'Twas thus He liv'd, our Nation's boafted Pride! And, (oh that Truth could hide it!) thus he dy'd. Dreams, Whimfies, Fancies, Nothings then he fear'd; And leap'd into the Dark, and disappear'd.

Not thus his matchlefs Wisdom Bacon fhow'd, He found in all things, and he own'd a God. As farther learn'd, still readier to adore;

And still the more He knew, believ'd the more. Glories to Virtue due fecure to find,

Unbounded and immortal as his Mind.

Could Hobbes, alas! an equal Prospect fee
In the fad Gloom of dark Futurity?

Who dreamt that Man once Duft fhall never rife,

That when the Carcase falls the Spirit dies.

If quite extinct, infenfible of Fame,

Yet barr'd the poor Reversion of a Name.

While yet alive, by Vanity betray'd,

He faw his fleeting, groundless Honours fade:

Nor

Nor facred Verfe their Luftre can prolong;

No not a Cowley's, nor a Mulgrave's Song.

H

ARD by the Hall, our Master's House, Where Murfy flows to meet the Main ; Where Woods, and Winds, and Waves dispose,

A Lover to complain :

II.

With Arms a-crofs, along the Strand,

Poor Lycon walk'd, and hung his head;

Viewing the Footsteps in the Sand,

Which a bright Nymph had made.

III.

The Tide, fays he, will foon erace
The Marks fo lightly here impreft;

But

But Time or Tide will ne'er deface

Her Image in my Breast.

IV.

Am I fome Savage Beast of Prey?
Am I fome horrid Monster grown
That thus fhe flies fo fwift away,

Or meets me with a Frown.

V.

That Bofom foft, that Lilly Skin

(Truft not the fairest outward Show,) Contains a marble Heart within,

A Rock hid under Snow.

VI.

Ah me! the Flints and Pebbles wound

Her tender Feet, from whence there fell

Those crimson Drops, which stain the Ground, And beautify each Shell.

Ah!

VII.

Ah! Fair one, moderate thy Flight,

I will no more in vain pursue;
But take my Leave for a long Night;
Adieu, lov'd Maid, adieu.

With that, he took a running Leap,
He took a Lover's Leap indeed,
And plung'd into the founding Deep,
Where hungry Fishes feed.

IX.

The Melancholy Hern stalks by,

Around the fquawling Sea-Gulls yell;

Aloft the croaking Ravens fly,

And toll his Fun'ral Bell.

X.

The Waters roll above his Head,

The Billows tofs it o'er and o'er ;'

His Ivory Bones lye scattered,

And whiten all the Shore.

A Lover to his Miftrefs, on the fight of a Captive: Tranflated from the Spanish.

EE, Faireft, yon poor Captive fee,

SEE,

Condemn'd to Chains and Mifery:
Thro' Grates of Iron hear him mourn
His cruel haughty Victor's Scorn;
Hear him, in helpless hopeless Tale,
The Lofs of Liberty bewail.

See the big Drops, that down his Face
From their full Fountains fall apace;
Tear after Tear, fee how they flow,
With all the Eloquence of Woe!
Mark the Visage pale and thin,
Semblance of the Pangs within