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 DREAM.
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 | The Works of Mr. Robert Gould |  |
The DREAM.
To Sir Charles Duncomb from the Country.
On my hard Fate, as late I pondering lay,
Spent and bow'd down beneath the Toils of Day,
By weary Nature to Repose constrain'd,
I slept at last—and thus in Sleep complain'd.
Spent and bow'd down beneath the Toils of Day,
By weary Nature to Repose constrain'd,
I slept at last—and thus in Sleep complain'd.
Ah Wretch! to this unhappy Clime confin'd;
Lost to my Friends, and cut from Human kind:
A Clime where only Misery does repair,
And Life has no Cessation from its Care.
The rigid Winters here come early on,
With August brought, and scarce with April gone.
In other Places Nature looks but bare,
Some Marks of Spring continue all the Year;
But ev'ry Winter strips her naked here.
The miry Glebe imprisons Man and Beast,
And there must come a Drowth to be releas'd.
No Converse here the tedious Hour's beguile,
But Love and Friendship fly the Barbarous Soil.
Ev'n Honesty its self is banish'd hence,
And Ignorance sets up for Innocence.
The Natives are so truly homely bred,
They're of a Piece with that on which they tread:
Strangers to Vertue and all Lib'ral Arts;
Their Oxen and their Swine have all their Hearts,
Creatures of equal Intellectual Parts.
Among each other endless Feuds they sow,
And Malice lays Manure to make 'em grow.
No Mutual Trust between 'em e'er presides;
And Knavery follows when 'tis Inte'rest guides.
Ava'rice is what they one and all pursue,
Nor is a GOD believ'd while Gain's in View:
For that they earliest rise, and latest toil,
Their Souls, as 'twere, transfus'd into their Soil.
Then when with Mirth they wou'd their Nerves unbend,
What Patience can the Barb'rous Din attend!
What Beast but better wou'd himself Acquit?
Their Truth, Abuse; and Bawdry all their Wit.
Lost to my Friends, and cut from Human kind:
157
And Life has no Cessation from its Care.
The rigid Winters here come early on,
With August brought, and scarce with April gone.
In other Places Nature looks but bare,
Some Marks of Spring continue all the Year;
But ev'ry Winter strips her naked here.
The miry Glebe imprisons Man and Beast,
And there must come a Drowth to be releas'd.
No Converse here the tedious Hour's beguile,
But Love and Friendship fly the Barbarous Soil.
Ev'n Honesty its self is banish'd hence,
And Ignorance sets up for Innocence.
The Natives are so truly homely bred,
They're of a Piece with that on which they tread:
Strangers to Vertue and all Lib'ral Arts;
Their Oxen and their Swine have all their Hearts,
Creatures of equal Intellectual Parts.
Among each other endless Feuds they sow,
And Malice lays Manure to make 'em grow.
No Mutual Trust between 'em e'er presides;
And Knavery follows when 'tis Inte'rest guides.
Ava'rice is what they one and all pursue,
Nor is a GOD believ'd while Gain's in View:
For that they earliest rise, and latest toil,
Their Souls, as 'twere, transfus'd into their Soil.
Then when with Mirth they wou'd their Nerves unbend,
What Patience can the Barb'rous Din attend!
What Beast but better wou'd himself Acquit?
Their Truth, Abuse; and Bawdry all their Wit.
How vain are all the Tales the Ancients told,
Of a Self-teeming Glebe, and of an Age of Gold?
Of flow'ry Shades where Peace supinely reigns?
Of fau'tless Nymphs, and of the faithful Swains,
That liv'd so happy on th'Arcadian Plains?
'Tis all Idea—but by Fancy wrought,
The Idle Rovings of a wand'ring Thought.
Shepherds in ev'ry Age, and ev'ry Place;
Were ever just as now, a Clumsey, Brutal Race.
Ev'n Cowley, who a Rural Life had long
Ador'd, and made it Deathless in his Song;
When to the Fields he for the Blessing came,
Found all their boasted Innocence a Name:
And Chertsea stands (to contradict his Rhimes)
Blam'd in his Prose to all succeeding Times.
