The Poetical Works of the Right Hon. George Granville, Lord Lansdowne

Front matter

POETICAL WORKS

OF THE RIGHT HON.

GEO. GRANVILLE,

The Life of G. Granville, L. Lansdowne

THE LIFE OF

G. GRANVILLE, L. LANSDOWNE.

L. Lansdowne was deſcended from an illuſtrious family, which traced their anceſtry from Rollo, the firſt Duke of Normandy. He was ſecond ſon of Bernard Granville, and grandſon of the famous Sir Bevil Granville, killed at the battle of Lanſdowne 1643. This nobleman received the firſt tincture of his education in France, under the tuition of Sir William Ellis, a gentleman, who was eminent afterwards in many public employments.

When our Author was but eleven years of age he was ſent to Trinity-College in Cambridge, where he remained five years, but at the age of thirteen was admitted to the degree of Maſter of Arts, having before he was twelve years old ſpoken a copy of Engliſh verſes, of his own compoſition, to the Ducheſs of York, when her Royal Highneſs paid a viſit to that univerſity.

At the time when the nation was embroiled by the public diſtractions, occaſioned by the efforts of King James II. to introduce Popery, Lord Lanſdowne did not remain an unconcerned ſpectator: he had really imbibed principles of loyalty, and as ſome of his forefathers had fallen in the cauſe of Charles I. he thought it was his duty to ſacrifice his life alſo for the intereſt of his ſovereign. However miſtaken he might be in this furious zeal for a prince the chief ſcope of whoſe reign was to overthrow the law and introduce abſolute dominion, yet he appears to be perfectly ſincere. In a letter he wrote to his father upon the expected approach of the Prince of Orange’s fleet, he expreſſes the moſt ardent deſire to ſerve the King in perſon. This letter we ſhall inſert, but beg our readers’ patience to make a digreſſion, which will juſtify what we have ſaid concerning James II.

The genuine mark of a tyrant is cruelty; and it is with concern we can produce an inſtance of the moſt inhuman barbarity in that prince which ever ſtained the annals of any reign. Cruelty ſhould be the badge of no party; it ought to be equally the abhorrence of all; and whoever is tainted with it ſhould be ſet up to view as a terror to the world, as a monſter, whom it is the intereſt of mankind to deſtroy.

After the ſuppreſſion of Monmouth’s rebellion, many of the unfortunate perſons engaged in it fled to London, and took ſhelter there, till the Act of Indemnity ſhould be publiſhed. They who afforded them ſhelter were either of the Monmouth faction or induced, from principles of humanity, to adminiſter to their ſafety. What would become of the world if our friends were always to forſake us in diſtreſs? There lived then in London an amiable lady, attached to no party, who enjoyed a large fortune, which ſhe ſpent in the exerciſe of the moſt entenſive beneficence: ſhe made it her buſineſs to viſit the jails, and the priſoners who were moſt neceſſitous and deſerving ſhe relieved: her houſe was an aſylum for the poor: ſhe lived but for charity, and ſhe had every hour the prayers of the widow and orphan poured out to her. It happened that one of the rebels found ſhelter in her houſe; ſhe ſuffered him to be ſcreened there; ſhe fed and clothed him. The King had often declared that he would rather pardon thoſe who were found in arms againſt him than the people who harboured or ſecretly encouraged them. This miſcreant, who ſometimes ventured out at night to a public houſe, was informed that the King had made ſuch a declaration, and it entered into his baſe heart to betray his benefactreſs. He accordingly went before a magiſtrate, and lodged an information, upon which the lady was ſecured, brought to a trial, and, upon the evidence of this ungrateful villain, caſt for her life. She ſuffered at a ſtake with the moſt reſigned cheerfulneſs; for when a woman is convicted of treaſon, it ſeems ſhe is ſentenced to be burnt. The reader will eaſily judge what ſort of bowels that king muſt have who could permit ſuch a puniſhment to take place upon a woman ſo completely amiable, upon the evidence of a villain ſo con infamous, and he will, we are perſuaded, be of opinion, that had his Majeſty poſſeſſed a thouſand kingdoms he deſerved to loſe them all for this one act of genuine barbarity.

