When graciously he deign'd to condefcend,
Pleas'd to exalt a fubject to a friend!
To the most low how eafy of accefs!
Willing to hear, and longing to redress !
His mercy knew no bounds of time or place,
His reign was one continued act of grace!
Good Titus could, but Charles could never fay,
Of all his royal life, "he loft a day.”
Excellent prince! O once our joy and care,
Now our eternal grief and deep despair!
O father! or if aught than father's more,
How fhall thy children their fad lofs deplore?
How grieve enough, when anxious thoughts recall
The mournful ftory of their fovereign's fall?
Oh! who that fcene of forrow can display;
When, waiting death, the fearless monarch lay!
Though great the pain and anguish that he bore,
His friends' and fubjects' grief afflict him more!
Yet even that, and coming fate, he bears;
But finks and faints to fee a brother's tears!
The mighty grief, that fwell'd his royal breast,
Scarce reach'd by thought, can't be by words exprest !
Grief for himself! for grief for Charles is vain,
Who now begins a new triumphant reign,
Welcom'd by all kind spirits and faints above,
Who see themselves in him, and their own likeness love!
What godlike virtues must that prince adorn,
Who can so please, while fuch a prince we mourn!
Who elfe, but that great He, who now commands
Th' united nation's voice, and hearts, and hands,
Could fo the love of a whole people gain,
After fo excellent a monarch's reign!
Mean Virtues after Tyrants may fucceed
And pleafe; but after Charles a James we need!
This, this is he, by whofe high actions grac'd
The present age contends with all the past :
Him heaven a pattern did for heroes form,
Slow to advise, but eager to perform :
In council calm, fierce as a ftorm in fight!
Danger his fport, and labour his delight.
To him the fleet and camp, the fea and field,
Do equal harvests of bright glory yield !
Who can forget, of royal blood how free,
He did affert the empire of the sea ?
The Belgian fleet endeavour'd, but in vain,
The tempeft of his fury to sustain ;
Shatter'd and torn before his flag they fly
Like doves, that the exalted eagle spy
Ready to stoop and seize them from on high.
He, Neptune-like (when from his
watery bed Serene and calm he lifts his awful head,
And fmiles, and to his chariot gives the rein),
In triumph rides o'er the afferted main !
Rejoicing crowds attend him on the strand,
Loud as the fea, and numerous as the fand;
So joy the many: but the wiser few
The godlike prince with filent wonder view:
A joy, too great to be by voice exprest,
Shines in each eye, and beats in every breast:
They faw him deftin'd for some greater day,
And in his looks the omens read of his imperial fway
Nor do his civil virtues lefs appear,
To perfect the illustrious character;
To merit juft, to needy virtue kind,
True to his word, and faithful to his friend!
What's well refolv'd, as firmly he purfues;
Fix'd in his choice, as careful how to chufe!
Honour was born, not planted in his heart;
And virtue came by nature, not by art.
Albion! forget thy forrows, and adore
That prince, who all the bleffings does restore,
That Charles, the faint, made thee enjoy before !
'Tis done; with turrets crown'd, I fee her rife,
And tears are wip'd for ever from her eyes!
LUCIUS JUNIUS BRUTUS.
LONG has the tribe of poets on the stage
Groan'd under perfecuting critics' rage,
But with the found of railing and of rhyme,
Like bees united by the tinkling chime,
The little ftinging infects swarm the more,
Their buzzing greater than it was before.
But, oh ye leading voters of the Pit,
That infect others with your too much wit,
That well-affected members do feduce,
And with your malice poifon half the house;
Know, your ill-manag'd arbitrary fway
Shall be no more endur'd, but ends this day.
Rulers of abler conduct we will chufe,
And more indulgent to a trembling Muse;
Women, for ends of government more fit,
Women fhall rule the Boxes and the Pit,
Give laws to Love, and influence to Wit.
Find me one man of fenfe in all your roll,
Whom fome one woman has not made a fool.
Ev'n bufinefs, that intolerable load
Under which man does groan, and yet is proud,
Much better they could manage would they pleafe;
'Tis not their want of wit, but love of eafe.
For, fpite of art, more wit in them appears,
Though we boaft ours, and they diffemble theirs :
Wit once was ours, and shot up for a while,
Set fhallow in a hot and barren foil;
But when transplanted to a richer ground,
Has in their Eden its perfection found.
And 'tis but juft they should our wit invade,
Whilft we fet up their painting patching trade;
As for our courage, to our fhame 'tis known,
As they can raife it, they can pull it down.
At their own weapons they our bullies awe,
Faith! let them make an anti-falick law;
Prefcribe to all Mankind, as well as Plays,
And wear the breeches, as they wear the bays.
TO THE PEOPLE OF ENGLAND.
A DETESTATION OF CIVIL WAR.
H! whither do ye rush, and thus prepare
To rouze again the fleeping war?
Has then fo little English blood been spilt
On fea and land with equal guilt?
Not that again we might our arms advance,
To check the infolent pride of France;
Not that once more we might in fetters bring
An humble captive Gallic king?
But, to the wish of the infulting Gaul,
That we by our own hands fhould fall.
Nor wolves nor lions bear fo fierce a mind;
They hurt not their own favage kind :
Is it blind rage, or zeal, more blind and strong,
Or guilt, yet ftronger, drives you on?
Answer; but none can answer; mute and pale
They ftand; guilt does o'er words prevail :
'Tis fo: heaven's juftice threatens us from high;
And a king's death from earth does cry;
E'er fince the martyr's innocent blood was shed,
Upon our fathers, and on ours, and on our childrens' ·
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