XXIX, The laft fair inftance thou muft 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, whofe refiftless force For Britain's fake, for Belgia's, live : And bring them eafe, though thou haft none. Vanquish again; though the be gone, Fair Britain never yet before Breath'd to her king an useless Fond Belgia never did implore, prayer: While William turn'd averfe his ear. XXXIV. But, fhould the weeping hero now Relentless to their wishes prove; Should he recall, with pleafing woe, The object of his grief and love; VOL. I. G XXXV. Her XXXV. Her face with thousand beauties bleft, XXXVI. Yet ought his forrow to be checkt; She was inftructed to command, But oh! 'twas little, that her life Beyond where matter moves, or place From Mary's glory, angels trace The beauty of her partner's foul. 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. XLI. Alone XLI. Alone to thy renown 'tis given, Unbounded through all worlds to go: While fhe, great Saint, rejoices Heaven; And thou fuftain'ft the orb below. In IMITATION of ANACREON. LET them cenfure: what care 1? The herd of critics I defy. Let the wretches know, I write, Bid the warbling Nine retire; Venus, ftring thy fervant's lyre Love shall be my endless theme; Pleasure shall triumph over 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! O DE Sur la Prife de NAMUR, par les Armes du Roi, l'Année 1692. Par Monfieur BOILEAU DESPREAUX. Q I. UELLE docte & fainte yvreffe Chaftes Nymphes du Permeffe, II. Dans fes chanfons immortelles, Les chênes des monts de Thrace III. Eft-ce ΑΝ ENGLISH BALLAD, On the Taking of NAMUR by the KING of GREAT BRITAIN, 1695. "Dulce eft defipere in loco." I. and II. OME folks are drunk, yet do not know it: S° So might not Bacchus give you law? Was it a Mufe, O lofty Poet, Or Virgin of St. Cyr, you faw? Why all this fury? what's the matter, That oaks must come from Thrace to dance? Muft ftupid ftocks be taught to flatter? And is there no fuch wood in France ? Pindar, that eagle, mounts the skies, Where fordid Intereft fhews the prey. |