TO THE Two Universities, AN EPISTLE.
Together with a PREDICTION Concerning the FRENCH; Translated out of CALLIMACHƲS. Who is by St. Paul said to be a Prophet, and that his Testimony is true, 1 Titus, ch. 1. v. 12, 13.
—Vos exemplaria Graeca
Nocturna versat [...] Manu versate diurna.
Horace.
Et totum spirent praecordia Phaebum.
Claudian.
—ut potius furentis animi vaticinatio appareat, quam religiosae orationis sub testibus fides.
Petron.
Licensed, Sept. 12. 1690.
LONDON: Printed for Richard Baldwin, near the Oxford-Arms in Warwick-lane, 1691.
TO THE Two Universities, AN EPISTLE.
JOY all-afloat, and now the Tide so high;
Yet Cam, and Ouze, the Muses Springs, are dry.
Lost is the Vein, the celebrated Dew,
Whence Lawrel, and so goodly Garlands grew.
Ye, the two Lights; ye, Albion's sovereign Beams,
Break from the Cloud, and play along the Streams.
Shou'd any dry Dilemma strain your thought,
One, at the door, attends your Gordian knot.
If Friends, your Tributary-Hymn reherse;
If Foes, then pay your Contribution-Verse.
Birds feel the Genial Vertue of the Spring,
Their Transport shew, nor need be bid to Sing.
You Orders wait; condemn'd to write in Chains,
And row, as in a Gally, with your Pens.
King WILLIAM wou'd not relish Victory,
If you, in Mood and Figure, prove not free.
[Page 2] Yet free you tiff up Celia's dangling Hair;
Make Cloe's Eyes, each, twinkle to a Star;
You point an Epigram; you trill a Song;
Lash with Lampoon, or Satyr's harder Thong.
When God-like Deeds, and loudest Wonders call,
Ye droop, ye sink, no fire, no spark at all.
Then you, dead Founders, and Antiquity,
(With lawless, sensless Priviledges) vye:
And, in the Wild-Goose-chace so blind are run,
That, at Mid-day, you hardly see the Sun.
Some C— Gorgon stuns your mind,
Or seven-fold Hydra of the M— kind;
Or Snake your Blood, and viler Serpents freez,
That roll, and loll, and hiss from hollow trees.
This sullen, double, wayward, haggard Air,
Looks as the Weather were not inly fair.
I wou'd not strain Poetick Faith, but hope
We may have better English from the Pope.
O Christ, how others, that pretend to Save,
Together link Religion and a Slave!
Nay, Protestants (but be it said no more)
Row'd the French Galleys to our amaz'd shore,
With wooden Shooes, to clamp in ev'ry Town,
And Irish Frogs, to croak about the Throne.
When Ganges, or the Granic, ye rehearse,
The Indian King, or Persian Monarchs Wars,
[Page 3] There, rambling Bacchus, double dy'd in Blood;
Here, Alexander flouncing thro' the Flood:
When fir'd with these; your Raptures, and your Wine,
Might ye not dip a little at the Boyn?
Where (not on your Horse-Legend to Entrench)
Now quags a Bog with Tory-blood, and French.
Ah, had just Heaven not warded off the Shot,
Even you had cry'd, The Gods were in the Plot.
In vain it roul'd, Heavens did their Justice clear,
Put to their hand, nor durst be Passive there.
Man is not, in an instant, to create,
But, one by one, turn o're the Leaves of Fate:
Yet WILLIAM's course so swift, old Fate perplext,
To turn, and find what is to follow next:
And Nature griev'd, as of all Name bereft,
Shou'd nothing be to Second Causes left.
The Power Divine, that breath'd on Nature's face,
Let Time (six days) the several Features trace.
Think not three Crowns confine his generous care;
It beams around, and moves in every Sphere.
See, with his Cause, with the same Spirit warm,
His Theseus, and confederate Heroes arm;
With pious Arms, thro' France, to cut their way;
France, now the Den, for every Beast of Prey.
'Tis He that bids the German Eagle fly
Above the Moon, that guilds the Turkish Sky.
[Page 4] His Banners on the Alpin Mountains play.
And cheer the Vales, uncustom'd to the day.
His Power thro' Rocks, by Hercules renown'd,
And Hannibal, a readier Passage found.
Eternal Frost has there his Influence selt;
And, by his Rays, the harder Switzers melt.
Where shall I touch? the Indies still behind,
And t'other World! O King of Human-kind!
Who might but half his Operations know,
Wou'd swear, the Sun has hardly more to do.
He shines, and forward carries on the day;
And finds no stop, no Tropick in the way.
The rosie East, the West, and either Pole,
The Vigor feel of his extended Soul.
From Violence, and all Inhumanities,
He clears the Mountains, and He scowers the Seas.
Strife shall no more this giddy World divide;
Nor, on the Earth, that Hag, Oppression, ride:
But Truth, all naked, at broad day appear,
And Vertue walk familiar every-where,
And Peace, in her soft hand, the Globe sustain;
Our Hercules shall fix his Pillars then.
Then every Mouth confess the Heavens are just:
God never found a King before to trust.
If Admiration honestly suspend
Your Muse; when must the Admiration end?
[Page 5] New Matter springs; A boundless Torrent flows;
And each Sun, like it self, a Wonder shows.
Puzzl'd is Fame, which foremost to relate,
King WILLIAM, or King WILLIAM's glorious Mate.
The Orb of Things, and Nature's whole Affair,
Turn on the single Pins of Peace and War.
Whil'st him fierce Arms, and horrid Pomp express,
Her proper Province (one wou'd think) is Peace.
