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Whom the old Roman wall fo ill confin'd,
With a new chain of garrifons you bind :
Here foreign gold no more fhall make them come;
Our English iron holds them faft at home.
They, that henceforth must be content to know
No warmer region than their hills of fnow,
May blame the fun; but muft extol your Grace,
Which in our fenate hath allow'd them place.
Preferr'd by conqueft, happily o'erthrown,
Falling they rife, to be with us made one:
So kind dictators made, when they came home,
Their vanquish'd foes free citizens of Rome.
Like favour find the Irifh, with like fate,
Advanc'd to be a portion of our ftate;
While by your valour, and your bounteous mind,
Nations divided by the fea are join'd.
Holland, to gain your friendship, is content
To be our out-guard on the Continent:
She from her fellow provinces would go,
Rather than hazard to have you her foe.
In our late fight, when cannons did diffuse,
Preventing polts, the terror and the news;
Our neighbour princes trembled at their roar :
But our conjunction makes them tremble more.
Your never-failing fword made war to cease;
And now you heal us with the acts of peace:
Our minds with bounty and with awe engage,
Invite affection, and restrain our rage.
Lefs pleasure take brave minds in battles won,
Than in restoring fuch as are undone :
Tigers have courage, and the rugged bear;
But man alone can whom he conquers fpare.
To pardon willing, and to punish loth,
You ftrike with one hand, but you heal with both:
Lifting up all that proftrate lie, you grieve
You cannot make the dead again to live.
When fate or error had our age mifled,
And o'er this nation fuch confufion fpread;
The only cure which could from heaven come
Was fo much pow'r and picty in one!
One, whofe extraction from an ancient line
Gives hope again that well-born men may thine:
The meaneft, in your nature mild and good;
The noble, reft fecured in your blood.
Oft have we wonder'd, how you hid in peace
A mind proportion'd to fuch things as thefe;
How fuch a ruling fp'rit you could restrain,
And practife firft over yourself to reign.
Your private life did a juft pattern give,
How fathers, hufbands, pious fons, fhould live;
Born to command, your princely virtues flept,
Chang'd like the world's great fcene! when with
The rifing fun night's vulgar lights destroys.
Had you, some ages past, this race of glory
Run, with amazement we should read your story;
But living virtue, all achievements past,
Meets envy ftill to grapple with at laft.
This Cæfar found; and that ungrateful age,
With lofing him, went back to blood and rage:
Miftaken Brutus thought to break their yoke,
But cut the bond of union with that froke.
That fun once fet, a thoufand meaner ftars
Gave a dim light to violence and wars;
To fuch a tempeft as now threatens all,
Did not your mighty arm prevent the fall.
If Rome's great fenate could not wield that sword,
Which of the conquer'd world had made them
What hope had ours, while yet their pow'r was
To rule victorious armies, but by you!
You, that had taught them to fubdue their foes,
Could order teach, and their high fp'rits compofe:
To ev'ry duty could their minds engage,
Provoke their courage, and command their rage.
So, when a lion fhakes his dreadful mane,
And angry grows, if he that fiift took pain
To tame his youth, approach the haughty beaft,
He bends to him, but frights away the reft.
As the vex'd world, to find repofe, at last
Itself into Auguftus' arms did caft;
So England now does, with like toil oppreft,
Her weary head upon your bofom rest.
Then let the Mufes with fuch notes as thefe
Inftruct us what belongs unto our peace!
Your battles they hereafter fhall indite,
And draw the image of our Mars in fight;
Tell of towns ftorm'd, of armies over-run,
And mighty kingdoms by your conduct won:
How, while you thunder'd, clouds of duft did
Contending troops, and feas lay hid in smoke.
Illuftrious acts high raptures do infufe,
And ev'ry conqueror creates a Mufe:
Here in low ftrains your milder deeds we fing
But there, my Lord! we'll bays and olive bring
To crown your head; while you in triumph ride
O'er vanquith'd nations, and the fea befide;
While all your neighbour-princes unto you,
Lie Jofeph's fheaves, pay reverence and bow."
$24. Cooper's Hill. DENHAM.
