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Where he gives on, disposing of their fates,
Terrour, and death, on his loud cannon waits,
With which he pleads his brother's cause so well,
He shakes the throne to which he does appeal.
The sea with spoils his angry bullets strow,
Widows and orphans making as they go:
Before his ship, fragments of vessels torn,
Flags, arms, and Belgian carcasses, are borne,
And his despairing foes, to flight inclin'd,
Spread all their canvass to invite the wind.
So the rude Boreas, where he lists to blow,
Makes clouds above, and billows fly below,
Beating the shore; and with a boisterous rage,
Does Heaven at once, and Earth, and sea, engage.
The Dutch, elsewhere, did through the wat'ry field
Perform enough to have made others yield;
But English courage, growing as they fight,
In danger, noise, and slaughter takes delight:
Their bloody task, unweary'd still, they ply,
Only restrain'd by death or victory.

Iron and lead, from Earth's dark entrails torn,
Like showers of hail, from either side are borne:
So high the rage of wretched mortals goes,
Hurling their mother's bowels at their foes!
Ingenious to their ruin, every age

Improves the arts and instruments of rage:
Death-hastening ills Nature enough has sent,
And yet men still a thousand more invent!

But Bacchus now, which led the Belgians on
So fierce at first, to favour us begun:
Brandy and wine (their wonted friends) at length
Render them useless, and betray their strength.
So corn in fields, and in the garden flow'rs,
Revive, and raise themselves, with moderate showers;
But, overcharg'd with never-ceasing rain,
Become too moist, and bend their heads again.
Their reeling ships on one another fall,
Without a foe, enough to ruin all.

Of this disorder, and the favouring wind,
The watchful English such advantage find,
Ships fraught with fire among the heap they throw,
And up the so-intangled Belgians blow.
The flame invades the powder-rooms; and then
Their guns shoot bullets, and their vessels men.
The scorch'd Batavians on the billows float;
Sent from their own, to pass in Charon's, boat.
And now our royal admiral success
(With all the marks of victory) does bless:
The burning ships, the taken, and the slain,
Proclaim his triumph o'er the conquer'd main.
Nearer to Holland as their hasty flight
Carries the noise and tumult of the fight,
His cannons' roar, forerunner of his fame,
Makes their Hague tremble, and their Amsterdam:
The British thunder does their houses rock,
And the duke seems at every door to knock.
His dreadful streamer (like a comet's hair,
Threatening destruction) hastens their despair;
Makes them deplore their scatter'd fleet as lost,
And fear our present landing on their coast.

The trembling Dutch th' approaching prince be-
As sheep a lion, leaping tow'rds their fold: [hold,
Those piles, which serve them to repel the main,
They think too weak his fury to restrain.
"What wonders may not English valour work,
Led by th' example of victorious York?

Or what defence against him can they make,
Who, at such distance, does their country shake?
His fatal hand their bulwarks will o'erthrow;
And let in both the ocean and the foe."

Thus cry the people ;—and, their land to keep,
Allow our title to command the deep:

Blaming their States' ill conduct, to provoke
Those arms, which freed them from the Spanish yoke.
Painter excuse me, if I have awhile
Forgot thy art, and us'd another style:
For, though you draw arm'd heroes as they sit,
The task in battle does the Muses fit:
They, in the dark confusion of a fight,
Discover all, instruct us how to write,
And light and honour to brave actions yield,
Hid in the smoke and tumult of the field.
Ages to come shall know that leader's toil,
And his great name, on whom the Muses smile:
Their dictates here let thy fam'd pencil trace,
And this relation with thy colours grace.
Then draw the parliament, the nobles met;
And our great monarch 9 high above them set:
Like young Augustus let his image be,
Triumphing for that victory at sea,

Where Egypt's queen 10, and eastern kings, o'er-
Made the possession of the world his own. [thrown,
Last draw the commons at his royal feet,
Pouring out treasure to supply his fleet:
They vow with lives and fortune to maintain
Their king's eternal title to the main :
And, with a present to the duke, approve
His valour, conduct, and his country's love.

TO THE KING 1.

