OF

ON THE MARRIAGE OF

GEORGE PRINCE OF DENMARK,
AND THE LADY ANNE1.

CIRCUMVOLANTUM blanda Cupidinum
Huc Mater axes flectat eburneos,
Dum sævientis flagra dextræ

Chaoniæ metuant Columbæ.

Seu, ne jugales heu! nimium pigros
Damnent Amantes, ociùs, ociùs
Impelle currum fortiori

Remigio volitans Olorum.

Junctum marinæ Pelea Conjugi,
Senique junctam Cyprida Troico,
Delira ne jactet vetustas,

Connubio superata nostro:

From the Hymenæus Cantabrigiensis. Cantabrigiæ, 1683. "It is reported," says Dr. Johnson, "that the juvenile compositions of Stepney made grey authors blush. I know not whether his poems will appear such wonders to the present age. One cannot always easily find the reason for which the world has sometimes conspired to squander praise. It is not very unlikely, that he wrote very early as well as he ever wrote; and the performances of youth have many favourers." The present poem is earlier than any one by Stepney hitherto printed; and will therefore without doubt be acceptable to the public. J. N.

Illustriori stemmate regiam
Ditabit aulam nobilior Parens ;
Virtute et Ænean Nepotes,

Viribus et superent Achillem,
Quin bellicosæ gloria Cimbriæ,
Nunc invidendæ spes, decus Angliæ,
Ira, horror, et vultus minaces
In Dominæ tumulentur ulnis.

Cessate lites; spicula, machinæ
Dormite lethi; libret et unicus,
Præbent puellæ quas ocelli,
Armiger innocuus sagittas!

Quàm dulce vultu virginéo rubet
Pandora! (quantum, dum rubet, allicit!).
Tacetque, sed narrant vicissim
Lumina luminibus calores.

Liquisset Evan Gnosida, floridam
Tu, Phoebe, Daphnen hanc peteres magis ;
Nec non Tonantis pluma mendax,

Cornua seu tegerent amores.
Lacæna nunquam damna modestiæ
Tulisset, Idæ si puer huc vagus
Errâsset, ardentes videret

Funere tergemino penates. Flammasque viles crederet Ilii. Mercede tali quis stadium piger Fatale vitet? quis timeret

Oenomai fremitum sequentis ? Te præda nullo parta periculo,

The troubled Ocean's queen
Match'd with a mortal, &c.

But he had the advantage of being able to add,

her short-liv'd darling son.
J. Duncomb,

Expectat ultrò: fata, Princeps,
Hæc meritis statuêre tantis.

Ætas ut aptis vernet amoribus,
Blando fideles murmure turtures,
Nexuque vites arctiori, et

Basiolis superate conchas,

TO KING JAMES II.

UPON HIS ACCESSION TO THE THRONE, 1684-5.

As victors lose the trouble they sustain
In greater trophies which the triumphs gain;
And martyrs, when the joyful crown is given,
Forget the pain by which they purchas'd Heaven:
So when the Phenix of our empire dy'd,
And with a greater heir the empty throne supply'd,
Your glory dissipates our mournful dew,
And turns our grief for Charles to joy for you.
Mysterious Fate, whose one decree could prove
The high extreme of cruelty, and love!

May then no flight of a blaspheming Muse,
Those wise resolves of Providence accuse,
Which eas'd our Atlas of his glorious weight,
Sauce stronger Hercules supports the state.
England no more shall pensive thoughts employ
On him she 'as lost; but him she has, enjoy.
So Ariadne, when her lover filed,

And Bacchus honour'd the deserted bed,
Ceas'd with her tears to raise the swelling flood,
Forgot her Theseus, and embrac'd the god.

