The Works, In Verse and Prose, of Leonard Welsted ... Now First Collected. With Historical Notes, And Biographical Memoirs of the Author, by John Nichols |
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The
SUMMUM BONUM;
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 | The Works, In Verse and Prose, of Leonard Welsted |  |
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The SUMMUM BONUM;
Or WISEST PHILOSOPHY. In an EPISTLE to a FRIEND, 1741.
Εφ' ημιν μεν υποληψις, ορμη, οπεξις, εκκλισις ουκ εφ' ημιν
το σωμα, η κτησις, δοξαι, αρχαι.
Epictetus.
Smile, my Hephestion, smile; no more be seen
This dupe to anger, and this slave of spleen;
No more with pain Ambition's trappings view,
Nor envy the false greatness nor the true.
Let dull St. Bevil dream o'er felons fates;
Bright Winnington in Senates lead debates;
Vain Bulbo let the Sheriff's robe adorn,
And Holles wake to bless the times unborn.
This dupe to anger, and this slave of spleen;
No more with pain Ambition's trappings view,
Nor envy the false greatness nor the true.
Let dull St. Bevil dream o'er felons fates;
Bright Winnington in Senates lead debates;
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And Holles wake to bless the times unborn.
The world will jog, my friend, as it begun;
Nor can you change the course 'tis doom'd to run:
As well you'll hope to move the milky-way,
In other orbits bid the planets stray.
On birth-days see old Doris, ever showy,
Beset with fifty gems, to one of Chloe.
Five flaunting lacqueys still Berrault shall keep;
Still Meursius dine on plate, in tissue sleep:
And Mirimont attain, and crowds beside,
The glitter, and the pomp, to you deny'd.
Nor can you change the course 'tis doom'd to run:
As well you'll hope to move the milky-way,
In other orbits bid the planets stray.
On birth-days see old Doris, ever showy,
Beset with fifty gems, to one of Chloe.
Five flaunting lacqueys still Berrault shall keep;
Still Meursius dine on plate, in tissue sleep:
And Mirimont attain, and crowds beside,
The glitter, and the pomp, to you deny'd.
The palm excels, that trembles o'er the brooks,
The bastard-rose, nor half so gaudy looks:
The myrrh is worth, that scents Arabia's sky,
A hundred gourds, yet rises not so high.
This not disturbs you, nor your bliss alloys;
Then why should Fortune's sports and human toys?
What is't to us, if Clod, the self-same day,
Trolls in the gilded car, and drives the dray?
If Richvil for a Roman patriot pass,
And half the livery vote for Isinglass?
The bastard-rose, nor half so gaudy looks:
The myrrh is worth, that scents Arabia's sky,
A hundred gourds, yet rises not so high.
This not disturbs you, nor your bliss alloys;
Then why should Fortune's sports and human toys?
What is't to us, if Clod, the self-same day,
Trolls in the gilded car, and drives the dray?
If Richvil for a Roman patriot pass,
And half the livery vote for Isinglass?
With grateful minds let's use the given hour;
And what's our own enjoy, and in our power.
To his great chiefs the conqueror Pyrrhus spoke:
“Two moons shall wane, and Greece shall own our yoke.”—
“'Tis well,” reply'd the Friend, “admit it so;
“What next?”—“Why, next, to Italy I'll go,
“And Rome in ashes lay.”—“What after that?”
“Waste India's realms.”—“What then?”—“Then sit and chat;
“Then quaff the grape, and mirthful stories tell.”—
“Sir, you may do so now, and full as well.”
And what's our own enjoy, and in our power.
To his great chiefs the conqueror Pyrrhus spoke:
“Two moons shall wane, and Greece shall own our yoke.”—
“'Tis well,” reply'd the Friend, “admit it so;
“What next?”—“Why, next, to Italy I'll go,
“And Rome in ashes lay.”—“What after that?”
“Waste India's realms.”—“What then?”—“Then sit and chat;
“Then quaff the grape, and mirthful stories tell.”—
“Sir, you may do so now, and full as well.”
