You season still with sports your serious hours:
For age but tastes of pleasures, youth devours.
The hare in pastures or in plains is found,
Emblem of human life, who runs the round;
And after all his wandering ways are done,
His circle fills, and ends where he begun,
Just as the setting meets the rising sun.

Thus princes ease their cares; but happier he Who seeks not pleasure through necessity, Than such as once on slippery thrones were plac'd;

And chasing,sigh to think themselves are chas'd.

So liv'd our sires, ere doctors learn'd to kill,
And multiplied with theirs the weekly bill.
The first physicians by debauch were made:
Excess began, and sloth sustains the trade,
Pity the generous kind their cares bestow
To search forbidden truths; (a sin to know :)
To which if human science could attain,
The doom of death, pronounc'd by God, were
vain.

In vain the leech would interpose delay;
Fate fastens first and vindicates the prey.
What help from art's endeavours can we have?
Gibbons but guesses, nor is sure to save:
But Maurus sweeps whole parishes, and peo-
ples every grave;

And no more mercy to mankind will use,
Than when he robb'd and murder'd Maro's muse
Wouldst thou be soon despatch'd, and perish
whole,

Trust Maurus with thy life, and Milbourn with
thy soul.
[food;
By chase our long-liv'd fathers earn'd their
Toil strung the nerves and purified the blood:
But we their sons, a pamper'd race of men,
Are dwindled down to threescore years and ten.
Better to hunt in fields for health unbought,
Than fee the doctor for a nauseous draught.
The wise for cure on exercise depend';
God never made his work for man to mend.
The tree of knowledge once in Eden plac'd,
Was easy found, but was forbid the taste:
Oh, had our grandsire walk'd without his wife,
He first had sought the better plant of life!
Now both are lost: yet, wandering in the dark,
Physicians, for the tree, have found the bark:
They, lab'ring for relief of human kind,
With sharpen'd sight some remedies may find;
The apothecary train is wholly blind.
From files a random recipe they take,
And many deaths of one prescription make.

• Gibbons but guesses, nor is sure to save: But Maurus sweeps whole parishes, &c.] Dr. Gibbons was a physician at this time justly in high esteem. By Maurus is meant Sir Richard Blackmore, physician to King William, and author of many epic poems. Milbourn was a nonjuring minister D.

Garth,generous as his muse,prescribes and gives, The shopman sells; and by destruction lives: Ungrateful tribe! who, like the viper's brood, From medicine issuing, suck their mother's blood!

Let these obey; and let the learn'd prescribe; That men may die, without a double bribe: Let them but under their superiors kill; When doctors first have sign'd the bloody bill; He scapes the best, who, nature to repair, [air. Draws physic from the fields, in draughts of vita

You hoard not health, for your own private But on the public spend the rich produce. [use When, often urg'd, unwilling to be great, Your country calls you from your lov'd retreat, And sends to senates, charg'd with commor care, [bear: Which none more shuns: and none can better Where could they find another form'd so fit, To poise, with solid sense, a sprightly wit? Were these both wanting, as they both abound, Where could so firm integrity be found? Well born, and wealthy, wanting no support, You steer betwixt the country and the court: Nor gratify whate'er the great desire, Nor grudging give what public needs require. Part must be left, a fund when foes invade; And part employ'd to roll the wat'ry trade: E'en Canaan's happy land, when worn with toil, Requir'd a sabbath year to mend the ineager soil.

Good senators (and such as you) so give, That kings may be supplied, the people thrive. And he, when want requires, is truly wise, Who slights not foreign aids, nor overbuys; But on our native strength, in time of need, relies.

Munster was bought, we boast not the success; Who fights for gain, for greater makes his peace. Our foes, compell'd by need, have peace em

brac'a:

The peace both parties want is like to last:
Which if secure, securely we may trade;
Or, not secure, should never have been made.
Safe in ourselves, while on ourselves we stand,
The sea is ours, and that defends the land.
Be, then, the naval stores the nation's care,
New ships to build, and batter'd to repair.

