A COLLECTION OF POEMS ON Affairs of State; Viz.

  • Advice to a Painter.
  • Hodge's Vision.
  • Britain and Raleigh.
  • Statue at Stocks-M—
  • Young Statesman.
  • To the K—
  • Nostradamus Prophecy.
  • Sir Edmondbury God­frey's Ghost.
  • On the King's Voyage to Chattam.
  • Poems on Oliver, by Mr. Driden, Mr. Sprat, and Mr. Waller.

BY A— M—l Esq and other Eminent Wits.

Most whereof never before Printed.

LONDON, Printed in the Year, MDCLXXXIX.

Advice to a Painter, by A. M. Esq

SPread a large Canvass, Painter, to contain
The great Assembly, and the num'rous Train,
Where all about him shall in Triumph sit
Abhorring Wisdom and despising Wit,
Hating all Iustice and resolv'd to Fight.
First draw His Highness prostrate to the South,
Adoring Rome, with this Speech in his Mouth,
Most Holy Father, being joyn'd in League
With Father P—s, D—y, and with Teague,
Thrown at your Sacred Feet, I humbly bow,
I and the wise Associates of my Vow;
A Vow, nor Fire nor Sword shall ever end,
Till all this Nation to your Footstool bend:
Thus arm'd with Zeal and Blessings from your Hands,
I'le raise my Papists, and my Irish Bands;
And by a Noble well-contrived Plot,
Manag'd by wise Fitz— and by Scot,
Prove to the World, I'le have Old England know,
That common Sense is my Eternal Foe.
I ne'r can fight in a more glorious Cause,
Than to destroy their Liberty and Laws,
Their House of Commons, and their House of Lords,
Parliaments, Precedents and dull Records;
Shall these e'r dare to contradict my Will,
And think a Prince oth' Blood can e'r do ill?
It is our Birth-right to have Power to kill.
Shall they e're dare to think they shall decide
The Way to Heaven, and who shall be my Guide?
Shall they pretend to say, That Bread is Bread,
Or there's no Purgatory for the Dead?
That Extream Vnction is but common Oyl,
And not Infallibly the Roman Spoil?
I will have Villains in Our Notions rest,
And I do say it, therefore it's the best.
[Page 4]Next Painter draw his M— by his side,
Conveying his Religion and his Bride;
He who long since abjur'd the Royal Line,
Does now in Popery with his Master joyn.
Then draw the Princess with her golden Locks,
Hastning to be envenom'd with the P—
And in her youthful Veins receive a Wound,
Which sent N. H. before her, under Ground;
The Wound of which the tainted Ch— fades,
Laid up in Store for a new Set of Maids.
Poor Princess, born under a sullen Star,
To find such Welcome when you came so far!
Better some jealous Neighbour of your own
Had call'd you to a Sound, tho' petty Throne,
Where 'twixt a wholesom Husband and a Page,
You might have linger'd out a lazy Age,
Than on dull Hopes of being here a Q—
Ere twenty dye, and rot before fifteen.
Now Painter shew us in the Blackest Dye,
The Counsellors of all this Villany:
Cl—d, who first appear'd in humble guise,
Was always thought too Gentle, Meek and Wise;
But when he came to act upon the Stage,
He prov'd the mad Cethegus of our Age;
He and his D—ke had both too great a Mind,
To be by Iustice or by Law confin'd;
Their boyling Heads can hear no other Sounds
Than Fleets and Armies, Battails, Blood and Wounds;
And to destroy our Liberty they hope,
By Irish Talbot, and old doting Pope.
Next Talbot must by his great Master stand,
Laden with Folly, Flesh, and Ill-got Land;
He's of a size indeed to fill a Porch,
But ne'r can make a Pillar of the Church;
His Sword is all his Argument, not his Book,
Altho' no Scholar, he can act the Cook;
And will cut Throats again, if he be paid;
In th' Irish Shambles he first learn'd the Trade.
Then Painter shew thy Skill, and in fit place,
Let's see the Nuncio A—ll's sweet Face.
[Page 5]Let the Beholders by thy Art espy
His Sense and Soul, as squinting as his Eye.
Let B—s autumnal Face be seen,
Rich with the Spoils of a poor Algerine,
Who trusting in him, was by him betray'd;
And so shall we when his Advice's obey'd:
Great Heroes to get Honour by the Sword,
He got his Wealth by breaking of his Word;
And now his Daughter he hath got with Child,
And Pimps to have his Family defil'd.
Next Painter draw the Rabble of the Plot,
G—n, Fitz G—d, Loftus, Porter, Scot:
These are fit Heads indeed, to turn a State,
And change the Order of a Nations Fate;
Ten thousand such as these shall ne'r controul
The smallest Atom of an English Soul.
Old England on a strong Foundation stands,
Defying all their Heads and all their Hands,
Its steady Basis never could be shook,
When wiser Men her Ruin undertook;
And can her Guardian Angels let her stoop
At last, to Madmen, Fools, and to the Pope?
No Painter, no close up this Piece and See,
This crowd of Traitors hang'd in EFFIGIE.

Hodge, a Countryman, went up to the Piramid, His VISION.

WHen Hodge had numbred up, how many Score
The airy Piramid constrain'd, he swore,
No mortal Wight e'r climb'd so high before
To th'best Advantage plac'd, he Views around,
Th' Imperial Throne with lofty Turrets crown'd,
The wealthy Store-house of the bounteous Flood,
Whose peaceful Tide o'rflows our Land with Good:
Confused Forms fleet by his wondring Eyes,
And his Soul too, seiz'd by Divine surprize.
Some God it seems had entred his plain Breast,
And with's Abode that Rustick Mansion blest,
[Page 6]A mighty Change he feels in ev'ry Part;
Light guides his Eyes, and Wisdom rules his Heart:
So when her pious Son, fair Venus show'd
His flaming Troy, with slaughter'd Dardan's Strow'd,
She purg'd his Optick Films, his clouded Sight,
Then Troy's last Doom he read by Heaven's Light;
Such Light Divine did seize the dazling Eyes
Of humble Hodge.
Regions remote, Courts, Councils, Policies
The Circling Wills of Tyrants Treacheries
He views, discerns, deciphers, penetrates,
From Charles's Dukes, to Europe's armed States.
He saw the Goatish King in his Alcove,
With secret Scenes of his incestuous Love;
To whom he spoke:
Cease, cease, O Charles, thus to pollute our Isle;
Return, return to thy long wisht Exile;
There with thy Court defile the neighb'ring States,
And by thy Crimes participate their Fates.
He saw the Duke in his curst Divan set,
To's vast Designs reaching his Pigmy-Wit,
With a choice Knot of the Ignatian Crew,
Who th' way to Murthers and to Treasons shew:
Dissenters they oppress with Laws severe
That whilst we wound these Innocents, we fear
Their cursed Seed we may be forc'd to spare.
Twice the Reform'd must fight a double Prize,
That Rome and France may in their Ruines rise.
Old Bonner single Hereticks did burn,
These Reform'd Cities into Ashes turn,
And ev'ry year new Fires make us mourn.
Hybernian Tories plot his cruel Reign,
And thirst for English Martyrs Blood again.
Our Valiant Youth abroad must learn the Trade
Of unjust War, their Countrey to invade;
Others at home must grind us to prepare
Our Gallick Necks their Iron Yoke to wear.
Ships, once our Safety and our glorious Might,
Are doom'd with Worms and Rottenness to fight;
[Page 7]Whilst France rides Sovereign o're the British Main;
Our Merchants robb'd, and our brave Sea-men slain:
T' insure his Plot, France must his Legions send,
Rome to restore, and to enthrone his Friend:
Thus the rash Phaeton with Fury hurld,
And rapid Rage consumes the British World.
Blast him, O Heaven, in his mad Career,
And let these Isles no more his Frenzy fear:
Curst — whom all Mankind abhor;
False to thy self, but to thy Friend much more,
To him who did thy promis'd Pardon hope
Coleman.
And with pretended Transports kiss the Rope;
Ore-whelm'd with Grief, and gasping out a Lie,
Deceiv'd, and unprepar'd, thou letst him die
With equal Gratitude and Treachery.