Lord Lanſdowne, who did not conſider, or was not then capable of diſcovering, the dangers to which this prince expoſed his people, wrote the following letter to his father, earneſtly preſſing him to permit his entering voluntarily into King James’s ſervice.

“Sir,

“Your having no proſpect of obtaining a commiſſion for me, can no way alter or cool my deſire, at this important juncture, to venture my life, in ſome manner or other, for my king and country. I cannot bear to live under the reproach of lying obſcure and idle, in a country retirement, when every man who has the leaſt ſenſe of honour ſhould be preparing for the field. You may remember, Sir, with what reluctance I ſubmitted to your commands upon Monmouth’s rebellion, when no importunity could prevail with you to permit me to leave the academy: I was too young to be hazarded; but, give me leave to ſay, it is glorious, at any age, to die for one’s country; and the ſooner the nobler ſacrifice: I am now older by three years. My uncle Bath was not ſo old when he was left among the ſlain at the battle of Newberry, nor you yourſelf, Sir, when you made your eſcape from your tutors to join your brother in the defence of Scilly. The ſame cauſe is now come round about again. The King has been miſled; let thoſe who miſled him be anſwerable for it. Nobody can deny but he is ſacred in his own perſon, and it is every honeſt man’s duty to defend it. You are pleaſed to ſay it is yet doubtful if the Hollanders are raſh enough to make ſuch an attempt. But be that as it will, I beg leave to be preſented to his Majeſty as one whoſe utmoſt ambition into devote his life to his ſervice and my country’s, after the example of all my anceſtors. The gentry aſſembled at York to agree upon the choice of repreſentatives for the county, have prepared an addreſs to aſſure his Majeſty they are ready to ſacrifice their lives and fortunes for him upon this and all other occaſions; but at the ſame time they humbly beſeech him to give them ſuch magiſtrates as may be agreeable to the laws of the land, for at preſent there is no authority to which they can legally ſubmit. By what I can hear, every body wiſhes well to the King, but would be glad his miniſters were hanged. The winds continue ſo contrary, that no landing can be ſo ſoon as was apprehended, therefore I may hope, with your leave and aſſiſtance, to be in readineſs before any action can begin. I beſeech you, Sir, moſt humbly, and moſt earneſtly, to add this one act of indulgence more to ſo many teſtimonies I have ſo conſtantly received of your goodneſs, and be plea to believe me always, with the utmoſt duty and ſubmiſſion, Yours,” &c.

We are not told whether his father yielded to his importunity, or whether he was preſented to his Majeſty; but if he really joined the army, it was without danger to his perſon, for the Revolution was effected in England without one drop of blood.

In 1696 his comedy called The She Gallants was acted at the Theatre Royal in Lincoln’s-Inn Fields. He afterwards altered this comedy, and publiſhed it among his other Works, under the title of Once a Lover and Always a Lover, which, as he obſerves in the preface, is a new building upon an old foundation.

“It appeared firſt under the name of The She Gallants, and, by the preface then prefixed to it, in ſaid to have been the child of a child. By taking it ſince under examination ſo many years after, the Author ftatters himſelf to have made a correct comedy of it; he found it regular to his hand; the ſcene conſtant to one place, the time not exceeding the bounds preſcribed, and the action entire. It remained only to clear the ground, and to plant, as it were, freſh flowers in the room of thoſe which were grown into weeds, or were faded by time; to retouch and vary the characters, enliven the painting, retrench the ſuperfluous, and animate the action, where it appeared the young Author ſeemed to aim at more than he had ſtrength to perform.”

The ſame year alſo his tragedy, entitled Heroic Love, was acted at the Theatre. Mr. Gildon obſerves, “That this tragedy is written after the manner of the Ancients, which is much more natural and eaſy than that of our modern dramatiſts.” Though we cannot agree with Mr. Gildon that the ancient model of tragedy is ſo natural as the modern, yet this piece muſt have very great merit, ſince we find Mr. Dryden addreſſing verſes to the Author upon this occaſion, which begin thus,

Auſpicious Poet! wert thou not my friend, How could I envy what I muſt commend? But ſince ’tis Nature’s law, in love and wit, That youth ſhould reign, and with’ring age ſubmit, With leſs regret thoſe laurels I reſign, Which dying on my brow revive on thine.

