A POEM Dedicated to the IMMORTAL MEMORY OF Her Late Majesty The Most Incomparable Q. MARY.  
By Mr. HUME.  
LONDON, Printed for jacob Tonson, at the Judge's Head, near the Inner-Temple-Gate, in Fleetstreet, 1695.   

A POEM Dedicated to the IMMORTAL MEMORY OF her late Majesty QUEEN MARY.  

I.  
WEEP on, bereaved Britannia, weep on,  
Whole Seas of Tears, an Inundation!  
Let the tumultuous Tide run o'er,  
From the Britannic, to the Belgic Shore:  
And Deluge far the Universe,  
As far as just impartial Fame,  
Shall through the wondering World disperse  
The Bright, the Blessed Maria's Ermine Name.  
Thy Guardian Angel has forsaken her Throne,  
Thy Eyes must overcast thy shining Shield with Rust▪  
And thy inverted Spear, inscribe thy Seat the Dust!  
Weep on, bereaved Britannia, weep on,  
And through our heaving Hearts maintain,  
Of Sighs and Tears, the Human Hurricane:  
Till as her Goodness, our excessive Grief  
Above Description, and beyond Belief,  
Do through our leaky Eyes allow no more Relief:  
Drein us to sweeting Monuments of Stone,  
And make a Niobe of the Nation!  
Thy Guardian-Angel up to Heaven is flown,  
Weep on, bereaved Britannia, weep on;  
For thou undone; alone hast lost  
More sovereign Goodness, than the World can boast!  
Ah charming Queen, to save thee from a Tomb,  
Who would not help to make a Human Hecatomb?  
When from frail Flesh enfranchised Souls remove,  
Could they look down from their Abodes above,  
'Twould almost violate thy Bliss, to know,  
How much we lack, how much lament thee here below!   

II.  
From which side of the shining Scene  
Shall we our woeful View begin?  
Which of thy Royal Virtues represent,  
Our Wonder with our Sorrows to augment?  
Which of so many? Where each single one  
Is raised to so superlative a size;  
That like the full-orbed, overflowing Moon,  
With new spring Tides of Tears, it floods our Eyes,  
And does above Imagination lift  
our Loss, while ruin'd Reason runs adrift!  
Who can Ideas of the Great and Good,  
The Meek, the Mighty, and the Fair  
Frame such as may be understood,  
O'er whelmed with Grief, and drowned in Despair?  
Some Scenes may in Distemper be expressed,  
But not the calm Sereneness of thy Breast;  
None but the Happy, none can this perform;  
In vain we draw our Landshape in a Storm;  
In vain describe the wealthy Indian Coast,  
When that to us, we to ourselves are lost!  
As Lunatics, untractable and fierce,  
Are bound in Chains, in order to their Cure;  
Ungovern'd Grief, must fettered be in Verse,  
And Rhyme, the Shackles Sense does worst endure.   

III.  
Begin the Royal Representative,  
Which, though our Grief in Water-colours draw,  
Shall of all Virtues an Exemplar give,  
The noblest Image that the World ere saw.  
All Colours are too flat, Hyperboles too low:  
What can the Painter or the Poet do?  
In such vast Crowds, thy veying Virtues come,  
Th' amaze Description, and strike Admiration dumb.  
All Arts are at a loss to set thee forth,  
Nothing can give Addition to thy Worth:  
To such a height thou didst Perfection raise,  
That to relate thee is supremest Praise!  
Yet who sufficient is, to represent,  
The noblest Princess, or the humblest Saint?  
Describe thy Private, or thy Public Life,  
Th' inimitable Queen, or wondrous Wife?  
The Matchless Mistress, easy in her State,  
Majestic mixture of the Good and Great?  
The Politic, the Pleasant, the Devout,  
The severe Saint within, the shining Queen without?  
The Pillar of the Church, the Partner of the Throne,  
The Queen, the Wife, the bosom Friend in one?  
The First best Minister of State,  
Whose Breast was always silent and sedate?  
Th' Amazement of the Council-Board,  
The secret, soft Adviser of our Lord?  
The Cabinet of all his Royal Care,  
The Ornament of Peace, and the Reward of War?   

