University of Virginia Library

Again my Muse—Nor fear the steepy Flight,
Pursue the Fury thro the Realms of Night;
Explore the Depth of Hell, the Secret Cause,
Whence the New Scheme of Moderation rose.

Now Faction re-assum'd her Native Throne,
Which prostrate Fiends with awful Homage own;
A Crown of eating Flame her Temples bound,
Darting a blew malignant Radiance round.
An Iron Scepter in her Hand she bore
Emblem of Vengeance and destructive Pow'r.
A bloody Canopy hung o'er her Head,
Where the four falling Empires are pourtray'd.
Monarchs depos'd beneath her Foot-stool lie,
And all around it Hell and Anarchy.
Whilst thus she tow'ring sat, the Subject Train
With Shouts proclaim'd the Triumphs of her Reign.
Then they the Chaos sung, and Nature's Jars,
How the first Atoms urg'd their Medly Wars.
How Civil Discord, and Intestine Rage,
Have boil'd in ev'ry Nation, ev'ry Age.
They sung divided Albion's hapless State,
Her Clashing Senate's Feuds, her lab'ring Church's Fate.
And, as her coming Ruin they exprest,
A sullen Rapture swell'd in ev'ry Breast.
For such the Bent of their distorted Will,
Only to know Delight in Thoughts of Ill.

But on a sudden, Lo! descending flew
A Meagre Ghost, which soon the Fury knew;
Cethego newly Dead, her Darling Pride,
Whose firm unwav'ring Faith she long had try'd:
Long in her secret Councils had retain'd,
By which her Empire o'er our Isle she gain'd.
No sooner was arriv'd the welcome Guest,
But him in soothing Terms she thus addrest.

Hail best belov'd of all my Sons, receive
What Praise, what Joy these gloomy Realms can give.
For 'tis to thy successful Arts I owe
My Reign above, my Triumph here below.

This said, th'unbodied Shade obsequious kneel'd,
Struck with Amazement, and with Rapture fill'd.
O Mighty Queen! Permit me to adore
Thy Awful Shrine, thy all-informing Pow'r,
Whose nearer Influence my Breast inspires
With glorious Rage, and mischievous Desires.
'Twas in thy Cause I sunk a mouldring Frame,
Unequal to the hardy Task of Fame.
But still my Mind, releas'd from mortal Pains,
Her innate Faculty of Ill retains.
More he had said, but the surrounding Throng,
Impatient of Delay, pursu'd their Noisy Song.

Mean time the Fiend revolving in her Thought
The mighty Change Cethego's Death had wrought,
Resolv'd at length to summon to her Aid
Each Plotting Devil, each Seditious Shade.
She gave the Signal, and a dreadful Sound
Ran bellowing thro all th'Abyss profound.

Then thus she eas'd her anxious Soul—
O dearest Friends! O faithful Ministers!
Ye mutual Partners of my Joys and Cares;
New Ways, new Means my restless Thoughts imploy,
How Albion to reduce, her Peace destroy.
Long have I labor'd, but Alas! in vain,
For now succeeds the Heavenly Anna's Reign;
Who watchful guards a Stubborn Peoples Good,
By Fears not stagger'd, nor by Force subdu'd.
Such are the Gifts of her Capacious Mind,
Where Justice, Mercy, Piety are join'd.
As Motion, Light and Heat combin'd in one,
Make up the glorious Essence of the Sun.
But still She Mortal is, nor will I cease,
'Till my Revenge be crown'd with wish'd Success.

