Nor could another in your Room have been,
Except an Emptinefs had come between.
Well may he then to you his Cares impart,
And fhare his Burden where he shares his Heart.
In you his Sleep ftill wakes; his Pleafures find
Their fhare of Bus'ness in your lab'ring Mind:
So when the weary Sun his Place refigns,
He leaves his Light, and by Reflection fhines.
Juftice, that fits and frowns where publick Laws
Exclude foft Mercy from a private Cause,
In your Tribunal moft her felf does please;
There only fmiles becaufe fhe lives at ease;
And, like young David, finds her ftrength the more,
When difincumber'd from those Arms fhe wore:
Heaven would your Royal Mafter fhould exceed
Moft in that Virtue, which we moft did need,
And his mild Father (who too late did find
All Mercy vain, but what with Pow'r was join'd,)
His fatal Goodnefs left to fitter Times,

Not to increafe but to abfolve our Crimes:
But when the Heir of this vaft Treasure knew
How large a Legacy was left to you,
(Too great for any Subject to retain,)
He wifely ty'd it to the Crown again:
Yet paffing through your Hands it gathers more,
As Streams, through Mines, bearTincture of their Ore
While Emp'rique Politicians ufe deceit,

Hide what they give, and cure but by a Cheat;
You boldly fhew that Skill which they pretend,
And work by Means as noble as your End:

Which should you veil, we might unwind the Clue,
As Men do Nature, till we came to you.
And as the Indies were not found, before

Those rich Perfumes, which from the happy fhore,
The Winds upon their Balmy Wings convey'd,
Whofe guilty Sweetness firft their World betray'd;
So by your Counfels we are brought to view
A rich and undiscover'd World in you,

By you our Monarch does that fame assure,
Which Kings must have, or cannot live fecure:
For profp'rous Princes gain their Subjects Heart,
Who love that Praise in which themfelves have part:
By you he fits thofe Subjects to obey,

As Heaven's Eternal Monarch does convey
His Pow'r unfeen, and Man to his Designs,
By his bright Minifters the Stars inclines.

Our fetting Sun from his declining Seat,
Shot Beams of Kindness on you, not of heat:
And when his Love was bounded in a few,
That were unhappy that they might be true;
Made you the Fav'rite of his laft fad Times,
That is a Suffrer in his Subjects Crimes :
Thus thofe first Favours you receiv'd were fent,
Like Heav'ns rewards, in earthly Punishment.
Yet Fortune, conscious of your Destiny,
Even, then took care to lay you softly by:
And wrapt your Fate among her precious Things,
Kept fresh to be unfolded with your King's.
Shewn all at once you dazled fo our Eyes,
As new-born Pallas did the Gods furprise;
When fpringing forth from Jove's new-closing wound,
She ftruck the warlike Spear into the Ground;.
Which Sprouting leaves did fuddenly inclose,
And peaceful Olives fhaded as they rofe.

How ftrangely active are the Arts of Peace, Whofe reftlefs Motions lefs than Wars do cease! Peace is not freed from labour but from noife ; And War more force but not more Pains employs: Such is the mighty Swiftness of your Mind, That (like the Earth's,) it leaves our Sense behind, While you fo fmoothly turn and roul our Sphear, That rapid Motion does but Reft appear. For as in Nature's Swiftnefs, with the throng Of flying Orbs while ours is born along, All feems at reft to the deluded Eye: (Mov'd by the Soul of the fame harmony,)

So carry'd on by your unwearied Care,
We reft in Peace, and yet in motion fhare.
Let Envy then those Crimes within you see,
From which the happy never must be free;
(Envy that does with Mifery refide,
The Joy and the Revenge of ruin'd Pride ;)
Think it not hard, if at fo cheap a Rate
You can fecure the Conftancy of Fate,
Whose kindness sent, what does their Malice feem
By leffer Ills the greater to redeem.

