ELEGIES ON THE QUEEN AND ARCHBISHOP.  
BY SAMUEL WESLEY, M. A.  
LONDON: Printed by B. MOTTE, for C. HARPER, at the Flower-de-luce over against S. Dunstan's Church in Fleetstreet, 1695.   

On the DEATH OF Her Late Sacred Majesty MARY Queen of England, etc. A Pindaric Poem.  

I.  
AH sinful Nation! Ah ungrateful Isle!  
See what thy Crimes at last have done!  
At last thy Shechina is gone,  
Thy beauteous Sun no more must on thee smile:  
Thy Dove is sheltered in the Ark,  
The heavens are silent all, and dark;  
Dark as thy Fate, or where  
Through horrid Rifts some Streaks of Light appear:  
They bided a dreadful Flood  
Of Fire and Blood;  
So Sodom looked when Lot was fled,  
The wrathful Skies wore such a gloomy red,  
While the destroying Angels hovering stood,  
And only did the Signal wait  
To pour their full-charged Viols down  
On the devoted Town,  
Scattering wide Ruin, and inevitable Fate.   

II.  
Thus Sodom sinned, and thus it fell,  
Their Paradise transformed to Hell,  
Whose pitchy Streams, long in Earth's Caverns lost,  
Rise from the Shades of Death and Night,  
And dare th' almost forgotten Light;  
Again they rise on Albion's distant Coast;  
And fear not we their Fate who all their Lewdness boast?  
Each Age, each Sex, each Order and Degree  
Full-ripe, and bending for Destruction stand,  
And join their Crimes to sink a guilty Land,  
Nor can, alas! itself the Atoning Altar free.  
Yes,— we their Fate in vain would shun  
If on their Crimes, and worse we run;  
Already is the Plague begun;  
Some Scalding Drops already fall  
beckoning the rest away,  
While those who might the Pile of Vengeance stay  
Wise Heaven aside does call;  
From its strong Arm all Intercessors throw  
For fear their stronger Prayers should stop the Blow.   

III.  
It is resolved, said the All-high!  
Patience divine no longer now can bear,  
Mercy itself no more can spare;  
Soon shall they feel that Power they now defy;  
Henceforth I cancel their abused Reprieve:  
In Hell, if not on Earth, they shall a God believe.  
Go then, said he, to a Attendant Might,  
The fairest Form of all the Sons of Light;  
The same who our blessed Queen to Albion's Shores conveyed,  
The same who hailed the bright Judean Maid;  
Go Gabriel! to that stubborn Spot which lies  
Amid th' Atlantic Main,  
Which that, and me who fixed its Shores defies;  
Go, since a Blessing, they like her, despise,  
Go, bring my Pledge again!  
Hast! For, till from the thankless Isle she's gone  
Nothing must to the thankless Isle be done:  
Gladly the pitying Mind for a Reverse had stayed,  
Might his important Charge have been delayed;  
But since the Doom was fixed, the pitying Mind obeyed.   

IV.  
This soon was to our Guardian known, for who  
heavens mind e'er better knew?  
Who, e'er among the Sons of Men?  
Our Guardian now, our watchful Primate then:  
Our Punishment he did too justly dread  
Which in our Sins he plainly read:  
Low on his Knees himself he threw  
Before th' Eternals Throne  
As jacob, e'er he over Peniel past;  
Still kept his Grasp, and held th' Almighty fast;  
Again th' Almighty said— Let me alone!  
Still he persists, till touched himself he found;  
As Isr'el then, and lifeless struck the Ground:  
Far more of hers than his own Fate afraid  
Again he rose, again he prayed,  
Again he asked she might not go,  
Nor was o'ercome, but with a second Blow:  
Since she must die he covets Life no more,  
He saw 'twas Fate, and gladly went before.   

V.  
Thus half the mighty Work was done;  
One side of our blessed Queen unguarded stood  
For Fate to strike where e'er it would;  
She followed soon when once her Harbinger was gone:  
How various Deaths, and yet how sure  
(The first Design, against her e'er took place,)  
Did she, undaunted, face?  
How firmly did she all, and like herself, endure?  
She only still remained unmoved;  
She only not her self admired and loved:  
All Ages now th' almost forgotten Temples crowd,  
And for her Safety and their own they vowed;  
To Heaven they all her Virtues tell,  
Which knew 'em but alas! too well;  
It knew how ripe for Heaven they were,  
How much too good for this bad World to share.   

