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some to undo, and some to be undone; while luxury and wealth, like war and peace, are each the other's ruin and increase; as rivers lost in seas, some secret vein thence reconveys, there to be lost again, oh! happiness of sweet retir'd content ! to be at once secure and innocent. Windsor the next (where Mars with Venus dwells, beauty with strength) above the valley swells into my eye, and doth itself present with such an easy and unforc'd ascent, that no stupendous precipice denies access, no borror turns away our eyes; but such a rise as doth at once invite a pleasure and a rev'rence from the sight: thy mighty master's emblem, in whose face sat meekness, heighten’d with majestic grace; such seeins thy gentle height, made only proud to be the basis of that pompous load, than which a nobler weight no mountain bears, but Atlas only, which supports the spheres. When Nature's hand this ground did thus advance, 't was guided by a wiser pow'r than chance; mark'd out for such an use, as if t'were meant ť invite the builder, and his choice prevent. Nor can we call it choice, when what we choose folly or blindness only could refuse. A crown of such majestic towers doth grace the god's great mother, when her heav'nly race do homage to her; yet she cannot boast, among that num'rous and celestial host, more heroes than can Windsor; nor doth Fame's immortal book record more noble names. Not to look back so far, to whom this isle
owes the first glory of so brave a pile,
Edward 3, and the Black Princo,
and all that since the sister nations bled, had been unspilt, and happy Edward' known that all the blood he spilt had been his own. When he that patron chose in whom are join'd soldier and martyr, and his arms confin'd within the azure circle, he did seem but to foretel and prophesy of him who to his realms that azure round hath join'd, which Nature for their bound at first desigu'd; that bound which to the world's extremest ends, endless itself, it's liquid arms extends. Nor doth be need those emblems which we paint, but is bimself tbe soldier and the saint. Here should my wonder dwell, and here my praise ; but my fix'd thoughts my wand'ring eye betrays, viewing a neighb'ring hill, whose top of late a chapel crown'd, till in the common fate th' adjoining abbey fell. (May no such storm fall on our times, where ruin must reform!) Tell me, my Muse! what monstrous dire offence, what crime, could any Christian king incense to such a rage: Was 't luxury or lust? was be so temperate, so chaste, so just? [inore; were these their crimes? they were his own much but wealth is crime enough to him that's poor, who having spent the treasures of his crown, condemns their luxury to feed his own; and yet this act, to varnish o'er the shame of sacrilege, must bear devotion's name. No crime so bold but would be understood a real, or at least a seeming good. Who fears not to do ill, yet fears the name, and, free from conscience, is a slave to fame. Thus he the church at once protects and spoils; No. 77.
but princes’swords are sharper than their styles: and thus to th’ages past he makes amends, their charity destroys, their faith defends. Then did Religion in a lazy cell, in empty airy contemplations dwell, and like the block unmoved lay; but our's, as much too active, like the stork devours. Is there no temp'rate region can be known betwixt their Frigid and our Torrid zone? Could we not wake from that lethargic dream, but to be restless in a worse extreme? and for that lethargy was there no cure but to be cast into a calenture? Can knowledge have no bound, but must advance so far, to make us wish for ignorance, and rather in the dark to grope our way than led by a false guide to err by day? Who sees these dismal heaps but would demand what barbarous invader sack'd the land? but when he hears no Goth, no Turk, did bring this desolation, but a Christian king; when nothing but the name of zeat appears 'twixt our best actions and the worst of their's; what does he think our sacrilege would spare, when such th' effects of our devotions are? parting from thence 'twixt anger, shame, and fear, those for what's past, and this for what's too near, my eye descending from the Hill, surveys where Thaines among the wanton vallies strays. Thames! the most lov'd of all the Ocean's sons, by his old sire, to his embraces runs, hasting to pay his tribute to the sea, like mortal life to meet eternity; tho' with those streams he no resemblance hold, whose foam is amber, and their gravel gold:
his genuine and less guilty wealth t explore, search not his bottom, but survey his shore, o'er which he kindly spreads his spacious wing, and hatches plenty for th' ensuing spring; nor then destroys it with too fond a stay, like mothers which their infants overlay; nor with a sudden and inpetuous wave, like profuse kings, resumes the wealth he gave. No unexpected inundations spoi] the mower's hopes, nor mock the ploughman's toil; but godlike bis onweary'd bounty flows; first loves to do, then loves the good he does. Nor are his blessings to his banks confin'd, but free and common as the sea or wind; when he, to boast or to disperse his stores, full of the tributes of his grateful shores, visits the world, and in his flying tow'rs brings home to us, and makes both Indies our's; finds wealth where 't is, bestows it where it wants, cities in deserts, woods in cities, plants. So that to us no thing, no place, is strange, while his fair bosom is the world's exchange. O could I flow like thee! and make thy stream my great example, as it is my theme; tho' deep yet clear, tho' gentle yet not dull; strong without rage, without o'erflowing full. Heav'n her Eridanus no more shall boast, whose fame in thine, like lesser current, 's lost; thy nobler streams shall visit Jove's abodes, to shine among the stars,* and bathe the gods. Here Nature, whether more intent to please us for herself with strange varieties, (for things of wonder give no less delight to the wise Maker's than beholder's sight;