OW long, great Poet, fhall thy facred Lays
Provoke our Wonder, and tranfcend our
Can neither injuries of Time, or Age,
Damp thy Poetick Heat, and quench thy Rage?
Not fo thy Ovid in his Exile wrote,
Grief chill'd his Breaft, and check'd his rifing Thought;
Pensive and fad, his drooping Muse betrays
The Roman Genius in its laft Decays.
Prevailing Warmth has ftill thy mind poffeft,
And fecond Youth is kindled in thy breaft;
Thou mak'st the beauties of the Romans known,
And England boasts of riches not her own ;
Thy lines have heighten'd Virgil's Majesty,
And Horace wonders at himself in Thee.
Thou teacheft Perfius to inform our ifle
Ja fmoother Numbers, and a clearer Style;
And Juvenal, inftructed in thy page,
Edges his Satyr, and improves his Rage.
Thy Copy cafts a fairer Light on all,
And still out-fhines the bright Original.
Now Ovid boafts th' Advantage of thy Song,
And tells his Story in the British tongue;
Thy charming Verfe, and fair Translations, show
How thy own Laurel first began to grow ;
How wild Lycaon chang'd by angry Gods,
And frighted at himself, ran howling, through the Woods.
O mayft thou still the noble Task prolong,
Nor Age, nor Sickness interrupt thy fong:
Then may we wondering read, how Human Limbs
Have water'd Kingdoms,, and diffolv'd in Streams;
Of thofe rich Fruits that on the fertile mould
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 different Natures try'd.
Then will thy Ovid, thus, transform'd, reveal
A Nobler Change than he himself can tell.
Magd. Coll. Oxımı
June 2. 1693.
*MAJESTY.
Prefented to the Lord Keeper.
*King William. Printed in the year 1695. The Author's age 24.
SIR JOHN SOMERS,
Lord Keeper of the Great Seal.
IF yet your thoughts are loose from State Affair's,
Nor feel the burden of a Kingdom's Cares,
If yet your Time and Actions are your own,
Receive the prefent of a Muse Unknown :
A Mufe that in Advent'rous numbers fings
The rout of Armies, and the fall of Kings,
Britain Advanc'd, and Europe's Peace Reftor'd,
By SOMERS' Counfels, and by NASSAU's Sword,
To You, my Lord, thefe daring thoughts belong
Who help'd to Raife the Subject of my song's
To You the Hero of my verfe reveals
His great Designs, to You in Council tells
His Inmoft thoughts, determining the doom
of Towns Unftorm'd, and Battels yet to come.
And well cou'd You, in Your Immortal strains,
Defcribe his Conduct, and Reward his Pains:
But fince the State has all your Cares engraft,
And Poetry in Higher thoughts is loft,
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