PROLOGUE

To the Court on the

QUEEN'S BIRTH-DAY, 1704.

'HE happy Mufe, to this high scene preferrd,

THE

Hereafter fhall in loftier ftrains be heard:

And, foaring to tranfcend her ufual theme,
Shall fing of virtue and heroic fame.

No longer fhall fhe toil upon the stage,
And fruitless war with vice and folly wage;
No more in mean disguise fhe fhall appear,
And shapes fhe would reform be forc'd to wear:
While ignorance and malice join to blame,
And break the mirror that reflects their fhame.
Henceforth he fhall purfue 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,
And copy from the court a faultlefs fair :
Such labours with fuccefs her hopes may crown,
And fhame to manners an incorrigible town.
While this defign her eager thoughts purfues,
Such various virtues all around the views,
She knows not where to fix, or which to chufe.
Yet, still ambitious of the daring flight,
ONE only awes her with fuperior light.

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From

From that attempt the confcious Mufe retires,
Nor to inimitable worth afpires :

But fecretly applauds, and filently admires.
Hence the reflects upon the genial ray
That first enliven'd this aufpicious day :
On that bright ftar, to whofe indulgent power
We owe the bleffings of the prefent hour.
Concurring omens of propitious fate
Bore, with one facred birth, an equal date
Whence we derive whatever we poffefs,
By foreign conqueft, or domeftic peace.

;

I

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 christian world be freed; Then the fierce foe was pre-ordain'd to yield,

And then the battle won at Blenheim's glorious field.

THE

Infcribed to the Right Hon. the Lord GODOLPHIN, Lord High-Treasurer of England.

Qualis populeâ morens Philomela fub umbrâ "Amiffos queritur fœtus --

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་་

- miferabile Carmen

Integrat, & moeftis latè loca queftibus implet."
VIRG. Geor. 4.

TWA

WAS at the time, when new-returning light
With welcome rays begins to chear the fight;
When grateful birds prepare their thanks to pay,
And warble hymns to hail the dawning day;

When woolly flocks their bleating cries renew,
And from their fleecy fides first shake the filver dew.
'Twas then that Amaryllis, heavenly fair,
Wounded with grief, and wild with her despair,

Forfook

Forfook her myrtle bower and rofy bed,

To tell the winds her woes, and mourn Amyntas dead.
Who had a heart fo hard, that heard her cries
And did not weep? who fuch relentless eyes?
Tigers and wolves their wonted rage forego,
And dumb diftrefs and new compaffion show ;
As taught by her to taste of human woe.
Nature herself attentive filence kept,

And motion feem'd fufpended while fhe wept ;
The rifing fun restrain'd his fiery course,
And rapid rivers liften'd at their fource;
Ev'n Echo fear'd to catch the flying found,
Left repetition fhould her accents drown;
The very morning-wind with-held his breeze,
Nor fann'd with fragrant wings the noifelefs trees;
As if the gentle Zephyr had been dead,

And in the grave with lov'd Amyntas laid.
No noife, no whispering figh, no murmuring groan,
Prefum'd to mingle with a mother's moan;

Her cries alone her anguish could exprefs,
All other mourning would have made it lefs.

"Hear me," she cried, " ye nymphs and sylvan 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;

4

«Tell'

"Tell me, thou fun 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 despair, "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 bafe "The wretched load is laid of human race, "Doft thou not feel thyfelf with me oppreft? "Lie all the dead fo heavy on thy breast? "When hoary winter on thy shrinking 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 remorfeless 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 should his horror shed,

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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 fhould rear, "Though never tree again should blossom bear,

"Though