His graceful Form revolving in his Mind;
So great a Genius, and a Soul fo kind,
Gave fad affurance that his Fears were true;
Too well the Envy of the Gods he knew:
For when their Gifts too lavishly are plac'd,
Soon they repent, and will not make them laft.
For, fure, it was too bountiful a Dole,

The Mother's Features, and the Father's Soul.
Then thus he cry'd, The Morn bespoke the News,
The Morning did her chearful Light diffuse;
But fee how fuddenly the chang'd her Face, [grace;
And brought on Clouds and Rains, the Day's Dif-
Juft fuch, Amyntas, was thy promis'd Race!
What Charms adorn'd thy Youth where Nature
And more than Man was giv'n us in a Child! [fmil'd,
His Infancy was ripe: a Soul fublime

In Years fo tender that prevented time:

Heav'n gave him all at once; then fnatch'd away,
E'er Mortals all his Beauties cou'd furvey:
Just like the Flow'r that buds and withers in a Day.
MENAL CAS.

The Mother Lovely, tho' with Grief oppreft,
Reclin'd his dying Head upon her Breaft.
The mournful Family ftood all around;
One Groan was heard, one Univerfal Sound:
All were in Floods of Tears and endless Sorrow
So dire a Sadnefs fate on ev'ry Look,

[drown'd.

Even Death repented he had giv'n the Stroke.
He griev'd his fatal Work had been ordain'd,
But promis'd length of Life to thofe who yet remain'd.
The Mother's and her Eldeft Daughter's Grace,
It feems had brib'd him to prolong their space :
The Father bore it with undaunted Soul,
Like one who durft his Destiny controul:
Yet with becoming Grief he bore his part,
Refign'd his Son, but not refign'd his Heart,

Patient as Job; and may he live to fee,
Like him, a new increasing Family ;

DAMON.

Such is my Wish, and fuch my Prophefie. For yet, my Friend, the Beauteous Mold remains, Long may the exercise her fruitful Pains: But, ah! with better hap, and bring a Race More lafting, and endu'd with equal Grace: Equal fhe may, but farther none can go; For he was all that was exact below.

MENAL CAS.

Damon, behold, yon breaking Purple Cloud; Hear'ft thou not Hymns and Songs Divinely loud There mounts Amyntas; the young Cherubs play About their Godlike Mate, and Sing him on his way He cleaves the liquid Air, behold he flies, And every Moment gains upon the Skies; The new come Guest admires th'Ætherial State, The Saphir Portal, and the Golden Gate; And now admitted in the fhining Throng, He fhows the Pafsport which he brought along; His Passport is his Innocence and Grace, Well known to all the Natives of the Place. Now Sing ye joyful Angels, and admire

[Quire:

Your Brother's Voice that comes to mend your
Sing you, while endless Tears our Eyes bestow;
For like Amyntas none is left below.

On the DEATH of a very young Gentleman.

By Mr. DRYDEN.

who cou'd view the Book of Destiny,

He who could view the Book of Die of thee,

O Charming Touth, in the first op'ning Page,
So many Graces in fo green an Age,

Such Wit, fuch Modefty, fuch Strength of Mind,
A Soul at once fo manly, and fo kind:

Wou'd wonder, when he turn'd the Volume o'er,
And after fome few Leaves fhou'd find no more.
Nought but a blank remain, a dead void Space,
A ftep of Life that promis'd fuch a Race:
We must not, dare not think that Heav'n began
A Child, and cou'd not finish him a Man:
Reflecting what a mighty Store was laid
Of rich Materials, and a Model made:
The Coft already furnish'd; so bestow'd,
As more was never to one Soul allow'd;
Yet after this Profufion spent in vain,
Nothing but mould'ring Ashes to remain.
I guess not, left I split upon the Shelf,
Yet durft I guess Heav'n kept it for himself;
And giving us the ufe did foon recal,
Ere we cou'd fpare the mighty Principal.
Thus then he disappear'd, was rarify'd,
For 'tis improper Speech to fay he dy'd:
He was exhal'd: His great Creator drew
His Spirit, as the Sun the Morning Dew.
'Tis Sin produces Death; and he had none
But the Taint Adam left on ev'ry Son.
He added not, he was fo pure, fo good,
'Twas but th' Original forfeit of his Blood:
And that fo little, that the River ran
More clear than the corrupted. Fount began.
Nothing remain'd of the first muddy Clay,
The length of Course had wash'd it in the way,
So deep, and yet fo clear, we might behold
The Gravel bottom, and that bottom Gold.

