This change unknown, astonish'd at the fight, My trembling fifter ftrove to urge her flight, And first the pardon of the nymphs implor'd, And those offended fylvan powers ador'd:
But when the backward would have fled, the found Her ftiffening feet were rooted in the ground: In vain to free her faften'd feet the ftrove, And, as the struggles, only moves above; She feels th' encroaching bark around her grow By quick degrees, and cover all below: Surpris'd at this, her trembling hand the heaves To rend her hair; her hand is fill'd with leaves: Where late was hair, the shooting leaves are feen To rife, and fhade her with a fudden green. The child Amphiffus, to her bofom prefs'd, Perceiv'd a colder and a harder breast,
And found the springs, that ne'er till then deny'd Their milky moisture, on a sudden dry'd. I faw, unhappy! what I now relate. And stood the helplefs witnefs of thy fate, Embrac'd thy boughs, thy rifing bark delay'd, 'There wish'd to grow, and mingle fhade with fhade.
Behold Andræmon and th' unhappy fire Appear, and for their Dryope inquire; A fpringing tree for Dryope they find, And print warm kiffes on the panting rind; Proftrate, with tears their kindred plant bedew, And clofe embrace as to the roots they grew. The face was all that now remain'd of thee, No more a woman, nor yet quite a tree; Thy branches hung with humid pearls appear, From every leaf diftils a trickling tear, And ftrait a voice, while yet a voice remains, Thus through the trembling boughs in fighs complains:
If to the wretched any faith be given, I fwear by all th' unpitying powers of heaven, No wilful crime this heavy vengeance bred; In mutual innocence our lives we led: If this be falfe, let thefe new greens decay, Let founding axes lop my limbs away, And crackling flames on all my honours prey! But from my branching arms this infant bear, Let fome kind nurfe fupply a mother's care: And to his mother let him oft be led,
Sport in her fhades, and in her fhades be fed; Teach him, when first his infant voice fhall frame Imperfect words, and lifp his mother's name, To hail this tree; and fay, with weeping eyes, Within this plant my hapless parent lies: And when in youth he feeks the fhady woods, Oh, let him fly the cryftal lakes and floods, Nor touch the fatal flowers; but, warn'd by me, Believe a goddess shrin'd in every tree. My fire, my fifter, and my spouse, farewell! If in your breafts or love or pity dwell, Protect your plant, nor let my branches feel The browfing cattle, or the piercing steel. Farewell! and fince I cannot bend to join My lips to yours, advance at least to mine. My fon, thy mother's parting kifs receive, While yet thy mother has a kifs to give. I can no more; the creeping rind invades My clofing lips, and hides my head in fhades:
Remove your hands; the bark fhall foon fuffice Without their aid to feal thefe dying eyes.
She ceas'd at once to speak, and ceas'd to be; And all the nymph was loft within the tree; Yet latent life through her new branches reign'd, And long the plant a human heat retain'd.
From Ovid's Metamorphofes, Book IV.
THE fair Pomona flourish'd in his reign; Of all the virgins of the fylvan train, None taught the trees a noble race to bear, Or more improv'd the vegetable care. To her the fhady grove, the flowery field,
The freams and fountains, no delights could yield; 'I'was all her joy the ripening fruits to tend, And fee the boughs with happy burthens bend. The hook the bore inftead of Cynthia's fpear, To lop the growth of the luxuriant year, To decent form the lawlefs fhoots to bring, And teach th' obedient branches where to fpring. Now the cleft rind inferted graffs receives, And yields an offspring more than nature gives; Now fliding freams the thirsty plants renew, And feed their fibres with reviving dew.
These cares alone her virgin breast employ, Averfe from Venus and the nuptial joy. Her private orchards, wall'd on every side, To lawiefs fylvans all accefs deny'd. How oft the Satyrs and the wanton Fawns, Who haunt the forefts, or frequent the lawns, The god whofe enfign fcares the birds of prey, And old Sivenus, youthful in decay,
Employ'd their wiles and unavailing care, To país the fences, and furprife the fair! Like thefe, Vertumuus own'd his faithful flame, Like thefe, rejected by the fcornful dame. To gain her fight a thoufar d forms he wears: And firft a reaper from the field appears, Sweating he walks, while I ads of golden grain O'ercharge the thoulders of the feeming fwain. Oft o'er his back a crooked fcythe is laid, And wreaths of hay his fun-burnt temples fhade: Oft in his harden'd hand a goad he bears, Like one who late unyoak'd the fweating fteers, Sometimes his pruning-hock corrects the vines, And the loofe ftragglers to their ranks contines. Now gathering what the bounteous years allows, He pulls ripe apples from the bending boughs. A foldier now, he with his fword appears; A fither next, his trembling angle bears. Each fhape he varies, and each art he tries, On her bright charms to feaft his longing eyes. A female form at laft Vertumnus wears, With all the marks of reverend age appears, His temples thinly fpread with filver hairs; Propp'd on his ftaff, and ftooping as he goes; A painted mitre fhades his furrow'd brows. The god in this decrepit form array'd The gardens enter'd, and the fruit furvey'd, And Happy you!" (he this address'd the maid)
Whofe charmis as far all other nymphs outshine,
"As other gardens are excell'd by thine!" Then kits'd the fair: (his kiffes warmer grow Than fuch as women on their fex bestow ;) Then plac'd befide her on the flowery ground, Beheld the trees with autumn's bounty crown'd. An elm was near, to whofe embraces led, The curling vine her fwelling clusters spread; He view'd her twining branches with delight," And prais'd the beauty of the pleafing fight.
