







 
   
     
       
         The third part of the collection of poems on affairs of state containing Esquire Marvel's Further instructions to a painter, and the late Lord Rochester's Farewel.
         Collection of poems on affairs of state. Part 3.
      
       
         
           1689
        
      
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             The third part of the collection of poems on affairs of state containing Esquire Marvel's Further instructions to a painter, and the late Lord Rochester's Farewel.
             Collection of poems on affairs of state. Part 3.
             Marvell, Andrew, 1621-1678.
          
           [2], 30 p.
           
             [s.n.],
             London :
             1689.
          
           
             Contributions by Marvell and others.
             Reproduction of original in Huntington Library.
          
        
      
    
     
       
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           Political poetry, English.
           Political satire, English.
           Great Britain -- History -- Restoration, 1660-1688 -- Poetry.
        
      
    
     
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           THE
           THIRD
           PART
           OF
           THE
           COLLECTION
           OF
           POEMS
           ON
           Affairs
           of
           State.
           Containing
           ,
           Esquire
           
           Marvel's
           further
           Instructions
           to
           a
           Painter
           .
           AND
           The
           late
           Lord
           
           Rochester's
           Farewel
           .
        
         
           LONDON
           :
           Printed
           in
           the
           Year
           M
           DC
           LXXXIX
           .
        
      
    
     
       
         
         
         
           THE
           LAST
           INSTRUCTIONS
           TO
           A
           PAINTER
           .
        
         
           
             AFter
             two
             sittings
             ,
             now
             our
             
               Lady
               State
            
             ,
          
           
             To
             end
             her
             Picture
             ,
             does
             the
             third
             time
             wait
             .
          
           
             But
             er'e
             thou
             fal'st
             to
             work
             ,
             first
             Painter
             see
          
           
             It
             be'nt
             too
             slight
             grown
             ,
             or
             too
             hard
             for
             thee
             .
          
           
             Canst
             thou
             paint
             without
             Colours
             ?
             Then
             't
             is
             right
             :
          
           
             For
             so
             we
             too
             without
             a
             Fleet
             can
             fight
             .
          
           
             Or
             hast
             thou
             dawb
             a
             Sign-post
             ,
             and
             that
             ill
             ?
          
           
             'T
             will
             suit
             our
             great
             debauch
             and
             little
             skill
             .
          
           
             Or
             hast
             thou
             mark't
             how
             antique
             Masters
             limn
          
           
             The
             Aly
             roof
             ,
             with
             snuff
             of
             Candle
             dimm
             ,
          
           
             Sketching
             in
             shady
             smoke
             prodigious
             tools
             ,
          
           
             'T
             will
             serve
             this
             race
             of
             Drunkards
             ,
             Pimps
             ,
             and
             Fools
             .
          
           
             But
             if
             to
             match
             our
             Crimes
             thy
             skill
             presumes
             ,
          
           
             As
             th'
             Indians
             draw
             our
             Luxury
             in
             Plumes
             .
          
           
             Or
             if
             to
             score
             out
             our
             compendious
             Fame
             ,
          
           
             With
             Hook
             then
             ,
             through
             the
             microscope
             ,
             take
             aim
             :
          
           
             Where
             ,
             like
             the
             new
             Controller
             ,
             all
             men
             laugh
          
           
             To
             see
             a
             tall
             Lowse
             brandish
             the
             white
             Staff.
          
           
             Else
             shalt
             thou
             oft
             thy
             guiltless
             Pencil
             curse
             ,
          
           
             Stamp
             on
             thy
             Pallat
             ,
             nor
             perhaps
             the
             worse
             .
          
           
             The
             Painter
             so
             ,
             long
             having
             vext
             his
             cloth
             ,
          
           
             Of
             his
             Hound's
             Mouth
             to
             feign
             the
             raging
             froth
             ,
          
           
             His
             desperate
             Pencil
             at
             the
             work
             did
             dart
             ,
          
           
             His
             Anger
             reacht
             that
             rage
             which
             past
             his
             Art
             ;
          
           
             Chance
             finisht
             that
             which
             Art
             could
             but
             begin
             ,
          
           
             And
             he
             sat
             smiling
             how
             his
             Dog
             did
             grinn
             .
          
           
           
             So
             may'st
             thou
             perfect
             ,
             by
             a
             lucky
             blow
             ,
          
           
             What
             all
             thy
             softest
             touches
             cannot
             do
             .
          
        
         
           
             Paint
             then
             St.
             
               A
               —
               s
            
             full
             of
             soup
             and
             gold
             ,
          
           
             The
             new
             Courts
             pattern
             ,
             Stallion
             of
             the
             old
             .
          
           
             Him
             neither
             Wit
             nor
             Courage
             did
             exalt
             ,
          
           
             But
             Fortune
             chose
             him
             for
             her
             pleasure
             salt
             .
          
           
             Paint
             him
             with
             
             Drayman's
             Shoulders
             ,
             butchers
             Mien
             ,
          
           
             Member'd
             like
             Mules
             ,
             with
             Elephantine
             chine
             .
          
           
             Well
             he
             the
             Title
             of
             St.
             
               A
               —
               s
            
             bore
             ,
          
           
             For
             never
             Bacon
             study'd
             Nature
             more
             .
          
           
             But
             Age
             ,
             allaying
             now
             that
             youthful
             heat
             ,
          
           
             Fits
             him
             in
             France
             to
             play
             at
             Cards
             and
             treat
             .
          
           
             Draw
             no
             Commission
             lest
             the
             Court
             should
             lye
             ,
          
           
             That
             ,
             disavowing
             Treaty
             ,
             ask
             supply
             .
          
           
             He
             needs
             no
             Seal
             ,
             but
             to
             St.
             
             James's
             lease
             ,
          
           
             Whose
             Breeches
             were
             the
             Instrument
             of
             Peace
             .
          
           
             Who
             ,
             if
             the
             French
             dispute
             his
             Pow'r
             ,
             from
             thence
          
           
             Can
             straight
             produce
             them
             a
             Plenipotence
             .
          
           
             Nor
             fears
             he
             
               the
               most
               Christian
            
             should
             trepan
          
           
             Two
             Saints
             at
             once
             ,
             St.
             
               G
               —
               n
            
             ,
             St.
             
               A
               —
               n.
            
          
           
             But
             thought
             the
             Golden
             Age
             was
             now
             restor'd
             ,
          
           
             When
             Men
             and
             Women
             took
             each
             others
             Word
             .
          
        
         
           
             Paint
             then
             again
             
               Her
               H
               —
               ss
            
             to
             the
             life
             ,
          
           
             Philosopher
             beyond
             
             Newcastle's
             Wife
             .
          
           
             She
             ,
             nak'd
             ,
             can
             Archimedes
             self
             put
             down
             ,
          
           
             For
             an
             Experiment
             upon
             the
             Crown
             .
          
           
             She
             perfected
             that
             Engine
             ,
             oft
             assay'd
             ,
          
           
             How
             after
             Childbirth
             to
             renew
             a
             Maid
             .
          
           
             And
             found
             how
             
               Royal
               Heirs
            
             might
             be
             matur'd
             ,
          
           
             In
             sewer
             months
             than
             Mothers
             once
             indur'd
             .
          
           
             Hence
             
               C
               —
               r
            
             made
             the
             rare
             Inventress
             free
             ,
          
           
             Of
             's
             H
             —
             s
             Royal
             Society
             .
          
           
             Happy'st
             of
             Women
             ,
             if
             she
             were
             but
             able
          
           
             To
             make
             her
             glassen
             
               D
               —
               s
            
             once
             malleable
             !
          
           
             Paint
             her
             with
             Oyster
             Lip
             ,
             and
             breath
             of
             Fame
             ,
          
           
             Wide
             Mouth
             that
             Sparagus
             may
             well
             proclaim
             :
          
           
             With
             Chanc'lor's
             Belly
             ,
             and
             so
             large
             a
             Rump
             .
          
           
             There
             ,
             not
             behind
             the
             Coach
             ,
             her
             Pages
             jump
             .
          
           
             Express
             her
             studying
             now
             ,
             if
             China-clay
             ,
          
           
             Can
             without
             breaking
             venom'd
             juice
             convey
             .
          
           
           
             Or
             how
             a
             mortal
             Poyson
             she
             may
             draw
             ,
          
           
             Out
             of
             the
             cordial
             meal
             of
             the
             Cacao
             .
          
           
             Witness
             ye
             stars
             of
             Night
             ,
             and
             thou
             the
             pale
          
           
             Moon
             ,
             that
             o'rcome
             with
             the
             sick
             steam
             did'st
             fail
             ;
          
           
             Ye
             neighb'ring
             Elms
             ,
             that
             your
             green
             leaves
             did
             she
          
           
             And
             Fawns
             ,
             that
             from
             the
             womb
             abortive
             fled
             .
          
           
             Not
             unprovok'd
             she
             trys
             forbidden
             Arts
             ,
          
           
             But
             in
             her
             soft
             Breast
             Loves
             hid
             Cancer
             smarts
             .
          
           
             While
             she
             revolves
             ,
             at
             once
             ,
             
             Sidney's
             disgrace
             ,
          
           
             And
             her self
             scorn'd
             sor
             emulous
             
             Denham's
             Face
             ;
          
           
             And
             nightly
             hears
             the
             hated
             Guards
             away
          
           
             Galloping
             with
             the
             Duke
             to
             other
             Prey
             .
          
        
         
           
             Paint
             C
             —
             in
             Colours
             that
             will
             hold
             ,
          
           
             Her
             ,
             not
             her
             Picture
             ,
             for
             she
             now
             grows
             old
             .
          
           
             She
             through
             her
             Lacquies
             Drawers
             as
             he
             ran
             ,
          
           
             Discern'd
             Love's
             Cause
             ,
             and
             a
             new
             Flame
             began
             .
          
           
             Her
             wonted
             joys
             thenceforth
             and
             Court
             she
             shuns
             ,
          
           
             And
             still
             within
             her
             mind
             the
             Footman
             runs
             :
          
           
             His
             brazen
             Calves
             ,
             his
             brawny
             Thighs
             ,
             (
             the
             Face
          
           
             She
             slights
             )
             his
             Feet
             shapt
             for
             a
             smoother
             race
             .
          
           
             Poring
             within
             her
             Glass
             she
             re-adjusts
          
           
             Her
             looks
             ,
             and
             oft-try'd
             Beauty
             now
             distrusts
             :
          
           
             Fears
             lest
             he
             scorn
             a
             Woman
             once
             assay'd
             ,
          
           
             And
             now
             first
             ,
             wisht
             she
             e're
             had
             been
             a
             Maid
             .
          
           
             Great
             Love
             ,
             how
             dost
             thou
             triumph
             ,
             and
             how
             reign
             ,
          
           
             That
             to
             a
             Groom
             couldst
             humble
             her
             disdain
             !
          
           
             Stript
             to
             her
             Skin
             ,
             see
             how
             she
             stooping
             stands
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             scorns
             to
             rub
             him
             down
             with
             those
             fair
             Hands
             ;
          
           
             And
             washing
             (
             lest
             the
             scent
             her
             Crime
             disclose
             )
          
           
             His
             sweaty
             Hooves
             ,
             tickles
             him
             'twixt
             the
             Toes
             .
          
           
             But
             envious
             Fame
             ,
             too
             soon
             ,
             begun
             to
             note
          
           
             More
             gold
             in
             's
             Fob
             ,
             more
             Lace
             upon
             his
             Coat
             :
          
           
             And
             he
             ,
             unwary
             ,
             and
             of
             Tongue
             too
             fleet
             ,
          
           
             No
             longer
             could
             conceal
             his
             Fortune
             sweet
             .
          
           
             Justly
             the
             Rogue
             was
             whipt
             in
             Porter's
             Den
             :
          
           
             And
             
               J
               —
               n
            
             straight
             has
             leave
             to
             come
             agen
             .
          
           
             Ah
             Painter
             ,
             now
             could
             Alexander
             live
             ,
          
           
             And
             this
             Campaspe
             thee
             Apelles
             give
             !
          
        
         
           
             Draw
             next
             a
             Pair
             of
             Tables
             op'ning
             ,
             then
          
           
             The
             
               House
               of
               Commons
            
             clatt'ring
             like
             the
             Men.
          
           
           
             Describe
             the
             Court
             and
             Country
             ,
             both
             set
             right
             ,
          
           
             On
             opposite
             points
             ,
             the
             black
             against
             the
             white
             .
          
           
             Those
             having
             lost
             the
             Nation
             at
             
               Trick
               track
            
             ,
          
           
             These
             now
             advent'ring
             how
             to
             win
             it
             back
             .
          
           
             The
             Dice
             betwixt
             them
             must
             the
             Fate
             divide
             ,
          
           
             As
             Chance
             does
             still
             in
             Multitudes
             decide
             .
          
           
             But
             here
             the
             Court
             does
             its
             advantage
             know
             ,
          
           
             For
             the
             Cheat
             T
             —
             for
             them
             both
             must
             throw
             .
          
           
             As
             some
             from
             Boxes
             ,
             he
             so
             from
             the
             Chair
          
           
             Can
             strike
             the
             Die
             ,
             and
             still
             with
             them
             goes
             share
             .
          
        
         
           
             Here
             Painter
             rest
             a
             little
             ,
             and
             survey
          
           
             With
             what
             small
             Arts
             the
             publick
             game
             they
             play
             .
          
           
             For
             so
             too
             Rubens
             ,
             with
             affairs
             of
             State
             ,
          
           
             His
             lab'ring
             Pencil
             oft
             would
             recreate
             .
          
        
         
           
             The
             close
             Cabal
             mark'd
             how
             the
             Navy
             eats
             ,
          
           
             And
             thought
             all
             lost
             that
             goes
             not
             to
             the
             Cheats
             :
          
           
             So
             therefore
             secretly
             for
             Peace
             decrees
             ,
          
           
             Yet
             as
             for
             War
             the
             Parliament
             should
             squeeze
             ;
          
           
             And
             fix
             to
             the
             Revenne
             such
             a
             Summ
             ,
          
           
             Should
             
               G
               —
               k
            
             silence
             ,
             and
             strike
             
               P
               —
               n
            
             dumb
             ;
          
           
             Should
             pay
             Land
             Armies
             ,
             should
             dissolve
             the
             vain
          
           
             Commons
             ,
             and
             ever
             such
             a
             Court
             maintain
             ,
          
           
             H
             —
             's
             Avarice
             ,
             B
             —
             's
             Luxury
             should
             suffice
             ,
          
           
             And
             what
             can
             these
             defray
             but
             the
             Excise
             ?
          
           
             Excise
             ,
             a
             Monster
             worse
             than
             e're
             before
          
           
             Frighted
             the
             Midwife
             ,
             and
             the
             Mother
             tore
             .
          
           
             A
             thousand
             Hands
             she
             has
             and
             thousand
             Eyes
             ,
          
           
             Breaks
             into
             Shops
             ,
             and
             into
             Cellars
             prys
             .
          
           
             With
             hundred
             rows
             of
             Teeth
             the
             Shark
             exceeds
             ,
          
           
             And
             on
             all
             Trade
             like
             Casawar
             she
             feeds
             :
          
           
             Chops
             off
             the
             piece
             where
             e're
             she
             close
             the
             Jaw
             ,
          
           
             Else
             swallows
             all
             down
             her
             indented
             maw
             .
          
           
             She
             stalks
             all
             day
             in
             Streets
             conceal'd
             from
             sight
             ,
          
           
             And
             flies
             like
             Batts
             with
             leathern
             Wings
             by
             Night
             .
          
