The Works of Mr. Robert Gould In Two Volumes. Consisting of those Poems [and] Satyrs Which were formerly Printed, and Corrected since by the Author; As also of the many more which He Design'd for the Press. Publish'd from his Own Original Copies [by Robert Gould] |
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To his Grace the Duke of Beaufort on his Marriage with the Lady Mary Sackville.
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 | The Works of Mr. Robert Gould |  |
To his Grace the Duke of Beaufort on his Marriage with the Lady Mary Sackville.
My LORD,
Let one unknown his willing Homage pay,
To sing your CHOICE, and celebrate the Day
That will to Thousands more Auspic'ous prove,
With Beauty crown'd, and smiling all with Love!
To sing your CHOICE, and celebrate the Day
That will to Thousands more Auspic'ous prove,
With Beauty crown'd, and smiling all with Love!
I see, Methinks, the Nuptial Pomp appear,
But yet too distant to distinguish clear:
All Glitt'ring as with Stars the Milky-Way;
But those of Night, and these are Gemms of Day.
Yet soon, alas! they vanish from our Sight,
All Lost in Sackvill's Purer Globe of Light,
Just as Aurora, when the Sun does rise,
Melts into Paleness, and deserts the Skies.
But yet too distant to distinguish clear:
All Glitt'ring as with Stars the Milky-Way;
But those of Night, and these are Gemms of Day.
193
All Lost in Sackvill's Purer Globe of Light,
Just as Aurora, when the Sun does rise,
Melts into Paleness, and deserts the Skies.
Here let our Praises fix; and on the Bride
Propitious to her Fame, with Joy reside:
The Bride! the softest of her Beaute'ous Kind!
Her Form as much a Wonder as her Mind!
Whom Providence to Noble Beaufort gave,
To let him here of Bliss a foretast have!
O Goodness that we never can express!
For all Description makes Perfection less.
Never did yet the Marriage Tye Commence
With so much Sweetness, youth and Innocence.
Not Eve, just finish'd by th'Almighty Pow'r,
And led by Angels to the Nuptial Bow'r,
Had Chaster Thoughts; or, blest with Greater Charms,
Receiv'd a Nobler Consort to her Arms.
Propitious to her Fame, with Joy reside:
The Bride! the softest of her Beaute'ous Kind!
Her Form as much a Wonder as her Mind!
Whom Providence to Noble Beaufort gave,
To let him here of Bliss a foretast have!
O Goodness that we never can express!
For all Description makes Perfection less.
Never did yet the Marriage Tye Commence
With so much Sweetness, youth and Innocence.
Not Eve, just finish'd by th'Almighty Pow'r,
And led by Angels to the Nuptial Bow'r,
Had Chaster Thoughts; or, blest with Greater Charms,
Receiv'd a Nobler Consort to her Arms.
Oh on her Face behold the Mother rise!
Bloom in her Cheeks! and Brighten in her Eyes!
I see her there with all Her Graces on,
As then, when first She was to Dorset known;
When Crowds of Lovers did their Cares express,
But only, only His cou'd find Access.
Hard is the Heart, and deaf must be the Ear,
When so much Worth Approaches, not to hear.
But Ah! a Mist of Fate extinguish'd quite
That Beam of Heav'n, and snatch't Her from our Sight:
A better Fortune may the Daughter boast,
And doubly live the years that Angel lost.
Ah! how did then Northampton's Countess stand,
Raving with Grief, and deaf to Heav'n's Command!
Patience! that makes all other Sorrow less,
What cou'd it help in such a vast Distress!
When to the Soul the Piercing Anguish drove,
And there again had fresh Supplies from Love:
What cou'd her Wisdom, what her Vertues do!
How cou'd they close the Intellectual view,
And heal a Grief which Thought wou'd still renew?
For such a Blessing, and so early gone,
Only this Happy Union cou'd atone.
Bloom in her Cheeks! and Brighten in her Eyes!
I see her there with all Her Graces on,
As then, when first She was to Dorset known;
When Crowds of Lovers did their Cares express,
But only, only His cou'd find Access.
Hard is the Heart, and deaf must be the Ear,
When so much Worth Approaches, not to hear.
But Ah! a Mist of Fate extinguish'd quite
That Beam of Heav'n, and snatch't Her from our Sight:
A better Fortune may the Daughter boast,
And doubly live the years that Angel lost.
Ah! how did then Northampton's Countess stand,
Raving with Grief, and deaf to Heav'n's Command!
Patience! that makes all other Sorrow less,
What cou'd it help in such a vast Distress!
194
And there again had fresh Supplies from Love:
What cou'd her Wisdom, what her Vertues do!
How cou'd they close the Intellectual view,
And heal a Grief which Thought wou'd still renew?
For such a Blessing, and so early gone,
Only this Happy Union cou'd atone.
But hide, my Muse, that Prospect from our Sight,
Nor follow Fancy when she leaves Delight.
The Daughter lives, and Dorset lives to see
That Loss repair'd in Her Felicitie!
With Joyful Eyes He does the Rites Survey,
And gives to Heav'n the Praise of the Auspicious Day.
O Gene'rous Hand! that spreads like Nile his Store,
And wou'd, if Possible, have none be Poor.
Whole Families he does in secret raise;
Performs the Duty, but prevents the Praise.
Never before were Wealth and Honours giv'n
To one so Grateful in Returns to Heav'n.
For these and for a Thousand Deeds of Fame,
Aloud the Poets Celebrate his Name:
Nor less they owe to his deserv'd Applause,
That tries their Ore, and Constitutes their Laws.
Happy the Life and Labours of the Bard
Since Dorset writ, and Dorset did Reward.
By his Example He their Fury fires,
And with his Hand gives all their Need requires.
Ah long may Fate th'Æthereal Call delay!
For how will they Subsist and he away?
He is the Mirror, His the solid Name,
And they but live in a Reflected Fame.
Nor follow Fancy when she leaves Delight.
The Daughter lives, and Dorset lives to see
That Loss repair'd in Her Felicitie!
With Joyful Eyes He does the Rites Survey,
And gives to Heav'n the Praise of the Auspicious Day.
O Gene'rous Hand! that spreads like Nile his Store,
And wou'd, if Possible, have none be Poor.
Whole Families he does in secret raise;
Performs the Duty, but prevents the Praise.
Never before were Wealth and Honours giv'n
To one so Grateful in Returns to Heav'n.
For these and for a Thousand Deeds of Fame,
Aloud the Poets Celebrate his Name:
Nor less they owe to his deserv'd Applause,
That tries their Ore, and Constitutes their Laws.
Happy the Life and Labours of the Bard
Since Dorset writ, and Dorset did Reward.
By his Example He their Fury fires,
And with his Hand gives all their Need requires.
Ah long may Fate th'Æthereal Call delay!
For how will they Subsist and he away?
He is the Mirror, His the solid Name,
And they but live in a Reflected Fame.
And in that Mirror well the Muses see
What their lov'd Theme, their Buckhurst once will be:
Buckhurst! design'd for the next Ages Bliss,
As Heaven did his Propitious Sire for this.
Vast are the Hopes of his Meridian store,
For never yet a Morning Promis'd more!
All sweet his Temper! as 'twere fram'd to fit
The Mothers Vertues, and the Father's Wit.
With double Joy this Day to Him is shown,
As 'tis a Call to Introduce his Own,
When to his Arm some yielding Fair retires;
And He Enjoys what all the World admires.
What their lov'd Theme, their Buckhurst once will be:
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As Heaven did his Propitious Sire for this.
Vast are the Hopes of his Meridian store,
For never yet a Morning Promis'd more!
All sweet his Temper! as 'twere fram'd to fit
The Mothers Vertues, and the Father's Wit.
With double Joy this Day to Him is shown,
As 'tis a Call to Introduce his Own,
When to his Arm some yielding Fair retires;
And He Enjoys what all the World admires.
One half we of the Noble Train have view'd;
On Beaufort's Side 'twill be again renew'd:
A Race fram'd for the Best and Noblest Things,
Of serving Nations, and obliging Kings:
Witness the Marquess who in Civil-War
Advanc'd his Worth and Loyalty so far:
To his Immortal Fame our Annals shew
He Nobly Fought, and did what Man cou'd do
(Tho' forc'd to Balance an Unequal Weight)
To save the Church, and prop a Sinking State.
Beaufort was next, who, to his Prince Sincere,
When a Deserting Nation left him bare,
Convey'd this best of Counsels to his Ear.
O Stop your Course! nor Pow'r by Arms affect;
Your People will Obey, if you'll Protect:
But if on Gallia's Friendship You rely,
And with your Consort,and Her Priests comply,
You'll live Exil'd; and, last, unpitied die.
In vain he spoke; the Wretched Prince aspir'd
To all their Pride and Bigottry requir'd;
When Beaufort to the Rural Shades retir'd:
Where soon He found the Country's sweet Repose
A Nobler Joy than Court, or King bestows.
Free from Tumultuous Strifes and loose Excess,
'Tis only there we relish Happiness.
There did he Plough, and Sow, and Plant and Build,
And Triumph in the Labours of the Field;
As if no End of Living he enjoy'd,
But to do Good, and keep the Poor employ'd.
On Beaufort's Side 'twill be again renew'd:
A Race fram'd for the Best and Noblest Things,
Of serving Nations, and obliging Kings:
Witness the Marquess who in Civil-War
Advanc'd his Worth and Loyalty so far:
To his Immortal Fame our Annals shew
He Nobly Fought, and did what Man cou'd do
(Tho' forc'd to Balance an Unequal Weight)
To save the Church, and prop a Sinking State.
Beaufort was next, who, to his Prince Sincere,
When a Deserting Nation left him bare,
Convey'd this best of Counsels to his Ear.
O Stop your Course! nor Pow'r by Arms affect;
Your People will Obey, if you'll Protect:
But if on Gallia's Friendship You rely,
And with your Consort,and Her Priests comply,
You'll live Exil'd; and, last, unpitied die.
In vain he spoke; the Wretched Prince aspir'd
To all their Pride and Bigottry requir'd;
When Beaufort to the Rural Shades retir'd:
Where soon He found the Country's sweet Repose
A Nobler Joy than Court, or King bestows.
Free from Tumultuous Strifes and loose Excess,
'Tis only there we relish Happiness.
196
And Triumph in the Labours of the Field;
As if no End of Living he enjoy'd,
But to do Good, and keep the Poor employ'd.
Of these, some Ceres to the Garners bore;
Some for the Cattle Reek their Winter's Store:
Some turn the hardn'd Glebe, and lay it bare,
To render't Pregnant for the following Year.
There to the Clouds the Falcon wings her Way!
Here runs the Tim'rous Hare, and there the Stag's at Bay:
Nor yet does Reynard scape th'unequal Strife,
But with his Death compensates for his Life.
The Shepherd there his Flocks to washing brings,
The Shearer here his Rich Employment sings;
The Pride of Foreign Courts, and Wear of Kings!
The Fatting Ox, the Loving Kine and Deer,
For all their Wants have all Attendants near.
Some in the Cooling Grots, and Fragrant Bow'rs,
Like the First Pair, employ their happy Hours,
To prune the Trees Luxurious Growth, and prop the bending Flow'rs.
Some on the Verdant Lap of Flora lie,
To root the Suckers that obtrude too nigh.
Here Vistoe's, cut for many Miles out-right,
Open the distant Country to our Sight,
And fill the Eye with Wonder and Delight.
O happy Stage of sweet and various Scenes!
O Fountains, Wildernesses, Walks and Greens!
So just your Order, and dispos'd so ev'n,
To Eden scarce were greater Beauties giv'n,
Tho' Cast, and Planted by the Hand of Heav'n!
Some for the Cattle Reek their Winter's Store:
Some turn the hardn'd Glebe, and lay it bare,
To render't Pregnant for the following Year.
There to the Clouds the Falcon wings her Way!
Here runs the Tim'rous Hare, and there the Stag's at Bay:
Nor yet does Reynard scape th'unequal Strife,
But with his Death compensates for his Life.
The Shepherd there his Flocks to washing brings,
The Shearer here his Rich Employment sings;
The Pride of Foreign Courts, and Wear of Kings!
The Fatting Ox, the Loving Kine and Deer,
For all their Wants have all Attendants near.
Some in the Cooling Grots, and Fragrant Bow'rs,
Like the First Pair, employ their happy Hours,
To prune the Trees Luxurious Growth, and prop the bending Flow'rs.
Some on the Verdant Lap of Flora lie,
To root the Suckers that obtrude too nigh.
Here Vistoe's, cut for many Miles out-right,
Open the distant Country to our Sight,
And fill the Eye with Wonder and Delight.
O happy Stage of sweet and various Scenes!
O Fountains, Wildernesses, Walks and Greens!
So just your Order, and dispos'd so ev'n,
To Eden scarce were greater Beauties giv'n,
Tho' Cast, and Planted by the Hand of Heav'n!
How cou'd such Numbers, by his Bounty sed,
Eat on without a Miracle of Bread!
