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Not only Heir unto thy Throne, but Mind: 'Tis he shall perfect all thy Cures,

And with a fine Thread weave out thy Loom:
So one did bring the chofen People from
Their Slavery and Fears,

Led them through their pathlefs Road,
Guided himself by God.

H'as brought them to the Borders; but a fecond hand
Did fettle and fecure them in the promis'd Land,

Upon the late Storm, and Death of the late Lord Protector, enfuing the fame.

obt.

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E muft refign; Heav'n his great Soul does In Storms as loud as his Immortal Fame ; His dying Groans, his laft Breath shakes our Ifle, And Trees uncut fall for his Fun'ral Pile:

About his Palace their broad Roots are toft

Into the Air; So Romulus was loft.

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New Rome in fuch a Tempeft mifs'd their King; And from obeying, fell to worshipping.

On Octa's Top thus Hercules lay dead,

With ruin'd Oaks and Pines about him fpread;
The Poplar too, whofe Bough he wont to wear
On his victorious Head, lay proftrate there:
Thofe his laft Fury from the Mountain rent:
Our dying Here, from the Continent
Ravish'd whole Towns, and Forts from Spaniards reft,
As his laft Legacy to Britain left.

The Ocean, which fo long our Hopes confin'd,
Cou'd give no Limits to his vafter Mind;
Our Bound's Enlargement was his latest Toil;
Nor hath he left us Pris'ners to our Ifle.i
Under the Tropick is our Language spoke,
And part of Flanders hath receiv'd our Yoke.

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From Civil Broils he did us difingage;
Found Nobler Objects for our Martial Rage:
And, with wife Conduct, to his Country fhew'd
Their ancient way of Conquering abroad.
Ungrateful then, if we no Tears allow

To him, that gave us Peace and Empire too!
Princes that fear'd him, grieve; concern'd to fee
No pitch of Glory from the Grave is free,
Nature her felf took Notice of his Death;
And, fighing, fwell'd the Sea with such a Breath;
That to remoteft Shores her Billows roll'd,
Th' approaching Fate of her great Ruler told.

The foregoing Copy anfwer'd.
By Mr. Godolphin.

'T

IS well he's gone, (O! had he never been) Hurry'd in Storms loud as his crying Sin. The Pine, the Oak fell proftrate for his Urn, That with his Soul, his Body too might burn. Winds pluckt up Roots, and fixed Cedars move, Roaring for Vengeance to the Heav'ns above. From Guilt, like his, great Romulus did grow, And in like Tempefts to the Shades did go. Strange! that the lofty Trees themselves should fell, Without the Axe; fo Orpheus went to Hell. At his Defcent the ftouteft Oaks were cleft, And this whole Wood its wonted Station Jeft. On Charles's Throne the proud Ufurper's dead, With ruin'd England's Tears about him spread;, Those from our Eyes his Wrath and Madness rent, And those, alone, upon his Hearse are spent ; Which mixt with Sighs, do weeping Clouds outvie, And leffer Storms of Wind and Rain fupply. In Battle Hercules wore the Lyon's Skin, But our fierce Tyrant wore the Beast within: Whofe Heart was brutish more than Face, or Eyes, And in the shape of Man was in disguise.

In Civil Broils he did us firft engage,

And made three Kingdoms perish by his Rage;
Houses from Widows, Bread from Orphans reft,
And his last Legacy to Richard left.

One fatal Stroke flew Juftice, and the Cause
Of Truth, Religion, and the Sacred Laws:
So fell Achilles by the Trojan Band,

Tho' he ftill Fought with Heav'n it felf in's Hand.
Nor cou'd Domestick Spoils confine his Mind,
No Limits to his Fury, but Mankind.

