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They ply their feet, and still the restless ball,
Toft to and fro, is urged by them all :
So fares the doubtful barge 'twixt tide and winds ;
And like effect of their contention finds.
Yet the bold Britons still securely row'd;
Charles and his virtue was their facred load :
Than which a greater pledge Heaven could not give,
That the good boat this tempest should out-live.

But storms increase ! and now no hope of grace
Among them shines, save in the Prince's face;
The rest resign their courage, skill, and light,
To danger, horror, and unwelcome night.
The gentle vessel (wont with state and pride
On the smooth back of silver Thames to ride)
Wanders astonish'd in the angry Main,
As Titan's car did, while the golden rein
Fillid the young hand of his adventurous fon *,
When the whole world an equal hazard rụn
To this of ours, the light of whose desire,
Waves threaten now, as that was scar'd by fire.
Th' impatient sea grows impotent, and raves
That, night assisting, his impetuous waves
Should find registance from fo light a thing;
These surges ruin, those our safety bring.
Th’ oppressed vesel doth the charge abide,
Only because assailid on every side :
So men with rage and passion set on fire,
Trembling for haste, impeach their mad desire.

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The pale Iberians had expir'd with fear, But that their wonder did divert their care; To see the Prince with danger mov'd no more, Than with the pleasures of their Court before : Godlike his courage seem'd, whom nor delight Could soften, nor the face of Death affright: Next to the power of making tempests cease, Was in that storm to have so calm a peace. Great Maro could no greater tempest feign, When the loud winds usurping on the Main For angry Juno, labor’d to destroy The hated reliques of confounded Troy: His bold Æneas, on like billows tost In a tall hip, and all his country lost, Diffolves with fear; and both his hands upheld, Proclaims them happy whom the Greeks had quell'd In honourable fight: our Hero set In a small shallop, Fortune in his debt, So near a hope of crowns and sceptres, more Than ever Priam, when he flourish'd, wore ; His loins yet full of ungot Princes, all His glory in the bud, lets nothing fall That argues fear: if any thought annoys The Gallant Youth, 'tis love's untasted joys; And dear remembrance of that fatal glance, For which he lately pawn'd his heart in France; Where he had seen a brighter Nymph, than * fhe That sprung out of his present foe, the sea.

* Venus.

That

That noble ardour, more than mortal fire,
The conquer'd ocean could not make expire;
Nor
angry

Thetis raise her waves above
Th' heroic's Prince's courage, or his love :
'Twas indignation, and not fear, he felt,
The shrine should perish where that image dwelt.
Ah, Love forbid ! the noblest of thy train
Should not survive to let her know his pain :
Who nor his peril minding, nor his flame,
Is entertain'd with some less serious game,
Among the bright nymphs of the Gallic Court;
All highly born, obsequious to her fport:
They roses seem, which, in their early pride,
But half reveal, and half their beauties hide:
She the glad morning, which her beains does throw
Upon their smiling leaves, and gilds them so:
Like bright Aurora, whose refulgent ray
Foretels the fervour of ensuing day;
And warns the shepherd with his flocks retreat
To leafy shadows, from the threaten'd heat.

From Cupid's string of many fafts that fled, Wing'd with those plumes which nohle Fame had shed, As through the wondering world the flew, and told Of his adventures, haughty, brave, and bold; Some had already touch'd the Royal Maid, But Love's first summons seldom are obey'd : Light was the wound, the Prince's care unknown, She might not, would not, yet reveal her own. His glorious name had so posseft her ears, That with delight those antique tales the hears

Of Jason, Theseus, and such Worthies old,
As with his story best resemblance hold.
And now she views, as on the wall it hung,
What old Mufæus so divinely fung:
Which art with life and love did fo inspire,
That she difcerns and favours that defire
Which there provokes th' adventurous youth to swim,
And in Leander's danger pities him;
Whose not new love alone, but fortune, seeks
To frame his story like that amorous Greek's.
For from the stern of some good ship appears
A friendly light, which moderates their fears :
New courage from reviving hope they take,
And climbing o'er the waves that taper make
On which the hope of all their lives depends,
As his on that fair Hero's hand extends.
The ship at anchor, like a fixed rock,
Breaks the proud billows which her large sides knock;
Whose rage, restrained, foaming higher swells,
And from her port the weary barge repels :
Threatening to make her, forced out again,
Repeat the dangers of the troubled Main.
Twice was the cable hurl'd in vain ; the Fates
Would not be moved for our sister States;
For England is the third successful throw,
And then the Genius of that land they know,
Whofe Prince must be (as their own books devise)
Lord of the scene, where now his danger lies.

Well sung the Roman bard; “ all human things « Of dearest value hang on flender strings."

O fee

O see the then sole hope, and in design
Of Heaven our joy, supported by a line !
Which for that instant was Heaven's care above,
The chain that's fixed to the throne of Jove,
On which the fabric of our world depends;
One link diffoly'd, the whole creation ends.

Of his MAJESTY's receiving the News of the Duke

of BUCKINGHAM's Death.

SO

O earnest with thy God! Can no new care,

No sense of danger, interrupt thy prayer? The sacred wrestler, till a blessing given, Quits not his hold, but halting conquers Heaven: Nor was the stream of thy devotion stop'd, When from the body such a limb was lop'd, As to thy present state was no less maim; Though thy wise choice has since repair’d the fame. Bold Homer durst not so great virtue feign In his * best pattern : of Patroclus Nain, With such amazement as weak mothers use, And frantic gesture, he receives the news. Yet fell his darling by th’impartial chance of war, impos’d by Royal Hector's lance : Thine in full peace, and by a vulgar hand Torn from thy bosom, left his high command.

The famous painter † could allow no place For private forrow in a Prince's face:

* Achilles,

t. Timanthes

с 3

Yet,

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