Of a Self-teeming Glebe, and of an Age of Gold?
Of flow'ry Shades where Peace supinely reigns?
Of fau'tless Nymphs, and of the faithful Swains,
That liv'd so happy on th'Arcadian Plains?
158
The Idle Rovings of a wand'ring Thought.
Shepherds in ev'ry Age, and ev'ry Place;
Were ever just as now, a Clumsey, Brutal Race.
Ev'n Cowley, who a Rural Life had long
Ador'd, and made it Deathless in his Song;
When to the Fields he for the Blessing came,
Found all their boasted Innocence a Name:
And Chertsea stands (to contradict his Rhimes)
Blam'd in his Prose to all succeeding Times.
What Path can here derided Vertue take?
What Musick can the sighing Muses make?
Without Converse they lose their Force and Fire,
And Reason back does to its Spring retire.
The long Remove from Prudence, Wit and Arts,
Sets us beneath our very Natu'ral Parts.
If w'are not rising we go down the Hill,
For Knowledge knows no Mean of standing still.
The brightn'd Armour glitters to the Sun,
But only using keeps the Polish on.
What Musick can the sighing Muses make?
Without Converse they lose their Force and Fire,
And Reason back does to its Spring retire.
The long Remove from Prudence, Wit and Arts,
Sets us beneath our very Natu'ral Parts.
If w'are not rising we go down the Hill,
For Knowledge knows no Mean of standing still.
The brightn'd Armour glitters to the Sun,
But only using keeps the Polish on.
Thus doom'd to Dulness, here I bury'd lie;
O low, obscure, inglorious Destiny!
Thus twice five Years I scarce can say I've liv'd;
Or yet improv'd what's ne'er to be Retriev'd!
My Youth has vainly, idly took its Flight,
Unknown to Profit, Learning, and Delight:
Depriv'd of London, then too little priz'd,
Before I knew the Blessing I despis'd.
For Towns, like Tallies, Man for Man does fit,
And Wit does keenliest whet it self on Wit.
Ah Noble City!—but too late I mourn
My Fortune—banish'd never to return!
Never (which yet I deeplier must deplore)
Never to see the Gene'rous DUNCOMB more!
DUNCOMB! whose Bounty thro' the Nation flows,
Like Nile, diffusing Plenty as it goes.
DUNCOMB! the Joy of ev'ry Orphan's Tongue!
A Theme for ev'ry Future Laureat's Song!
Once were these Shades with his dear Presence blest,
When Me, ev'n Me, he singl'd from the rest;
And kindly smiling on my Rural Lays,
Crown'd 'em at once both with Reward and Praise.
But Ah the happy Hours too swiftly run!
Just like a blissful Vision seen and gone!
But (O ye Pow'rs!) where e'er he goes be kind,
And match his Blessings to his Gen'rous Mind.
While Envious Fortune here my Hand employs
In barren Labour, and Eternal Noise;
Let all his Mornings rise, and Ev'nings set in Joys.
Nor let him think I by my VVish intend
A Covetous, or an Ambitious End:
Only a Human Fate my Hope invites,
And Innocence, in which my Soul delights.
None better cou'd than I contented live
VVith little, or from little more wou'd give:
But 'tis no Life here in a Brutal Den,
Banish'd from Books, from Manners, and from Men.
O low, obscure, inglorious Destiny!
Thus twice five Years I scarce can say I've liv'd;
Or yet improv'd what's ne'er to be Retriev'd!
My Youth has vainly, idly took its Flight,
Unknown to Profit, Learning, and Delight:
Depriv'd of London, then too little priz'd,
Before I knew the Blessing I despis'd.
For Towns, like Tallies, Man for Man does fit,
And Wit does keenliest whet it self on Wit.
Ah Noble City!—but too late I mourn
My Fortune—banish'd never to return!
Never (which yet I deeplier must deplore)
Never to see the Gene'rous DUNCOMB more!
159
Like Nile, diffusing Plenty as it goes.