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Look through but common life, run o'er mankind;
A thousand humbler madmen there you'll find;
A thousand heroes of Epirus view:
Then scorn to beat this hackney'd path anew;
In search of fancy'd good forget to roam,
Nor wander from your safer, better home:
Is't not more wise to fix enjoyment here?
To move unhurt within your destin'd sphere?
See Heartgood! how he tugs for empty praise!
He 'as got the vine, yet scrambles for the bays:
A friendly neighbour born, his vain desire
Prompts him to get a little cubit higher;
When all unvex'd, untroubled, he might live;
And all that Nature ask'd, his farm would give.
A thousand humbler madmen there you'll find;
A thousand heroes of Epirus view:
Then scorn to beat this hackney'd path anew;
In search of fancy'd good forget to roam,
Nor wander from your safer, better home:
Is't not more wise to fix enjoyment here?
To move unhurt within your destin'd sphere?
See Heartgood! how he tugs for empty praise!
He 'as got the vine, yet scrambles for the bays:
A friendly neighbour born, his vain desire
Prompts him to get a little cubit higher;
When all unvex'd, untroubled, he might live;
And all that Nature ask'd, his farm would give.
Colvil and Madge one field, one cow, possess'd;
Had dwelt, unanxious, many years, and bless'd:
A quiet conscience, and their neighbours praise,
They held—it was in Friar Bacon's days.
No thief alarm'd the lowly cottage roof,
And pride and base contention kept aloof.
At length, the rumour all about was flown,
The Monk had found the Philosophic Stone:
Quoth Colvil, “Be 't.—In comfort, peace, we live;
“For his arcanum not a hair I'll give.
“To me all wealth contentment does impart;
“I have this chemic secret in my heart.”
Had dwelt, unanxious, many years, and bless'd:
A quiet conscience, and their neighbours praise,
They held—it was in Friar Bacon's days.
No thief alarm'd the lowly cottage roof,
And pride and base contention kept aloof.
At length, the rumour all about was flown,
The Monk had found the Philosophic Stone:
Quoth Colvil, “Be 't.—In comfort, peace, we live;
“For his arcanum not a hair I'll give.
“To me all wealth contentment does impart;
“I have this chemic secret in my heart.”
Let Munich bow the haughty Ott'man crest;
Among my humble teams I'll be as blest.
Let the great Schach o'er trembling Ganges ride;
I'll boast more conquests by my chimney-side.
What post you stand in, trust me, my Hephestion,
The part you bear in life, is not the question;
But how you act it, how your station grace!
There is the matter—that's the point in case.
All one, if peer or pedlar you sustain,
A laurel'd victor be, or shepherd swain:
For social weal alike each state was made,
And every calling meant the other's aid:
Together all in mystic numbers roll;
All in their order act, and serve the whole;
Who guard the laws, or bid the orchat bloom,
Who wield the sceptre, and who guide the loom.
Among my humble teams I'll be as blest.
Let the great Schach o'er trembling Ganges ride;
I'll boast more conquests by my chimney-side.
What post you stand in, trust me, my Hephestion,
The part you bear in life, is not the question;
But how you act it, how your station grace!
There is the matter—that's the point in case.
All one, if peer or pedlar you sustain,
A laurel'd victor be, or shepherd swain:
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And every calling meant the other's aid:
Together all in mystic numbers roll;
All in their order act, and serve the whole;
Who guard the laws, or bid the orchat bloom,
Who wield the sceptre, and who guide the loom.
Behold the moon, her splendor who renews,
To chear the herb, and silver o'er the dews!
Behold the taper, whose consuming fire
Supplies the day when Phœbus' beams retire!
Behold the glow-worm next, whose glimmering light,
For humbler uses, decks the silent night!
With the same thought the moral world survey,
And mark the different glories in your way:
See different lights arrang'd with equal care;
A Farinello here, a Nassau there!
The one the ear with syren music charms,
And one protects us with the victor's arms:
The same omniscient Power and ruling plan
Design'd the Demi-god and Demi-man.
To chear the herb, and silver o'er the dews!
Behold the taper, whose consuming fire
Supplies the day when Phœbus' beams retire!
Behold the glow-worm next, whose glimmering light,
For humbler uses, decks the silent night!
With the same thought the moral world survey,
And mark the different glories in your way:
See different lights arrang'd with equal care;
A Farinello here, a Nassau there!
