Ungrateful tribe! who, like the viper's brood, From medicine issuing, fuck their mother's blood! Let these obey; and let the learn'd prescribe; That men may die, without a double bribe : Let them, but under their fuperiors, kill; When doctors first have sign'd the bloody bill : He fcapes the best, who, nature to repair, Draws physic from the fields, in draughts of vital air.
You hoard not health, for your own private use; But on the public spend the rich produce. When, often urg'd, unwilling to be great, Your country calls you from your lov'd retreat, And sends to fenates, charg'd with common care, Which none more shuns; and none can better bear : Where could they find another form'd so fit, To poise, with folid sense, a sprightly wit! Were these both wanting, as they both abound, Where could so firm integrity be found ? Well born, and wealthy, wanting no fupport, You steer betwixt the country and the court: Nor gratify whate'er the great defire,
Nor grudging give, what public needs require. Part must be left, a fund when foes invade; And part employ'd to roll the watery trade : Ev'n Canaan's happy land, when worn with toil, Requir'd a fabbath-year to mend the meagre foil.
Good fenators (and such as you) so give, That kings may be supply'd, the people thrive. And he, when want requires, is truly wife,
Who flights not foreign aids, nor over-buys;
But on our native strength, in time of need, relies.
Munster was bought, we boast not the success; Who fights for gain, for greater makes his peace.
Our foes, compell'd by need, have peace embrac'd; The peace both parties want, is like to last: Which if secure, securely we may trade; Or, not fecure, should never have been made. Safe in ourselves, while on ourselves we stand, The sea is ours, and that defends the land. Be, then, the naval stores the nation's care, New ships to build, and batter'd to repair.
Observe the war, in every annual course; What has been done, was done with British force: Namur fubdued, is England's palm alone; The reft befieg'd; but we constrain'd the town : We saw th' event that follow'd our success; France, though pretending arms, pursued the peace; Oblig'd, by one sole treaty, to restore What twenty years of war had won before. Enough for Europe has our Albion fought: Let us enjoy the peace our blood has bought. When once the Persian king was put to flight, The weary Macedons refus'd to fight : Themselves their own mortality confess'd; And left the son of Jove, to quarrel for the rest.
Ev'n victors are by victories undone;
Thus Hannibal, with foreign laurels won,
To Carthage was recall'd, too late to keep his own. While fore of battle, while our wounds are green, Why should we tempt the doubtful dye again?
In wars renew'd, uncertain of fuccess; Sure of a share, as umpires of the peace.
A patriot both the king and country ferves : Prerogative, and privilege, preserves :
Of each our laws the certain limit show;
One must not ebb, nor t' other overflow: Betwixt the prince and parliament we stand;
The barriers of the state on either hand :
May neither overflow, for then they drown the land. When both are full, they feed our bless'd abode; Like those that water'd once the paradife of God.
Some overpoise of sway, by turns, they share; In peace the people, and the prince in war: Confuls of moderate power in calms were made; When the Gauls came, one fole dictator sway'd.
Patriots, in peace, affert the people's right; With noble stubbornness resisting might : No lawless mandates from the court receive, Nor lend by force, but in a body give. Such was your generous grandfire; free to grant In parliaments, that weigh'd their prince's want: But fo tenacious of the common cause, As not to lend the king against his laws. And in a loathsome dungeon doom'd to lie, In bonds retain'd his birthright liberty, And fham'd oppreffion, till it fet him free.
O true defcendant of a patriot line,
Who, while thou shar'st their luftre, lend'st them thine,
Vouchfafe this picture of thy foul to fee;
'Tis fo far good, as it resembles thee.
The beauties to th' original I owe; Which when I miss, my own defects I show: Nor think the kindred Muses thy disgrace: A poet is not born in every race. Two of a house few ages can afford; One to perform, another to record. Praise-worthy actions are by thee embrac'd; And 'tis my praise, to make thy praises last. For ev'n when death dissolves our human frame, The foul returns to heaven from whence it came; Earth keeps the body, verse preserves the fame.
To Sir GODFREY KNELLER, principal Painter to his Majesty.
NCE I beheld the fairest of her kind,
And ftill the sweet idea charms my mind: True, she was dumb; for nature gaz'd so long, Pleas'd with her work, that she forgot her tongue; But, smiling, faid, She still shall gain the prize; I only have transferr'd it to her eyes. Such are thy pictures, Kneller: fuch thy skill, That nature seems obedient to thy will; Comes out, and meets thy pencil in the draught; Lives there, and wants but words to speak her thought.
At least thy pictures look a voice; and we
Imagine founds, deceiv'd to that degree,
We think 'tis somewhat more than just to fee.
Shadows are but privations of the light; Yet, when we walk, they shoot before the fight; With us approach, retire, arife, and fall; Nothing themselves, and yet expreffing all. Such are thy pieces, imitating life
So near, they almost conquer in the strife; And from their animated canvass came, Demanding fouls, and loofen'd from the frame. Prometheus, were he here, would cast away His Adam, and refuse a foul to clay; And either would thy noble work inspire, Or think it warm enough without his fire.
But vulgar hands may vulgar likeness raise ; This is the least attendant on thy praise: From hence the rudiments of art began; A coal, or chalk, first imitated man : Perhaps the shadow, taken on a wall, Gave outlines to the rude original; Ere canvass yet was strain'd, before the grace Of blended colours found their use and place, Or cypress tablets first receiv'd a face.
By flow degrees the godlike art adyanc'd; As man grew polish'd, picture was inhanc'd : Greece added posture, shade, and perspective; And then the mimic piece began to live. Yet perspective was lame, no distance true, But all came forward in one common view : No point of light was known, no bounds of art; When light was there, it knew not to depart,
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