DUNCOMB! the Joy of ev'ry Orphan's Tongue!
A Theme for ev'ry Future Laureat's Song!
Once were these Shades with his dear Presence blest,
When Me, ev'n Me, he singl'd from the rest;
And kindly smiling on my Rural Lays,
Crown'd 'em at once both with Reward and Praise.
But Ah the happy Hours too swiftly run!
Just like a blissful Vision seen and gone!
But (O ye Pow'rs!) where e'er he goes be kind,
And match his Blessings to his Gen'rous Mind.
While Envious Fortune here my Hand employs
In barren Labour, and Eternal Noise;
Let all his Mornings rise, and Ev'nings set in Joys.
Nor let him think I by my VVish intend
A Covetous, or an Ambitious End:
Only a Human Fate my Hope invites,
And Innocence, in which my Soul delights.
None better cou'd than I contented live
VVith little, or from little more wou'd give:
But 'tis no Life here in a Brutal Den,
Banish'd from Books, from Manners, and from Men.
'Twas here, methought, a Glorious Form appear'd,
Yet awful as a Goddess long rever'd:
Her Monumental Tow'r the Skies out-brav'd,
And on her Front was fair AUGUSTA grav'd.
And why (said she) dost thou thus sighing ly?
Why all Despondence and Relief so nigh?
He that does set so many CAPTIVES free,
He will, he must, he shall Remember Thee.
Yet awful as a Goddess long rever'd:
Her Monumental Tow'r the Skies out-brav'd,
And on her Front was fair AUGUSTA grav'd.
And why (said she) dost thou thus sighing ly?
Why all Despondence and Relief so nigh?
He that does set so many CAPTIVES free,
He will, he must, he shall Remember Thee.
Musing, I rose; and bowing thus reply'd.
Ah Madam! not alone on Captives try'd,
His Pow'er extends where ever Winds can steer,
Nor will he once thy Heav'nly Beauty spare.
He shall?—alas! You might have spar'd your Breath,
I know the Wretched all are eas'd in Death.
Ah Madam! not alone on Captives try'd,
160
Nor will he once thy Heav'nly Beauty spare.
He shall?—alas! You might have spar'd your Breath,
I know the Wretched all are eas'd in Death.
Now by my Pow'r (said the Illustrious Dame)
(And may my Pow'r for ever be the same)
Y'ave liv'd so long shut up in Rural Night,
Your other Senses leave you with your Sight.
Know'st thou not Me?—what Country is there found,
What Region where my Name is not renown'd?
Let Vulgar Names and Things submit to Fate,
I can already boast a more than Mortal Date:
This Privilege the British Glory gives,
I'm only then to die when Nothing lives,
Quite from the Rising to the Setting Sun,
As vast a Round as his, my Fame has run.
Let it be either Traffick, Peace, or War,
What City sends her Naval Tow'rs so far?
Who o'er the Ocean so triumphant rides?
What Shores are water'd with such Wealthy Tydes?
Beneath my Feet my Thames for ever flows,
And for my Profit never takes repose;
But shifting Tydes to Sea, and thence to Land,
Does our own Stores and all the World's command:
While on her Billows to my Hand she brings
The noblest, richest, and remotest Things.
Tho' round my Walls you scarce perceive a Vine,
Yet half the Vintage of the Year is mine,
And ev'ry Lombard Shop an Indian Mine.
What other Town does there so nobly stand
For Soil, for Health, for Pleasure and Command?
What City does beside so Lordly rise,
And sit so near a Neighbour to the Skies?
My Turrets to the Clouds the Prospect fill,
Like lofty Pines on some aspiring Hill.
Who less fears War? and when a War does cease,
Who Richlier does adorn the Arts of Peace?
What Shoals of People pour thro' ev'ry Street!
In passing on, what Myriads must you meet!
How gay! how richly clad where e'er you come!
What gallant Youths and Beauties in their Bloom!
Not brighter Shines by Night the Milky Way,
Than in my Streets the Charming Sex by Day.
Who sooner can than I such Summs produce
For self Magnificence, or Publick Use?
