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POE M S

B Y

GEORGE STEPNEY, Efq.

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TO KING

JAMES II.

Upon his Acceffion to the THRONE.

The Author then of Trinity-College, Cambridge.

As victors lofe the trouble they fuftain

In greater trophies which the triumphs gain;
And martyrs, when the joyful crown is given,
Forget the pain by which they purchas'd heaven :
So when the Phoenix of our empire dy'd,

And with a greater heir the empty throne supply'd;
Your glory diffipates our mournful dew,
And turns our grief for Charles to joy for you.
Mysterious fate, whofe one decree could prove
The high extreme of cruelty and love!

May then no flight of a blafpheming Mufe,
Those wife refolves of Providence accuse,
Which eas'd our Atlas of his glorious weight,
Since ftronger Hercules fupports the state,
R 3

England

1

England no more fhall penfive thoughts employ
On him fhe 'as loft; but him she has, enjoy.
So Ariadne, when her lover fled,

And Bacchus honour'd the deserted bed,
Ceas'd with her tears to raise the fwelling flood,
Forgot her Thefeus, and embrac'd the god.

On the University of CAMBRIDGE's burning the Duke of MONMOUTH's Picture, 1685, who was formerly their Chancellor.

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-In Anfwer

Sed quid

"Turba Remi? fequitur fortunam, ut femper, & odit "Damnatos

YES,

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rabble and your

your

doctors too,

"ES, fickle Cambridge, Perkins found this true
Both from
With what applause you once receiv'd his grace,
And begg'd a copy of his godlike face;
But when the fage Vice Chancellor was fure
The original in limbo lay fecure,

As greafy as himself he fends a lictor
To vent his loyal malice on the picture.
The beadle's wife endeavours all fhe can
To fave the image of the tall young man,
Which the fo oft when pregnant did embrace,
That with ftrong thoughts fhe might improve her race;
But all in vain, fince the wife house confpire

To damn the canvas traitor to the fire,

Left

ON BURNING MONMOUTH'S PICTURE. 247 Left it, like bones of Scanderbeg, incite

Scythe-men next harvest to renew the fight.

Then in comes mayor Eagle, and does gravely alledge,
He'll fubfcribe, if he can, for a bundle of Sedge;
But the man of Clare-hall that proffer refuses,
'Snigs, he'll be beholden to none but the Mufes ;
And orders ten porters to bring the dull reams

On the death of good Charles, and crowning of James;
And fwears he will borrow of the Provost more stuff
On the marriage of Anne, if that be n't enough.
The heads, left he get all the profit t' himself,
Too greedy of honour, too lavish of pelf,
This motion deny, and vote that Tite Tillet
Should gather from each noble Doctor a billet.
The kindness was common, and so they'd return if,
The gift was to all, all therefore would burn it :
Thus joining their stocks for a bonfire together,
As they club for a cheese in the parish of Chedder;
Confufedly crowd on the fophs and the doctors,
The hangman, the townfmen, their wives, and the
proctors,

While the troops from each part of the countries in ale `
Come to quaff his confusion in bumpers of stale;

But Rofalin, never unkind to a Duke,
Does by her abfence their folly rebuke,

The tender creature could not see his fate,

With whom the 'ad danc'd a minuet fo late.

The heads, who never could hope for such frames, Out of envy condemn'd fixfcore pounds to the flames,

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