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No drop of blood is spilt, which might be said
’T was only Heaven could work this wondrous thing,
· And only work’t by such a king. Again the northern hinds may sing and plough, And fear no harm but from the weather now ;
Again may tradesmen love their pain,
By knowing now for whom they gain ; The armour now may be hung up to sight, And only in their balls the children fright.
The gain of civil wars will not allow
Bay to the conqueror's brow:
At these mad quarrels of our isle ;
How was the silver Tine frighted before,
And durst not kiss the armed shore ! His waters ran more swiftly than they use, And hasted to the sea to tell the news :
The sea itself, how rough soe'er,
Could scarce believe such fury here.
No blood so loud as that of civil war:
It calls for dangers from afar.
All their rich blood was spent with gains,
But that which swells their children's veins. Why sit we still, our spirits wrapt in lead ? Not like them whilst they liv’d, but now they ’re dead.
The noise at home was but Fate's policy,
To raise our spirits more high :
How would the German Eagle fear
To see a new Gustavus there ! How would it shake, though as't was wont to do," For Jove of old, it now bore thunder too !
Sure there are actions of this height and praise
Destin'd to Charles's days!
When Heaven bestows the best of kings,
It bids us think of mighty things :
VANDYKE is dead; but what bold Muse shall dare
Thus still he liv'd, till Heav'n did for him call; Where reverend Luke salutes him first of all ; Where he beholds new sights, divinely fair, And could almost wish for his pencil there; Did he not gladly see how all things shine, Wondrously painted in the Mind Divine, Whilst he, for ever ravish'd with the show, Scorns his own art, which we admire below.
Only his beauteous lady still he loves (The love of heavenly objects Heaven improves); He sees bright angels in pure beams appear, And thinks on her he left so like them here. And you, fair widow! who stay here alive, Since he so much rejoices, cease to grieve: Your joys and griefs were wont the same to be ; Begin not now, blest pair! to disagree. No wonder death mov'd not his generous mind; You, and a new-born You, he left behind : Ev'n Fate express'd his love to his dear wife, And let him'end your picture with his life.
HOW wretched does Prometheus' state appear,
HERE's to theė, Dick; this whining love despise;
It sparkles brighter far than she :
With all thy servile pains what canst thou win,
That Venus' joys, as well as she,
Whom would that painted toy a beauty move; ..
Could he a woman's heart have seen', ;