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By worse hypocrites, than men,
Till Monday comes to cheat agen.
Ev'n among the noblest-born,
Moral virtue is a scorn;
Gratitude, but rare at best;
And fidelity a jest.
All our wit but party.mocks;
All our wisdom, raising stocks:
Counted folly to defend
Sinking fide, or falling friend.
Long an officer may serve;
Prais'd and wounded, he may starve:
No receipt to make him rise,
Like inventing loyal lyes.
We, whose ancestors have shin'd

In arts of peace, and fields of fame, To ill and idleness inclin'd,

Now are grown a publick shame.
Fatal that intestine jar,
Which produc'd our civil war!
Ever since, how fad a race !
Senseless, violent, and base!

On the Duke of York banished to Brussels,

I Feel a frange impulfe, a strong desire,

(For what vain thoughts will not a muse inspire?) To sing on lofty subjects, and to raise My own low fame, by writing JAME s's praise.

Oft have we heard the wonders of his youth;
Obsery'd those seeds of fortitude and truth;
Which since have spread so wide, fo wondrous high,
The good distress’d beneath that shelter lie.

In arms more active than ev'n war requir’d,
And in the midst of mighty chiefs admir’d.
Of all Heav'n's gifts, no temper is so rare,
As so much courage, mix'd with so much care.

When martial fire makes all the spirits boil,
And forces youth to military toil;
No wonder it should fiercely then engage;
Women themselves will venture in a rage:
But in the midst of all that furious heat,
While so intent on actions brave and great,
For other lives to feel such tender fears,
And careless of his

own,

to care for theirs; Is that composure which a hero makes, And which illustrious York alone partakes, With that great * man whose fame has flown so far, Who taught him first the noble art of war.

* The Mareschal de Turenne.

Oh wondrous pair! whom equal virtues crown ;
Oh worthy of each other's vast renown!
None but Turenne with York could glory share,
And none but York deserve so great a master's care.

Scarce was he come to bless his native ille,
And reap the soft rewards of glorious toil,
But like ALCIDES, ftill new dangers call
His courage forth, and still he vanquish'd all.

At sea, that bloody fcene of boundless rage,
Where floating castles in fierce flames engage,
(Where Mars himself does frowningly command,
And by lieutenants only fights at land)
For his own fame howe'er he fought before,
For England's honour yet he ventur'd more.

In thofe black times, when faction raging high,
Valour and innocence were forc'd to fly,
With York they fled; but not depreft his mind;
Still, like a diamond in the dust, it shin'd.
When from afar his drooping friends beheld
How in distress he ev'n himself excell'd;
How to his envious fate, his country's frown,
His brother's will, he facrific'd his own;
They rais'd their hearts, and never doubted more
But that just Heav'n would all our joys restore.

So when black clouds surround heav’n’s glorious face,
Tempestuous darknefs cov'ring all the place;
If we discern but the least glimm'ring ray
Of that bright orb of fire which rules the day ;
The chearful sight our fainting courage warms;
Fix'd upon that, we fear no future harms.

ON THE

D Ε Ι Τ Υ.

WR

Retched mankind! void both of strength and

Dextrous at nothing but at doing ill! (skill !
In merit humble, in pretension high;
Among them none, alas ! more weak than 1;
And none more blind: tho'still I worthless thought
The best I ever spoke, or ever wrote.

But zealous heat exalts the humblest mind;
Within my soul fuch strong impulse I find
The heav'nly tribute of due praise to pay:
Perhaps ’tis sacred, and I must obey.

Yet such the subjects, various, and so high!
Stupendous wonders of the Deity!
Miraculous effects of boundless pow'r !
And that as boundless goodness shining more!
All thefe, fo numberlefs, my thoughts attend,
Oh where shall I begin, or ever end?

R

But on that theme which ev’n the wise abuse, So sacred, ro sublime, and so abstruse, Abruptly to break off, wants no excuse.

}

While others vainly strive to know thee more,
Let me in silent reverence adore ;
Wishing that human pow'r were higher rais'd,
Only that thine might be more nobly prais'd!
Thrice happy angels in their high degree ;
Created worthy of extolling thee !

THE END.

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