Their billet at the fire was found;
Whoever was depos'd or crown'd.
Nor good, nor bad, nor fools, nor wise
They would not learn, nor could advife :
Without love, hatred, joy, or fear,
They led-a kind of—as it were:
Nor wifh'd, nor car'd, nor laugh'd, nor cried :
And fo they liv'd, and so they died.
Written in MONTAIGNE'S ESSAYS,
Given to the Duke of SHREWSBURY in FRANCE, after the Peace, 1713.
DICTATE, O mighty judge, what thou haft feen
Of cities and of courts, of books and men; And deign to let thy fervant hold the pen.
Through ages thus I may prefume to live;
And from the transcript of thy prose receive
What my own short-liv'd verse can never give.
Thus fhall fair Britain with a gracious fmile
Accept the work; and the instructed isle,
For more than treaties made, fhall blefs my
Nor longer hence the Gallic style preferr'd,
Wisdom in English idiom shall be heard;
While Talbot tells the world, where Montaigne err'd.
An EPISTLE, defiring the QUEEN's Picture.
Written at PARIS, 1714.
But left unfinished, by the fudden News
of her MAJESTY's Death.
HE train of equipage and pomp of state,
The fhining fide-board, and the burnish'd plate,
Let other minifters, great Anne, require;
And partial fall thy gift to their defire.
To the fair portrait of my Sovereign Dame,
To that alone, eternal be my claim.
My bright defender, and my dread delight;
If ever I found favour in thy fight;
If all the pains that for thy Britain's fake
My past has took, or future life may take,
Be grateful to my Queen: permit my prayer,
And with this gift reward my total care.
Will thy indulgent hand, fair Saint, allow
The boon and will thy ear accept the vow?
That, in despite of age, of impious flame,
And eating Time, thy picture like thy fame
Entire may laft; that, as their eyes furvey
The semblant shade, men yet unborn may say,
Thus great, thus gracious, look'd Britannia's Queen
Her brow thus fmooth, her look was thus ferene;
When to a low, but to a loyal hand
The mighty Emprefs gave her high command,
That he to hostile camps and kings should hafte,
To speak her vengeance, as their danger, past
To fay, fhe wills detefted wars to ceafe;
She checks her conqueft, for her subjects ease ;
And bids the world attend her terms of peace.
Thee, gracious Anne, thee prefent I adore,
Thee, Queen of Peace-If Time and Fate have power
Higher to raise the glories of thy reign ;
In words fublimer, and a nobler strain,
May future bards the mighty theme rehearse,
Here, Stator Jove, and Phœbus king of verse,
The votive tablet I fufpend * * * *
To the Right Honourable
The COUNTESS Dowager of DEVONSHIRE; On a Piece of WIESSEN'S, whereon were all her GRANDSONS painted.
WIESSEN and Nature held a long conteft,
If She created, or He painted beft;
With pleating thought the wondrous combat grew,
She, still form'd fairer; He, still liker drew.
In thefe feven brethren, they contended last,
With art increas'd, their utmost skill they tried,
And, both well pleas'd they had themfelves furpafs'd,
The Goddess triumph'd, and the Painter dy'd.
That both, their skill to this vast height did raise,
Be ours the wonder, and be yours the praife:
For here, as in fome glass, is well defcry'd
Only yourfelf thus often multiply'd.
When Heaven had You and gracious Anna * made,
What more exalted beauty could it add?
Having no nobler images in ftore,
It but kept up to thefe, nor could do more
Than copy well what it had fram'd before.
If in dear Burghley's generous face we see
Obliging truth and handsome honesty:
With all that world of charms, which foon will move
Reverence in men, and in the fair-ones love:
His every grace, his fair descent affures,
He has his mother's beauty, she has yours:
If every Cecil's face had every charm,
That thought can fancy, or that Heaven can form;
Their beauties all become your beauty's due,
They are all fair, because they're all like you.
If every Ca'ndifh great and charming look;
From you that air, from you the charms they took.
In their each limb, your image is expreft;
But on their brow firm courage stands confeft
There, their great father, by a ftrong increase,
Adds ftrength to beauty, and compleats the piece :
Thus fill your beauty, in your fons, we view,
Wieffen feven times one great perfection drew;
Whoever fat, the picture ftill is
you.
So when the parent-fun, with genial beams,
Has animated many goodly gems,
He fees himself improv'd, while every stone,
With a refembling light, reflects a fun.
Eldeft daughter of the Coun:efs.
Such as might govern earth, and people heaven;
Her glory grew diffus'd, and, fuller known,
She faw the Deity in every fon :
And to what God foe'er men altars rais'd,
Honouring the offspring, they the mother prais'd,
In fhort-liv'd charms let others place their joys.
Which fick nefs blasts, and certain age destroys:
Your ftronger beauty Time can ne'er deface,
'Tis ftill renew'd, and stamp'd in all your race.
Ah! Wieffen, had thy art been fo refin❜d,
As with their beauty to have drawn their mind :
Through circling years thy labours would furvive,
And living rules to faireft virtue give,
To men unborn and ages yet to live:
'Twould ftill be wonderful, and still be new,
Against what time, or fpite, or fate, could do;
Till thine confus'd with Nature's pieces lie,
And Cavendish's name and Cecil's honour dic.
A FABLE, from PHEDRUS.
To the Author of the MEDLEY, 1710.
THE Fox an actor's vizard found,
And peer'd, and felt, and turn'd it round : Then threw it in contempt away, And thus old Phædrus heard him fay: "What noble part canst thou sustain, "Thou specious head without a brain?”
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