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How would the listening shepherds round her Witness these mighty and immortal lines, throng,

Through each of which th' informing genius shines: To catch the words fell from her charming tongue! Scarce a diviner flame inspird the king, She all with her own spirit and soul inspir'd, Of whom thy Muse does so sublimcly sing : Her they all lov'd, and her they all adınir’d. Not David's self could in a nobler verse Ev'n mighty Pan, whose powerful band sustains His gloriously-offending son rehearse; The sovereign crook that mildly awes the plains, Though in his breast the prophet's fury met, Of all his cares made her the tenderest part, The father's fondness, and the poet's wit. And great Louisa lodg'd her in her heart.

Here all consent in wonder and in praise,
THYR. Who would not now a solemn mourning And to the unknown poet altars raise:
When Pap himself and fair Louisa weep? [keep, Which thou must needs accept with equal joy
When those blest eyes, by the kind gods design’d As when Æneas heard the wars of Troy,
To cherish Nature, and delight mankind,

Wrapt up himself in darkness, and unseen
All drown'd in tears, melt into gentler showers Extoll’d with wonder by the 'Tyrian queen.
Than April-drops upon the springing flowers ? Sure thou already art secure of fame,
Such tears as Venus for Adonis shed,

Nor want'st new glories to exalt thy name :
When at her feet the lovely youth lay dead ? What father else would bave refus'd to own
About her, all her little weeping Loves

So great a son as godlike Absalom?
Ungirt her cestos, and unyok'd her doves.

Dam. Come, pious nymphs, with fair Louisa
And visit gentle Floriana's tomb; [come,
And, as ye walk the melancholy round,
Where no unballow'd feet prophane the ground,

With your chaste hands fresh flowers and odours

About her last obscure and silent bed; (shed
Still praying, as ye gently move your feet,

CAPTAIN WILLIAM BEDLOE. “ Soft be ber pillow, and her slumber sweet !"

Thyr. See where they come, a mournful lovely llle ego qui quondam gracili modulatus avæna,
As ever wept on fair Arcadia's plain : [train

Arma virumque cano.
Louisa, mournful far above the rest,
In all the charms of beauteous sorrow drest;

I, he, who sung of humble Oates before,
Just are her tears, when she reflects how soon Now sing a captain and a man of war.
A beauty, second only to her own,
Flourish'd, look'd gay, was wither'd, and is gone! Goddess of rhyme, that didst inspire
DAM. O, she is gone! gone like a new-born The Captain with poetic fire,

Adding fresh laurels to that brow
That deck'd some virgin queen's delicious bower; | Where those of victory did grow,
Torn from the stalk by some untimely blast, And statelier ornaments may flourish now!
And 'mongst the vilest weeds and rubbish cast: If thou art well recovered since
Yet flowers return, and coming springs disclose « The Excommunicated Prince?;"
The lily whiter, and more fresh the rose;

For that important tragedy
. But no kind season back her charms can bring, Would have kill'd any Muse but thee;
And Floriana has no second spring.

Hither with speed, Oh! hither move;
THYR. O, she is set! set like the falling Sun; Pull buskins off, and, since to love
Darkness is round us, and glad day is gone! The ground is holy-that you tread in,
Alas! the San that's set, again will rise,

Dance bare-foot at the Captain's wedding;
And gild with richer beams the morning-skies; See where he comes, and by his side
But Beauty, though as bright as they it shines, His charming fair angelic bride :
When its short glory to the west declines,

Such, or less lovely, was the dame 0, there's no hope of the returning light;

So much renown'd, Fulvia by name,
But all is long oblivion, and eternal night! With whom of old Tully did join

Then when his art did undermine
The horrid popish plot of Catiline.

On fairest nymph of all Great Britain !

