An essay on poetry; written by the Marquis of Normanby, and the same render'd into Latin by another hand. With several other poems, viz. An epistle to the Lord Chamberlain, on His Majesty's victory in Ireland; by the honourable Mr. Montague. An epistle to the honourable Mr. Montague, on His Majesty's voyage to Holland; by Mr. Stepny. An epistle to Monsieur Boileau; by Mr. Arwaker. A poem on the promotion of several eminent persons in church and state; by Mr. Tate. To which are added the following poems, never before in print, viz. An ode in memory of the late Queen; by a person of quality. A poem on the late horrid conspiracy; by Mr. Stepny

A POEM ON THE Late Promotions, &c.

AS Joyful Nature, who till then lay mute, Did the first Sun's exalted Beams salute; So Britain, rescu'd from the sullen Cloud That seem'd her new-created Face to shrowd, Beholds, at once Transported and Amaz'd, To proper Spheres her Brightest Planets rais'd.

Our Monarch, who best knew their Use and Pow'r, Reserv'd their Influence for the Prosp'rous Hour: Whose Aspects now a strong Direction joins, When Tyranizing Saturn's Course declines. Thus Kings, whose Actions are to Heav'n ally'd, Like Providence, by Time are justify'd.

Easy at Home their Task, when Peace combines With Pious Kings, and favours their Designs: Ours, prest with War, and sinking Europe's Weight, Finds Leisure to Adorn our CHURCH and STATE.

NOW, like the Visionary Matron, rears Eusebia her calm Forehead crown'd with tears. O'rejoy'd her Consecrated Sons appear, (Those Sons that hold their Mother's Honour dear) To see the Past'ral Chair by Him supply'd, For whom the Voice of Angels would decide. In his Promotion Vice her Downfal read, She rav'd to find the MITRE on that Head: Her Venom swell'd to see, of Piety So Charming an Example plac'd so High; Whose Influence, her Fears presag'd, wou'd make The Age reform, and her dark Empire shake. Preferment sought Him, (Worthless Spir'ts intrude, But Modest Merit must by Kings be woo'd.) He, slow consenting, to the Temple's Sway Aspir'd not, but did Caesar's Will Obey. While Caesar did, who only could, prescribe, He in meer Duty Rules the Sacred Tribe. His Moderation, Charity Divine, Led to this Choice our Gen'rous Constantine. Whose Genius, while the CROSIER there he plac'd, His own Hereditary Virtues grac'd.

Whose Clemency mistaken Zeal does spare, To Conscience, Tender; as to Crimes, Severe. Caesar, these Charms can only Thrones sustain, And you in These without a Rival Reign. O Friend of Nations! None you hold for Foes, Except the Troublers of the World's Repose. Just is your Rage; oh! may as Just Success Attend Your Arms, till You Mankind redress: Till har••as'd Europe safe at Rest is laid, As slept first Mortals in their Sylvan shade.

The Muse, her Visit to the Temple paid, Comes forth, where Peals of Joy her Ear invade. What charming Pomp such Transports can create? Lo! SOMMERS with the Emblems of his State! How justly, Heaven, are now those Trophies born Before such Worth, in suitable Return, Adorning Him, who Britain do's adorn! A Poet's Genius should be all on Fire; What Extasies should his rais'd Soul inspire? When Crouds, at Sight of Him, can Rapture feel; See how they press to Gaze, and load his Chariot-wheel! To fetter'd Numbers how shall be confin'd The compass of His Comprehensive Mind! Sense, Reason, Musick, in his Language throng, The Graces sit Assembled on his Tongue;

Whose Accents ev'n the flying Winds surprize, Who watch their Birth, and bear 'em to the Skies. The Muses, who severer Arts profess, By Him are Cherish'd, ne'er deny'd Access: Only the Idle, and the Singing Crew, Chid from his Presence, long long since withdrew. In Youth, their Lawrels at his Feet they laid, To Court Him, all their Syren-Charms display'd; Which like Ulysses wisely He contemn'd, And, Tacking off, the Tide of Business stemm'd. 'Twould beggar Thought and Language both, to raise The full proportion'd Tribute of his Praise. Whom, through all Provinces of Learning crown'd, Transcendent Virtues render more renown'd. Justice do's, visible, from Heav'n repair; Unveil'd she comes, and takes with Him the Chair. When him on the relieving Bench you see, Without a Trope, say,—There sits EQUITY.

