A Collection of Poems on Various Subjects :: :: University of Virginia Library

A Collection of Poems on Various Subjects

By Thomas Ellwood

Ellwood, Thomas (1639-1713)

[section]

Collapse All | Expand All expand section

Divine Worship.

In vain do they worship Me, teaching for Doctrines the Commandments of Men. Mat. xv. 9.

Of Worship I presume to sing,
Yet from the Nine no Aid implore,
Shiloh's out-vies Castalia's Spring,
Assist blest Pow'r whom I adore;
Breath on my Muse, and fill her Quill
With sacred Dews from Hermon-hill.

Momus be gone, fly all ye Vain,
Who the Wit of Poems place
In florid Strains, my Muse is plain;
Fine Cloth exceeds fantastick Lace
On Kersey set; I leave those Flights,
To such as Fiction most delights.

Let them also avoid the Place,
Should there be of that scoffing Stock,
Who are so destitute of Grace,
They at the Spirit's Infl'ence mock;

To such my Muse no Pleasure brings,
Who scorn the Power by which she sings.

But come all ye who Truth embrace,
Whose Souls do pure Religion love,
Who prize the Gift of sacred Grace,
Whose Treasure lies in Realms above;
Nay all, that are not Foes, draw near,
And grant my Song a willing Ear.

In early Times, when Man was made,
Before the Priesthood was confin'd,
While Truth in Adam's Houshold stay'd,
And God ador'd by all Mankind;
No Form of Worship, that appears,
Had been prescrib'd for many Years.

While Men with God a Converse kept,
And on Him did devoutly wait,
He gracious, while they wak'd or slept,
Did so their Minds illuminate,
That they not only knew His Will,
But by His Aid could it fulfill.

Before the Flood, and after long,
The Patriarchs directed were,
Both when to warble out their Song,
And how to ope Heav'ns Gate by Pray'r;
Whatever Act the Lord requir'd,
Their Hearts He thereunto inspir'd.

But after that, Heav'n did decree,
In special Love to Abraham,
That his Posterity should be
Sacred to Him, and bear His Name;
A Worship asked at their hand,
Which did in Observations stand.

What must be offer'd, when and where,
Each Part was carefully exprest;
The various Modes prescribed were
For sacrificing, and the rest;
Set-times were fix'd for solemn Feasts,
Diff'rence 'twixt clean, and unclean Beasts.

This legal Worship, as it stood
In Meats and Drinks, and carnal Rites,
Were Types of that eternal Good,
To which the Gospel all invites;

The longest Date that it could claim,
Was but till Reformation came.

When that auspicious Time drew nigh,
The Morning of that Day was come,
The Word, descending from on high,
Took sinless Flesh in Virgin's Womb;
At whose blest Birth, Heaven's Host rejoice,
And pour their Hymns with raptur'd Voice.

Shiloh, so oft foretold, thus come,
His Death the Temple-vail did rend,
And being of those Types the Sum,
That Dispensation had its End;
'Twas meet the Servant should withdraw,
When he the Master's Presence saw.

But yet, e'er Christ would abrogate
A Worship so long Time in Use,
And disannul the legal State,
He did a better introduce;
This Law was not in Marble cut,
But in the Heart and Conscience put:

For so the Prophets, in God's Name,
While yet the Law in Vigour stood,
Did by Authority proclaim:
He said (who what He says makes good)
After those Days, I in the Heart
My Fear will place, and Law impart.

Again; And it shall come to pass,
My Spirit on all Flesh I'll pour,
On Young and Old, the Lad and Lass,
Shall feel the Virtue of this Show'r;
Not of the Priest shall Law be sought,
But all thy Sons, of God be taught.

Happy they! who such a Teacher have,
And yield thereto a willing Ear;
From all that's hurtful He will save,
If in His Law they persevere:
O! that Mankind therein would walk,
Nor some against, some only for, it talk.

The Son of God, who from Heav'n came,
And fully Man's Redemption wrought,

When met by the Samarian Dame,
The true approved Worship taught:
Not at that City, or this Mount,
Tho' rever'd for Jacob's Fount;

But who the Father will adore,
Whether Bond or Free, Ag'd or Youth,
Must worship not as heretofore
In Types, but in Spirit and Truth:
God's a Spirit! — among Jews and Greeks,
Such inward Worshipers He seeks.

Not those who serve in Repititions,
Or in Prescriptions, as the Jews,
Nor yet in oral, vain Traditions,
Such as Samaritans did use:
Th' Jewish Faith in Symbols stood,
Th' Samaritan's was never good.

Types, Shadows, Sacraments and Signs,
Did on this Dispensation wait;
Who to the Gospel-worship joins,
Shadows must leave to th' shad'wy State:

'Tis not the fatted Calf that skips,
Is offer'd now, but Calves of Lips.

Thanks and Praise, Sacrifices are
To God most pleasing, when they spring
From a pure Heart he doth prepare,
And then excites His Acts to sing:
True Christ'ans use both Heart and Tongue,
Whene'er a Hymn or Psalm is sung.

Not chanting, in a formal Note,
States touch'd in ancient Song,
Perverting what the Psalmist wrote,
Whose Case cannot to all belong;
'Tis who their own Exper'ence bring,
With Spirit and with Judgment sing.

Instead of Incense to perfume
The Altar, from the Soul arise
In Flames (that warm but not consume)
Sighs, Supplications, Groans and Cries,
Which tho' but weak, do never fail,
At Mercy's Fountain to prevail.

