Chapter VI: Canto III (2)

With these, returns victorious Montague, With laurels in his hand, and half Peru. Let the brave generals divide that bough, Our great Protector hath such wreaths enow; His conqu'ring head has no more room for bays; Then let it be as the glad nation prays; Let the rich ore forthwith be melted down, And the state fix'd by making him a crown; With ermine clad, and purple, let him hold A royal sceptre, made of Spanish gold. 110

[1] 'Fight at sea': see any good English History, under date 1656. [2] 'Marquis': of Badajos, viceroy of Mexico.

UPON THE DEATH OF THE LORD PROTECTOR.

We must resign! Heaven his great soul does claim In storms, as loud as his immortal fame; His dying groans, his last breath, shakes our isle, And trees uncut fall for his funeral pile; About his palace their broad roots are toss'd Into the air.[1]--So Romulus was lost! New Rome in such a tempest miss'd her king, And from obeying fell to worshipping. On Oeta's top thus Hercules lay dead, 9 With ruin'd oaks and pines about him spread; The poplar, too, whose bough he wont to wear On his victorious head, lay prostrate there; Those his last fury from the mountain rent: Our dying hero from the Continent Ravish'd whole towns: and forts from Spaniards reft As his last legacy to Britain left. The ocean, which so long our hopes confined, Could give no limits to his vaster mind; Our bounds' enlargement was his latest toil, Nor hath he left us pris'ners to our isle; 20 Under the tropic is our language spoke, And part of Flanders hath received our yoke. From civil broils he did us disengage, Found nobler objects for our martial rage; And, with wise conduct, to his country show'd The ancient way of conquering abroad. Ungrateful then! if we no tears allow To him, that gave us peace and empire too. Princes, that fear'd him, grieve, concern'd to see No pitch of glory from the grave is free. 30 Nature herself took notice of his death, And, sighing, swell'd the sea with such a breath, That, to remotest shores her billows roll'd, The approaching fate of their great ruler told.

[1] 'The air': a tremendous tempest blew over England (not on the day),
but a day or two before Cromwell's death. It was said that something
of the same sort, along with an eclipse of the sun, took place on
the removal of Romulus.

ON ST JAMES'S PARK, AS LATELY IMPROVED BY HIS MAJESTY.[1]

Of the first Paradise there's nothing found; Plants set by Heaven are vanish'd, and the ground; Yet the description lasts; who knows the fate Of lines that shall this paradise relate?

Instead of rivers rolling by the side Of Eden's garden, here flows in the tide; The sea, which always served his empire, now Pays tribute to our Prince's pleasure too. Of famous cities we the founders know; But rivers, old as seas, to which they go, 10 Are Nature's bounty; 'tis of more renown To make a river, than to build a town.

For future shade, young trees upon the banks Of the new stream appear in even ranks; The voice of Orpheus, or Amphion's hand, In better order could not make them stand; May they increase as fast, and spread their boughs, As the high fame of their great owner grows! May he live long enough to see them all Dark shadows cast, and as his palace tall! 20 Methinks I see the love that shall be made, The lovers walking in that am'rous shade; The gallants dancing by the river side; They bathe in summer, and in winter slide. Methinks I hear the music in the boats, And the loud echo which returns the notes; While overhead a flock of new-sprung fowl Hangs in the air, and does the sun control, Dark'ning the sky; they hover o'er, and shroud 29 The wanton sailors with a feather'd cloud. Beneath, a shoal of silver fishes glides, And plays about the gilded barges' sides; The ladies, angling in the crystal lake, Feast on the waters with the prey they take; At once victorious with their lines, and eyes, They make the fishes, and the men, their prize. A thousand Cupids on the billows ride, And sea-nymphs enter with the swelling tide, From Thetis sent as spies, to make report, And tell the wonders of her sovereign's court. 40 All that can, living, feed the greedy eye, Or dead, the palate, here you may descry; The choicest things that furnish'd Noah's ark, Or Peter's sheet, inhabiting this park; All with a border of rich fruit-trees crown'd, Whose loaded branches hide the lofty mound, Such various ways the spacious alleys lead, My doubtful Muse knows not what path to tread. Yonder, the harvest of cold months laid up, Gives a fresh coolness to the royal cup; 50 There ice, like crystal firm, and never lost, Tempers hot July with December's frost; Winter's dark prison, whence he cannot fly, Though the warm spring, his enemy, draws nigh. Strange! that extremes should thus preserve the snow, High on the Alps, or in deep caves below.

Here, a well-polished Mall gives us the joy To see our Prince his matchless force employ; His manly posture, and his graceful mien, Vigour and youth in all his motions seen; 60 His shape so lovely and his limbs so strong, Confirm our hopes we shall obey him long.

No sooner has he touch'd the flying ball, 63 But 'tis already more than half the Mall; And such a fury from his arm has got, As from a smoking culv'rin it were shot.[2]

