Instead of thofe doft men and manners plant,
The things which that rich foil did chiefly want.
Yet ev'n thy Mortals do their Gods excel,
Taught by thy Mufe to fight and love fo well.
By fatal hands whilft prefent empires fall,
Thine from the grave paft monarchies recall;
So much more thanks from human-kind does
merit

The Poet's fury than the Zealot's fpirit;

And from the grave thou mak'it this empire rife,
Not like feme dreadful ghoft, t' affright our eyes,
But with more luftre and triumphant ftate,
Than when it crown'd at proud Verona fate.
So will our God rebuild man's perish'd frame,
And raife him up much better, yet the fame;
So God-like poets do past things rehearse,
Not change, but heighten, Nature by their verfe.
With fhame, methinks, great Italy muft fee
Her conquerors rais'd to life again by thee;
Rais'd by fuck powerful verfe, that ancient Rome
May bluth no lefs to fee her wit o'ercome.
Some men their fancies, like their faith, derive,
And think all ill but that which Rome does give;
The marks of Old and Catholic would find;
To the fame chair would truth and fiction bind.
Thou in thofe beaten paths difdain'ft to tread,
And fcorn'ft to live by robbing of the dead.
Since time does all things change, thou think'st
not fit

This latter age fhould fee all new but wit;
Thy fancy, like a flame, its way does make,
And leave bright tracks for following pens to
take.

Sure 'twas this noble boldness of the Mufe
Did thy defire to feek new worlds infufe;
And ne'er did Heaven fo much a voyage blefs,
If thou canft plant but there with like fucccls.

With no yoke-fellow word will deign to draw.
Stubborn Mount Orgueil! 'tis a work to make it
Come into thyme, more hard than 'twere to
take it.

Alas! to bring your tropes and figures here,
Strange as to bring camels and clephants were:
And metaphor is fɔ unknown a thing,
'Twould need the preface of "God fave the
King,"

Yet this I'll fay, for th' honour of the place,
That, by God's extraordinary grace
(Which fhows the people have judgment, if not
wit)

The land is undefil'd with Clinches yet;
Which, in my poor opinion, I confefs,
Is a moft fingular blefling, and no lefs
Than Ireland's wanting fpiders. And, fo far
From th' actual fin of bombaft too they are,
(That other crying fin o' th' English Mufe)
That even Satan himfelf can accufe

None here (no not fo much as the divines)
For th' motus primò primi to ftrong lines.
Well, fince the foil then does not naturally bear
Verfe, who (a devil) should import it here?
For that to me would feem as frange a thing
As who did first wild beafts into' iflands bring
Unless you think that it might taken be
As Green did Gondibert, in a prize at fea:
But that's a fortune falls not every day;
'Tis true Green was made by it; for they fay
The parliament did a noble bounty do,
And gave him the whole prize, their tenths au
fifteens too.

AN ANSWWER TO

A COPY OF VERSES

SENT ME TO JERSEY.

A just done
Her prophane laity, and does affign
Bread only both to ferve for bread and wine)
A rich Canary fleet welcome arrives;
Such comfort to us here your letter gives,
Fraught with brifk racy verfes; in which we
The foil from whence they came tafle, smell,
and fee;

S to a northern people (whom the fun

Sich is your prefent to us; for you must know,
Sir, that verfe does not in this ifland grow,
No more than fack; one lately did not fear
Without the Mufes' leave) to plant it here;
But it produc'd fuch bafe, rough, crabbed,
hedge,

Rhymes, as ev'n fet the hearers' ears on edge;
Written by
Efquire, the

Year of our Lord fix hundred thirty-three.
Brave Jerfey Mufe! and he's for this high ftyle
Call'd to this day the Homer of the Ile.

Where's now that fpirit with which at Creffy we,
And Poitiers, forc'd from Fate a victory?
Two kings at once we brought fad captives home,
A triumph fcarcely known to ancient Rome!
Two foreign kings: but now, alas! we strive,
Our own, our own good fovereign to captive!

It was not fo when Agincourt was won;
Under great Henry ferv'd the rain and fun;
A nobler fight the fun himself ne'er knew,
Not when he ftopt his course a fight to view!
Then Death's old archer did more skilful grow,
And learn'd to fhoot more fure from th' English
bow;

Then France was her own ftory fadly taught,
And felt how Cæfar and how Edward fought.
It was not fo when that vaft fleet of Spain
Lay torn and fcatter'd on the English main;
Through the proud world a virgin terror frook;
The Auftrian crowns, and Rome's feven hills, the
fhook!

To her great Neptune homag'd all his streams,
And all the wide-flretch'd occan was her Thames.
Thus our forefathers fought, thus bravely bled,
Thus ftill they live, whilft we alive are dead;
Such acts they did, that Rome, and Cæfar too,
Might envy thofe whom once they did fubdue.
We're not their offspring: fure our heralds lye;
But born we know not how, as now we die;
Their precious blood we could not venture thus:
Some Cadmus, fure, fow'd ferpents' teeth for us;
We could not elfe by mutual fury fall,
Whilft Rhine and Sequan for our armies call:
Chufe war er peace, you have a prince, you know,
As fit for both, as both are fit for you;
Furious as lightning, when war's tempeft came,
But calm in peace, calm as a lambent flame.

Have you forgot thofe happy years of late,
That faw nought ill, but us that were ingrate;
Such years, as if earth's youth return had been,
And that old ferpent, Time, had caft his skin?
As gloriously and gently did they move,
As the bright fun that meafures them above;
Then only in books the learn'd could mifery fee,
And the unlearn'd ne'er heard of mifery.
Then happy James with as deep quiet re'gn'd
As in his heavenly throne, by death, he gein'd;
And, left this blefling with his life fhould ceafe,
He left us Charles, the pledge of future peace;
Charles, under whom, with much ado, no lefs
Than fixteen years we endur'd cur happiness;
Till in a moment, in the North, we find
A tempel conjur'd up without a wind.
As foon the North her kindness did repent;
Firft the peace-maker, and next war, fhe font.
Just I weed, that now had with lorg peace forgot
On which fide dwelt the English, which the
Scot,

Saw glittering arms fhine fadly on his face,
Whilft all th' afrighed fifh fank down apace.
No bloc did then from this dark quarrel grow,
It gave blunt wounds, that bled not out till now!
For Jove, who might have us'd his thundering
rower,

Chofe to fall calmly in a golden fhower!
A way we found to conquer, which by none
Of all our thrifty anceflors was known:

So ftrangely prodigal of late we are,
We there buy peace, and here at home buy war.

How could a war fo fad and barbarous please, But first by flandering thofe bleft days of peace? Through all the excrements of state they pry, Like emp'rics to find out a malady;

And then with defperate boldnefs they endeavour,
Th' ague to cure by bringing-in a fever;
The way is fure to expel fome ill, no doubt;
The plague, we know, drives all difeafes out.
What ftrange wild fears did every morning breed,
Till a ftrange fancy made us fick indeed!
And cowardice did valour's place fupply,
Like thofe that kill themselves for fear to die!
What frantic diligence in thefe men appears,
That fear all ills, and act o'er all their fears!
Thus into war we fear'd ourselves; and who
But Aaron's fens, that the first trumpet blew ?
Fond men! who knew not that they were to
keep

For God, and not for facrifice, their sheep!
The churches firft this murderous doctrine fow,
And learn to kill, as well as bury, now;
The marble tombs where our forefathers lie,
Sweated with dread of too much company;
And all their fleeping afhes fhook for fear,
Left thousand ghosts should come and shroud them
there.

Petitions next from every town they frame,
To be reflor'd to them from whom they came:
The fame style all, and the fame fenfe, does pen,
Alas! they allow fet forms of prayer to men.
Oh happy we, if men would neither hear
Their fudied form, nor God their fudden prayer.
They will he heard, and, in unjustest wise,
The many-headed rout for juftice cries;
They call for blood, which now I fear docs call
For blood again, much louder than they all.
In fenfelefs clamours, and confused noise,
We loft that rare, and yet unconquer'd voice;
So, when the facred Thracian lyre was drown'd
In the Biftonian women's mixed found,
The wondering ftones, that came before to hear,
Forgot themselves, and turn'd his murderers there,
The fame loud form blew the grave mitre down;
It blew down that, and with it fhook the crown.
Then firft a ftate, without a church, begun ;
Comfort thyfelf, dear church! for then 'twas done.
The fame great ftorm to fea great Mary drove;
The fea could not fuch dangerous tempefts move:
The fame drove Charles into the North, and then
Would readilier far have driven him back again.
To fly from noife of tumults is no fhame;
Ne'er will their armies force them to the fame;
They all his caftles, all his towns, invade,
He's a large prifoner in all England made!
He muft not pafs to Ireland's weeping fhore;
The wounds thefe furgeons make muft yield them

more;

He must not conquer his lewd rebels there,
Left he fhould learn by that to do it here.
The fea they fubject next to their command;
The fea, that crowns our kings and all their land.
Thus poor they leave him, their base pride and
fcorn,

As poor as thefe, now mighty men, were born:

Your foaring fouls they meet with triumph, all
Led by great Stephen their old general.
Go, ->
, now prefer thy flourishing ftate
Above thofe murder'd heroe's doleful fate;
Enjoy that life which thou durft bafely save,
And thought'ft a faw-pit nobler than a grave,
Thus many fav'd themselves, and night the reft,
Night, that agrees with their dark actions beft.
A difmal fhade did heaven's fad face o'erflow,
Dark as the night flain rebels found below;
No gentle stars their cheerful glories rear'd,
Afham'd they were at what was done, and fear'd
Left wicked men their bold excufe fhould frame
From fome ftrange influence, and fo vail their

fhame.

To Duty thus, Order and Law incline,
They who ne'er err from one eternal line;
As just the ruin of thefe men they thought,
As Sifera's was, 'gainst whom themfelves had
fought,

Still they rebellions' ends remember well,
Since Lucifer the great, their fhining captain fell.
For this the bells they ring, and not in vain;
Well might they all ring out for thousands flain:
For this the bonfires their glad lightness spread,
When funeral flames might more befit their dead;
For this with folemn thanks they tire their God,
And, whilft they feel it, mock th' Almighty's rod;
They proudly now abufe his juftice more,
Than his long mercies they abus'd before,
Yet thefe the men that true religion boaft,
The pure and holy, holy, holy, hoít !
What great reward for fo much zeal is given?
Why, Heaven has thank'd them fince as they
thank'd Heaven.

Witness thou Brentford, fay, thou ancient town,
How many in thy ftreets fell groveling down;
Witnefs the red-coats weltering in their gore,
And dy'd anew into the name they bore:
Witness their men blow'd up into the air
(All elements their ruins joy'd to share);
In the wide air quick flames their bodies tore,
Then, drown'd in waves, they're toft by waves
to fhore:

Witness thou Thames, thou waft amaz'd to fee
Men madly run to fave themfelves in thee:

In vain, for rebels' lives thou would't not fave,
And down they funk beneath thy conquering wave.
Good, reverend Thames! the bett-belov'd of all
Thofe noble floods that meet at Neptune's hall;
London's proud towers, which do thy head adorn,
Are not thy glory now, but grief and fcorn.
Thou griev't to fee the white-nam'd palace fhine,
Without the beams of its own lord and thine :
Thy lord, which is to all as good and free,
As thou, kind flood! to thine own banks canft be.
How does thy peaceful back difdain to bear
The rebels' bufy pride at Weftminster!
Thou, who thyfelf doft without murmuring pay
Eternal tribute to thy prince the fea.

To Oxford next great Charles in triumph came,
Oxford, the British Mufes' fecond fame.
Here learning with fome ftate and reverence looks,
And dwells in buildings lafting as her books;
Both now eternal, but they 'd afhes been,
Had these religious Vandals once got in.