We know not what to ask—Paul taught;
Who then shall Forms appoint?
True Pray'r is by the Spirit wrought,
With which Heav'n does each Child anoint;
He that best knows what we should have,
Inwardly teacheth what to crave.

This then of Worship is the Sum,
To wait in Spirit on the Lord,
That at what Time He deigns to come,
The Soul may hear His living Word,
And with Alacrity fulfill,
What He makes known to be His Will.

For when the Mind on God is stay'd,
In Silence waiting to be taught,
The World's Concerns aside are laid,
Nor Licence gi'n to one vain Thought;
The Lord doth to that Soul draw near,
And with Instruction fills its Ear.

Instructed still, the Soul doth cleave,
The Lord His Virtue doth impart,

Discoveries of His Will He leaves,
Which operate upon the Heart;
A Sacrifice He doth prepare,
Whether Thanksgiving, Praise or Pray'r.

Great is the Pleasure God doth take
In such Oblations; in His Sight
That Soul is dear, he'll not forsake,
But in His Book his Name will write:
The Joys that the Obedient feel,
Nor Men nor Angels can reveal.

Heb. ix. 10.

Jer. xxxi. 33. Ezek. xi. 19, 20.

Joel ii. 29.

Jerusalem

Rom. viii. 26.

Inward Peace.

My Peace I give unto you. John xiv. 27.

Who can conceive, much less express,
The inward Peace which they possess,
Who, by the Indwelling of the Light,
Have put satanic Pow'rs to flight;
In whom, renew'd and born again,
The Lord of Life doth live and reign:
Renew'd, restor'd, purg'd, purify'd,
And nat'ral Rovings laid aside;

Cleans'd by the Blood, kept by the Grace,
That Sin in them scarce finds a Place;
The Temple swept, prepar'd, then blest
With Presence of an heav'nly Guest,
A Guest, not for a Night or twain,
But one that always will remain;
Yea, such a Guest as doth impart,
That Joy which overcomes the Heart,
A Joy so great, no Tongue of Man,
Express the Fullness of it can;
And this unutterable Bliss,
Flows from the Love of God to His.
O! Love immense, and without Bound,
To all that in the Truth are found,
Words are too short to set it forth
In its Extent, and real Worth.
The Wife, that in the Bosom lies,
Is precious in the Husband's Eyes;
The sucking Babe is very near,
The only Son, exceeding dear;
Tender the Apple of the Eye,
Friends and Relations very nigh;
But yet this Love doth far transcend
That to Wife, Child, Eye, Parent, Friend.

These Metaphors are all too low,
The Nature of this Love to show;
No Tongue is able to declare,
How dear to God His Children are;
Only the Sense of it is felt,
Which breaks the Heart and makes it melt.

Fraus Diabolica.

The Devil over-reach'd Men by a Slight,
When first he taught them to oppose the Light,
For he himself in Darkness dwells; and he
That hates the Light, must needs in Darkness be:
Arch-craft indeed! he knows the Light who shun,
Must needs into the thickest Darkness run,
And he so craftily his Plot has laid,
That many simple Ones he hath betray'd,
To tread the Path that leads to Death's dark Cell,
'Till by a sad Mistake they come to Hell.

Loyalty.

I know my Heart is loyal to my Prince,
I never harbour'd a disloyal Thought,

And if my Pen or Tongue hath given Offence,
That Error hath thro' Ignorance been wrought;
For which, when prov'd, I will for Mercy cry,
And thankful live, or uncomplaining die.

Thoughts.

How long, alas, shall vain Thoughts in me rest,
And find a lurking Place within my Breast!
How long, how long, e'er I a Conqueror be,
And o'er my ownself get the Victory!
Ah, how disgustful is it when I find,
Some little triv'al Thought possess my Mind!
Oft have I set myself to keep the Door,
That no vain Cogitation enter more,
And reckon'd too, so strict a Watch to keep,
That nothing unexamin'd in should creep;
But on a sudden, when I least suspected,
An idle Thought has Satan introjected,
Which, like a little Thief, hath open set
The Door, for greater Rovers in to get.
I'll trust myself no more; I see 'tis vain,
Man of himself no Conquest can obtain;

To Him will I betake myself, from whom,
Each good and perfect Gift, I know, doth come;
His Succour will I beg, His Aid implore,
Who for the Helpless, still has Help in Store.

Thou Israel's Shepherd, Thou alone canst keep
My Soul, who neither slumber dost nor sleep;
Thou Every-where, who dost all Places fill,
Who art both perfect Pow'r and perfect Will,
Thou all-sufficient art; no Thought can fly
The Scrutage of Thy all-discerning Eye;
And Thou, dear Father, too commanded hast
Thy Children, all their Care on Thee to cast,
Which I most gladly do; but yet not so,
As henceforth careless in myself to grow;
No, I resolve still on the Watch to be,
Not in my own Strength, but impower'd by Thee.
Set Thou the Watch, O Lord, appoint the Guard,
Give Thou the Charge; O help me so to ward,
That no vain Thought into my Mind may slip,
But in the Embrio may receive a Nip;
Thou, who for me hast great Deliv'rance wrought,
Deliver too from ev'ry idle Thought.

To such as stand idle in the Market-place.

Why do you trifle thus your Time away?
Why are you of such Treasure so profuse?
Do you expect to have another Day,
Who of the present make so ill a Use?
How can it be?

The Moment that is past, will come no more,
The Hour mispent, can never be recall'd,
Old Cronos has but one poor Lock before,
His Head behind is altogether bald;
Take that from me.

