Epistle Dedicatory to Her Grace the DUCHESS . WHen Brutus with the rest did Cesar doom , And by his Death gave liberty to Rome : Great Cato's Daughter Porcia . his dear faithful Wife , That knew the Secret of that fatal Strife , From her lov'd Husband's side would never part , Both had one Will , one Courage , and one Heart , Her generous Virtue thought it base to share Part of his Ioy , and nothing of his Care ; And therefore all his Harms with Patience bore , And when he dy'd she likewise was no more : Her Virtues , Madam , flourish now in you , A second Porcia , Faithful , Chast and True , With Heavens divinest Gifts your Heart is stor'd , And Wove into the Merits of your Lord ; So fast , and with Affection so sublime , You can look down with Scorn on Death and Time : Since then Great Albemarle inspires my Muse , Vpon a Theme 'tis fit the World peruse ; Who should I beg to Consecrate my Lines , But you , who know how bright his Virtue shines , You , who have made the business of your Life , To shew the World , a Pattern of a Wife , Ioy'd at your Lord's good Chance , griev'd at his Ill , Kind , Wise , and what's most Rare Obedient , to his Will : More I could say , nay so much might be said , These swelling Lines would tire ye to Read . If I could boast of a Poetick Art , To speak your Praise , lavish as your Desert , No Flight could be too high , no Thought too strong , Nor could the Poem ever be too long . But modest Pens , that dare not be too bold , Know Truth , the shortest way is wisest told .

A POEM Panegyrick on His Grace the DUKE of ALBEMARLE , &c. I. HAPPY those Islands where no sullen Sky . Debars with Clouds the Prospect of the Eye , Where the glad Sun with Joy performs his Race , And sullies with no Fogs his glorious Face , Where change of Weather makes no Native mourn , No Agues freeze ye , nor no Fevers burn ; But genuine Heat , Nature for Health designs , And through respiring Pores your Blood refines . II . But above all most happy is that Land , Which you , my Lord , are going to Command , Their darling Genius Claps her joyful Wings , And your Approach in lofty numbers sings ; The Sun's atractive force they knew before , Exhaling Dews from every Plant and Flow'r . But this new Influence they learn from you , That to a point he can draw Virtue too . III . 'Tis said indeed this generative Heat , In parching Climes most Worthies does beget ; And that no Northern Nation can inspire Her sickly Sons , with such Heroick fire ; But I could never credit this till now , The Sympathy is verifi'd in you : That still your liking for those parts have shown , Where the hot glittering God attracts his own . IV . As some fond Mother , that with tender Care Sees her young Darling posting to the War , Oppress'd with Sorrow , does the Parting view ; Hates he should go , yet loves his Glory too : Such Grief ( my Lord ) Your mourning Friends all share , When of your Voyage the sad News they hear , And jointly wish America could know , The Jem she gains without their loss in you . V. But still to have you , were too great a Grace , Perfection ne'er continues in one place ; So Angels did in former time appear , Gave us true Joy , but staid but little here . To cheer the World , your Virtues Heaven design'd , And could not in one Island be confin'd ; Worth like the Sun , so universal known , 'Tis fit should bless more Countries than your own . VI . Well may those happy Isles serene appear , But we , I fear , shall find it Clowdy here , If Comets are oblig'd t' infest the Skies , At a States Change , or when a Monarch dies ; Methinks they should their fatal Fears infuse , Into our Hearts , when we a Worthy lose ; Did not wise Heaven think it vain to show A Prodigy , for Plagues too well we know . VII . In taking you , Fate leaves us poor and bare , The mighty Sum is more than we can spare ; For common Losses common Tears we shower , But , Sir , your Merit will command much more : The aking Hearts of all your Countrymen , When Woes are deepest , fewest Tears are seen ; And when Grief burns within , where none can spy , The bubbling Fountains of the Head are dry . VIII . To thy own safety England have regard , The Loyal and the Brave are rarely spar'd ; In props of Virtue we are not so rich , But such a Pillar gone will will make a Breach , Crowds