BRITANNIA and RALEIGH.

By A. M.
Brit.
AH Raleigh, when thou didst thy Breath resign
To trembling Iames, would I had quitted mine.
Cubs dist thou call them? Hadst thou seen this Brood
Of Earls, Dukes, and Princes of the Blood;
No more of Scottish Race thou wouldst complain:
These would be Blessings in this spurious Reign.
Awake, arise from thy long blest Repose;
Once more with me partake of Morlace Woes.
Ra.
What mighty Pow'r hath forc'd me from my rest?
Oh mighty Queen, why so untimely drest?
Brit.
Favour'd by Night, conceal'd in this Disguise,
Whilst the lewd Court in drunken Slumber lies,
I stole away, and never will return,
Till England knows who did her City burn;
Till Cavaliers shall Favourites be deem'd,
And Loyal Sufferers by the Court esteem'd;
Till Liegh and Galloway shall Bribes reject;
Thus Osburn's Golden Cheat I shall detect:
[Page 8]Till Atheist Lauderdale shall leave this Land,
And Commons Votes shall Cut-Nose Guards disband;
Till Kate a happy Mother shall become,
Till Charles loves Parliaments, and Iames hates Rome.
Ral.
What fatal Crimes make you for ever sly
Your once lov'd Court and Martyrs Progeny?
Brit.
A Colony of French possess the Court;
Pimps, Priests, Buffoons in th' Privy Chamber sport;
Such slimy Monsters ne'r approacht a Throne
Since Pharaoh's Days, nor so defil'd a Crown.
In sacred Ear Tyrannick Arts they croak,
Pervert his Mind, and good Intentions choak;
Tell him of Golden Indies, Fairy Lands,
Leviathan, and absolute Commands.
Thus Fairy-like the King they steal away,
And in his room a Changling Lewis lay.
How oft have I him to himself restor'd,
In's left the Scale, in's right hand plac'd the Sword?
Taught him their use, what dangers would ensue,
To them who strive to separate these two?
The bloody Scotish Chronicle read ore
Shew'd him how many Kings in purple gore
Were hurl'd to Hell by cruel Tyrant Lore.
The other day fam'd Spencer I did bring,
In lofty Notes Tudor's blest Race to sing;
How Spain's proud Powers her Virgin-Arms controul'd,
And Gold'n Days in peaceful Order roul'd;
How like ripe Fruit she dropt from off her Throne,
Full of grey Hairs, good Deeds, and great Renown.
As the Iessean Hero did appease
Saul's stormy Rage, and stopt his black Disease;
So the learn'd Bard, with Artful Song supprest
The swelling Passion of his canker'd Breast,
And in his Heart kind Influences shed
Of Country Lore by Truth and Iustice bred:
Then, to perform the Cure so full begun,
To him I shew'd this glorious setting Sun.
[Page 9]How by her Peoples Looks pursued from far,
So mounted on a bright Celestial Car,
Out-shining Virgo, or the Iulian Star.
Whilst in Truths Mirrour this good Scene he spy'd,
Enter'd a Dame, bedeckt with spotted Pride,
Fair Flower de Luce within an Azure Field,
Her left Hand bears the Antient Gallick Shield,
By her usurpt; her Right a bloody Sword,
Inscrib'd Leviathan, our Sovereign Lord;
Her towry Front a fiery Meteor bears,
An Exhalation bred of Blood and Tears;
Around her Iove's lewd rav'nous Curs complain,
Pale Death, Lust, Tortures, fill her pompous Train.
She from the easie King Truth's Mirrour took,
And on the Ground in spiteful Fall it broke;
Then frowning thus, with proud Disdain she spoke.
Are thred-bare Virtues Ornaments for Kings?
Such poor pedantick Toys teach Underlings.
Do Monarchs rise by Virtue or by Sword?
Who e'r grew great by keeping of his Word?
Virtue's a faint Green-Sickness to brave Souls,
Dastards their Hearts, their active Heat controuls:
The Rival God, Monarchs of th' other World,
This mortal Poyson amongst Princes hold;
Fearing the mighty Projects of the great
Shall drive them from their proud celestial Seat,
If not o'r aw'd: This new found holy Cheat,
Those pious Frauds too slight, t' insnare the brave,
Are proper Acts of long-ear'd Rout t' inslave.
Bribe hungry Priests to deifie your Might,
To teach your Will's, your only Rule to Right;
And sound Damnation to all that dare deny't.
Thus Heaven designs 'gainst Heaven you should turn,
And make them fear those Powers you once did scorn.
When all the Gobling Interest of Mankind,
By Hirelings sold to you, shall be resign'd;
And by Impostures God and Man betray'd,
The Church and State you safely may invade;
So boundless Law in its full Power shines,
Whilst your starv'd Power in Legal Fetters Pines.
[Page 10]Shake off those Baby Bands from your strong Arms,
Henceforth be deaf to your old Witches Charms;
Tast the delicious Sweets of Sovereign Power,
'Tis Royal Game whole Kingdoms to deflow'r.
Three spotless Virgins to your Bed I'le bring,
A Sacrifice to you their God and King:
As these grow stale we'l harras human kind,
Rack Nature till new Pleasures you shall find,
Strong as your Reign, and beauteous as your Mind.
When she had spoke, a confus'd Murmour rose
Of French, Scotch, Irish, all my mortal Foes,
Some English too, O shame! disguis'd I spy'd,
Led all by the wise Son-in-Law of Hyde;
With Fury drunk, like Baccanels they Roar,
Down with that common Magna Charta Whore:
With joynt Consent on helpless Me they flew,
And from my Charles to a base Goal me drew;
My Reverend Age expos'd to Scorn and Shame,
To Prigs, Bawds, Whores, was made the publick Game.
Frequent Addresses to my Charles I send,
And my sad State did to his Care commend:
But his fair Soul transform'd by that French Dame,
Had lost a sense of Honour, Justice, Fame.
Like a tame Spinster in's Seraigl he sits,
Besieg'd by Whores, Buffoons and Bastard Chits;
Lull'd in Security, rowling in Lust,
Resigns his Crown to Angel Cromwel's Trust.
Her Creature Osborne, the Revenue steals,
False F—ch, Knave Ang—ey, misguide the Seals;
Mack-Iames the Irish Biggots does adore:
His French and Teague commands on Sea and Shore:
The Scotch Scalado of our Court two Isles,
False Lauderdale with Adure all defiles.
Thus the States Right marr'd by this hellish Court,
And no one left these Furies to cast out:
Ah Vindex come, and purge the poison'd State;
Descend, Descend, e're the Cure's desperate.
Ral.
Once more great Queen thy Darling strive to save,
Rescue him again from Scandal and the Crave;
Present to's Thoughts his long scorn'd Parliament,
The Basis of his Throne and Government:
[Page 11]In his deaf Ears sound his dead Fathers name,
Perhaps that Spell may his ill Soul reclaim;
Who knows what good Effects from thence may spring?
'Tis God-like Good to save a falling King.
Brit.
As easily learn'd Vertuoso's may
With the Dogs Blood his gentle Kind Convey
Into the Wolf, and make him Guardian turn,
To the bleating Flock, by him so lately torn;
If this Imperial Juice once taint his Blood,
'Tis by no potent Antidote withstood.
Tyrants, like Leprous Kings, for publick weal,
Should be immur'd, lest the Contagion steal
Over the whole. Th' Elect of the Iessean Line,
To this firm Law their Scepter did resign.
To the serene Venetian State I'le go,
From her sage Mouth fam'd Principles to know;
With her, the Prudence of the Ancients read,
To teach my People in their Steps to tread;
By their great Pattern such a State I'le frame,
Shall eternize a glorious lasting Name.
Till then, my Raleigh teach our noble Youth,
To love Sobriety and holy Truth:
Watch and preside over their tender Age,
Lest Court Corruption should their Soul engage:
Tell them how Arts and Arms in thy young Days
Employ'd our Youth, not Taverns, Stews and Plays:
Tell them the generous Scorn their rise does ow
To Flattery, Pimping and a Gawdy Shew:
Teach them to scorn the Corwells, Pembrooks, Nells,
The Clevelands, Osborns, Berties, Laudtherdails,
Poppea, Tegoline and Arteria's Name,
Who yield to these in Lewdness, Lust and Fame.
Make 'em admire the Talbots, Sidneys, Veres,
Drake, Cav'ndish, Blake, Men void of slavish Fears,
True Sons of Glory, Pillars of the State,
On whose fam'd Deeds all Tongues and Writers wait;
When with bright Ardour their bright Souls do burn,
Back to my dearest Country I'le return.
Tarquin's just Judge and Caesar's equal Peers,
With them I'le bring, to dry my People's Tears.
[Page 12] Publicola with healing Hands shall pour
Balm in their Wounds, and shall their Life restore:
Greek Arts and Roman Arms in her conjoyn'd,
Shall England raise, relieve opprest Mankind.
As Iove's great Son th' infested Globe did free
From noxious Monsters, hell-bred Tyrannie;
So shall my England in a Holy War,
In Triumph bear slain Tyrants from afar;
Her true Crusado shall at last pull down
The Turkish Crescent and the Persian Sun.
Freed by my Labours, Fortunate Blest Isle,
The Earth shall rest, the Heaven shall on thee smile;
And this kind Secret for Reward shall give,
No Poysonous Serpent on the Earth shall live.

