4. "But Phrenzy dares eternal Fate,
"And fpurr'd with Honour's airy dreams
"Flies to attack th' infernal gate,
"And force a paffage to the flames."

5. Thus hov'ring o'er Namuria's plains
Sung heav'nly Love in Gabriel's form,
Young Thrafo left the moving ftrains
And vow'd to pray before the ftorm.

6. Anon the thund'ring trumpet calls;
"Vows are but wind," the hero cries;
Then fwears by Heav'n, and fcales the walls,
Drops in the ditch, despairs and dies.

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20

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Burning feveral poems of Ovid, Martial, Oldham, Dry

den, c. 17c8.

I.

I Judge the Mufe of lewd defire,

Her fons to darkness and her works to fire.

In vain the flatt'ries of their wit,

Now with a melting strain now with an heav'nly

Would tempt my virtue to approve

Thofe gaudy tenders of a lawless love.

So harlots drefs; they can appear
Sweet, modeft, cool, divinely fair,

To charm a Cato's eye, but all within

[flight,

6

Stench, impudence, and fire, and ugly raging fin. 10

II.

Die Flora, die in endless shame,

Thou prostitute of blackest fame,

Stript of thy false array.

Ovid, and all ye wilder pens

Of modern luft who gild our fcenes,

15

Poifon the British stage and paint damnation gay, Attend your mistress to the dead:

When Flora dies her imps should wait upon her fhade.

III.

Strephon †, of noble blood and mind,

(For ever fhine his name!)

As death approach'd his foul refin'd,

And gave his loofer fonnets to the flame: "Burn, burn," he cry'd, with facred rage, "Hell is the due of ev'ry page,

20

"Hell be the fate. (But O! indulgent Heav'n

"So vile the Muse and yet the man forgiv'n!)

"Burn on my fongs, for not the filver Thames, "Nor Tiber with his yellow ftreams,

"In endless currents rolling to the main,

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"Cane'er dilute the poifon or wafh out the ftains." 30

So Mofes by divine command

Forbid the leprous house to stand

When deep the fatal spot was grown;

"Break down the timber and dig up the ftone." 34

Fan of Rochefter.

To Mrs. B. Bendifo.

Against tears, 1699.

MADAM, perfuade me tears are good
To wash our mortal cares away,
Thefe eyes fhall weep a sudden flood,
And stream into a briny fea.

2. Or if thefe orbs are hard and dry,
(Thefe orbs that never use to rain)
Some flar direct me where to buy
One fov'reign drop for all my pain.

3. Were both the golden Indies mine I'd give both Indies for a tear;

I'd barter all but what's divine, Nor fhall I think the bargain dear. 4. But

tears,

alas! are trifling things, They rather feed than heal our wo;

From trickling eyes new forrow springs,
As weeds in rainy feafons grow.

5. Thus weeping urges weeping on;
In vain our mis'ries hope relief,
For one drop calls another down

Till we are drown'd in feas of grief.

6. Then let thefe ufelefs ftreams be ftaid,

Wear native courage on your face;
These vulgar things were never made

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12

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20

For fouls of a fuperiour race.

24

7. If 't is a rugged path you go,

And thousand foes your fteps furround,

Tread the thorns down, charge thro' the foe;

The hardest fight is highest crown'd.

Few happy matches, Aug. 1701.

I.

SAY, mighty Love, and teach my song
To whom my fweetest joys belong,
And who the happy pairs

Whofe yielding hearts and joining hands
Find bleffings twisted with their bands
To foften all their cares.

II.

Not the wild herd of nymphs and swains
That thoughtless fly into the chains
As custom leads the way:

If there be blifs without defign

Ivies and oaks may grow and twine
And be as blefs'd as they.

III.

Not fordid fouls of earthly mould,
Who drawn by kindred charms of gold
To dull embraces move:

So two rich mountains of Peru

May rush to wealthy marriage too

And make a world of love.

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12

18

IV.

Not the mad tribe that hell inspires With wanton flames; thofe raging fires bliss destroy:

The

purer

On Ætna's top let Furies wed,

And sheets of lightning dress the bed
T'improve the burning joy.

V.

Nor the dull pairs whofe marble forms
None of the melting paffions warms
Can mingle hearts and hands:

Logs of green wood that quench the coals
Are marry'd just like Stoick fouls,

With ofiers for their bands.

VI.

Not minds of melancholy strain,

Still filent or that still complain,

Can the dear bondage bless:

As well may heav'nly concerts spring
From two old lutes with ne'er a ftring,
Or none befides the bafs.

VII.

Nor can the foft enchantments hold
Two jarring fouls of angry mould,
The rugged and the keen:

Samfon's young foxes might as well
In bands of cheerful wedlock dwell
With firebrands ty'd between.

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