Mean-while the Spaniards in America, Near to the Line the fun approaching saw, And hop'd their European coafts to find Clear'd from our ships by the autumnal wind: Their huge capacious galleons stuff'd with plate, 35 The lab'ring winds drive flowly tow'rds their fate. Before St. Lucar they their guns discharge, To tell their joy or to invite a barge:
This heard fome ships of ours, (tho' out of view) And, fwift as eagles, to the quarry flew ;
So heedlefs lambs, which for their mothers bleat, Wake hungry lions, and become their meat.
Arriv'd, they foon begin that tragick play, And with their smoky cannons banish day : Night, horrour, flaughter, with confusion meets, 45 And in their fable arms embrace the fleets. Thro' yielding planks the angry bullets fly, And of one wound hundreds together die : Born under diff'rent stars one fate they have, The ship their coffin, and the fea their grave!
Bold were the men which on the ocean firft Spread their new fails, when fhipwreck was the worst: More danger now from man alone we find
Than from the rocks, the billows, or the wind. They that had fail'd from near th' Antartic Pole, 55 Their treasure safe, and all their veffels whole,
In fight of their dear country ruin'd be, Without the guilt of either røck or sea!
What they would fpare our fiercer art destroys, Surpaffing ftorms in terrour and in noise. Once Jove from Ida did both hosts survey, the fray;
And, when he pleas'd to thunder, part
Here heav'n in vain that kind retreat should found; The louder cannon had the thunder drown'd. Some we made prize; while others, burnt and rent,65 With their rich lading to the bottom went: Down finks at once (fo Fortune with us sports!) The pay of armies, and the pride of courts. Vain man! whofe rage buries as low that flore As avarice had digg'd for it before:
What earth in her dark bowels, could not keep From greedy hands, lies fafer in the deep, Where Thetis kindly does from mortals hide Thofe feeds of luxury, debate, and pride.
And now into her lap the richest prize Fell with the nobleft of our enemies: The Marquis, (glad to see the fire destroy Wealth that prevailing foes were to enjoy)
Out from his flaming ship his children fent,
To perish in a milder element ;
Then laid him by his burning lady's fide,
And, fince he could not fave her, with her dy'd. Spices and gums about them melting fry, And, phoenix-like, in that rich neft they die : Alive, in flames of equal love they burn'd, And now together are to ashes turn'd;
Ashes! more worth than all their fun'ral coft, Than the huge treasure which was with them loft. Thefe dying lovers, and their floating fons,
Suspend the fight, and filence all our guns:
Beauty and youth about to perish, finds Such noble pity in brave English minds, That (the rich spoil forgot, their valour's prize) All labour now to fave their enemies.
How frail our paffions! how foon changed are 95 Our wrath and fury to a friendly care!
They that but now for honour and for plate Made the fea blush with blood, refign their hate ; And, their young foes endeav'ring to retrieve, With greater hazard than they fought they dive. rcó With these returns victorious Montagu,
With laurels in his hand, and half Peru.
Let the brave generals divide that bough, Our great Protector hath such wreaths enough: His conqu❜ring head has no more room for bays: 105 Then let it be as the glad nation prays;
Let the rich ore forthwith be melted down, And the state fix'd by making him a crown: With ermine clad, and purple, let him hold A royal fceptre, made of Spanish gold.
THE LORD PROTECTOR.
We must résign! Heav'n his great foul does claim
In ftorms, as loud as his immortal fame:
His dying groans, his last breath, shakes our ifle, And trees uncut fall for his fun'ral pile;
About his palace their broad roots are toft Into the air.So Romulus was loft!
New Rome in fuch a tempeft mifs'd her king, And from obeying fell to worshipping. On Oeta's top thus Hercules lay dead, With ruin'd oaks and pines about him spread. The poplar, too, whose bough he wont to wear On his victorious head, lay poftrate there.
Thofe his laft fury from the mountain fent : Our dying hero from the continent
Ravish'd whole towns, and forts from Spaniards reft, As his last legacy to Britain left.
The ocean, which so long our hopes confin'd, Could give no limits to his vafter mind; Our bounds' enlargement was his latest toil, Nor hath he left us pris'ners to our ifle: Under the tropick is our language spoke, And part of Flanders hath receiv'd our yoke.
From civil broils he did us difengage, Found nobler objects for our martial rage; And, with wife conduct, to his country The ancient way of conquering abroad. Ungrateful then! if we no tears allow To him that gave us peace and empire too. Princes that fear'd him grieve, concern'd to fee No pitch of glory from the grave is free.
Nature herself took notice of his death,
And, fighing, fwell'd the fea with such a breath, That to remoteft fhores her billows roll'd, Th' approaching fate of their great ruler told.
AS LATELY IMPROVED BY HIS MAJESTY..
Or the first Paradife there's nothing found; Plants fet by Heav'n are vanish'd, and the ground; Yet the defcription lafts; who knows the fate Of lines that shall this paradife relate?
Inftead of rivers rolling by the fide
Of Eden's garden, here flows in the tide : The sea, which always ferv'd his empire, now Pays tribute to our Prince's pleasure too. Of famous cities we the founders know; But rivers, old as feas, to which they go,
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