Mr. Cooke's Original Poems with Imitations and Translations of Several Select Passages of the Antients, In Four Parts: To which are added Proposals For perfecting the English Language |
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A RHAPSODY ON Virtue and Pleasure, TO JAMES REYNOLDS, Esq; Lord Chief Baron of the Exchequer. |
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 | Mr. Cooke's Original Poems |  |
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A RHAPSODY ON Virtue and Pleasure, TO JAMES REYNOLDS, Esq; Lord Chief Baron of the Exchequer.
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When Virtue from the busy World retires,
After a glorious Race, the Muse admires;
Her ev'ry Step with curious Eyes she views,
And with immortal Praise the Tract pursues.
If she retreats poetic Shades among,
Where Virgil was inspir'd, and Horace sung,
(The Land of Wit and Wisdom Ages pass'd,)
Where Tully wrote, and Shaftesb'ry breath'd his last,
Or if to Asiatic Plains she flys,
To the rich Climes where eastern Odours rise,
Let her to Kilda's northern Island go,
Crown'd, like Olympus, with eternal Snow,
High on whatever Hill she makes her Bed,
Or in whatever Vale she hides her Head,
Let her beneath whatever Sky repair,
The Muse shall follow, and attend her there.
After a glorious Race, the Muse admires;
Her ev'ry Step with curious Eyes she views,
And with immortal Praise the Tract pursues.
If she retreats poetic Shades among,
Where Virgil was inspir'd, and Horace sung,
(The Land of Wit and Wisdom Ages pass'd,)
Where Tully wrote, and Shaftesb'ry breath'd his last,
Or if to Asiatic Plains she flys,
To the rich Climes where eastern Odours rise,
Let her to Kilda's northern Island go,
Crown'd, like Olympus, with eternal Snow,
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Or in whatever Vale she hides her Head,
Let her beneath whatever Sky repair,
The Muse shall follow, and attend her there.
Reynolds, for thee, whom Suffolk Fields invite
To letter'd Ease, and Solitude's Delight,
For thee I meditate the grateful Lay,
To Justice due, what Justice bids me pay.
To letter'd Ease, and Solitude's Delight,
For thee I meditate the grateful Lay,
To Justice due, what Justice bids me pay.
Let the gay Youth indulge his am'rous Smart,
And languish to subdue the virgin Heart,
Rifle the sweetest Flow'rs, in Beauty's Pride,
For which their thousands sigh'd, and hundreds dy'd,
Thro Life's short Vigour let the Lover live
Possess'd of ev'ry Joy that Love can give.
Thro wild Ambition's Field let others flame,
Whose Love is Glory, and whose Passion Fame,
Pour on relentless, like a rapid Flood,
And reap the Harvest which was sow'd in Blood,
Harness the Steeds to the triumphant Car,
Drag at the Wheels the earthly Gods of War,
The Conqu'ror's Brow with crimson'd Laurel crown,
By Slaughter planted, and miscall'd Renown.
How false the Joys which from these Fountains rise!
A pallid Glory to the good and wise!
How true the Joys which spring from virtuous Deeds,
Where breaks no tender Heart, nor Honour bleeds!
A greatly virtuous Act unsully'd shines,
The Glory brightens, and the Joy refines.
And languish to subdue the virgin Heart,
Rifle the sweetest Flow'rs, in Beauty's Pride,
For which their thousands sigh'd, and hundreds dy'd,
Thro Life's short Vigour let the Lover live
Possess'd of ev'ry Joy that Love can give.
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Whose Love is Glory, and whose Passion Fame,
Pour on relentless, like a rapid Flood,
And reap the Harvest which was sow'd in Blood,
Harness the Steeds to the triumphant Car,
Drag at the Wheels the earthly Gods of War,
The Conqu'ror's Brow with crimson'd Laurel crown,
By Slaughter planted, and miscall'd Renown.
How false the Joys which from these Fountains rise!
A pallid Glory to the good and wise!
How true the Joys which spring from virtuous Deeds,
Where breaks no tender Heart, nor Honour bleeds!
A greatly virtuous Act unsully'd shines,
The Glory brightens, and the Joy refines.
