A Pindaric on the DEATH Of Our Late Sovereign; WITH AN Ancient Prophecy ON HIS Present MAJESTY.  
Written by A. BEHN.  
DUBLIN, Reprinted by Andrew Crook and Samuel Helsham; And are to be Sold at Samuel Helsham's at the Colledg-Arms in Castle-street.   

A Pindaric on the Death of Our Late Sovereign; with an Ancient Prophecy on His Present Majesty.  

STANZA I.  
SAD was the Morn ', the sadder Week began,  
And heavily the God of Day came on:  
From ominous Dreams my wondering Soul looked out,  
And saw a Dire Confusion round about.  
My Bed like some sad Monument appeared,  
Round which the Mournful Statues wring their hands and weep;  
Distracted Objects all! with mighty Grief, prepared  
To rouse me from my painful sleep.  
Not the sad Bards that wailed jerusalem's woes,  
(With wild neglect throu'out the peopled street,  
With a Prophetic rage affrighting all they meet)  
Had mightier pangs of sorrow, mightier throes;  
Ah! wretch, undone they Cry! awake forlorn,  
The King! the King is Dead! Rise! rise and Mourn.   

II.  
Again I bid 'em tell their sorrows Theme,  
Again they Cry, The King! The King is Dead!  
Extended, Cold and Pale, upon the Royal Bed;  
Again I heard, and yet I thought it Dream;  
Impossible! (I raving Cry)  
That such a Monarch! such a God should die!  
And no Dire Warning to the World be given:  
No Hurricanes on Earth! no Blazing Fires in Heaven!  
The Sun and Tide their constant Courses keep:  
That cheers the World with its Life-giving Reign,  
This hasts with equal Motion to the Deep;  
And in its usual turns revives the Banks again,  
And in its soft and easy way,  
Brings up no Storms or Monsters from the Sea,  
No Showr'rs of Blood, no Temples Vale is rend,  
But all is Calm, and all is Innocent.  
When Nature in Convulsions should be hurled,  
And Fate should shake the Fabric of the World;  
Impossible! Impossible I Cry!  
So Great a King! so much a God so silently should die!   

III.  
True I Divined! when lo a Voice arrived,  
Welcome as that which did the Crowd surprise,  
When the Dead Lazarus from the Tomb revived,  
And saw a Pitying God attend his rise!  
Our Sovereign lives! it cried! rise and Adore!  
Our Sovereign lives! Heaven adds one Wonder more  
To the Miraculous History of his numerous store:  
Sudden as thought, or winged lightning flies,  
This chased the Gloomy Terrors from our eyes,  
And all from Sorrows, fall to Sacrifice.  
Whole Hecatoms of Vows the Altars Crown,  
To clear our Sins that brought this Vengeance down;  
So the Great Saviour of the World did fall,  
A Bleeding Victim to atone for all!  
Nor were the blessed Apostles more revived,  
When in the Resurrection they beheld  
Their Faith Established, and their Lord survived,  
And all the Holy Prophecies fulfilled.  
Their Mighty Love, by Mighty joy they showed!  
And if from feebler Faith before,  
They did the Deity, and Man Adore;  
What must they pay, when He confirmed the God;  
Who having finished all His wonders here,  
And full Instructions given,  
To make His Bright Divinity more Clear;  
Transfigured all to Glory, Mounts to Heaven!   

IV.  
So fell our Earthly God so Loved, so Mourned,  
So like a God again returned.  
For of His Message, yet a part was unperformed,  
But oh! our Prayers and Vows were made too late,  
The Sacred Dictates were already past;  
And open laid the Mighty Book of Fate,  
Where the Great MONARCH read His Lifes short date;  
And for Eternity prepared in haste●  
He saw in th'everlasting Chairs  
Of long past Time and Numerous Things,  
The Fates, Vicissitudes, and pains,  
Of Mighty Monarchies, and Mighty Kings,  
And blest His Stars that in an Age so Vain,  
Where Zealous Mischiefs, Frauds, Rebellions, Reign:  
Like Moses, he had led the Murmuring Crowd,  
Beneath the Peaceful Rule of his Almighty Wand;  
Pulled down the Golden Calf to which they bowed,  
And left 'em safe, entr'ing the promised Land;  
And to good JOSHVA, now resigns his sway;  
JOSHVA, by Heaven and Nature pointed out to lead the way.   

