 | Poems upon several occasions |  |
POEMS UPON Several Occasions. BY Mr. RICHARD DUKE.
323
THE REVIEW.
Longa est Injuria, longæ
Ambages sed summa sequar fastigia rerum.
Ambages sed summa sequar fastigia rerum.
Virg.
How have we wander'd along dismal Night,
Led through blind Paths by each deluding Light!
Now plung'd in Mire, now by sharp Brambles torn,
With Tempests beat, and to the Winds a Scorn!
Lost, weary'd, spent! but see the Eastern Star,
And glimmering Light dawns kindly from afar.
Bright Goddess hail! while we by thee survey
The various Errors of our painful Way;
While guided by some Clew of Heav'nly Thread,
The perplex'd Labyrinth we backward tread;
Thro' Rulers Avarice, Pride, Ambition, Hate,
Perverse Cabals, and winding Turns of State,
The Senate's Rage, and all the crooked Lines
Of incoherent Plots, and wild Designs;
'Till getting out where first we enter'd in,
A new bright Race of Glory we begin.
Led through blind Paths by each deluding Light!
Now plung'd in Mire, now by sharp Brambles torn,
With Tempests beat, and to the Winds a Scorn!
324
And glimmering Light dawns kindly from afar.
Bright Goddess hail! while we by thee survey
The various Errors of our painful Way;
While guided by some Clew of Heav'nly Thread,
The perplex'd Labyrinth we backward tread;
Thro' Rulers Avarice, Pride, Ambition, Hate,
Perverse Cabals, and winding Turns of State,
The Senate's Rage, and all the crooked Lines
Of incoherent Plots, and wild Designs;
'Till getting out where first we enter'd in,
A new bright Race of Glory we begin.
As, after Winter, Spring's glad Face appears,
As the blest Shoar to shipwrack'd Mariners,
Success to Lovers, Glory to the Brave,
Health to the Sick, or Freedom to the Slave,
Such was Great
Cæsar's Day! the wond'rous Day,
That long in Fate's dark Bosom hatching lay,
Heav'n to absolve, and Satisfaction bring,
For twenty Years of Misery and Sin!
What Shouts, what Triumph; what unruly Joy
Swell'd ev'ry Breast, did ev'ry Tongue employ,
With direct Rays, whilst on his People shone
The King Triumphant from the Martyr's Throne!
Was ever Prince like him to Mortals giv'n?
So much the Joy of Earth, and Care of Heav'n!
Under the Pressure of unequal Fate
Of so erect a Mind, and Soul so great!
So full of Meekness, and so void of Pride,
When born aloft by Fortune's highest Tide!
Mercy like Heav'ns, his chief Prerogative,
His Joy to save, and Glory to forgive.
All Storms compos'd, and Tempests Rage asleep,
He, Halcyon like, sate brooding o'er the Deep.
He saw the Royal Bark securely ride,
No Danger threat'ning from the peaceful Tide;
And he who, when the Winds and Sea were high,
Oppos'd his Skill, and did their Rage defie,
No Diminution to his Honour thought,
T'enjoy the Pleasure of the Calm he brought.
(Shou'd he alone be so the People's Slave,
As not to share the Blessings that he gave?)
But not 'till full of providential Care,
He chose a Pilot in his Place to steer.
One in his Father's Councils and his own
Long exercis'd, and grey in Business grown.
Whose confirm'd Judgment, and sagacious Wit,
Knew all the Sands on which rash Monarchs split;
Of rising Winds could, e'er they blew, into
And from which Quarter to expect the Storm.
Such was, or such he seem'd, whom Cæsar chose,
And did all Empire's Cares in him repose:
That after all his Toils and Dangers past,
He might lye down and taste some Ease at last.
As the blest Shoar to shipwrack'd Mariners,
Success to Lovers, Glory to the Brave,
Health to the Sick, or Freedom to the Slave,
325
That long in Fate's dark Bosom hatching lay,
Heav'n to absolve, and Satisfaction bring,
For twenty Years of Misery and Sin!
What Shouts, what Triumph; what unruly Joy
Swell'd ev'ry Breast, did ev'ry Tongue employ,
With direct Rays, whilst on his People shone
The King Triumphant from the Martyr's Throne!
Was ever Prince like him to Mortals giv'n?
So much the Joy of Earth, and Care of Heav'n!
Under the Pressure of unequal Fate
Of so erect a Mind, and Soul so great!
So full of Meekness, and so void of Pride,
When born aloft by Fortune's highest Tide!
Mercy like Heav'ns, his chief Prerogative,
His Joy to save, and Glory to forgive.
326
He, Halcyon like, sate brooding o'er the Deep.
He saw the Royal Bark securely ride,
No Danger threat'ning from the peaceful Tide;
And he who, when the Winds and Sea were high,
Oppos'd his Skill, and did their Rage defie,
No Diminution to his Honour thought,
T'enjoy the Pleasure of the Calm he brought.
(Shou'd he alone be so the People's Slave,
As not to share the Blessings that he gave?)
But not 'till full of providential Care,
He chose a Pilot in his Place to steer.
One in his Father's Councils and his own
Long exercis'd, and grey in Business grown.
Whose confirm'd Judgment, and sagacious Wit,
Knew all the Sands on which rash Monarchs split;
Of rising Winds could, e'er they blew, into
And from which Quarter to expect the Storm.
327
And did all Empire's Cares in him repose:
That after all his Toils and Dangers past,
He might lye down and taste some Ease at last.
Now stands the Statesman of the Helm possest,
On him alone three mighty Nations rest;
Byrsa his Name, bred at the wrangling Bar,
And skill'd in Arms of that litigious War;
But more to Wit's peacefuller Arts inclin'd,
Learning's Mecænas, and the Muses Friend.
Him ev'ry Muse in ev'ry Age had sung,
His easie flowing Wit and charming Tongue,
Had not the treach'rous Voice of Pow'r inspir'd
His mounting Thoughts, and wild Ambition fir'd:
Disdaining less Alliances to own,
He now sets up for Kinsman of the Throne;
And Anna, by the Power her Father gain'd,
Back'd with great Cæsar's absolute Command,
On false Pretence of former Contracts made,
Is forc'd on brave Britannicus's Bed.
On him alone three mighty Nations rest;
Byrsa his Name, bred at the wrangling Bar,
And skill'd in Arms of that litigious War;
But more to Wit's peacefuller Arts inclin'd,
Learning's Mecænas, and the Muses Friend.
Him ev'ry Muse in ev'ry Age had sung,
His easie flowing Wit and charming Tongue,
Had not the treach'rous Voice of Pow'r inspir'd
His mounting Thoughts, and wild Ambition fir'd:
Disdaining less Alliances to own,
He now sets up for Kinsman of the Throne;
328
Back'd with great Cæsar's absolute Command,
On false Pretence of former Contracts made,
Is forc'd on brave Britannicus's Bed.
Thus rais'd, his Insolence his Wit out-vy'd,
And meanest Avarice maintain'd his Pride.
When Cæsar, to confirm his Infant State,
Drown'd in Oblivion all old Names of Hate,
By threat'ning many, but excepting none
That pay'd the Purchase of Oblivion,
Byrsa his Master's free-given Mercy sold,
And Royal Grace retail'd for Rebel Gold.
That new State Maxim he invented first,
(To aged Time's last Revolution curst)
That teaches Monarchs to oblige their Foes,
And their best Friends to Beggary expose.
For these, he said, would still beg on and serve;
'Tis the old Badge of Loyalty to starve.
But harden'd Rebels must by Bribes be won,
And paid for all the mighty Ills they've done;
When Wealth and Honour from their Treasons flow,
How can they chuse, but very Loyal grow?
This false ungrateful Maxim Byrsa taught,
Vast Sums of Wealth from thriving Rebels brought.
Titles and Power to Thieves and Traitors sold,
Swell'd his stretch'd Coffers with o'er-flowing Gold.
Hence all these Tears—in these first Seeds was sown
His Country's following Ruin, and his own.
And meanest Avarice maintain'd his Pride.
When Cæsar, to confirm his Infant State,
Drown'd in Oblivion all old Names of Hate,
By threat'ning many, but excepting none
That pay'd the Purchase of Oblivion,
Byrsa his Master's free-given Mercy sold,
And Royal Grace retail'd for Rebel Gold.
That new State Maxim he invented first,
(To aged Time's last Revolution curst)
That teaches Monarchs to oblige their Foes,
And their best Friends to Beggary expose.
329
'Tis the old Badge of Loyalty to starve.
But harden'd Rebels must by Bribes be won,
And paid for all the mighty Ills they've done;
When Wealth and Honour from their Treasons flow,
How can they chuse, but very Loyal grow?
This false ungrateful Maxim Byrsa taught,
Vast Sums of Wealth from thriving Rebels brought.
Titles and Power to Thieves and Traitors sold,
Swell'd his stretch'd Coffers with o'er-flowing Gold.
Hence all these Tears—in these first Seeds was sown
His Country's following Ruin, and his own.
Of that accurst and sacrilegious Crew,
Which great by Merit of Rebellion grew,
Had all unactive perish'd and unknown,
The false Antonius had suffic'd alone,
To all succeeding Ages to proclaim,
Of this State Principle, the Guilt and Shame.
Antonius, early in Rebellious Race,
Swiftly set out, nor slack'ning in his Pace;
The same Ambition that his youthful Heat
Urg'd to all Ills, the little daring Brat,
With unabated Ardour does engage
The loathsome Dregs of his decrepit Age;
Bold, full of native and acquir'd Deceit,
Of sprightly Cunning, and malicious Wit;
Restless, projecting still some new Design,
Still drawing round the Government his Line,
Bold on the Walls, or busie in the Mine.
Lewd as the Stews, but to the blinded Eyes
Of the dull Crowd, as Puritan precise.
Before their Sight he draws the Jugler's Cloud
Of publick Int'rest, and the People's Good.
The working Ferment of his active Mind,
In his weak Body's Cask with Pain confin'd,
Would burst the rotten Vessel where 'tis pent,
But that 'tis tapt to give the Treason vent.
Which great by Merit of Rebellion grew,
330
The false Antonius had suffic'd alone,
To all succeeding Ages to proclaim,
Of this State Principle, the Guilt and Shame.
Antonius, early in Rebellious Race,
Swiftly set out, nor slack'ning in his Pace;
The same Ambition that his youthful Heat
Urg'd to all Ills, the little daring Brat,
With unabated Ardour does engage
The loathsome Dregs of his decrepit Age;
Bold, full of native and acquir'd Deceit,
Of sprightly Cunning, and malicious Wit;
Restless, projecting still some new Design,
Still drawing round the Government his Line,
Bold on the Walls, or busie in the Mine.
Lewd as the Stews, but to the blinded Eyes
Of the dull Crowd, as Puritan precise.
331
Of publick Int'rest, and the People's Good.
The working Ferment of his active Mind,
In his weak Body's Cask with Pain confin'd,
Would burst the rotten Vessel where 'tis pent,
But that 'tis tapt to give the Treason vent.
Such were the Men, that from the Statesman's Hand
Not Pardon only, but Promotion gain'd;
All Offices of Dignity or Pow'r
These swarming Locusts greedily devour;
Preferr'd to all the Secrets of the State,
These senseless Sinners in the Counsel sate,
In their unjust deceitful Ballance laid,
The great Concerns of War and Peace were weigh'd.
Not Pardon only, but Promotion gain'd;
All Offices of Dignity or Pow'r
These swarming Locusts greedily devour;
Preferr'd to all the Secrets of the State,
These senseless Sinners in the Counsel sate,
In their unjust deceitful Ballance laid,
The great Concerns of War and Peace were weigh'd.
This Wise
Lovisius knew, whose mighty Mind
Had Universal Empire long design'd;
And when he all Things found were bought and sold
Thought nothing there impossible to Gold:
With mighty Sums, thro' secret Channels brought,
On the corrupted Counsellors he wrought.
Against the neighb'ring Belgians they declare
A hazardous and an expensive War.
Their fresh Affronts and matchless Insolence
To Cæsar's Honour made a fair Pretence;
Meer Outside this, but, ruling by his Pay,
Cunning Lovisius did this Project lay,
By mutual Damages to weaken those
Who only could his vast Designs oppose.
But Cæsar looking with a just Disdain
Upon their bold Pretences to the Main,
Sent forth his Royal Brother from his Side,
To lash their Insolence, and curb their Pride;
Britannicus, by whose high Virtues grac'd
The present Age contends with all the past:
Him Heav'n a Pattern did for Heroes form,
Slow to advise, but eager to perform,
In Counsel calm, fierce as a Storm in Fight,
Danger his Sport, and Labour his Delight.
To him, the Fleet, and Camp, the Sea, and Field,
Did equal Harvests of bright Glory yield.
No less each civil Virtue him commends,
The best of Subjects, Brothers, Masters, Friends;
To Merit just, to needy Virtue kind,
True to his Word, and constant to his Friend.
What's well resolv'd, as bravely he pursues,
Fixt in his Choice, as careful how to chuse.
Honour was Born not planted in his Heart,
And Virtue came by Nature, not by Art.
Where Glory calls, and Cæsar gives Command,
He flies: His pointed Thunder in his Hand.
The Belgian Fleet endeavour'd, but in vain,
The Tempest of his Fury to sustain:
Shatter'd and torn, before his Flags they fly
Like Doves that the exalted Eagle spy,
Ready to stoop and seize them from on high.
He, Neptune like, when from his watry Bed,
Above the Waves lifting his awful Head,
He smiles, and to his Chariot gives the Rein,
In Triumph rides o'er the asserted Main;
And now returns, the watry Empire won,
At Cæsar's Feet to lay his Trident down.
But who the Shouts and Triumphs can relate
Of the glad Isle that his Return did wait.
Rejoicing Crowds attend him on the Strand,
Loud as the Sea, and numerous as the Sand.
A Joy too great to be by Words exprest
Shines in each Eye, and beats in ev'ry Breast.
So Joy the many, but the wiser few
The Godlike Prince with silent Wonder view.
The grateful Senate his high Acts confess
In a vast Gift, but than his Merit less.
Britannicus is all the Voice of Fame,
Britannicus! she knows no other Name;
The Peoples Darling, and the Court's Delight,
Lovely in Peace, as dreadful in the Fight!
Shall he, shall ever he, who now commands
So many thousand Hearts, and Tongues, and Hands,
Shall ever he, by some strange Crime of Fate,
Fall under the ignoble Vulgar's Hate?
Who knows? The Turns of Fortune who can tell?
Who fix her Globe, or stop the rowling Wheel?
The Crowd's a Sea, whose Wants run high or low,
According as the Winds, their Leaders, blow.
All calm and smooth, 'till from some Corner flies
An envious Blast that makes the Billows rise.
The Blast, that whence it comes, or where it goes,
We know not, but where-e'er it lists it blows.
Was not of old the Jewish Rabbles Cry
Hosanna first, and after Crucifie?
Had Universal Empire long design'd;
332
Thought nothing there impossible to Gold:
With mighty Sums, thro' secret Channels brought,
On the corrupted Counsellors he wrought.
Against the neighb'ring Belgians they declare
A hazardous and an expensive War.
Their fresh Affronts and matchless Insolence
To Cæsar's Honour made a fair Pretence;
Meer Outside this, but, ruling by his Pay,
Cunning Lovisius did this Project lay,
By mutual Damages to weaken those
Who only could his vast Designs oppose.
But Cæsar looking with a just Disdain
Upon their bold Pretences to the Main,
Sent forth his Royal Brother from his Side,
To lash their Insolence, and curb their Pride;
Britannicus, by whose high Virtues grac'd
The present Age contends with all the past:
333
Slow to advise, but eager to perform,
In Counsel calm, fierce as a Storm in Fight,
Danger his Sport, and Labour his Delight.
To him, the Fleet, and Camp, the Sea, and Field,
Did equal Harvests of bright Glory yield.
No less each civil Virtue him commends,
The best of Subjects, Brothers, Masters, Friends;
To Merit just, to needy Virtue kind,
True to his Word, and constant to his Friend.
What's well resolv'd, as bravely he pursues,
Fixt in his Choice, as careful how to chuse.
Honour was Born not planted in his Heart,
And Virtue came by Nature, not by Art.
Where Glory calls, and Cæsar gives Command,
He flies: His pointed Thunder in his Hand.
The Belgian Fleet endeavour'd, but in vain,
The Tempest of his Fury to sustain:
334
Like Doves that the exalted Eagle spy,
Ready to stoop and seize them from on high.
He, Neptune like, when from his watry Bed,
Above the Waves lifting his awful Head,
He smiles, and to his Chariot gives the Rein,
In Triumph rides o'er the asserted Main;
And now returns, the watry Empire won,
At Cæsar's Feet to lay his Trident down.
But who the Shouts and Triumphs can relate
Of the glad Isle that his Return did wait.
Rejoicing Crowds attend him on the Strand,
Loud as the Sea, and numerous as the Sand.
A Joy too great to be by Words exprest
Shines in each Eye, and beats in ev'ry Breast.
So Joy the many, but the wiser few
The Godlike Prince with silent Wonder view.
335
In a vast Gift, but than his Merit less.
Britannicus is all the Voice of Fame,
Britannicus! she knows no other Name;
The Peoples Darling, and the Court's Delight,
Lovely in Peace, as dreadful in the Fight!
Shall he, shall ever he, who now commands
So many thousand Hearts, and Tongues, and Hands,
Shall ever he, by some strange Crime of Fate,
Fall under the ignoble Vulgar's Hate?
Who knows? The Turns of Fortune who can tell?
Who fix her Globe, or stop the rowling Wheel?
The Crowd's a Sea, whose Wants run high or low,
According as the Winds, their Leaders, blow.
All calm and smooth, 'till from some Corner flies
An envious Blast that makes the Billows rise.
The Blast, that whence it comes, or where it goes,
We know not, but where-e'er it lists it blows.
336
Hosanna first, and after Crucifie?
Now Byrsa with full Orb illustrious shone,
With Beams reflected from his glorious Son;
All Pow'r his own, but what was giv'n to those
That Counsellors by him from Rebels rose:
But rais'd so far, each now disdains a First;
The Taste of Pow'r does but inflame the Thirst.
With envious Eyes they Byrsa's Glories see,
Nor think they can be great, while less than he.
Envy their Cunning sharpen'd, and their Wit,
Enough before for teacherous Counsels fit.
T'accuse him openly not yet they dare,
But subtly by Degrees his Fall prepare.
They knew by long experienced Desert
How near he grew rooted to Cæsar's Heart;
To move him hence requir'd no common Skill;
But what is hard to a resolved Will?
They found his publick Actions all conspire,
Wisely apply'd, to favour their Desire.
But one they want their Venom to suggest,
And make it gently slide to Cæsar's Breast.
Who fitter than Villerius for this Part?
And him to gain requir'd but little Art,
For Mischief was the Darling of his Heart.
A Compound of such Parts as never yet
In any one of all God's Creatures met.
Not sick Men's Dreams so various or so wild,
Or of such disagreeing Shapes compil'd:
Yet through all Changes of his shifting Scene,
Still constant to Buffoon and Harlequin:
As if he had made a Pray'r, than his of old
More foolish, that turn'd all he touch'd to Gold.
God granted him to play th'Eternal Fool,
And all he handled turn to Ridicule.
Thus a new Midas truly he appears,
And shews through all Disguise his Asses Ears.
Did he the weightiest Business of the State
At Council or in Senate House debate,
King, Country, all, he for a Jest wou'd quit,
To catch some little Flash of paltry Wit.
How full of Gravity so e'er he struts,
The Ape in Robes will scramble for his Nuts.
Did he all Laws of Heav'n or Earth defie,
Blaspheme his God, or give his King the Lie,
Adultery, Murders, Buggery commit,
Still 'twas a Jest, and nothing but Sheer-Wit.
At last this edg'd-tool Wit, his darling Sport,
Wounded himself, and banish'd him the Court.
Like common Juglers, or like common Whores,
All his Tricks shewn, he was kick'd out of Doors
Not chang'd in Humour by his Change of Place,
He still found Company to suit his Grace;
Mountebanks, Quakers, Chymists, Trading Varlets,
Pimps, Players, Citty Sheriffs, and Suburb Harlots;
War his Aversion, once he heard it roar,
But Damn him if he ever hear it more;
And there you may believe him, tho' he swore.
But with Play-Houses, Wars, immortal Wars,
He wag'd, and ten Years Rage produc'd a Farce.
As many rowling Years he did employ,
And Hands almost as many, to destroy
Heroick Rhime, as Greece to ruin Troy.
Once more, says Fame, for Battle he prepares,
And threatens Rhymers with a second Farce.
But if as long for this as that we stay,
He'll finish Clevedon sooner than his Play.
With Beams reflected from his glorious Son;
All Pow'r his own, but what was giv'n to those
That Counsellors by him from Rebels rose:
But rais'd so far, each now disdains a First;
The Taste of Pow'r does but inflame the Thirst.
With envious Eyes they Byrsa's Glories see,
Nor think they can be great, while less than he.
Envy their Cunning sharpen'd, and their Wit,
Enough before for teacherous Counsels fit.
T'accuse him openly not yet they dare,
But subtly by Degrees his Fall prepare.
They knew by long experienced Desert
How near he grew rooted to Cæsar's Heart;
337
But what is hard to a resolved Will?
They found his publick Actions all conspire,
Wisely apply'd, to favour their Desire.
But one they want their Venom to suggest,
And make it gently slide to Cæsar's Breast.
Who fitter than Villerius for this Part?
And him to gain requir'd but little Art,
For Mischief was the Darling of his Heart.
A Compound of such Parts as never yet
In any one of all God's Creatures met.
Not sick Men's Dreams so various or so wild,
Or of such disagreeing Shapes compil'd:
Yet through all Changes of his shifting Scene,
Still constant to Buffoon and Harlequin:
As if he had made a Pray'r, than his of old
More foolish, that turn'd all he touch'd to Gold.
338
And all he handled turn to Ridicule.
Thus a new Midas truly he appears,
And shews through all Disguise his Asses Ears.
Did he the weightiest Business of the State
At Council or in Senate House debate,
King, Country, all, he for a Jest wou'd quit,
To catch some little Flash of paltry Wit.
How full of Gravity so e'er he struts,
The Ape in Robes will scramble for his Nuts.
Did he all Laws of Heav'n or Earth defie,
Blaspheme his God, or give his King the Lie,
Adultery, Murders, Buggery commit,
Still 'twas a Jest, and nothing but Sheer-Wit.
At last this edg'd-tool Wit, his darling Sport,
Wounded himself, and banish'd him the Court.
Like common Juglers, or like common Whores,
All his Tricks shewn, he was kick'd out of Doors
339
He still found Company to suit his Grace;
Mountebanks, Quakers, Chymists, Trading Varlets,
Pimps, Players, Citty Sheriffs, and Suburb Harlots;
War his Aversion, once he heard it roar,
But Damn him if he ever hear it more;
And there you may believe him, tho' he swore.
But with Play-Houses, Wars, immortal Wars,
He wag'd, and ten Years Rage produc'd a Farce.
As many rowling Years he did employ,
And Hands almost as many, to destroy
Heroick Rhime, as Greece to ruin Troy.
Once more, says Fame, for Battle he prepares,
And threatens Rhymers with a second Farce.
But if as long for this as that we stay,
He'll finish Clevedon sooner than his Play.
