His grand visier, presuming to invest
The chief imperial city of the West,
With the first charge compell'd in haste to rise,
His treasure, tents, and cannon, left a prize:
The standard lost, and janizaries slain,
Render the hopes he gave his master vain.
The flying Turks, that bring the tidings home,
Renew the memory of his father's doom;
And his guard murmurs, that so often brings
Down from the throne their unsuccessful kings.
The trembling sultan's forc'd to expiate
His own ill conduct by another's fate :
The grand visier, a tyrant, though a slave,
A fair example to his master gave;

He bassas' heads, to save his own, made fly,
And now, the sultan, to preserve, must die.

The fatal bowstring was not in his thought,
When, breaking truce, he so unjustly fought;
Made the world tremble with a umerous host,
And of undoubted victory did boast.
Strangled he lies! yet seems to cry aloud,
To warn the mighty, and instruct the proud,
That of the great, neglecting to be just,
Heaven in a moment makes an heap of dust.

TO THE QUEEN,

UPON HER MAJESTY'S BIRTH-DAY, after her HAPPY

RECOVERY FROM A DANGEROUS SICKNESS.

FAREWELL the year, which threaten'd so
The fairest light the world can show.
Welcome the new! whose every day,
Restoring what was snatch'd away
By pining sickness from the fair,
That matchless beauty does repair
So fast, that the approaching Spring
(Which does to flow'ry meadows bring
What the rude Winter from them tore)
Shall give her all she had before.

But we recover not so fast
The sense of such a danger past;
We, that esteem'd you sent from Heaven,
A pattern to this island given,

To shew us what the bless'd do there,
And what alive they practis'd here,
When that which we immortal thought,
We saw so near destruction brought,
Felt all which you did then endure,
And tremble yet, as not secure.

The Turks so low, why should the Christians lose So, though the Sun victorious be,

Such an advantage of their barb'rous foes?
Neglect their present ruin to complete,
Before another Solyman they get?

Too late they would with shame, repenting, dread
That numerous herd, by such a lion led.

He Rhodes and Buda from the Christians tore,
Which timely union might again restore.

But, sparing Turks, as if with rage possest,
The Christians perish, by themselves opprest:
Cities and provinces so dearly won,
That the victorious people are undone !

What angel shall descend, to reconcile
The Christian states, and end their guilty toil?
A prince more fit from Heaven we cannot ask,
Than Britain's king, for such a glorious task:
His dreadful navy, and his lovely mind,
Gives him the fear and favour of mankind.
His warrant does the Christian faith defend;
On that relying, all their quarrels end.
The peace is sign'd, and Britain does obtain
What Rome had sought from her fierce sons in vain.

In battles won, Fortune a part doth claim,
And soldiers have their portion in the fame:
In this successful union we find

Only the triumph of a worthy mind.
'Tis all accomplish'd by his royal word,
Without unsheathing the destructive sword;
Without a tax upon his subjects laid,

Their peace disturb'd, their plenty, or their trade.
And what can they to such a prince deny,
With whose desires the greatest kings comply?

The arts of peace are not to him unknown,
This happy way he march'd into the throne;
And we owe more to Heaven, than to the sword;
The wish'd return of so benign a lord.

Charles, by old Greece with a new freedom grac'd,
Above her antique heroes shall be plac'd.
What Theseus did, or Theban Hercules,
Holds no compare with this victorious peace,
Which on the Turks shall greater honour gain,
Than all their giants and their monsters slain.
Those are bold tales, in fabulous ages told;
This glorious act the living do behold.

9 Vienna.

And from a dark eclipse set free,
The influence, which we fondly fear,
Afflicts our thoughts the following year.

But that which may relieve our care
Is, that you have a help so near
For all the evil you can prove;
The kindness of your royal love.
He, that was never known to mourn
So many kingdoms from him torn,
His tears reserv'd for you, more dear,
More priz'd, than all those kingdoms were!
For, when no healing art prevail'd,
When cordials and elixirs fail'd,

On your pale cheek he dropt the shower,
Reviv'd you like a dying flower.

SUNG BY MRS. KNIGHT TO HER MAJESTY, ON
HER BIRTH-DAY.

THIS happy day two lights are seen,

A glorious saint, a matchless queen;
Both nam'd alike, both crown'd appear,
The saint above, th' infanta here.
May all those years, which Catharine
The martyr did for Heaven resign,
Be added to the line

Of your blest life among us here!
For all the pains that she did feel,
And all the torments of her wheel,
May you as many pleasures share!
May Heaven itself content
With Catharine the saint!

Without appearing old,
An hundred times may you,
With eyes as bright as now,
This welcome day behold!

OF HER MAJESTY,

ON NEW-YEAR'S DAY 1683.

