keep it so was it to take Homer's Verses and make them his own This is an Art which to perform it very well but few attain to the Skill and is not only allowed of but commended by Horace in his Art of Poetry If I should be blamed for thus exposing my self when so many of our Ingenious Poets have of late published their Works with such general Applause I hope I may be allowed without being thought arrogant to say as some of those might with Theognis 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 And if for the Credit of my several Authors whom I have here promiscuously shuffled in with mine own Things Together with the Genius of the Age which seems to be delighted with such Variety shall make this Piece acceptable to the Iudicious Reader I shall not care for the Bolts of those Censurers who make it their Business to cry down every thing which comes to their hands and which they many times understand not to such I shall apply this of the afore-recited Author 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 To Philip Ayres Esq On his POEMS AS when with utmost Skill some Architect Designs a Noble Structure to erect Searches what e'er each Country does produce For outward Ornament or inward Vse So Friend from divers Books thy lab'ring Thought Has all the huddled am'rous Notions sought And into form shape the unlickt Cubs has brought Here Proteus Love thou shew'st in various Dress From Gawdy France to more Mejestick Greece Something thou gather'st too from Roman Ore And Spain contributes to thy well-got Store Whence each by thee refin'd in English Mold Verse smooth as Oyl does slow and pure as Gold Thus the laborious Bee with painful Toil From various Flowers of a various Soil Duly concocting the abstracted Iuice In plenty does th'Ambrosial Food produce C. Dartiquenave Lyric Poems The PROEM To LOVE A Sonnet LET others sing of Mars and of his Train Of great Exploits and Honourable Scars The many dire Effects of Civil Wars Death's Triumphs and Encomiums of the Slain â—sing the Conflicts I my self sustain With her Great Love the Cause of all my Cares Who wounds with Looks and fetters with her Hairs This mournful Tale requires a Tragick Strain â—yes were the Arms did first my Peace controul Wounded by them a Source of Tears there sprung â—unning like Blood from my afflicted Soul Thou Love to whom this Conquest does belong â—eave me at least the Comfort to condole And as thou wound'st my Heart inspire my Song The REQUEST To LOVE A Sonnet O Love who in my breast 's most noble part Didst that fair Image lodge that Form Divine In whom the Summ of Heavenly Graces shine And there ingrav'dst it with thy golden Dart. Now mighty Work man Help me by thy Art Since my dull Pen trembles to strike a Line That I on paper copy the Design By thee express'd so lively in my Heart Lend me when I this great Attempt do try A Feather from thy wings that whil'st to write My hand 's imploy'd my thoughts may soar on high Thy Torch which fires our hearts and burns so bright My darker Fancy let it's Flame supply And through my numbers dart celestial Light The COMPLAINT A Sonnet NOW angry Iuno sends from Heaven in spight Rivers and Seas instead of moderate showres Horror invests the World and the bright Hours â—f Delos God are chang'd to dismal Night â— crowds of anxious Thoughts on ev'ry side Invade my Soul and through my restless Eyes I shed such streams of Tears my Heart e'en tryes â—eath's pangs whilst I by force in Life abide â—â—t the brisk Gales which rising by and by â—here Sol at night in Thetis Lapp shall ly Will make Heaven clear and drive away the Rain 〈◊〉 Cynthia That the blasts of Sighs I vent â—â—uld ease my Breast of cloudy Discontent Which still with fresh Assaults renews my Pain From Girolamo Preti out of Italian on a Race-Horse SON of the Air Rival of Winds when high Swift Courser thou that without Wings dost fly Quicker than Arrows from a Parthian Bow Compar'd to thee Iove's Thunderbolts are slow Men come from Lands remote thy Race to see But when thou' rt pass'd no Eye can follow thee Thine far exceeds the Motion of the Sphears Thought cannot equal thee in thy Carrears Thy Feet shake th' Earth whilst Sparks do thee surround Yet tread not on the Flints nor touch the Ground Thee for his Charrot Sol would have away But that he knows thy Speed would shorten Day Invites Poets and Historians to write in Cynthia's