Purg'd from their drofs, the nobler parts refine,
Receive new forms, and with fresh beauties fhine.
Thus fluid parts, unknowing how to burn,
With cold congeal'd, to solid metals turn:
For metals only from devouring flame
Preferve their beauty, and return the fame ;
Both art and force the well-wrought mass disdains,
And 'midit the fire its native form retains.
Or whether by creation first they sprung,
When yet unpois'd the world's great fabric hung :
Metals the bafis of the earth were made,

The bars on which its fix'd foundation 's laid :
All fecond caufes they difdain to own,
And from th' Almighty's Fiat fprung alone.
Nature in fpecious beds preserves her store,
And keeps unmix'd the well-compacted ore;
The fpreading root a numerous race maintains
Of branching limbs, and far-extended veins :
Thus, from its watery store, a spring supplies
The leffer ftreams that round its fountain rife;
Which bounding out in fair meanders play,
And o'er the meads in different currents ftray.
Methinks I fee the rounded metal spread,
To be ennobled with our monarch's head:
About the globe th' admired coin shall run,
And make the circle of its parent fun.

How are thy realms, triumphant Britain, bleft!
Enrich'd with more than all the diftant weft!
Thy fons, no more betray'd with hopes of gain,
Shall tempt the dangers of a faithless main,

Traffic

Traffic no more abroad for foreign spoil,
Supplied with richer from their native foil.
To Dovey's flood fhall numerous traders come,
Employ'd to fetch the British bullion home,
Το pay their tributes to its bounteous fhore,
Returning laden with the Cambrian ore.
Her abfent fleet Potofi's race fhall mourn,
And wish in vain to see our fails return;
Like mifers heaping up their useless store,
Starv'd with their wealth, amidft their riches poor.
Where-e'er the British banners are difplay'd,
The fuppliant nations fhall implore our aid:
Till, thus compell'd, the greater worlds confefs
Themselves oblig'd, and fuccour'd by the lefs.

How Cambria's mines were to her offspring known, Thus facred verfe tranfmits the story down:

Merlin, a bard of the infpired train,

With myftic numbers charm'd the British plain;
Belov'd by Phoebus, and the tuneful Nine,

His fong was facred, and his art divine :

As on Sabrina's fruitful banks he flood,

His wondrous verfe reftrain'd the liftening flood;
The stream's bright Goddess rais'd her awful head,
And to her cave the artful fhepherd led.
Her fwift-defcending fteps the youth pursues,
And rich in ore the fpacious mountain views.
In beds distinct the well rang'd metals lay,
Difperfing rays, and counterfeiting day.
The filver, shedding beams of orient light,
Struck with too fierce a glare his aking fight;

Like rifing flames the ruddy copper fhow'd,
And spread its blushes o'er the dark abode :
Profufe of rays, and with unrival'd beams,
The liquid filver flow'd in reftless streams :
Nor India's fparkling gems are half so bright,
Nor waves above, that shine with heavenly light;
When thus the Goddefs fpake: Harmonious Youth,
Rever'd for numbers fraught with facred truth!
Belov'd by heaven! attend while I relate

The fix'd decree, and dark events of fate.
Conceal'd these treafures lie in Nature's womb,
For future times, and ages yet to come.
When many long revolving years are run,
A hero fhall afcend the British throne,
Whofe numerous triumphs fhall Augufta grace,
In arms renown'd, ador'd for plenteous peace.
Beneath his fway a génerous youth shall rise,
With virtues bleft, in happy councils wife;
Rich with the spoils of Learning's various store,
Commanding arts, yet ftill acquiring more.
He, with fuccefs, fhall enter this abode,
And nature trace in paths before untrod;
The fmiling offspring from her womb remove,
And with her entrails glad the realms above.

O youth, referv'd by more aufpicious fate,
With fam'd improvements to oblige the state!
By wars impoverish'd, Albion mourns no more,
Thy well-wrought mines forbid her to be poor
The earth, thy great exchequer, ready lies,
Which all defect of failing funds fupplies;

Thou

Thou shalt a nation's preffing wants relieve,

Not war can lavish more than thou canst give.
This, Mackworth, fixes thy immortal name,
The Mufe's darling, and the boaft of fame ;
No greater virtues on record fhall stand,

Than thus with arts to grace, with wealth enrich the land.

Dd4

OVID'S

Now

OW Io Pæan fing! now wreaths prepare!
And with repeated Ios fill the air:
The prey is fall'n in my fuccefsful toils,
My artful nets inclose the lovely spoils :
My numbers now, ye fmiling lovers, crown,
And make your poet deathless in renown :
With lafting fame my verfe fhall be inroll'd,
And I peferr'd to all the Bards of old.
Thus Paris from the warlike Spartans bore
Their ravish'd bride; to Ida's distant shore
Victorius Pelops thus in triumph drove

The vanquish'd maid, and thus enjoy'd his love.
Stay, eager youth! your bark 's but under fail
The distant port requires a profperous gale.
'Tis not enough the yielding beauty 's found,
And with my aid your artful paffion crown'd;

The FIRST Book of Ovid's "Art of Love," is printed in this Collection, among the poems of Mr. DRYDEN; the THIRD, among thofe of Mr. CoNGREVE. Mr. POPE's hand-writing enables us to ascribe the SECOND to Dr. YALDEN. N.

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