The Works of Hildebrand Jacob :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Works of Hildebrand Jacob

... Containing Poems on Various Subjects, and Occasions; With the Fatal Constancy, a Tragedy; and Several Pieces in Prose. The Greatest Part Never Before Publish'd

Jacob, Hildebrand (1693-1739)

[dedication]

[section]

THE Muse's Invitation;

Answer to the Muse.

Neptune's Remonstrance.

Written on a Glass of Tokay

[section]

I. Hymn to Venus.

II.

II. Hymn to Venus.

III.

III. Hymn to the Goddess of Silence

II.

III.

IV.

II.

ODE II. To Cloe, on the Death of ---

III.

ODE III. To Death.

IV.

ODE IV. To Daphne.

ODE V. To Artemisa.

VI.

ODE VI. Advice to Phillis.

VII.

ODE VII. Occasion'd by Phoebe's consenting.

VIII.

ODE VIII. To Philomel .

IX.

ODE IX. The Foolish Shepherd.

ODE X. To Belinda,

[section]

To Belinda;

Written on her Glass.

Answer to Strephon

Sent to him, as he whisper'd ---

The Disinterested Swain.

The Turtles;

[section]

TALE I. Apollo 's Stratagem:

II.

TALE II. The curious Maid.

III.

TALE III. The Judgment of Tiresias.

IV.

TALE IV. The Shades.

TALE V. The Fair Penitent.

VI.

TALE VI. The Apparition.

VII.

TALE VII. The INDIAN.

VIII.

TALE VIII. The Escape.

IX.

Apollo, and a Poetaster.

Minerva, and an Author.

To Neptune,

To Love.

[section]

EPISTLE I. To Syrisca.

II.

EPISTLE II. To a Friend going abroad.

III.

EPISTLE III. Reasons for not writing Satire.

IV.

EPISTLE IV. To B. B. Esq

EPISTLE V. To C. F. Esq

VI.

EPISTLE VI. To Dr. P--- at T. W. with ---

VII.

EPISTLE VII. To ---

VIII.

EPISTLE VIII. To ------

IX.

EPISTLE IX. To S. W. Y.

II.

III.

IV.

VI.

EPITAPH I. On Mr. A. H. a great Traveller.

II.

EPITAPH II. On Delia.

III.

EPITAPH III. On Mrs. Beata F---

IV.

EPITAPH. IV. On my Lady---

II.

III.

IV.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

XI.

XII.

XIII.

XIV.

XV.

XVI.

XVII.

XVIII.

XIX.

XX.

XXI.

XXII.

XXIII.

XXIV.

XXV.

XXVI.

XXVII.

XXVIII.

XXIX.

XXX.

XXXI.

XXXII.

XXXIII.

XXXIV.

II.

III.

II.

II.

III.

IV.

III.

II.

III.

IV.

IV.

II.

III.

IV.

II.

III.

IV.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

Some Fragments of NERO,

Design'd for an Epilogue to a Tragedy call'd the Revenge.

Part of the Epilogue to a Comedy call'd the Masquerade.

EPISTLE X. To a Friend with ---

Collapse All | Expand All expand section

ODE I. To Cloe.

I

To Venus, Baccbus, and the Nine
Our future Moments we'll resign,
Sincerer Pleasures can we prove?
Glory, and Riches we disdain,
While, with the Muses, and Champagne,
We fill the Intervals of Love.

II

Let Heroes quarrel for Command,
Let Merchants toil by Sea, and Land,
For Favours fawning Courtiers bend,
While, Cloë, we contented live,
With whate'er Fortune deigns to give,
Nor fear, or wish our days may end.

III

And since both you, and I, and All
Must Sacrifices surely fall
To Age, devouring Time, and Fate,
Say, can we be too much in hast
To live? this very Hour we wast;
The next perhaps, may come too late.

IV

I've heard the Muses in a Quire,
I've heard Apollo's golden Lyre,
Propitious in their sacred Grove.
Now Bacchus waits; then hast away,
My charming Cloë, while we may,
Let's spend the Night in Wine, and Love.

ODE II. To Cloe, on the Death of ---

I

You saw, my Cloë, t'other day
How Phillis by untimely Fate
From Corydon was snatch'd away,
From Corydon, once happy, Mate.

II

How frightful did pale, gastly Death
Sit in each Feature of her Face?
So must you once resign your Breath,
Depriv'd, like her, of ev'ry Grace.

