то

THE RIGHT HON. JAMES CRAGGS, Esq.

HIS MAJESTY's PRINCIPAL SECRETARY OF STATE.

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I

DEAR SIR,

CANNOT wish that any of my writings fhould last longer than the memory of our friendship and, therefore, I thus publicly bequeath them to you, in return for the many valuable inftances of your affection.

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

I have no time to lay out in forming such compliments, as would but ill fuit that familiarity between us, which was once my greatest pleasure, and will be my greatest honour hereafter. Instead of them, accept of my hearty wishes, that the great reputation you have acquired fo early, may increase more and more: and that you may long ferve your country with thofe excellent talents, B 2

*Mr. Tickell.

and

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

Dear SIR,

Your most entirely affectionate friend,

and faithful obedient fervant,

June 4, 1719,

J. ADDISON

POE

BY

M S

MR. ADDISON.

TO MR. DRY DE N.

OW long, great Poet, fhall thy facred lays

Provoke our wonder, and transcend our praise ?

Can neither injuries of time, or age,

Damp thy poetic heat, and quench thy rage?

Not fo thy Ovid in his exile wrote,

Grief chill'd his breaft, and check'd his rifing thought:
Penfive and fad, his drooping Mufe betrays
The Roman genius in its last decays.

Prevailing warmth has ftill thy mind pofleft,
And fecond youth is kindled in thy breast;
Thou mak'ft 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 Perfius to inform our isle
In fmoother numbers, and a clearer style;
And Juvenal, inftructed in thy page,
Edges his fatire, and improves his rage.
Thy copy cafts a fairer light on all,
And still out-fhines the bright original.

Now Ovid boafts 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'st 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 thofe rich fruits that on the fertile mold
Turn'd yellow by degrees, and ripen'd into gold :
How fome in feathers, or a ragged hide,

Have liv'd a fecond life, and different natures try'd.
Then will thy Ovid, thus transform'd, reveal
A nobler change than he himself can tell.

Magd. College, Oxon.

June 2, 1693.

The Author's age 22.

A POEM

A PO

H IS

POE

то

M

MAJE ST Y *.

PRESENTED TO THE LORD KEEPER.

то

THE RIGHT HON. SIR JOHN SOMERS.

LORD KEEPER OF THE GREAT SEAL,

1695.

IF 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 Mufe that, in adventurous numbers, fings
The rout of armies, and the fall of Kings,
Britain advanc'd, and Europe's peace restor'd,
By Somers' counfels, and by Naffau's fword.
To you, my Lord, thefe daring thoughts belong
Who help'd to raise the fubject of my song;
you the hero of my verse reveals
His great defigns, to you in council tells
His inmoft thoughts, determining the doom
Of towns unftorm'd, and battles yet to come.
And, well could you, in your immortal strains,
Defcribe his conduct, and reward his pains :

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