H

APPY and free, fecurely bleft;
No beauty could disturb my reft;
My amorous heart was in despair,
To find a new victorious fair.

II.

s;

Till you defcending on our plains,
With foreign force renew my chains
Where now you rule without controul
The mighty fovereign of my foul.

III.

Your smiles have more of conqu❜ring charms,

Than all your native country arms:

Their troops we can expel with ease,

Who vanquish only when we please.

IV.

But in your eyes, oh! there's the fpell,
Who can fee them, and not rebel:

You make us captives by your stay,

Yet kill us if you go away.

This fong is a compliment to the Dutchefs of Portsmouth on

her first coming to England.

On

On the YOUNG

STATESMEN.

Written in 1680.

had law and fenfe,

CLAREN Clifford was fierce and brave;

Bennet's grave look was a pretence,
And Danby's matchlefs impudence
Help'd to fupport the knave.

But Sunderland, Godolphin, Lory 2,
These will appear such chits in story,
"Twill turn all politics to jefts,
To be repeated like John Dory,
When fidlers fing at feasts.

Protect us, mighty Providence,

What would these madmen have ?
Firft, they would bribe us without pence,
Deceive us without common fense,
And without pow'r enflave.

Shall free-born men, in humble awe,
Submit to fervile fhame;

Who from confent and cuftom draw
The fame right to be rul'd by law,
Which kings pretend to reign?

The duke fhall wield his conqu'ring fword,
The chancellor make a speech,

The king fhall pafs his honeft word,
The pawn'd revenue fums afford,

And then, come kifs my breech.

2 Laurence Hyde, afterwards earl of Rochester, is the perfon here called Lory,

So

So have I seen a king on chefs

(Hir rooks and knights withdrawn, His queen and bishops in diftrefs) Shifting about, grow lefs and lefs, With here and there a pawn.

A SONG for St. CECILIA's Day,

1687.

FROM

I.

ROM harmony, from heav'nly harmony
This univerfal frame began:

When nature underneath a heap
Of jarring atoms lay,

And cou'd not heave her head,

The tuneful voice was heard from high,
Arife, ye more than dead.

Then cold, and hot, and moift, and dry,
In order to their stations leap,

And Mufic's power obey.

From harmony, from heav'nly harmony
This univerfal frame began:

From harmony to harmony

Thro' all the compafs of the notes it ran,
The diapafon clofing full in Man.

II.

What paffion cannot Mufic raise and quell!

When Jubal ftruck the corded fhell,

His lift'ning brethren ftcod around,
And, wond'ring, on their faces fell
To worship that celeflial found.

Lefs

Less than a God they thought there could not dwell
Within the hollow of that shell,

That spoke so fweetly and fo well.

What paffion cannot Mufic raise and quell ?

III.

The trumpet's loud clangor

Excites us to arms,
With fhrill notes of anger

And mortal alarms.

The double double double beat
Of the thund'ring drum

Cries, hark! the foes come;

Charge, Charge, 'tis too late to retreat.

IV.

The foft complaining flute

In dying notes difcovers

The woes of hopeless lovers,

Whofe dirge is whisper'd by the warbling lute.

V.

Sharp violins proclaim

Their jealous pangs, and defperation,

Fury, frantic indignation,

Depth of pains, and height of paffion,

For the fair, difdainful, dame.

VI.

But oh! what art can teach,

What human voice can reach,

The facred organ's praise?

Notes infpiring holy love,

Notes that wing their heav'nly ways
To mend the choirs above.

VII.

Orpheus cou'd lead the favage race ;

And trees uprooted left their place,

Sequacious of the lyre:

But bright Cecilia rais'd the wonder higher:

When

When to her organ vocal breath was giv'n,
An angel heard, and straight appear'd
Miftaking earth for heav'n.

Grand CHORUS.

As from the pow'r of facred lays
The Spheres began to move,
And fung the great Creator's praife
To all the bless'd above;

So when the laft and dreadful hour
This crumbling pageant shall devour,
The trumpet fhall be heard on high,
The dead ball live, the living die,
And Mufic fhall untune the sky.

The TEARS of AMYNTA, for the DEATH of DAMON.

SONG.

I.

Ο

Na bank, befide a willow,

Heav'n her cov'ring, earth her pillow,

Sad Amynta figh'd alone:

From the chearless dawn of morning
"Till the dews of night returning,
Singing thus fhe made her moan:
Hope is banish'd,

Joys are vanifh'd,

Damon, my belov'd, is gone!

II. Time,