Consuls of mod'rate Pow'r in Calms were made; When the Gauls came, one sole Dictator sway'd.

Patriots, in Peace, assert the Peoples Right; With noble Stubbornness resisting Might: No Lawless Mandates from the Court receive, Nor lend by Force; but in a Body give. Such was your gen'rous Grandfire; free to grant In Parliaments, that weigh'd their Prince's Want: But so tenacious of the Common Cause, As not to lend the King against his Laws. And, in a loathsom Dungeon doom'd to lie, In Bonds retain'd his Birthright Liberty, And sham’d Oppression, till it ses him free. O true Descendent of a Patriot Line,

[thine, Who, while thou shar'st their Lustre, lend'st 'em Vouchsafe this Picture of thy Soul to see; 'Tis so far Good, as it resembles thee: The Beauties to th' Original I owe; Which, when I miss, my own Defects I show: Nor think the Kindred-Muses thy Disgrace; A Poet is not born in ev'ry Race,

a

Two of a House, few Ages can afford;
One to perform, another to record.
Praise-worthy Adions are by thee embrac'd;
And 'tis my Praise, to make thy Praises last.
For ev’n when Death diffolves our HumanFrame,
The Soul returns to Heav'n,from whenceit came;
Earth keeps the Body, Verse preserves the Fame.

CONNEXION to the former Story. Ovid, having told how Theseus had freed Athens

from the Tribute of Children, (which was impos’d on them by Minos King of Creta) by killing the Minotaur, here makes a Digression to the Story of Meleager and Atalanta, which is one of the most inartificial Connexions in all the Metamorphoses: For he only says, that Theseus obtain'd such Honour from that Combate, that all Greece had recour se to him in their Necessities ; and, amongst others, Calydon; though the Heroe of that Country, Prince Meleager, was then living.

ROM him, the Caledonians fought

Relief;
Though valiant Meleagrus was their

Chief.:
The Cause, a Boar, who ravag'd far and near :
Of Cynthia's Wrath, th’avenging Minister.
For Oeneus with Autumnal Plenty bless'd,
By Gifts to Heav'n his Gratitude express’d:
Cull'd Sheafs, to Ceres; to Lyeus, Wine;
To Pan, and Pales, offer'd Sheep and Kine;
And Fat of Olives, to Minerva's Shrine.
Beginning from the Rural Gods, his Hand
Was lib’ral to the Pow'rs of high Command:
Each Deity in ev'ry Kind was bless’d,
Till at Diana's Fane th’invidious Honour ceas'd.
Wrath touches ev'n the Gods; the Queen of

Night Fir'd with Difdain, and jealous of her Right, Unhonour'd though I am, at least, faid she, Not unreveng'd that impious Ad fhall be. Swift as the Word, fhe sped the Boar away, With Charge on thofe devoted Fields to prey.

No larger Bulls th' Ægyptian Pastures feed,
And none so large Sicilian Meadows breed:
His Eye-balls glare with Fire suffus'd with Blood;
His Neck shoots up a thick-set thorny Wood;
His bristled Back a Trench impal'd appears,
And stands erected, like a Field of Spears.
Froth fills his Chaps, he sends a grunting Sound,
And part he churns, and part befoams the Ground.
For Tusks with Indian Elephants he strove,
And Jove's own Thunder from his Mouth he drove.
He burns the Leaves; the scorching Blaftinvades
The tender Corn, and shrivels up the Blades:
Or suff'ring not their yellow Beards to rear,
He tramples down the Spikes, and intercepts the

Year.
In vain the Barns expect their promis'd Load,
Nor Barns at home, nor Reeks are heap'd abroad:
In vain the Hinds the Threshing-Floor prepare,
And exercise their Flails in empty Air.
With Olives ever-green the Ground is strow'd,
And Grapes ungather'd shed their gen'rous Blood.
Amid the Fold he rages, nor the Sheep

[keep. Their Shepherds, nor the Grooms their Bulls can

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