no labours of a genius fo rich in itself, and fo cultivated with learning and manners, can prove an unwelcome present to the world.

WHAT

rage does England from itself divide,

More than the feas from all the world befide?

From every part the roaring cannons play,

From every part blood roars as loud as they.
What English ground but still some moisture bears,
Of young men's blood, and more of mothers' tears?
What air 's unthicken`d with the fighs of wives,
Though more of maids for their dear lovers' lives?
Alas! what triumphs can this victory fhew,
That dyes us red in blood and blushes too!
How can we wish that conqueft, which bestows
Cyprefs, not bays, upon the conquering brows?
It was not fo when Henry's dreadful name,
Not fword, nor caufe, whole nations overcame.
To farthest Weft did his fwift conquests run,
Nor did his glory fet but with the fun.
In vain did Roderic to his hold retreat,
In vain had wretched Ireland call'd him great;
Ireland! which now moft bafely we begin

To labour more to lose than he to win.

It was not fo when in the happy Eaft,

Richard, our Mars, Venus's Ifle poffeft:

'Gainst the proud Moon he th' English cross display'd,
Eclips'd one horn, and th' other paler made;
When our dear lives we ventur'd bravely there,
And digg'd our own to gain Christ's sepulchre,

That

That facred tomb, which, should we now enjoy,
We should with as much zeal fight to destroy!
The precious figns of our dead Lord we fcorn,
And fee his cross worse than his body torn ;
We hate it now both for the Greek and Jew,
To us 'tis foolishnefs and fcandal too.

To what with worship the fond Papist falls,
That the fond zealot a curs'd idol calls:

So, 'twixt their double madnefs, here 's the odds,
One makes falfe devils, t'other makes makes falfe gods.
It was not fo when Edward prov'd his cause,

By a fword stronger than the Salique laws,

Tho' fetch'd from Pharamond; when the French did fight,
With women's hearts, against the women's right.
Th' afflicted ocean his first conquest bore,
And drove red waves to the fad Gallic fhore:
As if he 'ad angry with that element been,
Which his wide foul bound with an island in.
Where's now that spirit with which at Creffey we,
And Poitiers, forc'd from Fate a victory ?
Two kings at once we brought fad captives home,
A triumph fcarcely known to ancient Rome!
Two foreign kings: but now, alas! we strive,
Our own, our own good sovereign to captive!
It was not fo when Agincourt was won ;
Under great Henry serv'd the rain and fun :
A nobler fight the fun himself ne'er knew,
Not when he stopp'd his course a fight to view!
Then Death's old archer did more skilful grow,
And learn'd to fhoot more fure from th' English bow;

Then France was her own ftory fadly taught,
And felt how Cæfar and how Edward fought.

:

It was not fo when that vast fleet of Spain Lay torn and scatter'd on the English main ; Through the proud world a virgin terror ftrook; The Austrian crowns, and Rome's feven hills, the shook! To her great Neptune homag'd all his streams, And all the wide-ftretch'd ocean was her Thames. Thus our forefathers fought, thus bravely bled, Thus ftill they live, whilft we alive are dead; Such acts they did, that Rome, and Cæfar too, Might envy thofe whom once they did fubdue. We're not their offspring; fure our heralds lye; But born we know not how, as now we die; Their precious blood we could not venture thus Some Cadmus, fure, fow'd ferpents' teeth for us; We could not elfe by mutual fury fall, Whilft Rhine and Sequan for our armies call: Chufe war or peace, you have a prince, you know, As fit for both, as both are fit for you; Furious as lightning, when war's tempest came, But calm in peace, calm as a lambent flame. Have you forgot thofe happy years of late, That faw nought ill, but us that were ingrate; Such years, as if earth's youth return'd had been, And that old ferpent Time had caft his skin? As gloriously and gently did they move, As the bright fun that measures them above; Then only in books the learn'd could mifery fee, And the unlearn'd ne'er heard of mifery.

Then

Then happy James with as deep quiet reign'd,
As in his heavenly throne, by death, he gain'd;
And, left this bleffing with his life fhould ceafe,
He left us Charles, the pledge of future peace;
Charles, under whom, with much ado, no lefs
Than fixteen years, we endur'd our happiness;
Till in a moment, in the North, we find
A tempeft conjur'd up without a wind.
As foon the North her kindnefs did repent;
First the peace-maker, and next war, fhe fent.
Juft Tweed, that now had with long peace forgot
On which fide dwelt the English, which the Scot,.
Saw glittering arms fhine fadly on his face,
Whilst all th' affrighted fish fank down apace..
No blood did then from this dark quarrel grow,

It

gave blunt wounds, that bled not out till now! For Jove, who might have us'd his thundering power, Chofe to fall calmly in a golden shower!

A way we found to conquer, which by none
Of all our thrifty ancestors was known;
So ftrangely prodigal of late we are,

We there buy peace, and here at home buy war.
How could a war fo fad and barbarous pleafe,
But first by flandering those bleft days of peace?
Through all the excrements of state they pry,
Like emp'ricks, to find out a malady;
And then with defperate boldness they endeavour,
Th' ague to cure by bringing-in a fever :
The way is fure to expel fome ill, no doubt;

The plague, we know, drives all difeafes out.

What strange wild fears did every morning breed,
Till a ftrange fancy made us fick indeed!
And cowardice did valour's place fupply,
Like thofe that kill themselves for fear to die!
What frantic diligence in these men appears,
That fear all ills, and act o'er all their fears!
Thus into war we fcar'd ourselves; and who
But Aaron's fons, that the first trumpet blew ?
Fond men who knew not that they were to keep
For God, and not for facrifice, their sheep!
The churches first this murderous doctrine sow,
And learn to kill, as well as bury, now:
The marble tombs where our forefathers lie,
Sweated with dread of too much company;
And all their fleeping afhes fhook for fear,
Left thousand ghosts should come and shroud them there.
Petitions next from every town they frame,

To be reftor'd to them from whom they came :
The fame ftyle all, and the fame fenfe, does pen,
Alas! they' allow fet forms of prayer to men.
Oh happy we, if men would neither hear
Their ftudied form, nor God their fudden prayer
They will be heard, and, in unjustest wise,
The many-headed rout for justice cries;
They call for blood, which now I fear does call
For blood again, much louder than they all.
In fenfelefs clamours, and confufed noife,
We loft that rare, and yet unconquer'd voice :
So, when the facred Thracian lyre was drown'd
In the Bistonian women's mixed found,

The