No promife can oblige a prince fo much
Still to be good, as long to have been fuch.
A noble emulation heats your breast,
And your own fame now robs you of your rest.
Good actions still must be maintain'd with good,
As bodies nourish'd with resembling food.
You have already quench'd fedition's brand;
And zeal, which burnt it, only warms the land.
The jealous fects, that dare not truft their cause
So far from their own will as to the laws,
You for their umpire and their fynod take,
And their appeal alone to Cæfar make.
Kind heaven fo rare a temper did provide,
That guilt repenting might in it confide.
Among our crimes oblivion may be set :
But 'tis our king's perfection to forget.
Virtues unknown to these rough northern climes
From milder heavens you bring without their crimes.
Your calmness does no after-ftorms provide,
Nor feeming patience mortal anger hide.
When empire first from families did spring,
Then every father govern'd as a king:
that are a fovereign prince, allay
Imperial power with your paternal fway.
From thofe great cares when ease your soul unbends, Your pleasures are defign'd to noble ends?
Born to command the mistress of the feas,
Your thoughts themselves in that blue empire please. Hither in fummer evenings you repair
To taste the fraicheur of the
Undaunted here you ride, when winter raves,
With Cæfar's heart that rofe above the waves.
More I could fing, but fear my numbers stays;
No loyal fubject dares that courage praise.
In ftately frigates most delight you find,
Where well-drawn battles fire your martial mind.
What to your cares we owe, is learnt from hence,
When ev'n your pleasures serve for our defence.
Beyond your court flows in th' admitted tide,
Where in new depths the wondering fishes glide :
Here in a royal bed the waters fleep;
When, tir'd at fea, within this bay they creep.
Here the mistrustful fowl no harm fufpects,
So fafe are all things which our king protects.
From your lov'd Thames a blessing yet is due,
Second alone to that it brought in you;
A queen, near whofe chafte womb, ordain'd by fate,
The fouls of kings unborn for bodies wait.
It was your love before made difcord cease:
Your love is deftin'd to your country's peace.
Both Indies, rivals in your bed, provide
With gold or jewels to adorn your bride.
This to a mighty king presents rich ore,
While that with incense does a god implore.
Two kingdoms wait your doom, and, as you choose,
This must receive a crown, or that must lofe.
Thus from your royal oak, like Jove's of old,
Are anfwers fought, and deftinies foretold :
Propitious oracles are begg'd with vows,
And crowns that grow upon the facred boughs.
Your fubjects, while you weigh the nation's fate,
Sufpend to both their doubtful love or hate :
Chufe only, fir, that fo they may poffefs
With their own peace their children's happiness.
To the LORD CHANCELLOR HYDE. Prefented on New-Year's Day, 1662.
HILE flattering crouds officiously appear
To give themselves, not you, an happy year;
And by the greatness of their prefents prove
How much they hope, but not how well they love ;
The Mufes, who your early courtship boast,
Though now your flames are with their beauty loft,
Yet watch their time, that, if you have forgot
They were your mistreffes, the world may not:
Decay'd by time and wars, they only prove
Their former beauty by your former love;
And now prefent, as ancient ladies do,
That courted long, at length are forc'd to woo.
For ftill they look on you with fuch kind eyes,
As those that see the church's fovereign rise;
From their own order chose, in whose high state,
They think themselves the fecond choice of fate.
When our great monarch into exile went,
Wit and religion fuffer'd banishment.
Thus once, when Troy was wrap'd in fire and smoke, The helpless gods their burning shrines forfook ;
They with the vanquish'd prince and party go,
And leave their temples empty to the foe.
At length the Mufes ftand, reftor'd again
To that great charge which nature did ordain;
And their lov'd Druids feem reviv'd by fate,
While you dispense the laws, and guide the state.
The nation's foul, our monarch, does difpenfe,
Through you, to us, his vital influence ;
You are the channel, where thofe fpirits flow,
And work them higher, as to us they go.
In open prospect nothing bounds our eye,
Until the earth feems join'd unto the sky:
So in this hemifphere our utmost view
Is only bounded by our king and you :
Our fight is limited where you are join'd,
And beyond that no farther heaven can find.
So well your virtues do with his agree,
That, though your orbs of different greatness be,
Yet both are for each other's use difpos'd,
His to inclofe, and yours to be inclos'd.
Nor could another in your room have been,
Except an emptiness had come between.
Well may he then to you his cares impart,
And fhare his burden where he fhares his heart.
In you his fleep still wakes; his pleasures find
Their fhare of business in your laboring mind.
So when the weary fun his place refigns,
He leaves his light, and by reflection shines.
Juftice, that fits and frowns where public laws
Exclude foft mercy from a private cause,
your tribunal most herself does please;
There only smiles because she lives at ease ;
And, like young David, finds her strength the more,
When difincumber'd from thofe arms fhe wore.
Heaven would our royal master should exceed
Most in that virtue, which we most did need;
And his mild father (who too late did find
All mercy vain but what with power was join'd)
His fatal goodness left to fitter times,
Not to increase, but to absolve, our crimes :
But when the heir of this vast treasure knew
How large a legacy was left to you
(Too great for any fubject to retain),
He wifely ty'd it to the crown again :
Yet, paffing through your hands, it gathers more,
As ftreams, through mines, bear tincture of their ore.
While empiric politicians ufe deceit,
Hide what they give, and cure but by a cheat;
You boldly fhew that skill which they pretend,
And work by means as noble as your end:
Which should you veil, we might unwind the clue,
As men do nature, till we came to you.
And as the Indies were not found, before
Thofe rich perfumes, which, from the happy fhore,
The winds upon their balmy wings convey'd,
Whofe guilty sweetness first their world betray'd;
So by your counfels we are brought to view
A rich and undiscover'd world in you,
By you our monarch does that fame affure,
Which kings must have, or cannot live fecure :
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