No More Learning

Good sense in sacred worship would appear 1020
So to begin, as they might end the year.
Such feats in former times had wrought the falls
Of crowing Chanticleers[133] in cloister'd walls.
Expell'd for this, and for their lands, they fled;
And sister Partlet,[134] with her hooded head,
Was hooted hence, because she would not pray a-bed.
The way to win the restive world to God,
Was to lay by the disciplining rod,
Unnatural fasts, and foreign forms of prayer:
Religion frights us with a mien severe. 1030
'Tis prudence to reform her into ease,
And put her in undress to make her please;
A lively faith will bear aloft the mind,
And leave the luggage of good works behind.

Such doctrines in the Pigeon-house were taught:
You need not ask how wondrously they wrought:
But sure the common cry was all for these,
Whose life and precepts both encouraged ease.
Yet fearing those alluring baits might fail,
And holy deeds o'er all their arts prevail; 1040
(For vice, though frontless, and of harden'd face,
Is daunted at the sight of awful grace;)
An hideous figure of their foes they drew,
Nor lines, nor looks, nor shades, nor colours true;
And this grotesque design exposed to public view.
One would have thought it some Egyptian piece,
With garden-gods, and barking deities,
More thick than Ptolemy has stuck the skies.
All so perverse a draught, so far unlike,
It was no libel where it meant to strike. 1050
Yet still the daubing pleased, and great and small,
To view the monster, crowded Pigeon Hall.
There Chanticleer was drawn upon his knees
Adoring shrines, and stocks of sainted trees:
And by him, a misshapen, ugly race;
The curse of God was seen on every face:
No Holland emblem could that malice mend,
But still the worse the look, the fitter for a fiend.

The master of the farm, displeased to find
So much of rancour in so mild a kind, 1060
Enquired into the cause, and came to know,
The passive Church had struck the foremost blow;
With groundless fears and jealousies possess'd,
As if this troublesome intruding guest
Would drive the birds of Venus from their nest;
A deed his inborn equity abhorr'd;
But Interest will not trust, though God should plight his word.

A law,[135] the source of many future harms,
Had banish'd all the poultry from the farms;
With loss of life, if any should be found 1070
To crow or peck on this forbidden ground.
That bloody statute chiefly was design'd
For Chanticleer the white, of clergy kind;
But after-malice did not long forget
The lay that wore the robe and coronet.
For them, for their inferiors and allies,
Their foes a deadly Shibboleth devise:
By which unrighteously it was decreed,
That none to trust or profit should succeed,
Who would not swallow first a poisonous wicked weed:[136] 1080
Or that, to which old Socrates was cursed,
Or henbane juice to swell them till they burst.

The patron (as in reason) thought it hard
To see this inquisition in his yard,
By which the Sovereign was of subjects' use debarr'd.
All gentle means he tried, which might withdraw
The effects of so unnatural a law:
But still the Dove-house obstinately stood
Deaf to their own and to their neighbours' good;
And which was worse, if any worse could be, 1090
Repented of their boasted loyalty:
Now made the champions of a cruel cause.
And drunk with fumes of popular applause;
For those whom God to ruin has design'd,
He fits for fate, and first destroys their mind.

New doubts indeed they daily strove to raise,
Suggested dangers, interposed delays;
And emissary Pigeons had in store,
Such as the Meccan prophet used of yore,
To whisper counsels in their patron's ear; 1100
And veil'd their false advice with zealous fear.
The master smiled to see them work in vain,
To wear him out, and make an idle reign:
He saw, but suffer'd their protractive arts,
And strove by mildness to reduce their hearts:
But they abused that grace to make allies,
And fondly closed with former enemies;
For fools are doubly fools, endeavouring to be wise.

After a grave consult what course were best,
One, more mature in folly than the rest, 1110
Stood up, and told them, with his head aside,
That desperate cures must be to desperate ills applied:
And therefore, since their main impending fear
Was from the increasing race of Chanticleer,
Some potent bird of prey they ought to find,
A foe profess'd to him, and all his kind:
Some haggard Hawk, who had her eyrie nigh,
Well pounced to fasten, and well wing'd to fly;
One they might trust, their common wrongs to wreak:
The Musquet and the Coystrel were too weak, 1120
Too fierce the Falcon; but, above the rest,
The noble Buzzard[137] ever pleased me best;
Of small renown, 'tis true; for, not to lie,
We call him but a Hawk by courtesy.
I know he hates the Pigeon-house and Farm,
And more, in time of war has done us harm:
But all his hate on trivial points depends;
Give up our forms, and we shall soon be friends.
For Pigeons' flesh he seems not much to care;
Cramm'd chickens are a more delicious fare. 1130
On this high potentate, without delay,
I wish you would confer the sovereign sway:
Petition him to accept the government,
And let a splendid embassy be sent.

This pithy speech prevail'd, and all agreed,
Old enmities forgot, the Buzzard should succeed.

Their welcome suit was granted soon as heard,
His lodgings furnish'd, and a train prepared,
With B's upon their breast, appointed for his guard.
He came, and crown'd with great solemnity; 1140
God save king Buzzard, was the general cry.