This precious Tool did the new Statesmen use
In Cæsar's Breath their Whispers to infuse:
Suspicion's bred by Gravity, Beard and Gown,
But who suspects the Madman and Buffoon?
Drolling Villerius this Advantage had,
And all his Jests sober Impressions made.
Besides he knew to chuse the softest Hour,
When Cæsar for a while forgot his Pow'r,
And coming tir'd from Empire's grand Affairs,
In the free Joys of Wine relax'd his Cares.
Then 'twas he play'd the sly successful Fool,
And serious Mischief did in Ridicule.
Then he with jealous Thoughts his Prince cou'd fill,
And gild with Mirth and glittering Wit the Pill.
With a grave Mien, Discourse and decent State,
He pleasantly the Ape could imitate,
And soon as a Contempt of him was bred,
It made the Way for Hatred to succeed.
—Gravities Disguise
The greatest Jest of all he'd needs be wise.
In Cæsar's Breath their Whispers to infuse:
340
But who suspects the Madman and Buffoon?
Drolling Villerius this Advantage had,
And all his Jests sober Impressions made.
Besides he knew to chuse the softest Hour,
When Cæsar for a while forgot his Pow'r,
And coming tir'd from Empire's grand Affairs,
In the free Joys of Wine relax'd his Cares.
Then 'twas he play'd the sly successful Fool,
And serious Mischief did in Ridicule.
Then he with jealous Thoughts his Prince cou'd fill,
And gild with Mirth and glittering Wit the Pill.
With a grave Mien, Discourse and decent State,
He pleasantly the Ape could imitate,
And soon as a Contempt of him was bred,
It made the Way for Hatred to succeed.
—Gravities Disguise
The greatest Jest of all he'd needs be wise.
Here he left off.
341
THE FIFTH ELEGY OF THE First Book of OVID.
'Twas Noon, when I, scorch'd with the double Fire,Of the hot Sun, and my more hot Desire,
Stretcht on my downey Couch at Ease was laid,
Big with Expectance of the lovely Maid.
The Curtains but half drawn, a Light let in,
Such as in Shades of thickest Groves is seen;
Such as remains, when the Sun flies away,
Or when Night's gone, and yet it is not Day.
This Light to modest Maids must be allow'd,
Where Shame may hope its guilty Head to shrowd.
342
Loose on her Neck fell her divided Hair;
Loose as her flowing Gown, that wanton'd in the Air.
In such a Garb, with such a Grace and Mein,
To her rich Bed came the Assyrian Queen.
So Lais look'd, when all the Youth of Greece
With Adoration did her Charms confess.
Her envious Gown to pull away I try'd,
But she resisted still, and still deny'd;
But so resisted, that she seem'd to be
Unwilling to obtain the Victory.
So I at last, an easie Conquest had,
Whilst my fair Combatant her self betray'd:
But when she naked stood before my Eyes,
Gods! with what Charms did she my Soul surprise?
What snowy Arms did I both see and feel?
With what rich Globes did her soft Bosom swell?
343
Courting the Hand, and suing to be prest!
What a smooth Plain was on her Belly spread?
Where thousand little Loves and Graces play'd
What Thighs! what Legs! But why strive I in vain,
Each Limb, each Grace, each Feature to explain?
One Beauty did through her whole Body shine.
I saw, admir'd, and prest it close to mine.
The rest, who knows not? Thus intranc'd we lay,
'Till in each other's Arms we dy'd away;
O give me such a Noon (ye Gods) to every Day.
344
THE FOURTH ODE OF THE Second Book of HORACE.
Blush not, my Friend, to own the LoveWhich thy fair Captive's Eyes do move:
Achilles, once the Fierce, the Brave,
Stoopt to the Beauties of a Slave;
Tecmessa's Charms could over-power
Ajax her Lord and Conquerour;
Great Agamemnon, when Success
Did all his Arms with Conquest bless;
When Hector's fall had gain'd him more
Than ten long rolling Years before,
By a bright Captive Virgin's Eyes
Even in the midst of Triumph dies.
345
The lovely Maid may make you join;
See but the Charms her Sorrow wears,
No common Cause could draw such Tears:
Those Streams sure that adorn her so
For Loss of Royal Kindred flow:
Oh! think not so divine a thing
Could from the Bed of Commons spring;
Whose Faith could so unmov'd remain,
And so averse to sordid Gain,
Was never born of any Race
That might the noblest Love disgrace.
Her blooming Face, her snowy Arms,
Her well shap'd Leg, and all her Charms
Of her Body and her Face,
I, poor I, may safely praise.
Suspect not Love the youthful Rage
From Horace's delining Age,
346
All his Flames and all thy Fears.
THE EIGHTH ODE OF THE Second Book of Horace.
If ever any injur'd Power,By which the false Barine swore,
False, fair Barine, on thy Head
Had the least Mark of Vengeance shed;
If but a Tooth or Nail of thee
Had suffer'd by thy Perjury,
I should believe thy Vows; but thou
Since perjur'd dost more charming grow,
347
Nor half so false as thou art Fair.
It thrives with thee to be forsworn
By thy dead Mother's sacred Urn,
By Heaven and all the Stars that shine
Without, and every God within:
Venus hears this, and all the while
At thy empty Vows does smile,
Her Nymphs all smile, her little Son
Does smile, and to his Quiver run;
Does smile and fall to whet his Darts,
To wound for thee fresh Lovers Hearts.
See all the Youth does thee obey,
Thy Train of Slaves grows every Day;
Nor leave thy former Subjects thee,
Tho' oft they threaten to be free,
Tho' oft with Vows false as thine are,
Their forsworn Mistress they forswear.
348
For her Son's blooming tender Years;
Thee frugal Sires, thee the young Bride
In Hymen's Fetters newly ty'd,
Lest thou detain by stronger Charms
Th'expected Husband from her Arms.
HORACE and LYDIA.
The Ninth Ode of the Third Book.
HORACE.Whilst I was welcome to your Heart
In which no happier Youth had Part,
And full of more prevailing Charms,
Threw round your Neck his dearer Arms,
I flourish'd richer and more blest
Than the great Monarch of the East.
349
Whilst all thy Soul with me was fill'd,
Nor Lydia did to Chloe yield,
Lydia, the celebrated Name,
The only Theme of Verse and Fame,
I flourish'd more than she renown'd,
Whose Godlike Son our Rome did found.
HORACE.
Me Chloe now, whom every Muse,
And every Grace adorn, subdues;
For whom I'd gladly die, to save
Her dearer Beauties from the Grave.
LYDIA.
Me lovely Calais does fire
With mutual Flames of fierce Desire;
For whom I twice would die, to save
His Youth more precious from the Grave.
350
What if our former Loves return,
And our first Fires again should burn?
If Chloe's banish'd to make way
For the forsaken Lydia?
LYDIA.
Tho' he is shining as a Star,
Constant and kind as he is Fair;
Thou light as Cork, rough as the Sea,
Yet I would live, would die with thee.
351
The CYCLOPS. Theocritus Idyll. XI.
O
Short, no Herb, no Salve was ever found
To ease a Lover's heart, or heal his wound;
No Medicine this prevailing Ill subdues,
None, but the Charms of the condoling Muse:
Sweet to the Sense, and easie to the Mind
The Cure, but hard, but very hard to find.
This you well know, and surely none so well,
Who both in Physick's sacred Art excel,
And in Wit's Orb among the brightest shine,
The love of Phœbus, and the tuneful Nine.
To ease a Lover's heart, or heal his wound;
No Medicine this prevailing Ill subdues,
None, but the Charms of the condoling Muse:
Sweet to the Sense, and easie to the Mind
The Cure, but hard, but very hard to find.
This you well know, and surely none so well,
Who both in Physick's sacred Art excel,
And in Wit's Orb among the brightest shine,
The love of Phœbus, and the tuneful Nine.
Thus sweetly sad of old, the Cyclops strove
To soften his uneasie hours of Love.
Then when hot Youth urg'd him to fierce desire,
And Galatea's Eyes kindled the raging fire,
His was no common Flame, nor could he move
In the old Arts, and beaten Paths of Love;
Nor Flowers nor Fruits sent to oblige the Fair,
Nor more to please, curl'd his neglected Hair;
His was all Rage, all Madness; to his Mind
No other Cares their wonted Entrance find.
Oft from the Field his Flock return'd alone
Unheeded, unobserv'd: he on some Stone,
Or craggy Cliff, to the deaf Winds and Sea
Accusing Galatea's Cruelty;
Till Night from the first dawn of opening day,
Consumes with inward heat, and melts away.
Yet then a Cure, the only Cure he found,
And thus apply'd it to the bleeding Wound;
From a steep Rock, from whence he might survey
The Flood, (the Bed where his lov'd Sea-Nymph lay,)
His drooping head with sorrow bent he hung,
And thus his griefs calm'd with his mournful Song.
Fair Galatea, why is all my Pain
Rewarded thus? soft Love with sharp Disdain?
Fairer than falling Snow or rising Light,
Soft to the touch as charming to the sight;
Sprightly as unyok'd Heifers, on whose head
The tender Crescents but begin to spread;
Yet cruel you to harshness more incline,
Than unripe Grapes pluck'd from the savage Vine.
Soon as my heavy Eye-lid's seal'd with sleep,
Hither you come out from the foaming deep.
But when sleep leaves me, you together fly,
And vanish swiftly from my opening Eye,
Swift as young Lambs when the fierce Wolf they spy.
I well remember the first fatal day
That made my Heart your Beauty's easie Prey,
'Twas when the Flood you, with my Mother, left,
Of all its Brightness, all its Pride bereft,
To gather Flowers from the steep Mountain's Top;
Of the high Office proud, I led you up;
To Hyacinths, and Roses did you bring,
And shew'd you all the Treasures of the Spring.
But from that hour my Soul has known no rest,
Soft Peace is banish'd from my tortur'd Breast,
I rage, I burn. Yet still regardless you
Not the least sign of melting pity shew:
No; by the Gods that shall revenge my pain!
No; you, the more I love, the more disdain.
Ah! Nymph, by every Grace adorn'd, I know
Why you despise and fly the Cyclops so;
Because a shaggy Brow from side to side,
Stretch'd in a line, does my large Forehead hide;
And under that one only Eye does shine,
And my flat Nose to my big Lips does joyn.
Such tho' I am, yet know, a Thousand Sheep,
The pride of the Sicilian Hills, I keep;
With sweetest Milk they fill my flowing Pails,
And my vast stock of Cheeses never fails;
In Summer's heat, or Winter's sharpest cold,
My loaded Shelves groan with the weight they hold.
With such soft Notes I the shrill Pipe inspire,
That every list'ning Cyclops does admire;
While with it often I all Night proclaim
Thy powerful Charms, and my successless Flame.
For thee twelve Does all big with Fawn, I feed,
And four Bear-Cubs, tame to thy hand, I breed.
Ah! come, to me, fair Nymph, and you shall find
These are the smallest Gifts for thee design'd.
Ah! come, and leave the angry Waves to roar,
And break themselves against the sounding shoar.
How much more pleasant would thy slumbers be
In the retir'd and peaceful Cave with me?
There the streight Cypress and green Laurel join,
And creeping Ivy clasps the cluster'd Vine;
There fresh, cool Rills, from Ætna's purest Snow,
Dissolv'd into Ambrosial Liquor, flow.
Who the wild Waves, and brackish Sea could chuse,
And these still Shades, and these sweet Streams refuse?
But if you fear that I, o'er-grown with Hair,
Without a Fire defie the Winter Air,
Know I have mighty Stores of Wood, and know
Perpetual Fires on my bright Hearth do glow.
My Soul, my Life it self should burn for thee,
And this one-Eye, as dear as Life to me.
Why was not I with Fins, like Fishes, made,
That I, like them, might in the Deep have play'd?
Then would I dive beneath the yielding Tide,
And kiss your Hand, if you your Lips deny'd.
To thee I'd Lillies and red Poppies bear,
And Flowers that crown each Season of the Year.
But I'm resolv'd I'll learn to swim and dive
Of the next Stranger that does here arrive,
That th'undiscover'd Pleasures I may know
Which you enjoy in the deep Flood below.
Come forth, O Nymph, and coming forth forget,
Like me that on this Rock unmindful sit,
(Of all things else unmindful but of thee)
Home to return forget, and live with me.
With me the sweet and pleasing Labour chuse,
To feed the Flock, and milk the burthen'd Ewes,
To press the Cheese, and the sharp Runnet to infuse.
My Mother does unkindly use her Son,
By her neglect the Cyclops is undone;
For me she never labours to prevail,
Nor whispers in your Ear my Am'rous Tale.
No; tho' she knows I languish every Day,
And sees my Body waste, and Strength decay.
But I more Ills than what I feel will feign,
And of my Head, and of my Feet complain;
That, in her Breast if any Pity lye,
She may be sad, and griev'd, as well as I.
To soften his uneasie hours of Love.
352
And Galatea's Eyes kindled the raging fire,
His was no common Flame, nor could he move
In the old Arts, and beaten Paths of Love;
Nor Flowers nor Fruits sent to oblige the Fair,
Nor more to please, curl'd his neglected Hair;
His was all Rage, all Madness; to his Mind
No other Cares their wonted Entrance find.
Oft from the Field his Flock return'd alone
Unheeded, unobserv'd: he on some Stone,
Or craggy Cliff, to the deaf Winds and Sea
Accusing Galatea's Cruelty;
Till Night from the first dawn of opening day,
Consumes with inward heat, and melts away.
Yet then a Cure, the only Cure he found,
And thus apply'd it to the bleeding Wound;
From a steep Rock, from whence he might survey
The Flood, (the Bed where his lov'd Sea-Nymph lay,)
353
And thus his griefs calm'd with his mournful Song.
Fair Galatea, why is all my Pain
Rewarded thus? soft Love with sharp Disdain?
Fairer than falling Snow or rising Light,
Soft to the touch as charming to the sight;
Sprightly as unyok'd Heifers, on whose head
The tender Crescents but begin to spread;
Yet cruel you to harshness more incline,
Than unripe Grapes pluck'd from the savage Vine.
Soon as my heavy Eye-lid's seal'd with sleep,
Hither you come out from the foaming deep.
But when sleep leaves me, you together fly,
And vanish swiftly from my opening Eye,
Swift as young Lambs when the fierce Wolf they spy.
I well remember the first fatal day
That made my Heart your Beauty's easie Prey,
354
Of all its Brightness, all its Pride bereft,
To gather Flowers from the steep Mountain's Top;
Of the high Office proud, I led you up;
To Hyacinths, and Roses did you bring,
And shew'd you all the Treasures of the Spring.
But from that hour my Soul has known no rest,
Soft Peace is banish'd from my tortur'd Breast,
I rage, I burn. Yet still regardless you
Not the least sign of melting pity shew:
No; by the Gods that shall revenge my pain!
No; you, the more I love, the more disdain.
Ah! Nymph, by every Grace adorn'd, I know
Why you despise and fly the Cyclops so;
Because a shaggy Brow from side to side,
Stretch'd in a line, does my large Forehead hide;
And under that one only Eye does shine,
And my flat Nose to my big Lips does joyn.
355
The pride of the Sicilian Hills, I keep;
With sweetest Milk they fill my flowing Pails,
And my vast stock of Cheeses never fails;
In Summer's heat, or Winter's sharpest cold,
My loaded Shelves groan with the weight they hold.
With such soft Notes I the shrill Pipe inspire,
That every list'ning Cyclops does admire;
While with it often I all Night proclaim
Thy powerful Charms, and my successless Flame.
For thee twelve Does all big with Fawn, I feed,
And four Bear-Cubs, tame to thy hand, I breed.
Ah! come, to me, fair Nymph, and you shall find
These are the smallest Gifts for thee design'd.
Ah! come, and leave the angry Waves to roar,
And break themselves against the sounding shoar.
How much more pleasant would thy slumbers be
In the retir'd and peaceful Cave with me?
356
And creeping Ivy clasps the cluster'd Vine;
There fresh, cool Rills, from Ætna's purest Snow,
Dissolv'd into Ambrosial Liquor, flow.
Who the wild Waves, and brackish Sea could chuse,
And these still Shades, and these sweet Streams refuse?
But if you fear that I, o'er-grown with Hair,
Without a Fire defie the Winter Air,
Know I have mighty Stores of Wood, and know
Perpetual Fires on my bright Hearth do glow.
My Soul, my Life it self should burn for thee,
And this one-Eye, as dear as Life to me.
Why was not I with Fins, like Fishes, made,
That I, like them, might in the Deep have play'd?
Then would I dive beneath the yielding Tide,
And kiss your Hand, if you your Lips deny'd.
To thee I'd Lillies and red Poppies bear,
And Flowers that crown each Season of the Year.
357
Of the next Stranger that does here arrive,
That th'undiscover'd Pleasures I may know
Which you enjoy in the deep Flood below.
Come forth, O Nymph, and coming forth forget,
Like me that on this Rock unmindful sit,
(Of all things else unmindful but of thee)
Home to return forget, and live with me.
With me the sweet and pleasing Labour chuse,
To feed the Flock, and milk the burthen'd Ewes,
To press the Cheese, and the sharp Runnet to infuse.
My Mother does unkindly use her Son,
By her neglect the Cyclops is undone;
For me she never labours to prevail,
Nor whispers in your Ear my Am'rous Tale.
No; tho' she knows I languish every Day,
And sees my Body waste, and Strength decay.
358
And of my Head, and of my Feet complain;
That, in her Breast if any Pity lye,
She may be sad, and griev'd, as well as I.
O Cyclops, Cyclops, where's thy Reason fled?
If your young Lambs with new pluckt boughs you fed,
And watch'd your Flock, would you not seem more wise?
Milk what is next, pursue not that which flies.
Perhaps you may, since this proves so unkind,
Another fairer Galatea find.
Me many Virgins as I pass invite
To waste with them in Love's soft Sports the Night,
And if I but incline my listning Ear,
New Joys, new Smiles in all their Looks appear.
Thus we, it seems, can be belov'd; and we,
It seems, are somebody as well as she.
If your young Lambs with new pluckt boughs you fed,
And watch'd your Flock, would you not seem more wise?
Milk what is next, pursue not that which flies.
Perhaps you may, since this proves so unkind,
Another fairer Galatea find.
Me many Virgins as I pass invite
To waste with them in Love's soft Sports the Night,
And if I but incline my listning Ear,
New Joys, new Smiles in all their Looks appear.
Thus we, it seems, can be belov'd; and we,
It seems, are somebody as well as she.
359
Thus did the Cyclops fan his raging fire,
And sooth'd with gentle Verse his fierce Desire.
Thus pass'd his Hours with more delight and ease,
Than if the Riches of the World were his.
And sooth'd with gentle Verse his fierce Desire.
Thus pass'd his Hours with more delight and ease,
Than if the Riches of the World were his.
TO CÆLIA.
Fly swift, ye hours, ye sluggish minutes fly,
Bring back my Love, or let her Lover dye.
Make haste, O Sun, and to my Eyes once more,
My Cælia brighter than thy self restore.
In spight of thee, 'tis Night when she's away,
Her Eyes alone can the glad Beams display,
That makes my Sky look clear, and guide my day.
O when will she lift up her sacred Light!
And chase away the flying Shades of Night!
With her how fast the flowing Hours run on?
But oh! how long they stay when she is gone?
So slowly Time when clogg'd with Grief does move;
So swift when born upon the Wings of Love!
Hardly three Days, they tell me, yet are past;
Yet 'tis an Age since I beheld her last.
O my auspicious Star make haste to rise,
To charm our Hearts and bless our longing Eyes!
O how I long on thy dear Eyes to gaze,
And cheer my own with their reflected Rays!
How my impatient, thirsty Soul does long,
To hear the charming Musick of thy Tongue!
Where pointed Wit with solid Judgment grows,
And in one easie Stream united flows.
When-e'er you speak, with what Delight we hear,
You call up every Soul to every Ear!
Bring back my Love, or let her Lover dye.
Make haste, O Sun, and to my Eyes once more,
My Cælia brighter than thy self restore.
In spight of thee, 'tis Night when she's away,
Her Eyes alone can the glad Beams display,
That makes my Sky look clear, and guide my day.
O when will she lift up her sacred Light!
And chase away the flying Shades of Night!
360
But oh! how long they stay when she is gone?
So slowly Time when clogg'd with Grief does move;
So swift when born upon the Wings of Love!
Hardly three Days, they tell me, yet are past;
Yet 'tis an Age since I beheld her last.
O my auspicious Star make haste to rise,
To charm our Hearts and bless our longing Eyes!
O how I long on thy dear Eyes to gaze,
And cheer my own with their reflected Rays!
How my impatient, thirsty Soul does long,
To hear the charming Musick of thy Tongue!
Where pointed Wit with solid Judgment grows,
And in one easie Stream united flows.
When-e'er you speak, with what Delight we hear,
You call up every Soul to every Ear!
361
Nature's too prodigal to Woman-kind,
Ev'n where she does neglect t'adorn the mind;
Beauty alone bears such resistless sway,
As makes Mankind with Joy and Pride obey.
But oh! when Wit and Sense with Beauty's joyn'd,
The Woman's sweetness with the manly mind;
When Nature with so just a hand does mix
The most engaging Charms of either Sex;
And out of both that thus in one combine
Does something form not Humane but Divine,
What's her Command, but that we all adore
The noblest Work of her Almighty Power!
Nor ought our Zeal thy Anger to create,
Since Love's thy Debt, nor is our Choice but Fate.
Where Nature bids, worship I'm forc'd to pay,
Nor have the Liberty to disobey.
And whensoe'er she does a Poet make,
She gives him Verse but for thy Beauty's sake.
Had I a Pen that could at once impart
Soft Ovid's Nature and high Virgil's Art,
Then the immortal Sacharissa's Name
Should be but second in the List of Fame;
Each Grove each Shade should with thy praise be fill'd,
And the fam'd Penshurst to our Windsor yield.
Ev'n where she does neglect t'adorn the mind;
Beauty alone bears such resistless sway,
As makes Mankind with Joy and Pride obey.
But oh! when Wit and Sense with Beauty's joyn'd,
The Woman's sweetness with the manly mind;
When Nature with so just a hand does mix
The most engaging Charms of either Sex;
And out of both that thus in one combine
Does something form not Humane but Divine,
What's her Command, but that we all adore
The noblest Work of her Almighty Power!
Nor ought our Zeal thy Anger to create,
Since Love's thy Debt, nor is our Choice but Fate.
Where Nature bids, worship I'm forc'd to pay,
Nor have the Liberty to disobey.
And whensoe'er she does a Poet make,
She gives him Verse but for thy Beauty's sake.
362
Soft Ovid's Nature and high Virgil's Art,
Then the immortal Sacharissa's Name
Should be but second in the List of Fame;
Each Grove each Shade should with thy praise be fill'd,
And the fam'd Penshurst to our Windsor yield.
Spoken to the Queen in Trinity-College New-Court in Cambridge.
Thou equal Partner of the Royal Bed,That mak'st a Crown sit soft on Charles's Head;
In whom with Greatness, Virtue takes her Seat;
Meekness with Power, and Piety with State;
363
Win the Seditious, and the Savage tame;
Tyrants themselves to gentlest Mercy bring,
And only useless is on such a King;
See, mighty Princess, see how every Breast,
With Joy and Wonder, is at once possest:
Such was the Joy, which the first Mortals knew,
When Gods descended to the People's View,
Such devout wonder did it then afford,
To see those Pow'rs they had unseen ador'd,
But they were Feign'd: nor if they had been true,
Could shed more Blessings on the Earth than you:
Our Courts enlarg'd, their former Bounds disdain,
To make Reception for so great a Train;
Here may your sacred Breast rejoice to see,
Your own Age strive with Ancient Piety,
Soon now, since blest by your auspicious Eyes,
To full perfection shall our Fabrick rise.
