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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A Poem most humbly offer'd to the Memory
of her late Sacred Majesty, Queen Mary.
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 | The Works of Mr. Robert Gould |  |
A Poem most humbly offer'd to the Memory of her late Sacred Majesty, Queen Mary.
Both kind and fortunate the Year begun
Her happy Course, and long went smiling on;
Fresh Blessings daily op'ning to our View,
With Promises of greater to ensue.
The Senate did their Soveraign's Wants supply;
And ready Grants are half a Victory:
That done, he early opens the Campaign,
Armies at Land, and Navies on the Main.
Where never British Sails before were spread
In Hostile Guise, our Conqu'ring Fleets are led.
Lords of the Ocean long our selves we nam'd,
And now as far as that does reach are fam'd.
Spain, whose Armado made the World affraid,
Fell by our Strength, and rises by our Aid.
Tho' from the vaster Continent disjoin'd,
The Balance falls as Britain is inclin'd:
If Peace she gives, she does compose the Jar;
And does as surely Conquer, if 'tis War.
To their own Ports confin'd, the Frenchmen see
We ride without a Rival on the Sea.
And as their Admiral, their Gene'ral too
At Land believes it safest out of View;
Entrench'd he lies and fights us by Delay;
But let him think of Cannæ's fatal Day:
A Day like that, and quickly too, may come,
And Paris took, be humbl'd in her Doom,
Tho' that less famous Warrior fail'd of Rome.
Her happy Course, and long went smiling on;
Fresh Blessings daily op'ning to our View,
With Promises of greater to ensue.
The Senate did their Soveraign's Wants supply;
And ready Grants are half a Victory:
That done, he early opens the Campaign,
Armies at Land, and Navies on the Main.
Where never British Sails before were spread
In Hostile Guise, our Conqu'ring Fleets are led.
Lords of the Ocean long our selves we nam'd,
And now as far as that does reach are fam'd.
Spain, whose Armado made the World affraid,
Fell by our Strength, and rises by our Aid.
Tho' from the vaster Continent disjoin'd,
The Balance falls as Britain is inclin'd:
If Peace she gives, she does compose the Jar;
And does as surely Conquer, if 'tis War.
To their own Ports confin'd, the Frenchmen see
We ride without a Rival on the Sea.
And as their Admiral, their Gene'ral too
At Land believes it safest out of View;
Entrench'd he lies and fights us by Delay;
But let him think of Cannæ's fatal Day:
285
And Paris took, be humbl'd in her Doom,
Tho' that less famous Warrior fail'd of Rome.
Thus our Affairs abroad:—at home no less
The bounteous Year did all our Labours bless.
The fertile Soil, like Egypt heretofore,
By Handfuls a Prodigious Product bore:
Ne'er had the Reaper's Gripe so large a Pull;
And still our Garners, and our Stores are full.
Mean while our Neigb'ring Foes, by want of Rain
To Dearth reduc'd, had scarce their Seed again:
Starving and harass'd by their Tyrants Lust,
They tremble to his Spurn, and lick the Dust.
The bounteous Year did all our Labours bless.
The fertile Soil, like Egypt heretofore,
By Handfuls a Prodigious Product bore:
Ne'er had the Reaper's Gripe so large a Pull;
And still our Garners, and our Stores are full.
Mean while our Neigb'ring Foes, by want of Rain
To Dearth reduc'd, had scarce their Seed again:
Starving and harass'd by their Tyrants Lust,
They tremble to his Spurn, and lick the Dust.
This Harvest o'er, another yet succeeds,
WILLIAM return'd! and Crown'd with glorious Deeds!
That Just Restorer of our RIGHTS and LAWS!
And hark! the Universal loud Applause
Welcomes at once their great Delive'rer home,
Our CÆSAR too, from Gaul in Triumph come.
Bells, Guns and Shouts in one loud Concert join;
The Voice of Nations is the Voice Divine.
