THE POET'S Complaint of his Muse; OR, A satire Against LIBELS.  
A Poem.  
By Thomas Otway.  Si quid habent veri vatum praesagia, vivam. 
LONDON, Printed for Thomas Norman, at the Pope's Head in Fleetstreet near Salisbury-Court. 1680.   

TO The Right Honourable THOMAS Earl of Ossory, BARON of MOOR-PARKE, Knight of the most noble Order of the GARTER, etc.  
My LORD,  
THough never any man had more need of excuse for a presumption of this nature, than I have now; yet when I have laid out every way to find one, your Lordship's goodness must be my best refuge, and therefore I humbly cast this at your feet for protection; and myself for pardon.  
My Lord, I have great need of protection, for to the best of my heart I have here published in some measure the truth, and I would have it thought honestly too, (a practice never more out of countenance then now) yet Truth and Honour are things your Lordship must needs be kind to, because they are Relations to your nature and never left you.  
'Twould be a second presumption in me to pretend in this a Panegyric on your Lordship; for it would require more art to do your Virtue justice, then to slatter any other man.  
If I have ventured at a hint of the present sufferings of that great Prince mentioned in the latter end of this paper, with favour from your Lordship I hope to add a second part and do all those Great and Good men Justice, that have in his Calamities stuck fast to so gallant a Friend and so good a Master. To write and finish which great Subject faithfully, and to be honoured with your Lordship's patronage, in what I may do, and your aprobation or at least pardon, in what I have done, will be the greatest pride of  
(My Lord) Your most humble Admirer and Servant, Thomas Otway.   

THE POET'S Complaint of his Muse; OR, A satire Against LIBELS.  

ODE.  
TO a high Hill where never yet stood Tree,  
Where only Heath, course Fern and Furzes grow,  
Where (nipped by piercing Air)  
The Flocks in tattered Fleeces hardly graze,  
Led by uncouth Thoughts and Care,  
Which did too much his pensive mind amaze,  
A wand'ring Bard, whose Muse was crazy grown,  
Cloyed with the nauseous Follies of the buzzing Town,  
Came, looked about him, sighed, and laid him down.  
'Twas far from any Path, but where the Earth  
Was bare, and naked all as at her Birth,  
When by the Word it first was made,  
Ere God had said,  
Let Grass and Herbs and every green thing grow,  
With fruitful Trees after their kind; and it was so.  
The whistling Winds blew fiercely round his Head,  
Cold was his Lodging, hard his Bed;  
Aloft his Eyes on the wide heavens he cast,  
Where we are told Peace onely's found at last:  
And as he did its hopeless distance see,  
Sighed deep, and cried, How far is Peace from me?   

2.  
Nor ended there his Moan:  
The distance of his future Joy  
Had been enough to give him Pain alone;  
But who can undergo  
Despair of Ease to come, with weight of present Woe?  
Down his afflicted Face  
The trickling Tears had streamed so fast a pace,  
As left a path worn by their briny race.  
Swollen was his Breast with Sighs, his well-  
Proportioned Limbs as useless fell,  
Whilst the poor Trunk (unable to sustain  
Itself) lay racked, and shaking with its Pain.  
I heard his Groans as I was walking by,  
And (urged by pity) went aside, to see  
What the sad cause could be  
Had pressed his State so low, and raised his Plaints so high.  
On me he sixth his Eyes. I craved,  
Why so forlorn? He vainly raved.  
Peace to his mind I did commend.  
But, oh! my words were hardly at an end,  
When I perceived it was my Friend,  
My much-loved Friend: so down I fate,  
And begged that I might share his Fate:  
I laid my Cheek to his, when with a Gale  
Of Sighs he eased his Breast, and thus began his Tale.   

