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ADVERTISEMENT.

These Three Volumes, with the Tatlers, Spectators,

SpeEtators, Guardians, Freeholder, and Remarks on several Parts of Italy, complete Mr. Addison's Works in Twelves.

BOOL LIBR

6- OCT 1916

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- quoniam hæc Ratio plerumque videtur
Triftior esse, quibus non eft tractata, retroque
Volgus abhorret ab hac: volui tibi fuaviloquenti
Carmine Pierio rationem exponere noftram,
Et quasi mufæo dulci contingere melle,
Si tibi forte animum tali ratione tenerem.

LUCRETI U s.

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SEE

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EE the wild waste of all-devouring years!

How Rome her own fad fepulchre appears:
With nodding arches, broken temples spread !
The very tombs now vanish'd like their dead!
Some felt the silent stroke of mould'ring age;
Some, hostile fury; fome, religious rage :
Barbarian blindness, Christian zealc onspire,
And Papal piety, and Gothic fire.
Perhaps by its own ruins fav'd from flame,
Some bury'd marble half preserves a Name;
That name, the learn’dwith fierce disputes pursue,
And give to Titus old Vefpafian's due.

Ambition figh’d. She found it vain to trust
The faithless Column, and the crumbling Bust;

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Huge

Huge Moles whose shadow ftretch'd from shore

to shore,
Their ruins perish'd, and their place no more !
Convinc'd, she now contracts her vast defign;
And all her triumphs shrink into a Coin.
A narrow orb each crowded conquest keeps:
Beneath her Palm here fad Judea weeps,
Now scantier limits the proud Arch confine,
And scarce are seen the proftrate Nile and Rhine:
A small Euphrates thro' the piece is rolld;
And little Eagles wave their wings in Gold.

The Medal, faithful to its charge of fame,
Thro’climes and ages bears each form and name:
In one short view, subjected to our eye,
Gods, Emp'rors, Heroes, Sages, Beauties lie.
With Tharpen'd fight pale Antiquaries pore,
Th’ Inscription value, but the Ruft adore :
This, the Blue varnish, that, the Green endears,
The sacred Rust of twice ten hundred years.
To gain Pescennius one employs his schemes;
One grafps a Cecrops in extatic dreams:
Poor Vadius, long with learned spleen devour'd,
Can taste no pleasure since his Shield was fcour’d;
And Curio, restless by the fair one's side,
Sighs for an Otho, and neglects his Bride.

Theirs is the Vanity, the Learniņg thine,
Touch'd by thy hand, again Rome's glories shine :
Her Gods, and godlike Heroes rise to view,
And all her faded Garlands bloom anew.
Nor blush, those studies thy regard engage:
'These pleas'd the Fathers of poetic rage;
The Vcrfe and Sculpture bore an equal part,
And Art reflected images to Art.

Oh when shall Britain, conscious of her claim,
Stand omulous of Greek and Roman far, e?

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