The Mystick Terms of Rough Philosophy, Thou dost so plain and easily express; Yet Deck’st them in so soft and gay a Dress: So intelligent to each Capacity, That they at once Instruct and Charm the Sense, With heights of Fancy, heights of Eloquence; And Reason over all Unfetter’d plays, Wanton and undisturb’d as Summers Breeze; That gliding murmurs o’re the Trees: And no hard Notion meets or stops its way. It Pierces, Conquers and Compels, Beyond poor Feeble Faith’s dull Oracles. Faith the despairing Souls content, Faith the Last Shift of Routed Argument. Hail Sacred _Wadham_! whom the Muses Grace And from the Rest of all the Reverend Pile; Of Noble Pallaces, design’d thy Space: Where they in soft retreat might dwell. They blest thy Fabrick, and said--Do thou, Our Darling Sons contain; We thee our Sacred Nursery Ordain, They said and blest, and it was so. And if of old the Fanes of Silvian Gods, Were worshipt as Divine _Abodes_; If Courts are held as Sacred Things, For being the Awful Seats of Kings. What Veneration should be paid, To thee that hast such wondrous Poets made. To Gods for fear, Devotion was design’d, And Safety made us bow to Majesty; Poets by Nature Aw and Charm the Mind, Are born not made by dull Religion or Necessity. The Learned _Thirsis_ did to thee belong, Who _Athens_ Plague has so divinely Sung. _Thirsis_ to wit, as sacred friendship true, Paid Mighty _Cowley’s_ Memory its due. _Thirsis_ who whilst a greater Plague did reign, Then that which _Athens_ did Depopulate: Scattering Rebellious Fury o’re the Plain, That threaten’d Ruine to the Church and State, Unmov’d he stood, and fear’d no Threats of Fate. That Loyal Champion for the Church and Crown, That Noble Ornament of the Sacred Gown, Still did his Soveraign’s Cause Espouse, And was above the Thanks of the mad Senate-house. _Strephon_ the Great, whom last you sent abroad, Who Writ, and Lov’d, and Lookt like any God; For whom the Muses mourn, the Love-sick Maids Are Languishing in Melancholly Shades. The _Cupids_ flag their Wings, their Bows untie, And useless Quivers hang neglected by, And scatter’d Arrows all around ‘em lye. By murmuring Brooks the careless Deities are laid, Weeping their rifled power now Noble _Strephon’s_ Dead.