We now the queftion well decided fee,
Which eastern Wits did once contest,
At the great Monarch's feast,

"Of all or earth what things the strongest be?"
And fome for women, fome for wine, did plead;
That is, for Folly and for Rage,
Two things which we have known indeed

Strong in this latter age;

But, as 'tis prov'd by Heaven, at length,
The King and Truth have greatest strength,
When they their facred force unite,
And twine into one right:

No frantic commonwealths or tyrannies;
No cheats, and perjuries, and lyes;

No nets of human policies;

No ftores of arms or gold (though you could join
Thofe of Peru to the great London mine);
No towns; no fleets by fea, or troops by land:
No deeply-entrench'd islands, can withstand,
Or any fmall refistance bring

Against the naked Truth and the unarmed King.

The foolish lights which travellers beguile

End the fame night when they begin;

No art fo far can upon nature win

As e'er to put-out stars, or long keep meteors in. Where's now that Ignus fatuus, which ere-while Mifled our wandering iíle?

Where's the impoftor Cromwell gone? Where's now that Falling-star, his fon? Where's the large Comet now, whofe raging

flame

So fatal to our monarchy became;

But the true method of felicity

Is, when the worst

Of human life is plac'd the firft, And when the child's correction proves to be The caufe of perfecting the man:

Let our weak days lead up the van; Let the brave Second and Triarian band Firm against all impreffion fland: The first we may defeated fee;

The virtue of the force of these are sure of Victory. Such are the years, great Charles! which now we fee

Begin their glorious march with thee: Long may their march to heaven, and ftill triumphant, be!

Now thou art gotten once before, Ill-fortune never fhall o'ertake thee more. To fee 't again, and pleasure in it find, Caft a difdainful look behind; Things which offend when prefent, and affright, In memory well-painted move delight. Enjoy then all thy' afflictions nowThy royal father's came at last: Thy martyrdom's already past: And different crowns to both ye owe. No gold did e'er the kingly temples bind,

}

Infatiate with our ruin and our blood?
The fiery tail did to vaft length extend;
And twice for want of fuel did expire,

And twice renew'd the difmal fire:

Though long the tail, we faw at last its end
The flames of one triumphant day,
Which, like an anti-comet here,
Did fatally to that appear,
For ever frighted it away:

Then did th' allotted hour of dawning right
First strike our ravish'd fight;

Which malice or which art no more could stay, Than witches' charms can a retardment bring To the refufcitation of the day,

Or refurrection of the fpring.

We welcome both, and with improv'd delight
Blefs the preceding winter, and the night!
Man ought his future happiness to fear,
If he be always happy here-

He wants the bleeding marks of grace,

The circumcifion of the chofen race.

If no one part of him fupplies

The duty of a facrifice,
He is, we doubt, referv'd intire
As a whole victim for the fire.
Befides, ev'n in this world below,

To those who never did ill-fortune know,
The good does naufeous or infipid grow.
Confider man's whole life, and you'll-confefs
The sharp ingredient of fome bad fuccefs
Is that which gives the taste to all his happiness.

In all their livelieft colours to fet forth
A picture of heroic worth

(The pious Trojan or the prudent Greek);
They chufe fome comely prince of heavenly birth
(No proud gigantic fon of earth,
Who ftrives t' ufurp the gods' forbidden seat);
They feed him not with nectar, and the meat
That cannot without joy be eat;
But in the cold of want, and ftorms of adverfe
chance,

They harden his young virtue by degrees.
The beauteous drop firft into ice does freeze,
And into folid cryftal next advance.
His murder'd friends and kindred he does fee,
And from his flaming country flee:
Much is he toft at fea, and much at land;
Does long the force of angry gods withstand:
He does long troubles and long wars sustain,
Ere he his fatal birth-right gain.
With no lefs time or labour can
Destiny build up fuch a man,
Who 's with fufficient virtue fill'd

His ruin'd courtry to rebuild.

Nor without caufe are arms from Heaven, To fuch a hero by the poets given: No human metal is of force t' oppose

So many and fo violent blows.

