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W INDS OR CASTLE,
In a MONUMENT to our late Sovereign King
CHARLES II. of ever blessed Memory.
“ Dum juga montis aper; Auvios dum piscis amabit, “ Dúmque thymo pafcentur apes, dum rore cicadæ ; “ Semper Honos, Nomenque tuum, Laudéfque mane
“6 bunt. * Si canimus sylvas, fylvæ sint Consule dignæ.” VIRG.
To the immortal Fame of our late dread Sovereign
King CHARLES II. of ever blessed Memory; and to the facred Majesty of the most august and mighty Prince JAMES II. now by the Grace of God King of England, Scotland, France, and Ireland, Defender of the Faith, &c. this following Poem is in all humility dedicated by his ever devoted and obedient Subject and Servant,
HOUGH poets immortality may give,
And Troy does still in Homer's nuinbers live : How dare I touch thy praise, thou glorious frame, Which must be deathless as thy raiser's name :
But that I wanting fame am sure of thine
5 To eternize this humble fong of mine?.. At least the memory of that more than man, From whose yast mind thy glories first began, Shall ev'n my mean and worthless verse commend, For wonders always did his name attend. Though now (alas!). the fad grave he lies, Yet shall his praise for ever live, and laurels from it rise,
Great were the toils attending the command Of an ungrateful and a stiff-neck'd land, Which, grown too wanton, 'cause 'twas over-blest, 15 Would never give its nursing fathe rest; But, having spoild the edge of ill-forg'd law, By rods and axes had been kept in awe ; But that his gracious hand the sceptre held, In all the arts of mildly guiding skill’d; Who saw those engines which unhing'd us move, Griev'd at our follies with a father's love, Knew the vile ways we did t' affli&t him take, And watch'd what hafte we did to ruin make; Yet when upon its brink we seem'd to stand, 25 Lent to our succour a forgiving hand. Though now (alas !) in the sad grave he lies, Yet shall his praise for ever live, and laurels thence arise.
Mercy 's indeed the attribute of heaven, For gods have power to keep the balance even,
30 Which if kings loose, how can they govern
And round the throne themselves in tumults spread, 35
Then, matrons bless'd him as he pass'd along,
Virtue's great pattern, and rebellion's dread,
The second, for debates in council fit,
So Slaves to those tyrant lords whose yoke we bore, And serv'd so base a bondage to before ; Vet ’twas our curse, that blessings flowd too fast, Or we had appetites too coarse to taste. Fond Israelites, our manna to refuse, And Egypt's loathsome fleth-pots murmuring chufe. Great Charles saw this, yet hulh'd his rising breast, Though much the lion in his bosom prest : But he for sway seem'd so by nature made, That his own passions knew him, and obey'd : 90 Master of them, he soften'd his command, The fword of rule scarce threaten'd in his hand :
Stern majesty upon his brow might fit,
In this great mind long he his cares revolv'd,