To Gods for fear Devotion was defign'd,
And fafely made us bow to Majefty:
Poets by Nature awe, and charm the Mind,
Are born, not made, or by Religion, or Neceffity.
The learned Thyrfis did to Thee belong,
Who Athens Plague has fo divinely fung;
Thyrfis to Wit, as facred Friend ship true
Paid mighty Cowley's Memory its due.
Thyrfis, who while a greater Plague did reign
Than that which Athens did depopulate
Scattering rebellious Fury o'er the Plain,
That threaten'd Ruin to the Church and State,
Unmov'd he stood, and fear'd no Threats of Fate;
That loyal Champion for the Church and Crown
Still did his Sovereign's Caufe efpouse,

And was above the Thanks of the mad Senate-Houfe.

Strephon the Great, whom laft you fent abroad,
Who writ, and lov'd, and look'd like any God.
For whom the Mufes mourn, the Love-fick Maids
Are languishing in melancholy Shades;
The Cupids flag their Wings, their Bows unty,
And useless Quivers hang neglected by;

And scatter'd Arrows all around them ly:

By murmuring Brooks the careless Deities are laid,
Weeping their rifled Power now noble Strephon's dead.

Ah facred Wadham! couldst thou never own
But this Delight of all Mankind and thine,
For Ages paft of Dulnefs this alone,

This charming Hero would atone,

And make thee glorious to fucceeding time.
But thou like Nature's felf difdain'ft to be
Stinted to fingularity.
As faft as fhe, thou doft produce,
And over all the facred Mystery dost infuse.

No fooner was fam'd Strephon's Glory fet,
Strephon the foft, the lovely, gay and great,
But Daphnis rifes like the Morning Star,
That guides the wand'ring Traveller from afar,
Daphnis, whom every Grace, and Mufe inspires,
Scarce Strephon's ravishing Poetick Fires
So kindly warm, or fo divinely cheer.

Advance, young Daphnis, as thou haft begun,
So let thy mighty Race be run;
Thou in thy large poetick Chace
Begin'ft where others end the Race.
If now thy graceful Numbers are so ftrong,

If they fo early can fuch Graces show

Like Beauty, fo furprizing, whilft fo young:
What Daphnis, will thy riper Judgment do,

When thy unbounded Verfe in their own Streams all flow?

What

What Wonders will they not produce,
When thy immortal fancy's loofe
Unfetter'd, unconfin'd by any other Muse?

Advance young Daphnis then, and may'st thou prove
Still happy in thy Poetry and Love.

May all the Groves, with Daphnis Songs be Bleft,
Whilft every Bark, is with thy Difticks dreft:
May timorous Maids learn how to love from thence,
And the glad Shepherd, Arts of Eloquence:
And when to Solitudes thou wouldst retreat,
May their tun'd Pipes, thy welcome celebrate;
Whilft all the Nymphs ftrow Garlands at thy Feet,
May all the purling Streams, that murmuring pass
The shady Groves, and Banks of Flowers,
The low repofing Beds of Grafs,
Contribute to thy fofteit Hours.

Mayft thou thy Muse and Mistress there carefs,
And may one heighten t'others Happiness;
And whilft thou thus Divinely doft converfe,

We are content to know, and to admire thee in thy Verfe.

London, Jan.

25. 1682.

A. Behr.

To Mr. CREECH, on his Translation of Lucretius,

ACcept this Praife, and fo much more your Due,

From one that envies and admires you too.

I thought indeed before I heard your Fame,
No Lawrels grew but on the Banks of Cham;
Where Chaucer was by facred Fury fir'd,
And everlasting Cowley lay infpir'd.
Where Milton firft his wondrous Vifion faw,
And Marvel taught the Painter how to draw:
Befides an Iffue which we blush to own,
Moft of the Scriblers that infeft the Town,
Lay at our Doors expos'd; tho' after-times
Shall have the Pleafure, not to hear their Rhimes.
But now my pious Errour I condemn,
A Prophet's born out of Jerufalem.

And yet I wish, learn'd Youth, I wish thee ours,
Your vain Antiquity, your boafted Tow'rs,
Your ftately Walls that Sheldon's Pomp exprefs,
Nay Bodley's facred Offerings move me lefs:
Hail wondrous Poet full of Excellence,

That read'ft in every Language, Wit, and Senfe;
Thou great Lucretius; how I'm pleas'd to fee
That fo corrupt an Age can relish thee?
And Thou his equal, greater Friend to Truth,
Who kindly doft inftruct our lazy Youth
And tak'ft this eafieft way their Souls to fire,
To make them understand, and yet admire.

All

All Hail,

Let me at least thy Piety commend,

And own a Kindness that you've done my Friend,
Reviv'd a new ; fo when I've met before,
An old Acquaintance on a foreign Shore,
With pleasing Doubt, his Perfon I review,
And fcarce believe my Senfes tell me true:
Are you then he whom I fo dearly lov'd?

But Lord! how much you're chang'd, how much improv❜d !
Your Native Roughness all is left behind,

But ftill the fame good Man, tho' more refin'd., yos
Here then our former Friendship we reftore,

And talk of Wonders that we did before.

King's Coll. Camb.

Jan. 1. 1682.

J. A.

To Mr. CREECH on his Translation of Lucretius.

