A POEM ON THE LATE PROMOTION OF SEVERAL Eminent Persons IN CHURCH and STATE.  
By N. TATE, Servant to Their Majesties.  
— Magnum mihi panditur aequor,  
Ipsaque Pierios lassant Proclivia Currus  
LAUDIBUS innumeris.—  Claud. 
LONDON; Printed for Richard Baldwin, near the Oxford-Arms in Warwick-Lane. 1694.   

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE CHARLES EARL of Dorset and Middlesex; Lord Chamberlain of Their Majesty's Household, etc.  
MY LORD,  
WITH conscious Fear my Muse approaches You,  
Wit's ablest judge, and best Example too.  
In Modesty your sight she should decline;  
The only Barren Thing on which You shine!  
To Yours Aspiring, and her country's Praise,  
Deserting Strength her ripe Design betrays.  
Yet see how Duty, with resistless Spells,  
To fresh Attempts a Loyal Heart Compels!  
Since Britain's Worthies their just Orbs sustain,  
And loud Applause resounds from every Plain;  
Our British Bards the only silent Throng;  
Rage hurried me on this adventurous Song.  
But oh! my Zeal forgot such Themes required,  
The Force and Fury of a Breast Inspired.  
Yet these weak Strains may to a Nobler Flight  
Provoke those Muses whom they can't invite.  
To Them shall, safely, Fame these Figures trust,  
Whose Lustre is in my dead Colours lost.  
How warmly They each Character shall trace,  
Set off with proper Lights and Native Grace!  
Then higher Soar, and urging their Success,  
Our great Augustus' Court to life express;  
In which Illustrious Sphere, with Forms Divine,  
Shall our Agrippa and Maecenas Shine.  
That Work commenced, how pleased shall I Retire!  
And at just Distance silently Admire;  
Content and Proud the Skilful to have moved,  
And see my rude Design so well improved.  
Even so blind Chance, the Art of Music found,  
A rustling Wind amongst the Reeds did sound;  
That Noise Instructed Shepherds first to Frame  
The Tuneful Pipe, that since gave Shepherds Fame.   

A POEM ON THE Late Promotions, etc.  

AS Joyful Nature, who till then lay mute,  
Did the first Sun's exalted Beams salute;  
So Britain, rescued from the sullen Cloud  
That seemed her new-created Face to shroud,  
Beholds, at once Transported and Amazed,  
To proper Spheres her Brightest Planets raised.   

Our Monarch, who best knew their Use and Power,  
Reserved their Influence for the Prosperous Hour:  
Whose Aspects now a strong Direction joins,  
When Tyrannising Saturn's Course declines.  
Thus Kings, whose Actions are to Heaven allied,  
Like Providence, by Time are justified.  
Easy at Home their Task, when Peace combines  
With Pious Kings, and favours their Designs:  
Ours, pressed with War, and sinking Europe's Weight,  
Finds Leisure to Adorn our CHURCH and STATE.   

NOW, like the Visionary Matron, rears  
Eusebia her calm Forehead crowned with tears.  
O'erjoyed her Consecrated Sons appear,  
(Those Sons that hold their Mother's Honour dear)  
To see the pastoral Chair by Him supplied,  
For whom the Voice of Angels would decide.  
In his Promotion Vice her Downfall read,  
She raved to find the MITRE on that Head:  
Her Venom swelled to see, of Piety  
So Charming an Example placed so High;  
Whose Influence, her Fears presaged, would make  
The Age reform, and her dark Empire shake.  
Preferment sought Him, (Worthless spirits intrude,  
But Modest Merit must by Kings be wooed.)  
He, slow consenting, to the Temple's Sway  
Aspired not, but did Caesar's Will Obey.  
While Caesar did, who only could, prescribe,  
He in mere Duty Rules the Sacred Tribe.  
His Moderation, Charity Divine,  
Led to this Choice our Generous Constantine.  
Whose Genius, while the CROSIER there he placed,  
His own Hereditary Virtues graced.  
Whose Clemency mistaken Zeal does spare,  
To Conscience, Tender; as to Crimes, Severe.  
Caesar, these Charms can only Thrones sustain,  
And you in These without a Rival Reign.  
O Friend of Nations! None you hold for Foes,  
Except the Troublers of the World's Repose.  
Just is your Rage; oh! may as Just Success  
Attend Your Arms, till You Mankind redress:  
Till harras'd Europe safe at Rest is laid,  
As slept first Mortals in their Sylvan shade.   

