His Letters are deliver'd all and gon, On the new forcers of Confcience under the Long PARLIAMENT. BEcaufe you have thrown off your Prelate Lord, And with ftiff Vows renounc'd his Liturgie, To feife 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 Confciences that Chrift fet free, And ride us with a claffic Hierarchy Taught ye by meer A. S. and Rotherford? May with their wholfom and preventive hears And fuccour our juft Fears: When they fhall read this clearly in your charge, New Presbyter is but Old Priest writ Large. M AD PYRRHAM. ODE V. Horatius ex Pyrrhæ illecebris tanquam è naufragio enataverat, cujus amore irretitos, affirmat effe miferos. Q Vis multa gracilis te puer in rofâ Perfufus liquidis urget odoribus, Grato, Pyrrha, fub antro? Cui flavam religas comam Simplex manditiis? heu quoties fidem Nigris aquora ventis Emirabitur infolens, Qui nunc te fruitur credulus aureå : Fallacis. miferi, quibus Intentata nites. me tabulâ facer Votiva paries indicat uvida Veftimenta maris Deo. 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. W "Hat flender Youth bedew'd with liquid odours Courts thee on Rofes in some pleasant Cave, Pyrrha, for whom bind'ft thou In wreaths thy golden Hair, Plain in thy neatnefs? O how oft fhall he Who now enjoys thee credulous, all Gold, Unmindful. Haplefs they To whom thou untry'd feem'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. SONNET S. SONNET I. To the Nightingale. Nightingale, that on yon bloomy Spray Warbl'ft at ceve, 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 fhallow Cuccoo's bill Portend fuccefs in love; O, if 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 fome Grove ny; As thou from year to year haft fung too late Fer my relief; yet hadft no reason why, Whether the Muse, or Love call thee his mate, Both them I ferve, and of their train am I, SONNET II. Donna leggiadra il cui bel nome honora Che mover poffa duro alpestre legno, SONNET III Qual in colle afpro, al imbrunir di fera Va bagnando l'herbetta firana e bella |