Cheer'd with th' affurance that he there shall find
Rest from all toils, and no remorse of mind,
Can Fortune's fmiles defpife, her frowns out-brave,
Ior who's a priuce or beggar in the grave?

But if immortal any thing remain,
Rejoice, my Mufe, and ftrive that end to gain.
Thou kind diffolver of encroaching care,
Aud ease of every bitter weight I bear,
Keep from my foul repining, while I fing
The praife and honour of this glorious king;
And farther tell what wonders thou didst find
Worthy thy fong and his celeftial mind.

Beyond the dome a lofty tower appears, Beauteous in ftrength, the work of long-paft years, Old as his noble ftem, who there bears sway, And, like his loyalty, without decay.

This goodly ancient frame looks as it flood The mother pile, and all the reft her brood; So careful watch feems pioufly to keep, While underneath her wings the mighty fleep; And they may reft, fince † Norfolk there commands,

Safe in his faithful heart and valiant hands.

But now appears the beauteous feat of Peace, Large of extent, and fit for goodly cafe; Where noble order ftrikes the greedy fight With wonder, as it fills it with delight: The maffy walls feem as the womb of earth, Shrunk when fuch mighty quarries thence had birth;

Or by the Theban founder they'd been rais'd,
And in his powerful numbers fhould be prais'd:
Such ftrength without does every where abound,
Within fuch glory and fuch fplendor's found,

As man's united fkill had there combin'd
T'express what one great genius had defign'd.

Thus, when the happy world Auguftus íway'd, Knowledge was cherish'd, and improvement made; Learning and arts his empire did adorn,

Nor did there one neglected virtue mourn;
But, at his call, from fartheft nations came,
While the immortal Mufes gave him fame.
Though when her far-ftretch'd empire flourish'd
moft,

Rome never yet a work like this could boast:
No Cæfar e'er like Charles his pomp exprefs'd,
Not ever were his nations half fo bleft;
Though now (alas!) in the fad grave he lies,
Yet fhall his praife for ever live, and laurels from

Ease which he wifely chofe, when raging arms
Kept neighbouring nations waking with alarms;
For when wars troubled her foft fountains there,
She fwell'd her streams, and flow'd in fafter here:
With her came Plenty, till our ifle feem'd blefs'd
As Canaan's fhore, where Ifrael's fons found rest.
Therefore, when cruel spoilers, who have hurl'd
Waste and confusion through the wretched world,
To after-times leave a great hated name,

The praise of Peace fhall wait on Charles's fame;
His country's father, through whose tender care,
Like a lull'd babe fhe flept, and knew no fear;
Who, when th' offended oft would hide his eyes,
Nor fee, because it griev'd him to chastise.
But if fubmiffion brought her to his feet,
With what true joy the penitent he'd meet!
How would his love ftill with his justice strive!
How parent-like, how fondly he'd forgive!
But now (alas!) in the fad grave he lies,
Yet fhall his praife for ever live, and laurels from

When he led captive kings from conquer'd,
Here when the fons of Fame their leader meet,
And at their feasts in pompous order fit,
When the glad fparkling bowl infpires the board,
And high-rais'd thoughts great tales of war afford,
Here as a lefion may their eyes behold
What their victorious fathers did of old,
When their proud neighbours of the Gallic fhore
Trembled to hear the English lien roar.
Here may they see how good old ¶ Edward fat,
And did his §§ glorious fon's arrival wait,
When from the fields of vanquish'd France he

came,

Follow'd by fpoils, and ufher'd in by Fame.
In golden chains he their quell'd monarch led.
Oh, for fuch laurels on another head!
Unfoil'd with floth, nor yet o'ercloy'd with peace,
We had not then learn'd the loofe arts of cafe.
In our own climes our vigorous youth were nurs'd,
And with no foreign education curs'd.
Their northern metal was preferv'd with care,
Nor fent for foftening into hotter air.

Nor did they as now from fruitless travels come
With follies, vices, and difeafes home;
But in full purity of health and mind
Kept up the noble virtues of their kind.
Had not falfe fenates to thofe ills difpos'd
Which long had England's happiness oppos'd

Where St. George's feaft is kept.
Edward III,

15 The Black Prince.

With fabborn faction and rebellious pride,
All means to fuch a noble end deny'd,
To Britain Charles this glory had restor❜d,
And those revolted nations own'd their lord.
But now (alas!) in the fad grave he lies,

it rife.

And now furvey what's open to our view, Bow down all heads, and pay devotion due; The temple by this hero built behold, Adorn'd with carvings, and o'erlaid with gold; Whose radiant roof fuch glory does difplay, We think we fee the heaven to which we pray; So well the artist's hand has there delin'd The merciful redemption of mankind;

The bright ascension of the Son of God, [rode,"
When back through yielding skies to heaven he
With lightning round his head, and thunder
where he trod.

