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Callipaedia

or, The Art of Getting Pretty Children. In Four Books. Translated from the Original Latin of Claudius Quilletus. By several Hands [i.e. William Oldisworth and others]

Oldisworth, William (1680-1734)

II.

III.

IV.

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Fœlix & Nato! Fœlix & Conjuge!—
Ovid.

To the Lady M. S.

CALLIPÆDIA:

Or, the ART of GETTING Pretty Children.

BOOK I.

What makes a happy Bridal; from what Seed,
The sweetest Youths, and fairest Forms are bred;
What Stars direct the Birth, with pointed Rays,
Carving the lovely'st Limbs; What sprightly Grace
The Soul exerts, and mingles with the Mass;
What inward Beauties furnish the rude Plan,
Match Soul and Body, and compleat the Man,
Here I attempt to sing. Ye Pow'rs above,
Thrice lovely Graces, and thou Queen of Love,
And Parent of all Beauty, to whose Eyes
The Swain, on Ida's top, adjudg'd the Prize.
Breathe on my Lays, thro' ev'ry Strain diffuse
Idalian Sweets, let no uncomely Muse

Disgrace the Theme; so be the Verse design'd,
As may at once instruct and please Mankind,
Let crowding Beauties 'midst my Numbers shine,
And, like the Subject, make the Verse divine.
In future times perhaps, the gladsome Spouse
Shall to his Charmer all the Truths disclose
Which now I teach; when wrapt in Bridal Joys,
He longs for pretty Girls, or lovely Boys:
Perhaps by me improv'd, a nobler Breed
Of handsome Mortals shall on Earth succeed;
No ghastly Forms shall Hymen's shrine infest,
But Venus Joys with Venus Charms be blest.
You, who admire the Bliss, first learn the Art,
And listen to the Rules these Strains impart;
Attend the Song, and if approv'd, reward
With Myrtle Wreaths the well-deserving Bard.

First, let the Muse with careful Footsteps trace
The Lines and Features of a finish'd Face,
What makes true Beauty, and what Beauties please;
What Hair, with choicest Colours, shades the Brow,
And in what Curls the finest Tresses flow:
What Bloom adorns the Cheeks with brightest Fires,
And to what heights the noblest Front aspires:
What Shape the Lover's arms with Raptures fills,
And from what Lips the sweetest Balm distils,
Is pleasing to enquire: The Question's nice,
For different Lovers look with different Eyes,
And vary in their Judgment: One admires
The polish'd Brown, the Fair another fires:
Daphnis in Nets of golden Tresses lies
A Captive bound; but Thyrsis can despise
The valu'd Oar, whilst for the Black he dyes.
This Youth believes the spangl'd Grey most sweet,
And that is slain by Eyes of burnish'd Jett;
Thus too the Shape as various as the Face,
Differs in all, yet differs still to please.
Only the plump ripe Girl this Lover warms,
He hates the Slender which another charms.
So many various Schisms by turns divide
Great Cupid's Worship, where the only Guide
Is Fancy, by variety misled:
This, whilst we judge of Forms, directs our Eyes,
And punishes the Sex with their own Fav'rite Vice.

The rougher Beauties of the generous Male,
Admit the like Disputes, we please not all
With the same Looks; but Fancy, Mode, and Time,
Vary our Notions with the Age and Clime:
The deepest Black delights the Sunny Moor,
White, as a Hellish Colour, they abhor:
The Nose that rises with an Arch is best
Admir'd by all the Nations of the East,
For such, they say, the mighty Monarch grac't;
Who Cræsus Pow'r and Wealth in Battle won,
And added Lydia's Empire to his own.
The Franks love Lilly Looks, and court the Fair,
With open Foreheads, and loose flowing Hair:
The Spaniard glories in his swarthy Stains,
And likes the Beauties which Apollo paints;
Little his outward Form, but great his Mind,
The strugling Soul in narrow Bounds confin'd,
Affecting Heav'n, surmounts its grov'ling Kind;
Ev'n where hot Phœbus broils the burning Ground.
Lengthens the Day, and runs the largest Round;
The Savages who breathe the sultry Air,
Pleas'd with their Jett, despise the White and Fair,
And would with German Strength, and British Charms compare.
Whence all this Discord in so plain a Case?
From the first Rise of things the Muse shall trace,
Tho', with the mighty Secret, she disclose
The Origin and Source of all our Woes.

When the new World from the great Artist's Hand
Its Beauties took, in lovely Orders fram'd,
E're yet the golden Age with impious Crimes,
Fell to a base Alloy, and Iron Times:
The shelving Heav'n in curious Arches spread,
Its Lamps with pure untainted Æther fed;
No drizly Fogs did from the Ocean rise,
To damp the great Serene, and cloud the Skies:
Thro' the clear spotless Air the radiant Sun,
Chief of the Heav'nly Lights, in triumph shone:
The Moon through polish'd Jett diffus'd her Rayes,
Nor Clouds, nor Vapours, clogg'd the gloomy space.
The Earth, a charming Scene, free and untill'd,
Did Herbs, and Gems, and living Creatures yield;
No poys'nous Scents, no Filth the Ground defil'd:

A Genius lovely bright, the World's great Soul,
Ran through the Globe, and beautify'd the whole.
Then, as the first and purest Age began,
The fairest Creature of the Earth, was Man;
A lovely Body, and an upright Mind,
That to no Spot, this to no Vice inclin'd.
The Worship of the Gods, divinely pure,
No Factions knew, from Lust and War secure:
Mankind enjoy'd a lasting State of Love,
Nor sought for Riches, nor for Empire strove;
As Vertue reign'd, so Beauty shar'd the Throne,
Whilst Innocence, and spotless Goodness shone
In ev'ry Virgin Soul, a lovely Grace
Form'd from the happy Mixture of the Mass,
Play'd on the Lips, and sparkl'd in the Face,
This finish'd the fair Work, and hap'ly join'd
A glorious Form to an unspotted Mind,

When from the Azure Summit awful Jove
Beheld this Under-heav'n, and World of Love;
Let us compleat the great Design, he said,
In one true Beauty, and a matchless Maid:
Let all the Glories of two Worlds unite,
To make her more than all divinely bright.
The Crowding Forms, soon as the Thund'rer spoke,
And Elements their Stations all forsook,
To grace the Work. The Crystal Orb was broke,
And fashion'd into Limbs, around her Head
His brightest Rays officious Phœbus spread:
Aurora lent her Blushes, and the Moon
Upon her Cheeks in white unsully'd shone:
Venus her Lips with fragrant Odours dy'd,
And Cupid, with the Graces by his Side,
Assisting; all her other Charms supply'd.
The Face thus finish'd, and the Form compleat,
Almighty Jove infus'd a vital Heat,
And rais'd to active Life the wond'rous Frame,
Expressing all its Beauty in its Name,
Pandora call'd: And as the new-born Maid
Arose, the great Creator smil'd, and said,

Go, most ador'd of all my Offspring, go,
And with thy Presence cheer the World below:

Let happy Mortals on thy Beauties gaze,
And in each Feature read thy Heav'nly Race;
Do thou, and Vertue, both together shine,
And with united Charms the Age refine;
But as thou would'st with lasting Joys revive
The World, take heed; this fatal Box I give,
Ten thousand Plagues and Poysons it contains.
Which when thou open'st with thy heedless Hands,
The treasur'd Seeds shall spread and blast the Air,
And thou shalt in the great Contagion share.

He spake; his dread Commands the Nymph obeys,
And swift as Thought she wings the middle Space;
Thence to the World below her Passage steers,
There, in full Glory, to Mankind appears:
Great Epimetheus saw, but not alone,
As Hesiod dreamt, the Maid in common shone,
And with her Charms the wrapt Spectators won:
Her Front divine, her Mien a Goddess show'd,
Her glitt'ring Dress amaz'd the wond'ring Crowd:
One gazes on the Lillies of her Face.
Another on her Locks, immixt with Rayes;
From ev'ry Charm she sheds the fragrant Dewes,
And by a wond'rous Art, that stops the Muse
From speaking, did not Phœbus bid her tell,
Who saw himself, and own'd the Miracle;
Her Eyes diffus'd their sacred Lustre round,
And with infecting Charms th' Admirers crown'd:
A bright Reflection in each Face appear'd,
And all who saw her in her Beauties shar'd.
So when Aurora rises from the East,
Her chearful Bloom in radiant Sheets disperst;
With a bright Tincture all the Meadows gilds,
And spreads new Glories o'er the Flow'ry Fields.

Thus whilst Mankind their Innocence preserv'd.
Nor from great Nature's Laws and Precepts swerv'd,
Grac'd with high Beauty, the two Sexes strove,
Both by Reflections fir'd, with equal Love;
But when the blissful Scene untimely chang'd,
And o'er the Globe fell Vice and Rapine rang'd;
The dire Infection spread it self afar,
Debauch'd the Virtuous, and defil'd the Fair.

Pandora, lovely Product of the Skies,
Sunk in the Deluge of the common Vice;
Stung with mad Lust, neglecting Jove's Commands,
She rashly ventures, and with impious Hands
Opens the fatal Box, and round her sheds
Thick pestilential Fumes, and poys'nous Seeds:
First on her self the curst Contagion pour'd,
Prey'd on her Bloom, and all her Charms devour'd;
Thick Clouds o'erspread the Lustre of her Eyes,
And on her Cheeks the fading Lilly dyes.
Hence through the Earth the fertil Venom ran,
And seiz'd on all the gen'rous Pow'rs of Man:
His Mind polluted and his Form defil'd,
And both with Darkness and Diseases fill'd:
Bright Reason lost its first and purest Fires,
And to thick Clouds and rising Gloom retires:
Hence 'tis become so difficult, to find
True Beauty, and to fix by Rules assign'd,
Its Nature and its Marks: We wander far
In Mists and Night, and a dark gloomy Air;
Whilst each in diff'rent Paths uncertain strays,
Where shall we look? Who shall the Darkness chace,
And amidst Doubts determine? kindly shine,
Thou first and noblest of all Lights divine:
Dispel the Gloom, O fair auspicious Pow'r!
Create new Day, and the blest Age restore.

But though the fatal Venom spread afar,
Yet not the same, in diff'rent Soil and Air
It vary'd its Infection; the Extremes
Of Cold and Heat, the Clime, where Phœbus Beams
Parch the dry Sands, and that with Winter chill'd,
The most deform'd and frightful Offspring yield;
That Region which the Icy Sea surrounds,
In monstrous grizly Forms and Looks abounds:
The sultry Zone teems with a gloomy Race
Of Negro's blacken'd with impending Rays;
Whose scorching Land a thousand Monsters shows,
With swelling Lips, a flat distended Nose,
And frizl'd Locks between the swarthy Brows.
Near fair Arabia's Soil, a blissful Seat,
(For so the learn'd Inhabitants relate)
The Cold and Heat their blended Pow'rs unite,
And form a Clime for Plenty and Delight:

The whirling Poles at equal distance lye,
And Libra mounts the Summit of the Skye:
Hence equal Stages part the Night and Day,
And Sol and Luna share impartial Sway:
Hence in full Stores the fertile Region flows,
And every Year a double Harvest knows;
Two Springs and Winters make the constant round,
These kind and gentle, those with Plenty crown'd;
So temperate a Soil, so calm an Air,
Must yield a Race divinely bright and fair:
But the victorious Sun with darted Rays
Too oft prevails, and tanns the sultry Face.

Between the Poles and Torrid Zone there lyes
A Region, full of Beauty and of Bliss,
Happy the Soil, the Men divinely fair;
With these the Neighb'ring Climes in vain compare.
Beauties like these all other Forms disdain,
The Heat of Italy, and Swarth of Spain.
High in the Front of Europe tow'ring stands
An Isle, bespread with fair Elyzian Plains,
Where Venus smiles, and fruitful Ceres reigns;
There proud Augusta far aspiring rears
Her glitt'ring Piles, and rises to the Stars.
Along the crowded Banks, where Silver Thames,
Rowls o'er a Bed of Gold her Crystal Streams,
And branching in a thousand liquid Veins,
Diffuses Plenty o'er the smiling Plains;
This is the Seat of Love, here Beauty reigns.
This Clime the first and noblest Age renews,
Where ev'ry Nymph a bright Pandora shews;
A perfect Stature graceful to the Eye,
That neither sinks too low, nor mounts too high;
Adorns the beauteous Train, whose curious Mien
Lyes 'twixt the comely gross, and sickly thin:
In the fair Front a gen'rous Pride appears,
With Sweetness mix'd, beneath two glitt'ring Stars
In Circles shine; the Surface smooth and clear,
Does a bright Case of liquid Crystal wear:
The Rose, that on their Lips all lovely shines,
Transplanted to their Cheeks, the Lilly joins.
Who can describe their Neck, and burnish'd Hair?
Gold's not so bright, nor Ivory so fair:

Or who their Breasts, where endless Odours breathe?
Or all the hidden Charms conceal'd beneath?
Which the chast Muse, and blushing Nature skreen
From human Sight, not without Danger seen.

And as our Nymphs all Eyes and Hearts command,
Best Product of the Heav'nly Artist's Hand;
So must the World our Train of Youths aprove,
Fit to inspire such Nymphs with equal Love.
See, on each Face the blooming Vigour shines,
Sweetness with Force, and Strength with Beauty joins:
Bright Purple Streams along the Cheeks prevail,
Not stain'd with swarthy Heat, nor sickly Pale;
Their twining Hair in graceful Tresses flows,
And shades their sprightly Limbs, and manly Brows:
Nor is the Shape unworthy such a Face,
Their hardy Joints are clos'd with Nerves of Brass,
And Rowls of Brawn cement the vig'rous Mass;
Such Beauties grace the Climate which we boast,
Not curst with too much Heat, or too much Frost,
But plac'd between the North and burning Line,
The Air's celestial, and the Men divine,

You then, whose Mind the Art of Love persues.
Attend the Laws and Statutes of the Muse;
Not every Pair who fed by fond Delights
Of Hymen's Joys, are fit to grace his Rites:
Let the Deform'd and Impotent refrain
The Bliss, nor with rude Hands his Altars stain:
When Phlegeton and Nox in Marriage ty'd
Their hated Forms, she as uncouth a Bride
As he a horrid Bridegroom, the Fell Band
Of Furies from the fatal Juncture spawn'd:
What Indignation must the Wonder move,
To see a Cyclops marry, or make Love,
Or Pow'rs below attempt the Joys above?
Does Proserpine look well in Pluto's Arms?
Or ugly Vulcan merit Venus Charms?
Let such to their dark lonely Cells retire,
There drudge away their Lives in Smoak and Fire,
There sweat and strive, nor softer Labours know,
Whilst fairer Limbs the Toils of Love persue;
But they whom Vigour, Health, and Youth inspire
With Love, and kindle up the genial Fire,

May tast the Bliss, and snatch the soft Delights
Which Hymen yields, from whose Celestial Rites
Far off th'Invalid and the Weak remove,
Fit for the Bed of Sickness, not of Love;
Let those who feel the Gout's tormenting Pain,
And racking throes the Bridal Joy abstain,
The Mad, the Lunatick, and those that breath
Consumptive Air, and wear the Marks of Death,
Or those, whom eager Fires and latent Sores
Corrode, and prey upon their vital Pow'rs.

