Halifax, and Lord Somers. But there is certainly upon the whole, Strong Senfe, much vigorous Turn · of Fancy, and many happy and spirited Touches of Wit and Pleafantry in this vehement Satire.

AY, Goddess Mufe, for thy All-fearching Eyes Can Traytors trace thro' ev'ry dark Disguise, Can penetrate intriguing Statefmens Hearts, Their deepest Plots, and all their wily Arts; Say how a fierce Cabal combin'd of late, Employ their anxious Thoughts t'embroil the State; What angry Pow'r inspires 'em to complain In Anna's gentle and propitious Reign.

FACTION, a restlefs and repining Fiend, Curdles their Blood, and gnaws upon their Mind; Off-fpring of Chaos, Enemy to Form, By whofe deftructive Arts the World is torn. She taught the Giants to attempt the Sky, And Jove's avenging Thunder to defy; She rais'd the Hand that ftruck the fatal Blow, Which martyr'd Jove's Vicegerent here below; She ftill pursues him with relentless Hate, Arraigns his Mem'ry, and infults his Fate. 'Tis the, that wou'd for ev'ry flight Offence Depofe a true hereditary Prince;

That would Ufurpers for their Treafon crown, Till Time and Vengeance drag them headlong down,

And exil'd Monarchs reaffert their rightful Throne.

No Conftitution in the World can boast

A Scheme of Laws more rational more just,

Sway; }

Than England's are; where fov'reign, kingly Sway,
Is mixt and qualify'd with fuch Allay,
That freeborn Subjects willingly obey.
Nor yet fo bafely mixt, as that our Kings
Are only Tools of State, and pow'rless Things.

For

For tho' indeed they can have no Pretence
With fundamental Contracts to difpenfe,

(For that were Conqueft) yet, thofe Rights maintain'd, Prerogative is high and unreftrain'd.

In equal Distance from Extremes we move,
No Tyranny nor Commonwealth approve.
Nor Tyranny, that favage brutal Pow'r,
Which not protects Mankind, but does devour.
Nor Commonwealth, a Monster, Hydra State,
Whose many Heads threaten each other's Fate,
And load their Body with unweildy Weight;
But a fucceffive Monarchy we own,

With all the lawful Sanctions of a Crown.

Such was our old eftablifh'd English Frame,
Which might have flourith'd Ages yet the fame,
But for this envious Fiend, who still prepares
To fow the Seeds of long inteftine Wars.
Near the imperial Palaces remains,
Where nothing now but Defolation reigns,
(Fatal Prefage of Monarchy's Decline,
And Extirpation of the regal Line!)
There stands an antique venerable Pile,
Whofe Lords were once the Glories of our Ifle:
But now it mourns, that Race of Heros dead,
And droops, and hangs its melancholy Head.
This Pile (howe'er for better Ends defign'd,
An Emblem of the noble Founder's Mind)
Is Faction's Refuge, where the keeps her Court,
Where all her darling Votaries refort.

Here, when their glorious Naffau fell, they met
On new Refolves and Measures to debate.

}

Say then my Muse, their secret Thoughts display, Expose their dark Defigns to open Day.

This grand Cabal was held at Dead of Night, (For Ghofts and Furies always fhun the Light) Defpair, and Rage, and Sorrow kept 'em dumb, Till* Moro rofe (the Mafter of the Dome)

A ftamm'ring, hot, conceited, laughing Lord; Who prov'd his Want of Senfe in ev'ry Word, When hifling thus, his fetter'd Tongue broke loose, I take it as an Honour that you've chose

For this Debate your humble Servant's House. The House henceforward fhall recorded stand 'As the Palladium of the finking Land,

' And I to future Ages be renown'd

}

"The Party's Bulwark, and the Nation's Mound. "Now Nauffau, Naffau, the immortal Nauffau's gone, We juftly his untimely Herfe bemoan.

"O that I could reftore his Life again!

For who can bear a Womans fervile Chain ?'
Full of fuch Stuff, he would have giv'n it Vent,
But that black Ario's Fierceness did prevent.
*A Scotch feditious, unbelieving Priest,

The brawny Chaplain of the Calves-Head-Feaft,
Who first his Patron, then his Prince betray'd,
And does that Church, he's fworn to guard, invade,
Warm with rebellious Rage, he thus began,.
'To talk of calling Life again is vain.

