Amidst the joys triumphant peace bestows, Our patriots fadden at his glorious woes; Awhile they let the world's great bufinefs wait, Anxious for Rome, and figh for Cato's fate. Here taught how ancient heroes rofe to fame, Our Britons crowd, and catch the Roman flame, Where fates and fenates well might lend an ear, And kings and priests without a blush appear.

France boafts no more, but fearful to engage, Now first pays homage to her rival's stage, Haftes to learn thee, and learning shall submit Alike to British arms, and British wit: No more fhe'll wonder, forc'd to do us right, Who think like Romans, could like Romans fight. Thy Oxford fmiles this glorious work to fee, And fondly triumphs in a fon like thee. The fenates, confuls, and the gods of Rome, Like old acquaintance at their native home, In thee we find: each deed, each word expreft, And every thought that fwell'd a Roman breast, We trace each hint that could thy foul infpire With Virgil's judgment, and with Lucan's fire: We know thy worth, and, give us leave to boaft, We moft admire, because we know thee moft.

THE ROYAL PROGRESS.

WHEN Brunswick firft appear'd, each honeft heart,
Intent on verfe, difdain'd the rules of art;
For him the fongfters, in unmeafur'd odes,
Debas'd Alcides, and dethron'd the gods,
In golden chains the kings of India led,
Or rent the turban from the fultan's head.
One, in old fables and the Pagan strain,

With nymphs and tritons, wafts him o'er the

main;

Another draws fierce Lucifer in arms,
And fills th' infernal region with alarms;
A third awakes fome druid, to foretel
Each future triumph, from his dreary cell.
Exploded fancies! that in vain deceive,
While the mind naufeates what the can't believe.
My mufe th' expected hero fhall purfue
From clime to clime, and keep him ftill in view;
His shining march describe in faithful lays,
Content to paint him, nor prefume to praise;
Their charms, if charms they have, the truth fup-
plies,

And from the theme unlabour'd beauties rife.

By longing nations for the throne defign'd,
And call'd to guard the rights of human-kind;
With fecret grief his godlike foul repines,
And Britain's crown with joyless luftre fhines,
While prayers and tears his destin'd progress stay,
And crowds of mourners choke their fovereign's
way

Not fo he march'd, when hoftile fquadrons flood
In fcenes of death, and fir'd his generous blood;
When his hot courfer paw'd th' Hungarian plain,
And adverse legions ftood the fhock in vain.
His frontiers paft, the Belgian bounds he views,
And cross the level fields his march pursues.
Here pleas'd the land of freedom to furvey,
He greatly scorns the thirst of boundless fway.
O'er the thin foil, with filent joy, he spies
Tranfplanted woods, and borrow'd verdure rife

Where every meadow won with toil and blood,
From haughty tyrants and the raging flood,
With fruit and flowers the careful hind supplies,
And clothes the marshes in a rich disguise.
Such wealth for frugal hands doth heaven decree,
And fuch thy gift, celeftial Liberty!

Through ftately towns, and many a fertile plain, The pomp advances to the neighbouring main, Whole nations crowd around with joyful cries, And view the hero with infatiate eyes.

In Haga's towers he waits, till eastern gales Propitious rife to fwell the British fails. Hither the fame of England's monarch brings The vows and friendships of the neighbouring kings;

Mature in wifdom, his extenfive mind

Takes in the blended interests of mankind,
The world's great patriot. Calm thy anxious breaft
Secure in him, O Europe, take thy reft;
Henceforth thy kingdoms fhall remain confin'd
By rocks or ftreams, the mounds which heaven
defign'd;

The Alps their new-made monarch shall reftrain,
Nor fhall thy hills, Pirene, rife in vain.

But fee to Britain's ifle the fquadrons stand, And leave the finking towers, and leffening land. The royal bark bounds o'er the floating plain, Breaks through the billows, and divides the main. O'er the vaft deep, great monarch, dart thine eyes, A water y prospect bounded by the fkies: Ten thoufand veffels, from ten thousand fhores, Bring gums and gold, and either India's ftores: Behold the tributes haftening to thy throne, And fee the wide horizon all thy own.