Praise A Sonnet COME all ye Wits that with Immortal Rhymes Glory to others and your selves create And you that gratifie the future Times Whilst Tales of Love and Battles ye relate â—ome turn your Studies and your Eyes this way This Theme will crown your heads with lasting Bays T is Cynthia's Beauty Heavenly Cynthia Come swell your Volumes all with Cynthia's Praise â—osterity will then your Works admire And for her sake shall them as Jewels prize 〈◊〉 things to Cynthia's Glory must conspire She shall be worshipp'd with the Deities To her make foreign Lands pay Honours due Thus shall you live by her and she by you Cynthia on Horse-back A Sonnet FAIR Cynthia mounted on her sprightly Pad Which in white Robe with silver Fringe was clad And swift as wind his graceful steps did move As with his Beauteous Guide he 'd been in love Though fierce yet humble still to her command Obeying ev'ry touch of her fair hand Her golden Bitt his foaming mouth did check It spread his Crest and rais'd his bending Neck She was the Rose upon this Hill of snow Her sparkling Beauty made the glorious Show Whence secret Flames men in their bosoms took The Graces and the Cupids her surround Attending her while cruel she does wound With Switch her Horse and Hearts with ev'ry Loâ— On the Death of Cynthia's Horse A Sonnet WHate're the World could boast of fair or good Thy back with pride has born thou happy Horse By which thou' rt fall'n in middle of thy course Too feeble to sustain so great a Load Oh happy Fall Oh dying full of Bliss Whilst she that guided Love did guide thy Head Big with this thought thou willingly art dead Scorning another burden after this A Heaven of Beauty over-press'd thy Back This might have made Alcides shoulders crack And Atlas truckl'd under such a weight Heav'n thee amongst its Horses long'd to see As here the World was late in love with thee When carrying her who to the Sun gave light On a Fountain and its Architect A Watry Heap by a fresh Torrent fed Hoary with Froth lifts up its reverend Head Whence various Currents falling their Recoyl Makes them when cold as Ice appear to boyl Out from his Temples in an artful Crown Clear Drops like strings of Pearls come trickling down Which quickly caught
love A Sonnet The Rose and Lily COurted by Cupids and the Amorous Air Upon a shady Throne at her Repose She sate than whom none e're so sweet or fair It was the Queen of Flowers the Blushing Rose With no less pride upon his Bed of State A Lily pale with Envy look'd that way With humble Flowers encompass'd round he sate And scorn'd the Scepter at her Feet to lay To Arms with Thorns and Prickles they prepare And each designs to try it out by War Till on good Counsel they in Rule combine So in your Face the lovely White and Red Cynthia I see all Quarrels banished And Rose and Lily do in Empire joyne A Defiance returning to the Place of his past Amours A Heart of Ice did here my Heart inflame Bound with loose Hairs a Pris'ner I became â—ere first sweet Love thô bitter in the end â—latter'd with Spight with Kindness did offend â—ut from Assaults a new Defence I 'm taught â—nd my past Ills an Antidote have brought â—o the poor Bird that once escape has made â—eturns with caution where the Net is laid â—ith my late Damp all Sparks of Love expire My Feet approach yet does my Soul retire â—hô near her Presence I can justly say My Eyes and Mind tend quite another way With her my Lute could no Attention find â—ow will I please my self not sing to th' Wind With Laurel here where Cypress late I wore â—ll triumph more than e're I griev'd before DISTANCE FAR from the Fire I burn and run in vain Slowly from winged Love to 'scape the Pain So the swift Arrows flying quick as Wind Wound them that run when th'Archer stays behind Love tho' I strive with Art to shun the Blow Fiercely assaults my Heart where e're I go As he can best a mortal Stroak command Who has most compass for his striking Hand Hoping to 'scape I as the Bird do fare That has his Foot entangled in a Snare Fears Death or in a Prison to be cast Flutters its Wings and strives but still is fast So I with all my Toyl no Ease have got My Strugling does but faster tye the Knot For Cynthia imitating Heavens swift Ray Near or at distance can her Flames convey A Sonnet On Signor Pietro Reggio his setting to Music several of Mr. Cowley's Poems â—F Theban Pindar rais'd his Country's Fame