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.

II.

VOL. II.

[However great, whoe'er you are]

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II. VOL. II.

[However great, whoe'er you are]

King.

See Advice to a Prince. Greatness. Tyrant.

However great, whoe'er you are,
That Earth's imperial Scepters bear,
Tho' thousands in your Palace wait,
And crowd your hundred Rooms of State:
Of all the Slaves that cringe around,
Scarce ev'n in one can Truth be found.

The Furies in proud Domes reside,
And thro' the Doors extended wide
Steal covert Fraud, and cautious Guile,
The dark Design, the treach'rous Smile,
And Dagger hid:—in Publick go,
Envy attends the pompous Show:
Each Night outliv'd, each rising Morn,
To Life renew'd, the Prince is born.

How few that wait around the Throne,
It's Welfare seek, and not their own!
What Numbers to the Courts of Kings,
Or Av'rice, or Ambition brings!—

Ward. Sen. Herc. Œt.

Give Ear, ambitious Princes! and be wise:
Listen, and learn wherein true Greatness lies:
Place not your Pride in Roofs that shine with Gems,
In purple Robes, nor sparkling Diadems,
Nor in Dominion, nor Extent of Land;
He's only Great who can himself command.
Whose Guard is peaceful Innocence, whose Guide
Is faithful Reason, who is void of Pride,
Checking Ambition, nor is idly vain
Of the false Incense of a popular Train.—

Ld. Lansdowne. Sen. Thyestes.

What need of Troops, or Instruments of War,
Or Parthian Arrows which destroy from far?
Who Lord of his own Hopes and Fears can be,
The greatest King and Conqueror is He:
Blest with a Power which he derives from none,
He's Great, and Happy, in Himself alone.—

Id. alter'd. Ibid.

Quick to reward a King should always be,
To punish slow: and griev'd whenever He
By Justice is compell'd to use Severity.—

Claud.

This great, this godlike Happiness have Kings,
A Happiness which never can be lost:
To succour the Distress'd, and grant to Those
Who sue for Safety their protecting Pow'r.—

Senec. Med.

Ev'n Boys at Play to one another cry,
Thou shalt be King, if Thou wilt govern right.—

Hor. Lib. I. Epist. 1.

He's much deceiv'd, who thinks a worthy King
Can ever aim at arbitrary Sway:
For Liberty ne'er flourishes so well
As under a good Prince.—

Claud. Stil. Lib. III.

Kisses.

Let's live, my dearest Lesbia! and love,
The little Time that Nature lends, improve:
In Love and Pleasure let us spend the Day,
Nor care one Farthing what old Dotards say!

The Sun may rise again when once 'tis set,
Its usual Labour, and old Course repeat:
But when our Day is once depriv'd of Light,
Sleep is our Portion, and eternal Night.
A thousand Kisses give: an hundred more:
Another thousand, Lesbia! I implore:
Another hundred quickly add to these:
Another thousand instant let me seize:
And when repeated thousands num'rous grow,
We'll kiss at random, nor pretend to know
How many you have lent, or what I owe.
Lest wicked Envy should attempt to say,
How many thousands we have kiss'd away.—

Anon. alt. Catull. Carm. V.

Want you to know how many Kisses
Would satisfy my boundless Wishes?
Not fewer than the Lybian Sands
Spread o'er the parch'd Cyrene's Lands,
Between Jove's Temple and the Fane
Where Battus' sacred Bones remain:
Not fewer than the Stars above,
Which see by Night Men's stolen Love.
So many Kisses would I give,
(Who now for Want of Kisses grieve,)
As should in Number far surmount,
All that Arithmetic can count.
Nor all the Force of magic Art,
My Lips from yours should ever part.—

Anon. alter'd. Catull. Carm. VII.

Know Thyself.

From Heav'n, to Mortals, sure, that Rule was sent,
Of Know Thyself: and, by some God, was meant,
To be our never-erring Pilot here,
Thro' all the various Courses which we steer.—

Congreve. Juv. Sat. XI.

Seek not Thyself without Thyself to find.—

Pers. Sat. I.

E'er Thou attempt weak Causes to support,
Be sure, be very sure, Thou'rt able for't:

And don't mistake strong Lungs, and Impudence,
For Harmony of Words, and Force of Sense.
Fools only make Attempts beyond their Skill:
A wise Man's Pow'r's the Limits of his Will.—

Creech alt. Juv. Sat. XI.

Thyself consider well, that Thou may'st find,
How much there wants to furnish out thy Mind.—

Pers. Sat IV.

Sound Reason still is whispering in your Ear,
Where you are sure to fail, th' Attempt forbear.
Unskill'd in Hellebore, if You should try,
To mix it, and mistake the Quantity,
The Rules of Phisic would against You cry.
The high-shoo'd Plowman, should he quit the Land,
To take the Pilot's Rudder in his Hand,
Artless of Stars, and of the shifting Sand;
The Gods would leave him to the Waves and Wind,
And think all Shame was lost in Humankind.—

Dryd. Pers. Sat. V.

None, none descends into himself, to find
The secret Imperfections of his Mind:
But ev'ry one is Eagle-ey'd to see
Another's Failings and Deformity.—

Id. Pers. Sat. IV.

Thy Breast examine with severest Care,
And find what Vices are prevailing there,
What Nature plants, and what ill Customs bear.
This Search is good, for a neglected Field
Or Thorns, or useless Fern, will quickly yield.—

Creech alt. Hor. Lib. I. Sat. III.

Bless me! what an odd Composition Men are of! that they should see farther, and judge better, of other People's Affairs than their own!

Teren. Heaut.

Labour.

See Bees. Industry.

All noble Things are difficult to gain,
And without Labour none can them attain.
Is Gold thy Aim? what mighty Pains attend?
Mountains are level'd and the Mines descend
To Earth's deep Center: tho' she hides her Store,
We tare her up, and reach the hidden Ore.

For shining Gems we cut the burning Zone,
Such Dangers are the Purchase of a Stone!
The fearful Farmer makes his yearly Vow,
And Pain still presseth the deceiving Plow.
In War no Danger's shunn'd, we fight for Spoil:
Ev'n lazy Luxury leads us on to Toil:
For Food and Cloths from East to West we run,
And Spend-thrifts take much Pains to be undone.—

Creech alt. Man. Lib. IV.

Thus to their Toils, in early Summer, run
The clust'ring Bees, and labour in the Sun:
Lead forth, in Colonies, their buzzing Race,
Or work the liquid Sweets, and thicken to a Mass.
The busy Nation flies from Flow'r to Flow'r,
And hoards, in curious Cells, the golden Store.
A chosen Troop before the Gate attends,
Heaves off the Burdens, and relieves their Friends:
Warm at the fragant Work, in Bands, they drive
The Drone, a lazy Robber, from the Hive.—

Pitt. Æn. Lib. I.

So when the Pismires, an industrious Train,
Embody'd rob some golden Heap of Grain,
Studious e'er stormy Winter frowns, to lay
Safe in their darksom Cells the treasur'd Prey:
In one long Track, the dusky Legions lead
Their Prize in Triumph thro' the verdant Mead.
Here bending with the Load, a panting Throng
With Force conjoyn'd heave some huge Grain along.
Some, lash the Stragglers to the Task assign'd,
Some, to their Ranks, the Bands that lay behind:
They crowd the peopled Path in thick Array,
Glow at the Work, and darken all the Way.—

Id. Æn. IV.

Lamentation.

See Grief.

Death, I confess, I 'scap'd, and broke my Bonds:—
And now to me, forlorn, no Hope is left
Of e'er beholding my sweet native Soil,
Or my dear Children, or my long'd for Sire:
Whose forfeit Lives, perhaps, for my Escape,

They will demand: and expiate this Offence
By their untimely Death.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. 2.

I, who so long had Pow'r, and Wealth, and State,
Bless'd in my Children, in my Husband Great;
Must now, in Poverty, an Exile mourn,
Ev'n from the Tombs of my dead Offspring torn:
Giv'n to Penelope, who proud of Spoil,
Allots me to the Loom's ungrateful Toil:
Points to her Dames, and cries, with scornful Mein,
See Hector's Mother, and great Priam's Queen!—

Stanyan alter'd. Ovid. Met. Lib. XIII.

Shall Fortune still in one sad Tenor run,
And still increase the Woes so soon begun?
Enur'd to Sorrows from my tender Years,
My Parent's Ashes drank my early Tears:
My Brother next, neglecting Wealth and Fame,
Ignobly burn'd in a destructive Flame.
An Infant Daughter late my Griefs increas'd,
And all a Mother's Cares distract my Breast.—

Pope. Ovid. Epist. XXI.

Landing Oppos'd.

Full thirty Ships transport the chosen Train,
For Troy's Relief, and scour the briny Main.
The careful Chief who never clos'd his Eyes,
Himself the Rudder holds, the Sails supplies.
He charg'd the Soldiers with preventing Care,
The Flags to follow, and their Arms prepare:
Warn'd of th' ensuing Fight, and bad them hope the War.

Now, from his lofty Poop, he view'd below
His Camp encompass'd, and th' inclosing Foe.
His brazen Shield, embrac'd, he held on high:
The Camp receive the Sign, and with loud Shouts reply:
Hope Arms their Courage: from their Towers they throw
Their Darts with double Force, and drive the Foe.
Thus, at the Signal giv'n, the Cranes arise,
With joyful Clang, and leave the stormy Skies.

The Latins wonder'd at the Fight renew'd:
Till, looking back, the Trojan Fleet they view'd:
The Seas with swelling Canvas cover'd o'er,
And the swift Ships descending on the Shore.
But, nought dismay'd, bold Turnus' Mind is bent
To man the Beach, and hinder their Descent.
He thus awakes the Courage of his Friends:
What You so long have wish'd kind Fortune sends:
In ardent Arms to meet th' invading Foe:
You find, and find him at Advantage now.
Now take the Time, while stagg'ring yet they stand
With Feet unfirm: attack them as they land:
Fortune befriends the Bold. No more he said,
But ballanc'd whom to leave, and whom to lead:
Then These elects, the Landing to prevent:
And Those he leaves to keep the City pent.

Mean time, the Trojan sends his Troops ashore:
Some are by Boats expos'd, by Bridges more:
With lab'ring Oars they bear along the Strand,
Where the Tide languishes, and leap to Land.

Tarchon observes the Coast with careful Eyes,
And where no Ford he finds, no Water fries,
Nor Billows with unequal Murmur roar,
But smoothly slide along, and swell the Shore:
That Course he steer'd, and thus he gave Command,
Here ply your Oars, and at all Hazard land:
Force on the Vessel, that her Keel may wound
This hated Soil, and furrow hostile Ground.
Let me securely land, I ask no more,
Then sink my Ships, or scatter on the Shore.

This fiery Speech inflames his daring Friends,
They tug at ev'ry Oar, and ev'ry Stretcher bends:
They run their Ships a-ground, the Vessels knock,
(Thus forc'd ashore) and tremble with the Shock.

Turnus leads on his Troops without Delay,
Advancing to the Margin of the Sea.
The Trumpets sound a Charge. On either Hand,
These fight to keep, and Those to win the Land.

With mutual Blood th' Ausonian Soil is dy'd,
While on it's Borders each their Claim decide.
As wintry Winds contending in the Sky,
With equal Rage of Lungs their Titles try:
They rage, they roar: The doubtful Rack of Heav'n
Stands without Motion, and the Tide undriv'n:
Each bent to conquer, neither Side to yield,
They long suspend the Fortune of the Field:
Both Armies thus perform what Courage can,
Foot set to Foot, and Man oppos'd to Man.—

Dryden. Virg. Æn. Lib. X.

The Landing of Æneas with his auxiliary Troops, to relieve his Friends besieged by the Latins, and in the utmost Distress.

Laws.

See Justice.

He that will search far into former Times,
Must grant that Laws were made for fear of Crimes:
Since Nature can't discern what's Wrong, or Right,
What's proper to pursue, and what unfit:
Yet Reason knows, to break a Neighbour's Hedge
Is not so great a Sin as Sacrilege.
Then fix some Rule, that Punishments may be
Proportion'd to Offences, and that He,
Whose Fault a gentle Beating should attone,
May not be whipt with Scourges to the Bone.—

Hor. Lib. I. Sat. 3.

Malicious Senates, with an over Care
To make Us better than our Kind can bear,
Have dash'd a Spice of Envy in the Laws,
And straining up too high, have spoil'd the Cause.—

Dryd. Ovid. Met. Lib. X.

If any Rogue vexatious Suits advance
Against me, for my known Inheritance:
Enter by Violence my fruitful Grounds,
Or take the sacred Land-Mark from my Bounds:
Those Bounds, which with Possession and with Pray'r,
And offer'd Cakes, have been my annual Care:
Or, if my Debtors do not keep their Day,
Deny their Hands, and then refuse to pay;
I must with Patience all the Terms attend,
Among the common Causes that depend,

Till mine is call'd:—And that long-look'd for Day
Is still encumber'd with some new Delay:
Perhaps, the Cloth of State is only spread,
Some of the Bench perhaps are sick a-bed:
That Judge is hot, and doffs his Gown, while this
O'er Night was bowsy, and goes out to P---ss.
So many Rubs appear, the Time is gone
For hearing, and the tedious Suit goes on.—

Id. Juv. Sat. XVI.

Liberty.

See Slavery.

—He that still doth crave
Must fear, and he that fears must be a Slave.—

Creech. Hor. Lib. I. Epist. 10.

Now, free from Care, those Slaves the People live,
No longer plagu'd with Votes to sell, or give:
That mighty People whom the World obey'd,
Whose Voices Consuls, Armies, Emp'rors made,
Now Liberty's no more, are sunk so low,
Their whole Ambition asks but Bread and Show.—

Dryd. Juv. Sat. X.

Tell me, my Friend, from whence hast Thou the Skill,
So nicely to distinguish Good from Ill?
Or, by the Sound to judge of Gold and Brass,
What Piece is Tinker's Metal, what will pass?
And what Thou art to follow, what to fly,
This to condemn, and that to ratify?
When to be bountiful, and when to spare,
But never craving, or oppress'd with Care?
The Baits of Gifts and Money to despise,
And look on Wealth with undesiring Eyes?
When Thou canst truly call these Virtues thine,
Be wise and free, by Heav'n's Consent, and mine.

But Thou, who lately of the common Strain,
Wer't one of Us, if still Thou dost retain
The same ill Habits, the same Follies too,
Gloss'd over only with a specious Show:
Then I resume the Freedom which I gave,
Still Thou art bound to Vice, and still a Slave.

In spight of this, my Freedom still remains.
Free! what, and fetter'd with so many Chains?
Canst Thou no other Master understand,
Than him that freed Thee by the Prœtor's Wand?
Should he, who was thy Lord, command Thee now,
With a harsh Voice, and supercilious Brow,
To servile Duties, Thou would'st fear no more:
The Gallows and the Whip are out of Door.
But if strong Passions lord it in thy Breast,
Art Thou not still a Slave, and still opprest,
No less than he, whom the afflicting Rod,
Compels to all the Ills of Servitude?—

Dryden alter'd. Pers. Sat. V.

When Thou woud'st take a lazy Morning's Nap:
Up, up, says Avarice:—Thou snor'st again,
Stretchest thy Limbs, and yawn'st, but all in vain:
The Tyrant Lucre no Denial takes:
At his command th' unwilling Sluggard wakes.
What must I do? he cries:—What? says his Lord;
Why rise; make ready: and go streight aboard:
With Fish, from Euxine Seas, thy Vessel freight:
Flax, Castor, Coan Wines, the precious Weight
Of Pepper, and Sabœan Incense, take
With thy own Hands from the tir'd Camel's Back;
And with Post-haste thy running Markets make.
Be sure to turn the Penny: lye, and swear:
'Tis wholsom Sin:—but Jove, thou sayst, will hear.
Swear, Fool! or starve: for the Dilemma's even:
A Tradesman Thou! and hope to go to Heav'n?

Resolv'd for Sea, the Slaves thy Baggage pack,
Each saddl'd with his Burden on his Back:—
Nothing retards thy Voyage, now, unless
Thy other Lord forbids, Voluptuousness:
And he may ask this civil Question: Friend,
What dost thou make a Shipboard?—to what End?—
Art thou of Bedlam's noble College free?
Stark, staring mad, that thou would'st tempt the Sea?

Cubb'd in a Cabbin, on a Mattress laid,
On a brown George, with lousy Swobbers fed:
Dead Wine that stinks of the Borracchio sup,
From a foul Jack, or greasy maple Cup?
Say, wou'dst Thou bear all this, to raise thy Store
From six i'th' Hundred to six hundred more?—
Indulge, and to thy Genius freely give:
For, not to live at Ease, is not to live.
Death stalks behind Thee, and each flying Hour
Does some loose Remnant of thy Life devour.
Live, while thou liv'st: for Death will make Us all
A Name,—a Nothing but an old Wife's Tale.

Speak; wilt Thou Avarice or Pleasure chuse
To be thy Lord?—take one, and one refuse.
But both, by turns, the Rule of Thee will have:
And Thou, betwixt them both, wilt be a Slave.
Nor think, when once thou hast resisted One,
That all thy Marks of Servitude are gone:
The struggling Greyhound gnaws his Leash in vain,
If, when 'tis broken, still he drags the Chain.—

Dryden. Pers. Sat. V.

Who then is free?—The Wise, that can controul
And govern all the Passions of the Soul:
Whom Poverty, nor Chains, nor Death affright;
Who's Proof against the Charms of vain Delight:
Who squares his Actions all by Virtue's Laws,
Regardless of Contempt, or popular Applause.
Whom feeble Fortune strives in vain to wound,
Since in himself his Happiness is found,
Collected all, and in a perfect Round.—

Creech alter'd. Hor. Lib. II. Sat. 7.

Get loose thy Neck from this ignoble Chain
And boldly cry, I'm free.—

Ibid.

Life.

The best of Life, which wretched Mortals share,
Flies first away: Diseases, sick old Age,
And Pain, and Death's Inclemency, succeed.—

Trap. Virg. Georg. Lib. III.

Fix'd stands the Date of mortal Lives: the Space
Is short, and irretrievable to all:
But by their Actions to extend their Fame,
Is Virtue's Task.—

Id. Virg. Æn. Lib. X.

Why are we then so fond of mortal Life,
Beset with Dangers, and maintain'd with Strife?
A Life, which all our Care can never save;
One Fate attends Us, and one common Grave.
Besides, we tread but a perpetual Round;
We ne'er strike out, but beat the former Ground:
And the same maukish Joys in the same Track are found.
For still we think an absent Blessing best;
Which cloys, and is no Blessing when possess'd:
A new arising Wish expels it from the Breast.
The feverish Thirst of Life increases still:
We call for more and more, and never have our fill:
Yet know not what to Morrow we shall try:
What Dregs of Life in the last Draught may lie.—

Dryd. Lucret. Lib. III.

Now let's suppose great Nature's Voice should call
To Thee, or me, or any of Us all;
What dost Thou mean, ungrateful Wretch! Thou vain,
Thou mortal Thing! thus idly to complain:
And sigh and sob, that Thou shalt be no more?—
For, if thy Life were pleasant heretofore,
If all the bounteous Blessings I could give
Thou hast enjoy'd, if Thou hast known to live,
And Pleasure not leak'd thro' Thee like a Sieve:
Why dost Thou not give Thanks as at a plenteous Feast,
Cram'd to the Throat with Life, and rise and take thy Rest?
But if my Blessings Thou hast thrown away,
If indigested Joys pass'd thro' and would not stay:
Why dost Thou wish for more to squander still?
If Life be grown a Load, a real Ill,
And I would all thy Cares and Labours end,
Lay down thy Burden, Fool! and know thy Friend.
To please Thee I have empty'd all my Store:
I can invent, and can supply no more,
But run the Round again, the Round I ran before.

Suppose Thou art not broken yet with Years,
Yet still the self-same Scene of Things appears,
And would be ever, couldst Thou ever live;
For Life is still but Life, there's Nothing new to give.—

Id. Ibid.

Now leave those Joys, unsuiting to thy Age,
To a fresh Comer, and resign the Stage.
All Things, like Thee, have Times to rise and rot,
And from each Others Ruin are begot:
For Life is not confin'd to him or Thee;
'Tis giv'n to all for Use, to none for Property.—

Id. Ibid.

—Life posts away,
And Day from Day drives on with swift Career,
The Wheel that hurries on the headlong Year.—

Addison. Senec. Her. fur.

The Flow of Life brings in a wealthy Store:
The Ebb draws back whate'er was brought before.—

Eames. Hor. Art. Poet.

Lion.

—As when a Lion, pinch'd
With raging Hunger, ranges round the Stalls:
If chance he spy a tim'rous Goat, or Deer
Lofty with branching Horns: he yawns o'er-joy'd
With vast expanded Jaws, erects his Mane,
Sticks to the Prey, and lies upon it press'd
Close to the Ground. Black Gore, besmearing, laves
His savage Mouth.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. X.

The lordly Lion thus, on Lybia's Plain,
Gor'd by the Hunter's Spear, within his Breast
Infix'd, at length springs furious to the Fight,
And shakes with dreadful Pride his shaggy Mane:
Intrepid snaps the sticking Dart, and roars,
And foams with bloody Mouth.—

Id. Æn. Lib. XII.

So foams the Lion thro' the crowded Folds,
By furious Hunger pinch'd: and rends, and drags
The tender Cattle, mute with Fear: and raves
With bloody Mouth,—

Id. Æn. Lib. IX.

As when a Lion seizes fome fair Cow,
The Grace of all the Herd, and with his Claws
Tares out it's reeking Bowels: o'er the Prey
Furious he stands, and growling gluts his Maw:
Besmear'd with Gore, he shakes his rugg'd Mane;
And scorns the Shepherds unavailing Rage.—

Claud. Rapt. Pros.

So, when on sultry Libya's desart Sand,
The Lion spies the Hunter hard at Hand,
Couch'd on the Earth the doubtful Savage lies,
And waits a-while till all his Fury rise:
His lashing Tail provokes his swelling Sides,
And high upon his Neck his Mane with Horror rides:
Then, if at length the flying Dart infest,
Or the broad Spear invade his ample Breast,
Scorning the Wound he yawns a dreadful Roar,
And flies like Light'ning on the hostile Moor.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. I.

Looks.

See Hypocrisy.

If He is false, let the Ingrateful Bleed!
But no such Symptom in his Looks I read:
That noble Spirit, and that manly Grace,
Can never sure belong to One that's base.—

Tate alter'd. Ovid. Met. Lib. VII.

O Life! deceitful! ever in Disguise!
With a fair Face thou hid'st a wicked Heart.
Pretended Modesty is made the Mask
Of Impudence: the Daring and Ambitious
Seem satisfy'd, and covetous of Peace:
Guilt skulks beneath the Cloak of Piety:
The False and Treach'rous ring the Praise of Truth:
And Cowards counterfeit the Bold and Brave.—

Senec. Hyppol.

Men's Looks are false, to them no Credit give.

Juv. Sat. II.

Love.

See Lover. Venus.

Great Love! thy Empire o'er the World extends!
To thy soft Charms the whole Creation bends!

On Hills, in Streams, thro' all the rolling Main,
The leafy Forest, and the grassy Plain,
Thy kindling Warmth the various Nations find,
And rush with Joy to generate their Kind.—

Luc. L. I.

Such is the Nature of that pleasing Smart,
Whose burning Drops distil upon the Heart:
The Fever of the Soul, shot from the Fair,
And the cold Ague of succeeding Care.
If absent, her Idea still appears:
And her sweet Name is chiming in your Ears.—

Dryden. Lucret. L. IV.

Nature for Meat and Drink provides a Space,
And when receiv'd they fill their certain Place:
Hence Thirst and Hunger may be satisfy'd;
But this Repletion is to Love deny'd.—

Id.

However charming Beauty may excite
The longing Lover's endless Appetite,
His fond deluded Grasp can only find
Aerial Shapes, that fleet before the Wind.—

Id. alter'd.

As he, who in a Dream with Drought is curst,
And finds no real Drink to quench his Thirst,
Runs to imagin'd Lakes his Heat to steep,
And vainly swills and labours in his Sleep:
So Love with Phantoms cheats our longing Eyes,
Which hourly seeing never satisfies.—

Dryden. Ibid.

—Cruel Love!
To what Extreams does not thy Tyrant Pow'r
Urge mortal Breasts?—

Æn. Lib. IV.

Of ev'ry Kind on Earth, of Men, and Beasts,
Of Cattle, Fish, and parti-colour'd Fowl,
All rush into this Frenzy, and this Fire:
Love is the same to All.—

What does that Youth, whom unrelenting Love
Consumes, and with his Vitals blends his Fire?—
Darkling, in dead of Night, he swims the Sea
Turbid with sudden Storms: while o'er his Head
Thunders the Gate of Heav'n, and from the Rocks
With dreadful Roar the broken Waves rebound:

Nor can his wretched Parents Tears, nor She,
Th' unhappy Maid, whose Death must follow his,
Disswade him.—

Trap. Virg. Geor. Lib. III.

Leander.

Love is a Warfare: and ignoble Sloth
Seems equally contemptible in both:
In both are Watchings, Marches, cruel Cares:
The Soldier thus, and thus the Lover fares.
With Rain he's drench'd, with the rough Tempest shakes,
And on the naked Ground his Lodging takes.—

Dryden. Ovid. Art. Am. II.

What Hares on Athos, Bees on Hybla feed,
Or Berries on the Tree of Pallas breed,
What num'rous Shells the sandy Shores afford,
With Woes as num'rous anxious Love is stor'd.—

Art. Amand. Lib. II.

Pleas'd with the kindling Warmth of Cupid's Fire,
We, Day by Day, indulge the fond Desire:
Till like a Serpent it has eat it's Way,
And, uncontroul'd, does on our Entrails prey.—

Tale. Ovid. Remed. Amor.

Love (Falling in.)

Dear Maid! In Love's soft Transport tost,
My every Sense at once was lost,
When first I saw Thee: not a Word
Could my disabled Tongue afford:
My Bosom glow'd: the subtle Flame
Ran quick thro' all my vital Frame:
My Ears with hollow Murmurs rung:
And o'er my Eyes a Darkness hung.—

Philips alter'd. Catul. Epig. 52.

He view'd her Eyes; like heav'nly Lamps that shone;
He view'd her Lips: too sweet to view alone;
Her Fingers, and her Hands, his Passion raise,
While his fond Tongue grows wanton in their Praise:
Her Shoulders almost bare, her fine turn'd Arms
He views, and thinks her Dress conceals superior Charms.
As Fields of Stubble after Harvest burn:
As Hedges into sudden Blazes turn,
If Passengers, or bring too near, or throw
When Light their Torches by, and kindle all the Row.

So burns the God, consuming with Desire,
And feeding in his Breast a fruitless Fire.—

Dryd. alter'd. Ov. Met. I.

Europa's Son she knew above the rest,
And more than well became a Virgin Breast:
In vain the crested Helmet veils his Face,
She thinks it adds a more commanding Grace:
His ample Shield, emboss'd with burnish'd Gold,
Still makes the Bearer lovelier to behold:
When the tough Javelin, with a Whirl, he sends,
His Strength and Skill the sighing Maid commends:
Or, when he strains to draw the circling Bow,
And his fine Limbs a manly Posture show,
Compar'd with Phœbus, he performs so well,
Let her be Judge, and Minos shall excell.
But when the Helm, put off, display'd to Sight,
And set his Features in an open Light:
When vaulting to his Seat, his Steed he press'd,
Caparison'd in Gold, and richly drest:
Himself in Scarlet sumptuously array'd;
New Passions rise, and fire the frantic Maid.
O happy Spear! she cries, that feels his Touch:
Nay, ev'n the Reins he holds are blest too much.—

Croxall. Ovid. Met. Lib. VIII.

Thee, with thy Mother, in our Meads I saw,
Gath'ring fresh Apples: I myself thy Guide:
Then Thou wert little: I, just then advanc'd
To my twelfth Year, could barely from the Ground
Touch with my reaching Hand the tender Boughs:
How did I look! how gaze my Soul away!
How did I die! in fatal Error lost!—

Trap. Virg. Ecl. VIII.

Apollo falling in Love with Daphne.

Scylla falls in Love with Minos, who was besieging her Father Nisus in his Capital City.

Love Mutual.

In Babylon, whose haughty Queen for State,
Rais'd Walls of Brick magnificently great,
Liv'd Pyramus and Thisbe: lovely Pair!
He found no Eastern Youth his Equal there,
And she beyond the fairest Nymph was fair.

These two, as tho' by Fate for each design'd,
Were such near Neighbours that their Houses join'd:
Acquaintance grew; Acquaintance they improve
To Friendship: Friendship ripen'd into Love:
Love had been crown'd, but impotently mad,
What Parents could not hinder, they forbad.
She lov'd like Pyramus, like Thisbe He,
For both felt Passion in the last Degree:
But Prudence taught, their Passion to disguise,
(Refraining Words, for fear of list'ning Spies,)
To correspond by Nods, and speaking Eyes.
The Fire of Love the more it is supprest,
The more it glows, and rages in the Breast.—

Eusden alt. Ovid. Met. Lib. IV.

Semiramis.

While on Septimius' panting Breast,
Acme lean'd her loving Head,
Thus the pleas'd Septimius said.

My dearest Acme if I be
Once alive, and love not Thee,
With a Passion far above
All that e'er was called Love,
In a Lybian Desart may
I become some Lion's Prey:
Let him, Acme, let him tear
My Breast, when Acme is not there.
The God of Love who stood to hear him
(The God of Love was always near him)
Pleas'd and tickled with the Sound,
Sneez'd aloud: and all around,
The little Loves that waited by,
Bow'd, and bless'd the Augury.

Acme enflam'd with what he said,
Rear'd her gently-bending Head:
And her purple Mouth with Joy
Stretching to the delicious Boy,
Twice (and twice could scarce suffice)
She kiss'd his drunken rolling Eyes.

My little Life! my All! said she,
So may we ever Servants be

To this best God, and ne'er retain
Our hated Liberty again:
So may thy Passion last for Me,
As I a Passion have for Thee:
Greater and fiercer much than can
Be conceiv'd by Thee a Man:
Into my Marrow it is gone,
Fix'd and settl'd in the Bone:
It reigns not only in my Heart,
But runs, like Life, thro' ev'ry Part.

She spoke: the God of Love aloud
Sneez'd again, and all the Crowd
Of Little Loves that waited by
Bow'd, and bless'd the Augury.

This good Omen, thus from Heav'n,
Like a happy Signal giv'n,
Their Loves and Lives, all four, embrace,
And Hand in Hand run all the Race.
To poor Septimius, (who did now
Nothing else but Acme grow)
Acme's Bosom was alone
The whole World's Imperial Throne:
And to the faithful Acme's Mind,
Septimius was all Humankind.

Happy Lover! happy Fair!
Who e'er knew so blest a Pair?—

Cowley alter'd. Catull. Carm. XLVI.

So bright, so beauteous now the Youth appears,
As does the Sun, when with refulgent Ray,
The Clouds he dissipates, and gives the Day.
The Sight so warms the fair admiring Maid,
Like Snow she melts: so soon can Youth perswade.
Consent, on eager Wings, succeeds Desire:
And both the Lovers glow with mutual Fire.—

Garth alt. Ovid. Met. Lib. XIV.

Belov'd by many Maidens of his Kind,
Hylonome alone possess'd his Mind:
Not less her Blandishments than Beauty move,
At once both loving, and confessing Love.

They for each other felt an equal Flame,
And still their sylvan Pleasures were the same:
All Day they hunted: and when Day expir'd,
Together to some shady Cave retir'd.

Uncertain from what Hand, a flying Dart
At Cyllarus was sent: which pierc'd his Heart.
The Jav'lin drawn from out the mortal Wound,
He faints with stagg'ring Steps, and seeks the Ground.
The fair within her Arms receiv'd his Fall,
And strove his wand'ring Spirits to recall:
And while her Hand the streaming Blood oppos'd,
Joyn'd Face to Face his Lips with her's she clos'd.
Soon as she saw him dead, she seiz'd the Dart,
New-drawn, and reeking from her Lover's Heart:
To her bare Bosom the sharp Point apply'd,
And wounded fell: and falling by his Side,
Embrac'd him in her Arms, and thus embracing dy'd.—

Dryd. alt. Ovid. Met. Lib. XII.

Cyllarus the Centaur.

Lover.

See Love.

Offer an Apple to a peevish Boy,
And he'll refuse it:—Here, my pretty Joy,
Come, prithee take it:—No, Sir, I'll have none:
Yet, if unoffer'd, he would beg for one.
Like him's the Lover, who hath su'd in vain;
In doubt he stands, if to return again,
When he's desir'd; tho' he would gladly wait
Unask'd, and linger at the hated Gate.
Now she invites, and swears she will be kind:
What! shall I go, or rather cure my Mind?
She shuts me out; then courts me to return:
What! shall I go?—No, tho' she begs, I'll scorn.

But lo, his wiser Slave did thus reprove:—
Sir, Reason must be never us'd in Love:
It's Laws unequal, and its Rules unfit:
For Love's a Thing, by Nature opposite,
To common Reason, common Sense, and Wit.

All is in Love, unsteady, empty, vain,
There's War and Peace, and Peace and War again.
Now he that strives to settle such as these,
Meer things of Chance, and faithless as the Seas,
He might as well design to be a Fool
By Art and Wisdom, and run mad by Rule.—

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

The Tribe of Lovers, led by blind Desire,
Imagine Charms, and then those Charms admire.
Thou view'st thy Mistress with a partial Eye:
No Fault she has, or thou no Fault can'st spy.
The sallow Skin is for the swarthy put,
And Love can make a Slattern of a Slut:
If Cat-ey'd, then a Pallas is thy Love:
If freckled, she's a party-colour'd Dove.
If little, then she's Life and Soul all o'er:
An Amazon, the large two-handed Whore.
She stammers: Oh, what Grace in lisping lies!
If she says nothing, to be sure she's wise.
If shrill, and with a Voice to drown a Choir,
Sharp-witted she must be, and full of Fire.
The lean, consumptive Wench, with Coughs decay'd,
Is call'd a pretty, tight, and slender Maid.
Th' o'ergrown, a goodly Ceres is exprest,
A Bed-Fellow for Bacchus at the least.
Flat Nose the Name of Joker never misses:
And hanging blobber Lips, but pout for Kisses.—

Dryd. Lucret. Lib. IV.

Says Phœdra to his Man, Believe me, Friend,
To this uneasy Love I'll put an End:
Shall I run out of all, my Friends disgrace,
And be the first lewd Unthrift of my Race?
Shall I the Neighbour's nightly Rest invade
At her deaf Doors, with some vile Serenade?
Well hast thou freed thyself, his Man replies,
Go thank the Gods, and offer Sacrifice.
Ah! says the Youth, if we unkindly part,
Will not the poor fond Creature break her Heart?
Weak Soul! and blindly to Destruction led!
She break her Heart! she'll sooner break thy Head:

She knows her Man, and when you rant and swear,
Can draw you to her with a single Hair.
But shall I not return? Now, when she sues?
Shall I my own and her Desires refuse?
Sir, take your Course: but my Advice is plain:
Once freed, 'tis Madness to resume your Chain.—

Dryden. Pers. Sat. V.

As Wax dissolves, as Ice begins to run,
And trickle into Drops before the Sun,
So melts the Youth, and languishes away,
His Beauty withers, and his Limbs decay.—

Addison. Ov. Met. III.

Narcissus.

Mean while Medea seiz'd with fierce Desire,
By Reason strives to quench the raging Fire:
But strives in vain!—Some God, she cries, withstands,
And Reason's baffl'd Council countermands.
What unseen Power does this Disorder move?
'Tis Love:—at least, 'tis like what Men call Love.
Wretch! from thy Virgin Breast this Flame expel,
And soon:—Ah could I, all would then be well!
But Love, resistless Love my Soul invades:
Discretion this, Affection that perswades.
I see the Right, and I approve it too:
Condemn the wrong,—and yet the wrong pursue.—

Tate.

In Love with Jason.

—Now her Face, by turns,
Deadens with Paleness, and with Blushes burns:
As Fire, that sleeping under Ashes lies,
Fresh-blown, and rouz'd, does up in Blazes rise,
So rose her Passion at the Hero's Sight,
(Tho' dead it seem'd before,) and rag'd outright.
Her ravish'd Eyes survey him o'er and o'er,
As some bright Being never seen before:
Fixt to his lovely Face she seems to be,
And thinks she gazes on a Deity.
But when he spoke, and press'd her trembling Hand,
And did with tender Words her Aid demand,
With Vows and Oaths to take her for his Bride:
She wept a Flood of Tears, and thus reply'd:
I see my Error, yet to Ruin move,
Nor owe my Fate to Ignorance, but Love.—

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

Now with consuming Care the restless Queen
Already bleeding, nourishes a Wound
Deep in her Veins, and wastes with hidden Fire.
Much to her Thoughts the Hero's brave Exploits
Recur, and much the Glories of his Race:
Fix'd in her Soul his Looks, and Words remain:
And soft Repose is banish'd from her Breast.

Th' unhappy Dido burns, and wildly roves
O'er all the City: like a wounded Deer,
Whom heedless of her Fate, in Cretian Woods
The Swain at Distance with his Shafts pursu'd,
And in her Body left the missive Steel,
Unknowing: She thro' the Dictœan Groves,
And Thickets flying strays: the mortal Dart
Sticks in her Side.—Sometimes the Trojan Prince
She takes alone, and leads him round the Walls:
Begins to speak, and in the middle stops
Her falt'ring Tongue. At Ev'ning she renews
Her Banquets: fondly begs again to hear
The Trojan Wars: again, while He relates,
She listens fix'd, and hangs upon the Sound.
Then, after All are to their Rest retir'd,
When in her turn the Moon obscure withdraws
Her Light, and setting Stars persuade to Sleep:
Lonely she pines within the empty Court,
Lies on the Couch, which just before she left:
Him absent, absent still she hears, and sees.—
Sometimes, his Father's Image all her Soul
Possessing, young Ascanius on her Lap
She long detains; if possible, to cheat
With that Amusement her unbounded Love.
Th' unfinish'd Tow'rs no longer rise; the Youth,
Undisciplin'd in Arms, no longer form
Ports, and strong Fortresses of War: the Works
Neglected stand.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. IV.

Dido.

Reliev'd with soft Repose the Beasts and Birds,
Forget their Cares, and lose the Toils of Day:

Not so the wretched Dido: no sweet Sleep
Lulls her a Moment: In her Eyes, or Soul,
Not for a Moment she receives the Night:
Her Pangs redouble: Love with boiling Foam
Rages afresh, and with a various Tide
Of warring Passions fluctuates in her Breast.—

Id. Ibid.

Lover Desperate.

Fair Anaxaretè, of Form divine,
High-born, from ancient Teucer's Royal Line,
Poor Iphis saw, a mean-descended Swain,
And, seeing, felt Love glow in every Vein.

Reason long struggled to destroy his Flame,
But when no Reason could his Madness tame,
An humble Suitor to her House he came:
There to her Nurse his wretched Case display'd,
And, for her Mistress' Sake, implor'd her Aid:
Each fav'rite Servant too, with earnest Pray'r,
He begg'd to speed his Passion to the Fair.
Letters indited in the softest Strain,
Frequent he sends, expressive of his Pain.
Oft to the Columns flow'ry Wreaths he ties,
Bedew'd with Tears that trickle from his Eyes:
Oft, at his Length, on the hard Threshold laid,
His Groans th' inexorable Gates upbraid.

The Nymph more deaf than Seas, when Tempests roar,
And foaming Surges dash the sounding Shore:
Harder than burnish'd Steel, or rooted Rocks,
Disdains the Lover, and his Passion mocks:
Of Insolence arraigns th' aspiring Swain,
And proudly tells him, all his Hopes are vain.

Despairing Iphis could endure no more
The Torments of his Grief:—
But utter'd these last Words before her Door.

Thy Conquest is compleat, relentless Maid!
Of my bold Love be never more afraid:

Triumph, O Anaxaretè! unkind!
Sing Pœans, and thy Brows with Lawrel bind:
Thou hast o'ercome, and willingly I die:
Hard-hearted Fair, enjoy thy Cruelty!
Yet even Thou shalt publish my Desert,
And feel soft Pity working in thy Heart:
To think thy Charms have kindled such a Fire,
As could not, but with Life itself, expire.
Nor will I trust Report my Death to spread,
Thyself shall see it, and behold me dead:
My wretched Life I'll end before thy Gate,
To please thy cruel Pride, and glut thy Hate.
But, Oh, You Gods! if Mortals Fates you know,
Remember me, and this one Boon bestow;
Let After-Ages celebrate my Name,
And what You take from Life, make up in Fame.

This said, he upwards to the Door-posts bends
His watry Eyes, and his pale Arms extends:
Then to the Top, so oft with Garlands crown'd,
A fatal Halter, with a Noose, he bound.
Such Wreaths best please thy savage Soul, he said,
Inhuman, cruel, unrelenting Maid!
Fitting the Rope, towards her he turning sprung,
And, by the Neck, th' unhappy Lover hung:
In Death's strong Pangs his Feet kick'd ope the Door,
Which seem'd with groan-like Sounds his Rashness to deplore.
With Shrieks the Servants view the dying Swain,
And lend their Help, but all their Help is vain.
Breathless and pale they to his Mother bore
Her strangled Son, his Father dead before:
The lifeless Corpse she in her Bosom plac'd,
And in her Arms his cold dead Limbs embrac'd:
Lamenting long, as woeful Parents use,
And paying all a woeful Mother's Dues,
The Fun'ral Pomp she thro' the City led,
And to his Pile bore the lamented Dead.

It chanc'd the cruel Virgin's Dwelling lay,
Just where the Mourners took their solemn Way:

Their Lamentations loud her Ears invade,
And Heav'ns just Vengeance close pursues the Maid.
Let's view this mournful Pomp, surpriz'd, she cries;
And instant to the open Window flies:
Whence seeing Iphis on his burial Bed,
Her Eye-Balls stiffen'd, and her Colour fled.
Retire she would, but fixt was forc'd to stay,
And strove in vain to turn her Eyes away:
Life left her by Degrees, and every Part
To Stone was harden'd, like her stony Heart.—

Ovid. Met. Lib. XIV.

No Mean, no Cure for Love was left, but Death:
Death pleas'd: She rose, resolv'd to stop her Breath.
And while her Girdle round the Beam she ty'd,
Farewell, Dear Cinyras! she softly cry'd:
Of my untimely End know you're the Cause:
Then round her Neck the fatal Noose she draws.

The Nurse, who lay without, her faithful Guard,
Tho' not the Words, the Murmurs over-heard:
Startled she rises, opes the Door, and straight
Beholds the ready Instrument of Fate.
Screaming she beats her Breast, and rends her Hairs,
And from the Virgin's Neck the Halter tares.—

Dryd. alt. Ovid. Met. Lib. X.

Myrrha in love with her Father Cinyras.

Lover's Leap.

—O you that love in vain!
Fly hence: and seek the far Leucadian Main:
There stands a Rock, from whose impending Steep,
Apollo's Fane surveys the rolling Deep:
There injur'd Lovers leaping from above,
Their Flames extinguish, and forget to love.
Deucalion once with hopeless Fury burn'd,
In vain he lov'd, relentless Pyrrha scorn'd:
But when from hence he plung'd into the Main,
Deucalion scorn'd, and Pyrrha lov'd in vain.
Haste, thither haste: from high Leucadia throw
Your wretched Weight, nor dread the Deeps below.—

Pope. Ovid. Sap. Phaoni.

Lust.

Tereus beheld the Virgin, and admir'd,
And with the Coals of burning Lust was fir'd:
Like crackling Stubble, or the Summer Hay,
When forked Lightnings o'er the Meadows play.
Such Charms in any Breast might kindle Love,
But him the Heats of inbred Lewdness move.
Straight her Attendants he designs to buy,
And with large Bribes her Governess would try:
Herself with ample Gifts resolves to bend,
And his whole Kingdom in th' Attempt expend:
Or, snatch'd away by Force of Arms, to bear,
And justify the Rape with open War.—
All Things he dares, provok'd by wild Desire:
Nor can his Breast endure so fierce a Fire.—

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

Her snowy Arms her aged Sire embrace,
And clasp his Neck with an endearing Grace.
Tereus surveys her with a luscious Eye,
And in his Mind forestalls the blissful Joy:
Her circling Arms a Scene of Lust inspire,
And ev'ry Kiss foments the raging Fire.
Fondly he wishes for the Father's Place,
To feel, and to return the warm Embrace:
Nor would the nearest Ties of filial Blood,
Abate his Flame, or force him to be good.—

Croxall. Ibid.

Now Philomela, scarce receiv'd on Board,
And in the Royal gilded Barque secur'd:
While from the Shore with Oars and Sails it flies,
We've gain'd our Point! the rough Barbarian cries:—
Now I possess the dear, the blissful Hour,
And ev'ry Wish subjected to my Pow'r!
Transports of Lust his vicious Thoughts employ,
And he forbears, with Pain, th' expected Joy.
His gloating Eyes incessantly survey'd
The Virgin Beauties of the lovely Maid.

As when the bold rapacious Bird of Jove,
With crooked Talons stooping from above,
Has snatch'd, and carry'd to his lofty Nest
A captive Hare, with cruel Gripes opprest:
Secure, with fix'd and unrelenting Eyes,
He sits, and views the helpless trembling Prize.

Ibid.

Their Vessels now had made th' intended Land,
And all with Joy descend upon the Strand:
When the false Tyrant seiz'd the princely Maid,
And to a Lodge in distant Woods convey'd:
Pale, sinking, and distress'd with jealous Fears,
And asking for her Sister all in Tears.
The Letcher, for Enjoyment fully bent,
No longer now conceal'd his base Intent;
But with rude Haste the blooming Maid deflow'r'd,
Alone, defenceless, and with Ease o'erpow'r'd.
Her piercing Accents to her Sire complain,
And to her absent Sister, but in vain!
In vain she importunes, with doleful Cries,
Each unattentive Godhead of the Skies.
She pants, and trembles, like the bleating Prey,
From some close-hunted-Wolf just snatch'd away,
That still, with fearful Horror, looks around,
And on its Flank regards the bleeding Wound:
Or as a Dove, whose bloody Feathers show
The cruel Fury of her greedy Foe,
Still pants, and trembles, tho' the Danger's o'er,
And dreads the Talons, which she felt before.—

Croxall alt. Ibid.

Philomela his Wife's Sister.

Luxury.

See Extravagance. Gluttony.

Mean time his Lordship lolls within at Ease,
Pamp'ring his Paunch with foreign Rarities:
Both Sea and Land are ransack'd for the Feast,
And his own Gut the sole invited Guest:
Such Plate, such Tables, Dishes dress'd so well,
That whole Estates are swallow'd at a Meal.—

Dryden. Juv. Sat. I.

—Attir'd beyond our Purse we go;
For useless Ornament and flaunting Show.
We take on Trust; in costly Robes we shine;
And poor, are yet ambitious to be fine—

Id. Juv. Sat. III.

—The lavish Slave
Six thousand Pieces for a Barbel gave:
A Sesterce for each Pound it weigh'd, as they
Give out, who hear great Things, but greater say.
If by this Bribe well plac'd, he would ensnare
Some sapless Usurer that wants an Heir:
Or if this Present the sly Courtier meant,
Should to some Punk of Quality be sent,
Who in her easy Chair in State does ride,
The Glasses all drawn up on ev'ry Side,
I'd praise his Cunning:—but expect not this:
For his own Gut he bought the stately Fish.
Now ev'n Apicius frugal seems, and poor,
Outvy'd in Luxury unknown before.—

Id. Juv. Sat. IV.

You ask from whence proceed these monstrous Crimes?
Once poor, and therefore chaste, in former Times
Our Matrons were: No Luxury found Room
In low-roof'd Houses, and bare Walls of Loom:
Their Hands with Labour harden'd while 'twas light,
And frugal Sleep supply'd the quiet Night,
While pinch'd with Want, their Hunger held 'em straight,
And Hannibal was hov'ring at the Gate.
But wanton, now, and lolling at our Ease,
We suffer all th' inveterate Ills of Peace
And wasteful Riot, whose destructive Charms
Revenge the vanquish'd World of our victorious Arms.
No Crime, no lustful Actions are unknown,
Since Poverty, our Guardian God, is gone.
Pride, Laziness, and all luxurious Arts,
Pour like a Deluge in from foreign Parts.
Since Gold obscene, and Silver found the Way,
Strange Fashions with strange Bullion to convey.
And our plain simple Manners to betray.—

Id. Juv. Sat. VI.

Those fatal Seeds luxurious Vices sow,
Which ever lay a mighty People low.
To Rome the vanquish'd Earth her Tribute paid,
And deadly Treasures to her View display'd:
Then Truth and simple Manners left the Place,
While Riot rear'd her lewd dishonest Face:
Virtue to full Prosperity gave way,
And fled from Rapine and the Lust of Prey.
On every Side proud Palaces arise,
And lavish Gold each common Use supplies:
Their Father's frugal Tables stand abhorr'd,
While foreign Dainties smoke upon the Board:
In silken Robes the minion Men appear,
Which Maids and youthful Brides should blush to wear.
That Age, by honest Poverty adorn'd,
Which brought the manly Romans forth, is scorn'd:
Where-ever ought pernicious does abound,
For Luxury all Lands are ransack'd round,
And dear-bought Deaths the sinking State confound.

Lucan. Lib. I.

Hence Wrath and Rage their ready Minds invade,
And Want could ev'ry Wickedness perswade:
Hence impious Pow'r was first esteem'd a Good,
Sought for by Arms, and bought with Streams of Blood:
With Glory, Tyrants did their Country awe,
And Violence prescrib'd the Rule to Law.
Hence pliant servile Voices were constrain'd,
And Force in popular Assemblies reign'd:
Consuls and Tribunes, with opposing Might,
Join'd to confound and overturn the Right:
Hence shameful Magistrates were made for Gold,
And a base People by themselves were sold:
Hence Slaughter in the venal Field returns,
And Rome her yearly Competition mourns:
Hence Debt unthrifty, careless to repay,
And Usury still watching for its Day:
Hence Perjuries in ev'ry wrangling Court:
And War, the needy Bankrupt's last Resort.—

Rowe. Ibid.

— Eutrapelus,
Bestow'd fine Cloaths on those he meant to hurt.
A gaudy Dress will make the Wearer vain,
Thought he, and change his Purposes and Hopes:
He'll sleep till Noon: his Business he'll neglect,
To follow Whores, and deeply run in Debt:
Till, beggar'd quite, a Bully he'll become,
Or drive an Herb-man's Cart for wretched Hire.—

Hor. Lib. I. Ep. 18.

Six thousand of the Roman Sestertii make six Sestertia: according to our Account, 46l. 17s. ( 5.

Magic Power.

See Circe. Enchantress.

Charms ev'n from Heav'n can conjure down the Moon:
Circe with Charms Ulysses' Mates transform'd:
In Meadows the cold Snake with Charms is burst.

These Poisons, and these magic Simples, cull'd
In Pontus (many such in Pontus grow)
Sage Mœris gave me: Oft with These I've seen
Mœris into a Wolf himself transform,
And howling seek the Woods: oft raise up Ghosts
From Graves: and Crops to Fields not their's transfer.—

Trap. Virg. Ecl. VIII.

A wreath-horn'd Ram is brought, so far o'ergrown
With Years, his Years was to that Age unknown:
His craggy Throat she cuts, and lets out Life:
The little Blood scarce stains the wounding Knife.
The Carcass in the boiling Cauldron swims,
And Drugs are blended with the mangled Limbs:
Each Limb, now lessen'd by Degrees, appears,
He casts his Horns, and with his Horns his Years,
And soon a tender Bleating strikes their Ears.
While they admire, forth skips a frisking Lamb,
That bounds away, and wants to suck the Dam.—

Tate alt. Ovid. Met. Lib. VII.

Medea.

The coldest Hearts Thessalian Numbers warm,
And ruthless Bosoms own the potent Charm:
In frozen Age they rouse perverse Desire,
And kindle into Lust the wintry Sire.
Where noxious Cups, and pois'nous Philters fail,
More potent Spells, and mystic Verse prevail.

No Draught so strong the Knots of Love prepare,
Cropt from her Younglings by the Parent Mare.
Ev'n those whom neither Ties of nuptial Love,
Nor Beauty's radiant Blandishments could move,
Melt, as the Thread runs on, and sighing, feel
The giddy Whirling of the magic Wheel.

Charm'd by the Hag's all powerful Command,
Eternal Motion stops her active Hand:
The glorious Sun forgets his Time to rise,
And pitchy Night pollutes the sable Skies:
No more Heav'n's rapid Circles roll away,
But universal Nature's at a Stay:
Great Jupiter, with Wonder, sees the Pole,
Urg'd onward by himself, refuse to roll.
Now, at a Word, the Rains pour down apace,
And bellying Clouds obscure the Sun's bright Face:
Surpriz'd again, from his celestial Tow'r,
Jove hears around unbidden Thunders roar:
Once more they speak, and shake their flowing Hair,
And strait the Storms are gone, the Heav'ns are fair.
In the still Calm they bid the Waves run high,
Or smooth the Deep, tho' Boreas shakes the Sky;
The stretching Canvas swell against the Wind:
This blows before, and that is fill'd behind.
Streams have run back at Murmurs of their Tongue,
And Torrents from the Rock, suspended, hung.—

Rowe alt. Lucan. Lib. VI.

Little fleshy Excrescencies upon the Foreheads of Foals, which the Mares bite off as soon as they are foaled. If they are hindered from so doing, and these Knots are cut away, 'tis said they'll hate their Foals, and not suffer them to suck. They were accounted of mighty Efficacy in Love Potions.

Each deadly Kind, by Nature form'd to kill,
Fear the dire Hags, and execute their Will.
Lions, to them, their nobler Rage submit,
And fawning Tygers couch beneath their Feet.
For them the Snake forgoes her wintry Hold,
And on the hoary Frost untwines her Fold.
The mangled Viper they can re-unite,
Or with their poys'nous Breath the Serpent split.—

Id. alt Ibid.

Magic the starry Lamps from Heav'n can tare,
And shoot them headlong, gleaming thro' the Air:
Can blot fair Cynthia's Countenance serene,
And poison with foul Spells the silver Queen:
Now, pale, the ghastly Goddess shrinks with Dread,
And now, black smoky Fires involve her Head:
As when Earth's envious interposing Shade,
Cuts off her beamy Brother from her Aid.
Held by the potent Charm, she strives in vain,
And labours with the long pursuing Pain:
Till down, and downward still, compell'd to come,
On hallow'd Herbs she sheds her fatal Foam.—

Id. Ibid.

The Ancients fancy'd the Moon to be drawn down from Heaven by Witchcraft, when she was eclipsed; and that, at those Times, she shed a Sort of venomous Juice upon certain Herbs, of great Use in Magic.

Maid Marriageable.

The Maid, now past an Infant, feels the Flames
Of sprightly Love, and innocently claims:
She hopes the nuptial State, but hopes with Fear:
And wishes, but her Wish is unsincere.—

Claud. Rapt. Pros.

Majesty.

Up to the Temple moves the beauteous Queen,
Dido, surrounded with a Troop of Guards:
As on Eurotas' Banks, or Cynthus' Top
Diana leads her Train: a thousand Nymphs
Enclose her round: Herself her Quiver bears
High on her Shoulder, and with stately Walk
O'er-looks them all: a secret Pleasure slides
Along Latona's Breast. Such Dido was,
So smiling thro' the Crowd she pass'd.—
Then in the Entrance of the Dome, beneath
The middle of the Temple's Arch, she sat,
Fenc'd round with Arms: and, on her Throne aloft
Leaning majestic, to her Subjects gave
Commands and Laws—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. I.

Their Queen, whom in her Chamber Dress detains,
Before her Gates the Punic Nobles wait:
Her Steed adorn'd with Purple, and with Gold,
Stands pawing, fierce, and champs the foaming Bit.
At length attended with a num'rous Guard,
She comes majestic: Her Sidonian Vest
Border'd with crimson Fringe: Her Quiver, Gold:
Her Tresses in a golden Knot confin'd:
A golden Buckle clasps her purple Robe.—

Id. Virg. Æn. Lib. IV.

Mean while the Kings in long Procession move;
High in his Chariot, by four Horses drawn,
Latinus rides: twelve golden Rays inclose
His Temples round: illustrious Argument
Of his high Lineage, from the Sun deriv'd.
In his white Car, young Turnus next succeeds,
Shaking two Jav'lins of broad pointed Steel.
Then, from the opposite embattl'd Line,
Comes the great Father of the Roman Race,
Æneas, with his Shield's broad starry Orb
All bright, and blazing in celestial Arms:
Ascanius by his Side, the other Hope
Of mighty Rome.—

Id. Æn. Lib. XII.

A Sword, all starr'd with Gems, and spangled o'er
With yellow Jaspers, at his Side he wore;
A Robe refulgent from his Shoulders flow'd,
That flaming deep with Tyrian Crimson glow'd:
The Work of Dido! whose unrivall'd Art,
With Flow'rs of Gold embroider'd ev'ry Part.—

Pitt. Æn. IV.

Man.

See Infant.

A creature of a more exalted Kind
Was wanting yet, and then was Man design'd:
Conscious of Thought, of more capacious Breast,
For Empire form'd, and fit to rule the rest.
Whether with Particles of heav'nly Fire
The God of Nature did his Soul inspire,
Or Earth, but new divided from the Sky,
And, pliant still, retain'd th' Ætherial Energy.

Whilst all the mute Creation downwards bend
Their Sight, and to their earthy Mother tend,
Man looks aloft: and with erected Eyes
Beholds his own hereditary Skies.—

Dryden. Ovid. Met. Lib. I.

Time was, when we were sow'd, and just began;
Meerly the Hope, and Promise of a Man:
Then Nature's Hand (fermented as it was)
Moulded to Shape the soft coagulated Mass.
In Time the little Man is fully form'd,
The breathless Embrio with a Spirit warm'd:
And when the Mother's Throws begin to come,
The Creature, pent within the narrow Womb,
Breaks his blind Prison: pushing to repair
His stifled Breath, and draw the living Air,
Cast on the Margin of the World he lies,
An helpless Baby, and by Instinct cries.
He next essays to walk, but downward press'd,
On four Feet imitates his Brother Beast:
By slow Degrees he gathers from the Ground
His Legs, and to the Rolling-Chair is bound:
Then walks alone:—a Horseman now become,
He rides a Stick, and travels round the Room.
In time he vaunts among his youthful Peers,
Strong-bon'd, and strung with Nerves, in Pride of Years:
He runs with Mettle his first merry Stage:
Maintains the next, abated of his Rage,
But manages his Strength, and spares his Age.
Heavy the third, and stiff, he sinks apace,
And tho' 'tis down-hill all, but creeps along the Race.
Now sapless on the Verge of Death he stands,
Contemplating his former Feet and Hands:
And Milo-like, his slacken'd Sinews sees,
And wither'd Arms, once fit to cope with Hercules,
Unable now to shake, much less to tare the Trees.—

Dryd. Ovid. Met. Lib. XV.

