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ON II ER
Send all your wishes with him, let the air
Let the illustrious niother touch our land
Mildly, as hercafter may her son command;
While our glad monarch welcumes her to shore,
With kind assurance shc shall part no more. Coming to the Tbeatre, Friday, April 21, 1682.
Be the majeltic babe then smiling born,
And all good tigns of fate his birth adorn,
So live and grow, a constant pledge to stand
Of Cacfar's love to an obedient land.
HER ROYAL HIGHNESS,
RETURN FROM SCOTLAND,
IV THE YEAR 1632.
and See, sce, the injur'd prince, and bless his name,
every loyal Muse's loyal friend, Thirk va the martyr from whole loins he canic;
That come to treat your longing wishes here, Think on the blood was shed for you before,
Turn your defiring eyes, and feast them there. Ard curse the parricides that thirit for more.
Thus falling on your knces with me implore, Flives are yours, then of their wiles beware: May this poor land ne'er lose that presence mort! 12}, lay him in your hearts, and guard him
But if there any in this circle be, there',
That come so curft to envy what they fee, teet luis wrongs your real for him improve; From the vain fool that would be great too foon, F. wear a sword will justify your love.
To the dull knave that writ the last lampoon ! With blood ftill ready for your good i' expend,
Let such, as victims to that beauty's fame, And has a hivart that nc'er forgot his friend.
Hang their vile blafted heads, and dic with shame. His duteous loyalty before you lay,
Our mighty bleffing is at last return'd, And learn of him, unmurniuring to obey,
The joy arriv'd for which so long we mourn'd: Tin's what he'as borne, your quiet to restore;
From whom our present peace we expect etzRepent your m. dacfs, and rebel no murre.
creasid, No more let Boutefcus hope to lead petitions,
And all our future generations blest. Scriveners tu be treafurers; pedlars, politicians ;
Time, have care : bring safe the hour of joy, Nor every fool, whofe wife has tript at court,
When some bleft tongue proclaims a royal boy: Puck up a spirit, and turn rebel fort.
And when 'tis born, let nature's hand be strong; in lands where cuckolds niultiply like ours,
Bless him with days of strength, and make them What prince can be too jealous cf their powers,
long; Or can too often think himself alarm'd?
Till charg'd with honours we behold him stand,? They're mal-contents that every where go krmid: Three kingdoms banners waiting his command, And when the horn'd herd's together gre,
His father's conquering sword within his hand : Nothing portends a common-wealti like that. Then th' English lions in the air advance, Cal, cast your idols off, your gods of wood,
And with them roaring nunsic to the dance,
Carry a Quo Warranto into France.
TO MRS. BEHR's
CITY HEIRESS, 1682. Th' atoning brother of your anger'd lord: He only brings a niedicine fit t' assuage
COW vain have prov'd the labours of the Atage, A people's folly, and rouz'd monarch's rage.
In striving to reclaim a vicious age! An infant prince, yet labouring in the womb, Poets may write, the mischief to impcach;
2 Fated with wondrous harpiness to come,
You care as little what the poets teach, He goes to fetch the mighty bleflings home : As you regard at church what parsons preach,
But where such follies and such vices reign, No base defires corrupt his head,
No fears disturb him in his bed.
From shore to shore why should we run, And come to meet more lewd convenient here : When none his tiresome self can fhun? With equal zeal ye honour either place,
For baneful care will ftill prevail, And run fo very evenly your race,
And overtake us under fail, Y' improve in wit just as ye do in grace.
'Twill dodge the great man's train behind, It mult be so; some dæmon has pofsest
Out-run the roe, out-fly the wind. Our land, and we have never since been bleft. If then thy soul rejoice to-day, Y' have seen it all, and heard of its renown, Drive far to-morrow's cares away. In reverend shape it Italk'd about the town, In laughter let them all be drown'd: Six yeomen tall attending on its frown.
No perfect good is to be found. Sometimes, with humble note and zealous lore, One mortal feels Fate's sudden blow, 'Twould play the apostolic function o'er :
Another's lingering death comes flow; But heaven have mercy on us when it swore ! And what of life they take from thee, Whene'er it swore, to prove the oaths were true, The gods may give to punish me. Out of his mouth at random halters few
Thy portion is a wealthy stock, Round some unwary neck, by magic thrown, A fertile glebe, a fruitful flock, Though still the cunning devil sav'd its own: Horses and chariots for thy case, For when th' enchantment could no longer last, Rich robes to deck and make thce please, 'The subtlc Pug, most dextrously uncast,
For mc, a little cell I chuse, 1.eft awful form for one more seeming pious, Fit for my mind, fit for my Muse, And in a moment vary'd to defy us ;
Which soft content does best adora, From filken doctor, home-spun Ananias : S Shunning the knaves and fools I scora. Left the lewd court, and did in city fix, Where still by its old arts it plays new tricks, And fills the heads of fools with politicks. This dæmon lately drew in many a guest, To part with zealous guinea for-no feast.
THE COMPLAINT: Who, but the most incorrigible fops, For ever doom'd in dismal cells, call'd shops, To cheat and damn themselves to get their livings,
To a Scotcb Tune. Would lay sweet money out in iham thanksgivings?
