Poems on Several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

Yes, dear Philistris, in my lov'd Retreat
I will the Malice of my Stars defeat:
I've not deserv'd my Fate, and therefore dare
To brave my Fortune when 'tis most severe:
While Innocence and Honour guard my Breast,
I shall in spite of my worst Foes be blest:
In spite of all the Rage the Furies can inspire,
When into mortal Breasts they breath infernal Fire,
With Eyes that dart malignant Horrors round,

And Voices which affright with their tremendous Sound,
They fiercely may the cruel Fight begin,
And hope by Violence the Day to win;
But all in vain; I'll smiling ward each Blow,
And where my Duty calls undaunted go:
Secure within, their Shock I dare sustain,
My Souls impassive, and can feel no Pain:
I've secret Joys, Delights to them unknown,
In Solitude I never am alone:
Books are the best Companions I can find,
At once they please, at once instruct the Mind.

Fam'd Rochester, who Athens's Plague has writ
With all the Charms of Poetry and Wit,
Does Honour on his sacred See bestow;
At once its Glory, and its Blessing too:
Him I with Pleasure read, each well weigh'd Line,
Delights my Soul, his Thoughts are all Divine.

With awful Fear on Stillingfleet I gaze,
His wondrous Knowledge and deep Sense my ravish'd Soul amaze:

Smooth Tillotson affords no less Delight,
None ever did with more Exactness write,
Or with more Clearness each dark Text unfold,
He sacred Truths intelligibly told:
Strong are his Reasons, and his Language fine,
And like his Subjects, ev'ry where Divine;

Much the learn'd Sarum's pompous Stile do's please,
His Thoughts, tho' lofty, are express'd with Ease:
What e'er he writes so captivates the Mind,
We there the Strength of pow'rful Reason find:

See human Nature to its Zenith rais'd,
And Virtue with a winning Sweetness prais'd:
So charming made, and so majestick too,
We're forc'd to Love, what awfully we view:
Thou wondrous Man! who can enough admire
The amazing Force of that celestial Fire,
Which thro' each Line do's sacred Warmth inspire?
To darkest Minds clear dazling Light convey,
Refulgent Beams of intellectual Day!

Th' ingenious Norris in a flowing Strain,
With various Scenes of Wit do's entertain;
Sometimes in Prose he sweetly do's invite,
And then in Verse takes an unbounded Flight:
Plato reviv'd, we in his Writings find,
His Sentiments are there, but more refin'd.
'Twould be too tedious if I all should name,
Who have a just, unquestion'd Right to Fame.

O happy Albion! in thy Clergy blest,
In Sons that are of ev'ry Grace possest!
May they increase, and like ascending Light
Chase hence those Spectres that are pleas'd with Night,
Nor can endure a Glory so divinely bright:
Those restless Troublers of the Churches Peace;
May their Attacks, and their Reproaches cease;
While she supported by Almighty Love,
Securely on the wat'ry Deep do's move;
In sacred Pomp on swelling Surges rise,
And all the Monsters of the Main despise.

Philosophers next these, are my Delight;
O let me learn from them to think aright:

Contending Passions timely to restrain,
And o'er my self a happy Conquest gain:
To stand unalter'd at the Turns of Fate,
And undejected in the worst Estate.

With Secret Pleasure I the Lives survey
Of those great Men who Virtue did obey,
And went unweary'd on in her steep painful Way;
Their bright Examples fortifie my Mind,
And I within both Strength and Calmness find:

When I am wrong'd, or treated with Neglect,
I on the patient Socrates reflect;
That virtuous Man, who was severely try'd,
Who injur'd liv'd, and much more injur'd dy'd:
Methinks I see him laugh'd at on the Stage,
And made a Victim to the Poets Rage;
Expos'd, and ridicul'd, while he sits by,
And calmly bears their spiteful Calumny:
In him none coul'd the least Emotion find,
He bore Reproaches with a constant Mind,
And bravely met that Fate, which Fate for him design'd;
That Fate, which he persuaded was to shun;
But he resolv'd to keep the Glory he had won:
His Fame, to him than Life, was much more dear,
And Death was what he ne'er had learnt to fear:
Brave to the last, and to his Virtue true,
Without Concern he bid his Friends adieu,
And with a free, untroubl'd, cheerful Air,
Did for another, better State prepare,
And smiling drank the welcome Cure of all his Care:
That happy Draught, that Balm for all his Grief,
His best, his last, his only sure Relief.

