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           1689
        
      
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         A80112
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         45578270
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         172211
         
           
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             A Collection of poems on affairs of state; viz. ... / by A- M-l, Esq.; and other eminent wits. ; Most whereof never before printed.
             Marvell, Andrew, 1621-1678.
             Dryden, John, 1631-1700.
             Sprat, Thomas, 1635-1713.
             Waller, Edmund, 1606-1687.
          
           33 [i.e 32] p.
           
             [s.n.],
             London, :
             Printed in the year, MDCLXXXIX [1689]
          
           
             Reproduction of original in the University of Illinois (Urbana-Champaign Campus). Library.
             Advice to a painter -- Hodge's vision -- Britain and Raleigh -- Statue at Stocks-M. -- Young statesman -- To the K- -- Nostradamus prophecy -- Sir Edmondbery Godfrey's ghost -- On the King's voyage to Chattam -- Poems on Oliver / by Mr. Dryden, Mr. Sprat, and Mr. Waller.
          
        
      
    
     
       
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         eng
      
       
         
           Political poetry, English.
           Political satire, English.
           Great Britain -- History -- Restoration, 1660-1688 -- Poetry.
        
      
    
     
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           A
           COLLECTION
           OF
           POEMS
           ON
           Affairs
           of
           State
           ;
           Viz.
           
           
             
               
                 Advice
                 to
                 a
                 Painter
              
               .
            
             
               Hodge
               
                 's
                 Vision
              
               .
            
             
               Britain
               and
               Raleigh
               .
            
             
               
                 Statue
                 at
              
               Stocks
               —
               M
               —
            
             
               
                 Young
                 Statesman
              
               .
            
             
               
                 To
                 the
                 K
              
               —
            
             
               Nostradamus
               Prophecy
               .
            
             
               Sir
               Edmundbury
               Godfrey
               
                 's
                 Ghost
              
               .
            
             
               
                 On
                 the
                 King's
                 Voyage
                 to
              
               Chattam
               .
            
             
               
                 Poems
                 on
              
               Oliver
               ,
               
                 by
                 Mr.
              
               Dryden
               ,
               Mr.
               Sprat
               ,
               
                 and
                 Mr.
              
               Waller
               .
            
          
        
         
           By
           
             A
             —
             M
             —
             l
          
           
             Esq
          
           and
           other
           Eminent
           Wits
           .
        
         
           
             Most
             whereof
             never
             before
             Printed
          
           .
        
         
           LONDON
           ,
           Printed
           in
           the
           Year
           ,
           MDCLXXXIX
           .
        
         
         
         
      
    
     
       
         
           
           
           
             
               Advice
               to
               a
               Painter
               ,
               by
            
             A.
             M.
             
               Esq
            
          
           
             
               Spread
               a
               large
               Canvass
               ,
               Painter
               ,
               to
               contain
            
             
               The
               great
               Assembly
               ,
               and
               the
               num'rous
               Train
               ,
            
             
               Where
               all
               about
               him
               shall
               in
               Triumph
               sit
            
             
               Abhorring
               Wisdom
               and
               despising
               Wit
               ,
            
             
               Hating
               all
               Justice
               and
               resolv'd
               to
               Fight
               .
            
             
               First
               draw
               His
               Highness
               prostrate
               to
               the
               South
               ,
            
             
               Adoring
               Rome
               ,
               with
               this
               Speech
               in
               his
               Mouth
               .
            
          
           
             
               
                 Most
                 Holy
                 Father
              
               ,
               being
               joyn'd
               in
               League
            
             
               With
               Father
               
                 P
                 —
                 s
                 ,
                 D
                 —
                 y
                 ,
              
               and
               with
               Teague
               ,
            
             
               Thrown
               at
               your
               Sacred
               Feet
               ,
               
                 I
                 humbly
                 bow
              
               ,
            
             
               I
               and
               the
               wise
               Associates
               of
               my
               Vow
               ;
            
             
               A
               Vow
               ,
               nor
               Fire
               nor
               Sword
               shall
               ever
               end
               ,
            
             
               Till
               all
               this
               Nation
               to
               your
               Footstool
               bend
               :
            
             
               Thus
               arm'd
               with
               Zeal
               and
               Blessings
               from
               your
               Hands
               ,
            
             
               I
               'le
               raise
               my
               Papists
               ,
               and
               my
               Irish
               Bands
               ;
            
             
               And
               by
               a
               Noble
               well-contrived
               Plot
               ,
            
             
               Manag'd
               by
               wise
               Fitz
               —
               and
               by
               Scot
               ,
            
             
               Prove
               to
               the
               World
               ,
               I
               'le
               have
               Old
               England
               know
               ,
            
             
               That
               
                 common
                 Sense
              
               is
               my
               
                 Eternal
                 Foe
              
               .
            
             
               I
               ne'r
               can
               fight
               in
               a
               more
               
                 glorious
                 Cause
              
               ,
            
             
               Than
               to
               destroy
               their
               Liberty
               and
               Laws
               ,
            
             
               Their
               House
               of
               Commons
               ,
               and
               their
               House
               of
               Lords
               ,
            
             
               
                 Parliaments
                 ,
                 Precedents
              
               and
               dull
               Records
               ;
            
             
               Shall
               these
               e'r
               dare
               to
               contradict
               my
               Will
               ,
            
             
               And
               think
               
                 a
                 Prince
                 o
                 th'
                 Blood
                 can
                 e'r
                 do
                 Ill
                 ?
              
            
             
               It
               is
               our
               Birth-right
               to
               have
               Power
               to
               kill
               .
            
             
               Shall
               they
               e're
               dare
               to
               think
               they
               shall
               decide
            
             
               The
               Way
               to
               Heaven
               ,
               and
               who
               shall
               be
               my
               Guide
               ?
            
             
               Shall
               they
               pretend
               to
               say
               ,
               That
               Bread
               is
               Bread
               ,
            
             
               Or
               there
               's
               no
               Purgatory
               for
               the
               Dead
               ?
            
             
               That
               
                 Extream
                 Unction
              
               is
               but
               common
               Oyl
               ,
            
             
               And
               not
               Infallibly
               the
               Roman
               Spoil
               ?
            
             
               I
               will
               have
               Villains
               in
               our
               Notions
               rest
               ,
            
             
               And
               I
               do
               say
               it
               ,
               therefore
               it
               's
               the
               best
               .
            
          
           
             
               Next
               Painter
               draw
               his
               M
               —
               by
               his
               side
               ,
            
             
               Conveying
               his
               Religion
               and
               his
               Bride
               ;
            
             
               He
               who
               long
               since
               abjur'd
               the
               Royal
               Line
               ,
            
             
               Does
               now
               in
               Popery
               with
               his
               Master
               joyn
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               Then
               draw
               the
               Princess
               with
               her
               golden
               Locks
               ,
            
             
               Hastning
               to
               be
               envenom'd
               with
               the
               P
               —
            
             
               And
               in
               her
               youthful
               Veins
               receive
               a
               Wound
               ,
            
             
               Which
               sent
               
                 N.
                 H.
              
               before
               her
               ,
               under
               Ground
               ;
            
             
               The
               Wound
               of
               which
               the
               tainted
               Ch
               —
               fades
               ,
            
             
               Laid
               up
               in
               Store
               for
               a
               new
               Set
               of
               Maids
               .
            
             
               Poor
               Princess
               ,
               born
               under
               a
               sullen
               Star
               ,
            
             
               To
               find
               such
               Welcome
               when
               you
               came
               so
               far
               !
            
             
               Better
               some
               jealous
               Neighbour
               of
               your
               own
            
             
               Had
               call'd
               you
               to
               a
               Sound
               ,
               tho'
               petty
               Throne
               ,
            
             
               Where
               'twixt
               a
               wholesom
               Husband
               and
               a
               Page
               ,
            
             
               You
               might
               have
               linger'd
               out
               a
               lazy
               Age
               ,
            
             
               Than
               on
               dull
               Hopes
               of
               being
               here
               a
               Q
               —
            
             
               E're
               twenty
               dye
               ,
               and
               rot
               before
               fifteen
               .
            
          
           
             
               Now
               Painter
               shew
               us
               in
               the
               Blackest
               Dye
               ,
            
             
               The
               Counsellors
               of
               all
               this
               Villany
               :
            
             
               
                 Cl
                 —
                 d
              
               ,
               who
               first
               appear'd
               in
               humble
               guise
               ,
            
             
               Was
               always
               thought
               too
               Gentle
               ,
               Meek
               and
               Wise
               :
            
             
               But
               when
               he
               came
               to
               act
               upon
               the
               Stage
               ,
            
             
               He
               prov'd
               the
               mad
               Cethegus
               of
               our
               Age
               ;
            
             
               He
               and
               his
               D
               —
               ke
               had
               both
               too
               great
               a
               Mind
               ,
            
             
               To
               be
               by
               Justice
               or
               by
               Law
               confin'd
               ;
            
             
               Their
               boyling
               Heads
               can
               hear
               no
               other
               Sounds
            
             
               Than
               Fleets
               and
               Armies
               ,
               Battails
               ,
               Blood
               and
               Woun'd
               's
               ;
            
             
               And
               to
               destroy
               our
               Liberty
               they
               hope
               ,
            
             
               By
               Irish
               Talbot
               ,
               and
               old
               doting
               Pope
               .
            
          
           
             
               Next
               Talbot
               must
               by
               his
               great
               Master
               stand
               ,
            
             
               Laden
               with
               
                 Folly
                 ,
                 Flesh
              
               ,
               and
               
                 Ill-got
                 Land
              
               ;
            
             
               He
               's
               of
               a
               size
               indeed
               to
               fill
               a
               Porch
               ,
            
             
               But
               ne're
               can
               make
               a
               
                 Pillar
                 of
                 the
                 Church
              
               ;
            
             
               His
               Sword
               is
               all
               his
               Argument
               ,
               not
               his
               Book
               ,
            
             
               Alt
               ho
               no
               Scholar
               ,
               he
               can
               act
               the
               Cook
               ;
            
             
               And
               will
               cut
               Throats
               again
               ,
               if
               he
               be
               paid
               ;
            
             
               In
               th'
               Irish
               Shambles
               he
               first
               learn'd
               the
               Trade
               .
            
          
           
             
               Then
               Painter
               shew
               thy
               Skill
               ,
               and
               in
               fit
               place
               ,
            
             
               Let
               's
               see
               the
               
                 Nuncio
                 A
              
               —
               ll's
               sweet
               Face
               .
            
             
               Let
               the
               Beholders
               by
               thy
               Art
               espy
            
             
               His
               Sense
               and
               Soul
               ,
               as
               squinting
               as
               his
               Eye
               .
            
          
           
             
               Let
               
                 B
                 —
                 s
              
               autumnal
               Face
               be
               seen
               ,
            
             
               Rich
               with
               the
               Spoils
               of
               a
               poor
               Algerine
               ,
            
             
               Who
               trusting
               in
               him
               ,
               was
               by
               him
               betray'd
               ;
            
             
               And
               so
               shall
               we
               when
               his
               Advice's
               obey'd
               :
            
             
               Great
               Heroes
               to
               get
               Honour
               by
               the
               Sword
               ,
            
             
               He
               got
               his
               Wealth
               by
               breaking
               of
               his
               Word
               ;
            
             
               And
               now
               his
               Daughter
               he
               hath
               got
               with
               Child
               ,
            
             
               And
               Pimps
               to
               have
               his
               Family
               defil'd
               ,
            
          
           
             
             
               Next
               Painter
               draw
               the
               Rabble
               of
               the
               Plot
               ,
            
             
               
                 G
                 —
                 n
                 ,
                 Fitz
                 G
                 —
                 d
                 ,
                 Loftus
                 ,
                 Porter
                 ,
                 Scot
                 :
              
            
             
               These
               are
               fit
               Heads
               indeed
               ,
               to
               turn
               a
               State
               ,
            
             
               And
               change
               the
               Order
               of
               a
               Nations
               Fate
               ;
            
             
               Ten
               thousand
               such
               as
               these
               shall
               ne'r
               controul
            
             
               The
               smallest
               Atom
               of
               an
               English
               Soul.
               
            
          
           
             
               Old
               England
               on
               a
               strong
               Foundation
               stands
               ,
            
             
               Defying
               all
               their
               Heads
               and
               all
               their
               Hands
               ,
            
             
               It
               s
               steady
               Basis
               never
               could
               be
               shook
               ,
            
             
               When
               
                 Wiser
                 Men
              
               her
               Ruin
               undertook
               :
            
             
               And
               can
               her
               
                 Guardian
                 Angels
              
               let
               her
               stoop
            
             
               At
               last
               ,
               to
               
                 Madmen
                 ,
                 Fools
              
               ,
               and
               to
               the
               Pope
               ?
            
             
               No
               Painter
               ,
               no
               close
               up
               this
               Piece
               and
               See
               ,
            
             
               This
               crowd
               of
               Traitors
               hang'd
               in
               EFFIGIE
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             Hodge
             ,
             
               a
               Countryman
               ,
               went
               up
               to
               the
               Piramid
               ,
            
             His
             VISION
             .
          
           
             
               WHen
               Hodge
               had
               numbred
               up
               ,
               how
               many
               Score
            
             
               The
               airy
               Piramid
               contain'd
               ,
               he
               swore
               ,
            
             
               No
               mortal
               Wight
               e'r
               climb'd
               so
               high
               before
               .
            
             
               To
               th'
               best
               Advantage
               plac'd
               ,
               he
               Views
               around
               ,
            
             
               Th'
               Imperial
               Throne
               with
               lofty
               Turrets
               crown'd
               ,
            
             
               The
               wealthy
               Store-house
               of
               the
               bounteous
               Flood
               ,
            
             
               Whose
               paceful
               Tide
               o're-flows
               our
               Land
               with
               Good
               :
            
             
               Confused
               Forms
               fleet
               by
               his
               wondring
               Eyes
               ,
            
             
               And
               his
               Soul
               too
               ,
               seiz'd
               by
               Divine
               surprize
               .
            
             
               Some
               God
               it
               seems
               had
               entred
               his
               plain
               Breast
               ,
            
             
               And
               with
               's
               Abode
               that
               Rustick
               Mansion
               blest
               .
            
             
               A
               mighty
               Change
               he
               feels
               in
               ev'ry
               part
               ;
            
             
               Light
               guides
               his
               Eyes
               ,
               and
               Wisdom
               rules
               his
               Heart
               :
            
             
               So
               when
               her
               pious
               Son
               ,
               fair
               Venus
               show'd
            
             
               His
               flaming
               Troy
               ,
               with
               slaughter'd
               
               Dardan's
               Strow'd
               ,
            
             
               She
               purg'd
               his
               Optick
               Films
               ,
               his
               clouded
               Sight
               ,
            
             
               Then
               
               Troy's
               last
               Doom
               he
               read
               by
               
               Heaven's
               Light
               ;
            
             
               Such
               Light
               Divine
               did
               seize
               the
               dazling
               Eyes
            
             
               Of
               humble
               Hodge
               .
            
          
           
             
               Regions
               remote
               ,
               Courts
               ,
               Councils
               ,
               Policies
            
             
               The
               Circling
               Wills
               of
               Tyrants
               Treacheries
            
             
               He
               views
               ,
               discerns
               ,
               deciphers
               ,
               penetrates
               ,
            
             
               From
               
               Charle's
               Dukes
               ,
               to
               
               Europe's
               armed
               States
               .
            
             
               He
               saw
               the
               Goatish
               King
               in
               his
               Alcove
               ,
            
             
               With
               secret
               Scenes
               of
               his
               incestuous
               Love
               ;
            
             
               To
               whom
               he
               spoke
               :
            
          
           
             
             
               Cease
               ,
               cease
               ,
               O
               Charles
               ,
               thus
               to
               pollute
               our
               Isle
               ;
            
             
               Return
               ,
               return
               to
               thy
               long
               wisht
               Exile
               ;
            
             
               There
               with
               thy
               Court
               desile
               the
               neighb'ring
               States
               .
            