On the Statue at Stocks-Market.

AS Citizens, that to their Conquerors yeild,
Do at their own Charge their own Citadel build;
So Sir Robert advanced the King's Statue, a Token
Of a Broker defeated, and Lombard-street broken.
Some thought it a mighty and gracious Deed,
Obliging the City with a King on a Steed;
When with honour he might from his Word have gone back,
Who that waits for a Calm, is absolv'd by a Wreck:
By all, it appears from the first to the last,
To be as Revenge and as Malice forecast,
Upon the King's Birth Day to set up a Thing,
The shews him a Monkey, more like than a King.
When each one that passes, finds fault with the Horse,
Yet all do assure that the King is much worse:
And some by the Likeness, Sir Robert suspect,
That he did for the K—his own Statue erect.
To see him so disguis'd, the Herb-women chide,
Who upon their Panniers more decently ride:
And so loose are his feet, that all men agree
Sir William Peak sits more faster than he:
[Page 13]But a Market they say doth fit the King well,
Who oft Parliaments buys, and Revenues doth sell:
And others, to make the Similitude hold,
Say his Majesty himself is oft bought and sold.
Surely this Statue is more dangerous far,
Than all the Dutch Pictures that caused the War;
And what the Exchequer for that took on trust,
May henceforth be confiscated for Reasons most just.
But Sir Robert, to take the Scandal away,
Doth the fault upon the Artificer lay;
And alledges the thing is none of his own;
For he counterfeits only in Gold, not in Stone.
But Sir Knight of the Vine, how came't in your thought,
That when to the Scaffold your Liege you had brought,
With Canvas and Deals you ere since do him cloud,
As if you had meant it his Coffin and Shroud?
Hath Blood him away, as his Crown he convey'd?
Or is he to Clayton's gone in Masquerade?
Or is he in his Cabal in his —set?
Or have you to the Compter remov'd him for Debt?
Methinks for the Equipage of this vile Scene,
That to change him into a Iack-Pudding you mean,
Or else thus expose him to Popular Flout,
As tho' we had as good have a King of a Clout.
Or do you his Errors out of Modesty vail
With three shatter'd Planks, and the Rags of a Sail,
To expose how his Navy was shatter'd and torn,
The day that he was restored and born?
If the Judges and Parliament do not him enrich,
They will scarcely afford him a Rag to his Breech.
Sir Robert affirms they do him much wrong;
'Tis the Gravers Work to reform so long.
But alas, he will never arrive at his End;
For 'tis such a King no Chizzel can mend:
But with all his Faults pray give us our King,
As ever you hope December or Spring:
For though the whole World cannot shew such another,
We had better have him than his Pockisy'd Brother.