As fuch we lov'd, admir'd, almost ador'd,
Gave all the Tribute Mortals cou'd afford.
Perhaps we gave fo much, the Pow'rs above
Grew angry at our fuperftitious Love:
For when we more than Human Homage pay,
The charming Cause is justly snatch'd away.

Thus was the Crime not his, but ours alone, And yet we murmur that he went fo foon; Though Miracles are fhort and rarely shown. Hear then, ye mournful Parents, and divide That Love in many which in one was ty'd. That individual Bleffing is no more,

M

But multiply'd in your remaining Store.
The Flame's difpers'd, but does not all expire,
The Sparkles blaze, though not the Globe of Fire.
Love him by Parts, in all your num'rous Race,
And from thofe Parts form one collected Grace;
Then, when you have refin'd to that Degree,
Imagine all in one, and think that one is he.

To my Honour'd Friend Dr. Charleton, on bis learned and useful Works; but more particularly his Treatife of Stone-Heng, by him reftor'd to the true Founders.

By Mr. DRYDEN.

"HE longeft Tyranny that ever fway'd,

THE

Was that wherein our Ancestors betray'd Their free-born Reafon to the Stagirite, And made his Torch their univerfal Light. So Truth, while only one fupply'd the State, Grew scarce, and dear, and yet sophisticate. 'Till it was bought, like Emp'rick Wares, or Charms, Hard Words feal'd up with Ariftotle's Arms. Columbus was the firft that shook his Throne; And found a Temp'rate in a Torrid Zone: The feav'rith Air fann'd by a cooling Breeze, The fruitful Vales fet round with fhady Trees; And guiltless Men, who danc'd away their time, Fresh as their Groves, and Happy as their Clime.. Had we ftill paid that Homage to a Name, Which only God and Nature justly claim;

The Western Seas had been our utmoft Bound,
Where Poets ftill might dream the San was drown'd:
And all the Stars that thine in Southern Skies,
Had been admir'd by none but Salvage Eyes.
Among th' Afferters of free Reafon's claim,
Our Nation's not the leaft in Worth or Fame.
The World to Bacon does not only owe
Its prefent Knowledge, but its future too.
Gilbert hall live, till Load-ftones cease to draw,
Or British Fleets the boundless Ocean awe.
And noble Boyle, not lefs in Nature seen,
Than his great Brother read in States and Men.
The Circling Streams, once thought but Pools, of Blood
(Whether Life's Fewel, or the Body's Food)
From dark Oblivion Harvey's Name shall fave;
While Ent keeps all the Honour that he gave.
Nor are You, Learned Friend, the leaft renown'd;
Whofe Fame, not circumfcrib'd with English Ground,
Flies like the nimble Journies of the Light;
And is, like that, unfpent too in its Flight.
Whatever Truths have been, by Art, or Chance,
Redeem'd from Error, or from Ignorance,
Thin in their Authors, (like rich Veins of Ore)
Your Works unite, and ftill difcover more.
Such is the healing Virtue of your Pen,
To perfect Cures on Books, as well as Men.
Nor is this Woik the leaft: You well may give
To Men new Vigour, who make Stones to live.
Through You, the Danes (their short Dominion loft)
A longer Conqueft than the Saxons boast, [found
STONE-HENG, once thought a Temple, you have
A Throne, where Kings, our earthly Gods, were crown'd,
Where by their wandring Subjects they were feen,
Joy'd with their Stature, and their Princely Meen.
Our Soveraign here above the rest might ftand;
And here be chose again to rule the Land.
Thefe Ruins fhelter'd once His Sacred Head,
When He from Wor'fter's fatal Battel fled;