i A1r

Pindarick Poem
on the Happy
Of His moſt Sacred
James II.
His Illuſtrious Conſort
Queen Mary.

By Mrs. Behn.

A coat of arms with a lion on the left, a unicorn on the right and a crown on top. Around the central coat of arms, it reads, Honi Soit Qui Mal Y Pense. At the bottom, it reads, Dieu Et Mon Droit.


•Dieu•et mon•droit•

Printed by J. Playford for Henry Playford, near the
Temple-Church: 16851685.

ii A1v
1 A2r 1

A Pindarick Poem on the Coronation.


Ariſe my Muſe! Advance thy Mourning Head!

And ceaſe lamenting for the Mighty Dead!

Quench all the Funeral Tapers in your Tears,

And as the fainting flames expire,

Let your ſoft falling Tides retire;

While you behold the Proſpect that appears

In the vaſt Glories of ſucceeding years!

Advance! and throw thy fable weeds away!

And ſtring thy Lyre for ſome Harmonious Lay,

Worthy the Celebration of this Mighty Day!

Come ye ſoft Angels all, and lend your aid,

Ye little Gods that tun’d the Spheres,

That wanton’d, ſung, and ſmil’d and play’d,

When the firſt World was by your Numbers made;

And Danc’d to order by your Sacred Ayrs!

Such Heavenly Notes as Souls Divine can warm,

Such wond’rous touches as wou’d move

And teach the Bleſt to Sing and Love!

And even the Anger of a God wou’d Charm!

O Tune it high, and ſtrike with bold ſucceſs,

But ſweet and gentle, every ſtrain,

As that which once taught by the Charming Swain,

By its ſoft force the Spirit diſpoſeſt

From the great King and Prophets raging Breaſt.

II. 2 A2v 2


Yet when thou woud’ſt the Royal hero ſing,

Thy Godlike Patron, and thy Godlike King!

Rough as a uſeful ſtorm make him appear!

Or as that welcome Eaſtern Wind,

By which th’ Almighty Pow’r deſign’d

Th’ Egyptian Locuſt from the Land to bear.

Reſolv’d as the firſt Meſſenger of Heav’n,

To whom the great Command was giv’n

The firſt Born Rebells to chaſtiſe;

Who, while the flaming Sword he bore,

’Twas only to declare his Pow’r,

And unuſurpt maintain his Paradice.

Paint him like Mars when Battails were in view,

And no ſoft Venus cou’d his Soul ſubdue;

All bent for nobler ſpoil than Beauties Charms,

And loos’d a while from Sacred Laura’s Arms.

Laura! the Chaſt! the Pious! and the Fair!

Glorious, and kind as Guardian-Angels are,

Earths darling Goddeſs! and Heav’ns tend’reſt care!


But oh my Muſe, when e’re thou do’ſt preſume

To touch on ſo Divine a Theam,

Let it be Nature all, thou do’ſt indite,

That thoſe who read in Ages diſtant hence

May feel the very Zeal with which I write;

And by th’ unlabour’d Verſe be warm’d to tender ſenſe:

That future Lovers when they hear,

Your all-ador’d and wond’rous character;

(For ſure the mighty Laura’s Name will Live

As long as Time its ſelf ſurvive)

May find the Holy Paſſions you inſpire,

Such awful flame, ſuch hopeleſs pain,

Wander and trill through every trembling Vein;

And Bleſs the Charmer that Creates the Fire!

Bleſs the ſoft Muſe that cou’d expreſs

Beauty and Majeſty in ſuch a dreſs,

As all the World Adoring ſhall confeſs!

Oh 3 B1r 3

Oh fond ſeducer of my Nobler part,

Thou ſoft inſinuating Muſe,

If ever inſpiration did impart

The Soul of Muſick or Poetick Art;

Teach me, oh teach me how to chuſe

Fancy for ſo Divine a Theam, O thou inchanting Muſe!


The Glorious --04-15Ides of April now were come,

And Heav’n all open’d to ſurvey

The Mighty Triumphs of the Bleſſed Day:

And Earth had dreſt her ſelf in all her Bloom,

And ſent abroad a univerſal joy!

Ten Thouſand Angels fill’d the glitt’ring Air;

And all was Harmony above,

O’re all the Azure plains the Golden Cherubs move;

And Seraphins were chanting every where,

Gay Robes of Light the young Divinities put on,

And ſpread their ſhining Locks to outvie the Sun.

On Pillows form’d of yielding Air they lye,

Plac’d in the mid-way Regions of the Sky;

On Jury Lutes and Silver Harps they play’d,

And gave the Sacred Pair a Heav’nly Serenade:

Call’d forth the wond’ring Crowd, the Beaut’ous throng,

While all the Hoſt of Heav’n attended on the Song.


Awake, Oh Royal Sir! Oh Queen, ador’d, awake!