364
The willing Stones into the Theban Wall,
And ours which now its rise to you shall owe,
More fam'd than that by your great Name shall grow.
FLORIANA,
A Pastoral upon the Death of her Grace the Dutchess of SOUTHAMPTON.
DAMON.Tell me my Thyrsis, tell thy Damon, why
Does my lov'd Swain in this sad posture lye?
What mean these Streams still falling from thine Eyes,
Fast as those Sighs from thy swoln Bosom rise?
365
Have thy Lambs stray'd? or has Dorinda frown'd?
Thyrsis.
The Wolf? Ah! let him come, for now he may:
Have thy Lambs stray'd? let 'em for ever stray:
Dorinda frown'd? No, She is ever mild;
Nay, I remember but just now she smil'd:
Alas! she smil'd; for to the lovely Maid
None had the fatal Tidings yet convey'd:
Tell me then Shepherd, tell me, canst thou find
As long as thou art true, and she is kind,
A Grief so great, as may prevail above
Even Damon's Friendship, or Dorinda's Love?
Damon.
Sure there is none.
Thyrs.
But, Damon, there may be:
What if the charming Floriana die?
Dam.
Far be the Omen!
Thyr.
But suppose it true.
Dam.
Then should I grieve, my Thyrsis, more than you.
366
Thyrs.
Alas! she was, but is no more;
Now, Damon, now, let thy swoln Eyes run o'er:
Here to this Turf by thy sad Thyrsis grow,
And when my Streams of Grief too shallow flow,
Let in thy Tide to raise the Torrent high,
'Till both a Deluge make, and in it die.
Dam.
Then that to this wisht height the Flood might swell,
Friend, I will tell thee.
Th.
Friend, I thee will tell,
How young, how good, how beautiful she fell.
Oh! she was all for which fond Mothers pray,
Blessing their Babes when first they see the Day.
Beauty and She were one; for in her Face
Sate Sweetness temper'd with Majestick Grace;
Such pow'rful Charms as might the proudest awe,
Yet such attractive Goodness as might draw
The humblest, and to both give equal Law.
367
The Pride, the Light, the Goddess of the Plain:
On all she shin'd, and spreading Glories cast
Diffusive of her self, where-e'er she past,
There breath'd an Air sweet as the Winds that blow
From the blest Shoars where fragrant Spices grow:
Even me sometimes she with a Smile would grace,
Like the Sun shining on the vilest Place.
Nor did Dorinda bar me the Delight
Of feasting on her Eyes my longing Sight:
But to a Being so sublime, so pure,
Spar'd my Devotion, of my Love secure.
Dam.
Her Beauty such: but Nature did design
That only as an answerable Shrine
To the Divinity that's lodg'd within.
Her Soul shin'd through, and made her Form so bright,
As Clouds are gilt by the Sun's piercing Light.
368
The even Calmness of her gentle Breast:
And in her sparkling Eyes as clear was writ
The active Vigour of her youthful Wit.
Each Beauty of the Body or the Face
Was but the shadow of some inward Grace.
Gay, sprightly, cheerful, free, and unconfin'd,
As Innocence could make it, was her Mind;
Yet prudent, though not tedious nor severe,
Like those, who being dull, would grave appear;
Who out of Guilt do Chearfulness despise,
And being sullen, hope Men think 'em wise.
How would the listning Shepherds round her throng,
To catch the words fell from her charming Tongue!
She all with her own Spirit and Soul inspir'd,
Her they all lov'd, and her they all admir'd.
369
The Sovereign Crook that mildly aws the Plains,
Of all his Cares made her the tender'st part;
And great Lovisa lodg'd her in her Heart.
Thyr.
Who would not now a solemn Mourning keep,
When Pan himself and fair Lovisa weep?
When those blest Eyes by the kind Gods design'd
To cherish Nature, and delight Mankind,
All drown'd in Tears, melt into gentler Showers
Than April-Drops upon the springing Flowers;
Such Tears as Venus for Adonis shed,
When at her Feet the lovely Youth lay dead;
About her, all her little weeping Loves
Ungirt her Cestos, and unyok'd her Doves.
Dam.
Come pious Nymphs, with fair Lovisa come,
And visit gentle Floriana's Tomb;
And as you walk the melancholy Round,
Where no unhallow'd Feet prophane the Ground,
370
About her last obscure and silent Bed;
Still praying, as you gently move your Feet,
Soft be her Pillow, and her Slumber sweet.
Thyr.
See where they come, a mournful lovely Train,
As ever wept on fair Arcadia's Plain:
Lovisa mournful far above the rest,
In all the Charms of beauteous Sorrow drest:
Just are her Tears, when she reflects how soon
A Beauty, second only to her own,
Flourisht, lookt gay, was wither'd, and is gone!
Dam.
O she is gone! gone like a new born flower,
That deck'd some Virgin Queens delicious Bower;
Torn from the Stalk by some untimely blast,
And 'mongst the vilest Weeds and Rubbish cast:
But Flow'rs return, and coming Springs disclose
The Lilly whiter, and more fresh the Rose;
371
And Floriana has no second Spring.
Thyr.
O she is set! set like the falling Sun;
Darkness is round us, and glad Day is gone!
Alas! the Sun that's set, again will rise,
And gild with richer Beams the Morning-Skies:
But Beauty, though as bright as they it shines,
When its short Glory to the West declines,
O there's no Hope of the returning Light;
But all is long Oblivion, and eternal Night.
372
To the Unknown AUTHOR OF Absalom and Achitophel.
I thought, forgive my Sin, the boasted Fire
Of Poets Souls did long ago expire;
Of Folly or of Madness did accuse
The wretch that thought himself possest with Muse;
Laugh'd at the God within, that did inspire
With more than humane Thoughts the tuneful Quire;
But sure 'tis more than Fancy, or the Dream
Of Rhimers slumbring by the Muses Stream.
Some livelier Spark of Heav'n, and more refin'd
From earthly Dross, fills the great Poet's Mind.
Witness these mighty and immortal Lines,
Through each of which th'informing Genius shines.
Scarce a diviner Flame inspir'd the King,
Of whom thy Muse does so sublimely sing.
Not David's self could in a nobler Verse
His gloriously offending Son rehearse;
Tho' in his Breast the Prophet's Fury met,
The Father's Fondness, and the Poet's Wit.
Of Poets Souls did long ago expire;
Of Folly or of Madness did accuse
The wretch that thought himself possest with Muse;
Laugh'd at the God within, that did inspire
With more than humane Thoughts the tuneful Quire;
But sure 'tis more than Fancy, or the Dream
Of Rhimers slumbring by the Muses Stream.
373
From earthly Dross, fills the great Poet's Mind.
Witness these mighty and immortal Lines,
Through each of which th'informing Genius shines.
Scarce a diviner Flame inspir'd the King,
Of whom thy Muse does so sublimely sing.
Not David's self could in a nobler Verse
His gloriously offending Son rehearse;
Tho' in his Breast the Prophet's Fury met,
The Father's Fondness, and the Poet's Wit.
Here all consent in Wonder and in Praise,
And to the unknown Poet Altars raise.
Which thou must needs accept with equal Joy,
As when Æneas heard the Wars of Troy,
Wrapt up himself in Darkness and unseen,
Extoll'd with Wonder by the Tyrian Queen.
Sure thou already art secure of Fame,
Nor want'st new Glories to exalt thy Name:
What Father else would have refus'd to own
So great a Son as God-like Absalom?
And to the unknown Poet Altars raise.
Which thou must needs accept with equal Joy,
As when Æneas heard the Wars of Troy,
Wrapt up himself in Darkness and unseen,
Extoll'd with Wonder by the Tyrian Queen.
374
Nor want'st new Glories to exalt thy Name:
What Father else would have refus'd to own
So great a Son as God-like Absalom?
AN EPITHALAMIUM Upon the MARRIAGE of Capt. William Bedloe.
Ille ego qui quondam gracili modulatus Avæna, Arma virumque Cano.
I, he, who Sung of Humble Oates before,
Now Sing a Captain and a Man of WAR.
I, he, who Sung of Humble Oates before,
Now Sing a Captain and a Man of WAR.
Goddess of Rhime, that didst inspire
The Captain with Poetick Fire,
Adding fresh Laurels to that Brow
Where those of Victory did grow,
And statelier Ornaments may flourish now:
If thou art well recover'd since
The Excommunicated Prince:
For that Important Tragedy
Would have kill'd any Muse but Thee;
Hither with Speed, oh! hither move,
Pull Buskins off, and since to love
The ground is holy that you tread in,
Dance bare-foot at the Captain's Wedding.
The Captain with Poetick Fire,
Adding fresh Laurels to that Brow
Where those of Victory did grow,
And statelier Ornaments may flourish now:
375
The Excommunicated Prince:
For that Important Tragedy
Would have kill'd any Muse but Thee;
Hither with Speed, oh! hither move,
Pull Buskins off, and since to love
The ground is holy that you tread in,
Dance bare-foot at the Captain's Wedding.
See where he comes, and by his side
His Charming fair Angelick Bride:
Such, or less lovely, was the Dame
So much Renown'd, Fulvia by name,
With whom of old Tully did joyn,
Then when his Art did undermine
The Horrid Popish Plot of Catiline.
Oh fairest Nymph of all Great Britain,
(Though thee my Eyes I never set on)
Blush not on thy great Lord to smile,
The second Saviour of our Isle;
What nobler Captain could have led
Thee to thy long'd-for Marriage Bed:
For know that thy all-daring Will is
As stout a Hero as Achilles;
And as great things for thee has done,
As Palmerin or th'Knight of th'Sun.
And is himself a whole Romance alone.
Let conscious Flanders speak, and be
The Witness of his Chivalry.
Yet that's not all, his very Word
Has slain as many as his Sword:
Though common Bulleys with their Oaths
Hurt little 'till they come to Blows,
Yet all his Mouth-Granadoe's kill,
And save the pains of drawing Steel.
This Hero thy resistless Charms
Have won to fly into thy Arms;
For think not any mean Design,
Or the inglorious itch of Coin,
Could ever have his Breast controul'd,
Or make him be a Slave to Gold;
His Love's as freely given to Thee
As to the King his Loyalty.
Then Oh receive thy mighty Prize
With open Arms and wishing Eyes,
Kiss that dear Face where may be seen
His Worth and Parts that sculk within,
That Face that justly stil'd may be
As true a Discoverer as he.
Think not he ever false will prove,
His well known Truth secures his Love;
Do you a while divert his Cares
From his important grand Affairs:
Let him have Respite now a while
From kindling the mad Rabbles Zeal.
Zeal that is hot as fire, yet dark and blind,
Shews plainly where its birth-place we may find,
In Hell, where tho' dire Flames for ever glow,
Yet 'tis the place of utter Darkness too.
But to his Bed be sure be true
As he to all the World and you,
He all your Plots will else betray
All ye She-Machiavils can lay.
He all designs you know has found,
Tho' hatch'd in Hell, or under Ground:
Oft to the World such Secrets shew
As scarce the Plotters themselves knew;
Yet if by Chance you hap to sin,
And Love, while Honour's napping, shou'd creep in,
Yet be discreet, and do not boast
O'th' Treason by the common Post.
So shalt thou still make him love on:
All Virtue's in Discretion.
So thou with him shalt shine, and be
As great a Patriot as He;
And when, as now in Christmass, all
For a new Pack of Cards do call,
Another Popish Pack comes out
To please the Cits, and charm the Rout;
His Charming fair Angelick Bride:
Such, or less lovely, was the Dame
So much Renown'd, Fulvia by name,
With whom of old Tully did joyn,
Then when his Art did undermine
The Horrid Popish Plot of Catiline.
Oh fairest Nymph of all Great Britain,
(Though thee my Eyes I never set on)
376
The second Saviour of our Isle;
What nobler Captain could have led
Thee to thy long'd-for Marriage Bed:
For know that thy all-daring Will is
As stout a Hero as Achilles;
And as great things for thee has done,
As Palmerin or th'Knight of th'Sun.
And is himself a whole Romance alone.
Let conscious Flanders speak, and be
The Witness of his Chivalry.
Yet that's not all, his very Word
Has slain as many as his Sword:
Though common Bulleys with their Oaths
Hurt little 'till they come to Blows,
Yet all his Mouth-Granadoe's kill,
And save the pains of drawing Steel.
377
Have won to fly into thy Arms;
For think not any mean Design,
Or the inglorious itch of Coin,
Could ever have his Breast controul'd,
Or make him be a Slave to Gold;
His Love's as freely given to Thee
As to the King his Loyalty.
Then Oh receive thy mighty Prize
With open Arms and wishing Eyes,
Kiss that dear Face where may be seen
His Worth and Parts that sculk within,
That Face that justly stil'd may be
As true a Discoverer as he.
Think not he ever false will prove,
His well known Truth secures his Love;
Do you a while divert his Cares
From his important grand Affairs:
378
From kindling the mad Rabbles Zeal.
Zeal that is hot as fire, yet dark and blind,
Shews plainly where its birth-place we may find,
In Hell, where tho' dire Flames for ever glow,
Yet 'tis the place of utter Darkness too.
But to his Bed be sure be true
As he to all the World and you,
He all your Plots will else betray
All ye She-Machiavils can lay.
He all designs you know has found,
Tho' hatch'd in Hell, or under Ground:
Oft to the World such Secrets shew
As scarce the Plotters themselves knew;
Yet if by Chance you hap to sin,
And Love, while Honour's napping, shou'd creep in,
Yet be discreet, and do not boast
O'th' Treason by the common Post.
379
All Virtue's in Discretion.
So thou with him shalt shine, and be
As great a Patriot as He;
And when, as now in Christmass, all
For a new Pack of Cards do call,
Another Popish Pack comes out
To please the Cits, and charm the Rout;
Thou mighty Queen shalt a whole Suit command,
A Crown upon thy Head, and Sceptre in thy Hand
A Crown upon thy Head, and Sceptre in thy Hand
380
On the Marriage of George Prince of Denmark, AND THE LADY ANNE.
'Twas Love conducted thro' the British Main,
On a more high Design the Royal Dane,
Than when of old with an Invading Hand
His fierce Forefathers came to spoil the Land.
And Love has gain'd him by a nobler Way
A braver Conquest, and a richer Prey.
On a more high Design the Royal Dane,
Than when of old with an Invading Hand
His fierce Forefathers came to spoil the Land.
And Love has gain'd him by a nobler Way
A braver Conquest, and a richer Prey.
For Battels won, and Countries sav'd renown'd,
Shaded with Laurels and with Honours crown'd,
From Fields with slaughter strew'd the Heroe came,
His Arms neglected to pursue his Flame.
Like Mars returning from the noble Chase
Of flying Nations thro' the Plains of Thrace,
When deckt with Trophies and adorn'd with Spoils
He meets the Goddess that rewards his Toils!
But oh! what Transports did his Heart invade,
When first he saw the Lovely, Royal Maid!
Fame, that so high did Her Perfections raise,
Seem'd now Detraction and no longer Praise!
All that could noblest Minds to love engage,
Or into Softness melt the Soldiers Rage,
All that could spread abroad resistless Fire,
And eager Wishes raise, and fierce Desire,
All that was charming, all that was above
Even Poets Fancies tho' refin'd by Love,
All Native Beauty drest by every Grace
Of sweetest Youth sate shining in her Face!
Where, where is now the generous Fury gone
That thro' thick Troops urg'd the wing'd Warriour on?
Where now the Spirit that aw'd the listed Field?
Created to command, untaught to yield?
It yields, it yields to Anna's gentle Sway,
And thinks it above Triumphs to obey.
See at thy Feet, illustrious Princess, thrown
All the rich Spoils the Mighty Heroe won!
His Fame, his Laurels are thy Beauties due,
And all his Conquests are outdone by you:
Ah! Lovely Nymph, accept the noble Prize,
A Tribute fit for those Victorious Eyes!
Ah! generous Maid pass not relentless by,
Nor let War's Chief by cruel Beauty die!
Tho' unexperienc'd Youth fond Scruples move,
And Blushes rise but at the Name of Love,
Tho' over all thy Thoughts and every Sense,
The guard is plac'd of Virgin Innocence;
Yet from thy Father's generous Blood we know,
Respect for Valour in thy Breast does glow;
'Tis but agreeing to thy Royal Birth,
To smile on Virtue and Heroick Worth.
Love in such noble Seeds of Honour sown,
The chastest Virgin need not blush to own.
Whom would thy Royal Father sooner find,
In thy lov'd Arms to his high Lineage joyn'd,
Than Him, whom such exalted Virtues crown,
That he might think 'em copy'd from his own?
Whom to the Field equal Desires did bring,
Love to his Brother, Service to his King.
Who Denmark's Crown, and the anointed Head
Rescu'd at once, and back in Triumph led,
Forcing his Passage thro' the slaughter'd Swede.
Such Virtue him to thy great Sire commends,
The best of Princes, Subjects, Brothers, Friends!
The Peoples Wonder, and the Courts Delight,
Lovely in Peace as dreadful in the Fight!
What can such Charms resist? The Royal Maid
Loath to Deny is yet to Grant afraid;
But Love still growing as her Fears decay,
Consents at last, and gives her Heart away.
Shaded with Laurels and with Honours crown'd,
From Fields with slaughter strew'd the Heroe came,
His Arms neglected to pursue his Flame.
381
Of flying Nations thro' the Plains of Thrace,
When deckt with Trophies and adorn'd with Spoils
He meets the Goddess that rewards his Toils!
But oh! what Transports did his Heart invade,
When first he saw the Lovely, Royal Maid!
Fame, that so high did Her Perfections raise,
Seem'd now Detraction and no longer Praise!
All that could noblest Minds to love engage,
Or into Softness melt the Soldiers Rage,
All that could spread abroad resistless Fire,
And eager Wishes raise, and fierce Desire,
All that was charming, all that was above
Even Poets Fancies tho' refin'd by Love,
All Native Beauty drest by every Grace
Of sweetest Youth sate shining in her Face!
382
That thro' thick Troops urg'd the wing'd Warriour on?
Where now the Spirit that aw'd the listed Field?
Created to command, untaught to yield?
It yields, it yields to Anna's gentle Sway,
And thinks it above Triumphs to obey.
See at thy Feet, illustrious Princess, thrown
All the rich Spoils the Mighty Heroe won!
His Fame, his Laurels are thy Beauties due,
And all his Conquests are outdone by you:
Ah! Lovely Nymph, accept the noble Prize,
A Tribute fit for those Victorious Eyes!
Ah! generous Maid pass not relentless by,
Nor let War's Chief by cruel Beauty die!
Tho' unexperienc'd Youth fond Scruples move,
And Blushes rise but at the Name of Love,
383
The guard is plac'd of Virgin Innocence;
Yet from thy Father's generous Blood we know,
Respect for Valour in thy Breast does glow;
'Tis but agreeing to thy Royal Birth,
To smile on Virtue and Heroick Worth.
Love in such noble Seeds of Honour sown,
The chastest Virgin need not blush to own.
Whom would thy Royal Father sooner find,
In thy lov'd Arms to his high Lineage joyn'd,
Than Him, whom such exalted Virtues crown,
That he might think 'em copy'd from his own?
Whom to the Field equal Desires did bring,
Love to his Brother, Service to his King.
Who Denmark's Crown, and the anointed Head
Rescu'd at once, and back in Triumph led,
Forcing his Passage thro' the slaughter'd Swede.
384
The best of Princes, Subjects, Brothers, Friends!
The Peoples Wonder, and the Courts Delight,
Lovely in Peace as dreadful in the Fight!
What can such Charms resist? The Royal Maid
Loath to Deny is yet to Grant afraid;
But Love still growing as her Fears decay,
Consents at last, and gives her Heart away.
Now with loud Triumphs are the Nuptials crown'd,
And with glad Shouts the Streets and Palace sound!
Illustrious Pair! see what a general Joy
Do's the whole Land's united Voice employ!
From You they Omens take of happier Years,
Recall lost Hopes, and banish all their Fears.
Let boding Planets threaten from above,
And sullen Saturn join with angry Jove;
Your more auspicious Flames that here unite,
Vanquish the Malice of their mingled Light!
Heaven of its Bounties now shall lavish grow,
And in full Tides unenvy'd Blessings flow!
The shaken Throne more surely fixt shall stand,
And curs'd Rebellion fly the happy Land!
At your blest Union Civil Discords cease,
Confusion turns to Order, Rage to Peace!
So when at first in Chaos and old Night
Hot things with Cold, and Moist with Dry did fight,
Love did the Warring Seeds to Union bring,
And over all Things stretch'd his peaceful Wing,
The jarring Elements no longer strove,
And a World started forth the Beauteous Work of Love!
And with glad Shouts the Streets and Palace sound!
Illustrious Pair! see what a general Joy
Do's the whole Land's united Voice employ!
From You they Omens take of happier Years,
Recall lost Hopes, and banish all their Fears.
Let boding Planets threaten from above,
And sullen Saturn join with angry Jove;
385
Vanquish the Malice of their mingled Light!
Heaven of its Bounties now shall lavish grow,
And in full Tides unenvy'd Blessings flow!
The shaken Throne more surely fixt shall stand,
And curs'd Rebellion fly the happy Land!
At your blest Union Civil Discords cease,
Confusion turns to Order, Rage to Peace!
So when at first in Chaos and old Night
Hot things with Cold, and Moist with Dry did fight,
Love did the Warring Seeds to Union bring,
And over all Things stretch'd his peaceful Wing,
The jarring Elements no longer strove,
And a World started forth the Beauteous Work of Love!
386
On the DEATH of King CHARLES the Second. And the Inauguration of King JAMES the Second.
If the indulgent Muse, (the only Cure
For all the Ills afflicted Minds endure,
That sweetens Sorrow, and makes Sadness please,
And heals the Heart by telling its Disease)
Vouchsafe her Aid, we also will presume
With humble Verse t'aporoach the sacred Tomb;
There flowing Streams of pious Tears will shed,
Sweet Incense burn, fresh Flow'rs and Odours spread,
Our last sad Off'rings to the Royal Dead!
For all the Ills afflicted Minds endure,
That sweetens Sorrow, and makes Sadness please,
And heals the Heart by telling its Disease)
Vouchsafe her Aid, we also will presume
With humble Verse t'aporoach the sacred Tomb;
There flowing Streams of pious Tears will shed,
Sweet Incense burn, fresh Flow'rs and Odours spread,
Our last sad Off'rings to the Royal Dead!
387
Dead is the King, who all our Lives did bless!
Our Strength in War, and our delight in Peace!
Was ever Prince like him to Mortals giv'n,
So much the Joy of Earth and Care of Heav'n!
Under the Pressure of unequal Fate,
Of so Erect a Mind and Soul so Great!
So full of Meekness and so void of Pride,
When born aloft by Fortune's highest Tide!
His kindly Beams on the ungrateful Soil
Of this Rebellious, Stubborn, Murm'ring Isle
Hatch'd Plenty; Ease and Riches did bestow,
And made the Land with Milk and Honey flow!