Still is it thine; though now the cheerful crew Hail Albion's cliffs; juft whitening to the view. Before the wind with fwelling fails they ride, Till Thames receives them in his opening tide. The monarch hears the thundering peals around,. From trembling woods and echoing hills reboundy Nor miffes yet, amid the deafening train, The roarings of the hoarfe-refounding main.

As in the flood he fails, from either fide He views his kingdom in his rural pride; A various fcene the wide fpread landskip yields, O'er rich enclosures and luxuriant fields; A lowing herd each fertile pafture fills. And diftant flocks ftray o'er a thousand hills. Fair Greenwich hid in woods with new delight, Shade above shade, now rifes to the fight; His woods ordain'd to visit every fhore, And guard the ifland which they grac'd before. The fun now rolling down the western way, A blaze of fires renews the fading day; Unnumber'd barks the regal barge enfold, Brightening the twilight with its beamy gold; Lefs thick the finny fhoals, a countless fry, Before the whale or kingly dolphin fly. In one vaft fhout he feeks the crowded strand, And in a peal of thunder gains the land.

Welcome, great stranger, to our longing eyes, Oh king defir'd, adopted Albion cries. For thee the east breath'd out a profperous breeze, Bright were the funs, and gently fwell'd the feas. Thy prefence did each doubtful heart compofe, And factions wonder'd that they once were foess

That joyful day they loft each hoftile name,
The fame their afpect, and their voice the fame.
So two fair twins, whofe features were defign'd
At one foft moment in the mother's mind,
Show each the other with reflected grace,
And the fame beauties bloom in either face;
'The puzzled stranger which is which inquire;
Delufion grateful to the fmiling fire.

From that fair hill, where hoary fages boast
To name the stars, and count the heavenly hoft,
By the next dawn doth great Augufta rife,
Proud town! the noblest scene beneath the skies.
O'er Thames her thousand spires their luftre shed,
And a vaft navy hides his ample bed,
A floating foreft. From the diftant strand
A line of golden cars ftrikes o'er the land:
Britannia's peers in pomp and rich array,
Before their king triumphant, lead the way.
Far as the eye can reach, the gaudy train,
A bright proceffion, fhines along the plain. [ways
So, haply, through the heaven's wide pathlefs
A comet draws a long extended blaze; [frame,
From east to west burns through the ethereal
And half heaven's convex glitters with the flame.
Now to the regal towers fecurely brought,
He plans Britannia's glories in his thought;
Refumes the delegated power he gave,
Rewards the faithful, and restores the brave.
Whom fhall the mufe from: out the fhining throng
Select, to heighten and adorn her fong?
Thee, Halifax. To thy capacious mind,
O man appròv'd, is Britain's wealth confign'd.
Her coin, while Naffau fought, debas'd and rude,
By thee in beauty and in truth renew'd,
An arduous work! again thy charge we see,
And thy own care once more returns to thee.
O! form'd in every fcene to awe and please,
Mix wit with pomp, and dignity with ease:
Though call'd to fhine aloft, thou wilt not fcorn
To fmile on arts thyself did once adorn :
For this thy name fucceeding time shall praise,
And envy lets thy garter, than thy bays.

The mufe, if fir'd with thy enlivening beams, Perhaps fhall aim at more exalted themes, Record our monarch in a nobler strain, And fing the opening wonders of his reign; Bright Carolina's heavenly beauties trace, Her valiant confort, and his blooming race. A train of kings their fruitful loves supplies, A glorious fcene to Albion's ravish'd eyes; Who fees by Brunswick's hand her fceptre sway'd, And through his line from age to age convey'd. AN IMITATION OF THE PROPHECY OF NEREUS.

FROM HORACE, BOOK II. ODE XV.

"Dicam infigne, recens, adhuc

"Indictum ore alio: non fecus in jugis "Ex fomnis ftupet Euias

"Hebrum profpiciens, et nive candidam "Thracen, ac pede barbaro

"Luftratam Rhodopen."

HOR.

As Mar his round one morning took, (Whom fome call earl, and fome call duke) Mr. Flamflead's boufe.