Our Author wrote alſo a dramatic poem called The Britiſh Enchanters, in the preface to which he obſerves, “That it is the firſt eſſay of a very infant Muſe, rather as a taſk at ſuch hours as were free from other exerciſes than any way meant for public entertainment. But Mr. Betterton, having had a caſual ſight of it, many years after it was written, begged it for the ſtage, where it found ſo favourable a reception as to have an uninterrupted run of at leaſt forty days.” To this Mr. Addiſon wrote the epilogue. Lord Lanſdowne altered Shakeſpeare’s Merchant of Venice, under the title of , which was acted with applauſe, the profits of which were deſigned for Mr. Dryden, but upon that poet’s death were given to his ſon.

In 1702 he tranſlated into Engliſh The Second Olynthian of Demoſthenes. He was returned member for the county of Cornwall in the parliament which met in November 1710, and was ſoon after made Secretary of War, next Comptroller of the Houſehold, and then Treaſurer, and ſworn one of the Privy Council. The year following he was created Baron Lanſdowne of Biddeford in Devonſhire.

On the acceſſion of George I. in 1714, he was removed by that prince from his Treaſurer’s place; the next year he entered his proteſt againſt the bills for attainting Lord Bolingbroke and the Duke of Ormond, and entered deeply into the ſcheme for raiſing an inſurrection in the weſt of England, of which, Lord Bolingbroke ſays, he was at the head, and repreſents him as poſſeſſed of the ſame political fire and frenzy for the Pretender as he had ſhown in his youth for the father. Accordingly he was ſeized as a ſuſpected perſon, and on the 26th of September 1715 was committed priſoner to the Tower, where he continued till the 8th of February 1717, when he was ſet free from impriſonment. Being confined in the ſame room in which Sir Robert Walpole had been priſoner, and had leſt his name on the window, he wrote theſe lines under it:

Good unexpected, evil unforeſeen, Appear by turns, as Fortune ſhifts the ſcene: Some rais’d aloft come rumbling down amain, And fall ſo hard they hound and riſe again.

In 1719 he made a ſpeech in the Houſe of Lords againſt the practice of occaſional conformity, which is printed among his works, and among other things he ſays this: “I always underſtood the toleration to be meant as an indulgence to tender conſciences, not a licenſe for hardened ones; and that the act to prevent occaſional conformity was deſigned only to correct a particular crime of particular men, in which no ſect of Diſſenters was included but theſe followers of Judas which came to the Lord’s Supper from no other end but to fell and betray him. This crime, however palliated and defended by ſo many right reverend fathers in the Church, is no leſs than making the God of truth, as it were, in perſon, ſubſervient to acts of hypocriſy; no leſs than ſacrificing the myſtical blood and body of out Saviour to worldly and ſiniſter purpoſes, an impiety of the higheſt nature! which in juſtice called for protection, and in charity for prevention. The bare receiving the holy Euchariſt could never be intended ſimply as a qualification for an office, but as an open declaration, an indubitable proof, of being and remaining a ſincere member of the Church. Whoever preſumes to receive it with any other view profanes it, and may be ſaid to ſeek his promotion in this world by eating and drinking his own damnation in the next.”

In 1722 his Lordſhip withdrew to France, and continued abroad about ten years. At his return in 1732 he publiſhed a fine edition of his Works in two Volumes quarto. The remaining years of his life were paſſed in privacy and retirement.

This accompliſhed nobleman died on the 30th January 1735, leaving no male iſſue. By his lady, widow of Thomas Thynne, Eſq. (father of Thomas Lord Viſcount Weymouth) and daughter of Edward Villiers, Earl of Jerſey, he had iſſue four daughters, Anne, Mary, Grace, and Elizabeth. His lady died but a few days before him.

Mr. Pope, with many other poets of the firſt eminence, have celebrated Lord Lanſdowne, who ſeems to have been a good-natured agreeable nobleman. The luſtre of his ſtation, no doubt, procured him more incenſe than the force of his genius would otherwiſe have attracted; but he appears not to have been deſtitute of fine parts, which were, however rather elegantly poliſhed than great in themſelves.