The Muse, her Visit to the Temple paid,  
Comes forth, where Peals of Joy her Ear invade.  
What charming Pomp such Transports can create?  
Lo! SUMMER with the Emblems of his State!  
How justly, Heaven, are now those Trophies born  
Before such Worth, in suitable Return,  
Adorning Him, who Britain does adorn!  
A Poet's Genius should be all on Fire;  
What Ecstasies should his raised Soul inspire?  
When Crowds, at Sight of Him, can Rapture feel;  
See how they press to Gaze, and load his Chariot-wheel!  
To fettered Numbers how shall be confined  
The compass of His Comprehensive Mind!  
Sense, Reason, Music, in his Language throng,  
The Graces sit Assembled on his Tongue;  
Whose Accents even the flying Winds surprise,  
Who watch their Birth, and bear 'em to the Skies.  
The Muses, who severer Arts profess,  
By Him are Cherished, ne'er denied Access:  
Only the Idle, and the Singing Crew,  
Chid from his Presence, long long since withdrew.  
In Youth, their Laurels at his Feet they laid,  
To Court Him, all their Syren-Charms displayed;  
Which like Ulysses wisely He contemned,  
And, Tacking off, the Tide of Business stemmed.  
'Twould beggar Thought and Language both, to raise  
The full proportioned Tribute of his Praise.  
Whom, through all Provinces of Learning crowned,  
Transcendent Virtues render more renowned.  
Justice does, visible, from Heaven repair;  
Unveiled she comes, and takes with Him the Chair.  
When him on the relieving Bench you see,  
Without a Trope, say,— There sits EQUITY.   

Next, were my Strength proportioned to my Zeal,  
I'd sing the Guardian of the Privy-Seal.  
On PEMBROKE, what can Court or State confer  
Beyond his Knowledge, or his Virtue's Sphere?  
Who, like the Sun, the higher he ascends,  
But further warms, and more his Beams extends.  
In Private Actions, as in Public Trust,  
To Honour's Scheme so regularly just;  
That his whole Soul but seems a Model framed  
By those rare Arts in which his Skill is famed.  
Whose Judgement the best Pencil can direct;  
In Symmetry instruct the Architect.  
Whose Rays can Light to Time's dark Relics give,  
And from the Grave Antiquity retrieve.  
O Sacred Faculty! whose Power transcends  
Life's Territories, and the Dead befriends.  
Blessed Genius! who Past Ages can renew,  
And Ours transmit to All that shall ensue.  
Who every Science, and so early, gained,  
As Heaven Inspired, not Industry Obtained.  
Vast Ocean, that from every Channel draws,  
From Statesmen, Schools, Divine and Human Laws.  
To Worth depressed, and injured Right, his Ear  
Is ever open, and his Heart sincere.  
O Piety! O Truth without a Stain!  
Reserved by Heaven for William's Sacred Reign.   

When Nature in the Body does maintain  
Free intercourse between the Heart and Brain,  
The Veins with Vital Spirits are supplied,  
And briskly circulates the Sanguine Tide:  
Each vigorous Limb, ungrieved, its Labour bears,  
And Joy Triumphant in the Face appears;  
So Healthful, so Transported, looks the Realm,  
Where SHREWSBURY and TRENCHARD sit at Helm.   

If TRENCHARD singly could sustain the Weight,  
And from declining long support the State,  
O what, when SHREWSBURY'S with him assigned!  
Atlas and Hercules together joined.   

TRENCHARD, who, Young, and in his private Sphere,  
For Britain's Rescue could so Nobly dare:  
Forgetting Youth's Diversions, could engage  
For Public Safety,— What may we presage,  
From Skill, which ablest Discipline has wrought,  
By Sufferings, Time, and Observation, taught!   

