Imágenes de páginas

His grand visier, presuming to invest The chief imperial city of the West,

TO THE QUEEN, With the first charge compellid in haste to rise, UPON HER MAJESTY'S BIRTH-DAY, AFTER HER HAPPY His treasure, tents, and cannon, left a prize:

RECOVERY FROM A DANGEROUS SICKNESS. The standard lost, and janizaries slain,

Farewell the year, which threaten'd so
Render the hopes he gave his master vain.
The flying Turks, that bring the tidings home,

The fairest light the world can show.

Welcome the new! whose every day,
Renew the memory of his father's doom;

Restoring what was snatch'd away
And his guard murmurs, that so often brings
Down from the throne their unsuccessful kings.

By pining sickness from the fair,

That matchless beauty does repair The trembling sultan's forc'd to expiate

So fast, that the approaching Spring His own ill conduct by another's fate:

(Which does to flow'ry meadows bring The grand visier, a tyrant, though a slave,

What the rude Winter from them tore) A fair example to his master gave;

Shall give her all she had before. He bassas' heads, to save his own, made fly,

But we recover not so fast And now, the sultan, to preserve, must die.

The sense of such a danger past;
The fatal bowstring was not in his thought,

We, that esteem'd you sent from Heaven,
When, breaking truce, he so unjustly fought;
Made the world tremble with a vumerous host,

A pattern to this island given,

To shew us what the bless'd do there, And of undoubted victory did boast.

And what alive they practis'd here, Strangled he lies! yet seems to cry aloud,

When that which we immortal thought, To warn the mighty, and instruct the proud,

We saw so near destruction brought,
That of the great, neglecting to be just,

Felt all which you did then endure,
Heaven in a moment makes an heap of dust.
The Turks so low, why should the Christians lose and tremble yet

, as not secure.

So, though the Sun victorious be, Such an advantage of their barb'rous foes?

And from a dark eclipse set free, Neglect their present ruin to complete,

The influence, which we fondly fear, Before another Solyman they get?

Amicts our thoughts the following year. Too late they would with shame, repenting, dread

But that which may relieve our care That numerous herd, by such a lion led.

Is, that you have a help so near He Rhodes and Buda from the Christians tore,

For all the evil you can prove; Which timely union might again restore.

The kindness of your royal love. But, sparing Turks, as if with rage possest,

He, that was never known to mourn The Christians perish, by themselves opprest:

So many kingdoms from him torn, Cities and provinces so dearly won,

His tears reserv'd for you, more dear, That the victorious people are undone !

More priz'd, than all those kingdoms were ! What angel shall descend, to reconcile

For, when no healing art prevail'd,
The Christian states, and end their guilty toil?

When cordials and elixirs fail'd,
A prince more fit from Heaven we cannot ask,
Than Britain's king, for such a glorious task:

On your pale cheek he dropt the shower,
His dreadful navy, and his lovely mind,

Reviv'd you like a dying flower. Gives him the fear and favour of mankind.

SUNG BY MRS. KNIGHT TO HER MAJESTY, ON His warrant does the Christian faith defend ;

On that relying, all their quarrels end.
The peace is sign'd, and Britain does obtain This happy day two lights are seen,
What Rome had sought from her fierce sons in vain. A glorious saint, a matchless queen;
In battles won, Fortune a part doth claim,

Both nam'd alike, both crown'd appear,
And soldiers have their portion in the fame:

The saint above, th' infanta here. In this successful union we find

May all those years, which Catharine Only the triumph of a worthy mind.

The martyr did for Heaven resign, 'Tis all accomplish'd by his royal word,

Be added to the line
Without unsheathing the destructive sword; Of your blest life among us here!
Without a tax upon his subjects laid,

For all the pains that she did feel,
Their peace disturb'd, their plenty, or their trade.

And all the torments of her wheel, And what can they to such a prince deny,

May you as many pleasures share! With whose desires the greatest kings comply?

May Heaven itself content The arts of peace are not to him unknown,

With Catharine the saint ! This happy way he march'd into the throne;

Without appearing old, And we owe more to Heaven, than to the sword;

An hundred times may you, The wish'd return of so benigo a lord.

