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Epigrams, Epitaphs, &c.

UNDER A LADY'S PICTURE.

SUCH Helen was! and who can blame the boy'
That in so bright a flame consumed his Troy?
But had like virtue shined in that fair Greek,
The amorous shepherd had not dared to seek
Or hope for pity, but with silent moan,
And better fate, had perished alone.

I

OF A LADY

WHO WRIT IN PRAISE OF MIRA.

WHILE she pretends to make the graces known
Of matchless Mira, she reveals her own:
And when she would another's praise indite,
Is by her glass instructed how to write.

ΤΟ

ONE MARRIED TO AN OLD MAN.

SINCE thou wouldst needs (bewitch'd with some ill charms!)

Be buried in those monumental arms,

All we can wish is, may that earth lie light
Upon thy tender limbs! and so good night.

1 Paris.

AN EPIGRAM

ON A PAINTED LADY WITH ILL TEETH.

WERE men so dull they could not see
That Lyce painted; should they flee,
Like simple birds, into a net
So grossly woven and ill set,
Her own teeth would undo the knot,
And let all go that she had got.
Those teeth fair Lyce must not show
If she would bite: her lovers, though
Like birds they stoop at seeming grapes,
Are disabused when first she gapes:
The rotten bones discover'd there,
Show 'tis a painted sepulchre.

EPIGRAM

UPON THE GOLDEN MEDAL.

OUR guard upon the royal side!
On the reverse our beauty's pride!
Here we discern the frown and smile,
The force and glory of our isle.
In the rich medal, both so like
Immortals stand, it seems antique ;
Carved by some master, when the bold
Greeks made their Jove descend in gold;
And Danaë wondering at that shower,
Which, falling storm'd her brazen tower:
Britannia there, the fort in vain
Had batter'd been with golden rain:
Thunder itself had fail'd to pass:
Virtue's a stronger guard than brass.

WRITTEN ON A CARD

THAT HER MAJESTY' TORE AT OMBRE.

THE cards you tear in value rise;
So do the wounded by your eyes.
Who to celestial things aspire,
Are by that passion raised the higher.

ΤΟ

MR. GRANVILLE,

(NOW LORD LANSDOWN)

ON HIS VERSES TO KING JAMES II.

AN early plant! which such a blossom bears,
And shows a genius so beyond his years:
A judgment! that could make so fair a choice;
So high a subject to employ his voice:
Still as it grows, how sweetly will he sing
The growing greatness of our matchless King!

TRANSLATED OUT OF FRENCH.
FADE, flowers! fade, Nature will have it so ;
"Tis but what we must in our autumn do!
And as your leaves lie quiet on the ground,
The loss alone by those that loved them found;
So in the grave shall we as quiet lie,

Miss'd by some few that loved our company:
But some so like to thorns and nettles live,
That none for them can, when they perish, grieve.

1 Queen Catharine.

TRANSLATED OUT OF SPANISH. THOUGH We may seem importunate, While your compassion we implore, They whom you make too fortunate,

May with presumption vex you more.

LONG AND SHORT LIFE.

CIRCLES are praised, not that abound
In largeness, but the' exactly round:
So life we praise that does excel
Not in much time, but acting well.

SOME VERSES

OF AN IMPERFECT COPY, DESIGNED FOR A FRIEND, ON
HIS TRANSLATION OF OVID'S FASTI.

ROME'S holy days you tell, as if a guest
With the old Romans you were wont to feast.
Numa's religion, by themselves believed,
Excels the true, only in show received.
They made the nations round about them bow,
With their dictators taken from the plough :
Such power has justice, faith, and honesty!
The world was conquer'd by morality.
Seeming devotion does but gild a knave,
That's neither faithful, honest, just, nor brave;
But where religion does with virtue join,

It makes a hero like an angel shine.

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ON

THE STATUE OF KING CHARLES I.

AT CHARING CROSS, IN THE YEAR 1674.

THAT the First Charles does here in triumph ride,
See his son reign where he a martyr died,
And people pay that reverence as they pass,
(Which then he wanted!) to the sacred brass,
Is not the' effect of gratitude alone,

To which we owe the statue and the stone;
But Heaven this lasting monument has wrought
That mortals may eternally be taught—
Rebellion, though successful, is but vain,
And kings so kill'd rise conquerors again.
This truth the royal image does proclaim,
Loud as the trumpet of surviving Fame.

PRIDE.

NOT the brave Macedonian youth' alone,
But base Caligula, when on the throne,
Boundless in power, would make himself a god,
As if the world depended on his nod.

The Syrian King' to beasts was headlong thrown,
Ere to himself he could be mortal known.
The meanest wretch, if Heaven should give him line,
Would never stop till he were thought divine.
All might within discern the Serpent's pride,
If from ourselves nothing ourselves did hide.
Let the proud peacock his gay feathers spread,
And woo the female to his painted bed;

1 Alexander.

2 Nebuchadnezzar.

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