They with the vanquish'd prince and party go,
And leave their temples empty to the foe.
At length the Muses stand, restor’d again

To that great charge which nature did ordain ;
And their lov'd Druids feem reviv'd by fate,
While you dispense the laws, and guide the state.
The nation's foul, our monarch, does difpenfe,
Through you, to us, his vital influence;
You are the channel, where those spirits flow,
And work them higher, as to us they go.

In open profpect nothing bounds our eye,
Until the earth feems join'd unto the sky:
So in this hemifphere our utmost view
Is only bounded by our king and you:
Our fight is limited where you are join'd,
And beyond that no farther heaven can find.
So well your virtues do with his agree,
That, though your orbs of different greatness be,
Yet both are for each other's ufe difpos'd,
His to inclofe, and yours to be inclos'd.
Nor could another in your room have been,
Except an emptinefs had come between.
Well may he then to you his cares impart,
And share his burden where he fhares his heart.
In you his fleep still wakes; his pleasures find
Their fhare of business in your laboring mind.
So when the weary fun his place refigns,
He leaves his light, and by reflection fhines.
Juftice, that fits and frowns where public laws
Exclude foft mercy from a private cause,

In your tribunal most herself does please;
There only smiles because the lives at ease;

And, like young David, finds her ftrength the more,
When difincumber'd from thofe arms fhe wore.

Heaven would our royal master should exceed
Moft in that virtue, which we most did need;

And his mild father (who too late did find
All mercy vain but what with power was join'd)
His fatal goodness left to fitter times,

Not to increase, but to abfolve, our crimes:
But when the heir of this vaft treasure knew
How large a legacy was left to you

(Too great for any fubject to retain),

He wifely ty'd it to the crown again :

Yet, paffing through your hands, it gathers more,
As ftreams, through mines, bear tincture of their ore.
While empiric politicians ufe deceit,

Hide what they give, and cure but by a cheat;
You boldly fhew that skill which they pretend,
And work by means as noble as your end:
Which should you veil, we might unwind the clue,
As men do nature, till we came to you.
And as the Indies were not found, before
Those rich perfumes, which, from the happy fhore,
The winds upon their balmy wings convey'd,
Whose guilty sweetness first their world betray'd;
So by your counfels we are brought to view
A rich and undiscover'd world in you.
By you our monarch does that fame affure,
Which kings must have, or cannot live secure ;

For profperous princes gain their fubjects heart,
Who love that praise in which themselves have part.
By you he fits thofe fubjects to obey,

As heaven's eternal monarch does convey
His power unfeen, and man to his designs,
By his bright minifters the ftars, inclines.

Our fetting fun, from his declining feat,
Shot beams of kindness on you, not of heat:
And, when his love was bounded in a few,
That were unhappy that they might be true,
Made you the favourite of his laft fad times,
That is a fufferer in his fubjects crimes :
Thus thofe first favours you receiv'd, were fent,
Like heaven's rewards in earthly punishment.
Yet fortune, confcious of your destiny,

Ev'n then took care to lay you softly by;

And wrap'd your fate among her precious things,
Kept fresh to be unfolded with your king's.
Shewn all at once you dazzled fo our eyes,
As new-born Pallas did the gods furprize:
When, fpringing forth from Jove's new-clofing wound,
She ftruck the warlike fpear into the ground;
Which fprouting leaves did fuddenly inclofe,
And peaceful olives fhaded as they rose.

How ftrangely active are the arts of peace,
Whofe reftlefs motions lefs than wars do cease!
Peace is not freed from labour but from noife;
And war more force, but not more pains employs :
Such is the mighty fwiftnefs of your mind,
That, like the earth, it leaves our fenfe behind,

While you fo fmoothly turn and rowl our sphere,
That rapid motion does but rest appear.
For, as in nature's swiftness, with the throng
Of flying orbs while ours is borne along,
All seems at reft to the deluded eye,
Mov'd by the foul of the fame harmony,
So, carried on by your unwearied care,
We reft in peace, and yet in motion share.
Let envy then thofe crimes within you see,
From which the happy never must be free;
Envy, that does with mifery refide,
The joy and the revenge of ruin'd pride.
Think it not hard, if at fo cheap a rate
You can fecure the conftancy of fate,

Whofe kindness fent what does their malice feem,
By leffer ills the greater to redeem.

Nor can we this weak fhower a tempeft call,
But drops of heat, that in the fun-fhine fall.
You have already wearied fortune so,
She cannot farther be your friend or foe;
But fits all breathlefs, and admires to feel
A fate fo weighty, that it ftops her wheel.
In all things else above our humble fate,
Your equal mind yet fwells not into state,
But, like fome mountain in thofe happy ifles,
Where in perpetual fpring young nature fmiles,
Your greatnefs fhews: no horror to affright,
But trees for fhade, and flowers to court the fight:
Sometimes the hill fubmits itself a while

In fmall defcents, which do its height beguile;

And fometimes mounts, but fo as billows play,
Whofe rife not hinders, but makes fhort our way.
Your brow, which does no fear of thunder know,
Sees rowling tempefts vainly beat below;
And, like Olympus' top, th' impression wears
Of love and friendship writ in former years.
Yet, unimpair'd with labours, or with time,
Your age but feems to a new youth to climb.
Thus heavenly bodies do our time beget,
And measure change, but share no part of it.
And ftill it fhall without a weight increase,
Like this new-year, whose motions never cease.
For fince the glorious course you have begun
Is led by Charles, as that is by the fun,
It must both weightlefs and immortal prove,
Because the centre of it is above.

A

SATIRE on the DUTCH.
Written in the Year 1662.

S needy gallants, in the fcrivener's hands,

Court the rich knaves that gripe their mortgag'd
lands;

The first fat buck of all the feafon's fent,
And keeper takes no fee in compliment;
The dotage of fome Englishmen is fuch,
To fawn on thofe, who ruin them, the Dutch.
They fhall have all, rather than make a war
With thofe, who of the fame religion are.
The Straits, the Guiney-trade, the herrings too;
Nay, to keep friendship, they fhall pickle you.