Less blest was Rome, when mild Augustus sway'd,
And the glad World for Love, not Fear, obey'd.
Mercy, like Heaven's, his chief Prerogative!
His Joy to save, and Glory to forgive!
Who lives, but felt his Influ'nce, and did share
His boundless Goodness and paternal Care?
And whilst with all th'endearing Arts he strove
On every Subject's Heart to seal his Love,
What Breast so hard? what Heart of human make,
But softning did the kind Impression take?
Belov'd and Loving! with such Virtues grac'd,
As might on common Heads a Crown have plac'd!
How skill'd in all the Mysteries of State!
How fitting to sustain an Empire's Weight!
How quick to know! how ready to advise!
How timely to prevent! how more than Senates wise!
His Words how charming, affable and sweet!
How just his Censure! and how sharp his Wit!
How did his charming Conversation please
The blest Attenders on his Hours of Ease;
When graciously he deign'd to condescend,
Pleas'd to exalt a Subject to a Friend!
To the most Low how easie of access!
Willing to hear and longing to redress!
His Mercy knew no Bounds of Time or Place,
His Reign was one continu'd Act of Grace!
Good Titus could, but Charles could never say,
Of all his Royal Life he lost a Day.
Excellent Prince! O once our Joy and Care,
Now our Eternal Grief and deep Despair!
O Father! or if ought than Father's more!
How shall thy Children their sad Loss deplore?
How grieve enough; when anxious thoughts recal
The mournful Story of their Sov'reign's fall?
Oh! who that Scene of Sorrow can display;
When, waiting Death, the fearless Monarch lay!
Tho' great the Pain and Anguish that he bore,
His Friends and Subjects Grief afflict him more!
Yet even that, and coming Fate, he bears;
But sinks and faints to see a Brother's Tears!
The mighty Grief, that swell'd his Royal Breast,
Scarce reach'd by Thought, can't be by Words exprest!
Grief for himself: For Grief for Charles is vain,
Who now begins a new Triumphant Reign,
Wellcom'd by all kind Spirits and Saints above,
Who see themselves in him, and their own likeness love!
Our Strength in War, and our delight in Peace!
Was ever Prince like him to Mortals giv'n,
So much the Joy of Earth and Care of Heav'n!
Under the Pressure of unequal Fate,
Of so Erect a Mind and Soul so Great!
So full of Meekness and so void of Pride,
When born aloft by Fortune's highest Tide!
His kindly Beams on the ungrateful Soil
Of this Rebellious, Stubborn, Murm'ring Isle
Hatch'd Plenty; Ease and Riches did bestow,
And made the Land with Milk and Honey flow!
Less blest was Rome, when mild Augustus sway'd,
And the glad World for Love, not Fear, obey'd.
Mercy, like Heaven's, his chief Prerogative!
His Joy to save, and Glory to forgive!
388
His boundless Goodness and paternal Care?
And whilst with all th'endearing Arts he strove
On every Subject's Heart to seal his Love,
What Breast so hard? what Heart of human make,
But softning did the kind Impression take?
Belov'd and Loving! with such Virtues grac'd,
As might on common Heads a Crown have plac'd!
How skill'd in all the Mysteries of State!
How fitting to sustain an Empire's Weight!
How quick to know! how ready to advise!
How timely to prevent! how more than Senates wise!
His Words how charming, affable and sweet!
How just his Censure! and how sharp his Wit!
How did his charming Conversation please
The blest Attenders on his Hours of Ease;
389
Pleas'd to exalt a Subject to a Friend!
To the most Low how easie of access!
Willing to hear and longing to redress!
His Mercy knew no Bounds of Time or Place,
His Reign was one continu'd Act of Grace!
Good Titus could, but Charles could never say,
Of all his Royal Life he lost a Day.
Excellent Prince! O once our Joy and Care,
Now our Eternal Grief and deep Despair!
O Father! or if ought than Father's more!
How shall thy Children their sad Loss deplore?
How grieve enough; when anxious thoughts recal
The mournful Story of their Sov'reign's fall?
Oh! who that Scene of Sorrow can display;
When, waiting Death, the fearless Monarch lay!
Tho' great the Pain and Anguish that he bore,
His Friends and Subjects Grief afflict him more!
390
But sinks and faints to see a Brother's Tears!
The mighty Grief, that swell'd his Royal Breast,
Scarce reach'd by Thought, can't be by Words exprest!
Grief for himself: For Grief for Charles is vain,
Who now begins a new Triumphant Reign,
Wellcom'd by all kind Spirits and Saints above,
Who see themselves in him, and their own likeness love!
What Godlike Virtues must that Prince adorn,
Who can so please, while such a Prince we mourn!
Who else, but that great He, who now commands
Th'united Nation's Voice and Hearts and Hands,
Could so the Love of a whole People gain,
After so excellent a Monarch's Reign!
Mean Virtues after Tyrants may succeed
And please; but after Charles a James we need.
This, this is He, by whose high Actions grac'd
The present Age contends with all the past:
Him Heaven a Pattern did for Heroes form,
Slow to Advise, but eager to Perform:
In Council calm, fierce as a Storm in Fight!
Danger His Sport, and Labour His Delight.
To Him the Fleet and Camp, the Sea and Field
Do equal Harvests of bright Glory yield!
Who can forget, of Royal Blood how free
He did assert the Empire of the Sea!
The Belgian Fleet endeavour'd, but in vain,
The Tempest of his Fury to sustain;
Shatter'd and torn before His Flag they fly
Like Doves, that the exalted Eagle spy
Ready to stoop and seize them from on high!
He, Neptune like (when from his watry Bed
Serene and Calm he lifts his awful Head,
And smiles, and to his Chariot gives the Rein)
In Triumph rides o'er the asserted Main!
Rejoycing Crowds attend him on the Strand,
Loud as the Sea and numerous as the Sand;
So Joy the Many: But the wiser Few
The Godlike Prince with silent Wonder view:
A Joy too great to be by Voice exprest,
Shines in each Eye and beats in ev'ry Breast:
They saw him destin'd for some greater Day,
And in his Looks the Omens read of his Imperial Sway!
Nor do his Civil Virtues less appear,
To perfect the illustrious Character;
To Merit just, to needy Virtue kind!
True to his Word, and faithful to his Friend!
What's well resolv'd, as firmly he pursues;
Fix'd in his Choice, as careful how to Chuse!
Honour was born, not planted in his Heart;
And Virtue came by Nature not by Art.
Albion, forget thy Sorrows, and adore
That Prince, who all the Blessings does restore,
That Charles, the Saint, made thee enjoy before!
'Tis done; with Turrets Crown'd I see her rise,
And Tears are wip'd for ever from her Eyes!
Who can so please, while such a Prince we mourn!
Who else, but that great He, who now commands
Th'united Nation's Voice and Hearts and Hands,
Could so the Love of a whole People gain,
After so excellent a Monarch's Reign!
Mean Virtues after Tyrants may succeed
And please; but after Charles a James we need.
391
The present Age contends with all the past:
Him Heaven a Pattern did for Heroes form,
Slow to Advise, but eager to Perform:
In Council calm, fierce as a Storm in Fight!
Danger His Sport, and Labour His Delight.
To Him the Fleet and Camp, the Sea and Field
Do equal Harvests of bright Glory yield!
Who can forget, of Royal Blood how free
He did assert the Empire of the Sea!
The Belgian Fleet endeavour'd, but in vain,
The Tempest of his Fury to sustain;
Shatter'd and torn before His Flag they fly
Like Doves, that the exalted Eagle spy
Ready to stoop and seize them from on high!
He, Neptune like (when from his watry Bed
Serene and Calm he lifts his awful Head,
392
In Triumph rides o'er the asserted Main!
Rejoycing Crowds attend him on the Strand,
Loud as the Sea and numerous as the Sand;
So Joy the Many: But the wiser Few
The Godlike Prince with silent Wonder view:
A Joy too great to be by Voice exprest,
Shines in each Eye and beats in ev'ry Breast:
They saw him destin'd for some greater Day,
And in his Looks the Omens read of his Imperial Sway!
Nor do his Civil Virtues less appear,
To perfect the illustrious Character;
To Merit just, to needy Virtue kind!
True to his Word, and faithful to his Friend!
What's well resolv'd, as firmly he pursues;
Fix'd in his Choice, as careful how to Chuse!
Honour was born, not planted in his Heart;
And Virtue came by Nature not by Art.
363
That Prince, who all the Blessings does restore,
That Charles, the Saint, made thee enjoy before!
'Tis done; with Turrets Crown'd I see her rise,
And Tears are wip'd for ever from her Eyes!
PROLOGUE
TO Lucius Junius Brutus.
Long has the Tribe of Poets on the StageGroan'd under persecuting Criticks Rage,
But with the Sound of Railing, and of Rhime,
Like Bees united by the tinkling Chime,
The little stinging Insects swarm the more,
And buz is greater than it was before.
But oh! you leading Voters of the Pit,
That infect others with your too much Wit,
394
And with your Malice poison half the House,
Know your ill-manag'd Arbitrary Sway,
Shall be no more endur'd, but ends this Day.
Rulers of abler Conduct we will chuse,
And more indulgent to a trembling Muse;
Women for ends of Government more fit,
Women shall rule the Boxes and the Pit,
Give Laws to Love and Influence to Wit.
Find me one Man of Sense in all your Roll,
Whom some one Woman has not made a Fool.
Even Business, that intolerable Load
Under which Man does groan and yet is proud,
Much better they cou'd manage wou'd they please,
'Tis not their want of Wit, but love of Ease.
For, spite of Art, more Wit in them appears,
Tho' we boast ours, and they dissemble theirs:
395
Set shallow in a hot and barren Soil;
But when transplanted to a richer Ground
Has in their Eden its Perfection found.
And 'tis but just they shou'd our Wit invade,
Whilst we set up their painting patching Trade;
As for our Courage, to our Shame 'tis known,
As they can raise it, they can pull it down.
At their own Weapons they our Bullies awe,
Faith let them make an Anti-salick Law;
Prescribe to all Mankind, as well as Plays,
And wear the Breeches, as they wear the Bays.
396
To the People of England;
A Detestation of Civil War,
From Horace's 7th Epod.
Oh! Whither do ye rush, and thus prepareTo rouse again the sleeping War?
Has then so little English Blood been spilt
On Sea and Land with equal Guilt?
Not that again; we might our Arms advance,
To check the insolent Pride of France.
Not that once more we might in Fetters bring
An humble Captive Gallick King?
But to the Wish of the insulting Gaul,
That we by our own Hands should fall.
Nor Wolves nor Lyons bear so fierce a Mind;
They hurt not their own Savage Kind:
397
Or Guilt, yet stronger, drives you on?
Answer; but none can answer; mute and pale
They stand; Guilt does o'er Words prevail:
'Tis so: Heav'ns Justice threatens us from high;
And a King's Death from Earth does cry;
E'er since the Martyr's innocent Blood was shed,
Upon our Fathers, and on Ours, and our Children's Head.
398
TO Mr. CREECH ON HIS Translation of Lucretius.
What to begin would have been Madness thought,
Exceeds our Praise when to Perfection brought;
Who could believe Lucretius' lofty Song
Could have been reach'd by any modern Tongue?
Of all the Suitors to immortal Fame,
That by Translations strove to raise a Name,
This was the Test, this the Ulysses Bow,
Too tough by any to be bent but you.
Carus himself of the hard Task complains
To fetter Grecian Thoughts in Roman Chains,
Much harder thine in an unlearned Tongue
To hold in Bonds, so easie yet so strong,
The Greek Philosophy and Latin Song.
If then he boasts that round his sacred Head
Fresh Garlands grow, and branching Laurels spread,
Such as not all the mighty Nine before
E'er gave, or any of their Darlings wore,
What Laurels should be thine, what Crowns thy Due,
What Garlands, Mighty Poet, shou'd be grac'd by you?
Tho' deep, tho' wondrous deep, his Sense does flow,
Thy shining Stile does all its Riches show;
So clear the Stream, that thro' it we descry
All the bright Gems that at the Bottom lie;
Here you the Troublers of our Peace remove,
Ignoble Fear, and more Ignoble Love:
Here we are taught how first our Race began,
And by what Steps our Fathers climb'd to Man;
To Man as now he is—with Knowledge fill'd
In Arts of Peace and War, in Manners skill'd,
Equal before to his fellow Grazers of the Field.
Nature's first State, which well transpos'd and own'd,
(For Owners in all Ages have been found)
Has made a Modern Wit so much renown'd,
When thee we read, we find to be no more
Than what was sung a thousand Years before.
Exceeds our Praise when to Perfection brought;
Who could believe Lucretius' lofty Song
Could have been reach'd by any modern Tongue?
Of all the Suitors to immortal Fame,
That by Translations strove to raise a Name,
This was the Test, this the Ulysses Bow,
Too tough by any to be bent but you.
Carus himself of the hard Task complains
To fetter Grecian Thoughts in Roman Chains,
399
To hold in Bonds, so easie yet so strong,
The Greek Philosophy and Latin Song.
If then he boasts that round his sacred Head
Fresh Garlands grow, and branching Laurels spread,
Such as not all the mighty Nine before
E'er gave, or any of their Darlings wore,
What Laurels should be thine, what Crowns thy Due,
What Garlands, Mighty Poet, shou'd be grac'd by you?
Tho' deep, tho' wondrous deep, his Sense does flow,
Thy shining Stile does all its Riches show;
So clear the Stream, that thro' it we descry
All the bright Gems that at the Bottom lie;
Here you the Troublers of our Peace remove,
Ignoble Fear, and more Ignoble Love:
Here we are taught how first our Race began,
And by what Steps our Fathers climb'd to Man;
400
In Arts of Peace and War, in Manners skill'd,
Equal before to his fellow Grazers of the Field.
Nature's first State, which well transpos'd and own'd,
(For Owners in all Ages have been found)
Has made a Modern Wit so much renown'd,
When thee we read, we find to be no more
Than what was sung a thousand Years before.
Thou only for this Noble Task wert fit,
To shame thy Age to a just Sense of Wit,
By shewing how the Learned Romans writ.
To teach fat heavy Clowns to know their Trade,
And not turn Wits, who were for Porters made;
But quit false Claims to the Poetick Rage,
For Squibs, and Crackers, and a Smithfield Stage.
Had Providence e'er meant that, in despight
Of Art and Nature, such dull Clods should write,
Bavius and Mœvius had been sav'd by Fate
For Settle and for Shadwel to Translate,
As it so many Ages has for thee
Preserv'd the mighty Work that now we see.
To shame thy Age to a just Sense of Wit,
By shewing how the Learned Romans writ.
To teach fat heavy Clowns to know their Trade,
And not turn Wits, who were for Porters made;
But quit false Claims to the Poetick Rage,
For Squibs, and Crackers, and a Smithfield Stage.
401
Of Art and Nature, such dull Clods should write,
Bavius and Mœvius had been sav'd by Fate
For Settle and for Shadwel to Translate,
As it so many Ages has for thee
Preserv'd the mighty Work that now we see.
Virgil's Fifth Eclogue. DAPHNIS.
The ARGUMENT.
Mopsus and Menalcas, two very expert Shepherds at a Song, begin one by Consent to the Memory of Daphnis; who is suppos'd by the best Criticks to represent Julius Cæsar Mopsus laments his Death, Menalcas proclaims his Divinity. The whole Eclogue consisting of an Elegy, and an Apotheosis.
Mopsus , since chance does us together bring,
And you so well can pipe, and I can sing,
Why sit we not beneath this secret Shade,
By Elms and Hazels mingling Branches made?
402
Your Age commands Respect, and I obey,
Whether you in this lonely Copse will stay,
Where western Winds the bending Branches shake,
And in their Play the Shades uncertain make:
Or whether to that silent Cave you go,
The better choice! see how the wild Vines grow
Luxuriant round, and see how wide they spread,
And in the Cave their purple Clusters shed!
MENALCAS.
Amyntas only dares contend with you.
MOPSUS.
Why not as well contend with Phœbus too?
MENALCAS.
Begin, begin; whether the mournful Flame
Of dying Phyllis, whether Alcon's Fame,
Or Codrus' Brawls thy willing Muse provoke;
Begin, young Tityrus will tend the Flock.
403
Yes, I'll begin, and the sad Song repeat,
That on the Beech's Bark I lately writ,
And set to sweetest Notes; yes, I'll begin,
And after that, bid you Amyntas sing.
MENALCAS.
As much as the most humble Shrub that grows,
Yields to the beauteous Blushes of the Rose,
Or bending Osiers to the Olive Tree;
So much, I judge, Amyntas yields to thee.
MOPSUS.
Shepherd, to this Discourse here put an End,
This is the Cave, sit and my Verse attend.
MOPSUS.
When the sad Fate of Daphnis reach'd their Ears,
The pitying Nymphs dissolv'd in pious Tears.
Witness, you Hazels, for you heard their Cries;
Witness, you Floods, swoln with their weeping Eyes.
404
The sad remains of her cold Son embrac'd,
And of th'unequal Tyranny they us'd,
Then cruel Gods and cruel Stars accus'd.
Then did no Swain mind how his Flock did thrive,
Nor thirsty Herds to the cold River drive;
The generous Horse turn'd from fresh Streams his Head,
And on the sweetest Grass refus'd to feed.
Daphnis, thy Death, even fiercest Lions mourn'd,
And Hills and Woods their Cries and Groans return'd.
Daphnis Armenian Tygers Fierceness broke,
And brought 'em willing to the sacred Yoke:
Daphnis to Bacchus' Worship did ordain
The Revels of his consecrated Train;
The Reeling Priests with Vines and Ivy crown'd,
And their long Spears with cluster'd Branches bound
405
As Bulls the Herd, as Fields the ripen'd Corn;
Such Grace, such Ornament wert thou to all
That glory'd to be thine: Since thy sad Fall,
No more Apollo his glad Presence yields,
And Pales self forsakes her hated Fields.
Oft where the finest Barley we did sow,
Barren Wild-Oates and hurtful Darnel grow;
And where soft Violets did the Vales adorn,
The Thistle rises and the prickly Thorn.
Come Shepherds, strow with Flow'rs the hallow'd Ground,
The sacred Fountains with thick Boughs surround;
Daphnis these Rites requires: to Daphnis' Praise
Shepherds a Tomb with this Inscription raise,
Here fam'd from Earth to Heaven I Daphnis lie;
Fair was the Flock I fed, but much more fair was I.
406
Such, divine Poet, to my ravish'd Ears
Are the sweet Numbers of thy mournful Verse,
As to tir'd Swains soft Slumbers on the Grass;
As freshest Springs that through green Meadows pass,
To one that's parch'd with Thirst and Summer's Heat.
In thee thy Master does his Equal meet:
Whether your Voice you try, or tune your Reed,
Blest Swain, 'tis you alone can him succeed!
Yet, as I can, I in return will sing:
I too thy Daphnis to the Stars will bring,
I too thy Daphnis to the Stars, with you,
Will raise; for Daphnis lov'd Menalcas too.
MOPSUS.
Is there a thing that I could more desire?
For neither can there be a Subject higher,
407
Can it be better sung than 'tis by you.
MENALCAS.
Daphnis now wondring at the glorious show,
Through Heav'ns bright Pavement does triumphant go,
And sees the moving Clouds, and the fixt Stars below:
Therefore new Joys make glad the Woods, the Plains,
Pan and the Dryades, and the chearful Swains
The Wolf no Ambush for the Flock does lay,
No cheating Nets the harmless Deer betray,
Daphnis a general Peace commands, and Nature does obey.
Hark! the glad Mountains raise to Heav'n their Voice!
Hark! the hard Rocks in mystick Tunes rejoyce!
408
A God! A God! Menalcas, he is crown'd!
O be propitious! O be good to thine!
See! here four hallow'd Altars we design,
To Daphnis two, to Phœbus two we raise,
To pay the yearly Tribute of our Praise:
Sacred to thee they each returning Year
Two Bowls of Milk and two of Oyl shall bear:
Feasts I'll ordain, and to thy deathless Praise
Thy Votaries exalted Thoughts to raise,
Rich Chian Wines shall in full Goblets flow,
And give a Taste of Nectar here below.
‘Dametas shall with Lictian Ægon join,
To celebrate with Songs the Rites divine.
Alphisibæus with a reeling Gate,
Shall the wild Satyrs dancing imitate.
When to the Nymphs we Vows and Offerings pay,
When we with solemn Rites our Fields survey,
409
Shall in the Fields and Hills delight no more;
No more in Streams the Fish, in Flow'rs the Bee,
E'er, Daphnis, we forget our Songs to thee:
Off'rings to thee the Shepherds every Year
Shall, as to Bacchus and to Ceres, bear.
To Thee as to those Gods shall Vows be made,
And Vengeance wait on those, by whom they are not paid.
MOPSUS.
What Present worth thy Verse can Mopsus find?
Not the soft Whispers of the Southern Wind
So much delight my Ear, or charm my Mind;
Not sounding Shores beat by the murm'ring Tide,
Nor Rivers that through stony Vallies glide.
MENALCAS.
First you this Pipe shall take: and 'tis the same
That play'd poor Corydon's unhappy Flame: Ecl. 2.
410
MOPSUS.
You then shall for my sake this Sheephook keep,
Adorn'd with Brass, which I have oft deny'd
To young Antigenes in his Beauty's Pride.
And who cou'd think he then in vain could sue?
Yet him I would deny, and freely give it you.
412
TO Mr. WALLER, UPON THE Copy of Verses made by himself on the last Copy in his Book.
I.
When Shame, for all my foolish Youth had writ,Advis'd, 'twas time the rhiming Trade to quit,
Time to grow wise, and be no more a Wit—
The Noble Fire, that animates thy Age,
Once more inflam'd me with Poetick Rage.
II.
Kings, Heroes, Nymphs, the Brave, the Fair, the Young,Have been the Theme of thy Immortal Song:
413
Two things Divine, Thee, and Her self, does chuse.
III.
Age, whose dull Weight makes vulgar Spirits bend,Gives Wings to thine, and bids it upward tend.
No more confin'd, above the Starry Skies,
Out, from the Body's broken Cage, it flies.
IV.
But oh! vouchsafe, not wholly to retire,To join with, and compleat, th'Etherial Quire!
Still here remain! still on the Threshold stand;
Still at this Distance view the promis'd Land,
Tho' thou may'st seem, so heav'nly is thy Sense,
Not going thither, but new come from thence.
414
A SONG.
[After the fiercest Pangs of hot Desire]
I
After the fiercest Pangs of hot Desire,Between Panthea's rising Breasts,
His bending Breast Philander rests:
Though vanquish'd, yet unknowing to retire;
Close hugs the Charmer, and asham'd to yield,
Tho' he has lost the Day, yet keeps the Field.
II
When, with a Sigh, the Fair Panthæa said,What Pity 'tis, ye Gods, that all
The noblest Warriors soonest fall:
Then with a Kiss she gently rear'd his Head;
Arm'd him again to fight, for nobly she
More lov'd the Combat than the Victory.
415
III
But more enrag'd, for being beat before,With all his Strength he does prepare
More fiercely to renew the War;
Nor ceas'd he 'till the noble Prize he bore:
Ev'n her such wond'rous Courage did surprize,
She hugs the Dart that wounded her, and dies.
A SONG.
