Poems and Songs :: :: University of Virginia Library

Sad, and concern'd Philander then
Weigh'd with himself the frail, uncertain state
Of silly, strangely disappointed men,
Whose projects are the sport of Fate.
Perhaps (said he) this poor man's desolate Wife
In a strange Country far away,
Expects some happy day,
This gastly thing, the comfort of her life;

III

His Son it may be dreads no harm,
But kindly waits his Fathers coming home,

Himself secure, he apprehends no storm,
But fancies that he sees him come.
Perhaps the good old man, that kist this Son,
And left a blessing on his head,
His arms about him spread,
Hopes yet to see him e're his Glass be run.

IV

These are the Grand Intrigues of Man,
These his huge thoughts, and these his vast desires
Restless, and swelling like the Ocean
From his birth till he expires.
See where the naked, breathless body lies
To every puff of wind a slave,
At the beck of every Wave,
That once perhaps was fair, rich, stout, and wise!

V

While thus Philander pensive said,
Touch'd only with a pity for Mankind,
At nearer view, he thought he knew the Dead,
And call'd the wretched Man to mind:
Alas, said he, art thou that angry Thing,
That with thy looks did'st threaten Death,
Plagues and Destruction breath,
But two days since, little beneath a King!

VI

Ai me! where is thy fury now,
Thine insolence, and all thy boundless power,
O most ridiculously dreadful thou!
Expos'd for Beasts and Fishes to devour.
Go sottish Mortals, let your Breasts swell high,
All your Designs laid deep as Hell,
A small mischance can quell,
Out-witted by the deeper Plots of Destiny.

VII

This haughty Lump a while before
Sooth'd up it self, perhaps with hopes of Life,
What it would do, when it came safe on shore,
What for It's Son, what for It's Wife;
See where the Man, and all his Politicks lie.
Ye Gods! what Gulphs are set between,
What we have, and what we ween,
Whilst lull'd in dreams of years to come, we die!

VIII

Nor are we liable alone,
To misadventures on the merciless Sea,
A thousand other things our Fate bring on,
And Shipwrack'd every where we be.
One in the tumult of a Battel dies
Big with conceit of Victory,
And routing th' Enemy,
With Garlands deck'd, himself the Sacrifice.

IX

Another, while he pays his vows
On bended knees, and Heaven with tears invokes,
With adorations as he humbly bows,
While with Gums the Altar smoaks,
In th' presence of his God, the Temple falls:
And thus religious in vain
The flatter'd Bigot slain,
Breaths out his last within the sacred Walls.

X

Another with Gay Trophies proud,
From his triumphant Chariot overthrown,
Makes pastime for the Gazers of the Croud,
That envi'd him his purchas'd Crown.
Some with full meals, and sparkling Bowls of Wine,
(As if it made too long delay)
Spur on their fatal Day,
Whilst others, (needy Souls) at theirs repine.

XI

Consider well, and every place
Offers a ready Road to thy long home,
Sometimes with frowns, sometimes with smiling face
Th' Embassadours of Death do come.
By open force or secret Ambuscade,
By unintelligible ways,
We end our anxious days,
And stock the large Plantations of the Dead.

XII

But (some may say) 'tis very hard
With them, whom heavy chance has cast away,
With no solemnities at all interr'd,
To roam unburi'd on the Sea:
No—'tis all one where we receive our doom,
Since, somewhere, 'tis our certain lot,
Our Carcases must rot,
And they whom heaven covers need no Tomb.