Medulla Poetarum Romanorum :: :: University of Virginia Library

Medulla Poetarum Romanorum

Or, the Most Beautiful and Instructive Passages of the Roman Poets. Being a Collection, (Disposed under proper Heads,) Of such Descriptions, Allusions, Comparisons, Characters, and Sentiments, as may best serve to shew the Religion, Learning, Politicks, Arts, Customs, Opinions, Manners, and Circumstances of the Antients. With Translations of the same in English Verse. By Mr. Henry Baker

Baker, Henry (1698-1774)

VOL. I.

[dedication]

MEDULLA POETARUM ROMANORUM.

II.

VOL. II.

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I. VOL. I.

TO THE Right Honourable THOMAS Earl of Hadinton.

MEDULLA POETARUM ROMANORUM.
3

OR, THE Most Beautiful and Instructive PASSAGES OF THE ROMAN POETS.

[_]

The translations and original Latin text are printed in parallel in the source document. The Latin text has been omitted. References to sources have been presented in sidenotes.

Absence.

Neglected, now, behold my Tresses flow:
Nor sparkling Diamonds on my Fingers glow.
All plain, and cheap, the humble Weeds I wear:
No Golden Ornament adorns my Hair:
My Locks, no longer now, perfum'd diffuse
The fragrant Odours of Arabian Dews.
Why should I dress, or practice Arts like these?
He's gone whom only 'twas my Wish to please!—

Ovid. Epist. Saph. Phaoni.

I view the Grots, rough-arch'd, whose mould'ring Stone,
Fair, once, to me as polish'd Marble shone.
The Grove I view, beneath whose friendly Shade,
We oft have found a soft delightful Bed:
But Him, the lovely Lord of Them and Me,
Nor in the Grottoes, nor the Grove I see.
What then avails the now detested Place!
To Him alone it ow'd it's ev'ry Grace.
The with'ring Grass informs me where we lay,
And the press'd Plants our mutual Weight betray:

There, down I lye, where thy dear Print I view;
But first my plenteous Tears the Turf bedew.
The Trees with falling Leaves Thee gone deplore,
And Birds sweet-warbling charm the Ear no more.—

Ibid.

More bitter than the hateful Poyson-Plant
Sardinia yields, may I be thought by Thee:
More rough than Gorse, more vile than with'ring Weeds
Which by the Tides are cast upon the Shore:
Thus base, thus odious, let thy Swain appear,
If this Day seems not longer than a Year.—

Virg. Ecl. VII.

Here Junipers, and prickly Chesnuts grow,
Beneath each Tree it's Apples strew the Ground,
And ev'ry Scene with Satisfaction smiles:
But from these Hills should fair Alexis fly,
You'd find our Rivers leave their Channels dry.—

Ibid.

Scorch'd are the Fields: with Thirst the Herbage dies:
Bacchus the Hills his viny Shade denies:
But when my Phillis comes to bless the Plain,
The wither'd Groves shall all be green again,
And Jove descend in plenteous Show'rs of Rain,—

Ibid.

When, in its Turn, the Moon obscure withdraws
It's Light, and setting Stars perswade to Sleep,
Lonely she pines within the empty Court:
Lies on the Couch which just before he left:
Him absent, absent still she hears and sees.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. IV.

The Rock, the Wheel, and ev'ry little Toy,
Which did the Virgin's sportful Hours employ,
In her lost Daughter's stead she fondly press'd
Close in her Lap, and hugg'd them to her Breast:
Explor'd her empty Bed, and ev'ry Place
Which her Child us'd did the sad Mother trace.—

Hughes. Claud. Rapt. Pros.

Thus anxious is the Bird, whose unfledg'd Young,
On some low Ash's slender Twigs are hung,
While to fetch Food she roams: her careful Breast
Is by a thousand diff'rent Fears possess'd:

Lest the rude Wind should shake them from the Tree,
Or prying Man the hidden Nest should see,
Or cruel Serpents seize the tender Prey,
And bear the helpless little Ones away.—

Claud. Rapt. Pros.

An Herb like Smallage, so exceeding bitter and astringent, that it convulsed the Jaws of those who tasted it, and threw them into violent Agonies.

Advice.

—If Helenus has any Skill,
If any Faith, and if Apollo right
Inspires his Prophet: One thing, Goddess-born,
One Thing, above the rest, I will advise,
And oft repeat it: with religious Pray'r
First Juno's Deity adore: to her
Pay willing Sacrifices, and with Vows,
Suppliant, o'erpow'r the mighty Queen of Heav'n.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. III.

Pallas. Arachne.
The Goddess then a Matron's Form put on;
With silver Hairs her hoary Temples shone:
Prop'd by a Staff, she hobbles in her Walk,
And, tott'ring, thus begins her old Wife's Talk.
Pall.

Young Maid, attend, nor stubbornly despise
The kind Instructions of the Old and Wise:
For Age, tho' scorn'd, a ripe Experience bears,
That golden Fruit, unknown to blooming Years.
Still may remotest Fame thy Labours crown,
And all Mankind thy Skill in Weaving own:
But to the Goddess yield, and humbly meek,
A Pardon for thy bold Presumption seek:
The Goddess will forgive.—

—At this the Maid,
With Passion fir'd, her gliding Shuttle staid:
And scarce refraining Blows, with such a Look
As high Resentment shew'd,—
To Pallas in Disguise thus fiercely spoke.

Ar.
Thou doating Thing, whose idle babling Tongue,
But too well shews the Plague of living long;
Hence, and reprove with this your sage Advice,
Your giddy Daughter, or your awkard Neice:
Know, I despise your Counsel, and am still
A Woman, ever wedded to my Will.—

Croxall. Ovid. Met. VI.

Arachne presuming to vye with Pallas in the Art of Weaving, the Goddess in Disguise comes to give her good Advice.

Now to advise you, since you want Advice:
Take heed of whom you speak, and what it is
Take heed to whom: avoid the busy Man:
Fly the Inquisitive; He'll talk again,
And tell what you have said: The leaky Ear
Can never hold what it shall chance to hear,
But out it runs: What Words you once let fall,
For ever gone, no Mortal can recall.
Praise none till well approv'd on sober Thoughts,
Lest afterwards you blush for Other's Faults:
But if you have commended, thro' Mistake,
A worthless Rascal, no Excuses make
On his Behalf, but give him up to Shame:
Yet manfully defend another's Fame,
If long Acquaintance has approv'd him true:
For the same Malice soon may slander you.
When your next Neighbour's House is all a Flame,
If you neglect it, your's will be the same.

Be never with that curious Itch possess'd,
Of tearing Secrets from Another's Breast:
But when imparting Friendship makes 'em thine,
Revere, and guard them, as a sacred Shrine,
By Frowns not frighted, nor betray'd by Wine.
Delights to which thy private Fancy bends,
Esteem, with due Submission to thy Friend's:
Nor when he calls to hunt, the Sport refuse,
And stay at Home to trifle with the Muse.

Read learned Authors, study well the Wise,
And ponder all the Methods they advise,
To make thy Days in pleasing Quiet roll;
Lest carking Avarice disturb thy Soul,
Or Terrors shake, or Cares thy Mind abuse,
Or anxious Hope for Things of little Use.

Consider whether Virtue be produc'd
By Education, or from Heav'n infus'd:
What lessens Care: what makes a Man to be
His own best Friend: whence pure Tranquility
Results, from Honour, or from shining Wealth,
Or from a private Life, led as it were by Stealth.—

Creech alter'd. Hor. Epist. XVIII. Lib. 1.

Advice to a Prince.

Dear Youth, if Fortune on the Parthian Throne
Had fix'd thy Lot: if from the great Arsaces
Descended lineally, and much rever'd
Far thro' the distant East, the bright Tiara
Shone round thy Brows; then might thy princely Rank
And high Extraction render Thee secure,
Tho' wantoning in slothful Luxury.

But diff'rent much the Case of those that wield
The Roman Scepter: Virtue, here, not Blood,
Must fix thy Fame: when exercis'd by Power
'Tis then most great, most useful to Mankind.

Tho' thy wide stretch'd Dominions should extend
To India's utmost Bounds, tho' down to Thee
The Mede, the Arab, and the Persian bow,
If thy Desires are wicked, if by Fear
Or Anger Thou art sway'd, Thou'rt but a Slave;
And in thy Breast shalt feel the Tyrant's Pow'r.
Then only art Thou fit to wield the Scepter,
When Thou canst rule Thyself. Vice still proceeds
From bad to worse: Licentiousness leads on
To Luxury, and that to lawless Lust.
Most difficult the Task to practice Chastity,
When the hot Blood boils high; and Anger, then,
But ill advises, when Revenge is near.
Thou, the first Sallies in thy Bosom quell,
Nor e'er be thy Concern what 'tis Thou canst,
But what Thou ought'st to do: and the Regard
Of what is just, let always rule thy Will.

But this I o'er and o'er again advise,
That Thou remember Providence has plac'd Thee
In the full Point of Light; where all Thou do'st
By every Nation round Thee is observ'd.
The Faults of Princes ne'er can be conceal'd:
The Splendor of their elevated Rank
Permits not ought they do to be unknown:
Fame enters their most hidden Privacy,
And searches all the secret Windings out.

Be gentle and benevolent to all:
We may in every Excellence beside
By Others be outdone, but Clemency
Exalts and makes us equal to the Gods.

Act not a double Part, nor, false Thyself,
Give Ear to Rumours; for who-e'er does so,
Shall be affrighted at each idle Noise,
And, never, never know an Hour's Peace.
Whom Men at Arms and glittering Spears surround,
Is much less safe than he that Love defends:
But Love can ne'er be forc'd:—This, mutual Trust,
This, kind and gracious Acts alone, procure.

Whom all his People fear, himself much more
Must be afraid: a Fate for Tyrants fit.
Let such with Envy persecute all those
Whom Fame speaks well of, and destroy the Brave.
With Swords and Poisons let them live encompass'd,
Immur'd in Tow'rs, and trembling while they threat.
But Thou a Citizen, a Father be;
The general Good consulting, not thine own,
Still, still prefer the Public to Thyself.

If Thou wouldst have thine Edicts well observ'd,
Obey them first Thyself: the People, then,
With Readiness comply, when the Law-maker,
Himself, they find, observant of the Laws.
Example in a King is all in all:
The Statues of the Realm, serve less to form
His Subjects Manners, than the Life he leads:
For still the changeful Vulgar ape their Prince.—

Claud. 4. Cons. Hon.

ÆTNA.

— Ætna thunders nigh
In dreadful Ruins. With a Whirlwind's Force
Sometimes it throws to Heav'n a pitchy Cloud,
Redden'd with Cinders, and involv'd in Smoke:
And tosses Balls of Flame, and licks the Stars.
Sometimes with loud Explosion high it hurls
The Rocks, and Entrails from the Mountain torn:
With roaring Noise slings molten Stones in Air,
And boils, and bellows, from its lowest Caves.

'Tis said the Bulk of huge Enceladus
Blasted with Lightning, by this pondrous Mount
Is crush'd: and Ætna, o'er him whelm'd, expires
Flame from it's burst Volcanos: and when e'er
He shifts his weary Side, Trinacria all
Groans trembling, and with Smoke obscures the Sky.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. III.

Far stretching it's burnt Rocks, is Æna found;
Ætna for vanquish'd Gyants still renown'd:
Enceladus's Load; who crush'd beneath,
From his huge Breast does burning Tempests breathe.
Still as the Monster, weary of the Weight,
Exchanges Sides, he shakes the Mountain's Height:
Sicilia heaves, and ev'ry tott'ring Wall
Leans toward the Ground, and meditates a Fall.
It's pointed Summits from afar are shewn,
But are accessible to Sight alone.
While on it's other Parts fresh Greens appear,
And Groves of Trees their shady Branches rear,
No hardy Hind dares turn the sultry Soil
On the high Crown, and cultivate with Toil.
For now black Clouds and Tempests force their Way,
And with their loathsome Pitch pollute the Day:
Now massy Fragments of the shiver'd Stone,
Torn from it's Root, against the Stars are thrown.

But tho' the Burnings rage to such Excess,
Still with the Snows they hold a faithful Peace.

Here hoary Winter does her Seat maintain,
Secure of Thaws, and unmolested reign:
Thick Clouds of Smoke hang o'er the freezing Coast,
And the swift Flames sweep harmless o'er the Frost.

What forceful Engines whirl aloft in Air
The craggy Quarries, and the Mountain tare?
From what strange Source proceeds the burning Stream,
Which on the wasted Vallies spouts the Flame?—
Or in Confinement choak'd, th'imprison'd Wind
Pushes around an open Vent to find,
And, in it's Course resisted by the Rock,
Bursts thro' it's Prison with a mighty Shock:
Or the Sea, ent'ring thro' the sulph'rous Veins,
Boils with the Fires, and on the blasted Plains
Displodes the mingled Ruin: wildly thrown,
The Stones and liquid Flames pour with Destruction down.

Hughes. Claud. Rapt. Pros.

Affection Filial.

Then Jason thus his Spouse address'd, O, Wife!
To whom I stand indebted for my Life:
Whose Tenderness and boundless Favours prove,
How much Thou art a Miracle of Love:
If Magick can:—what cannot that surmount?
O! take some needless Years from my Account,
And to my Father's Life the Number place:
He spoke: and as he spoke the Tears bedew'd his Face.—

Sewell. Ovid. Met. VII.

—Now
The Fire more loudly roars: and, from the Walls
The blazing Torrent nearer rolls the Flames.
Haste then, dear Father! on my Shoulders lay
Your aged Body: I the Load will bear,
Nor think that Labour hard: whatever Chance
Betides us, Both shall share one common Fate,
Escape together, or together fall.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. II.

—Yet more than all
Rewards, and Prizes, one Thing I implore:
I have a Mother, from the ancient Race

Of Priam sprung: whose Fondness for her Son,
Urg'd her, unhappy, thro' the Toils of War
To follow me: nor could the Ilian Coasts
Detain her, nor the King Acestes' Walls.
Her, ignorant of whate'er Fate impends,
Unbless'd, and unsaluting, I forsake:
This Night, and thy Right Hand, I here attest,
I cannot bear my wretched Parent's Tears.
But Thou, I beg, console her helpless Age,
And aid her desolate: of that secure,
With less Concern shall I all Hazards run.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. IX.

Æneas, glad to see the Tuscan's Blood,
Snatches his Fauchion from his Thigh with Haste,
And darts impetuous on his trembling Foe.
This Lausus saw: and struck with Fear and Grief,
For his lov'd Father by such Danger press'd,
Groan'd deep: and Tears ran trickling down his Cheeks.
The Sire, retreating, useless for the Fight,
And with his Wound disabled, back withdrew:
And in his Target trail'd the hostile Spear.
The Youth springs on amidst the thickest Arms,
Himself opposing to Æneas' Sword
Rais'd high, and ready to discharge the Blow.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. X.

Medea.

Mezentius.

Affection Conjugal.

See Constancy.

The King commands his Servants to their Arms,
Resolv'd to go: but the loud Noise alarms
His lovely Queen, who from her Chamber flew,
And her half-plaited Hair behind her threw:
About his Neck she hung with loving Fears,
And now with Words, and now with pleading Tears,
Intreated that he'd send his Men alone,
And stay Himself to save two Lives in one.—

Croxall. Ovid. Met. XI.

He, with his concave Shell his pining Love
Consol'd: and lonely, on the desart Shore,
Thee, sweet Eurydice! Thee still he sung:
Thee, at the Op'ning, Thee at Close of Day.—

No proffer'd Loves, no Hymenéal Vows
Could move his Soul: The Hyperborean Ice,
And snowy Tanais, and th' extended Fields
For ever rigid with Riphæan Frost,
Alone He travell'd o'er: Eurydice
Ravish'd away, deploring.—
The Thracian Dames enrag'd by this Contempt,
At Bacchus' Orgies, and nocturnal Rites,
With furious Madness tore the hapless Youth,
And strew'd his mangled Carcass o'er the Plains.
Then too, his Head, from the fair Neck disjoyn'd,
Œgrian Hebrus in his gulphy Tide
Rolling along, Eurydice he call'd,
With his last Accents, and his dying Tongue:
Ah! poor Eurydice! his flying Breath,
Eurydice! the Stream, and Banks resound.—

Trap. Virg. Geor. Lib IV.

Orpheus.

The Four Ages of the WORLD.

The Golden Age. First Age.

The Golden Age was first: when Man yet new,
No Rule but uncorrupted Reason knew:
And, with a native Bent, did Good pursue.
Unforc'd by Punishment, un-aw'd by Fear,
His Words were simple, and his Soul sincere.
Needless was written Law, where none oppress'd;
The Law of Man was written in his Breast.
No suppliant Crowds before the Judge appear'd,
No Court erected yet, nor Cause was heard:
But all was safe, for Conscience was their Guard.
The Mountain Pine, unfell'd, securely stood,
Nor chang'd for distant Seas her native Wood.
Then Mortals, unambitious, knew no more
Than the short Prospect of their native Shore.
No Walls were yet: nor Fence, nor Moat, nor Mound:
Nor Drum was heard, nor Trumpet's warlike Sound:
Nor Sword, nor Helm was made: in calm Content,
And downy Peace, their Lives these happy People spen.

The teeming Earth yet guiltless of the Plow,
And unprovok'd, did fruitful Stores allow:
Content with Food, which Nature freely bred,
On Wildings, and on Strawberries they fed:
Cornels and Bramble Berries gave the rest,
And fallen Acorns furnish'd out a Feast.
On Flow'rs unsown soft Zephyr spread his Wing,
And Time itself was one eternal Spring.
In following Years, the bearded Corn ensu'd,
From Earth untill'd, nor was that Earth renew'd.
Streams, then, of Milk, and Streams of Nectar flow'd,
And yellow Honey sweating Oaks bestow'd.—

Dryden alter'd. Ov. Met. Lib. I.

Then Men were hard, as hard as parent Stones,
And built on bigger and on firmer Bones:
The Nerves that join'd their Limbs were tough and strong,
Their Life was healthy, and their Age was long.
No Colds, nor Heats, nor dire Diseases bred
By dainty Dishes, multiply'd the Dead:
But rolling Years long found them in their Prime,
And, like the Brutes, in Search of Food they spent their Time.
No brawny Plowman then had learn'd to tare
The Earth's firm Surface with the crooked Share:
None prun'd old Branches from the Trees that grew,
Or dug the fruitful Ground for planting new:
But all were well contented with the Store
Sun, Rain, and Earth bestow'd, and wish'd no more.
In Woods they liv'd, on Acorns chiefly fed,
And such wild Berries as in Winter, red,
Become mature: the youthful World then gave
Of these abundance more than now we have;
And various Fruits beside did then produce,
Amply sufficient for poor Mortals' Use.—

Geech alter'd. Lucr. Lib. V.

—Then none resign'd
Their Lives to Seas, or Wishes to the Wind:
Confin'd their Search: they knew themselves alone,
And thought That only worthy to be known.—

Manil. Lib. I.

That ancient Time, we call the Golden-Age,
Was happy: when Earth's Fruits, and wholsom Herbs,

Were Man's delicious Food; e'er he with Blood
His Lips polluted.—Safely thro' the Air
The Bird then wing'd his Way: then o'er the Plains
The Hare securely wander'd, void of Fear:
Nor did his Confidence the Fish betray,
Or guileful Hooks ensnare.—All, then, sincere,
And unsuspicious, perfect Peace enjoy'd.—

Ovid. Met. Lib. XV.

Those Woods were first the Seat of Sylvan Pow'rs,
Of Nymphs, and Fawns, and savage Men, who took
Their Birth from Trunks of Trees, and stubborn Oak:
Nor Laws they knew, nor Manners, nor the Care
Of lab'ring Oxen, nor the shining Share:
Nor Arts of Gain, nor what they gain'd to spare.
Their Exercise the Chace: the running Flood
Supply'd their Thirst: The Trees supply'd their Food.
Then Saturn came, who fled the Pow'r of Jove,
Robb'd of his Realms, and banish'd from above.
The Men dispersed on Hills, to Towns he brought:
And Laws ordain'd, and civil Customs taught.
With his mild Empire Peace and Plenty came,
And hence the Golden Times deriv'd their Name.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. VIII.

Thus Saturn flourished in an Age of Gold,
On Earth: nor Mortals yet had heard th' Alarms
Of Trumpets, nor the sputt'ring of the Steel
On Anvils form'd, and hammer'd into Swords.—

Id. Virg. Geor. Lib. II.

How happy liv'd Mankind in Saturn's Days!
E'er tiresom Journeys mark'd out tedious Ways:
No Ship then ventur'd on the azure Main,
Or spread its Sails the speeding Winds to gain:
To Coasts unknown then none a Voyage made,
Or stor'd their Vessels with a foreign Trade.
No sturdy Bull as yet had wore the Yoke,
No Horse with Bit and Bridle yet was broke.
No Doors their Houses had: and in their Grounds
No Stone was fix'd, to mark each Tenant's Bounds.
Oaks Honey gave, and of their own Accord
The Ewes with swelling Dugs their Milk afford.
Armies, nor Rage, nor Wars, as yet were found,
Nor yet the cruel Smith had Weapons forg'd to wound.—

Tibul. Lib. I. Eleg. 3.

Silver Age.

But when good Saturn, banish'd from above,
Was driv'n to Hell, the World was under Jove.
Succeeding Times a Silver Age behold,
Excelling Brass, but more excell'd by Gold.
Then Summer, Winter, Autumn did appear:
And Spring was but a Season of the Year.
The Sun his annual Course obliquely made,
Good Days contracted, and enlarg'd the bad.
Then glow'd the Air with sultry Heats, the Wind
Began with Ice and Snow the Rains to bind.
Mortals to Houses then for Shelter fled:
Caves were their Houses, or an Osier-Shed.
Then Furrows for the quick'ning Grain were broke,
And Oxen labour'd first beneath the Yoke.—

Dryden alter'd. Ovid. Met. Lib. I.

E'er Jove was King no Hinds subdu'd the Glebe:
Nor lawful was it held to sever Lands,
Or mark their Bounds: in common all Things lay:
And Earth without Compulsion yielded Food.—
He baneful Poyson to fell Serpents gave:
Commanded Wolves to prowl, the Sea to toss:
From Trees the Honey shook: conceal'd the Fire:
And all in Streams repress'd the running Wine:
That Want by Thought might strike out various Arts,
Gradual; in Furrows seek the Blade of Corn:
And by Collision from the Veins of Flint
Extund the latent Fire.—Then Rivers first
Felt hollow'd Timber: the sea-faring Crew
Then first gave Names and Numbers to the Stars,
The Pleïads, Hyads, and the northern Bear.
'Twas then invented to intangle Beasts
In Toils, and Fowls in Bird-lime to deceive:
And with stanch Hounds the Thicket to inclose.
One with his Casting-net, lanch'd on the deep,
Beats the broad River: from the deeper Sea
Another drags along his dropping Twine.

Then rigid Iron, and the grating Saw,
(With Wedges, first, the splitting Wood they riv'd)
Then various Arts ensu'd.—

Trap. Virg. Georg. Lib. I.

Brazen Age.

Third in Succession came the Brazen Age:
A warlike Offspring, prompt to bloody Rage,
But yet not impious.—

Dryden alter'd. Ovid. Met. Lib. I.

Iron Age.

—Hard Steel succeeded then,
And stubborn as the Metal were the Men.
Truth, Modesty, and Shame, the World forsook;
Fraud, Avarice, and Force, their Places took.
Then Sails were spread to ev'ry Wind that blew,
Raw were the Sailors, and the Depths were new:
Trees that long rooted on the Mountains stood,
Now bounded o'er the deep unpractis'd Flood.

Then Land-marks limited to each his Right:
For all before was common as the Light.
Nor was the Ground alone required to bear
Her annual Income to the crooked Share,
But greedy Mortals, rummaging her Store,
Digg'd from her Entrails first the precious Oar,
Which next to Hell the prudent Gods had laid:
And that alluring Ill to Sight display'd.
Then cursed Steel, and more accursed Gold,
Gave Mischief Birth, and made that Mischief bold:
The fatal Parents they of new Alarms,
Give Birth to War, and fill the World with Arms.
Now Men are broken loose from moral Bands,
And brandish'd Weapons glitter in their Hands.
No Rights of Hospitality remain:
The Guest by him who harbour'd him is slain.

The Son-in-law pursues the Father's Life,
Brothers with their own Brothers are at Strife,
The Wife her Husband murders, he the Wife:
The Stepdame Poyson for the Son prepares,
The Son inquires into his Father's Years:
Duty and Piety expiring lye,
And Justice, last of all, soars to her native Sky,
Leaving the Earth defil'd with Blood and Cruelty.

Ovid. Met. Lib. I.

Golden Age Restor'd.

The mighty Round of Years again revolv'd,
The Virgin now, and Saturn's Reign return:
And a new Offspring from high Heav'n descends.
Beneath thy Sway the Relicks of our Guilt
(If such be still remaining) quite effac'd
Shall from all future Terrors free the World.
Kindly, to Thee, sweet Infant, shall the Earth,
Yield her first Presents, by no Culture forc'd:
The wand'ring Ivy, and soft Violet,
The smiling Crocus, and the blushing Rose.
The Goats spontaneous homewards shall return,
Their Teats with Milk distended: and the Herds
Unterrify'd by monstrous Lions, feed.
The Serpent too shall die: the fraudful Herbs
Of noxious Poison wither, and decay:
And Syrian Spices bloom o'er all the World.
Ripe yellow Harvests on the Fields shall wave,
The savage Brambles blush with pendant Grapes,
And Honey from hard Oaks in Dew distil.
The Sailor shall renounce the Sea; no Ships
Traffick exchange: All Lands shall all Things bear.
No Glebe shall feel the Harrow's Teeth, no Vine
The Pruning hook: The sturdy Village-Hind
Shall then release his Oxen from the Yoke:
Nor chang'd by Art shall various Wool belye
It's native Colour: but in Pastures green
The Ram himself with Purples glossy Hue,

Or Crocus' yellow Teint shall tinge his Fleece:
And unforc'd Crimson cloath the feeding Lambs.—

Trap. Virg. Ecl. IV.

—The last great Day is come,
When Earth, and all her impious Sons, shall lye
Crush'd in the Ruins of the falling Sky:
Whence fresh shall rise, her newborn Realms to grace,
A pious Offspring and a purer Race:
Such as e'er-while in Golden Ages sprung,
When Saturn govern'd, and the World was young.—

Addison. Senec. Herc. Œt. Act. II.

The great Platonick Year.

Ages of Man Characteriz'd.

The Boy, who newly has to Speech attain'd,
And just can go without his Nurse's Hand,
To play with those of his own Growth is pleas'd,
Soon is enrag'd, and is as soon appeas'd:
Changeful his Humour, various is his Will,
To nothing fix'd, but fluctuating still.

The beardless Youth, just from his Tutor freed,
Sports with his Dogs, and sounds his Courser's Speed:
Yielding, as Wax, to each alluring Vice:
Resty to those that would his Faults chastise:
Careless of Profit, lavish in Expence,
Headstrong, and proud, and given up to Sense:
Whate'er he fancies eager to attain,
And hasty to relinquish it again.

With diff'rent Thoughts to sober Manhood grown,
He seeks for Wealth, and Friendship, and Renown:
Becomes discreet, and cautious how to act
What he must after alter, or retract.

With num'rous Ills the Old is round beset:
Fearful to spend, but covetous to get:
Full of Delays, and Hopes, and Love of Ease,
Greedy of Life, morose, and hard to please:
On Youth's gay Frolicks peevishly severe,
But Oh! when he was young, what Times they were!

Hor. de Art. Poet.

Ages of several Creatures.

The utmost Age to Man the Gods assign
Are Winters three times Two, and ten times Nine.
Poor Man nine times the prating Daws exceed:
Three times the Daw the Deer's more lasting Breed:
The Deer full thrice the Raven's Race out-run:
Nine times the Raven Titan's feather'd Son:
Beyond his Age, with Youth and Beauty crown'd,
The Hamadryads shine ten Ages round:
Their Breath the longest is the Fates bestow,
And such the Bounds to mortal Lives below.

Addison. Auson. Edyl. 18. Hesiodion.

Agriculture.

—The Sire of Gods himself
Will'd not that Tillage should be free from Toil.
He first sollicited the restive Mold
By Art: and whetted mortal Wit with Cares,
Permitting not his Reign to rust with Sloth.—

Trap. Virg. Georg. I.

With piercing Steel to turn the stubborn Land
Propitious Ceres Mortals first ordain'd;
When scanty Food the sacred Groves supply'd,
And all Relief Dodonean Oaks deny'd:
But soon new Toil the foodful Glebe requir'd,
Eat with an evil Rust the Grain expir'd:
Fierce in the Field the lazy Thistle stood,
And Burrs, and Brambles rose, a cruel Wood!
Darnel unblest the shining Plain o'erspreads,
And high exalt the fruitless Oats their Heads.
So that unless with unextinguish'd Toil
Of lab'ring Harrows, you pursue the Soil,
Fright off the Birds, and thin the shady Plain,
And with repeated Vows call down the Rain:
Ah! bootless on another's Heap you'll look,
And comfort Hunger with the shaken Oak.—

Anonym. Ibid.

In early Spring, when from the whitening Hills
The gentle Moisture silently distills:
When crumbling to the Zephyrs falls the Soil:
Then, let my Bullock groan beneath his Toil:
Deep let the Plough within the Surface wear,
And polish'd with the Furrow shine the Share:
Those Plains, at last, the Peasant's Hopes compleat,
Which twice the Cold have felt, and twice the Heat:
Burst were the Barns with their luxuriant Freight.—

Id. Ibid.

—Let the vig'rous Steer
Turn the rich Furrow in the new-born Year:
And Summer's Heat with rip'ning Suns pursue
The sluggish Glebe, and all the Clod subdue.
But if not fat the Soil, it will suffice,
When bright Arcturus mounts the purple Skies,
To skin the Surface with a gentle Share,
And lift the Furrow lightly to the Air:
There, lest the Weeds the smiling Blade withstand;
Lest Moisture, here, desert the barren Sand.—

Id. Ibid.

It profits oft to fire the fruitless Ground,
And thirsty Stubble crackling all around:
Whether from thence by Nature's secret Laws,
Fresh Nourishment the Earth and Vigour draws:
Or that the latent Vice is purg'd by Heat,
And the redundant Humours waste in Sweat:
Or that the Flames unusual Tracks explore,
Relax the Grit, and open every Pore:
Whence genial Moisture hastens through the Earth,
Slides to the Root, and cheers the tender Birth:
Or that the Heat the hollow Glebe constrains,
Braces each Nerve, and knits the gaping Veins:
Lest piercing Wet, or the swift Pow'r of Day
More fierce, or freezing Boreas urge his Way.—

Id. Ibid.

Much too he helps the Field, who every Clod
With Harrows breaks, and drags the Hurdle's Load:
Nor e'er on him, with an ungracious Eye,
Looks yellow Ceres from the lofty Sky,

Who, the rough Backs he slices from the Plain
Assails oblique, and thorow cuts again,
And plies the Soil, and makes the Furrow yield
Tame to the Coulter, and commands the Field.—

Id. Ibid.

The Solstice moist, serene the Winter Sky,
For this, ye Swains, intreat the Pow'rs on high.
When Winter Dust by driving Winds is born,
Glad is the Glebe, most wondrous glad the Corn.—

Id. Ibid.

When Libra weighs the Hours of Toil and Night,
And parts alike the Globe to Shades and Light:
Then in the Field, ye vig'rous Swains appear,
Put forth your Strength, and exercise the Steer:
Sow hardy Grains: the miry Task perform
To Winter's last impracticable Storm.
Then is the proper Time to cover o'er
Or Ceres' Poppy, or the flaxen Store:
Nor should the Harrow's Labour ever end,
Whilst dry the Glebe, whilst Clouds as yet impend.—

Id. Ibid.

Alarm.

See Amazement.

Lo! rushing thro' the Court with frantick Haste
A Messenger with Terror fills the Town:
Relates, that in Array of Battel rang'd
The Trojan and the Tyrrhene Troops descend
From Tyber's Stream, and cover all the Plain.
Forthwith their Minds with stimulating Rage
Are stung, confus'd: to Arms! to Arms! they cry:
The madding Multitude, and warrior Youth
Together rove: the pensive Fathers weep,
And murmur unresolv'd: to Heav'n ascends,
Loud, and confus'd, the clam'rous Discontent.—

Strait to the Works from all the City round
They croud.—
Other dig Trenches deep before the Gates,
And roll vast Stones, and Palisadoes fix:
The Trumpet with shrill Clangor to the Fight

The bloody signal Sounds: the Dames, and Boys,
In a promiscuous Throng the Ramparts crown.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. XI.

Mean-while, with Cries confus'd the Walls resound:
The Noise grows loud, and th' undistinguish'd Din
Of clashing Arms rolls nearer. Rous'd from Sleep,
I gain the Summit of the high built House:
And stand with list'ning Ears. As when a Flame
Invades a Field of Corn by driving Winds:
Or, rushing from the Hills, a rapid Flood
Lays flat the Product of the Plains, lays flat
The rising Crop, and Labours of the Plough,
And with a sweeping Torrent whirls the Woods:
On a high Rock the doubtful Peasant stands
Amaz'd, and in his Ear receives the Sound.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. II.

With hasty March by Night his Troops he led.
To the mid Forum on the Soldier pass'd,
There halted, and his Victor Ensigns plac'd:
With dire Alarm from Band to Band around,
The Fife, hoarse Horn, and rattling Trumpets sound.
The starting Citizens uprear their Heads:
The lustier Youth leap frighted from their Beds:
Hasty they snatch the Weapons, which among
Their Houshold Gods in Peace had rested long:
Old Bucklers of the cov'ring Hides bereft,
The mould'ring Frames disjoyn'd, and barely left:
Swords, with foul Rust indented deep, they take:
And useless Spears, with Points inverted, shake.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. I.

Alps.

Upon the tow'ring Alps sublimest Height,
Where the cragg'd Rocks look down upon the Clouds,
A Grecian Altar to Alcides smokes.
There everlasting Winter bars Access,
And the ambitious Summit props the Skies:
No Summer here e'er darts his genial Beams,
Nor vernal Zephyrs chear the joyless Air:
But Snows on Snows accumulated rise,
The icy Pillar of the starry Orb.—

Addison junr. Petron. Arb.

Amazement.

See Alarm.

To Him the Wind with doubtful Terror wafts
The mingled Noise: hoarse Murmurs of Distress,
And Clamours from the City pierce his Ears.
Ah me! what Sounds confus'd, what Cries disturb
The Town? Why rush these Clamours from the Walls?
He said: and, with his Courser's Reins repress'd
In dumb Amaze stood list'ning.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. XII.

Confounded with the Crowd of various Thoughts,
And stiff'ning with Amaze, the Hero stood,
In Silence deep: within his Bosom boils
Disdainful Shame, and Grief to Madness wrought,
And Love inflam'd with Rage, and conscious Worth.—

Trap. Ibid.

The astonish'd Youth, where e'er his Eyes could turn,
Beheld the Universe around him burn:
The World was in a Blaze: nor could he bear
The sultry Vapours, and the scorching Air,
Which from below, as from a Furnace flow'd:
And now the Axle-tree beneath him glow'd.
Lost in the whirling Clouds that round him broke,
And white with Ashes, hov'ring in the Smoke,
He flew where-e'er the Horses drove, nor knew
Whither the Horses drove, or where he flew.—

Addison. Ovid. Met. Lib. II.

Phaeton.

Amazon.

Her Amazonian Files with lunar Shields
Penthesilea leads, and in the midst
Of Thousands Storms: Beneath her naked Pap
Her golden Belt she buckles, warlike Maid,
And, tho' a Virgin, dares engage with Men.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. I.

Here in the Brakes, and savage Dens of Beasts,
He nurs'd his Daughter from the Dugs of Mares,
Milking their Teats into her tender Lips.
Soon as the Infant first with doubtful Feet
Could press the Ground, her little Hands he fill'd

With pointed Darts, and on her Shoulder hung
A Bow and Quiver. No soft Caul of Gold
Her Tresses strains: nor flows her waving Gown:
Instead of these a Tyger's horrid Hide
Hangs from her Head, and o'er her Back descends.
Darts with her tender Hand e'en then she threw;
And, whirling round her Head a sounding Sling,
Struck the Strymonian Crane, or Snow-white Swan.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. XI.

—Camilla came,
And led her warlike Troops, a Warrior Dame:
Unbred to Spinning, in the Loom unskill'd,
She chose the nobler Pallas of the Field.
Mix'd with the First, the fierce Virago fought,
Sustain'd the Toils of Arms, the Danger sought:
Outstrip'd the Winds in Speed upon the Plain,
Flew o'er the Fields, nor hurt the bearded Grain:
She swept the Seas, and as she skimm'd along
Her flying Feet unbath'd on Billows hung.
Men, Boys, and Women, stupid with Surprize,
Where-e'er she passes, fix their wondring Eyes:
Longing they look, and gaping at the Sight,
Devour her o'er and o'er with vast Delight.
Her purple Habit sits with such a Grace
On her smooth Shoulders, and so suits her Face:
Her Head with Ringlets of her Hair is crown'd,
And in a golden Caul the Curls are bound.
She shakes her Myrtle Jav'lin: And, behind,
Her Lycian Quiver dances in the Wind.—

Dryden. Æn. Lib. VII.

But in the Midst the Amazonian Maid
Camilla, with her shafts, and Quiver storms,
Exulting, fierce among the slaughter'd Heaps:
With one Breast bare commodious for the Fight,
Now hurls repeated Jav'lins, now with Toil
Unweary'd snatches her well temper'd Ax.
Her gilded Bow, and all Diana's Arms
Sound from her Shoulder. Ev'n, when turn'd in Flight,
(If e'er she turn) her Arrows she directs
Shot backward, and behind her bends the Bow.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. XI.

—With dissembled Flight
In a wide Ring, interior, wheeling round
She mocks Orsilochus, and him pursues,
From whom she flies: Then rising to the Blows
Redoubled, thro' his Arms and Bones she drives
Her massy Ax, nor ought regards his Pray'rs:
From the warm Wound his Brains besmear his Face.—

Trap. Ibid.

Such the fair Troop of Amazons is seen
With moony Shields, and headed by their Queen:
When trembling Tanais has their Fury try'd,
Or the fierce Getes their female Arms defy'd:
And proudly glitt'ring with their plunder'd Spoils,
The fierce Viragoes march, triumphant from their Toils.—

Hughes. Claud. Rapt. Pros.

Ambassador.

An Attic Vessel reach'd the friendly Shore,
Which Cephalus, his Country's Envoy, bore.
The Sons of Æacus the Hero knew,
Tho' long remov'd and absent from their View.
Their Hands they join, in close Embraces meet,
And lead him to their royal Father's Seat.—
The Hero much remaining Beauty held,
(In Youth for Beauty greatly he excell'd:)
And ent'ring, bore the Olive in his Hand,
The precious Product of his native Land.
On either Side, from heav'nly Pallas sprung,
Young Clytus, and young Buten march along.

First Salutations o'er, the Chief relates
His Embassy, from the Athenian States,
And Succour asks: insisting on the Ties
Of Leagues, and Friendship, with their old Allies:
The general Danger too he shews, to wake
Their Fears, and his Address successful make.

For timely Aid, his Country's just Pretence,
He pleaded thus, with artful Eloquence.
The King reply'd (his Scepter in his Hand,)
Our Help, Athenians, ask not, but command:
Your own you may this Island's Forces call,
For in your Cause I will adventure all:
Nor Armies do I want, that can oppose
My own Invaders, and repel your Foes.—

Sewel alter'd. Ovid. Met. VII.

Cephalus was sent Ambassador from the Athenians, to Æacus King of Ægina, to demand Assistance against Minos King of Crete.

Then Prince Æneas sends from every Rank
An hundred chos'n Ambassadors, dispatched
To the Imperial Walls, with Olive Boughs
All wreath'd to bear his Presents to the King,
And sue for Peace.—

And now, their destin'd Journey having pass'd,
Th' Ambassadors beheld the Latin Towers,
And lofty Palaces, and reach'd the Walls.
—To the aged Monarch's Ears,
Swift on his Steed, a Messenger relates,
That Men of awful Port, in foreign Garb,
Were moving towards the Walls: He gives Command
To call them to the Court, and in the Midst
Sits lofty on th' hereditary Throne.
—Enthron'd
On his paternal Seat, Latinus calls
The Trojans to his Presence in the Court:
And Thus with pleasing Accent first began.

Tell us, ye Trojans, (for your Name and Race
Are not to Us unknown, nor come You here
Unheard of:) say, what seek You? or what Cause
Has urg'd your Navy to th' Ausonian Shore
Thro' such a Space of Ocean? Whether driv'n
By Error of the Way, or Stress of Storms,
(Variety of Perils on the Deep,
Obvious to Mariners,) You enter here
Our River's Mouth, and rest within the Port.
Fly not our Hospitality: nor judge
Erroneous of the Latins, Saturn's Race:

Just of themselves, without Restraint, or Laws,
And by th' Example of their ancient God.

He spoke; and thus Ilioneus reply'd.
O King! from Faunus' Blood illustrious sprung:
Neither by stormy Billows hither toss'd,
Nor by the Stars, or Shores unknown, deceiv'd,
Arrive we on your Confines: With Design,
And willing Minds this City We approach.
A little Mansion for our Country-Gods,
And safe from Danger a Retreat We ask,
And Air, and Water, common Gifts to All.
On your Dominions nothing of Disgrace
Shall We reflect: nor small will be your Fame:
Nor shall by length of Time the grateful Sense
Of such an Obligation be effac'd:
Nor shall the Ausonian Nation e'er repent
To have receiv'd the Trojans.—
Some Gifts, besides, preserv'd from burning Troy,
The little Relicks of his former State,
Our Prince presents You. In this Gold his Sire
Anchises at the Altars sacrific'd:
These, By the Rite accustom'd, giving Laws
To the assembled Nations, Priam wore:
This Scepter, this Tiara, and these Robes,
The Labour of the Trojan Dames.—

So spake Ilioneus. Latinus fix'd,
Sits in one Posture, musing, on the Ground
Rolling his Eyes intent.—At length replies:

—Trojan, what Thou ask'st
Is granted: nor your Gifts do I refuse:
While King Latinus reigns, You shall not want
The fertile Glebe, and Opulence of Troy.
Let ev'n Æneas (if he so desires
Our Friendship and Alliance) hither come,
Nor shun the Interview: to me 'twill prove
A Pledge of Peace, to touch that Monarch's Hand.

Thus having said, the aged King selects
From all his Number chosen Steeds: There stood

Three hundred shining in their lofty Stalls:
To all the Trojans he commands to lead
The wingy-footed Coursers, cover'd o'er
With rich embroidered Crimson: Down their Breasts
Hang golden Collars: and adorn'd with Gold
They champ the yellow Gold between their Teeth.
Next to the absent Trojan Prince he sends
A Chariot, and its harness'd Pair, of Breed
Celestial, from their Nostrils snorting Fire.
Thus with the Gifts and Speeches of the King,
Th' Ambassadors, high on their stately Steeds,
Return exulting, and report the Peace.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. VII.

And now from King Latinus' Court arriv'd
Ambassadors, with Olive Branches wreath'd,
And Grace imploring: that he would permit
The Corps, which slain in Battle, o'er the Field
Lay scatter'd, to be quietly interr'd:
War with the Dead he wag'd not: Let him spare
A Nation, once by hospitable Tyes,
And plighted Spousals, to himself ally'd.
Them good Æneas, and their Suit so just,
Receives with gracious Air: and thus proceeds.
What Fortune, unpropitious, undeserv'd,
Plung'd You, ye Latins, in so deep a War,
And urg'd You from our Friendship to decline?
Peace to the Dead desire You? for the Corps
Which fell in Battle by the Chance of Arms?
Peace to the Living gladly would I grant.—
Go You: and grace your Friends in Battle slain,
With the last Rites, and fire their fun'ral-Piles.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. XI.

Ambition.

The Sisyphus is he, whom Noise and Strife
Seduce from all the soft Retreats of Life:
To vex the Government, disturb the Laws
Drunk with the Fumes of popular Applause,

He courts the giddy Crowd to make him great,
And sweats, and toils in vain to mount the Sov'reign Seat.
For still to aim at Pow'r, and still to fail,
Ever to strive, and never to prevail,
What is it, but, in Reason's true Account,
To heave the Stone against the rising Mount:
Which, urg'd, and labour'd, and forc'd up with Pain,
Recoils, and rolls impetuous down, and smokes along the Plain.—

Dryden. Lucret. Lib. III.

But write him down a Slave, who humbly proud,
With Presents begs Preferment from the Crowd:
That early Suppliant, who salutes the Tribes,
And sets the Mob to scramble for his Bribes:
That some old Dotard, sitting in the Sun,
On Holidays may tell, that such a Feat was done.—

Dryd. Pers. Lib. V.

He who sued for any Office among the Romans, was called a Candidate, because he wore a white Gown, and sometimes chalked it to make it appear whiter. He rose early, and went to the Levees of those who headed the People, saluted also the Tribes severally, when they were gathered together to chuse their Magistrates: and distributed a Largess among them to gain their Voices: much resembling our Elections of Parliament-Men. —Dryden.

This Man delights, with haughty Pride,
In publick at the Monarch's Side,
In solemn State to pass along,
Envy'd by all the gaping Throng:
Vain Wretch! Ambition fires his Breast,
Impetuous, dire, tormenting Guest!—

Ward. Senec. Herc. Œt.

The Spoils of War, brought to Feretrian Jove;
An empty Coat of Armour hung above
The Conqueror's Chariot, and in Triumph born;
A Streamer, from a boarded Galley torn;
A Chap fall'n Beaver loosely hanging by
The cloven Helm: an Arch of Victory,
On whose high Convex sits a captive Foe,
And sighing casts a mournful Look below:
Of ev'ry Nation, each illustrious Name,
Such Toys as these have cheated into Fame:
Exchanging solid Quiet, to obtain
The windy Satisfaction of the Brain.—

Dryden. Juv. X.

One World suffic'd not Alexander's Mind,
Coop'd up, he seem'd, in Earth and Seas confin'd:
And, struggling, stretch'd his restless Limbs about
The narrow Globe, to find a Passage out.
Till enter'd the fam'd Brick-built Town, he try'd
The Tomb, and found it's strait Dimensions wide.—

Dryd. Ibid.

Babylon.

Pow'r and high Titles Men were fond to gain,
As They could bring Content, or make a Chain
To fix inconstant Fortune:—but in vain!
For often those who climb'd the dang'rous Way,
And reach'd the Pinnacle where Honours lay,
Envy, like Lightning, tumbled headlong down,
And in the Grave they sunk who wore the Crown:
So that 'tis better safely to obey,
Than sit on Thrones, and bear Imperial Sway.—

Lucret. Lib. V.

Some ask for envy'd Pow'r, which publick Hate
Pursues, and hurries headlong to their Fate:
Down go the Titles: and the Statue crown'd
Is by base Hands in the next River drown'd.
The guiltless Horses, and the Chariot-wheel
The same Effects of vulgar Fury feel.
The Smith prepares his Hammer for the Stroke,
While the lung'd Bellows hissing Fire provoke.
Sejanus almost first of Roman Names,
The great Sejanus crackles in the Flames.
Form'd in the Forge, the pliant Brass is laid
On Anvils, and of Head and Limbs are made
Pans, Cans, and Piss-Pots, a whole Kitchen Trade.
Adorn your Doors with Laurels, and a Bull,
Milk white, and large, lead to the Capitol:
Sejanus with a Rope is dragg'd along,
The Sport and Laughter of the giddy Throng!
Good Lord! they cry, what Ethiop Lips he has!
How foul a Snout, and what a hanging Face!

By Heav'n, I never could endure his Sight:
But say, how came his monstrous Crimes to Light?
What is the Charge, and who the Evidence?—
Nothing at all of this; but Cæsar sent
A blust'ring Letter to his Parliament.
Nay, Sirs, if Cæsar writ, I ask no more,
He's guilty: and the Question's out o' Door.—

Dryden. Juv. Sat. X.

Prime Minister of Tiberius Cæsar: Statues and triumphal Chariots were every where erected to him, but falling under his Master's Displeasure, they were all broken down, and the Senate and common People insulted over him as meanly as they had fawned on him just before.

Now, with Sejanus would'st Thou change thy Fate,
To be, like him, first Minister of State?
To have thy Levees crowded with Resort
Of a depending, gaping, servile Court:
Dispose all Honours of the Sword and Gown,
Raise with a Nod, and ruin with a Frown:
To hold thy Prince in Pupilage, and sway
That Monarch whom the master'd World obey?—
Yes, I believe Thou would'st be Great as He:
For ev'ry Man's a Fool to that Degree,
All wish the dire Prerogative to kill:
Ev'n they would have the Pow'r who want the Will.
But would'st Thou have thy Wishes understood,
To take the Bad together with the Good?
Would'st Thou not rather chuse the small Renown,
To be the Mayor of some poor paltry Town,
Bigly to look, and barb'rously to speak,
To pound false Weights, and scanty Measures break,
Than be Sejanus?—

Dryden. Ibid.

Great Hannibal within the Ballance lay,
And tell how many Pounds his Ashes weigh:
Him Africk was not able to contain;
Whose Length runs level with th' Atlantic Main,
And weakens fruitful Nilus, to convey
His Sun-beat Waters by so long a Way.
Spain first he won, the Pyrenœans past,
And frozen Alps, the Mounds that Nature cast:
And with corroding Juices, as he went,
A Passage thro' the living Rocks he rent.
Tho' Italy was conquer'd, and o'er-run:
Uneasy still, he cry'd, There's nothing done,

Till, level with the Ground their Gates are laid,
And Punic Flags on Roman Tow'rs display'd.
But, what's his End, O charming Glory! say
What rare fifth Act to crown this huffing Play?
In one deciding Battle overcome,
He flies, is banish'd from his native Home,
Begs Refuge in a foreign Court, and there
Attends, his mean Petition to prefer:
The Man who was so wonderful, so great,
Does the Bythinean Tyrant's Rising wait.

What Death, at last, distinguish'd from Mankind,
For so untam'd, so turbulent a Mind!
Nor Swords at Hand, nor hissing Darts from far,
Do Canna's Field avenge, and all the Rage of War:
This Justice by a little Ring is done.—
Go, climb the rugged Alps, ambitious Fool!
To please the Boys, and be a Theme at School.—

Dryden alter'd. Juv. Sat. X.

After Hannibal was overcome by Scipio, a prevailing Faction at Carthage condemned him to Banishment, and then he fled for Succour to the King of Bythinia.

Hannibal always carried Poyson in a hollow Ring, and therewith ended himself at last, lest he should fall into the Hands of his Enemies. This Ring is therefore call'd the Avenger of the Battle of Canna, where so many of the Roman Knights were slain, that Hannibal sent to Carthage three Measures of Gold Rings, taken from off their Fingers.

Ambush.

Sabbura , great in the Numidian Race,
And second to their swarthy King in Place,
First with a chosen slender Band proceeds,
And, seemingly, the Force of Juba leads:
While hidden He, the Prince Himself, remains,
And in a secret Vale his num'rous Troops restrains.

Thus oft th' Ichneumon, on the Banks of Nile,
Invades the deadly Aspick by a Wile:
While artfully his slender Tail is play'd,
The Serpent darts upon the dancing Shade:

Then turning on the Foe with swift Surprize,
Full at his Throat the nimble Seizer flies.
The gasping Snake expires beneath the Wound,
His gushing Jaws with pois'nous Floods abound,
And shed the fruitless Mischief on the Ground.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. IV.

With seeming Fear Retreat and Flight they feign,
To draw th' unwary Leader to the Plain:
He, bold, and unsuspicious of their Wiles,
Now thinking Conquest sure, and Fortune's smiles,
Wide o'er the naked Champion spreads his Files:
When, sudden, all the circling Mountains round,
With numberless Numidians thick are crown'd.
At once the rising Ambush stands confess'd;
Dread strikes the Chief, and ev'ry Soldier's Breast:
Helpless they view th' impending Danger nigh,
Nor can the Valiant fight, nor Coward fly.—

Rowe. Ibid.

Curio, Cæsar's General in Africa, was thus circumvented and destroy'd by Juba King of Numidia, who took the Side of Pompey.

Deep in a winding Track a Valley lies,
Well form'd for Ambush, and the Frauds of War,
On ev'ry Side with gloomy Boughs inclos'd:
To which a slender Path, thro' narrow Sides,
(A difficult malignant Passage) leads.
High on the Mountain's Top a secret Plain,
And safe Retreat there lies: Or to the Right,
Or to the Left, from thence you may engage,
Obvious in Fight: or standing on the Ridge,
Roll Stones and rocky Fragments on the Foe.
Hither the youthful Hero march'd his Force,
Thro' the known Ways: with Expedition seiz'd
The Post, and in th' uneven Thickets lay.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. XI.

Anger.

See Rage.

Nor Cybele, nor Phœbus, Pythian God,
Nor even Bacchus with such Fury shakes
The Bosoms of his Priests: not half so mad
The Corybantes, when with frequent Blows

On the shrill Brass they strike, as is the Mind
Where direful Anger reigns; Anger, which Swords,
The Tempests of the deep, relentless Fire,
Nor Jove himself can stop, tho' from an high,
He comes, tremendous, thund'ring down the Sky.—

Hor. Lib. 1. Od. XVI.

The Man whose Reason can't his Wrath asswage,
Prevents, himself, the Mischiefs of his Rage:
Striking too soon does his own Blow defeat,
And smarts a-new, for Vengeance uncompleat.
Anger's short Madness: then command thy Soul,
And check thy Rage, which if not rul'd will rule;
With Bit and Rein it's headlong Course controul.—

Hor. Lib. 1. Epist. II.

Thy Blood with Passion boils, with Anger glow
Thy sparkling Eyes, and Thou dost say, and do,
What, should the mad Orestes hear and see,
He'd swear that Thou art madder much than He.—

Persius Sat. III.

Fair gentle Peace becomes the human Mind,
Rage is for Brutes of the most savage Kind:
It swells the Lips, and blackens all the Veins,
Whilst in the Eyes a more than Gorgon Horror reigns.—

Ovid. Art. III.

—Fierce Anger by Delay
Will soon be gone, as Ice dissolves away.—

Ovid. Art. I.

—You,
Who conquer all, conquer your Anger too.—

Ovid. Epist. III.

Antiquity.

So fond of all that's antient are we grown,
Nothing, forsooth, of modern Date will down.
O'er the Decemvir's Laws, devout, we pore,
And ancient Leagues, with Sabines made, adore:
The Augur's Leaves, transported we admire:
And Bards, grown obsolete, can never tire.
These flow'd not sure from any human Skill!
The Muses gave them from the Aonian Hill.—

Hor. Epist. I. Lib. 2.

If Verse, like Wine, improves, mature by Age,
What Length of Years gives Value of the Page?—

Say, shall the Bard, whom certainly we know
To 'ave dy'd but just an hundred Years agoe,
Stand with the Ancients, or the Moderns, plac'd?
With Those admir'd, or with These disgrac'd?—
Why! if an hundred Years agoe he writ,
Sure he's an Ancient, and a Classic Wit!—
What Rank is his, an Age who cannot boast,
More Modern by a Month, or Year at most:
With Bards of old, or Those, whom, later born,
The present, and succeeding Times shall scorn?
Who wants a Month, or ev'n a Year, may be
Allow'd the Credit of Antiquity.
This frank Concession will my Cause avail:
By single Hairs I bare the Horse's Tail:
For thus I'll argue on, and bate one more,
And so, by one, and one, waste all the Store:
Confuting him, who values Wit by Years,
Nor living Bards, because alive, reveres.—

Anon. alter'd. Hor. Lib. II. Epist. 1.

When Numa's Song above our Verse you raise,
And what you understand not dare to praise,
'Tis not, that fond of ancient Bards, you're grown,
But Envy bids you not applaud our own.—

Idem. Ibid.

Appeal to the Gods.

But, if the Gods above have Pow'r to know,
And judge those Actions that are done below:
Unless the dreaded Thunders of the Sky,
Like me, subdu'd, and violated lye:
Hear me, O Heav'n! and if a God be there,
Let him regard me, and accept my Pray'r.—

Ovid. Met. Lib. VI.

Almighty Jove! to whom our Moorish Line
In large Libations pour the gen'rous Wine,
And feast on painted Beds: Say, Father! say,
If yet thy Eyes those flagrant Crimes survey.
Or do we vainly tremble and adore,
When thro' the Skies the pealing Thunders roar?

Thine are the Bolts?—or idly do they fall,
And rattle thro' the dark aërial Hall?

Æn. Lib. IV.

Almighty Jove! if Thou by any Pray'rs
Art mov'd, this once behold Us: and if aught
Our Piety deserves, afford Us now
Thy Succour.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. II.

—The Captive rears
His Hands unshackled to the golden Stars:
You, ye eternal Splendors! he exclaims,
And Your divine, inviolable Flames!
Ye fatal Swords and Altars! which I fled,
Ye Wreaths! that circled this devoted Head:
All, all, attest, that justly I release
My sworn Allegiance to the Laws of Greece:
Renounce my Country, hate her Sons, and lay
Their inmost Counsels open to the Day.—

Pitt. Ibid.

Then good Æneas from his Shoulders rends
His Robe, invokes th' Assistance of the Gods,
And stretches out his Hands.—Almighty Jove!
If all the Trojans be not to a Man
By Thee as yet abhorr'd: if human Toils
Thy long experienc'd Goodness aught regards;
This flaming Ruin, Father! from our Ships
Remove, and save the little State of Troy:
Or, what alone remains, here strike me dead,
Transfix'd with Lightning, if I so deserve:
And crush me with thy own avenging Hand.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. V.

Apollo.

When bright Apollo leaves his Winter-Seat
Lycia, and Xanthus' Stream, and in it's Turn
Visits his native Delos, to restore
The Festivals: About his Altars croud,
With mingled Noise, the Cretians, Dryopes,
And painted Agathyrsi: He on Top
Of Cynthus walks, and crowns his flowing Hair

With a soft Wreath of Greens, forms it with Art,
And winds it up in Gold: His sounding Shafts
Hang at his Shoulders.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. IV.

Me Claros, Delphos, Tenedos obey,
These Hands the Patareian Scepter sway:
The King of Gods begat me: what shall be,
Or is, or ever was, in Fate, I see.
I first to Musick tun'd the sounding Strings,
And from my Bow the Shaft unerring Springs.
Med'cine is mine: what Herbs and Simples grow
In Fields, and Forrests, all their Pow'rs I know:
And am the great Physician call'd below.—

Dryd. alter'd. Ovid. Met. Lib. I.

Supreme of Gods, Apollo, who thy Hill
Sacred Soracte, Guardian, dost defend:
Whom we the first adore: for whom we feed
The Fire in piny Piles, and thro' that Fire,
Safe in our Piety, and fearless, walk,
Thy Worshippers, and tread on burning Coals:
Grant me, Almighty Father, by my Arms,
This Blot, this foul Dishonour to remove.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. XI.

The God his own Parnassean Lawrel crown'd,
And in a Wreath his golden Tresses bound,
Graceful his purple Mantle swept the Ground.
High on the Left his Iv'ry Lute he rais'd,
The Lute, emboss'd with glitt'ring Jewels, blaz'd.
In his right Hand he nicely held the Quill,
And ev'n his Posture spoke a Master's Skill.—

Croxall. Ovid. Met. Lib. XI.

Apollo's Speech to Daphne.

Archery.

Forthwith Æneas to the Sports invites
All who with feather'd Shafts would try their Skill,
And names the Prizes. With his ample Hand
He from Serestus' Ship a Mast erects,
And on it by a Rope suspended ties
A swift wing'd Dove: at which they all should aim
Their Arrows.—

—Then all with manly Strength
Bend their tough Yew: each with his utmost Force:
All from their Quivers draw their Shafts:—And first
Shot from the twanging Nerve Hippocoon's flies
Along the Sky, divides the liquid Air,
And on the Body of the Mast adverse
Stands fix'd: the Mast, and frighted Bird at once
Tremble: And all the Cirque with Shouts resounds.
Next eager Mnestheus with his bended Bow
Stands ready, and his Eyes and Arrow aim'd
Directs to Heav'n: yet could not reach the Dove
Herself, unfortunate: but cut the Knots,
And hempen Ligaments, in which she hung
Ty'd by the Feet upon the lofty Mast:
She flys into the Winds, and dusky Clouds.
Eurytion then impatient, and long since
Holding his ready Bow, and fitted Steel,
Invokes his Brother: and, in open Air
Seeing the Dove now shake her sounding Wings,
Transfixes her amidst the Clouds: The Bird
Falls dead, and leaves her Life among the Stars:
And, tumbling, in her Body brings him back
His sticking Arrow.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. V.