Like humble David's, while the flock he kept.SURE there are poets which did never dream
But when your troubled country call'd you forth,
Your flaming courage and your matchlefs worth,
Dazzling the eyes of all that did pretend,
To fierce contentio gave a profp’rous end.
Still as you rife, the ftate, exalted too,
Finds no difcmper white 'tis chang'd by you;
Of Helicon; we therefore may suppose
Upon Parnaffus, nor did tafte the stream
Thofe made nor poets, but the poets those.
And as courts make not kings, but kings the court,
So where the Mufes and their train refort,
Parnaffus ftands; if I can be to thee
A poet, thou Parnaffus art to me.
Nor wonder, if (advantag'd in my flight
By taking wing from thy aufpicious height)
Through untrac'd ways and airy paths I fly,
More boundlefs in my fancy than my eye:
My eye, which fwift as thought contracts the fpace
That lies between, and firft falutes the place
Crown'd with that facred pile, fo vaft, fo high,
That whether 'tis a part of earth or fky
Uncertain seems, and may be thought a proud
Afpiring mountain, or defcending cloud,
Paul's, the late theme of fuch a Mufe whofe flight
Has bravely reach'd and foar'd above thy height :
Now fhalt thou stand, tho'sword, or time, or fire,
Or zeal more fierce than they, thy fall confpire;
Secure whilft thee the beft of poets fings,
Preferv'd from ruin by the best of kings.
Under his proud furvey the city lies,
And, like a mift, beneath a hill doth rife;
Whofe ftate and wealth, the bufinefs and the crowd,
Seem at this distance but a darker cloud;
And is, to him who rightly things efteems,
No other in effect than what it feems:
Where, with like hafte, tho' feveral ways they run,
Some to undo, and fome to be undone ;
While luxury and wealth, like war and peace,
Are each the other's ruin and increase;
As rivers loft in feas fome fecret vein
Thence reconveys, there to be lost again.
Oh happiness of sweet retir'd content!
To be at once fecure and innocent.
Windforthe next (where Mars with Venus dwells,
Beauty with ftrength) above the valley fwells
Into my eye, and doth itself prefent
With fuch an eafy and unforc'd afcent,
That no ftupendous precipice denies
Accefs, no horror turns away our eyes;
But fuch a rife as doth at once invite
A pleasure and a rev'rence from the fight.
Thy mighty mafter's emblem, in whole face
Sat meeknefs, heighten'd with majestic grace;
Such feems thy gentle height, made only proud
To be the bafis of that pompous load,
Than 'which a nobler weight no mountain bears,
But Atlas only which supports the spheres.
When Nature's hand this ground did thus advance,
'Twas guided by a wifer pow'r than Chance;
Mark'd out for fuch an ufe, as if 'twere meant
T' invite the builder, and his choice prevent.
Nor can we call it choice, when what we choofe
Folly or blindnefs only could refufe.
A crown of fuch majeftic tow'rs doth grace
The gods' great mother, when her heav'nly race
Do homage to her; yet the cannot boast,
Among that numerous and celeftial hoft,
More heroes than can Windfor; nor deth Fame's
Iminortal book record more noble names.
Not to look back fo far, to whom this ifle
Owes the firft glory of fo brave a pile,
Whether to Cæfar, Albanact, or Brute,
The British Arthur, or the Danish Cnute,
(Though this of old no lefs conteft did move,
Than when for Homer's birth feven cities ftrove),
(Like him in birth, thou shouldst be like in fame,
As thine his fate, if mine had been his flame)
But whofoe'er it was, Nature defign'd
First a brave place, and then as brave a mind.
Not to recount thofe fev'ral kings, to whom
It gave a cradle, or to whom a tomb;
But thee, great Edward, and thy greater fon †,
(The lilies which his father wore he won),
And thy Bellona ‡, who the confort came
Not only to thy bed, but to thy fame,
She to thy triumph led one captive king §,
And brought that fon which did the fecond brings.
Then didit thou found that order (whether love
Or victory thy royal thoughts did move,
Each was a noble caufe, and nothing lefs
Than the defign has been the great fuccefs),
Which foreign kings and emperors esteem
The fecond honour to their diadem.
