University of Virginia Library

To the Earl of Portland, on his Embassy to France.

What! Shall each Patron's ripening Smile infuse
A kindly Warmth to each officious Muse?
Shall all be prostitute to Dorset's Name,
Glutted with Praise, and surfeited with Fame?
Shall Spencer peep abroad? and Ormond shine?
Shall Sommers sparkle too, and flame in ev'ry Line?
And not one Muse for sacred Portland's Fame,
To grace his Triumphs, and record his Name?
O cou'd I breathe so soft, so sweet a Tune!
As Phœbus' self might hear, as Phœbus' self might own;
I'd summon all my Fury, all my Lays,
I'd riot on thy Charms, and wanton on thy Praise.
But see! the Bards stand awfully around,
And none e'er yet profan'd the sacred Ground:
With conscious Fear they curb their glowing Fire;
Yet what they dare not praise, they must admire.
Tho most to William, much to you we owe,
In him's our Safety, and our Joy in you:
For ever happy shall we, must we be,
Whilst Albion has her King, and Albion's King has thee.
But which of all thy long, thy numerous Train,
Which Virtue glitters most, and crowns the noble Scene?
A thousand thronging Graces justle there,
A thousand Virtues croud and struggle to appear?
Which then of all thy Virtues can I chuse,
To kindly please a wanton sporting-Muse?
Abash'd, like me, the Phrygian Paris lies,
And knows not where to fix his golden Prize.
When Juno tempts with an alluring Bait,
Throws all her gaudy Treasure at his Feet;
When Pallas scorning little sordid Gain,
Would fill and croud his teeming full-fraught Brain;
When Venus crown'd with ev'ry charming Grace,
Comes dazling in his Eyes, and lightning in his Face;
He knows not which is greatest, which is most,
Unfixt, unsettled, variously he's tost,
In Raptures drown'd, in Admiration lost.
But still of all, of all that come in view,
'Tis chiefly yours to be sincere and true.
Fain would I speak of thy well-guarded Trust,
And where I can't be lavish, wou'd be just.
How much he'as suffer'd, and how much deserv'd,
A Faith so often try'd, so well preserv'd:
True to your Trust, and faithful to your Care,
In ev'ry Place you shine, but dazzle here.
In France with equal Lustre you appear,
They all adore your Wisdom and your Care:
Extoll'd by ev'ry Tongue, they all commend
The Prince's Darling, and the Nation's Friend.
William himself thou dost out-do in this,
For he's the Nation's Friend, but thou art his.
Yet Holland, claim not thou an equal Share,
Tho with thee Portland suck'd his Infant Air;
To Albion then thy weaker part resign,
Nor fondly boast that Portland's Virtue's thine:
What tho from thee there sprang his antient Line?
True British Graces in the Hero shine,
True British Virtues crown and stamp him all Divine.
As Holland too, may William hither bring;
But Holland's Prince is lost in Albion's King.