3.  
I am a Wretch of honest Race:  
My Parents not obscure, nor high in Titles were;  
They left me Heir to no Disgrace.  
My Father was (a thing now rare)  
Loyal and brave, my Mother chaste and fair.  
Their pledge of Marriage-vows was only I;  
Alone I lived their much-loved fondled Boy:  
They gave me generous Education, high  
They strove to raise my Mind, and with it grew their Joy.  
The Sages that instructed me in Arts  
And Knowledge oft would praise my Parts,  
And cheer my Parents longing hearts.  
When I was called to a Dispute,  
My fellow-Pupills oft stood mute:  
Yet never Envy did disjoin  
Their hearts from me, nor Pride distemper mine.  
Thus my first years in Happiness I passed,  
Nor any bitter cup did taste:  
But, oh! a deadly Potion came at last.  
As I lay loosely on my bed,  
A thousand pleasant Thoughts triumphing in my Head,  
And as my Sense on the rich Banquet fed,  
A Voice (it seemed no more, so busy I  
Was with myself, I saw not who was nigh)  
Pierced through my Ears; Arise, thy good Senander's dead.  
It shook my Brain, and from their Feast my frighted Senses fled.   

4.  
From thence sad Discontent, uneasy Fears,  
And anxious Doubts of what I had to do,  
Grew with succeeding Years.  
The World was wide, but whither should I go?  
ay, whose blooming Hopes all withered were,  
Who'd little Fortune, and a deal of Care?  
To Britain's great Metropolis I strayed,  
Where Fortune's general Game is played;  
Where Honesty and Wit are often praised,  
But Fools and Knaves are fortunate and raised.  
My forward Spirit prompted me to find  
A Converse equal to my Mind:  
But by raw Judgement easily miss-led,  
(As giddy callow Boys  
Are very fond of Toys)  
I missed the brave and wise, and in their stead  
On every sort of Vanity I fed.  
Gay Coxcombs, Cowards, Knaves, and prating Fools,  
Bullies of o'ergrown Bulks, and little Souls,  
Gamesters, Half-wits, and Spendthrifts, (such as think  
Mischievous midnight Frolics bred by Drink  
Are Gallantry and Wit,  
Because to their lewd Understandings fit)  
Were those wherewith two years at least I spent,  
To all their fulsome Follies most incorrigibly bend:  
Till at the last, myself more to abuse,  
I grew in love with a deceitful Muse.   

5.  
No fair Deceiver ever used such Charms,  
T'ensnare a tender Youth, and win his Heart:  
Or when she had him in her Arms,  
Secured his love with greater Art.  
I fansyed, or I dreamed, (as Poets always do)  
No Beauty with my Muse's might compare.  
Lofty she seemed, and on her Front sat a majestic Air,  
Awful, yet kind; severe, yet fair.  
Upon her Head a Crown she bore  
Of Laurel, which she told me should be mine:  
And round her Ivory Neck she wore  
A Rope of largest Pearl. Each part of her did shine  
With Jewels and with Gold  
Numberless to be told;  
Which in Imagination as I did behold,  
And loved, and wondered more and more,  
Said she, These Riches all, my Darling, shall be thine,  
Riches which never Poet had before.  
She promised me to raise my fortune and my name,  
By Royal Favour, and by endless Fame;  
But never told  
How hard they were to get, and difficult to hold.  
Thus by the Arts of this most sly  
Deluder was I caught,  
To her bewitching Bondage brought.  
Eternal Constancy we swore,  
A thousand times our Vows were doubled o'er.  
And as we did in our Entrancements lie,  
I thought no Pleasure e'er was wrought so high,  
No Pair so happy as my Muse and I.   

