Wipe therefore all thy pencils, and prepare To draw a profpect now of clearer air. Paint in an caftern fky new dawning day, And there the embryos of time difplay; The forms of many fmiling years to come,

535

ceive.

480

For though a stubborn race deferving ill,
Yet would he fhew himself a father ftill.
Therefore he chofe for that peculiar care,
His crown's, his virtue's, and his mercy's heir.
Great James, who to his throne does now fucceed,
And charg'd him tenderly his flocks to feed;
To guide them too, too apt to run aftray,
And keep the foxes and the wolves away.
Here, painter, if thou can't, thy art improve,
And fhew the wonders of fraternal love;
How mourning James by fading Charles did ftand,
The dying grafping the furviving hand;

485

How round each other's necks their arms they cast,

490

Moan'd with endearing murniurings, and enbrac'd;

And of their parting pangs fuch marks did give, "Twas hard to guess which yet could longest live. Both their fad tongues quite loft the power to fpeak, And their kind hearts feem'd both prepar'd to break.

495

Here let thy curious pencil next difplay, How round his bed a beauteous offspring lay, With their great father's biefling to be crown'd Like young fierce lions ftretch'd upon the ground, And in majestic filent for ow drown'd.

This done, fuppofe the ghaftly minute nigh, And paint the griefs of the fad ftanders by; Th' unweary'd reverend father's pious care, Offering (as oft as tears could ftop) a prayer. Of kindred nobles draw a forrowing train, Whofe looks may speak how much they fhar'd his pain;

5°༨

515

In which thy readieft art may labour find At diftance let the mourning queen appear, (But where fad news too foon may reach her ear ;) Defcribe her proftrate to the throne above, Pleading with prayer the tender caufe of love: Shew troops of angels hovering from the fky, (For they, whene'er she called, were always nigh); Let them attend her cries, and hear her moan, 521 With looks of beauteous fadne fs like her own, Because they know her lord's great doom is feal'd, And cannot (though fhe afks it) be repeal'J. By this time think the work of Fate is done, 525 So farther fad defeription fhun. any shew him not pale and breathless on his bed, 'Twould make all gazers on thy art fall dead; And thou thyfelf to fuch a scene of woe

Each ftruggling which shall eldership obtain,
To be firit grac'd with mighty James's reign.
Let the dread monarch on his throne appear,
Place too the charming partner of it there. 540
O'er his their wings let Fame and Triumph spread,
And foft-ey'd Cupids hover o'er her head;
In his, paint fimiling, yet majestic grace,
But all the wealth of beauty in her face.
Then from the different corners of the earth 545
Deferibe applauding nations coming forth,
Homage to pay, or humble peace to gain,
And own aufpicious omens from his reign.
Set at long distance his contracted foes
shrinking from what they dare not now oppofe;
Draw fhame or me an defpair in all their cycs, 551
And terror left th' avenging hand should rife.
But where his fmiles extend, draw beauteous pence,
The poor man's chearful toils, the rich man's cafe;
Here, fhepherds piping to their feeding sheep, 555
Or.ftretch'd at length in their warn huts afleep;
There jolly hinds spread through the fultry fields,
Reaping fuch harvests as their tillage yi lds;
Or fhelter'd from the fcorchings of the fun,
Their labours ended, and repaft begun ;
Rang'd on green banks, which they themselves did

raile,

560

Singing their own content, and ruler's praife. Draw beauteous meadows, gardens, groves, and

bowers,

Where Contemplation beit may pafs her hours: Fili'd with chatte lovers plighting constant hearts, Rejoicing Mufes, and encourag'd Arts. 566 Draw every thing like this that thought can frame, Bet fuiting with thy theme, great James's fane., Known for the man who from his youthful years. By mighty deeds has earn'd the crown he wears; Whofe conquering arm far-envy'd wonders wrought, 571

When an ungrateful people's cause he fought;
When for their rights he his brave fword employ'd,
Who in return would have his rights destroy'd:
But heaven fuch injur'd merit did regard
(As heaven in time true virtue will reward);
So to a throne by Providence he rofe,
And all who c'er were his, were Providence's focs.

THE ENCHANTMENT.

I.

DID but look and love a-while, 'Twas but for one half-hour; Then to refiit I had no will, And now I have no power.

575

The trickling tears had ftream'd so fast a pace,
As left a path worn by their briny race.

Swoln was his breaft with fighs, his well-
proportion'd limbs as ufelefs fell,
Whilft the poor trunk (unable to sustain
Itfelf) lay rackt, and fhaking with its pain.
I heard his groans as I was walking by,
And (urg'd by pity) went aside, to fee

What the fad caufe could be

Had prefs'd his state fo low, and rais'd his plaints fo high.

On me he fixt his eyes. I crav'd, Why fo forlorn? he vainly rav'd. Feace to his mind I did command: But, oh! my words were hardly at an end, When I perceiv'd it was my friend My much-lov'd friend; fo down I fat,

And begg'd that I might fhare his

fate:

I laid my cheek to his, when with a gale Of fighs he eas'd his breast, and thus began his tale:

III.

