ON THE DEATH OF

HIS MOST SACRED MAJESTY KING CHARLES II.

FAREWEL, great Charles, monarch of blest

renown,

The best good man that ever fill'd a throne; Whom Nature as her highest pattern wrought, And mix'd both sexes' virtues' in a draught; Wisdom for councils, bravery in war, With all the mild good-nature of the fair. The woman's sweetness temper'd manly wit, And loving pow'r did, crown'd with meekness, sit; His awful person reverence engag'd, With mild address and tenderness assuag'd: Thus the almighty gracious King above, Does both command our fear, and win our love. With wonders born, by miracles preserv'd, A heavenly host the infant's cradle serv'd: And men his healing empire's omen read, When Sun with stars, and day with night agreed. His youth for valorous patience was renown'd; Like David, persecuted first, then crown'd: Lov'd in all courts, admir'd where'er he came, At once our nation's glory, and its shame: They blest the isle where such great spirits dwell, Abhorr'd the men, that could such worth expel. To spare our lives, he meekly did defeat Those Sauls, whom wand'ring asses made so great; Waiting till Heaven's election should be shown, And the Almighty should his unction own. And own he did his powerful arm display'd; And Israel, the belov'd of God, obey'd; Call'd by his people's tears, he came, he eas'd The groaning nation, the black storms appeas'd, Did greater blessings, than he took, afford; England itself was more, than he, restor'd. Unhappy Albion, by strange ills oppress'd, In various fevers tost, could find no rest; Quite spent and weary'd, to his arms she fled, And rested on his shoulders her fair bending head. In conquests mild, he came from exile kind; No climes, no provocations, chang'd his mind; No malice show'd, no hate, revenge, or pride, But rul'd as meekly, as his father dy'd; Eas'd us from endless wars, made discords cease, Restor❜d to quiet, and maintain'd in peace.

A mighty series of new time began,
And rolling years in joyful circles ran.
Then wealth the city, business fill'd the port,
To mirth our tumults turn'd, our wars to sport:
Then learning flourish'd, blooming arts did spring,
And the glad Muses prun'd their drooping wing:
Then did our flying towers improvement know,
Who now command as far as winds can blow;
With canvass wings round all the globe they fly,
And, built by Charles's art, all storms defy;
To every coast with ready sails are hurl'd,
Fill us with wealth, and with our fame the world;
From whose distractions seas do us divide;
Their riches here in floating castles ride.
We reap the swarthy Indians' sweat and toil;
Their fruit, without the mischiefs of their soil.
Here, in cool shades, their gold and pearls re-
ceive,

Free from the heat which does their lustre give.
In Persian silks, eat eastern spice; secure
From burning fluxes, and the calenture:
Under our vines, upon the peaceful shore,
We see all Europe tost, hear tempests roar:
Rapine, sword, wars, and famine, rage abroad,
While Charles their host, like Jove from Ida,
aw'd;

Us from our foes, and from ourselves did shield,
Our towns from tumults, and from arms the field;
For when bold Faction goodness could disdain,
Unwillingly he us'd a straiter rein:

In the still gentle voice he lov'd to speak,
But could, with thunder, harden'd rebels break.
Yet, though they wak'd the laws, his tender mind
Was undisturb'd, in wrath severely kind;
Tempting his power, and urging to assume;
Thus Jove, in love, did Semele consume.
As the stout oak, when round his trunk the vine
Does in soft wreaths and amorous foldings twine,
Easy and slight appears; the winds from far
Summon their noisy forces to the war:
But though so gentle seems his outward form,
His hidden strength out-braves the loudest storm :
Firmer he stands, and boldly keeps the field,
Showing stout minds, when unprovok'd, are mild,
So when the good man made the crowd presume,
He show'd himself, and did the king assume:
For goodness in excess may be a sin;
Justice must tame, whom mercy cannot win.

Thus, winter fixes the unstable sea,
And teaches restless water constancy,
Which, under the warm influence of bright days,
The fickle motion of each blast obeys.
To bridle factions, stop rebellion's course,
By easy methods, vanquish without force;
Relieve the good, bold stubborn foes subdue,
Mildness in wrath, meekness in anger shew,
Were arts great Charles's prudence only knew.
To fright the bad, thus awful thunder rolls,
While the bright bow secures the faithful souls.
Such is thy glory, Charles, thy lasting name,
Brighter than our proud neighbour's guilty
fame;

More noble than the spoils that battles yield,
Or all the empty triumphs of the field.

