Mr. Cooke's Original Poems with Imitations and Translations of Several Select Passages of the Antients, In Four Parts: To which are added Proposals For perfecting the English Language |
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| 8. | EPISTLE the Eighth, TO James Vernon Esq;
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 | Mr. Cooke's Original Poems |  |
92
EPISTLE the Eighth, TO James Vernon Esq;
Occasioned by Admiral Vernon's Conquests in the West-Indys.
Wedded to Virtue and to letter'd Ease,
In Science read and in the Art to please,
Counting the Days well-spent the happyest Days,
Ever deserving and avoiding Praise,
Yet deign an Ear, a willing Ear, to lend
To a lov'd Brother's Fame recorded by a Friend.
In Science read and in the Art to please,
Counting the Days well-spent the happyest Days,
Ever deserving and avoiding Praise,
Yet deign an Ear, a willing Ear, to lend
To a lov'd Brother's Fame recorded by a Friend.
Long had our Swords been sheath'd, our Sails been furl'd,
And long had Spain her proud Defyance hurl'd,
Till from a Night of Indolence and Rest,
A Lethargy that Britain's Isle possess'd,
Vernon arose to bless a George's Reign,
And spread his Glory o'er the Land and Main:
O'er distant Seas he now asserts his Sway,
In the new World, beneath the burning Day:
He toils unweary'd for his Country's Peace,
To make her Honour and her Wealth encrease.
He rescued from Disgrace the English Name,
Where Hosier languish'd to his Country's Shame;
Where dy'd the brave by too intense a Heat,
By Climes unwholesome and unwholesome Meat.
On Man and Beasts alike the Plague began;
Thro their hot Veins the fev'rish Current ran;
Chain'd to a ling'ring Death, their Drought encreas'd;
Parch'd was the Palate, and Digestion ceas'd:
While the Sun shot his pestilential Beams,
The valiant Hearts by thousands fed the Streams.
So did Apollo's vengeful Shafts destroy
The mighty Greeks before the Walls of Troy:
So, as the noblest Greecian Poet sings,
The People perish'd, and the Fault the King's.
And long had Spain her proud Defyance hurl'd,
93
A Lethargy that Britain's Isle possess'd,
Vernon arose to bless a George's Reign,
And spread his Glory o'er the Land and Main:
O'er distant Seas he now asserts his Sway,
In the new World, beneath the burning Day:
He toils unweary'd for his Country's Peace,
To make her Honour and her Wealth encrease.
He rescued from Disgrace the English Name,
Where Hosier languish'd to his Country's Shame;
Where dy'd the brave by too intense a Heat,
By Climes unwholesome and unwholesome Meat.
On Man and Beasts alike the Plague began;
Thro their hot Veins the fev'rish Current ran;
Chain'd to a ling'ring Death, their Drought encreas'd;
Parch'd was the Palate, and Digestion ceas'd:
While the Sun shot his pestilential Beams,
The valiant Hearts by thousands fed the Streams.
So did Apollo's vengeful Shafts destroy
The mighty Greeks before the Walls of Troy:
So, as the noblest Greecian Poet sings,
The People perish'd, and the Fault the King's.
No longer now exults the Spanish Pride,
By Vernon's Prowess bury'd in the Tyde:
What 'tis, he taught the proud Insulters then,
To rouse the Lion from his peaceful Den:
He greatly proves himself, with British Fire,
A Son well worthy his illustrious Sire.
By Vernon's Prowess bury'd in the Tyde:
94
To rouse the Lion from his peaceful Den:
He greatly proves himself, with British Fire,
A Son well worthy his illustrious Sire.
Thus has the Muse, true to her Country's Cause,
Pursued her Hero with deserv'd Applause:
With Eyes of Joy she views his fair Renown,
And binds his Temples with the naval Crown.
Pursued her Hero with deserv'd Applause:
With Eyes of Joy she views his fair Renown,
And binds his Temples with the naval Crown.
While on the Wings of Fame your Brother flys,
Beneath the torrid and the frozen Skys,
Long in your lov'd Retirement may you live,
Possess'd of all that Virtue here can give,
Long here the Tenor of your Life pursue,
And in yourself prove your own Maxim true,
Who well has liv'd conceal'd, not seeking Praise,
Well has he liv'd, well has he wore his Days.
Beneath the torrid and the frozen Skys,
Long in your lov'd Retirement may you live,
Possess'd of all that Virtue here can give,
Long here the Tenor of your Life pursue,
And in yourself prove your own Maxim true,
Who well has liv'd conceal'd, not seeking Praise,
Well has he liv'd, well has he wore his Days.
March, 1741.
| Mr. Cooke's Original Poems | |