Next, were my Strength proportion'd to my Zeal, I'd sing the Guardian of the Privy-Seal. On PEMBROOK, what can Court or State confer Beyond his Knowledge, or his Virtue's Sphere? Who, like the Sun, the higher he ascends, But further warms, and more his Beams extends. In Private Actions, as in Publick Trust, To Honour's Scheme so regularly just;

That his whole Soul but seems a Model fram'd By those rare Arts in which his Skill is fam'd. Whose Judgment the best Pencil can direct; In Symetry instruct the Architect. Whose Rays can Light to Time's dark Relicts give, And from the Grave Antiquity retrieve. O Sacred Faculty! whose Pow'r transcends Life's Territories, and the Dead befriends. Blest Genius! who Past Ages can renew, And Ours transmit to All that shall ensue. Who ev'ry Science, and so early, gain'd, As Heav'n Inspir'd, not Industry Obtain'd. Vast Ocean, that from ev'ry Channel draws, From Statesmen, Schools, Divine and Human Laws. To Worth deprest, and injur'd Right, his Ear Is ever open, and his Heart sincere. O Piety! O Truth without a Stain! Reserv'd by Heav'n for William's Sacred Reign.

When Nature in the Body does maintain Free intercourse between the Heart and Brain, The Veins with Vital Spirits are supply'd, And briskly circulates the Sanguine Tide: Each vig'rous Limb, ungriev'd, its Labour bears, And Joy Triumphant in the Face appears; So Healthful, so Transported, looks the Realm, Where SHREWSBURY and TRENCHARD sit at Helm.

If TRENCHARD singly could sustain the Weight, And from declining long support the State, O what, when SHREWSBURY'S with him assign'd! Atlas and Hercules together join'd.

TRENCHARD, who, Young, and in his private Sphere, For Britain's Rescue could so Nobly dare: Forgetting Youth's Diversions, could engage For Publick Safety,—What may we presage, From Skill, which ablest Discipline has wrought, By Suff'rings, Time, and Observation, taught!

How, SHREWSBURY, for thy Return to State, And once more condescending to be Great, Shall my weak Muse assume the mighty Tone? How eccho back the Joy by Nations shown, Whose Breath wants Compass to express her Own? Yet Oh! would Strength with my Desires comply, My Song a Dytherambick Pitch should fly: Pursuing thy just Praises to the Skies, But they tow'r swift, and I want Wings to rise. Immortal Streins should Caesar's Darling grace; The Worhiest Heir of TALBOT'S Noble Race. With gen'ral Thanks (for all your Absence mourn'd,) We bless, at once, our Hopes and You return'd. So Rome, distress'd, in one united Swarm Welcom'd her great Dictator from his Farm.

These Worthies, Britain, for thy Glory born, And Numbers more thy happy Realm adorn.

Turn, turn your Eye to bright Augusta's Pile; See how her Sons, see how her Fabricks smile. Ages were told by that Imperial Dame, E're Rome determin'd her disputed Name. Who Tyrant Rome in Iust Renown excell'd, As far as Thames above the Tyber swell'd. Her Scituation boasts no empty Height, No Barren Mountains to support her Weight: From Thames his Bank contented to look down, And see the Treasures of the World her own. Kind Stars could to her Blessings add no more, But to secure what they conferr'd before: 'Tis done:—Her Laws, her Rights by Publick Voice Were fix'd, when ASHHURST was her Guardian Choice. All that her Hopes or utmost Wish could crave, She to her self in that Election gave. 'Twas Then Fate snatch'd the Wheel from Fortune's Hand, And charm'd it fast.—Thus utt'ring her Command, At this Ascendant, my Augusta,—Stand. For whom should her Consenting Votes engage But ASHHURST? the Fabricius of our Age. Sprung from a Patriot-Race of old Renown, He centres all their Glories in his Own. On Him, with Measure unconfin'd, did fall, That Publick Spirit which inspir'd them All. Augusta, to thy grateful Sons and Thee, For ever Sacred let his Trophies be; The boldest Champion of your Liberty.

For Peace can Courage boast with Triumphs crown'd, That loud, as those obtain'd by War, resound: Whose Gilded Lawrels too, are full as good, In Fame's Esteem, as Lawrels dy'd in Blood. Him, in her Chair, the City finds so Just, That she repines 'tis but an Annual Trust: Which, by th' Effects of his Industrious Skill, Ev'n when Retir'd, he yet shall seem to Fill. His Methods and Example shall prevail, And Blessings on succeeding Reigns entail. For Virtue, that does lasting Fruit intend, And does, like His, its utmost Force extend, In One Year's space whole Ages can befriend.