A portly prince, and goodly to the sight,
He seem'd a son of Anak for his height:
Like those whom stature did to crowns prefer:
Black-brow'd, and bluff, like Homer's Jupiter:
Broad-back'd, and brawny-built for love's delight;
A prophet form'd to make a female proselyte.
A theologue more by need than genial bent;
By breeding sharp, by nature confident.
Interest in all his actions was discern'd; 1150
More learn'd than honest, more a wit than learn'd:
Or forced by fear, or by his profit led,
Or both conjoin'd, his native clime he fled:
But brought the virtues of his heaven along;
A fair behaviour, and a fluent tongue.
And yet with all his arts he could not thrive;
The most unlucky parasite alive.
Loud praises to prepare his paths he sent,
And then himself pursued his compliment;
But by reverse of fortune chased away, 1160
His gifts no longer than their author stay:
He shakes the dust against the ungrateful race,
And leaves the stench of ordures in the place.
Oft has he flatter'd and blasphemed the same;
For in his rage he spares no sovereign's name:
The hero and the tyrant change their style
By the same measure that they frown or smile.
When well received by hospitable foes,
The kindness he returns, is to expose:
For courtesies, though undeserved and great, 1170
No gratitude in felon-minds beget;
As tribute to his wit, the churl receives the treat.
His praise of foes is venomously nice;
So touch'd, it turns a virtue to a vice:
"A Greek, and bountiful, forewarns us twice. "
Seven sacraments he wisely does disown,
Because he knows Confession stands for one;
Where sins to sacred silence are convey'd,
And not for fear, or love, to be betray'd:
But he, uncall'd, his patron to control, 1180
Divulged the secret whispers of his soul;
Stood forth the accusing Satan of his crimes,
And offer'd to the Moloch of the times.
Prompt to assail, and careless of defence,
Invulnerable in his impudence,
He dares the world; and, eager of a name,
He thrusts about, and jostles into fame.
Frontless, and satire-proof, he scours the streets,
And runs an Indian-muck at all he meets.
So fond of loud report, that not to miss 1190
Of being known (his last and utmost bliss)
He rather would be known for what he is.

Such was, and is, the Captain of the Test,
Though half his virtues are not here express'd;
The modesty of fame conceals the rest.
The spleenful Pigeons never could create
A prince more proper to revenge their hate:
Indeed, more proper to revenge, than save;
A king, whom in his wrath the Almighty gave:
For all the grace the landlord had allow'd, 1200
But made the Buzzard and the Pigeons proud;
Gave time to fix their friends, and to seduce the crowd.
They long their fellow-subjects to enthral,
Their patron's promise into question call,
And vainly think he meant to make them lords of all.

False fears their leaders fail'd not to suggest,
As if the Doves were to be dispossess'd;
Nor sighs, nor groans, nor goggling eyes did want;
For now the Pigeons too had learn'd to cant.
The house of prayer is stock'd with large increase; 1210
Nor doors nor windows can contain the press:
For birds of every feather fill the abode;
Even Atheists out of envy own a God:
And, reeking from the stews, adulterers come,
Like Goths and Vandals to demolish Rome.
That Conscience, which to all their crimes was mute,
Now calls aloud, and cries to persecute:
No rigour of the laws to be released,
And much the less, because it was their Lord's request:
They thought it great their Sovereign to control, 1220
And named their pride, nobility of soul.

'Tis true, the Pigeons, and their prince elect,
Were short of power, their purpose to effect:
But with their quills did all the hurt they could,
And cuff'd the tender Chickens from their food:
And much the Buzzard in their cause did stir,
Though naming not the patron, to infer,
With all respect, he was a gross idolater.

But when the imperial owner did espy,
That thus they turn'd his grace to villany, 1230
Not suffering wrath to discompose his mind,
He strove a temper for the extremes to find,
So to be just, as he might still be kind;
Then, all maturely weigh'd, pronounced a doom
Of sacred strength for every age to come.
By this the Doves their wealth and state possess,
No rights infringed, but licence to oppress:
Such power have they as factious lawyers long
To crowns ascribed, that Kings can do no wrong.
But since his own domestic birds have tried 1240
The dire effects of their destructive pride,
He deems that proof a measure to the rest,
Concluding well within his kingly breast,
His fowls of nature too unjustly were oppress'd.
He therefore makes all birds of every sect
Free of his farm, with promise to respect
Their several kinds alike, and equally protect.
His gracious edict the same franchise yields
To all the wild increase of woods and fields,
And who in rocks aloof, and who in steeples builds: 1250
To Crows the like impartial grace affords,
And Choughs and Daws, and such republic birds:
Secured with ample privilege to feed,
Each has his district, and his bounds decreed;
Combined in common interest with his own,
But not to pass the Pigeon's Rubicon.

Here ends the reign of this pretended Dove;
All prophecies accomplish'd from above,
From Shiloh comes the sceptre to remove.
Reduced from her imperial high abode, 1260
Like Dionysius to a private rod,
The Passive Church, that with pretended grace
Did her distinctive mark in duty place,
Now touch'd, reviles her Maker to his face.

What after happen'd is not hard to guess:
The small beginnings had a large increase,
And arts and wealth succeed, the secret spoils of peace.
'Tis said, the Doves repented, though too late,
Become the smiths of their own foolish fate:
Nor did their owner hasten their ill hour; 1270
But, sunk in credit, they decreased in power:
Like snows in warmth that mildly pass away,
Dissolving in the silence of decay.

