Since none does more to Phoebus owe,
Or in more languages can fhow
Those arts which you so early know.
WORTHY FRIEND MR. EVELYN,
UPON HIS TRANSLATION OF LUCRETIUS.
LUCRETIUS, (with a ftork-like fate,
Born and tranflated in a state)
Comes to proclaim, in English verse,
No monarch rules the universe,
But chance, and atoms, make this All
In order democratical,
Where bodies freely run their course,
Without defign, or fate or force :
And this in fuch a strain he fings,
As if his Mufe, with angels' wings,
Had foar'd beyond our utmost sphere,
And other worlds difcover'd there:
For his immortal, boundlefs wit,
To Nature does no bounds permit,
But boldly has remov'd thofe bars
Of heav'n and earth, and feas and stars,
By which they were before fuppos'd,
By narrow wits, to be enclos'd,
Till his free Mufe threw down the pale,
And did at once difpark them all.
So vaft this argument did feem,
That the wife author did esteem
The Roman language (which was spread
O'er the whole world, in triumph led)
A tongue too narrow to unfold
The wonders which he would have told.
This speaks thy glory, noble Friend!
And British language does commend;
For here Lucretius whole we find,
His words, his musick, and his mind.
Thy art has to our country brought
All that he writ, and all he thought.
Ovid tranflated, Virgil too,
Shew'd long fince what our tongue could do:
Nor Lucan we, nor Horace fpar'd;
Only Lucretius was too hard :
Lucretius, like a fort did stand
Untouch'd, till your victorious hand
Did from his head this garland bear,
Which now upon your own you wear:
A garland! made of fuch new bays,
And fought in fuch untrodden ways,
As no man's temples e'er did crown,
Save this great author's and your own!
WORTHY FRIEND SIR THO. HIGGONS,
Upon his tranflation of
THE VENETIAN TRIUMPH.
* not fo fierce in fight, As Liberi's hand prefents him to our fight; Nor would his pencil make him half so fierce, Or roar fo loud, as Bufinello's veríe : But your tranflation does all three excel, The fight, the piece, and lofty Bufinel. As their small gallies may not hold compare With our tall ships, whofe fails employ more air; So does th' Italian to your genius vail,
Mov'd with a fuller and a nobler gale.
Thus while your Mufe spreads the Venetian story, You make all Europe emulate her glory:
You make them blush weak Venice should defend
The cause of Heav'n, while they for words contend;
Shed Chriftian blood, and pop'lous cities rafe,
Because they're taught to use some diff 'rent phrase.
If, lift'ning to your charms, we could our jars
Compofe, and on the Turk discharge thefe wars,
Our British arms the facred tomb might wrest
From Pagan hands, and triumph o'er the East ; 20
And then you might our own high deeds recite,
And with great Tafso celebrate the fight.
OF THE DIFFERENT SUCCESS OF THEIR LOVES.
THRICE happy Pair! of whom we cannot know
Which firft began to love, or loves most now:
Fair courfe of paflion! where two lovers start,
And run together, heart ftill yok'd with heart:
Successful Youth! whom Love has taught the way 5
To be victorious in the first effay.
Sure love 's an art beft practised at first,
And where th' experienced ftill profper worst!
I with a diff'rent fate purfu'd in vain
The haughty Cælia, till my just disdain
Of her neglect, above that paffion borne,
Did pride to pride oppose, and scorn to scorn.
Now fhe relents; but all too late to move
A heart directed to a nobler love.
The fcales are turn'd, her kindness weighs no more
Now than my vows and fervice did before.
So in fome well wrought hangings you may fee
How Hector leads, and how the Grecians flee:
Here the fierce Mars his courage fo infpires,
That with bold hands the Argive fleet he fires :
But there, from heav'n the blue ey'd virgin * falls,
And frighted Troy retires within her walls:
They that are foremost in that bloody race
Turn head anon, and give the conqu'rors chase.
So like the chances are of love and war,
That they alone in this distinguish'd are,
In love the victors from the vanquish'd fly;
They fly that wound, and they pursue that die. 28
AIREST piece of well-form'd earth!
Urge not thus your haughty birth:
The pow'r which you have o'er us lies
Not in your race, but in your eyes.
"None but a Prince!"-Alas! that voice
Confines you to a narrow choice.
Should you no honey vow to taste,
But what the master-bees have plac'd
In compass of their cells, how small
A portion to your fhare would fall?
Nor all appear, among those few,
Worthy the stock from whence they grew.
The fap which at the root is bred
Ip trees, thro' all the boughs is spread;
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