THE PUBLISHER TO THE READER.

T was the glorious Maro that referr'd his legacies to the fire, and though princes are seldom executors, yet there came a Cæsar to his testament, as if the act of a poet could not be repeal'd but by a king. I am not Reader, AUGUSTUS vindex: Here is no royall rescue, but here is a Muse that deserves it. The Author had long agoe condemn'd these Poems to obscuritie, and the consumption of that further fate, which attends it. This censure gave them a gust of death, and they have partly known that oblivion, which our best labours must come to at last. I present thee then not only with a book,. but with a prey, and in this kind the first recoveries from corruption. Here is a flame hath been sometimes extinguished, thoughts that have

That is the Aeneid, which was preserved and published by his friends Varius and Tucca. G.

2 Augustus, Maecenas, Varius and Tucca, and he, formed the Poet's executors.

G.

been lost and forgot, but now they break out again like the Platonic reminiscencie. I have not the Author's approbation to the fact, but I have law on my side, though never a sword. I hold it no man's prærogative to fire his own house. Thou seest how saucie I am grown, and if thou doest expect I should commend what is published, I must tell thee, I crie no Sivill' oranges. I will not say, Here is fine or cheap : that were an injurie to the Verse it selfe, and to the effects it can produce.

Read on, and thou

wilt find thy spirit ingag'd: not by the deserts of what we call tolerable, but by the commands of a pen, that is above it.

Preliminary Poems to the Author.

VPON THE MOST INGENIOUS PAIR OF TWINS, EUGENIUS PHILALETHES, AND THE AUTHOR OF THESE POEMS.

HAT planet rul'd your birth? what wittie star?

That you so like in souls as bodies are! So like in both, that you seem born to free The starrie art from vulgar calumnie.

My doubts are solv'd, from hence my faith begins,
Not only your faces, but your wits are twins.

When this bright Gemini shall from Earth ascend,
They will new light to dull ey'd mankind lend,
Teach the star-gazers, and delight their eyes,
Being fixt a constellation in the skyes.

T. POWELL, OXONIENSIS.1

1 Dr Thomas Powell, as before. See our Essay in the present Volume. G.

TO MY FRIEND THE AUTHOUR UPON

THESE HIS POEMS.

CALL'd it once my sloth in such an

age

So many volumes deep, I not a page?

But I recant, and vow 'twas thriftie care
That kept my pen from spending on slight ware,
And breath'd it for a prize, whose pow'rfull shine
Doth both reward the striver, and refine;

Such are thy poems, friend: for since th' hast writ,
I cann't reply to any name, but wit;

And lest amidst the throng that makes us grone,
Mine prove a groundless heresie alone,
Thus I dispute, Hath there not rev'rence bin
Pay'd to the beard at doore, for Lord within?
Who notes the spindle-leg, or hollow eye
Of the thinne usher, the faire lady by?
Thus I sinne freely, neighbour to a hand

Which while I aime to strengthen, gives command
For my protection, and thou art to me

At once my subject and securitie.

I. ROWLANDSON, OXONIENSIS.'

One of the names matriculated at Queen's College, Oxon, 9th December, 1603 pleb. fil, aged 16. G.