If thou art well recover'd fince
"The Excommunicated Prince * ;"
For that important tragedy
Would have kill'd any Mufe but thee;
Hither with speed, Oh! hither move;
Pull bufkins off, and, fince to love
The ground is holy that you tread in,
Dance bare-foot at the Captain's wedding.
See where he comes, and by his fide
His charming fair angelic bride:
Such, or lefs lovely, was the dame
So much renown'd, Fulvia by name,
With whom of old Tully did join,
Then when his art did undermine
The horrid Popish plot of Catiline.
Oh fairest nymph of all Great Britain!
(Though thee my eyes I never set on)
Blush not on thy great lord to fmile,
The fecond faviour of our ifle;
What nobler Captain could have led
Thee to thy long'd-for marriage-bed :
For know that thy all-daring Will is
As ftout a hero as Achilles;
And as great things for thee has done,
As Palmerin or th' Knight of th' Sun,
And is himself a whole romance alone.
Let confcious Flanders fpeak, and be
The witnefs of his chivalry.
*A Tragedy, by Captain Bedloe, 1631.
Yet that's not all, his very word
Has flain as many as his fword:
Though common bullies with their oaths
Hurt little till they come to blows,
Yet all his mouth-granadoes kill,
And fave the pains of drawing steel.
This hero thy refistless charms
Have won to fly into thy arms;
For think not any mean design,
Or the inglorious itch of coin,
Could ever have his breast control'd,
Or make him be a flave to gold;
His love 's as freely given to thee
As to the king his loyalty.
Then, oh, receive thy mighty prize
With open arms and wishing eyes,
Kifs that dear face, where may be feen
His worth and parts that skulk within;
That face, that justly styl'd may be
As true a difcoverer as he.
Think not he ever falfe will prove,
His well-known truth fecures his love;
Do you a while divert his cares
From his important grand affairs:
Let him have respite now a while,
From kindling the mad rabble's zeal :
Zeal, that is hot as fire, yet dark and blind,
Shews plainly where its birth-place we may find,
In hell, where though dire flames for ever glow,
Yet 'tis the place of utter darkness too.
But to his bed be fure be true
As he to all the world and you,
He all your plots will elfe betray
All ye She-Machiavels can lay.
He all defigns, you know, has found,
Though hatch'd in hell or under ground;
Oft to the world fuch fecrets shew
As fcarce the plotters themselves knew ;
Yet, if by chance you hap to fin,
And Love, while Honour's napping, fhould creep in, Yet be discreet, and do not boast
O' th' treafon by the common post.
So fhalt thou ftill make him love on;
All virtue 's in difcretion.
So thou with him fhalt fhine, and be
As great a patriot as he;
And when, as now in Christmas, all
For a new pack of cards do call,
Another Popish pack comes out
To please the cits, and charm the rout:
Thou, mighty queen, fhalt a whole fuit command, A crown upon thy head, and fceptre in thy hand!
GEORGE PRINCE OF DENMARK,
WAS Love conducted through the British main,
On a more high design the royal Dane,
Than when of old with an invading hand
His fierce forefathers came to spoil the land:
And love has gain'd him by a nobler way,
A braver conqueft and a richer prey.
For battles won, and countries fav'd renown'd,
Shaded with laurels, and with honours crown'd,
From fields with flaughter ftrew'd, the hero came,
His arms neglected, to purfue his flame.
Like Mars returning from the noble chace
Of flying nations through the plains of Thrace,
When, deck'd with trophies and adorn'd with spoils,
He meets the goddess that rewards his toils!
But, oh what transports did his heart invade
When first he saw the lovely, royal maid!
Fame, that fo high did her perfections raise,
Seem'd now detraction, and no longer praife!
All that could nobleft minds to love engage,
Or into foftness melt the foldier's rage,
All that could spread abroad refistless fire,
wifhes raife, and fierce defire,
All that was charming, all that was above
Ev'n poets fancies, though refin'd by love,
All native beauty dreft by every grace
Of sweetest youth fat fhining in her face!
Where, where is now the generous fury gone,
That through thick troops urg'd the wing'd warrior on ?
Where now the spirit that aw'd the lifted field;
Created to command, untaught to yield?
It yields, it yields, to Anna's gentle fway,
And thinks it above triumphs to obey.
See at thy feet, illustrious princess, thrown
All the rich spoils the mighty hero won!
His fame, his laurels, are thy beauties due,
And all his conquefts are outdone by you:
Ah! lovely nymph, accept the noble prize,
A tribute fit for thofe victorious eyes!
Ah! generous maid, pass not relentless by,
Nor let war's chief by cruel beauty die!
Though unexperienc'd youth fond fcruples move,
And blushes rife but at the name of love;
Though over all thy thoughts and every fenfe
The guard is plac'd of virgin innocence;
Yet from thy father's generous blood we know
Refpect for valour in thy breast does glow;
'Tis but agreeing to thy royal birth,
To fmile on virtue and heroic worth,
Love, in fuch noble feeds of honour fown,
The chaftest virgin need not blush to own.
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