may drop off like Hair of no Esteem , But when one Hero goes we lose a Limb ; Well Britain may thy Arms the World o'er come ; When thou canst spare an Albemarle from Home . IX . He , that when late Rebellious Seeds grew high , And proud Sedition trod on Loyalty , Encompass'd round with Dangers , and with Foes , Numerous as Dust , when the wild Tempest blows , With Fortitude undaunted durst defy The Force and Favors of the Enemy , From his lov'd Country should Affection claim , Dear as his own , and lasting as his Fame . X. All good Men know that then he nobly serv'd , And to his utmost power the Throne preserv'd , Iames found his Vigilance and Conduct right , Tho upstart Davus snarl'd and durst not bite ; Nor can a Royal Heart unmindful be Of stanch Hereditary Loyalty ; For none should Monarchs of Remissness charge , Their Memories are like their Glories large . XI . A stedfast Duty , and a Faith entire , We know the Jem is right that past the fire , So good , our Nations Genius was afraid To lose a Prize so proper for her Aid , And lest light Coffers by true Bounty drein'd , A Mighty Prince should Merchandising send ; Neptune , A Spanish Wreck found , and a vast Treasure taken up from the bottom of the Sea ; and lately brought home . as if he brib'd him not to go , Sent him a Present from his hoar'd below . XII . Seven Wonders Ancient Chronicles relate , Now change the Scene , and make the number Eight , Tis well Renowned Britain , that with thee No Land can vie for Wit or Industry ; If Honor could the Argument maintain , As well as politick Designs for Gain , The World would then thy wondrous Merit know , And Heaven above , as the Salt Deeps below . XIII . Gigantick Rocks ravish'd the wealthy Ore , A Peoples Ruin the Rich Vessel bore ; And Providence for Ends , now known confin'd In Coral Groves the Mistress of Mankind , Full forty Years the pensive Beauty lay , Low in a Sea-Gods Cell , to which-none found the Way , Till Phip's inspir'd arriv'd , and Heaven thought well To bless our Hero by a Miracle . XIV . 'Twere wondrous well if Fate would order so , That Monarchs every Subjects Heart could know , They then the difference of Men might see , That serve for Interest or for Loyalty ; To build their Fortunes many plow the Main , Their Duty is encourag'd by their Gain ; But he that leaves a Greatness so well known Merely to serve his Prince , is Loyal Monk alone . XV. For who but he would leave the Bowers of Peace Of blest Contentment and delightful Ease ; To war with Blasts and Fevers of the Skies , Half buz'd to death by Buccaneering Flies , Who would the tiresome Voyage undergo , When Profit has no Golden face to show ? Or who but he the hot Fatigue would bear , And leave New-Hall to be a Viceroy there ? XVI . A short Character of New-Hall , his Grace's House in Essex . New-Hall , the true Elizium of the Eye , The glorious Seat of ancient Royalty , Where Art and Nature seem by Heaven design'd To strive , which shall be Master of their kind ; And as the pretious Ore in Golden Mines , Nature produces , but 'tis Art that coins ; So she by Paradise this Model drew , And Art improv'd the Beauties as they grew . XVII . The curious Gardens that delight the Eye , Shew the gay Scene of blest Variety ; Sweet as a Virgin that has never known The scorching passions of the vicious Town Ceres and Flora here their Bounty show , And Fruits and Flowers so Luxurious grow ; As Adam here had us'd his primitive Spade , And from his Marker has just learnt the Trade . XVIII . Next take the Park and prospect in your view , Apelles never such a Landshape drew , Tall Sons of Earth three quarters of a Mile Weaving their Branches , frame a wond'rous Isle : Here the poor Traveller relief to gain From the oppressing Storms of Wind and Rain , Tir'd with his tedious Journey slacks his pace , Sits down , looks round , and wonders at the Place . XIX . The Nightingals in every Grove impart , By Nature , Airs that need no help of Art ; No Artist sent from Italy comes there , And yet no Eunuch ever sung so rare , Curse your ill Stars , ye poor disgender'd crew , Each Linnet has a better Fate than you , For they can in the charming Chorus join , And yet enjoy the Pleasures of their kind . XX . The happy Herds of Dear then Feasting see Emblems of Innocence and Amity , That feed and love together , couch and rise , Never debauch'd with strife or mortal Vice , But silently their great Creator praise ; And if they chance to see a human Face , With eager speed , they from the Object run , And gaze and wonder at the Monster , Man . XXI . Reflect , vain Creature , with errected Face , That claim'st command o'er the four-footed Race ; How much thy lazy Virtue they'd out do , If they were blest with sacred Reason too ; Proud of thy Gifts , yet Heaven in them do find More truth , nay more Religion in their kind , From Schisms , false Doctrine , and Ambition free , And pride the darling Sin of poor Mortality . XXII . Here ere the Lawns with Summer blessings crown'd , Pleas'd with their lusty Health they nimbly bound ' Free from the Weathers wild ingrateful storms The trembling Hares sit quiet in their Forms : Sweet smelling Panthers of whose Spots we read In modern Pamphlet , here may welcome feed , But yet no Baptist Boar , nor foaming Bear can graze , Nor one Immortal Hind in all the Place . XXIII . When the great General with Victorious Sword , Thrice happy Englands best of Kings restor'd ; When Crouds were to Obedience forc'd to bow , And old Rebellions Giant-head lay low : The mighty Genius of this God of War , Big with his Merit , did this Place prepare ; And smiling on him with an awful Grace , Spoke thus , Thou wondrous Man rest here in Peace . XXIV . Here let thy glass of Life in quiet run , And let the World admire what thou hast done , Thou , that from Chaos didst to order bring , Dissenting Crowds , that shuffled out the King , And when black gathering Clowds of Mischief grew Too dark , for any but thy Eyes to view , That all the jarring parts thy power might know , Spak'st loud , let there be Light , and it was so . XXV . This said , the Genius bow'd his awful head , And at his Feet the conquer'd Trophies laid ; From hence a Series of new Years ran on Till throng'd with Time this great triumphant Man , Like some tall lofty Pine with blessings crown'd , Sunk with his mellow Glories to the ground , Leaving behind a Theme far more sublime Than e'er agen will grace succeeding Time . XXVII . Sir , still in you we the old Hero see The same true Courage , and true Loyalty , The Father of his Country does return You in a Phenix rising from his Urn , Whose stedfast Faith no Interest could sway , So well his Heart had taught him to obey ; To serve his Prince all Dangers would run o'er , Dreading to stormy Sea , nor no inhospitable shore . XXVII . Yet tho this Sir , on Duties score you do , Reason advises to be cautious too ; When from high Towers you see the dazling height , 'Twere direct madness to precipitate . Hard is the Game you long have had to play , Many would have you go , and more to stay , To keep you here , still wish your faithful Friends ; But Og , would have you gone for his own ends . XXVIII . Projecting Og , by you like Taper snuft , Like Spider now with innate Venom puft , A Bulk sincere , but there's no Faith in that , For all Men are not honest that are fat . This Age by a new jugling Fallacy , Fattens those most who best can Cheat and Lye ; Who with next Heir at Law would trust his health , Or who a bloated Bancrupt with his wealth ? XXIX . To Fame and Truth your Soul did ever bend , The bravest Man is still the truest Friend : Heaven its best Graces to your Heart disclos'd , There all the Elements so well compos'd , That no unruly Passion dares aspire , Not too much Earth , nor yet too little Fire ; But in your Bosom form'd , all gently move , You shew at once the Eagle and the Dove . XXX . Forgive me Sir , that I these Truths relate , And believe Flattery is a thing I hate ; The Courtier's Gloss to varnish his dull Speech , Could I have flatter'd well I had been Rich ; A well form'd Parasite's an Art so dear , I might have got three hundred Pound a year , That now can boast no greater Wealth my due , Than a good Character from such as You . XXXI . And rich I am in that , may then your years , Rowl on with Joy , and may you know no Cares , May bounteous Plenty bless you with her Store , And all the teeming Western Mines with Ore , May Spicy Breezes cool the parching Air , That no hot Ray presume t' offend the Fair , And in a happy hour may England boast , She can win back the Treasure she has lost .