With eyes as bright as now,
Charles, by old Greece with a new freedom grac'd,

This welcome day behold!
Above her antique heroes shall be plac'd.
What Theseus did, or Theban Hercules,
Holds no compare with this victorious peace,
Which on the Turks shall greater honour gain,

Than all their giants and their monsters slain.

ON NEW-YEAR'S DAY 1683. Those are bold tales, in fabulous ages told ; What revolutions in the world have been! This glorious act the living do behold.

How are we chang'd, since we first saw the queen

She, like the Sun, does still the same appear, > Vienna.

Bright as she was at her arrival here!




67 Time has commission mortals to impair,

While some your beauty, some your bounty sing, But things celestial is oblig'd to spare.

Your native isle does with your praises ring : May every new year find her still the same But above all, a nymph 2 of your own train In health and beauty, as she hither came! Gives us your character in such a strain When lords and commons, with united voice, As none but she, who in that court did dwell, Th' infanta nam'd, approv'd the royal choice: Could know such worth, or worth describe so well. First of our queens, whom not the king alone, So, while we mortals here at Heaven do guess, But the whole nation, lifted to the throne.

And more our weakness than the place express, With like consent, and like desert, was crown'd Some angel, a domestic there, comes down, The glorious prince ', that does the Turk confound. And tells the wonders he hath seen and known. Victorious both! His conduct wins the day, And her example chases vice away. Though louder fame attend the martial rage,

TO THE DUCHESS OF ORLEANS, 'Tis greater glory to reform the age.

That sun of beauty did among us rise,

England first saw the light of your fair eyes,

In English too your early wit was shown:

Favour that language, which was then your own, Venus her myrtle, Phoebus has his bays;

When, though a child,through guards you made your Tea both excels, which she vouchsafes to praise. What fleet, or army, could an angel stay? [way: The best of queens, and best of herbs, we owe Thrice happy Britain ! if she could retain, To that bold nation, which the way did show

Whom she first bred, within her ambient main. To the fair region, where the Sun does rise,

Our late-burnt London, in apparel new, Whose rich productions we so justly prize.

Shook off her ashes to have treated you: The Muse's friend, tea, does our fancy aid,

But we must see our glory snatch'd away, Repress those vapours which the head invade,

And with warm tears increase the guilty sea : And keeps that palace of the soul serene,

No wind can favour us; howe'er it blows,
Fit, on her birth-day, to salute the queen.

We must be wreck'd, and our dear treasure lose !
Sighs will not let us half our sorrows tell-
Fair, lovely, great, and best of nymphs, farewell!



AMAZE us not with that majestic frown,

HER MA ESTY'S 3 NEW BUILDINGS But lay aside the greatness of your crown! And for that look, which does your people awe, When in your throne and robes you give them law, With princes and with palaces :

GREAT queen! that does our island bless
Lay it by here, and give a gentler smile,

Treated so ill, chas'd from your throne,
Such as we see great Jove's in picture, while
He listens to Apollo's charming lyre,

Returning, you adorn the town,
Or judges of the songs he does inspire.

And, with a brave revenge, do shew

Their glory went and came with you. Comedians on the stage show all their skill,

While Peace from hence, and you, were gone, And after do as Love and Fortune will:

Your houses in that storm o'erthrown,
We are less careful, hid in this disguise;

Those wounds which civil rage did give,
In our own clothes more serious, and more wise.
Modest at home, upon the stage more bold,

At once you pardon and relieve.

Constant to England in your love,
We seem warm lovers, though our breasts be cold:
A fault committed here deserves no scorn,

As birds are to their wonted grove;
If we act well the parts to which we're bom.

Though by rude hands their nests are spoil'd,
There, the next spring, again they build.

Accusing some malignant star,

Not Britain, for that fatal war,

Your kindness banishes your fear,
BIOTHER TO THE PRINCE OP ORANGE: Rasolv'd to fix for ever here.

But what new mine this work supplies ?

This like the first creation shows,
Heroic nymph! in tempests the support, As if at your command it rose.
In peace the glory, of the British court!

Frugality and bounty too,
Into whose arms, the

rch, the state, and all (Those diff'ring virtues) meet in you ; That precious is, or sacred here, did fall.