A Young Gentleman, desirous to be a Minister of State, thus pretends to qualifie himself.

TO make my self for this Employment fit,
I'le learn as much as ever I can get
Of the Honourable Grey of R— Wit:
In Constancy and sincere Loyalty,
I'le imitate the grateful Shaftsbury;
And that we may assume the Churches weal,
And all Disorders in Religion neal,
I will espouse Lord Hallifax's Zeal,
To pay Respect to Sacred Revelation,
To scorn th'affected Wit of Prophanation,
And rout Impiety out of the Nation:
To suppress Vice, and Scandal to prevent,
Buckingham's Life shall be my Precedent,
That living Modal of good Government.
To dive into the depth of Statesmen's Craft,
To search the Secrets of the subtlest Heart,
And hide my own Designs with prudent Art,
To make each Man my Property become,
To frustrate all the Plots of France or Rome,
None can so well instruct as my Lord Moon;
For Moral Honesty in Deed and Word,
Lord Winchester Example will afford;
That, and his Courage too, are on Record.

To the King.

GReat Charles, who full of Mercy, wouldst command
In Peace and Pleasure this, his Native Land;
At last take pity of this tottering Throne,
Shook by the Faults of others, not thine own.
[Page 15]Let not thy Life and Crown together end,
Destroy'd by a false Brother and a Friend.
Observe the danger that appears so near,
That all your Subjects do each minute fear:
One drop of Poison, or a Papist-Knife,
Ends all the Joy of England with thy Life.
Brothers, 'tis true, by Nature, should be kind;
But a too zealous and ambitious Mind,
Brib'd with a Crown on Earth, and one above,
Harbours no Friendship, Tenderness, or Love:
See in all Ages what Examples are
Of Monarchs murther'd by their impatient Heir.
Hard Fate of Princes, who will ne'r believe
Till the Stroke's struck which they can ne'r retrieve.

Nosterdamus's PROPHECY.

By A. M.
FOR Faults and Follies London's Doom shall fix,
And She must sink in Flames in Sixty six;
Fire-Balls shall fly, but few shall see the Train,
As far as from White-hall to Pudding-Lane,
To burn the City, which again shall rise,
Beyond all hopes, aspiring to the Skies,
Where Vengeance dwells. But there is one thing more
(Though its Walls stand) shall bring the City lower:
When Legislators shall their Trust betray,
Saving their own, shall give the rest away;
And those false men by th' easie People sent,
Give Taxes to the King by Parliament:
When bare-fac'd Villains shall not blush to cheat,
And Chequer-Doors shall shut up Lumbard Street:
When Players come to act the Part of Queens,
Within the Curtains, and behind the Scenes:
When Sodomy shall be prime Min'sters Sport,
And Whoring shall be the least Crime at Court:
When Boys shall take their Sisters for their Mate,
And practise Incests between Seven and Eight:
[Page 16]When no man knows in whom to put his trust,
And e'en to rob the Chequer shall be just;
When Declarations, Lie, and every Oath
Shall be in use dat Court but Faith and Troth;
When two goo Kings shall be at Brentford Town,
And when in London there shall be not one;
When the Seat's given to a talking Fool,
Whom wise Men laugh at, and whom Women rule;
A Min'ster able only in his Tongue,
To make harsh, empty Speeches two hours long;
When an old Scotch Covenant shall be
The Champion for th' English Hierarchy;
When Bishops shall lay all Religion by,
And strive by Law t' establish Tyranny;
When a lean Treasurer shall in one year
Make himself fat, his King and People bare;
When th' English Prince shall English men despise,
And think French only Loyal, Irish Wise;
When Wooden Shoon shall be the English Wear,
And Magna Charta shall no more appear;
Then th' English shall a greater Tyrant know
Than either Greek or Latin Story show;
Their Wives to's Lust expos'd, their Wealth to's Spoil,
With Groans to fill his Treasury they toil;
But like the Bellides must sigh in vain;
For that still fill'd flows out as fast again;
Then they with envious Eyes shall Belgium see,
And wish in vain Venetian Liberty.
The Frogs too late grown weary of their Pain,
Shall pray to Iove to take him back again.

Sir Edmondbury Godfrey's Ghost.

IT happen'd in the Twi-light of the Day,
As England's Monarch in his Closet lay,
And Chiffinch step'd to fetch the Female Prey,
The bloody shape of Godfrey did appear,
And in sad Vocal Sounds these things declare:
Behold, Great Sir, I from the Shades am sent,
To shew these Wounds that did your Fall prevent.
My panting Ghost, as Envoy, comes to call,
And warn you, lest, like me, y' untimely fall;
Who against Law your Subjects Lives pursue,
By the same rate may dare to murther you.
I, for Religion, Laws, and Liberties,
Am mangled thus, and made a Sacrifice.
Think what befel Great Egypt's hardned King,
Who scorn'd the Profit of admonishing.
Shake off your brandy Slumbers; for my Words
More Truth than all your close Cabal affords:
A Court you have with Luxury oregrown,
And all the Vices ere in Nature known;
Where Pimps and Panders in their Coaches ride,
And in Lampoons and Songs your Lust deride.
Old Bawds and slighted Whores, there tell, with shame,
The dull Romance of your lascivious Flame.
Players and Scaramouches are your Joy;
Priests and French Apes do all your Land annoy;
Still so profuse, you are insolvent grown,
A Mighty Bankrupt on a Golden Throne.
Your nauseous Palate the worst Food doth crave;
No wholesom Viands can an entrance have:
Each Night you lodge in that French Syren's Arms
She straight betrays you with her wanton Charms;
Works on your Heart, softned with Love and Wine,
And then betrays you to some Philistine.
Imperial Lust does o'er your Scepter sway;
And though a Sovereign, makes you to obey.
Yet thoughts so stupid have your Soul possess'd,
As if inchanted by some Magick Priest.
[Page 18]Next he who 'gainst the Senate's Vote did wed,
Took defil'd H. and Hesti to his Bed:
Fiend in his Face, Apostle in his Name,
Contriv'd two Wars to your eternal shame.
He ancient Laws and Liberties defies;
On standing Guards and new raised Force relies:
The Teagues he courts, and doth the French admire,
And fain he would be mounted one step higher.
All this by you must needs be plainly seen,
And yet he awes you with his daring Spleen.
Th' unhappy Kingdom suffered much of Old,
When Spencer and loose Gaveston controull'd;
Yet they by just Decrees were timely sent,
To suffer a perpetual Banishment.
But your bold States-men nothing can restrain,
Their most enormous Courses you maintain;
Witness that Man, who had for divers years
Pay'd the Cubb-Commons, Pensions and Arrears;
Though your Exchequer was at his Command,
Durst not before his just Accuser stand,
For Crimes and Treasons of so black a hue,
None dare to prove his Advocate but you.
Trust not in Prelates false Divinity,
Who wrong their Prince, and shame their Deity,
Making a God so partial in their Cause,
Exempting Kings alone from humane Laws.
These lying Oracles they did infuse
Of old, and did your Martyr'd Sire abuse.
Their strong delusions did him so inthral,
No Cautions would anticipate his Fall.
Repent in time, and banish from your sight
The Pimp, the Whore, Buffoon, Church-parasite;
Let Innocence deck your remaining days,
That After-ages may unfold your Praise.
So may Historians in new Methods write,
And draw a Curtain 'twixt your black and white.
The Ghost spake thus, groan'd thrice, and said no more:
Straight in came Chiffinch hand in hand with Whore:
The King tho' much concern'd with Joy and Fear
Starts from the Couch, and bid the Dame draw near.