Nor can we this weak fhow'r a Tempeft call,
But drops of heat that in the Sunshine fall.
You have already weary'd Fortune fo,
She cannot farther be your Friend or Foe;
But fits all breathlefs, and admires to feel
A fate fo weighty, that it flops her Wheel.
In all things elfe above our humble Fate,
Your equal Mind yet fwells not into State,
But like fome Mountain in thofe happy Ifles,
Where in perpetual Spring young Nature fmiles,
Your Greatnefs fhews: no horror to affright,
But Trees for fhade, and Flow'rs to court the Sight
Sometimes the Hill fubmits it felf awhile
In fmall Defcents, which do its height beguile;
And fometimes mounts, but fo as billows play,
Whofe rife not hinders but makes fhort our way.
Your Brow which does no fear of Thunder know,
Sees rouling Tempefts vainly beat below;
And (like Olympus top,) th' Impreffion wears
Of Love and Friendship writ in former Years.
Yet unimpair'd with labours or with time
Your age but feems to a new Youth to climb.
Thus Heav'nly bodies do our time beget;
And measure Change, but fhare no part of it.
And ftill it shall without a weight increase,
Like this New-Year, whofe motions never ceafe;
For fince the glorious Course you have begun
Is led by CHARLES, as that is by the Sun,

It must both weightless and immortal prove,
Because the Center of it is above.

On the Death of Mr. WALLER.

By Mr. BEVILL HIGGONS.

H! had thy Body lafted, as thy Name;

Thou had'ft more Ages than old Nestor feen:
Nor had thy Phœbus more Immortal been.
To thee alone we are beholden more
Than all the Poets of the Times before.
Thy Mufe, infpir'd with a genteeler Rage,
Did first refine the Genius of our Age.
In thee a clear and female Softness fhin'd,`
With Mafculine Vigour, Force, and Judgment join'd.
You, in foft Strains, for Courts and Ladies, fung,
So natural your Thought, fo fweet your Song,
The gentle Sex did ftill partake your Flame,
And all the Coyness of your Mistress blame;
Still mov'd with you, did the fame Paffions find,
And vow'd that Sachariffa was unkind.

Oh! may the World ne'er lose so brave a Flame;
May one fucceed in Genius, and in Fame.
May, from thy Urn, fome Phenix, Waller, rife,
Whom the admiring World, like thee, may prize;
May he, in thy immortal Numbers, fing,
And paint the Glories of our matchlefs King:
Oh! may his Verfe of mighty Waller taste,
And mend the coming Age, as you the laft.
Within that facred Pile where Kings do come,
Both to receive their Crowns, and find a Tomb,
There is a lonely Ifle; which holy Place
The lafting Monuments of Poets grace.
Thither, amongst th' infpired Train, convey,
And, in their Company, his Ashes lay:

Let him with Spencer and great Cowley be,
He, who is much the greateft of the Three.
Tho' there fo many Crowns and Mitres lye,
(For Kings, and Saints, as well as we, muft die)
Those venerable Walls were never bleft,

Since their Foundation, with a nobler Guest.
With them, great Soul, thou shalt Immortal live,
And, in thy deathless Numbers, Fate furvive:
Fresh, as thy Sachariffa's Beauty, still

Thy Bays fhall grow, which Time can never kill.
Far as our conqu'ring British Lyon roars,
Far as the Poles, or the remoteft Shores,
Where-e'er is known or heard the English Name,
The diftant World fhall hear of Waller's Fame.
Thou only fhalt with Nature's felf expire,
And all the World, in the fupreameft Fire;
When Horace and fam'd Virgil die, when all
That's Great, or Noble, fhall together fall.

On the Death of E. WALLER, Efq; By Mrs. A. BEHN.

OW, to thy Sacred Memory, fhall I bring

I, who by Toils of Sicknefs, am become
Almost as near as thou art to a Tomb?
While every foft, and every tender Strain
Is ruff'd, and ill-natur'd grown with Pain.
But, at thy Name, my languisht Muse revives,
And a new Spark in the dull Afhes ftrives.
I hear thy tuneful Verfe, thy Song Divine;
And am infpir'd by every charming Line.
But, Oh!--

What Infpiration, at the fecond Hand,
Can an Immortal Elegy Command?