The Works of Mr. Robert Gould In Two Volumes. Consisting of those Poems [and] Satyrs Which were formerly Printed, and Corrected since by the Author; As also of the many more which He Design'd for the Press. Publish'd from his Own Original Copies [by Robert Gould] |
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 | The Works of Mr. Robert Gould |  |
To the Right Reverend Father in God Gilbert, Lord Bishop of Sarum.
Tho' I can add no Glory to your Name,
Yet praising YOU, I may arrive at Fame,
By your Applause a deathless Mem'ry get;
For Gratitude should last as long as Wit.
Yet praising YOU, I may arrive at Fame,
By your Applause a deathless Mem'ry get;
For Gratitude should last as long as Wit.
92
'Tis that, my Lord, Occasions this Address;
So few the Grateful none shou'd wish 'em less;
Or blame the Muse to Celebrate his Name,
And give him Praise that gives the Nation Fame.
So few the Grateful none shou'd wish 'em less;
Or blame the Muse to Celebrate his Name,
And give him Praise that gives the Nation Fame.
To those Productions who can be severe,
In whose Composure Flatt'ry has no Share?
Where there is no Design but just to give
To Worth its due, and pray that Worth may live?
In whose Composure Flatt'ry has no Share?
Where there is no Design but just to give
To Worth its due, and pray that Worth may live?
How many are there that much better know
To pay you Praise, with hold the Debt they owe?
In Learnings Empire, tho' they vastly get,
Return no Tribute to your soveraign Wit?
Take then my Mite, my Offe'ring, tho' but small;
Ev'n GOD accepts of Little—when 'tis All.
To pay you Praise, with hold the Debt they owe?
In Learnings Empire, tho' they vastly get,
Return no Tribute to your soveraign Wit?
Take then my Mite, my Offe'ring, tho' but small;
Ev'n GOD accepts of Little—when 'tis All.
But O what Language can th'unletter'd find
T'adorn so vast, and just Extensive Mind!
What can I hope on this great Theme t'indite,
Where the most learn'd must with Despondence write!
T'adorn so vast, and just Extensive Mind!
What can I hope on this great Theme t'indite,
Where the most learn'd must with Despondence write!
See then your Goodness first; which vast must be,
Since it assures the Muse 'twill reach to me,
And not a well intended Homage slight,
Which, coming from the Heart; may hope 'tis Right.
Since it assures the Muse 'twill reach to me,
And not a well intended Homage slight,
Which, coming from the Heart; may hope 'tis Right.
Thus Heav'n who has whole My'riads Igno'rant made,
Seems yet to make that Ignorance their Aid;
To them he opens his Eternal Doors,
While the much better Learn'd he less assures:
Perplext with Doubts, thro' tedious Tomes they run,
Which but advance the Ills those Doubts begun!
The Crowd believes, and half their Work is done.
To those you condescend and Precepts fit;
For want of which Peculiar varying Wit;
So many stiff Instructers daily split.
Strange! they shou'd think t'advance the Christian Good,
By taking Pains not to be understood!
Let Writers use a rich, or tow'ring Strain,
The Teacher must be Earnest, clear and plain.
Seems yet to make that Ignorance their Aid;
To them he opens his Eternal Doors,
While the much better Learn'd he less assures:
Perplext with Doubts, thro' tedious Tomes they run,
Which but advance the Ills those Doubts begun!
The Crowd believes, and half their Work is done.
93
For want of which Peculiar varying Wit;
So many stiff Instructers daily split.
Strange! they shou'd think t'advance the Christian Good,
By taking Pains not to be understood!
Let Writers use a rich, or tow'ring Strain,
The Teacher must be Earnest, clear and plain.
But then, tho' here you half your Lustre shroud,
It is but as the Sun behind a Cloud,
Who breaking forth does double Brightness bear;
So when in Publick Confe'rence you appear
You shine Entire—the Learn'd are Learners there.