Upon the King's Voyage to Chatham, to make Bulwarks against the Dutch: And the Queen's miscarriage thereupon.

WHen Iames our great Monarch, so Wise and Discreet:
Was gone with three Barges, to face the Dutch Fleet;
Our young Prince of Wales (by Inheritance stout!)
Was coming to aid him, and peep'd his Head out;
But seeing his Father without Ships or Men,
Commit the defence of us all to a Chain,
Taffee was frighted, and sculck'd out again;
Nor thought, while the Dutch domineer'd on our Road,
It was safe to come further, and venture abroad.
Not Walgrave, or th'Epistle of Seignieur le Duke,
Made Her Majesty Sick, and her Royal Womb puke:
But the Dutch-men Pickeering at Dover and Harwich,
Gave the Ministers Agues, and the Queen a Miscarriage;
And to see the poor King stand in Ships of such need,
Made the Catholicks quake, and Her Majesty bleed;
And I wish this sad Accident don't spoil the young Prince,
Take off all his Manhood, and make him a Wench:
But the Hero his Father, no courage does lack:
Who was sorry on such a pretext to come back:
He mark'd out his ground, and mounted a Gun,
And 'tis thought without such a pretence he had run;
For his Army and Navy were said to increase,
As appears (when we have no occasion) in Peace:
Nay, if the Dutch come, we despise 'em so much,
Our Navy Incognito will leave 'em i'th' Lurch;
And (to their Eternal Disgrace) we are able,
To beat 'em by way of a Post and a Cable;
Why was this, Sir, left out of the Wise Declaration,
That flatter'd with Hopes of more Forces, the Nation?
'Twould have done us great good to have said, you intended,
The strength of the Nation, The CHAIN should be mended;
Though we thank you, for Passing so kindly your Word,
(Which never was broke) that you'd Rule by the Sword;
This Promise we know you meant to fulfill;
And therefore you have reason (by Gad) to tak't ill,
That the Bishops the Bishops did throw out the Bill.

Three POEMS on the Death of the late Usurper Oliver Cromwell.

Written by Mr. Iohn Dryden, Mr. Sprat of Oxford, and Mr. Edm. Waller.

Heroick Stanza's, on the late Usurper Oliver Cromwell, Written after his Funeral,