WHAT revolutions in the world have been!
How are we chang'd, since we first saw the queen'
She, like the Sun, does still the same appear,
Bright as she was at her arrival here!

OF TEA...PROLOGUE FOR THE LADY-ACTORS.

Time has commission mortals to impair,
But things celestial is oblig'd to spare.

May every new year find her still the same
In health and beauty, as she hither came!
When lords and commons, with united voice,
Th' infanta nam'd, approv'd the royal choice:
First of our queens, whom not the king alone,
But the whole nation, lifted to the throne.

With like consent, and like desert, was crown'd
The glorious prince, that does the Turk confound.
Victorious both! His conduct wins the day,
And her example chases vice away.
Though louder fame attend the martial rage,
'Tis greater glory to reform the age.

OF TEA,

COMMENDED BY HER MAJNITY.

VENUS her myrtle, Phœbus has his bays;
Tea both excels, which she vouchsafes to praise.
The best of queens, and best of herbs, we owe
To that bold nation, which the way did show
To the fair region, where the Sun does rise,
Whose rich productions we so justly prize.
The Muse's friend, tea, does our fancy aid,
Repress those vapours which the head invade,
And keeps that palace of the soul serene,
Fit, on her birth-day, to salute the queen,

PROLOGUE FOR THE LADY-ACTORS:
SPOKEN BEFORE KING CHARLES II.

AMAZE us not with that majestic frown,
But lay aside the greatness of your crown!
And for that look, which does your people awe,
When in your throne and robes you give them law,
Lay it by here, and give a gentler smile,
Such as we see great Jove's in picture, while
He listens to Apollo's charming lyre,
Or judges of the songs he does inspire.
Comedians on the stage show all their skill,
And after do as Love and Fortune will:
We are less careful, hid in this disguise;
In our own clothes more serious, and more wise.
Modest at home, upon the stage more bold,
We seem warm lovers, though our breasts be cold:
A fault committed here deserves no scorn,
If we act well the parts to which we're born.

OF HER ROYAL HIGHNESS,

MOTHER TO THE PRINCE OF ORANGE:

AND OF HER PORTRAIT, WRITTEN BY THE LATE DUTCHESS OF
YORK WHILE SHE LIVED WITH HER.

HEROIC nymph! in tempests the support,
In peace the glory, of the British court!
Into whose arms, the church, the state, and all
That precious is, or sacred here, did fall.
Ages to come, that shall your bounty hear,
Will think you mistress of the Indies were:
Though straiter bounds your fortune did confine,
In your large heart was found a wealthy mine:
Like the blest oil, the widow's lasting feast,
Your treasure, as you pour'd it out, increas'd.

'John Sobieski, king of Poland.

67

While some your beauty, some your bounty sing,
Your native isle does with your praises ring:
But above all, a nymph 2 of your own train
Gives us your character in such a strain
As none but she, who in that court did dwell,
Could know such worth, or worth describe so well,
So, while we mortals here at Heaven do guess,
And more our weakness than the place express,
And tells the wonders he hath seen and known,
Some angel, a domestic there, comes down,

TO THE DUCHESS OF ORLEANS,

WHEN SHE WAS TAKING LEAVE OF THE COURT AT DOVER,

[way:

THAT Sun of beauty did among us rise,
England first saw the light of your fair eyes,
In English too your early wit was shown:
Favour that language, which was then your own,
When, though a child, through guards you made your
What fleet, or army, could an angel stay?
Thrice happy Britain! if she could retain,
Whom she first bred, within her ambient main.
Our late-burnt London, in apparel new,
Shook off her ashes to have treated you:
But we must see our glory snatch'd away,
And with warm tears increase the guilty sea:
No wind can favour us; howe'er it blows,
We must be wreck'd, and our dear treasure lose!
Sighs will not let us half our sorrows tell-
Fair, lovely, great, and best of nymphs, farewell!

UPON

HER MAJESTY'S NEW BUILDINGS
AT SOMERSET-HOUSE.

GREAT queen! that does our island bless
With princes and with palaces:
Treated so ill, chas'd from your throne,
Returning, you adorn the town,
And, with a brave revenge, do shew
Their glory went and came with you.

While Peace from hence, and you, were gone,
Your houses in that storm o'erthrown,
Those wounds which civil rage did give,
At once you pardon and relieve.

Constant to England in your love,
As birds are to their wonted grove ;
Though by rude hands their nests are spoil'd,
There, the next spring, again they build.

Accusing some malignant star,
Not Britain, for that fatal war,
Rasolv'd to fix for ever here.
Your kindness banishes your fear,

But what new mine this work supplies?
Can such a pile from ruin rise?
This like the first creation shows,
As if at your command it rose.
Frugality and bounty too,
(Those diff'ring virtues) meet in you;
From a confin'd, well-manag'd, store,
You both employ and feed the poor,

Let foreign princes vainly boast
The rude effects of pride and cost;
Of vaster fabrics, to which they
Contribute nothing, but the pay:

2 Lady Anne Hyde.
dowager of king Charles I.

3 Henrietta Maria, queen

OF ENGLISH VERSE...ON THE EARL OF ROSCOMMON.

