When architects have done their part, The matter may betray their art: 'Time, if we use ill-chosen stone, Soon brings a well-built palace down. Poets that lasting marble feek, We write in fand, our language grows, Chaucer his fense can only boast, The beauties which adorn'd that age, This was the gen'rous poet's fcope, 10 20 25 And all an English pen can hope, To make the fair approve his flame, Verfe, thus defign'd, has no ill fate, Of fading beauty; if it prove But as long-liv'd as prefent love. 30 32 LX. UPON THE EARL OF ROSCOMMON'S Tranflation of Horace, De Arte Poetica: and of the ufe of poetry. ROME was not better by her Horace taught, Than we are here to comprehend his thought: A noble Pifo does inftruct us here; Horace will our fuperfluous branches prune, Tho' poets may of inspiration boast, 10 20 Well-founding verses are the charm we use, But where a brave, a publick, action fhines, breed. Here taught the fate of verfes, (always priz'd With admiration, or as much defpis'd) 25 30 35 Men will be lefs indulgent to their faults, And patience have to cultivate their thoughts. Poets lofe half the praife they should have got, 40 45 so 5, So wand'ring bees would perish in the air, LXI. AD COMITEM MONUMETENSEM DE BENTIVOGLIO Sto. 55 58 FLORIBUS Angligenis non hanc tibi necto corollam, Per me Roma fciet tibi fe debere, quòd Anglo Ultima quæ tellus Aquilas duce Cæfare vidit, Namque dolis liber hic inftructus, et arte Batava, Horremus per te civilis dira furoris 10 Macte, Comes! virtute novâ, veftri ordinis ingens Expedition into Scotland in the fummer folftice. Swirr as Jove's meffenger, (the winged god *) With fword as potent as his charming rod, He flew to execute the King's command, And in a moment reach'd that northern land, Where day contending with approaching night, 5 Affifts the hero with continu'd light. On foes furpris'd, and by no night conceal'd, He might have rush'd; but noble pity held His hand awhile, and to their choice gave space Which they would prove, his valour or his grace. Ló This not well heard, his cannon louder fpoke, And then, like lightning, thro' that cloud he broke. His fame, his conduct, and that martial look, The guilty Scots with fuch a terrour strook, That to his courage they refign the field, Who to his bounty had refus'd to yield. Glad that fo little loyal blood it cost, He grieves fo many Britons fhould be loft; * Mercury. |