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MISCELLANIES.

TO HIS EXCELLENCY THE LORD PRIVY SEAL, ON THE PROSPECT OF PEACE.

Sacerdos

"Fronde fuper Mitram, & felici comptus Oliva."

VIRG.

TO THE LORD PRIVY SEAL.

CONTENDING kings and fields of death too long
Have been the fubject of the British fong.
Who hath not read of fam'd Ramillia's plain,
Bavaria's fall, and Danube chok'd with flain?
Exhausted themes! a gentler note I raise,
And fing returning Peace in fofter lays.
'Their fury quell'd, and martial rage allay'd,
I wait our herpes in the fylvan fhade.
Difbanding hofts are imag'd to my mind,

And warring pow'rs in friendly leagues combin'd, 10
While cafe and pleasure make the nations fmile,
And Heav'n and Anna blefs Britannia's ifle.

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Well fends our queen her mitred Bristol forth, For early counfels fam'd and long-try'd worth, Who thirty rolling years had oft' withheld The Swede and Saxon from the dudy field, Completely form'd to heal the Christian wounds, To name the kings, and give each kingdom bounds,

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The face of ravag'd Nature to repair,

By leagues to foften earth, and Heav'n by pray'r, 20
To gain by love where rage and flaughter fail,
And make the crofier o'er the fword prevail.

So when great Mofes with Jehovah's wand
Had fcatter'd plagues o'er stubborn Pharaoh's land,
Now fpread an hoft of locufts round the shore,
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Now turn'd Nile's fatt'ning streams to putrid gore,
Plenty and gladness mark'd the priest of God,
And fudden almonds fhot from Aaron's rod.
O Thou! from whom these bounteous bleffings flow,
To whom as chief the hopes of Peace we owe,
(For next to thee, the man whom kings contend
To ftyle companion, and to make their friend,
Great Strafford! rich in ev'ry courtly grace,
With joyful pride accepts the fecond place)
From Britain's ifle and Ifis' facred spring
One hour, oh! liften while the Muses fing.
Tho' minifters of mighty monarchs wait

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With beating hearts to learn their mafters' fate,
One hour forbear to speak thy queen's commands,
Nor think the world thy charge neglected ftands; 40
The blissful profpects in my verse display'd
May lure the stubborn, the deceiv'd persuade;
Ev'n thou to Peace fhalt specdier urge the way,
And more be hasten'd by this short delay.

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POEM ON THE PROSPECT OF PEACE.

THE

HE haughty Gaul in ten campaigns o'erthrown Now ceas'd to think the western world his own. Oft had he mourn'd his boasting leaders bound, And his proud bulwarks smoking on the ground. In vain with pow'rs renew'd he fill'd the plain, Made tim❜rous vows and brib'd the faints in vain; As oft' his legions did the fight decline,

Lurk'd in the trench, and sculk'd behind the line. Before his eyes the fancy'd jav'lin gleams,

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At feafts he starts, and feems dethron'd in dreams; IO On giory past reflects with fecret pain,

On mines exhaufted and on millions flain.

To Briton's queen the fceptred fuppliant bends, To her his crowns and infant race commends, Who grieves her fame with Christian blood to buy, 15 Nor afks for glory at a price fo high.

At her decree the war fufpended stands,

And Britain's heroes hold their lifted hands;

Their open brows no threat'ning frowns disguise, But gentler paflions fparkle in their eyes.

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The Gauls, who never in their courts could find
Such temper'd fire with manly beauty join'd,
Doubt if they're those whom dreadful to the view
In forms fo fierce their fearful fancies drew,
At whofe dire names ten thousand widows prest 25
Their helpless orphans clinging to the breast.

In filent rapture each his foe furveys;

They vow firm friendship and give mutual praise.
Brave minds howe'er at war are fecret friends;
Their gen'rous difcord with the battle ends;
In Peace they wonder whence diffenfion rofe,
And alk how fouls fo like could e'er be foes.

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Methinks I hear more friendly fhouts rebound,
And focial clarions mix their sprightly found;
The British flags are furl'd, her troops difband, 35
And fcatter'd armies feek their native land.
The hardy vet'ran proud of many a fear,

The manly charms and honours of the war,
Who hop'd to fhare his friends' illuftrious doon,
And in the battle find a foldier's tomb,

Leans on his fpear to take his farewell view,
And fighing bids the glorious camp adieu.

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Ye gen'rous Fair! receive the brave with fmiles; O'erpay their fleepless nights and crown their toils: Soft beauty is the gallant foldier's due;

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For you they conquer and they bleed for you.
In vain proud Gaul with boastful Spain confpires
When Englih valour English beauty fires.
The nations dread your eyes, and kings despair
Of chiefs fo brave till they have nymphs fo fair. 50
See the fond wife, in tears of transport drown'd,
Hugs her rough lord, and weeps o'er ev'rý wound,
Hangs on the lips that fields of blood relate,
And fmiles er treinbles at his various fate.

Near the full bowl he draws the fancy'd line,
And marks feign'd trenches in the flowing wine,
Then fets th' invefted fort before her eyes,
And mines that whirl'd battalions to the fkies;
His little lift'ning progeny turn pale,

And beg again to hear the dreadful tale.

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Such dire achievements fings the bard that tells Of palfrey'd dames, bold knights, and magick spells, Where whole brigades one champion's arms o'erAnd cleave a giant at a random blow,

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Slay paynims vile that force the fair, and tame
The goblin's fury and the dragon's flame.
Our eager youth to distant nations run

To vifit fields their valiant fathers won;

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From Flandria's fhore their country's fame they trace,
Till far Germania fhews her blafted face.
Th' exulting Briton afks his mournful guide
Where his hard fate the loft Bavaria try'd,
Where Stepney grav'd the ftone to Anna's fame?
He points to Blenheim, once a vulgar name.
Here fled the Household, there did Tallard yield, 75
Here Marlb'rough turn'd the fortune of the field:
On those steep banks near Danube's raging flood
The Gauls thrice started back and trembling stood:
When Churchill's arm perceiv'd they stood not long,'
But plung'damidst the waves a desp’rate throng! 80'
Crowds whelm'd on crowds dafh'd wide the wat'ry
And drove the current to its diftant head.

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