Blush not, great Soul, thus to reveal thy Woe;
Sighs will have vent, and Eyes too full o'er-flow;
Shed by Degrees, they pafs unfelt away;
But raife a Storm and Deluge where they ftay.
The braveft Heroes have the fofteft Mind,-
Their Natures like the Gods, to Love inclin'd.
Homer, who Human Paffions nicely knew,
When his Illuftrious Grecian Chief he drew,
Left likewife in his Soul one mortal Part,
Whence Love and Anguish too might reach his Heart;
For a loft Mistress, in Despair he fate,

And let declining Troy ftill ftruggle with her Fate:
But when the Partner of his Cares lay dead,
Like a rous'd Lion, from his Tent he fled,
Whole Hecatombs of trembling Trojans flew,
And mangled Hector at his Chariot drew.

Still greater is thy Lofs,----Be fuch thy Rage,
As conquer'd Gallia only may affwage.

She who on Earth fecur'd Thee by Her Prayer, Return'd to Heav'n, fhall prove thy Guardian Angel there;

And hov'ring round Thee with her Heav'nly Shield,
Unfeen protect Thee in the doubtful Field,
Go then, by different Paths to Glory go,
The Church's both Eftates with Mary fhow:
And while above fhe Triumphs, Fight below.-
'Tis done---our Monarch to the Camp returns,---
The Gallick Armies fly----Their Navy burns,
And Earth and Seas all bow at his Command,
And Europe Owns Her Peace from His victorious
Hand,

For the NEW YEAR: To the SUN.

Intended to be Sung before Their Majesties on. New-Years-Day, 1694.

Written by Mr. PRIOR at the Hague.

Ight of the World, and Ruler of the Year,

L'

With happy Speed begin thy great Career ; And as the Radiant Journey's run [is known, Where-e'er thy Beams are fpread,where-e'er thy Power Through all the distant Nations own,

That in Fair Albion thou haft feen

The Greatest Prince, the Brightest Queen, That ever Sav'd a People, ever Grac'd a Throne,

So may thy God-head be confeft,
So the returning Year be Bleft,'
As its Infant Months beftow
Springing Wreaths for William's Brow;
As its Summer's Youth fhall shed
Eternal Sweets round Mary's Head:
From the Bleffings they shall know,
Our Times are Dated, and our Ara's move,
They Govern, and Enlighten all below,

As thou do'ft all above.

Let our Heroe in the War

Active and Fierce like Thee, appear;
Like Thee, Great Son of Jove, like Thee,
When clad in rising Majesty

Thou Marcheft down o'er Delos Hills confeft, With all thy Arrows Arm'd, with all thy Glory Dreft. Like Thee, the Heroe, does his Arms imploy, The raging Python to destroy,

Cho. And give the injur'd Nations Peace and Joy.

From Ancient Times Hiftoric Stores
Gather all the fmiling Hours,

All that with Friendly Care have guarded
Patriots and Kings in Rightful Wars,,
All that with Conquest have rewarded
His Great Fore-fathers Pious Cares,
All that Story hath Recorded

Sacred to Naffan's long Renown,

For Countries Sack'd, and Battels Won.
Cho. March Them again in fair Array,
And bid them form the Happy Day,
The Happy Day defign'd to wait

On William's Fame, and Europe's Fate,
Let the Happy Day be Crown'd
With great Event and fair Succefs,
No brighter in the Tear be found,

But that which brings the Victor home in Peace.

Again Thy Godhead we implore,
(Great in Wisdom as in Power),
Again for Mary's fake and ours,
Chufe out other fmiling Hours,
Such as with lucky Wings have fled
When Happy Counfels were advising,
Such as have glad Omens shed
O'er forming Laws and Empires rifing;
Such as many Luftres ran

Hand in Hand a goodly Train,

To bless the Great Eliza's Reign,
And in the Typic Glory fhow
The fuller Blifs which Mary should beftow.

As the Graver Hours advance,
Mingled fend into the Dance,
Many fraught with all the Treasures
Which the Eastern Travel views,
Many wing'd with all the Pleasures
Man can ask, or Heav'n diffuse.

To ease the Cares which for her Subjects fake The Pious Queen does with glad Patience take. Cho. To let Her all the Bleffings know

Which from thofe Cares upon Her Subjects flow.

For thy own Glory Sing our Sov'raigns Praise,
(God of Verses and of Days)
Let all thy Tuneful Sons adorn

Their lafting Work with William's Name,
Let chofen Mufes yer unborn

Take Mary's Goodness for their Theam:
Eternal Structures let Them raise
On William's and on Mary's Praise,
Nor want new Subjects for the Song,
Nor fear they can exhauft the Store,
'Till Nature's Mufick lies unftrung,
'Till thou shalt fhine no more.

The

DUE

L.

By Henry Savil, Efq; Written foon after the Duel of the Stags.

N Milford-Lane, near to St. Clement's Steeple,

People.

A Nymph fhe was, whofe comely Mien and Feature Did wound the Heart of every Man-like Creature. Under her Beauteous Bofom there did lye

A Belly smooth as any Ivory.

Yet Nature, to declare her various Art,

Had plac'd a Tuft in one convenient part.

No Park, with fmootheft Lawn, and higheft Wood,
Could e'er compare with this admir'd aboad;
Here all the Youth of England did repair,
To take their Pleafure, and to eafe their Care,
Here the Diftreffed Lover, that had born
His haughty Mistress Anger, or her Scorn2

Came for Relief, and, on this pleasant Shade,
Forgot the former, and this Lafs obey'd.
But yet what corner of the World is found,
Where Pain our Pleasure doth not ftill furround?
One would have thought that in this fhady Grove,
Nought could have dwelt but quiet Peace, and Love
But Heav'n directed otherwise, for here
In midft of Plenty bloody Wars appear.
The Gods will frown where-ever they do fmile;
The Crocodile infefts the fertile Nile:

Lions, and Tygers, in the Lesbian Plains,
Forbid all Pleafures to the fearful Swains.
Wild Beafts in Forefts do the Hunters fright,
They fear their ruin, midst of their delight.
Thus, in the Shade of this dark filent Bower,
Strength ftrives with Strength, and Pow'r does vie
with Pow'r.

Two mighty Monsters did the Wood infeft,
And ftruck fuch awe and terror in the reft,
That no Sicilian Tyrant e'er could boaft
He e'er with greater rigour rul'd the roast.
Each had his Empire which he kept in awe,
Was by his Will obey'd; allow'd no Law.
Nature fo well divided had their States,
Nought but Ambition could have claim'd their Seats
For 'twixt their Empires flood a Briny Lake,
Deep as the Poets do the Center make.
But here Ambition will admit no Bounds,
There are no Limits to aspiring Crowns.
The Spaniard, by his Europe Conquests bold,
Sails o'er the Ocean for the Indian Gold.
The Carthaginian Hero did not stay
Because he met vaft Mountains in his way.
He paft the Alps, like Mole-Hills; fuch a Mind
As thinks on Conquests will be unconfind.

[bend,

But with these haughty Thoughts one courfe they
To try if this vaft Lake had any end;
Where finding Countries yet without a Name,
They might by Conqueft get eternal Fame: