Poems by the most deservedly admired Mrs. Katherine Philips, the matchless Orinda ; to which is added Monsieur Corneille's Pompey & Horace, tragedies ; with several other translations out of French.

To my Lord Duke of Ormond, upon the late Plot.

THough you, great Sir, be Heav'ns immediate care, Who shew'd you danger, and then broke the snare; And our first gratitude to that be due, Yet there is much that must be paid to you: For 'tis your Prudence Ireland's peace fecures, Gives her her safety, and (what's dearer) yours, Whilst your prevailing genius does dispence, At once its conduct, and its influence; Less honour from a battel won is got, Than to repel so dangerous a Plot; Fortune with Courage may play booty there, But single vertue is triumphant here; In vain the bold ingrateful Rebels aim To overturn when you support the same; You who three potent Kingdoms late have seen Tremble with fury, and yet stedfast been; Who on afflicted Majesty could wait, When it was seemingly for sook by Fate; Whose settled loyalty no storms dismaid, Nor the more flattering mischiefs could disswade: And having scap'd so dangerous a coast, Could you now fall expiring Treasons boast? Or was it hop'd by this contemned crew, That you could Fortune, and not them, subdue.

But whilst these wretches at this impious rate, Will buy the knowledge of your mighty fate; You shall preserve your Kings entrusted Crown, Assisted by his fortune and your own. And whilst his Sword Kingdoms abroad bestows, You with the next renown shall this dispose.