I know my compass, and my mufe's fize,
She loves to fport and play, but dares not rife;
Idly affects, in this familiar way,

In eafy numbers locfly to convey ifance fay.}

Poets affume another tone and voice,

When victory's their theme, and arms their choice.
To follow heroes in the chace of fame,.
Afks force and heat, and fancy wing'd with flame.
What words can paint the royal warrior's face?
What colours can the figure body raise,
When, cover'd o'er with comely duft and smoke,
He pierc'd the foe, and hickeft fquadrons broke?
His bleeding arm, ftill painful with the fore,
Which, in his people's caufe, the pious father bore:
Whom, cleaving through the troops a glorious

way,

Not the united force of France and hell could stay.
Oh, Dorfet! I am rais'd. I'm all on fire:
And, if my ftrength could answer my defire,
In fpeaking paint this figure fhould be feen,
Like Jove his grandeur, and like Mars his mien;
And gods defcending should adorn the icene.

}

See, fee upon the banks of Boyne he ftands, By his own view adjufting his commands: Calm and ferene the armed coast surveys, And, in cool thoughts, the different chances weighs:

Then, fir'd with fame, and eager of renown, Refolves to end the war, and fix the throne. From wing to wing the fquadrons bending ftand, And clofe their ranks to meet their king's com mand;

The drums and trumpets fleep, the sprightly noise Of neighing steeds, and canons louder voice, Sufpended in attention, banish far

All hoftile founds, and hush the din of war: The filent troops tretch forth an eager look, Liftening with joy, while thus their general spoke: "Come, fellow-foldiers, follow me once more, And fix the fate of Europe on that shore; "Your courage only wais irom me the word, But England's happiness commands my fword: In her defence I every part will bear, "The foldier's danger, and the prince's care, "And envy any arm an equal share. "Set all that's dear to men before your fight: "For laws, religion, liberty, we fight;

}

"To fave your wives from rape, your towns from flame, [name

"Redeem your country fold, and vindicate her
"At whofe requeil and timely call I rofe,
"To tempt my fate, and all my hopes expofe;
"Struggled with adverfe ftorms and winter feas,
"That in my labours you might find your cafe.
"Let other monarchs dictate from afar,
"And write the empty triumphs of the war;
"In lazy palaces fupinely ruft;

"My fword fhall justify my people's truft,
"For which-But I your victory delay;
"Comic on; I and my genius lead the way."

He faid, new life and joy ran through the hoft, And fenic of danger in their wonder luft; Precipitate they plunge into the flood,

In vain the waves, the banks, the men, withflood:

The king leads on, the king does all inflame,
The king and carries millions in the name.

As when the fwelling ocean bursts his bounds, And foaming overwhelms the neighbouring grounds,

The roaring deluge, rushing headlong on,
Sweeps cities in its course, and bears whole forests
down;

So on the foe the firm battalions preft,
And he, like the tenth wave, drove on the reft;
Fierce, gallant, young, he shot through every"
place,

Urging their flight, and hurrying on the chace; He hung upon their rear, or lighten'd in their face.

Stop flop brave prince! allay that generous
Aame,

Enough is given to England, and to fame.
Remember, Sir, you in the centre stand,
Europe's divided interefts you command,
All their defigns uniting in your hand:
Down from your throne defcends the golden chain,
Which does the fabric of our world futain;
That once diffolv'd by any fatal stroke,
The scheme of all our happiness is broke.
Stop: ftop brave prince! flects may repair ́
again,

And routed armies rally on the plain ;

But ages are requir'd to raise fo great a man! Hear, how the waves of French ambition roar," Difdaining bounds, and breaking on the fhore, Which you, ordain'd to curb their wild deftrue

tive power,

That ftrength remov'd; again, again, they flow, Lay Europe waste, nor law nor limits know.

Stop top brave prince-what, does your
Mule, Sir, faint?

Proceed, purfue his conqueft-faith, I can't;
My fpirits fink, and will no longer bear;
Rapture and fury carry'd me thus far
Tranfported and amaz'd

That rage once fpeut, I can no more sustain
Your flights, your energies, and tragic ftrain,
But fall back to my natural pace again;
In humble verfe provoking you to rhyme;
I wish there were more Dorfet's at this time.
Oh if in France this hero had been born,
What glittering tinfel would his acts adorn!
There 'tis immortal fame, and high renown,
To steal a country, and to buy a town:
There triumphs are o'er kings and kingdoms fold,
And captive virtue led in chains of gold.
If courage could, like courts, be kept in pay,
What fums would Louis give, that France

might fay

That victory follow'd where he led the way?
He all his conquests would for this refund,
And take th' equivalent, a glorious wound.
Then, what advice, to fpread his real fame,
Would pafs between Verfailles and Nôtredame?
Their plays, their fongs, would dwell upon his
wound,

And operas repeat no other found:

Boyne would, for ages, be the painter's theme,
The Gobelins labour, and the poets dream:

Doubts in her heart, and pleasure in her face,
As danger did approach, her fpirits rofe,
And, putting on the king, difmay'd his foes.
Now, all in joy, the gilds the cheerful court;
In every glance defcending angels fport.
As on the hills of Cynthus, or the meads
Of cool Eurotas, when Diana leads

The chorus of her nymphs, who there advance
A thousand fhining maids, and form the dance;
The ftately goddefs with a graceful pride,
Sweet and majestic, does the figure guide,
Treading in juft and eafy measures round;
The filver arrows on her fhoulder found;
She walks above them all. Such is the fcene
Of the bright circle, and the brighter queen.

