Or gold about the regal diadem,
Loft to improve the luftre of the gem.

What can we add to your triumphant day? 315
Let the great gift the beauteous giver pay.
For fhould our thanks awake the rifing fun,
And lengthen, as his latest shadows run,
That, tho' the longest day, would foon, too
foon be done.

Let angels' voices with their harps confpire, s20
But keep the aufpicious infant from the quire;
Late let him fing above, and let us know
No fweeter mufic than his cries below.

Nor can I wish to you, great monarch, more
Than fuch an annual income to your ftore; 325
The day which gave this Unit, did not shine
For a lefs omen, than to fill the Trine.
After a Prince, an Admiral beget;
The Royal Sovereign wants an anchor yet.
Our ifle has younger titles ftill in store,
And when the exhaufted land can yield not

more,

330

Your line can force them from a foreign fhore. The name of Great your martial mind will fuit;

But juftice is your darling attribute:

Ver. 313.

Derrick has royal.

the regal diadem,] Original edition. TODD.

Ver. 319. That, tho' the longest day, would foon, too foon be done.] This is the punctuation of the original edition. TODD.

Of all the Greeks, 'twas but one hero's * due,
And, in him, Plutarch prophefy'd of you. 336
A prince's favours but on few can fall,
But juftice is a virtue fhar'd by all.

Some kings the name of conquerors have affum'd,

341

Some to be great, fome to be gods prefum'd;
But boundless power, and arbitrary luft,
Made tyrants ftill abhor the name of juft;
They fhunn'd the praife this godlike virtue
gives,

And fear'd a title that reproach'd their lives.
The power, from which all kings derive their

ftate, Whom they pretend, at least, to imitate, Is equal both to punish and reward ;

345

For few would love their God, unless they fear'd.

Refiftless force and immortality

Make but a lame, imperfect, deity;

350

Tempests have force unbounded to deftroy, And deathlefs being ev'n the damn'd enjoy ; And yet Heaven's attributes, both last and first,

One without life, and one with life accurft: But juftice is Heaven's felf, fo ftrictly he, That could it fail, the Godhead could not be.

Ariftides, See his life in Plutarch. Original edition.

355

This virtue is your own; but life and state
Are one to fortune fubject, one to fate:
Equal to all, you juftly frown or fmile;

Nor hopes nor fears your fteady hand be

360

guile; Yourself our balance hold, the world's, our ifle.

MAC FLECKNOE*.

ALL human things are subject to decay, And when fate fummons, monarchs must obey.

This is one of the best, as well as fevereft fatires, ever produced in our language. Mr. Thomas Shadwell is the hero of the piece, and introduced, as if pitched upon, by Flecknoe, to fucceed him in the throne of dullnefs; for Flecknoe was never poet-laureat, as has been ignorantly afferted in Cibber's Lives of the Poets.

Richard Flecknoe, Efq; from whom this poem derives its name, was an Irish prieft, who had, according to his own declaration, laid afide the mechanic part of the priesthood. He was well known at court; yet, out of four plays which he wrote, could get only one of them acted, and that was damned. "He has," fays Langbaine, "published fundry works, as he ftiles them, to continue his name to pofterity, though poffibly an enemy has done that for him, which his own endeavours could never have perfected: for, whatever may become of his own pieces, his name will continue, whilft Mr. Dryden's fatire, called Mac-Flecknoe, fhall remain in vogue."

From this poem Pope took the hint of his Dunciad.

DERRICK.

There is a copy of this fatire in manufcript, among the manufcripts in the Archiepifcopal Library at Lambeth Palace; which prefents fome readings, different from the printed copies, that may probably amufe the reader, and perhaps in two or three inftances induce him to prefer the written text.

is numbered 711. 8.

The MS.

TODD.