O who wou'd live, that with such ease could go
From this vile World, this dismal Scene of Woe,
Where most are false, and no Compassion show,
Where our Misfortunes but a Jest are made,
Where by pretended Friends we're most betray'd:
Where Men are to their Int'rest wholly ty'd,
Slaves to their glitt'ring Gold, and to their Pride,
And where Ambition, and Self-love as sovereign Lords preside:
Where Kindness only do's to Words extend,
And few are truly that which they pretend,
And where the greatest Prodigy's a Friend.

Thrice happy Times when Riches were despis'd,
And Men for innate Worth were only priz'd:
When none to Titles their respect did pay,
Nor were to Bribes a mercenary Prey:
When all to rural Cares their Thoughts did bend,
And on their harmless Flocks with Peace attend;
When underneath some cool delightful Shade,
They to their Nymphs their artless Courtship made,
And were with kindest Vows, and unfeign'd Truth repaid:
When Constancy their highest Boast became,
And Friend was held the most endearing Name;
When nothing ill was harbour'd in the Mind,
But all were pious, gen'rous, just and kind.
But that blest Age, alas! was quickly past,
What's eminently good can never last:
Short was the peaceful Saturn's Golden Reign:
But oh! this Iron Age do's still remain.

Betimes the Vicious their Insults began,
And fatal was Integrity to Man:
The virtuous still to Hardships were inur'd,
And still the Drudgeries of Fate indur'd:
Saw Fools admir'd, and wealthy Fops carest,
And Rebels with Imperial Purple drest:
Knaves made the Props of an unthinking State,
When Truth and Justice shou'd support the Weight:
Ill Men ador'd, and prais'd above the Skies,
While at their Feet neglected Merit lies,
And Regulus amidst his Tortures dies:

An Aristides from his Athens sent,
From his ungrateful Town to Banishment:

A Cato bleeding in the noblest Cause,
A Victim to his Honour, and the Laws:
He reads with Pleasure of th' immortal State,
And then with hast anticipates his Fate;
With the same Courage he for Rome had fought,
He for his Soul a welcom Passage sought.

A Petus strugling with a Tyrant's Rage,
A suff'ring Arria, Wonder of her Age!
The best of Wives, the kindest, truest Friend;
Her Spouse in all his Troubles did attend:
His Grief was hers, and so was all his Care;
Well pleas'd she was with him the worst of Ills to share.
When he was doom'd by his own Hand to die,
She beg'd him with the Sentence to comply;
Told him a wretched Life deserv'd no Care,
And that a Roman never ought to fear:

Bid him remember with what noble Pride
The valiant Curtius, and the Decii dy'd;
And how th' immortal Brutus Death's griefly Form defy'd:
But when she saw her Reasons could not move,
She gave a vast, a wondrous Proof of Love:
With hast she snatch'd his Poniard from his Side,
And with her dearest Blood the fatal Weapon dy'd;
Then drawing it undaunted from her Breast,
And with a Look that no Concern exprest,
She smiling gave it to his trembling Hand,
And said, O Petus, thus, thy Fate command:
Thus, Cæsar's Malice, and thy Stars defie;
Believe me, 'tis not difficult to die.
She said no more; he sighing clos'd her Eyes,
And taught by her, with conscious Blushes dies:
Asham'd to think for such a noble Deed
He shou'd th' Example of a Woman need.

An Epictetus in a Nero's Court,
The best of Men, a Slave, and Fortune's Sport.

A Belisarius, blind, despis'd, and poor,
Seeking precarious Alms from Door, to Door;
And meanly striving to prolong his Breath,
To save a Life more to be fear'd, than Death:
While Earth-born Monsters, a degen'rous Race,
Rise from their Slime, and fill the heav'nly Space;
Where, for a while, like Meteors they amaze,
And fright the World with their portentous Blaze;
Till having wasted all their Stock of Light,
They fall unpity'd from their tow'ring Hight,
And lie despis'd in the dark Shades of Night.

