Produced by Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) _The Explanation of the_ Frontispiece. Reader thou in this _Frontispiece_ may’st see How _mortal Man_ seeks _Immortalitie_; His beauteous _Frame_ he sees with speed decline, And soon dissolv’d by _Death_, tho’ form’d by _Hands Divine_. _Sadness_ in Widows Robes deplores his _State_, While the _Young Brood_ inspect the _Book of Fate_; Pensive they view the _Rise_ and _Fall_ of _Man_, With Tears survey his Transitory _Span_. But his great _Soul_, full of Cœlestial _Flame_, Disdaining _Death_, strives to extend his _Name_; And conscious of our too too fickle _State_, Would fain elude the Force of _Time_ and _Fate_: The narrow Boundaries of _Life_ would pass, By _Statues_, _Pillars_, Monumental _Brass_, Aspiring _Pyramids_, that lift on high Their spiral Heads to reach his kindred Skie, Which in their dark _Repositories_ keep The _Bodies_ safe in their _Immortal Sleep_; While healing _Balm_ and _Aromatic Spice_, _Death_’s odious _Dissipation_ to their _Form_ denies. _Death_ baffl’d thus by wise _Chyrurgic Art_, Wounds _Mortals_ there but with a blunted Dart; And half the Terror of the _Griesly Fiend_ Is lost, when _Mortal Bodies_ know no end. The _Bodies_ thus _Preserv’d_, the thinking Part _Men_ strive to keep alive by various _Art_, And fine wrought _Medals_ and _Inscriptions_ use, But above all the _bright recording Muse_; Thro’ _Time_’s revolving Tide the faithful _Page_ Conveys their earliest _Rise_ to the remotest _Age_, While _Death_ and _Time_ oppose their _Force_ in vain, Superior _Men_ above their _Force_ remain; _Temples_ and _Fanes_ they to the _Godhead_ raise, To bribe the only _Power_, that _can_ destroy, with Praise. _Jove_ pleas’d, in Pity of the pious _Race_, Two _Messengers_ sends down the Airy space, To raise _Man_’s _Ashes_ from the silent Urn, Which touch’d by _Hermes_ wand resume their pristine Form. _Jove_’s _Royal Bird_ attends to bear on high Th’ _Immortal Soul_ up to its Native _Skie_, While _Fame_ aloud her Silver Trumpet sounds, And with the _Lawrel Wreath_ the _Victor_ Crowns. And thus _Eternal_ lives the _deathless Mind_, Which, here on _Earth_, no setled _State_ could find. [Illustration: _T. Murray pinx._ _Thomas Greenhill_ Chirurgus. HONOR ALIT ARTES _Quo_ Fata trahunt retrahuntqꝫ sequamur. _P. Berchet delin^t._ _Nutting sculpsit. 1705._ ]