Page:Poems upon Several Occasions.djvu/110

98 Those Arms which for nine Centuries had brav'd The Wrath of Time, on antick Stone engrav'd, Now torn by Mortars, stand yet undefac'd On nobler Trophies by thy Valour rais'd: Safe on thy Eagles Wings they soar, above The Rage of War, or Thunder to remove, Born by the Bird of Cæsar, and of Jove.

Achaon sick, in ev'ry Face we find His Danger is the Danger of Mankind, Whose Art protecting, Nature cou'd expire But by a Deluge, or the general Fire. More Lives he saves than perish in our Wars, And faster than a Plague destroys, repairs: The bold Carowser, and advent'ring Dame, Nor fear the Fever, nor refuse the Flame, Safe