XXVII.

William his country's cause cou'd fight,
And with his blood her freedom feal:
Maurice and Henry guard that right,

For which their pious parents fell.

XXVIII.

How heroes rife, how patriots set,

Thy father's bloom and death may tell: Excelling others these were great: Thou, greater ftill, must these excell.

XXIX.

The laft fair instance thou must give,
Whence Naffau's virtue can be try'd;
And fhew the world, that thou canst live
Intrepid, as thy confort dy'd.

XXX.

Thy virtue, whose refiftless force
No dire event could ever stay,
Muft carry on its deftin'd course;

Tho' death and envy stop the way.
XXXI.

For Britain's fake, for Belgia's, live:
Pierc'd by their grief forget thy own:
New toils endure; new conquest give;
And bring them ease, tho' thou haft none.
XXXII.

Vanquish again; tho' fhe be gone,

Whose garland crown'd the victor's hair: And reign; tho' fhe has left the throne, Who made thy glory worth thy care. XXXIII.

Fair Britain never yet before

Breath'd to her king a useless pray'r:

Fond Belgia never did implore,

While William turn'd averfe his ear.

XXXIV.

But should the weeping hero now
Relentless to their wishes prove;
Should he recall, with pleasing woe,
The object of his grief and love;
XXXV.

Her face with thousand beauties bleft,
Her mind with thousand virtues ftor'd,
Her pow'r with boundless joy confeft,
Her perfon only not ador'd:

XXXVI.

Yet ought his forrow to be checkt;
Yet ought his paffions to abate;
If the great mourner would reflect,
Her glory in her death compleat.
XXXVII.

She was inftru&ted to command,
Great king, by long obeying thee:
Her scepter guided by thy hand,
Preferv'd the ifles, and rul'd the fea.
XXXVIII.

But oh! 'twas little, that her life
O'er earth and water bears thy fame:
In death, 'twas worthy William's wife,
Amidft the stars to fix his name,

XXXIX.

Beyond where matter moves, or place
Receives its forms, thy virtues roll:

From Mary's glory, angels trace

The beauty of her partner's soul.

XL.

Wife fate, which does its heaven decree

To heroes, when they yield their breath,

Haftens thy triumph. half of thee

Is deify'd before thy death.

F

XLI.

Alone to thy renown 'tis giv'n,
Unbounded thro' all worlds to go:
While fhe great faint rejoices heav'n;
And thou fuftain'ft the orb below.

In IMITATION of ANACREON.

LET'em cenfure: what care 1?

The herd of criticks I defy.
Let the wretches know, I write
Regardless of their grace, or spite.
No, no: the fair, the g
e.gay, the
young
Govern the numbers of my song.
All that they approve is sweet:
And all is fenfe, that they repeat.

Bid the warbling nine retire: Venus, ftring thy fervant's lyre: Love fhall be my endless theme: Pleasure shall triumph o'er fame: And when these maxims I decline, Apollo, may thy fate be mine: May I grafp at empty praise;

And lofe the nymph, to gain the bays.

THE

A N O D E.

I.

HE merchant, to secure his treasure,
Conveys it in a borrow'd name:

Euphelia ferves to grace my measure;
But Cloe is my real flame.

II.

My foftest verse, my darling lyre

Upon Euphelia's toilet lay;

When Cloe noted her defire,

That I should fing, that I should play.
III.

My lyre I tune, my voice I raise;

But with my numbers mix my sighs;
And whilft I fing Euphelia's praise,
I fix my foul on Cloe's eyes.

IV.

Fair Cloe blush'd: Euphelia frown'd:

I fung and gaz'd: I play'd and trembl'd: And Venus to the Loves around

Remark'd, how ill we all diffembl'd.

O DE

Sur la prise de N A MUR, par les armes du Ro ▼, l'année 1692.