Peace, and the Shade, and Myrtles branching round,
As wishing thence her lovely Temples crown'd.
With Peace affected, yet to War ally'd,
She plays her part, in Wars rough business try'd.
She always, for the Militant, did hold;
And oft has heard how Angels fought of old,
When Heavens Militia, the Seraphick Host,
Drove the black Squadrons from the [...] Coast,
God-like She stands, with an undaunted grace,
Tho' Terrors crack and flash around the place;
Nor is dismay'd, howe'r the Chance is slurr'd;
Nor from her Sceptre frightned by the Sword.
That gentle sweetness, in her Ayr, and Face,
Make not the Awe, the Sovereign Dread, the less.
The Majesty with Beauty sits secure;
Nor does the Sex effeminate her Pow'r.
Yet never Lawrel-wreath, nor Crown, till now,
Sat on so smooth, on so serene a Brow.
[Page 6] The Graces smile to find their Myrtle-brayd,
Tip the Imperial Honours of her Head.
Those softer Graces that her Glory joyn,
Sacred, say they? Oh, certainly Divine!
Her Vertue far the Rebel Legion breaks:
Beneath her Eyes unfaithful Neptune quakes.
So, on the Waves, Love's Queen no sooner shone,
But all the Horrors of the Seas were gone.
What if her wary Fleet, for once, gave way,
When did she build on either Wind or Sea?
Might Granta be excus'd in Piety;
So much a Swan, that if she sing, she dye,
Yet Isis need not stint her joyful Note,
That Sister is not old enough to dote.
Tho' Greklade she, and Grecian Honors cry;
The Grecian flights scarce match our History.
Their long-train'd Heroins, (if we Homer trust)
In days of yore, did raise but little dust.
Penelope, her Husband turns his back,
She spins, and whines, and all is gone to wrack.
Andromache was great in Name, but all
Known of Andromache, is, she was tall.
Search Heaven, let thither mount our Nobler Dream:
What is dull Turf, to our, no Mortal, Theme!
[Page 7] That Jove, whom all the Gods their Chief confess,
His Juno with him, were not of-a-piece.
Whil'st Giants he, and brave Adventure seeks,
Her business was some mean ungodly Piques.
These Gods, and Court of Heaven, but shew how high
The boldest Wit, and Greek Inventions fly;
But ne'r wou'd Bard, for Jove's, and Heaven's high Queen,
Have Juno feign'd, had they our MARY seen.
We find their Fancy, and their Fables short,
To draw, from thence, a Copy of the Court.
With us, when foreign Monsters call for Wars,
Tho' Schomberg gone, we still might shew a Mars.
Apollo too might nobly fill his Sphere,
Wou'd ye the Muses from your Cloysters spare,
Think, when ye see it wave, in Dorset's hand,
If Mercury so well became the Wand;
Or did, in either World, so charming move,
To Men below, or the few Gods above.
Dark, by the Hedges, my short Pen I wield;
To you is left, the wide, the glorious Field;
To tempt you more; no Goddess toucht, or blown;
Pallas is yours, and Venus all your own.
A PROPHECY Concerning the FRENCH, Translated out of CALLIMACHƲS.
In Callimachus, the Hymn to Delos, Vers. 163.
APOLLO Speaks.
AMongst the Islands, plainly, I prefer
i. e. Albion.
Ogygia; and cou'd wish my Altars there:I like the Country, and I love the Men;
But Fate does
[...].
other Honors there ordain;A Prince is there, the best of Kings design'd;
And, sure, the Chief of all the
[...].
Savior kind.So mild his Power, so pure the Vertue shown,
As if He wore a
[...].
Miter, not a Crown.Around the various World, however far
The Ocean flows, or Phebus drives his Car,
[Page 2] All own his Sway; and come with supple Knee,
Who willing, or are worthy to be Free.
His Fathers ways, to Justice always true,
He well shall know, and shall as well pursue.
The time will come, a common Cause shall joyn
Our Arms; My Cause is his, and his is mine:
When shall so high a
[...].
Giants Frenzy run,In spite of me, to boast himself the Sun.
His wanton Brood shall Earth and Heaven assail,
As fierce as Thunder, and as thick as Hail;
Not Locusts, with their swarms, that cloud the day,
Nor Lybian Sands, in number more than they.
Wild Desolation ranges all about,
Where-ever stalks that Hundred-handed Rout.
The desart Field, the ravag'd Country groans,
Whilst Fire and Rage lay wast the neighboring Towns.
No Monument, no Tower, no Temple spar'd,
By Dorian, or Corinthian cunning rear'd.
Each Holy Place profan'd, no Corner clean,
For bloody Targets, Halbards, Sword, or Skein.
Here a rich Dome they gut, there Mysteries
Tread under foot; and never bend their Knees.
Our Oracles, the Sacred Leaves they tear,
With impious hands, and toss 'um in the air.
[Page 3] Even my own Shrines they break, my Altars sap,
And, after this, shall one
[...].
Galathian scape?Nay, their own Blood the Monsters Lust shall quench:
Call them Galathians, Gauls, or
[...].
Celts, or French.Under the Spoils, their barbarous outrage got,
And heaps of Ruins, that they made, they rot.
When Time shall bring this growing truth to light,
Then say, O King, Apollo levell'd right.
Whil'st there's a Dragon, or a Giant near,
My Bow shall twang, in consort, with thy Spear.
Let my wing'd Vengeance the dire
[...].
Delphyn shoot;With *⁎* eastern Steel strike thou both Branch and Root.
So our joynt Arms quite off the Earth shall chace,
That Vain, that Godless, that Unhumane Race.
FINIS.