Arms. Armour.

See Battle. Hero. Sling. Warrior.

With Nails and Teeth, at first, the Warriors fought,
Or Stones, or Staves: the Weapons Nature taught:
Fire too they us'd, as soon as Fire was found;
And lastly, Steel and Brass were made to wound.—

Lucr. Lib. V.

Wond'ring, he turns and poises in his Hands
The dreadful crested Helm, which vomits Flames:
The fatal Sword: the Corslet stiff with Brass,
Sanguine, immense: as when an Azure Cloud
Glows, gilded by the Sun, and burns from far:
The polish'd Cuisses next, of Gold refin'd,

And ductile Silver: and the Spear: and last
Th' unutterable Texture of the Shield.—

Æn. Lib. VIII.

Himself his Corslet laces to his Breast,
Squalid with Gold and Brass: then fits his Sword,
His Helmet, and his double Crimson Plume.
Next his long Spear, Auruncean Actor's Spoil,
Which in the middle of the spacious Court,
Against a lofty Pillar leaning stood,
He grasps; and shakes it quiv'ring in the Air.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. XII.

The Armour of Æneas made by Vulcan.

—The greatest Part throw Balls
Of livid Lead: Part brandish in their Hands
Two Darts: a yellow Cap of Wolf-skin made
Covers their Heads: Their left Foot bare: Their Right
In the raw Leather of a Shoe inclos'd.—

Trap. Æn. L. VIII.

Piles in their Hands, and goring Pikes they bear,
And with round pointed Sabine, Jav'lins fight.—

Id. Ibid.

—Round missile Darts they throw:
But these by Custom to a pliant Thong
Are ty'd: a Buckler on their left they wear,
And crooked Faulchions weild in closer Fight.—

Id. Ibid.

Accustom'd, by Teutonic Mode, to hurl
Huge pondrous Jav'lins: Rind of Cork their Casques,
And brazen Swords they wear, and brazen Shields.—

Id. Ibid.

Army.

See Battle.

Num'rous as Surges roll'd on Lybia's Sea,
When rough Orion sets in wintry Waves:
Or Ears of Corn scorch'd by the Summer's Sun,
On Hermus' Plain, or Lycia's yellow Fields.
Their Targets ring: And with their trampling Feet
The Ground beneath them trembles as they walk.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. VII.

The Horsemen march: The Gates are open'd wide:
Æneas at their Head, Achates by his Side.
Next These the Trojan Leaders rode along:
Last, follows in the Rear th' Arcadian Throng.

Young Pallas shone conspicuous o'er the rest:
Gilded his Arms, embroider'd was his Vest.
The trembling Wives the Walls and Turrets croud,
And follow, with their Eyes, the dusty Cloud:
Which Winds disperse by Fits: and shew from far
The Blaze of Arms, and Shields, and shining War.
The Troops, drawn up in beautiful Array,
Along the Lawns, pursue the nearest Way.
Repeated Peals of Shouts are heard around;
The Horse, in close Array,—
Shake with their sounding Hoofs the quaggy Ground.—

Dryden. Æn. Lib. VIII.

Now all the Army march'd upon the Plain,
Rich in proud Steeds, in broider'd Vests, and Gold.
Messapus leads the Van, the Rear the Sons
Of Tyrrheus: In the Center Turnus moves,
Chief, by the Head entire above them all,
And tow'rs in Arms.—Slow, without Noise they march:
As, by sev'n Rivers swell'd, in Silence flows
Ganges profound: or with his fruitful Stream
Nilus, when, ebbing from the Fields, he draws
His Train, and in his Channel glides confin'd.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. IX.

Together crouding from th' abandon'd Camp
Antheus, and Mnestheus rush, and all the Tide
Of Troops condens'd: Thick Dust obscures the Sky:
And the Ground trembling groans beneath their Feet.—

Id. Æn. Lib. XII.

Arrow.

She said: and from her golden Quiver took
A feather'd Shaft, and bent her vengeful Bow:
Bent it, till both the crooked Horns were joyn'd,
And met each other: her Left Hand at once
Touching the Point, her Right and the tough Nerve
Strain'd to her Breast. Forthwith the sounding Air,
And hissing of the Weapon Aruns heard,
And in his Body felt the sticking Steel.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. V.

—With the Nerve
Of Horse's Hair full opposite he stood,
Levell'd his Shaft, and diverse drew his Arms:

—At once
Sounded the fatal Yew: With dreadful Hiss
The Arrow flies, and fixes in the Head
Of Remulus, and pierces with it's Steel
His hollow Temples.—

Id. Æn. Lib. IX.

Cupid's Arrows.

Two diff'rent Shafts he from his Quiver draws;
One to repel Desire, and one to cause.
One Shaft is pointed with refulgent Gold:
To bribe the Love, and make the Lover bold:
One blunt, and tipt with Lead; whose base Allay
Provokes Disdain, and drives Desire away.—

Dryden. Ovid. Met. Lib. I.

His Mother's Lips while Cupid fondly press'd
Heedless, he with an Arrow raz'd her Breast.
The Goddess felt it, and with Fury stung,
The wanton Mischief from her Bosom flung:
And thought at first the Danger slight, but found
The Dart too faithful, and too deep the Wound.

Id. alter'd. Ovid. Met. Lib. X.

Atlas.

Near Ocean's Limits and the setting Sun,
On Æthiopia's Bounds there is a Place,
Where mighty Atlas on his Shoulders turns
The rolling Axis studded o'er with Stars.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. IV.

Atlas whose piny Head with low'ring Clouds
Is wrap'd, and beaten with the Winds, and Rain:
Snow hides his Shoulders: from his hoary Chin
Streams roll, and stiffned hangs his icy Beard.—

Id. Ibid.

Atheist.

See Divine Vengeance.

—All hear
With Admiration, and admiring fear
The Pow'rs of Heav'n; except Ixion's Son,
Who laugh'd at all the Gods, believ'd in none.
Credit the Tale who will, he fierce replies,
These Legends are no more than pious Lies:
You stretch too much the Pow'rs of Heav'n, to say,
That they or give Us Forms, or take away.
The rest, of better Minds, their Sense declar'd
Against this Doctrine, and with Horror heard.—

Then Lelex rose, an old experienc'd Man,
And thus, with sober Gravity began:
Great are the Gods, unbounded is their Sway,
And what they Will both Heav'n and Earth obey.—

Dryd. alter'd. Ovid. Met. Lib. VIII.

The impious Wretch despis'd the Powers divine,
Nor od'rous Incense burnt at any Shrine:
But with his Ax did Ceres' Grove invade,
And, as 'tis said, hew'd down the venerable Shade.
An ancient Oak there in the Center stood,
The Covert's Glory, and itself a Wood.
Garlands embrac'd it's Trunk, and from the Boughs
Hung Tablets, Monuments of prosp'rous Vows.
It's Height as much the other Trees exceeds,
As they o'ertop the Grass and humble Weeds.

But nought it's holy Horrors could avail:
He bad his Slaves the sacred Trunk assail:
And whilst they, lingring, his Commands delay'd,
He snatch'd an Ax, and thus blaspheming said;
Was this no Oak, nor Ceres' fav'rite Care,
But Ceres' self, this Arm, unaw'd, shou'd dare
It's leafy Honours in the Dust to spread,
And level with the Ground it's tow'ring Head.
He spoke: and as he aim'd a slanting Stroke,
Sighs heav'd, and Tremblings shook the frighted Oak;

It's Leaves look'd sickly, pale it's Acorns grew,
And it's long Branches sweat a chilly Dew.
Then when his impious Hands a Wound bestow'd,
Blood from the mangled Bark in Currents flow'd.

The Wonder All amaz'd: but One more bold,
The Fact disswading, strove his Ax to hold.
With Fury him the fierce Thessalian ey'd:
Receive thy Piety's Reward, he cry'd;
And as with Rage a mighty Stroke he sped,
He turn'd it from the Tree, and lop'd his Head.

Then obstinate in Ill, with num'rous Blows
And straining Ropes, the Oak he overthrows.—

Dryd. alter'd. Ibid.

Erisichthon.

That Souls immortal are, or after Death
Have any Hell to fear, now, even Boys,
Unless in Leading-Strings, do not believe:
But Thou these Truths revere.—

Juv. Sat. II.

Avarice.

See Miser. Money.

Hence almost ev'ry Crime, nor do we find,
That any Passion of the human Mind,
So oft has plung'd the Sword, or drench'd the Bowl,
As Avarice—that Tyrant of the Soul.
For he that will be rich, brooks no Delay,
But drives o'er all, and takes the shortest Way:
What Law, or Fear, or Shame can e'er restrain
The greedy Wretch in full Pursuit of Gain?—

Juvenal. Sat. XIV.

Do but get Money, that's a needful Task,
Which Way you got it none will ever ask.—

Ibid.

Curs'd Gold! how high will daring Mortals rise,
In ev'ry Guilt, to reach the glitt'ring Prize?—

Pitt. Virg. Æn. III.

He that buys Harps, and throws his Wealth away
On Pipes, yet never does intend to play:
He that buys Awls and Lasts, yet doth not know,
And ne'er designs to try, to make a Shoe:
Or Ships and Oars, yet is averse to Trade,
All, and there's Reason for't, would count him mad.

And what's He better, who still strives for more,
Still heaps up Wealth, yet dares not use the Store,
But fears to touch it as 'twere sacred Ore?—

Creech. Hor. Lib. II. Sat. 3.

Whom dost thou save it for? thy drunken Heir?
Or lest thy self should want it dost thou spare?
Old Wretch, how little would thy Wealth be less,
Should'st thou eat better Food, or wear a cleaner Dress?—

Hor. Lib. II. Serm. 3.

The greedy avaritious Wretch is found
Always in Want:—but Thou thy Wishes bound.—

Hor. Lib. I. Epist. 2.

The Love of Gold by Gain is still increas'd:
And He, who has it not, desires, it least.—

Juv. Sat. XIV.

Gold, 'tis for thee a Life of Care we know,
For thee, untimely, to the Grave we go.
Vice is encourag'd and supply'd by thee,
And thou'rt the Source of human Misery.—

Prop. L. III. El. 5.

Care still attends increasing Store,
And endless Appetite for more.—

Hor. Lib. III. Od. 16.

What's Wealth to me, if you its Use deny,
Tho' large my Heaps, a wretched Beggar I.
Riches are Torments, if the shining Ore
We dare not touch, but only guard the Store.
So Tantalus of Thirst and Hunger dies,
With Food and Water just before his Eyes.

Long. Max.

—The craving Mind is always poor.

Claud. I. Ruf.

The Man is mad, and should a Keeper have,
Who freights a Ship, and ventures on the Seas,
With one frail interposing Plank to save
From certain Death, roll'd on by ev'ry Wave:
Yet Money makes him all this Toil embrace;
Money with Titles stampt, and a dull Monarch's Face.
When gath'ring Clouds o'ershadow all the Skies,
And shoot quick Lightnings,—Weigh, my Boys, he cries,
A Summer's Thunder, soon it will be past:—
Yet, hardy Fool! this Night may prove thy last:
When Thou (thy Ship o'erwhelm'd with Waves) shalt be
Forc'd to plunge naked in the raging Sea.
Thy Teeth fast clos'd, a Purse full of dear Gold,
The last Remains of all thy Stores shall hold.—

Dryd. jun. Juv. Sat. XIV.

Thy greedy Wishes bound, enjoy thy Store,
And help thy Friends, necessitous, and poor.—

Juv. Sat. VIII.

If what you drink should make your Thirst increase,
Surely you'd tell some Doctor your Disease,
And seek for Cure.—Now your abundant Store
But only makes you covet Wealth the more:
And dare you rest content, and not apply
To Somebody, to find a Remedy?
Suppose you had a Wound, and one had show'd
A Root, or Herb, which try'd had done no Good:
Would you not cease to follow his Advice?—
Now, you have heard, that he must needs be wise
To whom the Gods give Riches: yet you find
The Wealth you have, has not improv'd your Mind:
And will you still believe it, when you know
By sad Experience that it is not so?
Cou'd Gold with godlike Prudence Minds inspire,
Or lessen anxious Fear and fond Desire,
Then you should blush, if all the World could shew
A Man more covetous of Wealth than you.—

Creech alter'd. Hor. Lib. II. Ep. 2.

However large the golden Store,
There's always Something wanting more.—

Hor. Lib. III. Od. 24.

Thus Tantalus by his own Wish accurst,
Midst Fruits for Hunger faints, midst Streams for Thirst:
The Miser's Emblem! who of all possess'd,
Yet fears to taste, in Blessings most unbless'd.—

Addison junr. Petron. Arb.

Wealth must obey, or it will rule the Mind.—

Hor. Ep. X.

Authors.

See Style.

'Twas heretofore a Credit here at Rome,
To mind one's Business, and abide at Home:
To help one's Client, and promote his Cause,
Inform his Ignorance, and teach the Laws:
To make good Debts, and drive a gainful Trade,
And know what Int'rest may be justly paid:

Instruct the Young, and hear the Old debate,
What will encrease, what ruin an Estate.
This Humour's chang'd, now reigns a new Delight,
All must be Authors now, and All must write.—

Creech. Hor. Lib. II. Epist. 1.

Would'st Thou compose some lasting Piece?—be wise,
Amend, correct again, again revise:
Seek not th'unthinking Many to delight,
But for a few of the best Judges write.—

Id. alter'd. Hor. Lib. I. Sat. 10.

Autumn.

Then from the burden'd Elms the generous Vine
Descends, and Presses overflow with Wine:
Then Corn is sown, whilst Autumn's Heats remain
To loose the Clods, and fertilize the Grain.—

Creech. Man. Lib. III.

'Twas now the Time, when equal Jove on high
Had hung the golden Balance of the Sky:
But ah! not long such just Proportions last,
The righteous Season soon was chang'd and past:
And Spring's Encroachment on the short'ning Shade,
Was fully to the wintry Nights repaid.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. VIII.

Bacchanals.

Thro' the mid Cities, and the madding Crowds,
Furious she urges on; and cries aloud,
Evoë! Bacchus! who alone deserv'st
The Virgin Bride: For Thee, (as Fame reports,)
The Female Train the soft Vine-Jav'lins wield;
Thee they surround: their consecrated Locks
For Thee they nourish.—All the Matrons fir'd,
With the same Furies in their Breasts, to seek
New Dwellings, leave their Houses: To the Winds
They give their Necks, and Hair: Some fill the Sky
With trembling Yells: and, clad in Skins of Beasts,
Brandish their Spears with viny Wreaths entwin'd.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. VII.

—Distracted, wild,
She rages: and, incens'd, o'er all the Town

Roves, like a Bacchanal: when at the Name
Of Bacchus, his triennial Orgies swell
Her Breast with Madness: and Cytheron's Top
Invites her ecchoing with nocturnal Sounds.—

Trap. Æn. IV.

Now the triennial Celebration came,
Observ'd to Bacchus by each Thracian Dame:
When, in the Privacies of Night retir'd,
They act his Rites, with sacred Rapture fir'd.
By Night, the tinkling Cymbals ring around,
While the shrill Notes from Rhodopè resound.
By Night the Queen disguis'd forsakes the Court,
To mingle in the festival Resort:
Leaves of the curling Vine her Temples shade,
And, with a circling Wreath, adorn her Head:
A-down her Back the Stags rough Spoils appear;
Light on her Shoulder leans a Cornel-Spear.
Thus, in the Fury of the God conceal'd,
Mad, with her Gang, to the thick Wood she flies,
And with loud Yells and Howlings fills the Skies,
Which to thine Honour, Bacchus, seem to rise.—

Croxall. Ovid. Met. Lib. VI.

Procne.

Bacchus.

See Wine.

With rosy Cheeks plump Bacchus march'd along:
His curling Hair with wreathing Ivy ty'd,
And on his Back the Parthian Tyger's Pride:
The gilded Claws in equal Order meet,
And his crown'd Spear assists his erring Feet.—

Hughes. Claud. Rapt. Pros.

Bacchus returning from his Indian War,
By Tygers drawn triumphant in his Car,
From Nisa's Top descended on the Plains,
With curling Vines around his purple Reins.—

Dryden. Æn. Lib. VI.

The God himself with clust'ring Grapes was crown'd,
And shook his Spear, which curling Vines surround:
Tygers and Lynxes round him seem'd to lye,
And painted Panthers dreadful to the Eye.—

Ov. Met. Lib. III.

Thee, Bacchus! now I sing:—
Hither, Lenæus, Father, (with thy Gifts

All here abounds: For Thee the Field full charg'd
With viny Autumn flourishes: For Thee
In red o'er-flowing Vats the Vintage foams:)
Hither, Lenæus, Father, come: and tinge
Thy Legs, unbuskin'd, in new Must, with me.—

Trap. Virg. Georg. Lib. II.

—An horn'd He-Goat
Sacred to Bacchus, on each Altar bleeds:
And ancient Interludes adorn the Scene.
And all the Roads and Villages around,
Th' Athenians Prizes for those Plays propos'd:
And jovial o'er their Bowls in grassy Meads,
Danc'd upon Goat-skin Bottles sleek with Oil.
Nor less th' Ausonian Colony of Troy
Sport in rude Laughter, and unpolish'd Verse:
Of hollow Bark uncouth rough Vizors wear:
Thee, Bacchus, Thee with joyous Songs invoke,
And hang thy little Images aloft
On a tall Pine. Hence ev'ry Vineyard sprouts,
And swells with future Wine: The hollow Vales,
And shady Groves, to which soe'er the God
Turns his gay Face, with copious Fruit abound.
Therefore to Bacchus, in our Country's Verse,
We'll sing due Praise, and Cakes, and Chargers bring:
And at his Altar kill the Victim Goat
Dragg'd by the Horns: and roast his well-fed Flesh,
On Hazle-Spits, before the sacred Fire.—

Id. Ibid.

Bacchus, to country Swains opprest with Care,
Kindly gives Courage, and dispels their Fear:
Bacchus gives Respite to the Wretch's Pains,
Altho' with Fetters gall'd and ratling Chains.—

Dart. Tibul. Lib. I. El. 8.

Banquet.

See Hospitality.

Rich as some Fane by lavish Zealots rear'd,
For the proud Banquet, stood the Hall prepar'd:
Thick golden Plates the latent Beams infold,
And the high Roof was fretted o'er with Gold:

Of solid Marble all the Walls were made,
And Onyx ev'n the meaner Floor inlay'd:
While Porphyry, and Agate, round the Court,
In massy Columns rose, a proud Support.
Of solid Ebony each Post was wrought,
From swarthy Meroë profusely brought:
With Iv'ry was the Entrance crusted o'er,
And polish'd Tortoise hid each shining Door;
While on the cloudy Spots enchas'd was seen
The lively Em'ralds never-fading Green.

Within, the royal Beds and Couches shone,
Beamy and bright with many a costly Stone:
In glowing Purple rich the Cov'rings lye:
Twice had they drank the noblest Tyrian Dye:
Others, as Pharian Artists have the Skill,
To mix the parti-colour'd Web at Will,
With winding Trails of various Silk were made,
Where branching Gold set off the rich Brocade.—

Around, of ev'ry Colour, Age, and Form,
Huge Crowds, whole Nations of Attendants swarm:
Some wait with yellow Rings of golden Hair,
The vanquish'd Rhine shew'd Cæsar none so fair:
Others were seen with swarthy frizled Heads,
And Others Black, as Night's unchanging Shades.
There too a hapless Train, by Steel unman'd,
And soften'd from their Sex, a beardless Band!
Stout comely Youths were plac'd in adverse Rows,
Whose blooming Cheeks scarce the first Down disclose.

The Princes round the Board recline in State,
With mighty Cæsar, more than Princes great.

What Earth, and Air, and Sea, and Nile afford,
In golden Vessels heap the plenteous Board:
What e'er ambitious Luxury could find
Thro' the search'd Globe, and more than Want enjoyn'd;
Variety of Birds, and Beasts of ev'ry Kind.
Not ev'n the Gods are spar'd whom they adore.
The Nile's sweet Wave capacious Christals pour,
And Gems of Price, the Grape's delicious Store:

No Growth of Mareotis' marshy Fields,
But such as Meroë maturer yields:
Where the warm Sun the racy Juice refines,
And mellows into Age the infant Wines.
With Wreaths of Nard the Guests their Temples bind,
And blooming Roses of immortal Kind:
Their dropping Locks with oily Odours flow,
Recent, from near Arabia, where they grow:
The vig'rous Spices breathe their strong Perfume,
And the rich Vapour fills the spacious Room.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. X.

The King once more the solemn Rites requires,
And bids renew the Feasts, and wake the Fires.
His Train obey, while all the Courts around
With noisy Care, and various Tumult sound.
Embroider'd Purple clothes the golden Beds:
This Slave the Floor, and that the Table spreads:
A Third dispels the Darkness of the Night,
And fills depending Lamps with Beams of Light.
These pile the Loaves in Canisters on high,
And those in Flames the slaughter'd Victims fry.
Sublime, in regal State, Adrastus shone,
Stretch'd on rich Carpets, on his Iv'ry Throne:
A lofty Couch receives each princely Guest:
Around, at aweful Distance, wait the rest.—

Pope. Stat. Theb. Lib. I.

Battle.

See Rout. Slaughter.

Mean while the Trojan Squadron to the Town
Approaches, and th' Etrurian Chiefs, and all
The Army of the Horse, compos'd in Troops
By certain Numbers rang'd:—o'er all the Field
The bounding Coursers struggle with the Bit,
Now This, now That Way turn'd, and neigh aloud:
A Wood of Jav'lins rises: and the Plain
Glows dreadful with the Iron Gleam of Arms.
—The Latins on the Field
Stand opposite: with Hands drawn back protend
Their threat'ning Spears, and shake their brandish'd Darts.

The Noise of trampling Feet, and neighing Steeds
Burns in the Air, and nearer rolls the Fight.
Now within Jav'lins Reach both Armies stood.
Loud with a sudden Shout in Onset fierce
They rush amain, and rouse their thund'ring Steeds:
Thick as a Storm of Snow their Arrows pour,
And darken all the Sky—

Forthwith the Lines disorder'd croud: And turn'd
In Flight, the Latins cast their Shields behind,
And spur their smoking Horses to the Town.
The Trojans urge the Chace: Asylas Chief
Leads on the Troops: They now approach'd the Gates:
The Latins in their Turn, with deaf'ning Shout,
Wheel round their Steeds, and bend their pliant Necks:
The Trojans fly, and slack the waving Reins.

Twice to their Walls the Tuscans drove in Flight
The Rutuli: Twice, cover'd with their Shields,
Themselves look back, and see the Foes pursue.
But when, engaging in the third Assault,
All Battle joyn'd, and Man to Man oppos'd:
Then dying Groans are heard: and drown'd in Gore
Arms, Bodies, gasping Steeds, and slaughter'd Men
Promiscuous roll:—a rigid Fight ensues.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. XI.

All with their utmost Force exerted strive:
Nor Pause, nor Respite: with vast Conflict fierce
They push, and sweat, and labour o'er the Field—

Id. Æn. Lib. XII.

—As in War,
The long extended Legion forms in Lines
It's Cohorts: when the marshall'd Squadrons stand
In the wide Plain: and, the whole Army rang'd,
The Ground all fluctuates with the brazen Gleam:
Nor yet in horrid Shock the Battle joins,
But Mars, uncertain, hovers o'er the Field.—

Id. Virg. Georg. II.

And now, the fainting Stars at length gave Way,
And hid their vanquish'd Fires in beamy Day:
When round their Leader's Tent the Legions croud,
And, urg'd by Fate, demand the Fight aloud.

101

Wretches! that long their little Life to waste,
And hurry on those Hours that fly too fast!
Too soon, for thousands, shall the Day be done,
Whose Eyes no more shall see the setting Sun!—

Loud thro' the Camp the rising Murmurs sound,
And one tumultuous Hurry runs around:
Sudden their busy Hearts began to beat,
And each pale Visage wore the Marks of Fate.

And now the Warriors all with busy Care,
Whet the dull Sword, and point the blunted Spear:
With tougher Nerves they string the bended Bow,
And in full Quivers steely Shafts bestow:
The Horseman sees his Furniture made fit,
Sharpens the Spur, and burnishes the Bit:
Fixes the Rein to check, or urge his Speed,
And animates to Fight the snorting Steed.—

Cæsar scarce spoke, when sudden at the Word,
They seize the Lance, and draw the shining Sword:
At once the turfy Fences all lie waste,
And thro' the Breach the crowding Legions haste:
Regardless all of Order, and Array,
They stand, and trust to Fate alone the Day.

Strait, at the fatal Signal, all around
A thousand Fifes, a thousand Clarions sound:
Beyond where Clouds, or glancing Lightnings fly,
The piercing Clangors strike the vaulted Sky.
The joining Battles shout, and the loud Peal
Bounds from the Hill, and thunders down the Vale.—

Now flit the thrilling Darts thro' liquid Air,
And various Vows from various Masters bear.

Firm in the Front, with joining Bucklers clos'd,
Stood the Pompeian Infantry dispos'd:
So crowded was the Space, it scarce affords
The Pow'r to toss their Piles, or weild their Swords.
Forward, thus thick embattled tho' they stand,
With headlong Wrath rush furious Cæsar's Band:

103

In vain the lifted Shield their Rage retards,
Or plaited Mail devoted Bosoms guards:
Thro' Shields, thro' Mail, the wounding Weapons go,
And to the Heart drive home each deadly Blow.

From Pompey's ample Wings, at length, the Horse
Wide o'er the Plain extending, take their Course:
Wheeling, around the hostile Line they wind,
While lightly arm'd the Slingers march behind.
In various Ways the various Bands engage,
And hurl upon the Foe the missile Rage:
There fiery Darts, and rocky Fragments fly,
And heating Bullets whistle thro' the Sky.
Of feather'd Shafts, a Cloud thick shading goes,
From Arab, Mede, and Ituræan Bows:
But driv'n by random Aim they seldom wound:
They hide the Heav'n at first, then strew the Ground:
While Roman Hands unerring Mischief send,
And certain Deaths on ev'ry Pile attend.

But Cæsar, timely careful, to support
His wav'ring Front against the first Effort,
A Body of Reserve, in silence sent,
To where the wheeling Foe their Fury bent.
Then Pompey's Troops, nor mindful of the Fight,
Nor stay'd by Shame, betake themselves to Flight.
Some fiery Steeds, impatient of a Wound,
Their Riders throw, and trample on the Ground:
Strait the whole Corps with sudden Terror turn,
And, in their flying, o'er their Friends are born.
Hence foul Confusion, and Dismay succeed,
The Victors murder, and the Vanquish'd bleed.—

Prevailing still, the Victors held their Course,
Till Pompey's main Reserve oppos'd their Force
There in his Strength the Chief unshaken stood,
Repell'd the Foe, and made the Combat good:
There in suspense th' uncertain Battle hung,
And Cæsar's fav'ring Goddess doubted long.—

105

But Pompey soon, the Fate of Rome descry'd,
And saw the changing Gods forsake his Side.
Hard to believe, tho' from a rising Ground
He view'd the universal Ruin round;
In crimson Streams he saw Destruction run,
And in the Fall of Thousands felt his own.
Nor wish'd he, like most Wretches in Despair,
The World one common Misery might share:
But with a generous, great, exalted Mind,
Besought the Gods to pity poor Mankind,
To let him dye, and leave the rest behind.

So saying, the tumultuous Field he cross'd,
And warn'd from Battle his despairing Host.
Then carry'd by his winged Steed away,
He quits the purple Plain, and yields the Day.—

Rowe. Luc. Lib. VII.

Beauty.

See Beautiful.

Beauty , that fleeting Good, grows yearly less,
And Time, alone, will spoil the finest Face.
The Violet nor Lilly always blows,
And Prickles oft survive the faded Rose.
Grey Hairs, my Charmer, will disgrace thy Head,
And thy fair Body Wrinkles overspread:
Then by thy Virtues make thy Glory sure;
The Mind's Perfections to the last endure.—

Ovid. Art. Amand. Lib. II.

Beauty, thou ensnaring Good,
Scarce by Mortals understood!
Fleeting Gift! which cannot stay,
How swiftly doth Thou post away!—

Sen. Hipp.

Years, charming Maid! will spoil that lovely Face,
And Wrinkles deep thy beauteous Front disgrace:
Old Age advancing silently and slow,
To all that's fair inexorable Foe!
O'er all thy Charms his cruel Hand will lay,
And each endearing Feature rend away.—

Ovid. Trist. Lib. III. El. 7.

107

Ah me! how soon a wrinkl'd Skin invades!
How very soon a fine Complexion fades!
Nor ought avails it even tho' you swear,
That from your Infancy you'd some grey Hair;
You grow all hoary in a few more Years,
And then the venerable Truth appears.—

Tate alter'd. Ovid. Art. Amand. Lib. III.

Beauty's not lasting, nor is Fortune sure;
But soon or late we all must Death endure.—

Prop. II, 29.

The Fair are haughty, Pride with Beauty dwells.—

Ovid. I. Fast.

Beauty with Virtue is a Sight that's rare:
Chast is no Epithet to suit with Fair.—

Dryden. Juven.

Ah! Hellen, can you then so simple be,
To think such Beauty can from Faults be free?
Or change that Face, or you must needs be kind,
Beauty and Virtue seldom have been joyn'd.—

Duke. Ovid. Ep. XV.

Trust not to Beauty only, O ye Fair!
That's not enough, make better Things your Care:
Smart Wit, fine Sense, the Tongue's endearing Grace,
Far, far excel the finest-featur'd Face.
In vain are all the other Aids of Art,
Good-Nature only can secure the Heart.—

Petron. Arb.

Beauty, it's Power.

To him, disdaining or to feign a Tear,
Or spread her artfully dishevel'd Hair,
In comely Sorrow's decent Garb array'd,
And trusting to her Beauty's certain Aid,
In Words like these began the Pharian Maid.—

In vain her Words the Warrior's Ears assail'd,
Had not her Face beyond her Tongue prevail'd:
From thence resistless Eloquence she draws,
And with the sweet Perswasion gains her Cause.
His stubborn Heart dissolves in loose Delight,
And grants her Suit, for one lascivious Night.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. X.

Cleopatra.

109

Beautiful.

Lo! Philomela enters richly gay;
But brighter far in Beauty than Array.
Charming, as Fame or Fiction can relate
The Dryads, walking thro' the Woods in State:
Fancy like her the Naïds would express,
Allowing them her Elegance of Dress.—

Sewel alter'd. Ovid. Met. Lib. VI.

Mean time the Virgin flies, or seems to fly,
Swift as a Scythian Arrow cleaves the Sky:
Still more and more, the Youth her Charms admires:
The Race itself t' exalt her Charms conspires.
The golden Pinions, which her Feet adorn,
In wanton Flutt'rings by the Winds are born.
Down from her Head, the long, fair Tresses flow,
And sport with lovely Negligence below.
The waving Ribbons, which her Buskins tye,
Her snowy Skin with waving Purple dye:
As crimson Veils, in Palaces display'd,
To the white Marble lend a blushing Shade.—

Eusden. Ovid. Met. Lib. X.

Æneas, now, adorn'd with ev'ry Grace,
Shone forth, in Shape and Features like a God:
For Venus with the rosy Bloom of Youth
Had flush'd her Son, with comely Locks adorn'd,
And breath'd a sparkling Lustre on his Eyes.
Such is the Beauty which the Artists Hand
To polish'd Iv'ry lends: So Silver shines,
Or Parian Stone, enchas'd in yellow Gold.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. I.

But far above the Rest in Beauty shines
The great Æneas, when the Troop he joins:
Like fair Apollo, when he leaves the Frost
Of wintry Xanthus, and the Lycian Coast:
When to his native Delos he resorts,
Ordains the Dances, and renews the Sports:
Green Wreaths of Bays his Length of Hair inclose:
A Golden Fillet binds his aweful Brows:

111

His Quiver sounds: Not less the Prince is seen
In Beauty, graceful, and commanding Mein.—

Dryden. Virg. Æn. Lib. IV.

Young Pallas shone conspicuous o'er the rest:
Gilded his Arms, embroider'd was his Vest.
So, from the Seas, exerts his radiant Head,
The Star, by whom the Lights of Heav'n are led:
Shakes from his rosy Locks the pearly Dews:
Dispels the Darkness, and the Day renews.—

Dryden. Æn. Lib. VIII.

As Lucifer excels the meanest Star,
Or, as the full-orb'd Phœbe Lucifer:
So much did Hersè all the rest outvye,
And gave a Grace to the Solemnity.—

Addison. Ovid. Met. Lib. II.

Atalanta running, and admir'd by Hippomenes.

Graceful was his Mein,
His Person lovely, and his Age sixteen.
His Habit made his native Beauty more:
A purple Mantle fring'd with Gold he wore.
Rich Chains of Gold adorn'd his Neck so fair,
And moist with Myrrh was form'd a Crownet of his Hair.—

Mainwaring alter'd. Ovid. Met. Lib. V.

Thy beauteous Eyes shine with celestial Fire,
And rosy Odours from thy Neck aspire:
Brighter than Gold thy burnish'd Tresses flow,
Thy balmy Lips like the bright Crimson glow.
Meandring Veins sublime thy Bosom's White,
And ev'ry Grace adorns Thee for Delight.
Each Goddess' boasted Charms in thine we see,
And vanquish'd Venus yields the Prize to Thee.
Thy Hands are silver, and with am'rous Pride
The silky Threads thro' thy soft Fingers slide.
Thy Feet, too lovely e'er to touch the Ground!
From no invidious Pebbles fear a Wound:
For whensoe'er you o'er the Lillies tread,
Th' uninjur'd Flow'r scarce bends its snowy Head.
Let costly Jewels meaner Beauties wear,
To grace their Necks, or glitter in their Hair:
You, unadorn'd, are exquisitely fair.
There's some Defect in ev'ry Thing we view,
But Envy's self can't spy a Fault in you.—

Addison jun. Petron. Arb. frag.

Athis.

113

Bees.

See Labour.

Of all the mute Creation, These alone
A public Weal, and common Int'rest know,
Imbody'd: and subsist by certain Laws.
Mindful of Winter, they in Summer toil:
And for their Country's Good preserve their Store.
Some, by joint Compact, range the Fields for Food,
Industrious: Others in their Tents at home,
Narcissus' clammy Tears, and Gum from Trees,
Lay, as the first Foundation of their Combs:
Then into Arches build the viscid Wax.
Others draw forth their Colonies adult,
The Nation's Hope: Some work the purer Sweets
And with the liquid Nectar stretch their Cells:
Some (such their Post allotted) at the Gates,
Stand Sentry: and alternate watch, the Rain,
And Clouds, observing: or unlade their Friends
Returning: or in Troops beat off the Drones,
A lazy Cattle: Hot the Work proceeds:
And fresh with Thyme the fragrant Honey smells.—

Trap. Virg. Georg. IV.

The inbred Love of getting prompts the Bees
Their Labour to divide. The aged Sires
With curious Architecture build their Cells:
And guard their Towns, and fortify their Combs.
But late at Night the Youth fatigu'd return,
Their Legs with Thyme full-laden: hov'ring round
They suck the Arbutus, and Willows grey,
Sweet Lavendar, and Crocus' yellow Flow'r,
The purple Hyacinth, and gummy Lime.

They toil together, and together rest:
With the first Morn they issue from their Gates:
Again, when Vesper warns them to return
From feeding, and the Fields: they homewards bend,
Refresh their Bodies, and with murm'ring Noise
Hum round the Sides, and Entrance of their Hives:
At length in Silence hush'd all Night repose,

115

And with soft Sleep relieve their weary Limbs.
While Rain impends, or Winds begin to rise,
They rove not far from Home, nor trust the Sky:
But drink, secure, beneath their City's Walls,
And short Excursions try: and oft with Sand
Ballast Themselves, like Ships on tossing Waves,
And poise their Bodies thro' the Void of Air.—

Trap. Ibid.

—Not Egypt, nor wide Lydia's Realms,
Nor Parthia, nor Hydaspes with such Zeal
Adore their King.—Their King surviving, All
Unanimous concur: his Death dissolves
Society: Themselves their Honey-Stores,
And all the curious Texture of their Combs
Demolish. He o'er all their Works presides:
Him they admire: and in one Body form'd,
Humming, inclose Him round: and oft in War
Support Him on their Shoulders: for his Life
Expose their own, and court a glorious Death,—

Trap. Ibid.

If to the Fight they issue forth, (for oft
Between two Kings, with Tumult, Discord reigns:)
The Vulgar's Rage, and Courage, and their Hearts
Trembling with eager Appetite of War,
You may foreknow. A Clarion, shrill as Brass,
Rouses the Laggers; and a martial Noise
Distant is heard, like Trumpets broken Sounds.
Then trembling they unite, and shake their Wings,
And with their sharp Proboscis whet their Darts,
And fit their Claws: and round their Monarch's Court
Thicken, and muster: and with loud Acclaim
Provoke the Foe.—Now, having gain'd a Sky
Serene, and open Fields of vernal Air,
They issue from their Gates, and join the Shock
Of Battle: Humming thro' th' Etherial Void,
In one huge Cluster they conglobe, and fall
Precipitant: Nor thicker falls the Hail,
Nor Show'rs of Acorns from a shaken Oak.
The Kings themselves, betwixt the middle Ranks,
Conspicuous shine, and spread their glist'ning Wings:
(Their little Bodies mighty Souls inform.)

117

The One (for diff'rent are their Species) burns
With vary'd Spots, and Gold: his Form all o'er
Beauteous, and bright with glist'ring Scales: this Kind
The Best: the Other horrid, and with Sloth
Inglorious, trails his swagging Paunch along.
Nor less the People, than their Kings, are found
Of Forms distinct: Some foul, of dusky Hue;
As when the Trav'ler, on a sandy Road,
From his dry Mouth spits Froth commix'd with Dust:
Some glaring Shine, and glow with Drops of Gold.—

Trap. Ibid.

One Quality in Bees thou wilt admire:
That genial Love they know not, nor indulge
Venus' soft Joys, nor propagate their Kind.
From Herbs, and fragrant Simples, with their Mouths
They cull their Young: from thence the Insect King,
And all his little Subjects they supply.
And therefore tho' their Term of Life be short,
(Nor beyond seven Summers e'er extends)
Yet the immortal Progeny remains:
For many Years the Kingdom's Fortune stands,
And Grandsires number Grandsires in their Line.—

Trap. Ibid.

This mistaken Notion, which prevail'd in Virgil's Days, is now exploded.

Beggar.

Thirsty, at last, by long Fatigue, she grows,
But meets no Spring; no Riv'let near her flows.
Then looking round, by Accident she spies,
A Cottage thatch'd with Straw, and thither hies.
The Goddess knocking at the little Door,
'Twas open'd by a Woman old and poor,
Who, when she begg'd for Water, gave her Ale,
Brew'd long, but well preserv'd from being stale.
The Goddess drank: a chuffy Lad was by,
Who saw the Liquor with a grutching Eye
And grinning cries,—She's greedy more than dry.—

Maynwaring alter'd. Ovid. Met. Lib. V.

119

Water do You deny? Indeed, 'tis hard
From Nature's common Rights to be debar'd:
This, as the genial Sun, and vital Air,
Should flow alike to ev'ry Creature's Share.
Yet, still I ask, and as a Favour crave,
That, which a publick Bounty, Nature gave.
Now from my Throat the usual Moisture dries,
And ev'n my Voice in broken Accents dies:
One Draught, as dear as Life, I should esteem,
And Water, now I thirst, would Nectar seem.—

Croxall. Ovid. Met. Lib. VI.

My Mother's poor, my Farm's too mean to sell,
And yet not yields enough to keep me well;
My Neice a Portion wants, my Fortune's low:
He that says thus, crys out aloud, Bestow.—

Creech. Hor. Lib. I. Epist. 17.

Ceres in search of her Daughter Proserpine.

Birth-Day.

Of Alban Wine, a Cask in Store
I'ave got, that's nine Years old and more:
And Parsley in my Garden grows,
And Ivy to adorn thy Brows:
Ivy, my Dear, shall finely shine,
And fair among thy Curls entwine.

My House with Silver glitters round:
My Altar, with chast Vervain bound,
Now only wants the Lamb whose Blood
Must sprinkle o'er the sacred Wood.

All Hands at work, with busy Care
My Boys and Maids the Feast prepare:
In curling Volumes, through the Sky
Thick Smoke does from my Chimney fly.

But would You know what Joys to Night
I call You to, and why invite:
You're now to celebrate the Ide
Which does fair April's Month divide:
April, to Sea-born Venus dear,
Whose welcome Ide shall ev'ry Year,
Be kept in solemn Wise by me,
More than my own Nativity:

121

For my Mœcenas from this Sun
His date of rolling Years begun.—

Hor. Lib. IV. Ode 11.

Blushing.

The Boy knew Nought of Love, but touch'd with Shame,
Look'd down, and blush'd: his Blushes well became:
So Apples glow upon the sunny Side;
So Iv'ry looks with rich Vermilion dy'd;
So shews the Moon, when all her silver White
Turns in Eclipses to a ruddy Light,
And Brass resounds in vain.—

Addison alter'd. Ovid. Met. Lib. IV.

—She blush'd;—against her Will the rising Red
Flush'd in her Cheeks, and thence as swiftly fled.
Ev'n so the purple Morning paints the Skies:
And so they whiten at the Sun's up-rise.—

Ovid. Met. Lib. VI.

Hermaphroditus.

Arachne.

A Crimson Blush her beauteous Face o'er-spread,
Varying her Cheeks by turns with white and red.
The driving Colours, never at a Stay,
Run here, and there, and flush, and fade away.
Delightful Change! thus Indian Iv'ry shows
Which with the bord'ring Paint of Purple glows:
Or Lillies damask'd by the neighb'ring Rose.—

Dryden. Virg. Æn. Lib. XII.

—With modest Grace,
The running Blushes kindle all her Face.
Less beauteous glows the Indian Ivory,
When deeply tinctur'd by the Tyrian Dye.

Claud. Rapt. Pros.

Lavinia.

Fair He appear'd, like shining Cynthia bright,
And purple Blushes grac'd the snowy White:
Such glowing Blushes stain the modest Maid,
When to th' expecting am'rous Youth convey'd,
And the new Pleasures of the Bridal Bed.
Thus bright the scarlet Amaranthus shines,
Which with the Lilly some fair Virgin joins:
A Hue like this, when ting'd by Autumn's Pride,
Reddens the Apple on the sunny Side.—

Dart. alter'd. Tibul. Lib. III. El. 4.

123

A Crimson Blush her conscious Face o'erspread—
So rising Phœbus paints the Skies with red:
So looks the Virgin in her nuptial Bed:
So op'ning Roses mix'd with Lillies glow:
So does the Moon in her Eclipses show.—

Ovid. Amor. Lib. II. El. 5.

Boasting.

See Pride.

For tho' some talk they less should fear to die,
Than live with a Disease, or Infamy:
That they know well the Soul consists in Blood,
And our Philosophy can do no good:
Observe, they talk thus, rather out of Love
To empty Praise, than, what they say, approve.
For these same Men, to Chains, or Banishment,
Condemn'd; to Gallies, or to Prisons sent:
Tho' infamous by horrid Crimes they're grown,
Yet still endure, and patiently live on.
Nay more, where-e'er these boasting Wretches come,
They sacrifice black Sheep on ev'ry Tomb,
To please the Manes: and of all the Rout,
When Cares and Dangers press, grow most devout.—

Creech. Lucret. Lib. III.

But I am nobly born:—'tis true: go boast
Thy Pedigree, the Thing thou valu'st most:
Besides I am a Beau:—that too I grant:—
She that cry's Herbs has less Impertinence,
And, in her Calling, more of common Sense.—

Dryden. Pers. Sat. IV.

My Work is finish'd, which nor dreads the Rage
Of Tempests, Fire, or War, or wasting Age:
Come, soon or late, Death's undetermin'd Day,
This mortal Being only can decay:
My nobler Part, my Fame, shall reach the Skies,
And to late Times with blooming Honours rise:
Whate'er th' unbounded Roman Pow'r obeys,
All Climes and Nations shall recal my Praise:

125

If 'tis allow'd to Poets to divine
One half of round Eternity is mine.—

Welsted. Ovid. Met. Lib. XV.

A Monument, more durable than Brass,
And whose Magnificence does far surpass
Egypt's proud Pyramids, I've rais'd:—In vain
The northern Blast, the southern Show'rs of Rain,
Ages, and Time shall strive to pull it down again.
All of me shall not die: my Works shall save
The Noblest Portion from the greedy Grave:
I still shall flourish in the Rolls of Fame,
Still shall Posterity revere my Name;
Till the High-Priest and silent Maid no more
Ascend the Capitol, and Jove adore.—

Hor. Lib. III. Ode 30.

Boy Handsome.

The lovely Boy was born with ev'ry Grace;
Ev'n Envy must have prais'd so fair a Face:
Such was his Form, as Painters when they show
Their utmost Art, on naked Loves bestow.
But lest the Dress should any Diff'rence make,
Shafts give to him, or else from Cupid take.—

Dryd. alter'd. Ovid. Met. Lib. X.

Full in the midst, the princely Youth of Troy
By Venus lov'd, and worthy all her Care,
(His beauteous Head uncover'd) shone to View:
As shines a Gem inclos'd in yellow Gold,
Grace to the Head, or Neck: or Iv'ry set,
With curious Art, in Ebony, or Box:
His snowy Neck receives his flowing Hair,
Clasp'd in a Circle of soft ductile Gold.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. X.

Boxing.

—Forthwith uprises stern,
Dares: and with the Murmur of the Croud,
Rears his rough Visage, and prodigious Strength:
Shews his broad Shoulders, his Alternate Arms
Protends, and in mock Duel beats the Air.

127

For him a Match is sought: nor dares ev'n One
From all that vast Assembly to approach
The Challenger, or arm his Hands for Fight.
Acestes then Entellus thus upbraids:
Entellus, bravest Hero once in vain,
Where is our Eryx, vainly boasted God,
Your Master? Where your Fame thro' all this Isle
Renown'd? And Trophies hanging round your Roof?
To whom Entellus; 'Tis not that the Love
Of Praise and Glory has my Breast thro' Fear
Abandon'd; But my Blood by freezing Age
Is cold, retarded: And my Strength benumb'd
Within my sapless Trunk.—This said, He flings
Into the Midst two Gauntlets huge, of Weight
Enormous: Those which warlike Eryx wore
In Fight, and whose stiff Leather brac'd his Arms.
Amaz'd were All: so vast the sev'n tough Hides
Of Bulls, with Lead and Iron sewn between:
But more than all the rest, the Champion's Self,
Dares, aghast, and at a Distance stands,
Refusing.—Him thus the aged Sire bespeaks:
If Trojan Dares thinks these Arms unequal,
Let Us have due Proportion in the Strife.
—Thus he spoke:
And from his Shoulders flings his double Vest,
Strips his huge Limbs, huge Bones, and brawny Arms:
And in the Midst with mighty Stature stands.—
Then Prince Æneas equal Gauntlets brings,
And binds the Wrists of both with equal Weight.

Forthwith, erect, and high upon their Toes,
Both stand, and fearless raise their Arms in Air:
Lean back their lofty Heads, to shun the Stroke,
Mix Hands with Hands, and irritate the Fight.
The One excelling in his nimble Feet,
And confident in Youth: The Other strong
In Limbs, and Bulk: but slow with trembling Knees
He staggers, and the panting Labour shakes
His huge-built Trunk. In vain repeated Wounds

129

They aim alternate: On their hollow Flanks
The Strokes redoubled ring: Their throbbing Breasts
Are batter'd with loud Noise: The bandy'd Blows
Err round their Ears and Temples: And beneath
The rigid Lead their cracking Jaws resound.

Firm by his Weight, in one fix'd Posture stands
Entellus: With his Body and quick Eyes
Alone, eluding his Assailant's Strokes.
He, like a Warrior, who some lofty Town
Assaults by Storm; or under Arms besets
A Castle on a Hill, now These, now Those
Approaches tries, the Place all round with Art
Exploring: and with various Efforts vain
Urges his Foe.—Entellus shews his Arm
Rais'd high: The Other swift foresees the Blow
Descending from his Head, and nimbly slips
Aside: Entellus on the empty Air
Loses his Strength, and heavy to the Ground
Falls with vast Weight.—
Heav'n rings with Shouts. But, not at all dismay'd,
Nor by his Fall retarded, to the Fight
The Hero with redoubled Force returns:
Rouses his Strength with Rage: Shame fires his Soul,
And conscious Worth: O'er all the Field he drives
Dares precipitate: now with the Right,
Now with the Left, reit'rating his Blows:
Nor Pause, nor Respite. Thick as Hail in Storms
Rattles on Roofs, with such repeated Strokes,
This Way, and That, the Hero with both Hands
Buffets his Foe: and turns, and whirls him round.

Then Prince Æneas could no longer bear
Such Fury to proceed, but ends the Fight,
And rescues fainting Dares—
—Him, with tott'ring Pace
Trailing his Legs along, on either Side
Swagging his Head, and belching from his Throat
Thick Clots of Gore, and Teeth commix'd with Blood,
His Mates, officious to their vanquish'd Friend,
Lead—

Trap. Æn. Lib. V.

131

Bribery.

Believe me, Men and Gods with Gifts are pleas'd:
Ev'n angry Jove by Off'rings is appeas'd.
With Presents Fools and Wise alike are caught,
Give but enough, the Husband may be bought.—

Congreve. Ovid. III. Art.

But bring your Price, come with a Gift prepar'd,
And You may quickly influence the Guard:
Gold's mighty Pow'r sets open ev'ry Door,
And ev'n th' obliging Dog will bark no more.—

Dart. Tib. II. El. 4.

A Tow'r of Brass, Gates strong, and barr'd,
And watchful Dogs those Gates to Guard,
Must safely keep, (one wou'd have said,)
Imprison'd Danae's Maiden-Head:

And so they would, if cunning Jove,
And Venus Favourer of Love,
Had not with pow'rful Bribes betray'd
Acrisius' Guards about the Maid:
Bribes open'd for the God a Way:
When chang'd to Gold nought could his Passage stay.

Creech alter'd. Hor. III. Ode 16.

Where Money reigns, what signify the Laws?
A poor Man there can never gain his Cause.
Ev'n those grave Sirs that rail against the World,
Can stoop sometimes to sell their Voice for Gold.
Justice is now a common Bargain grown,
Bribe well the Judge, the Cause You buy's your own—

Pet. Arb.

Bulls Fighting.

—With mighty Force
Two Bulls in Battle join: repeated Wounds
Mutual inflict: Black Gore their Bodies laves:
Their Horns against each other struggling push
Direct: They roar aloud: The Woods, and huge
Olympus' Top reverberate the Noise.
Nor after this can both together feed:

133

The Vanquish'd quits the Field, and exil'd seeks
Some unknown distant Coast, his dire Disgrace
Much mourning, and the haughty Victor's Wounds,
And his lost Loves, which unreveng'd he leaves:
And looking back, with oft retorted Eye,
From his hereditary Realm retires.—

Trap. Georg. Lib. III.

As when two mighty Bulls, with hostile Force,
And pushing Horns, in dreadful Battle join,
The trembling Keepers, and the Herd aloof
Stand mute with Fear: the Heifers faintly lowe,
Doubtful to which the Empire of the Wood
Must fall, which Lord the Pastures must obey.
They with prodigious Strength alternate Wounds
Inflict: with clatt'ring Horns each other gore,
And with large Blood their Necks and Dewlaps lave:
The Wood all round rebellows to the Noise.—

Id. Æn. Lib. XII.

Captive.

The faithless Garrison betray the Town,
And Captive drag their valiant Leader down.
The noble Roman, fearless, tho' in Bands,
Before his haughty Fellow-Subject stands,
With Looks erect, and with a daring Brow,
Death he provokes, and courts the fatal Blow.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. II.

At length in Presence of the Victor plac'd,
A fitting Dignity his Gesture grac'd,
That spoke his present Fortunes and his past.
With decent Mixture in his manly Mein,
The Captive and the General were seen.—

Id. Lucan. Lib. IV.

Behold Cassandra, lo! the Royal Fair,
From Pallas' Shrine, with loose dishevel'd Hair,
Drag'd by the shouting Victors:—To the Skies
She rais'd, but rais'd in vain! her glowing Eyes:
Her Eyes,—she could no more—the Grecian Bands
Had rudely manacled her tender Hands.—

Pitt. Æn. Lib. II

135

Care.

The Fears and Cares which torture human Hearts,
Despite the Clash of Arms, and points of Darts;
With mighty Kings and Potentates make bold,
Maugre their Purple, and their shining Gold.—

Lucr. Lib. II.

Let no Concern, no Cares for Life approach;
For Life, which lasts not long, and asks not much.
Youth soon is gone, and Beauty quickly fades,
And sapless Age besilvers o'er our Heads:
Swift, swift away, the smiling Minutes move,
And leave no room for Rest, or wanton Love.

Nor Flow'rs with vernal Glory alway blow,
Nor her bright Face does Phœbe always show:
And why don't you to harrass out forbear
A Mind unequal to continual Care?

Why underneath some tow'ring Poplar's Shade,
Or spreading Pine, ar'n't we supinely laid:
Our silver Hairs with fragrant Roses crown'd,
Assyrian Nard perfuming all around?
Why rashly, whilst we can, do we delay
To drink our Troubles and our Cares away?—

Hor. Lib. II. Ode 2.

Why should our Time run out in useless Years,
Of anxious Troubles, and tormenting Fears?
With no Success, and no Advantage crown'd,
Why should we still tread an unfinish'd Round?
Why should deluding Hopes disturb our Ease,
Vain to pursue, yet eager to possess?
Grown grey in Cares, how senseless is the Strife!
In seeking how to live we waste a Life.
The more we have, the meaner is our Store,
Whilst what we have we lose, and only crave for more.—

Creech alter'd. Man. Lib. IV.

Ceres.

First Ceres taught, the Ground with Grain to sow,
And arm'd with Iron Shares the crooked Plough,

137

When now Dodonian Oaks no more supply'd
Their Mast, and other Trees their Forests Fruits deny'd.—

Dryd. Virg. Georg. Lib. I.

Thy annual Off'rings to great Ceres bring,
On the green Turf performing sacred Rites,
When Winter ends, and Spring now smiles serene.

Ceres let all thy rustic Youth adore:
For her do Thou with Honey mingle Milk,
And gentle Wine: And round the recent Grain
Let the propitious Victim thrice be led:
Her in full Chorus let the Peasants all
Singing attend, and with loud Shouts invite
Ceres beneath their Rooss: Nor any thrust
His Sickle to the Corn: till wreath'd with Oak,
To Ceres he has paid the Honours due,
With uncouth Dances, and unpolish'd Verse.—

Trap. Ibid.

The solemn Feast of Ceres now was near,
When long white Linnen Stoles the Matrons wear:
Rank'd in Procession walk the pious Train,
Off'ring First-fruits, and Wreaths of golden Grain:
For nine long Nights the Nuptial Bed they shun,
And sanctifying Harvest, lie alone.—

Dryden. Ovid. Met. Lib. X.

Ceres her Dragons guides; aloft they fly,
And print a winding Track along the Sky:
The curbing Bit with rising Foam they stain,
And work their harmless Poison on the Rein.
High rise their Crests, and beauteous to behold,
Their speckled Backs are scal'd with green and gold.
Now thro' the Zephyrs they direct their Flight,
And now descending, on the Meadows light:
The whirling Wheels revolving o'er the Ground,
The Fields impregnate, as the Glebe they wound:
A sudden Harvest starts upon the Plain,
And in the Furrows springs the yellow Grain,
Where e'er she comes.—

Hughes alter'd. Claud. Rapt. Pros. I.

Ceres the Pow'r of the prolific Year,
A Daughter had superlatively fair,
Nor bore a second Birth: in This alone
More Honours she obtain'd, and more Renown,

139

Than all the teeming Mothers: in her Face
Her Proserpine had summ'd the Beauties of a Race.—

Hughes. alter'd. Ibid.

Chance.

See God. Providence.

If Chance these Things bestow'd, and rules the Whole,
Why do the Signs in constant Order roll?
Observe set Times to shut and ope' the Day,
Find the same Track, nor once mistake their Way?
Why thro' their Course, as if by Laws confin'd,
Haste none away, and leave the rest behind?
Why in the Summer do we always spy,
The self-same Stars by Night, adorn the Sky?
Why do, each Winter, constantly, again
Others return to gild the azure Plain?
Why ev'ry Day does Phœbus' cheering Flame,
Shew the same World, and leave it still the same?—

Creech alter'd. Manil. Lib. I.

And that the Sun ne'er drives the rising Day
From North to South, nor leaves the beaten Way:
That still at Night he hastens down the West,
Nor ever turns his Horses towards the East:
That Light, by just Degrees, the Moon adorns,
First shews, then bends, then fills her borrow'd Horns:
And that the Stars in constant Order roll,
Nor fall, nor change their Distance from the Pole,
Is not the Work of Chance; but speaks aloud
The wise and steady Conduct of a God.—

Id. Ibid.

Change.

Earth rarifies to Dew: expanded more,
The subtile Dew in Air begins to soar:
Spreads as She flies, and weary of her Name,
Extenuates still, and changes into Flame.
Thus having, by Degrees, Perfection won,
Restless, they soon untwist the Web they spun:
And Fire begins to lose her radiant Hue,
Mixt with gross Air; and Air descends to Dew:

141

And Dew condensing does her Form foregoe,
And sink a heavy Lump of Earth below.—

Dryden. Ovid. Met. Lib. XV.

Thus ev'n our Bodies daily Change receive:
Some Part of what was Their's before, they leave:
Nor are to Day what Yesterday they were:
Nor the whole Same to Morrow will appear.—

Dryden. Ibid.

Thus are their Figures never at a stand;
But chang'd by Nature's innovating Hand;
All Things are alter'd, nothing is destroy'd:
For some new Show the shifted Scene's employ'd.
Then to be born, is to begin to be
Some other Thing we were not formerly:
And what we call to Die, is not t'appear,
Or be the Thing, which formerly we were.
Those very Elements, that we partake
Alive, when Dead, some other Bodies make:
Translated, shift their Form, and change their Course:
But Death on deathless Substance has no Force.—

Id. Ibid.

The Face of Places, and their Forms, decay:
And that is solid Earth, that once was Sea:
Seas, in their Turn, retreating from the Shore,
Make solid Land, what Ocean was before:
And far from Strands are Shells of Fishes found,
And rusty Anchors fix'd on Mountain-Ground:
And what were Fields before, now wash'd and worn
By falling Floods from high, to Vallies turn,
And crumbling still descend to level Lands:
And Lakes, and trembling Bogs, are barren Sands:
And the parch'd Desart floats in Streams unknown,
Wondring to drink of Waters not her own.
Here Nature living Fountains opes; and there
Seals up the Wombs where living Fountains were.
Or Earthquakes stop their ancient Course, and bring
Diverted Streams to feed a distant Spring.—

Id. Ibid.

—Whatever lies
In Earth, or flits in Air, or fills the Skies,
All suffer Change.—

143

Ev'n mighty Empires flourish, and decay;
By Turns command, and in their Turns obey.—

Dryden. Ibid.

—Thro' the mighty Frame
There's nothing that continues still the same:
As Years wheel round, a Change must needs ensue,
Things lose their former State, and take a new;
Now tir'd with Births, the Fields refuse to bear,
Now, unmanur'd, prevent the Tiller's Care.
Vapours dilated tare the solid Earth:
Strong the Convulsions at the fatal Birth:
Vast Mountains sink: And now his large Command
Neptune extends, and Seas o'erspread the Land,
Contemning Shores: Thus Cities were o'erflow'd,
When, Mankind's single Heir, Deucalion stood
On steep Parnassus, to repair the Stock:
The spacious World possessing in one Rock.
And when bold Phaëton, with unequal Force,
The Chariot fill'd, and drove the flaming Horse:
The Earth took Fire, Heav'n saw the Stars recoil,
And frighted Nature fear'd one common Pile.

