TO THE Right Honourable THE EARL OF KENT, Lord Chamberlain of Her Majesty's Household, etc. THIS POEM Is humbly Addressed, BY Your LORDSHIP's Most Obedient and Most humble Servant. Marry Pix   

A POEM.  

DArk Chaos reigned e'er green the Earth o'erspread,  
And Nature seemed beneath the Rubbish dead;  
Than Light and Heat confused together lay,  
And gave no promise of approaching Day:  
Till the Great Word delighting to Created,  
Ordained the various Chain of certain Fate.  
What we call Change, discerning Mortals know,  
In the first Cause was fixed, and must be so:  
Fortune and giddy Chance, vain words alone,  
In wiser happier Ages never known.  
The Almighty Wisdom spoke, and all around  
Great Nature heard, and blessed the awful Sound.  
The Sun was called to Adorn the fragrant East,  
Nor sleeps he fanned by Zephirs in the West,  
Since first he rolled along the Azure Sphere,  
And swiftly measured the revoling Year:  
Not peaceful End his active Race has found,  
Still fleeting on in one perpetual round.  
Moisture and Cold to th' distant North were hurled,  
And beauteous Order graced the new made World:  
Than Man was made Vice-Monarch of the whole,  
Of Angel Form, with an Immortal Soul.  
But though o'er Creatures he extends his Sway,  
Of higher Trust, yet human Flesh is Clay,  
And mouldering frames to pristine Dust decay:  
Virtue and Vice within the sullen Grave,  
Sink below Thought, and no distinction have.  
Vainly the Hero would his Laurels boast,  
If with his Life they withered and were lost:  
But Heaven that Will's great Acts should live entire,  
Struck forth a Spark of the Celestial Fire;  
And styled it Muse, the Sovereign Queen of Fame,  
Whose tuneful Art Records each noble Name:  
She sings the illustrious Virtues of the Great,  
And makes them dear to each succeeding State.  
Whilst in return to her immortal Song,  
The Great and Good protect her humble Throng:  
Blessed with their Smiles the Muse new Flights aspires,  
Redoubles all her Strengths, and kindles all her Fires.   

And when her Patron she would strive to sing,  
She calls her Train, and mounts upon the Wing.  
'Tis You, my Lord, in this High Office stand,  
The Great Protector of the Muse's Land:  
You their Palladium, whose consenting Smile,  
will make them Flourish in their much-loved Isle.  
When Ignorance, their blind inveterate Foe,  
Seek their Disgrace, and would their Peace o'erthrow  
Your Power can drive the threatening Mists away,  
Defend their Laurels in this stormy Day,  
And all their Trophies at your Feet they'll lay:  
They claim in you a faithful Vassal's Right,  
You're made for them and Music to delight.  
The Vulgar World who huddled up in haste,  
Want the distinguishing discerning Taste;  
Affect not tuneful Numbers, moving Strains,  
They hate the Muse, and them the Muse disdains.  
You she Adores, nor blush, Great Sir, to found,  
The Daring Muse claim kindred with your Mind.  
The favourite King whom all the World admired,  
Was by the soft Harmonious Muse inspired;  
He struck the Sacred Lyre, and straight around,  
Infernal Spectors fled the Heavenly Sound,  
Left the tormented Soul, & cloven the trembling Ground.  
Hence 'tis we Poetry and Music trace,  
And found them both of bright Immortal Race:  
And from beneath they sure derive their Birth,  
Who slight their Power and hate them here on Earth  
Own them, my Lord, they're worthy of your Care,  
Your leisure Hours to their Diversion spare.  
I heard them sigh and long to sound your Name,  
And writ it large in the great Book of Fame.  
Sleeping beneath Apollo's Verdant Shade,  
The Virgin Tree to Poets sacred made,  
Methought the Muse descended gay and fair,  
Wreaths ever young confined her flowing Hair;  
Her Feet were even, and her Wings were spread,  
Her Voice had Power to animate the Dead;  
In her smooth hand an open Scroll she bore,  
Inscribed with Names I often had seen before;  
Immortal Homer, Virgil most Divine,  
The Poets of the Greek and Latin Line,  
But turning quick I found the British Race,  
A numerous Stock, and filled a glorious Space;  
Chaucer and Spencer were preserved with care,  
But DRYDEN did in Capitals appear.  
I saw her plain, and trembled at the sight  
Fierce was her Look, refulgent was her Light:  
Ah, glorious Muse, I cried, raised with surprise!  
Queen of my Heart, and Wonder of my Eyes!  
Comest thou to me, the meanest of thy Train,  
Whose Artless Numbers often thy Fires Profane:  
Hear and obey, she said, go string thy Lyre,  
And let the mighty Theme thy Breast inspire:  
Tell Noble KENT I smiling read his Fate,  
And crowding Joys shall on his Wishes wait:  
To every bright auspicious Star I prayed,  
To dart the kindest Influence on this Head.  
Hereditary Honours now he wears,  
But greater still shall bless his coming Years.  
Next to the Paphian Queen I made request,  
That his soft Hours might be with Beauty blest;  
The bliss that does all other Joys improve:  
For what is Life without the Cordial Love?  
The charming Goddess with my Suit complied,  
And gave the fairest Nymph to be his Bride:  
Adorned her Form with each peculiar Grace,  
And Copied chaste Perfection on her Face:  
Lucina too her fruitful Gifts did shed  
And little Cherubs bless the genial Bed.  
Titles, and flowing Wealth, and pompous State,  
Show him the Just, the Happy, and the Great.  
What can be added to exalted Bliss?  
What left to wish for in a Life like this?  
As Rivers, Joys to his accession flow,  
He can not more receive but to bestow.  
So Egypt's Nile surmounts the swelling Sand,  
And bears its Plenty to the barren Land.  
Old Rome Five Ages wonder and delight,  
By me attained her envied matchless Height:  
Her Amphitheatres by my Sons were raised,  
Some gave the Structures, some their Founders praised;  
I both their Heroes and their Poets Fired,  
They Fought, and Ruled, and Written as I Inspired,  
Go warm Great KENT with generous Thoughts like these,  
Who guards my Rites shall never fail to please.  
Sickness and Shame o'ertake that sullen Race,  
Who fly my Altars, and my Shrines deface:  
But he will save you from their gloomy hate,  
And to Preserve is held as to Created.  
To him ye drooping Throng your Griefs apply,  
He'll hear your Wrongs, and no just Suit deny.  
Come all ye Swains and fill the warbling Choir,  
Let tuneful Rage the loftiest strains Inspire:  
Let Earth and Air resound Great ANNA's Name,  
To listening Winds, and crowding Waves proclaim,  
Your ANNA's Glory, and your Patron's Fame.  
Long may she live, and every Blessing prove  
With Victory Crowned, and with her Subjects Love.  
Whilst Loyal KENT the Harmonious Train commands,  
And takes the Garlands from their grateful Hands:  
Myriad of Honour's circle round his Head,  
Such as may far exceed th' Illustrious Dead:  
Blessed be his Days, and to the Worlds above,  
O let him late ye sacred Powers remove.  
Thus spoke the Muse, and vanished from my view,  
And at your Feet I lay the humble Tribute due.   
FINIS.