Thus Hist'ry Shews the World in its rude Infant State,
And does the Progress of Mankind relate;
By what slow Steps they first to Greatness rose;
Does all their Arts, their Policies disclose:

There, I behold th' Assyrian Empire rise,
And Babel's lofty Tow'rs insult the Skies:
See mighty Cyrus all their Hopes defeat,
And place himself in the Imperial Seat:
From whence I see the great Darius fall,
And the Pellean Youth possest of all:
Him, full of Glory, full of God-like Fire
I see amidst adoring Crouds expire:
Young Ammon all his boasted Conquests quit,
And early to the Laws of Fate submit:
He, whose Ambition towr'd above the Skies,
Now with a Spot of Earth scarce cover'd lies;
And in a dark, a narrow, silent Grave,
Sleeps undistinguish'd from his meanest Slave.

I next observe the Western Empire rise,
The Roman Eagles wanton in the Skies:
Those Birds of Jove clap their extended Wings,
While with the clattering Sound the wide Expansum rings:
See Royal Shepherds an Usurper chase,
And on his Throne their injur'd Grandsire place;
With happy Omens the Foundations lay
Of that great City which the World must sway:
See Rome's rash Builder, the Derider kill,
And a dear Brother's Blood relentless spill.

O what is Man, if by his Passion led!
Lions and Tigers with less cause we dread:
They much the gentler, much the kinder prove,
Whom nothing can against their Species move:
But Men each other's Ruin still design,
They break thro' all the Ties, the Laws Divine:
Nor Blood, nor Friendship, can their Rage restrain,
Intreaties all are lost, and Tears are shed in vain:
Slaves to their Will, they ev'ry Vice obey,
And on their Actions no Restriction lay.

This fatal Truth the sad Lucretia found;
Methinks in Tears I see her almost drown'd:
Confus'd she sits among her grieving Friends,
While each to her distressful Tale attends:
Trembling and Pale, with Sighs, and downcast Eyes,
The moving Rhetorick of her Sorrow tries:
And then by her own Hand with wondrous Courage dies.
Pride of thy Sex! thy Glory still shall live,
To thee we will our loudest Plaudits give:
My Muse with Joy shall celebrate thy Fame,
And make the Groves resound with thy immortal Name,
Th' amaz'd Beholders view the breathless Fair,
And for a just a quick Revenge prepare:
The proud Tarquinius with his guilty Race
They from his undeserv'd Dominions chase:
Govern'd by Consuls then, with Freedom blest,
And of the noblest Parts of Earth possest,
Rome long enjoy'd the Glories she had won;
But was inthrall'd at length by her victorious Son,

To his superior Fortune she gave way,
But did not long his Tyranny obey:
The Roman Soul exerts it self once more,
T'assert lost Rights, and Liberty restore;
The mighty Cæsar to their Rage did yield,
Nor could the Goddess her lov'd Off-spring shield.
See, full of Wounds, the Hero gasping lies,
And fiercely rolling his Majestick Eyes,
Seems to call Vengeance from his Kindred Skies.

How vain is Greatness, and how frail is Pow'r!
Those who above their Fellow Mortals tow'r,
Who with a Word can save, or with a Word destroy,
Can't to themselves insure one Moment's Joy:
But soon may tumble from their slippery State,
And feel the Pressures of an adverse Fate.

Sure for our selves if we our Terms could make,
We should not Life on such Conditions take;
Life, which subjects us to Ten thousand Ills,
And ev'ry Minute with new Trouble fills:
By which to Fortune we're still Captives made,
And to the worst of Tyrannies betray'd;
Captives to her, who makes Mankind her Sport,
Who slights the best, and does the basest court;
Who low with Earth the mighty Pompeys lays,
And from the Dust does Aniello's raise.

When such Reflections, such sad Thoughts as these
On my dejected Soul begin to seize,
To pleasant Studies I my self apply,
And feast upon the Sweets of Poetry;

Those luscious Banquets which the Mind invite,
Where all is to be found that can delight.

