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] |
 | 1. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| 2. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
|
To the Society of the Beaux Esprits.
|
 | The Works of Mr. Robert Gould |  |
To the Society of the Beaux Esprits.
ODE.
I.
If Poets when they undertakeSome happy glorious Theme,
That does their Hero's Worth Immortal make
And settle in the foremost Rank of Fame;
If they invoke some GOD to be
Propitious, and infuse
Life, Spirit, Warmth and Vigor in the Muse,
Such as may Animate the whole Design,
And shew they're guided by a Hand Divine;
What Pow'r? What Deity
(You learn'd Society)
Must be invok'd by Me?
'Tis YOU, Great Souls, and only YOU
Whose Fame I sing must aid me too:
If you assist, the Work will shine
With something Heav'nly ev'ry Line;
But all must fail, if all be Mine.
366
II.
No tedious Ways Y'ave taken to your Fame,No vain Meanders trac'd,
At something certain you direct your Aim;
While those that obstinately go astray,
And walk by Guess when there's a Beaten Way,
Are but the more remarkably disgrac'd.
So the dull Chymist with much Toil and Pain,
And equal Loss of Time and Brain,
Preposte'rously wears out his wretched Days
In solid Vanity and empty Praise;
And all to find (such Notions does he start)
What neither is in Nature, or in Art.
In vain they strive that pass-less Rock t'explore,
Where they have seen so many split before,
And lost on the inhospitable Shore;
Castles erecting fondly in the Air;
Rapt with the Bliss
They shall possess
In their new Golden Worlds—the Lord knows where!
But after all, we see,
(And they themselves at last as well as we)
When their whole Lives are in expectance gone,
(Betray'd by Hope, and led deluded on)
Instead of the fam'd Stone, so much their Care,
There's nothing left Existing but Despair,
A Dismal Prospect of their Folly past,
Their Treasure's vanish'd, and their Want's to last.
III.
When first you did your Forces joyn,When first you did your Mingl'd Lustre twine
In that Bright Orb where now you shine,
367
A Perfect Galaxy of Wit,
Stretch'd all across the Muses Skie,
As truly Great, and as sublimely high:
That you might still remain the same,
And carry on a Deathless Name,
You none among you wou'd admit,
Tho' ne'er so Pow'rful, Rich, or Great,
That set up Blasphemy for Wit.
Nor those that with as small Excuse,
Run into Bawdry and Abuse.
Nor yet the Coxcombs who have no Pretence
But Titles to be Men of Sense.
No Scriblers, whose flagitious Rhimes
Confirm the Vitious in their Crimes.
No Fools enamour'd of their Lungs,
With Souls transfus'd into their Songs:
That gargling Revel-rout that Durf---y rules;
The Captain-General of the Phyllis-Fools.
To none
Was the great Blessing shown
But who brought equal Merit of their own;
Such as were Worthy, and believ'd
The Honour Worthy they receiv'd:
That loath'd the crying Vices of the Age,
And the loose Scenes of the declining Stage.
IV.
Thus Constituted you your Race began,And at the Goal already are arriv'd;
Unlike the Greshamites, who slower run,
And have their Fame surviv'd.
Then, that you still may know Content,
You give no sharp Invectives vent,
Especially on Government:
368
While on the Kingly Pow'r they Brooding sit,
The Loyal Man is much the Nobler Wit.
Nor do you take Delight to pry
Into the Dark-wrought Snares of Policy;
Made intricate by Juggling Elves,
And often proves a Maze to lose themselves.
Ne'er vex, or wonder at the prosp'rous Fate
That does on Fools and Villains wait,
And to the highest Grandeur raise;
Where they like Mete'ors blaze,
With all the lavish Poets wanton in their Praise:
This stiles 'em Noble, and that calls 'em Just,
And tells how well they have discharg'd their Trust;
Tho' they rais'd all their Store
By peeling of the Publick and the Poor;
As by Estates, soon got, w'are sure they must:
Gain, only Gain their whole Intent;
Forgetting what the Scriptures teach,
That He that's hasty to be Rich.
Shall not be Innocent.
Another does their Eloquence approve,
As if their Tongues were tun'd above,
And swears like Orpheus's Harp, they make the Forests move:
Tho' to the Man that nicely marks,
A Dog keeps more Coherence when he barks.