Near this my Muse, what most delights her, sees A living gallery of aged trees; Bold sons of earth, that thrust their arms so high, As if once more they would invade the sky. 70 In such green palaces the first kings reign'd, Slept in their shades, and angels entertain'd; With such old counsellors they did advise, And, by frequenting sacred groves, grew wise. Free from th'impediments of light and noise, Man, thus retired, his nobler thoughts employs. Here Charles contrives th'ordering of his states, Here he resolves his neighb'ring princes' fates; What nation shall have peace, where war be made, Determined is in this oraculous shade; 80 The world, from India to the frozen north, Concern'd in what this solitude brings forth. His fancy objects from his view receives; The prospect thought and contemplation gives. That seat of empire here salutes his eye, To which three kingdoms do themselves apply; The structure by a prelate[3] raised, Whitehall, Built with the fortune of Rome's capitol; Both, disproportion'd to the present state Of their proud founders, were approved by Fate. 90 From hence he does that antique pile[4] behold, Where royal heads receive the sacred gold; It gives them crowns, and does their ashes keep; There made like gods, like mortals there they sleep; Making the circle of their reign complete, Those suns of empire! where they rise, they set. When others fell, this, standing, did presage The crown should triumph over popular rage; Hard by that House,[5] where all our ills were shaped, Th' auspicious temple stood, and yet escaped. 100 So snow on Aetna does unmelted lie, Whence rolling flames and scatter'd cinders fly; The distant country in the ruin shares; What falls from heaven the burning mountain spares. Next, that capacious Hall[6] he sees, the room Where the whole nation does for justice come; Under whose large roof flourishes the gown, And judges grave, on high tribunals, frown. Here, like the people's pastor he does go, His flock subjected to his view below; 110 On which reflecting in his mighty mind, No private passion does indulgence find; The pleasures of his youth suspended are, And made a sacrifice to public care. Here, free from court compliances, he walks, And with himself, his best adviser, talks; How peaceful olives may his temples shade, For mending laws, and for restoring trade; Or, how his brows may be with laurel charged, For nations conquer'd and our bounds enlarged. 120 Of ancient prudence here he ruminates, Of rising kingdoms, and of falling states; What ruling arts gave great Augustus fame, And how Alcides purchased such a name.

His eyes, upon his native palace[7] bent, Close by, suggest a greater argument. His thoughts rise higher, when he does reflect On what the world may from that star expect Which at his birth appear'd,[8] to let us see Day, for his sake, could with the night agree; 130 A prince, on whom such diff'rent lights did smile, Born the divided world to reconcile! Whatever Heaven, or high extracted blood Could promise, or foretell, he will make good; Reform these nations, and improve them more, Than this fair park, from what it was before.

[1] See 'Macaulay.' [2] Pall Mall derived its name from a particular game at bowls, in which Charles II. excelled. [3] 'Prelate': Cardinal Wolsey. [4] 'Antique pile': Westminster Abbey. [5] 'House': House of Commons. [6] 'Hall': Westminster Hall. [7] 'Palace': St. James's Palace, where Charles II. was born. [8] 'Birth appeared ': it seems a new star appeared in the heavens at the birth of the king.

OF HER ROYAL HIGHNESS, MOTHER TO THE PRINCE OF ORANGE;[1] AND OF HER PORTRAIT, WRITTEN BY THE LATE DUCHESS OF YORK, WHILE SHE LIVED WITH HER.

Heroic nymph! in tempests the support, In peace the glory of the British Court! Into whose arms the church, the state, and all That precious is, or sacred here, did fall. Ages to come, that shall your bounty hear, Will think you mistress of the Indies were; Though straiter bounds your fortunes did confine, In your large heart was found a wealthy mine; Like the bless'd oil, the widow's lasting feast, Your treasure, as you pour'd it out, increased. 10

While some your beauty, some your bounty sing, Your native isle does with your praises ring; But, above all, a nymph of your own train[2] Gives us your character in such a strain, As none but she, who in that Court did dwell, Could know such worth, or worth describe so well. So while we mortals here at heaven do guess, And more our weakness, than the place, express, Some angel, a domestic there, comes down, And tells the wonders he hath seen and known. 20

[1] 'Prince of Orange': Mary, Princess of Orange, and sister to Charles
II.
[2] 'Train': Lady Anne Hyde, daughter of the Earl of Clarendon, and
afterwards Duchess of York, and mother of Queen Mary and Queen Anne.

UPON HER MAJESTY'S NEW BUILDINGS AT SOMERSET HOUSE.[1]

Great Queen! that does our island bless With princes and with palaces; Treated so ill, chased from your throne, Returning you adorn the Town; And, with a brave revenge, do show Their glory went and came with you.

While peace from hence and you were gone, Your houses in that storm o'erthrown, Those wounds which civil rage did give, At once you pardon, and relieve. 10

Constant to England in your love, As birds are to their wonted grove, Though by rude hands their nests are spoil'd, There the next spring again they build.

Accusing some malignant star, Not Britain, for that fatal war, Your kindness banishes your fear, Resolved to fix for ever here.[2] But what new mine this work supplies? Can such a pile from ruin rise? 20 This, like the first creation, shows As if at your command it rose.

Frugality and bounty too (Those diff'ring virtues), meet in you; From a confined, well-managed store, You both employ and feed the poor.

Let foreign princes vainly boast The rude effects of pride, and cost Of vaster fabrics, to which they Contribute nothing but the pay; 30 This, by the Queen herself design'd, Gives us a pattern of her mind; The state and order does proclaim The genius of that Royal Dame. Each part with just proportion graced, And all to such advantage placed, That the fair view her window yields, The town, the river, and the fields, Ent'ring, beneath us we descry, And wonder how we came so high. 40

She needs no weary steps ascend; All seems before her feet to bend; And here, as she was born, she lies; High, without taking pains to rise.

[1] 'Somerset House': Henrietta, Queen-mother, who returned to England in 1660, and lived in Somerset House, which she greatly improved. [2] 'Ever here': she left, however, in 1665.

OF A TREE CUT IN PAPER.

Fair hand! that can on virgin paper write, Yet from the stain of ink preserve it white; Whose travel o'er that silver field does show Like track of leverets in morning snow. Love's image thus in purest minds is wrought, Without a spot or blemish to the thought. Strange, that your fingers should the pencil foil, Without the help of colours or of oil! For though a painter boughs and leaves can make, 'Tis you alone can make them bend and shake; Whose breath salutes your new-created grove, Like southern winds, and makes it gently move. Orpheus could make the forest dance; but you Can make the motion and the forest too.

VERSES TO DR GEORGE ROGERS, ON HIS TAKING THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHYSIC AT PADUA, IN THE YEAR 1664.

