So this imperial babe rejects the food

That mixes monarch's with plebeian blood :
Food that his inborn courage might controul,
Extinguish all the father in his foul,

And for his Eftian race, and Saxon ftrain,

Might reproduce some second Richard's reign.
Mildness he shares from both his parents blood:
But kings too tame are defpicably good:
Be this the mixture of this regal child,
By nature manly, but by virtue mild.
Thus far the furious transport of the news
Had to prophetic madness fir'd the muse;
Madness ungovernable, uninspir'd,

Swift to foretel whatever the defir'd.

Was it for me the dark abyfs to tread,
And read the book which angels cannot read?
How was I punish'd when the fudden blast,
The face of heaven, and our young fun o'ercaft!
Fame, the fwift ill, increafing as fhe roll'd,
Disease, despair, and death, at three reprises told :
At three insulting strides she stalk'd the town,
And, like contagion, struck the loyal down.
Down fell the winnow'd wheat; but mounted high,
The whirlwind bore the chaff, and hid the fky.

Here black rebellion shooting from below
(As earth's gigantic brood by moments grow)
And here the fons of God are petrified with woe:
An apoplex of grief! fo low were driven
The faints, as hardly to defend their heaven.

As, when pent vapors run their hollow round, Earthquakes, which are convulfions of the ground, Break bellowing forth, and no confinement brook, Till the third fettles what the former fhook; Such heavings had our fouls; till, flow and late, Our life with his return'd, and faith prevail'd on fate.

By prayers

the mighty bleffing was implor'd, To prayers was granted, and by prayers reftor'd. So ere the Shunamite a fon conceiv'd,

The prophet promis'd, and the wife believ'd.
A fon was fent, the fon fo much defir'd;
But foon upon the mother's knees expir'd.
The troubled feer approach'd the mournful door,
Ran, pray'd, and fent his paft'ral staff before,
Then ftretch'd his limbs upon the child and
mourn'd,

"Till warmth, and breath, and a new foul return'd.

Thus mercy stretches out her hand, and faves Defponding Peter finking in the waves.

As when a fudden storm of hail and rain Beats to the ground the yet unbearded grain, Think not the hopes of harvest are destroy'd On the flat field, and on the naked void; The light, unloaded ftem, from tempest freed, Will raise the youthful honors of his head; And foon restor❜d by native vigor, bear The timely product of the bounteous year. Nor yet conclude all fiery trials past: For heaven will exercife us to the last ; Sometimes will check us in our full career, With doubtful bleffings, and with mingled fear; That, still depending on his daily grace, His every mercy for an alms may pass, With fparing hands will diet us to good; Preventing furfeits of our pamper'd blood. So feeds the mother bird her craving young With little morfels, and delays them long.

True, this last bleffing was a royal feast; But where's the wedding-garment on the guest? Our manners, as religion were a dream, Are fuch as teach the nations to blafpheme. In lufts we wallow, and with pride we fwell,

And injuries with injuries repel;

Prompt to revenge, not daring to forgive,
Our lives unteach the doctrine we believe.
Thus Ifrael finn'd, impenitently hard,

}

And vainly thought the present ark their guard;
But when the haughty Philiftines appear,
They fled, abandon'd to their foes and fear;
Their God was abfent, tho his ark was there.
Ah! left our crimes should snatch this pledge away,
And make our joys the bleffings of a day!
For we have finn'd him hence, and that he lives,
God to his promife, not our practice gives.
Our crimes would foon weigh down the guilty
fcale,

But James and Mary, and the church prevail.
Nor Amalek can rout the chosen bands,
While Hur and Aaron hold up Mofes' hands.
By living well, let us fecure his days,
Moderate in hopes, and humble in our ways.
No force the free-born spirit can constrain,
But charity, and great examples gain.
Forgiveness is our thanks for fuch a day.
"Tis god-like God in his own coin to pay.

But you, propitious queen, tranflated here, From your mild heaven, to rule our rugged sphere, Beyond the funny walks, and circling year :

You, who your native climate have bereft
Of all the virtues, and the vices left;
Whom piety and beauty make their boast,
Tho beautiful is well in pious lost ;
So loft as ftar-light is diffolv'd away,
And melts into the brightness of the day;
Or gold about the royal diadem,
Loft to improve the luftre of the gem.
What can we add to your triumphant day?
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 soon be done.

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

Nor can I wish to you, great monarch, more
Than fuch an annual income to your ftore ;
The day which gave this unit, did not shine
For a less omen, than to fill the trine.
After a prince, an admiral beget ;

The Royal Sov'reign wants an anchor yet.