T

HE Glories of our Birth and

State. Are Shadows, not substantial

(Things: There is po Armour against Fate, Death lays his Icy Hands on Kings

Scepter and Crown

Must tumble down, And in the Dust be equal laid, With the poor crooked Scythe and

(spade

Som

, A Thought upon Death, &c. 159 Some Men with Swords may reap the

(Field, And plant fresh Laurels where they kill, But their strong Nerves at last must

(yield, They tame but one another ftill;

Early or late,

They loop to Fate; And must give up their murmuring

Whilst the pale Captive yields to

(Death.

The Garlands wither on your Brow, Then boaft no more your mighty

(Deeds, Upon Death's purple Altar now, Sce where the Victor Victim bleeds..

AU Heads must come.

To the cold. Tomb; Only the Actions of the Just Smell. sweet and blossom in the Dalt.

R

Owze up, Great Charles! Thy

Courage show, Or Faction soon will bring Thee low : Some must be Banilh'd, others Swing, Or Thou must cease to be a King. No credit give to Villain Oats, Be not amus'd with Popilh Plors; No Foregin Troops of Pilgrims fear, Nor Popish Armięs in the Air; But guard thy Throne againft the base Designs of those that boast of Grace, And plead thereby, as Times go now, A better Right to Rule than Thou.

Take

Take care of Tony and his Party,
They are the Rogues that mean to hurt

(thee
The Tories love thee and obey thee,
None but the Rebel Whigs betray thee,
The stubborn wicked Spawn of those
That struggld for the Good OldCause,

Till they thy Royal Sire subdu’d, y And in his blood their Hands imbrú'd; These are the only Snakes that fting

(thee And if not crush'd will soon unking

thee :)

For thou hast warm'd them till they

(bite thee, The way they always will requite thee Therefore look round thy Court, good

(Prince,
And banish all such Serpents thence.
Mercy, that Attribute divine,
Hath been thy Fathers fault and thine;
His Clemency and Goodness coft
Himself and Subjects all they loft ;
And thine, if thou wilt still restrain
Thy Justice, will abridge thy Reign ;

For

For Whigs believe that Mercy springs
Alone from Cowardise in Kings ;
And therefore but insult the more,
When Princes moderate their Pow'r.

Banish thy spurious Son the Land, Let him no more thy Troops command; Withdraw thy fondness from the Fool, Thy Darling, but the Party's Tool; A Fencing, Riding, Cringing Thing, That courts the mob to make himKing, An empty, dancing, fiery Bauble, Ador'd by Strumpets and the Rabble, The Ladies Idol at a Ball, The Stallion of thy Court Whitehall; Who got,great Charles,by thee,retains Thyprincelyluft, but wants thy brains, Which makes fome think when you

(contented His Mother, that your Head difsented, And that's the Cause the Foppish Ape Has nothing of thee but thy Shape.

Beware