Observe the war, in every annual course: What has been done was done with British force:

Namur subdu'd is England's palm alone;† The rest besieg'd; but we constrain'd the town:

↑ Namur subdu'd is England's pahn, &c.] In the year 1695, William III. carried Namur, after a siege of one month. The garrison retired to the citadel, which capitulated upon honourable terms in ano ther month. The courage of our men in this siege was much admired, as was the conduct of the king. D

We saw the event that follow'd our success;
France, though pretending arms, pursu'd the
Oblig'd, by one sole treaty, to restore [peace;
What twenty years of war. had won before.
Enough for Europe has our Albion fought :
Let us enjoy the peace our blood has bought.
When once the Persian King was put to flight,
The weary Macedons refus'd to fight:
Themselves their own mortality confess'd;
And left the son of Jove to quarrel for the rest.
E'en victors are by victories undone ;
Thus Hannibal, with foreign laurels won, [own.
To Carthage was recall'd, too late to keep his
While sore of battle, while our wounds are green,
Why should we tempt the doubtful dye again?
In wars renew'd, uncertain of success;
Sure of a share, as umpires of the peace.

A patriot both the king and country serves:
Prerogative, and privilege, preserves;
Of each our laws the certain limit show;
One must not ebb, nor t' other overflow:
Betwixt the prince and parliament we stand;
The barriers of the state on either hand:
May neither overflow, for then they drown the
land.

When both are full, they feed our bless'd abode;
Like those that water'd once the paradise of
God.

Some overpoise of sway, by turns, they share;
In peace the people, and the prince in war;
Consuls of moderate power in calms were made;
When the Gauls came, one sole dictator sway'd.
Patriots, in peace, assert the people's right;
With noble stubbornness resisting might:
No lawless mandates from the court receive,
Nor lend by force, but in a b dy give.
Such was your generous grandsire: free to grant
In parliaments, that weigh'd their prince's want:
But so tenacious of the common cause,
As not to lend the king against his laws.
And in a loathsome dungeon doom'd to lie,
In bonds retain'd his birth-right liberty,
And sham'd oppression till it set him free.
O true descendant of a patriot line,
Who, while thou shar'st their lustre, lend'st them
Vouchsafe this picture of thy soul to see; [thine,
'T is so far good, as it resembles thee:
The beauties to the original I owe ;
Which when I miss, my own defects I show:
Nor think the kindred muses thy disgrace;
A poet is not born in every race.
Two of a house few ages can afford
One to perform, another to record.
Praiseworthy actions are by thee embrac'd;
And 'tis my praise, to make thy praises last.
For e'en when death dissolves our human frame,
The soul returns to heaven from whence it came;
Earth keeps the body, verse preserves the fame.

EPISTLE THE FOURTEENTH.

TO SIR GODFREY KNELLER, PRINCIPAL PAINTER TO HIS MAJESTY,

ONCE I beheld the fairest of her kind,
And still the sweet idea charms my mind:
True, she was dumb; for nature gaz'd so long,
Pleas'd with her work, that she forgot her tongue
But, smiling, said, She still shall gain the prize,
I only have transferr'd it to her eyes.
Such are thy pictures, Kneller: such thy skill,
That nature seems obedient to thy will:
Comes out and meets thy pencil in the draught;
Lives there, and wants but words to speak her
thought.

At least thy pictures look a voice; and we
Imagine sounds, deceiv'd to that degree,
We think 't is somewhat more than just to see.

Shadows are but privations of the light;
Yet, when we walk, they shoot before the sight;
With us approach, retire, arise, and fall;
Nothing themselves, and yet expressing all.
Such are thy pieces, imitating life
So near, they almost conquer in the strife;
And from their animated canvass came,
Demanding souls, and loosen'd from the frame.
Prometheus, were he here, would cast away
His Adam, and refuse a soul to clay;
And either would thy noble work inspire,
Or think it warm enough without his fire.

But vulgar hands may vulgar likeness raise; This is the least attendant on thy praise: From hence the rudiments of art began; A coal, or chalk, first imitated man: Perhaps the shadow, taken on a wall, Gave outlines to the rude original: Ere canvass yet was strain'd, before the grace Of blended colours found their use and place, Or cypress tablets first receiv'd a face.

By slow degrees the godlike art advanc'd; As man grew polish'd, picture was enhanc'd: Greece added posture, shade, and perspective And then the mimic piece began to live. Yet perspective was lame, no distance true, But all came forward in one common view: No point of light was known, no bounds of art When light was there, it knew not to depart, But glaring on remoter objects play'd: Not languish'd, and insensibly decay'd.