Not youthful Ammon in his Blaze of Day,
When Virgins sought, and Monarchs own'd, his Sway,
Knew Half the Bliss by Socrates possess'd,
That takes her Dwelling in the virtuous Breast.
Say what is Virtue, crys the sceptic Sage;
This Virtue is, in ev'ry Land and Age,
With Pleasure to relieve the Wretch from Pain,
To cloath the naked, and to count it Gain;
When to the hungry we extend our Food,
Our Appetite's indulg'd in doing Good.
When Beauty charms us with a luring Eye,
And throws her Darts at all Beholders nigh,
When in our Pow'r we see the Maid, or Wife,
Upon whose Truth, on whose unblemish'd Life,
Depends a Parent's, or a Husband's, Bliss,
'Tis Virtue then to shun the glowing Kiss;
This Virtue is, but such as few can reach:
Some Men of God are gloating while they preach.
When Virgins sought, and Monarchs own'd, his Sway,
Knew Half the Bliss by Socrates possess'd,
That takes her Dwelling in the virtuous Breast.
Say what is Virtue, crys the sceptic Sage;
This Virtue is, in ev'ry Land and Age,
With Pleasure to relieve the Wretch from Pain,
To cloath the naked, and to count it Gain;
When to the hungry we extend our Food,
Our Appetite's indulg'd in doing Good.
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And throws her Darts at all Beholders nigh,
When in our Pow'r we see the Maid, or Wife,
Upon whose Truth, on whose unblemish'd Life,
Depends a Parent's, or a Husband's, Bliss,
'Tis Virtue then to shun the glowing Kiss;
This Virtue is, but such as few can reach:
Some Men of God are gloating while they preach.
What never-fading Laurels Scipio gains!
A Conquest greater than a thousand Spains!
The mighty Man, all other Men above,
Amidst his Triumphs drags the Chains of Love.
A Captive heav'nly fair, in whom was seen
All that was ever feign'd of Beauty's Queen,
O'er the great Leader reigns without Controul,
Is ever in his Eye, and fills his Soul:
And what the dreadful Warrior can restrain?
Why rages still the Fire thro ev'ry Vein?
With unaffected Charms, her flowing Hair,
And what is decent of her Bosom bare,
The Nymph divine before the Victor stands,
And no superior Pow'r to hold his Hands:
But, lo! he turns, and views a princely Form,
Sunk and depress'd, like Flow'rs beneath a Storm,
His Visage pale, defac'd with many a Scar,
Which Love had wrought, and the rough Hand of War;
Yet Majesty shin'd thro Misfortune's Shroud,
As shines the Sun behind a wint'ry Cloud.
“See,” crys th'illustrious Youth, “great Roman see
“The Fate of Love, the Fate of War, in me:
“I, that 'e'rewhile in royal State could ride
“Thro Ranks of Subjects and Dominions wide,
“Am now in Chains your wretched Captive led,
“To see my Bride perhaps ascend your Bed.”
He paus'd awhile, to wipe the weeping Eye,
And give a Passage to the rising Sigh:
Then crys the Youth, “if princely Cares can move,
“And if your Heart has ever bled for Love,
“Plunder my Houses, and my Kingdom seize,
“Dispose of all as shall the Victor please;
“But give me back what I esteem divine,
“What by our Vows and mutual Love is mine,
“My ever-lov'd, as yet my virgin, Bride,
“That stands dejected by my Conqu'ror's Side.”
A Conquest greater than a thousand Spains!
The mighty Man, all other Men above,
Amidst his Triumphs drags the Chains of Love.
A Captive heav'nly fair, in whom was seen
All that was ever feign'd of Beauty's Queen,
O'er the great Leader reigns without Controul,
Is ever in his Eye, and fills his Soul:
And what the dreadful Warrior can restrain?
Why rages still the Fire thro ev'ry Vein?
With unaffected Charms, her flowing Hair,
And what is decent of her Bosom bare,
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And no superior Pow'r to hold his Hands:
But, lo! he turns, and views a princely Form,
Sunk and depress'd, like Flow'rs beneath a Storm,
His Visage pale, defac'd with many a Scar,
Which Love had wrought, and the rough Hand of War;
Yet Majesty shin'd thro Misfortune's Shroud,
As shines the Sun behind a wint'ry Cloud.
