Weep, you on earth; for he shall sleep below:
Thence none return, and thither all must go.
Whoe'er thou art, whom choice or business leads
To this fad river, or the neighbouring meads;
If thou may'st happen on the dreary fhores
To find the object which this verse deplores,
Cleanfe the pale corpfe with a religious hand
From the polluting weed and common fand;
Lay the dead Hero graceful in a grave
(The only honour he can now receive),
And fragrant mould upon his body throw,
And plant the warrior-laurel o'er his brow :
Light lie the earth, and flourish green the bough.
So may just Heaven secure thy future life
From foreign dangers and domestic strife!
And, when th' infernal judge's dismal power
From the dark urn fhall throw thy deftin'd hour;
When, yielding to the fentence, breathless thou
And pale fhalt lie, as what thou buriest now;
May fome kind friend the piteous object fee,
And equal rites perform to that which once was thee !
PROLOGUE,
Spoken at COURT before the QUEEN,
On her MAJESTY'S Birth-Day, 1704.
SHINE
HINE forth, ye planets, with diftinguish'd light,
As when ye hallow'd firft this happy night :
Again tranfmit your friendly beams to earth,
As when Britannia joy'd for Anna's birth.
And thou, propitious ftar, whofe facred power
Prefided o'er the monarch's natal hour,
Thy radiant voyages for ever run,
Yielding to none but Cynthia and the Sun;
With thy fair afpect still illustrate Heaven;
Kindly preserve what thou haft greatly given:
Thy influence for thy Anna we implore:
Prolong one life; and Britain asks no more.
For virtue can no ampler power express,
Than to be great in war, and good in peace:
For thought no higher wish of blifs can frame,
Than to enjoy that virtue ftill the fame.
Entire and fure the monarch's rule muft prove,
Who founds her greatnefs on her fubjects love;
Who does our homage for our good require;
And orders that which we should firft defire:
Our vanquish'd wills that pleafing force obey,
Her goodnefs takes our liberty away,
And haughty Britain yields to arbitrary sway.
Let the young Auftrian then her terrors bear,
Great as he is, her delegate in war :
Let him in thunder speak to both his Spains,
That in these dreadful ifles a woman reigns
While the bright queen does on her fubjects shower
The gentle bleffings of her fofter power;
Gives facred morals to a vicious age,
To temples zeal, and manners to the stage;
Bids the chafte Mufe without a blush appear;
And Wit be that which Heaven and she
Minerva thus to Perfeus lent her fhield;
Secure of conqueft, fent him to the field;
The hero acted what the queen ordain'd;
So was his fame compleat, and Andromede unchain'd.
Mean time, amidst her native temples fate
The Goddefs, ftudious of her Grecian's fate,
Taught them in laws and letters to excell,
In acting juftly, and in writing well.
Thus whilft fhe did her various power difpofe,
The world was freed from tyrants, wars, and woes:
Virtue was taught in verfe, and Athens' glory rofe.
To Monfieur BOILEAU DESPREAUX; Occafioned by the Victory at BLENHEIM, 1704.
Cupidum, pater optime, vires
"Deficiunt: neque enim quivis horrentia pilis Agmina, nec fractâ pereuntes cufpide Gallos"
SINCE, hir'd for life, thy fervile Muse must fing
Succeffive conquefts, and a glorious king;
Must of a man immortal vainly boast,
And bring him laurels, whatfoe'er they cost:
What turn wilt thou employ, what colours lay
On the event of that fuperior day,
In which one English fubject's profperous hand
(So Jove did will; fo Anna did command)
Broke the proud column of thy master's praise,
Which fixty winters had confpir'd to raife?
From the loft field a hundred ftandards brought
Must be the work of Chance, and Fortune's fault :
Bavaria's ftars must be accus'd, which fhone,
That fatal day the mighty work was done
With rays oblique upon the Gallic fun :
Some Dæmon, envying France, misled the fight;
And Mars mistook, though Louis order'd right.
When thy young Muse invok'd the tuneful Nine,
To fay how Louis did not pass the Rhine;
What work had we with Wageninghen, Arnheim,
Places that could not be reduc'd to rhyme !
And, though the Poet made his last efforts,
Wurts-who could mention in heroic-Wurts?
But, tell me, hadft thou reason to complain
Of the rough triumphs of the laft campaign?
The Danube rescued, and the Empire fav'd,
Say, is the majesty of verse retriev❜d ?
And would it prejudice thy fofter vein,
To fing the princes, Louis and Eugene?
Is it too hard in happy verse to place
The Vans and Vanders of the Rhine and Maefe?
Her warriors Anna fends from Tweed and Thames,
That France may fall by more harmonious names?
Canft thou not Hamilton or Lumley bear?
Would Ingold by or Palmes offend thy ear?
"En vain, pour te louer, &c." Ep. 4.
And is there not a found in Marlborough's name,
Which thou and all thy brethren ought to claim,
Sacred to verfe, and fure of endless fame ?
Cutts is in metre fomething harsh to read;
Place me the valiant Gouran in his stead :
Let the intention make the number good :
Let generous Sylvius fpeak for honest Wood.
And though rough Churchill scarce in verse will stand, So as to have one rhime at his command;
With ease the bard, reciting Blenheim's plain,
May close the verfe, remembering but the Dane.
I grant, old friend, old foe, (for fuch we are
Alternate as the chance of peace and war,)
That we poetic folks, who must restrain
Our measur'd sayings in an equal chain,
Have troubles utterly unknown to those,
Who let their fancy loofe in rambling profe.
For inftance now, how hard is it for me
To make my matter and my verse agree!
"In one great day on Hochftet's fatal plain,
"French and Barvarians twenty thousand flain :
"Pufh'd through the Danube to the fhores of Styx
"Squadrons eighteen, battalions twenty-fix:
"Officers captive made, and private men,
"Of these twelve hundred, of those thousands ten.
Tents, ammunition, colours, carriages,
"Cannon, and kettle-drums!"-fweet numbers these ! But is it thus you English bards compofe? With Runic lays thus tag infipid profe?
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