Weep, you on earth; for he fhall fleep below:
Thence none return, and thither all must go.
Whoe'er thou art, whom choice or bufinefs leads
To this fad river, or the neighbouring meads;
If thou may'st happen on the dreary fhores
To find the object which this verse deplores,
Cleanse the pale corpfe with a religious hand
From the polluting weed and common fand;
Lay the dead Hero graceful in a grave
(The only honour he can now receive),
And fragrant mould upon his body throw,
And plant the warrior-laurel o'er his brow :
Light lie the earth, and flourish green the bough.
So may juft Heaven fecure thy future life
From foreign dangers and domestic strife!
And, when th' infernal judge's dismal power
From the dark urn fhall throw thy destin'd hour;
When, yielding to the sentence, breathless thou
And pale fhalt lie, as what thou buriest now;
May fome kind friend the piteous object see,
And equal rites perform to that which once was thee !
PROLOGUE,
Spoken at COURT before the QUEEN,
On her MAJESTY'S Birth-Day, 1704.
SHINE forth, ye planets, with diftinguish'd light,..
As when ye hallow'd firft this happy night:
Again tranfmit your' friendly beams to earth,
As when Britannia joy'd for Anna's birth.
And thou, propitious star, whose facred power
Prefided o'er the monarch's natal hour,
Thy radiant voyages for ever run,
Yielding to none but Cynthia and the Sun;
With thy fair afpect ftill illustrate Heaven;
Kindly preferve what thou haft greatly given:
Thy influence for thy Anna we implore :
Prolong one life; and Britain asks no more.
For virtue can no ampler power express,
Than to be great in war, and good in peace:
For thought no higher wish of bliss can frame,
Than to enjoy that virtue ftill the fame.
Entire and fure the monarch's rule must prove,
Who founds her greatness on her fubjects love;
Who does our homage for our good require;
And orders that which we should firft defire:
Our vanquish'd wills that pleafing force obey,
Her goodness takes our liberty away,
And haughty Britain yields to arbitrary sway.
Let the young Auftrian then her terrors bear,
Great as he is, her delegate in war :-
Let him in thunder speak to both his Spains,
That in thefe dreadful ifles a woman reigns:
While the bright queen does on her fubjects shower
The gentle bleffings of her fofter power;
Gives facred morals to a vicious age,
To temples zeal, and manners to the stage;
Bids the chafte Mufe without a blush appear;
And Wit be that which Heaven and fhe may hear.
Minerva thus to Perfeus lent her fhield Secure of conquest, fent him to the field : The hero acted what the queen ordain'd;
So was his fame compleat, and Andromede unchain'd.
Mean time, amidst her native temples fate
The Goddess, ftudious of her Grecian's fate,
Taught them in laws and letters to excell,
In acting juftly, and in writing well.
Thus whilst she did her various power difpofe,
The world was freed from tyrants, wars, and woes:
Virtue was taught in verse, and Athens' glory rofe.
To Monfieur BOILEAU DESPREAUX; Occafioned by the Victory at BLENHEIM, 1704.
Cupidum, pater optime, vires
"Deficiunt: neque enim quivis horrentia pilis
“Agmina, nec fractâ pereuntes cufpide Gallos"-
HOR. 2 Sat. i.
SINCE, hir'd for life, thy fervile Muse must fing
Succeffive conquefts, and a glorious king;
Must of a man immortal vainly boast,
And bring him laurels, whatsoe'er they coft :
What turn wilt thou employ, what colours lay
On the event of that fuperior day,
In which one English subject's profperous hand
(So Jove did will; fo Anna did command)
Broke the proud column of thy master's praise,
Which fixty winters had confpir'd to raise ?
From the loft field a hundred standards brought
Must be the work of Chance, and Fortune's fault:
Bavaria's ftars must be accus'd, which fhone,
That fatal day the mighty work was done
With rays oblique upon the Gallic fun :
Some Dæmon, envying France, mifled the fight;
And Mars mistook, though Louis order'd right.
When thy young Muse invok'd the tuneful Nine,
To fay how Louis did not pafs the Rhine;
What work had we with Wageninghen, Arnheim,
Places that could not be reduc'd to rhyme !
And, though the Poet made his last efforts,
Wurts-who could mention in heroic-Wurts?
But, tell me, hadst thou reason to complain
Of the rough triumphs of the laft campaign?
The Danube rescued, and the Empire fav'd,
Say, is the majesty of verse retriev❜d?
And would it prejudice thy fofter vein,
To fing the princes, Louis and Eugene ?
Is it too hard in happy verse to place
The Vans and Vanders of the Rhine and Maese?
Her warriors Anna fends from Tweed and Thames,
That France may fall by more harmonious names?
Canft thou not Hamilton or Lumley bear?
Would Ingold by or Palmes offend thy ear?
*"En vain, pour te louer, &c." Ep. 4.
And is there not a found in Marlborough's name,
Which thou and all thy brethren ought to claim,
Sacred to verfe, and fure of endless fame?
Cutts is in metre fomething harfh to read ;
Place me the valiant Gouran in his ftead:
Let the intention make the number good:
Let generous Sylvius fpeak for honeft Wood.
And though rough Churchill scarce in verse will stand, So as to have one rhime at his command; With ease the bard, reciting Blenheim's plain, May close the verfe, remembering but the Dane. I grant, old friend, old foe, (for fuch we are Alternate as the chance of peace and war,) That we poetic folks, who muft restrain Our measur'd sayings in an equal chain, Have troubles utterly unknown to thofe, Who let their fancy loose in rambling profe. For instance now, how hard is it for me To make my matter and my verse agree! "In one great day on Hochftet's fatal plain, "French and Barvarians twenty thousand flain : "Pufh'd through the Danube to the fhores of Sty "Squadrons eighteen, battalions twenty-fix: "Officers captive made, and private men,
"Of these twelve hundred, of thofe thoufands ten. Tents, ammunition, colours, carriages,
Cannon, and kettle-drums !"-fweet numbers thefe ! But is it thus you English bards compofe? With Runic lays thus tag infipid profe?
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