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

No, I'll no more repine at Destiny,
Now we poor common Mortals are content to die.
When thee, blest Saint, we cold and breathless see,
Thee, who if ought that's great and brave,
Ought that is excellent might save,
Hadst justly claim'd Exemption from the Grave,
And cancell'd the black irreversible Decree.
Thou didst alone such Worth, such Goodness share
As well deserv'd to be immortal here;
Deserve a Life as lasting as the Fame thou art to wear.
At least, why went thy Soul without its Mate?

Why did they not together undivided go?
So went (we're told) the fam'd Illustrious Two.
(Nor could they greater Merits shew,
Altho' the best of Patriarchs that,
And this the best of Prophets was)
Heav'n did alive the blessed Pair translate;
Alive they launch'd into Life's boundless Happiness,
And never past Death's Straights and narrow Seas;
Ne'er enter'd the dark gloomy Thorowfare of Fate.

II.

Long time had the Profession under Scandal lain,
And felt a general tho' unjust Disdain,
An upright Lawyer Contradiction seem'd,
And was at least a Prodigy esteem'd.
If one perhaps did in an Age appear,
He was recorded like some Blazing Star;
And Statues were erected to the wondrous Man,
As heretofore to the strange honest Publican.
To thee the numerous Calling all its thanks should give,

To thee who couldst alone its lost Repute retrieve.
Thou the vast wide extremes didst reconcile,
The first, almost, e'er taught it was not to beguile.
To each thou didst distribute Right so equally,
Ev'n Justice might her self correct her Scales by thee.
And none did now regret,
Her once bewail'd Retreat,
Since all enjoy'd her better Deputy.
Henceforth succeeding Time shall bear in mind,
And Chronicle the best of all the kind:
The best e'er since the man that gave
Our suffering God a Grave;
(That God who living no Abode could find,
Tho' he the World had made, and was to save)
Embalming him, he did embalm his Memory,
And make it from Corruption free:
Those Odors kindly lent perfum'd the Breath of Fame,
And fixt a lasting Fragrancy upon his Name;
And rais'd it with his Saviour to an Immortality.

III.

Hence the stale musty Paradox of equal Souls,
That ancient vulgar Error of the Schools,
Avow'd by dull Philosophers and thinking Fool.
Here might they find their feeble Arguments o'erthrown:
Here might the grave Disputers find
Themselves all baffl'd by a single Mind,
And see one vastly larger than their own,
Tho' all of theirs were mixt in one.
A Soul as great as e'er vouchsaf'd to be
Inhabiter in low Mortality;
As e'er th' Almighty Artist labour'd to infuse,
Thro' all his Mint he did the brightest chuse;
With his own Image stampt it fair,
And bid it ever the Divine Impression wear;
And so it did, so pure, so well,
We hardly could believe him of the Race that fell:
So spotless still, and still so good,

As if it never lodg'd in Flesh and Blood.
Hence conscious too, how high, how nobly born:
It never did reproach its Birth,
By valuing ought of base or meaner worth,
But look'd on earthly Grandeur with Contempt and Scorn.

IV.

Like his All-great Creator, who
Can only by diffusing greater grow:
He made his chiefest Glory to communicate,
And chose the fairest Attribute to imitate.
So kind, so generous, and so free,
As if he only liv'd in Courtesie.
To be unhappy did his Pity claim,
Only to want it did deserve the same:
Nor lack'd there other Rhetorick than Innocence and Misery.
His unconfin'd unhoarded Store
Was still the vast Exchequer of the poor;

100

And whatsoe'er in pious Acts went out
He did in his own Inventory put:
For well the wise and prudent Banker knew
His Gracious Sovereign above would all repay,
And all th' expences of his Charity defray;
And so he did, both Principal and Interest too,
And he by holy Prodigality more wealthy grew.
Such, and so universal is the Influence
Which the kind bounteous Sun does here dispense:
With an unwearied indefatigable Race,
He travels round the World each day,
And visits all Mankind, and every place,
And scatters Light and Blessings all the way.
Tho' he each hour new Beams expend,
Yet does he not like wasting Tapers spend.
Tho' he ten thousand years disburse in Light,
The boundless Stock can never be exhausted quite.

101

V.

Nor was his Bounty stinted or design'd,
As theirs who only partially are kind;
Or give where they Return expect to find:
But like his Soul, its fair Original:
'Twas all in all,
And all in every part,
Silent as his Devotion, open as his Heart.
Brib'd with the Pleasure to oblige and gratifie,
As Air and Sunshine he dispos'd his Kindness free,
Yet scorn'd Requitals, and worse hated Flattery,
And all obsequious Pomp of vain formality.
Thus the Almighty Bounty does bestow
Its Favors on our undeserving Race below;
Confer'd on all its loyal Votaries;
Confer'd alike on its rebellious Enemies.
To it alone our All we owe,
All that we are and are to be,
Each Art and Science to its Liberality,

102

And this same trifling jingling thing call'd Poetry.
Yet the great Donor does no costly Gratitude require,
No Charge of Sacrifice desire;
Nor are w' expensive Hecatombs to raise,
As heretofore,
To make his Altars float with reeking Gore.
A small Return the mighty Debt and Duty pays,
Ev'n the cheap humble Off'ring of worthless Thanks and Praise.

