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Page 11
And now comes Mr. _Waller_, and what does he with his _Monosyllables_,
but,
Give us new Rules, and set our Harp in Tune.
And that honourable Peer whom be commends, the Lord _Roscommon_ thus
keeps him in Countenance;
Be what you will, so you be still the same.
And again,
In her full Flight, and when she shou'd be curb'd.
Soon after,
Use is the Judge, the Law, and Rule of Speech,
And by and by,
We weep and laugh, as we see others do,
He only makes me sad who shews the way:
But if you act them ill, I sleep or laugh.
The next I shall mention is my Lord _Orrery_, who, as Mr. _Anthony Wood_
says, was a great Poet, Statesman, Soldier, and great every thing which
merits the Name of Great and Good. In his Poem to Mrs. _Philips_, he
writes thus;
For they imperfect Trophies to you raise,
You deserve Wonder, and they pay but Praise;
A Praise which is as short of your great due.
As all which yet have writ come short of you.
Again,
In Pictures none hereafter will delight,
You draw more to the Life in black and white;
The Pencil to your Pen must yield the Place,
This draws the Soul, where that draws but the Face.
But having thank'd these noble Lords for their Suffrage, we will proceed
to some other Witnesses of Quality: And first I beg leave to appeal to
my Lord Duke of _Buckinghamshire_, his Translation of _The Temple of
Death_;
Her Chains were Marks of Honour to the Brave,
She made a Prince when e'er she made a Slave.
Again,
By wounding me, she learnt the fatal Art,
And the first Sigh she had, was from my Heart.
My Lord _Hallifax_'s Muse hath been very indulgent to _Monosyllables_,
and no Son of _Apollo_ will dare to dispute his Authority in this
Matter. Speaking of the Death of King _Charles_ the Second, and his
Improvement of Navigation, and Shipping; he says,
To ev'ry Coast, with ready Sails are hurl'd,
Fill us with Wealth, and with our Fame the World.
Again,
Us from our Foes, and from our selves did shield.
Again,
As the stout Oak, when round his Trunk the Vine
Does in soft Wreaths, and amorous Foldings twine.
And again,
In _Charles_, so good a Man and King, we see,
A double Image of the Deity.
Oh! Had he more resembled it! Oh why
Was he not still more like; and cou'd not die?
My Lord _Landsdown_'s Muse, which may claim her Seat in the highest
Point of _Parnassus_, gives us these Instances of her Sentiments in our
Favour;
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