           
             She
             wastes
             the
             Country
             and
             on
             Cities
             preys
             .
          
           
             Her
             ,
             of
             a
             female
             Harpy
             ,
             in
             Dog
             Days
             :
          
           
             Black
             
               B
               —
               b
            
             ,
             of
             all
             the
             Earth-born
             race
             most
             hot
             ,
          
           
             And
             most
             rapacious
             ,
             like
             himself
             begot
             .
          
           
             And
             ,
             of
             his
             Brat
             enamour'd
             ,
             as
             't
             increast
             ,
          
           
             Bugger'd
             in
             Incest
             with
             the
             mungrel
             Beast
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             Say
             Muse
             ,
             for
             nothing
             can
             escape
             thy
             sight
             ,
          
           
             (
             And
             Painter
             ,
             wanting
             other
             ,
             draw
             this
             Fight
             .
             )
          
           
             Who
             ,
             in
             an
             English
             Senate
             ,
             fierce
             debate
             ,
          
           
             Could
             raise
             so
             long
             for
             this
             new
             Whore
             of
             State.
             
          
        
         
           
             Of
             early
             Wittals
             first
             the
             Troop
             march'd
             in
             ,
          
           
             For
             Diligence
             renown'd
             ,
             and
             Discipline
             :
          
           
             In
             Loyal
             haste
             they
             lest
             young
             Wives
             in
             Bed
             ,
          
           
             And
             
               D
               —
               m
            
             these
             by
             one
             consent
             did
             head
             .
          
           
             Of
             the
             old
             Courtiers
             next
             a
             Squadron
             came
             ,
          
           
             That
             sold
             their
             Master
             ,
             led
             by
             
               A
               —
               m.
            
          
           
             To
             them
             succeeds
             a
             despicable
             Rout
             ,
          
           
             But
             knew
             the
             Word
             and
             well
             could
             face
             about
             ;
          
           
             Expectants
             pale
             ,
             with
             hopes
             of
             spoil
             allur'd
             ,
          
           
             Thought
             yet
             but
             Pioneers
             ,
             and
             led
             by
             
               S
               —
               d.
            
          
           
             Then
             damming
             Cowards
             rang'd
             the
             vocal
             Plain
             ,
          
           
             
               W
               —
               d
            
             these
             commands
             ,
             Knight
             of
             the
             Horn
             and
             Cane
             .
          
           
             Still
             his
             Hook-shoulder
             seems
             the
             blow
             to
             dread
             ,
          
           
             And
             under
             's
             Armpit
             he
             desends
             his
             Head.
          
           
             The
             posture
             strange
             men
             laught
             at
             of
             his
             Poll
             ,
          
           
             Hid
             with
             his
             Elbow
             like
             the
             Spice
             he
             stole
             .
          
           
             Headless
             St.
             Dennis
             so
             his
             Head
             does
             bear
             ;
          
           
             And
             both
             of
             them
             alike
             French
             Martyrs
             were
             .
          
           
             Court-Officers
             ,
             as
             us'd
             ,
             the
             next
             place
             took
             ,
          
           
             And
             follow'd
             
               F
               —
               x
            
             ,
             but
             with
             disdainful
             look
             .
          
           
             His
             Birth
             ,
             his
             Youth
             ,
             his
             Brokage
             all
             dispraise
             ,
          
           
             In
             vain
             ,
             for
             always
             he
             commands
             that
             pays
             .
          
           
             Then
             the
             Procurers
             under
             
               P
               —
               s
            
             fil'd
             ,
          
           
             Gentlest
             of
             men
             ,
             and
             his
             Lieutenant
             mild
             .
          
           
             
               B
               —
               d
            
             Loves
             Squire
             ;
             through
             all
             the
             field
             array'd
             ,
          
           
             No
             Troop
             was
             better
             clad
             nor
             so
             well
             pay'd
             .
          
           
             Then
             march't
             the
             Troop
             of
             
               C
               —
               n
            
             ,
             all
             full
             ,
          
           
             Haters
             of
             Fowl
             ,
             to
             Teal
             preserring
             Bull.
          
           
             Gross
             Bodies
             ,
             grosser
             Minds
             ,
             and
             grossest
             Cheats
             ;
          
           
             And
             bloated
             
               W
               —
               n
            
             conducts
             them
             to
             their
             seats
             .
          
           
             
               C
               —
               n
            
             advances
             next
             ,
             whose
             Coife
             dos
             awe
          
           
             The
             Miter
             Troop
             ,
             and
             with
             his
             looks
             gives
             Law.
          
           
             He
             March'd
             with
             Beaver
             cock'd
             of
             Bishop's
             brim
             ,
          
           
             And
             hid
             much
             Fraud
             under
             an
             aspect
             grim
             .
          
           
             Next
             th'
             Lawyers
             Mercenary
             Band
             appear
             :
          
           
             
               F
               —
               h
            
             ,
             in
             the
             Front
             ,
             and
             
               T
               —
               d
            
             in
             the
             Rear
             .
          
           
           
             The
             Troop
             of
             Priviledge
             ,
             a
             Rubble
             bare
          
           
             Of
             Debtors
             deep
             ,
             fell
             to
             Trelawny's
             Care.
          
           
             Their
             Fortune's
             error
             they
             supply'd
             in
             rage
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             any
             further
             would
             then
             these
             ingage
             .
          
           
             Then
             marcht
             the
             Troop
             ,
             whose
             valiant
             Acts
             before
             ,
          
           
             (
             Their
             publick
             Acts
             )
             oblig'd
             them
             still
             to
             more
             .
          
           
             For
             Chimney's
             sake
             they
             all
             Sir
             P
             —
             obey'd
             ?
          
           
             Or
             in
             his
             absence
             him
             that
             first
             it
             lay'd
             .
          
           
             Then
             comes
             the
             thrifty
             Troop
             of
             Privateers
             ,
          
           
             Whose
             Horses
             each
             with
             other
             enterfeers
             .
          
           
             Before
             them
             
               H
               —
               s
            
             rides
             with
             brow
             compact
             ,
          
           
             Mourning
             his
             Countess
             ,
             anxious
             for
             his
             Act.
          
           
             Sir
             Fredrick
             and
             Sir
             Salomon
             draw
             Lotts
          
           
             For
             the
             command
             of
             Politicks
             or
             Sotts
             .
          
           
             Thence
             fell
             to
             Words
             ,
             but
             ,
             quarrel
             to
             adjourn
             ,
          
           
             Their
             Friends
             agreed
             they
             should
             command
             by
             turn
             .
          
           
             
               C
               —
               t
            
             the
             rich
             did
             the
             Accomptants
             guide
             ,
          
           
             And
             in
             ill
             English
             all
             the
             World
             defy'd
             .
          
           
             The
             Papists
             ,
             but
             of
             those
             the
             House
             had
             none
             :
          
           
             Else
             
               T
               —
               t
            
             offer'd
             to
             have
             led
             them
             on
             .
          
           
             Bold
             
               D
               —
               e
            
             next
             ,
             of
             the
             Projectors
             chief
             :
          
           
             And
             old
             
               F
               —
               g
            
             of
             the
             Eaters
             Beef
             .
          
           
             Late
             and
             disorder'd
             out
             the
             Drinkers
             drew
             :
          
           
             Scarce
             them
             their
             Leaders
             ,
             they
             their
             Leaders
             knew
             .
          
           
             Before
             them
             enter'd
             ,
             equal
             in
             Command
             ,
          
           
             
               A
               —
               v
            
             and
             
               B
               —
               k
            
             ,
             marching
             hand
             in
             hand
             .
          
           
             Last
             then
             but
             one
             ,
             
               P
               —
               ll
            
             ,
             that
             could
             not
             ride
             ,
          
           
             Led
             the
             French
             Standard
             ,
             weltring
             in
             his
             stride
             ,
          
           
             He
             ,
             to
             excuse
             his
             slowness
             ,
             truth
             confest
          
           
             That
             't
             was
             so
             long
             before
             he
             could
             be
             drest
             .
          
           
             The
             
               Lords
               Sons
            
             ,
             last
             ,
             all
             these
             did
             reinforce
             :
          
           
             
               C
               —
               y
            
             before
             them
             manag'd
             Hobby-horse
             .
          
        
         
           
             Never
             ,
             before
             nor
             since
             ,
             an
             Host
             so
             steel'd
          
           
             Troop't
             on
             to
             muster
             in
             the
             Tuttle-field
             .
          
           
             Not
             the
             first
             Cock-horse
             ,
             that
             with
             Cork
             were
             shod
          
           
             To
             rescue
             Albemarle
             from
             the
             Sea-Cod
             :
          
           
             Nor
             the
             late
             Feather-men
             ,
             whom
             
               T
               —
               s
            
             fierce
          
           
             Shall
             with
             one
             Breath
             like
             thistle-down
             disperse
             .
          
           
             All
             the
             two
             
               C
               —
               ys
            
             their
             Gen'rals
             chose
             :
          
           
             For
             one
             had
             much
             ,
             the
             other
             nought
             to
             lose
             .
          
           
           
             Nor
             better
             choice
             all
             accidents
             could
             hit
             ;
          
           
             While
             Hector
             Harry
             steers
             by
             Will
             the
             Wit
             :
          
           
             They
             both
             acccpt
             the
             Charge
             with
             merry
             glee
             ,
          
           
             To
             fight
             a
             Battel
             ,
             from
             all
             Gun-shot
             free
             .
          
        
         
           
             Pleas'd
             with
             their
             Numbers
             ,
             yet
             in
             Valour
             wise
             ,
          
           
             They
             feign
             a
             parly
             ,
             better
             to
             furprize
             :
          
           
             They
             ,
             that
             e're
             long
             shall
             the
             rude
             Dutch
             upbraid
             ,
          
           
             Who
             in
             a
             time
             of
             Treaty
             durst
             invade
             .
          
           
             Thick
             was
             the
             Morning
             ,
             and
             the
             House
             was
             thin
             ,
          
           
             The
             Speaker
             early
             ,
             when
             they
             all
             fell
             in
             .
          
           
             Propitious
             Heavens
             ,
             had
             not
             you
             them
             crost
             ,
          
           
             Excise
             had
             got
             the
             day
             ,
             and
             all
             been
             lost
             .
          
           
             For
             th'
             other
             side
             all
             in
             loose
             Quarters
             lay
             ,
          
           
             Without
             Intelligence
             ,
             Command
             ,
             or
             Pay
             :
          
           
             A
             scatter'd
             Body
             ,
             which
             the
             Foe
             ne'r
             try'd
             ,
          
           
             But
             oftner
             did
             among
             themselves
             divide
             .
          
           
             And
             some
             ran
             o're
             each
             night
             while
             others
             sleep
             ,
          
           
             And
             undescry'd
             return'd
             e're
             morning
             peep
             .
          
           
             But
             
               S
               —
               s
            
             ,
             that
             all
             Night
             still
             walk'd
             the
             round
             ,
          
           
             (
             For
             Vigilance
             and
             Courage
             both
             renown'd
             )
          
           
             First
             spy'd
             the
             Enemy
             and
             gave
             th'
             Alarm
             :
          
           
             Fighting
             it
             single
             till
             the
             rest
             might
             arm
             .
          
           
             Such
             
               Roman
               Cocles
            
             strid
             :
             before
             the
             Foe
             ,
          
           
             The
             falling
             Bridge
             behind
             ,
             the
             Stream
             below
             .
          
        
         
           
             Each
             ran
             ,
             as
             chance
             him
             guides
             ,
             to
             sev'ral
             Post
             :
          
           
             And
             all
             to
             pattern
             his
             Example
             boast
             .
          
           
             Their
             former
             Trophees
             they
             recal
             to
             mind
             ,
          
           
             And
             to
             new
             edge
             their
             angry
             Courage
             grind
             .
          
           
             First
             enter'd
             forward
             
               T
               —
               e
            
             ,
             Conqueror
          
           
             Of
             Irish-Cattel
             and
             Sollicitor
             .
          
           
             Then
             daring
             
               S
               —
               r
            
             ,
             that
             with
             Spear
             and
             Shield
             ,
          
           
             Had
             strecht
             the
             monster
             Patent
             on
             the
             Field
             .
          
           
             Keen
             
               W
               —
               d
            
             next
             ,
             in
             aid
             of
             Damsel
             frail
             ,
          
           
             That
             pierc't
             the
             Gyant
             
               M
               —
               t
            
             through
             his
             Mail.
          
           
             And
             surly
             
               W
               —
               s
            
             ,
             the
             Accomptants
             bane
             :
          
           
             And
             
               L
               —
               e
            
             young
             ,
             of
             Chimney-men
             the
             Cane
             .
          
           
             Old
             
               W
               —
               r
            
             ,
             Trumpet-gen'ral
             swore
             he
             'd
             write
          
           
             This
             Combat
             truer
             than
             the
             Naval
             Fight
             .
          
           
             Of
             Birth
             ,
             State
             ,
             Wit
             ,
             Strength
             ,
             Courage
             ,
             
               H
               —
               d
            
             presumes
             ,
          
           
             And
             in
             his
             Breast
             wears
             many
             Montezumes
             .
          
           
           
             These
             and
             some
             more
             with
             single
             Valour
             stay
          
           
             The
             adverse
             Troops
             ,
             and
             hold
             them
             all
             at
             Bay.
          
           
             Each
             thinks
             his
             Person
             represents
             the
             whole
             ,
          
           
             And
             with
             that
             thought
             does
             multiply
             his
             Soul
             :
          
           
             Believes
             himself
             an
             Army
             ,
             there
             's
             one
             Man
             ,
          
           
             As
             eas'ly
             Conquer'd
             ,
             and
             believing
             can
             .
          
           
             With
             Heart
             of
             Bees
             so
             full
             ,
             and
             Head
             of
             Mites
             ,
          
           
             That
             each
             ,
             tho'
             Duelling
             ,
             a
             Battel
             fights
             .
          
           
             Such
             once
             Orlando
             ,
             famous
             in
             Romance
             ,
          
           
             Broach'd
             whole
             Brigades
             like
             Larks
             upon
             his
             Lance.
             
          
        
         
           
             But
             strength
             at
             last
             still
             under
             number
             bows
             ,
          
           
             And
             the
             faint
             sweat
             trickled
             down
             
               T
               —
               s
            
             Brows
             .
          
           
             Ev'n
             Iron
             
               S
               —
               s
            
             ,
             chafing
             yet
             gave
             back
             ,
          
           
             Spent
             with
             fatigue
             ,
             to
             breath
             a
             while
             To
             back
             .
          
           
             When
             ,
             marching
             in
             ,
             a
             seas'nable
             recruit
          
           
             Of
             Citizens
             and
             Merchants
             held
             dispute
             :
          
           
             And
             ,
             charging
             all
             their
             Pikes
             ,
             a
             sullen
             Band
          
           
             Of
             
               Presbyterian
               Switzers
            
             ,
             made
             a
             stand
             .
          
        
         
           
             Nor
             could
             all
             these
             the
             Field
             have
             long
             maintain'd
             ,
          
           
             But
             for
             th'
             unknown
             Reserve
             that
             still
             remain'd
             :
          
           
             A
             Gross
             of
             
               English
               Gentry
            
             ,
             nobly
             born
             ,
          
           
             Of
             clear
             Estates
             ,
             and
             to
             no
             Faction
             sworn
             ;
          
           
             Dear
             Lovers
             of
             their
             King
             ,
             and
             Death
             to
             meet
             ,
          
           
             For
             Countrys
             Cause
             ,
             that
             Glorious
             think
             and
             sweet
             :
          
           
             To
             speak
             not
             forward
             ,
             but
             in
             Action
             brave
             ;
          
           
             In
             giving
             Gen'rous
             ,
             but
             in
             Counsel
             Grave
             ;
          
           
             Candidly
             credulous
             for
             once
             ,
             nay
             twice
             ;
          
           
             But
             sure
             the
             Devil
             cannot
             cheat
             them
             thrice
             .
          
