Syphilis, or, A poetical history of the French disease written in Latin by Fracastorius ; and now attempted in English by N. Tate.

TO His Friend, The Writer of the ENSUING TRANSLATION.

WEll has thy Fate directed Thee to chuse An Authour, worthy of the noblest Muse: His learned Pen has, what was long unknown, In Roman language, like a Roman shown. And thine as sweet, in British numbers taught The Labours of his vast Poetick thought. Of Earth, of Seas, of putrid air He sung, To search from whence that dire Contagion sprung, Which now does worse than fellest Plagues deface The beauteous Form of God's resembling Race.

From the Malignant influence of the Skies, 'Tis sure the Seeds of most Diseases rise. But if this merciless, consuming Flame, From Vapours, or infectious Planets came; Why rag'd it not much more in ancient Times, From Exhalations of impurer Climes? Besides; no settled Consequence can spring From whatsoe'er contingent Causes bring. The raging Pestilence, that long lays wast The spotted Prey, devours it self at last. And sure had this been ne'er so strong entail'd, The vile succession must e'er now have fail'd. Blame not the Stars; 'tis plain it neither fell From the distemper'd Heav'ns, nor rose from Hell. Nor need we to the distant Indies rome; The curst Originals are nearer home. Whence should that foul infectious Torment flow, But from the banefull source of all our wo?

That wheedling, charming Sex, that draws us in To ev'ry punishment and ev'ry sin. While Man, by Heav'ns command, and nature led, Through this vast Globe his Maker's Image spread; The Godlike Figure form'd in ev'ry womb Prolifick stems, for Ages yet to come. Vncurst, because he did not vainly toil, On barren Mountains, or impregnant soil; Healthfull and vigorous, He, o'er the face Of the wide Earth, dispers'd the Sacred race. But now, that Tribe, who all our Rights invade, Pervert the wise Decrees which Nature made. Prompt to all ill, Insatiately they fire At ev'ry pamper'd Brutes untam'd desire: And while they prostitute themselves to more Than Eastern Kings had Concubines before; The foul Promiscuous Coition breeds, Like jarring Elements, those pois'nous seeds,

Which all the dreadfull host of Symptomes bring; And with one curst Disease a Legion spring. Were the decay'd, degen'rate race of Man, Vntainted now, as when it first began; And there were no such tort'ring Plague on Earth, The first inconstant Wretch wou'd give it birth. Shun her, as you wou'd fly from splitting Rocks; Not Wolves so fatal are to tender Flocks: Though round the world the dire Contagion flew, She'll poison more, than e'er Pandora slew.