Part must be left, a fund when foes invade ;
And part employ'd to roll the watry trade:
Ev'n Canaan's happy land, when worn with toil,
Requir'd a fabbath-year to mend the meagre foil.
Good fenators (and fuch as you) so give,
That kings may be supply'd, the people thrive.
And he, when want requires, is truly wife, -
Who flights not foreign aids, nor over-buys;
But on our native ftrength, in time of need, relies.
Munster was bought, we boaft not the fuccefs;
makes his peace.
Who fights for gain, for greater makes his
Our foes, compell'd by need, have peace
The peace both parties want, is like to laft:
Which if fecure, fecurely we may trade ;
Or, not fecure, fhould never have been made.
Safe in ourselves, while on ourselves we stand,
The fea is ours, and that defends the land.
Be, then, the naval ftores the nation's care,,
New fhips to build, and batter'd to repair.
Obferve the war, in ev'ry annual course;
What has been done, was done with British force:
Namur fubdu'd, is England's palm alone;
The reft befieg'd; but we constrain'd the town: We faw th' event that follow'd our fuccefs; France, tho pretending arms, purfu'd the peace ;
Oblig'd, by one fole treaty, to restore
What twenty years of war had won before.
Enough for Europe has our Albion fought:
Let us enjoy the peace our blood has bought.
When once the Perfian king was put to flight,
The weary Macedons refus'd to fight:
Themselves their own mortality confess'd;
And left the fon of Jove, to quarrel for the rest.
Ev'n victors are by victories undone ;
Thus Hannibal, with foreign laurels won,
ToCarthage was recall'd, too late to keep his own.
While fore of battle, while our wounds are green,
Why should we tempt the doubtful dye agen ?
In wars renew'd, uncertain of success;
Sure of a share, as umpires of the peace.
A patriot both the king and country ferves: Prerogative, and privilege, preferves:
Of each our laws the certain limit fhow;
One must not ebb, nor t'other overflow:
Betwixt the prince and parliament we stand ;
The barriers of the ftate on either hand:
May neither overflow, for then they drown the
land.
When both are full, they feed our bless'd abode;
Like those that water'd once the paradife of God.
Some overpoise of sway, by turns, they share; In peace the people, and the prince in war: Confuls of mod'rate power in calms were made; When the Gauls came, one fole dictator sway'd. Patriots, in peace, affert the people's right; With noble stubbornefs refifting might: No lawless mandates from the court receive, Nor lend by force, but in a body give. Such was your gen'rous grandfire; free to grant In parliaments, that weigh'd their prince's want: But fo tenacious of the common cause, As not to lend the king against his laws. And, in a loathsome dungeon doom'd to lie, In bonds retain'd his birthright liberty, And sham'd oppreffion, till it fet him free. O true defcendent of a patriot line,
Who, while thou shar'ft their luftre, lend'st them thine,
Vouchsafe this picture of thy foul to see ;
'Tis fo far good, as it resembles thee:
The beauties to th' original I owe ;
Which when I mifs, my own defects I show:
Nor think the kindred mufes thy disgrace:
A poet is not born in ev'ry race.
Two of a house few ages can afford;
One to perform, another to record.
Praise-worthy actions are by thee embrac'd;
And 'tis my praise, to make thy praises last.
For ev'n when death diffolves our human frame,
The foul returns to heaven from whence it came;
Earth keeps the body, verfe preferves the fame.
Sir GODFREY KNELLER,
Principal PAINTER to his MAJESTY.
NCE I beheld the faireft of her kind,
And still the sweet idea charms my mind:
True, she was dumb; for nature gaz'd fo long,
Pleas'd with her work, that she forgot her tongue;
But, fmiling, faid, She still shall gain the prize;
I only have transferr'd it to her
eyes.
Such are thy pictures, Kneller: fuch thy fkill,
That nature seems obedient to thy will;
Comes out, and meets thy pencil in the draught; Lives there, and wants but words to speak her
At least thy pictures look a voice; and we
- Imagine founds, deceiv'd to that degree,
We think 'tis fomewhat more than just to see.
Shadows are but privations of the light;
Yet, when we walk, they shoot before the fight;
With us approach, retire, arise, and fall;
Nothing themselves, and yet expreffing all.
Such are thy pieces, imitating life
So near, they almost conquer in the strife;
And from their animated canvass came,
Demanding fouls, and loofen'd from the frame.
Prometheus, were he here, would caft away
His Adam, and refufe a foul to clay;
And either would thy noble work inspire,
Or think it warm enough, without his fire.
But vulgar hands may vulgar likeness raise;
This is the least attendant on thy praise :
From hence the rudiments of art began;
A coal, or chalk, firft imitated man:
Perhaps the shadow, taken on a wall,
Gave outlines to the rude original;
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