Sometimes in Homer I the Grecians view,
See, what the King, and injur'd Husband do;
See, tow'ring Ilium compass'd round with Foes,
And for her sake her Sons their Lives expose;
Her valiant Sons, who prodigal of Blood,
Long in Defence of their lov'd Country stood:
See, from their Seats superior Pow'rs descend,
And on the Phrygians and the Greeks attend,
And with indecent warmth among themselves contend.
View fierce Achilles full of Grief and Rage,
Victorious Hector with redoubl'd Strength engage:
Revenge to ev'ry Blow new Force does give;
The Hopes of Ilium must no longer live:
Fate signs his Doom; the Godlike Hero falls,
And thrice his Body's drag'd around the Trojan Walls:
The Cyprian Goddess mourns her Favourite slain,
And loud Laments fill all the Idalian Plain.

The wise Ulysses does my Wonder raise,
Who can enough his prudent Conduct praise?
With his ill Fortune he did long contest,
And was not with the sight of his lov'd Princess blest:
The Royal Mourner for his Absence wept,
And from her Heart intruding Princes kept;
In vain they sigh'd, in vain Addresses made,
They cou'd not by their utmost Arts persuade:
To her first Vows she still did constant prove,
Doubly secur'd by Honour, and by Love.

The Prince of Lyricks, full of heav'nly Fire,
Well pleas'd I read, and as I read, admire:
Of Gods and Heroes, and of God-like Kings,
He with unequal'd Strength, and Sweetness sings:
Sometimes his Muse flies near, and keeps in Sight,
Then on a sudden takes a towring Flight,
And soars as high as the bright Realms of Light.
The help of mean and servile Art disdains,
While in each charming Line luxuriant Nature reigns:
His pregnant Fancy from its Boundless Store,
Selects the richest, and the noblest Oar,
Which his unerring Judgment so refines,
That thro' the whole a pleasing Lustre shines;
Virtue's the darling Subject of his Lays,
In ev'ry Ode he Piety displays,
And to the Gods due Veneration pays.
Great was the Pow'r of his immortal Song,
That could his Fame in ancient Greece prolong:
Twice save his House, when Thebes was made a Prey
Untouch'd that stood, while Thebes in Ashes lay.

The Force of Numbers warlike Sparta knew,
For her what Wonders did Tyrtæus do!
He sung the Glories which on Fame attend;
And Honour gain'd by those who shall the State defend:
Who full of Courage, full of Heat Divine,
No Hazards for their Gods, and Laws, decline;
Who fear not Death, when the Reward is Praise,
That blest Exchange for all their coming Days:

The listning Soldiers with fresh Ardor fir'd;
As if they were by Mars himself inspir'd,
With furious Transports to the Field repair'd,
And met those Dangers, which before they fear'd:
Nothing Messene from their Rage could shield,
She to her former Lords was forc'd to yield:
She who to Martial Pow'r would not submit,
Was made a Prey to all-commanding Wit.

Theocritus in soft harmonious Strains,
Describes the Joys of the Sicilian Swains,
When with their Flocks they grace the flow'ry Plains,
And on their Pipes to listning Beauties play,
Who with their kind Regards the lov'd Musicians pay:
He, Nature in her native Plainness drew,
He, who the Springs of tender'st Passions knew,
Did Love in all its Infant Graces shew;
Love, unacquainted with deceitful Arts,
And only aiming at Exchange of Hearts.

Lucretius with his Philosophick Strains,
My Mind at once delights, and entertains:
Thro' Paths untrod, I see him fearless go;
His Steps I tread, with eager hast to know:
With him explore the boundless Realms of Chance,
And see the little busie Atoms dance:
See, how without Direction they combine,
And form a Universe without Design,
While careless Deities supremely blest,
Enjoy the Pleasures of eternal Rest,
Resolv'd that nothing here their Quiet shall molest.