Scarce sacred Charles, whose Absence long we mourn'd,
Joy of our Hearts, more lov'd and blest return'd.
Saviour of Nations, Hail! nor have w' implor'd
The Pow'rs in vain—you are in Peace restor'd!
WILLIAM return'd! and Crown'd with glorious Deeds!
That Just Restorer of our RIGHTS and LAWS!
And hark! the Universal loud Applause
Welcomes at once their great Delive'rer home,
Our CÆSAR too, from Gaul in Triumph come.
Bells, Guns and Shouts in one loud Concert join;
The Voice of Nations is the Voice Divine.
Scarce sacred Charles, whose Absence long we mourn'd,
Joy of our Hearts, more lov'd and blest return'd.
Saviour of Nations, Hail! nor have w' implor'd
The Pow'rs in vain—you are in Peace restor'd!
Thus far w'are happy—hitherto the Year
Was not th'occasion of a publick Tear:
Almost expir'd, who wou'd expect to find
Her blackest Day, and gloomiest Scene behind?
It now has Cancell'd all it gave before:
Ne'er but with Grief to be remember'd more!
Our Sun of Beauty's set! our Joy is done!
And with her Life the British Glory gone!
Was not th'occasion of a publick Tear:
Almost expir'd, who wou'd expect to find
Her blackest Day, and gloomiest Scene behind?
It now has Cancell'd all it gave before:
Ne'er but with Grief to be remember'd more!
286
And with her Life the British Glory gone!
Where was the Guardian Angel of these Isles,
(On which 'tis said Delighted Nature smiles)
Or where was Hers? To what strange Region gone,
And left his Charge to perish here alone!
Return! return! and, paler than her Ghost,
See what the World by your Neglect has lost!
Death of thy Absence has th'Advantage took,
And dreadfully he grinn'd, and deep he strook!
Banish'd from Paradise be now thy Doom,
Ne'er to thy Native Seat again to come:
Had you been kind our Light had longer shone—
But with our Hopes let now our Lives be done,
And that way mourn the QUEEN of Britain gone!
(On which 'tis said Delighted Nature smiles)
Or where was Hers? To what strange Region gone,
And left his Charge to perish here alone!
Return! return! and, paler than her Ghost,
See what the World by your Neglect has lost!
Death of thy Absence has th'Advantage took,
And dreadfully he grinn'd, and deep he strook!
Banish'd from Paradise be now thy Doom,
Ne'er to thy Native Seat again to come:
Had you been kind our Light had longer shone—
But with our Hopes let now our Lives be done,
And that way mourn the QUEEN of Britain gone!
But tho' thy Ministers their Charge forsake,
O Heav'n! thy Eyes for ever are awake:
You might at least (but you are pleas'd 'tis so)
Have stood between HER and the Fatal Blow;
Nor from us by grim Death have let be torn
That GEMM, by Britain with such Glory worn.
Why do we Mortals Adoration pay?
For blessings praise you? and for Blessings pray?
If those we dearest love, and highest Prize,
Are snatch'd the soonest from our wond'ring Eyes!
Hard your Decrees! your Laws unequal made!
Why must the fairest Flow'ers the soonest fade?
Why must that sacred Life so quickly end,
On which the Peace of Nations does depend?
In all her Sweetness, Glory, Youth, and Prime,
Abhorring Vice, and still redeeming Time.
Ah Cruel Heav'n! so little in your Eye,
And yet less great in Pow'r than Piety.
O Heav'n! thy Eyes for ever are awake:
You might at least (but you are pleas'd 'tis so)
Have stood between HER and the Fatal Blow;
Nor from us by grim Death have let be torn
That GEMM, by Britain with such Glory worn.
Why do we Mortals Adoration pay?
For blessings praise you? and for Blessings pray?
If those we dearest love, and highest Prize,
Are snatch'd the soonest from our wond'ring Eyes!
Hard your Decrees! your Laws unequal made!
Why must the fairest Flow'ers the soonest fade?