So much, as Years roll round, the mighty Frame
Is chang'd, yet still returns to be the same.—

Creech. Manil. Lib. IV.

Chaos.

Before the Seas, and this terrestrial Ball,
And Heav'n's high Canopy that covers all,
Nature one Face of Things, a Chaos show'd;
An indigested, heavy, formless Load:
Where ill-cemented Seeds in Discord jarr'd,
And all the Elements together warr'd.
No Sun was lighted up, the World to view,
No Moon did yet her blunted Horns renew:
Nor Earth, self-balanc'd, in the Air was plac'd,
Nor yet kind Ocean's Arms the Ball embrac'd.
Then Sea, and Air, and Earth confounded were,
Unstable was the Earth, and dark the Air,
The Sea unnavigable.—

145

No certain Form on any was imprest,
All were confus'd, and each disturb'd the Rest:
The Cold and Hot, the Dry and Humid fight,
The Soft, and Hard, the Heavy and the Light.

But God and careful Nature interpose,
To reconcile the elemental Foes:
He Earth from Heav'n, and Sea from Earth disjoyns,
And from gross Air the purer Heav'n refines.
Then by his prudent Care, the Mass controul'd,
Began its blind Materials to unfold:
He to each Portion proper Seats assigns,
And all the beauteous Whole in Peace combines.—

Dryd. alter'd. Ovid. Met. Lib. I.

Charioteer.

As when the Racers from their Barriers start,
And whirl around the Goal: the Charioteer
Vainly attempts to check the flying Steeds:
Himself is born away: the dusty Car
Swift smokes along: nor, bounding, hears the Rein.—

Trap. Virg. Georg. Lib. I.

With Force less rapid, starting from their Bounds,
The Chariots whirl, and smoke along the Field:
Less earnestly the eager Charioteers
O'er their swift Horses shake the waving Reins,
Hang prone upon the Lash, and bending fly.—

Id. Æn. Lib. V.

Thrown from a Chariot.

The frighted Horses pricking up their Ears
A while stood trembling:—sudden then they flew,
And o'er the Rocks the rattling Chariot drew.
In vain to stop the hot-mouth'd Steeds I try'd,
And bending backward all my Strength apply'd:
The frothy Foam in driving Flakes distains
The Bits, and Bridles, and bedews the Reins.
But though as yet untam'd they ran, at length
Their heady Rage had tir'd beneath my Strength,

147

When, in the Spoke a Stump entangling, tore
The shatter'd Wheel, and from its Axle bore.
The Shock impetuous toss'd me from the Seat;
Caught in the Reins beneath my Horses' Feet,
My reeking Guts dragg'd out alive, around
The jagged Stump my trembling Nerves were wound.
Then stretch'd the well-knit Limbs, the Pieces hal'd,
Part stuck behind, and Part the Chariot trail'd:
Till midst my cracking Joints, and breaking Bones,
I breath away my weary'd Soul in Groans.
No Parts, distinguish'd from the rest, were found,
But all my Parts an universal Wound.—

Catcot alter'd. Ovid. Met. Lib. XV.

Hippolitus.

Charm.

See Circe. Enchantress. Magic Power.

Bring hither Water, bind the Altars round
With a soft Fillet: fertile Vervain burn,
And strongest Frankincense: that I may try
With sacred Magic Rites to turn the Brain
Of him I love:—Nought, here but Charms we want.

First these three Lists distinct with Colours three
Round Thee I bind: thrice round the Altars lead
Thy Image: Heav'n uneven Numbers loves.

Bring Daphnis, bring him from the Town, my Charms!
Three Colours, Amaryllis, in three Knots
Industrious knit: quick, Amaryllis, quick:
Knit them; and say,—'Tis Venus' Knot I tye.—

As this Clay hardens, and this Wax grows soft
By the same Fire: so Daphnis by my Love.
Crumble this Cake, and with Bitumen burn
The crackling Bays:—me cruel Daphnis burns:
And I for cruel Daphnis burn these Bays.

May Love, like that with which the Heifer raves,
When thro' the Thickets, and high Woods, fatigu'd
She seeks the Bull, then near a River's Stream
Restless lies down, amidst the verdant Sedge,
Nor minds at latest Ev'ning to return:
May such Love Daphnis seize, nor I incline
To ease his Frenzy, or abate his Pain.

149

These Relicks, these dear Pledges of himself,
With me, long since, the faithless Shepherd left:
These now, ev'n in the Entrance, I commit,
O Earth, to Thee: Daphnis these Pledges owe.

These Ashes, Amaryllis, forth convey:
Throw them into the River, o'er thy Head,
And look not back: Daphnis with these I'll try:
He nought the Gods, nor ought our Charms regards.

Behold, the Ashes, while I thus delay
To bear them hence, now lick the Altar round
With trembling Flames, spontaneous:—May it prove
Auspicious!—Something sure, I know not what,
There is: and Hylax in the Entrance bays.
May I believe it? Or do Those who love
Dream of the Bliss which fondly they desire?—

Trap. Virg. Ecl. VIII.

No more:—my Daphnis comes! no more, my Charms:
He comes, from Town, to my desiring Arms.—

Chastity.

In Saturn's Reign, at Nature's early Birth,
There was that Thing call'd Chastity on Earth:
When in a narrow Cave, their common Shade,
The Sheep, the Shepherds, and their Gods were laid:
When Reeds, and Leaves, and Hides of Beasts were spread
By Mountain-Housewives, for their homely Bed,
And mossy Pillows rais'd, for the rude Husband's Head.
Unlike the Niceness of our modern Dames,
(Affected Nymphs, with new affected Names:)
The Cynthias, and the Lesbias of our Years,
Who for a Sparrow's Death dissolve in Tears.
Those first unpolish'd Matrons, big and bold,
Gave suck to Infants of gigantick Mould:
Rough as their savage Lords who rang'd the Wood,
And fat with Acorns, belch'd their windy Food.—

Some thin Remains of Chastity appear'd
Ev'n under Jove, but Jove without a Beard:
Before the servile Greeks had learn'd to swear
By Heads of Kings: while yet the bounteous Year

151

Her common Fruits in open Fields expos'd,
E'er Thieves were fear'd, or Gardens were inclos'd.
At length affronted Justice upwards flew,
And Chastity with her:—
From Earth to Heav'n the Sisters both withdrew.

From that old Æra whoring did begin,
So venerably ancient is the Sin:
Adult'rers then invade the nuptial State,
And Marriage Beds creak'd with a foreign Weight.
All other Ills did Iron Times adorn,
But Whores and Silver in one Age were born.—

Dryden. Juv. Sat. VI.

I hear your cautious Counsel, you would say,
Keep close your Women under Lock and Key:
But who shall keep those Keepers? Women, nurst
In Craft, begin with those, and bribe them first.
The Sex is turn'd all Whore: they love the Game:
And Mistresses, and Maids, are both the same.—

Id. Ibid.

No ill Man's happy: least of all is He
Whose Study 'tis to ruin Chastity.—

Juv. Sat. IV.

No Art can Chastity when lost restore,
Once forfeited 'tis ne'er recover'd more.—

Ovid.

Strait with the hidden Steel she pierc'd her Side,
And at her Father's Feet fell down and dy'd:
Yet, as she fell, her dying Thoughts contriv'd,
To fall as modestly as she had liv'd.—

Anon. Ovid. Fast. II.

Lucretia.

She's truly chast, and worthy of that Name,
Who hates the Ill, as well as fears the Shame:
And that vile Woman whom Restraint keeps in,
Tho' she forbear the Act, has done the Sin,
Spies, Locks, and Bolts, may keep her brutal Part:
But Thou'rt an odious Cuckold in her Heart.—

Sedley. Ov. Am. L. III. El. 4.

Unmanner'd I may be, but not unchast;
Nor is my Fame with any Stain defac'd:
Tho' in my Face there's no affected Frown,
Nor a feign'd Niceness in my Carriage shown,
My Honour I preserve without a Stain,
Nor has my Love made any Coxcomb vain.—

Ovid. Epist.

153

Circe.

See. Enchantress. Magic Power.

—Now close by Circe's Shores they sail;
Where she, the wealthy Daughter of the Sun,
With ceaseless Singing makes the Groves resound;
Groves inaccessible: and in the Rooms
Of her proud Palace, for nocturnal Light,
Sweet Cedar burns: While thro' the slender Web
Her whistling Shuttle flies along the Loom.
Hence Groans are heard: the Noise of Lions, fierce,
Rebellious to their Chains, and roaring loud
In Dead of Night: the Grunt of bristly Boars:
The Rage of Bears reluctant in their Stalls:
And huge portentous Forms of howling Wolves.
All which, with pow'rful Charms, from human Shapes
The cruel Goddess Circe had transform'd
To savage Beasts.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. VII.

Arriv'd, when near the Palace Gates we came,
A thousand Wolves, and Bears, and Lions rise,
And chill our Hearts with Horror and Surprize:
Yet soon we found there was no Cause to fear,
For none seem savage, or to wound prepare:
But courteous wag their Tails, and fawning greet;
And tame, and gentle, follow at our Feet:
Till a bright Train of She-attendants come,
And lead us up the lofty marble Dome;
To where retired, and in solemn State,
High, on her sumptuous Throne, their Mistress sat:
Her costly Robes with royal Splendor shone,
And over all a Veil of Gold was thrown.
Her Maids, the Nymphs, and Nereids, ne'er were bred
To card the Wool, or draw the flowing Thread:
But they in Baskets sort the mingled Flow'rs,
And Herbs of various Hues, and various Powers.
While She, their Mistress, who the Virtues knew
Of ev'ry Simple, and what each can do,
Alone, or mixt: the Herbs with Care inspects,
And the due Quantity or Weight directs.

155

Now to her Presence brought, she from her Throne
Our Compliments does courteously return:
And grants whate'er we ask, with such a Look,
As kindly Welcome, and fair Friendship spoke.
Then she commands, with Speed, her ready Train,
To bring the Honey, Curds, and Barley-Grain:
In gen'rous Wine th' Ingredients they infuse:
She to the Potion adds some secret Juice:
With her own execrable Hand she crown'd,
And dealt the unsuspected Goblet round.
Whilst gladly we, with Heat and Travel dry,
To our parch'd Lips the magic Draught apply,
Her potent Charms th' Enchantress strait prepares,
And o'er us waves her Wand, and strokes our Hairs.
(I blush to tell, and yet it must be told)
Soon rough'ning Bristles all my Form infold.
I strove to speak, and fain would have complain'd,
But Grunts were all the Language now remain'd:
Prone to the Earth my alter'd Aspect bends,
And a strange Snout my widen'd Jaws extends:
New Sinews swell my strong and harden'd Chest,
The bestial Nature was o'er all impress'd:
Those Hands which lately did the Bowl surround,
The Work of Feet perform, and tread the Ground.
Then with the rest whom Fate had thus unman'd,
(So great a Potency has magic Draughts)
I in a Stye was shut.—

Eurylochus, alone, his Form retain'd:
He, only from the offer'd Cup refrain'd:
Which had he not rejected, with the rest
Himself had been transform'd, their Fellow-Beast.
Nor should Ulysses our Mishaps have known,
Or forc'd th' Enchantress to return his own.

Peace bearing Hermes gave him a white Flower,
Call'd Moly by the Gods, of wondrous Pow'r.
Safe in this Gift, and the conducting Gods,
The Hero enters Circe's dire Abodes:
Again she does th' enchanted Bowl demand,
Again prepares to wave her magic Wand:

157

But he her Charms prevents his Sabre draws,
And, brandishing aloft, th' Enchantress awes.
Struck with Amaze, her Hand and Faith she plights,
And to her Bed the Victor-Chief invites:
E'er he'll submit, the Terms of Peace he names,
And his chang'd Friends restor'd, in Dowry, claims.

Soon healing Herbs are brought; and o'er our Heads
Their safe and inoffensive Juice she sheds:
The Incantation backward she repeats,
Inverts her Rod, and what she did, defeats.
And now our Skin grows smooth, our Shape upright,
Our Arms stretch up, our cloven Feet unite:
Our Neck and Shoulders take their former Grace,
And, weeping, We our weeping Prince embrace:
Each hangs about his Neck: nor scarce a Word
Breaks thro' our Lips, but such as Thanks afford.—

Theobald alter'd. Ovid. Met. Lib. XIV.

'Twice turn'd she to the East, twice to the West,
Thrice touch'd him with her Wand, three Charms express'd.
He flies, and wondring why so fast he fled,
Beholds his Limbs with shining Plumes o'erspread.
Forthwith he seeks the Woods, and angry still,
Hard Oaks assails, and wounds them with his Bill.
His Wings the Purple of his Robe assume,
The Gold that clasp'd his Garment turns to Plume.
Around his Neck, a glitt'ring Circle glows:
And so compleat his Change,—
The Name alone he e'er was Picus shews.

Ibid.

Picus King of Italy turn'd into a Woodpecker by Circe.

And now th' Enchantress noxious Juices sheds,
And sprinkles baleful Venom o'er their Heads.
From Erebus, and Chaos' dire Abodes,
Conjures old Night, and all th' Infernal Gods:
While she with Howlings Hecate's Aid intreats,
Woods (wondrous to relate!) forsake their Seats:
Their Leaves look pale, Herbs blush with Drops of Gore;
Earth groans, Dogs howl, Rocks hoarsely seem to roar.
O'er all the tainted Soil black Serpents slide,
And thro' the Air unbody'd Spirits glide.

159

Frighted with Terrors, as they trembling stand
She strokes their Faces with her venom'd Wand.
Forthwith the Shapes of various Beasts invest
Their former Forms, nor one his own possess'd.—

Theobald alter'd. Ibid.

Circle.

This Form's eternal, and may justly claim
A God-like Nature, all it's Parts the same:
Alike, and equal to itself 'tis found,
No End and no Beginning in a Round.—

Addison. Manil. Lib. I.

City Founded.

—Amaz'd Æneas stands
To see an ample City, where before
Low Cottages appear'd: and wondring views
The Gates, the Streets, and Hurry of the Place.
The Tyrians urge their Work: some raise the Walls,
Roll pondrous Stones, and form the Citadel:
Some mark out Ground for Houses with the Plough:
Laws, Judges, and an aweful Senate chuse.
Others dig Ports: some deep Foundations lay
For Theaters, and Pillars hew from Rocks,
The stately Ornaments of future Scenes.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. I.

—Here the Tyrian Queen
To Juno built a stately Temple, rich
With Gifts, and by the present Goddess blest.
To which on Steps the brazen Thresholds rose:
The Beams were bound with Brass: the Brazen Doors
Jarr'd on their Hinges.—

Id. Ibid.

—Himself describes the Walls
With a low Trench: the first Foundation lays:
And, like a Fort, his City on the Shore
With Banks and Battlements incloses round.—

Virg. Æn. Lib. VII.

—With eager Haste
I lay Foundations of the long'd for Town,

161

Call it Pergamea, and exhort our Friends,
Pleas'd with their Colony's new Name, to love
Their Homes, and rear a Fortress for Defence.
Scarce did our Vessels, drawn within the Port,
Rest on dry Land: the Youth to nuptial Rites
Themselves apply'd, and till'd the new-found Soil:
Laws I assign'd them, and their fix'd Abodes.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. III.

Dido.

City Taken. See Siege.

Troy taken by the Greeks.

The Trojans scatter'd o'er the Walls, lye hush'd
In Silence; Sleep relieves their weary Limbs.—
They seize the Town, immers'd in Sleep, and Wine:
Kill all the Sentries; at the open'd Gates
Receive their conscious Troops, and join their Friends.
Mean while, with Cries confus'd the Walls resound.
—Now vanquish'd by the Fire
Deiphobus' wide stately Palace falls
With noisy Ruin: Next Ucalegon
Blazes aloft: The broad Sigeïan Sea
Glares with the Conflagration: loudly sound
The Trumpet's Clangor, and the Cries of Men.

The Greeks now domineer in flaming Troy.
The lofty Steed amidst the City pours
Arm'd Troops, whilst Others thro' the open'd Gates
Arrive by thousands.—
Others with Arms the Passes of the Streets
Have seiz'd: their Swords with glitt'ring Blades stand drawn,
Thirsting for Blood.—
—Who the Horror of that Night,
The Ruins and Confusion can express?
Down falls the ancient City, which so long
Had proudly reign'd: Thro' Houses, thro' the Streets
And Temples, lifeless Carcasses, around,
Lie, roll'd in Heaps: Nor do the Trojans bleed
Alone: The vanquish'd in their Turn resume

163

Their Courage, and the conq'ring Grecians fall.
A Scene of Slaughter ev'ry where appears,
And Terror, and a thousand Shapes of Death.—

At Priam's Palace fierce the Battle burns:
So fierce, as if in other Parts no War
Were heard, no other Slaughter thro' the Town.
Here we behold the Rage of Fight: in Crowds
The Greeks, beneath a Canopy of Shields,
Thick rushing onward, and the Royal Gates
By Siege assaulted. Scaling Ladders hang
Against the Walls: and by the Steps they strive
To gain the Doors: with their Left Hands oppose
Their Shields to Storms of Arrows, with their Right
Grasp at the Battlements. To them adverse
The Trojans tumble Roofs and Turrets down:
Seeing the Worst, and in the last Extremes
Of Death, such Arms they use for their Defence:
Rolling down gilded Beams, the stately Pomp
Of Royal Ancestors: With Swords unsheath'd,
Others stand thick below, and guard the Doors.

—There stood a Tower,
Tall and conspicuous, with it's lofty Roof
Rais'd to the Stars: From whence all Troy we view'd:
This we encompass round: and with our Steel,
Just where th' extremest Planks disjointed gave
Easiest Access, we rend it from on high
Push'd forward.—Swift with Ruin, loud with Noise,
It thunders down, and on the Grecian Troops
With wide Destruction falls:—But Others still
Succeed them: Nor do Stones, or any Kind
Of Weapons cease to fly.—

In the first Portal, storming at the Door,
Pyrrhus exults: with Arms and brazen Light
Refulgent.—
With him his Squire Automedon, and all
The Syrian Youth advance: and to the Top
Hurl flaming Brands.—Himself before the rest,
Grasping a Battle-Ax, the stubborn Doors

165

Bursts thro', and from their massy Hinges rends
The brazen Posts: Now, having hewn the Beams,
He splits their solid Timber, and a Gap
Discloses wide.—Th' interior Court appears:
Long Galleries, Priam's Rooms of State, and all
Th' imperial Pomp of ancient Kings they see,
And Sentries standing at the Doors in Arms.

But with confus'd Laments, the inner Rooms,
With Tumult, Noise, and wild Distraction, sound:
The ecchoing Palace rings with female Shrieks,
And the shrill Clamour beats the golden Stars.
From Place to Place the trembling Matrons run,
Thro' the vast Court: and cling, and hug, and kiss
The Pillars. Pyrrhus with his Father's Fire
Still pushes on: nor can the Bars, or Guards
Sustain his Fury: To the batt'ring Rams
The Gate gives Way: and from their Hinges torn
The solid Posts lie flat. A spacious Breach
Is made: the thronging Greeks break in: then kill
The first they meet: and with arm'd Soldiers croud
The rich Apartments.—
These Eyes saw Pyrrhus raging, smear'd with Gore,
And both th' Atridæ in the Entrance storm:
Amidst an hundred Daughters saw the Queen
And Priam, on the Altars, with his Blood
Pollute the hallow'd Fires, which he himself
Had consecrated.—

—Outragious Pyrrhus,
Then drag'd old Priam to the sacred Hearth,
Trembling, and sliding, on the slipp'ry Ground,
In his Son's Blood: and, twisting in his Hair
His Left Hand, with the Right his glitt'ring Sword
Deep to the Hilt he plunges in his Side.

All Ilium now I saw among the Fires
Sinking lie flat: and from it's Bottom turn'd
Down falls Neptunian Troy. As when an Ash,
Aged, and tall, is on the Mountains hewn
By Rusticks: who in Emulation strive

167

With Strokes of Axes, and repeated Steel
To overturn it: oft it nods, and shakes
It's leafy Top, still tott'ring, till at length
Subdu'd by Wounds, it groans it's last, and torn
From the high Ridge, with cumbrous Ruin falls.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. II.

Clemency.

See Compassion.

Hear, O! You Gods! who in Rome's Contest Share,
And leave your Heav'n, to make our Earth your Care:
Hear, and let him the happy Victor live,
Who shall with Mercy use the Pow'r You give.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. VII.

From me thy forfeit Life, he said, receive,
And though unwilling, by my Bounty live:
That All, by thy Example taught, may know,
How Cæsar's Mercy treats a vanquish'd Foe.
Still arm against me, keep thy Hatred still,
And if thou conquer'st, use thy Conquest,—kill.
Returns of Love, or Favour, seek I none:
Nor give thy Life to bargain for my own.—
So saying, on the instant he commands,
To loose the galling Fetters from his Hands.—

Id. Lucan. Lib. II.

Combat.

Duel.

—Turbulent in Ire,
With his long Spear Mezentius takes the Field:
Huge as Orion, when on Foot he stalks,
Cutting his Way thro' the wide liquid Realms
Of Nereus, and surmounts the topmost Waves
With Shoulders tall:—
So in vast Arms Mezentius tow'rs sublime.
Thro' the long Ranks when him Æneas spies,
To meet him he prepares: the Other fix'd
And fearless waits, expecting the Approach
Of his brave Foe: and in his own Bulk stands.
Then having measur'd with his Eyes the Space
Fit for his Jav'lin's Reach: Assist me now,

169

My own Right Hand, and Thou, my missive Lance,
You are the only Gods that I invoke.

He said: and hurl'd the hissing Dart from far,
Which flying glances from the Target's Orb.

Then good Æneas throws a Spear, which flies
Swift thro' the hollow Orb of triple Brass,
Thro' the tough Linnen folds, and three Bulls Hides
Convolv'd: the Point stands fix'd within his Groin.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. X.

—Thus Turnus to his Friends:
Desist You from the Battle, and retire:
Pallas I meet alone: To Me alone
Pallas is due: O! were his Father here
Spectator of the Fight! He said: His Friends
Form the commanded List, and clear the Field.

At their Retreat, and at Those proud Commands,
The Royal Youth, in Wonder, and Amaze,
Stands fix'd on Turnus: rolls his Eyes around,
And with stern Aspect his huge Bulk surveys.
Then to th' insulting Chief these Words returns:
Or I this Day will reap the Fame of Spoils
Illustrious won, or of a glorious Death:
For either Chance my Father stands prepar'd:
Forbear thy Threats:—This said, he takes the Field.

Turnus his Chariot quits: on Foot prepares
For closer Fight. As when a Lion spies
From a high Rock a Bull upon the Plain,
Standing aloof, and meditating War:
Forward he springs: Not diff'rent was the Port
Of Turnus, and his Figure, as he walk'd.

When Pallas thought within his Jav'lin's reach
His Foe advanc'd: He first begins th' Assault:
With mighty Strength the trembling Weapon hurls,
And from it's Scabbard draws his shining Sword.
On his high Shoulder lights the flying Spear:
And passing thro' the Shield's extreamest Edge,
The Body of great Turnus slightly raz'd.

171

Turnus a Lance prefix'd with sharpen'd Steel
Long poising, darts it, and Thus speaks: Now see
Whether our Weapon can more deeply wound.
He said: And, driv'n with forceful Swing from far,
Thro' the mid Shield, so many Plates of Brass,
So many Iron Folds, and tough Bull Hides
The Jav'lin makes it's Way: and pierces sheer
The Corslet's Mail, and bores his mighty Breast.
He wrenches out the reeking Point in vain:
Thro' the same Orifice the Blood, and Soul
Issue at once: He falls upon his Wound:
His Armour o'er him rings: With gory Mouth
He gasps in Death, and bites the hostile Plain.

Then o'er him Turnus speaks:
Arcadians, to Evander (mark my Words)
This Message bear: Just such as he deserv'd
To be restor'd, his Pallas I restore.
The Honour of a Tomb, whate'er it be,
And all the Solace which a Grave can yield,
I frankly give: yet dearly has he bought
His Trojan Guest's Alliance. Having spoke,
With his left Foot the breathless Corps he press'd:
Snatching with eager Haste the pondrous Belt,
And on it that dire Argument engrav'd,
So many Youths in one connubial Night
Dispatch'd; and bridal Beds besmear'd with Gore:
Which good Eurytion's Art had carv'd in Gold.
This Trophy now, with recent Conquest crown'd,
Turnus enjoys, and in proud Triumph wears.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. X.

Thou, Idmon, to the Phrygian Tyrant bear
(No Joy to Him) this Message. —Soon as Morn,
Fresh in her rosy Car shall paint the Sky:
Let him not lead his Trojans to the Fight:
Let Trojans and Rutulians from their Arms
Desist:—His Blood and Mine decide the War.

The Trojans and Rutulians for the Fight
A Cirque before the lofty Walls describe.

173

Th' Ausonian Legions march: and Iron Troops
Pour from the crouded Gates. To them oppos'd
The Trojan, and the Tyrrhene Squadrons rush,
In various Arms: nor rang'd less in Array
Than if the rigid Labour of the War
Had call'd them to the Field. The Chiefs themselves,
Amidst the Thousands, thro' th' embattl'd Lines
Ride round, all rich in Purple, and in Gold.—

—When now (the Signal giv'n)
All to their Posts allotted were retir'd:
They fix their Spears in Earth, and rest their Shields.
The longing Matrons, and the feeble Sires,
And unarm'd Vulgar, load the Houses-Tops,
And Tow'rs: or crouding fill the lofty Gates.

And now, the furious Combatants at once,
With rapid Onset, darting missive Spears,
Begin the Fight with Shields and sounding Brass.
The Earth beneath them groans: Then various Strokes
In closer Conflict, furious, They repeat.
Turnus imagining his Blow secure,
Now forward springs with all his Body's Force,
And waves his glitt'ring Sword uprais'd in Air,
And strikes his Foe. The Trojans loud exclaim:
The Latins tremble: And the Bands of Both
Stand fix'd, expecting. But the faithless Blade
Breaks short: and in the middle of the Stroke
Deserts him. Nothing now but Flight remains
For Aid: More swift than Eastern Winds he flies,
Soon as he sees the unaccustom'd Hilt,
And his Right Hand disarm'd. With Fear confus'd
He traverses the Field: now here, now there
Doubles in doubtful Mazes: For all round
The Trojan Lines embattl'd hemm'd him in,
Here a vast Lake, and there the lofty Walls.

Æneas presses on his trembling Foe
With eager Haste, and Step by Step pursues.

175

Now Clamours rise: the Banks and Lakes around
Reply: And Heav'n all thunders to the Noise.

He flying chides his ling'ring Friends, and calls
On each by Name, to bring his faithful Sword.
Æneas opposite denounces Ruin
Instant, and Death, if any dares approach.
Five Orbs involv'd, five Windings they compleat,
This Way, and That: For now no trivial Prize
Is sought: For Turnus Life, or Blood they strive.

An old wild Olive Tree by Chance there stood
With bitter Leaves: to Faunus sacred held:
Hither Æneas Jav'lin flew: here fix'd
It stood: and in the stubborn Root remain'd.
He kneeling tugs, and strives to disengage
The Steel: and with his missive Spear to reach
Whom in the swift Pursuit he could not seize.
There while he tugs and sweats: again transform'd
Into the Charioteer Metiscus Shape,
The Daunian Goddess to her Brother runs
Assisting, and his trusty Sword restores.

Now Both, sublime in Courage, and with Arms
Refitted, one confiding in his Sword,
The Other rising to his brandish'd Spear,
Stand opposite: and panting urge the Fight.

Æneas shaking his long ashen Spear
Urges adverse: and Thus relentless speaks.
What, Turnus, now is the Delay? or what
Dost Thou revolve? No Hope of Flight remains:
Arms must decide the Strife: To every Shape
Transform thy self: Collect thy utmost Force,
Whate'er thou canst in Art, or Courage: Wish
For Wings to bear thee to the Stars aloft:
Or hide thyself in op'ning Earth below.—

The Hero shook his Head, and thus reply'd:
Not thy proud Threats, insulting Man, affright
My Soul: Me Heav'n affrights, and Jove my Foe.
No more he spoke: But looking round espy'd
A pondrous Stone, which then by Chance there lay,

177

An antique, pond'rous Stone, a Landmark plac'd,
To part the Limits of th' adjoining Fields.
With trembling Hands he rising lifts it high,
Runs stagg'ring forward, and against his Foe
Tosses th' enormous Load: but neither knows
Himself, when running, nor when stagg'ring on,
Nor poising in his Hands th' unweildy Weight.
His Knees fail tott'ring; and his Blood congeals.
The Stone then rolling thro' the empty Space
Drops short, nor reaches to the destin'd Mark.

Then various Passions struggle in his Breast:
The City and the Latian Host he views,
Wavers with Fear, and dreads the coming Dart:
Perceives no Way for Flight, no Strength to move
Against the Foe.—

While thus perplex'd he stands, Æneas shakes
The mortal Dart: and, having with his Eyes
Mark'd out the destin'd Wound, with all his Force
Collected, hurls the missive Death from far.
Stones shot from mural Engines with less Sound
Roar thro' the Air: nor breaks so loud a Crash
From bursting Thunder: Like a Whirlwind flies
The Fate-conveying Spear, and opens wide
The Corslet's Border, and the seven fold Shield's
Extremest Orbs: and whizzing passes sheer
Thro' his mid Thigh. Down lofty Turnus falls,
Wounded, on doubl'd Knee, and bent to Earth.
A gen'ral Groan runs thro' th' Ausonian Host:
The Mountain round rebellows: and the Woods
Echoing return the Noise.—Furious in Arms
Æneas stood, rolling his Eyes around,
And check'd his lifted Hand.—And now his Soul
Still more and more relented, as he paus'd:
When on the vanquish'd Champion's Shoulder high
With well known Bosses shone the fatal Belt
Of youthful Pallas: whom with mortal Wound
Turnus, unhappy Victor, struck to Earth,
And on his Shoulder wore the hostile Spoils.

179

Those Spoils the Trojan Hero having view'd,
The fresh Incentives of his Grief and Rage:
Inflam'd with Vengeance, terrible in Ire,
Shalt Thou, thus deck'd with Trophies of my Friends
Escape from Me?—'Tis Pallas, Pallas gives
This Wound, and from thy execrable Blood
Demands this Sacrifice of just Revenge.

Thus while he spoke, beneath his Breast adverse
Furious he plung'd the Sword: the vital Heat
Leaves his slack Limbs: And to the Shades below
With Indignation flies his groaning Soul.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. XII.

The Challenge from Turnus to Æneas.

Turnus and Æneas.

Comets.

Whether from Earth the active Seeds of Flame
May rise on high, and fiery Comets frame,
Or Emanations from the Stars may fly,
And join to form them, blazing thro' the Sky:
Or God, in pity to our mortal State,
Hangs out these Lights, to shew approaching Fate:
They never shine in vain, but still presage
Some coming Plague on the unhappy Age.
No Crop rewards the cheated Farmer's Toil,
He mourns, and curses the ungrateful Soil:
The meager Ox to the successless Plow
He yokes, and scarce dares make another Vow:
Or wasting Plagues their deadly Poisons spread,
And wide extend the Empire of the Dead:
Then Heaps on Heaps unhappy Mortals fall,
And mighty Cities make one Funeral.—

Creech. Manil. Lib. I.

So threatning Comets glaring from an high
With sanguine Beams, dart swiftly thro' the Sky:
They stream a ruddy Trail, and, not in vain,
The Sailor fears them on the watry Plain,
And trembling Nations dread the long malignant Train.
The bearded Blaze th' impending Ill foreshows
Of wrecking Tempests, or invading Foes.—

Hughes. Claud. Rapt. Pros.

181

—As when in Night serene,
Ensanguin'd Comets shoot a dismal Glare:
Or the red Dog-Star, rising on the World,
To wretched Mortals threatens Dearth and Plagues,
With baleful Light: and saddens all the Sky.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. X.

Compassion.

See Clemency.

Compassion proper to Mankind appears,
Which Nature witness'd when she lent us Tears:
Of tender Sentiments We only give
Those Proofs:—to weep is our Prerogative:
To shew by pitying Looks, and melting Eyes,
How with a suff'ring Friend we sympathize.
Nature commands a Sigh, when in the Street,
With some fair blooming Virgin's Hearse we meet,
Or Infant's Funeral.—

Tate. Juv. Sat. XV.

—His moving Sighs controul
Our rising Rage, and soften ev'ry Soul.—

Pit. Virg. Æn. Lib. II.

Touch'd with the moving Eloquence of Tears,
His Life we gave him, and dispell'd his Fears.—

Id. Ibid.

But when Anchises' Son his Visage saw,
His Visage wondrous Pale, and chang'd in Death:
Deeply he groan'd with Pity, and his Hand
Extended, as he fell: and to his Thoughts
The Image soft of filial Piety
Itself presented. What, ill-fated Youth!
What Honours, by such mighty Virtue claim'd,
To thy Deserts can good Æneas pay?
The Arms, which pleas'd Thee living, still be thine:
And to thy Parents' Manes, and their Dust
(If aught That Care sollicit thee in Death)
Thy breathless Corps I willingly restore.
And let this Thought console thy rigid Doom,
By great Æneas' Hand Thou fall'st. At once
He chides his ling'ring Friends, and from the Ground
Uplifts him, with his Tresses, form'd by Art,
All foul in Dust, and clung with clotted Gore.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. X.

Lausus slain by Æneas in the Defence of his Father Mezentius.

183

Competency.

See Content. Nature content with Little.

If what's enough for Man, enough could be,
This were sufficient: but as this, we see,
Is not enough, how can we e'er believe
That Riches to the Mind Content can give?—

Anon. Lucil.

The Farmer, lab'ring, with the Iron Share
Turns up the churlish Soil: the Tradesman cheats:
The hardy Mariner, and Soldier, roam
To ev'ry Region, fearless of the Seas:—
These Toils they undergo, that having gain'd
A Competency, and from Want secure,
All Business laid aside, old Age may pass
In Ease and Quiet.—

Hor. Lib. I. Sat. 1.

If any ask me what would satisfy
To make Life easy, thus I would reply:
As much as keeps out Hunger, Thirst, and Cold,
Or what contented Socrates of old:
As much as made wise Epicurus blest,
Who in small Gardens spacious Realms possess'd.
This is what Nature's Wants may well suffice;
He that would more, is covetous, not wise.—

Dryden jun. Juv. Sat. XIV.

—Much will always wanting be
To those who much desire: thrice happy He,
To whom the wise Indulgency of Heaven,
With sparing Hand, but just enough has given.—

Cowley. Hor. Lib. III. Ode 24.

Most by their own false Hopes deceiv'd, cry out,
They have not yet enough.—

—My Friend complain no more:
He that hath needful Things can ne'er be poor.
If with good Food and Cloathing thou art stor'd,
Not more than this can kingly Wealth afford.—

Creech alter'd. Hor. Lib. I. Epist. 12.

185

Complaisance.

Her Wishes never, nor her Will withstand:
Submit, You conquer: serve, and you'll command.
Her Words approve, deny what she denies,
Like where she likes, and where she scorns, despise.
Laugh when she smiles, when sad, dissolve in Tears:
Let ev'ry Gesture sympathize with hers.
If she delights, as Women will, in play,
Her Stakes return, your ready Losings pay.
When she's at Cards, or rattling Dice she throws,
Connive at Cheats, and generously lose.
A smiling Winner let the Nymph remain,
Let your pleas'd Mistress ev'ry Conquest gain.

In Heat with an Umbrello ready stand:
When walking offer your officious Hand.
Her trembling Hands, tho' You sustain the Cold,
Cherish, and to your warmer Bosom hold.
Think no inferior Office a Disgrace:
No Action, that a Mistress gains, is base.
Whene'er she wants a Messenger, away,
Business defer, let nought your Speed delay.
When late from Supper she's returning home,
And calls her Servant, as a Servant come.—

Dryden. Ovid. Art. 2.

Then for his Conversation: he was never uneasy upon any occasion, nor would he ever spoil Company, but clos'd with all Humours, never thwarting others, nor assuming too much to himself. And I think this was the Way to get Reputation and Friends without Envy.—

Eachard. Ter. Andr.

Complaisance goes current, when Plain-dealing will not pass.—

Id. Ter. Andr.

187

Concord.

See Peace.

Kind Concord, heav'nly born! whose blissful Reign
Holds this vast Globe in one surrounding Chain,
Whose Laws the jarring Elements controul,
And knit each Atom close from Pole to Pole:
Soul of the World! and Love's eternal Spring!—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. IV.

Conscience. (Evil.)

See Guilt.

He that commits a Sin, shall quickly find
The pressing Guilt lie heavy on his Mind:
Tho' Bribes or Favour should assert his Cause,
Pronounce him guiltless, and elude the Laws:
None quits himself: his own impartial Thought
Will damn, and Conscience will record the Fault.—

Creech. Juv. Sat. XIII.

But why must those be thought to 'scape, who feel
Those Rods of Scorpions, and those Whips of Steel
Which Conscience shakes, when she with Rage controuls,
And spreads amazing Terrors thro' their Souls.—

Id.

Nor sharp Revenge, nor Hell itself can find
A fiercer Torment than a guilty Mind:
Which Day and Night doth dreadfully accuse,
The Wretch condemns, and still the Charge renews.—

Id. Ibid.

Sleep flies the Wretch: or when with Cares opprest,
His oft turn'd Limbs are weary'd into Rest,
Then Dreams invade, the injur'd Gods appear,
All arm'd with Thunder, and awake his Fear.

Such Wretches start at ev'ry Flash that flies,
Grow pale at the first Murmur of the Skies,
E'er Clouds are form'd, and Thunder roars, afraid.—

Id. Ibid.

Ev'n Here, on Earth, the Guilty have in view
The mighty Pains to mighty Mischiefs due:
Racks, Prisons, Poisons, the Tarpeian Rock,
Stripes, Hangmen, Pitch, and suffocating Smoak,
And last, and most, if these were cast behind,
Th' avenging Horrors of a conscious Mind:

189

Whose deadly Fear anticipates the Blow,
And sees no End of Punishment and Woe:
But looks for more, at the last Gasp of Breath:—
This makes a Hell on Earth, and Life a Death.—

Creech. Lucret. Lib. III.

Each as his Hands in Guilt have been embrew'd,
By hellish Horror ever is pursu'd.
Ah! who can tell those agonizing Pains,
Which Day and Night the guilty Mind sustains!
Vengeance, with all her dreadful Pomp, attends:
To Wheels she binds him, and with Vultures rends,
With Racks of Conscience, and with Whips of Fiends.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. VII.

So raving Pentheus Troops of Furies sees,
Two Suns, and double Thebes: So mad with Guilt
Orestes, agitated on the Stage,
Flies from his Mother's Ghost with Torches arm'd,
And black infernal Snakes: revengeful Fiends
Sit in the Doors, and intercept his Flight.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. IV.

Conscience. (Good.)

See Man Upright.

What's Man's chief Good? From Guilt a Conscience free.—

Bias per Aus.

Be this thy Guard, be this thy strong Defence:
A virtuous Heart, and unstain'd Innocence:
Not to be conscious of a shameful Sin,
Nor e'er turn pale for scarlet Crimes within.—

Creech. Hor. Lib. I. Epist. 1.

Within the conscious Breast of every Man,
As good, or bad, his Course of Life has been,
So Hope, or Fear prevails.—

Ovid. Fast. Lib. I.

A Man that's Good and Wise will boldly say,
Well, Pentheus King of Thebes, Why this Delay?
Pray what must I expect? What must I fear?
What undeserv'd must I be forc'd to bear?
I'll take away thy Goods.—My Flocks, My Land,
You may,—'tis subject all to your Command.

191

I'll chain and rob thee of thy Liberty.—
But God, whene'er I please, will set me free.—

Creech. Hor. L.I. Ep. 16.

Innocence may be bold, and vindicate itself with
Assurance, and speak out confidently.—

Plaut. Amph.

Consolation.

Let Patience moderate thy Grief, he cries;
Nor think Thyself unfortunate alone,
But learn by Others Woes, to bear thine own.—

Ovid. Met. Lib. XV.

—The Chief
With Words of Comfort sooths the common Grief:—
O Friends! he cries, experienc'd in Distress,
Much worse have We endur'd:—
And Heav'n will likewise put an End to this.
Courage assume: ev'n this Affliction, past,
May in Remembrance yield Us Joy at last.
With manly Patience bear your present State,
And save your selves to meet a better Fate.—

Dryd. alter'd. Virg. Æn. Lib. I.

If so the Gods my Overthrow ordain,
And the fierce Victor chace me o'er the Plain,
Thou shalt be left me still, my better Part,
To sooth my Cares, and heal my broken Heart:
Thy open Arms I shall be sure to meet,
And fly with Pleasure to the dear Retreat.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. V.

No Day is drench'd with such perpetual Rain,
But that some Intermission glads the Plain:
No barren Soil's so bad, but that it shows
Some useful Plant beneath it's Briars grows:
No Life's so fill'd with Woes, but that between
Some Gleams of Joy shine thro' the gloomy Scene.—

Ovid. Lib. IV. Pont. 4.

Pompey.

Still on your Bloom shall endless Sorrow prey,
And waste your Youth in Solitude away?
And shall no pleasing Theme your Thoughts employ?
The pratling Infant, or the bridal Joy?

193

Think you such Cares disturb your Husband's Shade,
Or stir the sacred Ashes of the Dead?—

Pitt. Æn. Lib. IV.

The Merchant shipwreck'd on the faithless Main,
Seeks out some shipwreck'd Wretch to share his Grief:
By sudden Storms undone, the ruin'd Swain
Finds in some Other's Ruin sad Relief.
Affliction's Friendship mutual Fun'rals move:
Together childless Parents mix their Sighs.
Then let's the Power of joint Orisons prove:
Associate Pray'rs wing swiftest to the Skies.—

Add. jun. Petr. Arb. Frag.

Who'd be so mad a Mother to disswade
From Tears, whilst on his Hearse her Son is laid?
But when Grief's Deluge can no longer swell,
Declining Sorrow you'll with ease repell.—

Tate. Ovid Remed. Lib. I.

Constancy.

See Affection Conjugal.

Since poor Sichœus, by my Brother slain,
Dash'd with his Blood the consecrated Fane,
And stain'd the Gods: my firm Resolves, I own,
This graceful Prince has shook, and this alone.
I feel a Warmth o'er all my trembling Frame,
Too like the Tokens of my former Flame.
But Oh! may Earth her dreadful Gulph display,
And gaping snatch me from the golden Day:
May I be hurl'd, by Heav'n's Almighty Sire,
Transfix'd with Thunder, and involv'd in Fire,
Down to the Shades of Hell, from Realms of Light,
The deep, deep Shades of everlasting Night:
E'er, sacred Honour, I betray thy Cause,
In Word, or Thought, or violate thy Laws.
No!—my first Lord, my first ill-fated Spouse,
Still, as in Life, is Lord of all my Vows.
My Love he had, and ever let him have,
Interr'd with him, and bury'd in the Grave—

Pitt. Æn. Lib. IV.

195

Content.

See Discontent.

Let the rich Miser gather golden Gain,
And live the large Possessor of the Plain:
Whom Fears perpetual scare with neighb'ring Foes,
While sounding Trumpets wake his soft Repose.
To me the Fates with sparing Hand dispence,
The humbler Sweets of Ease and Innocence:
Pleas'd with the Joys of a secure Retreat,
While constant Fires supply the chearful Seat.
I nor paternal Wealth, nor Fields require,
Nor Harvests, bounteous to my wealthy Sire:
A small Estate my humble Wish can please,
And a soft Bed to stretch my Limbs at Ease.—

Dart. Tibul. Lib. I. Eleg. 1.

My little Grove, my limpid Stream,
My certain Harvest, render me
More blest, more truly blest, than He
That wears rich Africk's Diadem.—

Horat. Lib. III. Ode 16.

He that desires but what's enough,
Against the Pow'r of Fate is proof:
Let raging Tempests toss the Floods,
Or Whirlwinds roar among the Woods:
Let patt'ring Hail his Vineyard Spoil,
And render fruitless all his Toil,
Or let his injur'd Trees complain,
Of too much Drought, or too much Rain,
Or let his Field deceive his Hopes,
And Frosts untimely nip his Crops.—

Creech alter'd. Hor. Lib. III. Ode 1.

Those Hours the Gods bestow with Thanks employ,
Nor long defer the Bliss Thou may'st enjoy:
For as 'tis Prudence, and not change of Air,
Must render Life a Blessing any where,
Those that beyond Sea go will sadly find,
They change their Climate only, not their Mind.
A busy Idleness destroys our Ease:
We ride, and sail, in Search of inward Peace:
Yet what we seek we ev'ry where may find,
If We can gain but a contented Mind.—

Creech alter'd. Hor. Lib. I. Epist. 11.

197

Bless Me from Poverty and Sordidness!
Then be the Gifts of Fortune more, or less,
I'll rest content. To me it matters not,
Whether I'm carry'd in a little Boat,
Or in a Ship.—Since neither driving Gales,
Too swiftly urge me on with swelling Sails,
Nor do rough Waves and Tempests on the Main,
Beat in my Teeth, and force me back again.—
For Strength, Wit, Honour, Virtue, I am plac'd
Short of the Foremost, but before the Last.—

J. D. alter'd. Horat. Lib. II. Epist. 2.

These were my Pray'rs to Heav'n, for These my Vows;
A small Estate, a Fountain near my House,
A Garden, and a little Grove of Trees;
And the good Gods have giv'n me more than These.—
'Tis well: nor other Happiness I wish,
But only that they would continue This.—

Creech alter'd. Hor. Lib. II. Sat. 6.

Cottage.

See Hospitality.

Here shone no Iv'ry Roofs inlay'd with Gold,
No Marble Floors oppress'd th' illuded Mould:
But banded Sheaves of empty Ceres, laid
On hurdled Boughs, the humble Cov'ring made.
Cheap earthen Bowls in homely Order stood,
And a full Pitcher from the limpid Flood,
With Osier Baskets of a rustic Twine,
And an old Cask still foul with Lees of Wine.
The Walls were stubbled Mud, heap'd up in Haste,
O'er which the Reed and Bulrush droop'd, disgrac'd.
Within the Hut a smoaky Pole was slung,
From Side to Side, cross which it's Treasures hung:
Apples, and wither'd Sav'ry dangled down,
With Grapes dispos'd in many a rural Crown.—

Addison jun. Petron. Arb.

199

Countenance.

When we are touch'd with some important Ill,
How vainly Silence would our Grief conceal.
Sorrow nor Joy can be disguis'd by Art;
Our Foreheads blab the Secrets of our Heart.—

Harvey. Juv. Sat. IX.

Country Life.

See Peasant.

Like the first Mortals happy He,
Whose Oxen plow his own paternal Plain:
From Hurry and Fatigue of Bus'ness free,
And quite a Stranger to usurious Gain.
Him, nor the rattling Trumpet calls to War,
Nor does the roaring Ocean scare:
The Bar he shuns: nor meanly stoops to wait
At the proud Levees of the lordly Great.
Or, his Amusement is to twine
Round the tall Poplar the embracing Vine:
Or, useless Branches cutting clear away,
He grafts a better Kind than they.
Or, climbing up some hilly Steep,
Thro' the long Vales his lowing Herds he sees:
Or, presses into Jars the Labour of his Bees;
Or, sheers his over-burden'd Sheep.
Or else, when Autumn crown'd with golden Ears,
And full ripe Apples, rears her graceful Head:
Delighted much he plucks the grafted Pears,
And lushious Grapes that with Purple overspread
Beneath some ancient Oak he likes to lie,
Or on the Turf enjoys the open Sky:
While the deep River gently glides along,
The Groves ring round the Birds melodious Song,
The limpid Brooks roll on their thrilling Streams,
Inviting soft Repose and pleasing Dreams.
But when the Blasts of Winter blow,
And gentle Show'rs are turn'd to Snow,

201

With Dogs, the Boar, a furious Prey,
He drives to Toils that stop the Way;
Or, slily, spreads around the Bush,
His Nets to catch the greedy Thrush:
Or fearful Hares, or dainty Cranes,
In Gins ensnar'd, reward his Pains.
While thus amus'd what Lover must not lose
The sad Remembrance of his Cares and Woes?
But if a chaste, good-natur'd Wife,
Divides with him the Cares of Life,
With constant Diligence does oversee
His hopeful Children and his Family:
(Like some old Sabine, or Apulian Dame,
Sun-burnt, and swarthy, but of honest Fame.)
A chearful Fire she gets, against he come,
Weary with Sport, or Labour, home:
The Flock she folds, and milks the Kine;
With unbought Dainties spreads the Board:
With what the Fields and Yard afford,
And from the Hogshead draws the racy Wine.
Amidst these Feasts how pleasant to behold
The full fed Flocks home hasting to the Fold:
Whilst loud the weary Oxen low,
And slow along the Ground trails the inverted Plow!
Their Labour done, to see the Swains carouse,
While Mirth, and Jokes, and Laughter shake the House.—

Hor. Epod. 2.

There's none can live so innocent and free,
Or follow Nature's Laws, so close, as he,
Who, far from Cities, does securely dwell,
Fond of the Country, in some humble Cell.
Whose happy Life is thus obscurely spent,
No wretched Avarice can e'er torment:
No Praise he covets, from the giddy Throng,
Who to the Good are seldom constant long:
Destructive Envy ne'er comes near his Gate,
Nor the frail Favour of th' unsteady Great.
No Courts he follows, nor, a royal Slave,
Seeks he vain Titles, or does Riches crave.

203

Exempt from ev'ry Hope and ev'ry Fear,
Scarce, even Malice, can assault him here.
Black Crimes in Cities bred he does not know,
Nor when the People rage,—
Does his clear Conscience dread the threat'ned Blow.

Sen. Hipp.

Would You a House for Happiness erect,
Let Nature be herself the Architect:
She'll build it more convenient than great,
And doubtless in the Country chuse her Seat.
What other Place can better Helps supply,
Against the Force of Winter's Cruelty?
Where does a more refreshing Air asswage,
The Dog-Star's Fury, or the Lion's Rage?
Or where, ah where, but here, can Sleep maintain
Devoid of Care, her soft imperial Reign?
Is Lybian Marble press'd beneath thy Feet,
More beautiful than Flow'rs, or half so sweet?
Or Water roaring thro' the bursting Lead,
So pure, as murm'ring in it's native Bed?
Who builds in Cities yet the Fields approves,
And hedges in with Pillars awkard Groves:
Strives for the Country View that farthest runs,
And tweers aloof at Beauties which he shuns.
In driving Nature out our Force is vain,
Still the recoiling Goddess comes again:
And creeps in silent Triumph, to deride
The weak Attempts of Luxury and Pride.—

Cowley alter'd. Hor. Lib. I. Epist. 10.

Ah wisely now, and willingly retire!
Forsake the gaudy Tinsel of the Great:
The peaceful Cottage beckens a Retreat;
Where true Content a solid Comfort brings,
To Kings unknown, or Favourites of Kings.—

Ibid.

Courtship.

See Complaisance. Flattery.

An Elm was near, to whose Embraces led,
A curling Vine her swelling Clusters spread:
He view'd their twining Branches with Delight,
And prais'd the Beauty of the pleasing Sight.

205

Yet this tall Elm, but for this Vine, he said,
Had stood neglected, and a barren Shade:
And this fair Vine, but that her Arms surround
Her marry'd Elm, had crept along the Ground.
But no Example thy hard Heart can move,
Still, still averse to all the Joys of Love.—

Pope. Ovid. Met. Lib. XIV.

Bright Youth, she cries, whom all thy Features prove
A God: and if a God, the God of Love:
But if a Mortal, blest thy Nurse's Breast,
Thy Father, Mother, Brother, Sister blest:
But, oh how blest! how more than blest thy Bride!
Ally'd in Bliss, if any yet ally'd.
If so, let mine the stol'n Enjoyment be:
If not, behold a willing Bride in me.—

Addison. Ovid. Met. Lib. IV.

Too much the Youth does in his Beauty trust,
Who thinks the Fair, will speak her Passion first:
With humble Pray'rs his Suit the Man should move:
The Maid with Complaisance accept his Love.
Ask, and be happy: freely speak your Mind:
And yield a fair Occasion to be kind.—

Ovid. de Art. Amandi. Lib. I.

You, who in Cupid's Lists inroll your Name,
First, seek an Object worthy of your Flame:
Then strive the charming Fair one's Heart to gain:
Be next your Care, that Love may long remain.—

Dryden alter'd.

Firmly believe all Women may be won:
Attempt with Confidence, the Work is done.
The Grashopper shall first forbear to sing
In Summer Season, and the Birds in Spring:
The Hound shall sooner, frighted, turn away
From the weak Hare, its long accustom'd Prey,
Than Woman stand against Man's flatt'ring Skill:
Ev'n she will yield, who swears she never will.—

Dryden alter'd. Ibid.

207

By Letters, not by Words, your Suit begin:
And ford the doubtful Passage with your Pen.
If to her Heart you'd find the nearest Way,
Extreamly flatter, and extreamly pray.
Priam by Pray'rs did Hector's Body gain,
Nor is an angry God invok'd in vain.—

Dryden. Ibid.

When to the Play she goes be ever nigh,
And gaze, with Love and Wonder in your Eye.
Admire the Dancer who her Liking gains,
And pity him who acts the Lover's Pains:
Sit while she sits, and when she rises rise,
And for her sake the Loss of Time despise.—

Dryd. alter'd. Ibid.

Act well the Lover: let your Speech abound
In dying Words, expressive of your Wound.
Nor doubt You her Belief: She will be mov'd:
The plainest thinks she merits to be lov'd.—

Dryd. alter'd. Ibid.

Be first to snatch the Goblet from her Lip,
And where she laid her Lips the Blessing sip:
Whate'er she touches with her Fingers, eat:
And brush her Hand in reaching to the Meat.—

Paleness becomes not those who sail the Sea,
Brown'd by the Sun and Waves they ought to be:
Nor suits it those, who all the Seasons round,
With Ploughs and Harrows turn the stubborn Ground:
Nor You, who seek by Arms to gain Renown,
Can, with pale Looks, become the Victor's Crown:
But if the Lover hopes to be in Grace,
Exceeding wan, and meager be his Face:
Paleness is apt, and decent in his Case.
That Colour from the Fair Compassion draws,
She thinks you sick, and thinks herself the Cause.
Then, tho' in Health, be not asham'd to wear,
And, with thy Night-Cap, hide thy seemly Hair.
If Cares and Woes attending Love should fail,
Sit up whole Nights, and study to be pale.
Unhappy be, in order to be blest,
And let each Look bespeak a Love-sick Breast.—

Ibid.

209

Beg her, with Tears, your fond Desires to grant;
For Tears will pierce a Heart of Adamant.
If Tears will not be squeez'd, then rub your Eye,
Or wet the Lids, and seem at least to cry.—

Dryden.

Trust not your beauteous Form, but learn to know,
There's more requir'd in Love than empty Show:
Debates avoid, and rude Contention shun,
Mild Love is with submissive Language won.
With tender Vows the charming Maid endear,
And let her only Sighs and Wishes hear.
Contrive with Words and Actions to delight,
And make your self still Welcome in her Sight.—

Dryden alter'd.

I no profuse nor costly Gifts commend,
But chuse, and time it well, whate'er You send.
Thro' ev'ry Season of the fruitful Year,
Let your own Boy some rural Present bear:
Tell her 'tis fresh, and from your Manor brought,
Tho' stale, and in the Suburb Market bought.
The first ripe Cluster let the Fair One eat,
And her with Apples, Nuts, and Chesnuts treat.
To her the Thrush, to her the Garland send,
As certain Proofs she's always in your Mind.
By Arts like these the Childless Miser's caught:
Thus future Legacies are basely bought.
But may they meet with Punishment divine,
Who make their Presents with a bad Design!—

Dryd. alter'd. Ovid. Art. Amand. Lib. 2.

In Autumn oft, when the delightful Year
Purples the Grape, and shows the Vintage near,
Fierce Heats, by turns, and chilly Blasts arise,
And bodies languish with inconstant Skies.
Then, if the vitious Air infects her Veins,
And in her tainted Blood some Fever reigns,
Your tender Love, by your Behaviour show,
And if you e'er expect to reap, then sow.
Think nothing nauseous in her loath'd Disease,
But with your ready Hand contrive to please:
Weep in her Sight, more ardent Kisses give,
And let her burning Lips your Tears receive.

211

Much for her Safety vow, and loudly speak,
That she may hear the lavish Vows you make:
Often pretend to dream that she is well,
And the feign'd Dream to her with Pleasure tell.
Cares thus well tim'd shall stand you in good stead:
And this Way many climb the nuptial Bed.—

Dryd. alter'd. Ibid.

Cow.

—Best the Cow
Of Aspect sour: her Head unshap'd and large,
Her hanging Neck enormous: from her Chin
Her swagging Dewlaps to her Knees depend.
Her Flank of Length unmeasur'd: all Parts huge:
Her Feet too: and beneath her crankled Horns
Her Ears uncouth and rough. Nor shall her Form
Be disapprov'd, whose Skin with Spots of white
Is vary'd: or who struggles with the Yoke,
And sometimes pushes with the Horn, in Front
A Bull resembles, tall, and big all o'er,
And with her Tail, in walking, sweeps the Ground.

Their Age for just Connubials fit, begins
After four Years: before the Tenth, expires:
The rest unapt for Teeming, and of Strength
Unequal to the Plough.—

Trap. Virg. Georg. Lib. III.

Creation.

See Chaos. God.

First, that the Earth might regular appear,
He rounds the Figure to a perfect Sphere:
Then bad the Sea to roll:—and Winds he gave
To swell the Surges of the rising Wave:
The rising Wave commission'd to explore
The compass'd Earth, and bound it with a Shore.
The running Springs he adds, and standing Lakes,
And bounding Banks for winding Rivers makes:
Earth drinks in some; the rest their watry Train
Roll on, and pour their Treasures in the Main:

213

Where, in their narrow Banks confin'd no more,
They freer rage, and lash the sounding Shore.
He bad the Woods be cloth'd, the Plains extend,
Subside the Vallies, and the Rocks ascend.

The spacious Fields of Air, suspended high,
Inclose the Ball, and skirt it with the Sky:
Weighty, with Fire, with Earth compared, light,
The winged Air between them takes it's Flight.
Thick Clouds o'erspread, and Storms engender there,
And Thunder's Voice, which wretched Mortals fear,
And Winds with Lightnings mixt, thence shiv'ring Winter bear.

Far above these, in Order and in Place,
The wise Creator fix'd the heav'nly Space;
Fields of pure Æther, from all Dregs refin'd,
By Earth unclogg'd, and by no Bounds confin'd.

Scarce had he all in proper Limits fix'd,
When, long depress'd and with Confusion mix'd,
Each Star upshot it's explicated Head,
And Heav'ns wide Arch with new born Glories spread.
Then, that no Void in Nature might appear,
With Stars and Forms divine he fill'd the heav'nly Sphere:
The glitt'ring Fishes to the Floods repair:
Beasts to the Earth: and Birds possess the Air.
Man too was made.—

Sewel. Dryden. alter'd. Ovid. Met. Lib. I.

—He sung, how thro' the mighty Void
The Seeds of Earth, and Water, Air, and Fire,
Consolidated met: how first from These
The Elements, and the World's recent Globe
Compounded rose: how then the firmer Soil
Grew hard, and in it's Channel shut the Sea,
And by Degrees, of various Things receiv'd
Th' unnumber'd Species:—how the Earth admir'd
To see the new-born Sun with Glory shine:
How Show'rs from high-hung Clouds distill'd: when first
The Woods began to rise: and thin, dispers'd,
The Animals o'er unknown Mountains rov'd.—

Trap. Virg. Ecl. VI.

215

Cruelty.

See Inhumanity.

