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Yet faintly now declines the fatal Atrife,
So much his love was dearer than his life.
Now ev'ry leaf, and ev'ry moving breath
Prefents a foc, and ev'ry foe a death.
Weary'd, forfaken, and purfu'd, at last
All fafety in defpair of fafety plac'd,
Courage he thence refumes, refolv'd to bear
All their affaults, fince 'tis in vain to fear.
And now, too late, he withes for the fight
That ftrength he waited in ignoble flight:
But when he fees the eager chace renew'd,
Himfelf by dogs, the dogs by men purfu'd,
He ftraight revokes his bold refolve, and more
Repents his courage than his fear before;
Finds that uncertain ways unfafeft are,
And doubt a greater mifchief than defpair.
Then to the ftream, when neither friends,nor force,
Nor fpeed, nor art avail, he thapes his course;
Thinks not their rage fo defp'rate to effay
An element more merciless than they.
But fearless they purfue, nor can the flood
Quench their dire thirft; alas, they thirft for blood.
So towards a fhip the oar-finn'd gallies ply,
Which wanting fea to ride, or wind to fly,
Stands but to fall reveng'd on thofe that dare
Tempt the last fury of extreine defpair.
So fares the ftag, among th'enraged hounds,
Repels their force, and wounds return for wounds.
And as a hero, whom his bafer foes

In troops furround, now thefe affails, now thofe,
Tho' prodigal of life, difdains to die
By common hands; but if he can defcry
Some nobler foe approach, to him he calls,
And begs his fate, and then contented falls.
So, when the king a mortal fhaft lets fly
From his unerring hand, then gleed, to die,
Proud of the wound, to it refigns his blood,
And ftains the cryftal with a purple flood.
This a more innocent and happy chace,
Than when of old, but in the self-same place,
Fair liberty purfu'd*, and meant a prey
To lawless pow'r, here turn'd, and stood a bay.
When in that remedy all hope was plac'd,
Which was or should have been at least, the laft,
Here was that charter seal'd, wherein the crown
All marks of arbitrary pow'r lays down:
Tyrant and flave, thofe names of hate and fear,
The happier ftile of king and fubject bear:
Happy, when both to the fame centre move,
When kings give liberty, and fubjects love.
Therefore not long in force this charter stood;
Wanting that feal, it must be feal'd in blood.
The fubjects arm'd, the more their princes gave;
Th'advantage only took, the more to crave:
Till kings, by giving, give themfelves away,
And ev'n that pow'r that fhould deny betray.
Who gives conftrain'd, but his own fear reviles,
Not thank'd, but fcorn'd; nor are they gifts,
but fpoils.'
[hold,
Thus kings, by grafping more than they could
Firft made their fubjects, by oppreffion, bold:
And pop'lar fway, by forcing kings to give
More than was fit for fubje&ts to receive,

Ran to the fame extremes; and one excess
Made both, by ftriving to be greater, leis.
When a calm river rais'd with fudden rains,
Or fnows diffolv'd, o'erflows th'adjoining plains,
The husbandmen, with high rais'd banks fecure
Their greedy hopes, and this he can endure.
But if with bays and dams they ftrive to force
His channel to a new, or narrow course,
No longer then within his banks he dwells;
Firft to a torrent, then a deluge fwells:
Stronger and fiercer by reftraint he roars,
And knows no bound, but makes his power his
fhores.

§ 24.

On Mr. Abraham Corley's Death and Burial amongst the ancient Poets. DENHAM. OLD Chaucer, like the morning ftar,

To us difcovers day from far,

His light thofe mifts and clouds diffolv'd,
Which our dark nation long involv'd :
But he defcending to the shades,
Darknefs again the age invades.
Next (like Aurora) Spencer rofe,
Whofe purple blufh the day forefhows;
The other three, with his own fires,
Phoebus, the poet's god, infpires;
By Shakespeare's, Jonfon's, Fletcher's, lines,
Our ftage's luftre Rome's outfhines;
Thefe poets near our princes fleep,
And in one grave our mansion keep.
They liv'd to fee fo many days,
Till time had blafted all their bays:
But curfed be the fatal hour
That pluck'd the fairest, sweetest flow'r
That in the Mufe's garden grew,
And amongst wither'd laurels threw.
Time, which made their fame out-live,
To Cowley fcarce did ripeness give.
Old mother Wit, and Nature gave
Shakespeare and Fletcher all they have;
In Spenfer, and in Jonson, Art
Of flower Nature got the ftart;
But both in him fo equa! are,

None knows which bears the happiest share :
To him no author was unknown,
Yet what he wrote was all his own;
He melted not the ancient gold,
Nor, with Ben Jonfon, did make bold
To plunder all the Roman ftores
Of poets, and of orators:
Horace's wit, and Virgil's ftate,
He did not steal, but emulate!