Had thy great deftiny but given thee skill
To know, as well as pow'r to act, her will;
That from thofe kings, who then thy captives were,
In after-times fhould fpring a royal pair,
Who fhould poffefs all that thy mighty pow'r,
Or thy detires more mighty, did devour;
To whom their better fate referves whate'er
The victor hopes for, or the vanquish'd fear;
That blood which thou and thy great grandfirefhed,
And all that fince thefe fifter nations bled,
Had been unfpilt, had happy Edward known
That all the blood he fpilt had been his own.
When he that patron chofe, in whom are join'd
Soldier and martyr, and his arms confin'd
Within the azure circle, he did feem
But to foretel and prophefy of him
Who to his realms that azure round hath join'd,
Which Nature for their bound at firft defign'd;
That bound which to the world's extremeft' ends,
Endlefs itfelf, its liquid arms extends.
Nor doth he need thofe emblems which we paint,
But is himfelf the foldier and the faint.
Here fhould my wonder dwell, and here my praise,
But my fix'd thoughts my wand'ring eye betrays,
Viewing a neighb'ring hill, whofe top of late
A chapel crown'd, till in the common fate
Th' adjoining abbey fell (may no fuch ftorm
Fall on our times, where ruin muft reform!).
Tell me, my Mufe, what monstrous dire offence,
What crime, could any Christian king incenfe -
To fuch a rage? Was 't luxury, or luft?
Was he fo temperate, fo chafte, fo juft? [more:
Were thefe their crimes? They were his own much
But wealth is crime enough to him that's poor;
Who, having spent the treasures of his crown,
Condemns their luxury to feed his own.
And yet this act, to varnish o'er the fhame
Of ficrilege, muft bear Devotion's name.:
No crime fo bold but would be understood
A real, or at least a feeming, good:
Who fears not to do ill yet fears the name,
And, free from confcience, is a flave to fame:
Thus he the church at once protects and spoils:
But princes' fwords are fharper than their styles
Edward III. and the Black Prince.
The kings of France and Scotland.
Thy nobler ftreams fhall vifit Jove's abodes,
To fhine among the stars, and bathe the gods.
Here nature, whether more intent to pleate
Us for herself, with ftrange varieties
(For things of wonder give no lefs delight
To the wife Maker's than beholder's fight:
Tho' thefe delights from fev'ral caufes move;
For fo our children, thus our friends we love),
Wifely the knew, the harmony of things,
As well as that of founds, from difcord fprings.
Such was the difcord which did firft difperfe
Form, order, beauty, through the universe;
While drynefs moisture, coldness heat refifts,
All that we have, and that we are, fubfifts.
While the steep horrid roughness of the wood
Strives with the gentle calmnefs of the flood.
Such huge extremes when nature doth unite,
Wonder from thence refults, from thence delight:
The ftream is fo tranfparent, pure, and clear,
That had the self-cnamour'd youth gaz'd here,
So fatally deceiv'd he had not been,
And thus to th' ages past he makes amends,
Their charity deftroys, their faith defends.
Then did religion in a lazy cell,
In empty airy contemplations dwell;
And, like the block, unmoved lay: but ours,
As much too active, like the ftork devours.
Is there no temperate region can be known
Betwixt their frigid and our torrid zone?
Could we not wake from that lethargic dream,
But to be refilefs in a worfe extreme?
And for that lethargy was there no cure,
But to be caft into a calenture?
Can knowledge have no bound, but must advance
So far, to make us with for ignorance;
And rather in the dark to grope our way,
Than led by a falfe guide to err by day?
Who fees thefe difinal heaps, but would demand
What barbarous invader fack'd the land?
But when he hears, no Goth, no Turk did bring
This defolation, but a Chriftian king;
When nothing but the name of zeal appears
'Twixt our best actions and the worft of theirs;While he the bottom, not his face, had seen.
What does he think our facrilege would fpare,
When fuch th' effects of our devotions are?
Parting from thence 'twixt anger, fhame, and fear,
Thofe for what's past, and this for what's too near,
My eye, defcending from the hill, surveys
Where Thames among the wanton valleys ftrays.
Thames, the most lov'd of all the Ocean's fons
By his old fire, to his embraces runs ;
Hafting to pay his tribute to the fea,
Like mortal life to meet eternity.