Be therefore wise in Time, while yet an Hour
Is lent you, lest when that is vainly spent,
It never should again be in your Pow'r
(Although with Tears ye seek it) to repent;
For God is just.

And tho' He frequently doth Man invite,
To cease from Evil, and accept of Grace,
Yet, if fond Man persists His Love to slight,
Mercy withdraws, Justice steps in her Place,
And die he must.

Agony.

I faint; my dying Breath will not suffice
To midwife forth my Words; my falt'ring Tongue
Resigns its Office to my weeping Eyes;
Speak Eyes, and do my faithful Heart no Wrong.

Ye crystal Fountains set your Sluices wide,
Stream forth your Tears like a full flowing Tide;
Draw up the Flood-gates, let the Torrent flow
In its right Current, whether fast or slow.

A State.

Blest is the Man, whose Heart is found,
When Trials come, upright and sound,
Whom not the Hopes of greatest Gain,
Nor Fear of most tormenting Pain,
Nor yet the most magnetick Pleasure,
Nor Honours heap'd up without measure,
Can cause to shrink or start aside,
And leave the strait Way for the wide.

This is the State on which my Eye is fix'd,
Oh! that no Cloud may ever come betwixt,
But that my Heart may henceforth always dwell,
In that which doth all earthly Things excel;
For he alone can stand the dreadful Shock,
Whose House is built on the eternal Rock.

To a Friend in America.

My Heart is with thee, but I dare not give
Myself the Pleasure of a wand'ring Thought,
That I to see the Day may ever live,
When to America I may be brought;
Where I that peaceful Solitude may find,
Which more than Riches would delight my Mind.

But here I'm fix'd, my Station here is set,
By Him whose Will is sov'reign to mine,
My Work and Service tye me here as yet,
At which I bless my God, I don't repine;
O! may my Spirit always take Delight,
In that which is most pleasing in His Sight.

Deus est qui cuncta gubernat.

Except the Lord the City keep,
The Watchman watches but in vain;
The Adversary in will creep,
And hardly be got out again.

So close his Stratagems are laid,
So deep and many are his Wiles,
The Sentinel's by him betray'd,
And he the Watchman too beguiles.

Sometimes Truth's Colours up he sets,
As if indeed a Friend he were,
And by that Practice in he gets,
Before his Falshood doth appear.

And, which is worst, within are some,
That always treacherous have been,
Who when he to the Gate doth come,
Too ready are to let him in.

Lord! Thou art He in whom I trust,
On whom my Safety doth depend;
Thou only canst subdue the Lust,
Thou only canst the Place defend.

My Weakness, Lord, I daily find,
'Tis Thou alone sufficient art,
To Thee therefore, I have resign'd
The Care and keeping of my Heart.

Be Thou Commander there in chief,
Place Thou the Guard, the Watchman set,
At each Assault send Thou Relief,
Let Satan no Advantage get.

Put Thou the Enemy to flight,
Break Thou his Strength, his Works destroy,
Discomfit Thou his Forces quite,
And fill my Soul with lasting Joy.

Take too a Course with those within,
That would the Place to him betray,
Burn up the Ground that brings forth Sin,
And the rebellious Nature slay.

Then shall I praise Thy holy Name,
And Hallelujahs to Thee sing,
My Tongue and Pen extend Thy Fame,
Who art my God, and Sion's King.

Psalm cxxvii.

Fancy.

When Love and Hate before my Fancy pass,
They look, methinks, like a prospective Glass;
If on another Person's Failings, I
Do chance at any Time to cast an Eye,
Love takes the End that doth extenuate;
The opposite is held by squint-ey'd Hate.
But if, on 'tother hand, I have a mind,
To view their Actions who to me are kind,
Love presently presents unto mine Eye
That Glass, which their good Turns will magnify:
Hate too would be as forward, if she might,
To clap her partial Glass before my Sight:
But I am weary of her; — for I know,
She to all Goodness is a mortal Foe:
Love's the best Glass by far; yet many chuse,
To look thro' that which Sight doth most abuse.

Love's Original.

Love is a Cyon cropt from Virtue's Tree,
And grafted in the Stock of Purity;
Planted at first in Nature's choisest Soil,
Before the Fiend did Nature's Beauty spoil;
But thence transplanted to a richer Ground,
Than can in all Dame Nature's Realm be found,
Where being well manur'd, it takes deep Root
Downward, and Branches upward forth doth shoot:
The Sap, which doth this stately Tree maintain,
Is Sympathy; which runs as in a Vein
Thro' every Branch, causing it first to sprout,
And e'er awhile, young tender Buds spring out.
Nor is it barren, but much Fruit doth bear,
To Taste most pleasing, and to Sight most fair;
A sound substantial Fruit, that can indure
The sharpest Frost, and yet continue pure:
And that ye may this Fruit the more admire,
Take Notice, that I call it Chaste Desire.

Love's Definition.

The Author being press'd to shew his Mind,
What is true Love, what not, hath here defin'd.

I call not that true Love, which can admit
Of Heats and Colds like to an Ague-fit;
Those Rivers which, their Banks do overflow,
In a few Hours their empty Channels show.

That's not true Love, that's grounded upon Wealth,
Or hath the least Regard to worldly Pelf;
For such an one, might he his End obtain,
Would prostitute his very Wife for Gain.

Nor can he with true Lovers have a Place,
Who's Love depends upon some pretty Face,
Which Age or Sickness having once defac'd,
The very Ground-work of his Love is raz'd.

