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This speaks thy glory, noble friend !
And British language does commend :
For here, Lucretius whole we find,
His words, his music, and his mind,
Thy art has to our country brought
All that he writ, and all he thought.
Ovid translated, Virgil too,
Shew'd long since what our tongue could do :
Nor Lucan we, nor Horace spar'd;
Only Lucretius was too hard.
Lucretius, like a Fort, did stand
Untouch'd; till your victorious hand
Did from his head this garland bear,
Which now ypon your own you wear. :
A garland! made of such new bays,
And sought in such untrodden ways;
As no man's temples e’er did crown,
Save this great author's, and your own.

To his worthy Friend Sir THOMAS HIGGONS, Upon his Translation of the VENETIAN TRIUMPH,


HE *.winged lion’s not so fierce in fight,

As Liberi's hand presents him to our fight:
Nor would his pencil make him half fo fierce,
Or roar so loud, as Businello's verse :

translation does all three excel, The fight, the piece, and lofty Businel.

* The Arms of Venice,

As their small gallies may not hold compare
With our tall fhips, whose fails employ more air:
So does th' Italian to your genius veil,
Mov'd with a fuller and a nobler gale.
Thus, while your Muse spreads the Venetian story,
You make all Europe emulate her glory:
You make them blush, weak Venice should defend
The cause of heaven, while they for words contend;
Shed Christian blood, and populous cities rase,
Because they're taught to use some different phrase.
If, listening to your charms, we could our jars
Compose, and on the Turk discharge these wars ;
Our British arms the sacred tomb might wrest
From Pagan hands, and triumph o’er the east :
And then you might our own high deeds recite,
And with great Tasso celebrate the fight.

* VERSES TO DR. GEORGE ROGERS, On his taking the Degree of Doctor in Physic

at Padua, in the Year 1664.

WHEN as of old the earth's bold children ftrove,

With hills on hills, to scale the throne of Jove; Pallas and Mars stood by their sovereign's fide, And their bright arms in his defence employ'd :


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* This little Poem (first inserted among Waller's Works in 1772) was printed, together with several others on the same occasion, by Dr. Rogers, along

While the wise Phæbus, Hermes, and the rest,
Whoʻjoy in peace, and love the Muses best,
Descending from their so diftemper'd seat,
Our groves and meadows chofe for their retreat.
There first Apollo try'd the various use
Of herbs, and learn’d the virtues of their juice,
And fram'd that Art, to which who can pretend
A juster title than our noble Freind;
Whom the like tempest drives from his abode,
And like employment entertains abroad?
This crowns him here; and in the bays so earn’d,
His country's honour is no less concern'd;
Since it appears not all the English rave,
To ruin bent: fome study how to fave;
And as Hippocrates did once extend
His facred art, whole cities to amend;
So we, brave Freind, suppose that thy great skill,
Thy gentle mind, and fair example, will,
At thy return, reclaim our frantic ifle,
Their spirits calm, and peace again shall smile.

EDM. WALLER, Anglus.

with his inaugural exercise at Padua; and afterwards in the same manner re-published by him at London, together with his Harveian Oration before the College of Physicians, in the year 1682, while Mr. Waller was yet living. Though the above verses were first printed in 1664, they seem to have been written before the Restoration, as appears from the lines towards the conclufion. STOCKDALE.


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Made to a Sarà band.


YLAS, oh Hylas! why sit we mute,

Now that cach bird faluteth the spring?


the sacken'd strings of thy lute,
Never canst thou want matter to fing:
For love thy breast does fill with such a fire,
That whatsoe'er is fair moves thy desire.


Sweetest! you

know, the sweetest of things Of various flowers the bees do compose : Yet no particular taste it brings

Of violet, woodbine, pink, or rose :
So, love the result is of all the graces
Which flow from a thousand several faces.

Hylas! the birds which chaunt in this grove,

Could we-but know the language they use,
They would instruct us better in love,

And reprehend thy inconstant Muse:
For love their breasts does fill with such a fire,
That what they once do chuse, bounds their desire.


Chloris! this change the birds do approve,

Which the warm season hither does bring: Time from yourself does further remove

You, than the winter from the gay spring:


She that like lightning shin'd while her face lasted, The oak now resembles which lightning hath blasted.

In Answer of Sir John SUCKLING's Verses.

STAY bere, fond youth, and aske no more; be wise,
Knowing too much, long since loft Paradise.

And, by your knowledge, we should be bereft
Of all that Paradise which yet is left.

. CO N.
The virtuous joys thou hast, thou would it should Rill
Last in their pride: and wouldst not take it ill
If rudely, from sweet dreams, and for a toy,
Thou wak’d? he wakes himself that does enjoy.

How can the joy, or hope, which you

Be styled virtuous, and the end not so ?
Talk in your sleep, and shadows still admire !
'Tis true, he wakes that feels this real fire;
But---to sleep better: for whoe’er drinks deep
Of this Nepenthe, rocks himfelf asleep.

Fruition adds no new wealth, but destroys;
And while it pleaseth much, yet fill it cloys.
Who thinks he should be happier made for that,
As reasonably might bope he migbt grow fat
By eating to a surfeit: this once past,
What relifbes? eu'n kifes lose their taste.


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