TO THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH,
ON HIS VOLUNTARY BANISHMENT.
O, mighty prince, and thofe great nations fee,
Which thy victorious arms before made free;
View that fam'd column, where thy name engrav'd
Shall tell their children who their empire fav'd,
Point out that marble where thy worth is fhown,
To every grateful country but thy own.
O cenfure undeferv'd! unequal fate!
Which ftrove to leffen him who made her great:
Which, pamper'd with fuccefs and rich in fame,
Extoll'd his conquefts, but condemn'd his name.
But virtue is a crime when plac'd on high,
Though all the fault's in the beholder's eye;
Yet he, untouch'd, as in the heat of wars,
Flies from no danger but domestic jars,
Smiles at the dart which angry Envy thakes,.
And only fears for Her whom he forfakes:
He grieves to find the courfe of virtue crofs 2,
Blushing to fee our blood no better loft;
Didfains in factious parties to contend,
And proves in abfence moft Britannia's friend.
So the great Scipio of old, to fhun
That glorious envy which his arms had won,
Far from his dear, ungrateful Rome retir'd,
Prepar'd, whene'er his country's caufe requir'd,
To fhine in peace or war, and be again admir'd.
EARL OF GODOLPHIN.
WHILST weeping Europe bends beneath her
And where the fword deftroys not, famine kills;
Our ifle enjoys, by your fuccessful care,
The pomp of peace, amidst the woes of war.
So much the publick to your prudence owes,
You think no labours long for our repose:
Such conduct, fuch integrity are shown,
There are no coffers empty, but your own.
From mean dependance, merit you retrieve,
Unafk'd you offer, and unfeen you give:
Your favour, like the Nile, increase bestows,
And yet conceals the fource from whence it flows.
No pomp, or grand appearance, you approve :
A people at their ease is what you love:
To leffen taxes, and a nation fave,
Are all the grants your services would have.
Thus far the state-machine wants no repair,
But moves in matchlefs order by your care;
Free from confufion, fettled and ferene;
And, like the univerfe, by 'fprings unseen.
But now some star, finifter to our prayers,
Contrives new schemes, and calls you from affairs:
No anguish in your 'looks, or cares appear,
But how to teach th' unpractis'd crew to steer.
Thus, like a victim, no conftraint you need,
To expiate their offence by whom you bleed.
Ingratitude's a weed of every clime,
It thrives too fast at first, but fades in time.
The god of day, and your own lot 's the fame;
The vapours you have rais'd, obfcure your flame:
But though you fuffer, and awhile retreat,
Your globe of light looks larger as you fet.
ST. PAUL'S CHURCH-YARD.
NEAR the vaft bulk of that stupendous frame,
Known by the Gentiles' great apoftle's name ;
With grace divine, great Anna 's feen to rise,
An awful form that glads a nation's eyes:
Beneath her feet four mighty realms appear,
And with due reverence pay their homage there.
Britain and Ireland feem to own her grace,
And even wild India wears a smiling face.
But France alone with downcaft eyes is feen,
The fad attendant of fo good a Queen:
Ungrateful country! to forget fo foon,
All that great Anna for thy fake has done :
When fworn the kind defender of thy cause,
Spite of her dear religion, spite of laws;
For thee she sheath'd the terrors of her fword,
For thee the broke her General and her word:
For thee her mind in doubtful terms fhe told,
And learn'd to fpeak like oracles of old.
For thee, for thee alone, what could the more?
She loft the honour the had gain'd before;
Loft all the trophies, which her arms had won
(Such Cæfar never knew, nor Philip's son);
Refign'd the glories of a ten years' reign,
And fuch as none but Marlborough's arm could gain.
For thee in annals fhe 's content to shine,
Like other monarchs of the Stuart line.
THERE, where, degenerate countrymen-how high Will your fond folly and your madnefs fly? Are fcenes of death, and fervile chains fo dear, To fue for blood and bondage every year, Like rebel Jews, with too much freedom curft, To court a change though certain of the worst? There is no climate which you have not fought,
and vagrant kings, are bought;
O! noble passion, to
To crown her with
your country kind,
the refufe of mankind.
As if the new Rome, which your schemes unfold,
Were to be built on rapine, like the old,
While her asylum openly provides
For every ruffian every nation bides.
Will you still tempt the great avenger's blow,
And force the bolt which he is loath to throw?
Have there too few already bit the plains,
To make you feek new Preftons and Dumblains?
If vengeance lofes its effects fo falt,
fhould longer last. Say, is it rafhnefs or defpair provokes Your harden'd hearts to these repeated strokes ? Reply: Behold, their looks, their fouls declare, All pale with guilt, and dumb with deep despair. Hear then, you fons of blood, your deftin'd fate, Hear, ere you fin too foon
repent too late. Madly you try to weaken George's reign,
And ftem the ftream of Providence in vain.
By right, by worth, by wonders, made our own,
The hand that gave it shall preserve his throne.
As vain your hopes to diftant times remove,
To try the fecond, or the third from Jove;
For 'tis the nature of that facred line,
To conquer monsters, and to grow divine.
PALLAS, deftructive to the Trojan line,
Raz'd their proud walls, though built by hands
.divine :
But Love's bright goddefs, with propitious grace,
Preferv'd a hero, and restor❜d the race.
Thus the fam'd empire where the Iber flows,
Fell by Eliza, and by Anna rose.
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