The Matron Bitch whofe Womb fhall beft produce The Hopes and Fortune of th' illuftrious House, Deriv'd from Noble, but from Foreign Seed, (For various Nature loathes incestuous Breed) Is like the Sire throughout. Nor yet displease Large Flanks, and Ribs, to give the Teemer Eafe,
In Spring, let loose thy Pairs. Then all Things prove The Stings of Pleasure, and the Pangs of Love: Etherial Jove then glads, with genial Showers, Earth's nighty Womb, and ftrows her Lap with Flowers
Hence Juices mount, and Buds, embolden'd, try
More kindly Breezes, and a softer Sky :
Kind Venus revels. Hark! on ev'ry Bough,
In lulling Strains the feather'd Warblers woo.
Fell Tigers foften in th' infectious Flames,
And Lions, fawning, court their brinded Dames:
Great Love pervades the Deep; to please his Mate,
The Whale, in Gambols, moves his monstrous Weight;
Heav'd by his wayward Mirth old Ocean roars,
And scatter'd Navies bulge on diftant Shores.
All Nature fmiles; Come now, nor fear, my Love, To tafte the Odours of the Wood-bine Grove,
To pass the Evening Glooms in harmless Play,
And, fweetly fwearing, languish Life away.
An Altar, bound with recent Flow'rs, I rear
To Thee, beft Season of the various Year;
All hail! fuch Days in beauteous Order ran,
So fwift, fo fweet, when firft the World began,
In Eden's Bowers, when Man's great Sire affign'd
The Names, and Natures of the brutal Kind.
Then Lamb, and Lion friendly walk'd their Round,
And Hares, undaunted, lick'd the fondling Hound,
Wondrous to tell! But when, with lucklefs Hand,
Our daring Mother broke the fole Command,
Then Want and Envy brought their Meagre Train,
Then Wrath came down, and Death had leave to reign:
Hence Foxes earth'd, and Wolves abhorr'd the Day,
And hungry Churles enfnar'd the nightly Prey,
Rude Arts at firft; but witty Want refin'd
The Huntsman's Wiles, and Famine form'd the Mind,
Bold Nimrod firft the Lion's Trophies wore,
The Panther bound, and launc'd the bristling Boar;
He taught to turn the Hare, to bay the Deer,
And wheel the Courfer in his mid Carreer:
Ah! had he there reftrain'd his Tyrant Hand!
Let me, ye Pow'rs, an humbler Wreath demand.
No Pomps I ask, which Crowns and Sceptres yield, Nor dang'rous Lawrels in the dufty Field;
Faft by the Foreft, ånd the limpid Spring,
Give me the Warfare of the Woods to fing,
To breed my Whelps, and healthful press the Game,
A mean, inglorious, but a guiltlefs Name.
And now thy Female bears in ample Womb The Bane of Hares, and Triumphs yet to come.' No Sport, I ween, nor Blaft of fprightly Horn, Should tempt me then to hurt the Whelps unborn,' Unlock'd, in Coverts let her freely run,
To range thy Courts, and bask before the Sun;
Near thy full Table let the Fav'rite ftand,
Stroak'd by thy Son's, or blooming Daughter's Hand,
Carefs, indulge, by Arts the Matron bribe,
T'improve her Breed, and teem a vig'rous Tribe.
So, (if fmall Things may be compar'd with great, And Nature's Works the Mufes imitate)
So, ftretch'd in Shades, and lull'd by murm'ring
Streams,
Great Maro's Breaft receiv'd the Heav'nly Dreams.
Reclufe, ferene the mufing Prophet lay,
Till Thoughts in Embryo, ripening, burft their Way.
Hence Bees in State, and foaming Courfers come,
Heroes, and Gods, and Walls of lofty Rome.
RE the Foundations of the World were laid,
Ere kindling Light th' Almighty Word obey'd, Thou wert; and when the fubterraneous Flame, Shall burft its Prifon, and devour this Frame, From angry Heav'n when the keen Light'ning flies, And fervent Heat diffolves the meking Skies, Thou ftill fhalt Be; ftill, as thou wert before, And know no Change, when Time shall be no more. As a fmall Drop in the wide Ocean's toft,
So Time fhall in Eternity be lost.
O Endless Thought! Divine Eternity!
Th' inmortal Soul fhares but a part of Thee;
For thou wert prefent when our Life began,
When the warm Duft shot up in breathing Man.
Ah! what is Life? with Ills encompass'd round,
'Midst our vast Hopes, Fate ftrikes the fudden Wound:
To-day th' Ambitious of new Honour dreams,
To-morrow Death destroys his airy Schemes;
Does hoarded Treasure moulder in thy Cheft?
Or, art thou with a beauteous Confort bleft?
Thy lavish Heir fhall foon thy Wealth disperse,
And with feign'd Tears attend thy blazon'd Herfe
Thy lovely Wife refign her balmy Breath,
And stiffen in the frozen Arms of Death.
Should dreadful Fate th' impending Blow delay,
Thy Mirth will ficken and thy Bloom decay;
Then feeble Age will all thy Nerves difarm,
Nor can thy Blood its narrow Channels warm.
Who would vain Life on fuch Gonditions bear,
Το groan beneath the Load of Fourscore Year;
Or meanly wish to ftretch this Narrow Span,
To fuffer Life beyond the Date of Man?
The virtuous Soul purfues a nobler Aim, And looks on Life but as a fleeting Dream:
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