(Though thee my eyes I never set on)

Blush not on thy great lord to smile, ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL'. The second saviour of our isle ;

What nobler Captain could have led

THOUGHT, forgive my sin, the boasted fire Thee to thy long'd-for marriage-bed :
Of poets' souls did long ago expire ;

For know that thy all-daring Will is
Of folly or of madness did accuse

As stout a hero as Achilles ;
The wretch that thought himself possest with Muse; And as great things for thee has done,
Laugh'd at the god within, that did inspire

As Palmerin or th' knight of th' Sun,
With more than human thoughts the tuneful choir; And is himself a whole romance alone,
But sure 'tis more thau fancy, or the dream Let conscious Flanders speak, and be
Of rhymers slumbering by the Muses' stream. The witness of bis chivalry:
Some livelier spark of Heaven, and more refind Yet that's not all, his very word
From earthy dross, fills the great poet's mind: Has slain as many as his sword:
Dryden published it without his name.

a A tragedy by Captain Bedloe, 1681.

Though common bullies with their oaths

Like Mars returning from the noble chase Hurt little till they come to blows,

Of flying nations through the plains of Thrace, Yet all his mouth-granadoes kill,

When, deck'd with trophies and adorn'd with spoils, And save the pains of drawing steel.

He meets the goddess that rewards his toils ! This hero thy resistless charms

But, oh! what transports did his heart invade Have won to fly into thy arms;

When first he saw the lovely, royal maid ! For think not any mean design,

Fame, that so high did her perfections raise, Or the inglorious itch of coin,

Scem'd now detraction, and no longer praise ! Could ever have his breast control'd,

All that could noblest minds to love engage, Or make him be a slave to gold;

Or into softness melt the soldier's rage, His love's as freely given to thee

All that could spread abroad resistless fire, As to the king his loyalty.

And eager wisbes raise, and fierce desire, Then, oh, receive thy mighty prize

All that was charming, all that was above With open arms and wishing eyes,

Ev'n poets fancies, though refind by love, Kiss that dear face, where may be seen

All native beauty, drest by every grace His worth and parts that skulk within;

Of sweetest youth, sat shining in her face! That face, that justly styl'd may be

Where, where is now the generous fury gone, As true a discoverer as he,

That through thick troops urg'd the wing'd warThink not he ever false will prove,

rior on? His well-known truth secures his love;

Where now the spirit that aw'd the listed field; Do you a while divert his cares

Created to command, untaught to yield ? From bis important grand affairs :

It yields, it yields, to Anna's gentle sway, Let him have respite now a while,

And thinks it above triumphs to obey. From kindling the mad rabble's zeal:

See at thy feet, illustrious princess, thrown Zeal, that is hot as fire, yet dark and blind, All the rich spoils the mighty hero won ! Shows plainly where its birth-place we may find, His fame, his laurels, are thy beauties due, In Hell, where though dire flames for ever glow, And all his conquests are outdone by you: Yet 'tis the place of utter darkness too.

Ah! lovely nymph, accept the noble prize But to his bed be sure be true

A tribute fit for those victorious eyes ! As he to all the world and you,

Ah! generous maid, pass not relentless by, He all your plots will else betray,

Nor let war's chief by cruel beauty die ! All ye She-Machiavels can lay.

Though anexperienc'd youth fond scruples move, He all designs, you know, has found,

And blusbes rise but at the name of love; Though hatch'd in Hell or under ground;

Though over all thy thoughts and every sense Oft to the world such secrets shew

The guard is plac'd of virgin innocence; As scarce the plotters themselves knew ;

Yet from thy father's generous blood we know Yet, if by chance you hap to sin,

Respect for valour in thy breast does glow;
And Love, while Honour's napping, should creep in, 'Tis but agreeing to thy royal birth,
Yet be discreet, and do not boast

To smile on virtue and heroic worth;
O'th'treason by the common post.

Love, in such noble seeds of honour sown, So shalt thou still make him love on;

The chastest virgin need not blush to own. All virtue 's in discretion.