How, SHREWSBURY, for thy Return to State,  
And once more condescending to be Great,  
Shall my weak Muse assume the mighty Tone?  
How echo back the Joy by Nations shown,  
Whose Breath wants Compass to express her Own?  
Yet Oh! would Strength with my Desires comply,  
My Song a Dytherambick Pitch should fly:  
Pursuing thy just Praises to the Skies,  
But they tower swift, and I want Wings to rise.  
Immortal Strains should Caesar's Darling grace;  
The Worhiest Heir of TALBOT'S Noble Race.  
With gen'ral Thanks (for all your Absence mourned,)  
We bless, at once, our Hopes and You returned.  
So Rome, distressed, in one united Swarm  
Welcomed her great Dictator from his Farm.   

These Worthies, Britain, for thy Glory born,  
And Numbers more thy happy Realm adorn.   

Turn, turn your Eye to bright Augusta's Pile;  
See how her Sons, see how her Fabrics smile.  
Ages were told by that Imperial Dame,  
ere Rome determined her disputed Name.  
Who Tyrant Rome in Just Renown excelled,  
As far as Thames above the Tiber swelled.  
Her Situation boasts no empty Height,  
No Barren Mountains to support her Weight:  
From Thames his Bank contented to look down,  
And see the Treasures of the World her own.  
Kind Stars could to her Blessings add no more,  
But to secure what they conferred before:  
'Tis done:— Her Laws, her Rights by Public Voice  
Were fixed, when ASHHURST was her Guardian Choice.  
All that her Hopes or utmost Wish could crave,  
She to herself in that Election gave.  
'Twas Then Fate snatched the Wheel from Fortune's Hand,  
And charmed it fast.— Thus uttering her Command,  
At this Ascendant, my Augusta,— Stand.  
For whom should her Consenting Votes engage  
But ASHHURST? the Fabricius of our Age.  
Sprung from a Patriot-Race of old Renown,  
He centres all their Glories in his Own.  
On Him, with Measure unconfined, did fall,  
That Public Spirit which inspired them All.  
Augusta, to thy grateful Sons and Thee,  
For ever Sacred let his Trophies be;  
The boldest Champion of your Liberty.  
For Peace can Courage boast with Triumphs crowned,  
That loud, as those obtained by War, resound:  
Whose Gilded Laurels too, are full as good,  
In Fame's Esteem, as Laurels died in Blood.  
Him, in her Chair, the City finds so Just,  
That she repines 'tis but an Annual Trust:  
Which, by th' Effects of his Industrious Skill,  
Even when Retired, he yet shall seem to Fill.  
His Methods and Example shall prevail,  
And Blessings on succeeding Reigns entail.  
For Virtue, that does lasting Fruit intend,  
And does, like His, its utmost Force extend,  
In One Year's space whole Ages can befriend.   

Behold the hurry'ng Crowd from every Street  
Press to the Thames some Pageantry to meet.  
Lo there in wondrous Pomp blue Tritons ride,  
And Sea-Nymphs entering with the swelling Tide.  
Advanced before our Senate-House, they call  
For RUSSEL, their Victorious Admiral.  
Envoys to him they come, and seem to say,  
Neptune his ready Homage waits to pay,  
And Thetis grows impatient of his stay.  
Blessings attend your Counsels (thus they sing)  
Great Britain's Senate, may your Generous Spring  
Of Tribute, for the Public Safety, rise,  
As full and fast as ours the Thames supplies;  
Who finds, in circling Trade, his just return,  
And blesses the Expenses of his Urn.  
Let RUSSEL still Command, and still the Main  
To Britain his old Duty shall retain;  
Still serve the Isle, which he, embracing laves,  
With Loyalty as Ancient as his Waves.  
Whose full Assembly did your Votes resound,  
When You his Courage and his Conduct owned.  
O Sea's great Hero! to thy Fleet repair,  
And see the ready Harvest of thy Care.  
A cheerful Crew of Sailors doubly Fired,  
By Native Valour, and by You inspired:  
Through every Squadron plenteous Stores conveyed;  
Their Flags and Streamers Gallantly displayed.  
A flowing Tide and Winds presenting fair,  
Or will at least when RUSSEL does appear.   

