At length they  reach'd, and there they found
A Passage Ship for neighbouring  bound;
He gets an humble Weed, amd poor Disguise,
Besmears his Face, and vails his Noble Eyes
To shun the swift Pursuit of eager Enemies.
Imbark'd, he turns towards his native Land,
Tho' injur'd much, he sighs to leave the
And softly murmurs o'er his riged Fate,
Undone by Love, far worse than Mortal Hate;
Yet still he bids the list'ning Winds forbear,
Nor waft the Story to the  Ear;
For his sweet Peace he barters all his own,
Neglects the Fame which did his Actions crown;
Wives Errours on the Husbands Head remain,
To keep the  clear he bears himself the Stain.
canst thou have a peaceful Thought,
Whose lawless Fires this mighty Ruine brought?
Poor  still pursu'd by his ill Fate,
As if the Winds joyn'd with  Hate;
Adverse they toss the Vessel on the Seas,
Like his tempestuous Mind, no Calm, no Ease;
These Toils to old  were unknown,
A gentle Servitude his Years did crown;
Unable now, in his declining Age,
To act a longer Part on this rough Stage,
Pale Death, the last Retreat, and sure Relief,
Came to his Aid, and ends his Life and Grief:
The gashly Tyrant he seems joy'd to meet,
And sinks beneath his troubled Masters Feet:
There was no need of this; griev'd  said,
Will Heaven still pursue the Wretch it made?
Why was this added to my Misery,
That thou my poor  too must die?
Now of a Sudden all the Seas grow Calm,
As if his Grief had hush'd the raging Storm;
At length the fair white chalky Cliffs they spy,
A joyful Sight to every Sailor's Eye;
Only the Earl who knows not where to go,
Alone expects variety of Woe:
The Travellers wou'd fain his Sorrows chear,
Inquire his Name, what Course he meant to stear?
He answers with a Sigh, I cannot stray:
The Wretched never fear to lose their Way.
In the same Ship, a venerable Man
Well mark'd the Count, and then with Tears began,
Whoe'er thou art, says he, within thy Face,
Is writ unspotted Truth, and matchless Grace,
And thy young Cherubs seem of heav'nly Race.
Then haste thee Stranger to our Nations Pride,
To that great Mart where gaudy Courts abide;
There, if my Foresight fail not, thou shalt find
Some Noble  to these Infants kind;
He view'd him well, then press'd him more to know,
Good Man he cry'd, thou hast a Scream of Woe,
Inquire no more, but where I bid thee, go.
His Words Emphatick, struck an awe Divine,
Both Priest and Prophet in his Vizage shine;
unknown, to  takes his Way,
Resolv'd the Holy Father's Voice t' obey;
Wheree'er he goes there's no avoiding Fate,
He to his Sufferings finds no early Date:
The publick News his shameful Story tells,
Explores his Crimes, the  Wrath reveals:
His Castle's raz'd, his Lands Confiscate were,
Too poor Amends, for that offended Fair;
A vast Reward, whoe'er shall  bring
Alive, or Dead, to the Revengeful King:
His Race to endless Exile they condemn,
And Death to those who shou'd these Laws con.
I'd sing, my Muse, his Woes in such a Strain,
That no sad reader might from Tears retrain:
Sure all the generous World must weep to see
Exalted Virtue in such Misery.
Who can express his Fears and anxious Care!
Enough to raise Distraction and Dispair!
When he looks back upon his prosprous Days,
The pleasant Paths, and the delightful Ways
His Youth had trod, it racks his thoughtful Brain,
His Lot of Grief he scarcely can sustain,
But Piety forbids that he should Heav'n arraign.
He knows the only Way to vanquish there,
Is Patience, Faith unmov'd, and servent Pray'r;
So to the Temple flies, that Ancient Pile,
Which long had grac'd the City and the Isle,
St. , for stately Pillars so renown'd,
With all the Beauties of the Artist croun'd;
There he repairs, and takes his Children too,
In hopes their Innocence may Mercy woo;
Stretch'd on the Pavement, wretched  lay,
And kneeling Infants, early taught to pray.