[Through mournful Shades, and solitary Groves]
I
Through mournful Shades, and solitary Groves,Fann'd with the Sighs of unsuccessful Loves,
Wild with Despair, young Thyrsis strays,
Thinks over all Amyra's Heav'nly Charms,
Thinks he now sees her in another's Arms;
Then at some Willow's Root himself he lays,
416
And thus to the wild Woods he does complain.
II
How art thou chang'd, O Thyrsis, since the timeWhen thou cou'dst love, and hope without a Crime;
When Nature's Pride, and Earth's Delight,
As through her shady Ev'ning Grove she past,
And a new Day did all around her cast;
Could see, nor be offended at the Sight,
The melting, sighing, wishing Swain,
That now must never hope to wish again.
III
Riches and Titles! why should they prevail,Where Duty, Love, and Adoration fail?
Lovely Amyra, shou'dst thou prize
The empty Noise that a fine Title makes;
Or the vile Trash that with the Vulgar takes,
Before a Heart that bleeds for thee, and dies?
417
Your Rigour kills, nor Triumph o'er the Slain.
A SONG.
[See what a Conquest Love has made!]
I
See what a Conquest Love has made!Beneath the Myrtle's am'rous Shade
The charming fair Corinna lies
All melting in Desire,
Quenching in Tears those flowing Eyes
That set the World on Fire.
II
What cannot Tears and Beauty do!The Youth by Chance stood by, and knew
For whom those Chrystal Streams did flow;
And though he ne'er before
To her Eyes brightest Rays did bow,
Weeps too, and does adore.
418
III
So when the Heav'ns serene and clear,Gilded with gaudy Light appear,
Each craggy Rock, and every Stone,
Their native Rigour keep;
But when in Rain the Clouds fall down,
The hardest Marble weeps.
To his FRIEND Mr. HENRY DICKINSON, ON HIS Translation of Father Simon's Critical History of the Old Testament .
What senseless Loads have overcharg'd the Press,Of French Impertinence, in English Dress?
419
Bring new Supplies of Novel, Farce or Play?
Like damn'd French Pensioners, with foreign aid
Their native Land with Nonsense to invade;
'Till we're o'er-run more with the Wit of France,
Her nauseous Wit, than with her Protestants.
But, Sir, this noble Piece obligeth more
Than all their Trash has plagu'd the Town before:
With various Learning, Knowledge, Strength of thought,
Order and Art, and solid Judgment fraught;
No less a Piece than this could make amends
For all the trump'ry France amongst us sends.
Nor let ill-grounded, superstitious Fear
Fright any but the Fools from reading here.
The sacred Oracles may well endure
Th'exactest search, of their own Truth secure;
420
And to their Aid a num'rous Faction call
With stretch'd out Arms, as if the Ark could fall;
Yet wiser Heads will think so firm it stands,
That, were it shook, 'twould need no mortal Hands.
TO Mr. DRYDEN, On his PLAY, call'd, Troilus and Cressida; Or, Truth found too Late.
And will our Master Poet then admit
A young Beginner in the Trade of Wit,
To bring a plain and rustick Muse, to wait
On His in all her glorious Pomp and State?
Can an unknown, unheard of, private Name,
Add any Lustre to so bright a Fame?
No! sooner Planets to the Sun may give
That Light which they themselves from him derive.
Nor could my sickly Fancy entertain
A Thought so foolish, or a Pride so vain.
But as when Kings through Crowds in Triumph go,
The meanest Wretch that gazes at the show,
Though to that Pomp his Voice can add no more,
Than when we Drops into the Ocean pour,
Has leave his Tongue in Praises to employ:
(Th'accepted Language of officious Joy:)
So I, in loud Applauses may reveal
To you, great King of Verse, my Loyal Zeal,
May tell with what Majestic Grace and Miene
Your Muse displays her self in every Scene;
In what rich Robes she has fair Cressid drest,
And with what gentle Fires inflam'd her Breast.
How when those fading Eyes her Aid implor'd,
She all their sparkling Lustre has restor'd,
Added more Charms, fresh Beauties on 'em shed,
And to new Youth recall'd the lovely Maid.
How nobly she the Royal Brothers draws;
How great their Quarrel, and how great their Cause:
How justly rais'd! and by what just Degrees,
In a sweet Calm does the rough Tempest cease!
Envy not now the God-like Roman's Rage;
Hector and Troilus, Darlings of our Age,
Shall Hand in Hand with Brutus tread the Stage.
A young Beginner in the Trade of Wit,
To bring a plain and rustick Muse, to wait
On His in all her glorious Pomp and State?
421
Add any Lustre to so bright a Fame?
No! sooner Planets to the Sun may give
That Light which they themselves from him derive.
Nor could my sickly Fancy entertain
A Thought so foolish, or a Pride so vain.
But as when Kings through Crowds in Triumph go,
The meanest Wretch that gazes at the show,
Though to that Pomp his Voice can add no more,
Than when we Drops into the Ocean pour,
Has leave his Tongue in Praises to employ:
(Th'accepted Language of officious Joy:)
So I, in loud Applauses may reveal
To you, great King of Verse, my Loyal Zeal,
May tell with what Majestic Grace and Miene
Your Muse displays her self in every Scene;
In what rich Robes she has fair Cressid drest,
And with what gentle Fires inflam'd her Breast.
422
She all their sparkling Lustre has restor'd,
Added more Charms, fresh Beauties on 'em shed,
And to new Youth recall'd the lovely Maid.
How nobly she the Royal Brothers draws;
How great their Quarrel, and how great their Cause:
How justly rais'd! and by what just Degrees,
In a sweet Calm does the rough Tempest cease!
Envy not now the God-like Roman's Rage;
Hector and Troilus, Darlings of our Age,
Shall Hand in Hand with Brutus tread the Stage.
Shakespear, 'tis true, this Tale of Troy first told,
But, as with Ennius Virgil did of old,
You found it Dirt, but you have made it Gold.
A dark and undigested Heap it lay,
Like Chaos e'er the Dawn of infant Day,
But you did first the cheerful Light display.
Confus'd it was as Epicurus World
Of Atoms, by blind Chance together hurl'd,
But you have made such Order through it shine
As loudly speaks the Workmanship divine.
But, as with Ennius Virgil did of old,
You found it Dirt, but you have made it Gold.
A dark and undigested Heap it lay,
Like Chaos e'er the Dawn of infant Day,
But you did first the cheerful Light display.
423
Of Atoms, by blind Chance together hurl'd,
But you have made such Order through it shine
As loudly speaks the Workmanship divine.
Boast then, O Troy! and triumph in thy Flames,
That make thee sung by three such mighty Names.
Had Ilium stood, Homer had ne'er been read,
Nor the sweet Mantuan Swan his Wings display'd,
Nor Thou the third, but equal in Renown,
Thy matchless Skill in this great Subject shown.
Not Priam's self, nor all the Trojan State
Was worth the saving at so dear a Rate.
But they now flourish by you mighty Three
In Verse more lasting than their Walls could be.
Which never, never shall like them decay,
Being built by Hands divine as well as they;
Never, 'till our great Charles being sung by You,
Old Troy shall grow less famous than the new.
That make thee sung by three such mighty Names.
Had Ilium stood, Homer had ne'er been read,
Nor the sweet Mantuan Swan his Wings display'd,
Nor Thou the third, but equal in Renown,
Thy matchless Skill in this great Subject shown.
Not Priam's self, nor all the Trojan State
Was worth the saving at so dear a Rate.
But they now flourish by you mighty Three
In Verse more lasting than their Walls could be.
Which never, never shall like them decay,
Being built by Hands divine as well as they;
Never, 'till our great Charles being sung by You,
Old Troy shall grow less famous than the new.
424
PARIS to HELENA.
The ARGUMENT.
Paris having sail'd to Sparta for the obtaining of
Helen, whom Venus had promised him as the
Reward of his adjudging the Prize of Beauty to
her, was nobly there entertain'd by Menelaus,
Helen's Husband; but he being call'd away to
Crete, to take Possession of what was left him by
his Grand-father Atreus, commends his Guest
to the Care of his Wife. In his Absence Paris
Courts her, and writes to her the following Epistle.
All Health, fair Nymph, thy Paris sends to thee,
Tho' You, and only You, can give it me.
Shall I then speak? or is it needless grown
To tell a Passion that it self has shown?
Does not my Love it self too open lay,
And all I think in all I do betray?
If not, oh! may it still in secret lie,
'Till Time with our kind Wishes shall comply,
'Till all our Joys may to us come sincere,
Nor lose their Price by the Allay of Fear.
In vain I strive; who can that Fire conceal,
Which does it self by its own Light reveal?
But if you needs would hear my trembling Tongue
Speak what my Actions have declar'd so long,
I Love; you've there the Word that does impart
The truest Message from my bleeding Heart.
Forgive me, Madam, that I thus confess
To you, my fair Physician, my Disease,
And with such Looks this suppliant Paper grace
As best become the Beauties of that Face
May that smooth Brow no angry Wrinkle wear,
But be your Looks as kind as they are fair.
Some Pleasure 'tis to think these Lines shall find
An Entertainment at your Hands so kind,
For this creates a Hope, that I too may,
Receiv'd by you, as happy be as they.
Ah! may that Hope be true! nor I complain
That Venus promis'd you to me in vain.
For know, least you through Ignorance offend
The Gods, 'tis Heav'n that me does hither send.
None of the meanest of the Powers Divine
That first inspir'd, still favours my Design.
Great is the Prize I seek, I must confess,
But neither is my Due or Merit less:
Venus has promis'd she would you assign,
Fair as her self, to be for ever mine.
Guided by her, my Troy I left for thee,
Nor fear'd the Dangers of the faithless Sea.
She with a kind and an auspicious Gale
Drove the good Ship, and stretch'd out ev'ry Sail.
For she who sprung out of the teeming Deep,
Still o'er the Main does her wide Empire keep.
Still may she keep it, and as she with Ease
Allays the Wrath of the most angry Seas,
So may she give my stormy Mind some Rest,
And calm the raging Tempest of my Breast,
And bring home all my Sighs, and all my Vows
To their wish'd Harbour, and desir'd Repose.
Tho' You, and only You, can give it me.
Shall I then speak? or is it needless grown
To tell a Passion that it self has shown?
Does not my Love it self too open lay,
And all I think in all I do betray?
425
'Till Time with our kind Wishes shall comply,
'Till all our Joys may to us come sincere,
Nor lose their Price by the Allay of Fear.
In vain I strive; who can that Fire conceal,
Which does it self by its own Light reveal?
But if you needs would hear my trembling Tongue
Speak what my Actions have declar'd so long,
I Love; you've there the Word that does impart
The truest Message from my bleeding Heart.
Forgive me, Madam, that I thus confess
To you, my fair Physician, my Disease,
And with such Looks this suppliant Paper grace
As best become the Beauties of that Face
May that smooth Brow no angry Wrinkle wear,
But be your Looks as kind as they are fair.
Some Pleasure 'tis to think these Lines shall find
An Entertainment at your Hands so kind,
426
Receiv'd by you, as happy be as they.
Ah! may that Hope be true! nor I complain
That Venus promis'd you to me in vain.
For know, least you through Ignorance offend
The Gods, 'tis Heav'n that me does hither send.
None of the meanest of the Powers Divine
That first inspir'd, still favours my Design.
Great is the Prize I seek, I must confess,
But neither is my Due or Merit less:
Venus has promis'd she would you assign,
Fair as her self, to be for ever mine.
Guided by her, my Troy I left for thee,
Nor fear'd the Dangers of the faithless Sea.
She with a kind and an auspicious Gale
Drove the good Ship, and stretch'd out ev'ry Sail.
For she who sprung out of the teeming Deep,
Still o'er the Main does her wide Empire keep.
427
Allays the Wrath of the most angry Seas,
So may she give my stormy Mind some Rest,
And calm the raging Tempest of my Breast,
And bring home all my Sighs, and all my Vows
To their wish'd Harbour, and desir'd Repose.
Hither my Flames I brought, not found 'em here;
I my whole Course by their kind Light did steer:
For I by no Mistake or Storm was tost
Against my Will upon this happy Coast.
Nor as a Merchant did I plow the Main
To venture Life, like sordid Fools, for Gain.
No; may the Gods preserve my present Store,
And only give me you to make it more.
Nor to admire the Place came I so far;
I have Towns richer than your Cities are.
'Tis you I seek, to me from Venus due,
You were my Wish, before your Charms I knew.
Bright Images of you my Mind did draw,
Long e'er my Eyes the lovely Object saw.
Nor wonder that with the swift-winged Dart,
At such a Distance, you could wound my Heart:
So Fate ordain'd, and least you fight with Fate,
Hear and believe the Truth I shall relate.
I my whole Course by their kind Light did steer:
For I by no Mistake or Storm was tost
Against my Will upon this happy Coast.
Nor as a Merchant did I plow the Main
To venture Life, like sordid Fools, for Gain.
No; may the Gods preserve my present Store,
And only give me you to make it more.
Nor to admire the Place came I so far;
I have Towns richer than your Cities are.
428
You were my Wish, before your Charms I knew.
Bright Images of you my Mind did draw,
Long e'er my Eyes the lovely Object saw.
Nor wonder that with the swift-winged Dart,
At such a Distance, you could wound my Heart:
So Fate ordain'd, and least you fight with Fate,
Hear and believe the Truth I shall relate.
Now in my Mother's Womb shut up I lay,
Her fatal Burthen longing for the Day,
When she in a mysterious Dream was told,
Her teeming Womb a burning Torch did hold;
Frighted she rises, and her Vision she
To Priam tells, and to his Prophets he;
They sing that I all Troy should set on Fire:
But sure Fate meant the Flames of my Desire.
For fear of this among the Swains expos'd,
My native Greatness every thing disclos'd.
Beauty, and Strength, and Courage join'd in one,
Through all Disguise spoke me a Monarch's Son.
A Place there is in Ida's thickest Grove
With Oakes and Fir-trees shaded all above,
The Grass here grows untoucht by bleating Flocks,
Or Mountain Goat, or the laborious Ox.
From hence Troy's Tow'rs Magnificence and Pride,
Leaning against an aged Oak, I spy'd.
When straight methought I heard the trembling Ground
With the strange Noise of trampling Feet resound.
In the same Instant Jove's great Messenger,
On all his Wings born through the yielding Air,
Lighting before my wondring Eyes did stand,
His Golden Rod shone in his sacred Hand:
With him three charming Goddesses there came,
Juno, and Pallas, and the Cyprian Dame.
With an unusual Fear I stood amaz'd,
'Till thus the God my sinking Courage rais'd;
Fear not; Thou art Jove's Substitute below;
The Prize of heav'nly Beauty to bestow;
Contending Goddesses appeal to you,
Decide their Strife; He spake, and up he flew.
Then bolder grown, I throw my Fears away,
And every one with curious Eyes survey:
Each of 'em merited the Victory,
And I their doubtful Judge was griev'd to see,
That one must have it, when deserv'd by three.
But yet that one there was which most prevail'd,
And with more pow'rful Charms my Heart assail'd:
Ah! would you know who thus my Breast could move?
Who could it be but the fair Queen of Love?
With mighty Bribes they all for Conquest strive,
Juno will Empires, Pallas Valour give,
Whilst I stand doubting which I should prefer,
Empire's soft Ease, or glorious Toils of War;
But Venus gently smil'd, and thus she spake,
They're dangerous Gifts, O do not, do not take!
I'll make Thee Love's immortal Pleasures know,
And Joys that in full Tides for ever flow.
For, if you judge the Conquest to be mine,
Fair Leda's fairer Daughter shall be thine.
She spake; and I gave her the Conquest due,
Both to her Beauty, and her Gift of you.
Her fatal Burthen longing for the Day,
When she in a mysterious Dream was told,
Her teeming Womb a burning Torch did hold;
Frighted she rises, and her Vision she
To Priam tells, and to his Prophets he;
They sing that I all Troy should set on Fire:
But sure Fate meant the Flames of my Desire.
429
My native Greatness every thing disclos'd.
Beauty, and Strength, and Courage join'd in one,
Through all Disguise spoke me a Monarch's Son.
A Place there is in Ida's thickest Grove
With Oakes and Fir-trees shaded all above,
The Grass here grows untoucht by bleating Flocks,
Or Mountain Goat, or the laborious Ox.
From hence Troy's Tow'rs Magnificence and Pride,
Leaning against an aged Oak, I spy'd.
When straight methought I heard the trembling Ground
With the strange Noise of trampling Feet resound.
In the same Instant Jove's great Messenger,
On all his Wings born through the yielding Air,
Lighting before my wondring Eyes did stand,
His Golden Rod shone in his sacred Hand:
With him three charming Goddesses there came,
Juno, and Pallas, and the Cyprian Dame.
430
'Till thus the God my sinking Courage rais'd;
Fear not; Thou art Jove's Substitute below;
The Prize of heav'nly Beauty to bestow;
Contending Goddesses appeal to you,
Decide their Strife; He spake, and up he flew.
Then bolder grown, I throw my Fears away,
And every one with curious Eyes survey:
Each of 'em merited the Victory,
And I their doubtful Judge was griev'd to see,
That one must have it, when deserv'd by three.
But yet that one there was which most prevail'd,
And with more pow'rful Charms my Heart assail'd:
Ah! would you know who thus my Breast could move?
Who could it be but the fair Queen of Love?
With mighty Bribes they all for Conquest strive,
Juno will Empires, Pallas Valour give,
431
Empire's soft Ease, or glorious Toils of War;
But Venus gently smil'd, and thus she spake,
They're dangerous Gifts, O do not, do not take!
I'll make Thee Love's immortal Pleasures know,
And Joys that in full Tides for ever flow.
For, if you judge the Conquest to be mine,
Fair Leda's fairer Daughter shall be thine.
She spake; and I gave her the Conquest due,
Both to her Beauty, and her Gift of you.
Mean while (my angry Stars more gentle grown)
I am acknowledg'd Royal Priam's Son,
All the glad Court, all Troy does celebrate,
With a new Festival, my change of Fate.
And as I now languish and die for thee,
So did the Beauties of all Troy for me.
You in full Pow'r over a Heart do reign,
For which a thousand Virgins sigh'd in vain:
Nor did Queens only fly to my Imbrace,
But Nymphs of Form divine, and heav'nly Race.
I all their Loves with cold Disdain represt,
Since Hopes of you first fir'd my longing Breast.
Your charming Form all Day my Fancy drew,
And when Night came, my Dreams were all of you.
What Pleasures then must you your self impart,
Whose Shadows only so surpriz'd my Heart?
And oh! how did I burn approaching nigher,
That was so scorch'd by so remote a Fire!
I am acknowledg'd Royal Priam's Son,
All the glad Court, all Troy does celebrate,
With a new Festival, my change of Fate.
And as I now languish and die for thee,
So did the Beauties of all Troy for me.
432
For which a thousand Virgins sigh'd in vain:
Nor did Queens only fly to my Imbrace,
But Nymphs of Form divine, and heav'nly Race.
I all their Loves with cold Disdain represt,
Since Hopes of you first fir'd my longing Breast.
Your charming Form all Day my Fancy drew,
And when Night came, my Dreams were all of you.
What Pleasures then must you your self impart,
Whose Shadows only so surpriz'd my Heart?
And oh! how did I burn approaching nigher,
That was so scorch'd by so remote a Fire!
For now no longer could my Hopes refrain
From seeking their wish'd Object through the Main.
I fell the stately Pine, and every Tree
That best was fit to cut the yielding Sea,
Fetch'd from Gargarian Hills, tall Firs I cleave,
And Ida naked to the Winds I leave,
Stiff Oaks I bend, and solid Planks I form,
And every Ship with well-knit Ribs I arm.
To the tall Mast I Sails and Streamers join,
And the gay Poops with painted Gods do shine.
But on my Ship does only Venus stand
With little Cupid smiling in her Hand,
Guide of the Way she did her self command.
My Fleet thus rigg'd, and all my Thoughts on thee,
I long to plow the vast Ægean Sea,
My anxious Parents my Desires withstand,
And both with pious Tears my Stay command.
Cassandra too, with loose dishevel'd Hair,
Just as our hasty Ships to sail prepare,
Full of Prophetick Fury cries aloud,
O whither steers my Brother through the Flood?
Little, ah! little dost thou know or heed
To what a raging Fire these Waters lead.
True were her Fears, and in my Breast I feel
The scorching Flames her Fury did foretel.
Yet out I sail, and favour'd by the Wind,
On your blest Shore my wish'd-for Haven find;
Your Husband then, so Heav'n, kind Heav'n ordains,
In his own House his Rival entertains.
Shews me whate'er in Sparta does delight
The curious Travellers enquiring Sight:
But I, who only long'd to gaze on you,
Could taste no Pleasure in the idle shew.
But at thy Sight; oh! where was then my Heart!
Out from my Breast it gave a sudden Start,
Sprung forth and met half way the fatal Dart.
Such or less charming was the Queen of Love,
When with her Rival Goddesses the strove.
But, fairest, hadst thou come among the three,
Even she the Prize must have resign'd to thee.
Your Beauty is the only Theme of Fame,
And all the World sounds with fair Helen's Name;
Nor lives there she whom Pride it self can raise
To claim with you an equal Share of Praise.
Do I speak false? rather Report does so,
Detracting from you in a Praise too low.
More here I find than that could ever tell,
So much your Beauty does your Fame excel.
Well then might Theseus, he who all things knew,
Think none was worthy of his Theft but you;
I this bold Theft admire: but wonder more
He ever would so dear a Prize restore:
Ah! would these Hands have ever let you go?
Or could I live and be divorc'd from you?
No; sooner I with Life it self could part,
Than e'er see you torn from my bleeding Heart.
But could I do as he, and give you back,
Yet sure some Taste of Love I first would take,
Would first, in all your blooming Excellence,
And Virgins Sweets feast my luxurious Sense;
Or if you would not let that Treasure go,
Kisses at least you should, you would bestow,
And let me smell the Flow'r as it did grow.
Come then into my longing Arms, and try
My lasting, fix'd, Eternal Constancy,
Which never 'till my funeral Pile shall waste;
My present Fire shall mingle with my last.
Scepters and Crowns for you I did disdain,
With which great Juno tempted me in vain.
And when bright Pallas did her Bribes prepare,
One soft Embrace from you I did prefer
To Courage, Strength, and all the Pomp of War.
Nor shall I ever think my Choice was ill,
My Judgment's settled, and approves it still.
Do you but grant my Hopes may prove as true,
As they were plac'd above all Things but you.
I am, as well as you, of Heav'nly Race,
Nor will my Birth your mighty Line disgrace.
Pallas and Jove our Noble Lineage Head,
And them a Race of God-like Kings succeed.
All Asia's Scepters to my Father bow,
And half the spacious East his Power allow.
There you shall see the Houses rooft with Gold,
And Temples glorious as the Gods they hold.
Troy you shall see, and divine Walls admire,
Built to the Consort of Apollo's Lyre.
What need I the vast Flood of People tell,
That over its wide Banks does almost swell?
You shall gay Troops of Phrygian Matrons meet,
And Trojan Wives shining in every Street.
How often then will you your self confess
The Emptiness and Poverty of Greece?
How often will you say, one Palace there
Contains more wealth than do whole Cities here?
I speak not this your Sparta to disgrace,
For whereso'er your Life began its Race
Must be to me the happiest, dearest Place.