And when he would like them appear,
Their garb, but not their cloaths, did wear:
He not from Rome alone, but Greece,
Like Jafon, brought the golden fleece:
To him that language (thought to none
Of th'others) as his own was known.
On a stiff gale (as Flaccus fings)
The Theban fwan extends his wings,
When thro' th'ætherial clouds he flies,
To the fame pitch our swan doth rife;

* Runny Mead,

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Old Pindar's flights by him are reach'd,
When on that gale his wings are stretch'd;
His fancy and his judgment fuch,
Each to the other feem'd too much,
His fevere judgment (giving law)
His modeft fancy kept in awe :
As rigid husbands jealous are,

When they believe their wives too fair.

His Englith ftreams fo pure did flow,

As all that faw and tafted know.
But for his Latin vein, fo clear,
Strong, full, and high it doth appear,
That were immortal Virgil here,
Him for his judge he would not fear;
Of that great portraiture, fo true
A copy pencil never drew.
My Mufe her fong had ended here,
But both their Genii ftraight appear;
Joy and amazement her did ftrike,
Two twins the never faw fo like.
'Twas taught by wife Pythagoras,
One foul might thro' more bodies pafs:
Seeing fuch tranfmigration there,
She thought it not a fable here.
Such a refemblance of all parts,
Life, death, age, fortune, nature, arts;
Then lights her torch at theirs to tell,
And fhew the world this parallel:
Fixt and contemplative their looks,
Still turning over Nature's books:
Their works chafte, moral, and divine,
Where profit and delight combine;
Thev, gilding dirt, in noble verse
Ruftic philofophy rehearse.
When heroes, gods, or god-like kings,
They praife, on their exalted wings
To the celeftial orbs they climb,

And with th'harmonious fpheres keep time:
Nor did their actions fall behind

Their words, but with like candour fhin'd;
Each drew fair characters, yet none
Of thefe they feign'd excels their own.
Both by two generous princes lov'd,
Who knew, and judg'd what they approv'd.
Yet having each the fame defire,
Both from the buly throng retire:
Their bodies, to their minds refign'd,
Car'd not to propagate their kind:
Yet, tho' both fell before their hour,
Time on their offspring hath no pow'r,
Nor fire nor fate their bays fhall blaft,
Nor death's dark veil their day o'ercaft.

§ 25. An Effay on Tranflated Verfe. EARL OF ROSCOMMON. HAPPY that author, whofe correct effay Repairs fo well our old Horatian way: And happy you, who (by propitious fate) On great Apollo's facred ftandard wait, And with ftrict difcipline inftructed right, Have learn'd to ufe your arms before you fight.

But fince the prefs, the pulpit, and the stage,
Confpire to cenfure and expofe our age;
Povok'd too far, we refolutely muft,
To the few virtues that we have, be juft.
For who have long'd, or who have labour'dinore
To fearch the treafures of the Roman store;
Or dig in Grecian mines for purer ore?
The nobleft fruits tranfplanted in our ifle,
With early hope and fragrant bloffoms. fmile.
Familiar Ovid tender thoughts infpires,
And nature feconds all his foft defires :
Theocritus does now to us belong;
And Albion's rocks repeat his rural fong.
Who has not heard how Italy was bleft
Above the Medes, above the wealth Eaft >
Of Gallus' fong, fo tender and fo true,

As ev'n Lycoris might with pity view! [hearfe,
When mourning nymphs attend their Daphnis'
Who does not weep that reads the moving verfe!
But hear, oh hear, in what exalted strains
Sicilian Mufes through thefe happy plains
Proclaim Saturnian times-our own Apollo

reigns!