IV.  
The tender Nursing Mother of the Poor,  
Not to thy Native Land confined:  
Thy secret Charities, the World spread o'er,  
The Benefactor of Mankind:  
Who fed a Thousand Mouths, that did not know  
On whom their thankful Blessings to bestow,  
Sadly discovered, now thou art no more!  
To Pity so propense, that there alone  
You found the narrow Compass of a Throne;  
Beyond Compassion and self-Sympathy,  
Sometimes you felt the Wants you did supply;  
And when your Power, your Will could not suffice,  
Laid out the precious Treasures of your Eyes:  
Eyes wherein no Ambition ere did dwell,  
But that of doing Good, and living well;  
Eyes, wherein nothing ere did swell,  
Unless it were a charitable Tear,  
Because you could not help as soon as hear;  
That you were Circumscribed in doing Good.  
That only, that provoked the pious Flood.  
Thus thy diffusive Bounties blest our Isle,  
Profuse of Goodness, like oreflowing Nile.  
In all things Excellent, to a surprise,  
Beneath thy Feet Malice and Envy lies.  
If any Wretch, whom those dire Plagues infest,  
Against thy Excellence dares draw his Tongue,  
He of all Goodness must be dispossessed,  
The vilest of the Atheist Throng,  
To lewdest, lying Impudence given o'er,  
And would, with thee, Blaspheme the Heavenly Power.   

V.  
In thee alone, in wondrous thee,  
Contesting Contrarieties agreed,  
Humble Submission and Supremacy,  
Tempering their opposite Extremes so well,  
Empire and Duty did together dwell,  
And from their fierce Antipathies were freed!  
Empire disdains a Partner in the Throne,  
Duty implies humble Subjection,  
Yet both in thee combining were but one:  
In Foreign Fields, while our Heroic Lord,  
Against th' oregrown French, drew his undaunted Sword;  
Secure the Sceptre rested in thy Hand,  
Yet though accomplished for the high Command;  
The Martial Monarch, above Empire dear,  
Though absent, still commanded here:  
Strange Paradox of Power, by Love allayed,  
While the Queen governed, still the Wife obeyed!  
How didst thou Pray against a long Campagne?  
How often wish to interrupt thy Reign?  
How didst thou fly to meet him on the Shore?  
Ambitious only to give o'er,  
At his Return, thy undervalued Power?  
In thee alone dispensing Power appeared,  
Such as our jealous Isle could ne'er have feared:  
You could alone our slavish Fears confute,  
Who only o'er yourself were absolute.  
Oh charming Queen, inimitably high,  
More by your Virtues, than your Throne sublime,  
In vain thy labouring Sex does after climb,  
Mated by mere Impossibility!  
What Excellence soever in them appears,  
To thy vast Virtue such proportion bears,  
As human Structures of the noblest Name,  
Compared with Nature's universal Frame:  
Thy private Virtues none can e'er attain,  
None can be such a Wife, but such a Queen!  
Such as none are, who should obey;  
Nor ever any was, who did a Sceptre sway.   

VI  
Bring from the sleeping Nations of the Dead,  
That ere adorned a Crown, the noblest Head;  
Bring forth your famed Eliza Ages past,  
In her best Light, and strongest Lustre placed:  
Set her with all advantage on her Throne,  
With all her Graces and her Virtues round:  
Let none of her dark Shades be shown,  
'Cause in our Parallel no such are found;  
Ours is all brightness, all unshaded Light,  
Amazing the Beholders with Delight.  
On Her right Hand, place disappointed Spain,  
Here the supported States, exhausted France,  
From Civil Wars, to Peace restored again,  
Let these her loftiest Trophies high advance.  
Lay the Beseeching Nation at her Feet,  
And of Her Virgin Majesty,  
Let them a much-desired Heir entreat,  
And making Court-enamoured Anjou by:  
Describe her haughty jealous of her Power,  
To Love's soft Yoke unwilling to submit;  
This minute yielding in the Female Fit,  
The next disdaining the despised Amour.  
Then let the true Reformed Religion  
Reflect a radiant Glory round her Throne:  
And last of Years, let many Ages crown  
Her Life, her Subject's Blessing, not her own.  
Till dampt with Age, her Faculties decline,  
And her own mind of Fate's approach divine,  
Conceal her weary of her State and Crown;  
Like heavens great Light, that in a Cloud goes down!  
In Crowds, while changeling Statesmen Northward run,  
And ere she sets, adore the Rising Sun.   

