Some cry'd, A Venus; fome, A Thetis paft;
But this was not fo fair, nor that fo chafte.

Far from her fight flew Faction, Strife, and Pride;
And Envy did but look on her, and dy'd.
Whate'er we fuffer'd from our fullen fate,
Her Sight is purchas'd at an eafy rate.

Three gloomy Years against this Day were fet ;-
But this one mighty Sum has clear'd the Debt:
Like Jofeph's Dream, but with å better doom,
The Famine paft, the Plenty ftill to come.
For her the weeping Heav'ns become ferene ;
For her the Ground is clad in cheerful Green:
For her the Nightingales are taught to fing,
And Nature has for her delay'd the Spring.
The Muse resumes her long-forgotten Lays,
And Love, reftor'd, his antient Realm furveys,
Recals our Beauties, and revives our Plays;
His waste Dominions peoples once again,
And from her presence dates his fecond reign.
But awful Charms on her fair Forehead fit,
Difpenfing what she never will admit:
Pleafing, yet cold, like Cynthia's filver Beam,
The People's wonder, and the Poet's Theme.
Distemper'd Zeal, Sedition, canker'd hate,
No more fhall vex the Church, and tear the State:
No more fhall Faction civil Difcords move,

Or only Difcords of too tender Love:

Difcord, like that of Mufick's various Parts;
Difcord, that makes the harmony of Hearts;
Difcord, that only this Difpute fhall bring,
Who best shall love the Duke, and ferve the King.

}

T

To my Honour'd Friend Dr. Charleton, on his learned and ufeful Works; but more particularly his Treatife of Stone-Henge, by him reftor❜d to the true Founders.

T

HE longeft Tyranny that ever fway'd,
Was that wherein our Ancestors betray'd
Their free-born Reafon to the Stagyrite,
And made his Torch their universal Light.
So Truth, while only one fupply'd the State,
Grew scarce, and dear, and yet sophisticate.
Still it was bought, like Emp'rick Wares, or Charms,
Hard Words feal'd up with Ariftotle's Arms.
Columbus was the first that shook his Throne;
And found a Temp'rate in a Torrid Zone:
The fev'rifh Air fann'd by a cooling Breeze,
The fruitful Vales fet round with 'fhady Trees;
And guiltless Men, who danc'd away their time,
Fresh as their Groves, and Happy as their Clime.
Had we ftill paid that Homage to a Name,
Which only God and Nature juftly claim ;
The Western Seas had been our utmost Bound,
Where Poets still might dream the Sun was drown'd:
And all the Stars, that shine in Southern Skies,
Had been admir'd by none but Savage Eyes.

Among th' Afferters of free Reason's claim,
Our Nation's not the leaft in Worth or Fame.
The World to Bacon does not only owe
Its prefent Knowledge, but its future too.
Gilber fhall live, 'till Load-flones cease to draw,
Or British Fleets the boundless Ocean awe.
And noble Boyle, not lefs in Nature seen,
Than his great Brother read in States and Men.

The

The Circling Streams, once thought but Pools, of Blood
(Whether Life's Fuel, or the Body's Food)
From dark Oblivion Harvey's Name fhall fave;
While Ent keeps all the Honour that he gave.
Nor are You, Learned Friend, the least renown'd;
Whofe Fame, not circumfcrib'd with English Ground,
Flies like the nimble Journies of the Light;
And is, like that, unspent too in its Flight.
Whatever Truths have been, by Art, or Chance,
Redeem'd from Error, or from Ignorance,
Thin in their Authors (like rich Veins of Ore)
Your Works unite, and ftill discover more.
Such is the healing Virtue of your Pen,
To perfect Cures on Books, as well as Men.
Nor is this Work the leaft: You well may give
To Men new Vigour,. who make Stones to live.
Through You, the Danes (their short Dominion loft)
A longer Conqueft than the Saxons boast.

STONE-HENGE, once thought a Temple, you have found
A Throne, where Kings, our earthly Gods, were crown'd;
Where by their wond'ring Subjects they were seen,
Joy'd with their Stature, and their Princely Mien.
Our Sovereign here above the rest might stand,
And here be chose again to rule the Land.

Thefe Ruins shelter'd once His Sacred Head,
When He from Wor'fter's fatal Battle fled;
Watch'd by the Genius of this Royal Place,
And mighty Visions of the Danish Race.
His Refuge, then, was for a Temple shown:
But, He reftor'd, 'tis now become a Throne.

To the Lady CASTLEMAIN, upon her encouraging his first Play.

A Difcover Wealth in Lands unknown before;

S Seamen, Shipwreck'd on fome happy Shore,

And, what their Art had labour'd long in vain,
By their Misfortunes happily obtain :
So my much-env'd Mufe, by Storms long toft,
Is thrown upon your hofpitable Coast,
And finds more favour by her ill Succefs,
Than fhe cou'd hope for by her Happiness.
Once Cato's Virtue did the Gods oppose;
While they the Victor, he the Vanquish'd chose:
But
you have done what Cato cou'd not do,
To choose the Vanquish'd, and restore him too.
Let others ftill Triumph, and gain their Caufe-
By their Deferts, or by the World's Applaufe;
Let Merit Crowns, and Juftice Laurels give,.
But let me happy by your Pity live:
True Poets empty Fame and Praise despise,
Fame is the Trumpet, but your Smile the Prize..
You fit above, and fee vain Men below
Contend for what you only can bestow :
But those great Actions, others do by chance,
Are, like your Beauty, your Inheritance:
So great a Soul, fuch Sweetness join'd in one,
Cou'd only spring from noble Grandifon.
You, like the Stars, not by Reflexion bright,
Are born to your own Heav'n, , and your own Light;
Like them are good, but from a nobler Cause,
From your own Knowledge, not from Nature's Laws.
Your Pow'r you never use, but for Defence,
To guard your own, or others Innocence:

You

Your Foes are fuch, as they, not you, have made,
And Virtue may repel, tho' not invade.

Such Courage did the antient Heroes show,

Who, when they might prevent, wou'd wait the Blow :

With fuch affurance as they meant to say,

We will o'ercome, but fcorn the fafeft way.
What further fear of danger can there be?
Beauty, which captives all things, fets me free.
Pofterity will judge by my Succefs,

I had the Grecian Poet's Happiness,

Who, waving Plots, found out a better way;
Some God defcended, and preferv'd the Play.
When firft the Triumphs of your Sex were fung
By thofe old Poets, Beauty was but young,
And few admir'd the native Red and White,
'Till Poets drefs'd them up, to charm the fight:
So Beauty took on truft, and did engage
For Sums of Praises 'till fhe came to Age.
But this long-growing Debt to Poetry
You justly, Madam, have discharg'd to me,
When your Applause and Favour did infuse
New Life to my condemn'd and dying Muse.

To my Honoured Friend Sir ROBERT HOWARD, on his Excellent Poems.

A

S there is Mufick uninform'd by Art

In those wild Notes, which with a merry Heart The Birds in unfrequented Shades express, Who, better taught at home, yet please us lefs: So in your Verfe a native Sweetness dwells, Which shames Compofure, and its Art excells.

Singing,