Hatch'd plenty; eafe and riches did bestow,
And made the land with milk and honey flow!
Lefs bleft was Rome when mild Auguftus fway'd,
And the glad world for love, not fear, obey'd.
Mercy, like heaven's, his chief prerogative!
His joy to fave, and glory to forgive!
Who lives, but felt his influence, and did share
His boundless goodness and paternal care?
And, whilft with all th' endearing arts he ftrove
On every subject's heart to feal his love,
What breast fo heard, what heart of human make,
But, foftening, did the kind impreffion take?
Belov'd and loving with fuch virtues grac'd,
As might on common heads a crown have plac'd!
How skill'd in all the mysteries of flate!
How fitting to sustain an empire's weight!
How quick to know how ready to advise!
How timely to prevent! how more than fenates
wife!

His words how charming, affable, and fweet!
How juft his cenfure! and how fharp his wit!
How did his charming converfation please
The bleft attenders on his hours of cafe;
When graciously he deign'd to condescend,
Pleas'd to exalt a fubject to a friend!
To the most low how eafy of accefs!
Willing to hear, and longing to redress!
His mercy knew no bounds of time or place,
His reign was one continued act of grace!
Good Titus could, but Charles could never fay,
Of all his royal life," he loft a day."
Excellent prince! O once our joy and care,
Now our eternal grief and deep despair!
O father or if aught than father's more,
How fhall thy children their fad lofs deplore?
How grieve enough, when anxious thoughts recall
The mournful ftory of their fovereign's fall?
Oh! who that scene of forrow can display;
When, waiting death, the fearless monarch lay!
Though great the pain and anguish that he bore,
His friends' and fubjects' grief afflict him more !
Yet even that, and coming fate, he bears;
But finks and faints to fee a brother's tears!
The mighty grief, that fwell'd his royal breast,
Scarce reach'd by thought, can't be by words ex-
preft!

Grief for himself! for grief for Charles is vain,
Who now begins a new triumphant reign,
Welcom'd by all kind fpirits and faints above,
Who fee themselves in him, and their own likeness
love!

What godlike virtues must that prince adorn,
Who can fo pleafe, while fuch a prince we mourn!
Who elfe, but that great He, who now commands
Th' united nation's voice, and hearts, and hands,
Could fo the love of a whole people gain,
After fo excellent a monarch's reign!
Mean Virtues after Tyrants may fucceed
And pleafe; but after Charles a James we need!
This, this he, by whofe high actions grac'd
The prefent age contends with all the past:
Him heaven a pattern did for heroes form,
Slow to advise, but cager to perform:

In council calm, fierce as a form in fight!
Danger his sport, and labour his delight.

To him the fleet and camp, the fea and field,
Do equal harvests of bright glory yield!
Who can forget, of royal blood how free,
He did affert the empire of the fea?
The Belgian fleet endeavour'd, but in vain,
The tempeft of his fury to fuftain;
Shatter'd and torn before his flag they fly
Like doves, that the exalted eagle spy
Ready to stoop and feize them from on high.
He, Neptune-like (when from his watery bed
Serene and calm he lifts his awful head,
And fmiles, and to his chariot gives the rein),
In triumph rides o'er the afferted main !
Rejoicing crowds attend him on the strand,
Loud as the fea, and numerous as the fand;
So joy the many: but the wifer few
The godlike prince with filent wonder view:
A joy, too great to be by voice expreft,
Shines in each eye, and beats in every breast:
They faw him deftin'd for fome greater day,
And in his looks the omens read of his imperial
fway!

Nor do his civil virtues lefs appear,
To perfect the illuftrious character;
To merit juft, to needy virtue kind,
True to his word, and faithful to his friend!
What's well refolv'd, as firmly he pursues;
Fix'd in his choice, as careful how to choose!
Honour was born, not planted in his heart;
And virtue came by nature, not by art.
Albion! forget thy forrows, and adore
That prince, who all the bleflings does restore,
That Charles, the faint, made thee enjoy before!
'Tis done; with turrets crown'd, I see her rife,
And tears are wip'd for ever from her eyes!