From a confin'd, well-manag'd, store, Ages to come, that shall your bounty hear,

You both employ and feed the poor, Will think you mistress of the Indies were:

Let foreign princes vainly boast Though straiter bounds your fortune did confine, The ride effects of pride and cost; In your large heart was found a wealthy mine: Of vaster fabrics, to which they Like the blest oil, the widow's lasting feast,

Contribute nothing, but the pay: Your treasure, as you pour'd it out, increas'd.

2 Lady Anne Hyde.

3 Henrietta Maria, queen 'John Sobieski, king of Poland.

dowager of king Charles I.


This, by the queen herself design'd,

Not Belgia's fleet, (his high command) Gives us a pattern of her mind :

Which triumphs where the Sun does rise; The state and order does proclaim

Nor all the force he leads by land, The genius of that royal dame.

Could guard him from her conquering eyes. Each part with just proportion grac'd, And all to such advantage plac'd,

Orange, with youth, experience has ; That the fair view her window yields,

In action young, in council old : The town, the river, and the fields,

Orange is what Augustus was, Entering, beneath us we descry,

Brave, vary, provident, and bold. And wonder how we came so high.

On that fair' tree, which bears his name, She needs no weary steps ascend;

Blossoms and fruit at once are found: All seems before her feet to bend :

In him we all admire the same, And here, as she was born, she lies;

His flow'ry yonth with wisdom crown'd! High, without taking pains to rise.

Empire and freedom reconcil'd

In Holland are, by great Nassau :

Like those he sprung from, just and mild,

To willing people he gives law.
Fair hand! that can on virgin-paper write,

Thrice-happy pair! so near ally'd, Yet from the stain of ink preserve it white;.

In royal blood, and virtue too! Whose travel o'er that silver field does show,

Now Love has you together ty'd, Like track of leverets in morning snow..

May none this triple knot undo! Love's image thus in purest minds is wrought,

The church shall be the happy place Without a spot, or blemish, to the thought.

Where streams which from the same source run, Strange, that your fingers should the pencil foil,

Though divers lands awhile they grace,
Without the help of colours, or of oil !

Unite again, and are made one.
For, though a painter boughs and leaves can make,
'Tis you alone can make them bend and shake; A thousand thanks the nation owes
Whose breath salutes your new-created grove, To him that does protect us all,
Like southern winds, and makes it gently move. For, while he thus bis niece bestows,
Orpheus could make the forest dance; but you About our isle he builds a wall;
Can make the motion, and the forest too.

A wall! like that which Athens had,

By th' oracle's advice, of wood :

Had theirs been such as Charles has made,

That mighty state till now had stood.


NOTHING lies hid from radiant eyes;
All they subdue become their spies :
Secrets, as choicest jewels, are
Presented to oblige the fair:
No wonder then, that a lost thought
Should there be found, where souls are caught.
The picture of fair Venus (that
For which men say the Goddess sat)
Was lost, till Lely from your look
Again that glorious image took.
If Virtue's self were lost, we might
From your fair mind new copies write:
All things, but one, you can restore;
The heart you get returns no more.


WELCOME, great prince, unto this land,

Skill'd in the arts of war and peace;
Your birth does call you to command,

Your nature does incline to peace.
When Holland, by her foes opprest,

No longer could sustain their weight;
To a native prince they thought it best

To recommend their dying state.
Your very name did France expel;

Those conquerd towns which lately cost
Su little blood, unto you fell

With the same ease they once were lost.
'Twas not your force did them defeat ;

They neither felt your sword nor fire;
But seemed willing to retreat,

And to your greatness did conspire.
Nor have you since ingrateful been,

When at Seneff you did expose,
And at Mount Cassal, your own men,

Whereby you might secure your foes.
Let Maestricht's siege enlarge your name,

And your retreat at Charleroy ;
Warriors by flying may gaiu fame,

And, Parthian-like, their foes destroy.



As once the lion honey gave,

Out of the strong such sweetness came; A royal hero, no less brave,

Produc'd this sweet, this lovely dame. To her, the prince that did oppose

Such mighty armies in the field, And Holland from prevailing foes

Could so well free, himself does yield.



