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A Passage in the MORIÆ ENCOMIUM, of ER AS MUS,


IN awful pomp, and melancholy

See fertled Reason on the judgement-seat :
Around her croud Distrust, and Doubt, and Fear,
And thoughtful Forefight, and tormenting Care :
Far from the throne, the trembling Pleasures stand,
Chain’d up, or exil'd by her stern command.
Wretched her subjects, gloomy fits the queen;
Till happy Chance reverts the cruel scene;
And apith Folly, with her wild resort
Of wit and jest, disturbs the folemn court.

See the fantastic minstrelfy advance,
To breathe the song, and animate the dance.
Bleft the usurper ! happy the surprize!
Her mimic poitures catch our eager eyes ;
Her jingling bells affect our captive car ;
And in the fights we see, and sounds we hear,
Against our judgement, the our sense employs ;
The laws of troubled Reason the destroys,
And in their place rejoices to indite
Wild schemes of mirth, and plans of loose deliglit.


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MORGIVE the Muse, who, in unhallow'd strains,

The Saint one moment from his God detains :
For sure, whate'er you do, where-e'er you are,
'Tis all but one good work, one constant prayer :
Forgive her; and intreat that God, to whom
Thy favour'd vows with kind acceptance come,
To raise her notes to that sublime degree,
Which suits a fong of piety and thee.

Wondrous good man! whose labours may repel
The force of fin, may stop


of hell;
Thou, like the Baptist, from thy God wast fent,
The crying voice, to bid the world repent.

The Youth shall study, and no more engage
Their flattering wishes for uncertain age ;
No more, with fruitless care and cheated strife,
Chase fleeting pleasure through this maze of life;
Finding the wretched all they here can have,
But present food, and but a future grave :
Each, great as Philip's victor son, fhall view
This abject world, and, weeping, ask a new.
Decrepit Age shall read thee, and confefs
'Thy labours can alsuage, where medicines cease;
Shall bless thy words, their wounded soul's relief,
The drops that sweeten their last dregs of life;


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Shall look to Heaven, and laugh at all beneath ;
Own riches gather'd, trouble; fame, a breath ;
And Life an ill, whose only cure is Death.

Thy even thoughts with so much plainness flow,
Their sense untutor'd Infancy may know :
Yet to such height is all that plainness wrought,
Wit may admire, and letter'd pride be taught.
Easy in words thy style, in sense sublime,
On its blest steps each age

and sex may rise ; 'Tis like the ladder in the Patriarch's dream,

Its foot on earth, its height above the skies :
Diffus'd its virtue, boundless is its power ;
'Tis public health, and universal cure :
Of heavenly manna 'tis a second feast;
A nation's food, and all to every taste.

To its last height mad Britain's guilt was rear'd;
And various death for various crimes the fear'd.

your kind work her drooping hopes revive;
You bid her read, repent, adore, and live :
You wrest the bolt from Heaven's avenging hand;
Stop ready death, and save a finking land.

O! save us still : still bless us with thy stay:
O! want thy Heaven, till we have learnt the way :
Refuse to leave thy destin’d charge too soon ;
And, for the church's gooc, defer thy own.
0! live; and let thy works urge our belief;
Live to explain thy doctrine by thy life;
Till future Infancy, baptiz'd by thee,
Grow ripe in years, and old in piety;
Till Christians, yet unborn, be taught to die.



Then, in full age and hoary holiness,
Retire, great teacher ! to thy promis'd bliss :
Untouch'd thy tomb, uninjur'd be thy dust,
As thy own fame among the future juft ;
Till in last founds the dreadful trumpet speaks ;
Till Judgement calls, and quicken'd Nature wakes;
Till, through the utmost earth, and deepest sea,
Our scatter'd atoms find their destin'd way,
In haste to cloath their kindred souls again,
Perfect our state, and build immortal man :
Then fearless thou, who well sustain’dst the fight,
To paths of joy, or tracts of endless light,


all those who heard thee, and believ'd ; 'Midst thy own flock, great shepherd I be receiv'd ; And glad all Heaven with millions thou hast sav'd.


CARMEN SECULARE, for the Year 1700.

To the KING,


“ Aspice, venturo lætentur ut omnia fæc'lo :
“O miki tam longæ maneat pars ultiina vitæ
Spiritus, & quantum sat erit tua dicere facta !"

Virg. Eclog. iv.,

1. THY elder look, great Janus, caft

Into the long records of ages past : Review the years in fairest aliion drest With nored white, superior to the rest; VOL. I. ..



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Æras deriv'd, and chronicles begun,
From empires founded, and from battles won;
Shew all the spoils by valiant kings atchiev'd,
And groaning nations by their arms reliev'd;
The wounds of patriots in their country's cause,
And happy power sustain'd by wholesome laws
In comely rank call every merit forth,
Imprint on every act its standard-worth ;
The glorious parallels then downward bring
To modern wonders, and to Britain's king;
With equal justice, and historic care,
Their laws, their toils, their arms, with his compare;
Confuss the various attributes of fame
Collected and complete in William's name;
To all the liftening world relate

(As thou dost his story read), That nothing went before so great, And nothing greater can succeed.

Thy native Latium was thy darling care,
Prudent in peace, and terrible in war :
The boldeft virtues that have govorn'd earth
From Latium's fruitful woinb derive their birth.

Then turn to her fair-written page ;
From dawning childhood to establish'd age

The glories of her empire trace ;
Confront the heros of thy Roman race ;
And let the juftest palm the victor's temples grace.

The son of Mars reduc'd the trembling swains,
And spread his empire o'er the distant plains :


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