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To the Court on the
QUEEN'S BIRTH-DAY, 1704.
HE happy Mufe, to this high scene preferrd,
No longer shall she toil upon the stage,
And break the mirror that reflects their fhame.
Henceforth he fhall pursue a nobler task,
Shew her bright virgin face, and fcorn the Satyr's mask.
Happy her future days! which are defign'd
Alone to paint the beauties of the mind.
By juft originals to draw with care,
From that attempt the confcious Mufe retires,
But fecretly applauds, and filently admires.
Then, Britain, then thy dawn of blifs begun : Then broke the morn that lighted-up this fun! Then was it doom'd whofe councils fhould fucceed; And by whofe arm the chriftian world be freed; Then the fierce foe was pre-ordain'd to yield, And then the battle won at Blenheim's glorious field.
Infcribed to the Right Hon. the Lord GODOLPHIN, Lord High-Treafurer of England.
"Qualis populeâ morens Philomela fub umbrâ "Amiffos queritur fœtus --
Integrat, & moftis latè loca queftibus implet."
"TWAS at the time, when new-returning light
Forfook her myrtle bower and rofy bed,
To tell the winds her woes, and mourn Amyntas dead.
And did not weep? who fuch relentless eyes?
And motion feem'd fufpended while she wept ;
And in the grave with lov'd Amyntas laid.
"Hear me," fhe cried, " ye nymphs and fylvan gods, "Inhabitants of thefe once-lov'd abodes;
"Hear my diftrefs, and lend a pitying ear,
"Hear my complaint---you would not hear my prayer; "The lofs which you prevented not, deplore, "And mourn with me Amyntas now no more. "Have I not caufe, ye cruel powers, to mourn? Lives there like me another wretch forlorn ;
"Tell me, thou sun that round the world dost shine, "Haft thou beheld another lofs like mine?
"Ye winds, who on your wings fad accents bear, "And catch the founds of forrow and defpair, "Tell me if e'er your tender pinions bore "Such weight of woe, fuch deadly fighs, before? "Tell me, thou earth, on whose wide-spreading base "The wretched load is laid of human race, "Doft thou not feel thyself with me oppreft? "Lie all the dead fo heavy on thy breast? "When hoary winter on thy fhrinking head "His icy, cold, depreffing hand has laid, "Haft thou not felt less chillness in thy veins ? "Do I not pierce thee with more freezing pains? "But why to thee do I relate my woe, "Thou cruel earth, my most remorseless foe, "Within whofe darksome womb the grave is made, "Where all my joys are with Amyntas laid? "What is 't to me, though on thy naked head "Eternal winter fhould his horror fhed,
"Though all thy nerves are numb'd with endless froft, "And all thy hopes of future spring were loft? "To me what comfort can the fpring afford? "Can my Amyntas be with spring restor❜d? "Can all the rains that fall from weeping skies, "Unlock the tomb where my Amyntas lies? "No, never! never !---Say then, rigid earth, 'What is to me thy everlasting dearth? "Though never flower again its head should rear, "Though never tree again should bloffom bear,