Thus for a while they flourish—but anon
Some sudden Storm of State comes pouring on;
Nor will it give 'em time to breath:
Seiz'd! Try'd! Convicted!—then they sadly see
How much a guilty Wealth's beneath
An Honest Poverty.
369
V.
Nor is your precious Time mispentIn the vile Clamours of the Bar;
Where the loud Tough-Lung'd Tribe, on Gain intent,
Wage an Eternal War.
The Cause now op'ning, either Side
Draw up and for Defence provide:
These first the Despe'rate Onset give,
And those as Despe'rately receive.
Mean while th'Auxiliary Band
That the Defendant Chiefs Command,
The Swiss that Swear on either Side for Pay,
March boldly up and plunge into the Fray.
And now the Plantiff Squadrons seem to yield,
And wild Disorder covers all the Field:
When, of a Sudden, Lo! the vanquish't War
Rallies afresh, and threatens from afar:
Their Hero's of the Post they now display,
Which they behind had closely laid,
For a Reserve, in Ambuscade,
And by clear Dint of Perju'ry turn the Day.
And now the Battle hangs in Even Scale,
Nor those can Conquer, nor can these prevail.
Mean while, upon this Poize of Fate,
The Chiefs again renew the dire Debate,
With Din enough to deafen Billinsgate.
This is the Issue of a hungry Clown,
And wore his Leathern Breeches up to Town.
That has a Conscience steel'd, and this a Face
Of right Corinthian Brass;
And he that Brays so loudly is an Ass.
But when the Pleading's at an End,
They have no further to contend:
370
Is how to make the Cause as long as Life;
And, in large brimming Bowls,
To quaff in Burgundy the Spoil of Fools.
VI.
O Madness! Madness to the last Excess!Nor can the Frenzy well be less,
While thus w'are Goaded on to Wickedness:
Envy and Hatred wou'd of Course expire,
Were not the Lawyer by to feed the Fire.
Their packing Juries too we can't forbear,
The Harvest rises plente'ous there.
Four Crops at least in the most Barren Year.
By them in Trials w'are absolv'd, or doom'd,
The Judge but as a Cypher stands;
For tho' the Evidence be rightly sum'd,
The main Decision falls of Course to other Hands.
Ev'n in the best of Times we can't deny
“The Jury passing on the Priso'ner's Life
“In the sworn Twelve may have a Thief
“Guiltier than him they try:
But now the Lawyer does much deeper strike,
And all th'Impannel'd List are Rogues alike:
In vain they half are Challeng'd; still we find
Tho' Bad's Excepted, worse is left behind.
Break Houses up, let Blood be spilt,
The Bribery will not find the Guilt.
Buy an Estate without one Farthing's Aid,
Owe Thousands to the Men of Trade,
Th'Attorney palms the Jury—and 'tis paid.
None better know the Law was meant
Injustice to redress,
To free the Poor and Innocent,
And make Oppression less;
371
No Men employ that Knowledge worse:
Not Devils cloath'd in Flesh and Blood
Cou'd more delight in Gain, or fly so fast from Good.
How cou'd Gray's-Inn or how the Temple rise
(Such Pompous Piles as e'en out-brave the Skies,
And seem a Dwelling fit for Deities)
If all the Cash that such a Charge sustain'd,
Had only been by honest Pleading gain'd?
As bad as now we count the Times,
With all its Villanies and Crimes,
Yet this in its Defence we have;
That no Man ever saw
A thorow, finish'd, Total Knave
But what was bred to Law.
VII.
But as you justly fix your HateUpon these Vermin of the State,
That Ravage on the Spring just as they please,
And leave the Barren After-Crop to other Sciences;
So you as much the Fools expose
(For they deserve the sharpest Scorn)
That run by Choice into the Dang'rous Noose—
But Asses are for Slav'ry born.
The Needy from their Doors they chase
As they were not of Human Race,
Nor will from Thousands spare a Mite,
Yet wast Estates to propagate their Spite:
Will give a Million without Grutch,
Just only for the bare Delight
To make another Rascal spend as much:
Not once conside'ring what will, last, befall,
Or who stands waiting by to sweep up all.
