What after happen'd is not hard to guess:
The fmall beginnings had a large increase,
And arts and wealth fucceed, the fecret spoils (
of peace.

'Tis faid, the Doves repented, though too late,
Become the smiths of their own foolish fate:
Nor did their owner haften their ill hour;
But, funk in credit, they decreas'd in power:
Like foows in warmth that mildly pass away,
Difolving in the filence of decay.

The Buzzard, not content with equal place,
lovites the feather'd Nimrods of his race;
To hide the thinness of their flock from fight,
And all together make a feeming goodly flight:
But each have separate interests of their own;
Two Czars are one too many for a throne.
Nor can th' ufurper long abstain from food;
Already he has tafted Pigeons blood.
And may be tempted to his former fare,

When this indulgent lord fhall late to heaven repair.

Bare benting times, and moulting months may

come,

When, lagging late, they cannot reach their home;
Or rent in fchifm (for fo their fate decrees)
Like the tumultuous college of the bees,
They fight their quarrel, by themselves oppreft;
The tyrant fmiles below, and waits the falling
feaft.

Thus did the gentle Hind her fable end,
Nor would the Panther blame it, nor commend;
But, with affected yawnings at the clofe,
Seem'd to require her natural repofe :
For now the freaky light began to peep;
And setting stars admonish'd both to fleep.
The dame withdrew, and wishing to her guest
The peace of heaven, betook herself to rest.
Ten thousand angels on her flumbers wait,
With glorious vifions of her future state.

OUR vows are heard betimes, and heaven takes

care

To grant, before we can conclude the prayer:
Preventing angels met it half the way,
And fent us back to praise, who came to pray.

Juft on the day, when the high-mounted fun Did fartheft in its northern progress run,

He bended forward, and ev'n stretch'd the sphere

Beyond the limits of the lengthen'd year,
To view a brighter fun in Britain born;
That was the business of his longest morn;
The glorious object feen, 'twas time to turn.
Departing Spring could only stay to shed
Her gloomy beauties on the genial bed,
But left the manly fummer in her stead,
With timely fruit the longing land to cheer,
And to fulfil the promife of the year.
Betwixt two feafons comes th' aufpicious heir,
This age to bloffom, and the next to bear.

Laft folemn fabbath faw the Church attend,
The Paraclete in fiery pomp defcend;
But when his wondrous octave roll'd again,
He brought a royal infant in his train.
So great a bleffing to fo good a king,
None but th' Eternal Comforter could bring.
Or did the mighty Trinity confpire,
As once in council to create our fire?

It seems as if they fent the new-born gueft
To wait on the proceffion of their feast ;
And on their facred anniverfe decreed
To stamp their image on the promis'd feed.
Three realms united, and on one bestow'd,
An emblem of their myftic union show'd:
The mighty trine the triple empire fhar'd:
As every perfon would have one to guard.

Hail, Son of prayers! by holy violence Drawn down from heaven; but long be banish thence,

And late to thy paternal skies retire:
To mend our crimes, whole ages would require;
To change th' inveterate habit of our fins,
And finish what thy godlike fire begins.
Kind heaven, to make us Englishmen again,
No lefs can give us than a patriarch's reign.

The facred cradle to your charge receive,
Ye feraphs, and by turns the guard relieve;
Thy father's angel, and thy father join,
To keep poffeflion, and fecure the line;
But long defer the honours of thy fate:
Great may they be like his, like his be late;
That James his running century may view,
And give this Son an auspice to the new.

Our wants exact at leaft that moderate stay :
For fee the dragon winged on his way,
To watch the travail, and devour the prey.