             
               And
               by
               thy
               Crimes
               participate
               their
               Fates
               .
            
             
               He
               saw
               the
               Duke
               in
               his
               curst
               Divan
               set
            
             
               To
               's
               vast
               Designs
               reaching
               his
               Pigmy-Wit
               ,
            
             
               With
               a
               choice
               Knot
               of
               the
               Ignatian
               Crew
               ,
            
             
               Who
               th'
               way
               to
               Murthers
               and
               to
               Treasons
               shew
               :
            
             
               Dissenters
               they
               oppress
               with
               Laws
               severe
            
             
               That
               whilst
               we
               wound
               these
               innocents
               ,
               we
               fear
            
             
               Their
               cursed
               Seed
               we
               may
               be
               forc'd
               to
               spare
               .
            
             
               Twice
               the
               Reform'd
               must
               fight
               a
               double
               Prize
               ,
            
             
               That
               Rome
               and
               France
               may
               in
               their
               Ruines
               rise
               .
            
             
               Old
               Bonner
               single
               Hereticks
               did
               burn
               ,
            
             
               These
               Reform'd
               Cities
               into
               Ashes
               turn
               ,
            
             
               And
               ev'ry
               year
               new
               Fires
               make
               us
               mourn
               .
            
             
               
                 Hybernian
                 Tories
              
               plot
               his
               cruel
               Reign
               ,
            
             
               And
               thirst
               for
               English
               Martyrs
               Blood
               again
               .
            
             
               Our
               
                 Valiant
                 Youth
              
               abroad
               must
               learn
               the
               Trade
            
             
               Of
               unjust
               War
               ,
               their
               Countrey
               to
               invade
               ;
            
             
               Others
               at
               home
               must
               grind
               us
               to
               prepare
            
             
               Our
               Gallick
               Necks
               their
               Iron
               Yoke
               to
               wear
               .
            
             
               Ships
               ,
               once
               our
               Safety
               and
               our
               glorious
               Might
               ,
            
             
               Are
               doom'd
               with
               Worms
               and
               Rottenness
               to
               fight
               ;
            
             
               Whilst
               France
               rides
               Sovereign
               o're
               the
               British
               Main
               ,
            
             
               Our
               Merchants
               robb'd
               ,
               and
               brave
               Sea-men
               slain
               :
            
             
               T'
               insure
               his
               Plot
               ,
               France
               must
               his
               Legions
               send
               ,
            
             
               Rome
               to
               restore
               ,
               and
               to
               enthrone
               his
               Friend
               :
            
             
               Thus
               the
               rash
               Phaeton
               with
               Fury
               hurl'd
               ,
            
             
               And
               rapid
               Rage
               ,
               consumes
               the
               British
               World.
            
             
               Blast
               him
               ,
               O
               Heaven
               ,
               in
               his
               mad
               Career
               ,
            
             
               And
               let
               these
               Isles
               no
               more
               his
               Frenzy
               fear
               :
            
             
               Curst
               —
               whom
               all
               Mankind
               abhor
               ;
            
             
               False
               to
               thy self
               ,
               but
               to
               thy
               Friend
               much
               more
               ,
            
             
               To
               him
               who
               did
               thy
               promis'd
               Pardon
               hope
               ,
               
                 (
                 Coleman
              
               .
            
             
               And
               with
               pretended
               Transports
               kiss
               the
               Rope
               ;
            
             
               Ore-whelm'd
               with
               Grief
               ,
               and
               gasping
               out
               a
               Lie
               ,
            
             
               Deceiv'd
               ,
               and
               unprepar'd
               ,
               thou
               letst
               him
               die
            
             
               With
               equal
               Gratitude
               and
               Treachery
               .
            
          
        
         
           
           
             BRITANNIA
             and
             RALEIGH
             .
          
           
             By
             
               A.
               M.
            
             
          
           
             
               Brit.
               
            
             
               AH
               Raleigh
               ,
               when
               thou
               didst
               thy
               Breath
               resign
            
             
               To
               trembling
               James
               ,
               would
               I
               had
               quitted
               mine
               .
            
             
               Cubs
               did'st
               thou
               call
               them
               ?
               Hadst
               thou
               seen
               this
               Brood
            
             
               Of
               
                 Earls
                 ,
                 Dukes
              
               ,
               and
               Princes
               of
               the
               Blood
               ;
            
             
               No
               more
               of
               Scottish
               Race
               thou
               wouldst
               complain
            
             
               These
               would
               be
               Blessings
               in
               this
               spurious
               Reign
               .
            
             
               Awake
               ,
               arise
               from
               thy
               long
               blest
               Repose
               ;
            
             
               Once
               more
               with
               me
               partake
               of
               Morlace
               Woes
               .
            
          
           
             
               Ra.
               
            
             
               What
               mighty
               Pow'r
               hath
               forc'd
               me
               from
               my
               rest
               ?
            
             
               Oh
               mighty
               Queen
               ,
               why
               so
               untimely
               drest
               ?
            
          
           
             
               Brit.
               
            
             
               Favour'd
               by
               Night
               ,
               conceal'd
               in
               this
               Disguise
               ,
            
             
               Whilst
               the
               
                 lewd
                 Court
              
               in
               drunken
               Slumber
               lies
               ,
            
             
               I
               stole
               away
               ,
               and
               never
               will
               return
               ,
            
             
               Till
               England
               knows
               who
               did
               her
               City
               burn
               ;
            
             
               Till
               Cavaliers
               shall
               Favourites
               be
               deem'd
               ,
            
             
               And
               Loyal
               Sufferers
               by
               the
               Court
               esteem'd
               ,
            
             
               Till
               Liegh
               and
               Galloway
               shall
               Bribes
               reject
               ;
            
             
               Thus
               
               Osburn's
               Golden
               Cheat
               I
               shall
               detect
               :
            
             
               Till
               Atheist
               
                 L
                 —
                 le
              
               shall
               leave
               this
               Land
               ,
            
             
               And
               
                 Commons
                 Votes
              
               shall
               Cut-Nose
               Guards
               disband
               ;
            
             
               Till
               Kate
               a
               happy
               Mother
               shall
               become
               ,
            
             
               Till
               Charles
               loves
               Parliaments
               ,
               and
               James
               hates
               Roome
               .
            
          
           
             
               Ral.
               
            
             
               What
               fatal
               Crimes
               make
               you
               for
               ever
               fly
            
             
               Your
               once
               loved
               Court
               and
               Martyrs
               Progeny
               ?
            
          
           
             
               Brit.
               
            
             
               
                 A
                 Colony
                 of
                 French
                 possess
                 the
                 Court
                 ;
              
               
                 
                   Pimps
                   ,
                   Priests
                   ,
                   Buffoons
                
                 in
                 the
                 Privy
                 Chamber
                 sport
                 ;
              
               
                 Such
                 slimy
                 Monsters
                 ne'r
                 approacht
                 a
                 Throne
              
               
                 Since
                 
                 Pharaoh's
                 Days
                 ,
                 nor
                 so
                 defil'd
                 a
                 Crown
                 .
              
               
                 In
                 sacred
                 Ear
                 Tyrannick
                 Arts
                 they
                 croak
                 ,
              
               
                 Pervert
                 his
                 Mind
                 ,
                 and
                 good
                 Intentions
                 choak
                 ;
              
               
                 Tell
                 him
                 of
                 Golden
                 Indies
                 ,
                 Fairy
                 Lands
                 ,
              
               
                 Leviathan
                 ,
                 and
                 absolute
                 Commands
                 .
              
               
                 Thus
                 Fairy-like
                 the
                 King
                 they
                 steal
                 away
                 ,
              
               
                 And
                 in
                 his
                 room
                 a
                 Changling
                 Lewis
                 lay
                 .
              
               
                 How
                 oft
                 have
                 I
                 him
                 to
                 himself
                 restor'd
                 ,
              
               
                 In
                 's
                 left
                 the
                 Scale
                 ,
                 in
                 's
                 right
                 hand
                 plac'd
                 the
                 Sword
                 ?
              
               
                 Taught
                 him
                 their
                 use
                 ,
                 what
                 dangers
                 would
                 ensue
                 ,
              
               
                 To
                 them
                 who
                 strive
                 to
                 separate
                 these
                 two
                 ?
              
               
                 The
                 bloody
                 
                   Scotish
                   Chronicle
                
                 read
                 o're
                 ,
              
               
                 Shew'd
                 him
                 how
                 many
                 Kings
                 in
                 purple
                 gore
              
               
                 Were
                 hurl'd
                 to
                 Hell
                 by
                 cruel
                 Tyrant
                 Lore
                 .
              
            
             
               
               
                 The
                 other
                 day
                 fam'd
                 Spencer
                 I
                 did
                 bring
                 ,
              
               
                 In
                 lofty
                 Notes
                 
                 Tudor's
                 blest
                 Race
                 to
                 sing
                 ;
              
               
                 How
                 
                 Spain's
                 proud
                 Powers
                 her
                 Virgin
                 Arms
                 controul'd
                 ,
              
               
                 And
                 Gold'n
                 Days
                 in
                 peaceful
                 Order
                 roul'd
                 ;
              
               
                 How
                 like
                 ripe
                 Fruit
                 she
                 dropt
                 from
                 off
                 her
                 Throne
                 ,
              
               
                 Full
                 of
                 grey
                 Hairs
                 ,
                 good
                 Deeds
                 ,
                 and
                 great
                 Renown
                 .
              
               
                 As
                 the
                 Jessean
                 Hero
                 did
                 appease
              
               
                 Sauls
                 stormy
                 Rage
                 ,
                 and
                 stopt
                 his
                 black
                 Disease
                 ;
              
               
                 So
                 the
                 learn'd
                 Bard
                 ,
                 with
                 Artful
                 Song
                 supprest
              
               
                 The
                 swelling
                 Passion
                 of
                 his
                 canker'd
                 Breast
                 ,
              
               
                 And
                 in
                 his
                 Heart
                 kind
                 Influences
                 shed
              
               
                 Of
                 Country
                 Lore
                 by
                 Truth
                 and
                 Justice
                 bred
                 :
              
               
                 Then
                 ,
                 to
                 perform
                 the
                 Cure
                 so
                 full
                 begun
                 ,
              
               
                 To
                 him
                 I
                 shew'd
                 this
                 glorious
                 setting
                 Sun.
              
               
                 How
                 by
                 her
                 Peoples
                 Looks
                 pursu'd
                 from
                 far
                 ,
              
               
                 So
                 mounted
                 on
                 a
                 bright
                 Celestial
                 Car
                 ,
              
               
                 Out-shining
                 Virgo
                 ,
                 or
                 the
                 Julian
                 Star.
              
               
                 Whilst
                 in
                 Truths
                 Mirrour
                 this
                 good
                 Scene
                 he
                 spy'd
                 ,
              
               
                 Enter'd
                 a
                 Dame
                 ,
                 bedeckt
                 with
                 spotted
                 Pride
                 ,
              
               
                 Fair
                 
                   Flower
                   de
                   Luce
                
                 within
                 an
                 Azure
                 Field
                 ,
              
               
                 Her
                 left
                 Hand
                 bears
                 the
                 Ancient
                 Gallick
                 Shield
                 ,
              
               
                 By
                 her
                 usurp'd
                 ;
                 her
                 Right
                 a
                 bloody
                 Sword
                 ,
              
               
                 Inscrib'd
                 Leviathan
                 ,
                 our
                 Soveraign
                 Lord
                 ;
              
               
                 Her
                 towry
                 Front
                 a
                 fiery
                 Meteor
                 bears
                 ,
              
               
                 An
                 Exhalation
                 bred
                 of
                 Blood
                 and
                 Tears
                 ;
              
               
                 Around
                 her
                 
                 Jove's
                 lewd
                 rav'nous
                 Curs
                 complain
                 ,
              
               
                 Pale
                 Death
                 ,
                 Lust
                 ,
                 Tortures
                 ,
                 fill
                 her
                 pompous
                 Train
                 :
              
               
                 She
                 from
                 the
                 easie
                 King
                 Truth
                 's
                 Mirrour
                 took
                 ,
              
               
                 And
                 on
                 the
                 Ground
                 in
                 spiteful
                 Fall
                 it
                 broke
                 ;
              
               
                 Then
                 frowning
                 thus
                 ,
                 with
                 proud
                 Disdain
                 she
                 broke
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 Are
                 thred-bare
                 Virtues
                 Ornaments
                 for
                 Kings
                 ?
              
               
                 Such
                 poor
                 Pedantick
                 Toys
                 teach
                 Underlings
                 .
              
               
                 Do
                 Monarchs
                 rise
                 by
                 Virtue
                 or
                 by
                 Sword
                 ?
              
               
                 Who
                 e're
                 grew
                 great
                 by
                 keeping
                 of
                 his
                 Word
                 ?
              
               
                 
                 Virtue
                 's
                 a
                 faint
                 Green-Sickness
                 to
                 brave
                 Souls
                 ,
              
               
                 Dastards
                 their
                 Hearts
                 ,
                 their
                 active
                 Heat
                 controuls
                 :
              
               
                 The
                 Rival
                 God
                 ,
                 Monarchs
                 of
                 th'
                 other
                 World
                 ,
              
               
                 This
                 mortal
                 Poyson
                 amongst
                 Princes
                 hold
                 ;
              
               
                 Fearing
                 the
                 mighty
                 Projects
                 of
                 the
                 great
                 ,
              
               
                 Shall
                 drive
                 them
                 from
                 their
                 proud
                 Coelestial
                 Seat
                 ,
              
               
                 If
                 not
                 o're-aw'd
                 :
                 This
                 new-found
                 holy
                 Cheat
                 ,
              
               
                 Those
                 pious
                 Frauds
                 too
                 slight
                 ,
                 t'
                 insnare
                 the
                 brave
                 ,
              
               
                 Are
                 proper
                 Acts
                 of
                 long-ear'd
                 Rout
                 t'
                 inslave
                 .
              
               
                 Bribe
                 hungry
                 Priests
                 to
                 deifie
                 your
                 Might
                 ,
              
               
                 To
                 teach
                 your
                 Will
                 's
                 ,
                 your
                 only
                 Rule
                 to
                 Right
                 ;
              
               
                 And
                 sound
                 Damnation
                 to
                 all
                 that
                 dare
                 deny
                 't
                 .
              
               
               
                 Thus
                 Heaven
                 designs
                 '
                 gainst
                 Heaven
                 you
                 should
                 turn
                 ,
              
               
                 And
                 make
                 them
                 fear
                 those
                 powers
                 you
                 once
                 did
                 scorn
                 .
              
               
                 When
                 all
                 the
                 Gobling
                 Interest
                 of
                 Mankind
                 ,
              
               
                 By
                 Hirelings
                 sold
                 to
                 you
                 shall
                 be
                 resign'd
                 ;
              
               
                 And
                 by
                 Impostures
                 God
                 and
                 man
                 betray'd
                 ,
              
               
                 The
                 Church
                 and
                 State
                 you
                 safely
                 may
                 invade
                 ;
              
               
                 So
                 boundless
                 Law
                 in
                 its
                 full
                 power
                 shines
                 ,
              
               
                 Whil'st
                 your
                 starv'd
                 power
                 in
                 Legal
                 Fetters
                 pines
                 .
              
               
                 Shake
                 off
                 those
                 Baby
                 Bands
                 from
                 your
                 strong
                 Arms
                 ,
              
               
                 Henceforth
                 be
                 deaf
                 to
                 your
                 old
                 Witches
                 Charms
                 ;
              
               
                 Tast
                 the
                 delicious
                 Sweets
                 of
                 Sovereign
                 power
                 ,
              
               
                 'T
                 is
                 Royal
                 Game
                 whole
                 Kingdoms
                 to
                 deflower
                 .
              