Yet Sparta's poor; and you that should be drest
In all the Riches of the shining East,
Should understand how ill that sordid Place
Suits with the Beauty of your charming Face;
That Face with costly Dress and rich Attire
Should shine, and make the gazing World admire.
When you the Habit of my Trojans see,
What, think ye, must that of their Ladies be?
Oh! then be kind, fair Spartan, nor disdain
A Trojan in your Bed to entertain.
He was a Trojan, and of our great Line,
That to the Gods does mix immortal Wine;
Tithonus too, whom to her rosie Bed
The Goddess of the Morning blushing led;
So was Anchises of our Trojan Race,
Yet Venus self to his desir'd Embrace,
With all her Train of little Loves, did flie,
And in his Arms learn'd for a while to lie.
Nor do I think that Menelaus can
Compar'd with me appear the greater Man.
I'm sure my Father never made the Sun
With frighted Steeds from his dire Banquet run:
No Grand-father of mine is stain'd with Blood,
Or with his Crime names the Myrtoan Flood.
None of our Race does in the Stygian Lake
Snatch at those Apples he wants Pow'r to take.
But stay; since you with such a Husband join,
Your Father Jove is forc'd to grace his Line.
From seeking their wish'd Object through the Main.
I fell the stately Pine, and every Tree
That best was fit to cut the yielding Sea,
433
And Ida naked to the Winds I leave,
Stiff Oaks I bend, and solid Planks I form,
And every Ship with well-knit Ribs I arm.
To the tall Mast I Sails and Streamers join,
And the gay Poops with painted Gods do shine.
But on my Ship does only Venus stand
With little Cupid smiling in her Hand,
Guide of the Way she did her self command.
My Fleet thus rigg'd, and all my Thoughts on thee,
I long to plow the vast Ægean Sea,
My anxious Parents my Desires withstand,
And both with pious Tears my Stay command.
Cassandra too, with loose dishevel'd Hair,
Just as our hasty Ships to sail prepare,
Full of Prophetick Fury cries aloud,
O whither steers my Brother through the Flood?
434
To what a raging Fire these Waters lead.
True were her Fears, and in my Breast I feel
The scorching Flames her Fury did foretel.
Yet out I sail, and favour'd by the Wind,
On your blest Shore my wish'd-for Haven find;
Your Husband then, so Heav'n, kind Heav'n ordains,
In his own House his Rival entertains.
Shews me whate'er in Sparta does delight
The curious Travellers enquiring Sight:
But I, who only long'd to gaze on you,
Could taste no Pleasure in the idle shew.
But at thy Sight; oh! where was then my Heart!
Out from my Breast it gave a sudden Start,
Sprung forth and met half way the fatal Dart.
Such or less charming was the Queen of Love,
When with her Rival Goddesses the strove.
435
Even she the Prize must have resign'd to thee.
Your Beauty is the only Theme of Fame,
And all the World sounds with fair Helen's Name;
Nor lives there she whom Pride it self can raise
To claim with you an equal Share of Praise.
Do I speak false? rather Report does so,
Detracting from you in a Praise too low.
More here I find than that could ever tell,
So much your Beauty does your Fame excel.
Well then might Theseus, he who all things knew,
Think none was worthy of his Theft but you;
I this bold Theft admire: but wonder more
He ever would so dear a Prize restore:
Ah! would these Hands have ever let you go?
Or could I live and be divorc'd from you?
No; sooner I with Life it self could part,
Than e'er see you torn from my bleeding Heart.
436
Yet sure some Taste of Love I first would take,
Would first, in all your blooming Excellence,
And Virgins Sweets feast my luxurious Sense;
Or if you would not let that Treasure go,
Kisses at least you should, you would bestow,
And let me smell the Flow'r as it did grow.
Come then into my longing Arms, and try
My lasting, fix'd, Eternal Constancy,
Which never 'till my funeral Pile shall waste;
My present Fire shall mingle with my last.
Scepters and Crowns for you I did disdain,
With which great Juno tempted me in vain.
And when bright Pallas did her Bribes prepare,
One soft Embrace from you I did prefer
To Courage, Strength, and all the Pomp of War.
Nor shall I ever think my Choice was ill,
My Judgment's settled, and approves it still.
437
As they were plac'd above all Things but you.
I am, as well as you, of Heav'nly Race,
Nor will my Birth your mighty Line disgrace.
Pallas and Jove our Noble Lineage Head,
And them a Race of God-like Kings succeed.
All Asia's Scepters to my Father bow,
And half the spacious East his Power allow.
There you shall see the Houses rooft with Gold,
And Temples glorious as the Gods they hold.
Troy you shall see, and divine Walls admire,
Built to the Consort of Apollo's Lyre.
What need I the vast Flood of People tell,
That over its wide Banks does almost swell?
You shall gay Troops of Phrygian Matrons meet,
And Trojan Wives shining in every Street.
How often then will you your self confess
The Emptiness and Poverty of Greece?
438
Contains more wealth than do whole Cities here?
I speak not this your Sparta to disgrace,
For whereso'er your Life began its Race
Must be to me the happiest, dearest Place.
Yet Sparta's poor; and you that should be drest
In all the Riches of the shining East,
Should understand how ill that sordid Place
Suits with the Beauty of your charming Face;
That Face with costly Dress and rich Attire
Should shine, and make the gazing World admire.
When you the Habit of my Trojans see,
What, think ye, must that of their Ladies be?
Oh! then be kind, fair Spartan, nor disdain
A Trojan in your Bed to entertain.
He was a Trojan, and of our great Line,
That to the Gods does mix immortal Wine;
Tithonus too, whom to her rosie Bed
The Goddess of the Morning blushing led;
439
Yet Venus self to his desir'd Embrace,
With all her Train of little Loves, did flie,
And in his Arms learn'd for a while to lie.
Nor do I think that Menelaus can
Compar'd with me appear the greater Man.
I'm sure my Father never made the Sun
With frighted Steeds from his dire Banquet run:
No Grand-father of mine is stain'd with Blood,
Or with his Crime names the Myrtoan Flood.
None of our Race does in the Stygian Lake
Snatch at those Apples he wants Pow'r to take.
But stay; since you with such a Husband join,
Your Father Jove is forc'd to grace his Line.
He (Gods!) a Wretch unworthy of those Charms
Does all the Night lie melting in your Arms,
Does every Minute to new Joys improve,
And Riots in the luscious Sweets of Love.
I but at Table one short View can gain,
And that too, only to increase my Pain:
O may such Feasts my worst of Foes attend,
As often I at your spread Table find.
I loath my Food when my tormented Eye
Sees his rude Hand in your soft Bosom lie.
I burst with Envy when I him behold
Your tender Limbs in his loose Robe infold.
When he your Lips with melting Kisses seal'd,
Before my Eyes I the large Goblet held.
When you with him in strict Embraces close,
My hated Meat to my dry'd Palate grows.
Oft have I sigh'd, then sigh'd again to see
That Sigh with scornful Smiles repaid by thee.
Oft I with Wine would quench my hot Desire
In vain; for so I added Fire to Fire.
Oft have I turn'd away my Head in vain,
You straight recall'd my longing Eyes again.
What shall I do? your Sports with Grief I see,
But it's a greater, not to look on Thee.
With all my Art I strive my Flames to hide,
But through the thin Disguise they are descry'd,
Too well alas! my Wounds to you are known,
And O that they were so to you alone!
How oft turn I my weeping Eyes away,
Lest he the Cause should ask, and I betray?
What Tales of Love tell I when warm'd with Wine,
To Your dear Face applying every Line?
In borrow'd Names I my own Passion shew:
They the feign'd Lovers are, but I the true.
Sometimes more Freedom in Discourse to gain,
For my Excuse I Drunkenness would feign.
Once I remember your loose Garment fell,
And did your naked, swelling Breasts reveal,
Breasts white as snow, or the false down of Jove,
When to your Mother the kind Swan made Love:
Whilst with the Sight surpriz'd I gazing stand,
The Cup I held, dropt from my careless Hand.
If you your young Hermione but kiss,
Straight from her Lips I snatch the envy'd Bliss.
Sometimes supinely laid, Love Songs I sing,
And wafted Kisses from my Fingers fling.
Your Women to my Aid I try to move
With all the pow'rful Rhetorick of Love,
But they, alas! speak nothing but Despair,
And in the midst leave my neglected Prayer.
Oh! that by some great Prize you might be won,
And your Possession might the Victor crown,
As Pelops his Hippodamia won:
Then had you seen what I for you had done:
But now I've nothing left to do but pray,
And my self prostrate at your Feet to lay.
O thou, thy Houses Glory, brighter far
Than thy two shining Brothers friendly Star!
O worthy of the Bed of Heav'ns great King,
If ought so fair but from himself could spring!
Either with thee I back to Troy will fly,
Or here a wretched banish'd Lover die.
With no slight Wound my tender Breast does smart,
My Bones and Marrow feel the piercing Dart;
I find my Sister true did prophesie,
I with a heav'nly Dart should wounded die;
Despise not then a Love by Heav'n design'd,
So may the Gods still to your Vows be kind.
Does all the Night lie melting in your Arms,
440
And Riots in the luscious Sweets of Love.
I but at Table one short View can gain,
And that too, only to increase my Pain:
O may such Feasts my worst of Foes attend,
As often I at your spread Table find.
I loath my Food when my tormented Eye
Sees his rude Hand in your soft Bosom lie.
I burst with Envy when I him behold
Your tender Limbs in his loose Robe infold.
When he your Lips with melting Kisses seal'd,
Before my Eyes I the large Goblet held.
When you with him in strict Embraces close,
My hated Meat to my dry'd Palate grows.
Oft have I sigh'd, then sigh'd again to see
That Sigh with scornful Smiles repaid by thee.
Oft I with Wine would quench my hot Desire
In vain; for so I added Fire to Fire.
441
You straight recall'd my longing Eyes again.
What shall I do? your Sports with Grief I see,
But it's a greater, not to look on Thee.
With all my Art I strive my Flames to hide,
But through the thin Disguise they are descry'd,
Too well alas! my Wounds to you are known,
And O that they were so to you alone!
How oft turn I my weeping Eyes away,
Lest he the Cause should ask, and I betray?
What Tales of Love tell I when warm'd with Wine,
To Your dear Face applying every Line?
In borrow'd Names I my own Passion shew:
They the feign'd Lovers are, but I the true.
Sometimes more Freedom in Discourse to gain,
For my Excuse I Drunkenness would feign.
Once I remember your loose Garment fell,
And did your naked, swelling Breasts reveal,
442
When to your Mother the kind Swan made Love:
Whilst with the Sight surpriz'd I gazing stand,
The Cup I held, dropt from my careless Hand.
If you your young Hermione but kiss,
Straight from her Lips I snatch the envy'd Bliss.
Sometimes supinely laid, Love Songs I sing,
And wafted Kisses from my Fingers fling.
Your Women to my Aid I try to move
With all the pow'rful Rhetorick of Love,
But they, alas! speak nothing but Despair,
And in the midst leave my neglected Prayer.
Oh! that by some great Prize you might be won,
And your Possession might the Victor crown,
As Pelops his Hippodamia won:
Then had you seen what I for you had done:
But now I've nothing left to do but pray,
And my self prostrate at your Feet to lay.
443
Than thy two shining Brothers friendly Star!
O worthy of the Bed of Heav'ns great King,
If ought so fair but from himself could spring!
Either with thee I back to Troy will fly,
Or here a wretched banish'd Lover die.
With no slight Wound my tender Breast does smart,
My Bones and Marrow feel the piercing Dart;
I find my Sister true did prophesie,
I with a heav'nly Dart should wounded die;
Despise not then a Love by Heav'n design'd,
So may the Gods still to your Vows be kind.
Much I could say, but what, will best be known
In your Apartment when we are alone.
You blush, and with a Superstitious dread,
Fear to defile the Sacred Marriage Bed:
Ah! Helen, can you then so simple be,
To think such Beauty can from Faults be free?
Or change that Face, or you must needs be kind;
Beauty and Virtue seldom have been join'd.
Jove and bright Venus do our Thefts approve,
Such Thefts as these gave you your Father Jove.
And if in you ought of your Parents last,
Can Jove and Leda's Daughter well be chast?
Yet then be chast when we to Troy shall go;
(For she who sins with one alone, is so.)
But let us now enjoy that pleasing Sin,
Then marry, and be innocent again.
Ev'n your own Husband doth the same perswade,
Silent himself, yet all his Actions plead:
For me they plead, and he, good Man, because
He'll spoil no Sport, officiously withdraws.
Had he no other time to visit Crete?
Oh! How prodigious is a Husband's Wit!
He went, and as he went, he cry'd, my Dear,
Instead of me, you of your Guest take Care.
But you forget your Lord's Command I see,
Nor take you any Care of Love or me.
And think you such a Thing as he does know
The Treasure that he holds in holding you?
No; did he understand but half your Charms,
He durst not trust 'em in a Strangers Arms.
If neither his nor my Request can move,
We're forc'd by Opportunity to love;
We should be Fools, even greater Fools than he,
Should so secure a Time unactive be.
Alone these tedious Winter Nights you lye
In a cold widow'd Bed, and so do I.
Let mutual Joys our willing Bodies join,
That happy Night shall the mid-day out-shine,
Then will I swear by all the Pow'rs above,
And in their awful Presence seal my Love.
Then if my Wishes may aspire so high,
I with our Flight shall win you to comply;
But if nice Honour little Scruples frame,
The Force I'll use shall vindicate your Fame.
Of Theseus and your Brothers I can learn,
No Precedents so nearly you concern:
You Theseus, they Leucippus Daughter stole;
I'll be the fourth in the illustrious Roll.
Well man'd, well arm'd for you my Fleet does stay,
And waiting Winds murmur at our Delay.
Thro' Troy's throng'd Streets you shall in Triumph go,
Ador'd as some new Goddess here below.
Where-e'er you tread, Spices and Gums shall smoak,
And Victims fall beneath the fatal Stroke.
My Father, Mother, all the joyful Court,
All Troy to you with Presents shall resort.
Alas! 'tis nothing what I yet have said,
What there you'll find, shall what I write exceed.
Nor fear, lest War pursue our hasty Flight,
And angry Greece should all her Force unite:
What ravish'd Maid did ever Wars regain?
Vain the Attempt, and fear of it as vain.
The Thracians Orithya stole from far,
Yet Thrace ne'er heard the Noise of following War.
Jason too stole away the Colchian Maid,
Yet Colchos did not Thessaly invade.
He who stole you, stole Ariadne too,
Yet Minos did not with all Creet pursue.
Fear in these Cases than the Danger's more,
And when the threat'ning Tempest once is o'er,
Our Shame's then greater than our Fear before.
But say from Greece a threatned War pursue,
Know I have Strength and wounding Weapons too.
In Men and Horse more numerous than Greece
Our Empire is, nor in its Compass less.
Nor does your Husband Paris ought excel
In Generous Courage or in Martial Skill.
Ev'n but a Boy, from my slain Foes I gain'd
My stollen Herd, and a new Name attain'd;
Ev'n then o'ercome by me I cou'd produce
Deiphobus and great Ilioneus.
Nor Hand to Hand more to be fear'd am I,
Than when from far my certain Arrows fly.
You for his Youth can no such Actions feign,
Nor can he e'er my envy'd Skill attain.
But could he, Hector's your Security,
And he alone an Army is to me.
You know me not, nor the hid Prowess find
Of him that Heav'n has for your Bed design'd.
Either no War from Greece shall follow thee,
Or if it does, shall be repell'd by me.
Nor think I fear to fight for such a Wife,
That Prize would give the Coward's Courage Life.
All after-Ages shall your Fame admire,
If you alone set the whole World on Fire.
To Sea, to Sea, while all the Gods are kind,
And all I promise, you in Troy shall find.
In your Apartment when we are alone.
You blush, and with a Superstitious dread,
Fear to defile the Sacred Marriage Bed:
444
To think such Beauty can from Faults be free?
Or change that Face, or you must needs be kind;
Beauty and Virtue seldom have been join'd.
Jove and bright Venus do our Thefts approve,
Such Thefts as these gave you your Father Jove.
And if in you ought of your Parents last,
Can Jove and Leda's Daughter well be chast?
Yet then be chast when we to Troy shall go;
(For she who sins with one alone, is so.)
But let us now enjoy that pleasing Sin,
Then marry, and be innocent again.
Ev'n your own Husband doth the same perswade,
Silent himself, yet all his Actions plead:
For me they plead, and he, good Man, because
He'll spoil no Sport, officiously withdraws.
Had he no other time to visit Crete?
Oh! How prodigious is a Husband's Wit!
445
Instead of me, you of your Guest take Care.
But you forget your Lord's Command I see,
Nor take you any Care of Love or me.
And think you such a Thing as he does know
The Treasure that he holds in holding you?
No; did he understand but half your Charms,
He durst not trust 'em in a Strangers Arms.
If neither his nor my Request can move,
We're forc'd by Opportunity to love;
We should be Fools, even greater Fools than he,
Should so secure a Time unactive be.
Alone these tedious Winter Nights you lye
In a cold widow'd Bed, and so do I.
Let mutual Joys our willing Bodies join,
That happy Night shall the mid-day out-shine,
Then will I swear by all the Pow'rs above,
And in their awful Presence seal my Love.
446
I with our Flight shall win you to comply;
But if nice Honour little Scruples frame,
The Force I'll use shall vindicate your Fame.
Of Theseus and your Brothers I can learn,
No Precedents so nearly you concern:
You Theseus, they Leucippus Daughter stole;
I'll be the fourth in the illustrious Roll.
Well man'd, well arm'd for you my Fleet does stay,
And waiting Winds murmur at our Delay.
Thro' Troy's throng'd Streets you shall in Triumph go,
Ador'd as some new Goddess here below.
Where-e'er you tread, Spices and Gums shall smoak,
And Victims fall beneath the fatal Stroke.
My Father, Mother, all the joyful Court,
All Troy to you with Presents shall resort.
Alas! 'tis nothing what I yet have said,
What there you'll find, shall what I write exceed.
447
And angry Greece should all her Force unite:
What ravish'd Maid did ever Wars regain?
Vain the Attempt, and fear of it as vain.
The Thracians Orithya stole from far,
Yet Thrace ne'er heard the Noise of following War.
Jason too stole away the Colchian Maid,
Yet Colchos did not Thessaly invade.
He who stole you, stole Ariadne too,
Yet Minos did not with all Creet pursue.
Fear in these Cases than the Danger's more,
And when the threat'ning Tempest once is o'er,
Our Shame's then greater than our Fear before.
But say from Greece a threatned War pursue,
Know I have Strength and wounding Weapons too.
In Men and Horse more numerous than Greece
Our Empire is, nor in its Compass less.
448
In Generous Courage or in Martial Skill.
Ev'n but a Boy, from my slain Foes I gain'd
My stollen Herd, and a new Name attain'd;
Ev'n then o'ercome by me I cou'd produce
Deiphobus and great Ilioneus.
Nor Hand to Hand more to be fear'd am I,
Than when from far my certain Arrows fly.
You for his Youth can no such Actions feign,
Nor can he e'er my envy'd Skill attain.
But could he, Hector's your Security,
And he alone an Army is to me.
You know me not, nor the hid Prowess find
Of him that Heav'n has for your Bed design'd.
Either no War from Greece shall follow thee,
Or if it does, shall be repell'd by me.
Nor think I fear to fight for such a Wife,
That Prize would give the Coward's Courage Life.
449
If you alone set the whole World on Fire.
To Sea, to Sea, while all the Gods are kind,
And all I promise, you in Troy shall find.
The EPISTLE of Acontius to Cydippe.
Translated from OVID.
The ARGUMENT.
Acontius, in the Temple of Diana at Delos, (famous for the Resort of the most beautiful Virgins of all Greece) fell in Love with Cydippe, a Lady of Quality much above his own; not daring therefore to Court her openly, he found this Device to obtain her: He writes upon the fairest Apple that could be procured, a couple of Verses to this Effect,
“I swear, by Chaste Diana, I will be“In Sacred Wedlock ever join'd to thee.
450
and throws it at the Feet of the young Lady: She suspecting not the ‘Deceit takes it up, and reads it, and therein promises her self in Marriage to Acontius; there being a Law there in Force, that whatever any Person should swear in the Temple of Diana of Delos, should stand good and be inviolably observ'd. But her Father not knowing what had past, and having not long after promised her to another, just as the Solemnities of Marriage were to be perform'd, she was taken with a sudden and violent Feaver, which Acontius endeavours to perswade her was sent from Diana, as a Punishmen of the Breach of the Vow made in her Presence. And this, with the rest of the Arguments, which on such Occasion would occur to a Lover, is the Subject of the following Epistle.
For that's enough which you have sworn before.
Read it; so may that violent Disease,
Which thy dear Body, but my Soul doth seise,
Forget its too long practis'd Cruelty,
And Health to you restore, and you to me.
451
As when you first did in the Temple swear:
Truth to your plighted Faith is all I claim;
And Truth can never be the Cause of Shame.
Shame lives with Guilt, but you your Virtue prove
In favouring mine, for mine's a Husband's Love.
Ah! to your self those binding Words repeat
That once your wishing Eyes ev'n long'd to meet,
When th'Apple brought 'em dancing to your Feet.
There you will find the solemn Vow you made,
Which if your Health, or mine, can ought perswade,
You to perform should rather mindful be,
Than great Diana to revenge on thee.
My Fears for you increase with my Desire,
And Hope blows that already raging Fire;
For hope you gave; nor can you this deny,
For the great Goddess of the Fane was by;
452
A sudden kind auspicious Light did shine.
Her Statue seem'd to nod its awful Head,
And give its glad Consent to what you said;
Now, if you please, accuse my prosp'rous Cheat,
Yet still confess 'twas Love that taught me it.
In that Deceit what did I else design,
But with your own Consent to make you mine?
What you my Crime, I call my Innocence,
Since Loving you has been my sole Offence.
Nor Nature gave me, nor has Practice taught
The Nets with which young Virgins Hearts are caught.
You my Accuser taught me to deceive,
And Love, with you, did his Assistance give;
For Love stood by, and smiling bad me write
The cunning Words he did himself indite:
Again, you see I write by his Command,
He guides my Pen, and rules my willing Hand,
453
As makes me fear, that I again offend.
Yet if my Love's my Crime, I must confess,
Great is my Guilt, but never shall be less.
Oh that I thus might ever guilty prove,
In finding out new Paths to reach thy Love.
A thousand Ways to that steep Mountain lead,
Tho' hard to find, and difficult to tread.
All these will I find out, and break through all,
For which, my Flames compar'd, the Danger's small.
The Gods alone know what the End will be,
Yet if we Mortals any thing foresee,
One Way or other you must yield to me.
If all my Arts should fail, to Arms I'll fly,
And snatch by Force what you my Prayers deny:
I all those Heroes mighty Acts applaud,
Who first have led me this illustrious Road.
454
Death be it then—
For to lose you is more than Death to me.
Were you less fair, I'd use the vulgar Way
Of tedious Courtship, and of dull Delay.
But thy bright Form kindles more eager Fires,
And something wondrous, as it self, inspires;
Those Eyes that all the Heav'nly Lights out-shine,
(Which, oh! may'st thou behold, and love in mine)
Those snowy Arms, which on my Neck should fall,
If you the Vows you made regard at all,
That modest Sweetness, and becoming Grace,
That paints with living Red your blushing Face,
Those Feet with which they only can compare,
That through the Silver Flood bright Thetis bear:
Do all conspire my Madness to excite,
With all the rest that is deny'd to Sight.