Peace to the Glorious Dead: We juftly mourn
His Ashes, ever facred be his Urn:
But here, my Lord, we are together met
To vow to Anna's Sceptre endless Hate.
For fince my Hope of Winton is expir'd,
• With juft Revenge and Indignation fir'd
I'll write, and talk, and preach her Title down,
My thund'ring Voice shall shake her in the Throne;
6 Do you the Sword, and I'll engage the Gown.'
A Pause enfu'd, till t Pariarcho's Grace
Was pleas'd to rear his huge unweildy Mafs;
A Mass unanimated with a Soul,

Or else he'd ne'er be made fo vile a Tool;
He'd ne'er his Apoftolick Charge prophane,
And Atheists and Fanatics Cause maintain;

* Dr. Burnet, Bishop of Sarum. ‡ Dr. Tennison Archbp. Canterbury.

At

At length, as from the Hollow of an Oak,
The bulky Primate yawn'd, and Silence broke.
I much approve my Brother's zealous Heat,
Such is the noble Ardour of the Great,

On which Succefs and Praise will ever wait. "But I'm untaught in Politician's Schools, "Unpractis'd in their Arts and ftudied Rules, By which they make the Wisest of us Fools; "The Task be therefore yours to forge fome Plot, • And I'll be ready with my trusty Vote, 'Nor e'er give your Commands a second Thought. • Tho' I were mute, you must confess I've stood Fixt as a Rock amidst the beating Flood. • Witnefs St. Asaph's and St. David's Caufe, • Where obftinately I tranfgrefs'd the Laws, And did in either Cafe Injustice show,

"Here fav'd a Friend, there triumph'd o'er a Foe.'
Then old Myfterio* fhook his Silver Hairs,
Loaded with Learning, Prophecy, and Years,
Whom factious Zeal to fierce unchriftian Strife
Had hurry'd in the laft Extream of Life...
Strange Dotage! thus to facrifice his Ease,
When Nature whispers Men to crown their Days
With sweet Retirement and religious Peace!
Foreknowledge ftruggled in his heaving Breaft
E'er he in these dark Terms his Fears expreft.
The Stars roll adverfe, and malignant fhine,
Some dire Portent! fome Comet I divine!
I plainly in the Revelations find

That Anna to the Beast will be inclin❜d.

Howe'er, though she and all her Senate frown,
I'll wage eternal War with Packington,

'And venture Life and Fame to pull him down.'
As he went on his Tongue a trembling feiz'd,
And all his Pow'r and Utterance fupprefs'di
So when the Sibyl felt th' infpiring God,
She raving loft her Voice, and speechless stood.

Dr. Lloyd, Bishop of Worcester.

Un

Unhappy Church, by fuch Ufurpers sway'd!
How is thy primitive Purity decay'd?

How are thy Prelates chang'd from what they were,
When Laud or Sancroft fill'd the facred Chair?
Laud, tho' with some traduc'd, with Zeal adorn'd,
Whilft Patriarcho is despis'd and scorn'd,
Shall be by me for ever prais'd, for ever mourn'd.
Sancroft's unblemish'd Life, divinely pure,
In its own heav'nly Innocence secure,

The Teeth of Time, the Blafts of Envy, shall endure.

When for th' establish'd Faith they should contend, Meekness and chriftian Charity pretend; But with a blind and unbecoming Rage, For Schifm and Toleration they engage; With strange Delight and Eagerness espouse Occafional Conformists fhameful Caufe, Opprefs thy Friends, and vindicate thy Foes, Thy guardian Laws to weaken they combine, And tamely thy effential Rights refign; The ancient Truths with modern Gloffes blend, Destroying the Religion they would mend.

So have they broke thy Pale and Fences down; Such Arts have Christianity o'erthrown: For Scepticism, that now triumphant reigns, Condemns her Captive to inglorious Chains, Where the forlorn, contemn'd, defpairing lies, Nor hopes a Refuge, but her native Skies.

But, Mufe, proceed, nor dwell on Thoughts too long,

That would inflame thy fatirifing Song.

*Clodio with kindling Emulation heard What this Triumvirate of Priefts declar'd.

Marquis of Wharton.

2

Clodie,