Strange that a Man of such a Strength of Thought,
Could think a World was to Perfection brought
Without Assistance from the Pow'rs above,
From the blest Source of Wisdom, and of Love!
All frightful Thoughts he from my Soul does chase,
And in their room glad, bright Ideas place:
Tells me that Happiness in Virtue lies,
And bids me Death, that dreaded Ill, despise:
That Phantom, which if we but judg'd aright,
Would never once disturb, nor once affright;
The shocking Prospect of a future State,
Does in our Souls an anxious Fear create;
That unknown Somewhere which we must explore,
That strange, that distant, undiscover'd Shore,
Where we must land, makes us the Passage dread:
But were we by inlightned Reason led,
Were false Opinions banish'd from the Mind,
And we to the strict Search of Truth inclin'd,
We sure shou'd meet it with as much Delight
As the cool Pleasures of a silent Night,
And to our Graves with Cheerfulness should run,
Pleas'd that our tedious Task of Life were done.

Virgil with sacred Raptures fills my Mind,
In him I unexhausted Treasures find:
While he my ravish'd Soul does entertain,
Malice and Rage employ their Shafts in vain:
Easie and pleas'd, by him I'm led along,
And hear the wise Silenus's charming Song:
Among his Nymphs and Swains with Pleasure live,
And to their Musick glad Attention give:
Then hear his Shepherds for some Prize contend,
And see his Husbandmen their much lov'd Toil attend:

Next with him to the burning Ilium go,
Where he displays Ten thousand Scenes of Woe:
Amidst the Flames the pious Prince I View,
Fearless, unmov'd, his great Designs pursue:
Like great Alcides he with Toil and Pain,
To th' utmost Height of Glory did attain,
And unrelenting Juno's Hate sustain;
A due Reward at length his Virtue found,
And he with Glory and with Love was crown'd.

Horace is full of Wit, and full of Art,
My Mind he pleases, and inflames my Heart,
And fills my Breast with his Poetick Fire:
O that he cou'd his wondrous Heat inspire:
But mine's a pale, a languid, feeble Flame,
Wholly unworthy such a Poet's Name:
My humble Muse her Eyes can only raise,
Pleas'd that she has the Liberty to her Gaze,
And Leave to offer up the Tribute of her Praise.

When by soft moving Ovid I am told,
Of those strange Changes which were wrought of old,
When Gods in Brutal Shapes did Mortals court,
And unbecoming Actions made their Sport,
When helpless Wretches fled from impious Pow'rs,
And hid themselves in Birds, Beasts, Trees, and Flow'rs:
When none from Outrage cou'd securely dwell,
But felt the Rage of Heav'n, of Earth, and Hell:
Methinks, I see those Passions well exprest,
Which play the Tyrant in the Mortal Breast:
They to Ten thousand Miseries expose,
And are our only, and our deadly Foes:

They like the Vultur on our Entrails prey,
And in our Path the Golden Apple lay,
But from us snatch our dear Euridices away.
Up the steep Hill the pond'rous Torment roll,
And cheat with empty Shews the famish'd Soul:
Those who are still submitted to their Sway,
Must in the gloomy Realms of Pluto stay,
And never more re-visit cheerful Day:
But those who're from their earthly Dross calcin'd,
Who tast the Pleasures of a virtuous Mind,
Who'd rather chuse to die, than once their Conscience stain,
Who midst Temptations Innocence retain,
And o'er themselves an undisputed Empire gain:
In th' Elysian Fields shall be for ever blest,
And with the Happy, there enjoy the Sweets of Rest.

How well does he express unhappy Love!
Each Page does melt, and ev'ry Line does move.
The fair Oenone does so well complain,
That I can't chuse but blame her faithless Swain:
Good Hypermnestra much laments her Fate,
Forsaken Phyllis her deplor'd Estate;
Her absent Lord sad Laodamia mourns,
And Sappho for her perjur'd Phaon burns:
O wondrous Woman! Prodigy of Wit!
Why didst thou Man to thy fond Heart admit?
Man, treacherous Man, who still a Riddle proves,
And by the Dictates of his Fancy moves,
Whose Looks are Snares, and ev'ry Word a Bait,
And who's compos'd of nothing but Deceit?
What Pity 'twas thou shouldst to Love give way,
To Love, to vicious Love, become a Prey,

And by a guilty, inauspicious Flame,
Eclipse the Splendor of so bright a Name.