When as of old the earth's bold children strove, With hills on hills, to scale the throne of Jove, Pallas and Mars stood by their sovereign's side, And their bright arms in his defence employ'd; While the wise Phoebus, Hermes, and the rest, Who joy in peace, and love the Muses best, Descending from their so distemper'd seat, Our groves and meadows chose for their retreat. There first Apollo tried the various use 9 Of herbs, and learn'd the virtues of their juice, And framed that art, to which who can pretend A juster title than our noble friend, Whom the like tempest drives from his abode, And like employment entertains abroad? This crowns him here, and in the bays so earn'd, His country's honour is no less concern'd, Since it appears not all the English rave, To ruin bent; some study how to save; And as Hippocrates did once extend His sacred art, whole cities to amend; 20 So we, great friend! suppose that thy great skill, Thy gentle mind, and fair example will, At thy return, reclaim our frantic isle, Their spirits calm, and peace again shall smile.

INSTRUCTIONS TO A PAINTER, FOR THE DRAWING OF THE POSTURE AND PROGRESS OF HIS MAJESTY'S FORCES AT SEA, UNDER THE COMMAND OF HIS HIGHNESS-ROYAL; TOGETHER WITH THE BATTLE AND VICTORY OBTAINED OVER THE DUTCH, JUNE 3, 1665.[1]

First draw the sea, that portion which between The greater world and this of ours is seen; Here place the British, there the Holland fleet, Vast floating armies! both prepared to meet. Draw the whole world, expecting who should reign, After this combat, o'er the conquer'd main.

Make Heaven concern'd, and an unusual star 7 Declare th'importance of th'approaching war. Make the sea shine with gallantry, and all The English youth flock to their Admiral, The valiant Duke! whose early deeds abroad, Such rage in fight, and art in conduct show'd. His bright sword now a dearer int'rest draws, His brother's glory, and his country's cause.

Let thy bold pencil hope and courage spread, Through the whole navy, by that hero led; Make all appear, where such a Prince is by, Resolved to conquer, or resolved to die. With his extraction, and his glorious mind, Make the proud sails swell more than with the wind; 20 Preventing cannon, make his louder fame Check the Batavians, and their fury tame. So hungry wolves, though greedy of their prey, Stop when they find a lion in their way. Make him bestride the ocean, and mankind Ask his consent to use the sea and wind; While his tall ships in the barr'd channel stand, He grasps the Indies in his armed hand.

Paint an east wind, and make it blow away Th' excuse of Holland for their navy's stay; 30 Make them look pale, and, the bold Prince to shun, Through the cold north and rocky regions run. To find the coast where morning first appears, By the dark pole the wary Belgian steers; Confessing now he dreads the English more Than all the dangers of a frozen shore; While from our arms security to find, They fly so far, they leave the day behind. Describe their fleet abandoning the sea, And all their merchants left a wealthy prey; 40

Our first success in war make Bacchus crown, And half the vintage of the year our own. The Dutch their wine, and all their brandy lose, Disarm'd of that from which their courage grows; While the glad English, to relieve their toil, In healths to their great leader drink the spoil.

His high command to Afric's coast extend, And make the Moors before the English bend; Those barb'rous pirates willingly receive Conditions, such as we are pleased to give. 50 Deserted by the Dutch, let nations know We can our own and their great business do; False friends chastise, and common foes restrain, Which, worse than tempests, did infest the main. Within those Straits, make Holland's Smyrna fleet With a small squadron of the English meet; Like falcons these, those like a numerous flock Of fowl, which scatter to avoid the shock. There paint confusion in a various shape; Some sink, some yield; and, flying, some escape. 60 Europe and Africa, from either shore, Spectators are, and hear our cannon roar; While the divided world in this agree, Men that fight so, deserve to rule the sea.

But, nearer home, thy pencil use once more, And place our navy by the Holland shore; The world they compass'd, while they fought with Spain, But here already they resign the main; Those greedy mariners, out of whose way Diffusive Nature could no region lay, 70 At home, preserved from rocks and tempests, lie, Compell'd, like others, in their beds to die. Their single towns th'Iberian armies press'd; We all their provinces at once invest; And, in a month, ruin their traffic more Than that long war could in an age before.

But who can always on the billows lie? The wat'ry wilderness yields no supply. Spreading our sails, to Harwich we resort, And meet the beauties of the British Court. 80 Th' illustrious Duchess, and her glorious train (Like Thetis with her nymphs), adorn the main. The gazing sea-gods, since the Paphian Queen Sprung from among them, no such sight had seen. Charm'd with the graces of a troop so fair, Those deathless powers for us themselves declare, Resolved the aid of Neptune's court to bring, And help the nation where such beauties spring; The soldier here his wasted store supplies, And takes new valour from the ladies' eyes. 90

Meanwhile, like bees, when stormy winter's gone, The Dutch (as if the sea were all their own) Desert their ports, and, falling in their way, Our Hamburg merchants are become their prey. Thus flourish they, before th'approaching fight; As dying tapers give a blazing light.

To check their pride, our fleet half-victuall'd goes, Enough to serve us till we reach our foes; Who now appear so numerous and bold, The action worthy of our arms we hold. 100 A greater force than that which here we find, Ne'er press'd the ocean, nor employ'd the wind. Restrain'd a while by the unwelcome night, Th' impatient English scarce attend the light. But now the morning (heaven severely clear!) To the fierce work indulgent does appear; And Phoebus lifts above the waves his light, That he might see, and thus record, the fight.

