The Works of Mr. John Oldham :: :: University of Virginia Library

Ignis utique quo clariùs effulsit, citiùs extinguitur, eripit se aufertque ex oculis subitò perfecta virtus: quicquid est absoluti faciliùs transfluit, & optimi neutiquam diurnant. Cambden. de Phil. Syd.

O celeres hominum bonorum dies.
Apul.

Ostendunt terris hunc tantùm fata, nec ultrà
Esse sinunt. ------
Virg.

I.

Best Friend! could my unbounded Grief but rate
With due proportion thy too cruel Fate;
Could I some happy Miracle bring forth,
Great as my Wishes and thy greater Worth,
All Helicon should soon be thine,
And pay a Tribute to thy Shrine.
The learned Sisters all transform'd should be,
No longer nine, but one Melpomene:
Each should into a Niobe relent,
At once thy Mourner and thy Monument.

Each should become
Like the fam'd Memnon's speaking Tomb,
To sing thy well-tun'd Praise;
Nor should we fear their being dumb,
Thou still would'st make 'em vocal with thy Rays.

II.

O that I could distil my vital Juice in Tears!
Or waste away my Soul in sobbing Airs!
Were I all Eyes,
To flow in liquid Elegies:
That every Limb might grieve,
And dying Sorrow still retrieve;
My Life should be but one long mourning day,
And like moist Vapors melt in Tears away.
I'd soon dissolve in one great Sigh,
And upwards fly,
Glad so to be exhal'd to Heav'n and thee.
A Sigh which might well-nigh reverse thy death,
And hope to animate thee with new Breath;

Pow'rful as that which heretofore did give
A Soul to well-form'd Clay, and made it live.

III.

Adieu, blest Soul! whose hasty Flight away
Tells Heaven did ne'er display
Such Happiness to bless the World with stay.
Death in thy Fall betray'd her utmost spite,
And shew'd her shafts most times are levell'd at the white.
She saw thy blooming Ripeness time prevent;
She saw, and envious grew, and straight her arrow sent,
So Buds appearing e'er the Frosts are past,
Nip'd by some unkind Blast,
Wither in Penance for their forward haste.
Thus have I seen a Morn so bright,
So deck'd with all the Robes of Light,
As if it scorn'd to think of Night,
Which a rude Storm e'er Noon did shroud,
And buried all its early Glories in a Cloud.

The day in funeral Blackness mourn'd,
And all to Sighs, and all to Tears it turn'd.

IV.

But why do we thy Death untimely deem;
Or Fate blaspheme?
We should thy full ripe Vertues wrong,
To think thee young.
Fate, when she did thy vigorous Growth behold,
And all thy forward Glories told,
Forgot thy tale of Years, and thought thee old.
The brisk Endowments of thy Mind
Scorning i'th' Bud to be confin'd,
Out-ran thy Age, and left slow Time behind;
Which made thee reach Maturity so soon,
And at first Dawn present a full-spread Noon.
So thy Perfections with thy Soul agree,
Both knew no Non-age, knew no Infancy.
Thus the first Patern of our Race began
His Life in middle-age, at's Birth a perfect Man.

V.

So well thou acted'st in thy Span of Days,
As calls at once for Wonder and for Praise.
Thy prudent Conduct had so learnt to measure
The different whiles of Toil and Leasure,
No time did Action want, no Action wanted Pleasure.
Thy busie Industry could Time dilate,
And stretch the Thread of Fate:
Thy careful Thrift could only boast the Power
To lengthen Minutes, and extend an Hour.
No single Sand could e'er slip by
Without its Wonder, sweet as high:
And every teeming Moment still brought forth
A thousand Rarities of Worth.
While some no other Cause for Life can give,
But a dull Habitude to live:
Thou scorn'dst such Laziness while here beneath,
And Liv'dst that time which others only Breath.

VI.