Whilst its great Deeds he does in Odes rehearse And they made greater by his Noble Verse Gratitude are Trophies to his Name â—hen English Pindar shall for ever live Since his Divine and Lofty Poetry Secur'd Great Reggio by thy Harmony â—all to it self Immortal Glory give â—he World 's amaz'd to hear the sweet Consent â—â—wixt thy charming Voice and Instrument They 'd stop the Bays which from Apollo fled â—â—y skilful Notes would make in full Carreer â—â—â—ebus the God of Musick stay to hear And with his Daphne crown thy Rival Head From a Drinking Ode of Alcaeus Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 DRink on thô Night be spent and Sun do shine Did not the Gods give anxious Mortals Wine To wash all Care and Sorrow from the Heart Why then so soon should Jovial Fâ—llows part Come let this Bumper â—or the next make way Who 's sure to live and drink another Day An EPITAPH On a Dutch CAPTAIN HERE lies a Souldier not oblig'd to Fame Being forc'd his own Atchievements to reherâ—â— He dy'd not rich yet I would tell his Name Could I but comprehend it in my Verse On Cynthia singing a Recitative Piece of Musick O Thou Angelick Spirit Face and Voice Sweet Syren whose soft Notes our Souls rejoice â—et when thou dost recite some Tragick Verse Thy Tone and Action make it sweetly fierce â—â— thou soft loud sad or brisk Note dost hit â—â— carries still our Hearts along with it Thou canst heat cool grieve us or make us smile â—ay stab or kill yet hurt us not the while Thy Gesture Shape and Mien so pleasing are With thee no Humane Being can compare Thy Passions all our Passions do excite And thy feign'd Grief does real Tears invite â—â—istning to thee our Bodies seems as dead â—or our rapt Souls then up to Heav'n are fled â—o great a Monarch art thou that thy Breath â—as power to give us either Life or Death A Sonnet On the Picture of Cavalier Guarini Author of Il Pastor Fido painted by the Famous Borgianni and set up in his Funeral Pile at Rome YOU who to Fam'd Guarini now he 's dead Your Verses consecrate and Statues reare For that sweet Padan Swan your Tears have shed Sweetest that ever did or will sing here Behold this Picture on his Fun'ral Pile Your mournful Spirits 't will with Joy revive Tho' th'Artist cheats your Senses all the while For 't is but Paint which you would swear does live This serves to keep our Friend in Memory Since Death hath robb'd us of his better Part And that he so might live as ne're to dye He drew himself too but with diff'rent Art Judge which with greatest Life and Spirit looks Borgianni's Painting or Guarini's Books On old Rome HERE was old Rome that stretch'd her Empire far In Peace was fear'd triumphant was in War Here 't was for now its place is only found All that was Rome lyes buried under Ground These Ruines hid in Weeds on which Man treads Were Structures which to Heav'n rais'd their proud Heads Rome that subdu'd the World to Time now yields With Rubbish swells the Plains and strews the Fields Think not to see what so Renown'd has been Nothing of Rome in Rome is to be seen Vulcan and Mars those wasting Gods have come And ta'ne Romes Greatness utterly from Rome They spoyl'd with Malice e're they would depart What e're was rare of Nature or of Art It s greatest Trophies they destroy'd and burn'd She that o're turn'd the World to Dust is turn'd Well might she fall 'gainst whom such Foes conspire Old Time Revengeful Man and Sword and Fire Now all we see of the Great Empress Rome Are but the Sacred Reliques of her Tomb. A SONG Revenge against Cynthia SEE Cupid we have found our lovely Foe Who slights thy Pow'r and does my Flame despise Now thou art arm'd with all thy Shafts and Bow And she at Mercy 'twixt two Enemies Asleep she 's laid upon this Bed of Flowers Her Charms the sole Defence to save her Breast Thoughtless of injur'd me or of thy Powers Oh that a Guilty Soul can take such rest Now may'st thou eas'ly with a single Dart Revenge thy self and me upon her Heart A Sonnet Love's Contrariety I Make no War and yet no Peace have found With heat I melt when starv'd to death with cold I soaâ— to Heav'n whilâ— groveling on the Ground Embrace the World yet nothing do I hold I 'm not confin'd yet cannot I depart Nor loose the Chain thô not a Captive led Love kills me not yet wounds me to the Heart Will neither have m' alive nor have me dead
