Poems on Several Occasions In Two Volumes. By Mr. Joseph Mitchell |
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To the Right Honourable CHARLES, Earl of Lauderdale, &c.
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| II. |
 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
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To the Right Honourable CHARLES, Earl of Lauderdale, &c.
WITH A Satire, (written by another Hand) on the Upstart Gentry, Anno Dom. 1720.
Let others, in their mercenary Lays,
Cringe for Preferment, and run mad for Praise.
A Bard, that, but to merit, scorns to bow,
Is proud, my Lord, to Tune his Voice to you,
To you, who, far unlike the Vulgar Great,
Can boast a Soul distinguish'd as your State;
And, by a long Hereditary Right,
Claim the first Homage of the Verse I write.
Cringe for Preferment, and run mad for Praise.
A Bard, that, but to merit, scorns to bow,
Is proud, my Lord, to Tune his Voice to you,
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Can boast a Soul distinguish'd as your State;
And, by a long Hereditary Right,
Claim the first Homage of the Verse I write.
'Tis not for me, a skill-less Youth, to trace
Back to its Source, your old, illustrious Race,
And rashly, on a feeble, unfledg'd Wing,
Attempt your Honours and Deserts to sing.
I, who small Interest in Parnassus share,
Sing, but sometimes, to charm away my Care,
And ne'er to high distinguish'd Fame aspire,
Must be content, at Distance, to admire.
I view the tow'ring Genius with Delight,
But dare not rise to an Icarian Height;
And, tho' t'illustrate Merit I despair,
Yet boast I can discern it, and revere.
Be this my Praise, that I with Justice claim
To Love; tho' not adorn, your noble Name.
'Tis Part of Virtue, Virtue to explore,
And, what we cannot higher raise, adore.
Back to its Source, your old, illustrious Race,
And rashly, on a feeble, unfledg'd Wing,
Attempt your Honours and Deserts to sing.
I, who small Interest in Parnassus share,
Sing, but sometimes, to charm away my Care,
And ne'er to high distinguish'd Fame aspire,
Must be content, at Distance, to admire.
I view the tow'ring Genius with Delight,
But dare not rise to an Icarian Height;
And, tho' t'illustrate Merit I despair,
Yet boast I can discern it, and revere.
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To Love; tho' not adorn, your noble Name.
'Tis Part of Virtue, Virtue to explore,
And, what we cannot higher raise, adore.
But while, my Lord, I own my rude Essays,
And weak Pretensions to the sacred Bays,
My Muse another's better Work commends
To you, on whose Indulgence she depends.
Here, in fair Colours, suited to their State,
A Brother-Bard describes the Ignoble Great:
How mimick Patriots, in gilt Chariots, ride,
Forget the Dunghils, and themselves, thro' Pride.
O how unlike, how far remov'd from thine,
The Upstarts' Features rise in every Line!
What Giants bownce, who were but Pigmies born,
Below our Envy, and scarce worth our Scorn!
But, as the Gemm appears distinctly bright,
'Midst vulgar Stones, involv'd in Shades of Night;
True Greatness most superior Worth displays,
When with false Lustre we compare its Rays.
Pleas'd, I behold the Opposition stand,
Approve the Work, and bless the Master's Hand.
No better I my Fondness cou'd express!
No fitter Name for Patronage address!
And weak Pretensions to the sacred Bays,
My Muse another's better Work commends
To you, on whose Indulgence she depends.
Here, in fair Colours, suited to their State,
A Brother-Bard describes the Ignoble Great:
How mimick Patriots, in gilt Chariots, ride,
Forget the Dunghils, and themselves, thro' Pride.
O how unlike, how far remov'd from thine,
The Upstarts' Features rise in every Line!
What Giants bownce, who were but Pigmies born,
Below our Envy, and scarce worth our Scorn!
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'Midst vulgar Stones, involv'd in Shades of Night;
True Greatness most superior Worth displays,
When with false Lustre we compare its Rays.
Pleas'd, I behold the Opposition stand,
Approve the Work, and bless the Master's Hand.
No better I my Fondness cou'd express!
No fitter Name for Patronage address!
Pardon, my Lord, th' Ambition of my Mind:
Duty and Love can hardly be confin'd;
They press officious, where true Merit dwels,
And are more rude, the more the Man excels.
Duty and Love can hardly be confin'd;
They press officious, where true Merit dwels,
And are more rude, the more the Man excels.
Tho' none on Flatt'rers looks with greater Pain,
And views unletter'd Lords with more disdain;
I wou'd Encomiums, well deserv'd, bestow,
Nor think it servile to be praising you.
Impure Allays may noblest Coin debase;
But upright Sterling with Applause will pass.
And views unletter'd Lords with more disdain;
I wou'd Encomiums, well deserv'd, bestow,
Nor think it servile to be praising you.
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But upright Sterling with Applause will pass.
The Man, whose Vertues shew his noble Blood,
Can risque his Fortune for his Country's Good;
Abhors all selfish, mean and private Ends;
Relieves the Needy, and obliges Friends;
Ne'er from the golden Rules of Order swerves;
Nor fears the Stings of Envy, nor deserves;
Who ev'ry Thing at its just Value rates;
Nor courts blind Fortune's bounteous Gifts, nor Hates;
And, 'midst the Charms of Nature, and of Art,
Is modest still, and humble in his Heart:
'Tis He, that best deserves our chosen Lays—
A Man, so great, 'tis impious not to Praise.
No feign'd Perfections, from another brought,
Need here, to make a Character, be wrought.
Tun'd to his Name, no Flattery stains the Lyre,
Nor Compliment supplies pretended Fire.
He all the Muses' Homage shou'd receive,
If I cou'd write, and you, my Lord, forgive.
Can risque his Fortune for his Country's Good;
Abhors all selfish, mean and private Ends;
Relieves the Needy, and obliges Friends;
Ne'er from the golden Rules of Order swerves;
Nor fears the Stings of Envy, nor deserves;
Who ev'ry Thing at its just Value rates;
Nor courts blind Fortune's bounteous Gifts, nor Hates;
And, 'midst the Charms of Nature, and of Art,
Is modest still, and humble in his Heart:
'Tis He, that best deserves our chosen Lays—
A Man, so great, 'tis impious not to Praise.
No feign'd Perfections, from another brought,
Need here, to make a Character, be wrought.
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Nor Compliment supplies pretended Fire.
He all the Muses' Homage shou'd receive,
If I cou'd write, and you, my Lord, forgive.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |