Pray reader that such times no more appear : Which, to preserve them, heaven confin'd in thee. XV. EPITAPH upon the Earl of ROCHESTER's being difmiffed from the Treasury, in 1687. HERE lies a creature of indulgent fate, From Tory Hyde rais'd to a chit of state; SONGS, SONGS, O DE S, AND A MASQUE. I. The FAIR STRANGER, a SONG. I. HAPPY and free, securely bleft; No beauty could disturb my rest; My amorous heart was in despair, II. Till you, defcending on our plains, III. Your fmiles have more of conquering charms, Who vanquish only when we please. IV. But IV. But in your eyes, oh! there's the spell, Who can fee them, and not rebel? II. On the YOUNG STATESMEN. CLARENDON had law and sense, Clifford was fierce and brave; Bennet's grave look was a pretence, But Sunderland, Godolphin, Lory, To be repeated like John Dory, When fidlers fing at feafts. Protect us, mighty Providence, What would thefe madmen have? First, they would bribe us without pence, And without power enflave. Shall free-born men, in humble awe, Who from confent and custom draw Which kings pretend to reign? The The duke fhall wield his conquering fword, The king hall pass his honeft word, And then, come kiss my breech. So have I feen a king on chefs (His rooks and knights withdrawn, His queen and bishops in diftrefs) With here and there a pawn. III. A SONG for St CECILIA's Day, 1687. I. FROM harmony, from heavenly harmony This univerfal frame began: When nature underneath a heap And could not heave her head, Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry, And Mufic's power obey. From harmony, from heavenly harmony, This univerfal frame began : From harmony to harmony Through all the compass of the notes it ran, The diapafon clofing full in Man. II. What II. What paffion cannot Music raise and quell! Lefs than a God they thought there could not dwell That spoke so sweetly and fo well. What paffion cannot Music raise and quell? III. The trumpet's loud clangor Excites us to arms, With fhrill notes of anger And mortal alarms. The double double double beat Of the thundering drum Cries, hark! the foes come; Charge, Charge, 'tis too late to retreat. IV. The foft complaining flute In dying notes discovers The woes of hopeless lovers, Whofe dirge is whisper'd by the warbling lute. V. Sharp violins proclaim Their jealous pangs, and defperation, Fury, frantic indignation, Depth of pains, and height of paffion, VI. But |