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PO

E M S

BY THE

EARL OF HALIFAX.

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FAREWEL, great Charles, monarch of bleft renown,
The best good man that ever fill'd a throne;
Whom Nature as her highest pattern wrought,
And mix'd both fexes virtues in one draught;
Wisdom for councils, bravery in war,
With all the mild good-nature of the fair.
The woman's fweetnefs, temper'd manly wit,

And loving power, did crown'd with meeknefs fit;

His awful perfon reverence engag'd,

With mild addrefs and tendernets allwag'd:
Thus the almighty gracious King above,

Dees both cominand our fear, and win our love.

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With wonders born, by miracles preferv'd, A heavenly Hoft the infant's cradle serv'd : And men his healing empire's omen read, When fun with ftars, and day with night agreed, His youth for valorous patience was renown'd; Like David, perfecuted first, then crown'd: Lov'd in all courts, admir'd where'er he came, At once our nation's glory, and its shame : They bleft the ifle where fuch great spirits dwell, Abhorr'd the men, that could fuch worth expel. To fpare our lives, he meekly did defeat Thofe Sauls, whom wand'ring affes made so great ; Waiting till heaven's election fhould be shown, And the Almighty should his unction own. And own he did—his powerful arm difplay'd; And Ifrael, the belov'd of God, obey'd; Call'd by his people's tears, he came, he eas'd The groaning nation, the black storms appeas'd, Did greater bleffings, than he took, afford; England itself was more, than he, restor❜d. Unhappy Albion, by ftrange ills opprefs'd, In various fevers toft, could find no reft; Quite fpent and weary'd, to his arms fhe fled, And refted on his fhoulders her fair bending head. In conquefts mild, he came from exile kind; No climes, no provocations, chang'd his mind ; No malice fhew'd, no hate, revenge, or pride, But rul'd as meekly, as his father dy'd; Eas'd us from endlefs wars, made difcords ceafe, Reftor'd to quict, and maintain'd in peace.

A mighty

A mighty series of new time began,

And rolling years in joyful circles ran.

Then wealth the city, business fill'd the port,
To mirth our tumults turn'd, our wars to fport:
Then learning flourish'd, blooming arts did fpring,
And the glad Mufes prun'd their drooping wing:
Then did our flying towers improvement know,
Who now command as far as winds can blow;
With canvass wings round all the globe they fly,
And, built by Charles's art, all storms defy;
To every coaft with ready fails are hurl'd,
Fill us with wealth, and with our fame the world;
From whofe diftractions feas do us divide;

Their riches here in floating caftles ride.
We reap the fwarthy Indian's sweat and toil ;
Their fruit, without the mischiefs of their foil.
Here in cool fhades their gold and pearls receive,
Free from the heat which does their luftre give.
In Perfian filks, eat Eaftern fpice; fecure
From burning fluxes, and their calenture :
Under our vines, upon the peaceful shore,
We fee all Europe toast, hear tempests roar :
Rapine, fword, wars, and famine, rage abroad,
While Charles their hoft, like Jove from Ida, aw'd;
Us from our foes, and from ourselves did fhield,
Our towns from tumults, and from arms the field;
For when bold Faction goodnefs could difdain,
Unwillingly he us'd a straiter rein:

In the ftill gentle voice he lov'd to speak,
But could with thunder harden'd rebels break.

Yet

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