Horatii Ode.

Ille & nefasto te posuit die &c.
Ελληνιςί.

Ωρᾳ σε κεῖνος θῆκεν ἀποφράδι
Ὁ πρῶτος ὅςις, χειρὶ τε βώμακι
Ἔθρεψε, δένδρον, τῆς τε κώμης

Αἴτιον, ἐσσομένων τ ̓ ἔλεγχος.

Κεῖνος τοκῆος θρύψε καὶ ἀυχένα,
Κεῖνός γε (φαίην) αίματι ξεινίῳ
Μυχώτατον κοιτῶνα ρἅινε
Νύκτιος, ἀμφαφάασε κεῖνος

Τὰ δῆτα κόλχων φάρμακα, καὶ κακοῦ
Πᾶν χρῆμα, δώσας μοι ἐπιχώριον
Σὲ συγνὸν ἔρνος, δεσπότου σε
Εμπεσον ἐς κεφαλὴν ἀεικῶς.

Πάσης μὲν ὥρης πᾶν ἐπικίνδυνον. Τίς οἶδε φεύγειν; δείδιε βοσφόρον Λιβὺς ὁ πλωτὴρ, οὐδ ̓ ἀνά[γ]κην Τὴν κρυφίην ἑτέρωθεν ὀκνεῖ. Πάρθων μάχημον Ρὡμάϊκος φυγήν, Καὶ τόξα· Πάρθος Ῥωμαίκην βίαν, Καὶ δεσμὰ· λάους ἀλλὰ μοίρας Βάλλε, βαλεῖ τ ̓ ἀδόκητος ὁρμή. Σχέδον σχέδον πῶς Περσεφόνης ἴδον Αὔλην μελαίνην, καὶ κρίσιν Αἰακοῦ,

Καλήν τ ̓ ἀπόςασιν μακαίρων,
Αἰολίαις κινύρην τε χορδαῖς.

Σαπφὼ πατρίδος μεμφομένην κόραις,
Ηχοῦντα καί σε πλεῖον ἐπιχρύσῳ,
̓Αλκαῖε, πλήκτρῳ σκληρὰ νῆος,

Σκληρὰ φυγῆς, πολέμου τε σκληρά.

Y 2

Ευφημέουσαι δ ̓ ἀμφοτέρων σκιαὶ
Κλύουσι θάμβει, τὰς δὲ μαχὰς πλεόν,
̓Αναςάτους τε μὲν τυράννους
Ωμιὰς ἔκπιεν ὦσι λᾶος.

Τί θαῦμ ̓; ἐκείναιρ θὴς ὅτε τρίκρανος
̓́Ακην ἀοιδαῖς, οὐατα κάββαλέ,
Εριννύων τ ̓ ἡδυπαθοῦσι
Βόςρυχες, ἡσυχίων ἐχιδνῶν.

Καὶ δὴ Προμηθεύς, καὶ Πέλοπος πατὴρ
Εὕδουσιν ἠχεῖ τῷ λαθικήδεϊ
̓́Αγειν λεόντας Ωρίων δὲ

Οὐ φιλέει, φοβεράς τε λύγκας.

In Revd. Dre. Brooke Epitaphium.

Po

Osuit sub istâ (non gravi) caput terrâ Ille, ipsa quem mors arrogare vix ausa Didicit vereri, plurimumque suspenso Dubitavit ictu, lucidos procul vultus, Et sydus oris acre procul prospectans. Cui literarum fama cùm dedit lumen, Accepit, atque est ditior suis donis. Cujus serena gravitas faciles mores Muliere novit; cujus in senectute Famaeque riguit, & juventa fortunæ. Ita brevis ævi, ut nec videri festinus; Ita longus, ut nec fessus. Et hunc mori credis ?

In obitum Rev. V. Dris Mansell, Coll. Regin. Mri qui ven. Ds Brooke, interitum proximè secutus est.

Ire jubet tragicâ mors iterata manu?
Scilicet illa novas quæ jam fert dextra sagittas,
Dextra priore recens sanguine stillat adhuc.
Vos ô, quos sociâ Lachesis propè miscuit urnâ,
Et vicina colus vix sinit esse duos;
Ite ô, quos nostri jungunt consortia damni;
Per nostras lacrymas ô nimis ite pares!
Ite per Elysias felici tramite valles.

Et sociis animos conciliate viis.
Illic ingentes ultrò confundite manes,

Noscat & æternam mutua dextra fidem.
Communes eadem spargantur in otia curæ,

Atque idem felix poscat utrumque labor.
Nectaræ simul ite vagis sermonibus horæ :
Nox trahat alternas continuata vices.
Una cibos ferat, una suas vocet arbor in umbras.
Ambobus faciles herba det una toros.
Certum erit interea quanto sit major habenda,
Quàm quæ per vitam est, mortis amicitia.

LUKE 2. Quærit Jesum suum Maria, &c.

AND

Nd is he gone, whom these armes held but now? Their hope, their vow? Did ever greife, & joy in one poore heart Soe soone change part?

Hee's gone. the fair'st flower, that e're bosome drest, My soules sweet rest.

My wombes

chast pride is gone, my heaven-borne boy; And where is joy?

Hee's gone.

My joyes, &

Hee's gone.

& his lov'd steppes to wait upon,
My joy is gone.

hee are gone; my greife, & I
Alone must ly.

not leaving with me, till he come,
One smile at home.

Oh come then. bring Thy mother her lost joy:
Oh come, sweet boy.
Make hast, & come, or e're my greife, & I
Make hast, & dy.
Peace, heart! the heavens are angry.
Rival thy teares.

I was mistaken.

some faire sphære, or other
Was thy blest mother.
What, but the fairest heaven, could owne the birth
Of soe faire earth?

all their spheres

Yet sure thou
Oft have these

Oft to thy easy eares hath this shrill tongue
Trembled, & sung.

Oft have I wrapt thy slumbers in soft aires,
And stroak't thy cares.

Oft hath this

hand those silken casements kept,
While their sunnes slept.
Oft have my hungry kisses made thine eyes
Too early rise.

did'st lodge heere. this wombe of mine
Was once call'd thine.
armes thy cradle envied,
Beguil'd thy bed.

Oft have I spoild my kisses daintiest diet,
To spare thy quiet.

Oft from this breast to thine my love-tost heart
Hath leapt, to part.

Oft have these

Oft my lost soule have I bin glad to seeke
On thy soft cheeke.
armes alas! show'd to these eyes
Their now lost joyes.
me, thou morne of mine owne day,
And lett heaven stay.
Oh, would'st thou heere still fixe thy faire abode,
My bosome God:

Dawne then to

What hinders, but my bosome still might be
Thy heaven to Thee?

Whosoever shall loose his life &c. MATH. 16. 25.

Soe

Oe I may gaine thy death, my life I'le give. (My life's thy death, & in thy death I live.) Or else, my life, I'le hide thee in his grave, By three daies losse æternally to save.