Or, if allufions may not rife so high,
Thus, when Alcides rais'd his infant cry,
The foakes befieg'd his young divinity:

[feed

But vainly with their forked tongues they threat;
For oppofition makes a hero great.
To needful fuccour all the good will run,
And Jove affert the godhead of his Son.
O ftill repining at your present state,
Grudging yourselves the benefits of fate,
Look up, and read in characters of light
A bleffing fent you in your own despight.
The manna falls, yet that celeftial bread
Like Jews you munch, and murmur while you
May not your fortune be like theirs, exil'd,
Yet forty years to wander in the wild!
Or if it be, may Mofes live at least,
To lead you to the verge of promis'd reft!
Though poets are not prophets, to foreknow
What plants will take the blight, and what will
grow,

By tracing heaven, his footsteps may be found:
Behold! how awfully he walks the round!
God is abroad, and, wondrous in his ways,
The rife of empires, and their fall furveys;
More, might I fay, than with an ufual eye,
He fees his bleeding church in ruin lie, [cry.
And hears the fouls of faints beneath his altar
Already has he lifted high the fign,

Which crown'd the conquering arms of Constantine:

?

The moon grows pale at that prefaging fight,
And half her train of flars have loft their light.
Behold another Sylvefter, to blefs
The facred ftandard, and secure success;
Large of his treasures, of a foul fo great,
As fills and crowds his univerfal feat.
Now view at home a fecond Conftantine
(The former too was of the British line);
Has not his healing balm your breaches clos'd,
Whose exile many fought, and few oppos'd?
O, did not heaven by its eternal doom
Permit thofe evils, that this good might come
So manifeft, that ev'n the moon-ey'd fects
See whom and what this Providence protects.
Methinks, had we within our minds no more
Than that one fhipwreck on the fatal ore,
That only thought may make us think again,
What wonders God referves for fuch a reign.
To dream that chance his preservation wrought,
Were to think Noah was preferv'd for nought;
. Or the furviving eight were not defign'd
To people earth, and to restore their kind.
When humbly on the royal babe we gaze,
The manly lines of a majestic face
Give awful joy: 'tis paradife to look
On the fair frontifpiece of Nature's book:
In the first opening page fo charms the fight,
Think how th' unfolded volume will delight!
See how the venerable infant lies

In carly pomp; how through the mother's eyes
The father's foul, with an undaunted view,
Looks out, and takes our homage as his due.
See on his future fubjects how he fmiles,
No meanly flatters, nor with craft beguiles;
VOL. VI,

But with an open face, as on his throne,
Affures our birthrights, and assumes his own :
Born in broad day-light, that th' ungrateful rout
May find no room for a remaining doubt;
Truth, which itself is light, does darkness shun,
And the true eaglet fafely dares the fun. [birth,

Fain would the fiends have made a dubious
Loth to confefs the Godhead cloath'd in earth:
But ficken'd after all their baffled lies,
To find an heir apparent in the kies:
Abandon'd to despair, ftill may they grudge,
And, owning not the Saviour, prove the judge.
Not great Æneas ftood in plainer day,
When the dark mantling mift diffolv'd away;
He to the Tyrians fhewd his fudden face,
Shining with all his goddess mother's grace:
For the herfelf had made his countenance bright,
Breath'd honour on his eyes, and her own purple
light.

If our victorious Edward, as they fay, Gave Wales a prince on that propitious day, Why may not years revolving with his fate Produce his like, but with a longer date? One, who may carry to a diftant shore The terror that his fam'd forefather bore. But why should James or his young hero stay For flight prefages of a name or day? We need no Edward's fortune to adorn That happy moment when our prince was born Our prince adorns this day, and ages hence Shall with his birth-day for fome future prince.

Great Michael, prince of all th' ætherial hofts, And whate'er inborn faints our Britain boasts; And thou, th' adopted patron of our ifle, With cheerful afpects on this infant fmile: The pledge of heaven, which, dropping from above, Secures our blifs, and reconciles his love.

