Our Modern Sages,
More wife than past Ages,
Would ours eftablish by Popish Succeffors;
Queen Befs ne'er thought it,
And Cecil forgot it,
But 'tis lately found out by our prudent Addreffors.
On the University of Cambridge's Burning the Duke of Monmouth's Picture, 1685. who was formerly their Chancellor,.. In Answer to this Queftion,
Turba Remi? fequitur fortunam, ut femper, & odit----
YES, fickle Cambridge, Perkins found this true
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 greafie as himself he fends a Litor To vent his Loyal Malice on the Picture. The Beadle's Wife endeavours all fhe can To fave the Image of the tall young Man, Which the fo oft when pregnant did embrace, That with ftrong Thoughts the might improve her But all in vain, fince the wife House confpire [Race. To damn the Canvas Traytor to the Fire, Left it, like Bones of Scanderbeg, incite Scythemen next Harvest 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 fwears he will borrow of the Provoft more stuf
On the Marriage of Anne, if that ben't enough.
The Heads, left he get all the Profit to 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 Kindness 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,
[in ale,
While the Troops from each part of the Countries
Come to quaff his Confufion in Bumpers of ftale.
But Rofalin, never unkind to a Duke,
Does by her Abfence their Folly rebuke,
The tender Creature could not fee his Fate,
With whom he had danc'd a Minuet fo late.
The Heads who never could hope for fuch frames,
Out of envy condemn'd fixscorePounds to the Flames,
Then his Air was too proud, and his Features amifs,
As if being a Traytor had alter'd his Phiz :
So the Rabble of Rome, whose favour ne'er fettles,
Melt down their Sejanus to Pots and Brafs Kettles.
The MAN of HONOUR. Written by the Honourable Mr. Montague. Occafion'd by a Poftfcript of Pen's Letter.
OT all the Threats or Favours of a Crown,
A Prince's Whisper, or a Tyrant's Frown
Can awe the Spirit, or allure the Mind
Of him, who to ftrict Honour is inclin'd;
Though all the Pomp and Pleasure that does wait
On publick Places, and Affairs of State,
Should fondly court him to be bafe and great ;
With even Paffions, and with fetled Face,
He would remove the Harlot's falfe Embrace.
Tho' all the Storms and Tempefts fhould arife,
That Church Magicians in their Cells devife,
And from their fettled Bafis Nations tear,
He would unmov'd the mighty Ruin bear;
Secure in Innocence contemn 'em all,
And decently array'd in Honours, fall.
For this brave Shrewsbury and Lumly's Name, Shall ftand the foremoft in the Lift of Fame, Who firft with fteddy Minds the Current broke, And to the fuppliant Monarch boldly spoke.
Great Sir, renown'd for Conftancy, how just Have we obey'd the Crown, and ferv'd our Truft, Efpous'd your Cause and Intereft in distress, Your felf muft witnefs, and our Foes confefs! Permit us then ill Fortune to accufe, That you at last unhappy Counfels use, And ask the only thing we must refuse. Our Lives and Fortunes freely we'll expofe, Honour alone, we cannot, must not lofe: Honour, that Spark of the Celestial Fire, That above Nature makes Mankind aspire ; Ennobles the rude Paffions of our Frame, With thirft of Glory and defire of Fame ; The richest Treasure of a generous Breaft, That gives the Stamp and Standard to the reft. Wit, Strength and Courage, are wild dangerous force, Unless this foftens and directs their Course; And would you rob us of the nobleft Part, Accept a Sacrifice without a Heart? "Tis much beneath the greatness of a Throne, To take the Casket when the Jewel's gone:
Debauch our Principles, corrupt our Race,
And teach the Nobles to be falfe and bafe;
What Confidence can you in them repofe,
Who, e'er they ferve you, all their Value lofe?
Who once enslave their Confcience to their Luft,
Have loft their Reins, and can no more be Juft.
Of Honour, Men at firft like Women nice,
Raife Maiden fcruples at unpractis'd Vice;
Their modeft Nature curbs the ftrugling Flame,
And ftifles what they wish to act, with Shame.
But once this Fence thrown down, when they perceive
That they may tafte forbidden Fruit and live;
They ftop not here their Courfe, but fafely in,
Grow Strong, Luxuriant, and bold in Sin;
True to no Principles, prefs forward ftill,
And only bound by Appetite their Will:
Now fawn and flatter, while this Tide prevails,
But shift with every veering Blaft their Sails.
Mark thofe that meanly truckle to your Power,
They once deferted, and chang'd fides before,
And would to morrow Mahomet adore!
On higher Springs true Men of Honour move,
Free is their Service, and unbought their Love:
When Danger calls, and Honour leads the way,
With Joy they follow, and with Pride obey:
When the Rebellious Foe came rolling on,
And shook with gathering Multitudes the Throne,
Where were the Minions then? what Arms, what Force,
Could they oppofe to ftop the Torrents Courfe?
Then Pembroke, then the Nobles firmly flood,
Free of their Lives, and lavish of their Blood;
But when your Orders to mean Ends decline,
With the fame Conftancy they all resign.
Thus fpake the Youth, who open'd first the way,
And was the Phosphorus to the dawning Day;
Follow'd by a more glorious fplendid Hoft,
Than any Age, or any Realm can boast :
So great their Fame, fo numerous their Train,
To name were endless, and to praise in vain ;
But Herbert, and great Oxford merit more,
Bold is their flight, and more sublime they soar;
So high their Virtue as yet wants a Name,
Exceeding Wonder, and furpaffing Fame:
Rife, glorious Church, ere&t thy Radiant Head,
The Storm is paft, th' Impending Tempeft filed:
Had Fate decreed thy Ruin or Disgrace,
It had not giv'n fuch Sons, fo brave a Race.
When for Destruction Heaven a Realm defigns,
The Symptoms first appear in flavish Minds:
Thefe Men would prop a finking Nation's weight,
Stop falling Vengeance, and reverfe ev'n Fate.
Let other Nations boaft their fruitful Soil,
Their fragrant Spices, their rich Wine and Oil;
In breathing Colours, and in living Paint
Let them excel, their Maftery we grant.
But to inftruct the Mind, to arm the Soul
With Virtue, which no dangers can controul;
Exalt the thought, a fpeedy Courage lend,
That Horror cannot shake, or Pleasure bend:
These are the English Arts, these we profess
To be the fame in Mis'ry and Success;
To teach Oppreffors Law, affift the Good,
Relieve the Wretched, and fubdue the Proud.
Such are our Souls: But what doth Worth avail,
When Kings commit to hungry Priefts the Scale?
All Merit's light when they dispose the Weight,
Who either would embroil, or rule the State;
Defame thofe Heroes who their Yoke refuse,
And blaft that Honefty they cannot use ;
The ftrength and fafety of the Crown destroy,
And the King's Power against himself imploy;
Affront his Friends, deprive him of the Brave;
Bereft of thefe, he must become their Slave.
Men, like our Mony, come the most in play,
For being base, and of a coarfe Allay.
|