And, when you fhould your Hero's deeds rehearse,
Give us a commiffary's lift in verse?

Why, faith! Defpreaux, there 's sense in what you say: I told you where my difficulty lay:

So vaft, fo numerous, were great Blenheim's spoils,
They fcorn the bounds of verfe, and mock the Mufe's
toils.

To make the rough recital aptly chime,
Or bring the fum of Gallia's lofs to rhime,
'Tis mighty hard: what Poet would effay
To count the ftreamers of my lord mayor's day?
To number all the feveral dishes dreft

By honeft Lamb, laft coronation féast?
Or make Arithmetic and Epic meet,

And Newton's thoughts in Dryden's ftyle repeat?
O Poet, had it been Apollo's will,
That I had fhar'd a portion of thy skill;
Had this poor breaft receiv'd the heavenly beam ;
Or could I hope my verse might reach my theme;
Yet, Boileau, yet the labouring Muse should strive,
Beneath the fhades of Marlborough's wreaths to live;
Should call aspiring Gods to bless her choice;
And to their favourite ftrains exalt her voice,
Arms and a Queen to fing; who, great and good,
From peaceful Thames to Danube's wondering flood
Sent forth the terror of her high commands,
To fave the nations from invading hands,

Το

To prop fair Liberty's declining caufe,

And fix the jarring world with equal laws.

The queen fhould fit in Windfor's facred grove,
Attended by the Gods of War and Love :
Both fhould with equal zeal her smiles implore,
To fix her joys, or to extend her power.

Sudden, the Nymphs and Tritons fhould appear;
And, as great Anna's smiles difpel their fear,
With active dance should her obfervance claim;
With vocal shell fhould found her happy name;
Their master Thames fhould leave the neighbouring fhore,
By his strong anchor known, and filver oar;
Should lay his enfigns at his fovereign's feet;
And audience mild with humble grace intreat.

To her, his dear defence, he fhould complain,
That, while he bleffes her indulgent reign,
Whilft furtheft feas are by his fleets furvey'd,
And on his happy banks each India laid;

His brethren Maefe, and Waal, and Rhine, and Saar,
Feel the hard burthen of oppreffive war;
That Danube fcarce retains his rightful courfe
Against two rebel armies neighbouring force;
And all muft weep fad captives to the Seine,
Unless unchain'd and freed by Britain's queen.

The valiant fovereign calls her general forth;
Neither recites her bounty, nor his worth :
She tells him, he must Europe's fate redeem,
And by that labour merit her esteem:
She bids him wait her to the facred hall;

Shows him prince Edward, and the conquer'd Gaul;
Fixing the bloody cross upon his breast,

Says, he muft die, or fuccour the distress'd;

Placing

Placing the Saint an emblem by his fide,

She tells him, Virtue arm'd must conquer lawlefs Pride.

The Hero bows obedient, and retires:

The queen's commands exalt the warrior's fires,
His fteps are to the filent woods inclin❜d,
The great defign revolving in his mind;
When to his fight a heavenly form appears :
Her hand a palm, her head a laurel wears.
Me, fhe begins, the fairest child of Jove,
Below for ever fought, and blefs'd above;

Me, the bright fource of wealth, and power, and fame,
(Nor need I fay, Victoria is my name ;)
Me the great father down to thee has fent;
He bids me wait at thy distinguish'd tent,
To execute what Anna's wifh would have:
Her fubject thou, I only am her flave,

Dare then, thou much belov'd by fmiling Fate,
For Anna's fake, and in her name, be great:
Go forth, and be to distant nations known
My future favourite, and my darling fon,
At Schellenbergh I'll manifeft fuftain

Thy glorious cause; and spread my wings again,
Confpicuous o'er thy helm, in Blenheim's plain.
The Goddess said, nor would admit reply ;
But cut the liquid air, and gain'd the sky.
His high commiffion is through Britain known,
And thronging armies to his ftandard run;
He marches thoughtful, and he fpeedy fails:
(Bless him, ye feas! and profper him, ye gales!)

}

Belgia

Belgia receives him welcome to her shores;
And William's death with leffen'd grief deplores:
His prefence only must retrieve that loss;
Marlborough to her must be what William was.
So when great Atlas, from these low abodes
Recall'd, was gather'd to his kindred gods;
Alcides, refpited by prudent Fate,

Suftain'd the ball, nor droop'd beneath the weight.
Secret and swift behold the Chief advance;

Sees half the empire join'd, and friend to France :
The British general dooms the fight; his sword
Dreadful he draws; the captains wait the word.
Anne and St. George the charging hero cries:
Shrill echo from the neighbouring wood replies
Anne and St. George.-At that aufpicious fign
The ftandards move; the adverfe armies join.
Of eight great hours, Time measures out the fands;
And Europe's fate in doubtful balance stands :
The ninth, Victoria comes :-o'er Marlborough's head
Confefs'd the fits; the hoftile troops recede :-
Triumphs the Goddess, from her promise freed.
The eagle, by the British lion's might
Unchain'd and free, directs her upward flight:
Nor did the e'er with stronger pinions foar
From Tyber's bank, than now from Danube's fhore.
Fir'd with the thoughts which these ideas raise,
And great ambition of my country's praise;
The English Muse should like the Mantuan rife,
Scornful of earth and clouds, should reach the fkies,
With wonder (though with envy ftill) purfued by

human eyes.

But we must change the ftyle - juft now I faid,
I ne'er was mafter of the tuneful trade;

Or the small genius which my youth could boast,
In profe and bufinefs lies extinct and loft:
Blefs'd, if I inay fome younger Muse excite;
Point out the game, and animate the flight;
That, from Marseilles to Calais, France may know,
As we have conquerors, we have poets too;
And either laurel does in Britain grow;

That, though among ourselves, with too much heat,
We fometimes wrangle, when we fhould debate;
(A confequential ill which freedom draws ;
A bad effect, but from a noble cause ;)
We can with univerfal zeal advance,
To curb the faithless arrogance of France;
Nor ever fhall Britannia's fons refuse
To answer to thy Mafter or thy Mufe;
Nor want juft fubject for victorious strains,
While Marlborough's arm eternal laurels gains;
And where old Spenfer fung, a new Elifa reigns.

Upon this Paffage in the SCALIGERIANA.

"Les Allemans ne ce foucient pas quel Vin ils boivent pourveu que ce foit Vin, ni quel Latin ils parlent pourveu que ce foit Latin."

66

WHEN you with High-Dutch Heeren dine,

Expect falfe Latin, and ftumm'd wiņe :

They never tafte, who always drink ;
They always talk, who never think.