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When France had breath',after inteftine broils, And peace and conqueft crown'd her foreign toils, There (cultivated by a royal hand)

Learning grew faft, and fpread, and bleft the land;
The choiceft books that Rome or Greece have
Her excellent tranflators made her own: [known,
And Europe ftill confiderably gains,

Both by their good example and their pains.
From hence our generous emulation came;
We undertook, and we perform'd the fame.
But now, we fhow the world a nobler way,
And in tranflated verfe do more than they;
Serene, and clear, harmonious Horace flows,
With fweetnefs not to be expreft in profe:
Degrading profe explains his meaning ill,
And fhews the ftuff, but not the workman's skill:
I (who have ferv'd him more than twenty years)
Scarce know my mafter as he there appears.
Vain are our neighbours hopes, and vain their

cares;

The fault is more the language's than theirs : 'Tis courtly, florid, and abounds in words Of fofter found than ours perhaps affords; But who did ever in French authors fee The comprehenfive English energy? The weighty bullion of one fterling line, Drawn to French wire, would thro' whole pages I speak my private, but impartial fenfe, [thine. With freedom, and (I hope) without offence; For I'll recant, when France can fhew me wit As ftrong as ours, and as fuccinctly writ. But good tranilation is no cafy art. 'Tis true, compofing is a nobler part; For tho' materials have long fince been found, Yet both your fancy and your hands are bound; And by improving what was writ before, Invention labours lefs, but judgment more. The foil intended for Pierian feeds Muft be well purg'd from rank pedantic weeds.

* John Sheffield duke of Buckinghamshire,

Apolla

Apollo ftarts, and all Parnaffus fhakes,
At the rude rumbling Baralipton makes.
For none have been with admiration read,
But who (befide their learning) were well bred.
The first great work (a taik perform'd by few)
Is, that yourfelf may to yourself be true:
No maik, no tricks, no favour, no reserve;
Diffcct your mind, examine ev'ry nerve.
Whoever vainly on his ftrength depends,
Begins like Virgil, but like Mævius ends.
That wretch (in fpite of his forgotten rhymes)
Condemn'd to live to all fucceeding times,
With pompous nonfenfe and a bellowing found,
Sung lofty Ilium, tumbling to the ground.
And (if my Mufe can thro' paft ages fee)
That noify, naufeous, gaping fool was he;
Exploded, when with univerfal fcorn,
The mountains labour'd and a moufe was born.
Learn, learn, Crotona's brawny wreftler cries,
Audacious mortals, and be timely wife!
'Tis I that call, remember Milo's end,

Inftruct the lift'ning world how Mong
Of useful fubjects and of lofty thmes.
Thefe will fuch true, fuch bright ideas rane,
As merit gratitude as well as praife:
But foul defcriptions are offenfive still,
Either for being like, or being ill.
For who, without a qualm, have ever look'd
On holy garbage, tho' by Homer cook'd ?
Whofe railing heroes, and whofe wounded
Makes fome fufpect he faores, as well as n J,
But I offend-Virgil begins to frown,
And Horace looks with indignation down;
My blufhing Mufe with confcious fear retires,
And whom they like, implicitly admires.

Ou fure foundations let your fabric rife,
And with attractive majefty surprise,
Not by affected meretricious arts,
But ftrict harmonious fymmetry of parts;
Which thro' the whole infenfibly muft pafs,
With vital heat to animate the mafs:
A pure, an active, an aufpicious flame, [came;

Wedg'd in that timber which he ftrove to rend. And bright as heav'n, from whence the bleffing

Each poet with a diff'rent talent writes;

One praifes, one inftructs, another bites.
Horace did ne'er afpire to epic bays,
Nor lofty Maro ftoop to lyric lays.
Examine how your humour is inclin'd,
And which the ruling paflion of
your mind;
Then, feek a poet who your way does bend,
And choofe an author as you choose a friend;
United by this fympathetic bond,
You grow familiar, intimate, and fond;
Your thoughts, your words, your ftyles, your fouls
No longer his interpreter, but he. [agree,
With how much cafe is a young Mufe betray'd!
How nice the reputation of the maid!
Your early, kind, paternal care appears,
By chafte inttruction of her tender years.
The first impreflion in her infant breast
Will be the deepest, and should be the best.
Let not aufterity breed fervile fear,
No wanton found offend her virgin ear;
Secure from foolith pride's affected state,
And fpecious flatt'ry's more pernicious bait,
Habitual innocence adorns her thoughts;
But your neglect must answer for her faults.
Immodeft words admit of no defence;
For want of decency is want of fenfe.
What inod'rate fop would rake the Park or stews,
Who among troops of faultlefs nymphs may
Variety of fuch is to be found; [choofe?
Take then a fubject proper to expound :
But moral, great, and worth a poet's voice,
For men of fenfe defpife a trivial choice:
And fuch applaufe it muft expect to meet,
As would fome painter bufy in a street;
To copy bulls and bears, and ev'ry fign
That calls the ftaring fots to nafty wine.
Yet 'tis not all to have a subject good;
It muft delight us when 'tis understood.
He that brings fulfome objects to my view
(As many old have done, and many new)
With nauseous images my fancy fills,

