Answer. Is not the Lady she writes against reckoned No. 619. Handsome?
I desire Tom Truelove (who sends me a Sonnet upon his Mistress, with a Desire to print it immediately) to consider, that it is long since I was in Love,
I shall answer a very profound Letter from my old Friend the Upholsterer, who is still inquisitive whether the King of Sweden be living or dead, by whispering him in the Ear, That I believe he is alive.
Let Mr. Dapperwit consider, What is that long story of the Cuckoldom to me?
At the earnest Desire of Monímia's Lover, who de clares himself very penitent, he is recorded in my Paper by the Name of The Faithful Castalio,
The Petition of Charles Cocksure, which the Peti tioner stiles very reasonable -Rejected.
The Memorial of Philander, which he desires may be dispatched out of Hand, Postponed.
I desire S. R. not to repeat the Expression under the Sun so often in his next Letter,
The Letter of P. S. who desires either to have it printed entire, or committed to the Flames. Not to be printed entire.
Hic vir, hic est, tibi quem promitti saepius audis.--Virg.
AVING lately presented my Reader with a Copy
of Verses, full of the false Sublime, I shall here communicate to him an excellent Specimen of the True. Tho' it hath not been yet published, the judicious Reader will readily discern it to be the Work of a Master: And if he hath read that noble Poem on The Prospect of Peace, he will not be at a Loss to guess at the Author,
When BRUNSWICK first appear'd, each honest Heart,
Intent on Verse, disdain'd the Rules of Art;
For Him the Songsters, in unmeasur'd Odes,
Debas'd Alcides, and dethron'd the Gods,
In Golden Chains the Kings of India led, Monday, Or rent the Turban from the Sultan's Head. One, in old Fables, and the Pagan Strain,
With Nymphs and Tritons, wafts him o'er the Main,
Another draws fierce Lucifer in Arms,
And fills th' Infernal Region with Alarms
A Third awakes some Druid, to foretel
Each future Triumph from his dreary Cell.
Exploded Fancies! that in vain deceive,
While the Mind nauseates what she can't believe.
My Muse th' expected Hero shall pursue
From Clime to Clime, and keep him still in View:
His shining March describe in faithful Lays,
Content to paint him, nor presume to praise ;
Their Charms, if Charms they have, the Truth
supplies,
And from the Theme unlabour'd Beauties rise.
By longing Nations for the Throne design'd,
And call'd to guard the Rights of Human-kind
With secret Grief his God-like Soul repines,
And Britain's Crown with joyless Lustre shines,
While Prayers and Tears his destin'd Progress stay,
And Crowds of Mourners choak their Sovereign's Way.
Not so he march'd, when Hostile Squadrons stood i
In Scenes of Death, and fir'd his generous Blood;
When his hot Courser paw'd th' Hungarian Plain,
And adverse Legions stood the Shock in vain.
His Frontiers past, the Belgian Bounds he views,
And cross the level Fields his March pursues.
Here pleas'd the Land of Freedom to survey,
He greatly scorns the Thirst of boundless Sway.
O'er the thin Soil, with silent Joy he spies
Transplanted Woods, and borrow'd Verdure rise;
Where every Meadow won with Toil and Blood,
From haughty Tyrants, and the raging Flood,
With Fruits and Flowers the careful Hind supplies,
And cloaths the Marshes in a rich Disguise.
Such Wealth for frugal Hands doth Heaven decree,
And such thy Gifts, Celestial Liberty!
No. 620.
Monday,
Nov. 15,
1714,
Through stately Towns, and many a fertile Plain,
The Pomp advances to the neighbouring Main.
Whole Nations crowd around with joyful Cries,
And view the Heroe with insatiate Eyes.
In Haga's Towers he waits, 'till Eastern Gales
Propitious rise to swell the British Sails.
Hither the Fame of England's Monarch brings
The Vows and Friendships of the neighb'ring Kings 1
Mature in Wisdom, his extensive Mind
Takes in the blended Int'rests of Mankind,
The World's great Patriot. Calm thy anxious Breast,
Secure in him, O Europe take thy Rest;
Henceforth thy Kingdoms shall remain confin'd
By Rocks or Streams, the Mounds which Heav'n
design'd;
The Alps their new-made Monarch shall restrain,
Nor shall thy Hills, Pirene, rise in vain.
But see! to Britain's Isle the Squadrons stand
And leave the sinking Towers, and lessening Land.
The Royal Bark bounds o'er the floating Plain,
Breaks thro' the Billows, and divides the Main.