And his new brethren of the blade,
Shivering with fear and frost, survey'd,
On Perth's bleak hills he chanc'd to spy
An aged wizard fix foot high,
With bristled hair and visage blighted,
Wall-ey'd, bare-haunch'd, and fecond-fighted
The grifly fage in thought profound
Beheld the chief with back fo round,
Then roll'd his eye-balls to and fro
O'er his paternal hills of snow,
And into these tremendous fpeeches
Broke forth the prophet without breeches.
Into what ills betray'd, by thee,
This ancient kingdom do I fee!
Her realms unpeopled and forlorn!
Wae's me! that ever thou wert born!
Proud English loons (our clans o'ercome)
On Scottish pads shall amble home;
I see them dreft in bonnets blue
(The fpoils of thy rebellious crew);
I fee the target caft away,

And chequer'd plaid become their prey,
The chequer'd plaid to make a gown
For many a lafs in London town.

In vain thy hungry mountaineers
Come forth in all thy warlike gears,
The fhield, the pistol, durk, and dagger,
In which they daily wont to swagger,
And oft have fally'd out to pillage
The hen-roofts of fome peaceful village,
Or, while their neighbours were asleep,
Have carry'd off a lowland sheep.

What boots thy high-born hoft of beggars, Mac-leans, Mac-kenzies, and Mac-gregors, With popish cut-throats, perjur'd ruffians, And Fofter's troop of raggamuffins.

In vain thy lads around thee bandy,
Inflam'd with bag-pipe and with brandy,
Doth not bold Sutherland the trusty,
With heart fo true, and voice fo rutty,
(A loyal foul) thy troops affright,
While hoarfely he demands the fight?
Doft thou not generous Ilay dread,
The braveft hand, the wifeft head?
Undaunted doft thou hear th' alarms
Of hoary Athol fheath'd in arms?

Douglas, who draws his lineage down
From Thanes and Peers of high renown,
Fiery, and young, and uncontroul'd,

With knights, and 'fquires, and barons bold, (His noble household band) advances,

And on the milk-white courfer prances.

Thee Forfar to the combat dares,
Grown fwarthy in Iberian wars:
And Monro, kindled into rage,
Sourly defies thee to engage;

He'll rout thy foot, though ne'er fo many,
And horfe to boot-if thou hadft any.

But fee Argyll, with watchful eyes,
Lodg'd in his deep entrenchments lies!
Couch'd like a lion in thy way,
He waits to fpring upon his prey;
While, like a herd of timorous deer,
Thy army shakes and pants with fear,
Led by their doughty general's fkill,
From frith to frith, from hill to hill,

From a Lady in England to a Gentleman at Avignon.
To thee, dear rover, and thy vanquish'd friends,
The health, he wants, thy gentle Chloe fends.
Though much you fuffer, think I fuffer more,
Worfe than an exile on my native shore.
Companions in your mafter's flight you roam,
Unenvy'd by your haughty foes at home;
For ever near the royal outlaw's fide
You share his fortunes, and his hopes divide,
On glorious schemes, and thoughts of empire dwell,
And with imaginary titles fwell.

Say, for thou know'st I own his facred line,
The paffive doctrine, and the right divine,
Say, what new fuccours does the chief prepare?
The strength of armies? or the force of prayer?
Does he from heaven or earth his hopes deriye?
From faints departed, or from priests alive?
Nor faints nor pricfts can Bruniwick's troops with-
stand,

And beads drop useless through the zealot's hand; Heaven to our vows may future kingdoms owe, But skill and courage win the crowns below

reft.

Ere to thy caufe, and thee, my heart inclin'd, Or love to party had feduc'd my mind, In female joys I took a dull delight, Slept all the morn, and punted half the night : But now, with fears and public cares poffeft, The church, the church, for ever breaks my The postboy on my pillow I explore, And fift the news of every foreign shore, Studious to find new friends, and new allies; What armies march from Sweden in disguise; How Spain prepares her banners to unfold, And Rome deals out her bleflings, and her gold Then o'er the map my finger, taught to stray, Cross many a region marks the winding way; From sea to fea, from realm to realm I rove, And grow a mere geographer by love: But ftill Avignon, and the pleasing coaft That holds thee banish'd, claims my care the most: Oft on the well-known spot I fix my eyes, And span the distance that between us lies. [pair, Let not our James, though foil'd in arms, defWhilft on his fide he reckons half the fair: In Britain's lovely ifle a fhining throng War in his caufe, a thousand beauties ftrong. YOL. VIII.