The Brutes, whom Nature did in Sport create,
Unknowing of themselves, and of their Fate,
By secret Instinct still erect their Eyes
To Parent Heaven.—

Who then can doubt that Man, the glorious Pride
Of All, is nearer to the Skies ally'd?
Nature in him an active Soul hath wrought,
Hath giv'n him Language, and the Pow'r of Thought:
In him the God descends, well pleas'd to find
An Image there of his Almighty Mind.—

Creech alter'd. Manil. Lib. II.

The Brutes, of every kind, dwell on the Earth:
Or hang in Air: or thro' the Waters glide:
Nor ought but Rest, or Food, or Joys of Sense,
Are their Pursuit.—Since, therefore, Speech, to them,
And Reason was deny'd, Man was produc'd,
To overlook and Rule: Language he has
Expressive of his Mind: and various Arts
To practise, or invent, a Genius fit.

Man o'er the Globe extends his regal Sway:
The Soil, by him subdu'd, is forc'd to bear
Of Fruits, and Grain, a large and rich Encrease.
Wild Beasts are tam'd, and tutor'd for his Use,
And o'er the Seas his Vessels plow their Way.
He too, alone erect, stands nobly forth,
And to the Stars lifts up his starlike Eyes:
Beholds the Heav'ns, and Jove himself explores:
Nor superficially the Gods to know
Is he content: deeply he searches Heav'n,
And seeks his Origin among the Stars.—

Manil. Lib. IV.

What signifies to Man that he from Heav'n
His Soul derives, that with erected Front
He walks sublime, and views the starry Skies,
If, like the Brutes irrational, he acts?—

Claudian.—

Man (Upright.)

See Virtue.

That upright Man, who's steady to his Trust,
Inflexible to Ill, and obstinately just:
The Fury of the Populace defies,
And dares the Tyrant's threatning Frowns despise.
Not the rough Whirlwind that deforms
Adria's black Gulf, and vexes it with Storms,

The stubborn Virtue of his Soul can move,
Nor even the red Arm of thundring Jove.
Should the whole Frame of Nature round him break,
In Ruin and Confusion hurl'd,
He unconcern'd, would hear the mighty Crack,
And stand secure amidst a falling World.—

An. alt. Hor. Lib. III. Ode 3.

The tow'ring Summit of Olympus knows,
Nor raging Hurricanes, nor hoary Snows;
But high, in the superior Skies, is seen,
Above the Clouds, eternally serene:
While, at it's steady Foot, the rushing Rain,
And rattling Thunders spend their Force in vain:
So, the just Man, disdaining all controul,
In perfect Peace preserves his steady Soul:
Always himself, Nought can his Virtue move,
Nor is he sway'd by Hatred, or by Love.—

Claud. de Mallii Theod. Conuls.

From Virtue's Laws who never parts
Dear Friend, may safely go
Without the Moorish Lance or Bow,
Or Quiver stor'd with poison'd Darts,
The Womb of Woe!
Whether thro' Lybia's scorching Land
To journey he provides,
By savage Caucus' rocky Sides,
Or where the Stream, o'er golden Sand,
Of Indus glides.—

Welsted. Hor. Lib. I. Ode 22.

Who's good?—The Man, that in his Country's Cause,
Stands up for all her Liberties and Laws.—

Hor. Lib. I. Epist. 16.

Be a good Soldier, an upright Trustee;
An Arbitrator from Corruption free;
Or if a Witness in a doubtful Cause,
Where a brib'd Judge means to elude the Laws,
Tho' Phalaris's brazen Bull were there,
And he would dictate what he'd have you swear,
Stick firmly to the Truth, and bravely chuse
To guard your Honour, tho' your Life You lose.

Die, rather than let Virtue be betray'd:
Virtue the noblest Cause for which we're made.
Improperly we measure Life by Breath:
Those do not truly live, who merit Death.—

Stepny. Juv. Sat. VIII.

Manes.

See Funerals.

—To Polydore we first perform
His Obsequies: a lofty Pile of Earth
Is rais'd: and Altars to the Manes built,
Mournful with fun'ral Wreaths, and gloomy Boughs
Of Cypress: With their Tresses scatter'd loose
(Such is th' accustom'd Rite) the Trojan Dames
Stand round: We offer Jars of tepid Milk,
And frothing Bowls of consecrated Blood:
Within the Grave compose his Soul to Rest,
Invoke him loud, and take our last Farewel.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. III.

—Close in a Grove,
Andromache the mournful Off'rings paid,
And solemn Sacrifice at Hector's Tomb,
His empty Tomb: which, with two Altars built
On the green Turf, th' Incentives of her Grief,
She consecrated: and with Tears invok'd
His Manes.—

Id. Ibid.

—Æneas summons his assembled Friends,
And thus bespeaks them from a rising Ground:
Ye gen'rous Trojans! sprung from Blood divine:
One yearly Circle is by rolling Months
Compleat, since in the Grave we laid to Rest
The mortal Relicks of my godlike Sire,
And consecrated Fun'ral Altars rais'd.
And now That Day, if I remember right,
Is come, by me (so You, ye Gods, decreed)
For ever honour'd, and for ever mourn'd.
This Day, did I on Lybia's barren Sands
In Exile live, or on the Grecian Sea
Detain'd, or in Mycenæ: annual Vows
Ev'n then I would perform, and solemn Pomps,

And on his Altars pile th' Oblations due.
Now to my Father's Self, his Bones, and Dust
(Not without Providence, and Heav'n's Design,
As I suppose,) we come, and enter safe
These friendly Ports. Come on then, let Us all
Honour this Festival with Joy, implore
From him propitious Winds, and Leave to pay
These annual Oblations.—

He said: and with his Mother's Myrtle Wreath
His Temples crowns. Directly to the Tomb
He from th' Assembly goes, by Thousands round
Attended. For Libation here he pours
Two Bowls of Wine, unmix'd, upon the Ground,
Two of warm Milk, and two of Holy Blood:
Then scatters purple Flow'rs, and Thus he speaks.

Hail sacred Sire! Again, Ye Ashes, hail;
In vain revisited! and Thou, the Ghost
Of him who gave me Birth!

Five Sheep, obsequious to th' accustom'd Rite,
He sacrifices: next, as many Sows,
And Heifers black: then pours the Wine from Bowls,
Invoking great Anchises' Soul, dismiss'd
From Acheron. Nor less his Friends, as each
With Store was furnish'd, offer Gifts, and load
The Altars, sacrificing Oxen slain:
Others in order Cauldrons fix: and, stretch'd
Along the Grass, o'er Heaps of burning Coals
Place Spits, and fry the Entrails on the Fire.—

Idem. Virg. Æn. Lib. V.

Hither in Throngs they crowded to the Bank:
Matrons, and Men, Souls of brave Heroes dead,
Boys, and unmarried Girls, and Youths consum'd
On Fun'ral Piles before their Parents Eyes.
Unnumber'd, as the Leaves, which fall in Woods,
By Autumn's first sharp Blasts: Or as the Birds
Which flock from Sea to Land, when the cold Year
Drives them beyond Sea, seeking warmer Climes.
Praying they stood, first to be wafted o'er:
And, longing for the farther Bank, their Hands

Extended: But the surly Boatman, deaf
To all their Cries, now These, now Those receives:
But drives the rest at distance from the Beach.
Æneas, (for that Tumult much surpriz'd,
And struck his Soul) thus speaks: O sacred Maid!
Tell me, what means this Concourse to the Lake?
What do the Ghosts desire? And why distinct
Leave These the Banks, while Others sweep with Oars
The livid Ford?—To Him in brief replies
The aged Priestess:—You see
Profound Cocytus, and the Stygian Pool:
Whose Deity the Gods by Oaths revere,
And dread to violate. This Crowd is All
Distress'd, and unintomb'd: That Ferryman
Is Charon; Those who sail the Lake, interr'd.
But 'tis not giv'n to pass the horrid Banks,
And hoarse resounding fluent: till in Graves
Their Bones are laid: An hundred Years they rove,
And flutter round these Shores, and then at length
Admitted, to the wish'd for Stream return.—

Id. Virg. Æn. Lib. VI.

Soon as Cornelia reach'd the friendly Strand,
Pompey's last Rites employ her pious Hand:
To his dear Shade she builds a fun'ral Pile,
And decks it proud with many a noble Spoil.
There shone his Arms, with antick Gold inlaid,
There the rich Robes which she herself had made:
Robes to imperial Jove in Triumph thrice display'd:
The Relicks of his past victorious Days,
Now this his latest Trophy serve to raise,
And in one common Flame together blaze,
Such was the weeping Matron's pious Care:
The Soldiers, taught by her, their Fires prepare:
To ev'ry valiant Friend, a Pile they build,
That fell for Rome in curs'd Pharsalia's Field:
Stretch'd wide along the Shores, the Flames extend,
And grateful to the wandring Shades, ascend.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. IX.

Manners.

See Dress.

The Antient's Manners other Men may please,
Not me; thank Heav'n I'm born in Days like these!
Not because Gold now from the Mines is brought,
And distant Shores for Orient Pearls are sought:
Nor for, that Hills exhaust their Marble Veins,
And Moles are made, whose Bulk the Sea restrains:
But that the World is civiliz'd of late,
And polish'd from the Rust of antient Date.—

Congreve. Ovid. Art. Am. Lib. III.

First, learn good Manners, Fair Ones! I advise:
'Tis that secures the Conquest of your Eyes.
Age, Beauty's Foe, will, o'er your charming Brow,
Do all you can, injurious Furrows plow:
The Time will come you'll hate the Tell-tale Glass,
That shews the frightful Ruins of your Face:
But, if Good-Nature to the last remain,
Ev'n Age will please, and Love his Pow'r retain.—

Ovid. de Med. Faciei.

Let no rude Passions in your Looks find place,
For Fury will deform the finest Face.—

Ovid. Art. Am.

Let Looks with Looks, and Smiles with Smiles be paid:
And when Another bows, incline your Head.—

Dryden. Ibid.

Manners unseemly, Actions base and vile,
Much worse than Dirt the finest Dress defile:
But whoso acts with Truth and Honesty,
Commands Esteem, tho' mean his Habit be.—

Plaut.

Marriage.

See Wedding.

Her Father seal'd my Hopes with Rites divine:
Her firmer Love before had made her mine.
Men call'd me blest, and blest I was indeed.—
What pleasing Images Remembrance draws
Of those fair Days, when new to Hymen's Laws,
I with my Procris led the Spring of Life,
The happiest Husband and the happiest Wife!

So high the Tide of our Affection run,
Our Love, our Care, our Passions all were one.
Had Jove made Love, great Jove she had despis'd,
And I my Procris more than Venus priz'd:
Love had to both so just a Portion dealt,
Such equal Flames our mutual Bosoms felt.—

Tate alter'd. Ovid. Met. Lib. VII.

—Within this humble Cot
Old Baucis and Philemon led their Life:
Both equal-ag'd:—In this their Youth they spent,
In this grew old: rich only in Content.
With chearful Minds their Poverty they bore,
Nor aim'd at Wealth, professing to be poor.
For Master, or for Servant, here to call,
Was all alike, where only two were All.
Command was none, where equal Love was paid:
Or rather, both commanded, both obey'd.—

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

Thrice happy They, who long as Life,
Without Complainings, Noise, or Strife,
Preserve unloos'd the nuptial Tye,
Nor cease to Love until they die.—

Hor. I. Ode 13.

Oh! how I wish that Love, with flutt'ring Wing,
The golden Marriage Chains would hither bring!
Chains which for ever bind, tho' Age comes on,
With Wrinkles, and grey Hairs, and Beauty's Charms be gone.—

Tibul. Lib. II. El. 2.

Perpetual Concord bless their nuptial State,
And Love and Union make their Joys compleat!
May She love him in Age, and He behold
Her, tho' in Years, yet not believe her old!—

Anon. Mart.

Cephalus.

Mediocrity.

See Happiness. Nature requires little.

Believe me, Friend! 'tis much the safest Way,
Nor with too bold a Sail to trust the Sea:
Nor, while you dread the threatning Tempest's roar,
Too close to creep along the rocky Shore.

Who shuns Extreams, and wisely steers between;
Whose equal Mind approves the golden Mean:

That happy Man shall spend his Days secure,
From the Contempt, and Want that gall the Poor:
Secure from splendid Cares, and Envy's Stings,
Th' insidious Plague of Courts, and Scourge of Kings.

Th' ambitious Winds with greater Spite combine,
To shock the Grandeur of the stately Pine:
The Height of Structure makes the Ruin large,
And Clouds against high Hills their hottest Bolts discharge.

An even well-pois'd Mind, an evil State
With Hope, a Good with Fear, doth moderate.
The Summer's Pride by Winter is brought down,
And Flowers again the conquering Season crown.

Take Heart, nor of the Laws of Fate complain,
Tho' now 'tis cloudy, 'twill clear up again:
The Bow Apollo does not always use,
But with his milder Lyre sometimes awakes the Muse.

When adverse Tides retard your destin'd Course,
With lab'ring Oars oppose their surging Force:
But if with prosp'rous Gales your Streamers play,
Wisely contract the Sails, and scud away.—

Norris alter'd. Hor. Lib. II. Ode 10.

A City Mouse, (for so does Story tell,)
His good old Friend—
A Country Mouse receiv'd in his poor Cell.
This Mouse was thrifty, yet would kindly feast
When Time requir'd, and nobly treat his Guest.
In short, now striving every Way to please,
He freely brought his hoarded Oats and Pease,
His nibbled Bacon, and his mellow Pears,
Whate'er the Fields produce, or Country bears:
His Nuts, his Grapes well dry'd; and try'd his best,
By choice Variety to please the Guest:
Who sat as if afraid to hurt his Mouth,
And nibbl'd here and there with dainty Tooth.
The Landlord only Tares or Barley eats,
(Whilst on a Heap of new-thresh'd Chaff he sits)
Leaving his Guest the more delicious Meats.

At last, the City Mouse begins, My Friend,
How can you bear in Woods your Days to spend?

Would you not rather live in Town than here,
And Men's Converse to that of Beasts prefer?
Then go with me: I'll get you better Chear.
Since every Creature must resign it's Breath,
Nor Great, nor Little, is exempt from Death,
Enjoy your Time in Pleasure, Mirth and Sport,
And live like one that knows his Life is short.

These Words prevail'd upon the Country Mouse,
Who strait consents, and jocund leaves the House.
The Travellers together journey on,
And steal by Night unseen into the Town.
Twelve strikes the Clock: the Friends together come
To a Lord's House, and find a stately Room,
Where purple Cushions grac'd each Ivory Seat,
And much was left of last Night's costly Treat.

The City Mouse first seats his Country Guest
On Cloth of State, and waits, and carves the Feast:
Course after Course, a thousand dainty Things,
And like a Servant, tastes what-e'er he brings.
The Country Mouse, pleas'd with his Seat of State,
And various Dainties, bless'd his change of Fate:
Feeds heartily: when, lo! the Servants come,
And Dogs rush in, and bark about the Room.
Both start: both leave their Seats with eager Haste:
Trembling, for Life they fly, and hardly 'scape at last.

Then says the Country Mouse, I plainly see
This Kind of Life is not a Life for me:
False Joys, adieu: give me the quiet Wood,
Where I am safe, tho' Acorns be my Food.—

Cowley alt. Hor. Lib. II. Sat. 6.

With Care and Trouble great Estates we gain:
When got, we keep 'em with more Care and Pain.
The rich Licinus' Servants ready stand,
Each with a Water-Bucket in his Hand,
Keeping a Guard, for fear of Fire, all Night:
Yet is Licinus always in a Fright.
His curious Statues, Amber-Works, and Plate,
Still fresh encreasing Pangs of Mind create.

The naked Cynick's Tub ne'er flames:—if broken;
'Tis quickly sodder'd, or a new bespoken.

When Alexander first beheld the Face
Of the great Cynick, in that narrow Space:
His own Condition thus he did lament:
How much more happy Thou, who art content
To live within this little Hole, than I
Who after Empire, that vain Quarry, fly;
Grappling with Dangers where-soe'er I roam.
While Thou hast conquer'd all the World at Home.

Fortune a Goddess is to Fools alone,
The Wise are always Masters of their own.—

Dryden. Juv. Sat. XIV.

O Thou, for ever dear, but now best known;
A Friend at Need by my Misfortunes shewn:
If on my long Experience thoul't rely,
Live to thyself, from Courts and Greatness fly:
Live to thyself; by Virtue seek Renown:
Avoid the Great: Destruction waits their Frown:
Nor all the Wealth and Pow'r they can bestow,
Deserve the Risque with them we undergo.
In Storms with lower'd Sails the Port we gain;
The Shrouds full spread would drown us in the Main.
See the light Cork above the Surface rise:
The Net, with all its Weights, sunk, at the Bottom lies.—

Ov. III. Trist. 4.

Grant me, Ye Gods! a Life of Ease,
Toss'd on the rough Ægœan Seas,
The Sailor cries, when Darkness hides
The Moon, and every Star that guides.

For Ease the furious Thracian fights,
'Tis Ease the Mede to War excites;
Ease wish'd by all, which can't be sold
For Robes of State, or Gems, or Gold.

Nor Wealth, nor regal Pomp, we find
Can quell the Tumults of the Mind:
Or drive away the Cares that wait
Around the Palace of the Great.

Happy the Man with little blest,
Of what his Father left possess'd,

Whose sweet Repose no Terrors break,
Nor Avarice can keep awake.

Since fleeting Life so soon must end,
What can our vain Pursuits intend?
From Shore to Shore why should we roam,
When none can leave himself at home?

Tho' under Sail, malicious Care
Climbs the tall Ship, and takes us there:
Pursues the Horseman close behind,
The Stag out-runs, out-flies the Wind.

The Mind that can rejoyce to Day,
Should cast all future Cares away,
And temper Grief with laughing Mirth,
For none's compleatly blest on Earth.

Achilles great in youthful Pride,
Worn out by Age Tithonus dy'd:
And Years, which Fate denies to Thee,
It may perhaps allow to Me.

Ten thousand Sheep o'er-spread thy Ground,
Thy num'rous Heifers low around:
Four pamper'd Mares thy Chariot draw,
Thy purple Robes the Vulgar awe:

Of small Extent, an humble Farm,
A Breast the Muses gently warm,
On me hath gracious Heav'n bestow'd,
With Pride enough to scorn the Crowd.—

Hor. Lib. II. Od. 16.

Climb at Court for me that will,
Tottering Favour's Pinnacle!
All I seek is to lie still.
Settled in some secret Nest,
In calm Leisure let me rest:
And far off the public Stage,
Pass away my silent Age!
Thus when, without Noise, unknown,
I have liv'd out all my Span,
I shall die without a Groan,
An old honest Country-man.

Who, expos'd to other's Eyes,
Into his own Heart ne'er pries,
Death's to him a strange Surprize.—

Marvel. Sen. Thyestes.

[_]

[The foregoing Passage is so finely paraphras'd by my Lord Lansdown, that adding it here can need no Apology.]

Place me, Ye Powers! in some obscure Retreat:
O keep me innocent! make Others Great!
In quiet Shades, content with rural Sports,
Give me a Life, remote from guilty Courts:
Where free from Hopes or Fears, in humble Ease,
Unheard of I may live, and die in Peace!
Happy the Man who thus retir'd from Sight,
Studies himself, and seeks no other Light:
But most unhappy he, who sits on high,
Expos'd to ev'ry Tongue, and ev'ry Eye:
Whose Follies, blaz'd about, to all are known,
And are a Secret to himself alone:
Worse is an evil Fame, much worse than none.

Mercury.

—Preparing to obey
His mighty Father's Will, first to his Feet
He binds the golden Sandals, which on Wings
Bear him aloft, as o'er the Seas, or Earth
He flies, and round him whirls the rapid Air.
Then takes his Wand:—With This pale Ghosts he calls
From Hell: sends Others to those dreary Realms:
Gives, or breaks Sleep: and Eyes unseals from Death.
Equip'd with This, he drives the Winds, and cuts
Th' opposing turbid Mists: and now discerns,
In his swift Flight, the Top, and lofty Sides
Of rocky Atlas, who sustains the Sky.

Here first Cyllenius, pois'd on even Wings,
Alighted: Thence with all his Body's Force,

Flings himself headlong from the steepy Height
Down to the Ocean: Like the Bird that flies,
Low, skimming o'er the Surface, near the Sea,
Around the Shores, around the fishy Rocks:
So Mercury in Air 'twixt Earth and Heav'n,
Shooting from his maternal Gransire, flew,
And cut the Winds, and Lybia's sandy Shore.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. IV.

With all his Harness soon the God was sped,
His flying Hat was fast'ned on his Head,
Wings on his Heels were hung, and in his Hand
He holds his snaky Sleep-producing Wand.
Then darting from the Skies, his Pinions sound,
And, in an Instant, shoot him on the Ground.—

Dryd. alt. Ovid. Met. Lib. I.

Hermes she fir'd, as in the Clouds he hung:
So the cold Bullet, that with Fury slung,
From Balearic Engines mounts on high,
Glows in the Whirl, and burns along the Sky.
Now down to Earth he turn'd his Flight, and show'd
The Form divine, the Features of a God.
He knew their Virtue o'er a female Heart,
And yet he strives to better them by Art.
He hangs his Mantle loose, and sets to Show
The golden Edging on the Seam below:
Adjusts his flowing Curls, and in his Hand
Waves with an Air, the Sleep-commanding Wand:
The glitt'ring Sandals to his Feet applies,
And to each Heel the well-trim'd Pinion tyes.—

Addison. Ovid. Met. Lib. II.

Hermes obeys, and to his Feet applies
Those golden Wings that cut the yielding Skies:
His ample Hat his beamy Locks o'er-spread,
And veil'd the starry Glories of his Head:
He seiz'd his Wand, that causes Sleep to fly,
Or in soft Slumbers seals the wakeful Eye:
That drives the Dead to dark Tartarean Coasts,
Or back to Life compels the wand'ring Ghosts.
Thus, thro' the parting Clouds the Son of May,
Wings on the whistling Winds his rapid Way:

Now smoothly steers thro' Air his equal Flight,
Now springs aloft, and tow'rs th' etherial Height:
Then wheeling down the Steep of Heav'n he flies,
And draws a radiant Circle o'er the Skies.—

Pope. Stat. Lib. I.

Now Maia's Son he cites: with ready Speed
The God obeys, his Wings adorn his Head:
He shakes the Virtue of the sleepy Wand,
And hastens to receive the high Command.

Offspring of Atlas, and my Nephew dear,
Of Hell and Heav'n the common Messenger:
Who canst alone appear in either Court,
Free of both Worlds, which own thy glad Resort:
Wing on the rapid Winds thy Flight above,
And bear my Message to the haughty Jove.

Scarce had he spoke, when, with dispatchful Flight,
The sacred Envoy gain'd the Realms of Light.—

Hughes. Claud. Rapt. Pros. Lib. I.

Pluto.

Metals.

Then Brass, and Gold, and Iron too were shewn,
And Silver's valu'd Weight, and Lead were known:
When mighty Forests, first, on Mountains high,
Fierce Fires consum'd:—Or, kindled from the Sky
By Lightning, or from Man the Flames arose,
Who thought by Fire to scare his rustic Foes:
From whate'er Cause the Flames receiv'd their Birth,
With horrid Cracklings, to their deepest Roots,
They burnt the Forests up, and scorch'd the Earth.
Then Streams of Silver, Gold, and Lead, and Brass,
To where they found prepar'd a hollow Place,
Ran melted down, and form'd a glitt'ring Mass.
Soon as Mankind beheld the sparkling Ore,
Pleas'd with its Shine, each Hollow they explore:
And there observing, that it shew'd the Frame
And Figure of the Place from whence it came,
They judg'd, that run by Heat, 'twou'd take with Ease,
Whatever useful Shape or Form they please.

101

They found that Blows would to the Metal give
Sharp Points for Darts, or a keen Edge to cleave
Their Forest Trees: they likewise found it fit
For Tools, to knock, or chop, or pierce, or split,
To smooth, or hollow Wood, as they should manage it.
Silver and Gold no less at first were sought,
Than firmer Brass: till by Experience taught,
Men found their Strength unequal to the Task,
And yielding to the Force such Labours ask:
Then Brass became esteem'd, and chiefly priz'd,
And Gold was for its blunted Edge despis'd.—
Now Brass is look'd on as a Thing of Nought;
And Gold has all the Praise and Honour got.
Time alters thus the Dignity of Things;
Some that were long esteem'd and sought, it flings
Down into low Contempt: makes Others priz'd,
Which lay for Ages useless and despis'd.—

Lucret. Lib. V.

The Use of Brass e'er that of Steel was found,
Because 'twas softer, and did more abound:
Then Ploughs were Brass, and Trumpets heard afar
Were Brass, and Brass their Weapons for the War.
Till, by Degrees, oft melting down the Mass,
Steel Swords were forg'd, which made them scorn the Brass:
They then began with Steel to cut the Ground,
And in their Wars steel Weapons gave the Wound.—

Ibid.

Then greedy Mortals, rummaging her Store,
Dug from Earth's Entrails first the precious Ore,
(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,
And double Death did wretched Man invade,
By Steel assaulted, and by Gold betray'd.—

Dryden. Ovid. Met. Lib. I.

103

Midas.

To him the God:—
Wish what Thou wilt, and all thy Wish enjoy.
A gen'rous Offer! tho' but ill bestow'd
On One whose Choice so wrong a Judgment show'd.
Grant me, says he, (nor thought he ask'd too much)
That with my Body whatsoe'er I touch,
Chang'd from the Nature which it held of old,
May be converted into yellow Gold,
He had his Wish: but yet the God repin'd,
To think the Fool no better Wish could find.

In Thought compleatly blest, he leaves the Place,
With Smiles of Gladness sparkling in his Face:
Nor could contain, but, as he took his Way,
Impatient, longs to make the first Essay.
Down from a lowly Branch a Twig he drew,
The Twig strait glitter'd with a golden Hue.
He takes a Stone: the Stone was turn'd to Gold:
A Clod he touches: and the crumbling Mold
Acknowledg'd soon the transmutating Power,
In Weight and Substance a rich Lump of Ore.
He pluck'd the Corn: and strait his Grasp appears
Fill'd with a bending Tuft of golden Ears.
An Apple next he takes: and seems to hold
The bright Hesperian vegetable Gold.
His Hand he careless on a Pillar lays:
With shining Gold the Pillar seems to blaze:
And while he washes, as the Servants pour,
His Touch converts the Stream to Danae's Show'r.

To see these Miracles so finely wrought,
Fires with transporting Joy his giddy Thought.
The ready Slaves prepare a sumptuous Board,
Spread with rich Dainties for their happy Lord:
Whose pow'rful Hands the Bread no sooner hold,
But its whole Substance is transform'd to Gold.

105

Up to his Mouth he lifts the sav'ry Meat,
Which turns to Gold as he attempts to eat:
His Patron's noble Juice! of purple Hue,
Touch'd by his Lips, a gilded Cordial grew:
Unfit for drink, and wondrous to behold,
It trickles from his Jaws a fluid Gold.

The rich poor Fool, confounded with Surprize,
Starving in all his various Plenty lies:
Sick of his Wish, he now detests the Pow'r,
For which he ask'd so earnestly before:
Amidst his Gold with pinching Famine curst,
And justly tortur'd with an equal Thirst.
At last his shining Arms to Heav'n he rears,
And in Distress, for Refuge, flies to Pray'rs.
O, Father Bacchus! I have sinn'd! he cry'd,
And foolishly thy gracious Gift apply'd!
Thy Pity now, repenting, I implore!
Oh! may I feel the golden Plague no more!

The hungry Wretch, his Folly thus confest,
Touch'd the kind Deities good-natur'd Breast:
The gentle God annull'd his first Decree,
And from the cruel Compact set him free.—

Croxall. Ovid. Met. Lib. XI.

Bacchus to Midas.

Milky Way.

A way there is, extending far on high,
Clear to the View in an unclouded Sky;
The Place, for it's distinguish'd Whiteness fam'd,
By Men below the Milky Way is nam'd.
The bright Immortals tread this heav'nly Road
To Jove's high Court, the Thunderer's Abode.—

Sewell alt. Ovid. Met. Lib. I.

Nor with enquiring Eyes need we survey
The distant Skies, to find the Milky Way:
By All it must be seen: for, ev'ry Night,
It forcibly intrudes upon the Sight,
And will be mark'd: there shining Streaks adorn
The Skies, as op'ning to let forth the Morn:

107

Or, as a beaten Path, that spreads between
A trodden Meadow, and divides the Green:
Or, as when Seas are plow'd, behind the Ship
White Foam rolls o'er the Surface of the Deep.
In Heav'n's dark Arch this Way distinguish'd lies,
And with it's Brightness parts the azure Skies.

Fame says, (nor shall with me the Fable die,)
That Juno's Breast, o'erflowing, stain'd the Sky,
And left that Whiteness: whence it justly draws
The Name of Milky from the Milky Cause.—

Creech alt. Manil. L. I.

Minerva. Pallas.

High on her Helmet, menacing before,
The horrid Typhon's Form Minerva bore:
Tho' slain above, below the Monster lives,
Dies in this Part, and in this Part survives.
Pointed with polish'd Steel, her weighty Spear,
Rose like a lofty Beam, erect in Air:
Whilst o'er her Shield, which bore the Gorgon's Head,
With friendly Care her shining Robe she spread.—

Hughes. Claud. Rapt. Pros. II.

—They carve in Gold,
With Scales of Serpents, angry Pallas' Shield,
The dreadful Ægis: and the twisted Snakes,
And in the Goddess' Breast the Gorgon's Head,
Turning it's Eyes, and terrible in Death.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. VIII.

'Twas now the Feast when each Athenian Maid
Her yearly Homage to Minerva paid:
In Canisters, with Garlands cover'd o'er,
High on their Heads their mystic Gifts they bore.—

Addis. Ovid. Met. Lib. II.

Herself she blazons with a glitt'ring Spear,
And crested Helm that veil'd her braided Hair,
And Shield, and Breast Plate, Implements of War.
Struck with her pointed Lance, the teeming Earth
Seem'd to produce a new surprizing Birth:
When, from the Glebe, the Pledge of Conquest sprung,
A Tree, pale-green, with fairest Olives hung.—

Croxall. Ovid. Met. L. VI.

109

Miser.

See Avarice. Midas.

How are the Covetous than Slaves more free,
That basely stoop for ev'ry Pin they see;
I can't imagine: He that still doth crave,
Must fear: and he that fears must be a Slave.—

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

Poor thirsty Tantalus, alas! in vain,
Essays to drink; his Lips the Stream eludes.—
What! dost Thou laugh?—but only change the Name,
Of Thee the Story's told: who, sleepless, brood'st
O'er thy full Bags, and gaping still for more,
Ne'er touchest what Thou hast; as to the Gods
'Twere consecrate, or only pictur'd Gold.

Dost Thou not know the Good, the Use of Wealth?
'Twill buy thee Bread, or Herbs, a Pint of Wine,
Or any Thing that Nature's Wants require.
But, Day and Night to be an anxious Wretch,
Always upon the Guard, in fear of Thieves,
And Fire, and Servants that may pilfer from Thee:—
Is this the Good of Wealth?—If so it be,
Then grant, kind Heav'n! I may be ever poor!—

Hor. Lib. I. Sat. I.

Say, dost thou know Vectidius?—Who, the Wretch
Whose Lands beyond the Sabines largely stretch:
A Length of Country, which a sailing Kite
Can scarce fly over in a Day and Night?
Him dost thou mean, who spight of all his Store,
Is ever craving, and will still be poor:
Born with the Curse and Anger of the Gods,
And hated by the Genius he defrauds?
At Harvest-home, and on the Sheering Day,
When he should Thanks to Pan and Pales pay,
And better Ceres: trembling to approach
The little Barrel, which he fears to broach:
H' essays the Wimble, draws it often back,
And deals to thirsty Servants but a Smack.

111

To a short Meal he makes a tedious Grace,
Before the Barley-Pudding comes in place:
Then bids fall on:—himself, for saving Charges,
A peel'd slic'd Onion eats, and tipples Verjuice.—

Dryden. Pers. Sat. IV.

Unhappy Tantalus, amidst the Flood,
Where floating Apples on the Surface stood,
Eager pursues them with a longing Eye,
Yet can nor Thirst, nor Hunger satisfy.
Such is the Miser's Fate, who curs'd with Wealth,
Amidst his endless Treasure starves himself.—

Petron. Arb.

Opimius, (who amidst his shining Store
Was still in Want, and miserably poor,
Who on Feast Days did wretch'd Wine provide
In earthen Jugs, and Lees on all beside:)
Lay in a Lethargy: all Hope was gone;
And now his joyful Heir ran up and down,
And seiz'd the Keys, and Chests, as all his own.
A friendly Doctor came, and this Design
He us'd for Cure: he brought a Table in,
And order'd some to tumble o'er his Coin.
This rouz'd him:—Then he cries, Sir, you're undone:
Wake, Sir, and watch; or else your Money's gone:
Your Heir will seize it. What, while I'm alive?
Then wake and show it, Sir: Come, come revive.
What must I do? Why really, Sir, you'll die,
Unless your Strength you instantly supply
With proper Food: Eat, Sir: What! are you loth?
Pray take this little Mess of Barly-Broth.
What does it cost? Not much, upon my Word.
How much pray? Why, two Groats. Two Groats! Oh Lord!
'Tis the same Thing to me to be undone
By Sickness, Thieves, or Physick: I'll have none.—

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

Money. Riches. Wealth.

Gold is the greatest God: tho' yet we see
No Temples rais'd to Money's Majesty,

113

No Altars fuming to her Pow'r divine,
Such as to Valour, Peace and Virtue shine,
And Faith, and Concord.—

Dryden. Juv. Sat. I.

Wouldst thou live well? who'd not? then quickly strive,
And now since Virtue only this can give,
Leave all thy false Delights, and that pursue.—
But if the wild Opinion You approve,
That Words make Virtue, just as Trees a Grove:
Then get one thousand Talents, then one more,
And then another, and then square the Store:
For by this Empress Wealth is all bestow'd,
A rich and honest Wife, and ev'ry Good,
Beauty, and Friends, and Nobleness of Blood.
The rich and moneyed Man hath ev'ry Grace,
Persuasion in his Tongue, and Venus in his Face.—

Creech alter'd. Hor. Lib. I. Epist. 6.

The Saying's true, and hath been often told,
Gold excells Silver, heav'nly Virtue Gold.—
O Romans! Romans! Gold must first be sought,
Then Virtue: that's but worth a second Thought.
This is the Tune of ev'ry trading Fool:
Old Men, and ev'ry Boy, repeats this Rule,
That with his Books and Satchel goes to School.—

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

Whoe'er is wealthy, may securely sail,
For as he wills kind Fortune gives the Gale:
May Danae wed, and rival am'rous Jove,
Nay make her Father Pander to his Love:
May be a Poet, Preacher, Lawyer too,
By bawling win the Cause he does not know,
And beyond Cato's Fame for Wisdom go.
To Wealth, the Judge, obedient, gives the Cause,
And, as thou pay'st him, turns and winds the Laws:
Acquire but Riches, and when that is done,
Be whom Thou wilt, Somers, or Littleton.
Gold governs all: get that, and Thou mayst have
Whate'er thy most unbounded Wishes crave:
In short, whoever is of that possest,
Has Jove himself inclos'd within his Chest.—

Petron. Arb.

115

Nor House, nor Lands, nor Heaps of Plate, or Gold,
Can cure a Fever's Heat, or Ague's Cold,
Or free the Mind from Cares. He must have Health,
He must be well, that would enjoy his Wealth.
Whoe'er desires, or fears, diseas'd in Mind,
Wealth profits him as Pictures do the Blind,
Plaisters the gouty Feet, or Musick's Airs
And charming Sounds, the stuft and aking Ears.—

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

O You immortal Gods! what signifies this Money?—

Plaut. Aul.

Acrisius.

Moon.

Not equal Light th' unequal Moon adorns,
Or in her wexing, or her waining Horns:
For ev'ry Day she wains her Face is less,
But gathering into Globe, she fattens at Increase.—

Dryden. Ovid. Met. Lib. XV.

The Moon commands the Seas, and drives the Main
Far o'er the Shores, then draws it back again:
But most her Influence agitates the Streams,
When opposite she views her Brother's Beams:
Or, when she near in close Conjunction rides,
She rears the Flood, and swells the flowing Tides:
Or, when attending on his yearly Race,
The Equinoctial sees her borrow'd Face.—

Creech. Manil. Lib. II.

Morning.

Lo! from the rosy East her purple Doors
The Morn unfolds, adorn'd with blushing Flow'rs:
The lessen'd Stars draw off, and disappear,
Whose bright Battalions lastly Lucifer.
Brings up, and quits his Station in the Rear.—

Trap. Ovid. Met. Lib. II.

— Now the Day
Returning, with the Morning Star arose:
And from the Pole Aurora's Dawn dispell'd
The dewy Shades.—

Idem. Virg. Æn. Lib. III.

117

Now ev'ry Star before Aurora flies,
Whose glowing Blushes streak the purple Skies.—

Pitt. Æn. Lib. III.

Aurora, from Tithonus' Saffron Bed
Now rising, sprinkled o'er the World with Light.—

Trap. Ibid.

And now the Ocean redden'd with the Rays:
And in her rosy Car the blushing Morn
Shone from the Sky.—

Id. Æn. Lib. VII.

And now Aurora, Harbinger of Day,
Rose from the saffron Bed where Tithon lay;
And sprinkled o'er the World with new-born Light:
The Sun now shining, all Things brought to Sight.—

Æn. Lib. IX.

Mean while returning Day roll'd on,
And with it's full-born Light dispell'd the Shades.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. X.

Mean while Aurora, with new rising Light,
Restor'd the Cares and Labours of the Day
To wretched Mortals.—

Id. Æn. Lib. XI.

The Morn ensuing from the Mountain's Height,
Had scarcely spread the Skies with rosy Light:
Th' Etherial Coursers bounding from the Sea,
From out their flaming Nostrils breath'd the Day.—

Dryd. Æn. Lib. XII.

Now Morn begins to dawn: the Sun's bright Fire
Gilds the high Mountains.—

Ovid. Met. Lib. IX.

And now, o'er Ida with an early Ray,
Flames the bright Star, that leads the golden Day.—

Pitt. Æn. L. II.

Mean while Aurora rising leaves the Sea.—

Trap. Æn. L. XI.

Now thro' Night's Shade the early Dawning broke,
And changing Skies the Sun's Approach bespoke:
But yet the Morn was dress'd in dusky White,
Nor purpled o'er the East with ruddy Light.
At length the Pleiads fading Beams gave Way,
And dull Bootes languish'd into Day:
Each larger Star withdrew his fainting Head,
And Lucifer from stronger Phœbus fled.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. II.

The Morn had chac'd the dewy Shades away,
And o'er the World advanc'd the Lamp of Day.—

Pitt. Æn. Lib. IV.

The blushing Morn had bid the Stars retreat.—

Gay. Ovid. Met. VII.

Soon as the Morn, fresh smiling from the East,
Had put the Stars to flight.—

Æn. Lib. V.

119

The rising Morning Star, with glory bright,
Did sluggish Mortals to new Toils invite.—

Ovid. Met. Lib. IV.

Now shone the Morning Star in bright Array,
To vanquish Night, and usher in the Day.—

Croxall. Ovid. Met. Lib. VIII.

Now Day's bright Beams the various Earth disclose,
And o'er the fading Stars the Sun arose.—

Rowe. Lucan. L. VIII.

Aurora rising from old Tithon's Bed,
Does o'er the Eastern Skies her Roses spread.
Stay, beauteous Morning! whither dost Thou haste?
Why dost Thou drive thy Chariot on so fast?
Folded I lie in my dear Mistress' Arms,
And all her Soul is mine, and all her Charms.
I now am to her panting Bosom press'd,
And now, if ever Lover was, am bless'd.
As yet sweet Sleep sits heavy on our Eyes,
And chilling Dews, and Birds forbid to rise.
Stay, beauteous Morning! for to Lovesick Maids,
And happy Youths, how grateful are these Shades!
Ah stay! and do not from the blushing East,
With dawning Glories break our balmy Rest!
When Night's black Mantle does those Glories hide,
The Pilot by the Stars his Ship can guide:
And in mid-Sea a certain Course pursue,
As safe, as when he has thy Sun in view.
Thou dost the weary Traveller awake:
Tho' to the Down his heavy Head inclines,
Up he must lift it, for the Morning shines.
The Soldier braces on his brazen Shield,
Quits his warm Tent, and fits him for the Field.
The lab'ring Hind his Harrow takes, or now
Yokes the reluctant Oxen to the Plow.
The Boy half wak'd, and rubbing still his Eyes,
Is loath alike to go to School, or rise:
While o'er his Task, he does imperfect, nod,
He fears the Ferula, and dreads the Rod.
The Bridegroom starting from his Bride's Embrace
Runs to the Lawyer to consult his Case:

121

A Word is wanting in the Marriage-Deed,
And what, to save the Portion, must he plead?
Now hungry Serjeants quit their tempting Ease,
To haunt the crowded Courts, and pick up Fees,
Thy Rise brings Labour to the Female Band,
And puts the Spindle in the Spinster's Hand.
Light are these Toils, and little is the Pain
To rise to work, and rest at Night again:
But who, that knows Love's dear transporting Joys,
Can from the Arms of Beauty bear to rise?—

Anon. alter'd. Ovid. Amor. Lib. I. El. 13.

Soon as Aurora ushers in the Morn,
And o'er the World displays the dawning Day:
When Birds of various Kinds fly thro' the Groves,
And with their warbling Musick fill the Skies:
How swiftly then, o'er ev'ry Thing alike,
The rising Sun pours forth his glorious Ray,
Is known full well, and manifest to All.—

Lucret. Lib. II.

Mountain.

Stiff with Eternal Ice, and hid in Snow,
That fell a thousand Centuries agoe,
The Mountain stands: nor can the rising Sun
Unfix her Frosts, and teach them how to run.
Deep, as the dark Infernal Waters lie,
From the bright Regions of the chearful Sky,
So far the proud ascending Rocks invade
Heav'n's upper Realms, and cast a dreadful Shade:
No Spring, nor Summer, on the Mountain seen,
Smiles with gay Fruits, or with delightful Green;
But hoary Winter, unadorn'd, and bare,
Dwells in the dire Retreat, and freezes there.
There she assembles all her blackest Storms,
And the rude Hail in rattling Tempests forms:
Thither the loud tumultuous Winds resort,
And on the Mountain keep their boist'rous Court,
That in thick Show'rs her rocky Summit shrowds,
And darkens all the broken View with Clouds.—

Addison. Sil. Ital. Lib. III.

123

From Steep to Steep the Troops advanc'd with Pain,
In hopes at last the topmost Cliff to gain:
But still by new Ascents the Mountain grew,
And a fresh Toil presented to their View.—

Id. Ibid.

The Alps.

Mourning for the Dead.

See Grief. Lamentation.

Stretch'd on the Floor the wretched Father lies:
His hoary Hair, and wrinkled Cheeks, besmears,
And Heav'n upbraids, that gave him length of Years.
Had I an hundred Tongues, a Wit so large,
As could their hundred Offices discharge:
Had Phœbus all his Helicon bestow'd,
In all the Streams inspiring all the God:
Those Tongues, that Wit, those Streams, that God, in vain.
Would offer to describe his Sister's Pain.
Their Breasts they beat with many a bruising Blow,
Till they turn livid, and defile the Snow.
The Corpse they cherish, while the Corpse remains,
And fondly chafe with unavailing Pains;
And when to fun'ral Flames 'tis borne away,
They kiss the Bed on which the Body lay.
And when those fun'ral Flames no longer burn,
(The Dust compos'd within a pious Urn)
Ev'n in that Urn their Brother they confess,
And hug it in their Arms, and to their Bosom press.
His Tomb is rais'd: then stretch'd along the Ground,
Those living Monuments his Tomb surround:
Ev'n to his Name, inscrib'd, their Tears they pay,
And Kisses almost wear his Name away.—

Dryden. Ovid. Met. Lib. VIII.

But King Evander by no friendly Force
Could be restrain'd: Distracted thro' the Midst
He rushes, falls on Pallas' breathless Corpse
Stretch'd on the standing Bier, and clinging close
Hugs him with Groans and Tears: At length his Words,
Long choak'd with Grief, a painful Passage found.
Not such, O Pallas! was thy Promise giv'n
To thy unhappy Sire: that with Reserve,

125

And Caution, thou would'st trust the bloody Field.
O dire First-Fruits of War!—ill-fated Youth!—
Mournful Beginnings!—and my Pray'rs and Vows
Unheard by all the Powers divine!—And Thou,
Celestial Saint, dear Partner of my Bed,
Bless'd in thy Death! nor to this Woe reserv'd!
I by a disproportion'd Length of Life
Usurp on Nature, and survive my Son.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. XI.

—With Dust he soils
His hoary Hair, and stretches both his Hands
To Heav'n: and clinging hugs the bloody Coarse.—

Id. Æn. Lib. X.

So when some gen'rous Youth resigns his Breath,
And parting sinks in the last Pangs of Death;
With ghastly Eyes, and many a lift-up Hand,
Around his Bed the still Attendants stand:
No Tongue as yet presumes his Fate to tell,
Nor speaks aloud the solemn last Farewell.
As yet the Mother by her Darling lies,
Nor breaks, lamenting, into frantic Cries:
And tho' he stiffens in her fond Embrace,
His Eyes are set, and deadly pale his Face,
Horror a while prevents the swelling Tear:
Nor is her Passion Grief, as yet, but Fear.
In one fix'd Posture motionless she keeps,
And wonders at her Woe before she weeps.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. II.

But why should Tombs be built, or Urns be made?
Does Grief like mine require their feeble Aid?
Is he not lodg'd, poor Wretch! within thy Heart,
And fix'd in every dearest vital Part?
O'er Monuments surviving Wives may grieve,
She ne'er will need them, who disdains to live.—

Id. Lucan. Lib. IX.

Mourning (Public.)

Proud Calydon is overwhelm'd with Woe,
And Tears from Young and Old unbounded flow:
All Ranks alike excessive Sorrow show.
Their Breasts the rev'rend Matrons beat, and tare
With loud Laments, their long dishevell'd Hair.—

Ovid. Met. Lib. VIII.

127

—Loud Cries ascend the vaulted Roof:
With shrill Laments, with Groans, and female Shrieks
The Houses ring: and Wailings fill the Sky.—

Trap. Æn. IV.

But most of all in King Latinus' Court,
And in the royal City, Sorrow reigns,
And wildest Consternation: Aged Dames,
And hapless Brides, and Sisters drown'd in Tears,
And wretched Orphans, curse the wasteful War.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. XI.

—The royal Maid Lavinia first
Her rosy Cheeks, and beauteous Tresses tares:
Then all the rest run madding round the Court:
And with loud Shrieks the spacious Palace rings.
Hence the dire Fame o'er all the City spreads:
Their Spirits sink.—Confounded at the Fates,
His City's Ruin, and his Consort's Death,
With Garments rent, Latinus goes, and all
With Dust deforms his hoary ruffled Hair.—

Id. Æn. Lib. XII.

Mean time the Shores, the Seas, and Skies around,
With mournful Cries for Pompey's Death resound.
But when the sad Cornelia first appear'd,
When on the Deck her sorrowing Head she rear'd,
Her Locks hung rudely o'er the Matron's Face,
With all the Pomp of Grief's disorder'd Grace:
When they beheld her, wasted quite with Woe,
And spent with Tears, that never cease to flow,
Again they feel their Loss, again complain,
And Heav'n and Earth ring with their Cries again.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. IX.

Justice suspends her Course in mournful Rome,
And all the noisy Courts at once are dumb:
No Honours shine in the distinguish'd Weed,
Nor Rods the purple Magistrate preceed.
The Matrons sad, their rich Attire lay by,
And to the Temples madly crouding fly:
Some on the Shrines their gushing Sorrows pour,
Some dash their Breasts against the marble Floor:
Some on the sacred Thresholds rend their Hair,
And seek the Gods with Cries instead of Pray'r.

129

Nor Jove receiv'd the mournful Suppliants all,
In ev'ry Fane, on ev'ry Pow'r they call.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. II.

Munificence.

See Hospitality. Rewards.

He, suppliant, in the royal Presence stands,
With Boughs of peaceful Olive in his Hands:
And begs the King some Town, or Field to give,
Where they may safe, his faithful Vassals live.
Beneficient, and with a pleasing Look,
In Answer, thus the Trachin Monarch spoke:
The Wretched to assist I ne'er disdain,
Nor over Realms unhospitable reign:
All you can wish I grant: Intreaties spare:
Whate'er you see, (and wou'd 'twere better!) share.—

Croxall alt. Ovid. Met. Lib. XI.

When thus the friendly Prophet had foretold,
He sent rich Gifts of Elephant, and Gold:
Within our Navy's Sides large Treasures stow'd,
And brazen Cauldrons, that refulgent glow'd.
He sent with these, a glitt'ring Coat of Mail,
With many a golden Clasp, and golden Scale:
A radiant Helm, whose beauteous Summit bore
A waving Plume; the Helm that Pyrrhus wore.
My Father too with costly Gifts he loads,
And Sailors he supplies to stem the Floods,
And gen'rous Steeds, and Arms to all my Train,
With skilful Guides to lead us o'er the Main.—

Pitt alt. Virg. Æn. Lib. III.

Nor less Andromache, with sad Farewell,
Brings to Ascanius Robes all wrought in Gold
With various Colours, and a Phrygian Cloak:
Loads him with rich embroider'd Vestments, nought
Inferior in her Presents.—

Trap. Ibid.

Attending on their Way, the gen'rous Prince
Dismiss'd his Guests with rich Munificence;
In old Anchises' Hand a Scepter plac'd:
A Vest and Quiver young Ascanius grac'd:
His Sire, a Cup: which from th' Aonian Coast
Ismenian Thyrses sent his royal Host.

131

Nor less Expence the Trojan Gifts express'd:
A fuming Censer for the royal Priest;
A Chalice, and a Crown of princely Cost,
With ruddy Gold and sparkling Gems emboss'd.—

Catcott. Ovid. Met. Lib. XIII.

Nations Different.

In diff'rent Nations diff'rent Men we view,
That vary in their Shape, or in their Hue:
The Matter's common, and in all the same,
But private Stamps distinctly mark the Frame.
Large yellow Offspring are the German's Pride,
While neighb'ring France with Red is deeply dy'd.
Slim are the People that inhabit Spain,
The Muscles there a firmer Texture gain.
Th' Italians shew a sweet but manly Grace,
And temper'd Mars appears in ev'ry Face;
But active Greece produceth finer Parts,
Their Looks betray their Exercise and Arts.
Short curl'd up Hair the Sons of Syria grace:
And Blackness stains the Ethiopian's Face:
Less India blackens, less deforms the Mass,
There blended Colours make a tawny Face,
Whilst Egypt's slimy Plains affect the Sight
With brighter Colours, and approach to White.
Parch'd Lybia burns her Sons: the vilest Shapes
She shews, and scarce divides her Men from Apes:
While Mauritania doth disgust the Eye,
(Her Name bespeaks it,) with the blackest Dye.

Tho' Organs form'd alike each Speech employs,
What diff'rent Languages confound the Voice!
What diff'rent Virtues reign, what diff'rent Crimes?
Men's Manners are as various as the Climes.—

Creech alt. Manil. Lib. IV.

In cold laborious Climes the wintry North
Brings her undaunted hardy Warriors forth:
In Body and in Mind untaught to yield,
Stubborn of Soul, and steady in the Field.
But Asia's softer Climate, form'd to please,
Dissolves her Sons in Indolence and Ease.

133

Here silken Robes invest enervate Limbs,
And in long Trains the flowing Purple streams.

Where no rude Hills Sarmatia's Wilds restrain,
Nor rushing Tigris cuts the level Plain,
Swifter than Winds along the Champian born,
The Parthians fly with Ease, or fight, or turn,
And distant still the vain Pursuer scorn.
Not with like Ease they force their warlike Way,
Where rough unequal Grounds their Speed delay.
When-e'er the thicker Shades of Night arise,
Unaim'd their Shaft, and unavailing, flies:
Nor are they form'd with Constancy, to meet
Those Toils that make the panting Soldier sweat:
To climb the Heights, to stem the rapid Flood,
To make the dusty Noon-day Battle good,
Horrid in Wounds, and crusted o'er with Blood.
Nor Wars Machines they know, nor have the Skill
To shake the Rampire, or the Trench to fill:
Each Fence that can their winged Shafts endure,
Stands, like a Fort impregnable, secure.
Light are their Skirmishes, their War is Flight,
And still to wheel their wav'ring Troops delight.
To taint their coward Darts is all their Care,
And then to trust them to the flitting Air:
When e'er their Bows have spent the feather'd Store,
The mighty Business of their War is o'er.
No manly Strokes they try, nor Hand to Hand
With cleaving Sword in manly Combat stand.
With Swords the Valiant still their Foes invade;
These call in Drugs and Poisons to their Aid.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. VIII.

Nature Content with Little.

See Mediocrity.

O wretched Man! in what a Mist of Life,
Inclos'd with Dangers, and with noisy Strife,
He spends his little Span! and over-feeds
His cram'd Desires with more than Nature needs!

135

For Nature wisely stints our Appetite,
And craves no more than undisturb'd Delight,
Which Minds unmixt with Cares and Fears obtain;
A Soul serene, a Body void of Pain.
So little this corporeal Frame requires,
So bounded are our natural Desires,
That wanting all, and setting Pain aside,
With bare Privation Sense is satisfy'd.—

Dryden. Lucr. Lib. II.

Behold! Ye Sons of Luxury, behold!
Who scatter in Excess your lavish Gold:
You who the Wealth of frugal Ages waste,
T' indulge a wanton supercilious Taste:
For whom all Earth, all Ocean are explor'd,
To spread the various proud voluptuous Board:
Behold how little thrifty Nature craves!—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. IV.

What-e'er can Nature's real Wants relieve,
Th' indulgent Gods with kind Profusion give.
The Olive freely yields its wild Repast,
And ev'ry Bry'r presents a rural Feast.
Mad must he be, who'd thirst beside a Stream,
Or freeze, while Phœbus gives his glowing Beam.
Around the nuptial Bed arm'd Laws appear:
Yet the chaste Bride indulges without Fear.
Each useful Blessing bounteous Heav'n bestows;
But Pride's insatiate Lust no Limits knows.—

Addison junr. Petron. Arb.

But Heav'n is kind, with bounteous Hand it grants
A fit Supply for Nature's sober Wants:
She asks not much, yet Men press blindly on,
And heap up more, to be the more undone:
By Luxury they Rapine's Force maintain,
What that scrapes up, flows out in Luxury again:
And to be squander'd at a senseless Rate,
Seems now the only Use of an Estate.—

Creech alter'd. Manil. Lib. IV.

The best and wisest on a little live:
Nature to every one does kindly give
The Means of Happiness; did Man but know
T' enjoy the Blessings which she does bestow.

137

This useful Science did we understand,
Man's chief Concern would be to till the Land:
War would not rage, nor crashing Forests fall,
Storms wreck the Ship, nor Engines break the Wall.

Claud. Ruf. Lib. I.

Navigation.

See Pilot. Sailing.

Oak was his Heart, his Breast with Steel
Thrice mail'd, that first the brittle Keel
Committed to the murd'rous Deep:
Nor dreaded battling Winds, that sweep
The Flood, the Hyads stormy Train,
Nor the fierce South, of Adria's Main
The lawless Monarch, be his Will
T' enrage the gulfy Wave, or still.
All Fear of Death did he repel,
Who, fearless, saw the Billows swell:
Saw the fell Monsters floating by,
And Rocks, deaf to the Seaman's Cry!
Vain has Almighty Wisdom plac'd,
For Earth's fixt Borne, the watry Waste:
If impious Men the Art have found
T' o'erleap the inviolable Mound.—

Welsted. Hor. Lib. I. Od. 3.

Who in a Ship began to plow the Main,
And ruffled with rude Oars the watry Plain:
Tim'rous at first, the Sea's calm Billows try'd,
And row'd, securely, by the Shore's known Side.
Then, vent'ring on, thro' wide-stretch'd Bays he sails,
And spreads his Canvas to the gentle Gales:
At length, by often daring, bolder grown,
Scorning the Fears which he before had known,
The Deep he takes, Heav'n his sole Guide, and braves
Ægean Storms, and the Ionian Waves.—

Præf. Rapt. Pros.

From thence, e'er yet the Seaman's Art was taught,
Rude Argo thro' the Deep a Passage sought:
She first explor'd the distant foreign Land,
And shew'd her Strangers to the wond'ring Strand:
Then Nations Nations knew, in Leagues were join'd,
And universal Commerce mix'd Mankind.

139

By her made bold, the daring Race defy'd
The Winds tempestuous, and the swelling Tide:
Much she enlarg'd Destruction's ample Pow'r,
And open'd Ways to Death, unknown before.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. III.

The Heav'n instructed Ship-man thus replies:
Of all yon Multitude of golden Stars,
Which the wide rounding Sphere incessant bears,
The cautious Mariner relies on none,
But keeps him to the constant Pole alone.—

Id. Lucan. Lib. VIII.

—Strait the Master veer'd;—
The working Waves the Course inverted feel,
And dash, and foam, beneath the winding Keel:
Not with such Skill, on rapid Chariots born,
Around the Column skilful Racers turn:
While the near Wheels bear nicely on the Goal,
The farther, wide, in distant Circles roll.—

Id. Ibid.