The Buzzard, not content with equal place,
Invites the feather'd Nimrods of his race;
To hide the thinness of their flock from sight,
And all together make a seeming goodly flight:
But each have separate interests of their own;
Two Czars are one too many for a throne.
Nor can the usurper long abstain from food; 1280
Already he has tasted Pigeons' blood:
And may be tempted to his former fare,
When this indulgent lord shall late to heaven repair.
Bare benting times, and moulting months may come,
When, lagging late, they cannot reach their home;
Or, rent in schism (for so their fate decrees),
Like the tumultuous college of the bees,[138]
They fight their quarrel, by themselves oppress'd;
The tyrant smiles below, and waits the falling feast.

Thus did the gentle Hind her fable end, 1290
Nor would the Panther blame it, nor commend;
But, with affected yawnings at the close,
Seem'd to require her natural repose:
For now the streaky light began to peep;
And setting stars admonish'd both to sleep.
The dame withdrew, and, wishing to her guest
The peace of heaven, betook herself to rest.
Ten thousand angels on her slumbers wait,
With glorious visions of her future state.

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 118: 'Mother Hubbard:' Mother Hubbard's tale, written by
Spenser. ]

[Footnote 119: 'Lion's peace:' liberty of conscience, and toleration of
all religions. ]

[Footnote 120: 'Exiled heir:' the Duke of York, while opposed by the
favourers and abettors of the Bill of Exclusion, was obliged to retire
from London. ]

[Footnote 121: 'French proselytes:' the French refugees that came into
England after the revocation of the edict of Nantes. ]

[Footnote 122: 'Hudibras:' Butler. ]

[Footnote 123: 'Atheist names:' alluding here and afterwards to
Stillingfleet's attacks on Dryden. ]

[Footnote 124: 'Imprimatur:' the Bishop of London and his chaplains had
formerly the examination of all books, and none could be printed without
their imprimatur, or licence. ]

[Footnote 125: 'Swallow:' this story is supposed to refer to a meeting
of Roman Catholics held in the Savoy to deliberate on King James'
measures, when Father Petre (M. Martin) induced them to join the king's
side, and to remain in England. ]

[Footnote 126: 'Dorp:' hamlet. ]

[Footnote 127: 'The tale:' a parable of the fate of the Papists, soon
fulfilled. ]

[Footnote 128: 'Old fanatic:' Century White, a vehement writer on the
Puritan side. ]

[Footnote 129: 'Toby's:' Tobit; see Apocrypha. ]

[Footnote 130: 'A plain good man:' a character of King James II. ]

[Footnote 131: 'Doves:' the clergy of the Church of England, and other
religions dissenting from that of Rome. ]

[Footnote 132: 'Another farm,' &c. : this alludes to the Popish priests,
whom the king particularly favoured. ]

[Footnote 133: 'Chanticleers:' friars. ]

[Footnote 134: 'Partlet:' nuns. ]

[Footnote 135: 'A law:' penal laws against Popish recusants. ]

[Footnote 136: 'Wicked weed:' the Test Act. ]

[Footnote 137: 'Buzzard:' Bishop Burnet. ]

[Footnote 138: 'College of the bees:' College of Physicians. ]

* * * * *




MAC FLECKNOE. [139]

All human things are subject to decay,
And when fate summons, monarchs must obey.
This Flecknoe found, who, like Augustus, young
Was call'd to empire, and had govern'd long;
In prose and verse, was own'd, without dispute,
Through all the realms of Nonsense, absolute.
This aged prince, now flourishing in peace,
And blest with issue of a large increase;
Worn out with business, did at length debate
To settle the succession of the state: 10
And, pondering which of all his sons was fit
To reign, and wage immortal war with wit,
Cried, 'Tis resolved; for nature pleads, that he
Should only rule, who most resembles me.
Shadwell alone my perfect image bears,
Mature in dulness from his tender years:
Shadwell alone, of all my sons, is he
Who stands confirm'd in full stupidity.
The rest to some faint meaning make pretence,
But Shadwell never deviates into sense. 20
Some beams of wit on other souls may fall,
Strike through, and make a lucid interval;
But Shadwell's genuine night admits no ray,
His rising fogs prevail upon the day.
Besides, his goodly fabric fills the eye,
And seems design'd for thoughtless majesty:
Thoughtless as monarch oaks, that shade the plain,
And, spread in solemn state, supinely reign.
Heywood and Shirley[140] were but types of thee,
Thou last great prophet of tautology. 30
Even I, a dunce of more renown than they,
Was sent before but to prepare thy way;
And, coarsely clad in Norwich drugget, came
To teach the nations in thy greater name.
My warbling lute, the lute I whilom strung,
When to king John of Portugal I sung,
Was but the prelude to that glorious day,
When thou on silver Thames didst cut thy way,
With well-timed oars before the royal barge,
Swell'd with the pride of thy celestial charge; 40
And big with hymn, commander of an host,
The like was ne'er in Epsom blankets toss'd.
Methinks I see the new Arion sail,
The lute still trembling underneath thy nail.
At thy well-sharpen'd thumb, from shore to shore
The trebles squeak for fear, the basses roar:
Echoes from Pissing-Alley, Shadwell call,
And Shadwell they resound from Aston-Hall.
About thy boat the little fishes throng,
As at the morning toast that floats along. 50
Sometimes, as prince of thy harmonious band,
Thou wield'st thy papers in thy threshing hand.
St Andre's[141] feet ne'er kept more equal time,
Not even the feet of thy own Psyche's[142] rhyme:
Though they in number as in sense excel;
So just, so like tautology, they fell,
That, pale with envy, Singleton[143] forswore
The lute and sword, which he in triumph bore,
And vow'd he ne'er would act Villerius more.