“See,” crys th'illustrious Youth, “great Roman see
“The Fate of Love, the Fate of War, in me:
“I, that 'e'rewhile in royal State could ride
“Thro Ranks of Subjects and Dominions wide,
“Am now in Chains your wretched Captive led,
“To see my Bride perhaps ascend your Bed.”
He paus'd awhile, to wipe the weeping Eye,
And give a Passage to the rising Sigh:
Then crys the Youth, “if princely Cares can move,
“And if your Heart has ever bled for Love,
“Plunder my Houses, and my Kingdom seize,
“Dispose of all as shall the Victor please;
“But give me back what I esteem divine,
“What by our Vows and mutual Love is mine,
“My ever-lov'd, as yet my virgin, Bride,
“That stands dejected by my Conqu'ror's Side.”
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The gallant Chief, who loves beyond all Bounds,
Feels from the Prince's Words a thousand Wounds;
A siercer War now rages in his Breast
Than when in Fields of Fight by Legions press'd:
The little winged God is loth to part
With his Dominion o'er so great a Heart:
He strives to gain a Conquest by Surprise,
And plays his Light'ning from her radiant Eyes:
The Sight of him whom dead she thought before,
Whom her Fears told her she should see no more,
Disarms the Foe of Beauty fell Despair,
Bids the Cheek bloom, and fairer makes the Fair.
Now to the Conqu'ror's Eyes a Prospect shines,
Worth the vast Purchase of the di'mond Mines,
The Bed of Love, luxuriant of Delights,
Where Youth and Beauty join the secret Rites!
But Virtue, always at our Hero's Side,
With Wisdom comes, her ever-faithful Guide:
In their true Light they shew the Joys of Love,
When gain'd by Virtue, they're all Price above;
Rais'd on another's Woe, acquir'd by Vice,
And are not mutual, they're below all Price.
The Roman acts the greatly glorious Part;
He tugs the Arrow from his bleeding Heart,
With his own Hands unbinds the Prince's Chains,
And bids him think no more of former Pains:
“Your conquer'd Land,” he crys, “and Bride possess,
“And be my Blessing that I others bless:
“To your fond Arms your Bliss I thus restore:”
Then turn'd the Chief, and ne'er beheld her more.
Thus Scipio acted, by no Bible taught,
But Nature's Book, which God himself has wrote.
Feels from the Prince's Words a thousand Wounds;
A siercer War now rages in his Breast
Than when in Fields of Fight by Legions press'd:
The little winged God is loth to part
With his Dominion o'er so great a Heart:
He strives to gain a Conquest by Surprise,
And plays his Light'ning from her radiant Eyes:
The Sight of him whom dead she thought before,
Whom her Fears told her she should see no more,
Disarms the Foe of Beauty fell Despair,
Bids the Cheek bloom, and fairer makes the Fair.
Now to the Conqu'ror's Eyes a Prospect shines,
Worth the vast Purchase of the di'mond Mines,
The Bed of Love, luxuriant of Delights,
Where Youth and Beauty join the secret Rites!
But Virtue, always at our Hero's Side,
With Wisdom comes, her ever-faithful Guide:
In their true Light they shew the Joys of Love,
When gain'd by Virtue, they're all Price above;
Rais'd on another's Woe, acquir'd by Vice,
And are not mutual, they're below all Price.
The Roman acts the greatly glorious Part;
He tugs the Arrow from his bleeding Heart,
With his own Hands unbinds the Prince's Chains,
And bids him think no more of former Pains:
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“And be my Blessing that I others bless:
“To your fond Arms your Bliss I thus restore:”
Then turn'd the Chief, and ne'er beheld her more.
Thus Scipio acted, by no Bible taught,
But Nature's Book, which God himself has wrote.
Ye Sons of Virtue here your Off'rings bring,
And all ye Sons of Verse who know to sing;
Pluck all, ye Nymphs, the Evergreens which bloom;
With ev'ry fragrant Herb adorn his Tomb;
With Laurels crown the Bust, crown it with Bays,
And sing the Song of everlasting Praise.
