Under his proud furvey the City lies,

And like a mift beneath a Hill doth rife;

Whose state and wealth the business and the Crowd,
Seems at this diftance but a darker Cloud:

And is to him who rightly things efteems,
No other in effect than what it seems;

Where, with like hafte, tho' several ways, they run,
Some to undo, and fome to be undone;
While Luxury and Wealth, like War and Peace,
Are each the others ruine, and increase;
As Rivers Loft in Seas fome fecret Vein
Thence re-conveys there to be loft again.
O happiness of sweet retir'd content!
To be at once fecure, and innocent.

Windfor the next (where Mars with Venus dwells, Windfor
Beauty with ftrength) above the Vally fwells.

Into my eye, and doth it felf prefent
With fuch an eafie and unforc't afcent,
That no ftupendious precipice denies
Accefs, no horror turns away our eyes:
But fuch a Rife as doth at once invite
A pleasure and a reverence from the fight.
Thy mighty Mafter's Emblem, in whofe Face
State Meekness, heightned with Majestick Grace;
Such feems the gentle Height, made only proud
To he the Bafis of that pompous load,
Than which, a nobler weight no Mountain bears,
But Atlas only that fupports the Sphears.

When

When Nature's hand this ground did thus advance,
'Twas guided by a wifer power than Chance;
Mark'd out for fuch a use, as if 'twere meant
T' invite the Builder, and his choice prevent.
Nor can we call it choice, when what we chufe,
Folly, or Blindness only could refufse.

A Crown of fuch Majeftick Tow'rs doth grace
The God's great Mother, when her heavenly race
Do homage to her, yet she cannot boaft
Amongst that numerous, and Celeftial Hoft,
More Hero's than can Windfor, nor doth Fame's
Immortal Book record more noble Names.
Not to look back fo far, to whom this Isle
Owes the firft Glory of fo brave a Pile,
Whether to Cafar, Albanact, or Brute,
The British Arthur, or the Danish Knute,
(Though this of old no lefs conteft did move,
Than when for Homer's Birth feven Cities ftrove)
Like him in Birth, thou shoul'dst be like in Fame,
(As thine his Fate, if mine had been his Flame)
But whofoe'er it was, Nature defign'd

Firft a brave place, and then as brave a mind.
Not to recount those several Kings, to whom
It gave a Cradle, or to whom a Tomb,

*

But the (great Edward) and thy greater Son,

(The Lillies which his Father wore, he won) And thy † Bellona, who the Confert came Not only to thy Bed, but to thy Fame,

* Edward Third, and the Black Prince. † Queen Philipa.

A 4

*She

*She to the Triumph led one Captive King,
And brought that Son, which did the second bring
Then didit thou found that Order (whether Love
Or Victory thy Royal Thoughts did move)
Each was a Noble Cause, and nothing lefs
Than the Defign, has been the great Success:
Which Foreign Kings and Emperors esteem
The fecond Honour to their Diadem.

Had thy great Deftiny but giv'n the Skill,
To know, as well as Power to act her Will,
That from thofe Kings, who then thy Captives were,
In After-time should fpring a Royal Pair,
Who should poffefs all that thy mighty Power,
Or thy Defires more mighty, did devour;
To whom their better Fate referves whate'er
The Victor hopes for, or the Vanquish'd fear;
That Blood, which thou and thy Great Granfire shed,
And all that fince these Sifter Nations bled,
Had been unfpilt, had happy Edward known
That all the Blood he fpilt, had been his own.
When he that Patron chofe, in whom are injoy'd
Souldier and Martyr, and his Arm's confin'd
Within the Azure Circle, he did feem
But to foretel and prophefie of him,

Who to his Realms that Azure Roun hath joyn'd,
Which Nature for their Bound at firft defign'd.
That Bound, which to the World's extreameft ends,
Endlefs it felf, its Liquid Arms extends

The Kings of France and Scotland.

Nor

(و)

Nor doth he need thofe Emblems which we Paint,
But is himself the Souldier and the Saint.

Here fhould my Wonder dwell, and here my Praife,
But my fixt Thoughts my wandring Eye betrays;
Viewing a Neighbouring Hill, whofe Top of late
A Chappel crown'd, till in the common Fate,
The adjoyding Abbey fell: (May no fuch Storm
Fall on our Times, where Ruin must reform.)
Tell me (my Mufe) what monftrous dire Offence,
What Crime could any Christian King incenfe
To fuch a Rage? Was't Luxury, or Luft?
Was he fo Temperate, fo Chafte, fo Juft?

Were these their Crimes? They were his own much more:
But Wealth is Crime enough to him that's poor;
Who having spent the Treasures of his Crown,
Condemns their Luxury to feed his own.
And yet this Act, to varnish o'er the Shame
Of Sacriledge, muft bear Devotion's Name.
No Crime fo bold, but would be understood
A real, or at least a seeming good;
Who fears not to do ill, yet fears the Name,
And free from Confcience is a Slave to Fame.
Thus he the Church at once protects, and spoils:
But Princes Swords are sharper than their stiles.
And thus to th'Ages paft he makes amends,
Their Charity destroys, their Faith defends.
Then did Religion in a lazy Cell,
In empty, airy Contemplations dwell,

And

And like the Block, unmoved lay: but ours,
As much to active, like the Stork devours.

Is there no temperate Region can be known,
Betwixt their Frigid, and our Torrid Zone?
Could we not wake from that Lethargick Dream,
But to be restless in a worse Extream?

And for that Lethargy was there no Cure,
But to be caft into a Calenture ?

Can knowledge have no bound, but muft advance
So far, to make us wish for ignorance ?
And rather in the dark to grope our way,
Than led by a falfe Guide to erre by day?
Who fees these difmal Heaps, but would demand
What barbarous Invader fack'd the Land?
But when he hears, no Goth, no Turk did bring.
This defolation, but a Christian King';

When nothing, but the Name of Zeal, appears
'Twixt our beft actions, and the worst of theirs,
What does he think our Sacrilege would spare,
When fuch th' effects of our Devotion are?
Parting from thence 'twixt anger fhame and fear,
Thofe for what's paft, and this for what's too near:
My eye defcending from the Hill, furveys
Where Thames amongst the wanton Vallies strays.
Thames, the most lov'd of all the Ocean Sons,
By his old Sire to his embraces runs,
Hafting to pay his tribute to the Sea,
Like mortal life to meet Eternity.

Thames.

Though