And since that sordid Thing Self-Interest,
Is able to defile the chastest Breast,
If not prevented; therefore I declare,
That it and true Love inconsistent are.

Such Marks as these, I could add many more
Like Watch-tow'rs, tending to forewarn the jolly
But young unskilful Mariners, before
They split their Vessels on the Rocks of Folly.

But for this Theme let this suffice, while I,
Tir'd with the Subject, borrow Wings and fly
Into an higher Orb, where I may view,
That Love who's choicest Epithet is true.

That I call Love, that only Love I call,
Whose Birth appears to be Cælestial;
That, and that only, I account true Love,
Which in the Sphere of Chastity doth move.

He's a true Lover (not who can subdue,
Monsters and Giants for his Mistress Sake,
And sighs perhaps and weep, with much ado,
For fear she should some other happy make;

But) who so far her Happiness prefers
Before his own, that he can be content
To sacrifice his own to purchase hers,
Tho' with the Price of his own Banishment.

A hearty Lover wholly doth devote
Himself, to make her happy whom he loves,
And doth with Might and Main her Good promote,
Altho' destructive to his Hopes it proves.

He that loves truly, loves to that Degree,
Whatever Notions Libertines may spread,
That he would be content, yea, joy to see
His Mistress bless some worthier Person's Bed.

Nor can true Love to Hatred ever turn,
Although it never should Acceptance find,
But like a Lamp, clear to the last would burn,
And thereby manifest a noble Mind.

Such amorous Motions then conclude we must,
How speciously so ever they are deckt,
Proceed not from true Love, but filthy Lust,
Which each chaste Breast should study to reject.

Love's Caveat.

If Virtue move
A Man to love,
How can he then refuse?
If Nature move,
Unless he prove,
How knows he what to chuse?

For Vice's Look
For Virtue's took
By many an honest Heart,
Who think they're safe,
Till felt they have
Her deadly stinging Smart:

And then too late,
Cry O! my Fate!
Was ever Grief like mine?
I thought my Love
Sprung from above,
And that it was divine;

But now I find,
With Grief of Mind,
That from the Earth it came,
And that the Fruit,
Which thence doth shoot,
Is nought but Grief and Shame.

Thus honest Men
Are, now and then,
Deceiv'd by Beauty's Bait,
Which makes them chuse
Pleasure, and lose
A far more happy State.

Nor can Man be
From Danger free,
But as he doth abide,
In that which will
That Nature kill,
And keeps close to his Guide.

Which if he do,
'Twill to him shew
Each Motion's Root and Ground,

That in this Day
No Folly may
In Israel be found.

Which is the Cry,
Of one whose Eye
Hath been too apt to stray;
Who could not stand,
Did not God's Hand
Support him Day by Day.

Integrity.

It is not Wealth, nor worldly Pelf,
Could my Affection take,
I am not such a Friend to Self,
To suffer for its Sake.

'Tis not the Features of a Face,
Could captivate mine Eye,
I have seen some of th' sweetest grace,
Yet kept my Liberty.

What was it then, stout Heart, I pray,
Did thee to Love incline?

Canst thou, without Presumption, say
It was a Pow'r divine?

Much I could say, did Need require,
In Favour of my Love,
But I chuse rather to retire,
Let it itself approve.

A Prospect.

'Twas tow'rds the Evening of the Day,
When Books lie still, and Scholars play,
That having got an Hour to spare,
I walked out to take the Air;
To which the Heavens did invite,
With Smiles that promised Delight.

My Walk upon a Bank I took,
Which was the Margin to a Brook,
Whose crystal Streams so small did slide,
As if they fear'd to be descry'd,
Save that a Pebble, here and there,
Whisper'd their Flight into mine Ear.

Hence I design'd to take a View,
Of Nature in her richest Hue:
Nor should I think my Labour lost
To see the like at double Cost.
The Birds, in various Notes, did sing
A Penegyrick to the Spring;
Each strove, I think, to do her best,
But Philomel excell'd the rest;
The Trees serv'd for a shady Screen,
Hung round with Canopies of green,
And some were here and there imboss'd
With Blossoms, at Dame Nature's Cost,
Which with a gentle Zephyr play'd,
And pretty whist'ling Murmurs made.
Which Way so e'er I turn'd mine Eye,
I saw well-mix'd Variety;
The fine wrought Tap'stry of the Field,
Did many pretty Landscapes yield;
Here Wheat, there Barley, did appear,
Some in the Blade, some in the Ear;
The Pease in Bloom, and Beans in Flow'r,
Stood waiting for a gentle Show'r;
For fear of which, in Haste home flies
The Bee with Honey-laden Thighs.

The Meadows, in their Grass-green Vest,
Methought were very neatly drest,
Not only neat, but richly fraught,
With checquer'd Flowers finely wrought,
Cowslips and Violets intermixt,
And tufted Daises cast betwixt;
Each Object did affect my Sight,
With sweetest innocent Delight.

But stay'd I there? Oh no, my Heart
Cry'd still, Give me the better Part,
Let me with Him for ever live,
That to these Things doth Being give;
Exterior Things may please each Sense,
And be enjoy'd without Offence,
But nothing but a Power divine,
Can make their Virtues truly mine;
Thy Wisdom, therefore so infuse
Into my Heart, that I may use
Thy Creatures as they ought to be,
And still return the Praise to Thee,
To whom the highest Praise is due,
O God most holy, just and true.

