"This my retreat, but only He

"Who made both it and me.

"The heart of man what art can e'er reveal ?

"A wall impervious between

"Divides the very parts within,

[ceal."

"And doth the heart of man ev'n from itself con

She spoke but, ere she was aware,
Harvey was with her there;

And held this slippery Proteus in a chain,
Till all her mighty mysteries he descry'd ;
Which from his wit th' attempt before to hide
Was the first thing that Nature did in vain.

He the young practice of new life did see,
Whilst, to conceal its toilsome poverty,
It for a living wrought, both hard and privately.
Before the liver understood

The noble scarlet dye of blood;

Before one drop was by it made,
Or brought into it, to set up the trade;
Before the untaught heart began to beat
The tuneful march to vital heat;

From all the souls that living buildings rear,
Whether imply'd for earth, or sea, or air;
Whether it in the womb or egg be wrought;
A strict account to him is hourly brought
How the great fabrick does proceed,

What time, and what materials, it does need:

He so exactly does the work survey,

As if he hir'd the workers by the day.

Thus Harvey sought for Truth in Truth's own book, The creatures—which by God himself was writ; And wisely thought 't was fit,

Not to read comments only upon it,

But on th' original itself to look.

Methinks in Art's great circle others stand

Lock'd-up together, hand in hand;

Every one leads as he is led;

The same bare path they tread,

And dance, like fairies, a fantastick round,
But neither change their motion nor their ground:
Had Harvey to this road confin'd his wit,

[yet.

His noble circle of the blood had been untrodden Great Doctor! th'art of curing's cur'd by thee;

We now thy patient, Physick, see

From all inveterate diseases free,

Purg'd of old errors by thy care,

New dieted, put forth to clearer air;

It now will strong and healthful prove; Itself before lethargick lay, and could not move!

These useful secrets to his pen we owe!
And thousands more 't was ready to bestow;
Of which a barbarous war's unlearned rage
Has robb'd the ruin'd age:

O cruel loss! as if the golden fleece,

With so much cost and labour bought, And from afar by a great hero brought,

Had sunk ev'n in the ports of Greece. O cursed war! who can forgive thee this?

Houses and towns may rise again;

And ten times easier 't is

To rebuild Paul's, than any work of his :
That mighty task none but himself can do,
Nay, scarce himself too, now;

For, though his wit the force of age withstand,
His body, alas! and time, it must command;
And Nature now, so long by him surpass'd,
Will sure have her revenge on him at last.

ODE,

FROM CATULLUS.

ACME and SEPTIMIUS.

WHILST on Septimius' panting breast
(Meaning nothing less than rest)
Acme lean'd her loving head,
Thus the pleas'd Septimius said:

My dearest Acme, if I be
Once alive, and love not thee
With a passion far above
All that e'er was called love;
In a Libyan desert may
I become some lion's prey;
Let him, Acme, let him tear

My breast, when Acme is not there.

The God of Love, who stood to hear him
(The God of Love was always near him),
Pleas'd and tickled with the sound,
Sneez'd aloud; and all around
The little Loves, that waited by,
Bow'd, and blest the augury.
Acme, enflam'd with what he said,
Rear'd her gently-bending head;
And, her purple mouth with joy
Stretching to the delicious boy,
Twice (and twice could scarce suffice)
She kiss'd his drunken rolling eyes.

My little life, my all! (said she)
So may we ever servants be

To this best God, and ne'er retain
Our hated liberty again!

So may thy passion last for me,

As I a passion have for thee,

Greater and fiercer much than can

Be conceiv'd by thee a man!

Into my marrow is it gone,
Fixt and settled in the bone;

It reigns not only in my heart,
But runs, like life, through every part.
She spoke; the God of Love aloud
Sneez'd again; and all the crowd
Of little Loves, that waited by,
Bow'd, and blest the augury.

This good omen thus from heaven

Like a happy signal given,

Their loves and lives (all four) embrace,

And hand in hand run all the race.

To poor Septimius (who did now
Nothing else but Acme grow)
Acme's bosom was alone

The whole world's imperial throne;
And to faithful Acme's mind
Septimius was all human-kind.

If the Gods would please to be
But advis'd for once by me,
I'd advise them, when they spy
Any illustrious piety,

To reward her, if it be she-
To reward him, if it be he

With such a husband, such a wife;
With Acme's and Septimius' life.