           
             The
             Van
             and
             Battel
             ,
             though
             retiring
             ,
             falls
          
           
             Without
             disorder
             in
             their
             Intervals
             :
          
           
             Then
             closing
             ,
             all
             in
             equal
             Front
             fall
             on
             ,
          
           
             Led
             by
             great
             
               G
               —
               y
            
             ,
             and
             great
             
               L
               —
               n.
            
          
           
             
               L
               —
               e
            
             ,
             equal
             to
             obey
             or
             to
             command
             ,
          
           
             Adjutant-General
             was
             still
             at
             hand
             .
          
           
             The
             martial
             Standard
             
               S
               —
               s
            
             displaying
             ,
             shows
          
           
             St.
             Dunstan
             in
             it
             ,
             tweaking
             
             Satan's
             Nose
             .
          
           
             See
             sudden
             chance
             of
             War
             !
             To
             Paint
             or
             Write
             ,
          
           
             Is
             longer
             Work
             ,
             and
             harder
             than
             to
             fight
             .
          
           
             At
             the
             first
             Charge
             the
             Enemy
             give
             out
             ;
          
           
             And
             the
             Excise
             receives
             a
             total
             Rout.
          
           
           
             Broken
             in
             Courage
             ,
             yet
             the
             Men
             the
             same
             ,
          
           
             Resolve
             henceforth
             upon
             their
             other
             Game
             :
          
           
             Where
             force
             had
             fail'd
             with
             Stratagem
             to
             play
             ,
          
           
             And
             what
             haste
             lost
             ,
             recover
             by
             delay
             .
          
           
             St.
             
               A
               —
               s
            
             straight
             is
             sent
             to
             ,
             to
             forbear
             ,
          
           
             Lest
             the
             sure
             Peace
             ,
             forsooth
             ,
             too
             soon
             appear
             .
          
           
             The
             Seamens
             Clamour
             to
             three
             ends
             they
             use
             ;
          
           
             To
             cheat
             their
             Pay
             ,
             feign
             want
             ,
             the
             House
             accuse
             .
          
           
             Each
             day
             they
             bring
             the
             Tale
             ,
             and
             that
             too
             true
             ,
          
           
             How
             strong
             the
             Dutch
             their
             Equipage
             renew
             .
          
           
             Mean
             time
             through
             all
             the
             Yards
             their
             Orders
             run
          
           
             To
             lay
             the
             Ships
             up
             ,
             cease
             the
             Keels
             begun
             .
          
           
             The
             Timber
             rots
             ,
             and
             useless
             Ax
             does
             rust
             ,
          
           
             The
             unpractis'd
             Saw
             lyes
             bury'd
             in
             its
             Dust
             ;
          
           
             The
             busie
             Hammer
             sleeps
             ,
             the
             Rope
             untwines
             ;
          
           
             The
             Stores
             and
             Wages
             all
             are
             mine
             and
             thine
             .
          
           
             Along
             the
             Coast
             and
             Harbours
             they
             take
             care
          
           
             That
             Money
             lack
             ,
             nor
             Forts
             be
             in
             repair
             .
          
           
             Long
             thus
             they
             could
             against
             the
             House
             conspire
             ,
          
           
             Load
             them
             with
             Envy
             ,
             and
             with
             Sitting
             tire
             :
          
           
             And
             the
             lov'd
             King
             ,
             and
             never
             yet
             deny'd
             ,
          
           
             Is
             brought
             to
             beg
             in
             publick
             and
             to
             chide
             .
          
           
             But
             when
             this
             fail'd
             ,
             and
             Months
             enough
             were
             spent
             ,
          
           
             They
             with
             the
             first
             days
             proffer
             seem
             content
             :
          
           
             And
             to
             Land-tax
             from
             the
             Excise
             turn
             round
             ,
          
           
             Bought
             off
             with
             
               Eighteen
               hundred
               thousand
               pound
            
             .
          
           
             Thus
             ,
             like
             fair
             Thieves
             ,
             the
             Commons
             Purse
             they
             share
             ,
          
           
             But
             all
             the
             Members
             Lives
             ,
             consulting
             ,
             spare
             .
          
        
         
           
             Blither
             than
             Hare
             that
             hath
             escap'd
             the
             Hounds
             ,
          
           
             The
             House
             Prorogu'd
             ,
             the
             Chancellor
             rebounds
             .
          
           
             Not
             so
             decrepid
             Aeson
             ,
             hash'd
             and
             stew'd
          
           
             With
             Magic
             Herbs
             ,
             rose
             from
             the
             Pot
             renew'd
             :
          
           
             And
             with
             fresh
             Age
             felt
             his
             glad
             Limbs
             unite
             ;
          
           
             His
             Gout
             (
             yet
             still
             he
             curst
             )
             had
             left
             him
             quite
             :
          
           
             What
             Frosts
             to
             Fruit
             ,
             what
             Ars'nick
             to
             the
             Rat
             ,
          
           
             What
             to
             fair
             D
             —
             mortal
             Chocolat
             ;
          
           
             What
             an
             Account
             to
             
               C
               —
               t
            
             ;
             that
             and
             more
          
           
             A
             Parliament
             is
             to
             the
             Chancellor
             .
          
           
             So
             the
             sad
             Tree
             shrinks
             from
             the
             Mornings
             Eye
             ;
          
           
             But
             blooms
             all
             Night
             ,
             and
             shoots
             its
             branches
             high
             .
          
           
           
             So
             ,
             at
             the
             Suns
             recess
             ,
             again
             returns
             ,
          
           
             The
             Comet
             dread
             ,
             and
             Earth
             and
             Heaven
             burns
             .
          
        
         
           
             Now
             
               M
               —
               t
            
             may
             ,
             within
             his
             Castle
             Tow'r
             ,
          
           
             Imprison
             Parents
             ,
             and
             the
             Child
             deflowre
             .
          
        
         
           
             The
             Irish-Herd
             is
             now
             let
             loose
             ,
             and
             comes
          
           
             By
             Millions
             over
             ,
             not
             by
             Hecatombs
             .
          
           
             And
             now
             ,
             now
             ,
             the
             Canary-Patent
             may
          
           
             Be
             Broach'd
             again
             ,
             for
             the
             great
             Holy-day
             .
          
        
         
           
             See
             how
             he
             Reigns
             in
             his
             new
             Palace
             culminant
             ,
          
           
             And
             sits
             in
             State
             Divine
             like
             Jove
             the
             fulminant
             !
          
           
             First
             
               B
               —
               m
            
             ,
             that
             durst
             to
             him
             Rebel
             ,
          
           
             Blasted
             with
             Lightning
             ,
             struck
             with
             Thunder
             fell
             .
          
           
             Next
             the
             TwelveCommons
             are
             condemn'd
             to
             groan
             ,
          
           
             And
             roul
             in
             vain
             at
             
             Sisyphus's
             Stone
             .
          
           
             But
             still
             he
             car'd
             ,
             while
             in
             Revenge
             he
             brav'd
             ,
          
           
             That
             Peace
             secur'd
             ,
             and
             Money
             might
             be
             sav'd
             .
          
           
             Gain
             and
             Revenge
             ,
             Revenge
             and
             Gain
             are
             sweet
             :
          
           
             United
             most
             ,
             else
             when
             by
             turns
             they
             meet
             .
          
           
             France
             had
             St.
             
               A
               —
               s
            
             promis'd
             (
             so
             they
             sing
             )
          
           
             St.
             
               A
               —
               s
            
             promis'd
             him
             ,
             and
             he
             the
             King.
          
           
             The
             Count
             forthwith
             is
             order'd
             all
             to
             close
             ,
          
           
             To
             play
             for
             Flanders
             ,
             and
             the
             stake
             to
             lose
             .
          
           
             While
             Chain'd
             together
             two
             Ambassadors
          
           
             Like
             Slaves
             ,
             shall
             beg
             for
             Peace
             at
             Hollands
             doors
             .
          
           
             This
             done
             ,
             among
             his
             Cyclops
             he
             retires
             ,
          
           
             To
             forge
             new
             Thunder
             ,
             and
             inspect
             their
             Fires
             .
          
        
         
           
             The
             Court
             ,
             as
             once
             of
             War
             ,
             now
             fond
             of
             Peace
             ,
          
           
             All
             to
             new
             Sports
             their
             wanton
             fears
             release
             .
          
           
             From
             Greenwich
             (
             where
             Intelligence
             they
             hold
             )
          
           
             Comes
             news
             of
             Pastime
             ,
             Martial
             and
             old
             :
          
           
             A
             Punishment
             invented
             first
             to
             awe
          
           
             Masculine
             Wives
             ,
             transgressing
             Natures
             Law.
          
           
             Where
             when
             the
             brawny
             Female
             disobeys
             ,
          
           
             And
             beats
             the
             Husband
             till
             for
             peace
             he
             prays
             :
          
           
             No
             concern'd
             Jury
             for
             him
             Damage
             finds
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             partial
             Justice
             her
             Behaviour
             binds
             ;
          
           
             But
             the
             just
             Street
             does
             the
             next
             House
             invade
             ,
          
           
             Mounting
             the
             neighbour
             Couple
             on
             lean
             Jade
             .
          
           
             The
             Distaff
             knocks
             ,
             the
             Grains
             from
             Kettle
             fly
             ,
          
           
             And
             Boys
             and
             Girls
             in
             Troops
             run
             houting
             by
             ;
          
           
             Prudent
             Antiquity
             ,
             that
             knew
             by
             Shame
             ,
          
           
             Better
             than
             Law
             ,
             Domestick
             Crimes
             to
             tame
             ,
          
           
           
             And
             taught
             Youth
             by
             Spectacle
             Innocent
             !
          
           
             So
             thou
             and
             I
             ,
             dear
             Painter
             ,
             represent
          
           
             In
             quick
             Effigy
             ,
             others
             Faults
             ,
             and
             feign
          
           
             By
             making
             them
             ridiculous
             to
             restrain
             .
          
           
             With
             homely
             sight
             ,
             they
             chose
             thus
             to
             relax
          
           
             The
             Joys
             of
             State
             ,
             for
             the
             new
             Peace
             and
             Tax
             .
          
           
             So
             Holland
             with
             us
             had
             the
             Mast'ry
             try'd
             ,
          
           
             And
             our
             next
             neighbours
             France
             and
             Flanders
             ride
             .
          
        
         
           
             But
             a
             fresh
             News
             ,
             the
             great
             designment
             nips
             ,
          
           
             Off
             ,
             at
             the
             Isle
             of
             
               Candy
               ,
               Dutch
            
             and
             Ships
             .
          
           
             
               Bab
               May
            
             and
             
               A
               —
               n
            
             did
             wisely
             scoff
             ,
          
           
             And
             thought
             all
             safe
             if
             they
             were
             so
             far
             off
             .
          
           
             Modern
             Geographers
             ,
             `twas
             there
             they
             thought
             ,
          
           
             Where
             Venice
             twenty
             years
             the
             Turk
             had
             fought
             :
          
           
             While
             the
             first
             year
             our
             Navy
             is
             but
             shown
             ,
          
           
             The
             next
             divided
             ,
             and
             the
             third
             we
             've
             none
             .
          
           
             They
             ,
             by
             the
             Name
             ,
             mistook
             it
             for
             that
             Isle
             ,
          
           
             Where
             Pilgrim
             Palmer
             travell'd
             in
             Exile
             ,
          
           
             With
             the
             Bulls
             Horn
             to
             measure
             his
             own
             Head
             ,
          
           
             And
             on
             
             Pasiphae's
             Tomb
             to
             drop
             a
             Bead.
          
           
             But
             
               M
               —
               e
            
             learn'd
             demonstrates
             ,
             by
             the
             Post
             ,
          
           
             This
             Isle
             of
             Candy
             was
             on
             Essex
             Coast.
             
          
        
         
           
             Fresh
             Messengers
             still
             the
             sad
             News
             assure
             ,
          
           
             More
             tim'rous
             now
             we
             are
             ,
             than
             first
             secure
             .
          
           
             False
             Terrors
             our
             believing
             Fears
             devise
             :
          
           
             And
             the
             French
             Army
             one
             from
             Calais
             spies
             .
          
           
             
               B
               —
               t
            
             and
             
               M
               —
               y
            
             ,
             and
             those
             of
             shorter
             reach
             ,
          
           
             Change
             all
             for
             Guinea's
             ,
             and
             a
             Crown
             for
             each
             :
          
           
             But
             wiser
             Men
             ,
             and
             well
             foreseen
             in
             chance
             ,
          
           
             In
             Holland
             theirs
             had
             lodg'd
             before
             ,
             and
             France
             .
          
           
             
             White-hall's
             unsafe
             ,
             the
             Court
             all
             meditates
          
           
             To
             fly
             to
             Windsor
             ,
             and
             mure
             up
             the
             Gates
             .
          
           
             Each
             does
             the
             other
             blame
             ,
             and
             all
             distrust
             ;
          
           
             But
             
               M
               —
               t
            
             new
             oblig'd
             ,
             would
             sure
             be
             just
             .
          
           
             Not
             such
             a
             fatal
             stupefaction
             reign'd
          
           
             At
             
             London's
             Flame
             ,
             nor
             to
             the
             Court
             complain'd
             .
          
           
             The
             
               Bloodworth-C
               —
               r
            
             gives
             ,
             then
             does
             recal
          
           
             Orders
             ,
             amaz'd
             at
             last
             gives
             none
             at
             all
             .
          
        
         
           
             St.
             
               A
               —
               s
            
             writ
             to
             that
             he
             may
             bewail
          
           
             To
             Master
             Lewis
             ,
             and
             tell
             Coward
             tale
             ,
          
           
           
             How
             yet
             the
             Hollanders
             do
             make
             a
             noise
             ,
          
           
             Threaten
             to
             beat
             us
             ,
             and
             are
             naughty
             Boys
             .
          
           
             Now
             
             Doleman's
             disobedient
             ,
             and
             they
             still
          
           
             Uncivil
             :
             His
             unkindness
             would
             us
             kill
             .
          
           
             Tell
             him
             our
             Ships
             unrigg'd
             ,
             our
             Forts
             unman'd
             ,
          
           
             Our
             Money
             spent
             ;
             else
             't
             were
             at
             his
             command
             .
          
           
             Summon
             him
             therefore
             of
             his
             Word
             ,
             and
             prove
          
           
             To
             move
             him
             out
             of
             Pity
             ,
             if
             not
             Love.
          
           
             Pray
             him
             to
             make
             De-Witte
             ,
             and
             Ruyter
             cease
             ,
          
           
             And
             whip
             the
             Dutch
             ,
             unless
             they
             'l
             hold
             their
             peace
             .
          
           
             But
             Lewis
             was
             of
             Memory
             but
             dull
             ,
          
           
             And
             to
             St.
             
               A
               —
               ●
            
             too
             undutiful
             ;
          
           
             Nor
             Word
             ,
             nor
             near
             Relation
             did
             revere
             ;
          
           
             But
             ask'd
             him
             bluntly
             for
             his
             Character
             .
          
           
             The
             gravell'd
             Count
             did
             with
             the
             Answer
             faint
             :
          
           
             (
             His
             Character
             was
             that
             which
             thou
             didst
             paint
             )
          
           
             And
             so
             enforc'd
             ,
             like
             Enemy
             or
             Spy
             ,
          
           
             Trusses
             his
             baggage
             ,
             and
             the
             Camp
             does
             fly
             .
          
           
             Yet
             Lewis
             writes
             ,
             and
             lest
             our
             Hearts
             should
             break
             ,
          
           
             Consoles
             us
             morally
             out
             of
             Seneque
             .
          
        
         
           
             Two
             Letters
             next
             unto
             Breda
             are
             sent
             ,
          
           
             In
             Cipher
             one
             to
             Harry
             Excellent
             .
          
           
             The
             first
             instructs
             our
             (
             Verse
             the
             Name
             abhors
             )
          
           
             Plenipotentiary
             Ambassadors
             ,
          
           
             To
             prove
             by
             Scripture
             ,
             Treaty
             does
             imply
          
           
             Cessation
             ,
             as
             the
             look
             Adultery
             .
          
           
             And
             that
             by
             Law
             of
             Arms
             ,
             in
             Martial
             strife
             ,
          
           
             Who
             yields
             his
             Sword
             has
             Title
             to
             his
             Life
             .
          
           
             
               Presbyter
               H
               —
               s
            
             the
             first
             point
             should
             clear
             ;
          
           
             The
             second
             
               C
               —
               y
            
             the
             Cavalier
             .
          
           
             But
             ,
             would
             they
             not
             be
             argu'd
             back
             from
             Sea
             ,
          
           
             Then
             to
             return
             home
             straight
             
               infecta
               re
            
             .
          
           
             But
             
             Harry's
             Order
             ,
             if
             they
             won't
             recal
          
           
             Their
             Fleet
             ,
             to
             threaten
             ,
             we
             will
             give
             them
             all
             .
          
        
         
           
             The
             Dutch
             are
             then
             in
             Proclamation
             shent
             ,
          
           
             For
             Sin
             against
             th'
             
               Eleventh
               Commandment
            
             .
          
           
             
               H
               —
               s
            
             flippant
             Stile
             there
             pleasantly
             curvets
             ;
          
           
             Still
             his
             sharp
             Wit
             on
             States
             and
             Princes
             whets
             .
          
           
             (
             So
             Spain
             could
             not
             escape
             his
             Laughters
             Spleen
             :
          
           
             None
             but
             himself
             must
             chuse
             the
             King
             a
             Queen
             .
             )
          
           
           
             But
             when
             he
             came
             the
             odious
             Clause
             to
             Pen
             ,
          
           
             That
             summons
             up
             the
             Parliament
             agen
             ;
          
           
             His
             Writing-Master
             many
             a
             time
             he
             bann'd
             ,
          
           
             And
             wish'd
             himself
             the
             Gout
             ,
             to
             seize
             his
             hand
             .
          
           
             Never
             old
             Letcher
             more
             repugnance
             felt
             ,
          
           
             Consenting
             ,
             for
             his
             Rupture
             ,
             to
             be
             Gelt
             ;
          
           
             But
             still
             in
             hope
             he
             solac'd
             ,
             e're
             they
             come
             ,
          
           
             To
             work
             the
             Peace
             ,
             and
             so
             to
             send
             them
             home
             .
          
           
             Or
             in
             their
             hasty
             Call
             to
             find
             a
             flaw
             ,
          
           
             Their
             Acts
             to
             vitiate
             ,
             and
             them
             over-awe
             .
          
           
             But
             most
             rely'd
             upon
             this
             Dutch
             pretence
             ,
          
           
             To
             raise
             a
             two-edg'd
             Army
             for
             's
             defence
             .
          
        
         
           
             First
             ,
             then
             he
             march'd
             our
             whole
             Militia's
             force
             ,
          
           
             (
             As
             if
             ,
             alas
             ,
             we
             Ships
             or
             Dutch
             had
             Horse
             .
             )
          
           
             Then
             ,
             from
             the
             usual
             Common-place
             ,
             he
             blames
          
           
             These
             ;
             and
             in
             Standing-Armies
             praise
             declaims
             .
          
           
             And
             the
             wise
             Court
             ,
             that
             always
             lov'd
             it
             dear
             ,
          
           
             Now
             thinks
             all
             but
             too
             little
             for
             their
             Fear
             .
          
           
             
               H
               —
               e
            
             stamps
             ,
             and
             straight
             upon
             the
             ground
             the
             swarms
          
           
             Of
             current
             Myrmidons
             appear
             in
             Arms.
          
           
             And
             for
             their
             Pay
             he
             writes
             as
             from
             the
             King
             ,
          
           
             With
             that
             curs'd
             Quill
             pluck'd
             from
             a
             Vulture's
             Wing
             :
          
           
             Of
             the
             whole
             Nation
             now
             to
             ask
             a
             Loan
             .
          
           
             (
             The
             
               Eighteen
               hundred
               thousand
               pound
            
             was
             gone
             .
             )
          
        
         
           
             This
             done
             ,
             he
             Pens
             a
             Proclamation
             stout
             ,
          
           
             In
             rescue
             of
             the
             
               Banquiers
               Banquerout
            
             :
          
           
             His
             minion
             Imps
             that
             ,
             in
             his
             secret
             part
             ,
          
           
             Lye
             nuzz'ling
             at
             the
             Sacramental
             wart
             ;
          
           
             Horse-leeches
             circling
             at
             the
             Hem'roid
             Vein
             ;
          
           
             He
             sucks
             the
             King
             ,
             they
             him
             ,
             he
             them
             again
             .
          
           
             The
             Kingdoms
             Farm
             he
             lets
             to
             them
             bid
             least
             :
          
           
             Greater
             the
             Bribe
             ,
             and
             that
             's
             at
             Interest
             .
          
           
             Here
             Men
             induc'd
             by
             Safety
             ,
             Gain
             ,
             and
             Ease
             ,
          
           
             Their
             Money
             lodge
             ;
             confiscate
             when
             he
             please
             .
          
           
             These
             can
             ,
             at
             need
             ,
             at
             instant
             ,
             with
             a
             scrip
             ,
          
           
             (
             This
             lik'd
             him
             best
             )
             his
             Cash
             beyond
             Sea
             whip
             .
          
           
             When
             Dutch
             Invade
             ,
             when
             Parliament
             prepare
             ,
          
           
             How
             can
             he
             Engines
             so
             convenient
             spare
             ?
          
           
             Let
             no
             Man
             touch
             them
             ,
             or
             demand
             his
             own
             ,
          
           
             Pain
             of
             Displeasure
             of
             great
             
               C
               —
               n.
            
          
           
           
             The
             State
             Affairs
             thus
             Marshall'd
             ,
             for
             the
             rest
          
           
             Monk
             in
             his
             Shirt
             against
             the
             Dutch
             is
             prest
             .
          
           
             Often
             ,
             dear
             Painter
             ,
             have
             I
             sate
             and
             mus'd
          
           
             Why
             he
             should
             still
             b'on
             all
             adventures
             us'd
             .
          
           
             If
             they
             for
             nothing
             ill
             ,
             like
             Ashen-wood
             ,
          
           
             Or
             think
             him
             ,
             like
             Herb-John
             ,
             for
             nothing
             good
             .
          
           
             Whether
             his
             Valour
             they
             so
             much
             admire
             ,
          
           
             Or
             that
             for
             Cowardice
             they
             all
             retire
             .
          
           
             As
             Heav'n
             in
             Storms
             ,
             they
             call
             ,
             in
             gusts
             of
             State
             ,
          
           
             On
             Monk
             and
             Parliament
             ,
             yet
             both
             do
             hate
             .
          
           
             All
             Causes
             sure
             concur
             ,
             but
             most
             they
             think
          
           
             Under
             Herculean
             Labours
             he
             may
             sink
             .
          
           
             Soon
             then
             the
             Independent
             Troops
             would
             close
             ,
          
           
             And
             H
             —
             's
             last
             Project
             would
             his
             Place
             dispose
             .
          
        
         
           
             Ruyter
             the
             while
             ,
             that
             had
             our
             Ocean
             curb'd
             ,
          
           
             Sail'd
             now
             among
             our
             Rivers
             undisturb'd
             :
          
           
             Survey'd
             their
             Crystal
             Streams
             ,
             and
             Banks
             so
             green
             ,
          
           
             And
             Beauties
             e're
             this
             never
             naked
             seen
             .
          
           
             Through
             the
             vain
             sedge
             the
             bashful
             Nymphs
             he
             ey'd
             ;
          
           
             Bosomes
             ,
             and
             all
             which
             from
             themselves
             they
             hide
             .
          
           
             The
             Sun
             much
             brighter
             ,
             and
             the
             Skies
             more
             clear
             ,
          
           
             He
             finds
             the
             Air
             ,
             and
             all
             things
             ,
             sweeter
             here
             .
          
           
             The
             sudden
             change
             ,
             and
             such
             a
             tempting
             sight
             ,
          
           
             Swells
             his
             old
             Veins
             with
             sresh
             Blood
             ,
             fresh
             Delight
             .
          
           
             Like
             am'rous
             Victors
             he
             begins
             to
             shave
             ,
          
           
             And
             his
             new
             Face
             looks
             in
             the
             English
             Wave
             .
          
           
             His
             sporting
             Navy
             all
             about
             him
             swim
             ,
          
           
             And
             witness
             their
             complaisence
             in
             their
             trim
             .
          
           
             Their
             streaming
             Silks
             play
             through
             the
             weather
             fair
             ,
          
           
             And
             with
             inveigling
             Colours
             Court
             the
             Air.
          
           
             While
             the
             red
             Flags
             breath
             on
             their
             Top-masts
             high
          
           
             Terrour
             and
             War
             ,
             but
             want
             an
             Enemy
             .
          
           
             Among
             the
             Shrowds
             the
             Seamen
             sit
             and
             sing
             ,
          
           
             And
             wanton
             Boys
             on
             every
             Rope
             do
             cling
             .
          
           
             Old
             Neptune
             springs
             the
             Tydes
             ,
             and
             Water
             lent
             :
          
           
             (
             The
             Gods
             themselves
             do
             help
             the
             provident
             .
             )
          
           
             And
             ,
             where
             the
             deep
             Keel
             on
             the
             shallow
             cleaves
             ,
          
           
             With
             
             Trident's
             Leaver
             ,
             and
             great
             Shoulder
             heaves
             .
          
           
             Aeolus
             their
             Sails
             inspires
             with
             Eastern
             Wind
             ,
          
           
             Puffs
             them
             along
             ,
             and
             breathes
             upon
             them
             kind
             .
          
           
           
             With
             Pearly
             Shell
             the
             Tritons
             all
             the
             while
          
           
             Sound
             the
             Sea-march
             ,
             and
             guide
             to
             
               Sheppy
               Isle
            
             .
          
        
         
           
             So
             have
             I
             seen
             in
             
             April's
             bud
             ,
             arise
          
           
             A
             Fleet
             of
             Clouds
             ,
             sailing
             along
             the
             Skies
             :
          
           
             The
             liquid
             Region
             with
             their
             Squadrons
             fill'd
             ,
          
           
             The
             airy
             Sterns
             the
             Sun
             behind
             does
             guild
             ;
          
           
             And
             gentle
             Gales
             them
             steer
             ,
             and
             Heaven
             drives
             ,
          
           
             When
             ,
             all
             on
             sudden
             ,
             their
             calm
             bosome
             rives
          
           
             With
             Thunder
             and
             Lightning
             from
             each
             armed
             Cloud
             ;
          
           
             Shepherds
             themselves
             in
             vain
             in
             bushes
             shrowd
             .
          
           
             Such
             up
             the
             stream
             the
             Belgick
             Navy
             glides
             ,
          
           
             And
             at
             Sheerness
             unloads
             its
             stormy
             sides
             .
          
        
         
           
             
               S
               —
               g
            
             there
             ,
             tho
             practic'd
             in
             the
             Sea
             command
             ,
          
           
             With
             panting
             Heart
             ,
             lay
             like
             a
             fish
             on
             Land
             ,
          
           
             And
             quickly
             judg'd
             the
             Fort
             was
             not
             tenable
             ,
          
           
             Which
             ,
             if
             a
             House
             ,
             yet
             were
             not
             tenantable
             .
          
           
             No
             man
             can
             sit
             there
             safe
             ,
             the
             Cannon
             pow'rs
          
           
             Through
             the
             Walls
             untight
             ,
             and
             Bullet
             show'rs
             :
          
           
             The
             neighbr'hood
             ill
             ,
             and
             an
             unwholsome
             seat
             .
          
           
             So
             at
             the
             first
             Salute
             resolves
             Retreat
             ,
          
           
             And
             swore
             that
             he
             would
             never
             more
             dwell
             there
          
           
             Until
             the
             City
             put
             it
             in
             repair
             .
          
           
             So
             he
             in
             Front
             ,
             his
             Garrison
             in
             Rear
             ,
          
           
             March
             straight
             to
             Chatham
             ,
             to
             increase
             the
             fear
             .
          
        
         
           
             There
             our
             sick
             Ships
             unrigg'd
             in
             Summer
             lay
             ,
          
           
             Like
             molting
             Fowl
             ,
             a
             weak
             and
             easie
             Prey
             .
          
           
             For
             whose
             strong
             bulk
             Earth
             scarce
             could
             Timber
             sind
             ,
          
           
             The
             Ocean
             Water
             ,
             or
             the
             Heavens
             Wind.
          
           
             Those
             Oaken
             Gyants
             of
             the
             ancient
             Race
             ,
          
           
             That
             rul'd
             all
             Seas
             ,
             and
             did
             our
             Channel
             grace
             .
          
           
             The
             conscious
             Stag
             ,
             so
             once
             the
             Forests
             dread
             ,
          
           
             Flies
             to
             the
             Wood
             ,
             and
             hides
             his
             armless
             Head.
          
           
             Ruyter
             forthwith
             a
             Squadron
             does
             untack
             ,
          
           
             They
             sail
             securely
             through
             the
             Rivers
             track
             .
          
           
             An
             English
             Pilot
             too
             ,
             (
             O
             Shame
             ,
             O
             Sin
             !
             )
          
           
             Cheated
             of
             Pay
             ,
             was
             he
             that
             show'd
             them
             in
             .
          
        
         
           
             Our
             wretched
             Ships
             within
             their
             Fate
             attend
             ,
          
           
             And
             all
             our
             hopes
             now
             on
             frail
             Chain
             depend
             :
          
           
             Engine
             so
             slight
             to
             guard
             us
             from
             the
             Sea
             ,
          
           
             It
             sitter
             seem'd
             to
             captivate
             a
             Flea
             .
          
           
           
             A
             Skipper
             rude
             shocks
             it
             without
             respect
             ,
          
           
             Filling
             his
             Sails
             ,
             more
             force
             to
             recollect
             .
          
           
             Th'
             English
             from
             shore
             the
             Iron
             deaf
             invoke
          
           
             For
             its
             last
             aid
             :
             Hold
             Chain
             or
             we
             are
             broke
             .
          
           
             But
             with
             her
             Sailing
             weight
             ,
             the
             Holland
             Keel
          
           
             Snapping
             the
             brittle
             links
             ,
             does
             thorow
             reel
             ;
          
           
             And
             to
             the
             rest
             the
             open'd
             passage
             shew
             .
          
        
         
           
             Monk
             from
             the
             bank
             the
             dismal
             sight
             does
             view
             .
          
           
             Our
             feather'd
             Gallants
             ,
             which
             came
             down
             that
             day
          
           
             To
             be
             Spectators
             safe
             of
             the
             
               new
               Play
            
             ,
          
           
             Leave
             him
             alone
             when
             first
             they
             hear
             the
             Gun
             ;
          
           
             (
             
               C
               —
               y
            
             the
             fleetest
             )
             and
             to
             London
             run
             .
          
           
             Our
             Seamen
             ,
             whom
             no
             Dangers
             shape
             could
             fright
             ,
          
           
             Unpaid
             ,
             refuse
             to
             mount
             our
             Ships
             for
             spight
             :
          
           
             Or
             to
             their
             fellows
             swim
             on
             board
             the
             Dutch
             ,
          
           
             Which
             show
             the
             tempting
             metal
             in
             their
             clutch
             .
          
           
             Oft
             had
             he
             sent
             ,
             of
             
               D
               —
               e
            
             and
             of
             
               L
               —
               g
            
          
           
             Cannon
             and
             Powder
             ,
             but
             in
             vain
             ,
             to
             beg
             :
          
           
             And
             Vpnor-Castle's
             ill-deserted
             Wall
             ,
          
           
             Now
             needful
             ,
             does
             for
             Ammunition
             call
             .
          
           
             He
             finds
             wheresoe're
             he
             succour
             might
             expect
             ;
          
           
             Confusion
             ,
             folly
             ,
             treach'ry
             ,
             fear
             ,
             neglect
             .
          
        
         
           
             But
             when
             the
             
               Royal
               Charles
            
             ,
             what
             Rage
             ,
             what
             Grief
             ,
          
           
             He
             saw
             seiz'd
             ,
             and
             could
             give
             her
             no
             Relief
             !
          
           
             That
             sacred
             Keel
             ,
             which
             had
             ,
             as
             he
             ,
             restor'd
          
           
             His
             exil'd
             Sov'raign
             on
             its
             happy
             Board
             ;
          
           
             And
             thence
             the
             Brittish
             Admiral
             became
             ;
          
           
             Crown'd
             ,
             for
             that
             Merit
             ,
             with
             their
             Masters
             Name
          
           
             That
             Pleasure-boat
             of
             VVar
             ,
             in
             whose
             dear
             side
          
           
             Secure
             so
             oft
             he
             had
             this
             Foe
             desy'd
             :
          
           
             Now
             a
             cheap
             spoil
             ,
             and
             the
             mean
             Victor's
             Slave
             ,
          
           
             Taught
             the
             Dutch
             Colours
             from
             its
             top
             to
             wave
             ;
          
           
             Of
             former
             Glories
             the
             reproachful
             thought
             ,
          
           
             With
             present
             shame
             compar'd
             ,
             his
             mind
             distraught
             .
          
           
             Such
             from
             Euphrates
             bank
             ,
             a
             Tygress
             fell
             ,
          
           
             After
             the
             Robbers
             ,
             for
             her
             Whelps
             does
             yell
             :
          
           
             But
             sees
             ,
             inrag'd
             ,
             the
             River
             flow
             between
             .
          
           
             Frustrate
             Revenge
             ,
             and
             Love
             ,
             by
             loss
             more
             keen
             ,
          
           
             At
             her
             own
             Breast
             her
             useless
             claws
             does
             arm
             ;
          
           
             She
             tears
             herself
             since
             him
             she
             cannot
             harm
             .
          
           
           
             The
             Guards
             ,
             plac'd
             for
             the
             Chains
             and
             Fleets
             defence
             ,
          
           
             Long
             since
             were
             sled
             on
             many
             a
             feign'd
             pretence
             .
          
           
             Daniel
             had
             there
             adventur'd
             ,
             Man
             of
             might
             ;
          
           
             Sweet
             Painter
             draw
             his
             Picture
             while
             I
             write
             .
          
           
             Paint
             him
             of
             Person
             tall
             ,
             and
             big
             of
             bone
             ,
          
           
             Large
             Limbs
             ,
             like
             Ox
             ,
             not
             to
             be
             kill'd
             but
             shown
             .
          
           
             Scarce
             can
             burnt
             Iv'ry
             feign
             an
             Hair
             so
             black
             ,
          
           
             Or
             Face
             so
             rod
             thine
             Oker
             and
             thy
             Lack.
          
           
             Mix
             a
             vain
             Terrour
             in
             his
             Martial
             look
             ,
          
           
             And
             all
             those
             lines
             by
             which
             men
             are
             mistook
             .
          
           
             But
             when
             ,
             by
             shame
             constrain'd
             to
             go
             on
             Board
             ,
          
           
             He
             heard
             how
             the
             wild
             Cannon
             nearer
             roar'd
             ;
          
           
             And
             saw
             himself
             confin'd
             ,
             like
             Sheep
             in
             Pen
             ;
          
           
             Daniel
             then
             thought
             he
             was
             in
             Lyons
             Den.
          
           
             But
             when
             the
             srightful
             Fire-ships
             he
             saw
             ,
          
           
             Pregnant
             with
             Sulphur
             ,
             to
             him
             nearer
             draw
          
           
             
               Captain
               ,
               Lieutenant
               ,
               Ensign
            
             ,
             all
             make
             haste
             ,
          
           
             E're
             in
             the
             Firy
             Furnace
             they
             be
             cast
             .
          
           
             Three
             Children
             tall
             ,
             unsing'd
             ,
             away
             they
             row
             ,
          
           
             Like
             
               Shadrack
               ,
               Mesheck
            
             ,
             and
             Abednego
             .
          
           
             Not
             so
             brave
             Douglas
             ;
             on
             whose
             lovely
             chin
          
           
             The
             early
             Down
             but
             newly
             did
             begin
             ;
          
           
             And
             modest
             Beauty
             yet
             his
             Sex
             did
             Veil
             ,
          
           
             While
             envious
             Virgins
             hope
             he
             is
             a
             Male.
          
           
             His
             yellow
             Locks
             curl
             back
             themselves
             to
             seek
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             other
             Courtship
             knew
             but
             to
             his
             Cheek
             .
          
           
             Oft
             has
             he
             in
             chill
             Eske
             or
             Seine
             ,
             by
             night
             ,
          
           
             Harden'd
             and
             cool'd
             his
             Limbs
             ,
             so
             soft
             ,
             so
             white
             ,
          
           
             Among
             the
             Reeds
             ,
             to
             be
             espy'd
             by
             him
             ,
          
           
             The
             Nymphs
             would
             rustle
             ;
             he
             would
             forward
             swim
             .
          
           
             They
             sigh'd
             and
             said
             ,
             Fond
             Boy
             ,
             why
             so
             untame
             ,
          
           
             That
             fly'st
             Love
             Fires
             ,
             reserv'd
             for
             other
             Flame
             ?
          
           
             Fixt
             on
             his
             Ship
             ,
             he
             fac'd
             that
             horrid
             Day
             ,
          
           
             And
             wondred
             much
             at
             those
             that
             run
             away
             :
          
           
             Nor
             other
             fear
             himself
             could
             comprehend
             ,
          
           
             Then
             ,
             lest
             Heav'n
             fall
             ,
             e're
             thither
             he
             ascend
             .
          
           
             But
             entertains
             ,
             the
             while
             ,
             his
             time
             too
             short
          
           
             With
             birding
             at
             the
             Dutch
             ,
             as
             if
             in
             sport
             :
          
           
             Or
             Waves
             his
             Sword
             ,
             and
             could
             he
             them
             conjure
          
           
             VVithin
             its
             circle
             ,
             knows
             himself
             secure
             .
          
           
           
             The
             fatal
             Bark
             him
             boards
             with
             grappling
             fire
             ,
          
           
             And
             safely
             through
             its
             Port
             the
             Dutch
             retire
             :
          
           
             That
             precious
             life
             he
             yet
             disdains
             to
             save
             ,
          
           
             Or
             with
             known
             Art
             to
             try
             the
             gentle
             Wave
             .
          
           
             Much
             him
             the
             Honours
             of
             his
             ancient
             Race
          
           
             Inspire
             ,
             nor
             would
             he
             his
             own
             deeds
             deface
             .
          
           
             And
             secret
             Joy
             ,
             in
             his
             calm
             Soul
             does
             rise
             ,
          
           
             That
             Monk
             looks
             on
             to
             see
             how
             Douglas
             dies
             .
          
           
             Like
             a
             glad
             Lover
             ,
             the
             fierce
             Flames
             he
             meets
             ,
          
           
             And
             tries
             his
             first
             embraces
             in
             their
             Sheets
             .
          
           
             His
             shape
             exact
             ,
             which
             the
             bright
             flames
             infold
             ,
          
           
             Like
             the
             Sun's
             Statue
             stands
             of
             burnish'd
             Gold.
          
           
             Round
             the
             transparent
             Fire
             about
             him
             glows
             ,
          
           
             As
             the
             clear
             Amber
             on
             the
             Bee
             does
             close
             :
          
           
             And
             ,
             as
             on
             Angels
             Heads
             their
             Glories
             shine
             ,
          
           
             His
             burning
             Locks
             adorn
             his
             Face
             Divine
             .
          
           
             But
             ,
             when
             in
             his
             immortal
             Mind
             he
             felt
          
           
             His
             alt'ring
             Form
             ,
             and
             soder'd
             Limbs
             to
             melt
             ;
          
           
             Down
             on
             the
             Deck
             he
             laid
             himself
             ,
             and
             dy'd
             ,
          
           
             With
             his
             dear
             Sword
             reposing
             by
             his
             Side
             .
          
           
             And
             ,
             on
             the
             flaming
             Plank
             ,
             so
             rests
             his
             Head
             ,
          
           
             As
             one
             that
             's
             warm'd
             himself
             and
             gone
             to
             Bed.
          
           
             His
             Ship
             burns
             down
             ,
             and
             with
             his
             Relicks
             sinks
             ,
          
           
             And
             the
             sad
             Stream
             beneath
             his
             Ashes
             drinks
             .
          
           
             Fortunate
             Boy
             !
             if
             either
             Pencil's
             Fame
             ,
          
           
             Or
             if
             my
             Verse
             can
             propagate
             thy
             Name
             ;
          
           
             When
             Oeta
             and
             Alcides
             are
             forgot
             ,
          
           
             Our
             English
             youth
             shall
             sing
             the
             Valiant
             Scot.
             
          
        
         
           
             Each
             doleful
             day
             still
             with
             fresh
             loss
             returns
             ;
          
           
             The
             Loyal-London
             ,
             now
             a
             third
             time
             burns
             .
          
           
             And
             the
             true
             Royal-Oak
             ,
             and
             Royal-James
             ,
          
           
             Ally'd
             in
             Fate
             ,
             increase
             ,
             with
             theirs
             ,
             her
             Flames
             .
          
           
             Of
             all
             our
             Navy
             none
             should
             now
             survive
             ,
          
           
             But
             that
             the
             Ships
             themselves
             were
             taught
             to
             dive
             :
          
           
             And
             the
             kind
             River
             in
             its
             Creek
             them
             hides
             ,
          
           
             Fraughting
             their
             pierced
             Keels
             with
             Oosy
             Tides
             .
          
        
         
           
             Up
             to
             the
             Bridge
             contagious
             Terrour
             strook
             :
          
           
             The
             Tow'r
             it self
             with
             the
             near
             danger
             shook
             .
          
           
             And
             were
             not
             Ruyters
             maw
             with
             ravage
             cloy'd
             ,
          
           
             Ev'n
             London's
             Ashes
             had
             been
             then
             destroy'd
             .
          
           
           
             Officious
             fear
             ,
             however
             ,
             to
             prevent
          
           
             Our
             loss
             ,
             does
             so
             much
             more
             our
             loss
             augment
             :
          
           
             The
             Dutch
             had
             robb'd
             those
             Jewels
             of
             the
             Crown
             :
          
           
             Our
             Merchant-men
             ,
             lest
             they
             should
             burn
             ,
             we
             drown
             .
          
           
             So
             when
             the
             Fire
             did
             not
             enough
             devour
             ,
          
           
             The
             Houses
             were
             demolish'd
             near
             the
             Tow'r
             .
          
           
             Those
             Ships
             ,
             that
             yearly
             from
             their
             teeming
             Howl
             ,
          
           
             Unloaded
             here
             the
             Birth
             of
             either
             Pole
             ;
          
           
             Furrs
             from
             the
             North
             ,
             and
             Silver
             from
             the
             West
             ,
          
           
             From
             the
             South
             Perfumes
             ,
             Spices
             from
             the
             East
             ;
          
           
             From
             Gambo
             Gold
             ,
             and
             from
             the
             Ganges
             Gems
             ;
          
           
             Take
             a
             short
             Voyage
             underneath
             the
             Thames
             .
          
           
             Once
             a
             deep
             River
             ,
             now
             with
             Timber
             floor'd
             ,
          
           
             And
             shrunk
             ,
             lest
             Navigable
             ,
             to
             a
             Ford.
             
          
        
         
           
             Now
             (
             nothing
             more
             at
             Chatham
             left
             to
             burn
             )
          
           
             The
             Holland
             Squadron
             leisurely
             return
             :
          
           
             And
             spight
             of
             Ruperts
             and
             of
             Albemarles
             ,
          
           
             To
             Ruyter's
             Triumph
             lead
             the
             captive
             Charles
             .
          
           
             The
             pleasing
             sight
             he
             often
             does
             prolong
             :
          
           
             Her
             Masts
             erect
             ,
             tough
             Cordage
             ,
             Timbers
             strong
             ,
          
           
             Her
             moving
             Shape
             ;
             all
             these
             he
             does
             survey
             ,
          
           
             And
             all
             admires
             ,
             but
             most
             his
             easie
             Prey
             .
          
           
             The
             Seamen
             search
             her
             all
             ,
             within
             ,
             without
             :
          
           
             Viewing
             her
             strength
             ,
             they
             yet
             their
             Conquest
             doubt
             .
          
           
             Then
             with
             rude
             shouts
             ,
             secure
             ,
             the
             Air
             they
             vex
             ;
          
           
             With
             Gamesome
             Joy
             insulting
             on
             her
             Decks
             .
          
           
             Such
             the
             fear'd
             Hebrew
             ,
             captive
             ,
             blinded
             ,
             shorn
             ,
          
           
             Was
             led
             about
             in
             sport
             ,
             the
             publick
             scorn
             .
          
        
         
           
             Black
             Day
             accurs'd
             !
             On
             thee
             let
             no
             man
             hale
          
           
             Out
             of
             the
             Port
             ,
             or
             dare
             to
             hoise
             a
             Sail
             ,
          
           
             Or
             row
             a
             Boat
             in
             thy
             unlucky
             hour
             :
          
           
             Thee
             ,
             the
             Year's
             monster
             ,
             let
             thy
             Dam
             devour
             .
          
           
             And
             constant
             Time
             ,
             to
             keep
             his
             course
             yet
             right
             ,
          
           
             Fill
             up
             thy
             space
             with
             a
             redoubled
             Night
             .
          
           
             When
             aged
             Thames
             was
             bound
             with
             Fetters
             base
             ,
          
           
             And
             Medway
             chast
             ravish'd
             before
             his
             Face
             ,
          
           
             And
             their
             dear
             Off-spring
             murder'd
             in
             their
             sight
             ;
          
           
             Thou
             ,
             and
             thy
             Fellows
             ,
             held'st
             the
             odious
             Light.
          
           
             Sad
             change
             ,
             since
             first
             that
             happy
             pair
             was
             wed
             ,
          
           
             When
             all
             the
             Rivers
             grac'd
             their
             Nuptial
             Bed
             ;
          
           
           
             And
             Father
             Neptune
             promis'd
             to
             resign
          
           
             His
             Empire
             old
             ,
             to
             their
             immortal
             Line
             !
          
