—­In rush’d Eusden, and cry’d, who shall have it,
  But I the true Laureat to whom the king gave it? 
  Apollo begg’d pardon, and granted his claim,
  But vow’d that till then, he ne’er heard of his name.

The truth is, Mr. Eusden wrote an Epithalamium on the marriage of his grace the duke of Newcastle, to the right honourable the lady Henrietta Godolphin; which was considered as so great a compliment by the duke, that in gratitude for it, he preferred him to the laurel.  Nor can I at present see how he could have made a better choice:  We shall have occasion to find, as we enumerate his writings, that he was no inconsiderable versifier, and though perhaps he had not the brightest parts; yet as we hear of no moral blemish imputed to him, and as he was dignified with holy-orders, his grace acted a very generous part, in providing for a man who had conferred an obligation on him.  The first rate poets were either of principles very different from the government, or thought themselves too distinguished to undergo the drudgery of an annual Ode; and in this case Eusden seems to have had as fair a claim as another, at least a better than his antagonist Oldmixon.  He succeeded indeed a much greater poet than himself, the ingenious Mr. Rowe, which might perhaps draw some ridicule upon him.

Mr. Cooke, in his Battle of the Poets, speaks thus of our author.

  Eusden, a laurel’d bard, by fortune rais’d
  By very few was read, by fewer prais’d.

A fate which some critics are of opinion must befall the very poet himself, who is thus so ready to expose his brother.

The chief of our author’s poetical writings are these,

To the lord Hallifax, occasioned by the translating into Latin his lordship’s Poem on the Battle of the Boyne.

On the duke of Marlborough’s victory at Oudenaid.

A Letter to Mr. Addison.

On the king’s accession to the throne. 
To the reverend doctor Bentley, on the opening of Trinity-College Chapel,
Cambridge.

On a Lady, who is the most beautiful and witty when she is angry.

  This poem begins with these lines.

  Long had I known the soft, inchanting wiles,
  Which Cupid practised in Aurelia’s smiles. 
  ’Till by degrees, like the fam’d Asian taught,
  Safely I drank the sweet, tho’ pois’nous draught. 
  Love vex’d to see his favours vainly shown,
  The peevish Urchin murthered with a frown.

Verses at the last public commencement at Cambridge, spoken by the author.

The Court of Venus, from Claudian.

The Speech of Pluto to Proserpine.

Hero and Leander, translated from the Greek of Musaeus.

  This Piece begins thus,

  Sing Muse, the conscious torch, whose mighty flame,
  (The shining signal of a brighter dame)
  Thro’ trackless waves, the bold Leander led,
  To taste the dang’rous joys of Hero’s bed: 
  Sing the stol’n bliss, in gloomy shades conceal’d,
  And never to the blushing morn reveal’d.