174 ROCHESTER. ROSCOMMON. — OTWAY.

EARL OF ROCHESTER.

1647-1680.

Here lies our sovereign lord the king,
Whose word no man relies on ;

He never says a foolish thing,

Nor ever does a wise one.

Written on the Bedchamber Door of Charles II. And ever since the conquest have been fools. Artemisa in the Town to Chloe in the Country.

EARL OF ROSCOMMON. 1634-1685.
Immodest words admit of no defence,
For want of decency is want of sense.

Essay on Translated Verse.

THOMAS OTWAY. 1651-1685.

O woman! lovely woman! Nature made thee
To temper man; we had been brutes without you.
Angels are painted fair, to look like you :

There's in you all that we believe of heaven;
Amazing brightness, purity, and truth,

Eternal joy, and everlasting love.

Venice Preserved. Act i. Sc. 1

SHEFFIELD, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAMSHIRE. 1649-1721.

Of all those arts in which the wise excel,

Nature's chief masterpiece is writing well.

Essay 'n Poetry. There's no such thing in nature, and you'll draw A faultless monster which the world ne'er saw.

Ibid.

Read Homer once, and you can read no more, For all books else appear so mean, so poor; Verse will seem prose; but still persist to read, And Homer will be all the books you need.

Ibid.

NATHANIEL LEE. 1650-1692.

Then he will talk — good gods, how he will talk!

Alexander the Great. Act i. Sc. 3.

See the conquering hero comes,

Sound the trumpet, beat the drums.

Ibid. Act ii. Sc. 1.

Ibid. Act ii. Sc. 2.

'Tis beauty calls and glory leads the way.

When Greeks joined Greeks, then was the tug of

war.

Ibid. Act iv. Sc. 2.

DR. WALTER POPE. — NORRIS.—BROWN.

May

DR. WALTER POPE.

1714.

I govern my passion with absolute sway, And grow wiser and better, as my strength wears

away.

The Old Man's Wish.

JOHN NORRIS.

1657-1711.

How fading are the joys we dote upon!
Like apparitions seen and gone;

But those which soonest take their flight
Are the most exquisite and strong;
Like angel's visits, short and bright,
Mortality's too weak to bear them long.

The Parting.

TOM BROWN.

1704.

I do not love thee, Doctor Fell,
The reason why I cannot tell;
But this alone I know full well,
I do not love thee, Doctor Fell.*

Non amo te, Sabidi, nec possum dicere quare;
Hoc tantum possum dicere, non amo te.

MARTIAL, Ep. 1. xxxiii

Je ne vous aime pas, Hylas ;

Je n'en saurois dire la cause,

Je sais seulement un chose;

C'est que je ne vous aime pas.

Roger Db Bussy, Comte de Rabutin, Epistle 33, Book 1

DEFOE.-GIFFORD.-PRIOR.

DANIEL DEFOE. 1061-1731.

Wherever God erects a house of prayer,
The Devil always builds a chapel there; *
And 't will be found upon examination,
The latter has the largest congregation.

177

The True-Born Englishman. Part i. Line 1.

RICHARD GIFFORD. 1725-1807.

Verse sweetens toil, however rude the sound;
All at her work the village maiden sings,
Nor, while she turns the giddy wheel around,
Revolves the sad vicissitudes of things.

And to her faults whate'er they are be blind.

Prologue to the Royal Mischief.

Abra was ready ere I called her name;
And though I called another, Abra came.

Solomon on the Vanity of the World. Part ii.
Now fitted the halter, now traversed the cart,
And often took leave; but was loth to depart.
The Thief and the Cordelier.

* See Proverbs, page 411.

Of two evils I have chose the least.*

Imitation of Horace.

Here lies what once was Matthew Prior; †
The son of Adam and of Eve:

Can Bourbon or Nassau claim higher?

Epitaph on Himself.

Odds life! must one swear to the truth of a song?

Ode in Imitation of Horace. B. iii. Od, 2.

That air and harmony of shape express,
Fine by degrees, and beautifully less. ‡

Henry and Emma.

Our hopes, like tow'ring falcons, aim
At objects in an airy height;
The little pleasure of the game

Is from afar to view the flight.

To the Hon. Charles Montague.

*Of two evils the less is always to be chosen. — Thomas À Kempis. Imitation of Christ, Book iii. Ch. 12.

The following epitaph was written long before the time of Prior:

—

Johnnie Carnegie lais heer.

descendit of Adam and Eve,

Gif ony con gang hiener,

Ise willing give him leve.

Fine by defect and delicately weak. — Pope, p. 194.