Enough of ills our dire rebellion wrought, When to the dregs we drank the bitter draught; Then airy atoms did in plagues confpire, Nor did th' avenging angel yet retire, But purg'd our still-increafing crimes with fire.. Then perjur'd plots, the ftill impending teft, And worse-but charity conceals the reft: Here ftop the current of the fanguine flood; Require not, gracious God, thy martyrs' blood; But let their dying pangs, their living toil, Spread a rich harvest through their native foil; A harveft ripening for another reign, Of which this royal babe may reap the grain. Enough of early faints one womb has given ; Enough increas'd the family of heaven : Let them for his, and our atonement go; And, reigning bleft above, leave him to rule below, Enough already has the year forefhow'd His wonted courfe, the fea has overflow'd, The meads were floated with a weeping fpring, And frighten'd birds in woeds forgot to fing: The ftrong-limb'd feed beneath his harnefs faints, And the fame fhivering fweat his lord attaints. When will the minifter of wrath give o'er? Behold him at Araunah's threfhing-floor: He ftops, and feems to fheath his flaming brand, Pleas'd with burnt incenfe from our David's hand

To fully and pollute the facred infant's year.
Five months to difcord and debate were given:
He fanétifies the yet remaining seven.
Sabbath of months! henceforth in him be bleft,
And prelude to the realms perpetual rest!

Let his baptifmal drops for us atone;
Luftrations for offences not his own.
Let Confcience, which is intereft ill disguis'd,
In the fame font be cleans'd, and all the land
baptiz'd.

Un-nam'd as yet; at least unknown to fame :
Is there a ftrife in heaven about his name;
Where every famous predeceffor vies,
And makes a faction for it in the skies?
Or muft it be referv'd to thought alone?
Such was the facred Tetragrammaton.
Things worthy filence muft not be reveal'd:
Thus the true name of Rome was kept conceal'd,
To fhun the fpells and forceries of those,
Who durft her infant majefty oppose.

But when his tender ftrength in time fhall rife
To dare ill tongues, and fafcinating eyes;
This ifle, which hides the little thunderer's fame,
Shall be too narrow to contain his name:
Th' artillery of heaven fhall make him known;
Crete could not hold the God, when Jove was
grown.

As Jove's increafe, who from his brain was born,
Whom arms and arts did equally adorn,
Free of the breaft was bred, whofe milky tafte
Minerva's name to Venus had debas'd;
So this imperial babe rejects the food
That mixes monarch's with plebeian blood:
Food that his inborn courage might controul,
Extinguish all the father in his soul,
And for his Eftian race, and Saxon ftrain,
Might reproduce fome fecond Richard's reign.
Mildness he shares from both his parents' blood:
But kings too tame are defpicably good:
Be this the mixture of this regal child,
By nature manly, but by virtue mild.

Thus far the furious tranfport of the news
Had to prophetic madness fir'd the Mufe;
Maducfs ungovernable, uninfpir'd,
Swift to foretel whatever the defir'd.
Was it for me the dark abyfs to tread,
And read the book which angels cannot read?
How was I punish'd when the fudden blast,
The face of heaven, and our young Sun o'ercaft!
Fame, the fwift ill, increasing as fhe roll'd,
Difeafe, defpair, and death, at three reprises told:
At three infulting ftrides fhe ftalk'd the town,
And, like contagion, ftruck the loyal down.
Down fell the winnow'd wheat; but, mounted
high,

The whirlwind bore the chaff, and hid the fky.
Here black rebellion fhooting from below
(As carth's gigantic brood by moments grow)
And here the fons of God are petrified with woe:
An apoplex of grief! fo low were driven
The faints, as hardly to defend their heaves,

As, when pent vapours run their hollow round, Earthquakes, which are convulfions of the ground, Break bellowing forth, and no confinement brook, Till the third fettles what the former shook; Such heavings had our fouls; till, flow and late, Our life with his return'd, and faith prevail'd on fate.

By prayers the mighty bleffing was implor'd,
To prayers was granted, and by prayers reftor'd.
So, ere the Shunamite a fon conceiv'd,
The prophet promis'd, and the wife believ'd.
A fon was fent, the fon fo much defir'd;
But foon upon the mother's knees expir'd.
The troubled feer approach'd the mournful door,
Ran, pray'd, and fent his paftoral staff before,
Then ftretch'd his limbs upon the child, and

mourn'd,

Till warmth, and breath, and a new soul, return'd.
Thus mercy ftretches out her hand, and fares
Defponding Peter finking in the waves.

