To teach your wondering sons the hero's praise!
To him your skilful bards their verse shall bring
For him the tuneful voice be taught to sing,
The breathing pipe shall swell, shall sound the
trembling string.

O happy thou! where peace for ever smiles,
Britannia! noblest of the ocean's isles,
Fair queen! who dost amidst thy waters reign,
And stretch thy empire o'er the farthest main:
What transports in thy parent bosom roll'd,
When fame at first the pleasing story told!
How didst thou lift thy towery front on high!
Not meanly conscious of a mother's joy,
Proud of thy son as Crete was of her Jove,[prove,
How wert thou pleas'd Heaven did thy choice ap-
And fix'd success where thou hast fix'd thy love!
How with regret his absence didst thou mour!
How with impatience wait his wish'd return!
How were the winds accus'd for his delay!
How didst thou chide the gods who rule the sea,
And charge the Nereid nymphs to waft him on his
At length he comes, he ceases from his toil![way
Like kings of old returning from the spoil;
To Britain and his queen for ever dear,
He comes, their joy and grateful thanks to share;
Lowly he kneels before the royal seat,
And lays its proudest wreaths at Anna's feet.
While, form'd alike for labours or for ease,
In camps to thunder, or in courts to please, [care,
Britain's bright nymphs make Marlborough their
In all his dangers, all his triumphs, share.
Conquering helends the well-pleas'd fair new grace,
And adds fresh lustre to each beauteous face;
Britain preserv'd by his victorious arms,
With wondrous pleasure each fair bosom warms,
Lightens in all their eyes, and doubles all their
E'en his own Sunderland, in beauty's store[charms.
So rich, she seem'd incapable of more,
Now shines with graces never known before.
Fierce with transporting joy she seems to burn,
And each soft feature takes a sprightly turn;
New flames are seen to sparkle in her eyes,
And on her blooming cheeks fresh roses rise;
The pleasing passion heightens each bright hue,
And seems to touch the finish'd piece anew,
Improves what Nature's bounteous hand had given,
And mends the fairest workmanship of Heav e.
Nor joy like this in courts is only found,
But spreads to all the grateful people round;
Laborious hinds inur'd to rural toil,

To tend the flocks and turn the mellow soil,
In homely guise their honest hearts express,
And bless the warrior who protects the peace,
Who keeps the foe aloof, and drives afar
The dreadful ravage of the wasting war.
No rude destroyer cuts the ripening crop,
Prevents the harvest, and deludes their hope;
No helpless wretches fly with wild amaze,
Look weeping back, and see their dwellings blaze;
The victor's chain no mournful captives know,
Nor hear the threats of the insulting foe,
But freedom laughs, the fruitful fields abound,
The cheerful voice of mirth is heard to sound,
And plenty doles her various bounties round,
The humble village, and the wealthy town,
Consenting join their happiness to own:
What Heaven and Anna's gentlest reign afford,
All is secur'd by Marlborough'sconquering sword.
O sacred, ever honour'd name! O thou!
That wert our greatest William once below!

What place soe'er thy virtues now possess.
Near the bright source of everlasting bliss,
Where-e'er exalted to etherial height,
Radiant with stars, thou tread'st the fields of light,
Thy seats divine, thy Heaven a-while forsake,
And deign the Britons' triumph to partake.
Nor art thou chang'd, but still thou shalt delight,
To hear the fortune of the glorious fight,
How fail'd oppression, and prevail'd the right.
What once below, such still thy pleasures are,
Europe and liberty are still thy care;
Thy great, thy generous, pure, immortal mind
Is ever to the public good inclin'd,
Is still the tyrant's foe, and patron of mankind.
Behold where Marlborough, thy last best gift,
At parting to thy native Belgia left,
Succeeds to all thy kind paternal cares,
Thy watchful counsels, and laborious wars;
Like thee aspires by virtue to renown,
Fights to secure an empire not his own,
Reaps only toil himself, and gives away a crown.
At length thy prayer, O pious prince! is heard,
Heaven has at length in its own cause appear'd;
At length Ramillia's field atones for all
The faithless breaches of the perjur'd Gaul;
At length a better age to man decreed,
With truth, with peace, and justice shall succeed;
Fall'n are the proud, and the griev'd world is freed.

