 | The Poems of Ambrose Philips |  |
Soon as the rising Sun shoots o'er the Stream,
And gilds the Palace with a ruddy Beam,
You to the healthful Chace attend the King,
And hear the Forrest with the Huntsmen ring:
While in the dusty Town We rule the State,
And from Gazettes determine England's Fate.
Our groundless Hopes and groundless Fears prevail,
As artful Brokers comment on the Mail
Deafned with News, with Politicks opprest,
I wish the Wind ne'er vary'd from the West.
Secure, on GEORGE'S Councils I rely,
Give up my Cares, and Britain's Foes defy.
What though Cabals are form'd, and impious Leagues.
Though Rome fills Europe with her dark Intrigues?
His Vigilance, on every State intent,
Defeats their Plots, and over-rules th'Event.
And gilds the Palace with a ruddy Beam,
You to the healthful Chace attend the King,
And hear the Forrest with the Huntsmen ring:
While in the dusty Town We rule the State,
And from Gazettes determine England's Fate.
Our groundless Hopes and groundless Fears prevail,
As artful Brokers comment on the Mail
Deafned with News, with Politicks opprest,
I wish the Wind ne'er vary'd from the West.
Secure, on GEORGE'S Councils I rely,
Give up my Cares, and Britain's Foes defy.
What though Cabals are form'd, and impious Leagues.
Though Rome fills Europe with her dark Intrigues?
His Vigilance, on every State intent,
Defeats their Plots, and over-rules th'Event.
But whither do my vain Endeavours tend?
Or how shall I my rash Attempt defend?
Divided in my Choice, from Praise to Praise
I rove, bewilder'd in the pleasing Maze.
One Virtue mark'd, another I pursue,
While yet another rises to my View.
Unequal to the Task, too late I find
The growing Theme unfinish'd left behind.
Thus the deluded Bee, in hopes to drain
At once the Thymy Treasure of the Plain,
Wide ranging on her little Pinions toils,
And skims o'er hundred Flowers for one she spoils:
When soon o'erburden'd with the fragrant Weight,
Homeward she flies, and flags beneath her Freight.
Or how shall I my rash Attempt defend?
Divided in my Choice, from Praise to Praise
I rove, bewilder'd in the pleasing Maze.
One Virtue mark'd, another I pursue,
While yet another rises to my View.
Unequal to the Task, too late I find
The growing Theme unfinish'd left behind.
Thus the deluded Bee, in hopes to drain
At once the Thymy Treasure of the Plain,
Wide ranging on her little Pinions toils,
And skims o'er hundred Flowers for one she spoils:
When soon o'erburden'd with the fragrant Weight,
Homeward she flies, and flags beneath her Freight.
| The Poems of Ambrose Philips | |