Upon his dear deceased Friends,

Isaac and Mary Penington,

Since first made One, as One they liv'd together
In Heart and Mind, in Flesh and Spirit One,
'Till Death in part this Unity did sever,
By taking him and leaving her alone,
In silent Grief his Absence to bemoan.

He being gone she could not long survive,
But daily from his Death began to die,
And rather seem'd to be, than was alive:
Restless, till by his Side she came to lie,
Her Spirit join'd to his again on high.
Thus Death, by whom the parting Blow was given,
Brought them together again, in Earth and Heaven.

In Remembrance of my Friend,

Mary Penington.

Upon September's eighteenth Day,
In sixteen hundred eighty two,
Death took a virtuous Dame away,
Who of her Equals left but few;

She Widow was, but now is gone
To Springett and to Penington.

For personal Endowments held
She justly was, to few behind;
But those wherein she most excell'd,
Were the Endowments of the Mind:
My Pen, I fear, would wrong her Worth,
Should I attempt to set them forth.

I therefore purposely abstain,
From seeking Words, to speak her Praise,
I know 'twould Labour be in vain,
Her Fame no Words can higher raise;
Let others sing her Worth, while I
Honour and love her Memory.

Exercise.

Ah me! how bitter is this Cup to drink!
How do I tremble when on it I think!
Surely, to fight with Tigres, or to rouse
Old hungry Lyons, were less hazardous;
Yea, I should think I made a happy Change,
To meet a Bear, whom Hunger makes to range,

Or to encounter with a Dragon fierce,
Whose scaly Hide no Sword did ever pierce.

But what! do I demur; still make Delay!
Seem yet to doubt, whether I should obey,
Or Rebel prove! let no such tainting Thought,
Into my yet untainted Breast be brought.
Why stay I? Why forbear then to proceed?
Success crowns Acts; Delays but Danger breed,
And Strength in Weakness, Faithfulness doth find,
When Slothfulness is often left behind.

The bleating Sheep;

or the Flock's Complaint of their Shepherds.

Woe to the Shepherds of Israel that do seed themselves— Ye feed not the Flock — but with Force and with Cruelty have ruled them.—Therefore, thus saith the Lord, Behold I am against the Shepherds, I will require my Flock at their hand. Ezek. xxxiv. 2, 3, 4, 10.

In elder Times, e'er Shepherds were so great,
So Arch so Lordly, so ambitious grown;
Long time before the Pontificial Seat,
Wherewith the World has been so plagu'd, was known;

Before that Voice was heard, which Stories say,
Was spoke from Heaven by an Angel's Tongue,
[Poison is pour'd into the Church this Day]
When Constantine his great Revenues flung

Amongst the gaping Shepherds, e'er much Wealth,
Had made them proud and lazy; long e'er this,
While they their Conventicles had by Stealth,
And glad were when Informers they could miss.

How honourable was the Shepherd's Trade
In those blest Times! how much to be desir'd,
When none unto himself Advantage made
O' th' Flock, when none to lordly Rule aspir'd.

Not seeking theirs but them; content to live
(And living well thereon, 'cause therein blest)
Upon the Milk the Sheep did freely give;
Thus were the Shepherds fed, Sheep not opprest.

Nor were, mean while, the fleecy Flock ingrate,
But right regardful of their Pastor's Pains,
With chearful Hearts they did communicate
Of each good Thing, that human Life sustains.

In sweet Communion thus they walk'd together,
And mutual Comfort in each other had,
What was a Grief to one, was Grief to either,
And what made one rejoice, made t'other glad.

The Shepherds for the Sheep no Pains did spare,
But for their Safety labour'd, watch'd and pray'd;
The Sheep were conscious of the Shepherds Care,
And unto them a due Observance paid:

And both the Shepherds and the Sheep did aim,
In all they undertook, with Heart and Tongue,
To magnify the supreme Shepherd's Name,
To whom both Sheep and Shepherds did belong.

Thus was it in the Morning of that Day,
Which on the Heathen World long since did break,
And thus it held, while simple Truth bore Sway,
As Stories sacred and prophane do speak.

But ah! how short a Time that Day did last,
How soon eclipsed was that glorious Light!
How quickly was its Brightness overcast,
And buried in the Grave of dusky Night!

Which ne'er to be enough lamented Loss,
The Ruin of so excellent a State,
By what unhappy Means it came to pass,
My Muse will in the following Lines relate.

Blest with a peaceful Time, the fruitful Flock
Grew num'rous, fat, and with fair Fleeces clad,
After they had sustained many a Shock
From Wolves, Bears, Tigres, and from Dogs run mad.

Enrich'd with Plenty by the bounteous Hand
Of the great Shepherd, whose indulgent Care
Over His Flock, His Treasures did expand,
And all good Things did for His Sheep prepare.

The grateful Flock, of Quiet thus possest,
And having now of worldly Wealth good Store,
Remember'd, with a right regardful Breast,
The Sufferings of their Pastors heretofore.

With open Hand, and with enlarged Heart,
(Such is the Nature of a bounteous Mind)
They to their Pastors did their Wealth impart,
Each striving how to leave the Rest behind.

None thought he gave enough, all studied how
They to their Shepherds might their Love express,
Each seem'd to vie, which should the Church endow,
Most amply with the Goods he did possess.

Thus they went on a while; but e'er 'twas long,
The Glew of Gold to pastoral Fingers stuck,
Th' attractive Pow'r of Riches was so strong,
It did them from their honest Labours pluck.