PROLOGUE

ΤΟ

N. LEE'S LUSIUS JUNIUS BRUTUS.

LONG has the tribe of poets on the stage
Groan'd under perfecuting critics' rage,
But with the found of railing and of rhyme,
Like bees united by the tinkling chime,
The little ftinging infects (warm the more,
Their buzzing greater than it was before.
But, oh! ye leading voters of the Pit,
That infect others with your too much wit,
That well-affected members do feduce,
And with your malice poison half the house;
Know, your ill-manag'd arbitrary sway
Shall be no more endur'd, but ends this day.
Rulers of abler conduct we will choose,
And more indulgent to a trembling Mufe;
Women, for ends of government more fit,
Women fhall rule the Boxes and the Pit,
Give laws to Love, and influence to Wit.
Find me one man of sense in all your roll,
Whom fome one woman has not made a fool,
Ev'n business, that intolerable load

Under which man does groan, and yet is proud,

= Much better they could manage would they pleafe; ='Tis not their want of wit, but love of eafe.

For, spite of art, more wit in them appears, Though we boaft ours, and they diffemble theirs; Wit once was ours, and fhot up for a while, Set fhallow in a hot and barren foil; But when transplanted to a richer ground, Has in their Eden its perfection found. And 'tis but just they should our wit invade, Whilst we fet up their painting patching trade; As for our courage, to our fhame 'tis known, As they can raise it, they can pull it down. At their own weapons they our bullies awe, :: Faith! let them make an anti-falick law; - Prescribe to all Mankind, as well as plays, And wear the breeches, as they wear the bays.

TO THE PEOPLE OF ENGLAND. A DETESTATION OF CIVIL WAR.

FROM HORACE, EPOD. VII.

On! whither do ye rush, and thus prepare
To reuze again the fleeping war?
Has then fo little English blood been spilt
On fea and land with equal guilt?
Not that again we might our arms advance,
To check the infolent pride of France;
Not that once more we might in fetters bring
An humble captive Gallic king?
But, to the wifh of the infulting Gaul,

That we by our own hands fhould fall.
Nor wolves nor lions bear fo fierce a mind;
They hurt not their own favage kind :
Is it blind rage, or zeal, more blind and strong,
Or guilt, yet stronger, drives you on?
Anfwer! but none can answer; mute and pale
"They ftand; guilt does o'er words prevail :
'Tis fo! heaven's juftice threatens us from high;
And a king's death from earth does cry;
E'er fince the martyr's innocent blood was fhed,
Upon our fathers, and on ours, and on our chil-

drens' head.

TO MR. CREECH.

ON HIS TRANSLATION OF LUCRETIUS.

WHAT to begin would have been madness thought, Exceeds our praise when to perfection brought; Who could believe Lucretius' lofty fong

Could have been reach'd by any modern tongue?
Of all the fuitors to immortal fame,

That by translations strove to raise a name,
This was the teft, this the Ulyffes' bow,
Too tough by any to be bent but you.
Carus himself of the hard task complains,
To fetter Grecian thoughts in Roman chains;
Much harder thine, in an unlearned tongue
To hold in bonds, so easy yet so strong,
The Greek philosophy and Latin fong.

If then he boafts that round his facred head
Fresh garlands grow, and branching laurels fpread,
Such as not all the mighty Nine before

E'er gave, or any of their darlings wore; [due,
What laurels fhould be thine, what crowns thy
What garlands, mighty Poet, fhould be grac'd by
you!
[does flow,
Though deep, though wondrous deep, his fenfe
Thy fhining ftyle does all its riches fhew;
So clear the stream, that through it we descry
All the bright gems that at the bottom lie;
Here you the troublers of your peace remove,
Ignoble fear, and more ignoble love;

Here we are taught how first our race begun,
And by what fteps our fathers climb'd to man;
To man as now he is-with knowledge fill'd,
In arts of peace and war, in manners skill'd,
Equal before to fellow-grazers of the field!
Nature's firft ftate, which, well transpos'd and
own'd

(For owners in all ages have been found),
Has made a modern wit fo much renown'd,
When thee we read, we find to be no more
Than what was sung a thousand years before.
Thou only for this noble task wert fit,
To fhame thy age to a just sense of wit,
By fhewing how the learned Romans writ.
To teach fat heavy clowns to know their trade,
And not turn wits who were for porters made;
But quit falfe claims to the poetic rage,
For fquibs and crackers, and a Smithfield stage.
Had Providence e'er meant that, in despite
Of art and nature, fuch dull clods fhould write,
Bavius and Mævius had been fav'd by Fate
For Settle and for Shadwell to translate,
As it fo many ages has for thee
Preferv'd the mighty work that now we fee.

