Before the Darts his panting fides affail,
And claps between his Legs his fhiy'ring Tail;
Conscious of the audacious bloody Deed,
As Aruns feeks his Troops ftretch'd on his fpeed,
Where in their Centre, quaking, he attends,
And skulks behind the Targets of his Friends.
She ftrives to draw the Dart, but wedg'd among
Her Ribs, deep to the Wound the Weapon clung;
Then fainting rouls in Death her clofing Eyes,
While from her Cheeks the chearful Beauty flies.
To Acca thus the breaths her laft of Breath:
Acca that fhar'd with her in all, but Death:
Ah Friend! you once have feen me draw the Bow
But Fate and Darknefs hover round me now.
Make hafte to Turnus, bid him bring with speed
His fresh Reserves, and to my Charge fucceed,
Cover the City, and repel the Foe.
Thus having faid, her Hands the Reins forego;
Down from her Horse she finks, then gafping lies
In a cold Sweat, and by degrees fhe dies:
Her drooping Neck declines upon her Breast,
Her swimming Head with Slumber is oppreft;
The lingring Soul th' unwelcome Doom receives,
And murm'ring with Difdain, the beauteous Body
leaves.
HAT ail'ft thou, oh thou trembling Thing,
To Pant and Languish in my Breaft,
Like Birds that fain wou'd try the callow Wing,
And leave the downy Neft?
Why haft thou fill'd thy felf with Thought,
Strange, new, fantaftick as the Air?
Why to thy Peaceful Empire haft thou brought
That reftlefs Tyrant, Care?
But oh! alas, I ask in vain ;
Thou answer'ft nothing back again,
But in foft Sighs Amyntor's Name.
Oh thou Betrayer of my Liberty,
Thou fond Deceiver, what's the Youth to thee!
What has he done, what has he faid,
That thus has conquer'd or betray'd?
He came and faw, but 'twas by fuch a Light
As fcarce diftinguisht Day from Night;
Such as in thick-grown Shades is found,
When here and there a piercing Beam
Scatters faint fpangl'd Sun-fhine on the Ground,
And cafts about a melancholy Gleam;
But fo obfcure, I cou'd not fee
The charming Eyes that wounded thee;
But they, like Gems, by their own Light
Betray'd their value through the Gloom of Night.
I felt thee heave at every Look,
And ftop my Language as I spoke.
I felt thy Blood fly upward to my Face,
While thou unguarded lay,
Yielding to every Word, to every Grace,.
Fond to be made a Prey.
I left thee watching in my Eyes,
And lift'ning in my Ear,
Discovering Weakness in thy Sighs,
Uneafie with thy Fear:
Suffering Imagination to deceive,
I found thee willing to believe,
And with the treacherous Shade conspire,
To let into thy felf a dangerous Fire.
Ah foolish Wanderer, fay, what would'st thou do, If thou should't find at fecond View,
That all thou fancicft now were true?
If thou should't find by Day those Charms, Which thus obferv'd threaten undoing Harms;
If thou fhould't find that awful Mien
Not the Effects of firft Addrefs,
Nor of my Converfation difesteem,
But noble native Sullennefs ;
If thou should't find that foft good-natur'd Voice (Unus'd to Infolence and Noife)
Still thus adorn'd with Modefty,
And his Mind's Virtues with his Wit agree;
Tell me, thou forward lavish Fool,
What Reafon cou'd thy Fate controul,
Or fave the Ruin of thy Soul?
Ceafe then to languifh for the coming Day,
That may direct his wand'ring Steps that way,
When I again shall the lov'd Form survey.
CATO's Answer to LABIENUS, when he advis'd him to confult the Oracle of Jupiter Ammon.
Being a Paraphraftical Translation of part of the Ninth Book of Lucan, beginning at
-Quid queri, Labiene, jubes, &c.
By Mr. WOLSELEY.
"HAT fhou'd I ask my Friend, which beft wou'd
To live inflav'd, or thus in Arms die free?
If any Force can Honour's Price abate?
Or Virtue bow beneath the Blows of Fate?
If Fortune's Threats a fteady Soul difdains?
Or if the Joys of Life be worth the Pains?
If it our Happiness at all import
Whether the foolish Scene be long or short?
If when we do but aim at noble Ends
'Th' Attempt alone immortal Fame attends?
If for bad Accidents, which thickest press
On Merit, we shou'd like a good Caufe lefs;
Or be the fonder of it for Success?
All this is clear, wove in our Minds it fticks,
Nor Ammon, nor his Priests, can deeper fix;
Without the Clergy's venial Cant and Pains
God's never-fruftrate Will holds ours in Chains,
Nor can we act but what th' All-wife ordains:
Who needs no voice, nor perishing Words, to aw
Our wild Defires, and give his Creatures Law.
Whate'er to know, or needful was or fit,
In the wife Frame of Human Souls 'tis writ;
Both what we ought to do, and what forbear,
He, once for all, did at our Births declare.
But never did he feek out Defart Lands,
To bury Truth in unfrequented Sands;
Or to a corner of the World withdrew,
Head of a Sect, and partial to a few.
Nature's vaft Fabrick is his Houfe alone, [Throne.
This Globe his Foot-ftool, and high Heav'n his
In Earth, Air, Sea, and in whoe'er excels,
In knowing Heads and honeft Hearts he dwells.
Why feek we then among these barren Sands,
In narrow Shrines, and Temples built with Hands,
Him, whofe dread Presence does all Places fill?
Or look but in our Reafon for his Will?
All we e'er faw is God! in all we find
Apparent Prints of the eternal Mind.
Let floating Fools their Courfe by Prophets fteer,
And always of the future live in fear;
No Oracle, or Dream the Croud is told,
Can make me more or less refoly'd and bold:
But furer Death, which equally on all,
Both on the Coward and the Brave muft fall,
This faid, and turning with difdain about,
He left fcorn'd Ammon to the vulgar Rout
A Letter to Sir Fleetwood Shepherd.
S once a Twelve-Month to the Priest,
A whom fome call Pope, fome Antichrift,
The Spanish King presents a Gennet,
To fhow his Love; That's all that's in it:
For if his Holiness wou'd thump
His rev'rend Bum 'gainst Horfe's Rump,
He might be equipt from his own Stable,
With one more white, and eke more able.
Or as with Gondola's and Men, his
Good Excellence, the Duke of Venice,
(I wish for Rhime 't had been the King)
Sails out, and gives the Gulph a Ring;
Which Trick of State he wifely maintains
Keeps Kindness up 'twixt old Acquaintance;
For elfe, in honeft Truth, the Sea
Has much lefs heed of Gold than he.
Or, not to Rove, and pump ones Fancy
For Popish Similes beyond Sea;
As Folks, from Mud-wall'd Tenement,
Bring Landlords Pepper-Corn for Rent,
Present a Turkey, or an Hen,
To those might better spare them Ten;
Ev'n fo, with all Submiffion, I
(For first Men inftance, then apply ;)
Send you each Year a homely Letter,
Who may return me much a better.
Then take it, Sir, as it was writ,
To pay Respect, and not show Wit;
Nor look a-skew at what it faith:
There's no Petition in it----Faith.
Here fome wou'd fcratch their Heads, and try What they fhou'd write, and how, and why:
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