V  
Full of the Wisdom and the Power of God,  
The Royal PROPHET now before him stood  
On whom his Hands the Dying MONARCH laid:  
And wept with tender Joy and Blessed and said:  
To Thee, kind Aid in all my Fates and Powers,  
Dear Partner of my sad and softest Hours,  
Thy Parting King and Brother recommends  
His frighted Nations, and his Mourning Friends,  
Take to Thy Pious Care, my Faithful Flock.  
And tho' the Shel'tring Cedar Fade,  
Regard said He, regard my tender Stock;  
The Noble Stems may shoot and grow  
To Grace the spacious Plains, and bow  
Their spreading Branches round Thee a defensive shade.  
The Royal SUCCESSOR to all he hears  
With sighs assented, and Confirming Tears.  
Much more he spoke! much more he had Expressed,  
But that the Charming Accents of his Tongue.  
Flew upwards, to Compose a Heavenly Song,  
And left his speaking Eyes to Bless and tell the rest,  
His Eyes so much Adored! whose lessening light  
Like setting Suns that hasten on the Night;  
(Lending their Glories to another Sphere)  
Those Sacred Lights are fading here,  
Whilst every Beam above informs a Star,   

VI  
Which shall a Nobler Business know,  
And Influence his best loved Friends below.  
But oh!  
No Humane thought can paint the Grief and Love,  
With which the parting Hero's strove.  
Sad was the Scene, Soft looks the Voice supplies,  
Anguish their Hearts, and Languishment their Eyes;  
Not God like jonathan with greater pain,  
Sighed his last Farewell to the Royal Swain;  
While Awful silence filled the Gloomy place,  
And Death and Midnight hung on every Face.  
And now the fatal Hour came on,  
And all the Blessed Powers above,  
In haste to make him ALL their own,  
Around the Royal Bed in shining order move.  
Once more he longs to see the Breaking Day,  
The last his Mortal Eyes shall e'er behold,  
And oft he asked if no Kind Ray,  
It's near Approach foretold.  
And when he found 'twas Dawning in,  
(With the Cold Tide of Death that flowed all o'er)  
Draw, Draw, said he, this Cloud that hangs between,  
And let me take my last adieu;  
Oh let me take my last— last view,  
For I shall never, never see it more,  
And Now—.  
Officious Angels catch his dying Sighs;  
And bear 'em up in Triumph to the Skies,  
Each forms a Soul! of the Divinest dress!  
For Newborn Kings and Hero's to possess.  
The last, that from the Sacred Fabric few,  
Made CHARLES a God and JAMES, a Monarch, too!    

To His Sacred Majesty, King James II.  
ALL Hail Great Prince! whom every Miracle,  
Preserved for Universal Rule;  
When Time Your Wondrous Story shall unfold,  
Your Glorious Deeds in Arms, when yet but Young;  
Your strange Escapes, and Danger shall be told,  
Your Battles Fought, Your Gilded Laurels won,  
When yet the Elder Generals (not in Fame)  
Your Perils dar'st not share,  
Alone the raging Torrent You would stem,  
And bear before you the fierce Tide of War.  
How Spain Records Your Glorious Name:  
And how when Danger called, for Britain's good,  
You paid the lavish Ransom of Your Blood.  
When the Ingrates shall Blushing read,  
How far Great Souls the Vulgar can exceed  
In Patience, Suffering, and Humility,  
Your Condescension, and Your Banishment,  
Then let the Obstinate (convinced) agree;  
You only were preserved, and fit, for Sacred Government.  
Come listen all, whom needless fears possess  
And hear how Heaven confirms your happiness:  
Behold the Sacred promised Prince,  
Whom wondrous prophet's Ages since  
Told, When the Mystic Figures of the Year,  
To such a Number should Amount,  
(As fill this Lucky Years Account.)  
O'er England there should Reign a Star  
Of that Divine and Gracious Influence,  
Should make proud Neighbouring Nations fear:  
And Mightier Britain's happy Genius prove,  
And bless the Land with Plenty, Peace, and Love.  
'Tis YOU oh Sacred Sir, for Empire Born,  
Shall make the great Prediction true,  
And this last Miracle perform,  
To make us Blest, and make us own it too.  
Oh may Your Lustre with Your Life renew!  
Long may You Shine, and spread Your Beams as far,  
As from the Morning to the Evening Star;  
Till Your Convincing Rays Your Foes o'er come,  
And for Your Glorious Magnitude the scanted Globe want room  
FINISH.