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Throw hither all your quaint enameld eyes,
That on the green turf fuck the honied showers, 140
And purple all the ground with vernal flowers.
Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies,
The tufted crow-toe, and pale jesfamine,
The white pink, and the panfy freakt with jet,
The glowing violet,

The musk-rose, and the well-attir'd woodbine,
With cowslips wan that hang the penfive head,
And every flower that fad embroidery wears :
Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed,
And daffadillies fill their cups with tears,

150 To strow the laureat herse where Lycid lies. For fo to interpose a little ease, Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise. Ay me! Whilst thee the shores, and sounding feas Wash far away, where'er thy bones are hurl'd,

155 Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides, Where thou perhaps under the whelming tide Visit'st the bottom of the monstrous world; Or whether thou, to our moist vows deny'd, Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus old,

160 Where the great vision of the guarded mount Looks tow'ard Namancos and Bayona's hold; Look homeward Angel now, and melt with ruth: And, Oye Dolphins, waft the hapless youth.

Weep no more, woful Shepherds, weep no more, 165 For Lycidas your forrow is not dead, Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor; So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed,


And yet anon repairs his drooping head,
And tricks his beams, and with new spangled ore 170
Flames in the forehead of the morning sky:
So Lycidas funk low, but mounted high,
Through the dear might of him that walk'd the waves,
Where other groves and other streams along,
With nectar

locks he laves,

And hears the unexpressive nuptial song,
In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love.
There entertain him all the Saints above,
In folemn troops and sweet focieties,
That sing, and singing in their glory move,

180 And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes. Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more; Henceforth thou art the genius of the shore, In thy large recompense, and shalt be good To all that wander in that perilous flood.

185 Thus fang the uncouth swain to th' oaks and rills, While the still morn went out with sandals gray, He touch'd the tender stops of various quills, With eager thought warbling his Doric lay: And now the sun had stretch'd out all the hills,

190 And now was dropt into the western bay; At last he rose, and twitch'd his mantle blue : To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new.

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The Fifth ODE * of HORACE, Lib. İ.

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Quis multa gracilis te puer in rofa," Rendered almoft word for word without rhyme, ac

cording to the Latin measure, as near as the language will permit.

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HAT Nender youth bedew'd with liquid odors

Courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave,
Pyrrha ? for whom bind'st thou

In wreaths thy golden hair,
Plain in thy neatness? O how oft shall he

5 On faith and changed Gods complain, and seas

Rough with black winds and storms

Unwonted shall admire!
Who now enjoys thee credulous, all gold,
Who always vacant always amiable

Hopes thee, of flattering gales

Unmindful? Hapless they To whom thou untry'd seem'ft fair. Me in my vow'd Picture the sacred wall declares t' have hung My dank and dropping weeds

15 To the stern God of sea,


* First added in the edition of 1673.


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Horatius ex Pyrrhæ illecebris tanquam è naufragio

enataverat, cujus amore irretitos, affirmat effe mi. seros.


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UIS multa gracilis te puer in rosa

Perfusus liquidis urget odoribus,
Grato, Pyrrha, fub antro?

Cui flavam religas comam
Simplex munditiis ? heu quoties fidem
Mutatosque deos flebit, et aspera

Nigris æquora ventis

Emirabitur insolens !
Qui nunc te fruitur credulus aurea,
Qui semper vacuam semper amabilem

Sperat, nescius auræ

Fallacis ? Miseri quibus
Intentata nites. Me tabula sacer
Votiva paries indicat uvida

Suspendisse potenti
Vestimenta maris Deo.

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On the new Forcers of Conscience under the Long



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ECAUSE you have thrown off your Prelate

And with stiff vows renounc'd his Liturgy,
To seize the widow'd whore Plurality,

From them whose sin ye envied, not abhorr'd,
Dare ye for this adjure the civil sword

To force our consciences, that Christ set free,
And ride us with a classic hierarchy,

Taught ye by mere A. S. and Rotherford ?
Men whose life, learning, faith, and pure

intent, Would have been held in high esteem with Paul, 10

Must now be nam'd and printed Heretics
By shallow Edwards and Scotch what-d’ye-call:

But we do hope to find out all your tricks,
Your plots and packing, worse than those of Trent,

That fo the Parliament
May with their wholesome and preventive fhears
Clip your phylacteries, though bauk your ears,

And succour our just fears, When they shall read this clearly in your charge, New Presbyter is but Old Priest writ large.


This also was first added in the edition of 1673.


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