'h' unthinking victors vainly boast their powers;
Be theirs the mufket, while the tongue is ours.
We reason with tuch fluency and fire,

The beaux we baffle, and the learned tire,
Against her prelates plead the church's caufe,
And from our judges vindicate the laws
Then mourn not, hapiefs prince, thy kingdoms
loft:

A crown, though late, thy facred brows may boast;
Heaven feems through us thy empire to decree;
Those who win hearts, have given their hearts to
thee.

Haft thou not heard that when, profufely gay,
Our well-dreft rivals grac'd their fovereign's day,
We (tubborn damfels met the public view
In loathfome wormwood, and repenting rue?
What Whig but trembled, when our spotlefs band
In virgin roles whiten'd half the land!
Who can forget what fears the foe possest,
When oaken boughs mark'd every loyal breast!
Leis fear'd than Medway's ftream the Norman
ftood,

When crofs the plain he spy'd a marching wood,
Till, near at hand, a glean of fwords betray'd
The youth of Kent beneath its wandering fhade?
Those who the fuccours of the fair despise,
May find that we have nads as well as eyes.
The female bards, O prince by fortune croft,
At least more courage than thy men can boaft:
Our fex has dar'd the m.g-house chiefs to meet,
And purchas'd fame in many a well fought treet,
From Drury-Lane, the region of renown,
The land of love, the Paphos of the town,
Fair patriots fallying oft have put to flight
With all their poles the guardians of the night,
And bore, with fereams of triumph, to their fide'
The leader's ftaff in all its painted pride.
Nor fears the hawker in her warbling note
To vend the difcontented statesman's thought,
Though red with stripes, and recent from the thong,
Sore fmitten for the love of facred song,
The tuneful fifters ftill purfue their trade,
Like Philomela darkling in the fhade.
Poor Trott attends, forgetful of a fare,
And hums in concert o'er his eafy chair.

Mean while, regardless of the royal caufe,
His fword for James no brother sovereign draws.
The Pope himfelf, (urrounded with alarms,
To France his bulls, to Corfu fends his arms,
And though he hears his darling fon's complaint,
Can hardly fpare one tutelary faint,
But lifts them all to guard his own abodes,
And into ready money coins his gods.
The dauntless Swede, purfued by vengeful foes,
Scarce keeps his own hereditary fnows;
Nor must the friendly roof of kind Lorrain
With fealts regale our garter'd youth again.
safe, Bar-le-Duc, within thy filent grove
The pheafant now may perch, the hare may rove:
The knight, who aims unerring from afar,
Th' adventurous knight, now quits the fylvan war
Thy brinded boars may flumber undifmay'd,
Or grunt fecure beneath the cheinut fhade."
Inconftant Orleans (ftill we mourn the day,
That trufted Orleans with imperial fway,)
Dd

Far o'er the Alps our helpless monarch fends,
Far from the call of his defponding friends.
Such are the terms, to gain Britannia's grace!
And fuch the terror of the Brunswick race!

Was it for this the fun's whole luftre fail'd,
And fudden midnight o'er the moon prevail'd!
For this did heaven difplay to mortal eyes
Aërial knights and combats in the skies!

Was it for this Northumbrian ftreams look'd red!
And Thames driv'n backward fhow'd his fecret
Falfe auguries! th' infulting victor's fcorn! [bed! |
Ev'n our own prodigies against us turn!
O portents conftrued on our fide in vain!
Let never Tory truft eclipse again!
Run clear, ye fountains! be at peace, ye skies!
And, Thames, henceforth to thy green borders
rife!