Why must that sacred Life so quickly end,
On which the Peace of Nations does depend?
In all her Sweetness, Glory, Youth, and Prime,
Abhorring Vice, and still redeeming Time.
Ah Cruel Heav'n! so little in your Eye,
And yet less great in Pow'r than Piety.
287
When the bright Sun hastes to his Ev'ning Fall,
Like Age deceas'd, he scarce is miss'd at all.
But if in his Noon-Station in the Skies,
A black Eclipse does shrou'd him from our Eyes,
W'are pale with Fear, and his lost Glory mourn,
Tho' sure both Heat and Light will soon return,
How shall we then our present Fate deplore?
Our Light's extinct, and is to shine no more!
Like Age deceas'd, he scarce is miss'd at all.
But if in his Noon-Station in the Skies,
A black Eclipse does shrou'd him from our Eyes,
W'are pale with Fear, and his lost Glory mourn,
Tho' sure both Heat and Light will soon return,
How shall we then our present Fate deplore?
Our Light's extinct, and is to shine no more!
'Tis true, the Stars their baleful Influence shed,
And Death's fierce Agents thro' the Town were spread;
Diseases rag'd and whet their Arrows keen,
And flew in Pestilential Air unseen:
But Princes shou'd from Common Ills be spar'd,
Not perish meanly with the Vulgar Herd:
In Pow'r so like th'Immortals, they shou'd be,
Methinks, least Subject to Mortality:
Or granting Human Nature to be frail,
Prayer is prescrib'd, why did not Prayer prevail?
Why deaf, ye Pow'rs, to all our Vows and Cries?
Sent up aloud, yet banish'd from the Skies.
Ah! may we not too sadly now complain
W'ave pray'd with Faith, and yet have pray'd in vain!
Cou'd Prayer be efficacious, she had been
Ev'n yet a Living, and a Glorious QUEEN!
And Death's fierce Agents thro' the Town were spread;
Diseases rag'd and whet their Arrows keen,
And flew in Pestilential Air unseen:
But Princes shou'd from Common Ills be spar'd,
Not perish meanly with the Vulgar Herd:
In Pow'r so like th'Immortals, they shou'd be,
Methinks, least Subject to Mortality:
Or granting Human Nature to be frail,
Prayer is prescrib'd, why did not Prayer prevail?
Why deaf, ye Pow'rs, to all our Vows and Cries?
Sent up aloud, yet banish'd from the Skies.
Ah! may we not too sadly now complain
W'ave pray'd with Faith, and yet have pray'd in vain!
Cou'd Prayer be efficacious, she had been
Ev'n yet a Living, and a Glorious QUEEN!
But 'tis your Will, and we submit to Fate;
Our Parts to hope, and not Expostulate;
Since in all Turns and Changes here below,
You still have Ends above our Reach to know:
Forgive me, then, that thus I dare to blame
Divine Decrees, and tax the sacred Name.—
But we may Mourn—that wretched Liberty
You cannot to our Out-cast Race deny.
Grief seems to be our chief Prerogative,
Faithful to Life, and all that Life does give:
Your Love and Bounty, as you please, are shown
In other things; but Mis'ry is our Own.
Hear then, ye Britons, and attend me well,
While the sad Muse does all these Wonders tell
In which the bright MARIA did excel:
Then pale and dying with your Grief, bemoan
Th'amazing Loss of so much Goodness gone!
Our Parts to hope, and not Expostulate;
Since in all Turns and Changes here below,
You still have Ends above our Reach to know:
Forgive me, then, that thus I dare to blame
Divine Decrees, and tax the sacred Name.—
But we may Mourn—that wretched Liberty
You cannot to our Out-cast Race deny.
Grief seems to be our chief Prerogative,
Faithful to Life, and all that Life does give:
288
In other things; but Mis'ry is our Own.