The cloudy Skies a gathering Storm presage,
And Auster from the South began to rage:
Full from the Land the sounding Tempest roars,
Repels the swelling Surge, and sweeps the Shores.
Spight of the Seaman's Toil the Storm prevails:
In vain with skilfull Strength he hands the Sails:
In vain the cordy Cables bind 'em fast,
At once it rips, and rends 'em from the Mast:
At once the Winds the flutt'ring Canvas tare,
Then whirl, and whisk it, thro' the sportive Air.
Some, timely for the rising Rage prepar'd,
Furl the loose Sheet, and lash it to the Yard:
In vain their Care: sudden the furious Blast
Snaps by the Board, and bears away the Mast:
Of Tackling, Sails, and Mast, at once bereft,
The Ship a naked helpless Hull is left.
But, happier some, a steady Course maintain,
Who stand far out, and keep the deeper Main:
Their Masts they cut, and driving with the Tide,
Safe o'er the Surge, beneath the Tempest ride.

141

In vain, did from the southern Coast, their Foe,
All black with Clouds, outragious Auster blow;
Lowly secure amidst the Waves they lay,
Old Ocean heav'd his Back, and roll'd 'em on their Way.—

Idem. Lucan. Lib. IX.

Neptune.

Mean while the Noise and Tumult of the Main
Neptune perceives: the Bottom of the Deep
Turn'd upwards, and the Storm's licentious Rage.
Highly provok'd, and careful for his Realms,
Above the Waves, serene, he rears his Head:
He sees the Trojan Fleet o'er all the Sea
Dispers'd: Æneas, and his Ships o'erpow'r'd
With Surges, and the Ruin of the Sky.
East and West Winds he hails: and then proceeds:—
From your high Birth does this Presumption rise?
And dare You thus, without my Sov'reign Leave,
Mix Earth, and Heav'n, and such vast Billows raise?
Whom I:—But first 'tis fit we should compose
The troubled Ocean. For your next Offence
A more severe Correction you shall find.
Hence, fly: and bear this Message to your King:
To Me, not Him, the Empire of the Main,
And aweful Trident fell: Huge rocky Caves
Are his Dominions: Eurus, your Abodes:
Proud in that Palace Æolus may reign,
But bid him bar the Prison of his Winds.—

So spoke the God: and sooner than he spoke,
Appeas'd the tossing of the Waves, dispell'd
The Clouds collected, and restor'd the Sun.
Cymothoê too, and Triton join their Strength
To clear the Vessels from the pointed Rock:
Himself his Trident plies, to heave them off,
Levels the Banks of Sand, and calms the Sea,
And with light Wheels o'er the smooth Surface rides.—

Trap. Æn. I.

— Father Neptune
His wild Sea-Horses joins in Harness, adds

143

The foaming Bridles, and diffuses all
The flowing Reins: In his cerulean Car
Lightly He skims the Surface of the Deep:
The Waves subside: The swelling Sea lies smooth
Beneath the thund'ring Axle: And the Clouds
Fly from the vast Horizon. Various then
The Forms of his Retinue: Monstrous Whales,
Old Glaucus' Train, Palemon Ino's Son,
The nimble Tritons, and all Phorcus' Band:
Thetis, and Melite upon the Left,
Niseæ, Spio, and Cymodoce,
Thalia, and the Virgin Panopea.—

Id. Æn. Lib. V.

Nor from his patrimonial Heav'n alone,
Is Jove content to pour his Vengeance down:
Aid from his Brother of the Sea, he craves,
To help him with auxiliary Waves.
Neptune the Rivers summons to his Court,
To whom, when there obedient they resort,
And with their swelling Streams his Palace fill,
He thus, in brief, declares his mighty Will.
Small Exhortation needs: your Pow'rs employ:
And this bad World, so Jove requires, destroy:
All Banks, all Lets, all Obstacles remove,
At large let all your Floods unbridled rove.
Thus charg'd, in haste, their Fountains all set free,
Headlong they roll, impetuous, to the Sea.
Then, with his Mace he struck: the trembling Earth,
Broke up her hidden Springs, and gave a Deluge Birth.
The Land and Sea seem'd diff'rent now no more,
For all was Sea, but Sea without a Shore.—

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

Calm grows the Sea, while Neptune lays his Mace
O'er the wide Surface of it's furrow'd Face:
Already Triton at his Call appears
Above the Waves: a purple Robe he wears,
And in his Hand a crooked Trumpet bears.
The Sov'reign bids him peaceful Sounds inspire,
And give the Waves the Signal to retire.

145

His writhen Shell he takes, whose narrow Vent
Grows by Degrees into a large Extent,
And gives it Breath: The Blast with doubling Sound,
Runs the wide Circuit of the World around:
From the Sun's Rising to it's Ev'ning Fall,
'Twas heard by ev'ry Wave, and was obey'd by All.—

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

Night.

See Enchantress.

—The rosy Sun in western Waves
(The Day declining) plung'd his weary Car,
And brought returning Night.—

Trap. Æn. XI.

Low in the West the setting Sun was laid,
Up rose the Night with glitt'ring Stars array'd,
And silver Cynthia cast a lengthning Shade.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. V.

Mean while the Hemisphere rolls round, and Night
Swift rushes from the Sea: in dusky Shade
Involving Earth, and Heav'n.—

Trap. Æn. II.

Now the descending Sun roll'd down the Light,
The Hills lie cover'd in the Shades of Night.—

Æn. III.

Now Night had shed her silver Dews around,
And with her sable Wings embrac'd the Ground.—

Dryd. Ibid.

And now the dewy Night is hast'ning swift
From Heav'n: and setting Stars perswade to Sleep.

Trap. Æn. II.

The Moon now rising, in her stately Car
With Dew besprinkled, did the Sun succeed;
And o'er the silent World her Round began.
Nor Beast, nor Bird is heard: ev'n carking Care
Sleep overcomes; as, nodding, thro' the Skies
On Earth it falls, and every where bestows
A sweet Forgetfulness of Labours past.—

Stat. Theb. Lib. I.

'Twas now the Season, when the first Repose,
Sweet Gift of Gods, on weary Mortals creep.—

Trap. Ibid.

Sunk in the western Ocean was the Day:
And dewy Night shed from her azure Car,
Repose, and Slumber, o'er the weary World.—

Claud. Rapt. Pros.

'Twas Night, when ev'ry Creature void of Cares,
The common Gift of balmy Slumber shares.—

Dryden. Æn. III.

147

Now Night her Coursers to her Chariot joins,
Whilst all the starry shining Train advance,
And round their Mother's Wheels in Chorus dance:
Then follows silent Sleep, with dusky Wings
Involv'd, and fleeting Midnight Visions brings.—

Dart. Tibul. Lib. II. El. 1.

'Twas Night, and weary Nature lull'd asleep
The Birds, and Beasts, and Fishes of the Deep,
And every Creature else.—

Dryden. Æn. Lib. VIII.

Now was the World forsaken by the Sun,
And Phœbe half her nightly Race had run.—

Id. Æn. X.

—And now the dewy Night
Had almost reach'd Heaven's middle Arch.—

Trap. Æn. V.

Deep Silence reign'd: Arctophylax had driv'n
His lazy Wain half round the northern Heav'n.—

Dryd. alt. Ovid. Met. X.

'Twas now the Mid of Night, when Slumbers close
Our Eyes, and sooth our Cares with soft Repose.—

Dryd. Ibid.

'Twas dead of Night, when weary Bodies close
Their Eyes in balmy Sleep, and sweet Repose:
The Winds no longer whisper thro' the Woods,
Nor murm'ring Tides disturb the gentle Floods:
The Stars in silent Order mov'd around,
And Peace, with downy Wings, was brooding o'er the Ground.
The Flocks, and Herds, and parti-colour'd Fowl,
Which haunt the Woods, or swim the weedy Pool,
Stretch'd on the quiet Earth securely lay,
Forgetting the past Labours of the Day.—

Dryden. Æn. IV.

Night! friendly Pow'r, beneath whose gloomy Reign,
Yon spangled Arch glows with the starry Train:
Who dost the Cares of Earth and Heav'n allay,
Till Nature, quicken'd by th'inspiring Ray,
Wakes to new Vigour with the rising Day.—

Pope. Stat. Theb. L. I.

Nobility.

What's the Advantage, or the real Good,
In tracing from the Source our antient Blood?
To have our Ancestors in Paint or Stone,
Preserv'd as Relicks, or, like Monsters, shewn?

149

The brave Emilii, as in Triumph plac'd:
The virtuous Curii, half by time defac'd:
Corvinus, with a mould'ring Nose, that bears,
Injurious Scars, the sad Effect of Years:
And Galba grinning, without Nose or Ears?

Vain are their Hopes, who fancy to inherit
By Trees of Pedigree, or Fame, or Merit:
Tho' plodding Heralds thro' each Branch may trace
Old Captains, and Dictators of their Race,
While their ill Lives that Family belie,
And grieve the Brass which stands dishonour'd by.—

Stepny. Juv. Sat. VIII.

Long Galleries of Ancestors, and all
The Follies which ill grace a Country-Hall,
Challenge no Wonder or Esteem from me:
Virtue alone is true Nobility.—

Id. Ibid.

Convince the World that you're devout and true,
Be just in all you say, and all you do:
Whatever be your Birth, you're sure to be
A Peer of the first Magnitude to me.—

Id. Ibid.

But who will call those Noble, who deface,
By meaner Acts, the Glories of their Race:
Whose only Title to their Father's Fame
Is couch'd in the dead Letters of his Name?
A Dwarf as well may for a Giant pass:
A Negro for a Swan: a crook'd-back'd Lass
Be call'd Europa.—

Id. Ibid.

If You have Strength Achilles' Arms to bear,
And Courage to sustain a ten Years War,
Tho' foul Thersites' Offspring, You shall be
More lov'd by all, and more esteem'd by me,
Than if by Chance You from some Hero came,
In Nothing like your Father but his Name.—

Id. Ibid.

But, Ponticus, I would not you should raise
Your Credit by hereditary Praise:
Let your own Acts immortalize your Name:
'Tis poor relying on another's Fame:

151

For take the Pillars but away, and all
The Superstructure must in Ruins fall.—

Id. Ibid.

Ah! what avail my kindred Gods above,
That in their Number I can reckon Jove!—

Ovid. Epist. XI.

A long Descent, and boasted Ancestors,
And Acts not done by Us, I count not ours.—

Theobald. Ovid. Met. Lib. XIII.

No slothful Heir am I to an Estate,
Possessing, by Descent, paternal Lands:
Nor nobly born, nor with proud Titles grac'd,
Were any of my humble Ancestors;
But Virtue, fair, and shining, is my boast.—
The Man that vaunts his Race, but trumpets forth
The Praise of Others.—

Sen. Her. furens.

For You believe, and You are right in this,
No matter what his Race, but what he is:
Before King Tullius time, by Birth a Slave,
Innumerable low-born Men were brave;
For Virtue and strict Probity renown'd,
Rever'd they liv'd, with ample Honours crown'd.—

Creech alt. Hor. Lib. I. Sat. 6.

From a mean Stock the pious Decii came,
Small their Estates, and vulgar was their Name:
Yet such their Virtue, that their Loss alone,
For Rome and all our Legions could attone:
Their Country's Doom they by their own retriev'd,
Themselves more Worth than all the Host they fav'd—

Stepny. Juv. Sat. VIII.

—Impartial Earth
Wraps in her Lap with equal Care
The High and Low: nor royal Birth
Preserves it's poor Distinction there.—

Hor. Lib. II. Ode 18.

— For my Heir
Manius I'll chuse.—What him, of humble Birth,
Obscure, a Fondling, and a Son of Earth?—
Obscure! why pr'ythee what am I? I know
My Father, Grandsire, and great Grandsire too:
If farther I derive my Pedigree,
I can but guess beyond the fourth Degree.
The rest of my forgotten Ancestors,
Were Sons of Earth like him, or Sons of Whores.—

Dryd. Pers. Sat VI.

153

But Thou hast Land: a Country Seat secure
By a just Title: costly Furniture:
A fuming Pan thy Lares to appease:
What can be wanting when a Man has these?
If this be not enough to swell thy Soul,
Then please thy Pride, and search the Herald's Roll:
Where thou shalt find thy famous Pedigree,
Drawn from the Root of some old Tuscan Tree:
And Thou, a thousand off, a Fool of long Degree:
Who clad in Purple, can'st thy Censor greet,
And loudly call him Cousin, in the Street.—

Dryden. Pers. Sat. III.

To whom is this Advice and Censure due?
Rubellius Plautus, 'tis apply'd to You;
Who think your Person second to divine,
Because descended from the Drusian Line:
Tho' yet you no illustrious Act have done,
To make the World distinguish Julia's Son,
From the vile Offspring of a Trull, who sits
By the Town Wall, and for her living knits.
You are poor Rogues, You cry, the baser Scum,
The inconsiderable Dregs of Rome:
Who know not from what Corner of the Earth,
The Wretch obscure, who got you, stole his Birth:
Mine I derive from Cecrops.—May your Grace
Live, and enjoy the Splendor of your Race!
Yet of these base Plebeians we have known
Some, who, by charming Eloquence, have grown
Great Senators, and Honours to that Gown:
Some, at the Bar, with Subtlety defend
The Cause of an unlearned noble Friend:
Or on the Bench the knotty Laws untye.
Others their stronger Youth to Arms apply:
Go to Euphrates, or those Forces join
Which garrison the Conquests near the Rhine.
While You, Rubellius, on your Birth rely:
Tho' You resemble your Great Family,
No more than those rough Statues on the Road,
(Which we call Mercuries,) are like that God.

155

Your Highness tho' excells in this alone,
You are a living Statue, they of Stone.

That we may therefore You, not Your's, admire,
First, Sir, some Honour of your own acquire:
Add to that Stock, which justly we bestow,
On those blest Shades to whom You all Things owe.—

Stepny. Juv. Sat. VIII.

On ev'ry Vice more public Shame attends,
As he is Great, and Noble, who offends.—

Id. Ibid.

Why vaunt you thus of Pedigree?
Consider whence you really rise,
To God, your Maker, lift your Eyes:
No Man ignoble is, but He,
Who basely can to Guilt submit,
And his high Origin forget.—

Boëth. III. 6.

Noon.

When the bright Sun in his Meridian burns,
When the Grass thirsts, and Cattle most enjoy
The cooling Shade.—

Trap. Georg. Lib. IV.

Now torrid Sirius from the Zenith scorch'd
The thirsty Indians: and the fiery Sun
Parch'd the mid Globe: the withering Herbage burn'd:
The fervid Rays the shallow Rivers dry'd,
And in their empty Channels bak'd the Mud.—

Id. Ibid.

Amidst the Noon-tides sultry Fervour seek
A shady Vale; where Jove's tall aged Tree
Extends its Length of Boughs: and thick with Oaks
A gloomy Grove lets fall its sacred Shade.—

Id. Georg. III.

Now in it's full Meridian blaz'd the Sun.—

Id. Æn. VIII.

The Sun, now in its full Meridian, made
The Clouds disperse, and shorten'd ev'ry Shade.—

Ovid. Met. Lib. III.

High Noon had now withdrawn the Shades of Things:
The midmost Sky bright Phœbus now possess'd,
At equal Distance from the East and West.—

Ibid.

The mid-Day Sun now shone with equal Light,
Between the past, and the succeeding Night.—

Ov. Met. X.

157

'Twas when the Summer Sun, at Noon of Day,
Thro' glowing Cancer shot his burning Ray.—

Congreve. Ov. Met. X.

The mid-Day Sun Heav'n's highest Point had gain'd,
And half his Way was past, and half remain'd.—

Ov. Met. XI.

Oath.

See Perjury.

—She spreads abroad
Her Hands to Heav'n, and to the blazing God.
By those bright Beams, she cry'd, thy Mother swears:
By Him who Us, and all Things sees, and hears!
That Phæbus whom thou seest, who blesses Earth
And Heav'n with cheering Influence, gave Thee Birth:
If not, may I this Light for ever lose,
And view that God no more, whose Name I use!—

Trap. Ovid. Met. Lib. II.

Clymenè to her Son Phaeton.

Then good Æneas with his Sword unsheath'd,
Thus prays.—Thou Sun! be witness to my Vows!
And Thou Ausonian Land, for which I bore
Such mighty Toils! Thou Heav'n's Almighty King!
And Thou, Saturnian Juno! Goddess! hear,
Now more propitious! And Thou, potent Mars!
Whose Deity controuls, and turns all Wars:
You, Fountains! and You, Rivers! I invoke:
And whatsoe'er Divinity resides,
Or in high Heav'n above, or Seas below.

— Then thus reply'd
Latinus, with his Eyes erect to Heav'n,
And his Right Hand extended to the Stars.
By the same Pow'rs! by Earth! by Heav'n! and Sea!
I swear, Æneas: by Latona's Twins!
And two-fac'd Janus! by th' infernal Gods!
And griefly Pluto's Court! Hear Thou this Oath,
Great Jove! whose Thunder ratifies our Leagues.
Upon the Altars, and the middle Fires
I lay my Hand, and thus attest the Gods.—

Id. Æn. Lib. XII.

For by the black infernal Styx I swear,
(That dreadful Oath which binds the Thunderer,)

159

'Tis fix'd: th' irrevocable Doom of Jove;
No Force can bend me, no Perswasion move.—

Pope. Stat. Lib. I.

Obedience.

'Tis your's, great Queen, replies the Pow'r, to lay
The Task, and mine to listen and obey.—

Pitt. Æn. I.

Whom Cæsar's Trumpet once proclaims a Foe.
By the long Labours of the Sword, I swear,
By all thy Fame acquir'd in ten Year's War,
By thy past Triumphs, and by those to come,
(No Matter where the Vanquish'd be, nor whom,)
Bid me to strike my dearest Brother dead,
To bring my aged Father's hoary Head,
Or stab the pregnant Partner of my Bed:
Tho' Nature plead, and stop my trembling Hand,
I swear to execute thy dread Command.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. I.

Obstinacy.

See Advice.

His Father, Gransire, all his Friends disswade,
But their good Counsel no Impression made:
More obstinate he grew for what they said.
Fury increases when it is withstood,
And their Intreaties did more Harm than Good.

So, unobstructed, with a gentle Tide,
Have I observ'd a murm'ring River glide,
But when fall'n Trees, or Stones, oppos'd it's Course,
It foam'd, and roar'd along, with unresisted Force.—

Ovid. Met. Lib. IV.

Much she advis'd, and many Things she said,
To cure the Madness of the Love-sick Maid,
But all in vain: for tho' convinc'd of Ill
Her Reason was, unchang'd remains her Will:
Perverse of Mind, unable to reply,
She stands resolv'd, or to possess or dye.—

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

Myrrha, in Love with her Father Cinyras.

161

Oeconomy.

See Extravagance. Luxury.

If noble Atticus make plenteous Feasts,
And with luxurious Food indulge his Guests:
His Wealth and Quality support the Treat,
In him nor is it Luxury, but State.
But when poor Rutilus spends all he's worth,
In Hopes of setting one good Dinner forth,
'Tis downright Madness: for what greater Jests,
Than begging Gluttons, or than Beggar's Feasts?

Strange Ignorance! that the same Man, who knows
How far yond' Mount above this Mole-hill shows,
Should not perceive a Difference as great,
Between a little and a vast Estate.—

Congreve. Juv. Sat. XI.

Not less the Praise to keep than to obtain:
'Tis Wisdom keeps, but Accident may gain.—

Ov. Art. Am. Lib. II.

Old-Age.

See Life.

Alas! what Ills continually a-wait
Helpless Old-Age, that miserable State!
How dismal is it's Looks! a Visage rough,
Deform'd, unfeatur'd, and a Skin of Buff:
A stitch-fall'n Cheek, that hangs below the Jaw:
Such Wrinkles as a skilful Hand would draw,
For an old Grandame Ape, when, with a Grace,
She sits at squat, and scrubs her leathern Face.—

Dryd alt.

In Youth, Distinctions infinite abound;
No Shape, or Feature, just alike are found:
The Fair, the Black, the Feeble, and the Strong:
But the same Foulness does to Age belong:
The self-same Palsy, both in Limbs and Tongue.
The Skull and Forehead one bald barren Plain:
And Gums unarm'd, that mumble Meat in vain.
Besides th' eternal Drivel, that supplies
The dropping Beard, from Nostrils, Mouth and Eyes.

163

His Wife and Children loath him, and, what's worse,
Himself does his offensive Carrion curse.—

Dryden.

What Music, or enchanting Voice can cheer
A stupid, old, impenetrable ear?
No Matter in what Place, or what Degree
Of the full Theatre he sits to see:
Cornets, and Trumpets, cannot reach his Ear:
Under an Actor's Nose, he's never near.

His Boy must bawl to make him understand
The Hour o'th' Day, or such a Lord's at Hand:
The little Blood that creeps within his Veins,
Is but just warm'd in a hot Fever's Pains.
He wears no Limb about him that is sound,
With Sores; and Sicknesses, beleaguer'd round.
Ask me their Names, I sooner could relate
How many Lovers on lewd Hippia wait:
What Crowds of Patients the Pill-Doctor kills:
Or how, last Fall, he rais'd the weekly Bills.—

Dryd. alt.

One Dotard of his feeble Back complains,
His Shoulder one, and one his Bowels pains:
Another is of both his Eyes bereft,
And envies who has One for aiming left.
A Fifth with trembling Lips expecting stands,
As in his Childhood, cramm'd by Others Hands:
One, who at Sight of Supper open'd wide
His Jaws before, and whetted Grinders try'd,
Now only gapes, and waits to be supply'd:
Like a young Swallow when with weary'd Wings,
Expected Food her fasting Mother brings.

The Loss of Members is a grievous Curse:
But all the faculties decay'd, is worse.
His Servants Names he has forgotten quite:
Knows not his Friend, who supp'd with him last Night:
Nor ev'n the Children he begot and bred.—

But we'll suppose his Senses are his own,
He lives to be chief Mourner for his Son:
Before his Face his Wife and Brother burns:
He numbers all his Kindred in their Urns.

165

These are the Fines he pays for living long,
And dragging tedious Age in his own Wrong:
Griefs always green, a Household still in Tears,
Sad Pomps, a Threshold throng'd with daily Biers,
And Liveries of Black for Length of Years.—

Dryden. Juv. Sat. X.

Next to the Raven's Age, the Pylian King
Was longest liv'd of any mortal Thing:
Three hundred Seasons guzling Must of Wine:
But hold a while, and hear himself repine
At Fate's unequal Laws, and at the Clew,
Which merciless in Length, the midmost Sister drew.
When his brave Son upon the fun'ral Pyre
He saw extended, and his Beard on Fire:
He turn'd, and weeping, ask'd his Friends, what Crime
Had curs'd his Age to that unhappy Time?—

Id. Ibid.

Nestor, who according to Homer's Account, liv'd three hundred Years.

Antilochus.

Learn to live well, or fairly make your Will:
You've play'd, and lov'd, and eat, and drank your Fill:
Walk sober off: before a sprightlier Age
Comes titt'ring on, and shoves You from the Stage.
Leave such to trifle with more Grace and Ease,
Whom Folly pleases, and whose Follies please.—

Pope. Hor. Lib. II. Epist. 2.

Omens.

See Comets. Portents.

—To me this dire Mishap,
(For now I recollect, tho' thoughtless then)
Oaks struck from Heav'n by Light'ning oft foretold:
And oft, ill-boding, from a hollow Holm
The Raven croak'd.—

Trap. Virg. Ecl. I.

Full in the Center stood a shady Grove,
Where first the Tyrians, toss'd by Waves and Winds,
Digging, an Omen found, which Juno shew'd,
A sprightly Horse's Head:—'Twas hence foretold,
The Nation should thro' Ages be renown'd
For War, and Conquest.—

Id. Virg. Æn. Lib. I.

167

When pious Gifts she on the Altars laid
Smoking with Incense, (horrid to relate!)
She saw the Liquors sacred to the Gods
Turn black: and as the holy Wine was pour'd,
It chang'd to putrid Gore.—
Besides, within her Court a marble Dome
There stood, devoted to her former Lord:
Which with uncommon Honour she rever'd,
With snowy Fleeces, and fresh Garlands crown'd.
Hence Groans are heard, and her dead Husband's Voice
Seeming to call aloud, when gloomy Night
Obscures the World; and, on her Palace-Top,
The lonely Owl with oft repeated Scream
Complains, and spins into a dismal Length
Her baleful Shrieks. Nor less the Warnings, giv'n
By ancient Augurs, fright her restless Mind
With terrible Predictions. In her Dreams
Cruel Æneas persecutes her Soul
To Madness. Still abandon'd to herself,
Cheerless, without a Guide, she seems to go
A long, a tedious Journey, and to seek
Her Tyrian Subjects on deserted Coasts.—

Id. Æn. Lib. IV.

Dido.

Just in the Center of the most retir'd
And secret Court an holy Lawrel stood,
For many Years religiously preserv'd:
Here Bees, thick flying thro' the liquid Air,
With humming Noise (surprizing to relate!)
Beset its Top, and with their mutual Feet
Connected, on the leafy Branches hung
A sudden Swarm. Immediately the Sage
Prophetic cries, a foreign Prince we see,
From the same Quarter, on the Coasts arrive,
And Sovereign in the lofty Palace reign.

Besides, as chast Lavinia, royal Maid,
Stood by her Father, and with holy Brands
Kindled the Altars: with her flowing Hair,
(Wondrous!) she seem'd to catch the Flame, and all
Her Head-Attire to crackle in the Blaze:

169

Her regal Tresses, and her Crown enrich'd
With Gems, involv'd in ruddy Vapour glar'd,
And all the Palace round diffus'd the Fire.
That Omen of a strange and dire Portent
Was rumour'd; For 'twas said, that she herself,
By Fate, in Glory should illustrious rise,
But to the People menac'd dreadful War.—

Id. Virg. Æn. Lib. VII.

—Now swift descending thro' the Sky,
The Bird of Jove wing'd his auspicious Flight:
Strange Voices in the left Hand Woods were heard,
And issuing Flames flash'd thro' the Sylvan Gloom:
Phœbus himself assum'd his brightest Beams,
And with unusual Splendors deck'd the Sky.—

Addison jun. Petron. Arb.

Opportunity.

See Delay. Time to be used.

The Clay is moist and soft, now, now make haste
And form the Pitcher, for the Wheel turns fast.—

Pers. Sat. III.

On the Statute of Opportunity and Repentance.

Quest.
Image , who made thee?

Answ.
Phidias: the same
Whose Artist Hand did Jove and Pallas frame:
I'm his third Labour, in the Form you see:
And, tho' but seldom met, and known to few I be,
Yet I'm a Goddess, and my Name is Opportunity.

Quest.
What! Wings upon thy Feet?

Answ.
Yes: they imply
My Swiftness, and how ready I'm to fly:
Whene'er I will I baffle Mercury.

Quest.
Hair covers all thy Face!—

Answ.
Thereby is shown
How much I am unwilling to be known.

Quest.
But Thou art bald behind!—

Answ.
'Tis true, I be:
That none, behind may seize me, as I flee.

Quest.
Who hast Thou got for thy Companion there?

Answ.
Herself can speak:

Quest.
Friend, what Thou art declare.

171

Repen.
My Name's Repentance: I'm a Goddess too:
And punish Humankind,—
For what They 'ave done, or what forborn to do.

Quest.
But, prithee, tell me, Opportunity,
What this Tormentor has to do with Thee.

Answ.
When I am flown, She always lags behind:
And Her, instead of me, my vain Pursuer's find.
You too, who with your Questions thus delay,
Will find that thro' your Hands I'm slipt away.—

Anson. Epig. XII.

Oppression.

But above all, be careful to with-hold
Your Talons from the Wretched and the Bold:
Tempt not the Brave and Needy to despair:
For tho' your Violence shou'd leave 'em bare
Of Gold and Silver, Swords and Darts remain,
And will revenge the Wrongs which they sustain.
The plunder'd still have Arms.—

Stepny. Juv. Sat. VIII.

Oracles.

See Sibyl.

Oracle of Faunus.

Uneasy at these Prodigies, the King
Repairs to Faunus' Oracle. From hence
All the Italian and Œnotrian Realms
In Doubts seek Answers: Hither when the Priest
Has brought his Off'rings, and in silent Night
Sleeps on spread Skins of fleecy Victims slain:
Unnumber'd Fantoms flutt'ring round He sees
In wondrous Forms, and various Voices hears:
These he consults, the future Fates to know,
From the superior Gods, and from the Pow'rs below,—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. VII.

173

Delphic Oracle.

The Priestess every sacred Rite prepares.
A Fillet gathers up her formost Hairs,
While the white Wreath and Bays her Temples bind,
And knit the looser Locks which flow behind.
Close to the holy breathing Vent she cleaves,
And largely the unwonted God receives:
Nor Age the potent Spirit had decay'd,
But with full Force he fills the heaving Maid.
The mortal Mind, driv'n out, forsook her Breast,
And the sole Godhead ev'ry Part possess'd.

Now swell her Veins, her turgid Sinews rise,
And, bounding frantick, thro' the Cave she flies:
Her bristling Locks the wreathy Fillet scorn,
And her fierce Feet the tumbling Tripods spurn.
Now wild she dances o'er the vacant Fane,
And whirls her giddy Head, and bellows with the Pain.
Nor yet the less, th' avenging wrathful God,
Pours in his Fires, and shakes his sounding Rod:
He lashes now, and goads her on amain,
And now He checks her stubborn to the Rein,
Curbs in her Tongue, just lab'ring to disclose
And speak that Fate which in her Bosom glows.

Ages on Ages throng, a painful Load,
Myriads of Images, and Myriads croud:
Men, Times, and Things, or present, or to come,
Work lab'ring in her Breast, and urge for room.
Whatever is, shall be, or e'er has been,
Rolls in her Thought, and to her Sight is seen.
The Ocean's utmost Bounds her Eyes explore,
And number ev'ry Sand on ev'ry Shore:
Nature, and all her Marks, at once they see,
Know when she first began, and when her End shall be.

175

At length her foamy Mouth begins to flow,
Groans more distinct, and Murmurs plainer grow:
A doleful Howl the roomy Cavern shook,
And thus the Maid in fainting Accents spoke.—

She said: the God her lab'ring Tongue supprest,
And in eternal Darkness veil'd the rest.
Now thro' the Gates, with all her Force display'd,
Impetuous sallies the prophetick Maid;
Nor yet the holy Rage was all suppress'd,
Part of the God still heaving in her Breast:
Urg'd by the Demon, still she rolls her Eyes,
And wildly wanders o'er the spacious Skies.
Now horrid Purple flushes in her Face,
And now a livid Pale supplies the Place:
A double Madness paints her Cheeks by turns,
With Fear she freezes, and with Fury burns:
Nor can her weary Breast it's Heavings cease,
But bursting Sighs rise fast to give her Ease.

Now, by Degrees, the Fire Etherial fail'd,
And the dull human Sense again prevail'd:
Mean while, the God, in an eternal Shade,
Hides the past Visions from the mortal Maid.
Thick Clouds of dark Oblivion rife between,
And snatch away at one the wond'rous Scene.
Stretch'd on the Ground the fainting Priestess lies,
While to the Tripod, back, th' informing Spirit flies.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. V.

In these divine Furies the Priestess seem'd to be driv'n along with Whips.

What Pow'r Divine forsakes the Heav'n's fair Light,
To dwell with Earth, and everlasting Night?
What is this Spirit, potent, wise, and great,
Who deigns to make a mortal Frame his Seat?
Who the long Chain of secret Causes knows:
Whose Oracles the Years to come disclose:
Who thro' Eternity at once foresees,
And tells that Fate which He himself decress?
Part of that Soul, perhaps, which moves in All,
Whose Energy informs the pendant Ball,
Thro' this dark Passage seeks the Realms above,
And strives to re-unite itself to Jove.

177

Whate'er the Demon, when He stands confess'd
Within his raging Priestess' panting Breast,
Dreadful his Godhead from the Virgin breaks,
And thund'ring from her foamy Mouth He speaks.—

Id.

The gracious God, still ready with Replies,
To none his Aid, or Oracle denies:
Yet wise, and righteous ever, scorns to hear
The Fool's fond Wishes, or the Guilty's Pray'r:
Tho', vainly, in repeated Vows they trust,
None e'er find Grace before him, but the Just.
Oft to a banish'd, wandring, houseless Race,
The sacred Dictates have assign'd a Place:
Oft from the Strong He saves the Weak, in War:
This Truth, ye Salaminian Seas declare!
And heals the barren Land, and pestilential Air.—

Id. Ibid.

The Phœnicians, driven by Earthquakes from their Habitations, were advised by the Delphic Oracle, to settle first at Sidon, and afterwards at Tyre. When Greece was invaded by Xerxes, the Athenians were advised by the same Oracle, to trust to their wooden Walls, (their Ships) and, so doing, destroyed the Persians at Sea, at the Engagement of Salamis. A Famine in Egypt, and the Plague at Thebes, were likewise remov'd by consulting this Oracle.

Full of the God that harbour'd in his Breast,
Thoughts worthy of a God great Cato thus express'd.

Whither, O Labienus, wouldst Thou go?
What mighty Secrets dost Thou want to know?
Is it a Doubt if Death should be my Doom,
Rather than live till Kings and Bondage come:
Rather than see a Tyrant crown'd in Rome?
Or wouldst Thou know if Life itself be aught?
Or what the Diff'rence 'twixt the long and short?
Wouldst Thou be told if all the World conjoyn'd,
Can shake, or hurt, the brave and honest Mind?
If stable Virtue can her Ground maintain,
While Fortune feebly threats and frowns in vain?

179

If Truth and Justice with Uprightness dwell,
And Praise be due for but intending well?
Whether our Loss, or whether our Success,
Can make our Honesty, or more, or less.

If These the Secrets are You wou'd unfold,
These may without an Oracle be told.
Unsought, for These, be Ammon's sacred Ground,
A nearer Temple of the God is found:
From God deriv'd, to God by Nature join'd,
We act the Dictates of his mighty Mind:
And tho' the Priests and Oracles be still,
God never wants a Voice to speak his Will:
All that for us to know He thought was fit
Is by himself within our Bosoms writ.
Canst Thou believe the vast eternal Mind,
To barren Plains of scorching Sands confin'd?
That He would chuse this waste, this desart Ground,
To teach the thin Inhabitants around,
And let his Truth in Wilds alone be found?
Is there a Place that God would chuse to love,
Beyond this Earth, and Sea, yon' Heav'n above,
And virtuous Minds, the noblest Throne of Jove?
Why seek we farther then?—Behold around,
Whate'er Thou seest dost with the God abound:
He's ev'ry where, and always to be found.
Let those weak Minds who live in Doubt and Fear,
To jugling Priests for Oracles repair:
The Oracles no Certainty can give,
But Death will surely all our Woes relieve:
One common Fate must wait upon Us all,
The Coward, and the Brave, are doom'd to fall.
This solves all Doubts, this leaves no room to fear:
Jove told Us this, and needs no more declare.—

So spoke the Hero: and to keep his Word,
Nor Ammon, nor his Oracle explor'd:
But left the Crowd at Freedom to believe,
And take such Answers as the Priest should give.—

Rowe alt. Lucan. Lib. IX.

Cato, in his March thro' Lybia, being sollicited by Labienus in the Name of the whole Army, to consult the Oracle of Jupiter Ammon, whose Temple they were then approaching, declares his Sentiments of such Enquiries in a Manner becoming a brave and unshaken Mind.

181

Orion.

Who that the Scorpion's Insect Form surveys,
Would think how ready Death his Call obeys?
Threat'ning, he rears his knotty Tail on high:
The vast Orion thus he doom'd to die,
And fix'd him, his proud Trophy, in the Sky.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. IX.

Next the bright Twins, see great Orion rise:
His Arms extended, stretch o'er half the Skies:
His Stride as large: and, with a stately Pace,
He marches on, and measures a vast Space.
On each broad Shoulder a bright Star's display'd,
And three obliquely, grace his shining Blade.
In his vast Head, immerst in boundless Spheres,
Three Stars less bright, but yet as great, he bears:
Tho' farther off remov'd, their Splendor's lost.
Thus grac'd, and arm'd, he leads the starry Host.—

Creech. Man. Lib. I.

Osiris.

See Bacchus.

Osiris first, to frame the Plow-share found,
And first with Steel tore up the tender Ground:
First in th' unpractic'd Earth the Seed he threw,
And first, from Trees unknown, ripe Apples drew.
First prop'd the bending Branches of the Vine,
And taught the clasping Tendrils where to twine:
To prune the shooting Trees with timely Care,
And stop the wild Luxuriance of the Year.
He to express the Wine first taught the Use,
And made the Vat o'erflow with gen'rous Juice.
Wine tun'd the Voice to chant the charmful Song,
And taught the Feet to bound in measur'd times along.
Bacchus to Country Swains oppress'd with Cares,
Gives Courage, and dissolves invading Fears.
Bacchus gives Respite to the Wretch's Pains,
Altho' with Fetters gall'd, and rattling Chains.

183

Nor Cares, nor Woes, Osiris, Thee annoy,
But thine the Song, the Dance, and Love's endearing Joy:
The flowry Chaplet, and the Ivy Crown,
The Saffron Mantle flowing loosely down,
The purple Vest, the Flute's melodious Sound,
And mystic Rites in sacred Silence bound.—

Dart. alt. Tibul. I. Eleg. 8.

Palace.

See Banquet.

A spacious Structure in the City's Height,
Sublime upon an hundred Pillars stood,
With gloomy Groves religiously obscure,
Laurentian Picus' Palace: Where the Kings
The first Inauguration of their Sway,
The Scepters, and the regal Fasces took:
This Court their Temple: Here the sacred Feasts:
And here the Fathers, by th' accustom'd Rite,
Killing a Victim Ram, in order sate
Along the Forms. Before the stately Doors
Th' Effigies of their Ancestors stood rang'd
In Rows of antique Cedar: Italus,
Father Sabinus, Planter of the Vine,
Holding in Imag'ry his crooked Scythe,
And aged Saturn, and the double Front
Of Janus: and the other antient Kings,
Who for their Country suffer'd Wounds in War.
Besides: thick Arms upon the sacred Posts,
Curve Scymiters, and captive Chariots hung;
And Crests of Helmets: massy Bars of Gates:
And Darts, and Shields, and Beaks from Vessels torn.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. VII.

Here Ceres' Palace, by the Cyclops rear'd,
A stately Pile! in glitt'ring Pomp appear'd.
Ir'n were the Posts and Walls: the spacious Door,
With Sheets of stubborn Steel was plated o'er.
The drudging Brethren, ne'er with equal Toil,
Labour'd so vast a Work, or rais'd so firm a Pile:
Nor the huge Bellows with their hollow Frame,
Swell'd with such gather'd Blasts to urge the Flame:

185

Nor ever such a rolling Flood before,
Of molten Metal the hot Furnace bore.
The Hall with Ivory was cover'd round,
And Beams of Brass the lofty Summit bound:
Amber in tow'ring Columns rose on high,
And with it's golden Splendor charm'd the Eye.—

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

The Palatine, proud Rome's imperial Seat,
(An awful Pile!) stands venerably Great:
Thither the Kingdoms and the Nations come,
In supplicating Crouds to learn their Doom:
To Delphi less th' enquiring Worlds repair,
Nor does a greater God inhabit there.
This sure the pompous Mansion was design'd
To please the mighty Rulers of Mankind:
Inferior Temples rise on either Hand,
And on the Borders of the Palace stand,
While o'er the rest her Head she proudly rears,
And lodg'd amidst her Guardian Gods appears.—

Addison. Claud. de sexto Cons. Hon.

Panic Fear.

See Fear.

Meanwhile the busy Messenger of Ill,
Officious Fame, supplies new Terror still:
A thousand Slaughters, and ten thousand Fears
She whispers in the trembling Vulgar's Ears:
But when approaching Cæsar they would paint,
The stronger Image makes Description faint.
No Tongue can speak, with what amazing Dread,
Wild Thought presents him at his Army's Head:
Unlike the Man familiar to their Eyes,
Horrid he seems, and of gigantic Size:
Unnumber'd Eagles rise amidst his Train,
And Millions seem to hide the crowded Plain.
Thus Fear does half the Work of lying Fame,
And Cowards thus their own Misfortunes frame:
By their own feigning Fancies are betray'd,
And groan beneath those Ills themselves have made.

187

Nor these Alarms the Crowd alone infest,
But ran alike thro' ev'ry beating Breast:
With equal Dread the grave Patrician's shook,
Their Seats abandon'd, and the Court forsook.
Resolv'd on Flight, yet still unknowing where
To fly from Danger, or for Aid repair,
Hasty, and headlong, diff'rent Paths they tread,
As blind Impulse and wild Distraction lead:
The Crowd, a hurrying, heartless Train, succeed.
Who that the lamentable Sight beheld,
The wretched Fugitives that hid the Field,
Would not have thought the Flames, with rapid haste
Destroying wide, had laid their City waste:
Or groaning Earth had shook beneath their Feet,
While threatning Buildings nodded o'er the Street.
Then Sons forsook their Sires unnerv'd and old,
Nor weeping Wives their Husbands could with-hold:
Each left his Houshold Lares unador'd,
Nor with one parting Pray'r their Aid implor'd:
None stopp'd, or sighing turn'd for one last View,
Or bid the City of his Birth adieu.
The headlong Crowd, regardless, urge their Way,
Tho' e'en their Gods and Country ask their Stay,
And pleading Nature begs 'em to delay.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. I.

—The City then he enter'd:
The City with Confusion wild was fraught,
And trembling shook with ev'ry dreadful Thought.
They think he comes to ravage, sack, and burn:
Religion, Gods, and Temples to o'erturn.
Their Fears suggest him willing to pursue,
Whatever Ills unbounded Pow'r can do.—

Id. Lucan. Lib. III.

Parents.

See Education. Example.

Opidius did, as Story goes, divide
His Farms between his Sons before he dy'd:
And said, and as he said he gravely smil'd,
My Aulus, I observ'd Thee from a Child:

189

And when I saw thee careless of thy Toys,
And freely give thy Nuts to other Boys:
And You, Tiberius, count them o'er and o'er,
And hoard them up, increasing still your Store:
I fear'd, both mad, would diff'rent Vices chuse,
And One be covetous, and One profuse.
Wherefore I charge You both, by all that's dear,
As You my Blessing hope, or Curses fear,
That neither You consume your small Estate,
Nor You increase, but live content on That:
Since all your proper Wants it will supply,
And Nature thinks enough as well as I.
And lest You be Ambitious, hear my Oath:
Observe, I leave this Curse upon You both:
He that of You shall be Ædilis first,
Or ev'n a Prætor, let him be accurs'd!—

Creech alter'd. Hor. Lib. II. Sat. 3.

Observe, how ancient Marsus did advise:
My Sons! let these small Cotts and Hills suffice:
Let Us the Harvest of our Labour eat:
'Tis Labour makes the coarsest Diet sweet.

The wiser Antients these Instructions gave:
But now a covetous old crafty Knave,
At dead of Night, shall rouze his Son, and cry,
Turn out, You Rogue! how like a Beast You lie:
Go, buckle to the Law: is this an Hour
To stretch your Limbs!—You'll ne'er be Chancellor.
Or else, yourself to Lelius recommend,
To such broad Shoulders Lelius is a Friend:
Fight under him, there's Plunder to be had:
A Captain is a very gainful Trade:
And when in Service your best Days are spent,
In time You may command a Regiment.
But if the Trumpet's Clangor You abhor,
And cannot undergoe the Toils of War,
Take to a Shop, behind a Counter lie,
Cheat half in half: none thrive by Honesty.
Never reflect upon the sordid Ware
Which You expose: be Gain your only Care.

191

He that grows rich by scouring of a Sink,
Gets wherewithal to justify the Stink.
This Sentence, worthy Jove himself, record
As true, and take it on a Poet's Word:
“That you get Money, is a needful Task,
“But how you get it, none will ever ask.—

Dryden jun. Juv. Sat. XIV.

The Poet Ennius who wrote the Sentence that follows.

Would any one think now that he's my Father, or that I am his Son!—If he had been a Friend or a Brother, could he have shewn more Kindness or Complaisance? Ought I not to love him! ought I not to wear him next my Heart!—This wonderful Goodness of his engages me to be always upon my Guard, least I should imprudently do any thing to disoblige him.—

Teren. Adelph.

Parting.

Then old Evander, with a close Embrace,
Strain'd his departing Son, while Tears o'erflow'd his Face:
Would Heav'n, said He, my Strength and Youth recal,
Such as I was beneath Preneste's Wall:
Such if I stood renew'd, not these Alarms,
Nor Death, should rend me from my Pallas' Arms.
Ye Gods! and mighty Jove! in pity bring
Relief, and hear a Father and a King!
If Fate and You reserve these Eyes to see
My Son return with joyful Victory:
If the lov'd Boy shall bless his Father's Sight:
If we shall meet again with more delight:
Then draw my Life in Length: let me sustain,
In Hopes of his Embrace, the worst of Pain!
But, if your hard Decrees, which,—Oh!—I dread,
Have doom'd to Death his undeserving Head:
This, O this very Moment, let me die!
While Hopes and Fears in equal Ballance lie:
While, yet possess'd of all his youthful Charms,
I strain him close within these aged Arms:

193

Before that fatal News my Soul shall wound!—
The Servants bear him fainting to his Court.—

Dryden. Virg. Æn. VIII.

— My Philomel,
If any Sense of Duty sways your Mind,
Let me from You the shortest Absence find.
He wept: then kiss'd his Child: and while he speaks,
The Tears fall gently down his aged Cheeks:
While, in a Voice, with dire Forebodings broke,
Sobbing, and faint, the last Farewel was spoke.—

Croxall. Ovid. Met. Lib. VI.

But when she saw her Lord prepar'd to part,
A deadly Cold ran shiv'ring to her Heart:
Her faded Cheeks are chang'd to boxen Hue,
And in her Eyes the Tears are ever new:
She thrice essay'd to speak, but thrice in vain,
For Sobs and Sighs her falt'ring Voice restrain.—

Dryd. alt. Ovid. Met. Lib. XI.

Alcyone.

He soon equips the Ship, supplies the Sails,
And gives the Word to launch.—She trembling views
This Pomp of Death, and parting Tears renews:
Then clasp'd him round, and took a long Farewel,
Sigh'd with a sad Presage, and swooning fell.

While Ceyx seeks Delays, the lusty Crew,
Rais'd on their Banks, their Oars in order drew
To their broad Breasts:—away the Vessel flew.
The Queen, recover'd, rears her humid Eyes,
And first her Husband on the Poop espies,
Shaking his Hand, at Distance, on the Main:
She took the Sign, and shook her Hand again.
Still as the Ground receeds, contracts her View
With sharpen'd Sight, till she no longer knew
The much lov'd Face: that Comfort lost supplies
With less, and now the Galley feeds her Eyes:
The Galley, born from view, by rising Gales,
She follows with her Sight the flying Sails:
When ev'n the flying Sails are seen no more,
Forsaken of all Sight she leaves the Shore:
And on her lonely Bed her Body throws,
Hoping to gain some Respite from her Woes:

195

Her Husband's Pillow there, and widow'd Part
Which once he press'd, again torment her Heart.—

Dryd.

While thus united Cæsar's Arms appear,
And Pompey finds the great Decision near,
Uneasy Thoughts his manly Soul infest,
And dear Cornelia pains his anxious Breast.
To distant Lesbos fain he would remove,
Far from the War, the Partner of his Love.

Oft he prepares to speak, but knows not how;
Knows they must part, but cannot bid her go:
Defers the killing News with fond Delay,
And ling'ring, puts off Fate from Day to Day.

The fleeting Shades began to leave the Sky,
And Slumber soft forsook the drooping Eye,
When, with fond Arms, the fair Cornelia press'd
Her Lord, reluctant, to her snowy Breast:
Wond'ring she found he shunn'd her just Embrace,
And felt warm Tears upon his manly Face.
Heart-wounded with the sudden Woe, she griev'd,
And scarce the weeping Warrior yet believ'd.—
When with a Groan, thus He. My faithful Wife,
To say how much I love Thee more than Life,
Poorly expresses what my Heart would show,
Since Life, alas! is grown my Burden now.
That long, too long delay'd, that dreadful Doom,
That cruel parting Hour at length is come.
Fierce, haughty, and collected in his Might,
Advancing Cæsar calls me to the Fight.
Haste then, my gentle Love, from War retreat,
The Lesbian Isle attends, thy peaceful Seat.
Nor seek, Oh! seek not to increase my Cares,
Seek not to change my Purpose with thy Pray'rs:
My self, in vain, the fruitless Suit have try'd,
And my own pleading Heart has been deny'd.

Stunn'd, and astonish'd, at the deadly Stroke,
All Sense, at first, the Matron sad forsook.

197

Motion, and Life, and Speech at length returns,
And thus, in Words of heaviest Woe she mourns.
No, Pompey! 'tis not that my Lord is dead,
'Tis not the Hand of Fate has robb'd my Bed:
But like some base Plebeian I am curst,
And by my cruel Husband stand divorc'd.
Is thy Cornelia's Faith so poorly known,
That Thou shouldst think her safer whilst alone?
Are not our Loves, our Lives, our Fortunes one?

This said, the Matron start'd from her Bed,
And, wild with Sorrow, from her Husband fled:
She sees all ling'ring, all Delays are vain,
And rushes, headlong, to possess the Pain:
Nor will the Hurry of her Griefs afford
One last Embrace from her forsaken Lord.
How piteous was the parting of these two!
After a Love so lasting and so true,
Neither could bear to speak the Word—Adieu.
In all the woeful Days that cross'd their Bliss,
Sure never Hour was known so sad as this!

Low on the Ground the fainting Dame is laid:
Her Train officious hasten to her Aid:
Then gently rearing, with a careful Hand,
Support her, slow-descending o'er the Strand.
There, while with eager Arms she grasp'd the Shore,
Scarcely the Mourner to the Bark they bore.—

Rowe alt. Lucan. Lib. V.

Pompey's Wife.

Passions.

See Doubt.

As Grief grows mutual, Joy produces Joy,
For Face to Face conveys strong Sympathy.
Wouldst Thou have me with Tears thy Sorrow share?
Weep first thyself, and let thy Woes appear:
'Tis then to soft Compassion I incline,
Then Fancy works, and thy Misfortune's mine.

The Cholerick must rage, the Sad complain,
The Grave be serious, and the Frolick vain:

199

For Nature ever doth the Change begin,
The Mind inclines, and models Us within:
According to the various Turns of Fate,
She screws the Soul to an unusual Height,
And swells Us into Rage; or bending low,
She sinks us to the Dust with weighty Woe:
Then, as the Passions diff'rently prevail,
She makes the Tongue declare what inwardly we feel.—

Ames alter'd. Hor. Art. Poet.

Unless the Mind be purg'd, what Storms arise!
What Dangers still appear before our Eyes!
The Man that's covetous how many Cares
Gall and torment, how many anxious Fears!
What Mischiefs, what dire Murders shall we find,
Where Pride, and Lust,—
Where Luxury, and Sloth, possess the Mind!—
The Man a nobler Empire gains,
That his own craving Will restrains,
Than he whose Sword and wide Command
Join distant Spain and Lybia's Land:
Than he whose far extended Sway,
Carthage both old and new obey.—

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

Alas! by diff'rent Passions I'm oppress'd!
Fierce Love and Hate contend within my Breast:
My Bosom they divide, but Love I fear
Will prove too strong, and gain a Conquest there.
I'll strive to hate Thee; but if that should prove
A fruitless Strife, spite of myself I'll love.
The Bull dislikes the galling Yoke, but still
He bears the Thing he hates, against his Will.
I hate, I fly Thee, faithless Fair! in vain,
Thy Beauty ever brings me back again,
Thou in my Heart wilt always find a Place:
I hate thy Humour, but I love thy Face.
No Rest I to my tortur'd Soul can give,
Nor with Thee, nor without Thee, can I live.
Oh! that thy Mind We in thy Face could view!
Less lovely that Thou wer't, or else more true!

201

How diff'rent are thy Manners, and thy Sight?
Thy Deeds forbid Us, but thy Eyes invite.
Thy Actions shock Us, while thy Beauty moves:
And He who hates thy Faults, thy Person loves.
Ah! happy, ever happy should I be,
If I no Charms, or no Defects could see.—

Anon. alter'd. Ovid. Amor. Lib. III. El. 10.

Patience.

See Consolation.

—Where-e'er the Fates
Call, or recall Us, let Us follow still:
Whate'er it be, all Fortune is subdu'd
By Patience.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. V.

Evils, for which we no Redress can find,
Patience makes less afflictive to the Mind.—

Hor. Lib. I. Ode 14.

With Patience suffer. What You now endure,
In time to come may Happiness ensure:
By bitter Draughts the Sick oft find a Cure.—

Ovid. III. Amor. 10.

Patience delights with Evils to contend.

Ibid.

Misfortunes that are grievous to support,
Are in Remembrance sweet.—

Seneca.

Let's curb our Passions, nor too much complain:
Grief should be check'd, and it becomes a Man
To let it rise no higher than his Pain.—

Creech. Juv. Sat. XIII.

Patriot.

No Stings of private Hate his Peace molest,
Nor partial Favour grew upon his Breast:
But safe from Prejudice he kept his Mind,
Free, and at Leisure to lament Mankind.
There were the stricter Manners of the Man,
And this the stubborn Course in which they ran:
The golden Mean, unchanging, to pursue:
Constant to keep the purpos'd End in view:
Religiously to follow Nature's Laws,
And die, with Pleasure, in his Country's Cause:

203

To think he was not for himself design'd,
But born to be of Use to all Mankind.
To him 'twas Feasting, Hunger to repress:
And home-spun Garments were his costly Dress.
No marble Pillars rear'd his Roof on high,
'Twas warm, and kept him from the Winter Sky:
He sought no End of Marriage, but Increase:
Nor wish'd a Pleasure, but his Country's Peace:
That took up all the tend'rest Parts of Life,
His Country was his Children and his Wife.
From Justice' righteous Rules he never swerv'd,
But rigidly his Honesty preserv'd:
On universal Good his Thoughts were bent,
Nor knew what Gain, or Self-affection meant:
And while his Benefits the Publick share,
Cato was always last in Cato's Care.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. II.

His helpless Country like an Orphan left,
Friendless and poor, of all Support bereft,
He took and cherish'd with a Father's Care,
He comforted, he bad her not to fear,
And taught her feeble Hands once more the Trade of War.
Nor Lust of Empire did his Courage sway,
Nor Hate, nor proud Repugnance to obey:
Passions and private Int'rest he forgot:
Nor for himself, but Liberty he fought.—

Id. Lucan. Lib. IX.

Cato.

Peace.

—Ages mild
Shall next succeed, and War no more be heard:
Then Faith, and Vesta, and Quirinus, joyn'd
With Remus, shall give Laws: strong massy Bars,
And Bolts of solid Iron, fast shall close
War's dreadful Portals: impious Rage within
Sitting on horrid Armour, and behind
Bound with an hundred brazen Knots, shall roar
With bloody Mouth, and foaming bite his Chains.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. I.

205

She first, white Peace, the Earth with Plough-shares broke,
And bent the Oxen to the crooked Yoke:
First rear'd the Vine, and hoarded first with Care
The Father's Vintage for his drunken Heir.—

Addison.

Peace plies the Prong, and brights the shining Share;
Let eating Rust destroy the Tools of War.—

Dart. Tibul. L. I. El. 10.

Come, fost'ring Peace, to Us, and kindly bear
In thy fair Hand the Harvest's golden Ear:
And from thy Lap with lavish Plenty pour
Ripe Apples, and the Garden's bounteous Store.—

Dart. Ibid.

Peace is the greatest Good Mankind can know:
Peace, Peace alone, outweighs a thousand Triumphs:
Peace, the dear Blessing of Security,
To all impartial, gives.—

Silius Ital. Lib. II.

By the fair Name of Peace we are betray'd.—
None deep in Mines would dig the brazen Ore,
Mark out the Trench, or raise the lofty Tow'r;
Ne'er would the Steed in Armour seek the Plain,
Or Fleets encounter on th' unstable Main,
If Liberty could well be chang'd for Peace.—

Lucan. L. IV.

Oh see at length! with Pity, Cæsar, see
These with'ring Arms, these Hairs grown white for Thee.
In painful Wars our joyless Days have pass'd,
Let weary Age lie down in Peace at last:
Give Us, on Beds, our dying Limbs to lay,
And sigh, at home, our parting Souls away:
Let our poor Babes, and weeping Wives be by,
To close our drooping Eye-lids when we die.
Be merciful, and let Disease afford
Some other Way to die, beside the Sword:
Let us no more a common Carnage burn,
But each be laid in his own decent Urn.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. V.

The Maid Armipotent, that dreadful Pow'r,
Who drives th' embattl'd Host, and shakes the solid Tow'r,
Laid by her Spear, and all her War-attire,
Now mildly mixes with the softer Quire:
The Horror of her Helm, the Warrior's Pride,
Wreaths of fair Roses innocently hide:

207

She shines with peaceful Decorations dress'd,
And Flow'rs nod harmless from her lofty Crest.—

Hughes. Claud. Rapt. Prof.

The Picture of War was painted in this manner by Apelles; and Virgil is supposed to have taken this Description from thence.

Peasant. Farmer.

See Country Life.

O! more than fortunate, did they but know
Their Happiness, the Country-Village Swains!
For whom, at distance from discordant Arms,
The Earth, just Parent, pours forth easy Food.
What, tho' with them no Palace, rais'd to Heav'n,
From it's proud Portals vomits out a Tide
Of Morning-Visitants? Nor do they gape
For Luxury of Buildings: Pillars grac'd
With Spoils of Tortoises, in various Hue:
For 'broider'd Garments, and Corinthian Brass?
Tho' their white Wool imbibes no Syrian Teint:
Yet safe Repose, Sincerity of Life,
Riches of various Kinds, large Farms, and Ease,
Lowing of Herds, and Grots, and living Lakes,
Cool Vallies, and sweet Sleep beneath the Shades,
They want not.—Lawns are there, and Haunts of Beasts;
Youth patient of Fatigue, and train'd to live
On Little: Rites divine, and holy Sires:—
When Justice left the World, she left them last.—

Trap. Virg. Geor. II.

Blest too is He, who knows the rural Gods,
Pan, old Sylvanus, and their Sister Nymphs!
Him nor the Fasces of the State can move,
Nor regal Purple: nor the Hate which reigns
'Twixt faithless Brothers: nor the Dacian Pow'rs,
Descending from the Danube leagu'd in Arms:
Nor Rome's Affairs, nor Kingdoms doom'd to fall:
The Poor his Pity moves not, nor the Rich
His Envy. Whate'er Fruits the Trees, and Fields,
Spontaneous, and without Compulsion give,
He gathers: nor e'er sees the Iron Laws,
The publick Registers, or noisy Bar.—

Ibid.

