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In vain Tour Lord like young Vespasian mourn'd,
When the fierce Flames the Sanctuary burn'd:
And I prepar’d to pay in Verses rude
A most detested Act of Gratitude:
Ev’n this bad been Your Elegy, which now
Is offer'd for Your Health, the Table of my Vow.

Your Angel sure our Morley's Mind inspir'd,
To find the Remedy Your Ill requir'd;
As once the Macedon, by Jove's Decree,
Was taught to dream an Herb for Ptolomee:
Or Heav'n, which had such Over-coft bestow'd,
As scarce it could afford to Flesh and Blood,
So lik'd the Frame, he would not work anew,
To Save the Charges of another You.
Or by his middle Science did he steer,

fare fome great contingent Good appear, Well worth a Miracle to keep You here:

And for that End, preferu'd the precious Mould, Which all the future Ormonds was to hold; And meditated in his better Mind An Heir from You, who may redeem the

failing Kind. Bless'd be the Pow'r which has at once restorid The Hopes of loft Succession to Tour Lord,


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Joy to the first and last of each Degree,
Virtue to Courts, and what I long'd to fees
To You the Graces, and the Muse to me.

O Daughter of the Rose, whose Cheeks unite The diff'ring Titles of the Red and White; Who Heav'ns alternate Beauty well display, The Blush of Morning, and the Milky Way; Whofe Face is Paradise, but fenc'd from Sin: For God in either Eye has plac'd a Cherubin.

All is Tour Lord's alone; ev'n absent, He
Employs the Care of Chaft Penelope.
For him Tou waste in Tears Your Widow'd Hours,
For him Your curions Needle paints the Flowers;
Such Works of Old Imperial Dames were tanght;
Such, for Ascanius, fair Elisa wrought.

The soft Recesses of Tour Hours improve
The Three fair Pledges of Your Happy Love:
All other Parts of Pious Duty done,
You owe Tour Ormond nothing but a Son;
To fill in future Times his Father's Place,
And wear the Garter of his Mother's Race.

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N Days of old, there liv'd, of mighty

A valiant Prince; and Thefens was

his Name:
A Chief, who more in Feats of Arms excelld
The Rising nor the Setting Sun beheld,


Of Athens he was Lord; much Land he won,
And added Foreign Countries to his Crown:
In Scythia with the Warrior Queen he strove,
Whom first by Force he conquer?d, then by Lovę;
Hebrought in Triumph back the beauteous Dame,
With whom her Sister, fair Emilia, came.
With Honour to his Home let Theseus ride,
With Love to Friend, and Fortune for hisGuide,
And his victorious Army at his Side.
I pass their warlike Pomp, their proud Array,
Their Shouts, their Songs, their Welcome on the

But, were it not too long, I would recite
The Feats of Amazons, the fatal Fight
Betwixt the hardy Queen, and Heroe Knight.
The Town besieg’d, and how much Blood it cost
The Female Army, and th' Athenian Host;
The Spousals of Hippolita the Queen;
What Tilts and Turneys at the Feast were feen;
The Storm at their Return, the Ladies Fear:
But there, and other Things, I must forbear.
The Field is spacious I design to fow,
With Oxen far unfit to draw the Plow :

The Remnant of my Tale is of a Length
Totire your Patience, and to waste my Scrength;
And trivial Accidents shall be forborn,
That others may have time to take their Turn;
As was at first enjoin'd us by mine Hoft:
That he whose Tate is best, and pleases moft,
Should win his Supper at our common Cost.

And therefore where I left, I will pursue
This ancient Story, whether false or true,
In hope it may be mended with a new.
The Prince I mention'd, full of high Renown,
In this Array drew near th’ Athenian Town;
When in his Pomp and utmost of his Pride,
Marching, he chanc'd to cast his Eye aside,
And saw a Quire of mourning Dames, who lay
By Two and Two across the common Way:
At his Approach they rais'd a rueful Cry,
And beat theirBreasts, and held their Hands on high,
Creeping and crying, till they seiz'd at last
His Courfer's Bridle, and his Feet embrac'd.

Tell me, said Theseus, what and whence you are, And why this Funeral Pageant you prepare?

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