Candid to all, but to himself severe,
In Humour pliant, as in Life auftere.
A wife Content his even Soul fecur'd,

[own:

By Want not shaken, nor by Wealth allur'd.
To all fincere, tho' earnest to commend,
Could praise a Rival, or condemn a Friend.
To him old Greece and Rome were fully known.
Their Tongues, their Spirits, and their Styles his
Pleas'd the least steps of famous Men to view,
Our Authors Works, and Lives,and Souls he knew;
Paid to the Learn'd and Great the fame Efteem,
The one his Pattern, and the one his Theme:
With equal Judgment his capacious Mind
Warm Pindar's Rage, and Euclid's Reason joyn'd,
Judicious Phyfick's noble Art to gain p

All Drugs and Plants explor'd, alas in vain!

The Drugs and Plants their drooping Master fail'd, Nor Goodness now, nor Learning ought avail'd;

Yet to the Bard his Churchill's Soul they gave, And made him fcorn the Life they could not fave;

Elfe could he bear unmov'd the fatal Guest, The Weight that all his fainting Limbs oppreft, TheCoughs that ftrugled from his weary Breast? Could he unmov'd approaching Death sustain? Its flow Advances, and its racking Pain? Could he ferene his weeping Friends furvey, In his last Hours his easie Wit display,

Like the rich Fruit he fings, delicious in decay?

Once on thyFriends look down, lamentedShade, And view the Honours to thy Ashes paid; Some thy lov'd Duft in Parian Stones enfhrine, Others immortal Epitaphs defign; i

With Wit,andStrength, that only yields to thine:

Even

Even I, though flow to touch the painful String,
Awake from Slumber, and attempt to fing.
Thee, Philips, thee defpairing Vaga mourns,
And gentle Isis foft Complaints returns;
Dormer laments amidst the Wars Alarms,

And Cecil weeps in beauteous Tufton's Arms:
Thee on the Po kind Somerfet deplores,

And ev❜n that charming Scene his Grief restores:
He to thy Lofs each mournful Air applies,
Mindful of thee on huge Taburnus lies,

But most at Virgil's Tomb his fwelling Sorrows

[rife..

But you, his darling Friends, lament no more, Display his Fame, and not his Fate deplore And let no Tears from erring Pity flow,

For One that's bleft above, immortaliz❜d below.

THE

DRE A M.

THE

Fifth Elegy of the Third Book of OVID'S AMOURS.

T

By Mr. CROMWELL.

Was in the midft, and filent dead of Night,
[Sight,

When heavy Sleep opprefs'd my weary
This Vifion did my troubled Mind affright.
To Sol expos'd there stood a rising Ground,
Which caft beneath a spacious Shade around;
A gloomy Grove of spreading Oaks below,
And various Birds were perch'd on ev'ry Bough:

Juft

Just on the Margin of a Verdant Mead,

[fpread:

Where murmuring Brooks refreshing Waters
To fhun the Heat I fought this cool Recefs;

But in this Shade I felt my Heat no lefs:
When browzing o'er the Flowry Grass appear'd
A lovely Cow, the fairest of the Herd;
By spotless White diftinguish'd from the reft;
Whiter than Milk from her own Udders preft,
Whiter than falling, or, the driven Snow,
Before descending Mifts can make it flow.
She with a lufty Bull, her happy Mate,
Delighted, on the tender Herbage fate;
There,as he crops the Flowers,and chews the Cud,
Feasting a second Time upon his Food,
His Limbs with fudden Heaviness opprefs'd,
He bends his Head, and finks to pleasing Rest.
A noifie Crow, cleaving the liquid Air,

Thrice with lewd Bill peck'd off the Heifer's Hair;
M 3

The