The Works of Hildebrand Jacob ... Containing Poems on Various Subjects, and Occasions; With the Fatal Constancy, a Tragedy; and Several Pieces in Prose. The Greatest Part Never Before Publish'd |
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The Works of Hildebrand Jacob | ||
EPISTLE II. To a Friend going abroad.
Tho' Matters go not to your mind;
Tho' Britain you ungrateful find;
Belinda false, and Fortune blind,
Leave you for this your native shore,
As wand'ring cou'd your Peace restore?
Tho' Britain you ungrateful find;
Belinda false, and Fortune blind,
Leave you for this your native shore,
As wand'ring cou'd your Peace restore?
Alas! this Toil you well may spare;
You cou'd not, Friend, out-travel Care,
Around all Europe shou'd you strole,
Or visit either distant Pole:
Tho' all her Sails the Vessel crouds,
Sorrow will sit upon her shrowds,
Swift as the strongest Gale that blows;
And in all Climes Affliction grows:
The Cure must in your self be found,
In a firm Mind, serene, and sound.
You cou'd not, Friend, out-travel Care,
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Or visit either distant Pole:
Tho' all her Sails the Vessel crouds,
Sorrow will sit upon her shrowds,
Swift as the strongest Gale that blows;
And in all Climes Affliction grows:
The Cure must in your self be found,
In a firm Mind, serene, and sound.
From the bright East whence Sol ascends,
To where his rapid Journey ends,
Wretches in his Carreer he sees
In ev'ry Land, of all Degrees,
From Monarchs to the Slave, who waits
Obsequious at their lofty Gates.
To where his rapid Journey ends,
Wretches in his Carreer he sees
In ev'ry Land, of all Degrees,
From Monarchs to the Slave, who waits
Obsequious at their lofty Gates.
Yet Nature none to want design'd:
Vain Man on Nature has refin'd;
His fond Desires breed Discontent,
The kind Creator never meant.
Vain Man on Nature has refin'd;
His fond Desires breed Discontent,
The kind Creator never meant.
Turn o'er our Annals, or the Page,
Which paints the Greek, and Roman Age,
Ambition's dire Effects you'll find,
And how Excesses make us blind.
Which paints the Greek, and Roman Age,
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And how Excesses make us blind.
Content is in the golden Mean,
And Fortune but an arrant Quean:
Still make the best of what you have,
And you'll no longer be her Slave;
But live, a quiet, happy Man,
Here, or at Thule, or Japan.
And Fortune but an arrant Quean:
Still make the best of what you have,
And you'll no longer be her Slave;
But live, a quiet, happy Man,
Here, or at Thule, or Japan.
The Works of Hildebrand Jacob | ||