made him the fame compliment: for it is agreed on all hands, that be writes even below Ogilby: that, you will fay, is not eafily to be done; but what cannot Milbourn bring about? I am fatisfied, however, that while he and I live together, I shall not be thought the worst poet of the age. It looks as if I had defired him underhand to write fo ill against me; but, upon my honeft word, I have not bribed him to do me this fervice, and am wholly guiltless of his pamphlet. It is true, I thould be glad, if I could perfuade him to continue his good offices, and write fuch another critique on any thing of mine: for I find by experience he has a great ftroke with the reader, when he condemns any of my poems, to make the world have a better opinion of them. He has taken fome pains with my poetry; but nobody will be perfuaded to take the fame with his. If I had taken to the church (as he affirms, but which never was in my thoughts) I fhould have had more sense, if not more grace, than to have turned myself out of my benefice by writing libels on my parishioners. But his account of my manners and my principles are of a piece with his cavils and his poetry; and fo I have done with him for ever.

As for the City Bard, or Knight Physician, I hear his quarrel to me is, that I was the author of Abfalom and Achitophel, which he thinks is a little hard on his fanatic patrons in London.

But I will deal the more civilly with his two poems, because nothing ill is to be spoken of the dead; and therefore peace be to the Manes of his Arthurs. I will only fay, that it was not for this noble knight that I drew the plan of an Epic poem on King Arthur, in my preface to the tranflation of Juvenal. The guardian angels of kingdoms were machines too ponderous for him to manage; and therefore he rejected them, as Dares did the whirlbats of Eryx, when they were thrown before him by Entellus. Yet from that preface he plainly took the hint: for he began immediately upon the ftory, though he had the bafenefs not to acknowledge his benefactor; but, inftead of it, to traduce me in a libel.

I fhall fay the lefs of Mr. Collier, becaufe in many things he has taxed me justly; and I have pleaded guilty to all thoughts and expreffions of mine, which can be truly argued of obfcenity, profanenefs, or immorality, and retract them. If he be my enemy, let him triumph; if he be my friend, as I have given him no perfonal occafion to be other

me not to draw my pen in defence of a bad cause, when I have so often drawn it for a good one. Yet it were not difficult to prove, that in many places he has perverted my meaning by his gloffes; and interpreted my words into blafphemy and baudry, of which they were not guilty; befides that, he is too much given to horfe-play in his raillery; and comes to battle like a dictator from the plough. I will not fay, The zeal of God's houfe has eaten him up; but I am fure it has devoured fome part of his good manners and civility. It might allo be doubted whether it were altogether zeal, which prompted him to this rough manner of proceeding; perhaps it became not one of his function to rake into the rubbish of ancient and modern plays: a divine might have employed his pains to better purpose, than in the naftiness of Plautus and Ariftophanes; whofe examples, as they excufe not me, fo it might be poffibly supposed, that he read them not without fome pleasure. They who have written commentaries on those poets, or on Horace, Juvenal, and Martial, have explained fome vices, which without their interpretation had been unknown to modern times. Neither has he judged impartially betwixt the former age and us.

am

There is more baudry in one play of Fletcher's, called The Custom of the Country, than in all ours together. Yet this has been often acted on the ftage in my remembrance. Are the times fo much more reformed now, than they were five and twenty years ago? If they are, I congratulate the amendment of our morals. But not to prejudice the cause of my fellow-poets, though I abandon my own defence: they have fome of them answered for themselves, and ncither they nor I can think Mr. Collier fo for midable an enemy, that we should shun him. He has loft ground at the latter end of the day, by pursuing his point too far, like the Prince of Conde at the battle of Senneph: from immoral plays, to no plays; "ab abufu ad ufum, non valet confequentia But being a party, I am not to erect myself into a judge. As for the reft of those who have written against me, they are fuch fcoundrels, that they deserve not the least notice to be taken of them. Blackmore and Milbourn are only diftinguished from the crowd, by being remembered to their infamy.

"Demetri, Teque Tigelli "Difcipulorum inter jubeo plotare cathedras."

MADAM,

THE bard who firft adorn'd our native tongue,
'Tun'd to his British lyre this ancient fong:
Which Homer might without a blush rehearse,
And leaves a doubtful palm in Virgil's verse :
He match'd their beauties, where they moft excel;
Of love fung better, and of arms as well.