209

The Farmer with the crooked Plow upturns
The Glebe: from hence his annual Labour: hence
His Children, and his Country He sustains,
His lowing Herds, and well-deserving Steers.
No Pause, but still with Fruit the Year abounds:
With Apples, or th' Increase of Ewes and Kine,
Or with full Sheaves of Corn, the Gift of Ceres:
He loads the Furrows, and o'erpow'rs the Barns.
Winter comes on: the Presses bruise the Fruit
Of Sicyonian Olives: Fat with Mast
The Swine return: the Woods their Berries yield:
Autumn it's various Product too resigns:
And Summer on high Rocks the Vintage swells.
Mean-while their tender Parents Kisses round
Hang the sweet Babes: the Family all chaste,
Virtue and spotless Modesty preserves.
The Kine their Dugs with Milk distended bring:
And the fat sportive Kids in Pastures green
Frisk on the Turf, and push with butting Horns.—

Id. Ibid.

The Country Peasant meditates no Harm,
When clad with Skins of Beasts to keep him warm,
In Winter Weather, unconcern'd he goes
Almost Knee-deep thro' Mire, in clumsy Shoes:
Vice dwells in Palaces, is richly drest,
There glows in Scarlet, and the Tyrian Vest.—

Dryd. jun. Juv. Sat. XIV.

Stretch'd on the Turf in Sylvan Shades,
No Fear the Peasant's Rest invades:
While gilded Roofs, and Beds of State,
Perplex the Slumbers of the Great.

Secure, he rears the beachen Bowl,
With steady Hand, and fearless Soul.
Pleas'd with his plain and homely Meats,
No Swords surround him as He eats.

His modest Wife, of Virtue try'd,
Knows not th' expensive Arts of Pride:
Her Neck no circling Jewels wears,
No Pearls depending load her Ears:

211

No Silks she boasts from India brought,
Rich by the painting Needle wrought:
Nor proud, allures each wanton Eye,
In Stuffs of double Tyrian Dye.
Her easy Wish, the home-spun Fleece,
Plain in it's native Hue, can please:
And, happy in her nuptial Bed,
No jealous Doubts disturb her Head:
Unlike the Dame, whose Day of Birth,
Is solemniz'd thro' half the Earth.—

Ward alter'd. Senec. Herc. Œt.

People First.

See Golden Age.

Men did, as yet, no use of Fire know,
To dress their Food; nor round their Bodies throw
The Skins of Beasts for Cloths: but, then confin'd,
In Woods and Caves they liv'd,—
To save them from the stormy Rains and Wind.

No fixt Society, no steddy Laws,
No publick Good was known, no common Cause:
But every one laid hold on what he cou'd,
By Nature taught to seek his private Good.—

Then, strong and swift, they did the Beasts pursue,
And many, arm'd with Stones and Clubs, they slew:
But to their Caves from some they cautiously withdrew.
When Night came on, wrapt round with Boughs they lay,
Upon the Ground like Hogs, and rough as they.—

Creech alter'd.

After, when Cots were built, and Fire began,
And Skins of Beasts afforded Cloths for Man:
When one to one confin'd, in chaste Embrace
Enjoy'd sweet, Love, and saw a num'rous Race,
Then Men grew soft: the Temper of his Mind
Was chang'd from rough to mild, from fierce to kind.

Then Neighbours, by Degrees familiar grown,
Made Leagues and Bonds, and each secur'd his own.

213

This made them Laws enact, and led their Choice
To Rulers: Power was giv'n by public Voice:
For Men, worn out, and tir'd by constant Strife,
Began at last to wish a quiet Life:
And so submitted, of their own accord,
To rigid Laws, and their elected Lord.—

Creech. Lucret. V.

Kings then began to build them Towns and Forts,
Wherein to live secure, and keep their Courts:
'Mongst all they shar'd the Cattle and the Ground,
And round each Portion mark'd the steady Bound.
Each his Allotment had, as seem'd most fit,
According to his Beauty, Strength, or Wit:
For Beauty, then, and Strength were most esteem'd.

Creech alter'd. Ibid.

Before that Time Life was an artless State,
Of Reason void, and thoughtless in Debate:
Nature lay hid in deepest Night below:
None knew her Wonders, and none car'd to know.
Men Upwards look'd, they saw the circling Light,
Pleas'd with the Fires, and wonder'd at the Sight:
The Sun, when Night came on, withdrawn, they griev'd,
As dead: and joy'd next Morn, when he reviv'd.
But why the Nights grew long, or short, the Day
Was chang'd, and Shadows varied with the Ray,
Shorter at his Approach, and longer grown
At his Remove, the Causes were unknown.
Arts were not then found out, the desart Plains
Were unmanur'd, nor fed the idle Swains:
Ev'n Gold in Hills lay hid, 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.—

Creech. Manil. Lib. I.

Perjury.

How ready now is every Wretch to swear:
How fearless to affront the conscious Gods,
If so from Man he may his Guilt conceal!

215

Observe, how clear his Voice, when he denies:
How steady! how like Innocence his Look!
By the bright Sun! he swears, by Jove's red Bolts!
By Mars his Lance! and by Apollo's Shafts!
By the sharp Arrows of the Huntress-Maid,
And by her Quiver! by thy mighty Trident,
Neptune, great Father of the vast Ægeon!
To these, he adds, the Bow of Hercules,
Minerva's Spear, and whate'er dreadful Arms
Beside the Magazines of Heav'n contain.
If he a Father is, may I, he cries,
My Son, You Gods! my dearest Son devour,
Dipping each mangled Morsel in the Sauce,
If I'm not innocent.—

Juv. Sat. XIII.

Dare him to swear, he with a chearful Face,
Flies to the Shrine, and bids Thee mend thy Pace:
He urges, goes before Thee, shews the Way,
Nay, pulls Thee on, and chides thy dull Delay:
For Confidence in Sin, when mixt with Zeal,
Seems Innocence, and looks to most as well.—

Creech. Ibid.

When once our lustful Wishes sated are,
For Promises, or Vows, we little care.—

Catull.

Philosophy.

Happy the Man, who, studying Nature's Laws,
Thro' known Effects can trace the secret Cause:
Who, without Fear, his certain Fate can meet,
And trample Death itself beneath his Feet.—

Dryden. Virg. Georg. Lib. II.

'Tis pleasant, when the Seas are rough to stand,
And view another's Danger, safe at Land:
Not 'cause he's troubl'd, but 'tis sweet to see
Those Cares and Fears from which Ourselves are free.
'Tis also pleasant, to behold, from far,
Armies engage: secure Ourselves from War.—

Creech.

But much more sweet, thy lab'ring Steps to guide
To Virtue's Heights, with Wisdom well supply'd,
And all the Magazines of Learning fortify'd:

217

From thence to look below on Humankind,
Bewilder'd in the Maze of Life, and blind:
To see vain Fools ambitiously contend,
For Wit and Pow'r; their last Endeavours bend
T' outshine each other, waste their Time and Health
In search of Honour, and pursuit of Wealth.—

Dryden. Lucret. Lib. II.

—As Children are surpriz'd with Dread,
And tremble in the dark: so riper Years,
Ev'n in broad Day-light, are possess'd with Fears,
And shake at Shadows: fanciful and vain
As those which in the Breast of Children reign.
These Bugbears of the Mind, this inward Hell,
No Rays of outward Sunshine can dispell:
But Nature and right Reason must display
Their Beams abroad, and bring the darksome Soul to Day.—

Ibid. Ibid.

Oh! if the foolish Race of Man, who find
A Weight of Cares, still pressing on their Mind:
Could find as well the Cause of their Unrest,
And all this Burden lodg'd within the Breast,
Sure they would change their Course: not live as now,
Uncertain what to wish, or what to vow:

Uneasy both in Country, and in Town,
They search a Place to lay their Burden down:
One restless in his Palace walks abroad,
And vainly thinks to leave behind the Load:
But straight returns: for he's as restless there,
And finds there's no Relief in open Air.
Another to his Villa would retire,
And spurs as hard as if it were on Fire:
No sooner enter'd at his Country-Door,
But he begins to yawn, and stretch, and snore;
Or seeks the City, which he left before.

Thus ev'ry Man o'er-works his weary Will,
To shun himself, and to shake off his Ill;
The shaking Fit returns, and hangs upon him still:
No Prospect of Repose, nor Hope of Ease:
The Wretch is ignorant of his Disease;

219

Which known would all his guiltless Trouble spare,
For he would know the World not worth his Care:
Then would he search more deeply for the Cause,
And study Nature well, and Nature's Laws.—

Id. Lucret. Lib. III.

Doth creeping Avarice thy Mind engage?
Or doth it boil with fiery Lust and Rage?
Why there are Rules and Precepts that can ease
Thy Pain, and cure great part of thy Disease.
Or art Thou vain?—Books yield a certain Spell,
To stop thy Tumour: thou shalt cease to swell,
When thou hast read them thrice, and studied well.
The Man that's envious, or to Anger prone,
Slothful, or drunk, in Love, or all in one:
There's none so void of Reason, none so wild,
As not to be reclaim'd, and render'd mild,
If he consults true Wisdom's Rules with Care,
And to Instruction lends a patient Ear.—

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

Thrice happy They, who first, with Souls refin'd,
To these Pursuits their gen'rous Care confin'd:
Who, nobly spurning Earth's impure Abodes,
Essay'd to climb the Mansions of the Gods.
Such Minds sublime, Intemp'rance never broke;
Such ne'er submitted to Love's shameful Yoke;
Such fled the Wrangling of the noisy Bar,
The hideous Din of Arms, and painful Toils of War.
Foes to Ambition and her idle Lure,
From thirst of Fame, from thirst of Gold, secure:
Such Souls, examining the distant Skies,
Unveil'd it's hidden Lights to mortal Eyes.
Let huge Olympus lofty Ossa bear:
Let Pelion tow'r on Ossa high in Air:
Mountains on Mountains short of Heav'n must rise;
This only Ladder reaches to the Skies.—

Anon. Ovid. Fast. Lib. I.

221

Physician and Patient.

Thus a sick Man to his Physician said:
Methinks I am not right in ev'ry Part:
I feel a kind of trembling at my Heart:
My Pulse unequal, and my Breath is strong,
Besides a filthy Fur upon my Tongue.

The Doctor heard him, exercis'd his Skill:
And, after, bid him for four Days be still.
Three Days he took good Counsel, and began
To mend, and look like a recov'ring Man:
The fourth, he could not hold from drink, but sends
His Boy to one of his old trusty Friends:
Adjuring him, by all the Pow'rs divine,
To pity his Distress, who could not dine
Without a Flaggon of his healing Wine.
He drinks a swilling Draught, and lin'd within,
Will supple in the Bath his outward Skin.
Whom should he find but his Physician there,
Who, wisely, bad him once again, beware.
Sir, you look wan: you hardly draw your Breath:
Drinking is dang'rous, and the Bath is Death.
'Tis Nothing, says the Fool:—But, says the Friend,
This Nothing, Sir, will bring You to your End.
Do I not see your Dropsy-Belly swell?
Your yellow Skin?—No more of that, I'm well.
One of your Tribe I've bury'd, Sir, and He
Talk'd just as You do now:—
And, Doctor, I may live to bury Thee.
Thou tell'st me, I look ill: and Thou look'st worse.
I 'ave done, says the Physician;—take your Course.
The laughing Sot, like all unthinking Men,
Bathes and gets drunk: then bathes and drinks again.
His Throat half throtled with corrupted Phlegm,
And breathing thro' his Jaws a belching Steam,
Amidst his Cups with shiv'ring Faintness seiz'd,
His Limbs disjoynted, and all o'er diseas'd,

223

His Hand refuses to sustain the Bowl,
And his Teeth chatter, and his Eyeballs roll,
Till, with his Meat, he vomits out his Soul.—

Dryd. alt. Pers. Sat. III.

Diseases in a thousand Forms are rang'd:
As Tempers alter, Med'cines must be chang'd.
The cutting Steel some Bodies must endure,
A simple Drug on many works a Cure.—

Ovid. Rem. Amor.

Piety.

Chief of the Skies, Celestial Piety!
Whose Godhead, priz'd by those of heav'nly Birth,
Revisits rare these tainted Realms of Earth:
Mild, in thy milk-white Vest, to sooth my Friend,
With holy Fillets on thy Brows descend:
Such as of old (e'er chac'd by Guilt and Rage)
A Race unpolish'd, and a golden Age,
Beheld Thee frequent. Once more come below:
Mix in the sad Solemnities of Woe:
See, see, thy own Hetruscus wastes the Day
In pious Grief, and wipe his Tears away.—

Addison. Stat. Sylv. III.

Pigmalion and the Statue.

Long time Pigmalion led a single Life:
Women were so bad he durst not take a Wife:
But hating Idleness, the Source of Ill,
In curious Sculpture exercis'd his Skill:
And carv'd a Maid of Ivory, fo fair,
That Nature could not with his Art compare.

With Admiration struck Pigmalion stands,
And doats on Beauties made by his own Hands.
The Statue wore a real Virgin's Face,
And seeming Life did ev'ry Feature grace:
It cou'd have mov'd, (one would have thought,) but strove
With Modesty, and was asham'd to move.
Art hid with Art, so well perform'd the Cheat,
It caught the Carver with his own Deceit.

225

Pleas'd with Surprize his Eyes her Charms explore,
And still, the more he looks, he loves the more.
With curious Hand he feels it oft, to try
If Flesh it be, or only Ivory:
Nor that 'tis Iv'ry can himself perswade,
But courts and clasps it like a living Maid:
Kisses, and thinks that she returns the Kiss,
Grasps, and believes her Fingers twin'd in his.
But when he strain'd her hard, he was afraid
His Hands had made a Dint, and bruis'd his Maid.

With Flatt'ry now her Mind he seeks to move,
And now with Gifts, the pow'rful Bribes of Love:
Her Closet first he furnishes, and fills
The crowded Shelves with Rarities of Shells:
And orient Pearls, which from the Conchs he drew,
And all the sparkling Stones of various Hue:
And Parrots imitating human Tongue,
And singing Birds in silver Cages hung:
And ev'ry beauteous Flow'r, and fragrant Green,
And painted Toys, and Amber, shone between.
Rich fashionable Robes her Person deck,
Pendants her Ears, and Pearls adorn her Neck:
Her taper Fingers glitt'ring Diamonds grac'd,
And an embroider'd Zone surrounds her slender Waste:
But tho' with all this Cost and Trouble drest,
Lovely she look'd; she look'd when naked best.

Along he lays her on a stately Bed,
With Cov'rings of Sidonian Purple spread:
Calls her his Bride, and, as of Sense possess'd,
Soft Pillows places for her Head to rest.

The Feast of Venus came: a solemn Day,
To which the Cypriots due Devotion pay:
With gilded Horns the Milk-white Heifers led,
Slaughter'd before the sacred Altars bled:
And Clouds of Incense o'er the Altar spread.

Pigmalion too with Gifts approach'd the Shrine,
And trembling thus implor'd the Pow'rs divine:
Almighty Gods! if all we Mortals want,
If all we can require, be yours to grant,

227

Make this fair Statue mine, he would have said,
But chang'd his Words for shame: and only pray'd,
Give me a Wife just like my Iv'ry Maid!

The Golden Goddess present at the Pray'r,
Well knew he meant th' inanimated Fair;
And gave the Sign of granting his Desire,
For thrice in chearful Flames ascends the Fire.
To his dear Image home again he hies,
And on the Bed close to her Bosom lies:
His Lips to her's he press'd; the Virgin's Kiss
To him seem'd warm, and oft he prov'd the Bliss.
Transported more, no longer now he stays,
But his fond Hand on her hard Bosom lays:
Hard tho' it was, beginning to relent,
The Iv'ry Breast beneath his Fingers bent:
The pleasing Task he fails not to renew,
Soft, and more soft, at ev'ry Touch it grew:
Like pliant Wax, when working Hands reduce
The Mass to Form, and make it fit for Use.
Amaz'd, he would believe, but still in Pain,
He fondly wanders o'er her once again:
And feels the soft'ning Flesh inform'd with Heat,
And in each Vein the leaping Pulses beat.

Convinc'd, o'erjoy'd, his study'd Thanks and Praise,
To her who made the Miracle he pays:
His Lips to her's he joins, which seem to melt,
For now the Virgin his warm Kisses felt:
And as she, blushing, ope's her beauteous Eyes,
At once her Lover, and the Light she spies.
The Goddess bless'd the Marriage she had made:
And when nine Crescents had at full display'd,
Their joining Horns, repleat with borrow'd Flame,
She Paphos bore: who gave that Isle a Name.—

Dryd. alt. Ovid. Met. Lib. X.

Pilot.

See Navigation.

Scarce half the Hours of silent Night were fled,
When careful Palinure forsakes his Bed:

229

And ev'ry Breath explores that stirs the Seas,
And watchful listens to the passing Breeze:
Observes the Course of ev'ry Orb on high,
That moves in silent Pomp along the Sky:
Arcturus, dreadful with his stormy Star,
The watry Hyads, and the northern Car:
In the blew Vault his piercing Eyes behold,
The huge Orion flame in Arms of Gold.
When all serene he saw th' Etherial Plain,
He gave the Signal to the slumb'ring Train:
Our Tents we strike: the Canvas We display,
And wing with spreading Sails the watry Way.—

Pitt. Æn. Lib. III.

Now, on the full extended Main, the Land
No more appear'd: but all was Sea, and Sky:
A dusky Cloud hung gather'd o'er his Head,
Bringing on Night, and Storm: upon the Waves
Lay horrid Darkness: from the lofty Deck
The Pilot's self, ev'n Palinurus, cries,
What Clouds, alas! invelop all the Heav'ns?
Or what, great Neptune! does thy Will intend?
This said, he gives command to furl their Sails,
And strongly ply their Oars: Then turns oblique
His Canvas to the Wind, and Thus proceeds:
Magnanimous Æneas, should ev'n Jove
By promising assure my Voyage safe,
I could not in this Weather hope to reach
The Coasts of Italy. The Winds transverse
Roar chang'd, and from the low'ring West arise:
And all the Air is thicken'd to a Cloud
Nor have We Strength to bear against the Stress
Of Sea, and Sky: Since Fortune all o'er-powers,
Her let Us follow, and where-e'er she calls,
Direct our Course.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. V.

No Hand the Helm more skilfully could guide,
Or stem the Fury of the boist'rous Tide:
He knew what Winds would on the Morrow blow,
And how the Sails for Safety to bestow:

231

Celestial Signals well he could descry,
Could read the radiant Lights that shine on high,
And tell the coming Tempest of the Sky.
When from some hostile Hand a fatal Dart,
Deep piercing, trembled in his panting Heart:
Yet still his careful Hand it's Task supplies,
And turns the guiding Rudder as he dies.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. III.

Place (Barren.)

Their Fountains dry'd, the weeping Naiads mourn'd,
The Trees stood bare, with fearing Cankers burn'd:
No Herbage cloath'd the Ground: a ragged Flock
Of Goats half-famish'd lick'd the naked Rock.—

Catcott. Ovid. Met. Lib. XIII.

Barren, and desolate, those Regions lie,
That border on the Syrts, and feel too nigh
The sultry Summer Sun, and parching Sky.
No Harvest there the scatter'd Grain repays,
But withering dies, and e'er it shoots decays.
There never flourishes the mantling Vine,
Nor round the Elm her wanton Tendrils twine:
The thirsty Dust prevents the swelling Fruit,
Drinks up the gen'rous Juice, and kills the Root.
Thro' secret Veins no temp'ring Moistures pass,
To bind with viscous Force the mould'ring Mass:
But genial Jove averse, disdains to smile,
Forgets, and curses the neglected Soil.
Thence lazy Nature droops her idle Head,
As ev'ry vegetable Sense were dead:
Thence the wide dreary Plains one Visage wear:
Alike in Summer, Winter, Spring appear,
Nor feel the Turns of the revolving Year.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. IX.

No Autumn here e'er cloths herself with Green,
Nor joyful Spring the languid Herbage cheers:
Nor feather'd Warblers chant their pleasing Strains,
In vernal Consort to the rushing Boughs:
But Chaos reigns, and ragged Rocks around
With nought but baleful Cypress are adorn'd.

Petron. Arb.

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Place (Pleasant.)

See Fountain. Italy.

— Æneas from the Ocean spies
A spacious Wood: Thro' which the pleasant Stream
Of gulphy Tyber rolls his yellow Sand,
And disembogues his Waves into the Sea.
Here various Birds, accustom'd to the Banks
And Chanel of the River, all around,
And all above, with sweet melodious Songs
Soften'd the Air, and flutter'd in the Grove.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. VII.

Smooth lay the verdant Plain, and all around
With mild Ascent swell'd slow the rising Ground.
By unperceiv'd Degrees the Mountain grew,
Easy to tread, and graceful to the View.
Here chrystal Fountains, from the living Stone,
In winding Streams thro' flow'ry Meadows run:
There ancient venerable Woods extend,
Which from the fierce meridian Beams defend:
These in the sultry Heat of Summer made
A welcome Coolness, and refreshing Shade.
Of various Kinds the Trees: the sailing Fir;
The close-grain'd Cornel, tough, and fit for War:
Jove's fav'rite Oak; the fun'ral Cypress' Height:
The honey'd Ilex wherein Bees delight:
And prescient Lawrel, lovely to the Sight:
With dancing Leaves the bushy Box appears:
Its creeping Trails the winding Ivy rears:
And round the friendly Elm the purple Vine adheres.—

Hughes alt. Claud. Rapt. Pros. Lib. II.

A pleasing Creek Thessalia's Coast can show,
Two Arms project, and shape it like a Bow:
'Twould make a Bay, but the transparent Tide
Does scarce the yellow-gravell'd Bottom hide:
For the quick Eye may thro' the liquid Wave
A firm unweedy level Beach perceive.
A Grove of fragrant Myrtle near it grows,
Whose Boughs, tho' thick, a beauteous Grot disclose:
The well-wrought Fabrick, to discerning Eyes,
Rather by Art than Nature seems to rise.—

Croxall. Ovid. Met. Lib. XI.

235

A Plain diffus'd it's bow'ring Verdure wide,
With trembling Pines, which to the Zephyrs sigh'd:
Lawrels with Berries crown'd, the Boughs inwove,
And the soft Cypress ever whisp'ring Love.
Midst these a Brook in winding Murmurs stray'd,
Chiding the Pebbles over which it play'd.
'Twas Love's Elysium.—

Addison junr. Petron. Arb.

Plague. Murrain.

Dark Clouds, at first, hung heavy o'er the Earth,
Where sluggish Heat lay rip'ning into Birth.
While four pale Moons their growing Horns unite,
And did again withdraw their feeble Light,
Hot baneful Blasts the fatal South-wind blew:
The Lakes and Fountains thence infected grew:
Millions of Vipers trail'd the Fields untill'd,
And all the Rivers with their Venom fill'd.

Dogs, Sheep, and Oxen, first, the dire Disease,
And Birds, and savage Beasts, did sudden seize:
The sorrowing Plowmen with Amazement, spy,
The lab'ring Oxen in the Furrows die.
The fleecy Flocks with Anguish faintly bleat,
Their Wool falls off, they pine away with Heat.
The warlike Steed, oppress'd with inward Pain,
Forgets his Honours on the dusty Plain:
Groans at the Manger, heedless of the Prize,
And by a lazy Fate inglorious dies.
The Stag forgets his Speed: his Rage the Boar:
The Bear insults the horned Herd no more:
A general Faintness ev'ry where is spread,
And Woods and Fields all labour with the Dead.
The Stench infects the Air: and, (strange to say,)
Nor Dogs, nor Birds, nor Wolves will touch the Prey.
Th' offensive Bodies rot upon the Ground,
And spread the dire Contagion all around.

The growing Plague gets next among the Swains:
Then to the City, where at large it reigns.

237

Internal Heats upon the Vitals seize,
And ruddy Spots declare the sad Disease.
Their scorching Breath with Pain they scarce expel,
Their Tongues turn furry, and with Blisters swel:
They gape for Air, believing 'twill abate
Their inward Flame: but that augments the Heat.
No Bed, no Garment can the Wretches bear,
On the hard Ground they lie, in open Air:
The Ground no Coolness to their Bodies gives,
But glows with Heat which it from them receives.

No Drug avails: the dreadful Pest invades
The learned Leech, nor Art the Artist aids:
Whoe'er most faithfully the Sick attends,
Hastes his own Fate, and dies before his Friends.
No Hope they have: the Anguish they endure,
In Death alone can find a certain Cure.
Wherefore from what they fancy none refrain,
Nor care what's good, since all their Cares are vain.
At Brooks and Streams, regardless of the Shame,
Each Sex, promiscuous, strives to quench their Flame:
Nor vainly do they strive to quench it there,
For Thirst and Life at once extinguish'd are.
Down in the Streams the dying Bodies sink,
And yet those tainted Waters others drink.

Their Beds so much th' unhappy Wretches hate,
From thence they fly, to struggle with their Fate:
Ev'n those who cannot stand, so weak they're found,
Their Bodies roll along upon the Ground:
Each from his Home, as Death were there, withdraws,
And blames the Place, unknowing of the Cause.
Poor ghastly half-dead Creatures may'st Thou meet,
Wand'ring they know not where, in ev'ry Street,
Untill they faint and fall: with mournful Cries,
Others lie on the Earth, their heavy Eyes
And Hands rais'd up to Heav'n: but whilst they pray,
By Death surpriz'd, they breathe their Souls away.

On ev'ry Side, turn where one will the Eye,
Spread o'er the Ground the wretched People lie:

239

Like Acorns scatter'd by too rude a Breeze,
Or mellow Apples from the shaken Trees.
The common fun'ral Honours are unpaid;
Nor can the Gates let out the num'rous Dead:
But un-interr'd upon the Ground they lie,
Or else without Regard to Decency,
All Rites of Burial lost, the Bodies burn:
Nor pious Tears are shed upon the Urn.
The Ghosts of Old and Young, of Sons and Sires,
All wander undeplor'd:—
Nor Room for Tombs is left, nor Wood for fun'ral Fires.—

Sewell. Gay alt. Ovid. Met. Lib. VII.

—A Plague from tainted Air
Rose, and with all the Fires of Autumn burn'd:
Beasts, tame, and savage, of all Species, slew:
Poison'd the Rivers: o'er the Pastures spread
Contagious Juice.—

Oft, standing at the Altar, and with Wreaths
And wooly Fillets bound, the Victim Bull,
In the mid Honour of the Gods, fell dead
Between the ling'ring Sacrificer's Hands.

In ev'ry Pasture, on the verdant Grass,
The Calves all die: and render their sweet Souls
Before the plenteous Racks: the gentle Dogs
Run mad: the wheezing Swine with rattling Coughs
Are torn, and strangled in their swelling Throats.

Unhappy of his Toils, the Victor Steed
Sinks, and forgets his Food: and loaths the Streams,
And paws the Ground, and hangs his flagging Ears;
Bedew'd with doubtful Sweats: and those, near Death,
Clammy and cold: his rigid Hide resists
The Touch, and harden'd no Impression takes.
These Symptoms first; but as the Evil grows
More obstinate, and gathers Strength from Time,
His Eyes are all inflam'd: from his deep Breast
His Breath with Labour heaves: long Sobs and Groans
Distend his Entrails: from his Nostrils drops
Black ropy Gore: and to his Jaws his Tongue,
Clotted with Filth and Putrefaction, cleaves,

241

Smoking beneath the Plow the sturdy Steer
Falls down, and spues a Flood of Gore and Foam,
And groans his last:—the pensive Hind unyokes
His mourning Fellow-Lab'rer, and amidst
Th' unfinish'd Furrow leaves the sticking Share.

The Wolf no longer, nightly roaming round,
Prouls, and explores the Cotts: a sharper Care
Subdues him. Now the tim'rous Hinds and Dear
Among the Dogs, and round the Houses, rove.

Now the vast Ocean's Progeny, and all
The finny Race, like Shipwreck'd Bodies thrown
Upon the Shore, lie beaten by the Waves:
The Phocæ to the wondring Rivers fly:
The Viper vainly by her winding Den
Defended, and the Snakes, with staring Scales
Amaz'd expire.—Ev'n to the Birds the Air
Is mortal: and beneath the Clouds aloft
They leave their Lives, and headlong fall to Earth.

With bleating Sheep and lowing Herds, the Streams,
The sloping Mountains, and dry Banks, resound.
Now Heaps on Heaps expire: ev'n in the Stalls,
And Stables, Carcasses promiscuous lie
Rotting in Gore: 'Till, urg'd by that Distress,
They learn'd to hide, and bury them in Earth.
For of their Skins no use was made: their Flesh
No Water could dilute, nor Fire subdue.
Nor could they sheer the Fleeces, by the Plague,
And running Sores, corrupted: nor ev'n touch,
Unhurt, the putrid Wool: or, if they try'd
Th' infectious Clothing, fiery Whelks and Blains,
And Sweats, of noisome Stench, their Bodies seiz'd:
And, in short Space, from that contagious Touch,
The sacred Fire their tainted Limbs devour'd.—

Trap. Virg. Georg. Lib. III.

The rising Grass by trampling Hoofs repell'd,
Waste lie the Russet Fields: the gen'rous Steed
Seeks on the naked Soil, in vain, to feed:
Loathing, from Racks of husky Straw he turns,
And, pining for the verdant Pasture, mourns.

243

No more his Limbs his dying Load sustain,
Aiming a Stride, he falters in the Strain,
And sinks, a Ruin, on the wither'd Plain:
Dire Maladies upon his Vitals prey,
Dissolve his Frame, and melt the Mass away.
Thence mortal Plagues invade the lazy Air,
Reek to the Clouds, and hang malignant there:
Thence liquid Streams the mingling Plague receive,
And deadly Potions to the thirsty give.
To Man the Mischief spreads, the fell Disease
In fatal Draughts does on his Entrails seize:
A rugged Scurf, all loathsome to be seen,
Spreads, like a Bark, upon his silken Skin:
Malignant Flames his swelling Eye-balls dart,
And seem, with Anguish, from their Seats to start:
Fires o'er his glowing Cheeks and Visage stray,
And mark, in crimson Streaks, their burning Way:
Low droops his Head, declining from it's Height,
And nods, and totters, with the fatal Weight.
With winged Haste the swift Destruction flies,
And scarce the Soldier sickens e'er he dies.
Now falling Crowds, at once, resign their Breath,
And doubly taint the noxious Air with Death.
Careless their putrid Carcasses are spread,
And on the Earth, their dank unwholesome Bed,
The Living rest in common with the Dead.
For none the last funereal Rites receive;
To be cast forth the Camp is all their Friends can give.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. VI.

A Fatal Fever laid Achaia waste,
Thro' ev'ry Street, in ev'ry Town it pass'd;
From Egypt's Coasts the dire Distemper came,
And with the Air diffus'd the deadly Flame:
The raging Pest at last to Athens spread,
Where Heaps on Heaps were number'd with the Dead.

First fierce unusual Heats attack'd the Head,
The glowing Eyes, with blood-shot Beams, look'd red:

245

The Mouth and Jaws were fill'd with clotted Blood,
Sore Ulcers seiz'd the Throat,—
And putrid Gore the speaking Tongue o'erflow'd:
Whence feeble, hard to move, and rough it grew.—

When from the Mouth, advancing thro' the Breast,
The dire Disease the heaving Heart possess'd,
Then Life began to fail: then too the Breath
Stunk like a Corpse, and told approaching Death.
With raging Pains were joyn'd tormenting Care,
And racking Anguish, Groanings, and Despair:
Complaints, continual Sobs, and deep-drawn Sighs,
Fatigue beyond the Strength, dissolve the Ties
Of Soul and Body:—and the Patient dies.—

Creech alt. Lucret. Lib. VI.

Such Plagues Achaia felt; the fierce Disease
Laid Athens waste, and spoil'd the Town in Peace.
It bore the helpless Nation to the Grave,
No Physick could assist, no Vows could save:
Heaps fell on Heaps, and while they gasp'd for Breath,
Heaps fell on those, and finish'd half their Death.
None nurs'd the Sick: the nearest Kinsmen fled;
None stay'd to bury, or to mourn the Dead.
The Fires grown weary, dy'd beneath their Spoils,
And heap'd-up Limbs supply'd the Place of Piles.
Vast Emptiness and Desolation reign'd,
And to a Nation scarce an Heir remain'd.—

Creech. Manil. Lib. I.

Infections, from one single Case begun,
Soon spread their Poison, and thro' Numbers run.
So one Sheep touch'd, few of the Flock escape:
And the whole Bunch rots from one rotten Grape.—

Juv. Sat. II.

Planets (their Influence.)

The Sun the Seasons of the Year supplies,
And bids the Ev'ning and the Morning rise:
Commands the Planets with superior Force,
And keeps each wand'ring Orb to it's appointed Course.
The silver Moon o'er briny Seas presides,
And heaves huge Ocean with alternate Tides.

247

Saturn's cold Rays prevail beneath the Pole:
And o'er the Winds and Thunders Mars bears rule.
Where Jove ascends, the Skies are still serene:
And fruitful Venus is the genial Queen:
While ev'ry limpid Spring, and rolling Stream,
Submits to Mercury's o'er-ruling Beam.—

Rowe alter'd. Lucan. Lib. X.

Pleasure.

Pleasure in Cloth of Gold and Purple Dye,
With glaring Lustre overwhelms the Eye:
Ambrosial Fragrance from her Locks exhales,
And in her Breath are all Arabia's Gales:
Her Beauty shines with ev'ry Help of Art,
That can allure, and captivate the Heart.
Her sparkling Eyes in sprightly Motions dance,
And dart lascivious Flames at ev'ry Glance.—

Addis. alt.

—A different Dress did Virtue wear:
Rude from her Forehead fell th' unplaited Hair:
With dauntless Mein aloft she rear'd her Head,
And next to manly was the Virgin's Tread:
Her Height, her sprightly Blush, the Goddess show,
And Robes, unsullied, as the falling Snow.—

Sil. Ital. Lib. XV.

No mortal Bliss does ever come sincere,
Pleasure may lead, but Grief brings up the Rear.—

Ovid. Met. L. VII.

Plunder.

Now in the empty Isles of Juno's Fane
Phœnix, and dire Ulysses, chosen Guards,
Watch o'er the Prey. There Trojan Treasure snatch'd
From burning Shrines, the Tables of the Gods,
Goblets of massy Gold, and captive Robes,
Lie pil'd in Heaps: Children, and trembling Dames,
Rank'd in long Rows, stand round.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. II.

Then, while his glowing Fortune yet was warm,
And scatt'ring Terror spread the wild Alarm,
Swift to the hostile Camp he bent his Way,
And led the Soldier greedy to the Prey.

249

Behold, he cries, our Victory compleat,
The glorious Recompence attends You yet:
Much have You done to Day for Cœsar's sake;
'Tis mine to shew the Prey, 'tis your's to take:
'Tis your's, whate'er the vanquish'd Foe has left,
'Tis what your Valour gain'd, and not my Gift.
Treasures immense yon wealthy Tents infold,
The Gems of Asia, and Hesperian Gold.
For You the once great Pompey's Store attends,
With regal Spoils of his Barbarian Friends:
Haste then, prevent the Foe, and seize that Good,
For which you paid so well with Roman Blood.

He said: and with the Rage of Rapine stung,
The Multitude tumultuous rush along.
On Swords, and Spears, on Sires and Sons they tread,
And all remorseless spurn the gory Dead.
What Trench can intercept, what Fort withstand
The brutal Soldier's rude rapacious Hand,
When eager to his Crime's Reward he flies,
And bath'd in Blood, demands the horrid Prize?

There Wealth collected from the World around,
The destin'd Recompence of War, they found.
Then in Patrician Tents Plebeians rest,
And regal Couches are by Ruffians press'd.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. VII.

Poetaster.

A mad Dog's Foam, th' Infection of the Plague,
And all the Judgments of the angry Gods
Are not avoided more by Men of Sense,
Than Poetasters in their raging Fits.—

Roscommon. Hor. Art. Poet.

'Tis hard to say, whether for Sacriledge,
Or Incest, or some more unheard-of Crime,
The rhyming Fiend is sent into these Men:
But they are all most visibly possess'd:
And like a baited Bear when he breaks loose,
Without Distinction seize on all they meet:
Learn'd, or unlearn'd, none 'scape within their Reach,

251

(Sticking like Leeches 'till they burst with Blood,)
Without Remorse insatiably they read,
And never leave 'till they have read Men dead.—

Id. Ibid.

Suffenus, whom You know, the witty,
The gay, the talkative, and pretty:
And, all his Wonders to rehearse,
The Thing which makes a World of Verse:
I'm certain I should not belie him,
To say he 'as sev'ral Thousands by him,
Yet none deform'd with critic Blot,
Or wrote on Vellum to rub out.
Royal Paper! Scarlet Strings!
Gilded Backs! and such fine Things!
But—when you read 'em, then the witty
Gay Suffenus, and the pretty,
Is the dullest heaviest Clown,
So alter'd he can scarce be known.
This is strange, that He, who now,
Could so flatter, laugh, and bow,
So much Wit, such Breeding show,
Should be so ungenteel a Wight,
Whenever he attempts to write.
And yet the Wretch is ne'er so pleas'd,
As when he's with this Madness seiz'd.—

Anon. Catul.

Poetry.

See Poet. Style.

Orpheus , by Harmony divine, subdu'd
Man's savage Nature, and his Thirst of Blood:
For this the sacred Bard was said t'asswage
The Tyger's Fury, and the Lion's Rage:
And when Amphion built the Theban Wall,
'Twas feign'd the list'ning Stones obey'd his Musick's Call.
Verse was contrived then to make Folks wise,
To cherish Virtue, and discourage Vice:
To sep'rate Actions sacred and prophane,
Suppress wild Lust, and link the nuptial Chain:
Tow'rs it plann'd out, and instituted Laws.
Hence Bards were call'd divine, and Verse acquir'd Applause.—

Ames alter'd. Hor. de Art. Poet.

253

Poems (like Pictures) are of diff'rent Sorts:
Some better at a Distance, others near:
Some love the Dark, some chuse the clearest Light,
And boldly challenge the most piercing Eye:
Some please for once, some will for ever please.—

Roscommon. Hor. Art. Po.

Now some dispute, to which the greatest Part
A Poem owes, to Nature, or to Art:
But Troth, to speak my Thoughts, I hardly know,
What witless Art, or artless Wit can do.
Each by itself is vain, I'm sure: but join'd,
Their Force is strong, each proves the other's Friend.—

Creech. Hor. Art. Poet.

Whoe'er would form a valuable Poem,
Must rigorously discharge the Censor's Part,
And dare reject whatever Words appear
Or void of Elegance, or Weight, or Worth;
Tho' fashionable, tho' rever'd they be.
Words our Forefathers us'd, if apt and just,
Tho' obsolete, and to our Ears uncouth,
He must revive, and bring to Light again.
Such new Expressions let him authorize
As Custom shall produce: and with fresh Stores
Inrich his Mother Tongue, till it becomes
Like some fam'd River, flowing, full, and clear.
Whate'er's redundant let him wisely prune:
Soften what's harsh; reject what is unfit;
And turn, and wind, and work them ev'ry Way.

Hor. Lib. II. Ep. 2.

Some think that Poets may be form'd by Art,
Others maintain that Nature makes them so:
I neither see what Art without a Vein,
Nor Wit, without the Help of Art, can do:
But mutually they need each other's Aid.—

Roscommon.

What is the Verse in Vogue?—When Numbers flow,
Soft without Sense, and without Spirit slow:
So smooth and equal that no Sight can find
The Passage where the polish'd Piece was joyn'd.
So even all, with such a steady View,
As if he shut one Eye to level true.
Whether the vulgar Vice his Passion stings,
The People's Riots, or the Rage of Kings:

255

The gentle Poet is alike in all:
The Reader hopes no Rise, and fears no Fall.—

Dryden. Pers. Sat. I.

Poets.

Let me for once presume t' instruct the Times,
To know the Poet from the Man of Rhimes:
'Tis He who gives my Breast a thousand Pains,
Can make me feel each Passion that he feigns,
Enrage, compose, with more than magic Art,
With Pity, and with Terror, tare my Heart:
And snatch me o'er the Earth, or thro' the Air,
To Thebes, to Athens, when he will, and where.—

Pope. Hor. Lib. I. Epist. 2.

The Good to cherish, Friends to reconcile:
The Furious to restrain, and love the Man
Who fears a wicked Deed: Temp'rance to praise;
Strict Justice, and his Country's Laws support:
To preach up sacred Hospitality,
And to conceal, not aggravate Mistakes,
Becomes the Poet.—He too implores the Gods
To raise the wretched, and the Proud pull down.—

Hor. Art. Poet.

What seeks the Poet for, but only Fame?
Nought crowns his Labours but an empty Name.
By Kings and Heroes, as old Authors shew,
Poets, in ancient Times,—
Were lov'd, protected, and rewarded too.
Then to the Name much Rev'rence was allow'd,
And they with rich Possessions were endow'd.
Ennius with Honours was by Scipio grac'd,
And, next his own, the Poet's Statue plac'd.
But now their ivy Crowns bear no Esteem,
And all their Learning's thought an idle Dream.—

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

No Fraud the Poet's sacred Breast can bear,
Mild are his Manners, and his Heart sincere:
Nor Wealth he seeks, nor feels Ambition's Fires,
But shuns the Bar, and Books and Shades requires.

257

—Our softer Studies with our Souls combine,
And, both, to Tenderness our Hearts incline:
Something divine is in Us, and from Heav'n
Th' inspiring Spirit can alone be giv'n.—

Congreve. Ibid.

Painters and Poets have been still allow'd
Their Pencils and their Fancies unconfin'd.—

Roscom. Hor. Art.

A Poet should inform us, or divert:
But joyning both he shews his greatest Art.—

Ibid.

Poets may take a boundless Liberty,
Nor are confin'd to Truths in History.—

Ov. III. Am. II.

But let whate'er of Fiction, You bring in,
Be so like Truth, to seem, at least, a-kin.—

Hor. Art.

Learn'd or unlearn'd we write:—we're Poets all.
But this Mistake, a Madness tho' it be,
Produces such good Qualities as these:
The Poet's Soul is free from Avarice
The Muse his Mistress, her alone he courts:
And laughs at Losses, Robberies, or Fires.
His Friend he will not cheat, nor wrong his Ward.
Contentedly he lives on homely Fare:
And tho' unactive, and for War unfit,
At home he dwells, a useful Citizen.
Great Things are brought about by humble Means:
Youth's stammering Tongue the Poet forms to Speech:
From leud Expressions guards the tender Ears,
And generous Precepts pours into the Soul,
Correcting Envy, Savageness, and Rage.
Facts rightly he relates: the rising Age
With great Examples fires: the Sick revives,
And to the Wretched Consolation brings.—

Hor. Lib. II. Epist. 1.

—Whoever joins Instruction with Delight
Pleasure with Profit, is most surely right.

Most Poets fall into the grossest Faults,
Deluded by a seeming Excellence.
By striving to be short, they grow obscure:
And when they would write smoothly, they want Strength,
Their Spirits sink: while Others, that affect
A lofty Stile, swell to a Tympany.
Some tim'rous Wretches start at ev'ry Blast,

259

And fearing Tempests, dare not leave the Shore:
Others in love with wild Variety,
Draw Boars in Waves, and Dolphins in a Wood.
Thus fear of erring, joyn'd with want of Skill,
Is the most certain Way of erring still.—

Roscommon. Hor. Art Poet.

If I discern not the true Stile, and Air,
Nor how to give the proper Character
To ev'ry Kind of Work, how dare I claim,
And challenge to myself a Poet's Name?—

Ibid.

But he, whose noble Genius is allow'd,
Who with stretch'd Pinions soars above the Crowd,
Who mighty Thought can cloath with manly Dress,
He, whom I fancy, but can ne'er express:
Such, such a Wit, tho' rarely to be found,
Must be secure from Want, if not abound:
Easy and Quiet in his Mind must be,
From Care, from Bus'ness, and from Trouble free.
He must have Groves, and lonely Fountains chuse,
And pleasing Solitudes to bait his Muse;
Unvex'd with Thought of Wants which may betide,
Or for to Morrow's Dinner to provide.
Horace ne'er wrote but with a rosy Cheek,
Full were his Pockets, and his Sides were sleek.
A Wit should have no Care, or this alone,
To make his rising Numbers justly run.—

Dryden jun. Juv. Sat. VII.

Policy of State.

To strictest Justice many Ills belong,
And Honesty is often in the Wrong:
Chiefly when stubborn Rules her Zealots push,
To favour those whom Fortune means to crush.
But thou, Oh royal Ptolemy! be wise:
Change with the Gods, and fly whom Fortune flies.

261

Not Earth from yon high Heav'n which we admire,
Not from the watry Element the Fire,
Are sever'd by Distinctions half so wide,
As Int'rest and Integrity divide.
The mighty Pow'r of Kings no more prevails,
When Justice comes with her deciding Scales:
Freedom for all Things, and a lawless Sword,
Alone support an arbitrary Lord.
He that is cruel, must be bold in Ills,
And find his Safety from the Blood he spills.
For Piety, and Virtue's starving Rules,
To mean Retirements let 'em lead their Fools:
There may they still ingloriously be good:
None can be safe in Courts, who blush at Blood.
The Prudent on the Prosp'rous still depends,
And, none but Fools, chuse Wretches for their Friends.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. VIII.

Maxims of Pothinus, Privy-Counsellor to Ptolemy King of Egypt.

Trust not a Pow'r accustom'd to be Great,
And vers'd in wicked Policies of State.
Old Kings long harden'd in the regal Trade,
By Int'rest and by Craft alone are sway'd:
But new Ones make some Conscience of their Trust,
And to their People are benign and just.—

Id. Ibid.

Popularity.

Careful to purchase popular Applause,
And gain the giddy Vulgar to his Cause:
He knew the constant Practice of the Great,
That those who court the Vulgar, bid them eat.
When pinch'd with Want, all Rev'rence they withdraw:
For hungry Multitudes obey no Law.
Thus therefore Factions make their Parties good,
And buy Authority and Pow'r with Food.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. III.

Portents. Prodigies.

See Omens.

The Gods can't alter Fate's resistless Will:
But They, by Signs, foretell th' approaching Ill.

263

Dreadful were heard, among the Clouds, Alarms
Of ecchoing Trumpets, and of clashing Arms.
The Sun's pale Image gave so faint a Light,
That the sad Earth was almost veil'd in Night.
The starry Sky with fiery Meteors glow'd,
And with the Rain were mingled Drops of Blood,
A dusky Hue the Morning Star o'erspread,
And the Moon's Orb was stain'd with Spots of Red.
In ev'ry Place portentous Shrieks were heard,
The fatal Warnings of th' infernal Bird:
In ev'ry Place the Marble melts to Tears:
While in the Groves, rever'd thro' length of Years,
Boding and aweful Sounds the Ear invade,
And solemn Music warbles thro' the Shade.
No Victims can the Wrath of Heav'n asswage:
The Intrails of the Sacrifice presage
Our Head cut off, and Tumult, War, and Rage.
Around each hallow'd Shrine, and sacred Dome,
Night-howling Dogs disturb the peaceful Gloom:
Their silent Seats the wandring Shades forsake,
And fearful Tremblings the rock'd City shake.—

Welsted. Ovid. Met. Lib. XV.

The Sun, at Cæsar's Murder, pitying Rome,
With dusky Scurf obscur'd his beamy Head,
And impious Mortals fear'd eternal Night.
Tho' at that Time Earth too, and spacious Seas,
And Dogs obscene, and ill-presaging Birds
Gave dire Portents. How oft have we beheld
Loud thund'ring Ætna from Volcanos burst,
Deluge with liquid Fire Cyclopean Fields,
And toss huge Balls of Flame, and molten Stones?
O'er all the Sky Germania heard the Clank
Of Arms: Unusual shudd'rings rock'd the Alps:
And oft in silent Woods were Voices more
Than human heard: And Spectres wondrous pale
Seen in the Dusk of Ev'ning: Oxen spoke,
(Horrid to tell!) Earth yawn'd, and Streams stood still:
In Temples mourning Iv'ry wept: and Brass
Sweated: Eridanus, supreme of Rivers,

265

With roaring Inundation, o'er the Plains,
Swept Woods away, and Cattle, with their Stalls.
Nor did, mean-while, th' ill-boding Fibres cease
To menace Fate: nor Blood to rise in Wells:
Nor Cities loudly to resound with Wolves
Howling by Night. Ne'er, from unclouded Sky,
Did Lightnings with more nimble Flashes glare:
Nor e'er so thick did baleful Comets blaze.—

Trap. Georg. Lib. I.

The Gods by dreadful Omens straight disclos'd
The deathful Horrors of approaching Fate.
The Sun in gloomy Clouds obscur'd his Rays,
As if he mourn'd our civil Wars begun:
While trembling Cynthia fled the impious Sight,
Hid her full Orb, and from the World withdrew.
Mountains by sudden Storms were over-turn'd:
And erring Rivers left their Channels dry.
The Noise of Armour rattles thro' the Air,
And from the Clouds shrill Trumpets sound a Charge.
Fierce Ætna belches forth uncommon Fires,
And darts it's Lightnings upwards to the Skies.
Unbury'd Ghosts wander amongst the Tombs,
With horrid Screams denouncing dreadful Woes.
A fiery Comet shakes it's blazing Hair:
And wond'ring Jove descends in Show'rs of Blood.—

Addis. jun. Petron. Arb.

Portion.

See Wife.

The Darts of Venus and her Torch He scorns;
The Fortune charms him: 'tis for that he burns.—

Dryden. Juv. Sat. VII.

What the World calls a Portion with a Wife,
I boast not of as such: But Chastity,
Becoming Shame, and moderate Desires:
My Fear of Heav'n, my Fondness of my Parents,
My Friendship and Regard for our Relations,
The Course of my Behaviour towards Yourself:
My Bounty to the Good, and my Concern
To cherish Virtue, and reward the Virtuous.—

Plaut. Amph.

267

A virtuous Ancestry, a Mind so chaste,
So strictly faithful to the nuptial Tye,
It dreads the Thought of any other Man:
These are an ample Portion with a Wife.—

Hor. Lib. III. Od. 24.

Poverty.

Disgraceful Poverty does Man expose
To suffer Life's severest Woes,
And act the worst of Crimes:—far, far astray
It leads from rigid Virtue's Way.—

Hor. Lib. III. Od. 24.

Observe what Cash a Person has in Store,
Just so much Credit has he, and no more:
Should'st Thou upon a thousand Bibles swear,
And call each Saint throughout the Kalendar
To vouch thy Oath, it won't be taken here.
The Poor slight Heav'n and Thunder-bolts, we think,
And Heav'n itself does at such Trifles wink.—

Dryden. Juv. Sat. X.

Nothing, in Poverty, so ill is born,
As its exposing Men to grinning Scorn.—

Ibid.

Rarely they rise by Virtue's Aid, who lie
Plung'd in the Depth of helpless Poverty.—

Ibid.

Codrus had but one Bed, so short to boot,
That his short Wife's short Legs hung dangling out:
His Cupboard's Head six earthen Pitchers grac'd;
Beneath 'em was his trusty Tankard plac'd:
And to support this noble Plate, there lay
A bending Chiron cast from honest Clay.
His few Greek Books a rotten Chest contain'd,
Whose Covers much of Mouldiness complain'd:
Where Mice and Rats devour'd poetic Bread,
And with heroic Verse luxuriantly were fed.
'Tis true, poor Codrus Nothing had to boast,
And yet poor Codrus all that Nothing lost:
Begg'd naked thro' the Streets of wealthy Rome,
And found not one, to feed, or take him home.—

Dryd. Juv. Sat. III.

269

Courts to the Poor are shut: Wealth Honour gains,
And Wealth gets Friends: but each the Poor disdains.—

Ovid. Eleg.

Therefore, Father, since our Circumstances are but indifferent, it's our best Way to live modestly and sparingly: for should an ill Reputation be added to our Poverty, it would make our Poverty still more grievous, and endanger our Honesty.—

Plaut. Pers.

Codrus was a learned Man, very poor, and by his Books supposed to be a Poet.

Poyson.

Like red-hot Steel in Water drench'd, his Blood
Hiss'd with the Venom, all one boiling Flood:
Now with the greedy Flame his Entrails glow,
And livid Sweats down all his Body flow:
The cracking Nerves, burnt up, are burst in twain,
The lurking Venom melts his swimming Brain.—

Gay. Ovid. Met. Lib. IX.

The craving Wife the Force of Magic tries,
And Philters for th' unable Husband buys:
The Potion works not on the Part design'd,
But turns his Brain, and stupifies his Mind.
A long Oblivion, a benumbing Frost,
Constrains his Head, and Yesterday is lost.—

Dryden. Juv. Sat. VI.

Praise.

While Rivers seek the Sea, while Shades surround
The Mountains Sides, while Ether feeds the Stars:
Your Honour, Name, and Praise shall ever live—

Trap. Æn. I.

O Great in Fame, but far more Great in Arms,
Brave Trojan Chief! what Praises shall I chuse
To equal Thee with Heav'n? what shall I first
Admire? Thy Justice? or thy Deeds in War?—

Id. Æn. Lib. XI.

When Fame to count thy Acts and Years proceeds,
Thy Years appear but Cyphers to thy Deeds!
For Thee, brave Youth! as for our Common-Wealth,
We pray: and drink, in yours, the public Health.
Your Praise the Nobles and Plebeians sing,
With your lov'd Name the Court and Cottage ring:
'Tis You alone make all the People glad;
And not a Soul in this vast City's sad.—

Tate. Ovid. Met. Lib. VII.

271

As of the Trees the Glory is the Vine:
Grapes of the Vine: of Herds, the Bull: the Corn
Of fertile Fields: so Thou of all the Swains.—

Trap. Virg. Ecl. V.

While Boars love Mountain Tops, while Fish the Streams:
While Bees suck Thyme, while Grashoppers the Dew:
Thy Honour, Name, and Praise shall ever live.—

Id. Ibid.

As the tough Willow to the Olive yields,
The Cowslip to the crimson Rose: so much
Amyntas, in my Judgment, yields to Thee.—

Id. Ibid.

Prayers.

See Wishes.

Of all our Vows, the first and chief Request,
Of each, is to be richer than the rest:
And yet no Doubts the poor Man's Draught controul;
He dreads no Poyson in his homely Bowl.
Then fear the deadly Drug, when Gems divine
Enchase the Cup, and sparkle in the Wine.—

Dryden. Juv. Sat. X.

O, Grant me Length of Life, and Years good Store
Heap on my Head, Great Jove! I ask no more.
Thus, with a bold Assurance dost Thou pray,
Tho' pale, for fear the God should say Thee nay.
And yet what Ills continually a-wait
Helpless old Age, that miserable State!—

Id. alter'd. Ibid.

To thy good Genius pour the sparkling Wine,
And pray:—thy Pray'rs will stand the Test of Heav'n;
Nor need'st Thou take the Gods aside to hear 'em.
But many of the Great in Silence burn
Their costly Incense: for 'tis not convenient,
That ev'ry one should from the Temple bring,
The Pray'r he whispers, to the public Ear.—

Grant me Good-nature, give me Fame, Great Jove!
And make me honest:—thus, the Knave aloud
Cries out, for to be heard:—but to himself
Inly he mutters;—O, would'st Thou but deign
To take away my wealthy Unkle's Life!
Or else,—O Hercules! would'st Thou vouchsafe
To guide my Rake upon the chinking Sound

273

Of some vast Treasure!—Or,—Behold the Wretch,
My Ward, how scabby and unsound he is;
Could I but tip him off, th' Estate were mine.
Or,—This is happy Nereus's third Wife:
Oh could I be so lucky!—Thus thou pray'st:
And, wickedly devout, at early Dawn,
Thrice dost Thou plunge Thyself in Tyber's Stream,
To purge away the Night's Impurities.

But, prithee tell me, ('tis a small Request,)
What Thou believ'st of Jove?—Is he, dost think,
To be preferr'd to Man?—To Man! What Man?—
Why Staius let's suppose; for he's the worst.—
Now art thou doubtful whether of the two,
Staius, or Jove, would prove the trustier Guardian,
Or make the better Judge?—

But come, let's try:—unfold to Staius strait
What to Jove's Ear thou boldly didst impart;
Staius will cry, O righteous Jupiter!
Canst thou bear this!—And will not Jove himself,
Dost think, exclaim, and rise to just Revenge?

Because his Thunder splits some ancient Oak,
And is not darted at thy House and Thee:
Nor ly'st thou dead, sad Object! in the Grove,
Struck down, amidst thy Sacrifice, ev'n whilst
The pious Priest performs the sacred Rites:
Therefore thou fanciest Jove thy Crime forgives,
And tamely lets thee take him by the Beard.

But by what Gifts dost Thou pretend to bribe
The Gods, to heat thy wicked Pray'rs, unpunish'd?
Can thy fat Off'rings their just Wrath appease?—

Pers. Sat. II.

Staius was a most corrupt and wicked Judge: He likewise poisoned his Brother and his Brother's Wife.

Pray to the Gods: but be thy Pray'rs confin'd
To Health of Body, and Content of Mind.
Pray for a Soul that dares grim Death defy,
And count it Nature's Priviledge to die:
Serene, and manly, hardned to sustain
The Load of Life, and exercis'd in Pain:

275

Guiltless of Rage, and Proof against Desire,
That all Things weighs, and nothing can admire:
That dares prefer the Toils of Hercules,
To Dalliance, Banquets, and ignoble Ease.—

Dryden alt. Juv. Sat. X.

Presumption.

Bold Man, that all Things dares essay,
Thro' Crimes forbidden makes his Way:
Bold Japhet's Race, of Humankind
The Curse, celestial Fire purloin'd:
The Fire celestial ill-obtain'd,
Strait, the wan ling'ring Pthisis reign'd;
Came Fevers, with pestif'rous Breath,
A spotted Legion! and slow Death,
Far off before, tho' sure decreed,
Catch'd up his Steps, and march'd with Speed:
Presumptuous Dædalus! he try'd
Thro' Air, with Wings to Man deny'd,
To journey: Rash Alcmena's Son
The Barriers broke of Acheron:
To Deeds stupendous Mortals rise:
We e'en in Folly brave the Skies:
Nor suffer Jove, thro' stubborn Pride,
To lay th' uplifted Bolt aside.—

Welsted. Hor. Lib. I. Od. 3.

Pride.

See Boasting.

—Surrounded with a courtly Guard,
The royal Niobè in State appear'd:
Array'd in Robes embroider'd o'er with Gold,
And mad with Rage; yet lovely to behold:
Her beauteous Tresses, o'er her Shoulders spread,
Wav'd with becoming Grace, whene'er she mov'd her Head.
Then, darting round a proud disdainful Look,
In haughty Tone her hasty Passion broke,
And thus began: What Madness this, to court
A Goddess founded merely on Report?

