II.

Nor widows tears, nor tender orphans cries,
Can ftop th' invader's force;

Nor fwelling feas, nor threatening skies,
Prevent the pirate's course :

Their lives to selfish ends decreed,
Through blood or rapine they proceed ;
No anxious thoughts of ill repute
Sufpend th' impetuous and unjust pursuit :
But power and wealth obtain'd, guilty and great,
Their fellow-creatures fears they raife, or urge their hate.
III.

But not for thefe his ivory lyre
Will tuneful Phoebus ftring,

Nor Polyhymnia crown'd amid the choir,
Th' immortal epode fing.

Thy fprings, Caftalia, turn their streams afide
From rapine, avarice, and pride;
Nor do thy greens, fhady Aonia, grow,
To bind with wreaths a tyrant's brow.

I.

How juft, moft mighty Jove, yet how fevere
Is thy fupreme decree,

That impious men fhall joylefs hear

The Mufes' harmony!

Their facred fongs, (the recompence
Of virtue and of innocence)

Which pious minds to rapture raife,

And worthy deeds at once excite and praise,

To guilty hearts afford no kind relief;

But add inflaming rage, and more afflicting grief.

II.

Monftrous Typhoeus, thus, new terrors fill,
He, who affail'd the skies,

And now, beneath the burning hill
Of dreadful Etna lies.
Hearing the lyre's celeftial found,
He bellows in th' abyfs profound;
Sicilia trembles at his roar,

Tremble the feas, and far Campania's fhore;
While all his hundred mouths, at once respire
Volumes of curling fmoke, and floods of liquid fire.

III.

From heaven alone all good proceeds;

To heavenly minds belong

All power and love, Godolphin, of good deeds,
And fenfe of facred fong!

And thus most pleasing are the Mufe's lays
To them who merit most her praise;
Wherefore, for thee, her ivory lyre fhe ftrings,
And foars with rapture while fhe fings.

I.

Whether affairs of moft important weight
Require thy aiding hand,

And Anna's caufe and Europa's fate
Thy ferious thoughts demand;
Whether thy days and nights are spent
In cares, on public good intent;

Or

1

Or whether leifure hours invite

To manly fports, or to refin'd delight;
In courts refiding, or to plains retir'd,

Where generous fteeds conteft, with emulation fir'd!

11.

Thee ftill fhe feeks, and tuneful fings thy name,
As once the Theron fung,

While with the deathlefs worthy's fame
Olympian Pifa rung :

Nor lefs fublime is now her choice,

Nor lefs infpir'd by thee her voice.

And now fhe loves aloft to found

The man for more than mortal deeds renown'd; Varying anon her theme, fhe takes delight The fwift-heel'd horfe to praife, and fing his rapid flight.

III.

And fee! the air-born racers start,

Impatient of the rein;

Fafter they run than flies the Scithian dart,
Nor, paffing, print the plain!

The winds themselves, who with their swiftness vie,

In vain their airy pinions ply;

So far in matchlefs speed thy courfers pafs

Th' ætherial authors of their race.

I.

And now a while the well-ftrain'd courfers breathe; And now, my Mufe, prepare

Of olive leaves a twifted wreath

To bind the victor's hair.

Pallas, in care of human-kind,

The fruitful olive first design'd;

Deep in the glebe her fpear fhe lanc'd, When all at once the laden boughs advanc'd : The Gods with wonder view'd the teeming earth, And all, with one confent, approv'd the beauteous birth.

II.

This done, earth-fhaking Neptune next essay'd,
In bounty to the world,

To emulate the blue-ey'd maid;
And his huge trident hurl'd

Against the founding beach; the ftroke
Transfix'd the globe, and open broke

The central earth, whence, fwift as light,
Forth rush'd the first-born horfe. Stupendous fight!
Neptune for human good the beast ordains,
Whom foon he tam'd to use, and taught to bear the reins.

III.

Thus gods contended (noble strife,

Worthy the heavenly mind!)

Who moft fhould do to foften anxious life,

And moft endear mankind.

Thus, thou, Godolphin, doft with Marlborough ftrive, From whofe joint toils we reft derive:

Triumph in wars abroad his arm affures,

Sweet Peace at home thy care fecures.

AN

From La Fontaine; an author, Dick,
Whose Muse would touch thee to the quick.
The subject is of that fame kind,

To which thy heart seems most inclin'd:
How verse may alter it, God knows,
Thou lov'ft it well, I'm fure, in prose,
So, without preface, or pretence,
To hold thee longer in fufpence,
I fhall proceed, as I am able,
To the recital of my fable.

A goblin of the merry kind,

More black of hue, than curft of mind,
To help a lover in distress,

Contriv'd a charm with fuch fuccefs,
That in fhort space the cruel dame
Relented, and return'd his flame.
The bargain, made betwixt them both,
Was bound by honour and by oath :
The lover laid down his falvation,
And Satan stak'd his reputation.

The