Who can her Hand for Wealth extend so far?
Or with such ready Loans defray a War?
Loans that to Lewis gave such loud Alarms,
He lik'd the sound worse than the Clank of Arms.
He saw, in War, the Nerves of War increase,
He saw, advis'd, and sought, and su'd for Peace.
Beside (which further does my State commend)
This Wealth no Mercenary Troops defend:
No Works, or Rampiers rise in my Defence,
By LIBERTY secur'd from insolence:
My Safety strongly on that Rock I lay,
And only Annual Choice confers, the Annual Sway.
No least despotick Thought among us rules,
The wish of Villains and the Yoke of Fools.
Thus by a Fate peculiar but to Me,
I make my Sons not only Rich, but FREE.
(And may my Pow'r for ever be the same)
Y'ave liv'd so long shut up in Rural Night,
Your other Senses leave you with your Sight.
Know'st thou not Me?—what Country is there found,
What Region where my Name is not renown'd?
Let Vulgar Names and Things submit to Fate,
I can already boast a more than Mortal Date:
This Privilege the British Glory gives,
I'm only then to die when Nothing lives,
Quite from the Rising to the Setting Sun,
As vast a Round as his, my Fame has run.
Let it be either Traffick, Peace, or War,
What City sends her Naval Tow'rs so far?
Who o'er the Ocean so triumphant rides?
What Shores are water'd with such Wealthy Tydes?
Beneath my Feet my Thames for ever flows,
And for my Profit never takes repose;
But shifting Tydes to Sea, and thence to Land,
Does our own Stores and all the World's command:
While on her Billows to my Hand she brings
The noblest, richest, and remotest Things.
Tho' round my Walls you scarce perceive a Vine,
Yet half the Vintage of the Year is mine,
And ev'ry Lombard Shop an Indian Mine.
What other Town does there so nobly stand
For Soil, for Health, for Pleasure and Command?
What City does beside so Lordly rise,
And sit so near a Neighbour to the Skies?
My Turrets to the Clouds the Prospect fill,
Like lofty Pines on some aspiring Hill.
161
Who Richlier does adorn the Arts of Peace?
What Shoals of People pour thro' ev'ry Street!
In passing on, what Myriads must you meet!
How gay! how richly clad where e'er you come!
What gallant Youths and Beauties in their Bloom!
Not brighter Shines by Night the Milky Way,
Than in my Streets the Charming Sex by Day.
Who sooner can than I such Summs produce
For self Magnificence, or Publick Use?
Who can her Hand for Wealth extend so far?
Or with such ready Loans defray a War?
Loans that to Lewis gave such loud Alarms,
He lik'd the sound worse than the Clank of Arms.
He saw, in War, the Nerves of War increase,
He saw, advis'd, and sought, and su'd for Peace.
Beside (which further does my State commend)
This Wealth no Mercenary Troops defend:
No Works, or Rampiers rise in my Defence,
By LIBERTY secur'd from insolence:
My Safety strongly on that Rock I lay,
And only Annual Choice confers, the Annual Sway.
No least despotick Thought among us rules,
The wish of Villains and the Yoke of Fools.
Thus by a Fate peculiar but to Me,
I make my Sons not only Rich, but FREE.
Thou know'st me now:—Now know I hither came,
Tho' late thou lov'st me, to encrease thy Flame,
And joyn with thee in blessing DUNCOMB's Name:
DUNCOMB! whose Praise I heard you now recite,
And scarce the loftest Notes can do him Right.
Nor shall his Worth be but proclaim'd by you,
At once the Muses and My Darling too.
'Tis He, I mean, that does our CAPTIVES free
From more than an Egyptian Slaverie:
'Tis he that everlasting Honour gains
By nobly striking off my Debtors Chains;
And in that Gene'rous Action has done more
Than all I e'er advanc'd to Wealth before.
Husbands he to their VVives again does give,
He heard their dying Cries, and bid 'em live.