Yet his tall elm, but for his vine (he faid) Had food neglected, and a barren fhade; And this fair vine, but that her arms surround Her marry'd elm, had crept along the ground. Ah, beauteous maid! let this example move Your mind, averfe from all the joys of love. Deign to be lov'd, and every heart fubdue! What nymph could e'er attract fuch crowds as you?
Not the whofe beauty urg'd the Centaur's arms, Ulyffes' queen, nor Helen's fatal charms. Ev'n now, when filent fcorn is all they gain, A thousand court you, though they court in vain,
A thousand fylvan demigods and gods,
That haunt our mountains, and our Alban woods. But if you'll profper, mark what I advise, Whom age and long experience render wife, And one whofe tender care is far above All that thefe lovers ever felt of love. (Far more than e'er can by yourself be guess'd) Fix on Vertumnus, and reject the rest. For his firm faith I dare engage my own; Scarce to himfelf, himself is better known. To diftant lands Vertumnus never roves; Like you, contented with his native groves; 6
Nor at first fight, like moft, admires the fair; For you he lives; and you alone shall share His laft affection, as his early care. Befides, he's lovely far above the rest, With youth immortal, and with beauty bleft. Add, that he varies every fhape with cafe, And tries all forms that may Pomona please. But what should most excite a mutual flame, Your rural cares and pleasures are the fame. To him your orchard's early fruit are due, (A pleasant offering when 'tis made by you) He values thefe; but yet (alas!) complains, That ftill the best and dearest gift remains. Not the fair fruit that on yon branches glows With that ripe red th' autumnal fun beftows; Nor tateful herbs that in thefe gardens rife, Which the kind foil with milky fap fupplies; You, only you, can move the god's defire: Oh, crown fo conftant and fo pure a fire! Let foft compaffion touch your gentle mind; Think, 'tis Vertumnus begs you to be kind: So may no froft, when early buds appear, Destroy the promife of the youthful year; Nor winds, when firft your florid orchard blows, Shake the light bloffoms from their blasted boughs! This when the various god had urg'd in vain, He ftrait affum'd his native form again, Such, and fo bright an aspect now he bears, As when through clouds th' emerging fun appears, And thence exerting his refulgent ray, Difpels the darkness and reveals the day. Force he prepar'd, but check'd the rash design; For when, appearing in a form divine. The nymph furveys him, and beholds the grace Of charming features, and a youthful face! In her foft breaft confenting paffions move, And the warm maid confefs'd a mutual love.
IMITATIONS OF ENGLISH POETS.
DONE BY THE AUTHOR IN HIS YOUTH.
I-CHAUCER.
WOMEN ben full of ragerie,
Yet fwinken nat fans fecrefic. Thilke moral fhall ye underftond,
From Schoole-boy's Tale of fayre Irelond: Which to the Fennes hath him betake, To filch the gray ducke fro the lake. Right then, there paffen by the way His aunt, and eke her daughters tway. Ducke in his trowfes hath he hent, Not to be fpied of ladies gent. "But ho our nephew, (crieth onc) "Ho! quoth another, Cozen John;" And ftoppen, and lough, and callen out,- This filly clerk full low doth lout: They afken that, and talken this, "Lo here is Coz, and here is Mifs.". But, as he glozeth with fpeeches foote, The ducke fore tickleth his erfe roote: Fore-piece and buttons all-to-breft,
Forth thrust a white neck, and red crest. Te-he, cry'd ladies; Clerke nought spake: Mifs ftar'd; and gray Ducke crycth quake. “O moder, moder, (quoth the daughter "Be thilke fame thing maids longen a'ter? "Bette is to pine on coals and chalke, "Then truft on mon, whofe yerde can talke."
In every town where Thamis rolls his tyde, A narrow pafs there is, with houfes low; Where ever and anon, the stream is ey'd, And many a boat, foft fliding to and fro. There oft are heard the notes of Infant Woe, The fhort thick fob, loud icream, and fhriller fquall: How can ye, mothers, vex your children fo? Some play, fome eat, fome cack against the wall, And as they crouchen low, for bread and butter call.
And on the broken pavement, here and there, Doth many a flinking sprat and herring lie; A brandy and tobacco fhop is near,
And hens, and dogs, and hogs are feeding by;
Ne Richmond's felf, from whofe tall front are ey'd Vales, fpires, meandering streams, and Windfor's towery pride.
OF A LADY SINGING TO HER LUTE.