He drew the Faulchion that beside him hung,
Then dragg'd her by the Hair along the Ground,
And fast, behind her Back, her Arms he bound.
The Princess willingly her Throat reclin'd,
And view'd the Steel with a contented Mind.
But soon her Tongue the girding Pincers strain
With Anguish, soon she feels the piercing Pain:
Oh Father! Father! She would fain have spoke,
But the sharp Torture her Intention broke:
In vain she tries! for now the Blade had cut
Her Tongue sheer off, and left the panting Root.
The mangled Part still quiver'd on the Ground,
And murmur'd out a faint imperfect Sound:
As some dissever'd Serpent's nimble Train,
That springs, and twists, and wriggles with the Pain,
So stirr'd the Tongue, with trembling Motion, fast,
And dying, towards it's Mistress turn'd at last.—

Croxall alter'd. Ovid. Met. Lib. VI.

Tereus ravished Philomela his Wife's Sister, and cut out her Tongue, to prevent her being able to discover it.

Young Itys fondling to his Mother came:—
And as her cruel Eyes his Features trace,
She cries, how like thy Father's is that Face!—
In Silence, then, she forms the dreadful Scene,
Her Bosom boiling with revengeful Spleen.

But as the Boy to her Embraces sprung,
And round her Neck in tender Transport hung,
Mixing kind Kisses with his childish Charms,
He moves her Soul, and all her Rage disarms:
Then tender Thoughts in spite of Passion rise,
And melting Tears disarm her threat'ning Eyes.
But when she found the Mother's easy Heart,
Too fondly swerving from th' intended Part,
She, turning from the Boy, her Sister views,
And in her Breast the dire Resolve renews.

217

Then, like some Tigress, that by Ganges' Floods,
A trembling Fawn drags thro' the gloomy Woods,
Itys she hurries to an inward Room,
Far off retir'd within the spacious Dome:
The Boy, with rueful Cries, but all too late,
Holds out his Hands, and deprecates his Fate:
To clasp his Mother's Neck he fondly aims,
And strives to melt her with endearing Names.
But Procne, on the horrid Mischief bent,
Home to his Heart a piercing Poiniard sent,
Nor did she, while the murd'ring Blade she drove,
Start once aside, or once her Eyes remove.
This might suffice: but Philomela too
Across his Throat a shining Cutlass drew.
Then both, with Knives, dissect each quiv'ring Part,
And carve the butcher'd Limbs with cruel Art:
Which, whelm'd in boiling Cauldrons o'er the Fire,
Or turn'd on Spits, in steamy Smoke aspire.
The slipp'ry Pavement swims with crimson Gore.—

Croxal. Sewel alter'd. Ovid. Met. Lib. VI.

Procne the Wife of Tereus murder'd her own Son Itys, dressed his Limbs, and served them up to her Husband, in revenge for his Usage of her Sister Philomela.

I saw where Marius' hapless Brother stood,
With Limbs all torn, and cover'd o'er with Blood:
A Thousand gaping Wounds increas'd his Pain,
While weary Life a Passage sought in vain.
That Mercy still his ruthless Foes deny,
And, whom they mean to kill, forbid to die.
This from the Wrist the suppliant Hands divides,
That hews his Arms from off his naked Sides:
One crops his breathing Nostrils, one his Ears,
While from the Roots his Tongue another tares:
Panting awhile upon the Earth it lies,
And with mute Motion trembles e'er it dies.
Last, from the sacred Caverns where they lay,
The bleeding Orbs of Sight are rent away.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. II.

Quintus Luctatius Catulus hearing C. Marius had resolved to put him to Death, killed himself: in Revenge of this, his Brother Catulus obtained of Sylla, that the Brother of C. Marius might be delivered into his Hands; and sacrificed him at Quintus's Tomb, in the barbarous Manner here described.

219

Cuckold.

Venus' Amour with Mars, the Sun (we're told)
First saw: for all things he does first behold.
Griev'd at the Sight, and swift, on Mischief bent,
To Venus' Husband, Juno's Son, he sent:
The Goddess and her God Gallant betray'd,
And told the Cuckold where their Pranks were play'd.
Poor Vulcan soon desir'd to hear no more:
He dropp'd his Hammer, and he shook all o'er.
But straight recov'ring, with malicious Pains,
A Net he forms of Brass, and brazen Chains,
So exquisitely fine, the sharpest Sight
Could not discern them in the fairest Light:
The Spider's Web, spread out to take her Prey,
Is not so thin, so finely drawn as they.
The Work, obedient to the Touch, he spread
In secret Foldings o'er the conscious Bed:
And when th' adult'rous God and Goddess came,
To quench, again, and satisfy their Flame:
The just Machine, so artfully prepar'd,
Both, in the very Act of Love, ensnar'd.
Vulcan the Iv'ry folding Doors displays,
And calls the Gods to witness his Disgrace.
Together link'd th' entangled Lovers lay,
Expos'd, and naked, in the Face of Day:
The Gods with Envy view'd, and could not blame,
But for the Pleasure wish'd to bear the Shame.
All laugh'd aloud: and, at each heav'nly Feast,
The wanton Tale became a standing Jest.—

Philips alter'd. Ovid. Met. Lib. IV.

Before her Husband, Lesbia calls me Names,
And at the Lewdness of the Town exclaims:
This tickles the poor Cuckold to the Life,
And he thanks Heav'n for such a virtuous Wife.
Contented Fool!—Your Reas'ning is quite wrong:
If she were Virtuous, she would hold her Tongue.
Scandal and Noise do not her Virtue prove,
But are the Marks of unextinguish'd Love.—

Anon. Catul. Carm. 84.

221

Cyclops.

See Gyant.

The Cyclops in their vast capacious Cave
Work'd the tormented Iron: Brontes huge,
And Steropes, and with his naked Limbs
Pyracmon. In their Hands before them glow'd
The unform'd Thunder: Bolts which Jove to Earth
Profusely hurls from all the Welkin round:
Part finish'd, part imperfect yet remain'd.
Three Forks of darted Hail, of watry Cloud
Three more they added: Three of glaring Fire:
As many of the winged southern Wind.
Then dreadful Flashes, and the roaring Noise,
And Rage, and Terror, and avenging Flames.
Some in a diff'rent Quarter of the Grot
Labour'd the Chariot, and the rapid Wheels
Of Mars, with which vast Cities he alarms,
And rouses Heroes.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. VIII.

—They all with eager Haste
Bend to the Labour: and their several Tasks
Divide: Brass flows in Rivers: liquid Gold,
And wounding Steel, in the vast Furnace boils.
A mighty Shield they form: Sev'n Orbs involv'd
Orb within Orb: In breathing Bellows some
Receive, and render back th' included Air:
Others in Water tinge the sputt'ring Brass.
The Cave with batter'd Anvils groans around:
By turns, with mighty Strength, in equal Time,
Their Arms advance, by turns their Hammers chime.—

Idem. Ibid.

Daring.

But Gods we all may be: for those that dare
Are Gods, and Fortune's chiefest Favours share.
The ruling Pow'rs a lazy Prayer detest,
The bold Adventurer succeeds the best.—

Croxall. Ovid. Met. Lib. VIII.

223

Fortune is ever to the Brave a Friend.—

Terent. Phor.

Who bravely dare ev'n Jove himself will aid.—

Ovid. Met. Lib. X.

Fortune and Venus both assist the Brave.—

Tibul. Lib. I. 2.

Darkness.

See Storm at Sea.

—For neither did the Stars
Appear, nor Light in all th' Expanse of Heav'n:
But Clouds o'ercast the Sky: and Dead of Night
Confin'd the Moon in Darkness.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. III.

But no red Clouds, with golden Borders gay,
Promise the Skies the bright Return of Day;
No faint Reflections of the distant Light,
Streak with long Gleams the scatt'ring Shades of Night:
From the damp Earth impervious Vapours rise,
Encrease the Darkness, and involve the Skies.—

Pope. Statius Lib. I.

Death.

See Death to be remember'd. Against the Fear of Death.

Long Night will over all it's Darkness spread,
And all must range the Regions of the Dead.
By Rage urg'd on, the Soldier falls in War,
The Sea destroys the greedy Mariner:
The old and young in Heaps together lie,
And from the Stroke of Death there's none can fly—

Hor. Lib. I. Ode 28.

Or Rich, or Poor, by whom begot,
Or King or Beggar, matters not:
Nor Birth, nor Wealth, nor ought can save
Man from the unrelenting Grave.

Our Lots are in the Urn of Fate,
And out they come, or soon, or late:
Then pass we to that silent Shore,
From whence there's no returning more.—

Hor. Lib. II. Ode 3.

Death spurns at Grandeur, and brings down
As well the Monarch as the Clown:
His inevitable Blow
Equals both the High and Low.—

Boeth. 2. 7.

225

Tho' Thou hadst all the Spice and Gold
Arabia or the Indies hold,
Tho' with thy Vessels Thou explore
The Tyrrhene and the Pontic Shore,
On Thee when Fate with Iron Claws
Shall seize, Thou must obey it's Laws:
No Wealth Thy Mind from Fear can save,
Or keep thy Body from the Grave.—

Hor. Lib. III. Ode 24.

Hither all tend, hence all things rise, here fall:
Rugged the Road, but must be pass'd by all.
All must the triple headed Dog implore,
In Charon's Boat all must be ferry'd o'er.
Bright Steel and Brass in vain attempt to save:
Death drags the Wearer trembling to the Grave.
Achilles' Force, nor Nerea's charmful Bloom,
Nor Crœsus' Wealth could save them from the Tomb.—

Prop. Lib. III. El. 16.

With equal Force pale Death, or soon, or late,
Knocks at the Cottage and the Palace Gate.
Life's Span forbids Us to extend our Cares,
Or stretch our flatt'ring Hopes beyond our Years:
Night urges on, and You must quickly go
To fabled Ghosts, and Pluto's Courts below.—

Creech alter'd. Hor. Lib. I. Ode 4.

Ah! swiftly, swiftly roll the Years away!
Nor can thy Piety, my Friend, delay
Wrinkles, and intruding Age,
And Death's unconquerable Rage.
Tho', daily, Thou with Hecatombs invoke
That dreadful Monarch, deaf to all thy cries,
Inexorable, He will give the Stroke,
Even whilst thy Prayers, yet unfinish'd, rise:
That Stroke! which heretofore has laid
The Great, the Strong, the Beauteous in the Dust:
Which all the Dead have felt, and all the Living must;
Nor Prince nor Beggar can it's Force evade.—

Hor. Lib. II. Ode 14.

Death swift pursues the Man that flies,
Nor spares the coward Youth, nor heeds his Cries:
Stab'd thro' the Back he falls, a trembling Sacrifice.—

Hor. Lib. III. Ode 2.

227

Dying's a Debt that we and our's must pay.—

Hor. Art. Poet.

Death only this mysterious Truth unfolds,
The mighty Soul, how small a Body holds.—

Dryden. Juv. Sat. X.

—Death just before our Eyes,
Spoils all our Boasts, and learns Us to be wise.—

Sen. Her. Fur.

The Sun that sets, again will rise,
And give the Day, and gild the Skies:
But when we lose our little Light,
We sleep in everlasting Night.—

Catullus. Epig. 5.

Whate'er thy Eyes behold is dead, or dying:
The Nights, the Days, pass on, and are no more:
The Stars of Heav'n decay: nor ought avail
Earth's firm Foundations: they must perish too,
And all it's mighty Fabrick be dissolv'd.
And can we then lament that Man must die,
And perish all his mortal fleeting Race?
War cuts off Part, and Part the Seas o'erwhelm:
These luckless Love swift to Destruction brings:
These Rage; and These unsatisfy'd Desire:
Omitting all Distemper's dreadful Train,
Some Winter's penetrating Rigour kills,
Others the baneful Dog-Star's sultry Ray,
And Others sickly Autumn's chilling Showers.
What had Beginning must expect an End.
All, All must die, All to the Grave must go:—
As Æacus shakes the Urn, We hence, by Lot,
Are call'd, to Death's immensurable Shades.—

Statius. Lib. II. Syl. 1.

Ye Pow'rs! who under Earth your Realms extend,
To whom all Mortals must one Day descend:
All our Possessions are but Loans from You,
And soon, or late, you must be paid your Due:
Hither we haste to Humankind's last Seat,
Your endless Empire, and our sure Retreat.—

Congreve. Ovid. Met. L.X.

How wretched is it not to know to die!—

Sen. Agam.

Of Life whoever pleases can deprive Us,
But none can rob Us of the Means of Dying:
To Death a thousand Ways are always open.—

Idem. Theb.

229

Death be Mindful of.

See Death.

Amidst a Life of Hopes and anxious Cares,
Of varying Passions, and disturbing Fears,
Think every Day, soon as the Day is past,
That Thou hast liv'd, of thy short Life, the last:
The next Day's joyful Light thine Eyes shall see,
When unexpected, will more welcome be.—

Dart alter'd. Hor. Lib. I. Epist. 4.

No Night succeeds the Day, no Morning's Light
Rises to chace the sullen Shades of Night,
Wherein there is not heard the dismal Groans
Of dying Men, mix'd with the woful Moans
Of living Friends; and also with the Cries,
And Dirges, fitting fun'ral Obsequies.—

Creech. Lucret. Lib. II.

From Day to Day with equal Pace,
Our sliding Moments steal away:
Nor is the changing Moon's Increase
Ought but her Progress to decay.
Yet You amus'd with airy Dreams,
Forgetful that the Grave is near,
Are busy'd with your endless Schemes,
And building stately Houses here.—

Anon. Hor. Lib. II. Od. 18.

Prepare the Bed, prepare the Wine,
Perfumes diffuse, and Roses twine:
But yet remember Death must be,
So Jove himself commandeth Thee.—

Martial.

Death (Against the Fear of it.)

See Death.

What has this Bugbear Death to frighten Man,
If Souls can die as well as Bodies can?
For as before our Birth we felt no Pain,
When Punic Arms infested Land and Main:
So when our mortal Frame shall be disjoyn'd,
The lifeless Lump uncoupled from the Mind,
From Sense of Grief and Pain we shall be free:
We shall not feel, because we shall not be.
Tho' Earth in Seas, and Seas in Heav'n were lost,
We should not move, we only should be toss'd.

231

Nay, ev'n suppose when we have suffer'd Fate,
The Soul could feel in her divided State,
What's that to Us? for We are only We,
While Souls and Bodies in one Frame agree.—

Dryden.

But to be snatch'd from all thy Household Joys,
From thy chaste Wife, and thy dear prattling Boys,
Whose little Arms about thy Legs are cast,
And climbing for a Kiss, prevent their Mother's Haste,
Inspiring secret Pleasure through thy Breast:
All these shall be no more:—thy Friends oppress'd
Thy Care and Courage now no more shall free:—
Ah! Wretch! thou cry'st; Ah! miserable me!
One woeful Day sweeps Children, Friends, and Wife,
And all the brittle Blessings of my Life!—
Add one Thing more, and All thou say'st is true:
Thy Want and Wish of them is vanish'd too:
For Thou shalt sleep, and never wake again,
And quitting Life, shall quit thy living Pain.
The worst that can befall Thee, measur'd right,
Is a sound Slumber, and a long Good-Night.—

Id. Lucret. Lib. III.

When careful Thoughts of Death disturb thy Head,
Consider, Ancus, great and good, is dead:
Ancus, thy better far, was born to die:
And Thou! dost Thou bewail Mortality?
How many Monarchs with their mighty State,
Who rul'd the World, were over-rul'd by Fate?

That haughty King, who lorded o'er the Main,
And whose stupendous Bridge did the wild Waves restrain:
In vain they foam'd, in vain they threaten'd Wreck,
While his proud Legions march'd upon their Back:
Him Death, a greater Monarch, overcame,
Nor spar'd his Guards the more for their immortal Name,

The Roman Chief, the Carthaginian Dread,
Scipio the Thunderbolt of War is dead,
And like a common Slave by Fate in Triumph led.

The Founders of invented Arts are lost;
And Wits who made Eternity their Boast:
Where now is Homer, who possess'd the Throne?
Th' immortal Work remains, the mortal Author's gone.

233

Democritus perceiving Age invade,
His Body weaken'd, and his Mind decay'd,
Obey'd the Summons with a chearful Face;
Made haste to welcome Death, and met him half the Race.

That Stroke, ev'n Epicurus could not bar,
Tho' he in Wit surpass'd Mankind, as far
As does the mid-day Sun the mid-night Star.
Then Thou, dost Thou disdain to yield thy Breath,
Whose very Life is little more than Death?
More than one half by lazy Sleep possess'd,
And when awake, thy Soul but nods at best,
Day-Dreams and sickly Thoughts revolving in thy Breast.
Eternal Troubles haunt thy anxious Mind,
Whose Cause and Cure thou never hop'st to find:
But still uncertain, with thyself at Strife,
Thou wander'st in the Labyrinth of Life.—

Id. Lucret. Lib. III.

Xerxes, who laid a Bridge over the Hellespont.

Nor, by the longest Life we can attain,
One Moment from the Length of Death we gain:
For all behind belongs to his eternal Reign.
When once the Fates have cut the mortal Thread,
The Man as much to all Intents is dead,
Who dies to Day, and will as long be so,
As He who dy'd a thousand Years ago.—

Id. Ibid.

Yet thus the Fools, who would be thought the Wits,
Disturb their Mirth with melancholy Fits,
When Healths go round, and kindly Brimmers flow,
Till the fresh Garlands on their Foreheads glow,
They whine, and cry, let us make haste to live!
Short are the Joys that human Life can give!
Eternal Preachers, that corrupt the Draught,
And pall the God, that never thinks with Thought:
Idiots with all that Thought, to whom the worst
Of Death, is Want of Drink, and endless Thirst.
Or any fond Desire as vain as these.

For ev'n in Sleep, the Body wrapt in Ease
Supinely lyes as in the peaceful Grave,
And wanting nothing, nothing can it crave.
Were that sound Sleep eternal, it were Death:
Yet the first Atoms then, the Seeds of Breath

235

Are moving near to Sense: we do but shake
And rouse that Sense, and straight we are awake.
Then Death, to Us, and Death's Anxiety,
Is less than Nothing, if a Less could be;
For then our Atoms, which in order lay,
Are scatter'd from their Heap, and puff'd away;
And never can return into their Place,
When once the Pause of Life has left an empty Space.—

Id. Lucret. Lib. III.

Death's always past or coming on; in this
There never any thing of present is:
And the Delays of Death more painful are,
Than Death itself, or Dying is, by far.—

Ovid. Epist.

You, whom the Terrors of cold Death affright:
Why do you tremble at an empty Name,
A Dream of Darkness, and a fancy'd Flame?
Vain Themes of Wit! which but in Poems pass,
And Fables of a World that never was!
Nought feels the Body when the Soul expires,
By Time corrupted, or consum'd by Fires:
Nor dies the Spirit, but new Life repeats
In other Forms, and only changes Seats.—

Id. Ovid. Met. XV.

Degeneracy.

Time sensibly all Things impairs:
Our Fathers have been worse than theirs,
And we than ours:—next Age will see
A Race more profligate than we.—

Roscommon. Hor. Lib. III. Od. 6.

The Fates decree, that all Things here below
Rush into Worse, and ever downward go:
Not otherwise, than when against the Course
Of some fierce Stream, one strives with all his Force
Thro' the strong Tide to urge the Vessel on;
If once he slacks his Arm, he's instant gone,
And headlong hurry'd with the Torrent down.—

Dryd. Virg. Georg. I.

Not so, at first great Romulus prescrib'd;
Severe the Laws when Cato was our Guide:
With better Principles our Fathers liv'd,
And juster Maxims were of old receiv'd.—

Anon. Hor. Lib. II. Od. 15.

237

Delay.

See Time to be used.

Delay gives Strength: the tender bladed Grain,
Shot up to Stalk, can stand the Wind and Rain.
The Tree, whose Branches now are grown too big
For Hands to bend, was set a tender Twig:
When planted, to the slightest Touch 'twou'd yield,
But now has got Possession of the Field.
Resist at first: for Help in vain we pray,
When Ills have gain'd full Strength by long Delay.
Be speedy: for who's not to Day inclin'd,
To morrow we shall more unwilling find.—

Tate alter'd. Ov. Rem. I.

Who till to Morrow would his Work delay:
His lazy Morrow will be like to Day.
But is one Day of Ease too much to borrow?
Yes, sure; for Yesterday was once to Morrow.
That Yesterday is gone, and nothing gain'd:
And all thy fruitless Days will thus be drain'd:
For Thou hast more to Morrows still to ask,
And wilt be ever to begin thy Task:
Who, like the hindmost Chariot Wheels, art curst
Still to be near, but ne'er to reach the first.—

Dryden. Pers. Sat. V.

Stop the Disease in Time: for, when within
The Dropsy rages, and extends the Skin,
In vain for Hellebore the Patient cries,
And fees the Doctor, but too late is wise.
What then avail his offer'd Bags of Wealth?
Not all the Colledge can restore his Health.—

Id. alter'd. Pers. Sat. III.

He's got half way that has his Work begun:
Then dare be wise, and venture boldly on:
Begin to live: this Moment's in thy Pow'r,
Employ it then, nor wait a fitter Hour,
Like some dull Clown, who at a River's Side
Expecting stands, in Hopes the running Tide
Will all e'er long be past:—Fool! not to know,
It still has flow'd the same, and will for ever flow.—

Hughes alter'd. Hor. Lib. I. Epist. 2.

Deluge.

See Flood.

The Skies from Pole to Pole with Peals resound,
And Show'rs enlarg'd, come pouring on the Ground.

339

Th' expanded Waters gather on the Plain:
And float the Fields, and overtop the Grain:
Then rushing onwards, with a sweepy Sway,
Bear Flocks, and Folds, and lab'ring Hinds away.
Nor safe their Dwellings were, for, sapp'd by Floods,
Their Houses fell upon their Household Gods.
The solid Piles too strongly built to fall,
High o'er their Heads behold a watry Wall:
Now Seas and Earth were in Confusion lost,
A World of Waters, and without a Coast.

One climbs a Cliff: one in his Boat is born:
And plows above, where late he sow'd his Corn.—

Dryd.

One sails where Village-Tops the Waves o'erwhelm,
One Fishes takes amidst a lofty Elm.
In Fields they Anchor cast, if Chance so guide,
While crooked Keels oppress the Vineyard's Side.
Where on the Grass, the Kids but lately fed,
The monstrous Sea-Calf forms his oosy Bed.
Beneath the deep, the Nereids, in Surprize,
See Woods, and Groves, and Towns, and Temples rise.
The Dolphins now amidst the Forests glide,
Shake the tall Oaks, and beat the Boughs aside.
The frighted Wolf now swims amongst the Sheep;
Lions and Tygers mingle in the deep:
His Swiftness now avails the Hart no more,
Nor Force of Light'ning aids the tusked Boar.—

Sewell alt.

The Birds, long beating on their Wings in vain,
Despair of Land, and drop into the Main.
Now Hills and Vales no more Distinction know:
And levell'd Nature lies oppress'd below.
The most of Mortals perish in the Flood:
The small Remainder dies for Want of Food.—

Dryden. Ovid. Met. I.

Desolation.

The tott'ring Pillars nodding Roofs sustain,
And, gaping wide, half ruin'd Walls remain:
Fv'n in th' Italian Cities, once so great,
Scarcely a living Creature now you meet:

241

Void of Inhabitants the Houses stand,
And Desolation reigns o'er all the Land:
The Fields, for Years untill'd, vile Weeds o'ergrow,
Nor Hands are left to exercise the Plow.—

Lucan. Lib. I.

Succeeding Nations by the Sword shall die,
And swallow'd up in dark Oblivion lye:
Almighty Latium with her Cities crown'd,
Shall like an antiquated Fable sound:
The Veïan and the Gabian Towers shall fall,
And one promiscuous Ruin cover all:
Nor, after Length of Years, a Stone betray
The Place where once the very Ruins lay:
High Alba's Walls, and the Lavinian Strand,
(A lonely Desart, and an empty Land,)
Shall scare afford, for needful Hours of Rest,
A single House to their benighted Guest.—

Addison. Lucan. Lib. VII.

The Place he view'd, where ever dear to Fame,
Troy's City stood, e'er 'twas by fire consum'd;
And sought to find some Footsteps of the Walls
By Phœbus rear'd: but a thick Wood of Weeds,
And blasted mossy Trunks with Branches sear,
Grew o'er the Palaces of Priam's Race;
And with their Roots, now mould'ring into Dust,
Possess'd the sacred Temples of the Gods.—

Lucan. Lib. IX.

With prickly Thorns, and Brambles over-run,
All rude, all waste and desperate is laid,
And ev'n the ruin'd Ruins are decay'd.—

Rowe.

Stand off, stand off, the Guide, a Phrygian, cries,
Nor trample o'er where mighty Hector lies:
Stones, here and there, lay scatter'd on the Ground,
But no Appearance of a Tomb was found.—

Ibid.

Despair.

—Let us die, and rush
Into the thickest Arms: to vanquish'd Men
The only Safety is to hope for none.

—Thence, like Wolves
Prowling in gloomy Shade, which Hunger blind
Urges along, while their forsaken Whelps

243

Expect them with dry Jaws: thro' Darts, thro' Foes
We march to certain Death.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. II.

When with sad Eyes the venerable Sire,
Beheld his Ilion sunk in hostile Fire:
His Palace storm'd, the lofty Gates laid low,
His rich Pavilions crowded with the Foe:
In Arms, long since disus'd, the hoary Sage
Loads each stiff languid Limb that shook with Age:
Girds on an unperforming Sword, in vain!
And runs on Death amidst the hostile Train.—

Pitt. Ibid.

Priam.

So fares the Pilot, when his Ship is toss'd
In troubled Seas, and all its Steerage lost:
He gives her to the Winds, and in Despair,
Seeks his last Refuge in the Gods and Prayer.—

Addison. Ovid. Met. Lib. II.

Thus when the stormy South is heard to roar,
And rolls huge Billows from the Lybian Shore:
When rending Sails flit with the driving Blast,
And with a Crash down comes the lofty Mast:
Some Coward Master leaps from off the Deck,
And hasty to Despair, prevents the Wreck:
And though the Bark unbroken hold her Way,
Her trembling Crew all plunge into the Sea.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. I.

In sullen Peace, compos'd for Death, she lyes,
And waiting, longs to hear the Tempest rise:
She hopes the Seamen's Vows shall all be crost,
Prays for the Storm, and wishes to be lost.—

Rowe. Luc. L. IX.

Soon as the Queen beheld the Foe advance
Against the Town, the Walls beleaguer'd round,
And to the Roofs the flaming Firebrands fly:
Frantic with sudden Grief Herself she calls
The Crime, the Head, the Cause of all their Woe:
A thousand Things she utters in Despair:
Distracted, wild: and rends her purple Robes,
And from a lofty Beam suspended tyes
The fatal Knot of ignominious Death.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. XII.

Detraction.

One Drop of Poyson in my Patron's Ear,
One slight Suggestion of a senseless Fear,

245

Infus'd with cunning, serves to ruin me.
Disgrac'd, and banish'd from the Family,
In vain forgotten Services I boast:
My long Dependance in an Hour is lost.—

Dryden. Juv. Sat. III.

Let him cry Blackmoor-Devil whose Skin is white;
And Bandy-Legs, who treads himself upright:
Let him reprove that's innocent:—in vain
The Gracchi of Sedition must complain.—

Tate. Juv. Sat. II.

I shunn'd with Caution the officious Tale:
Saw what was bare, but ne'er withdrew a Veil.
I never forg'd, to urge another's Fate,
False Facts, nor did I those I knew relate.—

Anon. Auson. Epiced.

The Man who vilifies an absent Friend,
Or hears him scandaliz'd, and don't defend:
Who, much desiring to be thought a Wit,
Will have his Jest, regardless whom it hit:
Who what he never saw proclaims for true,
And vends for Secrets what he never knew:
Who blabs whate'er is whisper'd in his Ear,
And fond of Talk, does all he knows declare:
That Man's a Wretch:—of Him besure beware.—

Hor. Lib. I. Sat. IV.

If I'm bely'd, shall I turn pale for this?
False Honours please, and false Reports disgrace
And trouble, whom?—The Vicious and the Base.—

Creech. Hor. Lib. I. Epist. 16.

Let Men of Others to speak Ill forbear,
Or their own Follies they'll be sure to hear.—

Terent. Andr.

Diana.

See Majesty.

But mild the Beauties of Diana were,
And all her Charms serene, and sweetly fair:
Her Brother's Looks adorn her radiant Face,
Her Cheeks and sparkling Eyes express his Grace:
The same she were, did not her Sex alone,
A Diff'rence cause, and make the Virgin known.
Her Arms are naked to th' admiring Eye,
And in the Wind her careless Tresses fly:

247

Her furnish'd Quiver on her Shoulder hung,
And her neglected Bow was now unstrung.
Her Cretan Vest, short gather'd from the Ground,
A double Girdle regularly bound.
There floating Delos the rich Robes display,
And round the wand'ring Isle is wrought a golden Sea.—

Hughes alter'd. Claud. Rapt. Pros. 2.

Difficulty.

Who soon is won, will soon her Lovers lose:
But who'd retain them long, must long refuse:
Oft at the Door make them for Entrance wait,
And much complain, and threaten, and intreat.
Bitters, when cloy'd with Sweets, our Taste restore;
Ships, by fair Winds, are sometimes drove ashore.
Hence springs the Coldness of a marry'd Life,
The Husband, when he pleases, has his Wife.
Bar but the Gate, and let the Porter cry,
Here's no Admittance, Sir: I must deny.
Such Opposition will increase Desire,
And kindle in thy Breast a fiercer Fire.—

Congreve alter'd. Ovid. Art. Lib. III.

We disesteem what's easy to obtain,
But what's forbidden are e'en mad to gain:
Had Danaë not been kept in brazen Tow'rs,
Jove had not thought her worth his golden Show'rs.—

Dryd. alt. Ovid. Amor. Lib. II.

Discontent.

See Care.

My Lord, how comes it, no One lives content,
With what himself has chose, or Fortune sent:
But madly doting on his Neighbour's Lot,
Contemns th' Advantages his own has got?

O happy Merchant! the old Soldier cries,
Broke with Fatigue and martial Exercise.
The Merchant, by the Billows toss'd on high,
Cries, happy is the Soldier's Fate: for why,
A Battle soon brings Death, or joyful Victory.

249

The hurrying Lawyer, calls the Farmer blest,
When early Clients interrupt his Rest.
The Farmer, whom some Business of the Law,
Does from the Country to the City draw,
Extols the Pleasures of the gaudy Town,
And thinks a City Life the only one.—

Hor. Lib. I. Sat. 1.

Your Country Life I judge an Happiness,
And mine in Town, you fancy, is no less:
Fond of each other's Lot, we hate our own,
And wrongly blame the Country, or the Town:
Fools both! for in the Place no Fault does lie,
But in the Mind,—from which there's none can fly.—

Hor. Lib. I. Ep. 14.

Discord.

See War Civil.

The Trumpets sound! when strait fell Discord rais'd
Her Stygian Head, and shook her matted Locks:
With clotted Blood her Face was cover'd o'er,
And gummy Horrors from her Eyes distill'd:
Two Rows of canker'd Teeth deform'd her Mouth,
And from her Tongue a Stream of Poison flow'd,
While hissing Serpents play'd around her Cheeks:
Her livid Skin with Rags was scarce conceal'd,
And in her trembling Hand a Torch she shook.

Ascending thus from the Tartarean Gloom,
She reach'd the Top of lofty Apennine:
Whence ev'ry Sea and Land she might behold,
And Armies moving over all the Globe:
Then from her furious Bosom thus she spoke.

Now rush, ye Nations, rush to mutual Arms:
And let Dissention's Torch for ever burn!
Let Flight no longer now the Coward save,
Nor Age, nor Sex, nor Childhood Pity move:
Let the Earth tremble, and her haughtiest Tow'rs
Shake, in convulsive Ruins, to the Ground.—

Petron. Arb.

As stubborn Steers by brawny Plowmen broke,
And joyn'd reluctant to the galling Yoke,
Alike disdain with servile Necks to bear
Th' unwonted Weight, or drag the crooked Share,

251

But rend the Reins, and bound a diff'rent Way,
And all the Furrows in Confusion lay:
Such was the Discord of the royal Pair,
Whom Fury drove precipitate to War.—

Pope. Stat. Theb. Lib. I.

Dissimulation.

To Mercury Autolycus she brought,
Who turn'd to Thefts and Shifts his subtle Thought:
Possess'd he was of all his Father's Slight,
At Will made White look Black, and Black look White.—

Croxall. Ovid. Met. Lib. XI.

—When all the Furies in her Breast
She had conceiv'd, o'ercome with wild Despair,
And resolute to die: the Time, and Means
She with herself contrives: and Thus accosts
Her mourning Sister: (her Design conceals
And smooths her Visage with dissembled Hope.)
Rejoice with me, my Sister: I have found
A sure Expedient, which will either bring
My Lover back, or free me from my Love.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. IV.

Mean while the Trojan Shepherds, shouting, dragg'd
A Youth, with pinion'd Arms, before the King:
Who with Design had fall'n into their Hands,
Unknown: to manage the concerted Plot,
And open to the Greeks the Gates of Troy:
Bold to attempt, and on both Sides prepar'd,
Either to meet Success, or certain Death.—

Id. Æn. Lib. II.

False Tears he shed, and from a joyful Breast
Fetch'd Sighs and Groans, believing Tears would best
The inward Pleasure of his Heart conceal,
Which otherwise he fear'd he should reveal.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. IX.

Does the fair Bride Love's Contest really dread
That she takes on so, when she's put to Bed?
Or, mind her Parents the dissembled Tear?
She does not weep in earnest, I dare swear.—

Anon. Catul. 67.

253

Dissolution of all Things.

See Death.

So shall one Hour, at last, this Globe controul,
Break up the vast Machine, dissolve the Whole,
And Time no more thro' measur'd Ages roll.
Then Chaos hoar shall seize his former Right,
And reign with Anarchy and endless Night:
The starry Lamps shall combat in the Sky,
And lost, and blended in each other, die:
Quench'd in the Deep the heavenly Fires shall fall,
And Ocean, cast abroad, o'er spread the Ball.
The Moon no more her well known Course shall run,
But rise from Western Waves, and meet the Sun:
Ungovern'd, shall she quit her ancient Way,
Herself ambitious to supply the Day:
Confusion wild shall all around be hurl'd,
And Discord and Disorder tear the World.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. I.

Jove too remember'd that a Time shall come,
For such is Fate's irrevocable Doom,
When Sea, and Earth, and Sky, shall glow with Fire,
And all this vast Machine in Flames expire.—

Ovid. Met. Lib. I.

Disswasion.

See Intreaty.

My Son, says he, some other Proof require,
Rash was my Promise, rash is thy Desire.
I'd fain deny this Wish, which Thou hast made,
Or what I can't deny, wou'd fain disswade.
Too vast and hazardous the Task appears,
Not suited to thy Strength, nor to thy Years.
Thy Lot is mortal, but thy Wishes fly
Beyond the Province of Mortality.
Oh! don't, my Son, this fatal Gift require,
But, while Thou canst, recall thy rash Desire.
Chuse what Thou wilt from Seas, or Earth, or Skies,
For open to thy Wish all Nature lies:

255

Only decline this one unequal Task,
A Mischief not an Honour 'tis you ask.
You ask a real Mischief, Phaëton:
Nay, hang not thus about my Neck, my Son:
I grant your Wish, and Styx has heard my Voice:
Chuse what you will:—but make a wiser Choice.—

Addison. Ovid. Met. Lib. II.

Me dost Thou fly?—By these distilling Tears,
By thy Right Hand, (since Nought else I've reserv'd
To wretched me,) by our connubial Rites,
And Hymenéal Loves but yet begun:
If ever I have ought of Thee deserv'd,
Or any Thing of mine was e'er to Thee
Delightful: pity my declining State:
And, Oh! if yet there's any room for Pray'r,
Be yet intreated,—yet thy Purpose change.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. IV.

O Gallant Youth! the more thy Valour boils
Exuberant, the more it me concerns
With Prudence to advise, and fearing weigh
All Hazards. Thee thy Father Daunus' Realms,
And many Cities vanquish'd by thy Arms,
Attend, to own thy Sway.—
Think on the various Chance of doubtful War:
Pity thy aged Father: whom from Thee
His distant City Ardea now divides,
Sad and disconsolate.—

Id. Æn. Lib. XII.

The weeping Queen, ev'n dying with her Fears,
Hung on the ardent Hero. By these Tears,
I beg Thee, Turnus, grant this one Request:
If ought of Rev'rence ever touch'd thy Soul,
For poor Amata. Thou the only Hope
Art left, the Solace of my wretched Age:
On Thee Latinus' Fame, and Realm, on Thee
The Royal House with all it's Stress reclines.
Forbear: nor urge the Trojans to the Field:
Whatever Fortune waits Thee in the War,
Me too, my Turnus, waits.—
The fair Lavinia seconds with her Tears
Her Mother's Suit; and bathes her glowing Cheeks.—

Id. Ibid.

257

Dogs.

See Flight. Hunting.

Nor be thy Care of Dogs the last: but feed
With fatt'ning Whey the brave Molossian Race,
And the fleet Spartân: Never (while they watch)
The nightly Thief, or Inroads of the Wolf,
Or ravaging Iberian, shalt thou fear.
Oft too with Hounds the timerous wild Ass
Thou shalt pursue: With Hounds the Hare, and Hind:
Oft from his wallowing Beds in Thickets rouse
The sylvan Boar, and chase him in full Cry:
And o'er the lofty Mountains, with a Shout,
The stately Stag into thy Toils impel.—

Trap. Georg. Lib. III.

Doubt.

The Mother and the Sister long contest:
Two doubtful Titles, struggling in her Breast.
With Horror of the Fact, now pale she stood;
Now Rage boil'd high, and flush'd her Eyes with Blood:
Now dreadful Threats sat glaring in her Face,
And milder Mercy now again took Place:
Resolv'd, she doubts again: the Tears she dry'd
With burning Rage, are by new Tears supply'd.
And, as a Ship, which Winds and Waves assail,
Now with the Current drives, now with the Gale,
Both opposite, and neither long prevail:
It feels a double Force, by Turns obeys
Th' imperious Tempest, and the impetuous Seas:
So fares Althea's Mind: she first relents
With Pity, of that Pity then repents.—

Dryden alter'd. Ovid. Met. Lib. VIII.

'Twas now the Noon of Night, when Slumbers close
Our Eyes, and sooth our Cares with soft Repose.
But no Repose could wretched Myrrha find,
Her Body rolling, as she roll'd her Mind:
Mad with Desire, she ruminates her Sin,
And Wishes all her Wishes o'er again:

259

Now she despairs: and now resolves to try:
Wou'd not, and wou'd again, she knows not why:
Stops, and returns: makes, and retracts the Vow:
Fain wou'd begin, but understands not how.
As when a Pine is hew'd upon the Plains,
And the last mortal Stroke alone remains,
Tottering it stands aloft, and threatning all,
This Way, and that Way nods, uncertain where to fall:
So Myrrha's Mind, impell'd on either Side,
Takes every Bent, but cannot long abide:
Irresolute on which she should rely,
At last, unfix'd in all, is only fix'd to die.—

Dryd. alter'd. Ovid. Met. Lib. X.

—His wavering Mind divides
A Thousand Ways: now This, now That resolves,
And turns on every Side it's shifting Thoughts.
As when in brazen Vats the trembling Light
Of Water, from the Sun's reflected Beams,
Or from the Image of the radiant Moon,
Flits all around, and now is whirl'd aloft
To the high Roof, and dances in the Air.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. VIII.

Should Joy, or Grief, she said, possess my Breast,
To see my Country by a War opprest?
I'm in Suspence! For, tho' 'tis Grief to know
I love a Man who is declar'd my Foe;
Yet, in my own Despite, I must approve
That lucky War, which brought the Man I love.—

Croxall. Ovid. Met. Lib. VIII.

Dreams.

See Sleep.

Folded in Sleep whilst all the Members lie,
And the whole Body is to Rest compos'd,
Then, even then, we fancy we're awake,
And move, and act, and view the glorious Sun,
And chearful Day;—tho' pitchy Night it be:
Then too, tho' all the while in Bed confin'd,
Imaginary Climes we journey thro':
O'er various Seas, Rivers, and Mountains steep,
And flow'ry Fields we range: and Voices hear,

261

And Answers apt return; tho' all around,
Reigns solemn Silence, and a Hush profound.—

Lucret. Lib. IV.

Whatever Studies please, whatever Things
The Mind pursues, or dwells on with Delight,
The same, in Dreams, engage our chief Concern:
The Lawyers plead, and argue what is Law:
The Soldiers fight, and thro' the Battle rage:
The Sailors Work, and strive against the Winds:
Me, an Enquiry into Nature's Laws,
And writing down my Thoughts continually employs.—

Whatever Actions often are perform'd,
On every Creature else, as well as Man,
Have this Effect: Stout Horses you shall see,
(Whilst at their Length, and fast asleep they lie,)
Lather'd with Sweat, snorting, and panting quick:
As if, the Barrier down, with all their Strength,
They stretch'd, and were contending for the Palm.
Hounds too are often hunting in their Sleep,
And fling about their Limbs, and open oft,
And often snuff the Air, as on full Scent,
Pursuing close the Footsteps of their Prey.—

Ibid.

But He, of Dreams the Parent, does excite
Morpheus that artful masquerading Sprite:
Morpheus, of all his num'rous Sons, express'd
The Shape of Man, and imitated best:
The Walk, the Words, the Gesture could supply,
The Habit mimic, and the Mein belie:
Plays well, but all his Action is confin'd,
Extending not beyond our human Kind.
Another Birds, and Beasts, and Dragons apes,
And dreadful Images, and Monster shapes:
This Demon, Icelos, in Heav'n's high Hall,
The Gods have nam'd: but Men Phobetor call.
A third is Phantasus, whose Actions roll
On meaner Thoughts, and Things devoid of Soul:
Earth, Fruits, and Flow'rs, he represents in Dreams,
And solid Rocks unmov'd, and running Streams.—

Dryd. Ovid. Met. Lib. XI.

Somnus the God of Sleep.

263

Two Gates of Sleep there are: the one of Horn,
Thro' which with Ease the real Fantoms pass:
With polish'd Elephant the other shines,
Thro' which the Manes send false Dreams to Light.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. VI.

So when a Dream our sleeping Sight betrays,
And to our View some hidden Gold conveys,
Our busy Hands th' inviting Treasure seize,
And short-liv'd Joys our working Fancy please:
But straight, we sweat with Dread, lest any Spy,
Should find the Secret, and our Theft descry.
Nay, even when the charming Dream is o'er,
When we're awake, and as we were before,
Sighing, we wish the fancy'd Loss regain'd,
And with the Image still are entertain'd.—

Petronius.

When, in our Dreams, the Forms of Things arise,
In mimic Order plac'd before our Eyes,
Nor Heav'n, nor Hell, the airy Vision sends,
But ev'ry Breast it's own Delusion lends.
For when soft Sleep the Body lays at Ease,
And from the heavy Mass our Fancy frees,
Whate'er it is in which we take Delight,
And think of most by Day, we dream at Night.—

Thus he who shakes proud States, and Cities burns,
Sees Show'rs of Darts, forc'd Lines, disorder'd Wings,
Fields drown'd in Blood, and Obsequies of Kings:
The Lawyer dreams of Terms, and double Fees,
And trembles when he long Vacations sees:
The Miser hides his Wealth, new Treasure finds:
In ecchoing Woods his Horn the Huntsman winds:
The Sailor's Dream a shipwreck'd Chance describes:
The Whore writes Billet doux: Th' Adultress bribes:
The op'ning Dog the tim'rous Hare pursues:
And Misery in Sleep it's Pain renews.—

Anon. alter'd. Ibid.

Still Slumbers Erisichthon's Senses drown,
And sooth his Fancy with their softest Down.
He dreams of Viands delicate to eat,
And revels on imaginary Meat.

265

Chaws with his working Mouth, but chaws in vain,
And tires his grinding Teeth with fruitless Pain:
Deludes his Throat with visionary Fare,
Feasts on the Wind, and Banquets on the Air.—

Vernon. Ovid. Met. Lib. VIII.

Dress, and Good Breeding.

Be not too finical, but yet be clean,
And wear well fashion'd Cloths, like other Men.
Nor sputt'ring speak, nor let your Teeth be foul,
Nor in wide Shoes your Feet too loosely roul.
Of a black Muzzle, and black Beard beware,
And let a skilfull Barber cut your Hair.
Your Nails be pick'd from Filth, and even par'd;
Nor let your nasty Nostrils bud with Beard:
Cure your unsavoury Breath; gargle your Throat;
And free your Arm-Pits from the Ram and Goat.—

Dryd. Ovid. Art. I.

Beauty's the Gift of Gods, the Sex's Pride!
Yet to how many is that Gift deny'd!
Art helps a Face: a Face tho' heav'nly fair,
May quickly fade for want of needful Care.—

Congreve. Ovid. Art. Lib. III.

Let not the Nymph with Pendants load her Ear,
Nor in Embroidery, or Brocade, appear:
Too rich a Dress may sometimes check Desire,
And Cleanliness more animates Love's Fire.
The Hair dispos'd, may gain or lose a Grace,
And much become, or misbecome the Face.
What suits your Features of your Glass enquire,
For no one Rule is fix'd for Head Attire.—

Id. Ibid.

A Face too long should part and flat the Hair,
Least, upward comb'd, the Length too much appear:
So Laodamia dress'd. A Face too round
Sould shew the Ears, and with a Tow'r be crown'd.
On either Shoulder, one, her Locks displays,
Adorn'd like Phœbus when he sings his Lays:
Another, all her Tresses ties behind;
So dress'd, Diana hunts the fearful Hind.

267

Dishevell'd Locks most graceful are to some:
Others the binding Fillets more become:
Some plat, like spiral Shells, their braded Hair:
Others the loose and waving Curl prefer.—

Id. Ibid.

Many there are who seem to slight all Care,
And with a pleasing Negligence ensnare:
Whole Mornings oft, in such a Dress are spent,
And all is Art, that looks like Accident.—

Id. Ibid.

As Fields you find with various Flow'rs o'erspread,
When Vineyards bud, and Winters Frost is fled:
So various are the Colours you may try,
Of which the thirsty Wool imbibes the Dye.
Try ev'ry one, what best becomes you, wear:
For no Complexion all alike, can bear.
If fair the Skin, black may become it best;
In black the lovely fair Briseïs dress'd:
If brown the Nymph, let her be cloth'd in white;
Andromeda so charm'd the wond'ring Sight.—

Id. Ibid.

Faults in your Person, or your Face, correct:
And few are seen that have not some Defect.
The Nymph too short, her Seat should seldom quit,
Lest, when she stands, she may be thought to sit:
And, when extended on her Couch she lies,
Let Length of Petticoats conceal her Size.
The Lean, of thick wrought Stuff her Cloths should chuse,
And fuller made than what the plumper use.
If pale, let her the crimson Juice apply:
If swarthy, to the pearly Fucus fly.
A Leg too lank, tight Garters still must wear,
Nor should an ill-shap'd Foot be ever bare.
Round Shoulders, bolster'd will appear the least:
And lacing straight, confines too full a Breast.
Whose Fingers are too fat, and Nails too coarse,
Should always shun much Gesture in Discourse.
And You, whose Breath is touch'd, this Caution take,
Nor fasting, nor too near another, speak.
Let not the Nymph with Laughter much abound,
Whose Teeth are black, uneven, or unsound.

269

You'd hardly think how much on this depends,
And how a Laugh, or spoils a Face, or mends.
Gape not too wide, lest you disclose your Gums,
And lose the Dimple which the Cheek becomes:
Nor let your Sides too strong Concussions shake,
Lest you the Softness of the Sex forsake.—

Id. Ov. Art. III.

Neglect no Means which may promote your Ends:
Now learn what way of Walking recommends.
One has an artful Swing and Jut behind,
Which helps her Coats to catch the swelling Wind:
Swell'd with the wanton Wind they loosely flow,
And ev'ry Step and graceful Motion show.
Another, like an Umbrian's sturdy Spouse,
Strides all the Space her Petticoat allows.
Between Extreams, in this, a Mean adjust:
Nor shew too nice a Gate, nor too robust.—

Id. Ibid.

By Art we're won: Gold, Gems, and rich Attire,
Make up the Pageant you so much admire:
In all that glitt'ring Figure which you see,
The least, least Part of her own self is she.
In vain, for her you love, amidst such Cost,
You search: the Mistress in the Dress is lost.—

Tate. Ovid. Rem. Am. Lib. I.

Proud Cleopatra with Ambition fir'd,
Had stain'd her Cheeks, and arm'd with artful Care
Her fatal Eyes, new Conquests to prepare:
Bright Jewels grac'd her Neck, and sparkled in her Hair.
O'ercharg'd with Spoils which the Red-Sea supply'd,
Scarce can she move beneath the pond'rous Pride.
Of wondrous Work, a thin Sydonian Lawn
O'er each soft Breast in Decency was drawn:
But thro' the Veil, contriv'd its Charms to shew,
Her lovely Bosom panting rose to View.—

Hughes alter'd. Lucan. Lib. X.

Druids.

Ye Druids, too, now Arms are heard no more,
Old Mysteries and barb'rous Rites restore.
To You, and You of all Mankind alone,
The Gods are sure reveal'd, or sure unknown:

271

Whilst in the gloomy Coverts of the Grove,
You dwell retir'd, and Religion love.

If dying Mortals' Dooms you sing aright,
No Ghosts descend to dwell in dreadful Night:
No parting Souls to grizly Pluto go,
Nor seek the dreary silent Shades below:
But forth they fly, immortal in their Kind,
And other Bodies, in new Worlds they find.
Thus Life for ever runs its endless Race,
And, like a Line, Death but divides the Space,
A Stop which can but for a Moment last,
A Point between the Future and the Past.

Thrice happy They, beneath their northern Skies,
And blest in their Mistake,—
Who that worst Fear, the Fear of Death, despise:
Hence they no Cares for this frail Being feel,
But rush, undaunted, on the pointed Steel:
Provoke approaching Fate, and bravely scorn
To spare that Life, which must so soon return.—

Rowe alt. Lucan. Lib. I.

Dying.

See Suicide. Wound.

— She strives with Pain
To lift her heavy Lids, and fainting sinks:
The Wound infix'd sounds deep beneath her Breast.
Thrice, leaning on her Arm, she feebly rais'd
Her Body: thrice roll'd back upon the Bed:
With swimming Eyes seeks the last Light of Heav'n,
And groans to find it. Then the Wife of Jove,
Pitying her tedious Pangs, and struggling Death,
Sends Iris from above, to disengage
Her agonizing Soul. For since she fell
Neither by Fate, nor by a Death deserv'd,
But dy'd unfortunate before her Time,
Transported by a sudden Passion's Rage;
As yet Proserpina her yellow Hair
Had not shorn off, nor to the Stygian Shades

273

Consign'd her. Iris then, with saffron Wings,
Dewy, and drawing from the opposing Sun
A thousand various Colours in the Sky,
Alighted swift: and hov'ring o'er her Head,
This Lock to Pluto sacred, by Command,
I bear: and from this Body set thee free.
She said, and with her Right Hand cut the Lock:
At once the vital Heat is all extinct,
And Life dissolving fleets into the Winds.—

Trap. Æn. IV.

— She dying tugs
The sticking Jav'lin: but between the Bones,
In the deep Wound, fix'd stands the pointed Steel:
All pale she sinks: her cold Eyes sink in Death:
And from her Cheeks the rosy Colour flies.
Then thus, expiring, Acca she bespeaks,
Her best lov'd Friend, and Partner of her Cares:
—My Sister Acca, now
My Life-Blood issues thro' the aking Wound,
And all Things swim in Mists before my Eyes:
Haste, and to Turnus these last Mandates bear:
Let him succeed to Battle, and repel
The Trojans from the Town. And now,—Adieu.
So saying, from her slacken'd Hand she drops
The Reins: and not spontaneous flows to Earth:
Cold, by Degrees, she sobs her Life away:
Reclines her hanging Neck, and heavy Head;
—And to the Shades below
With Indignation flies her groaning Soul.—

Id. Æn. XI.

When to the Youth his mournful Sire appears,
His dying, weak, unweildy Head he rears:
With lifted Eyes, he cast a mournful Look,
His pale Lips mov'd, and fain he would have spoke:
But unexpress'd, th' imperfect Accent hung,
Lost in his falling Jaws, and fault'ring Tongue:
Yet in his speechless Visage seems exprest,
What, had he Words, would be his last Request:
That aged Hand to seal his closing Eye,
And in his Father's fond Embrace to dye.—

Rowe. Luc. Lib. III.

275

The Wound is mortal; Art affords no Aid.
So Violets, Poppies, and soft Lillies so,
Bruise but the tender Stem on which they grow,
Instant sink down their unsupported Heads,
And bend, decaying, to their earthy Beds:
So hung his dying Looks; so, oversway'd,
His languid Neck was on his Shoulder laid.—

Theobald alter'd. Ovid. Met. Lib. X.

—A deadly Rest,
And iron Slumbers seal his heavy Eyes,
And closes them in everlasting Night.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. X.

Dido.

Camilla.

Eagle.

As when the tawny Eagle tow'ring high,
Sticks with her griping Talons in a Snake,
And snatches him aloft: He wounded writhes
His tortuous Volumes, and with stiffen'd Scales
Stares horrid: hisses loud, and in the Air
Erects his threat'ning Head: She not the less
Plies him, reluctant, with her hooky Beak;
And with her sounding Pinions beats the Sky.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. XI.

Not with more Ease the sacred Bird of Mars,
The Faulcon, from a lofty Cliff pursues
A Dove sublime in Air, and gripes her seiz'd,
And scoops her Entrails with his hooky Claws:
Torn Plumes and Blood fall mingled from the Sky.—

Id. Ibid.

In the vermilion Sky Jove's tow'ring Bird
A Flock of River Fowl with sounding Wings
Before him drove: Then, stooping to the Waves,
With his sharp Pounces snatch'd and bore aloft
A stately Swan.—

Id. Æn. Lib. XII.

When Jove's bold Bird, on some tall Cedar's Head,
Has a new Race of gen'rous Eaglets bred,
While, yet unplum'd, within the Nest they lye,
Wary she turns 'em to the Eastern Sky:
Then, if unequal to the God of Day,
Abash'd they shrink, and shun the potent Ray,
She spurns them forth, and casts them quite away:

277

But if with daring Eyes unmov'd they gaze,
Withstand the Light, and bear the golden Blaze,
Tender she broods them, with a Parent's Love,
The future Servants of her Master Jove.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. XI.

Earth.

See Golden Age. Creation.

Herbage at first, the Earth when young produc'd,
Of ev'ry Kind; and round the Hills display'd
A beauteous Verdure: then the grassy Fields
All o'er with various Flow'rs enamel'd shone.
Trees, next, their Branches shoot into the Air,
Uprising gradual, while the Roots in Earth
Extend and fix:—As Feathers first, and Hair,
On Birds and Beasts, so on the new form'd Earth,
At first, grew Herbs and Trees: by various Ways,
Brutes, and Mankind, were afterwards produc'd.—

Luc. Lib. V.

Corn, of its own Accord, and cordial Wine,
The Earth brought forth; and such delicious Fruits,
And Food, abundant, both for Man and Beast,
As now, with all our Toil, it scarce supplies.—

Luc. Lib. II.

The Earth, when new, produc'd no raging Cold,
Nor Heats, nor Storms: these grew as she grew old:
Therefore our Parent Earth deserves to bear
The Name of Mother, since all rose from her.
The Human Race, a certain Time, she bore,
And Beasts that shake the Woods with dreadful Roar,
And Birds of various Forms that wing the Air.—

Creech alter'd. Luc. Lib. V.

—The Earth
Lowest of all, and in the Center lies:
Fixt by its Place: for from it, rising higher,
Upwards the other Elements retire.
It hangs the lowest, and the midst of all,
Whence, all its Parts by falling, stop its Fall:

279

All to one common Center pressing down,
They meet, and hinder each from moving on.—

Creech. Manil. Lib. I.

Education.

See Example. Parents and Children.

Let no indecent Speech, or Action vile,
Be known within the Walls where Youth is bred:
Far, far from thence keep wanton Girls away,
And idle Parasites, that all the Night
Chant luscious Songs.—Much Reverence and Regard
To Youth is due: nor Thou his Age contemn,
But let, when Evil rises in thy Mind,
Thy Infant-Son restrain and keep Thee Good.

Dost Thou expect a Friend? Thy Servants all
Are hurried to their Tasks:—rub, rub the Floors:
Make all the Pillars shine: down, from the Walls,
Brush the dead Spiders and their Webs away.
One scours the Plate with Figures rich emboss'd,
Another what is plain: yourself, mean while,
Urge on the Work with Chiding, or with Blows.

Wretch! dost Thou fear a Dog's T---d in thy Hall,
Should turn the Stomach of thy coming Guest;
Or that thy Porch with Dirt should be defil'd;
Faults which a single Servant with a Broom
Can soon amend: and yet regardest not
To keep thy Family from Blemish free,
From Vice, or Baseness, which thy Son may see?—

Juv. Sat. XIV.

'Tis much better, in my Opinion, to keep Children in order by Shame and Generosity of Inclination than by Fear.—That Man, I conceive, is very much mistaken, who imagines Government, purely by Force, to have more Authority, and a better Foundation, than when 'tis accompanied with Tenderness and Respect. This is my Logic, and I argue thus: He that's compell'd by Threats to do his Duty, will continue wary no longer than You have an Eye over him; and when he thinks he sha'n't be found out, he'll eagerly follow his own Inclinations. But he that's governed by Love, obeys most chearfully;

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strives to make his due Returns; and is just the same whether you are present or absent. 'Tis a Father's Part to use his Child so, that his own Choice, rather than outward Constraint, may put him upon doing well. Here lies the Difference between a Father and a Master: and he that does otherwise, let him own, that he understands not at all how to govern Children.—

Eachard alter'd. Teren. Adelp.

Education Rigid.

Before the City, Boys, and blooming Youth,
With rapid Chariots exercise their Strength,
And tame their Horses in the dusty Field:
Or bend their twanging Bows, and with strong Arms
Launch the tough Jav'lin: with the Dart, and Shaft,
Contending.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. VII.

We in the Rivers plunge our new-born Babes,
And harden them in Frost, and icy Streams.
Our Boys in hunting vex the Woods, and tire
The savage Beasts: with them 'tis Children's play
To rein the Steed, and bend the twanging Bow.
But patient of Fatigue, and train'd to live
On little, with keen Shares our lusty Youth
Subdue the Soil, or batter Towns with War.
In Iron ev'ry Stage of Life we pass,
And goad our Oxen with inverted Spears.
Nor does the Clog of tardy Age abate
The Vigour of our Minds, or damp our Fire.
With Helmets ev'n our hoary Hair we press,
And evermore delight to bear away
Fresh daily Plunder, and by Rapine live.—

Idem. Æn. Lib. IX.

Let the bold Boy, my Friends, be train'd to bear
The Wants and rough Severities of War;
By vig'rous Exercise improve his Force,
And learn the manly Manage of his Horse:
Then let him Charge the Parthians with his Spear,
And make their rugged Troops his Presence fear.
Still be his Lodging on the naked Ground,
And there his Business where most Danger's found.—

Hor. Lib. III. Ode 2.

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Effeminacy.

See Sloth.

You, clad in shining Purple, and in Vests
With long luxuriant Sleeves, indulge your Sloth:
Dances are your Delight, and broider'd Robes:
And Ribbons bind your Bonnets to your Chin.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. IX.

Alcinous' idle Youth, whose sole Design
Aim'd at soft Blandishments, and dressing fine,
At Ease, indulg'd, and slept out half the Day,
And lull'd their Cares with Dancing, Songs, and Play.—

Creech alter'd. Hor. Lib. I. Ep. 2.