VI  
See where a Host of Widowed Matrons come!  
Before the unpropitious Altars laid  
In vain their Cries deaf Heaven invade;  
See where they tyre the Stars for aid,  
But can't reverse her Doom!  
See where as many Smiling Orphans go  
As yet almost too young to feel their Woe!  
Yet do they raise their little Hands and Eyes,  
Yet do they tell the unrelenting Skies  
They all must die if their new-Mother dies.  
Near these, bright Confessors and Exiles stood:  
Such Bounty from Our Country's Parent shown  
As made 'em here almost forget their own;  
Glorious with honest Scars, and sprinkled all with Blood.  
These, and a thousand Miserables more  
Who at her Palace oft did wait,  
As those who at Bethesda sat,  
Till them high Heaven should by the Angel's Hand restore;  
All these with interrupting Tears repeat  
How far the Good in her excelled the Great:  
The much she did, and more she still designed;  
Which, like their Prayer,  
Was lost in Air,  
And scattered into Wind.   

VII.  
How poor are all the Honour's Art can give?  
The Heralds pompous Skill, how poor?  
Nor can it grant, nor Fame secure,  
Nor need it those, bright Saint! who like thee live.  
jewels and Stars themselves would be  
When in thy Arms false Heraldry.  
Yet that bright Topaz of the Air  
Which scatters round perpetual Light,  
Hardly his Rays than her less bright,  
The Sun himself is likest her:  
As constant she her Blessings round her scent,  
As silently did she her Alms dispense,  
As Friendly was her Influence,  
As deep she pierced, as wide her warmth and bounty went:  
Yet with more care her Virtue did disguise  
Than Learning Sinners take to hide their Vice.   

VIII.  
Tho' there alas! so short her stay  
The Court itself she had learned to pray:  
The Court, a wild Serail no more,  
Where Virtue a neglected Stranger grown,  
As 'twas in reigns before;  
Nor yet a dull monastic Cell,  
Where sullen Superstition rears its Throne  
A bive for the religious Drone,  
Where silence never comes, and Discord loves to dwell:  
A Pattern of the Active Life she reigned;  
Her Life like her fair Mind, unstained.  
She needed not a Crown to've made her shine  
Her Goodness scattered something more divine.  
Slowly she took what heavens wise Bounty gave,  
Three sinking Realms, and half a World to save.  
And with more pain to Empire she herself resigned  
Than at the last sad Hour to Heaven her peaceful mind.  
That glorious Trifle of a Throne  
Less sought, tho' more deserved, by none:  
Wherever placed, even Envy had confessed  
She still had been the greatest and the best:  
Glorious Eliza we no more prefer,  
Eliza's self was but a Type of her:  
Only the Glean of her praise;  
If to be seen  
In any other Queen  
Would give a double Crown, and her t' a Saint would raise.   

IX.  
Majesty she and sweetness reconciled,  
Shone like the Sun, yet like the morning smiled,  
How easy was her State! how awful, yet how mild!  
She reigned above the mean Disguise  
Of vulgar States and Policies,  
Whom their mere dulness drives on Cheats and Lies.  
Goodness and Truth were the chief Arts  
By which her Friends she charmed,  
Her Foes (if any could be so) disarmed,  
Commanding her glad Subjects Hands and Hearts.  
Steady and cheerful still she steered  
While we amidst contending Seas  
Enjoyed the Calm of Peace,  
Nor Rocks, nor Tempests feared.  
The ponderous weight of Empire, did she share,  
With Cesar's self divide th' important Care,  
Not Cesar's self his part could more unshaken bear:  
Alcides did great Atlas' ease,  
And she our greater Hercules:  
While he in eager chase of Fame  
Does Tyrants quell and Monsters tame:  
She bears the glittering Orbs on high,  
She bears the stress of Earth and Sky;  
She bears unmoved the precious weight  
Of Altar both, and Throne,  
Equal to both, tho' she, alone  
The prop of Church and State.   

X.  
Since this and more her worst of Foes confessed;  
How were her Merits and their Grief expressed  
By those who with her sacred Friendship blest!  
How did the Orphan-Church, how justly show  
Her deep Concern at th' unexpected blow!  
See where EUSEBIA, sad, yet fair appears,  
(None than EUSEBIA, Marry better knew,  
And knowing needs must love her too.)  
How charming even in Grief, how beautiful in Tears!  
(So looks the Silver Moon, when pleased to shroud  
Her modest Rays in a thin watery Cloud.)  
She tried to ward the blow, and fain  
Would Wrest away heavens Bolts but tried in vain:  
She Sighed, yet dared not of just Heaven complain:  
Low in the Dust herself she flings,  
And breaks her Harps, now useless Strings;  
Her decent Garments sullied with a Flood  
Of Sacred Tears, as once of Sacred Blood.  
— Yet will I tell, said she,  
If Life so long will last,  
And Sorrow flows not in too fast,  
What she has been, what others ought to be:  
Against the weeping Stones she leaned her beauteous Head,  
And thus, as ebbing Tears gave leave, she said:   