Lord Lanſdowne likewiſe wrote a maſk called Peleus and Thetis. His Lordſhip’s Works have been often printed both in quarto and in duodecimo.

Preface

THE PREFACE.

At my return, after near ten years’ abſence, I found ſeveral editions had been publiſhed of Verſes and Poems, &c. under my name, but ſo maimed and imperfect as would have put me out of countenance, had not the public received them with ſuch diſtinguiſhing candour, even under all thoſe diſadvantages.

As it is plain, from their ſeveral ſubjects, that they were compoſed, for the moſt part, in the earlieſt time of my appearance in the world, I can attribute that indulgence to no other conſideration but a generous connivance at youthful follies.

So favourable a reception, however, led me, in this time of leiſure and retirement, to examine upon what foundation I had been ſo much obliged to the public, and in that examination I have diſcovered ſuch ſtrange variations from the original writing, as can no way be accounted for but From the negligence, ignorance, or conceitedneſs of different tranſcribers from ſurreptitious copies: many things attributed to myſelf of which, by not belonging to me, it would be unjuſt to aſſume the merit; and as many attributed to others which, by belonging to me, would be as much unjuſt to leave them to the cenſure.

To rectify therefore all paſt miſtakes, and to prevent all future impoſitions, I have been prevailed upon to give way to this preſent publication; diſowning whatever has been or may hereafter be publiſhed in my name, but what has the ſanction of being printed by Mr. Jacob Tonſon and Mr. Lawton Gilliver, excepting two comedies, entitled Once a Lover and Always a Lover, and The Jew of Venice, altered from Shakeſpeare.

As theſe Poems ſeem to begin where Mr. Waller lest off, though far unequal and ſhort of ſo inimitable an original, they may, however, be permitted to remain to poſterity as a faithful regiſter of the reigning beauties in the ſucceeding age.

Upon that merit alone the Author preſumes to recommend them to the patronage of the fair ſex.

LANSDOWNE.

Mr. Waller to the Author, on his Verses to the King

POEMS TO THE AUTHOR.

MR. WALLER TO THE AUTHOR, ON HIS VERSES TO THE KING.

An early plant which ſuch a bloſſom bears, And ſhows a genius ſo beyond his years, A judgment that could make ſo fair a choice, So high a ſubject to employ his voice, Still as it grows, how ſweetly will he ſing The growing greatneſs of our matchleſs King!

Verses sent to the Author in his retirement

VERSES SENT TO THE AUTHOR IN HIS RETIREMENT.

Written by Mrs. Elizabeth Higgons.

I.

Why, Granville! is thy life to ſhades confin’d? Thou whom the gods deſign’d In public to do credit to mankind? Why ſleeps the noble ardour of thy blood, Which from thy anceſtors ſo many ages paſt, From Rollo down to Bevil flow’d, And then appear’d again at laſt In thee, when thy victorious lance Bore the diſputed prize from all the youth of France.

II.

In the firſt trials which are made for fame, Thoſe to whom Fate ſucceſs denies, If, taking counſel from their ſhame, They modeſtly retreat, are wiſe: But why ſhould you, who ſtill ſucceed, Whether with graceful art you lead The fiery barb, or with as graceful motion tread In ſhining balls, where all agree To give the higheſt praiſe to thee? Such harmony in ev’ry motion ’s found As art could ne’er expreſs by any ſound.

III.

So lov’d and prais’d, whom all admire, Why, why ſhould you from courts and camps retire? Is Mira is unkind, if it can be That any nymph can be unkind to thee, Is, penſive made by love, you thus retire, Awake your Muſe, and ſtring your lyre; Your tender ſong and your melodious ſtrain Can never be addreſs’d in vain; She needs muſt love, and we ſhall have you back again.

Spoken by the Author, being then but Twelve Years of Age, to her Royal Highness the Dutchess of York, at Trinity-College in Cambridge

MISCELLANIES.

SPOKEN BY THE AUTHOR, Being then not twelve years of age, TO HER ROYAL HIGHNESS THE DUCHESS OT YORK, At Trinity-College in Cambridge.

