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Homage to pay, or humble peace to gain,
And own aufpicious omens from his reign.
Set at long distance his contracted foes

Shrinking from what they dare not now oppose;
Draw fhame or mean defpair in all their eyes,"
And terror left th' avenging hand should rise.
But where his fmiles extend, draw beauteous peace,
poor man's chearful toils, the rich man's cafe
Here, fhepherds piping to their feeding fheep,
Or ftretch'd at length in their warm huts asleep;
There jolly hinds fpread through the fultry fields,
Reaping fuch harvests as their tillage yields; .
Or fhelter'd from the fcorchings of the fun,
Their labours ended, and repaft begun;




Rang'don green banks, which they themselves did raite,
Singing their own content, and ruler's praife."
Draw beauteous meadows, gardens, groves, and bowers,
Where Contemplation beft may pafs her hours :
Fill'd with chatte lovers plighting conftant hearts, 56%
Rejoicing Mufes, and encourag'd Arts.


Draw every thing like this that thought can frame,
Beft fuiting with thy theme, great James's fame.
Known for the man who from his youthful years,
By mighty deeds has earn'd the crown he wears;
Whofe conquering arm far-envy'd wonders wrought,
When an ungrateful people's caufe he fought;
When for their rights he his brave fword employ'd,
Who in return would have his rights destroy'd:
But heaven fuch injur'd merit did regard
(As heaven in time true virtue will reward);



So to a throne by Providence he rofe,

And all who e'er were his, were Providence's focs.




DID but look and love a-while,
'Twas but for one half-hour;

Then to refift I had no will

And now I have no power.


To figh, and wish, is all my ease;
Sighs, which do heat impart,
Enough to melt the coldest ice,
Yet cannot warm your heart.


O! would your pity give my heart

One corner of your breast,
'Twould learn of yours the winning art,
And quickly fteal the rest.




O R,


"Si quid habent veri vatum præfagia, vivam."

To the Right Honourable THOMAS Earl of OSSORY, Baron of Moor Park, Knight of the moft Noble Order of the Garter, &c.


THOUGH 'HOUGH never any man had more need of excufe

for a prefumption of this nature than I have now; yet, when I have laid out every way to find one, your lordship's goodness must be my best refuge and therefore I humbly caft this at your feet for protection, and myfelf for pardon.

My Lord, I have great need of protection; for to the best of my heart I have here published in fome measure the truth, and I would have it thought honestly too (a practice never more out of countenance than now): yet truth and honour are things which your lord-' ship muft needs be kind to, because they are relations to your nature, and never left you. 'Twould

'Twould be a fecond presumption in me to pretend in this a panegyric on your lordship; for it would require more art to do your virtue juftice, than to flatter any other man.

If I have ventured at a hint of the prefent fufferings of that great prince mentioned in the latter end of this paper, with favour from your lordship I hope to add a fecond part, and do all thofe great and good men justice, that have in his calamities ftuck faft to fo gallant a friend and fo good a master. To write and finish which great fubject faithfully, and to be honoured with your lordship's patronage in what I may do, and your approbation, or at least pardon, in what I have done, will be the greateft pride of,

My Lord,

Your moft humble admirer and fervant,



O D E.

a high hill where never yet ftood tree,

Where only heath, coarse fern, and furzes grow,
Where (nipt by piercing air)`

The flocks in tatter'd fleeces hardly gaze,

Led by uncouth thoughts and care,

Which did too much his penfive mind amaze, A wandering bard, whofe Mufe was crazy grown, Cloy'd with the naufeous follies of the buzzing town, Came, look'd about him, figh'd, and laid him down ;


'Twas far from any path, but where the earth
Was bare, and naked all as at her birth,

When by the word it firft was made,
Ere God had faid,

Let grafs and herbs and every green thing grow, With fruitful trees after their kind, and it was fo. The whistling winds blew fiercely round his head, Cold was his lodging, hard his bed;

Aloft his eyes on the wide heavens he caft,

Where we are told Peace only 's found at last : And as he did its hopeless distance fee, Sigh'd deep, and cry'd, How far is Peace from me!


Nor ended there his moan:

The diftance of his future joy

Had been enough to give him pain alone;
But who can undergo

Defpair of eafe to come, with weight of present woe?
Down his afflicted face

The trickling tears had ftream'd so fast a pace,
As left a path worn by their briny race.

Swoln was his breast with fighs, his well-
proportion'd limbs as ufelefs fell,

Whilft the poor trunk (unable to fustain
Itfelf) lay rackt, and fhaking with its pain.
I heard his groans as I was walking by,
And (urg'd by pity) went aside, to see

What the fad caufe could be

Had prefs'd his ftate fo low, and rais'd his plaints fo high.


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