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Well fends our queen her mitred Bristol forth, For early counsels fam’d, and long-try'd worth ; Who, thirty rolling years, had oft withheld The Swede and Saxon from the dusty field; Completely form’d to heal the Christian wounds, To name the kings, and give each kingdom bounds; The face of ravag'd nature to repair, By leagues to soften earth, and heaven by prayer, To gain by love, where rage and slaughter fail, And make the crosier o'er the sword prevail.

So when great Mofes, with Jehovah's wand, Had scatter'd plagues o'er stubborn Pharaoh's land, Now spread an host of locusts round the shore, Now turn'd Nile's fattening streams to putrid gore; Plenty and gladness mark’d the priest of God, And sudden almonds Mot from Aaron's rod. O thou, from whom these bounteous blessings

flow, To whom, as chief, the hopes of peace we owe, (For next to thee, the man whom kings contend To stile companion, and to make their friend, Great Strafford, rich in every courtly grace, With joyful pride accepts the second place) From Britain's ille, and Isis' sacred spring, One kour, oh! listen while the Muses fing. Though ministers mighty monarchs wait, With beating hearts to learn their masters' fate, One hour forbear to speak thy queen's commands, Nor think the world, thy charge, neglected stands ;


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The blissful prospects, in my verse display'd,
May lure the stubborn, the deceiv'd persuade :
Ev'n thou to

fhalt speedier urge


way, And more be hasten l by this mort delay.


THE haughty Gaul, in ten campaigns o'er

thrown, Now ceas'd to think the western world his own. Oft had he mourn'd his boasting leaders bound, And his proud bulwarks smoking on the ground: In vain with powers renewid he filld the plain, Made timorous vows, and brib'd the saints in vain ; As oft his legions did the fight decline, Lurk’d in the trench, and skulk'd behind the line. Before his eyes the fancied javelin gleams, At feasts he starts, and seems dethron'd in dreams; On glory past reflects with secret pain, On mines exhausted, and on inillions flain.

To Britain's Queen the fceptred suppliant bends, To her his crowns and infant race commends, Who grieves her fame with Christian blood to buy, Nor asks for glory at a price so high. At her decree, the war suspended stands, And Britain's heroes hold their lifted hands, Their open brows no threatening frowns disguise, But gentler passions sparkle in their eyes. The Gauls, who never in their courts could find Such temper'd fire with manly beauty join'd,


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Doubt if they ’re those, whom dreadful to the view
In forms so fierce their fearful fancies drew;
At whose dire names ten thousand widows prest
Their helpless orphans clinging to the breast,
In filent rapture each his foe surveys ;
They vow firm friendship, and give mutual praise.
Brave ininds, howe'er at war, are secret friends ;
Their generous discord with the battle ends;
In peace they wonder whence diffenfion rose,
And ask how souls fo like could e'er be foes.

Methinks I hear more friendly shouts rebound,
And social clarions mix their sprightly sound.
The British flags are furld, her troops disband,
And Scatter'd armies seek their native land.
The hardy veteran, proud of many a scar,
The manly charms and honours of the war,
Who hop'd to share his friends' illustrious doom,
And in the battle find a soldier's tomb,
Leans on his spear to take his farewell view,
And sighing bids the glorious camp adieu.

Ye generous fair, receive the brave with smiles,
O'er-pay their neepless nights, and crown their toils;
Soft beauty is the gallant soldier's due,
For you they conquer, and they bleed for you.
In vain proud Gaul with boastful Spain conspires,
When English valour English beauty fires ;
The nations dread your eyes, and kings despair
Of chiefs so brave, till they have nymphs so fair.

See the fond wife, in tears of transport drown'd, Hugs her rough lord, and weeps o'er every wound,


Hangs on the lips that fields of blood relate,
And smiles, or trembles, at his various fate.
Near the full bowl he draws the fancy'd line,
And marks feign’d trenches in the flowing wine,
Then fets th' invested fort before her eyes,
And mines, that whirl'd battalions to the skies;
His little listening progeny turn pale,
And beg again to hear the dreadful tale.

Such dire achievements fings the bard, that tells
Of palfrey'd dames, bold knights, and magic spells,
Where whole brigades one champion's arms o’erthrow,
And cleave a giant at a random blow,
Slay paynims vile, that force the fair, and tame
The goblin's fury, and the dragon's flame.'

Our eager youth to distant nations run, To visit fields, their valiant fathers won; From Flandria's fore their country's fame they trace, Till far Germania shew's her blasted face. Th' exulting Briton asks his mournful guide, Where his hard fate the loft Bavaria try'd : Where Stepney gravid the stone to Anna's fame, He points to Blenheim, once a vulgar name; Here fled the Houshold, there did Tallard yield, Here Marlborough turn’d the fortune of the field, On those steep banks, near Danube's raging flood, The Gauls thrice started back, and trembling stood : When, Churchill's arm perceiv'd, they stood not long, But plung’d amidst the waves, a desperate throng, Crowds whelm'd on crowds dash'd wide the watery: bed, And drove the current to its diftant head,

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As when hy Raphael's, or by Kneller's hands
A warlike courser on the canvas stands,
Such as on Landen bleeding Ormond bore,
Or set young Ammon on the Granic shore;
If chance a generous steed the work behold,
He snorts, he neighs, he champs the foamy gold;
So, Hocstet seen, tumultuous passions roll,
And hints of glory fire the Briton's soul,
In fancy'd fights he sees the troops engage,
And all the tempest of the battle rage.

Charm me, ye powers, with scenes less nobly bright,
Far humbler thoughts th' inglorious Mufe delight,
Content to see the honours of the field
By plough-thares leveld, or in flowers conceal'd.
O'er shatter'd walls may creeping ivy twine,
And grass luxuriant clothe the harmless mine.
Tame flocks ascend the breach without a wound,
Or crop the bastion, now a fruitful ground;
While shepherds Neep, along the rampart laid,
Or pipe beneath the formidable shade.

Who was the man? Oblivion blast his name,
Torn out, and blotted from the list of fame!
Who, fond of lawless rule, and proudly brave,
Firlt lunk the filial subject to a llave,
His neighbour's realms by frauds unkingly gain’d,
In guiltless blood the sacred ermine stain'd,
Laid schemes for death, to flaughter turn'd his heart,
And fitted murder to the rules of art.

. Ah! curft ambition, to thy lures we owe All the great ills, that mortals bear below.


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