But Prudence solely all his Actions sway'd,
And Hundreds more had readily been paid:
Nor ever was he better Temper'd found,
Than when his Workmen spread the Country round,
Walling his Trees, and managing his Ground.
Thus did he Glorious live; and last expir'd,
At once Belov'd, Lamented, and Admir'd.
Hapless in only this;—first to survey
His eldest Son relentless torn away,
Then Die himself before this happy Day:
That Son whose Vertues did the Age adorn,
And whom it yet has not forgot to Mourn.
I see, Methinks, th'Affrighted Steeds appear,
Whirling along the Trembling Charioteer:
With broken Reins the steepy Clift they take,
And, Rattling down, a wild Confusion make:
Entangl'd in their Harness, high they rear,
Their threat'ning Hoofs, and shoot their Foam into the Air.
The Marquess by this time Concern'd appear'd,
But, leaping out, Receiv'd the Ill he fear'd:
Pull'd by his Garments back, his Flesh and Bones
Are Crush'd and Ground between the Wheels and Stones.
His wretched Lady sees—She shrieks! she cries!
She prays!—and cast to Heav'n her beaute'ous Eyes!
In vain!—the Accents never reach'd the Skies!
Some cruel Pow'r had, sure, the Passage barr'd,
Or so much Worth and Sweetness had been heard!—
But whither has my heedless Duty stray'd!—
O drop the Pencil!—there's too much display'd!
Be quick! and cast the rest into a Shade!
Eat on without a Miracle of Bread!
But Prudence solely all his Actions sway'd,
And Hundreds more had readily been paid:
197
Than when his Workmen spread the Country round,
Walling his Trees, and managing his Ground.
Thus did he Glorious live; and last expir'd,
At once Belov'd, Lamented, and Admir'd.
Hapless in only this;—first to survey
His eldest Son relentless torn away,
Then Die himself before this happy Day:
That Son whose Vertues did the Age adorn,
And whom it yet has not forgot to Mourn.
I see, Methinks, th'Affrighted Steeds appear,
Whirling along the Trembling Charioteer:
With broken Reins the steepy Clift they take,
And, Rattling down, a wild Confusion make:
Entangl'd in their Harness, high they rear,
Their threat'ning Hoofs, and shoot their Foam into the Air.
The Marquess by this time Concern'd appear'd,
But, leaping out, Receiv'd the Ill he fear'd:
Pull'd by his Garments back, his Flesh and Bones
Are Crush'd and Ground between the Wheels and Stones.
His wretched Lady sees—She shrieks! she cries!
She prays!—and cast to Heav'n her beaute'ous Eyes!
In vain!—the Accents never reach'd the Skies!
Some cruel Pow'r had, sure, the Passage barr'd,
Or so much Worth and Sweetness had been heard!—
But whither has my heedless Duty stray'd!—
O drop the Pencil!—there's too much display'd!
Be quick! and cast the rest into a Shade!
And just in Time; for now in View I find
His Noble Mother, whose aspiring Mind
Does take the Skies, and soar above her Kind.
O Pattern, ev'ry Lady long shou'd read!
But nothing, nothing ever will exceed!
If 'tis such Glory to be Vertuous Young,
What must it be to live a Saint so long!
In all our Annals where's a Female Name
So truly Great, and well secur'd to Fame?
Where can we find, if it as num'rous be
As this, so well a govern'd Family?
True as a Watch she does the whole dispose,
And ev'ry little Wheel it's Office knows:
No Jangle, or Confusion e'er is found;
So smooth the Motion that does turn 'em round.
What Servant ever was Incourag'd there,
Intemp'rate, or neglecting Hours of Prayer?
Most of our Noble Houses are become
Odious abroad, and Schools for Vice at Home:
But here a different Method still did shew
We may be Nobly born, and Vertuous too;
That Pow'r it self may yet Oppression shun,
And Dignity and Honesty be ONE.
Who ever saw the needy Tradesmen wait,
Shaking their Heads, and crowding to the Gate,
But coming still too Early, or too Late?
Who ever saw the Poor and Needy Soul
Derided? or Dismiss'd without a Dole?
O Vertue that we ever must admire!
In view of Heav'n, and yet advancing higher!
Such Prudence has not till our Age been shown;
Nor will again to Future Times be known,
Unless the Beaute'ous Bride convey it down:
Yes, Madam, all we in this PATTERN see,
Her Management, her Wit, and Piety,
The Coming Age expects will all revive in Thee.
His Noble Mother, whose aspiring Mind
Does take the Skies, and soar above her Kind.