Whom would thy royal father sooner find, So thou with him shalt shine, and be

In thy lov'd arms to his high lineage join'd, As great a patriot as he;

Than him, whom such exalted virtues crown, And when, as now in Christmas, all

That he might think them copy'd from his own! For a new pack of cards do call,

Who to the field equal desires did bring, Another popish pack comes out

Love to his brother, service to his king. To please the cits, and charm the rout:

Who Denmark's crown, and the anointed head,
Thou, mighty queen, sbalt a whole suit command, Rescued at once, and back in triumph led,
A crown upon thy head, and sceptre in the hand! Forcing his passage through the slaughter'd Swede.

Such virtue him to thy great sire commends,
The best of princes, subjects, brothers, friends!

The people's wonder, and the court's delight,

Lovely in peace, as dreadful in the fight !

What can such charms resist? The royal maid, GEORGE PRINCE OF DENMARK, Loth to deny, is yet to grant afraid;

But Love, still growing as her fears decay,

Consents at last, and gives her heart away.

Now with loud triumphsare the nuptials crown'd,

And with glad shouts the streets and palace sound! 'Twas Love conducted through the British main, Illustrious pair! see what a general joy On a more high design the royal Dane,

Does the whole land's united voice employ! Than when of old with an invading hand

From you they omens take of happier years, His fierce forefathers came to spoil the land : Recall lost hopes, and banish all their fears : And Love has gain'd him by a nobler way, Let boding planets threaten from above, A braver conquest and a richer prey.

And sullen Saturn join with angry Jove: For battles won, and countries sav'd renown'd, Your more auspicious flames, that here unite, Shaded with laurels, and with honours Crown'd, Vanquish the malice of their mingled light! From fields with slaughter strew'd, the hero came, Heaven of its bounties now shall lavish grow, His arms neglected, to pursue his flame.

And in full tides unenvy'd blessings Bow!


The shaken throne more surely fix'd shall stand, Good Titus could, but Charles could never say, And curs'd Rebellion fly the happy land !

Of all his royal life, “ he lost a day." At your blest union civil discords cease,

Excellent prince! O once our joy and care, Confusion turns to order, rage to peace!

Now our eternal grief and deep despair ! So, when at first in Chaos and old Night

O father! or if aught than father's more, Hot things with cold, and moist with dry did fight, How shall thy children their sad loss deplore? Love did the warring seeds to union bring, How grieve enough, when anxious thoughts recall And over all things stretch'd his peaceful wing, The mournful story of their sovereign's fall? The jarring elements no longer strove,

Oh! who that scene of sorrow can display; And a worid started forth, the beauteous work of When, waiting death, the fearless monarch lay! Love!

Though great the pain and anguish that he bore,
His friends' and subjects' grief afflict him more!
Yet even that, and coming fate, he bears;

But sinks and faints to see a brother's tears!

The mighty grief, that swell’d his royal breast,

Scarce reach'd by thought, can't be by words KING CHARLES THE SECOND,


Grief for himself! for grief for Charles is vain, AND THE INAUGURATION OF

Who now begins a new triumphant reign,

Welcom'd by all kind spirits and saints above, KING JAMES THE SECOND.

Who see themselves in him, and their own likeness

love! If the indulgent Muse (the only cure

What godlike virtues must that prince adorn, For all the ills afflicted minds endure,

Who can so please, while such a prince we mourn! That sweetens sorrow, and makes sadness please, Who else, but that great he, who now commands And heals the heart by telling its disease)

Th’united nation's voice, and hearts, and hands, Vouchsafe her aid, we also will presume

Could so the love of a whole people gain, With humble verse t approach the sacred tomb; After so excellent a monarch's reign! There flowing streams of pious tears will shed, Mean virtues after tyrants may succeed Sweet incense burn, fresh flowers and odours spread, And please; but after Charles a James we need ! Our last sad offerings to the royal dead!

This, this is he, by whose high actions grac'd Dead is the king, who all our lives did bless! The present age contends with all the past : Our strength in war, and our delight in peace ! Him Heaven a pattern did for heroes form, Was ever prince like him to mortals given ! Slow to advise, but eager to perform : So much the joy of Earth, and care of Heaven? In council calm, fierce as a storm in fight: Under the pressure of unequal fate,

Danger his sport, and labour his delight. Of so erect a mind and soul so great!

