Rest, that gives all men life, gave him his death, But vow, though the cross Doctors all stood hearers, He had been an immortal Carrier. Obedient to the Moon, he spent his date Only remains this Superscription. AD PYRRHAM. ODE V. Horatius ex Pyrrhæ illecebris tanquam è naufragio enataverat, cujus amore irretitos, affirmat effe miferos. Q VIS multâ gracilis te puer in rosá Cui flavam religas comam Emirabitur infolens, Qui nunc te fruitur credulus aureâ: Fallacis. Miferi, quibus. Intentata nites. me tabulâ facer Sufpendiffe potenti Veftimenta maris Deo. The The Fifth ODE of Horace, Lib. I. Rendred almoft word for word without Rhyme, according to the Latin Measure, as near as the Language will permit. HAT flender Youth bedew'd with liquid odours WHAT Courts thee on Roses in fome pleasant Cave, In wreaths thy golden Hair, Plain in thy neatness? O how oft shall he Who now enjoys thee credulous, all Gold, Hopes thee; of flattering gales Unmindful. Hapless they To whom thou untry'd seem'ft fair. Me in my vow'd Picture the facred wall declares t'have hung My dank and dropping weeds To the ftern God of Sea. On On the new Forcers of Confcience under the Long B PARLIAMENT. Ecause you have thrown off your Prelate Lord, And with stiff Vows renounc'd his Liturgie, To feize the widow'd whore Pluralitie From them whose fin ye envi'd, not abhorr'd, Dare ye for this adjure the civil Sword To force our Consciences that Chrift fet free, Taught ye by meer A. S. and Rotherford? May with their wholfom and preventive shears And fuccour our juft Fears: When they shall read this clearly in your charge, New Presbyter is but Old Prieft writ Large. SONNET S. SONNET I. To the Nightingale. Nightingale, that on yon bloomy Spray, [still, Warbleft at eeve, when all the Woods are Thou with fresh hope the Lover's heart doft fill, While the jolly hours lead on propitious May. Thy liquid notes that close the eye of Day, First heard before the fhallow Cuccoo's bill, Portend fuccefs in Love; O, if Jove's will Have link'd that amorous pow'r to thy foft lay, Now timely fing, ere the rude Bird of Hate Foretel my hopeless doom in some Grove ny; As thou from year to year haft fung too late For my relief; yet hadft no reason why, Whether the Muse, or Love call thee his mate, Both them I serve, and of their train am I. SON |