The British Youth to Foreign Coafts are fent
Towns to deftroy, but more to Banishment;
Who lince they cannot in this Ille abide,
Are confin'd Prifoners to the World befide.
The Rocks which from the World do Britain part,
Were but weak Bars against his harder Heart;
Whose Thoughts, nor Laws, nor cou'd the Ocean
Mad as the Sea; and Lawless as the Wind. [bind,
Where-ever Men, where-ever Pillage lies,

Like rav'nous Vultures our wing'd Navy flies.
Under the Tropick we are understood,

And bring Home Rapine thro' a purple Flood.
New Circulations form'd, our Blood is hurl'd,
As round the leffer, fo the greater World.
Thus has the Rebel to his Country show'd,
How to be Slaves at Home, and Thieves abroad.
Such Circuits makes the Sun, but not fuch Harms;
This burns the Places, that the other warms.
Bad Phaeton a liker Course did run,
Spoil'd equally, but lefs ufurp'd the Throne.
No wonder then, if we do Tears allow
To him that gave us Wars, and Ruin too.
Tyrants, that lov'd him, Grieve, concern'd to fee
There must be Punishment for Cruelty.
Nature her felf rejoyced at his Death,
And on the Waters fung with such a Breath,
As made the Sea dance higher than before,
While her glad News came leaping to the Shore.

A

A PASTORAL upon the Death of her
Grace the Dutchefs of ORMOND.

Qua nihil majas, meliufve Terris
Fata donavere, bonique Divi,

Nec dabunt: quamvis redeant in Aurum
Tempora prifcum.

MYRTILLO. ALEXIS.

MYRTILL 0.

F loaded Eye-lids, and a clouded Brow,

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Horat.

Crofs'd Arms and rifing Sighs, great Sorrow show;
And if one Friend may know another's care,
Why thefe fad Marks does my Alexis wear?
ALEXI S.

Alas, Myrtillo caft thy eyes around,

And tell me, what like comfort's to be found?
The Sun has not fent forth one chearful Ray,
But worn a Cloud of Mourning all the day.
See how our drooping Flocks no Paftures heed,
But bleat about us, and neglect to feed!
Let Nature look in all her Orders fad ;
Nor Envy dare to fhew it, if she's glad ;'
Since nothing, nothing now can Joy restore,
For Fate has ftruck, and Pyrrha is no more.
MYRTILLO.

Pyrrha! for whom our daily vows we paid,
And beft-lov'd Younglings on the Altar laid;
For whofe long Well-fare, Life, and happy State,
All grateful Pray'rs on the good Gods did wait;
Whofe Virtue Nymphs were taught to copy young,
For 'twas the Theme of ev'ry Shepherd's Song:
Has Fate at laft prevail'd! And is SHE gone!
O whither now fhall many wretched run!

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The Injur'd, for Redress; the Poor, for Aid;
Worth, for Reward; or Grief, to be allay'd:
Since Juftice, Pity, Bounty quits our Plains ;
But Sorrow grows Eternal, and remains.

ALEXIS.

As full blown Flow'rs, that long have deck'd the ground,

And with their Odours fill'd the Air around,
Bend down their Heads at laft to Mother Earth,
And fade away, though to á fecond Birth;
Or as tall Cedars, who (admir'd) have stood
For many years the Glory of the Wood,
Finding in time their facred Roots decay,
Are by the next rude tempeft torn away,
So flourish'd Pyrrha, and as high did rise,
Adorn'd the Earth, and feem'd to reach the Skies.
Fair, without blemish; Lofty, without Pride:
But, Oh! the Tempeft rofe, and Pyrrha dy'd!
Gone then's all Spring, now Winter's only ours;
Sighs rife like Storms, and Tears muft fall like

MIRTILLO.

If full of Years and Honours Pyrrha fell,

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Grief may with Swains of humbler Talents: dwell, While to a nobler work our minds we raise,

Sufpend our Sorrows, and proclaim her Praise.

ALEXI S.

As round Heaven's Throne whole Choirs of Angels

throng,

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Yet all their Triumph's one Eternal Song:

So here on Earth shall Pyrrha's Praises laft,

Till. Time's no more, and Nature's works lie waste.

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Then let us tune our Reeds; thou firft the Lay
Begin; our Flocks shall liften, and I'll play:
So up to Pyrrha's Fame our Notes we'll raife,
Sufpend our Sorrows, and proclaim her Praife.

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