455
And all the Storms of my vex'd Soul at rest.
No wonder then if with such Beauty fir'd,
I of your Love the sacred Pledge desir'd.
Rage now and be as angry as you will,
Your very Frowns all other Smiles excel;
But give me leave that Anger to appease,
By my Submission that my Love did raise.
Your Pardon postrate at your Feet I'll crave,
The humble Posture of your guilty Slave.
With falling Tears your fiery Rage I'll cool,
And lay the rising Tempest of your Soul.
Why in my Absence are you thus severe?
Summon'd at your Tribunal to appear,
For all my Crimes, I'd gladly suffer there:
With Pride whatever you inflict receive,
And love the Wounds those Hands vouchsafe to give.
456
For Love has bound me, and I hug my Chain.
Your hardest Laws with Patience I'll obey,
'Till you your self at last relent and say,
When all my Sufferings you with Pity see,
He that can love so well, is worthy me.
But if all this should unsuccessful prove,
Diana claims for me your promis'd Love.
O may my Fears be false! yet she delights
In just Revenge of her abused Rites.
I dread to hide, what yet to speak I dread,
Lest you should think that for my self I plead.
Yet out it must,—'Tis this, 'Tis surely this,
That is the Fuel to your hot Disease:
When waiting Hymen at your Porch attends,
Her fatal Messenger the Goddess sends
And when you would to his kind Call consent,
This Feaver does your Perjury prevent.
457
Which you so easily may yet asswage.
Forbear to make that lovely charming Face
The Prey to every envious Disease:
Preserve those Looks to be enjoy'd by me,
Which none shou'd ever but with Wonder see:
Let that fresh Colour to your Cheeks return,
Whose glowing Flame did all Beholders burn.
But let on him, th'unhappy Cause of all
The Ills that from Diana's Anger fall,
No greater Torments light than those I feel,
When you my dearest, tend'rest Part are ill.
For oh! with what dire Tortures am I rack'd,
Whom different Griefs successively distract!
Sometimes my Grief from this does higher grow,
To think that I have caus'd so much to you.
Then great Diana's Witness, how I pray
That all our Crimes on me alone she'd lay!
458
And all around 'em up and down I roam;
'Till I your Woman coming from you spy,
With Looks dejected, and a weeping Eye.
With silent Steps, like some sad Ghost I steal
Close up to her, and urge her to reveal
More than new Questions suffer her to tell:
How you had slept, what Diet you had us'd?
And oft the vain Physicians Art accus'd.
He every Hour (Oh, were I blest as he!)
Does all the Turns of your Distemper see;
Why sit not I by your Bed-side all Day,
My mournful Head in your warm Bosom lay,
'Till with my Tears the inward Fires decay?
Why press not I your melting Hand in mine,
And from your Pulse of my own Health divine?
But oh! these Wishes all are vain; and he
Whom most I fear, may now sit close by thee,
Forgetful as thou art of Heav'n and me.
459
Some new Excuse to feel thy beating Vein.
Then his bold Hand up to your Arm does slide,
And in your panting Breast it self does hide;
Kisses sometimes he snatches too from thee,
For his officious Care too great a Fee:
Robber, who gave thee Leave to taste that Lip,
And the ripe Harvest of my Kisses reap?
For they are mine, so is that Bosom too,
Which, false as 'tis, shall never harbour you.
Take, take away those thy Adulterous Hands,
For know another Lord that Breast commands.
'Tis true, her Father promis'd her to thee,
But Heav'n and she first gave her self to me.
And you in Justice therefore should decline
Your Claim to that which is already mine.
This is the Man, Cydippe, that excites
Diana's Rage, to vindicate her Rites.
460
This done, the Danger of your Death is o'er.
For fear not, Beauteous Maid, but keep thy Vow,
Which great Diana heard, and did allow.
And she who took it, will thy Health restore,
And be propitious as she was before.
“'Tis not the Steam of a slain Heifer's Blood,
“That can allay the Anger of a God.
“'Tis Truth, and Justice to your Vows, appease
“Their angry Deities, and without these
“No slaughter'd Beast their Fury can divert;
“For that's a Sacrifice without a Heart.
Some, bitter Potions patiently endure,
And kiss the wounding Launce that works their Cure.
You have no need these cruel Cures to feel,
Shun being perjur'd only, and be well.
Why let you still your pious Parents weep,
Whom you in ign'rance of your Promise keep?
461
And the whole Progress of our Love reveal;
Tell her how first at great Diana's Shrine,
I fixt my Eyes, my wondring Eyes, on thine.
How like the Statues there I stood amaz'd,
Whilst on thy Face intemp'rately I gaz'd.
She will her self, when you my Tale repeat,
Smile, and approve the amorous Deceit.
Marry, she'll say, whom Heav'n commends to thee,
He, who has pleas'd Diana, pleases me.
But should she ask from what Descent I came,
My Country, and my Parents and my Name,
Tell her that none of these deserve my Shame.
Had you not sworn, you such a one might chuse;
But were he worse, now sworn, you can't refuse.
This in my Dreams Diana bad me write,
And when I wak'd, sent Cupid to indite:
462
Which Wound, if you with Eyes of Pity see,
She too will soon relent that wounded thee.
Then to our Joys with eager Haste we'll move,
As full of Beauty you, as I of Love.
To the great Temple we'll in Triumph go,
And with our Offerings at the Altar bow.
A Golden Image there I'll consecrate,
Of the false Apples innocent Deceit;
And write below the happy Verse that came,
The Messenger of my successful Flame.
“Let all the World this from Acontius know,
“Cydippe has been faithful to her Vow.
More I could write, but since thy Illness reigns,
And wracks thy tender Limbs with sharpest Pains,
My Pen falls down for fear, lest this might be,
Altho' for me too little, yet too much for thee.
463
THE FOURTH SATYR OF JUVENAL.
The ARGUMENT.
The Poet in this Satyr first brings in Crispinus, whom he had a Lash at in his first Satyr, and whom he promises here not to be forgetful of for the future. He exposes his monstrous Prodigality and Luxury in giving the Price of an Estate for a Barbel: and from thence takes Occasion to introduce the principal Subject, and true Design of this Satyr, which is grounded upon a ridiculous Story of a Turbut presented to Domitian, of so vast a Bigness, that all the Emperor's Scullery had not a Dish large enough to hold it: Upon which the Senate in all haste is summon'd, to consult in this Exigency, what is fittest to be done. The Poet gives us a Particular of the Senators Names, their distinct Characters, and Speeches, and Advice; and after much and wise Consultation, an Expedient being found out and agreed upon, he dismisses the Senate, and concludes the Satyr.
465
Once more Crispinus call'd upon the Stage,
(Nor shall once more suffice) provokes my Rage:
A Monster, to whom ev'ry Vice lays claim,
Without one Virtue to redeem his Fame.
Feeble and sick, yet strong in Lust alone,
The rank Adult'rer preys on all the Town,
All but the Widows nauseous Charms go down.
What matter then how stately is the Arch
Where his tir'd Mules slow with their Burden march?
What matter then how thick and long the Shade
Through which, he is by sweating Slaves, convey'd?
How many Acres near the City Walls,
Or new-built Palaces, his own he calls?
No ill Man's happy; least of all is he
Whose Study 'tis to corrupt Chastity.
The incestuous Brute, who the veil'd Vestal Maid
But lately to his impious Bed betray'd,
Who for her Crime, if Laws their Course might have,
Ought to descend alive into the Grave.
(Nor shall once more suffice) provokes my Rage:
A Monster, to whom ev'ry Vice lays claim,
Without one Virtue to redeem his Fame.
Feeble and sick, yet strong in Lust alone,
The rank Adult'rer preys on all the Town,
All but the Widows nauseous Charms go down.
What matter then how stately is the Arch
Where his tir'd Mules slow with their Burden march?
What matter then how thick and long the Shade
Through which, he is by sweating Slaves, convey'd?
How many Acres near the City Walls,
Or new-built Palaces, his own he calls?
No ill Man's happy; least of all is he
Whose Study 'tis to corrupt Chastity.
467
But lately to his impious Bed betray'd,
Who for her Crime, if Laws their Course might have,
Ought to descend alive into the Grave.
But now of slighter Faults; and yet the same
By others done, the Censor's Justice claim.
For what good Men ignoble count and base,
Is Virtue here, and does Crispinus grace:
In this he's safe, whate'er we write of him,
The Person is more odious than the Crime:
And so all Satyr's lost. The lavish Slave
Six thousand Pieces for a Barbel gave:
A Sesterce for each Pound it weigh'd, as they
Give out, that hear great things, but greater say.
If by this Bribe well plac'd, he would ensnare
Some sapless Usurer that wants an Heir,
Or if this Present the sly Courtier meant,
Should to some Punk of Quality be sent,
That in her easie Chair in State does ride,
The Glasses all drawn up on ev'ry Side,
I'd praise his Cunning; but expect not this,
For his own Gut he bought the stately Fish.
Now ev'n Apicius Frugal seems, and Poor,
Outvy'd in Luxury unknown before.
By others done, the Censor's Justice claim.
For what good Men ignoble count and base,
Is Virtue here, and does Crispinus grace:
In this he's safe, whate'er we write of him,
The Person is more odious than the Crime:
And so all Satyr's lost. The lavish Slave
Six thousand Pieces for a Barbel gave:
A Sesterce for each Pound it weigh'd, as they
Give out, that hear great things, but greater say.
If by this Bribe well plac'd, he would ensnare
Some sapless Usurer that wants an Heir,
469
Should to some Punk of Quality be sent,
That in her easie Chair in State does ride,
The Glasses all drawn up on ev'ry Side,
I'd praise his Cunning; but expect not this,
For his own Gut he bought the stately Fish.
Now ev'n Apicius Frugal seems, and Poor,
Outvy'd in Luxury unknown before.
Gave you, Crispinus, you this mighty Sum?
You, that, for want of other Rags, did come
In your own Country Paper wrapp'd, to Rome.
Do Scales and Fins bear Price to this Excess?
You might have bought the Fisherman for less.
For less some Provinces whole Acres sell,
Nay, in Apulia, if you bargain well,
A Manor wou'd cost less than such a Meal.
You, that, for want of other Rags, did come
In your own Country Paper wrapp'd, to Rome.
Do Scales and Fins bear Price to this Excess?
You might have bought the Fisherman for less.
For less some Provinces whole Acres sell,
Nay, in Apulia, if you bargain well,
A Manor wou'd cost less than such a Meal.
471
What think we then of his
luxurious Lord?
What Banquets loaded that Imperial Board?
When in one Dish, that, taken from the rest,
His constant Table wou'd have hardly mist,
So many Sesterces were swallow'd down,
To stuff one Scarlet-coated Court Buffoon,
Whom Rome of all her Knights now chiefest greets,
From crying stinking Fish about her Streets.
What Banquets loaded that Imperial Board?
When in one Dish, that, taken from the rest,
His constant Table wou'd have hardly mist,
So many Sesterces were swallow'd down,
To stuff one Scarlet-coated Court Buffoon,
Whom Rome of all her Knights now chiefest greets,
From crying stinking Fish about her Streets.
Begin, Calliope, but not to sing:
Plain, honest Truth we for our Subject bring.
Help then, ye young Pierian Maids to tell
A downright Narrative of what befel.
Afford me willingly your sacred Aids,
Me that have call'd you young, me that have stil'd you Maids
Plain, honest Truth we for our Subject bring.
Help then, ye young Pierian Maids to tell
A downright Narrative of what befel.
Afford me willingly your sacred Aids,
Me that have call'd you young, me that have stil'd you Maids
When he, with whom
the Flavian Race decay'd,
The groaning World with Iron Scepter sway'd
When a bald Nero Reign'd, and servile Rome obey'd,
Where Venus Shrine does fair Ancona grace,
A Turbut taken of prodigious Space,
Fill'd the extended Net, not less than those
That dull Mæotis does with Ice enclose,
'Till conquer'd by the Sun's prevailing Ray,
It opens to the Pontick Sea their Way;
And throws them out unweildy with their Growth,
Fat with long Ease, and a whole Winter's Sloth:
The wise Commander of the Boat and Lines,
For
our High-Priest the stately Prey designs;
For who that Lordly Fish durst sell or buy,
So many Spies and Court-Informers nigh?
No Shoar but of this Vermin Swarms does bear,
Searchers of Mud and Sea-weed! that would swear
The Fish had long in Cæsar's Ponds been fed,
And from its Lord undutifully fled;
So, justly ought to be again restor'd:
Nay, if you credit Sage Palphurius Word,
Or dare rely on Armillatus Skill,
Whatever Fish the vulgar Fry excel
Belong to Cæsar, wheresoe'er they swim,
By their own Worth confiscated to him.
The groaning World with Iron Scepter sway'd
When a bald Nero Reign'd, and servile Rome obey'd,
473
A Turbut taken of prodigious Space,
Fill'd the extended Net, not less than those
That dull Mæotis does with Ice enclose,
'Till conquer'd by the Sun's prevailing Ray,
It opens to the Pontick Sea their Way;
And throws them out unweildy with their Growth,
Fat with long Ease, and a whole Winter's Sloth:
The wise Commander of the Boat and Lines,
For
The Emperor Domitian call'd so, either from his Instituting the College of the Alban Priests, of whom he was as it were Chief; or for taking upon him the Office of Pontifex Maximus in the Condemnation of the Vestal Virgin Cornetia; or, more generally, because often the Emperors assum'd both the Title and Office of High Priest.
For who that Lordly Fish durst sell or buy,
So many Spies and Court-Informers nigh?
No Shoar but of this Vermin Swarms does bear,
Searchers of Mud and Sea-weed! that would swear
The Fish had long in Cæsar's Ponds been fed,
And from its Lord undutifully fled;
So, justly ought to be again restor'd:
Nay, if you credit Sage Palphurius Word,
475
Whatever Fish the vulgar Fry excel
Belong to Cæsar, wheresoe'er they swim,
By their own Worth confiscated to him.
The Boatman then shall a wise Present make,
And give the Fish before the Seizers take.
And give the Fish before the Seizers take.
Now sickly Autumn to dry Frosts gave Way,
Cold Winter rag'd, and fresh preserv'd the Prey;
Yet with such Haste the busie Fishes flew,
As if a hot South-Wind Corruption blew:
And now he reach'd the Lake,
were what remains
Of Alba, still her ancient Rites retains,
Still Worships Vesta, tho' an humbler Way,
Nor lets the hallow'd Trojan Fire decay.
Cold Winter rag'd, and fresh preserv'd the Prey;
Yet with such Haste the busie Fishes flew,
As if a hot South-Wind Corruption blew:
And now he reach'd the Lake,
Alba Longa built by Ascanius, about fifteen Miles from Rome, was destroy'd after by Tullus Hostilius, the Temples only excepted, (Liv. l. 1.) The Albans upon this their Misfortunes neglecting their Worship, were by sundry Prodigies commanded to restore their Ancient Rites, the chief of which was the keeping perpetually burning the Vestal Fire, which was brought thither by Æneas and his Trojans as a fatal Pledge of the Perpetuity of the Roman Empire.
Of Alba, still her ancient Rites retains,
Still Worships Vesta, tho' an humbler Way,
Nor lets the hallow'd Trojan Fire decay.
477
The wondring Croud that to strange Sights resort,
And choak'd a while his Passage to the Court,
At length gives way; ope flies the Palace-Gate,
The Turbut enters in, without the Fathers wait;
The Boatman straight does to Atrides press,
And thus presents his Fish, and his Address:
And choak'd a while his Passage to the Court,
At length gives way; ope flies the Palace-Gate,
The Turbut enters in, without the Fathers wait;
The Boatman straight does to Atrides press,
And thus presents his Fish, and his Address:
Accept, Dread Sir, this Tribute from the Main,
Too great for private Kitchins to contain.
To your glad Genius sacrifice this Day,
Let common Meats respectfully give Way.
Haste to unload your Stomachs to receive
This Turbut, that for you did only live.
So long preserv'd to be Imperial Food,
Glad of the Net, and to be taken proud.
Too great for private Kitchins to contain.
To your glad Genius sacrifice this Day,
Let common Meats respectfully give Way.
Haste to unload your Stomachs to receive
This Turbut, that for you did only live.
So long preserv'd to be Imperial Food,
Glad of the Net, and to be taken proud.
How fulsom this! how gross! yet this takes well,
And the vain Prince with empty Pride does swell.
Nothing so monstrous can be said or feign'd,
But with Belief and Joy is entertain'd,
When to his Face the worthless Wretch is prais'd,
Whom vile Court-Flatt'ry to a God has rais'd.
And the vain Prince with empty Pride does swell.
479
But with Belief and Joy is entertain'd,
When to his Face the worthless Wretch is prais'd,
Whom vile Court-Flatt'ry to a God has rais'd.
But oh hard Fate! the Palace Stores no Dish
Afford, capacious of the mighty Fish.
To sage Debate are summon'd all the Peers,
His trusty, and much-hated, Counsellors,
In whose pale Looks that ghastly Terror sat,
That haunts the dang'rous Friendships of the Great.
Afford, capacious of the mighty Fish.
To sage Debate are summon'd all the Peers,
His trusty, and much-hated, Counsellors,
In whose pale Looks that ghastly Terror sat,
That haunts the dang'rous Friendships of the Great.
The loud Liburnian that the Senate call'd,
Run, run; he's set, he's set, no sooner baul'd,
But with his Robe snatch't up in haste, does come
Pegasus, Bailiff of affrighted Rome.
What more were Præfects then? The Best he was,
And faithfullest Expounder of the Laws.
Yet in ill Times thought all things manag'd best,
When Justice exercis'd her Sword the least.
Run, run; he's set, he's set, no sooner baul'd,
But with his Robe snatch't up in haste, does come
Pegasus, Bailiff of affrighted Rome.
What more were Præfects then? The Best he was,
And faithfullest Expounder of the Laws.
481
When Justice exercis'd her Sword the least.
This was he that made the known Jest upon Domitian's killing Flies. When one Day Domitian being alone in his Closet, and being ask'd, Whether there was any one left within with the Emperor? He answer'd, No, not so much as a Fly. The Names and Characters of most of these Senators here mention'd may be found in Suetonius's Life of Domitian, and in Tacitus.
His Wit nor Humour yielding to his Years.
His Temper mild, Good-nature join'd with Sense,
And Manners charming as his Eloquence.
Who fitter for a useful Friend than he,
To the great Ruler of the Earth and Sea,
If as his Thoughts were just, his Tongue were free?
If it were safe to vent his gen'rous Mind
To Rome's dire Plague, and Terror of Mankind,
If cruel Pow'r could softning Counsel bear;
But what's so tender as a Tyrant's Ear?
With whom whoever, tho' a Fav'rite, spake,
At ev'ry Sentence set his Life at Stake,
Tho' the Discourse were of no weightier Things,
Than sultry Summers, or unhealthful Springs.
483
With his weak Arms to stem the stronger Tide.
Nor did all Rome, grown Spiritless, supply
A Man that for bold Truth durst bravely die.
So safe by wise complying Silence, he
Ev'n in that Court did fourscore Summers see.
Next him Acilius, tho' his Age the same,
With eager Haste to the grand Council came:
With him a Youth, unworthy of the Fate
That did too near his growing Virtues wait,
Urg'd by the Tyrant's Envy, Fear, or Hate.
(But 'tis long since Old Age began to be
In noble Blood no less than Prodigy,
Whence 'tis I'd rather be of Giants Birth,
A Pigmy Brother to those Sons of Earth.)
Unhappy Youth! whom from his destin'd End,
No well-dissembled Madness could defend;
When naked in the Alban Theater,
In Lybian Bears he fixt his hunting Spear.
Who sees not now thro' the Lord's thin Disguise,
That long seem'd Fools to prove at last more wise?
That State-Court Trick is now too open laid,
Who now admires the
Part old Brutus play'd?
Those honest Times might swallow this Pretence,
When the King's Beard was deeper than his Sense.
With eager Haste to the grand Council came:
With him a Youth, unworthy of the Fate
That did too near his growing Virtues wait,
Urg'd by the Tyrant's Envy, Fear, or Hate.
(But 'tis long since Old Age began to be
In noble Blood no less than Prodigy,
Whence 'tis I'd rather be of Giants Birth,
A Pigmy Brother to those Sons of Earth.)
Unhappy Youth! whom from his destin'd End,
No well-dissembled Madness could defend;
485
In Lybian Bears he fixt his hunting Spear.
Who sees not now thro' the Lord's thin Disguise,
That long seem'd Fools to prove at last more wise?
That State-Court Trick is now too open laid,
Who now admires the
'Tis a known Story, how Brutus finding that his own Brother, and some of the most considerable Men of Rome had been put to Death by Tarquinius Superbus, counterfeited himself a Madman or Fool, and so avoided the Tyrant's Cruelty, 'till he had gain'd a fit time to destroy him, revenge his Brother's and Countrymens Deaths, and free Rome.
Those honest Times might swallow this Pretence,
When the King's Beard was deeper than his Sense.
Next Rubrius came,
tho' not of Noble Race,
With equal Marks of Terrour in his Face.
Pale with the gnawing Guilt and inward Shame
Of an old Crime that is not fit to name.
Worse, yet in Scandal taking more Delight,
Than the vile Pathick that durst Satyr write.
With equal Marks of Terrour in his Face.
Pale with the gnawing Guilt and inward Shame
Of an old Crime that is not fit to name.
Worse, yet in Scandal taking more Delight,
Than the vile Pathick that durst Satyr write.
Montanus Belly next, advancing slow
Before the sweating Senator did go.
Before the sweating Senator did go.
487
Crispinus after, but much sweeter comes,
Scented with costly Oils and Eastern Gums,
More than would serve two Fun'rals for Perfumes.
Scented with costly Oils and Eastern Gums,
More than would serve two Fun'rals for Perfumes.
Then Pompey, none more skill'd in the Court-Game
Of cutting Throats with a soft Whisper, came.
Of cutting Throats with a soft Whisper, came.
Next Fuscus, he who many a peaceful Day
For Dacian Vultures was reserv'd a Prey,
'Till having study'd War enough at home,
He led abroad the unhappy Arms of Rome.
For Dacian Vultures was reserv'd a Prey,
'Till having study'd War enough at home,
He led abroad the unhappy Arms of Rome.
Cunning Vejento next, and by his Side
Bloody Catullus leaning on his Guide,
Decrepit, yet a furious Lover he,
And deeply smit with Charms he could not see.
A Monster, that even this worst Age out-vies,
Conspicuous and above the common Size.
A blind base Flatt'rer, from some Bridge or Gate,
Rais'd to a murd'ring Minister of State.
Deserving still to beg upon the Road,
And bless each passing Waggon and its Load.
None more admir'd the Fish; he in its Praise
With Zeal his Voice, with Zeal his Hands did raise,
But to the Left all his fine Things did say,
Whilst on his right the unseen Turbut lay.
So he the fam'd Cilician Fencer prais'd,
And at each Hit with Wonder seem'd amaz'd.
So did the Scenes and Stage Machines admire,
And Boys that flew thro' Canvas Clouds in Wire.
Bloody Catullus leaning on his Guide,
Decrepit, yet a furious Lover he,
And deeply smit with Charms he could not see.
489
Conspicuous and above the common Size.
A blind base Flatt'rer, from some Bridge or Gate,
Rais'd to a murd'ring Minister of State.