First then, suppose we should devest the Throne
Of Friends, whose Souls are kindred to her own.
Celsus disgrac'd, Hortensio next appears,
Whose Vigilance still baffles all my Cares;
To whom by Right of Ancestry belong
A Loyal Heart, and a Perswasive Tongue.
Now Plots are form'd, and Publick Tempests rowl,
He boasts a strange unshaken strength of Soul.
Fearless against their Foes the Church sustains,
Alike their Friendship and their Hate disdains;
Disdains their Clamour and Seditious Noise,
Secure in the Applauding Senate's Voice.
Of Noble Stem, in whose Collat'ral Lines
Virtue with equal Force and Lustre shines.
When Suada Pleads, Success attends the Cause,
Suada the Glory of the British Laws.
Not the fam'd Orators of Old were heard
With more attentive Awe, more deep Regard,
When thronging round them, their charm'd Audience hung
On the attacking Musick of their Tongue.
Nor Hell to Lælio can her Praise refuse,
Whose Worth deserves his own recording Muse;
Who in Sophia's Court with just Applause,
Maintain'd his Sov'reign's Rights, his Country's Cause.
For 'tis in him, with Anguish, that I find
All the Endowments of a Gen'rous Mind,
Whate'er is Great and Brave, whate'er Refin'd.
For 'tis in him Fame doubly does commend
An active Patriot, and a faithful Friend.
Then from his near Attendance be remov'd
Urbano, tho by all admir'd and lov'd:
Tho his sweet Temper and obliging Port,
Become his Office, and adorn the Court.
He seems by Nature form'd Mankind to please,
So Free, so unconstrain'd in his Address,
Improv'd by ev'ry Vertue, ev'ry Grace.
Senato too, who bravely does deride
Sempronia's little Arts, and Female Pride;
Whose lofty Look, and whose Majestick Mien
Confess the tow'ring God-like Soul within.
A Speaker of unparallel'd Renown,
Long in the Senate, long in Council known.
Ally'd to Celsus by the Noblest Claim,
By the same Principles, by Worth the same.
Old as he is, still firm his Heart remains,
And dauntless his declining Frame sustains.
So, pois'd on its own Base, the Center bears
The Nodding Fabrick of the Universe.

Be these, and such as these, discharg'd from Court,
The Better Genii that the Crown support.
Then, in their stead, let Mod'rate Statesmen reign,
Practise their new pretended Golden Mean.
A Notion undefin'd in Virtue's Schools,
Unrecommended by her sacred Rules.
A Modern Coward Principle, design'd
To stifle Justice and unnerve the Mind.
A Trick by Knaves contriv'd, impos'd on Fools,
But scorn'd by Patriots and exalted Souls:
For Mod'rate Statesmen, like Camelions, wear
A diff'rent Form in ev'ry diff'rent Air.
They stick at nothing to secure their Ends,
Caress their Enemies, betray their Friends.
Their Medly Temper, their amphibious Mind
Is fraught with Principles of every kind;
Nor ever can from Stain and Error free,
Assert its Native Truth, and Energy.
As the four Elements so blended were
In their first Chaos, so united there,
That since they ne'er could fully be disjoin'd,
Each retains something of each other's kind.
Nor this is wholly Air, nor that pure Flame,
But still in both some Atoms are the same.

Let Jano, second of this Trimming Band,
Next to Volpone deck'd with Honors stand.
Like him for secret Policy renown'd,
Like him with all the Gifts of Cunning crown'd.
None better can the Jarring Senate guide,
Or lure the flying Camp to either side.
Of an invet'rate old Fanatick Race,
Of canting Parents, sprung this Child of Grace.
In show a Tory, but a Whig in Heart;
For Saints may safely act the Sinners Part.
Once he was ours, and will be ours again,
For Art to stifle Nature strives in vain:
For ev'ry thing, when from its Center born,
Still thither tends, still thither will return.
Let him with these Accomplishments supply
Hortensio's steddy Faith, and Loyalty.
Bruchus, for he has Wealth to buy a Place,
Shall wear Urbano's Key, his Post disgrace.
A Worthy Son, in whom collected shine
The Follies of his mad and Ideot Line.
Lord of the woful Countenance, whose Skin
Seems sear'd without, and putrify'd within.
A Dapper Animal, whose Pigmy size
Provokes the Ladies Scorn, and mocks their Eyes.
But Balls and Musick are his greatest Care,
So willing is the Wretch to please the Fair.
'Tis strange, that Men, what Nature has deny'd,
Should make their only Aim, their only Pride.
Let Britono, who from the Parent Moon
Derives his Welsh Descent directly down,
Succeed Senato in his High Command,
And bear the Staff of Honour in his Hand.
A flutt'ring empty Fop, that ev'ry Night,
Sits laughing loud, and jesting in the Pit,
Whilst a surrounding Croud of Whores and Bawds,
His spritely Converse, and his Wit applauds.
An Atlas proper to sustain the Weight
Of an incumber'd, and declining State.
Let these, as useful Tools, a while possess
The Court-Preferments, and indulge their Ease.
But they shall fly, like Mists, before the Sun,
When my Design's to full Perfection grown,
Exert their Power, and make the ruin'd World my own.

When thus the Fury had her Scheme display'd,
Assenting Hell a low Obeisance paid.