VII.  
Behold our Princess in her blooming Youth,  
In Royal Honour Rich, and native Truth;  
With undiscovered Indies in her Breast,  
More worth than all the Treasures of the East;  
Than all the Wealth, the new World sends the old,  
Than Tangier haded been made of Massy Gold;  
Giving to Great Nassaw her Nuptial Hand:  
Of exact Beauty and exalted Mind,  
From all the Frailties of her Sex refined;  
Knowing of others, of herself and State,  
Thence humble, affable, yet truly great.  
See how she gains upon the hostile Land?  
How soon her winning Virtues reconcile  
Us, and the Sea-born Rivals of our Isle?  
Whom Matchivilian France to Ruin sought,  
Took Part on both sides, and for neither fought,  
Yet could our greedy Interest agree,  
Might Master half the Land, and Command all the Sea.  
Her Charms obtained so absolute Command,  
As for our bloody Battles to atone;  
The Foreign Daughter of an adverse Land,  
The Dutch adored as Mother of their own.  
Now Clouds of Superstition began lowr,  
And overcast the British Hemisphere;  
And Thunderclaps of Arbitrary Power  
Foreshowed the Tyrant Tempest near.  
See how she ventures to relieve th' Oppressed,  
The darling Inmate of her Royal Breast.  
A sinking Church and State to save,  
Heroie Nassau on the Winter Wave!  
Hark how the hideous Tempest roars,  
How Seas confound the circumscribing Shores;  
Heaven all, but in her Eyes, in Storms appears;  
A quiet Calm possessed the Royal Pair:  
Nor adverse Winds, nor adverse Fleets he fears,  
Nor the dark Prince that domineers the Air.  
Sure as the Sun, though Clouds the World overcast,  
He holds his Course, and gains his Port at last.  
Now Armies raised t' enslave their native Land,  
Amazed with their own guilty Fears disband;  
The monstrous Hydra of Arbitrary sway,  
Dismayed, had scarce the power to run away.  
While the freed States in Consultation meet,  
And lay the Crown at their Deliverer's Feet.   

VIII.  
Now Albion's Fleet upon the Allied Shore  
Appears more terrible than when they fought  
For all the Wealth, that through the wat'ry World is brought;  
Imperious Peace seems now to demand more,  
Than unsuccessful War could e'er have lost,  
No more their Nautic Skill they boast;  
Which through the waving Wilderness descries  
A Road to land, that underneath us lies;  
Wish undiscovered the enriching Stone,  
And the Magnetic Pole were still unknown.  
Now Life, and Liberty, and mighty State,  
Seem overvalued at too high a rate;  
Dear bought with her departure, they refuse,  
Since to keep these, they must their Princess loose;  
Strangely, now first in the Exchange, o'erseen,  
Though parting with a Princess for a Queen.  
Shipwrecked between two mighty Tides of Woe,  
Undone unless she stay, undone unless she go.  
Now the distracted Nation crowds the Coast,  
Looking, as if their forlorn Land were lost;  
And Shipping Shoals, ran swarming on the Shore,  
Their Eyes bring in the Tide that sets her over;  
Fresh gusts of sighing Grief augment the Gale,  
And Sorrow self-encreasing swells the Pirates Sail.  
In vain their heavy Hearts hang on the Shrouds,  
In vain through doubled Waves they strain their Eyes,  
The winged Fleet looms through inclining Clouds,  
Where swelling Seas seem to salute the Skies.  
So the deserted Wretches saw the Sun,  
For half his Race, from their Horizon run:  
Buried in Death like Darkness, and Despair  
Ever to see him gild again their Hemisphere.   

IX.  
In shoals the wondering Sea Nymphs waft her over,  
Aloft his Trident-Mace glad Neptune bore;  
And on his Sovereign more attendance gave,  
Than on the Goddess, native of the teeming Wave.  
Safe she arrives on Albion her own,  
Sought not, but came to save a sinking Throne;  
Filled not her Father's, but empty an one;  
Legally Vacant by Desertion.  
Conscience, the Righteous Balance of her Breast,  
Hung up the golden Scales, in this was laid  
Her filial Duty, and unsullied Fame,  
Heaped with the precious Odours of her Name,  
In opposite Circumference were weighed,  
Duty to God, and to her Native Land,  
All Christendom, that did her aid demand;  
Europe with adamantine Chains oppressed!  
With heavens she counterpoised the erring World's Esteem;  
The first Scale went aloft, and kicked the oblique Beam.   