For whom our Triumphs and our Songs we make;

The ſleepleſs Crowds their early duties ſhow,

Th’ attending Hierarchies of Angels bow;

All Heav’n and Earth with one united joy

Expect the mighty buſineſs of this coming Day:

All Languiſh for its bleſt approach――but You,

You to whom Glory’s can no Luſter give,

Whoſe Beams, like the expanded Sun,

Adorn what e’re they deign to ſhine upon;

But no exalt addition can receive.

Thou hero of th’ expecting world ariſe!

Shake off the downy pleaſures from thy eyes.

And from the ſofteſt Charms of Love, Ariſe!

From joys too fierce for any ſenſe but Thine

Whoſe Soul, whoſe Faculty’s are all Divine;

B So 4 B1v 4

So Bodies when refin’d, all Heav’n ſurvey,

While feebler Mortals faint with ev’ry ray:

O riſe from the inchanting Raviſher,

Nor liſten to the Muſick of Her Tongue;

Her Angel Eyes, and Voice, ſo conqu’ring are,

Love will make humbler Glory wait too long.


And Thou bright Goddeſs of the Day!

For whom all longing Eyes and Hearts prepare;

Theſe tender panting, thoſe ſoft Tears of Joy,

And with impatient Murm’rings fill the Air;

O Charming Goddeſs of the Day appear!

Full of Thy Bleſt Idea, they diſdain

A vulgar thought to entertain;

Big with Prophetick Joy, they lab’ring wait

To utter Bleſſings wonderful and great;

This day no rough Fatigues of Life ſhall vex,

No more Domeſtick Cares the mind perplex;

All common thoughts are loſt in the vaſt crowd of Joy,

This Jubilee! this Sacred Holy-day!

The Soul reſolves for Mirth and Play.

She leaves all Worldly thoughts behind,

And in Her haſt out-ſtrips the wanton Wind;

Wou’d ev’n her early vows neglect to pay,

But that to Heav’n you guide the way;

When for Your ſafety all agree to Pray.

The Poor Man now forgets his preſſing needs,

No Penury his exalted looks confeſs,

Neglects the Body, while the Soul he feeds

On fancy’d pleaſures ſcarce arriv’d in gueſs.

No ſad Complaints aſcend the Sky’s,

No Nymphs reproach’d in Lovers ſighs,

Or Maid forſaken, bends her lovely eyes.

All with erected Looks ſalute the World!

None bow beneath the Preſſure of a thought,

Unleſs where Envy has her Vipers hurl’d,

And raging Malice even to Madneſs wrought,

They hate the Light that guides the work Divine;

And how’l and gnaſh their Teeth, and ſuffer Hell before their time.

The Brave are glad, and gay, the young rejoyce,

The old in Prayers and Bleſſings lift the Voice;

Virgins the wealth of Flow’ry April bring,

And all the Muſes, and the Angels ſing!

VII. 5 B2r 5


Behold the hero the bleſt Voice obeys,

And like the God of Luſter gilds

With early Beams the Eaſtern Hills,

And by degrees th’ adoring World ſurveys:

So the bright Harneſs he puts on,

And in his hand Divine he takes the Reins,

And with life-giving Rule the God maintains

The Glorious Empire of the Sun.

With eaſe he guides the fiery Courſers round,

And heat, and life, and light, do ſtill abound;

And all things ſmile and thrive that are in Nature found.

Now fiercer Rays of Brightneſs he aſſumes,

And ev’ry Minute do’s inlarge his Beams;

Till to the fartheſt Poles their Influence ſpread,

And ſcatter Plenty where his Glory’s ſhed.

While all the guilty fantôms of the Night

Shrink from the Piercing terror of his Light!

Each coming vulgar-day, the Monarch ſhow’d,

But this more Sacred, views Him all a God!

New youth and vigor fill His Royal Veins,

His Glorious Eyes! young flames adorn;

A new Divinity in His looks, Proclames

That for Eternal Empire He was Born!

’Twas ſo He look’d in Dunkirks bloody field,

When the dull faithleſs Belgians He compell’d;

But when He ſaw th’ ungrateful British Foe advance,

For whom even yet He had a tender ſenſe,

Thus ſpoke! (When, mounted like a Conquering God,

From Rank to Rank the wond’rous Hero Rod!)

Before (ſaid he) mixt Nations We withſtood

Conqueſt, ſcarce worthy our expence of Blood;

Like Gallick onſets, brisk at firſt they ’ppear,

But dare not truſt the event of fiercer War:

’Twas play before, a game We ſmiling won,

Now ’twill be Toyl, and work, not eaſily done;

My dear lov’d Souldiers theſe are Engliſh Men!

Who though they’re forc’d to fly will turn agen;

Stanch to the Scent of War, inur’d to Blood!

Oh happy, if the expenſive flood

Had been defus’d for wretched Englands good!

New Courage to the fainting Troops He gave,

And by His great Example taught ’em to be Brave:

Wonders 6 B2v 6

Wonders the Promis’d Monarch did perform,

And dealt Deſtruction round like a reſiſtleſs ſtorm!


