Nor could another in your Room have been,
Except an Emptinefs had come between.
Well may he then to you his Cares impart,
And share his Burden where he fhares his Heart.
In you his Sleep ftill wakes; his Pleafures find
Their fhare of Bus'nefs 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 Caufe,
In your Tribunal most her felf does please;
There only fmiles because the lives at ease;
And, like young David, finds her ftrength the more,
When difincumber'd from thofe Arms fhe wore:
Heaven would your Royal Mafter should 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 Goodness left to fitter Times,
Not to increase but to abfolve our Crimes:
But when the Heir of this vaft Treafure 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,
Whose 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 affure,
Which Kings must have, or cannot live fecure :
For profp'rous Princes gain their Subjects Heart,
Who love that Praise in which themselves have part :
By you he fits those 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 last fad Times,
That is a Suffrer in his Subjects Crimes:
Thus thofe first Favours you receiv'd were sent,
Like Heav'ns rewards, in earthly Punishment.
Yet Fortune, confcious of your Destiny,
Ev'n 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 surprise ;
When fpringing forth from Jove's new-clofing wound,
She ftruck the warlike Spear into the Ground;
Which fprouting leaves did fuddenly inclofe,
And peaceful Olives fhaded as they rofe.

How ftrangely active are the Arts of Peace, Whofe reftless Motions lefs than Wars do ceafe! Peace is not freed from labour but from noile ; 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 Senfe 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 thofe Crimes within you fee,
From which the happy never must be fiee;
(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,
Whofe kindness fent, 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 Sun fhine fall.
You have already weary'd Fortune so,
She cannot farther be your Friend or Foe;
But fits all breathlefs, and admires to feel
A fate fo weighty, that it ftops 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 short 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 hare no part of it.
And fill it fhall without a weight increase,
Like this New-Year, whose motions never ceafe;
For fince the glorious Courfe you have begun
Is led by CHARLES, as that is by the Sup,

It muft 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 Neßor seen :
Nor had thy Phoebus 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, so sweet your Song,
The gentle Sex did still partake your Flame,
And all the Coynefs 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 lofe fo 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 matchless 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' inspired 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 Growns and Mitres lye,
(For Kings, and Saints, as well as we, muft die)
Thofe venerable Walls were never bleft,

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

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, Efqs

H

By Mrs. A. BEHN.

WOW, to thy Sacred Memory, fhall I bring
(Worthy thy Fame) a grateful Offering?
I, who by Toils of Sickness, am become
Almoft as near as thou art to a Tomb?
While every foft, and every tender Strain
Is ruffl'd, and ill-natur'd grown with Pain.
But, at thy Name, my languisht Muse revives,
And a new Spark in the dull Ashes ftrives.
I hear thy tuneful Verfe, thy Song Divine;
And am inspir'd by every charming Line.
But, Oh!--

What Inspiration, at the second Hand,
Can an Immortal Elegy Command?