On Juvenal I look with great Delight,
Both he and Persius with much Keeness write,
They gravely teach, as well as sharply bite.

Think not to th' ancient Bards I am alone confin'd,
They please, but never shall ingross my Mind;
In modern Writers I can Beauties find.
Phœbus has been propitious to this Isle,
And on our Poets still is pleas'd to Smile.

Milton was warm'd by his enliv'ning Fire,
Who Denham, Waller, Cowley did inspire,
Roscommon too, whom the learn'd World admire:

The tuneful Dryden felt his hottest Rays,
And long with Honour wore his freshest Bays:
The Arts, the Muses, and the Graces try
To raise his Name, and lift him to the Skie,
And bless him with a Fame that ne'er shall die:
But he is gone! extinguish'd is that Light,
Which with its Lustre so long charm'd our Sight:
Yet at his Loss we dare not once repine,
While we see Dorset with such Glory shine,
While we see Normanby adorn the Skies,
And Halifax with dazling Brightness rise:
That fam'd Triumvirate of Wit and Sense,
Who Laws to the whole Under-world dispence;
Whose Praise for me t' attempt, would be a Fau't,
So much are they beyond the highest flight of Thought.

Granville the Charms of Virtue does rehearse,
Bright it appears in his majestick Verse:
Forsaken Honesty's his chief Delight,
To That, and Honour, he does all invite:
Commends that Peace, that Quiet of the Mind,
Which those enjoy, who to themselves confin'd
Forsake the noisie World, and leave its Cares behind,
Who live in Shades, where true Contentment's found,
And fly from Courts, as from unhallow'd Ground.
How wondrous good has he Chryseis made!
How full of Charms is that fair Captive Maid!
What noble Proofs of Kindness does she give!
For her Atrides she can wretched live!
Whom she so much above her self does prize,
That when his Safety in the Balance lies,
From his lov'd Sight, and all her Bliss she flies;
And rather than his Happiness destroy,
Will take an everlasting leave of Joy.
Such an Affection, such a gen'rous Flame,
Sure, the severest Censor cannot blame.
As firm, as lasting, would our Friendships prove,
If, as we ought, we knew but how to love:
Did Honour chuse, and Truth unite our Hearts,
If we were free from sordid wheedling Arts,
From Av'rice, Pride, and Narrowness of Mind,
We shou'd to others, as our selves be kind,
And all the Pleasures of a virtuous Union find.
The lov'd Commerce would more and more endear,
We with our Friends in all Concerns should share,
With them rejoice, and grieve, and hope, and fear;

And by Degrees to such an Ardor rise,
That we for them should Life it self despise,
And much above our own, their Satisfaction prize.

Than Dennis none with greater Judgment writes,
Fancy with Vigor in his Stile unites.

A Place with these, Vanbrook may justly claim,
His Thoughts are full of Wit, and full of Flame:
Instructing Sharpness runs thro' ev'ry Page;
His Æsop's the Thersites of our Age.

Than Garth none can with greater Smoothness write,
Just is his Stile, his Satyr is Polite:
Not rude like those which in the Woods are bred,
Each piercing Truth's with courtly Softness said:
But when he glorious Actions does rehearse,
And makes the Great the Subject of his Verse,
He soars aloft above the Reach of Thought,
And all's with wondrous Art, with wondrous Fancy wrought.
Like him, methinks, I mighty Heroes view;
See fam'd Camillus flying Gauls pursue,
The prudent Fabius Rome from Danger shield,
And Carthage to victorious Scipio yield:
The great Nassaw unwith'ring Lawrels gain,
Unmov'd the Shock of Gallick Force sustain,
Fierce as the God of War on the Phlegræan Plain:
But he's no more: The Fair ascends Throne,
And we with Joy the lov'd Minerva own;
Pleas'd that we Heav'ns peculiar Care are grown.

Congreve to ev'ry Theme does Beauty give,
His fair Almeria will for ever live.
Homer looks great in his rich English Dress;
So well he Priam's Sorrow does express,
That I with him for valiant Hector grieve;
His Suff'rings on my Mind a deep Impression leave.
With sad Andromache a part I bear,
With her in all her Lamentations share:
With Hecuba bewail a darling Son,
Who for his Country glorious Things had done:
His Country, which its Prop thus snatch'd away,
She knew must to the Græcians fall a Prey;
And she with all her House must foreign Lords obey.