FAIR charmer, ceafe, nor make your voice's prize A heart refign'd the conqueft of your eyes: Well might, alas! that threaten'd vessel fail, Which winds and lightning both at once affail. We were too bleft with thefe enchanting lays, Which must be heavenly when an angel plays: But killing charms your lover's death contrive, Left heavenly mufic fhould be heard alive. Orpheus could charm the trees; but thus a tree, Taught by your hand, can charm no less than he : A poet made the filent wood pursue, This vocal wood had drawn the poet too.
On a FAN of the Author's defign, in which was painted theory of CEPHALUS and PROCRIS, with the motto, AURA VENI.
COME, gentle air! th' Æolian fhepherd faid, While Procris panted in the facred shade; Come, gentle air, the fairer Delia cries, While at her feet her fwain expiring lies. Lo, the glad gales o'er all her beauties ftray, Breathe on her lips, and in her bofom play! In Delia's hand this toy is fatal found, Nor could that fabled dart more furely wound; Both gifts deftructive to the givers prove; Alike both lovers fall by thofe they love. Yet guiltiefs too this bright deftroyer lives, [gives; At random wounds, ner knows the wound the She views the ftory with attentive eyes, And pities Procris, while her lover dies.
FAIN would my mufe the flowery treasure fing, And humble glories of the youthful fpring: Where opening rofes breathing fweets diffuse, And foft carnations fhower their balmy dews; Where lilies fmile in virgin robes of white, The thin undrefs of fuperficial light, And vary'd tulips fhow fo dazzling gay, Blufhing in bright diverfities of day. Each painted flowret in the lake below Surveys its beauties, whence its beauties grow; And pale Narciffus on the bank, in vain Transform'd, gazes on himself again. Here aged trees cathedral walks compofe, And mount the hill in venerable rows; There the green infants in their beds are laid, The garden's hope, and its expected shade. Here orange trees with blooms and pendants shine, And verpal honours to their autumn join;
Exceed their promife in their ripen'd ftore, Yet in the rifing bloffom promise more. There in bright drops the crystal fountains play, By laurels fhielded from the piercing day: Where Daphne, now a tree, as once a maid, Still from Apollo vindicates her shade, Still turns her beauties from th' invading beam, Nor feeks in vain for fuccour to the stream; The ftream at once preferves her virgin leaves, At once a fhelter from her boughs receives, Where fummer's beauty midst of winter stays, And winter's coolness spite of summer's rays,
A ftately, worthless animal, That plies the tongue, and wags the tail, All flutter, pride, and talk.
PHRYNE had talents for mankind, Open fhe was, and unconfin'd,
Like fome free port of trade; Merchants unloaded here their freight, And agents from each foreign ftate Here first their entry made.
Her learning and good-breeding fuch, Whether th' Italian or the Dutch,
Spaniards or French came to her, To all obliging fhe'd appear: 'Twas Si Signior, 'twas Yaw Mynheer, 'Twas S'il vous plaift, Monfieur.
Obfcure by birth, renown'd by crimes, Still changing names, religion, climes,
In diamonds, pearls, and rich brocades, At length the turns a bride: She fhines the first of batter'd jades,
And flutters in her pride.
So have I known thofe infects fair (Which curious Germans hold fo rare) Still vary fhapes and dyes;
Still gain new titles with new forms; Firft grubs obfcene, then wriggling worris, Then painted butterflies.
THOUGH Artemifia talks, by fits, Of councils claffics, fathers, wits;
Reads Malbranche, Boyle, and Locke; Yet in fome things methinks the fails, 'Twere well if fhe would pare her nails, And wear a cleaner fmock.
Haughty and huge as High- Dutch bride, Such naftiness, and fo much pride,
Are oddly join'd by fate:"
On her large fquab you find her spread, Like a fat corpfe upon a bed,
That lies and ftinks in state.
She wears no colours (fign of grace) On any part except her face;
All white and black befide: Dauntless her look, her gefture proud, Her voice theatrically loud,
And mafculine her ftride.
So have I feen, in black and white
A prating thing, a magpye hight,
THE HAPPY LIFE OP A COUNTRY PARSON.
PARSON, these things in thy poffeffing, Are better than the bishop's blefling. A wife that makes conicrves; a fleed That carries double when there's need: October flore, and best Virginia, Tythe pig, and mortuary guinea: Gazettes fent gratis down, and frank'd, For which thy patron's weekly thank'd; A large concordance, bound long fince; Sermons to Charles the First, when prince: A chronicle of ancient ftanding; A Chryfoftom to fmooth thy band in. The Polyglott-three parts,-my text, Howbeit,-likewife-now to my next. Lo here the Septuagint,-and Paul, To fum the whole,-the clofe of all.
He that has thefe, may país his life, Drink with the 'fquire, and kifs his wife; On Sundays preach, and eat his fill; And faft on Fridays--if he will; Toast church and queen, explain the news, Talk with church wardens about pews; Pray heartily for fome new gift, And thake his head at Doctor Swift.
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