A fort fo dreadful to our English fhore,

Our fleets fcarce fear'd the fands or tempefts more,
Whofe vaft expences to fuch fums amount,

That the tax'd Gaul fcarce furnish'd out th' account :
Whose walls fuch bulwarks, fuch vaft tow'rs restrain,
Its weakest ramparts are the rocks and main;
His boaft great Lours yields, and cheaply buys
Thy friendship, ANNA, with the mighty prize.
Holland repining and in grief caft down,
Sees the new glories of the British crown:
Ah! may they ne'er provoke thee to the fight,
Nor foes more dreadful than the Gauls invite,
Soon may they hold the olive, foon affuage
Their fecret murmurs, nor call forth thy rage,
To rend their banks, and pour, at one command,
Thy realm the fea o'er their precarious land.

Henceforth be thine, vice-gerent of the skies,
Scorn'd worth to raife, and vice in robes chastife;
To dry the orphan's tears, and from the bar
Chase the brib'd judge, and hush the wordy war;
Deny the curs'd blafphemer's tongue to rage,
And turn God's fury from an impious age.
Bleft change! the foldier's late destroying hand
Shall rear new temples in his native land;
Miftaken zealots fhall with fear behold,
And beg admittance in our facred fold;
On her own works the pious Queen fhall fmile,

And turn her cares upon her fav'rite ifle.

So

So the keen bolt a warrior angel aims,
Array'd in clouds, and wrapt in mantling flames,
He bears a tempeft on his founding wings,
And his red arm the forky vengeance flings;
At length, heav'n's wrath appeas'd, he quits the war,
To roll his orb, and guide his deftin'd ftar,
To fhed kind fate, and lucky hours beftow,

And smile propitious on the world below.
Around thy throne shall faithful nobles wait,
These guard the church, and those direct the state.
TO BRISTOL, graceful in maternal tears,
The church her tow'ry forehead gently rears,
She begs her pious fon t' affert her cause,
Defend her rights, and reinforce her laws,
With holy zeal the facred work begin,
To bend the stubborn, and the meek to win.
Our OXFORD's earl in careful thought shall stand,
To raise his Queen, and fave a sinking land.
The wealthiest glebe to rav'nous Spaniards known
He marks, and makes the golden world our own :
Content with hands unfoil'd to guard the prize,
And keep the store with undefiring eyes.

So round the tree, that bore Hefperian gold,
The facred watch lay curl'd in many a fold,
His eyes up-rearing to th' untafted prey,
The fleepless guardian wafted life away.
Beneath the peaceful olives, rais'd by you,
Her ancient pride shall every art renew ;

(The arts with you, fam'd HARCOURT, fhall defend,
And courtly BOLINGBROKE, the Muse's friend)

With piercing eye some search where nature plays,
And trace the wanton through her darksome maze;
Whence health from herbs; from feeds how groves begun,
How vital ftreams in circling eddies run.

Some teach, why round the fun the spheres advance,

In the fix'd measures of their myftic dance :

How tides, when heav'd by preffing moons, o'erflow,
And fun-born Iris paints her show'ry bow.

In happy chains our daring language bound,
Shall fport no more in arbitrary found,

But bufkin'd bards henceforth fhall wifely rage,
And Grecian plans reform Britannia's stage:
'Till Congreve bids her fmile, Augufta ftands,
And longs to weep when flowing Rowe commands:
Britain's Spectators fhall their ftrength combine,
To mend our morals, and our taste refine,
Fight virtue's caufe, ftand up in wit's defence,
Win us from vice, and laugh us into fenfe.
Nor, Prior, haft thou hush'd the trump in vain,
Thy lyre fhall now revive her mirthful ftrain,
New tales shall now be told; if right I see,
The foul of Chaucer is reftor'd in thee.
Garth, in majestic numbers, to the stars
Shall raise mock-heroes, and fantastic wars;
Like the young fpreading laurel, Pope, thy name
Shoots up with ftrength, and rifes into fame;

With

With Phillips fhall the peaceful vallies ring,
And Britain hear a fecond Spenfer fing;

That much-lov'd youth, whom Utrecht's walls confine,
TO BRISTOL's praises shall his STRAFFORD's join:
He too, from whom attentive OXFORD draws
Rules for just thinking, and poetic laws,
To growing bards his learned aid fhall fend,
The ftricteft critic, and the kindest friend.
Ev'n mine, a bashful Muse, whose rude effays
Scarce hope for pardon, not aspire to praise,
Cherish'd by you, in time may grow to fame,
And mine furvive with BRISTOL's glorious name.
Fir'd with the views this glitt'ring scene difplays,
And fmit with paffion for my country's praise,
My artless reed attempts this lofty theme,
Where facred Ifis rolls her ancient stream;
In cloyster'd domes, the great Philippa's pride,
Where learning blooms, while fame and worth prefide,
Where the fifth Henry arts and arms was taught,
And Edward form'd his Creffy, yet unfought;

Where laurel'd bards have ftruck the warbling strings,'
The feat of fages, and the nurse of kings.
Here thy commands, O Lancaster, inflame
My eager breaft to raise the British name;
Urge on my foul, with no ignoble pride,
To woo the Muse whom Addison enjoy'd ;
See that bold fwan to heav'n fublimely foar,
Purfue at diftance, and his steps adore.j
B 3

Το

IF

To the RIGHT HONOURABLE the

EARL of WARWICK, &c.
On the Death of Mr. ADDISON.

By the Same.

'F, dumb too long, the drooping Muse hath staid,
And left her debt to Addifon unpaid;

Blame not her filence, Warwick, but bemoan,
And judge, oh judge, my bofom by your own.
What mourner ever felt poetic fires!
Slow comes the verfe, that real woe infpires:
Grief unaffected faits but ill with art,
Or flowing numbers with a bleeding heart.
Can I forget the difmal night, that gave
My foul's best part for-ever to the grave!
How filent did his old companions tread,
By midnight lamps, the manfions of the dead,
Through breathing ftatues, then unheeded things,
Through rows of warriors, and through walks of kings!
What awe did the flow folemn knell inspire;
The pealing organ, and the pausing choir;
The duties by the lawn-rob'd prelate pay'd;
And the laft words, that duft to duft convey'd!
While speechlefs o'er thy clofing grave we bend,
Accept these tears, thou dear departed friend,

Oh