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MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

POEMS

ON

SEVERAL OCCASIONS.

TO

MR. DRYDEN.

How long, great poet, shall thy sacred lays
Provoke our wonder, and transcend our praise ?
Can neither injuries of time, nor age,
Damp thy poetic heat, and quench thy rage ?
Not so thy Ovid in his exile wrote,
Grief chill'd his breast, and check'd his rising thought;
Pensive and sad, his drooping Muse betrays
The Roman genius in its last decays.

Prevailing warmth has still thy mind possest,
And second youth is kindled in thy breast;
Thou mak'st the beauties of the Romans known,
And England boasts of riches not her own;
Thy lines have heighten'd Virgil's majesty,
And Horace wonders at himself in thee.
Thou teachest Persius to inform our isle
In smoother numbers, and a clearer style ;
And Juvenal, instructed in thy page,
Edges his satire, and improves his rage.

HZ

Thy copy casts a fairer light on all,
And still out-shines the bright original.

Now Ovid boasts th' advantage of thy song,
And tells his story in the British tongue ;
Thy charming verse, and fair translations, show
How thy own laurel first began to grow;
How wild Lycaon, chang'd by angry gods,
And frightedat himself,ran howling through the woods.

O mayst thou still the noble task prolong, Nor age, nor sickness, interrupt thy song: Then may we wond'ring read, how human limbs Have water'd kingdoms, and dissolv'd in streams; Of those rich fruits that on the fertile mould Turn'd yellow by degrees, and ripen'd into gold; How some in feathers, or a ragged hide, Have liv'd a second life, and different natures try'd. Then will thy Ovid, thus transform’d, reveal A nobler change than he himself can tell.

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A

PO E M

TO

HIS MAJESTY.*

PRESENTED TO THE LORD KEEPER.

• King William. Printed in the year 1695. The author's age 24.

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