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Slow to condemn, nor partial to commend, The brave man's patron, and the wrong'd man's friend.

Now justly seated on th' imperial throne,

In which high sphere no brighter star e'er shone:
Virtue's great pattern, and Rebellion's dread,
Long may he live to bruise that serpent's head,
Till all his foes their just confusion meet,
And growl and pine beneath his mighty feet!
The second, for debates in council fit,
Of steady judgment and deep piercing wit:
To all the noblest heights of learning bred,
Both men and books with curious search had read:
Fathom'd the ancient policies of Greece,
And having form'd from all one curious piece,

That dark enigma (yet unriddled) Law,
Instead of doing right and giving awe,
Kept open lists, and at the noisy bar,
Four times a year proclaim'd a civil war,
Where daily kinsmen, father, son, and brother,
Might damn their souls to ruin one another.
Hence cavils rose 'gainst Heaven's and Cæsar's cause,
From false religions and corrupted laws;
Till so at last rebellion's base was laid,
And God or king no longer were obey'd.

But that good angel, whose surmounting power
Waited great Charles in each emergent hour,
Against whose care Hell vainly did decree,
Nor faster could design than that foresee,
Guarding the crown upon his sacred brow

Learnt thence what springs best move and guide a From all its blackest arts, was with him now,

state,

And could with ease direct the heavy weight.
But our then angry fate great Glo'ster seiz'd,
And never since seem'd perfectly appeas'd:
For, oh! what pity, people bless'd as we
With plenty, peace, and noble liberty,
Should so much of our old disease retain,
To make us surfeit into slaves again!
Slaves to those tyrant lords whose yoke we bore,
And serv'd so base a bondage to before;
Yet 'twas our curse, that blessings flow'd too fast,
Or we had appetites too coarse to taste.
Fond Israelites, our manna to refuse,

And Egypt's loathsome flesh-pots murmuring choose.
Great Charles saw this, yet hush'd his rising breast,
Though much the lion in his bosom prest:
But he for sway seem'd so by Nature made,
That his own passions knew him, and obey'd:
Master of them, he soften'd his command,
The sword of rule scarce threaten'd in his hand:
Stern majesty upon his brow might sit,
But smiles, still playing round it, made it sweet:
So finely mix'd, had Nature dar'd t' afford
One least perfection more, he 'ad been ador'd.
Merciful, just, good-natur'd, liberal, brave,
Witty, and Pleasure's friend, yet not her slave:,
The paths of life by noblest methods trod ;
Of mortal mold, but in his mind a god.
Though now (alas!) in the sad grave he lies, [rise.
Yet shall his praise for ever live, and laurels from it
In this great mind long he his cares revolv'd,
And long it was ere the great mind resolv'd:
Till weariness at last his thoughts compos'd;
Peace was the choice, and their debates were clos'd.
But, oh!

Through all this isle, where it seems most design'd,
Nothing so hard as wish'd-for peace to find.
The elements due order here maintain,
And pay their tribute in of warmth and rain:
Cool shades and streams, rich fertile lands abound,
And Nature's bounty flows the seasons round.
But we, a wretched race of men, thus blest,
Of so much happiness (if known) possest,
Mistaking every noblest use of life,

Left beauteous Quiet, that kind, tender wife,
For the unwholesome, brawling harlot, Strife.
The man in power, by wild ambition led,
Envy'd all honours on another's head;
And, to supplant some rival, by his pride
Embroil'd that state his wisdom ought to guide.
The priests, who humble temperance should profess,
Sought silken robes and fat voluptuous ease;
So, with small labours in the vineyard shown,
Forsook God's harvest to improve their own.

[shores,

Assur'd him peace must be for him design'd,
For he was born to give it all mankind;
By patience, mercies large, and many toils,
In his own realms to calm intestine broils,
Thence every root of discord to remove,
And plant us new with unity and love;
Then stretch his healing hands to neighbouring
Where Slaughter rages, and wild Rapine roars;
To cool their ferments with the charms of Peace,
Who, so their madness and their rage might cease,
Grow all (embracing what such friendship brings)
Like us the people, and like him their kings.
But now (alas!) in the sad grave he lies, [it rise.
Yet shall his praise for ever live, and laurels from
For this assurance pious thanks he paid;
Then in his mind the beauteous model laid
Of that majestic pile, where oft, his care
A-while forgot, he might for ease repair:
A seat for sweet retirement, health, and love,
Britain's Olympus, where, like awful Jove,
He pleas'd could sit, and his regards bestow
On the vain, busy, swarming world below.
E'en I, the meanest of those humble swains,
Who sang his praises through the fertile plains,
Once in a happy hour was thither led,
Curious to see what Fame so far had spread.
There tell, my Muse, what wonders thou didst find
Worthy thy song and his celestial mind.

