unhooded Hawk, who, loose to Prey, With open Eyes pursues th' Ethereal Way. There, Happy Soul, assume thy destin'd Place, And in yon Sphere begin thy glorious Race:   Or, if amongst the Laurel'd Heads there be A Mansion in the Skies reserv'd for Thee, There Ruler of thy Orb aloft appear, And rowl with Homer in the brightest Sphere; To whom Calliope has joyn'd thy Name, And recompens'd thy Fortunes with his Fame.

    Tho' She (forgive our freedom) sometimes Flows In Lines too Rugged, and akin to Prose. Verse with a lively smoothness should be Wrote, When room is granted to the Speech and Thought. Like some fair Planet, the Majestick SongWaller. Should gently move, and sparkle as it rowls along. Like Waller's Muse, who tho' inchain'd by Rhime, Taught wondring Poets to keep even Chime. His Praise inflames my breast, and should be shown In Numbers sweet and Courtly as his Own. Who no unmanly Turns of Thought pursues, Rash Errours of an injudicious Muse. Such Wit, like Lightning, for a while looks Gay, Just gilds the Place, and vanishes away. In one continu'd blaze He upwards sprung, Like those Seraphick flames of which He Sung. If, Cromwel, he laments thy Mighty Fall Nature attending Weeps at the Great Funeral. Or if his Muse with joyful Triumph brings the Monarch to His Ancient Throne, or Sings Batavians worsted on the Conquer'd Main, Fleets flying, and advent'rous Opdam Slain, Then Rome and Athens to his Song repair With British Graces smiling on his Care, Divinely charming in a Dress so Fair. As Squadrons in well-Marshal'd order fill The Flandrian Plains, and speak no vulgar Skill; So Rank'd is every Line, each Sentence such, No Word is wanting, and no Word's too much. As Pearls in Gold with their own Lustre Shine, The Substance precious, and the Work Divine:   So did his Words his Beauteous Thoughts inchase, Both shone and sparkled with unborrow'd Grace, A mighty Value in a little Space. So the Venusian Clio sung of Old, When lofty Acts in well-chose Phrase he told. But Rome's aspiring Lyrick pleas'd us less, Sung not so moving, tho' with more Success. O Sacharissa, what could steel thy Breast, To Rob Harmonious Waller of his Rest? To send him Murm'ring thro' the Cypress-Grove, In strains lamenting his neglected Love. Th' attentive Forest did his Grief partake, And Sympathizing Oaks their knotted Branches shake. Each Nymph, tho' Coy, to Pity would incline; And every stubborn Heart was mov'd, but Thine. Henceforth be Thou to future Ages known; Like Niobe, a Monument of Stone.

Waller.

    Here could I 

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