What will not Others do, when Thou so thin
Art clad, that thro' the Silk we see thy Skin?
How stare the People such a Judge to see,
But more to hear thee rail at Harlotry?
—Fabulla is, you say
A Whore;—I own it:—so's Carfinia:
Rank Prostitutes! therefore without Remorse,
Punish the Strumpets: give the Law it's Course:
But when on them You've pass'd your Sentence, know,
They'd blush to be so loosely drest as You.
You say the Dog-Star reigns, whose sultry Fire
Melts You to Death, e'en in that light Attire:
Go naked then, 'twere better to be mad,
(Which has a Privilege) than so lewdly clad.
How would our Mountain Sires return'd from Plow,
Or Battle, such a silken Judge allow?—

Dryden alter'd. Juv. Sat. II.

Elements.

See Change. Creation.

The Force of Fire ascended first on high,
And void of Weight, blaz'd from the vaulted Sky:
Air, next in Levity, and next in Place,
Sunk lower down, and fill'd the midmost Space:
The Earth, of closer and compacter State,
Fell, self-incumber'd with it's native Weight,

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Attracting all that's gross:—and flowing round
The Water last took Place, and Earth's firm Circuit bound.—

Sewell alter'd. Ovid. Met. Lib. I.

For this eternal World is said, of old,
But four prolific Principles to hold:
Of these, two by their native Weight descend,
Water and Earth: these ever downwards tend:
An equal Number, uncompell'd, aspire,
Devoid of Weight; pure Air, and purer Fire.
All Things are mix'd of These, which all contain,
And into these are all resolv'd again.—

Sewell alter'd. Ovid. Met. Lib. XV.

Upwards the Fire on active Pinions fled,
To Heav'n's high Arch it rais'd it's shining Head,
There took it's Place, and circling round the Frame,
For Nature's Bulwark roll'd a Wall of Flame.
Then liquid Air, spread thro' the empty Space,
Less light and active took the second Place:
But next the Flame the lightest Parts aspire,
To waste themselves, and feed the greedy Fire.
The heavier Water makes an humbler Claim,
And lies, the third in order, in the Frame;
That Vapours, rising, may like Seed, repair
What Fire destroys, and feed decaying Air.
Earth to the Center by it's Weight sinks down.—

Creech alter'd. Manil. Lib. I.

Eloquence.

As when Sedition oft in populous Towns
Is rais'd, and fierce th' ignoble Vulgar rave:
Now Stones, and Firebrands fly: Rage Arms supplies:
If then by chance they 'spy a Sage, rever'd
For Piety and Worth, All silent stand,
List'ning with Ears attentive: with his Words
He rules their Passion, and their Heat allays.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. I.

Now from his Seat arose Laërtes' Son;
Look'd down a while, and paus'd e'er he begun:
Then to th' expecting Princes rais'd his Look,
And not without prepar'd Attention spoke.

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Soft was his Tone and sober was his Face,
Action his Words, and Words his Action grace.—

Dryd. Ovid. Met. Lib. XIII.

Learn Eloquence, You noble Youth of Rome:
It will not only at the Bar o'ercome,
The wond'ring People, and the Senate move,
But Eloquence will gain the Maid you love.—

Dryden alter'd. Ovid. Art. Aman. Lib. I.

The fam'd Ulysses was nor Fair, nor Young,
But eloquent, and charming was his Tongue:
And yet for him contending Beauties strove,
And ev'ry Sea-Nymph sought the Hero's Love.
Ah! how Calypso griev'd, when from her Shores
He thought to sail, and stopp'd his hasty Oars!
Oft she enquir'd of ruin'd Ilium's Fate,
And made him oft the wondrous Tale relate:
Which with such Grace his florid Tongue could frame,
The Story still was new, tho' still the same.—

Dryd. alter'd. Ovid. de Art. Lib. II.

Elysian-Fields.

See Hell.

—To the Realms of Joy
At length They come, and to the blissful Greens,
Fortunate Groves, and Mansions of the Blest.
An Æther more enlarg'd here cloaths the Fields
With purple Light: and their own proper Sun
And proper Stars they know. On grassy Meads
Some wrestling exercise their Limbs, contend
In Sport, and struggle on the yellow Sand.
Others in Dances artful Measures beat
And Verse recite.—

—With wonder they behold
Their Arms, and empty Chariots on the Plain
At distance rang'd: their Spears stand fix'd in Earth:
And loose o'er all the Field their Horses feed.
The same Delight in Chariots, and in Arms,
And shining Steeds, which living they conceiv'd,
Pursues them still beneath the Earth repos'd.

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Others, on either Hand, he sees reclin'd,
Feasting, along the Grass, and Pæans sweet
Singing in Chorus, in the fragrant Grove
Of Lawrel: whence, descending thro' the Wood,
Eridanus abundant rolls his Waves.

Here, those who for their Country Wounds endur'd
In War: and Priests whose Life was chast and pure:
And pious Poets, who recited Things
Worthy of Phœbus: those who polish'd Life
With Arts invented: or consign'd their Names
To Memory, by well deserving Deeds.
Their Heads are all with snow white Fillets wreath'd.

In no fix'd Place the happy Souls reside:
In Groves we live, and lie on mossy Beds,
By christal Streams that murmur thro' the Meads.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. VI.

Æneas and the Sybil.

Between thick baleful Yews, the steep dark Way
To Hell's dire Realms, thro' dismal Silence lay:
There Stygian Mists infect the Road; and there
New Ghosts, of Bodies just entomb'd, appear.
Paleness and Cold surround the loathsome Place,
And new come Spirits, with a mournful Pace,
The Way to Hell's chief Seat, which yet they know not, trace.
A thousand Avenues, a thousand Gates,
Th' insatiable Metropolis dilates:
And as the Ocean's spacious Womb receives
All Streams, yet room for coming Waters leaves;
So, that devouring Place, all Ghosts retains,
Yet never fills, or of the Crowd complains.
There the pale Ghosts, unbodied, loosely roam:
Some haunt the Pleas, their Tyrant's Palace some:
Others, for their Amusement, imitate
The past Employments of their mortal State:—
The rest are tortur'd for their former Crimes.—

Philips alt.

Thrice roars, at once, three-headed Cerberus:
Th' avenging Furies, Daughters of old Night,
Implacable, and hating all Delight,
Before the adamantine Entrance sit,
Comb out their hissing Snakes, their tangl'd Curls unknit.—

Ovid, Met. Lib. IV.

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Here Ghosts of Nations numberless repair:
Pass the dark Way, and glide along the Gloom.
One Habitation here does all receive.
A Space prodigious in the midst extends:
Hither, whatever Earth, or Sea, or Air,
From the first forming of the fruitful World,
Has bred and nourish'd, Death all-destroying, drives.
All, all descend: the unproductive Plains
Receive whate'er has dy'd, whate'er shall die.

Ten Gates around these Regions open wide
Their ample Portals: To the first resort
Those doom'd, by rigid Fate, to fall in War.
The next receives such as have Laws compil'd,
The Rights of Nations fix'd, and with strong Walls
Made Cities safe. Thro' the third Portal pass
The Countrymen, Ceres' most honest Tribe,
Of all the num'rous Ghosts that hither come
The most Upright, untainted with Deceit.
Who useful Arts invent, or find out means
To polish Life, or Verses to the God
Inspiring Phœbus, not unworthy, sing,
The fourth fair Gate admits. Those whom the Winds
And cruel Storms have wreck'd, an Entrance find
Thro' what stands next, thence call'd the Shipwreck-Gate.
Near this, there opens wide a Passage vast,
For all the Wicked who confess their Crimes.
Here Rhadamanthus, when they first arrive,
The guilty Ghosts condemns to endless Woe,
To be for ever dying, never dead.

The female World crouds thro' the seventh Gate,
Near which chast Proserpine's aspiring Groves
Project an horrid Shade. Hence lies the Way
Where Troops of Infants pass, and spotless Maids
Whose nuptial Beds were turn'd to Funerals,
And Crowds expiring e'er they saw the Light;
A Gate well known for Children's feeble Cries.
Distant from hence, and glitt'ring thro' the Gloom,
Appear the shining Doors, whence lies the Way,

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Shady, and private, to th' Elysian Fields.
Here dwell the Righteous: not in Hell's dark Realm,
Nor where the Sun's superior Light is seen,
But beyond Ocean's Bounds, where they contend
Who first shall reach slow Lethe's sacred Stream,
And drink Forgetfulness. The outmost Gate
Bright glows with Gold: and here the Beam of Day
Is just perceiv'd, like the Moon's feeble Shine.
The Passage this by which the Souls ascend
To Day again, and in new Bodies live,
After five thousand Years: forgetful quite
Of all that pass'd in Pluto's dreary Realms.
Grim Death, thro' all these Ways, with horrid Grin,
Stalks to and fro, and passes ev'ry Gate.—

Sil. Ital. Lib. XIII.

But me, since Love was still my tender Vow,
Venus shall lead to happy Meads below:
There Songs perpetual charm the list'ning Ear,
Whilst all the feather'd Wand'rers of the Air,
To join the Sound, their warbling Throats prepare.
Cassia from ev'ry Hedge unbidden breathes,
And to the Gales it's fragrant Sweets bequeaths:
The bounteous Earth it's purple Product yields,
And od'rous Roses paint the blushing Fields.
There Trains of blooming Youths, and tender Maids
Sport on the Green, and wanton in the Shades;
While busy Love attends them all the Way,
Joins in the Conflict, and provokes the Fray.
There ev'ry One by hasty Death betray'd,
The faithful Lover, and the constant Maid,
Above the rest distinguish'd, all repair,
And bind with Myrtle Wreaths their flowing Hair.—

Dart. Tibul. Lib. I. El. 3.

Embrace.

She said: and round him threw her snowy Arms,
And warm'd him, wav'ring, with a soft Embrace:
He soon receives the wonted Flame, which flies

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Swift thro' his Marrow, and his melting Bones:
As when in Thunder, lanc'd along the Sky,
A Streak of Fire runs streaming thro' the Clouds.
Pleas'd with her Wiles, and conscious of her Charms,
She silently perceives it: And involv'd
In Love's eternal Bond the God replies.
Whatever by my Art can be perform'd,
I promise: Spare Intreaties, nor distrust
Your Int'rest in my Soul. This said, He gave
The wish'd Embrace, and sunk to pleasing Rest.—

Trap. Æn. VIII.

—See! wide-display'd,
A grateful Poplar courts us with its Shade.
The grassy Turf, beneath, so verdant shows,
Let us thereon delightfully repose:
With her Adonis here be Venus bless'd:
And swift at once the Grass and him she press'd.
Then sweetly smiling, with a raptur'd Mind,
On his lov'd Bosom she her Head reclin'd,
And thus began:—but mindful still of Bliss,
Seal'd the soft Accents with a softer Kiss.—

Dryden. Ovid. Met. Lib. X.

Venus.

Vulcan.

Embroidery.

With rich Embroidery, the curious Maid,
Her native Heav'n, and th' Elements display'd:
How parent Nature hush'd the ancient Wars
Of huddled Chaos, and its inbred Jars:
Sever'd the Seeds: and suiting to their Kind,
To proper Places all the Parts assign'd.
Sublimely born, the Light ascend on high:
The Heavier sink, and in the middle lye:
The Sky is lighted up: the Planets roll:
And active Flame informs the rapid Pole:
And flow the Seas, and pour their Waves along:
And Earth suspended on her Ballance hung.
In various Colours she express'd the Whole:
With Gold the Stars are kindl'd: purple roll
The washing Billows: and bright Gems display
An imitated Shore, to bound the seeming Sea.

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The mimic Waves, so curious is her Skill,
Deceive the Sight, and really seem to swell.
The gath'ring Ooze the slimy Rock besmears,
And working, in a Foam, the Main appears,
Dashing upon the Sands, and murm'ring to the Ears.
The World's five Zones she adds: the torrid One
Glows with the Fervor of th' incessant Sun.
The habitable Two, a milder Sky
Does with more gentle Heat and calmer Beams supply.
At both the Poles eternal Winter reigns,
And bitter Frost the bleaky Robe constrains,
Shiv'ring to Sight, and bound with icy Chains.—

Hughes alter'd. Claud. Rapt. Pros. Lib. I.

Enchantress.

See Circe. Magic Power.

She undertakes with Charms to disengage
Whom e'er she pleases, Others to involve
In restless Cares: makes rapid Streams stand still,
And backwards turns the Stars: from Hell she calls
Nocturnal Ghosts: the Ground, you'll see, will groan
Beneath her Feet, and Oaks from Hills descend.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. IV.

—Now with her Tresses loose,
The Priestess thunders o'er three hundred Gods,
Erebus, Chaos, three shap'd Hecate,
Virgin Diana's triple Form. The Place
With fancy'd Waters of Avernus' Fount
She sprinkles. Herbs are brought by Moonlight mow'd
With brazen Scythes, big, swoln with milky Juice
Of noxious Poyson: and the fleshy Knot
Torn from the Forehead of a new-foal'd Colt
To rob the Mother's Love.—

Id. Ibid.

Three Nights were only wanting to compleat
The Time when Luna's bending Horns should meet:
When, at the full, in all her Lustre bright,
She shone on Earth, a solid Globe of Light.
Medea leaves the Court, all loosely drest,
Naked her Feet, her Hair a-down her Breast:

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Thro' the dead Silence of the Night she strays,
Alone, in desart unfrequented Ways.

Men, Beasts, and Birds were wrapp'd in gentle Sleep,
No Murmurs thro' the peaceful Hedges sweep:
No Air the Leaves, no Sounds disturb the Air:
Stars only glitter in the silent Sphere.
To them she lifts her Hands with awful View;
Thrice turns, thrice sprinkles o'er her Hair with Dew:
Thrice fills the trembling Air with yelling Sound:
Then, bending, kneels upon the naked Ground.

O, Night! thou Friend to Secrecy, she cries;
Ye Stars, that nightly with the Moon arise!
Thou! triple Hecate! conscious of my Thought,
By whom the Wonders of my Skill are wrought:
Ye Charms, and magic Arts! Thou friendly Earth!
Whose Bosom gives our pow'rful Simples Birth:
Ye Mountains! Fields! Ye Winds! Thou Mother Air!
Ye murm'ring Springs! Ye Lakes and Rivers! hear:—
Ye Gods of Woods! and Gods of Night, appear.
By You I Rivers to their Fountains force;
While the Banks wonder at their backward Course:
Purge off the Clouds, the Skies with Clouds deform:
Storms turn to Calms, and make a Calm a Storm:
Raise high the Winds, again to Silence awe:
And split, with mystic Spells, the Viper's Jaw.
I cleave the Rocks, the knotted Oaks I break,
Remove the Forests, and the Mountains shake:
Force Earth to groan thro' all her hollow Caves,
And wake the slumb'ring Ghosts in silent Graves:
Thee too, O Luna! from thy Sphere I call,
Tho' Brass relieves Thee, and obstructs thy Fall.
Now I need Juices which can turn back Time,
Make Age reflourish with a youthful Prime,
Vig'rous and strong:—And I my Wish shall gain,
For sure those Stars now twinkle not in vain:
Nor hither now in vain these Dragons fly
With the wing'd Car;—
Just then the Car descended from the Sky.

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Nimbly she mounts, and strokes the Dragons' Mains,
And o'er their Necks she shakes the airy Reins.
Aloft they soar; beneath her she espies
Thessalian Tempe; thence for Crete she hies.
For Herbs she seeks on Pelion's lofty Head,
And those that Ossa, and that Othrys bred,
The Growth of Pindus, and Olympus' Fruits:
Some she approves, and gathers by the Roots:
And other Plants her brazen Sickle mows.—

Nine Days and Nights had now her Chariot seen,
Searching each ranker Mead, and flow'ry Green:
She then return'd:—nor Food her Dragons knew,
But the strong Scents which from her Simples flew:
Yet their old Skins fell off, and Youth return'd a-new.
Arriv'd, without the Palace-Gate she lies,
Her bare Head cover'd only by the Skies,
And the polluting Touch of Man denies.

Now she two Altars rais'd of equal Height,
To Youth the left, to Hecate the right:
With Vervain and green Herbage these she crown'd,
And dug two Trenches near them on the Ground.
Then stuck the black fleec'd Rams, that ready stood,
And drench'd the Trenches with devoted Blood.
Vessels of smoaking Milk, and Wine she pours,
And mutters Charms to the terrestrial Pow'rs.
To Pluto King of Ghosts she next apply'd,
And gentle Proserpine his ravish'd Bride:
That, for old Æson, with the Laws of Fate
They would dispense, and lengthen out his Date.
These with repeated Pray'rs she long assails,
And by her magic Skill at last prevails:
Then calls to have decrepid Æson brought,
And stupifies him with a sleeping Draught:
On Earth his Body like a Corpse extends:
Then charges Jason, and his waiting Friends,
To quit the Place; that no unhallow'd Eye
Into her Art's forbidden Secrets pry.—
They go.—Medea with her Hair unbound,
About her Altars trips a frantic Round,

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In Pieces splits the consecrated Wood,
And dips them in the Trenches drench'd with Blood,
Then on the Altars burns: The sleeping Sire
She lustrates thrice with Water, Sulphur, Fire.

Now in the Cauldron boils the grand Receipt,
And works, and foams, and whitens with the Heat:
She adds what e'er Hæmonia's Vales produce,
Roots, Juices, Flowers, and Seeds of sov'reign Use,
And Gems in India's utmost Bounds refin'd,
And Stones, that Seas retiring, left behind,
And Dews, collected at the Noon of Night,
When the Moon shines, in her full Glory, bright.
To these she puts the Carcass rank and foul,
And Wings, ill-boding, of the screaming Owl:
The Bowels of a Wolf, the Sort that can
Assume or quit the Features of a Man:
The scaly Skins of small Cyniphean Snakes,
The Liver of a long-liv'd Hart she takes;
And, last, a Crow's old Beak, and hoary Head,
On which nine Ages had their Winters shed.

All these were mixt by the Barbarian Dame,
These, and a thousand more without a Name,
But for her Purpose fit.—The Med'cine now
She mingles with a wither'd Olive Bough:
When, lo! the Bough all dry so lately seen,
Stirr'd in the pow'rful Cauldron turns to Green:
Then by Degrees the leafy Branches shoot,
And soon stand loaded with a Weight of Fruit.
Then too, where e'er the Froth was scatter'd round,
And the warm Mixture had be-dropp'd the Ground,
Sudden to Sight a springing Herbage grew,
And vernal Flowers in various Colours blew.
This when Medea saw, her Blade divides
Old Æson's Throat; the frigid Blood scarce glides.
His empty'd Vessels, instant she recruits,
With the warm Juices of her magic Fruits:
While at his Mouth, and thro' his op'ning Wound,
A double Inlet her Infusion found:

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His Hair and Beard the hoary Whiteness leaves;
A glossy Blackness each at once receives.
Paleness and Wrinkles from his Features fled,
And in their Stead succeeds a youthful Red:
Now a full Tide of Blood his Veins supplies,
His Limbs grow lusty, and his Muscles rise.—

Ov. Met. Lib. VII.

Medea, the Enchantress, at the Intreaty of her Husband Jason, by the Force of her Magic Power, restores Youth and Vigour to his Father Æson, who was then very old and feeble.

Admiring Æson now himself surveys,
And to his Mind recalling former Days,
Gay, strong, and active to himself appears,
As e'er he counted his last forty Years.—

Gay and Sewell alt.

There I Canidia saw, her Feet were bare,
Tuck'd up her sable Robe, and loose her Hair:
With her fierce Sagana went stalking round;
Their hideous Howling shook the trembling Ground.
A Paleness (casting Horror round the Place)
Sat, dead and terrible, on either's Face.
Themselves at Length upon the Earth they cast,
And dug it with their Nails in frantic Haste:
Then with their Teeth a Coal-black Lamb they tore,
And in the Pit pour'd out the reeking Gore.
By this they forc'd the tortur'd Ghosts from Hell,
And Answers to their wild Demands compel.
Of Wool and Wax they made two Images,
Which the bewitch'd and Witch's Forms express,
Of Wool the Greater to torment the Less.
The Wax was to be whipp'd, and seem'd to bow,
And cringing stood, as if it fear'd the Blow.
On Hecate aloud this Beldam calls,
Tisiphone as loud the other bawls:—
A thousand Serpents hiss upon the Ground,
And Hell-hounds compass all the Garden round.
Behind the Tombs, to shun this horrid Sight,
The Moon skulk'd down.—

Stafford alter'd. Hor. Lib. I. Sat. 8.

From Towns and hospitable Roofs she flies,
And ev'ry Dwelling of Mankind defies:
Thro' unfrequented Desarts lonely roams,
Drives out the Dead, and dwells within their Tombs.

307

Grateful to Hell, the living Hag descends,
And sits in black Assemblies of the Fiends:
Spight of all Laws, which Heaven, or Nature know,
The Rule of Gods above, or Man below.
Dark matted Eft-locks dangling on her Brow,
Filthy, and foul, a loathsome Burden grow:
Meager, and ghastly pale, her Face is seen,
Unknown to cheerful Day, and Skies serene:
But when the Stars are veil'd, when Storms arise,
And the blue forky Flame at Midnight flies,
Then, forth from Graves, she takes her wicked Way,
And thwarts the glancing Light'nings as they play.
Where e'er she breathes, blue Poysons round her spread,
The with'ring Grass avows her fatal Tread,
And drooping Ceres hangs her blasted Head.
Nor holy Rites, nor suppliant Pray'r she knows,
Nor seeks the Gods with Sacrifice, or Vows:
Whate'er she offers is the Spoil of Urns,
And fun'ral Fire upon her Altars burns:
Nor need she send a second Voice on high;
Scar'd at the first, the trembling Gods comply.—

Oft in the Grave, the living has she laid,
And bid reviving Bodies leave the Dead:
Oft at the fun'ral Pile she seeks her Prey,
And bears the smoking Ashes warm away:
Snatches some burning Bone, or flaming Brand,
And tares the Torch from the sad Father's Hand:
Seizes the Shroud's loose Fragments as they fly,
And picks the Coal where clammy Juices fry.
But, if preserv'd in Monuments of Stone,
She finds a Coarse whose vital Moisture's gone:
Then, greedily on every Part she flies,
Strips the dry Nails, and digs the goary Eyes.
Her Teeth from Gibbets gnaw the strangling Noose,
And from the Cross dead Murderers unloose:
The perish'd Entrails, pierc'd with soaking Showers,
The horrid Hag rapaciously devours;
And the parch'd Marrow, which the sultry Sun,
With fervid Rays, has stiffen'd in the Bone.

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From Malefactors on the Tree, she steals
The putrid Limbs, and crucifying Nails:
The ropy Matter drops upon her Tongue,
With cordy Sinews oft her Jaws are strung,
And by her Teeth the Witch has often hung.

Where on the Ground the murder'd Carcass lies,
Thither, preventing Birds and Beasts, she hies:
Yet, not with Hands or Knife the Flesh divides,
Till the Wolves Fangs have rent the mangled Sides:
But, when in full Possession of their Prey,
She from their Jaws the Carcass rends away.
Nor ever yet Remorse could stop her Hand,
When human Gore her hellish Rites demand;
From the cut Throat the vital Tide she drains,
The panting Bowels takes, and empties all the Veins.
Not in the Way ordain'd by Nature's Laws,
But thro' a grisly Wound she wretch'd Infants draws;
Reeking, upon her Altars these are laid,
Or, if her Purpose asks a bolder Shade,
By her keen Knife, the Ghost she wants, is made.

When blooming Youths in early Manhood die,
She stands a terrible Attendant by:
The downy Growth from off their Cheeks she tares,
Or cuts, left handed, some selected Hairs.
Oft, when in Death her gasping Kindred lay,
Some pious Office would she feign to pay;
Stretch'd on the struggling Limbs, with dire Embrace,
She'd churn the Cheeks, and grind the ruin'd Face:
Eat off the Tongue, to the dry Palate bound,
And thro' the livid Lips, with stifled Sound,
Mutter dire Orders to the Shades profound.

Her Art now doubling Night's surrounding Shade,
Black Clouds and murky Fogs involve her Head,
While o'er th' unbury'd Heaps her Footsteps tread.

311

Wolves howl'd, and fled, where'er she took her Way,
And hungry Vultures left their mangled Prey:
The Savage Race, abash'd, before her yield,
And, while she culls her Prophet, quit the Field.
To various Carcasses by turns she flies,
And, griping with her gory Fingers, tries:
Till one of perfect Organs can be found,
And fibrous Lungs, uninjur'd by a Wound.

Her Choice she fix'd; then, void of Pity, struck,
In thro' the bleeding Throat, a brazen Hook:
To that a Rope she ty'd, and by the Thong,
O'er rugged Rocks she haul'd the Corps along.

And, now, she for the solemn Task prepares,
A Mantle, patch'd with various Shreds, she wears,
And binds, with twining Snakes, her wilder Hairs.
Then, thro' a fresh Incision at the Breast,
Hot Blood she pours, to circulate the rest.
Wipes off the Gore, the frozen Bosom warms,
And with strong Lunar Dews confirms her Charms.
Her gabling Tongue a mutt'ring Tone confounds,
Discordant, and unlike to human Sounds:
It seem'd, of Dogs the Bark, of Wolves the Howl,
The doleful Shrieking of the midnight Owl:
The Hiss of Snakes, the hungry Lion's Roar,
The Bound of Billows beating on the Shore:
The Groan of Winds amongst the leafy Wood,
And Burst of Thunder from the rending Cloud:
'Twas these, all these in one.—

Foaming she spoke: then rear'd her hateful Head,
And hard at hand beheld th' attending Shade.
Too well the trembling Sprite the Carcass knew,
And fear'd to enter into Life a new:
Fain from those mangled Limbs it would have run,
And, loathing, strove that House of Pain to shun.
Wroth was the Hag at lingring Death's Delay,
And wonder'd Hell could dare to disobey:
With curling Snakes, the senseless Trunk she beats,
And Curses dire, at ev'ry Lash, repeats:

313

With magic Numbers cleaves the groaning Ground,
And makes Hell's Caverns with her Voice resound.

Ye Fiends! she cries, Ye Sisters of Despair!
Thus?—Is it thus my Will becomes your Care?
Still sleep those Whips within your idle Hands,
Nor drive the loit'ring Ghost this Voice demands?—

And now the Blood, dissolving in the Veins,
Feeds the black Wounds, and thro' the Body strains:
The vital Vessels feel the running Heat,
And in the Breast the trembling Fibres beat:
New Life return'd, but 'twas not perfect Life,
For Death as yet maintain'd the equal Strife:
But strait the Nerves are stretch'd, the Muscles swell,
And every Pulse distends it's narrow Cell.
Then rose, erect, the Body from the Ground,
Not by Degrees, but with a sudden Bound.
The haggard Eyes forgotten Day behold,
And heavily within their Sockets roll'd:
But hardly half alive appears the Man,
Stiff are the Members, and the Visage wan:
Amaz'd, and mute, the ghastly Figure stands,
Nor knows to speak, but at her dread Commands.—

Rowe. Hughes alter'd. Lucan. Lib. VI.

Erichtho, the Thessalian Sorceress.

Sextus the Son of Pompey, enquiring the Event of the Civil War of the Sorceress Erichtho, she by her Magic Art raised up a dead Body to answer his Demands.

End. Purpose of Life.

Hast Thou not yet propos'd some certain End,
To which thy Life, thy ev'ry Act may tend?
Hast Thou no Mark, at which to bend thy Bow?
Or like a Boy pursu'st the Carrion Crow
With Pellets, or with Stones, from Tree to Tree,
A fruitless Toil, and liv'st Extempore.—

Dryden. Pers. Sat. III.

What aim'st Thou at, and whither tends thy Care?
In what thy utmost Good?—Delicious Fare:
And then to sun thy self in open Air.—
Hold, hold: are all thy empty Wishes such?
A good old Woman would have said as much.—

Id. Pers. Sat. IV.

315

Envy.

She sought out Envy in her dark Abode,
Defil'd with ropy Gore and Clots of Blood:
Shut from the Winds, and from the wholsome Skies,
In a deep Vale the gloomy Dungeon lies,
Dismal and cold, where not a Beam of Light
Invades the Winter, or disturbs the Night.

A poisonous Morsel in her Teeth she chew'd,
And gorg'd the Flesh of Vipers for her Food.
Minerva, loathing, turn'd away her Eye:
The hideous Monster, rising heavily,
Came stalking forwards, with a sullen Pace,
And left her mangled Offals on the Place.

Soon as she saw the Goddess gay and bright,
She fetch'd a Groan at such a chearful Sight.
Livid and meager were her Looks, her Eye
In foul distorted Glances turn'd awry:
A Hoard of Gall her inward Parts possess'd,
And spread a Greenness o'er her canker'd Breast:
Her Teeth were brown with Rust: and from her Tongue,
In dangling Drops, the stringy Poison hung.

She never smiles, but when the Wretched weep,
Nor lulls her Malice with a Moment's Sleep:
Restless in Spite! while, watchful to destroy,
She pines and sickens at another's Joy:
Foe to herself, distressing and distress'd,
She bears her own Tormentor in her Breast.

She takes her Staff hung round with Wreaths of Thorn,
And sails along, in a black Whirlwind born,
O'er Fields and flow'ry Meadows; where she steers
Her baneful Course a mighty Blast appears,
Mildews, and Blights: the Meadows are defac'd,
The Fields, the Flow'rs, and the whole Year laid Waste.
On Mortals next, and peopled Towns she falls,
And breathes a burning Plague among their Walls.

317

When Athens she beheld, for Arts renown'd,
With Peace made happy, and with Plenty crown'd:
Scarce could the hideous Fiend from Tears forbear,
To find out Nothing that deserv'd a Tear.—

Addison.

She stroak'd the Virgin with her canker'd Hand,
Then prickly Thorns into her Breast convey'd,
That stung to Madness the devoted Maid:
Her subtle Venom still improves the Smart,
Frets in the Blood, and festers in the Heart.

To make the Work more sure, a Scene she drew,
And plac'd before the dreaming Virgin's View
Her Sister's Marriage, and her glorious Fate:
Th' imaginary Bride appears in State:
The Bridegroom with unwonted Beauty glows:
For Envy magnifies whate'er she shows.
Full of the Dream Aglauros pin'd away
In Tears all Night, in Darkness all the Day:
Consum'd like Ice, that just begins to run,
When feebly smitten by the distant Sun:
Or like unwholesome Weeds, that set on Fire
Are slowly wasted, and in Smoke expire.
Giv'n up to Envy (for in ev'ry Thought
The Thorns, the Venom, and the Vision wrought,)
Oft did she call on Death—

Addison. Ovid. Met. Lib. II.

—The meager Envious rise,
And look on others Wealth with troubled Eyes:
Griev'd to the Soul, they inwardly repine,
That some with Pow'r, and some with Honour shine:
While they are mean, and low, and without Fame:
And even die for Statues and a Name.—

Creech. Lucret. Lib. III.

Envy thou cursed Plague of Humankind!
To whom another's Happiness, or Praise,
Is Pain insufferable!—

Sil. Ital. Lib. XVI.

Equinoctial-Line.

Bright Phœbus, here, to neither Pole declines,
But from his Zenith vertically shines:

319

Hence, ev'n the Trees no friendly shelter yield,
Scarce their own Trunks the leafy Branches shield;
The Rays descend direct, all round embrace,
And almost to a Point the Shadow chace.
Here equally the middle Line is found,
To cut the radiant Zodiac in it's Round:
Here unoblique the Bull and Scorpion rise,
Nor mount too swift, nor leave too soon the Skies:
Nor Libra does too long the Ram attend,
Nor bids the Maid the fishy Sign descend.
The Twins and Centaur justly Time divide,
And equally their several Seasons guide:
Alike the Crab and wintry Goat return,
Alike the Lion and the flowing Urn.
Here slow Bootes, with his lazy Wain,
Descending, seems to reach the watry Main.
Of all the Lights which high above they see,
No Star whate'er from Neptune's Waves is free,
The whirling Axle drives 'em round, and plunges in the Sea.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. IX.

Equinox.

When Libra weighs the Hours in equal Scales,
Nor Day on Night, nor Night on Day prevails:
For Work, and Rest, when equal Times are made,
The World enjoying equal Light and Shade.—

Anon. Virg. Geor. Lib. I.

But when the genial Heat began to shine,
With stronger Beams in Aries' vernal Sign,
Again the golden Day resum'd it's Right,
And rul'd in just Equation with the Night.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. IV.

The Sun, returning, in his yearly Race,
To Cancer's Sign, meets Aries midst the Space,
Seated between the Point from whence he bends
His upward Course, and that in which he ends.
There plac'd as Umpire in the middle Way,
O'er all the Globe he equals Night and Day.

321

Oppos'd to Aries, Libra's Stars appear,
With the like Power to sway the rolling Year:
It equals Day and Night.—

Creech. Manil. Lib. III.

Evening.

And now the Village Tops at distance smoke,
And longer Shades from lofty Mountains fall.—

Trap. Virg. Ecl. I.

Behold the Oxen homewards draw the Plough,
Less lab'ring with it's Weight: and now the Sun,
Retiring, doubles the increasing Shades.—

Id. Virg. Ecl. II.

At the Sun's Setting, Vesper's cooling Breeze
Allays the Fervor of the sultry Air:
And now the Groves are by the dewy Moon
Refresh'd: the Shores Halcyone resound:
And the sweet Goldfinch warbles thro' the Brakes.—

Trap. alter'd. Virg. Georg. Lib. III.

The Labour of the Day now near an End,
From steep Olympus Phœbus' Steeds descend.—

Sewell. Ovid. Met. Lib. VI.

Half hid in Seas descending Phœbus lay,
And upwards half, half downwards shot the Day.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. VIII.

Bright Sol had now his Journey almost done,
And to the western Ocean downward run.—

Ovid. Met. Lib. XI.

Now o'er the Skies is spread that doubtful Light,
Which cannot Day be call'd, nor is it Night.

Ov. Met. IV.

Now headlong to the West the Sun was fled,
And half in Seas obscur'd his beamy Head:
Such seems the Moon, while, growing yet, she shines,
Or waining, from her fuller Orb declines.—

Id. Lucan. Lib. III.

'Twas at that Season when the fainting Light,
Just in the Evening's close, brought on the Night.—

Lucan. Lib. IV.

Example.

See Education.

Fuscinus , those ill Deeds that sully Fame,
And lay such Blots upon an honest Name:
In Blood once tainted, like a Current run,
From the lewd Father, to the lewder Son.

323

If Gaming does an aged Sire entice,
Then my young Master quickly learns the Vice,
And shakes, in Hanging-Sleeves, the little Box and Dice.
Thus, the voluptuous Youth, bred up to dress,
For his fat Gransire, some delicious Mess:
In feeding high his Tutor will surpass,
As Heir-apparent of the Gourmand Race.
And, should a thousand grave Philosophers
Be always hollowing Temp'rance in his Ears,
They would at last their Loss of Time lament,
And give him o'er, as Glutton by Descent.

Can cruel Rutilus, who loves the Noise
Of Whips far better than a Syren's Voice,
Set up to teach Humanity, and give
By such Example, Rules for Us to live?
Can he preach up Equality of Birth,
And tell Us how we all began from Earth?
Can he a Son to soft Remorse incite,
Whom Goals, and Chains, and Punishments delight?

Who would expect the Daughter should be other
Than common Punk, if Larga be the Mother?
Whose Lovers Names in order to run o'er,
The Girl took Breath full thirty times, and more:
She, when but yet a tender Minx, began
To hold the Door, but now sets up for Man:
And to her Gallants, in her own Hand-writing,
Sends Billets-douxs of the old Bawd's Inditing.
So Nature prompts: so soon we go astray,
When old Experience puts Us in the Way:
Our green Youth copies what grey Sinners act,
When venerable Age commends the Fact.—

Dryden jun. alter'd. Juv. Sat. XIV.

My honour'd Father did his Precepts use
By Force of strong Example to infuse:
'Twas so he labour'd to direct my Will,
Point me to Good, or turn me back from Ill.
When studious to inculcate frugal Care,
And make me happy with what ever Share

325

Of Riches he should leave: Observe, said He,
How wretched Albus' Son and Barus be:
Young Heirs, to squander their Estates inclin'd,
In their sad Fate may good Instruction find.
When to deter me from the shameful Love
Of vile seducing Prostitutes he strove,
Beware, he'd cry: nor like Sectanus prove.
That after Others Wives I should not stray,
Nor follow Women in a lawless Way:
Thereby, quoth he, Trebonius is undone;
Caught in the Fact, his Reputation's gone.

—Thus he
Did in my Non-age wisely tutor me.
When he propos'd a Duty to be done,
Thou hast, he'd cry, a fair Example, Son,
Before thine Eyes, for doing of the same:
And then some Great and Worthy Man he'd Name.
But, if a Vice he caution'd me to fly,
A Man, says he, may see with half an Eye;
This Action, which Thou'rt now about to do,
Is against Honesty, and Int'rest too:
For the same Thing, there's such and such a One,
With Infamy is branded thro' the Town.—

Hor. Lib. I. Sat. 4.

True Toil and Virtue learn, dear Youth, from Me:
Fortune from Others.—
Be Thou industrious, when mature of Age,
To fix these great Examples in thy Mind,
And them revolving, copy out thy Sire
Æneas, and thy Unkle Hector's Fame.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. XII.

Exhortation.

See Reproach.

Ah! whither fly you? By yourselves, my Friends!
And your brave Deeds; by King Evander's Name
And Conquests gain'd in War: By my own Hopes,
Which burn to emulate my Father's Praise;
Trust not to Flight: A Passage thro' the Foes
Must with the Sword be hewn: where thickest crouds

327

That Globe of Troops: That Way, Yourselves and Me
Pallas your Chief, our Country's Glory calls.
No Gods oppose Us: By a mortal Foe
Mortals Ourselves are urg'd: As many Lives
And Hands are Ours, as Theirs: Behold the Sea
Confines Us here: No Land remains for Flight:
To Troy shall We repair? or stem the Deep?—

Trap. Æn. Lib. X.

Shall Cæsar stand against the World combin'd,
Protract Destruction, and embroil Mankind?
What will the vanquish'd Nations murm'ring say,
Where once thy Conquests cut their winged Way,
When they behold thy lazy Virtue now,
And see Thee move thus languishing and slow?
Where are those Fires that warm'd thee to be Great?
That stable Soul, and Confidence in Fate?
Canst thou the Gods ungratefully mistrust?—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. VII.

If Men, if Multitudes can make Us strong:
Behold what Tribes unnumber'd march along!
Where-e'er the Zodiac turns it's radiant Round,
Where-ever Earth, or People, can be found,
To Us the Nations issue forth in swarms,
And in Rome's Cause all human Nature Arms.
What then remains, but that our Wings enclose,
Within their ample Fold, our shrinking Foes?
Thousands, and Thousands, useless, may we spare,
Yon handful will not half employ our War.

Id. Ibid.

If the dear Pledges of connubial Love,
Your Houshold Gods, and Rome, your Souls can move,
Hither by Fate they seem together brought,
And for this Prize, to Day, the Battle shall be fought.—

Id. Ibid.

Think from the Summit of the Roman Wall,
You hear our loud-lamenting Matrons call:
Think with what Tears, what lifted Hands they sue,
And place their last, their only Hopes in You.
Imagine kneeling Age before You spread,
Each hoary reverend majestic Head:
Your Aid, by Rome herself, believe implor'd,
To save her from a proud imperious Lord.

329

Think how the present Age, how that to come,
What Multitudes from you expect their Doom:
On your Success dependent all rely:
These to be born in Freedom, Those to die.
Ah! think, if after what I've nam'd before,
Ought still remains, that can affect you more:
Think you behold (were such a Posture meet)
Ev'n me, your Pompey, prostrate at your Feet.
Myself, my Wife, my Sons, a suppliant Band,
From You our Lives, and Liberties demand:
Or conquer You, or I to Exile born,
My last dishonourable Years shall mourn,
Your long Reproach, and my proud Father's Scorn.
From Bonds, from Infamy, your Gen'ral save,
Nor let this hoary Head descend to Earth a Slave.—

Id. Lucan. Lib. VII.

Between Extreams, to Day, our Fortune lies,
The vilest Punishment, and noblest Prize.
Consider well the Captive's lost Estate,
Chains, Racks, and Crosses for the Vanquish'd wait:
My Limbs are each allotted to its Place,
And my pale Head the Rostrum's Height shall grace.
But that's a Thought unworthy Cæsar's Care:—
Much more for you than for myself I fear.
On my good Sword securely I rely,
And, if I conquer not, am sure to die.—

Id. Ibid.

Cicero to Pompey.

Experience.

By various Proofs Experience Art has form'd:
Example being Guide.—

Manil.

Let Stoicks Ethics haughty Rules advance,
To combat Fortune, and to conquer Chance:
Yet happy Those, who not so learn'd, are thought,
Whom Life instructs, tho' by Experience taught.
For new to come, from past Misfortunes, look:
Nor shake the Yoke, which galls the more 'tis shook.—

Creech. Juv. Sat. XIII.

Ev'n from old Age does some Advantage rise,
For in the hoary Head Experience lies.—

Ov. Met. VI.

331

The Seaman best can reason of the Winds,
Of Oxen none so well as lab'ring Hinds:
Battles and Wounds the Soldiers best describe,
And what belongs to Sheep the Shepherd Tribe.—

Propert.

The Fowler and the Huntsman know full well,
The Haunts of Birds, and Beasts, and where they dwell:
The artful Angler, in the winding Brook,
Knows what the Fish, and how to bait his Hook.—

Ovid. Art. Amand. Lib. I.

Nothing, at first, so great, so strange appears,
But that the Wonder, by Degrees abates,
And it becomes familiar.—

Lucret. Lib. II.

Ne'er did Man cast up the Business of his Life so exactly, but still Experience, Years, and Custom, will bring in some new Particulars he was not aware of, and shew his Ignorance of what he thought he knew, and after Trial make him reject his former Opinions.—

Eachard. Teren. Adelp.

Extravagance.

See Gluttony. Luxury.

Centronius does high costly Villas raise
With Grecian Marble, which the Sight amaze:
Some stand upon Cajeta's winding Shore;
At Tyber's Tow'r, and at Præneste more.
The Dome of Hercules and Fortune show,
To his tall Fabricks, like small Cots below.
In mighty Buildings his Estate out-run,
Descends diminish'd greatly to his Son.
His Son builds on, and cannot be content,
Till the last Farthing is in Structure spent.—

Dryd. alter'd. Juv. Sat. XIV.

A costly Gem from his Metella's Ear,
Æsop's loose Son dissolv'd in Vinegar:
And drank it down, and then profusely laugh'd,
To think he drank a Province at a Draught.
Was't not as mad as to have thrown the Gem,
Into some common Shore, or rapid Stream.—

Creech. Hor. Lib. II. Sat. 3.

Many there are of the same wretched Kind,
Whom their despairing Creditors may find

333

Lurking in Shambles: where with borrow'd Coin
They buy choice Meats, and in cheap Plenty dine:
Such whose sole Bliss is eating: who can give
But that one brutal Reason why they live.
And yet, what's more ridiculous; of these
The poorest Wretch is still most hard to please:
And he whose thin transparent Rags declare
How much his tatter'd Fortune wants Repair,
Would ransack ev'ry Element, for Choice
Of ev'ry Fish and Fowl, at any Price:
If brought from far, if very dear it cost,
It has a Flavour then, which pleases most,
And he devours it with a greater Gust.

In Riot thus, while Money lasts, he lives,
And that exhausted, still new Pledges gives:
Till forc'd of meer Necessity, to eat,
He comes to pawn his Dish to buy his Meat.
Nothing of Silver or of Gold he spares,
Nor what his Mother's sacred Image bears:
Nor can his earthen Ware escape the Sale,
To help defray a dear luxurious Meal.—

Congreve. Juv. Sat. XI.

—Thou, Damasippus,
Art forc'd to make the Stage thy last Retreat,
And pawn thy Voice, the All thou hast, for Meat:
For now Thou must, (since thy Estate is lost,)
Or represent, or be thyself a Ghost.—

Stepny alter'd. Juv. Sat. VIII.

As I was coming along to Day, I stumbled upon one of my own Rank and Quality, who had made a shift to guzzle away an Estate. Seeing such a rough, nasty, meager Fellow, rigg'd out with Rags and Rheumatisms, What's the Meaning of this fine Dress? (quoth I,) Alas! (said he,) I had an Estate once, but play'd the Fool, and cou'd n't keep it, and you see what I am brought to: All my Friends and Acquaintance fly me as they wou'd the Plague.—

Eachard. Teren. Eun.

335

Fame.

Fame, direful Pest! in Speed outstrip'd by none:
That flying grows, and Strength by Motion gains.
Tim'rous at first she is, and small thro' Fear,
But, by Degrees grown bold, herself in Air
Sublime she rears, and walking on the Ground,
Conceals her tow'ring Head among the Clouds.
Her, the last Sister to Enceladus,
And Cæus, as 'tis said, the Parent Earth,
Provok'd by Anger of the Gods, brought forth:
Swift with her Feet, and never-weary'd Wings.
A Monster hideous, vast!—As many Plumes
As in her Body stick, so many Eyes
For ever waking, (wondrous to relate!)
There grow beneath: as many babling Tongues,
And list'ning Ears as many.—By Night she flies,
Noisy, thro' Shades obscure, 'twixt Earth and Heav'n:
Nor are her Eyes by pleasing Slumber clos'd.
Watchful, and prying round, by Day, she sits
On some high Palace Top, or lofty Tow'r,
And mighty Towns alarms: not less intent
On spreading Falshood, than reporting Truth.—

Trap. alt. Virg. Æn. IV.

Amidst the World, between Earth, Air, and Sea,
A Place there is, the Confine of all three:
Hence Things, how e'er remote, are view'd around;
Here ev'ry Voice is heard, and ev'ry Sound.
FAME's Palace on the Summit stands on high,
And Ways thereto innumerable lye;
A thousand Entrances on every Side,
All without Gates, are ever open wide.
Built all of Brass, the ringing Walls resound,
And Tales repeated eccho all around.
No Rest within, no Silence, yet the Noise
Not loud, but like the Whispers of a Voice:
Such as from far by rolling Billows sent,
Or as Jove's fainting Thunder almost spent.

337

Hither in Crowds the Vulgar come and go,
Millions of Rumours here fly to and fro:
Lies mixt with Truth, Reports that vary still,
The itching Ears of Folks unguarded fill.
They tell the Tale, the Tale in telling grows,
And each Relater adds to what he knows.
Rash Error, light Credulity are here,
And causeless Transport, and ill-grounded Fear;
New rais'd Sedition, secret Whispers blown
By nameless Authors, and of Things unknown.
FAME, all that's done in Heav'n, Earth, Ocean, views,
And o'er the World still hunts around for News.—

Theobald alter'd. Ovid. Met. Lib. XII.

Famine.

Where frozen Scythia's utmost Bound is plac'd,
A Desart lies, a melancholy Waste:
In yellow Crops there Nature never smil'd,
No fruitful Tree to shade the barren Wild.
There sluggish Cold its icy Station makes,
There Paleness, Frights, and aguish Trembling shakes,
Of pining Famine this the fated Seat.—

There in a stony Field the Fiend she found,
Herbs knawing, and Roots scratching from the Ground.
Her Elfelock Hair in matted Tresses grew,
Sunk were her Eyes, and pale her ghastly Hue,
Wan were her Lips, and foul with clammy Glew:
Her Throat was furr'd: her Guts appear'd within
With snaky Curlings thro' her Parchment Skin.
Her jutting Hips seem'd starting from their Place,
And for a Belly was a Belly's Space.
Her Dugs hung dangling from her craggy Spine,
Loose to her Breast, and fasten'd to her Chine.
Her Joints protuberant by Leanness grown,
Consumption sunk the Flesh, and rais'd the Bone.
Her Knees large Orbits bunch'd to monstrous Size,
And Ankles to undue Proportion rise.—

Vernon. Ovid. Met. Lib. VIII.

339

In vain the fallow Fields the Peasant tills,
The Seed, corrupted e'er tis sown, she kills.
The fruitful Soil, that once such Harvests bore,
Now mocks the Farmer's Care, and teems no more.
All the rich Grain which fills the furrow'd Glade,
Rots in the Seed, or shrivels in the Blade:
Or too much Sun burns up, or too much Rain
Drowns, or black Blights destroy the blasted Plain:
Or greedy Birds the new-sown Seed devour,
Or Darnel, Thistles, and a Crop impure
Of knotted Grass, along the Acres stand,
And spread their thriving Roots thro' all the Land.—

Maynwaring. Ovid. Met. Lib. V.

—And now,
Her baleful Visage meager Famine rears:
Seldom alone, she troops among the Fiends,
And still on War and Pestilence attends.—
Unpress'd, unstraiten'd by besieging Foes,
All Miseries of Want the Soldier knows:
Gladly he gives his little Wealth, to eat,
And buys a Morsel with his whole Estate.
Curst Merchandize! where Life it self is sold,
And Avarice consents to starve for Gold.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. IV.

But while the distant War no more he fears,
Famine, a worse, resistless Foe appears.
No more the Fields their grassy Pasture yield,
Nor waving Harvests crown the yellow Field.
On ev'ry verdant Leaf the hungry feed,
And snatch the Forage from the fainting Steed:
Then rav'nous on their Camp's Defence they fall,
And grind with greedy Jaws the turfy Wall.—

Id. Ibid.

Fantom.

See Ghost.

Then (wondrous to behold!) the Goddess arms
A visionary Fantom, light, and vain,
From a thin Cloud, chang'd to Æneas' Shape:
Decks it with Trojan Darts: his Shield, and Crest,
And all the Honours of his God-like Head

341

Dissembles: gives it empty Words, and Sound:
And forms its Steps, and Manner, as it walks.
Such Figures, as tis said, departed Ghosts
Flutt'ring assume: or mimic Dreams by Night.
In the first Van th' exulting Shade provokes
The Hero, and with Darts, and Voice defies.
Turnus advances fierce: and hurls from far
A whistling Lance: The recreant Spirit flies.
Close to the Covert of a lofty Rock
A Ship by Chance there stood, with Ladders hung,
And Bridges laid: To this with hasty Steps,
The trembling Image of Æneas flies,
And in its Hatches lurks. With Haste no less
Turnus pursues, all Obstacles surmounts,
And passes o'er the Bridges: When the Deck
He scarce had reach'd, Saturnia bursts the Cords,
And speeds the Vessel thro' the rolling Deep.
—And now the mimic Form
No longer lurks conceal'd: but mounts in Air
Aloft, and mingles with a dusky Cloud;
While Turnus in mid Ocean wasted sails.—

Trap. Æn. X.

Fate.

See Chance. God. Foreknowledge. Providence.

—In vain, fair Daughter, you essay
To o'er-rule Destiny's unconquer'd Sway:
Your Doubts to banish, enter Fate's Abode:—
There you shall see the Records grav'd, in length,
On Ir'n and solid Brass, with mighty Strength:
Which Heav'n's and Earth's Concussion shall endure:
Mauger all Shocks, eternal, and secure:
There, on e'erlasting Adamant, design'd,
The various Fortunes of your Race you'll find.—

Welsted. Ovid. Met Lib. XV.

Jupiter to Venus.

Forbear to hope the Destinies divine
Can ever with Intreaties be subdu'd.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. VI.

Fix'd stands the Date of mortal Lives: the Space
Is short, and irretrievable to All.—

Id. Æn. X.

343

Great Jove himself the equal Ballance holds,
And poises in it's Scales the Fates of both:
One with Success is charg'd: and one descends
Loaded with Death.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. XII.

Mortals, your Minds of anxious Cares unload,
Nor fruitlesly the Woes of Life bewail:
Fate governs worldly Things: and fixt by Fate
Is all that haps thro' long revolving Years.
Our Death's fore-doom'd the Moment We are born,
And the last Hour depends upon the first.
Then, Wealth to some, and Kingdoms are decreed;
But Poverty to most: The Mind to Arts,
Or Manners, then is turn'd; to Vice, or Virtue.
Then too the Evil and the Good of Life
Is all predestin'd: for from it's Share of Evil
No Life's exempt: tho' more than what's fore-doom'd
None possibly can suffer.—Prayers nor Vows
Ill Fortune can suspend, nor Flight avoid:
But All must bear the Hardships Fate decrees.—

Manil. Lib. IV.

Besides, th' unnatural Civil Wars of Rome,
Are Proofs of Fate's inevitable Doom.
See Marius ride, with Cimbrian Lawrels crown'd,
Then in the Dungeon, stretch'd upon the Ground:
Now Slave, now Consul: Consul, Slave again:
His Curule Chair succeeded by a Chain.
Now a mean Ruin, on the Lybian Sands,
Despis'd he lies: and now the World commands:
Sudden, from the Minturnian Pools he rose,
And scatter'd Vengeance on his haughty Foes.
Changes thus strange, and much for Chance too great,
Are not th' Effects of Fortune, but of Fate.—

Who, Pompey, could (that saw thy conq'ring Fleet
Regain the Seas, and Kings beneath thy Feet,
Proud Pontus yield, fierce Tyrants make thy Train,
And suppliant Monarchs beg thy Leave to reign;
That saw victorious Lawrels crown thy Head,
And conquer'd Worlds in thy three Triumphs led:

345

And all that Glory which thy Sword had won
Fixt, and supported by as great a Son,)
Have thought that Thou, upon a foreign Sand,
Should'st steal a Burial from a common Hand:
That shatter'd Planks, the Seas dishonest Spoil,
Should hiss beneath thy Trunk, and be thy Pile?
That Thou, the mighty Thou, should'st want an Urn?
What Power, but Fate, could work so strange a Turn?

E'en Cæsar sprung from Heav'n, and now a Star,
Tho' midst the Dangers of the Civil War
Secure he stood—
Yet crown'd with Peace, in all his mighty State,
He fell, a Victim to o'er-ruling Fate:
Not mere Suspicions, but clear Proofs were brought,
He knew what Cassius spoke, and Brutus thought:
How far advanc'd, how far they meant to go,
And saw the Minute of the fatal Blow:
Yet dark Oblivion did his Reason blot,
He all his Warnings, and Himself forgot:
And in the Senate, while his Right Hand held
The faithful Paper which the Plot reveal'd,
To prove that Fate does all the World controul,
He fell, and with his Blood effac'd the Scroll.—

Creech alt. Ibid.

—If Fate does so ordain,
A slight Disease destroys, while greater spare,
Good Methods fail, and Men are lost by Care:
Some, temperate Diet with Diseases fills,
And Poison's innocent, when Physick kills.—

Successless Virtue sinks, while Vice prevails:
And Folly wins the Prize, when Prudence fails.
He argues ill, that from the Fortune draws,
The Goodness, or the Badness, of a Cause:
Success on Merit does not always wait;
Both Good and Bad are found amongst the Great.
But some Almighty Pow'r's impetuous Force
Marks out the Way, and still directs the Course:
The Years that we must run; the Length, the Pace,
And all the various Turnings of the Race.—

347

Besides, were not Events by Fate enroll'd,
How can their certain Order be foretold?
How can the Prophets sing of future Doom,
And, in the present, read the Age to come.—

Nor does this Reasoning Wickedness defend,
Or rob fair Virtue of it's happy End.
Who ever lik'd the more a pois'nous Weed,
Because 'tis bred from necessary Seed?
Or who loves Corn the less, who hates the Vine,
Because produc'd by Nature, not Design?
Thus virtuous Minds deserve the greater Love,
Since doom'd to act what Heaven must approve:
And we should hate those most whom Fate has sent
Crimes to commit, and suffer Punishment:
For Crimes, from whatsoever Cause they flow,
Are still the same:—since that they're Crimes We know.—

Creech alter'd. Ibid.

When You, ye Gods! are pleas'd to plague Mankind,
Our own rash Hands are to the Task assign'd:
By You ordain'd the Tools of Fate to be,
We blindly act the Mischiefs You decree:
We call the Battle, We the Sword prepare,
And on ourselves draw on the dreadful War.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. VII.

Sore sigh'd the anxious Chief, who well could read
Some dire Delusion by the Gods decreed:
He saw the Fates malignantly inclin'd,
To thwart his Purpose, and perplex his Mind.—

Idem. Ibid.

The Fates embrace his Knees, with Hands that twine
The Lot of all Things, human, and divine:
And from the Threads on their eternal Reel,
Whate'er shall hap thro' endless Ages deal.—

Hughes alt. Claud. Rap. Pros.

Faults.

See Detraction.

But some may cry, have You no Faults at all?
Yes, other Faults, and not perhaps so small.—
When Mænius rail'd at Novius, how, says One,
Dost know thyself, or think thy Faults unknown?
Pho, pho, says Mænius,—I forgive my own.

349

This is a foolish, and a wicked Love,
Such as the keenest Satyr should reprove.
While thou art blind and senseless to thy own,
How dost thou find another's Faults so soon,
That scarce a Serpent can so quickly spy,
Or any Eagle hath so sharp an Eye?
But still go on: pursue thy mean Design,
Shew Others Faults,—and they will shew thee thine.—

Creech alter'd. Hor. Lib. I. Sat. 3.

We all our Frailties share, and he's the best,
Most happy he, who's loaded with the least.
Those then, who would not have their Sores offend,
Ought not to fret the Pimples of a Friend:
And surely, 'tis but just, that he, who'd claim
A candid Cov'ring where he proves to blame,
Should to an erring Neighbour grant the same.—

Anon. Ibid.

Fear.

See Fright. Panic.

—Surpriz'd with Fear he back
Recoil'd, and with his Speech repress'd his Steps.
Like one, who, unawares, in prickly Thorns
Has trod upon a Snake: And starting fled
Him rousing all his Venom, and with Rage
Heaving his speckled Neck.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. II.

I take th' Alarm, while Horrors reign around,
At ev'ry Breeze, and start at ev'ry Sound.
Now, to the City Gates approaching near,
I seem the Noise of trampling Feet to hear.
My frighted Sire look'd forward thro' the Shade,
And, fly my Son: they come, they come, he said:
Lo! from their Shields I see the Splendors stream,
And ken distinct the Helmet's fiery Gleam.—

Pitt. Ibid.

Æneas bearing his Father Anchises upon his Shoulders.

With Hearts dejected my Companions stood,
And sudden Horrors froze their curdling Blood:
Down drop the Shield and Spear; from Fight we cease,
And humbly sue by suppliant Vows for Peace.—

Id. Æn. Lib. III.

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Her Colour and her Voice forsake the Fair,
And thrice her trembling Feet for Flight prepare:
But still in vain, for Fear had fix'd 'em there.
She shook, like Blades of Corn, when Tempests blow:
Or slender Reeds that in the Marshes grow.—

Dryd. alter'd. Ovid. Art. Amand. Lib. I.

So fares a Sailor on the stormy Main,
When Clouds conceal Boötes' golden Wain:
When not a Star it's friendly Lustre keeps,
Nor trembling Cynthia glimmers on the Deeps:
He dreads the Rocks, and Shoals, and Seas, and Skies,
While Thunder roars, and Lightning round him flies.—

Pope. Statius. Lib. I.

Mean time on trembling Pinions thro' the Skies,
To Mount Palatium frighted Rumour flew,
And to astonish'd Rome these Tidings bore:—
A hostile Fleet is riding on the Main;
And o'er the Alps, with German Conquests flush'd,
The vengeful Legions pour on guilty Rome.
Strait Fire, and Sword, and all the dreadful Train
Of Civil Rage, before their Eyes appear!
Distracting Tumults ev'ry Bosom sway'd,
And Reason 'midst the dubious Fears was lost.
This flies by Land: That rather trusts the Seas,
As far less dang'rous than his native Shores:
These run to Arms: Fate aids the wild Affright,
And each obeys the Guidance of his Fears.
No certain Course the giddy Vulgar know,
But thro' the Gates in throng'd Confusion crowd,
And rival Terror:—Rome to Rumour yields,
And weeping Romans leave their native Seats.
This in his Hand his trembling Children leads;
And This his Gods within his Bosom hides,
His long-lov'd Threshold quits with mournful Looks,
And wings his Curses at the absent Foe.
There on the Husband's Breast, the Bride complains:
And here, his Father's Age a pious Youth
Supports with filial Care, nor feels his Load,

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Nor fears but for his venerable Charge.
While These, insensate! to the Field convey
Their treasur'd Wealth, and glut the War with Spoil.

As on the deep when stormy Auster blows,
And mounts the Billows with tumultuous Rage,
Th' affrighted Seamen ply their Arts in vain:
The Pilots stand aghast: These lash their Sails:
While These make Land, and Those avoid the Shores,
And give up all to giddy Fortune's Pow'r.—

Addison jun. Petron.

