University of Virginia Library

I.

Full of strange Thoughts, and pensive as I go,
A tenderness, which to my self I owe,
So strongly does my Mind assail,
And so insensibly prevail,
That all in Tears I flow,
But for my own misfortune now,
And not anothers Cruelty, as I was wont to do.
For seeing every Day my end draw nigh,
A thousand times of God I've begg'd those Wings,
With which from this lewd World, and Mortal things,
Th' unpinion'd Soul to Heav'n does flie;
And beg still, but he does the Grace deny.
And tho I Sigh, and Grieve, and Pray,
That Happiness does countermand;
But reason 'tis, that he, who will not upright stand,
When 'tis in his own Power, or wilfully must stray,
Low as the Earth should lie, and never find his way.
I see, 'tis true, th' Eternal Arms extended wide,
But my own Fear, and others Fate,
Who have deferr'd till 'twas too late,
Make me tremble at my present state.
Another Tyran too beside,
Whom oft to throw, in vain I oft have try'd,
Furiously spurs me on. (Ah!) Whither will he ride?

II.

But, (Lo!) what thoughts my mind assault,
And how to it thus One roundly says;
“Why, foolish Thing, why these delays?
“What lookt-for Succour causes such an Alt?
“Seest thou not how the winged Minutes pass,
“And add more Years to thy Disgrace,
“And yet thy help as far to seek, as e're it was?
“Take, rather take thy last Farewel,
“And do it quickly; every Root destroy
“Of fruitless Pleasure, which couldst thou enjoy
“In its Perfection, for it thou must sell
“Thy Soul, and Liberty, and in an hurry dwell.
“But since thou ne're canst that expect,
“And in the toilsome quest art tir'd,
“Of what's so much admired,
“Yet which the glozing World, when it does thee neglect,
“May to an He as ill deserving give,
“Why as fixt here dost thou live,
“And midst rude Wars, and giddy Vanity,
“Hope for Peace and Constancy?
“Now while thou mayst dare to be Wise!
“In thine own hand keep fast the Rein!
“And since thou must begin again,
“Stop, and turn back, the Road behind thee lies.
“Tis hazardous thou knowst too long to stay,
“And till to Morrow leave, what's better done to Day.

III.

“Long since Thou hast been taught, nor art thou now
“To learn, what Happiness, and Content,
“From the fairest Eyes are sent
“To 'n Heart, that does the Charms of Beauty know.
“But what think'st Thou both had been,
“What Thy Content, and Happiness,
“The greater Glory, and the less,
“If those fair Eyes had ne're been seen,
“And in their stead another Flame had entred in?
“Thou well remembrest, (and 'tis well thou dost)
“How their Image seiz'd thee first,
“And thy Heart like Lightning pierc'd,
“Where it was so much Lord of all the Coast,
“So fatally did overcome,
“That none for other Loves it left, scarce for it self had room.
“With that thou first wert set on fire,
“And if its wild fallacious heat,
“Has held thee many Years with vain desire,
“And expectation of what ne're was yet,
“Nor e're may come, (that joyful Day
“Which should thy Mise'ries end, and largely for thy waiting pay,)
“For none so silily themselves undo
“As Lovers, and so thanklesly if Poets too.)
“Why dost thou not to a better hope thy Soul advance,
“And Heav'ns Immortal Glories view?
“For if one Smile, one pleasing Glance,
“A Song dear purchas'd, one kind word or two,
“The price of Love can here enhance,
“What will those Heavenly Beauties do;
“And how great must the Pleasure be above,
“Where they do ever Sing, and where they ever Love!

IV.

On tother side, a different thought,
With a sharp, but pleasing pain,
Of Hope and Fear together wrought,
Makes me love it, but complain.
For while with Hope it feeds my Heart,
And profers Fame to crown desert,
The Fear I can despise, and dare the cruel smart.
Insensible it almost renders me,
Of all but its dear self insensible,
The effects of Study I ne're feel
How hot or cold, how pale so e're I be;
Nor will one Death to kill 't suffice,
One Death to end its Tyrannies,
Since throughly slain, it does with greater vigor only rise.
When but a Child, as a Child with me it plaid,
Just like my self, and as I grew encreast;
Nor will 't I fear permit me any rest,
Till in one Tomb we be together laid.
Dead with my Body, there 'twill lie,
Nor any further with me go;
And then what signifies this Fame, if I
Its best Report can never know?
Since there must once a parting be,
And away the Shade will flee
For the true substance I'll leave it, e're that leave me.

V.

But (Oh!) that Passion like my Soul,
Which in each part is all, and all ith' whole,
And as a great, and spreading Root,
To' it self the moisture draws, and starves the Ground about,
How does it Vex, and Torture me,
When I my Pride, and Folly see,
My Ignorance, and Vanity,
Of others writing still, so mindless of my self to be!
Those Eyes I mean, whose heavy Chain,
My captive Will does so restrain,
That Art and Force to break it I employ in vain.
What then, tho my spread Sails are fill'd,
And that prepar'd I for the Voyage am,
If yet my Barque midst Rocks is held,
By two such Cables, Love, and Fame?
But Thou, my God, who from those other Bands,
With which the sottish World's held fast,
Long since my freedom Ransom'd hast;
Why hear not these Thy great Commands,
And loose the Pris'ner, who with shame confounded stands?
Abasht I stand, and like a Man at Night,
Assaulted in his Dreams, with Deaths grim sight,
Fain would resist, but want both words to speak, and Arms to fight.

VI.

I well enough know what I ought to do,
Nor does the Ignorance of what is true,
At all deceive me; but this Love,
With which so mise'rably I am opprest,
Tho all his, and my 'own Follies I reprove,
Too much, and much too long of me possest,
Permits me not one step to move,
And the true Honours shiny Path intend above.
Yet now and then there does begin,
Something, I know not what, to strive within;
A cruel and severe Disdain,
Thus for ever to remain,
And where of all it may be read again,
This secret thought writes in my Forehead plain.
“What can more unmorthy be,
“The Man, who does to th' fairest Prize aspire,
“Than towards Mortal things to be on fire,
“With the same Flame that only fits the Deity?
Nor does it thus alone, but crys aloud
To my Reason, drawn aside,
And behind my Senses hid;
Reason obeys, and strait condemns what it allowd.
But as I'm thinking back to go,
Custome does, or make me stay,
Or leads me to some other way;
I gaze, and that does show
The brightest Eyes, e're shon below,
But born alass for my incurable Disease,
For too much me, too much their cruel selves they please

VII.

How long, or short the space may be,
Which when into this World I first came down,
By Heav'ns Arrest was granted me,
To undergo Wars misery,
And all those pains, which from my self have grown,
I know as little, as I do the Time,
When this wretched Life shall end;
For both are Mysteries too sublime,
And Mortal knowledg far transcend.
But this I know, and daily find,
That all without, and all within
My Body 's chang'd, and so 's my Mind.
Gray Hairs appear, nor is th' End far behind
When to approach these Harbingers begin.
Like a Man therefore, who much Ground and Day has lost
But wiser made at length by his cost.
I'm thinking oft to take the Right Hand way,
Where I see my Journey lay,
And which when first I left, I first began to stray:
But Grief and Shame to have truanted so long,
Hold my one half, Pleasure does t'other seize,
Pleasure through Custome grown so strong,
That it with Death dare stand on terms for War or Peace.