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Thy dreadful fleet would style thee Lord of AIT,
And ride in triumph o'er the drowned ball ;
Those towers of oak o'er fertile plains might go,
And visit mountains where they once did grow.

The world's Restorer once could not endure
That fipish'd Babel should those men secure
Whose pride design'd that fabric to have stood
Above the reach of any second flood;
To thee, his chosen, more indulgent, he
Dares trust such pow'r with so much piety.

TO THE QUEEN,

OCCASIONED UPON SIGHT OF HER MAJESTY'S

PICTURE.

Well fare the hand which to our humble sight
Presents that beauty which the dazzling light
Of royal splendour hides from weaker eyes,
And all access, save by this art, denies.
Here only we have courage to behold
This beam of glory, here we dare unfold
In numbers thus the wonders we conceive :
The gracious image, seeming to give leave,
Propitious stands, vouchsafing to be seen,
And by our Muse saluted miglity Queen,
In whom the extremes of pow'r and beauty move,
The Queen of Britain, and the Queen of Love !

As the bright sun (to which we owe no sight
Of equal glory to your beanty's light)
Is wisely plac'd in so sublime a seat,
To extend his light and moderate his heat;

So, happy 'tis you move in such a sphere,
As your high Majesty with awful fear
In human breasts might qualify that fire,
Which kindled by those eyes had flamed higher
Than when the scorched world like hazard run
By the approach of the ill-guided sun.

No other nymphs have title to men's hearts,
But as their meanness larger hope imparts :
Your beauty more the fondest lover moves
With admiration than his private loves ;
With admiration! for a pitch so high
(Save sacred Charles his) never love durst fly.
Heav'n that preferr'd a sceptre to your hand,
Favour'd our freedom more than your command:
Beauty had crown'd you, and you must have been
The whole world's mistress, otiier than a Queen.
All had been rivals, and you might have spar'd,
Or kill'd and tyranniz'd withont a guard.
No pow'r achiev'd, either by arms or birth,
Equals Love's empire both in Heav'n and earth.
Such eyes as yours on Jove himself have thrown
As bright and fierce a lightving as his own:
Witness our Jove, prevented by their flame
In his swift passage to the Hesperian dame:
When, like a lion, finding in his way
To some intended spoil a fairer prey,
The royal youth pursuing the report
Of beauty, found it in the Gallic court:
There public care with private passion, fought
A doubtful combat in his noble thought :
Should he confess his greatness and his love,
And the free faith of your great brother 'prove;

I Lewis XIII. King of France.

With his Achates ? breaking through the cloud
Of that disguise which did their graces shroud ;
And mixing with those gallants at the ball,
Darice with the ladies, and outshine them all;
Or on his journey o'er the mountains ride?-
So when the fair Leucothoe he espied,
To check his steeds impatient Phæbus earn'd,
Though all the world was in his course concern'd.
What may hereafter her meridian do,
Whose dawning beauty warm'd his bosom so!
Not so divine a flame, since deathless gods
Forbore to visit the defil'd abodes
Of men, in any mortal breast did burn;
Nor shall, till piety and they return.

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TO THE

QUEEN-MOTHER OF FRANCE,

UPON HER LANDING.

Great Queen of Europe! where thy offspring wears
All the chief crowns; where princes are thy heirs ;
As welcome thou to sea-girt Britain's shore,
As erst Latona (who fair Cynthia bore)
To Delos was : here shines a nymph as bright,
By thee disclos’d, with like increase of light.
Why was her joy in Belgia confin'd ?
Or why did you so much regard the wind ?
Scarce could the ocean (though enrag'd) have tost
Thy sovereign bark, but where the obsequious coast

.Duke of Buckingham.

Pays tribute to thy bed. Rome's conquering hand
More vanquish'd nations under her command
Never reduc'd. Glad Berecynthia so
Among her deathless progeny did go;
A wreath of towers adorn’d her reverend head,
Mother of all that on ambrosia fed.
Thy god-like race must sway the age to come,
As she Olympus peopled with her womb.

Would those commanders of mankind obey
Their honour'd parent, all pretences lay
Down at your royal feet, compose their jars,
And on the growing Turk discharge these wars,
The Christain knights that sacred tomb should wrest
From Pagan hands, and triumph o'er the East :
Our England's Prince, and Gallia's Dauphin, might
Like young Rinaldo and 'Tancredi fight:
In single combat by their swords again
The proud Argantes and fierce Soldan slain :
Again might we their valiant deeds recite,
And with your Tuscan Muse 3 exalt the fight.

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THE COUNTRY,

TO MY LADY OF CARLISLE.

Madam, of all the sacred Muse inspir’d,

Orpheus alone could with the woods comply ; Their rude inhabitants his song admir'd,

And Nature's self, in those that could not lie : Your beauty next our solitude invades, And warms us, shining through the thickest shades

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Nor ought the tribute which the wondering court

Pays your fair eyes, prevail with you to scorn The answer and consent to that report

Which, echo-like, the country does return; Mirrors are taught to flatter, but our springs Present the impartial images of things.

A rural judge' dispos’d of beauty's prize;

A simple shepherd' was preferrd to Jove :
Down to the mountains from the partial skies,

Came Juno, Pallas, and the Queen of Love,
To plead for that which was so justly giv'n
To the bright Carlisle of the court of heav'n.

Carlisle ! a name which all our woods are taught

Loud as their Amaryllis to resound: Carlisle ! a name which on their bark is wrought

Of every tree that's worthy of the wound. From Pbæbus' rage our shadows and our streams May guard us better than from Carlisle's beams

TO PHYLLIS.

PHYLLIS ! 'twas love that injur'd you,
And on that rock your Thyrsis threw,
Who for proud Cælia could have died,
While you no less accus’d his pride.

Fond Love his darts at random throws,
And nothing springs from what he sows:
From foes discharg'd as often meet
The shining points of arrows fleet,

i Paris.

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