As when loud winds from diff'rent quarters rush, 109 Vast clouds encount'ring one another crush; With swelling sails so, from their sev'ral coasts, Join the Batavian and the British hosts. For a less prize, with less concern and rage, The Roman fleets at Actium did engage; They, for the empire of the world they knew, These, for the Old contend, and for the New. At the first shock, with blood and powder stain'd, Nor heaven, nor sea, their former face retain'd; Fury and art produce effects so strange, They trouble Nature, and her visage change. 120 Where burning ships the banish'd sun supply, And no light shines, but that by which men die, There York appears! so prodigal is he Of royal blood, as ancient as the sea, Which down to him, so many ages told, Has through the veins of mighty monarchs roll'd! The great Achilles march'd not to the field Till Vulcan that impenetrable shield, And arms, had wrought; yet there no bullets flew, But shafts and darts which the weak Phrygians threw, 130 Our bolder hero on the deck does stand Exposed, the bulwark of his native land; Defensive arms laid by as useless here, Where massy balls the neighb'ring rocks do tear. Some power unseen those princes does protect, Who for their country thus themselves neglect.

Against him first Opdam his squadron leads, Proud of his late success against the Swedes; Made by that action, and his high command, Worthy to perish by a prince's hand. 140 The tall Batavian in a vast ship rides, Bearing an army in her hollow sides;

Yet, not inclined the English ship to board, More on his guns relies than on his sword; From whence a fatal volley we received; It miss'd the Duke, but his great heart it grieved; Three worthy persons from his side it tore, And dyed his garment with their scatter'd gore. Happy! to whom this glorious death arrives, More to be valued than a thousand lives! 150 On such a theatre as this to die, For such a cause, and such a witness by! Who would not thus a sacrifice be made, To have his blood on such an altar laid? The rest about him struck with horror stood, To see their leader cover'd o'er with blood. So trembled Jacob, when he thought the stains Of his son's coat had issued from his veins. He feels no wound but in his troubled thought; Before, for honour, now, revenge he fought; 160 His friends in pieces torn (the bitter news Not brought by Fame), with his own eyes he views. His mind at once reflecting on their youth, Their worth, their love, their valour, and their truth, The joys of court, their mothers, and their wives, To follow him abandon'd--and their lives! He storms and shoots, but flying bullets now, To execute his rage, appear too slow; They miss, or sweep but common souls away; For such a loss Opdam his life must pay. 170 Encouraging his men, he gives the word, With fierce intent that hated ship to board, And make the guilty Dutch, with his own arm, Wait on his friends, while yet their blood is warm. His winged vessel like an eagle shows, When through the clouds to truss a swan she goes;

The Belgian ship unmoved, like some huge rock 177 Inhabiting the sea, expects the shock. From both the fleets men's eyes are bent this way, Neglecting all the business of the day; Bullets their flight, and guns their noise suspend; The silent ocean does th'event attend, Which leader shall the doubtful victory bless, And give an earnest of the war's success; When Heaven itself, for England to declare, Turns ship, and men, and tackle, into air.

Their new commander from his charge is toss'd, Which that young prince[2] had so unjustly lost, Whose great progenitors, with better fate, And better conduct, sway'd their infant state. 190 His flight t'wards heaven th'aspiring Belgian took, But fell, like Phaëton, with thunder strook; From vaster hopes than his he seemed to fall, That durst attempt the British Admiral; From her broad sides a ruder flame is thrown Than from the fiery chariot of the sun; That bears the radiant ensign of the day, And she the flag that governs in the sea.

The Duke (ill pleased that fire should thus prevent The work which for his brighter sword he meant), 200 Anger still burning in his valiant breast, Goes to complete revenge upon the rest. So on the guardless herd, their keeper slain, Rushes a tiger in the Libyan plain. The Dutch, accustom'd to the raging sea, And in black storms the frowns of heaven to see, Never met tempest which more urged' their fears. Than that which in the Prince's look appears.

Fierce, goodly, young! Mars he resembles, when 209 Jove sends him down to scourge perfidious men; Such as with foul ingratitude have paid Both those that led, and those that gave them aid. Where he gives on, disposing of their fates, Terror and death on his loud cannon waits, With which he pleads his brother's cause so well, He shakes the throne to which he does appeal. The sea with spoils his angry bullets strow, Widows and orphans making as they go; Before his ship fragments of vessels torn, Flags, arms, and Belgian carcasses are borne; 220 And his despairing foes, to flight inclined, Spread all their canvas to invite the wind. So the rude Boreas, where he lists to blow, Makes clouds above, and billows fly below, Beating the shore; and, with a boist'rous rage, Does heaven at once, and earth, and sea engage.

The Dutch, elsewhere, did through the wat'ry field Perform enough to have made others yield; But English courage, growing as they fight, In danger, noise, and slaughter, takes delight; 230 Their bloody task, unwearied still, they ply, Only restrain'd by death, or victory. Iron and lead, from earth's dark entrails torn, Like showers of hail from either side are borne; So high the rage of wretched mortals goes, Hurling their mother's bowels at their foes! Ingenious to their ruin, every age Improves the arts and instruments of rage. Death-hast'ning ills Nature enough has sent, And yet men still a thousand more invent! 240

But Bacchus now, which led the Belgians on, So fierce at first, to favour us begun; Brandy and wine (their wonted friends) at length Render them useless, and betray their strength. So corn in fields, and in the garden flowers, Revive and raise themselves with mod'rate showers; But overcharged with never-ceasing rain, Become too moist, and bend their heads again. Their reeling ships on one another fall, Without a foe, enough to ruin all. 250 Of this disorder, and the favouring wind, The watchful English such advantage find, Ships fraught with fire among the heap they throw, And up the so-entangled Belgians blow. The flame invades the powder-rooms, and then, Their guns shoot bullets, and their vessels men. The scorch'd Batavians on the billows float, Sent from their own, to pass in Charon's boat.