               
                 Three
                 spotless
                 Virgins
                 to
                 your
                 Bed
                 I
                 'le
                 bring
                 ,
              
               
                 A
                 Sacrifice
                 to
                 you
                 their
                 God
                 and
                 King
                 :
              
               
                 As
                 these
                 grow
                 stale
                 we
                 'l
                 harras
                 human
                 kind
                 ,
              
               
                 Rack
                 Nature
                 till
                 new
                 pleasures
                 you
                 shall
                 find
                 ,
              
               
                 Strong
                 as
                 your
                 Reign
                 ,
                 and
                 beauteous
                 as
                 your
                 Mind
                 .
              
               
                 When
                 she
                 had
                 spoke
                 ,
                 a
                 confus'd
                 Murmour
                 rose
              
               
                 Of
                 
                   French
                   ,
                   Scotch
                   ,
                   Irish
                
                 ,
                 all
                 my
                 mortal
                 Foes
                 ,
              
               
                 Some
                 English
                 too
                 ,
                 O
                 shame
                 !
                 disguis'd
                 I
                 spy'd
                 ,
              
               
                 Led
                 all
                 by
                 the
                 wise
                 Son-in-Law
                 of
                 Hyde
                 ;
              
               
                 With
                 Fury
                 drunk
                 ,
                 like
                 Baccanels
                 they
                 Roar
                 ,
              
               
                 
                   Down
                   wth
                   that
                   common
                   Magna
                   Charta
                
                 Whore
                 :
              
               
                 With
                 joynt
                 Consent
                 on
                 helpless
                 Me
                 they
                 flew
                 ,
              
               
                 And
                 from
                 my
                 Charles
                 to
                 a
                 base
                 Goal
                 me
                 drew
                 ;
              
               
                 My
                 Reverend
                 Age
                 expos'd
                 to
                 Scorn
                 and
                 Shame
                 ,
              
               
                 To
                 Prigs
                 ,
                 Bawds
                 ,
                 Whores
                 ,
                 was
                 made
                 the
                 publick
                 Game
                 .
              
               
                 Frequent
                 Addresses
                 to
                 my
                 Charles
                 I
                 send
                 ,
              
               
                 And
                 my
                 sad
                 State
                 did
                 to
                 his
                 Care
                 commend
                 :
              
               
                 But
                 his
                 fair
                 Soul
                 transform'd
                 by
                 that
                 French
                 Dame
                 ,
              
               
                 Had
                 lost
                 a
                 sense
                 of
                 Honour
                 ,
                 Justice
                 ,
                 Fame
                 .
              
               
                 Like
                 a
                 tame
                 Spinster
                 in
                 's
                 Seraigl
                 he
                 sits
                 ,
              
               
                 Besieg'id
                 by
                 Whores
                 ,
                 Buffoons
                 and
                 Bastards
                 Chits
                 ;
              
               
                 Lull'd
                 in
                 Security
                 ,
                 rowling
                 in
                 Lust
                 ,
              
               
                 Resigns
                 his
                 Crown
                 to
                 Angel
                 
                 Cromwel's
                 Trust
                 .
              
               
                 Her
                 Creature
                 
                   O
                   —
                   e
                
                 ,
                 the
                 Revenue
                 steals
                 ,
              
               
                 False
                 
                   F
                   —
                   ch
                
                 ,
                 Knave
                 
                   Ang
                   —
                   ery
                
                 ,
                 misguide
                 the
                 Seals
                 ;
              
               
                 Mack-James
                 the
                 
                   Irish
                   Biggots
                
                 does
                 adore
                 :
              
               
                 His
                 French
                 and
                 Teague
                 commands
                 on
                 sea
                 and
                 shore
                 :
              
               
                 The
                 
                   Scotch
                   Scalado
                
                 of
                 our
                 Court
                 two
                 Isles
                 ,
              
               
                 Fale
                 
                   L
                   —
                   le
                
                 with
                 Adure
                 all
                 defiles
                 .
              
               
                 Thus
                 the
                 States
                 Right
                 marr'd
                 by
                 this
                 Hellish
                 Court
                 ,
              
               
                 And
                 no
                 one
                 left
                 these
                 Furies
                 to
                 cast
                 out
                 :
              
               
                 Ah
                 Vindex
                 come
                 ,
                 and
                 purge
                 the
                 poison'd
                 State
                 ;
              
               
                 Descend
                 ,
                 Descend
                 ,
                 e're
                 the
                 Cure's
                 desperate
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
             
               Ral.
               
            
             
               Once
               more
               great
               Queen
               thy
               Darling
               strive
               to
               save
               ,
            
             
               Rescue
               him
               again
               from
               scandal
               and
               the
               Grave
               ;
            
             
               Present
               to
               's
               Thoughts
               his
               long
               scorn'd
               Parliament
               ,
            
             
               The
               Basis
               of
               his
               Throne
               and
               Government
               :
            
             
               In
               his
               deaf
               Ears
               sound
               his
               dead
               Fathers
               Name
               ,
            
             
               Perhaps
               that
               Spell
               may
               his
               ill
               Soul
               reclaim
               ;
            
             
               Who
               knows
               what
               good
               Effects
               from
               thence
               may
               spring
               ?
            
             
               'T
               is
               God-like
               Good
               to
               save
               a
               falling
               King.
               
            
          
           
             
               Brit.
               
            
             
               
                 As
                 easily
                 learn'd
                 
                 Vertuoso's
                 may
              
               
                 With
                 the
                 Dogs
                 Blood
                 his
                 gentle
                 Kind
                 Convey
              
               
                 Into
                 the
                 Wolf
                 ,
                 and
                 make
                 him
                 Guardian
                 turn
                 ,
              
               
                 To
                 the
                 bleating
                 Flock
                 ,
                 by
                 him
                 so
                 lately
                 torn
                 ;
              
               
                 If
                 this
                 Imperial
                 Juice
                 once
                 taint
                 his
                 Blood
                 ,
              
               
                 'T
                 is
                 by
                 no
                 potent
                 Antidote
                 withstood
                 .
              
               
                 Tyrants
                 ,
                 like
                 Leprous
                 Kings
                 ,
                 for
                 publick
                 weal
                 ,
              
               
                 Should
                 be
                 immur'd
                 ,
                 lest
                 the
                 Contagion
                 steal
              
               
                 Over
                 the
                 whole
                 .
                 Th'
                 Elect
                 of
                 the
                 Jessean
                 Line
                 ,
              
               
                 To
                 this
                 firm
                 Law
                 their
                 Scepter
                 did
                 resign
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 To
                 the
                 serene
                 Venetian
                 State
                 I
                 'le
                 go
                 ,
              
               
                 From
                 her
                 sage
                 Mouth
                 fam'd
                 Principles
                 to
                 know
                 ;
              
               
                 With
                 her
                 ,
                 the
                 prudence
                 of
                 the
                 ancients
                 read
                 ,
              
               
                 To
                 teach
                 my
                 people
                 in
                 their
                 steps
                 to
                 tread
                 ;
              
               
                 By
                 their
                 great
                 Pattern
                 such
                 a
                 State
                 I
                 'le
                 frame
                 ,
              
               
                 Shall
                 eternize
                 a
                 glorious
                 lasting
                 Name
                 .
              
               
                 Till
                 then
                 ,
                 my
                 Raleigh
                 teach
                 our
                 noble
                 Youth
                 ,
              
               
                 To
                 love
                 Sobriety
                 and
                 holy
                 Truth
                 :
              
               
                 Watch
                 and
                 preside
                 over
                 their
                 tender
                 Age
                 ,
              
               
                 Lest
                 Court
                 Corruption
                 should
                 their
                 Soul
                 engage
                 :
              
               
                 Tell
                 them
                 how
                 Arts
                 and
                 Arms
                 in
                 thy
                 young
                 Days
              
               
                 Employ'd
                 our
                 Youth
                 ,
                 not
                 Taverns
                 ,
                 Stews
                 and
                 Plays
                 :
              
               
                 Tell
                 them
                 the
                 generous
                 Scorn
                 their
                 rise
                 does
                 ow
              
               
                 To
                 
                   Flattery
                   ,
                   Pimping
                
                 and
                 a
                 
                   Gawdy
                   Shew
                
                 :
              
               
                 Teach
                 them
                 to
                 scorn
                 the
                 
                   Corwells
                   ,
                   P
                   —
                   s
                   ,
                   Neils
                   ,
                
              
               
                 The
                 
                   Clevelands
                   ,
                   Osborns
                   ,
                   Berties
                   ,
                   Lau
                   —
                   ails
                   ,
                
              
               
                 
                   Poppea
                   ,
                   Tegoline
                
                 and
                 
                 Arteria's
                 Name
                 ,
              
               
                 Who
                 yield
                 to
                 these
                 in
                 Lewdness
                 ,
                 Lust
                 and
                 Fame
                 .
              
               
                 Make
                 'em
                 admire
                 the
                 
                   Talbots
                   ,
                   Sidneys
                   ,
                   Veres
                
                 ,
              
               
                 
                   Drake
                   ,
                   Cav'ndish
                   ,
                   Blake
                
                 ,
                 Men
                 void
                 of
                 slavish
                 Fears
                 ,
              
               
                 True
                 Sons
                 of
                 Glory
                 ,
                 Pillars
                 of
                 the
                 State
                 ,
              
               
                 On
                 whose
                 fam'd
                 Deeds
                 all
                 Tongues
                 and
                 Writers
                 wait
                 ;
              
               
                 When
                 with
                 bright
                 Ardour
                 their
                 bright
                 Souls
                 do
                 burn
                 ,
              
               
                 Back
                 to
                 my
                 dearest
                 Country
                 I
                 'le
                 return
                 .
              
               
                 
                 Tarquin's
                 just
                 Judge
                 and
                 
                 Caesar's
                 equal
                 Peers
                 ,
              
               
                 With
                 them
                 I
                 'le
                 bring
                 ,
                 to
                 dry
                 my
                 Peoples
                 Tears
                 .
              
               
                 Publicola
                 with
                 healing
                 Hands
                 shall
                 pour
              
               
                 Balm
                 in
                 their
                 Wounds
                 ,
                 and
                 shall
                 their
                 Life
                 restore
                 :
              
               
               
                 Greek
                 Arts
                 and
                 Roman
                 Arms
                 in
                 her
                 conjoyn'd
                 ,
              
               
                 Shall
                 England
                 raise
                 ,
                 relieve
                 opprest
                 Mankind
                 .
              
               
                 As
                 
                 Jove's
                 great
                 Son
                 th'
                 infested
                 Globe
                 did
                 free
              
               
                 From
                 noxious
                 Monsters
                 ,
                 hell-bred
                 Tyranny
                 ;
              
               
                 So
                 shall
                 my
                 England
                 in
                 a
                 Holy
                 War
                 ,
              
               
                 In
                 Triumph
                 bear
                 slain
                 Tyrants
                 from
                 afar
                 ;
              
               
                 Her
                 true
                 Crusado
                 shall
                 at
                 last
                 pull
                 down
              
               
                 The
                 Turkish
                 Crescent
                 and
                 the
                 Persian
                 Sun.
              
               
                 Freed
                 by
                 my
                 Labours
                 ,
                 Fortunate
                 Blest
                 Isle
                 ,
              
               
                 The
                 Earth
                 shall
                 rest
                 ,
                 the
                 Heaven
                 shall
                 on
                 thee
                 smile
                 ;
              
               
                 And
                 this
                 kind
                 Secret
                 for
                 Reward
                 shall
                 give
                 ,
              
               
                 No
                 Poysonous
                 Serpent
                 on
                 the
                 Earth
                 shall
                 live
                 .
              
            
          
        
         
           
             
               On
               the
            
             Statue
             at
             Stocks-Market
             .
          
           
             
               AS
               Citizens
               ,
               that
               to
               their
               Conquerors
               yield
               ,
            
             
               Do
               at
               their
               own
               Charge
               their
               own
               Citadel
               build
               ;
            
             
               So
               Sir
               Robert
               advanced
               the
               King's
               Statue
               ,
               a
               Token
            
             
               Of
               a
               Broker
               defeated
               ,
               and
               Lombard-street
               broken
               .
            
             
               Some
               thought
               it
               a
               mighty
               and
               gracious
               Deed
               ,
            
             
               Obliging
               the
               City
               with
               a
               King
               on
               a
               Steed
               ;
            
             
               When
               with
               honour
               he
               might
               from
               his
               Word
               have
               gone
               back
               ,
            
             
               Who
               that
               waits
               for
               a
               Calm
               ,
               is
               absolv'd
               by
               a
               Wreck
               :
            
             
               By
               all
               ,
               it
               appears
               from
               the
               first
               to
               the
               last
               ,
            
             
               To
               be
               as
               Revenge
               and
               as
               Malice
               forecast
               ,
            
             
               Upon
               the
               Kings
               Birth
               Day
               to
               set
               up
               a
               Thing
               ,
            
             
               That
               shews
               him
               a
               Monkey
               ,
               more
               like
               than
               a
               King.
            
             
               When
               each
               one
               that
               passes
               ,
               finds
               fault
               with
               the
               Horse
               ,
            
             
               Yet
               all
               do
               assure
               that
               the
               King
               is
               much
               worse
               :
            
             
               And
               some
               by
               the
               Likeness
               ,
               Sir
               Robert
               suspect
               ,
            
             
               That
               he
               did
               for
               the
               K
               —
               his
               own
               Statue
               erect
               .
            
             
               To
               see
               him
               so
               disguis'd
               ,
               the
               Herb-women
               chide
               ,
            
             
               Who
               upon
               their
               Panniers
               more
               decently
               ride
               :
            
             
               And
               so
               loose
               are
               his
               feet
               ,
               that
               all
               men
               agree
            
             
               Sir
               
                 William
                 Peak
              
               sits
               more
               faster
               than
               he
               :
            
             
               But
               a
               Market
               they
               say
               doth
               fit
               the
               King
               well
               ,
            
             
               Who
               oft
               Parliaments
               buys
               ,
               and
               Revenues
               doth
               sell
               :
            
             
               And
               others
               ,
               to
               make
               the
               Similitude
               hold
               ,
            
             
               Say
               his
               Majesty
               himself
               is
               oft
               bought
               and
               sold
               .
            
             
               Surely
               this
               Statue
               is
               more
               dangerous
               far
               ,
            
             
               Than
               all
               the
               Dutch
               Pictures
               that
               caused
               the
               War
               ;
            
             
               And
               what
               the
               Exchequer
               for
               that
               took
               on
               trust
               ,
            
             
               May
               henceforth
               be
               confiscated
               for
               Reasons
               most
               just
               .
            
          
           
             
               But
               Sir
               Robert
               ,
               to
               take
               the
               Scandal
               away
               ,
            
             
               Doth
               the
               fault
               upon
               the
               Artificer
               lay
               ;
            
             
             
               And
               alledges
               the
               thing
               is
               none
               of
               his
               own
               ;
            
             
               For
               he
               counterfeits
               only
               in
               Gold
               ,
               not
               in
               Stone
               .
            
             
               But
               Sir
               Knight
               of
               the
               Vine
               ,
               how
               came't
               in
               your
               thought
               ,
            
             
               That
               when
               to
               the
               Sc
               —
               Id
               your
               Liege
               you
               had
               brought
               ,
            
             
               With
               Canvas
               and
               Deals
               you
               ere
               since
               do
               him
               cloud
               ,
            
             
               As
               if
               you
               had
               meant
               it
               his
               Coffin
               and
               Shroud
               ?
            
             
               Hath
               Blood
               him
               away
               ,
               as
               his
               Crown
               he
               convey'd
               ?
            
             
               Or
               is
               he
               to
               
               Clayton's
               gone
               in
               Masquerade
               ?
            
             
               Or
               is
               he
               in
               his
               Cabal
               in
               his
               —
               set
               ?
            
             
               Or
               have
               you
               to
               the
               Compter
               remov'd
               him
               for
               Debt
               ?
            
             
               Methinks
               for
               the
               Equipage
               of
               this
               vile
               Scene
               ,
            
             
               That
               to
               change
               him
               into
               a
               Jack-Pudding
               you
               mean
               ,
            
             
               Or
               else
               thus
               expose
               him
               to
               Popular
               Flout
               ,
            
             
               As
               tho'
               we
               had
               as
               good
               have
               a
               King
               of
               a
               Clout
               .
            