The one the ear with syren music charms,
And one protects us with the victor's arms:
The same omniscient Power and ruling plan
Design'd the Demi-god and Demi-man.
Thus wisely Heaven its vary'd cares extends,
And different men are form'd for different ends:
With temper'd warmth, and with a candid heart,
Review the whole, consider every part;
The pomp, and show grotesque, unmurmuring see;
What God has made you, that content to be:
Nor, for the gifts you want, inglorious pine;
Nor envy orbs about your own that shine:
Of Science deep I cannot tread the maze,
Nor trace Antiquity to Adam's days;
Yet still a Sykes's honours I'll rehearse,
Though Drollman and Delany puff the verse:
If Gordon's works a fame o'er mine presage,
I'll yet the fire confess, and manly page;
Ev'n to a rival hand will candour show,
Nor scorn the genius, if I hate the foe.
True worth be prais'd and own'd, where-ever found,
Prais'd in a name or nation unrenown'd.
And different men are form'd for different ends:
With temper'd warmth, and with a candid heart,
Review the whole, consider every part;
The pomp, and show grotesque, unmurmuring see;
What God has made you, that content to be:
Nor, for the gifts you want, inglorious pine;
Nor envy orbs about your own that shine:
Of Science deep I cannot tread the maze,
Nor trace Antiquity to Adam's days;
Yet still a Sykes's honours I'll rehearse,
Though Drollman and Delany puff the verse:
300
I'll yet the fire confess, and manly page;
Ev'n to a rival hand will candour show,
Nor scorn the genius, if I hate the foe.
True worth be prais'd and own'd, where-ever found,
Prais'd in a name or nation unrenown'd.
With wars and factions compass'd round we stand;
We see an envious and divided land:
On interest interest, sect on sectary starts;
The blast of honour, and the bane of arts!
What can one do?—Why, thus:—Like Chandos live;
What-e'er is right, commend; what's wrong, for-give;
Where good and ill are mix'd, the merit prize,
And even view the vice with virtue's eyes.
We see an envious and divided land:
On interest interest, sect on sectary starts;
The blast of honour, and the bane of arts!
What can one do?—Why, thus:—Like Chandos live;
What-e'er is right, commend; what's wrong, for-give;
Where good and ill are mix'd, the merit prize,
And even view the vice with virtue's eyes.
Let's still for man a faithful verdict find;
Just to his worth, and to his failings kind:
Not every heedless slip, dishonour call;
Nor, like Thalestris, madly rail at all.
“See, see,” she cries, “the fool to dice is gone;
His wife, his children, and his race, undone!
A whole year's pay this luckless die shall cost;
A hundred faggots at that throw are lost!”
Again, “Behold, ye stars, that wretched rake!
Plague him, for Woman's and for Virtue's sake:
Each wanton look his vagrant eye alarms,
And every wench he meets has Richmond's charms.
Vile Poacher! who her virgin fame shall save!”
Be still, my soul, and let the Beldame rave;
While we the weak or indiscreet befriend,
Nor flirt at all we can't approve or mend:
This error I'll impute to hasty thought;
To human frailty give that venial fault:
Let Avarice grow, let Pride her branches shoot,
But cut up base Ill-nature from the root.
Just to his worth, and to his failings kind:
Not every heedless slip, dishonour call;
Nor, like Thalestris, madly rail at all.
“See, see,” she cries, “the fool to dice is gone;
His wife, his children, and his race, undone!
A whole year's pay this luckless die shall cost;
A hundred faggots at that throw are lost!”
Again, “Behold, ye stars, that wretched rake!
Plague him, for Woman's and for Virtue's sake:
Each wanton look his vagrant eye alarms,
And every wench he meets has Richmond's charms.
Vile Poacher! who her virgin fame shall save!”
Be still, my soul, and let the Beldame rave;
While we the weak or indiscreet befriend,
Nor flirt at all we can't approve or mend:
301
To human frailty give that venial fault:
Let Avarice grow, let Pride her branches shoot,
But cut up base Ill-nature from the root.
