And had not heard their Talk, but only feen, Their Gesture and their Mein,

They wou'd have fworn he had the Vanquifh'd been:

For as they bragg'd,and dreadful wou'd appear, While theytheir own ill Luck in War repeated, His Modesty still made him blush, to hear How often he had them Defeated.

III.

Through his whole Life, the Part he bore
Was Wonderful and Great,

And yet it fo appear'd in nothing more,
Than in his private laft Retreat;
For it's a stranger thing to find
One Man of fuch a worthy Mind,

As can dismiss the Power which he has got,
Than Millions of the Polls and Braves;
Thofe defpicable Fools and Knaves,
Who fuch a Pudder make

Through Dullness and Mistake

In seeing after Pow'r, and get

IV.

it not.

When all the Nation he had won,

And with expence of Blood had bought, Store great enough he thought,

Of Glory and Renown,

He then his Arms laid down,

With just as little Pride

As if he had been of his Enemies fide, Or one of them cou'd do that were undone: He neither Wealth, nor Places fought: He never for himself, but others fought:

Ho

He was content to know,

(For he had found it fo)

That, when he pleas'd to conquer, he was able, And left the Spoil and Plunder to the Rabble. He might have been a King,

But that he understood

How much it was a meaner thing

To be unjustly Great, than honourably Good.

V.

This from the World did Admiration draw And from his Friends, both Love and Awe, Remembring what he did in Fight before: And his Foes, lov'd him too,

As they were bound to do,

Because he was refolv'd to fight no more. So blefs'd by All, he dy'd; but far more blefs'd

were we,

If we were fure to live, till we could fee A Man as great in War, as juft in Peace as He.

W

To his MISTRESS.

By the Duke of Buckingham.

HAT a dull Fool was I,
To think so grofs a Lye,

As that I ever was in Love before?
I have, perhaps, known one or two
With whom I was content to be,

At that which they call keeping Company; But after all that they could do,

I ftill could be with more:

Their Absence never made me shed a Tear; And I can truly fwear,

That till my Eyes first gaz'd on you,

I ne'er beheld that thing I could adore. A World of things must curiously be fought, A World of things must be together brought To make up Charms which have the pow

er to move.

Through a difcerning Eye, true Love;
That is a Masterpiece above

What only Looks and Shape can do,
There must be Wit and Judgment too;
Greatness of Thought and Worth which draw
From the whole World, Refpect, and Awe.
She that wou'd raise a noble Love, muft find
Ways to beget a Paffion for her Mind
She must be that, which She to be wou'd feem;
For all True LOVE is grounded on Efteem;
Plainnels and Truthgain more a generousHeart
Than all the crooked Subtelties of Art.
She must be--What faid I? She must be You,
None but your felf that Miracle can do ;
At least, I'm sure, thus much I plainly fee,
None but your felf e'er did it upon me:
'Tis you alone that can my Heart fubdue,
To you alone it always fhall be true,
Your God-like Soul is that which rules
Fate,

my

It does in me new Paffions ftill create,
For love of you all Women elfe I hate:
But oh! Your Body too, is fo Divine,
I kill my felf with wishing you all mine.

In

In pain and anguish Night and Day,
I faint, and melt away:

In vain against my Grief Iftrive,
My Entertainment now is crying,
And all the fence I have of being alive,
Is that I feel my felf a dying.

Fo

A Description of Fortune.

By the Duke of Buckingham.

Ortuné made up of Toys, and Impudence, That common Jade that has not common Sense,

But fond of Business, infolently dares Pretend to Rule, yet Spoils the World's Affairs: She's fluttering up and down, her Favour

throws

On the next met, not minding what she does, Nor why, nor whom she helps, nor Merit knows;

Sometimes the fmiles, then like a Fury raves,
And seldom truly loves but Fools and Knaves.
Let her love whom the will,I fcorn to woo her,
While she stays with me, I'll be civil to her
But if the offers once to move her Wings,
Ill fling her back all her vain gewgaw things;
And armed with Vertue, will more glorious
ftand,

Than if the Bitch ftill bent at my Command.
I'll marry Honefty tho' ne'er fo Poor;
Rather than follow fuch a dull blind Whore.

Upon

Upon Felton, that was hang'd in Chains for the Murder of the Duke of Buckingham, in the Reign of King Charles I.

H

By the Duke of Buckingham.

Ere uninterr'd fufpends, tho' not to fave, SurvivingFriends th'Expences of aGrave, Felton's deadEarth, which to theWorldwill be, Its one fad Monument; his Elogy,

As large as Fame, which whether Bad or Good I fay not, by himself 'twas wrote in Blood; For which his Body is intomb'd in Air, Arch'd o'er with Heaven, set with a thousand

fair

And glorious Stars a noble Sepulcher,

Which Time it felf can't ruinate, and where
Th'impartial Worm (that is not brib'd to fpare
Princes corrupt in Marble) cannot share
His Flesh, which oft the charitable Skies
Imbalm with Tears, daining thofe Obfequies,
So long to Men fhall laft, 'till pitying Fowl
Contend to reach his Body to his Soul.

A Confolatory Epiftle to Captain Julian: the Muses News-Monger in his Confinement.

By the Duke of Buckingham.

DearFriend, whenthosewelove are in distress Kind Verfe maycomfort, tho'it can't redress

Nor