Here stopp'd the good old sire, and wept for joy, 60
In silent raptures of the hopeful boy.
All arguments, but most his plays, persuade,
That for anointed dulness he was made.

Close to the walls which fair Augusta bind
(The fair Augusta much to fears inclined),
An ancient fabric raised to inform the sight,
There stood of yore, and Barbican it hight:
A watch-tower once; but now, so fate ordains,
Of all the pile an empty name remains:
From its old ruins brothel-houses rise, 70
Scenes of lewd loves, and of polluted joys,
Where their vast courts the mother-strumpets keep,
And, undisturb'd by watch, in silence sleep.
Near these a Nursery[144] erects its head,
Where queens are form'd, and future heroes bred;
Where unfledged actors learn to laugh and cry,
Where infant punks their tender voices try,
And little Maximins the gods defy.
Great Fletcher never treads in buskins here,
Nor greater Jonson dares in socks appear; 80
But gentle Simkin[145] just reception finds
Amidst this monument of vanish'd minds:
Pure clinches the suburban muse affords,
And Panton[146] waging harmless war with words.
Here Flecknoe, as a place to fame well known,
Ambitiously design'd his Shadwell's throne.
For ancient Decker[147] prophesied long since,
That in this pile should reign a mighty prince,
Born for a scourge of wit, and flail of sense:
To whom true dulness should some Psyches owe, 90
But worlds of Misers[148] from his pen should flow;
Humourists and hypocrites it should produce,
Whole Raymond families, and tribes of Bruce. [149]

Now Empress Fame had publish'd the renown
Of Shadwell's coronation through the town.
Roused by report of fame, the nations meet,
From near Bunhill, and distant Watling Street.
No Persian carpets spread the imperial way,
But scatter'd limbs of mangled poets lay:
From dusty shops neglected authors come, 100
Martyrs of pies, and reliques of the bum.
Much Heywood, Shirley, Ogleby[150] there lay,
But loads of Shadwell almost choked the way.
Bilk'd stationers for yeomen stood prepared,
And Herringman[151] was captain of the guard.
The hoary prince in majesty appear'd,
High on a throne of his own labours rear'd.
At his right hand our young Ascanius sate,
Rome's other hope, and pillar of the state.
His brows thick fogs, instead of glories, grace, 110
And lambent dulness play'd around his face.
As Hannibal did to the altars come,
Sworn by his fire, a mortal foe to Rome;
So Shadwell swore, nor should his vow be vain,
That he till death true dulness would maintain;
And, in his father's right, and realm's defence,
Ne'er to have peace with wit, nor truce with sense.
The king himself the sacred unction made,
As king by office, and as priest by trade.
In his sinister hand, instead of ball, 120
He placed a mighty mug of potent ale;
Love's Kingdom[152] to his right he did convey,
At once his sceptre and his rule of sway;
Whose righteous lore the prince had practised young,
And from whose loins recorded Psyche sprung.
His temples, last, with poppies were o'erspread,
That nodding seem'd to consecrate his head.
Just at the point of time, if fame not lie,
On his left hand twelve reverend owls did fly.
So Romulus, 'tis sung, by Tiber's brook, 130
Presage of sway from twice six vultures took.
The admiring throng loud acclamations make,
And omens of his future empire take.
The sire then shook the honours of his head,
And from his brows damps of oblivion shed,
Full on the filial dulness: long he stood,
Repelling from his breast the raging god;
At length burst out in this prophetic mood:

Heavens bless my son, from Ireland let him reign
To far Barbadoes on the western main; 140
Of his dominion may no end be known,
And greater than his father's be his throne;
Beyond Love's kingdom let him stretch his pen! --
He paused, and all the people cried, Amen.
Then thus continued he: My son, advance
Still in new impudence, new ignorance.
Success let others teach, learn thou from me
Pangs without birth, and fruitless industry.
Let Virtuosos[153] in five years be writ;
Yet not one thought accuse thy toil of wit. 150
Let gentle George[154] in triumph tread the stage,
Make Dorimant betray, and Loveit rage;
Let Cully, Cockwood, Fopling, charm the pit,
And in their folly show the writer's wit.
Yet still thy fools shall stand in thy defence,
And justify their author's want of sense.
Let them be all by thy own model made
Of dulness, and desire no foreign aid;
That they to future ages may be known,
Not copies drawn, but issue of thy own. 160
Nay, let thy men of wit too be the same,
All full of thee, and differing but in name.
But let no alien Sedley[155] interpose,
To lard with wit thy hungry Epsom prose. [156]
And when false flowers of rhetoric thou wouldst cull,
Trust nature, do not labour to be dull;
But write thy best, and top; and, in each line,
Sir Formal's[157] oratory will be thine:
Sir Formal, though unsought, attends thy quill,
And does thy northern dedications fill. 170
Nor let false friends seduce thy mind to fame,
By arrogating Jonson's hostile name.
Let Father Flecknoe fire thy mind with praise,
And uncle Ogleby thy envy raise.
Thou art my blood, where Jonson has no part:
What share have we in nature, or in art?
Where did his wit on learning fix a brand,
And rail at arts he did not understand?
Where made he love in prince Nicander's[158] vein,
Or swept the dust in Psyche's humble strain? 180
Where sold he bargains, whip-stitch, kiss my a--e,
Promised a play, and dwindled to a farce?
When did his muse from Fletcher scenes purloin,
As thou whole Etheridge dost transfuse to thine?
But so transfused, as oil and waters flow,
His always floats above, thine sinks below.
This is thy province, this thy wondrous way,
New humours to invent for each new play:
This is that boasted bias of thy mind,
By which one way to dulness 'tis inclined: 190
Which makes thy writings lean on one side still,
And, in all changes, that way bends thy will.
Nor let thy mountain-belly make pretence
Of likeness; thine's a tympany of sense.
A tun of man in thy large bulk is writ,
But sure thou'rt but a kilderkin of wit.
Like mine, thy gentle numbers feebly creep;
Thy tragic muse gives smiles, thy comic sleep.
With whate'er gall thou sett'st thyself to write,
Thy inoffensive satires never bite. 200
In thy felonious heart though venom lies,
It does but touch thy Irish pen, and dies.
Thy genius calls thee not to purchase fame
In keen Iambics, but mild Anagram.
Leave writing plays, and choose for thy command,
Some peaceful province in Acrostic land.
There thou mayst wings display and altars[159] raise,
And torture one poor word ten thousand ways.
Or, if thou wouldst thy different talents suit,
Set thy own songs, and sing them to thy lute. 210

