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If Chaucer by the best Idea wrought, And Poets can divine each others Thought, The faireft Nymph before his Eyes he fet ; And then the faireft was Plantagenet ; Who three contending Princes made ber Prize, And ruld the Rival-Nations with her Eyes: Who left Immortal Trophies of her Fame, And to the Noblest Order gave the Name.
Like Her, of equal Kindred to the Throne, You keep her Conquests, and extend your own: As when the Stars, in their Etherial Race, At length have rolld around the Liquid Space, At certain Periods they resume their Place, From the fame Point of Heav’n their Course advance, And move in Meafures of their former Dance; Thus, efter length of Ages, she returns, Restor'd in Tou, and the fame Place adorns ; Or Tou perform her Office in the Sphere, Born of her Blood, and make a new Platonick Tear.
true Plantagenet, O Race Divine, (For Beauty still is fatal to the Line,) Had Chaucer liv'd that Angel-Face to view, Sure he had drawn bis Emily from You;
Or had Tou liv'd, to judge the doubtful Right,
Time all accomplish that; and I Mall see
Already have the Fates your Path prepard, And fure Presage your future Sway declar'd: When Westward, like the Sun, Tou took your Way, And from benighted Britain bore the Day, Blue Triton gave the Signal from the Shore, The ready Nereids heard, and swam before To smooth the Seas; a soft Etesian Gale But just inspir’d, and gently swell’d the Sail; Portunus took his Turn, whose ample Hand Heav'd up the lighten'd Keel, and funk the Sand, And steer'd the sacred Vesel safe to Land. The Land, if not restrain'd, had met Your W Projected out a Neck, and jutted to the Sea. Hibernia, prostrate at Tour Feet, ador'd, In Tou, the Pledge of her expected Lord; Due to her Isle ; a venerable Name; His Father and his Grandfire known to Fame:
Aw'd by that House, accustom'd to command,
At Your Approach, they crowded to the Port;
The Waste of Civil Wars, their Towns destroy'd,
As when the Dove returning, bore the Mark
[accord. The Saints with solemn Shouts proclaim'd the new).
When at Your second Coming You appear, (For I fortell that Millenary Tear) The Jharpen’d Share shall vex the Soil no more; But Earth unbidden Mall produce her Store: The Land Mall laugh, the circling Ocean smile, And Heav'ns Indulgence bless the Holy Isle.
Heav'n from all Ages has referu'd for You That happy Clyme, which Venom never knew ; Or if it had been there, Tour Eyes alone Have Power to chafe all Poyfon, but their own.
Now in this Intervaly which Fate has cast Betwixt Tour Future Glories, and Tour Paft, This Pauseof Pow'r,’tis Ireland's Hour to mourn; Wbile England celebrates Your Safe Return, By which You seem the Seasons to command, And bring our Summers back to their forsaken Land.
The Vanquish'd Isle our Leisure must attend, Till the Fair Blessing we vouchsafe to send; Norcan we spare You long, though often we maylend. The Dove was twice employ'd abroad, before The World was dry'd; and she return'd no more,
Nor dare we trust so Soft & Mesenger, New from her Sickness, to that Northern Air ;
Reft here a while, Tour Luftre to restore,
A Subject in his Prince may claim a Right,
Now past the Danger, let the Learn'd begin Th’Enquiry, where Disease could enter in; How those malignant Atoms forc’dtheirWay,[ Prey? Wbat in the fautless Frame they found to make their Where ev'ry Element was weigh'd so well, That Heav'n alone,who mix'd the Mass,could tell Which of the Four Ingredients could rebel; And where, imprison'd in so sweet a Cage, A Soul might well be pleas’d to pass an Age.
And get the fine Materials made it weak; Porcelain, by being Pure, is apt to break: Ev'n to Your Breast the Sickness durft afpire;
And forc'd from that fair Temple to retire, Profanely set the Holy Place on Fire.