WHERE'ER thy Navy spreads her canvass wings,
Homage to thee, and peace to all fhe brings:
The French and Spaniard, when thy flags appear,
Forget their hatred, and confent to fear.
So Jove from Ida did both hosts survey,
And when he pleas'd to thunder part the fray.
Ships heretofore in feas like fishes fped,
The mightiest ftill upon the smallest fed:
Thou on the deep imposest nobler laws,
And by that juftice haft remov'd the cause
Of those rude tempefts, which for rapine sent,
'Too oft', alas! involv'd the innocent.
Now fhall the Ocean, as thy Thames, be free
From both those fates of ftorms and piracy.
But we most happy, who can fear no force
But winged troops, or Pegafeau horse.
'Tis not fo hard for greedy foes to fpoil
Another nation as to touch our foil.
Should Nature's felf invade the world again,
And o'er the centre spread the liquid main,
Thy pow'r were safe, and her deftructive hand
Would but enlarge the bounds of thy command:
Thy dreadful fleet would ftyle thee Lord of All,
And ride in triumph o'er the drowned ball;
Those tow'rs of oak o'er fertile plains might go, 25
And vifit mountains where they once did grow.
The world's Reftorer once could not endure
That finish'd Babel fhould thofe men fecure
Whose pride defign'd that fabrick to have flood
Above the reach of any fecond flood;
To thee, his chofen, more indulgent, he
Dares truft fuch pow'r with fo much piety.
TO THE QUEEN,
Occafioned upon fight of
HER MAJESTY'S PICTURE.
WELL fare the hand which to our humble fight
Presents that beauty which the dazzling light
Of royal fplendour hides from weaker eyes,
And all access, save by this art,
Here only we have courage to behold
This beam of glory, here we dare unfold
In numbers thus the wonders we conceive:
The gracious image, feeming to give leave,
Propitious ftands, vouchfafing to be seen,
And by our Mufe faluted Mighty Queen,
In whom th' extremes of pow'r and beauty move,
The Queen of Britain, and the Queen of Love!
As the bright fun (to which we owe no fight
Of equal glory to your beauty's light)
Is wifely plac'd in so sublime a seat,
T'extend his light and moderate his heat;
So, happy 't is you move in such a sphere,
As your high Majesty with awful fear
In human breasts might qualify that fire,
Which kindled by those eyes had flamed higher 20
Than when the fcorched world like hazard run
By the approach of the ill-guided sun.
No other nymphs have title to men's hearts, But as their meannefs larger hope imparts: Your beauty more the fondest lover moves With admiration than his private loves; With admiration! for a pitch fo high (Save facred Charles his) never love durft fly. Heav'n that preferr'd a sceptre to your hand, Favour'd our freedom more than your command: 30 Beauty had crown'd you, and you must have been The whole world's miftrefs, other than a Queen. All had been rivals, and you might have spar'd, Or kill'd and tyranniz'd, without a guard, No pow'r achiev'd, either by arms or birth, Equals Love's empire both in heav'n and earth. Such eyes as your's on Jove himself have thrown As bright and fierce a lightning as his own:
Witnefs our Jove, prevented by their flame
In his swift paffage to th' Hefperian dame:
When, like a lion, finding in his way
To fome intended spoil a fairer prey,
The royal youth pursuing the report
Of beauty, found it in the Gallick court:
There publick care with private paffion, fought 45
A doubtful combat in his noble thought:
Should he confefs his greatnefs and his love,
And the free faith of your great brother * prove;
With his Achates† breaking thro' the cloud
Of that disguise which did their graces fhroud;
And mixing with those gallants at the ball,
Dance with the ladies, and outshine them all;
Or on his journey o'er the mountains ride?-
So when the fair Leucothoë he efpy'd,
To check his fleeds impatient Phoebus yearn'd,
Tho' all the world was in his courfe concern'd.
What may hereafter her meridian do,
Whofe dawning beauty warm'd his bofom fo?
Not fo divine a flame, since deathless gods,
Forbore to vifit the defil'd abodes
Of men, in any mortal breast did burn;
Nor fhall, till Piety and they return.
Lewis XIII. K. of France.
QUEEN-MOTHER OF FRANCE,
UPON HER LANDING.
GREAT Queen of Europe! where thy offspring wears
All the chief crowns; where princes are thy heirs;
As welcome thou to sea-girt Britain's shore,
As erft Latona (who fair Cynthia bore)
To Delos was: here fhines a nymph as bright,
By thee difclos'd with like increase of light.
Why was her joy in Belgia confin'd?
Or why did you so much regard the wind?
Scarce could the ocean (tho' enrag'd) have toft
Thy fov'reign bark, but where th' obfequious coast 1
Pays tribute to thy bed. Rome's conqu❜ring hand
More vanquish'd nations under her command
Never reduc'd. Glad Berecynthia so
Among her deathless progeny did go;
A wreath of tow'rs adorn'd her rev'rend head,
Mother of all that on ambrofia fed.
Thy godlike race must sway the age to come,
As the Olympus peopled with her womb.
Would those commanders of mankind obey
Their honour'd parent, all pretences lay
Down at your royal feet, compose their jars,
And on the growing Turk discharge these wars ;
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