by Mr. Dryden.
I.
AND now 'tis time; for their officious hast,
Who would before have born him to the Sky,
Like eager Romans ere all Rites were past,
Did let too soon the sacred Eagle fly.
II.
Though our best Notes are Treason to his Fame,
Join'd with the loud applause of publick Voice;
Since Heaven, what praise we offer to his Name,
Hath rendred too Authentick by its choice;
III.
Though in his praise no Arts can liberal be,
Since they whose Muses have the highest flown,
Add not to his Immortal Memory;
But do an act of Friendship to their own:
IV.
Yet 'tis our duty, and our interest too,
Such Monuments as we can build, to raise,
Lest all the World prevent what we should do,
And claim a Title in him by their Praise.
V.
How shall I then begin, or where conclude,
To draw a Fame so truly Circular?
For in a round, what order can be shew'd,
Where all the parts so equal, perfect are?
VI.
His Grandeur he deriv'd from Heaven alone,
For he was great ere Fortune made him so,
And Wars like Mists that rise against the Sun,
Made him but greater seem, not greater grow.
VII.
No borrow'd Bays his Temples did adorn,
But to our Crown he did fresh Jewels bring;
Nor was his Vertue poison'd soon as born,
With the too early thoughts of being King.
VIII.
Fortune (that easie Mistriss to the young,
But to her Ancient Servants coy and hard)
Him, at that Age, her Favourites rank'd among,
When she her best lov'd Pompey did discard.
IX.
He private, mark'd the Faults of others sway,
And set as Sea-marks for himself to shun;
Not like rash Monarchs, who their youth betray,
By Acts their Age too late would wish undone.
X.
And yet Dominion was not his design,
We owe that blessing not to him but Heaven,
Which to fair acts unsought rewards did join,
Rewards that less to him, than us were given.
XI.
Our former Chiefs like Sticklers of the War,
First sought t'inflame the Parties, then to poise:
The quarrel lov'd, but did the cause abhor,
And did not strike to hurt, but make a noise.
XII.
War, our Consumption, was their gainful Trade;
He inward bled, whilst they prolong'd our pain;
He fought to end our fighting, and assay'd.
To stanch the Blood by breathing of the Vein.
XIII.
Swift and resistless through the Land he past,
Like that bold Greek, who did the East subdue,
And made to Battels such Heroick haste,
As if on Wings of Victory he flew.
XIV.
He Fought secure of Fortune as of Fame,
Still by new Maps the Island might be shown,
Of Conquests which he strew'd where e'er he came,
Thick as the Galaxy with Stars is sown.
XV.
His Palms, though under weights they did not stand,
Still thriv'd, no Winter could his Laurels fade;
Heaven in his Portraict shew'd a Workman's hand,
And drew it perfect, yet without a shade.
XVI.
Peace was the prize of all his toils and care,
Which War had banish'd, and did now restore
Bolognia's Walls thus mounted in the Air,
To seat themselves more surely than before.
XVII.
Her safety, rescued Ireland, to him owes,
And treacherous Scotland to no int'rest true,
Yet bless'd that Fate which did his Arms dispose
Her Land to civilize, as to subdue.
XVIII.
Nor was he like those Stars which only shine,
When to pale Mariners, they Storms portend;
He had his calmer influences, and his Mine
Did Love and Majesty together blend.
XIX.
'Tis true his Count'nance did imprint an awe,
And naturally all Souls to his did bow,
As wands of Divination downward draw,
And point to beds where Sov'raign Gold doth grow.
XX.
When past all offerings to Pheretrian Iove,
He Mars deposed, and Arms to Gowns made yield,
Successful Counsels did him soon approve,
As fit for close Intrigues, as open Field.
XXI.
To suppliant Holland he vouchsaf'd a Peace,
Our once bold Rival in the British Main,
Now tamely glad her unjust claim to cease,
And buy our Friendship with her Idol, Gain.
XXII.
Fame of the asserted Sea through Europe blown,
Made France and Spain ambitious of his Love;
Each knew that side must conquer he would own,
And for him fiercely, as for Empire strove.
XXIII.
No sooner was the French-man's Cause imbrac'd,
Than the light Mounsieur, the grave Don outweighed;
His Fortune turn'd the Scale where it was cast;
Though Indian Mines were in the other laid.
XXIV.
When absent, yet we conquer'd in his Right;
For though that some mean Artist's Skill were shown
In mingling Colours, or in placing Light;
Yet still the fair Designment was his own.
XXV.
For from all Tempers he could Service draw;
The Worth of each with its allay he knew;
And as the Confident of Nature saw
How she Complections did divide and brew.
XXVI.
Or he their single Vertues did survey,
By intuition in his own large Breast,
Where all the rich Idea's of them lay,
That were the Rule and Measure to the rest.
XXVII.
When such Heroick Vertue, Heaven set out.
The Stars like Commons sullenly obey;
Because it drains them when it comes about;
And therefore is a Tax they seldom pay.
XXVIII.
From this high Spring, our Foreign Conquests flow,
Which yet more glorious Triumphs do pretend;
Since their Commencement to his Arms they owe,
If springs as high as Fountains may ascend.
XXIX.
He made us Free-men of the Continent,
Whom Nature did like Captives treat before;
To Nobler preys the English Lion sent,
And taught him first in Belgian Walks to roar.
XXX.
That old unquestioned Pirate of the Land,
Proud Rome, with dread the Fate of Dunkirk heard;
And trembling wish'd behind more Alpes to stand,
Although an Alexander were her Guard.
XXXI.
By his Command, we boldly cross'd the Line,
And bravely fought where Southern Stars arise,
We trac'd the far fetched Gold unto the Mine,
And that which brib'd our Fathers made our Prize.
XXXII.
Such was our Prince, yet own'd a Soul above
The highest Acts it could produce or show:
Thus poor Mechanick Arts in Publick move,
Whilst the deep Secrets beyond Practice go.
XXXIII.
Nor died he when his ebbing Fame went less,
But when fresh Laurels courted him to live;
He seem'd but to prevent some new Success,
As if above what Triumphs Earth can give.
XXXIV.
His latest Victories still thickest came,
As near the Center, Motion doth increase;
Till he press'd down by his own weighty Name,
Did, like the Vestal, under Spoils decease.
XXXV.
But first the Ocean as a Tribute sent
That Giant Prince of all her wat'ry Herd;
And th' Isle, when her protecting Genius went,
Upon his Obsequies loud Sighs conferr'd.
XXXVI.
No civil broils have since his Death arose,
But Faction now by habit does obey;
And Wars have that respect for his Repose,
As Winds for Halcyons when they breed at Sea.
XXXVII.
His Ashes in a peaceful Urn shall rest,
His Name a great Example stands to show,
How strangely high Endeavours may be blest,
Where Piety, and Valor jointly go.

To the Reverend Dr. Wilkins, Warden of Wadham Colledge in Oxford.

SIR,

SEing you are pleased to think fit that these Papers should come into the publick, which were at first design'd to live only in a Desk, or some private Friends Hands; I humbly take the bold­ness to commit them to the security, which your Name and Pro­tection will give them, with the most knowing part of the World. There are two things especially, in which they stand in need of your defence: One is, That they fall so infinitely below the full and lofty Genius of that excellent Poet, who made this way of Writing, Free of our Nation: The other, That they are so little proportioned and equal to the renown of that Prince, on whom they were written. Such great Actions and Lives, deserving rather to be the subjects of the noblest Pens and most Divine Phansies, than of such small Beginners and weak Essayers in Poetry as my self. Against these dangerous prejudices, there remains no other shield, than the Vniversal Esteem and Authority, which your Iudgment and Ap­probation carries with it. The right you have to them, Sir, is not only on the account of the Relation you had to this great Person, nor of the general favour which all arts receive from you; but more particularly by reason of that Obligation and Zeal, with which I am bound to delicate my self to your service: For having been a long time the Object of your Care and Indulgence towards the ad­vantage of my Studies and Fortune, having been moulded (as it were) by your own Hands, and formed under your Government; not to intitle you to any thing which my meanness produces, would not only be Injustice, but Sacrilege: So that if there be any thing here tolerably said, which deserves Pardon, it is yours Sir, as well as he, who is

Your most Devoted and Obliged Servant.

TO THE HAPPY MEMORY Of the late USURPER Oliver Cromwel.
Pindarick Odes.