'Twas at that joyful hallow'd day's return,
On which that man of miracles was born,
At whose great birth appear'd a noon-day star,
Which prodigy foretold yet many more;
Did strange escapes from dreadful Fate declare,
Nor shin'd, but for one greater king before.
Though now (alas!) in the sad grave he lies, [rise.
Yet shall his praise for ever live, and laurels from it

For this great day were equal joys prepar'd, The voice of Triumph on the hills was heard; Redoubled shoutings wak'd the Echoes round, And cheerful bowls with loyal vows were crown'd. But, above all, within those lofty towers, Where glorious Charles then spent his happy hours, Joy wore a solemn, though a smiling face; 'Twas gay, but yet majestic, as the place; Tell then, my Muse, what wonders thou didst find Worthy thy song and his celestial mind.

Within a gate of strength, whose ancient frame Has outworn Time, and the records of Fame, A reverend dome there stands, where twice each Assembling prophets their devotions pay, [day In prayers and hymns to Heaven's eternal King, The cornet, flute, and shawme, assisting as they sing.

St. George's Church.

Here Israel's mystic statutes they recount,
From the first tables of the holy mount,
To the blest gospel of that glorious Lord,
Whose precious death salvation has restor❜d.
Here speak, my Muse, what wonders thou didst find
Worthy thy song and his celestial mind.

Within this dome a shining chapel 2's rais'd,
Too noble to be well describ'd or prais'd.
Before the door, fix'd in an awe profound,
I stood, and gaz'd with pleasing wonder round,
When one approach'd who bore much sober grace,
Order and ceremony in his face;

A threatening rod did his dread right hand poize,
A badge of rule and terrour o'er the boys:
His left a massy bunch of keys did sway,
Ready to open all to all that pay.

This courteous 'squire, observing how amaz'd
My eyes betray'd me as they wildly gaz'd,

Knows 'tis uncertain, frail, and will have end,
So to that prospect still his thoughts does bend;
Who, though his right a stronger power invade,
Though Fate oppress, and no man give him aid,
Cheer'd with th' assurance that he there shall find
Rest from all toils, and no remorse of mind;
Can Fortune's smiles despise, her frowns out-brave,
For who's a prince or beggar in the grave?
But if immortal any thing remain,
Rejoice, my Muse, and strive that end to gain.
Thou kind dissolver of encroaching care,
And ease of every bitter weight I bear,
Keep from my soul repining, while I sing
The praise and honour of this glorious king;
And further tell what wonders thou didst find
Worthy thy song and his celestial mind.
Beyond the dome a lofty towers appears,
Beauteous in strength, the work of long-past years,

Thus gently spoke: "Those banners 3 rais'd on high Old as his noble stem, who there bears sway,
Betoken noble vows of chivalry;

Which here their heroes with Religion make,
When they the ensigns of this order take."
Then in due method made me understand
What honour fam'd St. George had done our land;
What toils he vanquish'd, with what monsters strove;
Whose champions since for virtue, truth, and love,
Hang here their trophies, while their generous arms
Keep wrong supprest, and innocence from harms.
At this m' amazement yet did greater grow,
For I had been told all virtue was but show;
That oft bold villany had best success,
As if its use were more, nor merit less.
But here I saw how it rewarded shin'd.
Tell on, my Muse, what wonders thou didst find
Worthy thy song and Charles's mighty mind.

I turn'd around my eyes, and, lo, a celi,
Where melancholy Ruin seem'd to dwell,
The door unhing'd, without or bolt or ward,
Seem'd as what lodg'd within found small regard.
Like some old den, scarce visited by day,
Where dark Oblivion lurk'd and watch'd for prey.
Here, in a heap of confus'd waste, I found
Neglected hatchments tumbled on the ground;
The spoils of Time, and triumph of that Fate
Which equally on all mankind does wait:
The hero, levell'd in his humble grave,
With other men, was now nor great nor brave;
While here his trophies, like their master, lay,
To darkness, worms, and rottenness, a prey.
Urg'd by such thoughts as guide the truly great,
Perhaps his fate he did in battle meet;
Fell in his prince's and his country's cause;
But what his recompense? A short applause,
Which he ne'er hears, his memory may grace,

Till, soon forgot, another takes his place.