So mighty Paul and Silas when they were
Imprison'd, pray'd, and found the Angel there;
Their Shackles broke, the Doors all open flew—
But DUNCOMB's Angel stops not at so few,
At ev'ry Prison, ev'ry Jayl does call,
And like an Act of Grace, he manumits 'em all.
Tho' late thou lov'st me, to encrease thy Flame,
And joyn with thee in blessing DUNCOMB's Name:
DUNCOMB! whose Praise I heard you now recite,
And scarce the loftest Notes can do him Right.
Nor shall his Worth be but proclaim'd by you,
At once the Muses and My Darling too.
'Tis He, I mean, that does our CAPTIVES free
From more than an Egyptian Slaverie:
162
By nobly striking off my Debtors Chains;
And in that Gene'rous Action has done more
Than all I e'er advanc'd to Wealth before.
Husbands he to their VVives again does give,
He heard their dying Cries, and bid 'em live.
So mighty Paul and Silas when they were
Imprison'd, pray'd, and found the Angel there;
Their Shackles broke, the Doors all open flew—
But DUNCOMB's Angel stops not at so few,
At ev'ry Prison, ev'ry Jayl does call,
And like an Act of Grace, he manumits 'em all.
She paus'd—and here had not the Goddess clos'd
Her Speech, I certainly had interpos'd:
That Noble Name of Honour and Desert
Enlarg'd my Faculties, and fir'd my Heart:
Scarce cou'd I to the Fair my Distance keep,
And Joy almost had burst the Bands of Sleep.
Ah! glorious Dame, I cried, (with a Surprize
That flush't my Cheeks, and light'nd in my Eyes)
That Name you Praise for ever tune your Tongue,
First of your Sons in Panegyrick Song.
But whence? or how is He become your Theme?
That Name so lately injur'd in Extreme.
An Envious Race, I know, his Ruin sought,
Say Goddess, how the Mighty Change was wrought:
Th'Effect must spring from some Stupendous Cause,
Where Fair AUGUSTA gives such vast Applause.
Her Speech, I certainly had interpos'd:
That Noble Name of Honour and Desert
Enlarg'd my Faculties, and fir'd my Heart:
Scarce cou'd I to the Fair my Distance keep,
And Joy almost had burst the Bands of Sleep.
Ah! glorious Dame, I cried, (with a Surprize
That flush't my Cheeks, and light'nd in my Eyes)
That Name you Praise for ever tune your Tongue,
First of your Sons in Panegyrick Song.
But whence? or how is He become your Theme?
That Name so lately injur'd in Extreme.
An Envious Race, I know, his Ruin sought,
Say Goddess, how the Mighty Change was wrought:
Th'Effect must spring from some Stupendous Cause,
Where Fair AUGUSTA gives such vast Applause.
I spoke: When smiling with Superior Grace,
(Both Majesty and Mildness in her Face)
She thus Return'd—As a tempestuous Night
Sets greater Lustre on returning Light,
So Malice, raging without Rule or Form,
Instead of sinking, rais'd him by the Storm.
Easie and Rich, in Innocence secure,
He wou'd not joyn with others to procure
Success to Projects hatch'd against the State,
By basely siding with th'Exchequer Cheat;
But knowing well the Narrow Self Design
The Profit shun'd, and did his Post resign.
Unseasonable Vertue! out of Time
Was DUNCOMB's Fau't, and that his only Crime:
For this the bold Projectors cou'd not bear;
He must be guilty that their selves might share,
With double Joy, the Veng'eance and the Prize;
And scarce Two Thirds their Avarice cou'd suffice.
Whole Patrimonies thus the Courtier sweeps;
The Orphan starves, the wretched Widow weeps,
The Nation Groans, and yet the Senate sleeps.
(Both Majesty and Mildness in her Face)
She thus Return'd—As a tempestuous Night
Sets greater Lustre on returning Light,
So Malice, raging without Rule or Form,
Instead of sinking, rais'd him by the Storm.
163
He wou'd not joyn with others to procure
Success to Projects hatch'd against the State,
By basely siding with th'Exchequer Cheat;
But knowing well the Narrow Self Design
The Profit shun'd, and did his Post resign.