Through stange Meanders and a wandring Maze,
The sprightly Seed, that forms all human Race,
Spreads the warm Flood, whose mingl'd Streams contain
What e'er Infections in the Body reign,
Conveying all the noxious Humours down,
From the weak Father, to the sickly Son;
Oft have I seen a poor distemper'd Heir,
Condemn'd his Parents Sins and Sores to wear;
Load with thick Curses the degenerate Name,
And on the undeserving God's exclaim;
Let then the well-match'd Pair be fitly join'd,
A healthful Body and an equal Mind,
No happy Progeny shall crown the Bed
Curst with Decay, or with Diseases spread;
The Hind that hopes a Crop from Ceres Hand,
To chear his Houshold, and to crown his Land,
Chuses the fairest and the brightest Seeds,
And these along the fruitful Furrows spreads;
With the same Care the Harvest of Mankind,
Would yield a Race more noble and refin'd;
Sure, well thou knowest, that Man was form'd to bear
The God like Image of the Thunderer,
To search the Stars, and Heav'nly Secrets know,
And reign sole Monarch in the World below.
Ye Pow'rs, that Guard the genial Bed, and bless
The teeming Earth with Beauty and Increase,
Drive from your Rites and from your Altars far,
The impotent, the Weak, unhealthy Pair,
Left in their Pains their wretched Offspring share,
And by Descent made sickly and unsound,
Their Parents Ghosts with impious Curses wound;
And thou, dread Sire of Gods and Men, support
The sinking World, and from thy awful Court

Send a new Genius o'er the Globe, to raise
The groveling Kind, and Nature's last Decays:
Then, future Ages shall the Art improve,
And a fair Offspring crown the Joys of Love.

Nor is't enough, that they whom Love ordains
To crown the Marriage Bed, be free from Pains,
Healthy and Sound: Let no young sprightly Maid
Wed with Old-Age, no Youth the Dame decay'd:
From such unhallow'd Rites great Hymen flies,
Extinct in Smoak the bridal Taper lies;
Juno disdains the Feast, and in her Room
The Furies with their sulph'rous Torches come;
See fair Aurora from Tithonus Bed
Rising dissatisfy'd, with conscious red
She blushes unenjoy'd, and drown'd in Dew,
Does with the Morn her Tears and Grief renew;
Cybel more wise, whom Atys Beauty fires,
Persues the Youth with fond, but chast, Desires,
Lest her old wither'd Arms the Lover cloy
Drink all his sprightly Blood, and pall the Joy;
In aged Limbs like these a Drought devours
The Genial Heat, and clogs the active Pow'rs.
So the parch'd Sands on Lybia's sultry Plain
Take, in soft Rills, the gentle falling Rain,
And gape, and thirst, and drink, but drink in vain;
From ill-match'd Bodies an unfruitful Dross
Descends, and all the barren Bliss o'reflows:
Or if kind chance bestow an ill-tim'd Heir,
He lingers out a Life of Pain and Care,
Sickly and weak, curst in the Parent's Name,
His Countries Burthen, and his Sexes Shame.

How base is he, a Foe to Venus Pow'r,
Who Riches courts, and doats upon a Dow'r;
On him these Rules are lost, whose lustful Eyes
Seek, for a loving Bride, a golden Prize:
The Churl that Boasts his Baggs and spacious Lands,
When bent on Marriage, every Heart commands,
The Parents sue, the Virgin trembling stands
And weds a sordid Lump of lifeless Clay,
Curst with Old-Age, and impotent Decay,
Condemn'd perhaps to Sickness, Sores and Pains;
Or to Ill-Nature and eternal Chains.

She hates, but must consent: The nobler Part
Is lost, she gives her Hand, and keeps her Heart.
At Rites like these, no kindly Pow'r appears,
But Discontent, and Grief, and flowing Tears
Wait round the nuptial Bed, the tedious Nights
Pass in imperfect Joys, and vain Delights:
In Beauty she, as he in Strength decays,
Desparing to renew a wretched Race:
The sighing Bride her fading Charms bemoans,
And all the Dotards pall'd Endearments shuns:
But if Revenge and Love by turns inspire,
And prompt an injur'd Wife to loose Desire,
(For Vows and nuptial Ties can never long,
Unite the fair and foul, the old and young)
Then the Town Sparks and gay Gallants repair,
To give her nobler Joys, and him an Heir;
Hence a mixt Offspring, and a motly Race,
With each a diff'rent Sire, and diff'rent Face,
Whose every Look the Mother's Guilt betrays:
This Child a Martial Air and Boldness shews,
And has the Captain's Forehead, and his Nose:
Another's like the Merchant and the Citt:
The Footman this resembles, that the Knight:
Thus the dull Dotard's Wealth and numerous Stores,
Laid up by wise and careful Ancestors,
Must now be heap'd upon another's Son,
And all descend to Children not his own.

These Ills, which private Families bewail,
Oft reach to Kings, and o'er the Throne prevail,
From a distemper'd Monarch's lazy Loves,
And sickly Arms, the wanton Queen removes,
And with impatient Hopes of Issue led,
Mounts a less noble and more vigorous Bed:
Hence doubtful Princes rise, pernicious Brood,
In vain the Laws legitimate their Blood,
No Vertues in the Bastard Monarch shine,
Nor is his Person, or his Right Divine:
Beneath his Yoke the luckless Nation mourns,
Who, since not born a King, a Tyrant turns.

The stale decaying Dame, whose aged Brows
Time in a thousand furrow'd Wrinckles plows,

Whose swimming Eyes distil eternal Brine,
Whose Indian Teeth the burnish'd Jett outshine,
Rich in the Spoils of some departed Spouse,
Draws a whole Train of Lovers to her House:
And when Catarrhs the amorous Heat excite,
And Love and Hymen both their Pow'rs unite,
The Youths all sigh, and flatter, and adore,
Smit with the Charms and Beauties of her Dow'r:
A sprightly Spark, more happy than the rest,
With strong Ideas of her Wealth possest,
Finds the short Passage to her aged Breast:
Him to her Arms and Fortune she receives,
And round her mouldring Trunk the Lover cleaves;
But when possest of all, the Passion o'er,
The Wealth and Woman both within his Pow'r,
With Age, and Love, and Matrimony cloy'd,
The Dow'r too little, Wife to much enjoy'd;
He rambles through the Sex, the young and fair
Usurp her Pleasures, and her Husband share.
To these with lavish Hands the Rover grants,
The Wealth she gave him, and the Joys she wants;
On the cold Bed lies the forsaken Dame;
Dissolv'd in Tears: The once soft am'rous Flame
Turns to a jealous Rage, whose Transports rouse
An injur'd Bride to punish slighted Vows,
And wreak just Vengeance on a hateful Spouse;
The Fury that so haunts and gnaws her Soul,
Soon guides her Hand to the envenom'd Bow'l,
That quickly rids her of the fell Disease,
And kills the Heart she can no more possess.

Would great Religion leave to Nature's Choice,
To cull in common her unbounded Joys:
Then, each by Instinct to its equal led,
No more would curse the wretched Marriage Bed,
Mixt with the young and old, the living and the dead;
But Heav'n forbids, and Rites and sacred Tyes
Ordains to curb the spreading Growth of Vice:
Happy the Pair; who not by custom join'd,
But nobler Instinct, marry in the Mind:
Who truly one, divide in equal Shares,
Their nightly Pleasures, and their dayly Cares.

The raw unripen'd Girl and beardless Boy,
Restrain a while from Venus active Joy:
Let these to settl'd Strength and Force attain;
A Child's unfit to propagate a Man:
In such, the genial Juice at random flows,
Nor Banks, nor Bounds, nor constant Current knows,
But roams the Limbs, to aid the growing Mass,
And mount it to the Standard of its Race.

The Maid much sooner to perfection grown,
Pleas'd with the Names, of Mother and of Son,
May venture on the Task, when sprightly Pow'r
Glides through her Veins, and forms a vig'rous Store
To feed the growing Birth: Observe the signs
When first the Nymph to am'rous Heat inclines:
A florid Bloom with Blushes decks the Face,
And the soft Wishes of her Heart betrays,
In gentle Tides her swelling Bubbies move,
And every Vital breathes the sweets of Love.

The vig'rous Youth to ripen'd Manhood grown,
His Cheeks just cover'd with the rising Down,
When in full Tides his streaming vigour flows,
May to the Joys of Love indulge a Loose.

These Rules and Laws, which Reason must pronounce
Most just and true, and which Experience crowns,
Would teach the World in Venus Art refin'd,
To propagate a noble generous Kind:
These shall the married Pair their Duty shew,
When with their Race, the Pleasures they renew.

Thus whilst the Arts of Love in gentle Strains
I trace, and in the Pleasure lose the Pains:
To thee the Muse a grateful Off'ring brings,
The noblest Maxims of the Art she sings,
Great Man! whose matchless Pow'r and manly Grace,
Plainly confess a more than human Race,
Immortal Eugene! by the Gods ordain'd,
To prop the Empire with thy mighty Hand,
To curb tyrannick Pow'r and lawless Rage,
And bless with lasting Peace the smiling Age:

In thee a thousand manly Beauties shine,
Worthy the noble Soul that dwells within:
In thee the Godlike Fire and Strength of Mars,
Incites to Iove, and urges to the Wars;
For thee a thousand Princely Beauties sigh,
And aiming at thy Heart, their Glances try;
The Nymphs that on the Banks of Tagus sport,
Or those that reign in Cæsar's awful Court,
Or those that near the Streams of Tiber shine,
The fruitful Danube, or the forked Rhine,
Lavish on thee their Wishes, Hopes, and Sighs,
And for thy Love all other Hearts despise:
France at thy Feet a double Trophy laid,
The vanquish'd Hero, and the captive Maid;
But thou, O Europe's other Hope! beware,
And from ten thousand chuse the happy Fair,
Let thy own eyes dwell on the lovely Face,
Her Smiles, her Beauties, and her Vertues trace:
Whilst other Princes other Rules persue,
Marry by Proxy, and at Distance woe,
When Envoys fetch from far a foreign Queen,
Unknown her Vertues, and her Charms unseen,
Do thou in Person court the listning Maid,
For who like thee can conquer and persuade;
Young let her be, and fair, and fit to grace
Thee with her Charms, and Europe with thy Race;
When Youth and Beauty in a Palace shine.
The People bow, and own the Form divine,
Pleas'd on the lovely Majesty they gaze,
A Look gives Laws, and the glad Crowd obeys;
Should some great Princess, born of Royal Blood,
Full of her Ancestors, as Juno proud,
Boasting high Birth instead of Beauties Charms,
Attempt thy Heart, and wish to fill thine Arms:
Shun the false Bait, from her Embraces fly,
Nor wed a vain insipid Pedigree:
No Love, no Offspring shall such Bridals bless,
And all the boasted Family shall cease;
Too well thou know'st, and sad Experience shews,
How the lewd Monarch from a homely Spouse
Flies with Disdain, and on th'ignoble Crowd
Scatters the great Remains of Royal Blood.
Thus mighty Jove, when hated Juno cloys,
In other Arms, persues more sprightly Joys,

Stoops from his Heav'n to tast a brutal Vice,
And fills with Bastard Gods the blushing Skies;
From Ills like these, great Prince! betimes remove,
And scorn to marry what thou canst not love;
Thy Nuptials blest in some auspicious Birth,
Should with another Eugene grace the Earth:
Pardon, brave Man, if the too forward Muse
Directs thy Joys, and warns thee how to chuse,
A lovely Form and Mind, alike Divine,
Where all the Vertues and the Graces join:
Not high by Pedigree, nor great by Blood,
But by firm Choice and native Instinct good,
Will best reward thy Love, and ease thy Care,
When cloy'd with Conquest and the Toils of War;
Let other Chiefs, who wield a tott'ring State
And sinking Empire, insecurely great,
Wed by State Policy to prop a Throne,
And whilst they win a Kingdom, lose a Son:
So to the Elm the Vine for Succour climbs,
And on that Trunk supports its sinking Limbs:
Thee no such mean ignoble Ends shall move
To buy Ambition at the Price of Love,
No Arts like these shall fix thy rising Pow'r,
Great, when alone, and in thy self secure.

Go, lovely Prince, and from the beauteous Train
Chuse the blest Maid, whilst to an humbler Strain
The blushing Muse her am'rous Song diverts,
And to the marry'd Pair new Rules imparts.

BOOK II.

By Sacred Tyes made one, the happy Pair,
Expect the Night, and for new Joys prepare:
The Train of Youths and Nymphs, that grac'd the Feast,
Retire, all with the drunken God possest:
The foaming Bowl goes round, the Floor is strow'd
With Cups o'ercharg'd, that burst beneath their Load:
Through vaulted Roofs the tuneful Echoes sound,
And artful Measures beat the solid Ground:
Each vig'rous Youth the active Virgin warms
Mixt in the Dance, intent on Musick's Charms:
Among the rest, the most melodious Voice
Begins a Song of Kisses, Mirth, and Joys,
And bridal Pledges, lovely Girls and Boys:

Thee, Venus, kindest Pow'r to human Race,
He sings of thee, best Object of our Praise,
Great Author, of all Pleasure, Mirth and Love,
Allow'd by Heav'n, and practis'd ev'n by Jove:
But he pursues with Satyr's keenest Hate,
The cold coy Nymph, curst in the Virgin State,
And Pallas and Diana both upbraids,
Fixt by their Vows two unrelenting Maids:
Paris he sings, and mounts him to the Skies
For Justice, when he gave the golden Prize
To Beauty's Queen, which he before deny'd
To Pallas Anger and to Juno's Pride:
Ev'n Phœbus, though by him inspir'd, he blames
For loose abandon'd Love and barren Flames,
Plac'd on a Boy, unnatural and vain,
Heedlesly lov'd, unfortunately slain:
Nor does his Satyr spare almighty Jove,
Involv'd in the same Crime of fruitless Love:
These Lusts he leaves to Brutes that range the Fields,
And only speaks the joys which Nature yields;
The laughing Sages all applaud the Song,
Grave Matrons smile, the modest and the young
Indulge the Mirth: For now the Shades arise,
And Venus Star, just lighted in the Skies
Free Gayety and Love inspires, the Hour
Of Bliss draws nigh: kind Hymen, grateful Pow'r
To nuptial Rites, comes with his laughing Train.
And great Saturnia shakes her Torch amain.

The Grave experienc'd Dames, who oft have try'd
The Sports of Love, instruct the lifting Bride
In every nuptial Precept, and prepare
Their modest Champion for the coming War:
By whom push'd on, her Virgin Fears dispell'd,
She hastens to the Fight and takes the Field.

The Youth more eager and impatient grows,
And to the Bliss invites his blushing Spouse:
His Wishes drive the lazy Minutes on,
He bids the rude intruding Train be gone,
Vigour, and Love, and Solitude excite
To nobler sports, and urge him to the Fight.

Alas, too forward Youth! this Rage forbear,
Be brave, but use some Conduct in the War:
When Wine inspires, and jolly Bacchus reigns,
And indigested Dainties swell the Veins,
Crude, sickly Humours stir, that pall the Bliss,
Whence weakly and unfinish'd Forms arise:
A while refrain: a few perspiring Hours
Will temper the rude Mass, whose ripening Force
Shall then the noblest Images produce:
Observe this Rule, though hard, of wond'rous Use,

They, who attend to Nature's Laws, approve
The Morning, as the fittest Time for Love,
And by unerring Rules, 'tis always found
Such Joys are with the lovely'st Offspring crown'd,
For when the Night ascends in Drizly Dews,
And lazy slumbers o'er the Limbs diffuse,
The Heat retiring to the Stomach flies,
And ripens all its nauseous Crudities;
Hence flows the Chyle, whose silver Riv'lets glide
Strain'd through the Liver's Pores, there chang'd and dy'd
With noble Crimson, to the Veins they pass,
And fill with sanguine Springs the sprightly Mass:
Hence comes that genial Force, and gen'rous Heat,
That prompt to Love and make the Work compleat:
Through intricate and racy Tracks distill'd,
With Teeming Sparks and active Atoms fill'd,
Rapid and warm, the well-mix'd Torrent flows,
And scatters Life and Spirit as it goes;
These Reasons warn the eager Youth to stay,
And temper Passion with a short Delay,
Lest Nature should revenge the hasty Deed.
And with rude Forms defile the bridal Bed;
Great Jove (the Tale is Common) once withdrew,
And warm with Nectar to his Juno flew;
There in the Riot of that rash Embrace,
Produc'd a monstrous Shape and ugly Face,
Vulcan, the scandal of his Father's Race:
Push'd from the Skies, Pallas rejects his Court,
And Sends him where with Freedom all resort,
To Venus Arms: She, though his Wife and Spouse,
Yet (lovely Rover) scorns her nuptial Vows,

Disdains his wretched Form, flies from his Arms,
And on a thousand more profusely sheds her Charms.