I pain, Sham plots you may have paid for o'er and o'er ; No quiet's in my mind, But who e'er paid for a sham trcat before? Though ne'er could be a happier swain, Had you not better sent your offerings all
Were Sylvia less unkind. Hither to us, than Sequestrators' Hall?
For when, as long her chains I've wors,
Alas! 'twill break my heart!
May offer heaps of gold,
Too precious to be sold;
For wealth, and not defert;
Alas, 'twill break my heart! N storms when clouds the moon do hide,
When, like some panting, hovering dore, Shew me at sea the boldest there,
I for my bliss contend, Who does not wish for quiet here.
And plead the cause of cager love, For quiet, friend, the foldier fights,
She coldly calls me friend. Bears weary marches, sleepless nights,
Ah, Sylvia! thus in vain you strive
To ad a healer's part,
Alas! and break my heart.
When, on my lonely, pensive bed
I lay me down to rest, Happy the man with little blett,
In hope to calm my raging head, of what his father left poffeft;
And cool my barning breaft,
Her cruelty all ease denies ;
With some sad dream I start, All drowo'd in tears I find my eyes,
And breaking feel my heart. Then rising, through the path I rove,
That leads me where she dwells, Where to the senseless waves my love
Its mournful story tells :
Till morning bids depart;
Alas ! 'twill break my heart !
Therefore all you who have male issue born
But, Sylvia, when this conquest's won,
And I am dead and cold, Renounce the cruel deed you've done,
Nor glory when 'tis told ;
Will take my injur'd part,
For breaking my poor heart.
WHAT think ye meant wise Providence, WHAT
CHAT horror's this that dwells upon the
plain, And thus disturbs the shepherds' peaceful reign? A dismal sound breaks through the yielding air, Forewarning us some dreadful form is near. The bleating flocks in wild confusion stray, The early larks forsake their wandering way, And cease to welcome-in the now-born day. Each nymph posleft with a distracted fear, Disorder'd hangs her loose dishevel'd hair, Diseases with her strong convulsions reign, and deities, not known before to pain, Arc now with apoplectic seizures fain. Hence flow our forrows, hence increase our fears, Each humble plant docs drop her silver tears. Ye tender lambs, stray not so fast away, To weep ard mourn let us together stay: O’er all the universe let it be spread, That now the shepherd of the flock is dead. The royal Pan, that shepherd of the sheep, He, who to leave his flock did dying weep, Is gone, ah gone! ne'er to return from Death's
eternal sleep! Begin, Damela, let thy numbers fly Aloft where the soft milky way does lie; Mopsus, who Daphnis to the itars did fing, Shall join with you, and thither waft our king. Play gently on your reeds a mournful strain, And tell in notes, through all th’ Arcadian plain, The royal Pan, the shepherd of the sheep, He, who to leave his flock did dying wiep, Is gone, ah gone! re'er to return from Death's
A Dialogue between Strephon and Daphne
9 10 II 13 14 ib.
and Strephon The Advice The Discovery Woman's Honour Grecian Kindness The Mistress A Song A Song To Corinna Love and Life
An Epistolary Esay from Lord Rochester
to Lord Mulgrave, upon their mutual
Poems 2 Trial of the Poets for the Bays ib. 4 Satire against Mankind
3The Maim'd Debauchee ib. Upon Nothing ib. A Translation froni Lucretius, &c.
The latter End of the Chorus of the Se. ib. cond Act of Seneca's Troas, translated ib. To his Sacred Majesty, on his Restoration ib. in the Year 1660, written at twelve 5
Years old ib To her Sacred Majesty the Queen-Mother, ib. on the Death of Mary Princess of ib. Orange
6 An Epilogue ib. Allufion to the Tenth Satire of the First ib. Book of Horace ib. Verses to Sir Car Scrope
7 An Epilogue ib. Prologue, spoken at the Court at Whiteib. hall, before K. Charles il. by the Lady
Elizabeth Howard ib. / Elegy on the Earl of Rochester
A Song A Song
Upon his leaving his Mistress Upon drinking in a Bowl
A Song A Song The Answer Constancy A Song
A Song, in Imitation of Sir John Eaton
Cloe in the Country
An Essay on translated Verse
on translated Verse To the Earl of Roscommon; occasioned by
his Lordship's Ellay on translated Verfe.
From the Latin of Mr. Charles Dryden. Paraphrase on the 148th Psalm Prologue spoken to his Royal Highness the
Duke of York, at Edinburgh Song on a young Lady who fung finely, and
was afraid of a Cold Virgil's Sixth Eclogue, translated Ode upon Solitude The Twenty-second Ode of the First Book
of Horace The same imitated, addressed to Mrs.
Cath Philips Part of the Fifth Scene in the Second Act
of Guarini's Pastor Fido, tranflated
The Dream 22 | The Ghost of the Old House of Commons
to the New One, appointed to meet at
Oxford 23 On the Death of a Lady's Dog 24 Epilogue to Alexander the Great, when
acted at the Theatre in Dublin 25 On the Day of Judgment
Prologue tu Pompey, a Tragedy, translated
by Mrs. Cath. Philips from the French ib. of Monsieur Corneille, and acted at the 26 Theatre in Dublin
Ross's Ghost 27 | The Sixth Ode of the Third Book of
Horace ib. Translation of a Verse from Lucan
Horace's Art of Poctry ib.