Rome rais'd not art, but barely kept alive, And with old Greece unequally did strive: Till Goths and Vandals, a rude northern race Did all the matchless monuments deface Then all the Muses in one ruin lie, And rhyme began to enervate poetry. Thus in a stupid military state, The pen and pencil find an equal fate.

Flat faces, such as would cisgrace a skreen,
Such as in Bantam's embassy were seen,
Unrais'd, unrounded, were the rude delight
Of brutal nations, only born to fight.
Long time the sister arts, in iron sleep,
A heavy sabbath did supinely keep :
At length, in Raphael's age, at once they rise,
Stretch all their limbs, and open all their eyes.
Thence rose the Roman and the Lombard line:
One colour'd best, and one did best design.
Raphael's, like Homer's, was the nobler part,
But Titian's painting look'd like Virgil's art.
Thy genius gives thee both; where true design,
Postures unforc'd, and lively colours join.
Likeness is ever there; but still the best,
Like proper thoughts in lofty language drest:
Where light to shades descending, plays, not
Dies by degrees, and by degrees revives. [strives,
Of various parts a perfect whole is wrought:
Thy pictures think, and we divine their thought.
Shakespeare, thy gift, I place before my sight;
With awe I ask his blessing ere I write ;
With reverence look on his majestic face;
Proud to be less, but of his godlike race.
His soul inspires me, whlie thy praise I write,
And I, like Teucer, under Ajax fight:
Bids thee, through me, be bold: with dauntless
Contemn the bad, and emulate the best. [breast
Like his thy critics in the attempt are lost:
When most they rail, know then they envy most.
In vain they snarl aloof; a noisy crowd,
Like women's anger, impotent and loud.
While they their barren industry deplore,
Pass on secure and mind the goal before.
Old as she is, my muse shall march behind,
Bear off the blast, and intercept the wind.
Our arts are sisters, though not twins in birth;
For hymns were sung in Eden's happy earth:
But oh, the painter muse, though last in place,
Has seiz'd the blessing first, like Jacob's race.
Apelles' art an Alexander found;

And Raphael did with Leo's gold abound;
But Homer was with barren laurel crown'd.
Thou hadst thy Charles a while, and so had I;
But pass we that unpleasing image by.
Rich in thyself, and of thyself divine;
All pilgrims come and offer at thy shrine.
A graceful truth thy pencil can command;
The fair themselves go mended from thy hand.
Likeness appears in every lineament;
But likeness in thy work is eloquent.
Though nature there her true resemblance
A nobler beauty in thy piece appears.
So warm thy work, so glows the generous frame,
Flesh looks less living in the lovely dame.
Thou paint'st as we describe, inproving still,
When on wild nature we engraft our skill;
But not creating beauties at our will.

[bears,

But poets are confin'd in narrower space, To speak the language of their native place The painter widely stretches his command; Thy pencil speaks the tongue of every land, From hence, my friend, all climates are your Nor can you forfeit, for you hold of none. [own, All nations all immunities will give

To make you theirs, where'er you please to live; And not seven cities, but the world would strive.

Sure some propitious planet then did smile, When first you were conducted to this isle : Our genius brought you here, to enlarge our fame;

For your good stars are every where the same Thy matchless hand, of every region free, Adopts our climate, not our climate thee.

Great Rome and Venice early did impart To thee the examples of their wondrous art. Those masters then, but seen, not understood, With generous emulation fir'd thy blood: For what in nature's dawn the child admir'd, The youth endeavour'd, and the man acquir'd.

If yet thou hast not reach'd their high degree 'T is only wanting to this age, not thee. Thy genius bounded by the times like mine Drudges on petty draughts, nor dare design A more exalted work, and more divine. For what a song, or senseless opera, Is to the living labour of a play; Or what a play to Virgil's work would be, Such is a single piece to history.

