And wreaths of Jeff'mine fhed Perfumes, beneath
Th' ambrofial Incenfe of thy balmy Breath.
Ten thousand Beauties grace the rival Pair,
How fair the Chaplet, and the Nymph how fair!
But ah! too foon these fleeting Charms decay,
The fading Luftre of one haft'ning Day.
This Night fhall fee the gaudy Wreath decline,
The Roses wither, and the Lilies pine.

The Garland's Fate to thine fhall be apply'd,
'And what advance thy Form, fhall check thy Pride :
Be wife my Fair, the prefent Hour improve,
Let Joy be now, and now a waste of Love;
Each drooping Bloom fhall plead thy just Excufe,
And that which fhew'd thy Beauty, fhew its Ufe.

On a LADY'S PICTURE: To Gilfred Lawson, Efq;

S Damon Chloe's painted Form furvey'd, He figh'd, and languish'd for the jilting Shade: For Cupid taught the Artist Hand its Grace, And Venus wanton'd in the mimic Face.

Now he laments a Look fo falfly fair, And almost damns, what yet resembles her; Now he devours it, with his longing Eyes; Now fated, from the lovely Phantom flies, Yet burns to look again, yet looks again, and dies. Her iv'ry Neck his Lips prefume to kifs, And his bold Hands the fwelling Bosom press; The Swain drinks in deep Draughts of vain Defire, Melts without Heat, and burns in fancy'd Fire. Strange Pow'r of Paint! thou nice Creator art! What Love infpires, may Life itself impart. Struck with like Wounds, of old, Pygmalion pray'd, And hugg'd to Life his artificial Maid;

}

Clafp,

Clafp, new Pygmalion, clafp the feeming Charms,
Perhaps ev'n now th' enliv'ning Image warms,
Deftin'd to crown thy Joys, and revel in thy Arms:
Thy Arms which shall with Fire fo fierce invade,
That she at once fhall be, and ceafe to be a Maid.

Part of the Fourth Book of LUCAN.

Cæfar, having refolved to give Battle to Petreius and Afranius, Pompey's Lieutenants in Spain, encamped near the Enemy in the fame Field. The Behaviour of their Soldiers, at their feeing and knowing one another, is the Subject of the following Verses.

T

HEIR ancient Friends, as now they nearer drew, Prepar'd for Fight the wond'ring Soldiers knew; Brother, with Brother in unnatʼral Strife,

And the Son arm'd against the Father's Life:
Curft Civil War! then Confcience firft was felt,
And the tough Vet'ran's Heart began to melt.
Fix'd in dumb Sorrow all at once they stand,
Then wave, a Pledge of Peace, the guiltless Hand;
For Vent ten Thousand ftruggling Paffions move,
The Stings of Nature, and the Pangs of Love.
All Order broken, wide their Arms they throw,
And run, with Transport, to the longing Foe:
Here their long-loft Acquaintance Neighbours claim,
There an old Friend recalls his Comrade's Name,
Youths, who in Arts beneath one Tutor grew,
Rome rent in twain, and kindred Hofts they view.

Tears wet their impious Arms, a fond Relief,
And Kiffes, broke by Sobs, the Words of Grief;
Though yet no Blood was fpilt, each anxious Mind
With Horror thinks on what his Rage defign'd.
Ah! generous Youths, why thus, with fruitlefs Pain,
Beat ye those Breafts? why gufh thofe Eyes in vain?

Why

Why blame ye Heav'n, and charge your Guilt on Fate!
Why dread the Tyrant, whom yourfelves make great!
Bids he the Trumpet found? the Trumpet flight.
Bids he the Standards move? refuse the Fight.
Your Gen'rals, left by you, will love again,
A Son and Father, when they're private Men.
Kind Concord, Heav'nly born! whose blissful Reign
Holds this vaft Globe in one furrounding Chain,
Whofe Laws the jarring Elements control,

And knit each Atom clofe from Pole to Pole;
Soul of the World! and Love's eternal Spring!
This lucky Hour, thy Aid, fair Goddefs, bring!
This lucky Hour, ere aggravated Crimes

