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But fee, at length, the British fhips appear! Our Naffau comes! and, as his fleet draws near, The rifing mafts advance, the fails grow white, And all his pompous navy floats in fight. Come, mighty Prince! defir'd of Britain! come; May Heav'n's propitious gales attend thee home! 210 Come, and let longing crowds behold that look Which fuch confufion and amazement ftrook Thro' Gallick hosts; but, oh! let us defcry Mirth in thy brow, and pleasure in the eye; Let nothing dreadful in thy face be found, But for awhile forget the trumpet's found; Well pleas'd, thy people's loyalty approve, Accept their duty, and enjoy their love; For as, when lately mov'd with fierce delight, You plung'd amidst the tumult of the fight, Whole heaps of death encompass'd you around, And steeds o'erturn'd lay foaming on the ground; So, crown'd with laurels now, where'er you go, Around you blooming joys and peaceful bleffings flow.

TO SIR GODFREY KNELLER,

ON HIS PICTURE OF THE KING.

KNELLER! with filence and furprise
We fee Britannia's monarch rife,

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A godlike form, by thee difplay'd
In all the force of light and fhade,
And, aw'd by thy delusive hand,
As in the Prefence-chamber ftand.

The magick of thy art calls forth
His fecret foul and hidden worth,
His probity and mildness shows,
His care of friends and fcorn of foes.
In every stroke, in every line,
Does fome exalted virtue fhine,
And Albion's happiness we trace
Thro' all the features of his face.
O may I live to hail the day
When the glad nation fhall furvey
Their fov'reign thro' his wide command,
Paffing in progrefs o'er the land!
Each heart fhall bend, and ev'ry voice
In loud applauding fhouts rejoice,
Whilft all his gracious afpect praife,
And crowds grow loyal as they gaze.
The image on the medal plac'd,
With its bright round of titles grac'd,
And ftampt on British coins, fhall live,
To richeft ores the value give,
Or, wrought within the curious mould,
Shape and adorn the running gold.
To bear this form the genial fun

Has daily, fince his course begun,

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Rejoic'd the metal to refine,

And ripen'd the Peruvian mine.

Thou, Kneller! long with noble pride,
'The foremost of thy art, haft vy'd
With Nature in a gen'rous ftrife,
And touch'd the canvass into life:
Thy pencil has, by monarchs fought,
From reign to reign in ermine wrought,
And, in the robes of flate array'd,

The kings of half an age display'd.

Here (warchy Charles appears, and there
His brother with dejected air :
Triumphant Naffau here we find,
And with him bright Maria join'd:
There Anna, great as when the fent
Her armies thro' the Continent,
Fre yet her hero was difgrac'd:
O may fam'd Brunfwick be the laft,

(Tho' Heav'n fhould with my with agree,
And long preferve thy art in thee)
The last, the happiest, British king,
Whom thou shalt paint or I fhall fing!
Wife Phidias thus, his fkill to prove,
'Thro' many a god advanc'd to Jove,
And taught the polish'd rocks to fhine
With airs and lineaments divine,
'Till Greece, amaz'd, and half afraid,
Ih' affembled deities furvey'd.

Great Pan, who wont to chase the fair,

Her twisted threads; the web she strung,
And o'er a loom of marble hung:

Thetis, the troubled ocean's queen,

Match'd with a mortal, next was feen

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Reclining on a fun'ral urn,

Her fhortliv'd darling fon to mourn:

The laft was he whofe thunder flew
The Titan race, a rebel crew,
That from a hundred hills ally'd

In impious leagues their king defy'd.
This wonder of the sculptor's hand
Produc'd, his art was at a fland;

For who would hope new fame to raise,
Or risk his well-establish'd praife,
That, his high genius to approve,
Had drawn a George or carv'd a a Jove?

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To her Royal Highnefa

THE PRINCESS OF WALES,

WITH THE TRAGEDY OF CATO. NOV. 1714.

Tus Mufe that oft', with facred raptures fir'd,
Has gen'rous thoughts of liberty inspir'd,
And boldly rising for Britannia's laws,
Engag'd great Cato in her country's caufe,
On you submissive waits, with hopes affur'd,
By whom the mighty blessing stands fecur'd,
And all the glories that our age adorn
Are promis'd to a people yet unborn.

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No longer fhall the widow'd land bemoan A broken lineage and a doubtful throne, But boaft her royal progeny's increase, And count the pledges of her future peace. O born to ftrengthen and to grace our ifle! While you, fair Princefs! in your offspring fmile, Supplying charms to the fucceeding age, Each heav'nly daughter's triumph we prefage, Already fee th` illuftrious youths complain, And pity monarchs doom'd to figh in vain. Thou, too, the darling of our fond defires, Whom Albion, op'ning wide her arms, requires, 20 With manly valour and attractive air

Shalt quell the fierce and captivate the fair.