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A33398 The songs of Moses and Deborah paraphras'd with poems on several occasions : never before publish'd : to which is added, a Pindarick on Mr. L'Estrange. Cleeve, Charles, b. 1661. 1685 (1685) Wing C4625; ESTC R12342 42,192 162

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For Mother Venus as the Story goes Once ventur'd out against her Grecian Foes That she was breech'd and booted 't is not said But this is sure She went in Masquerade The Grecian and the Trojan Huffs Were helter skelter faln to Cuffs Like Light'ning on the formost Ranks she flew But in a Camp 'las what shou'd Women do She soon was spied by Bully Diomed Who at first touch e'n set her on her head He drew and cut her through her Gauntlet-Glove And sent her whining to her Father Jove Yet still we see her Daughters love the sport Though once their Mother paid so dearly for 't But somewhat strange it seems to be And e'en a Riddle is to me That Venus naked all men does o'rcome And now well arm'd shou'd meet so sad a Doom VII My little Female Bully what design Had'st thou in this odd Garb and warlike Mein Arm'd with dite Steel why wouldst thou e'r appear Thy hands were made to weild another Spear In Love's soft Battels you may Glory win But here to think to do so is a sin Nay if we will believe some Writers Pen One Woman there 's too hard for twenty Men. Now I 'm not so much a Sot But can with ease find out your Plot By sin you lost your Empire and your sway And now wou'd fain retrieve the day Well then pray thus let me decide the Fray Trust me 't will be a far more glorious Prize Lay by these Arms and conquer with your Eyes Only let Man be Master in the Streets And you shall always beat between the Sheets A POEM ON THE Prince's Marriage Vt gaudent Pater Aeneas Avunculus Hector Virgil. I. ALmighty Love who can thy ways define Thou small intrieguing God thou 'rt all design Thy Quiver and thy Darts are farther known Than the gay wandring Bow which in the Clouds is shown Thou keep'st the Gods themselves in awe By thy Universal Law Jove though amidst his stores of Rain and Hail Against thy secret Flames can nought prevail Thou breakest through his Guards and with thy Dart Doest pierce the groaning Monarch to the heart Neptune though all around with Waves opprest Yet by the Ocean finds his Love encreast Like water that on fire 's cast Nay thou beyond the Tropicks canst approach Where Sol in all his Journey dare not touch Let it be Torrid or the Frigid Zone There an Empire thou dost owne Which wou'd both temperate be Were it not bold God for thee Denmark which lies remoter from the Sun With as brisk Flames we find as Britain burn O Love thou weakest part in Souls the most Divine Against the Prince's warlike Brest First against His ease and rest By practis'd Arts and tricks thou didst design He own'd thy power and never stay'd But thy Godship soon obey'd Led by thy light through rolling Seas He mov'd To meet his Royal Love He fear'd no Rocks that lay between So that within her Breast none cou'd be seen He fear'd not all the ills from Seas and Winds cou'd come So that her breath did not pronounce his fatal Doom Thus Vesta's Flame it self did once maintain Through the black Deep till it the Port did gain Till it at Rome had reacht the Sacred Fane Nor did he long expect his Doom He did but come and see and overcome By Parlee and Capitulation In ten days space her Virgin Fort was won An easier Conquest Jove cou'd never boast No Mistris ever stood him in less cost When cloyster'd Danae he wou'd gain To bribe her Keepers he was fain With Gold his Godship then was forc'd to buy New Morsels and Supplies for his unbounded Luxury II. Pardon blest Pair these rude unpolish'd Lines With which a Loyal Muse wou'd now adorn your Shrines Like some young Virgin who when half undrest Around her loosely casts her Vest Into the Croud with eager steps does go To gaze and wonder at the pompous show Welcome Great Prince to our once happy shore For this once one time dear Land thy pardon I implore For many years the Pride of all the Floud The envy of the Western World it stood In this our Isle as once of Rhodes was said The Sun was never thought to hide his head Antiquity with all its searching eyes Cou'd never fansie or devise That once in Aegypt or in Albion Clouds cou'd rise Let Fortunate or Happy now no longer be its Name But style it henceforth Europe's shame As in Greek Story we of Countries reade That for their sins have often chang'd their Breed Of Men or Manners so no more appears But all are here transform'd to Lyons Dogs and Bears III. But the mistaken World may fansie yet That happiness here keeps her peaceful Seat Who see our thronged Streets still ebb and flow With Waves of people crouding to and fro Who with such artful Beauty and surprize See all our Palaces and Temples rise Who see our Navies daily plough the Main With a full Harvest blest of dear-bought gain Some freighted with the Golden Spoils o' th' West Some with the shining Entrails of the East So a poor Swain viewing a Tyrant's State With secret Envy does applaud his Fate But yet ne'r learns to prize his own dear peaceful rest Nor sees those inward flames that rack the gaudy Pageant 's Brest Thus Aetna to the distant Sailers sight Shews with a top that 's verdant flourishing and bright But yet within its burning Womb contains Nothing but Brimstone Lime and scorching sulphurous Veins IV. Yet from these Mists Great Sir that darken all the Air A sudden joy does dart and scatter our despair When thus by you a way we open'd find How the Fates may still be kind How by your Royal Progeny We and our Sons may ever happy be So have I seen a kind auspicious Star Shine forth and guide the wandring Traveller While all else stood with thickest Night beset This sparkled like a Diamond set in Jet So from two warring Clouds black teeming Womb Oft have I seen the nimble Lightning come And trembling run o'r all the Azure way And with its light create a short-liv'd Day The unruly Many now shall cease to rage Or ever more disturb the Age No more shall Schism and bold Anarchy Among our English Manufactures number'd be Pale Faction now shall hang its drooping head It shall be through the World proclaim'd That Oracles are once more ceast That the Old Cause the mighty Pan is dead These curst heart-burnings and ill-boding Flames Shall hence be exorcis'd by your illustrious Names As Culinary Fire In the Suns Beams does lose its force and strait expire The giddy Rabble and the Beasts of Prey Shall by your Nuptial Fires be scar'd away As men in Africa do Bonfires rear To keep 'em from the Lyon and the savage Bear Then let our British Annals talk no more Of one St George his Deeds and wondrous Pow'r This is the Man Him the Great ORDER shall In future times their Saint and