Truth, which itself is ligh., does darkness shun,
And the true eaglet safely dares the sun.
Fain would the fiends have made a dubious

birth,*

Loath to confess the godhead cloth'd in earth: But sicken'd, after all their baffled lies, To find an heir-apparent of the skies: Abandon'd to despair, still may they grudge, And, owning not the Saviour, prove the judge. Not great Eneas stood in plainer day, When, the dark mantling mist dissolv'd away, He to the Tyrians show'd his sudden face, Shining with all his goddess mother's grace: For she herself had made his countenance bright, [light. Breath'd honour on his eyes, and her own purple If our victorious Edward,† as they say, Gave Wales a prince on that propitious day, Why may not years revolving with his fate Produce his like, but with a longer date? One, who may carry to a distant shore The terror that his fam'd forefather bore. But why should James or his young hero stay For slight presages of a name or day? We need no Edward's fortune to adorn That happy moment when our prince was born: Our prince adorns his day, and ages hence Shall wish his birthday for some future prince. Great Michael, prince of all the ethereal hosts,

And whate'er inborn saints our Britain boasts;
And thou, the adopted patron of our isle,
With cheerful aspects on this infant smile :
The pledge of heaven, which, dropping from
Secures our bliss, and reconciles his love. [above,
Enough of ills our dire rebellion wrought,
When, to the dregs, we drank the bitter draught;
Then airy atoms did in plagues conspire,
Nor did the avenging angel yet retire,
But purg'd our still increasing crimes with fire.
Then perjur'd Plots, the still impending Test,
And worse-but charity conceals the rest :
Here stop the current of the sanguine flood;
Require not, gracious God, thy martyrs' blood;
But let their dying pangs, their living toil,
Spread a rich harvest through their native soil:
A harvest ripening for another reign,
Of which this royal babe may reap the grain.
Enough of early saints one womb has given!
Enough increas'd the family of heaven:
Let them for his and our atonement go;
And reigning bless'd above, leave him to rule
below.

Alluding to the temptations in the wilderness.
Orig.ed.

✦ Edward the Black Prince, born on Trinity Sunday. Orig. ed.

I The motto of the poem explained. Orig. ed. § St. George. Orig. ed.

Enough already has the year foreslow'd
His wonted course, the sea has overflow'd,
The meads were floated with a weeping spring,
And frighten'd birds in woods forgot to sing:
The strong-limb'd steed beneath his harness
faints,

And the same shivering sweat his lord attaints.
When will the minister of wrath give o'er?
Behold him, at Araunah's threshing-floor :||
He stops, and seems to sheath his flaming brand,
Pleas'd with burnt incense from our David's
David has bought the Jebusite's abode, [hand.
And rais'd an altar to the living God.

Heaven, to reward him, makes his joys
No future ills nor accidents appear, [sincere ;
To sully and pollute the sacred infant's
year.
Five months to discord and debate were given:
He sanctifies the yet remaining seven.
Sabbath of months! henceforth in him be bless'd,
And prelude to the realms perpetual rest!
Let his baptismal drops for us atone;
Lustrations for offences¶ not his own.
Let Conscience, which is Interest ill disguis'd,
In the same font be cleans'd, and all the land
baptis'd.
[fame :
Unnam'd as yet,** at least unknown to
Is there a strife in heaven about his name?
Where every famous predecessor vies,
And makes a faction for it in the skies?
Or must it be reserv'd to thought alone?
Such was the sacred Tetragrammaton.††
Things worthy silence must not be reveal'd:
Thus the true name of Rome was kept con
ceal'd,‡‡

To shun the spells and sorceries of those
Who durst her infant majesty oppose.
But when his tender strength in time shall rise
To dare ill tongues, and fascinating eyes;
This isle, which hides the little thunderer's
Shall be too narrow to contain his name: [fame,
The artillery of heaven shall make him known;
Crete§§ could not hold the god, when Jove was
[born,
As Jove's increase, ¶¶ who from his brain was
Whom arms and arts did equally adorn

grown.

Alluding to the passage in 1 Kings xxiv. 20. ¶ Original sin. Orig. ed.

Orig. ed.