69 Thus Fabius gain'd repute of old,

Verse, thus design'd, has no ill fate, When Roman glory gasping lay;

If it arrive but at the date In council slow, in action cold,

Of fading beauty, if it prove His country sav'd, running away.

But as long-liv'd as present love. What better method could you take?

When you by beauty's charms must move, And must at once a progress make l'th' stratagems of war and love.

EARL OF ROSCOMMON'S He, that a princess' heart would gain,

TRANSLATION OF HORACE, DE ARTE POETICA: AND OF Must learn submissively to yield;

THE USE OF POETRY. The stubborn ne'er their ends obtain;

Rome was not better by her Horace taught, The vanquish'd masters are o' th' field.

Than we are here to comprehend bis thought: Go on, brave prince, with like success,

The poet writ to noble Piso there; Still to increase your hop'd renown;

A noble Piso does instruct us here; Till to your conduct and address,

Gives us a pattern in his flowing style, Not to your birth, you owe a crown.

And with rich precepts does oblige our isle :

Britain! whose genius is in verse expressid, Proud Alva with the power of Spain

Bold and sublime, but negligently dress’d. Could not the noble Dutch enslave;

Horace will our superfluous branches prune, And wiser Parma strove in vain,

Give as new rules, and set our harp in tune; For to reduce a race so brave,

Direct us how to back the winged horse, They now those very armies pay

Favour his fight, and moderate his force. By which they were forc'd to yield to you;

Though poets may of inspiration boast, Their ancient birthright they betray,

Their rage, ill govern'd, in the clouds is lost. By their own votes you them subdue.

He, that proportion'd wonders can disclose,

At once his fancy and his judgment shows. Who can then liberty maintain

Chaste moral writing we may learn from hence; When by such arts it is withstood ?

Neglect of which no wit can recompense. Freedom to princes is a chain,

The fountain, which from Helicon proceeds,
To all that spring from royal blood.

That sacred stream ! should never water weeds,
Nor make the crop of thorns and thistles grow,
Which envy or perverted nature sow.

Well-sounding verses are the charm we use,

Heroic thoughts and virtue to infuse :

Things of deep sense we may in prose unfold,

But they move more in lofty numbers told : Posts may boast, as safely rain,

By the loud trumpet, which our courage aids, Their works shall with the world remain :

We learn, that sound, as well as sense, persuades. Both bound together, live or die,

The Muses' friend, unto himself severe, The verses and the prophecy.

With silent pity looks on all that err :

But where a brave, a public action shines, But who can hope his line should long

That he rewards with his immortal lines. Last, in a daily-changing tongue?

Whether it be in council or in fight, While they are new, envy prevails ;

His country's honour is his chief delight; And as that dies, our language fails.

Praise of great acts he scatters as a seed, When architects have done their part,

Which may the like in coming ages breed.

Here tanght the fate of verses, (always priz'd The matter may betray their art :

With admiration, or as much despis’d)
Time, if we use ill-chosen stone,
Soon brings a well-built palace down.

Men will be less indulgent to their faults,

And patience have to cultivate their thoughts. Poets, that lasting marble seck,

Poets lose half the praise they should have got, Must carve in Latin or in Greek:

Could it be known what they discreetly blot, We write in sand, our language grows,

Finding new words, that to the ravish'd ear And, like the tide, our work o'erflows.

May like the language of the gods appear,

Such, as of old, wise bards employ'd, to make Chaucer his sense can only boast,

Unpolish'd men their wild retreats forsake : The glory of his numbers lost !

Law-giving heroes, fam'd for taming brutes, Years have defac'd his matchless strain,

And raising cities with their charming lutes: And yet he did not sing in vain.

For rudest minds with harmony were caught, The beauties, which adorn'd that age,

And civil life was by the Muses taught. The shining subjects of his rage,

So, wandering bees would perish in the air, Hoping they should immortal prove,

Did not a sound, proportion'd to their ear, Rewarded with success his love.

Appease their rage, invite them to the hive,

Unite their force, and teach them how to thrive : This was the gen'rous poet's scope;

To rob the flowers, and to forbear the spoil; And all an English pen can hope;

Preserv'd in winter by their summer's toil : To make the fair approve his fame,

They give us food, which may with pectar vie, That can so far extend their fame.