And, like his loyalty, without decay.
This goodly ancient frame looks as it stood
The mother pile, and all the rest her brood.
So careful watch seems piously to keep,
While underneath her wings the mighty sleep;
And they may rest, since Norfolk there commands,
Safe in his faithful heart and valiant hands.

But now appears the beauteous seat 7 of Peace,
Large of extent, and fit for goodly ease;
Where noble order strikes the greedy sight
With wonder, as it fills it with delight;
The massy walls seem, as the womb of Earth,
Shrunk when such mighty quarries thence had birth;
Or by the Theban founder they 'd been rais'd,
And in his powerful numbers should be prais'd:
Such strength without does every where abound,
Within such glory and such splendour 's found,
As man's united skill had there combin'd
T" express what one great genius had design'd.
Thus, when the happy world Augustus sway'd,
Knowledge was cherish'd, and improvement made;
Learning and arts his empire did adorn,
Nor did there one neglected virtue mourn;
But, at his call, from furthest nations came,
While the immortal Muses gave him fame.
Though when her far-stretch'd empire flourish'd most,
Rome never yet a work like this could boast:
No Cæsar e'er like Charles his pomp express'd,
Nor ever were his nations half so blest:
Though now (alas!) in the sad grave he lies,
Yet shall his praise for ever live, and laurels from
it rise.

Here, as all Nature's wealth to court him prest,
Seem'd to attend him Plenty, Peace, and Rest.
Through all the lofty roofs describ'd we find
The toils and triumphs of his god-like mind:

And happy that man's chance who falls in time, A theme that might the noblest fancy warm,

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For when wars troubled her soft fountains there,
She swell'd her streams, and flow'd-in faster here;
With her came Plenty, till our isle seem'd bless'd
As Canaan's shore, where Israel's sons found rest.
Therefore, when cruel spoilers, who have hurl'd
Waste and confusion through the wretched world,
To after-times leave a great hated name,
The praise of Peace shall wait on Charles's fame;
His country's father, through whose tender care,
Like a lull'd babe she slept, aud knew no fear;
Who, when sh' offended, oft would hide his eyes,
Nor see, because it griev'd him to chastize.
But if submission brought her to his feet,
With what true joy the penitent he 'd meet!
How would his love still with his justice strive!
How parent-like, how fondly he 'd forgive!
But now (alas!) in the sad grave he lies, [it rise.
Yet shall his praise for ever live, and laurels from
Since after all those toils through which he strove
By every art of most endearing love,
For his reward he had his Britain found,
The awe and envy of the nations round.

The temple 12 by this hero built behold,
Adorn'd with carvings, and o'erlaid with gold;
Whose radiant roof such glory does display,
We think we see the Heaven to which we pray;
So well the artist's hand has there delin'd
The merciful redemption of mankind;
The bright ascension of the Son of God,
When back through yielding skies to Heaven he rode,
With lightning round his head, and thunder where
he trod.

Thus when to Charles, as Solomon, was given
Wisdom, the greatest gift of bounteous Heaven;
A house like his he built, and temple rais'd,
Where his Creator might be fily prais'd;
With riches too and honours was he crown'd,
Nor, whilst he liv'd, was there one like him found.
Therefore what once to Israel's lord was said,
When Sheba's queen his glorious court survey'd,
To Charles's fame for ever shall remain,
Who did as wondrous things, who did as greatly
reign:

"Happy were they who could before him stand,

Muse, then speak more what wonders thou didst find And saw the wisdom of his dread command."