X.  
Virtue triumphant now prepared her Throne;  
heavens universal Eye, in all his vast survey,  
While round the wondering World he drives the Day;  
Among Earth's glittering Gods, discovered none,  
Whose sovereign Influence came so near his own,  
And Rivalled his All-animating Ray.  
Discount'nanced Vice stood of her Eyes, in awe,  
Goodness sat there enthroned, and forced her to withdraw:  
So amazed Chaos, and confounded Night  
Retired, shot through with beamy Darts of Light.  
Dark Superstition, which th'enlightened Reign  
Of great Eliza did some Years adjourn;  
Like an Egyptian Mist arose again,  
And a Disease more fierce in its return;  
None but Blessed Marie could our Church secure,  
Fatal Relapses are most hard to cure.  
In all her Actions bright Religion shined,  
Reformed before, by her much more refined;  
Of what the Priest so often Preached in vain,  
Her daily Duties made the Practice plain,  
Amidst the Cares that did the World sustain.  
She tied the Gordian Knot of mighty War▪  
To cut which all the Gallic Powers despair;  
War which makes a Confederate of Spain  
Alone the Terror of Eliza's Reign;  
Guarded the mighty States, endangered more  
At their full growth, than Infancy before,  
Attacked by a more formidable Power.  
The Ancient Poets tell, how Heaven's great Light  
Sets in the Western Ocean every Night,  
This her great Reign most strangely has outdone,  
Our narrow Seas saw set the Rising Sun;  
While through the hissing Deep scorched Neptune did retire,  
And chill old Ocean feared the Element of Fire.  
Armies beheld amazed their Navy burned,  
And their Maritime Towns to Bonfires turned:  
Helpless whole Armies fringed th' affrighted Shore,  
Witnessed their dire Disgrace, and made the Conquest more.  
She forced the French to skulk behind the Boom,  
Fear like a Frost Embargoes them at home:  
Vainglorious France, who would the World overbear,  
Quits th'ocean's Empire▪ and turns Privateer.  
None could pretend, none this perform but she,  
Birth made our Venus sovereign of the Sea.  
Easie she sat, thus on a thorny Throne,  
The Wife was yearly by Queen undone;  
Yet silently constraints of State obeyed,  
As without jarring heavenly Motions made.  
With undisordered Grandeur did sustain  
Severe Divorces of the dire Campaign,  
Which her consorted Soul did separate;  
By these Divulsions learned to die in State;  
In Life and Death most unconcernedly great.   

XI.  
Behold her in Life's last, most dismal Scene,  
Behold her on her Deathbed laid,  
All unconcerned, all undismayed!  
Nor Youth, nor Love, nor rising Palaces,  
Nor all Earth's gaudy Joys that used to please,  
Nor sovereign Power, nor an unenvied Throne,  
Nor th'Hero valued above any Crown,  
At Death's undue Arrest concerned our Heroine;  
All, and herself more worth than all, she did resign,  
As Life unsought received, unconcern' laid it down:  
Heroic Courage above all Repine!  
Fearless the Brave, bold Battles may maintain,  
All are not sure, though fight, to be slain;  
Fate, pow'ring Deaths down in a leaden Shower,  
Comes unexpected, and as soon is over:  
When Death apparent nothing can prevent,  
None can be easy, but the Innocent.  
She Virtues vastest compass did comprise,  
And ripe for Glory Wrinkles did prevent;  
Human Perfection could no higher rise,  
To be accomplished up to Heaven she went:  
And does both earthly Grief, and heavenly Joy augment.  
Of all the Daughters of the unborn Bride,  
None lived so faultless, none so fearless died.  
As when a Journy's early to be made,  
All things in order over night are laid:  
Certain to go, uncertain yet how soon,  
Though much she had to do, she nothing left undone.  
With faltering Words, left nothing to entreat,  
Which Death might, or disord'ring Grief forget;  
Whate'er for Church, or State, her mighty Mind,  
(Pondering on their Prosperity) designed,  
Her Royal Hand left legible behind:  
With that she did her sorrowing Servants grace,  
And after Death her Privy-Seal takes Place.  
So some great Gen'ral on whose watchful care,  
The Fate of mighty Empires does depend;  
Provides against the sudden Chance of War,  
And does his Labours beyond Life extend.  
Thus greatly good, she lived much, though not long  
And left the World desirable and young:  
Thus our young, matchless Mary, does excel  
Even her, who did admit no Parallel:  
So her blessed Namesake was preferred before  
Aged Eliza, who the Baptist bore.  
In both this sad Equality we find,  
Neither left any like themselves behind.   