He said; but his last words were scarcely heard:
For Bruce and Longville[160] had a trap prepared,
And down they sent the yet declaiming bard.
Sinking he left his drugget robe behind,
Borne upwards by a subterranean wind.
The mantle fell to the young prophet's part,
With double portion of his father's art.


FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 139: 'Mac Flecknoe:' Richard Flecknoe, from whom this poem
derives its name, was an Irish priest, and author of plays. ]

[Footnote 140: 'Heywood and Shirley:' play writers in Queen Elizabeth's
time. ]

[Footnote 141: 'St Andre:' a famous French dancing-master. ]

[Footnote 142: 'Psyche:' an opera of Shadwell's. ]

[Footnote 143: 'Singleton:' a musician of the time. ]

[Footnote 144: 'Nursery:' a theatre for training actors. ]

[Footnote 145: 'Simkin:' a character of a cobbler, in an interlude. ]

[Footnote 146: 'Panton:' a famous punster. ]

[Footnote 147: 'Decker:' Thomas Decker, a dramatic poet of James I. 's
reign. ]

[Footnote 148: 'Worlds of Misers:' 'The Miser' and 'The Humourists' were
two of Shadwell's comedies. ]

[Footnote 149: 'Raymond' and 'Bruce:' the first of these is an insipid
character in 'The Humourists'; the second, in 'The Virtuoso. ']

[Footnote 150: 'Ogleby:' translator of Virgil. ]

[Footnote 151: 'Herringman:' Henry Herringman, a bookseller; see
'Life. ']

[Footnote 152: 'Love's Kingdom:' this is the name of the only play of
Flecknoe's, which was acted, but miscarried in the representation. ]

[Footnote 153: 'Virtuoso:' a play of Shadwell's. ]

[Footnote 154: 'Gentle George:' Sir George Etheredge. ]

[Footnote 155: 'Alien Sedley:' Sir Charles Sedley was supposed to assist
Shadwell in writing his plays. ]

[Footnote 156: 'Epsom prose:' alluding to Shadwell's play of 'Epsom
Wells. ']

[Footnote 157: 'Formal:' a character in 'The Virtuoso. ']

[Footnote 158: 'Nicander:' a character of a lover in Shadwell's opera of
'Psyche. ']

[Footnote 159: 'Wings and altars:' forms in which old acrostics were
cast. See Herbert's 'Temple. ']

[Footnote 160: 'Bruce and Longville:' two characters in Shadwell's
'Virtuoso. ']

* * * * *




BRITANNIA REDIVIVA:

A POEM ON THE PRINCE, BORN JUNE 10, 1688.

Our vows are heard betimes! and Heaven takes care
To grant, before we can conclude the prayer:
Preventing angels met it half the way,
And sent us back to praise, who came to pray.

Just on the day, when the high-mounted Sun
Did furthest in his northern progress run,
He bended forward, and even stretch'd the sphere
Beyond the limits of the lengthen'd year,
To view a brighter sun in Britain born;
That was the business of his longest morn; 10
The glorious object seen, 'twas time to turn.

Departing Spring could only stay to shed
Her bloomy beauties on the genial bed,
But left the manly Summer in her stead,
With timely fruit the longing land to cheer,
And to fulfil the promise of the year.
Betwixt two seasons comes the auspicious heir,
This age to blossom, and the next to bear.

Last solemn Sabbath[161] saw the Church attend,
The Paraclete in fiery pomp descend; 20
But when his wondrous octave[162] roll'd again,
He brought a royal infant in his train.
So great a blessing to so good a king,
None but the Eternal Comforter could bring.

Or did the mighty Trinity conspire,
As once in council, to create our sire?
It seems as if they sent the new-born guest
To wait on the procession of their feast;
And on their sacred anniverse decreed
To stamp their image on the promised seed. 30
Three realms united, and on one bestow'd,
An emblem of their mystic union show'd:
The Mighty Trine the triple empire shared,
As every person would have one to guard.

