Safety and equal government are things But, above all, the Muse-inspired train Their facred judge, their guard, and argument. 120 Nec magis expreffi vultus per ahenea figna, HOR: XXXIII. TO THE QUEEN, UPON HER MAJESTY'S BIRTHDAY, After her happy recovery from a dangerous fickness. FAREWELL the year which threaten'd fo. The faireft light the world can show. By pining fickness from the fair, But we recover not so fast The fenfe of fuch a danger paft: We that esteem'd you fent from heav'n, To fhew us what the blefs'd do there, The influence, which we fondly fear, So many kingdoms from him torn, His tears referv'd for you, more dear, More priz'd, than all those kingdoms were! For when no healing art prevail'd, On your pale cheek he dropp'd the show'r Reviv'd you like a dying flow'r. XXXIV. TO THE DUCHESS OF ORLEANS, When he was taking leave of THE COURT AT DOVER. 36 THAT fun of beauty did among us rife: Thrice happy Britain! if the could retain Shook off her ashes to have treated you: 10 Fair, lovely, great, and best of nymphs, farewell! 16 XXXV. TO A LADY, From whom he received the copy of the poem entitled, Of a Tree cut in Paper, which for many years had been lufi. NOTHING lies hid from radiant eyes; Prefented to oblige the fair: No wonder, then, that a lost thought Should there be found where fouls are caught. The picture of fair Venus, (that For which men say the goddess fat) If Virtue's felf were loft, we might From your fair mind new copies write. The heart you get returns no more. XXXVI. TO MR. KILLEGREW, 10 14 Upon his altering his play, Pandora, from a tragedy into a comedy, because not approved on the stage. SIR! fhould rather teach our age the way you Of judging well, than thus have chang'd your play. You had oblig'd us by employing wit While the loud daw, his throat displaying, draws XXXVII. TO A FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR, A PERSON OF HONOUR, 10 12 Who lately writ a religious book, entitled, Hiftorical Applications, and occafional Meditations, upon several subjects. BOLD is the man that dares engage For piety in fuch an age! Who can prefume to find a guard From fcorn, when Heav'n's fo little spar'd? Divines are pardon'd; they defend Altars on which their lives depend; But the profane impatient are, When nobler pens make this their care; For why should these let in a beam Of divine light to trouble them, Volume 11. F |