6.  
Ne'er was young Lover half so fond  
When first his Pusillage he lost,  
Or could of half my Pleasure boast.  
We never met but we enjoyed,  
Still transported, never cloyed.  
Chambers, Closets, Fields and Groves,  
Bore witness of our daily Loves;  
And on the bark of every Tree  
You might the Marks of our Endearments see.  
Distiches, Posies, and the pointed Bits  
Of satire, (written when a Poet meets  
His Muse in Caterwauling fits)  
You might on every Rind behold, and swear  
I and my Clio had been at it there.  
Nay, by my Muse too I was blest  
With Offsprings of the choicest kinds,  
Such as have pleased the noblest minds,  
And been approved by Judgements of the best.  
But in this most transporting height,  
Whence I looked down, and laughed at Fate,  
All of a sudden I was altered grown;  
I round me looked, and found myself alone:  
My faithless Muse, my faithless Muse was gone.  
I tried if I a Verse could frame:  
Oft I in vain invoked my Clio's name.  
The more I strove, the more I failed.  
I chafed, I bit my Pen, cursed my dull Scull, and railed,  
Resolved to force m'untoward Thought, and at the last prevailed.  
A Line came forth, but such a one,  
No trav'ling Matron in her Childbirth pains,  
Full of the joyful Hopes to bear a Son,  
Was more astonished at th' unlookt-for shape  
Of some deformed Baboon, or Ape,  
Then I was at the hideous Issue of my Brains.  
I tore my Paper, stabbed my Pen,  
And swore I'd never write again,  
Resolved to be a doting Fool no more.  
But when my reckoning I began to make,  
I found too long I'd slept, and was too late awake;  
I found m'ungratefull Muse, for whose false sake  
I did myself undo,  
Had robbed me of my dearest Store,  
My precious Time, my Friends, and Reputation too;  
And left me helpless, friendless, very proud, and poor.   

7.  
Reason, which in base Bonds my Folly had enthralled,  
I straight to Council called;  
Like some old faithful Friend, whom long ago  
I had cashiered, to please my flattering Fair.  
To me with readiness he did repair;  
Expressed much tender cheerfulness, to find  
Experience had restored him to my Mind;  
And loyally did to me show,  
How much himself he did abuse,  
Who credited a flattering, false, destructive, treacherous Muse.  
I asked the causes why. He said,  
'Twas never known a Muse e'er stayed  
When Fortune fled; for Fortune is a Bawd  
To all the Nine that on Parnassus dwell,  
Where those so famed, delightful Fountains swell  
Of Poetry, which there does ever flow;  
And where Wit's lusty, shining God  
Keeps his choice Seraglio.  
So whilst our Fortune smiles, our Thoughts aspire,  
Pleasure and Fame's our business, and desire.  
Then, too, if we find  
A promptness in the Mind,  
The Muse is always ready, always kind.  
But if th'old Harlot Fortune once denies  
Her favour, all our Pleasure and rich Fancy dies,  
And then th'young, slippery Jilt, the Muse too from us flies.   

8.  
To the whole Tale I gave Attention due;  
And as right search into myself I made,  
I found all he had said  
Was very honest, very true.  
Oh how I hugged my welcome Friend!  
And much my Muse I could not discommend;  
For I ne'er lived in Fortune's grace,  
She always turned her Back, and fled from me apace,  
And never once vouchsafed to let me see her Face.  
Then to confirm me more,  
He drew the veil of Dotage from my eyes:  
See here, my Son, (said he) the valued Prize;  
Thy fulsome Muse behold, be happy, and be wise.  
I looked, and saw the rampant, tawdry Quean,  
With a more horrid Train  
Then ever yet to satire lent a Tale,  
Or haunted Chloris in the Mall.  
The first was he who stunk of that rank Verse  
In which he wrote his Sodom Farce;  
A Wretch whom old Diseases did so bite,  
That he writ Bawdry sure in spite,  
To ruin and disgrace it quite.  
Philosophers of old did so express  
Their Art, and showed it in their Nastiness.  
Next him appeared that blundring Sot  
Who a late Session of the Poets wrote.  
Nature has marked him for a heavy Fool;  
By's flat broad Face you'll know the Owl.  
The other Birds have hooted him from light;  
Much buffeting has made him love the Night,  
And only in the dark he strays;  
Still Wretch enough to live, with worse Fools spends his days,  
And for old Shoes and Scraps repeats dull Plays.  
Then next there followed, to make up the Throng,  
Lord Lampoon and Monsieur Song,  
Who sought her love, and promised for't  
To make her famous at the Court.  
The City Poet too was there,  
In a black Satin Cap. and his own Hair,  
And begged that he might have the Honour  
To beget a Pageant on her  
For the City's next Lord Mayor.  
Her Favours she to none denied:  
They took her all by turns aside.  
Till at the last up in the rear there came  
The Poet's Scandal, and the Muse's Shame,  
A Beast of Monstrous guise, and LIBEL was his name.  
But let me pause, for 'twill ask time to tell  
How he was born, how bred and where, and where he now does  
dwell.   