and blow the Fire 'Gainst their Assaults let us our Forces join Dissolve the Weather by the strength of VVine A COMPLAINT WHEN first I here to Cynthia spake my Mind Near these sweet Streams which to our thoughts were kind â—h then in perfect Harmony we met â—nd to our Concert joyn'd the Rivulet â—he Flowers Plants Echo's Craggy Rocks and Dales â—he pleasant Meads proud Hills and humble Vales â—em'd then o're-joy'd at my Felicity Which now condole with me in Misery â—t still the wing'd Inhab'tants of the Wood â—g as my Change they had not understood â—ô sure the Melancholy Tunes they vent â—e rather Notes of Grief than Merriment â— Nymphs that in these Crystal Streams do dwell â—d after Sport rest quiet in your Cell â—ce clear as yours a Happy Life I led â—ô now o'erwhelm'd with Grief and live as dead Thus we through various Turns of Fortune run And sind no certain Rest till Life be done Love's Garden Translated from Girolamo Preti I To Love's Garden came with my Attire Was wove with Herbs of Hope and of Desire Branches of Trouble too by me were worn VVhose Flowers and Fruit were Prejudice and Scort 'T was wall'd with Pain and Anguish round about And from a thousand places issu'd out VVater of Grief and Air of Sighs beside Deceit and Cruelty did there reside Pride was the Keeper and to cultivate VVas Jealousie who still with mortal Hate Tare up my Happiness e're it could grow VVhilst like a Madman thus I strive to sow Under the Shadow of a Thought that 's kind I plow in Stone dig VVater stop the VVind Seeing his own Picture discourses of his Studies and Fortune â—HIS which the Shadow of my Face does give VVhose Counterfeit seems true and Art alive â—ows but the part of Man's Infirmity â—hich to Age subject must decay and dye â—t the Internal Nature's Excellence â—hich does this Earthly Shadow influence 〈◊〉 haps some Image may on Paper draw 〈◊〉 ose Essence ne'er of Time shall stand in awe 〈◊〉 by my Muses Help I hope to build 〈◊〉 Monuments as ne'er to Time shall yield 〈◊〉 er than from these Colours can be had 〈◊〉 to my Years shall greater Numbers add â— when some Noble VVork I enterprize â—t might advance my Honour to the Skies â—envious Fortune strikes a thousand ways 〈◊〉 royes my Labours and so blasts my Bays A Sonnet of Petrarc On the Death of Laura I Fill with Sighs the Air when e're I stand On yon' high Hill and thence survey the Plain Where Laura she who could my Heart command Did in her Earthly Paradise remain For now she 's dead and left me here alone Griev'd for her loss that I could gladly dye Drowning my Eyes in making of my Moan My Tears have left no space about me dry There is no Stone upon that craggy Hill Nor these sweet Fields an Herb or Plant do bring Nor Flower 'mongst all that do the Valleys â—ill Nor any drop of Water from the Spring Nor Beasts so wild that in the Woods do dwell But of my Grief for Laura's Death can tell Another of Petrarc On Laura's Death OH Death How has thy utmost Malice sped Thou hast Love's Kingdom quite impov'rished â—ropt Beauty's Flower put out our chiefest Light â—nd one small Stone deprives us of her sight â—ur Joy's extinct we 're left in Discontent â—ript of our Honour and our Ornament â—ut to her Fame thou ne're canst put an end â—hy Power but o're her Body did extend â—â—r her pure Soul above is glorify'd â—s brightest Star she 's there the Heaven's Pride â—nd here her Vertuous Deeds shall never dye â—t be admir'd by all Posterity 〈◊〉 w Glorious Angel thou that dwell'st above 〈◊〉 d with more powerful Charms attractest Love 〈◊〉 y'st thou be vanquish'd by my Piety 〈◊〉 here thy Beauty triumph'd over me Complains of the Court. IN a Great Court near a Fam'd River's side With Hopes of Greatness sed I still reside But where to fix I ne'er shall understand Foll'wing what flies and shunning what 's at hand Others from me the Gifts of Heav'n retain The lucky Fool does still the Purchace gain At Air I grasp and after Shadows strive Live for my Foes if this be said to live I slight my self love him that injures me And in soft Words find greatest Treachery I Mortal Hatred under Smiles behold And starve for want amidst great heaps of Gold Now Envy's Stroaks then Fortune's I sustain And want a Friend to whom I might complain I see th' ensuing Storm and no Help nigh Grieve for one Loss and straight another spy Being retired complains against the Court. REmote from Court where after Toil we get More Hopes than