Next our just Wonder does commence,
How so small Room could hold such Excellence.
Nature was proud when she contriv'd thy Frame,
In thee she labor'd for a Name:
Hence 'twas she lavish'd all her Store,
As if she meant hereafter to be poor,
And, like a Bankrupt, run o'th' Score.
Her curious Hand here drew in Straights and joyn'd
All the Perfections lodge in Humane kind;
Teaching her numerous Gifts to lie
Crampt in a short Epitome.
So Stars contracted in a Diamond shine,
And Jewels in a narrow Point confine
The Riches of an Indian Mine.
Thus subtle Artists can
Draw Nature's larger self within a Span:
A small Frame holds the World, Earth, Heav'ns and all
Shrunk to the scant Dimensions of a Ball.

VII.

Those Parts which never in one Subject dwell,
But some uncommon Excellence foretel,
Like Stars did all constellate here,
And met together in one Sphere.
Thy Judgment, Wit and Memory conspir'd
To make themselves and thee admir'd:
And could thy growing Height a longer Stay have known,
Thou hadst all other Glories, and thy self out-done.
While some to Knowledge by Degrees arrive,
Thro tedious Industry improv'd,
Thine scorn'd by such pedantick Rules to thrive;
But swift as that of Angels mov'd,
And made us think it was intuitive.
Thy pregnant Mind ne'er struggl'd in its Birth,
But quick, and while it did conceive, brought forth;
The gentle Throes of thy prolifick Brain
Were all unstrain'd, and without Pain.

Thus when Great Jove the Queen of Wisdom bare
So easie and so mild his Travels were.

VIII.

Nor were these Fruits in a rough Soil bestown
As Gemms are thick'st in rugged Quarries sown.
Good Nature and good parts so shar'd thy mind,
A Muse and Grace were so combin'd,
'Twas hard to guess which with most Lustre shin'd.
A Genius did thy whole Comportment act,
Whose charming Complaisance did so attract,
As every Heart attack'd.
Such a soft Air thy well-tun'd Sweetness sway'd,
As told thy Soul of Harmony was made;
All rude Affections that Disturbers be,
That mar or disunite Society,
Were Foreiners to thee.
Love only in their stead took up its Rest;
Nature made that thy constant Guest,
And seem'd to form no other Passion for thy Breast.

IX.

This made thy Courteousness to all extend,
And thee to the whole Universe a Friend.
Those which were Strangers to thy native Soil and thee
No Strangers to thy Love could be,
Whose Bounds were wide as all Mortality.
Thy Heart no Island was, disjoyn'd
(Like thy own Nation) from all human kind;
But 'twas a Continent to other Countreys fixt
As firm by Love, as they by Earth annext.
Thou scorn'dst the Map should thy Affection guide,
Like theirs who love by dull Geography,
Friends but to whom by Soil they are ally'd:
Thine reacht to all beside,
To every member of the world's great Family.
Heav'ns Kindness only claims a Name more general,
Which we the nobler call,
Because 'tis common, and vouchsaf'd to all.

X.

Such thy Ambition of obliging was,
Thou seem'dst corrupted with the very Power to please.
Only to let thee gratifie,
At once did bribe and pay thy Courtesie.
Thy Kindness by Acceptance might be bought,
It for no other Wages sought,
But would its own be thought.
No Suiters went unsatisfy'd away;
But left thee more unsatisfy'd than they.
Brave Titus! thou mightst here thy true Portraicture find,
And view thy Rival in a private mind.
Thou heretofore deserv'dst such Praise,
When Acts of Goodness did compute thy days,
Measur'd not by the Sun's, but thine own kinder Rays.
Thou thoughtst each hour out of Life's Journal lost,
Which could not some fresh Favor boast,
And reckon'dst Bounties thy best Clepsydras.

XI.

Some Fools who the great Art of giving want,
Deflower their Largess with too slow a Grant;
Where the deluded Suitor dearly buy
What hardly can defray
The Expence of Importunities,
Or the Suspense of torturing Delay.
Here was no need of tedious Pray'rs to sue,
Or thy too backward Kindness woo.
It moved with no formal State,
Like theirs whose Pomp does for intreaty wait:
But met the swift'st Desires half way;
And Wishes did well-nigh anticipate;
And then as modestly withdrew,
Nor for its due Reward of Thanks would stay.

XII.