Hail, son of prayers! by holy violence
Drawn down from heaven; but long be banish'd thence,
And late to thy paternal skies retire:
To mend our crimes, whole ages would require;
To change the inveterate habit of our sins,
And finish what thy godlike sire begins. 40
Kind Heaven, to make us Englishmen again,
No less can give us than a patriarch's reign.

The sacred cradle to your charge receive,
Ye seraphs, and by turns the guard relieve;
Thy father's angel, and thy father join,
To keep possession, and secure the line;
But long defer the honours of thy fate:
Great may they be like his, like his be late;
That James this running century may view,
And give his son an auspice to the new. 50

Our wants exact at least that moderate stay:
For see the Dragon[163] winged on his way,
To watch the travail,[164] and devour the prey.
Or, if allusions may not rise so high,
Thus, when Alcides[165] raised his infant cry,
The snakes besieged his young divinity:
But vainly with their forked tongues they threat;
For opposition makes a hero great.
To needful succour all the good will run, 60
And Jove assert the godhead of his son.

O still repining at your present state,
Grudging yourselves the benefits of fate,
Look up, and read in characters of light
A blessing sent you in your own despite.
The manna falls, yet that celestial bread
Like Jews you munch, and murmur while you feed.
May not your fortune be, like theirs, exiled,
Yet forty years to wander in the wild!
Or if it be, may Moses live at least, 70
To lead you to the verge of promised rest!
Though poets are not prophets, to foreknow
What plants will take the blight, and what will grow,
By tracing Heaven, his footsteps may be found:
Behold! how awfully he walks the round!
God is abroad, and, wondrous in his ways,
The rise of empires, and their fall surveys;
More, might I say, than with an usual eye,
He sees his bleeding church in ruin lie,
And hears the souls of saints beneath his altar cry. 80
Already has he lifted high the Sign,[166]
Which crown'd the conquering arms of Constantine;
The Moon[167] grows pale at that presaging sight,
And half her train of stars have lost their light.

Behold another Sylvester,[168] to bless
The sacred standard, and secure success;
Large of his treasures, of a soul so great,
As fills and crowds his universal seat.
Now view at home a second Constantine;
(The former too was of the British line;)[169] 90
Has not his healing balm your breaches closed,
Whose exile many sought, and few opposed?
Or, did not Heaven by its eternal doom
Permit those evils, that this good might come?
So manifest, that even the moon-eyed sects
See whom and what this Providence protects.
Methinks, had we within our minds no more
Than that one shipwreck on the fatal Ore,[170]
That only thought may make us think again,
What wonders God reserves for such a reign. 100
To dream that Chance his preservation wrought,
Were to think Noah was preserved for nought;
Or the surviving eight were not design'd
To people Earth, and to restore their kind.

When humbly on the royal babe we gaze,
The manly lines of a majestic face
Give awful joy: 'tis Paradise to look
On the fair frontispiece of Nature's book:
If the first opening page so charms the sight,
Think how the unfolded volume will delight! 110

See how the venerable infant lies
In early pomp; how through the mother's eyes
The father's soul, with an undaunted view,
Looks out, and takes our homage as his due.
See on his future subjects how he smiles,
Nor meanly flatters, nor with craft beguiles;
But with an open face, as on his throne,
Assures our birthrights, and assumes his own.
Born in broad day-light, that the ungrateful rout
May find no room for a remaining doubt; 120
Truth, which itself is light, does darkness shun,
And the true eaglet safely dares the sun.

Fain would the fiends[171] have made a dubious birth,
Loath to confess the Godhead clothed in earth:
But sicken'd, after all their baffled lies,
To find an heir-apparent of the skies:
Abandon'd to despair, still may they grudge,
And, owning not the Saviour, prove the judge.

Not great Æneas[172] stood in plainer day,
When, the dark mantling mist dissolved away, 130
He to the Tyrians show'd his sudden face,
Shining with all his goddess mother's grace:
For she herself had made his countenance bright,
Breathed honour on his eyes, and her own purple light.

If our victorious Edward,[173] as they say,
Gave Wales a prince on that propitious day,
Why may not years, revolving with his fate,
Produce his like, but with a longer date;
One, who may carry to a distant shore
The terror that his famed forefather bore? 140
But why should James or his young hero stay
For slight presages of a name or day?
We need no Edward's fortune to adorn
That happy moment when our prince was born:
Our prince adorns his day, and ages hence
Shall wish his birth-day for some future prince.

Great Michael, prince of all the ethereal hosts,
And whate'er inborn saints our Britain boasts;
And thou, the adopted patron of our isle,[174]
With cheerful aspects on this infant smile: 150
The pledge of Heaven, which, dropping from above,
Secures our bliss, and reconciles his love.

Enough of ills our dire rebellion wrought,
When to the dregs we drank the bitter draught;
Then airy atoms did in plagues conspire,
Nor did the avenging angel yet retire,
But purged our still increasing crimes with fire,
Then perjured plots, the still impending Test,
And worse--but charity conceals the rest:
Here stop the current of the sanguine flood; 160
Require not, gracious God, thy martyrs' blood;
But let their dying pangs, their living toil,
Spread a rich harvest through their native soil:
A harvest ripening for another reign,
Of which this royal babe may reap the grain.