Not Bodley's noble work their rage would fpare,
For books they know the chief malignants are.
In vain they filence every age before;
For pens of time to come will wound them more!
The temple's decent wealth, and modefl state,
Had fuffer'd; this their avarice, that their hate;
Beggary and fcorn into the church they'd bring,
And made God glorious, as they made the king;
O happy town, that to lov'd Charles's fight,
In thofe fad times, gav'ft fafety and delight,
The fate which civil war itself doth blefs!
Scarce would't thou change for peace this happiness,
'Midft all the joys which Heaven allows thee here,
Think on thy fifter, and then shed a tear.

What fights did this fad winter fee each day,
Her winds and ftorms came not fo thick as they!
Yet nought these far-loft rebels could recall,
Not Marlborough's nor Cirencester's fall.
Yet ftill for peace the gentle conqueror fues;
By his wrath they perish, yet his love refufe.
Nor yet is the plain leffon understood,
Writ by kind Heaven in B- and H-'s blood.
Chad and his church faw where their enemy lay,
And with just red new-mark'd their holy-day.
Fond men! this blow the injur'd Crofier ftrook;
Nought was more fit to perish, but thy book.
Such fatal vengeance did wrong'd Charlegrove
fhew,

Where both begun and ended too
His curs'd rebellion; where his foul's repaid
With feparation, great as that he made.

whofe fpirit mov'd o'er this mighty frame O' th' British ifle, and out this chaos came. the man that taught confufion's art; His treafons reftlefs, and yet noifelefs heart. His active brain like Etna's top appear'd, Where treafon 's forg'd, yet no noife outward

heard.

'Twas he contriv'd whate'er bold M— said, And all the popular noife that P― has made; 'Twas he that taught the zealous rout to rife, And be his flaves for fome feign'd liberties; Him for this black defign, hell thought moft fit; Ah! wretched man, curs'd by too good a wit!

If not all this your stubborn hearts can fright,
Think on the Weft, think on the Cornifh might;
The Saxon fury, to that far-stretch'd place,
Drove the torn relics of great Brutus' race;
Here they of old did in long fafety lie,
Compafs'd with feas, and a worse enemy;
Ne'er till this time, ne'er did they meet with foes
More cruel and more barbarous than those.
Ye noble Britons, who so oft with blood
Of Pagan hofts have dy'd old Tamar's flood;
If any drop of mighty Uther ftill,

Or Uther's mightier fon, your veins does fill;
Shew then that spirit, till all men think by you
The doubtful tales of your great Arthur true;
You 'ave fhewn it, Britons, and have often done
Things that have cheer'd the weary, setting fun.
Again did Tamar your dread arms behold,
As juft and as fuccefsful as the old;

It kifs'd the Cornish banks, and vow'd to bring
His richest waves to feed th' ensuing spring;
But murmur'd fadly, and almost deny'd

All fruitful moisture to the Devon fide.

Ye fons of war, by whofe bold acts we fee
How great a thing exalted man may be;
The world remains your debtor, that as yet
Ye have not all gone forth and conquer'd it.
I knew that Fate fome wonders for you meant,
When matchlefs Hopton to your coafts she fent;
Hopton! fo wife, he needs not Fortune's aid,
So fortunate, his wifdom 's ufelefs made:
Should his fo-often-try'd companions fail,
His fpirit alone, and courage, would prevail.
Miraculous man! how would I fing thy praise,

Had

any Mufe crown'd me with half the bays Conqueft hath given to thee: and next thy name Should Berkeley, Stanning, Digby, prefs to fame. Godolphin! thee, thee Grenville! I'd rehearse, But tears break off my verfe!—