One of the seven Hills of Rome.

Fidelity.

He to the Shrines of Faith his Steps address'd.
She, pleas'd with Secrets rolling in her Breast,
Far from the World remote, revolv'd on high,
The Cares of Gods, and Counsels of the Sky.
E'er Jove was born she grac'd the bright Abodes,
Consort of Justice, boast of Men and Gods:
Without whose heavenly Aid, no Peace below,
The stedfast Earth, and rolling Ocean, know.—

Addison. Sil. Ital. Lib. II.

While Earth the Seas shall in her Bosom bear,
While Earth herself shall hang in ambient Air,
While Phœbus shall his constant Task renew,
While thro' the Zodiac Night shall Day pursue;
No Faith, no Trust, no Friendship shall be known
Among the jealous Partners of a Throne:
But he who reigns, shall strive to reign alone.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. I.

If, now, a Friend does not deny his Trust,
But the old Purse restores with all it's Rust,
'Tis a prodigious Faith! and ought in Gold
Among the Tuscan Annals be inroll'd:
And a crown'd Lamb should sacrificed be
To such a wonderful Integrity.—

Juv. Sat. XIII.

Fidelity Conjugal.

See Constancy.

Her Answer was, oft as my Suit I press'd;
For one, alone, I guard this spotless Breast;

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To one, where-e'er he is, from me disjoyn'd,
The Wishes of my Soul are all confin'd.—

Ovid. Met. Lib. VII.

—Whoe'er Thou art,
Another holds, says he, my captive Heart.
Long may she there th' unrivall'd Mistress reign,
Nor will I e'er my nuptial Faith prophane,
Or wrong her Love: so long as Nature gives
Life to this Frame, and charming Canens lives.—

Pope. Ovid. Met. Lib. XIV.

Picus.

Fire.

See Amazement. City Taken.

Fire lies in ev'ry thing: in Clouds it forms
The frightful Thunder, and delights in Storms:
It passes thro' the Earth, in Ætna raves,
And imitates Heav'n's Thunder in it's Caves:
In hollow Vales it boils the rising Floods:
In Flints 'tis found, and lodges in the Woods;
For toss'd by Storms, the Trees in Flames expire;—
So warm are Nature's Parts, so fill'd with Fire.—

Creech. Manil. Lib. I.

Achates from a Flint struck out the Sparks,
The Fire inclos'd in Leaves, and round it pil'd
Dry Fuel: and blew up the sudden Flame.—

Trap. Æn. I.

Nor in your Vineyards let wild Olives grow:
For oft, by careless Swains neglected Fire
Is left: Which first beneath the unctious Bark
Lurks unperceiv'd, invades the solid Wood,
And, rising thro' the higher Leaves, to Heav'n
With mighty Noise ascends: Then Victor reigns
Thro' the Top-Branches, and Triumphant rides,
Involving all the Grove in Flames: and throws
A Cloud of pitchy Vapour to the Sky:
Chiefly, if from the North a Tempest roars,
And driv'n by Winds the blazing Torrent rolls.—

Id. Georg. Lib. II.

As when the wish'd for Winds in Summer rise,
Thro' the thick Woods the Shepherd scatters Fire:
The middle Trees blaze sudden, and at once
Vulcan's dire Squadrons deluge all the Plains:
He, pleas'd, sits viewing the triumphant Flames.—

Id. Æn. L. X.

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The Clouds disperse in Fumes:—
The High-Lands smoke, cleft by the piercing Rays,
Or, clad with Woods, in their own Fuel blaze.
Then o'er the Plains, where ripen'd Harvests grow,
The running Conflagration spreads below:
But these are trivial Ills: whole Cities burn,
And peopled Kingdoms into Ashes turn.—

Addison. Ovid. Met. Lib. II.

I burn, I burn, like kindled Fields of Corn,
When by the driving Winds the Flames are born.—

Scroop. Sapho Phaoni.

High, o'er the Dome, the Flames emblaze the Air:
Fierce to devour, the fiery Tempest flies,
Swells in the Wind, and thunders to the Skies.—

Pitt. Æn. Lib. II.

—With loosen'd Reins
Among the Benches Vulcan rages fierce,
Among the Oars, and Decks of painted Fir.
—Beneath the warping Timber lives
The smouldring Tow, and vomits lazy Smoke:
A ling'ring Vapour eats the Ships, and o'er
The Fleet's whole Bulk the pitchy Plague descends.
Nor does the Labour of the Heroes aught
Avail, nor Rivers pour'd upon the Flames.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. V.

He then commands, against the Ships to aim
Darts, that with Pitch and livid Sulphur flame.
The spreading Fire o'er-runs their unctious Sides,
And, nimbly mounting, on the Top-Mast rides:
Planks, Yards, and Cordage feed the dreadful Blaze,
And sinking Vessels hiss amidst the Seas:
While floating Arms and Men, promiscuous strow'd,
Deform the Surface of the azure Flood.
Nor does Destruction seize the Fleet alone,
But, driv'n by Winds invades the neighb'ring Town:
On rapid Wings the rolling Flames they bear,
In wavy Lengths along the red'ning Air:
Not much unlike, the shooting Meteors fly,
In gleamy Trails, a-thwart the midnight Sky.—

Rowe alter'd. Lucan. Lib. X.

The World set on Fire by Phaëton.

359

Firmness.

See Fortitude.

—Infatuate they demand
The impious War, and obstinately crowd,
With Tumult, round the King Latinus' Court.
He like a Rock amidst the Sea, unmov'd,
Stands opposite, resisting: like a Rock
Amidst the Sea; which, while the roaring Tide
Encroaches, with it's Weight Itself sustains
Among the noisy Waves: in vain the Cliffs
Foaming rebellow loud: and all around
The broken Sea-Weed dashes on it's Sides.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. VII.

He by no Tears is mov'd: untractable,
And deaf to all Intreaties: Fate forbids:
And Jove, o'er-ruling, stops his pitying Ears.
As when rough Alpine Winds, with struggling Gusts,
This way, and that, contend t' o'er-turn an Oak
Stubborn with aged Timber: roaring loud
The Branches bend: the stiff Trunk bows: the Leaves
Thick falling strew the Ground: Itself fast clings,
Fix'd in the Rocks: and high as it uprears
It's tow'ring Head in Air, so deep it's Root
Shoots downwards to the Center. With such Force,
And ceaseless Noise, the Hero on all Sides
Is batter'd: and within his manly Breast
Confines the Pain he feels: his Mind persists
Unmov'd: and Tears roll down his Cheeks in vain.—

Id. Virg. Æn. Lib. IV.

He, like a Rock, which o'er the Ocean wide
Hangs prominent, expos'd to Winds and Waves,
And all the Rage of Sea and Sky endures;
Stands fix'd, unmov'd.—

Id. Virg. Æn. Lib. X.

Flattery.

See Courtship.

These prudent Folks are full of Flattery:
They make a Wit of their insipid Friend,
His blubber Lips, and beetle Brows commend:

361

His long Crane-Neck, and narrow Shoulders praise,
You'd think they were describing Hercules.
A creaking Voice for a clear Treble goes,
Tho' harsher than a Cock's that treads and crows.—

Dryd. Juv. Sat. III.

'Tis all a Comedy: but laugh, and they
Return it louder than an Ass can bray:
Grieve, and they grieve: if You weep silently,
There seems a silent Eccho in their Eye,
They cannot mourn like You, but they can cry.
Call for a Fire, their Winter Cloths they take,
Begin but You to shiver, and they shake:
In Frost and Snow if You complain of Heat,
They rub th' unsweating Brow, and swear they sweat.—

Ibid.

Or Day, or Night, they're like a Looking-Glass,
Still ready to reflect their Patron's Face:
Their panegyrick Hand, and lifted Eye,
Are still prepar'd for fulsome Flattery:
Ev'n Nastiness Occasions will afford;
They praise a belching or well-p---ss---ng Lord.—

Id. Ibid.

Nothing so monstrous can be said or feign'd,
But with Belief and Joy is entertain'd,
When to his Face the worthless Wretch is prais'd,
Whom vile Court-Flatt'ry to a God has rais'd.—

Duke. Juv. Sat. IV.

Deceitful Flatt'ry does the Soul betray,
As hollow Banks by Streams are worn away.
Tell her, her Face is fair, her Hair is sweet,
Her taper Fingers praise, and little Feet:
Such Praises ev'n the Chaste are pleas'd to hear:
Both Maids and Matrons hold their Beauty dear.
Praise the proud Peacock, and he spreads his Train:
Be silent, and he pulls it in again:
Pleas'd is the Courser in his rapid Race,
Applaud his running, and he mends his Pace,—

Dryd. alt. Ovid. Art. I.

Thou, who desir'st to keep the fair One's Heart,
To flatter well apply thy utmost Art:
With frequent Raptures on her Beauty gaze,
And make her Form the Subject of thy Praise,

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Purple commend, when she's in Purple dress'd:
In Scarlet, swear she looks in Scarlet best:
Array'd in Gold, her graceful Mein adore,
Vowing those Eyes transcend the sparkling Ore:
If Crape she wears,—What can become her more!
When dress'd in Colours, praise a colour'd Dress,
Her Hair, or curl'd, or comb'd, commend no less.
Singing, her Voice, dancing, her Air admire;
Complain when she leaves off, and still desire.—

Dryd. alt. Ovid. Art. II.

In vain, mean Flatteries, ye try,
To gnaw the Lip, and fall the Eye:
No Man a God or Lord I name:
From Romans far be such a Shame!
Go teach the supple Parthian how
To veil the Bonnet on his Brow:
Or on the Ground, all prostrate fling
Some Pict, before his barbarous King.—

Addison. Mart. Lib. X. Epig. 72.

Please not thy self the flatt'ring Croud to hear,
Tis fulsom Stuff to feed thy itching Ear.
Reject the nauseous Praises of the Times:
Give the base Poets back their cobbled Rhimes:—
Thyself consider well, that Thou may'st find
How much there wants to furnish out thy Mind.—

Dryd. Pers. Sat. IV.

As hired Mourners, at a Fun'ral, speak,
And act, with more Extravagance of Grief,
Than those, whose Hearts a real Sorrow know,
So flatt'ring Sycophants more Zeal betray,
Than real Friends.—

Hor. de Art. Poet.

True Friends and faithless Flatt'rers differ more,
Than a chast Matron and a common Whore.—

Creech. Hor. Lib. I. Ep. 18.

There's a Sort of People in the World who set up for Wits of the first Rate, and yet have no more Brains than Maggots: Now these are the Men for my Turn: I laugh at them, and at the same Time praise their Parts to the Skies. If they say any Thing, I cry it up too: if they unsay it, I commend them for that too: what they deny, I deny: what they affirm, I affirm: In short, I've brought myself to be of their Mind in every Thing, and by this means I get many a sweet Bit and a sweet Penny.—

Eachard. Ter. Eun.

365

Flight.

Swift as the Wind, the Damsel fled away,
Nor did for these alluring Speeches stay.—
Stay, Nymph, he cry'd, I follow not a Foe,
Thus from a Lyon bounds the trembling Doe:
Thus from the Wolf the frighten'd Lamb removes,
And, from pursuing Falcons, fearful Doves:
All fly their Foes; but Thou fly'st him that loves.
Ah! lest some Thorn should pierce thy tender Foot!
Or Thou should'st fall in shunning my Pursuit!
To sharp uneven Ways thy Steps decline;
Abate thy Speed, and I will bate of mine.

She heard not half: so furiously she flies:
And on her Ear th' imperfect Accent dies.
How lovely was she then! the Wind that blew
Expos'd her Beauties naked to his View:
And, as behind her careless Locks it bore,
Flight made her still more charming than before.
Now will the God no more Entreaties lose,
But urg'd by Love, with all his Force pursues.
She urg'd by Fear, her Feet did swiftly move,
But he more swiftly, who was urg'd by Love.
No Rest he gives, but close behind her bears,
Pants on her Neck, and breathes upon her Hairs.—

Dryd. alter'd. Ovid. Met. Lib. I.

As trembling Doves from pressing Danger fly,
When the fierce Hawk comes sousing from the Sky;
And as fierce Hawks the trembling Doves pursue,
From him I fled, and after me he flew.—

Maynwaring. Ovid. Met. Lib. V.

Away she fled: Not Stags with half such Speed,
Before the prowling Wolf, scud o'er the Mead:
Not Ducks, when they the safer Flood forsake,
Pursu'd by Hawks, so swift regain the Lake.
As fast he follow'd in the hot Career:
Desire the Lover wing'd, the Virgin Fear.—

Dryden. Ovid. Met. Lib. XI.

367

Now, with a Lion's Spoils, bespread, I take
My Sire, a pleasing Burthen, on my Back:
Close clinging to my Hand, and pressing nigh,
With Steps unequal, trip'd Iülus by.
Behind, my dear Creusa took her Way:
Thro' ev'ry lonely dark Recess we stray.
And I, who late th' embattled Greeks could dare,
Their flying Darts, and whole embody'd War,
Now take Alarm, while Horrors reign around,
At ev'ry Breeze, and start at ev'ry Sound.
With fancy'd Fears my busy Thoughts were wild,
For my dear Father, and endanger'd Child.—

Pitt. Æn. Lib. II.

Cheerless, the flying Chief renew'd his Speed,
And urg'd, with gory Spurs, his fainting Steed.
A thousand Terrors struggling in his Mind,
He turns where doubtful Paths obscurely wind.
He starts at ev'ry Rustling of the Trees,
And fears the Whispers of each murm'ring Breeze:
The Fellows of his Flight increase his Dread,
While hard behind their trampling Horses tread.—

Rowe alter'd.

Now to those Shores the hapless Pompey came,
Where hoary Peneus rolls his ancient Stream:
Red with Emathian Slaughter ran his Flood,
And dy'd the Ocean deep in Roman Blood.
There a poor Bark, whose Keel could scarcely glide
Safe down some River's smooth descending Tide,
Receiv'd the mighty Master of the Main,
Whose spreading Navies hide the liquid Plain.
In this, he braves the Winds and stormy Sea,
And to the Lesbian Isle directs his Way.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. VIII.

As when the Pilot, from the black'ning Skies,
A gath'ring Storm of wintry Rain descries:
His Sails unfurl'd, and crowded all with Wind,
He strives to leave the threat'ning Cloud behind:
Full Speed he fled.—

Croxall. Ovid. Met. Lib. VI.

Daphne's Flight from Apollo.

Æneas.

Pompey's Flight from the Battle of Pharsalia.

369

Flight Secret.

At length arriv'd, with the revolving Night,
The chosen Hour appointed for his Flight:
He bids his Friends prevent the Seamen's Roar,
And still the deaf'ning Clamours on the Shore:
No Trumpets may the Watch by Hours renew,
Nor sounding Signals call aboard the Crew.
The heav'nly Maid her Course had almost run,
And Libra waited on the rising Sun,
When, hush'd in Silence deep, they leave the Land:
No loud mouth'd Voices call, with hoarse Command,
To heave the flooky Anchors from the Sand.
Lowly the careful Master's Orders past,
To brace the Yards, and rear the lofty Mast:
Silent they spread the Sails, the Cables haul,
Nor to their Mates for Aid, tumultuous, call.
The Chief himself to Fortune breath'd a Pray'r,
At length to take him to her kinder Care:
That swiftly he might pass the liquid Deep,
And lose the Land which she forbad to keep.
Hardly the Boon his niggard Fate allow'd,
Unwillingly the murm'ring Seas were plow'd:
The foamy Furrows roar'd beneath his Prow,
And sounding to the Shore alarm'd the Foe.
Strait thro' the Town their swift Pursuit they sped,
(For wide her Gates the faithless City spread)
Along the winding Port they took their Way,
And griev'd to find the Fleet had gain'd the Sea.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. II.

Pompey's Flight from Brundusium, when he was in Danger of being shut up by Cæsar.

This points out the Time to be in the Morning before Sun-rise, about the Beginning of September.

Flood.

See Deluge.

— Eridanus supreme of Floods
Rush'd thro' the Forests, tore the lofty Woods,

371

And rolling onward with a sweepy Sway,
Bore Houses, Herds, and lab'ring Hinds away.—

Dryden. Virg. Georg. I.

The Po.

Thus rapid Floods descending on the Plains,
Sweep o'er the yellow Ear, destroy the Pains
Of lab'ring Oxen, and the Peasant's Gains:
Unroot the Forest Oaks, and bear away
Flocks, Folds, and Trees, an undistinguish'd Prey.
The Shepherd climbs the Cliff, and hears from far
The wasteful Ravage of the watry War.—

Id. Virg. Æn. II.

—With less rapid Force
A foamy River, when th' opposing Dams
Are broken down, rolls rushing o'er the Plain,
And sweeping whirls the Cattle with their Folds.—

Trap. Ibid.

—As headlong Rivers flow,
Swoln big with falling Show'rs, or melting Snow:
And Shrubs and Trees o'erturn, and mighty Beams,
And whirl their conquer'd Prey in rapid Streams.
No Bridge can check, no Force the Flood controul,
It grows more wild, and fierce, and beats the Mole:
Ruin and Noise attend where-e'er it flows,
It rolls great Stones, and breaks what dares oppose.—

Creech. Luc. I.

Where Western Skies the utmost Ocean bound,
The watry Treasures heap the Welkin round:
Thither they croud, and scanted in the Space,
Scarce between Heav'n and Earth can find a Place.
Condens'd at length the spouting Torrents pour,
Earth smokes, and rattles with the gushing Show'r.

Then first the cov'ring Snows began to flow
From off the Pyrenean's hoary Brow:
Huge Hills of Frost, a thousand Ages old,
O'er which the Summer Suns had vainly roll'd,
Now melting, rush from every Side amain,
Swell every Brook, and deluge all the Plain.
No Rock, no rising Mountain rears its Head,
No single River winds along the Mead,
But one vast Lake o'er all the Land is spread.
No lofty Grove, no Forest Haunt is found,
But in his Den deep lies the Savage drown'd:

373

With headlong Rage, resistless in its Course,
The rapid Torrent whirls the snorting Horse:
High o'er the Sea the foamy Tresses ride,
While backward Tethys turns her yielding Tide.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. IV.

Fondness.

See Courtship. Love.

Oh! had I Wings to glide along the Air,
To his dear Tent I'd fly, and settle there:
There tell my Quality, confess my Flame,
And grant him any Dow'ry that he'd name.
All, all I'd give: only my native Land,
My dearest Country should excepted stand;
For, perish Love, and all expected Joys,
E'er with so base a Thought, my Soul complies.—

Croxall. Ovid. Met. Lib. VIII.

By Charms like thine, which all my Soul have won,
Who might not—Ah!—who wou'd not be undone?
Pride of thy Age, and Glory of thy Race!
Come to these Arms, and melt in this Embrace!
The Vows thou never wilt return, receive:
And take at least the Love thou wilt not give.—

Pope. Ovid. Epist. Saph. Phaon.

Brown as I am, an Ethiopian Dame
Inspir'd young Perseus with a gen'rous Flame.
Turtles and Doves of diff'ring Hues unite,
And glossy Jet is pair'd with shining White.
If to no Charms Thou wilt thy Heart resign,
But such as merit, such as equal thine,
By none, alas! by none thou canst be mov'd,
Thyself alone must by Thyself be lov'd.—

Id. Ibid.

Scylla in Love with Minos.

Fore-Knowledge.

See Fortune-Telling.

Great Jove! who dost in Heav'n supremely reign,
These direful Omens why dost Thou ordain,
And give us Prescience to increase our Pain?
Doubly we bear thy dread-inflicting Doom,
And feel our Miseries before they come.

375

Whether the great creating Parent Soul,
When first from Chaos rude he form'd the Whole,
Dispos'd Futurity with certain Hand,
And bad the necessary Causes stand:
Made One Decree for ever to remain,
And bound himself in Fate's eternal Chain:
Or whether fickle Fortune leads the Dance,
Nothing is fix'd, but all Things come by Chance:
Whate'er Thou shalt ordain, Eternal Pow'r!
Unknown, and sudden, be the dreadful Hour.
Let Mortals to their future Fate be blind,
And Hope relieve the miserable Mind.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. II.

'Tis ill: attempt not to foresee
What End's ordain'd for You and Me:
Never to Fortune-Tellers run,
To learn the Fate you cannot shun:
Whether more Winters you may taste,
Or this Year's Snow descends your last:
Ask not the God's Decrees to know,
But wisely use what they bestow.
From lengthen'd Cares, from fruitless Strife,
O snatch this little Blaze of Life!
Our Age is posting on to Death,
And wastes with ev'ry wasting Breath:
Arrest To-day, for Time's a Thief,
And lend the Morrow no Belief.—

Anon. Hor. Lib. I. Od. 11.

Mortals, in vain's your Curiosity,
To learn the Hour, and Way that you must dye:
'Twere better Fate should strike a sudden Blow,
Than that you long should what you dread foreknow.—

Propert.

Th' Eternal Being has, in Shades of Night,
Conceal'd Futurity from human Sight:
And laughs, when he beholds a tim'rous Ass,
Tremble at what shall never come to pass!—

Hor. Lib. III. Od. 29.

Fortitude.

See Firmness.

Then, on his winged Courser born away,
Great Pompey quits the Fight, and yields the Day.

377

Fearless of Danger, still secure and great,
His daring Soul supports his lost Estate.
Nor groans thy Breast, brave Chief! nor flow thy Tears,
But still the same majestic Form appears.
An awful Grief sits decent in thy Face,
Such as becomes thy Loss, and Rome's Disgrace.
Thy Mind, unbroken, keeps her constant Frame,
In Greatness and Misfortune still the same.
And Fortune, who thy Triumphs once beheld,
Sees Thee unchanging leave Pharsalia's Field.—

Rowe alt. Lucan. Lib. VII.

Fortune.

Blind Fortune o'er the World's Affairs presides,
And all by Accident, not Council, guides:
At random, here or there, her Gifts bestows,
And often on the Worst her choicest Favours throws.—

Sen. Hyp. III.

All human Things are under Fortune's Pow'r:
There's no Dependance on the present Hour.
Be not secure, tho' high thy Pleasures flow,
One Moment more may change them all to Woe.—

Ovid. IV. Pont. 3.

For, as she pleases, Fortune gives and takes:
Beggars of Kings, or Kings of Beggars makes.—

Idem. III. Trist. 7.

Uncertain whither, Fortune rambles on,
Stays in no Place, but hurries to be gone.
Now pleas'd, now angry, without Cause is She,
And only constant to Inconstancy.—

Id. V. Trist. 9.

Fortune revere, and her capricious Pow'r,
Who often ruins those she rais'd before.—

Id. III. Trist. 11.

'Tis Fortune flings the Dice, and as she flings,
Of Kings makes Pedants, and of Pedants Kings.—

Dryden. Juv. Sat. VII.

—How goes the Mob?—
They follow Fortune, and the common Cry,
Is still against the Rogue condemn'd to die.—

Id. Juv. Sat. X.

Rare is that Virtue Fortune cannot sway,
Which remains fixt, tho' she be fled away.—

Ovid. Lib. V. Trist. 15.

379

Good unexpected, Evils unforeseen,
Appear by Turns, as Fortune shifts the Scene:
Some rais'd aloft, come tumbling down a-main;
Then fall so hard, they bound and rise again.—

Dryden. Virg. Æn. Lib. XI.

Some Fortune raises to an high Degree,
To make their Fall the greater.—Most secure
An humble Station is, most likely to endure.—

Sen. Agam.

From Place to Place swift Fortune wings away,
And always changing, no where makes a Stay:
Monarchs, sometimes, she tumbles Headlong down.
And sometimes places Beggars on the Throne.—

Aus. Epig. 141.

Fortune with malicious Joy,
Her Pow'r does wantonly employ:
From some she takes, to others flings
Honours those uncertain Things:
Now on me the Gipsy smiles,
Now some other she beguiles.

I like her Presence, but if she won't stay,
Whate'er she gave e'en let her take away:
Wrapt up in my own Virtue, I'm secure,
And Honesty espouse; altho' in Rags and poor.

Hor. Lib. III. Ode 29.

[_]

This Passage of HORACE is finely paraphrased by the Duke of Buckingham.

Fortune, made up of Toys and Impudence,
That common Jade that has not common Sense:
But fond of Business, insolently dares
Pretend to rule, and spoils the World's Affairs.
She, shuffling up and down, her Favours throws
On the next met, not minding what she does,
Nor why, nor whom she helps or injures, knows.
Sometimes she smiles, then like a Fury raves,
And seldom truly loves, but Fools or Knaves.

Let her love whom she please, I scorn to wooe her:
While she stays with me I'll be civil to her:
But if she offers once to move her Wings,
I'll fling her back all her vain gew-gaw Things,
And arm'd with Virtue, will more glorious stand,
Then if the Bitch still bow'd at my Command:
I'll marry Honesty, tho' e'er so poor,
Rather than follow such a dull blind Whore.

381

I liv'd the darling Theme of ev'ry Tongue,
The golden Idol of th' adoring Throng:
Guarded with Friends, while Fortune's balmy Gales
Wanton'd auspicious in my swelling Sails.—

Addison. Ovid de Pont.

In one continued Stream no Fortune flows,
Bad chequers Good, and Joys are mixt with Woes:
Inconstancy in every Part appears,
Which Wisdom never trusts, and Folly Fears.
Thus Years from Years, and (as they roll the Round)
Thus Months from Months, and Days from Days are found
To differ: no returning Hours restore
That sort of Fortune which they brought before.—

Creech alter'd. Manil. Lib. III.

—Since Fortune all o'erpow'rs,
Her let Us follow, and where-e'er she calls,
Direct our Course.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. V.

This Goddess Fortune can baffle an hundred of your learned Men with all their Wisdom: and thus I prove it:— every body is suppos'd to excel, according as Fortune favours him; that's the Standard by which we calculate his Understanding. Now, if his Undertakings succeed well, we cry him up for a shrewd clever Fellow: but if they turn out unluckily, we say, the Man's a Fool.

Plaud. Pseud.

Fortune-Telling.

See Foreknowledge.

A gypsy Jewess whispers in your Ear,
And begs an Alms: an High-Priest's Daughter She,
Vers'd in their Talmud, and Divinity;
And prophesies beneath a shady Tree.
Farthings, and some small Matters, are her Fees:
Yet she interprets all your Dreams for these.
Foretells th' Estate, when the rich Unkle dies,
And Sweet-hearts in a Pigeon's Intrails spies.—

Dryden. Juv. Sat. VI.

Full Credit to th' Astrologer is given:
What he foretells is deem'd the Voice of Heav'n.

383

From him your Wife enquires the Planet's Will,
When the Black Jaundice shall her Mother kill:
Her Sister's and her Unkle's End would know:
But, first, consults his Art, when You shall go:
And, what's the greatest Gift that Heav'n can give,
If, after her, th' Adulterer shall live.—

Idem. Ibid.

But above all, beware how Her You meet,
Who in these Studies is herself compleat:
By whom a greasy Almanack is born,
With often handling, like fat Amber worn:
Not now consulting, but consulted, she
Of the Twelve Houses, and their Lords, is free.
She, if the Scheme a fatal Journey show,
Stays safe at Home, but let's her Husband go.
If but a Mile she travel out of Town,
The Planetary Hour must first be known,
And lucky Moment: If her Eye but akes,
Or itches, it's Decumbiture she takes.
No Nourishment receives in her Disease,
But what the Stars, and Ptolemy shall please.—

Dryd. alt. Ibid.

The poorer Sort who have not much to spare,
To Chiromancers' cheaper Art repair,
Who clap the pretty Palm to make the Lines more fair.
But the rich Matrons who have more to give,
Their Answers from the Brachman will receive.
Skill'd in the Globe and Sphere, he gravely stands,
Points forth the Stars, and measures out the Lands.—

Id. Ibid.

I value not a Rush your Marsian Augurs:
Your Village, Market-hunting Fortune-Tellers;
Astrologers, divining Priests of Isis,
Or Dream Expounders: for they are not Men
Inspir'd by Heav'n, or of superior Knowledge:
But superstitious, impudent Pretenders,
Vile, lazy Slaves, Madmen, or needy Varlets,
Whose counterfeit Predictions spring from Want:
And while for Guides to Others they set up,
Know not the Way themselves: A Groat they beg
Of those to whom they promise Heaps of Gold:
One single Groat of all your future Wealth
Will them content, the rest they leave to You.—

Anon. Ennius.

385

Fountain. Lake.

A spring there was, whose silver Waters show,
As Chrystal clear, the Bottom fair below:
Which neither Man, nor tame, nor savage Beast,
Nor wandring Fowls, nor falling Leaves molest.
Grown round with Grass by it's kind Moisture fed,
And lofty Trees, which yield a constant Shade:
So thick, the Sun can never penetrate,
Or warm the Waters with it's fiercest Heat.—

Ovid. Met. Lib. III.

A Fountain here he found, so lovely bright,
It shew'd the Bottom in a fairer Light,
Nor kept a Sand conceal'd from human Sight.
The Stream produc'd nor shiny Ooze, nor Weeds,
Nor miry Rushes, nor the spiky Reeds;
But dealt enriching Moisture all around,
The fruitful Sides with chearful Verdure crown'd,
And kept the Spring eternal on the Ground.—

Addison. Ovid. Met. Lib. IV.

Not far from hence a spreading Lake there lay,
And on the shaded Margin tow'ring stood
The leafy Shelter of a verdant Wood.
The limpid Pool, transparent to the Sight,
Did to the Bottom ev'ry Eye admit,
And thro' the pure and chrystal Water show
The shining Pebbles, and the Sand below.—

Hughes alter'd. Claud. Rapt. Pros.

A Spring there is, whose silver Waters show,
Clear as a Glass, the shining Sands below:
A flow'ry Lotos spread it's Arms above,
Shades all the Banks, and seems itself a Grove.
Eternal Greens the mossy Margin grace,
Watch'd by the Sylvan Genius of the Place.—

Pope. Ovid. Epist. XXI.

Near Enna's Walls a spacious Lake is spread,
Fam'd for the sweetly singing Swans it bred:
Pergusa is it's Name: And, never more
Were heard, or sweeter, on Cayster's Shore.
Woods crown the Lake: and Phœbus ne'er invades
The tufted Fences, or offends the Shades.

387

Fresh fragant Breezes fan the verdant Bow'rs,
And the moist Ground smiles with enamel'd Flow'rs:
Which always in their Beauty's Prime appear,
For the mild Spring continues all the Year.—

Manw. alt. Ovid. Met. Lib. V.

I, walking on, a silent Current found,
Which gently glided o'er the Gravel-Ground.
The chrystal Water was so smooth and clear,
That to the Eye each Pebble did appear:
So soft it's Motion, one could scarce perceive
The running Stream, or that it ran believe.
The hoary Willow, and the Poplar made
Along it's shelving Bank a grateful Shade.—

Id. alter'd. Ibid.

Fray.

A stag there was, of comely Shape, and tall
With branching Horns: whom ravish'd from his Dam
The Sons of Tyrrheus nourish'd.—
This Beast, accustom'd to their gentle Rule,
Their Sister Sylvia with uncommon Care
Adorn'd, and with soft Wreaths his Antlers crown'd,
And comb'd, and wash'd him in the limpid Stream.
He, patient of the Hand, his Master's Board
Attended: wander'd in the Woods: at Night,
Tho' late, spontaneous to his Home return'd.

Him, at a Distance straying, in the Chace,
The eager Dogs of young Jülus rous'd:
As gliding down the Stream by Chance he swam,
And on the grassy Bank allay'd the Heat.
Ascanius' self, inflam'd with Thirst of Praise,
Levell'd an Arrow from his bended Bow.

—The Shaft, with hissing Sound,
Driv'n thro' the hollow Flank and Entrails flew.
To his lov'd Home the wounded Beast repairs:
Bloody, and groaning, enters his known Stall,
Like One imploring: and with plaintive Noise
Fills all the House. Their Sister Sylvia first,
Shrieking with loud Laments, her Bosom beats,

389

And calls the sturdy Peasants to her Aid.
They, startled, at the Summons strait appear:
One with a Firebrand, with a knotty Stake
Another arm'd: whate'er they find at Hand
Rage makes a Weapon.—

And now Alecto, Fury come from Hell,
This Juncture fit for Mischief having gain'd,
Ascends the Stall; and on it's Summit sounds
The rustick Charge, and thro' the crooked Horn
Swells her Tartarean Voice.—

Swift to the Sound, where-e'er the shrill Horn gave
The direful Signal, snatching up their Arms,
From ev'ry Part the hardy Peasants run:
And, from their open Tents, the Trojan Youth
Pour out their Forces to Ascanius' Aid.
They form their Ranks: nor now in rustick Fray
With knotty Clubs, or sharpen'd Stakes they fight,
But with the two-edg'd Steel: And all around
Rises a horrid Crop of Swords unsheath'd:
Their Arms against the Sun reflected Shine,
And to the Clouds flash back a brighter Ray.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. VII.

He said: and running forwards hurl'd a Dart
Amidst the Throng of Foes: the well aim'd Ash
Flies on direct, and hissing cuts the Air.
A thund'ring Shout succeeds: Then all the Ranks
Tumultuous take th' Alarm, and burn with Rage.
Some draw their Swords, some snatch the missive Steel,
And blind rush on: 'Gainst them th' Ausonian Troops,
Resisting, croud: To These again oppos'd
A Tide of Trojans, by th' Arcadians join'd
With painted Arms, and all Agylla's Youth:
All with like Ardor fir'd to end the Strife
By open War: They hurl the Altars down:
An Iron Tempest, and a Storm of Darts
Hovers aloft, and blackens all the Sky.
The sacred Hearths and Goblets They o'er-turn:
Latinus' self, the League now broken, flies,
And carries back his disappointed Gods.

391

Some rein their Chariots, or with active Bound
Leap on their Steeds, and with drawn Weapons run.—

Id. Æn. XII.

Within the Palace Walls was heard aloud,
The roaring Clamour of the noisy Crowd:
Not like the Songs which chearful Friends prepare
For nuptial Days, but Sounds that threaten War:
And all the Pleasures of this happy Feast,
To tumult turn'd, in wild Disorder ceas'd.
Thus, when the Seas are calm, we often find
A sudden Storm rais'd by some furious Wind.—

Maynw. Ovid. Met. Lib. V.

To Arms, to Arms they call: A Medly-Flight
Of Bowls, and Jars, at first supply the Fight,
Once Instruments of Feasts, but now of Fate:
Wine animates their Rage, and Arms their Hate.—

Dryd. Ovid. Met. Lib. XII.

Friendship.

See Fidelity. Race.

Friendship's fair Name, while Int'rest serves, may stand:
Like Draughtsmen guided by the Gamester's Hand.
While Fortune serves, thy smiling Friends will stay:
But if she turns, they too will haste away.
The World's a Comedy: one acts a Lord,
This a grave Father, and his Son a third:
But soon as e'er the Curtain is let down,
All quit these borrow'd Shapes, and take their own.—

Petro. Arb.

Nature, within the Soul of Man has form'd,
Nothing more noble, or more rare than Friendship.
Thro' all it's Ages, the whole World pretends
To boast but one poor single Pair of Friends:
Do but Pylades and Orestes name,
And You have all the Instances of Fame.
Once Death was strove for; 'twas a gen'rous Strife:
Not who should keep, but who should lose a Life
Was their Dispute, contending to deny
Each other the great Privilege to die.
The Surety fear'd his guilty Friend's return;
The guilty Friend did his own Absence mourn:

393

And ran to Danger: here they disagreed,
One hop'd to free, One fear'd to be so freed.—

Creech alt. Manil. Lib. II.

To guard the Gate brave Nisus stood in Arms,
And by his Side Euryalus: than whom
Was none more beauteous, clad in Trojan Arms:
The first soft Down of Youth had just begun
To bloom upon his Cheeks: One was their Love:
One common Hazard in the War they shar'd,
And now were both by Choice upon the Guard.

Then Nisus: do the Gods, my Friend, infuse
This Ardor of the Soul? or make we Gods
Of our own strong Desires? My Mind, long since
Eager of Action prompts me to engage
Or in the Fight, or in some great Attempt:
Nor this dull Rest endures.—

Struck with Surprize, and fir'd with Thirst of Fame,
Thus sudden to his ardent Friend reply'd
Euryalus. And wouldst Thou then refuse
To add me, Nisus, to the brave Design?
And shall I suffer Thee to go expos'd
To such a perilous Attempt alone?
Here too, here dwells a Soul, that with Contempt
Regards this vital Air: and thinks with Life
That Fame well bought to which thy Soul aspires.

Nisus to this: No such injurious Thought
Of Thee, no such Suspicion, in my Breast
Was ever harbour'd: No: as this is Truth,
So may great Jove, or whate'er God regards
These Things with equal Eyes, restore me crown'd
With Conquest to thy Arms.—But if some Chance
(As many in such hazardous Attempts
Thou seest) if any Chance or Power divine
Snatch me from Earth: Thee I would leave behind:—
Thy Age can shew a better Claim to Life.
Let there survive, who may with solemn Rites
Inurn my Body, rescu'd from the Foe
In Battle, or redeem by Ransom paid:
Or (That if Fate forbid) an empty Tomb
May build, and grace my Manes with a Grave.

395

Nor to thy wretched Mother let me cause
So great a Grief: thy Mother, who, alone
Of all the Trojan Dames, for Thee, dear Youth,
Follows our Camp.—
Then He: Thy empty Reasons urg'd in vain
Thou dost alledge: nor is my Purpose chang'd:
Haste we, he said: Then wakes the Sentries: They
Succeed, and mount the Guard: the friendly Pair,
Quitting their Station, seek the General's Tent.—

Volscens impatient foams, and burns with Rage:
And, with his Sword unsheath'd, advanc'd direct
Against Euryalus.—Then Nisus, wild
With Terror and Amaze, cries out aloud,
Nor longer in the Covert of the Grove
Could hide himself, nor such a Sight endure.
Me, Me: I did it: on me turn your Steel,
Ye Rutuli: 'Twas all my Fraud: He nought
Nor could, nor durst: This Heav'n and conscious Stars
I call to witness: All his Crime, poor Youth,
Was loving his unhappy Friend too well.
Thus far he spoke: but driv'n with forceful Swing
The Sword had pierc'd Euryalus, and bor'd
His snowy Breast: He staggering rolls in Death:
The trickling Blood runs down his beauteous Limbs,
And on his Shoulder lies his Neck reclin'd.
So languishes, and dies a purple Flower,
Cut by the pointed Share: So Poppies droop,
O'er-charg'd with Rain and hang their sickly Heads.

Then Nisus, rushing, darts into the Midst:
Volscens alone he seeks, at Volscens drives:
The pressing Foes throng round, and bear him back
With tilted Spears: He not the less springs on,
And whirls his flashing Sword: till in the Mouth,
Full opposite, of Volscens clam'ring loud
He plung'd it deep, and dying stabb'd his Foe:
Then on his breathless Friend his Body flung,
And there at last in pleasing Death repos'd.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. IX.

397

No. Fate my vow'd Affection shall divide,
From Thee, heroic Youth; be wholly mine:
Take full Possession: all my Soul is thine:
One Faith, one Fame, one Fate shall both attend,
My Life's Companion, and my Bosom Friend:
My Peace shall be committed to thy Care,
And to thy Conduct, my Concerns in War.—

Dryd. Ibid.

True Lovers, in their fav'rite charming She,
Can find no Faults, or love those Faults they see.
Oh! that this Error in our Friendship reign'd,
And had the Credit of a Virtue gain'd!
As some fond Parent, with a partial Eye,
His Darling's Faults beholds, and passes by:
So should we treat the Failings of a Friend,
And find Excuses, when we can't commend.

If the poor Boy is born with squinting Eyes,
See, what a pretty Cast! the Father cries:
The dwarfish ill-shap'd Thing, that's ever sick,
It's Father fondly calls, his little Chick:
Or if its bandy Legs by Chance he shows,
Smiling he cries, the Boy turns in his Toes.

Thus among Friends: One's close,—that Prudence call:
Another's vain, and brags,—that's Frankness all:
One's proud and haughty,—he'll be no Man's Slave:
Another struts and blusters,—He is brave.
In my Opinion, this would Friends procure,
And knit the Bands of sacred Friendship sure.—

Anon. alt. Hor. L.I. Sat. 3.

'Tis common to deceive thro' Friendship's Name;
But common tho' it be, 'tis still to blame.—

Dryden. Ov. Ar. Am. L.I.

With num'rous Friends was I encompass'd round,
While favourable Gales my Vessel crown'd:
But when the Ocean was tempestuous grown,
My shatter'd Bark and I were left alone.—

Ovid. de Trist.

Fright.

See Fear.

Just in the Center of the Court, beneath
The open Sky a spacious Altar stood:
Near it an ancient Lawrel, hanging o'er

399

The sacred Hearth, and cov'ring with its Shade
The Household Gods. Here Hecuba and All
Her Daughters, like a Flock of trembling Doves
Driv'n by a Tempest, vainly round the Shrines
Clinging, embrac'd the Statues of the Gods.—

Trap. Æn. II.

Amaz'd, I shook with Horror and Affright,
My Blood all curdled at the dreadful Sight.—

Pitt. Æn. III.

Confounded, and amaz'd, Æneas stood:
Up rose his Hair erect: and to his Mouth
His Speech with Horror cleav'd.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. IV.

Him, while he spoke, a sudden Trembling seiz'd
O'er all his Limbs: Fix'd stood his haggard Eyes.—

Id. Æn. Lib. VII.

—Him unusual Fear
Stiff'ning benumbs: Up rose his Hair erect,
And to his Mouth his Speech with Horror cleav'd.—

Id. Virg. Æn. XII.

— Her Eyes a Body found,
Quiv'ring in Death, and gasping on the Ground.
She started back, the Red her Cheeks forsook,
And ev'ry Nerve with thrilling Horror shook.
So trembles the smooth Surface of the Seas,
When brush'd o'er gently with a rising Breeze.
But when her View her bleeding Love confess'd,
She shriek'd, she tore her Hair, she beat her Breast.
She rais'd the Body, and embrac'd it round,
And bath'd with Tears unfeign'd the gaping Wound.

Eusden. Ovid. Met. Lib. IV.

—The good old Woman shook:
Her Blood ran cold, and ghastly was her Look:
Her hoary Hair upright with Horror stood.—

Dryd. alt. Ov. Met. Lib. X.

Thisbe finding the Body of her beloved Pyramus, who had slain himself upon supposing her killed by a Lion.

Frost.

See Winter.

As when the Winter's freezing Breath constrains
The Scythian Euxine in her icy Chains:
No more the Bosphori their Streams maintain,
Nor rushing Ister heaves the languid Main:
Hem'd in with Ice, each Keel forgets its Course;
Whilst o'er the new made Champian bounds the Horse.

401

Bold roam the Thracians on the chrystal Plains,
And print the stable Tide with sounding Wains.—

Rowe alt. Lucan. Lib. V.

Funerals.

Mean time, the Trojan Troops with weeping Eyes,
To dead Misenus pay his Obsequies.
First, from the Ground a lofty Pile they rear,
Of Pitch-Trees, Oaks, and Pines, and unctious Fir:
The Fabrick's Front with Cypress Twigs they strew,
And stick the Sides with Boughs of baleful Yew.
The topmost Part his glitt'ring Arms adorn:
Warm Waters, then, in brazen Cauldrons born,
Are pour'd to wash his Body, Joint by Joint,
And fragrant Oils the stiff'ned Limbs anoint.
With Groans and Cries Misenus they deplore:
Then on a Bier, with Purple cover'd o'er,
The breathless Body, thus bewail'd, they lay,
And fire the Pile, their Faces turn'd away:
(Such rev'rend Rites their Fathers us'd to pay.)
Pure Oyl, and Incense, on the Fire they throw,
And Fat of Victims, which his Friends bestow.
These Gifts, the greedy Flames to Dust devour,
Then, on the living Coals, red Wine they pour:
And last, the Relicks by themselves dispose,
Which in a brazen Urn the Priests inclose.
Old Chorineus compass'd thrice the Crew,
And dip'd an Olive Branch in holy Dew,
Which thrice he sprinkled round; and thrice aloud
Invok'd the Dead, and then dismiss'd the Crowd.—

Dryden. Virg. Æn. Lib. VI.

—Æneas took his Way,
To where the breathless Corps of Pallas lay,
By old Acætes watch'd.—
All his Attendants, and with them a Crowd
Of Trojans stand around: the Trojan Dames
(As is their Custom) scatter'd loose their Hair,
Moaning. But when below the lofty Roof
Æneas enter'd, to the Stars they raise

403

A gen'ral Groan aloud, and beat their Breasts:
And all with Shrieks the high Pavilion rings.

Weeping a while, he bids them bear away,
The cold lamented Coarse: and from his Troops
Assembled all, a thousand Men selects,
On the last mournful Honours to attend,
And with his Father's Tears to join their own:
Small Consolation for such mighty Woe,
Yet due, in Justice to the helpless Sire.

Others a soft light Bier, (with quick Dispatch,)
Of oaken Twigs, and twisted Osiers weave,
And cover with an Arch of bending Boughs
The high-rais'd Bed. There the dear Youth they lay
Sublime on verdant Leaves: Like some fair Flow'r,
Soft Violet, or languid Hyacinth,
Crop'd by a Virgin's Hand: whose beauteous Gloss
Still blooms unfaded, tho' the Parent Earth,
Moist Nourishment and Strength, no more supplies.
Two 'broider'd purple Vests Æneas brings:
In one of these he wraps the breathless Youth,
(The last sad Honour!) with the Other veils
His muffled Hair, devoted to the Flames.
Then copious Spoils, the rich Rewards of War,
Gain'd in Laurentian Fields, he piles on Heaps,
And in long Order bids the Pillage move:
Adds Steeds, and Darts, from Foes in Battle won,
And Victims, with cramp'd Hands behind them bound,
Doom'd with their Blood the Manes to appease,
And tinge the fun'ral Fires. The Chiefs themselves,
Commanded, bear the Trunks with hostile Arms
All cover'd, and with hostile Names inscrib'd.
Acætes, with the Load of Age, and Grief,
Bending, moves slow, supported on each Side:
Now beats his Breast, now tares his wither'd Cheeks,
And faint, and prostrate, grovels on the Ground.
The Chariots in Procession follow next,
Smear'd with Rutulian Blood: Behind them, stripp'd
Of his rich Trappings, goes the Warrior Steed,

405

Æthon: and big round Drops roll down his Face.
Some bear his Lance, and Helmet: (for the rest
Turnus, proud Victor, keeps:) The mourning Troop
Succeeds: the Trojan and the Tyrrhene Chiefs,
And with inverted Spears, th' Arcadian Train.
When all the solemn Pomp had pass'd along,
Æneas stood, and thus, deep groaning cry'd:
Eternally Farewell, illustrious Prince!
Great Pallas! ever honour'd, ever mourn'd:
Hail, and Farewell.—

—Throning to the Gates
Th' Arcadians rush, and by th' accustom'd Rite
Snatch fun'ral Torches. In long Order rang'd,
A Train of Flames illumines all the Road,
And far and wide discriminates the Fields.
To meet that sad Procession, slow advance
The Trojan Troops, and join their wailing Friends.
Them when th' Arcadian Matrons saw arriv'd
Within the Walls, with Shrieks and loud Laments,
Repeated, all the frantic City rings.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. XI.

Funerals of the Slain.

—For twelve Days they fix the Truce:
Under its holy Sanction, through the Woods
The Trojans and the Latins mingled rove
In Safety: On the Hills the lofty Ash
With Axes sounds; and Pines which reach the Stars
They roll from Mountains: nor with Wedges cease
Hard Oak, and smelling Cedar to divide,
Nor Firs on groaning Waggons to convey.

—On the winding Shore,
By Prince Æneas and by Tarchon rais'd,
The fun'ral Piles stand thick. By ancient Rite
All hither bring the Bodies of their Friends,
And lay them on the Fires: whose smould'ring Smoke
Ascends in Wreaths, and darkens all the Sky.
Thrice the tall blazing Piles, and dusky Flames

407

They round encompass: Those on Foot, and These
High on their Steeds, all clad in shining Arms:
And loud Laments, and piercing Clamours raise.
The trickling Tears bedew the Earth below,
And down their Armour run: To Heav'n ascend
The Trumpet's Clangor, and the Cries of Men.
Some fling the Spoils, from slaughter'd Latins torn,
Into the Flames: Helmets, and burnish'd Swords,
And Reins, and fervid Wheels: Some add to these
Gifts better known, which by the Dead themselves
Were worn, their Shields, and not successful Darts.
Then num'rous Oxen, bristly Swine, and Sheep,
Choice Victims, snatch'd from all the Fields around,
They sacrifice, and stab them on the Fires.
O'er all the Shore they watch their burning Friends,
Nor from the smoking Dust can be withdrawn,
Till dewy Night inverts the Hemisphere,
And spangles o'er the Face of Heav'n with Stars.

Nor less, in diff'rent Parts, unnumber'd Piles
The wretched Latins build: Some Corps in Earth
(And many Those) of their dead Friends they hide:
Some to the neighb'ring Coasts, and Towns, they send.
The rest, a huge promiscuous Heap of Slain,
Unhonour'd, undistinguish'd, they consume:
The blazing Fires illumine all the Fields.
Now had the third returning Moon dispell'd
The dewy Shades of Night: the mingled Bones
From the high Ashes, mourning, they collect,
And load them with a Mount of smoking Mould.—

Trap. Ibid.

Pompey, thy Favourite once, O Fortune! now
Demands no Heaps of Frankincense to rise,
No Eastern Odours to perfume the Skies:
No Roman Necks his patriot Coarse to bear:
No rev'rend Train of Statues to appear:

409

No pageant Shows his Glories to record,
And tell the Triumphs of his conq'ring Sword:
No Instruments in plaintive Notes to sound,
No Legions sad to march in solemn Round:
A Bier, no better than the Vulgar need,
A little Wood the kindling Flame to feed,
With some poor Hand to tend the homely Fire,
Is all great Pompey's Relicks now require.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. VIII.

This Detail of what was wanting at Pompey's Funeral, shews in what Manner the Funerals of great Men among the Romans used to be performed.

Furies.

See Hell. Tissiphone.

Two Pests there are, the Diræ call'd: Whom Night
At the same Birth with black Megæra bore,
Tartarian Fury: with such twisting Spires
Of Serpents bound, and added noisy Wings.
These at the Throne of Jove and in the Court
Of Heav'n's dread Monarch wait, to strike with Fear
Unhappy Mortals: When the King of Gods
Sits meditating vengeful Death, or Plagues:
Or terrifies the guilty World with War.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. XII.

She from the Sister Diræ's black Abodes,
And Shades Nocturnal, fierce Alecto calls,
That baleful Fury, who delights in War,
In Rage, and Treachery, and noxious Crimes.
Ev'n Pluto and her Sisters hate the Fiend:
Such horrid Shapes the hellish Monster takes,
And teems with such Variety of Snakes.—

Id. Æn. Lib. VII.

—She to Alecto cries,
Thou canst agreeing Brothers rouse to War,
Engender Hate in Families, and toss
Within their Walls thy Whips, and fun'ral Brands:
Thou hast a thousand Forms, a thousand Arts
Of Mischief: Ransack all thy fertile Breast:
Confound their Measures of concerted Peace:
Sow deep the Seeds of Discord: Let the Youth
At once desire, demand, and snatch their Arms.—

Id. Ibid.

Infected with Gorgonian poys'nous Blood,
The Fiend to Latium, and the lofty Walls

411

Of King Latinus, swift directs her Flight,
And silent at the Queen's Apartment waits.

—To Her
The Fury from her grisly Tresses flings
One of her Snakes, and to her inmost Breast
Dispatches him; That, by the Monster urg'd
To Madness, all the Court she might embroil.
The bloated Serpent, sliding 'twixt her Robes
And smooth sleek Bosom, rolls without a Touch,
And, unperceiv'd, his vip'rous Breath inspires:
Hangs, as a Chain of Gold, about her Neck:
As a long twining Fillet, interweaves
Her Hair: and slipp'ry wanders o'er her Limbs.
While the first Plague, the pois'nous Juice beneath
Sliding, invades her Senses, and with Fire
Her Vitals blends; nor has as yet the Flame
Seiz'd all her Soul, more softly she complains,
And with a Mother's wonted Fondness speaks.

But when thro' all her Blood the snaky Plague
Had spread itself, and her whole Mind possess'd;
Then stung, unhappy, by the Monster dire,
O'er the vast City, with unbounded Rage,
She roves distracted. Like a whirling Top,
Urg'd by the twisted Thong, which Boys, intent
Upon their Sport, the empty Cloisters round,
In a wide Circuit exercise: the Wood,
Driv'n by the Scourge, in Spiral Eddies flies:
The stripling Throng in Ignorance admires
The Spinning Box: the Lashes give it Life.
Acted with such Rapidity she runs
Thro' the mid City, and the madding Crouds.

Ibid.

Then, fiercely rolling round her fiery Orbs,
Dreadful Alecto on her Hair erect
Uprears two Serpents, clangs her sounding Whip,
And rapid Thus with hideous Accents speaks.
See! from th' Infernal Sisters Seats I come:
War in my Hand, and Death I bear.—
So saying, to the Youth she hurls a Brand:

413

And Torches smoking with a smouldring Light
Fixes beneath his Breast. With Horror rous'd
He starts from Sleep: o'er all his Body Sweat
Bedews his shudd'ring Limbs: For Arms he raves,
Distracted: Arms, upon his Bed, demands,
And o'er the Palace: madding with the Love
Of Battles, and the barb'rous Rage of War.
As when, with mighty Noise, the sputt'ring Flame
Of Wood, surrounds the boiling Cauldron's Sides,
The dancing Liquor bubbles with the Heat:
It's aqueous Fury roars, and smokes within,
Exuberant, and foaming: Nor does now
The Water's bounding Tide itself contain:
The pitchy Vapour flying mounts in Air.—

Id. Ibid.

Gain.

Scarce have I known, in Saturn's ancient Reign,
A Man whose Bosom was not pleas'd with Gain.
The Love of Gain, which now supreme we see,
Strengthen'd by Time is grown to that Degree,
O'er All it rules, and scarce can greater be.—

Ovid. Lib. I. Fast.

In hopes of Gain the Clown with early Toil,
His Oxen yokes, and turns the rugged Soil.
Aboard the bounding Bark, in search of Gain,
The Sailor braves the Dangers of the Main:
Nor Winds, nor Rocks, nor tow'ring Waves he fears,
But by known Stars his reeling Vessel steers.—

Tibul. Lib. I.

No Faith, no Honour can the Herd restrain,
That follow Camps, and fight for sordid Gain:
Like Ruffians brib'd, they ne'er the Cause enquire,
That's the just Side, which gives the largest Hire.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. X.

Galatea.

See Invitation.

Fair Galatea! fairer Thou by far
Then the white Leaves of blooming Lillies are:

415

Gay as the flow'ry Meads: as Christal bright:
Tall as the Alder's just proportion'd Height:
Sportive as Kids: more smooth and polish'd o'er,
Than shining Shells, oft wash'd upon the Shore:
Pleasing as Winter Suns, or Summer Shade:
Glorious as Apples when the Boughs they lade:
It's Head less graceful does the Plane uprear:
And Ice in Clearness can't with Thee compare:
Not Grapes full ripe delight the Taste so much:
Less soft new Curds, or Swan's-Down, to the Touch:
More charming much Thou art, would'st Thou but stay,
Than beauteous Gardens where cool Fountains play.

But, Galatea, wild as Bulls unbroke
Thou art, and stubborn as an ancient Oak:
More changeful than the Waves in thy Intent:
Easier than Vines, or Willows, to be bent:
More fixt than Rocks; more furious than the Flood:
More than a Peacock, when commended, proud:
Thistles less sharp, and Fires less raging are:
Less cruel 'midst her Cubs the savage Bear:
Less fierce a trodden Snake: less deaf the Seas:
And, what to me is worse than all of These,
Thy Swiftness far outstrips the hunted Hind,
The hasty Tempest, or the winged Wind.—

Ovid. Met. Lib. XIII.

The Gyant Polyphemus thus addresses his Mistress Galatea, who rejects him with Disdain.

Gaming.

What Age so large a Crop of Vices bore,
Or when was Avarice extended more?
When were the Dice with more Profusion thrown?
The well-fill'd Fob not empty'd now alone,
But Gamesters for whole Patrimonies play:
The Steward brings the Deeds which must convey
The lost Estate:—What more than Madness reigns,
When one short Sitting many hundreds drains:
And not enough is left him to supply
Board-Wages, or a Footman's Livery?—

Dryden. Juv. Sat. I.

417

'Tis mere Burlesque, that to our Gen'rals Praise,
Their Progeny immortal Statues raise,
Yet, (thoughtless of their Ancestors,) delight,
To game before their Images all Night:
And steal to Bed at the Approach of Day,
The Hour when These their Ensigns did display.—

Stepny. Juv. Sat. VIII.

For he, when the just Gout had lam'd his Hands,
A Servant hir'd, (so much he lov'd the Vice,)
To take up for him, and to throw the Dice.—

Creech. Hor. Lib. II. Sat. 7.

By Play our Tempers are unguarded made,
And while the Head's intent, the Heart's betray'd:
Then base Desire of Gain, then Rage appears,
Quarrels and Brawls arise, and anxious Fears:
Then Clamours and Revilings reach the Sky,
While losing Gamesters all the Gods defy:
Then horrid Oaths are utter'd ev'ry Cast:
They grieve, and curse, and storm, nay weep at last.—

Congreve. Ovid. de Art. III.

General.

Foremost, on Foot, he treads the burning Sand,
Bearing his Arms in his own patient Hand:
Scorning Another's weary Neck to press,
Or in a lazy Chariot loll at Ease:
The panting Soldier to his Toil succeeds,
Where no Command, but great Example leads.
Sparing of Sleep, still for the rest he wakes,
And at the Fountain, last, his Thirst he slakes:
Whene'er, by Chance, some living Stream is found,
He stands, and sees the cooling Draughts go round:
Stays till the last and meanest Drudge be past,
And till his Slaves have drunk, disdains to taste.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. IX.

Cato in his March thro' the Desarts of Lybia.

—Panting with Drought,
Amidst the Desart, desolate, and dry,
One chanc'd a little trickling Spring to spy:

419

Proud of the Prize, he drain'd the scanty Store,
And in his Helmet to the Chieftain bore.
Around in Crowds, the thirsty Legions stood,
Their Throats and clammy Jaws with Dust bestrew'd,
And all with wishful Eyes the liquid Treasure view'd.
The gallant Chief the tempting Present took,
And, with a Frown, the Giver thus bespoke:
Dost Thou then think, of all this Roman Host,
That I'm the meanest, and want Virtue most?
Am I the first soft Coward that complains:
That shrinks, unequal to these glorious Pains?
Am I in Ease and Infamy the first?—
Rather be thou, Base as thou art, accurs'd,
Thou that dar'st drink, when all beside thee thirst.
He said: and wrathful stretching forth his Hand,
Pour'd out the precious Draught upon the Sand.
Envy'd by none, while thus to all deny'd,
This little Water the whole Host supply'd.—

Rowe alter'd. Ibid.

This is somewhat like the Story of David, 1 Chron. xi. 15.

Thirsty, for Springs they search the Desart round,
And, only one, amidst the Sands, they found.
Well stor'd it was, but all Access was barr'd:
The Stream ten thousand noxious Serpents guard:
Dry Aspicks on the fatal Margin stood,
And Dipsa's thirsted in the middle Flood.

Back from the Stream the frighted Soldier flies,
Tho' parch'd, and languishing for Drink he dies.
The Chief beheld, and said, You fear in vain,
Vainly from safe and healthy Draughts abstain,
My Soldiers, drink, and dread not Death, or Pain.
When, urg'd to Rage, their Teeth the Serpents fix,
And Venom with our vital Juices mix,
The Pest infus'd thro' ev'ry Vein runs round,
Infects the Mass, and Death is in the Wound.
Harmless and safe, no Poison here they shed:
He said: and first the doubtful Draught essay'd.
Thro' Lybia's toilsome March, and burning Thirst,
'Twas at this Spring alone he call'd for Water first.—

Rowe. Ibid.