To Rome then must the royal wanderer go,
And fall a fuppliant at the papal toe?
His life in doth inglorious must he wear,
One half in luxury, and one in prayer?
His mind perhaps at length debauch'd with ease,
The proffer'd purple and the hat may please.
Shall he, whofe ancient patriarchal race
To mighty Nimrod in one line we trace,
In folemn conclave fit, devoid of thought,
And pole for points of faith his trufty vote!
Ee fummon'd to his ftall in time of need,
And with his cafting fuffrage fix a creed!
Shall he in robes on ftated days appear,
And English heretics curfe once a year!
Garnet and Faux fhall he with prayers invoke,
And beg that Smithfield piles once more may
fmoke!

Forbid it, heaven! my foul, to fury wrought,
Tuins almost Hanoverian at the thought.

From James and Rome I feel my heart decline,
Ard fear, O Brunswick, 'twill be wholly thine;
Yet fill his share thy rival will conteft,
And fill the double claim divides my breast.
The fate of James with pitying eyes I view,
And with my homage were not Brunfwick's due:
To James my paflion and my weaknefs guide,
But reafon fways me to the vicer's fide.
Though griev'd I speak it, let the truth appear!
You know my language, and my heart, fincere.
In vain did falfehood his fair fame difgrace;
What force had falfehood, when he fhow'd his
face!

In vain to war our boafiful clans were led;
Heaps driv'n on heaps, in the dire shock they fled:
France huts his wrath, nor raifes to our fhame
A fecond Dunkirk in another name:

In Britain's finds their wealth all Europe throws,
And up the Thames the world's abundance flows:
Spite of feign'd fears and artificial cries,
The pious town fees fifty churches rife :
The here triumphs as his worth is kuown,
And fits more firmly on his fhaken throne.

To my fad thou ht no beam of hope appears
Through the long profpe&t of fucceeding years.
The fen, afpiring to his father's fame,
Shows all his fire: another and the fame.
He, bleft in lovely Carolina's arms,
To future ages propagates her charms:

With pain and joy at strise, I often trace
The mingled parents in each daughter's face ;
Half fickening at the fight, too well I spy
The father's spirit through the mother's eye:
In vain new thoughts of rage I entertain,
And strive to hate their innocence in vain.
O princess! happy by thy foes confest!
Bleft in thy husband in thy children bleft!
As they from thee, from them new beauties born,
While Europe lafts, shall Europe's thrones adorn.
Transplanted to each court, in times to come,
Thy fmile celeftial and unfading bloom,
Great Auftria's fons with fofter lines shall grace,
And smooth the frowns of Bourbon's haughty race.
The fair defcendents of thy facred bed,
Wide-branching o'er the western world fhall
fpread,

Like the fam'd Banian tree, whose pliant fhoot
To earthward bending of itfelf takes root,
Till, like their mother plant, ten thousand stand
In verdant arches on the fertile land;
Beneath her shade the tawny Indians rove,
Or hunt, at large, through the wide echoing grove.
O thou, to whom these mournful lines I fend,
My promis'd husband, and my dearest friend;
Since heaven appoints this favour'd race to reign;
And blood has drench'd the Scottish fields in vain,
Muft I be wretched, and thy flight partake?
Or wilt not thou, for thy lov'd Chloe's fake,
Tir'd out at length, fubmit to fate's decree?
If not to Brunfwick, O return to me!
Proftrate before the victor's mercy bend:
What fpares whole thousands, may to thee extend.
Should blinded friends thy doubtful conduct blame,
Great Brunswick's virtue fhall fecure thy fame:
Say thefe invite thee to approach his throne,
And own the monarch, heaven vouchfafes to own:
The world, convinc'd, thy reafons will approve;
Say this to them; but fwear to me 'twas love.

They fix each haughty monarch's doom, And blefs whole ages yet to come. Henceforth great Brunswick fhali decree What flag muft awe the Tyrrhene fea; From whom the Tufcan grape fhall glow, And fruitful Arethufa flow.

See in firm leagues with Thames combine The Seine, the Maese, and diftant Rhine! Nor, Ebro, let thy fingle rage With half the warring world engage. Oh! call to mind thy thousands flain, And Almanara's fatal plain; While yet the Gallic terrors fleep, Nor Britain thunders from the deep.