VI.

But how, blest Saint, shall I thy numerous Vertues summ,
If one or two take up this room?
To what vast Bulk must the full Audit come?
As that bold Hand that drew the fairest Deity,
Had many naked Beauties by,
And took from each a several Grace, and Air, and Line,
And all in one Epitome did joyn
To paint his bright Immortal in a Form Divine:

103

So must I do to frame thy Character.
I'll think whatever Men can good and lovely call,
And then abridge it all,
And crowd, and mix the various Idæas there;
And yet at last of a just Praise despair.
Whatever ancient Worthies boast,
Which made themselves and Poets their Describers great,
From whence old Zeal did Gods and Shrines create;
Thou hadst thy self alone engrost,
And all their scatter'd Glories in thy Soul did meet:
And future Ages, when they eminent Vertues see,
(If any after thee
Dare the Pretence of Vertue own,
Without the Fear of being far out-done)
Shall count 'em all but Legacy,
Which from the Strength of thy Example flow,
And thy fair Copy in a less correct Edition show.

104

VII.

Religion over all did a just Conduct claim,
No false Religion which from Custom came,
Which to its Font and Country only ow'd its Name:
No Issue of devout and zealous Ignorance,
Or the more dull Effect of Chance;
But 'twas a firm well-grounded Piety,
That knew all that it did believe, and why;
And for the glorious Cause durst die,
And durst out-suffer ancient Martyrology.
So knit and interwoven with its being so,
Most thought it did not from his Duty, but his Nature flow.
Exalted far above the vain small Attacks of Wit,
And all that vile gay lewd Buffoons can bring,
Who try by little Railleries to ruin it;
And jeer't into an unreguarded poor defenceless thing.
The Men of Sence who in Confederacy join,

105

To damn Religion had they view'd but thine,
They'd have confest it pure, confest it all divine,
And free from all Pretences of Imposture or Design.
Pow'rful enough to counter-act lewd Poets and the Stage,
And Proselyte as fast as they debauch the Age;
So good, it might alone a guilty condemn'd World reprieve,
Should a destroying Angel stand
With brandish'd Thunder in his Hand,
Ready the bidden Stroke to give;
Or a new Deluge threaten this and every Land.

VIII.

Religion once a quiet and a peaceful Name,
Which all the Epithets of Gentleness did claim,
Late prov'd the Source of Faction and intestine Jars:
Like the Fair teeming Hebrew, she
Did travel with a wrangling Progeny,

106

And harbor'd in her Bowels Fewds and Civil Wars.
Surly, uncomplaisant, and rough she grew,
And of a soft and easie Mistress turn'd a Shrew.
Passion and Anger went for marks of Grace,
And looks deform'd and sullen sanctifyed a Face.
Thou first its meek and primitive Temper didst restore,
First shew'dst how men were pious heretofore:
The gaul-less Dove, which otherwhere could find no Rest,
Early retreated to its Ark, thy Breast,
And straight the swelling Waves decreast
And straight tempestuous Passions ceast,
Like Winds and Storms where some fair Halcyon builds her Nest.
No overheating Zeal did thee inspire,
But 'twas a kindly gentle Fire,
To warm, but not devour,
And only did refine, and make more pure:
Such is that Fire that makes thy present blest Abode

107

The Residence and Palace of our God.
And such was that bright unconsuming Flame,
So mild, so harmless and so tame,
Which heretofore ith' Bush to Moses came:
At first the Vision did the wondring Prophet scare,
But when the voice had check'd his needless Fear
He bow'd and worshipp'd and confest the Deity was there.

IX.

Hail Saint Triumphant! hail Heav'ns happy Guest.
Hail new Inhabitant amongst the blest!
Methinks I see kind Spirits in convoy meet.
And with loud Welcomes thy Arrival greet.
Who, could they grieve, would go with Grief away
To see a Soul more white, more pure than they:
By them thou'rt led on high

108

To the vast glorious Apartment of the Deity.
Where circulating Pleasures make an endless Round
To which scant Time or Measure sets no Bound,
Perfect unmixt Delights without Alloy,
And whatsoe'er does earthly Bliss annoy,
Which oft does in Fruition Pall and oft'ner Cloy:
Where being is no longer Life but Extasie,
But one long Transport of unutterable Joy.
A Joy above the boldest Flights of daring verse,
And all a Muse unglorifyed can fancy or rehearse:
There happy Thou
From Troubles and the bustling toil of Business free,
From noise and tracas of tumultuous Life below,
Enjoy'st the still and calm Vacation of Eternity.