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And

Thou mak'st the beauties of the Romans known,

of riches not her own :
Thy lines have heighten'd Virgil's majesty,
And Horace wonders at himself in thee.
Thou teachest Persius to inform our isle
In smoother numbers, and a clearer style :
And Juvenal, instructed in thy page,
Edges his fatire, and improves his rage.
Thy copy casts a fairer light on all,
And still outshines the bright original.

Now Ovid boasts th' advantage of thy fung,
And tells his story in the British tongue;
Thy charming verse, and fair translations Show
How thy own laurel first began to grow;
How wild Lycaon, chang’d by angry Gods,
And frighted at himself, ran howling thro' the woods.

O may'st thou still the noble tale prolong, Nor age, nor sickness interrupt thy song : Then may we wondering read, how human limbs Have water'd kingdoms, and dissolv'd in streams, Of those rich fruits that on the fertile mould Turn’d yellow by degrees, and ripen d into gold : How some in feathers, or a ragged hide, Have liv'd a second life, and different natures try'd. Then will thy Ovid, thus transform’d, reveal A nobler change than he himself can tell. Mag. Coll. Oxon. June 2, 1693.

From

B 3

From Mr. ADDISON'S Account of the

ENGLISH POET S.

BY

UT see where artfui Dryden next appears,

Grown old in rhyme, but charming ev’n in years. Great Dryden next! whose tuneful muse affords The sweetest numbers and the fitteit words. Whether in comic founds, or tragic airs, She forms her voice, the moves our smiles and tears. If fatire or heroic strains the writes, Her hero pleases, and her fatire bites. From her no harsh, unartful numbers fall, She wears all dresses, and she charins in all : How might we fear our English poetry, That long has flourish’d, should decay in thee; Did not the Muses' other hope appear, Harmonious Congreve, and forbid our fear! Congreve ! whose fancy's unexhausted store Has given already much, and promis’d more. Congreve shall still preserve thy fame alive, And Dryden's inuse shall in his friend survive,

On

On ALEXANDER'S FEAST: Or, The

Power of Musick. An ODE.

From Mr Pope's Essay on Criticism, 1. 376.

HEAR how Timotheus vary d lays furprize,

And bid alternate paffions fall and rise !
While, at each change, the son of Libyan Jove
Now burns with glory, and then melts with love;
Now his fierce eyes with sparkling fury glow,
Now fighs steal out, and tears begin to flow.
Persians and Greeks like turns of nature found,
And the world's victor stood subdued by sound.
The power of Musick all our hearts allow,
And what Timotheus was is Dryden now.

CHARACTER of DRYDEN,

From an ODE of GR A Y'S.

BE
Ehold, where Dryden's less presumptuous car,

Wide o'er the fields of glory bear :
Two coursers of ethereal race,
With necks in thunder cloath'd, and long-resounding pace.
Hark, his hands the lyre explore !
Bright-ey'd Fancy hovering o’er,
Scatters from her pictur'd urn,
Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.
But, ah! 'tis heard no more-

Oh! lyre divine, what daring spirit
Wakes thee now? though he inherit
Nor the pride, nor ample pinion,
That the Theban eagle bear,
Sailing with supreme dominion
Through the azure deep of air :
Yet oft before his infant

eyes

would run Such forms, as glitter in the Muse’s ray With orient hues, unborrow'd of the sun : Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate Beneath the good how far-but far above the great.

MR.

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M

AUST noble Hastings immaturely die,

The honour of his ancient family,
Beauty and learning thus together meet,
To bring a winding for a weddling sheet ?
Must virtue prove cleath's harbinger? must she,
With him expiring, feel mortality ?
Is death, sin's wages, grace's now ? shall art
Make us more learned, only to depart ?
If merit be disease; if virtue death;
To be good, not to be; who'd then bequeath
Himself to discipline ? who'd not esteem
Labour a crime? study self-murther deem ?
Our noble youth now have pretence to be
Dunces securely, ignorant healthfully.
Rare linguist whose worth speaks itself, whose praise,
Though not his own, all tongues beides do raise :
Than whom great Alexander may seem less;
Who conquer'd men, but not their languages.
In his mouth nations spake; his tongue might be
Interpreter to Greece, France, Italy.

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