Such was the helmet, breaft-plate, fhield, Which Charles in all attacks did wield: And all the weapons malice e'er could try, Of all the feveral makes of wicked policy,

Against this armour struck, but at the stroke,
Like Swords of ice, in thousand pieces broke.
To angels and their brethren spirits above,
No fhow on earth can fure fo pleasant prove,
As when they great misfortunes fee
With courage borne, and decency.

So were they borne when Worcester's dismal day
Did all the terrors of black Fate display!
So were they borne when no difguifes' cloud
His inward royalty could fhrowd;
And one of th' angels whom juft God did fend
To guard him in his noble flight
(A troop of angels did him then attend!)
Affur'd me in a vifion th' other night,
That he (and who could better judge than he ?)
Did then more greatness in him fee,
More luftre and more majefty,

Than all his coronation-pomp can fhew to human eye.

Him and his royal brothers when I faw

New marks of honour and of glory
From their affronts and fufferings draw,
And look like heavenly faints e'en in their pur-
gatory;

Methoughts I faw the three Judean Youths
(Three unhurt martyrs for the nobleft truths!)
In the Chaldean furnace walk;
How cheerfully and unconcern'd they talk!
No hair is fing'd, no fmallest beauty blafted!
Like painted lamps they fhine unwasted!
The greedy fire itself dares not be fed
With the bleft oil of an anointed head.
The honourable flame

(Which rather light we ought to name)
Does like a glory compafs them around,
And their whole body 's crown'd,

What are thofe two bright creatures which we fee

Walk with the royal Three

In the fame ordeal fire,

And mutual joys inspire?

Sure they the beauteous fifters are,

Who, whilft they feek to bear their share,
Will fuffer no affliction to be there!
Lefs favour to those Three of old was shown,
To folace with their company

The fiery trials of adversity!

Two Angels join with thefe, the others had but

one.

Come forth, come forth, ye men of God belov'd! And let the power now of that flame,

Which against you fo impotent became,

On all your enemies be prov'd.

Come, mighty Charles! defire of nations! come;
Come, you triumphant exile; home.

He 's come, he 's fafe at fhore; I hear the noife"
Of a whole land which does at once rejoice,
I hear th' united people's facred voice.

The fea, which circles us around,
Ne'er fent to land fo loud a found;
The mighty fhout fends to the fea a gale,
And fwells up every fail:

The bells and guns are fcarcely heard at all;
The artificial joy's drown'd by the natural.
VOL. II.

All England but one bonfire feems to be, One Etna shooting flames into the fea: The ftarry worlds, which fhine to us afar, Take ours at this time for a ftar.

With wine all rooms, with wine the conduits, flov;

And we, the priests of a pootic rage,

Wonder that in this golden age

The rivers too fhould not do fo.
There is no Stoic, fure, who would not now

Ev'n fome excess allow;

And grant that one wild fit of cheerful folly
Should end our twenty years of difmal melancholy.
Where's now the royal mother, where,
To take her mighty fhare
In this fo ravishing fight

And, with the part fhe takes, to add to the delight?
Ah! why art thou not here,

Thou always beft, and now the happiest Queen!
To fee our joy, and with new joy be feen?
God has a bright example made of thee,

To fhew that woman-kind may be
Above that fex which her fuperior feems,
In wifely managing the wide extremes
Of great affliction, great felicity.
How well thofe different virtues thee become,
Daughter of triumphs, wife of martyrdom !
Thy princely mind with so much courage bore
Affliction, that it dares return no more;
With fo much goodness us'd felicity
That it cannot refrain from coming back to thee;
'Tis come, and feen to-day in all its bravery!

Who's that heroic perfon leads it on,

And gives it like a glorious bride
(Richly adorn'd with nuptial pride)
Into the hands now of thy fo..?
'Tis the good General, the man of praife,
Whom God at laft, in gracious pity,
Did to th' enthralled nation raise,
Their great Zerubbabel to be;

To loofe the bonds of long captivity,
And to rebuild their temple and their city!
For ever bleft may he and his remain,
Who, with a vaft, though lefs-appearing, gain,
Preferr'd the folid Great above the Vain,

And to the world this princely truth has shown-
That more 'tis to restore, than to ufurp a crown!
Thou worthieft perfon of the British story!

