The filver Thames, her own domestic flood, Shall bear her veffels like a sweeping train; And often wind, as of his mistress proud, With longing eyes to meet her face again.
The wealthy Tagus, and the wealthier Rhine, The glory of their towns no more shall boast, And Seyne, that would with Belgian rivers join, Shall find her luftre ftain'd, and traffic loft.
The venturous merchant who defign'd more far, And touches on our hofpitable fhore,
Charm'd with the splendor of this northern star, Shall here unlade him, and depart no more,
Our powerful navy shall no longer meet,
The wealth of France or Holland to invade : The beauty of this town without a fleet,
From all the world shall vindicate her trade.
And while this fam'd emporium we prepare,
The British ocean fhall fuch triumphs boast,
That thofe, who now difdain our trade to share,
Shall rob like pirates on our wealthy coast.
Already we have conquer'd half the war,
And the lefs dangerous part is left behind:
Our trouble now is but to make them dare,
And not fo great to vanquish as to find.
Thus to the eastern wealth through ftorms we go, But now, the Cape once doubled, fear no
A conftant trade-wind will fecurely blow,
And gently lay us on the spicy shore.
By Mr. DRYDEN, and the Earl of MULGRAVE.
OW dull, and how infenfible a beast
Is man, who yet would lord it o'er the reft? Philofophers and poets vainly strove
the lumpish mass to move :
But those were pedants, when compar'd with these,
Who know not only to inftruct but please.
Poets alone found the delightful way,
Mysterious morals gently to convey
In charming numbers; fo that as men grew
Pleas'd with their poems; they grew wiser too.
Satire has always fhone among the rest,
And is the boldest way, if not the best,
To tell men freely of their fouleft faults ;
To laugh at their vain deeds, and vainer thoughts.
In fatire too the wife took different ways,
To each deferving its peculiar praise.
Some did all folly with just sharpness blame,
Whilft others laugh'd and fcorn'd them into shame.
But of these two, the laft fucceeded beft,
As men aim rightest when they shoot in jest.
Yet, if we may presume to blame our guides,
And cenfure thofe, who cenfure all befides;
In other things they justly are preferr'd;
In this alone methinks the ancients err'd;
Against the groffeft follies they declaim;
Hard they pursue, but hunt ignoble game.
Nothing is easier than fuch blots to hit,
And 'tis the talent of each vulgar wit :
Befides 'tis labor loft; for who would preach
Morals to Armstrong, or dull Afton teach?
'Tis being devout at play, wife at a ball,
Or bringing wit and friendship to Whitehall.
But with sharp eyes thofe nicer faults to find,
Which lie obfcurely in the wifeft mind;
That little fpeck which all the reft does spoil,
To wash off that would be a noble toil;
Beyond the loose writ libels of this age,
Or the forc'd fcenes of our declining stage;
Above all cenfure too, each little wit
Will be fo glad to see the greater
Who judging better, though concern'd the
Of fuch correction will have caufe to boast.
In fuch a fatire all would feek a fhare,
And
every fool will fancy he is there. Old ftory-tellers too must pine and die, To fee their antiquated wit laid by;
Like her, who miss'd her name in a lampoon,
And grieved to find herself decay'd so soon.
No common coxcomb must be mention'd here:
Not the dull train of dancing sparks appear;
Nor fluttering officers who never fight,
Of fuch a wretched rabble who would write?
Much lefs half wits: that's more against our rules;
For they are fops, the other are but fools.
Who would not be as filly as Dunbar ?
As dull as Monmouth, rather than Sir Carr ?
The cunning courtier should be flighted too,
Who with dull knavery makes so much ado ;
Till the fhrewd fool, by thriving too too fast,
Like Æfop's fox becomes a prey at last.
Nor fhall the royal miftreffes be nam'd,
Too ugly, or too easy to be blam'd;
With whom each rhiming fool keeps fuch a pother,
They are as common that way as the other :
Yet fauntering Charles between his beaftly brace,
Meets with diffembling still in either place,
Affected humor, or a painted face.
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