Yet might this Goodness to the happy most accrue;
Somewhat was to the miserable due,
Which they might justly challenge too.
Whate'er mishap did a known Heart oppress,

The same did thine as wretched make;
Like yielding Wax thine did th' Impressions take,
And paint its Sadness in as lively Dress.
Thou could'st afflictions from another Breast translate,
And forein Grief impropriate;
Oft-times our Sorrows thine so much have grown,
They scarce were more our own;
We seem'd exempt, thou suffer'dst all alone.

XIII.

Our small'st Misfortunes scarce could reach thy Ear,
But made thee give in Alms a Tear;
And when our Hearts breath'd their regret in sighs,
As a just Tribute to their Miseries,
Thine with their mournful Airs did symbolize.
Like throngs of sighs did for its Fibres crowd,
And told thy Grief from our each Grief aloud:
Such is the secret Sympathy
We may betwixt two neighb'ring Lutes descry,
If either by unskilful hand too rudely bent
Its soft Complaint in pensive murmurs vent,

As if it did that Injury resent:
Untoucht the other strait returns the Moan,
And gives an Eccho to each Groan.
From its sweet Bowels a sad Note's convey'd,
Like those which to condole are made,
As if its Bowels too a kind Compassion had.

XIV.

Nor was thy goodness bounded with so small extent,
Or in such narrow Limits pent.
Let Female Frailty in fond Tears distill,
Who think that Moisture which they spill
Can yield Relief,
Or shrink the Current of anothers Grief,
Who hope that Breath which they in sighs convey,
Should blow Calamities away.
Thine did a manlier Form express,
And scorn'd to whine at an Unhappiness;
Thou thought'st it still the noblest Pity to redress.
So friendly Angels their Relief bestow
On the unfortunate below

For whom those purer minds no Passion know:
Such Nature in that generous Plant is found,
Whose every Breach does with a Salve abound,
And wounds it self to cure another's Wound.
In pity to Mankind it sheds its Juice,
Glad with expence of Blood to serve their Use.
First with kind Tears our Maladies bewails,
And after heals;
And makes those very Tears the remedy produce.

XV.

Nor didst thou to thy Foes less generous appear,
(If there were any durst that Title wear.)
They could not offer Wrongs so fast,
But what were pardon'd with like haste;
And by thy acts of Amnesty defac't.
Had he who wish'd the Art how to forget,
Discover'd its new Worth in thee,
He had a double Value on it set,
And justly scorn'd th' ignobler Art of Memory.
No Wrongs could thy great Soul to Grief expose

'Twas plac't as much out of the reach of those,
As of material Blows.
No Injuries could thee provoke,
Thy Softness always dampt the stroke:
As Flints on Feather-beds are easiest broke.
Affronts could ne'er thy cool Complexion heat,
Or chafe thy temper from its setled State:
But still thou stoodst unshockt by all,
As if thou hadst unlearnt the Power to hate,
Or, like the Dove, wert born without a Gall.

XVI.

Vain Stoicks who disclaim all Human Sense,
And own no Passions to resent Offence,
May pass it by with unconcern'd Neglect,
And Vertue on those Principles erect,
Where 'tis not a Perfection, but Defect.
Let these themselves in a dull Patience please,
Which their own Statues may possess,
And they themselves when Carcasses.
Thou only couldst to that high pitch arrive,

To court Abuses, that thou mightst forgive:
Wrongs thus in thy Esteem seem'd Courtesie,
And thou the first was e'er oblig'd by Injury.

XVII.

Nor may we think these God-like Qualities
Could stand in need of Votaries,
Which heretofore had challeng'd Sacrifice.
Each Assignation, each Converse
Gain'd thee some new Idolaters.
Thy sweet Obligingness could supple Hate,
And out of it its Contrary create.
Its powerful Influence made Quarrels cease,
And Fewds dissolv'd into a calmer Peace.
Envy resign'd her Force, and vanquish'd Spite
Became thy speedy Proselyte.
Malice could cherish Enmity no more;
And those which were thy Foes before,
Now wish'd they might adore.
Cæsar may tell of Nations took,
And Troops by Force subjected to his Yoke:

We read as great a Conqueror in thee,
Who couldst by milder ways all Hearts subdue,
The nobler Conquest of the two;
Thus thou whole Legions mad'st the Captives be,
And like him too couldst look, and speak thy Victory.

XVIII.