Molech, Protector of the Papal Chair,
Author of Massacres and Christian War,
Was now convinc'd that Sanguinary Laws
Could ne'er the Reformation's Growth oppose,
Could ne'er in Albion's Church advance his Cause.
He therefore urg'd with his old constant Hate,
By Mod'rate Means consents to work her Fate.
He finds how soon by Toleration's Aid,
Her Power is weaken'd, and her Rights betray'd.
Nor doubts Occasional Conformity
Will by degrees her Essence quite destroy.
Then Satan, Prince of the Fanatick Train,
Who form'd the Conduct of their glorious Reign,
Approv'd the Scheme, not hoping to restore
His Subjects to their late unbounded Pow'r.
For well he knew their Avarice and Pride
Had wean'd the Bankrupt Nation from their side.
But these Auspicious Moderation Times,
By not detecting, sanctify their Crimes;
By baffling Justice, and eluding Law,
Make Vice insult, and Sin triumphant grow;
Nay, such th'Effects of Moderation are,
The Guilty to reward, as well as spare.
Hence Foes to Prelacy are clad in Lawn,
Hence Rebels are the Fav'rites of the Throne.
What could they more desire, than thus to pass
The blest Remainder of their happy Days,
Fatted with Plunder, and dissolv'd in Ease?
Nor Belial, th'Atheist's Patron, could complain,
For Moderation would enlarge his Reign,
Where all unpunish'd talk, and live profane;
Where Irreligion Providence denies,
Nor dreads the Laws of Earth, nor Thunder of the Skies.
Mammon, the Trader's and the Courtier's God,
No sooner heard the Project, but allow'd;
For hence his Vot'ries uncontroul'd might live,
And endless Frauds commit, and endless Bribes receive.
But most Cethego the Design approves,
Who dead and living in Mæander's moves.
He knew how he deluded hapless James,
By the same wily Arts, and subtle Schemes.
Proposes then, that he alone be sent,
To execute the Fury's New Intent.

When he had ended, thus he soon replies:
Blest be the Shade, that can so well advise,
On thee thy Goddess smiles, on thee relies.
Fly, nimbly to thy Native Soil repair,
Urge and inforce the well-form'd Counsel there.
Occasion favours, the Cabal is met
At thy own Mansion, thy belov'd Retreat,
The Muses Darling Theme, the Graces Seat.
There Clodio's and Sigillo's Anxious Thoughts
Are brooding o'er Imaginary Plots.
Whilst Bibliopolo with his aukward Jests
Deserves his Dinner, and diverts the Guests.
Bathilio, in his own unborrow'd Strains,
Young Sacharissa's Angel Form profanes:
Whilst her dull Husband, sensless of her Charms,
Lies lumpish in her soft encircling Arms.
For he to Wisdom makes a grave Pretence,
But wants, alas! his Father's Depth of Sense.
Howe'er supplying all Defects of Wit,
He shews a true Fanatick Zeal and Heat.

She spoke—the Spectre in a Moment gains
Altropia's Balmy Air, the Flow'ry Plains.
At his Approach the Dome's Foundation shook,
When 'midst their Revels rushing in he broke.
Involv'd in Wreaths of Smoak, a while he stood,
Seeming at distance an unshapen Cloud.
But soon, the Cloud ascending to the Skies,
He manifest was seen before their Eyes.
Horror and Guilt shook ev'ry Conscious Breast,
But Bibliopolo most his Fears exprest,
Fainting he tumbled—Pass we o'er the rest.
Clodio alone, fix'd and unmov'd appear'd,
And what the Phantom said, undaunted heard.
Forbear, my Friends, your hot Persuits restrain,
Behold your lov'd Cethego once again.
From Faction's dark unbottom'd Cell I come,
Fraught with Britannia's Fate, and final Doom.
For, meditating Vengeance in her Mind,
At length a finish'd Plan she has design'd.
Nor doubts by mod'rate Methods to obtain,
What she by rougher Arts has sought in vain,
That Whigs should triumph in a Tory Reign.

Thus he began, and then proceeds to tell
What Faction had before reveal'd in Hell.
Clodio was raptur'd, and in Terms like these,
His Joy and Approbation did express.
Since thy divided State permits, be thou,
As once a Friend, a Guardian Genius now.
Give us to execute this grand Design,
Thine be the Conduct, and the Glory thine.
Attempts that often baffle human Care,
By aiding Spirits soon effected are;
Their Knowledg in immediate Intuition lies,
Nor does, like ours, from long Deductions rise.

Pleas'd with this Answer, the retiring Ghost
Condens'd the ambient Air, and in a Cloud was lost.

Here cease thy Satyr, Muse, and form thy Tongue
To louder Numbers, and Heroick Song:
Here celebrate, unbyass'd as thou art,
The Triumphs of Sempronia's other Part,
Nor let her stain the Hero's high Desert.