AD COMITEM MONUMETENSEM

DE BENTIVOGLIO SUO.

FLORIBUS Angligenis non hanc tibi necto corollam,
Cùm satis indigenis te probet ipse liber:
Per me Roma sciet tibi se debere, quòd Anglo
Romanus didicit cultiùs ore loqui.
Ultima quæ tellus Aquilas duce Cæsare vidit,
Candida Romulidum te duce scripta videt.
Consilio ut quondam Patriam nil juveris esto!
Sed studio cives ingenioque juvas.
Namque dolis liber hic instructus, & arte Batava,
A Belga nobis ut caveamus, ait.
Horremus per te civilis dira furoris

Vulnera; discordes Flandria quassa monet.
Hic discat miles pugnare, orare senator;
Qui regnant, leni sceptra tenere manu.

And at the court his interest does employ
That none, who 'scap'd his fatal sword, should die.
And now, these rash bold men their errour find,
Not trusting one, beyond his promise kind :
One! whose great mind, so bountiful and brave,
Had learn'd the art to conquer and to save.

In vulgar breasts no royal virtues dwell;
Such deeds as these his high extraction tell,
And give a secret joy to him that reigns,
To see his blood triumph in Monmouth's veins;
To see a leader, whom he got and chose,
Firm to his friends, and fatal to his foes.

But seeing envy, like the Sun, does beat
With scorching rays, on all that's high and great!
This, ill-requited Monmouth! is the bough
The Muses send, to shade thy conquering brow.
Lampoons, like squibs, may make a present blaze;
But time and thunder pay respect to bays.

Macte, Comes! virtute novâ; vestri ordinis ingens Achilles' arms dazzle our present view,

Ornamentum, ævi deliciæque tui !

Dum stertunt alii somno vinoque sepulti,
Nobilis antiquo stemmate digna facis.

TO MR. KILLEGREW,

UPON HIS ALTERING HIS PLAY, PANDORA, FROM A TRAGEDY
INTO A COMEDY, BECAUSE NOT APPROVED ON THE STAGE.

SIR, you should rather teach our age the way
Of judging well, than thus have chang'd your play:
You had oblig'd us by employing wit,
Not to reform Pandora, but the pit,
For, as the nightingale, without the throng
Of other birds, alone attends her song,

While the loud daw, his throat displaying, draws
The whole assembly of his fellow daws:

So must the writer, whose productions should
Take with the vulgar, be of vulgar mould;
Whilst nobler fancies make a flight too high
For common view, and lessen as they fly.

ON THE

DUKE OF MONMOUTH'S EXPEDITION
INTO SCOTLAND, IN THE SUMMER SOLSTICE

SWIFT as Jove's messenger, (the winged god)
With sword as potent as his charming rod,
He flew to execute the king's command,
And in a moment reach'd that northern land,
Where day, contending with approaching night,
Assists the hero with continued light.

On foes surpris'd, and by no night conceal'd,
He might have rush'd; but noble pity held
His hand a while, and to their choice gave space,
Which they would prove, his valour or his grace.
This not well heard, his cannon louder spoke,
And then, like lightning, through that cloud he
broke.

His fame, his conduct, and that martial look,
The guilty Scots with such a terrour strook,
That to his courage they resign the field,
Who to his bounty had refus'd to yield.
Glad that so little loyal blood it cost,
He grieves so many Britons should be lost:
Taking more pains, when he beheld them yield,
To save the flyers, than to win the field:

For piety, in such an age!

Who can presume to find a guard

From scorn, when Heaven's so little spar'd?

Divines are pardon'd; they defend
Altars on which their lives depend:

But the profane impatient are,

When nobler pens make this their care:
For why should these let in a beam
Of divine light to trouble them;

And call in doubt their pleasing thought,
That none believes what we are taught?
High birth and fortune warrant give
That such men write what they believe,
And, feeling first what they indite,
New credit give to ancient light.
Amongst these few, our author brings
His well-known pedigree from kings.
This book, the image of his mind,
Will make his name not hard to find:
I wish the throng of great and good
Made it less eas'ly understood!

ΤΟ Α

PERSON OF HONOUR,

UPON HIS INCOMPARABLE, INCOMPREHENSIBLE POEM,
ENTITLED THE BRITISH PRINCES.

SIR! you've oblig'd the British nation more,
Than all their bards could ever do before;
And, at your own charge, monuments, as hard
As brass or marble, to your fame have rear'd.

7 King Charles II.