At the Groom-Porters, so,
I've seen the Fops, Impatient for the Throw,
372
Persisting in the flatte'ring Play,
'Till, between what was won and lost,
Wise Neal has half the Cash engross'd:
Still they push on, nor mind th'Impending Ill,
The Purse will empty as the Box does fill.
And so too have I read
In Living Lines, tho' the fam'd Author's dead,
The Frog and Mouse were once at Mortal Strife,
And each in equal Hazard of his Life;
The Kite, who from on high the Fewd did view,
To shew how vainly Fools contend,
Devour'd both Plaintiff and Defendant too;
And brought the Senseless Quarrel to an End.
VIII.
Nor stop you here: the more flagitious Quack,That wears a Leash of Lives upon his Back,
Feels your Resentment like the rest,
For him a like Disdain express'd:
Nor can his Blasphemy, or Wit,
Preserve him from the Notion of a Cheat
That grows by purging, and by poys'ning, Great.
How very Negligent they are
Too fatally we see;
Nor need they make our Lives their Care,
That both ways, live or die, will have their Fee.
By Indirection thus they raise their Store,
Keep Coaches, Lacquies; Drink, and Game, and Whore;
And Quality it self can do no more.
Religion either they detest,
Or, which is equal, make a Jest;
Ascaunce, like Fiends, they all its Precepts view;
With the same Poison they their Spawn indue,
373
With Lucre and Prophaneness thro 'and thro':
Who close, like Leeches, to their Patients cleave,
And with their damn'd unconscionable Bills
No Cash to pay for future Illness leave;
The Pounds just equal to the Tale of Pills.
Thus Fool with Villains wilfully complying,
Are made to pay ev'n for their Dying:
Nay some have left 'em Legacies by Will,
And ev'en in Death admir'd their Murde'rers Skill.
IX.
Unhappy foolish, wilful Man,Preposte'rous! from thy self thy Woes began.
Of all Created Things none are so curst as Thee,
So curst by an acquir'd Simplicity.
The feather'd and four-footed Kind,
Without those Helps we boast to find,
Endure Heav'ns Wrath, Excessive Heat and Cold,
Yet grow, according to their Natures old:
Nor are among themselves at strife
How to abridge the Little Span of Life;
Which of it self, alas! is quickly gone,
And flies too fast to be push'd faster on:
But Man, vain Man has found a thousand Keys
To open that one Lock that ends his Days:
Or if Sword, Fire, the Plague, and Famine fail,
They're not Physician Proof—he'll certainly prevail.
O for a Western Wind that may
To the Red Ocean, far away,
These num'rous Locusts bear,
A greater Curse than those of Egypt were;
They but a while brought Desolation;
But these are fix'd a standing Plague to scourge the sinful Nation.
374
X.
With these you equally despiseThe Sots that pore upon the Skies,
Egregiously to Calculate
The Good or Evil Fate
Of Fools—and worse—of Women's Destinies.
When such a One may 'scape be'ing hang'd, or drown'd,
To which he's wickedly presum'd
By Heav'nly Influence to be doom'd;
And had th'untimely End without their warning found.
When a lost Lover will again return,
By Incantations read, and Sigils worn,
And humbly at the Virgin's Feet his past Presumption mourn.
If Marriage will disaste'rous grow,
And sink into Domestick Jars;
When the most common Fool may know,
Without th'Assistance of the Stars,
'Twill certainly do so.
When Comets hang aloft in Air,
With swinging Tails and blazing Hair,
To what Part of the threatn'd World
The fatal Influ'ence will be hurl'd
In Schism, Faction, Famine, Plague and War.
When Moles appear upon the Skin,
How all the Passions may, within,
Be thro' the Sable Mirrours seen;
Whether the Bearer's Prudent, Brave, or Just,
The Friend of Bacchus, or the Child of Lust.
What all our Senseless Dreams import,
Drest in a Thousand various Shapes,
Centaures, Chimæras, Bulls and Apes,
When Fancy is dispos'd her Airyship to Sport.
375
XI.
Thus with their Aspects, Houses, Signs,And all that Ignorance with 'em joins
To furnish out their Planetary Schemes,
They run to more Ridiculous Extremes
Than Poets, Fools, and Madmen in their Dreams.
How can another's Fate be known
By Him that's Igno'rant of his Own?
Or how can he foresee th'Intrigues of Rome,
Or which way France will play their Game,
A Stranger to our Policy at Home?—
If it of late deserves the Name.
