 | Tales, epistles, odes, fables |  |
TO THE Right Honourable Lord CARTARET.
[EPISTLES]
39
TO Dr. WOODWARD, ON HIS Philosophical Writings.
Some, to enhance a Friend, or Patron's Fame,
Borrow a Greecian or a Roman Name;
How oft, has Tully with such Views been rais'd!
And modern Quacks in Galen's Name been prais'd!
Let Me the just and nobler Task pursue,
To give Applause to whom Applause is due.
Let Galen Galen, Ætius Ætius, be,
To mention either is to lessen Thee.
Borrow a Greecian or a Roman Name;
How oft, has Tully with such Views been rais'd!
And modern Quacks in Galen's Name been prais'd!
Let Me the just and nobler Task pursue,
To give Applause to whom Applause is due.
Let Galen Galen, Ætius Ætius, be,
To mention either is to lessen Thee.
Should Fortune ever dart a kindly Ray,
To crown my Studys with a happyer Day;
Might no intruding Cares my Thoughts molest,
And should the Muse reign stronger in my Breast,
Thy learned Precepts should my Genius guide,
And thou the Guardian o'er my Song preside:
Then to the wond'ring World I would disclose,
In Words beyond the feebler Powr of Prose,
The Wreck of Nature, the prodigious Day,
When adamantine Rocks dissolv'd away;
Nor should the Muse the arduous Work decline,
Would'st thou assist the Poet's great Design,
Thro unfrequented Paths her Flight to wing,
Where never Muse before would dare to sing;
She with the morning Sun should mount the Sky,
And round the Globe in Search of Knowledge fly.
Boldly she would the glorious Work pursue,
And by thy Doctrines trace all Nature thro;
Whence the loud Thunders roar, and Zephyrs blow,
And forked Light'nings fright the World below,
Travel the various Seasons of the Year,
Describe the great Abyss, that liquid Sphere,
The Source of Rivers, and whence Fountains rise,
What drains their Springs, and what their Springs supplys,
Whence Plants receive their vegetable Birth,
And whence the dread Convulsions of the Earth.
Thus should the Muse at once instruct and please;
But these are Subjects for a Mind at Ease.
To crown my Studys with a happyer Day;
Might no intruding Cares my Thoughts molest,
And should the Muse reign stronger in my Breast,
40
And thou the Guardian o'er my Song preside:
Then to the wond'ring World I would disclose,
In Words beyond the feebler Powr of Prose,
The Wreck of Nature, the prodigious Day,
When adamantine Rocks dissolv'd away;
Nor should the Muse the arduous Work decline,
Would'st thou assist the Poet's great Design,
Thro unfrequented Paths her Flight to wing,
Where never Muse before would dare to sing;
She with the morning Sun should mount the Sky,
And round the Globe in Search of Knowledge fly.
Boldly she would the glorious Work pursue,
And by thy Doctrines trace all Nature thro;
Whence the loud Thunders roar, and Zephyrs blow,
And forked Light'nings fright the World below,
Travel the various Seasons of the Year,
Describe the great Abyss, that liquid Sphere,
The Source of Rivers, and whence Fountains rise,
What drains their Springs, and what their Springs supplys,
41
And whence the dread Convulsions of the Earth.
Thus should the Muse at once instruct and please;
But these are Subjects for a Mind at Ease.
May Heav'n thy Life, great Friend of Arts, prolong,
To find new Subjects for the Poet's Song;
If Ought in Nature yet unknown there be,
From whom can we expect to know but Thee?
'Tis thine, my Friend, her Secrets to explore,
And 'tis from what thou'st done we hope for more:
Nor is thy Soul to this one Gift confin'd,
Thy Study's to improve, and bless, Mankind.
To find new Subjects for the Poet's Song;
If Ought in Nature yet unknown there be,
From whom can we expect to know but Thee?
'Tis thine, my Friend, her Secrets to explore,
And 'tis from what thou'st done we hope for more:
Nor is thy Soul to this one Gift confin'd,
Thy Study's to improve, and bless, Mankind.
Thus, Sir, a grateful Muse her Tribute pays,
Whose highest Merit is she knows to praise;
Where Worth distinguish'd shines the Muse can see,
Who, proud to tell it, views that Worth in Thee.
Whose highest Merit is she knows to praise;
Where Worth distinguish'd shines the Muse can see,
Who, proud to tell it, views that Worth in Thee.
Jan. 1726.
50
To Mr. D. B.
Would Heav'n propitious to my Vows attend,
You ask what Course of Life would please your Friend.
You ask what Course of Life would please your Friend.
Bless'd with a plenteous Fortune would I live,
Indulging of my Heart the Will to give.
