But time it self, bright Nymph, shall never conquer thee, For when the Globe of vast Eternity; Turns up the wrong-side of the World, And all things are to their first _Chaos_ hurl’d, Thy lasting praise in thy own lines inroll’d, With _Roman_ and with the _British_ Names shall Equal honour hold. And surely none ‘midst the Poetick Quire, But justly will admire The Trophies of thy wit, Sublime and gay as e’er were yet In Charming Numbers writ. Or _Virgil’s_ Shade or _Ovid’s_ Ghost, Of Ages past the pride and boast; Or _Cowley_ (first of ours) refuse That thou shouldst be Companion of their Muse. And if ‘twere lawfull to suppose (As where’s the Crime or Incongruity) Those awfull Souls concern’d can be At any sublunary thing, Alas, I fear they’ll grieve to see, That whilst I sing, And strive to praise, I but disparage thee. _By F. N. W._ _To Madam_ Behn, _on her Poems._ When th’.lmighty Powers th’.niverse had fram’d, And Man as King, the lesser World was nam’d. The Glorious Consult soon his joys did bless. And sent him Woman his chief happiness. She by an after-birth Heaven did refine, And gave her Beauty with a Soul divine; She with delight was Natures chiefest pride, Dearer to Man than all the World beside; Her soft embraces charm’d his Manly Soul, And softer Words his Roughness did controul: So thou, great _Sappho_, with thy charming Verse, Dost here the Soul of Poetry rehearse; From your sweet Lips such pleasant Raptures fell, As if the Graces strove which shou’d excell. Th’admiring World when first your Lute you strung. Became all ravisht with th’ immortal Song; So soft and gracefull Love in you is seen, As if the Muses had design’d you Queen. For thee, thou great _Britannia_ of our Land, How does thy Praise our tunefull Feet command? With what great influence do thy Verses move? } How hast thou shewn the various sense of Love? } Admir’d by us, and blest by all above. } To you all tribute’s due, and I can raise No glory but by speaking in your praise. Go on and bless us dayly with your Pen, And we shall oft return thee thanks again. _H. Watson._ POEMS UPON SEVERAL OCCASIONS. _The Golden Age._ _A Paraphrase on a Translation out of French._ I.