The wisest Man that ever was presumes
That none can know the Future till it comes.
To tell what Time will bring to Light
How dare the rash Predicter boast,
That can't retrieve, tho' ne'er so slight,
One Thought that Memory has lost?
The Stars, alas! but little show
Of what will happen here below,
And less the Gazers on 'em know.
He only that can Vertu'ous be
Best understands Futurity.
What ever Fools believe, and Villains prate,
We make, our selves, our Good or Evil Fate.
XII.
With these, in the same Wretched File,Our Vertuoso's take their Place;
A Class of Men so vain and vile,
They scarce deserve the Grace.
Who is it can with Patience see
Their Magazines of Trumpery?
376
Wou'd take up a whole Century to name.
Here one, that thinks he is no Ass,
Does thro' his Magnifying Glass
On some Minutest Insects pry
With such a fix'd and heedful Eye
As if the World were to be made anew,
Or Heav'n it self depended on the View.
Yet all the while shall have no other Aim
Than just to see (O vain Design!
And truly worthy of the Elves!)
If any Vermin breed and feed on them,
As Ticks on Horses, Dogs and Swine,
And Lice upon themselves.
Another does to Montpelier repair
To bring home Bottl'd Air,
Then generously uncorks it here;
A Pint enough to purify a Shire.
A Third will send for Water from the Rhine,
Only to make comparison between
The Thames and that, which of the Two's most light,
And which will freeze the thickest in a Night.
Others aver, the Mites in Cheese
Live in a Monarchy like Bees;
Have Civil Laws and Magistrates,
Their Rise, Continuance, and their Fates,
Like other Human Pow'rs and States;
And, by a strange Peculiar Art,
Can hear 'em Sneeze, Discourse and F---rt:
These Men, by Right, shou'd be Astrologers,
And hold Acquaintance with the Stars,
Happy for doubting Man 'twou'd be;
For they that have such Eyes, what is't they may not see!
377
XIII.
Nor is Philosophy exemptFrom Censure, not to say contempt:
'Tis true its Excellencies are
Above all other Science far,
That but a Gloe-worm, this a Star:
And yet it does so many Errors share,
As if they all at once existed there.
How many vain Opinions have began,
And been as vainly carried on
By that most vain of all the Creatures, Man?
All his Enquiries well express
The best of 'em but speak by guess.
Here one, the first and wisest, cou'd not see
But that this All was from Eternity;
And did on its own Principles depend
As self existent, and wou'd never End,
Another (as if rising from a Trance,
And all the Atoms in their Antique Dance,
Those Atoms which, all sorts of Union past,
Leap'd into Form and made a World at last)
Asserts 'twill perish, as it came by Chance.
A third the Earth is fix't and all above,
Sun, Moon, and Stars, for ever round it move:
The Opponent brings it all in doubt
And says the Earth is whirl'd about,
By a Finger and a Thumb at first set up,
And slept e'er since just like a School-boy's Top:
While the Superiour Orbs of Light
Stand gazing on, and wonder at the Sight.
Some that the Moon's a World; and add withall
This Globe on which we tread, this pond'rous Ball,
Reflects a Light up to the Lunar Sphere,
And is the very Luminary there,
As that is with its borrow'd Glory here;
378
Its Full and New; its Waxing, Wain and Change.
XIV.
Quite as ridiculous and vainIs all the Tenents they maintain
Of what below they call our Final Good;
And quite as little understood.
In Beauty some have fixt the Name,
And some in Pow'r, and some in Fame;
In Riches some the flying Phantom place,
And some in the Descent from Royal Race:
Some in Ambition and in Battles won,
In Cities sack'd, and Neighb'ring States undone;
The way that now the Gallick Prince, thro' Blood
And Ruin cuts to this Exalted Good:
Whose ultimate Enjoyment is to be,
By Persecution, Pride and Rage,
The Curse and Horrour of the Age,
And carry'd down accurs'd to all Posterity.
Others, Voluptuously inclin'd,
And making Pleasure all their Bent,
Think it is only they can find
This Golden Indies of Content:
But ill indeed wou'd their Pretences bear,
Tho' Man cou'd reach his summum Bonum here
From one Debauch they to another roll,
Infect the Body and untune the Soul,
And all they can by Pleasure gain
Is but more sharp Returns of Pain.
