"Their modeft nature curbs the struggling flame, "And stifles what they with to act, with shame: "But once this fence thrown down, when they perceive "That they may taste forbidden fruit and live;

They stop not here their course, but fafely in, "Grow strong, luxuriant, and bold in fin;

"True to no principles, press forward still,

"And only bound by appetite their will:
"Now fawn and flatter, while this tide prevails,

"But fhift with every veering blast their fails.
" Mark those that meanly truckle to your power,

}

"And would to-morrow Mahomet adore. "On higher springs true men of honour move, "Free is their service, and unbought their love: "When danger calls, and honour leads the way, "With joy they follow, and with pride obey : "When the rebellious foe came rolling on, " And shook with gathering multitudes the throne, "Where were the minions then? What arm, what force, "Could they oppose to stop the torrent's course?

" Then Pembroke, then the nobles firmly stood,
"Free of their lives, and lavish of their blood;
"But, when your orders to mean ends decline,
" With the same constancy they all refign."

Thus spake the youth, who open'd first the way,
And was the Phosph'rus to the dawning day;
Follow'd by a more glorious splendid host,
Than any age, or any realm can boast:

So great their fame, so numerous their train,
To name were endless, and to praise in vain;
But Herbert and great Oxford merit more;
Bold is their flight, and more fublime they foar;
So high their virtue as yet wants a name,
Exceeding wonder, and furpaffing fame:
Rife, glorious church, erect thy radiant head;
The storm is past, th' impending tempeft fled;
Had Fate decreed thy ruin or difgrace,
It had not given such sons so brave a race;
When for deftruction heaven a realm defigns,
The symptoms first appear in slavish minds.
These men would prop a finking nation's weight,
Stop falling vengeance, and reverse ev'n fate.
Let other nations boast their fruitful foil,
Their fragrant spices, their rich wine and oil;
In breathing colours, and in living paint,
Let them excel; their mastery we grant.
But to inftruct the mind, to arm the foul
With virtue which no dangers can control;
Exalt the thought, a speedy courage lend,
That horror cannot shake, or pleasure bend;
These are the English arts, these we profess,
To be the fame in mifery and success;
To teach oppressors law, assist the good,
Relieve the wretched, and fubdue the proud.
Such are our fouls: but what doth worth avail
When kings commit to hungry priests the scale?
All merit 's light when they dispose the weight,
Who either would embroil or rule the state;

Defame those heroes who their yoke refuse,
And blast that honesty they cannot use;
The strength and safety of the crown destroy,
And the king's power against himself employ;
Affront his friends, deprive him of the brave;
Bereft of thefe, he must become their slave.
Men, like our money, come the most in play,
For being base, and of a coarse allay.
The richest medals, and the purest gold,
Of native value, and exactest mould,
By worth conceal'd, in private closets shine,
For vulgar use too precious and too fine;
Whilst tin and copper with new stamping bright,
Coin of base metal, counterfeit and light,
Do all the business of the nation's turn,
Rais'd in contempt, us'd and employ'd in scorn;
So shining virtues are for courts too bright,
Whose guilty actions fly the searching light :
Rich in themselves, disdaining to afpire,
Great without pomp, they willingly retire;
Give place to fools, whose rash misjudging sense
Increases the weak measures of their prince;
They blindly and implicitly run on,

Nor fee those dangers which the others shun:
Who, flow to act, each business duly weigh,
Advise with freedom, and with care obey;
With wisdom fatal to their interest, strive
To make their monarch lov'd, and nation thrive.
Such have no place where priests and women reign,
Who love fierce drivers, and a loofer rein.

AN AN

EPISTLE

OL

CHARLES EARL OF DORSET,

Occafioned by his Majesty's Victory in Ireland.

WHA HAT! shall the king the nation's genius raife,
And make us rival our great Edward's days;
Yet not one Muse, worthy a conqueror's name,
Attend his triumphs, and record his fame ?
Oh, Dorfet! you alone this fault can mend,
The Muses' darling, confident, and friend;
The poets are your charge, and, if unfit,
You should be fin'd to furnish abler wit;
Oblig'd to quit your ease, and draw again,
To paint the greatest hero, the best pen.
A hero, who thus early doth out-shine
The ancient honours of his glorious line;
And, foaring more fublimely to renown,
The memory of their pious triumphs drown;
Whose actions are deliver'd o'er to fame,
As types and figures of his greater name.
When fate fome mighty genius has design'd,
For the relief and wonder of mankind,
Nature takes time to answer the intent,
And climbs, by flow degrees, the steep afcent:

She toils and labours with the growing weight,
And watches carefully the steps of fate;
Till all the feeds of providence unite,
To fet the hero in a happy light;

Then, in a lucky and propitious hour,
Exerts her force, and calls forth all her power.

In Nassau's race the made this long essay;

Heroes and patriots prepar'd the way,
And promis'd, in their dawn, this brighter day;
A public fpirit diftinguish'd all the line,
Successive virtues in each branch did shine,
Till this last glory rose, and crown'd the great design.
Blest be his name! and peaceful lie his grave,
Who durft his native foil, loft Holland, fave!
But William's genius takes a wider scope,
And gives the injur'd, in all kingdoms, hope;
Born to fubdue insulting tyrants' rage,
The ornament and terror of the age;
The refuge where afflicted nations find
Relief from those oppressors of mankind,
Whom laws restrain not, and no oaths can bind.
Him, their deliverer Europe does confefs,
All tongues extol, and all religions bless ;
The Po, the Danube, Bætis, and the Rhine,
United in his praise, their wonder join;
While, in the public cause, he takes the field,
And shelter'd nations fight behind his shield.
His foes themselves dare not applause refuse :
And shall fuch actions want a faithful Muse?

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Poets