9  
He paused, and thus renewed his Tale.  
Down in an obscure Vale,  
'Midst Fogs and Fens, whence Mists and Vapours rise,  
Where never Sun was seen by eyes,  
Under a desert Wood,  
Which no man owned, but all wild Beasts were bred,  
And kept their horrid Dens, by prey far foraged fed,  
An ill-piled Cottage stood,  
Built of men's Bones slaughtered in Civil War,  
By Magic Art brought thither from a far.  
There lived a widowed Witch,  
That used to mumble Curses eve and morn,  
Like one whom Wants and Care had worn;  
Meagre her Looks, and sunk her Eyes,  
Yet Mischiefs studied, Discords did devise.  
She appeared humble, but it was her Pride:  
Slow in her Speech, in semblance sanctified.  
Still when she spoke she meant another way;  
And when she cursed, she seemed to pray.  
Her hellish Charms had all a holy dress,  
And bore the name of Godliness.  
All her Familiars seemed the Sons of Peace.  
Honest habits they all wore,  
In outward show most lamblike and divine:  
But inward of all Vices they had store,  
Greedy as Wolves, and sensual too as Swine.  
Like Her, the Sacred Scriptures They had all by heart,  
Most easily could quote, and turn to any part,  
Backward repeat it all, as Witches Prayers do,  
And for their turn, interpret backward too.  
Idolatry with Her was held impure,  
Because besides Herself no Idol she'd endure.  
Though not to paint, she'd arts to change the Face,  
And alter it in Heavenly fashion.  
Lewd Whining she designed a mark of Grace,  
And making Ugly faces was Mortification.  
Her late dead Pander was of well-known fame,  
Old Preshyter Rebellion was his name:  
She a sworn Foe to KING, his Peace, and Laws,  
So will be ever, and was called (bless us!) THE GOOD OLD CAUSE.   

10.  
A Time there was, (a sad one too)  
When all things wore the face of Woe,  
When many Horrors raged in this our Land,  
And a destroying Angel was sent down,  
To scourge the Pride of this Rebellious Town.  
He came, and o'er all Britain stretched his conquering hand:  
Till in th'untrodden Streets unwholesome Grass  
Grew of great stalk, its Colour gross,  
And melancholic poisonous green;  
Like those course sickly Weeds on an old Dunghill seen,  
Where some Murrain-murthered Hog,  
Poisoned Cat, or strangled Dog,  
In rottenness had long unburied laid,  
And the cold Soil productive made.  
Birds of ill Omen hovered in the Air,  
And by their Cries bade us for Graves prepare;  
And, as our Destiny they seemed t'unfold,  
Dropped dead of the same fate they had foretold.  
That dire Commission ended, down there came  
Another Angel with a Sword of Flame:  
Desolation soon he made,  
And our new Sodom low in Ashes laid.  
Distractions and Distrusts than did amongst us rise,  
When, in her pious old Disguise,  
This Witch with all her Mischief-making Train  
Began to show herself again.  
The Sons of old Rebellion straight she summoned all;  
Straight They were ready at her call:  
Once more th'old Bait before their eyes she cast.  
That and her Love they longed to taste;  
And to her Lust she drew them all at last.  
So Reuben (we may read of heretofore)  
Was led astray, and had pollution with his Father's Whore.   