PROLOGUE

To the University of Oxford, 1713.

WHAT kings henceforth shall reign, what states be free,

is fix'd at length by Anna's just decree :
Whose brows the mufe's facred wreath fhall fit,
Is left to you the arbiters of wit.

With beating hearts the rival poets wait,
Till you, Athenians, fhall decide their fate;
Secure, when to thefe learned feats they come,
Of equal judgment, and impartial doom.

Poor is the player's fame, whose whole renown
Is but the praife of a capricious town;
While, with mock-majefty, and fancy'd power,
He ftruts in robes, the monarch of an hour.
Oft wide of nature must he act a part,
Make love in tropes, in bombaft break his heart:
In turn and fimile refign his breath,

And rhyme and quibble in the pangs of death.
We blush, when plays like thefe receive applaufe;
And laugh, in fecret, at the tears we caufe;
With honeft fcorn our own fuccefs difdain,
A worthlefs honour, and inglorious gain.

No trifling fcenes at Oxford fhall appear;
Well, what we blush to act, may you to hear.
To you our fam'd, our standard plays we bring,
The work of poets, whom you taught to fing:
Though crown'd with fame, they dare not think
it due,

Nor take the laurel till bestow'd by you.
Great Cato's felf the glory of the stage,
Who charms, corrects, exalts, and fires the age,
Begs here he may be try'd by Roman laws;
To you, O fathers, he fubmits his caufe;
He rests not in the people's general voice,
Till you, the fenate, have confirm'd his choice.
Fine is the fecret, delicate the art,

To wind the paffions, and command the heart;
For fancy'd ills to force our tears to flow,
And make the generous foul in love with woe;
To raise the fhades of heroes to our view;
Rebuild fall'n empires, and old time renew.
How hard the task how rare the godlike rage!
None should prefume to dictate for the ftage,
But fuch as boast a great extenfive mind,
Enrich'd by nature, and by art refin'd; [bring,
Who from the ancient ftores their knowledge
And tafted early of the mufes fpring.

great,

Be funk by heaven to such a dismal state!
How meagre, pale, neglected, worn with care!!
What steady sadness, and august despair!
In those funk eyes the grief of years I trace,
And forrow feems acquainted with that face.
Tears, which his heart disdain'd, from me o'er-"
flow,

Thus to furvey God's fubstitute below,
In folemn anguish, and majestic woe.

When fpoil'd of empire by unhallowed hands, Sold by his flavcs, and held in impious bands; Rent from, what oft had sweeten'd anxious life, His helpless children, and his bofom wife; Doom'd for the faith, plebeian rage to stand, And fall a victim for the guilty land;

Then thus was feen, abandon'd and forlorn,
The king, the father, and the faint to mourn.
How could't thou, artist, then thy skill difplay?
Thy fleady hands thy favage heart betray:
Near thy bold work the ftuan'd fpectators faint,
Nor fee unmov'd, what thou unmov'd could't
paint.

What brings to mind each various scene of woe,"
Th' infulting judge, the folemn-mocking show,
The horrid fentence, and accurfed blow.

Where then, juft heaven, was thy unactive hand, Thy idle thunder, and thy lingering brand! Thy adamantine fhield, thy angel wings, And the great Genii of anointed kings! Treafon and fraud fhall thus the ftars regard! And injur'd virtue meet this fad reward! So fad, none like, can time's old records tell, Though Pompey bled, and poor Darius fell! Ail names but one too low-that one too high: All parallels are wrongs, or blafphemy.

O power fupreme! How fecret are thy ways!
Yet man, vain man, would trace thy myftic maze,
With foolish wifdom, arguing, charge his God,
His balance hold, and guide his angry rod;
New-mould the fpheres, and mend the sky's defign,
And found th' immenfe with his fhort fcanty line.
Do thou, my foul, the deftin'd period wait,
When God fhall folve the dark decrees of fate,
His now unequal difpenfations clear,

And make all wife and beautiful appear;
When fuffering faints aloft in beams fhall glow,
And profperous traitors gnash their teeth below.
Such boding thoughts did guilty conscience dart,
A pledge of hell to dying Cromwell's heart: