That Law, with all her pompous terror stands, To wrest the dagger from the traitor's hands; And rigid Justice reads the fatal word, Poises the balance first, then draws the sword.

Britain her safety to your guidance owns, That she can sep'rate parricides from sons; That, impious rage disarm'd, she lives and reigns, Her freedom kept by him who broke her chains. And thou, great Minister, above the rest Of guardian spirits, be thou for ever blest: Thou, who of old was sent to Israel's court With secret aid, great David's strong support, To mock the frantic rage of cruel Saul, And strike the useless jav'lin to the wall. Thy later care o'er William's temples held, On Boyne's propitious banks, the heav'nly shield, When pow'r Divine did sov'reign right declare, And cannons mark'd whom they were bid to spare.

Still, blessed Angel, be thy care the same! Be William's life untouch'd, as is his fame! Let him own thine, as Britain owns his hand; Save thou the King, as he has sav'd the land.

We angels' forms in pious monarchs view; We rev'rence William, for he acts like you; Like you, commission'd to chastise and bless, He must avenge the world, and give it peace. Indulgent Fate our potent pray'r receives, And still Britannia smiles and William lives: The hero, dear to Earth, by Heav'n belov'd, By troubles must be vex'd, by dangers prov'd;

His foes must aid, to make his fame complete, And fix his throne secure on their defeat.

So, tho' with sudden rage the tempest comes, Tho' the winds roar, and tho' the water foams, Imperial Britain on the sea looks down,

And smiling sees her rebel subjects frown:
Striking her cliff, the storm confirms her pow'r;
The waves but whiten her triumphant shore :
In vain they would advance, in vain retreat;
Broken they dash, and perish at her feet.

For William still new wonders shall be shown; The pow'rs that rescu'd shall preserve the throne. Safe on his darling Britain's joyful sea,

Behold, the monarch ploughs his liquid way:
His fleets in thunder thro' the world declare
Whose empire they obey, whose arms they bear.
Bless'd by aspiring winds, he finds the strand
Blacken'd with crowds; he sees the nation stand,
Blessing his safety, proud of his command.
In various tongues he hears the captains dwell
On their great Leader's praise; by turns they tell
And listen, each with emulous glory fir'd,
How William conquer'd, and how France retir'd;
How Belgia, freed, the hero's arm confest,
But trembled for the courage which she blest.
O Louis! from this great example know
To be at once a hero and a foe:

By sounding trumpets, hear, and rattling drums,
When William to the open vengeance comes;

And see the soldier plead the monarch's right,
Heading his troops, and foremost in the fight.

Hence, then, close Ambush and perfidious War,
Down to your native seats of night repair:
And thou, Bellona, weep thy cruel pride
Restrain'd, behind the victor's chariot ty'd
In brazen knots and everlasting chains:
(So Europe's peace, so William's fate ordains)
While on the iv'ry chair, in happy state,
He sits, secure in innocence, and great
In regal clemency, and views beneath
Averted darts of rage and pointless arms of death.

TO A CHILD OF QUALITY,

Five Years old, 1704; the Author then forty*.

I.

LORDS, knights, and 'squires, the num'rous band
That wear the fair Miss Mary's + fetters,
Were summon'd by her high command,
To show their passions by their letters.

II.

My pen amongst the rest I took,

Lest those bright eyes that cannot read Should dart their kindling fires, and look The pow'r they have to be obey'd.

* Mr. Prior was born in the year 1664.

+ We presume this young lady was one of the Dorset family,

III.

Nor quality nor reputation

Forbid me yet my flame to tell,

Dear five years old befriends my passion,
And I may write till she can spell.

IV.

For, while she makes her silkworms beds,
With all the tender things I swear,
Whilst all the house my passion reads
In papers round her baby's hair;

V.

She may receive and own my flame,

For, tho' the strictest prudes should know it, She'll pass for a most virtuous dame, And I for an unhappy poet.

VI.

Then, too, alas! when she shall tear
The lines some younger rival sends,
She'll give me leave to write, I fear,
And we shall still continue friends.

VII.

For, as our different ages move,

'Tis so ordain'd, (wou'd Fate but mend it!)

That I shall be past making love

When she begins to comprehend it.

TO THE COUNTESS OF EXETER,

Playing on the Lute.

WHAT charms you have, from what high race

you sprung,

Have been the pleasing subjects of my song:
Unskill'd and young, yet something still I writ
Of Ca'ndish' beauty join'd to Cecil's wit.
But when you please to show the lab'ring Muse
What greater theme your music can produce,
My babbling praises I repeat no more,
But hear, rejoice, stand silent, and adore.

The Persians thus, first gazing on the sun, Admir'd how high'twas plac'd,how bright it shone; But, as his pow'r was known, their thoughts were rais'd,

*

And soon they worshipp'd what at first they prais'd.
Eliza's glory lives in Spenser's song,
And Cowley's verse keeps fair Orinda young;
That as in birth, in beauty you excel,
The muse might dictate and the poet tell:
Your art no other art can speak; and you,
To show how well you play, must play anew:
Your music's pow'r your music must disclose,
For what light is, 'tis only light that shows.

Strange force of harmony, that thus controls Our thoughts, and turns and sanctifies our souls: While with its utmost art your sex could move Our wonder only, or at best our love:

*Mrs. Katharine Philips.