Luxuriant round, and fee how wide they fpread, And in the cave their purple cluflers thed!

MENALCAS.

Amyntas only dares contend with you.

MOPSUS.

Why not as well contend with Phoebus too?

MENALCAS.

Begin, begin; whether the mournful flame
Of dying Phyllis, whether Aleon's fame,
Or Cordrus' brawls, thy willing Mufe provoke;
Begin; young Tityrus will tend the flock.

MOPSUS.

Yes, I'll begin, and the fad fong repeat, That on the beech's bark I lately writ, And fet to fweeteft notes; yes, I'll begin, And after that, bid you, Amyntas, fing.

MENALCAS.

As much as the most humble fhrub that grows,
Yields to the beauteous blushes of the rofe,
Or bending ofiers to the olive tree;
So much, I judge, Amyntas yields to thee.

MOPSUS.

Shepherd, to this difcourfe here put an end, This is the cave; fit, and my verfe attend.

MOPSUS.

When the fad fate of Daphnis reach'd their ears, The pitying nymphs diffolv'd in pious tears. Witness, ye hazels, for ye heard their cries; Witness, ye floods, fwoln with their weeping

eyes.

The mournful mother (on his body caft)
The fad remains of her cold fon embrac'd,
And of th' unequal tyranny they us'd,
The cruel gods and cruel stars accus'd.
Then did no fwain mind how his flock did thrive,
Nor thirsty herds to the cold river drive;
The generous horfe turn'd from fresh ftreams
his head,

And on the fweeteft grafs refus'd to feed.
Daphnis, thy death ev'n fiercest lions mourn'd,
And hills and woods their cries and groans re-
turn'd.

Daphnis Armenian tigers' fierceness broke,
And brought them willing to the facred yoke :
Daphnis to Bacchus' worship did ordain
The revels of his confecrated train;

The recling priests with vines and ivy crown'd, And their long fpears with clufter'd branches bound.

As vines the elm, as grapes the vine adorn,
As bulls the herd, as fields the ripen'd corn;
Such grace, fuch ornament, wert thou to all
That glory'd to be thine: fince thy fad fall
No more Apollo his glad prefence yields,
And Pales' felf forfakes her hated fields.
Oft where the finest barley we did sow,
Barren wild oats and hurtful darnel grow;
And where foft violets did the vales adorn,
The thistle rifes, and the prickly thorn.
Come, fhepherds, ftrow with flowers the hal-
low'd ground,

The facred fountains with thick boughs fur

round;

Daphnis thefe rites requires: to Daphnis praife, Shepherds, a tomb with this infcription raife-

"Here fam'd from earth to heaven 1 Daphn "Fair was the flock I fed, but much more a 66 was 1."

MENALCAS.

Such, divine Poet, to my ravish'd cars
Are the sweet numbers of thy mournful ver
As to tir'd fwains foft flumbers on the gras;
As fresheft fprings that through green m
pals,

To one that parch'd with thirst and fummer's.
In thee thy mafter does his equal meet :

Whether your voice you try, or tune your red Bleft fwain, 'tis you alone can him fucceed! Yet, as I can, I in return will fing:

I too thy Daphnis to the stars will bring, too thy Daphnis to the ftars, with you, Will raife; for Daphnis lov'd Menalcas too.

MOPSUS.

Is there a thing that I could more defire? For neither can there be a fubject higher, Nor, if the praife of Stimichon be true, Can it be better fung than 'tis by you.

MENALCAS.

Daphnis now, wondering at the glorious few," Through heaven's bright pavement does tra phant go, thek

And fees the moving clouds, and the fix'd fa Therefore new joys make glad the wood, plains,

Pan and the Dryads, and the cheerful fwains: The wolf no ambush for the flock does lay, No cheating nets the harmiefs deer betray. Daphnis a general peace commands, and Natur does obey.

Hark! the glad mountains raise to heaven t voice!

Hark! the hard rocks in myftic tunes rejoic Hark! through the thickets wondrous forg found,

A God! A God! Menalcas, he is crown'd'
O be propitious! O be good to thine'
See here four hollow'd altars we defign,
To Daphnis two, to Phabus two we raile,
To pay the yearly tribute of our praife:
Sacred to thee, they each returning year
Two bowls of milk and two of oil shall bear
Feafts I'll ordain, and to thy deathless praile
Thy votaries' exalted thoughts to raile,
Rich Chian wines fhall in full goblets flow,
And give a taste of Nectar here below.
Damætas fhall with Lictian Ægon join,
To celebrate with fongs the rites divine.
Alphifibæus with a reeling gait

Shall the wild Satyrs' dancing imitate.
When to the nymphs we vows and offerings p
When we with folemn rites our fields furvey,
These honours ever shall be thine: the boar
Shall in the fields and hills delight no more;
No more in ftreams the fish, in flowers the bet,
Ere, Daphnis, we forget our fongs to thee:
Offerings to thee the shepherds every year
Shall, as to Bacchus and to Ceres, bear:
To thee, as to thofe Gods, fhall vows be rak.
And vengeance wait on thofe by whom thy
not paid.

Upon the Copy of Verfes made by bimself on the last
Copy in bis Book §.

WHEN fhame, for all my foolish youth had writ,
Advis'd 'twas time the rhyming trade to quit,
Time to grow wife, and be no more a wit-
The noble fire, that animates thy age,
Once more inflam'd me with poetic rage.
Kings, heroes, nymphs, the brave, the fair, the
young,

Have been the theme of thy immortal fong :
A nobler argument at last thy Muse,

Two things divine, Thee and Herfelf, does choose.
Age, whofe dull weight makes vulgar spirits bend,
Gives wings to thine, and bids it upward tend:
No more confin'd, above the starry skies,
Out from the body's broken cage it flies.
But, oh! vouchsafe, not wholly to retire,
To join with and complete th' etherial choir!
Still here remain; ftill on the threshold stand;
Still at this diftance view the promis'd land;
Though thou may'st seem, so heavenly is thy fense,
Not going thither, but new come from thence.

But, more enrag'd for being beat before,
With all his ftrength he does prepare
More fiercely to renew the war;
Nor ceas'd he till the noble prize he bore:
Ev'n her fuch wondrous courage did surprise;
She hugs the dart that wounded her, and dies.

A SONG.

1.

THROUGH mournful fhades, and folitary groves, Fann'd with the fighs of unfuccessful loves,

Wild with defpair, young Thyrfis strays, Thinks over all Amyra's heavenly charms, Thinks he now fees her in another's arms;

Then at fome willow's root himself he lays, The loveliest, most unhappy fwain; And thus to the wild woods he does complain :

II.

How art thou chang'd, O Thyrfis, fince the time When thou could't love and hope without a crime;

When Nature's pride and Earth's delight,
As through her fhady evening grove fhe paft,
And a new day did all around her caft,

Could fee, nor be offended at the fight,
The melting, fighing, wishing fwain,
That now must never hope to wish again!

111.

Riches and titles! why should they prevail,
Where duty, love, and adoration, fail?

Lovely Amyra, fhouldst thou prize
The empty noife that fine title makes;
Or the vile trash that with the vulgar takes,

Before a heart that bleeds for thee, and dies! Unkind! but pity the poor fwain

Your rigour kills, noř triumph o'er the flain.

A SONG.

I.

SEE what a conquest love has made!
Beneath the myrtle's amorous fhade
The charming fair Corinna lies
All melting in defire,

Quenching in tears thofe flowing eyes
That fet the world on fire!

II.

What cannot tears and beauty do?
The youth by chance ftood by, and knew
For whom thofe crystal streams did flow;

And though he ne'er before
To her eyes brightest rays did bow,
Weeps too, and does adore.

III.

So when the heavens ferene and clear,
Gilded with gaudy light appear,
Each craggy rock, and every stone,
Their native rigour keep;

But when in rain the clouds fall down,
The hardest marble weep.