 | The Poetic Writings of Thomas Cradock, 1718-1770 |  |
To Thyrsis
While Vice triumphant lords it o'er the plain,
And holds o'er abject man her tyrant-reign;
While poor dejected Virtue hangs her head,
Her dictates quite despis'd, her influence dead;
While hoary Age forgets its wonted lore,
And lives a pattern of good deeds no more;
While Youth, no more by modest duty bound,
Of vice or folly runs one constant round;
In fine, while almost all their bane pursue,
Nor have one gen'rous God-like aim in view;
Dear Thyrsis, scorn the listless, impious, throng,
And harken to the precepts of my song.
Observe the muse that tempts the moral lay,
And boldly follow, where she leads the way;
With me be brave in virtue's injur'd cause,
Gain thou from heav'n, if not from men, applause.
And holds o'er abject man her tyrant-reign;
While poor dejected Virtue hangs her head,
Her dictates quite despis'd, her influence dead;
While hoary Age forgets its wonted lore,
And lives a pattern of good deeds no more;
While Youth, no more by modest duty bound,
Of vice or folly runs one constant round;
In fine, while almost all their bane pursue,
Nor have one gen'rous God-like aim in view;
Dear Thyrsis, scorn the listless, impious, throng,
And harken to the precepts of my song.
Observe the muse that tempts the moral lay,
And boldly follow, where she leads the way;
With me be brave in virtue's injur'd cause,
Gain thou from heav'n, if not from men, applause.
First then, to Him, who bad the first to be,
Th' all-good, all-wise, all pow'rful Deity;
With humblest awe, thy faithful pray'r address,
To guide thee thro' this thorny Wilderness.
For Oh! without his providential care,
How vain our most important projects are?
The man, who travels life's uncertain way,
And fondly cries, I will not err to Day,
Deceives himself; for, mortal, canst thou tell,
How oft thou swervest ev'n from thinking well?
Th' all-good, all-wise, all pow'rful Deity;
With humblest awe, thy faithful pray'r address,
To guide thee thro' this thorny Wilderness.
For Oh! without his providential care,
How vain our most important projects are?
The man, who travels life's uncertain way,
And fondly cries, I will not err to Day,
Deceives himself; for, mortal, canst thou tell,
How oft thou swervest ev'n from thinking well?
O Thought! from thee what anxious griefs arise:
How great the pain, to labour to be wise?
What various triffles will the heart amuse,
And stagger all her pow'rs, ere we can chuse?
And in the choice, how oft do we prefer
What's more absur'd to what is just and clear,
Cherish Ideas wandering, low and gay,
And cast each serious, useful thought away.
How fatal the result! - my friend beware,
And fall not heedless in the baneful snare.
Ah! let not Wit profane thy heart engage;
Read every moral, ev'ry sacred page.
To Reason's strength call Revelation's aid,
Nor be by too presuming Self betray'd;
By Both assisted, soon thou'lt gain the field,
Without the aid of Both as soon wilt yield.
Then passions plead, and prejudice has sway,
And poor insulted Virtue dies away.
How great the pain, to labour to be wise?
What various triffles will the heart amuse,
And stagger all her pow'rs, ere we can chuse?
And in the choice, how oft do we prefer
What's more absur'd to what is just and clear,
Cherish Ideas wandering, low and gay,
And cast each serious, useful thought away.
How fatal the result! - my friend beware,
116
Ah! let not Wit profane thy heart engage;
Read every moral, ev'ry sacred page.
To Reason's strength call Revelation's aid,
Nor be by too presuming Self betray'd;
By Both assisted, soon thou'lt gain the field,
Without the aid of Both as soon wilt yield.
Then passions plead, and prejudice has sway,
And poor insulted Virtue dies away.
And now the Tongue demands thy utmost care,
'Tis wise, the mischiefs of the Tongue to fear.
How oft are schemes the noblest, closest laid,
By one unthinking, guardless word betray'd?
What guilt, what shame in loose expression lies?
And yet how few can be in silence wise?