Rowe to the Skies does his great Hero raise;
His Tamerlane deserves immortal Praise:
No Pen but his cou'd ev'ry Feature trace,
No Pen but his describe each Martial Grace:
With noble Ardor to the War he goes,
And all around commanding Glances throws,
And fearless views Ten thousand thousand Foes:
Unwilling to destroy, he mourns their Fate,
Th' ensuing Slaughter does his Thirst of Fame abate:
When he from Bajazet has won the Field,
And all to his superior Virtue yield,
He's still the same; still humble, just, and kind;
In him we still the God-like Scythian find,
The same compassionate, forgiving, gen'rous Mind.

Who for Arpasia can from Tears abstain?
Or hear unmov'd, her much wrong'd Prince complain?
With melting Softness they their Woes express;
Their Sorrows charm in his attracting Dress.
Ovid himself could not with greater Art
Describe the tender Motions of the Heart,
The Grief they feel, who must for ever part.

Who beauteous Selima expos'd can see
To her inhuman Father's Cruelty
Without Concern? And when in such Distress
Not her Axalla, her Deliv'rer bless?

May he go on, still thus adorn the Stage,
Still show such bright Examples to our Age,
Till he to us lost Virtue shall restore,
And we see Honour flourish here once more:
Till Justice all her ancient Rights regains,
And in her once lov'd Albion unmolested reigns.

When these have for some time employ'd my Mind,
In other Authors I fresh Pleasures find,
And meet with various Scenes of Thoughts behind:
Lost Montezuma in Accosta view,
See what for Gold the barb'rous Spaniards do:
See the good Inca's bend beneath their Fate,
And dying mourn the downfal of their State:
Then with him lofty Andes Height ascend;
See the fam'd Amazon her Streams extend,
And to the Sea her wide-stretch'd Current bend.

Then view in others Asiatick Pride,
See a few Men the spacious East divide:
Whose hard Commands poor Wretches must obey,
Doom'd to the Mischiefs of Tyrannick Sway:
To Toil condemn'd, they pass their Time in Pain,
But dare not of their rig'rous Fate complain:
Nothing is theirs, their Lives are not their own,
To them no Pity, no Regard is shown:
Like Beasts they're us'd, and little more they know,
And ev'ry Place like them, does Signs of Slavery show:
Their Plains once fruitful, now neglected lie;
And glorious Structures which once brav'd the Skie,
Can hardly now their awful Relicks Show,
We scarce can their majestick Ruins know,
While China govern'd by the wisest Rules,
And all her Nobles bred in great Confutius Schools,
Shews me what Art and Industry can do:
Pleas'd I their Morals and Politeness view:
Delighted see how happy they remain,
Who still the Love of Learning entertain,
And where, pure uncorrupted Reason still does Reign.

Then look on their Reverse, whom all deride,
Who seem design'd to pull down human Pride:
Those rude inhabitants of Africk's Shore,
Who seek no future Good, no God adore:
Whose Ornaments are nauseous to the Sight,
And who seem made with a Design to fright:
From such loath'd Objects I divert my Eyes,
And pity those I did at first despise,

Why, O ye Heav'nly Pow'rs, I sighing say,
Are Souls condemn'd to such vile Loads of Clay,
To Bodies which their Faculties confine,
Thro' which not one celestial Ray can shine?

We shou'd, alas! as despicable prove,
Were we not made the Care of unexhausted Love:
To That the diff'rence we must still assign,
And ev'ry proud aspiring Thought decline:
When we by Flatt'rers are rais'd too high,
And Man, vain Man, beyond his Sphere does fly,
Narcissus-like on's own Perfections gaze,
He ought to turn his Vanity to Praise,
And study to be grateful all his Days.

While thus employ'd, I no Misfortunes fear,
And can unmov'd the greatest Troubles bear:
Quiet, and pleas'd, on my own Stock I live,
And to my self Content, and Riches give.