All this in blooming Youth you have Atchiev'd:
Now are your foil'd Contemporaries griev'd;
So much the Sweetness of your Manners move,
We cannot envy you, because we Love.
Fabius might joy in Scipio, when he faw
A Beardless Conful made against the Law,
And join his Suffrage to the Votes of Rome;
Though He with Hannibal was overcome.
Thus old Romano bow'd to Raphael's Fame;
And Scholar to the Youth he taught, became.
O that your Brows my Lawrel had fuftain'd,
Well had I been Depos'd, if you had reign'd!
The Father had defcended for the Son;
For only you are lineal to the Throne.
Thus when the State one Edward did depose;
A Greater Edward in his room arose.
But now, not I, but Poetry is curs'd;
For Tom the second reigns like Tom the first.
But let 'em not miftake my Patron's part;
Nor call his Charity their own Defert.
Yet this I Prophecy; Thou shalt be feen,
(Tho' with some fhort Parenthesis between)
High on the Throne of Wit; and feated there,
Not mine (that's little) but thy Lawrel wear.
Thy firft Attempt an early Promise made;
That early Promise this has more than paid.
So bold, yet fo judiciously you dare,
That your leaft Praise, is to be Regular.
Time, Place, and Action, may with pains be wrought,
But Genius must be born; and never can be taught.
This is your Portion; this your native Store ;
Heav'n that but once was Prodigal before, [more.
To Shakespear gave as much; the cou'd not give him
Maintain your Poft: That's all the Fame you need;
For 'tis impoffible you shou'd proceed.
Already I am worn with Cares and Age;
And just abandoning th' Ungrateful Stage:
Unprofitably kept at Heav'ns Expence,
I live a Rent-Charge on his Providence:
But you, whom ev'ry Mufe and Grace adorn,
Whom I foresee to better Fortune born,
Be kind to my Remains; and oh defend,
Against your Judgment, your departed Friend!
Let not th' Infulting Foe my Fame pursue,
But hade thofe Lawrels which descend to You:
And take for Tribute what these Lines exprefs:
You merit more; nor cou'd my Love do lefs.
To the Earl of Rofcommon, on his excellent Ejay on Tranflated Verfe. By the fame Hand.
Whether the fruitful Nile, or Tyrian Shore,
Seeds of Arts and Infant Science bore,
'Tis fure the noble Plant, tranflated first,
Advanc'd its Head in Grecian Gardens nurft.
The Grecians added Verfe, their tuneful Tongue
Made Nature first, and Nature's God their Song.
Nor ftopt Tranflation here: For conquering Rome
With Grecian Spoils, brought Grecian Numbers home;
Enrich'd by thofe Athenian Muses more,
Than all the vanquish'd World cou'd yield before.
'Till barb'rous Nations and more barb'rous Times
Debas'd the Majefty of Verfe to Rhimes;
Those rude at firft: a kind of hobbling Profe,
That limp'd along, and tinckl'd in the close:
But Italy reviving from the Trance
Of Vandal, Goth, and Monkish Ignorance,
With Paufes, Cadence, and well vowell'd Words,
And all the Graces a good Ear affords,
Made Rhyme an Art, and Dante's polish'd Page
Reftor'd a Silver, not a Golden Age:
Then Petrarch follow'd, and in him we fee,
What Rhyme improv'd in all its height can be:
At beft a pleasing Sound, and fair Barbarity:
The French purfu'd their Steps; and Britain, laft
In manly Sweetness all the reft surpass'd.
The Wit of Greece, the Gravity of Rome
Appear exalted in the British Loom;
The Mufes Empire is reftor'd again,
In Charles his Reign, and by Roscommon's. Pen.
Yet modeftly he does his Work survey,
And calls a finish'd Poem an ES SAT;
For all the needful Rules are scatter'd here;
Truth fmoothly told, and pleasantly fevere;
(So well is Art difguis'd, for Nature to appear.)