Tho' with thofe ftreams he no refemblance hold,
Whofe foam is amber, and their gravel gold;
His genuine and lefs guilty wealth t' explore,
Search not his bottom, but furvey his fhore;
O'er which he kindly fpreads his fpacious wing,
And hatches plenty for th' enfuing fpring:
Nor then destroys it with too fond a stay,
Like mothers who their infants overlay ;
Nor with a fudden and impetuous wave,
Like profufe kings, refumes the wealth he gave.
No unexpected inundations spoil
The mower's hopes, or mock the plowman's toil:
But godlike his unwearied bounty Hows;
Firit loves to do, then loves the good he does.
Nor are his bleflings to his banks confin'd,
But free and common, as the fea or wind;
When he, to boaft or to difperfe his ftores,
Full of the tributes of his grateful thores,
Vifits the world, and in his flying tow'rs
Brings home to us, and makes both Indies ours;
Finds wealth where 'tis, beftows it where it wants,
Cities in deferts, woods in cities, plants.
So that to us no thing, no place is strange,
While his fair bofom is the world's exchange.
O could I flow like thee, and make thy stream
My great example, as it is my theme!
Tho deep, yet clear; tho' gentle, yet not dull;
Strong without rage, without o'erflowing full.
Heaven her Eridanus no more fhall boaft,
Whofe fame in thine, like leffer current, 's loft;
But his proud head the airy mountain hides
Among the clouds; his fhoulders and his fides
A fhady mantle clothes; his curled brows
Frown on the gentle stream, which calmly flows;
While winds and ftorms his lofty forehead beat,
The common fate of all that 's high or great.
Low at his foot a fpacious plain is plac'd,
Between the mountain and the stream embrac'd;
Which fhade and fhelter from the hill derives,
While the kind river wealth and beauty gives;
And in the mixture of all thefe appears
Variety, which all the reft endears.
This fcene had fome bold Greek or British bard
Beheld of old, what stories had we heard
Of fairies, fatyrs, and the nymphs their dames,
Their feafts, their revels, and their am'rous flames!
'Tis ftill the famine, although their airy thape
All but a quick poetic fight cfcape.
There Faunus and Sylvanus keep their courts,
And thither all the horned hoft reforts
To graze the ranker mead, that noble herd,
On whofe fublime and thady fronts is rear'd
Nature's great mafter-piece; to fhew how foon
Great things are made, but fooner are undone.
Here have I feen the King, when great affairs
Gave leave to flacken and unbend his cares,
Attended to the chace by all the flow'r
Of youth, whofe hopes a nobler prey devour:
Pleafure with praife, and danger they would buy,
And with a foe that would not only fly.
The ftag, now confcious of his fatal growth,
At once indulgent to his fear and floth,
To fome dark covert his retreat had made,
Where nor man's eye nor heaven's fhould invade
His foft repofe; when th' unexpected found
Of dogs, and men, his wakeful car does wound:
Rous'd with the noife, he fcarce believes his ear,
Willing to think th' illufions of his fear
Had given this falfe alarm, but ftraight his view
Confirms, that more than all his fears is true.
Betray'd in all his ftrengths, the wood befet;
All inftruments, all arts of ruin met;
He calls to mind his ftrength, and then his fpeed,
His winged heels, and then his armed head;
With thefe t'avoid, with that his fate to meet:
But fear prevails, and bids him trust his feet.
So fat he flies, that his reviewing eye
Has loft the chairs, and his ear the cry;
Exulting, till he finds their nobler fenfe
Their difproportion'd speed doth recompenfe;
Then curfes his confpiring feet, whofe fcent
Betrays that fafety which their fwiftnefs lent.
Then tries his friends; among the bafer herd,
Where he fo lately was obey'd and fear'd,
His fafety feeks: the herd, unkindly wife,
Or chafes him from thence, or from him flies;
Like a declining statelman, left forlorn
To his friends' pity, and purfuers' scorn;
With fhame remembers, while himfelf was one
Of the fame herd, himself the fame had done.
Thence to the coverts and the conicious groves,
The fcenes of his paft triumphs and his loves;
Sadly furveying where he rang'd alone
Prince of the foil, and all the herd his own;
And, like a bold knight errant, did proclaim
Combat to all, and bore away the dame;
And taught the woods to echo to the stream
His dreadful challenge and his clashing beam.
