Must now be nam'd and printed Heretics
By shallow Edwards * and Scotch what d'ye call + :

But we do hope to find out all your tricks,
Your plots and packing worse than those of Trent,

That so the Parlament 15
May with their wholsome and preventive fears
Clip your phylacteries, tho' bauk your ears,

And fuccour our just fears,
When they shall read this clearly in your charge,
New Presbyter is but Old Priest writ large.

20

* Mr. Thomas Edwards, author of the Gangræna.

+ Either Mr. Alexander Henderson or Mr. George Gillespie, both commissioners to the Westminkcr allembly.

XIX.

The Fifth O DE of Horace, Lib. I.

Quis multa gracilis te puer in rofa, rendred almost word for word without rhime, according to the Latin measure, as near as the language will permit.

WHA

HAT slender youth bedew'd with liquid odors

Courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave,
Pyrrha? for whom bind'ft thou
In wreaths thy golden hair,

5

Plain in thy neatness ? O how oft shall he
On faich and changed Gods complain, and seas

Rough with black winds and storms
Unwonted shall admire !

Who now enjoys thee credulous, all gold,
Who always vacant always amiable

Hopes thee, of Aattering gales
Unmindful. Hapless they

10

To whom thou untry'd seem'ft fair. Me in my vow'd
Pi&ure the sacred wall declares t' have hung
My dank and dropping weeds

Ad P Y RRH AM

ODE V.

Horatius ex Pyrrhæ illecebris tanquam è naufragio

enataverat, cujus amore irretitos. affirmat efie miseros.

5

Simplex munditiis ? heu quoties fidem
Mutatosque deos flebit, et aspera

Nigris æquora ventis
Emirabitur infolens !

SO N N E T S*

1.
To the NIGHTINGAL E.

.

5

+ O Nightingale

, that pn yon bloomy spray
+

Warbleft at eve,when all the woods are still,
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 shallow cuccoo's bill,
Portend success in love ; Olif Jove's will

Have link'd that amorous pow'r to thy soft lay,
Now timely fing, ere the rude bird of hate

Foretel my hopeless doom in some grove nigh;
As thou from year to year haft sung too late

relief, yet hadīt no reason why:
Whether the Muse, or Love call thee his mate,
Both chem I serve, and of their train am I.

For my

II.
Donna leggiadra il cui bel nome honora

L'herbosa val di Rheno, e il nobil varco,

more tran

* The Sonnet (says Dr Newton) is a species of poetry of Italian extraction, and the famous Petrarch harh gain’d the reputation of being the first Author and inventor of it. It consists generally of one thought, and that always turned in fourteen verses of the length of our heroics, two stanza's or meafures of four verses each, and two of three, the firft eight verses having no two rhymes. It is certainly one of the moft difficult of all the Jeffer kinds of poetry, such simplicity and such correctness being required in the composition. The Sonnet (says Mr Johnson) is a short poem consisting of fourteen lines, of which the rhymes are adjusted by a particular rule. It is not very suitable to the English language, and has not been used by any man of eminence since Milton.

beautiful

Joue

ones in Loosley

Bene è colui d'ogni valore fcarco

Qual tuo spirto gentil non innamora, Che dolcemente moitra fi di fuora

5 De sui atti foavi giamai parco, E i don', che fon d'amor saette ed arco,

La onde l'alta tua virtu s'infiora. Quando tu vaga parli, o lieta canti

Che mover posla duro alpeftre legno,

Guardi ciascun a gli occhi, ed a gli orecchi L'entrata, chi di te fi truova indegno;

Gratia sola di fu gli vaglia, inanti Che'l difio amoroso al cuor s'invecchi.

e

III.
Qual in colle afpro, al imbrunir di sera

L'avezza giovinetta paftorella
Va bagnando l'herbetta ftrana e bella

Che mal fi spande a disufata spera
Fuor di fua natia alma primavera,

Cofi Amor meco insù la lingua fnella
Delta il fior novo di strania favella,

Mentre io di te, vezzosamente altera,
Canto, dal mio buon popol non inteso

E'l bel Tamigi cangio col bel Arno.

Amor lo volse, ed io a l'altrui peso
Seppi ch' Amor cofa mai volse indarno.

Deh! foss' il mio cuor lento e'l duro seno
A chi pianta dal ciel si buon terreno.

10

R

Canzone.
Idonsi donne e giovani amorofi

M'accostandosi attorno, e perche scrivi,
Perche tu scrivi in lingua ignota e ftrana
Verseggiando d'amor, e come t'ofi ?