Sad Echo now laments her rigour, more
Than for Narciffus her lofe flame before.
Her flesh to finew fhrinks, her charms are fled;
All day in rifted rocks fhe hides her head.
Soon as the evening fhews a fky ferene,
Abroad the ftrays, but never to be seen.
And ever, as the weeping Naiads name
Her cruelty, the nymph repeats the same;
With them the join-, her lover to deplore,
And haunts the lonely dales he rang'd before.
Her fex s privilege fhe yet retains;

And, though to nothing wafted, voice remains.
So fung the Druids-then, with rapture fir'd,
Thus utter what the Delphic god infpir'd:

Ere twice ten centuries fhall fleet away,
A Brunswick prince fhall Britain's fceptre fway.
No more fair liberty fhall mourn her chains;
The maid is refcu'd, her lov'd Perfeus reigns.
From Jove he comes, the captive to restore;
Nor can the thunder of his fire de more.
Religion fhall dread nothing but disguise;
And juftice need no bandage for her eyes.
Britannia fmiles, nor fears a foreign lord;
Her fafety to fecure, two powers accord,
Her Neptune's trident, and her monarch's fword.
Like him, ihall his Auguftus fhine in arms,
Though captive to his Carolina's charms.
Ages with future herees fhe fhall bless,
And Venus once more found an Alban race.

Then shall a Clare in honour's caule engage: Example must reclaim a graceless age. Where guides themfelves for guilty views mislead; And laws even by the legiflators bleed; His brave contempt of ftate fhall teach the proud, None but the virtuous are of noble blood: For tyrants are but princes in disguise, Though fprung by long defcents from Ptolemies. Right he hail vindicate, good laws defend; The firmeft patriot, and the warmest friend. Great Edward's order early he fhall wear, New light reftoring to the fully'd star Oft will his leifure this retirement choose, Still finding future fubjects for the mufe; And, to record the fylvan's fatal flame,

The place hall live in forg, and Claremont be

the name.

TO

THE LADY LOUISA LENOS:

WITH OVID'S EPISTLES.

IN moving lines thefe few epiftles tell
What fate attend the nymph that likes too well:
How faintly the fuccefsful lovers burn,
And their neglected charms how ladies mourn.
The fair you'll find, when foft entreaties fail,
Affert their uncontefted right, and rail.
Too foon they liften, and refent :00 late;
"Tis fure they love, whene'er they ftrive to hate.
Their fex or proudly fhuns or poorly craves ;
Conimencing tyrants, and concluding flaves.

In different breaks what dafering puffins glow! Ours kindle quick, but yours extinguish flow.

The fire we boast, with force uncertain burns,
And breaks but out, as appetite returns:
But yours, like incense, mounts by foft degrees,
And in a fragrant flame confumes to please.

Your fex, in all that can engage, excel;
And ours in patience, and perfuading well.
Imperial nature equally decrees:

You have your pride, and we our perjuries.
Though form'd to conquer, yet too oft you fall
By giving nothing, or by granting all.

Bur, Madam, long will your unpractis'd years Smile at the tale of lovers' hopes and fears. Though infant graces footh your gentle hours, More foft than fighs, more fweet than breathing flowers;

Let rash admirers your keen lightning fear; 'Tis bright at distance, but destroys if near.

The time ere long, if verse presage, will come, Your charms fhall open in full Brudenell bloom. All eyes fhall gaze, all hearts fhall honiage vow, And not a lover languish but for you.

The mufe fhall ftring her lyre, with garlands crown'd,

And each bright nymph fhall ficken at the found.
So, when Aurora first falutes the fight,
Pleas'd we beh ld the tender dawn of light;
But, when with riper red fhe warms the skies,
In circling throngs the wing'd musicians rise,
And the gay gr›ves rejoice in fymphonies.
Each pearly flower with painted beauty fhines,
And every star its fading fire refigns.

TO

RICHARD EARL OF BURLINGTON. WITH OVID'S ART OF LOVE.

