University of Virginia Library

BELVOIR.

A Pindaric Poem, or a faint Draught of that stately Fabrick; with some short Characters of the Noble Founders, Owners, with their Alliances.

I must not be
A Schismatick in Poetry;
Conform I will, and follow th' mode;
My Pegasus shall amble in the beaten Road.
Thou, noble Lord, shalt be
Mecænas and Apollo too to me.
O that I could a Virgil be to thee!
Vouchsafe that I may chuse
Thy fair and vertuous Lady to my Muse.
And if at want of number some repine;
Rapt with Poetick Fury, I divine
Your Fervours shall not rest,
Till blest
With infant Muses to make up the Nine.
Let Belvoir be
Parnassus then to me.
At the foot of this bright Mountain,
Springs a sacred Fountain;

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Whose spacious Veins continually run
With precious liquor, passing Helicon;
By which Jove's Nectar is out-done.
Each Butt's a pregnant Womb of Wit,
Where Poetry lies in the Embrio yet:
Oh, for the Butler now to midwife it!

Those Stairs, by which we to the Castle mount,
We justly may account
Conductive to more Glory,
Than ever yet was read in Story;
Unless the Patriarel's Ladder step between;
And yet that only in a Dream was seen.
Look! how the neighb'ring Hill there swells with pride,
Because it found the Grace,
To have its place
Next to the Monarch-mountain's side.
With sev'ral Shades of Greens 'tis quilted o're,
And checker'd with delightful store

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Of various Flowers,
The Off-springs of fresh April Showers.

Our Atlas looks not shabbily and bare;
His Arms, Thighs, Legs, all cover'd are
With a rich mantle of eternal Green,
As in the other Paradise was seen.

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Our Mountain's vast and brave;
With Nature's Architrave.
Cornice, and Freeze,
Of ever green and fruitful Trees;
Whose fruits intice
To hope, not lose a Paradise.
When Flora is i'th' midst of all her pride;
And all the Trees cloath'd on the Mountain side;
How pleasant 'tis to see them grow,
Each sort in an alternate row?
To see them imitate
The World's unequal fate?
Some Heads, than others feet, more low;
And yet they grow;
And sometimes are as useful and as fruitful too.
The Bayes and Lawrels on the Mountain's brow,
Make a most noble show.
With Conquerours, and Heroe's Wreaths 'tis crown'd,
As fits a Mountain above all renown'd.
Then on the top are seen
The lovely Walks, and stately Bowling green;
Even on the tops of Trees,
Like to the Gardens of Semiramis,
In her great Babylon,
No greater wonders could be shown.
Our Turrits too we can display;
As bright, and glorious as an Eastern day.
Glories! that never shadows know;
And look, with scorn, on Clouds below!
Our Mountain outwardly is fine;
Its Treasures through the top does shine.

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It is an everlasting East,
Where a bright Sun has built her nest.
Rich Vale! thy fruitfulness exceeds all sense;
Blest with a double influence.
Thou must with plenty flow;
Inricht by one bright Sun above, and this below.

Who ever views in starry Night,
The heav'nly Champaign fair and wide;
With cloudy furrows plow'd on every side,
And sown with glitt'ring seeds of light.
If he survey the fruitful field,
And shining Crop around,
To tell how many Bushels it may yield;
Numberless they will be found,
Hee'll find th' attempt more vain
Than to tell Sands, or drops o'th' Ocean.
For whilst, through searching Tube he pries,
To count the many golden Eyes,
That grace great Juno's azure Trayn;
(For Poets of her Bird did stories feign,
Those thousand Eyes were Stars, her Ground the Skies
The more he looks, the more the number multiplies.
So Belvoir's wonders to display,
Is to count Attomes on a Sun-shine day;
Less numerous than they.
The glorious Sun at Noon,
When in his flaming Throne he stands;
You may as soon
Scrape up his shining Treasures, that are hurld
About the World,
And hold 'em in your hand.

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His vast Revenues, make not poor
The Country, but increase its store:
So Vapours paid to th' Sun from every ground,
Purst in a Cloud; when th' Season's fit
To open it;
Then down the Liquid Silver pours
In fruitful showers;
And payes with interest the fields around.
Here you may see
The ancient English Hospitality;
Where all their Neighbours seem o'th Family.
Here, like the Patriarch's feasts,
Half of the World are Guests.
And so proportion'd is the care,
An equal plenty they prepare;
The Table's loaded o're with choicest meats;
And beautifi'd with delicates;
Impoverish'd is the Sea, the Earth, the Air.

Look at that stately, and yet easie pride
O'th' spatious Stair-case, light as day;
Yet easie to ascend, as down to slide.
Blest fate! if erring mortals may
Find Heavn's High-way,
But half so wide!
None then can miss
The road to bliss;
Since both the left side, and the right,
Surely does guide, and kindly does invite
To Paradise.
Wherever now I cast mine Eye,
Such lively Pictures I espy;
Methinks, the old Wifes tale is not a Lye.