XI.  
O! she was all that others would be thought!  
All that the present Age in ancient Rolls have read  
Or from their Fathers have received,  
But scarce believed  
Of the illustrious Dead;  
All, all her shining Life, and blessed Example taught:  
What Honours did she on my Sons confer, (h  
Who while they preached themselves, still learned from her?  
Just to their Order, tender of their Fame,  
Like heavens dread Messengers she treated them:  
No Virtues in her sight could unrewarded be;  
If any Faults they made  
She hid 'em all in a well-natured Shade,  
And what her judgement saw, her Goodness would not see.  
Ah! who shall now adorn, or them defend!  
Who shall advise, encourage, or commend!  
Yet still they've left a surer, greater Friend:  
While William here does his kind Aid afford,  
And guards 'em with his Shield, and guards 'em with his Sword,  
In Heaven his stronger Arm their Cause maintains,  
Who never sleeps, who never dies, who always reigns.   

XII.  
Sure she was formed by Heaven to show  
What undissembled Piety could do,  
To what a height Religion might be raised;  
(She hears not now, and therefore may be praised)  
Would Virtue take a Shape, she'd choose t' appear  
And think, and speak, and dress, and live like her.  
Zeal without Heat, Devotion without Pride,  
Work without Noise did all her Hours divide:  
Wit without trifling, Prudence without Guile  
Pure Faith, which no false Reas'ning e'er could spoil  
With her, secured and blest our happy Isle.  
One harsh, old-fashioned Truth to Court she brought,  
And made it there almost believed again;  
Her Practice showed her judgement thought  
That Princes must be saved like other Men.  
No single World could her great Soul employ,  
Earth haet Diversion was, but Heaven her joy..  
If aught with that her Thoughts could share  
'Twas her ungrateful Subjects Care:  
Our hovering Fate she saw, and stepped between,  
Deserving all her great Forefathers claimed,  
The Faith's Defender more than named,  
More than in Title the Most CHRISTIAN QUEEN.   

XIII.  
Say, all ye Seraphs who did her attend,  
When daily kneeling at the Throne  
That's only brighter than her own,  
And say, thou Guardian Friend,  
Who didst so long thy darling Charge secure,  
And her with Walls of Fire immure,  
Saw you in all your Provinces below,  
Or see ye now in Eden's self, above,  
Where rise the secret Springs of joy and Love,  
And in immortal Rivers flow,  
A Mind more firm and pure?  
Or saw you e'er her Heart or Eye  
By any Object here amused,  
When she from Earth's dull Clog almost unloosed  
So oft before so near approached her Kindred in the Sky?  
O happy you! and happy they  
Tho' clothed as yet in mortal Clay,  
Happy alike, who waiting there  
Did her Devotion see and share,  
Since even an Atheist at the sight of her  
Had turned almost Idolater.  
Say! did you ever see before  
Your own blessed Courts resembled more,  
Where those whom she, alas! too soon must meet, 
Revelat. 4. 10.   
Down— Down— Down— Down  
Each casts his Crown,  
His Crown and self at the Redeemers Feet.   

XIV.  
Thus the fair Mourner part of AVE-MARIES Praise expressed:  
But who, who dares presume  
T' approach her private sacred Room!  
To pry into the Ark, and learn, and tell the rest!  
That may the Vestal Muse, the Muse alone may dare,  
For she, though clad in humble rustic grey,  
Tho neither beauteous she, not gay  
Once, ah but once was there:  
Nor her rude Duty did that best of Queens refuse,  
Nor did she wear a Frown  
To make herself unknown,  
Nor did she justly blast th' aspiring Muse.  
Her Pardon she, and more did give,  
The golden Sceptre showed, and bade, and made her live.   

XV.  
Forgive! O sacred Shade! Forgive once more  
The same Presumption that you did before!  
And let the Muse, whose piercing Eyes  
Through present, past, and future spies,  
You, in your blessed retirement show,  
And tell what none but Angels know.  
And see the dazzling Scene arise!  
Away Profane! you must not gaze,  
Away! without the hallowed Bound!  
'Tis Death for all th' unpurged to pass,  
'Tis Death to touch the sacred Ground.  
But come, you Just, you Pious Few,  
To whom her Name is ever dear,  
Who more than fashionable Mourning wear!  
Come hither all, and trembling see  
The Queen! It can be none but she,  
Raise every Hand! bend every Knee!  
The Queen and Heaven have there an Interview;  
The last e'er Faith is changed to Sight,  
And for our Eyes she grows too bright.  
See that attendant Angel there,  
Who bids her for new Crowns prepare,  
At awful Distance he stood by,  
She farther raised her Heart and Eye  
To him from whom can nothing secret lie.  
— Happy the Man whose well-purged Ear  
Could all of their blessed Converse hear!  
But this alone  
(Whence may with ease be guest  
How well she'd learned the Language of the blessed)  
Unto the listening Muse was known  
As fleeting Suns thro' sailing Clouds appear:  
[— On me! me only let the Stroke descend!  
Let my devoted Head thy Wrath assuage,  
But spare my People, spare thy Heritage!  
And for their sakes, my Lords dear Sacred Life defend!]   

