Page images
PDF
EPUB

For thee her mind in doubtful terms she told,
And learn'd to speak like oracles of old.
For thee, for thee alone, what could fhe more?
She loft the honour fhe had gain'd before;
Loft all the trophies, which her arms had won
(Such Cæfar never knew, nor Philip's son);
Refign'd the glories of a ten years' reign,
And fuch as none but Marlborough's arm could gain.
For thee in annals fhe 's content to fhine,
Like other monarchs of the Stuart line.

ON THE

NEW CONSPIRACY. 1716.

WHERE, where, degenerate countrymen-how high

Will your fond folly and your madness fly? Are fcenes of death, and fervile chains fo dear, To fue for blood and bondage every year, Like rebel Jews, with too much freedom cutft, To court a change - though certain of the worst ?/ There is no climate which you have not fought, Where tools of war, and vagrant kings, are bought; O! noble paffion, to your country kind,

To crown her with

the refuse of mankind.

As if the new Rome, which your schemes unfold,

Were to be built on rapine, like the old,

While her asylum openly provides

For every ruffian every nation hides.

Will you

ftill tempt the great avenger's blow,

And force the bolt which he is loath to throw ?

[ocr errors]

Have there too few already bit the plains,

To make you feek new Prestons and Dumblains?
If vengeance loses its effects so fast,

Yet thofe of mercy fure

fhould longer laft.

Say, is it rafhnefs or despair provokes

Your harden'd hearts to these repeated strokes ? Reply: Behold, their looks, their fouls declare, All pale with guilt, and dumb with deep despair. Hear then, you fons of blood, your deftin'd fate, Hear, ere you fin too soon

repent too late. Madly you try to weaken George's reign,

And ftem the ftream of Providence in vain.

By right, by worth, by wonders, made our own,
The hand that gave it fhall preserve his throne.
As vain your hopes to diftant times remove,
To try the fecond, or the third from Jove;
For 'tis the nature of that facred line,
To conquer monsters, and to grow divine.

ON THE

KING OF

SPAIN.

PALLAS, deftructive to the Trojan line,

Raz'd their proud walls, though built by hands
divine :

But Love's bright goddess, with propitious grace,
Preferv'd a hero, and restor'd the race.

Thus the fam'd empire where the Iber flows,
Fell by Eliza, and by Anna rofe.

[blocks in formation]

CARLISLE's a name can every Mufe infpire;
To Carlisle fill the glass, and tune the lyre.
With his lov'd bays the God of Day shall crown
A wit and luftre equal to his own.

THE SAME.

AT once the Sun and Carlisle took their way, To warm the frozen north, and kindle day; The flowers to both their glad creation ow'd, Their virtues he, their beauties fhe bestow'd.

LADY ESSEX.

THE braveft hero, and the brightest dame,
From Belgia's happy clime Britannia drew;
One pregnant cloud we find does often frame
The awful thunder, and the gentle dew.

[blocks in formation]

THE SAME.

To Effex fill the sprightly wine;
The health 's engaging and divine.
Let pureft odours scent the air,
And wreaths of roses bind our hair:
In her chafte lips these blushing lie,
And those her gentle fighs fupply.

LADY HYDE.

THE God of Wine grows jealous of his art,
He only fires the head, but Hyde the heart.
The Queen of Love looks on, and smiles to fee
A nymph more mighty than a deity.

ON LADY HYDE IN CHILD-BED.

HYDE, though in agonies, her graces keeps,

A thousand charms the nymph's complaints adorn; In tears of dew fo mild Aurora weeps,

But her bright offspring is the chearful morn.

LADY WHARTON.

WHEN Jove to Ida did the gods invite,
And in immortal toasting pafs'd the night,
With more than nectar he the banquet blefs'd,
For Wharton was the Venus of the feast.

PROLOGUE

PROLOGUE,

DESIGNED FOR

TAMER LANE.

O-DAY a mighty hero comes, to warm

TO-DAY

Your curdling blood, and bid you, Britons, arm.
To valour much he owes, to virtue more;
He fights to fave, and conquers to restore.
He strains no texts, nor makes dragoons perfuade;
He likes religion, but he hates the trade.
Born for mankind, they by his labour live;
Their property is his prerogative.

His fword deftroys lefs than his mercy faves,
And none, except his paffions, are his flaves.
Such, Britons, is the prince that you poffefs,
In council greateft, and in camps no lefs :
Brave, but not cruel; wife, without deceit ;
Born for an age curs'd with a Bajazet.

But

you, difdaining to be too fecure,

Afk his protection, and yet grudge his power.
With you a monarch's right is in difpute;
Who give fupplies, are only abfolute.

Britons, for fhame! your factious feuds decline,
Too long you 've labour'd for the Bourbon line:
Affert loft rights, an Austrian prince alone
Is born to nod upon a Spanish throne.
A caufe no lefs could on great Eugene call;
Steep Alpine rocks require an Hannibal:

« PreviousContinue »