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VI.

Yes, Britons, yes, with ardent Zeal,
I come, the wounded Heart to heal,
The wounded Hand to bind:

See Tools of Arbitrary Sway,

And Priefts, like Locusts, Scout away
Before the Western Wind.

VII.

Law fball again her Force refume;
Religion, clear'd from Clouds of Rome,
With brighter Rays advance.

The British Fleet fhall rule the Deep,
The British Youth, as rouz'd from Sleep,
Strike Terror into France.

VIII.

Nor fhall thefe Promifes of Fate
Be limited to my fhort Date:

When I from Cares withdraw,
Still fhall the British Scepter stand,
Still flourish in a Female Hand,

And to Mankind give Law.

IX.

She ball Domeftic Foes unite,
Monarchs beneath her Flags fhall fight,

Whole Armies drag her Chain :
She fhall lost Italy restore,

Shall make th' Imperial Eagle foar,
And give a King to Spain.

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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,
For not Believing right.

G

XII.

Rome, whofe blind Zeal deftroys Mankind ;
Rome's Sons fhall your Compaffion find,
Who ne'er Compassion knew.``

By nobler Actions theirs condemn :
For what has been Reproach'd in them,
Can ne'er be Prais'd in you.

XIII.

Thefe Subjects fuit not with the Lyre;
Muse! To what Height doft thou aspire?

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!
Tell the fad Tale through all the Hills and Plains!
Tell it through ev'ry Lawn and ev'ry Grove!
Where Flocks can wander, or where Shepherds rove!
Bid neighb'ring Rivers tell the distant Sea,

And Winds from Pole to Pole the News convey !
DELIA, the Queen of Love, let All deplore!

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 foaming Sea o'erwhelms the frighten'd Shoar,

The Vallies tremble and the Mountains roar.
See lofty Oaks from firm Foundations torn,
And stately Tow'rs in Heaps of Ruin mourn!
The gentle Thames, that rarely Paffion knows,

Swells with this Sorrow, and her Banks o'erflows:
What Shrieks are heard? what Groans? what dying Cries?
Ev'n Nature's self in dire Convulfions lies!

DELIA, the Queen of Love, they All deplore!
DELIA, the Queen of Beauty, now no more!

away?

O! why did I furvive the fatal Day,
That fnatch'd the Joys of all my Life
Why was not I beneath fome Ruin loit?
Sunk in the Seas, or Shipwreck'd on the Coast?
Why did the Fates fpare this devoted Head?

Why did I live to hear that Thou wert dead?

By Thee my Griefs were calm'd, my Torments eas'd
Nor knew I Pleasure but, as Thou wert pleas'd.

Where fhall I wander now, distress'd, alone?

What Ufe have I of Life, now Thou art gone?
I bave no Ufe, alas! but to deplore

DELIA, the Pride of Beauty, now no more!

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