The grand administration of the whole,
What's the next world? a supplement of this:
Without it justice is defective here;

Just as to states, defective as to men:
If so, what is this world? as sure as right
Sits in Heaven's throne, a prophet of the next.
Prize you the prophet? then believe him too;
His prophecy more precious than his smile.
How comes it then to pass, with most on earth,
That this should charm us, that should discompose?
Long as the statesman finds this case his own,
So long his politics are uncomplete;

In danger he; nor is the nation safe,
But soon must rue his inauspicious power.

What hence results? a truth that should resound For ever awful in Britannia's ear:

'Religion crowns the statesman and the man,
Sole source of public and of private peace.'
This truth all men must own, and therefore will,
And praise and preach it too:-and when that's
Their compliment is paid, and 'tis forgot. [done
What Highland poleaxe half so deep can wound?
But how dare I, so mean, presume so far?
Assume my seat in the dictator's chair?
Pronounce, predict (as if indeed inspired),
Promulge my censures, lay out all my throat,
Till hoarse in clamour on enormous crimes?-
Two mighty columns rise in my support;
In their more awful and authentic voice,
Record profane and sacred, drown the Muse,
Though loud, and far out-threat her threatening
Still further, Holles! suffer me to plead [song.
That I speak freely, as I speak to thee.
Guilt only startles at the name of guilt;

And truth, plain truth, is welcome to the wise.
Thus what seem'd my presumption is thy praise.
Praise, and immortal praise, is Virtue's claim:
And Virtue's sphere is action: yet we grant
Some merit to the trumpet's loud alarm,
Whose clangour kindles cowards into men.
Nor shall the verse, perhaps, be quite forgot,
Which talks of immortality, and bids,
In every British breast, true glory rise,
As now the warbling lark awakes the morn.
To close, my lord! with that which all should
And all begin, and strike us every hour, [close
Though no war waked us, no black tempest frown'd.
The morning rises gay; yet gayest morn
Less glorious after night's incumbent shades;
Less glorious far bright Nature, rich array'd
With golden robes, in all the pomp of noon,
Than the first feeble dawn of moral day;
Sole day (let those whom statesmen serve attend),
Though the Sun ripens diamonds for their crowns;
Sole day worth his regard whom Heaven ordains,
Undarken'd, to behold noon dark, and date,
From the Sun's death, and every planet's fall,
His all-illustrious and eternal year; [awe
Where statesmen and their monarchs (names of
And distance here) shall rank with common men,
Yet own their glory never dawn'd before.

October, 1745.

THE

FORCE OF RELIGION;

OR,

VANQUISHED LOVE.

A Poem.

IN TWO BOOKS.

Dedication to the Countess of Salisbury.

MADAM,

THE nature of my subject pointed out my patroness, and scarce left me the liberty of a choice. I hope it may be some excuse for my presumption, that the following story could not have been read without thoughts of the Countess of Salisbury, though it had been dedicated to another.

Virtue and beauty met in the youthful and highborn Lady Jane Gray, in a wonderful perfection; and, as their nature is, they mutually assisted each other. Her beauty was more beautiful, because she was virtuous; nor am I afraid to say, on the other hand, that her religion itself admitted of advantage, and received prevalency, as well as lustre from the elegance of her mien, and the gracefulness of her person.

Those good men rather wish well to virtue, than understand her true interest, who think too

slightly of what is agreeable to the sight. As long as we have passions, as well as reason, we shall own the force of outward appearances: by the misfortune of humanity, our hearts are naturally shut against that which is only good; but when that which is lovely joins with it, the latter makes interest with our senses for the admission of the former, and the former calls in our reason to embrace the latter; and thus is brought about a happy union and concurrence of the whole person, so miserably divided usually, and at variance with himself. We e may fix our eyes on a fair example of piety to an utter detestation of our vices, and gaze ourselves into a newness of life.

Hence arises a double obligation on the beautiful, to be good; and to see the charms of mind and person separated, becomes a too just occasion of our concern. To behold a person only virtuous, stirs in us a prudent regret; to behold a person only amiable to the sight, warms us with a religious indignation; but to turn our eyes on a Countess of Salisbury, gives us pleasure and improvement; it works a sort of miracle, occasions the bias of our nature to fall off from sin, and makes our very senses and affections converts to religion, and promoters of our duty.

There is not in nature a more glorious scene than he enjoys, who by accident oversees a great and young and beautiful lady in her closet of devotion; instead of gaiety, and noise, and throng, so natural to the qualities just mentioned, all is solemn, and silent, and private. Pious meditation has carried her away into a forgetfulness of her lovely person, which no one but herself can forget! All her ex

quisite features are animated with religion in such a manner, as to make any licentious thought in the beholder impious and shocking! All her motions and postures (whose gracefulness in others might be a foundation for pride, and be thought an excuse for omissions in duty) are full of humiliation and pious neglect! Those eyes, which cannot be showed in public without interrupting the business of the world, fixing thousands in attention, and suspending the pursuits of avarice and ambition, are devoutly raised, and importunately fastened on an invisible object; offering holy violence for those good things, the thoughts of which in vulgar minds keep company, for the most part, with nothing but wrinkles, gray hairs, and infirmity. What a radiant glimpse of heaven is this! All the divine and ravishing appearances which are formed of angels and saints in glory, were at first suggested to the mind of man by such a sight.

They who are acquainted with the character of the Lady Jane, will not look on this as foreign; they that are not, but have the honour of knowing the Countess of Salisbury, will make another sufficient excuse for this seeming digression of,

MADAM,

Your most obedient

and most humble servant,

EDWARD YOUNG,