One triumph yet, my Muse, remains behind,
Another vengeance yet the Gaul shall find;
On Lombard plains, beyond his Alpine hills,
Louis the force of hostile Britain feels:
Swift to her friends distress'd her succours fly,
And distant wars her wealthy sons supply:
From slow unactive courts, they grieve to hear
Eugene, a name to every Briton dear,
By tedious languishing delays is held
Repining, and impatient, from the field:
While factious statesmen riot in excess,
And lazy priests whole provinces possess,
of unregarded wants the brave complain,
And the starv'd soldier sues for bread in vain;
At once with generous indignation warm,
Britain the treasure sends, and bids the hero arm,
Straight eager to the field he speeds away,
There vows the victor Gaul shall dear repay
The spoils of Calcinato's fatal day:
Cheer'd by the presence of the chief they love,
Once more their fate the warriors long to

prove;

Our sord'd Earth ne'er bred so bright a flame,
But from the skies, thy kindred skies it came.
o numbers great like thine, th' angelic quire
In joyous concert tune the golden lyre;
Viewing with pitying eyes, our cares with thee,
They wisely own, that "all is vanity;"
E'en all the joys which mortal minds can know,
And find Ardelia's verse the least vain thing below.

If Pindar's name to those bless'd mansions reach,
And mortal Muses may immortal teach,
In verse like his, the heavenly nation raise
Their tuneful voices to their Maker's praise,
Nor shall celestial harmony disdain,
For once, to imitate an earthly strain,
Whose fame secure, no rival e'er can fear,
But those above, and fair Ardelia here.
She who undaunted could his raptures view,
And with bold wings his sacred heights pursue;
Safe through the Dithyrambic stream she steer'd,
Nor the rough deep in all its dangers fear'd;
Not so the rest, who with successful pain,
Th' unnavigable torrent try'd in vain.

So Clelia leap'd into the rapid flood,
While the Etruscans struck with wonder stood:
Amidst the waves her rash pursuers dy'd,
The matchless dame could only stem the tide,
And gain the glory of the farther side.

See with what pomp the antic masque comes in!
The various forms of the fantastic spleen.
Vain empty laughter, howling grief and tears,
False joy, bred by faise hope, and falser fears;
Each vice, each passion which pale nature wears,
In this odd monstrous medley mix'd appears.
Like Bayes's dance, confus'dly round they run,
Statesman, coquet, gay fop, and pensive nun,
Spectres and heroes, husbands and their wives,
With monkish drones that dream away their lives.
Long have I labour'd with the dire disease,
Nor found, but from Ardelia's numbers, ease:
The dancing verse runs through my sluggish veins,
Where dull and cold the frozen blood remains.
Pale cares and anxious thoughts give way in haste,
And to returning joy resign my breast;
Then free from every pain I did endure,
I bless the charming author of my cure.

So when to Saul the great musician play'd,
The sullen fiend unwillingly obey'd,

[shade.

And left the monarch's breast, to seek some safer

SONG.

WHILE Sappho with harmonious airs

Her dear Philenis charms,
With equal joy the nymph appears
Dissolving in his arms.

Thus to themselves alone they are
What all mankind can give;
Alternately the happy pair

All grant, and all receive.

Like the twin-stars, so fam'd for friends,
Who set by turns, and rise;
When one to Thetis' lap descends,
His brother mounts the skies.

With happier fate and kinder care,

These nymphs by turns do reign, While still the falling does prepare The rising to sustain.

The joys of either sex in love,

In each of them we read; Successive cach to each does prove, Fierce youth and yielding maid.

EPIGRAM.

TO THE TWO NEW MEMBERS FOR BRAMBER, 1708.
THOUGH in the Commons House you did prevail,
Good Sir Cleeve Moore, and gentle Master Hale;
Yet on good luck be cautious of relying,
Burgess for Bramber is no place to die in.
Your predecessors have been oddly fated;
Asgill and Shippen have been both translated.

VERSES MADE TO A SIMILE OF POPE'S.
WHILE at our house the servants brawl,
And raise an uproar in the hall;
When John the butler, and our Mary,
About the plate and linen vary:
Till the smart dialogue grows rich,
In sneaking dog! and ugly bitch!
Down comes my lady like the devil,
And makes them silent all and civil
Thus cannon clears the cloudy air,
And scatters tempests brewing there:
Thus bullies sometimes keep the peace,
And one scold makes another cease.

ON NICOLINI AND VALENTINTS FIRST COMING TO THE HOUSE IN THE HAY. MARKET.

AMPHION strikes the vocal lyre,
And ready at his call,
Harmonious brick and stone conspire
To raise the Theban wall.

In emulation of his praise

Two Latin signors come,

A sinking theatre to raise

And prop Van's tottering dome. But how this last should come to pass Must still remain unknown,

Since these poor gentlemen, alas!

Bring neither brick nor stone.

EPILOGUE TO THE INCONSTANT;

OR, THE WAY TO WIN HIM: A COMEDY. BY MR.
FARQUHAR. AS IT WAS ACTED AT THE THE
SPOKEN
ATRE-ROYAL IN DRURY-LANE, 1703.
BY MR. WILKS.

