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TO

THE RIGHT HON. JAMES CRAGGS, Eso:

HIS MAJESTY'S PRINCIPAL SECRETARY OF STATE,

DEAR SIR, I

CANNOT wish that any of my writings should

last longer than the memory of our friendship and, therefore, I thus publicly bequeath them to you, in return for the many valuable instances of your affection.

That they may come to you with as little difadvantage as possible, I have left the care of them.to one*, whom, by the experience of some years, I know well qualified to answer my intentions. He has already the honour and happiness of being under your protection ; and, as he will very much stand in need of it, I cannot with him better, than that he may continue to deserve the favour and countenance of such a patron.

I have no time to lay out in forining such compliments, as would but ill fuit that familiarity between us, which was once my greatelt pleasure, and will be ny greatest honour hereafter. Instead of them, accept of my hearty wishes, that the great reputation you have acquired so early, may increase more and more: and that you may long serve your country with those excellent talents,

and * Mr. Tickell.

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and unblemished integrity, which have fo powerfully recommended you to the most gracious and amiable Monarch that ever filled a thronę. May the frankness and generosity of your fpirit continue to soften and subdue your enemies, and gain you many friends, if poffible, as fincere as yourself. When you have found such, they cannot wish you more true happiness than I, who am, with the greatest zeal,

Dear SIR,

Your most entirely affe&tionate friend,

and faithful obedient servant,

June 4, 1719

J. ADDISON.

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OW long, great Poet, shall thy sacred lays

Provoke our wonder, and transcend our praise ?
Can neither injuries of time, or age,
Damp thy poetic heat, and quench thy rage?
Not so thy Ovid in his exile wrote,
Grief chill'd his breast, and check’d his rising thought :
Pensive and fad, his drooping «Muse betrays
The Roman genius in its last decays.

Prevailing warmth has füill thy mind pollest,
And second youth is kindled in thy breast;
Thou mak'st the beauties of the Romans known,
And England boasts of riches not her own;
Thy lines have heighten'd Virgil's majesty,
And Horace wonders at himself in thee.
Thou teacheft Persius to inform our isle
In smoother numbers, and a clearer style;
And Juvenal, instructed in thy page,
Edges his fatire, and improves his

rage. Thy copy casts a fairer light on all, And still out-shines the bright original.

Now

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Now Ovid boasts th' advantage of thy song,
And tells his story in the British tongue ;
Thy charming verse, and fair translations, show
How thy own laurel first began to grow :
How wild Lycaon, chang'd by angry gods,
And frighted at himself, ran howling through the woods.

O may'lt thou still the noble task prolong,
Nor age, nor fickness, interrupt thy song :
Then may we wondering read, how human limbs
Have water'd kingdoms, and diffolv'd in streams;
Of those rich fruits that on the fertile mold
Turn'd yellow by degrees, and ripen’d into gold :
How some in feathers, or a ragged hide,
Have liv'd a second life, and different natures try'd.
Then will thy Ovid, thus transform’d, reveal
A nobler change than he himself can tell.

a

Magd. College, Oxon.

June 2, 1693
The Author's age 22.

A POEM

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THE RIGHT HON. SIR JOHN SOMERS. LORD KEEPER OF THỂ GREAT SEAL,

1695.

I
F yet your thoughts are loose from state affairs,

Nor feel the burden of a kingdom's cares ;
If yet your time and actions are your own;
Receive the present of a Muse unknown:
A Muse that, in adventurous numbers, sings
The rout of armies, and the fall of Kings,
Britain advanc'd, and Europe's peace restor'd,
By Somers' counsels, and by Nassau's sword.

To you, my Lord, these daring thoughts belong
Who help'd to raise the subject of my song ;
To you the hero of my verse reveals
His great designs, to you in council tells
His inmost thoughts, determining the doom
Of towns unstorm'd, and battles yet to come.
And, well could you, in your immortal strains,
Describe his conduct, and reward his pains :
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Attend
King William.

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