277

Dare ye Latona's fancy'd Power invoke,
While yet no Altars to my Godhead smoke?—

Croxall alt. Ov. Met. Lib. VI.

Where e'er around I turn my wond'ring Eyes,
My Riches glitter, and my Treasures rise:
Add too, th'unequall'd Beauties of my Face,
Whose Charms celestial might a Goddess grace.
My Happiness beyond all Doubt is fixt,
And with no Tincture of Misfortune mixt:
My Plenty guards me against future Ill,
And spite of Fortune I'll be happy still:
I stand superior to her giddy Power;
For tho' she much may take, she still must leave me more.—

Id. alt. Ibid.

Narcissus many a blooming Youth caress'd,
And many a Maid her Love for him confess'd:
Yet tho' his Form was soft, his Pride was such,
That Youth, nor Maid, his haughty Heart could touch.

Ovid. Met. Lib. III.

Whilst the old Frog was gone to range abroad,
An Ox came by, and on her young ones trod.
One 'scap'd, and told her, that a monstrous Beast
Had trampled on her Young, and kill'd the rest.
How large, says she; As large as I am now?
And swells:—Yes, yes, 'twas twice as large as You.
What! larger still? and then she swells again.
Ay, larger much, and you contend in vain:
Forbear your Swelling, for you cannot be,
Tho' you should burst yourself, as large as he.—

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

Procession.

See Majesty.

Mean while a mournful supplicating Train
Of Trojan Matrons, to Minerva's Fane
In sad Procession with a Veil repair,
Beat their white Breasts, and rend their flowing Hair.
Unmov'd with Pray'rs, disdainfully she frown'd,
And fixt her Eyes, relentless, on the Ground,—

Pitt. Æn. Lib. I.

Mean while the Queen to Pallas' stately Dome
Amidst a num'rous Quire of Matrons, rode,

279

And Off'rings bore: Lavinia by her Side,
The Royal Virgin, Cause of all their Woe:
Her beauteous Eyes cast down, and bent on Earth.
The Matrons follow: and with Incense sweet
Perfume the Temple: and with mournful Sound
Thus from the stately Entrance breath their Pray'r.
Tritonian Virgin! Arbitress of War!
Break with thy Pow'r the Phrygian Pirate's Lance:
And Him lay prone extended on the Ground,
And roll his Trunk beneath the lofty Gates.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. XI.

Prosperity.

See Fortune.

Who thinks that Fortune cannot change her Mind,
Prepares a dreadful Jest for all Mankind!
And who stands safest, tell me? is it he
That spreads and swells with puff'd Prosperity,
Or, blest with little, who preventing Care,
In Peace provides fit Arms against a War?—

Pope. Hor. II. Sat. 2.

O Mortals! blind in Fate, who never know
To bear high Fortune, or endure the low.—

Dryden. Virg. Æn. X.

When Fortune smiles, hold not your Head too high:
Nor sink, desponding, in Adversity.—

Perian. per Aus.

—Ill Fortune still reveals
The Temper of the Mind, which good conceals.—

Hor. II. Sat. 8.

A Mind at Ease may easily be won,
As Corn delights in Fields blest by the Sun.
When Fortune's Favours make the Soul rejoice,
The Mind is open to Perswasion's Voice.—

Ovid. Art. Lib. I.

Tho' Fortune smiles, and swells thy Mind,
It gilds, but cannot change thy Kind.—

Creech. Hor Epod. IV.

No one's belov'd, but he whom Fortune favours.—

Ov. II. Pon. 3.

Whom Fortune's Favours over much delight,
Her Frowns will terrify with great Affright.—

Hor. Lib. I. Epist. 10.

When every Thing goes on prosperously, People should consider how to behave themselves in Cases of Adversity: such as Dangers, Losses, Banishment.—

Ter. Phor.

281

Providence.

See Chance. Fate. God.

I'll sing, how God, the World's Almighty Soul,
Fills Heav'n, and Earth, and Seas, and sways the Whole;
Each Part disposes with an equal Hand,
While subject Nature bends to his Command:
How all by Reason moves: because one Mind
Does all pervade, and all together bind.—

For did not all the friendly Parts conspire
To make one Whole, and keep the Frame entire:
And did not Wisdom's constant Laws controul
That vast stupendious Machine of the Whole,
The Earth would lose it's Place; the Skies would fall;
And want of Motion prove the Bane of all:
No more the Stars would roll; nor Day, nor Night,
By turns, each other fly, and put to Flight:—
Rains would not chear the Earth; nor Winds supply
Mists to the Clouds, and Vapours to the Sky:
Nor Seas would fill the Springs, nor Springs return
A grateful Tribute from their flowing Urn:
Nor would the All, unless contriv'd by Art,
So justly be proportion'd in each Part,
That neither Seas, nor Skies, nor Stars exceed
Our Wants, nor are too scanty for our Need.
Thus stands the Frame, and one Almighty Soul
Thro' all diffus'd, so turns and guides the Whole,
That Nothing from it's settled Station swerves:
Motion, not alters, but the World preserves.—

Creech alt. Manil. Lib. II.

The Stars still keep one Course: they still pursue
Their constant Track, nor vary in a new:
From one fixt Point they start: their Course maintain:
Repeat their Whirl, and visit it again:
A most convincing Reason drawn from Sense,
That this vast Frame is rul'd by Providence:
Which, like the Soul, does every Whirl advance:
It must be God, nor was it made by Chance,

283

As Epicurus dream'd: who madly thought
This beauteous Frame of senseless Atoms wrought;
That Seas, and Earth, the Stars, and spacious Air,
What forms new Worlds, or does the old repair,
First rose from These, by These supply'd remain:
And All must be, when Chance shall break the Chain,
Dissolv'd to these wild Principles again.
Absurd, and Nonsense! Atheist, use thine Eyes,
And having view'd the Order of the Skies,
Think, if Thou canst, that Matter blindly hurl'd,
Without a Guide should frame this wondrous World.—

Creech. Manil. Lib. I.

Receive my Council, and securely move;
Instruct thy Fortune to the Pow'rs above:
Leave them to manage for thee, and to grant
What their unerring Wisdom sees thee Want:
In Goodness as in Greatness they excell:
Ah! that we lov'd Ourselves but half so well!
We, by our headstrong Passions blindly led,
Are hot for Action, and desire to wed:
Then wish for Heirs:—but, to the Gods alone
Our future Offspring, and our Wives, are known.—

Dryd. Juv. Sat. X.

On human Prudence safely none depend,
For ill Advice Success does oft attend:
Fortune but seldom Merit's Side approves,
But here and there without Distinction roves.
So that some greater over-ruling Cause
Subjects all mortal Things to it's appointed Laws.—

Creech alt. Manil. Lib. IV.

Purgation of Souls, and their return into Bodies.

— Æneas sees
A Grove, secluded, in a secret Vale,
Shrubs rattling in the Woods, and Lethe's Stream,
Which near the peaceful Mansions glides along:
Round which unnumber'd Crowds, and Nations flew.
As when the Bees in Meads, while Summer shines,
On various Flowers alight, and hover o'er

285

The Snow-white Lillies: all the Field resounds
With humming Noise.—Struck at the sudden Sight,
Surpriz'd, and ignorant, Æneas asks
The Cause: enquires, what River That? and who
The thronging Ghosts that crouded to the Shore?

Anchises then: Those Souls, to whom by Fate
New Bodies are decreed, at Lethe's Stream
Drink long Oblivion from the drowsy Waves.

O Father, is it then to be conceiv'd,
That any of these Spirits so sublime,
Would go to upper Light, and re-assume
Their sluggish Bodies? whence such fond Desire,
Such miserable Love of wretched Life?

Yes; all, my Son, to thee I will explain,
Replies Anchises.—

First, Heaven, and Earth, and Oceans liquid Plains,
The Moon's bright Globe, the Sun, and shining Stars,
A Soul within enlivens: and a Mind
Diffus'd thro' all it's Parts, the gen'ral Mass
Invigorates, and mingles with the Whole.
Hence Men, and Beasts, and all the feather'd Kind
Proceed, and Monsters of the boundless Deep.
A fiery Force and Origine divine
These Seeds inspires: so far as not controul'd
By their terrestrial Bodies, clog'd and damp'd
By their dull Flesh, and cumbrous mortal Frame.
Hence they desire, and fear, rejoice, and grieve:
Nor see the Light, in Prison dark confin'd
Nor, ev'n when Life is fled, do all their Ills,
And all their Pests corporeal wear away:
But many Stains, in such a Length of Time
Contracted, marvellously must inhere.
Therefore with Punishment they are explor'd,
And pay due Penance for their former Crimes.
Some hang expanded to the empty Winds:
The Guilt, ingrain'd, of Other's in th' Abyss
Of Seas is wash'd: or burnt away with Fire.

287

Each of Us from our several Manes bear
Purgation: to Elysium then we go,
And here We few enjoy these blissful Fields.
When tract of Time (it's fatal Round at length
Revolv'd) has quite work'd off the blended Stain,
Leaving defecated th' etherial Ray,
And simple Energy of heav'nly Fire:
All These (the Circle of a thousand Years
Compleat) the God to Lethe's River calls
Assembl'd: that, forgetful of the past,
They may return to Life, and re-ascend,
Contented, to their first embodied State.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. VI.

Plato's system.

These Manes are understood by many to mean the Furies, or infernal Tormentors, which punish the Souls in Hell: as may be inferred from Georg. IV. 489. Scirent si'ignoscere Manes. Trap

Race.

They take their Places: And, the Signal giv'n,
Fleet as a Tempest, spring at once, and leave
The Bounds, fly o'er the Field, and mark the Goal.
Nisus the first, and long before the rest,
Swift shoots away: more swift than Winds, or Wings
Of Light'ning.—Next, but far at Distance next,
Him Salius follows: Near to Him, the Third
Euryalus—.
Him Elymus succeeds: Whom pressing close,
Diores flies: and justles Heel with Heel,
Imminent o'er his Shoulder: and had Room
More wide been giv'n him, foremost he had sprung,
Or left him doubtful.—Now They panting reach'd
The utmost Line, and almost touch'd the Goal:
When Nisus, sliding on the slipp'ry Gore,
Which there by chance, from Oxen slain, besmear'd
The Ground and verdant Grass, his tott'ring Steps
Could not support: but now, ev'n Victor, fell,
Prone in the Mire obscene, and sacred Blood,
Unfortunate: Yet not unmindful Then

289

Of Friendship, and Euryalus, oppos'd
Himself to Salius, from the slipp'ry Place
Rising: He, tumbling on the clotted Sand,
Extended lay: Euryalus springs on,
And, Victor by th' Assistance of his Friend,
Comes in the first, with Shouts, and mix'd Applause.

Trap. Æn. Lib. V.

Rage.

See Anger.

Arms, Arms, my Friends: Tho' vanquish'd, This last Day
Calls us to Arms: Give me the Greeks again:
Off:—let me go:—I'll see the Eight renew'd:
This Day We will not all die unreveng'd.—

Soon as the Queen perceiv'd the dawning Day,
And from a Tower beheld the Navy move
With even Sails, the empty Ports, and Shores
Abandon'd: with repeated Blows she beats
Her beauteous Breast, and rends her yellow Hair:
Shall he then go? The Fugitive? O Jove!
She cry'd, and make my Kingdoms thus his Sport?
Will they not rush to Arms? from all the Town
Pursue? While Others from the Docks swift plunge
My Ships into the Sea? Go, fly: bring Fire:
Quick, hoise your Sails, and strongly ply your Oars.
What was't I said? where am I? what Distraction
Has turn'd my Brain?—Unhappy Dido! now
Thy cruel Fate stabs home.—

Id. Æn. Lib. IV.

Thus wild He raves: and from his smoking Mouth
Burst Sparks of Fire, and Flashes from his Eyes.
So hideous roars the Bull with previous Rage,
And practices the Fight: against an Oak
Whetting his Horns, he pushes empty Air,
And spurns the Sand, preluding to the War.—

Id. Æn. XII.

When Turnus saw the harrass'd Latins faint
With unsuccessful War: his Promise claim'd:
Himself mark'd out, and by all Eyes observ'd:
Conscious of inborn Worth he burns with Rage

291

Implacable, and rouses all his Fire.
The lordly Lion thus, on Lybia's Plains,
Gor'd by the Hunter's Spear within his Breast
Infix'd, at length springs furious to the Fight,
And shakes with dreadful Pride his shaggy Mane:
Intrepid snaps the sticking Dart, and roars,
And foams with bloody Mouth. No less, incens'd;
Fierce Turnus storms:—

Id. Æn. Lib. XII.

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. II.

Dido.

Rain.

See Flood.

Out flies the South, with dropping Wings, and shrouds
His dreadful Visage in a Night of Clouds.
His white Hairs stream, his Beard is swell'd with Show'rs,
Mists bind his Brows, Rain from his Bosom pours.
As his broad Hand the hanging Clouds constrains,
They roar, and scatter in descending Rains.
Iris extends her Bow of various Dies,
And feeds the weeping Clouds with new Supplies.
The Corn is lodg'd: despairing mourns the Swain;
And the long Labours of the Year are vain.—

Sewell alt. Ovid. Met. Lib. I.

Jupiter Pluvius, or the Rainy, is represented in this Manner upon the Antonine Pillar at Rome. See Montfaucon's Antiquities, Vol. I. Plate ix.

—Black with rushing Rain
A Tempest rag'd enormous, and the Hills
And Fields with Thunder shook: o'er all the Sky
A Show'r with Water dark, and thicken'd Winds
Turbid descends.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. V.

As when a Tempest, thick with patt'ring Hail,
Precipitate descends: from all the Fields
Flies ev'ry Traveller, and lab'ring Hind,
For Shelter safe, or to a River's Bank,
Or to the hollow of some lofty Rock:
There hide secure, while pour'd upon the Earth
The Tempest rages: till the Sun restor'd
Permits them to renew the Toils of Day.—

Id. Æn. Lib. X.

293

—As from the West
And rainy Kids a turbid Storm descends,
And beats the Ground: or thick with rattling Hail
Tumbles precipitate into the Sea:
When Jove tempestuous whirls the wintry Show'r
With Winds aloft, and bursts the bellying Clouds.—

Id. Æn. Lib. IX.

Rapidity.

As when from diff'rent Parts two rushing Fires
Invade a Grove of crackling Lawrel-Boughs:
Or from the Mountain's Tops with tumbling Flood
And roaring Noise two foamy Rivers run
Into the Sea, and sweeping force their Way:
With such Rapidity the Trojan Chief
And Turnus thro' the Battle rush.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. XII.

As when a Rock, from some high Mountain's Top,
Tumbles precipitate, or torn by Winds,
Or by a roaring Flood, or eating Age:
Down the steep Cliff the massy Fragment runs
With Impulse vast, and jumps upon the Ground,
Involving, as it rolls, Men, Beasts, and Woods.—

Id. Ibid.

More swift with rapid Course the Horses go,
Than roaring Rivers in the Winter flow:
With them compar'd the Jav'lin passes slow.
The Parthian Dart not near so swiftly flies,
Nor the South-Wind that sweeps along the Skies,
Nor Thoughts that in an anxious Bosom rise.—

Claud de Rapt. Lib. II.

Reason.

—Reason's Force can pierce
The deep Recesses of the Universe:
No Bars can stop it: thro' the World it flies,
And Heav'n itself lies open to it's Eyes.—

Creech. Manil. Lib. I.

Think not thy Power too small, too weak thy Mind,
Because it's to a little Body joyn'd:

295

For wondrous is it's Force:—how small a Mass
Of standard Gold exceeds vast Heaps of Brass!
How little is the Apple of the Eye!
And yet, at once, it takes in half the Sky:
How vast the Disproportion to the Sense!
The Organ small, the Object is immense.
So, from the narrow Limits of the Heart,
The active Soul does vig'rous Life impart
To all the Limbs: it's Sway the Members own,
And wide it's Empire spreads around it's Throne.
Regard thy Powers, O Man! nor heed thy Size:
In piercing Reason thy Advantage lies;
Reason that conquers all, and rules the Skies.—

Id. alt. Manil. Lib. IV.

Repentance.

He heard her Falshood with a mournful Look,
The Wreath his Head, the Harp his Hand forsook:
Then kindling into Rage, his Bow he drew:
Swift the inevitable Arrow flew,
And deeply enter'd that soft tender Breast,
Which to his own so often had been prest.
A Groan she gave, when she the Mischief found,
And pull'd the Arrow reeking from the Wound.
O'er her fair Limbs the crimson Tide was shed,
And with the streaming Blood her Spirits fled.

The Lovesick God too late repents the Deed:
He hates the Bird that made her Falsehood known,
And hates himself for what himself had done:
The Bow, the Shaft that sent her to the Fates,
And his own Hand that sent the Shaft he hates:
Fain would he heal the Wound, and ease her Pain,
And tries the Compass of his Art in vain.

297

But when he saw the lovely Nymph expire,
The Pile made ready, and the kindling Fire,
With Sighs, and Groans, her Obsequies he kept,
And, if a God could weep, the God had wept:
Her Corps he kiss'd, and heav'nly Incense brought,
And solemniz'd the Death himself had wrought.—

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

The Raven discovered to Apollo that his Mistress Coronis was false to him; upon which Apollo killed her with an Arrow; but afterwards repenting, he lamented his dead Mistress, and in Revenge made the Raven's Feathers black, which were always white before.

Unhappy Phaëton, when from the Sky,
He saw the Earth, far, far below him, lie,
All pale with fear, and trembling at the Sight,
And scarce enduring such Excess of Light,
Too late he wish'd the fiery Steeds untry'd,
His Birth obscure, and his Request deny'd:
Gladly would Merops for his Father own,
And quit his boasted Kindred to the Sun.—

Id. Ibid.

Reproach.

See Upbraiding.

O void of all Resentment! whom no Wrongs
Can move, Ye ever stupid Tuscans! whence
This Panic? whence such Cowardice of Soul?
A Woman drives You straggling, and defeats
These Squadrons: Wherefore hold You in your Hands
Those Swords, and those unprofitable Darts?
But not to Venus, and nocturnal Wars
Are You such Recreants: nor so listless watch
The Bacchanalian Revels, when those Feasts
The crooked Pipe of Bacchus has proclaim'd,
(This is your Love, your Study, and Delight,)
Till the auspicious Augur's Voice declares
The sacred Rites begun, and Victims slain
Invite You, with their Fat, and pamper'd Flesh,
Into the deep Recesses of the Grove.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. XI.

O Thou, the Head, and Source of all this Woe
To Latium! why so oft dost Thou expose
Our wretched Citizens to Toil and Death?
Forsooth, that Turnus may espouse a Queen,
We, viler Lives, a Rabble, uninterr'd,
And undeplor'd, must perish in the War.—

Id. Ibid.

299

Uxorious Man! ah! thoughtless! unconcern'd
For thy own Kingdom, and thy own Affairs!
What dost Thou purpose? with what Prospect waste
Thy Time, unactive, on these Lybian Coasts?

Id. Æn. Lib. IV.

Request Dying.

See Dying.

Now at Death's Door, she spent and fainting lay,
And these few Words had only Strength to say:
By all the sacred Bonds of plighted Love!
By all your Rev'rence to the Pow'rs above!
By all that made me charming once appear!
By ev'ry Thing for which you held me dear!
And last, by Love, the Cause thro' which I bleed,
Let Aura never to my Bed succeed!—

Tale. Ovid. Met. Lib. VII.

Procris

Now strike, she said: now spill my noble Blood:
Deep in my Breast, or Throat (for I'm prepar'd,)
Your Dagger plunge:—and then her Breast she bar'd.
But let not the rude Hand of Man pollute
A Virgin Victim: 'tis a modest Suit.
It best will please, whoe'er demands my Blood,
That freely, and untouch'd I reach the Stygian Flood.
Yet let one short, last, dying Pray'r be heard;
To Priam's Daughter pay this last Regard:
'Tis Priam's Daughter, not a Captive, sues:
Do not the Rites of Sepulture refuse.
To my afflicted Mother, I implore,
Free, without Ransom, my dead Corps restore:
Nor barter me for Gain, when I am cold,
But be her Tears the Price, if I am sold;
Time was, she could have ransom'd me with Gold.

Thus as she pray'd, one common Show'r of Tears
Burst forth, and stream'd from ev'ry Eye but her's.
Ev'n the Priest wept: and with a deep Remorse
Plung'd in her Heart the Steel's resistless Force.
Her slacken'd Limbs sink gently to the Ground,
Dauntless her Looks, unalter'd by the Wound.

301

And as she fell, she strove, with decent Pride,
To hide what suits a Virgin's Care to hide.—

Stanyan. Ovid. Met. Lib. XIII.

Polyxena sacrific'd to the Manes of Achilles.

—One thing I implore,
(If aught of Grace remain for vanquish'd Foes)
Permit my Corps to be interr'd: I know
The Malice of my Subjects hovers round:
Forbid that Outrage: let me share a Grave,
Joyn'd to my Son, and rest with him in Death.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. X.

Mezentius.

— He suppliant bends
His Eyes: And, stretching out his Hand, 'Tis true,
I have deserv'd, He cry'd: Nor will I strive
To deprecate: Enjoy thy Fortune's Gift.
Yet Oh! if aught a wretched Parent's Care
Can touch thy Soul (Thou too hadst such a Sire
The old Anchises) pity Daunus' Age:
And, whether living, or despoil'd of Breath,
(Thine be that Choice) restore me to my Friends.—

Id. Æn. Lib. XII.

Turnus.

Retirement.

Oh! when shall I a Country Life enjoy,
And with old Authors my calm Hours employ,
Blest with sweet Leisure, blest with downy Peace,
And my whole Business to consult my Ease!
When, when shall I, compleatly happy, there,
Delightfully forget my former Days of Care!—

Hor. Lib. II. Sat. 6.

What greater Bliss on Earth can be,
Than after much Anxiety,
Business the Load of Life laid down,
Retiring to one's native Town,
A quiet Leisure to possess,
That long desir'd Happiness.—

Catullus 31.

303

Retreat.

See Flight.

Turnus , retreating, from the Fight withdraws
By slow Degrees: and to that Part retires,
Which by the ambient River's Stream is wash'd.
The more the shouting Trojans urge him close,
And thick'ning onwards rush. As when a Band
Of Hunters press and gore with pointed Spears
A savage Lion: He appal'd gives Way,
With Aspect stern, and makes a sour Retreat:
Courage and Rage permit him not to turn
His Back: Nor does his Strength suffice to leap
(Tho' fain he would) against the Darts, and Foes.
So Turnus backward with slow Paces moves,
Dubious of Thought, and all with Fury burns.
Ev'n then the Centre of the hostile Troops
He twice attack'd, twice drove them on the Walls
Confus'd in hasty Flight. But all at once
On Him alone their Forces from the Tents
United press:—He therefore, with his Shield,
And Arms, unable to support the Shock,
Stands panting, with such Storms of Darts o'erwhelm'd
On ev'ry Side: his hollow Temples round
With oft repeated Blows his Helmet rings,
Batter'd with Stones, and flatten'd to his Head:
It's Crest struck off: Nor does his Target's Orb
Suffice against the Strokes: The Trojans thick,
With thund'ring Mnestheus at their Head, push on.
Then Sweat in Rivers o'er his Body flows:
He faints with Toil, stagg'ring he gasps for Breath:
And the vast Labour shakes his weary Limbs.
At length into the River's yellow Waves,
Plunging himself, he leaps with all his Arms:
The gentle Stream receives him, as he falls,
In it's soft Lap: and, washing off the Blood,
Wafts him exulting to rejoin his Friends.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. IX.

305

Revenge.

Revenge is sweeter much than Life!—'tis true,
So the unthinking say, and the mad Crew
Of hect'ring Blades, who for slight Cause, or none,
At ev'ry turn, are into Passion blown.
Not so meek Thales, or Chrysippus taught,
Or Socrates, who took the Poyson-Draught
With a forgiving Soul, nor wish'd to see
His base Accuser drink as deep as he.

Much Satisfaction in Revenge to find,
Denotes a little, mean, ungen'rous Mind:
This, Observation will most plainly shew,
For none so eagerly Revenge pursue,
Or love it half so well as Women do.—

Juv. Sat. XIII.

In such tumultuous Haste her Passions sprung,
They choak'd her Voice, and quite disarm'd her Tongue.
No room for female Tears: the Furies rise,
And ev'ry Thought of Right or Wrong despise:
Reason's calm Dictates no Admittance find,
Revenge alone commands her raging Mind.—

Croxall alt. Ovid. Met. Lib. VI.

Tears, unavailing, but defer our Time,
The stabbing Sword must expiate the Crime:
Or worse, if Wit on bloody Vengeance bent,
A Weapon more tormenting can invent.
O Sister! I 'ave prepar'd my stubborn Heart,
To act some hellish and unheard-of Part:
Some great, some mighty Mischief I've design'd,
But yet the Draught's unfinisht in my Mind.—

Id. Ibid.

She stands attentive to his Perjuries,
And darts avenging Horror from her Eyes.
Raging Resentment fires her boiling Blood:
She springs upon him 'midst the Captive Crowd,
(Her Thirst of Vengeance want of Strength supplies,)
She thrusts her forky Fingers in his Eyes:
Tares out the rooted Balls: her Rage pursues,
And in the hollow Orbs her Hands imbrews.—

Stanyan. Ovid. Met. Lib. XIII.

307

Revolution.

See Golden Age Restor'd.

The self-same Sun does ev'ry Morn appear,
And as He drives a Day, He whirls a Year.
From the same East He comes with equal Pace,
To the same West He still directs his Race,
And not one Change is seen in Nature's Face.
The same Moon shines, and at a certain Day,
Her Light encreases, and her Horns decay.
Nature does still her beaten Track pursue,
Nor like a Novice wanders in a new.
Phœbus still warms those Signs where first he shone,
And Day goes round with one eternal Sun:
Thus prov'd:—because by just Degrees the Hours
In different Countries are the same with our's.
The Eastern Nations view the rising Fires,
Whilst Night shades Us, and lazily retires.
As to the distant West we nimbly run,
That still removes, nor can we reach the Sun:
His Race no East begins, no West doth bound,
But on he drives in one continual Round.—

Creech alt. Manil. Lib. I.

When round the great Platonic Year has turn'd,
In their old Ranks the wand'ring Stars shall stand,
As when first marshal'd by th' Almighty's Hand.—

Addison. Aus. Edyl. 18.

Rewards.

See Munificence.

Then in the Center of the Cirque are plac'd
The Prizes, sacred Tripods, Wreaths of Greens,
And Palms for Victors: Arms, and purple Robes,
Talents of massy Silver, and of Gold.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. V.

— On every Ship
Three Heifers, to be chosen, he bestows,
A silver Talent's massy Weight, and Wine,
As Prizes.—To the Conq'ror first he gives
A Cloak, with Gold embroider'd, edg'd with Fringe
Of Melibœan Purple, doubly round
Entwining.—

Ibid.

309

To him whose Merit held the second Place
A Coat of Mail he gives, compact with Hooks,
And wrought with triple Tissue: to defend
At once and deck the Warrior.—
Two brazen Cauldrons to the Third he gives,
And silver Bowls with Figures rough emboss'd.—

Id. Ibid.

Not One of all this Number shall from me
Go unrewarded: I'll on each bestow
Two Gnossian Jav'lins, bright with polish'd Steel,
And a carv'd Battle-Ax with Silver wrought.
This Honour shall be one to All. The Three
Who first excell, shall diff'rent Prizes share,
And with pale Olive bind their Heads. The First
A Steed enrich'd with Trappings shall receive:
The Next an Amazonian Quiver, fill'd
With Thracian Arrows, which a Belt around
Incloses with broad Gold, a Buckle clasps
With round smooth Diamonds: Be the Third content
With this Argolick Shield.—

Id. Ibid.

—A huge Getulian Lion's Hide
He gives to Salius, rough with heavy Fur,
And golden Claws.—

—Then He commands to bring
A Shield, the Work of Didymaon's Art,
Torn by the Grecians from the sacred Posts
Of Neptune: and with that excelling Gift
Distinguishes the well-deserving Youth.—

Id. Ibid.

He said: And for the Combat two Rewards
Propos'd: The Victor's Prize, a Bull adorn'd
With Gold, and Wreaths: a Sword, and burnish'd Helm,
The Solace of the Vanquish'd.—

Id. Ibid.

Two Goblets I will give, in Silver wrought,
And rough with Sculpture: which my Father took
From sack'd Arisba: And two Talents Weight
Of massy Gold: two Tripods: and a Bowl
Of antique Cast, which Tyrian Dido gave.
But if 'tis giv'n Us in the Chance of War
To conquer Latium, and its Scepter wield,

311

Victorious, and by Lot to share the Spoils:
Saw'st Thou the Steed by Turnus press'd, the Arms
In which he rode, all glitt'ring, all in Gold?
That very Shield, and those red Plumes which grace
His Helmet, from the Lot I will exempt,
Already, Nisus, thy adjudg'd Reward.
Besides, twelve choicest Dames, twelve captive Youths,
With their own Arms, my Father shall bestow:
And, added to them All, that Tract of Land,
Which by the King Latinus is possess'd.—

Id. Æn. Lib. IX.

—Drawing from his Belt
His gilded Sword, which wrought with wondrous Art
Lycaon, born of Gnossian Race, had made,
And in an iv'ry Scabbard fit inclos'd,
That Present on the lovely Youth bestows.—

Id. Ibid.

Rites (Religious.)

See Funerals. Manes. Palace. Procession. Sacrifice.

They sprinkled first their Garments, and their Head,
Then took the Way which to the Temple led:
Before the Gradual, prostrate they ador'd,
Kiss'd the cold Stone, and trembling thus implor'd.—

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

Be this a solemn Feast, the Priest had said,
Be with each Mistress unemploy'd each Maid:
With Skins of Beasts your tender Limbs inclose,
And with an ivy Crown adorn your Brows:
The leafy Thyrsus high in Triumph bear,
And give your Locks to wanton in the Air.
These Rites profan'd, the holy Seer fore show'd
A mourning People, and a vengeful God.—

Eusden. Ovid. Met. Lib. IV.

— The holy Things
Take you, my Father, and our Country-Gods:
In me 'twere Guilt to touch them, just return'd
Recent from so much Slaughter, and besmear'd
With War: 'till in the living Stream I wash
The Blood away.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. II.

313

He said, and paid the Gods their Honour due:
A Bull to Neptune, and a Bull to Thee,
Beauteous Apollo: To the stormy Pow'r
A sable Ewe: a white one to the smooth
Propitious Zephyrs.—

Id. Æn. Lib. III.

But when your Ships rest wafted o'er the Main,
And you on Altars rais'd along the Shore
Pay your vow'd Off'rings, with a purple Veil
Cover your Head: lest any hostile Face
Appearing, should disturb the solemn Rites,
The holy Fires, and Honour of the Gods.
This Form in sacrificing let your Friends
With you observe; and let your future Race
Pious in this Religion persevere.—

Id. Ibid.

—He to mighty Jove
An hundred spatious Temples, in his Realms
Of wide Extent, an hundred Altars built:
And consecrated to the Gods the Hearths
Of everlasting Fire: The Ground with Blood
Of slaughter'd Victims smoking: and the Doors
With various colour'd flow'ry Wreaths adorn'd.—

Id. Æn. Lib. IV.

He wakes the Embers, and the sleeping Fire,
And with a holy Cake and Censer fill'd,
The Trojan Lar, and aged Vesta's Shrine
Suppliant adores.—

Id. Æn. Lib. V.

Now from your Bowls to Jove Libations pour:
My Sire Anchises with religious Pray'rs
Invoke: and on your Boards replace the Wine.
This said, He binds his Temples with a Wreath
Of verdant Boughs, and supplicant adores
The Genius of the Place, and Earth the first
Of Deities, the Nymphs, and River-Gods
As yet unknown, and Night, and of the Night
The rising starry Signs: in order next
The Phrygian Mother, and Idæan Jove,
And both his Parents, one rever'd in Heav'n,
And one in Erebus.—

Id. Æn. Lib. VII.

315

Sleep leaves Æneas, and the Night retires.
Rising, he turns him to the rising Sun,
And, from the River, in his hollow Hands,
By solemn Rite accustom'd, Water takes,
And thus prefers his Suit in open Air.
Ye Nymphs! Laurentian Nymphs! from whom the Birth
Of Rivers springs: And Thou, supreme of Floods,
O Father Tyber! with thy sacred Stream
Receive Æneas, and relieve his Toils.
Thou, who with Pity dost regard our Woes,
In whate'er Soil thy beauteous Head is rais'd,
Where-e'er thy Source: For ever shall by me
Thy Deity be honour'd, horny God,
King of Hesperian Rivers. Only grant
To Us thy nearer Succour I implore.—

Id. Æn. Lib. VIII.

Æneas (tho' th' Interment of his Friends
Hurries his Thoughts, with Fun'ral Cares perplex'd,)
With the first Dawn of Morning, Victor pays
His Vows to Heav'n.—

Id. Æn. Lib. XI.

River (passing over.)

—To them the rapid Water's Course,
First plung'd amidst the Flood the bolder Horse:
With Strength oppos'd against the Stream they lead,
While to the smoother Ford the Foot with Ease succeed.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lb. I.

—Spur on the winged Horse:
And march the Foot, the Bridge, tho' falling, force.
Make good your Passage, my brave Friends! he said:
Swift as a Storm the nimble Horse obey'd:
A-cross the Stream their deadly Darts they throw,
And from their Station drive the yielding Foe.
The Victors at their Ease the Ford explore,
And pass the undefended River o'er.—

Id. Lucan. Lib. II.

Cæsar commands to Arms: Without delay
The Soldier to the River bends his Way:
None then with cautious Care the Bridge explor'd,
Or sought the Shallows of the safer Ford:

317

Arm'd at all Points, they plunge amidst the Flood,
And with strong Sinews make the Passage good:
Dangers they scorn'd that might the Bold affright,
And stop ev'n panting. Cowards in their Flight.
At length the farther Bank attaining safe,
Chill'd by the Stream, their dropping Limbs they chafe:
Then with fresh Vigour urge the Foes Pursuit,
And in the sprightly Chace the Pow'rs of Life recruit.—

Id. Lucan. Lib. IV.

Rose.

She in the Morning calls; Ye Maids! prepare,
In rosy Garlands bind your flowing Hair:
'Tis Venus' Plant: The Blood fair Venus shed,
O'er the gay Beauty pour'd immortal Red:
From Love's soft Kiss a sweet Ambrosial Smell
Was taught for ever on the Leaves to dwell:
From Gems, from Flames, from orient Rays of Light,
The richest Lustre makes it's Purple bright.—

Parnel. Catull. Pervigil Veneris.

Rout.

See Battle. Slaughter.

Their Queen thus slain, first flies Camilla's Wing
Light-arm'd: the Rutuli confounded fly,
And brave Atinas, and the scatter'd Chiefs,
And broken Troops: To safer Posts they run,
And spur their foaming Steeds to reach the Town.
Nor now can any force in Arms sustain
The Trojans, pressing, and dispensing Death:
Or stand oppos'd: But languid back they bear
Their Bows unbent, and o'er their Shoulders slung:
And the swift Horses shake the putrid Soil
With sounding Hoofs. A turbid Cloud of Dust
Rolls to the City: On the lofty Tow'rs
The Matrons stand, and to th' etherial Stars
Raise female Cries: And frantick beat their Breasts.

With Those who thro' the open Gates first croud
Into the Town, a mingled Throng of Foes

319

Together presses: Nor a cruel Death
Do they escape: but ev'n within their Walls,
Their Houses, and beneath their native Roofs,
Transfix'd expire their Souls. Some shut the Gates:
Nor durst permit their own imploring Friends
To enter: Those with Arms the Passes guard,
These rush against those Arms: Among them All,
A Slaughter vast, and terrible, ensues.
Others, before their weeping Parents Eyes,
Excluded, by the Rout, and Ruin urg'd,
Down the steep Trenches leap: With loosen'd Reins
Some forward spur their Steeds, and blindly tilt
Against the Gates, the Bars, and solid Posts.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. XI.

The fiery Steeds, impatient of a Wound,
Hurl their neglected Riders to the Ground:
Or on their Friends with Rage ungovern'd turn,
And trampling o'er the helpless Foot, are born.
Hence foul Confusion and Dismay succeed,
The Victors murder, and the Vanquish'd bleed:
Their weary Hands the tir'd Destroyers ply,
Scarce can these kill, so fast as those can die.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. VII.

Sacrifice.

See Funerals. Religious Rites.

Soon as the Hills at Distance we behold
Obscure in Mists, and Italy's low Plains,
My Sire Anchises a large Goblet crowns,
Fills it with Wine, and standing on the Deck
Aloft, invokes the Gods.—
Ye Gods! Controulers of the Land, the Seas,
And Tempests: speed our Voyage by the Winds,
And breathe propitious!—

Trap. Æn. Lib. III.

First to the Temple they repair, and seek
Heav'n's Favour at the Altars: On them laid,
Selected Victims, with accustom'd Rites,
To Ceres Law-giver, and Phœbus, bleed,
And Father Bacchus:—But above the rest
To Juno, who presides o'er nuptial Beds.

321

The beauteous Queen herself a Goblet holds
In her Right Hand, and for Libation pours
The Wine betwixt the Snow-white Heifer's Horns:
Or round the smoking Altars slowly walks
Before the Statues of the Gods: with Gifts
Renews the Day: and on the open'd Breasts
Of Victims, eagerly intent, consults
Their breathing Entrails.—

Id. Æn. Lib. IV.

Dido.

Now all the People nine whole Days had spent
In Feasts: and Honour to the Altars paid:
Three Calves to Eryx, to the Storms a Lamb
He then commands to Sacrifice, and loose
The Cables all in order from the Shore.
Himself with Olive-Foliage shorn entwines
His Head: and, standing on the distant Deck,
A Goblet holds, and on the briny Deep
Scatters the Entrails, pouring purest Wine.—

Id. Æn. Lib. V.

It chanc'd that on That Day, th' Arcadian King,
Before the City, in a Grove's Recess,
To great Alcides, and the Gods, perform'd
A solemn Sacrifice: At which his Son
Pallas assisted, and the chosen Youth,
And wealthless Senate: Clouds of Incense rose,
And at the Altars smok'd the tepid Blood.

The chosen Youth, industrious, and the Priest
Bring roasted Flesh of Bulls, distribute Bread
In Baskets pil'd, and minister the Wine.
Æneas, and, with him the Trojan Youth
Feed on a solid Steer's perpetual Chine,
And hallow'd Entrails for Lustration fry'd.—

Id. Æn. Lib. VIII.

He said: the double-colour'd Poplar veils
His Temples with Herculean Shade, and hangs
In twining Leaves: A consecrated Bowl
Fills his left Hand: All, joyous, on the Board
Pour their Libations, and invoke the Gods.
Mean-while the Ev'ning to the Sky convex
Rolls near: The Priests, Potitius at their Head,

323

Bear lighted Torches: and, begirt with Skins
Accustom'd, in Procession walk, restore
The Banquets, bring the second grateful Chear,
And with fill'd Chargers pile the sacred Hearths.
The Salii next, with poplar Garlands wreath'd,
To tuneful Measures round the Altars dance.
A Youthful This, as That an aged Quire.
These sing the Praises and the God-like Deeds
Of Hercules.—Hail! undoubted Son of Jove!
New Honour to the Gods! Be present here
Propitious, and thy Sacrifice adorn.—

Id. Æn. Lib. VIII.

—In the Wood a Sow
Of Milk-white Colour, with her Milk-white Young,
Were found together on the verdant Shore.
Them good Æneas to thy Altar brings,
Great Queen of Gods, a Sacrifice to Thee.—

Id. Ibid.

The Feast approach'd, when to the blew-ey'd Maid,
His Vows, for Cygnus slain, Achilles paid,
And a white Heifer on her Altar laid.
The reeking Entrails on the Fire they threw,
And to the Gods the grateful Odour flew:
Heav'n had it's Part in Sacrifice: The rest
Was broil'd, and roasted, for the future Feast.
The chief invited Guests were plac'd around;
And Hunger first asswag'd, the Bowls were crown'd,
Which in deep Draughts their Cares and Labours drown'd.—

Dryden. Ovid. Met. Lib. XII.

Affection giving way to public Good,
No more the Parent now the King withstood;
The weeping Priests fair Iphigenia lead,
At the high Altar's Side prepar'd to bleed.
All mourn her Fate: but no Relief appear'd:
The Royal Victim bound, the Knife was rear'd:
When that offended Pow'r, who caus'd their Woe,
Relenting ceas'd her Wrath, and stopp'd the coming Blow:
A Mist before the Ministers she cast,
And, in the Virgin's Room a Hind she plac'd.

325

Th' Oblation slain, and Phœbe reconcil'd,
The Storm was hush'd, and roaring Ocean smil'd:
A prosp'rous Gale the thousand Vessels bore,
Which, long distress'd, now gain the Phrygian Shore.—

Dryd. alt. Ovid. Met. Lib. XII.

Diana.

This Account of Iphigenia seems a Mixture of two Scripture Stories Abraham's Sacrifice of his Son, Gen. Chap. xxii. and Jephtha's Vow Judges, Chap. xi.—It is worth observing, that many Passages among the Greek and Roman Poets bear a very near Resemblance to what we find in the Jewish Books, and probably were taken thence, and fashioned by the Borrowers according to the Opinions of their own Times, and apply'd to their own Gods and Heroes. The Story of Baucis and Philemon, Vol. I. pag. 499 is another Instance of this Sort, and seems two other Scripture Stories blended and disguised; as most People will judge, upon comparing it with Abraham and Sarah's Entertainment of three Angels, Gen. Chap. xviii. and Lot's Reception of two Angels, by whom he was preserved from the Destruction of wicked Sodom, Gen. Chap. xix.

Sacrifice to the Infernal Powers.

Four Bullocks first, with Hides of sable Hue,
The Priestess here before the Altars plac'd:
And full upon their Foreheads downwards pour'd
The Wine: Then plucking from between their Horns
Their foremost Hairs, into the holy Fire
The first Oblation flings: invoking loud
Great Hecatè, potent in Hell, and Heav'n.
Some, sticking Knives beneath, in Bowls receive
The tepid Blood: Æneas with his Sword
Himself dispatches to th' infernal Pow'rs,
The Mother of the Furies, and to Earth
Her Sister Deity, a black Ewe Lamb,
And, Proserpine, a barren Cow to Thee.
Then, to the Stygian Monarch he begins
The nightly Sacrifice: the solid Flesh
Of Bulls upon the flaming Altar lays,
And o'er their burning Entrails pours the Oil.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. VI.

Sailing.

See Navigation. Pilot. Storm at Sea.

—He gives command with speed
To raise the Masts, with Yards to stretch the Sails:

327

At once they tug the Haulsers all: at once
The left Side now unfurl, and now the right:
Now this, now that way, tack at once: The Fleet
With it's own Breezes smoothly plows the Waves.
Before them all, first Palinurus leads
Th' embody'd Line: The rest commanded steer
Their Course to him.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. V.

—Then all at once
The Trojans urge their Toil, and from the Dock
Draw their tall Ships: the new-pitch'd Gallies float.—

Id. Æn. Lib. IV.

—From all Parts, thou seest,
Rushing they croud the Shore; Their Sails unfurl'd
Invite the Breezes, and with joyful Haste
The shouting Mariners have crown'd their Ships.—

Id. Ibid.

—Good Æneas then,
Soon as the Deep lay smooth, with Canvas spread
Unmoors, and leaves the Port. A Breeze at Night
Springs fresh: Nor does the silver Moon deny
Her Beams, which tremble on the glim'ring Waves.—

Id. Æn. Lib. VII.

Neptune with Winds propitious swell'd their Sails,
And sped them safe beyond the boiling Tides.—

Id. Ibid.

—All at once the Winds
Lay hush'd, and ev'ry Blast: the lab'ring Oars
Cleave the smooth Marble of the yielding Deep.—

Id. Ibid.

He spoke, and spread His Canvas to the Wind,
Unmoor'd his Boat, and left the Shore behind.
Swift flew the nimble Keel: and as they past,
Long Trails of Light the shooting Meteors cast:
Ev'n the fixt Stars above in Motion seem,
Shake thro' the Blast, and dart a quiv'ring Beam.
Black Horrors on the gloomy Ocean brood,
And in long Ridges rolls the threatning Flood:
While loud and louder murm'ring Winds arise,
And growl from ev'ry Quarter of the Skies.
When thus the trembling Master, pale with Fear,
Behold what Wrath the dreadful Gods prepare!
My Art is at a Loss: the various Tide
Beats my unstable Bark on ev'ry Side:

329

From the Nor-West the setting Current swells,
While Southern Storms the driving Rack foretells.
Our only means of Safety is to yield,
And measure back with Haste the foamy Field:
To reach, while yet we may, the neighb'ring Shore,
And give our unavailing Labour o'er.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. V.

Satyr.

Sharp as a Sword, Lucilius drew his Pen,
And struck, with pannic Terror, guilty Men:
At his just Strokes the hardned Wretch would start,
Feel the cold Sweat, and tremble at the Heart.—

Anon. alt Juv. Sat. I.

—With conceal'd Design
Did crafty Horace his low Numbers join:
And, with a sly insinuating Grace,
Laugh'd at his Friend, and look'd him in the Face:
Would raise a Blush, where secret Vice he found,
And tickle, whilst he gently prob'd the Wound.
With seeming Innocence the Crowd beguil'd:
But made the desp'rate Passes when he smil'd.—

Dryd. Pers. Sat. I.

Scylla and Charybdis.

Far off we hear the Sea with dreadful Roar
Break on the Rocks, and dash upon the Shore.
The foamy Waves boil high on ev'ry Side,
And scoop the Sands, and blacken all the Tide.
Charybdis' Gulf, my Father cries, behold!
And those the Rocks which Helenus foretold:
Ply, ply your Oars, my Friends, and bear away:
Swift as the Word, the Mariners obey.
First skillful Palinure: then all the Train
Steer to the left, and plow the liquid Main.
Now on a tow'ring Arch of Waves we rise,
Heav'd on the bounding Billows to the Skies;
Then as the roaring Surge retreating fell,
We shoot down headlong to the Depths of Hell.
Thrice the rough Rocks rebellow in our Ears,
Thrice mount we on the Waves, and see the dewy Stars.—

Pitt alt. Virg. Æn. Lib. II.

331

On the right Hand roars Scylla, on the Left
Implacable Charybdis, which, with Gulf
Voracious, thrice sucks in the broken Tides;
Then spouts them high, disgorg'd, into the Air,
Alternate, and with Billows beats the Stars.
But Scylla, with dark Caverns round inclos'd,
Uprears her Head, and draws among her Rocks
The Vessels: Human is her upper Part,
A Virgin's beauteous Face, and beauteous Breast;
Her nether Shape a monstrous Pristis joyn'd
To Tails of Dolphins, and the Wombs of Wolves.—

Trap. Ibid.

Here cruel Scylla guards the rocky Shore,
And there the Waves of loud Charybdis roar:
This sucks, and vomits Ships, and Bodies drown'd,
And rav'nous Dogs the Womb of That surround:
In Face a Virgin: and (if ought be true
By Bards recorded) once a Virgin too.—

Catcott. Ovid. Met. Lib. XIII.

Sea.

See Storm at Sea.

As when the Ocean whitens with the Foam,
And from a-far rolls wavy to the Shore,
Roaring with dreadful Noise among the Rocks,
And riding, ridgy, of a Mountain's Height;
The lowest Deep with circling Eddy boils,
And to the Surface hurls the sable Sand.—

Trap. Virg. Geor. Lib. III.

Sea-Fight.

All rush at once: And all the Ocean foams
Convuls'd with dashing Oars, and trident Beaks.
They hoise to Sea: The Cyclades up-torn
You would have thought were floating on the Deep:
Or lofty Hills encount'ring Hills: So huge
The tow'ring Vessels, rigg'd and mann'd for War.
Fire-Balls of Tow, and missile Jav'lins fly:
And recent Gore discolours Neptune's Fields.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. VIII.

333

Now, Prow to Prow, advance each hostile Fleet,
And want but one concurring Stroke to meet:
Now Peals of Shouts, and mingling Clamours roar,
And drown the brazen Trump, and plunging Oar.
The brushing Pine the frothy Surface plies,
While on the Banks their lusty Rowers rise;
Each brings the Stroke back on his ample Chest,
Then firm upon his Seat he lights represt.
With clashing Beaks the launching Vessels meet,
And from the mutual Shock alike retreat.
Thick Clouds of flying Shafts the Welkin hide,
Then fall, and floating strow the Ocean wide.
At length the stretching Wings their Order leave,
And in the Line the mingling Foe receive.

Some lie, by Chains and Grapplings strong compell'd,
Whilst Others by the tangling Oars are held:
The Seas are hid beneath the closing War,
Nor need they cast the Jav'lin now from far:
With hardy Strokes the Combatants engage,
And with keen Faulchions deal their deadly Rage.
Man against Man, and Board by Board they lie,
And on those Decks their Arms defended, die.
The rolling Surge is stain'd around with Blood,
And foamy Purple swells the rising Flood.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. III.

Seasons.

See Autumn. Spring. Winter. Year.

There stood gay Spring, fair Flow'rs her Brows surround,
There Summer, naked, and with Wheat-Ears crown'd.
With trodden Grapes, there Autumn stood besmear'd;
And icy Winter, with his hoary Beard.—

Ov. Met. II.

In every Season Pleasures may be found;
Autumn with Fruit, with Harvest Summer's crown'd:
The Spring's adorn'd with Flow'rs to charm the Eye,
And Winter Fires the absent Sun supply.—

Tate. Ovid. Rem. Am.

First comes the Spring, and Venus ever gay,
And flutt'ring Zephyrus that prepares her Way:

335

Flora, before them, with a lib'ral Hand,
Indulgent, strows her Blessings o'er the Land:
Now various Flow'rs enrich'd with Brilliant Dyes,
Now fragrant Odours ev'ry where arise.
Heat, next, and dusty Harvest come in Place,
And Summer Breezes fan the Sun-burnt Face.
Then Autumn comes, repleat with sparkling Wine:
All Hail, Great Bacchus, glorious and divine!
Unsettled then, and changeable the Skies,
And all uncertain are the Winds that rise.
From East and South the roaring Tempest springs,
And with loud Thunder flashing Lightning brings.
Cold then, benumbing, comes, severely blows
The piercing North, and scatters Frosts and Snows.
Winter succeeds, decrepid, wrinkled, old,
Chatter his Teeth, his Limbs all shake with Cold.—

Lucret. Lib. V.

Spring's genial Warmth the Winter Cold succeeds;
Then Summer comes, and parches up the Meads;
Close follows fruitful Autumn, crown'd with Grain;
And shiv'ring Winter soon returns again.—

Hor. Lib. IV. Od. 7.

Secrets.

O Corydon, art Thou so dull to think,
A Great Man's Vices e'er can be conceal'd?
Suppose his Servants hush; yet ev'n his Beasts,
His Dog, his Columns, and his Walls will tell.
Bar fast the Windows, ev'ry Crevice stop,
Shut the Doors close, and take the Lights away:
Be Silence all around, no Mortal near:
Yet whate'er Crime at Midnight he commits,
His Butler knows before the rising Day:
And quickly shall he hear his Steward and Cook,
With snarling Scoffs, enlarging on the Tale.
For Servants never scruple to revenge
Their Master's angry Words, or hasty Blows,
By charging on them ev'ry Crime they can.
Nor shalt Thou fail to find upon the Road,

337

Some drunken Rogue to plague thee with his Jokes,
And din thy Faults, and Follies, in thy Ears.

A virtuous Life on all Accounts is best,
And amongst Others, that Thou may'st despise
The Tongues of Servants: for the greatest Harm
Those Rascals can commit, is with their Tongues.
Yet more a Wretch than they, is that poor Slave,
Who stands in Awe of those he feeds and pays.—

Juv. Sat. IX.

Yes, trust me, ev'ry Mouth of human Mold,
Can Fire, much sooner than a Secret hold:
For whatsoe'er in Whispers you confide,
Strait flies abroad, exulting, far and wide.
While such Additions the proud Wonder swell,
As burthen even Fame herself to tell.—

Addison junr. Petron. Arb.

Serpent. Snake.

Fresh from his Den, the Winter slept away,
Shoots forth the burnish'd Snake in open Day:
Who, fed with ev'ry Poison of the Plain,
Sheds his old Spoils, and shines in Youth again;
Proud of his golden Scales rolls tow'ring on,
And darts his forky Tongue, and glitters in the Sun.—

Pitt. Virg. Æn. Lib. II.

Lo, horrid to relate! two Serpents glide,
And roll incumbent on the glassy Tide,
Advancing to the Shore: their Spires they raise
Fold above Fold, in many a tow'ring Maze.
Beneath their burnish'd Breasts the Waters glow,
Their crimson Crests inflame the Deeps below:
O'er the vast Flood, extended long and wide,
Their curling Backs lay floating on the Tide:
Lash'd to a Foam the boiling Billows roar,
And soon the dreadful Monsters reach'd the Shore:
Their hissing Tongues they darted as they came,
And their red Eye-Balls shot a sanguine Flame.—

Id. Ibid.

—From the Bottom of the Shrine
A slipp'ry Serpent, vast, sev'n Volumes roll'd,
Sev'n Spires: he gently twines around the Tomb

339

And o'er the Altar glides: Cerulean Streaks,
And burnish'd Spots, distinct with Drops of Gold,
Brighten'd his Back, and glitt'ring Scales: As when
From th' adverse Sun the show'ry Bow reflects
A thousand various Colours in the Clouds.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. V.

A Serpent too of more distinguish'd Note
Lurks in Calabria's Woods: his Breast erect:
His scaly Back convolv'd: his Belly long,
And speckl'd with large Spots.—While Rivers burst
From Fountains, while in dewy Spring the Earth
Is moisten'd by the rainy Southern Winds,
He lives in Water: and, the Nooks of Banks
Inhabiting, on Fish, and croaking Frogs,
Voracious, feeds: and crams his filthy Maw.
But when the Ponds are dry'd, and Summer cleaves
The Soil adust, He darts into the Fields,
Raging, and rolling round his fiery Eyes,
Scar'd by the Heat, exasp'rated with Thirst.
Ah! may I never then in open Air
Sweet Sleep indulge, nor lie upon the Grass
In a cool Glade; when having cast his Skin,
And new, and sleek in glitt'ring Youth, he rolls:
Or, leaving in his Den his Eggs, or young,
Sublime against the Sun, his burnish'd Crest
Uprears, and darts his quiv'ring forky Tongue.—

Id. Virg. Georg. Lib. III.

Deep in this dreary Den, conceal'd from Day,
Sacred to Mars, a mighty Serpent lay:
Bloated with Poyson to a monstrous Size,
Fire broke in Flashes when he glanc'd his Eyes:
His tow'ring Crest was glorious to behold,
Erect it stood, and shone like beaten Gold.
Three Tongues he brandish'd when he charg'd his Foes,
His Teeth stood threat'ning in three dreadful Rows.

Soon as this Den th' unlucky Tyrians found,
And in the Spring, their plunging Pitchers sound,
Rows'd by the Noise, the Serpent 'gan to rear
His blew-green Head, and Hissings fill'd the Air.
The Tyrians drop'd their Vessels in the Fright,
All pale and shudd'ring at the hideous Sight.

341

Spire above Spire, uprear'd in Air, he stood,
And gazing round him, overlook'd the Wood:
Then floating on the Ground, in Circles roll'd,
He rush'd along in many a winding Fold.
Of such a Length, and such a monstrous Size,
The Serpent in the polar Circle lies,
That stretches over half the Northern Skies.
In vain the Tyrians on their Arms rely,
In vain attempt to fight, in vain to fly:
All their Endeavours and their Hopes are vain!
Some die entangl'd in the winding Train:
Some he devours, and some his pois'nous Breath,
And mortal Venom doom to sudden Death.

And now his Rage increasing with his Pain,
Enlarg'd his Throat with ev'ry swelling Vein;
With Scales erect he furrows up the Ground,
Which from each Motion gives a rushing Sound.
Churn'd in his Teeth the foamy Venom rose,
And from his Mouth a Blast of Vapours flows,
Such as th' infernal Stygian Waters cast:
The Air around was poison'd with the Blast.
Now, in a Maze of Rings he lies enroll'd,
Now, all unravell'd, and without a Fold:
Now, like a Torrent, with a mighty Force,
Bears down the Forest in his boist'rous Course.—

Addison alt. Ovid. Met. Lib. III.

Severity.

With jealous Madness fir'd, she flies in haste,
And tells the King, his Daughter was unchaste.
The King, incens'd to hear his Honour stain'd,
No more the Father, nor the Man retain'd.
In vain she stretch'd her Arms, and turn'd her Eyes
To her lov'd God, Enlightner of the Skies:
In vain she own'd it was a Crime, yet still
It was a Crime not acted by her Will.

343

The brutal Sire stood deaf to ev'ry Pray'r,
And, deep in Earth, intomb'd alive the Fair.—

Eusden. Ovid. Met. Lib. IV.

And now appear'd the Messenger of Death,
Sad were his Looks, and scarce he drew his Breath,
To say, Your Father sends you—(With that Word
His trembling Hands presented me a Sword:)
Your Father sends You this, and let's You know
That Your own Crimes the Use of it will show.—

Dryden. Ovid. Epist. XI.

Orchamus, King of Persia, being informed of his Daughter Leucothoe's Amour with Phœbus, caused her to be interred alive.

From Æolus to his Daughter Canace who had committed Incest with her own Brother.

Shame.

See Blushing.

She threw her Body prostrate on the Bed,
And to conceal her Blushes hid her Head:
Oh go! or question me no more, she said,
But spare the Blushes of a wretched Maid.—

Again she rais'd her Head: but soon oppress'd
With Shame, reclin'd it on her Nurse's Breast:
Bath'd it with Tears, and strove to have confess'd.
Twice she began, and stopp'd: again she try'd:
The falt'ring Tongue its Office still deny'd:
At last her Veil before her Face she spread.—

Dryden alt. Ovid. Met. Lib. X.

Sheep.

First, I direct, that in warm Huts the Sheep
Be fodder'd till the leafy Spring returns:
And that the frosty Ground with Fern, or Straw,
Be litter'd underneath them: Lest the Ice
Should hurt the tender Cattle, and induce
The foul contagious Scab, or cramp their Limbs.