When, join’d in one, the good, the fair, the great, Deſcend to view the Muſes’ humble ſeat, Tho’ in mean lines they their vaſt joys declare, Yet for ſincerity and truth they dare With your own Taſſo’s mighty ſelf compare. Then, bright and merciful as Heav’n, receive From them ſuch praiſes as to Heav’n they give; Their praiſes for that gentle influence Which thoſe auſpicious lights, your eyes, diſpenſe; Thoſe radiant eyes, whoſe irreſiſtleſs flame Strikes Envy dumb, and keeps Sedition tame: They can to gazing multitudes give law, Convert the factious, and the rebel awe: They conquer for the Duke; where’er you tread Millions of proſelytes behind are led: Thro’ crowds of new-made converts ſtill you go, Pleas’d and triumphant at the glorious ſhow. Happy that prince who has in yon obtain’d A greater conqueſt than his arms e’er gain’d:

With all war’s rage he may abroad o’ercome, But love ’s a gentler victory at home: Securely here he on that face relies, Lays by his arms, and conquers with your eyes, And all the glorious actions of his life Thinks well rewarded, bleſs’d with ſuch a wife.

To the Immortal Memory of Mr. Waller, upon his Death

TO THE IMMORTAL MEMORY OF MR. EDMUND WALLER, UPON HIS DEATH.

Alike partaking of celeſtial fire, Poets and heroes to renown aſpire, Till, crown’d with honour and immortal name, By wit or valour led to equal fame, They mingle with the gods who breath’d the noble flame. To high exploits the praiſes that belong Live but as nouriſh’d by the poet’s ſong. A tree of life is ſacred poetry; Sweet is the fruit, and tempting to the eye: Many there arc who nibble without leave, But none who are not born to taſte ſurvive. Waller ſhall never die, of life ſecure As long as Fame or aged Time endure: Waller! the Muſe’s darling, free to taſte Os all their ſtores, the maſter of the feaſt;

Not like old Adam, ſtinted in his choice, But lord of all the ſpacious paradiſe. Thoſe foes to virtue, fortune, and mankind, Fav’ring his fame, once to do juſtice join’d; No carping critic interrupts his praiſe, No rival ſtrives but for a ſecond place; No want conſtrain’d (the writer’s uſual fate) A poet with a plentiful eſtate; The firſt of mortals who before the tomb Struck that pernicious monſter, Envy, dumb; Malice and Pride, thoſe ſavages, diſarm’d; Not Orpheus with ſuch pow’rful magic charm’d. Scarce in the grave can we allow him more Than, living, we agreed to give before. His noble Muſe employ’d her gen’rous rage In crowning virtue, ſcorning to engage The vice and follies of an impious age. No Satyr lurks within this hallow’d ground, But nymphs and heroines, kings and gods, abound: Glory, and arms, and love, is all the ſound. His Eden with no ſerpent is defil’d, But all is gay, delicious all, and mild. Miſtaken men his Muſe of flatt’ry blame, Adorning twice an impious tyrant’s name. We raiſe our own by giving fame to foes: The valour that he prais’d he did oppose. Nor were his thoughts to poetry confin’d, The ſtate and buſ’neſs ſhar’d his ample mind:

As all the fair were captives to his wit, So ſenates to his wiſdom would ſubmit. His voice ſo ſoft, his eloquence ſo ſtrong, Like Cato’s was his ſpeech, like Ovid’s was his ſong. Our Britiſh kings are rais’d above the hearſe, Immortal made in his immortal verſe; No more are Mars and Jove poetic themes, But the celeſtial Charles and juſt James: Juno and Pallas, all the ſhining race Of heav’nly beauties, to the Queen give place: Clear like her brow, and graceful, was his ſong, Great like her mind, and like her virtue ſtrong. Parent of gods! who doſt to gods remove, Where art thou plac’d, and which thy ſeat above? Waller the god of Verſe we will proclaim; Not Phœbus now, but Waller, be his name: Os joyful bards the ſweet ſeraphic quire Acknowledge thee their oracle and fire; The ſpheres do homage, and the Muſes ſing Waller the god of Verſe who was the king.

On the Queen's Picture, given in Exchange for Another

ON THE QUEEN’S PICTURE, GIVEN IN EXCHANGE FOR ANOTHER.

Of the rude Indians, artleſs and untaught, So brighteſt jewels are with trifles bought: Deceiv’d Ixion’s fate revers’d is ſhow’d, Imperial Juno giv’n for a cloud.

