Her Cheek its Bloom, her Lips its Scent,
That Philomel breaks off her Song,
And liftens to her fweeter Tongue
That Venus and the Graces join'd
To form this Phoenix of her Kind,
And Pallas undertook to store
Her Mind with Wisdom's chiefeft Lore:
Thus form'd, Jove iffues a Decree
That GEORGE'S Confort the fhall be:
Then Cupid (for what Match is made
By Poets without Cupid's Aid?)
Picks out the fwifteft of his Darts,
And pierces inftant both their Hearts.
Your fearful Profe-men here might doubt
How best to bring this Match about,
For Winds and Waves are ill-bred Things,
And little care for Queens and Kings;
But as the Gods affembled ftand,
And wait each youthful Bard's Command,
All fancy'd Dangers they deride,
Of boift'rous Winds, and fwelling Tide;
Neptune is call'd to wait upon her,
And Sea-Nymphs are her Maids of Honour ;
Whilft we, instead of eaftern Gales,
With Vows and Praifes fill the Sails,
And when, with due poetick Care
They fafely land the Royal Fair,
They catch the happy Simile,
Of Venus rifing from the Sea.
Soon as she moves, the Hill and Vale,
Refponfive tell the joyful Tale';
And Wonder holds th' enraptur'd Throng
To see the Goddess pafs along ;
The bowing Forefts all adore her,
And Flow'rs fpontaneous fpring before her,
Where you and I-all Day might travel,
And meet with nought but Sand and Gravel;
But Poets have a piercing Eye,
And many pretty Things can spy,
Which neither you nor I can fee,
But then the Fault's in you and me.
The King aftonish'd muft appear,
And find that Fame has wrong'd his Dear;
Then Hymen, like a Bishop, ftands,
To join the Lovers' plighted Hands;
Apollo and the Mufes wait,
The nuptial Song to celebrate..
But I, who rarely fpend my Time In paying Court or spinning Rhyme; Who cannot from the high Abodes, Call down, at will, a Troop of Gods; Muft in the plain profaick Way,
May Heaven our Monarch's Choice approve,
May he be bleft with mutual Love,
And be as happy with his Queen,
As with my Chloe I have been
When wand'ring through the Beechen Grove,
She fweetly fmil'd and talk'd of Love!
And oh that he may live to fee
A Son as wife and good as he
And may his Confort grace the Throne
With Virtues equal to his own!
Our Courtly Bards will needs be telling,
That the's like Venus or like Helen;
I wish that she may prove as fair
As Egremont and Pembroke are
For tho' by Sages 'tis confeft,
That Beauty's but a Toy at beft;
Yet, 'tis methinks, in married Life,
A pretty Douceur with a Wife:
And may the Minutes as they fly,
Strengthen fill the nuptial Tye
While Hand in Hand thro' Life they go,
"Till Love fhall into friendship grow;
For tho' thefe Bleffings rarely wait
On regal Pomp, and tinfel'd State,
Yet Happiness is Virtue's Lot,
Alike in Palace and in Cot
'Tis true, the grave Affairs of State,
With little Folks have little Weight;
Yet I confefs my Patriot Heart
In Britain's Welfare bears its Part;
With Transport glows at GEORGE's Name,
And triumphs in its Country's Fame:
With hourly Pleasure I can fit
And talk of Granby, Hawke, and Pitt;
And whilft I praife the Good and Brave,
Disdain the Coward and the Knave.
At Growth of Taxes others fret,
And shudder at the Nation's Debt;
1 ne'er the fancied Ills bemoan,
No Debts disturb me, but my own.
What! tho' our Coffers fink, our Trade
Repairs the Breach which War has made;
And if Expences now run high,
Our Minds must with our Means comply.
Thus far my Politicks extend,
And here my warmest Wishes end,
May Merit flourish, Faction ceafe,
And I and Europe live in Peace!
Matemus Clypeos, DANAUMQUE Infignia NOBIS
Aptemus. Dolus, an Virtus, quis in Hofte requirit?
AIL, mighty Goddefs, whom of yore,
Where fam'd Cimmeria boafts her tenfold Gloom In those deep Caverns, from her lab'ring Womb Imperial Dulness bore.
At the Signal of thy Birth,
O'er the Rue-befprinkled Earth,
Slowly fullen Spleen advances,
Sneering Laughter joins the Dances,
Swift from her Den exulting Envy fprings,
New trims her faded Torch, and sharpens all her Stings.
Farewel, ye Vifions light and vain,
The Delian Grove, with its enchanted Rill,
*This Poem appeared foon after the Publication of the Oxfor Verfes on the Death of his late Majesty.
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