Thus when to Charles, as Solomon, was given
Wisdom, the greatest gift of bounteous heaven:
A houfe like his he built, and temple rais'd,
Where his Creator might be fitly prais'd:
With riches too and honours was he crown'd;
Nor, whilst he liv'd, was there one like him found.
Therefore what once to Ifrael's lord was said,
When Sheba's queen his glorious court furvey'd,
To Charles's fame for ever fhall remain,
Who did as wondrous things, who did as greatly
reign.

Happy were they who could before him stand, And faw the wifdom of his dread command; For heaven refolv'd, that much above the reft Of other nations Britain should be bleft; Found him when banish'd from his facred right, Try'd his great foul, and in it took delight; Then to his throne in triumph him did bring, Where never rul'd a wiser, juster king. But now (alas!) in the fad grave he lies, Yet fhall his praise for ever live, and laurels from it rife.

Thus far the painter's hand did guide the Muse,
Now let her lead, nor will he fure refufe.
Two kindred arts they are; fo near ally'd,
They oft have by each other been supply'd.
Therefore, great man! when next thý thoughts
incline

The works of Fame, let this be the design:
As thou couldst best great Charles's glory fhew,
Shew how he fell, and whence the fatal blow.

In a large fcene, may give beholders awe,
The meeting of a numerous fenate draw!
Over their heads a black diftemper'd sky,
And through the air let grinning Furies fly,
Charg'd with commiffions of infernal date,
To raise fell Discord and inteftine Hate;
From their foul heads let them by handfuls tear
The ugliest fnakes, and beft-lov'd favourites
there;

Then whirl them (fpouting venom as they fall)
'Mongft the affembled numbers of the hall;
There into murmuring bofoms let them go,
Till their infection to confufion grow;

The chapel at the end of the hall.

Repel, and dafh th' aspiring rebels down :
Unable to behold his dreaded ray,

Let them grow blind, disperse, and reel away;
Let the dark fiends the troubled air forfake,
And all new peaceful order feem to take.

But, oh, imagine Fate t' have waited long
An hour like this, and mingled in the throng,
Rous'd with those furies from her feat below,
T" have watch'd her only time to give the blow:
When cruel cares, by faithless fubjects bred,
Too clofely prefs'd his facred peaceful head;
With them have pointed her deftroying dart,
And through the brain found paffage to the heart.
Deep-wounding plagues avenging heaven bestow,
On thofe curs'd heads to whom this lofs we owe
we!
On all who Charles's heart affliction gave,
And fent him to the forrows of the grave!

Now, painter, (if thy griefs can let thee) draw The faddeft scenes that weeping eyes e'er saw ; How on his royal bed that woeful day The much-lamented mighty monarch lay; Great in his fate, and ev'n o'er that a king, No terror could the Lord of Terrors bring. Through many steady and well-manag'd years He'd arm'd his mind 'gainst all thofe little fears Which common mortals want the power to hide, When their mean fouls and valued clay divide. He'd ftudy'd well the worth of life, and knew Its troubles many, and its bleffings few; Therefore unmov'd did Death's approaches fee, And grew familiar with his destiny; Like an acquaintance entertain'd his fate, Who, as it knew him, feem'd content to wait, Not as his gaoler, but his friendly guide, While be for his great journey did provide.

Oh couldst thou exprefs the yearnings of his
mind

To his poor mourning people left behind!,
But that I fear will ev'n thy fkill deceive;
None but a foul like his fuch goodness could con-
ceive :

For though a ftubborn race deferving ill;
Yet would he fhew himself a father ftill,
Therefore he chofe for that peculiar care,
His crown's, his virtue's, and his mercy's heir,
Great James, who to his throne does now fucceed,
And charg'd him tenderly his flocks to feed;
To guide them too, too apt to run aftray,
And keep the foxes and the wolves away.

Here, painter, if thou canft, thy art improve, And fhew the wonders of fraternal love; How mourning James by fading Charles did ftand, The dying grafping the furviving hand; How round each other's necks their arms they caft, [brac'd; Moan'd with endearing murmurings, and emAnd of their parting pangs fuch marks did give, 'Twas hard to guess which yet could longest live.

Both their fad tongues quite loft the power to speak, [break. And their kind hearts feem'd both prepar'd to Here let thy curious pencil next difplay, How round his bed a beauteous offspring lay, With their great father's bleffing to be crown'd, Like young fierce lions ftretch'd upon the ( ground,

And in majestic filent forrow drown'd.

This done, fuppofe the ghaftly minute nigh,
And paint the griefs of the fad ftanders-by;
Th' unweary'd reverend father's pious care,
Offering (as oft as tears could ftop) a prayer.
Of kindred nobles draw a forrowing train,
Whofe looks may speak how much they shar'd
his pain;

How from each groan of his, deriving smart,
Each fetch'd another from a tortur'd heart.
Mingled with these, his faithful servants place,
With different lines of woe in every face;
With downcaft heads, fwoln breafts, and stream-
ing eyes,

And fighs that mount in vain the unrelenting skies.
But yet there fill remains a task behind,
In which thy readiest art may labour find.
At diftance let the mourning queen appear,
(But where fad news too foon may reach her ear);
Defcribe her proftrate to the throne above,
Pleading with prayer the tender caufe of love:
Shew troops of angels hovering from the sky,
(For they, whene'er fhe call'd, were always
nigh);

Let them attend her cries, and hear her moan, With looks of beauteous fadness like her own, Because they know her lord's great doom is feal'd, And cannot (though she asks it) be repeal'd.