III

That Beauty, so divinely bright,
Which with such Ardour I adore,

Those Eyes, that seem the Source of Light,
O horrid Thought! must be no more.

IV

The proudest Fair, each Sex, and Age
Before the cruel Tyrant fall;
Like Love himself in his blind rage
Indifferent he strikes at all.

V

Then let's enjoy the little while
The Pow'rs allow, e'er hence we move:
Nought can the Cares of Life beguile
Like Mirth, and Truth, and equal Love.

ODE III. To Death.

I

What sudden Damp invades my Heart
O Death! who can thy Pow'r withstand?
No matter! I embrace the Dart,
Prepar'd, to follow thy Command;
For I have liv'd! each Hour employ'd!
Thou canst not take, what I've enjoy'd.

II

No! 'twas a false Alarm! he flys,
Amaz'd, we have been found so brave,
His boasted Terrors to despise,
And view, unmov'd, the op'ning Grave.
Go, Tyrant, range the Earth, and make
Base, miserable, Mortals shake!

III

Visit some gouty Miser's Bed,
Or guilty Dungeon's vile Retreat,
There thy devouring Rage be fed!
Or end th' Ambition of the Great:
These dread thy Shaft! the Hero knows,
Thou art, at worst, a long Repose.

IV

Yet we'll not call thee back again,
While Cloë loves, or thus deceives
Or while this generous Champagne
So well the Cares of Life relieves.
No! by the Desperate alone
Thou'rt to be wish'd; but fear'd by none.

V

But since 'tis Nature's Law we fall
One day by thy unerring Spear,
Whene'er in earnest thou dost call,
Deign, unexpected to appear,

And mild as Sleep; as quick thy Stroke
As Lightning on the blasted Oak.

ODE IV. To Daphne.

I

Why, fantastic Beauty, why
Grant so much, and give no more?
Rather Daphne, let me dye,
Scorn'd by her, whom I adore.

II

Still your kind consenting Eyes
Mine with equal Ardour meet,
While unhappy Damon lyes
Fondly sighing at your Feet.

III

But when I your Bosom press,
Tho' it pants with soft Desire,
Flying from my warm Caress,
Pale, and frighted you retire.

IV

Yet that Bliss, you fear to tast,
Is the highest we can prove;
And that Youth, which thus you wast,
Will not always stay for Love.

ODE V. To Artemisa.

I

I, in lonely Shades complaining,
Still must love, and must not tell;
You, o'er crouded Circles reigning,
Laugh at Love, or hide it well.

II

If, indeed, you never languish,
Tell me, how you shun the Dart;
If, like me, you feel the Anguish,
Teach me to conceal the Smart.

III

Say, what courtly Art in fashion
Hides the language of the Eyes?

Learn a simple Swain his Passion,
When offensive, to disguise.

IV

Or will Absence quite disarm her?
How shall Absence be endur'd?
Can I e'er forget the Charmer?
Can so deep a Wound be cur'd?

V

Absence yet is least offensive,
Since I cannot hide my Pain;
Then forgotten, pale, and pensive,
In these Shades I'll still complain.

VI

And, while she new Wonder raises,
And inslaves, where e'er she goes,
Here alone I'll sing her Praises,
Till some Pow'r shall end my Woes.

ODE VI. Advice to Phillis.

I

Phillis , imprudent Nymph, forbear
To squander, what you earn'd so dear,
While in old Geron's Arms you lay.
Time swiftly flyes, and on his Wings
Ruin to Youth, and Beauty brings,
And you, like Geron, soon must pay.

II

Then when your darling Youth complains
Of empty Purse, and empty Veins,
And hints at fifty Pieces more,
How will you curse Basset, and Dice,
And long, in vain, to low'r the Price,
Your own Extortion rais'd before.

III

Decay'd, and fleec'd, you'll hardly find
The future Race of Fools so kind
As those, your present Charms insnare:
No Fops shall then around you croud;
But pass in hast, and whisper loud,
Our Fathers once beheld her Fair.

ODE VII. Occasion'd by Phoebe's consenting.

Let's sing to Cytherea's Praise,
And grateful Altars to the Goddess raise:
For Phœbe is at length grown kind,
Phœbe, in whom all Beautys are combin'd.
Methinks already in this lonely Shade,
This unfrequented, pathless Glade

New, sudden marks of Joy we find:
The Zephyrs fan with softer Wings,
The Brooks with sweeter Murmurs flow,
The warbling Lark more cheerful sings;
Roses with brighter Lustre blow.