And all ye Sons of Verse who know to sing;
Pluck all, ye Nymphs, the Evergreens which bloom;
With ev'ry fragrant Herb adorn his Tomb;
With Laurels crown the Bust, crown it with Bays,
And sing the Song of everlasting Praise.
Forget not in the Verse the noble Mind,
That cherish'd Worth where e'er he Worth could find;
Who Fate alike, and Cæsar's Frowns, defy'd,
When for Redress to him th'unhappy cry'd;
Who to the wrong'd open'd his friendly Gate,
And succour'd all the greatly injur'd Great;
Before whose Eyes Folly could never stand,
Nor dar'd Oppression to uplift her Hand:
The Love of all, thro Life, was his Reward,
And Virtue, in the worst of Times, his Guard.
For him their Vows to Jove the People send,
And Cæsar wanted Atticus his Friend.
That cherish'd Worth where e'er he Worth could find;
Who Fate alike, and Cæsar's Frowns, defy'd,
When for Redress to him th'unhappy cry'd;
Who to the wrong'd open'd his friendly Gate,
And succour'd all the greatly injur'd Great;
Before whose Eyes Folly could never stand,
Nor dar'd Oppression to uplift her Hand:
The Love of all, thro Life, was his Reward,
And Virtue, in the worst of Times, his Guard.
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And Cæsar wanted Atticus his Friend.
Ye Princes by destructive Passions led,
Who mount without a Blush th'adult'rous Bed,
Who hear your Subjects all around complain
Of Wrongs, repeated Wrongs, on Land and Main,
While all your Counsels are yourselves to please,
And while ye batten in inglorious Ease,
'Tis Virtue only can your Crowns adorn:
O! learn to merit that to which ye're born!
Think of th'illustrious dead, whose ev'ry Name
Is borne triumphant on the Wings of Fame:
In ev'ry Corner of the Earth they're known,
And all Eternity to come's their own:
And, O! ye Sons who next to Empire stand,
Heirs to Dominion over Sea and Land,
Waste not the Hours of Youth in shameful Jars,
Wage with a Father no domestic Wars;
Let it be never say'd ye go to School
To the pert Coxcomb, and delib'rate Fool:
Seek not the Praise of such who gain no Praise;
Like Nero dance, nor fiddle, out your Days:
Attend the friendly Voice! 'tis Glory calls
To shine in Council, and to scale the Walls.
Shake the rapacious Statesman off, the Slave
Whom Gold can buy; shake off the Fool and Knave.
Turn o'er the sacred Volume of the Laws,
By your Forefathers made in Virtue's Cause:
See what obnoxious Vices still remain,
Which there's no Law, no Bridle, to restrain;
Study to make the Nation's Freedom sure,
The Lives and Propertys of all secure:
In doing these ye act the princely Part,
And build your Empires in the People's Heart;
No Guards ye then shall need, where-e'er ye go;
There is no Danger where there is no Foe.
These are the Virtues of exalted Souls,
Which no mean Care, nor abject Fear, controuls.
Who mount without a Blush th'adult'rous Bed,
Who hear your Subjects all around complain
Of Wrongs, repeated Wrongs, on Land and Main,
While all your Counsels are yourselves to please,
And while ye batten in inglorious Ease,
'Tis Virtue only can your Crowns adorn:
O! learn to merit that to which ye're born!
Think of th'illustrious dead, whose ev'ry Name
Is borne triumphant on the Wings of Fame:
In ev'ry Corner of the Earth they're known,
And all Eternity to come's their own:
And, O! ye Sons who next to Empire stand,
Heirs to Dominion over Sea and Land,
Waste not the Hours of Youth in shameful Jars,
Wage with a Father no domestic Wars;
Let it be never say'd ye go to School
To the pert Coxcomb, and delib'rate Fool:
Seek not the Praise of such who gain no Praise;
Like Nero dance, nor fiddle, out your Days:
Attend the friendly Voice! 'tis Glory calls
To shine in Council, and to scale the Walls.
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Whom Gold can buy; shake off the Fool and Knave.
