XIV.

ON THE MONUMENT OF THE MARQUIS OF WINCHESTER.1

He who in impious times undaunted stood,
And 'midst rebellion durst be just and good;
Whose arms asserted, and whose sufferings more
Confirm'd the cause for which he sought before,
Rests here, rewarded by an heavenly prince,
For what his earthly could not recompense.
Pray, reader, that such times no more appear:
Or, if they happen, learn true honour here.
Ask of this age's faith and loyalty,

Which, to preserve them, Heaven confined in thee.
Few subjects could a king like thine deserve;
And fewer such a king so well could serve.
Blest king, blest subject, whose exalted state
By sufferings rose, and gave the law to fate!
Such souls are rare, but mighty patterns given
To earth, and meant for ornaments to heaven.

1 Winchester, a staunch royalist, besieged two years in his castle of Basing, died in 1674.

SONGS, ODES, AND A MASQUE.

I.

THE FAIR STRANGER.1

A SONG.

1 HAPPY and free, securely blest,
No beauty could disturb my rest;
My amorous heart was in despair,
To find a new victorious fair.

2 Till you descending on our plains,
With foreign force renew my chains :
Where now you rule without control
The mighty sovereign of my soul.

3 Your smiles have more of conquering charms,
Than all your native country arms;
Their troops we can expel with ease,
Who vanquish only when we please.

4 But in your eyes, oh! there's the spell,
Who can see them, and not rebel?
You make us captives by your stay,
Yet kill us if you go away.

1 This song is a compliment to the Duchess of Portsmouth, Charles's mistress, on her first coming to England.

II.

ON THE YOUNG STATESMEN.

WRITTEN IN 1680.

1 CLARENDON had law and sense,
Clifford was fierce and brave;
Bennet's grave look was a pretence,
And Danby's matchless impudence
Help'd to support the knave.

2 But Sunderland, Godolphin, Lory 1,
These will appear such chits in story,
"Twill turn all politics to jests,

To be repeated like John Dory,
When fiddlers sing at feasts.

3 Protect us, mighty Providence!

What would these madmen have?
First, they would bribe us without pence,

Deceive us without common sense,

And without

power enslave.

4 Shall free-born men, in humble awe, Submit to servile shame ;

Lory.

Who from consent and custom draw
The same right to be ruled by law,

Which kings pretend to reign?

Laurence Hyde,' afterwards Earl of Rochester, is the person here called

5 The duke shall wield his conquering sword,
The chancellor make a speech,

The king shall pass his honest word,
The pawn'd revenue sums afford,

And then, come kiss my breech.

6 So have I seen a king on chess

(His rooks and knights withdrawn,
His queen and bishops in distress)
Shifting about, grow less and less,
With here and there a pawn.

III.

A SONG FOR ST CECILIA'S DAY,1 1687.

1 FROM harmony, from heavenly harmony
This universal frame began

When nature underneath a heap
Of jarring atoms lay,

And could not heave her head,
The tuneful voice was heard from high,
Arise, ye more than dead. ✔

Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry,
In order to their stations leap,

And Music's power obey.>

From harmony, from heavenly harmony
This universal frame began

From harmony to harmony

1St Cecilia's Day: 22d November-birthday of St Cecilia, the patron saint of music-a Roman lady martyred in the third century, said to have been taught music by an angel.

Through all the compass of the notes it ran,
The diapason closing full in Man.

2 What passion cannot Music raise and quell?
When Jubal struck the chorded shell,
His listening brethren stood around,
And, wondering, on their faces fell
To worship that celestial sound.

3

Less than a God they thought there could not dwell Within the hollow of that shell,

That spoke so sweetly and so well.

What passion cannot Music raise and quell?

The trumpet's loud clangour

Excites us to arms,

With shrill notes of anger,

And mortal alarms.

The double double double beat

Of the thundering drum

Cries, hark! the foes come;

Charge, charge! 'tis too late to retreat.

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5

The woes of hopeless lovers,

Whose dirge is whisper'd by the warbling lute.

Sharp violins proclaim

Their jealous pangs, and desperation,

Fury, frantic indignation,

Depth of pains, and height of passion,

For the fair, disdainful dame.