XVI.  
She said, her Prayer th' All-high, with peals  
Of loud attesting Thunder seals;  
Her Prayer obtains a new Reprieve;  
We may, though Mary must not live.  
The Angel, who no more could stay,  
Bows, and beckons her away.  
Gladly the Message she receives,  
Gladly all but WILLIAM leaves.  
This only her firm Virtue tries,  
No pains she felt, or could all pains despise,  
But what her Royal Heart  
Endured, with him to part:  
There, there her last convulsive Agonies.  
With more of ease her Soul could from her Body fly  
Than those far closer Bonds untie.  
But that too sure Commission Fate did give  
How could she die, how could he live?  
'Twas easy, Fate! thy Prey to miss,  
He was her Soul, and she was his.  
— 'Tis done— thro' Death's dark shades she wings for Day,  
Nor can her other Soul behind her stay,  
But clambers with her more than half the Ethereal way.   

XVII.  
There had they shined, two Stars as bright  
As ever did their friendly Rays unite,  
To bless th' admiring world with peaceful Light;  
Had not those Powers who for poor Mortals care  
Remembered Mary's pious Prayer,  
And all the Godlike work behind  
For their loved Hero's Arms designed.  
Nor Nature two such Losses in one Age could bear.  
But when his great relucting Soul returned  
Here must we draw a Veil  
Since all our Art would fail  
To show how much her Death; and his own Life he mourned.   

XVIII.  
Accursed are those, not can they more be cursed  
Who hate the best of Princes, love the worst:  
Who on themselves fix an eternal Brand  
And cast Confusion o'er the blushing Land.  
Their Prudence these and their Good-nature show  
At their ignoble Triumphs at our woe.  
None such a Loss like William's Soul could feel  
No weight but such as this, could bend his Steel.  
How decent all his Grief! how just appears!  
How freely flow the Nations Sympathetick Tears!  
Nor can his Foes esteem it Base  
That he to Fate itself gives place,  
And reels, and staggers at th' unequal blow,  
Since they to their confusion know  
They never yet could raise his Grief or Fears.   

XIX.  
See from the Dust the twice-born Hero rise!  
See where he throws around his languid Eyes  
Which never drooped before:  
In vain he throws 'em round— She's now no more!  
As much in vain his Souls Efforts did prove  
When Life's weak Taper trembled to remove,  
And reach and join its Consort-Flame above.  
O why loved Prince! dost thou pursue so fast!  
Why makes thy struggling Soul such eager haste!  
When e'er you meet, how late so e'er for thee,  
Too soon alas for us, and for the World 'twill be.  
— Nor yet shall Death the Conquest gain  
Such strong Revulsives still remain:  
Sound sound a Charge! Let Wars loud Thunder roar  
And shake the trembling gaul's perfidious Shore!  
— It takes— how fast he warms!  
With what a generous-Heat  
His rallying Spirits beat  
To Arms! to Arms!  
His Grief will soon to Martial Fury turn,  
And France our Loss shall undissembling mourn.   

XX.  
So, might we Great compare with Lesle,  
So when the Forrest's King, whose Voice can make  
The Beasts, the Trees, the solid Mountains quake  
Is robbed by Fate of his loved Lioness;  
In his broad Breast imperfect Thunder's groan,  
He stalks along the silent Shades alone:  
But if he chance from far  
To bear the gathering War,  
The Hunter's shout, the Courser's neigh,  
The Eager Hounds more loud than they;  
He casts his flaming Eyes around  
Impatient to engage  
And lashes his strong sides, and wakes his dreadful Rage,  
And spurns the Sand, and fills the Air, and rends the Ground:  
Th' ignoble Covert now disdain,  
And rushes out, and roars and fights the trembling Plains.  
See! the Coward Hunters fly  
O'er thick Brakes and Mountains high:  
O'er the Fallows, thro' the Woods,  
O'er green Lawns and Crystal Floods;  
Fast they fly, Fear mends their Hast,  
But Grief and Rage pursue more fast:  
See! the Troop he overtakes!  
See what Ravage there he makes!  
Horse and Horseman both overthrows;  
These with his strong Paws he rends,  
These with his Train to Earth he sends,  
And proudly stalks along o'er heaps of panting Foes.   