Behold the hurry'ng Crowd from ev'ry Street Press to the Thames some Pageantry to meet. Lo there in wondrous Pomp blue Tritons ride, And Sea-Nymphs entring with the swelling Tide. Advanc'd before our Senate-House, they call For RUSSEL, their Victorious Admiral. Envoys to him they come, and seem to say, Neptune his ready Homage waits to pay, And Thetis grows impatient of his stay. Blessings attend your Counsels (thus they sing) Great Britain's Senate, may your Gen'rous Spring Of Tribute, for the Publick Safety, rise, As full and fast as ours the Thames supplies;

Who finds, in circling Trade, his just return, And blesses the Expences of his Urn. Let RUSSEL still Command, and still the Main To Britain his old Duty shall retain; Still serve the Isle, which he, embracing laves, With Loyalty as Ancient as his Waves. Whose full Assembly did your Votes resound, When You his Courage and his Conduct own'd. O Sea's great Hero! to thy Fleet repair, And see the ready Harvest of thy Care. A cheerful Crew of Sailors doubly Fir'd, By Native Valour, and by You inspir'd: Through ev'ry Squadron plenteous Stores convey'd; Their Flags and Streamers Gallantly display'd. A flowing Tide and Winds presenting fair, Or will at least when RUSSEL does appear.

French Pyrates snatch'd our Seas unguarded Wealth, As Cacus the Herculean Herd, by Stealth: The Hero's Absence that advantage gave; But he returning Sack'd the Robbers Cave. In vain the treacherous Den with Rock was Barr'd, Which Fire and Smoak cou'd now no longer Guard. The Rest, secur'd by shameful Odds, Engage; Tourville alone cou'd boast a gen'rous Rage. Nor unrenown'd his glitt'ring Sun is sett, That RUSSEL, and Britannia's Lightning met.

'Twas Fame enough to dare, though forc'd to shrow'd Her vanquish'd Glories in a shelt'ring Cloud. With Terrors Threatning Pomp display'd they came, Tempest-resembling Fury, Noise, and Flame, Enough to have Astonish'd and O'rethrown A Foe, not Arm'd with greater of his Own. But urg'd the Fate that such Presumption crav'd, When, Caesar, they your Naval Thunder Brav'd•• So rash Salmoneus, while with Iove he Vy'd, Fell by that Thunderbolt, which he Defy'd.

From Sea, the Muse our distant Camp does view; But dropps her Wing o're charg'd with briny Dew. From her own Britain too, remov'd too far, Where Caesar waits Fame's Summons to the War; And ORMOND (His as Caesar Ormond's Care) Prepares his Danger and Renown to share. Whose Wounded Breast shall future Ages Charm, Together Sung with WILLIAM'S Wounded Arm. Shine Bright ye Stars, who kindly did divert The Piercing Ponyard from that Gen'rous Heart. Muse, Crown his Brow, but make his Lawrel wreath As Mild and Sweet, as Morning Roses Breath; Who Clemency to Courage reconciles, And in whose Face delighted Nature smiles•• The Graces early Nurs'd whom they decreed Their former Darling ORMOND to succeed:

Illustrious Ossery's expiring Breath, Did him his Fame and Virtues Stock bequeath. Thus to Elysian Fields the Phoenix Fled, To his Successor leaves a Spicy Bed. The Royal Eagle all the Noble Quire, The Wondrous Heir of the Sun's Bird Admire.

From Fairy Land great Spencers shade shall rise, And Milton from his Dream of Paradice; To Charm the Boyne, and then the Shannon's Stream, William their First, and TALMASH their next Theme.

Of Num'rous Worthies more our Lists can boast; But who has Breath to Count that Starry Host? The Muse who can that Galaxie recite, May too the Princely Constellation Write; Whom Britain's Iupiter, Presiding, draws, And joins their Aspects in the Common Cause. The Cause that Europe's Heroes did employ, Of old Combining to demolish Troy. For Helen's Rape, that Arm'd the Pow'rs of Greece, Was but a Type of Violated Peace,

'Tis fix'd—Behold the happy promis'd Day Already Plum'd, and on his Glorious Way, With Triumphs charg'd, that shall once more invite The gen'rous Muse that Sung the Boyne, to Write.

Themes Sacred, and by Fame reserv'd intire For MONTAGUE'S inimitable Fire: Fancy that can to Clouds of smoke give Light, And trace a Hero through the dusky Fight. Then, swift and glorious as the Conquest, bring The News to Court on Rapture's Sacred Wing. And shifting quick the Scene from Wars Alarms, In breathing drafts express Maria's Charms. Adorn'd with Innocence and Beauty's Beams, Like Venus first Ascending from the Streams: Or Phoebe in her Empire of the Skye, Mildly Majestick, and serenely High!

Oh! when for such Illustrious Themes and Wit, His Country's Service Leisure can permit; When from his Task of State he may retire, Th' inspiring Heat resuming with his Lyre; Not Summer-Breezes shall delight us more; Nor Waves that gently break upon the shore: Nor Vocal Rills, that through the Valley stray, Harmoniously Disputing all their Way.

FINIS.