By Mr. Sprat of Oxon.
I.
'TIS true, great Name, thou art secure
From the forgetfulness and rage
Of Death, or Envy, or devouring Age;
Thou canst the Force and Teeth of Time endure:
Thy Fame like Men, the elder it doth grow,
Will of its self turn whiter too,
Without what needless art can do;
Will live beyond thy breath, beyond thy Hearse,
Though it were never heard or sung in Verse.
Without our help, thy Memory is safe;
They only want an Epitaph,
That does remain alone
Alive in an Inscription,
Remembred only on the Brass, or Marble stone.
Tis all in vain what we can do:
All our Roses and Perfumes
Will but officious folly shew,
And pious Nothings, to such mighty Tombs.
All our Incense, Gums, and Balm,
Are but unnecessary duties here:
The Poets may their Spices spare,
Their costly numbers and their tuneful feet:
That need not be imbalm'd, which of it self is sweet.
II.
We know to praise thee is a dangerous proof
Of our Obedience and our Love:
For when the Sun and Fire meet,
Th'one's extinguish'd quite;
And yet the other never is more bright:
So they that write of thee, and join
Their feeble names with Thine,
Their weaker sparks with thy illustrious light,
Will lose themselves in that ambitious thought;
And yet no Fame to thee from thence be brought.
We know, bless'd Spirit, thy mighty name
Wants no addition of anothers beam;
It's for our pens too high, and full of Theme:
The Muses are made great by thee, not thou by them.
Thy Fame's Eternal Lamp will live,
And in thy Sacred Urn survive,
Without the food of Oil, which we can give,
'Tis true; but yet our duty calls our Songs,
Duty Commands our Tongues.
Though thou want not our praises, we
Are not excus'd for what we owe to thee;
For so Men from Religion are not freed.
But from the Altars clouds must rise,
Though Heaven it self does nothing need,
And though the Gods don't want an earthly Sacrifice.
III.
Great Life of wonders, whose each year
Full of new Miracles did appear!
Whose every Month might be
Alone a Chronicle, or a History!
Others great Actions are
But thinly scattered here and there;
At best, but all one single Star;
But thine the Milky-way,
All one continued light of undistinguish'd day;
They throng'd so close, that nought else could be seen,
Scarce any common Sky did come between:
What shall I say or where begin?
[Page 28]Thou may'st in double shapes be shown,
Or in thy Arms, or in thy Gown;
Like Iove sometimes with Warlike Thunder, and
Sometimes with peaceful Sceptre in his Hand,
Or in the Field, or on the Throne.
In what thy Head, or what thy Arm hath done,
All that thou didst was so refin'd,
So full of substance, and so strongly join'd,
So pure, so weighty Gold,
That the least Grain of it
If fully spread and beat,
Would many Leaves and mighty Volumes hold.
IV.
Before thy Name was publish'd, and whilst yet
Thou only to thy self wer't great,
Whilst yet thy happy bud
Was not quite seen, or understood,
It then sure signs of future greatness shew'd:
Then thy Domestick worth
Did tell the World what it would be,
When it should fit occasion see,
When a full Spring should call it forth:
As Bodies, in the dark and night,
Have the same Colours, the same red and white,
As in the open Day and Light,
The Sun doth only show
That they are bright, not make them so:
So whilst but private Walls did know
What we to such a mighty Mind should owe,
Then the same Vertues did appear,
Though in a less and more contracted Sphere,
As full, though not as large as since they were:
And like great Rivers, Fountains, though
At first so deep thou didst not go;
Though then thine was not so inlarg'd a Flood;
Yet when 'twas little, 'twas as clear as good.
V.
'Tis true thou wast not born unto a Crown,
Thy Sceptre's not thy Father's, but thy own:
[Page 29]Thy purple was not made at once in haste,
And after many other Colours past,
It took the deepest Princely Dye at last
Thou didst begin with lesser Cares,
And private thoughts took up thy private Years:
Those Hands, which were ordained by Fates,
To change the World, and alter States,
Practis'd at first that vast Design
On meaner things with equal Mind.
That Soul, which should so many Scepters sway,
To whom so many Kingdoms should obey.
Learned first to rule in a Domestick way:
So Government it self, began
From Family, and single Man,
Was by the small Relations, first,
Of Husband, and of Father Nurs'd,
And from those less beginnings past,
To spread it self o'er all the World at last.
VI.
But when thy Country, (then almost enthrall'd)
Thy Vertues, and thy Courage call'd;
When England did thy Arms intreat.
And 't had been Sin in thee not to be Great;
When every Stream, and every Flood
Was a true Vein of Earth, and run with Blood;
When unus'd Arms, and unknown War
Fill'd every Place, and every Ear;
When the great Storms, and dismal Night
Did all the Land affright;
'Twas time for thee, to bring forth all our Light.
Thou left'st thy more delightful Peace,
Thy private Life, and better ease;
Then down thy Steel and Armour took,
Wishing that it still hung upon the Hook.
When Death had got a large Commission out,
Throwing her Arrows, and her Stings about;
Then thou (as [...] the healing Serpent rose)
Wast lifted up, not for thy self, but us.
VII.
Thy Country wounded was, and sick before
Thy Wars and Arms did her restore:
Thou knew'st where the Disease did lie,
And like the Cure of Sympathy,
Thy strong, and certain Remedy,
Unto the Weapon didst apply;
Thou didst not draw the Sword, and so
Away the Scabbard throw;
As if thy Country shou'd
Be the Inheritance of Mars and Blood;
But that when the great work was spun,
War in it self should be undone;
That Peace might land again upon the Shore,
Richer and better than before:
The Husbandman no Steel should know,
None but the useful Iron of the Plow;
That Bays might creep on every Spear:
And though our Sky was overspread
With a destructive red;
'Twas but till thou our Sun didst in full Light appear.
VIII.
When Ajax died, the Purple Blood
That from his gaping Wound had flow'd,
Turn'd into Letters, every Leaf
Had on it wrote his Epitaph:
So from that Crimson Flood
Which thou, by fate of times, wert led
Unwillingly to shed,
Letters, and Learning rose, and were renewed:
Thou fought'st not out of Envy, Hope, or Hate,
But to refine the Church and State,
And like the Romans, what e'er thou
In the Field of Mars didst mow,
Was, that a holy Island thence might grow.
Thy Wars, as Rivers raised by a Shower,
With welcome Clouds do pour:
Though they at first may seem,
To carry all away with an inraged Stream;
[Page 31]Yet did not happen that they might destroy,
Or the better parts annoy;
But all the Filth and Mud to scour,
And leave behind another slime,
To give a Birth to a more happy Power.
IX.
In Fields unconquer'd, and so well
Thou did'st in Battels, and in Arms excel,
That steelly Arms themselves, might be
Worn out in War as soon as thee.
Success, so close upon thy Troops did wait,
As if thou first had'st conquer'd Fate;
As if uncertain Victory
Had been first overcome by thee;
As if her Wings were clipp'd, and could not flee,
Whilst thou did'st only serve,
Before thou had'st what first thou did'st deserve.
Others by thee did great things do,
Triumph'd'st thy self, and mad'st them triumph too;
Though they above thee did appear,
As yet in a more large, and higher Sphere:
Thou, the great Sun gav'st Light to every Star.