           
             Now
             with
             vain
             grief
             their
             vainer
             hopes
             they
             rue
             ,
          
           
             Themselves
             dishonour'd
             ,
             and
             the
             Gods
             untrue
             :
          
           
             And
             to
             each
             other
             helpless
             couple
             moan
             ,
          
           
             As
             the
             sad
             Tortoise
             for
             the
             Sea
             does
             groan
             .
          
           
             But
             most
             they
             for
             their
             Darling
             Charles
             complain
             :
          
           
             And
             were
             it
             burnt
             ,
             yet
             less
             would
             be
             their
             pain
             .
          
           
             To
             see
             that
             fatal
             Pledge
             of
             Sea-Command
             ,
          
           
             Now
             in
             the
             Ravisher
             
             De-Ruyter's
             hand
             ,
          
           
             The
             Thames
             roar'd
             ,
             swouning
             Medway
             turn'd
             her
             tide
             ,
          
           
             And
             were
             they
             mortal
             ,
             both
             for
             grief
             had
             dy'd
             .
          
        
         
           
             The
             Court
             in
             Farthing
             yet
             it self
             does
             please
             ,
          
           
             And
             female
             
               S
               —
               t
            
             ,
             there
             ,
             
               Rules
               the
               four
               Seas
            
             .
          
           
             But
             Fate
             does
             still
             accumulate
             our
             Woes
             ,
          
           
             And
             Richmond
             here
             commands
             ,
             as
             Ruyter
             those
             .
          
        
         
           
             After
             this
             loss
             ,
             to
             rellish
             discontent
             ,
          
           
             Some
             one
             must
             be
             accus'd
             by
             Punishment
             .
          
           
             All
             our
             miscarriages
             on
             Pett
             must
             fall
             :
          
           
             His
             Name
             alone
             seems
             fit
             to
             answer
             all
             .
          
           
             Whose
             Counsel
             first
             did
             this
             mad
             War
             beget
             ?
          
           
             Who
             all
             Commands
             sold
             thro'
             the
             Navy
             ?
             Pett
             .
          
           
             Who
             would
             not
             follow
             when
             the
             Dutch
             were
             bet
             ?
          
           
             Who
             treated
             out
             the
             time
             at
             
               Bergen
               ?
               Pett
            
             .
          
           
             Who
             the
             Dutch
             Fleet
             with
             Storms
             disabled
             met
             ,
          
           
             And
             rifling
             Prizes
             ,
             them
             neglected
             ?
             Pett
             .
          
           
             Who
             with
             false
             News
             prevented
             the
             Gazette
             ?
          
           
             The
             Fleet
             divided
             ?
             Writ
             for
             
               Rupert
               ?
               Pett
            
             .
          
           
             Who
             all
             our
             Seamen
             cheated
             of
             their
             Debt
             ?
          
           
             And
             all
             our
             Prizes
             who
             did
             swallow
             ?
             Pett
             .
          
           
             Who
             did
             advise
             no
             Navy
             out
             to
             set
             ?
          
           
             And
             who
             the
             Forts
             left
             unrepair'd
             ?
             Pett
             .
          
           
             VVho
             to
             supply
             with
             Powder
             ,
             did
             forget
          
           
             Languard
             ,
             Sheerness
             ,
             Gravesend
             ,
             and
             Vpnor
             ?
             Pett
             .
          
           
             VVho
             all
             our
             Ships
             expos'd
             in
             Chathams
             Net
             ?
          
           
             VVho
             should
             it
             be
             but
             the
             
               Phanatick
               Pett
            
             .
          
           
             Pett
             ,
             the
             Sea
             Architect
             ,
             in
             making
             Ships
             ,
          
           
             Was
             the
             first
             cause
             of
             all
             these
             Naval
             ships
             :
          
           
             Had
             he
             not
             built
             ,
             none
             of
             these
             faults
             had
             bin
             ;
          
           
             If
             no
             Creation
             ,
             there
             had
             been
             no
             Sin.
          
           
           
             But
             ,
             his
             great
             Crime
             ,
             one
             Boat
             away
             he
             sent
             ;
          
           
             That
             lost
             our
             Fleet
             ,
             and
             did
             our
             Flight
             prevent
             .
          
           
             Then
             that
             Reward
             might
             in
             its
             turn
             take
             place
             ,
          
           
             And
             march
             with
             Punishment
             in
             equal
             pace
             ;
          
           
             
               S
               —
               n
            
             dead
             ,
             much
             of
             the
             Treasure`s
             care
             ,
          
           
             And
             place
             in
             Counsel
             fell
             to
             
               D
               —
               s
            
             share
             .
          
           
             All
             men
             admir'd
             he
             to
             that
             pitch
             could
             fly
             :
          
           
             Powder
             ne're
             blew
             man
             up
             so
             soon
             so
             high
             .
          
           
             But
             sure
             his
             late
             good
             Husbandry
             in
             Peeter
             ,
          
           
             Show'd
             him
             to
             manage
             the
             Exchequer
             meeter
             :
          
           
             And
             who
             the
             Forts
             would
             not
             vouchsafe
             a
             corn
             ,
          
           
             To
             lavish
             the
             
             King's
             Money
             more
             would
             scorn
             .
          
           
             Who
             hath
             no
             Chimneys
             ,
             to
             give
             all
             is
             best
             ,
          
           
             And
             ablest
             Speaker
             ,
             who
             of
             Law
             has
             least
             ;
          
           
             Who
             less
             Estate
             ,
             for
             Treasurer
             most
             fit
             ;
          
           
             And
             for
             a
             Couns'llor
             ,
             he
             that
             has
             least
             Wit.
          
           
             But
             the
             true
             cause
             was
             ,
             that
             ,
             in
             's
             Brother
             May
             ,
          
           
             The
             Exchequer
             might
             the
             Privy-purse
             obey
             .
          
        
         
           
             But
             now
             draws
             near
             the
             
             Parliament's
             return
             ;
          
           
             
               H
               —
               e
            
             and
             the
             Court
             again
             begin
             to
             mourn
             .
          
           
             Frequent
             in
             Counsel
             ,
             earnest
             in
             Debate
             ,
          
           
             All
             Arts
             they
             try
             how
             to
             prolong
             its
             Date
             .
          
           
             Grave
             
               Primate
               S
               —
               n
            
             (
             much
             in
             Preaching
             there
             )
          
           
             Blames
             the
             last
             Session
             ,
             and
             this
             more
             does
             fear
             .
          
           
             With
             
               B
               —
               n
            
             or
             with
             
               M
               —
               n
            
             't
             were
             sweet
             ;
          
           
             But
             with
             a
             Parliament
             abhors
             to
             meet
             ,
          
           
             And
             thinks
             't
             will
             ne're
             be
             well
             within
             this
             Nation
             ,
          
           
             Till
             it
             be
             govern'd
             by
             a
             Convocation
             .
          
           
             But
             in
             the
             Thames
             mouth
             still
             Ruyter
             laid
             ,
          
           
             The
             Peace
             not
             sure
             ,
             new
             Army
             must
             be
             paid
             .
          
           
             
               H
               —
               e
            
             saith
             he
             hourly
             waits
             for
             a
             Dispatch
             ;
          
           
             
               H
               —
               y
            
             came
             Post
             just
             as
             he
             shew'd
             his
             Watch.
          
           
             All
             to
             agree
             the
             Articles
             were
             clear
             ,
          
           
             The
             Holland
             Fleet
             and
             Parliament
             so
             near
             .
          
           
             Yet
             Harry
             must
             job
             back
             and
             all
             mature
             ,
          
           
             Binding
             ,
             e're
             th'
             Houses
             meet
             ,
             the
             Treaty
             sure
             .
          
           
             And
             'twixt
             Necessity
             and
             Spight
             ,
             till
             then
             ,
          
           
             Let
             them
             come
             up
             so
             to
             go
             down
             agen
             .
          
           
             Up
             ambles
             
               Country
               Justice
            
             on
             his
             Pad
             ,
          
           
             And
             Vest
             bespeaks
             to
             be
             more
             seemly
             clad
             .
          
           
           
             Plain
             Gentlemen
             are
             in
             Stage-Coach
             o'rethrown
             ,
          
           
             And
             Deputy-Lieutenants
             in
             their
             own
             .
          
           
             The
             portly
             Burgess
             ,
             through
             the
             Weather
             hot
             ,
          
           
             Does
             for
             his
             Corporation
             sweat
             and
             trot
             .
          
           
             And
             all
             with
             Sun
             and
             Choler
             come
             adust
             ;
          
           
             And
             threatens
             
               H
               —
               e
            
             to
             raise
             a
             greater
             Dust.
             
          
        
         
           
             But
             ,
             fresh
             as
             from
             the
             Mint
             ,
             the
             Courtiers
             fine
          
           
             Salute
             them
             ,
             smiling
             at
             their
             vain
             design
             .
          
           
             And
             
               T
               —
               r
            
             gay
             up
             to
             his
             Pearch
             does
             march
             ,
          
           
             With
             Face
             new
             bleacht
             ,
             smoothen'd
             and
             stiff
             with
             starch
             .
          
           
             Tells
             them
             he
             at
             Whitehall
             had
             took
             a
             turn
             ,
          
           
             And
             for
             three
             days
             ,
             thence
             moves
             them
             to
             adjourn
             .
          
           
             Not
             so
             ,
             quoth
             
               T
               —
               s
            
             ;
             and
             straight
             drew
             his
             Tongue
             ,
          
           
             Trusty
             as
             Steel
             ,
             that
             always
             ready
             hung
             ;
          
           
             And
             so
             ,
             proceeding
             in
             his
             motion
             warm
             ,
          
           
             Th'
             Army
             soon
             rais'd
             ,
             he
             doth
             as
             soon
             disarm
             .
          
           
             True
             Trojan
             !
             while
             this
             Town
             can
             Girls
             afford
             ,
          
           
             And
             long
             as
             Cider
             lasts
             in
             Hereford
             ;
          
           
             The
             Girls
             shall
             always
             kiss
             thee
             ,
             though
             grown
             old
             ,
          
           
             And
             in
             eternal
             Healths
             thy
             Name
             be
             trowl'd
             .
          
        
         
           
             Mean
             while
             the
             certain
             News
             of
             Peace
             arrives
          
           
             At
             Court
             ,
             and
             so
             reprieves
             their
             guilty
             Lives
             .
          
           
             
               H
               —
               e
            
             orders
             
               T
               —
               r
            
             that
             he
             should
             come
             late
             ,
          
           
             Lest
             some
             new
             
               T
               —
               s
            
             spring
             a
             fresh
             debate
             .
          
           
             The
             King
             ,
             that
             day
             rais'd
             early
             from
             his
             rest
             ,
          
           
             Expects
             as
             at
             a
             Play
             till
             
               T
               —
               s
            
             drest
             .
          
           
             At
             last
             together
             
               E
               —
               n
            
             come
             and
             he
             :
          
           
             No
             Dial
             more
             could
             with
             the
             Sun
             agree
             .
          
           
             The
             Speaker
             ,
             Summon'd
             ,
             to
             the
             Lords
             repairs
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             gave
             the
             Commons
             leave
             to
             say
             their
             Pray'rs
             :
          
           
             But
             like
             his
             Pris'ners
             to
             the
             Bar
             them
             led
             ,
          
           
             VVhere
             mute
             they
             stand
             to
             hear
             their
             Sentence
             read
             ;
          
           
             Trembling
             with
             joy
             and
             fear
             ,
             
               H
               —
               e
            
             them
             Prorogues
             ,
          
           
             And
             had
             almost
             mistook
             and
             call'd
             them
             Rogues
             .
          
        
         
           
             Dear
             Painter
             ,
             draw
             this
             Speaker
             to
             the
             foot
             :
          
           
             Where
             Pencil
             cannot
             ,
             there
             my
             Pen
             shall
             do
             't
             ;
          
           
             That
             may
             his
             Body
             ,
             this
             his
             Mind
             explain
             .
          
           
             Paint
             him
             in
             Golden
             Gown
             ,
             with
             Mace's
             Brain
             :
          
           
             Bright
             Hair
             ,
             fair
             Pace
             ,
             obscure
             and
             dull
             of
             Head
             ;
          
           
             Like
             Knife
             with
             Iv'ry
             haft
             ,
             and
             edge
             of
             Lead
             .
          
           
           
             At
             Pray'rs
             ,
             his
             Eyes
             turn
             up
             the
             Pious
             white
             ,
          
           
             But
             all
             the
             while
             his
             
             Private-Bill's
             in
             sight
             .
          
           
             In
             Chair
             ,
             he
             smoaking
             sits
             like
             Master-Cook
             ,
          
           
             And
             a
             Poll-Bill
             does
             like
             his
             Apron
             look
             .
          
           
             Well
             was
             he
             skill'd
             to
             season
             any
             question
             ,
          
           
             And
             make
             a
             sawce
             fit
             for
             
             VVhitehall's
             digestion
             :
          
           
             VVhence
             ev'ry
             day
             ,
             the
             Palat
             more
             to
             tickle
             ;
          
           
             Court-mushrumps
             ready
             are
             sent
             in
             in
             pickle
             .
          
           
             VVhen
             Grievance
             urg'd
             ,
             he
             swells
             like
             squatted
             Toad
             ,
          
           
             Frisks
             like
             a
             Frog
             to
             croak
             a
             Taxes
             load
             .
          
           
             His
             patient
             Piss
             ,
             he
             could
             hold
             longer
             than
          
           
             An
             Urinal
             ,
             and
             sit
             like
             any
             Hen.
          
           
             At
             Table
             ,
             jolly
             as
             a
             Country-Host
             ,
          
           
             And
             soaks
             his
             Sack
             with
             
               N
               —
               k
            
             like
             a
             Toast
             .
          
           
             At
             night
             ,
             than
             Canticleer
             more
             brisk
             and
             hot
             ,
          
           
             And
             Serjeants
             VVife
             serves
             him
             for
             
               P
               —
               tt
            
             .
          
           
             Paint
             last
             the
             King
             ,
             and
             a
             dead
             shade
             of
             Night
             ,
          
           
             Only
             dispers'd
             by
             a
             weak
             Tapers
             light
             ;
          
           
             And
             those
             bright
             gleams
             that
             dart
             along
             and
             glare
          
           
             From
             his
             clear
             Eyes
             ,
             yet
             these
             too
             dark
             with
             Care.
          
           
             There
             ,
             as
             in
             the
             calm
             horrour
             all
             alone
             ,
          
           
             He
             wakes
             and
             Muses
             of
             th'
             uneasie
             Throne
             :
          
           
             Raise
             up
             a
             sudden
             Shape
             with
             Virgins
             Face
             ,
          
           
             Though
             ill
             agree
             her
             Posture
             ,
             Hour
             ,
             or
             Place
          
           
             Naked
             as
             born
             ,
             and
             her
             round
             Arms
             behind
             ,
          
           
             VVith
             her
             own
             Tresses
             interwove
             and
             twin'd
             :
          
           
             Her
             mouth
             lockt
             up
             ,
             a
             blind
             before
             her
             Eyes
             ,
          
           
             Yet
             from
             beneath
             the
             Veil
             her
             blushes
             rise
             ;
          
           
             And
             silent
             tears
             her
             secret
             anguish
             speak
             ,
          
           
             Her
             heart
             throbs
             ,
             and
             with
             very
             shame
             would
             break
             .
          