The prince christened, but not named. Orig. ed. * The sacred Tetragrammaton] Jehovah, or the name of God, unlawful to be pronounced by the Jews. Orig. ed.

!! Thus the true nawe of Rome was kept conceal'd] Some authors say, that the true name of Rome was kept a secret: Ne hostes incantamentis deos elicerent. Orig. ed.

$5 Candia, where Jupiter was born and bred secretly. Orig. ed.

TT Pallas, or Minerva, said by the poets to have been bred up by hand. Orig. ed.

Free of the breast was bred, whose milky taste
Minerva's name to Venus had debas'd;
So this imperial babe rejects the food
That mixes monarch's with plebeian blood:
Food that his inborn courage might control,
Extinguish all the father in his soul,
And, for his Estian race, and Saxon strain,
Might reproduce some second Richard's reign.
Mildness he shares from both his parents' blood:
But kings too tame are despicably good :
Be this the mixture of this regal child,
By nature manly, but by virtue mild.

Thus far the furious transport of the news
Had to prophetic madness fir'd the Muse;
Madness ungovernable, uninspir'd,
Swift to foretell whatever she desir'd.
Was it for me the dark abyss to tread,
And read the book which angels cannot read?
How was I punish'd, when the sudden blast,*
The face of heaven, and our young sun o'er-
cast!

Fame, the swift ill, increasing as she roll'd, Disease, despair, and death, at three reprises told:

At three insulting strides she stalk'd the town, And, like contagion, struck the loyal down. Down fell the winnow'd wheat; but mounted high,

The whirlwind bore the chaff, and hid the sky.
Here black rebellion shooting from below,
(As earth's gigantic broodf by moments grow)
And here the sons of God are petrified with wo;
An apoplex of grief: so low were driven
The saints, as hardly to defend their heaven.
As when pent vapours run their hollow round,
Earthquakes, which are convulsions of the
ground,
[brook,
Break bellowing forth, and no confinement
Till the third settles what the former shook;
Such heavings had our souls; till, slow and late,
Our life with his return'd, and faith prevail'd on
fate.

By prayers the mighty blessing was implor'd,
To prayers was granted, and by prayers restor❜d.
So ere the Shunammite a son conceiv'd,
The prophet promis'd, and the wife believ'd.
A son was sent, the son so much desir'd;
But soon upon the mother's knees expir'd.
The troubled Seer approach'd the mournful
door,

Ran, pray'd, and sent his pastoral staff before,
Then stretch'd his limbs upon the child, and
mourn'd,
[return'd.

Till warmth, and breath, and a new soul

• The sudden false report of the prince's death. Orig. ed.

Those giants are feigned to have grown fifteen els every day. Orig. ed.

In 2 Kings, iv. Orig. ed. VOL. 1.-8

H

Thus mercy stretches out her hand and saves Desponding Peter sinking in the waves.

As when a sudden storm of hail and rain Beats to the ground the yet unbearded grain, Think not the hopes of harvest are destroy'd On the flat field, and on the naked void; The light, unloaded stem, from tempest freed, Will raise the youthful honours of his head; And, soon restor'd by native vigour, bear The timely product of the bounteous year.

Nor yet conclude all fiery trials past:
For Heaven will exercise us to the last;
Sometimes will check us in our full career,
With doubɗful blessings, and with mingled
fear;

That, still depending on his daily grace,
His every mercy for an alms may pass,
With sparing hands will diet us to good;
Preventing surfeits of our pamper'd blood.
So feeds the mother-bird her craving young
With little morsels, and delays them long.

True, this last blessing was a royal feast,
But where's the wedding-garment on the guest?
Our manners, as religion were a dream,
Are such as teach the nations to blaspheme.
In lusts we wallow, and with pride we swell,
And injuries with injuries repel;
Prompt to revenge, not daring to forgive,
Our lives unteach the doctrine we believe.
Thus Israel sinn'd impenitently hard, [guard
And vainly thought the present arks their
But when the haughty Philistines appear,
They fled, abandon'd to their foes and fear;
Their God was absent, though his ark was
there.
[away
Ah! lest our erimes should snatch this pledge
And make our joys the blessings of a day!
For we have sinn'd him hence, and that he lives
God to his promise, not our practice gives.
Our crimes would soon weigh down the guilty
scale,

But James and Mary, and the Church prevail.
Nor Amalek can rout the chosen bands, T
While Hur and Aaron hold up Moses' hands.
By living well, let us secure his days,
Moderate in hopes, and humble in our ways.
No force the free-born spirit can constrain,
But charity, and great examples gain.
Forgiveness is our thanks for such a day,
'T is godlike God in his own coin to pay.