             
               Or
               do
               you
               his
               Errors
               out
               of
               Modesty
               vail
            
             
               With
               three
               shatter'd
               Planks
               ,
               and
               the
               Rags
               of
               a
               Sail
               ,
            
             
               To
               expose
               how
               his
               Navy
               was
               shatter'd
               and
               torn
               ,
            
             
               The
               day
               that
               he
               was
               restored
               and
               born
               ?
            
             
               If
               the
               Judges
               and
               Parliament
               do
               not
               him
               enrich
               ,
            
             
               They
               will
               scarcely
               afford
               him
               a
               Rag
               to
               his
               Breech
               .
            
             
               Sir
               Robert
               affirms
               they
               do
               him
               much
               wrong
               ;
            
             
               'T
               is
               the
               Gravers
               Work
               to
               reform
               so
               long
               .
            
             
               But
               alas
               ,
               he
               will
               never
               arrive
               at
               his
               end
               ;
            
             
               For
               't
               is
               such
               a
               King
               no
               Chizzel
               can
               mend
               :
            
             
               But
               with
               all
               his
               faults
               pray
               give
               us
               our
               King
               ,
            
             
               As
               ever
               you
               hope
               December
               or
               Spring
               :
            
             
               For
               though
               the
               whole
               World
               cannot
               shew
               such
               another
               ,
            
             
               We
               had
               better
               have
               him
               than
               his
               P
               —
               '
               d
               Brother
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             A
             Young
             Gentleman
             ,
             desirous
             to
             be
             a
             Minister
             of
             State
             ,
             thus
             pretends
             to
             qualifie
             himself
             .
          
           
             TO
             make
             my self
             for
             this
             Employment
             fit
             ,
          
           
             I
             'le
             learn
             as
             much
             as
             I
             can
             ever
             get
          
           
             Of
             the
             Honourable
             
               G
               —
               y
            
             of
             R
             —
             Wit
             :
          
           
             In
             Constancy
             and
             sincere
             Loyalty
             ,
          
           
             I
             'le
             imitate
             the
             grateful
             Shaftsbury
             ;
          
           
             And
             that
             we
             may
             assume
             the
             Churches
             weal
             ,
          
           
             And
             all
             Disorder
             in
             Religion
             heal
             ,
          
           
             I
             will
             espouse
             Lord
             H
             —
             's
             Zeal
             :
          
           
           
             To
             pay
             Respect
             to
             Sacred
             Revelation
             ,
          
           
             To
             scorn
             th'
             affected
             Wit
             of
             Prophanation
             ,
          
           
             And
             rout
             Impiety
             out
             of
             the
             Nation
             :
          
           
             To
             suppress
             Vice
             and
             Scandal
             to
             prevent
             ,
          
           
             Buck
             —
             's
             Life
             shall
             be
             my
             Precedent
             ,
          
           
             That
             living
             Modal
             of
             good
             Covernment
             .
          
           
             To
             dive
             into
             the
             depth
             of
             Statesmen's
             Craft
             ,
          
           
             To
             search
             the
             Secrets
             of
             the
             subtlest
             Heart
             ,
          
           
             And
             hide
             my
             own
             designs
             with
             prudent
             Art
             :
          
           
             To
             make
             each
             Man
             my
             Property
             become
             ,
          
           
             To
             frustrate
             all
             the
             Plots
             of
             France
             or
             Rome
             ,
          
           
             None
             can
             so
             well
             instruct
             as
             my
             Lord
             Moon
             ;
          
           
             For
             Moral
             Honesty
             in
             Deed
             and
             Word
             ,
          
           
             Lord
             
               W
               —
               r
            
             Example
             will
             afford
             ;
          
           
             That
             ,
             and
             his
             Courage
             too
             ,
             are
             on
             Record
             .
          
        
         
           
             To
             the
             King.
             
          
           
             GReat
             Charles
             ,
             who
             full
             of
             Mercy
             ,
             wouldst
             command
          
           
             In
             Peace
             and
             Pleasure
             this
             ,
             his
             Native
             Land
             ;
          
           
             At
             last
             take
             pity
             of
             this
             tottering
             Throne
             ,
          
           
             Shook
             by
             the
             Faults
             of
             others
             ,
             not
             thine
             own
             .
          
           
             Let
             not
             thy
             Life
             and
             Crown
             together
             end
             ,
          
           
             Destroy'd
             by
             a
             false
             Brother
             and
             a
             Friend
             .
          
           
             Observe
             the
             danger
             that
             appears
             so
             near
             ,
          
           
             That
             all
             your
             Subjects
             do
             each
             minute
             fear
             :
          
           
             One
             drop
             of
             Poison
             ,
             or
             a
             
             Papist-Knife
             ,
          
           
             Ends
             all
             the
             Joy
             of
             England
             with
             thy
             Life
             .
          
           
             Brothers
             ,
             't
             is
             true
             ,
             by
             Nature
             ,
             should
             be
             kind
             ;
          
           
             But
             a
             too
             zealous
             and
             ambitious
             Mind
             ,
          
           
             Brib'd
             with
             a
             Crown
             on
             Earth
             ,
             and
             one
             above
             ,
          
           
             Harbours
             no
             Friendship
             ,
             Tenderness
             ,
             or
             Love
             :
          
           
             See
             in
             all
             Ages
             what
             Examples
             are
          
           
             Of
             Monarchs
             murther'd
             by
             their
             impatient
             Heir
             .
          
           
             Hard
             Fate
             of
             Princes
             ,
             who
             will
             ne're
             believe
          
           
             Till
             the
             Stroke's
             struck
             which
             they
             can
             ne're
             retrieve
             ▪
          
        
         
           
           
             
             Nostradamus's
             PROPHECY
             .
          
           
             By
             
               A.
               M.
            
             
          
           
             
               FOR
               Faults
               and
               Follies
               
               London's
               Doom
               shall
               fix
               ,
            
             
               And
               She
               must
               sink
               in
               Flames
               in
               
                 Sixty
                 six
              
               ;
            
             
               Fire-Balls
               shall
               fly
               ,
               but
               few
               shall
               see
               the
               Train
               ,
            
             
               As
               far
               as
               from
               White-hall
               to
               Pudding-Lane
               ,
            
             
               To
               burn
               the
               City
               ,
               which
               again
               shall
               rise
               ,
            
             
               Beyond
               all
               hopes
               ,
               aspiring
               to
               the
               Skies
               ,
            
             
               Where
               Vengeance
               dwells
               .
               But
               there
               is
               one
               thing
               more
            
             
               (
               Though
               its
               Walls
               stand
               )
               shall
               bring
               the
               City
               lower
               :
            
             
               When
               Legislators
               shall
               their
               Trust
               betray
               ,
            
             
               Saving
               their
               own
               ,
               shall
               give
               the
               rest
               away
               ;
            
             
               And
               those
               false
               men
               by
               th'
               easie
               People
               sent
               ,
            
             
               Give
               Taxes
               to
               the
               King
               by
               Parliament
               :
            
             
               When
               bare-fac'd
               Villains
               shall
               not
               blush
               to
               cheat
               ,
            
             
               And
               
               Chequer-Doors
               shall
               shut
               up
               Lumbard-street
               :
            
             
               When
               Players
               come
               to
               act
               the
               part
               of
               Queens
               ,
            
             
               Within
               the
               Curtains
               ,
               and
               behind
               the
               Scenes
               :
            
             
               When
               Sodomy
               shall
               be
               prime
               Min'sters
               Sport
               ,
            
             
               And
               Whoring
               shall
               be
               the
               least
               Crime
               at
               Court
               :
            
             
               When
               Boys
               shall
               take
               their
               Sisters
               for
               their
               Mate
               ,
            
             
               And
               practice
               Incests
               between
               Seven
               and
               Eight
               :
            
             
               When
               no
               man
               knows
               in
               whom
               to
               put
               his
               trust
               ,
            
             
               And
               e'en
               to
               rob
               the
               Chequer
               shall
               be
               just
               ;
            
             
               When
               Declarations
               ,
               Lie
               ,
               and
               every
               Oath
            
             
               Shall
               be
               in
               use
               at
               Court
               but
               Faith
               and
               Troth
               ;
            
             
               When
               two
               good
               Kings
               shall
               be
               at
               Brentford
               Town
               ,
            
             
               And
               when
               in
               London
               there
               shall
               be
               not
               one
               ;
            
             
               When
               the
               seat's
               given
               to
               a
               talking
               Fool
               ,
            
             
               Whom
               wise
               men
               laugh
               at
               ,
               and
               whom
               Women
               rule
               ;
            
             
               A
               Min'ster
               able
               only
               in
               his
               Tongue
               ,
            
             
               To
               make
               harsh
               ,
               empty
               speeches
               two
               hours
               long
               ;
            
             
               When
               an
               old
               Scotch
               Covenant
               shall
               be
            
             
               The
               Champion
               for
               th'
               English
               Hierarchy
               ;
            
             
               When
               Bishops
               shall
               lay
               all
               Religion
               by
               ,
            
             
               And
               strive
               by
               Law
               t'
               establish
               Tyranny
               ;
            
             
               When
               a
               lean
               Treasurer
               shall
               in
               one
               year
            
             
               Make
               himself
               fat
               ,
               his
               King
               and
               People
               bare
               ;
            
             
               When
               th'
               English
               Prince
               shall
               English
               men
               despise
               ,
            
             
               And
               think
               French
               only
               
                 Loyal
                 ,
                 Irish
              
               Wise
               ;
            
             
             
               When
               
                 Wooden
                 Shoon
              
               shall
               be
               the
               English
               wear
               ,
            
             
               And
               
                 Magna
                 Charta
              
               shall
               no
               more
               appear
               ;
            
             
               Then
               th'
               English
               shall
               a
               greater
               Tyrant
               know
            
             
               Than
               either
               Greek
               or
               Latin
               Story
               show
               ;
            
             
               Their
               Wives
               to
               's
               Lust
               expos'd
               ,
               their
               Wealth
               to
               's
               Spoil
               ,
            
             
               VVith
               Groans
               to
               fill
               his
               Treasury
               they
               toil
               ;
            
             
               But
               like
               the
               Bellides
               must
               sigh
               in
               vain
               ;
            
             
               For
               that
               still
               fill'd
               flows
               out
               as
               fast
               again
               ;
            
             
               Then
               they
               with
               envious
               Eyes
               shall
               Belgium
               see
               ,
            
             
               And
               wish
               in
               vain
               Venetian
               Liberty
               .
            
          
           
             
               The
               Frogs
               too
               late
               ,
               grown
               weary
               of
               their
               pain
               ,
            
             
               Shall
               pray
               to
               Jove
               to
               take
               him
               back
               again
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             Sir
             Edmondbury
             Godfrey
             
               's
               Ghost
            
             .
          
           
             
               IT
               happen'd
               in
               the
               Twilight
               of
               the
               Day
               ,
            
             
               As
               
               England's
               Monarch
               in
               his
               Closet
               lay
               ,
            
             
               And
               Chiffinch
               step'd
               to
               fetch
               the
               Female
               Prey
               ;
            
             
               The
               bloody
               shape
               of
               Godfrey
               did
               appear
               ,
            
             
               And
               in
               sad
               Vocal
               sounds
               these
               things
               declare
               :
            
             
               "
               Behold
               ,
               Great
               Sir
               ,
               I
               from
               the
               Shades
               am
               sent
               ,
            
             
               "
               To
               shew
               these
               Wounds
               that
               did
               your
               Fall
               prevent
               .
            
             
               "
               My
               panting
               Ghost
               ,
               as
               Envoy
               ,
               comes
               to
               call
               ,
            
             
               "
               And
               warn
               you
               ,
               lest
               ,
               like
               me
               ,
               y'
               untimely
               fall
               ;
            
             
               "
               Who
               against
               Law
               your
               Subjects
               Lives
               pursue
               ,
            
             
               "
               By
               the
               same
               rate
               may
               dare
               to
               murther
               you
               .
            
             
               "
               I
               ,
               for
               
                 Religion
                 ,
                 Laws
              
               ,
               and
               Liberties
               ,
            
             
               "
               Am
               mangled
               thus
               ,
               and
               made
               a
               Sacrifice
               .
            
          
           
             
               "
               Think
               what
               befel
               Great
               
               Egypt's
               hardned
               King
               ,
            
             
               "
               Who
               scorn'd
               the
               Profit
               of
               admonishing
               .
            
             
               "
               Shake
               off
               your
               brandy
               slumbers
               ;
               for
               my
               Words
            
             
               "
               More
               Truth
               than
               all
               your
               close
               Cabal
               affords
               :
            
             
               "
               A
               Court
               you
               have
               with
               Luxury
               oregrown
               ,
            
             
               "
               And
               all
               the
               Vices
               ere
               in
               Nature
               known
               ;
            
             
               "
               VVhere
               Pimps
               and
               Panders
               in
               their
               Coaches
               ride
               ,
            
             
               "
               And
               in
               Lampoons
               and
               Songs
               your
               Lust
               deride
               .
            
             
               "
               Old
               Bawds
               and
               slighted
               VVhores
               ,
               there
               tell
               ,
               with
               shame
               ,
            
             
               "
               The
               dull
               Romance
               of
               your
               Lascivious
               Flame
               .
            
             
               "
               Players
               and
               Scaramouches
               are
               your
               Joy
               ;
            
             
               "
               Priests
               and
               French
               Apes
               do
               all
               your
               Land
               annoy
               ;
            
             
               "
               Still
               so
               profuse
               ,
               you
               are
               insolvent
               grown
               ,
            
             
               "
               A
               Mighty
               Bankrupt
               on
               a
               Golden
               Throne
               .
            
             
             
               "
               Your
               nauseous
               Palate
               the
               worst
               Food
               doth
               crave
               ;
            
             
               "
               No
               wholsom
               Viands
               can
               an
               entrance
               have
               :
            
             
               "
               Each
               Night
               you
               lodge
               in
               that
               French
               Syren's
               Arms
            
             
               "
               She
               strait
               betrays
               you
               with
               her
               wanton
               Charms
               ;
            
             
               "
               Works
               on
               your
               Heart
               ,
               softned
               with
               Love
               and
               Wine
               ,
            
             
               "
               And
               then
               betrays
               you
               to
               some
               Philistine
               .
            
             
               "
               Imperial
               Lust
               does
               o're
               your
               Scepter
               sway
               ;
            
             
               "
               And
               though
               a
               Soveraign
               makes
               you
               to
               obey
               .
            
             
               "
               Yet
               thoughts
               so
               stupid
               have
               your
               Soul
               possess'd
               ,
            
             
               "
               As
               if
               inchanted
               by
               some
               
                 Magick
                 Priest
              
               .
            
             
               "
               Next
               he
               who
               '
               gainst
               the
               
               Senate's
               Vote
               did
               wed
               ,
            
             
               "
               Took
               defil'd
               H.
               and
               Hesti
               to
               his
               Bed
               :
            
             
               "
               Fiend
               in
               his
               Face
               ,
               Apostle
               in
               his
               Name
               ,
            
             
               "
               Contriv'd
               to
               Wars
               to
               your
               eternal
               shame
               .
            
             
               "
               He
               ancient
               Laws
               and
               Liberties
               defies
               ;
            
             
               "
               On
               standing
               Guards
               and
               new
               raised
               Force
               relies
               :
            
             
               "
               The
               Teagues
               he
               courts
               ,
               and
               doth
               the
               French
               admire
               ,
            
             
               "
               And
               fain
               he
               would
               be
               mounted
               one
               step
               higher
               .
            
             
               "
               All
               this
               by
               you
               must
               needs
               be
               plainly
               seen
               ,
            
             
               "
               And
               yet
               he
               awes
               you
               with
               his
               darling
               Spleen
               .
            