Worthy thy song and his celestial mind.
Tell now what emulation may inspire,

And warm each British heart with warlike fire;
Call all thy sisters of the sacred bill,
And by the painter's pencil guide my quill;
Describe that lofty monumental hall 9,
Where England's triumphs grace the shining wall,
When she led captive kings from conquer'd Gaul.
Here when the sons of Fame their leader meet,
And at their feasts in pompous order sit,
When the glad sparkling bowl inspires the board,
And high-rais'd thoughts great tales of war afford,
Here as a lesson may their eyes behold
What their victorious fathers did of old;
When their proud neighbours of the Gallic shore
Trembled to hear the English lion roar.
Here may they see how good old Edward 10 sat,
And did his glorious son's " arrival wait,
When from the fields of vanquish'd France he came,
Follow'd by spoils, and usher'd in by Fame.
In golden chains he their quell'd monarch led.
Oh, for such laurels on another head!
Unsoil'd with sloth, nor yet o'ercloy'd with peace,
We had not then learn'd the loose arts of ease.
In our own climes our vigorous youth were nurs'd,
And with no foreign education curs'd.
Their northern metal was preserv'd with care,
Nor sent for softening into hotter air.

Nor did th', as now, from fruitless travels come
With follies, vices, and diseases home;
But in full purity of health and mind
Kept up the noble virtues of their kind.
Had not false senates to those ills dispos'd,
Which long had England's happiness oppos'd
With stubborn faction and rebellious pride,
All means to such a noble end deny'd,
To Britain, Charles this glory had restor❜d,
And those revolted nations own'd their lord.
But now (alas!) in the sad grave he lies,

Yet shall his praise for ever live, and laurels from it rise.

And now survey what 's open to our view, Bow down all heads, and pay devotion due,

9 Where St. George's feast is kept. 10 Edward the Third. "The Black Prince.

For Heaven resolv'd, that much above the rest
Of other nations Britain should be blest;
Found bim when banish'd from his sacred right,
Try'd his great soul, and in it took delight;
Then to his throne in triumph him did bring,
Where never rul'd a wiser, juster king.
But now (alas!) in the sad grave he lies,
Yet shall his praise for ever live, and laurels from
it rise.

Thus far the painter's hand did guide the Muse,
Now let her lead, nor will he sure refuse.
Two kindred arts they are, so near ally'd,
They oft have by each other been supply'd.
Therefore, great man! when next thy thoughts
incline

The works of Fame, let this be the design:
As thou could best great Charles's glory show,
Show how he fell, and whence the fatal blow.

In a large scene, may give beholders awe,
The meeting of a numerous senate draw!
Over their heads a black distemper'd sky,
And through the air let grinning Furies fly.
Charg'd with commissions of infernal date,
To raise fell Discord and intestine Hate;
From their foul heads let them by handfuls tear
The ugliest snakes, and best-lov'd favourites there,
Then whirl them (spouting venom as they fall)
'Mongst the assembled numbers of the hall;
There into murmuring bosoms let them go,
Till their infection to confusion grow;
Till such bold tumults and disorders rise,
As when the impious sons of Earth assail'd the
threaten'd skies.

But then let mighty Charles at distance stand,
His crown upon his head, and sceptre in his hand;
To send abroad his word, or with a frown
Repel, and dash th' aspiring rebels down:
Unable to behold his dreaded ray,

Let them grow blind, disperse, and reel away.
Let the dark fiends the troubled air forsake,
And all new peaceful order seem to take.

But, oh, imagine Fate t' have waited long
An hour like this, and mingled in the throng,
Rous'd with those furies from her seat below,
T' have watch'd her only time to give the blow:

12 The chapel at the end of the hall.

When cruel cares, by faithless subjects bred,
Too closely press'd his sacred peaceful head;
With them t' have pointed her destroying dart,
And through the brain found passage to the heart.
Deep-wounding plagues avenging Heaven bestow
On those curs'd heads to whom this loss we owe!
On all who Charles's heart affliction gave,
And sent him to the sorrows of the grave!

Now, painter, (if thy griefs can let thee) draw The saddest scenes that weeping eyes e'er saw; How on his royal bed that woful day

The much-lamented mighty monarch lay;
Great in his fate, and ev'n o'er that a king,
No terrour could the Lord of Terrours bring.
Through many steady and well-manag'd years
He 'ad arm'd his mind 'gainst all those little fears,
Which common mortals want the power to hide,
When their mean souls and valued clay divide.
He 'ad study'd well the worth of life, and knew
Its troubles many, and its blessings few:
Therefore unmov'd did Death's approaches see,
And grew familiar with his Destiny;
Like an acquaintance entertain'd his Fate,
Who, as it knew him, seem'd content to wait,
Not av his gaoler, but his friendly guide,
While he for his great journey did provide.

