With fparing hands will diet us to good;
Preventing furfeits of our pamper'd blood.
So feeds the mother bird her craving young
With little morfels, and delays them long.
True, this laft bleffing was a royal feast ;
But where's the wedding-garment on the gueft?
Our manners, as religion were a dream,
Are fuch as teach the nations to blafpheme.
In lufts we wallow, and with pride we swell,
And injuries with injuries repel;
Prompt to revenge, not daring to forgive,
Our lives unteach the doctrine we believe.
Thus Ifrael finn'd, impenitently hard,
And vainly thought the present 8 ark their guard;
But when the haughty Philiftines appear,
They fled, abandon'd to their foes and fear;
Their God was abfent, tho' his ark was there.
Ah! left our crimes fhould fnatch this pledge away,
And make our joys the bleffings of a day!
For we have finn'd him hence, and that he lives,
God to his promife, not our practice gives.
Our crimes would foon weigh down the guilty fcale,
But James and Mary, and the church prevail.
Nor 9 Amalek can rout the chofen bands,
While Hur and Aaron hold up Mofes' hands.
By living well, let us fecure his days,
Moderate in hopes, and humble in our ways.
No force the free-born fpirit can conftrain,
But charity and great examples gain.
Forgiveness is our thanks for fuch a day.
'Tis god-like God in his own coin to pay.
But you, propitious queen, tranflated here, From your mild heaven, to rule our rugged fphere, Beyond the funny walks, and circling year:
9 Exodus, chap. XVIII. ver. 8.
You, who your native climate have bereft
Of all the virtues, and the vices left;
Whom piety and beauty make their boast,
Tho' beautiful is well in pious loft;
So loft as ftar-light is diffolv'd away,
And melts into the brightnefs of the day;
Or gold about the regal diadem,
Loft to improve the luftre of the gem.
What can we add to your triumphant day?
Let the great gift the beauteous giver pay.
For fhould our thanks awake the rifing fun,
And lengthen, as his latest shadows run,
That, tho' the longest day, would soon, too soon be done.
Let angels voices with their harps confpire,
But keep th' aufpicious infant from the choir;
Late let him fing above, and let us know
No fweeter mufick than his cries below.
Nor can I wish to you, great monarch, more
Than such an annual income to your ftore;
The day which gave this unit, did not shine
For a lefs omen, than to fill the trine.
After a prince, an admiral beget;
The Royal Sov'reign wants an anchor yet.
Our ifle has younger titles ftill in ftore,
And when th' exhausted land can yield no more,
Your line can force them from a foreign fhore.
The name of great your martial mind will fuit;
But juftice is your darling attribute:
Of all the Greeks, 'twas but one hero's due,
And, in him, Plutarch prophefy'd of you.
A prince's favours but on few can fall,
But juftice is a virtue shar'd by all.
Some kings the name of conqu❜rors have affum'd, Some to be great, fome to be Gods prefum'd;
I Ariftides firnamed the juft. See his life written by Plutarch.
But boundless power, and arbitrary luft
Made tyrants ftill abhor the name of juft;
They fhun'd the praise this godlike virtue gives,
And fear'd a title that reproach'd their lives.
The power, from which all kings derive their state,
Whom they pretend, at leaft, to imitate,
Is equal both to punish and reward;
For few would love their God, unless they fear'd.
Refiftless force and immortality
Make but a lame, imperfect, deity:
Tempefts have force unbounded to destroy,
And deathlefs being, even the damn'd enjoy ;
And yet heaven's attributes, both last and first,
One without life, and one with life accurft:
But juftice is heaven's felf, fo ftrictly he,
That could it fail, the Godhead could not be.
This virtue is your own; but life and state
Are one to fortune fubject, one to fate :
Equal to all, you justly frown or fmile;
Nor hopes nor fears your fteady hand beguile;
Yourself our balance hold, the world's our ifle.
LL human things are subject to decay,
A And when fate fummons, monarchs must obey.
This Flecknoe found, who, like Auguftus, young
Was call'd to empire, and had govern'd long;
I This is one of the beft, as well as fevereft fatires, in our language. Mr. Thomas Shadwell is the hero of the piece, and introduced, as if pitched upon, by Mac-Flecknoe, to fucceed him in the throne of dulnefs.
Richard Mac-Flecknoe, Efq; from whom this poem derives its name, was an Irish priest, who had, according to his own declara→ tion, laid afide the mechanic part of the priesthood. He was well known at court; yet, out of four plays which he wrote, could get only one of them acted, and that was damned. "He has," " fays Langbaine," publifhed fundry works, to continue his name
In profe and verfe, was own'd, without difpute,
Thro' all the realms of Nonsense, absolute.
This aged prince, now flourishing in peace,
And bleft with iffue of a large increase;
Worn out with business, did at length debate
To fettle the fucceflion of the state :
And, pond'ring, which of all his fons was fit
To reign, and wage immortal war with wit,
Cry'd, 'tis refoly'd; for nature pleads, that he
Should only rule, who moft refembles me.
Shadwell alone my perfect image bears,
Mature in dulnefs from his tender years:
Shadwell alone, of all my fons, is he,
Who ftands confirm'd in full ftupidity.
The reft to fome faint meaning make pretence,
But Shadwell never deviates into fenfe.
Some beams of wit on other fouls may fall,
Strike thro', and make a lucid interval;
But Shadwell's genuine night admits no ray,
His rifing fogs prevail upon the day.
Befides, his goodly fabric fills the eye,
And feems defign'd for thoughtless majefty:
Thoughtless as monarch oaks, that shade the plain,
And spread in folemn ftate fupinely reign.
Heywood 2 and Shirley were but types of thee,
Thou laft great prophet of tautology.
"to pofterity, tho' poffibly an enemy has done that for him, which "his own endeavours could never have perfected: for, whatever 86 may become of his own pieces, his name will continue, whilst "Mr. Dryden's fatire, called Mac-Flecknoe, fhall remain in vogue.'
At the revolution, when Dryden was deprived of the laurel, it was conferred upon Mr. Thomas Shadwell; and this election, together with the favour he enjoyed among the whigs, occafioned our author's refentment.
2 Heywood and Shirley were but types of thee. Thomas Heywood lived in the days of queen Elizabeth, and was certainly a moft voluminous writer: for he tells us in his dedication of the English Tra
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