But you, propitious queen, translated here, From your mild heaven, to rule our rugged sphere,

Beyond the sunny walks, and circling year:
You, who your native climate have bereft
Of all the virtues, and the vices left;

§1 Sam. iv. 10. Orig. ed.
Exod. xvii. 8. Orig. ed.

And coarsely clad in Norwich drugget, came*
To teach the nations in thy greater name.
My warbling luts, the lute I whilom strung,
When to king John of Portugal I sung,
Was but the prelude to that glorious day,
When thou on silver Thames didst cut thy way,
With well-tim'd oars before the royal barge,
Swell'd with the pride of thy celestial charge;
And big with hymn, commander of a host,
The like was ne'er in Epsom blankets toss'd.
Methinks I see the new Arion sail,

The lute still trembling underneath thy nail.
At thy well-sharpen'd thumb from shore to shore
The trebles squeak for fear, the bases roar:

*

About thy boat the little fishes throng,
As at the morning toast that floats along.
Sometimes, as prince of thy harmonious band,
Thou wield'st thy papers in thy threshing hand.
St. Andre's feet ne'er kept more equal timet
Not e'en the feet of thy own Psyche's rhyme;
Though they in number as in sense excel :
So just, so like tautology, they fell,
That, pale with envy, Singleton forswore
The lute and sword, which he in triumph bore,
And vow'd he ne'er would act Villerius more.
Here stopp'd the good old sire, and wept for
In silent raptures of the hopeful boy.
All arguments, but most his plays, persuade,
That for anointed dulness he was made.

[joy,

Close to the walls which fair Augusta bind,
(The fair Augusta much to fears inclin❜d,)
An ancient fabric raised to inform the sight,
There stood of yore, and Barbican it hight:
A watch-tower once; but now, so fate ordains,
Of all the pile an empty name remains :
From its old ruins brothel-houses rise,
Scenes of lewd loves, and of polluted joys,
Where their vast courts the mother-strumpets
keep,

And, undisturb'd by watch, in silence sleep.
Near these a nursery erects its head, [bred;
Where queens are form'd, and future heroes
Where unfledg'd actors learn to laugh and cry,
Where infant punks their tender voices try,
And little Maximins the gods defy,
Great Fletcher never treads in buskins here,
Nor greater Jonson dares in socks appear;
But gentle Simkin just reception finds
Amidst this monument of vanish'd minds;

And, coarsely clad in Norwich drugget, came] And coarsly cloth'd in rusty drugget came. MS. T. St. Andre's feet ne'er kept, &c.) A French dancing master, at this time greatly admired. D.

1 Simkin just reception finds] Simkin is a character of a cobbler in an interlude. Panton, who is mentioned soon after, was a famous punster. D.

Of Shadwell's coronation through the town.
Rous'd by report of fame, the nations meet,
From near Bunhill, and distant Watling street.
No Persian carpets spread the imperial way,
But scatter'd limbs of mangled poets lay;
From dusty shops neglected authors come,
Martyrs of pies, and reliques of the bum.
Much Heywood, Shirley, Ogleby there lay,
But loads of Shadwell almost chok'd the way,
Bilk'd stationers for yeomen stood prepar'd,
And Herringman was captain of the guard.
The hoary prince in majesty appear'd,
High on a throne of his own labours rear'd.
At his right hand our young Ascanius sate,
Rome's other hope and pillar of the state.
His brows thick fogs, instead of glories, grace,
And lambent dulness play'd around his face.
As Hannibal did to the altars come,

Swore by his sire, a mortal foe to Rome;
So Shadwell swore, nor should his vows be
vain,

That he till death true dulness would maintain; And, in his father's right, and realm's defence, Ne'er to have peace with wit, nor truce with