Nor is't enough to stop the eager Boy
From ill-tim'd Pleasures, and too wild a Joy:
Let him observe besides, with curious Eyes,
The Aspect of the Heav'ns, what Planets rise,
The Influence and the Motion of the Stars,
When for the bridal Bliss he first prepares.

If Great Lucina, to renew the Earth,
Blesses Mankind with some auspicious Birth,
Just as they hear the new born Infant cry,
Old Dotards gaze upon the distant Sky,
And pore for Fortune, Fate and Destiny:
But 'tis of more concern, by far, to know
What Planets rule the course of things below,
When the first Hopes of Harvest are begun,
And the young Seeds of human Race are sown:
For then, the Humours lie disperst and loose,
Nor stagnate yet, the stream unsettled flows,
And e'er it gathers to a solid Mass,
Receives the mighty Influence with Ease,
And all the Conduct of the Stars obeys:
These secrets, which the Fates and Heav'ns conceal,
What Bard unaided by the Gods can tell?
Descend Uranie, from thy blissful Sphere,
Where among Stars thou reign'st, and view'st from far,
Disdaining this low Orb, assist my Lays;
Thy Beauties lend, for 'tis in Beauty's Praise,
I sing: Attentive Mortals shall admire,
If thou direct the Song, if thou inspire.

Yon glitt'ring Orb, on azure Arches born,
Whose sparkling Roof ten thousand Lights adorn,
Was not thus finely wrought and spangl'd o'er
With twinkling Gems, by an Almighty Pow'r,
Only to please us Mortals here below.
With a fair Prospect, and an empty Shew:
This glorious Product of the Heavenly Mind,
For nobler Ends and Uses was design'd:
See, as the Stars their signal Glances shed,
Rains, scorching Heat, and whistling Winds succeed:

Who knows not what Orion's Sword portends,
When from full Clouds the bursting Rain descends;
Or what the Hyades, the Sister Stars,
Forebode to Earth, all moisten'd with their Tears;
What Heats arise, when the fell Dogstar reigns,
And scorches with his Rayes the sultry Plains;
When the great Authors of our Lives are sate:
In Council, o'er the World's impending Fate:
When Jove, and bloody Mars, and Saturn join
With the fierce Lyon, a disastrous Sign,
What Wars and Plagues infest the World below,
And Furies range to scatter deadly Woe?
Empires shall totter, Tumults shake the Throne,
And Tyrants seize on Kingdoms, not their own:
Such Planets rul'd, when Cæsar heretofore,
With Pompey his great Rival tugg'd for Pow'r,
And dy'd Pharsalia's Plains with Roman Gore;
Lately the boding Heav'ns foretold the Fall
Of the proud Spaniard and the haughty Gaul;
When rival Kings contest a doubtful Throne,
Auspicious Stars the injur'd Monarch own,
Saturn, and Mars, and Jove unite their Fire,
The Centaur aims his Bow, and prances higher,
And all the Planets in the Cause conspire.
That dire Disease which spoils the vig'rous Blood,
And poysons our best Joys, intirely ow'd
Its Rise to some malignant Planet's Reign:
For when the curst Contagion first began,
The Crab and Mars, 'tis said, united were
With Saturn's gloomy and ill-boding Star:
But I forbear these Secrets of the Gods,
Conceal'd in sacred and remote Aboads:
Let mighty Phœbus, whose all-piercing Eye
Searches the utmost Limits of the Sky,
Tell how these Lights conduct us, how they move,
And how direct the Pow'rs and Joys of Love.

In early times, when first the Iron Age,
Open'd its Scenes of Lust and brutal Rage,
Mankind, a monstrous Progeny brought forth,
Gyants and savage Forms possess'd the Earth:
The Stars withdrew their Smiles, and ev'ry Grace
Fled from a frightful and uncomely Race:

The nuptial Pow'rs their wonted Aid deny'd,
No Love inspired the Youth, no Beauty crown'd the Bride,
This Jove he held, revolving in his Mind
The Cries and sad Complaints of lost Mankind:
He summons all the Gods with awful Voice,
All who preside o'er Love and nuptial Joys,
T' attend his Throne: Great Juno's self was there,
Sweeping with Peacocks Tails the painted Air.
Venus, far distant from the Cyprian Grove,
Her well-match'd Turtles through the Welkin drove:
Bacchus and Ceres from the fruitful Field,
His Lap with Clusters, her's with Wheat-Ears fill'd,
Did to the Palace, hand in hand, resort,
Both friendly Pow'rs to Love and am'rous Sport;
The Council sate; Almighty Jove began,
And told the great Distress and State of Man,
Their sad Petition and incessant Cries,
And on that Subject ask'd their best Advice.

Thus he: then Phœbus from the Bench of Gods
Arose, and as th' Assenting Thund'rer nods,
Bespeaks the Consult thus. Too well you know,
Dread Pow'rs, the Ignorance that reigns below,
The Cause and Source of all their Wants and Woe:
Hence Man, our noblest Image is defac'd,
And all the Beauties gone, that once your Godheads pleas'd;
Permit me, who the World's wide Bounds survey,
And measure out my Travels with the Day,
The Pow'rs and Courses of the Stars to trace:
By me they shine, I lend 'em all their Rays:
The secret Cure of all these Ills i'll tell,
Uncommon Truths, which Night and Clouds conceal:
The Zodiac thwarts the Globe, and girds it in,
On which twelve Signs in equal Spaces shine,
These shed their Glances in the teeming Womb,
From these all Uglyness and Beauty come.

Let the brisk Youth forbear, when Aries reigns,
No hopeful Product shall reward his Pains:
Around he spreads th'invenom'd Fleecy Fires,
The Beauties fly, and every Grace retires,
Too late the sad relenting Dame shall mourn,
The Child, beneath his fatal Guidance born:

Long Neck, white Hairs, with a distorted Face,
And a rough Skin shall the new Birth Disgrace,
Its Looks all heavy, dull, and downcast Eyes,
With a decrepit Form, or monst'rous Size.

When mighty Mars and Saturn's gloomy Pow'r
Assist the Ram; unhappy is that Hour
To Boys and Girls, from whom all Beauty flies,
Strength from their Limbs, and Lustre from their Eyes.

Not less the frightful Aspect of the Bull,
Or the malicious Eye's ill-fated Scowl,
Defile all Products; and alike severe
Are the sev'n Sister Stars, themselves so fair,
Who, though descended of a lovely Race,
Deny their Charms to every other Face,
Unless kind Cynthia interpose, and join
Her candid Beams, to paint the silver Skin
And draw with pointed Rays each lovely Line.

Let Taurus reign far hence, beneath our Sphere,
A Pow'r ungrateful to the young and fair:
No other Beauties the dire Monster knows,
But glaring Eyes, thick Neck, and bended Brows,
Red Hair, a mighty Voice, eternal Frowns,
With a vast Bulk, the Shape of Boors and Clowns.

But then the kind auspicious Twins distil
Sweetness and Grace, and Looks that always smile:
These sprung from mighty Jove in Læda's Arms,
Divinely blest, with all their Mother's Charms,
The God translated to his Realm above,
Fixt Stars, to Venus sacred, and to Love:
From their blest Influence all Graces rise,
Bright Bloom, soft Looks, sweet Lips, and sparkling Eyes:
These with the noblest vertues fill the Mind,
With Wit, and Arts, and Eloquence refin'd:
For Mercury, whose Tongue enchanting wins
All Ears and Hearts, with Beams immingled shines
Close by the happy Pair, and both unite
To fill the Mass with Charms, the Mind with Light.

Unlike to these, distorted Cancer draws
His ling'ring Limbs and drags his clenching Claws;
Of crooked Shapes, and monstrous Forms the Cause:
Hence little Eyes and Teeth uneven set;
Hence Tumours, Wens and Members incompleat;
Hence weak long Arms; hence apish Forms of Man,
And Dwarfs debasing the great Godlike Strain.

The fam'd Nemean Monster's glitt'ring Skin,
Which great Alcides bore, a direful Sign,
Succeeds the Crab; whose mighty Star presides
O'er rough athletick Joints and sturdy Sides,
Strong Arms and brawny Nerves; whilst Rage and Ire,
And Courage in the manly Birth conspire:
What less can such a monstrous Brute portend,
That once laid waste fair Argos fertile Land,
And merited to fall by great Alcides Hand?
Hence savage Tempers and Tyrannick Pow'r:
The Lust of Empire and the Lyon's Roar:
Unless some gentler Planet can assuage
This madding Star, and curb its brutal Rage:
Can Virgo tame him, lovely Light that shines
So near him, or Astræa that refines
The Age with Justice? She long since disdain'd,
By the vile World, where once in peace she reign'd,
Now Rules above near where the Spike aspires
And brandish'd Torch devours Ethereal Fires:
These to the World their num'rous Gifts dispence;
The Virgin sheds her grateful Influence,
Though chast her self, upon the happy Pair,
Gives Beauties to the Good, and Vertues to the fair.

When smiling Libra mounts the azure Space,
A thousand Blessings in each Scale she weighs,
And favours all beneath with fair Increase:
Venus with her a constant Guest resides,
And each by turns o'er Love and Mirth presides:
Old Saturn oft endeavours to debase
Her Pow'r by mingling his own baneful Rays,
As oft the sullen God's Ill-Nature fails,
For Venus reigns and Beauty still prevails.

See with what angry Looks the Scorpion leaves
His Bed, and rises through the hissing Waves:
Close in Orion's Steps the Monster treads,
Follows behind, nor the drawn Fauchion dreads,
Whose wretched Form from Slime and Mud begun,
Makes ev'ry Shape as monstrous as his own:
His nauseous Products through the World are seen,
Long Legs, large Feet, red Hair, and sneaking Mien:
Where'er he sweeps his vast envenom'd Tail
Ill-Nature and Deformity prevail.

But Chiron by great Jove ordain'd a Star,
And plac'd among the Gods, to crown his Care
Of the fam'd Grecian Youth, auspicious shines
And to a nobler Form the Birth inclines:
For from the Sea when first he rears his Breast,
And Head, and aiming Bow. and Brawny Crest;
All bless the Sign, as prosperous and kind,
Not so his ugly brutal Parts behind:
For diff'rent as his Figure is his Force,
Happy the Man, unfortunate the Horse.

The shaggy Goat to Saturn near ally'd,
Scatters its vengeful Beams and poysons wide,
Curst by the longing Sire and teeming Bride.

But when the Phrygian Boy lovely and young
Appears, ten thousand Joys arround him throng:
A Train of Youths the Rivals of his Charms
Rise up to Life and glad their Mother's Arms.

The watry Pisces, fill'd with nauseous Brine;
To Sickness and to Impotence incline:
No Birth, no Product of this Sign can please,
But Dwarfs start up and a Pygmean Race.

To you, great Powers, 'twere needless to reherse
All Aspect and all Motions of the Stars;
When they contend and jar, when meet and join;
The Quadrant, or the Sextil, or the Trine;
Thou Queen of Beauty and thou mighty Jove;
Are the two only constant Pow'rs above,
Still kind to Mortals, still indulging Love.

All Tongues to bless the welcome Spring conspire,
That prompts to Joys, and stirs the am'rous Fire:
Then sprightly Spirits through the Air diffuse,
The teeming Earth a thousand Forms renews:
But when the sultry Summer burns the Plains,
The Blood dries up within the lab'ring Veins,
The Vigour wasts, the Vitals Chase and Sweat,
And all the genial Force dissolves with Heat;
When the mild Autumn Phœbus rage dispels,
The Spirits flag, and sink within their Cells:
But when the Winter reigns all cold and chill,
The Fire goes out, and every Stream stands still;
Yet Man, vain Man! persues his eager Bliss,
Nor minds the Times and Posture of the Skies,
But in Ill-chosen Nights and luckless Days,
Goes on to propagate a homely Race.

Thus mighty Phœbus spoke: the listning Throng
Of Gods, with Jove, assent and praise the Song:
The Sister Muses catch each sacred Word,
And every Rule in golden Leaves record.
The fairest of the nine, that drink the Spring,
Who aids my Verse, and loves the Art I sing,
To me her voted Bard Uranie taught
These Oracles from hallow'd Pindus brought.

You then who glory in a Father's Name,
And would to future times transmit your Fame;
Surviving in your Offspring: watch with Care,
When first you hasten to the am'rous War,
What Planet rules, and what impending Star
Directs the Birth, whether the Queen of Love,
Saturn, or Mars, or Mercury, or Jove,
Or fiery Phœbus, or the silver Moon
As these appear, let the great Work go on.

Nor is it hard to learn this useful Art,
For the skill'd Sages every Year impart
The Annals of the Heav'ns, whose Rules explain
The Stars, their Motions, when they rise and reign:
Read these with Diligence: watch the swift Spheres,
How with the Morn and Night, the whirling Stars

Turn round, and in the same bright Order move,
You'll find a Sign for every Hour of Love.

The Seasons thus observ'd: the careful Muse
Shall other Precepts and new Rules disclose;
When Love incites let not the eager Boy
Rush too impetuous on the bridal Joy,
Lest with salacious Force the Dregs he raise
Whose Sediment the gen'rous Birth delays.
Or lewd convulsive Shocks untimely strain
The genial Pow'r, and make the Effort vain;
Thin Crops and empty Barns reward his Toil,
Who sows in Marshes, or too damp a Soil:
Melt down the noble Ore by soft Degrees,
Free'd from Alloy and dull incongruous Lees,
Then pour the gen'rous Liquid gently in,
'Twill fill the Mold with Shapes and Forms Divine:
But from a hasty, rude, immodest Bliss,
Monsters and Lepers ill-tim'd Births arise:
Great Nature sheds on such intemp'rate Joys
Her vengeful Venom, and the Birth destroys,
Whose poisnous Seeds with rapid Speed and Force;
Like Lightning kill, whate'er obstructs their Course,
Far as her angry Hand these Atoms spills,
No Fruits the Bud, the Vine no Clusters yields,
And foaming Dogs run madding through the Fields.

Then let the caution'd Youth betimes beware,
And taste his Joys with Leisure and with Care:
Nor let the Bride with rude Confusion greet
The Man, nor like an eager Strumpet meet
His Arms, but with Reluctance calm and coy,
Softly dissolve and take the gentle Joy:
Such barren Sports in lewd Embraces please,
Not made to bless the Bed with fair Increase:
The bridal Torch exerts when gently fann'd
A grateful Flame, but by too rough a Hand
Toss'd in the Winds and Storms, as soon expires,
Or burns with sickly and unactive Fires.

Forgive me, Nymphs, if farther I persue
The pleasing Theme and open to your View,
Great Nature's sacred Seat and noblest Stores,
Where Love resides with all its wanton Pow'rs.

In close Recesses, hid from curious Eyes,
Beneath a Shade, the blissful Region lies,
A rising Eminence surrounds the Vale,
And hems it in: Ten thousand Sweets exhale
From every Part: beneath, two Fountains flow,
And water all the fertil Fields below;
A thwarting Line divides the middle Space,
Here sport the Boys, and there the Virgin plays:
A shady Walk adjoining to the Grove,
Thence leads you to the verdant Bow'r of Love:
Through various Mazes with Delight you pass,
And lovely Straights, that whilst they puzzle please:
Here Venus sports along the smiling Plain,
Here Nature first her active Reign began:
With constant Care the fruitful Vale she tills,
And spreads a genial Vigour o'er the Fields;
As when the thirsty Rustick cheers his Soul,
Snatching the Viands, or the foaming Bowl:
So Gapes the Field to catch the falling Dews.
And if some gentle Hand the Rain infuse
In kindly Show'rs, a thousand teeming Seeds
Blossom and Bud, and a rich Crop succeeds:
Each thirsty Cranny, fill'd with Pregnant Brine,
Closes and shuts the welcome Moisture in,
Then moulds and forms it to a timely Birth,
Then bursts again and shews it to the Earth:
But if rude Floods descend, or Storms arise,
In Mud and Slime the floating Surface lies:
Then no glad Swains their teeming Furrows boast
But all their Pains, and all their Hopes are lost.