I am a wretch of honeft race:

My parents not obfcure, nor high in titles were, They left me heir to no disgrace,

My father was (a thing now rare)

Loyal and brave, my mother chaste and fair: The pledge of marriage-vows was only I; Alone I liv'd their much-lov'd fondled boy : They trove to raise my mind, and with it grew They gave me generous education, high their joy.

The fages that inftructed me in arts,

And knowledge, oft would praise my parts,
And chear my parents longing hearts.

}

When I was call'd to a dispute, My fellow-pupils oft ftood mute; Yet never Envy did disjoin Their hearts from me, nor Pride distemper mine. Thus my firft years in happiness I past, Nor any bitter cup did taste: But, oh! a deadly portion came at last. As I lay loofely on my bed, A thousand pleafant thoughts triumphing in my head,

And as my fenfe on the rich banquet fed, A voice (it feem'd no more, fo bufy Pierc'd through my ears; Arife, thy good SenanWas with myself, I faw not who was nigh)

der's dead.

It fhook my brain, and from their feast my fright.

ed fenfes fled,

IV.

From thence fad difcontent, uneasy fears,
And anxious doubts of what I had to do,
Grew with fucceeding years.
The world was wide, but whither should I go?
1, whofe blooming hopes all wither'd were,
Who'd little fortune, and a deal of care?
To Britain's great metropolis I stray'd,

Where Fortune's general game is
play'd;

Where honefty and wit are often prais'd, But fools and knaves are fortunate and rais'd; My forward fpirit prompted me to find A converfe equal to my mind:

But by raw judgment easily mifled,

(As giddy callow boys

Are very fond of toys)

I mifs'd the brave and wife, and in their stead On every fort of vanity I fed.

Gay coxcombs, cowards, knaves, and prating fools,

Bullies of o'er-grown bulks and little fouls, Gamefters, half wits, and spendthrifts (such as think

Mischievous midnight frolics, bred by drink
Are gallantry and wit,

Because to their lewd understandings fit)
Were thofe wherewith two years at least I spent,
To all their fulfome follies moft incorrigibly bent;
Till at the laft, myself more to abuse,

I grew in love with a deceitful Mufe,

I fancy'd, or I dream'd (as poets always do) No beauty with my Mufe's might compare. Lofty fhe feem'd, and on her front sat a majestic air,

Awful, yet kind; fevere, yet fair. Upon her head a crown fhe bore Of laurel, which she told me should be mine : And round her ivory neck fhe wore A rope of largest pearl. Each part of her did shine With jewels and with gold, Numberlefs to be told;

Which in imagination as I did behold,

And lov'd, and wonder'd more and

more,

Said fhe, Thefe riches all, my darling, fhall be thine,

Riches which never poet had before.

She promis'd me to raise my fortune and my name, By royal favour, and by endlefs fame;

But never told

A line came forth, but such a one,
No traveling matron in her child-birth pains,
Full of the joyful hopes to bear a fon,
Was more aftonifh'd at th' unlook'd-for shape
Of fome deform'd baboon, or ape,

Than I was at the hideous iffue of my brains.
I tore my paper, ftabb'd my pen,
And fwore I'd never write again,
Refolv'd to be a doating fool no more.
But when my reckoning I began to make,
I found too long I'd flept, and was too late awake;
I found m' ungrateful Mufe, for whofe falfe
fake
I did myself undo,

Had robb'd me of my dearest ftare, My precious time, my friends, and reputation 130; And left me helplefs, friendlcís, very proud, and

pour,

VII.

Thus by the arts of this moft fly
Deluder was I caught,

To her bewitching bondage brought.
Eternal conftancy we fwore,

A thousand times our vows were doubled o'er:
And as we did in our entrancements lie,
I thought no pleasure e'er was wrought so high,
No pair fo happy as my Mufe and I.

Of fatire (written when a poet meets
His Mufe's caterwauling fits)
You might on every rhind behold, and fwear
I and my Clio had been at it there.

Nay, by my Mufe too I was bleft
With offsprings of the choiceft kinds,
Such as have pleas'd the noblest
minds,

And been approv'd by judgments of the best.
But in this moft tranfporting height,
Whence I look'd down, and laught
at fate,

All of a fudden I was alter'd grown;
I round me look'd, and found myself alone;
My faithlefs Mufe, my faithlefs Mufe, was
gone:

was S

I try'd if I a verfe could frame: Oft I in vain invok'd my Clio's name. The more I ftrove, the more fail'd,

I chaf'd, I bit my pen, curft my dull skull, and rail'd,

Refolv'd to force m' untoward thought, and at the laft prevail'd.

thrall'd,

I ftraight to council call'd; Like fome old faithful friend, whom long ago I had cashier'd, to please my flattering fair. To me with readiness he did repair, Exprefs'd much tender chearfulness, to find Experience had reftor'd him to my mind;

And loyally did to me show,

How much himself he did abufe, Who credited a flattering, falfe, deftructive, tre cherous Mufe.