Now the Imperial Eagle hung her Head,
Drooping she mourn'd, her wonted Thunder fled.
Now was she fitted for a foreign Yoke,
Her Scepter nodded, her Dominion shook.
Such was the tott'ring State of antient Rome,
When conq'ring Hannibal pronounc'd her Doom.
When yet the fatal Capua was unknown,
That blasted all the Laurels Cannæ won.
Where shall she Succour seek? or whither fly?
Shall she for ever in Confusion lie?
Shall the first Kingdom of the Christian World
Be un-reliev'd, in endless Ruin hurl'd?
Not so! Her Aid Auspicious Anna brings,
Anna the Angel of unhappy Kings.
She sends Camillo with an English Force,
To stem the Ravaging Invader's Course.
France and Bavaria now in vain combine,
In vain their Fierce unnumbred Legions joyn.
In vain the Thunderbolts of War oppose;
Eugenio and Camillo are their Foes.
Like Cæsar, both for Stratagems renown'd,
Like Alexander, both with Martial Fury crown'd.

At length the great decisive Day drew near,
On which alone depended all the War.
At length the Fight began, the Cannon roar'd,
Nor knew the Empire yet her Sov'reign Lord.
But soon Camillo with resistless Arms,
With double Rage, the Hostile Troops alarms;
The Troops that thought no Valor match'd their own,
Till English Courage bore them headlong down.
Before his conqu'ring Sword they vanquish'd fly,
Or in the Field, or in the Danube die.
The Danube reeking, ran a Purple Flood,
Swell'd and distain'd with Deluges of Blood.
O were I Poet equal to my Theme!
The future World should wond'ring read this Stream,
Where many Thousand Warriors more were slain,
Or than on Xanthus Banks, or the Pharsalian Plain:
Tho these to all Exploits are far prefer'd,
One by the Grecian, one the Roman Bard.
Hence is the Empire to it self restor'd,
Revolting Nations recognize their Lord.
Lewis no more shall Godlike Titles claim,
Nor Europe aw'd and trembling dread his Name.
Hence a new Scene of Happiness appears,
A long Successive Train of Golden Years.
So sav'd Demetrius the Athenian State,
Oppress'd by Foes, and sunk with adverse Fate.
No soonsr was the bloody Battel won,
But all his Fame with Adoration own;
But on the mighty Victor they bestow'd
The sacred Stile and Honours of a God.
But tho no Altars we profanely raise,
But tho a less, we pay a juster Praise;
All but the blind Idolatry intend,
Which ridicules the glorious Worth it would commend.

When with his Eastern Spoils returning Home,
Augustus enter'd his applauding Rome,
Virgil and Horace waited on his Fame,
Glad to record the Muses Patron's Name;
And well could they in-ever living Strains,
Describe his Triumphs, and reward his Pains.
But modern Heroes, tho as truly brave
As those of old, not equal Poets have.
No Virgils now, nor Horaces to raise
Trophies proportion'd to their deathless Praise.
An Addison perhaps, or Tate may write;
Volpone pays them for their Venal Wit.
But since my Muse, warm'd with a gen'rous Flame,
Unbrib'd would eternize Camillo's Name;
Let him accept such Homage as she brings,
Nor think that wholly uninspir'd she sings.

But, Goddess, still one Labor more remains,
Still Nereo claims thy Tributary Strains;
Tune thy Harmonious Voice to Nereo's Praise,
A Subject pregnant with immortal Lays.
'Tis he extends the Heav'nly Anna's Reign
High as the Stars, unbounded as the Main.
'Tis he, whose Valour the Batavian Wars
Inur'd to Glory from his greener Years.
'Tis he La Hogue's opposing Ord'nance bore,
Nor fear'd the Lightning Blasts, nor Thunders roar.
'Tis he with Scipio, Darling of our Isle,
From vanquish'd Vigo forc'd the Indian Spoil.
'Tis he the Straits Defence so lately storm'd,
A Town by Nature fortify'd and arm'd.
'Tis he, unequal far in Force, o'ercame
A Fleet secure of Conquest and of Fame,
A Fleet by vast Expence for War prepar'd,
At once the Spaniards Terror and their Guard.
For what can English Bravery withstand?
When Nereo or Camillo do command,
It vindicates the Sea and triumphs o'er the Land.
'Tis he Detraction's baleful Breath has born,
But with a Noble and Heroick Scorn.
For let his Foes this Just Monition have,
Envy's the Coward's Homage to the Brave.
So Aristides long with Malice strove,
Nor could his Vertue win a Factious People's Love.