To him the feet and camp, the sea and field, So full of meekness and so void of pride,

Do equal harvests of bright glory yield ! When borne aloft by Fortune's highest tide! Who can forget, of royal blood how free, His kindly beams on the ungrateful soil

He did assert the empire of the sea ? Of this rebellious, stubborn, murmuring isle The Belgian fleet endeavour'd, but in vain, Hatch'd plenty ; case and riches did bestow, The tempest of his fury to sustain; And made the land with milk and honey flow! Shatter'd and torn before his flag they fly Less blest was Rome when mild Augustus sway'd, Like doves, that the exalted eagle spy And the glad world for love, not fear, obey'd. Ready to stoop and seize them from on high. Mercy, like Heaven's, his chief prerogative! He, Neptune-like (when from his watery bed His joy to save, and glory to forgive !

Serene and calm he lifts his awful head, Who lives, but felt his influence, and did share And smiles, and to his chariot gives the rein), His boundless goodness and paternal care?

In triumph rides o'er the asserted main! And, whilst with all th' endearing arts he strove Rejoicing crowds attend him on the strand, On every subject's heart to seal his love,

Loud as the sea, and numerous as the sand; What breast so hard, what heart of human make, So joy the many: but the wiser few But, softening, did the kind impression take? The godlike prince with silent wonder view : Belov'd and loving! with such virtues gracd, A joy, too great to be by voice exprest, As might on common heads a crown have plac'd ! Shines in each eye, and beats in every breast : How skilld in all the mysteries of state !

They saw him destin'd for some greater day, How fitting to sustain an empire's weight ! And in his looks the omens read of his imperial How quick to know! how ready to advise ! Nor do his civil virtues less appear, [sway! How timely to prevent! how more than senates To perfect the illustrious character; wise!

To merit just, to needy virtue kind, His words how charming, affable, and sweet! True to his word, and faithful to his friend! How just bis censure ! and how sharp his wit! What's well resolv'd, as firmly he pursues ; How did his charming conversation please Fix'd in his choice, as careful how to choose! The blest attenders on his hours of ease;

Honour was born, not planted in his heart; When graciously be deign'd to condescend, And virtue came by nature, not by art. Pleas'd to exalt a subject to a friend !

Albion ! forget thy sorrows, and adore To the most low how easy of access!

That prince, who all the blessings does restore, Willing to hear, and longing to redress!

That Charles, the saint, made thee enjoy before! His mercy knew no bounds of time or place, 'Tis done; with turrets crown'd, I see her rise, His reign was one continued act of grace! And tears are wip'd for ever from her eyes !





What to begin would have been madness thought, Long bas the tribe of poets on the stage

Exceeds our praise when to perfection brought: Gioan'd under persecuting critics' rage,

Who could believe Lucretius' lofty song But with the sound of railing and of rhyme, Could have been reach'd by any nuodern tongue ! Like bees united by the tinkling chime,

Of all the suitors to immortal Pame, The little stin :ing insects swarm the more, That by translations strove to raise a name, Their buzzing greater than it was before.

This was the test, this the Ulysses' bow,
But, oh! ye leading voters of the Pit,

Too tough by any to be bent but you.
That infect others with your too much wit, Carus himself of the hard task complains,
That well-affected members do seduce,

To fetter Grecian thoughts in Roman chains; And with your malice poison half the house; Much harder thine, in an unlearned tongue Know, your ill-manag'd arbitrary sway

To bold in bonds, so easy yet so strong, Shall be no more endur'd, but ends this day. The Greek philosophy and Latin song. Rulers of ablar conduct we will choose,

If then be boasts that round his sacred head And more indulgent to a trembling Muse; Fresh garlands grow, and branching laurels spread, Women, for ends of government more fit,

Such as not all the mighty Nine before Women shall rule the Boxes and the Pit,

E'er gave, or any of their darlings wore; Give laws to Love, and influence to Wit.