On the Queen

ON THE QUEEN.

When we reflect upon our charming Queen, Her wit, her beauty, her imperial mien, Majeſtic Juno in her air we find, The form of Venus, with Minerva’s mind: Who was ſo grac’d, ſhe, ſhe was fit alone With royal James to fill the Britiſh throne.

7

LOVE.

To love is to be doom’d on earth to feel What after death the tortur’d meet in hell. The vulture dipping in Prometheus’ ſide His bloody beak, with his torn liver dy’d, Is love: The ſtone that labours up the hill, Mocking the lab’rer’s toil, returning ſtill, Is love: Thoſe ſtreams where Tantalus is curſt To ſit, and never drink, with endleſs thirſt; Thoſe loaden boughs that with their burthen bend To court his taſte, and yet eſcape his hand; All this is love, that to diſſembled joys Invites vain men, with real grief deſtroys.

The Progress of Beauty

THE PROGRESS OF BEAUTY.

The god of Day, deſcending from above, Mix’d with the ſea, and got the queen of Love. Beauty that fires the world ’t was fit ſhould riſe From him alone who lights the ſtars and ſkies. In Cyprus long, by men and gods obey’d, The lovers’ toil ſhe gratefully repaid; Promiſcuous bleſſings to her ſlaves aſſign’d, And taught the world that Beauty ſhould be kind. Learn by this pattern, all ye fair! to charm; Bright be your beams, but without ſcorching warm. Helen was next from Greece to Phrygia brought, With much expenſe of blood and empire ſought. Beauty and love the nobleſt cauſe afford That can try valour or employ the ſword: Not men alone incited by her charms, But Heav’n ’s concern’d, and all the gods take arms. The happy Trojan, gloriouſly poſſeſt, Enjoys the dame, and leaves to Fate the reſt. Your cold reflections. Moraliſts! forbear; His title ’s beſt who beſt can pleaſe the fair. And now the gods, in pity to the cares, The fierce deſires, diſtractions, and deſpairs Of tortur’d men, while Beauty was confin’d, Reſolv’d to multiply the charming kind. Greece was the land where this bright race begun, And ſaw a thouſand rivals to the ſun;

Hence follow’d arts, while each employ’d his care, In new productions, to delight the fair. To bright Aſpaſia Socrates retir’d; His wiſdom grew but as his love inſpir’d. Thoſe rocks and oaks which ſuch emotions felt, Were cruel maids whom Orpheus taught to melt. Muſic and ſongs, and ev’ry way to move The raviſh’d heart, were ſeeds and plants of love. The gods, entic’d by ſo divine a birth, Deſcend from heav’n to this new heav’n on earth. Thy wit, O Mercury! is no defence from love; Nor, Mars! thy target; nor thy thunder, Jove! The mad immortals, in a thouſand ſhapes, Range the wide globe: ſome yield, ſome ſuffer rapes; Invaded or deceiv’d, not one eſcapes: The wise, tho’ a bright goddeſs, thus gives place To mortal concubines of freſh embrace. By ſuch examples were we taught to ſee The life and ſoul of love is ſweet variety. In those firſt times, ere charming womankind Reform’d their pleaſures, poliſhing the mind, Rude were their revels, and obſcene their joys, The broils of drunkards, and the luſt of boys: Phœbus laments for Hyacinthus dead, And Juno, jealous, ſtorms at Ganymede. Return, my Muſe! and cloſe that odious ſcene, Nor ſtain thy verſe with images unclean:

Of Beauty ſing, her ſhining progreſs view, From clime to clime the dazzling light purſue, Tell how the goddeſs ſpread, and how in empire grew. Let others govern or defend the ſtate, Plead at the bar, or manage a debate, In lofty arts and ſciences excel, Or in proud domes employ their boaſted ſkill; To marble and to braſs ſuch features give, The metal and the ſtore may ſeem to live; Deſcribe the ſtars and planetary way, And trace the footſteps of eternal day: Be this, my Muſe! thy pleaſure and thy care, A ſlave to Beauty, to record the fair; Still wand’ring in love’s ſweet delicious maze To ſing the triumphs of ſome heav’nly face, Of lovely dames, who with a ſmile or frown Subdue the proud, the ſuppliant lover crown; From Venus down to Mira bring thy ſong, To thee alone ſuch tender taſks belong. From Greece to Afric Beauty takes her flight, And ripens with her near approach to light. Frown not, ye Fair! to hear of ſwarthy dames With radiant eyes, that take unerring aims; Beauty to no complexion is confin’d, Is of all colours, and by none defin’d: Jewels that ſhine, in gold or ſilver ſet, As precious and as ſparkling are in jet.

