III. What Pofture can we think him in, Or how can that Elixium be, IV. For there the Judges all are juft, Be his whom fhe held dear: Not his who lov'd her here: The fweet Philoclea, fince the dy'd Not by Amphialus. V. Some Bays, perchance, or Myrtle bought And if that be the only odds, As who can tell? ye kinder Gods, Give me the Woman here. To the Lord Lepington, upon his Translation of Malvezzi bis Romulus and Tarquin. T is fo rare and a new thing to fee IT Ought that belongs to young Nobility In Print (but their own Cloaths) that we must praife. You, as we wou'd do those first shew the Ways To To Arts, or to new Worlds: You have begun, To carry out more Wit than we bring in. He does not fhew us Rome great fuddenly, But gives it natural Growth, tells how, and why And all this not tedioufly deriv'd, But like the Worlds in little Maps contriv'd. She fays fuch fine things after, that we must But ftay; like one that thinks to bring his Friend A Mile or two, and fees the Journey's end, I ftraggle on too far: Long Graces do But keep good Stomachs off that wou'd fall too. Against Against Fruition. TAY here, fond Youth! and ask no more, be wife, STA Knowing too much long fince loft Paradise; Fruition adds no new Wealth, but destroys, Heav'n were not Heav'n, if we knew what it were. And as in Prospects we are there pleas'd moft TH I. HERE never yet was Woman made, And ol! that I (fond I) fhould first Of any Lover This Truth at my own charge to other Fools discover. II. You that have promis'd to your felves Know Womens Hearts like Straws do move, Their Sympathy, is but Love to jett in general. III. All Mankind is alike to them; And tho' we Iron find That never with a Loadftone join'd, 'Tis not its Fault: It is because the Loadstone yet was never brought. IV. If where a gentle Bee hath fallen And labour'd to his Power, A new fucceeds not to that Flower, But paffes by; 'Tis to be thought, the Gallant elfe-where loads his Thigh. V. For ftill the Flowers ready ftand, One buzzes round about, One lights and tafts, gets in, gets out, 'Till all their Sweets are gone, and then again refuse them. SONG: I wou'd then fo fall I might not love at all; Love that can flow, and can admit Encrease, II. True Love is ftill the fame; the Torrid Zones, For Love grown cold or hot Is Luft or Friendship, not For that's a Flame wou'd die Held down, or up too high: Then think I love more than I can exprefs, To my Friend Will. Davenant; upon his Poem of Madagascar. W The HAT mighty Princes Poets are? thofe Things great Ones stick at, and our very Kings Lay down, they venture on; and with great Eafe, Discover, conquer what and where you please. C Some |