Nor did His forward Gallantry in War

Surmount his Clemency in Peace,

His Captives proudly their ſoft Fetters bear,

And charm’d to an exceſs,

Adore the wonders they beheld,

And kiſt the Sacred Hand that chaſt ’em ore the field.

His early Courage did His Foes convince,

Who now their ſcorn’d Commiſſions tear,

No longer will the Tyrants Enſigns bear;

But Vow Allegiance to their Native Prince.

They ſaw the God of War in ev’ry Grace,

While ſoft Adonis revell’d in His face;

The Goddeſs here, might all her wiſh enjoy,

The rough ſtern Hero, in the Charming Boy!

Such Looks as after Victory He put on,

With ſuch to day the Glitt’ring Monarch ſhone;

Such Grace in Smiles, ſuch ſweetneſs in addreſs,

Awfull as Heav’n, as eaſy of Acceſs;

And Merciful as that, when e’re he can redreſs!

True Repreſenter of the Pow’rs Divine!

Such was the firſt Born-Man,

Heav’n did for an immortal Race deſign,

E’re the firſt bright deluded Maid

To ſenſe of Fear, the Lord of All betray’d;

So look’d the new-form’d wonder, ſo His Reign began!

So the gay Beauties of His World ſurvey’d,

While Heav’n look’d down and ſmil’d, well-pleas’d with what ’thad made.


See the bright Queen forſakes her ſofter joys,

And now prepares for Pomp and Noiſe;

That neceſſary Toyl of the Illuſtrious Great!

Who rarely taſte the Bliſs of ſweet Retreat,

Like Heav’n who neither ſleep nor ſlumber knows,

Short Dreams of Glory make their whole repoſe:

Whatever reſt ſoft Nature do’s deſign,

The Sun, and They, muſt ſtill appear and ſhine!

And now, the more ſurpriſing Light

Breaks from the ſilent Empire of the Night;

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So Venus look’t when from the Seas

The riſing Beauty view’d the world,

When amorous Waves around the Virgin curl’d;

And all the wond’ring Gods with awful pleaſure gaz’d:

All ſigh with Love! all languiſh in their flame,

Yet none his pain preſumes to name;

For oh! the God born Maid from mighty Neptune came.


And now the Nymphs ply all their Female arts

To dreſs Her for Her victory of hearts;

A Thouſand little loves deſcend!

Young waiting Cupids with officious care

In ſmiling order all attend:

This, decks Her Snowy Neck, and that Her Ebon Hair.

The Trophies which the Conquereſs muſt adorn,

Are by the buſie wantons born;

Who at Her Feet the ſhining burdens lay,

The Goddess pleas’d to ſee their Toyls,

Scatters Ten Thouſand Graces from Her Smiles;

While the wing’d Boys catch ev’ry flying Ray.

This bears the valu’d Treaſure of the Eaſt,

And lugs the Golden casket on His Breaſt;

Anothers little hand ſuſtains

The weight of Oriental Chains;

And in the flowing jetty curles

They weave and braid the luced Pearls;

Round Her bright Face their nimble fingers play,

And ev’ry touch gives the young Gods a joy!

They gaze and hov’r round Her wond’rous Eyes,

Where a vaſt Heav’n of Wit and Beauty lies;

They point their Darts, and make their Arrows fine,

From the eternal Rays with which they ſhine;

From Her fair riſing Breaſts ſoft ſighs they take,

To keep young tortur’d Lovers ſtill awake.

From ev’ry Charm and Grace they bear,

Uneaſie wiſhes, and deſpair;

From Her alone the Bankrupt Loves ſupply,

Their rifl’d Quivers with Artillery.

Fatal to All but Her Lov’d-Monarchs heart,

Who of the ſame Divine Materials wrought;

Cou’d equally exchange the dart,

Receive the wound with Life, with Life the wound impart;

And mixt the Soul as gently as the thought:

C So 8 C1v 8

So the Great Thund’rer Semele d’ſtroy’d,

Whil’ſt only Juno cou’d embrace the God!


Behold Her now by Loves and Graces dreſt!

Like the Great Wife of Jove in Venus Ceſt;

Now She may ask whate’re the God can grant,

If ought of Pow’r, or Glory, She can want;

But Heav’n has ſuperſeded all Her care,

And giv’n till it has left no uſe for Pray’r.

No wiſh for Times ſwift Courſers to run back,

To catch one flying minute paſt;

The coming hours, new pleaſures haſt;

Fortune and Nature ſtill agree to make

Each preſent minute gayer than the laſt:

This gives you Empire! while Three Nations pay

Their willing homage to your Scepters ſway.

That gives you Beauty! which without the aid

Of feebler pow’r, Commands and is obey’d!

Bewitching youth do’s over all appear,

So Flow’rs juſt blown, their nobleſt Luſter ſhew,

When ſhining in their Morning dew;

All their freſh Fragrancies they wear.

Almighty Wit and Vertue! Crowns the whole,

In ev’ry look and Feature of your Face,

We may the well-known Excellencies Trace

Of your Diviner Soul!

