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He that brought peace all discord could atone;
Your calmness does no after-storms provide, Nor seeming patience mortal anger hide. When empire first from families did spring, Then every father govern'd as a king; But you, that are a sovereign prince, allay Imperial pow'r with your paternal sway. From those great cares when ease your soul unbends, Your pleasures are design'd to noble ends : Born to command the mistress of the seas, Your thoughts themselves in that blue empire please, Hither in summer evenings you repair To take the fraicheur of the purer air: Undaunted here you ride, when Winter raves, With Cæsar's heart, that rose above the waves. More I could sing, but fear my numbers stays; No loyal subject dares that courage praise. In stately frigates most delight you find, Where well-drawn battles fire your martial mind. What to your cares we owe is learn'd from hence, When ev’n your pleasures serve for our defence. Beyond your court flows in the admitted tide, Where in new depths the wondering fishes glide : Here in a royal bed the waters sleep; When tir'd at sea, within this bay they creep: Here the mistrustful fowl ng harm suspects, So sate are all things which our King protects. From your lov'd Thames a blessing yet is due, Second alone to that it brought in yon; A queen, near whose chaste womb, ordain’d by Fate, The souls of kings unborn for bodies wait. It was your love before made discord cease; Your love is destin'd to your country's peace, Both Indies, rivals in your bed, provide With gold or jewels to adorn your bride.
This to a mighty King presents rich ore,
SATIRE ON THE DUTCH.
WRITTEN IN THE YEAR M.DC.LXII.
As needy gallants, in the scrivener's hands, Court the rich kpaves that gripe their mortgag'd The first fat buck of all the season's sent, [lands, And keeper takes no fee in compliment; The dotage of some Englishmen is such, To fawn on those who ruin them, the Dutch. They shall have all, rather than make a war With those who of the same religion are. The Straits, the Guinea-trade, the herrings too; Nay, to keep friendship, they shall pickle you. Some are resolv'd not to find out the cheat, But, cackold-like, love them that do the feat. What injuries soe'er upon us fall, Yet still the same religion answers all. Religion wheedled us to Civil war, [spare. Drew English blood, and Dutchmen's now would Be gull'd no longer; for you'll tind it true, They have no more religion, faith! than you. Interest's the god they worship in their State, And we, I take it, have not much of that. Well monarchies may own religion's name, But states are atheists in their very frame. They share a sin; and such proportions fall, That, like a stink, 'tis nothing to them all. Think on their rapine, falsehood, cruelty, And that what once they were, they still would be.
To one well-born the affront is worse and more,