XXI.  
'Tis glorious in undauted Fight  
T' assert an injured Nations right;  
'Tis yet more glorious, more divine,  
With Earth and Heaven against a common Foe to join;  
To Vindicate the World from some proud Tyrant's Chain:  
— So loved, so feared does our Great William reign  
" While France and Hell cross his strong Fate in vain.  
Yet ah! how gladly his dread Sword he'd sheathe,  
Or with it here at home engage  
The Monstrous Vices of the Age,  
Would not the while the Gallic I●●dra breathe.  
For Peace the angry Warrior fights,  
In Peace kind Heaven itself delights,  
Peace grows on Eden's happy Plains  
Where now in Peace blest MARY reigns:   

XXII.  
How was Heaven moved at her arrival there!  
With how much more than usual Art and Care  
The Angels who so oft to Earth had gone  
And born her Incense to th' Eternals Throne  
For her new Coronation now prepare!  
How welcome▪ how caressed  
Among the blessed!  
— And first mankind's Great Mother rose,  
Give way, ye crowding Souls! said she,  
That I the second of my Race may see!  
But e'er she came the First did Interpose;  
(Whom next my God and King,  
Next, and but next I'll sing,)  
The other MARY, who to meet her goes:  
How like their Charms! how full of Grace!  
O better Mother of our sinful Race!  
How great her Mien! how sweet her Air! how bright her Face!   

XXIII.  
The Worthies of the Hebrew Line  
Did their adopted Brethren join,  
Her sight a Concourse did engage  
Of every Sex and every Age:  
Here did brave Deborah appear,  
Pulcheria there, Eliza here:  
Our Edward, their josiah, near allied  
Their Fates, both blest, the World no more they tried,  
Blessed that they lived so well, nor thought too young they died.  
Here hoary Patriarches, and Apostles stand;  
The Martyrs there, a goodly shining Band,  
These near the Altar, near the Sons Right Hand:  
Vast was the Altar, wondrous to behold!  
With living Gems it flamed, and heavenly Gold;  
F●●● under whose broad Base, which did present  
The beauteous Arch of some new Firmament  
The kneeling Souls who when for Truth they died  
Had Mercy asked for those  
Who were their causeless Foes,  
Now, all, as loud for Vengeance cried:  

* 6. Revel. 10, 11. " Holy and True! How long!  
(This was their Matchless Song:)  
" How long must the proud Where in triumph reign,  
" Her scarlet Robes in Blood still deeper stain,  
" How long shall Earth blaspheme! how long will Heaven refrain!  
When from the Throne a Voice was given  
Which shook the Poles of Earth and Heaven:  
" There rest in Peace! our Friends! it said,  
" And wait for all the martyred Dead!  
" Nor must our Bolts so soon be sent,  
" You're not complete, Man may repent.  
" The while ascend one Order higher,  
" And join the still-encreasing Choir!  
Forward they move, while Angels bring  
A Harp, a Robe, a Crown  
Installing every one  
A Poet, Priest, and King.   

XXIV.  
But who are those! that mighty Three  
Distinguished from the rest,  
Who marching up abreast  
Approach, great Queen! to welcome thee?  
The most Majestic there  
A double Crown, the rest a single wear.  
Two, Branches seem of the Nassovian Line,  
Aurange! Coligny!— Yes, they're they!  
Such Beams around their Temples used to play.  
The third is Martyred CHARLES, still more Divine.  
It must be Martyred CHARLES, he looks so good,  
His Ermines died with his own sacred Blood.  
By sacrilegious Hands, all Victims fell,  
All sent too soon to Heaven by Monsters raised from Hell:  
All their great Kindred welcome and embrace,  
But CHARLES, the most and best,  
Who thus her Merit; and his Love expressed,  
—" Welcome, thrice welcome to this happy place!  
" Whose Praise nor Envy shall, nor Age deface,  
" Thou best! thou dearest Name of all my Race!  
— And more he would have said, but hears  
Th' Intelligences tune their Spheres  
And knew they would some wondrous thing  
At her Reception sing:  
All in their Hands the Harps of God they take,  
Nature be still▪ No Voice beneath  
The Clouds be heard! no Wind to breath,  
No Leaf to shake!   

XXV.  