Though the ſoft Muſick of your Words ſhou’d ceaſe,

Your Charming Eyes wou’d Your great Thoughts confeſs!

Oh Bleſt are they that may at diſtance gaze,

And Inſpirations from Your looks may take,

But how much more their happier Stars they Praiſe,

Who wait, and liſten when you ſpeak!

Mine for no ſcanted bliſs so much I blame,

(Though they the humbleſt Portion deſtin’d me)

As when they ſtint my nobleſt Aim,

And by a ſilent dull obſcurity

Set me at a diſtance, much too far

The Deity to view, or Divine Oracle to hear!

So when the Iſraelites all wond’ring ſtood,

With awful Rev’rence in the vale beneath,

They ſaw from far the Glory’s of the God;

But to approach the Sacred Mount was Death!

His 9 C2r 9

His Dictates by the Holy Prophet came,

’Twas He alone that did the pow’r receive,

To hear th’ Almighty’s voice and live;

It was enough for them below to view the Heav’nly flame.


Not the gay feather’d Chanters of the Air

With earlier Songs ſalute the breaking Day,

Than crowding Hero’s, who to Court repair,

Do hail, and bleſs the Kingdoms Hope and Joy!

And now the gilded Barges wait

The coming of th’ Illustrious Fraight;

So Rich a Prize no Veſſel bleſt before,

But that which the Almighty Saviour bore!

Their Golden Streamers glitter in the Air,

And rufl’d by the ſofter Wind,

(That plays and wantons unconfin’d)

They gently waft the Worlds Peculiar Care.

The ſullen Sea-Gods wond’ring riſe,

Rous’d by the joyful ſhouts and cry’s;

Which from the crowded ſhores aſcend the Sky’s.

They ſhake Their Tridents and the Waves obey,

Dreſs their Blew Locks and flounce along the Sea,

To pay their Tributes to the Greater Deity.

Him, whom ſo oft with wonder they beheld,

With ſlaughter dye the verdant watry field;

When o’re the wild inſatiate flood,

He darted Thunder like an Angry God!

While round Him Death in horrid Triumph lay,

Where ſtorms of winged ruine forc’d their way.

Yet ſtill the ſaving Angel guarded Him;

The Bloody Signets which He wore

Made the Avenger paſs the ſacred Dore,

And ſtill Preſerv’d the faithful gueſt within.

Oh had that Senate, whoſe Ingratitude

The Royal Heir indeavour’d to Exclude;

Beheld His ſingle wonders of that Day,

When o’re the liquid Plain He cut His way;

Through ſhow’rs of Death and Clouds of dark’ning ſmoke,

Like fatal Light’ning the fierce Victor broke,

And kill’d, where e’re He daſht th’ unerring ſtroke;

Instead of Votes againſt His Right and Fame,

They’d rais’d Eternal Altars to His Name!

Ador’d 10 C2v 10

Ador’d Him as a thing Divine,

And made a God of Him before His time!

But they Heav’ns mightieſt Bleſſing did diſown,

And ſtrove (oh baſe reward!) in vain to blaſt His Naval Crown.


The Tritans from the Marvels which they ſaw,

Did Omens of their Future homage draw;

They in the Hero view’d their coming King,

And from Their wonder fell to Worſhipping.

And what before them was to the victor due,

They to the Monarch doubly here renew.

The River Nymphs forſake their native ſtreams,

And make their Court to happier Thames;

Their Pipes of Reeds and ſhelly Muſick bring,

The Tritons play, while the young Naieds ſing;

And all the liſtening ſhore along,

Of Jove! and Juno! was their Song.

Which oftentimes they did rehearſe,

And peans Crown’d the Verſe!


Jove for whom our Alters ſmoke,

Jove, whom Gods and Men invoke;

By whoſe ſole power the laughing year

Rouls round the gilded Hemiſphere;

Who do’ſt its eaſie paces move,

By the ſoft rule of Peace and Love:

Accept what we thy watery Subjects bring,

Oaken Garlands for our King,

Ever Green and flouriſhing!

Which Thy Empire ſhall Proclaim

O’re the Tributary Main;

See the Triumphant wreath’s are dreſt

With all the ſhining Trophies of the Eaſt;

Such as remoteſt ſhores afford,

With which they own and greet their Lord;

By this gay tenure ’tis they hold

Their Rocks of Diamonds, and their Hills of Gold:

And thus acknowledge thus we pay

Great Jove! on this Thy ſolemn Holy day.

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But what at Sacred Juno’s feet

Shall the Adoring Nymphs preſent?

Juno charming, chaſt and ſweet,

The refuge of the Innocent:

The buſineſs of our pious Theames,

Our waking Bliſs, our joy in Dreams;

The Preſident of Vertuous Wives,

The bright example of the fair,

Whence Virgins learn their modeſt lives,

And Saints their pure Devotion there:

And all the Goddeſſes of leſs degree

Take a peculiar Majeſty.