GREAT Sir! disdain not in this piece to stand
Supreme commander both of sea and land:
Those which inhabit the celestial bower
Painters express with emblems of their power;
His club Alcides, Phoebus has his bow,
Jove has his thunder, and your navy you.

But your great providence no colours here
Can represent, nor pencil draw that care,
Which keeps you waking to secure our peace,
The nation's glory, and our trade's increase:
You, for these ends, whole days in council sit;
And the diversions of your youth forget.

Small were the worth of valour and of force, If your high wisdom govern'd not their course : You as the soul, as the first mover, you Vigour and life on every part bestow : How to build ships, and dreadful ordnance cast, Instruct the artists, and reward their haste. So Jove himself, when Typhon Heaven does brave, Descends to visit Vulean's smoky cave, Teaching the brawny Cyclops how to frame His thunder, mix'd with terrour, wrath, and flame. Had the old Greeks discover'd your abode, Crete had not been the cradle of their god: On that small island they had look'd with scorn; And in Great Britain thought the thunderer born.

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Christians to him their present union owe,
And late success against the common foe:
While neighb'ring princes, loath to urge their fate,
Court his assistance, and suspend their hate.
So angry bulls the combat do forbear,
When from the wood a lion does appear.
This happy day peace to our island sent,
As now he gives it to the continent.

A prince more fit for such a glorious task,
Than England's king, from Heaven we cannot ask :
He (great and good!) proportion'd to the work,
Their ill-drawn swords shall turn against the Turk.
Such kings, like stars with influence unconfin'd,
Shine with aspect propitious to mankind,
Favour the innocent, repress the bold,

And, while they flourish, make an Age of Gold.
Bred in the camp, fam'd for his valour young;
At sea successful, vigorous, and strong;
His fleet, his army, and his mighty mind,
Esteem and reverence through the world do find.
A prince, with such advantages as these,
Where he persuades not, may command a peace.
Entain declaring for the juster side,

The most ambitious will forget their pride:
They that complain will their endeavours cease,
Advis'd by him, inclin'd to present peace,
Join to the Turk's destruction, and then bring
All their pretences to so just a king.

If the successful troublers of mankind,
With laurel crown'd, so great applause do find;
Shall the vex'd world less honour yield to those
That stop their progress, and their rage oppose?
Next to that power which does the ocean awe,
bs, to set bounds, and give ambition law.

The British monarch shall the glory have, That famous Greece remains no longer slave: That source of art, and cultivated thought! Which they to Rome, and Romans hither, brought. The banish'd Muses shall no longer mourn; But may with liberty to Greece return: Though slaves (like birds that sing not in a cage) They lost their genius and poetic rage; Homers again, and Pindars, may be found; And his great actions with their numbers crown'd. The Turk's vast empire does united stand: Christians, divided under the command Of jarring princes, would be soon undone, Did not this hero make their interest one: Peace to embrace, ruin the common foe, Exalt the cross, and lay the crescent low. Thus may the gospel to the rising Sun Be spread, and flourish where it first begun : And this great day (so justly honour'd here!) Known to the East, and celebrated there!) Hæc ego longævus cecini tibi, maxime regum! Ausus et ipse manu juvenum tentare laborem.

TO THE DUTCHESS,

Virg.

WHEN HE PRESENTED THIS BOOK TO HER ROYAL
HIGHNESS.

MADAM! I here present you with the rage,
And with the beauties of a former age,

Wishing you may with as great pleasure view
This, as we take in gazing upon you.
Thus we writ then: your brighter eyes inspire
A nobler flame, and raise our genius high'r.
While we your wit and early knowledge fear,
To our productions we become severe :
Your matchless beauty gives our fancy wing;
Your judgment makes us careful how we sing.
Lines not compos'd, as heretofore, in haste,
Polish'd like marble, shall like marble last,
And make you through as many ages shine,
As Tasso has the heroes of your line.

Though other names our wary writers use, You are the subject of the British Muse: Dilating mischief to yourself unknown, Men write, and die of wounds they dare not

own.

So the bright sun burns all our grass away, While it means nothing but to give us day.

THESE VERSES WERE WRIT IN THE TASSO OF
HER ROYAL HIGHNESS.

