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At length, with more prevailing Rage poffeft,
Her jealous Honour fteels her daring Breaft :
The thoughts of injur'd Fame new Courage gave
And nicer Virtue now confirms her brave.
Then the fam'd Judith her whole Mind employs,
Urges her hand, and fooths the fatal Choice:
This great Example pleas'd, inflam'd by this,
With wild Disorder to the Youth the flies;
One hand the wreaths within his flowing Hair,
The other does the ready Weapon bear :

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"Now guide me, cries, fair Hebrew, now look down,
"And pity Labours thou haft undergone.
"Direct the Hand that takes thy Path to Fame,
"And be Propitious to a Virgin's Name,
"Whofe Glory's but a Refuge from her Shame.
Thus rais'd by Hopes, and arm'd with Courage now
She with undaunted Looks directs the Blow:
Deep in his Breaft the spacious Wound she made,
And to his Heart difpatch'd th' unerring Blade.
When their expiring Lord the Servants heard,
Whofe dying Groans the fatal A&t declar'd:
Like a fierce Torrent with no Bounds they're stay'd
But vent their Rage on the defenceless Maid :
Not Virtue, Youth, nor Beauty in distress,
Can move their favage Breafts to tenderness:
But Death, with horrid Torments they prepare
And to her Fate th' undaunted Virgin bear.
Tortures and Death feem lovely in her Eyes,
Since the to Honour falls a Sacrifice:
Amidt her Sufferings, ftill her Mind is great,
And, free from Guilt, fhe triumphs o'er her Fate.
But Heav'n, that's fuff'ring Virtue's fure Reward,
Exerts its Power, and is it felf her Guard :
Amalis, confcious of his black Offence,
Now feels Remorfe for her wrong'd Innocence;
Tho' now he's ftrugling in the pangs of Death,
And all Life's purple Stream is ebbing forth:

Yet, taifing up his pale and drooping Head,
He recollects his Spirits as they fled,

}

And, with his laft remains of Voice, he said, "Spare the chaft Maid, your impious Hands reftrain, "Nor Beauty with fuch Infolence prophane: "Learn by my Fate wrong'd Innocence to spare, "Since injur'd Virtue's Heav'n's peculiar Care. But you, brave Virgin, now fhall ftand enrol'd Amongst the nobleft Heroines of old: Thy fam'd Attempt, and celebrated Hand, Shall lafting Trophies of thy Glory ftand; And, if my Verse the juft Reward can give, Theutilla's Name fhall to new Ages live. For to thy Sex thou haft new Honours won, And France now boafts a Judith of its own.

An ODE, for St. CECILIA's Day, 1693.

Written by Mr. Tho. Yalden and Compofed by Mr. Daniel Purcell.

I.

Begin, and frike th' harmonious Lyre!

Let the loud Inftruments prepare

To raise our Souls, and charm the Ear,

With Joys which Mufick only can inspire;
Hark how the willing Strings obey!

To confecrate this happy Day,
Sacred to Mufick, Love, and bleft Cecilia.
In lofty Numbers, tuneful Lays,
We'll celebrate the Virgin's Praise:

Her skilful Hand firft taught our Strings to move, To her this facred Art we owe,

Who first anticipated Heav'n below, [Above. And play'd the Hymns on Earth, that the now fings

II.

What moving Charms each tuneful Voice contains, Charms that thro' the willing Ear,

A Tide of pleafing Raptufes bear,

And, with diffufive Joys, run thrilling thro' our Veins.
The liftning Soul does Sympathize,
And with each vary'd Note complies:
While gay and sprightly Airs delight,
Then free from Cares, and unconfin'd,
It takes, in pleafing Ecftafies, its flight.

With mournful Sounds, a fadder Garb it wears,
Indulges Grief, and gives a loose to Tears.
III.

Mufick's the Language of the Bleft above,
No Voice but Mufick's can exprefs
The Joys that happy Souls poffefs,

Norin juft Raptures tell the wond'rous Pow'r of Love. 'Tis Nature's Diale&t, defign'd

To charm, and to inftruct the Mind
Mufick's an Univerfal Good!

That does difpence its Joys around,
In all the Elegance of Sound,

To be by Men admir'd, by Angels understood.
IV.

Let ev'ry reftiefs Paffion cease to move!
And each tumultuous Thought obey
The happy influence of this Day,
For Mufick's Unity and Love.
Mufick's the foft Indulger of the Mind,
The kind diverter of our care,

The fureft Refuge mournful Grief can find;
A Cordial to the Breaft, and Charm to ev'ry Ear.
Thus, when the Prophet ftruck his tuneful Lyre,
Saul's evil Genius did retire :

In vain were Remedies apply'd,

In vain all other Arts were try'd ;

His Hand and Voice alone the Charm cou'd find, To heal his Body, and compofe his Mind,

V.

Now let the Trumpet's louder Voice proclaim

A folemn Jubilee :

For ever Sacred let it be,

To Skilful Jubal's, and Cecilia's, Name.

Great Jubal Author of our Lays,

Who firft the hidden Charms of Mufick found:
And thro' their airy Paths did trace,

The fecret Springs of Sound.

When from his hollow chorded Shell
The foft melodious Accerts fell,

With Wonder, and Delight he play'd,

While the harmonious Strings his skilful Hand o

VI.

But fair Cecilia to a pitch Divine

Improv'd her artful Lays:

When to the Organ fhe her Voice did join,
In the Almighty's Fraife;

[bey'd.

Then Choirs of Liftning Angels ftood around,
Admir'd her Art, and bleft the Heav'nly Sound.
Her Praise alone no Tongue can reach,
But in the Strains her felf did teach:
Then let the Voice and Lyre combine,
And in a tuneful Confort join ;

For Mufick's her Reward and Care,
Above th' enjoys it, and protects it here.
Grand Chorus.

Then kindly treat this happy Day,

And grateful Honours to Cecilia pay:

To her thefe lov'd harmonious Rites belong, To her that Tunes our Strings, and ftill Infpires our

Song.

The Dedication of the Verfion of Fracaftorius's Syphilis, to Dr. THO. HOBBS.

A

Ccept, great Son of Art, this faint effect
Of a most active and unfeign'd Refpect:
Numbers that yield (alas!) too just survey
Of Phyficks growth, and Poetry's decay.
That fhew a generous Muse impair'd by Me,
As much as th' Author's Skill's out-done by Thee,
This Indian Conqu'ror's fatal March he fung,
To the fame Lyre his own Apollo ftrung;
Whose Notes yet fail'd the Monster to affwage,
Revenging here, invading Spaniard's Rage.
Dear was the Conqueft of a New-found World,
Whose Plague c'er fince thro' all the Old is hurl'd
Had Fracaftorius, who in Numbers told

(Numbers more rich than those new Lands of Gold)
This great Deftroyer's Progrefs, feen this Age,
And thy Succefs against the Tyrant's Rage,
Bembus had then been no Immortal Name,
Thou and thy Art had challeng'd all his Flame!
Thou driv'ft th' Ufurper to his laft Retreats,
Repairing as thou go'ft the ruin'd Seats:
Thus while the Foe is by thy Art remov'd,
The Holds are ftrengthen'd, and the Soil improv'de
Thy happy Conqueft do's at once expel
Th' Invader's Force, and inbred Factions quell.
Thy Patients and Augufta's Fate's the fame,
To nife more fair and lafting for the Flame:
While meaner Artists this bold Task effay,
I' th' little World of Man they lofe their way.
Thou know'ft the fecret Paffes to each Part,
And, skill'd in Nature, can'ft not fail in Art.

N. TATE

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