But we, who life bestow, ourselves must live, Kings cannot reign unless their subjects give; And they who pay the taxes bear the rule: Thus thou, sometimes, art forc'd to draw a fool: But so his follies in thy posture sink, The senseless idiot seems at last to think. [vain, Good heaven! that sots and knaves should be so To wish their vile resemblance may remain! And stand recorded, at their own request, To future days, a libel or a jest

Else should we see your noble pencil trace Our unities of action, time, and place: A whole compos'd of parts, and those the best, With every various character exprest: Heroes at large, and at a nearer view; Less, and at distance an ignobler crew. While all the figures in one action join, As tending to complete the main design.

More cannot be by mortal art exprest; But venerable age shall add the rest. For Time shall with his ready pencil stand; Retouch your figures with his ripening hand; Mellow your colours, and imbrown the teint; Add every grace, which time alone can grant To future ages shall your fame convey, And give more beauties than he takes away.

ELIGIES AND EPITAPHS.

TO THE MEMORY OF MR. OLDHAM.

FAREWELL, too little, and too lately known,
Whom I began to think, and call my own:
For sure our souls were near allied, and thine
Cast in the same poetic mould with mine.
One common note on either lyre did strike,
And knáves and fools we both abhorr'd alike.
To the same goal did both our studies drive;
The last set out the soonest did arrive.
Thus Nisus fell upon the slippery place,
Whilst his young friend perform'd, and won
O early ripe! to thy abundant store [the race.
What could advancing age have added more?
It might (what nature never gives the young)
Have taught the numbers of thy native tongue.
But satire needs not those, and wit will shine
Through the harsh cadence of a rugged line.
A noble error, and but seldom made,
When poets are by too much force betray'd.
Thy generous fruits, tho' gather'd ere their
prime,

Still show'd a quickness; and maturing time
But mellows what we write, to the dull sweets
of rhyme.
[young,
Once more, hail, and farewell; farewell, thou
But ah too short, Marcellus of our tongue!
Thy brows with ivy, and with laurels bound;
But fate and gloomy night encompass thee

around.

THOU youngest virgin-daughter of the skies,
Made in the last promotion of the blest;
Whose palms, new pluck'd from paradise,
In spreading branches more sublimely rise,

• Farewell, too little] This short elegy is finished with the most exqusite art and skill. Not an epithet or expression can be changed for a better. It is also the most harmonious in its numbers of all that this great master of harmony has produced. Oldham's Satire on the Jesuits is written with vigour and energy. It is remarkable that Dryden calls Oldham his brother in satire, hinting that this was the characteristical turn of both their geniuses. To the same goal did both our studies drive. Dr. J. W. VOL. 1-9

Rich with immortal green above the rest:
Whether, adopted to some neigh'bring star,
Thou roll'st above us, in thy wand'ring race,
Or in procession fix'd and regular,
Mov'st with the heaven's majestic pace,
Or, call'd to more superior bliss,
Thou tread'st, with seraphims, the vast abyss:
Whatever happy region is thy place,
Cease thy celestial song a little space;
Thou wilt have time enough for hymns divine,
Since heavens eternal year is thine.
Hear then a mortal muse thy praise rehearse,
In no ignoble verse:

But such as thy own voice did practise here,
When thy first fruits of Poesy were given,
To make thyself a welcome inmate there
While yet a young probationer,
And candidate of heaven.

II.

If by traduction came thy mind,
Our wonder is the less to find
A soul so charming from a stock so good!
Thy father was transfus'd into thy blood:
So wert thou born into a tuneful strain,
An early, rich, and inexhausted vein.
But if thy pre-existing soul

Was form❜d, at first, with myriads more,
It did through all the mighty poets roll,

Who Greek or Latin laurels wore, [before, And was that Sappho last* which once it was If so, then cease thy flight, O heaven-born mind'

Thou hast no dross to purge from thy rich ore : Nor can thy soul a fairer mansion find, Than was the beauteous frame she left behind: Return to fill or mend the choir of thy celestial kind.

III.

May we presume to say, that, at thy birth New joy was sprung in heaven as well as here on earth.

For sure the milder planets did combine On thy auspiscious horoscope to shine, And e'en the most malicious were in trine. Thy brother-angels at thy birth Strung each his lyre, and tun'd it high, That all the people of the sky Might know a poetess was born on earth. And then if ever, mortal ears

Had heard the music of the spheres.

