« VorigeDoorgaan »
Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies,
Weep no more, woful Shepherds, weep no more, 165
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,
On the new Forcers of Conscience under the
And with stiff vows renounc'd his liturgy,
From them whose sin ye envied, not abhorrd;
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,
Rough with black winds, and storms
Unwonted shall admire !
10 Hopes thee, of flattering gales
Unmindful. Hapless they
vow'd Picture, the sacred wall declares t' have hung My dank and dropping weeds
15 To the stern God of sea.
TO THE NIGHTINGALE.
Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still;
While the jolly hours lead on propitious May.
First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill,
Have link'd that amorous power to thy soft lay,
Foretel my hopeless doom in some grove nigh; 30
As thou from year to year bast sung too late
Whether the Muse, or Love, call thee his mate,
L'herbosa val di Rheno, e il nobil varco;
Qual tuo spirto gentil non innamora; che dolcemente mostra si di fuora
De sui atti soavi giamai parco,
La onde lo alta tua virtu s'infiora.
Che mover possa duro alpestre legno,
Guardi ciascun a gli occhi, ed a gli orecchi
Gratia sola di su gli vaglia, inauti