Pray reader that such times no more appear :
Or, if they happen, learn true honour here.
Ask of this age's faith and loyalty,

Which, to preserve them, heaven confin'd in thee.
Few subjects could a king like thine deserve :
And fewer, such a king, so well could serve.
Bleft king, bleft subject, whose exalted state
By fufferings rofe, and gave the law to fate.
Such fouls are rare, but mighty patterns given
To earth, and meant for ornaments to heaven.

XV.

EPITAPH upon the Earl of ROCHESTER's being difmiffed from the Treasury, in 1687.

HERE lies a creature of indulgent fate,

From Tory Hyde rais'd to a chit of state;
In chariot now, Elisha like, he's hurl'd
To th' upper empty regions of the world:
The airy thing cuts through the yielding sky ;
And as it goes does into atoms fly :
While we on earth fee, with no small delight,
The bird of prey turn'd to a paper kite.
With drunken pride and rage he did so well,
The hated thing without compaffion fell;
By powerful force of universal prayer,
The ill-blown bubble is now turn'd to air;
To his first less than nothing he is gone,
By his prepofterous tranfaction!

SONGS,

SONGS,

O DE S,

AND A

MASQUE.

I.

The FAIR STRANGER, a SONG.

I.

HAPPY and free, securely bleft;

No beauty could disturb my rest;

My amorous heart was in despair,
To find a new victorious fair.

II.

Till you, defcending on our plains,
With foreign force renew my chains;
Where now you rule without control
The mighty fovereign of my foul.

III.

Your fmiles have more of conquering charms,
Than all your native country arms:
Their troops we can expel with ease,

Who vanquish only when we please.

IV. But

IV.

But in your eyes, oh! there's the spell,

Who can fee them, and not rebel?
You make us captives by your stay,
Yet kill us if you go away.

II.

On the YOUNG STATESMEN.

CLARENDON had law and sense,

Clifford was fierce and brave;

Bennet's grave look was a pretence,
And Danby's matchlefs impudence
Help'd to fupport the knave.

But Sunderland, Godolphin, Lory,
These will appear fuch chits in story,
'Twill turn all politicks to jests,

To be repeated like John Dory,

When fidlers fing at feafts.

Protect us, mighty Providence,

What would thefe madmen have?

First, they would bribe us without pence,
Deceive us without common fenfe,

And without power enflave.

Shall free-born men, in humble awe,
Submit to fervile fhame;

Who from confent and custom draw
The fame right to be rul'd by law,

Which kings pretend to reign?

The

The duke fhall wield his conquering fword,
The chancellor make a speech,

The king hall pass his honeft word,
The pawn'd revenue fums afford,

And then, come kiss my breech.

So have I feen a king on chefs

(His rooks and knights withdrawn,

His queen and bishops in diftrefs)
Shifting about, grow lefs and lefs,

With here and there a pawn.

III.

A SONG for St CECILIA's Day, 1687.

I.

FROM harmony, from heavenly harmony

This univerfal frame began:

When nature underneath a heap
Of jarring atoms lay,

And could not heave her head,
The tuneful voice was heard from high,
Arife, ye more than dead.

Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry,
In order to their stations. leap,

And Mufic's power obey.

From harmony, from heavenly harmony,

This univerfal frame began :

From harmony to harmony

Through all the compass of the notes it ran,

The diapafon clofing full in Man.

II. What

II.

What paffion cannot Music raise and quell!
When Jubal ftruck the chorded shell,
His listening brethren stood around,
And, wondring, on their faces fell
To worship that celestial found.

Lefs than a God they thought there could not dwell
Within the hollow of that shell,

That spoke so sweetly and fo well.

What paffion cannot Music raise and quell?

III.

The trumpet's loud clangor

Excites us to arms,

With fhrill notes of anger

And mortal alarms.

The double double double beat

Of the thundering drum

Cries, hark! the foes come;

Charge, Charge, 'tis too late to retreat.

IV.

The foft complaining flute

In dying notes discovers

The woes of hopeless lovers,

Whofe dirge is whisper'd by the warbling lute.

V.

Sharp violins proclaim

Their jealous pangs, and defperation,

Fury, frantic indignation,

Depth of pains, and height of paffion,
For the fair, difdainful, dame.

VI. But