Enough of early saints one womb has given;
Enough increased the family of Heaven:
Let them for his and our atonement go;
And, reigning blest above, leave him to rule below.

Enough already has the year foreshow'd 170
His wonted course, the sea has overflow'd,
The meads were floated with a weeping spring,
And frighten'd birds in woods forgot to sing:
The strong-limb'd steed beneath his harness faints,
And the same shivering sweat his lord attaints.
When will the minister of wrath give o'er?
Behold him at Araunah's threshing-floor:[175]
He stops, and seems to sheathe his flaming brand,
Pleased with burnt incense from our David's hand.
David has bought the Jebusite's abode, 180
And raised an altar to the living God.

Heaven, to reward him, makes his joys sincere;
No future ills nor accidents appear,
To sully and pollute the sacred infant's year.
Five months to discord and debate were given:
He sanctifies the yet remaining seven.
Sabbath of months! henceforth in him be blest,
And prelude to the realm's perpetual rest!

Let his baptismal drops for us atone;
Lustrations for offences not his own. 190
Let Conscience, which is Interest ill disguised,
In the same font be cleansed, and all the land baptized.

Unnamed as yet;[176] at least unknown to fame:
Is there a strife in Heaven about his name,
Where every famous predecessor vies,
And makes a faction for it in the skies?
Or must it be reserved to thought alone?
Such was the sacred Tetragrammaton. [177]
Things worthy silence must not be reveal'd;
Thus the true name of Rome was kept conceal'd,[178]
To shun the spells and sorceries of those 200
Who durst her infant majesty oppose.
But when his tender strength in time shall rise
To dare ill tongues, and fascinating eyes;
This isle, which hides the little Thunderer's fame,
Shall be too narrow to contain his name:
The artillery of heaven shall make him known;
Crete[179] could not hold the god, when Jove was grown.

As Jove's increase, who from his brain was born,[180]
Whom arms and arts did equally adorn, 210
Free of the breast was bred, whose milky taste
Minerva's name to Venus had debased;
So this imperial babe rejects the food
That mixes monarch's with plebeian blood:
Food that his inborn courage might control,
Extinguish all the father in his soul,
And, for his Estian race, and Saxon strain,
Might reproduce some second Richard's reign.
Mildness he shares from both his parents' blood:
But kings too tame are despicably good: 220
Be this the mixture of this regal child,
By nature manly, but by virtue mild.

Thus far the furious transport of the news
Had to prophetic madness fired the Muse;
Madness ungovernable, uninspired,
Swift to foretell whatever she desired.
Was it for me the dark abyss to tread,
And read the book which angels cannot read?
How was I punish'd, when the sudden blast,[181]
The face of heaven, and our young sun o'ercast! 230
Fame, the swift ill, increasing as she roll'd,
Disease, despair, and death, at three reprises told;
At three insulting strides she stalk'd the town,
And, like contagion, struck the loyal down.
Down fell the winnow'd wheat; but, mounted high,
The whirlwind bore the chaff, and hid the sky.
Here black rebellion shooting from below
(As earth's gigantic brood by moments grow[182])
And here the sons of God are petrified with woe:
An apoplex of grief: so low were driven 240
The saints, as hardly to defend their heaven.

As, when pent vapours run their hollow round,
Earthquakes, which are convulsions of the ground,
Break bellowing forth, and no confinement brook,
Till the third settles what the former shook;
Such heavings had our souls; till, slow and late,
Our life with his return'd, and Faith prevail'd on Fate.
By prayers the mighty blessing was implored,
To prayers was granted, and by prayers restored.

So, ere the Shunamite[183] a son conceived, 250
The prophet promised, and the wife believed.
A son was sent, the son so much desired;
But soon upon the mother's knees expired.
The troubled seer approach'd the mournful door,
Ran, pray'd, and sent his pastoral staff before,
Then stretch'd his limbs upon the child, and mourn'd,

Thus Mercy stretches out her hand, and saves
Desponding Peter sinking in the waves.

As when a sudden storm of hail and rain 260
Beats to the ground the yet unbearded grain,
Think not the hopes of harvest are destroy'd
On the flat field, and on the naked void;
The light unloaded stem, from tempest freed,
Will raise the youthful honours of his head;
And soon, restored by native vigour, bear
The timely product of the bounteous year.

Nor yet conclude all fiery trials past:
For Heaven will exercise us to the last;
Sometimes will check us in our full career, 270
With doubtful blessings, and with mingled fear;
That, still depending on his daily grace,
His every mercy for an alms may pass,
With sparing hands will diet us to good;
Preventing surfeits of our pamper'd blood.
So feeds the mother bird her craving young
With little morsels, and delays them long.

True, this last blessing was a royal feast;
But where's the wedding-garment on the guest?
Our manners, as religion were a dream, 280
Are such as teach the nations to blaspheme.
In lusts we wallow, and with pride we swell,
And injuries with injuries repel;
Prompt to revenge, not daring to forgive,
Our lives unteach the doctrine we believe.
Thus Israel sinn'd, impenitently hard,
And vainly thought the present ark their guard;[184]
But when the haughty Philistines appear,
They fled, abandon'd to their foes and fear;
Their God was absent, though his ark was there. 290
Ah! lest our crimes should snatch this pledge away,
And make our joys the blessings of a day!
For we have sinn'd him hence, and that he lives,
God to his promise, not our practice gives.
Our crimes would soon weigh down the guilty scale,
But James and Mary, and the Church, prevail.
Nor Amalek can rout the chosen bands,[185]
While Hur and Aaron hold up Moses' hands.

