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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 Sr. Fleetwood Sheppard, &c.
  
  
  
  
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27

To Sr. Fleetwood Sheppard, &c.

While the vain Fop his vainer Mistress sues,
Growing more Slavish as he longer Wo's,
(For she but flies because the Sot pursues)
You, Sir, a safer, nobler Way have ran,
For an ill Age a general Good began,
And shewn the Ways of Liberty to Man.
Unpitied let the Husband mourn his Strife,
That Wo's, and Lyes, and Labours for a Wife.
Mean while to you our Praise we justly pay,
Whom Woman's utmost Art cou'd ne'er betray,
Or all her Charms seduce to quit your Native Sway.
Learning and Prudence rais'd you safe above
The Snares of Wedlock, and the Smiles of Love;
In their Embrace a nobler Prize you sought,
And to their Empire lasting Conquests brought.
'Twas strange to be the Foe of Love so Young.
But stranger to retain the Bent so long.
Nor Heat of Youth, nor yet your Elder Years
(For many a Man is fonder as he wears)
Cou'd ever plunge you in that Sea of Cares.

28

Constant to Peace, you still avoided Strife,
The Rocks, the Shelves and Quick-sands of a Wife,
That Wak'ner of Despair, and Scourge of Life!
'Twas not because you never saw the Flame;
In Crowds of Beauties you were still the same,
And, looking back, despis'd the following Game:
Thus, flying, you the beauteous Victors beat,
And Parthian like, secur'd the Conquest by Retreat:
Disarm'd of all their Darts, the Fantoms fled,
By your persisting Sense their Pow'r struck dead,
And Wit and Friendship govern'd in their stead.
Friendship! Heav'ns holiest Tye and Balm of Life!
And Wit! that never cou'd consist with Strife.
How are we pleas'd at ev'ry Word you speak!
How do we glow to see the Lightning break!
Inevitable Mirth our Grief controuls,
Shines thro' the Sullen Gloom, and warms our Souls!
Sadness it self does in thy Presence wear
A Pleasing Look, and Poets lose their Care.
There's not a Soul can stir while thou dost stay!
To ev'ry Mind you Life and Light convey,
Just as where e'er the Sun arrives 'tis Day!
Why shou'd not Wit, a Blessing so sublime,
As it from Love, secure thee too from Time?
It will not be!—The Body falls of Course;
But thy Immortal Name's above his Force,
R. G.