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How much in him may rifing Ireland boast,
How much in gaining him has Britain loft!
Their island in revenge has ours reclaim'd;
The more inftructed we, the more we ftill are

fham'd.

'Tis well for us his generous blood did flow
Deriv'd from British channels long ago,
That here his conqu'ring ancestors were nurft;
And Ireland but tranflated England first:
By this reprifal we regain our right,
Else must the two contending nations fight;
A nobler quarrel for his native earth,

Than what divided Greece for Homer's birth.
To what perfection will our tongue arrive,
How will invention and tranflation thrive,
When authors nobly born will bear their part,
And not difdain th' inglorious praise of art!
Great generals thus, descending from command,
With their own toil provoke the foldiers hand.
How will sweet Ovid's ghost be pleas'd to hear
His fame augmented by an English peer;
How he embellifhes his Helen's loves,
Outdoes his foftnefs, and his fenfe improves ?
When thefe tranflate, and teach tranflators too,
Nor firftling kid, nor any vulgar vow,

Should at Apollo's grateful altar fstand: Rofcommon writes; to that aufpicious hand, Mufe, feed the bull that spurns the yellow fand. Rofcommon, whom both court and camps com

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mend,

True to his prince, and faithful to his friend;
Rofcommon firft in fields of honor known,
First in the peaceful triumphs of the gown;
Who both Minervas juftly makes his own.
Now let the few belov'd by Jove, and they
Whom infus'd Titan form'd of better clay,
On equal terms with ancient wit engage,
Nor mighty Homer fear, nor facred Virgil's page :
Our English palace opens wide in state;
And without stooping they may pass the gate.

***

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W

HEN factious rage to cruel exile drove The queen of beauty, and the court of love, The Mufes droop'd, with their forfaken arts, And the fad Cupids broke their useless darts: Our fruitful plains to wilds and defarts turn'd, Like Eden's face, when banish'd man it mourn'd

Love was no more, when loyalty was gone,
The great fupporter of his awful throne.
Love could no longer after beauty stay,
But wander'd northward to the verge of day,
As if the fun and he had loft their way.
But now th'illuftrious nymph, return'd again,
Brings every grace triumphant in her train.
The wond'ring Nereids, tho they rais'd no ftorm,
Foreflow'd her paffage, to behold her form :
Some cry'd, A Venus; fome, A Thetis past;
But this was not fo fair, nor that so chaste.
Far from her fight flew Faction, Strife, and Pride;
And Envy did but look on her, and dy’d.
Whate'er we suffer'd from our fullen fate,
Her fight is purchas'd at an easy rate.
Three gloomy years against this day were fet;
But this one mighty fum has clear'd the debt :
Like Jofeph's dream, but with a better doom,
The famine paft, the plenty ftill to come.
For her the weeping heavens become serene;
For her the ground is clad in cheerful green :
For her the nightingales are taught to fing,
And Nature has for her delay'd the fpring.
The Muse refumes her long-forgotten lays,
And Love reftor'd his ancient realm furveys,
Recals our beauties, and revives our plays;

His waste dominions peoples once again,
And from her prefence dates his fecond reign.
But awful charms on her fair forehead fit,
Difpenfing what she never will admit :
Pleafing, yet cold, like Cynthia's filver beam,
The people's wonder, and the poet's theme.
Distemper'd Zeal, Sedition, canker'd Hate,
No more fhall vex the church, and tear the state:
No more shall Faction civil difcords move,

Or only difcords of too tender love :
Discord, like that of mufic's various parts;
Discord, that makes the harmony of hearts;
Discord, that only this dispute shall bring,
Who beft shall love the duke, and ferve the king.

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