There is, 'tis true, what can be solv'd by none,
A thing most hard to bear beneath the sun,
The Dolt! that all at once the quarry gains,
Deny'd to honesty, and ages' pains!
Thus Fortunebrass, when halters were his due,
In one auspicious minute got Peru;
And Stockwell, by a bold and lucky jobb,
The city caught at once, and echoing mob.
A thing most hard to bear beneath the sun,
The Dolt! that all at once the quarry gains,
Deny'd to honesty, and ages' pains!
Thus Fortunebrass, when halters were his due,
In one auspicious minute got Peru;
And Stockwell, by a bold and lucky jobb,
The city caught at once, and echoing mob.
Yet fret not for't; repine at no success;
Nor mind whom ragmen and the ring caress:
Let this not nourish spleen and gloomy hours:
On strumpets Jove will fall in golden showers:
In robes of ore and ermine fools will shine;
What then? Their happiness not lessens mine.
If Periosto pants for conquest's charms;
If Swift, like Vainlove, dies in Venus' arms;
If Gulliver's eclipses Crusoe's fame;
If Hoadly and Hortensius are the same;
'Twere “spite,” ye gods, “proud spite!” the soul of pride,
To hate such Heroes, or such Wit deride:
I'll never cavil, nor my stars impeach,
For laurels, and for crowns, beyond my reach.
Nor mind whom ragmen and the ring caress:
Let this not nourish spleen and gloomy hours:
On strumpets Jove will fall in golden showers:
In robes of ore and ermine fools will shine;
What then? Their happiness not lessens mine.
If Periosto pants for conquest's charms;
If Swift, like Vainlove, dies in Venus' arms;
If Gulliver's eclipses Crusoe's fame;
If Hoadly and Hortensius are the same;
'Twere “spite,” ye gods, “proud spite!” the soul of pride,
To hate such Heroes, or such Wit deride:
I'll never cavil, nor my stars impeach,
For laurels, and for crowns, beyond my reach.
An easy and contented mind is all:
On whom, and where it will, let glory fall.
Let us the soul in even balance bear;
Content with what we have, and what we are!
Praise your own arb'rets, and be wise betimes;
Nor envy other men, nor other climes:
Obey not flattering Fancy's gay decoys;
Nor court Campanian hills for pictur'd joys.
Here Nature laughs, and crowns the verdant year,
And Ulubris and Baiæ both are here:
All good you'll taste in your paternal fields,
And find at Banstead more than Tyber yields.
On whom, and where it will, let glory fall.
Let us the soul in even balance bear;
Content with what we have, and what we are!
Praise your own arb'rets, and be wise betimes;
Nor envy other men, nor other climes:
Obey not flattering Fancy's gay decoys;
Nor court Campanian hills for pictur'd joys.
Here Nature laughs, and crowns the verdant year,
And Ulubris and Baiæ both are here:
All good you'll taste in your paternal fields,
And find at Banstead more than Tyber yields.
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On rapturous visions long had Berkeley fed:
The lemon-groves were ever in his head.
He hangs on Waller, and the landscape aids;
Sees in Bermudas blooming Ida's shades!
'Tis said, 'tis done:—The project quick prevails;
He gets the promis'd freight; he weds, he sails:
The storms loud rattle, but on storms he smiles:
They will but waft me to Bermudas Isles.
At length the port he gains; when, lo! his dreams
He vanish'd views, and owns the airy schemes:
The orange-branch had lost its fragrant load;
The cedar wav'd not, nor the citron blow'd:
In Eden's stead, he sees a desart sand;
For figs and vines, a poor unpeopled land;
For balmy breezes, and for cloudless skies,
He hears around the whistling tempests rise:
“And is this all?” said the good Dean of Down;
“Is this the end, my hope and labours crown?
Too blest the swain, o'er Ormond's flowery vales
Who roves at ease, or sleeps in Derry's dales!
Henceforth I'll gratulate my native shore,
In search of bright delusions range no more;
Content to be, to cure this rambling itch,
An humble Bishop, and but barely rich.”
The lemon-groves were ever in his head.
He hangs on Waller, and the landscape aids;
Sees in Bermudas blooming Ida's shades!
