VI. Yes, Britons, yes, with ardent Zeal, See Tools of Arbitrary Sway, And Priefts, like Locusts, Scout away VII. Law fball again her Force refume; The British Fleet fhall rule the Deep, VIII. Nor fhall thefe Promifes of Fate When I from Cares withdraw, And to Mankind give Law. IX. She ball Domeftic Foes unite, Whole Armies drag her Chain : Shall make th' Imperial Eagle foar, But know, thefe Promises are given, Thefe great Rewards Impartial Heaven Does on these Terms decree; That strictly punishing Men's Faults, You let their Confciences and Thoughts Reft abfolutely free. Let no falfe Politicks confine, XI. In narrow Bounds, your vaft Defign To make Mankind unite; Nor think it a fufficient Caufe To punish Man by penal Laws, G XII. Rome, whofe blind Zeal deftroys Mankind ; By nobler Actions theirs condemn : XIII. Thefe Subjects fuit not with the Lyre; Pretending to rehearse The Thoughts of Gods, and God-like Kings. Ceafe, cease to leffen lofty Things By mean ignoble Verfe. DEL I A A PASTORAL ECLOGUE. E, gentle Swains who pafs your Days and Nights YE, Bootle, Swains who pafs In Love's finçere and innocent Delights! Ye, tender Virgins, who with Pride display Your Beauty's Splendor, and extend your Sway! Lament with me! with me your Sorrows join! And mingle your united Tears with mine! DELIA, the Queen of Love, let All deplore! DELIA, the Queen of Beauty, now no more! Begin, my Mufe! begin your mournful Strains! And Winds from Pole to Pole the News convey ! DELIA, the Queen of Beauty, now no more! This Elegy laments the Beautiful Mrs. Tempeft, who died in the Night of the Great Storm, (November 26. 1703.) a Lady for whom Mr. Walb had the highest Efteem. She was alfo, at his Request, celebrated by Mr. Pope, who has confecrated his Fourth Paftoral to her Memory. 'Tis done, and All obey the mournful Muse! See, Hills, and Plains, and Winds have heard the News! The Vallies tremble and the Mountains roar. Swells with this Sorrow, and her Banks o'erflows: DELIA, the Queen of Love, they All deplore! away? O! why did I furvive the fatal Day, Why did I live to hear that Thou wert dead? By Thee my Griefs were calm'd, my Torments eas'd Where fhall I wander now, distress'd, alone? What Ufe have I of Life, now Thou art gone? DELIA, the Pride of Beauty, now no more! What |