Had I a wreath of bays about my brow,
I should contemn that flourishing honour now
Condemn it to the fire, and joy to hear
It rage and crackle there.

Instead of bays, crown with fad cypress me;
Cyprefs, which tombs does beautify :

Not Phoebus griev'd, so much as I,
For him who first was made that mournful tree.

Large was his foul; as large a foul as ere
Submitted to inform a body here;

High as the place 'twas shortly' in heaven to have,
But low and humble as his grave:

So high, that all the Virtues there did come,
As to their chiefcft feat
Confpicuous and great;

So low, that for me too it made a room.

He fcorn'd this bufy world below, and all
That we, mistaken mortals! pleasure call;
Was fill'd with innocent gallantry and truth,
Triumphant o'er the fins of youth.
He, like the ftars, to which he now is gone,
That shine with beams like flame,

Yet burn not with the fame,

Had all the light of youth, of the fire none.

Knowledge he only fought, and fo foon caught,
As if for him Knowledge had rather sought:
Nor did more Learning ever crowded lie

In fuch a fhort mortality.

3

When.

Whene'er the skilful youth discours'd or writ,
Still did the notions throng

About his eloquent tongue,

Nor could his ink flow fafter than his wit.

So ftrong a wit did Nature to him frame,
As all things but his judgment overcame ;
His judgment like the heavenly moon did show,
Tempering that mighty sea below.

Oh! had he liv'd in Learning's world, what bound
Would have been able to control

His over-powering foul !

We 'ave loft in him arts that not yet are found.

His mirth was the pure fpirits of various wit,
Yet never did his God or friends forget ;
And, when deep talk and wisdom came in view,
Retir'd, and gave to them their due :
For the rich help of books he always took,
Though his own fearching mind before
Was fo with notions written o'er

As if wife Nature had made that her book.

So many virtues join'd in him, as we
Can scarce pick here and there in history;

More than old writers' practice ere could reach;
As much as they could ever teach.

Thefe did Religion, Queen of virtues ! fway;

And all their facred motions steer,

Just like the first and highest sphere,

Which wheels about, and turns all heaven one way.

With as much zeal, devotion, piety,
He always liv'd, as other faints do die..
Still with his foul fevere account he kept,,
Weeping all debts out ere he flept:
Then down in peace and innocence he lay,
Like the fun's laborious light,

Which still in water fets at night,

Unfullied with his journey of the day.

Wondrous young man! why wert thou made so good,
To be fnatch'd hence ere better understood ?.
Snatch'd before half of thee enough was seen!
Thou ripe, and yet thy life but green !‹
Nor could thy friends take their last sad farewell ;
But danger and infectious death.

Maliciously seiz'd on that breath

Where life, fpirit, pleasure, always us'd to dwell.
But happy thou, ta'en from this frantic age,
Where ignorance and hypocrify does rage!
A fitter time for heaven no foul ere chofe,.
The place now only free from those..
There 'mong the bleft thou doft for ever fhine,
And, wherefoe'er thou cafts thy view,

Upon that white and radiant crew,

See'ft not a foul cloath'd with more light than thine..

And, if the glorious faints ceafe not to know
Their wretched friends who fight with life below,
Thy flame to me does still the same abide,

Only more pure and rarefy'd.

There,

There, whilft immortal hymns thou dost rehearse,
Thou doft with holy pity fee

Our dull and earthly poefy,

Where grief and misery can be join'd with verse.

IN

0. D

E.

IMITATION

OF HORA.CE'S ODE

Quis multâ gracilis te puer in rosâ

"Perfufus," &c.

Lib. I. Od. 5..

To whom now, Pyrrha, art thou kind ?.

To what heart-ravish'd lover.

Doft thou thy golden locks unbind,
Thy hidden sweets discover,
And with large bounty open fet

All the bright stores of thy rich cabinet ?.

Ah, fimple youth! how oft will he

Of thy chang'd faith complain!

And his own fortunes find to be
So airy and fo vain,

Of fo cameleon-like an hue,
That still their colour changes with it too!:

How oft, alas! will he admire

The blackness of the skies !

Trembling to hear the winds found higher
And fee the billows rife!

Poor unexperienc'd he,

Who ne'er, alas! before had been at fea L.

He

He enjoys thy calmy fun-fhine now,
And no breath stirring hears;

In the clear heaven of thy brow
No fmalleft cloud appears.

He fees thee gentle, fair, and gay,
And trufts the faithlefs April of thy May.
Unhappy, thrice unhappy, he,

T'whom thou untry'd dost shine!
But there's no danger now for me,
Since o'er Loretto's fhrine,

In witness of the fhipwreck paft,
My confecrated veffel hangs at last.

IN IMITATION OF

MARTIAL'S EPIGRAM.

Si tecum mihi, chare Martialis," &c. L.5. Ep. 27.

IF, dearest friend, it my good fate might be

T' enjoy at once a quiet life and thee;

If we for happiness could leisure find,

And wandering time into a method bind;
We should not fure the great-men's favour need,
Nor on long hopes, the court's thin diet, feed;
We should not patience find daily to hear
The calumnies and flatteries fpoken there
We should not the lords' tables humbly use,
Or talk in ladies' chambers love and news;

But