And now, our royal Admiral success (With all the marks of victory) does bless; 260 The burning ships, the taken, and the slain, Proclaim his triumph o'er the conquer'd main. Nearer to Holland, as their hasty flight Carries the noise and tumult of the fight, His cannons' roar, forerunner of his fame, Makes their Hague tremble, and their Amsterdam; The British thunder does their houses rock, And the Duke seems at every door to knock. His dreadful streamer (like a comet's hair, Threatening destruction) hastens their despair; 270 Makes them deplore their scatter'd fleet as lost, And fear our present landing on their coast. The trembling Dutch th'approaching Prince behold, As sheep a lion leaping tow'rds their fold; Those piles, which serve them to repel the main, They think too weak his fury to restrain.

'What wonders may not English valour work, 277 Led by th'example of victorious York? Or what defence against him can they make, Who, at such distance, does their country shake? His fatal hand their bulwarks will o'erthrow, And let in both the ocean, and the foe;' Thus cry the people;--and, their land to keep, Allow our title to command the deep; Blaming their States' ill conduct, to provoke Those arms, which freed them from the Spanish yoke.

Painter! excuse me, if I have a while Forgot thy art, and used another style; For, though you draw arm'd heroes as they sit, The task in battle does the Muses fit; 290 They, in the dark confusion of a fight, Discover all, instruct us how to write; And light and honour to brave actions yield, Hid in the smoke and tumult of the field, Ages to come shall know that leader's toil, And his great name, on whom the Muses smile; Their dictates here let thy famed pencil trace, And this relation with thy colours grace.

Then draw the Parliament, the nobles met, And our great Monarch high above them set; 300 Like young Augustus let his image be, Triumphing for that victory at sea, Where Egypt's Queen,[3] and Eastern kings o'erthrown, Made the possession of the world his own. Last draw the Commons at his royal feet, Pouring out treasure to supply his fleet; They vow with lives and fortunes to maintain Their King's eternal title to the main; And with a present to the Duke, approve 309 His valour, conduct, and his country's love.

[1] See History of England. [2] 'Young prince': Prince of Orange. [3] 'Egypt's Queen': Cleopatra.

OF ENGLISH VERSE.

1 Poets may boast, as safely vain,
Their works shall with the world remain:
Both, bound together, live or die,
The verses and the prophecy.

2 But who can hope his line should long
Last in a daily changing tongue?
While they are new, envy prevails;
And as that dies, our language fails.

3 When architects have done their part,
The matter may betray their art;
Time, if we use ill-chosen stone,
Soon brings a well-built palace down.

4 Poets that lasting marble seek,
Must carve in Latin, or in Greek;
We write in sand, our language grows,
And like the tide, our work o'erflows.

5 Chaucer his sense can only boast;
The glory of his numbers lost!
Years have defaced his matchless strain;
And yet he did not sing in vain.

6 The beauties which adorn'd that age,
The shining subjects of his rage,
Hoping they should immortal prove,
Rewarded with success his love.

7 This was the gen'rous poet's scope;
And all an English pen can hope,
To make the fair approve his flame,
That can so far extend their fame.

8 Verse, thus design'd, has no ill fate,
If it arrive but at the date
Of fading beauty; if it prove
But as long-lived as present love.

THESE VERSES WERE WRIT IN THE TASSO OF HER ROYAL HIGHNESS.

Tasso knew how the fairer sex to grace, But in no one durst all perfection place. In her alone that owns this book is seen Clorinda's spirit, and her lofty mien, Sophronia's piety, Erminia's truth, Armida's charms, her beauty, and her youth.

Our Princess here, as in a glass, does dress Her well-taught mind, and every grace express. More to our wonder than Rinaldo fought, The hero's race excels the poet's thought.

THE TRIPLE COMBAT.[1]

When through the world fair Mazarin had run, Bright as her fellow-traveller, the sun, Hither at length the Roman eagle flies, As the last triumph of her conqu'ring eyes. As heir to Julius, she may pretend A second time to make this island bend; But Portsmouth, springing from the ancient race Of Britons, which the Saxon here did chase, As they great Cæsar did oppose, makes head, And does against this new invader lead. 10 That goodly nymph, the taller of the two, Careless and fearless to the field does go. Becoming blushes on the other wait, And her young look excuses want of height. Beauty gives courage; for she knows the day Must not be won the Amazonian way. Legions of Cupids to the battle come, For Little Britain these, and those for Rome. Dress'd to advantage, this illustrious pair Arrived, for combat in the list appear. 20 What may the Fates design! for never yet From distant regions two such beauties met. Venus had been an equal friend to both, And vict'ry to declare herself seems loth; Over the camp, with doubtful wings, she flies, Till Chloris shining in the fields she spies. The lovely Chloris well-attended came, A thousand Graces waited on the dame; Her matchless form made all the English glad, 29 And foreign beauties less assurance had; Yet, like the Three on Ida's top, they all Pretend alike, contesting for the ball; Which to determine, Love himself declined, Lest the neglected should become less kind. Such killing looks! so thick the arrows fly! That 'tis unsafe to be a stander-by. Poets, approaching to describe the fight, Are by their wounds instructed how to write. They with less hazard might look on, and draw The ruder combats in Alsatia; 40 And, with that foil of violence and rage, Set off the splendour of our golden age; Where Love gives law, Beauty the sceptre sways, And, uncompell'd, the happy world obeys.

[1] 'Triple combat': the Duchess of Mazarin was a divorced demirep, who
came to England with some designs on Charles II., in which she was
counteracted by the Duchess of Portsmouth.

UPON OUR LATE LOSS OF THE DUKE OF CAMBRIDGE.[1]

The failing blossoms which a young plant bears, Engage our hope for the succeeding years; And hope is all which art or nature brings, At the first trial, to accomplish things. Mankind was first created an essay; That ruder draught the Deluge wash'd away. How many ages pass'd, what blood and toil, Before we made one kingdom of this isle! How long in vain had nature striven to frame A perfect princess, ere her Highness came! For joys so great we must with patience wait; 'Tis the set price of happiness complete. As a first fruit, Heaven claim'd that lovely boy; The next shall live, and be the nation's joy.