Turn o'er the sacred Volume of the Laws,
By your Forefathers made in Virtue's Cause:
See what obnoxious Vices still remain,
Which there's no Law, no Bridle, to restrain;
Study to make the Nation's Freedom sure,
The Lives and Propertys of all secure:
In doing these ye act the princely Part,
And build your Empires in the People's Heart;
No Guards ye then shall need, where-e'er ye go;
There is no Danger where there is no Foe.
These are the Virtues of exalted Souls,
Which no mean Care, nor abject Fear, controuls.
The glorious Opportunity's not giv'n
To all, like Brutus, to apply to Heav'n
Before the People, who astonish'd stand,
To drive a Tarquin out, and free the Land.
Who in an humble Walk of Life are hurl'd,
With Talents to adorn, and rule, the World,
And such there are, deny'd by Stars unkind
The Seasons to exert the noble Mind,
Should watch Occasions, and attend the Hours,
And catch the Moments, to indulge their Pow'rs:
Can ye not give a groaning Kingdom Rest?
Then help the injur'd Wife, or Maid distress'd:
First with your Friends who want divide your Store,
And open wide your hospitable Door:
Is this too much? Is Fate a Niggard here?
And, if you give, is Charity too dear?
Then give Advice, Advice Relief affords:
Pour in the Balm of comfortable Words.
Virtue, that seldom sleeps, herself reveals,
Or in the giving Hand, or Heart that feels.
To all, like Brutus, to apply to Heav'n
Before the People, who astonish'd stand,
To drive a Tarquin out, and free the Land.
Who in an humble Walk of Life are hurl'd,
With Talents to adorn, and rule, the World,
And such there are, deny'd by Stars unkind
The Seasons to exert the noble Mind,
Should watch Occasions, and attend the Hours,
And catch the Moments, to indulge their Pow'rs:
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Then help the injur'd Wife, or Maid distress'd:
First with your Friends who want divide your Store,
And open wide your hospitable Door:
Is this too much? Is Fate a Niggard here?
And, if you give, is Charity too dear?
Then give Advice, Advice Relief affords:
Pour in the Balm of comfortable Words.
Virtue, that seldom sleeps, herself reveals,
Or in the giving Hand, or Heart that feels.
All is not Virtue which Men Virtue call;
Enthusiastic Fools will give up all:
Is to the needy one of these a Friend?
He only lends to Heav'n as Us'rers lend:
Believ'd he not that God would doubly pay,
He would not give a single Groat away:
He sees not for himself; nor can he see;
Nor acts he thus, because it thus should be:
These are the Fools, the Madmen these at best,
Who render their Religion but a Jest.
What? Give up all, give all I have, ye say:
To follow what, give all I have away?
'Tis not the Cry of God, nor Nature's Cry:
Is Mankind dearer to myself than I?
Dearest to me the nearest are in Life;
Dear are my Children, dear my blameless Wife.
Enthusiastic Fools will give up all:
Is to the needy one of these a Friend?
He only lends to Heav'n as Us'rers lend:
Believ'd he not that God would doubly pay,
He would not give a single Groat away:
He sees not for himself; nor can he see;
Nor acts he thus, because it thus should be:
These are the Fools, the Madmen these at best,
Who render their Religion but a Jest.
What? Give up all, give all I have, ye say:
To follow what, give all I have away?
'Tis not the Cry of God, nor Nature's Cry:
Is Mankind dearer to myself than I?
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Dear are my Children, dear my blameless Wife.
Of all who prostitute fair Virtue's Name,
None ridicule her more, or more can shame,
Than those, with Fortune's Favours richly clad,
Who are good Men because they are not bad.
This has in Bags two hundred thousand clear,
And that in Land ten thousand Pounds a Year:
No Murders they, and they no Thefts, commit,
Nor scandalise their Neighbours with their Wit;
They neither give, nor spend, to wrong their Heirs;
They pay their Debts, believe, and go to Pray'rs:
To the worst Vice, to Avarice, these Slaves,
These negative good Men, are horrid Knaves.
Receive a Tale, these Monsters to expose,
In homely Verse, which Æsop told in Prose.
None ridicule her more, or more can shame,
Than those, with Fortune's Favours richly clad,
Who are good Men because they are not bad.