Fruit I now have chang'd my Seat And here retir'd with calmer Thoughts abide As Lea more smooth than troubled Thames does glide I need not Great Men here with Flatt'ry please No Pride nor Envy shall disturb my Ease If Love ensnares my Heart I from its Net Or servile Chain at least my Freedom get Since my new Flame brake out my old is death With Falshood kindled and with Scorn 't was fed And here the greatest Rigour pleases more Than all dissembled Favours could before There Love 's all Counterfeit and Friendship too And nothing else but Hate and Malice true If here my Nymph be cross or prove unkind Vanquish'd I triumph fighting Peace I find To Cynthia HARK how the little Birds do vie their Skill Saluting with their Tunes the welcome Day Spring does the Air with fragâ—ant Odours fill And the pleas'd Fields put on their best Array With great Serenity the Heavens move The Amorous Planet rules in fullest power All things their Cruelty away remove And seem to know of Joy the Time and Hower Only my Cynthia still this Glorious Morn Retains the frozen Temper of her Heart Of Birds and Flowers does imitation scorn Nor from her wonted Rigour will depart Ah change my Fair that harsh and cruel Mind Why should your Looks and Humour disagree Let not my Love such Opposition find You 're wo'd by Heav'n and Earth to favour me The Withered Rose GO Fading Rose a Present to my Fair To whose ungrateful Breast I gave my Heart And thô my Grief could ne'er affect her Care To her do thou my dying Mind impart I late have seen thee Lovely Sweet and Gay Perchance the influence of her Looks on thee Now pale as Death thy Beauty 's gone away Thou art the Emblem of my Misery Say if to cast an Eye on thee she deign Since no Relief from her my Life receives My Body soon as Bloodless will remain As thy once fresh but now decaying Leaves And thou perchance the Benefit may'st find For thy pale Looks and Message understood To cure thy dying Spoils she may be kind With Water of my Tears or with my Blood A Sonnet On the Death of Sylvia OH Death without regard to wrong or right All things at will thy boundless Rage devours This tender Plant
me a Fever here in Bed detains And Heat dries up the Moisture of my Veins For this did I with Flowers thy Banks adorn And has for this thy Head my Garlands worn â—ngrateful Spring 'T is I thy Tale have told And sang in Verses thy Renown of Old How on a Time Iove made in Heav'n a Feast To which each God and Goddess came a Guest Young Ganymede was there to fill the Bowl The Boy by 's Eagle Iove from Ida stole Who proud the Gods admir'd his Mien and Face And active in the Duty of his Place Turning in haste he made a careless Tread And from the Goblet all the Nectar shed Which pouring down from Heav'n upon the Ground In a small Pit it self had forc'd was found At which Iove smil'd and said my Lovely Boy I 'll make this keep thy Chance in Memory A Brook â—hall flow where first thy Liquor fell And Casis call'd which of thy Fame shall tell Then with a Kiss he did his Minion grace Making a Crimson Blush o'erspread his Face This flatt'ring Tale I often us'd to sing To the soft Musick of thy bubling Spring But thou to distant Vmbrians dost retire Forgetful grown of thy Aonian Lyre No Kindness now thou yield'st me as at first No cooling Water to allay my Thirst I have thy Image in my troubled Brain But to my Pallate no Relief obtain Whole Vessels in my Dreams I seem to drink And that I cool my raging Fever think My Sleep to me at least this Comfort yields Whil'st the fierce Dog-star chaps the parched Fields Some Help ye Muses to your Poet bring Let him not thirst that drinks your sacred Spring Persephon's Favour with your Songs implore Orpheus appeas'd her with his Harp before His Heart into a Bird. THE Tears o'erflow'd fair Cynthia's Eyes Her pretty Bird away was flown For this great Loss she made her Moan And quarrell'd with her Destinyes My Heart a secret Joy exprest As hoping Good from that Escape Took Wings and in the Fug'tive's Shape Got Shelter in her Snowy Brest Which prov'd a Fatal Resting-Place For she th'Impostor when she found Gave it with Spight a Mortal Wound Then pleas'd she laugh'd and dry'd her Face In Praise of a Countrey Life THE Bliss which Souls enjoy above He seems on Earth to share Who does Divine Retirement love And frees himself from Care Nor Thought admits which may his Peace controul But in a