I afk'd the caufes why. He faid, 'Twas never known a Mufe e'er flaid When Fortune fled; for Fortune is a bawd To all the Nine that on Parnaffus dwell, Where those so fam'd delightful fountains fwell Of poetry, which there does ever flow; And where wit's lufty, shining god Keeps his choice feraglio. So whilft our fortune fmiles, our thoughts afpire, Pleasure and fame 's our bufinefs, and defire, Then, too, if we find

A promptness in the mind,

The Mufe is always ready, always kind. But if th' old harlot, Fortune, once deniss Her favour, all our pleasure and rich fancy dies And then th' young, flippery jilt, the Mufe, toe

from us flies.

I look'd, and faw the rampant, tawdry quean,
With a more horrid train

Than ever yet to fatire lent a tale,

Or haunted Chloris in the mall.

The first was he who stunk of that rank verse In which he wrote his Sodom Farce; A wretch whom old diseases did fo bite,

That he writ bawdry fure in fpite,
To ruin and difgrace it quite.
Philofophers of old did fo exprefs
Their art, and fhew'd it in their naftiness.
Next him appear'd that blundering fot,
Who a late Seffion of the Poets wrote.
Nature has mark'd him for a heavy fool;

By 's flat broad face you'll know the
owl.

The other birds have hooted him from light; Much buffeting has made him love the night, And only in the dark he strays; Still wretch enough to live, with worfe fools spends his days,

And for old fhoes and fcraps repeats dull plays.

Then next there follow'd, to make up the throng,

Lord Lampoon and Monfieur Song,
Who fought her love, and promis'd
for't,

To make her famous at the court.
The city Poet too was there,

In a black fatin cap and his own hair,

And begg'd that he might have the ho

nour

To beget a pageant on her For the city's next lord-mayor. Her favours the to none deny'd : They took her all by turns afide. Till at the last up in the rear there came The Poets' fcandal, and the Mufes' fhame, A beast of monftrous guife, and Libel was his

name.

But let me paufe, for 'twill afk time to tell How he was born, how bred and where, and where he now does dwell.

IX.

He paus'd, and thus renew'd his tale.
Down in an obfcure vale,

'Midft fogs and fens, whence mifts and vapours rife,

Where never fun was feen by eyes,
Under a defert wood,

Which no man own, but all wild beafts were

bred,

nd kept their horrid dens, by prey far forag'd fed, An ill-pil'd cottage flood,

Built of men's bones flaughter'd in civil war,
By magic art brought thither from afar,
There liv'd a widow'd witch,
That us'd to mumble curfes eve and morn,
Like one whom wants and care had
worn;

Meagre her looks, and funk her eyes,
Yet mifchiefs ftudy'd, difcords did devife.
Sh' appeared humble, but it was her pride :
Stow in her fpeech, in femblance fanctify'd,

Still when she spoke she meant another way; And when the curs'd, the feem'd to

pray.

Her hellish charms had all a holy drefs,

And bore the name of godlinefs, All her familiars feem'd the fons of Peace. Honest habits they all wore,

In outward fhow most lamb-like and divine: But inward of all vices they had store, Greedy as wolves, and fenfual too as swine. Like her, the facred feriptures they had all by heart, Moft cafily could quote, and turn to any part, Backward repeat it all, as witches their prayers do,

And, for their turn, interpret backward too, Idolatry with her was held impure, Becaufe, befides herself, no idol fhe'd endure. Though not to paint, she'd arts to change the face,

And alter it in heavenly fafhion. Lewd whining the defin'd a mark of grace, And making ugly faces was mortification.

Her late dead pander was of well-known fame, Old Prefbyter Rebellion was his name : She a fworn foe to king, his peace, and laws, So will be ever, and was call'd (blefs us!) the good old caufe.

X.

A time there was (a fad one too)
When all things wore the face of woe,

When many horrors rag'd in this our land,
And a destroying angel was fent down,
To fcourge the pride of this rebellious town.
He came, and o'er all Britain ftretch'd his con-
quering hand:

Till in th' untrodden ftreets unwholesome grafs Grew of great ftalk, its colour grofs, And melancholic poisonous green; Like thofe coarse fickly weeds on an old dunghill feen,

Where fome murrain-murther'd hog,
Poifon'd cat, or strangled dog,
In rottennefs had long unbury'd laid,

And the cold foil productive made.
Birds of ill omen hover'd in the air,
And by their cries bade us for graves prepare;
And, as our destiny they feem'd t' unfold,
Dropt dead of the fame fate they had foretold.
That dire commiffion ended, down there came
Another angel with a fword of flame :
Defolation foon he made,

And our new Sodom low in afhes laid. Distractions and diftrufts then did amongst us rife, When, in her pious old difguife, This witch with all her mifchief-making train Began to fhew herself again. The fons of Old Rebellion ftraight she summon'd

all;

Straight they were ready at her call: Once more th' old bait before their eyes fhe caft," That and her love they long'd to tate;

And to her luft the drew them all at last. So Reuben (we may read of heretofore) Was led aftray, and lad pollution with his father's whore.