ON THE

UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE'S

BURNING THE

But all in vain, since the wise house conspire
To damn the canvass-traitor to the fire,
Lest it, like bones of Scanderbeg, incite
Scythe-men next harvest to renew the fight.
Then in comes mayor Eagle, and does gravely
allege,

He'll subscribe, if he can, for a bundle of Sedge;
But the man of Clare-hall that proffer refuses,
'Snigs, he'll be beholden to none but the Muses;
And orders ten porters to bring the dull reams
On the death of good Charles, and crowning of James;
And swears he will borrow of the provost more stuff
On the marriage of Anne, if that be n't enough.
The heads, lest he get all the profit t' himself,
Too greedy of honour, too lavish of pelf,
This motion deny, and vote that Tite Tillet
Should gather from each noble doctor a billet.
The kindness was common, and so they 'd return it,
The gift was to all, all therefore would burn it :
Thus joining their stocks for a bonfire together,
As they club for a cheese in the parish of Chedder;
Confusedly crowd on the sophs and the doctors,
The hangman, the townsmen, their wives, and the
proctors,
[ale
While the troops from each part of the countries in
Come to quaff his confusion in bumpers of stale;
But Rosalin, never unkind to a duke,
Does by her absence their folly rebuke,
The tender creature could not see his fate,
With whom she 'ad danc'd a minuet so late.
The heads, who never could hope for such frames,
Out of envy condemn'd sixscore pounds to the flames,
Then his air was too proud, and his features amiss,
As if being a traitor had alter'd his phiz:

So the rabble of Rome, whose favour ne'er settles,
Melt down their Sejanus to pots and brass kettles.

AN

EPISTLE TO CHARLES MONTAGUE, ES2.
AFTERWARDS EARL OF HALIFAX,
ON HIS MAJESTY'S VOYAGE TO HOLLAND.

SIR,

SINCE you oft invite me to renew

Art I've either lost, or never knew,

Pleas'd my past follies kindly to commend, And fondly lose the critic in the friend;

FORMERLY THEIR CHANCELLOR.

IN ANSWER TO THIS QUESTION,

Sed quid

From grave to dull insensibly betray'd, I'll contradict the humour of the times, Inclin'd to business, and averse to rhymes, And, to obey the man I love, in spite

Yes, fickle Cambridge, Perkins found this true,
Both from your rabble and your doctors too,
With what applause you once receiv'd his grace,
And begg'd a copy of his godlike face;
But when the sage vice-chancellor was sure
The original in limbo lay secure,
As greasy as himself he sends a lictor,
To vent his loyal malice on the picture.
The beadle's wife endeavours all she can
To save the image of the tall young man,
Which she so oft when pregnant did embrace,
That with strong thoughts she might improve her
race;

But think not that I vainly do aspire To rival what I only would admire, The heat and beauty of your manly thought, And force like that with which your hero fought; Like Samson's riddle is that powerful song, Sweet as the honey, as the lion strong; The colours there so artfully are laid, They fear no lustre, and they want no shade; But shall of writing a just model give, While Boyne shall flow, and William's glory live. Yet since his every act may well infuse Some happy rapture in the humblest Muse, Though mine despairs to reach the wondrous height, She prunes her pinions, eager of the flight; The king 's the theme, and I've a subject's right.

No more may travellers desire to know
Where Simoïs and Granicus did flow;
Nor Rubicon, a poor forgotten stream,
Be or the soldier's rant, or poet's theme:
All waters shall unite their fame in thee,
Lost in thy waves, as those are in the sea."

They breath'd afresh, unwilling to give o'er,
And begg'd thick mists long to conceal the shore:
Smooth was the liquid plain; the sleeping wind,
More to the sea, than to it's master kind,
Detain'd a treasure, which we value more
Than all the deep e'er hid, or waters bore.
But he, with a superior genius born,
Treats Chance with insolence, and Death with scorn:
Darkness and ice in vain obstruct his way,
Holland is near, and Nature must obey;
Charg'd with our hopes the boat securely rode,
For Cæsar and his fortune were the load.

