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Accession to the Throne.


S victors lose the trouble they faftain
In greater trophies which the triumphs gain;
And martyrs, when the joyful crown is

Forget the pain, by which they purchas'd heav'n:
So when the Phænix of our empire dy'd,
And with a greater heir the empty throne supply'd ;
Your glory diffipates our mournfal dew,
And turns our grief for Charles to joy for you.
Mysterious fate; whose one decree could prove,
The high extream of cruelty and love !

May then no Alight of a blaspheming muse
Those wise resolves of providence accuse,
Which eas'd our Atlas of his glorious weight,
Since stronger Hercules supports the state.
England no more shall pensive thoughts employ
On him, she's loft; but him, fhe has, enjoy.
So Ariadne, when her lover fled,
And Bacchus honour'd the deserted będ,


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Ceas’d with her tears to raise the swelling food,
Forgot her Theseus, and embrac'd the god.

On the University of Cambridge's burning the Duke

Duke of MONMOUTH's Picture, 1685. who was formerly their Chancellor.In Answer to this Question,

Sed quid

Turba Remi? sequitur fortunam, ut femper, & odit



ES, fickle Cambridge, Perkins found this true

Both from your rabble, and your doctors too, With what applause you once receiv'd this grace, And begg'd a copy of his godlike face; But when the fage vice-chancellor was sure The original in limbo lay secure, As greafie as himself he sends a lietor To vent his loyal malice on the picture. The beadle's wife endeavours all the can To save the image of the tall young man, Which she so oft when pregnant did embrace, That with strong thoughts she might improve her race; But all in vain, since the wise house conspire To damn the canvas traytor to the fire, Left it, like bones of Scanderbeg, incite Scythe.men next harveft to renew the fight. Then in comes mayor Eagle, and does gravely alledge, He'll subscribe, if he can, for a bundle of fedge:


But the man of Clarehall that proffer refufes,
'Snigs, he'll be beholden to none but the muses ;
And orders ten porters to bring the dull reams
On the death of good Charles, and crowning of James :
And swears he will borrow of the provost more stuff
On the marriage of Anne, if that ben'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 it,
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 ;
Confusedly crowd on the sophs and the doctors,
The hangman, the townsmen, their wives and the

While the troops from each part of the countries in ale,
Come to quaff his confusion in bumpers of Itale,
But Rosalin, never unkind to a duke,
Does by her absence their folly rebuke,
The tender crearure could not see his fate,
With whom she'ad danc'd a minuet so late,
The heads who never could hope for fuch frames,
Out of envy condemnd fixscore pounds to the flames,
Then his air was too proud, and his features amiss,
As if being a traytor had alter'd his phiz:
So the rabble of Rome, whose favour ne'er settles,
Melt down their Sejanus to pots and brass kettles.

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An Epistle to CHARLES Moun

TAGUE, Esq; on his Majesty's
Voyage to Holland.




oft invite me to renew

Pleas'd my past follies kindly to commend,
And fondly lose the critick in the friend;
Tho'my warm youth untimely be decay'd,
From grave to dull insensibly betray'd,
I'lf contradict the humour of the times,
Inclin'd to bus'ness, and averse to rhymes,
And to obey the man I love, in spight
Of the world's genius, and my own, I'll write.

But think not that I vainly do aspire
To rival what I only would admire,
The heat and beauty of your manly thought,
And force like that with which your hero fought;
Like Sampson's riddle is that powerful song,
Sweet as the honey, as the lion strong ;
The colours there so artfully are laid,
They fear no lustre and they want no shade;
But shall of writing a juft model give,
While Boyne shall flow, and William's glory live.

Yet since his ev'ry act may well infuse
Some happy rapture in the humblest muse,
Tho' mine despairs to reach the wondrous height,
She prunes her pinions, eager of the fight;
The king's the theme, and I've a subject's right.
When William's deeds, and rescu'd Europe's joy
Do ev'ry tongue and ev'ry pen employ,



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'Tis to think treason sure, to fhew no zeal,
And not to write, is almost to rebel.

Let Albion then forgive her meanest son,
Who would continue what her best begun ;
Who, leaving conquests, and the pomp of war,
Wou'd sing the pious king's divided care;
How eagerly he flew when Europe's fate
Did for the feed of future actions wait;
And how two nations did with transport boast
Which was belov'd, and loy'd the victor most :
How joyful Belgia gratefully prepar'd
Trophies and vows for her returning lord ;
How the fair ifle with rival paflion ftrove,
How by her forrow the express'd her love,
When he withdrew from what his arm had freed,
And how she bless'd his way, yet sigh'd, and said:

Is it decreed my hero ne'er shall rest,
Ne'er be of me, and I of him possess'd ?
Scarce had I met his virtue with my throne,
By right, by merit, and by arms his own,
But Ireland's freedom, and the war's alarms,
Callid him from me, and his Maria's charms.
O gen'rous prince, too prodigally kind !
Can the diffusive goodness of your mind
Be in no bounds, but of the world confin'd?
Shou'd finking nations summon you away,
Maria's love might justify your stay.
Imperfectly the many vows are paid,
Which for your safety to the gods were made,
While on the Boyne they labour'd to out-do
Your zeal for Albion by their care for you ;
When too impatient of a glorious ease,
You tempt new dangers on the winter seas.
The Belgick state has rested long secure
Within the circle of thy guardian pow'r;


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