'Tis said, 'tis done:—The project quick prevails;
He gets the promis'd freight; he weds, he sails:
The storms loud rattle, but on storms he smiles:
They will but waft me to Bermudas Isles.
At length the port he gains; when, lo! his dreams
He vanish'd views, and owns the airy schemes:
The orange-branch had lost its fragrant load;
The cedar wav'd not, nor the citron blow'd:
In Eden's stead, he sees a desart sand;
For figs and vines, a poor unpeopled land;
For balmy breezes, and for cloudless skies,
He hears around the whistling tempests rise:
“And is this all?” said the good Dean of Down;
“Is this the end, my hope and labours crown?
Too blest the swain, o'er Ormond's flowery vales
Who roves at ease, or sleeps in Derry's dales!
Henceforth I'll gratulate my native shore,
In search of bright delusions range no more;
Content to be, to cure this rambling itch,
An humble Bishop, and but barely rich.”
You'll answer strait, I know, `All this is true;
You preach a duty easy to pursue:
'Tis nothing hard, I think, at home to stay;
From one's own ducks and pidgeons not to stray!
'Tis no great point, disquiet to disclaim,
For Merry-andrew's luck, and Melvor's fame:
I'd call him witless, with regret who saw
Lothario's furrs, or Ten-per-cent's landau;
Yon upstart fops, with gold embroider'd o'er,
Now sneer the lords, whose pimps they were before;
That 'Squire was Cobler first, a Justice after:
'Tis nothing this—Such things we pass with laughter.
But how to hear the injur'd orphan's moan!
Or see the son his begging sire disown!
How brook proud insult, and unfeeling wrong!
See Misers doors the Poor, unpity'd, throng:
Lo! blaz'd abroad, stupendous Folly flies!
And Wisdom walks unseen, in Trueman's guise!
These are the plagues, the ills, that life debase!
Now tell me”—Poo! 'tis nothing to the case.
The world, we still must take it as it goes,
Sail with the tide that comes, and gale that blows:
What if an idle and an abject rout,
For second Tully, singles Glover out,
With garlands and with anagrams adorns
The rhetoric, Scurra steals, and Carteret scorns,
And forty times as much! What's this to me?
You only blame what was, will ever be;
A truant turn in Providence's school;
Arraign the laws that human fortunes rule;
What none can help, nor ought—'Twas right decree'd,
That St. John should be quit, and Raleigh bleed.
You preach a duty easy to pursue:
'Tis nothing hard, I think, at home to stay;
From one's own ducks and pidgeons not to stray!
'Tis no great point, disquiet to disclaim,
For Merry-andrew's luck, and Melvor's fame:
I'd call him witless, with regret who saw
Lothario's furrs, or Ten-per-cent's landau;
Yon upstart fops, with gold embroider'd o'er,
Now sneer the lords, whose pimps they were before;
That 'Squire was Cobler first, a Justice after:
'Tis nothing this—Such things we pass with laughter.
303
Or see the son his begging sire disown!
How brook proud insult, and unfeeling wrong!
See Misers doors the Poor, unpity'd, throng:
Lo! blaz'd abroad, stupendous Folly flies!
And Wisdom walks unseen, in Trueman's guise!
These are the plagues, the ills, that life debase!
Now tell me”—Poo! 'tis nothing to the case.
The world, we still must take it as it goes,
Sail with the tide that comes, and gale that blows:
What if an idle and an abject rout,
For second Tully, singles Glover out,
With garlands and with anagrams adorns
The rhetoric, Scurra steals, and Carteret scorns,
And forty times as much! What's this to me?
You only blame what was, will ever be;
A truant turn in Providence's school;
Arraign the laws that human fortunes rule;
What none can help, nor ought—'Twas right decree'd,
That St. John should be quit, and Raleigh bleed.
304
Whate'er we fret for, or whate'er bemoan,
For ends of wisdom, is to us unknown:
The winds and tempests must eternal blow,
And the fix'd order stand of things below:
Now from her holds shall Truth be rudely torn;
Anon the great and injur'd Statesman mourn:
Nor dies this scandal with the former age;
Another Hyde shall grapple faction's rage;
A second Cecil save, from threatening fate,
The mobs that curse him, and the leagues that hate.