Devotion done, a lovely  Dame,
With her Attendants from the Temple came,
The Lord High Marshal's Wife, of brightest Fame.
She stop'd, and not disdain'd, to turn her Eye
Towards him who bore such Marks of Misery:
She said, my Friend, from whence, and what art thou?
Why hangs that Cloud of Sorrow on thy Brow?
This little Pair, with Beams of Beauty shine,
I cannot think thee poor, if these are thine;
Yet speak, declare, what is thy Cause of Grief?
Perhaps, by me, kind Heav'n designs Relief.
Oh! wondrous Condescention,  cry'd,
The truly Great are always free from Pride.
Madam, I Native am of neighbouring
My Parents honest, tho' my Portion small;
'Twas my hard Fate Superiors to offend,
Whose Wrath no Moderation knew, nor end,
And I was plac'd, too humble to contend:
I from my peaceful Dwelling, straight was hurl'd,
And bid to wander o'er an unknown World:
Nor wou'd they stop their cruel Vengeance here,
But sorc'd these Babes, my Punishment to share,
Too weak, alass, such mighty Ills to bear.
She heard, and Pity fill'd her Mind,
The too long cruel Pow'rs, now made her kind,
With soft Compassion, and a gracious Look,
To listening  thus the Lady spoke,
If thou wilt give thy Daughter to my Care,
Her Breeding and her Fortune shall be Fair:
In Virtues Rules we will instruct her Youth,
With Love of Modesty and Sacred Truth:
Speak hen, if to my Words thou dost agree,
Inform her Name, and leave the Child with me.
First, up to Heaven his watry Eyes he rear'd,
And thank'd the Pow'rs who thus his Pray'rs, had heard.
Then to her.
Oh! thou bright Pattern of thy charming Sex,
Bless'd be thy Days, may no disquiets vex
Thy peaceful Mind, nor lengthen'd Years per;
But all thy Joys uninterrupted be,
Thy Life one Scene of bless'd Prosperity.
is the Name o'th' wretched Child,
O may she Virtuous prove, her Temper mild;
With a kind Eye may you her Actions view,
For you are Parents now, and Mistress too:
With that he turn'd, and blotted out a Tear,
The Infants parting Look he cou'd not bear.
The courteous Dame to him a Present gave,
And the poor Babe to an attending Slave.
In ancient Times, thus did they merit Praise,
By Noble Acts, their Name and Country raise:
Few wanton Dames, no broken Nuptial Bed,
The Wretched they reliev'd, the Poor they sed:
In Deeds, like this, dwelt their Renown of Old,
No Pride, no Falshood, no curs'd Love of Gold,
But Glory reign'd in every  Soul;
No lurking Vice their Greatness durst controul.
return'd still sad, his Heart still griev'd,
To him the Child is lost, tho' thus reliev'd;
And as he measur'd out his pencive Way,
He met the Bard with whom he cross'd the Sea;
He hail'd him thus, lift up thy Eyes from Earth,
No sulien Star o'er-rul'd thy Childrens Birth.
Thy Daughter now has reach'd the happy Shore,
Destructive Fate has lost its pois'nous Pow'r,
Her Innocence the Planets hurt no more.
Thy Son, good Fortune shall attend his Bloom,
And a long Train of Blessings press to come;
Only thou many tedious Years must wait,
E'er thou shalt conquer thy malignant Fate;
On me be all their hateful Influence shed,
Showr all their Wrath on this poor destin'd Head,
The Sufferer cry'd, I'll bear it in their Stead;
And if the rowling Torrent they withstand,
I'll kneel and bless the persecuting Hand:
Instruct me, Sir, how I this Youth may save
From threat'ning Ills, which oft pursue the Brave,
For I shall soon press to the peaceful Grave;
There undisturb'd may find that sweet Repose,
So long deny'd by my too cruel Foes.
Instruct your Son in his uncertain Way,
For Truth Divine shines forth in all you say.