The humble ſoftneſs of a mortal mind,

(Where all the Graces are confin’d)

With every Grandure of a Deity!

The nobleſt Songs from You their Beauties take,

Divinely you reſtore our fainting skill,

Inſpire the chaſt and flowing quill,

Teach Poets how to ſing! and Angels how to ſpeak!

Oh what to Juno ſhall we pay

On this Her ſolemn Holy day!


Ten Thouſand Garlands from the ſtores

Of flowry Aromatick ſhores;

With ſhining Colours newly born

All blooming Beauties of the Morn!

Gather’d before the Delphick God,

Or the ſoft Wind that gently breaths,

Had kiſt the tender Virgin Bud,

Had robb’d the ſweetneſs from their leaves;

In myſtick order theſe ſhall ſpread

The hollow’d ground, where Thou ſhalt tread,

And ſhed their Infant Odours round Thy Sacred head:

Ten Thouſand Hearts all with ſoft wiſhes fill’d,

Chaſt as Thy Boſom, pure as is Thy Fame,

Ten Thouſand Vows from Souls that yield

Eternal Adorations to Thy Name!

Let the contending Merchant ſtrive

For Indian Pearls and Weſtern Ore,

Thoſe raffl’d Toys by which They thrive,

And ſell their ſafties on the ſhore;

D Unvalu’d 12 D1v 12

Unvalu’d trifles to a Power Divine,

To whom a wounded Heart is more

Than all the Ranſackt World has laid before

Upon the Worſhipt ſhrine!

Theſe are the Tributes we devoutly pay

Great Juno on Her ſolemn Holy-day.


While thus the Raviſht Nerieds Sung

The Echoes from the crowded ſhore,

Repeated the glad Muſick o’re;

And all the Banks with Acclamations rung,

Like well-tun’d Vollies with united Peals:

Which after rattle in the diſtant Sky,

Long live our Sacred King and Queen! they cry,

And all the vacant round with joyful murmer fills,

Repeating ſtill the grateful noiſe

As faſt as e’re they could recharge the Voice;

The different ſhoutings of the Throng,

The Female Treble, and the Manly Baſe,

The dead flat Notes of the declining race,

Tun’d to the ſharp ones of the young,

Compleats the nobleſt Muſick of the Day:

And though each bore a different part,

’Twas all one Voice, and one united Heart,

Rejoyc’d, and bleſt the Monarchs all the way.


Behold the Royal Hero on the ſhore!

Voices and Canons now with louder Accents roar;

Wild with their joy, even rudly they expreſs

Its vaſt concern, its vaſt exceſs!

All ſtretch themſelves beyond their native height,

At more advantage to Survey the ſight;

That Glorious ſight which though each day we view,

’Tis every day all Charming, dear, and new,

So on Olimpus top the God appears,

When of his Thunder he diſarms,

And all his atributes of mercy wears

The ſweetneſs of Divine forgiving Charms.

With Smiles he caſts His Gracious Eyes around,

Inſpiring faith from ev’ry Look and Grace,

No Soul ſo dull to ſenſe was found

As not to read its ſafety in His Face.

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Where Fortitude and Bravery ſat

In ſolemn Triumph over Fate,

Where truth in all her honeſt Glory ſhin’d,

That darling vertue of His Godlike mind;

So well His looks, and Soul accord,

The kind Confirmers do confeſs

How like a King! he does profeſs,

How like a god! maintain His word!

O ye fond hapleſs unbelieving few,

Ye Obstinate, ye Stubborn, stiff-neck’d crew;

Who love your fears of inſecurity;

And have like Witches, your infection hurl’d,

To torture and diſeaſe the World;

Come and be cur’d of your blind Sorcery,

That Hell-born Malice which you have expreſt,

And Damn’d your ſelves meerly to damn the reſt;

You, whom no word of King, or God! can calm,

But wreſt ’em both to your convenient ſenſe,

Who like Land Pirates bleſs the Storm,

When the rich Ship-wreck proves your recompence.

By different Kings your Vertues have been try’d,

The Pious! Peaceful! and the Brave! were given,

But ſtill that Hypocrite (ſelf-intereſt) ſway’d,

And you diſlike, becauſe the choice of Heav’n;

So the falſe Jews their faithleſs murmerings ſhow’d,

Rebell’d for change, though Govern’d by their God!


Here let the Royal Pair a while repoſe

Oh thou impatient Muſe!

Though loth as are my Eyes the bliſs to loſe;

Who never yet could ſatisfie their ſight,

Which do’s new life infuſe,

When ever they repeat the true delight.

How oft, how ſilently, alas!

I glide, and hover round the awful place,

Like Fantoms, where their hidden Treaſure lies;

Or hoping Lovers who at diſtance gaze,

And watch the tender Moments of their Miſtreſs Eyes.

How e’re I toil for Life all day,

With what e’re cares my Soul’s oppreſt,

’Tis in that Sun ſhine ſtill I play,

’Tis there my wearied Mind’s at reſt;

But 14 D2v 14

But oh Viciſitudes of Night muſt come

Between the riſing Glories of the Sun!