Vouchsafe, illustrious Ormond, to behold
What power the charms of beauty had of old;
Nor wonder if fuch deeds of arms were done,
Infpir'd by two fair eyes that sparkled like your

@wn.

If Chaucer by the best idea wrought, And poets can divine each other's thought, The fairest nymph before his eyes he fet; And then the faireft was Plantagenet ; Who three contending princes made their prize, And rul'd the rival nations with her eyes: Who left immortal trophies of her fame, And to the nobleft order gave the name. Like her, of equal kindred to the throne, You keep her conquefts, and extend your own: As when the ftars in their ethereal race, At length have roll'd around the liquid fpace, At certain periods they refume their place,

From the fame point of heaven their course ad

vance,

And move in meafures of their former dance;
Thus, after length of ages, the returns,
Reftor'd in you,' and the fame place adorns;
Or you perform her office in the sphere,
Born of her blood, and make a new platonic year.
O true Plantagenet, O race divine,
(For beauty still is fatal to the line,)
Had Chaucer liv'd that angel-face to view,
Sure he had drawn his Emily from you;
Or had you liv'd to judge the doubtful right,
Your noble Palamon had been the knight;
And conquering Thefeus from his fide had fent
Your generous lord, to guide the Theban go

vernment.

Time fhall accomplish that; and I fhall fee
A Palamon in him, in you an Emily.
Already have the Fates your path prepar'd,
And fure prefage your future fway declar'd:
When weftward, like the fun, you took your way.
And from benighted Britain bore the day,
Blue Triton gave the fignal from the fhore,
The ready Nercids heard, and fwam before

To smooth the feas; a foft Etefian gale
But juft infpir'd, and gently swell'd the fail;
Portunus took his turn, whofe ample hand
Heav'd up his lighten'd keel, and funk the fand,
And fleer'd the facred veffel safe to land.
The land, if not restrain'd, had met your way,
Projected out a neck, and jutted to the fea.
Hibernia, proftrate at your feet, ador'd
In you, the pledge of her expected lord;
Due to her ifle; a venerable name;

His father and his grandfire known to fame;
Aw'd by that house, accuftom'd to command,
The sturdy Kerns in due subjection stand;
Nor bear the reins in any foreign hand.
At your approach, they crowded to the port;
And, fcarcely landed, you create a court:
As Ormond's harbinger, to you they run;
Fer Venus is the promife of the Sun.

The wafte of civil wars, their towns destroy'd,
Pales unhonour'd, Ceres unemploy'd,
Were all forgot; and one triumphant day
Wip'd all the tears of three campaigns away.
Blood, rapines, maffacres, were cheaply bought,
So mighty recompence your beauty brought.
As when the dove returning bore the mark
Of earth reftor'd to the long labouring ark,
The relics of mankind, secure of rest,
Op'd every window to receive the guest,
And the fair bearer of the meffage blefs'd;
So, when you came, with loud repeated cries,
The nation took an omen from your eyes,
And God advanc'd his rainbow in the skies,
To fign inviolable peace restor❜d;

The faints with folemn fhouts proclaim'd the new accord.

When at your fecond coming you appear,
(For I foretel that millenary year)
The fharpen'd fhare fhall vex the foil no more,
But earth unbidden fhall produce her store;
The land fhall laugh, the circling ocean fmile,
And heaven's indulgence blefs the holy ifle.
Heaven from all ages has referv'd for you
That happy clime which venom never knew;
Or if it had been there, your eyes alone
Have power to chace all poifon, but their own.]
Now in this interval, which fate has caft
Betwixt your future glories and your past,
This paufe of power, 'tis Ireland's hour to mourn;
While England celebrates your fafe return,
By which you feem the feasons to command,
And bring our fummers back to their forfaken
land.

The vanquilh'd ifle our leisure must attend,
Till the fair bleffing we vouchsafe to fend
Nor can we fpare you long, though often we
may lend.

wes

The dove was twice employ'd abroad, before
The world was dry'd, and the return'd no more.
Nor dare we truft fo foft a meffenger,
New from her fickness, to that northern air;
Reft here a while your luftre to restore,
That they may fee you, as you fhone before;
For yet,
th' eclipfe not wholly paft, you wade
Through fome remains, and dimness of a fhade.

A fubject in his prince may claim a right, Nor fuffer him with strength impair'd to fight; Till force returns, his ardour we restrain, And curb his warlike wish to cross the main.

Now paft the danger, let the learn'd begin
Th' inquiry, where disease could enter in;
How thofe malignant atoms forc'd their way,
What in the faultlefs frame they found to make
their prey?