Ev'n Death, the grisly Terrour they wou'd shun,
In all their Bloom of Youth they hasten on,
And lift, themselves, into his Ghastly Throne!
379
XV.
Thus Happiness does human Search beguile;In vain we strive the Plant to rear,
And vainlier think it Fruit will bear;
'Tis not the Growth of the Terrestrial Soil.
No more than Air it does its Form display,
No more than Water in our Hold 'twill stay,
But slips from the deluded grasp away.
Not Vertue can it self this Proteus bind,
That most of all things might expect it kind:
'Tis true it will have Peace within,
The conscious Joy of flying Sin,
A Pleasure Man, nor Devils can efface;
But by Extortion, Envy, Pow'r or Pride,
It shall be stript of all beside,
Brought to the last Distress
Of Wants, and ev'ry outward Wretchedness.
The only Wonder is to see
How it can yet contented be
In all this World calls Infelicity.
'Twas ever and will ever be the Case
Of worthiest Men to suffer by the Base:
Nor can the Needy from the Wealthy have
The Offal Crumbs to shield 'em from the Grave;
So truly Dives lives in all his Race.
XVI.
Then for the SOUL, what that shou'd beHow wildly do they disagree!
So hard their Notion's to be solv'd,
Or with so many Doubts involv'd,
The more w' unravel w'are the less resolv'd.
In vain we things, that Heav'n conceals wou'd view,
In vain inextricable Paths pursue,
Opinion is a Maze without a Clue.
380
They say it strangely does dispence
Th'Intelligential Faculties to ev'ry distant Sense.
Some think its Being in the Heart;
And some that 'tis transfus'd, like Life thro' ev'ry Part.
Some in the sanguin Tyde its Essence place,
And roll it round with that the circling Race:
Because the Generative Desire
Does thence derive its quickning Fire,
They poorly think the Soul's descent as base.
Some backward look into the Wilds of Fate,
And argue for its pre-existing State.
Others assert from Man to Beast it flies,
Confin'd to Earth, and never mounts the Skies.
Some argue with the Flesh its Doom it takes,
And sleeps till with the general Call it wakes.
Some that immediately in Death it goes
To its eternal Misery or Repose.
Yet more abstrusely some Debate;
And tell us in its sep'rate State
'Tis only the Remembrance there
Of all our Thoughts and Actions here;
A bare Existence of the Mind.
When from the mortal Part disjoyn'd;
That tho' the Body by dissolving gains
An End of all its Joys and Pains,
Th'immaterial Consciousness remains;
And as it has on Earth been giv'n
To Good or Ill, has thence its Hell or Heav'n.
Thus level all our Rabbins in the Dark,
Or if they hit—but vainly hit the Mark:
For who can up to Heaven his Thoughts pursue?
Or with Imagination go
Into the gloomy Realms below,
And in this Being, find his Notions true?
381
And all she cannot comprehend, admires.
XVII.
Pardon me, gene'rous Souls, I have digress'd too long,But my Digression has not done you wrong;
While I display the Follies you despise,
Grown now to an enormous Size;
While I the Lion's Skin displace,
And shew behind the num'rous Race,
For Laughter born, and Men to their Disgrace:
(For to the everlasting Shame
Of what Humanity we call,
Like Homo, ASS is grown a common Name,
And very nearly comprehends us all)
While thus employ'd, th'impartial Few will guess
By the degenerate Paths you shun
In what a Noble Track you run,
And by the Vice you hate the Vertues you possess.
Your Vertues which by me,
If you assist, shall be
Deliver'd down to all Posteritie.
Here therefore I again your Aid require,
That with fresh Spirit you'd the Muse inspire,
Nor cease, till she has fixt your Name
Among the happiest Favourites of Fame;
From her Records ne'er to be raz'd
Till the loud Trumpet's general Blast,
And Nature, Death and Time have breath'd their last.
XVIII.
First, your Religion shall be shown;Not such as Schismaticks wou'd pass for one,
For theirs is—at the Bottom—none.
382
For Honesty, without a Grain;
Or as—Upon upon my Honour's—grown
A certain Cue to shew there's none;
So ruful Tones and wry Grimace
Has still the least pretence to Grace,
And is, at best, but Piety of Face.