And now the Royal Robes are on,

But oh! what numbers can expreſs

The Glory of the Sacred Dreſs!

Not the gay Planet, when he’s haſting down,

Flowing and ruddy to his Thetis Bed,

And guilds the Sky with dazling Red:

Nor the ſoft Rays of new-born Light,

Or Heav’n in fancy e’re was form’d ſo bright.

And now a vaſt Illuſtrious Train of Stars

Declares, great Cynthia firſt appears;

Those Stars who rule the Fortune, and the Fate,

Of all the Amorous, Brave, and Great:

For what e’re Merit Nature gives,

’Tis by their influence alone it thrives;

So ſparkling and ſo fair a Train,

Did ne’re attend the Goddeſs o’re the Aerial Plain;

The Conqu’ring Nymphs and Hero’s there,

The Graces and the Worthy’s mingled were;

Each would a noble Song require,

But I have Tun’d my joyful Lyre

Only for Royal Theams;

And the kind Flatterer ſooths my heart,

And will no trembling Note impart

To any Muſick, but the Charming Names

Of Sacred Laura! Sacred James.


She Comes ―― ――

Behold the Badge of Peace and Innocence!

The Ivory Scepter is in Triumph born,

So do’s the Milky way advance

Before the Riſing Morn;

A Hero more than half a God,

Whom all the Graces and the Charms Adorn;

Whom ev’ry Muſe, and Vertue do’s inſpire,

Whom all the Witty, Great, and Good, admire,

Supports the awful Myſtick Rod:

Dorset, whoſe Eyes with all the Beauties ſhone,

Which he in Love, and in Succeſs puts on.

A careleſs 15 E1r 15

A careleſs Grandure, and a Generous Air,

Did over all the Lord of Hearts appear,

Eternal ſoftneſs, and Eternal Wit:

His looks made good to day, all he e’re ſpoke or Write.


The Golden Scepter noble Rutland bore,

In whoſe rich Veins the Royal Purple Springs

From mighty York! whoſe conqu’ring Arms of yore

Could ſway the Fortunes, and the Fates of Kings:

Still to the juſter ſide they brought their Swords,

And many a Glorious field the wond’rous Name Records.

Next view a Hero in His propher Sphere,

While Beauford do’s the Sacred Circle bear,

A Prince! whom Heav’n and Nature form’d to move

The ill-maner’d World to Reverence, and to Love.

A Prince! ſo truly brave, ſo greatly good,

What when in after Ages Men would Fame,

Some future Hero with the Nobleſt Name,

Whoſe conſtant Loyalty undaunted ſtood,

Preſerv’d it ſelf in its divineſt forms

Amidſt a Thouſand meeting Storms;

A ſecond Beauford’s Name the youth ſhall Crown,

And over pay His Glory and Renown.


And now loud Admirations fill the ſpace,

And Hearts with nimbler Motions beat,

Behold the Queen the Raptur’d Crowds repeat!

She comes! She comes with a Triumphant Grace,

And all Heav’n opens in her Angel Face;

Bright were Her Beams, and all around they Shone,

And darted awful Fire to all the lookers on;

So heedleſs Lovers do with Cupids play

Will the Boys ſhoot and ſpoil their fancy’d Joy:

Thus all adorn’d with Sacred Beauty’s Charms

Through the vaſt Chriſtian Camp the fair Inchantress Rode,

And where the nobleſt Warriers wond’ring ſtood,

Her killing eyes dealt their reſiſtleſs harms;

Through the rough Male the ſubtle Light’ning plaid,

Who the ſtern Peart to tenderneſs betray’d:

Her Love-drawn Chariot mov’d with ſolemn State,

While round it the adoring Princes wait,

With Sigh and Vows Petitioning their Fate;

But with this difference, while that Charmer ſtrove

To take Revenge! in the ſoft ſnares of Love,

Ours, all Divine! by chance her Beauty’s hurl’d,

And has without deſign ſubdu’d the World;

E But 16 E1v 16

But oh! in vain is any likeneſs made,

’Tis Coppying of the Day! by Gloom and Shade.

The wonder that the Prophet did unfold,

When Heav’n in Revelation he ſurvey’d,

And the Bright Woman did behold

In wond’rous Garments of the Sun Aray’d,

And underneath her feet the Moon ſubdu’d,

At this Divine Appearance ſeem’d renew’d.


A Nymph the faireſt ever ſhin’d in Courts,

Norfolk the Generous, Gay, and Great,

To whom each Muſe officiouſly reſorts,

And with their Songs their Patron Miſtreſs Greet,

To make the Illuſtrious Train compleat;

The Sacred Robe ſupports.

Aided by young Diana’s all as fair

As the coy Maid the amorous God purſu’d,

As Chaſt as ſhe, as unſubdu’d;

Unſoyl’d even by the wanton wiſp’ring Air.