And all goes down like oxymel of fquills.

But few, oh few fouls, præordain'd by, fate,
The race of gods, have reach'd that envy'd height.
No Rebel-Titan's facrilegious crime,

By heaping hills on hills, can hither climb:
The grizly ferryman of hell deny'd
Eneas entrance, till he knew his guide:
How juftly then will impious mortals fall,
Whofe pride would foar to heav'n without a call!

Pride (of all others the moft dang'rous fault)
Proceeds from want of fenfe, or want of thought.
The men, who labour and digeft things moft,
Will be much apter to defpond than boast:
For if your author be profoundly good,
'Twill coft you dear before he's understood.
How many ages fince has Virgil writ!
How few are they who understand him yet!
Approach his altars with religious fear,
No vulgar deity inhabits there:
Heav'n fhakes not more at Jove's imperial nod,
Than poets fhould before their Mantuan god.
Hail mighty Maro! may that facred name
Kindle my breaft with thy celeftial flame;
Sublime ideas and apt words infufe;
[Mufe!
The Mufe inftruct my voice, and thou inspire the
What I have inftanc'd only in the beft,
Is, in proportion, true of all the rest.
Take pains the genuine meaning to explore,
There fweat, there ftrain, tug the laborious oar;
Search ev'ry comment that your care can find,
Some here, fome there, may hit the poet's mind;
Yet be not blindly guided by the throng;
The multitude is always in the wrong.
When things appear unnatural or hard,
Confult your author, with himself compar'd;
Who knows what bleffings Phobus may bestow,
And future ages to your labour owe?
Such fecrets are not cafily found out;
But, once difcover'd, leave no room for doubt.
Truth ftamps conviction in your ravish'd breast,
And peace and joy attend the glorious guckt.

Truth is ftill one; truth is divinely bright, No cloudy doubts obfcure her native ligh;

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al van meur thoughts you find the left debate,
't ne ei can t.. late.
Your ftyle will this thro' all diguies fnow,
For none explain inore clearly than they know.
only proves he understands a text,
Whofe expofition leaves it unperplex'd.
They who too faithfully on names infft,
Rather create than diffipate the mist;
And grow unjust by being over-nice;
For fuperftitious virtue turns to vice.
It Craffus' ghoft and Labienus tell
How twice in Parthian plains their legions fell.
Since Rome hath been fo jealous of her faune,
That few kaow Pacorus' cr Monafes' name.
Words in one language elegantly us'd,
Will hardly in another be excus'd.

And fome that Rome admir'd in Cæfar's time,
May neither fuit our genius nor our clime.
The genuine fenfe, intelligibly told,
Shews a tranflator both difcreet and bold.
Excurfions are inexpiably bad;

And 'tis much fafer to leave out than add.
Abftrufe and myftic thoughts you must exprefs
With painful care, but feeming eafinefs;
For truth fhines brighteft thro' the plaineft drefs.
Th'nean Mufe, when the appears in ftate,
Makes all Jove's thunder on her verfes wait.
Yet writes fometines as foft and moving things
As Venus ipeaks, or Philomela fings.
Your author always will the beft advise;
Fall when he falls, and when he rifes rife.
Affected noife is the most wretched thing
That to contempt can empty fcribblers bring.
Vowels and accents, regularly plac'd,
On even fyllables (and ftill the laft)
Tho' grofs innumerable faults abound,
In fpite of nonfenfe, never fail of found.
But this is meant of even verfe alone,

As being moft harmonious and most known:
For if you will unequal numbers try,
There accents on odd fyllables muft lie.
Whatever fifter of the learned Nine
Does to your fuit a willing car incline,
Urge your fuccefs, deferve a lafting name,
She'll crown a grateful and a constant flame.
But, if a wild uncertainty prevail,

And turn your veering heart with ev'ry gale,
You lofe the fruit of all your former care
For the fad profpect of a juft defpair.

