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.

A2r 1

A Pindarick Poem
on the


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. 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 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 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. 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 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;

So C1r 7

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 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 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 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.

XV. D1r 11


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 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.

Where D2r 13

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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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
    , 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