How have I seen the List'ning Clergy stand,
While thro' their Ears you did their Souls command,
Their Ardour at each Period flaming higher?
For ev'ry Word you spoke you did Inspire!
As when we travel thro' some spacious Plain,
Adorn'd with Pastures, and replete with Grain;
There lowing Herds walk t'ward the Mur'muring Rills,
And here the Bee her wond'rous Balm distills:
So does your Lang'uage to the Vulgar show,
When you Expatiate on those Points they know;
Rich where Y'are plain, and Flow'ry where Y'are low.
But as from thence to lofty Hills we rise,
Where new and nobler Scenes salute our Eyes;
If there some Chosen-Guide direct us too,
Amaz'd and pleas'd, we distant Regions view:
So to this Audience you sublimely Soar,
Lost to their Sight to whom You spoke before:
Thro' Mysteries Myst'erious ways You get,
Up to the top-most Round of Human Wit;
A Height that Reason scarcely e're acquir'd,
Or Learning yet has compass'd, uninspir'd!
It is but as the Sun behind a Cloud,
Who breaking forth does double Brightness bear;
So when in Publick Confe'rence you appear
You shine Entire—the Learn'd are Learners there.
How have I seen the List'ning Clergy stand,
While thro' their Ears you did their Souls command,
Their Ardour at each Period flaming higher?
For ev'ry Word you spoke you did Inspire!
As when we travel thro' some spacious Plain,
Adorn'd with Pastures, and replete with Grain;
There lowing Herds walk t'ward the Mur'muring Rills,
And here the Bee her wond'rous Balm distills:
So does your Lang'uage to the Vulgar show,
When you Expatiate on those Points they know;
Rich where Y'are plain, and Flow'ry where Y'are low.
But as from thence to lofty Hills we rise,
Where new and nobler Scenes salute our Eyes;
If there some Chosen-Guide direct us too,
Amaz'd and pleas'd, we distant Regions view:
So to this Audience you sublimely Soar,
Lost to their Sight to whom You spoke before:
Thro' Mysteries Myst'erious ways You get,
Up to the top-most Round of Human Wit;
A Height that Reason scarcely e're acquir'd,
Or Learning yet has compass'd, uninspir'd!
94
Nor yet alone to these the Path you shew,
But to contending Casuists hold the Clue.
The Schismatick himself may here have aid,
Lost in the very Laby'rinths they have made;
And Secta'rists stray because their Teachers stray'd:
But reading YOU we find the Danger o'er,
They can't deceive th'Unwary as before;
Conviction lies all Radiant in their Way:
There is no wand'ring in so bright a Day!
But to contending Casuists hold the Clue.
The Schismatick himself may here have aid,
Lost in the very Laby'rinths they have made;
And Secta'rists stray because their Teachers stray'd:
But reading YOU we find the Danger o'er,
They can't deceive th'Unwary as before;
Conviction lies all Radiant in their Way:
There is no wand'ring in so bright a Day!
Where er'e we look new Wonders Strike our Eyes,
This Section gives us Wonder, this Surprize.
You no where scorch us with a fiery Zeal,
Yet there's a Warmth that ev'ry Soul must feel;
Something that Elevates our Thoughts, and finds,
Like Light'ning, Entrance to the Rockiest Minds.
Then Eloquence thro' all the Mass does run,
Like Nature animated by the Sun;
And, like the Sun's, it's Force does ne'er decay,
The same to Morrow as it was to Day;
This always flowing, as that always bright,
Your Sense no more Exhausted than his Light.
This Section gives us Wonder, this Surprize.
You no where scorch us with a fiery Zeal,
Yet there's a Warmth that ev'ry Soul must feel;
Something that Elevates our Thoughts, and finds,
Like Light'ning, Entrance to the Rockiest Minds.
Then Eloquence thro' all the Mass does run,
Like Nature animated by the Sun;
And, like the Sun's, it's Force does ne'er decay,
The same to Morrow as it was to Day;
This always flowing, as that always bright,
Your Sense no more Exhausted than his Light.