Happy the Sire that would his Wishes crown
And make his Name immortal in a Son,
To prop a sinking Race: let such attend,
To these the Muse her best advice shall lend,
Disdaining those who point the Satyr's Rage
Against the lovely Sex that prop the Age,
And grace it with their Beauty: Whose fair Frame,
Not from the Dregs of sickly Nature came,
Bright Monsters, Creatures, not by Heav'n design'd;
Far be such Thoughts from every gen'rous Mind:
These let the Sex with vengeful Hate persue,
Whilst to their Charms the prostrate World shall bow;

But still the noble Male, whose Glories raise
The Throne, and adding to a gen'rous Race,
Long Pedigrees to latest Times derive,
Asks all the Care and Praise the Muse can give.
Brisk Heat, refin'd with elevated Fires,
Compounds the Mass, and in the Male aspires:
Hence flows that manly Strength and Godlike Mind,
Observ'd by all that study on Mankind:
Hence Industry and Courage, Wit and Parts,
Dispos'd to hardy Arms, and peaceful Arts:
He that with Hopes of such a Race is fir'd,
Must with the same prolifick Warmth inspir'd,
Attempt the Work, the noblest Dainties chuse,
And fill his swelling Veins with gen'rous Juice:
When Liquors boil, the Spirits bubbling up
Swim in discolour'd Foam, and float atop:
Just so, the silver Stream, that forms the Blood,
Nourish'd with costly Cates and luscious Food,
Strains through the Nerves, and gathers to a Flood,
And aided by the Balsam of the Air,
Glides on and spreads the sprightly Warmth afar;
Thence to the genial Bed the Torrent runs,
And bears a laughing Race of lovely Sons.

A thousand various Viands for the Taste:
Nature profuse, and prodigal of Waste,
Scatters with lavish Hands for human Use,
Not easie to recount: The grateful Muse
Shall only mention Bacchus noble Juice:
This prompts the vig'rous Youth to Cupid's Wars,
And brings a num'rous Train of smiling Heirs;
What Nectar can outvie the fam'd Champaign,
Or Burgundy, best Product of the Plain?
Here let the gladsome Bride, and Youth carouse,
And mingling Cups, and Hearts, and nuptial Vows,
Attempt great Hymen's Work: For Love shall crown
The active Pleasure with a sprightly Son;
The noble Heat which mighty Bacchus gives,
Rouses each Pow'r: the flagging Nerves revives:
Then Beauty, Vigour, Strength and Warmth prevail,
And all the gen'rous Compounds of the Male:
But if indulg'd too much the sluggish God,
Lays on the sickly Limbs a lazy Load,

And damp the watry Bliss: No Joys ensue
Worthy a Father's Hope: this Bacchus knew;
When heretofore to Venus Arms he reel'd,
O'ercharged with Wine and all her Charms defil'd
With drunken Sports: from that false Rapture came,
A sickly Girl deform'd, the Parent's Shame.

Let Prudence all thy Temp'rate Joys controul.
Those of the bridal Bed, and sparkling Bowl:
Beauty and Wine well temper'd in their Use,
And wisely join'd, the noblest Males produce:
But Strength decays with oft repeated Joys,
And too much Love the flagging Spirits cloys;
Then sickly Humours damp the gen'rous Blood,
Allay the Heat and spoil the manly Brood.

Let the wise Youth that hoards his precious Store,
When ripe for Action first, with Care explore
The Faces of the Skies, what Stars prevail,
And Planets reign propitious to the Male:
The Ram, the Urn, or Libra let him chuse,
Whose healthy Rays prolifick Heat produce:
Or when the Lyon or the Centaur shines,
Or the auspicious and well-boading Twins;
The Sages who consult for coming Heirs;
Mind the Male Planets, as the kindest Stars:
Saturn, and Jove, and Sol and warlike Mars;
When Phœbus, who renews and cheers Mankind,
Or mighty Jove with a Male Sign is join'd,
That's the best Hour for Cyprian Sports design'd.

Prefer the Morn to Night's unwholsome Shade:
The Vigour then is ripe and solid made,
And temper'd for the Work securely lays
The strong Foundations of a lasting Race.

Just as the short and blissful Feat is o'er,
Let the glad Bride full of the genial Pow'r,
Turn to the right and there a while recline,
For this by some is call'd a lucky Sign:
The right was always thought the happy'st Part,
Prefer'd by all, in Nature and in Art,
And hence the fancy'd Omen took its Rise,
That on this Side the manly Offspring lies.

Others have found a Method, to restrain
Th'Ignobler Part, and to divide the Man,
That nought but Strength and the best Force may flow
To crown with lovely Heirs the Parent's Vow:
This Way the Rusticks with their Heifers use,
When the young Bull the sinking Herd renews,
They curb his weaker Part, then turn him loose
To range and sport among the lowing Cows,
And hence a gen'rous Race of Males they find:
So much that Sex prevails in every Kind!

What Scenes do best befit the Acts of Love;
And in what Forms the Plyant Limbs should move,
Whence Monsters and Hermophradites are bred,
And Shapes deform'd, that stain the Bridal Bed,
Are Themes for common Bards: Me ranging wide,
The Muse does in a gentle Whisper chide,
And blushing warns me, Stay, fond Youth! forbear,
To wound with wanton Words the modest Ear:
Far hence to Paphos, or the Cyprian Grove,
These secrets of the am'rous Queen remove:
A better Theme, a nobler Subject chuse,
For the unmarry'd Bard, and Virgin Muse.

Thus she, I gladly give the Pleasure o'er,
And haste to tell the mighty forming Pow'r,
How the rude Birth begins the early Dawn
Of Life and Sence, and ripens into Man.

BOOK III.

When Nature first, by never failing Signs,
Shews sure Conception and the Work begins,
The teeming Cavern, fill'd with Pleasure, shuts
And the full Breast with milky Riv'lets spouts:
The ebbing Blood its wonted Course refrains.
And pleasing Horrors trickle through the Veins:
Then let the pregnant Dame, in Nature skill'd,
Aid the new Birth, and form a handsome Child:
A careless Matron may with ease destroy
The Husband's Hopes, and spoil his tender Boy.

But since the Goddess kindly leads the Way
To all her dark Recesses, I obey

The Call, will all her secret Depths reveal,
The Rise of Beauty and its Causes tell:
Whence mingling Seeds, a rude unfinish'd Clod,
Rise to a Man, the Image of a God.

Let the chaste Nine their voted Bard forgive,
If he describe in too exact a Life
The pleasing Forms: no longer I approve
The guilty Joys, and active Feats, of Love:
These let the breeding Spouse betimes refrain,
And shun with fencing Arms the forward Man:
Repeated Loves all past Attemps confound:
Hence fruitless Offals and rude Forms abound:
When Liquids upon Liquids mingling pour,
Thick damps the active genial Heat devour,
Tumultuous Shocks disperse the Gath'ring Seeds,
A barren and abortive Pain succeeds;
When first the Cherry-Tree maturely blows,
And opens with the Spring its lab'ring Bows,
That Promise a full Crimson Crop, to greet
The Lady's Lips, and crown the female Treat:
If some unlucky Storm, or sweeping Wind,
Or the rough Hands of the too boist'rous Hind,
Shake off the Blossoms: All the Harvest fails,
And the sad Nymph the thin Desert bewails;
So the Convulsions of repeated Bliss,
Destroy all future Hopes of fair Increase;
Well may the careful Spouse a while contain,
Since Wolves and Goats, the Rovers of the Plain,
When first they feel the teeming Seeds prevail,
Refuse the Leap, and shun the hated Male.

What Dyet best preserves and cheers the Blood,
And how the pregnant Bride must chuse her Food,
The Muse should now unfold: but that's an Art
Which Galen's skilful Sons can best impart:
Theirs be the Task, which gladly I decline,
Persuing with Delight my first Design.

When the young Fœtus feels the genial Heat,
And the first Pulse of Life begins to beat:
When the soft Limbs with Nerves and Sinews bound,
Inclose the active Soul, and clasp it round;

Then let the breeding Matron well beware;
How she indulge the Spleen, or yield to fear:
Let Melancholy cease and Fancy roam
No more among the Shades and lonely Gloom,
That may the tender Soul with Spectres fright,
With Visions, Ghosts, or Goblins of the Night;
Let all her Thoughts on lovely Objects dwell,
Her Fancy in the nicest Charms excel:
No other Phantoms should admittance find,
But what may please the Eye and cheer the Mind;
For whilst great Nature's Work unfinish'd lies,
The Brain, to whose close Cells each Object flies,
Conveys, by subtle Atoms, to the Womb,
All Images that from the Senses come,
And these imprint upon the yielding Mass,
Whatever Features, Looks and Forms, they please:
The passive Fœtus no Resistance makes,
And oft a wrong deform'd Impression takes:
As when the wheaten Grain has pass'd the Mill,
And by the meeting Stones and whirling Wheel,
Is ground to Dust: the skilful Dames infuse
Hot boiling Water or the milky Juice,
Whence Paste, a tender pliant Lump, they raise,
That every Touch and every Form obeys:
Just so the Phantoms of the active Mind,
Mould the soft Rudiments of human kind;
Nor is the secret new: 'twas known of old,
When oft of Chiron's Birth the Sages told,
Whose Monstrous Forms by blended Seeds began,
Producing half a Horse, and half a Man.

From the cold Ocean sprung with hot Desire
Young Phillyra old Saturn did inspire:
Who mad with restless Love and raging Fire,
Resolv'd by force his burning Lust to crown,
As Jove and other am'rous Gods had done;
Whilst on her native Shores the heedless Maid,
Attended by her Sister Sea-Nymphs, play'd:
The lewd old God descending from above,
Seiz'd the fair Prey, and bore her to the Grove;
Nor Tears nor Sighs could save her from his Pow'r
Rich in the Spoils of all her Virgin Store:

Well might the Nymph refuse the sully'd Joys,
His bristly Kiss, and lech'rous Odour cloys,
And all the Pleasure of the Rape destroys;
Great Cybel hear'd the injur'd Virgin's cries,
And straight alighted from the azure Skies:
With raging Fires her jealous Bosom glows,
And threatens Vengeance to her guilty Spouse.
The God, just reeking with the lustful Deed,
Saw her Approach, and from her Anger fled,
Ranging the Woods, chang'd to a Horse's Shape,
He left the Nymph to mourn the luckless Rape,
Spoil'd of her Virgin Charms, in Tears she lies,
And fills the Plains and Deserts with her Cries;
In time, she feels within the growing Load,
Big with the Vigor of the lustful God:
This long she bore, but when the silver Moon
Had nine full Stages o'er the Convex run,
Lucina eas'd her of the pondrous Birth,
And brought a hideous, frightful Monster forth,
Mixt of the human and the brutal Kind,
A Man before, a hairy Horse behind;
Trembling and pale, and with the Sight dismay'd,
The Mother from the hateful Offspring fled.
Ye Nymphs, that o'er the curling Waves preside,
Witness her Tears, that swell'd the briny Tide:
How to the Winds she join'd her mournful Sighs,
And fill'd her Father's Court with Shrieks and Cries,
This well you know, and labour'd to relieve
With soft Advice, her never ceasing Grief;
Was it for this, she said, I bravely strove,
To guard my Honour from adult'rous Love?
Sure 'twas a God that did the fatal Deed,
Whence then was this ambiguous Monster bred!
Wou'd kind Lucina had her Votry slain,
And that Way eas'd me of a Mother's Pain,
But now the Gods, and Stars, and angry Fate,
Reserve me as the Object of their Hate.

Whilst thus the Nymph her wretched State bewails,
Her Strength, and Speech, and drooping Spirit fails:
The Fainting Soul sinks with its weighty Woes,
And a cold Sweat her dying Limbs o'erflows:
The Sea-Nymphs saw her falling with the Swoon,
And all officious to her Succour run:

Their Hands the liquid amber Drops infuse,
Her Father Ocean lent that Sov'reign Juice,
Whose healing Pow'r the fleeting Life renews:
Soon as her Soul and fading Sense returns,
Again she weeps, again incessant mourns
Her helpless State, impatient to survive
Her woes, she longs to end a hated Life;
But as she mourn'd, kind Somnus gently stole
To her soft Eyes, and lull'd her sinking Soul,
Whose soothing Pow'r her toilsome Cares unbends,
And to her Mind a pleasing Vision sends.

For whilst the Nymph dissolv'd in Slumbers lay,
The Goddess Phantasie, divinely Gay,
Clad in her brightest Charms and Rays appears,
A thousand various Forms by turns she wears:
Now tall and plump, now slender, short and thin,
She changes every hour her Looks and Mien:
Sometimes she shines in Robes of beamy Light,
Then hides her Face in Clouds and dusky Night,
Phantoms and Images in num'rous Trains
Around her wait, and in Disorder dance:
From these the brightest Form and Shape she took,
And clad in that, the fleeping fair bespoke.

Cease, lovely Nymph, thy Grief, and dry thine Eyes,
For all thy Sorrows from thy self arise:
When to a Horse thy mighty Lover chang'd
His Godlike Form, the fair Idea rang'd
Thy Tender Limbs: thence to the Womb it ran,
And mingl'd half the Monster with the Man:
I know the Secret well: from me they come,
Whatever Spectres through the Welkin Roam:
I mould their Forms, and variously dispence
Whole Trains of Objects to the watchful Sense:
I form'd the Image, and with mighty Force
Imprinted on thy Soul a lively Horse,
Just like the God, when sated with thy Love,
He fled his Spouse and gallopt to the Grove:
The Dire Idea fill'd thy active Thought
And charm'd thy Sense, the roving Spirits caught
The Phantom, and convey'd it from the Mind,
And in the Womb the Man and Horse were join'd;

Unhappy Nymph! by empty Shews misled:
Whom thy own Fancy and my Pow'r betray'd:
Thou yieldedst to their Force, or else hadst been
Blest in a Race unmixt, and all Divine;
But as it is, allay thy growing Grief:
The Tidings which I bring thee, will revive
Thy drooping Soul, and for thy Woes atone:
Hear, what the Fates have promis'd for thy Son:
Believe me, for I now no longer feign,
Nor is the Vision which thou see'st, in vain:
The Child that looks so ugly in thine Eyes,
When to full Growth his frightful Form shall rise,
Blest with ripe Manhood and mature with Age,
Shall prove a wond'rous and uncommon Sage:
Among the Gods and Stars his active Mind
Shall wander, never tir'd and unconfin'd:
Nature to him shall open all her Store,
Her Plants, and Herbs, and ev'ry healing Pow'r:
To him the Fates and Planets shall impart
Their close Designs, nor shall the Brutal Part
The mighty Range of his great Soul restrain,
Weigh down the nobler Form, or load the Man:
The Sea-born Goddess to his guardian Care,
Shall trust her most belov'd and warlike Heir;
He shall in Arts and Arms instruct the Boy,
And breed him for the Siege and Fate of Troy.

This said, the Goddess vanish'd into Air:
And gentle Sleep forsook the drowzy fair:
Pleas'd with the lovely Vision, she awoke,
And from her Soul all boding Sorrow shook,
Her Thoughts repeat the Scenes: the blushing Day
Chac'd, with her Slumbers, all her Griefs away:
Now skilful grown, and by Experience wise,
From every hateful Form she turns her Eyes,
The Seas, and Shores, and native Ocean flies:
For there, vast Whales with Mountains swell the Tide,
And huge Sea-Horses on the Billows ride:
There, Dolphins range, and Protean Monsters dwell,
And swelling Tritons sound the twisted Shell:
From these fair Phillyra in hast removes,
And joins the Naïds in the Lawns and Groves:
There no uncomely Forms renew the Fright,
But all is lovely, beautiful and bright.

