 | Poems Upon Several Occasions |  |
The Indifferency.
Who's Emperour, who's Pope, I'm not concern'd,
I care not how the Helm of State is turn'd;
The Planet of my Days did ne'er design
A Crown for me, then why should I repine?
Nay, were we born insulting Monarchs all;
For something more unto the Gods we'd call?
I care not how the Helm of State is turn'd;
The Planet of my Days did ne'er design
A Crown for me, then why should I repine?
Nay, were we born insulting Monarchs all;
For something more unto the Gods we'd call?
Grant that they would our Vows compleat, and say,
Chuse ev'ry Man and ask now when you may;
On greater Terms these fickle Men would stand,
No place can fill their Minds, but Jove's Right hand.
Chuse ev'ry Man and ask now when you may;
41
No place can fill their Minds, but Jove's Right hand.
O Vanity so weak that mounts so high,
That must as surely fall as you and I!
The partial Sea wracks their poor Ships alone,
They prosper scarce abroad, and scarce at home:
For whilst on Pinacles of great Renown
They sit, they're seen a-while, then tumble down,
In building Monuments they spend their days,
And then gape for, the Poet's Manna, praise.
Methinks against the Gates of these I see
Death coming on with her Artillery,
Whilst the Fam'd Scipio walks in his own Fields,
Improving by his Art, what Nature yields;
So taken up with these, that 'tis in vain,
To strive to hale him to his Crown again.
Learn then my Soul, on Heav'n to fix your Eye,
Resolve to live, as you resolve to die;
Ask of the Gods what's meet, that you may have
A quiet Cottage, and a silent Grave;
Venture not far into the dangerous deep,
But on the Land an Equal prospect keep;
The Ship is weak and small wherein we sail,
And at the Mercy of each conqu'ring Gale:
The Umbrage of a Middle-state I'll prize,
In peace I'll live, in peace I'll close my Eyes.
That must as surely fall as you and I!
The partial Sea wracks their poor Ships alone,
They prosper scarce abroad, and scarce at home:
For whilst on Pinacles of great Renown
They sit, they're seen a-while, then tumble down,
In building Monuments they spend their days,
And then gape for, the Poet's Manna, praise.
Methinks against the Gates of these I see
Death coming on with her Artillery,
Whilst the Fam'd Scipio walks in his own Fields,
Improving by his Art, what Nature yields;
So taken up with these, that 'tis in vain,
To strive to hale him to his Crown again.
Learn then my Soul, on Heav'n to fix your Eye,
Resolve to live, as you resolve to die;
Ask of the Gods what's meet, that you may have
A quiet Cottage, and a silent Grave;
42
But on the Land an Equal prospect keep;
The Ship is weak and small wherein we sail,
And at the Mercy of each conqu'ring Gale:
The Umbrage of a Middle-state I'll prize,
In peace I'll live, in peace I'll close my Eyes.
| Poems Upon Several Occasions | |