By living well, let us secure his days;
Moderate in hopes, and humble in our ways, 300
No force the free-born spirit can constrain,
But charity and great examples gain.
Forgiveness is our thanks for such a day:
'Tis god-like God in his own coin to pay.

But you, propitious queen, translated here,
From your mild heaven, to rule our rugged sphere,
Beyond the sunny walks, and circling year:
You, who your native climate have bereft
Of all the virtues, and the vices left;
Whom piety and beauty make their boast, 310
Though beautiful is well in pious lost;
So lost, as star-light is dissolved away,
And melts into the brightness of the day;
Or gold about the regal diadem,
Lost to improve the lustre of the gem.
What can we add to your triumphant day?
Let the great gift the beauteous giver pay.
For should our thanks awake the rising sun,
And lengthen, as his latest shadows run,
That, though the longest day, would soon, too soon be done. 320
Let angels' voices with their harps conspire,
But keep the auspicious infant from the quire;
Late let him sing above, and let us know
No sweeter music than his cries below.

Nor can I wish to you, great Monarch, more
Than such an annual income to your store;
The day which gave this Unit, did not shine
For a less omen, than to fill the Trine.
After a prince, an admiral beget;
The Royal Sovereign wants an anchor yet. 330
Our isle has younger titles still in store,
And when the exhausted land can yield no more,
Your line can force them from a foreign shore.

The name of Great your martial mind will suit;
But justice is your darling attribute:
Of all the Greeks, 'twas but one hero's[186] due,
And, in him, Plutarch prophesied of you.
A prince's favours but on few can fall,
But justice is a virtue shared by all.

Some kings the name of conquerors have assumed, 340
Some to be great, some to be gods presumed;
But boundless power and arbitrary lust
Made tyrants still abhor the name of just;
They shunn'd the praise this godlike virtue gives,
And fear'd a title that reproach'd their lives.

The Power, from which all kings derive their state,
Whom they pretend, at least, to imitate,
Is equal both to punish and reward;
For few would love their God, unless they fear'd.

Resistless force and immortality 350
Make but a lame, imperfect, deity:
Tempests have force unbounded to destroy,
And deathless being, even the damn'd enjoy;
And yet Heaven's attributes, both last and first,
One without life, and one with life accurst:
But justice is Heaven's self, so strictly he,
That could it fail, the Godhead could not be.
This virtue is your own; but life and state
Are one to Fortune subject, one to Fate:
Equal to all, you justly frown or smile; 360
Nor hopes nor fears your steady hand beguile;
Yourself our balance hold, the world's our isle.

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 161: 'Solemn Sabbath:' Whit-Sunday. ]

[Footnote 162: 'Wondrous octave:' Trinity Sunday. ]

[Footnote 163: 'The Dragon:' alluding only to the Commonwealth party,
here and in other places of the poem. ]

[Footnote 164: 'The travail:' see Rev. xii. 4. ]

[Footnote 165: 'Alcides:' Hercules. ]

[Footnote 166: 'Sign:' the sign of the cross, as denoting the Roman
Catholic faith. ]

[Footnote 167: 'The moon:' the Turkish crescent. ]

[Footnote 168: 'Another Sylvester:' the Pope in James II. 's time is here
compared to him that governed the Romish Church in the time of
Constantine. ]

[Footnote 169: 'British line:' St Helen, mother of Constantine the
Great, was an Englishwoman. ]

[Footnote 170: 'Fatal Ore:' the sandbank on which the Duke of York had
like to have been lost in 1682, on his voyage to Scotland, is known by
the name of Lemman Ore. ]

[Footnote 171: 'Fiends:' the malcontents who doubted the truth of the
birth are here compared to the evil spirits that tempted our Saviour in
the wilderness. ]

[Footnote 172: 'Æneas:' see Virgil; Æneid, I. ]

[Footnote 173: 'Edward:' Edward the Black Prince, born on Trinity
Sunday. ]

[Footnote 174: 'Patron of our isle': St George. ]

[Footnote 175: 'Araunah's threshing-floor:' alluding to the passage in 1
Kings xxiv. ]

[Footnote 176: 'Unnamed as yet:' the prince was christened but not named
when this poem was published. ]

[Footnote 177: 'Tetragrammaton:' Jehovah, or the name of God, unlawful
to be pronounced by the Jews. ]

[Footnote 178: 'Rome was kept concealed:' some authors say, that the
true name of Rome was kept a secret. ]

[Footnote 179: 'Crete:' Candia, where Jupiter was born and bred
secretly. ]

[Footnote 180: 'Brain was born:' Pallas or Minerva, said by the poets to
have sprung from the brain of Jove, and to have been bred up by hand, as
was this young prince. ]

[Footnote 181: 'Sudden blast:' the sudden false report of the prince's
death. ]

[Footnote 182: 'Moments grow:' those giants are feigned to have grown
fifteen yards every day. ]

[Footnote 183: 'Shunamite:' see 2 Kings iv. ]

[Footnote 184: 'Ark their guard:' see 1 Sam. iv. 10. ]

[Footnote 185: 'Amalek can rout the chosen bands:' see Exod. xviii. 8. ]

[Footnote 186: Aristides, surnamed the Just. ]

* * * * *



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