You then, that with a graceful Race would crown
Your fertil Loves, all frightful Phantoms shun,
But let the noblest Forms for Bliss design'd,
Swim in your Eyes, and settle in your Mind:
If for a Boy you long, a sprightly Heir,
Let great Apollo always young and fair
Be ever present, ever entertain
Your Minds, or bright Alexis, scornful Swain,
By Corydon belov'd, but lov'd in vain:
If on a handsome Girl your Hopes are plac'd,
Let Venus form, with every Beauty grac'd,
Dwell in the Eyes the spacious Fancy fill,
That paints the Heav'nly Face with matchless Skill,
Exceeding Titian's Art and active Quill,
Or think on Danae to whom great Jove
Descended in a Show'r, of Gold and Love:
But if the modern Beauties please you most,
Fancy some modish Nymph, and reigning Toast:
Imagine Phyllis fair as once she was,
Adorn'd with every Charm, and youthful Grace,
When crowding Lovers own'd her awful Pow'r,
And I, among the rest, her Fetters wore:
What Goddess then such Beauty could outshine?
How young, how blooming, how all o'er Divine!
The noblest red and white their Colours mix:
Snow on her Forehead, Roses on her Cheeks:
Her Shape, the finest ever Nature made:
On every Limb ten thousand Graces play'd,
And Cupids sported o'er the spicy Plains,
Aiming their Darts in every killing Glance:
But now, so Jove and Fate relentless Pow'rs.
Ordain, approaching Age her Charms devours:
Fain would she the pass'd happy Hours recal,
For now her fading Beauties droop and fall:
Deep Trenches on her hollow Cheeks appear:
She sheds her swarthy Teeth and snowy Hair,
The Love that burnt me once with hopeless Fires,
Now gently cools, and with her Charms expires:
My Heart revives just as her Beauty dies,
And Time gives up the Triumphs of her Eyes:
Let every pregnant Matron shun, like me,
Such Objects hateful to the Soul and Eye,

Lest the sad Image of her wither'd Face,
Strike through the Womb, and stain a lovely Race.

Strange is the Story of a sunny Moor,
That once a white discolour'd Daughter bore:
Andromeda the fair, in Beauties bloom,
Drawn by a skilful Hand adorn'd the Room,
And met her Eyes, when prostrate on the Bed,
And stampt its snowy Image on the Seed,
Just in the Crisis of the lovely Deed:
Hence the degen'rate Nymph her Whiteness found,
But by the angry sun-burnt Sire disown'd,
Rambl'd the Globe, o'er Seas and Rivers cross'd,
By Waves, and Winds, and endless Dangers toss'd:
Till a fam'd Sage for Knowledge far renown'd,
The Causes of her Woe and Beauty found,
What dy'd her Cheeks, how the white lovely Frame
All from a dead and painted Parent came,
The Pencil's Work: but since the prying Priest
No farther saw, or else conceal'd the rest:
Mine be the Task to shew, what active Pow'r
The Image to the teeming Liquid bore,
By what unheeded Steps and secret Ways,
Great Nature brings the mighty Work to pass.

All Pedants and the wrangling Schools I quit,
With the obscure, imperfect Stagyrite,
And free from Clouds, I seek a nobler Light:
Thy Garden, Epicurus, Nature Stores
With useful Herbs, and fair and fragrant Flowr's:
Here let me gaze, here never weary'd stray,
If great Gassendus lead the pleasing Way:
Gassendus! skilful Sage, in Arts profound,
Admir'd by all, by all superior own'd,
In Nature's every Work and Pow'r excels,
To him the Goddess all her secrets tells,
All Bodies that compose the great Immense.
That feed the Brain and strike the active Sense,
A subtle Surface of loose Atoms wear;
That float, and wander in the liquid Air:
Though far they fly, their Form is still the same:
And these Ideas (that's their proper Name)
Are copy'd from the Substance whence they came,

Whose lively Picture they convey around
The Taste, the Shape, the Odour and the Sound:
Through every Pore they pass and every Vein,
And bear the Image to the active Brain;
Thus in a constant Flux the Atoms roam,
Yet nothing's lost of the first bulky Sum:
For as one Species from the Object flies,
Another settles, and the place supplies:
And every Film's so subtle, and so fine,
Should the collected Atoms all combine;
Which in a hundred Years had skimm'd the Air,
Scarce would the Eye discern the Object clear,
And Spiders Threads might with the Lump compare;
Swift are their Steps, and quick as Thought they pass
The darting Light, and Phœbus active Rays,
And nimble Birds that wing the middle space,
All lag behind: The Stars that mount the East
Turn on their rapid Poles not half so fast;
These from each Substance, ev'ry Object fly,
And with soft Pulses strike the twinkling Eye:
Pleas'd with the Touch the greedy Sense devours
The round smooth Globules, fitted to the Pores;
Thus in a slippery Train, they glide and rowl,
Through Nerves and Veins; and seek the inmost Soul,
There lodge the Image: she delighted plays
With the soft Charm awhile, and then conveys
The pleasing Phantom to the active Heart,
Thence to the Womb and to the teeming Part:
Where Nature lab'ring in the Seeds of Life,
Takes all the Objects which the Senses give;
The fair Idea fills her active Mind,
Bent on the noble Fabrick of Mankind:
Hence every Charm she culls, and every Grace,
And mingles with the Seeds of human Race.

Those Atoms, that from ugly Objects rise,
Are rough and harsh, and hateful to the Eyes,
With hamous Thorny Particles they tear.
And wound the Sense, and horrid Spectres bear
To the affrighted Soul, that starts to shun
The Ghastly Form, and drive the Image down:
Hence thrilling Horrors through the Members dart,
Shake every Joint, and chill the throbbing Heart:

The wretched Womb the frightful Shape receives,
And sad Impressions on the Fœtus leaves:
Should fam'd Prometheus by such Forms as these,
Attempt Great Nature's Work, no Charms would bless
The Boy, nor Shape, nor Face, nor Features please;
But why the Infant shifts its brittle Frame,
Whilst still the Mother's Beauty is the same,
Does to the thoughtless, wondrous seem, and strange,
Who never search the Reasons of the Change:
The Storms and Winds that spoil the tender Fruit,
Can't hurt the massy Trunk, or hardy Root,
One stands unmov'd, the whistling Winds defies,
The other yields to every gentle Breeze:
Thus the first tender Bud of human Race,
Bends with the Air, and every Touch obeys:
And whilst the racy Seeds of gen'rous Love
Begin to knit, a thousand Phantoms rove
The Mind, and round the Work each Image plays,
And prints its Figure on the Shape and Face:
Nature from these does every Feature chuse,
And every Limb, for Beauty or for Use:
The Entrails first and vital Strings she weaves,
Then to each Member, due Proportion gives,
Lengthens the sturdy Feet, and active Hands,
And fills with purple Streams the swelling Veins,
Then forms the Face, and draws each lively Line,
And closes all with a white sleeky Skin;
Thus whilst she labours to adorn Mankind,
Let Fancy all the choice Materials find,
And every hateful Form and Object shun,
That may deface a Work so well begun.

Whilst pleasing Phantoms fill the active Mind,
Let the full Body to repose inclin'd,
Rest with its Load: the careful Bride abstains
All eager Motion, and the active Dance:
Both when the tender Mass begins to strive
Within, and when it gathers into Life;
By plyant Sinews knit and racy Strings,
The teeming Infant to its Mother clings,
Inhuman she, if with harsh Shocks she lose
The tender grasp, and rudely discompose
The growing Frame, each Fibre, Nerve and Root
Lies ras'd, and every Thread of Life is cut;

The sprightly Actress to adorn the Scene
And Stage, unmindful of the Load within:
Dances a rude abortive Birth away,
Or propagates new Monsters for the Play;
The Bacchanal, that from the fruitful Joy
Reckons eight Months, and feels the rising Boy,
If wanton and regardless of her Load,
She sport and gambol with the drunken God,
And madding Crew: Her tender Offspring strains,
Hastens her Labour and augments her Pains;
Far from such Feasts let the big Matron fly,
And save at once her self and Progeny:
Bid her be gon, when the loud Cymbals sound,
And hand in hand the active Dance goes round.

Mistake me not, nor fancy whilst I blame
The dancing Romp, and the too active Dame
I mean to Praise the opposite extreme:
Between both Points the golden Medium lies,
The prudent Wife averse to either Vice,
Shuns too much Rest, and too much Exercise:
For Sloth collects the Humours to a Head,
That kill the sprightly Fires, and clog the Seed;
Obstructing every brisk and active Pow'r,
That forms the Limbs from Beauty's fruitful Store,
But gentle Exercise was always good,
It opens every Pore and scours the Blood
From Lees and Dross: It gives the Infant Air
And room to play, till ripe, and strong and fair,
It bursts into the World a finish'd Birth,
Made to adorn, and to encrease the Earth.

Each Nymph a thousand various sports may find,
To cheer the Body and refresh the Mind:
Whether the dusty Ring and Chariot please,
Or the more open and more active Chaise:
Let such to Chelsea or to Richmund hie,
There feast on Balm and breath a clearer Sky,
And thence returning by the Banks of Thames,
Persue through shady Walks his silver Streams.

When to Hyde-Park the ev'ning Calm invites,
A thousand Pleasures there and gay Delights

Persue each other in an endless Round,
With Joy and Riches every Circle crown'd:
Hither the Beauties of both Sexes come:
The lofty Steeds that toss the silver Foam,
Bring on the youthful Hero, lovely great,
That lolls behind on the silk downy Seat:
High gilded Columns bear the moving Pile,
And hov'ring Cupids round the Bases smile:
His flowing Hair the fragrant Air perfumes.
And gentle Breezes fan the nodding Plumes:
All cover'd with Embroidery and Lace,
He scatters through the Ring his blooming Rays.
See how the Circle crouds from every Side!
To see some reigning Toast in Triumph ride:
Surveying every Charm and every Part,
By Nature lovely, and adorn'd by Art:
Some on her heav'nly Breasts enamour'd gaze,
Love in her Locks ten thousand Nets displays,
Stars in her Eyes and Lillies in her Face:
Where'er she moves, all bow obsequious down,
And the long Train of Slaves her Conquests own:
She conscious of her Triumphs, as she goes,
With every Smile a thousand Joys bestows.

A Scene like this, may pleasingly divert
The pregnant Spouse, and cheer her drooping Heart:
But when the Day is done and mantling gloom
Ushers the Night and calls the Chariots home:
The eager Coachmen with new Vigor strive,
Push for the Goal, and for Precedence drive:
They lash, they call and urge each other on,
To try their Horses mettle and their own:
Then the hot Axle cracks, the Wheels o'erset,
And the mad driver Headlong leaves his Seat:
The screeming Nymph disorder'd with the Toss,
Shows hidden Charms, but not unwilling shows:
Oft have I seen, but never saw unmov'd,
A Beauty by a thousand Gazers lov'd,
Besmear'd with Gore, and wounded in the Fall,
Her Cheeks, her Eyes, her mangl'd Face bewail,
An Object pity'd and ador'd by all;
Such Dangers let the breeding Matron shun,
And lolling at her ease, drive gently on,
Not bent to win a Race and lose a Son;

Should no such dire Events attend the Sport,
Should she escape successful and unhurt,
Yet still the Fear's as fatal as the Fall:
Her sinking Veins their purple Streams recal,
Which with a sudden chilling Ebb retire,
Congeal the Blood and damp the Genial Fire,
A piercing Horror through the Members goes,
That ends in barren and abortive Throes.

More happy she, who to some Country Seat
Does from the Town and dusty Park retreat,
There in close Shades, and cool refreshing Bow'rs,
Passes in Solitude the smiling Hours
Full of a Mother's Hopes: she roams the Fields,
And catches all the Sweets that Zephyr yields:
But when the stormy Winter's chilling Air,
Blasts all the Beauties of the blooming Year,
Disrobes the Fields and strips the verdant Trees,
And o'er the Champain spreads the snowy Fleece:
Then let the fruitful Wife betimes retire
To a close Chamber and a constant Fire,
That no rude Winds no bleaky Frosts invade
Her tender Limbs, for Ease and Softness made:
There the cold Months in Pleasure let her pass,
And cheat with kindly Warmth the icy Days:
But sometimes as the hasty Sun prevails,
And makes a few delighful Intervals:
Let her with Visits cheer the tedious Nights,
Among the laughing Dames, and jovial Citts:
The killing Thought of all her future Pains
Shall cease whilst Mirth goes round, and Pleasure reigns,
When Fredom, Love, and Gayety invite,
To harmless Tales and inofensive Wit.

Lastly, observe this Rule with constant Care;
'Tis the last Rule, but 'tis the noblest far:
With Pious Vows the awful Pow'rs persue,
Who made thee fruitful, and preserv'd thee so:
With Off'rings and with Pray'rs their Altars load:
Won with Intreaties, the assenting God
Shall yield to thy request, and kindly crown
Thy future labours with a lovely Son:
The happy Child from Pious Parents born
With Vertue shall a while the Age adorn,

And when grown ripe for Heav'n, the smiling Gods
Shall safely lift him to their bright Abodes.

Let teeming Brides these wholsome Precepts mind,
Whilst the young Fœtus in the Womb confin'd,
Gathers due Strength: and ripens to its Kind:
But When compleatly form'd, mature for Birth,
It struggles with Impatience to break forth,
And heaves for Air, and searches for the Day,
With Care direct the Rover on its Way:
A thousand Ills attend the Mother's Pains,
When the too eager Infant bursts its Chains,
Convulsive Shocks distort the tender Mass,
Bend its soft Limbs and all its Charms deface:
Let fair Lucina aid the coming Birth,
And with soft Hands conduct it to the Earth:
If with extended Arms, and bended Knees,
Or forward Feet, the narrow Pass it tries:
She with obsequious Care shall gently lead
The wandring Boy and raise his drooping Head:
Straight and erect the lovely Form shall rise,
Salute the Gods, and on the distant Skies
And native Heav'n shall fix its wandring Eyes.
This Danger o'er, a greater still remains:
The Nurse's Care succeeds the Mother's Pains,
When safely rescued from the Arms of Death,
The tender offspring first begins to breath,
On easie Down its feeble Members lay,
There, rock'd to Slumbers, let it pass the Day:
Tie round its Fillets with a gentle Hand,
Even and smooth, and not too roughly strain'd:
A careless Nurse the early growth delays,
Will spoil its Shape and Nature's Work deface:
Oft have I seen an Infant swaddled close,
And rack'd and tortur'd with inhuman Throes,
Till the rude Force its tender Joints displac'd,
And monstrous Tumours on its Shoulders rais'd.
On Life's first Nonage and the growing State,
Ten thousand Ills, and fell Distempers wait:
To these apply thy utmost Skill and Care,
And save and beautifie thy hopeful Heir;
A Mother's Blood with sickly Lees o'errun,
Derives the sad Disaster on the Son:

Hence Boils and Sores, the tender Frame defile,
Spread o'er the Limbs and try the Artist's Skill:
Each Feature's mark'd with some distemper'd Sign,
The Nose, the Cheeks, the Eyes, and flagging Skin:
How many Virgins mourn the sad Disease,
That spoils their Charms, and on their Beauties preys:
Fair Cloes faded Face, with Tears o'erspread,
Bewails the Lilies that I'e cropt and dead:
And Galatea once like Venus shone,
Till with a faint and sickly green o'errun,
Her Cheeks sunk in, the Bloom extinguish'd dies,
And Rheums o'erflow the Lustre of her Eyes:
Amintas too, who every Virgin fir'd,
Envy'd by all the Swains, by all admir'd,
Grown pale and wan, forsakes the verdant plains,
And every Nymph his hateful Sight disdains;
What Arts and Herbs the dire Distempers heal,
Let those, who study Nature's Secrets, tell,
This Theme unfit for little am'rous Songs,
To great Apollo's other Sons belongs:
My humble Muse the mighty Task declines,
To trace the Steps where great Samarthan shines
In nobler Verse, him let the joyful Spouse
And fruitful Bride with constant Care peruse,
If in an Heir they would their Names prolong,
And keep him ever healthy, fair and young:
With balmy Sweets, and Herbs, and healing Lays,
The happy Artist every Pain allays:
Beauty and Art unite, to grace his Strains,
And great Apollo all his Godhead drains.

Here let the weary'd Muse her Labours end,
And from the Clouds and starry Heights descend:
The winging Horse; that through the middle Space,
Soar'd o'er the subject Earth and distant Seas,
Now gently skims the Ground, and homeward hies,
And seeks the Shade, there, stretch'd at length, he lies
Spent with the tedious Course, he pants and heaves,
And washes off the Foam in Pindus waves.

