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That blood, which thou and thy great grandfire med,
And all that since these fifter nations bled,
Had been unspilt, had happy Edward known
That all the blood he spilt had been his own.
When he that patron chose in whom are join'd
Soldier and martyr, and his arms confin'd
Within the azure circle, he did seem
But to foretel, and prophesy of him,
Who to his realms that azure round hath join'd,
Which Nature for their bound at first design'd.
That bound, which to the world's extremelt ends,
Endless itself, it's liquid arms extends,
Nor doth he need those emblems which we paint,
But is himself the soldier and the saint.
Here should my wonder dwell, and here my praise,
But my fix'd thoughts my wand'ring eye betrays,
Viewing a neighb'ring hill, whose top of late
A chapel crown'd, till in the common fate
Th'adjoining abbey fell : (may no such storm
Fall on our times, where ruin must reform !)
Tell me, my Muse, what monstrous dire offence,
What crime could any Christian king incense
To such a rage? Was't luxury, or luft?
Was he so temperate, so chaste, so juft?
Were these their crimes? They were his own much more:
But wealth is crime enough to him that's poor ;
Who having spent the treasures of his crown,
Condemns their luxury to feed his own.
And yet this act, to varnish o'er the shame
Of sacrilege, must bear devotion's name.
No crime so bold, but would be understood
A real, or at least a seeming good :
Who fears not to do ill, yet fears the name,
And free from conscience, is a slave to fame :
Thus he the church at once protects and spoils ;
But princes swords are sharper than their styles.

And

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And thus to th' ages past he makes amends,
Their charity destroys, their faith defends.
Then did religion, in a lazy cell,
In empty, airy contemplations dwell;
And like the block, unmoved lay : but ours,
As much too active, like the stork devours.
Is there no temp'rate region can be known,
Betwixt their frigid, and our torrid zone ?
Cou'd we not wake from that lethargick dream,
But to be restless in a worse extreme?
And for that lethargy was there no cure,
But to be cast into a calenture ?
Can knowledge have no bound, but must advance
So far, to make us with for ignorance?
And rather in the dark to grope our way,
Than led by a false guide to err by day?
Who sees these dismal heaps, but would demand,
What barbarous invader fack'd the land ?
But when he hears, no Goth, no Turk did bring
This defolation, but a Christian king;
When nothing, but the name of zeal, appears
"Twixt our best actions and the worst of theirs,
What does he think our facrilege wou'd spare,
When such th' effects of our devotions are ?
Parting from thence, 'twixt anger, shame, and fear,
Those for what's past, and this for what's too near,
My eye, descending from the hill, surveys
Where Thames among the wanton vallies strays.
Thames, the most lov’d of all the Ocean's fons,
By his old fire, to his embraces runs ;
Hasting to pay his tribute to the sea,
Like mortal life to meet eternity.
Tho' with those streams he no resemblance hold,
Whose foam is amber, and their gravel gold;
His genuine and less guilty wealth t explore,
Search not his bottom, but survey his shore ;

O'er

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O'er which he kindly spreads his spacious wing,
And hatches plenty for th’ ensuing spring.
Nor then destroys it with too fond a stay,
Like mothers which their infants overlay :
Nor with a sudden and impetuous wave,
Like profuse kings, resumes the wealth he gave.
No unexpected inundations spoil
The mower's hopes, nor mock the plowman's toil;
But godlike his unweary'd bounty flows;
First loves to do, then loves the good he does.
Nor are his bleffings to his banks confin'd,
But free, and common, as the sea or wind ;
When he to boast, or to disperse his stores,
Full of the tributes of his grateful fhores,
Visits the world, and in his flying tow'rs
Brings home to us, and makes both Indies ours ;
Finds wealth where 'tis, bestows it where it wants,
Cities in defarts, woods in cities plants.
So that to us no thing, no place is strange,
While his fair bosom is the world's exchange.
O could I flow like thee, and make thy stream
My great example, as it is my theme !
Tho' deep, yet clear; tho' gentle, yet not dull ;
Strong without rage, without o'er-flowing full.
Heav'n her Eridanus no more shall boast,
Whose fame in thine, like lesser currents lost;
Thy nobler streams fhall visit Jove's abodes,
To shine among the stars *, and bathe the gods.

*
Here Nature, whether more intent to please
Us or herself, with strange varieties,
(For things of wonder give no less delight
To the wise maker's, than beholder's fight:
Tho' these delights from fev'ral causes move;
For fo our children, thus our friends we love)

# The Foreit.

Wisely

*

Wisely the knew, the harmony of things,
As well as that of sounds, from discord springs,
Such was the discord, which did first disperse
Form, order, beauty, through the universe;
While dryness, moisture, coldness, heat resists,
All that we have, and that we are; fubfifts:
While the steep horrid roughness of the wood,
Strives with the gentle calmness of the flood;
Such huge extremes when Nature doth unite,
Wonder from thence results, from thence delight.
The stream is so transparent, pure, and clear,
That had the self-enamour'd youth * gaz'd here,
So fatally deceiv'd he had not been,
While he the bottom, not his face had seen.
But his proud head the airy mountain hides
Among the clouds; his shoulders and his fides
A shady mantle clothes; his curled brows
Frown on the gentle stream, which calmly flows į
While winds and storms his lofty forehead beat :
The common fate of all that's high or great.
Low at his foot a spacious plain is plac'd,
Between the mountain and the stream embrac'd :
Which shade and shelter from the hill derives,
While the kind river wealth and beauty gives ;
And in the mixture of all these, appears
Variety, which all the reft endears.
This scene had some bold Greek or British bard
Beheld of old, what stories had we heard
Of fairies, fatyrs, and the nymphs, their dames ;
Their feasts, their revels, and their am'rous Aames
'Tis still the same, altho' their airy shape
All but a quick poetick fight escape.
There Faunus and Sylvanus keep their courts,
And thither all the horned hoft resorts

* Narcissus.

то

To graze the ranker mead ; that noble herd,
On whose sublime and shady fronts is rear'd
Nature's great master-piece; to thew how foon
Great things are made, but sooner are undone.
Here have I seen the king, when great affairs
Gave leave to flacken and unbend his cares,
Attended to the chace by all the flow'r
Of youth, whose hopes a nobler prey devour ;
Pleafure with praise and danger they.would buy,
And with a foe that would not only fly.
The ftag, now conscious of his fatal growth,
At once indulgent to his fear and floth,
To some dark covert his retreat had made,
Where nor man's eye 'nor Heaven's Mould invade
His soft repose ; when th' unexpected found
Of dogs and men his wakeful ear does wound :
Rouz'd with the noise, he scarce believes his ear,
Willing to think th' illusions of his fear
Had givin this false alarin; but ftraight his view
Confirms, that more than all he fears is true.
Betray'd in all his strengths, the wood beset;
All instruments, all'arts of ruin met;
He calls to mind his ftrength, and then his speed;
His winged heels, and then his armed head;
With these tavoid, with that his fate to meet :
But fear prevails, and bids him truft his feet.
So faft he Aies, that his reviewing eye
Has loft the chasers, and his ear the cry ;
Exulting, till he finds their nobler sense
Their disproportion'd speed does recompense ;
Then curses his confpiring feet, whose fcent
Betrays that safety which their swiftness lent.
Then tries his friends : among the baser herd,
Where he fo lately was obey'd and fear'd,
His safety seeks ; the herd, unkindly wise,
Or chases him from thence, or from him flies.

SE

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