             
               "
               Th'
               unhappy
               Kingdom
               suffered
               much
               of
               Old
               ,
            
             
               "
               When
               Spencer
               and
               loose
               Gaveston
               controull'd
               ;
            
             
               "
               Yet
               they
               by
               just
               Decrees
               were
               timely
               sent
               ,
            
             
               "
               To
               suffer
               a
               perpetual
               Banishment
               .
            
             
               "
               But
               your
               bold
               States-men
               nothing
               can
               restrain
               ,
            
             
               "
               Their
               most
               enormous
               Courses
               you
               maintain
               ;
            
             
               "
               Witness
               that
               Man
               ,
               who
               had
               for
               divers
               years
            
             
               "
               Pay'd
               the
               
                 Cubb-Commons
                 ,
                 Pensions
              
               and
               Arrears
               ;
            
             
               "
               Though
               your
               Exchequer
               was
               at
               his
               Command
               ,
            
             
               "
               Durst
               not
               before
               his
               just
               Accuser
               stand
               ,
            
             
               "
               For
               Crimes
               and
               Treasons
               of
               so
               black
               a
               hue
               ,
            
             
               "
               None
               dare
               to
               prove
               his
               Advocate
               but
               you
               .
            
             
               "
               Trust
               not
               in
               Prelates
               false
               Divinity
               ,
            
             
               "
               Who
               wrong
               their
               Prince
               ,
               and
               shame
               their
               Deity
               ,
            
             
               "
               Making
               their
               God
               so
               partial
               in
               their
               Cause
               ,
            
             
               "
               Exempting
               Kings
               alone
               from
               humane
               Laws
               .
            
             
               "
               These
               lying
               Oracles
               they
               did
               infuse
            
             
               "
               Of
               old
               ,
               and
               did
               your
               
                 Martyr'd
                 Sire
              
               abuse
               .
            
             
               "
               Their
               strong
               delusions
               did
               him
               so
               inthral
               ,
            
             
               "
               No
               Cautions
               would
               anticipate
               his
               Fall.
            
             
               "
               Repent
               in
               time
               ,
               and
               banish
               from
               your
               sight
            
             
               "
               The
               Pimp
               ,
               the
               Whore
               ,
               Buffoon
               ,
               Church-parasite
               ;
            
             
               "
               Let
               Innocence
               deck
               your
               remaining
               days
               ,
            
             
               "
               That
               After-ages
               may
               unfold
               your
               Praise
               .
            
             
               "
               So
               may
               Historians
               in
               new
               Methods
               write
               ,
            
             
               "
               And
               draw
               a
               Curtain
               'twixt
               your
               black
               and
               white
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               The
               Ghost
               spake
               thus
               ,
               groan'd
               thrice
               ,
               and
               said
               no
               more
               :
            
             
               Straight
               in
               came
               Chiffinch
               hand
               in
               hand
               with
               Whore
               :
            
             
               The
               King
               tho'
               much
               concern'd
               with
               Joy
               and
               Fear
               ,
            
             
               Starts
               from
               the
               Couch
               and
               bid
               the
               
                 Dame
                 draw
                 near
              
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             
               Vpon
               the
               King's
               Voyage
               to
            
             Chatham
             ,
             
               to
               make
               Bulwarks
               against
               the
            
             Dutch
             :
             
               And
               the
               Queen's
               miscarriage
               thereupon
            
             .
          
           
             WHen
             James
             our
             great
             Monarch
             ,
             so
             Wise
             and
             Discreet
             :
          
           
             Was
             gone
             with
             three
             Barges
             ,
             to
             face
             the
             Dutch
             Fleet
             ▪
          
           
             Our
             young
             Prince
             of
             Wales
             (
             by
             inheritance
             stout
             !
             )
          
           
             Was
             coming
             to
             aid
             him
             and
             peep'd
             his
             Head
             out
             ;
          
           
             But
             seeing
             his
             Father
             without
             Ships
             or
             Men
             ,
          
           
             Commit
             the
             defence
             of
             us
             all
             to
             a
             Chain
             ,
          
           
             Taffee
             was
             frighted
             ,
             and
             sculk'd
             in
             again
             ;
          
           
             Nor
             thought
             ,
             while
             the
             Dutch
             domineer'd
             on
             our
             Road
             ▪
          
           
             It
             was
             safe
             to
             come
             further
             ,
             and
             venture
             abroad
             :
          
           
             Not
             Walgrave
             ,
             or
             th'
             Epistle
             of
             
               Seignieur
               le
               Duke
            
             ,
          
           
             Made
             Her
             Majesty
             Sick
             ,
             and
             her
             Royal
             Womb
             puke
             :
          
           
             But
             the
             
             Dutch-men
             Pickeering
             at
             Dover
             and
             Harwich
             ,
          
           
             Gave
             the
             Ministers
             Agues
             ,
             and
             the
             Queen
             a
             Miscarriage
             ;
          
           
             And
             to
             see
             the
             poor
             King
             stand
             in
             Ships
             of
             such
             need
             ,
          
           
             Made
             the
             Catholicks
             quake
             ,
             and
             Her
             Majesty
             bleed
             ;
          
           
             And
             I
             wish
             the
             sad
             Accident
             don't
             spoil
             the
             young
             Prince
             ,
          
           
             Take
             off
             all
             his
             Manhood
             ,
             and
             make
             him
             a
             Wench
             :
          
           
             But
             the
             Hero
             his
             Father
             no
             courage
             did
             lack
             ;
          
           
             Who
             was
             sorry
             on
             such
             a
             pretext
             to
             come
             back
             :
          
           
             He
             mark'd
             out
             his
             ground
             ,
             and
             mounted
             a
             Gun
             ,
          
           
             And
             't
             is
             thought
             without
             such
             a
             pretence
             he
             had
             run
             ;
          
           
             For
             his
             Army
             and
             Navy
             were
             said
             to
             increase
             ,
          
           
             As
             appears
             (
             when
             we
             have
             no
             occasion
             )
             in
             Peace
             :
          
           
             Nay
             ,
             if
             the
             Dutch
             come
             ,
             we
             despise
             'em
             so
             much
             ,
          
           
             Our
             Navy
             Incognito
             will
             leave
             'em
             i'
             th'
             Lurch
             ,
          
           
             And
             (
             to
             their
             eternal
             Disgrace
             )
             we
             are
             able
          
           
             To
             beat
             'em
             by
             way
             of
             a
             Post
             and
             a
             Cable
             ;
          
           
             Why
             was
             this
             ,
             Sir
             ,
             left
             out
             of
             the
             Wise
             Declaration
             ,
          
           
             That
             flatter'd
             with
             Hopes
             of
             more
             Forces
             ,
             the
             Nation
             ?
          
           
             'T
             would
             have
             done
             us
             great
             good
             to
             have
             said
             ,
             you
             intended
             ,
          
           
             The
             strength
             of
             the
             Nation
             the
             CHAIN
             should
             be
             mended
             ;
          
           
             Though
             we
             thank
             you
             ,
             for
             Passing
             so
             kindly
             your
             Word
             ,
          
           
             (
             Which
             never
             was
             broke
             )
             that
             you
             'd
             Rule
             by
             the
             Sword
             ;
          
           
             This
             Promise
             we
             know
             you
             meant
             to
             fulfill
             ;
          
           
             And
             therefore
             you
             have
             reason
             (
             by
             Gad
             )
             to
             tak
             't
             ill
             ,
          
           
             That
             the
             Bishops
             ,
             the
             Bishops
             did
             throw
             out
             the
             Bill
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           Three
           POEMS
           on
           the
           Death
           of
           the
           late
           Usurper
           
             Oliver
             Cromwell
          
           .
        
         
           Written
           by
           Mr.
           
             John
             Dryden
          
           ,
           Mr.
           Sprat
           of
           Oxford
           ,
           and
           Mr.
           
             Edm.
             Waller
          
           .
        
         
           
             
               Heroick
               Stanza's
               ,
               on
               the
               late
               Vsurper
            
             Oliver
             Cromwell
             ,
             
               written
               after
               his
               Funeral
               ,
               by
               Mr.
            
             Dryden
             .
          
           
             
               I.
               
            
             
               AND
               now
               't
               is
               time
               ;
               for
               their
               officious
               hast
               ,
            
             
               Who
               would
               before
               have
               born
               him
               to
               the
               Sky
               ,
            
             
               Like
               eager
               Romans
               e're
               all
               Rites
               were
               past
               ,
            
             
               Did
               let
               to
               soon
               the
               sacred
               Eagle
               fly
               .
            
          
           
             
               II.
               
            
             
               Though
               our
               best
               Notes
               are
               Treason
               to
               his
               Fame
               ,
            
             
               Join'd
               with
               the
               loud
               applause
               of
               publick
               Voice
               ;
            
             
               Since
               Heaven
               ,
               what
               praise
               we
               offer
               to
               his
               Name
               ,
            
             
               Hath
               rendred
               too
               Authentick
               by
               its
               choice
               ;
            
          
           
             
               III.
               
            
             
               Though
               in
               his
               praise
               no
               Arts
               can
               liberal
               be
               ,
            
             
               Since
               they
               whose
               Muses
               have
               the
               highest
               flown
               ,
            
             
               Add
               not
               to
               his
               Immortal
               Memory
               ;
            
             
               But
               do
               an
               act
               of
               Friendship
               to
               their
               own
               :
            
          
           
             
               IV.
               
            
             
               Yet
               't
               is
               our
               duty
               ,
               and
               our
               interest
               too
               ,
            
             
               Such
               Monuments
               as
               we
               can
               build
               ,
               to
               raise
               ,
            
             
               Lest
               all
               the
               World
               prevent
               what
               we
               should
               do
               ,
            
             
               And
               claim
               a
               Title
               in
               him
               by
               their
               Praise
               .
            
          
           
             
               V.
               
            
             
               How
               shall
               I
               then
               begin
               ,
               or
               where
               conclude
               ,
            
             
               To
               draw
               a
               Fame
               so
               truly
               Circular
               ?
            
             
               For
               in
               a
               round
               ,
               what
               order
               can
               be
               shew'd
               ,
            
             
               Where
               all
               the
               parts
               so
               equal
               perfect
               are
               ?
            
          
           
             
               VI.
               
            
             
               His
               Grandeur
               he
               deriv'd
               from
               Heaven
               alone
               ,
            
             
               For
               he
               was
               great
               ere
               Fortune
               made
               him
               so
               ,
            
             
               And
               Wars
               like
               Mists
               that
               rise
               against
               the
               San
               ,
            
             
               Made
               him
               but
               greater
               seem
               ,
               not
               greater
               grow
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               VII
               .
            
             
               No
               borrow'd
               Bays
               his
               Temples
               did
               adorn
               ,
            
             
               But
               to
               our
               Crown
               he
               did
               fresh
               Jewels
               bring
               ;
            
             
               Nor
               was
               his
               Vertue
               poison'd
               soon
               as
               born
               ,
            
             
               With
               the
               too
               early
               thoughts
               of
               being
               King.
               
            
          
           
             
               VIII
               .
            
             
               Fortune
               (
               that
               easie
               Mistriss
               to
               the
               young
               ,
            
             
               But
               to
               her
               ancient
               Servants
               coy
               and
               hard
               )
            
             
               Him
               ,
               at
               that
               age
               ,
               her
               Favourites
               rank'd
               among
               ,
            
             
               When
               she
               her
               best
               lov'd
               Pompey
               did
               discard
               .
            
          
           
             
               IX
               .
            
             
               He
               private
               ,
               mark'd
               the
               Faults
               of
               others
               sway
               ,
            
             
               And
               set
               as
               Sea-marks
               for
               himself
               to
               shun
               ;
            
             
               Not
               like
               rash
               Monarchs
               ,
               who
               their
               youth
               betray
               ,
            
             
               By
               Acts
               their
               Age
               too
               late
               would
               wish
               undone
               .
            
          
           
             
               X.
               
            
             
               And
               yet
               Dominion
               was
               not
               his
               design
               ,
            
             
               We
               owe
               that
               blessing
               not
               to
               him
               but
               Heaven
               ,
            
             
               Which
               to
               fair
               acts
               unsought
               rewards
               did
               join
               ,
            
             
               Rewards
               that
               less
               to
               him
               ,
               than
               us
               were
               given
               .
            
          
           
             
               XI
               .
            
             
               Our
               former
               Chief
               like
               Sticklers
               of
               the
               War
               ,
            
             
               First
               sought
               t'
               inflame
               the
               parties
               ,
               then
               to
               poise
               :
            
             
               The
               quarrel
               lov'd
               ,
               but
               did
               the
               cause
               abhor
               ,
            
             
               And
               did
               not
               strike
               to
               hurt
               ,
               but
               make
               a
               noise
               .
            
          
           
             
               XII
               .
            
             
               War
               ,
               our
               Consumption
               ,
               was
               their
               gainful
               Trade
               ;
            
             
               He
               inward
               bled
               ,
               whilst
               they
               prolong'd
               our
               pain
               ;
            
             
               He
               fought
               to
               end
               our
               fighting
               ,
               and
               assay'd
            
             
               To
               stanch
               the
               blood
               by
               breathing
               of
               the
               Vein
               .
            
          
           
             
               XIII
               .
            
             
               Swift
               and
               resistless
               through
               the
               Land
               he
               past
               ,
            
             
               Like
               that
               bold
               Greek
               ,
               who
               did
               the
               East
               subdue
               ,
            
             
               And
               made
               to
               Battels
               such
               Heroick
               haste
               ,
            
             
               As
               if
               on
               Wings
               of
               Victory
               he
               flew
               .
            
          
           
             
               XIV
               .
            
             
               He
               Fought
               secure
               of
               Fortune
               as
               of
               Fame
               ,
            
             
               Still
               by
               new
               Maps
               the
               Island
               might
               be
               shown
               ,
            
             
               Of
               Conquests
               which
               he
               strew'd
               where
               e're
               he
               came
               ,
            
             
               Thick
               as
               the
               Galaxy
               with
               Stars
               is
               sown
               .
            
          
           
             
               XV.
               
            
             
               His
               Palms
               ,
               though
               under
               weights
               they
               did
               not
               stand
               ,
            
             
               Still
               thriv'd
               ,
               no
               Winter
               could
               his
               Laurels
               fade
               :
            
             
               Heaven
               in
               his
               Portraict
               shew'd
               a
               Workman's
               hand
               ,
            
             
               And
               drew
               it
               perfect
               ,
               yet
               without
               a
               shade
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               XVI
               .
            
             
               Peace
               was
               the
               prize
               of
               all
               his
               toil
               and
               care
               ,
            
             
               Which
               War
               had
               banishd
               ,
               and
               did
               now
               restore
               :
            
             
               
               Bolognia's
               Walls
               thus
               mounted
               in
               the
               Air
               ,
            
             
               To
               seat
               themselves
               more
               surely
               than
               before
               :
            
          
           
             
               XVII
               .
            
             
               Her
               safety
               ,
               rescued
               Ireland
               ,
               to
               him
               owes
               ,
            
             
               And
               treacherous
               Scotland
               to
               no
               int'rest
               true
               ,
            
             
               Yet
               bless'd
               that
               Fate
               which
               did
               his
               Arms
               dispose
            
             
               Her
               Land
               to
               civilize
               ,
               as
               to
               subdue
               .
            
          
           
             
               XVIII
               .
            
             
               Nor
               was
               he
               like
               those
               Stars
               which
               only
               shine
               ,
            
             
               When
               to
               pale
               Mariners
               ,
               they
               Storms
               portend
               ;
            
             
               He
               had
               his
               calmer
               influences
               ,
               and
               his
               Mien
            
             
               Did
               Love
               and
               Majesty
               together
               blend
               .
            
          
           
             
               XIX
               .
            
             
               T
               is
               true
               his
               Countenance
               did
               imprint
               an
               awe
               ,
            
             
               And
               naturally
               all
               Souls
               to
               his
               did
               bow
               ,
            
             
               As
               wands
               of
               Divination
               downward
               draw
               ,
            
             
               And
               point
               to
               beds
               where
               Sov'raign
               Gold
               doth
               grow
               .
            
