Great Bleffings, when beftow'd above Defert,
Supprefs the Speech, tho' they inspire the Heart.
Thus, tho' the Muse her grateful Homage pays,
She dares not ftrive her trembling Voice to raise,
And pay unequal Thanks, or difproportion'd Praife.
Such Awe there is in all fublime Delight;
And fo fevere is Joy when Exquifite,

Our fickly Clime, which has for ten Years paft,
With one continu'd Winter been o'er-caft:
Has this new Age with wonted Health begun,
Reviv'd and chear'd by the relenting Sun.
Again, the Spring does early Bloffoms yield,
And Nature laughs in ev'ry living Field.
The Stage alone remains a frozen Soil,
And fruitless mocks the weary Lab'rers Toil;
But this bright Prefence darts enliv'ning Fires,
And ev'ry Mufe with Genial Warmth inspires:
Health to the World, the Sun's kind Heat affures;
That lives by his, but we furvive by yours.

VERSES Sacred to the Memory of GRACE Lady GETHIN. Occafioned by reading her Book, intitled, Reliquiæ Gethinianæ.

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By the fame Hand.

Fter a painful Life in Study spent,

The learn'd themselves their Ignorance lament; And aged Men, whofe Lives exceed the Space, Which feems the Bound prefcrib'd to mortal Race, With hoary Heads, their fhort Experience grieve, As doom'd to die before they've learn'd to live. So hard it is true Knowledge to attain, So frail is Life, and fruitless Human Pain! Who-e'er on this reflects, and then beholds, With ftri& Attention, what this Book unfolds,

With Admiration ftruck, fhall question Who
So very long cou'd live, so much to know?
For fo compleat the finish'd Piece appears,
That Learning feems combin'd with length of Years;
And both improv'd by pureft Wit, to reach
At all that Study, or that Time can teach.
But to what height must his Amazement rise!
When having read the Work, he turns his Eyes
Again to view the foremost op'ning Page,
And there the Beauty, Sex, and tender Age
Of Her beholds, in whofe pure Mind arose

Th' Etherial Source from whence this Current flows!
When Prodigies appear, our Reason fails,
And Superstition o'er Philosophy prevails.
Some heav'nly Minifter we ftrait conclude,
Some Angel-Mind with Female Form indu'd,
To make a fhort Abode on Earth, was fent,
(Where no Perfection can be permanent)
And having left her bright Example here,
Was quick recall'd, and bid to disappear.
Whether around the Throne, Eternal Hymns
She Sings, amid the Choir of Seraphims;
Or fome refulgent Star informs, and guides,
Where the, the bleft Intelligence, prefides;
Is not for us to know who here remain;
For 'twere as Impious to enquire, as Vain;
And all we ought, or can, in this dark State,
Is, what we have admir'd, to imitate.

EPITAPH upon ROBERT HUNTINGTON, of Stanton Harcourt, Efq; and ROBERT his Son.

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By the fame Hand.

HIS peaceful Tomb does now contain,
Father and Son, together laid;

Whose living Virtues shall remain,
When they, and this are quite decay'd.

What Man fhou'd be, to Ripeness grown,
And finish'd Worth fhou'd do, or shun,
At full was in the Father fhown;
What Youth cou'd promise, in the Son.

But Death obdurate, both destroy'd
The perfect Fruit, and op'ning Bud:
First seiz'd thofe Sweets we had enjoy'd,
Then robb'd us of the coming Good.

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BRITANNIA REDIVIVA: Poem on the PRINCE, Born on the 10th of June, 1688.

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By Mr. DRYDEN,

UR Vows are heard betimes! and Heav'n takes care

To grant, before we can conclude the Pray's: Preventing Angels met it half the way,

And fent us back to Praife, who came to Pray.
Juft on the Day, when the high-mounted Sun
Did fartheft in his Northern Progrefs run,
He bended forward and ev'n ftretch'd the Sphere
Beyond the Limits of the lengthen'd Year;
To view a brighter Sun in Britain born;
That was the Bus'nefs of his longest Morn;
The glorious Object seen, 'twas time to turn.
Departing Spring cou'd only stay to shed
Her bloomy Beauties on the genial Bed,
But left the Manly Summer in her ftead,
With timely Fruit the longing Land to chear,
And to fulfill the Promise of the Year,

Betwixt two Seafons comes th' Aufpicious Heir,
This Age to blossom and the next to bear.

* Laft folemn Sabbath faw the Church attend The Paraclete in fiery Pomp descend;

But when his wond'rous † Octave roll'd again,
He brought a Royal Infant in his Train.
So great a Bleffing to so good a King
None but th' Eternal Comforter cou'd bring..
Or did the mighty Trinity Confpire,
As once, in Council to Create our Sire?
It seems as if they fent the new-born Guest
To wait on the Proceffion of their Feaft
And on their Sacred Anniverfe decree'd
To ftamp their Image on the promis'd Seed.
Three Realms united, and on One bestow'd,
An Emblem of their Mystick Union show'd:
The mighty Trine the triple Empire fhar'd,
As every Perfon wou'd have one to guard.
Hail Son of Pray'rs! by Holy Violence
Drawn down from Heav'n; but long be banish'd thence
And late to thy Paternal Skies retire:

To mend our Crimes whole Ages wou'd requir :
To change th' inveterate habit of our Sins,
And finish what thy Godlike Sire begins.
Kind Heaven, to make us English-men again,
No lefs can give us than a Patriarch's Reign,
The Sacred Cradle to your Charge receive
Ye Seraphs, and by turns the Guard relieve;
Thy Father's Angel and thy Father join
To keep Poffeffion, and secure the Line;
But long defer the Honours of thy Fate.
Great may they be like his, like his be late,.
That James his running Century may view,,
And give this Son an Aufpice to the New.

*Whit-Sunday. Trinity-Sunday.

*

Our Wants exact at least that moderate stay
For fee the Dragon winged on his way,
To watch the † Travail, and devour the Prey.
Or, if Allufions may not rife fo high,
Thus, when Alcides rais'd his Infant Cry,
The Snakes befieg'd his Young Divinity:

But vainly with their forked Tongues they threat;
For Oppofition makes a Heroe Great.
To needful Succour all the Good will run;
And Jove affert the Godhead of his Son.
O ftill repining at your present State,
Grudging your felves the Benefits of Fate,
Look up, and read in Characters of Light
A Bleffing fent you in your own Defpight.
The Manna falls, yet that Cœleftial Bread
Like Jews you munch, and murmur while you feed
May not your Fortune be like theirs, Exil'd,
Yet Forty Years to wander in the Wiid:
Or if it be, may Mofes live at least

To lead you to the Verge of promis'd Rest.
Tho' Poets are not Prophets, to foreknow
What Plants will take the Blite, and what will grow,
By tracing Heav'n his Footsteps may be found:
Behold! how awfully he walks the round!
God is abroad, and wondrous in his ways,
The Rife of Empires, and their Fall furveys;
More (might I fay) than with an usual Eye, :
He fees his bleeding Church in Ruin lye...
And hears the Souls of Saints beneath his Altar cry.
Already has he lifted high, the ‡ Sign
Which Crown'd the Conquering Arms of Conftantine
The Moon grows pale at that presaging fight,
And half her Train of Stars have loft their Light.

Alluding only to the Common-wealth Party, here and in other Places of the Poem. † Rev. 12. V. 4The Cross. The Crefcent, which the Turks bear fox heir Arms,

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