II.

Look down, ye Monarchs, and behold
A Treasure, richer far than Gold,
A Nymph, thrown out in Nature's Pride,
Ferm'd in her perfect Mould,
And bred up, artless, by the green Wood side,
Whose Heart can ne'er be bought, or sold,
Who shines, without the help of Gems,
Far brighter than your Diadems:
With her, remote from anxious Strife,
On Banks of Flowers I repose,
And joke, and kiss, and quaff, and doze,
And lead an idle, lazy, happy Life.

III.

So, Fortune, let us still be humbly blest,
And we'll remit you all the rest:
We want no Titles, ask no Place,
Nor at high Things endeavour;
He never can be in Disgrace,
Who never was in Favour.
Thus while the Great a thousand Toils endure,
And Monarchs sweat beneath the Crowns they bear,
Here in our native Shade we'll live secure,
And free, as were the first created Pair.

ODE VIII. To Philomel .

I

As lovesick Damon lay along
Beneath a melancholy Shade,
Sooth'd by the nightly Warbler's Song,
Thus the unhappy Shepherd said,

II

Sweet Philomel, who haunt the Grove,
Where I lament my wretched Fate,
Our joint Complaint, alas! is Love,
The Diff'rence of our Fortune great.

III

Relief to me no Seasons bring,
For ever doom'd, to sigh in vain;
But you, sweet Bird, who mourn in Spring,
In Summer Pleasures lose your Pain.

IV

Already from yon bloomy Spray,
Your willing Mate your Plaint returns;
Already seems to chide your Stay,
And with an equal Ardour burns.

V

Go, Philomel, accomplish all
The Joy, that happy Love bestows;
Obey the tender Warbler's Call,
And leave poor Damon to his Woes.

VI

And when the next returning Year
Again invites you to the Grove;

Sweet Philomel, you'll find me here,
Complaining still of hopeless Love.

An imperfect Copy of this was publish'd not long since, by Mistake, amongst some Pieces of the late Mr. Booth.

ODE IX. The Foolish Shepherd.

I

As at the solemn Noon of Night,
Guided by pale Diana's Light,
Sad, lovesick Damon stray'd,
Thus on the solitary Plain
The poor, unhappy, wandring Swain,
In doleful Accents said.

II

Witness, O Moon, who gaily shine,
Ye Stars, who make sad Night so fine,
Be witness to my Care!

I see ye rise, and set again;
But find no Rest, unhappy Swain!
For thinking of my Fair.

III

When Morn returns, I look about,
In hast to find my Charmer out
Amongst the Nymphs, and Swains;
And if her Flock I can unfold,
I'm pleas'd, as if my Crook was Gold,
And blest, as He, who reigns.

IV

The newest Airs to her I sing,
The earliest Flow'rs, and Fruits I bring,
The Virgin Honey-Comb;
And if, by Chance, a Sheep shou'd stray,
Tho' mine the while run all away,
I seek, and bring him home.

V

For Game I range the Hills of Snow,
And beat the woody Vales below,
And drain the purling Brook;
And if the lovely, charming Maid
Accepts the Prey, I'm more than paid
With one dear, smiling Look.

VI

Thus do I sacrifice my Youth,
My Flocks, and Herds, my Time, and Truth
To an ungrateful Fair,
While happy Strephon, true to none,
Possesses Cloë's Heart alone,
Who laughs at all my Care.

ODE X. To Belinda,

Upon her asking What is Love?

I

'Tis strange, Belinda, you shou'd ask,
To learn, what you so oft bestow!
You now impose too hard a Task,
And I my Weakness needs must show.

II

What Love is not, I know full well:
Blind Mortals, when they talk of Pain,
And Joys of Heaven, or of Hell,
By Negatives the Theme maintain.

III

True Love is not that rash Desire,
That sudden Start of Grief, and Joy,
Which soon becomes a raging Fire,
And does as soon it self destroy.

IV

Who call this Love, that Name disgrace,
Or never felt the noble Flame:
Before I saw your heav'nly Face,
I too imagin'd Love the same.

V

No! tis a Passion so divine,
The strongest Words elude our Pains,
When we this Ardour wou'd define;
The Image uncompleat remains.

VI

'Tis what your charming Eyes inspire;
'Tis what I feel; but can't express:

To know, like me, what you desire,
Belinda, you must feel no less.