Where every element was weigh'd fo well,
That heaven alone, who'mix'd the mafs, could tell
Which of the four ingredients could rebel;
And where, imprison'd in fo fweet a cage,
A foul might well be pleas'd to pass an age

And yet the fine materials made it weak:
Porcelain, by being pure, is apt to break :
Ev'n to your breast the sickness durst aspire;
And, forc'd from that fair temple to retire,
Profanely fet the holy place on fire.

In vain your lord like young Vefpafian mourn'd,
When the fierce James the fanctuary burn'd;
And I prepar'd to pay in verses rude
A moft detefted act of gratitude:

Ev'n this had been your elegy, which now
Is offer'd for your health, the table of my vow.
Your angel fure our Morley's mind infpir'd,
To find the remedy your ill requir'd;
As once the Macedon, by Jove's decree,
Was taught to dream an herb for Ptolomee:
Or heaven, which had fuch over-cost bestow'd,
As fearce it could afford to flesh and blood,
So lik'd the frame, he would not work anew,
To fave the charges of another you.
Or by his middle fcience did he steer,
And faw fome great contingent good appear
Well worth a miracle to keep you here:
And for that end, preferv'd the precious mould,
Which all the future Ormonds was to hold;
And meditated in his better mind

An heir from you, which may redeem the failing kind.

Bleft be the power which has at once reftor'd The hopes of loft fucceffion to your lord, Joy to the first and last of each degree, Virtue to courts, and, what I long'd to fee, To you the Graces, and the Muse to me. O daughter of the rofe, whose cheeks unite The differing titles of the red and white; Who heaven's alternate beauty well display, The blush of morning and the milky way; Whofe face is paradife, but fenc'd from fin: For God in either eye has plac'd a cherubin.

All is your lord's alone; ev'n absent, he Employs the care of chafte Penelope. For him you waste in tears your widow'd hours, For him your curious needle paints the flowers; Such works of old imperial dames were taught Such, for Alfeanius, fair Eliza wrought. The foft receffes of your hours improve The three fair pledges of your happy love: All other parts of pious duty done, You owe your Ormond nothing but a fong To fill in future times his father's place, And wear the garter of his mother's race.

IN
IN days of old, there liv'd, of mighty fame,
A valiant prince, and Thefeus was his name:
A chief who more in feats of arms excell'd,
The rifing nor the fetting fun beheld.

Of Athens he was lord; much land he won.
And added foreign countries to his crown.
In Scythia with the warrior queen he strove,
Whom first by force he conquer'd, then by love;
He brought in triumph back the beauteous
dame,

With whom her fifter, fair Emilia, came.
With honour to his home let Thefeus ride.
With love to friend, and fortune for his guide,
And his victorious army at his fide.

}

1 pafs their warlike pomp, their proud array, Their fhouts, their fongs, their welcome on the

The fpoufals of Hippolita the queen;
What tilts and turneys at the feaft were feen;
The ftorm at their return, the ladies fear:
But these, and other things, I must forbear.
The field is fpacious I defign to sow,
With oxen far unfit to draw the plow:
The remnant of my tale is of a length
To tire your patience, and to waste my strength;
And trivial accidents fhall be forborn,
That others may have time to take their turn;
As was at first enjoin'd us by mine hoft:
That he whofe tale is beft, and pleases moft,
Should win his fupper at our common coft.
And therefore where I left, I will purfue
This ancient ftory, whether false or true,
In hope it may be mended with a new.
The prince I mentioned, full of high renown,
In this array drew near th' Athenian town;
When in his pomp and utmost of his pride,
Marching he chanc'd to caft his eye afide,
And faw a choir of mourning dames, who lay
By two and two across the common way :

2

At his approach they rais'd a rueful cry,
And beat their breafts, and held their hands on
Creeping and crying, till they feiz'd at last
His courfer's bridle, and his feet embrac'd.

