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Paint Europe's ballance in his steady hand,
Whilft the two worlds in expectation ftand
Of peace or war, that wait on his command ?
But as I fpeak new glories ftrike my eyes,
Glories, which heaven itself does give, and prize,
Bleffings of
that with their milder rays

peace;

Adorn his reign, and bring Saturnian days:
Now let rebellion, difcord, vice, and rage,
That have in patriots forms debauch'd our age,
Vanish with all the minifters of hell:
His rays their poisonous vapors fhall difpel:
'Tis he alone our safety did create,

His own firm foul fecur'd the nation's fate,
Oppos'd to all the Bout'feaus of the state.
Authors for him your great endeavours raise;
The loftieft numbers will but reach his praise.
For me, whofe verfe in fatire has been bred,
And never durft heroic measures tread ;

Yet you

fhall fee me, in that famous field,

With eyes and voice, my best affistance yield:
Offer your leffons, that my infant mufe

Learnt, when the Horace for her guide did chufe:
Second your zeal with wishes, heart, and eyes,
And afar off hold up the glorious prize.
But pardon too, if zealous for the right,
A ftrict obferver of each noble flight,

1

From the fine gold I feparate the allay,
And show how hafty writers fometimes stray:
Apter to blame, than knowing how to mend ;
A sharp, but yet a neceffary friend.

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THRENODIA AUGUSTALIS:

A

FUNERAL PINDARIC POEM, facred to the happy Memory of King CHARLES II.

T

I.

"HUS long my grief has kept me dumb : Sure there's a lethargy in mighty woe, Tears stand congeal'd, and cannot flow; And the fad foul retires into her inmoft room: Tears, for a stroke foreseen, afford relief;

But, unprovided for a fudden blow,

Like Niobe we marble grow;

And petrify with grief.

Our British heaven was all ferene,

No threatning cloud was nigh,

Not the leaft wrinkle to deform the sky;
We liv'd as unconcern'd and happily
As the first age in nature's golden fcene;
Supine amidst our flowing store,

We flept fecurely, and we dreamt of more:
When fuddenly the thunder-clap was heard,
It took us unprepar'd and out of guard,
Already loft before we fear'd.

Th' amazing news of Charles at once were spread> At once the general voice declar'd,

"Our gracious prince was dead."

No fickness know before, no flow disease,
To foften grief by juft degrees:

But like an hurricane on Indian feas,
The tempeft rofe;

An unexpected burft of woes:

With scarce a breathing space betwixt,
This now becalm'd, and perishing the next.
As if great Atlas from his height

Should fink beneath his heavenly weight,

And with a mighty flaw, the flaming wall
As once it fhall,

Should gape immenfe, and rufhing down, o'erwhelm this nether ball;

So fwift and so surprising was our fear :

Out Atlas fell indeed; but Hercules was near.

II.

His pious brother, sure the best

Who ever bore that name,

Was newly rifen from his reft,

And with a fervent flame,

His ufual morning vows had just addrest

;

For his dear fovereign's health
And hop'd to have them heard,
In long increase of years,

In honor, fame, and wealth :

Guiltlefs of greatness thus he always pray'd,
Nor knew nor wish'd those vows he made,
On his own head should be repay'd.
Soon as th'ill-omen'd rumor reach'd his ear,
Ill news is wing'd with fate, and flies sapace,
Who can defcribe th'amazement of his face!
Horror in all his pomp was there,

Mute and magnificent without a tear:
And then the hero firft was feen to fear.
Half unarray'd he ran to his relief,

So hafty and so artless was his grief:

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