Hence may we Calculate the Tenderness
Thou didst Express
To all, whom thou didst with thy Friendship bless:
To think of Passion by new Mothers bore
To the young Offspring of their Womb,
Or that of Lovers to what they Adore,
Ere Duty it become:
We should too mean Ideas frame,
Of that which thine might justly claim,
And injure it by a degrading Name:
Conceive the tender Care,
Of guardian Angels to their Charge assign'd,
Or think how dear
To Heaven Expiring Martyrs are;

These are the Emblems of thy mind,
The only Types to shew how thou wast kind.

XIX.

On whom soe're thou didst confer this Tye
'Twas lasting as Eternity,
And firm as the unbroken Chain of Destiny,
Embraces would faint shadows of your Union show,
Unless you could together grow.
That Union which is from Alliance bred,
Does not so fastly wed,
Tho' it with Blood be cemented:
That Link wherewith the Soul and Body's joyn'd,
Which twists the double Nature in Mankind
Only so close can bind.
That holy Fire which Romans to their Vesta paid,
Which they immortal as the Goddess made,
Thy noble Flames most fitly parallel;
For thine were just so pure, and just so durable.
Those feigned Pairs of Faithfulness which claim

So high a place in ancient Fame,
Had they thy better Patern seen,
They'd made their Friendship more divine
And strove to mend their Characters by thine.

XX.

Yet had this Friendship no advantage been,
Unless 'twere exercis'd within;
What did thy Love to other Objects tie,
The same made thy own Pow'rs agree,
And reconcil'd thy self to thee.
No Discord in thy Soul did rest,
Save what its Harmony increast.
Thy mind did with such regular Calmness move,
As held resemblance with the greater Mind above.
Reason there fix'd its peaceful Throne,
And reign'd alone.
The Will its easie Neck to Bondage gave,
And to the ruling Faculty became a Slave.
The Passions rais'd no Civil Wars,
Nor discompos'd thee with intestine Jars:

All did obey,
And paid Allegiance to its rightful Sway.
All threw their resty Tempers by,
And gentler Figures drew,
Gentle as Nature in its Infancy,
As when themselves in their first Beings grew.

XXI.

Thy Soul within such silent Pomp did keep,
As if Humanity were lull'd asleep.
So gentle was thy Pilgrimage beneath,
Time's unheard Feet scarce make less Noise
Or the soft Journey which a Planet goes.
Life seem'd all calm as its last Breath.
A still Tranquillity so husht thy Breast,
As if some Halcyon were its Guest,
And there had built her Nest;
It hardly now enjoys a greater Rest.
As that smooth Sea which wears the Name of Peace
Still with one even Face appears,
And feels no Tides to change it from its place,

No Waves to alter the fair Form it bears:
As that unspotted Sky,
Where Nile does want of Rain supply,
Is free from Clouds, from Storms is ever free.
So thy unvary'd mind was always one,
And with such clear Serenity still shone,
As caus'd thy little World to seem all temp'rate Zone.

XXII.

Let Fools their high Extraction boast,
And Greatness, which no Travel, but their Mothers, cost.
Let 'em extol a swelling Name,
Which theirs by Will and Testament became;
At best but meer Inheritance,
As oft the Spoils as Gift of Chance.
Let some ill-plac't Repute on Scutcheons rear
As fading as the Colors which those bear;
And prize a painted Field,
Which Wealth as soon as Fame can yield.
Thou scorn'dst at such low rates to purchase worth,

Nor couldst thou owe it only to thy Birth.
Thy self-born Greatness was above the Power
Of Parents to entail, or Fortune to deflower.
Thy Soul, which like the Sun, Heaven molded bright,
Disdain'd to shine with borrow'd Light.
Thus from himself th' Eternal Being grew,
And from no other Cause his Grandeur drew.

XXIII.

Howe'er if true Nobility
Rather in Souls than in the Blood does lie:
If from thy better part we Measures take,
And that the Standard of our Value make,
Jewels and Stars become low Heraldry
To blazon thee.
Thy Soul was big enough to pity Kings,
And lookt on Empires as poor humble things.
Great as his boundless mind,
Who thought himself in one wide Globe confin'd,
And for another pin'd.

Great as that Spirit whose large Powers rowl
Thro' the vast Fabrick of this spatious Bowl,
And tell the World as well as Man can boast a Soul.

