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Soft in his fancy drew a pleasing scheme,
And plan'd that landskip in a morning dream.
With the sweet view the fire of gardens fir'd,
Attempts the labour by the nymph inspir'd,
The walls and streets in rows of yew designs,
And forms the town in all its ancient lines;
The corner trees he lifts more high in air,
And girds the palace with a verdant fquare ;
Nor knows, while round he views the rising scenes,
He builds a city as he plants his greens.
With a sad pleasure the aërial maid
This image of her ancient realm survey'd;
How chang'd, how fallen from its primæval pride!
Yet here each moon, the hour her lover dy'd,
Each moon his folemn obsequies she pays,
And leads the dance beneath pale Cynthia's rays;
Pleas'd in the shades to head her fairy train,
And grace the groves where Albion's kinsmen reigna
EPIŠTLE from a Lady in ENGLAND,
, dear rover, and thọ vanquith’d friends,
The health she wants, thy gentle Chloe sends;
Though much you suffer, think I suffer more,
Worse than an exile on my native shore.
Companions in your master's flight you roam,
Unenvy'd by your haughty foes at home;
For-ever near the royal out-law's fide,
You share his fortunes, and his hopes divide ;
On glorious schemes, and thoughts of empire dwell,
And with imaginary titles swell.
Say, (for thou know't I own his facred line,
The paffive doctrine, and the right divine)
Say, what new succours does the chief prepare ?
The strength of armies ? or the force of pray’r ?
Does he from heav'n or earth his hopes derive?
From saints departed ? or from priests alive?
Nor saints nor priests can Brunswick's troops withftand,
And beads drop useless through the zealot's hand;
Heav'n to our vows may future kingdoms owe,
But skill and courage win the crowns below.
Ere to thy cause, and thee, my heart inclin'd,
Or love to party had feduc'd my mind,
In female joys I took a dull delight,
Slept all the morn, and punted half the night;
But now, with fears and publick cares poffefs'd,
The church, the church, for-ever breaks my reft.
The Post-boy on my pillow I explore,
And fift the news of ev'ry foreign shore,
Studious find new friends, and new allies;
What armies march from Sweden in disguise ;
How Spain prepares her banners to unfold,
And Rome deals out her blessings, and her gold:
Then o'er the map my finger taught to stray,
Cross many a region marks the winding way i
From sea to sea, from realm to realm I rove,
And grow a mere geographer by love.
But fill Avignon, and the pleasing coaft
That holds Thee banish'd, claims my care the most;
Oft on the well-known spot I fix my eyes,
And span the distance that between us lies.
Let not our James, tho' foil'd in arms, despair,
Whilft on his fide he reckons half the fair :
In Britain's lovely ifle a shining throng
War in his cause, a thousand beauties strong.
Th' unthinking victors vainly boast their pow'rs;
Be theirs the musket, while the tongue is ours.
We reason with such fluency, and fire,
The beaux we baffle, and the learned tire,
Against the prelates plead the church's cause,
And from our judges vindicate the laws.
Then mourn not, hapless prince, thy kingdoms lofte
A crown, tho' late, thy facred brow may boast;
Heav'n seems through us thy empire to decree,
Those who win hearts, have giv’n their hearts to thee.
Haft thou not heard that, when profusely gay,
Our well-dress'd rivals grace their sov'reign's day,
We stubborn damsels met the publiek view
In loathsome wormwood, and repenting rue ?
What whig but trembled, when our spotless band
In virgin roses whiten'd half the land!
Who can forget what fears the foe poffefs’d,
When oaken boughs mark'd ev'ry loyal breast !
Less scar'd near Medway's stream the Norman Atoods
When cross the plain he spy'd a marching wood,
'Till near at hand, a gleam of swords betray'd
The youth of Kent beneath its wand'ring shade.
Those, who the fuccours of the fair despise,
May find that we have nails as well as eyes.
The female bands, O prince by Fortune cross'd,
At least more courage than thy men may boast ;
Our sex has dar'd the mug-house chiefs to meet,
And purchafe fame in many a well-fought ftreet.
From Drury-lane, the region of renown,
The land of love, the Paphos of the town,
Fair patriots fallying oft have put to flight
With all their poles the guardians of the night,
And borné, with screams of triumph; to their fide
The leader's staff in all its painted pride.
Nor fears the hawker in her warbling note
To vend the discontented statesman's thought.
Tho' red with stripes, and recent from the thong,
Sore smitten for the love of facred song,
The tuneful fister's still pursue their trade,
Like Philomela darkling in the shade.
Poor Trott attends, forgetful of a fare,
And hums in concert o'er his empty chair: :
Mean while; regardless of the royal cause,
His sword for James no brother sovereign draws.
The Pope himself surrounded with alarms,
To France his bulls, 'to.Corfu fends his arms,
And though he hears his darling son's complaint,
Can hardly spare one tutelary faint ;
But lists them all to guard his own abodes,
And into ready money coins his gods.
The dauntless Swede, pursu'd by vengeful foes,
Scarce keeps his own hereditary snows;
Nor must the friendly roof of kind Lorrain
With feast regale our garter'd youth again :
Safe, Bar-le-duc, within thy silent grove
The pheasant now may perch, the haré may rove :