421

The Godlike Virtues of their matchless Chief,
Inspire new Strength, to bear with ev'ry Grief:
All Night with careful Thoughts and watchful Eyes,
On the bare Sands expos'd the Hero lies:
In ev'ry Place alike, in ev'ry Hour,
Dares his ill Fortune, and defies her Pow'r.
Unweary'd still, his common Care attends
On ev'ry Fate, and chears his dying Friends:
With ready Haste at each sad Call he flies,
And more than Health, or Life itself, supplies:
With Virtue's noblest Precepts arms their Souls,
And ev'n their Sorrows like his own controuls:
Where-e'er he comes no Signs of Grief are shewn:
Grief, an unmanly Weakness, they disown,
And scorn to Sigh, or breath one parting Groan.—

Id. ibid.

Ghost.

See Purgatory.

—The flitting Shade
All pale, as Death, despoil'd of his Array,
Into his Wife's Apartment takes his Way,
And stands before the Bed, at Dawn of Day:
Unmov'd his Eyes, and wet his Beard appears;
And shedding vain, but seeming real Tears;
The briny Water dripping from his Hairs.
Then staring on her with a ghastly Look,
And hollow Voice, he thus his Wife bespoke.
Know'st Thou not me?—not yet?—unhappy Wife!
Are then my Features perish'd with my Life?
Look once again, and for thy Husband lost,
Lo all that's left of him, thy Husband's Ghost!
Thy Vows for my Return were all in vain,
The stormy South o'ertook Us in the Main,
And never shalt Thou see thy living Lord again.
Rise, wretched Widow! rise: nor undeplor'd
Permit my Soul to pass the Stygian Ford:
But rise, prepar'd, in Black, to mourn thy perish'd Lord.

423

Frighted Halcyone with Grief oppress'd,
Sigh'd deep, and wept, and sleeping beat her Breast:
Stretch'd forth her Arms his Body to embrace,
Her clasping Arms find only empty Space.
Stay, stay, she cry'd: Ah! whither dost Thou flee?
We'll go together wheresoe'er it be.
Then round she cast her Eyes, in hopes to view
Her vanish'd Lord, and prove the Vision true.
Tir'd with the Search, not finding what she seeks,
With cruel Blows she pounds her blubber'd Cheeks,
And from her beaten Breast the Linnen tare,
And cut the golden Caul that bound her Hair.
Her Nurse demands the Cause; with louder Cries
She prosecutes her Griefs, and thus replies:
I saw, I saw him manifest in view,
His Voice, his Figure, and his Gestures knew:
His Beauty not, as once, divinely fair,
But pale, and naked, with wet dropping Hair.
I would have strain'd him with a strict Embrace,
But thro' my Arms he slip'd, and vanish'd from the Place.
These: ev'n just there he stood:—and as she spoke,
Where last the Spectre was she cast her Look:
Fain would she hope, and gaz'd upon the Ground,
To see if any Footsteps might be found.—

Dryden alter'd. Ovid. Met. Lib. XI.

Ceyx being drowned at Sea, Juno sends the Vision here described, to his Wise Halcyone, to apprize her of his Death.

He with the Sword in Secrecy surpriz'd
Sichæus, and before his Altars slew,
Impious, and blinded with the Love of Gold,
Regardless of his Sister's Love: and long
Conceal'd the Fact: and, with Pretences vain
Dissembling, mock'd the pining Lover's Hopes.
But in a Dream, with Visage wondrous pale,
The Ghost of her unbury'd Husband came:
The cruel Altars, and his wounded Breast,
And all the hidden Villany disclos'd:
Warn'd her to fly her Country: and, to aid
Her Flight, reveal'd a Treasure hid in Earth,
An unknown Mass of Silver and of Gold.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. I.

Pygmalion the Brother of Dido, and King of Tyre.

425

Thus as I search'd impatient o'er the Town,
With endless Labour: to my Eyes appear'd
Her pensive Ghost, my dear Creüsa's Shade,
A Form enlarg'd, and bigger than the Life.
Aghast I stood: uprose my Hair erect:
And to my Mouth my Speech with Horror cleav'd.
At length she spoke, and thus reliev'd my Cares:
Why, my dear Lord, do You so far indulge
Your restless Toil? Without the Powers divine
These Things are not dispos'd.—

—Farewell: and love
Your Son, our common Care.—Thus having spoke,
Me weeping, and a thousand Things to say
Desiring, she forsook, and vanish'd swift
Into the yielding Air.—I thrice essay'd
About her Neck to throw my folding Arms:
Thrice, vainly grasp'd at, from their Circle flew
Th' unbodied Fantom, light as fleeting Winds,
And like a slipp'ry Dream.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. II.

—The Night now driving on her sable Car,
Possess'd the Pole: When suddenly the Form
Of old Anchises seem'd to slide from Heav'n:
And from his awful Mouth these Accents fell:
My Son, more dear to me than Life, while Life
Remain'd.—

Hither I come, dispatch'd by Sovereign Jove;
—For Me the impious Gloom
Of Tartarus accurs'd, and dreary Shades
Do not detain: But in th' Elysian Fields,
And happy Regions of the Blest I dwell.
—But now, adieu:
The dewy Night rolls on her middle Course:
And with his panting Steeds the rising Sun
Severe has breath'd upon me. Thus he said,
And flew, like Smoke, into the fleeting Air.—

Id.

Among the rest, fresh reeking from her Wound,
In the vast Grove Phœnician Dido roams:
Soon as the Trojan Hero near her stood,

427

And knew her thro' the dusky Shade, as when
At the first op'ning of the Month one sees,
Or thinks one sees, thro' Clouds the rising Moon:
Tears he let fall: and thus with Fondness speaks.
Unhappy Dido!—
Your Death, alas! I caus'd: but by the Stars,
And by the Gods, I swear, by all the Faith
Beneath the Earth, if any such there be,
Unwillingly, O Queen! I left your Coasts.
Thus Her, with Indignation frowning stern,
With Tears and Blandishments Æneas sooth'd.—

Id.

She bends her Eyes averse upon the Ground,
And by his Speech begun is mov'd no more
Than the deaf Rocks, when the loud Billows roar:
But whirls away, to shun his hateful Sight,
Hid in the Forest and the Shades of Night.
Some pious Tears the pitying Hero paid,
And follow'd with his Eyes the flitting Shade.—

Dryd. alt. Virg. Æn. Lib. VI.

The thronging Ghosts stand round on either Side:
Some raise a feeble Cry, with trembling Notes:
But the weak Voice deceives their gasping Throats.
Here Priam's Son, Deiphobus, he found,
Whose Face and Limbs were one continu'd Wound:
Dishonest, with lopp'd Arms, the Youth appears,
Spoil'd of his Nose, and shortned of his Ears.
He scarcely knew him, striving to disown
His blotted Form, and blushing to be known.—

Id. Ibid.

—So saying, he bedew'd
His Face with flowing Tears: and thrice assay'd
About his Neck to throw his folding Arms:
Thrice, vainly grasp'd at, from their Circle flew
Th' unbody'd Fantom: light as fleeting Winds,
And like a slipp'ry Dream.—

Trap. Ibid.

—Behold, she cries,
Again the cruel Fates remand me back:
And now Farewell: with Darkness round inclos'd
I fleet away, and vainly stretch to Thee
(Ah! now no longer thine) These helpless Hands.

429

She said: and from his Sight like Smoke dispers'd
Thro' the thin Air, flew diverse: Nor by Him,
Grasping at Shades in vain, and thousand Things
To say desiring, was e'er after seen.

Id. Virg. Georg. Lib. IV.

Eurydice.

Glory.

—Whatever Care for me
You have conceiv'd, dismiss it, best of Kings,
For Me, at my Request: and let me stake
My Life for Glory.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. XII.

Thy Glory, Trajan, shall for ever live:
Not that thy Arms the Tigris mourn'd, o'ercome,
And tributary Parthia bow'd to Rome,
Not that the Capitol receiv'd thy Train,
With Shouts of Triumph for the Daci slain:
But for thy Mildness to thy Country shown.—

Addison. Claud. 4. Cons. Hon.

There Glory sits in all her Pomp and State:
Thence Places, Dignities, Preferments flow,
And all that Men admire, and wish below:
High Honours, Offices, in Suits Success,
Right to make Laws, and bid the World have Peace:
Thence Scepters, and supreme Command accrue,
And Power to give them where Rewards are due.—

Creech alt. Manil. Lib. II.

Gluttony.

See Extravagance. Luxury.

Whether it be in little Things or great,
Suit thy Expences still to thy Estate;
And if thy Purse a Turbot can't afford,
Sit down, and be content with humble Cod.
For what must be thy miserable End,
If Gluttony and Want at once attend,
When thy voracious Throat has swallow'd all,
Cattle, and Land, Int'rest, and Principal?—

Congreve alt. Juv. Sat. XI.

Preach as I please, I doubt our curious Men,
Will chuse a Pheasant still before a Hen:

431

And yet a Hen is full as good I hold,
Except you eat the Feathers green and gold.

Of Carps and Mullets why prefer the great,
(Tho' cut in Pieces e'er my Lord can eat)
Yet for small Turbots such Esteem profess?
Because God made these large, the other less.—

Pope. Hor. Lib. II. Sat. 2.

When the tir'd Glutton labours thro' a Treat,
He'll find no Relish in the sweetest Meat,
He calls for something bitter, something sour,
And the rich Feast concludes extreamly poor:
Cheap Eggs, and Herbs, and Olives still we see,
Thus much is left of old Simplicity!—

The Robin-red-Breast till of late had rest,
And Children sacred held a Martin's Nest,
Till Becca-ficos sold so dev'lish dear,
To one that was, or would have been, a Peer.—

Id.

Observe how pale, how sickly, ev'ry Guest,
Reels from the Surfeit of a sumptuous Feast:
The Body overloaded with Excess,
Is sunk itself, and does the Mind oppress:
Nor can the Soul, altho' of heav'nly Birth,
Shake off the Load that fixes it to Earth.—

Pope alt.

'Tis yet in vain, I own, to keep a Pother
About one Vice, and fall into the other:
Between Excess and Famine lies a Mean,
Plain, but not sordid: tho' not splendid, clean.
He knows to live, who keeps the middle State,
And neither leans on this Side, nor on that.—

Pope. Ibid.

Goats.

'Tis my Direction, that with verdant Leaves
Of Arbutus the Goats may be supply'd,
And with fresh Springs: And that their Stalls from Winds
Be shelter'd, to the Winter Sun oppos'd,
And pointing to the South, when now with Cold,
And Rain, Aquarius setting, shuts the Year.—

433

These breed more fruitful: These in Milk abound:
And ev'n the more they fill the frothing Pails
From their press'd Dugs more plenteous Rivers flow.
For Food they brouze the Thickets, and the Top
Of bleak Lycæus, prickly Thorns in Brakes,
And Bushes which high Rocks and Mountains love.
Themselves, spontaneous, to their Homes return,
Bringing their Young: and, with their strutting Dugs,
Laborious, o'er th' opposing Threshold climb.
Therefore their Want of Care and Guard to shun
The Ills of Life, by thine must be supply'd.
From them with all thy Diligence avert
The Frost, and Winds, and Snow: With lib'ral Hand
Indulge them Food, and leafy Browze: nor shut,
While Winter lasts, thy Magazines of Hay.—

Trap. Virg. Georg. Lib. III.

God.

See Chance. Providence.

Know first, that Heav'n, and Earth's compacted Frame,
And flowing Waters, and the starry Flame,
And both the radiant Lights one common Soul
Inspires: and feeds and animates the Whole:
This active Mind infus'd thro' all the Space,
Unites and mingles with the mighty Mass.
Hence Men and Beasts the Breath of Life obtain,
And Birds of Air, and Monsters of the Main.—

Dryden. Virg. Æn. Lib. VI.

For GOD the whole created Mass inspires:
Through Heav'n, and Earth, and Ocean's Depth he throws
His Influence round, and kindles as he goes.
Hence Flocks, and Herds, and Men, and Beasts, and Fowls
With Breath are quicken'd, and attract their Souls:
Hence take the Forms his Prescience did ordain,
And into him, at length, resolve again.
No Room is left for Death: they mount the Sky,
And to their own congenial Planets fly.—

Id. Virg. Georg. Lib. IV.

435

This Frame immense, in which four Parts conspire,
Of diff'rent Form, Air, Water, Earth, and Fire,
GOD, Power divine, the World's Almighty Soul,
By secret Methods rules, and guides the Whole:
By unseen Passes he himself conveys
Thro' all the Mass, and ev'ry Part obeys.—

Creech. Manil. Lib. I.

The Face, the Image of the Deity,
Can on no Metal represented be:
Within the human Soul he likes to dwell,
And our own Bosom what he is can tell.—

Stat. Theb. Lib. XII.

It is enough that GOD is barely shown,
Rich in himself he shines, and great alone.—

Manil. Lib. IV.

That Power supreme, whom Gods and Men obey,
Who Time commands, and rules the Earth and Sea;
Who claims o'er All the first and highest Place,
Whom none is like, to whom none second is.—

Hor. L. I. Od. 12.

For every Deity must live at Ease,
In undisturb'd and everlasting Peace,
From Grief exempt, from Fear and Danger free;
Sufficient to its own Felicity.
Nought here below, Nought in our Pow'r it needs:
Nor smiles at good, nor frowns at wicked Deeds.—

Creech. Luc. Lib. II.

'Tis necessary that there should be Gods,
Nor let us doubt there are:—
Before their ancient Altars let's adore,
And Incense burn, and Wine devoutly pour.
Nor madly think that on celestial Thrones,
And half asleep, they loll, like lazy Drones.
The Gods are ev'ry where, above, below,
Both Heav'n and Earth they fill, and ev'ry Thing they know.
Then innocently live: the Pledge restore:
Nor dare to violate the Oath you swore:
All Fraud detest of whate'er kind it be;
And from all Murder let your Hands be free.—

Ovid. Art. Lib. I.

Has GOD a Place? In Earth, in Seas, in Air,
In Heav'n, in Virtue, he will sure appear:
Why seek we farther then?—

437

Where-e'er we turn, where-e'er we look, or move,
All, all, is Him, and ev'ry where is Jove.—

Lucan. Lib. IX.

There is a GOD most certainly, who hears
Whate'er we say, and sees whate'er we do.—

Plaut. Cap.

There is a GOD, whom Time can never change.—

Man. 1. Astro.

—The great Creator of the Universe
All Things beholds from his exalted Throne:
Nor the Earth's Bulk, nor Night's black Shades impede
His penetrating Sight; which at one Glance
Discerns what is, what was, and what shall be.—

Boëth. V. Met. 2.

—Alas! their Ignorance of GOD
Is the chief Cause of wretched Mortals' Crimes.—

Silius. Lib. IV.

The Opinion of Pythagoras.

The Opinion of Epicurus.

Gods (Council of.)

See Milky Way.

On lofty Thrones twice six Celestials sate,
Jove in the midst, and held their grave Debate:
Each God by proper Features was exprest,
But Jove's majestic Mein excell'd the rest,—

Croxall. Ovid. Met. Lib. VI.

And now th' Almighty Father of the Gods,
Convenes a Council in the blest Abodes.
Far in the bright Recesses of the Skies,
High o'er the rowling Heav'ns, a Mansion lies:
Whence, far below, the Gods at once survey
The Realms of rising, and declining Day,
And all th' extended Space of Earth, and Air, and Sea.
Full in the midst, and on a starry Throne,
The Majesty of Heav'n superior shone:
Serene he look'd, and gave an aweful Nod,
And all the trembling Spheres confess'd the God,
At Jove's Assent, the Deities around
In solemn State the Consistory crown'd:
Next a long Order of inferior Pow'rs
Ascend from Hills, and Plains, and shady Bow'rs:
Those from whose Urns the rolling Rivers flow,
And those that give the wandring Winds to blow.
Here all their Rage, and e'en their Murmurs cease,
And sacred Silence reigns, and universal Peace.

439

A shining Synod of majestic Gods
Gilds with new Luster the divine Abodes,
Heav'n seems improv'd with a superior Ray
And the bright Arch reflects a double Day.
Th' Almighty then his solemn Silence broke,
The still Creation listen'd while he spoke,
Each sacred Accent bears eternal Weight,
And each irrevocable Word is Fate.—

Pope. Stat. Theb. Lib. I.

Good and Evil Mix'd.

Behold the Earth, the gliding Streams, or Flood,
Faults are on all Sides, Bad is mixt with Good.
Thus barren Seasons midst the best appear,
And a small Turn blasts all the blooming Year.
A Port turns Shelf, and the inglorious Sand
Forfeits that Praise which once its Safety gain'd.
Now Streams thro' Plains in smooth Meanders play,
Now force thro' Rocks, and roaring roll away.—

Creech alter'd. Manil. Lib. IV.

How short, how trifling are the Joys of Life,
If with the Evils that it brings compar'd!
This is the Fate of Man, by Heav'n decreed;
That all his Pleasure shall be mix'd with Pain,
And lasting Woe succeed each short Delight!—

Plaut. Amph.

Greatness.

See Ambition. King.

Would'st Thou to Honours and Preferments climb?
Be bold in Mischief, dare some mighty Crime,
Which Dungeons, Death, or Banishment deserves:
For Virtue is but dryly prais'd, and starves.
Great Men, to great Crimes, owe their Plate emboss'd,
Their Palaces, their Furniture of Cost,
And high Commands;—a sneaking Sin is lost.—

Dryd. Juv. Sat. I.

What had he done, had he beheld, on high
Our Prætor seated, in mock Majesty:
His Chariot rolling o'er the dusty Place,
While with dumb Pride, and a set formal Face,

441

He moves in the dull ceremonial Track,
With Jove's embroider'd Coat upon his Back?
A Suit of Hangings had not more oppress'd
His Shoulders, than that long laborious Vest.
A heavy Gewgaw, (call'd a Crown,) that spread
About his Temples, drown'd his narrow Head,
And would have crush'd it with the massy Freight,
But that a sweating Slave sustain'd the Weight:
A Slave in the same Chariot seen to ride,
To mortify the mighty Madman's Pride.
Add now th' Imperial Eagle rais'd on high,
With golden Beak, the Mark of Majesty:
Trumpets before, and on the Left and Right,
A Cavalcade of Nobles, all in white:
In their own Nature false and flatt'ring Tribes,
But made his Friends, by Places and by Bribes.—

Id. Juv. Sat. X.

If golden Sconces hang not on the Walls,
To light the costly Suppers, and the Balls:
If the proud Palace shines not with the State
Of burnish'd Bowls, and of reflected Plate:
If well-tun'd Harps, nor the more pleasing Sound
Of Voices, from the vaulted Roofs rebound:
Yet, on the Grass, beneath a Poplar Shade,
By the cool Stream, our careless Limbs are laid:
With cheaper Pleasures innocently bless'd,
When the warm Spring with gawdy Flow'rs is dress'd.

Nor will the raging Fever's Fire abate,
With golden Canopies and Beds of State:
But the poor Patient will as soon be sound,
On the hard Mattress, or the Mother-Ground.

Then, since our Bodies are not eas'd the more
By Birth, or Pow'r, or Fortune's wealthy Store,
'Tis plain these useless Toys of ev'ry kind
As little can relieve the lab'ring Mind:
Unless we could suppose the dreadful Sight
Of marshall'd Legions moving to the Fight,
Could, with their Sound and terrible Array,
Expel our Fears, and drive the Thoughts of Death away.

But, since the Supposition vain appears;
Since clinging Cares, and Trains of inbred Fears,

443

Are not with Sounds to be affrighted thence,
But in the midst of Pomp pursue the Prince:
Not aw'd by Arms, but in the Presence bold,
Without Respect to Purple, or to Gold:
Why should not we these Pageantries despise,
Whose Worth but in our want of Reason lies?—

Dryd. Lucret. Lib. II.

Oh! were the Minds of Courtiers seen;
What Cares tempestuous rage within,
And scourge their Souls! the Brutian Sea
Toss'd by wild Storms more calm than They.

Senec. Hor. Oet.

Let Others, insolent, and great,
Enjoy the treach'rous Smiles of Fate:
To Courts, Ah! never let me roam!
Blest with Content, and Peace at Home.
May my small Bark in Safety Sail,
Ne'er tempted by a prosp'rous Gale,
Roving to leave the Sight of Shore,
And dang'rous, distant Deeps explore.—

Ward. Ibid.

Let him who would be Good from Courts retire.—

Lucret.

On level Ground whoever haps to fall,
(Tho' that's a Thing which rarely haps at all,)
The Hurt so gentle, and so slight the Pain,
No sooner is he down than up again:
But when Elpenor from the Turret fell,
His Soul went weeping to the Gates of Hell.—

Ovid. Lib. III. Trist. 4.

Thoughtless of Glory pass thy downy Hours,
Unknown, unenvy'd, in Obscurity:
And chuse Companions of thy own Degree.—

Ibid.

Grief.

See Lamentation. Mourning for the Dead.

Soon hasty Fame, thro' the sad City bears
The mournful Tidings, to the Mother's Ears:
An icy Cold benumbs her Limbs: She shakes:
Her Cheeks the Blood, her Hand the Web forsakes.
She runs the Rampires round amidst the War,
Nor fears the flying Darts: she rends her Hair,
And with her Lamentations fills the Air.—

Dryden. Virg. Æn. Lib. IX.

445

All Day, all Night, in trackless Wilds, alone
She pin'd, and taught the list'ning Rocks her Moan.
On the bare Earth she lies, her Bosom bare,
Loose her Attire, dishevell'd is her Hair.
Nine times the Moon unbarr'd the Gates of Light,
As oft were spread th' alternate Shades of Night:
So long no Sustenance the Mourner knew,
But what her Tears supply, or what the falling Dew.—

Eusden. Ovid. Met. Lib. IV.

As when, complaining, in melodious Groans,
Sweet Philomel, beneath a Poplar Shade,
Mourns her lost Young: which some rough Village Hind
Observing, from their Nest, unfledg'd, has stole:
She weeps all Night: and, perch'd upon a Bough,
With plaintive Notes repeated fills the Grove.—

Trap. Virg. Georg. Lib. IV.

Defil'd with Filth his Robe, with Tears his Cheeks,
No Sustenance but Grief and Care he seeks:
Of rigid Fate incessant he complains,
And Hell's inexorable Gods arraigns.—

Congreve. Ovid. Met. Lib. X.

Spoken of Orpheus.

No farther Voice her mighty Grief affords,
For Sighs come rushing in betwixt her Words,
And stop'd her Tongue: but what her Tongue deny'd,
Soft Tears, and Groans, and dumb Complaints supply'd—

Dryden. Ovid. Met. Lib. XI.

—Her big swoln Grief surpass'd
The Power of Utterance: She stood aghast:
Nor had she Speech, nor Tears, to give Relief:
Excess of Woe suppress'd the rising Grief.
Stupid as Stone, on Earth she fix'd her Eyes,
And then look'd up to Heav'n with wild Surprize:
Now she contemplates o'er, with sad Delight,
Her Son's pale Visage: then her aking Sight
Dwells on his Wounds.—

Stanyan. Ovid. Met. Lib. XIII.

Hecuba.

—Dear Husband, wheresoe'er
Thou'rt gone, thro' Hell, if any Hell there be,
Or empty Chaos, I will follow Thee:
How long my Life's decreed I do not know:
If long, I'll punish it for lasting so.—

447

She who could bear to see thy Wounds, and live,
New Proofs of Love and fatal Grief shall give:
Nor need she fly for Succour to the Sword,
The steepy Precipice, or deadly Cord:
She from herself shall find her own Relief,
And scorn to die of any Death but Grief.

So said the Matron, and about her Head
Her Veil she draws, her mournful Eyes to shade:
Resolv'd to shroud in thickest Shades her Woe,
She seeks the Ship's deep darksome Hold below:
There lonely left, at leisure to complain,
She hugs her Sorrows, and enjoys her Pain:
Still with fresh Tears the living Grief would feed,
And fondly loves it in her Husband's stead.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. IX.

Her flowing Garments mournfully she tares,
And rends the Chaplet with her yellow Hairs:
Her Tears congeal, her Voice is now no more:
And a deep trembling seizes her all o'er—

Claud. Rapt. Prof. 3.

But Clymenè, enrag'd with Grief, laments,
And as her Grief inspires, her Passion vents:
Wild for her Son, and frantick in her Woes,
With Hair dishevell'd round the World she goes,
To seek where-e'er his Body might be cast:
Till, on the Borders of the Po, at last
The Name inscrib'd on the new Tomb appears.
The dear dear Name she bathes in flowing Tears,
Hangs o'er the Tomb, unable to depart,
And hugs the Marble to her throbbing Heart.
Her Daughters too lament, and sigh, and mourn,
(A fruitless Tribute to their Brother's Urn)
And beat their naked Bosoms, and complain,
And call aloud for Phaëton in vain:
All the long Night their mournful Watch they keep,
And all the Day stand round the Tomb and weep.—

Addis. Ovid. Met. Lib. II.

When first I heard (from whom I hardly knew)
That You were fled, and all my Joys with You:

449

Like some sad Statue, speechless, pale, I stood,
Grief chill'd my Breast, and stop'd my freezing Blood:
No Sigh, to rise, no Tear had Pow'r to flow,
Fix'd in a stupid Lethargy of Woe.
But when it's Way th' impetuous Passion found,
I rend my Tresses, and my Breasts I wound:
I rave, then weep, I curse, and then complain,
Now swell to Rage, now melt in Tears again.
Nor fiercer Pangs distract the mournful Dame,
Whose first-born Infant feeds the fun'ral Flame.—

Pope. Ovid. Epist. XXI.

Trembling she spoke, and raging with Despair,
She wounds her Cheeks, and rends her Silver Hair.
In copious Streams fast rolls the briny Show'r,
As down the Hills the rapid Torrents pour,
When Auster with indulgent Softness blows,
Dissolves the Frost, and melts the Mountain Snows:
Thus in a Flood of Tears her Eyes were drown'd,
And from her inmost Breast deep Sighs resound.—

Addison jun. Petron. Arb.

The Mother of Phaëton.

Grotto.

Down in a Vale, of Pine and Cypress made,
Extended wide a venerable Shade:
The chast Diana's private Haunt, where stood,
Full in the Center of the darksome Wood,
A spacious Grotto: all around o'er-grown
With hoary Moss, and arch'd with Pumice-Stone.
From out it's rocky Clefts the Waters flow,
And, trickling, swell into a Lake below.
Nature had ev'ry where so play'd her Part,
That ev'ry where she seem'd to vye with Art.
Here the bright Goddess, toil'd and chaff'd with Heat,
Was wont to bathe her in the cool Retreat.—

Addison. Ovid. Met. Lib. III.

Aweful, and tow'ring o'er the Plain, there stood,
By Axes ne'er profan'd, an ancient Wood.
Amidst of which the mouldring Rocks had made
An humble Grot, that Thorns and Brambles shade.
Cool chrystal Streams gush plenteous from its Sides,
And all around the purling Water glides.—

Ibid.

451

The Grot he enter'd: Pumice built the Hall,
And Tophi made the Rustic of the Wall:
The Floor soft Moss, an humid Carpet spread,
And various Shells the chequer'd Roof inlaid.—

Vernon. Ovid. Met. Lib. VIII.

Guilt.

See Conscience Evil.

The lovely Huntress, rising from the Grass,
With down-cast Eyes, and with a blushing Face,
By Shame confounded, and by Fear dismay'd,
Flew from the Covert of the conscious Shade;
And (such the wild Confusion of her Mind,)
Had almost left her Bow and Shafts behind.
How plainly in the Look doth Guilt appear!
Slowly she mov'd, and loiter'd in the Rear:
Nor lightly trip'd, nor by the Goddess ran,
As once she us'd, the foremost of the Train.
Her Cheeks were flush'd, and sullen was her Mein,
That sure the Virgin Goddess (had she been
Aught but a Virgin) must the Guilt have seen.
The Nymphs, 'tis said, perceiv'd it.—

Addison alter'd. Ovid. Met. Lib. II.

Calisto, one of Diana's Nymphs, after her Affair with Jupiter.

The wretched Maid rejoyc'd the News to hear,
But clog'd with Guilt, her Joy was unsincere:
So various, so discordant is the Mind,
That in our Will a diff'rent Will we find.

Thus far her Courage held, but here forsakes:
Her faint Knees knock at every Step she makes.
The nearer to her Crime, the more within
She feels Remorse and Horror of her Sin:
Repents too late her criminal Desire,
And wishes, that unknown she could retire.—

Dryden. Ovid. Met. Lib. X.

Myrrha in love with her own Father, was brought to his Bed in Disguise, by the Contrivance of her old Nurse.

—The Matrons, on the Shore,
Fly diverse, struck with Fear: and skulking seek
The Woods, and Caves: Their Enterprize they loath,
And conscious shun the Light.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. V.

453

Now wretched Œdipus , depriv'd of Sight,
Led a long Death in everlasting Night:
But tho' he dwells where not a chearful Ray
Can pierce the Darkness, and abhors the Day,
The clear, reflecting Mind, presents his Sin,
In frightful Views, and makes it Day within:
Returning Thoughts in endless Circles roll,
And thousand Furies haunt his guilty Soul.—

Pope. Stat. Theb. Lib. I.

Oedipus having killed his Father Laius, and married his Mother Jocasta, was so tormented in Mind that he tore out his own Eyes.

Not all bright Phœbus views in early Morn,
Or when his Ev'ning Beams the West adorn,
When the South glows with his Meridian Ray,
And the cold North receives a fainter Day:
For Crimes like these, not all those Realms suffice,
Were all those Realms the guilty Victor's Prize!—

Id. Ibid.

Gyant. Cyclops.

The Cyclops, who defy'd th' Etherial Throne,
And thought no Thunder louder than his own:
The Terror of the Woods, and wilder far,
Than Wolves in Plains, or Bears in Forests are:
Th' inhuman Host, who made his bloody Feasts
On mangled Members of his butcher'd Guests;
Yet felt the Force of Love, and fierce Desire,
And burnt for me with unrelenting Fire:
Forgot his Caverns, and his woolly Care,
Assum'd the Softness of a Lover's Air,
And comb'd, with Teeth of Rakes, his rugged Hair.
Now with a crooked Scythe his Beard he sleeks,
And mows the stubborn Stubble of his Cheeks:
Now, in the Chrystal Stream he looks, to try
His softest Looks, and lay his Fierceness by.
His Cruelty and Thirst of Blood are lost,
And Ships securely come or leave the Coast.—

Dryden. Ovid. Met. Lib. XIII.

Polyphemus.

Galatea. See Polyphemus's Address to Galatea, pag. 413.

455

—He sat; his Flocks, unled,
Their Shepherd follow'd, and securely fed.
A Pine so burly, and of Length so vast,
That sailing Ships requir'd it for a Mast,
He weilded for a Staff, his Steps to guide:
But laid it by, his Whistle while he try'd:
A hundred Reeds, of a prodigious Growth,
Scarce made a Pipe proportion'd to his Mouth:
Which, when he gave it Wind, the Rocks around,
And watry Plains, the dreadful Hiss resound.—

Id. Ibid.

—My frighted Friends,
Unmindful, left me in the Cyclop's Cave.
Dark is th' interior Grot, and vast: the Walls
On all Sides furr'd with mouldy Damps, and hung
With Clots of ropy Gore, and human Limbs,
His dire Repast. Himself of mighty Height,
Erects his Head, and stalking strikes the Stars.
Dire to the Sight, by no Address, or Speech
To be accosted. On the Flesh he feeds
Of mortal Men, and swills the vital Blood.
Him did I see snatch up with horrid Grasp,
As in his Den, and stretch'd at Length he lay,
Two of our Number, in each Hand a Man:
I saw him, when with huge tempestuous Sway,
He dash'd, and broke them on the Groundsil Edge:
The Pavement swam in Blood: the Walls around
Were spatter'd o'er with Brains. I saw him chew
The Gobbets, dropping with black ropy Gore,
Still warm with Life, and trembling in his Teeth,
As sensible of Pain.—

The Giant gorg'd with Flesh, and Wine, and Blood,
With Neck reclin'd, lay, snoring in his Den:
Belching raw Gobbets from his Maw, o'ercharg'd
With purple Wine, and cruddled Gore confus'd,
We, having first invok'd the mighty Gods,
And taking each his Post allotted, round
Inclose him All: and to the single Eye,

457

That in his frowning grisly Forehead glar'd,
Wide as a Grecian Shield, or Phœbus' Lamp,
A forky Staff we dextrously apply'd:
Which, in the spacious Socket turning round,
Scoop'd out the big round Jelly from it's Orb:—

—Such, and as huge,
An hundred Cyclops more these winding Coasts
Inhabit round, and o'er the Mountains rove.

He scarce had spoke: when on the Mountains Top
Himself we saw, th' enormous Polypheme,
Shepherd among his Flocks, with Bulk immense
Moving along, and seeking the known Shores.
An Eyeless Monster, hideous, vast, deform!
A Pine's huge Trunk directs his Hand, and firms
His Steps: his woolly Sheep attend his Walk.
Soon as he reach'd the Ocean's Waves profound,
He rins'd his empty Socket from the Blood,
Gnashing his Teeth with Groans: then stalk'd along
Thro' the mid Ocean, while the topmost Wave
Scarce reaches his tall Sides.—We trembling speed our Flight
And silent cut the Cords, and sweep the Sea,
With struggling Oars: He heard Us in our Course,
And with his outstretch'd Arms around him grop'd:
But finding Nought within his Reach, He rais'd
Such hideous Yells, that all the Ocean shook.
Ev'n Italy tho' many a League remote
In distant Ecchoes answer'd; Ætna roar'd,
Thro' all it's inmost winding Caverns roar'd.
Rous'd by the Noise, the whole Cyclopean Race
Rush from the Woods, and Mountains, to the Port,
And fill the Shore.—We see th' Ætnean Brood
(Dreadful Assembly!) stand, and sternly roll
Their Eyes in vain, and rear their tow'ring Heads
To Heav'n: as when upon a Mountain's Top
Aërial Oaks, or Cypress Cones stand high,
The Thicket of Diana, or of Jove.—

Trap. Addison. Virg. Æn. Lib. III.

Achæmenides.

459

Gyant's War.

—The Rebel Brethren rise,
In desp'rate League combin'd, to storm the Skies:
On Pelion, thrice, to heave they all essay'd
Ossa, and thrice on Ossa's tow'ring Head
To roll Olympus up with all its Shade.
Thrice hurl'd th' Omnipotent his Thunder round,
And dash'd the pil'd up Mountains to the Ground.—

Dryd. Virg. Georg. I.

—Ægeon, when with Heav'n he strove,
Stood opposite in Arms to mighty Jove:
Mov'd all his hundred Hands, provok'd the War,
Defy'd the forky Lightning from afar.
At fifty Mouths his flaming Breath expires,
And Flash for Flash returns, and Fires for Fires:
In his Right Hand as many Swords he wields,
And takes the Thunder on as many Shields.—

Id. Æn. X.

Nor in less Danger were the Realms above:
To seize the Throne of Jove the Gyants move:
Hills pil'd on Hills, on Mountains Mountains lie,
And form their mad Approaches to the Sky.
Then He, th' Almighty Father, with a Frown,
Hurl'd the red Bolt, and smote Olympus down:
The Structure totter'd at the mighty Stroke,
And Ossa's lofty Top from Pelion broke:
They too, who durst attempt to storm the Sky,
Struck down, with all their ruin'd Mountains, lie.—

Dryd. alt. Ovid. Met. Lib. I.

She sings, from Earth's dark Womb how Typhon rose,
And struck with mortal Fear his heav'nly Foes.
How the Gods fled to Egypt's slimy Soil,
And hid their Heads beneath the Banks of Nile:
How Typhon, from the conquer'd Skies, pursu'd
Their routed Godheads to the seven-mouth'd Flood:
Forc'd ev'ry God, his Fury to escape,
Some beastly Form to take, or earthly Shape.
Jove, (so she sung,) was chang'd into a Ram,
From whence the Horns of Lybian Ammon came:

461

Bacchus a Goat, Apollo was a Crow,
Phœbe a Cat, the Wife of Jove a Cow,
Whose Hue was whiter than the falling Snow.
Venus a Fish became, and Mercury
Conceal'd within an Ibis' Form did lie.—

Maynwaring. Ovid. Met. Lib. V.

Huge limb'd Typhœus, whose gigantic Pride
Attack'd the Skies, and ev'ry God defy'd,
Now, with Sicilia's dreadful Weight opprest,
Moves, but with mighty Pains, his heaving Breast:
He struggles oft, and oft attempts to rise,
But on his right Arm vast Pelorus lies:
On's left Pachinus: Lilibæum's spread
O'er his huge Thighs, and Ætna keeps his Head.
On his broad Back he there extended lies,
And vomits Flames and Ashes to the Skies.
Oft, with strong Throws the Monster strives t' abate
His Load of Towns, and the vast Mountain's Weight:
Then the Earth shakes.—

Hughes alter'd. Ibid.

Sprung from the Earth, and Heaven's most furious Foes,
To storm the Skies when mighty Gyants rose,
And proudly sought the Gods that durst oppose:
Jove doubted his own Power, as from a-far,
He view'd the dreadful Order of the War:
When Nature's Frame inverted he beheld,
That Earth rose upward, and that All rebell'd:
That Hills on Hills up-rais'd their threat'ning Head,
And frighted Stars approaching Mountains fled:
When impious Armies, at a monstrous Birth,
Broke thro' the Bowels of the teeming Earth,
Tremendous Race! with disagreeing Forms,
Of all that's horrid mixt.—

Creech alter'd. Manil. Lib. I.

Typho the Earth produc'd, what Time she strove
To conquer Heaven, and shake the Throne of Jove:
When the fierce Gyants, to their Mother Earth
In Bigness equal, at a wondrous Birth
Burst from her Womb.—But Thunder stop'd their Course,
And tumbling Mountains overwhelm'd their Force.
Typhœus fell: Earth was too weak to save,
And War and He lay bury'd in one Grave.—

Id. Manil. Lib. II.

463

Happiness.

Believe not those who much possess
The only Lords of Happiness:
But rather such as rightly know
To use the Gifts the Gods bestow:
Who wantful Poverty can bear
And worse than Death Dishonour fear,
Who Life's last Drop would freely spend,
To save their Country, or their Friend.—

Hor. Lib. IV. Od. 9.

Happy, like the first Mortals happy he,
Whom the indulgent Gods allow,
With Oxen of his own to plow
Paternal Fields, exempt and free
From Business and the Gripes of Usury.—

Hor. Epod. 2.

Virtue, that scorns the People's Test,
Ne'er ranks among the truly Blest,
Phraates fix'd in Cyrus' Throne,
Ador'd like Persia's rising Sun:
From Cheats of Words, the Crowd she brings,
To form a real Estimate of Things:

To Him she gives, to Him alone,
The Laurel, and the lasting Throne,
Whose Eyes can unconcern'd behold,
The dazling Heaps of shining Gold.
Whose Mind does never Wealth pursue,
Nor backward turn to take a second View.—

Creech alter'd. Hor. Lib. II. Od. 2.

Secure and free from Business of the State,
And more secure of what the Vulgar prate,
Here I enjoy my private Thoughts: nor care
What Rots for Sheep the Southern Winds prepare;
Survey the neighb'ring Fields, and not repine,
When I behold a larger Crop than mine.
To see a Beggar's Brat in Riches flow,
Adds not a Wrinkle to my even Brow:
Nor envious at the Sight, will I forbear
My plenteous Bowl, nor bate my bounteous Cheer.—

Dryd. Pers. Sat. VI.

465

Happiness.

My Fortune might I form at Will,
My Canvas Zephyrs soft should fill
With gentle Breath, left ruder Gales
Crack the Main-Yard, or burst the Sails.
By Winds that temperately blow,
The Bark should pass secure and slow:
Nor scare me, leaning on her Side,
But smoothly cleave th' unruffled Tide.—

Addison. Sen. Œdip.

You're wrong, my Friend, the Life you guess
To be so, is not Happiness.
With Gems to see your Fingers shine;
On Beds of Tortoise-shell, so fine,
Your Limbs to lay; in Down to sink:
And out of golden Vessels drink:
To loll on Chairs of Tyrian Dye,
And feast on rich Variety:
To think your Granaries abound,
With Harvests reap'd from Lybian Ground:
My Friend, you're wrong, if you believe
Such Things true Happiness can give.

Petronius.

But, if the Soul, despising Fear,
Can all Events, unruffled, bear:
If it is neither vain, nor proud,
Nor courts the Favour of the Crowd:
If Passion Reason can asswage,
Nor ever rises into Rage:
Whoe'er attains this happy State,
Fortune commands, and smiles at Fate.—

Pleasantest Companion, this,
This in Life is Happiness:
Early an Estate to gain,
Left, not purchas'd by your Pain:
Grounds that pay the Tiller's Hire:
Hearths with ever during Fire:
Safe from Law t' enjoy your own:
Seldom view the busy Town:
Health, with mod'rate Vigour joyn'd:
True well grounded Peace of Mind:

467

Friends your Equals in Degree:
Prudent plain Simplicity:
Easy Converse Mirth afford:
Artless-Plenty fill the Board:
Temp'rate Joy your Ev'nings bless,
Free from Care and from Excess:
Short the Night by Sleep be made:
Chaste, not cheerless be the Bed:
Chuse to be but what you are:
Dying neither wish nor fear.—

Anon. Mart. X. 47.

—None happy should we call,
Before his Death, and closing Funeral.—

Addison. Ov. Met. III.

Harmony.

While to his Lyre he tunes his vocal Strains,
The very bloodless Ghosts Attention keep,
And silent, seem compassionate to weep:
Ev'n Tantalus, the Flood, unthirsty, views,
Nor flies the Stream, nor he the Stream pursues:
Ixion's wond'ring Wheel its Whirl suspends,
And the voracious Vultur, charm'd, attends:
No more the Belides their Toil bemoan,
And Sisiphus sits list'ning on his Stone.
Then first, 'tis said, by Harmony subdu'd,
The Furies felt their Cheeks with Tears bedew'd.—

Congreve. Ovid Met. Lib. X.

A Hill there was, and on that Hill a Mead,
With Verdure thick, but destitute of Shade:
Where, now, the Muse's Son no sooner sings,
No sooner strikes his sweet resounding Strings,
But distant Groves the flying Sounds receive,
And list'ning Trees their rooted Stations leave:
Themselves transplanting, all around they grow,
And various Shades their various Kinds bestow.
Here, tall Chaônian Oaks their Branches spread,
While weeping Poplars there erect their Head:

469

The tow'ring Esculus here shoots his Leaves,
That Spot the Lime-tree, this the Beach receives:
Here, brittle Hazels, Lawrels here advance,
And there tough Ash, to form the Hero's Lance:
Here silver Firs, with knotless Trunks ascend,
There, scarlet Oaks beneath their Acorns bend.
That Turf admits the hospitable Plane,
On this the Maple grows with clouded Grain.
Here watry Willows are with Lotus seen,
There Tamarisk, and Box for ever green.
With twofold Hue here Myrtles grace the Ground,
And Laurestines with purple Berries crown'd.
Here wanton Ivy's pliant Branches wind;
Vines yonder rise, and Elms with Vines entwin'd.
Wild Ornus now, the Pitch Tree now takes Root,
And Arbutus, adorn'd with blushing Fruit.
Then easy bending Palms, the Victor's Prize,
And Pines erect with bristly Tops, arise.—

Congreve.

Thus the sweet Artist in a wondrous Shade
Of verdant Trees, which Harmony had made,
Encircled sat, with his own Triumphs crown'd,
Of list'ning Birds, and savage Beasts around.
Again, the trembling Strings he dextrous tries,
Again from Discord charmful Sounds arise.—

Croxall. Ibid.

Sooth'd by his Songs, from Erebus profound
Th' unbody'd Fantoms, and thin Spectres rose:
Unnumber'd, as the Birds which flock in Woods,
Driv'n from the Hills by Ev'ning, or a Storm.
Ev'n Death's dread Realms, the deep Recess of Hell,
In silent Wonder listen'd to his Song,
And with blew curling shakes the Furies wreath'd:
Grim Cerb'rus, yawning, his three Mouths repress'd:
And with the Wind Ixion's Orb stood still.—

Trap. Virg. Georg. Lib. IV.

Orpheus, when he went to Hell to seek his Wife Eurydice.

Haven.

—Within a hollow Mountain's Side
Eaten by Age, there is a spacious Cave:

471

Whither much Sea, driv'n by the Wind, retires,
And cuts itself into a crooked Bay:
A Station apt for Sailors caught in Storms.—

Trap. Virg. Georg. IV.

Far in a deep Recess, her jutting Sides
An Isle projects, to break the rolling Tides;
And forms a Port, where, curling from the Sea,
The Waves steal back, and wind into a Bay.
On either Side, sublime in Air, arise
Two tow'ring Rocks, whose Summits brave the Skies:
Low at their Feet, the sleeping Ocean lies.
Crown'd with a gloomy Shade of waving Woods,
Their aweful Brows hang nodding o'er the Floods.
Oppos'd to these a secret Grotto stands,
The Haunt of Naids, fram'd by Nature's Hands,
Where polish'd Seats appear of living Stone,
And limpid Rills, that tinkle as they run.
No Cable binds the harrass'd Vessels here,
Nor bearded Anchor, for no Storms they fear.—

Pitt. Æn. Lib. I.

Where from the raging East the Surges flow,
The Land, indented, bends an ample Bow:
The Port conceal'd within the winding Shore,
Dash'd on the fronting Cliffs the Billows roar.
Two lofty tow'ring Rocks extended wide,
With out-stretch'd Arms embrace the murm'ring Tide.—

Id. Æn. Lib. III.

Heir.

—From thy growing Store
Lend thy Assistance, and relieve the Poor.
Come, do a noble Act of Charity:
A Pittance of thy Land will set him free.
Nor tell me that thy frowning Heir will say,
'Tis mine, that Wealth thou squander'st thus away:
What is't to thee, if he neglects thy Urn,
Or without Spices lets thy Body burn?
If Odours to thy Ashes he refuse,
Or buys bad Cassia, that's not fit to use?
For what hast Thou to fear beyond the Grave?—

473

And thou who gap'st for my Estate, draw near,
For I would whisper somewhat in thy Ear.
Hear'st thou the News, my Friend? Th' Express is come
With laurel'd Letters from the Camp to Rome:
Our Emperor salutes the Senate thus:
My Arms are on the Rhine victorious,
From mourning Altars sweep the Dust away,
Cease Fasting, and proclaim a fat thanksgiving Day.

Now to the gracious Gods for these high Matters,
Know I have vow'd two hundred Gladiators,
And mean to crown a Bowl to Cœsar's Health.—
Say, would'st Thou hinder me from this Expence?
I disinherit, if Thou tak'st Offence.
Yet more, a public Largess I design,
Of Oil and Pyes to make the People dine.
Dost Thou think much of this? speak freely out:
Your poor Estate, Thou cry'st, deserves not all this Rout.
Well: on my Terms thou wilt not be my Heir?—
If Thou car'st little, less shall be my Care.
Were none of all my Father's Sisters left,
Nay, were I of my Mother's Kin bereft,
None by a Mother's or a Grandame's Side,
Yet I could soon some other Heir provide.—

Dryden. Pers. Sat. VI.

What of my Fortune's left wilt Thou receive?
Now fairly take it, or as fairly leave:
But take it as it is, and ask no more.
What when Thou hast embezzled all thy Store?
Where's all thy Father left?—'Tis true, I grant,
Some I have mortgag'd to supply my Want:
The Legacies of Tadius too are flown,
All spent, and on the self-same Errand gone.
How little then to my poor Share will fall?
Little, indeed: but yet that Little's all:
Nor tell me in a dying Father's Tone,
Be careful still of the main Chance, my Son:
Put out the Principal in trusty Hands:
Live on the Use: and never dip thy Lands.
But, pray what's left for me?—What's left! my Friend:
Ask that again, and all the rest I spend.

475

Hell.

Is not my Fortune at my own Command?
Pour Oyl, and pour it with a plenteous Hand
Upon my Sallads, Boy: shall I be fed
With sodden Nettles, and a sing'd Sow's Head?
'Tis Holiday: provide me better Cheer:
'Tis Holiday: and shall be round the Year.
Shall I my Houshold Gods and Genius cheat,
To make him rich, who grudges me my Meat?
That he may loll at ease, and pamper'd high,
When I am laid, may feed on Giblet Pye?
And when his throbbing Lust extends the Vein,
Have wherewithal his Whores to entertain?
Shall I be starv'd to Skin and Bone, that He
A Paunch in Triumph may before him see?—

Id. Ibid.

When Nature's Wants require, I will be free,
Nor care what my bold Heir will think of me:
I'll use my little Heap, tho' He be griev'd,
Because I leave no more than I receiv'd.—

Creech. Hor. Lib. II. Ep. 2.

What is my Wealth, if I must always spare?
He that lives poor, to leave a wealthy Heir,
Is near a-kin to mad. I'll drink, and play,
Enjoy my self, and fling my Gold away.—

Id. Hor. Lib. I. Ep. 5.

Hell.

See Elysian-Fields.

Just in the Gate, and in the Jaws of Hell,
Revengeful Cares and sullen Sorrows dwell:
And pale Diseases, and repining Age:
Want, Fear, and Famine's unresisted Rage.
Here Toils, and Death, and Death's Half-Brother, Sleep,
Forms terrible to View, their Centry keep:
The anxious Pleasures of a guilty Mind,
And just against them deathful War they find,
The Furies Iron Beds, and Strife that shakes
Her hissing Tresses, and unfolds her Snakes.

Full in the midst of this infernal Road,
An Elm displays her dusky Arms abroad:
The God of Sleep there hides his heavy Head,
And empty Dreams on ev'ry Leaf are spread.

477

Of various Forms, unnumber'd Spectres more,
Centaurs, and double Shapes, besiege the Door.
Before the Passage horrid Hydra stands,
And fierce Briareus with his hundred Hands:
Gorgons, Geryon with his triple Frame:
And vain Chimæra vomits empty Flame.

Hence to deep Acheron they take their Way,
Whose troubled Eddies, thick with Ooze and Clay,
Are whirl'd aloft, and in Cocytus lost:

There Charon stands, who rules the dreary Coast:
A sordid God: down from his hoary Chin
A Length of Beard descends, uncomb'd, unclean:
His Eyes like hollow Furnaces on Fire:
A Girdle, foul with Grease, binds his obscene Attire.
He spreads his Canvas: with his Pole he steers
And Freights of flitting Ghosts in his thin Bottom bears.
He look'd in Years: yet in his Years were seen
A youthful Vigour, and autumnal Green.

An airy Crowd came rushing where he stood,
And fill'd the Margin of the fatal Flood:
Husbands, and Wives, Boys, and unmarry'd Maids,
And mighty Heroes more majestic Shades,
And Youths, intomb'd before their Father's Eyes;
With hollow Groans, and Shrieks, and feeble Cries.
Thick as the Leaves in Autumn strow the Woods,
Or Fowls, by Winter forc'd, forsake the Floods,
And wing their hasty Flight to happier Lands:
Such, and so thick, the shiv'ring Army stands,
And press for Passage with extended Hands.

Now these, now those, the surly Boatman bore:
The rest he drove to Distance from the Shore.
—In his Den they found
The triple Porter of the Stygian Sound,
Grim Cerberus; who soon began to rear
His crested Snakes, and arm'd his bristled Hair.
The prudent Sybil had before prepar'd
A Sop, in Honey steep'd, to charm the Guard:

479

Which, mix'd with pow'rful Drugs, she cast before
His greedy grinning Jaws, just op'd to roar:
With three enormous Mouths he gapes: and straight,
With hunger press'd, devours the pleasing Bait.
Long Draughts of Sleep his monstrous Limbs enslave:
He reels, and falling, fills the spacious Cave.

The Keeper charm'd, the Chief without Delay,
Pass'd on, and took th' irremeable Way.

Before the Gates the Cries of Babes new-born,
Whom Fate had from their tender Mothers torn,
Assault his Ears: then those whom Form of Laws
Condemn'd to die, when Traytors judg'd their Cause.
Nor want they Lots, nor Judges to review
The wrongful Sentence, and award a new.

Minos , the strict Inquisitor, appears:
And Lives, and Crimes, with his Assessors, hears.
Round, in his Urn, the blended Balls he rolls:
Absolves the Just, and dooms the guilty Souls.

The next in Place and Punishment are they
Who prodigally throw their Souls away.
Fools, who repining at their wretched State,
And loathing anxious Life, suborn'd their Fate.
With late Repentance, now they would retrieve
The Bodies they forsook, and wish to live;
Their Pains and Poverty desire to bear,
To view the Light of Heav'n, and breath the vital Air.
But Fate forbids: the Stygian Floods oppose:
And, with nine circling Streams, the captive Souls inclose.

Not far from thence the mournful Fields appear:
So call'd from Lovers that inhabit there.
The Souls, whom that unhappy Flame invades,
In secret solitude, and Myrtle Shades,
Make endless Moan, still pining with Desire:
The Pains of Love not e'en with Life expire.

Æneas, looking on the left, espy'd
A lofty Tow'r, and strong on ev'ry Side

481

With treble Walls; which Phlegethon surrounds,
Whose fiery Flood the burning Empire bounds;
And, press'd between the Rocks, the bellowing Noise resounds.
Wide is the fronting Gate, and rais'd on high,
With adamantine Columns threats the Sky:
Vain is the Force of Man, and Heav'n's as vain,
To crush the Pillars which this Pile sustain.
Sublime, on these, a Tow'r of Steel is rear'd,
And dire Tisiphone there keeps the Guard,
Girt in her sanguine Robe, by Night and Day
Observant of the Souls that pass the downward Way.
From hence are heard the Groans of Ghosts, the Pains
Of sounding Lashes, and of dragging Chains.
These are the Realms of unrelenting Fate,
And aweful Rhadamanthus rules the State.
He hears and judges each committed Crime,
Enquires into the Manner, Place, and Time:
The conscious Wretch must all his Acts reveal,
Loth to confess, unable to conceal,
From the first Moment of his vital Breath,
To his last Hour of unrepenting Death.

Straight, o'er the guilty Ghost, the Fury shakes
The sounding Whip, and brandishes her Snakes:
And, the pale Sinner, with her Sisters takes.
Then of itself, unfolds th' eternal Door:
With dreadful Sounds the brazen Hinges roar.
You see before the Gate, what stalking Ghost
Commands the Guard, what Sentries keep the Post.
More formidable Hydra stands within,
Whose fifty gaping Mouths, horrific, grin.
Here Tartarus, low to the Center lies,
And twice as deep as Earth is distant from the Skies.

The Rivals of the Gods, the Titan Race,
Here, struck with Light'ning, roll within th' unfathom'd Space:
Here lie th' Alæan Twins, (I saw them both,)
Enormous Bodies of gigantic Growth;
Who dar'd in Fight the Thunderer to defy,
Affect his Heav'n, and force him from the Sky

483

Salmoneus, suff'ring cruel Pains, I found,
For emulating Jove, the rattling Sound
Of mimic Thunder, and the glitt'ring Blaze
Of pointed Lightning, and it's forky Rays.
Thro' Elis and the Grecian Towns he flew,
Th' audacious Wretch four fiery Coursers drew:
He wav'd a Torch aloft, and, madly vain,
Sought Godlike Worship from a servile Train.
Ambitious Fool! with horny Hoofs to pass
O'er hollow Arches of resounding Brass,
To rival Thunder in it's rapid Course,
And imitate inimitable Force.
But he, Heav'n's King, amidst thick Clouds on high,
Bar'd his red Arm, and lanching from the Sky
His writhen Bolt, not shaking empty Smoke,
Down to the deep Abyss the flaming Felon struck.
There Tityus one might see, who took his Birth
From Heav'n, his nursing from the foodful Earth.
Here, his gigantic Limbs, with large embrace,
Stretch o'er nine Acres of infernal Space.
A rav'nous Vulture in his open'd Side,
Her crooked Beak, and cruel Talons try'd:
Still for the growing Liver dig'd his Breast,
The growing Liver still supply'd the Feast:
Still are his Entrails fruitful to their Pains,
Th' immortal Hunger lasts, th' immortal Food remains.

Ixion and Pirithous need I name?—
High o'er their Heads a mould'ring Rock is plac'd,
That promises a Fall, and shakes at ev'ry Blast.
They lie below, on golden Beds display'd,
And genial Feasts, with regal Pomp are made.
The Queen of Furies by their Side is set,
And snatches from their Mouths th' untasted Meat:
Which, if they touch, her hissing Snakes she rears,
Tossing her Torch, and thund'ring in their Ears.

Then they, who Brother's juster Claim disown,
Expel their Parents, and usurp the Throne,
Defraud their Clients, and to Lucre sold,
Sit brooding on unprofitable Gold:

485

Who dare not give, and ev'n refuse to lend
To their poor Kindred, or a wanting Friend.
Vast is the Throng of these: nor less the Train
Of lustful Youths, for foul Adult'ry slain.
Hosts of Deserters, who their Honour sold,
And basely broke their Faith for Bribes of Gold.

All these within the Dungeon's Depth remain,
Despairing Pardon, and expecting Pain.
Some roll a weighty Stone, some laid along
And bound with burning Wires, on Spokes of Wheels are hung.

To Tyrants others have their Country sold,
Imposing foreign Lords, for foreign Gold:
Some have old Laws repeal'd, new Statutes made:
Not as the People pleas'd, but as they paid.
With Incest some their Daughters Beds prophan'd.
All dar'd the worst of Ills, and what they dar'd attain'd.

Had I an hundred Mouths, an hundred Tongues,
And Throats of Brass, inspir'd with Iron Lungs,
I could not half those horrid Crimes repeat,
Nor half the dreadful Punishments they meet.—

Dryden. Virg. Æn. Lib. VI.

Æneas and the Sybil.

Minos and his Office.

The Gates of Hell are open Night and Day;
Smooth the Descent, and easy is the Way:
But to return and view the chearful Skies,
In this the Task, the mighty Labour lies.
To few great Jupiter imparts this Grace;
And those of shining Worth, and heav'nly Race.

Betwixt those Regions and our upper Light,
Deep Forests, and impenetrable Night,
Possess the middle Space: th' infernal Bounds,
Cocytus, with it's sable Waves surrounds.—

Id. Ibid.

Wide, in the Void, extends a standing Lake,
Whose miry Banks the Waters of fierce Phlegethon
Far-over-flowing burn: with dreadful Roar,
Between the glowing Rocks, it's fiery Stream
Winds out a Way, Flames bursting out by Fits
Thro' Clouds of Smoke. Raging on t'other Side
Cocytus rapid Stream, a Stream of Gore!
In whirling Eddies, frothing foams away.

487

There too, by which the Gods and Jove himself
Vouchsafes to swear, the Styx it's horrid Tide
Smoaking with Pitch, and Mud, and Sulphur, rolls.
Sad Acheron's most melancholy Stream,
Putrid Corruption and rank Poison mixt,
Ferments, and from the Bottom, with great Noise,
Works up the Icy Sand, whilst to the Lake
It sluggishly descends. This Filthiness
Three-headed Cerberus delights to drink:
Here quaffs Tisiphone, and dire Megæra
Here drinks, and thirsts, and drinks, and thirsts again,
Nor can the largest Draughts her Rage allay.—

Sil. Ital. Lib. XIII.

A Band of dreadful Monsters keep around
Continual Watch, and ev'ry Passage guard:
Wild Lamentation here with horrid Din,
Mixt Shrieks and Groans, the Ghosts affrighted scares:
Leanness Companion haggard of Disease;
Grief fed with Tears; and Paleness void of Blood;
Treasons, and Cares, and querulous old Age;
Malice, with both Her Hands grasp'd round her Neck,
Throttling herself; and Wickedness deform'd;
And Want to Evil prone; and Error blind,
Stumbling along; and Discord, Earth and Heav'n
Delighting to embroil.—Before Hell Gates,
Tremendous Guard! his hundred Arms out-stretch'd,
Briareus stands, and Sphynx, her Virgin Chaps
Besmear'd with Gore, and Scylla, Monster foul!
And the fierce Centaurs, and the Giant's Ghosts.—

Ibid.

