And when the horned herd 's together got,
Nothing portends a common-wealth like that.
Caft, caft your idols off, your gods of wood,
Philistines fatten with your blood :

Ere yet

Renounce your priests of Baal with amen faces, Your Wapping feasts, and your Mile-end high places. Nail all your medals on the gallows poft, In recompence th' original was loft: At thefe, illuftrious repentance pay, In his kind hands your humble offerings lay: Let royal pardon be by him implor'd, Th' atoning brother of your anger'd lord : He only brings a medicine fit t' afsuage A people's folly, and rouz'd monarch's rage. An infant prince, yet labouring in the womb, Fated with wondrous happiness to come, He goes to fetch the mighty bleffings home : Send all your wishes with him, let the air With gentle breezes waft it fafely there, The feas, like what they 'll carry, calm and fair : Let the illuftrious mother touch our land Mildly, as hereafter may her fon command; While our glad monarch welcomes her to fhore, With kind affurance the fhall part no more. Be the majestic babe then smiling born, And all good figns of fate his birth adorn, So live and grow, a constant pledge to stand Of Cæfar's love to an obedient land.

SPOKEN

SPOKEN то

HER ROYAL HIGHNESS,

ON HER

RETURN FROM SCOTLAND,

IN THE YEAR 1682.

ALL you, who this day's jubilee attend,

And every loyal Mufe's loyal friend,

That come to treat your longing wishes here,
Turn your defiring eyes, and feast them there.
Thus falling on your knees with me implore,
May this poor land ne'er lose that prefence more!
But if there any in this circle be,

That come fo curft to envy what they fec,
From the vain fool that would be great too foon,
To the dull knave that writ the last lampoon!
Let fuch, as victims to that beauty's fame,

Hang their vile blafted heads, and die with fhame..
Our mighty bleffing is at laft return'd,

The joy arriv'd for which so long we mourn'd:
From whom our prefent peace we expect encreas'd,,
And all our future generations bleft..

Time, have a care: bring fafe the hour of joy,
When fome bleft tongue proclaims a royal boy :
And when 'tis born, let nature's hand be ftrong;
Blefs him with days of strength, and make them long;

Till charg'd with honours we behold him stand,
Three kingdoms banners waiting his command,
His father's conquering fword within his hand :
Then th' English lions in the air advance,
And with them roaring mufic to the dance,
Carry a Quo Warranto into France.

PROLOGUE

то MRS. BEHN'S.

CITY

HEIRESS,

1682.

HOW vain have prov'd the labours of the stage,

In striving to reclaim a vicious age!

Poets may write, the mischief to impeach;
You care as little what the poets teach,
As you regard at church what parfons preach.
But where fuch follies and fuch vices reign,

What honeft pen has patience to refrain ?
At church, in pews, ye most devoutly fnore,
And here, got dully drunk, ye come to roar;
Ye go to church, to glout and ogle there,
And come to meet more lewd convenient here:
With equal zeal ye honour either place,
And run, fo very evenly your race,
Y' improve in wit just as ye do in grace.
It must be fo; fome dæmon has poffeft
Our land, and we have never fince been bleft.

}

}

'Y' have

Y' have feen it all, and heard of its renown,
In reverend shape it stalk'd about the town,
Six yeomen tall attending on its frówn.
Sometimes, with humble note and' zealous lore,
'Twould play the apostolic function o'er :
But heaven have mercy on us when it swore!
Whene'er it fwore, to prove the oaths were true,
Out of its mouth at random halters flew
Round fome unwary neck, by magic thrown,
Though still the cunning devil fav'd its own:
For when th' enchantment could no longer laft,
The fubtle Pug, moft dextrously uncast,
Left awful form for one more feeming pious,
And in a moment vary'd to defy us ;
From filken doctor, home-spun Ananias :
Left the lewd court, and did in city fix,
Where still by its old arts it plays new tricks,
And fills the heads of fools with politicks.
This dæmon lately drew in many a guest,
Το part with zealous guinea for---no feast.
Who, but the most incorrigible fops,

For ever doom'd in difmal cells, call'd fhops,
To cheat and damn themselves to get their livings,
Would lay fweet money out in fham thanksgivings
Sham plots you may have paid for o'er and o'er;
But who e'er paid for a fham treat before?
Had you not better fent your offerings all
Hither to us, than Sequeftrators' Hall?

I being your steward, juftice had been done ye;
I could have entertain'd you worth your money.

THE

SIXTEENTH ODE

O F THE

SECOND BOOK OF HORACE.

IN

ftorms when clouds the moon do hide,

And no kind stars the pilot guide,
Shew me at fea the boldeft there,
Who does not wifh for quiet here.
For quiet, friend, the foldier fights,
Bears weary marches, fleepless nights,
For this feeds hard, and lodges cold;
Which can't be bought with hills of gold.
Since wealth and power too weak we find,
To quell the tumults of the mind;

Or from the monarch's roofs of state
Drive thence the cares that round him wait;
Happy the man with little bleft,
Of what his father left poffeft;
No bafe defires corrupt his head,

No fears disturb him in his bed.

What then in life, which foon must end,
Can all our vain designs intend?

From fhore to fhore why fhould we run,
When none his tirefome felf can fhun?
For baneful care will ftill prevail,

And overtake us under fail,