Hear then, ye Britons, and attend me well,
While the sad Muse does all these Wonders tell
In which the bright MARIA did excel:
Then pale and dying with your Grief, bemoan
Th'amazing Loss of so much Goodness gone!
Tho' she did move in such a Glorious Sphere,
She often stoop'd, and made the Poor her Care,
And seem'd to place her sole Diversion there.
Her Favour and Compassion did extend,
Where'er there was Occasion to befriend.
Wide as her Sway, and boundless as her Mind,
Was her diffusive Love to Humankind.
You, Ladies, that still had HER in your View,
And saw to what a Pitch her Vertues flew;
O blame me not, that in the Van I place
Her CHARITY, that Noblest Fruit of Grace!
Above the Clouds it does it's Vot'aries raise,
And leaves on Earth their Everlasting Praise:
But O! our Praise must now be mix'd with Moan!
The QUEEN of Bounty, and of Britain's gone!
She often stoop'd, and made the Poor her Care,
And seem'd to place her sole Diversion there.
Her Favour and Compassion did extend,
Where'er there was Occasion to befriend.
Wide as her Sway, and boundless as her Mind,
Was her diffusive Love to Humankind.
You, Ladies, that still had HER in your View,
And saw to what a Pitch her Vertues flew;
O blame me not, that in the Van I place
Her CHARITY, that Noblest Fruit of Grace!
Above the Clouds it does it's Vot'aries raise,
And leaves on Earth their Everlasting Praise:
But O! our Praise must now be mix'd with Moan!
The QUEEN of Bounty, and of Britain's gone!
But tho' this Vertue bore so strong a Sway,
Yet did she not more often Give, than Pray:
The Charming Suppliant for our Fau'ts wou'd kneel,
And we th'Effects of HER Devotions feel.
How often has her sacred Knees been bent
Mercies to crave, and Judgments to prevent!
Still first at Heav'n wou'd her Petitions be
On ev'ry Prospect of Calamity.
Ah grant (she cry'd) e'er yet thy Vengeance fall
Upon these stubborn Lands and ruin all,
By Penitence they may thy Rage divert,
And make thy Laws their only Joy of Heart.
Long they have err'd, and trod in Impious Ways,
Prophan'd thy Sabbaths, and renounc'd thy Praise!
O set 'em Right! and let Religion be
Not thus in talking of, but following THEE.
Such earnest Raptures wou'd She, Living, Breathe,
And, dying, did in Legacies bequeathe.
Who now will for a murm'uring People sue,
That grudge both Cæsar, and his GOD their Due?
Our Sins have lost HER—we can hope for none!
Our Mightiest Earthly Intercessor's gone!
Yet did she not more often Give, than Pray:
The Charming Suppliant for our Fau'ts wou'd kneel,
And we th'Effects of HER Devotions feel.
How often has her sacred Knees been bent
Mercies to crave, and Judgments to prevent!
Still first at Heav'n wou'd her Petitions be
On ev'ry Prospect of Calamity.
Ah grant (she cry'd) e'er yet thy Vengeance fall
Upon these stubborn Lands and ruin all,
By Penitence they may thy Rage divert,
And make thy Laws their only Joy of Heart.
289
Prophan'd thy Sabbaths, and renounc'd thy Praise!
O set 'em Right! and let Religion be
Not thus in talking of, but following THEE.
Such earnest Raptures wou'd She, Living, Breathe,
And, dying, did in Legacies bequeathe.
Who now will for a murm'uring People sue,
That grudge both Cæsar, and his GOD their Due?
Our Sins have lost HER—we can hope for none!
Our Mightiest Earthly Intercessor's gone!
So firmly she all sacred Truth believ'd,
(O more than Saint!) she ev'ry Month Receiv'd:
Fix'd to that Orb, she kept her Soul in tune,
And thought she never cou'd excel too soon.
So easie all Offences to forgive,
Ev'n Hermits die less pure than SHE did live.
No Parallel can reach Her, Lamb, or Dove,
Nor this in Innocence, nor that in Love.