What laurels should be thine, what crowns thy due, Find me one man of sense in all your roll, What garlands, mighty poet, should be grac'd by Whom some one woman has not made a fool.

[flow, Ev'n business, that intolerable load

Though deep, though wondrous deep, his sense does Under which man doe groan, and yet is proud, Thy shining style does all its riches show; Much better they could manage would they please; So clear the stream, that through it we descry 'Tis not their want of wit, but love of ease. All the bright gems that at the bottom lie; For, spite of art, more wit in them appears, Here you the troublers of our peace remove, Though we boast ours, and they dissemble theirs ; | Ignoble Fear, and more ignoble Love : Wit once was ours, and shot up for a while, Here we are taught how first our race began, Set shallow in a hot and barren soil;

And by what steps our fathers climb'd to man; But when transplanted to a richer ground, To man as now he is—with knowledge fill'd, Has in their Eden its perfection found.

In arts of peace and war, in manners skill'd, And 'tis but just they should our wit invade, Equal before to fellow-graziers of the field ! Whilst we set up their painting patching trade; Nature's first state, which, well transposed and owa'da As for our courage, to our sbame 'tis known, (For owners in all ages have been found), As they can raise it, they can pull it down. Has made a modern wit' so much renown'd, At their own weapons they our bullies awe, When thee we read, we find to be no more Faith ! let them make an anti-salic law;

Than what was sung a thousand years before. Prescribe to all mankind, as well as plays,

Thou only for this noble task wert fit,
And wear the breeches, as they wear the bays. To shame thy age to a just sense of wit,

By showing how the learned Romans writ.
To teach fat heavy clowns to know their trade,

And not turn wits, who were for porters made;

But quit false claims to the poetic rage, A DETESTATION OF CIVIL WAR. For squibs and crackers, and a Smithfield stage.

Had Providence e'er meant that, in despight From HORACE, Epod. vii.

Of Art and Nature, such dull clods should write,
Oh! whither do ye rush, and thus prepare Bavius and Mævius had been sar'd by Fate
To rouze again the sleeping war?

For Settle and for Shadwell to translate,
Has thep so little English blood been spilt As it so many ages has for thee
On sea and land with equal guilt?

Preserv'd the mighty work that now we see.
Not that again we might our arms advance,

To check the insolent pride of France;
Not that once more we might in fetters bring
An humble captive Gallic king?

But, to the wish of the insulting Gaul,

That we by our own hands should fall. Nor wolves nor lions bear so fierce a mind;

THE ARGUMENT. They hurt not their own savage kind : Is it blind rage, or zeal, more blind and strong, Mopsus and Menalcas, two very expert shepherds Or guilt, yet stronger, drives you on?

at a song, begin one by consent to the memory Answer: but none can answer ; mute and pale

of Daphuis, who is supposed by the best critics They stand; guilt does o'er words prevail:

to represent Julius Cæsar. Mopsus laments his 'Tis so: Heaven's justice threatens us from high;

death; Menalcas proclaims his divinity. The And a king's death fiom Earth does cry;

whole Eclogue consisting of an Elegy, and an E'er since the martyr's innocent blood was shed,

Apotheosis. Upon our fathers, and on ours, and on our childrens' heads

" Hobbes.



The reeling priests with vines and ivy crown'd,

And their long spears with cluster'd branches MOPSUS, since chance does us together bring,

bound. And you so well can pipe, and I can sing,

As vines the elm, as grapes the vine adorn, Why sit we not beneath this secret shade,

As bulls the herd, as fields the ripen'd corn; By elms' and hazels' mingling branches made? Such grace, such ornament, wert thou to all

That glory'd to be thine: since thy sad fall

No more Apollo his glad presence yields, Your age commands respect; and I obey.

