*

But thee (great Edward) and thy greater fon,

(The lillies which his father wore he won)
And thy Bellona, who the confort came
Not only to thy bed, but to thy fame,
She to thy triumph led one captive † king,
And brought that fon, which did the fecond bring.
Then didit thou found that order (whether love
Or victory thy royal thoughts did move)
Each was a noble caufe, and nothing lefs

Than the defign, has been the great

fuccefs:

Which foreign kings, and emperors efteem
The fecond honour to their diadem.

Had thy great destiny but giv'n thee skill
To know, as well as pow'r to act, her will,
That, from thofe kings who then thy captives were,
In after-times should spring a royal pair,
Who fhould poffefs all that thy mighty pow'r,
Or thy defires, more mighty, did devour;

To whom their better fate referves whate'cr
The victor hopes for, or the vanquifh'd fear;
That blood, which thou and thy great grandfire fhed,
And all that fince thefe fifter nations bled,

Had been unfpilt, had happy Edward known
That all the blood he fpilt had been his own.
When he that patron chofe, in whom are join'd
Soldier and martyr, and his arms confin'd

Within the azure circle, he did feem
But to foretel, and prophefy of him,

*Edward III. and the Black Prince.
The kings of France and Scotland,

Queen Philip.

Who

Who to his realms that azure round hath join'd, Which nature for their bound at first defign'd: That bound, which, to the world's extremeft ends, Endless itself, its liquid arms extends :

Nor doth he need thofe emblems which we paint,
But is himself the foldier and the faint.

Here should my wonder dwell, and here my praise,
But my fix'd thoughts my wond'ring eye betrays
Viewing a neighb'ring hill, whofe top of late
A chapel crown'd, till, in the common fate,
Th' adjoining abbey fell: (may no fuch form
Fall on our times, where ruin muft reform.)
Tell me, my mufe, what monftrous dire offence,
What crime, could any Chriftian king incenfe
To fuch a rage? Was't luxury, or luft?
Was he fo temperate, fo chafte, so just?

Were these their crimes? They were his own much

more:

But wealth is crime enough to him that's poor;
Who, having spent the treafures of his crown,
Condemns their luxury to feed his own.
And yet this act, to varnish o'er the fhame
Of facrilege, must bear Devotion's name.
No crime fo bold, but would be understood·
A real, or, at least, a seeming good.
Who fears not to do ill, yet fears the name,
And free from confcience, is a flave to fame.
Thus, he the church at once protects, and spoils:
But princes' fwords are fharper than their ftiles.
And thus to th' ages past he makes amends,
Their charity destroys, their faith defends.

Then did religion, in a lazy cell,

In empty, airy contemplations dwell;
And, like the block, unmoved lay: but ours,
As much too active, like the stork devours.
Is there no temp'rate region can be known,
Betwixt their frigid, and our torrid, zone?
Cou'd we not wake from that lethargic dream,
But to be reftless in a worse extreme ?
And, for that lethargy, was there no cure,
But to be caft into a calenture?

Can knowledge have no bound, but must advance
So far, to make us wifh for ignorance;

And rather in the dark to grope our way,
Than, led by a falfe guide, to err by day?

Who fees these dismal heaps, but would demand
What barbarous invader fack'd the land?

But when he hears, no Goth, no Turk, did bring
This defolation, but a Christian king;

When nothing but the name of Zeal appears,
'Twixt our best actions, and the worst of theirs,
What does he think our facrilege wou'd fpare,
When fuch the effects of our devotions are?

Parting from thence, 'twixt anger, fhame, and fear,
'Thofe for what's paft, and this for what's too near;
My eye, defcending from the hill, furveys
Where Thames among the wanton vallies strays.
Thames, the most lov'd of all the ocean's fons
By his old fire, to his embraces runs,
Hafting to pay his tribute to the fea,
Like mortal life to meet eternity.

His

Tho' with those streams he no resemblance hold,
Whose foam is amber, and their gravel gold;
His genuine and lefs guilty wealth t'explore,
Search not his bottom, but furvey his shore;
O'er which he kindly spreads his spacious wing,
And hatches plenty for th'enfuing spring:
Nor then destroys it with too fond a stay,
Like mothers which their infants overlay ;
Nor, with a fudden and impetuous wave,
Like profufe kings, refumes the wealth he gave.
No unexpected inundations spoil

The mower's hopes, or mock the ploughman's toil:
But, godlike, his unwearied bounty flows;
First loves to do, then loves the good he does.
Nor are his bleffings to his banks confin'd,
But free and common as the fea, or wind;
When he to boast, or to disperse his stores,
Full of the tributes of his grateful shores,
Vifits the world, and, in his flying towers,

Brings home to us, and makes both Indies ours;
Finds wealth where 'tis, bestows it where it wants,
Cities in defarts, woods in cities plants.
So that to us no things, no place is ftrange,
While his fair bofom is the world's exchange.
O could I flow like thee, and make thy stream
My great example, as it is my theme!
Tho' deep, yet clear, tho' gentle, not yet dull;
Strong, without rage, without o'erflowing, full.
Heav'n her Eridanus no more shall boast,
Whose fame in thine, like leffer currents, loft,

Thy

Thy nobler ftreams fhall vifit Jove's abodes,

To fhine among the ftars, and bathe the gods:
Here nature, whether more intent to please
Us or herself, with strange varieties,

(For things of wonder give no lefs delight
To the wife maker's, than beholder's fight:
Tho' these delights from several causes move;
For fo our children, thus our friends we love)
Wifely fhe knew the harmony of things,
As well as that of founds, from difcord fprings..
Such was the difcord, which did firft difperfe
Form, order, beauty, through the universe;
While drynefs, moisture, coldness heat refifts,
All that we have, and that we are, fubfifts.
While the steep horrid roughness of the wood,
Strives with the gentle calmnefs of the flood,
Such huge extremes when nature doth unite,
Wonder from thence refults, from thence delight.
The ftream is fo tranfparent, pure, and clear,
That, had the felf-enamour'd youth gaz'd here,
So fatally deceiv'd he had not been,

While he the bottom, not his face, had feen.
But his proud head the airy mountain hides
Among the clouds; his fhoulders, and his fides,
A fhady mantle cloathes; his curled brows
Frown on the gentle ftream, which calmly flows,
While winds and storms his lofty forehead beat :
The common fate of all that's high or great.
Low at his foot a fpacious plain is plac'd,
Between the mountain and the stream embrac'd :

Whcih