Thy self an Army wert alone,
And mighty Troops contain'dst in one:
Thy only Sword did guard the Land,
Like that which flaming in the Angel's Hand,
From Men God's Garden did defend:
But yet thy Sword did more than his,
Not only guarded, but did make this Land a Paradise.
X.
Thou fought'st not to be high or great,
Not for a Scepter, or a Crown,
Or Ermyn, People, or the Throne:
But as the Vestal Heat,
Thy Fire was kindled from above alone;
Religion putting on thy Shield,
Brought thee victorious to the Field.
Thy Arms like those, which ancient Heroes wore,
Were given by the God thou did'st adore;
[Page 32]And all the Words thy Armies had,
Were on an heavenly Anvil made;
Not Int'rest, or any weak desire
Of Rule, or Empire did thy Mind inspire;
Thy Valour like the holy Fire,
Which did before the Persian Armies go,
Liv'd in the Camp, and yet was sacred too:
Thy mighty Sword anticipates,
What was reserv'd for Heaven, and those bless'd Seats,
And makes the Church Triumphant here below.
XI.
Though Fortune did hang on thy Sword,
And did obey thy mighty Word;
Thought Fortune for thy side and thee,
Forgot her lov'd Unconstancy;
Amidst thy Arms and Trophies thou
Wert valiant and gentle too,
Wounded'st thy self, when thou did'st kill thy Foe;
Like Steel, when it much Work has past,
That which was rough does shine at last:
Thy Arms by being oftner us'd did smoother grow;
Nor did thy Battels make thee proud or high;
Thy Conquest rais'd the State, not thee:
Thou overcam'st thy self in every Victory:
As when the Sun, in a directer Line,
Upon a polish'd golden Shield doth shine,
The Shield reflects unto the Sun again his Light:
So when the Heavens smil'd on thee in Fight,
When thy propitious God had lent
Success, and Victory to thy Tent,
To Heav'n again the Victory was sent.
XII.
England till thou did'st come,
Confin'd her Valour home;
Then our own Rocks did stand
Bounds to our Fame, as well as Land,
And were to us as well,
As to our Enemies unpassable.
We were asham'd at what we read,
And blush'd at what our Fathers did,
Because we came so far behind the Dead.
[Page 33]The British Lion hung his main, and droop'd,
To Slavery and Burthen stoop'd,
With a degenerate Sleep and Fear
Lay in his Den, and languish'd there;
At whose least Voice before,
A trembling echo ran through every Shore,
And shook the World at every roar;
Thou his subdued Courage didst restore,
Sharpen his Claws, and in his Eyes
Mad'st the same dreadful Lightning rise;
Mad'st him again affright the Neighbouring Floods,
His mighty Thunder sound through all the Woods:
Thou hast our Military Fame redeem'd,
Which was lost, or clouded seem'd:
Nay more, Heaven did by thee bestow
On us, at once an Iron Age, and happy too.
XIII.
Till thou command'st, that Azure Chains of Waves,
Which Nature round about us sent,
Made us to every Pirate Slaves,
Was rather Burthen than an Ornament;
Those Fields of Sea, that wash'd our Shores,
Were plow'd, and reap'd by other Hands than ours.
To us, the liquid Mass,
Which doth about us run,
As it is to the Sun,
Only a Bed to sleep on was:
And not, as now a powerful Throne,
To shake, and sway the World thereon.
Our Princes in their Hand a Globe did shew,
But not a perfect one,
Compos'd of Earth, and Water too.
But thy Command the Floods obey'd,
Thou all the Wilderness of Water sway'd;
Thou did'st but only wed the Sea,
Not make her equal, but a Slave to thee.
Neptune himself did bear thy Yoke,
Stoop'd, and trembled at thy stroke:
He that ruled all the Main,
Acknowledg'd thee his Soveraign.
[Page 34]And now the Conquer'd Sea, doth pay
More Tribute to thy Thames, than that unto the Sea.
XIV.
Till now our Valour did our selves more hurt;
Our Wounds to other Nations were a sport;
And as the Earth, our Land produc'd
Iron and Steel, which should to tear our selves be used.
Our strength within it self did break,
Like thundring Canons crack,
And kill'd those that were near,
While the Enemies secur'd and untouch'd were.
But now our Trumpets thou hast made to sound,
Against our Enemies Walls in Foreign Ground;
And yet no echo back to us returning found.
England is now the happy peaceful Isle,
And all the World the while,
Is exercising Arms and Wars,
With Foreign, or intestine Jars.
The Torch extinguish'd here, we lend to others Oil,
We give to all, yet know our selves no Fear;
We reach the Flame of Ruine, and of Death,
Where e'er we please, our Swords to unsheath,
Whilst we in calm, and temperate Regions breath;
Like to the Sun, whose heat is hurl'd
Through every Corner of the World;
Whose Flame through all the Air doth go;
And yet the Sun himself, the while no Fire doth know.
XV.
Besides the Glories of thy Peace,
Are not in Number, nor in value less.
Thy Hand did cure, and close the Sears
Of our bloody Civil Wars;
Not only lanc'd, but heal'd the Wound,
Made us again as healthy, and as sound.
When now the Ship was well nigh lost
After the Storm upon the Coast,
By its Mariners indanger'd most;
When they their Ropes and Helms had left,
When the Planks asunder cleft,
[Page 35]And Flouds came roaring in with mighty sound;
Thou a safe Land, an harbour for us found,
And saved'st those that would themselves have drown'd:
A Work which none but Heaven and thee could do,
Thou mad'st us happy whe'r we would or no:
Thy Judgment, Mercy, Temperance so great,
As if those Vertues only in thy Mind had seat:
Thy Piety not only in the Field, but Peace,
When Heaven seemed to be wanted least:
Thy Temples not like Ianus open were,
Open in time of War,
When thou hadst greater cause of fear
Religion and the awe of Heaven possest
All places and all times alike thy breast.
XVI.
Nor didst thou only for thy age provide,
But for the years to come beside;
Our after-times, and late Posterity,
Shall pay unto thy Fame as much as we;
They too are made by thee.
When Fate did call thee to a higher Throne,
And when thy Mortal Work was done,
When Heaven did say it, and thou must be gone,
Thou him to bear thy burthen chose;
Who might (if any could) make us forget thy loss:
Nor hadst thou him design'd,
Had he not been
Not only to thy Blood, but Vertue kin;
Not only Heir unto thy Throne, but Mind,
'Tis he shall perfect all thy Cures,
And with as fine a thread weave out thy loom:
So one did bring the chosen People from
Their Slavery and Fears,
Led them through their pathless road,
Guided himself by God.
He brought them to the Borders; but a Second Hand
Did settle, and secure them in the promised Land.

Upon the late Storm, and Death of the late Usurper Oliver Cromwel ensuing the same,

By Mr. Waller.
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 mist their King,
And from obeying fell to Worshipping.
On Oeta'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 rest,
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 Isle:
Under the Tropick is our Language spoke,
And part of Flanders hath receiv'd our Yoke.
From Civil broils, he did us disingage,
Found Nobler Objects for our Martial rage;
And with wise Conduct to his Country show'd,
Their 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, griev'd, concern'd to see
No pith of Glory from the Grave is free;
Nature her self, took notice of his Death,
And sighing swell'd the Sea with such a breath,
That to remotest shores her Billows rowl'd,
Th'approaching Fate of her great Ruler told.
FINIS.

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