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But turn-coat Time assists the foe in vain,
Though mysteries are barr'd from laic eyes,
Yet this of thee the wise may freely say,
Great Negative ! how vainly would the wise
Is, or is not, the two great ends of Fate,
When they have rack'd the politician's breast,
But Nothing, why does Something still permit,
Whilst weighty Something modestly abstains From princes' coffers, and from statemen's brains, And nothing there like stately Nothing reigns.
Nothing, who dwell'st with fools in grave disguise, For whom they reverend shapes and forms devise, Lawn sleeves, and furs, and gowns, when they
like thee look wise.
French truth, Dutch prowess, British policy,
The great man's gratitude to his best friend, Kings' promises, whores' vows, towards thee they
bend, Flow swiftly into thee, and in thee ever end.
BORN 1631-DIED 1700.
CYMON AND IPHIGENIA.
But as no gift of fortune is sincere,
Fair, tall, his limbs with due proportion join’d,
His father, when he found his labour lost, And care employ'd that answer'd not the cost, Chose an ungrateful object to remove, And loath'd to see what nature made him love; So to his country farm the fool confined ; Rude work well suited with a rustic mind. Thus to the wilds the sturdy Cymon went, A squire among the swains, and pleased with
banishment. His corn and cattle were his only care, And his supreme delight, a country fair.
It happen'd on a summer's holiday, That to the green-wood shade he took his way ; For Cymon shunn'd the church, and used not
much to pray.
His quarter-staff, which he could ne'er forsake,
By chance conducted, or by thirst constrain'd,
The fool of nature stood with stupid eyes, And gaping mouth, that testify'd surprise, Fix'd on her face, nor could remove his sight, New as he was to love, and novice to delight : Long mute he stood, and, leaning on his staff, His wonder witness'd with an idiot laugh ; Then would have spoke, but by his glim ering sense First found his want of words, and fear'd offence :
Doubted for what he was he should be known, By his clown accent, and his country tone. Through the rude chaos thus the running light Shot the first ray that pierced the native night ; Then day and darkness in the mass were mix’d, Till gather'd in a globe the beams were fix'd. Last shone the sun, who, radiant in his sphere, Illumined heaven and earth, and roll'd around the
year. So reason in his brutal soul began, Love made him first suspect he was a man ; Love made him doubt his broad barbarian sound; By love his want of words and wit he found; That sense of want prepared the future way To knowledge, and disclosed the promise of a day.
TRANSLATION OF THE NINTH ODE OF
THE FIRST BOOK OF HORACE.
BEHOLD yon mountain's hoary height
Made higher with new mounts of snow; Again behold the Winter's weight
Oppress the labouring woods below : And streams, with icy fetters bound, Benumb'd and crampt to solid ground.
With well-heap'd logs dissolve the cold,
And feed the genial hearth with fires ;
And sprightly wit and love inspires :