MY LORD,

OUR poct's rules, in eafy numbers, tell,
He felt the paffion he defcribes fo well.
In that foft art fucceffully refin'd,
Though angry Cæfar frown'd, the fair were kind.
More ills from love, than tyrants malice, flow;
Jove's thunder ftrikes less sure than Cupid's bow.

Ovid both felt the pain, and found the ease :
Physicians study most their own disease.
The practice of that age in this we try,
Ladies would liften then, and lovers lic.
Who flatter'd moft the fair were most polite,
Each thought her own admirer in the right:
To be but faintly rude was criminal,
But to be boldly fo aton'd for all.
Breeding was banish'd for the fair one's fake,
The sex ne'er gives, but suffers ours should take.

Advice to you, my lord, in vain we bring; The flowers ne'er fail to meet the blooming fpring. Though you poffefs all nature's gifts, take care; Love's queen has charms, but fatal is her fnare.

On all that goddess her false fmiles bestows; As on the feas the reigns, from whence the rose. Young Zephyrs figh with fragrant breath, foft

gales

Guide her gay barge, and fwell the filken fails :

Each filver wave in beauteous order moves,
Fair as her bofom, gentle as her doves;
But he that once embarks, too furely finds
A fullen fky, black forms, and angry winds;
Cares, fears, and anguish, hovering on the coaft,
And wrecks of wretches by their folly loft.

When coming time shall bless you with a bride, Let paffion not perfuade, but reafon guide; Instead of gold, let gentle truth endear;

She has must charms who is the most fincere.
Shun vain variety, 'tis but disease;
Weak appetites are ever hard to please.
The nymph mat fear to be inquifitive ;
'Tis for the fex's quiet, to believe.
Her air an eafy confidence muft show,

And fhun to find what he would dread to know;
Still charming with all arts that can engage,
And be the Juliana of the age.

TO

THE DUCHESS OF BOLTON,

ON HER STAYING ALL THE WINTER IN THE COUNTRY.

CEASE rural conquefts, and fet free your fwains,
To Dryads leave the groves, to nymphs the plains.
In penfive dales aloac let echo dwell,
And each fad figh fhe hears with forrow tell.
Hafte, let your eyes at Kent's pavillion thine,
It wants but stars, and then the work's divine.
Of late, fame only tells of yielding towns,
Of captive generals and protected crowns:
Of purchas'd laurels, and of battles won,
Lines forc'd, ftates vanquilh'd, provinces o'er-

run,

And all Alcides' labour fumm'd in one.

The brave muft to the fair now yield the prize, And English arms fubmit to English eyes: In which bright iift among the first you stand; Though each a goddess, or a Sunderland.

ΤΟ

THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH,

ON HIS VOLUNTARY BANISHMENT.

Go, mighty prince, and those great nations fee,
Which thy victorious arms before made free;
View that fam'd column, where thy name en-
grav'd

Shall tell their children who their empire fav'd,
Point out that marble where thy worth is fhown,
To every grateful country but thy own.
O cenfure undeferv'd! unequal fate!
Which strove to leffen him who made her great :
Which, pamper'd with fuccefs and rich in fame,
Extoll'd his conquefts, but condemn'd his name.
But virtue is a crime when plac'd on high,
Though all the fault's in the beholder's eye;

* A gallery at St. James's

ΤΟ

THE EARL OF GODOLPHIN.

WHILST weeping Europe bends beneath her ills,
And where the fword deftroys not, famine kills;
Our ifle enjoys, by your fuccessful care,
The pomp of reace, amidit the woes of war.
So much the public to your prudence owes,
You think no labours long for our repofe :
Such conduct, fuch integrity are shown,
There are no coffers empty, but your own.

Unafk'd you offer, and unicen you give :
From mean dependance, merit you retrieve,
Your favour, like the Nile, increase bestows,
And yet conceals the fource from whence it flows.
No pomp, or grand appearance, you approve :
A people at their eafe is what you love:
To leffen taxes, and a nation fave,
Are all the grants your fervices would have.
Thus far the state-machine wants no repair,
But moves in matchless order by your care;
Free from confufion, fettled and ferene;
And, like the univerfe, by springs unseen.

