Will you still tempt the great avenger's blow,
And force the bolt-which he is loath to throw?
Have there too few already bit the plains,

To make you feek new Prestons and Dumblains ?
If vengeance lofes its effects fo fast,

Yet those of mercy fure-fhould longer laft.
Say, is it rashness or despair provokes

Your harden'd hearts to these repeated strokes ?
Reply:-Behold, their looks, their fouls declare,
All pale with guilt, and dumb with deep despair.
Hear then, you fons of blood, your deftin'd fate,
Hear, ere you fin too soon-repent too late.
Madly you try to weaken George's reign,
And stem the stream of Providence in vain.
By right, by worth, by wonders, made our own,
The hand that gave it fhall preserve his throne.
As vain your hopes to distant times remove,
To try the second, or the third from Jove;
For 'tis the nature of that facred line,

To conquer monsters, and to grow divine.

THE

ON

KING OF

SPAIN.

PALLAS, deftructive to the Trojan line,

Raz'd their proud walls, though built by hands

divine:

But Love's bright goddess, with propitious grace,
Preferv'd a hero, and restor❜d the race.

Thus the fam'd empire where the Iber flows,
Fell by Eliza, and by Anna rofe.

VERSES

WRITTEN FOR

THE TOASTING-GLASSES

OF THE

KIT.CAT-CLUB. 1703.

LADY CARLISLE.

CARLISLE's a name can every Muse inspire; To Carlisle fill the glass, and tune the lyre. With his lov'd bays the God of Day shall crown A wit and luftre equal to his own.

THE SAME.

way,

AT once the Sun and Carlisle took their To warm the frozen north, and kindle day; The flowers to both their glad creation ow'd, Their virtues he, their beauties fhe bestow'd.

LADY ESSEX.

THE braveft hero, and the brightest dame,
From Belgia's happy clime Britannia drew;
One pregnant cloud we find does often frame
The awful thunder and the gentle dew.

THE SAME.

To Effex fill the sprightly wine;
The health's engaging and divine.
Let pureft odours fcent the air,
And wreaths of rofes bind our hair:
In her chafte lips these blufhing lie,
And thofe her gentle fighs supply.

LADY HYDE.

THE God of Wine grows jealous of his art, He only fires the head, but Hyde the heart. The Queen of Love looks on, and smiles to fee A nymph more mighty than a deity.

ON LADY HYDE IN CHILD-BED.

HYDE, though in agonies, her graces keeps,
A thousand charms the nymph's complaints adorn;
In tears of dew fo mild Aurora weeps,

But her bright offspring is the chearful morn.

LADY WHARTON.

WHEN Jove to Ida did the gods invite, And in immortal toafting pafs'd the night, With more than nectar he the banquet bless'd, For Wharton was the Venus of the feaft.

PROLOGUE,

DESIGNED FOR

TAMER LA N E.

TO-DAY a mighty hero comes, to warm
Your curdling blood, and bid you, Britons, arm.
To valour much he owes, to virtue more;
He fights to fave, and conquers to restore.
He ftrains no text, nor makes dragoons perfuade;
He likes religion, but he hates the trade.
Born for mankind, they by his labour live;
Their property is his prerogative.

His fword deftroys less than his mercy faves,
And none, except his paffions, are his flaves.
Such, Britons, is the prince that you poffefs,
In council greateft, and in camps no lefs:
Brave, but not cruel; wife without deceit;
Born for an age curs'd with a Bajazet.
But you, difdaining to be too fecure,

Afk his protection, and yet grudge his power.
With you a monarch's right is in difpute;
Who give fupplies, are only abfolute.

Britons, for fhame! your factious feuds decline,
Too long you' 've labour'd for the Bourbon line:
Affert loft rights, an Auftrian prince alone
Is born to nod upon a Spanish throne.
A caufe no lefs could on great Eugene call;
Steep Alpine rocks require an Hannibal:

He shows you your loft honour to retrieve;

Our troops will fight, when once the senate give.
Quit your cabals and factions, and in spite
Of Whig and Tory in this cause unite.

One vote will then send Anjou back to France;
There let the meteor end his airy dance:

Elfe to the Mantuan foil he

may repair,

Ev'n abdicated Gods were Latium's care,

At worst, he'll find fome Cornish borough here.

PROLOGUE

}

TO THE

MUSICK-MEETING IN YORK-BUILDINGS.

WHERE mufick and more powerful beauties reign,
Who can fupport the pleasure and the pain?

Here their foft magick those two Syrens try,
And if we liften, or but look, we die.

Why should we then the wondrous tales admire,
Of Orpheus' numbers, or Amphion's lyre;
Of walls erected by harmonious fkill,

How mountains mov'd, and rapid ftreams ftood still!
Behold this fcene of beauty, and confefs

The wonder greater, and the fiction lefs.
Like human victims here we ftand decreed
To worship those bright altars where we bleed.
Who braves his fate in fields, must tremble here;
Triumphant Love more vaffals makes than Fear.