Near thy bold work the stunn'd spectators faint,

Nor fee unmov'd, what thou unmov'd could'st paint.
What brings to mind each various fcene of woe,
Th' infulting judge, the folemn-mocking show,
The horrid fentence, and accurfed blow.

Where then, juft heaven, was thy unactive hand,
Thy idle thunder, and thy lingering brand!
Thy adamantine fhield, thy angel wings,
And the great Genii of anointed kings !
Treason and fraud shall thus the stars regard!
And injur'd virtue meet this fad reward!
So fad, none like, can Time's old records tell,
Though Pompey bled, and poor Darius fell.
All names but one too low-that one too high:
All parallels are wrongs, or blafphemy.

O power fupreme! How fecret are thy ways!
Yet man, vain man, would trace the mystic maze,
With foolish wisdom, arguing, charge his God,
His balance hold, and guide his angry rod;
New-mould the spheres, and mend the sky's defign,
And found th' immenfe with his fhort fcanty line.
Do thou, my foul, the destin'd period wait,
When God fhall folve the dark decrees of fate,
His now unequal dispensations clear,
And make all wife and beautiful appear;

When fuffering faints aloft in beams shall glow,
And profperous traitors gnash their teeth below.
Such boding thoughts did guilty conscience dart,
A pledge of hell to dying Cromwell's heart:
Then this pale image feem'd t' invade his room,
Gaz'd him to ftone, and warn'd him to the tomb,

While thunders roll, and nimble lightnings play,
And the ftorm wings his fpotted foul away.

A blaft more bounteous ne'er did heaven command To fcatter bleffings o'er the British land.

Not that more kind, which dafh'd the pride of Spain,
And whirl'd her crush'd Armada round the main ;
Not thofe more kind, which guide our floating towers,
Waft gums and gold, and made far India ours:
That only kinder, which to Britain's fhore
Did mitres, crowns, and Stuart's race reftore,
Renew'd the church, revers'd the kingdom's doom,
And brought with Charles an Anna yet to come.
O Clarke, to whom a Stuart trufts her reign
O'er Albion's fleets, and delegates the main;
Dear, as the faith thy loyal heart hath sworn,
Tranfmit this piece to ages yet unborn.
This fight fhall damp the raging ruffian's breast,
The poifon fpill, and half-drawn sword arrest;
To foft compaffion ftubborn traitors bend,
And, one destroy'd, a thousand kings defend.

A FRAGMENT OF A POEM ON HUNTING,

H

"Dona cano divûm, lætas venantibus artes,
Aufpicio, Diana, tuo—

GRATIUS.

ORSES and hounds, their care, their various race,

The numerous beafts, that range the rural chace,

The huntsman's chofen fcenes, his friendly stars,
The laws and glory of the fylvan wars,

5

I first

I first in British verfe prefume to raise;

A venturous rival of the Roman praise.

Let me, chafte Queen of Woods, thy aid obtain,
Bring here thy light-foot nymphs, and sprightly train:
If oft, o'er lawns, thy care prevents the day
To rouse the foe, and prefs the bounding prey,
Woo thine own Phoebus in the task to join,
And grant me genius for the bold defign.
In this foft fhade, O footh the warrior's fire,
And fit his bow-ftring to the trembling lyre;
And teach, while thus their arts and arms we fing,
The groves to echo, and the vales to ring.

Thy care be firft the various gifts to trace,
The minds and genius of the latrant race.
In powers diftin&t the different clans excel,
In fight, or fwiftness, or fagacious smell;
By wiles ungenerous fome furprize the prey,
And fome by courage win the doubtful day.
Seeft thou the gaze-hound! how with glance fevere
From the close herd he marks the deftin'd deer!
How every nerve the greyhound's stretch displays,
The hare preventing in her airy maze;

The lucklefs prey how treacherous tumblers gain,
And dauntless wolf-dogs shake the lion's mane;
O'er all, the blood-hound boasts superior skill,
To scent, to view, to turn, and boldly kill!
His fellows' vain alarms rejects with scorn,
True to the mafter's voice, and learned horn.

His noftrils oft, if ancient fame fing true,
Trace the fly felon through the tainted dew;
Once fnuff'd, he follows with unalter'd aim,
Nor odours lure him from the chofen game;

Deep-mouth'd he thunders, and inflam'd he views,
Springs on relentless, and to death purfues.

Some hounds of manners vile (nor lefs we find
Of fops in hounds, than in the reasoning kind)
Puff'd with conceit run gladding o'er the plain,
And from the scent divert the wiser train;
For the foe's footsteps fondly fnuff their own,
And mar the mufic with their fenfeless tone;
Start at the starting prey, or ruftling wind,
And, hot at first, inglorious lag behind.
A fauntering tribe! may fuch my foes difgrace!
Give me, ye gods, to breed the nobler race.
Nor grieve thou to attend, while truths unknown
I fing, and make Athenian arts our own.

Doft thou in hounds afpire to deathless fame ?
Learn well their lineage and their ancient stem.
Each tribe with joy old rustic heralds trace,
And fing the chofen worthies of their race;
How his fire's features in the fon were spy'd,
When Die was made the vigorous Ringwood's bride.
Less sure thick lips the fate of Austria doom,
Or eagle noses rul'd almighty Rome.

Good shape to various kinds old bards confine,
Some praise the Greek, and fome the Roman line;
And dogs to beauty make as differing claims,
As Albion's nymphs, and India's jetty dames.

Immenfe

Immenfe to name their lands, to mark their bounds,
And paint the thousand families of hounds :
First count the fands, the drops where oceans flow,
Or Gauls by Marlborough sent to shades below.
The task be mine, to teach Britannia's swains,
My much-lov'd country, and my native plains.
Such be the dog, I charge, thou mean'st to train,
His back is crooked, and his belly plain,
Of fillet stretch'd, and huge of haunch behind,
A tapering tail, that nimbly cuts the wind;
Trufs-thigh'd, ftraight-ham'd, and fox-like form'd his

paw,

Large-leg'd, dry fol'd, and of protended claw.
His flat, wide noftrils fnuff the favory fteam,
And from his eyes he fhoots pernicious gleam;
Middling his head, and prone to earth his view,
With ears and chest that dash the morning dew:
He beft to ftem the flood, to leap the bound,
And charm the Dryads with his voice profound
To pay large tribute to his weary lord,
And crown the fylvan hero's plenteous board.
The matron bitch whose womb shall best produce
The hopes and fortune of th' illustrious house,
Deriv'd from noble, but from foreign feed,
For various nature loaths incestuous breed,
Is like the fire throughout. Nor yet difplease
Large flanks, and ribs, to give the teemer ease.
In Spring let loofe thy pairs. Then all things prove
The ftings of pleasure, and the pangs of love:
thereal Jove then glads, with genial fhowers,
Earth's mighty womb, and ftrews her lap with flowers.

Hence