ON BISHOP ATTERBURY'S

Burying the Duke of Buckingham, 1721,

HAVE no hopes, the Duke he fays, and dies.
In fure and certain hopes-the prelate cries:
Of these two learned peers, I pr'ythee fay, man,
Who is the lying knave, the priest or layman?
The Duke he stands an infidel confeft:

He's our dear brother, quoth the lordly Prieft.
The Duke, tho' knave, ftill brother dear he cries,
And who can fay the rev'rend Prelate lies?

ON A PICTURE OF SENECA

DYING IN A BATH,

BY JORDAIN.

At the Right Honourable

THE EARL OF EXETER'S, AT BURLEIGH HOUSE.

WHILE cruel Nero only drains

The moral Spaniard's ebbing veins,
By ftudy worn, and flack with age,
How dull, how thoughtless is his rage?
Heighten'd revenge he should have took ;
He should have burnt his tutor's book.
And long have reign'd fupreme in vice;
One nobler wretch can only rife;
'Tis he whofe fury fhall deface
The Stoic's image in this piece;
For while unhurt, divine Jordain,
Thy work and Seneca's remain,
He ftill has body, ftill has foul,

And lives and speaks, restor'd and whole.

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A

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SEEING THE

DUKE OF ORMOND'S PICTURE

At Sir Godfrey Kneller's.

UT from the injur'd canvas, Kneller, ftrike

Ο These lines, too faint; the picture is not like.

Exalt thy thought, and try thy toil again :
Dreadful in arms, on Landen's glorious plain
Place Ormond's Duke: impendent in the air
Let his keen fabre, comet-like, appear,
Where'er it points denouncing death: below
Draw routed fquadrons, and the num'rous foe
Falling beneath, or flying from his blow;

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Till weak with wounds, and cover'd o'er with blood, 10
Which from the patriot's breast in torrents flow'd,
He faints his fteed no longer hears the rein,
But ftumbles o'er the heap his hand had flain.
And now exhausted, bleeding, pale he lies,
Lovely, fad object! in his half-clos'd eyes
Stern Vengeance yet and hoftile Terror stand:
His front yet threatens, and his frowns command.
The Gallic chiefs their troops around him call,
Fear to approach him, tho' they fee him fall.
O Kneller! could thy fhades and lights exprefs 20
The perfect hero in that glorious drefs,
Ages to come might Ormond's picture know,
And palms for thee beneath his laurels grow;
In fpite of time thy work might ever shine,
Nor Homer's colours laft fo long as thine.

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UPON THIS

PASSAGE IN SCALIGERIANA.

Les allemans ne ce foucient pas quel vin ils boivent pouveu que ce foit vin, ni quel Latin ils parlent pouveu que ce foit Latin.

WHEN you with High-Dutch Heeren dine,

Expect falfe Latin and ftum'd wine;

They never talte who always drink ;
They always talk who never think.

I,

ON MY BIRTH-DAY,

July 21.

MY dear, was born to-day,
So all my jolly comrades fay;

They bring me mufic, wreaths, and mirth,
And ask to celebrate
my birth.

Little, alas! my comrades know
That I was born to pain and woe.
To thy denial, to thy scorn,
Better I had ne'er been born:
I wish to die e'en whilst I say,
I, my dear, was born to-day.

II.
I, my dear, was born to-day;
Shall I falute the rising ray?
Wellfpring of all my joy and woe,
Clotilda, thou alone doít know:
Shall the wreath furround my hair?
Or fhall the mufic pleafe my ear?
Shall I my comrade's mirth receive,
And bless my birth, and wish to live?
Then let me fee great Venus chafe
Imperious anger from thy face;
Then let me hear thee fmiling fay,
Thou, my dear, wert born to-day.
VOL. II.

Ε

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LOVE DISARMED. ·

ENEATH a myrtle's verdant shade,
As Cloe half aileep was laid,
Cupid perch'd lightly on her breaft,
And in that heav'n defir'd to reft;
Over her paps his wings he spread,
Between he found a downy bed,
And nestled in his little head.

Still lay the god: the nymph, furpris'd,
Yet mistress of herself, devis'd
How the the vagrant might enthral,
And captive him who captives all.
Her bodice half way the unlac'd,
About his arms fhe flily caft
The filken bond, and held him faft.

The god awak'd, and thrice in vain
He ftrove to break the cruel chain;
And thrice in vain he shook his wing,
Incumber'd in the filken string.

Flutt'ring, the god, and weeping, faid,
Pity poor Cupid, gen'rous maid,
Who happen'd, being blind, to stray,
And on thy bosom loft his way;
Who ftray'd, alas! but knew too well
He never there must hope to dwell.
Set an unhappy pris'ner free
Who ne'er intended harm to thee.
To me pertains not, the replies,

To know or care where Cupid flies;
What are his haunts, or which his way,
Where he would dwell, or whither stray;
Yet will I never fet thee free,

For harm was meant, and harm to me.
Vain fears that vex thy virgin heart!

I'll give thee up my bow and dart,
Untangle but this cruel chain,
And freely let me fly again.

Agreed: fecure my virgin heart;
Inftant give up thy bow and dart;
The chain I'll in return untie,
And freely thou again fhalt fly.
Thus fhe the captive did deliver;

The captive thus gave up his quiver.
The god, difarm'd, e'er fince that day
Paffes his life in harmless play;

Flies round, or fits upon her breast,
A little flutt'ring idle gueft.

E'er fince that day the beauteous maid
Governs the world in Cupid's ftead,
Directs his arrows as the wills,

Gives grief or pleafure, fpares or kills.

A LOVER'S ANGER.

S Cloe came into the room the other day,

In your lifetime you never regarded your hour; You promis'd at two, and (pray look Child) 'tis four. A lady's watch needs neither figures nor wheels, 'Tis enough that 'tis loaded with baubles and feals. temper fo heedlefs no mortal can bear

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Thus far I went on with a refolute air.

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Lord blefs me! faid she, let a body but speak;
Here's an ugly hard rofe-bud fall'n into my neck; 10
It has hurt me and vext me to fuch a degree-
See here, for you never believe me; pray fee,
On the left fide my breaft, what a mark it has made.
So faying, her bofom fhe careless difplay'd :
That feat of delight I with wonder furvey'd,
And forgot ev'ry word I defign'd to have faid

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