The Phrygian Fabler tells us of a Hen,
That one Egg daily added to the Store,
Until her Dame her over-fed, and then
She grew so over-fat, she laid no more.

So did it with these antient Shepherds fare,
Who while a spare and temp'rate Life they led,
Upon their Flock, nor Care nor Pains did spare;
What Pity 'twas they e'er were over-fed.

For after that, thro' too indulgent Love,
And injudicious Zeal, the well-fleec'd sheep,
Upon their Shepherds (who had learnt t' improve
Their Bounty) did un-needed Riches heap.

The Shepherds who, by that Time were become,
(Not better, but) more greedy than before,
The more they in superfluous Plenty swam,
The more they wanted, and still crav'd the more.

The Sheep, by blind Devotion led, still give,
In hopes at length the Shepherds Mouths to fill,
Scarce leaving to themselves whereon to live,
And yet the gaping Shepherds craved still.

At length the Shepherds, in some grand Offence,
Some of the chief Bell-weathers having caught,
Wrang from them great Endowments on pretence,
Large Gifts to them, would expiate the Fau't.

By various Arts the wily Shepherds get,
From the unthinking Sheep, still more and more,
And what at first was Gift, they now call Debt,
The Sheep must now pay, what they gave before.

Full-fed, the Shepherds quickly idle grew,
Betook themselves to a voluptuous Ease,
Their due Attendance on the Flock withdrew,
And studied chiefly how themselves to please.

Then Discord rose among them, how to part
Their ill-got Wealth; they could not well agree,
Only in this they all were of one Heart,
That by them all the Flock should fleeced be.

Themselves they therefore into Cycles cast,
Some small, some great, some low, some too too high,
And that the Model might the better last,
They gave their Plan the Name of Hierarchy.

The higher Orbs the sturdier Shepherds take,
And thereof, as their own, themselves possess,
Where fair Provisions for themselves they make,
Leaving the lower Circles to the less.

Those Under-Shepherds, Servants to the rest,
Thus left to scramble for what t'others left,
Each carved for himself as he thought best,
So parting, tho' unequally, their Theft.

To these the Master-Shepherds did commit
The Flock (which was before their common Care)
Who fed them once or twice a Week a-bit,
And that too with but dry and feeble Fare.

The Master-Shepherds having thus devolv'd,
Upon their Journey-men, the working Part,
Their Genius wholly to indulge resolv'd,
And with soft Pleasures satiate their Heart.

For Palaces and lofty Seats they build,
Wherein they live in most resplendent State,
Supply'd with all things that Delight may yield
To wanton Sense, and Nature captivate.

Ambition now prevails to swilling Pride
And portly Pomp; they now let loose the Rein,
Drawn in their Coach and six, abroad they ride,
Attended with a great and splendid Train.

Of the Chief-weathers, these Precedence claim,
In State Conventions are above them plac'd,
Most of them Arch by Nature are; by Name,
Two always with the Stile of Arch are grac'd.

High Titles they ambitiously affect,
Sure Token of foul Arrogance and Pride,
And to be call'd, My Lord, Your Grace, expect,
For which judicious Sheep do them deride.

A common Sheep, being by Chance in Place,
Where he an Under-shepherd heard e'er while
Saying to one of these, May't please your Grace;
Wish'd him more Grace in Heart, tho' less in Stile:

Yet the bare Name of Lordship will not do,
They Lordship love, and will Dominion have
O'er both the Sheep, and Under-shepherds too,
Who at their Graces Hands for Grace must crave.

To these the Under-shepherds Tribute pay,
Which doth them in a poor Condition keep,
And makes them with a sharper Hunger prey,
Upon the harmless and poor helpless Sheep:

Wherein the Master-shepherds them support,
Not only with their Countenance, but Pow'r,
That by the Assistance of their Shepherd's Court,
They may the Sheep, and what they have devour.

And they so many Ways have found to pull,
Lock after Lock from the deluded Sheep,
That they scarce leave the Sheep enough of Wool,
Them from the Blasts of Poverty to keep.

Besides the gen'ral Tax they on them lay,
Whereby the Flock they Yearly decimate;
For ev'ry little Chear, they make them pay,
And oft too at unconscionable Rate.

A Ram and Ewe may not with nuptial Rite
Together join, but there must present be
Some one of these, who to them must recite
The spousal Words, for which he claims a Fee.

And when the pregnant Ewe her Lamb doth yean,
The Shepherd will another Tag-lock get,
By telling them, that now the Ewe is clean,
And may again among the Flock be set.

Some certain Rites too must performed be,
To give the Lamb Admittance to the Fold,
For which the Shepherd claims another Fee;
And thus the Sheep both old and young are poll'd.

When a Sheep dies, the Shepherd Dirge must say
Over the Corps, when to the Grave 'tis brought,
For which he will be sure to have his Fee,
And Mortuary, if the Sheep left ought.

Thus the poor Sheep the Shepherds do oppress,
And with Exactions peel on ev'ry hand,
Nor can the Sheep expect to find Redress,
While they must to th' Oppressors Judgment stand:

For in the Shepherds Courts these Pleas are try'd,
If any hardy Sheep to pay refuse,
Where Shepherds, or their Creatures, still preside,
Who serve such Sheep, as Christ was serv'd by Jews.

For having there contemn'd them, right or wrong,
They over to the sec'lar Pow'r are turn'd,
To be in Prison cast amongst a Throng
Of Criminals, and in some Countries burn'd.

These are the Courts, from which the Sheep fustain,
By Shepherds who them cruelly intreat,
Such Hardships as enforce them to complain,
And vent their Sorrows with a mournful Bleat.