Deserving still to beg upon the Road,
And bless each passing Waggon and its Load.
None more admir'd the Fish; he in its Praise
With Zeal his Voice, with Zeal his Hands did raise,
But to the Left all his fine Things did say,
Whilst on his right the unseen Turbut lay.
So he the fam'd Cilician Fencer prais'd,
And at each Hit with Wonder seem'd amaz'd.
So did the Scenes and Stage Machines admire,
And Boys that flew thro' Canvas Clouds in Wire.
Nor came Vejento short; but as inspir'd
By thee, Bellona, by thy Fury fir'd,
Turns Prophet: See, the mighty Omen, see,
He cries, of some illustrious Victory!
Some Captive King, thee his new Lord shall own:
Or from his British Chariot headlong thrown
The proud Arviragus came tumbling down!
The Monster's foreign. Mark the pointed Spears
That from thy Hand on his pierc'd Back he wears!
Who Nobler could, or plainer things presage?
Yet one thing scap'd him, the Prophetick Rage
Shew'd not the Turbut's Country, nor its Age.
By thee, Bellona, by thy Fury fir'd,
491
He cries, of some illustrious Victory!
Some Captive King, thee his new Lord shall own:
Or from his British Chariot headlong thrown
The proud Arviragus came tumbling down!
The Monster's foreign. Mark the pointed Spears
That from thy Hand on his pierc'd Back he wears!
Who Nobler could, or plainer things presage?
Yet one thing scap'd him, the Prophetick Rage
Shew'd not the Turbut's Country, nor its Age.
At length by Cæsar the grand Question's put:
My Lords, your Judgment; shall the Fish be cut?
Far be it, far from us! Montanus cries;
Let's not dishonour thus the Noble Prize!
A Pot of finest Earth, thin, deep, and wide
Some skilful quick Prometheus must provide.
Clay and the forming Wheel prepare with Speed.
But, Cæsar, be it from henceforth decreed,
That Potters on the Royal Progress wait,
T'assist in these Emergencies of State.
My Lords, your Judgment; shall the Fish be cut?
Far be it, far from us! Montanus cries;
Let's not dishonour thus the Noble Prize!
A Pot of finest Earth, thin, deep, and wide
Some skilful quick Prometheus must provide.
Clay and the forming Wheel prepare with Speed.
But, Cæsar, be it from henceforth decreed,
493
T'assist in these Emergencies of State.
This Council pleas'd; nor could it fail to take,
So fit, so worthy of the Man that spake.
The old Court Riots he remember'd well,
Could Tales of Nero's Midnight Suppers tell,
When Falern Wines the lab'ring Lungs did fire,
And to new Dainties kindled false Desire.
In Arts of Eating none more early Train'd,
None in my time had equal Skill attain'd.
He whither Circe's Rock his Oysters bore,
Or Lucrine Lake, or the Rutupian Shoar,
Knew at first Taste, nay at first Sight cou'd tell
A Crab or Lobster's Country by its Shell.
So fit, so worthy of the Man that spake.
The old Court Riots he remember'd well,
Could Tales of Nero's Midnight Suppers tell,
When Falern Wines the lab'ring Lungs did fire,
And to new Dainties kindled false Desire.
In Arts of Eating none more early Train'd,
None in my time had equal Skill attain'd.
He whither Circe's Rock his Oysters bore,
Or Lucrine Lake, or the Rutupian Shoar,
Knew at first Taste, nay at first Sight cou'd tell
A Crab or Lobster's Country by its Shell.
They rise, and straight all with respectful Awe,
At the Word giv'n, obsequiously withdraw,
Whom full of eager Haste, Surprize, and Fear,
Our mighty Prince had summon'd to appear;
As if some News he'd of the Catti tell,
Or that the fierce Sicambrians did rebel:
As if Expresses from all Parts had come
With fresh Alarms threatning the Fate of Rome.
At the Word giv'n, obsequiously withdraw,
495
Our mighty Prince had summon'd to appear;
As if some News he'd of the Catti tell,
Or that the fierce Sicambrians did rebel:
As if Expresses from all Parts had come
With fresh Alarms threatning the Fate of Rome.
What Folly this! But oh! that all the rest
Of his dire Reign had thus been spent in Jest!
And all that Time such Trifles had employ'd
In which so many Nobles he destroy'd!
He safe, they unreveng'd, to the Disgrace
Of the surviving, tame, Patrician Race!
But when he dreadful to the Rabble grew,
Him, whom so many Lords had slain, they slew.
Of his dire Reign had thus been spent in Jest!
And all that Time such Trifles had employ'd
In which so many Nobles he destroy'd!
He safe, they unreveng'd, to the Disgrace
Of the surviving, tame, Patrician Race!
But when he dreadful to the Rabble grew,
Him, whom so many Lords had slain, they slew.
499
Damon and Alexis.
DAMON.Tell me, Alexis, whence these Sorrows grow?
From what hid Spring do these salt Torrent flows?
Why hangs the Head of my afflicted Swain,
Like bending Lillies over-charg'd with Rain?
ALEXIS.
Ah Damon, if what you already see,
Can move thy gentle Breast to pity me;
How would thy Sighs with mine in Consort join,
How would thy Tears swell up the Tide of mine,
Couldst thou but see (but oh no Light is there,
But blackest Clouds of Darkness and Despair)
Could'st thou but see the Torments that within
Lye deeply lodg'd, and view the horrid Scene;
500
That sticks and rankles in my bleeding Heart?
No more, ye Swains, Love's harmless Anger fear,
For he has empty'd all his Quiver here.
Nor thou, oh Damon, ask me why I grieve,
But rather, wonder, wonder that I live.
DAMON
Unhappy Youth! too well, alas! I know
The Pangs despairing Lovers undergo.
Imperfect.
A PASTORAL.
CÆLIA and DORINDA.
When first the young Alexis sawCælia to all the Plain give Law,
501
Love dwelt with Fear, and Pride with Grace,
When ev'ry Swain he saw submit
To her commanding Eyes and Wit,
How cou'd th'ambitious Youth aspire,
To perish by a nobler Fire!
With all the Pow'r of Verse he strove,
The lovely Shepherdess to move.
Verse, in which the Gods Delight,
That makes Nymphs love, and Heroes fight;
Verse, that once rul'd all the Plain,
Verse, the Wishes of a Swain.
How oft has Thyrsis' Pipe prevail'd,
Where Egon's Flocks and Herds have fail'd?
Fair Amaryllis, was thy Mind
Ever to Damon's Wealth inclin'd?
Whilst Lycidas his gentle Breast,
With Love, and with a Muse possest,
502
Kindling in thee his gentle Fire?
Imperfect.
TO CÆLIA.
Mistress of all my Senses can invite,Free as the Air, and unconfin'd as Light;
Queen of a thousand Slaves that fawn and bow,
And with submissive Fear, my Pow'r allow,
Shou'd I exchange this noble State of Life,
To gain the vile detested Name of Wife:
Shou'd I my native Liberty betray,
Call him my Lord, who at my Footstool lay?
No: Thanks kind Heav'n that has my Soul employ'd,
With my great Sexes useful Virtue, Pride.
503
That scorns the Slave that wou'd presume to Reign.
Let the raw am'rous Scribler of the Times
Call me his Cælia in insipid Rhimes;
I hate and scorn you all, proud, that I am
T'Revenge my Sex's Injuries on Man.
Compar'd to all the Plagues in Marriage dwell,
It were Preferment to lead Apes in Hell.
To some Disbanded Officers upon the late Vote of the House of Commons.
Have we for this serv'd full nine hard Campaigns?Is this the Recompence for all our Pains?
Have we to the remotest Parts been sent,
Bravely expos'd our Lives, and Fortunes spent,
To be undone at last by Parliament?
504
And flaming Sword turn'd Pruning knife and Spade?
T---b, S---, F---, and thousands more,
Must now return to what they were before.
No more in glitt'ring Coaches shall they ride,
No more the Feathers shew the Coxcombs Pride.
For Thee poor—my Muse does kindly weep,
To see disbanded Colonels grown so cheap.
So younger Brothers with fat Jointures fed,
Go despicable, once their Widows dead.
No Ship by Tempest from her Anchor torn,
Is half so lost a thing, and so forlorn.
On every Stall, in every Broker's Shop,
Hang up the Plumes of the dismantled Fop,
Trophies like these we read not of in Story,
By other Ways the Romans got their Glory.
But in this, as in all things, there's a Doom,
Some die i'th' Field, and others starve at home.
505
To a R. Catholick upon Marriage.
Censure and Penances, Excommunication,Are Bug-bear Words to fright a biggot Nation;
But 'tis the Church's more substantial Curse,
To damn us all, for better and for worse.
Falsely your Church seven Sacraments does frame,
Penance and Matrimony are the same.
An Imperfect SPEECH.
And yet he fears to use them, and be free;Yet some have ventur'd, and why shou'd not all?
Let Villains perjur'd, envious and malicious,
The wretched Miser and the Midnight Murderer;
Betrayers of their Country, or their Friend,
506
Blue Lakes of Brimstone, undistinguish'd Fires,
Scorpions and Whips, and all that Guilt deserves;
Let these, and only these, thus plague themselves.
For though they fear what neither shall nor can be,
'Tis Punishment enough it makes 'em live,
Live, to endure the dreadful Apprehension
Of Death, to them so dreadful; but why dreadful,
At least to virtuous Minds—To be at rest,
To Sleep, and never hear of Trouble more,
Say, is this dreadful? Heart, woud'st thou be at quiet?
Dost thou thus beat for Rest and long for Ease,
And not command thy friendly Hand to help thee?
What Hand can be so easie as thy own,
To apply the Med'cine that cures all Diseases!
507
EPISTLE FROM Mr. OTWAY to Mr. DUKE.
London.
My much lov'd Friend,
When thou art from my Eyes,
How do I loath the Day, and Light despise?
Night, kinder Night's the much more welcome Guest,
For though it bring small Ease, it hides at least;
Or if e'er Slumbers and my Eyes agree,
'Tis when they're crown'd with pleasing Dreams of thee.
Last Night methought (Heav'n make the next as kind)
Free as first Innocence, and unconfin'd
As our first Parents in their Eden were,
E'er yet condemn'd to eat their Bread with Care;
We two together wander'd through a Grove,
'Twas green beneath us, and all Shade above,
Mild as our Friendship, springing as our Love;
Hundreds of cheerful Birds fill'd ev'ry Tree,
And sung their joyful Songs of Liberty;
While through the gladsome Choir well pleas'd we walk'd,
And of our present valu'd State thus talkt;
How do I loath the Day, and Light despise?
Night, kinder Night's the much more welcome Guest,
For though it bring small Ease, it hides at least;
Or if e'er Slumbers and my Eyes agree,
'Tis when they're crown'd with pleasing Dreams of thee.
Last Night methought (Heav'n make the next as kind)
Free as first Innocence, and unconfin'd
As our first Parents in their Eden were,
E'er yet condemn'd to eat their Bread with Care;
508
'Twas green beneath us, and all Shade above,
Mild as our Friendship, springing as our Love;
Hundreds of cheerful Birds fill'd ev'ry Tree,
And sung their joyful Songs of Liberty;
While through the gladsome Choir well pleas'd we walk'd,
And of our present valu'd State thus talkt;
How happy are we in this sweet Retreat?
Thus humbly blest, who'd labour to be great?
Who for Preferments at a Court would wait,
Where ev'ry Gudgeon's nibbling at the Bait?
What Fish of Sense would on that Shallow lye,
Amongst the little starving wriggling Fry,
That throng and crowd each other for a Taste
Of the deceitful, painted, poison'd Paste;
When the wide River he behind him sees,
Where he may launch to Liberty and Ease?
No Cares or Business here disturb our Hours,
While underneath these shady, peaceful Bow'rs,
In cool Delight and Innocence we stray,
And midst a thousand Pleasures waste the Day;
Sometimes upon a River's Bank we lye,
Where skimming Swallows o'er the Surface fly,
Just as the Sun, declining with his Beams,
Kisses, and gently warms the gliding Streams;
Amidst whose Current rising Fishes play,
And rowl in wanton Liberty away.
Perhaps, hard by there grows a little Bush,
On which the Linnet, Nightingale and Thrush,
Nightly their solemn Orgyes meeting keep,
And sing their Vespers e'er they go to sleep:
There we two lye, between us may be's spread
Some Books, few understand though many read.
Sometimes we Virgil's Sacred Leaves turn o'er,
Still wond'ring, and still finding Cause for more.
How Juno's Rage did good Æneas vex,
Then how he had Revenge upon her Sex
In Dido's State, whom bravely he enjoy'd,
And quitted her as bravely too when cloy'd;
He knew the fatal Danger of her Charms,
And scorn'd to melt his Virtue in her Arms.
Next Nisus and Euryalus we admire,
Their gentle Friendship, and their Martial Fire
We praise their Valour 'cause yet matcht by none
And love their Friendship, so much like our own.
But when to give our Minds a Feast indeed,
Horace, best known and lov'd by thee, we read,
Who can our Transports, or our Longings tell,
To taste of Pleasures, prais'd by him so well?
With Thoughts of Love, and Wine, by him we're fir'd,
Two Things in sweet Retirement much desir'd:
A generous Bottle and a Lovesome She,
Are th'only Joys in Nature, next to Thee:
To which retiring quietly at Night,
If (as that only can) to add Delight,
When to our little Cottage we repair,
We find a Friend or two, we'd wish for there,
Dear Beverly, kind as parting Lovers Tears
Adderly, honest as the Sword he wears,
Wilson, professing Friendship yet a Friend,
Or Short, beyond what Numbers can commend,
Finch, full of Kindness, gen'rous as his Blood,
Watchful to do, to modest Merit, good;
Who have forsook the vile tumultuous Town,
And for a Taste of Life to us come down;
With eager Arms, how closely then we embrace,
What Joys in ev'ry Heart, and ev'ry Face!
The moderate Table's quickly cover'd o'er
With choicest Meats at least, tho' not with Store:
Of Bottles next succeeds a goodly Train,
Full of what cheers the Heart, and fires the Brain:
Each waited on by a bright Virgin Glass,
Clean, sound and shining like its drinker's Lass:
Then down we sit, while ev'ry Genius tries
T'improve, 'till he deserves his Sacrifice:
No saucy Hour presumes to stint Delight,
We laugh, love, drink, and when that's done 'tis Night:
Well warm'd and pleas'd, as we think fit we part,
Each takes th'obedient Treasure of his Heart,
And leads her willing to his silent Bed,
Where no vexatious Cares come near his Head,
But ev'ry Sense with perfect Pleasure's fed;
'Till in full Joy dissolv'd, each falls asleep
With twining Limbs, that still Love's Posture keep,
At Dawn of Morning to renew Delight,
So quiet craving Love, 'till the next Night:
Then we the drowsie Cells of Sleep forsake,
And to our Books our earliest Visit make;
Or else our Thoughts to their Attendance call,
And there methinks, Fancy sits Queen of all;
While the poor under-Faculties resort,
And to her fickle Majesty make Court;
The Understanding first comes plainly clad,
But usefully; no Ent'rance to be had.
Next comes the Will, that Bully of the Mind,
Follies wait on him in a Troop behind;
He meets Reception from the Antick Queen,
Who thinks her Majesty's most honour'd, when
Attended by those fine drest Gentlemen.
Reason, the honest Counsellor, this knows,
And into Court with res'lute Virtue goes;
Lets Fancy see her loose irregular Sway,
Then how the flattering Follies sneak away!
This Image, when it came, too fiercely shook
My Brain, which its soft Quiet streight forsook;
When waking as I cast my Eyes around,
Nothing but old loath'd Vanities I found;
No Grove, no Freedom, and, what's worse to me,
No Friend; for I have none compar'd with thee.
Soon then my Thoughts with their old Tyrant care
Were seiz'd; which to divert I fram'd this Pray'r:
Gods! Life's your Gift, then season't with such Fate,
That what ye meant a Blessing prove no Weight.
Let me to the remotest Part be whirl'd,
Of this your play-thing made in Haste, the World;
But grant me Quiet, Liberty and Peace,
By Day what's needful, and at Night soft Ease;
The Friend I trust in, and the She I love,
Then fix me; and if e'er I wish Remove,
Make me as great (that's wretched) as ye can,
Set me in Power, the wofull'st State of Man;
To be by Fools mis-led, to Knaves a Prey.
But make Life what I ask, or take't away.
Thus humbly blest, who'd labour to be great?
Who for Preferments at a Court would wait,
Where ev'ry Gudgeon's nibbling at the Bait?
What Fish of Sense would on that Shallow lye,
Amongst the little starving wriggling Fry,
That throng and crowd each other for a Taste
Of the deceitful, painted, poison'd Paste;
When the wide River he behind him sees,
Where he may launch to Liberty and Ease?
509
While underneath these shady, peaceful Bow'rs,
In cool Delight and Innocence we stray,
And midst a thousand Pleasures waste the Day;
Sometimes upon a River's Bank we lye,
Where skimming Swallows o'er the Surface fly,
Just as the Sun, declining with his Beams,
Kisses, and gently warms the gliding Streams;
Amidst whose Current rising Fishes play,
And rowl in wanton Liberty away.
Perhaps, hard by there grows a little Bush,
On which the Linnet, Nightingale and Thrush,
Nightly their solemn Orgyes meeting keep,
And sing their Vespers e'er they go to sleep:
There we two lye, between us may be's spread
Some Books, few understand though many read.
Sometimes we Virgil's Sacred Leaves turn o'er,
Still wond'ring, and still finding Cause for more.
510
Then how he had Revenge upon her Sex
In Dido's State, whom bravely he enjoy'd,
And quitted her as bravely too when cloy'd;
He knew the fatal Danger of her Charms,
And scorn'd to melt his Virtue in her Arms.
Next Nisus and Euryalus we admire,
Their gentle Friendship, and their Martial Fire
We praise their Valour 'cause yet matcht by none
And love their Friendship, so much like our own.
But when to give our Minds a Feast indeed,
Horace, best known and lov'd by thee, we read,
Who can our Transports, or our Longings tell,
To taste of Pleasures, prais'd by him so well?
With Thoughts of Love, and Wine, by him we're fir'd,
Two Things in sweet Retirement much desir'd:
511
Are th'only Joys in Nature, next to Thee:
To which retiring quietly at Night,
If (as that only can) to add Delight,
When to our little Cottage we repair,
We find a Friend or two, we'd wish for there,
Dear Beverly, kind as parting Lovers Tears
Adderly, honest as the Sword he wears,
Wilson, professing Friendship yet a Friend,
Or Short, beyond what Numbers can commend,
Finch, full of Kindness, gen'rous as his Blood,
Watchful to do, to modest Merit, good;
Who have forsook the vile tumultuous Town,
And for a Taste of Life to us come down;
With eager Arms, how closely then we embrace,
What Joys in ev'ry Heart, and ev'ry Face!
The moderate Table's quickly cover'd o'er
With choicest Meats at least, tho' not with Store:
512
Full of what cheers the Heart, and fires the Brain:
Each waited on by a bright Virgin Glass,
Clean, sound and shining like its drinker's Lass:
Then down we sit, while ev'ry Genius tries
T'improve, 'till he deserves his Sacrifice:
No saucy Hour presumes to stint Delight,
We laugh, love, drink, and when that's done 'tis Night:
Well warm'd and pleas'd, as we think fit we part,
Each takes th'obedient Treasure of his Heart,
And leads her willing to his silent Bed,
Where no vexatious Cares come near his Head,
But ev'ry Sense with perfect Pleasure's fed;
'Till in full Joy dissolv'd, each falls asleep
With twining Limbs, that still Love's Posture keep,
At Dawn of Morning to renew Delight,
So quiet craving Love, 'till the next Night:
Then we the drowsie Cells of Sleep forsake,
And to our Books our earliest Visit make;
513
And there methinks, Fancy sits Queen of all;
While the poor under-Faculties resort,
And to her fickle Majesty make Court;
The Understanding first comes plainly clad,
But usefully; no Ent'rance to be had.
Next comes the Will, that Bully of the Mind,
Follies wait on him in a Troop behind;
He meets Reception from the Antick Queen,
Who thinks her Majesty's most honour'd, when
Attended by those fine drest Gentlemen.
Reason, the honest Counsellor, this knows,
And into Court with res'lute Virtue goes;
Lets Fancy see her loose irregular Sway,
Then how the flattering Follies sneak away!
This Image, when it came, too fiercely shook
My Brain, which its soft Quiet streight forsook;
514
Nothing but old loath'd Vanities I found;
No Grove, no Freedom, and, what's worse to me,
No Friend; for I have none compar'd with thee.
Soon then my Thoughts with their old Tyrant care
Were seiz'd; which to divert I fram'd this Pray'r:
Gods! Life's your Gift, then season't with such Fate,
That what ye meant a Blessing prove no Weight.
Let me to the remotest Part be whirl'd,
Of this your play-thing made in Haste, the World;
But grant me Quiet, Liberty and Peace,
By Day what's needful, and at Night soft Ease;
The Friend I trust in, and the She I love,
Then fix me; and if e'er I wish Remove,
Make me as great (that's wretched) as ye can,
Set me in Power, the wofull'st State of Man;
To be by Fools mis-led, to Knaves a Prey.
But make Life what I ask, or take't away.
515
ANSWER TO THE Foregoing EPISTLE.
Dear Tom, how melancholly I am grownSince thou hast left this learned dirty Town,
To thee by this dull Letter be it known.
Whilst all my Comfort under all this Care,
Are Duns and Punns, and Logick, and Small Beer.
Thou see'st I'm dull as Shadwell's Men of Wit,
Or the Top Scene that Settle ever writ:
The sprightly Court that wander up and down,
From Gudgeons to a Race, from Town to Town,
All, all are fled; but them I well can spare,
For I'm so dull I have no Business there.
516
Why Men one Stocking tye, with Ribbon blue.
Why others Medals wear, a fine gilt Thing,
That at their Breasts hang dangling by a String;
( Yet stay, I think that I to Mind recal,
For once a Squirt was rais'd by Windsor Wall)
I know no Officer of Court; nay more,
No Dog of Court, their Favourite before.
Shou'd Veny fawn, I shou'd not understand her;
Nor who committed Incest for Legander.
Unpolish'd thus, and arrant Scholar grown,
What shou'd I do but sit and cooe alone,
And thee, my absent Mate, for ever moan.
Thus 'tis sometimes, and Sorrow plays its Part,
'Till other Thoughts of thee revive my Heart.
For whilst with Wit, with Women and with Wine,
Thy glad Heart beats, and noble Face does shine,
517
Thou kindly wishest it with us were so.
Then thee we name; this heard, cries James, for him,
Leap up thou sparkling Wine, and kiss the Brim.
Crosses attend the Man who dares to flinch;
Great as that Man deserves, who drinks not Finch.
But these are empty Joys, without you two,
We drink your Names, alas! but where are you?
My Dear, whom I more cherish in my Breast,
Than by thy own soft Muse can be exprest,
True to thy Word, afford one Visit more,
Else I shall grow, from him thou lov'dst before,
A greasie Blockhead Fellow in a Gown,
(Such as is, Sir, a Cousin of your own;)
With my own Hair, a Band and ten long Nails,
And Wit that at a Quibble never fails.
Cambridge Oct. 26.
R. Duke.
536
FINIS.
| Poems upon several occasions | |