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Nor knows, while round he views the rising scenes,
He builds a city as he plants his greens.
With a sad pleasure the aërial maid
This image of her ancient realm survey'd ;
How chang'd, how fallen from its primæval pride!
Yet here each moon, the hour her lover dy'd,
Each moon his solemn obsequies she pays, ·
And leads the dance beneath pale Cynthia's rays ;
Pleas'd in the shades to head her fairy train,
And grace the groves where Albion's kinsmen reign.
EPISTLE from a LADY in ENGLAND,
By the Same,
To thee, dear rover, and thy vanquilh’d friends,
The health he wants, thy gentle Chloe fends :
Though much you suffer, think I suffer more,
Worse than an exile on my native lhore.
a A city belonging to the Holy See, in which the Pretender reh led after the rebellion in the year 1715. Dr. Johnson observ:s of this Epistle, that it stands high among party Poems; it expreffes contempt without coarseness, and superiority without insolence,
Companions in your master's flight you roam,
Unenvy'd by your haughty foes at home;
For-ever near the royal out-law's fide,
You share his fortunes, and his hopes divide ;
On glorious fchemes, and thoughts of empire dwell,
And with imaginary titles (well.
Say, (for thou know'st I own his sacred line,
The passive doctrine, and the right divine)
Say, what new succours does the chief prepare ?
The strength of armies? or the force of pray'r?
Does he from heav'n or earth his hopes derive ?
From faints departed ? or from priests alive?
Nur saints nor priests can Brunswick’s troops withstand,
And beads drop useless through the zealot's hand ;
Heav'n to our yows may future kingdoms owe,
But kill and courage win the crowns below.
Ere to thy cause, and thee, my heart inclin'd,
Or love to party had seduc'd my mind,
In female joys I took a dull delight,
Slept all the morn, and punted half the night:
But now, with fears and public cares possessid,
The church, the church, for ever breaks my rest.
The Pot boy b on my pillow I explore,
And lift the news of every foreign shore,
Studious to find new friends, and new allies ;
What armies march from Sweden in disguise ;
A news-paper, written by Abel Roper.
How Spain prepares her banners to unfold,
And Rome deals out her blessings, and her gold :
Then o'er the map my finger, taught to fray,
Cross many a region, marks the winding way;
From sea to sea, from realm to realm I rove,
And grow a mere geographer by love.
But still Avignon, and the pleasing coaft
That holds Thee banith'd, claims my care the most ;
Oft on the well-known spot I fix my eyes,
And span the distance that between us lies.
Let not our James, though foild in arms, despair,
Whilft on his fide he reckons half the fair:
In Britain's lovely ifle a fhining throng
War in his cause, a thousand beauties strong.
Th' unthinking victors vainly boaft their pow'rs;
Be theirs the musket, while the tongue is ours.
We reason with such fluency and fire,
The beaux we baffle, and the learned tire,
Against her prelates plead the church's cause,
And from our judges vindicate the laws.
Then mourn not, hapless prince, thy kingdoms loft,
A crown, though late thy sacred brow may boast;
Heay'n seems through us thy empire to decree,
Those who win hearts have givin their hearts to thee.
Hast thou not heard that, when profusely gay,
Our well-dress’d rivals grac'd their sov’reign's day.
We stubborn damsels met the public view
In loathsome wormwood, and repenting rue ?
What Whig but trembled, when our spotless band
In virgin roses whitend half the land !
Who can forget what fears the foe possessid,
When oaken boughs mark'd every loyal breast !
Less scar'd near Medway's stream the Norman stood,
When cross the plain he spy'd a marching wood,
'Till, near at hand, a gleam of swords betray'd
The youth of Kent beneath its wand'ring Made.
Those, who the succours of the fair despise,
May find that we have nails as well as eyes.
The female bands, O prince by Fortune cross'd,
At least more courage than thy men may boast;
Our sex has dar'd the mug-house chiefs to meet,
And purchase fame in many a well-fought ftreet.
From Drury-lane, the region of renown,
The land of love, the Paphos of the town,
Fair patriots sallying ofç have put to fight
With all their poles the guardians of the night,
And borne, with screams of triumph, to their fide
The leader's staff in all its painted pride.
Nor fears the hawker in her warbling note
To vend the discontented statesman's thought.
Though red with stripes, and recent from the thong,
Sore smitten for the love of facred song,
The tuneful Gifters ftill pursue their trade,
Like Philomela darkling in the shade.
Poor Trott attends, forgetful of a fare,
And hums in concert o'er his empty chair.
Mean while, regardless of the royal cause,
His sword for James no brother sovereign draws,
The Pope himself, surrounded with alarms,
To France his bulls, ta orfu sends his arms,
And though he hears his darling fon's complaint,
Can hardly spare one totelary faint ;
But lists them all to guard his own abodes,
And into ready money coins his gods.
The dauntless Swede , pursu'd by vengeful foes,
Scarce keeps his own hereditary fnows;
Nor' must the friendly roof of kind Lorrain d
With feasts regale our garter'd youth again :
Safe, Bar-le-duc, within thy filent grove
The pheasant now may perch, the hare may rove :
The knight, who aims unerring from afar,
· Th’advent'rous knight, now quits the fylvan war: -
The brinded boarş may sumber un-dismay'd,
Or grunt secure beneath the chesnut fhade.
Inconftant Orleans e (still we mourn the day
That trusted Orleans with imperial (way)
Far o'er the Alps our helpless monarch sends,
Far from the call of his desponding friends.
« Charles the XIIth Sweden, at the time he was killed before. Frederickshall, 1 December 1718, was meditating to disturb the peace of Great Britain, and to assist the Pretender.
After the peace of Utrecht, the Pretender went to reside in the dominions of the Prince of Lorrain. The Duke of Orleans, Regent of France.