;

Another fuch had left the nation thin,
In spite of all the children he brought in.
His pills as thick as hand-granadoes flew ;
And where they fell, as certainly they flew
His name ftruck everywhere as great a damp
As Archimedes thro' the Roman camp.
With this, the doctor's pride began to cool;
For fmarting foudly may convince a fool.
But now repentance came too late for grace;
And meagre famine star'd him in the face;
Fain would he to the wives be reconcil'd,
But found no husband left to own a child.
The friends that got the brats, were poifon'd too;
In this fad cafe, what could our vermin do?
Worry'd with debts, and past all hope of bail,
Th'unpity'd wretch lies rotting in a jail :
And there with bafket-alms, fcarce kept alive,
Shews how mistaken talents ought to thrive.

I pity, from my foul, unhappy men,
Compell'd by want to proftitute their pen;
Who muft, like lawyers, either starve or plead,
And follow, right or wrong, where guineas lead !
But you, Pompilian, wealthy pamper'd heirs,
Who to your country owe your fwords and cares,
Let no vain hope your eafy mind feduce,
For rich ill poets are without excufe.
'Tis very dangerous, tampering with a mufe,
The profit's fmall, and you have much to lose;
For tho' true wit adorns your birth or place,
Degenerate lines degrade th'attainted race.
No poet any paffion can excite,

But what they feel tranfport them when theywrite.
Have you been led thro' the Cumæan cave,
And heard th'impatient maid divinely rave?
I hear her now; I fee her rolfing eves:
And panting, Lo! the god, the god, the cries;
With words not hers, and more than human found
She makes th'obedient glofts peep trembling thro

the ground.

But, tho' we must obey when Heav'n commands, And man in vain the facred call withstands, Beware what fpirit rages in your breast; For ten inspir'd, ten thousand are possest. Thus make the proper ufe of each extreme, And write with fury, but correct with phlegm, As when the cheerful hours too freely pafs, And fparkling wine fmiles in the tempting glafs, Your pulfe advifes, and begins to beat Thro' ev'ry fwelling vein a loud retreat : So when a mufe propitioufly invites, Improve her favours, and indulge her flights; But when you find that vigorous heat abate, Leave off, and for another fummons wait. Before the radiant fun, a glimmering lamp, Adulterate metals to the fterling ftamp, Appear not meaner than mere human lines, Compar'd with those whose inspiration shines : Thefe nervous, bold; thofe languid and remifs: There, cold faiutes; but here a lover's kifs. Thus have I feen a rapid, headlong tide, With foaming waves the palling Soane divide; Whofe lazy waters without motion lay, [way, While he, with eager force, urg'd his impetuous * Hor. 3, Od. vi.

A quack (too fcandaloufly mean to name) Had, by man-midwifery, got wealth and fame; As if Lucina had forgot her trade, The labouring wife invokes his furer aid. Well-fealon'd bowls the goffip's fpirits raife, Who, while the guzzles, chats the doctor's praife; And largely what the wants in words fupplics, With maudlin-eloquence of trickling eyes, But what a thoughtless animal is man! (How very active in his own trepan!) For, greedy of phyficians frequent fees, From female mellow praife he takes degrees; Struts in a new unlicens'd gown, and then, From faving women, falls to killing men.

The

The privilege that ancient poets claim, Now turn'd to licence by too just a name, Belongs to none but an eftablith'd fame, Which fcorns to take it

Abfurd expreffions, crude, abortive thoughts,
All the lewd legion of exploded faults,
Bafe fugitives to that afylum fly,
And facred laws with infolence defy.
Not thus our heroes of the former days,
Deferv'd and gain'd their never-fading bays;
For I mistake, or far the greatest part
Of what fome call neglect, was study's art.
When Virgil feems to trifle in a line,
'Tis like a warning-piece, which gives the fign
To wake your fancy, and prepare your fight,
To reach the noble height of fome unufual flight.
I lofe my patience, when with faucy pride,
By untun'd ears I hear his numbers try'd.
Reverse of nature! fhall fuch copies then
Arraign th'originals of Maro's pen!
And the rude notions of pedantic schools
Blafpheme the facred founder of our rules!
The delicacy of the niceft ear
Finds nothing harth, or out of order there.
Sublime or low, unbended or intense;
The found is ftill a comment to the fenfe.
A fkilful ear in numbers fhould prefide,
And all difputes without appcal decide.
This ancient Rome, and elder Athens found,
Before mistaken stops debauch'd the found.