O'er the vast Deep, Great Monarch, dart thine Eyes,
A watry Prospect bounded by the Skies!
Ten thousand Vessels from Ten thousand Shores
Bring Gums and Gold, and either India's Stores:
Behold the Tributes hastening to thy Throne,
And see the wide Horison all thy own.
Still is it thine; tho' now the cheerful Crew
Hail Albion's Cliffs, just whitening to the View.
Before the Wind with swelling Sails they ride,
Till Thames receives them in his opening Tide.
The Monarch hears the thundring Peals around,
From trembling Woods and echoing Hills rebound,
Nor misses yet, amid the deafening Train,
The Roarings of the hoarse-resounding Main.
As in the Flood he sails, from either Side He views his Kingdom in its rural Pride;
No. 620. A various Scene the wide-spread Landskip yields,
Monday, O'er rich Enclosures and luxuriant Fields:
Nov. 15,
A lowing Herd each fertile Pasture fills,
1714.
And distant Flocks strav o'er a thousand Hills:
Fair Greenwich hid in Woods with new Delight,
(Shade above Shade) now rises to the Sights
His Woods ordain'd to visit every Shore,
And guard the Island which they grac'd before.
The Sun now rowling down the Western Way,
A Blaze of Fires renews the fading Day!
Unnumber'd Barks the Regal Barge infold,
Brightening the Twilight with its beamy Gold,
Less thick the finny Shoals, a countless Fry,
Before the Whale or kingly Dolphin fly.
In one vast Shout he seeks the crowded Strand,
And in a Peal of Thunder gains the Land.
Welcome, great Stranger, to our longing Eyes,
Oh! King desir'd, adopted Albion cries,
For Thee the East breath'd out a prosp'rous Breeze,
Bright were the Suns, and gently swell'd the Seas.
Thy Presence did each doubtful Heart compose,
And Factions wonder'd that they once were Foes,
That joyful Day they lost each Hostile Name,
The same their Aspect, and their Voice the same.
So two fair Twins, whose Features were design'd
At one soft Moment in the Mother's Mind,
Show each the other with reflected Grace,
And the same Beauties bloom in either Face;
The puzzled Strangers which is which enquire,
Delusion grateful to the smiling Sire.
From that fair Hill, where hoary Sages boast
To name the Stars, and count the heavenly Host,
By the next Dawn doth great Augusta rise,
Proud Town! the noblest Scene beneath the Skies.
O'er Thames her thousand Spires their Lustre shed.
And a vast Navy hides his ample Bed,
A floating Forest. From the distant Strand
A Line of golden Carrs strikes o'er the Land
Britannia's Peers in Pomp and rich Array,
Before their King, triumphant, lead the Way.
Far as the Eye can reach, the gawdy Train,
A bright Procession, shines along the Plain.
So haply through the Hea'v'ns wide pathless Ways
A Comet draws a long-extended Blaze i
From East to West burns through th' ethereal Frame,
And half Heav'n's Convex glitters with the Flame.
Now to the Regal Towers securely brought,
He plans Britannia's Glories in his Thought,
Resumes the delegated Pow'r he gave,
Rewards the Faithful, and restores the Brave.
Whom shall the Muse from out the shining Throng
Select to heighten and adorn her Song?
Thee, Halifax. To thy capacious Mind,
O Man approv'd, is Britain's Wealth consign'd.
Her Coin (while Nassau fought) debas'd and rude,
By Thee in Beauty and in Truth renew'd,
An Arduous Work! Again thy Charge we see,
And thy own Care once more returns to Thee.
O! form'd in every Scene to awe and please,
Mix Wit with Pomp, and Dignity with Ease:
Tho' call'd to shine aloft, thou wilt not scorn
To smile on Arts thy self did once adorn :
For this thy Name succeeding Times shall praise,
And envy less thy Garter, than thy Bays,
The Muse, if fir'd with thy enlivening Beams,
Perhaps shall aim at more exalted Themes,
Record our Monarch in a nobler Strain,
And sing the opening Wonders of his Reign;
Bright CAROLINA's heavenly Beauties trace,
Her valiant CONSORT, and his blooming Race.
A Train of Kings their fruitful Love supplies,
A glorious Scene to Albion's ravish'd Eyes
Who sees by BRUNSWICK'S Hand her Sceptre sway'd,
And through his Line from Age to Age convey'd.
No. 620.
Monday,
Nov. 15,
1714.
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