Oh, couldst thou express the yearnings of his mind
To his poor mourning people left behind!
But that I fear will ev'n thy skill deceive, [ceive.
None but a soul like his such goodness could con-
For though a stubborn race deserving ill,
Yet would be show himself a father still.
Therefore he chose for that peculiar care,
His crown's, his virtue's, and his mercy's heir,
Great James, who to his throne does now succeed,
And charg'd him tenderly his flocks to feed;
To guide them too, too apt to run astray,
And keep the foxes and the wolves away.

Here, painter, if thou canst, thy art improve,
And show the wonders of fraternal love;
How mourning James by fading Charles did stand,
The dying grasping the surviving hand;

How round each other's necks their arms they cast,
Moan'd with endearing murmurings, and embrac'd;
And of their parting pangs such marks did give,
'Twas hard to guess which yet could longest live.
Both their sad tongues quite lost the power to speak,
And their kind hearts seem'd both prepar'd to break.
Here let thy curious pencil next display,
How round his bed a beauteous offspring lay,
With their great father's blessing to be crown'd,
Like young fierce lions stretch'd upon the ground,
And in majestic silent sorrow drown'd.

This done, suppose the ghastly minute nigh,
And paint the griefs of the sad standers-by;
Th' unweary'd reverend father's pious care,
Offering (as oft as tears could stop) a prayer.
Of kindred nobles draw a sorrowing train,

|

Describe her prostrate to the throne above,
Pleading with prayer the tender cans of love:
Show troops of ang Is Lovering from the sky;
(For they, whene'er she call'd, were always nigh)
Let them attend her cries, and hear her moan,
With looks of beau cous sadness like her own,
Because they know her ford's great doom is seal'd,
And cannot (though she asks it) be repcal'd.

By this time think the work of Fate is done,
So any further sad description shun.
Show him not pale and breathless on his bed,
"Twould make all gazers on thy art fall dead;
And thou thyself to such a scene of woe
Add a new piece, and thy own statue grow.
Wipe therefore all thy pencils, and prepare
To draw a prospect now of clearer air.
Paint in an eastern sky new dawning day,
And there the embryos of Time display;
The forms of many smiling years to come,
Just ripe for birth, and labouring from their womb;
Each struggling which shall eldership obtain,
To be first grac'd with mighty James's reign.
Let the dread monarch on his throne appear,
Place too the charming partner of it there.
O'er his their wings let Fame and Triumph spread,
And soft-ey'd Cupids hover o'er her head;
In his, paint smiling, yet majestic grace,
But all the wealth of beauty in her face.
Then from the different corners of the Earth
Describe applauding nations coming forth,
Hemage to pay, or humble peace to gain,
And own auspicious omens from his reign.
Set at long distance his contracted foes
Shrinking from what they dare not now oppose:
Draw shame or mean despair in all their eyes,
And terrour lest th' avenging hand should rise.
But where his smiles extend, draw beauteous Peace,
The poor man's cheerful toils, the rich man's ease;
Here, shepherds piping to their feeding sheep,
Or stretch'd at length in their warm buts asleep;
There jolly hinds spread through the sultry fields,
Reaping such harvests as their tillage yields;
Or shelter'd from the scorchings of the Sun,
Their labours ended, and repast begun;
Rang'd on green banks, which they themselves did
Singing their own content, and ruler's praise.
Draw beauteous meadows, gardens, groves, and
bowers,

[raise,

Where Contemplation best may pass her hours:
Fill'd with chaste lovers plighting constant hearts,
Rejoicing Muses, and encourag'd Arts.

Draw every thing like this that thought can frame,
Best suiting with thy theme, great James's fame.
Known for the man who from his youthful years,
By mighty deeds has earn'd the crown he wears;
Whose conquering arm far-envy'd wonders wrought,
When an ungrateful people's cause he fought;
When for their rights he his brave sword employ'd,

Whose looks may speak how much they shar'd his | Who in return would have his rights destroy'd:

pain;

[eyes,

How from each groan of his, deriving smart,
Each fetch'd another from a tortur'd heart.
Mingled with these, his faithful servants place,
With different lines of woe in every face;
With downcast heads, swoln breasts, and streaming
And sighs that mount in vain the unrelenting skies.
But yet there still remains a task behind,
In which thy readiest art may labour find.
At distance let the mourning queen appear,
(But where sad news too soon may reach her ear)

But Heaven such injur'd merit did regard; (As Heaven in time true virtue will reward) So to a throne by Providence he rose,

And all whoe'er were his, were Providence's foes.