quiet State contents his bounded Soul Faction and noisy Routs he hates Fills not his Head with News Waits at no State-man's crouded Gates Nor servile Phrase does use From all false Meaning are his Words refin'd His sober Out-side is the Index of his Mind In pleasant Shades enjoys his Ease No Project spoils his Sleep With Rural Pipe himself can please And charm his wandring Sheep Till to his Cottage in some quiet Grove By dusky Night's Approach he 's summon'd to remove On tempting Gold and Baits of Gain With scorn he casts his Eyes As Mischief's Root and Virtue 's Bane Can their Assaults despise â—iches he sees our Liberty abuse â—nd to their slavish Yoke he does his Neck refuse Fruit-Trees their loaded Boughs extend For him to take his Choise His wholsome Drink the Fountains lend With pleasant purling Noise Notes untaught Birds that like him are free â—â—ive which shall most delight him with their Harmony Th' industrious Bee example shows And teaches him to live While she from Woodbine Pink and Rose Flies loaded to her Hive 〈◊〉 narrow bounds contain his Winter's Store 〈◊〉 Nature be suppli'd and he desires no more No Misery this Man attends Vice cannot him allure Each Chance contributes to his Ends Which makes his Peace secure Others may boast of their Luxurious Strife But happy He possesses more of solid Life Mortal Iealousie BEgon O thou distracting Care Partner of Sorrow and Despair Thy Poyson spreads to ev'ry Part Of this my poor tormented Heart If it be false with which of late Thou hast disturb'd my quiet State Why to affright me would'st thou bring So well compos'd a Monstrous Thing But if with Truth thou would'st delight To clear my long deluded Sight Under that Vail does Falshood lye 'T is Death thou bring'st not Jealousie The Innocent Magician or A Charm against LOVE A Great but Harmless Conjurer am I That can Love's Captives set at Liberty Hearts led astray by his deluding Flame â— to their peaceful Dwellings can reclaim Love's Wings I clip and take from him his Arms By the sole Virtue of my Sacred Charms His Empire shakes when I appear in Sight My Words the Wing'd and Quiver'd Boys affright Their close Retreats my boundless Power invades Nor can they hide them in their Myrtle Shades Their Sun 's bright Rays they now eclips'd shall find Whose fancy'd Light strikes giddy Lovers blind Rays of fair Eyes which they proclaim Divine And boast they can Sol's dazling Beams out-shine The Storms of Sighs and Rivers of their Eyes My Skill allays and their large Current dryes Hearts that are dead I from their Graves retrieve And by my Magick-Spell can make them live For know they 're only Tricks and subtil Arts With which the Tyrant Love ensnares our Hearts This Traytor plants his Toils to gain his Prize In Curls of Flaxen Hair and Sparkling Eyes In each soft Look and Smile he sets a Gin White Hands or Snowy Breasts can tempt us in Wholly on Mischief is his Mind employ'd His fairest Shows do greatest Dangers hide With Charming Sounds his Vot'ryes he beguiles Till he destroys them by his Syren's Wiles His Cunning Circes ev'ry where deceive And Men of Souls and Humane Shape bereave A thousand other Arts this Treach'rous Boy To heedless Lovers Ruine does employ Be watchful then and his Allurements shun So ends my Charm Run to your Freedom Run The happy NIGHTINGALE MELodious Creature happy in thy Choice That sitting on a Bough Dost sing Dear Mate my Dear Come to me now And she obeys thy Voice Ah could my Songs such Bliss procure For mine could Cynthia ne'er allure Nor have I Wings like thee to fly But must neglected lye I cannot her to Pity move She scorns my Songs and me While thou rejoycest all the Grove As well thou may'st with Melody For thou art happy in thy Love No Creature e'er could boast a perfect State Unless to thee it may belong Since Nature lib'rally supplies All thy Infirmities To thy weak Organs gave a pow'rful Song Thô small in Size thou art in Fortune great Compar'd to mine thy Happiness is most compleat On FAME THE Fame we covet is a wandring Air Which against Silence wages constant War For to be Mute does her so much displease That true or false she seldom holds her peace She but a while can in a place remain 'T is running up and down does her sustain Thô Dead she seem she quickly can revive And with a Thousand Tongues a Hydra live LEANDER drowned THO' Winds and Seas oppose their utmost Spight