This has in Bags two hundred thousand clear,
And that in Land ten thousand Pounds a Year:
No Murders they, and they no Thefts, commit,
Nor scandalise their Neighbours with their Wit;
They neither give, nor spend, to wrong their Heirs;
They pay their Debts, believe, and go to Pray'rs:
To the worst Vice, to Avarice, these Slaves,
These negative good Men, are horrid Knaves.
Receive a Tale, these Monsters to expose,
In homely Verse, which Æsop told in Prose.
An ugly Mongrel in a Manger lay,
Well fill'd with Oats, the Rack above with Hay,
Where in his Stall confin'd a gallant Steed,
Swift in the Race, and of a gen'rous Breed,
Stood pinch'd with Hunger, yet deny'd to eat
By the curs'd Cur, who could not taste the Meat.
Such are the Whelps of Fortune who refuse
To spare a Part of what they can not use,
The Sons of Chance, Humanity's Disgrace:
Out, out, ye Dogs, and give the worthyer Place.
Well fill'd with Oats, the Rack above with Hay,
Where in his Stall confin'd a gallant Steed,
Swift in the Race, and of a gen'rous Breed,
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By the curs'd Cur, who could not taste the Meat.
Such are the Whelps of Fortune who refuse
To spare a Part of what they can not use,
The Sons of Chance, Humanity's Disgrace:
Out, out, ye Dogs, and give the worthyer Place.
Sweet are the Pleasures of the bounteous Soul!
He fears no Poyson lurking in the Bowl:
Where-e'er he goes they wish him there to stay;
For Discontent before him flys away:
All Eyes, which see him, see him with Delight;
His Virtue is his Guard by Day and Night:
The little faithful Ministers of Sleep,
Whene'er his Eyes are clos'd, their Vigils keep;
They drive all Images of Horror thence,
And none admit ingrateful to the Sense:
Peaceful his Slumbers are; and, if he dreams,
Thro flow'ry Meads he walks by chrystal Streams:
O'er Hills he flys, unbounded in his Sight,
And meets with Nothing to obstruct his Flight;
At Will he views the ev'ry pleasing Scene,
Gardens and Groves of everlasting Green:
And when he wakes he wakes to sweet Content,
The fair Reflection of a Life well spent.
He fears no Poyson lurking in the Bowl:
Where-e'er he goes they wish him there to stay;
For Discontent before him flys away:
All Eyes, which see him, see him with Delight;
His Virtue is his Guard by Day and Night:
The little faithful Ministers of Sleep,
Whene'er his Eyes are clos'd, their Vigils keep;
They drive all Images of Horror thence,
And none admit ingrateful to the Sense:
Peaceful his Slumbers are; and, if he dreams,
Thro flow'ry Meads he walks by chrystal Streams:
O'er Hills he flys, unbounded in his Sight,
And meets with Nothing to obstruct his Flight;
At Will he views the ev'ry pleasing Scene,
Gardens and Groves of everlasting Green:
And when he wakes he wakes to sweet Content,
The fair Reflection of a Life well spent.
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These are the Pleasures, these the Joys divine,
Which Scipio's were, and, Reynolds, now are thine;
Thine is the Blessing which to few belong,
Th'unruffled Mind, and thine th'immortal Song.
Which Scipio's were, and, Reynolds, now are thine;
Thine is the Blessing which to few belong,
Th'unruffled Mind, and thine th'immortal Song.
St. Kilda is the most western of the northwest Isles of Scotland: the Description which is given of it has something extraordinary and poetical in it. This Island is fenced all round with steep Rocks, excepting a Bay that is south-east, which is not a Harbour fit to receive a Ship; therefore it is almost impossible to land but in a Calm, and then it must be by climbing. The Soil is not unfruitful, and there is great Plenty of Fish and Fowl. The few Inhabitants, as they are by Nature separated from the World, and consequently know Nothing of the Arts of Luxury and Gain, are an innocent People. They have no Money among them, but deal in Exchange of Commoditys. Here is an Epitomy of the World as painted by the Poets in its State of Infancy and Innocence!
| Mr. Cooke's Original Poems | |