Feeding with these the brib'd electors' hopes,
Alone she gives us emperors and popes:
With these accomplishing her vast designs,
Europe was shaken with her Indian mines.
When Britain, looking with a just disdain
Upon this gilded majesty of Spain,

And knowing well that empire must decline,
Whose chief support and sinews are of coin,
Our nation's solid virtue did oppose

To the rich troublers of the world's repose.
And now some months, encamping on the main,
Our naval army had besieged Spain:

They that the whole world's monarchy design'd,
Are to their ports by our bold fleet confin'd,
From whence our Red Cross they triumphant see,
Riding without a rival on the sea.

Others may use the ocean as their road,
Only the English make it their abode,
Whose ready sails with every wind can fly,
And make a covenant with the' inconstant sky:
Our oaks secure, as if they there took root,
We tread on billows with a steady foot.
Meanwhile the Spaniards in America,
Near to the line the sun approaching saw,
And hop'd their European coasts to find
Clear'd from our ships by the autumnal wind;
Their huge capacious galleons stuff'd with plate,
The labouring winds drive slowly tow'rd their fate.
Before St. Lucar they their guns discharge,
To tell their joy, or to invite a barge:

This heard some ships of ours, (though out of view) And, swift as eagles, to the quarry flew;

So heedless lambs, which for their mothers bleat, Wake hungry lions, and become their meat.

Arriv'd, they soon begin that tragic play, And with their smoky cannons banish day: Night, horror, slaughter, with confusion meets, And in their sable arms embrace the fleets. Through yielding planks the angry bullets fly, And, of one wound, hundreds together die: Born under different stars one fate they have, The ship their coffin, and the sea their grave! Bold were the men which on the ocean first Spread their new sails, when shipwreck was the

worst:

More danger now from man alone we find

Than from the rocks, the billows, or the wind.
They that had sail'd from near the' Antarctic Pole,
Their treasure safe, and all their vessels whole,
In sight of their dear country ruin'd be,
Without the guilt of either rock or sea!
What they would spare our fiercer art destroys,
Surpassing storms in terror and in noise.
Once Jove from Ida did both hosts survey,
And, when he pleas'd to thunder, part the fray;
Here Heav'n in vain that kind retreat should sound;
The louder cannon had the thunder drown'd.
Some we made prize; while others, burnt and
rent,

With their rich lading to the bottom went:
Down sinks at once (so Fortune with us sports!)
The pay of armies, and the pride of courts.
Vain man! whose rage buries as low that store
As avarice had digg'd for it before :

What earth, in her dark bowels, could not keep From greedy hands, lies safer in the deep, Where Thetis kindly does from mortals hide Those seeds of luxury, debate, and pride.

And now into her lap the richest prize
Fell, with the noblest 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 sent,
To perish in a milder element;

Then laid him by his burning lady's side,
And, since he could not save her, with her died.
Spices and gums about them melting fry,
And, phoenix-like, in that rich nest 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 funeral cost,
Than the huge treasure which was with them lost.
These dying lovers, and their floating sons,
Suspend the fight, and silence 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 save their enemies.
How frail our passions! how soon changed are
Our wrath and fury to a friendly care!
They that but now for honour and for plate
Made the sea blush with blood, resign their hate;
And, their young foes endeavouring to retrieve,
With greater hazard than they fought they dive.
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 conquering head has no more room for bays:
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 sceptre, made of Spanish gold.

UPON THE

DEATH OF THE LORD PROTECTOR.

We must resign! Heav'n his great soul does claim
In storms, as loud as his immortal fame:
His dying groans, his last breath, shakes our isle,
And trees uncut fall for his funeral pile;
About his palace their broad roots are tost
Into the air. So Romulus was lost!

New Rome in such a tempest miss'd her king,
And from obeying fell to worshipping.
On ta'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 prostrate there.
Those his last fury from the mountain rent:
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 vaster mind;
Our bounds' enlargement was his latest toil,
Nor hath he left us prisoners to our ilse;
Under the tropic is our language spoke,
And part of Flanders hath receiv'd our yoke.
From civil broils he did us disengage,
Found nobler objects for our martial rage;

And, with wise conduct, to his country show'd
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 see
No pitch of glory from the grave is free.
Nature herself took notice of his death,
And, sighing, swell'd the sea with such a breath,
That, to remotest shores her billows roll'd,
The' approaching fate of their great ruler told.

ON ST. JAMES'S PARK,

AS LATELY IMPROVED BY HIS MAJESTY.

Of the first paradise there's nothing found;
Plants set by Heav'n are vanish'd, and the ground;
Yet the description lasts: who knows the fate
Of lines that shall this paradise relate?
Instead of rivers rolling by the side

Of Eden's garden, here flows in the tide :
The sea, which always serv'd his empire, now
Pays tribute to our Prince's pleasure too.
Of famous cities we the founders know;
But rivers, old as seas, to which they go,
Are Nature's bounty: 'tis of more renown
To make a river than to build a town.

For future shade, young trees upon the banks
Of the new stream appear in even ranks :
The voice of Orpheus, or Amphion's hand,
In better order could not make them stand:
May they increase as fast, and spread their boughs,
As the high fame of their great owner grows!