TASSO knew how the fairer sex to grace;
But in no one durst all perfection place:
In her alone that owns this book, is seen
Clorinda's spirit, and her lofty mien,
Sophronia's piety, Erminia's truth,
Armida's charms, her beauty, and her youth.

Our princess here, as in a glass, does dress
Her well-taught mind, and every grace express.
More to our wonder than Rinaldo fought,
The hero's race excels the poet's thought.

ON

MRS. HIGGONS.

INGENIOUS Higgons never sought

To hide the candour of her thought;
And now her clothes are lost, we find
The nymph as naked as her mind:
Like Eve while yet she was untaught
To hide herself or know a fault.
For a snatch'd ribbon she would frown,
But cares too little for her gown;
It makes her laugh, and all her grief
Is lest it should undo the thief.
Already she begins to stretch
Her wit, to save the guilty wretch,
And says, she was of goods bereft
By her own bounty, not by theft.
She thought not fit to keep her clothes
Till they were eaten up with moths,
But made a nobler use of store,
To cloth the naked and the poor.
Should all that do approve the fair
Her loss contribute to repair,
Of London she would have the fate,
And rise (undone) in greater state,
In points, and hoods, and Indian gown,
As glorious as the new-built town.

OF

DIVINE LOVE.

A POEM IN SIX CANTOS.

Floriferis ut apes in saltibus omnia libant; Sic nos Scripturæ depascimur aurea dicta; Aurea perpetuâ semper dignissima vitâ!.. Nam Divinus Amor cùm cæpit vociferari, Diffugiunt animi terrores.......

Lucret. Lib. iii.

Exul eram,requiesque mihi,non fama, petita est, Mens intenta suis ne foret usque malis: Namque ubi mota calent sacrâ mea pectora Musâ, Altior humano spiritus ille malo est.

Ovid. de Trist. Lib. iv. El. 1.

THE ARGUMENTS.

Sad fate of unbelievers, and yet just,
Among themselves to find so little trust!
Were Scripture silent, Nature would proclaim,
Without a God, our falsehood and our shame.
To know our thoughts the object of his eyes,
Is the first step tow'rds being good or wise;
For though with judgment we on things reflect,
Our will determines, not our intellect:
Slaves to their passion, reason men employ
Only to compass what they would enjoy.
His fear, to guard us from ourselves, we need ;
And Sacred Writ our reason does exceed.
For though Heaven shows the glory of the Lord,
Yet something shines more glorious in his word:
His mercy this (which all his work excels!)
His tender kindness and compassion tells:
While we, inform'd by that celestial book,
Into the bowels of our maker look.

Love there reveal'd (which never shall have end,
Nor had beginning) shall our song commend;
Describe itself, and warm us with that flame,

1. Asserting the authority of the Scripture, in which Which first from Heaven, to make us happy, came.

this love is revealed.

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III. The same love more amply declared in our redemption.

CANTO II.

THE fear of Hell, or aiming to be blest,
Savours too much of private interest.
This mov'd not Moses, nor the zealous Paul,
Who for their friends abandon'd soul and all:

IV. How necessary this love is to reform mankind, A greater yet from Heaven to Hell descends, and how excellent in itself. To save, and make his enemies his friends.

V. Showing how happy the world would be, if this What line of praise can fathom such a love, love were universally embraced.

VI. Of preserving this love in our memory; and how useful the contemplation thereof is.

CANTO I.

THE Grecian Muse has all their gods surviv'd,
Nor Jove at us, nor Phoebus, is arriv'd:
Frail deities! which first the poets made,
And then invok'd, to give their fancies aid.
Yet, if they still divert us with their rage,
What may be hop'd for in a better age,
When, not from Helicon's imagin'd spring,
But Sacred Writ, we borrow what we sing?
This with the fabric of the world begun,
Elder than light, and shall out-last the sun.
Before this oracle, like Dagon, all

The false pretenders, Delphos, Ammon, fall:
Long since despis'd and silent, they afford
Honour and triumph to th' Eternal Word.

As late philosophy our globe has grac'd,
And rolling Earth among the planets plac'd,
So has this book entitled us to Heaven,
And rules, to guide us to that mansion, given:
Tells the conditions how our peace was made,
And is our pledge for the great author's aid.
His power in Nature's ample book we find;
But the less volume does express his mind.