But now fome ftar, finifter to our prayers,
Contrives new schemes, and calls you from affairs;
No anguish in your looks, or cares appear,
But how to teach th' unpractis'd crew to fteer.
Thus, like a victim, no conftraint you need,
To expiate their offence by whom you bleed.
Ingratitude's a weed of every clime,

It thrives too fast at first, but fades in time.
The god of day, and your own lot's the fame;
The vapours you have rais'd, obfcure your flame?
But though you suffer, and awhile retreat,
Your globe of light looks larger as you set.

ON

HER MAJESTY'S STATUE IN ST. PAUL'S CHURCH-YARD,

NEAR the vast bulk of that ftupendous frame,
Known by the Gentiles' great apostle's name;
With grace divine, great Anna's feen to rife,
An awful form that glads a nation's eyes;
Beneath her feet four mighty realms.
s appear,
And with due reverence pay their homage there.

1

Britain and Ireland feem to own her grace,
And even wild India wears a smiling face.

But France alone with downcaft eyes is seen
The fad attendant of so good a queen :
Ungrateful country! to forget fo foon,

All that great Anna for thy fake has done :
When fworn the kind defender of thy cause,
Spite of her dear religion, fpite of laws;
For thee fhe fheath'd the terrors of her sword,
For thee fhe broke her general-and her word;
For thee her mind in doubtful terms fhe told,
And learn'd to speak like oracles of old.

For thee, for thee alone, what could fhe more?
She loft the honour fhe had gain'd before;
Loft all the trophies, which her arms had won
(Such Cæfar never knew, nor Philip's fon);
Refign'd the glories of a ten year's reign,
And fuch as none but Marlborough's arm could
gain.

For thee in annals fhe's content to fhine,
Like other monarchs of the Stuart line.

ON

THE NEW CONSPIRACY, 1716.

WHERE, where, degenerate countrymen-how high

Will your fond folly and your madness fly?
Are scenes of death, and fervile chains fo dear,
To fue for blood and bondage every year,
Like rebel Jews, with too much freedom curst,
To court a change-though certain of the worst?

There is no climate which you have not fought, Where tools of war, and vagrant kings, are bought;

O! noble paffion, to your country kind,

To crown her with-the refufe of mankind.
As if the new Rome, which your schemes unfold,
Were to be built on rapine, like the old,
While her asylum openly provides
For every ruffian every nation hides.

Will you fill tempt the great avenger's blow,
And force the bolt-which he is loth to throw?
Have there too few already bit the plains,
To make you feek new Preftons and Dumblains?
If vengeance lofes its effects fo faft,
Yet thofe of mercy furc-fhould longer laft.

Say, is it rafhnefs or defpair provokes
Your harden'd hearts to these repeated ftrokes?
Reply:-Behold, their looks, their fouls declare,
All pale with guilt, and dumb with deep despair.
Hear then, you fons of blood, your deftin'd
fate,

Hear, ere you fin too foon-repent too late.
Madly you try to weaken George's reign,

And ftem the ftream of Providence in vain.
By right, by worth, by wonders, made our own,
The hand that gave it fhall preferve his throne.
As vain your hopes to diftant times remove,
To try the fecond, or the third from Jove;
For 'tis the nature of that facred line,
To conquer monsters, and to grow divine,

PROLOGUE

DESIGNED FOR

TAMERLANE.

TO-DAY a mighty hero comes, to warm
Your curdling blood, and bid you, Britons, arm.
To valour much he owes, to virtue more;
He fights to fave, and conquers to restore.
He ftrains no text, nor makes dragoons perfuade;
He likes religion, but he hates the trade.
Born for mankind, they by his labour live;
Their property is his prerogative.