          
           
             
               XX.
               
            
             
               When
               past
               all
               offerings
               to
               
                 Pheretrian
                 Jove
              
               ,
            
             
               He
               Mars
               deposed
               ,
               and
               Arms
               to
               Gowns
               made
               yield
               ,
            
             
               Successful
               Councels
               did
               him
               soon
               approve
               ,
            
             
               As
               fit
               for
               close
               Intrigues
               ,
               as
               open
               Field
               .
            
          
           
             
               XXI
               .
            
             
               To
               suppliant
               Holland
               he
               vouchsaf'd
               a
               Peace
               ,
            
             
               Our
               once
               bold
               Rival
               in
               the
               British
               Main
               ,
            
             
               Now
               tamely
               glad
               her
               unjust
               claim
               to
               cease
               ,
            
             
               And
               buy
               our
               Friendship
               with
               her
               Idol
               ,
               Gain
               .
            
          
           
             
               XXII
               .
            
             
               Fame
               of
               the
               asserted
               Sea
               through
               Europe
               blown
               ,
            
             
               Made
               France
               and
               Spain
               ambitious
               of
               his
               Love
               ;
            
             
               Each
               knew
               that
               side
               must
               conquer
               he
               would
               own
               ,
            
             
               And
               for
               him
               fiercely
               ,
               as
               for
               Empire
               strove
               .
            
          
           
             
               XXIII
               .
            
             
               No
               sooner
               was
               the
               
               French-
               man's
               Cause
               imbrac'd
               ,
            
             
               Than
               the
               light
               Monsieur
               ,
               the
               grave
               Don
               outweigh'd
               ;
            
             
               His
               Fortune
               turn'd
               the
               Scale
               where
               it
               was
               cast
               ;
            
             
               Though
               Indian
               Mines
               where
               in
               the
               other
               laid
               .
            
          
           
             
               XXIV
               .
            
             
               When
               absent
               ,
               yet
               we
               conquer'd
               in
               his
               Right
               ;
            
             
               For
               though
               that
               some
               mean
               Artist's
               Skill
               were
               shown
            
             
               In
               mingling
               Colours
               ,
               or
               in
               placing
               Light
               ;
            
             
               Yet
               still
               the
               fair
               Designment
               was
               his
               own
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               XXV
               .
            
             
               For
               from
               all
               Tempers
               he
               could
               Service
               draw
               ;
            
             
               The
               worth
               of
               each
               with
               its
               allay
               he
               knew
               ;
            
             
               And
               as
               the
               Confident
               of
               Nature
               saw
            
             
               How
               she
               Complections
               did
               divide
               and
               brew
               .
            
          
           
             
               XXVI
               .
            
             
               Or
               he
               their
               single
               Vertues
               did
               survey
               ,
            
             
               By
               intuition
               in
               his
               own
               large
               Breast
               ,
            
             
               Where
               all
               the
               rich
               Idea's
               of
               them
               lay
               ,
            
             
               That
               were
               the
               Rule
               and
               Measure
               to
               the
               rest
               .
            
          
           
             
               XXVII
               .
            
             
               When
               such
               Heroick
               Vertue
               ,
               Heaven
               set
               out
               :
            
             
               The
               Stars
               like
               Commons
               sullenly
               obey
               ;
            
             
               Because
               it
               drains
               them
               when
               it
               comes
               about
               ;
            
             
               And
               therefore
               is
               a
               Tax
               they
               seldom
               pay
               .
            
          
           
             
               XXVIII
               .
            
             
               From
               this
               high
               Spring
               ,
               our
               Foreign
               Conquests
               flow
               ,
            
             
               Which
               yet
               more
               glorious
               Triumphs
               do
               portend
               ;
            
             
               Since
               their
               Commencement
               to
               his
               Arms
               they
               owe
               ,
            
             
               If
               springs
               as
               high
               as
               Fountains
               may
               ascend
               .
            
          
           
             
               XXXIX
               .
            
             
               He
               made
               us
               Free-men
               of
               the
               Continent
               ,
            
             
               Whom
               Nature
               did
               like
               Captives
               treat
               before
               ;
            
             
               To
               Nobler
               preys
               the
               English
               Lion
               sent
               ,
            
             
               And
               taught
               him
               first
               in
               Belgian
               Walks
               to
               roar
               .
            
          
           
             
               XXX
               .
            
             
               That
               old
               unquestion'd
               Pirate
               of
               the
               Land
               ,
            
             
               Proud
               Rome
               ,
               with
               dread
               the
               Fate
               of
               Dunkirk
               heard
               ;
            
             
               And
               trembling
               wish'd
               behind
               more
               Alpes
               to
               stand
               ,
            
             
               Although
               an
               Alexander
               were
               her
               Guard.
               
            
          
           
             
               XXXI
               .
            
             
               By
               his
               Command
               ,
               we
               boldly
               cross'd
               the
               Line
               ,
            
             
               And
               bravely
               fought
               where
               Southern
               Stars
               arise
               ,
            
             
               We
               trac'd
               the
               far-fetch'd
               Gold
               unto
               the
               Mine
               ,
            
             
               And
               that
               which
               brib'd
               our
               Fathers
               made
               our
               Prize
               .
            
          
           
             
               XXXII
               .
            
             
               Such
               was
               our
               Prince
               ,
               yet
               own'd
               a
               Soul
               above
            
             
               The
               highest
               Acts
               it
               could
               produce
               or
               show
               :
            
             
               Thus
               poor
               Mechanick
               Arts
               in
               publick
               move
               ,
            
             
               Whilst
               the
               deep
               Secrets
               beyond
               Practice
               go
               .
            
          
           
             
               XXXIII
               .
            
             
               Nor
               died
               he
               when
               his
               ebbing
               Fame
               went
               less
               ,
            
             
               But
               when
               the
               fresh
               Laurels
               courted
               him
               to
               live
               ;
            
             
               He
               seem'd
               but
               to
               prevent
               some
               new
               Success
               ,
            
             
               As
               if
               above
               what
               Triumphs
               Earth
               can
               give
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               XXXIV
               .
            
             
               His
               la
               test
               Victories
               still
               thickest
               came
               ,
            
             
               As
               near
               the
               Center
               ,
               Motion
               doth
               increase
               ;
            
             
               Till
               he
               press'd
               down
               by
               his
               own
               weighty
               Name
               ,
            
             
               Did
               ,
               like
               the
               Vestal
               ,
               under
               spoils
               decease
               .
            
          
           
             
               XXXV
               .
            
             
               But
               first
               the
               Ocean
               as
               a
               Tribute
               sent
            
             
               That
               Giant
               Prince
               of
               all
               her
               wat'ry
               Herd
               ;
            
             
               And
               th'
               Isle
               ,
               when
               her
               protecting
               Genius
               went
               ,
            
             
               Upon
               his
               Obsequies
               loud
               sighs
               conferr'd
               .
            
          
           
             
               XXXVI
               .
            
             
               No
               civil
               broils
               have
               fince
               his
               Death
               arose
               ,
            
             
               But
               Faction
               now
               by
               habit
               does
               obey
               ;
            
             
               And
               Wars
               have
               that
               respect
               for
               his
               Repose
               ,
            
             
               As
               Winds
               for
               Halcyons
               when
               they
               breed
               at
               Sea.
               
            
          
           
             
               XXXVII
               .
            
             
               His
               Ashes
               in
               a
               peaceful
               Urn
               shall
               rest
               ,
            
             
               His
               Name
               a
               great
               Example
               stands
               to
               show
               ,
            
             
               How
               strangely
               high
               Endeavours
               may
               be
               blest
               ,
            
             
               Where
               Piety
               ,
               and
               Valour
               jointly
               go
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             To
             the
             Reverend
             Dr.
             Wilkins
             ,
             Warden
             of
             Wadham
             Colledge
             in
             Oxford
             .
          
           
             
               
                 
                   SIR
                   ,
                
              
               
                 
                   SEeing
                   you
                   are
                   pleased
                   to
                   think
                   fit
                   that
                   these
                   Papers
                   should
                   come
                   into
                   the
                   publick
                   ,
                   which
                   were
                   at
                   first
                   design'd
                   to
                   live
                   only
                   in
                   a
                   Desk
                   ,
                   or
                   some
                   private
                   Friends
                   Hands
                   ;
                   I
                   humbly
                   take
                   the
                   boldness
                   to
                   commit
                   them
                   to
                   the
                   security
                   ,
                   which
                   your
                   Name
                   and
                   protection
                   will
                   give
                   them
                   ,
                   with
                   the
                   most
                   knowing
                   part
                   of
                   the
                   World.
                   There
                   are
                   two
                   things
                   especially
                   ,
                   in
                   which
                   they
                   stand
                   in
                   need
                   of
                   your
                   defence
                   :
                   One
                   is
                   ,
                   That
                   they
                   fall
                   so
                   infinitely
                   below
                   the
                   full
                   and
                   lofty
                
                 Genius
                 
                   of
                   that
                   excellent
                   Poet
                   ,
                   who
                   made
                   this
                   way
                   of
                   Writing
                   Free
                   of
                   our
                   Nation
                   :
                   The
                   other
                   ,
                   That
                   they
                   are
                   so
                   little
                   proportioned
                   and
                   equal
                   to
                   the
                   renown
                   of
                   that
                   Prince
                   ,
                   on
                   whom
                   they
                   were
                   written
                   .
                   Such
                   great
                   Actions
                   and
                   Lives
                   ,
                   deserving
                   rather
                   to
                   be
                   the
                   subjects
                   of
                   the
                   noblest
                   Pens
                   and
                   most
                   Divine
                   Phansies
                   ,
                   than
                   of
                   such
                   small
                   Beginners
                   and
                   week
                   Essayers
                   in
                   Poetry
                   as
                   my self
                   .
                   Against
                   these
                   dangerous
                   prejudices
                   ,
                   there
                   remains
                   no
                   other
                   shield
                   ,
                   than
                   the
                   Universal
                   Esteem
                   and
                   Authority
                   ,
                   which
                   your
                   Judgment
                   and
                   Approbation
                   carries
                   with
                   it
                   .
                   The
                   right
                   you
                   have
                   to
                   them
                   ,
                   Sir
                   ,
                   is
                   not
                   only
                   on
                   the
                   account
                   of
                   the
                   Relation
                   you
                   had
                   to
                   this
                   great
                   Person
                   ,
                   nor
                   of
                   the
                   general
                   favour
                   which
                   all
                   arts
                   receive
                   from
                   you
                   ;
                   but
                   more
                   particularly
                   by
                   reason
                   of
                   that
                   Obligation
                   and
                   Zeal
                   ,
                   with
                   which
                   I
                   am
                   bound
                   to
                   dedicate
                   my self
                   to
                   your
                   service
                   :
                   For
                   having
                   been
                   a
                   long
                
                 
                 
                   time
                   the
                   Object
                   of
                   your
                   Care
                   and
                   Indulgence
                   towards
                   the
                   advantage
                   of
                   my
                   Studies
                   and
                   Fortune
                   ,
                   having
                   been
                   moulded
                   (
                   as
                   it
                   were
                   )
                   by
                   your
                   own
                   Hands
                   ,
                   and
                   formed
                   under
                   your
                   Government
                   ;
                   not
                   to
                   intitle
                   you
                   to
                   any
                   thing
                   which
                   my
                   meanness
                   produces
                   ,
                   would
                   not
                   only
                   be
                   Injustice
                   ,
                   but
                   Sacriledge
                   :
                   So
                   that
                   if
                   there
                   be
                   any
                   thing
                   here
                   tolerably
                   said
                   ,
                   which
                   deserves
                   Pardon
                   ,
                   it
                   is
                   yours
                   Sir
                   ,
                   as
                   well
                   as
                   he
                   ,
                   who
                   is
                
              
               
                 
                   Your
                   most
                   Devoted
                   and
                   Obliged
                   Servant
                   .
                
              
            
          
        
         
           
             To
             the
             happy
             memory
             of
             the
             late
             Usurper
             
               Oliver
               Cromwel
            
             .
             By
             Mr.
             Sprat
             of
             
               Oxon.
               Pindarick
               Odes
            
             .
          
           
             
               I.
               
            
             
               'T
               IS
               true
               ,
               great
               Name
               ,
               thou
               art
               secure
            
             
               From
               the
               forgetfulness
               and
               rage
            
             
               Of
               Death
               ,
               or
               Envy
               ,
               or
               devouring
               Age
               ;
            
             
               Thou
               canst
               the
               Force
               and
               Teeth
               of
               Time
               endure
               :
            
             
               Thy
               Fame
               like
               Men
               ,
               the
               elder
               it
               doth
               grow
               ,
            
             
               Will
               of
               its
               self
               turn
               whiter
               too
               ,
            
             
               Without
               what
               needless
               art
               can
               do
               ;
            
             
               Will
               live
               beyond
               thy
               breath
               ,
               beyond
               thy
               Hearse
               ,
            
             
               Though
               it
               were
               never
               heard
               or
               sung
               in
               Verse
               .
            
             
               Without
               our
               help
               ,
               thy
               Memory
               is
               safe
               ;
            
             
               They
               only
               want
               an
               Epitaph
               ,
            
             
               That
               does
               remain
               alone
            
             
               Alive
               in
               an
               Inscription
               ,
            
             
               Remembred
               only
               on
               the
               Brass
               ,
               or
               Marble
               stone
               .
            
             
               'T
               is
               all
               in
               vain
               what
               we
               can
               do
               :
            
             
               All
               our
               Roses
               and
               Perfumes
            
             
               Will
               but
               officious
               folly
               shew
               ,
            
             
               And
               pious
               Nothings
               ,
               to
               such
               mighty
               Tombs
               .
            
             
               All
               our
               Incense
               ,
               Gums
               ,
               and
               Balm
               ,
            
             
               Are
               but
               unnecessary
               duties
               here
               :
            
             
               The
               Poets
               may
               their
               Spices
               spare
               ,
            
             
               Their
               costly
               numbers
               and
               their
               tuneful
               feet
               :
            
             
               That
               need
               not
               be
               imbalm'd
               ,
               which
               of
               it self
               is
               sweet
               .
            
          
           
             
               II.
               
            
             
               We
               know
               to
               praise
               thee
               is
               a
               dangerous
               proof
            
             
               Of
               our
               Obedience
               and
               our
               Love
               :
            
             
               For
               when
               the
               Sun
               and
               Fire
               meet
               ,
            
             
               Th'
               one
               's
               extinguish'd
               quite
               ;
            
             
               And
               yet
               the
               other
               never
               is
               more
               bright
               :
            
             
               So
               they
               that
               write
               of
               thee
               ,
               and
               join
            
             
               Their
               feeble
               names
               with
               Thine
               ,
            
             
               Their
               weaker
               sparks
               with
               thy
               illustrious
               light
               ,
            
             
             
               Will
               lose
               themselves
               in
               that
               ambitious
               thought
               ;
            
             
               And
               yet
               no
               Fame
               to
               thee
               from
               thence
               he
               brought
               .
            
             
               We
               know
               ,
               bless'd
               Spirit
               ,
               thy
               mighty
               name
            
             
               Wants
               no
               addition
               of
               anothers
               beam
               ;
            
             
               It
               's
               for
               our
               pens
               too
               high
               ,
               and
               full
               of
               Theme
               :
            
             
               The
               Muses
               are
               made
               great
               by
               thee
               ,
               not
               thou
               by
               them
               .
            
             
               Thy
               Fame
               's
               Eternal
               Lamp
               will
               live
               ,
            
             
               And
               in
               thy
               Sacred
               Urn
               survive
               ,
            
             
               Without
               the
               food
               of
               Oil
               ,
               which
               we
               can
               give
               .
            
             
               'T
               is
               true
               ;
               but
               yet
               our
               duty
               calls
               our
               Songs
               ,
            
             
               Duty
               Commands
               our
               Tongues
               .
            