Nor need thofe Rules, to give Tranflation light:
His own Example is a Flame fo bright;
That he, who but arrives to copy well,
Unguided will advance; unknowing will excel.
Scarce his own Horace cou'd fuch Rules ordain;
Or his own Virgil sing a nobler Strain.
How much in him may rifing Ireland boast,
How much in gaining him has Britain loft!
Their Island in revenge has ours reclaim'd,
The more instructed we, the more we still are sham'd,
'Tis well for us his generous Blood did flow
Deriv'd from British Channels long ago,
That here his conquering Ancestors were nurft;
And Ireland but tranflated England first:
By this Reprifal we regain our right,
Elfe muft the two contending Nations fight,
A nobler Quarrel for his Native Earth,
Than what divided Greece for Homer's Birth.
To what Perfection will our Tongue arrive,
How will Invention and Tranflation thrive,
When Authors nobly born will bear their part,
And not difdain th' inglorious Praise of Art!
Great Generals thus defcending from Command,
With their own. Toil provoke the Soldiers Hand.
How will sweet Ovid's Ghost be pleas'd to hear
His Fame augmented by an English Peer,
How he embellishes His Helen's Loves,
Out-does his Softnefs, and his Senfe improves ?
When thefe tranflate, and teach Tranflators too,
Nor Firstling Kid, nor any vulgar Vow
Shou'd at Apollo's grateful Altar stand;
Rofcommon writes, to that aufpicious Hand,
Mufe feed the Bull that fpurns the yellow Sand.
Rofcommon, whom both Court and Camps commend,
True to his Prince, and faithful to his Friend;
Rofcommon firft in Fields of Honour known,
Firft in the peaceful Triumphs of the Gown;
Who both Minerva's justly makes his own.
Now let the few belov'd by fove, and they,
Whom infus'd Titan form'd of better Clay,
On equal Terms with ancient Wit ingage,
Nor mighty Homer fear, nor facred Virgil's Page:
Our English Palace opens wide in State;
And without stooping they may pass the Gate.
To A. L. Perfwafions to Love.
By THO. CAREW, Efq;
"Hink not, 'cause Men flatt'ring fay
Y'are fresh as April, fweet as May,
Bright as is the Morning-ftar,
That you are fo; or though you are,
Be not therefore proud, and deem
All Men unworthy your Efteem:
For being fo, you lose the Pleasure
Of being fair, fince that rich Treasure
Of rare Beauty and fweet Feature,
Was bestow'd on you by Nature
To be enjoy'd, and 'twere a Sin
There to be scarce, where the hath been
So prodigal of her beft Graces;
Thus common Beauties, and mean Faces
Shall have more Paftime, and enjoy
The Sport you lofe by being coy.
Did the thing for which I fue
Only concern my self, not you;
Were Men fo fram'd as they alone
Reap'd all the Pleafure, Women none,
Then had you reafon to be fcant;
But'twere a Madness not to grant
That which affords (if you confent)
To you the Giver, more content
Than me the Begger; Oh then be
Kind to your felf, if not to me;
Starve not your felf, because you may
Thereby make me pine away;
Nor let brittle Beauty make
You your wifer Thoughts forfake:
For that lovely Face will fail:
Beauty's fweet, but Beauty's frail;
'Tis fooner paft, 'tis sooner done
Than Summers Rain, or Winters Sun;
Moft fleeting, when it is moft dear;
'Tis gone, while we but fay 'tis here.
These curious Locks fo aptly twin'd,
Whofe every Hair a Soul doth bind,
Will change their auburn hue, and grow
White, and cold as Winters Snow.
That Eye which now is Cupid's Neft,
Will prove his Grave, and all the rest
Will follow; in the Cheek, Chin, Nose,
Nor Lilly fhall be found, nor Rofe;
And what will then become of all
Thofe, whom now you Servants call?
Like Swallows when your Summer's done
They'll fly, and seek fome warmer Sun.
Then wifely chufe one to your Friend,
Whofe Love may (when your Beauties end)
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