11.  
The better to conceal her lewd intent  
In safety from observing eyes,  
Th'old Strumpet did herself disguise  
In comely Weeds, and to the City went,  
Affected Truth, much Modesty, and Grace,  
And (like a worn-out-Suburb-Trull) past there for a new Face.  
Thither all her Lovers flocked,  
And there for her support she found  
A Wight, of whom Fame's Trumpet much does sound,  
With all Ingredients for his business stocked,  
Not unlike him whose Story has a place  
In th'Annals of Sir Hudibras.  
Of all her business He took care,  
And every Knave or Fool that to her did repair,  
Had by him admittance there.  
By his contrivance to her did resort  
All who had been disgusted at the Court.  
Those whose Ambition had been crossed,  
Or by ill manners had Preferments lost,  
Were those on whom she practised most her Charms,  
Lay nearest to her Heart, and oft'nest in her Arms.  
Interest in every Faction, every Sect she sought;  
And to her Lure, flattering their hopes, she brought  
All those who use Religion for a Fashion.  
All such as practise Forms, and take great pains  
To make their Godliness their Gains,  
And thrive by the Distractions of a Nation,  
She by her Art ensnared, and fettered in her Chains.  
Through her the Atheist hoped to purchase Toleration,  
The Rebel Power, the beggared Spend thrift Lands,  
Out of the King's or Bishop's hands.  
Nay, to her side at last she drew in all the rude,  
Ungovernable, headlong Multitude:  
Promised strange Liberties, and sure Redress  
Of never-felt, unheard-of Grievances:  
Pampered their Follies, and indulged their Hopes,  
With May-day-Routs, November Squibs, and burning Pasteboard Pope's   

12.  
With her in common Lust did mingle all the Crew,  
Till at the last she pregnant grew,  
And from her womb, in little time, brought forth  
This monstrous, most detested Birth.  
Of Children born with Teeth w'ave heard,  
And some like Comets with a Beard;  
Which seemed to be forerunners of dire Change:  
But never hitherto was seen,  
Born from a Wapping Drab, or Shoreditch Quean,  
A Form like this so hideous and so strange.  
To help whose Mother in her Pains, there came  
Many a well-known Dame.  
The Bawd Hypocrisy was there,  
And Madam Impudence the fair:  
Dame Scandal with her squinting Eyes,  
That loves to set good Neighbours at debate,  
And raise Commotions in a jealous State,  
Was there, and Malice Queen of far-spred Lies,  
With all their Train of Frauds and Forgeries.  
But Midwife Mutiny, that busy Drab,  
That's always talking, always loud,  
Was she that first took up the Babe,  
And of the office most was proud.  
Behold its Head of horrid form appears:  
To spite the Pillory, it had no Ears.  
When straight the Bawd cried out, 'twas surely kin  
To the blessed Family of Pryn.  
But Scandal offered to depose her word,  
Or oath, the Father was a Lord.  
The Nose was ugly, long, and big,  
Broad, and snowty like a Pig;  
Which showed he would in Dunghills love to dig;  
Love to cast stinking Satyrs up in ill-piled Rhymes,  
And live by the Corruptions of unhappy Times.   

13.  
They promised all turns to take him,  
And a hopeful Youth to make him.  
To nurse he straight was sent  
To a Sister-witch, though of another sort,  
One who professed no good, nor any meant:  
All day she practised Charms, by night she hardly slept.  
Yet in the outcasts of a Northern factious Town,  
A little smoky Mansion of her own,  
Where her Familiars to her did resort,  
A Cell she kept.  
Hell she adored, and Satan was her God;  
And many an ugly loathsome Toad  
Crawled round her walls, and croaked.  
Under her Roof all dismal, black, and smoked,  
Harboured Beetles, and unwholesome Bats,  
Sprawling nests of little Cats;  
All which were Imps she cherished with her blood,  
To make her Spells succeed and good.  
Still at her riveled Breasts they hung, when e'er mankind she cursed,  
And with these Foster-brethrens was our Monster nursed.  
In little Time the Hellbred Brat  
Grew plump and fat,  
Without his Leading-strings could walk,  
And (as the Sorceress taught him) talk.  
At seven years old he went to School,  
Where first he grew a foe to Rule.  
Never would he learn as taught,  
But still new Ways affected, and new Methods sought.  
Not that he wanted parts  
T'improve in Letters, and proceed to Arts;  
But as negligent as sly,  
Of all Perverseness brutishly was full,  
(By Nature idle) loved to shift and lie,  
And was obstinately dull.  
Till spite of Nature, through great pains, the Sot,  
(And th'Influence of th'ill Genius of our Land)  
At last in part began to understand.  
Some insight in the Latin Tongue he got;  
Could smatter pretty well, and write too a plain hand.  
For which his Guardians all thought fit,  
In Compliment to his most hopeful Wit,  
He should be sent to learn the Laws,  
And out of the good old to raise a damned new Cause.   

