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Admits the sea ; in at the gaping side
The crowding waves gush with impetuous rage,
Resistless, overwhelming ; horrors seize
The mariners; death in their eyes appears,
They stare, they lave, they pump, they swear,

they pray: (Vain efforts !) still the battering waves rush in, Implacable, till, delug'd by the foam, The ship sinks foundering in the vast abyss.


Abberley, Worcestershire, 1663-about 1709.

The friend of Dryden and of Pope, who repaid his friend.

ship by more praise than his writings deserve, but probably not more than he was entitled to by his talents.

The Despairing Lover.

DISTRACTED with care
For Phyllis the fair,
Since nothing could move her,
Poor Damon, her lover,
Resolves in despair,
No longer to languish,
Nor bear so much anguish ;
'But, mad with his love,
To a precipice goes.
Where a leap from above
Would soon finish his woes.

When in rage he came there, Beholding how steep The sides did appear, And the bottom how deep; His torments projecting, And sadly reflecting, That a lover forsaken A new love may get, But


neck when once broken
Can never be set;
And, that he could die
Whenever he would,
But, that he could live
But as long as he could :
How grievous soever
The torment might grow,
He scorn'd to endeavour
To finish it so.
But bold, unconcern'd
At thoughts of the pain,
He calmly return'a
To his cottage again.



Of all the torments, all the cares,

With which our lives are curst;
Of all the plagues a lover bears,

Sure rivals are the worst !
By partners, in each other kind,

Amictions easier grow;
In love alone we hate to find

Companions of our woe.

Sylvia, for all the pangs you see

Are labouring in my breast,
I beg not you would favour me,

Would you but slight the rest !
How great soe'er your rigours are,

With them alone I'll cope ; I can endure my own despair,

But not another's hope,

Horace, Ode III. Book III.

Imitated, 1705.


The man that's resolute and just,
Firm to his principles and trust,

Nor hopes nor fears can blind :
No passions his designs control;
Not Love, that tyrant of the soul,

Can shake his steady mind.


Not parties for revenge engaged,
Nor threatenings of a court enraged,

Nor storms where fleets despair ;
Not thunder pointed at his head;
The shatter'd world may strike him dead,

Not touch his soul with fear.


From this the Grecian glory rose;
By this the Romans awed their foes :

Of this their poets sung.
These were the paths their heroes trod,
These acts made Hercules a god;

And great Nassau a king.

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