With eager transport Belgia met her son,
Yet trembling for the danger he had run;
Till, certain of her joy, she bow'd her head,
Confess'd her lord, bless'd his return, and said:

"If passion by long absence does improve,
And makes that rapture, which before was love,
Think on my old, my intermitted bliss,
And by my former pleasure measure this:
Nor by these feeble pillars which I raise,
Unequal to sustain the hero's praise;
Too faint the colours, and too mean the art,
To represent your glories, or my heart:
These humble emblems are design'd to show,
Not how we would reward, but what we owe.
Here from your childhood take a short review,
How Holland's happiness advanc'd with you;
How her stout vessel did in triumph ride,
And mock'd her storms, while Orange was her guide.
What since has been our fate-I need not say,
Ill suiting with the blessings of the day,
Our better fortune with our prince was gone,
Conquest was only there where he led on.
Like the Palladium, wheresoe'er you go,
You turn all death and danger on the foe,
In you we but too sadly understood

How angels have their spheres of doing good;
Else the same soul which did our troops possess,
And crown'd their daring courage with success,
Had taught our fleet to triumph o'er the main,
And Fleurus had been still a guiltless plain.
What pity 'tis, ye gods! an arm and mind
Like yours should be to time and place confin'd!
But thy return shall fix our kinder fate,
For thee our councils, thee our armies wait;
Discording princes shall with thee combine,
And centre all their interests in thine;
Proud of thy friendship, shall forego their sway,
As Rome her great dictator did obey;
And all united make a Gordian knot,

Which neither craft shall loose, nor force shall cut."

TO THE EARL OF CARLISLE,
UPON THE DEATH OF HIS SON BEFORE LUXEMBURGH.

HE's gone! and was it then by your decree,
Ye envious powers, that we should only see
This copy of your own divinity?

Or thought ye it surpassing human state,
To have a blessing lasting as 't was great?
Your cruel skill you better ne'er had shown,
Since you so soon design'd him all your own.
Such fostering favours to the damn'd are given,
When, to increase their Hell, you show them Heaven,
Was it too godlike, he should long inherit
At once his father's and his uncle's spirit?
Yet as much beauty, and as calm a breast,
As the mild dame whose teeming womb he blest.
He 'ad all the favours Providence could give,
Except its own prerogative to live;
Reserv'd in pleasures, and in dangers bold,
Youthful in action, and in prudence old :
His humble greatness, and submissive state,
Made his life full of wonder, as his fate;
One, who, to all the heights of learning bred,
Read books and men, and practis'd what he read.
Round the wide globe scarce did the busy Sun
With greater haste and greater lustre run.
True gallantry and grandeur he descry'd,
From the French fopperies, and German pride.
And like the industrious bee, where'er he flew,
Gather'd the sweets which on sweet blossoms grew.
Babel's confused speeches on his tongue,
With a sweet harmony and concord hung.
More countries than for Homer did contest
Do strive who most were by his presence blest.
Nor did his wisdom damp his martial fire,
Minerva both her portions did inspire,
Use of the warlike bow and peaceful lyre.
So Cæsar doubly triumph'd when he wrote,
Showing like wit, as valour when he fought.

If God, as Plato taught, example takes
From his own works, and souls by patterns makes,
Much of himself in him he did unfold,
And cast them in his darling Sidney's mold,
Of too refin'd a substance to be old.
Both did alike disdain an hero's rage
Should come like an inheritance by age.
Ambitiously did both conspire to twist
Bays with the ivy, which their temples kist:

Scorning to wait the slow advance of Time,
Both fell like early blossoms in their prime,
By blind events, and Providence's crime.
Yet both, like Codrus, o'er their yielding foe,
Obtain'd the conquest, in their overthrow;
And longer life do purchase by their death,
In fame completing what they want in breath.
Oh! had kind Fate stretch'd the contracted span
To the full glories of a perfect man;

And, as he grew, could every rolling year

A new addition to our wonder bear,

He 'ad paid to his illustrious line that stock
Of ancient honour, which from thence he took.
But oh!

So hasty fruits, and too ambitious flowers,
Scorning the midwifery of ripening showers,
In spite of frosts, spring from th' unwilling Earth,
But find a nip untimely as their birth:
Abortive issues so delude the womb,
And scarce have being, ere they want a tomb,
Forgive, my lord, the Muse that does aspire
With a new breath to fan your raging fire;
Who each officious and unskilful sound
Can with fresh torture but enlarge the wound.
Could I, with David, curse the guilty plain,
Where one more lov'd than Jonathan was slain;
Or could I flights high as his merits raise,
Clear as his virtue, deathless as his praise;
None who, though laurels crown'd their aged head,
Admir'd him living, and ador'd him dead,
With more devotion should enrol his name
In the long-consecrated list of Fame.
But, since my artless and unhallow'd strain
Will the high worth, it should commend, profane;
Since I despair my humble verse should prove
Great as your loss, or tender as your love;
My heart with sighings, and with tears mine eye,
Shall the defect of written grief supply.