14.  
In which the better to improve his Mind,  
As by nature he was bend  
To search in hidden paths, and things long buried find,  
A Wretche's Converse much he did frequent:  
One who this World; as that did Him, disowned,  
And in an unfrequented Corner, where  
Nothing was pleasant, hardly healthful found,  
He led his hated life.  
Needy, and even of Necessaries bare,  
No Servant had he, Children, Friend, or Wife:  
But of a little remnant, got by Fraud,  
(For all ill turns he loved, all good detested, and believed no God)  
Thrice in a week he changed a hoarded Groat,  
With which of Beggar's Scraps he bought.  
Then from a neighbouring Fountain Water got,  
Not to be clean, but slake his Thirst.  
He never blest himself, and all things else he cursed.  
The Cell in which he (though but seldom) slept,  
Lay like a Den, uncleansed, unswept:  
And there those Jewels which he loved, he kept;  
Old worn-out Statutes, and Records  
Of Commons Privileges, and the Rights of Lords.  
But bound up by themselves with care were laid  
All the Acts, Resolves, and Orders made  
By the old Long Rump-Parliament,  
Through all the Changes of its Government:  
From which with readiness he could debate  
Concerning Matters of the State,  
All down from Goodly Forty one to Horrid Forty eight.   

15.  
His Friendship much our Monster sought  
By Instinct, and by Inclination too:  
So without much ado  
They were together brought.  
To him Obedience Libel swore, and by him was he taught,  
He learned of him all Goodness to detest;  
To be ashamed of no Disgrace;  
In all things but Obedience to be Beast;  
To hide a Coward's Heart, and show a hardy Face.  
He taught him to call Government a Clog,  
But to bear Beat like a Dog:  
T'ave no Religion, Honesty, or Sense,  
But to profess them all for a Pretence.  
Fraught with these Morals, he began  
To complete him more for Man:  
Distinguished to him in an hour  
'Twixt Legislative, and judicial power;  
How to frame a Commonwealth,  
And Democracy, by stealth;  
To palliate it at first, and Cry  
'Twas but a Well-mixed Monarchy,  
And Treason Salus Populi;  
Into Rebellion to divide the Nation,  
By fair Committees of Association;  
How by a lawful means to bring  
In Arms against himself the KING,  
With a distinguishing old Trick,  
'Twixt persons Natural, and Politic;  
How to make faithful Servants Traitors  
Through-paced Rebels Legislators,  
And at last, Troupers Adjutators.  
Thus well informed, and furnished with enough  
Of such like wordy, canting Stuff,  
Our Blade set forth, and quickly grew  
A Leader in a factious Crew.  
Where e'er he came, 'twas he first silence broke,  
And swelled with every word he spoke.  
By which becoming saucy Grace,  
He gained Authority and Place:  
By many for Preferments was thought fit,  
For talking Treason without Fear or Wit;  
For opening Failings in the State;  
For loving noisy and unsound Debate,  
And wearing of a Mystical green Ribbon in his Hat.   