But when gay Spring returns, and Zephyrs breathe
Inviting: To the Lawns and Pastures send
Both Goats and Sheep: When Venus first appears,
On the cool Herbage let them feed: while fresh
The Morning rises, while the Meads are grey,
And most the Cattle on the tender Grass
Enjoy the Dew.—

345

If Wool be thy Delight, from prickly Brakes,
And Burs, and Thistles, be thy Flocks remov'd:
Rich Pastures shun: soft, Snow-white Fleeces chuse.
The Ram, tho' white himself, if underneath
His humid Palate ev'n his Tongue be black,
Discard, (lest He with sable Spots infect
The new-born Lambs, discolouring the Race,)
And seek another o'er the well-stock'd Field.—

Id.

—The foul contagious Scab
Seizes the Sheep, when far into their Flesh
The Cold of Rain, or Winter's hoary Frost
Has sunk: Or to their new-shorn Sides the Sweat
Adheres, unwash'd away: Or prickly Briers
Their Bodies wound.—

Whatever Sheep thou feest to Shades retire
More frequent; or more negligently chew
The topmost Grass: or loiter in the Rear:
Or, feeding, on the Field lie down: or late,
And lonely, with the Close of Eve, return:
Delay not, kill th' Infected: e'er thro' all
Th' unwary Flock the dire Contagion spread.—

Trap. Virg. Georg. Lib. III.

Ship-Race.

Four Ships selected out from all the Fleet,
Equal, begin the Strife with pond'rous Oars.
His swiftly sailing Pristis Mnestheus plies
With sturdy Rowers.—In the huge Chimera,
A City's Work, rides Gygas: Her impel
The youthful Trojans with a triple Tire:
Three Banks of Oars above each other rise.
Sergestus in the mighty Centaur sails:
And Scylla of cerulean Colour bears
Cloanthus—.

There stood a Rock at Distance in the Main:
Here Prince Æneas from a leafy Oak,
To guide the Sailors plants a verdant Goal:
From whence they should return, and round direct
In long Circumference their winding Course.

347

Then All by Lot their Places take: and first,
The Chiefs in Gold and Crimson stand, from far
Effulgent on the Decks: The other Youth
With poplar Wreaths are shaded: smear'd with Oil
Their naked Shoulders shine: upon their Seats
With strong brac'd Arms intent they grasp their Oars,
Intent expect the Signal: Throbbing Fear
Beats in their Breasts, and anxious Love of Praise.
Soon as the Trumpet loudly sounds, at once
All from their Barriers spring: The Shouts confus'd
Of Sailors rend the Vault of Heav'n: The Sea
Turn'd upward froths beneath their dashing Arms:
At once they plow the Brine: and all the Deep
Yawns wide, convuls'd with Oars, and trident Beaks.
Then with the Party-Favour of the Crowd,
With Shouts and mix'd Applauses all the Grove
Resounds: The Shores included roll the Noise:
And from the echoing Hills the Voice returns.

Amidst the Throng and Hurry on the Waves,
Before the rest, first Gyas scuds away:
Him next Cloanthus follows, with his Oars
More happy: but his Vessel by it's Weight
Detains him tardy: After These, with Sails
Equal, the Pristis, and the Centaur strive
To run the foremost: Now the Pristis gains,
Now the huge Centaur wins on Her: Now Both
Together with united Fronts are born:
And the long Gallies plow the briny Deep.

They now approach'd the Rock, and reach'd the Goal,
When Gyas first, and Victor, in mid-Sea
Calls to Menætes Pilot of his Ship:
Whither so far decline You to the Right?
Hither direct your Steerage, love the Shore,
And let our Rowers raze the left-hand Rocks:
Leave Others to the Deep.—He said: but old
Menætes, fearing hidden Shelves, detorts
His Rudder to the Ocean:—Why so far
Diverse, Menætes? Nearer to the Shore,

349

Gyas again calls out aloud, and sees
Cloanthus close and pressing on his Stern.
He, betwixt Gyas, and the sounding Rocks,
Interior, skims the left-hand Way, and swift
Outstrips his Rival, and beyond the Goal
Smooth shoots along, and gains the safer Seas.
The Youth with Rage and Disappointment fir'd,
(Tears running down his Cheeks) his Dignity
Forgetting, and the Safety of his Friends,
Push'd slow Menætes from the high-built Deck
Precipitate into the Sea: Himself
As Pilot takes his Place, exhorting loud
His Crew, and turns the Rudder to the Shore.

This unexpected Change with eager Hope
Fires Mnestheus, and Sergestus, lagging last,
To vanquish Gyas thus retarded.—First
Sergestus takes his Place, and to the Rock
Approaches: yet not all his Vessel first,
Part first, the Rival Pristis presses part
Close with her Beak. Then Mnestheus, thro' the Crew
Walking along the middle of his Deck,
Excites his Mates.—And now, with utmost Force
They tug their Oars: With vast repeated Strokes
The beaky Vessel trembles, and the Sea
Flies back: The panting Labour shakes their Limbs,
And clammy Mouths: Sweat flows in Rivers round.
Fortune to These the wish'd-for Honour gave:
For while Sergestus, furious in the Strife,
And heedless, urg'd his Foredeck to the Shelves,
Interior, and within a narrow Space
Of Sea confin'd: amidst the jutting Rocks
He stuck, unfortunate: The Rocks rebound:
Among their craggy Points the stubborn Oars
Stand cracking, bent: The Foredeck shatter'd hangs:
The Crew of Sailors rise, and clamour loud,
Detain'd, embarass'd: Iron Spikes and Poles
Of sharpen'd Oak they ply: and on the Gulf,
Industrious, gather up the broken Oars.

351

But Mnestheus joyful, and with that Success
Itself more vig'rous, with his rowing Crowd,
And all the Winds invited to his Sails,
Gains the prone Deep, and swiftly shoots away
Upon the open Ocean.—First He leaves
Sergestus struggling with the lofty Rock,
Pent up among the narrow Shelves, in vain
Calling for Help, and learning how to run
With broken Oars. Then Gyas, and the huge
Chimæra's Bulk he follows: She, because
She lost her Pilot, yields. Cloanthus now
Alone remains, just entring in the Port:
Him he pursues, and with his utmost Strength
Close urges. Now the Noise redoubles: All
With Shouts encourage him: The Sky resounds
With deaf'ning Clamour. These disdain to lose
Th' Advantage they have gain'd, and burn to stake
Their Lives for Glory: Those Success inspires:
They can, because 'tis thought they can: And Both
Perhaps had born the Prize with equal Keels,
Had not Cloanthus, stretching to the Sea
His Hands, Thus vow'd, and Thus invok'd the Gods.
Ye Gods! who rule the Ocean which I sail!
Victor before your Altars, on This Shore,
To You a Snow-white Bull I will present,
Oblig'd by Vow; and on the briny Deep
Scatter the Entrails, pouring purest Wine.
He said: And him beneath the lowest Waves
The whole Assembly of the Nereids heard,
And Phorcus, and the Virgin Panopea;
And old Portunus with his ample Palm
Himself push'd on the Vessel: She more swift
Than Wind, or feather'd Arrow, flies to Land,
Within the Harbour's deep Recess secure.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. V.

353

Shout.

See Battle.

Now all the ready Legions vow to join
Their Chief belov'd, in ev'ry bold Design:
All lift their well-approving Hands on high,
And rend with Peals of loud Applause the Sky.
Such is the Sound, when Thracian Boreas spreads
His weighty Wings o'er Ossa's piny Heads:
At once the noisy Groves are all inclin'd,
And, bending, roar beneath the sweeping Wind:
At once their rattling Branches All they rear,
And drive the leafy Clamour thro' the Air.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. I.

As when the Winds, against the rocky Shore
The Billows drive, or make the Forests roar:
So loud the Shout, when rich and strangely drest
The Player comes, they clap his gawdy Vest.
Well, hath the Actor spoken? Not a Line:
Why then d'ye clap? Oh, Sir, his Cloths are fine.—

Creech alt. Æn. Lib II.

A Shout ascending beats the golden Stars,
Immense.—

Trap.

Sibyl.

See Oracle.

You'll see the Sibyl in her rocky Cave,
And hear the furious Maid divinely rave.
The dark Decrees of Fate the Virgin sings,
And writes on Leaves, Names, Characters, and Things.
The mystic Numbers in the Cavern laid,
Are rang'd in order by the sacred Maid:
There they repose in Ranks along the Floor:
At length a casual Wind unfolds the Door:
The casual Wind disorders the Decrees,
And the loose Fates are scatter'd by the Breeze.
She scorns to range them, and again unite
The fleeting Scrolls, or stop their airy Flight.
Then back retreat the disappointed Train,
And curse the Sibyl they consult in vain.

355

But Thou, more wise, thy purpos'd Course delay,
Tho' thy rash Friends should summon Thee away:
And wait with Patience, tho' the flatt'ring Gales
Sing in thy Shrowds, and fill thy op'ning Sails.
With suppliant Pray'rs intreat her to relate,
In vocal Accents all thy various Fate.—

Pitt. Æn. Lib. III.

But good Æneas to the tow'ring Fane
Repairs, o'er which Apollo high presides:
And to the spacious Cavern, where retir'd
The venerable Sibyl dwells: to whom
Prophetick Delius an extensive Soul
And Mind inspires, and future Things reveals.—

Trap.

—Cut deep in the Eubœan Rock
A Roomy Cave descended: whither lead
An hundred Entrances of wide Extent,
An hundred Mouths: whence rush as many Sounds,
The Sibyl's Oracles. And now they reach'd
The Portal: When the Virgin, 'Tis the Time
Now to enquire the Doom of Fate: Behold,
The God, the God, she cry'd.—While thus she spoke,
Before the Doors, her Looks, her Colour chang'd,
Sudden: Her Hair in wild Confusion rose:
Enthusiastic Fury heav'd her Breast,
And throbbing Heart: More large her Form appear'd:
Nor spoke she mortal Accents: when inspir'd
By the more present God. Dost thou delay,
Trojan Æneas, thy Requests, and Vows?
Dost thou delay? She cry'd: For not till then
The trembling Fane will open wide it's Mouths.
This said, she silent stood: A chilling Fear
Ran thro' the hardy Trojan's Bones.—
—Impatient in her Grot

Apollo's swelling Priestest wildly raves:
Reluctant, lab'ring from her Breast to heave
Th' incumbent God: So much the more he curbs
Her foamy Mouth, subdues her madding Heart,
And pressing forms her. Now spontaneous fly
Wide ope the Cavern's hundred spacious Mouths,
And waft her Oracles into the Air.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. VI.

357

The Sibyl backward turns her aweful Eyes:
And, I no Goddess am, with Sighs replies:
Your Incense spare, and Attributes of Praise,
Nor to the Rank of Gods a mortal raise.
Yet know, that I like Gods had never dy'd,
Would I with Phœbus' Passion have comply'd:
Who, while he woo'd me to his scorn'd Embrace,
And offer'd high to tempt me to Disgrace,
Ask what Thou wilt, Cumæan Fair, said He:
Thou shalt enjoy thy Wish, whate'er it be.
I snatch'd a Heap of Sand, and wish'd to bear,
For ev'ry numb'red Grain I grasp'd, a Year.
Forgetful that I was, to wish not too,
That I my Youth might ev'ry Year renew!
Perpetual Youth, and still unfading Charms,
The God had giv'n, would I have fill'd his Arms.
His Gifts despis'd, a single Life I led,
Nor deign'd the God the Honour of my Bed.

But now those happy blooming Days are gone,
And crazy Age with trembling Steps comes on:
Sev'n Ages have I liv'd: and live I must,
Till I in Years can score those Grains of Dust.
Three hundred circling Springs, and Autumns still
Remain behind, the vast Amount to fill.
The Time shall come, when Age and long Decay
Will shrink the Substance of this mould'ring Clay:
Then none shall think I e'er had Charms to fire
A God, or be an Object of Desire.
Such Change shall I endure, he will not know,
Or will deny that once he lov'd me so.
No Eye shall see me: yet a Voice alone,
The Fates will grant, by which I shall be known.—

Pope. Ovid. Met. Lib. XIV.

Siege. Assault.

See City Taken.

He, turbulent in Ire, surveys the Walls
This Way, and That, and on his lofty Steed
The Passes inaccessible explores.

359

Doubtful which Post to try, and how to draw
The Trojans from their Trenches to the Field.

All this the Trojans, from their lofty Mounds
Trembling beheld, and man their Works in Arms:
With anxious Fear the guarded Gates explore,
And join the Battlements with Bridges laid.

Turnus excites the Soldiery to Arms,
Himself in Arms: All marshall for the Fight
Their brazen Squadrons: and with various Talk
Exasperated, whet each other's Rage.
The hardy Trojans on the left Hand Walls
(A River guards the Right,) oppose their War:
Within their roomy Trenches range their Line,
And, anxious, on the high-built Turrets stand.

Strait the loud Trumpet's Brass with dire Alarm
Sounds shrill from far; a thund'ring Shout succeeds:
And Heav'n's high Vault rebellows to the Noise.
The Volscians, by a Canopy of Shields
Protected, forwards rush, prepare to fill
The Trenches, and to level with the Plain
The Bulwarks rais'd. Some, viewing round, explore
The Passes: and attempt to scale the Walls,
Where by thin Ranks less guarded they appear.
The Trojans opposite, by lasting Siege
Long since experienc'd in defensive War,
Pour ev'ry kind of Weapons: push them back
With spiky Poles, and tumble from above
Vast rocky Fragments of pernicious Weight:
If possible to break the Roof of Shields
Which hides the Troop: Yet They all Dangers chuse
Beneath their iron Tortoise to sustain.
Not long: for where the thickest Globe of Foes
Crouds to the Walls, the Trojans from their Works
Roll down a Millstone of prodigious Size:
Which crush'd the Rutuli, and far and wide
Burst thro' the Cov'ring which their Armour form'd.

A Tow'r there stood, commodious and aloft
With Bridges rais'd, which all th' Italians strove

361

With utmost Force and Efforts to o'erturn:
To them oppos'd the Trojans pour a Storm
Of Stones, and thro' the Loop-holes shoot their Darts.
First Turnus, in the Van, a Firebrand threw,
And fix'd the flaming Mischief to it's Side:
Which, rising with the Wind, the Timber seiz'd,
And, sticking to the Lintels, eat it's Way.
Confus'd within They tremble, and in vain
Attempt to fly the Ruin.—While they throng
Huddled in Heaps, and to that Part retire,
Which from the Pest is free: Down sudden falls
The Tow'r: and Heav'n all thunders with the Noise.

A Shout thro' all the Works and Ramparts ran:
Eager they bend their Bows, and whirl their Slings:
The Ground all stuck with Darts, the hollow Casks
And Targets in the Shock of Conflict ring:
The Combat thickens, like a Storm that flies
From Westward, when the show'ry Kids arise.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. IX.

Turnus.

—They all in Emulation strive,
And form a Wedge, and rushing storm the Walls.
Ladders at once, and sudden Fire appears.
Some to the Gates advance, and kill the first
Who obvious stand: some hurl the missive Steel
In Storms of Shafts, and darken all the Sky.—

Id. Virg. Æn. Lib. XII.

Among the trembling Citizens within
Wild Discord reigns: some press to ope the Gates
Wide to the Trojans, and the King himself
Drag to the Walls: some resolute in Arms
Sustain the Combat, and defend the Town.—

Id. Ibid.

On rolling Wheels they raise a lofty Tow'r,
Whence on the Walls a Storm of Darts they pour.
Nor with less active Rage the Grecians burn:
But larger Ruin on their Foes return.
Nor Hands alone the missile Deaths supply,
From strong-spring'd Cross-Bows whistling Arrows fly:

363

The steely Corslet and the Bones they break,
Thro' Multitudes their fatal Journeys take,
Nor wait the ling'ring Parcœ's slow Delay,
But wound, and to new Slaughter wing their Way.

Now, by some vast Machine, a pond'rous Stone,
Pernicious, from the hostile Wall is thrown:
At once, on many, swift the Shock descends,
And the crush'd Carcasses confounding blends.
So rolls some falling Rock by Age long worn,
Loose from it's Root by raging Whirlwinds torn,
And, thund'ring down the Precipice is born:
O'er crashing Woods the Mass is seen to ride,
It's Way it grinds, and plains the Mountain's Side.

Gall'd with the Shot from far, the Legions join;
Their Bucklers in the warlike Shell combine:
Compact and close the brazen Roof they bear,
And in just Order to the Walls draw near.
Safe they advance, while with unweary'd Pain,
The wrathful Engines waste their Stores in vain:
High o'er their Heads the destin'd Deaths are toss'd,
And far behind in vacant Earth are lost.
Nor sudden could they change their erring Aim,
Slow, and unweildy moves the cumbrous Frame.

This seen, the Greeks their brawny Arms employ,
And hurl a stony Tempest from on high:
The clatt'ring Show'r the sounding Fence assails,
In vain, as when the stormy Winter hails,
Nor on the solid Roof at all prevails.
But; tir'd at length, the Warriors fall their Shields,
And, spent with Toil, the broken Phalanx yields.

Now other Stratagems the War supplies,
Beneath the Vinea close th' Assailant lies:
The strong Machine, with Planks and Turf bespread,
Moves to the Walls it's well-defended Head:
Within the Covert safe the Miners lurk,
And to the deep Foundation urge their Work.
Now justly pois'd the thund'ring Ram they sling,
And drive him forceful with a launching Spring:

365

Hoping to loose some yielding Part at length,
And shake the firm cemented Bulwark's Strength.
But, from the Town, the sturdy Youth prepare
With hardy Vigour to repel the War:
Crouding they gather on the Rampart's Height,
And with tough Staves, and Spears, maintain the Fight:
Darts, Fragments of the Rock, and Flames they throw,
And tear the planky Shelter fix'd below:
Around by all the warring Tempest beat,
The baffled Romans sullenly retreat.

Now by Success the brave Massilians fir'd,
To Fame of higher Enterprize aspir'd:
Nor longer with their Walls Defence content,
In daring Sallies they the Foe prevent.
Nor arm'd with Swords, nor pointed Spears they go,
Nor aim the Shaft, nor bend the deadly Bow:
Fierce Mulciber supplies the bold Design,
And for their Weapons kindling Torches shine.
Silent they issue thro' the gloomy Night,
And with broad Shields restrain the beamy Light.
Sudden the Blaze on ev'ry Side began,
And o'er the Latian Works resistless ran:
Catching, and driving with the Wind it grows,
Fierce thro' the Shade the burning Deluge glows:
Nor Earth, nor greener Planks it's Force delay,
Swift o'er the hissing Beams it rolls away.
Embrown'd with Smoke the wavy Flames ascend,
Shiver'd with Heat the crackling Quarries rend;
Till with a Roar, at last, the mighty Mound,
Tow'rs, Engines, all, come thund'ring to the Ground.
Wide-spread the discontinuous Ruins lie,
And vast Confusion fills the Gazer's Eye.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. III.

Siege of Massilia by C. Trebonius Lieutenant to Cæsar.

The Twelve Signs of the Zodiac.

See Equinoctial Line.

The Leader Ram, all bright with golden Wool,
Looks back, and wonders at the mighty Bull,

367

Whose back Parts first appear: He bending lies
With threatning Head, and calls the Twins to rise:
They clasp for fear, and mutually embrace,
Then comes the Crab with an unsteady Pace:
Next him the angry Lion shakes his Mane:
The following Maid abates his Rage again.
Then Day and Night are ballanc'd in the Scales:
Equal a while, at length the Night prevails:
And longer grown the heavier Scale inclines,
And draws the Scorpion from the Winter Signs.
The Centaur follows, with an aiming Eye,
His Bow full drawn, and ready to let fly:
The twisted Goat his Horns contracted shows,
The Water-Bearer's Urn a Flood o'erflows:
Next their lov'd Waves the Fishes take their Seat,
Join with the Ram, and make the Round compleat.—

Creech alter'd.

Pallas the Ram, and Venus guides the Bull,
The Twins share Phœbus, and enjoy his Rule:
The Crab is Mercury's; great Jove divides
His Mother's Servant, and the Lion guides.
Ceres the Maid, for this her Sheaf declares;
And the fierce Scorpion owns the God of Wars.
The Centaur Dian rules, and Vulcan claims
The Scales, as the just Product of his Flames.
The frozen Goat kind Vesta's Aid requires,
She cheers his Cold, and warms him with her Fires.
Just opposite to where her Husband sways,
The Water-Bearer Juno's Rule obeys.
The shining Fishes are to Neptune known,
Sprung from the Sea, he claims them for his own.—

Id.

The Head comes under the Ram's Influence:
The Bull commands the Neck: both Arms the Twins:
The Breast is the Crab's Share: the Lion rules
The Shoulders: and the Bowels claims the Maid:
The Buttocks are the Scales' allotted Part:
And o'er the Private Parts the Scorpion reigns:
The Thighs the Archer loves: the Knees the Goat:
The Water-Bearer o'er the Legs presides:
The Fishes to the Feet Protection give.—

Manil. Lib. IV.

369

Silence.

No Sorrow, no complaining Voice was heard:
O'er all, one deep, one horrid Silence reigns:
As when the Rigour of the Winter's Chains,
All Nature, Heav'n, and Earth, at once constrains.
The tuneful feather'd Kind forget their Lays,
And shiv'ring tremble on the naked Sprays:
Ev'n the rude Seas, compos'd, forget to roar,
And freezing Billows stiffen on the Shore.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. I.

Slavery.

See Liberty.

Medes , and Arabians, of the slavish East,
Beneath eternal Bondage may be blest:
While, of a diff'ring Mold and Nature, We,
From Sire to Son accustom'd to be free,
Feel Indignation rising in our Blood,
And blush to wear the Chains that make them proud.

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. VII.

Then was our Offspring for all Ages lost!
A Race of future Slaves receiv'd their Doom,
And Children yet unborn were overcome.
How shall our miserable Sons complain,
That they are born beneath a Tyrant's Reign?
Did our base Hands (with Justice shall they say,)
The sacred Cause of Liberty betray?
Why have our Fathers giv'n us up a Prey?
Their Age to Our's the Curse of Bondage leaves;
Themselves were Cowards, and begot us Slaves.—

Id. Ibid.

Then was the Time, when Sycophants began
To heap all Titles on one lordly Man:
Then learn'd our Sires that fawning, lying Strain,
Which we, their slavish Sons, so well retain:
Then, first, were seen to join, (an ill-match'd Pair!)
The Ax of Justice with the Sword of War:
Fasces, and Eagles, mingling march along,
And in proud Cæsar's Train promiscuous throng.

371

But while all Pow'rs in him alone unite,
He mocks the People with the Shews of Right.—

Id. Lucan. Lib. V.

The Stag, superior both in Arms and Force,
From out their common Pasture drove the Horse.
The Vanquish'd flies to Man, to right his Cause,
Begs Help, and takes the Bridle in his Jaws:
But having beat the Victor, could not get
Man from his Back, nor from his Mouth the Bit.
Thus the mean Wretch, that fearing to be poor,
Exchanges Liberty for shining Ore,
Must bear a Lord, must ever be a Slave,
Cause he knows not to use the Little Nature gave.—

Creech alt. Hor. Lib. I. Epist. X.

Slaughter.

See Battle. Rout. Sea-Fight. Siege.

Now unrelenting Mars, on either Side,
Equall'd the Slaughter, and the mutual Deaths:
The Victors and the Vanquish'd kill, and rush
With equal Force: nor These, nor Those retreat.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. X.

—And now still more
And more the Horror rises in the Field:
—To Heav'n ascends
A dismal Noise confus'd of warrior Youth,
Groaning in Death, and gasping on the Ground.—

Id. Æn. Lib. XII.

Soon as the Lybian Horse their Onset make,
With thund'ring Hoofs the sandy Soil they shake:
Thick o'er the Plain the wavy Clouds arise,
As when thro' Thrace, Bistonian Boreas flies,
Involves the Day in Dust, and darkens all the Skies.
And now the Foot encompass'd all around,
Are massacred, and trodden to the Ground:
None in Resistance vainly prove their Might,
But Death is all the Business of the Fight.
So thick the Darts and Javelins descend,
That had they wounded not,—
Their very Weight would make the Romans bend.
On ev'ry Side the shrinking Front grows less,
And to the Center madly all they press:

373

Fear, Uproar, and Dismay, increase the Cry,
Crushing, and crush'd, an armed Crowd they die:
Ev'n thronging on their Fellows Swords they run,
And the Foes Business by themselves is done.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. IV.

As when Bellona drives the World to War,
Or Mars comes thundring in his Thracian Car:
Rage horrible darts from his Gorgon Shield,
And gloomy Terror broods upon the Field.
Hate, fell and fierce, the dreadful Gods impart,
And urge to Slaughter ev'ry Soldier's Heart:
The Many shout, Arms clash, the Wounded cry,
And one promiscuous Peal groans upwards to the Sky.—

Id. Lucan. Lib. VII.

Sleep.

Near the Cimmerians, lies a Cavern deep
Within a Rock, the Court of lazy Sleep.
This the Sun sees not at his Noon-tide Height,
Nor cheers, with rising, or descending Light:
But hazy Vapours from the Earth arise,
And spread perpetual Twilight o'er the Skies.
No wakeful Cocks, with early Crowings, dare
Proclaim the Rise of rosy Morning there:
No watchful Dogs, or more sagacious Geese,
Disturb with Noise the everlasting Peace.
No Voice of Beasts, no Winds among the Boughs,
No human Sounds this Region ever knows.
Here Silence reigns: yet from the Rock below,
An Arm of Lethe, with a gentle Flow,
Arising upwards, o'er the Pebbles creeps,
And with soft Murmurs calls the coming Sleeps.
Around the Entrance nodding Poppies grow,
And num'rous Herbs that balmy Sleep bestow:
Which Night extracting from their juicy Veins,
Sheds as she passes o'er the dusky Plains.
Least Doors should creak, and creaking hinder Sleep,
No Door there was: no Guard the House to keep.
Amidst the Cave was rais'd a lofty Bed,
Stuff'd with black Down, and on an Ebon Sted:

375

Black was the Cov'ring too, where lay the God,
And slept supine, his Limbs display'd abroad.
About his Head fantastic Visions fly,
Which various Images of Things supply,
And mock their Forms: the Leaves on Trees not more,
Nor bearded Ears in Fields, nor Sands upon the Shore.—

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

The God his Eye-lids struggles to unloose,
Seal'd, by his deep unbroken Slumbers, close:
Half-way his Head he rears, with sluggish Pain,
Which, heavy, sinks upon his Breast again:
Frequent Attempts without Success he makes,
But, at the last, with long Endeavours, wakes:
Half-rais'd, and half-reclining on his Bed,
Upon his Hand he leans his nodding Head.—

Hopkins. Ibid.

—Again he seeks his Bed,
In whose soft Down he sinks his drooping Head:
Again his Eye-lids are with Sleep opprest,
And the whole God dissolves again to rest.—

Id. Ibid.

—O sacred Rest!
Sweet pleasing Sleep! of all the Pow'rs the best!
O Peace of Mind! Repairer of Decay,
At whose Approach, Care, sullen, flies away:
Whose Balm renews the weary'd Limbs to Labours of the Day.—

Dryden. Ibid.

Sweet Sleep despises not the Poor,
Nor passes by the Cottage Door:
He loves the Shades, he loves the Plains,
And favours most the lowly Swains.—

Fool, what is Sleep, but th' Image of cold Death?
The Fates will grant a long long Time of Rest.—

Ov. Am. IX.

Sling.

Mezentius quits his Arms, and round his Head
Thrice whirls his sounding Sling: Shot from the Thong
The Lead, half-melted as it flies, divides
His Temples, and extends him on the Sand.—

Trap. Æn. IX.

377

As Tyrrhen stood high on the Galley's Prow,
Sure aiming, from his Balearic Thong,
Bold Lygdamus a pond'rous Bullet slung:
Thro' liquid Air the Ball shrill whistling flies,
And cuts its Way thro' hapless Tyrrhen's Eyes.
Th' astonish'd Youth stands struck with sudden Night,
While bursting start the bleeding Orbs of Sight.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. III.

Sloth.

See Effeminacy.

With much adoe, his Book before him laid,
And Parchment with the smoother Side display'd,
He takes the Papers: lays 'em down again:
And with unwilling Fingers tries the Pen.
Some peevish Quarrel strait he strives to pick:
His Quill writes double: or his Ink's too thick.
Infuse more Water;—now 'tis grown so thin,
It sinks, nor can the Characters be seen.

O Wretch! and still more wretched ev'ry Day!
Are Mortals born to dream their Lives away!
Go back to what thy Infancy began,
Thou who wert never meant to be a Man:
Eat Pap and Spoon-meat: for thy Gewgaws cry:
Be sullen, and refuse the Lullaby.
No more accuse thy Pen, but charge the Crime
On native Sloth, and Negligence of Time.
Think'st Thou thy Master, or thy Friends, to cheat?
Fool, 'tis Thyself, and that's a worse Deceit.—

Dryden. Pers. Sat. III.

Th' unfinish'd Tow'rs no longer rise: the Youth
Undisciplin'd in Arms, no longer form
Ports, and strong Fortresses of War: the Works
Neglected stand: the Threat'nings of the Walls,
And tall Machines no more invade the Sky:
But, sticking in mid way, come short of Heav'n.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. I.

Rogues rise before 'tis Day to kill, and thieve:
Will You not wake to save Yourself alive?
If now, when well, you will not leave your Ease,
In vain you'l try when prest with a Disease.—

Creech. Hor. Lib. I. Epist. 2.

379

Man's Understanding dull'd by Idleness,
Contracts a Rust, that makes it daily less.
Unless you often plow the fruitful Field,
No Grain, but mixt with Thistles, will it yield.
Ill runs the Horse, and hind-most in the Race,
Who long has been unpractic'd in the Chace.—

Ov. I. Trist. 12.

Smallness.

Creatures so small there are, their midmost Part,
The sharpest Sight, by all the Helps of Art
Assisted, cannot possibly descry:
How fine are then the Guts, the Heart, the Eye?
How fine each Limb, each Fibre of the whole?
How infinitely fine the Texture of the Soul?—

Lucret. Lib. IV.

Society.

See Man. People (First.)

Between the Brutes and Us this Diff'rence lies:
Jove did to them but Earth-born Life dispence,
To Us, for mutual Aid, celestial Sense:
From straggling Mountaineers, for publick Good,
To rank in Tribes, and quit the savage Wood,
Houses to build, and them contiguous make,
For cheerful Neighbourhood and Safety's Sake:
In War a common Standard to erect:
A wounded Friend in Battle to protect:
To march together at the Trumpet's Call,
Sally from one Port, or man one public Wall.—

Tate. Juv. Sat. XV.

Solstice.

From Capricorn, decreasing Nights appear,
And Heav'n turns up the right Side of the Year:
The Day proceeds to lengthen all the Way,
Till high in Cancer rais'd, it makes a Stay:

381

The Solstice then:—when Day and Night are found
Equal to Day and Night that drove the Winter round.
Then, by the said Degrees, again the Light,
Decreasing, what it took returns to Night.—

Creech. Manil. III.

Soul.

See Druids. Elysium. Hell. Manes. Purgatory.

—Souls for ever live:
But often their old Habitations leave,
To dwell in new; which them, as Guests, receive.
All alter, Nothing finally decays;
Hither, and thither, still the Spirit strays:
Free to all Bodies; out of Beasts it flies
To Men, from Men to Beasts: and never dies.
As pliant Wax each new Impression takes,
Fixt to no Form, but still the Old forsakes,
Yet is the same: so Souls the same abide,
Tho' various Figures their Reception hide.—

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

We know not yet the Soul: how 'tis produc'd:
Whether with Body born, or else infus'd:
Whether, in Death, breath'd out into the Air,
She mix confus'dly with't, and perish there:
Or thro' vast Shades, and horrid Silence go,
To visit Brimstone Caves, and Pools below:
Or into Beasts retires.—

Creech. Lucret. Li

Brave Souls when loos'd from this ignoble Chain
Of Clay, and sent to their own Heav'n again,
From Earth's gross Orb on Virtue's Pinions rise,
In Æther wanton, and enjoy the Skies.—

Creech alter'd. Manil. I.

Who could know Heav'n, unless that Heav'n bestow'd
The Knowledge? or find God, but Part of God?
How could the Space immense be e'er confin'd
Within the Compass of a narrow Mind?
How could the Skies, the Dances of the Stars,
Their Motions adverse, and eternal Wars,
Unless kind Nature in our Breasts had wrought,
Proportion'd Souls, be subject to our Thought.—

Id. alt. Manil. Lib. II.

383

Can any doubt that God resides in Man,
That Souls from Heav'n descend, and when the Chain
Of Life is broke, return to Heav'n again?
As in the greater World, aspiring Flame,
Earth, Water, Air, make the material Frame:
And thro' the Members a commanding Soul
Infus'd, directs the Motion of the Whole:
So 'tis in Man, the lesser World: the Case
Is Clay, unactive, and an earthly Mass:
But the Blood's Streams the ruling Soul convey
Thro ev'ry Part, to actuate the Clay.
Then who can wonder that the World is known
So well by Man, since he himself is One?
The same Composure in his Form is shew'd,
And Man's the little Image of the God.—

Creech alter'd. Manil. Lib. IV.

When once th' appointed Years are roll'd away,
The passing Minds their former Load sustain,
Are born a-new, and sheath'd in Flesh again.—

Hughes. Claud. Rapt. Pros.

Mean while whate'er was in the Pow'r of Flame
Was all consum'd: his Body's nervous Frame
No more was known, of human Form bereft:
Th' eternal Part of Jove was only left.
As an old Serpent, cast his scaly Vest,
Writhes in the Sun, in youthful Glory drest:
So when Alcides' mortal Mold resign'd,
His better Part enlarg'd, and grew refin'd:
August his Visage shone: Almighty Jove
In his swift Car his honour'd Offspring drove:
High o'er the hollow Clouds the Coursers fly,
And lodge the Hero in the starry Sky.—

Gay. Ovid. Met. Lib. IX.

Dying Reflections of the Emperor Adrian.

Poor little, pretty, flutt'ring Thing!
Must we no longer live together?
And dost Thou prune thy trembling Wing,
To take thy Flight Thou know'st not whither?
Thy humorous Vein, thy pleasing Folly
Lies all neglected, all forgot:
And pensive, wav'ring, melancholy,
Thou dread'st, and hop'st, Thou know'st not what.—

Ah fleeting Spirit! wandring Fire
That long has warm'd my tender Breast!
Must Thou no more this Frame inspire?
No more a pleasing chearful Guest?

Whither, ah whither art Thou flying!
To what dark undiscover'd Shore?
Thou seem'st all trembling, shiv'ring, dying,
And Wit and Humour are no more.—

Prior.

Pope.

385

Speech.

Nature the Power of framing Sounds affords
To Man, but 'twas Convenience taught us Words.
As Infants now for Want of Words devise
Expressive Signs, and speak with Hands and Eyes:
Their speaking Hand the Want of Words supplies.

But, that one Man the Names of Things contriv'd,
And that from him their Knowledge all deriv'd,
'Tis fond to think: for how could that Man tell
The Names of Things, or speak a Syllable,
And not another Man do so as well?

Besides, if Others us'd not Words as soon,
How was their Profit and Convenience known?
Or how could he instruct the Other's Mind?
Or make them understand what he design'd?
Since being single, neither Force nor Wit
Could conquer many, or make them submit
To learn his Words, or e'en with Patience bear
A meanless Jargon rattling in their Ear?—

Lucret. Lib. V.

Therefore since proper Parts, since Voice, and Tongue,
By Nature's Gift bestow'd, to Man belong,
Where lies the Wonder, that Mankind should frame
For ev'ry diff'rent Thing a diff'rent Name?
Since even brute Creatures make a diff'rent Noise,
Oppress'd by Pains, or Fears, or fill'd with Joys.—

Creech alt. Ibid.

Spring.

See Seasons. Venus. Year.

When Winter ends, and Spring serenely shines;
Then fat the Lambs, and mellow are the Wines:
Then soft the Slumbers on the verdant Ground;
Then with thick Shades the lofty Mountain's crown'd.—

An. Virg. Georg. Lib. I.

The Spring to Forests yields a kindly Aid:
To Woods the Spring restores the useful Shade:

387

In the kind Spring the Lands abound with Juice,
And ask for Seeds that give a large Produce.
Then the All-potent Air, prolific Showers
On the soft Lap of his glad Consort pours:
From her vast Womb the mighty Store proceeds,
And all, the mighty He commix'd, with Plenty feeds.
The Birds their Songs repeat to ev'ry Grove;
And Herds perceive the Season of their Love:
Then teem the Fields, and make their Bosoms bare
To the warm Breezes of the western Air.
Then kindly Moisture over all Things sheds:
Plants trust new Suns, and boldly rear their Heads:
Nor fears the Vine lest southern Storms should rise,
Or the rough North pour Rivers from the Skies:
But boldly shoots her Buds from ev'ry Bough,
And all her Leaves displays with pompous Show.
So dawn'd the Days, such was, methinks, their Course
In the weak Childhood of the Universe:
Then Spring was all, for then the mighty Ring,
Roll'd, free from Winter's Storms, in constant Spring.—

Id. alt. Virg. Geor. Lib. II.

And now the Fields all teem, and every Tree:
Now bloom the Groves, now smiles the beauteous Year.—

Trap. Virg. Ecl. III.

Seas then lie husht: then Earth grows bold to bear,
And trusts young Flow'rs to the serener Air:
Then Beasts in Fields, and Birds in every Grove,
Press on with Fury, to consummate Love.
With joyous Song the vocal Forests ring,
And various Leaves adorn the gaudy Spring:
With such brisk Powers are Nature's Parts possest,
When, wak'd, she rouses from her Winter's Rest.—

Creech. Manil. Lib. III.

Sharp Winter melts, Favonius spreads his Wing,
And brings a pleasing Change, the smiling Spring.
Ships from the Docks are now drawn out again,
And spread their Canvas on the curling Main.
Nor Stalls the Ox, nor Fires the Clown delight,
Nor Frosts no longer cloth the Fields in White.

389

The Nymphs and Graces joyn'd, thro' flowry Meads,
By Moon-light dance, and lovely Venus leads.
Nimbly they shift their Feet, and shake the Ground,
While Vulcan lab'ring at his Forge is found.
Then crown'd with Myrtle be, or fragant Flow'rs,
Rais'd from the loos'ned Earth by balmy Show'rs:
To Faunus offer, in the sacred Groves,
A Lamb, or Kid, which e'er he best approves.—

Creech alt. Hor. I. Ode. 4.

The Snows are gone, behold a World's new Face!
How Grass the Ground, how Leaves their Branches grace.
The Streams that lately over-flow'd the Grounds,
Now gently glide within their proper Bounds.
The Nymphs and Graces naked dance around,
And nimbly o'er the flow'ry Meadows bound.—

Hor. L. IV. Ode 7.

The Spring, the new, the warbling Spring appears,
The youthful Season of reviving Years:
In Spring the Loves enkindle mutual Heats,
The feather'd Nations chuse their tuneful Mates:
The Trees grow fruitful with descending Rain,
And drest in diff'ring Greens adorn the Plain.—

Parnel.

Now Bulls o'er Stalks of Broom extend their Sides,
Secure of Favours from their lowing Brides.
Now stately Rams their fleecy Consorts lead,
Who bleating follow thro' the winding Shade.
And now the Goddess bids the Birds appear,
Raise all their Musick, and salute the Year:
Then deep the Swan begins, and deep the Song
Runs o'er the Water where he sails along:
While Philomela tunes a treble Strain,
And from the Poplar charms the list'ning Plain.—

Id. Cat. Pervig. Veneris.

The Stage.

Thespis , 'tis said, did Tragedy devise.
Unknown before, and rude at it's first Rise,
In Carts the Gypsy-Actors strol'd about,
Their Faces smear'd with Lees of Wine and Soot,
And thro' the Towns amus'd the wond'ring Rout.

391

Then Æschylus brought Masks and Habits in,
And built a Play-House, and contriv'd a Scene,
The buskin'd Heroes taught, with Grace and Art
To tread the Stage, and boldly speak their Part.—

Oldham alter'd. Hor. Art. Poet.

He, who at first in Tragick Numbers wrote,
(When the poor Poet labour'd for a Goat,)
Brought in his Satyrs naked to divert
And mix'd the comick with the serious Part:
This was the Bait to bribe the Crowd to stay,
When drunk and wanton, and sit out the Play.

No Flute, or Trumpet, grac'd the antient Scene,
But Pipes whose Stops were few, and Model mean.
Such gain'd Applause, and pleas'd in former Days,
When to be chast and modest was a Praise,
When Folks lov'd Thrift, and few frequented Plays.
But after Rome had stretch'd her Conquests round,
And wider Walls enlarg'd the City's Bound:
Then Bards in bolder Strains began to sing,
And form'd their Numbers to the tuneful String.
Then graceful Motion, and a pompous Dress,
Gave to the growing Stage deserv'd Success:
The Lyre in more melodious Style was heard,
And Art in all it's Elegance appear'd:
With manly Sense sweet Elocution flow'd,
And spoke prophetick as the Delphick God.—

Ames alt. Ibid.

Stars.

See Chance. Orion. Pilot.

The glittering Stars at equal Distance lie,
Make various Shapes, and chequer all the Sky.
Above them Nought: to the World's Top they rose,
Painting the Roof of Nature's common House:
Which in a wide Embrace does all contain,
The spacious Air, the Earth, and raging Main.
They set in order, and in order rise,
As West drives down, or East brings up the Skies.—

Creech. Manil. Lib. I.

393

So thick with Stars the Skies are spangled o'er,
That not the Sands upon the winding Shore,
That not the Billows in tempestuous Floods,
That not the Leaves when Autumn shakes the Woods,
Can shew their Number.—Numbers they surmount;
Arithmetick is lost in the Account.—
And as in Cities, where, in Ranks decreed,
First Nobles go, and then the Knights succeed;
A Right to come the next the People claim;
The Rabble last, a Croud without a Name.
So are the Heav'ns by different Stars possest:
Some, like the Nobles, with more Rays are drest,
Some shine with less, the num'rous Croud with least.
Were these endow'd with a proportion'd Heat,
Were they in Pow'r, as they're in Number great,
They, long agoe, must have dissolv'd the Frame,
Nor could the World have born so fierce a Flame.—

Id. Manil. Lib. V.

Style.

See Authors. Poetry. Poets.

Let Writers match their Subject to their Strength,
And often try what Weight they can support,
And what their Shoulders are too weak to bear:
After a serious and judicious Choice,
Method and Eloquence will never fail.—

Roscommon. Hor. Art. Poet.

Men ever had, and ever will have leave
To coin new Words, well suited to the Age.
Words are like Leaves; some wither ev'ry Year,
And ev'ry Year a younger Race succeeds.
Death is a Tribute all Things owe to Fate.
Why then should Words challenge Eternity,
When greatest Men, and greatest Actions die?

Use may revive the obsoletest Words,
And banish those that now are most in Vogue:
Use is the Judge, and Law, and Rule of Speech.—

Id. Ib.

Good Sense must be the certain Standard still,
To All, that e'er pretend to Writing well:

395

Chuse but a Subject which You throughly know,
And Words, unsought, therefrom with Ease will flow.—

Ibid.

Who knows the Duty of all Ranks of Men,
And what we owe to Country, Parents, Friends,
How Judges, and how Senators should act,
And what becomes a General to do,
And give to all their proper Characters.—

Roscom. Ibid.

—Heraclitus whom vain Greeks admire
For dark Expression: but the sober few,
Who seek for, and delight in what is true,
Scorn and contemn:—for Fools alone regard
What seems obscure, and intricate, and hard:
Take that for Truth whose Phrases smooth appear,
And dancing Periods charm the wanton Ear.—

Creech. Lucret. L. I.

Mark where a bold expressive Phrase appears,
Bright thro' the Rubbish of some hundred Years:
Command old Words that long have slept, to wake;
Such as wise Bacon, or brave Raleigh spake:
Or bid the New be English Ages hence,
(For Use will father what's begot by Sense.)
Pour the full Tide of Eloquence along,
Serenely pure, and yet divinely strong,
Rich with the Treasures of each foreign Tongue.
Prune the Luxuriant, the Uncouth refine,
But shew no Mercy on an empty Line:
Then polish all with so much Life and Ease,
You think 'tis Nature, and a Knack to please.—

Pope. Hor. Lib. II. Epist. 2.

I lose my Patience, and I own it too,
When Works are censur'd, not as bad, but new:
While if our Elders break all Reason's Laws,
These Fools demand not Pardon, but Applause.

He who to seem more deep than You or I,
Extols old Bards, or Merlin's Prophecy,
Mistake him not: he envies, not admires,
And to debase the Sons exalts the Sires.
Had antient Times conspir'd to disallow
What then was new, what had been antient now?
Or what remain'd, so worthy to be read
By learned Criticks, of the mighty Dead?—

Id. Hor. Lib. II. Epist. 1.

397

Storm at Land.

See Tempest.

Oft have I seen, when now the Farmer brought
The Reaper to his yellow Fields, and bound
His Sheaves with brittle Straw, the warring Winds
All rise at once, and from the Roots uprend
His full-ear'd Corn, and whirl it high in Air.
With such a Gust an Hurricane would drive
Light flying Stubble.—Oft too Floods immense
Of Waters gush from Heav'n: and gather'd Clouds
Brew the black Storm aloft, with dusky Show'rs:
The rushing Sky descends, and with vast Rain
Drowns the rich Crop, and Labours of the Plough.
The hollow Dykes are fill'd: with roaring Noise
The foaming Rivers swell: and in the Friths
Toss'd by the Winds the wintry Ocean boils.
Great Jove himself, amidst the Night of Clouds,
Hurls with his red Right-hand the forky Fire:
Earth trembles: Savage Beasts to Covert fly:
And Mortals Hearts, o'er all the World, with Dread
Sink shudd'ring, and appall'd.—

—With redoubled Force
The Winds condense the Tempest: Woods roar loud
With struggling Blasts: and Rivers lash their Shores.—

Trap. Virg. Georg. Lib. I.

Like Boreas in his Race, when rushing forth,
He sweeps the Skies, and clears the cloudy North:
The waving Harvest bends beneath his Blast,
The Forest shakes, the Groves their Honours cast:
He flies aloft, and with impetuous Roar,
Pursues the foaming Surges to the Shore.—

Dryden. Virg. Georg. Lib. III.

So, when the Winds in airy Conflict rise,
Here South and West charge dreadful in the Skies,
There louder Eurus, to the Battle born,
Mounts the swift Coursers of the purple Morn:
Beneath the Whirlwind roar the bending Woods:
With his huge Trident Neptune strikes the Floods,

399

Foams, Storms, and tempesting the Deeps around,
Bares the broad Bosom of the dark Profound.—

Pitt. Virg. Æn. Lib. II.

—Black with rushing Rain
A Tempest rag'd enormous, and the Hills
And Fields with Thunder shook: o'er all the Sky
A Shower with Water dark, and thickned Winds,
Turbid descends.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. V.

Storm at Sea. Shipwreck.

Now got from Shore, a Breeze began to blow,
The Sailors ship their Oars, and cease to Row:
Then hoist their Yards a-trip, and all their Sails
Let fall, to court the Winds, and catch the Gales.
The Vessel scarce half Way, at most no more,
By this had run, far off from either Shore,
When, in the Night, the foaming Billows rise,
And the fierce East-Wind blusters thro' the Skies.—

Dryd. alt.

At this, the Master soon began to cry,
Strike, strike the Topsail: let the Main-sheet fly,
And furl your Sails:—the Winds repel the Sound,
And in the Speaker's Mouth the Speech is drown'd.
Yet of their own accord, as Danger taught,
Each in his Way, officiously they wrought:
Some stow their Oars, or stop the leaky Sides:
Another bolder yet, the Yard bestrides,
And folds the Sails: A fourth with Labour laves
Th' intruding Seas, and Waves ejects on Waves.

In this Confusion while their Work they ply,
The Winds augment the Winter of the Sky,
And wage intestine War: the suff'ring Seas
Are toss'd and mingl'd, as their Tyrants please.
The Master would command, but in despair
Of Safety, stands amaz'd with stupid Care:
Nor what to bid, or what forbid he knows,
Th' ungovern'd Tempest to such Fury grows:
Vain is his Force, and vainer is his Skill,
With such a Concourse comes the Flood of Ill.

401

The Cries of Men are mixt with rattling Shrowds:
Seas dash on Seas, and Clouds encounter Clouds:
At once from East to West, from Pole to Pole,
The forky Lightnings flash, the roaring Thunders roll.—

Dryd.

Now Waves on Waves ascending from on high,
Seas mix with Clouds, and dash against the Sky:
Now from the Bottom yellow Sands they lave:
Now black: alike in Colour shews the Wave:
Now white with Froth appear the flatted Seas:
The Vessel shifts, and changes, as they please.
As on a Mountain-Top, she rides on high,
And from the Clouds beholds the nether Sky:
Then sinking with the Wave on which she rose,
Down to the Bottom of the Deep she goes:
Whence, as from Hell's Abyss, they lift their Sight,
And, distant far, see Heav'n's superior Light.—

Dryd. alt.

The lashing Billows make a loud Report,
And beat her Sides, as batt'ring Rams a Fort:
Or as chaff'd Lions, with redoubled Rage,
Rush with a Roar, and pointed Spears engage:
So Seas by Winds impell'd, with added Pow'r,
Assault the Sides, and o'er the Hatches tow'r.—

Id. alt.

The Planks (their pitchy Cov'ring wash'd away)
Now yield: and now a yawning Breach display:
The roaring Waters, with a hostile Tide,
Rush thro' the Ruins of her gaping Side.—
Mean time the Sky descends in Sheets of Rain:
You'd think all Heav'n were pouring on the Main:
One rising, falling one, the Heav'ns and Sea
Meet at their Confines in the middle Way.
The Sails are drunk with Show'rs, and drop with Rain;
Sweet Waters mingle with the briny Main.
No Star appears to lend it's friendly Light;
Darkness and Tempest make a double Night.
But flashing Fires disclose the Deep by turns,
And while the Lightnings blaze, the Water burns.—

Dryd.

The bounding Billows now her Deck possess'd:
And as some Soldier, braver than the rest,

403

Who oft to scale a City's Wall essays,
At last succeeds, and fir'd with Hopes of Praise,
Amongst a thousand gains the Wall alone:
So, while the rolling Waves come raging on,
The Hero Tenth, high tow'ring o'er her Sides,
Claims all the Vessel, and in triumph rides.
Waves urg'd by Waves the Bark without assail,
Waves too are got within.—
The frighted Crew all tremble and look pale:
As in a City, whose surrounding Wall,
Part of the Foe is batt'ring to it's fall,
While part, a Passage forc'd, with Sword in Hand,
Destruction threaten, and within command.—
Art fails, and Courage falls: no Succour near:
As many Waves, as many Deaths appear.
One weeps and wails, despairing of Relief:
One stupid stands, his Fears congeal his Grief:
One loud laments his miserable State,
And calls those happy whom their Fun'rals wait.
This Wretch with Pray'rs and Vows the Gods adores,
Uplifts his useless Hands,—
And Aid from Heav'n, from Heav'n unseen, implores:
That on his Friends at home his Thoughts bestows,
His Parents, Brethren, and his dearer Spouse:
His House, his Children, fill Another's Mind;
And each deplores what He shall leave behind.—

Dryd. alt.

The giddy Ship ran round: The Tempest tore
Her Mast, and over-board the Rudder bore.
One Billow mounts, and with a scornful Brow,
Proud of her Conquest gain'd, insults the Waves below;
Nor lighter falls, than if some Gyant tore
Pindus and Athos with the Freight they bore,
And toss'd on Seas: press'd with the pond'rous Blow,
Down sinks the Ship within th' Abyss below:
Down with the Vessel sink into the Main
The Many, never more to rise again.
Some few on scatter'd Planks, with fruitless Care,
Lay hold, and swim, but while they swim, despair.—

Dryd. Ovid. Met. Lib XI.

405

—Out rush the Winds,
Thronging, where way they find: with giddy Whirls
Scour o'er the Lands, and then with Fury fall
Upon the Sea: East, South, and stormy West,
Together, from it's lowest Caverns rouse
The Deep: and roll vast Billows to the Shore.
Cracking of Cordage, and the Cries of Men
Succeed: by sudden Clouds the Heavens and Day
Are ravish'd from the Trojans Eyes: Dun Night
Lies hovering o'er the Sea: loud Thunder rocks
The Poles: the Sky with nimble Lightning glares:
And ev'ry Object threatens present Death.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. I.

—The Tempest from the North,
Loud roaring, struck across the Sails, and toss'd
The Billows to the Stars: the Oars are stav'd:
The Prow inclines, and on the Surges lays
It's Side: a Mountain-heap of Waves succeeds.

Ibid.

From Prow to Stern a mighty Billow strikes
Full o'er the Ship: the Master, swept from Deck,
Rolls headlong: her the circling Eddy thrice
Works round, and swallows in the rapid Gulf.—

Id. Ib.

Now from the Sight of Land our Gallies move,
With only Seas around, and Skies above:
When o'er our Heads descends a Burst of Rain,
And Night with sable Clouds involves the Main:
The ruffling Winds the foamy Billows raise:
The scatter'd Fleet is driven several Ways:
The Face of Heav'n is ravish'd from our Eyes,
And in redoubled Peals the roaring Thunder flies.
Cast from our Coast, we wander in the dark:
No Stars to guide, no point of Land to mark.
No Difference to the Pilot did appear
'Twixt Night and Day: nor knew he how to steer.
Three star-less Nights the doubtful Navy strays,
We know not whither, and three sunless Days.
The fourth renews the Light, and from our Shrowds
We view a rising Land, like distant Clouds:
The Mountain Tops confirm the pleasing Sight,
And curling Smoke ascending from their Height.

407

The Canvas falls: their Oars the Sailors ply:
From their strong Strokes the whirling Waters fly.—

Dryd. Virg. Æn. III.

Suicide.

See Despair. Lover desponding.

Now to the inmost Court fierce Dido flies,
And rolls with ghastly Looks her glaring Eyes:
Tho' pale, and shiv'ring, at her purpos'd Doom,
And ev'ry dreadful Thought of Death to come,
Yet many a crimson Flush, with various Grace,
Glows on her Cheek, and kindles in her Face.

Furious she mounts the Pyre, and draws the Sword,
The fatal Present of the Dardan Lord:
For no such End bestow'd. The conscious Bed,
And Robes she view'd, and Tears in Silence shed:
Stood still, and paus'd a Moment:—Then she cast
Her Body on the Couch, and spoke her last.

Ye dear, dear Relicks of the Man I lov'd,
While Fate consented, and the Gods approv'd,
Relieve my Woes, this Rage of Love controul,
Take my last Breath, and catch my parting Soul.
My fatal Course is finish'd, and I go
A Ghost majestic to the Realms below:
Happy! thrice happy! if the Dardan Band
Had never touch'd upon the Lybian Land.
Then pressing with her Lips the Trojan Bed,
Shall I then die, and unreveng'd? (she said,)
Yet die I will:—and thus, and thus, I go—
Thus—fly with Pleasure, to the Shades below.

Mean time, the sad Attendants as she spoke,
Beheld her strike, and sink beneath the Stroke.
At once her snowy Hands were purpled o'er,
And the bright Faulchion smoak'd with streaming Gore.—

Pitt.

With sudden Shrieks the Palace rings around:
The long, long Cries, from Street to Street resound:
Nothing is heard but Groans and Women's Cries,
And loud Laments re-echo thro' the Skies.—

Id. alt. Æn. Lib. IV.

A Rock there stood, whose Side the beating Waves
Had long consum'd, and hollow'd into Caves:

409

The Head shot forwards in a bending Steep,
And cast a dreadful Covert o'er the Deep.
The wretched Ino, on Destruction bent,
Climb'd up the Cliff: such Strength her Fury lent:
Thence with her guiltless Boy, who wept in vain,
At one bold Spring she plung'd into the Main.—

Eusden. Ovid Met. Lib. IV.

He who could often, and alone, withstand
The Foe, the Fire, and Jove's own partial Hand,
Now cannot his un-master'd Grief sustain,
But yields to Rage, to Madness, and Disdain.
Then snatching out his Faulchion, Thou, said He,
Art mine:—or lays Ulysses claim to Thee?
O often try'd, and ever trusty Sword,
Now do thy last kind Office to thy Lord:
'Tis Ajax who requests thy Aid, to show,
None but himself, himself could overthrow.
He said, and with so good a Will to die,
Did to his Breast the fatal Point apply,
It found his Heart: a Way till then unknown,
Where never Weapon enter'd, but his own.
No Hands could force it thence, so fixt it stood,
Till out it rush'd, expell'd by Streams of spouting Blood.—

Dryd. Ovid. Met. Lib. XIII.

My gallant Friends! whom our hard Fates decree,
This Night, this short Night only, to be free:
Think what remains to do, but think with Haste,
E'er the brief Hour of Liberty be past.
Perhaps, reduc'd to this so hard Extream,
Too short, to some, the Date of Life may seem:
Yet know, brave Youths! that none untimely fall,
Whom Death obeys, and comes but when they call.
'Tis true, the neighb'ring Danger waits us nigh:
We meet but that from which we cannot fly:
Yet think not with inferior Praise we die.

411

Dark and uncertain is Man's fatal Doom:
If Years, or only Moments, are to come,
All is but Dying: he who gives an Hour,
Or he that gives an Age, gives all that's in his Pow'r.
Sooner or late, all Mortals know the Grave,
But to chuse Death distinguishes the Brave.
Behold where, waiting round, yon hostile Band,
Our Fellow-Citizens, our Lives demand.
Prevent we then their cruel Hands, and bleed:—
Tis but to do what is too sure decreed,
And where our Fate would drag us on, to lead.

Is there a gen'rous Youth, Vulteius cry'd,
Whose worthy Sword may pierce your Leader's Side?
He said: and at the Word, from ev'ry Part,
An hundred pointed Weapons reach'd his Heart.
Dying he prais'd 'em all, but him the chief,
Whose eager Duty brought the first Relief:
Deep in his Breast he plung'd the deadly Blade,
And with a grateful Stroke the friendly Gift repaid.

At once all rush, at once to Death they fly,
And on each others Swords alternate dye.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. IV.

Vulteius, one of Cæsar's Officers, with a thousand Men under his Command, being intercepted by Pompey's Party, and unable either to escape, or defend himself, against the Attack which he expected the next Morning, thus encouraged his Soldiers to destroy themselves; which they did accordingly.

Summer.

See Seasons. Year.