When by impulfe from Heav'n, Tyrtæus fung,
In drooping foldiers a new courage iprung;
Reviving Sparta now the flight maintain'd,
And what two gen'rals loft a poet gain'd.
By fecret influence of indulgent skies,
Empire and poefy together rife.

True poets are the guardians of the ftate,
And, when they fail, portend approaching fate.
For that which Rome to conqueft did infpire,
Was not the veftal, but the mufe's fire;
Heav'n joins the bleflings: no declining age
E'er felt the raptures of poetic rage.

Of many faults, rhyme is (perhaps) the caufe;
Too ftrict to rhyme, we flight more useful laws;
For that, in Greece or Rome, was never known,
Till by barbarian deluges o'erflown:
Subdu'd, undone, they did at last obey,
And change their own for their invader's way.
I grant, that from fome moffy, idol oak,
In double rhymes our Thor and Woden fpoke;
And by fucceffion of unlearn'd times,
As bards began, fo monks rung on the chimes.

But now that Phoebus and the facred Nine, With all their beams on our bleft island shine, Why should not we their ancient rites reftore, And be, what Rome or Athens were before?

Have forgot how Raphael's numerous profe Led our exalted fouls thro' heavenly camps, • And mark'd the ground where proud apoftate ' thrones

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Defy'd Jehovah! here, 'twixt host and host, (A narrow, but a dreadful interval)

• Portentous fight! before the cloudy van

'Satan with vaft and haughty ftrides advanc'd, "Came tow'ring arm'd in adamant and gold. There bellowing engines, with their fiery tubes, 'Difpers'd æthercal forms, and down they fol By thoufands, angels on arch-angels roll'd, Recover'd to the hills they ran, they flew, Which (with their ponderous load, rocks, was 'ters, woods)

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From their firm feats, torn by the fhaggy tops, They bore like fhields before them thro' the air, 'Till more incens'd they hurl'd them at their foes. All was confufion, heaven's foundations thook, Threat'ning no lefs than universal wreck; For Michael's arm main promontories flung, And over-preft whole legions weak with fin: Yet they blafphem'd and struggled as they lay, Till the great enfign of Meffiah blaz'd, 'And (arm'd with vengeance) God's victorious (Effulgence of paternal deity) [Son Grafping ten thousand thunders in his hand, Drove th'old original rebels headlong down, And fent them flaming to the valt abyss.'

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O may I live to heal the glorious day, And fing loud præans thro' the crowded way, When in triumphant state the British Muse, True to herself, fhall barbarous aid refufe, And in the Roman majefty appear, Which none know better, and none come fo near.

§ 26. Abfalom and Achitophel. DRYDEN. JN pious times, ere priestcraft did begin, Before polygamy was made a fin; When man on many multiply'd his kind, Ere one to one was curfedly confin'd; When nature prompted, and no law deny'd Promifcuous ufe of concubine and bride, Then Ifrael's monarch, after Heav'n's own heart, His vigorous warmth did varioutly impart To wives and flaves; and wide as his command, Scatter'd his Maker's image thro' the land. Michal, of royal blood, the crown did wear; A foil ungrateful to the tiller's care: Not fo the reft; for fev'ral mothers bore To god-like David fev'ral fons before. But fince, like flaves, his bed they did afcend, No true fucceffion could their feed attend. Of all the numerous progeny, was none So beautiful, fo brave, as Abfalom: Whether, infpir'd by fome diviner luft, His father got him with a greater gust; Or that his confcious deftiny made way, By manly beauty, to imperial fway. Early in foreign fields he won renown, With kings and ftates ally'd to Ifrael's crown: In peace the thoughts of war he could remove, And feem'd as he were only born for love. Whate'er he did was done with so much ease, In him alone 'twas natural to please: His motions all accompany'd with grace; And paradife was open'd in his face. With fecret joy, indulgent David view'd His youthful image in his fon renew'd :

* An Effay on Blank Verfe, out of Paradife Loft, B. VI.

T.

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