Ah! who can without Indignation hear,
How Shepherds do the Sheep in Bondage keep!
Who can from shedding Show'rs of Tears forbear,
At the Bemoanings of the bleating Sheep!

Floralia:

Or, an Account of the Rise of May-games, and May-poles.

When Rome was wholly Pagan, long before
The Virgin's Womb our blessed Saviour bore,
There liv'd in Rome a most lascivious Dame,
A noted Hailot, Flora was her Name,
Who prostituting of herself for Hire,
Great Wealth did, with great Infamy, acquire.

This filthy Strumpet, when she came to die,
Bequeath'd her Treasures to Rome's Treasury;
For, she her Heir, the Roman People made,
Of what she got by her venereal Trade;
And that her Memory might still abide
Among them, by her Will she did provide,
That on her Birth-day, certain wanton Games
Should celebrated be by Roman Dames,
Which that they might not for the Charge decline,
Part of her Wealth she thereto did assign.

So large a Legacy (however got)
The Roman Senate thought deserved not
To be contemn'd: Yet, that the filthy Stain,
Of her lewd Life, might not too long remain
A Blemish on them; they a Way contrive,
The Whore to bury, Flora keep alive,
Her they a Goddess feign; whom deify'd,
They make o'er Fruits and Flowers to preside;
To her they Altars raise, and by Decree
Appoint the Rites of her Solemnity.

The common People, in next Age adore
Her, whom their Fathers knew to be a Whore,
And, drench'd in superstitious Darkness, fear
They neither Flowers nor Fruits should have that Year,
If they to keep her Festivals forbear.

Yet 'cause the better Part did still retain
A Sense, how she her Goddeship did gain,
Such as had due Regard unto their Honour,
Would rather venture that, than wait upon her;
But all the Strumpets of the Town, and such
As had of Fame or Modesty not much,

Unto her Altars flock'd, and danc'd the Round,
Some naked, some in party-colours Gown,
Having their Heads with flow'ry Garlands crown'd.

Nor spar'd they Wine, but in full Bowls did quaff,
And at each others antick Gestures laugh;
The Rein was quite let loose, and they were best
Accounted of, could break the rudest Jest.

Torches were us'd, to intimate that Night
Had been the Time of Flora's chief Delight;
And to denote how lustful she had been,
The Goat and Hare in these her Games were seen:
Thus did they Yearly celebrate her Day,
Upon the Calends of the Month call'd May.

Thus 'twas, while heath'nish Superstition reign'd,
Before the Gospel Light Dominion gain'd
O'er Pagan Darkness; but when once the Day,
Th' illustrious Day of Christ broke forth, away
These filthy Vapours roll'd: The Gospel Light,
From Christian Hearts dispell'd this Darkness quite;
Nor can the Patrons of these May-games now,
Of such lewd Pastimes any Footsteps show,

Amongst the antient Christians, e'en in Rome,
From whence those Pagan Rites at first did come.

But after that, thro' Satan's Wiles, ill Men
From Truth to Error had relaps'd again,
After the Power of Godliness was lost,
And formal Christians of more Form did boast,
When Christian Rome was three times worse become
In some Respects, than had been heathen Rome;
Then to debauch the Nations, up were brought
Some Pagan Rites, condemn'd of old as nought,
'Mongst these the May-games, with such Variation,
As suited best the Humour of each Nation:
How in this Island they were us'd of old,
Is that which in the next Place shall be told.

On Flora's Birth-day, a long Pole they raise
In Market-places, or in parting Ways,
A painted Pole, whereon there hang, display'd,
Fine Garlands of the choicest Flow'rs made,
On Top of which a Weathercock is set,
Emblem of those who do such Sports abet.

Unto this Pole, the looser Class resort,
And spend their Time in time-mispending Sports;

The Fiddle or the Bag-pipe calls them forth,
And they come foremost, who are of least Worth;
Here Old and Young, of either Sex do meet,
And with obscene Discourse each other greet;
About the Tree, they in Disorder dance,
As Children on their Hobby-horses prance;
Confusedly they intermix in Routs,
And drown the Fiddle with their deaf'ning Shouts:
One breaks a bawdy Jest, wherein doth follow,
From all the Rabble, an applauding Hollow;
With Scoffs, Derisions, Jeers, they entertain
Each other, and whatever's loose and vain;
And who most archly can the Mimick play,
Is sure, for Praise, to bear the Bell away.

The Liberty, which at such Times they use,
With Scoffs and Jokes the Passers-by t' abuse,
Hath pass'd into a Proverb, that 'tis said,
Of such an one they a meer May-game made;
For in these Revel-routs, they countenance
Whatever tends Prophaness to advance.
Nor are these dry Feasts; Flora doth pretend
To guard the Vine, and Store of Barley send,
And therefore sure, her Votaries will not fail,
To steep their Brains that Day in Wine or Ale;

In brimful Bowls, or Glasses, then they bouse,
And Healths on bare and bended Knees carouse;
The Health they drink, perhaps of some great Lord,
Who's well-grown Woods their May-pole did afford,
Who's Honour, doubtless, would have risen higher,
Had he bestow'd it on the Poor for Fire.

Patrons of May-poles, if they please may see,
The Original of this their Vanity;
Yea all, the Rise of May-games may behold,
Who for them are so strenuous and bold:
'Tis Flora's Feast, a Strumpet void of Shame,
The Institution from the Romans came,
But they were Heathen; What is that to we,
Who boast a nobler Birth, a higher Pedigree?
Oh Britons! give your Views a higher Aim;
Nor slur with Pagan Rites the Christian Name.

