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Ovid both felt the pain, and found the ease:
Phyficians ftudy moft their own disease,
The practice of that age in this we try,
Ladies would liften then, and lovers lye.
Who flatter'd most the fair were most polite,
Each thought her own admirer in the right:
To be but faintly rude was criminal, -
But to be boldly fo, aton'd for all.

Breeding was banish'd for the fair-one's fake,
The fex ne'er gives, but fuffers ours fhould take..
Advice to you, my lord, in vain we bring;
The flowers ne'er fail to meet the blooming fpring:
Though you poffefs all Nature's gifts, take care;
Love's queen
has charms, but fatal is her fnare.
On all that Goddefs her falfe fimiles beftows;
As on the feas fhe reigns, from whence the rofe.
Young Zephyrs figh with fragrant breath, foft gales
Guide her gay barge, and fwell the filken fails:
Each filver wave in beauteous order moves,
Fair as her bofom, gentle as her doves;
But he that once embarks, too furely finds
A fullen fky, black storms, and angry winds;
Cares, fears, and anguifh, hovering on the coaft,
And wrecks of wretches by their folly loft.

When coming Time shall bless you with a bride,
Let paffion not persuade, but reafon guide;
Inftead of gold, let gentle Truth endear;
She has moft charms who is the moft fincere.
Shun vain variety, 'tis but difeafe;

Weak appetites are ever hand to pleafe.

The

The nymph muft fear to be inquifitive;

'Tis for the fex's quiet, to believe.

Her air an cafy confidence must show,

And fhun to find what fhe would dread to know;
Still charming with all arts that can engage,
And be the Juliana of the age.

To the Dutchess of BOLTON, on her staying all the Winter in the Country.

CE

EASE rural conquests, and set free your fwains, To Dryads leave the groves, to Nymphs the plains. In penfive dales alone let Echo dwell,

And each fad figh fhe hears with forrow tell.
Hafte, let your eyes at Kent's pavilion * shine,
It wants but ftars, and then the work 's divine.
Of late, Fame only tells of yielding towns,
Of captive generals, and protected crowns:
Of purchas'd laurels, and of battles won,
Lines forc'd, ftates vanquifh'd, provinces o'er-run,
And all Alcides' labour fumm'd in one.

The brave must to the fair now yield the prize,
And English arms fubmit to English eyes :
In which bright lift among the first you
Though each a Goddess, or a Sunderland.

ftand;

A Gallery at St. James's.

}

TO

TO THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH, ON HIS VOLUNTARY BANISHMENT.

G%

O, mighty prince, and those great nations fee,
Which thy victorious arms before made free;
View that fam'd column, where thy name engrav'd
Shall tell their children who their empire fav'd,
Point out that marble where thy worth is shown,
To every grateful country but thy own.
O cenfure undeserv'd! unequal fate!

Which ftrove to leffen him who made her grear:
Which, pamper'd with fuccefs and rich in fame,
Extoll'd his conquefts, but condemn'd his name.
But virtue is a crime when plac'd on high,
Though all the fault's in the beholder's eye;
Yet he, untouch'd, as in the heat of wars,
Flies from no danger but domestic jars,
Smiles at the dart which angry Envy shakes,
And only fears for Her whom he forfakes:
He grieves to find the courfe of virtue cross'd,
Blushing to fee our blood no better loft;
Didfains in factious parties to contend,
And proves in abfence moft Britannia's friend.
So the great Scipio of old, to fhun

That glorious envy which his arms had won,
Far from his dear, ungrateful Rome retir'd,
Prepar'd, whene'er his country's cause requir'd,
To line in peace or war, and be again admir'd.

}

TO

TO THE

EARL OF GODOLPHIN.

WHILST weeping Europe bends beneath her ills,

And where the fword deftroys not, famine kills;

Our ifle enjoys, by your fuccessful care,
The pomp of peace, amidst the woes of war.
So much the publick to your prudence owes,
You think no labours long for our repose:
Such conduct, such integrity are shown,
There are no coffers empty, but your own.

From mean dependance, merit you retrieve,
Unask'd you offer, and unfeen you give :
Your favour, like the Nile, increase bestows,
And yet conceals the fource from whence it flows.
No pomp, or grand appearance, you approve :
A people at their ease is what you love:
To leffen taxes, and a nation fave,

Are all the grants your fervices would have.
Thus far the state-machine wants no repair,
But moves in matchlefs order by your care;
Free from confufion, fettled and ferene;
And, like the universe, by fprings unseen.

But now fome star, finifter to our prayers,
Contrives new schemes, and calls you from affairs :
No anguish in your looks, or cares appear,
But how to teach th' unpractis'd crew to steer.
Thus, like a victim, no constraint you need,
To expiate their offence by whom you bleed.

Ingratitude's a weed of every clime,

It thrives too fast at first, but fades in time.
The god of day, and your own lot 's the fame;
The vapours you have rais'd, obscure your flame :
But though you fuffer, and awhile retreat,
Your globe of light looks larger as you

fet.

LON

HER MAJESTY'S STATUE,

N

ST. PAUL'S CHURCH YARD.

NEAR the vaft bulk of that ftupendous frame,

Known by the Gentiles' great apostle's name ;

With grace divine, great Anna 's feen to rife,
An awful form that glads a nation's eyes :
Beneath her feet four mighty realms appear,
And with due reverence pay their homage there.
Britain and Ireland feem to own her grace,

And even wild India wears a fmiling face.
But France alone with downcaft eyes is feen,
The fad attendant of fo good a Queen :
Ungrateful country! to forget fo foon,
All that great Anna for thy fake has done :
When fworn the kind defender of thy cause,
Spite of her dear religion, spite of laws;
For thee the fheath'd the terrors of her fword,
For thee the broke her General and her word:

For

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