WH

.A

Hat to begin would have been Madness thought,
Exceeds our Praise when to Perfection brought;
Who could believe Lucretius lofty Song

Could have been reach'd by any modern Tongue ?
Of all the Suitors to immortal Fame,

That by Tranflations ftrove to raise a Name,
This was the Teft, this the Ulyffes Bow,
Too tough by any to be bent but you.
Carus himself of the hard task complains

.....

To fetter Grecian Thoughts in Roman Chains,
Much harder thine in an unlearned Tongue o zak
To hold in Bonds fo eafie, yet fo ftrong,
The Greek Philofophy and Latine Song.
If then he boafts that round his facred Head
Fresh Garlands grow, and branching Lawrels spread,
Such as not all the mighty NINE before
E'er gave, or any of their Darlings wore,
What Lawrels fhould be thine, what Crowns thy Due,
What Garlands, mighty Poet, hou'd be grac'd by you
Tho' deep, tho' wondrous deep his Senfe does flow,
Thy fhining Style does all its Riches fhow;
So clear the Stream, that thro' it we defcry
All the bright Gems that at the bottom lye,
Here you the troublers of our Peace remove,
Ignoble Fear, and more Ignoble Love:
Here we are taught how firft our Race began, ≈
And by what Steps our Fathers climb'd to Man ;
To Man as now he is, with Knowledge fill'd
In Arts of Peace and War, in Manners skill'd,
Equal before to his fellow-Grazers of the field.
Nature's firft State, which well transpos'd; and own'd,
(For Owners in all Ages have been found,)
Has made a modern Wit fo much renown'd,

When Thee we read, we find to be no more
Than what was fung a Thousand Years before.
Thou only for this noble Task wert fit,
To shame thy Age to a juft Sense of Wit,
By fhewing how the learned Romans writ.
To teach fat heavy Clowns to know their Trade,
And not turn Wits, who were for Porters made,
But quit false Claims to the Poetick Rage,
For Squibs and Crackers, and a Smithfield Stage,
Had Providence e'er meant that in defpight
Of Art and Nature, fuch dull Clods fhou'd write,
Bavius and Mævius had been fav'd by Fate
For Settle and for Shadwel to tranflate,

As it fo many Ages has for Thee

Preferv'd the mighty Work that now we see.

Cambridge,

Decemb. 18. 1682.

R. Duke.

To Mr. CREECH, on his Translation of Lucretius,

What all Men with'd, tho' few cou'd hope to fee,
We are now bleft with, and oblig'd by Thee.

Thou from the antient learned Latine ftore,
Giv❜ft us one Authour, and we hope for more.
May They enjoy thy Thoughts-let not the Stage
The Idleft Moment of thy Hours engage.

Each Year that Place fome wond'rous Monster breeds,
And the Wit's Garden is o'er-run with Weeds.
There Farce is Comedy, Bombaft call'd strong,
Soft Words, with nothing in them, make a Song.
'Tis hard to say they fteal them now adays,
For fure the Antients never wrote fuch Plays.
Thefe fcribling Infects have what they deserve,
Not Plenty, nor the Glory for to ftarve.
That Spencer knew, that Taffo felt before,
And Death found furly Ben. exceeding poor.
Heaven turn the Omen from their Image here,
May he with Joy the well-plac'd Lawrel wear:
Great Virgil's happier Fortune may he find,
And be our Cæfar, like Auguftus, kind.

But let not this difturb thy tuneful Head,
Thou writ'ft for thy Delight, and not for Bread.
Thou art not curft to write thy Verfe with care,
But art above what other Poets fear.

What may we not expect from fuch a Hand,

That has, with Books, himself at free Command!
Thou know'ft in Youth what Age has fought in vain,
And bring'ft forth Sons without a Mother's Pain :
So eafy is thy Senfe, thy Verse so sweet,

Thy Words fo proper, and thy Phrase so fit,

We read, and read again, and still admire

Whence came this Youth, and whence this wondrous Fire.
Pardon this Rapture, Sir, but who can be

Cold and unmov'd, yet have his Thoughts on Thee?
Thy Goodness may my feveral Faults forgive,
And by your help thefe wretched Lines may live:
But if, when view'd by your feverer fight,
They feem unworthy to behold the Light;
Let them with fpeed in deferv'd Flames be thrown,
They'll fend no Sighs, nor murmur out a Groan,
But dying filently your Juftice own.

London,

Feb. 6.

E. W.

Ad Thomam CREECH, De verfione Lucretii.

T nos dum legimus Lucretî nobile Carmen

UT

Angliaco fermone, ftupemus!

It dum Roma fuum jactat fcelerata Poetam
Sancta fuum magis Anglia jactat!

Felix! bis Felix Adolefcens divite venâ

Ac ftudio cultiffime Vatum !

Haud Te Vulgus iners Scriptorum robore juncto
Pro meritis laudare valemus,

Cui Terra-motus, cui voce Tonitrua fævâ,
Cui Fulmen, nec inane profundum

Pegaseum remorentur iter, magnoq; Britannam-
Avertant molimine Mufam,

Infinitum intras fpatium, & Cunabula rerum

Scrutaris, Vacuumq; Atomofque

Mente piâ citus infpectas, Et millia diffi

cultatum quam plurima pennis

Scandens æthereis, jam tandem erroris apertâ

Difpellis ratione tenebras :

Metrum Lector habes Adamante perennius ipfo,
Dulce Metrum, & fublimius Aftris.