XXIV.

Yet could not this an Haughtiness beget,
Or thee above the common Level set.
Pride, whose Alloy does best Endowments mar,
(As things most lofty smaller still appear)
With thee did no Alliance bear.
Low Merits oft are by too high Esteem bely'd,
Whose owners lessen while they raise their Price;
Thine were above the very Guilt of Pride,
Above all others, and thy own Hyperbole:
In thee the wid'st Extreams were joyn'd
The loftiest, and the lowliest Mind.
Thus tho some part of Heav'ns vast Round,
Appear but low, and seem to touch the Ground.
Yet 'tis well known almost to bound the Spheres,
'Tis truly held to be above the Stars.

XXV.

While thy brave Mind preserv'd this noble Frame,
Thou stoodst at once secure
From all the Flattery and Obloquy of Fame,
Its rough and gentler Breath were both to thee the same:
Nor this could thee exalt, nor that depress thee lower;
But thou from thy great Soul on both look'dst down
Without the small concernment of a smile or frown.
Heav'n less dreads that it should fir'd be
By the weak flitting Sparks that upwards fly,
Less the bright Goddess of the Night
Fears those loud howlings that revile her Light
Than thou malignant Tongues thy Worth should blast,
Which was too great for Envy's Cloud to overcast.
'Twas thy brave Method to despise Contempt,
And make what was the Fault the Punishment.
What more Assaults could weak Detraction raise,

When thou couldst Saint disgrace,
And turn Reproach to Praise.
So Clouds which would obscure the Sun, oft guilded be,
And Shades are taught to shine as bright as he.
So Diamonds, when envious Night
Would shroud their Splendor, look most bright,
And from its Darkness seem to borrow Light.

XXVI.

Had Heaven compos'd thy mortal Frame,
Free from Contagion as thy Soul or Fame:
Could Vertue been but Proof against Death's Arms,
Th' adst stood unvanquisht by these Harms,
Safe in a Circle made by thy own Charms.
Fond Pleasure, whose soft Magick oft beguiles
Raw unexperienc'd Souls,
And with smooth Flattery cajoles,
Could ne'er ensnare thee with her Wiles,
Or make thee Captive to her soothing Smiles.
In vain that Pimp of Vice assay'd to please,

In hope to draw thee to its rude Embrace.
Thy Prudence still that Syren past
Without being pinion'd to the Mast:
All its Attempts were ineffectual found;
Heaven fenc'd thy heart with its own Mound,
And forc'd the Tempter still from that forbidden Ground.

XXVII.

The mad Capricio's of the doating Age
Could ne'er in the same Frenzy thee engage;
But mov'd thee rather with a generous Rage.
Gallants, who their high Breeding prize,
Known only by their Gallanture and Vice,
Whose Talent is to court a fashionable Sin,
And act some fine Transgression with a janty Meen,
May by such Methods hope the Vogue to win.
Let those gay Fops who deem
Their Infamies Accomplishment,
Grow scandalous to get Esteem;
And by Disgrace strive to be eminent.

Here thou disdainst the common Road,
Nor wouldst by ought be wood
To wear the vain Iniquities o'th' Mode.
Vice with thy Practice did so disagree,
Thou scarce couldst bear it in thy Theory.
Thou didst such Ignorance 'bove Knowledge prize,
And here to be unskill'd, is to be wise.
Such the first Founders of our Blood,
While yet untempted, stood
Contented only to know Good.

XXVIII.

Vertue alone did guide thy Actions here,
Thou by no other Card thy Life didst steer:
No sly decoy would serve,
To make thee from its rigid Dictates swerve,
Thy Love ne'er thought her worse
Because thou hadst so few Competitors.
Thou couldst adore her when ador'd by none
Content to be her Votary alone:

When 'twas proscrib'd the unkind World
And to blind Cells, and Grotto's hurld,
When thought the Fantom of some crazy Brain,
Fit for grave Anchorets to entertain,
A thin Chimæra, whom dull Gown-Men frame
To gull deluded Mortals with an empty Name.

XXIX.