Thefe fubjects do, my lord, your skill command,
Thefe none may touch with an unhallow'd hand:
Tender the strokes must be, and nicely writ,
Difguis'd encomiums must be hid in wit,
Which modefty, like theirs, will e'er admit.
Who made no other steps to fuch a throne,
But to deferve, and to receive, the crown.

WRITTEN AT ALTHROP,

In a blank Leaf of Waller's Poems, UPON SEEING VANDYKE'S PICTURE OF THE OLD LADY SUNDERLAND.

VANDYKE had colours, foftnefs, fire, and art, When the fair Sunderland inflam'd his heart. Waller had numbers, fancy, wit, and fire; And Sachariffa was his fond defire.

}

Why then at Althrop feem her charms to faint,
In these sweet numbers and that glowing paint?
This happy feat a fairer miftrefs warms;
This fhining offspring has eclips'd her charms:
The different beauties in one face we find;
Soft Amoret with brightest Sacharissa join'd.
As high as Nature reach'd, their art could foar;
But the ne'er made a finish'd piece before.
VOL. VI.

VERSES,

WRITTEN FOR THE TOASTING-GLASSES OF THE KIT-CAT CLUB, 1703.

Duchefs of St. Alban's.

THE line of Vere, fo long renown'd in arms,
Concludes with luftre in St. Alban's charms.
Her conquering eyes have made their race com-
plete;

They rofe in valour, and in beauty set.

Duchefs of Beaufort.

Offspring of a tuneful fire,

Bleft with more than mortal fire;
Likeness of a mother's face,
Bleft with more than mortal grace;
You with double charms furprife,
With his wit, and with her eyes.

Lady Mary Churchill.

Fairest and latest of the beauteous race,
Bleft with your parents wit, and her firft bloom-
ing face;

Born with our liberties in William's reign,
Your eyes alone that liberty restrain.

Duchefs of Richmond.

Of two fair Richmonds different ages boaft, Theirs was the firft, and ours the brightest toast; Th' adorers offerings prove who's most divine, They facrific'd in water, we in wine.

Lady Sunderland.

All Nature's charms in Sunderland appear, Bright as her eyes, and as her reafon clear: Yet itill their force, to men not safely known, Seems undiscover'd to herself alone.

Mademoiselle Spanheime.

Admir'd in Germany, ador'd in France,
Your charms to brighter glory here advance;
The stubborn Britons own your beauty's claim,
And with their native toafts enrol your name.

ON THE

COUNTESS DOWAGER OF ****. COURAGE, dear Moll, and drive away defpair, Mopfa, who in her youth was fcarce thought fair, In fpite of age, experience, and decays, Sets up for charming, in her fading days; Snuffs her dim eyes to give one parting blow Have at the heart of every ogling beau! This goodly goose, all feather'd like a jay, So gravely vain, and fo demurely gay, Laft night, t' adorn the court, did overload Her bald buff forehead with a high commode : 3 C

Her fteps were manag'd with fuch tender art,
As if each board had been a lover's heart,
In all her air, in every glance, wa- feen
A mixture ftrange, 'twixt fifty and fifteen.
Admiring fops about her crowding prefs;
Hampden himself delivers their address,
Which the, accepting with a nice difdain,
Owns them her fubjects, and begins to reign:
Fair queen of Fopland is her royal style;
Fopland the greatest part of this great ifle!
Nature did ne'er fo equally divide

A female heart, 'twixt piety and pride :
Her waiting-maids prevent the peep of day,
And, all in order, on her toilet lay
Prayer-books, patch-boxes, fermon notes, and
paint,

At once t' improve the finner and the faint.
Farewell, friend Moll; expect no more from me;
But if you would a full defcription fee,
You'll find her fome where in the Litany,
With pride, vain-glory, and hypocrify.

VERSES BY LORD HALIFAX,

From Dr. Z. Grey's MSS.

ALL the materials are the fame
Of beauty and defire,

In a fair woman's goodly frame

No brightness is without a flame,

No flame without a fire.

Then tell me what those creatures are,

That would be thought both chaste and fair?

Ode.-Epigram.-Satire,

Canto III.

Tragedy,
The Epic,

78

79

86

12

To her Royal Highness the Duchess of York,
on the memorable Victory gained by the
Duke over the Hollanders, June 3. 1665,
and on her Journey afterwards into the
North,

ANNUS MIRABILIS: THE YEAR OF WONDERS,
M.DC.LÍVI. AN HISTORICAL POEM.
Dedication to the Metropolis of Great Britain,
the most renowned and lately flourishing
City of London, in its Representatives, the
Lord Mayor and Court of Aldermen, the
Sheriffs, and Common Council of it,
An Account of the Enfuing Poem, in a Letter
to the Honourable Sir Robert Howard,
Annus Mirabilis: The Year of Wonders,
An Effay upon Satire, by Mr. Dryden and
the Earl of Mulgrave,

13

15

19

32

ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL.

Mac-flecknoe,

132