⚫ And was that Sappho last, &c.] Our author here compliments Mrs. Killigrew, with admitting the doctrine of metempsychosis, and supposing the soul that informs her body to be the same with that of Sappho's, who lived six hundred years before the birth of Christ, and was equally renowned for poetry and love. She was called the tenth Muse Phaon, whom she loved, treating her with indif ference, she jumped into the sea and was drowned D.

And if no clustering swarm of bees On thy sweet mouth distill'd their golden dew, "T was that such vulgar miracles Heaven had not leisure to renew: For all thy blest fraternity of love [above. Solemniz'd there thy birth, and kept thy holiday

IV.

O gracious God! how far have we Profan'd thy heavenly gift of poesy? Made prostitute and profligate the Muse, Debas'd to each obscene and impious use, Whose harmony was first ordain'd above For tongues of angels, and for hymns of love? O wretched we! why were we hurried down This lubrique and adulterate age, (Nay added fat pollutions of our own)

To increase the streaming ordures of the stage? What can we say to excuse our second fall? Let this thy vestal, heaven, atone for all: Her Arethusian stream remains unsoil'd, Unmix'd with foreign filth and undefil'd; [child. Her wit was more than man, her innocence a

Y.

Art she had none, yet wanted none;
For nature did that want supply:
So rich in treasures of her own,

She might our boasted stores defy:
Such noble vigour did her verse adorn,
That it seem'd borrow'd, where 't was only born
Her morals too were in her bosom bred,
By great examples daily fed, [read.
What in the best of books, her father's life, she
And to be read herself she need not fear;
Each test, and every light, her muse will bear
Though Epictetus with his lamp were there.
E'en love (for love sometimes her muse exprest)
Was but a lambent flame which play'd about
her breast:

Light as the vapours of a morning dream,
So cold herself, whilst she such warmth exprest,
T was Cupid bathing in Diana's stream.

VI.

Born to the spacious empire of the Nine,
One would have thought she should have been

content

To manage well that mighty government;
But what can young ambitious souls confine?
To the next realm she stretch'd her sway,
For Painture near adjoining lay,
A plenteous province, and alluring prey.

A Chamber of Dependencies was fram'd,
(As conquerors will never want pretence,
When arm'd, to justify the offence)
And the whole fief,in right of poetry, she claim'd.
The country open lay without defence:

For poets frequent inroads there had made,
And perfectly could represent

The shape, the face, with every lineament And all the large domains which the Dumb Sister sway'd.

All bow'd beneath her government,

Receiv'd in triumph wheresoe'er she went. Her pencil drew whate'er her soul design'd, And oft the happy draught surpass'd the image in her mind.

The sylvan scenes of herds and flocks,
And fruitful plains and barren rocks,
Of shallow brooks that flow'd so clear,
The bottom did the top appear;
Of deeper too and ampler floods,
Which, as in mirrors, show'd the woods,
Of lofty trees, with sacred shades,
And perspectives of pleasant glades.
Where nymphs of brightest form appear
And shaggy satyrs standing near,
Which them at once admire and fear.
The ruins too of some majestic piece,
Boasting the power of ancient Rome, or Greece,
Whose statues, friezes, columns broken lie,
And, though defac'd, the wonder of the eye;
What nature, art, bold fiction, e'er durst frame,
Her forming hand gave feature to the name.
So strange a contrast ne'er was seen before.
But when the peopled ark the whole creation

bore.

VII.

The scene then chang'd, with bold erected look Our martial king the sight with reverence strook: For not content to express his outward part, Her hand call'd out the image of his heart: His warlike mind, his soul devoid of fear, His high designing thoughts were figur'd there, As when, by magic, ghosts are made appear. Our phoenix queen was portray'd too so bright, Her dress, her shape, her matchless grace, Beauty alone could beauty take so right: Were all observ'd, as well as heavenly face. With such a peerless majesty she stands, As in that day she took the crown from sacred Before a train of heroines was seen, [hands: In beauty foremost, as in raak, the queen. Thus nothing to her genius was denied, But like a ball of fire the further thrown,

Still with a greater blaze she shone, And her bright soul broke out on every side. What next she had design'd, heaven only knows To such immoderate growth her conquest rose, That fate alone its progress could oppose.

VIII.

Now all those charms, that blooming grace The well proportion'd shape,and beauteous face