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Nor need those rules to give translation light:
mand, With their own toil provoke the soldier's hand. How will sweet Ovid's ghost be pleas’d to hear His fame augmented by an English peer; 69
How he embellishes bis Helen's loves,
fand. Roscommon, whom both court and camps com
mend, True to his prince, and faithful to his friend; Roscommon, first in fields of honour known,70) First in the peaceful triumphs of the gown; Who both Minervas justly makes his own, Now let the few belov’d by Jove, and they Whom infus’d Titan form'd of better clay, On equal terms with ancient wit
engage, Nor mighty Homer fear, nos sacred Virgil's
page : Our English palace opens wide in flate ; And without stooping they may pass the gate.
Ver. 67. Mufe, feed the bull}
EPISTLE THE SIXTH.
DUTCHESS OF YORK*,
RETURN FROM SCOTLAND IN THE YEAR 1682.
WHEN fa&tious rage to cruel exile drove
queen of beauty, and the court of love, The Muses droop’d, with their forsaken arts, And the fad Cupids broke their useless darts : Our fruitful plains to wilds and desarts turn'd, 5 Like Eden's face, when banish'd man it
mourn'd. Love was no more, when loyalty was gone, The great supporter of his awful throne.
* On the twenty-first of November 1673, the duke of York was married to the princess Mary d’Efte, then about fifteen years of age, and extremely handsome. The ceremony was performed at Dover by the bishop of Oxford. It was against the rules of policy for him at that time to wed a Roman Catho. lic; and the Parliament addressed against it.
DERRICK, ? ?
Love could no longer after beauty stay,
storm, Foreslow'd her passage, to behold her form : 15 Some cry'd, A Venus; some, A Thetis paft ; But this was not so fair, nor that so chaste. Far from her fight flew Faction, Strife, and
Pride ; And Envy did but look on her, and dy'd. Whate'er we suffer'd from our fullen fate, Her fight is purchas'd at an easy rate. Three gloomy years against this day were fet; But this one mighty sum has clear'd the debt : Like Joseph's dream, but with a better doom, The famine paft, the plenty still to come. For her the weeping heavens becorne serene; For her the ground is clad in cheerful green: For her the nightingales are taught to sing, And Nature has for her delay'd the spring. The Mufe resumes her long-forgotten lays, 30 And Love restor’d his ancient realm surveys, Recals our beauties, and revives our plays ; His waste dominions peoples once again, And from her presence dates his second reign:
But awful charms on her fair forehead sit,