II.

Yet for the fame of all these deeds

What beggar in the Invalides,

With lamenefs broke, with blindness fmitten, Wish'd ever decently to die,

To have been either Mezeray,

It's ftrange, dear author, yet it true is,
That, down from Pharamond to Louis,
All covet life, yet call it pain;
All feel the ill, yet fhun the cure:
Can fenfe this paradox endure?

Refolve me, Cambray, or Fontaine.
IV.

The man, in graver tragick known
(Though his best part long fince was done),
Still on the stage defires to tarry :
And he, who play'd the Harlequin,
After the jeft ftill loads the scene,
Unwilling to retire, though weary.

Written in the Nouveaux Interêts des
PRINCES de l'EUROPE.

BLEST be the princes, who have fought

For pompous names, or wide dominion; Since by their error we are taught,

That happiness is but opinion!

ADRIANI

ADRIANI MORIENTIS ad Animam Suam.

ANIMULA vagula, blandula,

Hofpes, comefque corporis,

Quæ nunc abibis in loca,

Pallidula, rigida, nudula?
Nec, ut foles, dabis joca.

By Monfieur FONTENELLE.

MA petite ame, ma mignonne,

Tu t'en vas donc, ma fille, & Dieu fache ou tù vas:

Tu

pars feulette, nuë, & tremblotante, helas!

Que deviendra ton humeur folichonne ?

Que deviendront tant de jolis ébats ?

IMITATE D.

POOR, little, pretty, fluttering thing,
Muft we no longer live together?
And doft thou prune thy trembling wing,
To take thy flight thou know'st not whither ?
Thy humourous vein, thy pleafing folly,

Lies all neglected, all forgot :

And, penfive, wavering, melancholy,

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

A Paffage

A Paffage in the MORIE ENCOMIUM, of ERASMUS, imitated.

IN awful pomp, and melancholy state,

See fettled Reason on the judgement-feat :
Around her croud Diftruft, and Doubt, and Fear,
And thoughtful Forefight, and tormenting Care:
Far from the throne, the trembling Pleasures ftand,
Chain'd up, or exil'd by her stern command.
Wretched her fubjects, gloomy fits the queen;
Till happy Chance reverts the cruel fcene;
And apifh Folly, with her wild refort
Of wit and jeft, difturbs the folemn court.
See the fantastic minstrelfy advance,
To breathe the fong, and animate the dance.
Bleft the ufurper! happy the furprize!
Her mimic poftures catch our eager eyes;
Her jingling bells affect our captive ear;
And in the fights we fee, and founds we hear,
Againft our judgement, the our fenfe employs ;
The laws of troubled Reason she destroys,
And in their place rejoices to indite

Wild schemes of mirth, and plans of loofe delight.

To DR. SHERLOCK,

ON HIS

PRACTICAL DISCOURSE Concerning DEATH.

FORG

ORGIVE the Mufe, who, in unhallow'd ftrains,
The Saint one moment from his God detains :
For fure, whate'er you do, where-e'er you are,
'Tis all but one good work, one conftant prayer:
Forgive her; and intreat that God, to whom
Thy favour'd vows with kind acceptance come,
To raise her notes to that fublime degree,
Which fuits a fong of piety and thee.

Wondrous good man! whofe labours may repel
The force of fin, may stop the rage of hell;
Thou, like the Baptift, from thy God waft fent,
The crying voice, to bid the world repent.

The Youth fhall ftudy, and no more engage
Their flattering wishes for uncertain age;
No more, with fruitless care and cheated ftrife,
Chafe fleeting pleasure through this maze of life;
Finding the wretched all they here can have,
But prefent food, and but a future grave:
Each, great as Philip's victor fon, shall view
This abject world, and, weeping, ask a new.
Decrepit Age shall read thee, and confess
Thy labours can affuage, where medicines ceafe;
Shall blefs thy words, their wounded foul's relief,
The drops that fweeten their laft dregs of life;

Shall

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

Thy even thoughts with so much plainness flow,
Their sense untutor'd Infancy may know :
Yet to fuch height is all that plainnefs wrought,
Wit may admire, and letter'd pride be taught.
Easy in words thy ftyle, in fenfe fublime,

On its bleft steps each age and fex may rise;
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 univerfal cure:
Of heavenly manna 'tis a fecond feaft;
A nation's food, and all to every tafte.

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

O fave us ftill: ftill blefs us with thy ftay:
O! want thy Heaven, till we have learnt the way:
Refufe to leave thy deftin'd charge too foon;
And, for the church's good, defer thy own.
O live; and let thy works urge out 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.

}

}

Then,