In Heav'n's high Arch, and on the utmost Line
Of Summer's Progress, Cancer seats his Sign:
There stretches out the greatest Length of Day,
And then declines, and makes it soon decay:
But all the Time, which, as he bears the Light,
He takes from Day, he still returns to Night.
Then Corn grows yellow on the fruitful Soil,
And lusty Reapers bear their Arms for Toil:
Then Seas grow warm, the Flood forbears to roar,
And Billows languish on the quiet Shore.
Then Mars goes forth, nor is the Scythian Coast
From Roman Arms defended by her Frost.

Thus lies the World, when with exalted Ray,
I' th' Summer Solstice, Phœbus bears the Day
Thro' Cancer's Sign, and drives the highest Way.—

Creech. Manil. Lib. III.

413

The Sun is in the Lion mounted high:
The Syrian Star
Barks from afar,
And with his sulty Breath infects the Sky.
The Shepherd drives his fainting Flock,
Beneath the Covert of a Rock,
And seeks refreshing Riv'lets nigh:
The Sylvans to their Shades retire,
Those very Shades and Streams new Shades and Streams require:
And want a cooling Breeze of Wind to fan the raging Fire.—

Dryden. Hor. Lib. III. Od. 29.

Fields Corn produce, when Syrius' Star appears,
And annual Harvests wave their yellow Ears.—

Tibul. Lib. II El. 1.

Sun.

See Chance.

Palace of the Sun.

The Sun's bright Palace, on high Columns rais'd,
With burnish'd Gold, and flaming Rubies blaz'd:
The Roof with polish'd Iv'ry was inlaid,
The folding Doors a silver Light display'd.
Rich was the Ground on which the Work was wrought,
But far inferior to the Workman's Thought:
For in the Portal was display'd on high,
(The Work of Vulcan) a fictitious Sky:
A waving Sea th' inferior Earth embrac'd,
And Gods and Goddesses the Waters grac'd.
Ægeon here a mighty Whale bestrode:
Triton, and Proteus, (the deceiving God)
With Doris here were carv'd, and all her Train:
Some loosely swimming in the figur'd Main,
While some on Rocks their dropping Hair divide,
And some on Fishes thro' the Waters glide.
Tho' various Features did the Sisters grace,
A Sister's Likeness was in ev'ry Face.
On Earth a different Prospect courts the Eyes,
Men, Towns, and Beasts in distant Prospect rise,
And Nymphs, and Streams, and Woods, and rural Deities.

415

High above all Heav'n's bright Effigies shines;
And on each Gate are six refulgent Signs.—

Addison. Ov. Met. Lib. II.

Phoebus, or the Sun.

In purple Robes sat Phœbus on his Throne,
That with the Blaze of lucid Em'ralds shone.
The Hours, in equal Rows, on either Hand,
And Days, and Months, and Years, and Ages stand.
There stood the Spring, her Head with Flowers bound;
There Summer, naked, and with Wheat Ears crown'd:
There Autumn, stain'd with purple Juice, appear'd,
And icy Winter, with his hoary Beard.—

Addison alt. Ibid.

I am the God who measure out the Year,
The World's vast Eye, of Light the Source serene,
Which all Things sees, by which all Things are seen.—

Ov. Met. Lib. IV.

Chariot of the Sun.

Gold was the Axle, and the Beam was Gold:
The Wheels, with silver spokes, on golden Circles roll'd.
Gems set in Rows adverse, and sparkling bright,
Reflected on the God the dazling Light.

When Phœbus saw the Moon's pale Horns withdrawn,
And the World round him red'ning at the Dawn,
He bid the nimble Hours his Steeds array
With Harness: strait the Goddesses obey:
From their high Mangers with Ambrosia fed,
And breathing Flame, the gen'rous Beasts they led:
And fit the ratling Bridles.—

Mean while hot Pyroeis, with Eöus join'd,
With Æthon Fleet, and Phlegon wild as Wind,
The Sun's swift Steeds, each other's Rage provoke,
Neighing aloud, and snorting Fire and Smoke.—

Trap.

They spring together forth, and swiftly bear
Their rapid Course thro' Clouds and yielding Air:
With winged Speed outstrip the Eastern Wind,
And leave the Breezes of the Morn behind.—

Dryden. Ibid.

417

The Disk of Phœbus, when he climbs on high,
Appears at first but as a bloodshot Eye:
And when his Chariot downward drives to Bed,
His Ball is with the same Suffusion red:
But mounted high in his meridian Race,
All bright he shines, and with a fairer Face:
For there, pure Particles of Ether flow,
Far from th' Infection of the World below.—

Dryden. Ovid. Met. Lib. XV.

In pleasant Vales, beneath th' Hesperian Sky,
For the Sun's fiery Steeds green Pastures lie:
Ambrosia there they eat, and thence they gain
New Vigour, and their daily Toils sustain.—

Eusden. Ovid. Met. Lib. IV.

Superstition.

How Egypt, mad with Superstition grown,
Makes Gods of Monsters, but too well is known:
One Sect Devotion to Nile's Serpent pays,
Others to Ibis, that on Serpents preys.
Where, Thebes, thy hundred Gates lie unrepair'd,
And where maim'd Memnon's magic Harp is heard,
Amidst their Ruins, wondrous to behold,
A Monkey's sacred Statue glows with Gold.
Fish-Gods you'll meet, with Fins and Scales o'ergrown:
Diana's Dog's ador'd in ev'ry Town:
The Dog has Temples, but the Goddess none!
'Tis mortal Sin an Onion to devour,
Each Clove of Garlick is a sacred Power.
Religious Nations sure, and blest Abodes,
Where ev'ry Orchard is o'er-run with Gods!
To kill, is Murder, Sacriledge to eat
A Kid, or Lamb:—Man's Flesh is lawful Meat.—

Tate alt. Juv. Sat. XV.

Athens does Pallas, Cynthia Crete adore,
Vulcan is pray'd to on the Lemnian Shore,
Altars to Juno are at Sparta rais'd,
Faunus th' Arcadians worship,—
And Mars, at Latium, is the God that's prais'd.—

Ovid. Fast. Lib. III.

419

The Jews, like their bigotted Sires before,
Do nothing but the Clouds and Heav'n adore:
So superstitious, that they'll sooner dine
Upon the Flesh of Men, than that of Swine.
Our Roman Customs they despise and jeer,
But learn and keep their Country Rites with Fear.
That Worship only they in Rev'rence have,
Which in dark Volumes their great Moses gave.
Ask 'em the Road, and they shall point you wrong,
Because you do not to their Tribe belong.
They'll not betray a Spring to quench your Thirst,
Unless you shew 'em Circumcision first.
So they are taught, and do it to obey
Their Fathers, who devote the Seventh Day
To Idleness, nor will thereon perform
The least Concern of Life.—

Dryden junr. Juv. Sat. XIV.

Old Images, of Form mishapen, stand,
Rude and unknowing of the Artist's Hand:
With hoary Filth begrim'd each ghastly Head
Strikes the astonish'd Gazer's Soul with Dread.
No Gods, who long in common Shapes appear'd,
Were e'er with such religious Awe rever'd:
But zealous Crowds in Ignorance adore,
And still the less they know, they fear the more.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. III.

When the bright Dog-Star o'er Calabria reigns,
And parches with excessive Heat her Plains,
The stupid Peasants, struck with annual Fear,
Assembled in some ancient Grove appear:
In superstitious Rites they pass the Day,
And, as the Priest directs, the Wretches pray.—

Val. Flac. Arg. Lib. I.

Ombus and Tentyr, neighb'ring Towns, of late
Broke into Outrage of deep-fester'd Hate:
A Grudge in both, Time out of Mind begun,
Was mutually bequeath'd from Sire to Son.
Religious Spight and pious Spleen bred first
This Quarrel, which the headstrong Bigots nurs'd.

421

Each calls the Other's God a senseless Stock,
His own divine.—

Tate. Juv. Sat. XV.

From servile Fear the fancy'd Gods first came;
For when the Lightnings, with impetuous Flame,
Proud Walls beat down, and lofty Athos fir'd,
Religious Horror ev'ry Breast inspir'd:
Lustrations strait were paid the radiant Sun,
And changing Cynthia heav'nly Honours won.
Hence Idol-Crowds the tim'rous World o'erflow'd,
And not one Month but had its Patron God.
By such an Impotence of Mind betray'd,
The Swain to Ceres Autumn-Honours paid:
Bacchus was crown'd with Clusters of the Vine,
And from the Sheep-Cote Pales grew divine:
Neptune was set to rule the Ocean's Tide,
And Pallas o'er deep Caverns to preside.
Each, as his Guilt or Av'rice prompts Deceit,
Invents new Gods, and aids the pious Cheat.—

Addison jun. Petron. Arb.

Our Superstitions with our Life begin:
The good old Grandame, or the next of Kin,
The new-born Infant from the Cradle takes,
And of her Spittle a Lustration makes:
Then in the Spawl her middle Finger dips,
And dawbs the Temples, Forehead, and the Lips,
Of Evil Eyes the Mischiefs to prevent,
By Virtue of her nasty Excrement.—

Dryden. Pers. Sat. II.

The Mother, whose dear Son has lain oppress'd
By a cold Quartan, half a Year at least,
Gets up betimes, and prays;—O mighty Jove!
Who dost Diseases bring, and dost remove,
If Thou wilt stop the Fits, restore my Joy,
And spare the Body of my lovely Boy,
At thy next solemn Fast, Thou gracious God!
I'll set him naked in cold Tiber's Flood.
And, now, let Chance, or Nature's Strength release,
Or Physick's Force suppress the long Disease,
The frantic Mother will perform her Vow,
And her weak Son into the Tiber throw:

423

The Cold brings a Relapse, and kills the Lad:
And hath not Superstition made her mad?—

Creech alter'd. Hor. Lib. II. Sat. 3.

Juvenal probably alludes to God's Presence in the Cloud upon Mount Sinai.

Swimming.

Playful, and wanton, to the Stream he trips,
And dips his Foot, and shivers as he dips:
The Coolness pleas'd him, and with eager Haste,
His airy Garment on the Bank he cast.
Now, all undrest, upon the Shore he stood,
And clap'd his Sides, and leapt into the Flood:
His skilful Limbs the limpid Waves divide,
And shine more lovely thro' the silver Tide:
As iv'ry Figures which the Life surpass,
Or Lillies cover'd with a Chrystal Glass.—

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

Cloath'd, as he stood, in the fierce Lion's Hide,
The laden Quiver o'er his Shoulders ty'd,
(For cross the Stream his Bow and Club were cast)
Swift he plung'd in: These Billows shall be past,
He said: nor sought where smoother Waters glide,
But stem'd the Dangers of the rapid Tide.—

Gay. Ovid. Met. Lib. IX.

Hercules.

Swooning.

—The Chief she knew,
Tho' mournful all, and ghastly was his Hue:
Rude, o'er his Face, his hoary Locks were grown,
And Dust obscene was cast upon his Gown.
She saw; and fainting, sunk in sudden Night:
Grief stop'd her Breath, and shut out loathsom Light:
The loos'ning Nerves no more their Force exert,
And Motion ceas'd within the freezing Heart:
Death kindly seem'd her Wishes to obey,
And, stretch'd upon the Ground, a Coarse she lay.—

Rowe alt. Lucan. Lib. VII.

—Her Maids support
Her Body, as she sinks into their Arms
And lay her fainting on the Royal Bed.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. IV.

425

When Fear's strong Agonies the Mind oppress,
Each suff'ring Member shews the Soul's Distress:
Cold Sweats and Paleness o'er the Body rise,
And Speech and Voice the failing Tongue denies;
With Noise the Ears are fill'd; the Eyes grow dim;
And Tremblings seize on ev'ry languid Limb.—

Lucret. Lib. III.

Temperance.

See Extravagance. Gluttony. Luxury.

What, and how great, the Virtue and the Art
To live on little with a cheerful Heart!
Hear Bethel's Sermon, one not vers'd in Schools,
But strong in Sense, and wise without the Rules.
Go work, hunt, exercise; (he thus began,)
Then scorn a homely Dinner if You can.
Your Wine lock'd up, your Butler stroll'd abroad,
Or kept from Fish, (the River yet unthaw'd,)
If then plain Bread and Milk will do the Feat,
The Pleasure lies in You, and not the Meat.—

Pope. Hor. Lib. II. Sat. 2.

Now hear what Blessings Temperance can bring.
First Health: The Stomach (cramm'd from ev'ry Dish,
A Tomb of boil'd, and roast, and Flesh, and Fish,
Where Bile, and Wind, and Phlegm, and Acid jar,
And all the Man is one intestine War,)
Remembers oft the School-Boy's simple Fare,
The temp'rate Sleeps, and Spirits light as Air.—

Id. Ibid.

Tempest.

See Storm at Land.

At once the rushing Winds with roaring Sound
Burst from th' Æolian Caves, and rend the Ground,
With equal Rage their airy Quarrel try,
And win by turns the Kingdom of the Sky:
But with a thicker Night black Auster shrouds
The Heav'ns, and drives on heaps the rolling Clouds:
From whose dark Womb a rattling Tempest pours,
Which the cold North congeals to haily Show'rs.

427

From Pole to Pole the Thunder roars aloud,
And broken Lightnings flash from ev'ry Cloud.
Now smoaks with Show'rs the misty Mountain-Ground,
And floated Fields lie undistinguish'd round:
Th' Inachian Streams with headlong Fury run,
And Erasinus rolls a Deluge on.
Where late was Dust, now rapid Torrents play,
Rush thro' the Mounds, and bear the Dams away:
Old Limbs of Trees from crackling Forests torn,
Are whirl'd in Air, and on the Winds are born.
Frighted, he hears the bursting of the Sky,
Sees yawning Rocks in massy Fragments fly,
And views astonish'd from the Hill afar,
The Floods descending and the watry War,
That driv'n by Storms, and pouring o'er the Plain,
Swept Herds, and Hinds, and Houses to the Main.—

Pope. Stat. Theb. Lib. I.

—As when a Storm to Land,
By some tempestuous Constellation rais'd,
Thro' the mid Ocean rolls: With sad Presage
The Peasants shudder at the distant Noise,
Foreboding Corn laid flat, and Trees o'erturn'd,
And universal Ruin spread around:
The Winds before it fly, and to the Shore
Waft the hoarse Murmur.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. XII.

Thanks.

O you, who only with Compassion see
Troy's endless Toils, receive Us for Allies,
And in this City yield a safe Retreat
To Us, the Reliques of the Greeks, fatigu'd
With all the Hazards of the Land, and Sea,
Of all Things indigent: Due Thanks to pay
Is not in Us, nor whatsoe'er remains
Of Trojan Race dispers'd thro' all the World.
The Gods to You (if Virtue be their Care,
And any Justice yet remain) the Gods,
And your own Mind self conscious of the Right,
Equal Rewards shall give.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. I.

429

Your Favours great, and numerous, conferr'd
On me, fair Queen, you justly may recount,
Nor shall I once deny: nor e'er forget
Eliza, while I'm mindful of my self:
While Life inspires this Frame.—

Id. Æn. Lib. IV.

Bacchus, Quirinus, and the Sons of Jove,
Whose Virtues rais'd them to the Gods above,
Whilst here they liv'd, check'd War's destructive Rage,
Built Towns, made Laws, and civiliz'd the Age;
Complain'd that from the very Times they serv'd,
They met far less Respect than they deserv'd.—

Anon. alt. Hor. Lib. II. Epist. 1.

Thirst.

Now, wanting Water, every Place they try,
And both the delving Spade and Sword employ:
Earth's Bosom dark, laborious they explore,
And search the Sources of her liquid Store.
Deep in the hollow Hill the Well descends,
Till level with the moister Plain it ends:
Not lower down from chearful Day decline
The pale Assyrians, in the golden Mine.
In vain they toil, no secret Streams are found
To roll their murm'ring Tides beneath the Ground:
No bursting Springs repay the Workman's Stroke,
Nor glitt'ring gush from out the wounded Rock:
No sweating Caves in dewy Droppings stand,
No slender Rills run gurgling o'er the Sand.
Spent and exhausted with the fruitless Pain,
The fainting Youth ascend to Earth again:
And now, less patient of the Drought they grow,
Than in those cooler Depths of Earth below.
No sav'ry Viands crown the chearful Board,
Ev'n Food for want of Water stands abhorr'd:
To Hunger's meager Refuge they retreat,
And since they cannot drink, refuse to eat.

Where yielding Clods a moister Clay confess,
With griping Hands the clammy Glebe they press:

431

Where-e'er the standing Puddle loathsome lies,
Thither in Crowds the thirsty Soldier flies:
Horrid to Sight, the miry Filth they quaff'd,
And drain'd, with dying Jaws, the deadly Draught.
Some seek the beastial Mothers for Supply,
And draw the Herds extended Udders dry:
Till Thirst, unsated with the milky Store,
With lab'ring Lips sucks in the putrid Gore.
Some strip the Leaves, and suck the Morning Dews:
Some grind the Bark, the woody Branches bruise,
And squeeze the Sapling's unconcocted Juice.—

With secret Flames their with'ring Entrails burn,
And fiery Breathings from their Lungs return:
The shrinking Veins contract their purple Flood,
And urge, laborious, on the beating Blood:
The heaving Sighs thro' straiter Passes blow,
And scorch the painful Palate as they go:
The parch'd rough Tongue Night's humid Vapour draws,
And restless rolls within the clammy Jaws:
With gaping Mouths they wait the falling Rain,
And want those Floods that lately spread the Plain:
Vainly to Heav'n they turn their longing Eyes,
And fix 'em on the dry relentless Skies.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. IV.

The Truce on equal Terms at length agreed,
The Waters from the watchful Guard are freed.
Eager to drink, down rush the thirsty Crowd,
Hang o'er the Banks, and trouble all the Flood.
Some, while too quick the fatal Draughts they drain,
Forget the gasping Lungs that heave in vain:
No breathing Air the choaking Channels fill,
But ev'ry Spring of Life at once stands still.
Some drink, nor yet the fervent Pest asswage,
With wonted Fires their bloated Entrails rage:
With bursting Sides each Bulk enormous heaves,
While still for Drink th' insatiate Fever craves.
At length returning Health dispers'd the Pain,
And lusty Vigour strung the Nerves again.—

Id. Ibid.

433

Thunder and Lightning.

See Cyclops.

What Mind's unshaken? and what Soul not aw'd?
And who not thinks the angry Gods abroad?
Whose Limbs don't shrink, when dreadful Thunder hurl'd,
Roars in the Clouds, and shakes the frighted World?
What do not Cities, do not Nations fear,
When dismal Desolation seems so near?
Then do not Tyrant Kings, and haughty Lords,
Repent their wicked Deeds, and boasting Words?
Do they not tremble at approaching Doom,
And fear their dreaded Punishment is come?—

Creech alt. Lucret. Lib. V.

—The dreadful Thunder roars aloud,
When fighting Winds drive heavy Cloud on Cloud:
For where the Heaven is clear, the Sky serene,
No dreadful Thunder's heard, no Lightning seen,
But where the Clouds are thick, there Thunders rise,
Exert their Rage, and roar along the Skies.—

Id. Lucret. Lib. VI.

Quick Lightning flies, when heavy Clouds rush on,
And strike, as Steel and Flint, or Stone and Stone:
For then small Sparks appear, and scatter'd Light
Breaks swiftly forth, and wakes the sleepy Night.

The Flash first strikes the Eye, and then we hear
The Clap, which does more slowly reach the Ear:
For Light, and Images of Things, still fly
More swift than Sound, and quicker strike the Eye.—

Id. Ibid.

Tides.

As when the Ocean, with alternate Tide,
Now rushes to the Beach, and o'er the Rocks
Tosses the Waves, and to th' extreamest Sand
Dashes it's curling Foam: Now refluent rolls
With rapid Ebb, sucks back the ratling Stones,
Flies from the Shelves, and naked leaves the Shore.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. XI.

435

Wash'd with successive Seas, the doubtful Strand
By turns is Ocean, and by turns is Land.
Whether the Winds in distant Regions blow,
Moving the World of Waters to and fro:
Or waining Moons their settled Periods keep
To swell the Billows, and ferment the Deep;
Or the tir'd Sun, his Vigour to supply,
Raises the floating Mountains to the Sky,
And slakes his Thirst within the mighty Tide,
Do You who study Nature's Works decide:
Whilst I the dark mysterious Cause admire,
Nor, into what the Gods conceal, presumptuously enquire.—

Addison. Lucan. Lib. I.

Time.

Time of itself is Nothing: but from Thought
Receives it's Rise, by lab'ring Fancy wrought
From Things consider'd; while we think on some
As present, some as past, and some to come.
For none can think of Time, must be confess'd,
Without considering Things, in Motion, or at Rest.—

Creech alter'd. Lucret. Lib. I.

In all the World there's Nothing at a Stay:
Like Shadows, Things appear, and pass away:
Ev'n Time itself still hastens to be gone,
Like some swift River always rolling on:
The rapid Stream for ever forward flows;
Time does the same, nor any Stoppage knows.
As Waves urg'd on by Waves no Rest can find,
Each driving that before, and drove by that behind;
So Moments other Moments fast pursue,
For ever changing, and for ever new:
What's just now past we never more shall see,
Nor what is present shall hereafter be,
But new shall still succeed, thro' all Eternity.—

Ovid. Met. Lib. XV.

Time glides along with undiscover'd Haste,
And mocks our Hopes: no Wings can fly so fast.—

Ovid. Met. Lib. X.

437

Time wears out all Things.

See Change.

Thy Teeth, devouring Time! thine, envious Age!
On Things below still exercise your Rage:
With venom'd Grinders you corrupt your Meat:
And then, at lingring Meals, the Morsels eat.—

Dryden. Ovid. Met. Lib. XV.

Ev'n the hard Ploughshare Use will wear away,
And stubborn Steel in length of Time decay:
Water is soft, and marble hard, and yet,
We see soft Water thro' hard Marble get.—

Id. Ovid. Art. L. I.

Nay more: 'tis certain, ev'ry circling Year,
The Rings, which grace the Hands, diminish there:
Drops hollow Stones; and while we plow, the Share
Grows less: the Streets by often treading wear.—

Creech. Lucret. Lib. I.

Hard Stones, and Tow'rs, and Rocks, all feel the Rage
Of pow'rful Time: ev'n Temples waste by Age:
Nor can the Gods themselves prolong their Date,
Change Nature's Laws, or be repriev'd from Fate:
Ev'n Tombs grow old, and waste, by Years o'erthrown,
Men's Graves before, but now become their own.—

Id. Luc. L. V.

Time changes all: and as with swiftest Wings
He passes forward on, he quickly brings
A diff'rent Face, a diff'rent State of Things.
Nature still alters: this grows weak, this strong:
This dies: this rises from it, firm and young.—

Creech alt. Ibid.

Time to be used.

See Delay. Death to be remember'd. Opportunity.

Ev'n now, in bloom of Youth, and Beauty's Prime,
Beware of coming Age, nor waste your Time:
Now, while You may, and rip'ning Years invite,
Enjoy the seasonable, sweet Delight:
For rolling Years, like stealing Waters, glide,
Nor hope to stop their ever-ebbing Tide:

439

Think not, hereafter will the Loss repay,
For ev'ry Morrow will the Taste decay,
And leave less Relish than the former Day.

Congreve. Ovid. Art. III.

The Snake his Skin, the Deer his Horns may cast,
And both renew their Youth and Vigour past:
But no Receipt can Humankind relieve,
Doom'd to decrepid Age without Reprieve.
Then crop the Flow'r which yet invites your Eye,
And which, ungather'd, on it's Stalk must die.—

Id. Ibid.

The Flow'r of Youth decays and fades apace,
(Of our short Being 'tis the shortest Space!)
While the full Bowl with Pleasure circles round,
While we're perfum'd, and with gay Garlands crown'd,
While in the fair One's Arms entranc'd we lie,
Old Age creeps on us, e'er we think it nigh.—

Juv. Sat. IX.

But if you wave your Hopes, and use Delays,
You're wrong, for happy Youth apace decays.
Alas, how swiftly flies away the Light!
Nor slowly moves the Day, nor wheels the Night:
How quickly fades the Earth, as Seasons slide,
Losing it's flow'ry Grace, and purple Pride!
How quickly does the tow'ring Poplar shed
The leafy Honours of it's beauteous Head!
Un-nerv'd by Age, how slothful lies the Horse,
Which flew, when young, in the Olympic Course!
I've known the Old desire their youthful Prime,
And wail their foolish Hours and ill-spent Time.
Ye cruel Gods! the Serpent can renew
His speckl'd Lustre, and his shining Hue:
But Beauty lost, our Art and Pow'r is vain,
E'er to renew the precious Prize again.—

Dart. Tibul. Lib. I. El. 4.

He, free and merrily may live, can say,
As the Day passes, I have liv'd to Day:
And for to Morrow little do I care,
Let the World's Ruler make it foul or fair.—

Hor. Lib. III. Ode 29.

Cut off long Cares from thy contracted Span,
Nor stretch thy Hopes beyond the Reach of Man.
Now, while we speak, Time, envious, hastes away:
Trust not to morrow then, but seize the present Day.—

Creech alt. Hor. Lib. I. Ode 11.

441

Where the white Poplar and the lofty Pine
Their friendly Branches inter-twine,
And hospitable Shades compose:
Where, near at Hand, a limpid River glides,
In winding Streams, and gently chides
The interrupting Pebbles as it flows:
There drink thy gen'rous Wine, thy Odours shed,
And short-liv'd Roses crown thy Head,
While Fortune, Time, and Fate permit:
For thou must soon resign thy Groves, thy House,
Thy Farm where yellow Tyber flows,
And all thy hoarded Wealth thy Heir shall get.—

Hor. Lib. II. Ode 3.

Tisiphone.

See Furies.

A hundred Snakes her gloomy Visage shade,
A hundred Serpents guard her horrid Head:
In her sunk Eyeballs dreadful Meteors glow:
Such Rays from Phœbe's bloody Circle flow,
When lab'ring with strong Charms, she shoots from high
A fiery Gleam, and reddens all the Sky.
Blood stain'd her Cheeks, and from her Mouth there came
Blew steaming Poisons, and a Length of Flame.
From ev'ry Blast of her contagious Breath,
Famine and Drought proceed, and Plagues, and Death.
A Robe obscene was o'er her Shoulders thrown,
A Dress by Fates and Furies wore alone:
She toss'd her meager Arms: her better Hand
In waving Circles whirl'd a Fun'ral Brand:
A Serpent from her left was seen to rear
His flaming Crest, and lash the yielding Air.—

Pope. Stat. Theb. Lib. I.

A flaming Torch besmear'd with clotted Gore
Tisiphone snatch'd up: then hurrying on
Her crimson Robe, in streaming Blood deep'd dy'd,
And girding round her Waist a twining Snake,
Furious she issues forth.—Her close attend
Lamenting Grief, and Fear, and shudd'ring Horror,
And raving Rage with pale and trembling Looks.

443

When she arriv'd at the Eolian Court,
'Tis said the Columns shook, the Ebon Gate
Turn'd pale, and Phœbus in his Course shrunk back.
Scar'd at these Omens, both the King and Queen
Attempt to fly their Palace: but the Fiend
Fills up the Entrance, and their Passage stops.
Wide she her Arms extends writh'd round with Adders:
And shakes her horrid Locks. The Snakes disturb'd,
Russle, and Part a-down her Shoulders hang,
Part curling round her Temples loudly hiss,
Their Poison spew, and dart their quiv'ring Tongues.—

Tomb.

See Funeral. Manes.

But good Æneas rear'd a stately Tomb,
The Hero's Arms, his Oar, and Trumpet fix'd,
Beneath a lofty Mountain: which from him
Is now Misenus call'd, and keeps it's Name
To everlasting Ages.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. VI.

There the vain Youth, who made the World his Prize,
The prosp'rous Robber, Alexander lies.
When pitying Death, at length, had freed Mankind,
To sacred Rest his Bones were here consign'd:
His Bones, that better had been toss'd and hurl'd,
With just Contempt, around the injur'd World.
Oh! should auspicious Years roll round again,
And Godlike Liberty resume her Reign,
Preserv'd to scorn, the Reliques would be shewn
Of the bold Chief, whose boundless Pride alone
This curst Example to Ambition gave,
How many Realms one Mortal can enslave!—

Rowe alt. Lucan. Lib. X.

But know, proud Conqueror! thy Wrath, in vain,
Strews with unbury'd Carcasses the Plain.
What is it to thy Malice, if they burn,
Rot in the Field, or moulder in the Urn?
The Forms of Matter all, dissolving, die,
And lost in Nature's blending Bosom lie.

445

Tho' now thy Cruelty denies a Grave,
These and the World one common Lot shall have:
One last appointed Flame, by Fate's Decree,
Shall waste yon azure Heav'ns, this Earth, and Sea:
Shall knead the Dead up in one mingled Mass,
Where Stars and They shall undistinguish'd pass.
And tho' Thou scorn them now, yet Cæsar! know,
High as thy own can soar, these Souls shall go:
Or find, perhaps, a better Place below.
Death is beyond thy Goddess Fortune's Pow'r,
And Parent Earth receives what-e'er she bore.
Nor will we mourn the Fate of those who lie
Beneath the glorious Cov'ring of the Sky:
That starry Arch for ever round 'em turns,
A nobler Shelter far than Tombs or Urns.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. VII.

Treachery.

See Dissimulation.

Oppos'd to Ilium lie the Thracian Plains,
Where Polymester safe in Plenty reigns.
King Priam to his Care commits his Son
Young Polydore, the Chance of War to shun.
A wise Precaution! had not Gold, consign'd
For the Child's Use, debauch'd the Tyrant's Mind.
When sinking Troy to its last Period drew;
With impious Hands his royal Charge he slew:
Then in the Sea the lifeless Coarse is thrown,
As, with the Body, he the Guilt could drown.—

Stanyan. Ov. Met. XIII.

My cruel Fate, and my more cruel Wife,
To Grecian Swords betray'd my sleeping Life.
You know in what delusive Joys we past
The Night, that was by Heav'n decreed our last.
For when the fatal Horse, descending down,
Pregnant with Arms, o'er-whelm'd th' unhappy Town:
She feign'd nocturnal Orgies, left my Bed,
And, mix'd with Trojan Dames, the Dances led.

447

Then waving high her Torch, the Signal made,
Which rous'd the Grecians from their Ambuscade.
With watching over-worn, with Cares opprest;
Unhappy I had laid me down to Rest,
And heavy Sleep my weary Limbs possess'd.
Mean Time, my worthy Wife our Arms mislaid,
And from beneath my Head my Sword convey'd:
The Door unlock'd: and with repeated Calls,
Invites her former Lord within my Walls.
Thus in her Crime her Confidence she plac'd,
And with new Treasons would redeem the past.
What need I more: into the Room they ran,
And basely murder'd a defenceless Man.—

Dryden. Virg. Æn. Lib. VI.

Deiphobus, betrayed by Helen, whom he took to Wife after the Death of Paris.

Pompey aproaching near the fatal Shore,
Strikes the wide Sail, and plies the plunging Oar.
Him, in a two-bank'd Boat, the Villains meet,
And with dissembled Cheer the Roman greet.
They feign their hospitable Land address'd
With ready Friendship to receive her Guest.
Excusing much an inconvenient Shore,
Where Shoals lie thick, and meeting Currents roar:
From his large Ship, unequal to the Place,
They beg him to their lighter Boat to pass.

Had not the Gods, unchangeably decreed,
Devoted Pompey in that Hour should bleed,
A thousand Signs the Danger near foretell,
Seen by his sad presaging Friends too well.
If fair and faithfully they had design'd,
If Truth could lodge in an Egyptian Mind,
Their King, himself, with all his Fleet had come,
To lead, in Pomp, his Benefactor home.
But thus Fate wills, and Pompey yields to Fate,
Nor, at their Bidding, stay'd to hesitate:
But left his Ship, and rather chose to bear
Death, tho' 'twere certain, than ignoble Fear.
His Wife, impatient, to be left behind,
To rush, with him, into the Boat design'd:
For now, his Danger only fill'd her Mind.

449

But, Oh! forbear, (he cries,) my Love! forbear:
Thou and my Son remain in Safety here:
Let this old Head the Danger first explore,
And prove the Faith of yon suspected Shore.—

Rowe alt. Lucan. Lib. VIII.

Just as he enter'd o'er the Vessel's Side,
Hail General! the curs'd Septimius cry'd:
A Roman once, and brave in Arms was He,
Now of the Guard, and Slave to Ptolemy.—

Id. alt.

Defenceless, in the Boat, now, Pompey sat,
Surrounded, and abandon'd to his Fate.
Nor long they hold him, in their Power, aboard,
E'er ev'ry Villain drew his ruthless Sword:
The Chief perceiv'd their Purpose soon, and spread
His Roman Gown, with Patience, o'er his Head:
And when the curs'd Achillas pierc'd his Breast,
His rising Indignation close repress'd.
No Sighs, no Groans, his Dignity prophan'd,
Nor Tears his still unsully'd Glory stain'd:
Unmov'd, and firm, he fix'd him on his Seat,
And dy'd, as when he liv'd and conquer'd, Great.—

Id. Ibid.

The bloody Business now compleatly done,
New Furies urge the fierce Septimius on:
He rends the Robe that veil'd the Hero's Head,
And to full View expos'd the recent Dead:
Hard in his horrid Gripe the Face he press'd,
While yet the quiv'ring Muscles Life confess'd:
He drew the dragging Body down with Haste,
Then cross a Rower's Seat the Neck he plac'd:
There, awkward, haggling, he divides the Bone,
(The Headsman's Art was yet but little known.)

Caught by the venerable Locks, which grow,
In hoary Ringlets on his gen'rous Brow,
To Egypt's impious King that Head they bear,
Which Lawrels us'd to bind, and Monarchs fear.—

Id. Ibid.

451

Treason.

See Treachery.

The Hour was come, when Man's o'erlabour'd Breast
Surceas'd its Care, by downy Sleep possess'd:
All Things now hush'd, Scylla with silent Tread,
Urg'd her Approach to Nisus' royal Bed:
There of the fatal Lock (accursed Theft!)
She her unwitting Father's Head bereft.

In safe Possession of her impious Prey,
Out at a Postern Gate she takes her Way:
Embolden'd by the Merit of the Deed,
She traverses the adverse Camp with Speed,
Till Minos' Tent she reach'd: The righteous King
She thus bespoke, who shiver'd at the Thing.
Behold th' Effect of Love's resistless Sway!
I, Nisus' royal Seed, to Thee betray
My Country, and my Gods.—For this strange Task,
Minos, no other Boon but Thee I ask.
This purple Hair, the Pledge of Love, receive,
And with that Hair my Father's Life I give.
Then off'ring to present the guilty Prize,
Minos the Giver and the Gift denies.
Shock'd at a Crime so new, he thus exclaim'd,
With Mein indignant, and with Eyes inflam'd,
Perdition seize Thee, Thou, thy Kind's Disgrace!
May thy devoted Carcass find no Place
In Earth, or Air, or Sea, by all outcast!
Shall Minos with so foul a Monster blast
His Cretan World, where cradled Jove was nurs'd?
Forbid it Heav'n!—away, Thou most accurst!—

Croxall alt. Ovid. Met. Lib. VIII.

Scylla, in Love with Minos, who besieged her Father Nisus in his Capitol, cut off her Father's purple Hair, on which the Fate of his Kingdom depended, and fled away with it to his Enemy.

Trees.

See Harmony. Place (Pleasant.)

First, Trees by various Propagation grow:
(So Nature has ordain'd: for some unforc'd

453

By human Industry, spontaneous rise,
In Fields abroad, and shade the winding Streams:
As the soft Sallow, and the flexile Broom,
The Poplar, and grey Willow. Some from Seed:
The lofty Chesnut, and Jove's spreading Esculus,
Supreme of Woods: and Oaks, by Greece esteem'd
Oracular. A num'rous leafy Race
Springs from the Roots of Others: as the Elm,
And Cherry: Thus too sprouts the infant Bay
(Parnassus-born, and by the Muses lov'd,)
Beneath its Parent's more diffusive Shade.

Virg. Georg. Lib. II.

From Trunks the Olive, from the Arch the Vine
More happy answers: From the solid Stock
The Paphian Myrtle: From the Layer's Slip
The hardy Hazle springs, and the tall Ash:
The shady Tree which binds Alcides' Brows:
Jove's Dodonæan Oak: the lofty Palm,
And Pine for future Storms at Sea reserv'd.—

Trap. Ibid.

—Willows grow
Near Rivers: Alders, in the marshy Lakes:
Barren Wild-Ashes, on the rocky Hills:
The Shores rejoyce in Myrtles: Bacchus loves
The open Mountains: Eughs, the North, and Cold.

Ibid.

—By its proper Trees
Each Country is distinguish'd. India sole
Bears Ebony: Sabæa, Incence sweet.
Media the happy Citron bears, of Juice
Pungent, of Taste that dwells upon the Tongue:
Than this no Aid more present (when, in Rage
Of Jealousy, Step-Dames have Draughts infus'd,
And mingled Herbs, and Incantations dire,)
T' expel black Poysons from infected Limbs.
Large is the Tree, and like a Lawrel grows:
And, did it not a diff'rent Scent diffuse,
A Lawrel it would be: no Winds its Leaves
Unfix: Its Blossoms most tenacious grow:
The Medes with this foment their Mouths, correct
Their smelling Breath, and wheezing Sires relieve.—

Trap. Ibid.

455

How pleasing to the Sight Cytorus looks,
Flowing in gentle Waves of livid Box!
How soft! how solemn is Naricia's Shade!
Where pitchy Groves the gloomy Skies invade.—

Anon. Ibid.

Tall Pines for Vessels: for the stately Room
Cypress, and Cedar, with its strong Perfume:
The binding Osier shoots a num'rous Brood:
And Elms for Cattle yield a leafy Food:
For Spears, the Myrtle, and the Cornel grows,
And Parthians bend the Eugh-Tree into Bows.
Nor will the smooth-grain'd Lime, or Box disdain
The rounding Chissel, or the hollowing Plane:
Or the light Alder dread th'impetuous Tide,
But lightly skim the Po, and on its Surges ride.—

Id. Ibid.

To Hercules the Poplar is most dear:
The Vine to Bacchus: To the Cyprian Dame
The Myrtle: To Apollo his own Bay.—

Trap. Virg. Ecl. VII.

In Groves the Beach, in Gardens is the Pine
Most beautiful: The Poplar near the Streams:
On the high Mountains Tops the stately Fir.—

Id. Ibid.

Trophy.

— Æneas plants upon a Hill
An Oak of mighty Bulk, on ev'ry Side
Shorn off its Boughs: and all with shining Arms,
The Spoils of King Mezentius, clothes the Trunk:
A Trophy rais'd, great Warrior God, to Thee.
He fits the bloody Crest, and broken Darts,
And plated Corslet with twelve Wounds transfix'd:
On the left Side the brazen Buckler hangs,
And from the Neck his iv'ry-hilted Sword.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. XI.

Tyrant.

See King.

—The Nation flourish'd long,
In Pride of Wealth, and warlike People strong.
Till curs'd Mezentius, in a fatal Hour,
Assum'd the Crown with arbitrary Pow'r.

457

What Words can paint those execrable Times,
The Subject's Suff'rings, and the Tyrant's Crimes.!
That Blood, those Murders, O, ye Gods, replace
On his own Head, and on his impious Race!
The Living and the Dead, at his Command,
Were coupled, Face to Face, and Hand to Hand:
Till choak'd with Stench, in loath'd Embraces ty'd,
The ling'ring Wretches pin'd away, and dy'd.
Thus plung'd in Ills, and meditating more,
The People's Patience tir'd, no longer bore
The raging Monster: But with Arms beset
His House, and Vengeance, and Destruction threat.
They fire his Palace: While the Flame ascends,
They force his Guards: and execute his Friends.
He cleaves the Crowd: and favour'd by the Night,
To Turnus' friendly Court directs his Flight.—

Dryden. Virg. Æn. Lib. VIII.

A Sacrifice which pleases Jove much more
Than all the Victims at his Altar slain,
Is an unjust, oppressive Tyrant-King.—

Senec. Herc. fur.

Great Father of the Gods, when for our Crimes,
Thou send'st some heavy Judgment on the Times:
Some Tyrant-King, the Terror of his Age,
The Type, and true Vicegerent of thy Rage:
Thus punish him:—Set Virtue in his Sight,
With all her Charms adorn'd, with all her Graces bright:
But set her distant, make him pale to see
His Gains out-weigh'd by lost Felicity.
Sicilian Tortures, and the brazen Bull
Are Emblems, rather than express the full
Of what he feels: Yet what he fears is more.—

Dryden. Pers. Sat. III.

Down to the Grave, but seldom, sink in Peace
Oppressive Kings, escaping Wounds and Murder:
Tyrants but rarely die a bloodless Death—

Juv. Sat. XVI.

Void.

But Matter does not fill up ev'ry Place:
For besides that, there is an empty Space,
A VOID.—

459

A VOID is Space intangible: thus prov'd:
For were there none, no Body could be mov'd:
Because where-e'er the pressing Motion goes,
It still must meet with Stops, still meet with Foes:
'Tis natural for Matter to oppose.
So, that to move would be in vain to try,
For motionless and stubborn all must lie:
Because no yielding Body could be found,
Which first should move, and give the other Ground.

Tho' free from Pores, tho' Solid, Things appear,
Yet many Reasons prove them to be rare.
For Drops distil, and trickling Moisture creeps
Thro' hardest Rocks, and ev'ry Marble weeps.
Sounds pass thro' well clos'd Rooms and hardest Stones,
And Winter's rig'rous Frost pervades our Bones:
Which could not be, were there no empty Space,
Thro' which the subtle Parts of Matter pass.

Besides, why have not Bodies equal Weight
With others, which in Bulk are but as great?
Did the same Quantity of Matter frame
Both Wool and Lead, their Weight must be the same.
Since ev'ry Part of Matter downward tends,
By Nature heavy: but no Void descends.
Wherefore those lighter Things of equal Size,
Do less of Matter, more of Void comprize.—

Creech alt. Lucret. Lib. I.

Variety.

I would not always the same Odours prove,
Nor satiate with one sort of Wine my Taste.
From Mead, to Mead, the Bull delights to rove,

And the wild Beast to vary his Repast.
Ev'n Day itself would yield Us less Delight,
But for the sweet Vicissitude of Night.—

Addison junr. Petron. Arb.

461

Vengeance Divine.

See Pride.

Ah! why d'ye tare me from myself? he cry'd:
While from his Limbs Apollo flay'd his Hide.
One Wound, and raw all o'er, the Suff'rer stood:
From ev'ry Part pour'd out the purple Flood:
The trembling Veins their beating Pulse disclos'd:
The stringy Nerves lay naked and expos'd:
His working Bowels plain one might behold,
And ev'ry Fibre in his Breast have told.—

Croxall alt. Ovid. Met. Lib. VI.

The blasphemous Propœtides deny'd
To worship Venus, and her Pow'r defy'd:
But soon that Pow'r they felt; the first that sold
Their lewd Embraces to the World for Gold.
Unknowing how to blush, and shameless grown,
A small Transition changes them to Stone.—

Ozell. Ovid. Met. Lib. X.

— She with audacious Pride,
Vain of her own, Diana's Charms decry'd.
Her Taunts the Goddess with Resentment fill:
My Face You like not, You shall try my Skill,
She said; and strait her vengeful Bow she strung,
And sent a Shaft that pierced her guilty Tongue:
The bleeding Tongue in vain it's Accents tries;
With the red Stream her Soul reluctant flies.—

Croxall. Ovid. Met. Lib. XI.

Marsyas presuming to challenge Apollo to play upon the Pipe with him, the angry Deity strip'd off his Skin alive.

Chione.

Venus.

Delight of Human Kind, and Gods above,
Parent of Rome, propitious Queen of Love!
Whose vital Pow'r, Air, Earth, and Sea, supplies:
And breeds whate'er is born beneath the rolling Skies.
For ev'ry Kind, by thy prolific Might,
Springs, and beholds the Regions of the Light.

463

Thee, Goddess! Thee, the Clouds and Tempests fear,
And at thy pleasing Presence disappear:
For Thee the Land in fragrant Flow'rs is drest,
For Thee the Ocean smiles, and smooths her wavy Breast,
And Heav'n itself with more serene and purer Light is blest.
For when the rising Spring adorns the Mead,
And a new Scene of Nature stands display'd,
When teeming Birds, and chearful Greens appear,
And western Gales unlock the lazy Year,
The joyous Birds thy Welcome first express,
Whose native Songs thy genial Pow'r confess:
Then savage Beasts bound o'er their slighted Food,
Struck with thy Darts, and tempt the raging Flood.
All Nature is thy Gift, Earth, Air, and Sea;
Of All that breathes the various Progeny,
Stung with Delight, is goaded on by Thee.
O'er barren Mountains, o'er the flow'ry Plain,
The leafy Forests, and the liquid Main,
Extends thy uncontroul'd and boundless Reign.
Thro' all the living Regions Thou dost move,
And scatter'st, where Thou go'st, the kindly Seeds of Love.—

Dryden. Lucret. Lib. I.

She said: And, as she turn'd, her rosy Neck
Shone bright: Her Hair a Fragancy divine
Ambrosial breath'd: Down flows her waving Robe,
And by her Walk the Goddess moves confess'd.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. I.

But Venus, as they went, around them threw
A cloudy Mantle, made of Air condens'd:
Herself to Paphos goes sublime, and pleas'd
Visits her Seat: where sacred to her stands
A Temple: With Sabæan Incense smoke
An hundred Altars, and fresh Garlands breath.—

Id. Ibid.

— Venus went;—
In circling Rounds her braided Hair was dress'd,
Whose curious Order heav'nly Skill express'd:
Her purple Robes a sparkling Buckle bound,
Her Husband's Gift, and held them from the Ground.—

Hughes alter'd. Claud. de Rapt. Pros. Lib. II.

465

Vice.

No Age can go beyond Us: future Times
Can add no farther to the present Crimes:
Our Sons but the same things can wish and do:
Vice is at stand, and at the highest Flow.—

Dryden. Juv. Sat. I.

Well, art Thou really freed from Avarice?
But what avails it, if some other Vice
Be suffer'd to bear sway?—Say, art Thou free
From Pride, and empty Popularity?
Art free from raging Anger, and the Fear
Of certain Death, that dreadful Messenger?
Canst laugh at all the idle fond Conceits
Of Sprights, Dreams, Omens, all those vulgar Cheats?
Art thankful for thy Age that's past and gone?
And being older art Thou wiser grown?
For, as it cannot much abate thy Pain
To draw one Thorn, while twenty more remain:
To hate one Vice is nothing, whilst the Mind
Indulges Vices of another Kind.—

Anon. alt. Hor. Lib. II. Epist. 2.

The worthiest Breasts by Teaching are refin'd,
And virtuous Precepts fortify the Mind:
But Vice is sure to tarnish, and disgrace,
The Fame, and Glory, of the noblest Race.—

Hor. Lib. IV. Ode 4.

Victory.

Shall Victory, intreated, lend her Aid,
For Cakes of Flour on smoaking Altars laid?
Her Help from Toils and Watchings hope to find,
From the strong Body, and undaunted Mind:
If these be wanting on the embattel'd Plain,
Ye sue the unpropitious Maid in vain
Shall the rough Soldier of himself despair,
And hope for female Visions in the Air?

467

What Legion sheath'd in Iron e'er survey'd,
Their Darts directed by this winged Maid?
Dost thou the Power that gives Success demand?
'Tis He th' Almighty, and thy own right Hand.—

Addis. Prudentius contra Symm. L. II.

Virginity.

By many Suitors sought, she mocks their Pains,
And still her vow'd Virginity maintains.
Impatient of a Yoke, the Name of Bride
She shuns, and hates the Joys she never try'd.
On Wilds, and Woods, she fixes her Desire,
Nor knows what Youth, and kindly Love inspire.
Her Father chides her oft: Thou ow'st, says he,
A Husband to thy self, a Son to me.
She, like a Crime, abhors the Nuptial Bed,
She glows with Blushes, and she hangs her Head:
Then casting round his Neck her tender Arms,
Sooths him with Blandishments, and filial Charms
Give me, my Lord, she said, to live, and die,
A spotless Maid, without the Marriage Tye:
'Tis but a small Request: I beg no more
Then what Diana's Father gave before.
The good old Sire was soften'd to consent,
But said, her Wish would prove her Punishment:
For so much Youth and so much Beauty join'd,
Oppos'd the State, which her Desires design'd.—

Dryden. Ovid. Met. Lib. I.

Daphne.

Virtue.

See Man Upright. Pleasure.

'Tis Virtue, Friend, to be averse to Vice,
And the first Step towards being really wise,
Is to be free from Folly.—

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

Just in the midst fair Virtue does abide,
Between Extreams, and shrinks from either Side.—

Ibid. Epist. 18.

469

Silver's less worth than Gold, and Gold than Virtue.—

Hor. Lib. I. Epist. 1.

—Virtue, without Reward
And destitute of every worldly Good,
Is, for itself alone, to be desir'd.—

Ovid. Lib. II. Pont. 3.

Virtue itself is Virtues best Reward.—

Silius. Lib. XIII.

—Virtue, now-a-days,
Is sought by few, but all are mad for Praise:
For who would Virtue, for herself, regard,
Or wed, without the Portion of Reward.—

Dryden. Juv. Sat. X.

All cow'rdly Baseness Virtue does disdain,
And bright it's Honours shine without a Stain:
Nor does it mount or abdicate the Throne,
As the wild Rabble chance to smile or frown.—

Virtue to those unbars the Sky,
Who merit Immortality,
Scorning the clam'rous busy Crowd,
She pants to try the arduous Road;
Nor longer deigns on Earth to stay,
But spreads her Wings, and soars away.—

Hor. Lib. III. Ode 2.

The only Road to Happiness is Virtue.

Juv. Sat. X.

Virtue is really in itself Reward:
Alone secure, and out of Fortune's Pow'r,
It shines triumphant, let her smile, or frown.
Nor, in high Station, is it puff'd with Pride,
Nor meanly sues for popular Applause,
Nor covetous of Wealth, nor wanting Praise:
Rich in itself, and confident it stands,
Immoveable, superior to Events,
And with Contempt looks down on mortal Things.—

Claud. Cons. Mallis. Theod.

[Virtue speaks.
With me the foremost Place let Honour gain,
Fame and the Praises mingling in her Train:
Gay Glory next, and Victory on high,
White like myself, on snowy Wings shall fly.—

Addison. Sib. Ital. Lib. III.

Virtue conceal'd is but of little worth:
For what of Good, in dark Obscurity
Can it produce? A Boat without a Rower,

471

A Lyre unplay'd on, or a Bow unstrung,
It then resembles.—None, unless the Man
That knows himself, and does his Passions quell,
Can ever Virtue find: whose arduous Way
Thro' tedious and perplexed Windings lies.—

Claud. IV. Cons. Hon.

Vision.

See Ghost.

Lo! in a Dream, before my slumb'ring Eyes
The much afflicted Hector seem'd to stand,
Profuse of Tears: dragg'd with the Chariot's Wheels
As heretofore: besmear'd with bloody Dust:
And thro' his swelling Feet transfix'd with Thongs.
Ah me! how was he from that Hector chang'd,
Who once return'd triumphant in the Spoils
Of great Achilles: or who flung his Fire
Among the Grecian Vessels! foul his Beard:
His Hair all clung, and clotted with his Blood:
And in his Body all the Wounds receiv'd
Before his native Walls.—
Fetching a dismal Groan;—Ah! fly, he cry'd;
Fly, Goddess-born, and save Thee from these Flames:
The Enemy has gain'd our Walls; and Troy
Is tumbling from it's Height.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. II.

'Twas Night: and Sleep possess'd the weary World.
Th' Effigies of our Trojan Country-Gods,
Whom from amidst the Fire of ruin'd Troy
I rescu'd, in my Sleep appear'd to stand
Before my Eyes: discover'd by the Light,
Where the full Moon profusely pour'd her Beams
Thro' the inserted Windows.—
Nor was it common Sleep: for plain I saw
Their Looks, their Forms, and Fillets of their Hair.—

Id. Virg. Æn. Lib. III.

Æneas, in his lofty Ship, resolv'd
Upon his Voyage, and prepar'd to sail,
Securely slept.—To him the Form divine
Returning, just the same in Mein, and Look,
Appear'd in Dream:—

473

Resembling Mercury in ev'ry Part,
His Voice, Complexion, and his yellow Hair,
And well proportion'd beauteous Limbs of Youth.
Canst Thou in this Conjuncture, Goddess-born,
Indulge thy Sleep? Nor think what Dangers round
Inclose Thee, thoughtless Man?—

Id. Virg. Æn. Lib. IV.

— 'Twas Night;
When Prince Æneas, on the Bank reclin'd,
Beneath the open Canopy of Heaven,
And troubled in his Breast with Woes of War,
Late Rest indulg'd.—To him the local God,
Old Tyberinus, from his pleasant Stream,
Among the poplar Boughs, appear'd to rise:
Thin azure Linnen o'er his Shoulders flew:
And shady Reeds entwin'd his hoary Head.—

Id. Virg. Æn. Lib. VIII.

At length the weary Chieftain sunk to Rest,
And creeping Slumbers sooth'd his anxious Breast:
When, lo! in that short Moment of Repose,
His Julia's Shade, a dreadful Vision! rose:
Thro' gaping Earth her ghastly Head she rear'd,
And by the Light of livid Flames appear'd.
These Civil Wars, she cry'd, my Peace infest,
And drive me from the Mansions of the Blest:
Elysium's happy Fields no more I know,
Dragg'd to the guilty Stygian Shades below.
When Thou wert mine, what Laurels crown'd thy Head!
But Thou hast chang'd thy Fortune with thy Bed:
In an ill Hour thy second Choice was made,
To Slaughter Thou, like Crassus, art betray'd:
Death is the Dower Cornelia's Love affords,
Ruin still waits upon her potent Lords.
While yet my Ashes glow'd, she took my Place,
And came a Harlot to thy loose Embrace:
But let her, Partner of thy Warfare go,
Let her, by Land and Sea thy Labours know:

475

In all thy broken Sleeps I will be near,
In all thy Dreams sad Julia shall appear:
Your Loves shall find no Moment for Delight,
The Day shall all be Cæsar's, mine the Night.
Not the dull Stream where long Oblivions roll,
Could blot Thee out, my Husband, from my Soul.
The Powers beneath my Constancy approve,
And bid me follow wheresoe'er You rove.
Amidst the joyning Battles will I stand,
And still remind Thee of thy plighted Hand.
Nor think those sacred Ties no more remain:
The Sword of War divides the Knot in vain,
That very War shall make Thee mine again.

The Phantom spoke, and gliding from the Place,
Deluded her astonish'd Lord's Embrace.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. III.

Pompey.

Julia, Cæsar's Daughter, was the first Wife of Pompey: soon after her Death, he marry'd Cornelia the Widow of Crassus, who was slain in the War against the Parthians.

At last, in solemn Silence of the Night,
She rose before her slumb'ring Mother's Sight:
Her yellow Hair more bright than burnish'd Gold,
All foul with Dirt, and squalid to behold:
Pale are her beauteous Cheeks: her radiant Eyes
Are dim'd with Night, and all their Lustre dies.
Her ruddy Lips and snowy Limbs, the Soil
Of Stygian Shades involves, and sooty Clouds defile.
Scarce thro' the black Disguise the Parent knew
The dismal Shape, and star'd with doubtful View:
Art Thou, art Thou my Daughter?—Speak, declare:
Or am I thus deceiv'd by empty Air?—

Hughes. Claud. Rapt. Pros. III.

Proserpine.

Ceres.

Upbraiding.

See Reproach.

To Rage and Fury she converts her Pray'r,
Spreads out her Hands, and flings aloft her Hair.
Where fly'st Thou, (thus she vents her deep Distress)
Why fly'st Thou her that crown'd Thee with Success?
O Thou, beyond my Sire and Country priz'd!
Where fly'st Thou, Cruel? Why am I despis'd?

477

The Guilt and Merit of thy Spoil is mine,
And can nor Gifts, nor Love, thy Soul incline?
Can nothing move thee? can'st Thou throw off one
Who has no Refuge left but Thee alone?
Where shall I seek for Comfort? whither fly?
My native Country does in Ashes lie:
Or wer't not so, my Treason bars me there,
And bids me wander: I myself have thrown
From all the World, but Crete and Thee alone.
Nor think, ungrateful Man! the liquid Way
And foaming Billows shall inforce my Stay:
I'll follow Thee in Spite: my Arms I'll throw
Across thy Oars, or grasp thy crooked Prow,
And drag thro' drenching Seas.—

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

Scylla. See Treason.

And could'st thou hope, perfidious, to conceal
So black a Crime? and silent leave my Coasts?
Cannot my Love, nor thy once plighted Faith,
Nor Dido's cruel, and untimely Death,
(For Death inevitable must ensue)
Detain Thee?—For thy Sake
My Honour is extinguish'd, lost: and That
By which alone I soar'd above the World,
My once unsully'd Fame: to whom by Thee
Dying am I abandon'd, cruel Guest?
Since that's the only Name which now remains,
Instead of Husband.—

Nor art Thou of a Goddess Mother born:
Nor is thy Birth from Dardanus deriv'd,
Perfidious Wretch! but Caucasus, with Rocks
Horrid, disclos'd thee from its flinty Sides,
And fierce Hircanian Tygers gave thee suck.
—Did he once give a Groan
To see me weep? Did he once bend his Eyes?
Or shed one Tear in Pity to my Love?
True Faith is no where to be found: him toss'd
On Shore, of all Things indigent, I here
Receiv'd: and made him Partner of my Throne,
(Fool that I was!) repair'd his shatter'd Fleet,
And hospitably sav'd his Friends from Death.

479

Furies distract me! now Apollo's Shrines,
Now Lycian Oracles have warn'd him hence:
Th' Ambassador of Heav'n, from mighty Jove
Dispatch'd, brings dreadful Mandates thro' the Air.
Belike the Gods are wond'rously concern'd
For his Affairs: that Care disturbs their Rest.
I nor detain Thee, nor refel thy Words:
Away for Latium, by the Winds: go, seek
Thy Kingdom o'er the Waves: for me, I hope,
If the just Gods, have Pow'r, thou wilt receive
Thy due Reward among the Rocks: and there
Call oft on Dido: wrapt in dusky Flames,
I'll follow Thee: and, soon as icy Death
Has freed my Soul from Flesh, in ev'ry Place
My Ghost shall haunt thee: Villain! thou shalt feel
My Vengeance.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. IV.

