An EPISTLE, defiring the QUEEN's Picture.
Written at PARIS, 1714.
But left unfinished, by the fudden News
of her MAJESTY'S Death.
HE train of equipage and pomp of ftate,
The fhining fide-board, and the burnish'd plate,
Let other minifters, great Anne, require;
And partial fall thy gift to their defire.
To the fair portrait of my Sovereign Dame,
To that alone, eternal be my claim.
My bright defender, and my dread delight;
If ever I found favour in thy fight;
If all the pains that for thy Britain's fake
My past has took, or future life may take,
Be grateful to my Queen: permit my prayer,
And with this gift reward my total care.
Will thy indulgent hand, fair Saint, allow
The boon? and will thy ear accept the vow?
That, in defpite of age, of impious flame,
And eating Time, thy picture like thy fame
Entire may laft; that, as their eyes furvey
The femblant shade, men yet unborn may say,
Thus great, thus gracious, look'd Britannia's Queen;
Her brow thus fmooth, her look was thus ferene;
When to a low, but to a loyal hand
The mighty Empress gave her high command,
That he to hoftile camps and kings should haste,
To speak her vengeance, as their danger, past,
To fay, fhe wills detefted wars to cease;
She checks her conqueft, for her subjects ease;
And bids the world attend her terms of peace.
Thee, gracious Anne, thee present I adore,
Thee, Queen of Peace-If Time and Fate have power Higher to raise the glories of thy reign;
In words fublimer, and a nobler ftrain,
May future bards the mighty theme rehearse,
Here, Stator Jove, and Phœbus king of verse,
The votive tablet I suspend * ***
To the Right Honourable
The COUNTESS Dowager of DEVONSHIRE, On a Piece of WIESSEN'S, whereon were all her GRANDSONS painted.
WIESSEN and Nature held a long conteft,
If She created, or He painted beft;
With pleafing thought the wondrous combat grew,
She, ftill form'd fairer; He, ftill liker drew.
In these feven brethren, they contended last,
With art increas'd, their utmost skill they tried,
And, both well pleas'd they had themselves furpafs'd,
The Goddefs triumph'd, and the Painter dy❜d.
That both, their skill to this vaft height did raise,
Be ours the wonder, and be yours the praife:
For here, as in fome glafs, is well defcry'd
Only yourself thus often multiply'd.
When Heaven had You and gracious Anna * made,
What more exalted beauty could it add?
Having no nobler images in ftore,
It but kept up to thefe, nor could do more
Than copy well what it had fram'd before.
If in dear Burghley's generous face we fee
Obliging truth and handfome honesty:
With all that world of charms, which foon will move
Reverence in men, and in the fair-ones love:
His every grace, his fair defcent affures,
He has his mother's beauty, she has yours :
If every Cecil's face had every charm,
That thought can fancy, or that Heaven can form;
Their beauties all become your beauty's due,
They are all fair, because they 're all like you.
If every Ca'ndifh great and charming look ;
From you that air, from you the charms they took.
In their each limb, your image is expreft;
But on their brow firm courage ftands confeft;
There, their great father, by a ftrong increase,
Adds ftrength to beauty, and compleats the piece :
Thus ftill your beauty, in your fons, we view,
Wieffen feven times one great perfection drew;
Whoever fat, the picture still is you.
So when the parent-fun, with genial beams,
Has animated many goodly gems,
He fees himself improv'd, while every ftone,
With a resembling light, reflects a fun.
Eldeft daughter of the Countefs.
So when great Rhea many births had given,
Such as might govern earth, and people heaven;
Her glory grew diffus'd, and, fuller known,
She faw the Deity in every fon :
And to what God foe'er men altars rais'd,
Honouring the offspring, they the mother prais'd.
In short-liv'd charms let others place their joys.
Which fick nefs blafts, and certain age destroys:
Your ftronger beauty Time can ne'er deface,
'Tis ftill renew'd, and stamp'd in all
your race.
Ah! Wieffen, had thy art been fo refin❜d,
As with their beauty to have drawn their mind:
Through circling years thy labours would furvive,
And living rules to faireft virtue give,
To men unborn and ages yet to live:
'Twould ftill be wonderful, and still be new,
Against what time, or fpite, or fate, could do;
Till thine confus'd with Nature's pieces lie,
And Cavendifh's name and Cecil's honour die.
A FABLE, from PHEDRUS.
To the Author of the MEDLEY, 1710.
THE Fox an actor's vizard found,
And peer'd, and felt, and turn'd it round : Then threw it in contempt away, And thus old Phædrus heard him say: "What noble part canft thou sustain, "Thou fpecious head without a brain?”
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