           
             The
             Object
             strange
             in
             him
             no
             Terrour
             mov'd
             :
          
           
             He
             wonder'd
             first
             ,
             then
             pity'd
             ,
             then
             he
             lov'd
             :
          
           
             And
             with
             kind
             hand
             does
             the
             coy
             Vision
             press
             ,
          
           
             VVhose
             Beauty
             greater
             seem'd
             by
             her
             distress
             ;
          
           
             But
             soon
             shrunk
             back
             ,
             chill'd
             with
             her
             touch
             so
             cold
             ,
          
           
             And
             th'
             airy
             Picture
             vanisht
             from
             his
             hold
             .
          
           
             In
             his
             deep
             thoughts
             the
             wonder
             did
             increase
             ,
          
           
             And
             he
             Divin'd
             't
             was
             England
             or
             the
             Peace
             .
          
        
         
           
             Express
             him
             startling
             next
             with
             listning
             ear
             ,
          
           
             As
             one
             that
             some
             unusual
             noise
             does
             hear
             .
          
           
           
             With
             Canon
             ,
             Trumpets
             ,
             Drums
             ,
             his
             door
             surround
             ,
          
           
             But
             let
             some
             other
             Painter
             draw
             the
             sound
             :
          
           
             Thrice
             did
             he
             rise
             ,
             thrice
             the
             vain
             Tumult
             led
             ,
          
           
             But
             again
             thunders
             when
             he
             lyes
             in
             Bed
             ;
          
           
             His
             mind
             secure
             does
             the
             known
             stroke
             repeat
             ,
          
           
             And
             finds
             the
             Drums
             
             Lewis's
             March
             did
             beat
             .
          
        
         
           
             Shake
             then
             the
             room
             ,
             and
             all
             his
             Curtains
             tear
             ,
          
           
             And
             with
             blue
             streaks
             infect
             the
             Taper
             clear
             :
          
           
             While
             ,
             the
             pale
             Ghosts
             ,
             his
             Eye
             does
             fixt
             admire
          
           
             Of
             Grandsire
             
               H
               —
               y
            
             ,
             and
             of
             
               C
               —
               s
            
             his
             Sire
             .
          
           
             
               H
               —
               y
            
             sits
             down
             ,
             and
             in
             his
             open
             side
          
           
             The
             grizly
             Wound
             reveals
             ,
             of
             which
             he
             dy'd
             .
          
           
             And
             ghastly
             
               C
               —
               s
            
             ,
             turning
             his
             Collar
             low
             ,
          
           
             The
             purple
             thread
             about
             his
             Neck
             does
             show
             :
          
           
             Then
             ,
             whisp'ring
             to
             his
             Son
             in
             Words
             unheard
             ,
          
           
             Through
             the
             lock'd
             door
             both
             of
             them
             disappear'd
             .
          
           
             The
             wondrous
             Night
             the
             pensive
             King
             revolves
             ,
          
           
             And
             rising
             ,
             straight
             on
             H
             —
             's
             Disgrace
             resolves
             .
          
        
         
           
             At
             his
             first
             step
             ,
             he
             
               C
               —
               n
            
             does
             find
             ,
          
           
             
               B
               —
               t
            
             and
             
               C
               —
               y
            
             ,
             as
             't
             were
             design'd
             .
          
           
             And
             they
             ,
             not
             knowing
             ,
             the
             same
             thing
             propose
             ,
          
           
             Which
             his
             hid
             mind
             did
             in
             its
             depths
             inclose
             .
          
           
             Through
             their
             feign'd
             speech
             their
             secret
             hearts
             he
             knew
             ;
          
           
             To
             her
             own
             Husband
             ,
             
               C
               —
               n
            
             ,
             untrue
             .
          
           
             False
             to
             his
             Master
             
               B
               —
               l
               ,
               A
               —
               n
               ,
            
          
           
             And
             
               C
               —
               y
            
             ,
             falser
             than
             any
             one
             ,
          
           
             Who
             to
             the
             Brother
             ,
             Brother
             would
             betray
             ;
          
           
             Nor
             therefore
             trusts
             himself
             to
             such
             as
             they
             .
          
           
             His
             Fathers
             Ghost
             too
             whisper'd
             him
             one
             Note
             ,
          
           
             That
             who
             does
             cut
             his
             Purse
             will
             cut
             his
             Throat
             .
          
           
             But
             in
             wise
             anger
             he
             their
             Crimes
             sorbears
             ,
          
           
             As
             Thieves
             repriev'd
             for
             Executioners
             ;
          
           
             While
             
               H
               —
               e
            
             provok'd
             his
             foaming
             tusk
             does
             whet
             ,
          
           
             To
             prove
             them
             Traytors
             ,
             and
             himself
             the
             Pett
             .
          
        
         
           
             Painter
             adieu
             ,
             how
             will
             our
             Arts
             agree
             ;
          
           
             Poetick
             Picture
             ,
             Painted
             Poetry
             .
          
           
             But
             this
             great
             work
             is
             for
             our
             Monarch
             fit
             ,
          
           
             And
             henceforth
             
               C
               —
               s
            
             only
             to
             
               C
               —
               s
            
             shall
             sit
             .
          
           
             His
             Master-hand
             the
             Ancients
             shall
             out-do
             :
          
           
             Himself
             the
             Poet
             and
             the
             Painter
             too
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           To
           the
           KING
           .
        
         
           
             SO
             his
             bold
             Tube
             ,
             Man
             ,
             to
             the
             Sun
             apply'd
             ,
          
           
             And
             Spots
             unknown
             to
             the
             bright
             Star
             descry'd
             ;
          
           
             Show'd
             they
             obscure
             him
             ,
             while
             too
             near
             they
             please
             ,
          
           
             And
             seem
             his
             Courtiers
             ,
             are
             but
             his
             disease
             .
          
           
             Through
             Optick
             Trunk
             the
             Planet
             seem'd
             to
             hear
             ,
          
           
             And
             hurls
             them
             off
             ,
             e're
             since
             ,
             in
             his
             Career
             .
          
        
         
           
             And
             you
             ,
             
               Great
               Sir
            
             ,
             that
             with
             him
             Empire
             share
             ,
          
           
             Sun
             of
             our
             World
             ,
             as
             he
             the
             Charles
             is
             there
             .
          
           
             Blame
             not
             the
             Muse
             that
             brought
             those
             spots
             to
             sight
             ,
          
           
             Which
             ,
             in
             your
             Splendor
             hid
             ,
             Corrode
             your
             Light
             ;
          
           
             Kings
             in
             the
             Country
             oft
             have
             gone
             astray
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             of
             a
             Peasant
             scorn'd
             to
             learn
             the
             way
             .
          
        
         
           
             Would
             she
             the
             unattended
             Throne
             reduce
             ,
          
           
             Banishing
             Love
             ,
             Trust
             ,
             Ornament
             and
             Use
             ;
          
           
             Better
             it
             were
             to
             live
             in
             Cloysters
             Lock
             ,
          
           
             Or
             in
             fair
             Fields
             to
             rule
             the
             easie
             Flock
             .
          
           
             She
             blames
             them
             only
             who
             the
             Court
             restrain
             ,
          
           
             And
             ,
             where
             all
             England
             serves
             ,
             themselves
             would
             reign
             .
          
        
         
           
             Bold
             and
             accurs'd
             are
             they
             ,
             that
             all
             this
             while
          
           
             Have
             strove
             to
             Isle
             the
             Monarch
             from
             his
             Isle
             :
          
           
             And
             to
             improve
             themselves
             ,
             on
             false
             pretence
             ,
          
           
             About
             the
             Common
             Prince
             have
             rais'd
             a
             Fence
             ;
          
           
             The
             Kingdom
             from
             the
             Crown
             distinct
             would
             see
             ,
          
           
             And
             peal
             the
             Bark
             to
             burn
             at
             last
             the
             Tree
             .
          
           
             (
             But
             Ceres
             Corn
             ,
             and
             Flora
             is
             the
             Spring
             ,
          
           
             Bacchus
             is
             Wine
             ,
             the
             Country
             is
             the
             King.
             )
          
        
         
           
             Not
             so
             does
             Rust
             insinuating
             wear
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             Powder
             so
             the
             vaulted
             Bastion
             tear
             ;
          
           
             Nor
             Earthquake
             so
             an
             hollow
             Isle
             overwhelm
             ,
          
           
             As
             scratching
             Courtiers
             undermine
             a
             Realm
             :
          
           
             And
             through
             the
             Palace's
             Foundations
             bore
             ,
          
           
             Burr'wing
             themselves
             to
             hoard
             their
             guilty
             Store
             .
          
           
             The
             smallest
             Vermin
             make
             the
             greatest
             waste
             ,
          
           
             And
             a
             poor
             Warren
             once
             a
             City
             rais'd
             .
          
           
             But
             they
             whom
             born
             to
             Virtue
             and
             to
             Wealth
             ,
          
           
             Whom
             neither
             flatt'ry
             binds
             ,
             nor
             want
             to
             stealth
             ;
          
           
             Whose
             Conscience
             and
             whose
             Courage
             high
          
           
             With
             Counsels
             their
             large
             Souls
             supply
             ;
          
           
             That
             serve
             the
             King
             with
             their
             Estates
             and
             Care
             ,
          
           
             And
             ,
             as
             in
             Love
             ,
             on
             Parliaments
             can
             stare
             :
          
           
             (
             Where
             few
             the
             number
             ,
             choice
             is
             there
             less
             hard
             )
          
           
             Give
             us
             this
             Court
             ,
             and
             rule
             without
             a
             Guard.
             
          
        
      
       
         
         
           ROCHESTER
           
             's
             Farewel
          
           .
        
         
           
             TIr'd
             with
             the
             noysom
             Follies
             of
             the
             Age
             ,
          
           
             And
             weary
             of
             my
             Part
             ,
             I
             quit
             the
             Stage
             ;
          
           
             For
             who
             in
             Life's
             dull
             Farce
             a
             Part
             would
             bear
             ,
          
           
             Where
             Rogues
             ,
             Whores
             ,
             Bawds
             ,
             all
             the
             head
             Actors
             are
             ?
          
           
             Long
             I
             with
             Charitable
             Malice
             strove
             ,
          
           
             Lashing
             the
             Court
             ,
             those
             Vermin
             to
             remove
             ,
          
           
             But
             thriving
             Vice
             under
             the
             rod
             still
             grew
             ,
          
           
             As
             aged
             Letchers
             whipp'd
             ,
             their
             Lust
             renew
             ;
          
           
             What
             though
             my
             Life
             hath
             unsuccessful
             been
             ,
          
           
             (
             For
             who
             can
             this
             Augean
             Stable
             clean
             )
          
           
             My
             gen'rous
             end
             I
             will
             pursue
             in
             Death
             ,
          
           
             And
             at
             Mankind
             rail
             with
             my
             parting
             breath
             .
          
           
             First
             ,
             the
             Tangier
             Bullies
             must
             appear
             ,
          
           
             With
             open
             Brav'ry
             ,
             and
             dissembled
             Fear
             :
          
           
             
               M
               —
               e
            
             their
             Head
             ,
             but
             Gen'ral
             have
             a
             care
             ,
          
           
             Though
             skill'd
             in
             all
             those
             Arts
             that
             cheat
             the
             fair
             ,
          
           
             The
             Undiscerning
             and
             Impartial
             Moor
             ,
          
           
             Spares
             not
             the
             Lover
             on
             the
             Ladies
             score
             .
          
           
             Think
             how
             many
             perish
             by
             one
             fatal
             shot
             ,
          
           
             The
             Conquests
             all
             thy
             Goggling
             ever
             got
             .
          
           
             Think
             then
             (
             as
             I
             presume
             you
             do
             )
             how
             all
          
           
             The
             English
             Ladies
             will
             lament
             your
             fall
             ;
          
           
             Scarce
             will
             there
             greater
             Grief
             pierce
             every
             heart
             ,
          
           
             Should
             Sir
             
               George
               H
               —
            
             ,
             or
             Sir
             C
             —
             depart
             .
          
           
             Had
             it
             not
             better
             been
             than
             thus
             to
             roam
             ,
          
           
             To
             stay
             and
             play
             the
             Cravat-string
             at
             home
             ?
          
           
             To
             strut
             ,
             look
             big
             ,
             shake
             Pantaloon
             ,
             and
             swear
          
           
             With
             
               H
               —
               ,
               D
               —
            
             ,
             there
             's
             no
             Action
             there
             .
          
           
             Had'st
             thou
             no
             friend
             that
             wou'd
             to
             R
             —
             write
             ,
          
           
             To
             hinder
             this
             thy
             eagerness
             to
             fight
             ?
          
           
             That
             without
             danger
             thou
             a
             Brave
             might'st
             be
             ,
          
           
             As
             sure
             to
             be
             deny'd
             as
             
               S
               —
               y.
            
          
           
             This
             sure
             the
             Ladies
             had
             not
             fail'd
             to
             do
             ,
          
           
             But
             who
             such
             Courage
             could
             suspect
             in
             you
             ?
          
           
             For
             say
             ,
             what
             Reason
             could
             with
             you
             prevail
             ,
          
           
             To
             change
             Embroider'd
             Coat
             for
             Coat
             of
             Mail
             ?
          
           
           
             Let
             
               P
               —
               h
            
             ,
             or
             let
             
               M
               —
               t
            
             go
             ,
             whom
             Fate
          
           
             Has
             made
             not
             Valiant
             ,
             but
             desperate
             .
          
           
             For
             who
             could
             not
             be
             weary
             of
             his
             Life
             ,
          
           
             Who
             's
             lost
             his
             Money
             ,
             or
             has
             got
             a
             Wife
             ?
          
           
             To
             the
             more
             tolerable
             Alcaid
             of
             Alcazzer
             ,
          
           
             One
             flies
             from
             Creditors
             ,
             the
             other
             from
             Torrezer
             ;
          
           
             'T
             were
             Cruelty
             to
             make
             so
             sharp
             Remarks
             ,
          
           
             On
             all
             the
             little
             ,
             forward
             ,
             fighting
             Sparks
             ;
          
           
             Only
             Poor
             C
             —
             I
             can't
             but
             pitty
             thee
             ,
          
           
             When
             all
             the
             pert
             young
             Voluntiers
             I
             see
             .
          
           
             Those
             Chits
             of
             War
             ,
             who
             as
             much
             mirth
             create
          
           
             As
             the
             Pair
             Royal
             of
             the
             Chits
             of
             State
             ,
          
           
             Their
             Names
             shall
             equal
             all
             excelling
             Glory
             ,
          
           
             Chit
             
               S
               —
               d
            
             ,
             Chit
             
               G
               —
               n
            
             ,
             and
             Chit
             
               L
               —
               y.
            
          
           
             When
             thou
             let'st
             
               P
               —
               h
            
             ,
             't
             was
             such
             a
             Jest
             ,
          
           
             As
             when
             the
             Brother
             made
             the
             same
             request
             ;
          
           
             Had
             
               R
               —
               d
            
             but
             got
             leave
             as
             well
             as
             he
             ,
          
           
             The
             Jest
             had
             been
             compleat
             and
             worthy
             thee
             .
          
           
             Well
             ,
             since
             he
             must
             ,
             he
             'll
             to
             Tangier
             advance
          
           
             It
             is
             resolv'd
             ,
             but
             first
             let
             's
             have
             a
             Dance
             .
          