Want.

Who taught the Parrot human Notes to try,
Or with a Voice endu'd the chatt'ring Pye?
'Twas witty Want, fierce Hunger to appease:
Want taught their Masters, and their Masters these.
Let Gain, that gilded Bait, be hung on high,
The hungry Witlings have it in their Eye:
Pyes, Crows, and Daws, poetic Presents bring:
You say they squeak, but they will swear they sing.—

Dryd. Pers. Sat. I. Prologus.

When human Reason Length of Time refin'd,
And Want had set an Edge upon the Mind:
When Men's Necessities did sorely press,
And exercis'd their Wits to find Redress:
Then various Cares their working Thoughts employ'd,
And that which each invented all enjoy'd.
Then Meanings first were fixt to barb'rous Sounds,
Then Corn first grew, then Fruit enrich'd the Grounds:
Thro' Seas unknown the Sailor then was hurl'd,
And gainful Traffick joyn'd the distant World:
Then Arts of War were found, and Arts of Peace.—

Creech alt. Manil. I.

481

'Tis Luxury, the Bane of honest Minds,
That dulls the Soul, and sharp Invention blinds:
While more ingenious Want inspires the Man,
To prove his Pow'r, and dare what-e'er he can.
For daily Need to virtuous Arts will move,
And Arts, invented, Practice will improve.—

Hughes alt. Claud. Rapt. Pros. Lib. III.

War.

See Battle. Rout. Siege. Slaughter. War (Civil.)

Who was it first began the dang'rous Trade,
To work the Sword, and whet the shining Blade?
How savage must he be to learn such Ill!
And sure his very Soul itself was Steel.
Then Wars began, then 'rose the murd'ring Trade,
Then for fierce Death a shorter Way was made.
But he, unthinking Wretch! no Harm design'd;
We took the cursed Hint, to Ills inclin'd:
And what he made to tame the savage Beast,
We madly turn against each other's Breast.
This Vice proceeds from greedy Thirst of Gold,
For Wars and Tumults were unknown of old:
When cheerful Draughts were quaff'd from common Wood,
And beachen Bowls on homely Tables stood.
No Need was then of Tow'rs their Wealth to keep,
The Shepherd slept secure amidst his Sheep.—

Dart. Tibul. Lib. X. El. 1.

What Madness is it, in distracted Broils,
To hasten on our Fate by martial Toils?
Or Death provoke, by seeking high Renown?
Uncall'd, with silent Pace, he comes, too soon.—

Id. Ibid.

—They Right and Wrong confound:
From ev'ry Quarter impious Arms resound,
And monstrous Crimes in ev'ry Shape are crown'd.
The peaceful Peasant to the War is prest;
The Fields lie fallow, in disgraceful Rest:
The Plain no Pasture to the Flocks affords:
The crooked Scythes are straiten'd into Swords.
Perfidious Mars long plighted Leagues divides,
And o'er the wasted World in Triumph rides.—

Dryden. Virg. Georg. Lib. I.

483

The peaceful Cities of th' Ausonian Shore,
Lull'd in their Ease, and undisturb'd before,
Are all on Fire: and some, with studious Care,
Their restiff Steeds in sandy Fields prepare:
Some their soft Limbs in painful Marches try,
And War is all their Wish, and Arms the gen'ral Cry.
Part scour the rusty Shields with Seam, and Part
New grind the blunted Ax, and point the Dart.
With Joy they view the waving Ensigns fly,
And hear the Trumpet's Clangor pierce the Sky.
Some hammer Helmets for the fighting Field,
Some twine young Sallows to support the Shield.
The Corslet some, and some the Cuisses mold,
With Silver plated, and with ductile Gold.
The rustic Honours of the Scythe and Share,
Give Place to Swords and Plumes, the Pride of War.
Old Faulchions are new temper'd in the Fires:
The sounding Trumpet ev'ry Soul inspires.
The Word is giv'n: with eager Haste they lace
The shining Headpiece, and the Shield embrace.
The neighing Steeds are to the Chariot ty'd,
The trusty Weapon sits on ev'ry Side.—

Dryden. Virg. Æn. VII.

The high-born Nobles with the Vulgar fall:
Wide wastes the Sword, and Slaughter reaches all:
Murder ev'n Temples finds: distain'd with Gore,
Slipp'ry with Carnage, is the sacred Floor.
No Age is spar'd: low-bending to the Grave,
Life's small Remains the Ancient cannot save:
Infants, new-born, and reeking from the Womb,
The plunging Steel sends hasty to the Tomb.
What can such Infants do to merit Death?
'Tis a sufficient Crime that they have Breath.—

Lucan. Lib. I.

—Horrid War invents
New Methods, and a thousand Forms of Death:
War gluts the Earth, and dyes the Seas with Blood.
Then Wickedness broke loose, ranges at Will
Thro' ev'ry Place, nor House, nor Temple 'scapes.
No Crime is uncommitted.—

Senec. Hipp.

485

The Indian Tiger a perpetual Peace
With Tigers keeps, and Bears with Bears agree:
But Man, with hellish Art, the murd'ring Sword
'Gainst his own Race prepares.—

Juv. Sat. XV.

War Declar'd.

Two Gates of War there stand (so call'd their Name)
Tremendously Religious, by the Dread
Of horrid Mars: an hundred brazen Bolts,
And everlasting Iron's solid Strength
Secures them: Nor does Janus ever cease
To guard the Portal. Here, when certain War
The Fathers by their Sentence have decreed,
The Consul clad in his Quirinal Gown,
And rich Gabinian Robe, himself unlocks
The jarring Doors: Himself calls forth the Fight:
Then all the Forces follow: And at once
In shrill Assent the brazen Trumpets sound.

Trap. Æn. Lib. VII.

War (Civil.)

See Discord.

Lo! from the Earth the mild and gentle Train
Of Deities departs, and leaves Mankind
To sure and dreadful Desolation doom'd.
Peace leads the Way, and beats her snowy Arms,
Within her Helmet hides her vanquish'd Head,
And flies affrighted to th' Elysian Shades.
On her inviolable Faith attends,
And mournful Justice with dishevel'd Hair,
And Concord wailing, with her Garments torn.
But Hell, with Joy, unbolts it's brazen Doors,
And all it's Furies quit the Stygian Court:
Threat'ning Bellona with Erynnis joyns,
And dire Megæra arm'd with flaming Brands.
Pale Death, insidious Fraud, and Massacre,
With Rage burst forth, who, from his Fetters freed,
Lifts high his gory Head: a Helmet hides

487

His Visage scarr'd with Wounds: his left Hand grasps
The Shield of Mars, horrid with countless Darts,
Whilst in his Right a flaming Torch appears,
To light Destruction, and to fire the World.—

Petron. Arb.

Their ancient Friends, as now they nearer drew,
Prepar'd for Fight the wond'ring Soldiers knew:
Brother with Brother in unnat'ral Strife,
And the Son arm'd against the Father's Life.
Curst Civil-War! then Conscience first was felt,
And the tough Veteran's Heart began to melt.

Pity awhile their Hands from Slaughter kept,
Inward they groan'd, and as they drew, they wept:
But ev'ry Blow their wav'ring Rage assures,
In Murder hardens, and to Blood inures.
Crowds charge on Crowds, nor Friends their Friends descry,
But Sires by Sons, and Sons by Fathers die.—

Addison. Lucan. Lib. IV.

Dissembled Hate and Rancour rang'd at Will:
All, as they pleas'd, took Liberty to kill:
And while Revenge no longer fear'd the Laws,
Each private Murder was the public Cause.
The Leader bad destroy: and, at the Word,
The Master fell beneath the Servant's Sword.
Brothers on Brothers were for Gifts bestow'd,
And Sons contended for their Father's Blood.
For Refuge some to Caves and Forests fled:
Some to the lonely Mansions of the Dead:
Some, to prevent the cruel Victor, die:
These strangled hang from fatal Beams on high:
While those, from Tops of lofty Turrets thrown,
Came headlong on the dashing Pavement down.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. II.

Now either Host the middle Plain had pass'd,
And Front to Front in threat'ning Ranks were plac'd:
Then ev'ry well known Feature stood to View,
Brothers their Brothers, Sons their Fathers knew.
Then first they feel the Curse of Civil Hate,
Mark where their Mischiefs are assign'd by Fate,
And see from whom themselves Destruction wait.

489

Stupid a-while, and at a Gaze they stood,
While creeping Horror froze the lazy Blood:
Some small Remains of Piety withstand,
And stop the Javelin in the lifted Hand:
Remorse for one short Moment step'd between,
And motionless, as Statues, all were seen.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. VII.

Forbear such Wars, my Children, O forbear!
Nor sheath your dreaded Country's conqu'ring Swords
Within your Country's Bowels.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. VI.

These ruin'd Monuments are not defac'd
By all-destroying Time: that We behold
So many Cities, desolate, and waste,
Is owing to the Guilt of Civil War.
To what small Number now has that reduc'd
Mankind! not all our Offspring can suffice
To fill the Towns, or cultivate the Lands.—

Luc. L. VII.

Warrior.

See Hero.

When Turnus saw Æneas from the Field
Retiring, and the Trojan Chiefs confus'd:
Fir'd with new Hope, he suddenly demands
His Arms, and Horses: vaults with haughty Bound
Into his Car, and guides the flowing Reins.
Many brave Warriors in his swift Career
He gives to Death: rolls many on the Ground
Half dead: or drives his Chariot o'er their Troops;
Or plies their Backs with Jav'lins in their Flight.
As when, enrag'd, near frozen Hebrus' Stream,
Mars clashes on his Shield, and wakes the War,
And to his foaming Coursers gives the Reins:
They, in the open Field, outfly the Winds,
Notus, and Zephyrus: beneath their Feet
The Thracian Confines groan: and round him throng
Fury, and Stratagem, and pale Dismay,
The dire Retinue of th' ensanguin'd God.
So Turnus, thro' the Middle of the Fight,
Exulting, lashes on his fiery Steeds

491

Smoking with Sweat: and (dreadful to behold!)
Tramples his prostrate Foes: the rapid Hoofs
Scatter the gory Dew all sprinkled round,
And spurn thick Clots of mingled Sand and Blood.—

Trap. Æn. Lib. XII.

And now the Courser on his Back receives
Th' accustom'd Load: He settles in the Seat,
And both his Hands with pointed Jav'lins fills:
His brazen Helmet glitters on his Head,
And nods the waving Crest of Horses Mane.
Thus arm'd, with rapid Haste into the Midst
Furious he rides: Within his Bosom boils
Disdainful Shame, and Grief to Madness wrought,
And Love inflam'd with Rage, and conscious Worth.—

Id. Æn. Lib. X.

But by Jove's Impulse fierce Mezentius fir'd
Mean while succeeds to Battle, and invades
The conqu'ring Trojans. All the Tyrrhene Bands
Assemble: Him alone with mortal Hate
United, and with Storms of Darts they press.
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. Ibid.

Weather. Prognostics.

E'er Winds arise:—Or, swells the working Flood:
Or, a harsh Crash is heard throughout the Wood:
Or, mingling, sound the Coasts from distant Seas,
And gathering Murmur rustles in the Trees.
Then scarce the Wave from bended Skiffs abstains,
When Cormorants forsake the watry Plains,
And scream along the Shore: when swift to Land
The Sea-gulls haste, and sport along the Strand:
Or, when the Hern prepares his lofty Flight,
Quits the known Marsh, and mounts th' Etherial Height.

493

Oft too, you'll see, when furious Winds impend,
Precipitate, the Stars from Heav'n descend;
And far behind, thro' gloomy Shades of Night,
Glitter, and whiten the long Trails of Light:
Oft whirl in Air dry Straw, and with'ring Leaves,
And Feathers wanton on the simm'ring Waves.

But from the North when flashing Lightnings fly,
And East, and Westward, Thunder rends the Sky:
Then with the swelling Dykes swims all the Plain:
Then ev'ry Seaman, on the foaming Main,
Quick gathers up the Sails all drench'd with Rain.
None, uninform'd, e'er did the Show'r assail:
Cranes, as it rose, flew downwards to the Vale:
Or, gazing on the Heavens stood the Steer,
And with wide Nostrils snuff'd the humid Air:
Or, Swallows, chatt'ring, round the Lake have flown,
And miry Frogs sung out their antient Moan.
And oftner has the Ant with busy Tread,
Up from the Nether-Cells her Eggs convey'd:
Deep drank the mighty Bow: and foodless rose
Loud, with their rustling Wings, a Host of Crows.
Now may you see wide Ocean's various Fowls,
And those that haunt Cayster's well-lov'd Pools,
In wanton Strife the Silver-Flood divide,
And lave their Shoulders with the sparkling Tide:
Now with their downy Breasts the Torrent stem:
Now plunge their Heads: now run upon the Stream:
With endless Labour ply the watry Plain,
And dive, and wash, and proudly wash in vain.
Then, with full Voice the Rook the Show'r demands,
And solitary stalks along the thirsty Sands.
Nor is unskilful of impending Storms
The Virgin, nightly, that her Task performs:
When sparkling in the Lamp the Oyl she sees,
And fungous Balls around the Wick increase.

Nor from less certain Signs mayst Thou descry
Unshowery Suns, and an expanded Sky.

495

Then keen the Stars appear: nor, rising, seems
The Moon a Debtor to her Brother's Beams:
Then do the wafting Winds no longer bear
The fleecy Flakes; serene and still the Air:
Nor to the tepid Sun their Wings expand,
The Sea-lov'd Halcyons, basking on the Strand:
Nor mindful are the Swine, with Jaws display'd,
To gripe the Straw, and toss their rustling Bed:
But downwards glides the Mist, and lodges on the Mead:
And Owls, still waiting on the Sun's Retreat,
In vain their Midnight Songs aloft repeat.
Then, thrice, or four times, firmly prest the Throat,
The Rooks redouble every clearer Note:
Gay, with I know not what unusual Joys,
They crowd the Trees, and chatt'ring is their Noise.
What dear Delight possesses every Breast,
When each beholds, soon as the Storms are ceas'd,
Her tender Young once more, and pleasing Nest.
Not that I think the Gods to them dispense
Of Things in Fate a more discerning Sense:
But when the Storm, and moist inconstant Skies
Alternate Change: when southern Tempests rise,
Condense what's thin, and what's condens'd more rare
By Warmth becomes, they vary with the Air:
Now one Impression in their Bosoms dwells,
Another when the Wind the Clouds dispels:
Hence from the Birds that warbling Concert flows:
Hence Herds exult, and hoarsely shout the Crows.

But to the rapid Sun if You attend,
And how the Moons their following Courses bend,
You'll ne'er be taken by th' ensuing Day,
Nor shall fair Nights, insiduous, Thee betray.
When first the Moon collects the coming Rays,
If she thick Air in her dark Horn displays,
Vast Show'rs invade the Peasant and the Seas:
But if a Virgin Blush her Face o'er-spread,
Winds blow:—with Wind still Phœbe's Cheeks are red:

497

But at her fourth Ascent if pointed rise
The silver Horns, and bright she trips the Skies,
That Day entire, and all it's following Race,
Till fully, she compleats her monthly Space,
(Safe by this Sign) nor Storms shall know, nor Rain:
And Sailors; rescu'd from the boist'rous Main,
Their promis'd Vows shall pay to all the watry Reign.

And thus the Sun, as Rising he appears,
Or dipt in Ocean, various Signs declares:
Unerring Signs his circling Course attend,
Or in the Morn, or when the Stars ascend.
Whene'er he mottles o'er his new-born Light,
Or masks in Clouds, or half retires from Sight,
Suspect the Show'r: For, fatal to the Sown,
And Trees, and Herds, the South comes pouring down.
If, at the purple Dawn, his struggling Rays
Strike thro' the thick'ning Skies a scatter'd Blaze:
If, o'er her Cheeks a livid Paleness shed,
Aurora springs from Tithon's saffron Bed:
Ah! what can Leaves to guard the Grapes avail?
So rattling bounds on Roofs the horrid Hail!
But, from Olympus, just as he slides down,
'Twould profit more to have observ'd the Sun.
Oft o'er his Face are diff'rent Colours spread:
Thick Rains the Azure, Winds denote the Red:
But intermingled if the Spots appear
With shining Flame, then Winds and Clouds prepare
With equal Rage, an universal War:
That Night let none to venture on the Sea,
Or to untie the Cable, counsel me.
But if his Orb all lucid shines, and gay,
When forth he leads, and when he hides the Day,
Fear not the Storm: You'll see the northern Breeze
Slide thro' the Grove, and gently move the Trees.
Lastly, to what the Ev'ning is inclin'd,
From whence shall come the Cloud-dispelling Wind,
And of the humid South the secret Mind,

499

The Sun to You repeated Tokens gives:
And who dares say that e'er the Sun deceives?—

Anon. Virg. Geor. Lib. I.

Signs of Wind.

Signs of Rain.

Signs of Fair Weather.

Signs from the Moon.

Signs from the Sun.

Weaving.

Strait to their Posts appointed, both repair
And fix their threaded Looms with equal Care:
Around the solid Beam the Web is ty'd,
While hollow Canes the parting Warp divide:
Thro' which with nimble Flight, the Shuttles play,
And for the Woof prepare a ready Way:
The Woof and Warp divide, prest by the toothy Slay.
Now both, their Mantles button'd to their Breast,
Their dextrous Fingers ply with eager Haste,
And work with Pleasure: while they chear the Eye
With glowing Purple of the Tyrian Dye:
Or, justly intermixing Shades with Light,
Insensibly their Colourings unite.
As when a Shower transpierc'd with sunny Rays,
It's mighty Arch along the Heav'ns displays,
From whence a thousand diff'rent Colours rise,
Whose fine Transition cheats the clearest Eyes,
So like the intermingled Shading seems,
And only differs in the last Extreams.
Then Threads of Gold both artfully dispose,
And, as each Part in just Proportion rose,
Some antique Fable in their Work disclose.—

Croxall. Ovid. Met. Lib. VI.

With Skill exact a Phrygian Web she strung,
Fix'd to a Loom that in her Chamber hung,
Where in-wrought Letters upon White display'd,
In purple Notes the cruel Act betray'd.—

Id. Ibid.

Pallas and Arachne.

Philomela.

Wedding.

See Marriage.

Hymen and Love their nuptial Torches raise,
And rich Perfumes on every Altar blaze.

501

With flow'ry Garlands are the Houses hung:
Flutes, Harps, and Hautboys aid the warbling Song,
And Joy is now the Theme of ev'ry Tongue.
Ope, wide, the Palace Gates extended flew;
The regal Treasures are expos'd to view:
The Cephine Peers, each an invited Guest,
In Pomp assemble to the royal Feast.
The Banquet over, brisk the rosy Bowl
Moves round and round, enlarging every Soul.—

Ovid. Met. Lib. IV.

—The Roofs with Joy resound,
And Hymen! Io Hymen! rung around.
Rais'd Altars shone with holy Fires: the Bride
Lovely herself (and lovely by her side
A Bevy of bright Nymphs,) with sober Grace,
Came glitt'ring like a Star, and took her Place.
We joy Perithous of his happy Choice.—

Dryd. Ovid. Met. Lib. XII.

Already standing at the Door, too long
Sweet Hymen waits to raise the nuptial Song:
Her sacred Bands majestick Juno lends,
And Concord with her flaming Torch attends.—

Addison. Statii. Epith. Syl. I.

Wedding of Perseus and Andromeda.

Wedding of Perithous and Hippodamia.

Wedding (Unlucky.)

Nor Hymen, nor the Graces here preside,
Nor Juno to befriend the blooming Bride:
But Fiends with fun'ral Brands the Process led,
And Furies waited at the genial Bed:
And all Night long the screeching Owl aloof,
With baleful Notes sat brooding o'er the Roof.—

Croxall. Ovid. Met. Lib. VI.

Wedding of Tereus and Procne.

Thence, in his saffron Robes, thro' boundless Skies,
To the Ciconian Borders Hymen flies:
In vain by Orpheus call'd, his Love to bless,
He came indeed, but could not bring Success.
No chearful Omens, or auspicious Words,
No Looks of Joy the gloomy God affords.

503

The Torch his Hand sustain'd, still sput'ring, rais'd
A sullen Smoke, nor yet, tho' shaken, blaz'd.

Th' Event still worse than these Presages prov'd;
For whilst the Bride along the Meadows rov'd,
Encompass'd by the sportive Naïd Throng,
Her by the Heel a venom'd Viper stung,
And instant Death ensu'd.—

Theobald. alt. Ovid. Met. Lib. X.

Wedding of Orpheus and Euridice.

In plain unsolemn wise his Faith he plights,
And calls the Gods to view the lonely Rites.
No Garlands gay the cheerful Portal crown'd,
Nor wooly Fillets wove the Posts around:
No genial Bed, with rich Embroidery grac'd,
On Iv'ry Steps in lofty State was plac'd:
No Hymeneal Torch preceeding shone,
No Matron put the tow'ry Frontlet on,
Nor bad her Feet the sacred Threshold shun.
No yellow Veil was loosely thrown to hide
The rising Blushes of the trembling Bride:
No glitt'ring Zone her flowing Garments bound,
Nor sparkling Gems her Neck encompass'd round:
No silken Scarf, nor decent winding Lawn,
Was o'er her naked Arms and Shoulders drawn:
But, as she was, in Funeral Attire,
With all the Sadness Sorrow could inspire,
With Eyes dejected, with a joyless Face,
She met her Husband's, like a Son's Embrace.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. II.

Martia, the Wife of Cato, after bearing him three Children, was, at his Desire, espoused to his Friend Hortensius, who had no Issue. Hortensius dying, she was again married to Cato her first Husband, at the time when the Civil War was just broke out between Cæsar and Pompey. The Concern Cato felt for the Commonwealth, made him lay aside all the Ceremonies usual at the Roman Weddings.

The howling Fiends, and ominous Birds of Night,
With dismal Notes, perform'd each nuptial Rite:
With her curl'd Snakes the fierce Alecto came,
To light our Tapers with infernal Flame.

Ovid. Ep. 2.

505

Wickedness.

All live by Spoil, in Safety none remain;
The Guest, by him that 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 Poison for the Son prepares:
The Son inquires about his Father's Years.
Duty with Piety expiring lies,
And Justice weary'd out with bloody Cries,
Last of the Virtues, seeks her native Skies.—

Dryd. alt. Ovid. Met. Lib. I.

Some think that Chance rules all, that Nature steers
Without a God,—
The moving Seasons, and turns around the Years,
These run to ev'ry Shrine, these boldly swear,
And keep no Faith, because they know no Fear.

Another doubts: but as his Doubts decline,
He dreads just Vengeance, and he starts at Sin:
He owns a God: and yet the Wretch forswears:
And thus he reasons to relieve his Fears.
Let Isis rage, so I securely hold
The Coin forsworn, and keep the ravish'd Gold.
Let Blindness, Lameness come: are Legs and Eyes
Of equal Value to so great a Prize?
The Vengeance of the Gods, tho' sure, is slow:
If, therefore, all must feel the dreadful Blow
Their Crimes deserve, so busy they must be,
'Twill be an Age before they come to me.
But they are wont to pardon and to spare,
And I too, may, perhaps, their Mercy share.
Oft, Sins alike, unlike Rewards have found,
One Villain's crucify'd, another crown'd.
The Man that shiver'd on the Brink of Sin,
Thus steel'd, and hard'ned, ventures boldly in.

Creech alt. Juv. Sat. XIII.

He that once Sins, like him that slides on Ice,
Goes swiftly down the slippery Ways of Vice:

507

Tho' Conscience checks him, yet, those Rubs gone o'er
He slides on smoothly, and looks back no more.
What Sinners finish where they first begin,
And with one Crime content their Lust to sin?
Nature, that rude, and in her first Essay,
Stood boggling at the Roughness of the Way,
Us'd to the Road, unknowing to return,
Goes boldly on, and loves the Path when worn.

Ibid.

What Day's so sacred, but it's Rest's profan'd
By violent Robbers, or by Murder stain'd?
Here hir'd Assassins for their Gain invade,
And treach'rous Poys'ners urge their fatal Trade.
Good Men are scarce, the Just are thinly sown:—
Should We but count them, and our Store compile,
Yet Thebes more Gates would shew, more Mouths the fruitful Nile.—

Ibid.

Look o'er the World, see Force and Fraud increase,
Rapine in War, and Treachery in Peace:
But look for Truth and Faith, the Search is vain!
No Mind is honest, and no Thoughts are plain.
What bulky Villanies bestride the Age!
What Envy pushes on Mankind to Rage!
Envy not to be dispossess'd, her Throne
Is firmly fixt, and all the World's her own.
For cursed Gold is all the mighty Strife:
Sons sell their Father's and their Mother's Life,
Friends kill their Friends: and at the barb'rous Sight
The Sun retires, and leaves the World to Night.
While Brothers poison with a smiling Face,
And mix the Cup, and kill where they embrace:
No Place is safe, no Temple yields Defence,
'Gainst secret Stabs, or open Violence.
Those most betray who Kindness most pretend,
And Crowds of Villains skulk behind the Name of Friend.
The World's infected, Wrong and Fraud prevail,
While Truth, and Honesty, and Justice fail:
Nay, Laws support those Crimes they check'd before,
And Executions now affright no more.—

Creech. Manil. Lib. II.

509

Wife.

See Portion.

A Country Girl, scarce to a Curt'sy bred,
Than Thee, Cornelia, rather would I wed:
If supercilious, haughty, proud, and vain,
Thou bring'st thy Father's Triumphs in thy Train.
Take hence thy boasted Hannibal, I pray,
Nor let behind him vanquish'd Syphax stay;
With all thy Carthaginian State pack up, and march away.—

Dryd. alt. Juv. Sat. VI.

Mother to the Gracchi, and Daughter of Scipio Africanus, who conquered Hannibal and Syphax.

What Beauty or what Chastity can bear
So great a Price? if stately and severe
She still insults, and you must still adore,
Grant that the Honey's much, the Gall is more:
Upbraided with the Virtues she displays,
Sev'n Hours in twelve you loath the Wife you praise.—

Dryd. Ibid.

Besides, what endless Brawls by Wives are bred!
The Curtain Lecture makes a restless Bed.
Then, when she has Thee sure within the Sheets,
Worse than a Tyger robb'd,—
She roars, and tares, and all her Arts repeats.
Conscious of Crimes herself, she teizes first:
Thy Servants are accus'd, thy Whore is curs'd:
She acts the Jealous, and at Will she cries,
For Women's Tears are but the Sweat of Eyes.
Poor Cuckold Fool! Thou think'st her Love sincere,
And suck'st between her Lips the falling Tear:
But search her Cabinet, and thou shalt find
Each Tiller there, with Love Epistles lin'd.
Suppose her taken in a close Embrace:
This you would think so manifest a Case,
No Rhet'ric could defend, no Impudence outface:
And yet ev'n then, she cries,—the Marriage Vow
A mental Reservation must allow:

511

And there's a silent Bargain still imply'd,
The Parties should be pleas'd on either Side:
And both may for their private Ends provide.—

Id. Ibid.

The gaudy Gossip, when she's set a-gog,
In Jewels drest, and at each Ear a Bob,
Goes flaunting forth, and in her Trim of Pride,
Thinks all she says or does, is justify'd.
When poor, she's scarce a tolerable Evil:
But rich, and fine, a Wife's a very Devil.

Mean-while the Husband's whole Estate is spent;
He may go bare, while she receives his Rent.
She minds him not: She lives not as a Wife,
But like a bawling Neighbour, full of Strife:
Near him, in this alone, that she extends
Her Hate to all his Servants and his Friends.—

Dryden. Juv. Sat. VI.

But of all Plagues the greatest is untold:
The Book-learn'd Wife, in Greek and Latin bold.
The Critic-Dame, who at her Table sits,
Homer and Virgil quotes, and weighs their Wits;
And pities Dido's agonizing Fits.
She has so far th' Ascendant of the Board,
The prating Pedant puts not in one Word:
The Man of Law is non-plus'd in his Suit;
Nay, ev'ry other female Tongue is mute.
Hammers, and beating Anvils, you would swear,
And Vulcan with his whole Militia there.
Tabors and Trumpets cease: for she alone
Is able to redeem the lab'ring Moon.
Ev'n Wit's a Burden, when it talks too long:
But she who has no Continence of Tongue,
Should walk in Breeches, and should wear a Beard,
And mix among the Philosophic Herd.

O what a midnight Curse has he, whose Side
Is pester'd with a Mood and Figure Bride!
Let mine, Ye Gods! (if such must be my Fate)
No Logic learn, nor History translate!
But rather be a quiet humble Fool:
I hate a Wife to whom I go to School:

513

Who climbs the Grammar Tree, distinctly knows
Where Noun, and Verb, and Participle grows:
Corrects her Country Neighbour; and in Bed,
For breaking Priscian's, breaks her Husband's Head.—

Id. Ibid.

It is not from the Gods, or Cupid's Dart,
That many a homely Woman wins the Heart:
A Wife well-humour'd, dutiful, and chaste,
And clean, will hold her wand'ring Husband fast:
Such are the Links of Love, and such a Love will last.—

Creech alter'd. Lucret. Lib. IV.

In good Faith, we poor Wives have got a very ill Name with our Husbands: and because there are a few bad ones, the World judges hardly of us all.—

Eachard. Terent. Hecyr.

Will.

Whence comes this perfect Freedom of the Mind?
Whence comes the WILL so free and unconfin'd,
Above the Pow'r of Fate? by which we go
Where-e'er we please, and what we Will we do?—

Creech. Lucret. Lib. II.

A knavish Spartan was to Cheat inclin'd,
But wanted first to know Apollo's Mind;
Whether, if he with sacred Oaths deny'd
A trusted Pledge, Heav'n would be satisfy'd.
The Priestess answer'd, that his base Intent
Should not escape without a Punishment.
Startled at this, the Wretch gave up the Trust;
And was, thro' Fear, not Inclination, just.
Yet Plagues pursu'd him, and the mental Sin
Destroy'd himself, his Children, and his Kin.
Thus did he suffer for his wicked Will,
Tho' he ne'er practic'd the intended Ill.
That Man stands really guilty of the Fault,
Who in his Breast admits a wicked Thought:

515

Then what sad Punishment must He expect,
Who thinks a Crime, and brings it to effect?—

Juv. Sat. XIII.

'Tis worthy Praise, a good Intent to shew,
When that is all We have a Pow'r to do:
The Gods excuse what-e'er is wanting more,
If with a willing Mind we them adore:
And not less pleas'd the poor Man's Lamb receive,
Than Bullocks which the Rich and Mighty give.—

Ovid. Pont. Lib. IV.

One would think Juvenal had read what Christ himself says Matt. v. 27, 28. Ye have heard that it was said by them of old time, Thou shalt not commit Adultery. But I say unto you, That whosoever looketh on a Woman to lust after her, hath committed Adultery with her already in his Heart.

Wine.

See Bacchus. Osiris.

Wine warms the Blood, and makes the Spirits flow,
Care fly, and Wrinkles from the Forehead go:
Exalts the Poor: invigorates the Weak:
Gives Mirth, and Laughter, and a rosy Cheek:
Bold Truths it speaks: and spoken, dares maintain:
And brings our old Simplicity again.
Wine makes the Youth the fair One's Charms admire:
And Love with Wine is Fire put to Fire.—

Dryd. alt. Ov. Art. Am. I.

Would you that I my Thoughts on Wine declare?
Short my Advice, and few my Precepts are.
Wine drank discreetly warms the Heart to Love,
But Drunkenness does its Destruction prove:
A gentle Breeze of Wind blows up the Fire,
Whose rising Flames would in a Storm expire.—

Ov. Rem. Am.

Wine kept, they say, old Cato's Virtue warm;
Wine whets the Dull, and Wit inspires,
The Grave with sprightly Vigour fires,
And, by a never-failing Charm,
Unlocks the Mind, and all its gay Desires.
Wine with fresh Hope the Coward cheers,
Revives the Wretched and Undone,
And makes the Slave his Lord disown:
What Wretch, when arm'd by Bacchus, fears
To meet a Warrior's Arm, or stand a Tyrant's Frown?—

Creech. Hor. Lib. III. Od. 21.

What Wonders cannot Wine effect? 'Tis free
Of Secrets, and turns Hope to Certainty.

517

The unarm'd Man it renders brave in War,
And rids the troubled Mind of all its Care.
It teaches Arts, it teaches how to think;
And what Man is not eloquent in Drink?
Or who's so much deprest by Poverty,
That Wine can't make him happy, rich, and free?—

Creech alt. Hor. Lib. I. Epist. 5.

Winds.

See Storm at Land. Storm at Sea. Tempest.

Nor the Creator left the Winds at large,
On Seas, and Shores, their Fury to discharge:
Bound as they are, and circumscrib'd in Place,
They rend the World, resistless, where they pass:
And mighty Marks of Mischief leave behind:
Such is the Rage of their tempestuous Kind.
First, Eurus to the rising Morn is sent,
(The Regions of the balmy Continent:)
And Eastern Realms where early Persians run,
To greet the blest Appearance of the Sun.
Westward, the wanton Zephyr wings his Flight,
Pleas'd with the Remnants of departing Light.
Fierce Boreas, with his Offspring, issues forth,
T'invade the frozen Waggon of the North:
Whilst frowning Auster seeks the Southern Sphere,
And rots, with endless Rain, th' unwholsome Year.—

Dryd. Ovid. Met. Lib. I.

—In his capacious Cave,
Great Æolus, with absolute Command,
Controuls, imprisons, and confines in Chains
The noisy Tempests, and reluctant Winds.
They roar, and murmur round the Mountain's Sides,
Indignant: Æolus his Scepter shakes,
Majestic on his lofty Throne: o'er-rules
Their wild Desires, and moderates their Rage.
Which did he not, with rapid Force they'd hurl
Heav'n, Earth, and Seas, and sweep them thro' the Air.
But fearing This, the Sov'reign of the Gods
Pent them in gloomy Caves: and o'er them threw

519

Vast Piles of massy Rocks:—impos'd a King,
Who should, by certain Measures, know to curb,
Or, when commanded, to indulge their Rage.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. I.

East, West, and North, and South, on either Side,
Oppos'd they lie, and thus the World divide:
As many Winds from these four Quarters fly,
And fight, and rattle, thro' the empty Sky.
Rough Boreas, from the North bears Frost and Snows:
And from the East the surly Eurus blows:
Wet Auster from the torrid South is thrown:
And pleasing Zephyrus loves the setting Sun.—

Creech. Manil. Lib. IV.

Like Boreas in his Race, when rushing forth,
He sweeps the Skies, and clears the cloudy North:
The waving Harvest bends beneath his Blast:
The Forest shakes, the Groves their Honours cast:
Aloft he flies, and with impetuous Roar,
Pursues the foaming Surges to the Shore.—

Dryden. Virg. Georg. Lib. III.

Now rising all at once, and unconfin'd,
From ev'ry Quarter roars the rushing Wind.
First, from the wide Atlantic Ocean's Bed,
Tempestuous Corus rears his dreadful Head:
Th' obedient Deep his potent Breath controuls,
And, Mountain-high, the foamy Flood he rolls.
Him the North-East encount'ring fierce defy'd,
And back rebuffeted the yielding Tide.
The curling Surges loud conflicting meet,
Dash their proud Heads, and bellow as they beat:
While piercing Boreas from the Scythian Strand
Plows up the Waves, and scoops the lowest Sand.
Nor Eurus, then, I ween, was left to dwell,
Nor show'ry Notus, in th' Æolian Cell:
But each, from ev'ry Side, his Pow'r to boast,
Rang'd his proud Forces, to defend his Coast.
Equal in Might, alike they strive in vain,
While in the midst the Seas unmov'd remain.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. V.

521

Winter.

See Frost. Seasons. Year.

Still slothful proves the Winter to the Swain.
'Tis then their Stores the Peasants oft employ
In mutual Feasts, and give a loose to Joy:
The genial Winter all their Minds prepares
To sprightly Mirth, and buries anxious Cares:
So joy the Sailors, every Danger past,
Safe in the Port the Ship, and crown'd the Mast.—

Anon. Virg. Geor. Lib. I.

The Fields unwrought then lie, unplow'd the Seas,
And Mars in Quarters, lies consign'd to Ease:
Rocks cleave with Frosts: and by the Cold opprest,
All Nature's Powers are stiffen'd into Rest.—

Creech. Man. Lib. III.

Mean while the Sun rolls round the circling Year,
And icy Winter, harsh with northern Winds,
Roughens the Sea.—

Trap, Virg. Æn. Lib. III.

—Then is the time to set
Springs for Cranes, and Toils for Stags: to hunt
The Hare: and from the Balearian sling,
With twisted Thong whirl'd round, to shoot the Doe:
While Snow lies deep: while heavy Cakes of Ice,
Push'd by the Tide, down the dull River float.—

Id. Georg. Lib. I.

Scythian Winter.

In Scythia's Realms, no Herbage on the Fields,
No Leaves, in Winter, on the Trees are seen:
But Frost, and Ice, and ridgy Heaps of Snow,
Sev'n Ells in Height, deform the Country round.
Eternal Winter reigns, and freezing Winds.
The Sun ne'er dissipates the hazy Gloom:
Not when his Steeds mount upwards to the Sky,
Nor when He washes in the Ocean's Waves,
Red with his Beams, his prone descending Car.
The running Streams to sudden Crusts congeal:
The Water on it's Surface Iron Wheels
Sustains: and Carts are driv'n, where Lighters sail'd.

523

Brass splits: Their rusling Garments stiffen frore:
With Axes Wine is hewn: To solid Glass
The standing Puddles in the Dykes are turn'd:
And Icicles hang rigid from their Beards.
Nor less, meanwhile, it Snows o'er all the Air:
The Cattle die: The Neat, of bulky Size,
With Frost surrounded stand: The Stags in Droves,
Benumb'd beneath th' unusual Weight, scarce raise
Their Heads, or with their topmost Horns appear.
These the rough Hunters nor with Dogs, nor Toils,
Nor with the Line of crimson Plumes pursue:
But, as in vain they labour with their Breasts,
And push against th' opposing Hills of Snow,
Stab them with Swords, or Spears, in closer Fight,
Braying aloud: And, with a mighty Shout,
Triumphant, carry off the bleeding Prey.

Themselves in low sunk Caverns, under Ground,
Secure, and jovial live: whole Oaks, and Elms,
Roll to the Hearths, and pile them on the Fire:
In Mirth and Jollity protract the Night;
And Beer, and Cyder quaff, instead of Wine.
Such is th' unbroken Race of Men, who live
Beneath the Pole: by rough Riphæan Blasts
For ever buffeted: and with the Skins
And tawny Furs of Beasts their Bodies cloth.—

Trap. Virg. Geor. Lib. III.

Such are the Climes beneath the frozen Zone,
Where chearless Winter plants her dreary Throne:
No golden Stars their gloomy Heav'ns adorn,
Nor genial Seasons to their Earth return:
But everlasting Ice and Snows appear,
Chill all the Summer's Fires, and curse the barren Year.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. IV.

Wish.

See Midas. Prayers.

Me may the Muses, whose vow'd Priest I am,
Smit with strong Passion for their sacred Song,
Dear above all to me, accept: and teach
The heav'nly Roads, the Motions of the Stars,

525

The Sun's Defects, the Labours of the Moon:
Whence Tremor to the Earth: by what Impulse
The Sea swells high, and ebbing back retires:
Why Suns in Winter haste so swift to tinge
Themselves in Ocean: and what Cause retards
The sluggish Nights.—But if the colder Blood
About my Heart forbid me to approach
So near to Nature: may the rural Fields,
And Streams, which murm'ring glide along the Vales,
Delight me: Groves, and Rivers may I love,
Obscure, inglorious.—

—O! in Hæmus' Vallies cool
Who places me, and covers me with shade
Of thickest Trees, embow'ring?—

Trap. Virg. Georg. Lib. II.

Look round the habitable World, how few
Know their own Good: or knowing it, pursue.
How void of Reason are our Hopes and Fears!
What, in the Conduct of our Life, appears
So well design'd, so luckily begun,
But, when we have our Wish, we wish undone?—

Dryd. Juv. Sat. X.

For what do You imagine that I care?
What think You is the Subject of my Pray'r?
Be my Estate just what it is, or less,
'Twill still be large enough for Happiness!
And grant I may, if Heav'n more Years will give,
Live to myself, the Time I have to live!
Let me have Books, and Food to serve a Year,
Lest I should wav'ring hang 'twixt Hope and Fear!

This, this is all, for which Mankind should pray,
And beg of JOVE: who gives, and takes away.
Let him but Life, and mod'rate Plenty find,
And I'll provide my self an happy Mind.—

Creech alter'd. Hor. Lib. I. Ep. 18.

My Fortune might I form at Will,
My Canvas, Zephyrs soft, should fill
With gentle Breath: lest ruder Gales
Crack the Main-Yard, or burst the Sails.
By Winds, that temperately blow,
My Barque should pass secure and slow:

527

Nor scare me, leaning on her Side,
But smoothly cleave the unruffled Tide.—

Addison. Sen. Œdip.

Wit.

The rolling Sea rewards the Merchant's Pains,
And pays his Confidence with ample Gains:
The Sons of Mars, in War and Battles bold,
Return with Plunder rich, and cloth'd in Gold:
The drunken Scoundrel Parasite can lie
On costly Couches, ting'd with purple Dye:
He that debauches other People's Wives,
Receives his pay, and by his Baseness thrives:
Poor Wit alone a Threadbare Garment wears,
And courts those Arts, for which no Mortal Cares.—

Petron. Arb.

Woman.

See Wife.

—A woman is a Thing
Still various, and uncertain.—

Virg. Æn. Lib. IV.

Tears in abundance ever wait her Will,
To be squeez'd out, and over-flow her Eyes,
Just as Occasion serves.—

Juv. Sat. VI.

Woman is soft and of a tender Heart,
Apt to receive, and to retain Love's Dart:
Man has a Breast robust, and more secure,
It wounds him not so deep, nor hits so sure.
Men oft are false: and, if You search with Care,
You'll find less Fraud imputed to the Fair.—

Dryden. Ovid. Art. Am.

Perfidious Woman naturally deceives,
And all her Speeches are like falling Leaves:
Which when the Winds have from the Branches tore,
About they're blown a-while, and seen no more.

Ovid. Am. Lib. II.

There's nothing bolder than a Woman caught:
Guilt gives 'em Courage to maintain their Fault.—

Dryden. Juv. Sat. VI.

No Cause is try'd at the litigious Bar,
But Women Plaintiffs, or Defendants are.

529

They form the Process, all the Briefs they write:
The Topicks furnish, and the Pleas indite:
And teach the toothless Lawyer how to bite.—

Id. Ibid.

Poor vain Ogulnia, on the Poet's Day,
Will borrow Cloths, and Chair, to see the Play:
Will spend the last Half-Crown of her Estate,
And pawn the last remaining Piece of Plate.
Some are reduc'd their utmost Shifts to try,
But Women have no Shame of Poverty:
Beyond their Stint they live: as if their Store
The more exhausted would encrease the more:
Some Men, instructed by the lab'ring Ant,
Provide against th' Extremities of Want:
But Womankind, that never knows a Mean,
Down to the Dregs their sinking Fortunes drain:
Hourly they give, and spend, and waste, and wear,
And think no Pleasure can be bought too dear.—

Id. Ibid.

I know full well the giddy Mind of Woman:
Would You? They won't: but, if You won't, They will.—

Ter. Eun.

When Tatius rul'd the antient Sabine Race,
Then rough, and careless of a handsome Face,
The Women took more Pains to earn their Bread
At Plow, and Cart, than how to dress the Head.
All Day their Task the busy Matrons ply'd,
Or spinning sat, as to their Distaffs ty'd.
The Mother then, at Night, would fold the Sheep,
Her little Daughter us'd by Day to keep.
And when at home, would cleave out Logs of Wood,
Or kindle up a Fire to boil their Food.
But You, bright Fair! who're form'd in finer Moulds,
Must wrap your Limbs in rich brocaded Folds:
Must comb, and curl, and with abundant Care
Turn up, and braid, and place the shining Hair.
With Necklaces and Rings, set off your Charms,
Hang Pendants in your Ears, and Bracelets on your Arms:
Nor need this Care to please a Blush create,
For Men themselves have learn'd to Dress of late.—

Tate alter'd. Ovid. de Med. Faciei.

531

World.

All mortal Things must change. The fruitful Plain
As Seasons turn, scarce knows herself again,
Such various Forms she bears: large Empires too,
Put off their former Face, and take a new:
Yet safe the World, and free from Change doth last:
No Years encrease it, nor can Ages waste.
It's Course it urges on, and keeps it's Frame,
And still will be, for always 'twas the same.
Our Fathers saw it, just as now we see,
And to our Children it the same shall be:
Secure it stands from Time's devouring Rage,
For It's a God, unchangeable by Age.—

Creech alter'd. Manil. Lib. I.

Worship:

What sort acceptable to the Gods.

But say, ye Priests, if I may be so bold,
What are the Gods the better for our Gold?
The Wretch that offers from his wealthy Store
Such Presents, bribes the Pow'rs to give him more:
As Maids to Venus offer Baby-Toys,
To bless the Marriage-Bed with Girls and Boys.

But let Us for the Gods a Gift prepare,
Which the Great Man's great Fortune cannot bear:
A Soul, where Laws both human and divine,
In Practice more than Speculation shine:
A genuine Virtue, of a vig'rous Kind,
Pure in the last Recesses of the Mind.
When with such Off'rings to the Gods I come,
A Cake, thus giv'n, is worth a Hecatomb.—

Dryden. Pers. Sat. II.

The Blood of Bulls cannot the Gods delight:
But from the Heart performing what is Right,
Justice, and Truth, are pleasing in their Sight.—

Ovid. Epist. Lib. XIX.

The pious Off'ring of a piece of Bread,
If with pure Hands upon the Altar laid,
Than costly Hecatombs will better please
Th' offended Gods, and their just Wrath appease.—

Hor. L. III. Ode 23.

533

Thou hop'st with Sacrifice of Oxen slain
To compass Wealth, and bribe the God of Gain.
Increase my Flocks and Herds, Good God, I pray!—
Fool! how can they increase, when ev'ry Day,
Thy choicest Young are sacrific'd away?
Yet think'st Thou when the fatten'd Flames aspire,
Thou see'st the Accomplishment of thy Desire.
Now, now, my bearded Harvest gilds the Plain!
The scanty Folds can scarce my Sheep contain!
And Show'rs of Gold come pouring in amain!

Thus dreams the Wretch, and vainly thus dreams on,
Till his lank Purse declares his Money gone.—

Dryd. alt. Pers. Sat. II.

The Gods are pure, and Purity require:
Before the Pow'rs in spotless Garments stand,
And sprinkle Water with unsully'd Hand.—

Tibul. Lib. II. El. 1.

Wounds.

See Battle. Combat. Dying. Slaughter.

— Almo fell
Shot by a founding Arrow: For the Wound
Beneath his Wezon stuck, and with his Blood
Clos'd up the Passage of the humid Voice,
And choak'd the slender Life.—

Trap. Virg. Æn. Lib. VII.

Full, as he rose, He bury'd all the Sword
Deep in his Breast: and with abundant Death
Receiv'd him: He with gushing Wine and Gore
Vomits his purple Soul; and dying pours
A blended Flood.—

Æn. Lib. IX.

—The flying Spear
Fixes in Sulmo's Back averse: and there
The Wood breaks short: the pointed Steel divides
His Lungs, and whizzing passes thro' his Breast.
Shiv'ring he totters, from his Bosom pours
A reeking Flood, and with long Sobs distends
His heaving Entrails.—

Id. Ibid.

Hurt by Themilla first, but slight the Wound,
His Shield thrown by, to mitigate the Smart,
He clap'd his Hand upon the wounded Part:

535

A feather'd Shaft came swift and unespy'd,
And pierc'd his Hand, and nail'd it to his Side:
Transfix'd his breathing Lungs, and beating Heart:
The Soul came issuing out, and hiss'd against the Dart.—

Id. Ibid.

Then rising, on his utmost Stretch he stood:
And aim'd from high: the full descending Blow
Cleaves the broad Front and beardless Cheeks in two:
Down sinks the Warrior with a thund'ring Sound,
His pond'rous Limbs oppress the trembling Ground:
Blood, Brains and Foam, gush from the gaping Wound.
Scalp, Face, and Neck, the cutting Steel divides,
And the shar'd Visage hangs on equal Sides.—

Dryd. Ibid.

Lynceus advancing opposite in Arms,
And calling on his Friends, with brandish'd Sword
From the high Mound he to the Right, assails:
At one full Stroke off flew his gasping Head,
And, with his Helmet, at a Distance lay.—

Trap. Ibid.

— The Jav'lin flies
Bores his Right Arm, and cuts it's bloody Way:
And from his Shoulder by the stringy Nerves
The dying Limb hangs down.—

Id. Æn. Lib. X.

As Lucagus prone, hanging on the Blow,
Goads with a Dart his Horses, and prepares,
With his Left Foot protended, for the Fight,
Beneath the Border of his shining Shield
The Spear takes Place, and pierces his left Groin:
He from his Chariot dying rolls to Earth.—

Id. Æn. Lib. X.

Now Podalirius, with his Sword unsheath'd,
The Shepherd Alsus, rushing thro' the Darts
In the first Rank, pursues, and o'er him him stands
Threat'ning aloft: He turning on the Foe,
Full in the middle with his Ax divides
His Forehead and his Chin: and smears his Arms
With spatter'd Brains all o'er: A deadly Rest,
And iron Slumber seals his heavy Eyes,
And closes them in everlasting Night.—

Id. Virg. Æn. Lib. XII.

Æneas with a Rock's enormous Weight,
Driv'n like a Whirlwind, strikes Murranus down
Headlong to Earth.—

537

The Wheels beneath the Axle, and the Reins,
Whirl rapid o'er him: and his trampling Steeds
Crush him to Mire, unmindful of their Lord.—

Id. Ibid.

—Ebusus springs on,
And aims a Blow: Him Chorinæus meets,
And dashes o'er his Face a flaming Brand
Snatch'd from the Altar: his huge bushy Beard
Blazes, and spreads a Stench. The Other close
Urges his startled Foe, and in his Hair
Twists his left Hand: and, pressing with his Knee
His Stomach, nails him prostrate to the Ground:
And plunges in his Side the rigid Steel.—

Id. Ibid.

He fled full speed; but an unerring Dart
O'ertook him, quick discharg'd and sped with Art:
Fix'd in his Neck behind, it trembling stood,
And at his Throat came out besmear'd with Blood.
Prone as his Posture was, he tumbled o'er
His Courser's Neck, and bath'd the Ground with steaming Gore.—

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

— A thrilling Dart,
By Phæbus guided, pierc'd him to the Heart.
This, as they drew it forth, the Midriff tore,
It's barbed Point the fleshy Fragments bore,
And let the Soul gush out in Streams of purple Gore.—

Crox. Ibid.

Poor Damasicthon by a double Wound,
Beardless, and young, lay gasping on the Ground.
Fix'd in his sinewy Ham, the steely Point,
Struck thro' his Knee, and pierc'd the nervous Joint:
And, as he stoop'd to tug the painful Dart,
Another struck him in a vital Part:
Shot thro' his Wezon, by the Wing it hung,
The Life-Blood forc'd it out, and darting upward sprung.—

Id. Ibid.

—With both his Hands
A Golden Cup he seizes, high emboss'd,
And at his Head the massy Goblet toss'd:
It hits, and from his Forehead bruis'd rebounds,
And Blood, and Brains, he vomits from his Wounds.
Thund'ring he falls, along the Floor he lies,
And Death for ever shuts his swimming Eyes.—

Manwa. Ovid. Met. Lib. V.

539

But closely round an Altar as he hung,
And there with trembling Arms for safety clung,
Fierce Chromis lop'd his Head, and lop'd so well,
The jointed Head upon the Altar fell:
And gasping, curs'd among the curling Fires,
And in a shining Blaze at last expires.—

Hughes. Ibid.

Swift from his Hand the winged Jav'lin flies,
And Argus of illustrious Lineage wounds:
Deep sinks the piercing Point, where to the Loins
Above the Naval high the Belly joins:
The stagg'ring Youth falls forward on his Fate,
And helps the goring Weapon with his Weight.—

Rowe. Lucan. Lib. III.

One Spear transfix'd his Back, and one his Breast,
And deadly met within his heaving Chest.
Doubtful awhile the Flood was seen to stay:
At length the steely Points at once gave way:
Then fleeting Life a twofold Passage found,
And ran divided from each streaming Wound.—

Id. Ibid.

Wretch.

Now from the Wood shot sudden forth to View,
A Wretch in Rags, that flutter'd as he flew.
The human Form in meager Hunger lost!
The suppliant Stranger more than half a Ghost,
Stretch'd forth his Hands, and pointed to the Coast.
We turn'd to view the Sight:—His Vest was torn,
And all the tatter'd Garb was tagg'd with Thorn.
His Beard hangs long, and Filth the Wretch distains,
And scarce the Shadow of a Man remains.

Soon as our Dardan Dress and Arms he view'd,
In Fear suspended for a Space he stood:
Stood, stop'd, and paus'd:—then springing forth he flies,
All headlong to the Shore with Pray'rs and Cries.
Oh! by this vital Air, the Stars on high,
By ev'ry pitying Pow'r who treads the Sky!
Ye Trojans take me hence; I ask no more:
But bear, Oh! bear me to some other Shore.

Then kneel'd the Wretch, and suppliant clung around
My Knees with Tears, and grovell'd on the Ground.—

Pitt. Æn. Lib. III.

541

Writing.

Phœnicians first, if ancient Fame be true,
The wond'rous Art of forming Letters knew:
They first essay'd, as 'twere by Magic bound,
To picture Speech, and fix the flying Sound:
By uncouth Figures which their Fancy wrought,
Colour and Body gave to Voice and Thought.
Then Memphis, e'er the ready Leaf was known,
Engrav'd her Precepts and her Arts on Stone:
With Birds and Beasts, in various Order plac'd,
The learned Hieroglyphick Column grac'd.—

Rowe alt. Lucan. Lib. III.

Year.

Perceiv'st thou not the Process of the Year,
How the four Seasons in four Forms appear,
Resembling human Life in ev'ry Shape they wear?

Spring first, like Infancy, shoots out her Head,
With milky Juice requiring to be fed:
Helpless, tho' fresh: and wanting to be led.
The green Stem grows in Stature and in Size,
But only feeds with Hope the Farmer's Eyes.
Then laughs the childish Year, with Flow'rets crown'd,
And lavishly perfumes the Fields around:
But no substantial Nourishment receives,
Infirm the Stalks, unsolid are the Leaves.

Proceeding onwards, whence the Year began,
The Summer grows adult, and ripens into Man:
This Season, as in Men, is most replete
With kindly Moisture and prolific Heat.

Autumn succeeds: a sober, tepid Age,
Not froze with Fear, nor boiling into Rage:
More than mature, and tending to Decay,
When our brown Locks begin to mix with Grey.

Then aged Winter comes with trembling Pace,
Depriv'd of Strength, despoil'd of ev'ry Grace,
And bald, or white as Snow, concludes the Race.—

Dryd. alt. Ovid. Met. Lib. XV.

543

Zephyr.

See Winds.

His balmy Wings auspicious Zephyr shakes,
The trickling Dew a joyous Season makes:
Where-e'er he flies appears the vernal Dye:
The Ground is green, and smiles the cheerful Sky.
With crimson Grace he paints the blushing Rose,
He on the darker Hyacinth bestows
A shaded Splendor, and with Purple bright
Makes the sweet scented Violet delight.
Not so, with Gems enchas'd, around the Loins
Of Parthian Kings the glitt'ring Girdle shines.
What Fleece, that with Assyrian Tincture glows,
Such rich Variety of Beauty shows?
Not Juno's Bird, the Glory of the Skies,
Proud of his Tail diversify'd with Eyes,
Displays such Colours in his curious Train,
Nor the bright changeful Bow, that circles round the Rain.

Claud. Rapt. Pros.

Zones.

See Embroidery.

Five Zones the Heav'ns infold: with constant Sun
Still red, still scorch'd in torrid Heat the One:
Round This, on either Hand, wind distant Coasts,
Regions of Storm, and everlasting Frosts.
Betwixt the First, and These, by bounteous Heav'n
To feeble Mortals Two are kindly giv'n:
A-cross them both a Path oblique inclines,
Where in successive Order turn the Signs.—

Virg. Georg. I.

And, as two equal Zones on either Side,
On Right, and Left, the measur'd Heav'n's divide,
While the Fifth rages with intenser Heat;
So Lines alike this earthly Ball compleat.
The Sun with Rays directly darting down,
Inhabitable makes the Middle Zone:
On Two, eternal Hills of Snow are seen:
And Two, indulgent Heav'n has plac'd between:

545

Whose Climes a due proportion'd Mixture hold,
Temper'd with equal Parts of Heat and Cold.—

Ovid. Met. Lib. I.

The ambient Air does this our Earth surround,
And five Divisions on its Orb are found:
Two Parts thereof in cheerless Regions lye,
Where Frost and Cold eternal fills the Sky:
There sullen Night sits brooding o'er the Ground,
And all with Darkness are invelop'd round.
No living Waters there the Lands divide,
No gentle Streams in mazy Wand'rings glide;
But everlasting Ice the Floods constrains,
And Drifts of Snow o'erspread the dreary Plains:
There never did the Sun diffuse a Ray,
Or give the chearful Promise of a Day.

The middle Regions feel the scorching Sun,
Whether he nearer brings our Summer on,
Or when he does a swifter Course display,
And in short Circles wheels the wintry Day.
There then the Plough can never be in Use,
No Corn the Fields, nor Herbs the Lands produce:
No God, indulgent, makes the Fields his Care,
Bacchus and Ceres never visit there.
No Cattle there can graze the parch'd-up Ground,
There nothing that possesses Life is found.

Between the freezing Cold, and scorching Heat,
Our temp'rate Zone is plac'd, a happy Seat!
To this oppos'd a fellow Climate lies;
Happy alike the Temper of its Skies.
Here, first, the stubborn Steer to Toil was broke,
And Oxen bent their Necks beneath the Yoke:
Here Vines were taught to climb the neighb'ring Trees,
And annual Harvests gave a large Increase.
Here first the Soil receiv'd the iron Plough,
Here first the Ocean felt the brazen Prow:
Here well-built Towns, and mighty Cities rise,
With stately Walls, and Tow'rs that brave the Skies.—

Dart alter'd. Tibul. Lib. IV. El. 1.

FINIS.