As when a fudden ftorm of hail and rain
Beats to the ground the yet unbearded grain,
Think not the hopes of harveft are destroy'd
On the flat field, and on the naked void;
The light, unloaded stem, from tempest freed,
Will raise the youthful honours of his head;
And foon reftor'd by native vigour, bear
The timely product of the bounteous year.

Nor yet conclude all fiery trials past :
For heaven will exercife us to the laft;
Sometimes will check us in our full career.
With doubtful bleflings, and with mingled fear;
That, ftill depending on his daily grace,
His every mercy for an alms may pafs,
With fparing hands will diet us to good:
Preventing furfeits of our pamper'd blood.
So feeds the mother bird her craving young
With little morfels, and delays them long.

True, this laft blefling was a royal feast;
But where's the wedding garment on the guest?
Our manners, as religion were a dream,
Are fuch as teach the nations to blafpheme.
In lufts we wallow, and with pride we fwell,
And injuries with injuries repel;

Prompt to revenge, not daring to forgive,
Our lives unteach the doctrine we believe.
Thus Ifrael finn'd, impenitently hard,
And vainly thought the prefent ark their guard;
But when the haughty Philistines appear,
They fled, abandon'd to their foes and fear;
Their God was abfent, though his ark was

there.

was

Forgiveness is our thanks for fuch a day.
'Tis god-like God in his own coin to pay.
But you, propitious queen, tranflated here,"
From your mild heaven, to rule our rugged
fphere,

Beyond the funny walks, and circling year:
You, who your native climate have bereft
Of all the virtues, and the vices left;
Whom piety and beauty make their boast,
Though beautiful is well in pious loft ;
So loft as ftar-light is diffolv'd away,
And melts into the brightness of the day;
Or gold about the royal diadem,
Loft to improve the luftre of the gem.
What can we add to your triumphant day?
Let the great gift the beauteous giver pay.
For fhould our thanks awake the rifing fun,
And lengthen, as his latest shadows run,
That, though the longest day, would foon, too

foon be done.

Let angels voices with their harps confpire,
But keep th' aufpicious infant from the choir;
Late let him fing above, and let us know
No fweeter mufic than his cries below.

Nor can I wish to you, great monarch, more
Than fuch an annual income to your store;
The day which gave this unit, did not shine
For a lefs omen, than to fill the trine.
After a prince, an admiral beget;
The Royal Sovereign wants an anchor yet.
Our ifle has younger titles ftill in store,

And when th' exhausted land can yield no

more,

Your line can force them from a foreign shore.

The name of grea your martial mind will fuit;

But justice is your darling attribute:

Of all the Greeks, 'twas but one hero's due,
And in him, Plutarch prophefy'd of you.
A prince's favours but on few can fall,
But justice is a virtue shar'd by all.

Some kings the name of conquerors have af
fum'd,

Some to be great, fome to be gods prefum'd;
But boundless power, and arbitrary luft,
Made tyrants ftill abhor the name of just;
They fhunn'd the praise this godlike virtue gives
And fear'd a title that reproach'd their lives.

The power, from, which all kings derive their
ftate,

Whom they pretend, at least, to imitate,

Is equal both to punish and reward;

But few would love their God, unless they fear'd.

Refiftless force and immortality

Make but a lame, imperfect, deity:
Tempefts have force unbounded to destroy,
And deathlefs being ev'n the damn'd enjoy;
And yet heaven's attributes, both laft and first,
One without life, and one with life accurft:
But juftice is heaven's felf, so strictly he,
That could it fail, the Godhead could not be.
This virtue is your own; but life and state
Are one to fortune fubject, one to fate:
Equal to all, you justly frown or smile;
Nor hopes nor fears your fteady hand beguile;
Yourself our balance hold, the world's our ile.

I ij

}