So wandering bees would perish in the air,
Did not a sound, proportion'd to their ear,
Appease their rage, invite them to the hive,
Unite their force, and teach them how to thrive:
To rob the flowers, and to forbear the spoil,
Preserv'd in winter by their summer's toil;
They give us food which may with nectar vie,
And was that does the absent sun supply.



FLORIBUS Angligenis non hanc tibi necto corollam,
Cùm satìs indigenis te probet ipse Liber:
Per me Roma sciet tibi se debere, quòd Anglo
Romanus didicit cultiùs ore loqui.
Ultima quæ tellus Aquilas duce Cæsare vidit,
Candida Romulidum te duce scripta videt.
Consilio ut quondam Patriam nil juveris, esto!
Sed studio cives ingenioque juvas.
Namque dolis liber hic instructus, et arte Batava,
A Belga nobis ut caveamus,

Horremus per te civilis dira furoris
Valpera; discordes Flandria quassa monet.
Hìc discat miles pugnare, orare senator;
Qui regnant, leni sceptra tenere manu.
Macte, Comes! virtute novâ; vestri ordinis ingens
Ornamentum, ævi deliciæque tui !
Dum stertunt alii somno vinoque sepulti,
Nobilis antiquo stemmate digna facis.

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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 conceal'd,
He might have rush'd ; but noble pity held
His hand awhile, 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 broke.
His fame, his conduct, and that martial look,
The guilty Scots with such a terror 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;
And at the Court his interest does employ,
That none, who scap'd bis fatal sword, should die.

And now these rash bold men their error find, Not trusting one beyond his promise kind; One! whose great mind, so bountiful and brave, Had learn'd the art to conquer and to save.

! Mercury.

In vulgar breasts no royal virtues dwell ; Such deeds as these his high extraction tell, And give a secret joy to him that reigns ?, To see his blood triumph in Monmouth's veins ; To see a leader whom he got and chose, Firm to his friends, and fatal to his foes.

But seeing envy, like the sun, does beat, With scorching rays, on all that's high and great, This, ill-requited Monmouth! is the bough The Muses send to shade thy conquering brow. Lampoons, like squibs, may make a present blaze, But time and thunder pay respect to bays. Achilles' arms dazzle our present view, Kept by the Muse as radiant and as new As from the forge of Vulcan first they came; Thousands of years are past, and they the same ; Such care she takes to pay desert with fame! Than which no monarch, for his crown's defence, Knows how to give a nobler recompense.


WHEN through the world fair Mazarine had run,
Bright as ber fellow-traveller the sun,
Hither at length the Roman Eagle flies,
As the last triumph of her conquering eyes.
As heir to Julius, she may pretend
A second time to make this island bend;
But Portsmouth, springing from the ancient race
Of Britons, which the Saxon here did chase,
As they great Cæsar did oppose, makes head,
And does against this new invader lead.

* King Charles II.

That goodly nymph, the taller of the two,
Careless and fearless to the field does go.
Becoming blushes on the other wait,
And her young look excuses want of height.
Beanty gives courage ; for she knows the day
Must not be won the Amazonian way.
Legions of Cupids to the battle come,
For Little Britain these, and those for Rome.
Dress’d to advantage, this illustrious pair
Arriv’d, for combat in the list appear.
What may the Fates design ! for never yet
From distant regions two such beauties met,
Venus had been an equal friend to both,
And Victory to declare herself seems loth :
Over the camp, with doubtful wings, she flies,
Till Chloris shining in the field she spies.
The lovely Chloris well-attended came,
A thousand Graces waited on the dame:
Her matchless form made all the English glad,
And foreign beauties less assurance had :
Yet, like the Three on Ida's top, they all
Pretend alike, contesting for the ball :
Which to determine Love himself declin'd,
Lest the neglected should become less kind.
Such killing looks! so thick the arrows fly!
That 'tis unsafe to be a stander-by.
Poets, approaching to describe the fight,
Are by their wounds instructed how to write:
They with less hazard might look on, and draw
The ruder combats in Alsatia;
And with that foil of violence and rage,
Set off the splendor of our Golden Age:
Where Love gives Law, Beauty the sceptrę sways,
And, uncompelld, the happy world obeys.




Thus mourn the Muses, on the hearse
Not strowing tears, but lasting verse,
Which so preserve the hero's name,
They make him live again in fame.

Chloris, in lines so like his own,
Gives bim so just and high renown,
That she the afflicted world relieves,
And shows that still in her he lives :
Her wit as gracefiil, great, and good ;
Ally'd in genius as in blood.

His loss supplied, now all our fears
Are, that the nymph should melt in tears.
Then, fairest Chloris! comfort take,
For his, your own, and for our sake,
Lest his fair soul, that lives in you,
Should from the world for ever go.


LOSS OF THE DUKE OF CAMBRIDGE. The failing blossoms which a young plant bears, Engage our hope for the succeeding years ; And hope is all which Art or Nature brings, At the first trial, to accomplish things.

1 Afterwards Marchioness of Wharton.

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