The Time may come, when my now weary'd Breast
Once more shall entertain the Godlike Guest:
Then will I sing in a more serious Strain,
Of all the inward Beauties of the Man:

How the bright Mind the lovely Body joins,
And with what Grace the happy Union shines;
Degen'rate Mortals, and the giddy Crowd,
Make no distinction 'twixt the fair and good,
Nor blush to see their wretched Race's Shame,
A noble Spirit in an homely Frame;
The hard relentless Age, and iron Times,
Do ill deserve to hear my hallow'd Rhimes,
But I disdain, and will correct their Crimes:
See, Vertue from the Earth neglected flies,
And Modesty returns to grace the Skies:
The brave old British genius which we boast,
In Vanity and foreign Modes is lost;
Ye Gods, the Guardians of our lovely Isles,
Avert these Evils, and renew your Smiles:
Restore the golden Days, and ever bless
Your fav'rite Realm, with Safety and with Peace:
Then Arts once more, shall grace the sacred Gown,
And a fresh Green the fading Laurels crown.

BOOK IV.

Let Sloth and every lazy Pow'r be gone:
Let the gay Muse, from Pindus Mossy Down,
Start to the Song, and snatch the tuneful Lyre,
And Phœbus with new Warmth the Bard inspire;
Already have I sung in pleasing Verse,
Of Beauty's Nature, Origen, and Force:
What Looks and Limbs the finish'd Form adorn:
And from what Seeds the fairest Race is born;
The last and greatest Task is still behind:
To tell the inward Beauties of the Mind:
How the bright Soul, with Life's eternal Rays,
And Vertue's Charms informs the human Mass;

O Pallas! fairest Progeny of Jove,
Chast Deity! averse to lawless Love,
By whose almighty Influence refin'd,
We boast the manly Graces of our Kind:
To whom we owe all Knowledge and all Arts,
Vertues, and Laws, and Manners, and Deserts:
Inspire thy Bard, who now invokes no more
The Cyprian Goddess, or her wanton Pow'r:
To purer Air, and nobler Heights I rise,
Whilst on the Ground her smoaking Taper lies.

E'er since Prometheus form'd Mankind of Clay,
Infusing in the Lump the Heav'nly Ray,
Though straight and upright, to the Gods ally'd,
The new-born Man, erect with gen'rous pride,
Looks up to Heav'n, whence half his Being came,
The Godhead stamp'd upon the human Frame,
Yet whilst with endless Charms adorn'd he shines,
Still he's dissatisfy'd, and still repines:
Blames the great Author of the World, and loads
With impious Curses, the too lavish Gods:
Because from Nature's Womb he naked crawls,
And to the ground a helpless Infant falls,
Expos'd to cold, and Wind, and sickly Pains:
For this he grieves and thus the Wretch complains.

Why was I made so fair, inform'd with Fire,
From Heav'n, and copy'd by a Godlike Sire?
Why do I boast a noble active Mind,
Inspir'd by Jove, with Phœbus Beams refin'd,
Since a poor, wretched, foolish Babe, I come,
Naked and feeble from the lonesome Womb?
Born to my own and to my Mother's Grief,
I cry, and sicken, at the Dawn of Life:
The Brutes that downwards look, and range the Earth
Are happy in a strong and lusty Birth:
Nature for these the noblest Arms provides,
Defends the Bull and Horse with hairy Hides,
Strengthens their Feet with Hoofs, their Heads adorns,
And saves from harm, with hard offensive Horns:
Scales to the Fish like Armour she affords,
And pointed Beaks and Pinions to the Birds:
The kindly Earth her happy Sons maintains,
With Roots untill'd, and Fruits, and healthy Grains:

Whilst I condemn'd to Labour, sweat, and strive,
And in supporting spend a wretched Life,
What is that Spark of Reason which I boast?
A twinkling Light in Gloom and Shadows lost,
Hid for some Years, till long Experience chace
The clouds away, and opens in a Blaze:
Then damn'd to Pedantry, and senseless Rules:
The Cant of Tutors, and the wrangling Schools,
Nature, the faithful Guide, mistaken strays,
Wanders in Desarts and a barren Maze:
Thick Mists and Fogs obstruct its prying Eyes,
And Shade the Forms of Vertue and of Vice:
Who can discern the narrow scanty Bounds,
Which Art and dull Philosophy confounds?
How can weak Man, by brutish Passions sway'd,
Subdue their Pow'r, with feeble Reason's aid?
Who can resist the Tide and rapid Stream
Of Lust, or Anger's mighty Tempest tame?
Thus has unequal Heav'n to me deny'd
The Blessings it bestows on all beside:
And yet the Thing, thus weak, thus low, thus Vain,
Is Lord of all, the boasted Creature, Man.

Complaints like these, that wrong the Deities,
And injure Jove, from Folly, and from Vice,
And blind besotted Ignorance arise;
Who can unmov'd the horrid Scandal hear?
Or who such Satyrs on Mankind could bear?
Exalted Creature! Nature's best Design!
In thee the Beauties of both Regions shine:
A Form all lovely, and a Soul Divine,
Dread Monarch of the World, the Earth and Sea:
And Viceroy of the Gods, whom all below obey.
For thy first naked, sickly, infant Years,
Thy helpless State, thy Cries and constant Tears,
The Strength of Reason, and the Joys of Sense,
And Manhood, yield an ample Recompence;
Nature with Guardian Care thy Nonage shields,
And by degrees the stately Fabrick builds:
Till Reason grown mature, at once displays
Collected Force, and full Meridian Rays:
This searches far and near, with subtle Light
Dividing Vice and Vertue, Wrong and Right:

Then bids the listning Soul, distinctly chuse,
And dictates, which to take, and which refuse;
This prompts to peaceful Arms, and martial Deeds,
Mysterious Crafts, mechanick Pow'rs, and Trades,
Builds Walls, and Temples, Palaces and Seats,
Erects new Empires, and gives Laws to States;
All earthly Things are subject to the Mind:
The jarring Elements, that once combin'd
To form the Godlike Being, now obey
His Pow'r, and stoop beneath their Monarch's Sway.

Tis true the Spirit sometimes grov'ling lies,
Loaded with Limbs, nor dares ascend the Skies:
Yet if it heaves, and struggles to be gone,
No Weight can keep the fleeting Rover down:
'Twill mount aloft to Heav'n, converse with Jove,
And wander o'er the starry Plains above;
Frequent Reflections on the nobler Part,
The drooping Soul with pleasing Scenes divert:
Would Mortals inward turn their wandring Eyes,
How would they all the drossy World despise?
Happy the few, that can that State attain:
In whom fair Innocence and Vertue reign,
Whose golden Rules and mystick Laws impart
The mighty Bliss, and teach the wondrous Art.

If the Stars favour, Vertue is allow'd
To shine the brightest in the noblest Blood:
Happy the Sire, and happy is the Heir,
That does his Father's Worth and Goodness share:
Yet Vice, and Lust, and Folly, oft deface
The ill-bred Relique of a gen'rous Race.

Unwise are they, who trust an only Son
To base-born Nurses, vulgar and unknown,
The Wife, or Daughter of some brutish Clown;
Oft with Ill-Humours and with Sores replete,
The sickly Milk descending from the Teat,
Entails its noxious Humours on the Child,
With all the Nurse's Pains and Crimes defil'd:
A vile Contagion spoils the gen'rous kind,
Poisons the Body, and corrupts the Mind;

What can a Strumpet's glowing Breasts produce,
But Lust and Fire, amidst the sickly juice,
With the rank Filth, and Venom of the Stews?
The brutal Rage of Rome's great Founder came
All from the suckling Wolf, his savage Dam,
By which inspir'd the Latian Realm he spoil'd,
And Sabine Nymph with impious Lust defil'd,
By Rapine rais'd a State, his Hands imbru'd
Deep in his Brother Remus sacred Blood.

Chuse a chast cleanly Dame, of gentle Race,
That may with Care the sprightly Infant raise:
Then learn in Wisdom's shining Steps to train
His Nonage, and let Goodness crown the Man;
Study and Exercise, in Time, dispose
To vertuous Deeds the wayward and the cross,
By these great Socrates his Soul refin'd
Tho' bent on Folly and to Vice inclin'd:
Till him at last, in Greece for Wisdom fam'd,
The wisest God, the wisest Man proclaim'd.
Great Vertues Precepts, and her num'rous Laws,
The scanty Bounds of Poetry surpass:
The first and leading Truths the Muse shall trace:
She shall instruct the Youth, the Infant guide,
With Rules, to every Stage of Life apply'd.

Whilst the soft Babe in Tears and Moisture drown'd,
No Language utters, but the senseless Sound
Of constant Cries: with gentle Food maintain
The growing Bulk, and build the rising Man;
Observe the Form and Figure, as it grows,
And every Limb to proper Shapes dispose;
Whilst Nonage lasts, the Soul immerst in Clay,
Shines in the dark, and hides the Heav'nly Ray:
So Phœbus, rising from the briny Waves,
When first the Ocean's watry Bed he leaves,
With sickly Light the Earth and Mountains gilds,
Till the Meridian Point full Glory yields.

Soon as the Infant can distinguish Sounds,
Stammers and talks, and labours to pronounce
Its native Language, then instil with Care
The sacred Terrors, and religious Fear,

Teach him to know a first eternal Cause,
To dread his Being and obey his Laws:
And let his lisping Tongue betimes adore,
And sing in Praise of that almighty Pow'r,
Whose Hands to all, their Life and Strength dispense,
Who made, and fills, and guides the great Immense,
When bursting Clouds their forked Lightnings throw;
And Peals of Thunder rock the World below,
When Horrors shake its tender, panting Frame,
Struck with the Noise and frighted with the Flame;
Tell, how the Vengeance of an angry God
Calls to Mankind, and sends these Bolts abroad
To find the Wretch, who with dread Jove delays
The just Returns of Worship and of Praise:
A Mind, thus tutor'd with Religious Awe,
Will soon advance in Truth's eternal Law.

If the good Gods direct the great Design,
And only Reason's Light, tho' dimly, shine,
The Soul ascending to the Realms above,
May trace in Nature's Works, the Steps of Jove,
But long must study with the utmost Pains,
And late too late the mighty Truth attains:
To us the Secret by descent is brought:
The Son is by the pious Parent taught;
Unhappy they, who far remote, possess
The western Shores, and low Antipodes:
These our Religion and our Commerce shun,
And both our Merchants and our Priests disown:
But tho' the Months, and Years and Ages pass,
And the rich Orb a thousand Charms displays,
Yet no one sees the Deity within,
That turns and manages the great Machine:
Thick Clouds and Mists his dreadful Godhead hide,
So blind is Reason left without a Guide!

Whilst at the Altars of the Gods the Child
Bows down, with Awe and sacred Horrors fill'd,
Their Vengeance with prevailing Vows attones,
Adores their Majesty, their Empire owns:
Teach him the Laws of Man with those of Jove,
And train him to Good-Nature and to Love:
Bid him be just to all, and still beware
To do to others, what himself can't bear:

Let him revere a Father's sacred Name:
For those ally'd in Blood due Honour claim:
Bid him respect the aged and the wise,
And follow what these Oracles advise:
Next to the Gods, the first Regard is due
To Kings and States, that rule the World below:
Those Precepts let the Youth betimes attain,
For these, in short, The Laws of Heav'n contain.

As riper Years and nobler Parts increase,
When the brisk Mind its native Light displays,
And wide enlarging its capacious Views,
Ranges for Truth, and Wisdom's Steps persues:
Then let the Brain exert its active Pow'r,
Collecting Arts, the intellectual Store;
And all the Secrets of the Muse explore;
Whilst Sense is quick, and to Perfection nice,
And catches the intruding Images,
Let Memory light up its sparkling Ray,
In Wisdom's Search, and lead the shining Way;
The Use of Speech the noble Work begins,
And teaches to distinguish things by Signs:
When through the Brain the swift Ideas stream,
Instruct him how to give the proper Name
To all that pass: no single Realm affords,
For nature's Works, sufficient Store of Words;
Variety of Tongues improves our Youth,
In all the Arts of Eloquence and Truth:
Such in the Ruins of old Greece and Rome:
May dig for Wealth, and bring the Treasure home:
Whate'er the modern Italy can boast,
Of all the State and Glory which he lost,
Let such with Study and Delight attain:
The Sweets of France, a tender courtly Strain,
Or the big Sounds, and lofty Sense of Spain.
Let these the first and best Historians read,
The Annals of the great Immortal dead:
Such bright Examples oft, with strong Desire
And thirst of Fame, the active Spirit fire;
To Books like these, where Truth in Beauty reigns,
Who can prefer a Novel or Romance,
The monstrous Product of distracted Brains
Here gaudy Phantoms mount the fairy Stage,
And Bullies, void of Sense and Valour, rage:

No solid Mind such Legends can approve.
Fill'd with Extreams of Mischief, and of Love,
But Goblins rage, mock Heroes play their tricks.
Tumble and vault, and Fame in Bombast speaks
Such Tales the wise, judicious Reader quits
To sickly Fancies, and distemper'd Wits:
He sorts his Heroes with a watchful Eye,
Those that ne'er liv'd, from those that ne'er shall die:
Such Books he shuns to other Arts confin'd,
Where Truth, in lively Colours, strikes the Mind;
Some Fictions please: what Reader can refuse
The soft Addresses of the charming Muse?
The Gods inspire, the Graces fill the Verse:
And Vertue, in that Dress, new Beauties wears.

As Strength increases, and the Man draws near,
Soon as the Soul the studious Toil can bear,
When first the Passions all their Force exert,
With Reason's Laws the rapid Streams divert,
Where Heat prevails, and Choler guides the Man,
Scarce can the Soul find leisure to attain
The noblest Truths: yet when the Storm is near,
And the tempestuous Passions meet and jar,
Tho' Reason's sacred Light but faintly shine,
It guides the Soul and stills the War within,
Drives Error far away, with Vertue's Charms
Cheers the gay Mind, and all its Rage disarms.

Truth, that adorns Mankind, and graces Life,
Deserving all the Joys the Gods can give,
Confirms the Being of almighty Jove,
His Providence below, his Throne above:
No fabulous or fai'ry State it feigns,
But real Scenes of Pleasure, and of Pains,
The starry Region and the Yawn of Hell,
The wicked here, and there the vertuous dwell.
To know the Godhead, ever was allow'd
The noblest Wisdom, and the greatest good:
And next, to learn the value of Mankind,
A Being for a Godlike State design'd.

But since the Vertues all, a lovely Train,
That raise the Soul, and beautifie the Man;

Depend upon the Judgment of the Mind,
Thence to the Will an easie Passage find,
And ripen into Action: Guard with Care
That bufie Part, from Clouds and Vapours clear,
With Art and Industry the Soul refine,
And let the Morn with all its Lustre in;
The Fates indeed obstruct the Noble Art:
The Search of Truths too long and Life too short:
Black Night comes on, and interrupts the Day,
E'er it can chase the Mists and Fogs away;
The Dregs of Flesh and Drossy Lees, o'errun
The Soul, and weigh the strugling Spirit down:
In Darkness hid, it wanders far astray,
Oblig'd the subject Senses to obey,
And only range, where they direct the Way;
But tho' the Task be difficult and hard,
Despair not, Wisdom will the Toil reward:
The Globe with Objects fill'd, a vast Immense,
Breeds various Forms for Reason, and for Sense:
Seek not to know, or comprehend, the Whole,
But chuse the brightest Objects for the Soul.