A Saviour in their Mouths they bear,
But 'tis a Saviour only there;
Their Souls, so much their Talk, the least of all their Care.
When e'er Subversion of the State's design'd,
Or Church, we always find
The Schismatick and Atheist of a Mind;
With Blood and Ruin carrying on the Work;
Like the two Heathens now by Treaty Bound
The Peace of Europe to Confound,
The Turk more Christian, and the Christian Turk.
No Tallies more exactly can agree
Than open Vice and seeming Sanctity.
From Interest Prejudice and Pride
(Three rare Ingredients for a Guide)
The Private Spirit Springs;
The Atheist from the same Descent
His Rancour, Hate and Evil-speaking brings
Of Governour, and Government:
This does a thousand Strifes create
O'er true Religion to preside;
And after Fleece the Flock 'twou'd guide;
And 'tother but pulls down the State
To share the Spoils, and on the Ruins ride.
Thus Monarchies they Common-Wealths wou'd make,
And Common-Wealths again for Gold forsake;
Again another Rump they'd rear,
Nay seat the Pope or Mufti there:
Let 'em but have the God, their GAIN,
They care not if the Devil reign.
383
XIX.
Mean while You your Perswasion showIn wronging none by Word or Deed;
In paying all Men what you owe,
And giving Merit still it's Meed:
Adhering fast to Scripture Rules,
But not as they are taught by Fools;
Who boasting true Illuminative Sight,
Are lost in Darkness while they're bawling Light.
Then for all Controversial Heat,
You fly it as an Impi'ous Cheat:
But chiefly those Debates that tend
This Faith t'oppose, or that defend;
For such can never have an End:
With all th'Expence of Brain and Purse,
W'are still but as we were,—or worse.
The Fool Invincible I pass,
Because he's not by Choice an Ass:
But who cou'd ever yet convince
With all the Force of Truth and Sense,
A Man of Pen's perverting Craft, or Oates's Impudence?
When e'er the Church our Pilot's left,
We madly by our Passions steer,
Of all the Means to make the Port bereft;
For where's the way to Heav'n if 'tis not shown us there?
This for our selves—but then the various Sects,
Th'Excrescencies that out of Scripture grow,
Think us th'abandon'd Race that Heav'n rejects,
And they the Chosen Few.
XX.
And if such Men we wou'd confute,The way's to Practice, not Dispute:
384
That Doctrine still is understood:
By that he'll sooner gain his Cause.
Than by a Thousand Penal Laws.
Not only Truth does firmer grow
By Pressure, but ev'n Errour too:
If wildest Beasts by Soothing may be tam'd,
The more provok'd they'll be the more enflam'd.
What ever other Trophies Truth may boast:
She in this War-fare still has lost:
The clearest thread of Reaso'ning spun too fine,
Does obviate oft it's own Design;
And Wrong and Right, like East and West
On Mathematick Globes exprest,
But by a Point disjoyn.
For tho' th'Advantage Error gets is small,
Three Foils, the Wrestler says, is equal to a fall.
'Tis this that makes the Atheist sneer and laugh,
And equally at all Religion Scoff:
For How, alas! (too speciously they say)
How can we choose but go astray,
When, ev'n our Guides themselves take each a different way?
And these damn those without Reprieve,
For not believing what they can't believe?
XXI.
But, you Illustrious Souls, see this,See all, and know that all's amiss;
And very wisely trace
The moderate Path, and keep the moderate Pace;
Not claiming Heav'n by Pride, or Passion,
Or Works of Supererogation,
As if there cou'd be Arrogance in Grace.
385
The Marks may of their Calling see
Without their Holy Spite, and Tub-Barbarity.
Thus cheerfully you travel on,
Yet not so slow to Mire,
Nor yet so fast to tire,
And the Extremes that so divide us shun;
Arriving (yet e'er Life is half declin'd)
To what the Wise can only find,
Habitual Innocence and lasting Peace of Mind.
Mean while the Zealots, in their rash Career,
Miss all they hope, and meet with all they fear:
Nor can they less expect to feel,
Drawn by the Steeds of Pride and Zeal,
And Rage the Charioteer:
Disdaining Reason and Controul,
Lost and benighted, on they roll,
As if 'twere only Madness sav'd the Soul.