Angels alone are with like Meekness grac'd,
And dying Vestals only were as Chast.
(O more than Saint!) she ev'ry Month Receiv'd:
Fix'd to that Orb, she kept her Soul in tune,
And thought she never cou'd excel too soon.
So easie all Offences to forgive,
Ev'n Hermits die less pure than SHE did live.
No Parallel can reach Her, Lamb, or Dove,
Nor this in Innocence, nor that in Love.
Angels alone are with like Meekness grac'd,
And dying Vestals only were as Chast.
If those that most abase themselves must be
Exalted, and attain the Top Degree,
SHE was a QUEEN by Her Humility.
Zealous not of her Own, but People's Ease;
For Pride and Sloth were her Antipodes.
Tho' on her Head she wore the sacred Gold,
Her Fingers wou'd the feeble Distaff hold;
Nor from the Needle wou'd she turn her Hand,
But that and t'other artfully command;
The Golden Thread in Rich Embroid'ry Twine,
Till it was wrought into some Form Divine,
At his Return her Monarch to adorn,
And only fit to be by Monarchs worn.
How ill will this fam'd Pattern now agree
With the loose Race of Lazy Quality?
If, Ladies, You wou'd have a Glorious Name,
Like HERS in Life, and after Death in Fame,
Fly Idleness, and ill-perswading Ease,
Nor be too Proud, or over fond to please;
Think of the Plainness of your Soveraign's Dress,
It neither made her Worth, or Beauties less:
If Vertue don't from Death her Votaries free,
How can you be preserv'd by Vanity?
Think of her Fate, and soon expect your Own;
Can Glow-worms hope for Light when Stars have none!
Exalted, and attain the Top Degree,
SHE was a QUEEN by Her Humility.
Zealous not of her Own, but People's Ease;
For Pride and Sloth were her Antipodes.
Tho' on her Head she wore the sacred Gold,
Her Fingers wou'd the feeble Distaff hold;
Nor from the Needle wou'd she turn her Hand,
But that and t'other artfully command;
The Golden Thread in Rich Embroid'ry Twine,
Till it was wrought into some Form Divine,
At his Return her Monarch to adorn,
And only fit to be by Monarchs worn.
290
With the loose Race of Lazy Quality?
If, Ladies, You wou'd have a Glorious Name,
Like HERS in Life, and after Death in Fame,
Fly Idleness, and ill-perswading Ease,
Nor be too Proud, or over fond to please;
Think of the Plainness of your Soveraign's Dress,
It neither made her Worth, or Beauties less:
If Vertue don't from Death her Votaries free,
How can you be preserv'd by Vanity?
Think of her Fate, and soon expect your Own;
Can Glow-worms hope for Light when Stars have none!
If Mercy shou'd some Human Likeness take,
She cou'd not a more Glorious Figure make;
Cou'd not our Souls more pleasingly allure,
Or scarce more Blessings to those Souls procure.
No Sweetness, nor no Charm that Heav'n cou'd prize,
But sat triumphant in her Conqu'ring Eyes!
To gaze but on HER, struck so bright a Flame
Up in our Hearts, it yet does want a Name!
Not such with which weak Beauties blind our Sight,
At once 'twas Love, Amazement, and Delight!
In her soft Aspect, and her easie Mien,
Were all the Beauties, Loves and Graces seen,
And SHE o'er all presiding as their QUEEN:
Others they might to our Esteem prefer,
But they themselves had their Esteem from HER:
They flow'd not to her, but did from her run,
As Light from Flame, or Brightness from the Sun.
Then, when she spoke, the Air was charm'd around,
Musick no more was an Harmonious Sound!
To Savage Natures it did Mildness bring,
Rage was disarm'd, and Envy dropt her Sting.
If fam'd Amphion with his Lyre cou'd call
Th'Enliven'd Stones into the Theban Wall,
What was her Tongue that cou'd our Jars compose?
