Half-drench'd in liquid Death his Pray'rs he spake,

And thus bemoan'd him from the dreadful Lake.

So pafs'd Europa thro' the rapid Sea,
Trembling and fainting all the vent'rous Way;
With oary Feet the Bull triumphant road,
And fafe in Crete depos'd his lovely Load.

Ah fafe at laft! may thus the Frog support
My trembling Limbs to reach his ample Court.

As thus he forrows, Death ambiguous grows, Lo! from the deep a Water-Hydra rofe; He rolls his fanguin'd Eyes, his Bosom heaves, And darts with active Rage along the Waves. Confus'd, the Monarch fees his hiffing Foc, And dives to fhun the fable Fates below, Forgetful Frog! The Friend thy Shoulders bore, Unskill'd in Swimming, floats remote from Shore.

He

He grafps with fruitless Hands to find Relief,

Supinely falls, and grinds his Teeth with Grief, Plunging he finks, and struggling mounts again, And finks, and strives, but strives with Fate in vain. The weighty Moisture clogs his hairy Veft,

And thus the Prince his dying Rage expreft.

As from hardRocks rebounds the shatt'ring Wrack,
Nor thou shalt 'scape thy Due, perfidious King!
Purfu'd by Vengeance on the swifteft Wing:
At Land thy Strength could never equal mine,
At Sea to conquer, and by Craft, was thine.
But Heav'n has Gods, and Gods have searchingEyes:
Ye Mice, ye Mice, my great Avengers rife!

This faid, he fighing gafp'd, and gafping dy'd.

His Death the young Lychopinax elpy'd,

As on the flow'ry Brink he pass'd the Day,
Bask'd in the Beams, and loyter'd Life away. I
Loud fhricks the Moufe, his Shrieks the Shores

.repeat;

The nibbling Nation learn their Heroe's Fate:
Grief, dismal Grief enfues; deep Murmurs found,
And fhriller Fury fills the deafen'd Ground.
From Lodge to Lodge the facred Heralds run,
To fix their Council with the rifing Sun;

Where great Troxartas crown'd in Glory reigns,
And winds his length'ning Court beneath the

Plains;

Pfycarpax Father, Father now no more!

For poor Pfycarpax lies remote from Shore;
Supine he lies! the filent Waters stand,

And no kind Billow wafts the Dead to Land!
HOMER'S

T

HOME R's

BATTEL of the FROGS, &c.

W

ВООК II.

HEN rofy-finger'd Morn had ting'd the
Clouds,

Around their Monarch-Moufe the Nation crouds,
Slow rose the Sov'reign, heav'd his anxious Breaft,
And thus, the Council fill'd with Rage, addreft,

For

For loft Pfycarpax much my Soul endures, 'Tis mine the private Grief, the publick, yours. Three warlike Sons adorn'd my nuptial Bed,

Three Sons, alas, before their Father dead!
Our Eldeft perifhed by the rav'ning Cat,
As near my Court the Prince unheedful fate.
Our next, an Engine fraught with Danger drew,
The Portal gap'd, the Bait was hung in View,
Dire Arts affift the Trap, the Fates decoy,
And Men unpitying kill'd my gallant Boy!
The laft, his Country's Hope, his Parent's Pride,
Plung'd in the Lake by Physignathus, dy’d.
Roufe all the War, my Friends! avenge the Deed,
And bleed that Monarch, and his Nation bleed.

His Words in ev'ry Breaft infpir'd Alarms, And careful Mars_fupply'd their Hoft with Arms.