To the Reverend

Dr. WILKINS,

Warden of Wadham College in Oxford,

SIR,

S

EEING you are pleased to think fit that these papers should come into the public, which were at firft defigned to live only in a desk, or fome private friend's hands; I humbly take the boldness to commit them to the fecurity which your name and protection will give them with the most knowing part of the world. There are two things efpecially in which they ftand in need of your defence: one is, that they fall fo infinitely below the full and lofty genius of that excellent poet, who made this way of writing free of our nation: the other, that they are fo little proportioned and equal to the renown of that prince, on whom they were written. Such great actions and lives deserving rather, to be the fubjects of the nobleft pens and divine fancies, than of such small beginners and weak effayers in poetry as myself. Against these dangerous prejudices, there emains no other fhield, than the universal esteem and authority which your judgment and approbation carries with it. The right you have to them, fir, s not only on the account of the relation you had o this great perfon, nor of the general favour which all arts receive from you; but more particu

larly by reason of that obligation and zeal with which I am bound to dedicate myself to your fervice: for having been a long time the object of your care and indulgence towards the advantage of my ftudies and fortune, having been moulded as it were, by your own hands, and formed under your government, not to entitle you to any thing which my meannefs produces, would not only be injuftice, but facrilege: fo if there be thing

deferves pardon, it is here tolerably faid, which

who is,

yours, Sir, as well as he,

Your moft devoted,

and obliged fervant,

THO. SPRA T.

To the happy MEMORY of the late]

LORD PROTECTOR.

T

I.

IS true, great name, thou art fecure
From the forgetfulness and rage

Of death, or envy, or devouring age;

Thou canft the force and teeth of time endure:
Thy fame, like men, the elder it doth grow,
Will of it felf turn whiter too,

Without what needlefs art can do ;

Will live beyond thy breath, beyond thy hearfe,
Tho' it were never heard or sung in verse.
Without our help, thy memory is safe ;
They only want an epitaph,

That do remain alone

Alive in an inscription,

Remembred only on the brafs, or marble-ftone, "Tis all in vain what we can do:

All our rofes and perfumes

Will but officious folly show,

And pious nothings to fuch mighty tombs.

All our incenfe, gums and balm,
Are but unnecessary duties here:

The poets may their fpices fpare,

Their coftly numbers, and their tuneful feet:

That need not be embalm'd, which of itself is fweet;

P 4

II. We

II.

We know to praise thee is a dangerous proof
Of our obedience and our love:
For when the fun and fire meet,
The one's extinguifh'd quite;
And yet the other never is more bright.
So they that write of thee, and join
Their feeble names with thine;

Their weaker fparks with thy illuftrious light,

Will lose themselves in that ambitious thought;
And yet no fame to thee from hence be brought.
We know, blefs'd fpirit, thy mighty name
Wants no addition of another's beam;

It's for our pens too high, and full of theme:
The mufes are made great by thee, not thou by them,
Thy fame's eternal lamp will live,

And in thy facred urn furvive,

Without the food of oil, which we can give.

'Tis true; but yet our duty calls our fongs; Duty commands our tongues:

Tho' thou want not our praifes, we

Are not excus'd for what we owe to thee;
For fo men from religion are not freed,
But from the altars clouds must rife,
Tho' heaven itself doth nothing need,

And tho' the Gods don't want an earthly facrifice.

III.

Great life of wonders, whofe each year

Full of new miracles did appear

Whofe every month might be
Alone a chronicle, or history!

Others great actions are

!

But thinly scatter'd here and there;
At best, but all one fingle ftar;
But thine the milky way,

All one continued light, of undiftinguish'd day;

They