Here Cleopatra, with a liberal heart, Bounteous of love, improv’d the joy with art; The firſt who gave recruited ſlaves to know That the rich pearl was of more uſe than ſhow; Who with high meats, or a luxurious draught, Kept love for ever flowing and full fraught. Julius and Anthony, thoſe lords of all, Each in his turn, preſent the conquer’d ball; Thoſe dreadful Eagles that had fac’d the light From pole to pole, fall dazzled at her ſight: Nor was her death leſs glorious than her life, A conſtant miſtreſs, and a faithful wife. Her dying truth ſome gen’rous tears would coſt, Had not her fate inſpir’d “The World Well Loſt.” With ſecret pride the raviſh’d Muſes view The image of that death which Dryden drew. Pleas’d in ſuch happy climates, warm and bright, Love for ſome ages revell’d with delight. The martial Moors, in gallantry refin’d, Invent new arts to make their charmers kind. See! in the liſts, by golden harriers bound, In warlike ranks they wait the trumpet’s ſound; Some love-device is wrought on ev’ry ſword, And ev’ry ribbon bears ſome myſtic word: As when we ſee the winged winds engage, Mounted on courſers foaming flame and rage,

Ruſtling from ev’ry quarter of the ſky, North, eaſt, and weſt, in airy ſwiftneſs vie, One cloud repuls’d, new combatants prepare To meet as fierce, and form a thund’ring war: So when the trumpet ſounding gives the ſign, The juſtling chiefs in rude rencounter join; So meet, and ſo renew the dext’rous fight, Each fair beholder trembling for her knight, Still as one falls another ruſhes in, And all muſt be o’ercome or none can win: The victor, from the ſhining dame whoſe eyes Aided his conqu’ring arm, receives a precious prize. Thus flouriſh’d Love, and Beauty reign’d in ſtate, Till the proud Spaniard gave theſe glories date: Paſt is the gallantry, the fame remains, Tranſmitted ſafe in Dryden’s lofty ſcenes: Granada loſt beheld her pomps reſtor’d, And Almahide once more by kings ador’d. Love, driven thence, to colder Britain flies, And with bright nymphs the diſtant ſun ſupplies; Romances, which relate the dreadful fights, The loves and proweſs of advent’rous knights, To animate their rage, a kiſs record From Britain’s faireſt nymph was the reward. Thus ancient to Love’s empire was the claim Os Britiſh beauty, and ſo wide the fame,

Which, like our flag upon the ſeas, gives law By right avow’d, and keeps the world in awe. Our gallant kings, of whom large annals prove The mighty deeds, ſtand as renown’d for love: A monarch’s right o’er Beauty they may claim, Lords of that ocean from whence Beauty came. Thy Roſamond, great Henry! on the ſtage By a late Muſe preſented in our age, With aching hearts and flowing eyes we view, While that dissembled death presents the true : In Bracegirdle the perſons ſo agree, That all ſeems real the ſpectators ſee. Os Scots and Gauls defeated, and their kings Thy captives, Edward! Fame for ever ſings; Like thy high deeds thy noble loves are prais’d, Who haſt to Love the nobleſt trophy rais’d. Thy ſtatues, Venus! tho’ by Phidias’ hand Deſign’d immortal, yet no longer ſtand; The magic of thy ſhining zone is paſt, But Saliſbury’s garter ſhall for ever laſt, Which, thro’ the world by living monarchs worn, Adds grace to ſceptres, and does crowns adorn. Is ſuch their fame who gave theſe rights divine To ſacred Love, O what diſhonour ’s thine, Forgetful Queen! who ſever’d that bright head Which charm’d two mighty monarchs to her bed?