As when the Spring her Riches does unfold,
And a New Nature rises from the Old,
With Joy our Eyes behold her Beauteous Face,
And own her Offspring of Celestial Race:
So does your Stile the English Tongue refine,
Makes a New Glory round it's Visage shine,
And Stamps Conviction that the Work's Divine.
And a New Nature rises from the Old,
With Joy our Eyes behold her Beauteous Face,
And own her Offspring of Celestial Race:
So does your Stile the English Tongue refine,
Makes a New Glory round it's Visage shine,
And Stamps Conviction that the Work's Divine.
There lies that Purity of Phrase we prize,
And, like a Charm, it there to save us lies:
Seeking for Elegance we Wiser grow,
And with the Honey take the Pect'ral too:
So sweetn'd Potions we to Children give,
They drink deceiv'd, and so deceiv'd they live.
And, like a Charm, it there to save us lies:
Seeking for Elegance we Wiser grow,
And with the Honey take the Pect'ral too:
95
They drink deceiv'd, and so deceiv'd they live.
Thus every Way your Zeal our Good contrives;
Nor only fines our Language, but our Lives:
Like Paul unweary'd Diligence bestow,
Confirming, too, the Churches as You go;
Ah! that as then the Christian Seed wou'd grow!
But Precepts nor Examples now have Force
T'arrest our Sins in their destructive Course.
Each Cent'ry does in Vice transcend the Past;
Too sad an Instance this may be the last.
No Times succeeding can our Present match,
Or Plot on Plot with such dark Rancour hatch.
Nor Kings alone, we e'en our God defame,
Revile his Priests, and brand the sacred Name.
Pity 'tis now Your Turn such Crimes t'engage,
And yet but fit—what less can check their Rage?
Good Prelates are reserv'd for the most impious Age:
Impending Plagues their Prayer does oft remove,
And wrest it's Veng'ance from the Arm above.
Be then what still y'have been; exert your Worth,
Call all your Piety, your Vertues forth:
Let every other Mitre with you join;
And weeping Albion further your Design:
Let ev'n our Sov'raign too like Ardor feel;
Heav'ns Ear is open when good Princes kneel.
Who knows but, if such Incense reach the Skies,
These sinking Nations yet again shou'd rise,
And with our Sins o'ercome our Enemies:
We can't expect a less Stupendous thing
Shou'd from the Prayers and joint Petitions spring
Of such a CLERGY, and of such a KING.
Nor only fines our Language, but our Lives:
Like Paul unweary'd Diligence bestow,
Confirming, too, the Churches as You go;
Ah! that as then the Christian Seed wou'd grow!
But Precepts nor Examples now have Force
T'arrest our Sins in their destructive Course.
Each Cent'ry does in Vice transcend the Past;
Too sad an Instance this may be the last.
No Times succeeding can our Present match,
Or Plot on Plot with such dark Rancour hatch.
Nor Kings alone, we e'en our God defame,
Revile his Priests, and brand the sacred Name.
Pity 'tis now Your Turn such Crimes t'engage,
And yet but fit—what less can check their Rage?
Good Prelates are reserv'd for the most impious Age:
Impending Plagues their Prayer does oft remove,
And wrest it's Veng'ance from the Arm above.
Be then what still y'have been; exert your Worth,
Call all your Piety, your Vertues forth:
Let every other Mitre with you join;
And weeping Albion further your Design:
Let ev'n our Sov'raign too like Ardor feel;
Heav'ns Ear is open when good Princes kneel.
Who knows but, if such Incense reach the Skies,
These sinking Nations yet again shou'd rise,
And with our Sins o'ercome our Enemies:
We can't expect a less Stupendous thing
Shou'd from the Prayers and joint Petitions spring
Of such a CLERGY, and of such a KING.
| The Works of Mr. Robert Gould | |