That old unqueftion'd pirate of the land,
Proud Rome, with dread the fate of Dunkirk heard;
And trembling wifh'd behind more Alps to ftand,
Altho' an Alexander were her guard.
XXXI.
By his command, we boldly crofs'd the line,
And bravely fought where fouthern ftars arife;
We trac'd the far-fetch'd gold unto the mine,
And that, which brib'd our fathers, made our prize.
XXXII
Such was our Prince; yet own'd a foul above
The highest acts it could produce to show :
Thus poor mechanic arts in public move,
Whilft the deep fecrets beyond practice go.
XXXIII.
Nor dy'd he when his ebbing fame went lefs,
But when fresh laurels courted him to live:
He feem'd but to prevent fome new fuccefs,
As if above what triumphs earth can give.
XXXIV.
His latest victories ftill thickeft came,
As, near the center, motion doth increase; "Till he, prefs'd down by his own weighty name, Did, like the veftal, under fpoils decease.
But first the ocean as a tribute fent
'That giant prince of all her watʼry herd;
And th'ifle, when her protecting genius went,
Upon his obfequies loud fighs conferr'd.
XXXVI.
No civil broils have fince his death arofe,
But faction now by habit does obey;
And wars have that refpect for his repose,
As winds for Halcyons, when they breed at fea.
XXXVII.
His afhes in a peaceful urn fhall rest,
His name a great example ftands, to fhow How ftrangely high endeavours may be bleft, Where piety and valour jointly go.
ASTRAEA REDUX. A POEM on the happy Restoration and Return of his Sacred Majefty CHARLES the Second, 1660.
Jam redit et Virgo, redeunt Saturnia Regna. Virg.
OW with a general peace the world was blefs'd,
While ours, a world divided from the reft,
A dreadful quiet felt, and, worfer far
Than arms, a fullen interval of war:
Thus, when black clouds draw down the lab'ring fkies,
Ere yet abroad the winged thunder flies,
An horrid ftilnefs firft invades the ear,
And in that filence we the tempeft fear.
Th' ambitious Swede, like rettlefs billows tofs'd,
On this hand gaining what on that he lost,
Though in his life he blood and ruin breath'd,
To his now guideless kingdom peace bequeath'd:
And heav'n, that feem'd regardless of our fate,
For France and Spain did miracles create;
Such mortal quarrels to compofe in peace,
As nature bred, and int'reft did increase.
We figh'd to hear the fair Iberian bride,
Muft grow a lily to the lily's fide,
While our crofs ftars deny'd us Charles his bed,
Whom our first flames and virgin love did wed.
For his long abfence church and state did groan;
Madnefs the pulpit, faction feiz'd the throne;
Experienc'd age in deep defpair was loft,
'To fee the rebel thrive, the loyal crofs'd.
Youth, that with joys had unacquainted been,
Envy'd gray hairs that once good days had seen:
We thought our fires, not with their own content,
Had ere we came to age our portion fpent.
Nor could our nobles hope their bold attempt,
Who ruin'd crowns, would coronets exempt:
For when, by their designing leaders taught,
To strike at pow'r, which for themselves they fought,
The vulgar gull'd into rebellion, arm'd,
Their blood to action by their prize was warm'd.
The facred purple then, and fcarlet gown,
Like fanguine dye, to elephants was shown.
'Thus when the bold Typhoeus fcal'd the fky,
And forc'd great Jove from his own heav'n to fly,
(What king, what crown from treafon's reach is free,
If Jove and heav'n can violated be?)
The leffer gods, that shar'd his profp'rous state,
All fuffer'd in the exil'd thund'rer's fate.
The rabble now fuch freedom did enjoy,
As winds at fea, that use it to destroy:
Blind as the Cyclops, and as wild as he,
They own'd a lawlefs favage liberty,
Like that our painted ancestors fo priz'd,
Ere empire's arts their breasts had civiliz'd.
How great were then our Charles his woes, who thus
Was forc'd to fuffer for himself and us!
He, tofs'd by fate, and hurry'd up and down,
Heir to his father's forrows, with his crown,
Could tafte no fweets of youth's defired age,
But found his life too true a pilgrimage.
Unconquer'd yet in that forlorn eftate,
His manly courage overcame his fate.
His wounds he took, like Romans, on his breast,
Which by his virtue were with laurels drefs'd.
As fouls reach heav'n while yet in bodies pent,
So he did live above his banishment.
That fun, which we beheld with cozen'd eyes
Within the water, mov'd along the fkies.
How eafy 'tis, when deftiny proves kind,
With full-spread fails to run before the wind!
But those that 'gainst stiff gales laveering go,
Must be at once refolv'd and skilful too.
He would not, like foft Otho, hope prevent,
But ftay'd and fuffer'd fortune to repent.
Thefe virtues Galba in a stranger fought;
And Pifo to adopted empire brought.
How fhall I then my doubtful thoughts exprefs,
That muft his fuff'rings both regret and bless!
For when his early valour heav'n had cross'd,
And all at Worc'fter but the honour loft,
Forc'd into exile from his rightful throne,
He made all countries, where he came, his own;
And viewing monarchs fecret arts of sway,
A royal factor for their kingdoms lay.
Thus banish'd David spent abroad his time,
When to be God's anointed was his crime,
And when restor'd made his proud neighbours rue
Thofe choice remarks he from his travels drew.
Nor is he only by affliction shown
To conquer others reaims, but rule his own:
Recov'ring hardly what he loft before,
His right endears it much, his purchafe more.
Inur'd to fuffer ere he came to reign,
No rafh procedure will his actions stain :
To bus'nefs ripen'd by digestive thought,
His future rule is into method brought:
As they, who first proportion understand,
With eafy practice reach a master's hand.
Well might the ancient poets then confer
On Night the honour'd name of Counsellor,
Since, ftruck with rays of profp'rous fortune blind,
We light alone in dark afflictions find.
In fuch adverfities to fcepters train'd,
The name of Great his famous grandfire gain'd:
Who yet a king alone in name and right,
With hunger, cold, and angry Jove did fight;
Shock'd by a covenanting league's vaft pow'rs,
As boly and as catholic as ours:
Till fortune's fruitlefs fpite had made it known,
Her blows not fhook but riveted his throne.
Some lazy ages, loft in fleep and ease,
No action leave to bufy chronicies :
Such, whofe fupine felicity but makes
In ftory chafms, in epochas miftakes;
O'er whom time gently fakes his wings of down,
Till with his filent fickle they are mown.
Such is not Charles, his too, too active age,
Which, govern'd by the wild diftemper'd rage
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