To Mr. DRYDEN. H OW long, great Poet, shall thy facred Lays Can neither injuries of Time, or Age, Damp thy poetic Heat, and quench thy Rage? Not fo thy Ovid in his Exile wrote, Grief chill'd his Breaft, and check'd his rifing Thought; Prevailing Warmth has ftill thy mind possest, And And Juvenal, inftructed in thy page, Now Ovid boafts th' Advantage of thy Song, Thy charming Verfe, and fair Tranflations, fhow And frighted at himself, ran howling through the Woods. O may't thou still the noble Task prolong, Nor Age, nor Sickness interrupt thy fong:. Then may we wond'ring read, how Human Limbs Have water'd Kingdoms, and diffolv'd in Streams; Of thofe rich Fruits that on the fertile mold Turn'd yellow by degrees, and ripen'd into Gold: How fome in Feathers, or a ragged Hide, Have liv❜d a Second life, and diff'rent Natures try'd. Then will thy Ovid thus transform'd, reveal A Nobler Change than he himself can tell. Magd. Coll. Oxon. Jane 2, 1693. The Author's age 22. A A POEM TO HIS *MAJESTY. Prefented to the Lord Keeper. King William, Printed in the year 1695. The Author's age 240 1 CARACASIGES GABONAD To the Right Honourable SIR JOHN SOMERS. I Lord Keeper of the Great Seal. Fyet your thoughts are loofe from State Affairs, To you, my Lord, thefe daring thoughts belong VOL. I. C Attend |