And, like young David, finds her ftrength the more,
When difincumber'd from thofe arms fhe wore.
Heaven would our royal master should exceed
Moft in that virtue, which we most did need ;
And his mild father (who too late did find
All mercy vain but what with pow'r was join'd)
His fatal goodness left to fitter times,
Not to increase, but to abfolve, our crimes:
But when the heir of this vaft treasure knew
How large a legacy was left to you,
for any fubject to retain)
He wifely ty'd it to the crown again :
Yet, paffing through your hands, it gathers more,
As ftreams, thro mines, bear tincture of their ore.
While emperic politicians ufe deceit,
Hide what they give, and cure but by a cheat;
You boldly fhew that skill which they pretend,
And work by means as noble as your end:
Which should you veil, we might unwind the clue,
As men do nature, till we came to you.
And as the Indies were not found, before
Thofe rich perfumes, which, from the happy fhore,
The winds upon their balmy wings convey'd,
Whose guilty sweetness first their world betray'd;
So by your counfels we are brought to view
A rich and undifcover'd world in you.
By you our monarch does that fame affure,
Which kings must have or cannot live fecure :
For profp'rous princes gain their fubjects heart,
Who love that praise in which themselves have
part.
By you he fits those subjects to obey,
As heaven's eternal monarch does convey
His pow'r unseen, and man, to his designs
By his bright minifters the stars, inclines.
Our setting fun, from his declining feat,
Shot beams of kindness on you, not of heat:
And, when his love was bounded in a few,
That were unhappy that they might be true,
Made you the favorite of his last fad times,
That is a fuff'rer in his fubjects crimes:
Thus those first favours you receiv'd, were fent,
Like heav'ns rewards in earthly punishment.
Yet fortune, confcious of your destiny,
E'en then took care to lay you foftly by;
And wrap'd your fate among her precious things, Kept fresh to be unfolded with
Shewn all at once you dazzled so our eyes,
As new-born Pallas did the gods furprize:
When, fpringing forth from Jove's new-closing wound,
She ftruck the warlike fpear into the ground;
Which sprouting leaves did fuddenly inclose,
And peaceful olives shaded as they rose.
How strangely active are the arts of peace,
Whose restless motions less than wars do cease!
Peace is not freed from labour but from noise;
And war more force, but not more pains employs:
Such is the mighty swiftnefs of your mind,
That, like the earth, it leaves our fenfe behind,
While you so smoothly turn and rowl our fphere,
That rapid motion does but reft appear.
For, as in nature's fwiftnefs, with the throng
Of flying orbs while ours is born along,
All seems at reft to the deluded eye,
Mov'd by the foul of the fame harmony,
So, carry'd on by your unwearied care,
We reft in peace, and yet in motion share.
Let envy then those crimes within you fee,
From which the happy never must be free;
Envy, that does with mifery refide,
The joy and the revenge of ruin'd pride.
Think it not hard, if at fo cheap a rate
You can fecure the conftancy of fate,
Whose kindness fent what does their malice feem,
By leffer ills the greater to redeem.
Nor can we this weak show'r a tempest call,
But drops of heat, that in the fun-shine fall.
You have already weary'd fortune fo,
She cannot farther be your friend or foe;
But fits all breathlefs, and admires to feel
A fate fo weighty, that it ftops our wheel.
In all things else above our humble fate,
Your equal mind yet fwells not into state,
But, like fome mountain in those happy ifles,
Where in perpetual fpring young nature smiles,
Your greatnefs fhews: no horror to affright,
But trees for fhade, and flowers to court the fight:
Sometimes the hill fubmits itself a while
In small descents, which do its height beguile;
And sometimes mounts, but so as billows play,
Whose rise not hinders but makes fhort our way.
Your brow, which does no fear of thunder know,
Sees rowling tempefts vainly beat below;
And, like Olympus' top, the impreffion wears
Of love and friendship writ in former years.
Yet, unimpair'd with labors, or with time,
Your age but seems to a new youth to climb.
Thus heav'nly bodies do our time beget,
And measure change, but share no part of it.
And still it shall without a weight increase,
Like this new-year, whose motions never cease.
For fince the glorious course you have begun
Is led by Charles, as that is by the fun,
It must both weightless and immortal prove,
Because the centre of it is above.
SATIRE ON THE DUTCH. Written in the YEAR 1662.
S needy gallants, in the fcrivener's hands,
Court the rich knaves that gripe their mort-
gag'd lands;
The first fat buck of all the feason's sent,
And keeper takes no fee in compliment ;
The dotage of fome Englishmen is such,
To fawn on thofe, who ruin them, the Dutch,
They shall have all, rather than make a war
With thofe, who of the fame religion arė.
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