Those glorious heroines we in story see,
Were but the fainter types of greater thee.
Let others take a lustre from the throne;
You shine with brighter glories of your own,
Add worth to worth, and dignify a Crown.
Oft have I mark'd, with what a studious care
My words you ponder, and my laws revere :
To thee, great Queen, what eulogies are due,
Who both protect the flock, and feed the shepherds too! *
For which I still preside o'er thy alarms,
And add a shining lustre to thy arms:
I form'd the battle, and I gave the word,
And rode with conquest on thy Ormond's sword
When Anjou's fleet yielded its Indian store,
And at thy sacred feet depos'd the silver ore;
I sent the goddess, when Victoria came,
And rais'd thy Churchill to immortal fame,
And Hochstet's bloody field advanc'd the hero's name.
Nor shall thy glories or thy triumphs cease,
But thy rough wars shall soften into peace.
Charles+ shall from thee his diadem receive,
And shining pomp which you alone can give;
The Gallic Lion, list'ning at his shore,
Shall fear to tempt the British dangers more,
But sculk in desarts where he used to roar:
Admiring worlds before thy throne shall stand,
And willing nations bend to thy command.
"For you, ye inveterate enemies to peace,
Whom Kings can ne'er oblige, nor Heaven can please;
Who blindly zealous into faction run,
And make those dangers you'd be thought to shun; For shame, the transports of your rage give o'er, civil feuds be heard no more:
To the wise conduct of my Anna trust;
Know your own good, and to yourselves be just:
And, when with grief you see your brother stray,
Or in a night of error lose his way,
Direct his wandering, and restore the day.
Alluding to her grants to the Clergy.-N.
+ The Archduke Charles.-N.
To guide his steps, afford your kindest aid,
And gently pity whom ye can't persuade;
Leave to avenging Heaven his stubborn will,
For, O, remember, he's your brother still.
The Story of Orpheus, burlesqued,
[These two specimens of Ovidiana are given by Dr Barrett to the Dean. I doubt if the internal evidence is sufficient, and there is no other. They are greatly inferior to Baucis and Philemon, but that production underwent the strict revision of Addison, who perhaps taught Swift to attend to the accuracy of rhymes, and neatness of expression, which afterwards distinguished his compositions.]
ORPHEUS, a one-eyed blearing Thracian,
The Crowder of that barb'rous nation,
Was ballad-singer by vocation;
Who up and down the country strolling,
And with his strains the mob cajoling,
Charm'd 'em as much as each man knows
Our modern farces do our beaux :
To hear whose voice they left their houses,
Their food, their handicrafts, and spouses;
Whilst, by the mercury of his song,
He threw the staring, gaping throng
(A thing deserving admiration,)
Into a copious salivation.
From hence came all those monstrous stories,
That to his lays wild beasts danc'd borees;
That after him, where'er he rambled,
The lion ramp'd, and the bear gambol'd,
And rocks and caves (their houses) ambled:
For sure, the monster Mob includes
All beasts, stones, stocks, in solitudes.
He had a spouse, yclep'd Eurydice,
As tight a lass as e'er your eye did see;
Who being caress'd one day by Morpheus,
In absence of her husband, Orpheus,
As in the god's embrace she lay,
Died, not by metaphor they say,
But the ungrateful literal way:
For a modern's pleas'd to say by't,
From sleep to death there's but a way-bit.
Orpheus at first, to appearance grieving,
For one he had oft wish'd damn'd while living,
That he may play her her farewell,
Resolv'd to take a turn to hell:
(For spouse, he guess'd, was gone to the devil)
There was a husband damnably civil.
Playing a merry strain that day,
Upon th' infernal king's highway,
He caper'd on, as who should say,
Since spouse has pass'd the Stygian ferry,
Since spouse is damn'd, I will be merry;
And wights who travel that way daily,
Jog on by his example gaily.
Thus scraping, he to hell advanc'd;
When he came there the devil danc'd;
All hell was with the frolic taken,
And with a huge huzza was shaken.
All hell broke loose, and they who were
One moment past plung'd in despair,
Sung, Hang sorrow, cast away care.
But Pluto, with a spiteful prank,
Ungrateful devil, did Orpheus thank.
Orpheus, said he, I like thy strain
So well, that here's thy wife again:
But on those terms receive the blessing,
'Till thour't on earth, forbear possessing.
He who has play'd like thee in hell,
Might e'en do t'other thing as well;
And shades of our eternal night
Were not design'd for such delight.
Therefore, if such in hell thou usest,
Thy spouse immediately thou losest.
Quoth Orpheus, I am manacled, I see:
You and your gift be damn'd, thought he;
And shall be, if my skill don't fail me,
And if the devil does not ail me.
Now Orpheus saw importance free,
By which once more a slave was he.
The damn'd chang'd presently their notes,
And stretch'd with hideous howl their throats;
And two and two together link'd,
Their chains with horrid music clink'd;
And in the concert, yell and fetlock
Express'd the harmony of wedlock.
He, by command, then lugg'd his dowdy
To Acheron, with many a how-d'ye ;
But, as the boat was tow'rd them steering,
The rogue with wicked ogle leering,
Darted at her fiery glances,
Which kindled in her furious fancies.
Her heart did thick as any drum beat,
Alarming Amazon to combat.
He soon perceives it, and too wise is
Not to lay hold on such a crisis:
His moiety on the bank he threw,
Whilst thousand devils look'd askew.
Thus spouse, who knew what long repentance
Was to ensue by Pluto's sentence,
Could not forbear her recreation
One poor half day, to avoid damnation.
Her from his arms the Furies wrung,
And into hell again they flung.
He singing thus, repass'd the ferry,—
"Since spouse is damn'd, I will be merry."
Acteon; or the Original of Horn Fair.
SOME time about the month of July,
Or else our ancient authors do lye,
Diana, whom poetic noddies
Would have us think to be some goddess,
(Tho', in plain truth, a witch she was,
Who sold grey pease at Ratcliff Cross)
Went to the upsetting of a neighbour,
Having before been at her labour.
The gossips had of punch a bowl full,
Which made them all sing, O be joyful!
A folly took them in the noddle,
Their over-heated bums to coddle;
So they at Limehouse took a sculler,
And cramm'd it so, no egg was fuller.
With tide of ebb, they got to Eriff,
Where Punchinello once was sheriff.
Our jovial crew then made a halt,
To drink some Nantz, at what d'ye call't.
And thence, if any car'd a fart for't,
Went to a stream that comes from Dartford;
Where all unrigg'd, in good decorum,
As naked as their mothers bore them;
And soon their tattling did outdo
An Irish howl or hubbubboo.
"O la," cries one, to joke the aptest,
"Methinks I'm grown an Anabaptist;
"If to be dipp'd, to Grace prefers,
"I'm grac'd and sous'd o'er head and ears."
Whilst thus she talk'd, all of a sudden
They grew as mute as hasty-pudding:
Daunted at th' unexpected sounds
Of hollaing men and yelping hounds,
Who soon came up, and stood at bay
At those who wish'd themselves away.
But, to increase their sad disaster,
After the curs appear'd their master;
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