The priests, who humble temperance fhould profefs,
Sought filken robes and fat voluptuous cafe ;
So, with small labours in the vineyard shown,
Forfook God's harvest to improve their own.
That dark ænigma (yet unriddled) Law,
Instead of doing right and giving awe,
Kept open lifts, and at the noify bar,

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Four times a year proclaim'd a civil war,

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Where daily kinsman, father, fon, and brother,
Might damn their fouls to ruin one another.

Hence cavils rofe 'gainst Heaven's and Cæfar's cause, From falfe religions and corrupted laws;

Till fo at laft rebellion's bafe was laid,
And God or king no longer were obey'd.

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But that good angel whofe furmounting power Waited great Charles in each emergent hour, Against whofe care hell vainly did decree, Nor fafter could design than that foresee, Guarding the crown upon his facred brow From all its blackest arts, was with him now, Affur'd him peace must be for him defign'd, For he was born to give it all mankind. By patience, mercies large, and many toils, In his own realms to calm inteftine broils, 'Thence every root of difcord to remove, And plant us new with unity and love. Then stretch his healing hands to neighbouring fhores, Where flaughter rages, and wild rapine roars ; 150 To cool their ferments with the charms of peace, Who, fo their madness and their rage might cease,

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Grow

Grow all (embracing what fuch frendship brings)
Like us the people, and like him their kings.

But now (alas!) in the fad grave he lies,

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Yet fhall his praise for ever live, and laurels from it rise.
For this affurance pious thanks he paid;
Then in his mind the beauteous model laid
Of that majestic pile, where oft, his care
A-while forgot, he might for ease repair :
A feat for fweet retirement, health, and love,
Britain's Olympus, where, like awful Jove,
He pleas'd could fit, and his regards bestow
On the vain, bufy, fwarming world below.
E'en I, the meaneft of those humble fwains,
Who fang his praises through the fertile plains,
Once in a happy hour was thither led,

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Curious to fee what Fame fo far had spread.

There tell, my Mufe, what wonders thou didst find, Worthy thy fong, and his celestial mind.

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'Twas at that joyful hallow'd day's return, On which that man of miracles was born, At whofe great birth appear'd a noon-day star,

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Which prodigy foretold yet many more; Did ftrange escapes from dreadful Fate declare, Nor fhin'd, but for one greater king before. Though now (alas !) in the fad grave he lies, Yet fhall his praise for ever live, and laurels from it rife For this great day were equal joys prepar'd, The voice of triumph on the hills was heard ; .Redoubled fhoutings wak'd the echo's round, And chearful bowls with loyal vows were crown'd.

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But,

But, above all, within those lofty towers,
Where glorious Charles then spent his happy hours,
Joy wore a folemn, though a fmiling face;
Twas gay, but yet majestic, as the place;

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Tell then, my Mufe, what wonders thou didft find Worthy thy fong and his celestial mind.

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Within a gate of strength, whofe ancient frame
Has outworn Time, and the records of Fame,
A reverend * dome there ftands, where twice each day
Affembling prophets their devotions pay,

In prayers
and hymns to heaven's eternal king,
The cornet, flute, and fhawme, affifting as they fing.
Here Ifrael's myftic ftatutes they recount,

From the first tables of the holy mount,
To the bleft gospel of that glorious lord,
Whofe precious death falvation has restor❜d.

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Here fpeak, my Muse, what wonders thou didft find
Worthy thy fong and his celeftial mind.

Within this dome a fhining + chapel's rais'd,
Too noble to be well defcrib'd or prais'd.
Before the door, fix'd in an awe profound,

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I ftood, and gaz'd with pleafing wonder round,
When one approach'd who bore much fober grace, 205
Order and ceremony in his face;

A threatening rod did his dread right hand poize,
A badge of rule and terror o'er the boys:
His left a maffy bunch of keys did sway,
Ready to open all to all that pay.

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*St. George's Church. + St. George's Chapel.

This courteous fquire, obferving how amaz'd
My eyes betray'd me as they wildly gaz'd,

Thus gently spoke : "Those banners * rais'd on high "Betoken noble vows of chivalry ;

"Which here their heroes with religion make, 215
"When they the enfigns of this order take."
Then in due method made me understand
What honour fam'd St. George had done our land;
What toils he vanquish'd, with what monsters strove;
Whofe champions fince for virtue, truth, and love, 220
Hang here their trophies, while their generous arms
Keep wrong fuppreft, and innocence from harms.
At this m' amazement yet did greater grow,
For I had been told all virtue was but show;
That oft bold villainy had best success,
As if its ufe were more, nor merit less.
But here I faw how it rewarded fhin'd.
Tell on, my Muse, what wonders thou didft find
Worthy thy fong and Charles's mighty mind.

I turn'd around my eyes, and, lo, a † cell,
Where melancholy ruin feem'd to dwell,
The door unhing'd, without or bolt or ward,
Seem'd as what lodg'd within found small regard.
Like fome old den, fcarce vifited by day,

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}

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Where dark oblivion lurk'd and watch'd for prey. 235

* Of the Knights of the Garter.

+ An old ifle in the church, where the banner of a dead knight is carried, when another fucceeds him.

Here,

Here, in a heap of confus'd wafte, I found
Neglected hatchments tumbled on the ground;
The fpoils of Time, and triumph of that fate
Which equally on all mankind does wait:
The hero, level'd in his humble grave,

With other men, was now nor great nor brave;
While here his trophies, like their mafter, lay,
To darkness, worms, and rottennefs, a prey.
Urg'd by fuch thoughts as guide the truly great,
Perhaps his fate he did in battle meet;

Fell in his prince's and his country's caufe;
But what his recompence? A fhort applause,
Which he ne'er hears, his memory may grace,
Till, foon forgot, another takes his place.

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And happy that man's chance who falls in time, 250 Ere yet his virtue be become his crime; Ere his abus'd defert be call'd his pride, Or fools and villains on his ruin ride.

But truly bleft is he, whofe foul can bear

The wrongs of fate, nor think them worth his care; 255 Whofe mind no disappointment here can shake,

Who a true estimate of life does make,

Knows 'tis uncertain, frail, and will have end,
So to that profpect ftill his thoughts does bend;
Who, though his right a stronger power invade, 260
Though fate opprefs, and no man give him aid,
Cheer'd with th' affurance that he there fhall find
Reft from all toils, and no remorfe of mind;
Can Fortune's fimiles defpife, her frowns out-brave,
For who's a prince or beggar in the grave?

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But