XII.  
Now born on Angels Wings, she does inspect  
The Wonders of th'Almighty Architect;  
How his Hand balanced th' universal Ball,  
And out of empty nothing, called this glorious all.  
Whether the Sun continually career,  
Or Earth self-balanced, spin through yielding Air.  
What secret Furnace makes the deep boil o'er,  
Shackled with Sand upon the shelving Shore.  
What feeds th'Ethereal Lamps that ever burn;  
What Engine does the mighty Machine turn;  
How heavens seven wanderers their strange Rounds maintain,  
Without the Mazes, that turn Mankind's Brain;  
Pity's the giddy Systems that we boast,  
Those labyrinths in which vain Philosophy is lost.  
Uncertain how Immortal Inmates come  
To be confined in Nature's narrow Room;  
Uncertain how, when hence they take their flight,  
They wing the radiant Regions of the Light;  
If Liberty be lovely, sure 'tis best,  
From the dark Prison soon to be released:  
What boots it still to run the same Careers  
To see the Sun rise and set Forty Years,  
By the same low Allurements still befooled,  
While Reason is by rebel Sense o'erruled.  
The mean Designs of trifling Life pursue,  
Beguiled by the same Phantosms dressed anew!  
weare all Death's Vassals born, but when we die,  
Delivered from that Doom, Heir Immortality:  
Eased of Life's Load, we quit encombring Clay,  
And one Night past, breaks everlasting Day.   

XIII.  
Rise, overwhelmed Britannia, rise; thou must  
Nor stay to shake off thy condoling Dust,  
Nor polish thy unshining Shield,  
'twill nobler show, when sullied over  
Stained and ensanguined with much Gallic Gore,  
Thy Purple Hero calls thee to the Field:  
That Colour shows what Harvest it must yield,  
Harvest of Death, which though excessive grown,  
So as t' a hundred thousand to arise  
(If he survive, on whom the World relies)  
Will be but Ciphers added to this one!  
He, whose even beating Breast did never fail,  
In Storms of Death surcharged with Iron Hail;  
Who unconcerned did in Iverna bleed,  
And the grim King of Terrors still outbrave,  
When dastard Death the Wound behind him gave:  
Who every where defied his fatal Dart,  
Found this stroke come too near his Heroic Heart;  
On this side only Man, whence the fair Sex proceed,  
Too justly grieved for her, who did them all exceed!  
Since he loathed Life undaunted dares endure,  
Bold with thy bloody Shield his sacred Head secure.  
Get up, Britannia, thoust no time to moan,  
Get up, thy warlike William leads thee on:  
His and thy Triumphs what can intervene,  
Now thy bold Youth's indifferent to their Doom,  
Victorious with their King to overcome,  
Or dying, wait on their departed Queen?  
Heaven in compassion now will end the War,  
That we may Life endure now she is gone,  
Who did for all th' allays of Life atone!  
Peace, and the Reign of such a matchless Pair,  
Were Blessings for this worthless World too dear;  
First Phoenix Pair the World could ever boast,  
And oh too like, in that their Race is lost!  
Had Heaven been pleased to grant us a joint-Heir.  
Of their unparallelled Perfections, he had been  
The Son of mighty Mars, and Loves all-conquering Queen,  
Darling of Peace, and Thunderbolt of War.  
Products so perfect, are denied by Fate,  
Seraphic Angels never propagate!   

XIV.  
As the dumb Son, affrighted when he saw  
The Villain, on his Monarch-Father draw,  
The Ligature that tied his Tongue up, tore,  
And spoke aloud, who never spoke before:  
I, who the various Tides and Turns of State,  
All-unconcerned in silence bore;  
When I beheld untimely Fate,  
Lay his cold, overhasty hand,  
Upon the Royal Mother of our Land,  
Could not forbear to burst and roar,  
And write dismayed, who wrote not heretofore.  
The meanest Tribute to vast Virtue due,  
Both from a Subject and a Servant too;  
That I presume upon her Royal Hearse,  
To hang so mean, such an ignoble Verse,  
Pardon me, Mighty Monarch, and believe  
Many may better write, none more sincerely grieve;  
Poems demand a Mind entire at case;  
In vain do wretched Writers hope to please.   
FINIS.