16.  
Thus, like Alcides in his Lion's skin,  
He very dreadful grew.  
But, like that Hercules when Love crept in,  
And th'Hero to his Distaff drew,  
His foes that found him saw he was but Man:  
So when my faithless Clio by her Snare  
Had brought him to her Arms, and I surprised him there,  
At once to hate and scorn him I began;  
To see how foolishly she'd dressed,  
And for diversion tricked the Beast.  
He was Poetry all o'er,  
On every side, behind, before:  
About him nothing could I see,  
But particoloured Poetry.  
Painter's Advices, Litanies,  
Ballads, and all the spurious excess  
Of ills that Malice could devise,  
Or ever swarmed from a licentious Press,  
Hung round about him like a Spell:  
And in his own hand too was writ,  
That worthy piece of modern Wit,  
The Country's late Appeal.  
But from such Ills when will our wretched State  
Be freed? and who shall crush this Serpent's head?  
'Tis said, we may in Ancient Legends read  
Of a huge Dragon, sent by Fate  
To lay a sinful Kingdom waste:  
So through it all he ranged, devouring as he passed,  
And each day with a Virgin broke his fast.  
Till wretched Matrons cursed their Wombs,  
So hardly was their loss endured:  
The Lovers all despaired, and sought their Tombs  
In the same Monster's Jaws, and of their Pains were cured,  
Till, like our Monster too, and with the same  
Cursed ends, to the Metropolis he came.  
His Cruelties renewed again,  
And every day a Maid was slain.  
The Curse through every Family had passed,  
When to the Sacrifice at last  
Th'unhappy Monarch's only Child must bow:  
A Royal Daughter needs must suffer then, a ROYAL BROTHER now.   

17.  
On Him this Dragon Libel needs will pray;  
On Him has cast  
His sordid Venom, and profaned  
With spurious Verse his spotless Fame,  
Which shall for ever stand  
Unblemished, and to Ages last,  
When all his Foes lie buried in their Shame.  
Else tell me why (some Prophet that is wise)  
Heaven took such care  
To make Him every thing that's rare,  
Dear to the Heart, desirous to the Eyes.  
Why do all Good men bless Him as he goes?  
Why at his presence shrink his Foes?  
Why do the Brave all strive his Honour to defend?  
Why through the World is he distinguished most  
By Titles, which but few can boast,  
A most Just Master, and a Faithful Friend?  
One who never yet did wrong  
To high or low, to old or young?  
Of Him what Orphan can complain?  
Of Him what Widow make her Moan?  
But such as wish Him here again,  
And miss his Goodness now He's gone.  
If this be (as I am sure 'tis) true,  
Then prithee, Prophet, tell me too,  
Why lives He in the World's Esteem,  
Not one man's Foe? and why then are not all men Friends with Him?   

18.  
When e'er his Life was set at stake  
For his ungrateful Country's sake,  
What Dangers or what Labours did He ever shun?  
Or what Wonders has not done?  
Watchful all night, and busy all the day,  
(Spreading his Fleet in sight of Holland's shore)  
Triumphantly ye saw his Flags and Streamers play.  
Then did the English Lion roar,  
Whilst the Belgian couchant lay.  
Big with the thoughts of Conquest and Renown,  
Of Britain's Honour, and his own,  
To them He like a threatening Comet shined,  
Rough as the Sea, and furious as the Wind:  
But Constant as the Stars that never move;  
Or as Women would have Love.  
The trembling Genius of their State  
Looked out, and strait shrunk back his head,  
To see our daring Banners spread.  
Whilst in their Harbours they  
Like Battened Monsters weltering lay:  
The Winds, when Ours they'd kissed, scorned with their Flags to play.  
But drooping like their Captain's hearts,  
Each Pendant, every Streamer hung.  
The Seamen seemed t'have lost their Arts.  
Their Ships at Anchor now, of which w'had heard them boast,  
With ill-furled sails, and Rattling loose, by every Billow tossed,  
Lay like neglected Harps, untuned, unstrung;  
Till at the last, provoked with Shame,  
Forth from their Dens the baited Foxes came:  
Foxes in Council, and in Fight too Grave;  
Seldom true and now not brave.  
They blustered out the day with show of Fight,  
And ran away in the good-natured Night.   