More rugged, and to Polish, worse than those.
Weakness with Strength, the Backward with the Bold
She closely join'd, and in a Gordian Fold.
But O the Line is cut! the Union's done!
The QUEEN of Concord, and of Britain's gone!
She cou'd not a more Glorious Figure make;
Cou'd not our Souls more pleasingly allure,
Or scarce more Blessings to those Souls procure.
No Sweetness, nor no Charm that Heav'n cou'd prize,
But sat triumphant in her Conqu'ring Eyes!
To gaze but on HER, struck so bright a Flame
Up in our Hearts, it yet does want a Name!
Not such with which weak Beauties blind our Sight,
At once 'twas Love, Amazement, and Delight!
In her soft Aspect, and her easie Mien,
Were all the Beauties, Loves and Graces seen,
And SHE o'er all presiding as their QUEEN:
Others they might to our Esteem prefer,
But they themselves had their Esteem from HER:
They flow'd not to her, but did from her run,
As Light from Flame, or Brightness from the Sun.
Then, when she spoke, the Air was charm'd around,
Musick no more was an Harmonious Sound!
To Savage Natures it did Mildness bring,
Rage was disarm'd, and Envy dropt her Sting.
If fam'd Amphion with his Lyre cou'd call
Th'Enliven'd Stones into the Theban Wall,
291
More rugged, and to Polish, worse than those.
Weakness with Strength, the Backward with the Bold
She closely join'd, and in a Gordian Fold.
But O the Line is cut! the Union's done!
The QUEEN of Concord, and of Britain's gone!
You, who were with her Royal Converse blest,
Must feel this Blow more deeply than the rest;
Your Joys are null! the tuneful Voice is ceas'd!
Run thro' the Court with torn dishevell'd Hair,
Swoon with your Grief, and rave with your Despair!
With Sighs and mournful Cries fill ev'ry Room,
Then, pale as Death, into the Presence come!
Where late you waited on the Beauteous QUEEN,
Only the Canopy of State is seen,
And that too with dark Sables cover'd o'er,
And humbly seems HER Absence to deplore.
Let not the Vulgar Sorrow Yours exceed,
You shou'd not only weep HER Loss, but bleed!
They cou'd but see her outward Pomp and State,
Kneel at her Feet, and on her Chariot wait:
Yet when the Gracious Sove'raign pass'd but by,
With Hands upheld, and Joy in ev'ry Eye,
God save HER! was the Universal Cry:
Then to their Toil return'd, a-new reviv'd,
As if HER Sight had made 'em longer liv'd.
Nor did they judge amiss; the Nation took
Reviving Hope and Comfort from her Look.
But O! no more she'll be in Publick seen!
No more be greeted with—God save the QUEEN!
God save the QUEEN will now be heard no more,
With the united Voice and Cannons roar
Echo'd from Land to Sea, and from the Fleets to Shore!
Despair and Horror now assume the Place,
Anguish and Care, and all the Ghastly Race!
That Voice of Melody is chang'd to Moan,
And with HER Life the British Glory gone!
Must feel this Blow more deeply than the rest;
Your Joys are null! the tuneful Voice is ceas'd!
Run thro' the Court with torn dishevell'd Hair,
Swoon with your Grief, and rave with your Despair!
With Sighs and mournful Cries fill ev'ry Room,
Then, pale as Death, into the Presence come!
Where late you waited on the Beauteous QUEEN,
Only the Canopy of State is seen,
And that too with dark Sables cover'd o'er,
And humbly seems HER Absence to deplore.
Let not the Vulgar Sorrow Yours exceed,
You shou'd not only weep HER Loss, but bleed!
They cou'd but see her outward Pomp and State,
Kneel at her Feet, and on her Chariot wait:
Yet when the Gracious Sove'raign pass'd but by,
With Hands upheld, and Joy in ev'ry Eye,
God save HER! was the Universal Cry:
Then to their Toil return'd, a-new reviv'd,
As if HER Sight had made 'em longer liv'd.