* 15. Revel. 3, 4 "— How word rous are thy Works! how bright,  
" O of unbounded Power and Might!  
" Yet if we ought can add unto thy Praise,  
" We for the Truth and justice of thy Ways,  
" O King of Saints! will nobler Trophies raise.  
What Mortal, formed of Dust and Clay  
What Mind! to thee as weak as they  
Can in thy angry sight appear  
Or at thy Voice can choose to Fear?  
If once thy Voice they not obey  
It soon can take the Life it gave,  
Tho' rather, thy delight to save!  
O Holy Father! Spirit! and Son!  
— Dread Holy Three! Dread Holy One!  
Thy Eyes, how perfect and how pure!  
All those approve  
Who Virtue love  
Nor can the smallest Stain of guilt endure.  
Tho' long the stupid World has been  
Enslaved to Error, lost in sin,  
Did long thy saving Health despise,  
Now the fair years in comely Order rise:  
The stupid World shall worship Fiends no more  
(Their Temples by th' Almighty's Frown,  
Their smoking Altars thundered down)  
But thee and thy dread Son, O King of Kings! adore.    

A POEM On the Death of his Grace JOHN Late Lord Archbishop OF CANTERBURY.  

I.  
Found me some place yet more removed from Day;  
Impervious to the Sun's all-cheering Light;  
Where Comfort casts no Gleam, kind Heaven no Ray,  
Lost in the double Shades of Grief and Night.   

II.  
There will I mourn till I grow old in Tears,  
Till I th' unkind, the spiteful World have shown  
'Tis a true Black my unbought Sorrow wears,  
'Tis for my Countries Loss, and not my own.   

III.  
When he whom Death's hard sleep in vain did bind, 
11. S. john 35, 38.   
In his dark Grotto immaturely slept  
A greater Mourner than if all Mankind  
Shrouded in black had waited, JESUS, wept.   

IV.  
He taught us Tenderness where e'er 'twas due,  
Nor e'er could Tomb to more than this pretend;  
Which shall this Truth to Grandchild Ages show,  
Here lies, Mankind's, and God's, and Cesar's Friend.   

V.  
Say Envy's self, if Envy's self can say,  
If to his God he was not pure from Blame!  
His Soul shined through with so divine a Ray,  
As clear confessed the Heaven from whence she came.   

VI  
Just, all his Thoughts of God, all great and bright,  
Mild Majesty with awful Goodness veiled;  
Such as might Man allure and not affright,  
All, worthy him who heavens great Lord is hailed.   

VII.  
No black Idea, formed from Gild or Fear,  
Or by illnatured ignorance, ill-defined;  
But such, as pure, unmattered Angels wear,  
Such he himself, now raised to perfect Mind.   

VIII.  
Humbly he loved, whom gladly he obeyed,  
Serene his Prayers, unclouded as his Brow;  
Beneficent, and Good, to all he made  
He taught him then, and such he finds him now.   

IX.  
Him, he thro' all the Maze of Matter traced,  
In every Particle his Footsteps found,  
Who first a shore to the wild Chaos placed,  
And Atom, close to Brother-Atom bound.   

X.  
In heavens wide Arch he found, and showed him there  
Adorned in all his Furniture of Light; 
His Sermons against Atheism.   
Then, here transcribed, in Strokes almost as fair,  
In lasting Characters, almost as bright.   

XI.  
O'er this vast Globe did his bold Pencil show  
How all his Works did spread their Maker's Fame;  
How aged Mountains stand, and Waters flow,  
And every Flower and Insect wears his Name.   

XII.  
No flattering Colours on weak Reasons laid,  
No drossy mixtures with the purer Ore;  
Strongly he built, and firm Foundations made  
From Truths, and Nature's unexhausted Store.   

XIII.  
Yet his strong Reason to his Faith he bent,  
By new Elastic Powers still stronger made;  
Yet more-than-nat'ral Truths had his Assent,  
Who where he could not comprehend, obeyed.   

XIV.  
Ah miscalled Reas'ners! who would Reason bring  
Th' Eternal Word and Reason to dethrone!  
Your Faith refuse to your Almighty King,  
Protection take, yet no Allegiance own.   

XV.  
Who a Man-God, a Sub-Supreme, create,  
Not to the great God-man just Honours pay:  
Rob the Creator of his Kingly State,  
And yet to one you think a Creature pray.   

XVI.  
When left by God how vain a Thing is Man!  
How weak his Mind from its true Centre thrown!  
Christ's Mysteries you can't believe, but can  
Such pure mysterious Nonsense of your own.   

XVII.  
Not so this Champion of his Saviour's Name,  
Whose weighty Pen did Heresy confound:  
Secured his own and th' injured Churches Fame, 
His Sermons against the Socinians.   
And laid the Polish Monster on the Ground.   

XVIII.  
He knew even Nature's self had Mysteries  
Too deep for shallow Reason's finite Line:  
Nor looked against the Sun, nor closed his Eyes,  
Nor equalled humane Knowledge with divine:   

XIX.  
Nor all believed who from th' Eternal King,  
Commission plead, but can't produce his Hand;  
A false, a forging Race, who only bring  
His miscalled Vicar's ill-dissembled Brand.   