An Epistle to a Friend.

Via recta ad vitam beatam.

Thou that a happy Life wouldst lead
Here, and enjoy hereafter Rest,
The Path of Virtue do thou tread,
Wherein none ever walk'd unblest:
Which that thou mayst not miss, thy Friend
The following Rules doth recommend.

Let to the Lord thy earliest Thought,
The first Fruit of thy waking Heart,
Be ev'ry Morning duly brought,
And offer'd as an hallow'd Part.
To Him thy Thanks are due, who kept
Thy Soul in Safety whilst thou slept.

That Tribute paid, get up and dress,
And let thy Habit modest be,
Not gay nor costly to Excess,
And from fantastic Fashions free:
That Garb, methinks, is most complete,
That's without Affectation neat.

When dress'd retire, and wait to feel
An holy Breathing in thee rise,
With strong Desires to God! that He'ill
Bless thee in that Day's Exercise:
Well is that Course like to be run,
That is with holy Pray'r begun.

Divine Assistance thus implor'd,
Thy proper Business set about,
While God doth Time and Strength afford,
That thou mayst finish it throughout.
What Good to do, thy Hand doth find,
Perform it with a chearful Mind.

An idle Life by all means shun,
However great thy Incomes are;
Thousands have thereby been undone,
For 'tis the Devil's surest Snare:
Fly lustful Sloth, and always find
Work for thy Body or thy Mind.

Feed not too high, nor curious be
In pleasing of thy Appetite;
Plain Things with Nature best agree,
Too rich, and much, destroy her quite:

Let Temp'rance, without more ado,
Be Butler, Cook, and Carver too.

But Moderation chiefly use
In drinking; of strong Drinks take heed,
Reiterated Cups refuse,
And take no more than thou dost need:
Who doth himself o'ercharge with Wine,
Makes, what God made a Man, a Swine.

A Slave to th' Pipe by no means be,
Who but the de'il on Smoke would feed?
Since God was pleas'd to make thee free,
Ne'er come in Bondage to a Weed.
He hit the Mark, who all Excess
Declar'd to be in Drunkenness.

In all thy Dealings Plainness use;
With honest Gains thyself content;
Another's Weakness don't abuse,
Nor use fair Words to circumvent:
Who heaps up Wealth by Fraud and Guile,
Heaps Wrath unto himself mean while.

Be pitiful unto the Poor,
Compassion of the Needy take;
Relieve the Hungry with thy Store,
Provision for the Orphan make:
Who on the Poor doth freely spend,
To God, that well repays, doth lend.

Of Widows and of Fatherless,
And such as can't themselves defend,
When Force or Fraud doth them oppress,
Plead thou the Cause and stand their Friend:
The Helpless who from Wrong protect,
May Help themselves from God expect.

To Justice stedfastly adhere,
Without Respect to Friend or Foe;
Let neither Flattery nor Fear,
Make thee against thy Judgment go:
Impartial stand; let nought prevail,
But Right alone, to turn the Scale.

Of Pride and Stateliness beware,
An haughty Look and scornful Eye;
Vain-glory shun, Self-praise forbear,
All vaunting and Ambition fly:

For of all Fools, pronounce I durst,
The self-conceited Fool the worst.

Be hospitable, let thy Door
To Strangers open freely stand;
And if their Need thy Help implore,
Dismiss them with a lib'ral Hand:
Some have, receiving unknown Guest,
With Angels Company been blest.

Among thy Neighbours live in Peace,
Occasions of contention shun;
Use all just Means that Strife may cease,
Where'er thou find'st it is begun:
Rememb'ring who it was that said,
They blest shall be that Peace have made.

In Friendship constant be and true,
Thy Friend in Danger stand thou by,
Forsake him not whate'er ensue,
But for him even dare to die:
Who in true Friendship are combin'd,
Have in two Bodies but one Mind.

If thou prefer'st a married Life,
Let not a blind Affection guide,
But in the chusing of a Wife,
Let sound Discretion find the Bride:
Yet like and love before thou take—
What off again thou canst not shake.

When having chose, thou now art wed,
Still bear in mind what thou didst grant;
Be faithful to thy Marriage-bed,
And keep thy solemn Covenant:
Who violate the Nuptial-ties,
Make God and Man their Enemies.

If Children thou obtain'st, their Will
Subdue betimes, e'er it grow strong;
Indulge them not in ought that's ill,
Lest both thyself and them thou wrong:
Who let their Children headstrong grow,
Make sure their own and Children's Woe.

Toward thy Servants gentle be,
Not ruling with a rig'rous Hand;
The less imperious Thou they see,
The more thou'lt have 'em at Command:

He best is serv'd throughout the Year,
That's served more for Love than Fear.

To all be affable and kind,
Not surly and moross, but free;
By courteous Carriage others bind,
To love, regard, and honour thee:
Of all the Ways for rising high,
The safest is Humility.

Thy Anger, tho' provok'd, restrain;
Her perfect Work let Patience have;
By gentle bearing, thou may'st gain
Him that the Provocation gave:
A soft Reply makes Anger cease,
But hasty Words will Strife increase.

In thy whole course, still have thine Eye
To God; His Aid therein implore;
On Him in all, for all, rely;
Him with an upright Heart adore:
A Blessing thee must needs attend,
Who dost with God begin and end.

THOMAS ELLWOOD.