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 Mr. Mansell and his Lady, on the Birth of their Son and Heir.
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 | The Works of Mr. Robert Gould |  |
To Mr. Mansell and his Lady, on the Birth of their Son and Heir.
An ECLOGUE. Written at the Request of a Friend.
Thirsis. Alexis.THIRSIS.
From the great Town where Wealth and State does dwell,
I come, Alexis, to thy lonely Cell,
The happiest Tidings in the World to tell.
While here your Mind you with Invectives ease,
You care not who you lash, or who displease;
Why else, O Friend, in all the Songs you sing,
Dost thou so like an angry Scorpion sting?
While thus your Verse to Satyr you confine,
Thy Muse all nobler Subject does decline.
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No nobler Subject can employ our Thoughts,
Than to make Fools and Knaves detest their Fau'ts.
At the Offending all my Shafts are aim'd,
And none shou'd be concern'd that such are sham'd.
But why this Visit? what's thy happy News?
And on what Theme wou'd you employ the Muse?
THIRSIS.
Daphnis, O Friend, that ever-gen'rous Swain,
The Hope, the Joy, and Wonder of the Plain;
Daphnis the Bold, the Witty, and the Gay,
The Glory of the Groves, and Pride of May;
E'en He, with the prevailing Voice of Prayer,
This happy Morning has obtain'd an Heir.
'Twas long before the gracious Pow'rs comply'd;
Thus Prayer may be delay'd, but not deny'd.
Three Tryals of the Fairer Sex were past
E'er a Son's born—a Son is born at last!
His Father's Hope, his Mother's utmost Joy
Have both their full Perfection in the BOY.
Cou'd you (for sure you must) these Tydings hear,
And not congratulate the lovely Pair?
O welcome Day! and O more welcome Heir!
ALEXIS.
News seldom comes to Country Swains sincere,
Doubtful Report does make a doubtful Ear;
But this, indeed, is what I did not hear:
Or had I heard, to write had been my Blame;
For what Pretence have I to use his Name
That I but barely know by common Fame?
THIRSIS.
Plutarch, who such illustrious Hero's drew,
Not one among 'em all in Person knew;
From Fame he took 'em, and to Fame did give
Their glorious Names, which now will ever live:
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They had not to our latter times been known.
If then by Fame you noble Daphnis know,
The noble Youth as she has drawn him show;
And while his Wit and Vertues you recite,
I'll tell you if the Dame has done him Right.
ALEXIS.
Then hear her say that an unblemish'd Truth
With all the Fruit of Age has crown'd his Youth.
So sweet his Form, e'en Women have less Charms;
All but the beauteous Dame that fills his Arms.
But then his Courage is so vastly great,
'Tis just Amazement such Extremes shou'd meet:
For Men that rival the fair Sex in Shew,
Have commonly the Souls of Women too,
But in the Brightness of this Shepherd's Mien
There's a strange Sort of lovely fierceness seen:
And then his Wit's so active, clear and true,
When e'er he speaks w'are sure of something new.
What beauteous, or disdainful Dame cou'd prove
So strangely cruel to deny him Love?
The sweet Alinda, Queen of his Desire,
That sure to wound, cou'd with a Look inspire
In other Shepherds Breasts th'Am'rous Fire;
That without Pity heard 'em all complain,
Relentless and regardless of their Pain;
Here found the Shafts her Eyes had thrown return'd,
And in the same Seraphick Fever burn'd:
For how cou'd two so like themselves alone,
Like Heat and Flame, be kept from being one?
Not the First Pair in Eden's blissful Bow'rs,
Before their Fall, enjoy'd diviner Hours.
Thus while these Lovers we with Wonder View,
'Tis easie to believe those Fictions true
Which the bold Greeks have so sublimely told;
The Real here out does the feign'd of Old.
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Is seen, and ev'ry brighter Excellence,
Amaz'd we stand, all Joyful of his Gain;
Tho' we shou'd envy any other Swain
The sole Possession of the Matchless Fair,
Who, loving him, gives all the World Despair.
For as his Youth did early Promise give
Of Wonders, if he did to Manhood live;
So by a Father's Worth to Vertue warm'd,
His Riper Years has seen 'em all perform'd.—
Thus far, O Friend, the Publick Voice does go.
THIRSIS.
And so may I be blest as all is true;
So his dear Friendship may I still retain,
And so may I not make this Prayer in vain.
But if their Joys so num'rous were before,
How must this vast Addition swell the Store?
Their large Estate, that down Succession came,
By this Conveyance of the charming Dame,
May go on Ages in the Noble Name;
That Name that backward does so far extend,
And now is likely ne'er to know an end.
How happily does the Prolifick Fair
Her Husband's only Brother's Loss repair?
Snatch'd hence by angry Death's preventing Spite,
But some few Days before his Nuptial Night;
His Nuptial Night, alas! that shou'd have been,
Had not the pale-fac'd Tyrant step'd between:
In the cold Grave he does his Spousals keep;
The waking Night, is now Eternal Sleep!
But blest is he that on high Heav'n depends!
How soon the Gracious Pow'r has made amends!
A little Borrows, but he largely Lends.
How must this News the Cambrian Knight revive?
His Son is in his Grand-son yet alive:
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But 'tis return'd him wholly in the BOY.
Alike Alinda's Joyful Parents smil'd,
Never no Parents happier in a Child;
Happy in Her, and happy in her Heir,
A Joy of which they did almost despair;
But what's too hard for Piety and Prayer?
ALEXIS.
Tho' to their Praise I can no Trophy rear,
I can join with you in a fervent Prayer.
May he, that cou'd so soon such Comfort give,
Prove a much greater Comfort yet and Live;
Live till he does a Noble Harvest yield,
Till his rich Autumn crown with Fruit the Field,
Honour his Sword, and Innocence his Shield;
The Wathchful Guard that best divert their Aim,
When Envy and Ill Nature shoot at Fame.
O Thirsis! without Flatt'ry, or Design,
This is my Prayer.
THIRSIS.
And, Witness Heav'n! 'tis Mine.
But come, 'tis fit that Daphnis we attend,
I came to see thee chiefly for that end:
There thou shalt hear so many Tongues rejoice,
It wants but Thine to be the General Voice.
ALEXIS.
I go, but I must make a quick Return;
Tho' few, my Sheep must not be left forlorn.
And trust me, were it not to throw my Mite
Into this Boundless Treasury of Delight,
I wou'd not (tho' our Flock's so very small
It scarce brings Wooll enough to cloath us all)
Leave this cool Shade, this humble poor Retreat,
One Moment, to live Ages with the Great;
Whose sole Diversions and sublimest Joys
Are only Ceremony, Dress and Noise.
| The Works of Mr. Robert Gould | |