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This seems the Gyant's Castle, where
He seiz'd on all that did appear;
And being cruel, being strong,
His living Guests upon the Walls he hung.
Observe those costly Hangings there;
How lively in their colours they appear:
The Spring is in the Chambers all the year!
The Gardens above Stairs are seen;
The Lillies, Roses, Violets and Grass,
Flourishing in their native place,
Are not so white, so red, so blew, so green.
Those Images i'th' Tapestry then note,
There's Bignal got upon his Nag,

Servants Names.

Sir Charles, Tantarra, Bentley, Crag,
Has each a Persian Coat.
See the rich Furniture in all the Rooms!
Floors spread with Carpits, weav'd in Turky Looms!
Beds soft, and costly, they may vye
With those whereon luxurious Asian Princes lye!
And yet, most noble Lord, we find
They do not captivate thy mind,
So much as please thine Eye.
In each place Miracles abound!
Rich Parian Quarries are in Chimney Pieces found.
Belvoir! thou must the Worlds chief wonder be;
Since Nature is turn'd up-side down for thee.
The lofty Firr stoops down thy Floors to frame:
And tho laborious Miners cry,
That Lead does at the Center lye;
Thy lofty Roof is cover'd with the same.

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Now we are thither got, come let us try,
If ever any Eye,
A nobler, or a richer Prospect, did espy.
If hither the great Owner move,
He need not envy Jove;
Since all's his own, that does beneath him lye.
Nor is the Metaphor too bold!
For, Reader, if thou didst behold
All his great things; thou wouldst confess
All Metaphors went less
Than these great truths, which stretch'd Hyperboles can but express.
Mind there the Valleys richly drest
With Ceres favours blest.
That spatious Corn-field there behold;
Look how the Wind ruffles its Ears!
Methinks it now appears
Rouling with Waves, like to a Sea of Gold.
Now let us Westward try,
Where we those thick curl'd Heads of Oaks espy,
Under whose shades are pleasant Groves;
Where if this rude degenerate Age,
Were not debauch'd with lustful rage?
Shepherds and Nymphs might exercise their loves.
Amidst these Groves, is sometimes seen
The Castle's and the Woods fair Queen.
Who when (i'th' Spring) she does there ride,
(The Spring's, and Nature's pride.)
Diana, and her Nymphs, are quite out-vy'd.
Hark! hark! what noise is that?
Some Hunts-man winding a Recheat.
Look how th' affrighted Herd (like to the rest
O'th' World forsake a Friend distrest!

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There, there, the hunted Buck does go
So swift, that Swallows fly more slow.
The Hounds now follow!
Listen to their Cry;
The Hunts-men ride, and hollow!
If you trust either Ear or Eye;
Their ecchoing Mouths fright Thunder back,
The swifter Steeds out-ride the Rack
Of gliding Clouds, when Tempests vex the Sky.
Admire this gallant place!
Surrounded with a large, and noble Chase!
The Deer, altho at liberty, here stay;
And, in mere gratitude ne'r go astray.
'Tis princely, and but seldom found
Such Herds to breed; And after feed
Then hunt, and kill;
And all this still.
Ne'r out of his own ground.
Thrushes and Black-Birds in his Bushes bred
And only with his Berries fed:
Out of his vast Demesnes they cannot fly;
They hop upon his Ground, they hover in his Sky:
They were in his Dominions bred, and there must dye.
And what is more!
It has the blessings of an inward store.
Not as some Beauties are;
Foolish, and fair,
And (what is scandal now) as poor
Remotest treasures come
To make it fit for the great Owners home.
Vessels in China made,
That in th' improving Soil were laid;

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By Artists, in the Golden age well known,
As the rich workmanship will own.
Skreens, and Cabinets here shine,
That from Japan were brought;
Such as Europæan Arts cannot design;
Nor with its choicest treasures can be bought.
Unless Columbus's traffick hold:
Who Lead, and Iron, truckt for Gold;
Or where a Bead of Glass was found
Fit value for a Diamond.
Such Cost and Furnitures as these
May make the Stranger-Reader ghess
That I must either feign;
Or 'tis a place for Kings, to entertain
Their courted Princesses.

In its own ruines 'twas interr'd of late
By violence, and hate
Of Rebels, and conspiring Fate.
No mortal force so strong could prove,
One Stone from its foundation to remove,
'Till Bombards came;
Whose thunder and whose flame
Equall'd, if not excell'd th' Artillery of Jove.
Besieg'd by thousands it at last did yield
As tho 'twas requisit,
No fewer hands should ruine it,
Than did it build.
In its own rubbish thus it lay:
Until its noble Dame
Design'd its frame;
And rais'd a Body out of its own Clay.

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The mighty Infant grew!
Until it was a wonder, and delight
To Passengers, nay, to the very Builders view;
And did command at once, and please the sight.
The Legs, and Thighs, of massy Columns made;
The Sinews of tough Lime all interlaid;
Its ribbs, and bones
Of strong, well-polisht Stones;
And then its lofty head
(Near neighbour to the Skies,)
Was cover'd with a Cap of Lead;
Of Chrystal were its Eyes!
In twenty years this great Colossus to its height did rise.

