I.
Leave, bashfull Muse, the too hot Latian Shore,
To Albions temperate Clime sail or'e;
Sing Learnings Tempe, where clear Oxfords Eye,
Like a bright rising Morn,
Do's round herself descry
What may a pleasant Seat adorn;
Whither old Athens moves
With all its Shades, and Walks, and Groves,
With all its Pleasures, All its Arts,
Blessings, which to her Darling she imparts:
Where sweet--breath'd Zephyr spreads his balmy wing
Over her Eastern Garden, rich and fair,
Where Winter represents a Spring;
Which, stor'd with All that's rare,

So riots with Encrease,
As if Foecundity it self had sign'd the Lease;
Whence issues such a fragrant Smell
As might a Phoenix--Coffin parallel,
And, were She here to dye again, might serve as well:
Cool Breezes there fro neighbouring streams asswage
That sultry Month in which mad Sirius breaths its Rage:
Phoebus more gladly bends his western Head
To view those Walks, and Streams, than Thetis watry Bed.
II.
Let Folly boast Elysian Plains,
Chimera's of Romantick brains;
Where Opall Gems on Cedars grow,
Where Shrubs weep Gums, and Balm,
The Aire perfum'd, and calm,
Where fresh Delights, smooth as its Rivers, flow
With golden Sands, and pearly streams,
With Amber--foam, and Diamond--gravel:--Dreams,
Wild Rosy--crucian Themes,
Which cheat this World with fond Conceits of One below:
Delicious Oxford, we presume,
Makes good their feign'd Elysium;
Where Plenty Avarice does cloy,
And Appetite destroy:
Natures full Breasts distill such Cheer,
That Cattle need not envy here
The shining Ram and Bull plac'd in the starry Sphear:
May still Exuberance so blesse
This fertile Vale, that we may guess
Rather from hence to Greece
Than from old Colchos, came the famous Golden Fleece.
III.
Have you beheld Euganean Fields,
Where Petrarch spent, and yet enlarg'd his Dayes?
That Tempe Baths, Groves, Mountlets yields,
Natures green Silk each Hedge arrays;
Proud Medowes there
Embroidred Mantles wear;
Kind Summer, what each Spring engag'd for, payes:
There Plenty crowns the rolling Years,
Shed from the Influence of the Spheres;
There Birds in Fleets sail through the Air (their Sea)
Warbling sweet Notes on every Key,
Answer'd by Oat--pipes of each harmless Swain,
Under their Beechy Canopy;
A sweet, and innocent Security!
Health being their Feast, Content their Gain,
They view their Lambs dance on the verdant Plain;
Old russet Honesty dwells there,
All hearty, All sincere;
And yet, in this their Self--enjoying Reign,
Although they Care, and Age beguil'd,
Slow--envious--wrinckles durst appear,
Because so oft they smil'd:
While there I did Earths flowrie Carpet view,
(Where Violets round the Primrose grew)
Me--thought a new--ris'n Sun in's azure Sphere did shew.
IV.
As There, so Here is All that may invite
A longing Eye, or craving Appetite:
Farmers, and Fields, round Thee, express
In mutuall Smiles Their Happiness;

Two Thousand Sorts of Plants thy Physick--Garden dress,
Where Nature in Her Self takes full Delight.
As, when Apollo did on Daphne look,
He at first View was strook;
Shee, strangely arm'd with Beauty, did subdue
(Strange Pow'r of Beauties Charms,
'Bove Rhetorick, or Arms!)
The mighty Conqu'rour Who the Python slew:
So, Who Thy Theater, Great Sheldon, view,
And Bodley's stately learned Pile,
Where also Seldens Heap of Wonders lye,
Arts triple Pantheon, Wisdoms Pansophy,
They stand amaz'd at This ore--comming Sight.
Endeed, were Private Libraries not here,
Those might the Name of Publike bear,
Which we may well each Colledg--Treasure call,
Did not their Living Libraries out--vie Them all;
All, but their Glorious Chappels, Those we style
Most Sacred Arks.--All, joyn'd together, may
Approachers, ev'n as Sheba's Queen, surprize
With high Delight, and Them with greatest Wonder stay;
Who would, thus ravish'd, ne're retire
From gazing still on what they still admire,
Esteeming these fair Starres 'bove thousand Daphnean eyes;
This Galaxie, that cleers the way
To th' Empire of Eternal Day,
Much more enlightens, quickens Us, and warms,
Than Sol that gilds the World, and carries Time in's Arms.
V.
The Choicest Face by Nature pensil'd, seems
Short--liv'd, as flow'rs, and rudely looks,
Till rais'd by wise Convers, and wiser Books;
Thou, Knowledge, giv'st to Beauty lasting Beams:

When by Arts Chymistrie bright Spirits mount,
The Skin--deep Whites, and Reds subside below;
Beauties still--ripening Fruit, in Wise Account,
Do's on The Tree of Knowledge grow;
Which, to Embrightned Minds more Glorie brings,
Than Gems that blaze on Fronts of Kings.
Fools from Times Lott'ry draw dull blanks of sport;
Mules are but Mules, though trapp'd with Gold,
And gallant Ignorants but poor, who want Themselves,
Ship--wrack'd on Follies Shelves:
Bewitch'd with tinsel shew, and senseless noise,
With worthless, ill--presaging toyes.
But They to whom Indulgent Heav'n
This twofold Excellence has giv'n,
To Know, and wisely Act, They keep their Princely Court
Within; Whose glorious Reign may be admir'd, not told;
For Lifes long Age They wise Improvements choose,
When Folly has short hours, and has them but to loose.
VI.
Rude World! knew'st thou what Spring--Tide flowes
Of Mentall Ioyes to Sons of Art, and Fame,
Who, active still, as Light, tread Aire and Flame,
(Where Thirty Thousand Books in Order'd Rows,
The Generall Councel of Fames Priests, do stand,
The living Shrines of Worthies dead)
Thou would'st then pine with Envie, or with Rage be burst,
Ev'n by Thy--self Accurst.
But here, Benign Stars, from your Blessed Station
Ye brightly dart your Beams, Illustrious Souls!
In your refulgent Constellation
Are Thousand Lights into One Brightness spread;
From Your, the Best, and Noblest Conversation

Sweet Influ'ence round our Happy Island rolls;
By You, as streams by Nursing Springs, We'are fed.
Then Justly may You, Bay--crown'd Lords, command
This due, and easie Tribute from our gratefull Hand.
We have faire Padua, Lovain, Leyden seen;
At Theirs, as Oxford, at Your Lectures, been;
They Arts Chief Maids of Honour are,--But You
Arts Qveen.