No guilty thought had ever ſpread

Their lovely Virgin Cheeks with Red,

No Lovers Sighs had blown the bluſhes there,

For all their Roſes in the Bud appear.


And now the raviſht People ſhout a new!

Their King! their dear-lov’d Monarch is in view;

The conſtant Aylesbury, and the Loyal Gray,

Prepare the mighty Way.

This bears the Marſhal Staff, and that the Spur,

Of bleſt Saint Edward, King and Confessor.

To whom Heav’n firſt the Myſtery did unfold,

By Sacred Touches, and by Hollow’d Gold,

To heal that elſe uncurable Diſeaſe

That poſes Art, and baffles all the Wiſe.

The faithful Peterborow, whoſe unmatch’d zeal,

Purſu’d his Suffering Princes adverſe Fate,

Then Factious Malice that out-acted Hell,

Drove the ſubmitting Exile to a Foreign State;

Deſerv’d the Glory which that day he wore,

And dares defend the Treaſure that he bore.

Pembrook! the thoughtful Pembrook next ſurveys,

All form’d for Victory and Love,

In whoſe fine Eyes a Thouſand Graces move,

And little ſighing Gods around him play,

Who watch each melancholy look, and bear

The pointed Ruin to ſome gazing fair.

His 17 E2r 17

His hand the Sword adorn’d with equal Grace,

As Wit his ſofter Tongue, or Love his conqu’ring Face.

Great Darby, and the long-fam’d Shrewsbury,

Whoſe happleſs Sires in bright Allegiance ſhone,

With Toyl, and Wounds, and many a Victory,

Such Trophies for their Heirs have wone,

As this days Triumphs do their Fames reward,

The Pointed and more Honour’d Broken Sword.

Oxford the Brave, whoſe unexampl’d Name,

Was never tainted with Rebellious Crimes,

But ’mongſt the vaſt Records of deeds and times,

Remains unblemiſht in the Book of Fame:

Juſtly that Sword of State in Peace he ought to bear,

Who knows ſo Nobly how to manage it in War.


Upon the Royal Charge two Princes wait,

Young Grafton, the Illuſtrious and the Great,

England’s high Conſtable, for this bleſt Day,

Too large a Power to bear a longer Sway.

Beneath this Change, ah! ſigh not Royal Youth,

Thy blooming Vertues ſtill will riſe and Live;

As Flowers tranſplanted better thrive,

And mend their Luſter, and their growth;

Securely thou may’ſt ſhine beneath this Sun,

And in the Path of Honour thou’ſt begun,

May’ſt a long Race, of laſting Glories run:

Remaining as thou art, brave, Loyal, true,

Thou, in thy King, will find the Father too.

Norfolk! the greateſt Subject, and the beſt,

Whoſe Loyalty indur’d the utmoſt teſt;

A Prince! whoſe Glorious Name has ſtood,

Belov’d at home, ador’d abroad:

Stedfaſt in all the Vertues of the Brave,

And to no Vices of the Great a ſlave;

True to his King, his Honour, and his Word,

Mæcena of my Muse, my Patron Lord.


Great Ormond! whom no time or Age can bow;

But on his awful Reverend brow,

Serenely as the Summer of his years,

Before the Autumn blaſts bereaves

The goodly Ceder of his youthful Leaves,

Full blown, not fading, ſtill appears.

Who 18 E2v 18

Who to Command, and to obey,

For a long Race of years has ſhow’d the nobleſt way;

Brave in the Field, in Council Wiſe,

Stedfaſt in Loyalty, in Honour nice;

Gracious in Power, unruffl’d in a Storm,

Humble in Court, and Glorious in a Calm:

This Day, the Sacred Diadem he bore,

Whoſe dear defence ſo long had been his care,

That Diadem that Grac’d his hand before,

Whoſe Right, ſo oft he did aſſert in War.

Great Somerset, that Name of high Renown,

Allied to Kings, though not of Kingly Race,

Guarded the Worlds great Treaſure, Englands Crown,

While the Worlds Emblim did the Hero Grace;

His Youth and Beauty did Adorn his State,

And the young Atlas ſmil’d beneath his Glorious weight.

The n’re to be forgotten Albemarle,

Whoſe Name ſhall laſt when Nature is no more,

That Name, that did loſt Britain’s Joy reſtore;

Its Worſhip’d Champion and its General.

The ſecond Guardian of the Crown was made,

And in his hand to day the Peaceful Scepter ſway’d;

The true-born Engliſh Bravery of whoſe mind,

His Native Loyalty, and intrinſick worth,

Shows him of that Diviner kind,

When Demi-Gods with Mortals joyn’d,

And brought the firſt-born Race of Hero’s forth.

As a bright Evening Crowns a Glorious Day,

Northumberland brought up the Reer,

Northumberland the Lovely, Young, and Gay,

Bleſt by the Crowds, and to the Souldiers dear;

A charming Youth of Royal Race,

His God-like Father pictur’d in his face,

With a ſoft mixture of his Beautious Mothers Grace.


Thus the great charge they to the Temple bring

There, not to make, but to confirm the King!