XX.  
Tho all Mankind he loved, he could not those  
Whose monstrous Faith's full contradiction-size,  
Who on the Sense of all Mankind impose,  
And with implicit Faith believe in Lies.   

XXI.  
Who old deformed Idolatry new paint,  
And Images to thief lost Shrines restore,  
(The Name just changed, the Hero turned to Saint;)  
Where Demons lodge as quiet as before.   

XXII.  
Whose whole Religion, turned to Cheat and Trade  
Did all devou'r, like Babel's Idol Thief:  
Who to the Rich all Lewdness venial made,  
But damned th' insolvent Poor without Relief.   

XXIII.  
None e'er with neater Sense, or closer laid  
Unmasked their Frauds than thou, Great▪ Man! hast done:  
As once the French of Talbots name afraid,  
We'll still th' Italians now with TILLOTSON!   

XXIV.  
Yet no wild Motions e'er disturbed his Breast,  
His Reason, not his Passion kept him warm;  
No warring Winds his peaceful Soul oppressed,  
Where blue a gentle Breeze, but not a Storm.   

XXV.  
As he already lived in Paradise  
All- equable his happy Hours did flow;  
Unruffled he by Interest, or by Vice,  
He never knew a Thought or Care so low.   

XXVI.  
Pardon dear Country! if that Heat I blame  
Which but too oft our Freeborn Minds enslaves!  
Let Rome alone th' unerring Title claim!  
Why should I storm because another raves?   

XXVII.  
Or washed by Seas, our Fire, like Aetna, glows;  
Or the strong Spirits within too closely penned  
Prey on themselves for want of other Foes,  
And, fuming, to unnatural Warmth ferment.   

XXVIII.  
When th' angry Brothers did heavens Bolts desire,  
Justly did them the Prince of Peace reprove;  
Taught 'em to conquer with a milder Fire,  
To conquer with the kindlier Warmth of Love.   

XXIX.  
If this a Fault, even that Apostle erred  
Whose great soul stooped, and all to all was made;  
Who Charity to Faith itself preferred,  
And yet no Truth denied, of none afraid.   

XXX.  
Thus this true Follower of his Saviour's Life  
Who in his shining Paths exactly went,  
Taught without Noise, and differed without strife;  
Soft were his Words, but strong his Argument.   

XXXI.  
Not holy Cranmer easier could forgive,  
Or more of heaven-born Charity expressed;  
Firm to his Friend, a surer ne'er did live,  
Tho' most to Truth, the greatest, and the best.   

XXXII.  
Such great Armagh, who perfect long before  
Amid the blessed a Starry Mitre wears;  
Such many a Confessor and Martyr more,  
And such that Saint who now demands our Tears.   

XXXIII.  
What grateful Crowds did him in Glory wait  
Whom his calm Reas'ning thither showed the Way!  
How Blessed his share in that unchanging State!  
How bright he shines in those bright Realms of Day!   

XXXIV.  
What Clouds of Prayers did waft him to that Place  
Where Seraphs sing with heavn'ly Ardour fired  
Ay-gazing on the Beatific Face!  
The first Preferment that he e'er desired.   

XXXV.  
In him the Orphan a new Father found,  
While Widows scarcely their lost Lords lament;  
A gentle Surgeon he for every Wound;  
Exiles with him enjoyed their Banishment.   

XXXVI.  
None, ever, grieved did from his Presence go,  
The Poor with such a Godlike Sweetness raised  
They scarce could blame their Fate that made 'em so,  
While Heaven and him their just devotion praised.   

XXXVII.  
Favoured by God and Man, and full of Grace,  
By all his Wrongs unbroken, all his Cares  
Eternal Youth smiled in his reverend Face,  
Tho' pure as Virgin-Snow his Silver Hairs.   

XXXVIII.  
To Heaven he paid, or to the World he lent  
That Time which he so justly did divide;  
On both so much, and yet so well he spent  
That, like the Loaves, you'd think it multiplied.   

XXXIX.  
How clear his Soul how firm his generous Breast!  
How vast the Compass of his mighty mind!  
How, fairly all in his grave Looks expressed!  
Not for himself, but born for whole Mankind.   

XL.  
Wherever Heaven called, and his great Genius went  
He still excelled, in Pulpit, Church and State;  
To all a bright, a lasting pattern lent  
For most t' admire, and some to imitate.   

XLI.  
A Statesman free from Interest or Design,  
A Prelate watchful, painful, humble, wise:  
How did he then when in the Pulpit shine,  
Commanding Mortals Ears, and Angels Eyes! 
* 1 Pet. 1. 12.    