Nor did they judge amiss; the Nation took
Reviving Hope and Comfort from her Look.
But O! no more she'll be in Publick seen!
No more be greeted with—God save the QUEEN!
God save the QUEEN will now be heard no more,
With the united Voice and Cannons roar
Echo'd from Land to Sea, and from the Fleets to Shore!
Despair and Horror now assume the Place,
Anguish and Care, and all the Ghastly Race!
292
And with HER Life the British Glory gone!
Cruel Disease! of all Death's Agents worst,
By Nature fear'd, and ev'ry Tongue accurst!
Ev'n where you spare y'are fatal, leaving still
Behind Thee Marks of a most Envious Will,
Ev'n those deforming whom thou can'st not kill.
Thy Rage, like Winter, on our Verdure feeds,
And no reviving Spring thy Blast succeeds.
Beauty once gone, alas! returns no more,
No Pencil can the Glorious Rays restore
That charm'd so soon, and shone so bright before.
Thou dost at once what Age is doing long,
And harder treat the Beaute'ous and the Young.
By other Ills tho' w'are of Life bereft,
There's yet at least some Human Likeness left:
But when we do thy Barbar'ous Work behold,
We know not if the Dead were Young, or Old!
From the detestable and loathsome Sight
We turn our Eyes, and stiffen with Affright!
The Mother knows her only Darling's gone,
And tears her Hair for Grief, but looking down
She shrieks! and scarce believes it is her Own!
By Thee disguis'd, so lies our Sacred QUEEN!
No more with Joy and Wonder to be seen!
A Lazar! Scarce to Her Attendants known!
Her Vernal Hue, and Balmy Sweetness gone!
By Nature fear'd, and ev'ry Tongue accurst!
Ev'n where you spare y'are fatal, leaving still
Behind Thee Marks of a most Envious Will,
Ev'n those deforming whom thou can'st not kill.
Thy Rage, like Winter, on our Verdure feeds,
And no reviving Spring thy Blast succeeds.
Beauty once gone, alas! returns no more,
No Pencil can the Glorious Rays restore
That charm'd so soon, and shone so bright before.
Thou dost at once what Age is doing long,
And harder treat the Beaute'ous and the Young.
By other Ills tho' w'are of Life bereft,
There's yet at least some Human Likeness left:
But when we do thy Barbar'ous Work behold,
We know not if the Dead were Young, or Old!
From the detestable and loathsome Sight
We turn our Eyes, and stiffen with Affright!
The Mother knows her only Darling's gone,
And tears her Hair for Grief, but looking down
She shrieks! and scarce believes it is her Own!
By Thee disguis'd, so lies our Sacred QUEEN!
No more with Joy and Wonder to be seen!
A Lazar! Scarce to Her Attendants known!
Her Vernal Hue, and Balmy Sweetness gone!
Ye Sons of Æsculapius, boast no more
That you the Weak to Health and Strength restore:
Vain is your Learning, and your Art a Cheat,
At least, 'tis ever fatal to the GREAT:
All you can do is but a happy Guess,
And a whole College has the least Success.
Like a sharp Sword, with either Edge you slay,
Oft by your Haste, and oft by your Delay.
Those few your Drugs Recover, wou'd, no doubt,
Sooner recover to their Health without.
You are your selves an Epidemick Ill,
And for the few you save, you Thousands kill:
To Plagues and Pestilential Blasts akin,
Their Poisons reign without, and Yours within.
From You 'tis Weakness to expect Relief,
Both Atheists in your Practice and Belief.
From GOD can Favour on your Work be shown
When You so boldly argue there is None?
Yet, O (to this Reproof tho' justly mov'd)
Had You this Life preserv'd, Y'ad stood approv'd,
By Poets prais'd, and Princes been belov'd.
Those that wou'd live must your Prescriptions shun;
Tho' who, alas! wou'd value now his Own?
