Poems on Several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

Methinks I see the Golden Age agen,
Drawn to the Life by your ingenious Pen:
Then Kings were Shepherds, and with equal Care
'Twixt Men and Sheep, did their Concernments share:
There was no need of Rods and Axes then,
Crooks rul'd the Sheep, and Virtue rul'd the Men:
Then Laws were useless, for they knew no Sin,
From Guilt secur'd by Innocence within:
No Passion but the noblest, fill'd each Breast,
They were too good to entertain the rest:

Love, which is now become an Art, a Trade,
It self to them with all its Sweets convey'd;
Indulgent Nature their kind Tutress prov'd,
And as she taught, without Deceit, they lov'd:
Thus did they live; thus they employ'd their Hours;
Beneath cool Shades, on Banks of fragrant Flow'rs,
They sat and listen'd, while their Poets sung
The Praises of the Brave, the Wise, the Young;
What e'er was Good, or Great, their Theme they made,
To Virtue still a Veneration paid;
But Love did in each Song Precedence claim,
And in soft Numbers they made known their Flame:
Poets by Nature are to Love inclin'd;
To them, the Lover's God was ever kind:
They still observ'd his Laws, and all their Care
Was to win Fame, and to oblige the Fair:
But ah! dear Friend, those happy Days are past;
Hard Fate! that only what is ill should last!
Unhappy we! born in the Dregs of Time,
Can ne'er to their vast height of Virtue climb;
But lie immers'd in Vice, forsaken quite
Of those pure Joys which did their Souls delight:
We live disguis'd, nor can each other trust,
But only seem obliging, kind and just,
To serve our low Designs; by Int'rest sway'd,
That pow'rful God by all Mankind obey'd!
Nor are those Vices in the Town alone,
The Country too does with the Pressure groan:
For Innocence (once our peculiar boast)
Is now with all her Train of Virtues lost;
From hence to the divine Abodes retir'd
Here undeserv'd, as well as undesir'd:
Yet some imperfect Footsteps still are seen,
That future Times may know they once have been:

But oh! how few will tread that sacred way;
By Vice, or Humor, most are led astray:
Those few who dare be good, must live alone
To all Mankind, except themselves, unknown:
From a mad World, to some obscure Recess,
They must retire, to purchase Happiness:
Yet of this wretched Place so well you've writ,
That I admire your Goodness and your Wit,
And must confess your excellent Design
To make it with its native lustre shine:
To hide its Faults, and to expose to view
Nought but its Beauties, is becoming you.