Thou own'dst no Crimes that shun'd the Light,
Whose Horror might thy Blood affright,
And force it to its known Retreat.
While the pale Cheeks do Penance in their White,
And tell that Blushes are too weak to expiate:
Thy Faults might all be on thy Forehead wore
And the whole World thy Confessor.
Conscience within still kept Assize,
To punish and deter Impieties:
That inbred Judg, such strict Inspection bore,
So travers'd all thy Actions ore;
Th' Eternal Judge could scarce do more:

Those little Escapades of Vice,
Which pass the Cognizance of most
I'th' Crowd of following Sins forgot and lost,
Could ne're its Sentence or Arraignment miss:
Thou didst prevent the young desires of ill,
And them in their first Motions kill:
The very thoughts in others unconfin'd
And lawless as the Wind,
Thou couldst to Rule and Order bind.
They durst not any stamp, but that of Vertue bear,
And free from stain as thy most publick Actions were.
Let wild Debauches hug their darling Vice
And court no other Paradise,
Till want of Power
Bids 'em discard the stale Amour,
And when disabled strength shall force
A short Divorce,
Miscall that weak forbearance Abstinence,
Which wise Morality and better Sence

Stiles but at best a sneaking Impotence.
Thine far a Nobler Pitch did fly
'Twas all free choice, nought of Necessity.
Thou didst that puny Soul disdain
Whose half strain Vertue only can restrain;
Nor wouldst that empty Being own
Which springs from Negatives alone,
But truly thoughst it always Vertues Skeleton.

XXX.

Nor didst thou those mean Spirits more approve,
Who Vertue, only for its Dowry love,
Unbrib'd thou didst her sterling self espouse:
Nor wouldst a better Mistress choose.
Thou couldst Affection to her bare Idæa pay
The first that e'er caress'd her the Platonick way.
To see her in her own Attractions drest
Did all thy Love arrest,
Nor lack'd there new Efforts to storm thy Brest.
Thy generous Loyalty
Would ne'er a Mercenary be,

But chose to serve her still without a Livery.
Yet wast thou not of Recompense debarr'd,
But countedst Honesty its own Reward;
Thou didst not wish a greater Bliss t' accrue,
For to be good to thee was to be happy too,
That secret Triumph of thy mind,
Which always thou in doing well didst find,
Were Heaven enough, were there no other Heaven design'd.

XXXI.

What Vertues few possess but by Retail
In gross could thee their Owner call;
They all did in thy single Circle fall.
Thou wast a living System where were wrote
All those high Morals which in Books are sought.
Thy Practice did more Vertues share
Than heretofore the learned Porch e'er knew,
Or in the Stagyrites scant Ethics grew:
Devout thou wast as holy Hermits are,
Which share their time 'twixt Extasie and Prayer.

Modest as Infant Roses in their bloom,
Which in a Blush their Lives consume,
So Chast, the Dead are only more,
Who lie divorc'd from Objects, and from Power.
So pure, that if blest Saints could be
Taught Innocence, they'd gladly learn of thee.
Thy Vertues height in Heaven alone could grow
Nor to ought else would for Accession owe:
It only now's more perfect than it was below.

XXXII.

Hence, tho' at once thy Soul liv'd here and there,
Yet Heaven alone its Thoughts did share;
It own'd no home, but in the active Sphere.
Its Motions always did to that bright Center rowl,
And seem'd t' inform thee only on Parole.
Look how the Needle does to its dear North incline,
As wer't not fixt 'twould to that Region climb;
Or mark what hidden force
Bids the Flame upwards take its course,
And makes it with that Swiftness rise,

As if 'twere wing'd by th' Air thro' which it flies.
Such a strong Vertue did thy Inclinations bend,
And made 'em still to the blest Mansions tend.
That mighty Slave whom the proud Victor's Rage
Shut Pris'ner in a golden Cage,
Condemn'd to glorious Vassalage,
Ne'er long'd for dear Enlargement more,
Nor his gay Bondage with less Patience bore,
Than this great Spirit brook its tedious Stay,
While fetter'd here in brittle Clay,
And wish'd to disengage and fly away.
It vext and chaf'd, and still desir'd to be
Releas'd to the sweet Freedom of Eternity.

XXXIII.