And wax, that does the absent Sun upply,

And at the court his interest does employ AD COMITEM MONUMETENSEM That none, who 'scap'd his fatal sword, should dies DE BENTIVOGLIO SUO.

And now, these rash bold men their errour find,

Not trusting one, beyond his promise kind : Floribus Angligenis non hanc tibi necto corollam, One! whose great mind, so bountiful and brave,

Cùm satis indigenis te probet ipse liber : Had learn’d the art to conquer and to save. Per me Roma sciet tibi se debere, quòd Anglo In vulgar breasts no royal virtues dwell; Romanus didicit cultiùs ore loqui.

Such deeds as these his high extraction tell, Ultima quæ tellus Aquilas duce Cæsare vidit, And give a secret joy to him? that reigns,

Candida Romulidum te duce scripta videt. To see his blood triumph in Monmouth's veins ; Consilio ut quondam Patriam nil juveris esto! To see a leader, wbom he got and chose, Sed studio cives ingenioque juvas.

Firm to his friends, and fatal to his foes. Namque dolis liber hic instructus, & arte Batava, But seeing envy, like the Sun, does beat A Belga nobis ut caveamus, ait.

With scorching rays, on all that's high and great! Horremus per te civilis dira furoris

This, ill-requited Monmouth! is the bough Vulnera; discordes Flandria quassa monet. The Muses send, to shade thy conquering brow. Hic discat miles pugnare, orare senator;

Lampoons, like squibs, may make a present blaze; Qui regnant, leni sceptra tenere manu.

But time and thunder pay respect to bays. Macte, Comes ! virtute novâ; vestri ordinis ingens Achilles' arms dazzle our present view, Ornamentum, ævi deliciæque tui !

Kept by the Muse as radiant, and as new, Dum stertunt alii somno vinoque sepulti,

As from the forge of Vulcan first they came; Nobilis antiquo stemmate digna facis.

Thousands of years are past, and they the same:
Such care she takes to pay desert with fame!
Than wbich, no monarch, for his crown's defence,

Knows how to give a nobler recompense.


Sır, you should rather teach our age the way
Of judging well, than thus have chang'd your play:
You had oblig'd us by employing wit,
Not to reform Pandora, but the pit,
For, as the nightingale, without the throng
Of other birds, alone attends her song,
While the loud daw, his throat displaying, draws
The whole assembly of his fellow daws:
So must the writer, whose productions should
Take with the vulgar, be of vulgar mould;
Whilst nobler fancies make a flight too high
For common view, and lessen as they fiy.



Bold is the man that dares engage
For piety, in such an age!
Who can presume to find a guard
From scorn, when Heaven's so little spar'd ?
Divines are pardon'd; they defend
Altars on which their lives depend :
But the profane impatient are,
When nobler pens make this their care:
For why should these let in a beam
Of divine light to trouble them;
And call in doubt their pleasing thought,
That none believes what we are taught?
High birth and fortune warrant give
That such men write what they believe,
And, feeling first what they indite,
New credit give to ancient light.
Amongst these few, our author brings
His well-known pedigree from kings.
This book, the image of his mind,
Will make his name not hard to find :
I wish the throng of great and good
Made it less eas'ly understood !



Swift as Jove's messenger, (the winged god)
With sword as potent as his charming rod,
He flew to execute the king's command,
And in a moment reach'd that northern land,
Where day, contending with approaching night,
Assists the hero with continued light.

On foes surpris'd, and by no night conceald,
He might have rush'd ; but noble pity held
His hand a while, and to their choice gave space,
Which they would prove, his valour or his grace.
This not well heard, his cannon louder spoke,
And then, like lightning, through that cloud he

His fame, his conduct, and that martial look,
The guilty Scots with such a terrour strook,
That to his courage they resign the field,
Who to his bounty had refus'd to yield.
Glad that so little loyal blood it cost,
He grieves so many Britons should be lost :
Taking more pains, when he beheld them yield,
To save the flyers, than to win the field :


Sır! you've oblig'd the British nation more,
Than all their bards could ever do before;
And, at your own charge, monuments, as hand
As brass or marble, to your fame have rear'd.

? King Charles II.

6 Mercury.

« AnteriorContinuar »