Imatges de pÓgina



By Mr. Charles Hopkins.

S when a Prophet feels the God retir'd,
By whom he had a long time lain inspir'd,
His Eyes no more with facred Fury roul,

No more divine Impulses move his Soul:
The Fires that warm'd him, with the God are gone
The Deity with-drawn, the Charm is done.
So now my Muse can no more Rapture boast,
Since you went hence, her Infpiration's loft.
Robb'd of her Flame, all languishing the lyes,
And, Swan-like only fings before the dies.

But you, my Friend, to different Fortune move,
And crown your Days with Wine, your Nights with
In endless Blifs, unbounded time you wafte, [Love.
Your ravishing Delights for ever laft.

Long, long e'er this, you've often been poffeft,
Of all your Wish could frame to make you bleft.
When you, and Southern, Moyle, and Congreve meet,
The beft good Men, with the best-natur'd Wit.
Good Wine, good Company, the better Feaft,
And whene'er Wicherly is prefent, beft,
Then, then your Joys are perfectly compleat,
And facred Wit is at the nobleft height.
Oh! how I long to be allow'd to share,
And gain a Fame, by mingling with you there,
The Country now can be no longer born,
And fince you firft are gone, I must return;
I come, I come, dear Hammond, to purfue
Pleafures I cannot know, depriv'd of you.
Reftlefs, as Lovers, 'til we meet, I live,
And envy this, because 'twill first arrive.
With Joy I learnt, Dryden defigns to crown
All the great things he has already done.


No Lofs, no change of Vigour, can he feel;
Who dares attempt the facred Mantuan ftill.

And yet methinks, I owe too much to you,
To part fo coldly with a bare Adieu.

But what Requital can I make you more?
You've put all Recompence beyond my Power.
Fain wou'd my working Thoughts contrive a way;
For ev'ry gen'rous Man's in pain to pay.
'Tis not a fuitable return I give,

Yet what it is, my beft-good Friend, receive;
Take the best Wishes of a grateful Soul;
Congreve, and Moyle, and you, poffefs it whole.
Take all the Thanks, a Country Mufe can fend,
And in accepting this, oblige your Friend.



By the fame Hand,

Fter the Pangs of fierce Defire,

The Doubts and Hopes that wait on Love,

And feed, by turns, the raging Fire;

How charming must Fruition prove!


When the triumphant Lover feels

None of thofe Pains, which once he bores Or, when reflecting on his Ills,

He makes his present Pleasure more.


To Mariners, who long have lain

On a tempeftuous Ocean toft,

The Storms, that threatned on the Main,
Serve only to indear the Coast.

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By the fame Hand.


S famish'd Men, whom pleasing Dreams delude, Seem to grow full with their imagin'd Food; Appease their Hunger, and indulge their Tafte, With fancy'd Dainties, while their Visions laft: 'Till fome rude hand breaks up the flatt'ring Scene; Awaken'd, with regret, they starve again : So the false Muse prepares her vainer Feasts, And fo the treats her difappointed Guests: She promises vaft Things, immortal Fame, Vaft Honour, vast Applause, a deathless Name, But well awake, we find it all a Dream. She tells foft Tales, with an inchanting Tongue, And lulls our Souls, with the bewitching Song: How fhe, alone, makes Hcroes truly Great; How, dead long fince, fhe keeps them living yet. Shews her Parnaffus, like a flow'ry Grove, Fair, and Delightful, as the Bowers above; The fittest Place for Poetry, and Love. We hunt the Pleasures thro' the fairy Coast, 'Till in our fruitless Search our felves are loft. So the great Artist drew the lively Scene


Where hungry Birds fnatch'd at the Grapes in vain.
Tir'd with the Chafe, I give the Phantom o'er,
And am refolv'd to be deceiv'd no more.

Thus the fond Youth, who long, in vain, has ftrove,
With the fierce Pangs of unsuccessful Love;
With Joy, like mine, breaks the perplexing Chain,
Freed, by fome happy Chance, from all his Pain,
With Joy, like mine, he grows himself again.


To Mr. WATSON, on his Ephemeris of the Celestial Motions, prefented to Her Majefty.



RT, when in full Perfection, is design'd To please the Eye, or to inform the Mind: This Nobler Piece performs the double Part, With graceful Beauty, and inftructive Art. Since the great Archimedes Sphere was loft, The nobleft Labour finifh'd it cou'd boaft: No generous Hand durft that fam'd Model trace, Which Greece admir'd, and Rome cou'd only praise. This you, with greater luftre, have reftor'd; And taught thofe Arts we ignorantly ador'd: Motion in full Perfection here you've shown, And what Mankind despair'd to reach, have done. In Artful Frames your Heav'nly Bodies move, Scarce brighter in their beauteous Orbs above: And Stars depriv'd of all malignant Flames, Here court the Eye, with more aufpicious Beams. In graceful Order the juft Planets rise, And here compleat their Circles in the Skies: Here's the full Confort of revolving Spheres, And Heav'n in bright Epitomy appears.

With Charms the Ancients did invade the Moon,
And from her Orb compell'd her ftrugling down :
But here fhe's taught a Nobler Change by you,
And moves with pride in this bright Sphere below.
While your Celeftial Bodies thus I view,
They give me bright Ideas of the true :

Infpir'd by them, my Thoughts dare upward move,
And vifit Regions of the Bleft above.

Thus from your Hand w' admire the Globe in fmall,
A Copy fair as its Original:

This Labour's to the whole Creation juft,
Second to none, and Rival to the First.
The artful Spring, like the diffufive Soul,
Informs the Machin, and directs the whole:
Like Nature's self, it fills the spacious Throne,
And unconfin'd fways the fair Orbs alone;
Th' unactive parts with awful Silence wait,
And from its Nod their Birth of Motion date:
Like Chaos, they obey the pow'rful Call,
Move to its Sound, and into Measures fall.

Fortuna fævo Læta negotio, &c. Out of HORACE.

By the late Duke of BUCKINGHAM.

Fortune, made up of de, t) and Common

Ortune, made up of Toys and Impudence,



But fond of Bufinefs, infolently dares
Pretend to Rule, and spoils the World's Affairs;
She, flutt'ring up and down, her Favours throws
On the next met, not minding what she does,
Nor why, nor whom he helps or injures, knows.
Sometimes She fmiles, then like a Fury raves;
And feldom truly loves, but Fools or Knaves
Let her love whom he pleafe, I fcorn to woo her,
Whilft the ftays with me, I'll be civil to her;
But if the offers once to move her Wings,
I'll fling her back all her vain Gew-gaw things;
And, arm'd with Virtue, will more glorious ftand,
Than if the Bitch ftill bow'd at my Command:
I'll marry Honefty, tho' ne'er fo poor,

Rather than follow fuch a dull blind Whore.

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