French Pirates snatched our Seas unguarded Wealth,  
As Cacus the Herculean Herd, by Stealth:  
The Hero's Absence that advantage gave;  
But he returning Sacked the Robbers Cave.  
In vain the treacherous Den with Rock was Barred,  
Which Fire and Smoak could now no longer Guard.  
The Rest, secured by shameful Odds, Engage;  
Tourville alone could boast a generous Rage.  
Nor unrenowned his glittering Sun is set,  
That RUSSEL, and Britannia's Lightning met.  
'Twas Fame enough to dare, though forced to shroud  
Her vanquished Glories in a sheltering Cloud.  
With Terrors Threatening Pomp displayed they came,  
Tempest-resembling Fury, Noise, and Flame,  
Enough to have Astonished and O'erthrown  
A Foe, not Armed with greater of his Own.  
But urged the Fate that such Presumption craved,  
When, Caesar, they your Naval Thunder Braved.  
So rash Salmoneus, while with jove he Vied,  
Fell by that Thunderbolt, which he Defied.   

From Sea, the Muse our distant Camp does view;  
But drops her Wing o'er charged with briny Dew.  
From her own Britain too, removed too far,  
Where Caesar waits Fame's Summons to the War;  
And ORMOND (His as Caesar Ormond's Care)  
Prepares his Danger and Renown to share.  
Whose Wounded Breast shall future Ages Charm,  
Together Sung with WILLIAM'S Wounded Arm.  
Shine Bright ye Stars, who kindly did divert  
The Piercing Poniard from that Generous Heart.  
Muse, Crown his Brow, but make his Laurel wreath  
As Mild and Sweet, as Morning Roses Breath;  
Who Clemency to Courage reconciles,  
And in whose Face delighted Nature smiles.  
The Graces early Nursed whom they decreed  
Their former Darling ORMOND to succeed:  
Illustrious Ossery's expiring Breath,  
Did him his Fame and Virtues Stock bequeath.  
Thus to Elysian Fields the Phoenix Fled,  
To his Successor leaves a Spicy Bed.  
The Royal Eagle all the Noble Choir,  
The Wondrous Heir of the Sun's Bird Admire.   

From Fairy Land great Spencer's shade shall rise,  
And Milton from his Dream of Paradise;  
To Charm the Boyne, and then the Shannon's Stream,  
William their First, and TALMASH their next Theme.   

Of numerous Worthies more our Lists can boast;  
But who has Breath to Count that Starry Host?  
The Muse who can that Galaxy recite,  
May too the Princely Constellation Write;  
Whom Britain's jupiter, Presiding, draws,  
And joins their Aspects in the Common Cause.  
The Cause that Europe's Heroes did employ,  
Of old Combining to demolish Troy.  
For Helen's Rape, that Armed the Powers of Greece,  
Was but a Type of Violated Peace,   

'Tis fixed— Behold the happy promised Day  
Already Plumed, and on his Glorious Way,  
With Triumphs charged, that shall once more invite  
The generous Muse that Sung the Boyne, to Write.  
Themes Sacred, and by Fame reserved entire  
For MONTAGUE'S inimitable Fire:  
Fancy that can to Clouds of smoke give Light,  
And trace a Hero through the dusky Fight.  
Then, swift and glorious as the Conquest, bring  
The News to Court on Rapture's Sacred Wing.  
And shifting quick the Scene from Wars Alarms,  
In breathing drafts express Maria's Charms.  
Adorned with Innocence and Beauty's Beams,  
Like Venus first Ascending from the Streams:  
Or Phoebe in her Empire of the Sky,  
Mildly Majestic, and serenely High!   

Oh! when for such Illustrious Themes and Wit,  
His Country's Service Leisure can permit;  
When from his Task of State he may retire,  
Th' inspiring Heat resuming with his Lyre;  
Not Summer-Breezes shall delight us more;  
Nor Waves that gently break upon the shore:  
Nor Vocal Rills, that through the Valley stray,  
Harmoniously Disputing all their Way.   
FINIS.