With pain and joy at strife, I often trace
The mingled parents in each daughter's face
Half fickening at the fight, too well I fpy
The father's spirit through the mother's eye :
In vain new thoughts of rage I entertain,
And strive to hate their innocence in vain.
O princefs! happy by thy foes confest!
Bleft in thy husband! in thy children bleft!
As they from thee, from them new beauties born,
While Europe lasts, shall Europe's thrones adorn.
Transplanted to each court, in times to come,
Thy fmile celeftial and unfading bloom,
Great Auftria's fons with fofter lines fhall grace,
And smooth the frowns of Bourbon's haughty race.
The fair defcendants of thy facred bed,
Wide-branching o'er the western world shall spread,
Like the fam'd Banian tree, whofe pliant shoot
To earthward bending of itself takes root,
Till, like their mother plant, ten thousand stand
In verdant arches on the fertile land;

Beneath her fhade the tawny Indians rove,

Or hunt, at large, through the wide echoing grove.
O thou, to whom these mournful lines I fend,
My promis'd husband, and my dearest friend;
Since heaven appoints this favour'd race to reign,
And blood has drench'd the Scottish fields in vain i
Muft I be wretched, and thy flight partake?
Or wilt not thou, for thy lov'd Chloe's fake,
Tir'd out at length, fubmit to fate's decree?
If not to Brunswick, O return to me!

E

Proftrate before the victor's mercy bend :

What spares whole thousands, may to thee extend.
Should blinded friends thy doubtful conduct blame,
Great Brunswick's virtues fhall fecure thy fame :
Say these invite thee to approach his throne,
And own the monarch, heaven vouchfafes to own:
The world, convinc'd, thy reasons will approve ;
Say this to them; but fwear to me 'twas love.

A NODE,

OCCASIONED BY HIS EXCELLENCY THE EARL OF STANHOPE'S VOYAGE TO FRANCE, 1718.

"Idem

"Pacis eras mediufque belli." HOR.

I.

FAIR once of

AIR daughter once of Windfor's woods!

In fafety o'er the rolling floods,

Britannia's boaft and darling care,
Big with the fate of Europe, bear.
May winds propitious on his way
The minifter of peace convey;
Nor rebel wave, nor rifing storm,
Great George's liquid realms deform.

II.

Our vows are heard. Thy crowded fails

Already fwell with western gales;

Already

Already Albion's coaft retires,

And Calais multiplies her spires:

At length has royal Orleans preft,
With open arms, the well-known gueft;
Before in facred friendship join'd,

And now in counfels for mankind:

III.

Whilft his clear fchemes our patriot shows,
And plans the threaten'd world's repose,
They fix each haughty monarch's doom,
And blefs whole ages yet to come.
Henceforth great Brunswick fhall decree
What flag muft awe the Tyrrhene fea;
From whom the Tufcan grape fhall glow,
And fruitful Arethufa flow.

IV.

See in firm leagues with Thames combine
The Seine, the Maefe, and distant Rhine!
Nor, Ebro, let thy fingle rage

With half the warring world engage.
Oh! call to mind thy thoufands flain,
And Almanara's fatal plain;
While yet the Gallic terrors fleep,
Nor Britain thunders from the deep.

PROLOGUE

TO THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD, 1713.

WHAT

kings henceforth fhall reign, what ftates

be free,

Is fix'd at length by Anna's juft decree:

Whofe brows the Mufe's facred wreath shall fit,
Is left to you the arbiters of wit.

With beating hearts the rival poets wait,
Till you, Athenians, fhall decide their fate;
Secure, when to these learned feats they come,
Of equal judgment, and impartial doom.

Poor is the player's fame, whofe whole renown
Is but the praife of a capricious town;
While, with mock-majefty, and fancy'd power,
He ftruts in robes, the monarch of an hour.
Oft wide of nature muft he act a part,

Make love in tropes, in bombaft break his heart:
In turn and fimile refign his breath,

And rhyme and quibble in the pangs of death.
We blush, when plays like thefe receive applaufe;
And laugh, in fecret, at the tears we cause;
With honeft fcorn our own fuccefs difdain,
A worthless honour, and inglorious gain.

No trifling scenes at Oxford fhall appear;
Well, what we blush to act, may you to hear.
To you our fam'd, our ftandard plays we bring,
The work of poets, whom you taught to fing:
Though crown'd with fame, they dare not think it due,
Nor take the laurel till beftow'd by you.

Great

Great Cato's felf the glory of the stage,

Who charms, corrects, exalts, and fires the age,
Begs here he may be try'd by Roman laws;
To you, O fathers, he fubmits his caufe;
He refts not in the people's general voice,
Till you, the fenate, have confirm'd his choice.
Fine is the fecret, delicate the art,

To wind the paflions, and command the heart;
For fancy'd ills to force our tears to flow,
And make the generous foul in love with woe;
To raife the fhades of heroes to our view;
Rebuild fall'n empires, and old time renew.
How hard the task! how rare the godlike rage!
None fhould presume to dictate for the Stage,
But fuch as boast a great extenfive mind,
Enrich'd by Nature, and by Art refin'd;
Who from the ancient stores their knowledge bring,
And tafted early of the Mufes' fpring.

May none pretend upon her throne to fit,

But fuch as, fprung from you, are born to wit:
Chosen by the mob, their lawless claim we flight:
Yours is the old hereditary right.

THOUGHTS