Grown proud, and weary of his wonted game,
Would Chriftians chase, and facrifice to fame.

A prince with eunuchs and the fofter fex
Shut up fo long, would warlike nations vex,
Provoke the German, and, neglecting Heav'n,
Forget the truce for which his oath was giv'n.
His Grand Vifier, prefuming to invest
The chief imperial city of the West *,

With the first charge compeli'd in hafte to rife,
His treasure, tents, and cannon, left a prize:
The standard loft, and janizaries flain,

Render the hopes he gave his master vain.

The flying Turks, that bring the tidings home, 15
Renew the mem'ry of his father's doom;

And his guard murmurs, that so often brings
Down from the throne their unsuccessful kings.
The trembling Sultan 's forc'd to expiate

His own ill conduct by another's fate:
The Grand Vifier, a tyrant, tho' a flave,
A fair example to his master gave;

He Baffas' heads, to fave his own, made fly,
And now, the Sultan to preferve, must die.

The fatal bowstring was not in his thought,
When, breaking truce, he fo unjustly fought;
Made the world tremble with a num'rous hoft,
And of undoubted victory did boast.

* Vienna.

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Strangled he lies! yet feems to cry aloud,
To warn the mighty, and inftruct the proud,
That of the great, neglecting to be just,
Heav'n in a moment makes an heap of duft.

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The Turks fo low, why fhould the Chriftians lofe Such an advantage of their barb'rous foes?

Neglect their prefent ruin to complete,

Before another Solyman they get?

'Too late they would with shame, repenting, dread That num'rous herd, by such a lion led :

He Rhodes and Buda from the Chriftians tore,
Which timely union might again restore.

But, sparing Turks, as if with rage possest,
The Chriftians perish, by themselves oppreft:
Cities and provinces fo dearly won,
That the victorious people are undone!

What angel fhall defcend to reconcile
The Christian states, and end their guilty toil?
A prince more fit from Heav'n we cannot ask
Than Britain's king, for fuch a glorious task;
His dreadful navy, and his lovely mind,
Gives him the fear and favour of mankind:
His warrant does the Chriftian faith defend;

On that relying, all their quarrels end.

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The peace is fign'd, and Britain does obtain
What Rome had fought from her fierce fons in vain.
In battles won Fortune a part doth claim,
And foldiers have their portion in the fame ;

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In this fuccefsful union we find

Only the triumph of a worthy mind.

'Tis all accomplish'd by his royal word,

Without unfheathing the deftructive (word;
Without a tax upon his fubjects laid,

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Their peace difturb'd, their plenty, or their trade:
And what can they to such a Prince deny,
With whofe defires the greatest kings comply?

The arts of peace are not to him unknown;
This happy way he march'd into the throne;
And we owe more to Heav'n than to the sword,
The wifh'd return of so benign a lord,

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Charles! by old Greece with a new freedom grac'd, Above her antique heroes shall be plac'd. What Thefeus did, or Theban Hercules, Holds no compare with this victorious peace; Which on the Turks fhall greater honour gain, Than all their giants and their monsters slain : Thofe are bold tales, in fabulous ages told, This glorious act the living do behold.

LIII:

OF HER MAJESTY,

ON NEW-YEAR'S DAY, 1683.

WHAT revolutions in the world have been!
How are we chang'd fince we first saw the Queen!

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She, like the fun, does ftill the fame appear,
Bright as she was at her arrival here!
Time has commiffion mortals to impair,
But things celestial is oblig'd to spare.

May ev'ry new year find her ftill the fame
In health and beauty as she hither came!
When Lords and Commons, with united voice,
Th' Infanta nam'd, approv'd the royal choice:
First of our queens whom not the King alone,
But the whole nation, lifted to the throne.

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With like confent, and like defert, was crown'd The glorious Prince * that does the Turk confound. Victorious both! his conduct wins the day,

And her example chafes vice away:

Tho' louder fame attend the martial rage;

'Tis greater glory to reform the age.

LIV.

OF TEA,

COMMENDED BY HER MAJESTY,

VENUS her myrtle, Phoebus has his bays;
Tea both excels, which she vouchsafes to praise,
The best of queens, and best of herbs, we owe
To that bold nation which the way did show

* John Sobieski, king of Poland.

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To the fair region where the fun does fife,
Whofe rich productions we fo juftly prize.
The Mufe's friend, tea does our fancy aid,
Reprefs thofe vapours which the head invade,
And keeps that palace of the foul ferene,
Fit on her birthday to falute the Queen.

LV.

OF HER ROYAL HIGHNESS,

Mother to the Prince of Orange: and of her portrait writ-
ten by the late Duchefs of York while fke lived with her.
HEROICK Nymph! in tempefts the fupport,
In peace the glory of the British court!

Into whofe arms the church, the state, and all
That precious is, or facred here, did fall.
Ages to come, that shall your bounty hear,
Will think you miftrefs of the Indies were:
Tho' ftraiter bounds your fortune did confine,
In your large heart was found a wealthy mine:
Like the bleft oil, the widow's lasting feast,
Your treasure, as you pour'd it out, increas'd.
While fome your beauty, fome your bounty fing,
Your native ifle does with your praifes ring:
But above all, a nymph * of your own train
Gives us your character in such a strain,

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