The mighty Genius to my Thought appear'd,
Just in the same Concern he us'd to show,
When private Tempests us'd to blow,
Storms which the Monarch more than Death or Battel fear'd.
When Party Fury shook his Throne,70
And made their mighty Malice known,
I've heard the sighing Monarch say,
The Publick Peace so near him lay,
It took the Pleasure of his Crown away.
It fill'd with Cares his Royal Breast;
Often he has those Cares Prophetickly exprest,
That when he should the Reins let go,
Heaven would some Token of its Anger show,
To let the thankless Nation see
How they despis'd their own Felicity.80
This robb'd the Hero of his Rest,
Disturb'd the Calm of his serener Breast.

When to the Queen the Scepter he resign'd,
With a resolv'd and steady Mind,
Tho' he rejoic'd to lay the Trifle down,
He pity'd Her to whom he left the Crown:
Foreseeing long and vig'rous Wars,
Foreseeing endless, private, Party Jarrs,
Would always interrupt Her Rest,
And fill with Anxious Cares Her Royal Breast.90
For Storms of Court Ambition rage as high
Almost as Tempests in the Sky.

Could I my hasty Doom retrieve,
And once more in the Land of Poets live,
I'd now the Men of Flags and Fortune greet,
And write an Elegy upon the Fleet.
First, those that on the Shore were idly found,
Whom other Fate protects, while better Men were drown'd,
They may thank God for being Knaves on Shore,
But sure the Q – will never trust them more.100

They who rid out the Storm, and liv'd,
But saw not whence it was deriv'd,
Sensless of Danger, or the mighty Hand,
That could to cease, as well as blow, command,
Let such unthinking Creatures have a Care,
For some worse End prepare.
Let them look out for some such Day,
When what the Sea would not, the Gallows may.

Those that in former Dangers shunn'd the Fight,
But met their Ends in this Disast'rous Night,110
Have left this Caution, tho' too late,
That all Events are known to Fate.
Cowards avoid no Danger when they run,
And Courage scapes the Death it would not shun;
'Tis Nonsence from our Fate to fly,
All Men must once have Heart enough to die.

Those Sons of Plunder are below my Pen,
Because they are below the Names of Men;
Who from the Shores presenting to their Eyes
The Fatal Goodwin, where the Wreck of Navies Lyes,120
A thousand dying Saylors talking to the Skies.
From the sad Shores they saw the Wretches walk,
By Signals of Distress they talk;
There with one Tide of Life they're vext,
For all were sure to die the next.
The Barbarous Shores with Men and Boats abound,
The Men more Barbarous than the Shores are found;
Off to the shatter'd Ships they go,
And for the Floating Purchase Row.