Nor were its Wishes long unheard,
Fate soon at its desire appear'd.
And strait for an Assault prepar'd.
A suddain and a swift Disease
First on thy Heart Life's chiefest Fort does seize,
And then on all the Suburb-vitals preys:

Next it corrupts thy tainted Blood,
And scatters Poyson thro' its purple Flood.
Sharp Aches in thick Troops it sends,
And Pain, which like a Rack the Nerves extends.
Anguish through every Member flies,
And all those inward Gemonies
Whereby frail Flesh in Torture dies.
All the staid Glories of thy Face,
Where sprightly Youth lay checkt with manly Grace,
Are now impair'd,
And quite by the rude hand of Sickness mar'd.
Thy Body where due Symmetry
In just proportions once did lie,
Now hardly could be known,
Its very Figure out of Fashion grown;
And should thy Soul to its old Seat return,
And Life once more adjourn,
'Twould stand amaz'd to see its alter'd Frame,
And doubt (almost) whether its own Carcass were the same.

XXXIV.

And here thy Sickness does new matter raise
Both for thy Vertue and our Praise;
'Twas here thy Picture look'd most neat,
When deep'st in Shades 'twas set.
Thy Vertues only thus could fairer be
Advantag'd by the Foil of Misery.
Thy Soul which hasten'd now to be enlarg'd,
And of its grosser Load discharg'd,
Began to act above its wonted rate,
And gave a Prælude of its next unbody'd State.
So dying Tapers near their Fall,
When their own Lustre lights their Funeral,
Contract their Strength into one brighter Fire,
And in that Blaze triumphantly expire.
So the bright Globe that rules the Skies,
Tho' he guild Heav'n with a glorious Rise,
Reserves his choicest Beams to grace his Set;
And then he looks most great,
And then in greatest Splendor dies.

[XXXV.]

Thou sharpest pains didst with that Courage bear,
And still thy Looks so unconcern'd didst wear:
Beholders seem'd more indispos'd than thee;
For they were sick in Effigie.
Like some well-fashion'd Arch thy Patience stood,
And purchas'd Firmness from its greater Load.
Those Shapes of Torture, which to view in Paint
Would make another faint;
Thou could'st endure in true Reality,
And feel what some could hardly bear to see.
Those Indians who their Kings by Torture chose,
Subjecting all the Royal Issue to that Test
Could ne'er thy Sway refuse,
If he deserves to reign that suffers best.
Had those fierce Savages thy Patience view'd,
Thou'dst claim'd their Choice alone
They with a Crown had paid thy Fortitude,
And turn'd thy Death bed to a Throne

[XXXVI.]

All those Heroick Pieties,
Whose Zeal to Truth made them its Sacrifice:
Those nobler Scævola's, whose holy Rage
Did their whole selves in cruel Flames engage,
Who did amidst their Force unmov'd appear,
As if those Fires but lambent were;
Or they had found their Empyreum there.
Might these repeat again their Days beneath,
They'd seen their Fates out-acted by a natural Death,
And each of them to thee resign his Wreath.
In spite of Weakness and harsh Destiny,
To relish Torment, and enjoy a Misery:
So to caress a Doom,
As make its Sufferings Delights become:
So to triumph o'er Sense and thy Disease,
As amongst Pains to revel in soft Ease:
These wonders did thy Vertues worth enhance,
And Sickness to dry Martyrdom advance.

[XXXVII.]

Yet could not all these Miracles stern Fate avert,
Or make't withold the Dart.
Only she paus'd a while with Wonder strook,
A while she doubted if that Destiny was thine,
And turned o'er again the dreadful Book,
And hop'd she had mistook;
And wish'd she might have cut another Line.
But dire Necessity
Soon cry'd 'twas thee,
And bad her give the fatal Blow.
Strait she obeys, and strait the vital Powers grow
Too weak to grapple with a stronger Foe,
And now the feeble Strife forgo.
Life's sap'd Foundation every Moment sinks,
And every Breath to lesser compass shrinks;
Last panting Gasps grow weaker each Rebound,
Like the faint Tremblings of a dying Sound:
And doubtful Twilight hovers o'er the Light,
Ready to usher in Eternal Night.

[XXXVIII.]