Yet faintly now declines the fatal ftrife,
So much his love was dearer than his life.
Now ev'ry leaf and ev'ry moving breath
Prefents a foe, and ev'ry foe a death.
Wearied, forfaken, and purfued, at laft
All fafety in defpair of fafety plac',
Courage he thence refumes, refolv'd to bear
All their affaults, fince 'tis in vain to fear.
And now, too late, he withes for the fight
That ftrength he wafted in ignoble flight:
But when he fees the eager chace renew'd,
Himtelf by dogs, the dogs by men purfu'd,
He ftraight revokes his bold refolve, and more
Repents his courage than his fear before;
Finds that uncertain ways unfafest are,
And doubt a greater mifchief than defpair.
Then to the ftream, when neither friends, nor force,
Nor fpeed, nor at avail, he th apes his courfe;
Thinks not their rage fo defp'rate to effay
An element more merciless than they.
But fearless they purfue, nor can the flood
Quench their dire thirft; alas, they thirst for blood!
So towards a fhip the oar-finn'd gallies ply,
Which wanting fea to ride, or wind to fly,
Stands but to fall eveng'd on those that dare
Tempt the laft fury of extreme defpair.
So fares the ftag among th' enraged hounds,
Repels their force, and wounds returns for wounds.
And as a hero, whom his bifer foes
In troops furround, now thefe aifails, now thofe
Though prodigal of life, difdains to die
By common hands; but if he can defery.
Some nobler foe approach, to him he calls,
And begs his fate, and then contented falls:
So when the king a mortal fhaft lets fly
From his unerring hand, then glad to die,
Proud of the wound, to it refigns his blood,
And ftains the crystal with a purple flood.
This a more innocent and happy chace,
Than when of old, but in the felf-fame place,
Fair Liberty purfued, and meant a prey'
To lawlefs pow'r, here turn'd and stood at bay.
When in that remedy all hope was plac'd,
Which was, or fhould have been at leaft, the laft,
Here was that charter feal'd, wherein the crown
All marks of arbitrary pow'r lays down:
Tyrant and flave, thofe names of hate and fear,
The happier ftyle of king and fubject bear:
Happy, when both to the fame centre move,
When kings give liberty, and fubjects love.
Therefore not long in force this charter ftool;
Wanting that feal, it must be scal'd in blood.
The fubjects arm'd, the more their princes gave,
Th' advantage only took the more to crave:
Till kings by giving give themfelves away,
And ev'n that pow'r that fhould deny betray.
"Who gives conftrain'd, but his own fear reviles;
"Not thank'd, but fcorn'd; nor are they gifts, but
Thus kings,by grafping more than they could hold,
First made their fubjects by oppreffion bold;
And poplar fway, by forcing kings to give
More than was fit for fubjects to receive,
Ran to the fame extremes: and one excels
Made both, by ftriving to be greater, lefs.
When a calm river, rais'd with iudden rains,
Or fnows diffolv'd, o'erflows th' adjoining plains,
The hufbandinen with high-rais'd banks fecure
Their greedy hopes; and this he can endure.
But if with bays and dams they strive to force
His channel to a new or narrow course,
No longer then within his banks he dwells;
First to a torrent, then a deluge fwells:
Stronger and fiercer by restraint he roars, [fhores.
And knows no bound, but makes his pow'r his
25. On Mr. Abraham Cowley's Death, and Bu rial amongst the ancient Pucts. DENHAM. OLD Chaucer, like the morning ftar,
To us difcovers day from far;
His light thofe mifts and clouds diffolv'd
Which our dark nation long involv'd:
But, he defcending to the thades,
Darknefs again the age invades.
Next (like Aurora) Spenfer rofe,
Whole purple blush the day forefhews;
The other three with his own fires
Phoebus, the poet's god, infpires;
By Shakefpear's, Jonton's, Fletcher's lines
Our ftage's luftre Rome's outlines;
These poets near our princes fleep,
And in one grave our manlion keep.
