Proftrate before the victor's mercy bend:
What fpares whole thousands, may to thee extend.
Should blinded friends thy doubtful conduct blame,
Great Brunswick's virtues shall secure thy fame :
Say these invite thee to approach his throne,
And own the monarch, heaven vouchfafes to own:
The world, convinc'd, thy reasons will approve;
Say this to them; but fwear to me 'twas love.
OCCASIONED BY HIS EXCELLENCY THE EARL OF STANHOPE'S VOYAGE TO FRANCE, 1718.
"Pacis eras mediufque belli." HOR.
AIR daughter once of Windfor's woods!
In fafety o'er the rolling floods,
Britannia's boaft and darling care,
Big with the fate of Europe, bear.
May winds propitious on his way
The minifter of peace convey;
Nor rebel wave, nor rifing ftorm,
Great George's liquid realms deform.
Our vows are heard. Thy crowded fails
Already fwell with western gales;
Already Albion's coaft retires,
And Calais multiplies her fpires:
At length has royal Orleans preft,
With open arms, the well-known guest;
Before in facred friendship join'd,
And now in counfels for mankind:
Whilft his clear fchemes our patriot shows,
And plans the threaten'd world's repose,
They fix each haughty monarch's doom,
And blefs whole ages yet to come.
Henceforth great Brunswick shall decree
What flag muft awe the Tyrrhene fea;
From whom the Tuscan grape fhall glow,
And fruitful Arethufa flow.
See in firm leagues with Thames combine
The Seine, the Maefe, and diftant Rhine!
Nor, Ebro, let thy fingle rage
With half the warring world engage.
Oh! call to mind thy thoufands flain,
And Almanara's fatal plain;
While yet the Gallic terrors fleep,
Nor Britain thunders from the deep.
TO THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD, 1713.
7HAT kings henceforth shall reign, what states be free,
Is fix'd at length by Anna's juft decree:
Whofe brows the Mufe's facred wreath fhall fit,
Is left to you the arbiters of wit.
With beating hearts the rival poets wait,
Till you, Athenians, fhall decide their fate;
Secure, when to these learned feats they come,
Of equal judgment, and impartial doom.
Poor is the player's fame, whofe whole renown
Is but the praise of a capricious town;
While, with mock-majefty, and fancy'd power,
He ftruts in robes, the monarch of an hour.
Oft wide of nature muft he act a part,
Make love in tropes, in bombaft break his heart:
In turn and fimile refign his breath,
And rhyme and quibble in the pangs of death.
We blush, when plays like these receive applaufe ;
And laugh, in fecret, at the tears we cause;
With honeft fcorn our own fuccefs difdain,
A worthless honour, and inglorious gain.
No trifling fcenes at Oxford shall appear;
Well, what we blush to act, may you to hear.
To you our fam'd, our standard plays we bring,
The work of poets, whom you taught to fing:
Though crown'd with fame, they dare not think it due,
Nor take the laurel till bestow'd by you.
Great Cato's felf the glory of the stage,
Who charms, corrects, exalts, and fires the age,
Begs here he may be try'd by Roman laws;
Το you, O fathers, he fubmits his caufe;
He refts not in the people's general voice,
Till you, the fenate, have confirm'd his choice.
Fine is the fecret, delicate the art,
To wind the paffions, and command the heart;
For fancy'd ills to force our tears to flow,
And make the generous foul in love with woe;
To raise the fhades of heroes to our view;
Rebuild fall'n empires, and old time renew.
How hard the task! how rare the godlike rage!
None fhould prefume to dictate for the Stage,
But fuch as boaft a great extenfive mind,
Enrich'd by Nature, and by Art refin'd;
Who from the ancient ftores their knowledge bring,
And tafted early of the Mufes' fpring.
May none pretend upon her throne to fit,
But fuch as, fprung from you, are born to wit:
Chofen by the mob, their lawlefs claim we flight:
Yours is the old hereditary right.
THOUGHTS OCCASIONED BY THE SIGHT
OF AN ORIGINAL PICTURE OF KING
CHARLES I.
TAKEN AT THE TIME OF HIS TRIAL.
INSCRIBED TO GEORGE CLARKE, Esq.
Animum pictura pafcit inani
"Multa gemens, largoque humectat flumine vultum."
AN this be he! could Charles, the good, the great,
Be funk by heaven to such a dismal state!
How meagre, pale, neglected, worn with care!
What steady sadness, and august despair!
In those funk eyes the grief of years I trace,
And forrow feems acquainted with that face.
Tears, which his heart disdain'd, from me o'erflow,
Thus to furvey God's fubftitute below,
In folenin anguish, and majestic woe.
When spoil'd of empire by unhallow'd hands,
Sold by his fiaves, and held in impious bands;
Rent from, what oft had sweeten'd anxious life,
His helpless children, and his bofom wife;
Doom'd for the faith, plebeian rage to stand,
And fall a victim for the guilty land;
Then thus was feen, abandon'd and forlorn,
The king, the father, and the faint to mourn.
How could't thou, artist, then thy skill display?
Thy fteady hands thy favage heart betray:
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