HEC que fequuntur de Authore teftimonia, tam

etfi ipfe intelligebat non tam de fe quàm

fupra fe effe dicta, eò quòd præclaro ingenio viri, nec non amici ita fere folent laudare, ut omnia fuis potius virtutibus, quàm veritati congruentia nimis cupidè affingant ; noluit tamen horum egregiam in fe voluntatem non effe notam; Cum alii præfertim ut id faceret magnopere fuaderent. Dum enim nimiz laudis invidiam totis ab fe viribus amolitur, fibique quod plus æquo eft non attributum effe mavult, judicium interim hominum cordatorum atque illuftrium quin fummo sibi honori ducat, negare non poteft.

Joannes Baptifta Manfus, Marchio Villenfis Neapolitanus, ad Joannem Miltonium Anglum.

U

T mens, forma, decor, facies, mos, fi pietas fic,
Non Anglus, verùm herclè Angelus ipfe foresa

26 turn to me thy face at length,
And me have mercy on,

Unto thy fervant give thy ftrength,
And fave thy hand-maid's Son,
17 Some fign of good to me afford,
And let my foes then fee.

And be afham'd, because thou Lord
Doft help and comfort me.

PSAL. LXXXVII.

A Mong the holy Mountains high

Is his foundation fast,

There Seated in his Sanctuary,

His Temple there is plac'd.

2 Sion's fair Gates the Lord loves more Than all the dwellings fair

Of Jacob's Land, though there be store,
And all within his care.

3 City of God, moft glorious things
Of thee abroad are spoke;

I mention Ægypt, where proud Kings
Did our Forefathers yoke.

I mention Babel to my friends,
Philiftia full of scorn,

And Tyre with Ethiops utmost ends,
Lo this man there was born

s But twice that praise fhall in out ear
Be faid of Sion last,

This and this man was born in her,
High God fhall fix her faft.

The Lord fhall write it in a Scrowle
That ne'er fhall be out-worn,

When he the Nations doth enrowle,
That this man there was born.

7 Both they who fing, and they who dance, With facred Songs are there,

In thee fresh brooks, and soft streams glance,
And all my fountains clear.

I

PSAL, LXXXVIII.

Lord God thou doft me fave and keep,

All day to thee I cry ;

And all night long, before thee weep,

Before thee proftrate lie.

2 Into thy prefence let my pray'r

With fighs devout afcend,

And to my cries, that ceaseless are,
Thine ear with favour bend.

3 For cloy'd with woes and trouble fore
Surcharg'd my Soul doth lie,

My life at death's unchearful door

Unto the grave draws nigh.