А РОЕМ,

DEDICATED TO THE BLESSED MEMORY OF HER LATE
GRACIOUS MAJESTY QUEEN MARY.

ONCE more, my Muse, we must an altar raise;
May it prove lasting, as Maria's praise!
And, the song ended, be the swan's thy doom,
Rest ever silent, as Maria's tomb.

But whence shall we begin? or whither steer?
Her virtues like a perfect round appear,
Where Judgment lies in admiration lost,
Not knowing which it should distinguish most.
Some angel, from your own, describe her frame,
For sure your godlike beings are the same:
All that was charming in the fairer kind,
With manly sense and resolution join'd;
A mien compos'd of mildness and of state,
Not by constraint or affectation great;
But form'd by Nature for supreme command,
Like Eve just moulded by the Maker's hand;
Yet such her meekness, as half-veil'd the throne,
Lest, being in too great a lustre shown,
It might debar the subject of access,
And make her mercies and our comforts less.
So gods, of old, descending from their sphere
To visit men, like mortals did appear:
Lest their too awful presence should affright
Those whom they meant to bless, and to delight.

Thus to the noon of her high glory run,
From her bright orb, diffusive like the Sun,
She did her healing influence display,
And cherish'd all our nether world, that lay
Within the circle of her radiant day;
Reliev'd not only those who bounty sought,
But gave unask'd, and as she gave forgot;
Found modest Want in her obscure retreat,
And courted timorous Virtue to be great.
The Church, which William sav'd, was Mary's care,
Taught by her life, and guarded by her pray'r;
What her devotions were, ye cherubs, tell,
Who ever round the seat of Mercy dwell;

For here she would not have her goodness known,
But you beheld how she address'd the throne,
And wonder'd at a zeal so like your own.
Since she was form'd, and lov'd, and pray'd like

you,

She should, alas! have been immortal too.

A mind so good, in beauteous strength array'd,
Assur'd our hopes she might be long obey'd,
And we, with heighten'd reverence, might have seen
The hoary grandeur of an aged queen,

Who might, with William, jointly govern here,
As that bright pair which rules the heavenly sphere.
Grace and mild mercy best in her were shown,
In him the rougher virtues of the throne;
Of Justice she at home the balance held;
Abroad, Oppression by his sword was quell'd;
The generous lion, and the peaceful dove,
The god of battle, and the queen of love,
Did in their happy nuptials well agree;
Like Mars, he led our armies out; and she
With smiles presided o'er her native sea.

Such too their meetings, when our monarch came
With laurels loaden, and immortal fame:
As when the god on Hamus quits his arms,
Softening his toils in Cytherea's charms:
Then with what joy did she the victor meet,
And lay the reins of empire at his feet!
With the same temper as the Latian hind'
Was made dictator, conquer'd, and resign'd;
So Pallas from the dusty field withdrew,
And, when imperial Jove appear'd in view,
Resum'd her female arts, the spindle and the clew;
Forgot the sceptre she so well had sway'd,
And, with that mildness she had rul'd, obey'd;
Pleas'd with the change, and unconcern'd as Jove,
When in disguise he leaves his power above,
And drowns all other attributes in love.

Such, mighty sir, if yet the sacred ear
Of majesty in grief vouchsafe to hear,
Was the lov'd consort of thy crown and bed,
Our joy while living, our despair now dead.

Yet though with Mary one supporter fall,
Thy virtue can alone sustain the ball.
Of Sibyl's books, that volume which remain'd,
The perfect value of the whole retain'd.
When in the fiery car Elijah fled,
His spirit doubled on his partner's head;
So will thy people's love, now Mary 's gone,
Unite both streams, and flow on thee alone.
The grateful senate with one voice combine
To breathe their sorrows, and to comfort thine,
By bringing to thy view how Europe's fate
Does on thy counsels and thy courage wait:
But, when the vastness of thy grief they see,
They own 'tis just, and melt in tears with thee

Lucius Quintius.