[1] 'Duke of Cambridge': The Duke of York's second son by Mary d'Este.
He died when he was only a month old, November 1677.

OF THE LADY MARY, PRINCESS OF ORANGE.[1]

1 As once the lion honey gave,
Out of the strong such sweetness came;
A royal hero, no less brave,
Produced this sweet, this lovely dame.

2 To her the prince, that did oppose
Such mighty armies in the field,
And Holland from prevailing foes
Could so well free, himself does yield.

3 Not Belgia's fleet (his high command)
Which triumphs where the sun does rise,
Nor all the force he leads by land,
Could guard him from her conqu'ring eyes.

4 Orange, with youth, experience has;
In action young, in council old;
Orange is, what Augustus was,
Brave, wary, provident, and bold.

5 On that fair tree which bears his name,
Blossoms and fruit at once are found;
In him we all admire the same,
His flow'ry youth with wisdom crown'd!

6 Empire and freedom reconciled
In Holland are by great Nassau;
Like those he sprung from, just and mild,
To willing people he gives law.

7 Thrice happy pair! so near allied
In royal blood, and virtue too!
Now love has you together tied,
May none this triple knot undo!

8 The church shall be the happy place
Where streams, which from the same source run,
Though divers lands a while they grace,
Unite again, and are made one.

9 A thousand thanks the nation owes
To him that does protect us all;
For while he thus his niece bestows,
About our isle he builds a wall;

10 A wall! like that which Athens had,
By th'oracle's advice, of wood;
Had theirs been such as Charles has made,
That mighty state till now had stood.

[1] 'Princess of Orange': The Princess Mary was married to the Prince of
Orange at St. James's, in November 1677.

UPON BEN JONSON.

Mirror of poets! mirror of our age! Which her whole face beholding on thy stage, Pleased and displeased with her own faults, endures A remedy like those whom music cures. Thou hast alone those various inclinations Which Nature gives to ages, sexes, nations; So tracèd with thy all-resembling pen, That whate'er custom has imposed on men, Or ill-got habit (which deforms them so, That scarce a brother can his brother know) 10 Is represented to the wond'ring eyes Of all that see, or read, thy comedies. Whoever in those glasses looks, may find The spots return'd, or graces, of his mind; And by the help of so divine an art, At leisure view, and dress, his nobler part. Narcissus, cozen'd by that flatt'ring well, Which nothing could but of his beauty tell, Had here, discov'ring the deformed estate Of his fond mind, preserved himself with hate. 20 But virtue too, as well as vice, is clad In flesh and blood so well, that Plato had Beheld, what his high fancy once embraced, Virtue with colours, speech, and motion graced. The sundry postures of thy copious Muse Who would express, a thousand tongues must use; Whose fate's no less peculiar than thy art; For as thou couldst all characters impart, So none could render thine, which still escapes, Like Proteus, in variety of shapes; 30 Who was nor this nor that; but all we find, And all we can imagine, in mankind.

ON MR JOHN FLETCHER'S PLAYS.

Fletcher! to thee we do not only owe All these good plays, but those of others too; Thy wit repeated does support the stage, Credits the last, and entertains this age. No worthies, form'd by any Muse but thine, Could purchase robes to make themselves so fine.

What brave commander is not proud to see Thy brave Melantius in his gallantry? Our greatest ladies love to see their scorn Outdone by thine, in what themselves have worn; 10 Th' impatient widow, ere the year be done, Sees thy Aspasia weeping in her gown.

I never yet the tragic strain essay'd, Deterr'd by that inimitable Maid;[1] And when I venture at the comic style, Thy Scornful Lady seems to mock my toil.

Thus has thy Muse at once improved and marr'd Our sport in plays, by rend'ring it too hard! So when a sort of lusty shepherds throw The bar by turns, and none the rest outgo 20 So far, but that the best are measuring casts, Their emulation and their pastime lasts; But if some brawny yeoman of the guard Step in, and toss the axletree a yard, Or more, beyond the furthest mark, the rest Despairing stand; their sport is at the best.

[1] 'Inimitable Maid': the _Maid's Tragedy_, the joint production
of Beaumont and Fletcher.

UPON THE EARL OF ROSCOMMON'S TRANSLATION OF HORACE, 'DE ARTE POETICA;' AND OF THE USE OF POETRY.

Rome was not better by her Horace taught, Than we are here to comprehend his thought; The poet writ to noble Piso there; A noble Piso does instruct us here, Gives us a pattern in his flowing style, And with rich precepts does oblige our isle: Britain! whose genius is in verse express'd, Bold and sublime, but negligently dress'd.

Horace will our superfluous branches prune, 10 Give us new rules, and set our harp in tune; Direct us how to back the winged horse, Favour his flight, and moderate his force.

Though poets may of inspiration boast, Their rage, ill-govern'd, in the clouds is lost. He that proportion'd wonders can disclose, At once his fancy and his judgment shows. Chaste moral writing we may learn from hence, Neglect of which no wit can recompense. The fountain which from Helicon proceeds, That sacred stream! should never water weeds, 20 Nor make the crop of thorns and thistles grow, Which envy or perverted nature sow.

Well-sounding verses are the charm we use, Heroic thoughts and virtue to infuse; Things of deep sense we may in prose unfold, But they move more in lofty numbers told. By the loud trumpet, which our courage aids, We learn that sound, as well as sense, persuades.

The Muses' friend, unto himself severe, With silent pity looks on all that err; 30 But where a brave, a public action shines, That he rewards with his immortal lines. Whether it be in council or in fight, His country's honour is his chief delight; Praise of great acts he scatters as a seed, Which may the like in coming ages breed.

