too, pay the bribe I first receiv'd from you;

I

That mutual vouchers for our fame we stand,
And play the game into each other's hand;
And as cheap pen'orths to ourselves afford,
As Beffus and the brothers of the fword.
Such libels private men may well endure,
When ftates and kings themselves are not fecure :
For ill men, confcious of their inward guilt,
Think the best actions on by-ends are built.
And yet my filence had not 'fcap'd their spite;
Then, envy had not fuffer'd me to write;
For, fince I could not ignorance pretend,
Such merit I muft envy or commend.

So

many candidates there ftand for wit,
A place at court is fcarce fo hard to get:
In vain they crowd each other at the door;
For e'en reverfions are all begg'd before :
Defert, how known foe'er, is long delay'd;
And then too fools and knaves are better pay'd.
Yet as fome actions bear fo great a name,

That courts themselves are juft, for fear of fhame;

1 Beffus, a cowardly character in Beaumont and Fletcher's comedy of a King and no King.

So

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