XXII.
But above all you most detestThe Men that wou'd our Holy Faith decry,
And make it still their standing Jest
To Ridicule all Christian Mystery.
With them the Resurrection, Passion,
Trinity, and Incarnation,
Are but the Cobwebs of the Schools,
The Gain of Knaves, and Dream of Fools;
When at the self-same time the Senseless Elves
Are quite thro'-out a Mystery to themselves.
By what strange Magick does the outward SIGHT
Amass together what it sees?
And then, by a more strange Internal Light,
Convey into the Mind the various Images?
How does the TAST its Quality receive?
386
Of Salt and Fresh, and Sweet and Sour?
How does the TOUCH such Transport give?
That Lovers oft, but with a Chast Embrace,
Believe they're of Ætherial Race,
And feel a Joy that scarce will let 'em live!
How thro' our EARS do Sounds our Cares controul?
What Passage is there thence into the Soul?
The Soul! that does so well agree
With Musick, 'twill be once all Harmony!
Here 'tis Immers'd in Flesh, and clogg'd with Breath;
Ah happy! when let loose to fly
To the Cœlestial Quire on high,
And Life no more can be untun'd by Death!
How on the SMELL do weak Effluviums strike?
Where does that delicate Sensation live?
Or whence the Notices derive
T'approve, or to dislike?
Feasting on ev'ry odorife'rous Breath,
And flying noxious Fumes impregnated with Death.
Thus tho' we by our REASON know
We hear and tast and feel and smell and see,
The wond'rous and unfathom'd HOW
Is stilla Mystery!
XXIII.
A thousand other Instances there areOf Wonders we about us bear
The Unbelieving to convince,
But needless to enu'merate here,
Convicted by our selves in ev'ry Sense.
Then let us not our selves deceive,
If we'll be blest we must believe.
387
We have not Pow'r to bear;
W'are only bid beside to be Sincere;—
A perfect and unsinning State
Is not Exacted, or Expected here.
The Goal of Glory certainly he wins
That does unfeignedly Repent,
Believe a GOD, and own a SAVIOUR sent
To save us from our Sins.
Ah happy! truly happy Man
That is as Vertuous as he can!
A thousand Crimes will be renew'd
Both in our Passions and Desires
Ev'n while w'are striving to be Good;
But let us neither Doubt or Fear;
If all our whole Endeavour's there,
'Tis ALL that Heav'n requires.
XXIV.
But here th'Objection will be brought,What Man Endeavours as he ought?
The Rules of Faith are own'd but few;
But who does practically shew
That from his Soul he thinks 'em true?
If by our Lives our Faith is shown,
The general Usage says there's none.
Thus others we severely Doom,
Regardless how it goes at Home.
But let the Man that sees the Shelf
Avoid the Splitting there himself.
How e'er the general Stream does run,
The publick Ills wou'd soon be done,
If ev'ry Individual strove to better one.
Unjustly he does blame the Times,
That takes his Measures from his Crimes:
388
Or an inveterate Will;
The Vertuous hope that all are Good,
The Vitious tell you all are Ill.
Thus different Ways the Tempter does deceive;
For some will regularly live,
Yet w'on't our holy Faith believe:
Others just oppositely fall,
And think a true Belief is all.
But what e'er System others frame,
Shew by your Works the Faith that you profess,
And by your Faith your Works of Blessedness,
With you (Illustrious Souls!) are just the same:
However Casuists turn the Clue,
To give 'em both a different view,
Where one is wanting 'tother's wanting too.
A thousand other Points I might
Set off here in their proper Light,
Without the Guilt of Prejudice or Spite;
But I refer 'em to the wrangling Men;
Such Jargon wou'd Defile a Poets Pen,
How can we hope their Feuds shou'd cease,
That fetch a War ev'n from the Sourse of Peace?
XXV.
Nor do your Vertues, tho' they're great.Make you at all the Foes of Wit:
Your Wit! that next does our Attendance claim;
Like Proteus, with superiour Skill,
A thousand Ways diversifying still,
And ever still the same.
Your Wit! that does deserve immortal Praise,
A Wreath of Stars instead of Bays!
Your Wit! which can at once Instruct and Please,
And give the Vitious Patient timely Ease,
389
And laugh him to a loathing of his Fau'ts.
