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KING JAMES II.

UPON HIS

Acceffion to the THRONE.

The Author then of Trinity College, Cambridge.

S Victors lofe the Trouble they fuftain
In greater Trophies which the Triumphs

gain;

And Martyrs,, when the joyful Crown is

givin,

Forget the Pain, by which they purchas'd
Heav'n!

So when the Phoenix of our Empire dy'd,
And with a greater Heir the empty Throne fupply'd;
Your Glory diflipates our mournful Dew,

And turns our Grief for Charles to Joy for you.
Mysterious Fate; whofe one Decree could prove,
The high Extreme of Cruelty and Love!

May then no Flight of a blafpheming Mufe
Those wife Refolves of Providence accufe,
Which eas'd our Atlas of his glorious Weight,
Since ftronger Hercules fupports the State.
England no more shall penfive Thoughts employ
On him, fhe's loft; but him, fhe has, enjoy.

So Ariadne, when her Lover fled,

And Bacchus honour'd the deferted Bed,

Ceas'd with her Tears to raife the fwelling Flood,
Forgot her Thefeus, and embrac'd the God.

isht & robbi aldon rosu montor

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On the University of Cambridge's burning the Duke of MONMOUTH's Picture, 1685. who was formerly their Chancellor.Anfwer to this Question,

#cants:60 5th to 1 Sed quid

Turba Remi? fequitur fortunam, ut femper, & odit

Damnatos.

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YES, fickle Cambridge, Perkins found this true

In

Both from your Rabble, and your Doctors too, With what Applause you once receiv'd his Grace, And begg'd a Copy of his godlike Face; But when the fage Vice-chancellor was fure The Original in Limbo lay fecure, As greafy as himself he fends a Lictor To vent his loyal Malice on the Picture. The Beadle's Wife endeavours all the can To fave the Image of the call young Man, Which the fodft them.pregnant did embrace, That with frong Thoughs the might improve her Race; But all in van fince the wife Houfe conspire To damn the canvas Traitor to the Fire, Left it, like Bones of Scanderbeg, incite Scythe-men next Harveft to renew the Fight. Then in comes Mayor Eagle, and does gravely alledge, He'll fubfcribe, if he can, for a bundle of Sedge: But the Man of Clarehall that Proffer refuses, 'Snigs, he'll be beholden to none but the Muses; And orders ten Porters to bring the dull Reams

On the Death of good Charles, and Crowning of James:

And

And fwears he will borrow of the Provost more Stuff
On the Marriage of Anne, if that ben't enough.
The Heads, left he get all the Profit t'himself,
Too greedy of Honour, too lavish of Pelf,
This Motion deny, and vote that Tite Tillet
Should gather from each noble Doctor a Billet.
The Kindnels was common, and fo they'd return it,
The Gift was to all, all therefore would burn it:
Thus joining their Stocks for a Bonfire together,
As they club for a Cheese in the Parish of Chedder;
Confufedly crowd on the Sophs and the Doctors,
The Hangman, the Townfmen, their Wives and the
Proctors,

While the Troops from each part of the Countries in Ale,
Come to quaff his Confufion in Bumpers of Stale;
But Rofalin, never unkind to a Duke,

Does by her Abfence their Folly rebuke,
The tender Creature could not fee his Fate,
With whom she'ad danc'd a Minuet so late.

The Heads who never could hope for fuch Frames,
Out of Envy condemn'd fixscore Pounds to the Flames,
Then his Air was too proud, and his Features amiss,
As if being a Traitor had alter'd his Phiz:

So the Rabble of Rome, whose Favour ne'er fettles,
Melt down their Sejanus to Pots and brass Kettles.

An Epifle to CHARLES MONTAGUE, Efq; on his Majefty's Voyage to Holland.

SIR,

INCE you oft invite me to renew

SINCE

An Art I've either loft, or never knew, Pleas'd my paft Follies kindly to commend, And fondly lofe the Critick in the Friend; Tho' my warm Youth untimely be decay'd, From grave to dull insensibly betray'd,

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I'll contradict the Humour of the Times,
Inclin'd to Bus'nefs, and averfe to Rhymes,
And to obey the Man I love, in fpite
Of the World's Genius, and my own, I'll write.
But think not that I vainly do afpire

To rival what I only would admire,

The Heat and Beauty of your manly Thought,
And Force like that with which your Hero fought:
Like Samplon's Riddle is that powerful Song,
Sweet as the Honey, as the Lion ftrong;
The Colours there fo artfully are laid,
They fear no Luftre and they want no Shade;
But fhall of Writing a juft Model give,

While Boyne fhall flow, and William's Glory live.i
Yet fince his ev'ry Act may well infuse
Some happy Rapture in the humblest Muse,
Tho' mine defpairs to reach the wondrous Height,
She prunes her Pinions, eager of the Flight;
The King's the Theme, and I've a Subject's Right.
When William's Deeds, and refcu'd Europe's Joy
Do ev'ry Tongue and ev'ry Pen employ,
'Tis to think Treafon fure, to fhew no Zeal,
And not to write, is almoft to rebel.

Let. Albion then forgive her meaneft Son,
Who wou'd continue what her best begun ;
Who, leaving Conquefts, and the Pomp of War,
Wou'd fing the pious King's divided Care;
How eagerly he flew when Europe's Fate
Did for the Seed of future Actions wait;
And how two Nations did with transport boast,
Which was belov'd, and lov'd the Victor most :
How joyful Belgia gratefully prepar'd
Trophies and Vows for her returning Lord;
How the fair Ifle with rival Paflion ftrove,
How by her Sorrow the exprefs'd her Love,
When he withdrew from what his Arm had freed,
And how she bless'd his way, yet figh'd, and said:

Is it decreed my Hero he'er fhall rest,
Ne'er be of me, and I of him poffels
Scarce had I met his Virtue with my Throne,
By Right, by Merit, and by Arms his own,
But Ireland's Freedom, and the War's Alarms,
and his Maria's Charms."
O gen'rous Prince, too prodigally kind!

Call'd him from mes f
O geffafive Goodness of

Can

your Mind

Be in no Bounds, but of the World confin'd?
Shou'd finking Nations fummon you away,
Maria's Love might juftify your Stay.
Imperfectly the many Vows are paid,
Which for your Safety to the Gods were made,
While on the Boyne they labour'd to out-do
Your Zeal for Albion by their Care for you;
When too impatient of a glorious Eafe,
You tempt new Dangers on the winter Seas.
The Belgick State has refted long fecure
Within the Circle of thy guardian Pow'r;
Rear'd by thy Care that noble Lion, grown
Mature in Strength, can range the Woods alone:
When to my Arms they did the Prince refign,
I blefs'd the Change, and thought him wholly mine;
Conceiv'd long Hopes I jointly fhou'd obey
His ftronger, and Maria's gentle Sway:
He fierce as Thunder, fhe as Lightning bright;
One my Defence, and t'other my Delight:
Yet go-where Honour calls the Hero go:
Nor let your Eyes behold how mine do flow;
Go meet your Country's Joy, your Virtue's due;
Receive their Triumphs, and prepare for new ;
Enlarge my Empire, and let France afford
The next large Harvest to thy profp'rous Sword:
Again in Crecy let my Arms be rear'd,

And o'er the Continent Britannia fear'd:
While under Mary's tutelary Care,

Far from the Danger, or the Noife of War,

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