Observe, how all Things in just Order move,
The Spheres, and Orbs, and Stars, that shine above:
How the firm World, with Chrystal Circles bound,
Swings on its Poles, and makes the Lovely Round:
How Phœbus rowls along the Azure Fields
A Ball of Fire, that all the Convex gilds:
Lustre and Life attend him in the Race,
He scatters Health and Vigour with his Rays:
Whether the Earth, with its own weight opprest,
Does, clinging round the solid Centre, rest,
Whilst Phœbus drives his hissing Wheels above,
Or whether he stand still, and Tellus move,
Howe'er Astrologers or Poets dream,
Yet still the bright Appearance is the same.
A God unseen, the mighty Fabrick fills,
Turns ev'ry Orb; and guides the rapid Wheels:
Not heedless Chance, or blind unthinking Fate,
Only a Pow'r divinely Good and Great,
Could so much Beauty in such Order place,
Vain Epicurus runs an endless Race,
And drives his Atoms through an empty Space:

Long, to no purpose, did they range and rove,
Till Chance gave off, and left the Work to Jove:
From these, the Substance and External Frame,
But from the God, the Form and Spirit came.
How might the Soul, replete with Rays Divine,
New Glories boast, and with fresh Beauties shine?
Could it the secret Steps of Nature trace,
What Principles compound and knit the Mass:
How jarring Elements unite and meet:
And what cements, and makes the Work compleat:
How the same Seeds in various Forms increase,
Hard Stones, and Metals, tender Corn, and Grass,
Woods, Trees, and Groves, the Ocean's Scaly Herd,
The floating Fishes, or the fleeting Bird,
The Flocks and Beasts, the Gentle, and the Wild,
That wait their Monarch, or that range the Field,
With all the Forms the fruitful Globe can yield.

The Mind no nobler Wisdom can attain,
Than to inspect and study all the Man:
His awful Looks confess the Race Divine;
In him the Beauties of the Godhead shine:
With Majesty he fills great Reason's Throne,
The Subject World their rightful Monarch own:
His ranging Soul in narrow Bounds contains
All Nature's Works, o'er which in Peace he reigns;
His Head resembles Jove's Eternal Seat,
In which Inthron'd, he sways the Heav'nly State,
And with assembled Gods, consults of Fate:
The feather'd Envoys, all in shining Crowds;
Attend his Throne, and watch his awful Nods:
Catch his Commands, and thro' the Liquid Air
To the low World the Sacred Errand bear:
Just so the Head of Man contains within
The Intellect, with Rays and Light Divine:
The Senses stand around; the Spirits roam
To seize and bring the fleeting Objects home:
Thro' every Nerve and every Pore they pass,
And fill with chearful Light the gloomy Space;
The Heart, the Center of the manly Breast,
Just like the Sun, in lovely Purple drest,
Diffuses all the Liquid Crimson round,
Whence Life, and Vigour, Heat and Strength abound:

And as great Phœbus sometimes rages high,
And scorches with his Beams the sultry Sky:
So when the Heart with Rage, or flaming Ire,
Grows warm, or burns with Love's consuming Fire:
The catching Virals spread the Flames afar.
And all the Limbs the hot Contagion share,
As solid Shores contain the liquid Seas,
Just so the Stomach, a soft watry Mass,
Stagnates beneath and fills the lower Space:
Here, Winds, and Rains, and humid Vapours lie,
And these exhal'd with Heat, all upwards fly:
As mantling Clouds conceal the fickly Sun,
Dissolve in Dew and drive the Tempest down:
So when thick Humours from the Stomach rise,
They damp the Soul, and sprightly Faculties:
Then Night and Death their gloomy Shades display,
Till the bright Spark within, the heav'nly Ray,
Dispels the Darkness, and restores the Day.

Reflection is the last and greatest Bliss:
When turning backwards with inverted Eyes,
The Soul it self and all its Charms, surveys,
The deep Impressions of Cœlestial Grace
And Image of the Godhead: no alloy
Of Flesh, its sprightly Beauties can destroy;
Nor Death nor Fate can snatch the lasting Joy.
Through ev'ry Limb the active Spirit flows;
Diffusing Life and Vigour as it goes,
But is it self unmixt, and free from Dross;
Reflected on its glitt'ring Form it views
All Nature's Works, with eager Steps persues
The Species as they fly, and subtly draws
From single Objects universal Laws:
Thus whilst great Jove the whirling Engine guides,
And o'er the Times and rolling Year presides:
Still, as he turns the rapid Wheels of Chance,
Himself immortal and unchang'd remains,
And when the empty Scene of Nature cloys,
Sinks in the Godhead, and himself enjoys.

What Mind, that's conscious of its Godlike Frame,
But must aspire to Heav'n from whence it came,
And spurn the drossy Earth and sordid Lees,
That keep it down, just mounting to the Skies,

The Weight of Wealth, the Senses cloying Store
Of Joys, with all the Pageantry of Pow'r?
Who can regard the Dregs and Filth of Vice,
When Vertue's brighter Charms allure the Eyes?
When each its proper Form and Features shews,
Is it so difficult, and hard, to chuse?
Since mighty Jove a wide distinction makes,
Providing blissful Seats and burning Lakes:
For Vertue those, and these for Vice ordains,
Shall we refuse the Joys and take the Pains?
How pleasant is the Toil of being wise,
To search the narrow shining Path, that lies
Between the two Extremes? the Pow'rs of Love,
Compar'd with these, not half so winning prove:
Vile despicable Lusts! which only give
A Moment's Bliss, that ends in lasting Grief.
How brave is he! who clad in Innocence,
The noblest Armour wears, and best Defence:
He can despise the Blows and Spite of Chance,
The Storms of Fate, and Poverty and Pains,
The grinning Mob, a vile opprobrious Name;
Contempt, and Infamy, and publick Shame,
Afford new Matter for Heroick Deeds:
The brightest Vertue on such Fuel feeds;
No Weights depress the Mind: whilst Fortune loads,
His Soul surmounts, and meets the smiling Gods.

When to thy self and to thy Maker true,
These Duties thou observ'st, there's something due
To Man, thy Country, and the sacred Pow'rs,
Whose Care thy Person and thy Wealth secures;
Thy Fellow-Subjects in thy turn relieve,
And answer all the Offices of Life:
In this thou differ'st from the brutal Kind:
A Creature! for Society design'd.
Ten thousand various Arts the Mind persues,
For private Profit and for publick Use:
Consult thy Genius and the fittest chuse,
The Gown or Sword, the Wars or peaceful Laws:
(For War is just when in a rightful Cause)
Whate'er thou follow'st, all thy Forces bend
To that, which Strength, and Youth, and Vigour lend,
And let the Mind with all its Pow'rs attend.

If to the Wars thou go'st, with Care abstain
The Follies which in Camps and Trenches reign:
There Vice wounds deeper than the Sword and Spear,
Assaults the Soul, and leaves a lasting Scar:
Rapine and bloodshed taint the gen'rous Mind,
To savage Lust and brutal Rage inclin'd;
Do thou amidst the Din and Noise of Arms,
Attentive listen to the Muses Charms:
And when the madding Furies are let loose,
With gentle Arts the mighty Storm compose:
Let bright Apollo with alluring Force
Temper the Anger and the Rage of Mars.

Experience does the noblest Wisdom give,
And strong Example guides the bent of Life:
And these the Youth by Travel may attain,
E'er yet he settles, and assumes the Man;
Far let him rove, o'er distant Lands and Seas:
The Men, the Country, and their Customs trace,
The Habits, Rites and Products of the Place;
In various Nations, various Humours reign,
And foreign Laws in foreign Realms obtain:
Let him observe the People, Sect, and Soil:
Pleasure and Use will recompence the Toil:
And whilst he views strange Provinces and Climes,
Let him their Vertues chuse, and shun their Crimes.

Fair Italy the wand'ring Youth invites,
A Country plac'd beyond the Alpine Heights,
Extended far: two neighb'ring Seas divide,
And interposing break the adverse Tide:
Here Rome, once Mistress of the World, the Seat
Of Godlike Men, divinely fair and great,
Totters and droops: no Footstep now remains
Of her first State, but Superstition reigns;
Her Sons, unmindful of their noble Race,
And Latian Blood, degenerate and base,
Sink in soft Pleasure, and inglorious Ease;
Whilst with Surprize and Wonder thou survey'st
The sacred Ruins and prodigious Waft:
And read'st its State and Glory in its Fall,
Let the fam'd Annals to thy Mind recal
The vast Idea of its former Pow'r,

Think on the Scipio's and their high Deserts:
Think on the Fabii fam'd for peaceful Arts:
And let the first and noblest Theme of Fame,
Julius, a mighty and immortal Name,
In lovely Scenes his Godlike Acts renew,
And open all his Triumphs to thy View:
How with victorious Arms he bravely tam'd
The proud Iberian Race, for Valour fam'd,
The swarthy African, and haughty Gaul,
And Envy, fatal Foe! more fear'd than all,
From far Iulus Race the Hero came,
Of whom he took his Nature and his Name.
Great was his Courage, nor his Candour less,
Dreadful in War, and merciful in Peace.
Fair Italy some Beauties still can boast,
The small Remains of all her Grandeur lost:
Tho' various Realms and States the Land divide,
Yet still the Men retain their former Pride,
Hardy and stout, instructed how to deal
In subtle Arts can cringe and wheedle well,
Assuming various Shapes in all excel:
Smooth are their Tongues, for soft persuasion made,
Their Wisdom in a thousand Form display'd:
Large is their Soul, and capable to take
The first Impression's Gain or Pleasure make:
Whate'er they wish, they seldom wish in vain,
But still persue and labour to attain:
Trouble, and Toil, and Pain, they gladly bear,
And when they hope, 'tis seldom they despair:
Frugal and close, confin'd to narrow Bounds,
They manage Fortune and correct her Frowns;
The happy Genius of Augustus reign,
Sometimes revives, and charms the World again:
The Muse revisits her once tuneful Race,
And mighty Phœbus all the God displays.

The Spanish Kingdom bounds the sultry West
Stretch'd wide and far, a sunny Clime, possess'd
With proud Inhabitants, intent on Pow'r,
Ambitious still, and thirsting still for more:
Oft have they try'd but always try'd in vain,
To add the Empire of the World to Spain:
Their Lust of Sway the captive Earth surrounds,
And measures, with the Sun, their Empire's Bounds;

One Globe's too little for their Avarice,
They seek new Worlds and seize their glorious Prize:
For this they sweat and strive, all Dangers bear,
Nor Want, nor Famine, Storms, nor Tempests fear,
But to new Realms and Lands unknown they steer:
Tho' Hurricanes and Monsters guard the Way,
Strange Stars and Meteors lead their Ships astray,
The Hopes of Empire all their Cares beguile,
And sweet Ambition well rewards the Toil;
Thus whilst their Chiefs attempt Imperial Sway,
The willing People with delight obey,
No warlike Dangers no Fatigues forgo,
No factious Murmurs, no Resistance know;
But to their dread Commands obsequious bow
Here they submit, and 'tis their only Fear:
A constant Race, inur'd to hardy War,
Averse to rural Drudgery, they shun
The Fork and Spade, and Labours of the Clown:
No toiling Swain the Dusty Champain ploughs,
The Corn untill'd, and Vine neglected grows:
The taming of Mankind is all their Care,
Whilst to the Plough and Mattock they prefer
Bellona's Arms, the Sword, and glitt'ring Spear;
Great as in Arms in Councils deeply skill'd,
Silence and Thought the noblest Projects yield:
They tread unseen, and keep the secret close,
'Till by delay, mature for Birth, it grows;
Well verst in State-Craft, the mysterious Art.
They know and gild and paint a pious Fraud:
Can Force the Gods to aid a base Design,
And make the subtle Villany, divine:
The Mob, amus'd with Miracles and Lies,
Join Hands, and aid the Mischief in disguise,
But when oppos'd, then all the Bully shows
His native Pride: his Breast with anger glows:
Big Words, like Thunder, strike the adverse ear.
That swell with Wind and vanish into Air;
Old Laws and Rites and slavish Modes they love,
And as they seldom change, they ne'er improve:
For Choler, Rudeness, and Ill-Nature shun'd.
And boasting, void of Sense and full of Sound:
Haughty their Temper, for Ambition fam'd,
Disdaining others and by all disdain'd.

Parted from Spain, by long and lofty Hills;
France in fair Scenes and various Beauties smiles,
Replete with Men, a noble gen'rous kind:
Yet fickle, and to Levity inclin'd:
Alike forgetful of the Friend and Foe,
They use no Gratitude, no vengeance know;
A brisk Desire of Fame their Spirits warms,
Inures to Dangers, and excites to Arms;
Rome in its Glory, trembl'd at their Pow'r,
And in that War consum'd the noblest Gore,
When the brave Gauls the Latian Conquests spoil'd.
And the fam'd Capitol with Terrors fill'd;
'Twere endless all their Triumphs to reherse,
Already sung in never dying Verse.
Asia, and Lybia, and the potent East,
Rich Lands and Realms, by Gallick Arms opprest;
Their active Soul in haste her Ends persues,
Can win a Battle, but neglects to use:
And what her Strength obtains, her Follies lose,
The best attempts and finest Schemes of State
They form too soon, and execute too late:
Fury and Violence the Work begin,
And these soon flag, and spoil the best Design;
Sometimes a Foe, half conquer'd, they despise,
Contemn his Pow'r and give him time to rise:
And sometimes swell'd and bloated with Success,
Lose all their Triumphs in ignoble Ease:
Whilst to fresh Wars and new Attempts they run,
They leave the fading Laurels which they won;
Kings, next to Gods, they worship and adore,
The Slaves and Vassals of Imperial Pow'r:
To each Degree the Gentle and severe
They bow and stoop, with low obsequious Fear:
Honour the Person, and his Laws revere;
Few Thrones beside, with half that Glory shine:
No Pow'r so near approaches to Divine:
Instead of Laws, the Monarch's Will obtains,
And oft an Infant in his Nonage reigns:
Such Awe and Dread the Godlike Image gains!
The wretched Exile, banish'd from his home,
And wandring Strangers, for Protection come,
Hither the indigent undone resort,
And find a gentle hospitable Court:

These, in proportion to their high Deserts,
The grateful Nation, always kind to Arts,
Does with the first and best Preferments crown,
And often sway'd by Foreigners unknown,
Sets their high Merit nearest to the Throne.
Great Mazarine this gen'rous Truth confess'd,
When first to France in Roman Purple dress'd,
Auspicious Guest, the fam'd Italian came,
And fill'd the wondring People with his Name:
Whilst mighty Lewis with his Mother play'd,
Long the deputed Chief his Scepter sway'd:
Like Great Alcides bore the pond'rous Weight,
And rais'd to Heav'n the high exalted State:
The Haughty Spaniard trembl'd at his Frown,
And when he beckon'd, lay'd his Trophies down!
The happy Gaul, for Conversation fit,
Is always gay, and boasts a sprightly Wit:
Adds Mirth and Joy to the most serious Things:
Laughs, Dances, Talks, makes Verses, Loves, and Sings:
Nothing escapes his watchful prying Eyes:
His Tongue th' Athenian Eloquence outvies:
The Muses and Apollo, all obey
His Call: He makes whole Poems in a Day;
Oft with unstudy'd Art he friendly tryes
The Roman Beauties, and the Charms of Greece,
And here and there the Jewels set too thin,
Through Tracts of Gloom and empty Spaces shine:
But when the fickle and inconstant Brain
Settles and sweats, and labours in the Strain,
Kind Phœbus gently sheds his noblest Fires,
And the old Latian Warmth the Bard inspires:
All Ages must admire, but few shall know,
A soft Cornelle, or a great Boileau.

Remote from France (the Channel flows between)
White Cliffs, tall Tow'rs, and glitt'ring Spires are seen:
A lovely Isle adorns the Subject Seas,
Rich in the Product of a Godlike Race,
All brave and stout as Mars as Venus fair,
Gentle in Peace, and terrible in War:
Great amidst Changes, fix'd in high Renown,
No other Victors but themselves they own;
What Nation can such Troops of Victors boast,
Reviving all that Greece and Rome have lost?