Unseasonable Vertue! out of Time
Was DUNCOMB's Fau't, and that his only Crime:
For this the bold Projectors cou'd not bear;
He must be guilty that their selves might share,
With double Joy, the Veng'eance and the Prize;
And scarce Two Thirds their Avarice cou'd suffice.
Whole Patrimonies thus the Courtier sweeps;
The Orphan starves, the wretched Widow weeps,
The Nation Groans, and yet the Senate sleeps.
Here Human Malice might it self display,
And many dark Designs expose to Day:
Here to the Life the close Rapacious Crew,
In Sanguin Colours, might be set to view:
But I forbear; nor shall their Rage inspire
A Heav'nly Breast with like pernicious Fire.
Let this suffice; expect the Joyful Day
When all the Birds of Night and those of Prey
Shall to the Deserts fly, to make the Vertu'ous Way
It is enough I dissappoint their Aim,
Secure the Guiltless in their Wealth and Fame,
And fix in Honour DUNCOMB's injur'd Name.
Good-Nature, Honour, Honesty and Sense
All took th'Alarm, and arm'd in his Defence:
Such is the Temper of an English Soul,
It yeilds to Softness, but abhors controul.
Tir'd with their Spite, and all their Hope's o'erpast
To ruin Him, they left the Chase at last;
But sullenly; just as the Wolf withdraws,
The Lamb redeem'd from his extended Paws.
By the known Laws he did himself acquit,
Rescu'd by Heav'n from Malice, Power and Wit,
From Bribes, and from the wide devouring Jaw
Of high Oppression, to take Place as Law.
'Twas here, (and I the Influ'ence did impart,)
Touch'd with his Wrongs, and knowing his Desert,
My Sons advanc'd him to the Shrieval Name;
Where now he honours That and gives the Nation Fame.
And many dark Designs expose to Day:
Here to the Life the close Rapacious Crew,
In Sanguin Colours, might be set to view:
But I forbear; nor shall their Rage inspire
A Heav'nly Breast with like pernicious Fire.
Let this suffice; expect the Joyful Day
When all the Birds of Night and those of Prey
Shall to the Deserts fly, to make the Vertu'ous Way
It is enough I dissappoint their Aim,
Secure the Guiltless in their Wealth and Fame,
And fix in Honour DUNCOMB's injur'd Name.
Good-Nature, Honour, Honesty and Sense
All took th'Alarm, and arm'd in his Defence:
Such is the Temper of an English Soul,
It yeilds to Softness, but abhors controul.
Tir'd with their Spite, and all their Hope's o'erpast
To ruin Him, they left the Chase at last;
But sullenly; just as the Wolf withdraws,
The Lamb redeem'd from his extended Paws.
164
Rescu'd by Heav'n from Malice, Power and Wit,
From Bribes, and from the wide devouring Jaw
Of high Oppression, to take Place as Law.
'Twas here, (and I the Influ'ence did impart,)
Touch'd with his Wrongs, and knowing his Desert,
My Sons advanc'd him to the Shrieval Name;
Where now he honours That and gives the Nation Fame.
My Royal Master by this Time was come.
As late with Laurel crown'd with Olive home:
That God-like Prince that did so boldly dare
All the Extremities of Mortal War;
Nor wou'd the shining Chace of Glory cease,
Till he had crown'd his Martial Toils with PEACE.
In ev'ry Field he foremost wou'd appear,
Or succo'uring of that Part, or routing here,
As Mars himself had been in Action there.
Nor did his Heat drive cooler Thoughts away;
His Arm, descending, in the Mid'st wou'd stay,
And Quarter give tho' doubtful of the Day.
But as to such his Mercy did extend,
So he no Danger wav'd to save a Friend.
Thro' Horror Blood and Slaughter he wou'd drive,
Set raging out, and like a Storm arrive:
These dying fall and others Prostrate yield,
And wide Destruction covers all the Field.
His Courage thus!—nor was his Conduct less,
Both try'd—and never try'd without Success.
