תמונות בעמוד

Nor parish, if they once adopt
The spurious brats by strollers dropt,
Leave them, when grown up lusty fellows,
To the wide world, that is, the gallows:
No, thank them for their love, that’s worse
Than if they'd throttled them at nurse.
My uncle, rest his soul! when living,
Might have contriv'd me ways of thriving;
Taught me with cider to replenish
My vats, or ebbing tide of rhenish.
So when for hock I drew prickt white-wine,
Swear’t had the flavour, and was right wine.
Or sent me with ten pounds to Furni-
val's inn, to some good rogue-attorney;
Where now, by forging deeds, and cheating,
I’ad found some handsome ways of getting.
All this you made me quit, to follow
The sneaking whey-fac’d god Apollo;
Sent me among a fiddling crew
Of folks, I 'ad never seen nor knew,
Calliope, and God knows who.
To add no more invectives to it,
You spoil'd the youth to make a poet.
In common justice, Sir, there's no man
That makes the whore, but keeps the woman.
Among all honest christian people,
Whoe'er breaks limbs maintains the cripple.
The sum of all I have to say,
Is, that you’d put me in some way;
And your petitioner shall pray—
WOL. II. 13

There's one thing more I had almost shpt,
But that may do as well in postscript:
My friend Charles Montague's" preferr'd;
Nor would I have it long observ’d,
That one mouse eats, while t'other's starv’d.


PHOEBE potens savis morbis vella dere gentes,
Laesas solerti vel relevare manu,
Aspice tu decus hoc nostrum, placidusque fatere
Indomitus quantum prosit in arte labor:
Non icterum posthac pestemve minaberis orbi,
Fortius hic juvenis dum medicamen habet;
Mitte dehinc iras, et nato carmina dona;
Neglectum telum dejice, sume lyram.


O PHOEBUs, deity, whose powerful hand
Can spread diseases through the joyful land,
Alike all-powerful to relieve the pain,
And bid the groaning nations smile again;

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When this our pride you see, confess you find
In him what art can do with labour join'd :
No more the world thy direful threats shall fear,
While he, the youth, our remedy is near:
Suppress thy rage; with verse thy son inspire,
The dart neglected, to assume the lyre.


THE town which Louis bought, Nassau reclaims
And brings instead of bribes avenging flames.
Now, Louis, take thy titles from above,
Boileau shall sing, and we'll believe thee Jove:
Jove gain’d his mistress with alluring gold,
But Jove, like thee, was impotent and old !
Active and young did he like William stand,
He ad stunn'd the dame, his thunder in his hand.


How long, deluded Albion, wilt thou lie
In the lethargic sleep, the sad repose,

By which thy close, thy constant enemy,
Has softly lull'd thee to thy woes?

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Or wake, degenerate isle, or cease to own
What thy own kings in Gallic camps have done;
The spoils they brought thee back, the crowns they
William (so fate requires) again is arm'd; [won
Thy father to the field is gone:
Again Maria weeps her absent lord,
For thy repose content to rule alone.
Are thy enervate sons not yet alarm'd 2
When William fights dare they look tamely on,
So slow to get their ancient fame restor'd,

As nor to melt at beauty's tears, nor follow valour's

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See the repenting isle awakes,
Her vicious chains the generous goddess breaks;
The fogs around her temples are dispell’d;
Abroad she looks, and sees arm'd Belgia stand
Prepar'd to meet their common lord's command;
Herlions roaring by her side, her arrows in her hand:
And, blushing to have been so long withheld,
Weeps off her crime, and hastens to the field:
Henceforth her youth shall be inur'd to bear
Hazardous toil and active war:
To march beneath the dogstar's raging heat,
Patient of summer's drought, and martial sweat;
And only grieve in winter's camps to find
Its days too short for labours they design'd:
All night beneath hard heavy arms to watch;
All day to mount the trench, to storm the breach;
And all the rugged paths to tread,
Where William and his virtue lead.

Silence is the soul of war; Deliberate counsel must prepare The mighty work, which valour must complete: Thus William rescued, thus preserves the state; Thus teaches us to think and dare. As whilst his cannon just prepar'd to breathe Avenging anger and swift death, In the tried metal the close dangers glow, And now, too late, the dying foe Perceives the flame, yet cannot ward the blow ; So whilst in William's breast ripe counsels lie, Secret and sure as brooding fate, No more of his design appears, Than what awakens Gallia’s fears; And (though guilt's eye can sharply penetrate), Distracted Lewis can descry Only a long unmeasur'd ruin nigh.

On Norman coasts and banks of frighted Seine Lo! the impending storms begin: Britannia safely through her master's sea Ploughs up her victorious way. The French Salmoneus throws his bolts in vain, Whilst the true thunderer asserts the main : 'Tis done ! to shelves and rocks his fleets retire, Swift victory in vengeful flames * Burns down the pride of their presumptous names; They run to shipwreck to avoid our fire, And the torn vessels that regain their coast Are but sad marks to show the rest are lost:

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