How oft has vanquifh'd Stamford backward fled; Swift as the parted fouls of thofe he led! How few did his huge multitudes defeat, For moft are cyphers when the number 's great! Numbers, alas! of men, that made no more Than he himself, ten thousand times told o'er. Who hears of Stratton-fight, but must confefs All that he heard or read before was lefs; Sad Germany can no fuch trophy boaft, For all the blood thefe twenty years the 'as loft. Vaft was their army, and their arms were more Than th' hoft of hundred-handed giants bore. Softrong their arms, it did almost appear Secure, had neither arms nor men been there. In Hopton breaks, in break the Cornish powers, Few, and fearce arm'd, yet was th' advantage ours: What doubts could be, their outward ftrength to

win,

When we bore arms and magazine within?
The violent fword's outdid the mufket's ire;
It strook the bones, and there gave dreadful fire:
We fcorn'd their thunder; and the reeking blade
A thicker smoke than all their cannon made;
Death and loud tumults fill'd the place around
With fruitless rage; fall'n rebels bite the ground!
The arms we gain'd were wealth, bodies o' th' foe,
All that a full-fraught victory can bestow!
Yet ftays not Hopton thus, but ftill proceeds;
Purfues himself through all his glorious deeds;
With Hertford and the Prince he joins his fate
(The Belgian trophies on their journey wait);
The Prince, who oft had check'd proud W-'s
fame,

And fool'd that flying conqueror's empty name :
Till by his lofs that fertile monfter thriv'd;
This ferpent cut in parts rejoin'd and liv'd:
It liv'd, and would have ftung us deeper yet,
But that bold Grenville its whole fury met;
He fold, like Decius, his devoted breath,
And left the commonwealth heir to his death.
Hail, mighty ghoft! look from on high, and fee
How much our hands and fwords remember thee!
At Roundway Heath, our rage at thy great fall
fpirits, and made us Grenvilles all.
One thousand horfe beat all their numerous

Whet all our

What meant thofe iron regiments which he brought,

That moving statues feem'd, and fo they fought?
No way for death but by disease appear'd,
Cannon, and mines, and fiege, they fcarcely fear'd:
Till, 'gainst all hopes, they prov'd in this fad
fight

Too weak to ftand, and yet too flow for flight.
The Furies howl'd aloud through trembling air;
Th' astonish'd fnakes fell fadly from their hair:
To Lud's proud town their hafty flight they took,
The towers and temples at their entrance hook.
In vain their lofs they' attempted to difguife,
And mustered up new troops of fruitle's lyes:
God fought himself, nor could th' event be lefs;
Bright Conqueft walks the fields in all her drefs.
Could this white day a gift more grateful bring?
Oh yes! it brought blefs'd Mary to the King!
In Keynton field they met; at once they view
Their former victory, and enjoy a new;
Keynton, the place that Fortune did approve,
To be the nobleft fcene of war and love.
Through the glad vale ten thoufand Cupids fled,
And chac'd the wandering fpirits of rebels dead;
Still the lewd fcent of powder did they fear,
And scatter'd eaftern fmells through all the air.
Look, happy mount! look well! for this is fhe,
That toil'd and travel'd for thy victory:
Thy flourishing head to her with reverence bow;
To her thou ow'ft that fame which crowns thee

now.

From far-ftretch'd fhores they felt her spirit and might;

Princes and God at any distance fight.
At her return well might fhe' a conqueft have!
Whofe very abfence fuch a conqueft gave.-
This in the Weft; nor did the North beftow
Lefs caufe their ufual gratitude to fhow:
With much of ftate brave Cavendish led them
forth,

As fwift and fierce as tempeft from the north;
Cavendish! whom every Grace, and every Mufe,
Kifs'd at his birth, and for their own did chufe:
So good a wit they meant not should excel
In arms; but now they fee 't, and like it well;
So large is that rich empire of his heart,
Well may they reft contented with a part.
How foon he forc'd the northern clouds to flight,
And ftruck confufion into form and light!
Scarce did the Power Divine in fewer days
A peaceful world out of a chaos raife.
Bradford and Leeds prop'd up their finking fame;
They bragg'd of hofts, and Fairfax was a name.
Leeds, Bradford, Fairfax' powers are frait their