Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies,
The tufted crow-to , and pale jessamjue,
The white pink, and the pansy freak'd with jet,
The glowing violet,

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

To strew the laureat herse where Lycid lies.
For, so to interpose a little ease,
Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise.
Ay me! Whilst thee the shores and sounding seas
Wash far away, where'er thy bones are hurld, 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,

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, O ye Dolphins, waft the hapless youth.

Weep no more, woful Shepherds, weep no more, 165
For Lycidas your sorrow is not dead,
Sunk though he be beneath the wat'ry floor;)
So sinks the in the ocean bed,
And yet anon repairs his drooping head,
And tricks bis beams, and with new spangled ore 176
Flames in the forehead of the morning sky:
So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high,
Through the dear might of him that walk'd the

Where, other groves and other streams along,
With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves,


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160. “The fable of Bellerus old,&c. the Bellerian promontory, or Land's end in Cornwall, near which is Mount St. Michael, a fortress on a rock, named from a supposed vision or apparition of St. Michaela

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

Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and rills
While the still morn went out with sandals grey;
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.


On the new Forcers of Conscience under the

BECAUSE you have thrown off your prelate lord,

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

From them whose sin ye envied, not abhorrd;
Dare ye for this adjure the civil sword

5 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 so the Parliament 15 May, with their wholesome and preventive shears, 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. 20

THE FIFTH ODE OF HORACE, Lib. I. Quis multa gracilis te puer in rosa....rendered almost word for word without rhyme, according to the Latin

measure, as near as the language will permit. WHAT slender youth, bedew'd with liquid odourg 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
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

10 Hopes thee, of flattering gales

Unmindful. Hapless they
To whom thou untry'd seem'st 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.



O NIGHTINGALE, that on yon bloomy spray

Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still;
Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill,

While the jolly hours lead on propitious May.
Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day,

First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill,
Portend success in lore; O if Jove's will

Have link'd that amorous power to thy soft lay,
Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate

Foretel my hopeless doom in some grove nigh; 30

As thou from year to year bast sung too late
For my relief, yet hadst no reason why:

Whether the Muse, or Love, call thee his mate,
Both them I serve, and of their train am I.

DONNA leggiadra, il cui bel none honora

L'herbosa val di Rheno, e il nobil varco;
Bene è colui d'ogni valore scarvo,

Qual tuo spirto gentil non innamora; che dolcemente mostra si di fuora

De sui atti soavi giamai parco,
E i don', che son d'amor saette ed arco,

La onde lo alta tua virtu s'infiora.
Quando tu vaga parli, o lieta canti

Che mover possa duro alpestre legno,

Guardi ciascun a gli occhi, ed a gli orecchi
L'entrata, chi di te si trouva indegno;

Gratia sola di su gli vaglia, inauti
Che'l disio amoroso al cuor s'invecchi.


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