Then, burning, through the air he went, And Palaces and Temples rent;

And CESAR's head, at last,

Did, through his laurels, blast.

'Tis madness to resist, or blame,
The face of angry heaven's flame!
And, if we would speak true,
Much to the Man is due:

Who, from his private gardens, (where He lived reservèd and austere,

As if his highest plot,

To plant the bergamot!)

Could, by industrious valour, climb
To ruin the great work of Time;
And cast the Kingdoms old

Into another mould.

Though Justice, against Fate complain; And plead the Ancient Rights in vain: But those do hold, or break,

As men are strong, or weak!

Nature, that hateth emptiness,
Allows of penetration less;

And therefore must make room
Where Greater Spirits come.

What Field, of all the Civil War,
Where his were not the deepest scar!
And Hampton shows what part
He had of wiser Art;

Where, twining subtle fears with hope,
He wove a net of such a scope,

That CHARLES himself might chase
To Car'sbrooke's narrow case!

That thence the Royal Actor borne,
The tragic scaffold might adorn;
While round, the armèd bands
Did clap their bloody hands.

He nothing common did, or mean,
Upon that memorable scene!

But, with his keener eye,
The axe's edge did try.

Nor called the Gods, with vulgar spite,
To vindicate his helpless right!

But bowed his comely head
Down, as upon a bed.

This was that memorable hour
Which first assured the forced power!
So when they did design
The Capitol's first line,

A Bleeding Head, where they begun,
Did fright the architects to run!
And yet in that, the State
Foresaw its happy fate!

And now the Irish are ashamed
To see themselves in one year tamed;
So much one man can do,

That does both act and know!

They can affirm his praises best!
And have, though overcome, confest
How good he is! how just;
And fit for highest trust!

Nor yet grown stiffer with command;
But still in the Republic's hand!
How fit he is to sway,

That can so well obey!

He, to the Commons' feet, presents A Kingdom for his first year's rents! And (what he may!) forbears

His fame, to make it theirs!

And has his sword and spoils ungirt,
To lay them at the Public's skirt!
So when the falcon high
Falls heavy from the sky,

She, having killed, no more does search, But on the next green bough to perch ; Where, when he first does lure, The falconer has her sure.

What may not then our Isle presume; Which Victory his crest does plume! What may not others fear;

If thus, he crowns each year!

As CESAR, he ere long to Gaul!
To Italy, a HANNIBAL!

And to all States not free,
Shall climacteric be!

The Pict no shelter now shall find
Within his party-coloured mind;
But (from his valour) sad,
Shrink underneath the plaid:

Happy, if, in the tufted brake,
The English hunter him mistake;
Nor lay his hounds in near
The Caledonian deer.

But Thou, the War's and Fortune's Son, March indefatigably on!

And for the last effect,

Still keep the Sword erect!

Besides the force it has to fright
The spirits of the shady night;
The same Arts that did gain
A power, must it maintain!

ON MASTER MILTON'S‘PARADISE LOST:
WHEN I beheld the Poet blind, yet bold,
In slender book his vast design unfold,
MESSIAH crowned, GOD's reconciled decree,
Rebelling Angels, the Forbidden Tree,

Heaven, Hell, Earth, Chaos, All! the Argument
Held me a while: misdoubting his intent,
That he would ruin (for I saw him strong!)
The Sacred Truths, to Fable and old Song.
So SAMSON groped the Temple's posts in spite;
The World o'erwhelming, to revenge his sight.
Yet, as I read, soon growing less severe,

I liked his Project; the success did fear!
Through that wide field, how he his way should find,
O'er which lame Faith leads Understanding blind:
Lest he perplexed the things, he would explain;
And what was easy, he should render vain.
Or, if, a Work so infinite he spanned;
Jealous I was, that some less skilful hand
(Such as disquiet always what is well;
And by ill imitating, would excel!)

Might hence presume, the whole Creation's Day,
To change in Scenes; and show it in a Play!