Here taught the fate of verses (always prized With admiration, or as much despised), Men will be less indulgent to their faults, And patience have to cultivate their thoughts. 40 Poets lose half the praise they should have got, Could it be known what they discreetly blot; Finding new words, that to the ravish'd ear May like the language of the gods appear, Such as, of old, wise bards employ'd, to make Unpolish'd men their wild retreats forsake; Law-giving heroes, famed for taming brutes, And raising cities with their charming lutes; For rudest minds with harmony were caught, And civil life was by the Muses taught. 50 So wand'ring bees would perish in the air, Did not a sound, proportion'd to their ear, Appease their rage, invite them to the hive, Unite their force, and teach them how to thrive, To rob the flowers, and to forbear the spoil, Preserved in winter by their summer's toil; They give us food, which may with nectar vie, And wax, that does the absent sun supply.

ON THE DUKE OF MONMOUTH'S EXPEDITION INTO SCOTLAND IN THE SUMMER SOLSTICE.

Swift as Jove's messenger (the winged god), With sword as potent as his charmed rod, He flew to execute the King's command, And in a moment reach'd that northern land, Where day contending with approaching night, Assists the hero with continued light.

On foes surprised, and by no night conceal'd, He might have rush'd; but noble pity held His hand a while, and to their choice gave space, Which they would prove, his valour or his grace. 10 This not well heard, his cannon louder spoke, And then, like lightning, through that cloud he broke. His fame, his conduct, and that martial look, The guilty Scots with such a terror strook, That to his courage they resign the field, Who to his bounty had refused to yield. Glad that so little loyal blood it cost, He grieves so many Britons should be lost; Taking more pains, when he beheld them yield, To save the flyers, than to win the field; 20 And at the Court his int'rest does employ, That none, who 'scaped his fatal sword, should die.

And now, these rash bold men their error find, Not trusting one beyond his promise kind; One! whose great mind, so bountiful and brave, Had learn'd the art to conquer and to save.

In vulgar breasts no royal virtues dwell; Such deeds as these his high extraction tell, And give a secret joy to him that reigns, To see his blood triumph in Monmouth's veins; 30 To see a leader whom he got and chose, Firm to his friends, and fatal to his foes.

But seeing envy, like the sun, does beat, With scorching rays, on all that's high and great, This, ill-requited Monmouth! is the bough The Muses send to shade thy conqu'ring brow. Lampoons, like squibs, may make a present blaze; But time and thunder pay respect to bays. Achilles' arms dazzle our present view, Kept by the Muse as radiant and as new 40 As from the forge of Vulcan first they came; Thousands of years are past, and they the same; Such care she takes to pay desert with fame! Than which no monarch, for his crown's defence, Knows how to give a nobler recompence.

OF AN ELEGY MADE BY MRS WHARTON[1] ON THE EARL OF ROCHESTER.

Thus mourn the Muses! on the hearse Not strewing tears, but lasting verse, Which so preserve the hero's name, They make him live again in fame.

Chloris, in lines so like his own, Gives him so just and high renown, That she th'afflicted world relieves, And shows that still in her he lives; Her wit as graceful, great, and good; Allied in genius, as in blood.[2]

His loss supplied, now all our fears Are, that the nymph should melt in tears. Then, fairest Chloris! comfort take, For his, your own, and for our sake, Lest his fair soul, that lives in you, Should from the world for ever go. [1] 'Mrs. Wharton': the daughter, and co-heiress with the Countess of Abingdon, of Sir Henry Lee, of Ditchley, in Oxfordshire. [2] 'In blood': the Earl of Rochester's mother was Mrs. Wharton's grand aunt.

OF HER MAJESTY, ON NEW-YEAR'S DAY, 1683.

What revolutions in the world have been, How are we changed since we first saw the Queen! She, like the sun, does still the same appear, Bright as she was at her arrival here! Time has commission mortals to impair, But things celestial is obliged to spare.

May every new year find her still the same In health and beauty as she hither came! When Lords and Commons, with united voice, Th' Infanta named, approved the royal choice;[1] First of our Queens whom not the King alone, But the whole nation, lifted to the throne.

With like consent, and like desert, was crown'd The glorious Prince[2] that does the Turk confound. Victorious both! his conduct wins the day, And her example chases vice away; Though louder fame attend the martial rage, 'Tis greater glory to reform the age.

[1] 'Royal choice': a royal message, announcing the king's intention to
marry the Infanta of Portugal, was delivered in Parliament in May
1661.
[2] 'Prince': John Sobieski, king of Poland.

OF TEA, COMMENDED BY HER MAJESTY.

Venus her myrtle, Phoebus has his bays; Tea both excels, which she vouchsafes to praise. The best of Queens, and best of herbs, we owe To that bold nation which the way did show To the fair region where the sun does rise, Whose rich productions we so justly prize. The Muse's friend, tea does our fancy aid, Repress those vapours which the head invade, And keeps that palace of the soul serene, Fit on her birth-day to salute the Queen.

OF THE INVASION AND DEFEAT OF THE TURKS, IN THE YEAR 1683.[1]

The modern Nimrod, with a safe delight Pursuing beasts, that save themselves by flight, Grown proud, and weary of his wonted game, Would Christians chase, and sacrifice to fame.

A prince, with eunuchs and the softer sex Shut up so long, would warlike nations vex, Provoke the German, and, neglecting heaven, Forget the truce for which his oath was given.

His Grand Vizier, presuming to invest The chief imperial city of the west, 10 With the first charge compell'd in haste to rise, His treasure, tents, and cannon, left a prize; The standard lost, and janizaries slain, Render the hopes he gave his master vain. The flying Turks, that bring the tidings home, Renew the memory of his father's doom; And his guard murmurs, that so often brings Down from the throne their unsuccessful kings.

