Cheap vulgar arts, whose narrowness affords
No fight for thoughts, but poorly sticks at words.
A new and nobler way thou dost pursue
To make translations and translators too.
They but preserve the ashes, thou the flame,
True to his sense but truer to his fame :
Fording his current, where thou find'st it low

Lett'st in thine own to make it rise and flow,
Wisely restoring whatsoever grace
It lost by change of times, or tongues, or place.
Nor fetter'd to his numbers and his times,
Betray’st his music to unhappy rhymes.
Nor are the nerves of his compacted strength
Stretch'd and dissolv'd into unsinew'd length:
Yet, after all, (lest we should think it thine)
Thy spirit to his circle dost confine.
New names, new dressings, and the modern cast, 35
Some scenes, some persons alter'd, and out-fac’d
The world, it were thy work ; for we have known
Some thank'd and prais'd for what was less their own.
That master's hand which, to the life can trace
The airs, the lines, and features of the face,

40 May with a free and bolder stroke express A vary'd posture or a flatt'ring dress : He could have made those like who made the rest But that he knew his own design was best. 44




What mighty gale hath rais'd a flight so strong?
So high above all vulgar eyes ? so long?
One single rapture scarce itself confines
Within the limits of four thousand lines :
And yet I hope to see this noble heat
Continue till it makes the piece complete,
That to the latter age it may descend,
And to the end of time its beams extend.
When poesy joins profit with delight,
Her images should be most exquisite,

Since man to that perfection cannot rise,
Of always virtuous, fortunate, and wise;
Therefore the patterns man should imitate
Above the life our inasters should create.
Herein if we consult with Greece and Rome,

15 Greece (as in war) by Rome was overcome ; Tho'mighty raptures we in Homer find, Yet, like himself, his characters were blind : Virgil's sublimed eyes not only gaz’d,

19 But his sublimed thoughts to heav'n were rais'd. Who reads the honours which he paid the gods Would think he had beheld their bless'd abodes; And that his hero might accomplish'd be, From divine blood he draws his pedigree.

From that great judge your judgment takes its law, And by the best original does draw

26 Bonduca's honour, with those heroes time Had in oblivion wrapt his saucy crime : To them and to your nation you are just, In raising up their glories from the dust; And to old England you that right have done, To shew no story nobler than her own.




NEWS FROM COLCHESTER: Or, A proper New Ballad of certain carnal passages beo

twixt a Quaker and a Colt, at Horsley, near Colchestery
in Essex.
To the tune of " Tom of Bedlam."

All in the land of Essex,
Near Colchester the zealous,
On the side of a bank
Was play'd such a prank
As would make a stone-horse jealous. 5

Help Woodcock, Fox, and Naylor,
For brother Green's a stallion :
Now, alas ! what hope
Of converting the Pope,
Whena Quaker turns Italian?

Even to our whole profession
A scandal 'twill be counted,
When 'tis talk'd with disdain
Amongst the profane
How Brother Green was mounted.



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And in the good time of Christmas,
Which thoi our saints have damn'd all,
Yet when they did hear
Tha! a damn'd Cavalier
Ever play'd such a Christmas gambol?

Hid thy flesh, O Green ! been pamper'd
With any cates unhallow'd,
Hadst thou sweeten'd thy gums
With pottage of plums,
Or profane minc'd pye had swallow'd ;

Rolld up in wanton swine's flesh
The fiend might have crept

into thee

Then fullness of
Might have caus'd thee to rut,
And the devil have so rid thro' thee.

But, alas ! he had been feasted
With a spiritual collation
By our frugal Mayor,
Who can dine on a prayer,
And sup on an exhortation.

Twas mere impulse of spirit,
Tho' he us’d the weapon carnal :




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