Your Wit! so charming, those that hear
Cou'd wish they were all Ear;
No sooner they admire,
But some new Beauty lifts their Wonder higher.
Not taken up on Trust, no plated Brass,
But currant Coin that ev'ry where will pass:
From painful Learning and Experience drain'd,
And as with Labour got, so with Delight retain'd.
Nor does it value Man the more
For Dignity, for Pow'r or Place;
Or save (tho' brib'd with half his Store)
The sawcy Minion from Disgrace;
Others unknowingly advance,
And have at best, their Wit from Chance:
Either to Vertue they're severe,
Or him they ought to scorn, they fear:
But all you write is all along,
Like Samson's Riddle, sweet and strong,
Harmonious to the Ear, and Hybla to the Tongue!
XXVI.
By this time we'll suppose you sit,The Gen'ral Good your full Design;
Converting your unweary'd Wit,
That ev'ry Nicest Blot can hit,
Into a Flame divine.
For in no beaten Path you tread,
The Path of Humour or of Gain;
But shew how far w'ave been misled
Both by the Living and the Dead,
And give to Truth the Honours of her Reign.
390
Nonsense, Impossibilities,
And Wolves in Sheeps Disguise;
With all the Snares that Earth and Hell have laid,
By bringing our own Reason to our Aid:
Our Reason, still in Danger try'd,
And always prov'd a faithful Guide;
Reason the Polar Star,
That does discover Happiness from far:
A Pilot that can thro' Life's Ocean steer
As safe in Storms, as if the Skies were clear:
While those who but by halves believe
(Bred up for Blockheads to deceive)
Are daily with a thousand Fears perplext,
This Hour of one Perswasion, none the next.
But Reason, drest in Adamantine Arms,
Does end in frightful Charms;
All subtil Shifts descry
With its sharp sighted Eagles Eye,
Before whose pow'rful Rays the gloomy Fantoms fly.
XXVII.
While thus you hold Discourse the Goblet's crown'd,And twice or thrice does nimbly move around:
Care that Disturber of our Rest,
That grows Habitual to the Breast,
And hardly e'er is dispossest;
Ev'n that curst Fiend at such a time takes Wing,
And Envy quite forgets her Sting.
Yet nothing idle or profane,
Lewd, ridiculous, or vain,
Nothing is spoke but what the Nuns might hear,
Were they much chaster than they are.
Thus Mirth you cloath in its true genuine Shape;
Not like an Ass, an Owl, or Ape,
391
There's the same Difference between Mirth as Men.
And now you envy not ev'n Kings themselves,
Nor all the under Fry of Courtly Elves;
Who, like the Moon, their borrow'd Lustre owe,
And Tradesmen are the Suns that make 'em glitter so.
The Troubles of Mortality you view,
Those num'rous, and its Comforts few;
The Evil that o'er Mankind brooding lies,
That tongues the Fool, and silencies the Wise;
The Fears and Jealousies that sway the Rout,
Cowards in Office, and the Brave without:
And since true Pleasure flits and will not stay,
You this way take a Draught without allay,
And make the dull Fatigue of Life fly pleasantly away.
XXVIII.
What Honours then, you mighty few,Ought here to be conferr'd on you,
That shew at once the Path to Peace and Pleasure too?
What Trophies to your Fame must we erect?
And O what Wonders may we not expect
(Tho' distant far, and lying ne'er so wide)
Brought home by Men so nobly qualify'd:
That ev'n at your first setting out (like Flame
Aspiring to the Starry Frame)
To such a Pitch your Merit raise,
As leaves behind our lagging Praise,
And shews you knew no Nonage in your Fame.
Ah! wou'd but one of you (whose Breast
Is with the sacred Fire possest)
But sing the Vertues of the rest,
Something we then might hope to see
Worthy the famous Beaux-Esprits,
The Generous and August Society;
392
Since what is always Good is always Great.
Where else, alas! can there be found
A Sprat your Grandeur to resound?
Where else a Cowley in his Lofty Verse
Your Glories to rehearse,
And to the Heav'nly Arch make the wide Echo bound?
Your Glory which like the fix'd Star wou'd shine,
And as Propitious be
To all that want a Guide, as He,
Had this Great Subject been adorn'd by any Muse but Mine.
| The Works of Mr. Robert Gould | |