THE ENCHANTMENT.

I DID but look and love a-while, 'Twas but for one half-hour; Then to resist I had no will,

And now I have no power.

To sigh, and wish, is all my ease; Sighs, which do heat impart, Enough to melt the coldest ice, Yet cannot warm your heart.

O! would your pity give my heart
One corner of your breast,
"Twould learn of yours the winning art,
And quickly steal the rest.

THE

POET'S COMPLAINT OF HIS MUSE:

OR,

A SATIRE AGAINST LIBELS.

Si quid habent veri vatum præsagia, vivam.

To the right honourable Thomas earl of Ossory, baron of Moor Park, knight of the most noble order of the garter, &c.

MY LORD,

THOUGH never any man had more need of excuse for a presumption of this nature than I have now, yet, when I have laid out every way to find one, your lordship's goodness must be my refuge: and therefore I humbly cast this at your feet for protection, and myself for pardon.

My lord, I have great need of protection; for to the best of my heart I have here published in some measure the truth, and I would have it thought honestly too: (a practice never more out of countenance than now) yet truth and honour are things which your lordship must needs be kind to, because they are relations to your nature, and never left you.

Twould be a second presumption in me to pretend in this a panegyric on your lordship; for it would require more art to do your virtue justice, than to flatter any other man.

If I have ventured at a hint of the present sufferings of that great prince mentioned in the latter end of this paper, with favour from your lordship I hope to add a second part, and do all those great and good men justice, that have in his calamities stuck fast to so gallant a friend and so good a master. To write and finish which great subject faithfully, and to be honoured with your lordship's patronage in what I may do, and your approbation, or at least pardon, in what I have done, will be the greatest pride of,

my lord,

your most humble admirer and servant,

THOMAS OTWAY.

ODE.

To a high hill where never yet stood tree, Where only heath, coarse fern, and furzes grow, Where (nipt by piercing air)

The flocks in tatter'd fleeces hardly gaze,

Led by uncouth thoughts and care, Which did too much his pensive mind amaze, A wandering bard, whose Muse was crazy grown, Cloy'd with the nauseous follies of the buzzing town, Came, look'd about him, sigh'd, and laid him down; "Twas far from any path, but where the Earth Was bare, and naked all as at her birth, When by the word it first was made,

Ere God had said,

Let grass, and herbs, and every green thing grow, With fruitful trees after their kind, and it was so. The whistling winds blew fiercely round his head, Cold was his lodging, hard his bed; Aloft his eyes on the wide Heavens he cast, Where we are told Peace only 's found at last: And as he did its hopeless distance see, Sigh'd deep, and cry'd, "How far is Peace from me!" Nor ended there his moan: The distance of his future joy Had been enough to give him pain alone; But who can undergo

Down his afflicted face

Despair of ease to come, with weight of present woe?
The trickling tears had stream'd so fast a pace,
As left a path worn by their briny race.

Swoln was his breast with sighs, his well-
Whilst the poor trunk (unable to sustain
Proportion'd limbs as useless fell,
Itself) lay rackt, and shaking with its pain.
I heard his groans as I was walking by,
And (urg'd by pity) went aside, to see

Had

What the sad cause could be

[high. press'd his state so low, and rais'd his plaints so On me he fixt his eyes. I crav'd,

Why so forlorn; he vainly rav'd.
Peace to his mind I did commend:
But, oh! my words were hardly at an end,
When I perceiv'd it was my friend,
My much-lov'd friend; so down I sat,
And begg'd that I might share his fate:
I laid my cheek to his, when with a gale

Of sighs he eas'd his breast, and thus began his tale:

"I am a wretch of honest race: My parents not obscure, nor high in titles were, They left me heir to no disgrace. My father was (a thing now rare) Loyal and brave, my mother chaste and fair: The pledge of marriage-vows was only I; Alone I liv'd their much-lov'd fondled boy: They gave me generous education, high They strove to raise my mind, and with it grew their joy.

The sages that instructed me in arts,

And knowledge, oft would praise my parts,
And cheer my parents' longing hearts.
When I was call'd to a dispute,

My fellow pupils oft stood mute;
Yet never Envy did disjoin

Their hearts from me, nor Pride distemper mine.
Thus my first years in happiness I past,
Nor any bitter cup did taste:
But, oh! a deadly portion came at last.

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