Above the rest heroic James appear'd,
Exalted more, becaufe he more had fear'd:
His manly heart, whofe noble pride
Was ftill above

Diffembled hate, or varnish'd love,

Its more than common tranfport could not hide; But, like an eagre, rode in triumph o'er the tide. Thus, in alternate course,

The tyrant paffions, hope and fear,

Did in extremes appear,

And flash'd upon the foul with equal force.
Thus, at half ebb, a rolling fea

Returns, and wins upon the fhore;
The wat'ry herd, affrighted at the roar,
Reft on their fins a while, and stay,
Then backward take their wond'ring way :
The prophet wonders more than they,

At prodigies but rarely feen before,

[fway.

And cries a king muft fall, or kingdoms change their

Such were our counter-tides at land, and fo

Prefaging of the fatal blow,

In their prodigious ebb and flow.

The royal foul, that, like the lab'ring moon,
By charms of art was hurried down,

Forc'd with regret to leave her native fphere,
Came but a while on liking here;

Soon weary of the painful ftrife,

And made but faint effays of life:

*An eagre is a tide fwelling above another tide, which I have myself obferv'd on the river Trent.

An evening light,

Soon fhut in night;

A strong distemper, and a weak relief;
Short intervals of joy, and long returns of grief.
V.

The fons of art all med'cines try'd,
And every noble remedy apply'd;
With emulation each effay'd

His utmost skill; nay more, they pray'd:
Was never lofing game with better conduct play'd;
Death never won a stake with greater toil,
Nor e'er was Fate fo near a foil:

But, like a fortrefs on a rock,

Th' impregnable disease their vain attempts did mock:
They min'd it near; they batter'd from afar
With all the cannon of th' med'cinal war:

No gentle means could be effay'd;

'Twas beyond parley when the siege was laid:
Th' extremeft ways they first ordain,

Preferibing fuch intolerable pain,

As none but Caefar could fuftain:
Undaunted Caefar underwent

The malice of their art, nor bent,
Beneath whate'er their pious rigour could invent.

In five fuch days he fuffer'd more

Than any fuffer'd in his reign before:
More, infinitely more, than he
Against the worst of rebels cou'd decree,
A traitor, or twice-pardon'd enemy.

Now art was tir'd without fuccefs;

No racks could make the stubborn malady confefs.
The vain infurancers of life,

And they who most perform'd and promis'd lefs, Ev'n Short and Hobbes forfook th' unequal strife.

Death and defpair was in their looks;
No longer they confult their memories or books:
Like helpless friends, who view from shore
The labouring ship, and hear the tempeft roar,
So ftood they with their arms across,
Not to affift, but to deplore

'Th' inevitable lofs.

VI.

Death was denounc'd; that frightful found,
Which e'en the beft can hardly bear:

He took the fummons void of fear,
And, unconcern'dly, caft his eyes around;
As if to find and dare the griefly challenger.
What Death cou'd do he lately try'd,
When in four days he more than dy'd.
The fame affurance all his words did grace;
The fame majestic mildness held its place;
Nor loft the monarch in his dying face.
Intrepid, pious, merciful, and brave,
He look'd as when he conquer'd and forgave.
VII.

As if fome angel had been fent

To lengthen out his government,

And to foretel as many years again,

As he had number'd in his happy reign;
So chearfully he took the doom

Of his departing breath;

Nor fhrunk, nor ftep'd afide for Death;
But, with unalter'd path, kept on,

Providing for events to come.

GA

When he refign'd the throne,
Still he maintain'd his kingly state,
And grew familiar with his fate:
Kind, good, and gracious to the last,
On all he lov'd before his dying beams he caft.
Oh truly good and truly great,

For glorious as he rose, benignly fo he fet!
All that on earth he held moft dear,

He recommended to his care,

To whom both heav'n

The right had giv'n,

And his own love bequeath'd fupreme command:
He took and prefs'd that ever loyal hand,
Which cou'd in peace fecure his reign,

Which cou'd in wars his pow'r maintain;

That hand, on which no plighted vows were ever vain. Well, for fo great a trust, he chose

A prince who never disobey'd,

Not when the most severe commands were laid; Nor want nor exile with his duty weigh'd: A prince, on whom, if heav'n its eyes cou'd close, The welfare of the world it fafely might repofe.

VIII.

That king, who liv'd to God's own heart,

Yet lefs ferenely died than he:

Charles left behind no harsh decree,

For fchoolmen with laborious art

To falve from cruelty :

Thofe, for whom love could no excufes frame,
He graciously forgot to name.

Thus far my Mufe, though rudely, has defign'd
Some faint resemblance of his god-like mind:

But neither pen nor pencil can express
The parting brother's tendernefs:

Though that's a term too mean and low;
(The blefs'd above a kinder word may know :)
But what they did, and what they said,
The monarch who triumphant went,
The militant who staid,

Like painters, when their heightning arts are fpent,
I caft into a shade.

That all-forgiving king,
The type of him above,
That inexhausted spring
Of clemency and love,
Himself to his next felf accus'd,

And afk'd that pardon, which he ne'er refus'd,
For faults not his, for guilt and crimes

Of godlefs men, and of rebellious times;
For an hard exile, kindly meant,
When his ungrateful country fent
Their best Camillus into banishment;

And forc'd their fov'reign's act, they cou'd not his confent.

Oh how much rather had that injur'd chief
Repeated all his suff'rings past,

Than hear a pardon begg'd at last,
Which given cou'd give the dying no relief!
He bent, he funk beneath his grief;

His dauntlefs heart wou'd fain have held

From weeping, but his eyes rebell'd:
Perhaps the god-like hero in his breast
Difdain'd, or was afham'd to show
So weak, fo womanifh a woc,