           
             First
             ,
             at
             her
             Highness
             Ball
             he
             must
             appear
             ,
          
           
             And
             in
             a
             parting
             Country
             Dance
             ,
             learn
             there
          
           
             With
             Drum
             and
             Fife
             to
             make
             a
             Jigg
             of
             War
             ;
          
           
             What
             is
             of
             Soldier
             seen
             in
             all
             the
             heap
             ,
          
           
             Besides
             the
             flutt'ring
             Feather
             in
             the
             Cap
             ,
          
           
             The
             Scarf
             ,
             and
             Yard
             or
             two
             of
             Scarlet
             Cloath
             ,
          
           
             From
             Gen'ral
             
               M
               —
               e
            
             down
             to
             little
             
               W
               —
               h
            
             ?
          
           
             There
             leave
             we
             them
             ,
             and
             back
             to
             England
             come
             ,
          
           
             Whereby
             the
             Wiser
             Sparks
             that
             stay
             at
             home
             ,
          
           
             In
             safe
             Ideas
             by
             their
             fancy
             form'd
             ,
          
           
             Tangier
             (
             like
             Mastrich
             )
             is
             at
             Windsor
             Storm'd
             .
          
           
             But
             now
             we
             talk
             of
             Mastrich
             ,
             where
             is
             he
             ,
          
           
             Fam'd
             for
             that
             brutal
             piece
             of
             Bravery
             ?
          
           
             He
             with
             his
             thick
             Impenetrable
             Skull
             ,
          
           
             The
             solid
             ,
             hard'ned
             Armour
             of
             a
             Fool
             ?
          
           
             Well
             might
             himself
             to
             all
             Wars
             ills
             expose
             ,
          
           
             Who
             (
             come
             what
             will
             yet
             )
             had
             no
             Brains
             to
             lose
             .
          
           
             Yet
             this
             is
             he
             ,
             the
             dull
             unthinking
             he
             ,
          
           
             Who
             must
             (
             forsooth
             )
             our
             future
             Monarch
             be
             .
          
           
             This
             Fool
             by
             Fools
             (
             
               A
               —
               g
            
             and
             
               V
               —
               n
            
             )
             led
             ,
          
           
             Dreams
             that
             a
             Crown
             will
             drop
             upon
             his
             Head
             ,
          
           
             By
             great
             example
             he
             this
             Path
             doth
             tread
             ,
          
           
             Following
             such
             sensless
             Asses
             up
             and
             down
             ,
          
           
             (
             For
             Saul
             sought
             Asses
             when
             he
             found
             a
             Crown
             .
             )
          
           
             But
             
               R
               —
               s
            
             is
             risen
             as
             Samuel
             at
             his
             call
             ,
          
           
             To
             tell
             that
             God
             hath
             left
             the
             ambitious
             Saul
             .
          
           
           
             Never
             (
             says
             Heaven
             )
             shall
             the
             blushing
             Sun
             ,
          
           
             See
             
               P
               —
               s
            
             Bastard
             fill
             the
             Regal
             Throne
             .
          
           
             So
             Heaven
             says
             ,
             but
             
               B
               —
               n
            
             says
             he
             shall
             ,
          
           
             But
             who
             e're
             he
             protects
             is
             sure
             to
             fall
             .
          
           
             Who
             can
             more
             certain
             of
             Destruction
             be
             ,
          
           
             Than
             he
             that
             trufts
             to
             such
             a
             Rogue
             as
             he
             ?
          
           
             What
             good
             can
             come
             from
             him
             who
             
               Y
               —
               k
            
             forsook
             ,
          
           
             T'espouse
             the
             Interest
             of
             this
             Booby
             Duke
             ?
          
           
             But
             who
             the
             best
             of
             Masters
             cou'd
             desert
             ,
          
           
             Is
             the
             the
             most
             fit
             to
             take
             a
             Traytors
             part
             .
          
           
             Ungrateful
             !
             This
             thy
             Master-piece
             of
             sin
             ,
          
           
             Exceeds
             ev'n
             that
             with
             which
             thou
             did'st
             begin
             .
          
           
             Thou
             great
             Proficient
             in
             the
             Trade
             of
             Hell
             ,
          
           
             Whose
             latter
             Crimes
             still
             do
             thy
             first
             excel
             :
          
           
             The
             very
             top
             of
             Villany
             we
             seize
             ,
          
           
             By
             steps
             in
             order
             ,
             and
             by
             just
             degrees
             .
          
           
             None
             e're
             was
             perfect
             Villain
             in
             one
             day
             ,
          
           
             The
             murder'd
             Boy
             to
             Treason
             led
             the
             way
             ;
          
           
             But
             when
             degrees
             of
             Villany
             we
             Name
             ,
          
           
             How
             can
             we
             choose
             but
             think
             on
             
               B
               —
               m
            
             ?
          
           
             He
             who
             through
             all
             of
             them
             hath
             boldly
             ran
             ,
          
           
             Left
             ne're
             a
             Law
             unbroke
             by
             God
             or
             Man.
          
           
             His
             treasured
             sins
             of
             Supererrogation
             ,
          
           
             Swell
             to
             a
             summ
             enough
             to
             damn
             a
             Nation
             :
          
           
             But
             he
             must
             here
             ,
             per
             force
             ,
             be
             let
             alone
             ,
          
           
             His
             acts
             require
             a
             Volumn
             of
             their
             own
             :
          
           
             Where
             rank'd
             in
             dreadful
             order
             shall
             appear
             ,
          
           
             All
             his
             Exploits
             from
             
               S
               —
               y
            
             to
             
               Le
               M
               —
            
             .
          
           
             But
             stay
             ,
             methinks
             I
             on
             a
             sudden
             find
             ,
          
           
             My
             Pen
             to
             treat
             of
             th'
             other
             Sex
             inclin'd
             ;
          
           
             But
             where
             in
             all
             this
             choice
             shall
             I
             begin
             ?
          
           
             Where
             ,
             but
             with
             the
             renowned
             
               M
               —
               e
            
             ?
          
           
             For
             all
             the
             Bawds
             the
             Courts
             rank
             Soil
             doth
             bear
             ,
          
           
             And
             Bawds
             and
             States-men
             grow
             in
             plenty
             there
             .
          
           
             To
             thee
             submit
             and
             yield
             ,
             should
             we
             be
             Just
             ,
          
           
             To
             thy
             experienc'd
             and
             well-travell'd
             Lust
             :
          
           
             Thy
             well-known
             Merits
             claim
             that
             thou
             should'st
             be
             ,
          
           
             First
             in
             the
             Glorious
             Roll
             of
             Infamy
             .
          
           
             To
             thee
             they
             all
             give
             place
             ,
             and
             Homage
             pay
             ,
          
           
             Do
             all
             thy
             Letcherous
             Decrees
             obey
             ;
          
           
             (
             Thou
             Queen
             of
             Lust
             ,
             thy
             Bawdy
             Subjects
             they
             .
             )
          
           
             While
             
               S
               —
               x
               ,
               B
               —
               ll
               ,
               Betty
               F
               —
               n
            
             come
             ,
          
           
             Thy
             Whores
             of
             Honour
             ,
             to
             attend
             thy
             Throne
             ;
          
           
             For
             what
             proud
             Strumpet
             e're
             could
             merit
             more
             ,
          
           
             Than
             be
             Anointed
             the
             Imperial
             Whore
             ?
          
           
           
             For
             tell
             me
             ,
             in
             all
             Europe
             ,
             where
             's
             the
             part
             ,
          
           
             That
             is
             not
             Conscious
             of
             thy
             Lewd
             desert
             .
          
           
             The
             great
             Pedalian
             Youth
             ,
             whose
             Conquests
             run
          
           
             O're
             all
             the
             World
             ,
             and
             Travall'd
             with
             the
             Sun
             ,
          
           
             Made
             not
             his
             Valour
             in
             more
             Nations
             known
             .
          
           
             Than
             thou
             thy
             Lust
             ,
             thy
             matchless
             Lust
             have
             shown
             ,
          
           
             All
             Climes
             ,
             all
             Countries
             ,
             do
             with
             Tribute
             come
             ,
          
           
             (
             Thou
             World
             of
             Lewdness
             )
             to
             thy
             boundless
             Womb
             :
          
           
             Thou
             Sea
             of
             Lust
             ,
             that
             never
             ebb
             dost
             know
             ,
          
           
             Whither
             the
             Ruines
             of
             all
             Nations
             flow
             .
          
           
             Lewd
             Messaline
             was
             but
             a
             Type
             of
             thee
             ,
          
           
             Thou
             highest
             ,
             last
             degree
             of
             Letchery
             :
          
           
             For
             in
             all
             Ages
             ,
             except
             her
             and
             you
             ,
          
           
             Who
             ever
             sinn'd
             so
             high
             ,
             and
             stoop'd
             so
             low
             .
          
           
             She
             to
             th'
             Imperial
             Bed
             each
             Night
             did
             use
             ,
          
           
             To
             bring
             the
             stink
             of
             the
             Exhausted
             Stews
             ;
          
           
             Tir'd
             (
             but
             not
             satisfy'd
             )
             with
             man
             did
             come
             ,
          
           
             Drunk
             with
             abundant
             Lust
             ,
             and
             reeling
             home
             .
          
           
             But
             thou
             ,
             to
             our
             admiring
             Age
             ,
             dost
             show
          
           
             More
             sin
             than
             Inn'cent
             Rome
             did
             ever
             know
             ;
          
           
             And
             having
             all
             her
             Lewdnesses
             out-ran
             ,
          
           
             Takes
             up
             with
             Devil
             ,
             having
             tir'd
             man
             :
          
           
             For
             what
             is
             else
             that
             loathsom
             uggly
             Black.
          
           
             Which
             you
             and
             
               S
               —
               x
            
             in
             your
             Arms
             do
             take
             ?
          
           
             Nor
             does
             Old
             Age
             ,
             which
             now
             rides
             on
             so
             fast
             ,
          
           
             Make
             thee
             come
             short
             of
             all
             thy
             Lewdness
             past
             :
          
           
             Though
             on
             thy
             Head
             ,
             Grey-hairs
             like
             
             Etna's
             Snow
          
           
             Are
             shed
             ,
             thou'
             rt
             Fire
             and
             Brimstone
             all
             below
             .
          
           
             Thou
             monstrous
             thing
             ,
             in
             whom
             at
             once
             does
             rage
          
           
             The
             flames
             of
             Youth
             ,
             and
             Impotence
             of
             Age.
          
           
             My
             Lady
             
               D
               —
               s
            
             takes
             the
             second
             place
             ,
          
           
             Proud
             with
             thy
             favour
             ,
             and
             peculiar
             grace
             ;
          
           
             E'n
             she
             with
             all
             her
             Piety
             and
             Zeal
             ,
          
           
             The
             hotter
             flames
             that
             burn
             in
             thee
             does
             feel
             .
          
           
             Thou
             dost
             into
             her
             kindling
             breast
             inspire
             ,
          
           
             The
             Lustful
             seeds
             of
             thy
             Contagious
             fire
             ;
          
           
             So
             well
             the
             Spirit
             and
             the
             Flesh
             agree
             ,
          
           
             Lust
             and
             Devotion
             ,
             Zeal
             and
             Letchery
             .
          
           
             Important
             use
             Religion
             's
             made
             ,
          
           
             By
             those
             who
             wisely
             drive
             the
             Cheating
             Trade
             ;
          
           
             As
             Wines
             Prohibited
             securely
             pass
             ,
          
           
             Changing
             the
             Name
             of
             their
             own
             Native
             place
             .
          
           
             So
             Vice
             grows
             safe
             ,
             drest
             in
             Devotions
             Name
             ,
          
           
             Unquestion'd
             by
             the
             Custom-house
             of
             Fame
             :
          
           
             Where
             e're
             so
             much
             of
             Sanctity
             you
             see
             ,
          
           
             Be
             more
             suspicious
             of
             hid
             Villany
             ;
          
           
           
             Whoseever
             Zeal
             is
             than
             his
             Neighbours
             more
             ,
          
           
             If
             man
             think
             he
             's
             a
             Rogue
             ,
             if
             Woman
             Whore
             :
          
           
             And
             such
             a
             thing
             art
             thou
             Religious
             Pride
             ,
          
           
             So
             very
             Lewd
             ,
             and
             yet
             so
             Sanctify'd
             .
          
           
             Let
             now
             the
             
               D
               —
               s
            
             take
             no
             further
             care
          
           
             Of
             humorous
             Stallions
             ,
             let
             her
             not
             dispair
             ,
          
           
             Since
             her
             Indulgent
             Stars
             so
             kind
             have
             been
             ,
          
           
             To
             send
             her
             
               B
               —
               y
            
             and
             
               M
               —
               e
            
             ,
          
           
             This
             last
             doth
             banisht
             
               M
               —
               s
            
             Place
             supply
             ,
          
           
             And
             Wit
             supplanted
             is
             by
             Letcher
          
           
             For
             
               M
               —
               h
            
             he
             had
             Parts
             ,
             and
             Wit
             ,
             and
             Sense
             ,
          
           
             To
             all
             which
             
               M
               —
               e
            
             had
             no
             pretence
             ;
          
           
             A
             proof
             that
             since
             such
             things
             as
             he
             prevail
             ,
          
           
             Her
             
               H
               —
               s
            
             Head
             is
             lighter
             than
             her
             Tail.
          
           
             But
             stay
             ,
             I
             
               P
               —
               h
            
             almost
             had
             forgot
             ,
          
           
             The
             common
             Theam
             of
             ev'ry
             Rhiming
             Sot
             ;
          
           
             She
             'll
             after
             railing
             make
             us
             laugh
             a
             while
             ,
          
           
             For
             at
             her
             Folly
             who
             can
             choose
             but
             smile
             ?
          
           
             While
             them
             who
             always
             slight
             her
             great
             she
             makes
             ,
          
           
             And
             so
             much
             pains
             to
             be
             despis'd
             she
             takes
             .
          
           
             Goes
             sauntring
             with
             her
             Highness
             up
             to
             Town
             ,
          
           
             To
             an
             Old
             Play
             ,
             and
             in
             the
             Dark
             come
             down
             ;
          
           
             Still
             makes
             her
             Court
             to
             her
             as
             to
             the
             Queen
             ,
          
           
             But
             still
             is
             Justled
             out
             by
             
               M
               —
               e.
            
          
           
             So
             much
             more
             Worthy
             a
             kind
             Bawd
             is
             thought
             ,
          
           
             Than
             ever
             she
             who
             her
             from
             Exile
             brought
             .
          
           
             O
             
               P
               —
               h
            
             ,
             foolish
             
               P
               —
               h
            
             !
             Not
             to
             take
          
           
             The
             offer
             the
             great
             
               S
               —
               d
            
             did
             make
             ,
          
           
             When
             Cringing
             at
             thy
             Feet
             ;
             e're
             
               M
               —
               h
            
             bow'd
             ,
          
           
             The
             Golden
             Calf
             ,
             that
             's
             Worshipp'd
             by
             the
             Crowd
             .
          
           
             But
             thou
             for
             
               Y
               —
               k
            
             ,
             who
             now
             despises
             thee
             ,
          
           
             To
             leave
             both
             him
             and
             Pow'rful
             
               S
               —
               v
            
             :
          
           
             If
             this
             is
             all
             the
             Policy
             you
             know
             ,
          
           
             This
             all
             the
             skill
             in
             States
             you
             boast
             of
             so
             ,
          
           
             How
             wisely
             did
             thy
             Country's
             Laws
             ordain
             ,
          
           
             Never
             to
             let
             the
             foolish
             Women
             Reign
             .
          
           
             But
             what
             must
             we
             expect
             ,
             who
             daily
             see
          
           
             Unthinking
             
               C
               —
               s
            
             Rul'd
             by
             Unthinking
             thee
             .
          
        
         
           FINIS
           .
        
      
    
     
  