(Though 'tis not fmall the British glory)
Did I not know my humble verse must be
But ill-proportion'd to the height of thee,
Thou and the world fhould fee
How much my Mufe, the foe of flattery,
Docs make true praife her labour and defign;
An Iliad or an Eneid fhould be thine.

And ill fhould we deferve this happy day,
If no acknowledgments we pay
To you, great patriots of the two
Moft truly Other Houfes now;

Who have redeem'd from hatred and from shame
A Parliament's once venerable name;

And now the title of a House restore,

To that which was but Slaughter-houfe before.

H

The peaceful mother on mild Thames does build; With her fon's fabrics the rough fea is fill'd,

IN

THE COMPLAINT.

a deep vifion's intellectual fcene, Beneath a bower for forrow made,

Th' uncomfortable fhade

Of the black yew's unlucky green,
Mixt with the mourning willow's careful grey,
Where reverend Cham cuts out his famous way,
The melancholy Cowley lay:
And lo! a Mufe appear'd to 's clofed fight,
(The Mufes oft in lands of vifion play)

Body'd, array'd, and feen, by an internal light.
A golden harp with filver ftrings fhe bore;
A wondrous hieroglyphic robe she wore,
In which all colours and all figures were,
That nature or that fancy can create,

That art can never imitate;

And with loofe pride it wanton'd in the air.
In fuch a drefs, in fuch a well-cloath'd dream,
She us'd, of oid, near fair Ifmenus' stream,
Pindar, her Theban favourite, to meet;

A crown was on her head, and wings were on

her feet.

She touch'd him with her harp, and rais'd him from the ground;

The fhaken ftrings melodioufly refound.

"Art thou return'd at laft," faid fhe,
"To this forfaken place and me?

"Thou prodigal! who didit fo loosely wafte

46

Of all thy youthful years the good eftate; "Art thou return'd here, to repent too late, "And gather hufks of learning up at last, "Now the rich harvest time of life is paft, "And winter marches on fo faft? "But, when I meant t' adopt thee for my fon, “And did as learn'd a portion affign, "As ever any of the mighty Nine

"Had to their dearett children done; "When I refolv'd t' exalt thy' anointed name, "Among the fpiritual lords of peaceful fame; "Thou changeling! thou, bewitch with noise "and fhow,

Would't into courts and cities from me go; "Would't fee the world abroad, and have a share "In all the follies and the tumults there : "Thou would't, forfooth, be fomething in a state, “ And business thou would'st find, and would'ft

"And fee to what amount

Thy foolish gains by quitting me: "The fale of Knowledge, Fame, and Liberty, "The fruits of thy unlearn'd apoftacy.

"Thou thought'ft, if once the public form were paft,

"All thy remaining life fhould fun-shine be : Behold! the public ftorm is spent at last, "The fovereign's toft at fea no more, "And thou, with all the noble company, "Art got at laft to fhore,

"But, whilst thy fellow-voyagers I fee All march'd up to poffefs the promis'd land, "Thou ftill alone, alas! does gaping stand

66

Upon the naked beach, upon the barren fand!

"As a fair morning of the bleffed spring, "After a tedious formy night,

66

"Such was the glorious entry of our king; Enriching moisture drop'd on every thing; Plenty he fow'd below, and caft about him light! "But then, alas! to thee alone,

"Thou didst with faith and labour ferve, "And didft (if faith and labour can) deferve, Though the contracted was to thee, "Given to another who had flore "Of fairer and of richer wives before, "And not a Leah left, thy recompence to be! "Go on; twice feven years more thy fortune try; "Twice feven years more God in his bounty may "Give thee, to fling away

"Into the court's deceitful lottery:

"But think how likely 'tis that thou, "With the dull work of thy unwieldy plough, "Should't in a Lard and barren feafon thrive, "Should even able be to live; "Thou, to whofe fhare fo little bread did fall, "In the miraculous year when manna rain'd on all.' Thus fpake the Muse, and spake it with a smile, That feemed at once to pity and revile.