Yet here thy Courage taught thee to out-brave
All the slight Horrors of the Grave:
Pale Death's Arrest
Ne'er shock'd thy Breast;
Nor could it in the dreadfulst Figure drest.
That ugly Skeleton may guilty Spirits daunt,
When the dire Ghosts of Crimes departed haunt,
Arm'd with bold Innocence thou couldst that Mormo dare,
And on the bare-fac'd King of Terrors stare,
As free from all Effects as from the Cause of Fear.
Thy Soul so willing from thy Body went,
As if both parted by Consent.
No Murmur, no Complaining, no Delay,
Only a Sigh, a Groan, and so away.
Death seem'd to glide with Pleasure in,
As if in this Sense too 't had lost her Sting.
Like some well-acted Comedy Life swiftly past,
And ended just so still and sweet at last.

Thou, like its Actors, seem'dst in borrow'd Habit here beneath,
And couldst, as easily
As they do that, put off Mortality.
Thou breathedst out thy Soul as free as common Breath,
As unconcern'd as they are in a feigned Death.

[XXXIX.]

Go happy Soul, ascend the joyful Sky,
Joyful to shine with thy bright Company:
Go mount the spangled Sphere,
And make it brighter by another Star:
Yet stop not there, till thou advance yet higher,
Till thou art swallow'd quite
In the vast unexhausted Ocean of Delight:
Delight which there alone in its true Essence is,
Where Saints keep an eternal Carnival of Bliss:
Where the Regalio's of refined Joy,
Which fill, but never cloy.
Where Pleasures ever growing, ever new,
Immortal as thy self, and boundless too.

There may'st thou learned by Compendium grow;
For which in vain below
We so much time, and so much pains bestow.
There may'st thou all Idæa's see,
All wonders which in Knowledge be
In that fair beatifick mirror of the Deity.

[XL.]

Mean while thy Body mourns in its own Dust,
And puts on Sables for its tender Trust.
Tho' dead, it yet retains some untoucht Grace,
Wherein we may thy Soul's fair Foot-steps trace;
Which no Disease can frighten from its wonted place:
E'en its Deformities do thee become,
And only serve to consecrate thy Doom.
Those marks of Death which did its Surface stain
Now hallow, not profane.
Each Spot does to a Ruby turn;
What soil'd but now, would now adorn.
Those Asterisks plac'd in the Margin of thy Skin

Point out the nobler Soul that dwelt within:
Thy lesser, like the greater World appears
All over bright, all over stuck with Stars.
So Indian Luxury when it would be trim,
Hangs Pearls on every Limb.
Thus amongst ancient Picts Nobility
In Blemishes did lie;
Each by his Spots more honourable grew,
And from their Store a greater Value drew:
Their Kings were known by th' Royal Stains they bore,
And in their Skins their Ermin wore.

[LXI.]

Thy Blood where Death triumph'd in greatest State,
Whose Purple seem'd the Badge of Tyrant-Fate,
And all thy Body o'er
Its ruling Colours bore:
That which infected with the noxious Ill
But lately help'd to kill,
Whose Circulation fatal grew.

And thro' each part a swifter Ruin threw.
Now conscious, its own Murther would arraign,
And throngs to sally out at every Vein.
Each Drop a redder than its native Dye puts on,
As if in its own Blushes 'twould its Guilt atone.
A sacred Rubric does thy Carcass paint,
And Death in every Member writes thee Saint.
So Phœbus cloaths his dying Rays each Night,
And blushes he can live no longer to give Light.

[LXII.]

Let Fools, whose dying Fame requires to have
Like their own Carcasses a Grave,
Let them with vain Expence adorn
Some costly Urn,
Which shortly, like themselves, to Dust shall turn.
Here lacks no Carian Sepulchre,
Which Ruin shall e'er long in its own Tomb interr.
No fond Ægyptian Fabric built so high
As if 'twould climb the Sky,
And thence reach Immortality.

Thy Vertues shall embalm thy Name,
And make it lasting as the Breath of Fame.
When frailer Brass
Shall moulder by a quick Decrease;
When brittle Marble shall decay,
And to the Jaws of Time become a Prey.
Thy Praise shall live, when Graves shall buried lie,
Till Time it self shall die,
And yield its triple Empire to Eternity.

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