[are,
Tell me, faid Thefeus, what and whence you
And why this funeral pageant you prepare?
Is this the welcome of my worthy deeds,
To meet my triumph in ill-omend weeds?
Or envy you my praise, and would destroy
With grief my pleasures, and pollute my joy?
Or are you injur'd, and demand relief?
Name your request, and I will ease your grief.
The most in years of all the mourning train
Began (but fwooned first away for pain);
Then scarce recover'd spoke: nor envy we
Thy great renown, nor grudge thy victory;
Tis thine, O king, th' afflicted to redress,

And fame has fill'd the world with thy fuccefs:
We wretched women fue for that alone,
Which of thy goodness is refus'd to none;
Let fall fome drops of pity on our grief,
If what we beg be juft, and we defer ve relief:
For none of us, who now thy grace implore,
But held the rank of fovereign queen before;
Till, thanks to giddy chance, which never bears,
That mortal blifs fhould laft for length of years,
She caft us headlong from our high estate,
And here in hope of thy return we wait :
And long have waited in the temple nigh,
Built to the gracious goddess Clemency.

But reverence thou the power whose name it bears,
Relieve th' opprefs'd, and wipe the widow's tears,
1, wretched I, have other fortune seen,
The wife of Capaneus, and once a queen :
At Thebes he fell; curft be the fatal day!
And all the rest thou feeft in this array,
To make their moan, their lords in battle loft
Before that town befieg'd by our confederate host:
But Creon, old and impious, who commands
The Theban city, and ufurps the lands,
Denies the rites of funeral fires to those
Whole breathlefs bodies yet he calls his foes.
Laburn'd, unbury'd, on a heap they lie;
Sech is their fate, and fuch his tyranny;
No friend has leave to bear away the dead,
But with their lifeless limbs his hounds are fed:
At this the thriek'd aloud; the mournful train
Echo'd her grict, and, groveling on the plain,
With groans, and hands upheld, to move his mind,
Befought his pity to their helpless kind!

The prince was touch'd, his tears began to flow,
Aad, as his tender heart would break in two,
He figh'd; and could not but their fate deplore,
bo wretched now, fo fortanate before.
Then lightly from his lofty fteed he flew,
And railing one by one the fuppliant crew,
to comfort each, full folemnly he fwore,
That by the faith which knights to knighthood
And whate'er elfe to chivalry belongs,

[bore,

He would not cease, till he reveng'd their wrongs:
That Greece fhould fee perform'd what he declar'd;
And cruel Creon find his juft reward.
He said no more, but, fhunning all delay,
Fede on; nor enter'd Athens on his way;

And wav'd his royal banner in the wind:
Where in an argent field the god of war
Was drawn triumphant on his iron car;
Red was his fword, and fhield, and whole attire,
And all the godhead feem'd to glow with fire;
Ev'n the ground glitter'd where the standard flew,
And the green grafs was dy'd to fanguine hue,
High on his pointed lance his pennon bore
His Cretan fight, the conquer'd Minotaure :
The foldiers fhout around with generous rage,
And in that victory their own prefage.
He prais'd their ardour; inly pleas'd to fee
His hoft the flower of Grecian chivalry.
All day he march'd; and all th' enfuing night a
And faw the city with returning light.
The process of the war I need not tell,
How Thefeus conquer'd, and how Creon fell:
Or after, how by ftorm the walls were won,
Or how the victor fack'd and burn'd the town
How to the ladies he restor'd again
The bodies of their lords in battle flain:
And with what ancient rites they were interr'd;
All these to fitter times fhall be deferr'd:
I fpare the widows tears, their woeful cries,
And howling at their husbands obfequies;
How Thefeus at these funerals did affift,
And with what gifts the mourning dames dismiss'd.
Thus when the victor chief had Creon flain,
And conquer'd Thebes, he pitch'd upon the plain
His mighty camp, and, when the day return'd,
The country wafted, and the hamlets burn'd,
And left the pillagers, to rapine bred,
Without control to strip and spoil the dead.

There, in a heap of flain, among the reft Two youthful knights they found beneath a load opprefs'd

Of flaughter'd foes, whom firft to death they fent, The trophies of their strength, a bloody monu

Nor well alive, nor wholly dead they were,
But fome faint figns of feeble life appear:
The wandering breath was on the wing to parts
Weak was the pulfe, and hardly heav'd the heart.
These two were fifters' fons; and Arcite one,
Much fam'd in fields, with valiant Palamon.
From these their coftly arms the spoilers rent,
And softly both convey'd to Thefeus' tent :
Whom known of Creon's line, and cur'd with care,
He to his city fent as prisoners of the war,
Hopeless of ranfom, and condemn'd to lie
In durance, doom'd a lingering death to die.
This done, he march'd away with warlike found,'
And to his Athens turn'd with laurels crown'd,
Where happy long he liv'd, much lov'd, and
more renown'd.