And Pales' self forsakes her hated fields. Whether you in this lonely copse will stay,

Oft where the finest barley we did sow,
Where western winds the bending branches shake, And where soft violets did the vales adorn,

Barren wild oats and hurtful darnel grow;
And in their play the shades uncertain make :
Or whether to that silent cave you go,

The thistle rises, and the prickly thorn. (ground, The better choice! see how the wild vinas grow

Come, shepherds, strow with flowers the hallow'd Luxuriant round, and see how wide they spread,

The sacred fountains which thick boughs surround; And in the cave their purple clusters shed !

Daphnis these rites requires : to Daphnis' praise,
Shepherds, a tomb with this inscription raise-

Here, fam'd from Earth to Heaven, 1, Daphnis, lie;

Fair was the flock I fed, but much more fair was I.” Amyntas only dares contend with you.


Such, divine poet, to my ravish'd ears
Why not as well contend with Phæbus too?

Are the sweet numbers of thy mournful verse,

As to tir'd swains soft slumbers on the grass; MENALCAS,

As freshest springs that through green meadows pass,

[heat. Begin, begin; whether the mournful flame

To one that's parch'd with thirst and summer's Of dying Phillis, whether Alcon's fame,

In thee thy master does his equal meet:
Or Codrus' brawls, thy willing Muse provoke; Whether your voice you try, or tune your reed,
Begin; young Tityrus will tend the dock. Blest swain, 'tis you alone can him succeed !

Yet, as I can, I in return will sing:

I too thy Daphnis to the stars will bring,
Yes, I'll begin, and the sad song repeat,

I too thy Daphnis to the stars, with you, That on the beech's bark I lately writ,

Will raise, for Daphnis lov'd Menalcas too. And set to sweetest notes; yes, I'll begin,

And after that, bid you, Amyntas, sing.

Is there a thing that I could more desire ?

For neither can there be a subject higher,
As much as the most humble shrub that grows,

Nor, if the praise of Stimichon be true,
Yields to the beauteous blushes of the rose,

Can it be better sung than 'tis by you.
Or. bending osiers to the olive tree;
So much, I judge, Amyntas yields to thee.


Daphnis now, wondering at the glorious show, MOPSUS.

Through Heaven's bright pavement does triumphant go,

(below: Shepherd, to this discourse here put an end,

And sees the moving clouds, and the fix'd stars This is the cave; sit, and my verse attend.

Therefore new joys make glad the woods, the

plains, MOPSUS.

Pan and the Dryads, and the cheerful swains: When the sad fate of Daphnis reach'd their ears, The wolf no ambush for the flock does lay, The pitying nymphs dissolv'd in pious tears. No cheating nets the harmles deer betray, Witness, ye hazels, for ye heard their cries; Daphnis a general peace commands, and Nature Witness, ye floods, swoln with their weeping eyes.

does obey.

(voice! The mournful mother (on his body cast)

Hark! the glad mountains raise to Heaven their The sad remains of her cold son embracd, Hark! the hard rocks in mystic tunes rejoice! And of th' unequal tyranny they us'd,

Hark! through the thickets wondrous songs reThe cruel gods and cruel stars accus'd.

sound, Then did no swain mind how his flock did thrive, A god! A god! Menalcas, he is crown'd! Nor thirsty herds to the cold river drive;

O be propitious! O be good to thine ! The generous horse turn'd from fresh streams his See! here four hallow'd altars we design, head,

To Daphnis two, to Phæbus two we raise, And on the sweetest grass refus'd to feed.

To pay the yearly tribute of our praise: Daphnis, thy death ev'n fiercest lions mournd, Sacred to thee, they each returning year And hills and woods their cries and groans return'd. Two bowls of milk and two of oil shall bear: Daphnis Armenian tigers' fierceness broke, Peasts I'll ordain, and to thy deathless praise, And brought them willing to the sacred yoke : Thy votaries' exalted thoughts to raise, Daphnis to Bacchus' worship did ordain

Rich Chian wines shall in full goblets flow, The revels of his consecrated train;

And give a taste of nectar here below.

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