Ah friend! the silly rant of fools defy,
The nauseous ribaldry, the senseless lie;
The hideous blasphemy, the envious sneer;
The killing scandal and the biting jeer.
Why should you blush at what yourself have said?
Why blushes stain the face of that fair Maid?
Why will you thus, where nought can tempt, offend?
Why shame your wife, your father or your friend?
Why anger heav'n without a seeming Cause?
Or why affront great nature's purest laws?
Why, lastly, hurt his character and fame,
Whom, tho' you scarcely know, but by his name,
Yet for mere folly's sake, you censure and condem?
In prudent silence, rather seek to shine,
And pay your offrings at her sacred shrine.
She, heaps applause, if you her rules obey,
Gives you a temper sweet, serene and gay,
And chases all chagrin, and all remorse away.
'Tis wise, the mischiefs of the Tongue to fear.
How oft are schemes the noblest, closest laid,
By one unthinking, guardless word betray'd?
What guilt, what shame in loose expression lies?
And yet how few can be in silence wise?
Ah friend! the silly rant of fools defy,
The nauseous ribaldry, the senseless lie;
The hideous blasphemy, the envious sneer;
The killing scandal and the biting jeer.
Why should you blush at what yourself have said?
Why blushes stain the face of that fair Maid?
Why will you thus, where nought can tempt, offend?
Why shame your wife, your father or your friend?
Why anger heav'n without a seeming Cause?
Or why affront great nature's purest laws?
Why, lastly, hurt his character and fame,
Whom, tho' you scarcely know, but by his name,
Yet for mere folly's sake, you censure and condem?
In prudent silence, rather seek to shine,
And pay your offrings at her sacred shrine.
She, heaps applause, if you her rules obey,
Gives you a temper sweet, serene and gay,
And chases all chagrin, and all remorse away.
A just regard to Action next succeeds:
Foul Thoughts, foul Words are bad, but worst foul Deeds.
The maid deflour'd, the easy friend deceiv'd;
The helpless orphan of his rights betray'd;
The pow'r divine disclaim'd, the breach of troth;
The Midnight revel, and the Mid-day sloth
The Poor neglected, and the Villain fed;
Religion with her institutes betray'd—
O what a scene of guilt! How wretched He
O'er whelm'd with half this load of infamy!
And yet look round—such is the hideous face
Of things below—
But turn thine eyes—a different prospect view,
And the blest path now pointed out pursue.
And firm regard to Heav'n devoutly paid;
His pow'r acknowledg'd, and implor'd his aid;
The Parent's, Sov'reign's, Reason's laws observ'd;
The Naked cloath'd, the Fainting soul preserv'd;
The duties of each station well perform'd,
And in her strongest holds vice bravely storm'd;
Goodness, by pattern more than precept, taught;
And Wisdom's awful rules for ever fought—
These, these have charms—these, these pursue, my friend!
On these e'en here the surest joys attend;
And these will give thee bliss, which ne'er shall end.
Foul Thoughts, foul Words are bad, but worst foul Deeds.
The maid deflour'd, the easy friend deceiv'd;
The helpless orphan of his rights betray'd;
The pow'r divine disclaim'd, the breach of troth;
The Midnight revel, and the Mid-day sloth
The Poor neglected, and the Villain fed;
Religion with her institutes betray'd—
O what a scene of guilt! How wretched He
117
And yet look round—such is the hideous face
Of things below—
But turn thine eyes—a different prospect view,
And the blest path now pointed out pursue.
And firm regard to Heav'n devoutly paid;
His pow'r acknowledg'd, and implor'd his aid;
The Parent's, Sov'reign's, Reason's laws observ'd;
The Naked cloath'd, the Fainting soul preserv'd;
The duties of each station well perform'd,
And in her strongest holds vice bravely storm'd;
Goodness, by pattern more than precept, taught;
And Wisdom's awful rules for ever fought—
These, these have charms—these, these pursue, my friend!
On these e'en here the surest joys attend;
And these will give thee bliss, which ne'er shall end.
Maryland, Baltimore County, written in the year 1744.
| The Poetic Writings of Thomas Cradock, 1718-1770 | |