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That Christ, who at the great deciding day (For He declares what He resolves to fay) Will Damn file Goats, for their Ili-natur'd faults, And save trU Sheep, for ^tCfions, not for Thoughts, Hath too much mercy tq fend men to Hell, For humble Charity, and hoping well.
To what Stupidity are Zealots grown, •>
Whose inhumanity profusely shown p
In DamningCrouds of Souls,mayDamn their own ! *
To Mr. Dryden, on his
THose Gods the pious Ancients did adore,
Against the Whigs first Patents, who did dare
To disinherit God-Almighty's Heir.
And what the hot-brain'd ^Arian first began, •y
Is carried on by the Seciniany >
Who still Associates to keep God a Man. •>
But 'tis the Prince of Poets Task alone
T' assert the Rights of God's, and Charles his Throne.
Whilst vulgar Poets purchase vulgar Fame
By chaunting Chloris, or fair Phillis Name;
Whose Reputation stall last as long,
As Fops and Ladies sing the amorous Song.
A Nobler Subject wisely they refuse,
The Mighty weight would crash their feeble Muse*.
So Story tells, a Paintet once would try
With his bold hand to Limn a Deity;
And He, by frequent ptactising that part,
Could draw a Minor-God with wondrous Att:
But when great Jove did to the Workman sit,
The Thunderer such horrour did beget,
That put the frighted Artist to a stand,
And made his Tencil drop from's bafH'd Hand.
The XXV. ODE of tie FIRST BOOK of HORACE.
By the Earl of Roscomon.
Integer Vitte, &C.
VErtue, Dear Friend, needs no defence,
Integrity undaunted goes
For as (by amorous Thoughts betray'd)
No Beast of more porrentous size,
Set me in the remorest place,
Set me where on some pathless Plain
The burning Zone, the frozen Isles,
The Vf. ODE of the
THIRD BOOK of HORACE
Of the Corruption of the Times,
By the Earl of Refeomon.
"Romans, are now become your own;
And they will cost you deat,
Unless you soon repair The falling Temples which the Cods provoke, And Statues .foUy'd yet with S^cjjAesiqus Srnp£e.
Propitious Heaven that rais'd your Fathers high, for humble, grateful Piety, (As it rewarded their Respect) Hath sharply punish'd your neglect. All Empires on the Gods depend, Begun by their command,at their command theyEnd. Let Crajsm Ghost and Labienus tell How twice by Jove's revenge our Legions fell, And with insulting Pride Shining in Ionian spoils the Parthian Victors ride. The Scythian and u£*yptian Scum
Had almost ruin'd Home, While our Seditions took their part, Fill'd each tÆgyftian fail, and wing'd each Scythian First, these Flagitious times, [dart„
(Pregnant with unknown Crimes) Conspire to violate the Nuptial Bed, From which polluted head Infectious Streams of crowding Sins began, And through the spurious breed and guilty Nation Behold a ripe and melting Maid, [ran* Bound Prentice to the wanton Trade 5 Ionian Artists at a mighty price Instruct her in the Mysteries of Vice, What Nets to spread, where subtile Baits to lay, And with an early hand they form the temper'd Clay. Marry'd, their Lesions ilie improves By practice of Adult'rous Loves, And scorns the common mean design To take advantage of her Husband's Wine, Or snatch in some dark place A hasty Illegitimate Embrace. No', the brib'd Husband knows of all, And bids her rife when Lovers call; Hither a Merchant from the Straits, Grown wealthy by forbidden Freights, Or City Cannibal, repairs, Who feeds upon the flesh of Heirs.
Convenient Brutes, whose tributary Same, Pays the full price of lust, and gilds the flighted
'Tis not the Spawn of such as these, [fliame. That dy'd with rumck^ Blood the Conquer'd Seas,
And quaiht the stern tÆtutdcs;
Forc'd e'en dire Hannibal to yield;
But Soldiers of a Rustick Mould, Rough, hardy, scason'd, manly, bold;
Either they dug the stubborn Ground, Or through hewn Woods their weighty strokes did
And after rhe declining Sun [sound:
Had chang'd the fliadows, and their Task was done, Home with their weary Team they took their way, And drown'd in friendly Bowls the labour of the day.
Time sensibly all things impairs 5
Our Fathers have been worse than theirs j
And we than Ours, next Age will fee
A Race more profligate than we (With all the pains we take) have jkill enough to be.
the IV. O D E rf the
FIRST BOOK of HORACE.
COnquer'd with soft and pleasing Charms,
Who haste and all rheir sweetness bring