Leave we to celebrate the Case.
Let us the Diamond adore;
For so was Rutland's Countess! nay, and more,
The very Soul of this great place.
Of humane things see the event!
As't was the Glory, so the Monument
Of the great Foundress; who might be
Divested of mortality,
Before, from her own Horeb, she to Heav'n went.
Tho Souls immortal are,
Yet as their Bodies do decay,
The faculties o'th' Soul are at a stay,
And in th' infirmities o'th' Body share.
A large, and vigorous Body, asks a Soul
Of equal strength;
Or else it will consume at length;
Because it can't th' unequal bulk controul.

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So having rais'd this glorious Frame;
Thy noble Mother knew its bulk, and fame,
Requir'd a spirit suitable, to actuate the same.
For now hers look'd more high;
Having done two such mighty things on Earth,
To raise this Pyle, and give thee birth,
Her next great thing was t'obtain Eternity.
Yet left thee in a state,
At once both to oblige the World, and Fate;
If thou wilt her example imitate,
Thou the succeeding Age must bless
With a young Lord, as she with thee did this:
The noble Name of Mannors to perpetuate.
How great a fate on thee depends;
And glorious Causes must have glorious ends.
Thy fair Consort may,
With reason, all our expectations pay;
And we may hopeful of such blessings be;
Nay more, may claim a certainty
From such a one as her, and such a one as thee.

Little need is there to boast
Of Rarities, brought from the Indian Coast.
Japan and China, though they be
The Cabinets o'th' Asian Treasury;
We need not thither roam;
We have more precious Stores at home.
Boughton, thou canst prove this true
Boughton! the seat of noble Mountague!
The spreading Tree
Of whose illustrious Pedegree,

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Boasts as from Eden it transplanted were;
Whether you regard the Root,
Or shining Fruit
That it did bear.
From Sals'bury's great Montacute it came!
Of whom no further need be said;
Under Fifth Henry's Ensigns he was bred;
And at whose dreadful name,
A Marshal'd Army once of French-men fled.
Nor could less expected be
From Third Edwards Progeny.
Third Edward! that in Cressy Vale,
First made the Golden Lillies pale,
To make a deeper red.
At last, those streams of Honour ran
To Boughton's Mountague, as to the Ocean.
Too large to be confined there,
It overflow'd the Banks: that noble blood
Swell'd like a Silver-streaming Flood;
Until it did begin,
Two Earldoms more, to circle in;
Of Sandwich, and of Manchester.
Manchester shall not imploy my Song:
The Truth I will not, nor the Muses wrong,
But both will purchase fame,
By Sandwiche's ennobled name.
Sandwich! our Nation's Phœnix! that expir'd
In flames; in his rich Nest was fir'd.
None ever greater dy'd!
He the Dutch-Navy, with one Ship, defi'd.
He stood the mark of the whole War!
Until our Navy were secur'd from fear.

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Then from his Ship did Smoke and flames arise!
What nobler fame
Can add to Mountagu's great Name,
Than to fall England's Boast, and Sacrifice?

Muse! thou that noble Dame hast crown'd with Bayes,
That did this princely Fabrick raise.
The Theme will rich requitals give,
If thou so long as she shall live.
Inroll'd in Fame's Records, then thou wilt last
'Till Time be past:
Till Death
Shall stop the Worlds last breath;

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Till all its wind be gone
And vanish in the tempest of a groan.
Thou now must sing another Name,
That can perfume the breath of Fame.
That can command all praise,
And with eternal verdure bless thy Bayes.
Whose merits like her Eyes do shine
Whose Beauty's, like her Soul, Divine,
'Tis, happy Lord, thy matchless Katharine!
So much cœlestial fire
Shines in her Eyes, as may inspire
A narrower Soul than mine,
To be Prophetick and Divine.
Hence I declare, none ever was or is,
Nor shall be more inricht with bliss,
Than she, and Thou, and thine.
Were not my Theme another thing;
Oh! how would I her beauties sing?
Ere long,
That glorious Subject shall imploy my Song.
Till when the Reader may,
By these faint glimpses ghess at day.
But ah! it is not meet,
Thy Lady should lie in so course a sheet!

Each motion has a grace;
Her Presence charms at once, and does amaze.
Eyes heav'nly bright;
Where Joy, and Love are gilt with Light.
Complexion such,
As Art could never touch:
Nor Nature yet has shown,
But here alone.

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As Lillies white, dew-drencht as soon as born;
And clear as Blushes of the rising morn.
Fresh as when Peaches first their blooms disclose,
Sweet as the Bud, new brought to bed o'th' Rose.
And yet—Who would believe this curious Cabinet,
Than Chrystal clearer, and more rich than Gold,
Is scarcely fit for th' Jewel, that it does infold?

Than Lyndsey's Bertye what can greater be;
True Off-spring of great Vere and Willoughby?
Valour and Loyalty attend each Name;
Pretending equal claim
Fruitful in Generals is their fate,
Or in great Officers of State;

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And must this praise command;
The Berties ready are to bring
One of their House, to serve their King;
With a Battoon, or a White-staff in hand.