Then, flying from the noify throng,
Seeks the diverfion of a fong.
Mufic defcending on a filent cloud,
Tun'd all her ftrings with endless art;
By flow degrees from foft to loud
Changing the rofe: The harp and flute
Harmonious join, the hero to falute,

And make a captive of his heart.
Fruits, and rich Wine, and fcenes of lawlefs Love
Each with utmost luxury ftrove

To treat their favourite beft;

But founding ftrings, and fruits, and wine,
And lawless love, in vain combine

To make his virtue fleep, or lull his foul to reft.

He faw the tedious round, and, with a figh,
Pronounc'd the world but vanity.

"In crowds of pleasure still I find

"A painful folitude of mind.

"A vacancy within which sense can ne'er supply. "Hence, and be gone, ye flattering fnares,

"Ye vulgar charms of eyes and ears,

"Ye unperforming promifers!

"Be all my bafer paffions dead,

"And bafe defires, by nature made

"For animals and boys:

"Man has a relish more refin'd,

"Souls are for focial blifs defign'd,

"Give me a bleffing fit to match my mind,

"A kindred-foul to double and to fhare my joys."

Myrrha

Myrrha appear'd: "Serene her foul

"And active as the fun, yet fteady as the pole :

"In fofter beauties fhone her face;

"Every Mufe, and every Grace,

"Made her heart and tongue their feat,

66

"Her heart profufely good, her tongue divinely sweet Myrrha the wonder of his eyes;" His heart recoil'd with sweet surprize, With joys unknown before: His foul diffolv'd in pleafing pain, Flow'd to his eyes, and look'd again, And could endure no more, "Enough! (th' impatient hero cries) "And feiz'd her to his breaft, "I feek no more below the skies, "I give my flaves the reft."

TO DAVID POLHILL, Efq;

An Answer to an infamous Satyr, called, "Advice to a Painter;" written by a nameless Author, againft King William III. of Glorious Memory, 1698.

SIR,

WHEN you put this fatyr into my hand, you gave me the occafion of employing my pen to anfwer fo deteftable a writing; which might be done much

much more effectually by your known zeal for the intereft of his majefty, your counfels and your courage employed in the defence of your king and country. And fince you provoked me to write, you will accept of those efforts of my loyalty to the best of kings, addreffed to one of the moft zealous of his subjects, by

SIR,

Your moft obedient fervant,

1. W.

PART I.

AND muft the hero, that redeem'd our land,

Here in the front of vice and scandal stand? The man of wondrous foul, that fcorn'd his eafe, Tempting the winters, and the faithless feas, And paid an annual tribute of his life

To guard his England from the Irish knife,

And crush the French dragoon? Muft William's name,
That brigheft ftar that gilds the wings of fame,
William the brave, the pious, and the just,
Adorn these gloomy fcenes of tyranny and luft ?

Polhill, my blood boils high, my fpirits flame;
Can your zeal fleep! Or are your paffions tame?
Nor call revenge and darknefs on the Poet's name ?
Why fmoke the fkies not? Why no thunders roll?
Nor kindling lightnings blaft his guilty foul?

}

Auda

Audacious wretch! to ftab a monarch's fame,
And fire his fubjects with a rebel-flame;
To call the painter to his black defigns,
To draw our guardian's face in hellish lines :
Painter, beware! the monarch can be shown
Under no fhape but angels, or his own,
Gabriel, or William, on the British throne.

O could my thought but grafp the vast defign,
And words with infinite ideas join,

I'd roufe Apelles, from his iron sleep,

And bid him trace the warrior o'er the deep:
Trace him, Apelles, o'er the Belgian plain
Fierce, how he climbs the mountains of the flain,
Scattering juft vengeance through the red campaign.
Then dash the canvas with a flying ftroke,
Till it be loft in clouds of fire and fmoke,
And fay, 'Twas thus the conqueror through the
fquadrons broke.

Mark him again emerging from the cloud,
Far from his troops; there like a rock he stood
His country's fingle barrier in a fea of blood.
Calmly he leaves the pleasures of a throne,
And his Maria weeping; whilft alone

He wards the fate of nations, and provokes his own:
But heaven fecures its champion; o'er the field
Paint hovering angels; though they fly conceal'd,
Each intercepts a death, and wears it on his shield.

Now, noble pencil, lead him to our isle,
Mark how the fkies with joyful luftre fmile,

Then

Then imitate the glory; on the ftrand
Spread half the nation, longing till he land.
Wash off the blood, and take a peaceful teint,
All red the warrior, white the ruler paint;
Abroad a hero, and at home a faint.

Throne him on high upon a fhining feat,
Luft and prophanenefs dying at his feet,

While round his head the laurel and the olive meet,
The crowns of war and peace; and may they blow
With flowery bleffings ever on his brow.

At his right hand pile up the English laws
In facred volumes; thence the monarch draws
His wife and just commands-

Rife, ye old fages of the British ifle,

On the fair tablet caft a reverend fmile,

And bless the piece; thefe ftatutes are your own,
That fway the cottage, and direct the throne;
People and prince are one in William's name,
Their joys, their dangers, and their laws the fame.

Let liberty, and right, with plumes difplay'd,
Clap their glad wings around their guardian's head,
Religion o'er the reft her ftarry pinions spread.
Religion guards him; round th' imperial queen
Place waiting virtues, each of heavenly mein;
Learn their bright air, and paint it from his eyes;
The juft, the bold, the temperate and the wife
'Dwell in his looks; majeftic, but ferene;
Sweet, with no fondnefs; chearful, but not vain:
Bright, without terror; great, without disdain.

}