This light unknown, bold Epicurus taught, That his blest gods vouchsafe us not a thought, But unconcern'd let all below them slide, As fortune does, or human wisdom, guide. Religion thus remov'd, the sacred yoke, And band of all society, is broke. What use of oaths, of promise, or of test, Where men regard no god but interest? What endless war would jealous nations tear, If none above did witness what they swear!

Which reach'd the lowest bottom from above?
The royal prophet 2, that extended grace
From Heaven to Earth, measur'd but half that space,
The Law was regnant, and confin'd his thought;
Hell was not conquer'd when that poet wrote:
Heaven was scarce heard of, until He came down
To make the region where love triumphs known.
That early love of creatures yet unmade,
To frame the world th' Almighty did persuade;
For love it was that first created light,
Mov'd on the waters, chas'd away the night
From the rude chaos, and bestow'd new grace
On things dispos'd of to their proper place;
Some to rest here, and some to shine above:
Earth, sea, and Heaven, were all th' effects of love.
And love would be return'd. But there was none
That to themselves or others yet were known:
The world a palace was, without a guest,
Till one appears, that must excel the rest :
One! like the author, whose capacious mind
Might, by the glorious work, the maker find;
Might measure Heaven, and give each star a name,
With art and courage the rough ocean tame;
Over the globe with swelling sails might go,
And that 'tis round by his experience know;
Make strongest beasts obedient to his will,
And serve his use the fertile earth to till.
When, by his word, God had accomplish'd all,
Man to create he did a council call:
Employ'd his hand, to give the dust he took
A graceful figure and majestic look:
With his own breath, convey'd into his breast
Life, and a soul fit to command the rest.
Worthy alone to celebrate his name

For such a gift, and tell from whence it came.
Birds sing his praises in a wilder note;
But not with lasting numbers, and with thought,

2 David.

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Man's great prerogative! But above all
His grace abounds in his new fav'rite's fall.
If he create, it is a world he makes;
If he be angry, the creation shakes:

From his just wrath our guilty parents fled;

He curst the Earth, but bruis'd the serpent's head. Amidst the storm, his bounty did exceed,

In the rich promise of the Virgin's seed:

Though justice death, as satisfaction, craves,
Love finds a way to pluck us from our graves.
CANTO III.

Nor willing terrour should his image move,
He gives a pattern of eternal love;

His Son descends, to treat a peace with those
Which were, and must have ever been, his foes.
Poor he became, and left his glorious seat,
To make us humble, and to make us great:
His business here was happiness to give
To those, whose malice could not let him live.
Legions of angels, which he might have us'd,
(for us resolv'd to perish) he refus'd:
While they stood ready to prevent his loss,
Love took him up, and nail'd him to the cross.
Immortal love! which in his bowels reign'd,
That we might be by such great love constrain'd
To make return of love: upon this pole
Our duty does, and our religion, roll.
To love is to believe, to hope, to know;
Ts an essay, a taste of Heaven below!

He to proud potentates would not be known;
Of those that lov'd him, he was hid from none.
Till love appear, we live in anxious doubt;

But smoke will vanish when that flame breaks out;
This is the fire that would consume our dross,
Refine, and make us richer by the loss.

Could we forbear dispute, and practise love,
We should agree, as angels do above.
Where love presides, not vice alone does find
No entrance there, but virtues stay behind:
Both faith and hope, and all the meaner train
Of moral virtues, at the door remain.
Love only enters as a native there;

For, born in Heaven, it does but sojourn here.
He that alone would wise and mighty be,
Commands that others love as well as he.
Love as he lov'd!-How can we soar so high?-
He can add wings, when he commands to fly.
Nor should we be with this command dismay'd;
He that examples gives, will give his aid:
For he took flesh, that, where his precepts fail,
His practice, as a pattern, may prevail.

His love at once, and dread instruct our thought;
As man he suffer'd, and as God he taught.
Will for the deed he takes: we may with ease
Obedient be, for if we love, we please.
Weak though we are, to love is no hard task,
And love for love is all that Heaven does ask.
Love! that would all men just and temp'rate make,
Kind to themselves and others for his sake.