XLII.  
So Moses spoke when he from Sinai came  
And Isr'el did high heavens Credentials show;  
So looked, his Temples crowned with radiant Flame,  
On all the dazzled Auditors below.   

XLIII.  
Tho' peaceful, like his Lord, this Saint appeared,  
No struggling Thunder raised, or Mountains rend:  
A still small Voice like whispering Winds, was heard,  
Which pierced the secret Soul wherever it went.   

XLIV.  
'Twas Music, Poetry, and Rapture all,  
The Sweets of his oraculous inords to share;  
As soft they fell as balmy Dew-drops fall,  
As smooth as undisturbed etherial Air.   

XLV.  
In him how many various Graces meet!  
Hooker's weighed Periods, not perplexed or long:  
As Waller's Sense, correct, or Numbers, sweet;  
Cleaner his Thought than Wilkins, and as strong.   

XLVI.  
One Word you cannot add or take away,  
Complete, as Virgil's, his Majestic Sense;  
To twenty Ages if the World shall stay  
The Standard he of English Eloquence.   

XLVII.  
To all he writes one Demonstration gives  
Which gently draws, and yet compels assent:  
Good Life, which shows that he himself believes,  
Good Life, the most persuasive Argument.   

XLVIII.  
How could the blackest Malice e'er oppose  
So fair a Fame, a Goodness so divine?  
Meekest on Earth couldst thou have any Foes?  
But God and Cesar have, and theirs were thine.   

XLIX.  
Scarce better that brave man his Love expressed,  
Or dearer Marks of Loyalty did show,  
The poisoned Knife aimed at his Sovereign's breast,  
Who stepped between to catch the fatal Blow.   

L.  
A manly, not a brute Submission paid,  
Abhorred the Rebel, as abhorred the Slave;  
From Love, not Fear, his Sovereign he obeyed;  
Who is not Loyal, never can be brave.   

LI.  
When false Licinius fled, or did resign  
He, had the Christians Oaths who filled his Place;  
Still Loyal to the generous Constantine,  
Tho' injured by the faithless Pagan-Race.   

LII.  
Should some old lost Plantagenet arise,  
And plead his lineal Title to the Throne  
Who'd not his antiquated Claim despise,  
And still the brave the just Possessor own?   

LIII.  
So he who claims our Song, and claims our Grief,  
Who now the Prey of overhasty Fate,  
Of all the Mitred Worthies justly chief,  
The firm Supporters of the Church and State.   

LIV.  
Whole Clouds of fiery Darts by Malice cast  
And forged in Hell, aimed at the Sacred Head,  
Most glanced on him, some short, some overpast,  
Some dropped disarmed, and at his Feet lay dead.   

LV.  
How calmly smiled he, at Hell's fruitless Spite!  
How sure, and yet how easy his Defence!  
Fearless he stood, and dared infernal might  
Under his sevenfold Shield of Innocence.   

LVI.  
So generous Scaeva, who for Cesar fought,  
And stood with Groves of Deaths encompassed round  
While Groves of Deaths on his broad Shield he brought  
Disarmed the adverse Host without a Wound.   

LVII.  
Unmoved by all th' ill-natured World could do,  
When cursed, he blest; he prayed as they reviled,  
So well his Saviour's Life and Laws he knew,  
Abused, he turned the other Cheek and smiled.   

LVIII.  
If any Blot in all his Life's fair Field,  
'Twas height of Goodness made his judgement stray:  
Of his black Foes he like the Father, held  
There might be room in Heaven for such as they.   

LIX.  
But he was all-a-Saint, and could forgive;  
Not so the Muse, who does just Blots prepare,  
Ah no! his Hands, as while he here did live,  
Still stop the gathering Thunder in the Air.   

LX.  
Since than we pity some, though some detest,  
No farther Muse! in this sad Scene proceed!  
Here draw a modest Veil before the rest!  
Ah gently touch the Wound which still does bleed.   

LXI.  
Calm, as his Life, end then our grateful Song!  
Calm as his Soul, when she to Glory went:  
Be the worst Word to those who him did wrong,  
His own last Wishes, may they all repent!   

LXII.  
While those near warmer happier Regions born  
Wove costlier Garlands of immortal Verse;  
The best poor Flowers our barren Hills adom,  
Thus, washed in Tears, we bring to crown his Hearse.   
FINIS.   

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THE Life of our Blessed Lord and Saviour JESUS CHRIST. An Heroic Poem. Dedicated to Her late Most Sacred Majesty. In Ten Books. By SAMUEL WESLEY, Author of this Poem. Each Book illustrated by necessary Notes, explaining all the more difficult Matters in the whole History; also a Prefatory Discourse concerning Heroic Poetry. With Sixty Copper Plates. Printed for C. Harper and B. Motte, 1695.