For ends of wisdom, is to us unknown:
The winds and tempests must eternal blow,
And the fix'd order stand of things below:
Now from her holds shall Truth be rudely torn;
Anon the great and injur'd Statesman mourn:
Nor dies this scandal with the former age;
Another Hyde shall grapple faction's rage;
A second Cecil save, from threatening fate,
The mobs that curse him, and the leagues that hate.
Suppress your grief, the rising sigh restrain:
Some ills have rose, and some must rise again.
Here, proud Oppression towering high you'll see;
There, weeping Virtue, on the suppliant's knee!
O'er hidden mischief rancorous hearts will brood,
And lofty villains overlook the good:
Too blest our lot, for ever could we find
The Churchill's beauty, and the Pelham's mind!
Some ills have rose, and some must rise again.
Here, proud Oppression towering high you'll see;
There, weeping Virtue, on the suppliant's knee!
O'er hidden mischief rancorous hearts will brood,
And lofty villains overlook the good:
Too blest our lot, for ever could we find
The Churchill's beauty, and the Pelham's mind!
In every age alike you'll Vice discover;
See Folly starting in one shape or t'other;
Ev'n where 'twere pity, malice will prevail,
And toilets vilify, and tea-boards rail;
The harlot still will cheat, and courtier fawn;
The priest still flatter for the prelate's lawn:
Yet this but little hurts.—The order'd train
Goes on, and men are honest in the main;
The world, right take it, right enough behaves:
Not all the handicrafts we meet are knaves;
Not half the dames they tell are found to slide;
Or half th' attornies fee'd for either side;
Physicians kill not millions, as they say;
Nor are whole wards made cuckolds in a day:
Good, bad, by turns, the medley drama brings,
Where Glory oft displays her shining wings:
The seat of Equity, so Brunswick wills,
A Talbot now, and now a Hardwicke fills:
Then say not all that's good or just is fled;
We have her Viceroy in Astræa's stead.
See Folly starting in one shape or t'other;
Ev'n where 'twere pity, malice will prevail,
And toilets vilify, and tea-boards rail;
The harlot still will cheat, and courtier fawn;
The priest still flatter for the prelate's lawn:
Yet this but little hurts.—The order'd train
Goes on, and men are honest in the main;
The world, right take it, right enough behaves:
Not all the handicrafts we meet are knaves;
Not half the dames they tell are found to slide;
Or half th' attornies fee'd for either side;
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Nor are whole wards made cuckolds in a day:
Good, bad, by turns, the medley drama brings,
Where Glory oft displays her shining wings:
The seat of Equity, so Brunswick wills,
A Talbot now, and now a Hardwicke fills:
Then say not all that's good or just is fled;
We have her Viceroy in Astræa's stead.
Haste, Sall, the oranges and arrack bring;
Fetch me the water from Castalia's spring:
Since nought with reason may impede our bliss,
Let's every grief and every care dismiss:
All my Hephestion has that's worth possessing:
Then seize the swift-wing'd hour and fleeting blessing.
While yet, entranc'd, that envy'd life they led,
Thus to her love Ægypt's Princess said:
Fetch me the water from Castalia's spring:
Since nought with reason may impede our bliss,
Let's every grief and every care dismiss:
All my Hephestion has that's worth possessing:
Then seize the swift-wing'd hour and fleeting blessing.
While yet, entranc'd, that envy'd life they led,
Thus to her love Ægypt's Princess said:
“Gaze on me, Antony, with raptur'd eyes,
And factious Rome and all its fools despise,
And empty pride—for softer triumphs born,
And better joys, on Cæsars look with scorn:
O'er thine, my love, thy Rival's eagles soar;
Grant his demands, nor dream of Empire more:
Let conquer'd worlds his boyish care beguile:
Enough for us is Memphis and the Nile.”
And factious Rome and all its fools despise,
And empty pride—for softer triumphs born,
And better joys, on Cæsars look with scorn:
O'er thine, my love, thy Rival's eagles soar;
Grant his demands, nor dream of Empire more:
Let conquer'd worlds his boyish care beguile:
Enough for us is Memphis and the Nile.”
| The Works, In Verse and Prose, of Leonard Welsted | |