ΑΝ

EPISTLE from a Lady in ENGLAND,

ΤΟ Α

GENTLEMAN AT AVIGNON.

To thee,

By the Same.

O thee, dear rover, and thy vanquish'd friends, The health fhe wants, thy gentle Chloe fends; Though much you fuffer, think I fuffer more, Worse than an exile on my native shore. Companions in your master's flight you roam, Unenvy'd by your haughty foes at home; For-ever near the royal out-law's fide,

You share his fortunes, and his hopes divide;

On glorious schemes, and thoughts of empire dwell,
And with imaginary titles fwell.

Say, (for thou know'ft I own his facred line,
The paffive doctrine, and the right divine)
Say, what new fuccours does the chief prepare?
The strength of armies? or the force of pray'r?

Does

Does he from heav'n or earth his hopes derive?
From faints departed? or from priests alive?

Nor faints nor priests can Brunfwick's troops withstand,
And beads drop useless through the zealot's hand
Heav'n to our vows may future kingdoms owe,
But skill and courage win the crowns below.

Ere to thy cause, and thee, my heart inclin❜d,
Or love to party had feduc'd my mind,
In female joys I took a dull delight,

Slept all the morn, and punted half the night:
But now, with fears and public cares poffefs'd,
The church, the church, for-ever breaks my reft.
The post-boy on my pillow I explore,
And fift the news of every foreign fhore,
Studious to find new friends, and new allies;
What armies march from Sweden in disguise;
How Spain prepares her banners to unfold,
And Rome deals out her bleffings, and her gold:
Then o'er the map my finger, taught to stray,
Cross many a region marks the winding way;
From fea to fea, from realm to realm I rove,
And grow a mere geographer by love.

But ftill Avignon, and the pleasing coaft

That holds Thee banish'd, claims my care the most;

Oft

Oft on the well-known fpot I fix my eyes,

And span the distance that between us lies.

Let not our James, though foil'd in arms, despair,
Whilft on his fide he reckons half the fair:
In Britain's lovely isfle a shining throng
War in his caufe, a thousand beauties strong.
Th' unthinking victors vainly boast their pow'rs;
Be theirs the mufket, while the tongue is ours.
We reason with fuch fluency and fire,

The beaux we baffle, and the learned tire,
Against her prelates plead the church's cause,
And from our judges vindicate the laws.

Then mourn not, hapless prince, thy kingdoms loft,
A crown, though late, thy facred brow may boast;
Heav'n feems through us thy empire to decree,
Those who win hearts, have giv'n their hearts to thee.
Haft thou not heard that, when profusely gay,
Our well-drefs'd rivals grace their fov'reign's day,
We stubborn damfels met the public view
In loathfome wormwood, and repenting rue?
What whig but trembled, when our spotless band
In virgin roses whiten'd half the land!

Who can forget what fears the foe poffefs'd,
When oaken boughs mark'd every loyal breast!

Lefs

Lefs fcar'd near Medway's ftream the Norman ftood,
When cross the plain he spy'd a marching wood,
'Till, near at hand, a gleam of fwords betray'd
The youth of Kent beneath its wand'ring shade.
Thofe, who the fuccours of the fair despise,
May find that we have nails as well as eyes.
The female bands, O prince by Fortune cross'd,
At least more courage than thy men may boast;
Our fex has dar❜d the mug-house chiefs to meet,
And purchase fame in many a well-fought street.
From Drury-lane, the region of renown,
The land of love, the Paphos of the town,
Fair patriots fallying oft have put to flight
With all their poles the guardians of the night,
And borne, with screams of triumph, to their fide
The leader's ftaff in all its painted pride.

Nor fears the hawker in her warbling note

To vend the discontented statesman's thought.

Though red with stripes, and recent from the thong,
Sore fmitten for the love of facred fong,
The tuneful fisters still pursue their trade,
Like Philomela darkling in the shade. ▾
Poor Trott attends, forgetful of a fare,
And hums in concert o'er his empty chair.

Mean

Mean while, regardless of the royal cause,
His fword for James no brother fovereign draws.
The Pope himself, furrounded with alarms,

To France his bulls, to Corfu fends his arms,

And though he hears his darling fon's complaint,
Can hardly fpare one tutelary faint

But lifts them all to guard his own abodes,
And into ready money coins his gods.
The dauntless Swede, purfu'd by vengeful foes,
Scarce keeps his own hereditary fnows;
Nor must the friendly roof of kind Lorrain
With feasts regale our garter'd youth again :
Safe, Bar-le-duc, within thy filent grove

The pheasant now may perch, the hare may rove:
The knight, who aims unerring from afar,
Th' advent'rous knight, now quits the fylvan war;
The brinded boars may flumber un-dismay'd,
Or grunt fecure beneath the chefnut shade.
Inconstant Orleans (ftill we mourn the day
That trusted Orleans with imperial fway)
Far o'er the Alps our helpless monarch fends,
Far from the call of his defponding friends.
Such are the terms to gain Britannia's grace !
And fuch the terrors of the Brunfwick race!

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