             
               Though
               thou
               want
               not
               our
               praises
               ,
               we
            
             
               Are
               not
               excus'd
               for
               what
               we
               owe
               to
               thee
               ;
            
             
               For
               so
               Men
               from
               Religion
               are
               not
               freed
               .
            
             
               But
               from
               the
               Altars
               clouds
               must
               rise
               ,
            
             
               Though
               Heaven
               it self
               doth
               nothing
               need
               ,
            
             
               And
               though
               the
               Gods
               don't
               want
               an
               earthly
               Sacrifice
            
          
           
             
               III.
               
            
             
               Great
               Life
               of
               wonders
               ,
               whose
               each
               year
            
             
               Full
               of
               new
               Miracles
               did
               appear
               !
            
             
               Whos
               's
               every
               Month
               might
               be
            
             
               Alone
               a
               Chronicle
               ,
               or
               a
               History
               !
            
             
               Others
               great
               Actions
               are
            
             
               But
               thinly
               scatter'd
               here
               and
               there
               ;
            
             
               At
               best
               ,
               but
               all
               one
               single
               Star
               ;
            
             
               But
               thine
               the
               Milky-way
               ,
            
             
               All
               one
               continued
               light
               of
               undistinguish'd
               day
               ;
            
             
               They
               throng'd
               so
               close
               ,
               that
               nought
               else
               could
               be
               seen
               ,
            
             
               Scarce
               any
               common
               Sky
               did
               come
               between
               :
            
             
               What
               shall
               I
               say
               or
               where
               begin
               ?
            
             
               Thou
               may'st
               in
               double
               shapes
               be
               shown
               ,
            
             
               Or
               in
               thy
               Arms
               ,
               or
               in
               thy
               Gown
               ;
            
             
               Like
               Jove
               sometimes
               with
               Warlike
               Thunder
               ,
               and
            
             
               Sometimes
               with
               peaceful
               Scepter
               in
               his
               Hand
               ,
            
             
               Or
               in
               the
               Field
               ,
               or
               on
               the
               Throne
               .
            
             
               In
               what
               thy
               Head
               ,
               or
               what
               thy
               Arm
               hath
               done
               ,
            
             
               All
               that
               thou
               didst
               was
               so
               refin'd
               ,
            
             
               So
               full
               of
               substance
               ,
               and
               so
               strongly
               join'd
               ,
            
             
               So
               pure
               ,
               so
               weighty
               Gold
               ,
            
             
               That
               the
               least
               Grain
               of
               it
            
             
               If
               fully
               spread
               and
               beat
               ,
            
             
               Would
               many
               Leaves
               and
               mighty
               Volumes
               hold
               ▪
            
          
           
             
               IV.
               
            
             
               Before
               thy
               Name
               was
               publish'd
               ,
               and
               whilst
               yet
            
             
               Thou
               only
               to
               thy self
               wer't
               great
               ,
            
             
             
               Whilst
               yet
               thy
               happy
               bud
            
             
               Was
               not
               quite
               seen
               ,
               or
               understood
               ,
            
             
               It
               then
               sure
               signs
               of
               future
               greatness
               shew'd
               :
            
             
               Then
               thy
               Domestick
               worth
            
             
               Did
               tell
               the
               World
               what
               it
               would
               be
               ,
            
             
               When
               it
               should
               fit
               occasion
               see
               ,
            
             
               When
               a
               full
               Spring
               should
               call
               it
               forth
               :
            
             
               As
               Bodies
               ,
               in
               the
               dark
               and
               night
               ,
            
             
               Have
               the
               same
               Colours
               ,
               the
               same
               red
               and
               white
               ,
            
             
               As
               in
               the
               open
               Day
               and
               Light
               ,
            
             
               The
               Sun
               doth
               only
               show
            
             
               That
               they
               are
               bright
               ,
               not
               make
               them
               so
               :
            
             
               So
               whilst
               but
               private
               Walls
               did
               know
            
             
               What
               we
               to
               such
               a
               mighty
               Mind
               should
               owe
               ,
            
             
               Then
               the
               same
               Vertues
               did
               appear
               ,
            
             
               Though
               in
               a
               less
               and
               more
               contracted
               Sphere
               ,
            
             
               As
               full
               ,
               though
               not
               as
               large
               as
               since
               they
               were
               :
            
             
               And
               like
               great
               Rivers
               ,
               Fountains
               ,
               though
            
             
               At
               first
               so
               deep
               thou
               didst
               not
               go
               ;
            
             
               Though
               then
               thine
               was
               not
               so
               inlarg'd
               a
               Flood
               ;
            
             
               Yet
               when
               't
               was
               little
               ,
               't
               was
               as
               clear
               as
               good
               .
            
          
           
             
               V.
               
            
             
               'T
               is
               true
               thou
               wast
               not
               born
               unto
               a
               Crown
               ,
            
             
               Thy
               Scepter
               's
               not
               thy
               Father's
               ,
               but
               thy
               own
               :
            
             
               Thy
               purple
               was
               not
               made
               at
               once
               in
               haste
               ,
            
             
               And
               after
               many
               other
               Colours
               past
               ,
            
             
               It
               took
               the
               deepest
               Princely
               Dye
               at
               last
               .
            
             
               Thou
               didst
               begin
               with
               lesser
               Cares
               ,
            
             
               And
               private
               thoughts
               took
               up
               thy
               private
               Years
               :
            
             
               Those
               Hands
               ,
               which
               were
               ordain'd
               by
               Fates
               ,
            
             
               To
               change
               the
               World
               ,
               and
               alter
               States
               ,
            
             
               Practis'd
               at
               first
               that
               vast
               Design
            
             
               On
               meaner
               things
               with
               equal
               Mind
               .
            
             
               That
               Soul
               ,
               which
               should
               so
               many
               Scepters
               sway
               ,
            
             
               To
               whom
               so
               many
               Kingdoms
               should
               obey
               :
            
             
               Learned
               first
               to
               rule
               in
               a
               Domestick
               way
               :
            
             
               So
               Government
               it self
               ,
               began
            
             
               From
               Family
               ,
               and
               single
               Man
               ,
            
             
               Was
               by
               the
               small
               Relations
               ,
               first
               ,
            
             
               Of
               Husband
               ,
               and
               of
               Father
               Nurs'd
               ,
            
             
               And
               from
               those
               less
               beginnings
               past
               ,
            
             
               To
               spread
               it self
               o'er
               all
               the
               World
               at
               last
               .
            
          
           
             
               VI.
               
            
             
               But
               when
               thy
               Country
               ,
               (
               then
               almost
               enthrall'd
               )
            
             
               Thy
               Vertue
               ,
               and
               thy
               Courage
               call'd
               ;
            
             
             
               When
               England
               did
               thy
               Arms
               intreat
               ,
            
             
               And
               't
               had
               been
               Sin
               in
               thee
               not
               to
               be
               Great
               :
            
             
               When
               every
               Stream
               ,
               and
               every
               Flood
               ,
            
             
               Was
               a
               true
               Vein
               of
               Earth
               ,
               and
               run
               with
               Blood
               ;
            
             
               When
               unus'd
               Arms
               ,
               and
               unknown
               War
            
             
               Fill'd
               every
               Place
               ,
               and
               ever
               Ear
               ;
            
             
               When
               the
               great
               Storms
               ,
               and
               dismal
               Night
            
             
               Did
               all
               the
               Land
               affright
               ;
            
             
               'T
               was
               time
               for
               thee
               ,
               to
               bring
               forth
               all
               our
               Light.
            
             
               Thou
               left'st
               thy
               more
               delightful
               Peace
               ,
            
             
               Thy
               private
               Life
               ,
               and
               better
               ease
               ;
            
             
               Then
               down
               thy
               Steel
               and
               Armour
               took
               ,
            
             
               Wishing
               that
               it
               still
               hung
               upon
               the
               Hook.
            
             
               When
               Death
               had
               got
               a
               large
               Commission
               out
               ,
            
             
               Throwing
               her
               Arrows
               ,
               and
               her
               Stings
               about
               ;
            
             
               Then
               thou
               (
               as
               once
               the
               healing
               Serpent
               rose
               )
            
             
               Wast
               lifted
               up
               ,
               not
               for
               thy self
               ,
               but
               us
               .
            
          
           
             
               VII
               .
            
             
               Thy
               Country
               wounded
               was
               ,
               and
               sick
               before
            
             
               Thy
               Wars
               and
               Arms
               did
               her
               restore
               :
            
             
               Thou
               knew'st
               where
               the
               Disease
               did
               lie
               ,
            
             
               And
               like
               the
               Cure
               of
               Sympathy
               ,
            
             
               Thy
               strong
               ,
               and
               certain
               Remedy
               ,
            
             
               Unto
               the
               Weapon
               didst
               apply
               ;
            
             
               Thou
               didst
               not
               draw
               the
               Sword
               ,
               and
               so
            
             
               Away
               the
               Scabbard
               throw
               ;
            
             
               As
               if
               thy
               Country
               shou'd
            
             
               Be
               the
               Inheritance
               of
               Mars
               and
               Blood
               ;
            
             
               But
               that
               when
               the
               great
               work
               was
               spun
               ,
            
             
               War
               in
               it self
               should
               be
               undone
               ;
            
             
               That
               Peace
               might
               Land
               again
               upon
               the
               shore
               ,
            
             
               Richer
               and
               better
               than
               before
               :
            
             
               The
               Husbandmen
               no
               Steel
               should
               know
               ,
            
             
               None
               but
               the
               useful
               Iron
               of
               the
               Plow
               ;
            
             
               That
               Bays
               might
               creep
               on
               every
               Spear
               :
            
             
               And
               though
               our
               Sky
               was
               overspread
            
             
               With
               a
               destructive
               red
               ;
            
             
               'T
               was
               but
               till
               thou
               our
               Sun
               didst
               in
               full
               Light
               appear
               .
            
          
           
             
               VIII
               .
            
             
               When
               Ajax
               died
               ,
               the
               Purple
               Blood
            
             
               That
               from
               his
               gaping
               Wound
               had
               flow'd
               ,
            
             
               Turn'd
               into
               Letters
               ,
               every
               Leaf
            
             
               Had
               on
               it
               wrote
               his
               Epitaph
               :
            
             
               So
               from
               that
               Crimson
               Flood
            
             
               Which
               thou
               ,
               by
               fate
               of
               times
               ,
               wert
               led
            
             
               Unwillingly
               to
               shed
               ,
            
             
               Letters
               ,
               and
               Learning
               rose
               ,
               and
               were
               renewed
               :
            
             
             
               Thou
               fought'st
               not
               out
               of
               Envy
               ,
               Hope
               ,
               or
               Hate
               ,
            
             
               But
               to
               refine
               the
               Church
               and
               State
               ,
            
             
               And
               like
               the
               Romans
               ,
               what
               e'er
               thou
            
             
               In
               the
               Field
               of
               Mars
               didst
               mow
               ,
            
             
               Was
               ,
               that
               a
               holy
               Island
               thence
               might
               grow
               .
            
             
               Thy
               Wars
               ,
               as
               Rivers
               raised
               by
               a
               Shower
               ,
            
             
               With
               welcome
               Clouds
               do
               pour
               :
            
             
               Though
               they
               at
               first
               may
               seem
               ,
            
             
               To
               carry
               all
               away
               with
               an
               inraged
               Stream
               ;
            
             
               Yet
               did
               not
               happen
               that
               they
               might
               destroy
               ,
            
             
               Or
               the
               better
               parts
               annoy
               :
            
             
               But
               all
               the
               Filth
               and
               Mud
               to
               scour
               ,
            
             
               And
               leave
               behind
               anothr
               slime
               ,
            
             
               To
               give
               a
               Birth
               to
               a
               more
               happy
               Power
               .
            
          
           
             
               IX
               .
            
             
               In
               Fields
               unconquer'd
               ,
               and
               so
               well
            
             
               Thou
               did'st
               in
               Battels
               and
               in
               Arms
               excel
               ,
            
             
               That
               steely
               Arms
               themselves
               ,
               might
               be
            
             
               Worn
               out
               in
               War
               as
               soon
               as
               thee
               .
            
             
               Success
               ,
               so
               close
               upon
               thy
               Troops
               did
               wait
               ,
            
             
               As
               if
               thou
               first
               had'st
               conquer'd
               Fate
               ;
            
             
               As
               if
               uncertain
               Victory
            
             
               Had
               been
               first
               overcome
               by
               thee
               ;
            
             
               As
               if
               her
               Wings
               were
               clipp'd
               ,
               and
               could
               not
               flee
               ,
            
             
               Whilst
               thou
               did'st
               only
               serve
               ,
            
             
               Before
               thou
               had'st
               what
               first
               thou
               did'st
               deserve
               .
            
             
               Others
               by
               thee
               did
               great
               things
               do
               ,
            
             
               Triumph'd'st
               thy self
               ,
               and
               made'st
               them
               triumph
               too
               ;
            
             
               Though
               they
               above
               thee
               did
               appear
               ,
            
             
               As
               yet
               in
               a
               more
               large
               ,
               and
               higher
               Sphere
               :
            
             
               Thou
               ,
               the
               great
               Sun
               gav'st
               Light
               to
               every
               Star.
            
             
               Thy self
               an
               Army
               wert
               alone
               ,
            
             
               And
               mighty
               Troops
               contain'dst
               in
               one
               :
            
             
               Thy
               only
               Sword
               did
               guard
               the
               Land
               ,
            
             
               Like
               that
               which
               flaming
               in
               the
               Angel's
               Hand
               ,
            
             
               From
               Men
               God's
               Garden
               did
               defend
               :
            
             
               But
               yet
               thy
               Sword
               did
               more
               than
               his
               ,
            
             
               Not
               only
               guarded
               ,
               but
               did
               make
               this
               Land
               a
               Paradiee
               .
            
          
           
             
               X.
               
            
             
               Thou
               fought'st
               not
               to
               be
               high
               or
               great
               ,
            
             
               Not
               for
               a
               Scepter
               ,
               or
               a
               Crown
               ,
            
             
               Or
               Ermyn
               ,
               People
               ,
               or
               the
               Throne
               :
            
             
               But
               as
               the
               Vestal
               Heat
               ▪
            
             
               Thy
               Fire
               was
               kindled
               from
               above
               alone
               ;
            
             
             
               Religion
               putting
               on
               thy
               Shield
               ,
            
             
               Brought
               thee
               victorious
               to
               the
               Field
               .
            
             
               Thy
               Arms
               like
               those
               ,
               which
               ancient
               Heroes
               wore
               ,
            
             
               Were
               given
               by
               the
               God
               thou
               did'st
               adore
               ;
            
             
               And
               all
               the
               Words
               thy
               Armies
               had
               ,
            
             
               Were
               on
               an
               heavenly
               Anvil
               made
               ;
            
             
               Not
               Int'rest
               ,
               or
               any
               weak
               desire
            
             
               Of
               Rule
               ,
               or
               Empire
               did
               thy
               mind
               inspire
               ;
            
             
               Thy
               Valour
               like
               the
               holy
               Fire
               ,
            
             
               Which
               did
               before
               the
               Persian
               Armies
               go
               ,
            
             
               Liv'd
               in
               the
               Camp
               ,
               and
               yet
               was
               sacred
               too
               :
            
             
               Thy
               mighty
               Sword
               anticipates
               ,
            
             
               What
               was
               reserv'd
               for
               Heaven
               and
               those
               bless'd
               Seats
               ,
            
             
               And
               makes
               the
               Church
               Triumphant
               here
               below
               .
            
          
           
             
               XI
               .
            