They liv'd to fee fo many days,
Till time had blafted all their bays;
But curfed be the fatal hour
That pluck'd the fairest, sweetest flow'r
That in the mufe's garden grew,
And amo gft wither'd laurels threw !
Time, which made their fame out-live,
To Cowley fcarce did ripenes give.
Old mother Wit and Nature gave
Shakespear and Fletcher all they have;
In Spenfer, and in Jonfon, art
Of lower nature got the fiart;
But both in him fo equal are,
None knows which bears the happieft share.
To him no author was unknown,
Yet what he wrote was all his own;
He melted not the ancient gold,
Nor, with Ben Jonfon, did make bold
To plunder all the Roman ftores
and of orators : Horace's wit, and Virgil's ftate, He did not fteal, but emulate!
And when he would like them appear,
Their garb, but not their clothes, did wear:
He not from Rome alone, but Greece,
Like Jafon, brought the golden fleece;
To him that language (though to none
Of th' others) as his own was known.
On a ftiff gale (as Flaccifs fings)
The Theban fwan extends his wings:
When thro' th' ethereal clouds he flies,
To the fame pitch our fwan doth rife;
Old Pindar's flights by him are reach'd,
When on that gale his wings are stretch'd:
His fancy and his judgment fuch,
Each to the other feem'd too much;
His fevere judgment (giving law)
His modeft fancy kept in awe :
As rigid hufbands jealous are,
When they believe their wives too fair.
His English ftreams fo pure did flow,
As all that faw and tafted know.
But for his Latin vein, fo clear,
Strong, full, and high, it doth appear,
That, were immortal Virgil here,
Him for his judge he would not fear;
Of that great portraiture, fo true
A copy pencil never drew.
My mufe her fong had ended here,
But both their Genii ftraight appear,
Joy and amazement her did frike,
Two twins the never faw fo like.
'Twas taught by wife Pythagoras,
One foul might through more bodies pafs:
Seeing fuch tranfimigration there,
She thought it not a fable here.
Such a refemblance of all parts,
Life, death, age, fortune, na ure, arts ;
Then lights her torch at theirs, to tell,
And fhew the world this paralel:
Fix'd and contemplative their looks,
Still turning over nature's books:
Their work's chatte, moral, and divine,
Where profit and delight combine;
They, gilding dirt, in noble verfe
Ruftic philofophy rehearse.
When heroes, gods, or godlike kings They praife, on their exalted wings To the celeftial orbs they climb,
And with th' harmonious fpheres keep time:
Nor did their actions fall behind
Their words, but with like candour fhin'd;
Each drew fair characters, yet none
Of thefe they feign'd excels their own.
Both by two generous princes lov'd,
Who knew, and judg'd what they approv'd:
Yet having each the fame defie,
Both from the busy throng retire.
Their bodies, to their minus refign'd,
Car'd not to propagate their kind:
Yet though both fell before their hour,
Time on their offspring hath no pow'r,
Nor fire nor fate their bays fhall blaft,
Nor death's dark veil their day o'ercaft.
$26. An Efay on Tranflated Verfe. EARL OF ROSCOMMON. HAPPY that author whose correct effay
Repairs to well our old Horatian way: And happy you, who (by propitious fate) On great Apollo's facred trandard wait, And with ftrict difcipline inftructed right, Have learn'd to use your arins before you fight. But fince the prefs, the pulpit, and the stage, Confpire to cenfure and expofe our age; Provik'd too far, we refolutely muft, To the few virtues that we have, be juft. For who have long'd or who have labour'd more To fearch the treasures of the Roman store, Or dig in Grecian mines for purer ore? The nobleft fruits, tranfplanted in our ifle, With early hope and fragrant bloffoms fimile. Familiar Ovid tender thoughts infpires, And nature feconds all his foft defires: Theocitus does now to us belong; And Albion's rocks repeat his rural fong. Who has not heard how Italy was bleft Above the Medes, above the wealthy Eaft? Or Gallus' fong, fo tender and fo true, As ev'n Lycoris might with pity view! [hearle, When mourning nymphs attend their Dalpris Who does not weep that reads the moving veite? But hear, oh i ear, in what exalted ftrains Sicilian Mutes through thefe happy plains Proclaim Saturnian times-our own Apollo