Poems on several occasions by the Duke of Buckingham, The late Lord Rochester, Sir John Denham, Sir George Etheridge, Andrew Marvel, Esq., the famous Spencer, Madam Behn, and several other poets of this age.

To the Precise Cloris. A Paraphrase on the beginning of the last Chorus in Seneca's Oedipus.

FAtis agimur, cedite Fa'is, Non solicita possunt curae Mutare rati stamina fusi, Quicquid patimur mortale genus, Quicquid facimus venit ex alto, Omnia certo tramite vadunt, Primus{que} dies dedit extremum:

SUbmit to Fate, 'tis her Tyrannic Reign, Against whose blind Decrees, Man strives in vain; Not all his Anxious Cares, nor searching Skill, Can change, or move her Arbitrary Will.

'Tis from above that all our Actions flow, To Partial Fate, what e're we bear, we owe; To certain Roads all things confin'd we see, And each Man's first day does his last decree. Cease then your fruitless Sighs, your Vows, and Tears, The Gods are deaf to wretched Mortals Prayers, Or Power, or Will, they want to ease our tor∣t'ring Cares. Sooner shall Priests deserted Vertue love, And sooner Princes modest Worth shall move, Than Sighs and Pray'rs, the stubborn Pow'rs above.

Tell me, vain Biggots, who e'er sound Success, In having more, or in suff'ring less; By all your dayly, and your nightly Cries, Your Fasts, and Penance, and such idle Toys.

Then be no more by holy Lyes mislead, Of airy Bliss, prepar'd to feast the Dead; But use those few, those wretched Hours you have, To please the SENSE, there's nought beyond the Grave.

Fair Cloris then, lay Biggotry aside, Take Sense and Reason for your surer Guide; And quit not certain Joys, for Hopes above, There's nothing there, as all Men grant, but Love: Forestall those Joys then whilst you're here, and try How sweet it is to love before you die. You so on both sides will be sure to gain, For after Life, if naught at all remain, You won't have spent your precious Hours in vain. But if from hence we pass to endless Love, You'll be no Novice in the Joys above.

Then give a Loose to Fancy, and Desire, Let e'ry soft and Amorous Thought take Fire; Commit thy Conduct to indulgent LOVE, Ah! then, bright Nymph, (believe me) you will prove What melting Raptures, and what ecstasie, The God decrees you shall receive from me: When all dissolv'd within thy clasping Arms, Thou tast'st my vig'rous Love, I rifle all thy Charms▪ Then both our ravish'd Souls, shall swiftly rise, View and enjoy each other at our Eyes; Till mounting Transports wing their mutual flight, To leave us drown'd in streaming, warm delight; Each Phoenix hour, thus in Love's Beams we'll burn Which still shall loaden with fresh Joys return, And rise more gay from's Aromatic Urn.

Thus we shou'd live, and thus to live were made, Fate brings us Ills enough, without our Aid.