Then thus the Bard:
Amidst the  Mountains, where of old,
Such warlike Deeds of  Chiefs are told;
Where  did his mighty Art expose,
From whence his Wonders and his Fame arose,
The Lord high President keeps there his Court,
And fondly seeks the Strangers kind Resort;
The Youths are there bred up to Feats of Arms:
Thy lovely Son has all those manly Charms,
That will attract his Eyes, his Fancy move,
And fix him to his Soul, with Bonds of Love.
Farewel, for I shall ne'er behold thee more;
My Tempest beaten Age, comes near the Shore;
Where wearied out, I lay me down to rest,
When Thought and Care, no more shall load my Breast,
Nor vainer Objects my freed Soul molest;
But upward mount, thro' yon bright Realms, and see
All the great Maze of vast Eternity:
The wond'rous Contemplation Silence brought,
And he seem'd lost in Energy of Thought:
Then lift his Eyes, and blest the believing Pair,
But tho' intreated, would no more declare.
He deem'd the Council Sacred, and from thence
Doth his long weary Pilgrimage commence:
Oft Scraggy Rocks, and lofty Mounts they meet,
Where rising Ground resists their willing Feet;
Then reach'd those  so renown'd of old,
Of whom such famous Actions have been told;
There, as the Prophet said, the lovely Boy,
(The Last, the dearest Hope of  joy)
At the first sight the President approv'd,
Made him his Care, and soon he grew belov'd;
Soon  saw his happy Son design'd
The Darling of that Court, and humane Kind.
This was an Age when the Renown'd and Great,
Made Wealth but serve them to assist the State:
When bountious Nature had the Ground-Work laid,
Their forming Hand the worthy Heroe made;
Like his own Children,  Son was train'd,
And from his Patron's Bounty, Arms and Arts he gain'd.
In this was  Glory, and her Boast,
From Discipline like this, they rais'd a Host;
Then no industrious Youth neglected lay,
But Merit to Preferment led the Way:
dispos'd as might advance his Worth;
Was call'd  to conceal his Birth.
The  became the Queen of
Her Pride and Rage do with her Pow'r advance:
New Proclamations all around she sends,
Disgraces those who had been  Friends:
He fears a stricter Search will now be made;
Nor stays he, least his Children be betray'd,
But hasts to find a more secure Retreat
From Womans Rage, that's lasting as 'tis great:
Distress'd, he quits Fair  court'ous Shore,
But leaves behind, his All, his valu'd Store;
For whom he often does the Heavens implore.
He, with Regret, now leaves the lucky Strand,
Looks back, and Sighs, as on his native Land;
Extreamest Griefs, his suffering Soul o'erflow;
And every Breath declares incessent Woe;
Then he reflects on his malicious Foe.
Inhumane Queen, ah! Whether must I fly?
Is there no way to scape thée, but to die?
Yes, I wou'd die! throw off these servil Chains,
Did not our Priests pronounce eternal Pains
To those who wearied out with Life's Disease,
Shall dare to cure themselves e'er Nature please.
Fond Fatal Princess, couldst thou see me now,
Nor Love, nor Rage, wou'd discompose thy Brow.
Thus Lean and Pail (secure from being known)
I should move Pity for a Wretch undone:
And now my Royal Friend the  Reigns,
His Subjects in their Native Right maintains;
And Valour, Justice, Mercy, grace the Throne,
No injur'd Wretch makes his impatient Moan,
But all the  World, the Face of joy puts on.
'Tis only I that am debard of Bliss,
Nor can find Rest without destroying His:
Then let me ne'er accuse th' Imperial Dame,
But suffer still the Punishment and Shame.
He who had once a Nation at Command,
Now seeks a Master in  Land.
It was his Fate, a haughty Lord to find,
Fierce and severe, nor cou'd he bend his Mind;
And he who in his mild and gentle Sway,
His Servants made, thro' Love, not Fear, o bey,
No Slaves to pride, in plenty and in ease,
They liv'd content, for 'twas no Task to please;
Yet their Good Master's diligent in vain,
Faultless is chid, nor dares he to complain;
Not  at length to Ills inur'd
So much, or half so patiently indur'd.