INCE thou wouldst needs (bewitch'd with some ill charms!)
Be bury'd in thofe monumental arms;
All we can wish, is—May that earth lie light
Upon thy tender limbs! and fo good night!
On a Painted LADY with il Teeth.
'ERE men fo dull they could not fee
That Lycé painted; fhould they flee,
Like fimple birds, into a net,
So grofsly woven, and ill-fet?
Her own teeth would undo the knot,
And let all go that she had got.
Those teeth fair Lycé must not show,
If she would bite: her lovers, though
Like birds they stoop at feeming grapes,
Are difabus'd when firft fhe gapes :
The rotten bones difcover'd there,
Shew 'tis a painted fepulchre.
EPIGRAM UPON THE GOLDEN MEDAL.
UR guard upon the royal fide!
Un the reverfe, our beauty's pride!
Here we difcern the frown and fimile;
The force and glory of our Ifle.
In the rich Medal, both fo like
Immortals ftand, it feems antique;
Carv'd by fome mafter, when the bold
Greeks made their Jove descend in gold;
And Danaë wondering at that shower,
Which, falling, storm'd her brazen tower.
Britannia there, the Fort in vain
Had batter'd been with golden rain :
Thunder itself had fail'd to pass;
Virtue 's a ftronger guard than brass.
Written on a Card that her * MAJESTY tore at OMBRE.
HE cards you tear in value rise;
So do the wounded by your eyes.
Who to celestial things afpire,
Are by that paffion rais'd the higher.
To Mr. GRANVILLE, (afterwards Lord LANSDOWN) on his Verses to K. JAMES II.
AN early plant! which fuch a blossom bears,
And fhews a genius fo beyond his years;
A judgment that could make so fair a choice;
So high a subject, to employ his voice:
Still as it grows, how sweetly will he fing
The growing greatness of our matchless King!
LONG AND SHORT LIFE.
IRCLES are prais'd, not that abound
In largeness, but th' exactly round:
So, life we praise, that does excel
Not in much time, but acting well.
TRANSLATED OUT OF SPANISH.
HOUGH we may seem importunate,
While your compaffion we implore :
They, whom you make too fortunate,
May with presumption vex you more.
TRANSLATED OUT OF FRENCH.
ADE, flowers, fade; nature will have it fo
'Tis but what we muft in our autumn do!
And, as your leaves lie quiet on the ground,
The lofs alone by those that lov'd them found:
So, in the grave, fhall we as quiet lie;
Mifs'd by fome few that lov'd our company.
But fome fo like to thorns and nettles live,
That none for them can, when they perish, grieve.
Some VERSES of an imperfect COPY,
Defigned for a Friend,
On his Tranflation of OVID'S FASTI.
OME's holy days you tell, as if a guest
With the old Romans you were wont to feaft. Numa's religion, by themselves believ'd,
Excels the true, only in fhew receiv'd.
They made the nations round about them bow,
With their Dictators taken from the plough :
Such power has justice, faith, and honesty!
The world was conquer'd by morality.
Seeming devotion does but gild a knave,
That's neither faithful, honeft, juft, nor brave a
But, where religion does with virtue join,
It makes a Hero like an Angel shine.
On the STATUE of King CHARLES the FIRST, at CHARING-CROSS.
HAT the First Charles does here in triumph ride
See his Son reign, where he a Martyr dy'd ;
And people pay that reverence, as they pass,
(Which then he wanted!) to the facred brass;
Is not th' effect of gratitude alone,
To which we owe the ftatue and the ftone.
But Heaven this lasting monument has wrought,
That mortals may eternally be taught,
Rebellion, though fuccessful, is but vain;
And Kings fo kill'd rife conquerors again.
This truth the royal image does proclaim,
Loud as the trumpet of furviving Fame.
OT the brave Macedonian Youth alone; But bafe Caligula, when on the throne, Boundless in power, would make himself a God; As if the world depended on his nod.
The Syrian King to beafts was headlong thrown,
Ere to himself he could be mortal known.
The meaneft wretch, if Heaven should give him line,
Would never stop, till he were thought divine :
All might within difcern the ferpent's pride,
If from ourselves nothing ourselves did hide.
Let the proud peacock his gay feathers spread,
And woo the female to his painted bed :
Let winds and feas together rage and fwell:
This nature teaches, and becomes them well.
Pride was not made for men: a conscious fenfe
Of guilt and folly, and their confequence,
Destroys the claim: and to beholders tells,
Here nothing, but the shape of manhood, dwells.
* Alexander.
+ Nebuchadnezzar,
‡ Ecclus. x. 18.
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