198
But nothing, nothing ever will exceed!
If 'tis such Glory to be Vertuous Young,
What must it be to live a Saint so long!
In all our Annals where's a Female Name
So truly Great, and well secur'd to Fame?
Where can we find, if it as num'rous be
As this, so well a govern'd Family?
True as a Watch she does the whole dispose,
And ev'ry little Wheel it's Office knows:
No Jangle, or Confusion e'er is found;
So smooth the Motion that does turn 'em round.
What Servant ever was Incourag'd there,
Intemp'rate, or neglecting Hours of Prayer?
Most of our Noble Houses are become
Odious abroad, and Schools for Vice at Home:
But here a different Method still did shew
We may be Nobly born, and Vertuous too;
That Pow'r it self may yet Oppression shun,
And Dignity and Honesty be ONE.
Who ever saw the needy Tradesmen wait,
Shaking their Heads, and crowding to the Gate,
But coming still too Early, or too Late?
Who ever saw the Poor and Needy Soul
Derided? or Dismiss'd without a Dole?
O Vertue that we ever must admire!
In view of Heav'n, and yet advancing higher!
Such Prudence has not till our Age been shown;
Nor will again to Future Times be known,
Unless the Beaute'ous Bride convey it down:
Yes, Madam, all we in this PATTERN see,
Her Management, her Wit, and Piety,
The Coming Age expects will all revive in Thee.
199
'Tis fit, my Lord, we stop our Courser here;
There is no Moving now the Bride's so near;
No Creature can be blam'd for Gazing there!
Abroad w'ave been, and took a spacious Ring,
And now Return Your Mutual Flame to sing:
O Sweetness!—but no more!—for Language fails
Where such unusual Excellence prevails,
And flashing round us more than Human Light,
Confounds the Utt'rance equal with the Sight.
I see You view her with a Lover's Eye,
Darting their Beams, and melting into Joy.
While others Beauties on the Stalk decay,
You see Your BRIDE's advancing ev'ry Day;
O may it Root, and never wear away!
There may the Heav'nly Colours long be born;
The very same that are by Angels worn,
Or those in which Aurora dips the Morn.
And may you yet this further Kindness prove,
As She in Beauty, to advance in Love,
Till we than HER can nothing fairer view,
And Guardian Angels prove less kind than YOU.
There is no Moving now the Bride's so near;
No Creature can be blam'd for Gazing there!
Abroad w'ave been, and took a spacious Ring,
And now Return Your Mutual Flame to sing:
O Sweetness!—but no more!—for Language fails
Where such unusual Excellence prevails,
And flashing round us more than Human Light,
Confounds the Utt'rance equal with the Sight.
I see You view her with a Lover's Eye,
Darting their Beams, and melting into Joy.
While others Beauties on the Stalk decay,
You see Your BRIDE's advancing ev'ry Day;
O may it Root, and never wear away!
There may the Heav'nly Colours long be born;
The very same that are by Angels worn,
Or those in which Aurora dips the Morn.
And may you yet this further Kindness prove,
As She in Beauty, to advance in Love,
Till we than HER can nothing fairer view,
And Guardian Angels prove less kind than YOU.
Where is the Mirth that to the Day belongs?
Where are the Flutes, the Dances and the Songs?
Summon ye Master Shepherds of the Plains,
Summon together all the Nymphs and Swains,
That ev'ry Soul, and loud that Heav'n may hear,
May bless the Happy, Loving, Lovely Pair!
'Tis done!—the Hearty, General Shout I hear,
It rends the Mountains, and it deafs the Air!
See! how in Crowds Obsequiously they move
To welcome Beauty, and to Honour Love.
Among the rest, O deign but to Receive
This Chaplet which the Rural Muse does weave;
If but with Smiles her Present You Regard,
She humbly here withdraws, and asks no more Reward.
Where are the Flutes, the Dances and the Songs?
Summon ye Master Shepherds of the Plains,
Summon together all the Nymphs and Swains,
That ev'ry Soul, and loud that Heav'n may hear,
May bless the Happy, Loving, Lovely Pair!
'Tis done!—the Hearty, General Shout I hear,
It rends the Mountains, and it deafs the Air!
See! how in Crowds Obsequiously they move
To welcome Beauty, and to Honour Love.
Among the rest, O deign but to Receive
This Chaplet which the Rural Muse does weave;
If but with Smiles her Present You Regard,
She humbly here withdraws, and asks no more Reward.
| The Works of Mr. Robert Gould | |