The trembling Sultan's forced to expiate His own ill-conduct by another's fate. 20 The Grand Vizier, a tyrant, though a slave, A fair example to his master gave; He Bassa's head, to save his own, made fly, And now, the Sultan to preserve, must die.

The fatal bowstring was not in his thought, When, breaking truce, he so unjustly fought; Made the world tremble with a numerous host, And of undoubted victory did boast.

Strangled he lies! yet seems to cry aloud, 29 To warn the mighty, and instruct the proud, That of the great, neglecting to be just, Heaven in a moment makes a heap of dust.

The Turks so low, why should the Christians lose Such an advantage of their barb'rous foes? Neglect their present ruin to complete, Before another Solyman they get? Too late they would with shame, repenting, dread That numerous herd, by such a lion led; He Rhodes and Buda from the Christians tore, Which timely union might again restore. 40

But, sparing Turks, as if with rage possess'd, The Christians perish, by themselves oppress'd; Cities and provinces so dearly won, That the victorious people are undone!

What angel shall descend to reconcile The Christian states, and end their guilty toil? A prince more fit from heaven we cannot ask Than Britain's king, for such a glorious task; His dreadful navy, and his lovely mind, Give him the fear and favour of mankind; 50 His warrant does the Christian faith defend; On that relying, all their quarrels end. The peace is sign'd,[2] and Britain does obtain What Rome had sought from her fierce sons in vain.

In battles won Fortune a part doth claim, And soldiers have their portion in the same; In this successful union we find Only the triumph of a worthy mind. 'Tis all accomplish'd by his royal word, Without unsheathing the destructive sword; 60

Without a tax upon his subjects laid, Their peace disturb'd, their plenty, or their trade. And what can they to such a prince deny, With whose desires the greatest kings comply?

The arts of peace are not to him unknown; This happy way he march'd into the throne; And we owe more to Heaven than to the sword, The wish'd return of so benign a lord.

Charles! by old Greece with a new freedom graced, Above her antique heroes shall be placed. 70 What Theseus did, or Theban Hercules, Holds no compare with this victorious peace, Which on the Turks shall greater honour gain, Than all their giants and their monsters slain: Those are bold tales, in fabulous ages told; This glorious act the living do behold.

[1] 'Year 1683': see History. [2] 'Peace is signed': the Peace of Nimeguen.

A PRESAGE OF THE RUIN OF THE TURKISH EMPIRE; PRESENTED TO HIS MAJESTY KING JAMES II. ON HIS BIRTHDAY.

Since James the Second graced the British throne, Truce, well observed, has been infring'd by none; Christians to him their present union owe, And late success against the common foe; While neighb'ring princes, both to urge their fate, Court his assistance, and suspend their hate. So angry bulls the combat do forbear, When from the wood a lion does appear.

This happy day peace to our island sent, As now he gives it to the Continent. 10 A prince more fit for such a glorious task, Than England's king, from Heaven we cannot ask; He, great and good! proportion'd to the work, Their ill-drawn swords shall turn against the Turk.

Such kings, like stars with influence unconfined, Shine with aspect propitious to mankind; Favour the innocent, repress the bold, And, while they flourish, make an age of gold.

Bred in the camp, famed for his valour, young; At sea successful, vigorous, and strong; 20 His fleet, his array, and his mighty mind, Esteem and rev'rence through the world do find. A prince with such advantages as these, Where he persuades not, may command a peace. Britain declaring for the juster side, The most ambitious will forget their pride; They that complain will their endeavours cease, Advised by him, inclined to present peace, Join to the Turk's destruction, and then bring All their pretences to so just a king. 30

If the successful troublers of mankind, With laurel crown'd, so great applause do find, Shall the vex'd world less honour yield to those That stop their progress, and their rage oppose? Next to that power which does the ocean awe, Is to set bounds, and give ambition law.

The British monarch shall the glory have, That famous Greece remains no longer slave; That source of art and cultivated thought! Which they to Rome, and Romans hither brought. 40

The banish'd Muses shall no longer mourn, But may with liberty to Greece return; Though slaves (like birds that sing not in a cage), They lost their genius, and poetic rage; Homers again, and Pindars, may be found, And his great actions with their numbers crown'd.

The Turk's vast empire does united stand; Christians, divided under the command Of jarring princes, would be soon undone, Did not this hero make their int'rest one; 50 Peace to embrace, ruin the common foe, Exalt the Cross, and lay the Crescent low.

Thus may the Gospel to the rising sun Be spread, and flourish where it first began; And this great day, (so justly honour'd here!) Known to the East, and celebrated there.

Hæc ego longævus cecini tibi, maxime regum!
Ausus et ipse manu juvenum tentare laborem.--VIRG.

EPISTLES.

TO THE KING, ON HIS NAVY.

Where'er thy navy spreads her canvas wings, Homage to thee, and peace to all she brings; The French and Spaniard, when thy flags appear, Forget their hatred, and consent to fear. So Jove from Ida did both hosts survey, And when he pleased to thunder, part the fray. Ships heretofore in seas like fishes sped, The mightiest still upon the smallest fed; Thou on the deep imposest nobler laws, And by that justice hast removed the cause 10 Of those rude tempests, which for rapine sent, Too oft, alas! involved the innocent. Now shall the ocean, as thy Thames, be free From both those fates, of storms and piracy.

But we most happy, who can fear no force But winged troops, or Pegasean horse. 'Tis not so hard for greedy foes to spoil Another nation, as to touch our soil. Should Nature's self invade the world again, And o'er the centre spread the liquid main, 20 Thy power were safe, and her destructive hand Would but enlarge the bounds of thy command; Thy dreadful fleet would style thee lord of all, And ride in triumph o'er the drowned ball; Those towers of oak o'er fertile plains might go, And visit mountains where they once did grow.