So the Triumphant Ark with Songs was born,

And ſanctify’d the place it did Adorn!

And Lo ―― ―― —

The opening Scene of the third Heav’n appears,

Where Glory ſits Enthron’d above the Stars;

Where 19 F1r 19

Where no faint Mortal object meets the Eye,

But ev’ry where ’tis all Divine,

All Raptur’d Joy! all perfect Extaſie;

Where Angels and Dominions joyn,

Where Principalities and Powers combine,

And round the Sacred Throne in wond’rous order ſhine.

Where every ſenſe receives the full delight;

Seraphic Muſick Charms the Ear:

The Eyes are Raviſht with inceſſant Light,

And Hallow’d Incenſe fills the perfum’d Air.

The Soul with Nobleſt touches bleſt,

Diſdains the ſcanty confines of the breaſt,

And flatterers where emencer Glories play,

And greedily it feeds on Heav’nly joy!


Miſtaken School-men, you who vainly ſtrive

Juſt Notions of Eternal Bliſs to give,

By dull compariſon with things below,

Saphers, and Diamonds, Chryſtal Gold, and Light;

By leſſening Objects, time, and pains beſtow

To Paint, what cannot be conceiv’d by ſight.

Henceforth the Sacred Manſion to diſplay,

(And tell us what you mean, by what ye ſay)

Deſcribe Great James, and Lauria’s Coronation Day!

Tell, how they ſate Enthron’d with Rays of light,

What Hoſts of Angels did Adore the ſight.

Deſcribe the Hallelujah’s of the Crowd,

When thrice with joyful cries they gave Aſſent aloud:

Tell, how the awful Monarch Mounted ſtood,

And by the beſt of Mortals make us gueſs the God.

Tell us, that ſo MountSinai’s top He bleſt,

When to his People he diſpenc’d the Law,

When ſhining Glories all the God-head dreſt,

And all below ador’d the wonder that they Saw!

And when the Miniſtering Powers yea would expreſs,

Deſcribe the Reverend Clergy in Pontifick dreſs.

And who would tell us how th’ Almighty ſpeaks,

When Angels bow with awful liſt’ning down!

From Ely’s Sermon, the beſt Rhetorick takes;

Elly, that Ornament of the ſtill Loyal Gown:

And when Heav’ns brightneſs ye would make appear,

Behold the Queen, and copy it all from Her.


All Hail! thou born of more than Kingly Race,

Monarchs and Poets did thy Lineage Grace!

F At 20 F1v 20

At once the Crown and Lawrel dreſt,

The Royal Family of Esst.

Great Ariosto from Thy Race did ſpring,

That taught his Hero’s how to Love and Sing!

May all the Joys Triumphant Beauties Bleſs,

And all the Chaſt Lovers fancy in Succeſs:

May all the Glory that on Empires wait,

With ev’ry quiet of retreat,

Crown your ſoft hours, and be in Heav’n confirm’d,

While to ſecure you Bleſt, the adoring Worlds concern’d.

Great Prince of wonders, and welcome to that Throne,

Both to Your Vertues, and Your Sufferings due,

By Heav’n and Birth-right all Your own,

You ſhar’d the Danger, ſhare the Glory too;

Whom Providence, (by Numerous Miracles wrought)

Through all the mazes of Misfortunes brought!

You mount the unruly World with eaſie force,

Reward with joy, but Puniſh with remorſe;

The wanton Beaſt Reſtive with eaſe has lain,

And ’gainſt rthe Rider lifts the ſawcy heel;

But now a skillful hand aſſumes the Rein,

He do’s the experienc’d Conquerour feel,

And finds his head-ſtrong Diſobedience vain,

Proud of his Glorious load, he leaps, and bounds

Becomes the Beauty of the neighbouring Plains,

New Life and new Activity he gains,

And through the Groves his cheerful Neigh reſounds;

Lives Glad and Gay, beneath that Generous Rule

That ne’re will let his uſeful Mettle cool.



  • A Pindarick on the Death of our late Sovereign, with an Ancient Prophecy on His Preſent Majeſty. Written by Mrs. Behn.
  • A Poem Humbly Dedicated to Her Sacred Majeſty Catherine Queen Dowager, on the Death of her dear Lord and Husband King Charles the Second, by Mrs. Behn.
  • A Pindarick Ode on the Sacred Memory of our Late Gracious Sovereign King Charles the Second: To which is added another Eſſay on the ſame occaſion, by Sir F. F. Knight of the Bath.
  • The Viſion: A Pindarick Ode: Occaſion’d by the Death of our Late Sovereign King Charles the Second, by Edm. Arwaker, M.A. The ſecond Part of the Viſion, a Pindarick Poem on the Coronation, by Edm. Arw.
  • A Poem on the Sacred Memory of our late Sovereign: with a Congratulation to his Preſent Majeſty. Written by Mr. Tate.

The Elegies are ſold ſingle or in one Volume by Henry Playford near the Temple-Church.