Tis with our minds as with a fertile ground,
Wanting this love, they must with weeds abound,
(Caruly passions) whose effects are worse
Than thorns and thistles, springing from the curse.
CANTO IV.

To glory man, or misery, is born,
Of his proud foe the envy or the scorn:
Wretched he is, or happy, in extreme;
Base in himself, but great in Heaven's esteem:

With love, of all created things the best;
Without it, more pernicious than the rest.
For greedy wolves unguarded sheep devour
But while their hunger lasts, and then give o'er:
Man's boundless avarice his want exceeds,
And on his neighbours round about him feeds.
His pride and vain ambition are so vast,
That, deluge-like, they lay whole nations waste:
Debauches and excess (though with less noise)
As great a portion of mankind destroys.
The beasts and monsters Hercules opprest
Might, in that age, some provinces infest:
These more destructive monsters are the bane
Of ev'ry age, and in all nations reign,
But soon would vanish, if the world were bless'd
With sacred love, by which they are repress'd.

Impendent death, and guilt that threatens Hell,
Are dreadful guests, which here with mortals dwell;
And a vex'd conscience, mingling with their joy
Thoughts of despair, does their whole life annoy:
But, love appearing, all those terrours fly;
We live contented, and contented die.
They, in whose breast this sacred love has place,
Death, as a passage to their joy, embrace.
Clouds and thick vapours, which obscure the day,
The Sun's victorious beams may chase away;
Those which our life corrupt and darken, Love
(The nobler star!) must from the soul remove.
Spots are observ'd in that which bounds the year;
This brighter Sun moves in a boundless sphere:
Of Heaven the joy, the glory, and the light;
Shines among angels, and admits no night.

CANTO V.

THIS Iron Age (so fraudulent and bold!)
Touch'd with this love, would be an Age of Gold:
Not, as they feign'd, that oaks should honey drop,
Or land neglected bear an unsown crop :
Love would make all things easy, safe, and cheap;
None for himself would either sow or reap:
Our ready help and mutual love would yield
A nobler harvest than the richest field.
Famine and death, confin'd to certain parts,
Extended are by barrenness of hearts.
Some pine for want, where others surfeit now;
But then we should the use of plenty know.
Love would betwixt the rich and needy stand,
And spread Heaven's bounty with an equal hand;
At once the givers and receivers bless,
Increase their joy, and make their suff'ring less.
Who for himself no miracle would make,
Dispensed with sev'ral for the people's sake:
He that, long-fasting, would no wonder show,
Made loaves and fishes, as they ate them, grow.
Of all his pow'r, which boundless was above,
Here he us'd none, but to express his love:
And such a love would make our joy exceed,
Not when our own, but other mouths, we feed.

Laws would be useless, which rude nature awe; Love, changing nature, would prevent the law: Tigers and lions into dens we thrust,

But milder creatures with their freedom trust.
Devils are chain'd and tremble; but the Spouse
No force but love, nor bond but bounty, knows.
Men (whom we now so fierce and dangerous see)
Would guardian-angels to each other be:
Such wonders can this mighty love perform,
Vultures to doves, wolves into lambs transform!
Love what Isaiah prophesy'd can do,
Exalt the vallies, lay the mountains low,

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Smooth and make straight our rough and crooked
Love, strong as death, and like it, levels all;
With that possess'd, the great in title fall,
Themselves esteem but equal to the least,

Notes, whose strong charms the dullest ear might

move,

And melt the hardest heart in flames of love;
Notes, whose seraphic raptures speak a mind
From human thoughts and earthly dross refin'd;

Whom Heaven with that high character has blest. So just their harmony, so high their flight,

This love, the centre of our union, can
Alone bestow complete repose on man,
Tame his wild appetite, make inward peace,
And foreign strife among the nations cease.
No martial trumpet should disturb our rest,
Nor princes arm, though to subdue the East,
Where for the tomb so many heroes (taught
By those that guided their devotion) fought.
Thrice happy we, could we like ardour have
To gain his love, as they to win his grave!
Love as he lov'd! A love so unconfin'd,
With arms extended, would embrace mankind.
Self-love would cease, or be dilated, when
We should behold as many selfs as men,
All of one family, in blood ally'd,

His precious blood, that for our ransom dy'd!

