riendly in debate,
Joint in advice, in resolutions just,
Mild in success, true to the common trust.
It cements ruptures, and by gentle hand
Allays the heat and burnings of a land;
Religion guides it, and in all the tract
Designs so twist, that Heav'n confirms the act.
If from these lists you wander as you steer,
Look back, and catechize your actions here.
These are the marks to which true statesmen tend,
And greatness here with goodness hath one end.

TO MY WORTHY FRIEND, MASTER T. LEWES.

Sees not my friend, what a deep snow
Candies our country's woody brow?
The yielding branch his load scarce bears,
Oppress'd with snow and frozen tears;
While the dumb rivers slowly float,
All bound up in an icy coat.
Let us meet then! and while this world
In wild eccentrics now is hurl'd,
Keep we, like nature, the same key,
And walk in our forefathers' way.
Why any more cast we an eye
On what may come, not what is nigh?
Why vex ourselves with fear, or hope
And cares beyond our horoscope?
Who into future times would peer,
Looks oft beyond his term set here,
And cannot go into those grounds
But through a churchyard, which them bounds.
Sorrows and sighs and searches spend
And draw our bottom to an end,
But discreet joys lengthen the lease,
Without which life were a disease;
And who this age a mourner goes,
Doth with his tears but feed his foes

TO THE MOST EXCELLENTLY ACCOMPLISHED MRS. K. PHILIPS.

Say, witty fair one, from what sphere
Flow these rich numbers you shed here?
For sure such incantations come
From thence, which strike your readers dumb.
A strain, whose measures gently meet
Like virgin-lovers or Time's feet;
Where language smiles, and accents rise
As quick and pleasing as your eyes;
The poem smooth, and in each line
Soft as yourself, yet masculine;
Where not coarse trifles blot the page
With matter borrow'd from the age,
But thoughts as innocent and high
As angels have, or saints that die.
These raptures when I first did see
New miracles in poetry,
And by a hand their good would miss
His bays and fountains but to kiss,
My weaker genius--cross to fashion--
Slept in a silent admiration:
A rescue, by whose grave disguise
Pretenders oft have pass'd for wise.
An