As late with Laurel crown'd with Olive home:
That God-like Prince that did so boldly dare
All the Extremities of Mortal War;
Nor wou'd the shining Chace of Glory cease,
Till he had crown'd his Martial Toils with PEACE.
In ev'ry Field he foremost wou'd appear,
Or succo'uring of that Part, or routing here,
As Mars himself had been in Action there.
Nor did his Heat drive cooler Thoughts away;
His Arm, descending, in the Mid'st wou'd stay,
And Quarter give tho' doubtful of the Day.
But as to such his Mercy did extend,
So he no Danger wav'd to save a Friend.
Thro' Horror Blood and Slaughter he wou'd drive,
Set raging out, and like a Storm arrive:
These dying fall and others Prostrate yield,
And wide Destruction covers all the Field.
His Courage thus!—nor was his Conduct less,
Both try'd—and never try'd without Success.
But now there does a Milder Scene appear,
To shew him great in Peace, as great in War.
I best can see (a thousand Ways display'd)
How he at once advances Truth and Trade.
The Country too does in the Blessing share;
And it does reach to Thee—to Thee ev'n here,
So far remov'd, and out of Nature's Care.
Plenty and Safety with their Brooding Wings
Extended wide, produce all useful Things;
In Peace the Plowman reaps, of Peace the Poet sings;
Never of all our Martial Kings, from Heav'n
To Britain has there yet a Prince been giv'n
That sooner did in Camps arrive at Fame,
Or past more Dangers to a Deathless Name.
In Him the Two most distant Glories meet,
All that on Earth is Good, with all that's Great.
To shew him great in Peace, as great in War.
I best can see (a thousand Ways display'd)
How he at once advances Truth and Trade.
165
And it does reach to Thee—to Thee ev'n here,
So far remov'd, and out of Nature's Care.
Plenty and Safety with their Brooding Wings
Extended wide, produce all useful Things;
In Peace the Plowman reaps, of Peace the Poet sings;
Never of all our Martial Kings, from Heav'n
To Britain has there yet a Prince been giv'n
That sooner did in Camps arrive at Fame,
Or past more Dangers to a Deathless Name.
In Him the Two most distant Glories meet,
All that on Earth is Good, with all that's Great.
Here did my DUNCOMB's Honours shine anew,
For me not only, but the World to view.
This Prince that from his Soul does Worth regard,
And never gives th'Immoral Man Reward;
That never once on Cowardice did smile,
But those he Raises Guardians of the Isle;
Ev'n He himself, the Envious to convince
Of their own Spite, and DUNCOMB's Innocence,
Gave him the Recompence with which we see
He Crowns persisting Faith, and Suffe'ring Loyaltie.
Whom the King Honours and the People chuse,
To such a One who can Applause refuse?
Fit for the Praises of the Chasest Muse.
Let then his Loud-Tongu'd Suffe'rings be repaid
With louder Praise;—for, since my Walls were laid,
No Subject e'er was such a Friend to Trade.
Who does the Nation's Inte'rest study more?
Or better Laws propose to feed the Poor?
Nor does he (splitting on the Common Shelf)
Propose to others what he shuns himself:
To give by Dribblets (which is chiefly done)
Is but to keep the Needy starving on:
He lays out his Reliefs at nobler Rates,
His Dole's a Market, and his Gifts Estates.
Who in his Office ever raised so high
AUGUSTA's Name for Hospitality?
What Table thro' the Nation does afford
So vast a Plenty as his Shrieval Board?
Who for the Loyal noblier does prepare?
And Wit and Vertue still are welcome there.
Mean while the sparkling Wines around him move,
Th'Inspiring Nectar that the Muses love.
For me not only, but the World to view.
This Prince that from his Soul does Worth regard,
And never gives th'Immoral Man Reward;
That never once on Cowardice did smile,
But those he Raises Guardians of the Isle;
Ev'n He himself, the Envious to convince
Of their own Spite, and DUNCOMB's Innocence,
Gave him the Recompence with which we see
He Crowns persisting Faith, and Suffe'ring Loyaltie.
Whom the King Honours and the People chuse,
To such a One who can Applause refuse?
Fit for the Praises of the Chasest Muse.
Let then his Loud-Tongu'd Suffe'rings be repaid
With louder Praise;—for, since my Walls were laid,
No Subject e'er was such a Friend to Trade.
Who does the Nation's Inte'rest study more?
Or better Laws propose to feed the Poor?
Nor does he (splitting on the Common Shelf)
Propose to others what he shuns himself:
To give by Dribblets (which is chiefly done)
Is but to keep the Needy starving on:
166
His Dole's a Market, and his Gifts Estates.
Who in his Office ever raised so high
AUGUSTA's Name for Hospitality?
What Table thro' the Nation does afford
So vast a Plenty as his Shrieval Board?
Who for the Loyal noblier does prepare?
And Wit and Vertue still are welcome there.
Mean while the sparkling Wines around him move,
Th'Inspiring Nectar that the Muses love.
Stay then no longer thus lamenting here,
But hope a milder Heav'n and kinder Air;
The Rising of thy Better Stars is near.
If my Perswasions have not lost their Charms,
My DUNCOMB shall restore Thee to my Arms.
Wealth, Wit, Employment, all by HIM are sway'd;
'Tis but a Word, a Nod, and He's obey'd.
But hope a milder Heav'n and kinder Air;
The Rising of thy Better Stars is near.
If my Perswasions have not lost their Charms,
My DUNCOMB shall restore Thee to my Arms.
Wealth, Wit, Employment, all by HIM are sway'd;
'Tis but a Word, a Nod, and He's obey'd.
I here had answer'd but the Dame withdrew;
And with Her Sleep retir'd, and left me too:
But left th'Impression deep upon my Mind
Of DUNCOMB honour'd, and AUGUSTA kind.
Ah Heav'n! I cry'd, let him but Prospe'rous be,
And 'tis no matter what becomes of me.
And with Her Sleep retir'd, and left me too:
But left th'Impression deep upon my Mind
Of DUNCOMB honour'd, and AUGUSTA kind.
Ah Heav'n! I cry'd, let him but Prospe'rous be,
And 'tis no matter what becomes of me.
Forgive me, Sir, that thus (opprest with Spleen)
I treat you with this Visionary Scene;
That on a Night-piece I your Worth display,
So dear to Vertue, and so worthy Day.
Nor let the Muses lose me your Esteem,
Since they Petition only but in Dream:
In Dreams they live, and chiefly Dreams regard,
But most they Err when Dreaming of Reward.
But tho' my Sleep dissent, I waking ne'er
Upon that Subject shall offend your Ear.
These Melancholy Vapours, bred at Sight
Of Winter, with the Spring will take their Flight;
When Op'ning Sweets, and Universal Green,
Produce a Gay Inimitable Scene.
Tho' now with Rains, or Shudd'ring Frost, we strive,
That Glo'rious Season will again revive:
The Tuneful Choir, thro' ev'ry Field and Grove,
Will then renew their Musick and their Love:
With them th'exulting Muse her Voice shall raise,
And waking then I'll sing my PATRON's Praise.
I treat you with this Visionary Scene;
That on a Night-piece I your Worth display,
So dear to Vertue, and so worthy Day.
Nor let the Muses lose me your Esteem,
Since they Petition only but in Dream:
In Dreams they live, and chiefly Dreams regard,
But most they Err when Dreaming of Reward.
But tho' my Sleep dissent, I waking ne'er
Upon that Subject shall offend your Ear.
167
Of Winter, with the Spring will take their Flight;
When Op'ning Sweets, and Universal Green,
Produce a Gay Inimitable Scene.
Tho' now with Rains, or Shudd'ring Frost, we strive,
That Glo'rious Season will again revive:
The Tuneful Choir, thro' ev'ry Field and Grove,
Will then renew their Musick and their Love:
With them th'exulting Muse her Voice shall raise,
And waking then I'll sing my PATRON's Praise.
| The Works of Mr. Robert Gould | |