CANTO VI.

THOUGH the creation (so divinely taught!)
Prints such a lively image on our thought,
That the first spark of new-created light,
From chaos strook, affects our present sight,
Yet the first Christians did esteem more blest
The day of rising, than the day of rest,
That ev'ry week might new occasion give,
To make his triumph in their mem❜ry live.
Then let our Muse compose a sacred charm,
To keep his blood among us ever warm,
And singing, as the blessed do above,
With our last breath dilate this flame of love.
But, on so vast a subject, who can find
Words that may reach th' ideas of his mind?
Our language fails: or, if it could supply,
What mortal thought can raise itself so high?
Despairing here, we might abandon art,
And only hope to have it in our heart.
But though we find this sacred task too hard,
Yet the design, th' endeavour, brings reward:
The contemplation does suspend our woe,
And make a truce with all the ills we know.
As Saul's afflicted spirit, from the sound
Of David's harp, a present solace found:
So on this theme while we our Muse engage,
No wounds are felt, of fortune or of age.
On divine love to meditate is peace,
And makes all care of meaner things to cease.
Amaz'd at once, and comforted, to find
A boundless power so infinitely kind;
The soul contending to that light to fly
From her dark cell, we practise how to die:
Employing thus the poet's winged art,
To reach this love, and grave it in our heart.
Joy so complete, so solid, and severe,
Would leave no place for meaner pleasures there:
Pale they would look, as stars that must be gone,
When from the east the rising Sun comes on.

ELEGY BY MR. TALBOT, OCCASIONED BY READING AND TRANSCRIBING MR. WALLER'S

POEM OF DIVINE LOVE AFTER HIS DEATH.

SUCH were the last, the sweetest, notes that hung Upon our dying swan's melodious tongue;

With joy I read them, and with wonder write.
Sure, happy saint, this noble song was given
To fit thee for th' approaching joys of Heaven:
Love, wondrous love, whose conquest was thy theme,
Has taught thy soul the airy way to climb:
Love snatch'd thee, like Elijah, to the sky,
In flames that not consume, but purify:
There, with thy fellow-angels mix'd, and free
From the dull load of dim mortality,

Thou feel'st new joys, and feed'st thy ravish'd sight,
With unexhausted beams of love and light:
And sure, bless'd spirit, to complete thy bliss,
In Heaven thou sing'st this song, or one like this.

OF THE FEAR OF GOD.

IN TWO CANTOS.

CANTO I.

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THE fear of God is freedom, joy, and peace,
And makes all ills that vex us here to cease:
Though the word fear some men may ill endure,
'Tis such a fear as only makes secure.
Ask of no angel to reveal thy fate;
Look in thy heart, the mirror of thy state.
He that invites will not th' invited mock,
Op'ning to all that do in earnest knock.
Our hopes are all well-grounded on this fear;
All our assurance rolls upon that sphere.
This fear, that drives all other fears away,
Shall be my song, the morning of our day!
Where that fear is, there's nothing to be fear'd;
It brings from Heaven an angel for a guard:
Tranquillity and peace this fear does give;
Hell gapes for those that do without it live.
It is a beam, which he on man lets fall,
Of light, by which he made and governs all.
'Tis God alone should not offended be;
But we please others, as more great than he.
For a good cause, the sufferings of man
May well be borne: 'tis more than angels can.
Man, since his fall, in no mean station rests,
Above the angels, or below the beasts.
He with true joy their hearts does only fill,
That thirst and hunger to perform his will.
Others, though rich, shall in this world be vext,
And sadly live, in terrour of the next. [sue,
The world's great conqu'ror would his point pur-
And wept because he could not find a new:
Which had he done, yet still he would have cry'd,
To make him work, until a third he spy'd.
Ambition, avarice, will nothing owe
To Heaven itself, unless it make them grow.
Though richly fed, man's care does still exceed:
Has but one mouth, yet would a thousand feed.
In wealth and honour, by such men possest,
If it increase not, there is found no rest.
All their delight is while their wish comes in;
"Tis strange men should neglect their present store,
Sad when it stops, as there had nothing been.
And take no joy, but in pursuing more;

3

* Alexander.

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