When Cerberus gets loose, and scours away
Thro' Hell's dark Regions, rattling at his Heels
A thousand broken Chains, and roars along,
His Viper's Tail lashing his working Sides:
Not ev'n Alecto, nor the grim Megæra,
All Fury as she is, dares the fell Monster face.—

Ibid.

—High seated on his Throne,
Th' infernal Monarch tries the Ghosts of Kings.
Before his dread Tribunal, bound they stand,
Repentant, now too late, of all their Crimes.

489

The Furies stalk around, with Punishments
Of every Kind and Form.—Oh! how they wish
They ne'er had known the Pride of regal Sway!
The Ghosts of such as have unjustly suffer'd
Upbraid their cruel Reign, and what alive
They durst not utter, freely now complain of.
Here, one, in Chains, is fasten'd to a Rock:
Another up a steepy Mountain heaves
A heavy Stone: a third the fierce Megæra
Lashes, incessant, with her Viper-Scourge.
Such Punishments must cruel Tyrants feel.—

Ibid.

But impious Souls shall lie in Night profound,
Where muddy Waters flow with solemn Sound:
Snake-hair'd Tisiphone patroles about,
And lashes, here and there, the impious Rout.
There Hydra horrid at the Portal waits,
And barking Cerb'rus guards the brazen Gates:
There Ixion's whirl'd around th' incessant Wheel,
For tempting Juno, and intending Ill:
There Tityus lies over nine Acres spread,
While his black Entrails hungry Vultures feed:
There Tantalus remains, for ever dry,
His eager Lips surrounding Waters fly:
There Danaus' Daughter, impious to profane
Great Venus' Rites, are doom'd a fruitless Pain,
To fill with Lethe's Streams a Tun in vain.—

Dart. Tibul. Lib. I. El. 3.

Hero.

See General. Warrior.

But, by the Head entire, o'ertopping All,
Turnus himself with beauteous Form appears,
High in the Van, and graceful shines in Arms.
His crested Helmet with a triple Plume
Tow'ring, sustains Chimæra, from her Jaws
Breathing Ætnean Fires; the more the Fight
Kindles in Rage, and rolls with Tides of Blood:
The more she storms, and burns with baleful Flames.

491

With Horns erected, Io cast in Gold
(Illustrious Argument!) his Buckler grac'd,
An Heifer now, and all with Hair o'ergrown:
Argus her Watch: and Inachus her Sire,
Pouring his River from his graven Urn.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. VII.

Next, Aventinus drives his Chariot round
The Latian Plains, with Palms and Lawrels crown'd.
Proud of his Steeds, he smokes along the Field:
His Father's Hydra fills the ample Shield:
A hundred Serpents hiss about the Brims:
The Son of Hercules he justly seems,
By his broad Shoulders and gigantic Limbs.
For Arms his Men long Piles and Jav'lins bore,
And Poles with pointed Steel their Foes in Battle gore.
Himself on Foot, in savage Pomp appears,
A Lion's Hide he like his Father wears:
About his Shoulders hangs the shaggy Skin,
The Teeth, and gaping Jaws severely grin.
All rough, and with Herculean Terror drest,
He strides into the Hall, a horrid Guest.—

Dryden. Æn. Lib. VII.

Pallas himself advances in the Midst,
Conspicuous in his Cloak, and painted Arms:
As when the Star by Venus most belov'd,
Bright Lucifer, just wash'd in Ocean's Waves,
Upraises in the Sky his sacred Head,
And dissipates the Shades.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. VIII.

The Senior rises: with his homely Coat
His Body cloaths; and fastens to his Feet
The Tyrrhene Sandals: then th' Arcadian Sword
Girds to his Side, and Shoulders: on the Left
A Panther's Hide retorts: two trusty Dogs,
From the high Gate, attend their Master's Steps.—

Id. Ibid.

Forthwith new Fire burns sparkling in his Eyes:
With dreadful Clank his shining Armour rings:
High on his Crest the bloody-colour'd Plumes
Tremble: and Lightning flashes from his Shield.—

Id. Æn. Lib. IX.

493

Now Turnus, raging, arms him for the Fight;
In his Rutulian Corslet clad, and rough
With brazen Scales; he sheaths his Legs in Gold,
His Head yet bare: then buckles to his Side
His faithful Sword: from the high Fort runs down,
And shines all o'er in Gold: with martial Pride
Exulting, and in Hope prevents the Foe.—

Id. Æn. XI.

Young Ornitus bestrode a Hunter Steed,
Swift for the Chace, and of Apulian Breed:
He at a Distance rode, in Arms unknown,
O'er his broad Back an Ox's Hide was thrown,
His Helm a Wolf's, whose gaping Jaws were spread
A Cov'ring for his Cheeks, and grinn'd around his Head.
He clench'd within his Hand an iron Prong,
And tow'r'd above the rest, conspicuous in the Throng.—

Dryd. Ibid.

Sacred to Cybele, and once her Priest,
Chloreus, by Chance, all bright in Phrygian Arms,
At Distance shone, and spurr'd his foaming Steed:
The Steed rich Trappings cloth'd, compact with Scales
Of Brass, and Gold, like Feathers wrought: Himself
Gaudy in Purple, and Barbaric Dye,
Shot Lycian Arrows from a Cretan Bow.
The sounding Bow which from his Shoulders hung,
Glitter'd with Gold: and golden was the Helm
That deck'd his priestly Head: His saffron Cloak,
And linnen Folds, which rattled, as he mov'd,
With yellow Gold He in a Knot confin'd.
With Needle Work embroider'd were his Robes,
And Asian Cuisses, that his Thighs enclos'd.—

Trap. Ibid.

A Lion's Hide around his Loins he wore:
A well pois'd Jav'lin to the Field he bore
Headed with glitt'ring Steel; a pointed Dart,
And the best Weapon, an undaunted Heart.—

Addison. Ovid. Met. Lib. III.

Achilles in his Car had scour'd the Plain,
And clear'd the Trojan Ranks.—
His white-main'd Steeds, that bow'd beneath the Yoke,
He chear'd to Courage, with a gentle Stroke:
Then urg'd his fiery Chariot on the Foe,
And shook his quiv'ring Lance, in act to throw.—

Dryd. Ov. Met. Lib. XII.

Evander King of Arcadia.

495

Homer.

The mighty Bard, in lasting Numbers sings,
Ilium's long Wars: the King of Fifty Kings:
Brave Hector's Brand, the bloody dreadful Field,
And Troy secure behind the Hero's Shield.
He sings Ulysses, and his wandring Years
In Time and Glory equal to his Wars:
He sings how twice he conq'ring plow'd the Main,
While Scylla roar'd, and Neptune rag'd in vain,
And how at home he fix'd his tott'ring Throne,
Redeem'd his Honour, and secur'd his Son:
Usurping Woers felt his thund'ring Sword,
And willing Nations knew their native Lord.

His Subjects these: from whose abundant Spring
Succeeding Poets draw the Songs they sing:
From him they take, from adorn their Themes,
And into little Channels cut his Streams:
Rich in his Store.—

Creech. Manil. Lib. II.

Hope.

When from this wicked World the Gods withdrew,
HOPE stay'd behind, nor hence amongst 'em flew.
She cheers the shackl'd Slave that digs the Mine,
And cries, Sweet Liberty will soon be thine.
Thro' her, tho' wreck'd, where not a Shore he spies,
Amidst the Waves his Arms the Sailor plies.
Physicians often give the Patient o'er,
But Hope still stays, tho' Death be at the Door.
Prisoners, condemn'd, in Dungeons hope Reprieve,
Nor ev'n on the Cross does Hope the Wretched leave.—

Ov. Pont. VII.

Death long ago had ta'n my Grief away,
But flatt'ring Hope still urges on Delay,
And says to Morrow'll bring a better Day.
Hope chears the Peasant when he turns the Soil,
And promises a Harvest from his Toil.

497

Hope bids the artful Fowler Springes lay,
And still assures him of the wish'd-for Prey.
The patient Angler stretching out his Reed,
Hopes on the cover'd Hook to catch the finny Breed.
The Slave in Hopes of Liberty remains,
And sings, tho' on his Legs he hears the rattling Chains.—

Dart alt. Tib. Lib. II. El. 7.

How void of Reason are our Hopes and Fears!—

Juv. Sat. X.

Horse.

—High his Neck,
His Head acute, his Belly thin, his Back
Fleshy, and round: his Chest with swelling Knots
Luxuriant: (best for Colour is the Bay,
And dappled: worst the Sorrel, and the White:)
Then, if the Clank of distant Arms is heard,
He paws, impatient, quickens his sharp Ears,
And quivers ev'ry Joint, and snorting curbs
The Smoke and Fire which in his Nostrils roll.
His full thick Mane on his Right Shoulder plays:
A double spinal Bone his Chine divides:
His sounding Hoof with solid Horn upturns
The crumbling Mould, and rings against the Ground.—

Trap. Virg. Georg. Lib. III.

First be the Steed accustom'd to behold
The Warrior's Arms, and Courage: to endure
The Trumpet, and the rumbling Chariot's Noise,
And hear the Bridles rattle in the Stalls:
Then more and more to love the soothing Sound
Of the clap'd Chest, and proudly to rejoyce
In the fond Praises of the busy Groom.
Thus, when first sever'd from the suckling Dam,
Let him be exercis'd, and taught to bear
Soft pliant Headstalls: in his weaker Age
Yet trembling, nor experienc'd from his Years.
But when another Summer to the Third
Is added: Let him now begin to wheel
In artful Rings: with sounding Hoofs to form

499

His Steps: to manage his alternate Feet
Sinuous and flexile: and to paw, and bound
With seeming Labour: Then to dare the Winds
In Fleetness: and, as if unrein'd, to fly
O'er the wide Plain, nor press th' unprinted Sand.
A Steed thus train'd, or in the spacious Cirque
Will sweat, and labour round the Eleïan Goal,
And from his Mouth throw Flakes of bloody Foam:
Or more obsequious draw the Belgic Car.—

Id. Ibid.

First daring Ericthonius to the Car
Four Horses join'd, and rode on rapid Wheels:
The Lapithæ first, mounting on their Backs,
Added the Reins: And taught them, under Arms,
Graceful to form the Steps, to wheel, and turn,
Insult the Ground, and proudly pace the Plain.—

Id. Georg. Lib. III.

So, loose with broken Reins, the sprightly Steed
Flies from his Stall, and gains the open Field:
Or to the Pastures, and the female Herd
He bends his Course: or to the wonted Stream,
To bathe his Limbs: He neighs, and bounds from Earth,
Luxuriant, prancing, with his Chest erect,
And Head high toss'd in Air: his waving Mane
Flows on his Neck, and o'er his Shoulders plays.—

Id. Æn. XI.

Hospitality.

See Banquet. Munificence.

Here Jove with Hermes came: but in Disguise
Of mortal Men conceal'd their Deities:
One laid aside his Thunder, one his Rod,
And many toilsom Steps together trod.
For Harbour at a thousand Doors they knock'd:
Not one of all the thousand but was lock'd.
At last an hospitable Cot they found,
Whose humble Roof, not far above the Ground,
Was thatch'd with Weeds and Straw together bound.
There Baucis and Philemon liv'd, and there,
Of equal Years, grown old together, were.

501

From lofty Roofs the Gods repuls'd before,
Now, stooping, enter'd thro' the little Door:
The Man (their hearty Welcome first express'd,)
A common Settle drew for either Guest,
Inviting each his weary Limbs to rest.
But e'er they sat, officious Baucis lays
Two Cushions stuft with Straw, the Seat to raise:
Coarse, but the best she had: then rakes the Load
Of Ashes from the Hearth, and spreads abroad
The living Coals; and, lest they should expire,
With Leaves, and Bark, she feeds the feeble Fire:
It smoaks: she puffs it with her trembling Breath,
Till in a chearful Blaze the Flames burst forth:
Brushwood, and Chips she adds, to strengthen these,
And over all some Boughs of rotten Trees.

The Fire thus form'd, she hangs her little Pot:
Then picks, and cuts the Sprouts, her Husband got
From his own Ground, a small well water'd Spot.
High o'er the Hearth a Chine of Bacon hung:
Good old Philemon seiz'd it with a Prong:
And from the sooty Raftor drew it down,
Then cut a Slice: but scarce enough for one.
This in the smoking Pot was plung'd to boil,
While they with pleasing Chat the Time beguile.

A Beam there was, on which a beechen Pail
Hung by the Handle, on a driven Nail:
This, fill'd with Water gently warm'd, they set
Before their Guests: in this they bath'd their Feet.
A Mattress stuff'd with Moss lay on the Bed;
Sallow the Feet, the Borders, and the Sted;
And of a Piece the homely Coverlid:
The Cloaths were old and coarse: yet such as these
They us'd alone, at Feasts, on Holidays.

The palsy'd Housewife, tucking up her Gown,
The Table sets: th' invited Gods lye down.
The Trivet Table of a Foot was lame,
A Blot which prudent Baucis overcame:

503

Thrusting beneath the limping Leg a Shred,
The tott'ring Board she on a Level rear'd:
Then rubb'd it o'er with newly gather'd Mint,
A wholsome Herb, that breath'd a grateful Scent.
First on the Board, Minerva's Gift, were seen
The party-colour'd Olives, black, and green:
Autumnal Cornels next, in order serv'd,
In Lees of Wine well pickled, and preserv'd:
Endive, and Radishes, Eggs roasted rare,
And Cheese-Curd newly press'd:—all plac'd on earthen Ware.
A Pitcher of the same, with Figures wrought,
And beechen Bowls, were to the Side-board brought,
Varnish'd with Wax they were, and lin'd within.—

And now the smoking Mess was serv'd to Board,
And with new Wine again the Pitcher stor'd:
Then came the second Course, like that before,
Plumbs, Apples, Nuts, and of their Winter Store
Dry Figs, and Grapes, and wrinkled Dates were set
In Canisters, t' enlarge the little Treat:
All these a milk white Honey-comb surround,
Which, in the midst, the rural Banquet crown'd.
But the kind Hosts their Entertainment grace,
With hearty Welcome, and an open Face:
In all they did, you might discern with Ease,
Sincere Good-will, and a Desire to please.

Mean time the beechen Bowls went round, and still,
Tho' often empty'd, were observ'd to fill:
Devotion seiz'd the Pair, to see the Feast
With Wine, and of no common Grape, increas'd:
And up they held their Hands, and fell to Pray'r,
Excusing, as they could, their homely Fare.
One single Goose the pious Pair had got,
And 'twas the Guardian of their little Cot:
This to the Gods they vow'd a Sacrifice,
And strove to catch; but swift away it flies,
And dodges long, (for their old Age too fast,)
Then of the Gods Protection seeks at last.
Its Death the Gods forbid: and thus declare;—
You're not mistaken, Gods indeed we are.

505

The wicked Race around shall quickly feel
Due Punishment: be you secure from Ill;
Your Cottage quit, and follow where we lead,
And haste away to yonder Mountain's Head,
The good old Pair obey:—Slow Steps each takes,
Prop'd on their Staves. But when the hilly Height
They'd almost gain'd, within an Arrow's Flight,
Back to the Place they left they turn their Eyes;
Lost in a Lake the floated Level lies:
A watry Desart covers all the Plains,
Their Cot alone, as in an Isle, remains.

Wondring, with weeping Eyes, while they deplore
Their Neighbours Fate, and Country now no more:
Their little Shed, scarce large enough for two,
Seems, from the Ground increas'd, in Height and Bulk to grow.
A stately Temple shoots within the Skies:
The Crotchets of their Cot in Columns rise:
The Pavement polish'd Marble they behold:
The Gates with Sculpture grac'd, the Spires and Tiles of Gold.
Then thus the Sire of Gods, with Looks serene.
Speak thy Desire, Thou only just of Men:
And Thou, O Woman, only worthy found
To be with such a Man in Marriage bound.

Awhile they whisper: then, to Jove address'd,
Philemon thus prefers their joint Request:
We crave to serve before your sacred Shrine,
And offer at your Altars Rites divine:
And since not any Action of our Life,
Has been polluted with domestick Strife,
We beg one Hour of Death: that neither She
With Widow's Tears may live to bury me,
Nor weeping, I with widow'd Arms may bear,
My breathless Baucis to her Sepulcher.
The Gods confirm their Suit.—

Dryden alter'd. Ovid. Met. Lib. VIII.

—Come on then, gallant Guests,
Enter my Palace.—
Acquainted with Misfortune, I have learn'd

507

To pity and to succour the Distress'd.
This said, she leads Æneas to her Court,
And to the Gods a Festival proclaims.
Mean-while to all the Crew, on board his Ships
Which lay in Harbour, twenty Bulls she sends:
An hundred bristly Boars with spacious Chines:
An hundred fatted Lambs, with Ewes: and Wine,
Gift of the jolly God.
But with proud Pomp the inner Rooms of State
Are splendidly adorn'd: and Feasts prepar'd
In the mid-Court: the purple Carpets wrought
With Art: the Tables groan with massy Plate,
And brave Exploits of warlike Ancestors
Emboss'd in Gold.—

—Uponm the golden Couch,
Sumptuous with Tapestry, the Queen had plac'd
Herself, and in the Middle chose her Seat.

Now Prince Æneas, and the Trojan Youth,
Advance; and feast, on crimson Beds repos'd.
Th' Attendants wait with Water for the Hands,
Distribute Bread from Canisters, and hold
Soft Towels. Fifty Handmaids wait within,
Dispose the Banquet in long Order rang'd,
And burn rich Incense to the Houshold Gods.
An hundred Maids besides, as many Youths,
Of equal Age, attend: who pile the Boards
With Dishes, and the Cups and Goblets place.
Nor less the Tyrians crowd the joyful Court,
Invited on embroider'd Beds to feast.

The Banquet pausing, and the Meat remov'd,
Large massy Bowls they place, and crown the Wine.
Loud Noise succeeds: and thro' the ample Courts
They roll the Sound: in Sconces Tapers hang
Lighted from gilded Roofs: and Night retires,
O'erpower'd with blazing Flambeaus.—Here the Queen
Calls for a Goblet, rough with Gems, and Gold,
(Which Belus us'd, and all the Kings from him,)
And fills it up with Wine: then thro' the Court

509

Silence commands.—O Jove! (for Thou art said
To fix the Laws of Hospitality,)
Grant that this Day auspicious may be prov'd
To both the Colonies of Tyre and Troy,
And by our late Posterity be known.
May Bacchus God of Mirth, and Juno kind,
Be present here: and You my Tyrians join,
Well pleas'd, to celebrate the solemn Feast.

This said, she for Libation spills the Wine
Upon the Board: and first with gentle Touch
Salutes the Cup: which, hast'ning him, she gives
To Bitias: He with speed the frothy Bowl
Drinks off, and swills himself with the full Gold.
Then all the Lords.—

—The Tyrians loud acclaim
Redouble: and the Trojan Guests concur.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. I.

Dido.

When to the Seat they came, These Gates, he said,
Alcides enter'd: Him this Court receiv'd.
Dare to scorn Wealth, brave Guest: Presume thy self
Worthy to emulate a God: and come
Not supercilious to our little State.
He said; and underneath his homely Roof
Conducts the great Æneas: on spread Leaves,
And on a Lybian Bear's rough Hide repos'd.—

Id. Virg. Æn. Lib. VIII.

Hunger.

See Famine.

The Morning came, the Night, and Slumbers past,
But still the furious Pangs of Hunger last:
The cank'rous Rage still gnaws with griping Pains,
Stings in his Throat, and in his Bowels reigns.
Strait he requires, impatient in Demand,
Provisions from the Air, the Seas, the Land:
But tho' Land, Air, and Sea, Provisions grant,
Starves at full Tables, and complains of Want.

511

What to a People might in Dole be paid,
Or victual Cities for a long Blockade,
Could not one wolfish Appetite asswage:
For glutting Nourishment increas'd it's Rage.
As Rivers pour'd from ev'ry distant Shore,
The Sea insatiate drinks, and thirsts for more:
Or as the Fire, which all Materials burns,
And wasted Forests into Ashes turns,
Grows more voracious as the more it preys,
Recruits dilate the Flame, and spread the Blaze:
So impious Erisichthon's Hunger raves,
Receives Refreshments, and Refreshments craves.
Food raises a Desire for Food, and Meat
Is but a new Provocative to eat:
He grows more empty, as the more supply'd,
And endless cramming but extends the Void.
Now Riches hoarded by paternal Care
Were sunk, the Glutton swallowing up the Heir.
Yet the devouring Flame no Stores abate,
Nor less his Hunger grew with his Estate.
One Daughter left, as left his keen Desire,
(A Daughter worthy of a better Sire:)
Her too he sold, spent Nature to sustain.

At last all Means, as all Provisions, fail'd;
For the Disease by Remedies prevail'd:
His Muscles with a furious Bite he tore,
Gorg'd his own tatter'd Flesh, and gulp'd his Gore:
Wounds were his Feast; his Life to Life a Prey:
Supporting Nature by it's own Decay.—

Vernon. Ovid. Met. Lib. VIII.

Erisichthon having prophan'd the Grove of Ceres, and revil'd her Worship, Famine, at her Request, tormented him with an insatiable Hunger.

Hunting.

Scarce had Aurora left her orient Bed,
And rear'd above the Waves her radiant Head,
When pouring thro' the Gates, the Train appear,
Massylian Hunters with the steely Spear,
Sagacious Hounds, and Toils, and all the Sylvan War.

513

Soon as the Troop amid the Mountains came,
And storm'd the Coverts of the savage Game:
The Goats flew bounding o'er the craggy Brow,
From Rock to Rock, and sought the Fields below,
Here the fleet Stags chac'd down the tow'ring Steep,
In Clouds of Dust thro' the long Vallies sweep.—

Pitt. Æn. Lib. IV.

There stood a Forest on a Mountain's Brow,
Which over-look'd the shaded Plains below.
The Heroes there arriv'd, some spread around
The Toils: some sought the Footsteps on the Ground:
Some from the Chains the faithful Dogs unbound.
Of Action eager, and intent in Thought,
The Chiefs an honourable Danger sought.

From hence the Boar was rous'd, and sprung amain,
Like Light'ning sudden, on the Warrior Train:
The Trees before him fall, he shakes the Ground,
The Forest echoes to the crackling Sound.
His Eye-Balls glare with Fire suffus'd with Blood:
His Neck shoots up a thick-set thorny Wood:
His bristled Back a Trench impal'd appears,
And stands erected, like a Field of Spears:
Froth fills his Chaps, he sends a grunting Sound,
And part he churns, and part be-foams the Ground:
Loud shout the Youth, and Clamours ring around.
All stood with their protended Spears prepar'd:
With broad Steel Heads the brandish'd Weapons glar'd.

The Beast impetuous, with his Tusks aside
Deals glancing Wounds; the fearful Dogs divide:
All spend their Mouths aloof, but none abide.
Echion threw the first, but miss'd his Mark,
And stuck his Boar-Spear on a Maple's Bark.
Then Jason:—and his Jav'lin seem'd to take,
But fail'd thro' over-force, and whiz'd above his Back.
Mopsus was next, and e'er he threw address'd
To Phœbus, thus: O Patron, help thy Priest!
If I adore, and ever have ador'd
Thy Pow'r Divine, thy present Aid afford,
That I may reach the Beast. The God allow'd
His Pray'r, and smiling, gave him what he cou'd:

515

He reach'd the Savage, but no Blood he drew:
Dian disarm'd the Jav'lin as it flew.

This chaf'd the Boar: his Nostrils Flames expire,
And his red Eye-Balls roll with living Fire.
Whirl'd from a Sling, or from an Engine thrown
Amid the Foes, so flies a mighty Stone
As flew the Beast. The left Wing put to Flight,
The Chiefs o'er-born, he rushes on the Right.
Empalamos and Pelagon he laid
In Dust, and would have kill'd, but for their Fellows Aid.
Onesimus far'd worse: prepar'd to fly,
The fatal Fang drove deep within his Thigh,
And cut the Nerves: the Nerves no more sustain
The Bulk: the Bulk unprop'd, falls headlong on the Plain.

Nestor had fail'd the Fall of Troy to see,
But leaning on his Lance, he vaulted on a Tree:
Then gathering up his Feet, look'd down with Fear,
And thought his monstrous Foe was still too near.
Against a Stump his Tusks the Monster grinds,
And in the sharpen'd Edge new Vigour finds:
Then, trusting to his Arms, young Othrys found,
And in his Hip struck deep a crooked Wound.

Now Leda's Twins, the future Stars, appear:
White were their Habits, white their Horses were:
Conspicuous both, and both in Act to throw,
Their trembling Lances brandish'd at the Foe:
Nor had they miss'd: but he to Thickets fled,
Conceal'd from aiming Spears, nor pervious to the Steed.

Now lovely Atalanta strain'd her Bow;
The well-sped Arrow left the twanging Yew,
And to the distant Mark unerring flew.
Beneath his Ear the fastned Arrow stood,
And from the Wound appear'd the trickling Blood.

With both his Hands the proud Ancæus takes,
And flourishes his double-biting Ax:
Then, forward to his Fate, he fetch'd a Stride
Before the rest, and to his Fellows cry'd,

517

Give place, and mark the Diff'rence, if You can,
Between a Woman Warrior, and a Man:
The Boar is doom'd: nor tho' Diana lend
Her Aid, Diana can her Beast defend.
Thus boasted He; then stretch'd, on Tiptoe stood,
Secure to make his empty Promise good.
But the more wary Beast prevents the Blow,
And upward rips the Groin of his audacious Foe.
Ancæus falls: His Bowels from the Wound
Rush out, and clotted Blood distains the Ground.

Two Spears from Meleager's Hand were sent,
With equal Force, but various in th' Event:
The first was fixt in Earth, the second stood
On the Boars bristled Back, and deeply drank his Blood.
Now while the tortur'd Savage turns around,
And flings about his Foam, impatient of the Wound,
The Wound's great Author close at Hand provokes
His Rage, and plies him with redoubled Strokes:
Wheels, as he Wheels: and with his pointed Dart
Explores the nearest Passage to his Heart.
Quick, and more quick he spins in giddy Gires,
Then falls, and in much Foam his Soul expires.
This Act, with Shouts Heav'n-high the friendly Band
Applaud, and strain in their's the Victor's Hand.
Then All approach the Slain with vast Surprize:
Admire on what a Breadth of Earth he lies:
And scarce secure, reach out their Spears afar,
And blood their Points, to prove their Partnership of War.—

Dryden. Ovid. Met. Lib. VIII.

Hunting the Hare.

As when a Hare the nimble Greyhound spies,
His Feet for Prey, she her's for Safety plies:
And now he strains, and now he forward bends,
Now to her Heels his lengthned Snout extends:
So near he bears, and hovers over the Prize,
He seems to seize her ev'ry Step she flies:
While she scarce knowing if She's caught or no,
Springs from his Mouth, and mocks the seizing Foe.—

Sewell. Ovid. Met. Lib. I.

519

Huntress.

See Amazon.

She, Huntress like, had on her Shoulders hung
A light commodious Bow; and giv'n the Winds
To wanton in her Tresses: bare her Knee:
And in a Knot her flowing Folds confin'd.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. I.

The Nymph nor spun, nor dress'd with artful Pride:
Her Vest was gather'd up, her Hair was ty'd:
Now in her Hand a slender Spear she bore,
Now a light Quiver on her Shoulders wore:
To chast Diana from her Youth inclin'd,
The sprightly Warriors of the Wood she join'd.—

Addison. Ovid. Met. Lib. II.

—Fair Atalanta came,
Grace of the Woods: a Diamond Buckle bound
Her Vest behind, that else had flow'd upon the Ground.
A single Knot her lovely Locks confin'd:
The Ends, uncurl'd, lay open to the Wind.
An Iv'ry Quiver, o'er her Shoulders flung,
Contain'd her Darts, which rattled as it hung.
In her left Hand a curious Bow she held,
And, thus array'd, she issu'd to the Field.
Such was her Face, as in a Nymph display'd
A fair fierce Boy, or in a Boy betray'd
The blushing Beauties of a modest Maid.—

Dryd. alt. Ovid. Met. Lib. VIII.

Her Arms were naked to th' admiring Eye,
And in the Wind her comely Tresses fly:
A furnish'd Quiver on her Shoulder hung,
A Bow was in her Hand, but now unstrung:
Her Cretan Vest, short gather'd from the Ground,
A double Girdle regularly bound.—

Hughes. Claud. Rapt. Prof.

Hypocrisy.

See Dissimulation. Looks.

I'm sick of Rome, and wish myself convey'd
Where freezing Seas obstruct the Merchant's Trade:
When Hypocrites read Lectures, and a Sot,
Because into a Preaching-Habit got,

521

Tho' surfeit-gorg'd, and reeking from the Stews,
Nothing but Abstinence for's Theme will chuse.
The Creatures too pretend to Learning:—Why?
Chrysippus' Statue decks their Library.
Who makes his Closet finest, is most read:
The Dolt that with an Aristotle's Head,
Carv'd to the Life, has once adorn'd his Shelf,
Streight sets up for a Stagyrite himself.—

Tate. Juv. Sat. II.

Jealousy.

When Telephus his youthful Charms,
His rosy Neck, and winding Arms,
With endless Rapture you recite,
And in that pleasing Name delight:
My Heart, inflam'd by jealous Heats,
With numberless Resentments beats:
From my pale Cheek the Colour flies,
And all the Man within me dies.
By Fits my swelling Grief appears
In rising Sighs, and falling Tears,
That shew too well the warm Desires,
The silent, slow, consuming Fires,
Which on my inmost Vitals prey,
And melt my very Soul away.—

Addison. Hor. Lib. I. Ode 13.

Her Love believes the Tale: the Truth she fears
Of his new Passion, and gives Way to Tears:
But soon, she cries, Oh! wherefore do I so?
The Harlot will but triumph in my Woe.
My raging Wrongs now urge me to pursue
Some desp'rate Deed, by which the World shall view
How far Revenge and Woman's Rage can rise,
When weltring in her Blood the Harlot dies.—

Gay alter'd. Ovid. Met. Lib. IX.

Now my fond Heart with jealous Torments bled,
For fear my Wife had wrong'd her nuptial Bed:

523

Much I distrust her Charms and blooming Years,
But then her Virtue checks my rising Fears.
Yet I was absent long; Experience too
Taught me how far a Woman could be true.
Each doubtful Circumstance Suspicion bred,
For Lovers Sceptics are, and all Things dread.
I try to seek what I should grieve to find,
Resolve to bribe her, and with Presents blind.—

Gay alt. Ovid. Met. Lib. VII.

Great Love is soonest with Suspicion fir'd;
She swoon'd, and with the Tale almost expir'd.
Senseless some time she lay, then thus began:
Ah, hapless Woman I! Ah faithless Man!—
Transported with imaginary Blame,
She fears a Nothing, a mere empty Name:
But grieves as much, and is as jealous too,
As if the Crime were real, the Rival true.
Yet oft she doubts, and hopes she is deceiv'd,
And scarce forgives herself that she believ'd:
Resolves to see, and to suspend her Blame,
Till her own Eyes convince her of the Shame.—

Sewell and Gay alt. Ibid.

No furious Boar, whom Rage and Anger fire,
To rend the Dogs in his revengeful Ire:
No Lioness, whose Whelps receive the Breast,
No Viper, by unwary Footsteps prest:
Can equal Woman's Rage, by Fury led,
To find a Rival in her injur'd Bed.—

Dryden alter'd. Ov. Art. Am. Lib. II.

Soon as the Name of Aura Procris hears,
With Jealousy surpriz'd, and fainting Fears,
Her rosy Colour fled her lovely Face,
And Agonies like Death supply'd the Place:
Pale she appear'd, as are the falling Leaves,
When first the Vine the Winter Blast receives.
Of ripen'd Quinces such the yellow Hue,
Or, when unripe, we Cornel-Berries view.
Reviving from her Swoon, her Robes she tore:
Nor her own faultless Face to wound forbore.—

Congreve. Ibid.

Dejanira Wife of Hercules, jealous of the fair Iole.

Cephelus suspecting the Virtue of his Wife Procris, came in Disguise to tempt her.

Procris being told of her Husband's Regard for Aura.

525

Imprecation.

For him, ye Gods! for Crastinus, whose Spear
With impious Eagerness began the War,
Some more than common Punishment prepare:
Beyond the Grave long lasting Plagues ordain,
Surviving Sense, and never-ceasing Pain.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. VII.

—For Crimes like These,
So bold, and monstrous, may the righteous Gods
(If Heav'n has any Justice, that regards
Such Outrages) reward Thee, as thy Deeds
Deserve! who thus hast forc'd me to behold
The Murder of my Son, and with his Blood,
Barbarian! could'st pollute a Father's Sight.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. II.

Thou Sun! who view'st at once the World below!
Thou Juno! Guardian of the nuptial Vow!
Thou Hecate! hearken from the dark Abodes:
Ye Furies! Fiends! and violated Gods!
All Powers invok'd with Dido's dying Breath,
Attend her Curses, and avenge her Death.
If so the Fates ordain, and Jove Commands
Th' ungrateful Wretch should find the Latian Lands:
Yet let a Race untam'd, and haughty Foes,
His peaceful Entrance with dire Arms oppose:
Oppress'd with Numbers in th' unequal Field,
His Men discourag'd, and himself expell'd,
Let him for Succour sue from Place to Place,
Torn from his Subjects, and his Son's Embrace.
First let him see his Friends in Battle slain,
And their untimely Fate lament in vain:
And when, at length, the cruel War shall cease,
On hard Conditions may he buy his Peace.
Nor let him then enjoy supreme Command,
But fall, untimely, by some hostile Hand:
And lye unbury'd on the barren Sand.

527

These are my Pray'rs, and this my dying Will,
And you, my Tyrians, every Curse fulfil:
Perpetual Hate, and mortal Wars proclaim,
Against the Prince, the People, and the Name:
These grateful Off'rings on my Grave bestow,
Nor League, nor Love, the hostile Nations know:
Now, and from hence, in every future Age,
When Rage excites your Arms, and Strength supplies the Rage:
Rise some Avenger of our Lybian Blood,
With Fire and Sword pursue the perjur'd Brood:
Our Arms, our Seas, our Shores oppos'd to theirs,
And the same Hate descend on all our Heirs.—

Dryden. Virg. Æn. Lib. IV.

— Tisiphone!
Oh hear, and aid the Vengeance I require,
If worthy Thee, and what Thou might'st inspire!
My Sons their old unhappy Sire despise,
Spoil'd of his Kingdom, and depriv'd of Eyes:
Guideless, I wander, unregarded mourn,
While these exalt their Scepters o'er my Urn:
These Sons, ye Gods! who with flagitious Pride,
Insult my Darkness, and my Groans deride.
Art thou a Father, unregarding Jove!
And sleeps thy Thunder in the Realms above?
Thou Fury then, some lasting Curse entail,
Which o'er their Children's Children shall prevail:
Place on their Heads that Crown distain'd with Gore,
Which these dire Hands from my slain Father tore:
Go, and a Parent's heavy Curses bear:
Break all the Bonds of Nature, and prepare
Their kindred Souls to mutual Hate and War!
Give them to dare, what I might wish to see,
Blind as I am, some glorious Villany!—

Pope. Stat. Theb. Lib. I.

May Ghosts surround her with complaining Cries;
And the dire Owl scream at her from the Skies:
May She, of ev'ry Kind of Food bereft,
Rob Graves, and gnaw the Bones that Wolves have left!—

Dart alter'd. Tibul. Lib. I. El. 6.

Priam.

Æneas.

OEdipus.

529

Inclinations of Men Different.

Men diff'rent Things admire and approve:
Odes You like best; Iambics Others love:
Whilst a third Sort in Satyr's Rage delight:
Sharp Salt alone can please their Appetite.
Three Friends by me are sent for to a Feast,
A diff'rent Palate too has ev'ry Guest.
What shall, what shall I not provide? when You
For what They like a strong Aversion shew;
And chuse what's hateful to the other two.—

Hor. Lib. II. Epist. 2.

Pollux on Foot, on Horseback Castor fights:
As many Men, so many their Delights.—

Creech. Hor. Creech. Lib. II. Sat 1.

Who's Temper's serious, and their Humour sad,
They think all blithe and merry Men are mad:
They who are merry, and whose Humour's free,
Abhor a sad and serious Gravity:
They who are slow and heavy, can't admit
The Friendship of a quick and ready Wit.
The slothful hate the busy active Men,
And are detested by the same again.
They whose free Humour prompts them to be gay,
To drink all Night and revel all the Day,
Abhor the Man that can his Cups refuse.—

Pooly. Hor. Lib. I. Epist 18.

Nature is ever various in her Frame:
Each has a diff'rent Will, and few the same.
The greedy Merchants, led by Lucre, run
To the parch'd Indies, and the rising Sun:
From thence hot Pepper, and rich Drugs they bear,
Bart'ring for Spices their Italian Ware.
The lazy Glutton safe at Home will keep,
Indulge his Sloth, and batten with his Sleep.
One bribes for high Preferment in the State,
A second shakes the Box, and sits up late:
Another shakes the Bed, dissolving there,
Till Knots upon his gouty Joints appear,
And Chalk is in his crippled Fingers found:
Rots like a doddard Oak, and peice-meal falls to Ground.

531

Then, his lewd Follies he would late repent;
And his past Years, that in a Mist were spent.—

Dryden. Pers. Sat. V.

For Men of diff'rent Inclinations are;
Tho' born, perhaps, beneath one common Star.
In Mind and Manners Twins oppos'd we see
In the same Sign, almost the same Degree.
One, frugal, on his Birth-Day fears to dine,
Does at a Penny's Cost in Herbs repine,
And hardly dares to dip his Fingers in the Brine:
Prepar'd as Priest of his own Rites to stand,
He sprinkles Pepper with a sparing Hand.
His jolly Brother opposite in Sense,
Laughs at his Thrift: and lavish of Expence,
Quaffs, crams, and guttles, in his own Defence.—

Dryd. Pers. Sat. VI.

Some view, with a delighted Eye,
Thick Clouds of Dust around them fly,
While their contending Chariots roll,
And nicely shun th' Olympic Goal:
Where Races, won, and Palms bestow'd,
Exalt a Hero to a God.

This is of high Preferment proud,
And Honours given by the Crowd:
That plows his own paternal Fields,
With what the Lybian Harvest yields
Content: nor by the Hopes of Gain
Can'st Thou e'er tempt him from the Plain:
Or draw his fearful Soul to ride
In feeble Ships, and stem the Tide.

The Merchant toss'd on angry Seas,
Commends his Farm, and rural Ease:
Yet rigs his shatter'd Bark once more,
Untaught, unable to be poor.

There are who quaff, (or careless laid
Beneath the wilding-Apple's Shade,
Or where the rising Fountains play,)
Old Massic Wine throughout the Day.
And Many be, whom Camps delight,
And Battles, that fond Mothers fright:

533

Who in the Fife's, and Clarion's Voice,
The Symphony of War, rejoyce.

The Hunter bears bleak Cold and Wet,
Unmindful of his lovely Spouse:
Whether the Stag the Beagles rouse,
Or the wild Boar has broke the Net.—

Creech. Welsted alt. Hor. Lib. I. Od. 1.

Some vex the Deep with Oars, and rush to Arms:
Sollicit Favour in the Courts of Kings.
One Spoils, from wretched, ruin'd Cities seeks:
To quaff on Gems, and snore on Tyrian Dye:
This buries Wealth, and broods o'er hoarded Gold:
That doats with Fondness on the Rostrum's Fame:
Another on th' Applauses of the Cirque,
And Theaters: for doubled is th' Applause:
The People and the Fathers both concur:
He, set agape, stands ravish'd at the Sound.
Some triumph, reeking in their Brother's Blood:
And change for Exile their sweet native Homes,
And seek a Soil warm'd by another Sun.—

Trap. Virg. Georg. Lib. II.

The savage Lioness pursues the Wolf:
The Wolf the Goat: the Goat the Trefoil's Flowers:
Thee, Corydon, Alexis: All their Love.—

Id. Virg. Ecl. II.

By Flocks the Wolf is dreaded: soaking Show'rs
By the ripe Harvests: by the Trees the Wind:
By Me, my Amaryllis' angry Frown.
Grateful is Dew to springing Corn: sweet Brouze
To new-wean'd Kids: the bending Sallow's Leaves
To pregnant Yews: Amyntas sole to Me.—

Id. Virg. Ecl. III.

Inconstancy.

This fickle Wretch ne'er holds in the same Mind:
Sometimes his hasty Steps outstrip the Wind,
As if he fear'd some Enemy behind:
Now, with slow Pace he apes the solemn Priest,
Who in Procession walks to Juno's Feast:
His Equipage, now, counts two hundred Men,
And, now, the Number is reduc'd to ten:
Now, with grand Airs his Conversation rings,
Of nothing less than Governors and Kings:

535

Now, a clean Salt-Cellar is all his Wish,
And a small Table for one homely Dish;
And as to Cloths, however coarse and old,
They're good enough, if they keep out the Cold.—

Anon. Hor. Lib. I. Sat. 3.

What he was fond of, now he does reject,
And seeks what he but lately did neglect:
He wavers still, and flies from that to this,
And all his Life a Contradiction is.—

Creech. Hor. Lib. I. Sat. 1.

Industry.

See Bees. Labour.

The little Ant, (Example she to Man
Of Care and Labour,) gathers all she can,
And brings it to enlarge her Heap at Home,
Against the Winter, which she knows will come.—

Creech. Hor. Lib. I. Sat. 1.

Night now was sliding in her middle Course:
The first Repose was finish'd: When the Dame,
Who by her Distaff's slender Art subsists,
Wakes the spread Embers, and the sleeping Fire,
Night adding to her Work: and calls her Maids
To their long Tasks, by lighted Tapers urg'd:
Thus spotless to preserve her Husband's Bed,
And educate her little prattling Babes.—

Trap. Æn. VIII.

Infant.

Like some poor Sailor by the Tempest hurl'd
Ashore, the Babe is shipwreck'd on the World:
Naked he lies, and ready to expire,
Helpless of all that human Wants require:
Expos'd upon th' unhospitable Earth,
From the first Moment of his hapless Birth:
Straight with foreboding Cries he fills the Room,
Too sure Presages of his future Doom.

But Flocks, and Herds, and ev'ry savage Beast,
By more indulgent Nature are increas'd:
They want no Rattles for their froward Mood,
No Nurse to reconcile them to their Food,
With broken Words: nor Winter Blasts they fear,
Nor change their Habits with the changing Year:

537

Nor for their Safety Citadels prepare,
Nor forge the wicked Instruments of War.
Unlabour'd Earth her bounteous Treasure grants,
And Nature's lavish Hands supply their common Wants.—

Dryden. Lucret. Lib. V.

—An Infant in the Mother's Womb,
Does by Degrees the Form of Man assume:
There sleeps till all the Parts proportion bear,
Nor tasts, till ripe for Life, the common Air.—

Gay. Ovid. Met. Lib. VII.

Inhumanity.

See Cruelty.

When on a sudden, rising with a Storm,
Boistrous Orion drove Us on the Flats,
And hidden Shelves: and with capricious Winds
Scatter'd Us o'er the Waves, the foamy Deep,
And Rocks unpassable: We few escap'd
From Shipwreck to your Coast,— What Race of Men
Is This? What barb'rous Country, that permits
Such Customs? From the Refuge of the Strand
They drive us, offer War, and beat us back
From the first Shore.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. I.

—By Degrees
I swam to Land: and now had safe arriv'd:
Had not the cruel Nation, as I catch'd
With grasping Hands the Mountain's rugged Sides,
Clogg'd in my brine-drench'd Garments, with the Sword
Invaded me, and ignorant suppos'd
They gain'd a Prize.—

Id. Æn. Lib. VI.

This inhuman Practice is too frequent on our own Coasts.

Intreaty.

See Dissuasion. Request (Dying.)

—By Heav'n,
By all the Gods, who witness to the Truth,
By all that Faith, (if any such there be,)
Which yet remains untainted in the World,
You suppliant I implore: commiserate

539

Such mighty Woes, commiserate a Wretch
Not meriting the Afflictions he endures.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. II.

Why does he stop his unrelenting Ears
To my Intreaties? Whither does he fly
So hasty? this last Favour let him grant
To his unhappy Lover: let him wait
An easy Voyage, and permitting Winds.
I now no more petition him to yield
The Rights of Nuptials, which he has betray'd:
Nor urge him to relinquish his gay Hopes
Of Italy and Empire:—All I beg
Is but a soothing Interval, some Rest,
And Respite to my Passion: 'till my Fate
Shall to Misfortune reconcile my Soul,
Subdu'd by Grief, and teach me how to mourn.
This let him grant: I'll then dismiss him free,
And crown his Satisfaction with my Death.—

Id. Æn. Lib. IV.

Trembling, he clasp'd the Hero's Knees, and pray'd:
By young Iülus, by thy Father's Shade,
O spare my Life, and send me back to see
My longing Sire, and tender Progeny.
A lofty House I have, and Wealth untold,
In Silver Ingots, and in Bars of Gold:
All these, and Sums besides, which see no Day,
The Ransom of this one poor Life shall pay.
If I survive, shall Troy the less prevail?
A single Soul's too light to turn the Scale.—

Dryden. Virg. Æn. Lib. X.

Æneas.

Dido.

Invitation.

Come hither, beauteous Boy! behold; the Nymphs
To Thee fresh Lillies in full Baskets bring:
For Thee the lovely Naïs crops the Heads
Of Poppies, and the Violet's pale Flow'rs,
With the Narcissus and sweet Anise join'd:
Then mingling Cinamon, and other Herbs
Of fragrant Scent, with the soft Hyacinth
The Saffron Bloom of Marigolds adorns.—

Virg. Ecl. II.

541

Dear Galatea! sweeter far to me
Than Hybla's Thyme to the laborious Bee:
Whiter than Swans that swim the Chrystal Streams,
And fairer than the shining Ivy seems:
Come, when the Bulls shall to their Stalls repair:
Ah! come, if Corydon's at all thy Care.—

Virg. Ecl. VII.

Hither, O Galatea! hither come,
My charming Fair: Here blooms the purple Spring:
Here various Flow'rs, the winding Rivers round,
The Earth pours forth: Here the pale Poplar hangs
O'er our cool Grot: and intermingled Vines
With pliant Tendrils weave a gentle Shade.—

Trap. Virg. Ecl. IX.

Descended of an antient Line,
That long the Tuscan Scepter sway'd,
Make haste to meet the gen'rous Wine,
Whose piercing is for thee delay'd:
The rosy Wreath is ready made,
And artful Hands prepare
The fragrant Oyl that shall perfume thy Hair.
From all thy cloying Plenty fly,
Thy Palace leave, that rises to the Sky:
Nor longer value Rome's fantastick Joys,
It's Smoke, it's Riches, and it's Noise.
Sometimes 'tis pleasing to the Rich to try
A short Vicissitude, a Fit of Poverty:
A savory Dish, a homely Treat,
Where all is plain, where all is neat,
Without the stately spacious Room,
Or Carpets from the Tyrian Loom,
Clear up the cloudy Foreheads of the Great.—

Dryd. alt. Hor. Lib. III. Ode 29.

Joy Publick.

Loud Shouts of Joy, and glad Applauses rise,
Ring round the Shores, and eccho to the Skies.—

Ovid. Met. Lib. IV.

The hallowed Fires on ev'ry Altar shine,
And grateful Off'rings load each sacred Shrine:

543

Proud Victims fall, their Horns with Ribbons bound,
And tincture with their Blood the holy Ground.
Athens ne'er knew so general a Joy:
Feasting and Mirth does every Soul employ:
Promiscuously the Peers and People dine,
Promiscuously their thankful Voices join,
In Songs of Wit, sublim'd by sprightly Wine.—

Tate alter'd. Ovid. Met. Lib. VII.

—Transported Troy
Forgot her Woes, and gave a loose to Joy:
Threw wide her Gates, and pour'd forth all her Train,
To view th' abandon'd Camp, and empty Plain.—

Pitt. Æn. Lib. II.

With loud rejoycing Shouts, and gladsome Sports,
And festival Applause the Streets resound:
In all the Temples Quires of Matrons croud:
Altars in all erected: On the Ground
Before those Altars slaughter'd Oxen fall.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. VIII.

Iris.

See Dying.

Her shining Robes, rich with a thousand Dies,
Iris puts on: then from the Heav'ns flies;
And flying forms an Arch, a Segment of the Skies.—

Ovid. Met. Lib. XI.

—Down to the Trojan Fleet
Saturnian Juno Iris sends from Heav'n,
And breaths the Winds to speed her airy Course:
The Virgin, seen by none, with wingy Speed
Shoots thro' a thousand Colours of her Bow.

Trap.

—Uprais'd on even Wings,
The Goddess mounts into the Air, and cuts
Her Bow of spacious Arch beneath the Clouds.—

Id. Æn. Lib. V.

Mean while great Jove sends dewy Iris down,
To call the Gods to Council round his Throne.
Wrap'd in her colour'd Robes she swiftly flies,
On gentle Zephyrs, thro' the yielding Skies.—

Hughes alter'd. Claud. Rapt. Pros. Lib. III.

545

Isis.

A Glorious Train, and Isis at their Head,
Or stood, or seem'd to stand, before the Bed.
Her moony Horns were on her Forehead plac'd,
And golden Sheaves her shining Temples grac'd,
Round which a regal Diadem on high
Blaz'd forth: The Dog Anubis too was by,
Sacred Bubastis, glorious to the Sight,
And the black Apis mark'd with Spots of White,
And He, the speechless God, whose Finger laid
A-cross his Lips to silence does perswade:
The sounding Sistra in the Train were brought,
Osiris who can ne'er enough be sought,
And the strange Snake with deadly Venom fraught.—

Dryden alter'd. Ovid. Met. Lib. IX.

Great Isis! who delight'st to haunt the Fields,
Where fruitful Nile it's golden Harvest yields;
Where with sev'n Mouths into the Sea it falls,
And tak'st thy Walks around Canope's Walls;
Who Memphis visit'st, and the Pharian Tow'rs,
Assist my dear One with thy friendly Pow'rs!
By all thy sacred Rites I Thee conjure,
A Life so precious with thy Help secure!
By Anubis's venerable Face!
So may'st Thou with Osiris still find Grace!
So may thy Altars heap'd with Off'rings shine,
And round those Offrings deadly Serpents twine!
May horned Apis so thy Pomp attend,
And be to Thee, as Thou'rt to her a Friend!
Look down, Oh Isis! on the teeming Fair,
And make at once her Life, and mine, thy Care:
Save both by helping one; the Aid you give
To her saves me, for 'tis by her I live.
Nor undeserving is she, for she pays
Her Vows to Thee on all thy solemn Days;
And still attends thy Feasts to celebrate,
Whene'er the Galli round thy laurel'd Altars wait.—

Anon. alter'd. Ovid. Amor. Lib. II. El. 13.

547

Italy.

But neither Media's wealthy Groves, and Soil,
Nor far-fam'd Ganges, nor rich Hermus' Stream,
Turbid with Gold, can match Italia's Praise:
Nor Bactra, India, nor Panchaia fat,
All o'er, with Frankincense producing Glebe.
—Here swelling Grain
Abounds, and Bacchus' Massic Juice, and Oils,
And Herds of shining Neat. The Warrior Steed
Prances, with lofty Port, into the Field:
White Flocks, and stately Bulls, of Victims chief,
Oft plung'd, Clitumnus, in thy sacred Stream,
To Jove's high Fane the Roman Triumphs lead.
Here blooms perpetual Spring: and Summer shines
In Months not Her's: Here twice the Cattle teem,
The Trees twice yield their Fruit: But far from hence
Is the fell Tyger, and the savage Breed
Of Lions: Nor does Aconite deceive
The wretched Simplers. No huge scaly Snake
Snatches his Orb immense along the Ground:
Nor into Spires so vast himself convolves.
Add that Variety of Cities fam'd:
And Labour of Artificers: on Tops
Of craggy Rocks so many Towns uprear'd:
And Rivers gliding under ancient Walls.

The same blest Region Veins of Silver shows:
Rivers of Brass: and flows in copious Gold.
Hail happy Clime! Saturnian Realm! of Fruits,
And Men, great Parent!—

Trap. Virg. Georg. Lib. II.

Jupiter.

See God. Providence.

With Jove, ye Muses! let the Song begin:
All Things are full of Jove: He for the World
Provides, indulgent.—

Trap. Virg. Ecl. III.

549

—Imperial Jove
Surveying, from the Summit of the Sky,
The navigable Seas, and low laid Earth,
And Shores, and Nations wide, on Heav'n's high Tow'r
Stood, and on Lybia's Kingdoms fix'd his Eyes.
—To Him,
Sad Venus, her bright Eyes all drown'd in Tears,
Suppliant applies.—O Thou! whose Sov'reign Pow'r
Controuls th' Affairs of Men, and Gods, with Rule
Eternal, and with Thunder awes!—

Æn. Lib. I.

Smiling on Her, the Sire of Men and Gods,
With that smooth Look which clears the stormy Sky,
His Daughter gently kiss'd.—

Id.

Olympus now it's everlasting Doors
Widely unfolds: the King of Gods and Men
Summons a Council in the starry Hall:
From whence, enthron'd on high, all Lands he views.—
Th' Etherial Synod meets.—

Th' Almighty Father then, supreme of Kings,
His aweful Speech begins, and, while he speaks,
Heav'n's lofty Court keeps Silence, and the Earth
Trembles below, th' Etherial Arch above:
Hush'd are the Winds, th' unruffled Seas subside.—

Id. Æn. Lib. X.

— Let Each
Abide th' Event and Fortune of his Deeds:
Jove is the same, one common King to All.
—So spake the God:
And by his Stygian Brother's pitchy Banks,
And whirling Torrent, ratify'd the Doom:
And all Olympus trembled at his Nod.
Here ended the Debate: Imperial Jove
Uprises from his Throne of Gold: the Gods
Attend him to his Palace, round inclos'd.—

Id. Ibid.

When on their marble Seats the Gods were plac'd,
And the high Throne with Jove himself was grac'd:
Upon his Iv'ry Scepter first he leant,
Then shook his Head, that shook the Firmament:
Air, Earth, and Seas, obey'd th' Almighty Nod,
And with a gen'ral Fear confess'd the God.—

Dryd. alter'd. Ovid. Met. Lib. I.

551

While mighty Kings o'er trembling Nations sway,
Those mighty Kings themselves must Jove obey;
Whose pow'rful Arm the Gyants did confound,
Whose Nod turns all the Universe around.—

Hor. Lib. III. Ode I.

Jupiter Ammon.

Now to the sacred Temple they draw near,
Whose only Altars Lybian Lands revere:
There, but unlike the Jove by Rome ador'd,
A Form uncouth, stands Heav'n's Almighty Lord.
No regal Ensigns grace his potent Hand,
Nor shakes he there the Light'nings flaming Brand:
But, ruder to behold, a horned Ram
Appears the God, and Ammon is his Name.
There tho' he reigns, unrival'd, and alone,
O'er the rich Neighbours of the Torrid Zone:
Tho' Ethiopia is by him possess'd,
India the rich, and Araby the blest,
Yet no proud Domes are rais'd, no Gems are seen,
To blaze upon his Shrines with costly Sheen:
But plain, and poor, and unprophan'd he stood,
Such as, to whom our great Fore-fathers bow'd:
A God of pious Times, and Days of old,
That keeps his Temple safe from Roman Gold.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. IX.

Justice.

See Laws.

—In Hell, advising All,
The wretched Phlegyas testifies aloud
With solemn Voice, and preaches thro' the Shades:
“Be warn'd, learn Justice, nor contemn the Gods.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. VI.

Thou, Justice, wer't the first that brought Mankind
From Caves in Desarts: and the Use of Food,
Wholesome, and good, didst teach the savage Race.
For thy sake only We the Laws revere:
To humanize the Mind, and thence expel
All brutal Passions, 'tis to Thee we owe.

553

Whose upright Soul Thee deeply has imbib'd,
Fearless thro' Flames shall rush: thro' Northern Storms
Shall sail undaunted: and a Host of Foes
Shall overthrow, unarmed, and alone.
He, ev'n in Æthiopia's scorching Plains,
Shall give the Comfort of refreshing Show'rs:
And him, the balmy Zephyrs of the Spring,
Thro' Scythia's icy Regions shall attend.—

Claud. de Mall. Theod. Cons.

Who passes Judgment, e'er both Sides are heard,
Tho' right his Sentence prove, is yet unjust.—

Senec. Med.

The more You live at Ease, the more you're blest
With Pow'r, and Wealth, Preferment, and a Name,
So much the stricter must be your Regard
For Honesty and Justice, if you wish
To have the World believe you Men of Honour.—

Terent. Adelp.

Justice (Divine.)

See Providence.

Oft have I been perplex'd with anxious Doubts:
Uncertain if about this World the Gods
Employ their Care, or if, without a Guide,
All mortal Things at random take their Course.

When I had trac'd the Order of the Whole,
The Ocean's Bounds, the Winding of the Year,
The fixt Vicissitude of Night and Day,
Thence I concluded all Things were dispos'd
By the wise Councils of a Deity:
At whose Command the Stars their Rounds fulfill,
And various Fruits at diff'rent Seasons grow:
By whom the changeful Moon with borrow'd Beams
Repleat, shines forth, and Phœbus with his own:
Whose Hand stretch'd out the Shores to bound the Main;
And on it's Axis, ballanc'd, hung the Ball.

But, when I view'd th' Affairs of Humankind,
All dark, perplext, and unaccountable:
The Wicked flourishing, elate, and proud:
The Righteous suff'ring, wretched, and distrest;
My Faith again was stagger'd, and inclin'd,

555

Altho' unwillingly to his Belief,
Who, that the Parts of Matter hurry on
At random, thro' the mighty Void, maintain'd,
In no determin'd, steady, constant Course:
And shift their Forms, by Chance not Wisdom rul'd.
Who, or suppos'd the Gods of Reason void,
Or Beings indolent at best, and weak,
Of Us unknowing, and of our Affairs.

But now, this Tumult of the Mind is calm'd:
Rufinus' Punishment acquits the Gods:
And, that the Wicked to th' utmost Pitch
Of Grandeur soar, no longer I complain.
They're rais'd on high to make their Fall the greater.—

Claud. in Rufin.

—If Humankind you scorn,
And mortal Arms: Expect, at least, the Gods
Will have a due Regard to Right, and Wrong.—

Trap. Virg. Æ Lib. I.

When, snatch'd by cruel Fate, the Good and Just,
Perish, and sink untimely to the Dust.
(May I the bold Confession be forgiven!)
I almost think there are no Gods in Heaven.—

Anon. Ovid. de Morte Tibul.

University of Virginia Library

I. VOL. I.

MEDULLA POETARUM ROMANORUM. 3

OR, THE Most Beautiful and Instructive PASSAGES OF THE ROMAN POETS.

Absence.

Advice.

Advice to a Prince.

ÆTNA.

Affection Filial.

Affection Conjugal.

See Constancy.

The Four Ages of the WORLD.

The Golden Age. First Age.

Silver Age.

Brazen Age.

Iron Age.

Golden Age Restor'd.

Ages of Man Characteriz'd.

Ages of several Creatures.

Agriculture.

Alarm.

See Amazement.

Alps.

Amazement.

See Alarm.

Amazon.

Ambassador.

Ambition.

Ambush.

Anger.

See Rage.

Antiquity.

Appeal to the Gods.

Apollo.

Archery.

Arms. Armour.

See Battle. Hero. Sling. Warrior.

Army.

See Battle.

Arrow.

Cupid's Arrows.

Atlas.

Atheist.

See Divine Vengeance.

Avarice.

See Miser. Money.

Authors.

See Style.

Autumn.

Bacchanals.

Bacchus.

See Wine.

Banquet.

See Hospitality.

Battle.

See Rout. Slaughter.

Beauty.

See Beautiful.

Beauty, it's Power.

Beautiful.

Bees.

See Labour.

Beggar.

Birth-Day.

Blushing.

Boasting.

See Pride.

Boy Handsome.

Boxing.

Bribery.

Bulls Fighting.

Captive.

Care.

Ceres.

Chance.

See God. Providence.

Change.

Chaos.

Charioteer.

Thrown from a Chariot.

MEDULLA POETARUM ROMANORUM.
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