Tis less to conquer, than to make war cease,
And, without fighting, awe the world to peace;
For proudest triumphs from contempt arise;
The vanquish'd first the conqueror's arms de-
spise:

Won ensigns are the gaudy marks of scorn,
They brave the victor first, and then adorn,
But peaceful monarchs reign like gods: while

none

Dispute, all love, bless, reverence their throne.
Tigers and bears, with all the savage host,
May boldness, strength, and daring conquest
boast;

But the sweet passions of a generous mind
Are the prerogative of human-kind;
The god-like image, on our clay imprest,
The darling attribute which Heaven loves best:
In Charles, so good a man and king, we see
A double image of the deity.

Oh! had he more resembled it! Oh, why
Was he not still more like, and could not die?
Now do our thoughts alone enjoy his name,
And faint ideas of our blessing frame!

In Thames, the Ocean's darling, England's pride,
The pleasing emblem of his reign does glide:
Thames, the support and glory of our isle,
Richer than Tagus, or Egyptian Nile:
Though no rich sand in him, no pearls are
found,

Yet fields rejoice, his meadows laugh around;
Less wealth his bosom holds, less guilty stores,
For he exhausts himself t' enrich the shores.
Mild and serene the peaceful current flows,
No angry foam, no raging surges knows;
No dreadful wrecks upon his banks appear,
His crystal stream unstain'd by widows tear,
His channel strong and easy, deep and clear.
No arbitrary inundations sweep

The ploughman's hopes, and life into the deep;
His even waters the old limits keep.
But oh! he ebbs, the smiling waves decay,
For ever, lovely stream, for ever stay!
To the black sea his silent course does bend,'
Where the best streams, the longest rivers, end.
His spotless waves there undistinguish'd pass,
None see, how clear, how bounteous, sweet, he

was.

No difference now, though late so much is seen, "Twixt him, fierce Rhine, and the impetuous Seine.

But, lo! the joyful tide our hopes restores, And dancing waves extend the wid'ning shores. James is our Charles in all things but in name: Thus Thames is daily lost, yet still the same.

ODE

ON THE MARRIAGE OF THE

PRINCESS ANNE AND PRINCE GEORGE OF DENMARK.

WHILST black designs (that direful work of Fate)
Distract the labouring state;

Whilst (like the sea) around loud discords roar,
Breaking their fury on the frighted shore;
And England does like brave Vienna stand,
Besieg'd by Infidels on either hand; [sight?
What means this peaceful train, this pompous
What means this royal beauteous pair?
This troop of youths and virgins heavenly fair,
That does at once astonish and delight;
Great Charles, and his illustrious brother here,
No bold assassinate need fear;

Here is no harmful weapon found, [wound, Nothing but Cupid's darts and Beauty here can

How grateful does this scene appear To us, who might too justly fear We never should have seen again Aught bright, but armour on the plain! Ne'er in their cheerful garb t'have seen the fair, While all, with melting eyes and wild dishevell'd [slain. Had mourn'd their brothers, sons, and husbands, These dusky shadows make this scene more bright;

hair,

The horrour adds to the delight. This glorious pomp our spirits cheers; from hence We lucky omens take, new happiness commence. Thus, when the gathering clouds a storm prepare, And their black force associate in the air; (Endeavouring to eclipse the bounteous light,

Who, with kind warmth, and powerful rays, Them to that envy'd height, From their mean native earth, did raise) A thoughtful sadness sits on all, Expecting where the full-charg'd clouds will fall: But if the heavenly bow

[rays,

Deck'd, like a gaudy bride, appears, And all her various robes displays, Painted by the conquering Sun's triumphant It mortals drooping spirits cheers; Fresh joy, new light, each visage wears: Again the seamen trust the main, The jocund swains their coverts leave again;

Again, in pleasant warbling notes, [ful throats. The cheerful poets of the wood extend their tune

Then, then, my Muse, raise with thy lyre thy voice,
And, with thy lays, make fields and woods rejoice:
For lo! the heavenly pledge appears,
And in bright characters the promise bears:
The factious deluge shall prevail no more;
In vain they foam, in vain they rage,
Buffet in vain the unmov'd shore, [assuage.
Her charms, and Charles's power, their fury shall
See! see! how decently the bashful bride
Does bear her conquest; with how little pride
She views that prince, the captive of her charms,
Who made the North with fear to quake,
And did that powerful empire shake;
Before whose arms, when great Gustavus led,
The frighted Roman eagles fled.

Whatever then was his desire,
His cannons did command in fire:

Who, slow to act, each business duly weigh,
Advise with freedom, and with care obey;
With wisdom fatal to their interest, strive
To make their monarch lov'd, and nation thrive.
Such have no place where priests and women
Who love fierce drivers, and a looser rein. [reign,

AN EPISTLE

ΤΟ

CHARLES EARL OF DORSET,

OCCASIONED BY

HIS MAJESTY'S VICTORY IN IRELAND, 1690.

