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University of Virginia Library

Poems Upon Several Occasions

By Benj. Hawkshaw

Hawkshaw, Benjamin

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On the hopefull Author of these Ingenious Poems.

To the Ingenious Mr. Hawkshaw on the Publication of his Poems.

To my Ingenious Friend Mr. Hawkshaw, on the Advance of the Poetry.

To the Ingenious Author, now of the Colledge in Dublin.

ON K. CHARLES IId's; Restoration.

The Dream that Night Limerick was surrendred.

On the Death of the Young Lady I. S.

On Dr. G. refreshing himself each Morning in St. John's Walks.

The good-Fellow.

On a Friend who desir'd me to make a Copy of Verses on his Name.

An Allusion to Claudian's Epigram on Archimedes's Sphere.

Against Knowledge.

Translated from the Italian Poet Sannazarius.

An Apology for Rome in Answer to that from Venice, translated from a Latin Copy.

A Morning's Thought.

To Mr. J. C. Sometime School-Master in Dublin.

On a Fly that was drown'd in a Ladies Mouth.

On the River Cam.

The Retirement.

On the Preservation of the Library in Dublin-College.

Tu ne quæfieris, out of Hor. Paraphras'd.

The Meditation.

On the Popish Conspiracy.

On the Shortness of Man's Life.

A Dialogue between Reason and the Inferior Powers.

From the Italian Poets.

The Indifferency.

On the King's landing at Harwich, after he had been expos'd to many Dangers in his Voyage to Holland.

On Dr. G. Reducing the Years to Terms, which were requisite for them who took their Bachelours Degree.

The Golden-Age.

The Recantation.

From Sannarius.

On the unhappy State of Ireland, by reason of the Civil War.

The Consolation.

On the Death of the most Renown'd Pierce Brackenbury Doctour of Physick, and Senior Fellow of St. John's.

On the Earl of Danby's couragious Enterprise at La-Hogue, who set the French Ships on fire.

The Consummation.

Love-Verses, SONGS AND TRANSLATIONS, By the same Hand.

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On the Popish Conspiracy.

Oh dismal Scene! the Fiends and Furies now
Are Doves in Treachery compar'd with you:

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What but the Spawn of Hell cou'd thus design,
Our Worlds great Ruine with the Royal Line?
Had not that Eye, and Heav'ns peculiar Care
Brought forth to Light what cunning Jesuits dare,
Had this prov'd well their Malice struck so high,
They would endeavour to invade the Sky.
The Poets dream't, and 'twas a Dream, as old,
The Northern World was still benumb'd with cold;
But to our cost we find, tho' there's small Sun,
Yet Streams of Heat do through her Bowelsrun;
Here do the Popes the Devils Chymists play,
And blow the treach'rous Fire night and day,
Which springs from pious Zeal which warms them so,
And yet keeps Commerce with the World below;
Who'd think the Popes that sit in Peter's Chair,
Should open Hell to send the Furies here?
'Twas to repay their Master's vast Arrears,
Who serv'd their Interest for many Years;
And bravely done, it shall through Age to come
Stand sacred in the Lists of Hell and Rome.