             
               Though
               Fortune
               did
               hang
               on
               thy
               Sword
               ,
            
             
               And
               did
               obey
               thy
               mighty
               Word
               ;
            
             
               Though
               Fortune
               for
               thy
               side
               and
               thee
               ,
            
             
               Forgot
               her
               lov'd
               Unconstancy
               ;
            
             
               Amidst
               thy
               Arms
               and
               Trophies
               thou
            
             
               Wert
               valiant
               and
               gentle
               too
               ,
            
             
               Wounded'st
               thy self
               ,
               when
               thou
               did'st
               kill
               thy
               Foe
               ;
            
             
               Like
               Steel
               ,
               when
               it
               much
               Work
               has
               past
               ,
            
             
               That
               which
               was
               rough
               does
               shine
               at
               last
               :
            
             
               Thy
               Arms
               by
               being
               oftner
               us'd
               did
               smoother
               grow
               ;
            
             
               Nor
               did
               thy
               Battels
               make
               the
               proud
               or
               high
               ;
            
             
               Thy
               Conquest
               rais'd
               the
               State
               ,
               not
               thee
               :
            
             
               Thou
               overcam'st
               thy self
               in
               every
               Victory
               :
            
             
               As
               when
               the
               Sun
               ,
               in
               a
               directer
               Line
               ,
            
             
               Upon
               a
               polish'd
               golden
               Shield
               doth
               shine
               ,
            
             
               The
               Shield
               reflects
               unto
               the
               Sun
               again
               his
               Light
               :
            
             
               So
               when
               the
               Heavens
               smil'd
               on
               thee
               in
               Fight
               ,
            
             
               When
               thy
               propitious
               God
               had
               lent
            
             
               Success
               ,
               and
               Victory
               to
               thy
               Tent
               ,
            
             
               To
               Heav'n
               again
               the
               Victory
               was
               sent
               .
            
          
           
             
               XII
               .
            
             
               England
               till
               thou
               did'st
               come
               ,
            
             
               Confin'd
               her
               Valour
               home
               ;
            
             
               Then
               our
               own
               Rocks
               did
               stand
            
             
               Bounds
               to
               our
               Fame
               as
               well
               as
               Land
               ,
            
             
               And
               were
               to
               us
               as
               well
               ,
            
             
               As
               to
               our
               Enemies
               unpassable
               .
            
             
               We
               were
               asham'd
               at
               what
               we
               read
               ,
            
             
               And
               blush'd
               at
               what
               our
               Fathers
               did
               ,
            
             
               Because
               we
               came
               so
               far
               behind
               the
               Dead
               ▪
            
             
             
               The
               British
               Lion
               hung
               his
               main
               ,
               and
               droop'd
               ,
            
             
               To
               Slavery
               and
               Burthen
               stoop'd
               ,
            
             
               With
               a
               degenarate
               Sleep
               and
               Fear
            
             
               Lay
               in
               his
               Den
               ,
               and
               languish'd
               there
               ;
            
             
               At
               whose
               least
               Voice
               before
               ,
            
             
               A
               trembling
               eccho
               ran
               through
               every
               Shore
               ,
            
             
               And
               shook
               the
               World
               at
               every
               roar
               ;
            
             
               Thou
               his
               subdued
               Courage
               didst
               restore
               ,
            
             
               Sharpen
               his
               Claws
               ,
               and
               in
               his
               Eyes
            
             
               Mad'st
               the
               same
               dreadful
               Lightning
               rise
               ;
            
             
               Mad'st
               him
               again
               affright
               the
               Neighbouring
               Floods
               ,
            
             
               His
               mighty
               Thunder
               sound
               through
               all
               the
               Woods
               ▪
            
             
               Thou
               hast
               our
               Military
               Fame
               redeem'd
               ,
            
             
               Which
               was
               lost
               ,
               or
               clouded
               seem'd
               :
            
             
               Nay
               more
               ,
               Heaven
               did
               by
               thee
               bestow
            
             
               On
               us
               ,
               at
               once
               an
               Iron
               Age
               ,
               and
               happy
               too
               .
            
          
           
             
               XIII
               .
            
             
               Till
               thou
               command'st
               ,
               that
               Azure
               Chains
               of
               Waves
               ,
            
             
               Which
               Nature
               round
               about
               us
               sent
               ,
            
             
               Made
               us
               to
               every
               Pirate
               Slaves
               ,
            
             
               Was
               rather
               Burthen
               than
               an
               Ornament
               ;
            
             
               Those
               Fields
               of
               Sea
               ,
               that
               wash'd
               our
               Shores
               ,
            
             
               Were
               plow'd
               ,
               and
               reap'd
               by
               other
               Hands
               than
               ours
               .
            
             
               To
               us
               ,
               the
               liquid
               Mass
               ,
            
             
               Which
               doth
               about
               us
               run
               ,
            
             
               As
               it
               is
               to
               the
               Sun
               ,
            
             
               Only
               a
               Bed
               to
               sleep
               on
               was
               :
            
             
               And
               not
               ,
               as
               now
               a
               powerful
               Throne
               ,
            
             
               To
               shake
               and
               sway
               the
               World
               thereon
               .
            
             
               Our
               Princes
               in
               their
               Hand
               a
               Globe
               did
               shew
               ,
            
             
               But
               not
               a
               perfect
               one
               ,
            
             
               Compos'd
               of
               Earth
               ,
               and
               Water
               too
               .
            
             
               But
               thy
               Commands
               the
               Floods
               obey'd
               ,
            
             
               Thou
               all
               the
               Wilderness
               of
               VVater
               sway'd
               ;
            
             
               Thou
               did'st
               but
               only
               wed
               the
               Sea
               ,
            
             
               Not
               make
               her
               equal
               ,
               but
               a
               Slave
               to
               thee
               .
            
             
               Neptune
               himself
               did
               bear
               thy
               Yoke
               ,
            
             
               Stoop'd
               ,
               and
               trembled
               at
               thy
               stroke
               :
            
             
               He
               that
               ruled
               all
               the
               Main
               ,
            
             
               Acknowledg'd
               thee
               his
               Soveraign
               .
            
             
               And
               now
               the
               Conquer'd
               Sea
               ,
               doth
               pay
            
             
               More
               Tribute
               to
               thy
               Thames
               ,
               than
               that
               unto
               the
               Sea.
               
            
          
           
             
               XIV
               .
            
             
               Till
               now
               our
               Valour
               did
               our selves
               more
               hurt
               ;
            
             
               Our
               VVounds
               to
               other
               Nations
               were
               a
               sport
               ;
            
             
               And
               as
               the
               Earth
               ,
               our
               Land
               produc'd
            
             
             
               Iron
               and
               Steel
               ,
               which
               should
               to
               tear
               our selves
               be
               us'd
               .
            
             
               Our
               strength
               within
               it self
               did
               break
               ,
            
             
               Like
               thundring
               Canons
               crack
               ,
            
             
               And
               kill'd
               those
               that
               were
               near
               ,
            
             
               While
               the
               Enemies
               secur'd
               and
               untouch'd
               were
               .
            
             
               But
               now
               our
               Trumpets
               thou
               hast
               made
               to
               sound
               ,
            
             
               Against
               our
               Enemies
               Walls
               in
               Foreign
               Ground
               ;
            
             
               And
               yet
               no
               eccho
               back
               to
               us
               returning
               found
               .
            
             
               England
               is
               now
               the
               happy
               peaceful
               Isle
               ,
            
             
               And
               all
               the
               World
               the
               while
               ,
            
             
               Is
               exercising
               Arms
               and
               Wars
               ,
            
             
               With
               Foreign
               ,
               or
               intestine
               Jars
               .
            
             
               The
               Torch
               extinguish'd
               here
               ,
               we
               lend
               to
               others
               Oil
               ,
            
             
               We
               give
               to
               all
               ,
               yet
               know
               our selves
               no
               Fear
               ;
            
             
               We
               reach
               the
               Flame
               of
               Ruine
               ,
               and
               of
               Death
               ,
            
             
               Where
               e're
               we
               please
               ,
               our
               Swords
               to
               unsheath
               ,
            
             
               Whilst
               we
               in
               calm
               ,
               and
               temporate
               Regions
               breath
               ;
            
             
               Like
               to
               the
               Sun
               ,
               whose
               heat
               is
               hurl'd
            
             
               Through
               every
               Corner
               of
               the
               World
               ;
            
             
               Whose
               Flame
               through
               all
               the
               Air
               doth
               go
               ;
            
             
               And
               yet
               the
               Sun
               himself
               ,
               the
               while
               no
               Fire
               doth
               know
               .
            
          
           
             
               XV.
               
            
             
               Besides
               the
               Glories
               of
               thy
               Peace
               ,
            
             
               Are
               not
               in
               Number
               ,
               nor
               in
               value
               less
               .
            
             
               Thy
               Hand
               did
               cure
               ,
               and
               close
               the
               Stars
            
             
               Of
               our
               bloody
               Civil
               Wars
               ;
            
             
               Not
               only
               lanc'd
               ;
               but
               heal'd
               the
               Wound
               ,
            
             
               Made
               us
               again
               as
               healthy
               ,
               and
               as
               sound
               ,
            
             
               When
               now
               the
               Ship
               was
               well
               nigh
               lost
               ,
            
             
               After
               the
               Storm
               upon
               the
               Coast
               ,
            
             
               By
               its
               Mariners
               indanger'd
               most
               ;
            
             
               When
               they
               their
               Ropes
               and
               helms
               had
               left
               ,
            
             
               When
               the
               Planks
               asunder
               cleft
               ,
            
             
               And
               Flouds
               came
               roaring
               in
               with
               mighty
               sound
               ;
            
             
               Thou
               a
               safe
               Land
               ,
               and
               harbour
               for
               us
               found
               ,
            
             
               And
               saved'st
               those
               that
               would
               themselves
               have
               drown'd
               :
            
             
               A
               Work
               which
               none
               but
               Heaven
               and
               thee
               could
               do
               ,
            
             
               Thou
               made'st
               us
               happy
               ▪
               whe'r
               we
               would
               or
               no
               :
            
             
               Thy
               Judgment
               ,
               Mercy
               ,
               Temperance
               so
               great
               ,
            
             
               As
               if
               those
               Vettues
               only
               in
               thy
               Mind
               had
               seat
               :
            
             
               Thy
               Piety
               not
               only
               in
               the
               Field
               ,
               but
               Peace
               ,
            
             
               When
               Heaven
               seemed
               to
               be
               wanted
               least
               :
            
             
               Thy
               Temples
               not
               like
               Janus
               open
               were
               ,
            
             
               Open
               in
               time
               of
               War
               ,
            
             
               When
               thou
               hadst
               greater
               cause
               of
               fear
            
             
             
               Religion
               and
               the
               awe
               of
               Heaven
               possest
            
             
               All
               places
               and
               all
               times
               alike
               thy
               breast
               .
            
          
           
             
               XVI
               :
            
             
               Nor
               didst
               thou
               only
               for
               thy
               age
               provide
               ,
            
             
               But
               for
               the
               years
               to
               come
               beside
               ;
            
             
               Our
               after-times
               ,
               and
               late
               Posterity
               ,
            
             
               Shall
               pay
               unto
               thy
               Fame
               as
               much
               as
               we
               ;
            
             
               They
               too
               are
               made
               by
               thee
               :
            
             
               When
               Fate
               did
               call
               thee
               to
               a
               higher
               Throne
               ,
            
             
               And
               when
               thy
               Mortal
               Work
               was
               done
               ,
            
             
               When
               Heaven
               did
               say
               it
               ,
               and
               thou
               must
               be
               gone
               ,
            
             
               Thou
               him
               to
               bear
               thy
               burthen
               chose
               ,
            
             
               Who
               might
               (
               if
               any
               could
               )
               make
               us
               forget
               thy
               loss
               :
            
             
               Nor
               hadst
               thou
               him
               design'd
               ,
            
             
               Had
               he
               not
               been
            
             
               Not
               only
               to
               thy
               Blood
               ,
               but
               Vertue
               kin
               ;
            
             
               Not
               only
               Heir
               unto
               thy
               Throne
               ,
               but
               Mind
               ,
            
             
               'T
               is
               he
               shall
               perfect
               all
               thy
               Cures
               ,
            
             
               And
               with
               as
               fine
               a
               thread
               weave
               out
               thy
               loom
               :
            
             
               So
               one
               did
               bring
               the
               chosen
               People
               from
            
             
               Their
               Slavery
               and
               Fears
               ,
            
             
               Led
               them
               through
               their
               pathless
               road
               ,
            
             
               Guided
               himself
               by
               God.
            
             
               He
               brought
               them
               to
               the
               Borders
               ;
               but
               a
               second
               Hand
            
             
               Did
               settle
               ,
               and
               secure
               them
               in
               the
               promised
               Land.
               
            
          
        
         
           
             
               Vpon
               the
               late
               Storm
               ,
               and
               Death
               of
               the
               late
               Vsurper
            
             Oliver
             Cromwel
             
               ensuing
               the
               same
               ,
               By
               Mr.
            
             Waller
             .
          
           
             WE
             must
             resign
             ;
             Heav'n
             his
             great
             Soul
             does
             claim
             ,
          
           
             In
             Storms
             as
             loud
             ,
             as
             his
             Immortal
             Fame
             ;
          
           
             His
             dying
             Groans
             ,
             his
             last
             breath
             shakes
             our
             Isle
             ,
          
           
             And
             trees
             uncut
             fall
             for
             his
             Funeral
             Pile
             .
          
           
             About
             his
             Palace
             their
             broad
             roots
             are
             tost
          
           
             Into
             the
             Air
             :
             So
             Romulus
             was
             lost
             .
          
           
             New
             Rome
             in
             such
             a
             Tempest
             mist
             their
             King
             ,
          
           
             And
             from
             obeying-fell
             to
             Worshipping
             .
          
           
             On
             
             Oeta's
             top
             thus
             Hercules
             lay
             dead
             ,
          
           
             With
             ruin'd
             Oaks
             and
             Pines
             about
             him
             spread
             ;
          
           
             The
             Poplar
             too
             ,
             whose
             bough
             he
             wont
             to
             wear
          
           
             On
             his
             Victorious
             head
             ,
             lay
             prostrate
             there
             :
          
           
             Those
             his
             last
             Fury
             from
             the
             Mountain
             rent
             ;
          
           
             Our
             dying
             Hero
             ,
             from
             the
             Continent
             ,
          
           
           
             Ravish'd
             whole
             Towns
             ,
             and
             Forts
             from
             Spaniards
             reft
             ,
          
           
             As
             his
             last
             Legacy
             to
             Britain
             left
             ;
          
           
             The
             Ocean
             which
             so
             long
             our
             hopes
             confin'd
             ,
          
           
             Could
             give
             no
             limits
             to
             his
             vaster
             mind
             ;
          
           
             Our
             bounds
             enlargement
             ,
             was
             his
             latest
             toil
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             hath
             he
             left
             us
             Prisoners
             to
             our
             Isle
             :
          
           
             Under
             the
             Tropick
             is
             our
             Language
             spoke
             ,
          
           
             And
             part
             of
             Flanders
             hath
             receiv'd
             our
             Yoke
             .
          
           
             From
             Civil
             broils
             ,
             he
             did
             us
             disingage
             ,
          
           
             Found
             Nobler
             Objects
             for
             our
             Martial
             rage
             ;
          
           
             And
             with
             wise
             Conduct
             to
             his
             Country
             show'd
             ,
          
           
             Their
             ancient
             way
             of
             Conquering
             abroad
             :
          
           
             Ungrateful
             then
             ,
             if
             we
             no
             tears
             allow
          
           
             To
             him
             ,
             that
             gave
             us
             Peace
             and
             Empire
             too
             ;
          
           
             Princes
             that
             fear'd
             him
             ,
             griev'd
             ,
             concern'd
             to
             see
          
           
             No
             pitch
             of
             Glory
             from
             the
             Grave
             is
             free
             ;
          
           
             Nature
             her self
             ,
             took
             notice
             of
             his
             Death
             ,
          
           
             And
             sighing
             swell'd
             the
             Sea
             with
             such
             a
             breath
             ,
          
           
             That
             to
             remotest
             shores
             her
             Billows
             rowl'd
             ,
          
           
             Th'
             approaching
             Fate
             of
             her
             great
             Ruler
             told
             .
          
        
         
           FINIS
           .
        
         
      
    
     
  