WHAT! shall the king the nation's genius raise,
And make us rival our great Edward's days;
Yet not one Muse, worthy a conqueror's name,
Attend his triumphs, and record his fame?
Oh, Dorset! you alone this fault can mend,
The Muses' darling, confident, and friend;
The poets are your charge, and, if unfit,
You should be fin'd to furnish abler wit;
Oblig'd to quit your ease, and draw again,
To paint the greatest hero, the best pen.

A hero, who thus early doth out-shine
The ancient honours of his glorious line;
And, soaring more sublimely to renown,
The memory of their pious triumphs drown;
Whose actions are deliver'd o'er to Fame,
As types and figures of his greater name.

When Fate some mighty genius has design'd,
For the relief and wonder of mankind,
Nature takes time to answer the intent,
And climbs, by slow degrees, the steep ascent:
She toils and labours with the growing weight,
And watches carefully the steps of Fate;
Till all the seeds of Providence unite,
To set the hero in a happy light;
Then, in a lucky and propitious hour,
Exerts her force, and calls forth all her power.
In Nassau's race she made this long essay:
Heroes and patriots prepar'd the way,
And promis'd, in their dawn, this brighter day;
A public spirit distinguish'd all the line,
Successive virtues in each branch did shine, [sign.
Till this last glory rose, and crown'd the great de-
Blest be his name! and peaceful lie his grave,
Who durst his native soil, lost Holland, save!
But William's genius takes a wider scope,
And gives the injur'd, in all kingdoms, hope;
Born to subdue insulting tyrants' rage,
The ornament and terrour of the age;
The refuge where afflicted nations find
Relief from those oppressors of mankind,
Whom laws restrain not, and no oaths can bind.
Him, their deliverer Europe does confess,
All tongues extol, and all religions bless;
The Po, the Danube, Bætis, and the Rhine,
United in his praise, their wonder join;
While, in the public cause, he takes the field,
And shelter'd nations fight behind his shield.
His foes themselves dare not applause refuse:
And shall such actions want a faithful Muse?
Poets have this to boast: without their aid,
The freshest laurels nipp'd by malice, fade,
And virtue to oblivion is betray'd:

The proudest honours have a narrow date,
Unless they vindicate their names from Fate
But who is equal to sustain the part?
Dryden has numbers, but he wants a heart;
Injoin'd a penance, which is too severe
For playing once the fool, to persevere.
Others, who knew the trade, have laid it down;
And, looking round, 1 find you stand alone.

How sir, can you, or any English Muse,
Our country's fame, our monarch's arms, refuse?
'Tis not my want of gratitude, but skill,
Makes me decline what I can ne'er fulfil.
I cannot sing of conquest as I ought,
And my breath fails to swell a lofty note.
I know my compass, and my Muse's size,
She loves to sport and play, but dares not rise:
Idly affects, in this familiar way,

In easy numbers loosely to convey,
What mutual friendship would at distance say.
Poets assume another tone and voice,
When victory's their theme, and arms their choice.
To follow heroes in the chase of fame,
Asks force and heat, and fancy wing'd with flame.
What words can paint the royal warrior's face?
What colours can the figure boldly raise,
When cover'd o'er with comely dust and smoke,
He pierc'd the foe, and thickest squadrons broke?
His bleeding arm, still painful with the sore,
Which, in his people's cause, the pious father
bore:
[way,

Whom, cleaving through the troops a glorious
Not the united force of France and Hell could stay.
Oh, Dorset! I am rais'd! I'm all on fire!
And, if my strength could answer my desire,
In speaking paint this figure should be seen,
Like Jove his grandeur, and like Mars his mien;
And gods descending should adorn the scene.

See, see! upon the banks of Boyne he stands,
By his own view adjusting his commands:
Calm and serene the armed coast surveys,
And, in cool thoughts, the different chances weighs:
Then, fir'd with fame, and eager of renown,
Resolves to end the war, and fix the throne.
From wing to wing the squadrons bending stand,
And close their ranks to meet their king's com-
mand;

The drums and trumpets sleep, the sprightly noise
Of neighing steeds, and cannons' louder voice,
Suspended in attention, banish far

All hostile sounds, and hush the din of war:
The silent troops stretch forth an eager look,
Listening with joy, while thus their general spoke:

"Come, fellow-soldiers, follow me once more,
And fix the fate of Europe on that shore;
Your courage only waits from me the word,
But England's happiness commands my sword:
In her defence I every part will bear,
The soldier's danger, and the prince's care,
And envy any arm an equal share.
Set all that's dear to men before your sight;
For laws, religion, liberty, we fight;
To save your wives from rape, your towns from
Redeem your country sold, and vindicate her

name;

[flame,

At whose request and timely call I rose,
To tempt my fate, and all my hores expose;
Struggled with adverse stormus and winter seas,
That in my labonrs you might find your ease.
Let other monarchs dictate from afar,
And write the empty triumphs of the war: