In your tribunal most herself does please?
There only smiles, because she lives at ease;
And, like young David, finds her strength the more,
When disencumber'd from those arms she wore.
Heav'n would our royal master should exceed
Most in that virtue which we most did need;
And his mild father (who too late did find

All mercy vain but what with pow'r was join'd)
His fatal goodness left to fitter times,

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Not to increase, but to absolve our crimes:

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But when the heir of this vast treasure knew

How large a legacy was left to you,

(Too great for any subject to retain)

He wisely ty'd it to the crown again:

Yet passing thro' your hands it gathers more,

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As streams thro' mines bear tincture of their ore.

While emp'ric politicians use deceit,

Hide what they give, and cure but by a cheat,

You boldly shew that skill which they pretend,
And work by means as noble as your end;
Which, should you veil, we might unwind the clue,
As men do Nature, till we came to you.
And as the Indies were not found before
Those rich perfumes which from the happy shore
The winds upon their balmy wings convey'd,
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Whose guilty sweetness first their world betray'd;
So by your counsels we are brought to view
A rich and undiscover'd world in you.

By you our Monarch does that fame assure

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Which kings must have, or cannot live secure;
For prosp'rous princes gain their subjects' heart,
Who love that praise in which themselves have part.
By you he fits those subjects to obey,

As heav'n's eternal Monarch does convey

His pow'r unseen, and man to his designs

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By his bright ministers, the stars, inclines.

Our setting sun, from his declining seat,
Shot beams of kindness on you, not of heat;
And when his love was bounded in a few,
That were unhappy that they might be true,
Made you the fav'rite of his last sad times,
That is, a suff'rer in his subjects' crimes.
Thus those first favours you receiv'd were sent,
Like heav'n's rewards, in earthly punishment;
Yet Fortune, conscious of your destiny,
E'en then took care to lay you softly by,

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And wrapp'd your Fate among her precious things,
Kept fresh, to be unfolded with your King's.
Shewn, all at once you dazzled so our eyes,
As new-born Pallas did the gods surprise,
When, springing forth from Jove's new-closing wound,
She struck the warlike spear into the ground,
Which sprouting leaves did suddenly inclose,
And peaceful olives shaded as they rose.

How strangely active are the arts of peace,
Whose restless motions less than wars do cease!

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Peace is not freed from labour, but from noise,

And war more force, but not more pains, employs.
Such is the mighty swiftness of your mind,

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That, like the earth, it leaves our sense behind, 110
While you so smoothly turn and roll our sphere,
That rapid motion does but rest appear.
For as in Nature's swiftness, with the throng
Of flying orbs while our's is borne along,
All seems at rest to the deluded eye,
Mov'd by the soul of the same harmony;
So carried on by your unwearied care,
We rest in peace, and yet in motion share.
Let Envy, then, those crimes within you see,
From which the happy never must be free;
Envy, that does with Misery reside,

The joy and the revenge of ruin'd pride.
Think it not hard if, at so cheap a rate,
You can secure the constancy of Fate,

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Whose kindness sent what does their malice seem,

By lesser ills the greater to redeem,

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Nor can we this weak show'r a tempest call,

But drops of heat that in the sunshine fall.
You have already weary'd Fortune so,
She cannot farther be your friend or foe,
But sits all breathless, and admires to feel
A fate so weighty, that it stops her wheel.
In all things else above our humble fate,
Your equal mind yet swells not into state,

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But like some mountain in those happy isles,
Where in perpetual spring young Nature smiles,
Your greatness shews no horror to affright,

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But trees for shade, and flow'rs to court the sight. Sometimes the hill submits itself a while

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In small descents, which do its height beguile; 140
And sometimes mounts, but so as billows play,
Whose rise not hinders but makes short our way.
Your brow which does no fear of thunder know,
Sees rolling tempests vainly beat below;
And, like Olympus' top, the impression wears
Of love and friendship writ in former years:
Yet, unimpair'd with labours or with time,
Your age but seems to a new youth to climb.
Thus heav'nly bodies do our time beget,
And measure change, but share no part of it;
And still it shall without a weight increase,
Like this New-year, whose motions never cease;
For since the glorious course you have begun
Is led by Charles, as that is by the sun,
It must both weightless and immortal prove,
Because the centre of it is above.

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Volume III.

DEATH OF LORD HASTINGS.

MUST noble Hastings immaturely die,
The honour of his ancient family;

Beauty and learning thus together meet,
To bring a winding for a wedding sheet?
Must virtue prove Death's harbinger? must she, 5
With him expiring, feel mortality?

Is death, sin's wages, grace's now ? shall art
Make us more learned only to depart?
If merit be disease, if virtue death;

To be good not to be; who'd then bequeath
Himself to discipline? who'd not esteem
Labour a crime? study self-murder deem?
Our noble youth now have pretence to be
Dunces securely, ign'rant healthfully.

Rare linguist whose worth speaks itself, whose praise,

Tho' not his own, all tongues besides do raise :
Than whom great Alexander may seem less,
Who conquer'd men, but not their languages.
In his mouth nations spake; his tongue might be
Interpreter to Greece, France, Italy.
His native soil was the four parts o' th' earth;
All Europe was too narrow for his birth.
A young apostle, and, with rev'rence may
I speak it, inspir'd with gift of tongues as they.

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