By this time think the work of Fate is done; So any farther fad description fhun. Shew him not pale and breathless on his bed; 'Twould make all gazers on thy art fall dead; And thou thyfelf to such a scene of woe Add a new piece, and thy own ftatue grow.

Wipe therefore all thy pencils, and prepare
To draw a profpect now of clearer air.
Paint in an eastern sky new dawning day;
And there the embryos of time difplay;
The forms of many fmiling years to come,
Juft ripe for birth, and labouring from their
womb;

Each fruggling which fhall eldership obtain,
To be firft grac'd with mighty James's reign.
Let the dread monarch on his throne appear;
Place too the charming partner of it there.
O'er his their wings let Fame and Triumph spread.
And foft-ey'd Cupids hover o'er her head;
In his, paint fmiling, yet majeftic grace,
But all the wealth of beauty in her face.
Then from the different corners of the earth
Deferibe applauding nations coming forth,

Homage to pay, or humble peace to gain,
And own aufpicious omens from his reign.
Set at long distance his contra&ted foes,
Shrinking from what they dare not now oppose;
Draw fhame or mean defpair in all their eyes,
And terror, left th' avenging hand should rife.
But where his fmiles extend, draw beauteous
peace,

The poor man's cheerful toils, the rich man's cafe;
Here shepherds piping to their feeding sheep,
Or stretch'd at length in their warm huts asleep;
There jolly hinds spread through the fultry
fields,

Reaping fuch harvests as their tillage yields,
Or fhelter'd from the scorchings of the sun,
Their labours ended, and repast begun,
Rang'd on green banks, which they themselves
did raise,

Singing their own content, and ruler's praise.
Draw beauteous meadows, gardens, groves, and

To a high hill, where never yet stood tree, Where only heath, coarse fern, and furzes grow, Where (nipt by piercing air)

The flocks in tatter'd fleeces hardly gaze,

Led by uncouth thoughts and care, Which did too much his penfive mind amaze, A wandering bard, whofe Mufe was crazy grown, [town, Cloy'd with the naufeous follies of the buzzing Came, look'd about him, figh'd, and laid him down.

'Twas far from any path, but where the earth Was bare, and naked all as at her birth,

When by the word it firft was made,
Ere God had faid,

Let grafs, and herbs, and every green thing grow, With fruitful trees after their kind, and it was fo. The whistling winds blew fiercely round his head,

Cold was his lodging, hard his bed; Aloft his eyes on the wide heavens he cast, Where we are told Peace only's found at laft: And as he did its hopeless distance see, Sigh'd deep, and cry'd, How far is Peace from me!

I am a wretch of honest race:

My parents not obfcure, nor high in titles were:
They left me heir to no difgrace.
My father was (a thing now rare)
Loyal and brave, my mother chaste and fair:
The pledge of marriage-vows was only 1;
Alone I liv'd their much-lov'd, fondled boy :
They gave me generous education; high
They ftrove to raise my mind; and with it grew
their joy.

The fages that instructed me in arts

And knowledge, oft would praife my parts,
And cheer my parents' longing hearts.
When I was call'd to a difpute,

My fellow-pupils oft ftood mute:
Yet never Envy did disjoin
Their hearts from me, nor Pride diftemper mine.
Thus
my first years in happiness I paft,
Nor any bitter cup did tafte:
But, oh! a deadly portion came at last.
As I lay loofcly on my bed,
A thousand pleasant thoughts triumphing in my
head,

And as my fenfe on the rich banquet fed, A voice (it feem'd no more, fo busy I Was with myfelf, I faw not who was nigh) Pierc'd through my ears; Arife, thy good Senander's dead.

It shook my brain, and from their seaft my frighted fenfes fled.

IV

From thence fad difcontent, uneasy fears,
And anxious doubts of what I had to do,
Grew with fucceeding years.
The world was wide, but whither should I go?
I, whofe blooming hopes all wither'd were,
Who 'd little fortune, and a deal of care?
To Britain's great metropolis I firay'd,

Where Fortune's general game is play'd;
Where honefty and wit are often prais'd,
But fools and knaves are fortunate and rais'd;
My forward spirit prompted me to find

A converfe equal to my mind:
But by raw judgment easily misled,
(As giddy callow boys
Are very fond of toys)

[fools,

I mifs'd the brave and wife, and in their flead
On every fort of vanity fed.
Gay coxcombs, cowards, knaves, and prating
Bullics of o'ergrown bulks and little fouls,