FROM Fletcher's great original1, to day
We took the hint of this our modern play:
Our author, from his lines, has strove to paint
A witty, wild, inconstant, free gallant:
With a gay soul, with sense and will to rove,
With language, and with softness fram'd to move,
With little truth, but with a world of love.

1 See, The Wild-Goose Chace.

Such forms on maids in morning slumbers wait,
When fancy first instructs their hearts to beat,
When first they wish, and sigh for what they know
not yet.

Frown not, ye fair, to think your lovers may
Reach your cold hearts by some unguarded way;
Let Villeroy's misfortune make you wise,
There's danger still in darkness and surprise;
Though from his rampart he defy'd the fue,
Prince Eugene found an aqueduct below.
With easy freedom, and a gay address,
A pressing lover seldom wants success:
Whilst the respectful, like the Greek, sits down,
And wastes a ten years siege before one town.
For her own sake let no forsaken maid,
Our wanderer for want of love, upbraid;
Since 'tis a secret, none should e'er confess,
That they have lost the happy power to please,
If you suspect the rogue inclin'd to break,
Break first, and swear you've turn'd him off a week;
As princes when they resty statesmen doubt,
Before they can surrender, turn them out.
What-e'er you think, grave uses may be made,
As much, e'en for inconstancy be said.
Let the good man for marriage rites design'd,
With studious care, and diligence of mind,
Turn over every page of womankind;
Mark every sense, and how the readings vary,
And when he knows the worst on't--let him marry.

When first you took us from our father's house,
And lovingly our interest did espouse,
You kept us fine, caress'd, and lodg'd us here,
And honey-moon held out above three year;
At length, for pleasures known do seldom last,
Frequent enjoyment pall'd your sprightly taste;
And though at first you did not quite neglect,
We found your love was dwindled to respect.
Sometimes, indeed, as in your way it fell,
You stopp'd, and call'd to see if we were well.
Now, quite estrang'd, this wretched place you
shun,

Like bad wine, bus'ness, duels, and a dun.
Have we for this increas'd Apollo's race?
Been often pregnant with your wit's embrace?
And borne you many chopping babes of grace?
Some ugly toads we had, and that's the curse,
They were so like you, that you far'd the worse;
For this to-night we are not much in pain,
Look on't, and if you like it, entertain:
If all the midwife says of it be true,
There are some features too like some of you:
For us, if you think fitting. to forsake it,

We mean to run away, and let the parish take it.

EPILOGUE

SPOKEN BY MRS. BARRY, AT THE THEATRE-ROY-
AL IN DRURY-LANE, APRIL 7, 1709, AT HER
PLAYING
IN LOVE FOR LOVE WITH MRS.
BRACEGIRDLE, FOR THE BENEFIT OF MR. BET-
TERTON.

As some brave knight, who once with spear and

shield

Had sought renown in many a well-fought field;
But now no more with sacred fame inspir'd,
Was to a peaceful hermitage retir'd:
There, if by chance disastrous tales he hears
Of matrons wrongs, and captive virgins tears,
He feels soft pity urge his generous breast,
Aud vows once more to succour the distress'd.
Buckled in mail, he sallies on the plain,
And turns him to the feats of arms again.

So we, to former leagues of friendship true,
Have bid once more our peaceful homes adieu,
To aid old Thomas, and to pleasure you.
Like errant damsels, boldly we engage,
Arm'd, as you see, for the defenceless stage.
Time was when this good man no help did lack,
And scorn'd that any she should hold his back;
But now, so age and frailty have ordain'd,
By two at once he 's forc'd to be sustain'd,
You see what failing nature brings man to;
And yet let none insult, for ought we know,
She may not wear so well with some of you.
Though old, yet find his strength is not clean past,
But truc as steel he's metal to the last,
If better he perform'd in days of yore,
Yet now he gives you all that 's in his power;
What can the youngest of you all do more?

What he has been, though present praise be
Shall haply be a theme in times to come, [dumb,
As now we talk of Roscius, and of Rome.
Had you withheld your favours on this night,
Old Shakespear's ghost had ris'n to do him right.
With indignation had you seen him frown
Upon a worthless, witless, tasteless town;
Griev'd and repining, you had heard him say,
Why are the Muse's labours cast away?
Why did I write what only he could play?"
But since, like friends to wit, thus throng'd you
meet,

Go on, and make the generous work complete:
Be true to merit, and still own his cause,
Find something for him more than bare applause.
In just remembrance of your pleasure past,
Be kind, and give him a discharge at last:
In peace and ease life's remuant let him wear,
And hang his consecrated buskin❜ there.