19  
A bloody Battle next was fought,  
And then in Triumph home a welcome Fleet He brought,  
With Spoils of Victory, and Glory fraught.  
To Him then every heart was open, down  
From the Great man to the Clown;  
In Him rejoiced, to Him inclined:  
And as his Health round the glad Board did pass,  
Each honest fellow cried, Fill full my glass;  
And showed the fullness of his Mind.  
No discontented Vermin of ill Times  
Durst then affront him but in show;  
Nor Libel dash Him with his dirty Rhymes:  
Nor may he live in peace that does it now.  
And whose Heart would not wish so too  
That had but seen  
When his tumultuous misled Foes  
Against Him rose,  
With what Heroic grace  
He chose the weight of wrong to undergo?  
No tempest on his Brow, unalter'd in his Face,  
True witness of the Innocence within.  
But when the Messengers did Mandates bring  
For his retreat to Foreign Land,  
Since sent from the relenting hand  
Of the most Loving BROTHER, Kindest KING;  
If in his heart Regret did rise,  
It never scaped his Tongue or Eyes:  
With steady Virtue 'twas allayed,  
And like a mighty Conqueror He obeyed.   

20.  
It was a dark and gloomy Day,  
Sad as the Business, sullen too,  
As proud men, when in Vain they woe,  
Or Soldiers cheated of their pay.  
The Court, where Pleasures used to flow,  
Became the scene of Mourning, and of Woe.  
Desolate was every Room,  
Where men for News and Business used to come.  
With folded Arms and downcast Eyes men walked,  
In corners and with caution talked.  
All things prepared, the Hour grew near  
When He must part: his last short Time was spent  
In leaving Blessings on his Children dear.  
To them with eager Hast and Love he went:  
The Eldest first embraced,  
As newborn Day in Beauty bright,  
But sad in Mind as deepest Night.  
What tenderest Hearts could say, betwixt them past;  
Till Grief too close upon them crept:  
So sighing He withdrew, She turned away and wept.  
Much of the Father in his Breast did rise,  
When on the next he fixed his Eyes,  
A tender Infant in the Nurse's Arms,  
Full of kind play, and pretty Charms.  
And as to give the Farewell kiss He near it drew,  
About his manly neck two little Arms it threw;  
Smiled in his Eyes, as if it begged his Stay;  
And looked kind things it could not say.   

21.  
But the great pomp of Grief was yet to come.  
Th'appointed Time was almost past,  
Th'impatient Tides knocked at the Shore, and bid him haste  
To seek a Foreign Home.  
The Summons He resolved t'obey;  
Disdaining of his Sufferings to complain,  
Though every step seemed trod with pain;  
So forth He came, attended on his way  
By a sad lamenting Throng,  
That blest him and about him hung.  
A weight his generous Heart could hardly bear,  
But for the Comfort that was near,  
His Beauteous MATE, the Fountain of his Joys,  
That fed his Soul with Love;  
The cordial that can mortal Pains remove,  
To which all worldly Blessings else are Toys.  
I saw Them ready for departure stand,  
Just when approached the MONARCH of our Land,  
And took the charming Mourner by the hand.  
T'express all noblest Offices he strove,  
Of Royal Goodness, and a Brother's Love,  
Then down to the Shore side,  
Where, to convey Them, did two Royal Barges ride,  
With solemn pace They passed:  
And there so tenderly embraced,  
All grieved by sympathy to see Them part,  
And their kind Pains touched each By-stander's heart.  
Then hand in hand the pitied Pair  
Turned round, to face their Fate:  
She even amidst Afflictions Fair;  
He, though oppressed, still Great.  
Into th'expecting Boat with haste They went;  
Where, as the troubled Fair one to the Shore some wishes sent,  
For that dear Pledge she'd left behind,  
And as her Passion grew too mighty for her Mind,  
She of some Tears her Eyes beguiled;  
Which, as upon her Cheek they lay,  
The happy Hero kissed away,  
And, as She wept, blushed with Disdain, and smiled.  
Strait forth They launch into the high-swollen Thames:  
The well-struck Oars lave up the yielding Streams.  
All fixed their longing Eyes, and wishing stood,  
Till they were got into the wider Flood;  
Till lessened out of sight, and seen no more:  
Then sighed, and turned into the hated Shore.   
THE END.