And to her thus, raifing his thoughtful head, The melancholy Cowley faid"Ah, wanton foe! doft thou upbraid "The ills which thou thyself haft made? "When in the cradle innocent I lay, "Thou, wicked fpirit! ftoleft me away,

"And my abufed foul didft bear

"Into thy new-found worlds, I know not where,

"Still I rebel, ftill thou dost reign;
"Lo! ftill in verse against thee I complain.
"There is a fort of stubborn weeds,
"Which, if the earth but once, it ever, breeds;

"No wholene herb can rear them thrive, "No useful plant can keep alive: "The foolish sports I did on thee bestow, "Make all my art and labour fruitless now; "Where once fuch fairies dance, no grafs doth 66 ever grow.

"When my new mind had no infufion known, "Thou gav'st fo deep a tincture of thine own, "That ever fince I vainly try

"To wash away th' inherent dye : "Long work perhaps may fpoil thy colours quite, "But never will reduce the native white:

"To all the ports of honour and of gain," "I often steer my courfe in vain; "Thy gale comes crofs, and drives me back (

again.

"Thou flack'neft all my nerves of industry,

"The tinkling strings of thy loofe minstrelfy. "Whoever this world's happiness would fee, "Muft as entirely caft-off thee,

"As they who only heaven defire
"Do from the world retire.

"This was my error, this my grofs mistake,
Myfelf a demy-votary to make.

"Thus, with Sapphira and her husband's fate (A fault which 1, like them, am taught too late), For all that I gave up I nothing gain, And perish for the part which I retain. "Teach me not then, O thou fallacious Mufe!

"The court, and better king, t' accufe: "The heaven under which I live is fair, "The fertile foil will a full harveft bear: "Thine, thine is all the barrennefs; if thou "Mak'ft me fit ftill and fing, when I fhould plough.

"When I but think how many a tedious year

"Our patient fovereign did attend "His long misfortunes' fatal end; "How cheerfully, and how exempt from fear, "On the Great Sovereign's will he did depend; "I ought to be accurst, if I refufe

"To wait on his, O thou fallacious Mufe!

Kings have long hands, they say; and, though

"I be

On which the conqueror's image now does shine,
Not his whom it belong'd to in the mine:
So, in the mild contentions of the Muse
(The war which Peace itself loves and pursues)
So have you home to us in triumph brought
This Cargazon of Spain with treasures fraught.
You have not bafely gotten it by stealth.
Nor by tranflation borrow'd all its wealth;
But by a powerful spirit made it your own;
Metal before, money by you 'tis grown.
'Tis current now, by your adorning it
With the fair stamp of your victorious wit.

But, though we praise this voyage of your mind,
And though ourselves enrich'd by it we find;
We're not contented yet, because we know
What greater ftores at home within it grow.
We've seen how well you foreign orcs refine;
Produce the gold of your own nobler mine:
The world fhall then our native plenty view,
And fetch materials for their wit from you;
They all fhall watch the travails of your pen,
And Spain on you fhall make reprisals then.

ON THE DEATH OF

MRS. KATHARINE PHILIPS.
RUEL Diftafe! ah, could not it fuffice

Thy old and constant spite to exercise
Against the gentleft and the faircft fex,
Which fill thy depredations most do vex?

Where till thy malice moft of all (Thy malice or thy luft) does on the fairest fall? And in them mcft affault the fairest place, The throne of emprefs Beauty, ev'n the face? There was enough of that here to affuage, (One would have thought) either thy luft or rage. Was't not enough, when thou, prophane Disease! Didft on this glorious temple feize? Was't not enough, like a wild zealot, there, All the rich outward ornaments to tear, Deface the innocent pride of beauteous images? Was't not enough thus rudely to defile, But thou muft quite deftroy, the goodly pile? And thy unbounded facrilege commit On th' inward holicft holy of her wit? Cruel Difeafe! there thou miftook'ft thy power; No mine of death can that devour; On her embalmed name it will abide An everlasting pyramid,

All ages paft record, all countries now
In various kinds fuch equal beauties fhow,

That ev'n judge Paris would not know
On whom the golden apple to bestow;
Though Goddeffes t' his fentence did fubmit,
Women and lovers would appeal from it:
Nor durft he fay, of all the female race,
This is the fovereign face.

The rude unfhapen ingots they reduce Into a form of beauty and of ufe;

fair)

So equally renown'd for virtue are,