Indulging of my Heart the Will to give.
Place Me, O! place Me soon, ye guardian Powrs,
Amid the Meads, cool Springs, and sylvan Bowrs,
Healthful my Body, and my Mind serene,
A willing Pris'ner to the rural Scene;
From servile Flatt'ry, from Detraction far,
And party Rage, that dire domestic War!
Where no unhallow'd Bard grows madly proud
Of the false Praises of a tasteless Croud.
Free from the Eye of Malice let Me rove
Thoughtful from Wild to Wild, from Grove to Grove.
Now on the mossy Bank, beneath the Shade,
For Hours of Love, or Meditation, made,
To the soft Passion I my Heart resign,
And make the long obdurate Maiden mine:
Hence ye prophane, be gone, far hence remove,
Nor listen, Cens'rers, to the Voice of Love!
Arise, my Fair, all cheerful as the Morn,
And let the myrtle Wreath thy Brows adorn!
Amid the Meads, cool Springs, and sylvan Bowrs,
Healthful my Body, and my Mind serene,
A willing Pris'ner to the rural Scene;
From servile Flatt'ry, from Detraction far,
And party Rage, that dire domestic War!
Where no unhallow'd Bard grows madly proud
Of the false Praises of a tasteless Croud.
51
Thoughtful from Wild to Wild, from Grove to Grove.
Now on the mossy Bank, beneath the Shade,
For Hours of Love, or Meditation, made,
To the soft Passion I my Heart resign,
And make the long obdurate Maiden mine:
Hence ye prophane, be gone, far hence remove,
Nor listen, Cens'rers, to the Voice of Love!
Arise, my Fair, all cheerful as the Morn,
And let the myrtle Wreath thy Brows adorn!
Now in my Breast I feel poetic Fires.
And chant mellifluous what the God inspires,
Or into Nature for her Secrets pry,
And trace her Workings with a curious Eye.
And chant mellifluous what the God inspires,
Or into Nature for her Secrets pry,
And trace her Workings with a curious Eye.
To mend my Virtues, and exalt my Thought,
What the bright Sons of Greece and Rome have wrote
I canvass o'er; elate with Joy I see,
Albion, their Equals all arise in Thee;
But as at once the fertile Country breeds
The golden Harvest, and the rankest Weeds,
Among the British Sons of Verse we find
In Pope a Bavius and a Labeo join'd.
What the bright Sons of Greece and Rome have wrote
I canvass o'er; elate with Joy I see,
Albion, their Equals all arise in Thee;
52
The golden Harvest, and the rankest Weeds,
Among the British Sons of Verse we find
In Pope a Bavius and a Labeo join'd.
But hold; I think I hear my Friend complain,
And tell Me Satire but pollutes the Strain.
Once more attend, the Caution I obey;
To the sweet Solitude returns the Lay.
And tell Me Satire but pollutes the Strain.
Once more attend, the Caution I obey;
To the sweet Solitude returns the Lay.
To crown the Blessings, now in Thought possess'd,
There with a Friend like Thee I would be bless'd,
What Converse can, to give Relief inclin'd,
When the dull Blood works Sadness to the Mind.
O! what is Life, or what of Wealth the Powr,
Without the Comforts of the social Hour!
There with a Friend like Thee I would be bless'd,
What Converse can, to give Relief inclin'd,
When the dull Blood works Sadness to the Mind.
O! what is Life, or what of Wealth the Powr,
Without the Comforts of the social Hour!
If, while in this delightful Calm I'm lay'd;
The groaning Nation should demand my Aid,
Should the fierce Kingdoms rouse to War again,
And Justice call Me to th'embattel'd Plain,
Farewel ye craggy Mountains, fragrant Flowrs,
Ye painted Meads, cool Springs, and sylvan Bowrs;
Far hence I go to horrid Scenes of Blood,
Where not Ambition calls but public Good;
Whence if my Stars a kind Return deny,
Without Reluctance in the Field I dy:
But should the wise Disposer, to compleat
My Wish, refix Me in the bless'd Retreat,
There with my Friend I would resign my Breath,
And close my Eyes, without a Fear, in Death.
The groaning Nation should demand my Aid,
53
And Justice call Me to th'embattel'd Plain,
Farewel ye craggy Mountains, fragrant Flowrs,
Ye painted Meads, cool Springs, and sylvan Bowrs;
Far hence I go to horrid Scenes of Blood,
Where not Ambition calls but public Good;
Whence if my Stars a kind Return deny,
Without Reluctance in the Field I dy:
But should the wise Disposer, to compleat
My Wish, refix Me in the bless'd Retreat,
There with my Friend I would resign my Breath,
And close my Eyes, without a Fear, in Death.
June, 1728.
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