All court their Love, or to their Valour bow:
No Bounds their Arms, no end their Triumphs know,
Fond of their Laws, and willing to obey,
They temper Freedom with Imperial Sway:
Brave as in Fight, in Arts and Counsels great,
They add new Strength and Beauty to the State;
Religion, free from Pomp, yet still Divine,
Does in the purest, brightest Colours shine;
All Hearts and Eyes she conquers with her Charms,
And with her Love the willing People warms,
Plenty and Riches crown the smiling Plains;
Till'd by a Race of strong industrious Swains.
Proud Neptune bends beneath their awful Sway,
And all the Winds and Waves their Sails obey,
Beneath whose lofty Tow'rs the Billows foam,
Conveying endless Wealth and Plenty home,
Or carrying dread and hostile Arms afar,
That speak in Thunder and in Flames make War:
Tethys and Jason, and the Grecian Band
Of Argonauts, for Naval Valour fam'd,
Must yield to these, whilst on their fruitful Shores
They empty, from both Worlds, the noblest Stores.

Far hence, the Dutch, a mingled Nation lye,
Averse to Kings, and fond of Liberty,
The Warlike State a thousand Vertues shows,
And imitates the Nations, whence they rose.

The German Empire next deserves thy Care,
And well rewards the curious Traveller:
Large in extent, the mighty Realm contains
The Latian Pow'r, and Cæsar's great Remains:
Hither the Roman Eagles took their Flight,
The Direful Ensigns of Imperial Right;
This Climate yields a Race of hardy Men,
Honest and faithful, as they speak they mean:
No double Turns nor artful Cheats they know,
Plain and sincere, and open to the View:
Perhaps too damp a Soil and misty Clime
Their Vigour clogs, and renders Reason dim:
Or else the Jovial Bowl, and Drunken God,
All Wit and Sense with pond'rous Fumes o'erload;
Their greatest Folly in the Goblet lyes,
And to the last Extream, they stretch the Vice:

This sweetens Life, this all their Discord heals;
Their Contracts, Trades, and Leagues, and Bargains Seals:
He who the deepest Bowl unconquer'd drains,
The Hearts of all and the best Credit gains:
So with the Jolly Purple God possest,
The frisking Satyrs celebrate the Feast,
In Love and Mirth, consume the happy Day,
And Sing, and Dance, and Laugh the Hours away:
Not all in flowing Cups and Revels drown'd,
Some Beauties in the German Race are found:
Famous for Arts and Instruments of Use,
In Natures Works new Wonders they produce:
To their Invention and Device we owe
The fatal Trunk, that fills the World below
With Earth-born Thunders, whose portentous Voice
Ejects hot Bolts, and Men and Walls destroys;
The People plac'd beside the Crooked Rhine,
First found the Use of Letters, bless'd Design!
These to the Muse new Life and Vigour give,
And every Age the Learned Dead revive.
Mankind must praise, and has been taught to fear,
The fam'd Teutonick Valour, priz'd in War,
A hardy Race, inur'd to Spoil and Blood,
Not broke by Dangers, nor by Arms subdu'd,
Disdaining Quiet, and the Joys of Peace,
Rather than soften with Inglorious Ease,
They seek new Triumphs in a distant Land,
And sell their Courage to a Foreign Hand.

Hence o'er the Baltick and the frozen Main,
Visit the Pole, the Russian, and the Dane,
Where cold Bootes drags his lazy Wain:
Some valu'd Arts the Northern Climes produce,
And find new Fires to cheer the chilly Muse.

Long is the Task, and endless is the Toil,
To view each Clime, and Country, Land, and Soil,
To dwell on ev'ry Prospect, ev'ry Scene,
And know the Laws, the Manners, and the Men
Consult thy Years, thy Fortune, and thy Strength,
And measure out thy Travels by that Length;
This Task requires the firmest Limbs, design'd
For Sweat and Labour, with a vig'rous Mind,

A Body fit to run so large a Race,
And bear the Dangers of the Land and Seas.

When ripe in Years, to Manhood thou art grown,
And youthful Heat abates, fit calmly down,
In all the Offices of Life engage,
And fix to settl'd Rules thy coming Age:
Grow wise, and live upon Experience past,
And all the Profit of thy Labours taste:
Then from thy Travels and thy Dangers chuse,
The noblest Rules, and Maxims fit for Use:
Copy the Vertues, and the Crimes refuse:
Such Stores of Wisdom, well collected, give
New Lustre to the future Scenes of Life:
So the laborious Bee, on Hybla's Plains,
Travels the Meads, with never ceasing Pains,
Visits each fragrant Herb and lovely Flow'r,
And by degrees collects the luscious Store:
Thence to its Cell conveys the massy Juice,
And treasures up the sweet Ambrosial Dews.

Beware whilst Life consumes and glides away,
And keep thy Sense and Wisdom from Decay:
Still with new Arts thy spacious Soul refine,
Nor let thy Vertues, with thy Years, decline:
Consult the best Records of Ages past,
Renew thy Toils, and gratifie thy Taste;
Here the judicious prying Student reads,
The clearest Maxims, and the greatest Deeds:
Here see, whate'er escap'd thy wandring Eyes,
Let others Lives and Precepts make thee wise;
Consult the Stars, high as the Zenith soar:
And visit Countries never seen before:
Neglect no Pains that may enrich the Mind,
And raise the Worth and Value of Mankind.

Frequent thy honest Friends, and often try
The gen'rous Joys of sweet Society:
Wisdom new Strength by such Infection gains,
And mutual Truths in equal Shares advance.

Who can recount the Vices, that debase
Our Quality, and spoil a gen'rous Race?
The Noble Father educates with Care
His Dogs and Horses, but neglects his Heir:

Soon as the Youth to hardy Manhood grows,
He mingles with the Gay, the Wild and Loose:
With these he sorts, and learns infectious Vice,
But shuns the Grave, the Serious, and the Wise:
Those that restrain his Pleasures he abhors,
But chuses Bullies, Gamesters, Rooks and Whores:
These train the Rake, averse to Sense and Good,
Corrupt his Youth, and taint his Noble Blood.

From ev'ry Breast with Vanity o'erun,
The Vertues fly, Truth with Disdain is gone,
Darkness and Vice the empty Space possess,
And drive the Youth to Folly and Excess;
When the rich Board with costly Cates is crown'd,
No harmless Gayety and Mirth goes round,
But Rooks and spunging Parasites infest,
With Flattery and Vice, the nauseous Feast:
One most admires the Grandeur of the Treat,
So noble! so magnificent! and great!
The next the Soops, and Sauces, and Desert,
All to Pontac prefers, and Locket's Art:
The jovial Toper doats upon the Wine,
Fills high and pours the purple Deluge in,
Calls o'er the Toasts, is noisy, dull, and loud,
And sings new Catches to his drunken God:
The thin consumptive Rake, whose lustful Soul
Declines the Glutton, and neglects the Bowl:
To whom all other Joys insipid prove,
But Mid-night Revels, and Intrigues of Love,
His little Lord, too eager to be lewd,
Excites with am'rous Tales, and fires his Blood:
“My Dear, he cries, did you observe to Day
“The Girl that smil'd, and oagl'd at the Play:—
“Kind willing Thing!—Now by my Soul, she's thine:
“Persue her:—O so soft! so all Divine!—
“Can you the sweet enticing Bliss forbear,
“So strong, so vig'rous you, and she so fair?—
“What's Vertue to such Joys?—Your Parts suffice
“To make a Wit:—Be mod'rately wise:—
“Leave the old Sentences and rigid Rules,
“To Solon, Cato, and the bearded Fools.

In Sports like these the guilty Minutes pass,
All Tales of Vertue, as all Thoughts, displease:

Tho' 'tis the first and noblest Task of Sense,
To join true Mirth to spotless Innocence.

Whilst thus my pleasing Raptures I prolong,
A new Adventure interupts the Song:
And see, a Nymph divinely fair, appears:
A Robe of Light and glitt'ring Beams she wears:
Around she scatters the ambrosial Dews:
Am I deceiv'd? or is't the lovely Muse,
That me inspires with Verse? Too well I know
Her blooming Cheeks, and high Majestick Brow:
Such Lustre in her Eyes! Such blushing Grace!
Whose lofty Mien the Deity displays.

Say, whence this Visit? Can the sweets I sing,
Entice thee from the Shades and Muses spring?
Or art thou come, great Goddess! to reward,
And crown with Laurel, thy melodious Bard?

Then she—Go on, thy pleasing Lays persue:
I lend thee Aid, and I inspire anew:
Well hast thou sung in Praise of Godlike Man:
Now to the female Charms divert thy Strain;
To these Mankind with low Submission sue,
Own their high Pow'r, and to their Beauties bow:
Where such external Rays and Lustre shine,
Why should fowl Vice and Error dwell within?
But since the Muses in their Nature share,
All of the tender Sex: Be mine the Care,
To give new Precepts to the Young and Fair,
To beautifie the soft bewitching Race,
And make the Mind as lovely as the Face.

Form'd of the softest Clay, and most refin'd,
Exceeding far the rough and manly Kind,
They boast a Soul for ev'ry Science fit,
Clear and capacious of the strongest Light;
Why should the Gods in other Charms profuse;
The nobler Graces of the Mind refuse?
Why should the Sex, excelling all below,
The pleasing Search of Nature's Works forgo?
What envious Wretch, less beautiful, confines
A sprightly Soul that with more Lustre shines?

Base Tyranny, and lawless Pow'r of Man,
Ye Gods forbid, that haughty Sex restrain:
Can great Apollo, kind Cœlestial Guest,
Chuse to reside in a more lovely Breast,
Whence all his Laurels grew? can Pallas fly
Her Virgin Train? or any Muse deny
Her Raptures to the dear invoking Maid,
Or to their Sister Nymphs refuse their Aid?

Let ev'ry Heart and Tongue their Vertues own,
And view the Triumphs which their Eyes have won:
Who can unconquer'd gaze or shun their Chains,
Or doubt their mighty Pow'r whilst ANNA reigns?
Whatever Charms the Vertuous or the Fair
Can boast, untainted all unite in Her,
Banish far hence to some wild Savage Shore,
The chilly Tartar or the sunny Moor,
The Wretch, that can resist so bright a Pow'r:
What Heart so stubborn, but such Charms can win
So great a Mistress, and so good a Queen!
Hers be the noblest Strains the Muse can give,
The happy Muses by her Favour live:
Not all the Arts, which she protects, combin'd,
Can paint the finish'd Beauties of her Mind;
Here let the Sex admire with wond'ring Eyes,
And high in Goodness, by her Lustre rise,
Great above Man, and above Woman wise.

The British Nymphs! a lovely Virgin Train!
If other Arts and Studies you disdain,
To Modesty and Vertue bend your Care:
Such Studies ever good, and modish are;
With the same Industry and Toil and Art,
With which the Hands the pointed Needle dart,
Or knot, or spin, or in fair Figures trace
And lovely labyrinth the flowry Lace,
The Nymph with Goodness might her Soul refine,
And all the noble Roman Dames outshine,
Who can unmov'd the motly Monsters bear,
The handsome, vicious, and immodest Fair,
The Looks of Lais, wanton as the Stews,
Or Flora, when with lustful Fires she glows,

Their soft inchanting Smiles, and swimming Eyes,
Their gentle Whispers, and their wishing Sighs,
And nauseous Words, all Filth, in fair Disguise?
Such Arts the thoughtless Sex too soon attain,
That only win the Brute, and lose the Man:
These Follies, to the Nymphs of old unknown;
Psyche disdain'd nor thus her Cupid won,
But with soft Innocence, the yielding Art,
And chaste Reluctance charm'd his willing Heart.

Thus spake the Muse, and vanish'd into Wind,
And left me sad, and in despair to find
New Succour for the Verse, that's still behind.

Stay, Goddess! in his turn thy Poet hear:
If to his Strains thou deign'st to lend an Ear,
Attempted in thy absence can he chuse
Fit Raptures, to detain the flying Muse?
Can'st thou forsake him now, when most he needs
Thy Aid to sing of Wars and Martial Deeds?
What Vigour, Virtue, Fire and Beauty join,
To make a Hero next the Gods Divine:
A thoughtful Soul a strong advent'rous Hand,
United both, to Conquer and Command:
Such mighty MARLBRO' is, the British Mars:
In Counsels wise, and terrible in Wars:
Great above Ancestors: no Age can show
So fam'd a Chief, no future Times shall know:
Whose Conduct, and whose Arms together move,
Commanding Conquest, and attracting Love:
Oh could the Muses reach his high Renown
In equal Strains, when would the Verse be done?
Which he perhaps might read without a Frown:
Perhaps might bless the Poet with his Smiles:
For Princes often thus unbend their Toils.

Alass, vain Bard! that thinks so great a Man,
Would read so mean a Verse without disdain,
Or to thy little am'rous Songs give Ear,
Amidst the Noise of Arms, and Din of War.

Whilst the proud Gual with haughty Anger glows
Rages around and lets Ambition loose,

Attempts to join the conquer'd World to France,
And o'er all Europe shakes th' impending Chains:
Let the fam'd Chief the madding Monster tame,
And add each Year new Triumphs to his Name:
Let kindly Phœbus from all Danger shield
The Hero, and attend him to the Field
Clad in his Arms, neglectful of the Song,
And take his Bow, and leave his Lyre unstrung:
No more I wait for the returning God,
But from my Bosom shake the Lovely Load.

The Day may come, hasten ye Pow'rs! the Day:
When tir'd in search of Universal Sway;
The vanquish'd Gaul shall to the Victor bow,
And at Great ANNA's Feet for Pity sue:
She, ever Good, shall calm the Furies Rage,
And to the World restore the Golden Age:
Shall tame his Pride with high Superior Pow'r,
And bid the Monster plague Mankind no more:
Then Blood and Slaughter, Noise and War shall cease,
And stern Ambition yield to gentle Peace:
Then mighty ANNE, with Sacred Olive crown'd,
Whilst all the Muses joyful Train surround
The smiling Queen, shall in high Pomp appear,
And with full Glory grace the Theatre.
The Bards, by her inspir'd, shall soon begin
Sublimer Lays, and Musick more Divine:
The Palace shall resound the Strains they sing,
And with loud Joys the gilded Roof shall ring,
These shall describe in never-dying Verse,
The Scenes, and Horrors, and wide Waste of Wars,
A long sad Prospect! Blenheim's fatal Field,
Or Mons, or Ramelly, with Slaughter fill'd,
Shining with Troops, and with their Gore defil'd:
Battles and Sieges, Sea, and Earth, and Air,
And all the Elements, engag'd in War:
And hostile Clamours, and intestine Groans,
In Captive Cities, and in Flaming Towns:
Fleets in a Storm, which their own Fury rais'd:
And mighty Realms, with Fire and Sword defac'd,
But when the Tale past Misery renews,
And damps our Pleasures, let the gentle Muse,
Fair kind Euterpe, bring the sprightly Lyre,
And with new Mirth the flagging Strings inspire:

She shall enchant the Ear with softer Layes,
And sing the blissful Joys and Charms of Peace:
Beauty, and Mirth, and Love, and am'rous Strains;
The gentle Sonnet, and the active Dance:
Bacchus and Ceres, hand in hand, shall bring
The noblest Fruits and Products of the Spring,
Whate'er the Vintage, or the Fertile Field,
In Yellow Sheaves, or Purple Clusters, yield:
The foaming Bowl young Vigour shall restore,
And the full Cask supply the Liquid Store;
Then shall the Art I sing, once more revive,
Cupid and Hymen all their Raptures give;
The yielding Maid and sprightly Youth invite
To Love, and fruitful Joys, and chaste Delight.

So when dread Jove his ratling Thunder threw,
And with hot Bolts the Rebel Giants slew,
Beat all their Works, and mighty Rampire, down,
Mountains on Mountains pil'd, to storm his Throne,
The Sons of Earth low as her Center driv'n
From Ætna's Bowels Thunder back on Heav'n:
Pleas'd with the Victory, the Muses throng
The Azure Palace, and begin a Song,
Full of the Victor's Praise: The blisful Skies
Ring with the loud applauding Deities,
The Sun breaks forth, in all his Lustre dress'd,
And Nectar and Ambrosia crown the Feast:
The Pow'rs renew their Mirth, and Scenes of Love,
Peace, with soft Silver Pinions, soars above,
Diffusing Joy through all the bright Abodes,
And adds new Pleasures to the smiling Gods.

FINIS.