His fword deftroys less than his mercy faves,
And none, except his paffions, are his flaves.
Such, Britons, is the prince that you possess,
In council greateft, and in camps no less :
Brave, but not cruel; wife without deceit;
Born for an age curs'd with a Bajazet.
But you, difdaining to be too fecure,
Afk his protection, and yet grudge his power.
With you a monarch's right is in difpute;
Who give fupplies, are only abfolute.
Britons, for fhame! your factious feuds decline,
Too long you've labour'd for the Bourbon line
Affert loft rights, an Auftrian prince alone
Is born to nod upon a Spanish throne.
A caufe no lefs could on great Eugene call;
Steep Alpine rocks require an Hannibal:
He shows you your lost honour to retrieve
Our troops will fight, when once the fenate give.
Quit your cabals and factions, and in fpite
Of Whig and Tory in this caufe unite.
One vote will then send Anjou back to France;
There let the meteor end his airy dance:
Efe to the Mantuan foil he may repair,
Ev'n abdicated gods were Latium's care,
At worst, he'll find fome Cornish borough here.

PROLOGUE

TO

THE CORNISH SQUIRE, A COMEDY.
Who dares not plot in this good-natur'd age?
Each place is privileg'd except the stage;
There the dread phalanx of reformers come,
Sworn foes to wit, as Carthage was to Rome;
Their ears fo fanctify'd, no fcenes can please,
But heavy hymns, or penfive homilies:
Truths, plainly told, their tender nature wound,
Young rakes muft, like old patriarchs, expound;
The painted punk the profelyte muit play,
And bawds, like fille-devotes, procure and pray.
How nature is inverted foon you'll fee
Senates unanimous, and fects agree,
Jews at extortion rail, and monks at mystery.
Let characters be reprefented true,

An airy finner makes an aukward prue.
With force and fitting freedom vice arraign;
Though pulpits flatter, let the stage speak plain,
If Verres gripes the poor, or Nenius write,
Call that the robber, this the parafite,
Ne'er aim to make an eagle of an owl;
Cinna's a statesman; Sydrophel a tool.
Our cenfurers with want of thought difpenfe,
But tremble at the hideous fin of sense.
Who would not fuch hard fate as ours bemoan,
Indicted for fome wit, and damn'd for none?
But if, to-day, fome fcandal fhould appear,
Let thofe precife Tartuffs bind o'er Moliere.
Poet, and Papist too, they'll surely inaul,
There's no indulgence at Hick'--hall.
Gold only can their pious fpite allay,
They call none criminals that can but pay:
The heedlefs fhrines with victims they invoke,
They take the fat, and give the gods the fmoke.

PROLOGUE

ΤΟ ΤΕΣ

MUSIC-MEETING IN YORK-BUILDINGS.

[ftill

WHERE mufic and more powerful beauties reign,
Who can support the pleasure and the pain
Here their loft magic thofe two Syrens try,
And if we liften, or but look, we die.
Why should we then the wondrous tales admire,
Of Orpheus' numbers, or Amphion's lyre;
Of walls erected by harmonious skill,
How mountains mov'd, and rapid ftreams ftood
Behold this fcene of beauty, and confess
The wonder greater, and the fiction lefs.
Like human victims here we ftand decreed
To worship thofe bright altars where we bleed.
Who braves his fate in fields, muft tremble here;
Triumphant love more vaffals makes than fear.
No faction homage to the fair denies ;
The right divine's apparent in their eyes.
That empire's fix'd, that's founded in defire;
Those flames, the vestals guard, can ne'er expire.

VOL. VII.

PROLOGUE

Spoken at the opening of the Queen's Theatre, in the Hay-Market.

Such was our builder's art, that, foon as nam’d,
This fabric, like the infant world, was fram'd.
The architect mul on dull order wait,
But 'tis the poet only can create.
None elfe, at pleature, can duration give:
When marble fails, the mufes' ftructures live.
The Cyprian fane is now no longer feen,
Though facred to the name of love's fair queen.
Ev'n Athens fcarce in pompous ruin ftands,
Though finish'd by the learn'd Minerva's hands.
More fure prefages from thefe walls we find.
By beauty founded, and by wit defign'd,

In the good age of ghoftly ignorance,
How did cathedrals rue, and zeal advance!
The merry monks said orisons at ease,
Large were their meals, and light their penances;
Pardons for fins were purchas'd with estates,
And none but rogues in rags died reprobates.

* Lady Sunderland.

H