Heap Guilt on Guilt, and doubly ftain the Times.
No Veil henceforth for Sin, for Pardon none;
They know their Duty, now their Friends are known.
Vain Wish! from Blood fhort muft the Refpite be,
New Crimes, by Love inhanc'd, this Night fhall fee:
Such is the Will of Fate, and fuch the hard Decree.
'Twas Peace. From either Camp, now void of Fear,
The Soldiers mingling chearful Feafts prepare:
On the green Sod the friendly Bowls were crown'd,
And hafty Banquets pil'd upon the Ground:
Around the Fire they talk; one fhews his Scars,
One tells what Chance first led him to the Wars;
Their Stories o'er the tedious Night prevail,
And the mute Circle liftens to the Tale.

They own they fought, but swear they ne'er could hate,
Deny their Guilt, and lay the blame on Fate;
Their Love revives, to make them guiltier grow,
A fhort-liv'd Bleffing, but to heighten Woe.
When to Petreius firft the News was told,
The jealous Gen'ral thought his Legions fold.
Swift, with the Guards, his head-ftrong Fury drew,
From out his Camp he drives the hoftile Crew;
Cuts clasping Friends afunder with his Sword,
And ftains with Blood each hofpitable Board.

}

Then

Then thus his Wrath breaks out. Oh! loft to Fame! Oh! falfe to Pompey, and the Roman Name!

• Can ye not conquer, ye degen'rate Bands ?

• Oh! die at leaft; 'tis all that Rome demands.
What? will ye own, while ye can wield the Sword,
A rebel Standard, and ufurping Lord?

• Shall he be fu'd to take you into Place

Amongst his Slaves, and grant you equal Grace? • What? fhall my Life be begg'd? inglorious Thought! • And Life abhorr'd, on fuch Conditions bought! • The Toils we bear, my Friends, are not for Life, • Too mean a Prize in fuch a dreadful Strife; • But Peace would lead to Servitude and Shame, A fair Amusement, and a fpecious Name.

• Never had Man explor'd the iron Ore,

• Mark'd out the Trench, or rais'd the lofty Tow'r, • Ne'er had the Steed in Harness fought the Plain, • Or Fleets encounter'd on th' unftable Main;

• Were Life, were Breath, with Fame to be compar'd, Or Peace to glorious Liberty preferr❜d.

By guilty Oaths the hoftile Army bound,

• Holds faft its impious Faith, and ftands its Ground; Are you perfidious, who efpouse the Laws,

• And Traitors only in a righteous Caufe?

• Oh Shame! in vain through Nations far and wide,
• Thou call'ft the crowding Monarchs to thy Side,
Fall'n Pompey! while thy Legions here betray
Thy cheap bought Life, and treat thy Fame away.
He ended fierce. The Soldier's Rage returns,
His Blood flies upward, and his Bofom burns.
So, haply tam'd, the Tiger bears his Bands,
Lefs grimly growls, and licks his Keeper's Hands;
But if by chance he taftes forbidden Gore,
He yells amain, and makes his Dungeon roar.
He glares, he foams, he aims a desp'rate Bound,
And his pale Mafter flies the dangerous Ground.
Now Deeds are done, which Man might charge aright
On ftubborn Fate, or undifcerning Night,

Had

Had not their Guilt the lawless Soldiers known,
And made the whole Malignity their own.

The Beds, the plenteous Tables float with Gore,
And Breafts are ftabb'd, that were embrac'd before:
Pity awhile their Hands from Slaughter kept,
Inward they groan'd, and, as they drew, they wept,
But ev'ry Blow their wav'ring Rage affures,
In Murder hardens, and to Blood inures.

Crowds charge on Crowds, nor Friends their Friends defcry,
But Sires by Sons, and Sons by Fathers die.
Black, monftrous Rage! each, with victorious Cries,
Drags his flain Friend before the Gen'ral's Eyes,
Exults in Guilt, that throws the only Shame
On Pompey's Cause, and blots the Roman Name,

THE