The Great, the Good, the Just MARIA gone!
That you the Weak to Health and Strength restore:
Vain is your Learning, and your Art a Cheat,
At least, 'tis ever fatal to the GREAT:
All you can do is but a happy Guess,
And a whole College has the least Success.
Like a sharp Sword, with either Edge you slay,
Oft by your Haste, and oft by your Delay.
293
Sooner recover to their Health without.
You are your selves an Epidemick Ill,
And for the few you save, you Thousands kill:
To Plagues and Pestilential Blasts akin,
Their Poisons reign without, and Yours within.
From You 'tis Weakness to expect Relief,
Both Atheists in your Practice and Belief.
From GOD can Favour on your Work be shown
When You so boldly argue there is None?
Yet, O (to this Reproof tho' justly mov'd)
Had You this Life preserv'd, Y'ad stood approv'd,
By Poets prais'd, and Princes been belov'd.
Those that wou'd live must your Prescriptions shun;
Tho' who, alas! wou'd value now his Own?
The Great, the Good, the Just MARIA gone!
Adieu! thou best of Humankind, adieu!
And O! not only Best, but Fairest too!
A long Farewel thy wretched Subjects give,
And for thy Death resolve in Grief to live!
What tho' our Conq'ring Monarch may restore
A Publick Peace? YOU must return no more!
YOU wou'd to us a greater Blessing be,
Ev'n PEACE was not so much ador'd as THEE!
While that was with us it less brightly shone,
Nor has been so lamented since 'twas gone!
And O! not only Best, but Fairest too!
A long Farewel thy wretched Subjects give,
And for thy Death resolve in Grief to live!
What tho' our Conq'ring Monarch may restore
A Publick Peace? YOU must return no more!
YOU wou'd to us a greater Blessing be,
Ev'n PEACE was not so much ador'd as THEE!
While that was with us it less brightly shone,
Nor has been so lamented since 'twas gone!
But tho' for HER (ye Powr's) in vain we pray'd,
Ah let HIS Fate the longer be delay'd.
Those Years which for HER Reign so short did seem,
And all SHE shou'd have liv'd, transfer to HIM:
Yet so to pray is scarce to be his Friend,
Since but with Life his Sorrows will have end!
Ah Gracious Prince! when you hereafter come
From Gallia, cover'd with your Lawrels, home;
When You have done what Y'are prescrib'd by Fate,
Enlarg'd our Bounds, and rais'd a Sinking State;
Compos'd our Foreign and Domestick Jars,
And put a Glorious Period to the WARS;
Tho' all the Nation shall in Joy appear,
The Court for Your Reception Balls prepare,
Will you not grieve to miss MARIA there!
Cou'd Peace or Conquest please You with their Charms,
More than that Angel melting in your Arms!
SHE was the Soul! the Nation's but the Ghost,
That but the Shadow, SHE the Substance lost!
But then remember—SHE's but Lost to Gain
A Brighter Crown, and a more Lasting Reign!
Ah let HIS Fate the longer be delay'd.
Those Years which for HER Reign so short did seem,
And all SHE shou'd have liv'd, transfer to HIM:
Yet so to pray is scarce to be his Friend,
Since but with Life his Sorrows will have end!
Ah Gracious Prince! when you hereafter come
From Gallia, cover'd with your Lawrels, home;
294
Enlarg'd our Bounds, and rais'd a Sinking State;
Compos'd our Foreign and Domestick Jars,
And put a Glorious Period to the WARS;
Tho' all the Nation shall in Joy appear,
The Court for Your Reception Balls prepare,
Will you not grieve to miss MARIA there!
Cou'd Peace or Conquest please You with their Charms,
More than that Angel melting in your Arms!
SHE was the Soul! the Nation's but the Ghost,
That but the Shadow, SHE the Substance lost!
But then remember—SHE's but Lost to Gain
A Brighter Crown, and a more Lasting Reign!
| The Works of Mr. Robert Gould | |