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Heav'n half repented of the doom,
And almost griev'd it had foreseen
What, by foresight, it willd eternally to come.
Mercy above did hoorly plead
For her resemblance here below,
And mild Forgiveness intercede
To stop the coming blow.
New miracles approach'd the' ethereal throne,
Such as his wondrous life had oft and lately known,
And urg'd that still they might be shown.
On earth bis pious brother pray'd and vow'd,
Renouncing greatness at so dear a rate,
Himself defending what he could
From all the glories of his future fate.
With him the' innumerable crowd
Of armed prayers
Kyock'd at the gates of Heav'n, and knock'd aloud;
The first well-meaning rude petitioners
All for his life assail'd the throne,
All would have brib'd the Skies by offering up their

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So great a throng not Heav'n itself cou'd bar;
'Twas almost borne by force, as in the Giants' war.
The prayers, at least, for his reprieve were heard;
His death, like Hezekiah's, was deferr'd:
Against the sun the shadow went;
Five days those five degrees were lent
To form our patience, and prepare the event.
The second causes took the swift command,
The medicinal head, the ready hand,
All eager to perform their part;
All but eternal Doom was conquer'd by their art:
Once more the fleeting soul came back

To'inspire the mortal frame,
And in the body took a doubtful stand,
Doubtful and hovering, like expiring flame
That mounts and falls by turns, and trembles o'er the

brand.

The joyful short-liv'd news soon spread around,
Took the same train, the same impetuous bound:
The drooping Town in smiles again was drest;
Gladness in every face exprest,
Their eyes before their tongues confest.
Men met each other with erected look,
The steps were higher that they took;
Friends to congratulate their friends made haste,
And long inveterate foes saluted as they past.
Above the rest heroic James appear’d,
Exalted more because he more had fear'd;
His manly heart, whose noble pride
Was still above
Dissembled hate or varnish'd love,
Its more than common transport conld not hide;
But, like an eagre', rode in triumph o'er the tide.
Thus, in alternate course,
The tyrant passions, hope and fear,
Did in extremes appear,
And flash'd upon the soul with equal force.
Thus, at half-ebh, a rolling sea
Returns, and wins upon the shore ;
The watry herd, affrighted at the roar,
Rest on their fins a while, and stay,
Then backward take their wondering way :

? An eagre is a tide swelling above another tide, and observable in the Trent and Severn. VOL, I,

L

The prophet wonders more than they
At prodigies but rarely seen before,
And cries, ' A king must fall, or kingdoms change

their sway.'
Such were our counter-tides at land, and so
Presaging of the fatal blow
Iu their prodigious ebb and flow.
The royal soul, that, like the labouring moop,
By charms of art was hurried down,
Forc'd with regret to leave her native sphere,
Came but a while on liking here;
Soon weary of the painful strife,
And made but faint essays of life.
An evening light,
Soon shut in night ;
A strong distemper, and a weak relief;
Short intervals of joy, and long returns of grief.

The sons of Art all med'cines tried,
And ev'ry noble remedy applied :
With emulation each essay'd
His utmost skill; nay more, they pray'd :
Never was losivg game with better conduct play'd:
Death never won a stake with greater toil,
Nor e'er was Fate so near a foil:
But, like a fortress on a rock,

[mock.
The' impregnable disease their vain attempts did
They min'd it near; they batter'd from afar
With all the cannon of the medicinal war:
No gentle means could be essay'd;
'Twas beyond parley when the siege was laid :
The extremest ways they first ordain,
Prescribing such intolerable pain,
As none but Cæsar could sustain :

.

Undaunted Cæsar underwent
The malice of their art, nor bent
Beneath whate'er their pious rigour could invent.
In five such days he suffer'd more
Than any suffer'd in his reign before :
More, infinitely more, than he
Against the worst of rebels could decree,
A traitor, or twice-pardon'd enemy.
Now Art was tir'd without success;
No racks could make the stubborn malady con-

fess
The vain insurancers of life,
And they who most perform’d, and promis'd less,
Ev'n Short and Hobbes, forsook the' unequal strife.
Death and despair was in their looks;
No longer they consult their memories or books :
Like helpless friends, who view from shore
The labouring ship, and hear the tempest roar,
So stood they with their arms across,
Not to assist, but to deplore
The' inevitable loss.

Death was denounc'd, that frightful sound,
Which e’en the best can hardly bear:
He took the summons void of fear,
And, unconcern'dly, cast his eyes around,
As if to find and dare the grisly challenger.
What Death could do he lately tried,
When in four days he more than died.
The same assurance all his words did grace ;
The same majestic mildness held its place,
Nor lost the Monarch in his dying face :
Intrepid; pious, merciful, and brave,
He look'd as when he conquer'd and forgave.

As if some angel had been sent
To lengthen out his government,
And to foretel as many years again
As he had number'd in his happy reign;
So cheerfully he took the doom
Of his departing breath,
Nor shrunk, nor stepp'd aside for Death;
But, with unalter'd pace, kept on,
Providing for events to come
When he resigu'd the throne.
Still he maintaiu'd his kingly state,
And grew familiar with his fate:
Kind, good, and gracious, to the last,
On all he lov'd before, his dying beams he cast.
Oh truly good and truly great,
For glorious as he rose, benignly so he set!
All that on earth he held most dear,
He recommended to his care,
To whom both Heav'n
The right had giv'n,
And his own love bequeath'd supreme command :
He took and press'd that ever-loyal hand,
Which could in peace secure his gn,
Which could in wars bis power maintain ;
That hand, on which no plighted vows were ever vain.
Well, for so great a trust, he chose
A prinee who never disobey'd,
Not when the most severe commands were laid ;
Nor want nor exile with his duty weigh'd ;
A prince on whom, if Heav'n its eyes could close,
The welfare of the world it safely might repose.

That king who liv'd to God's own heart,
Yet less serenely died than he:

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