The Works of Mr. Robert Gould In Two Volumes. Consisting of those Poems [and] Satyrs Which were formerly Printed, and Corrected since by the Author; As also of the many more which He Design'd for the Press. Publish'd from his Own Original Copies [by Robert Gould] |
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To the Memory of Mrs. Mary Peachley.
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 | The Works of Mr. Robert Gould |  |
228
To the Memory of Mrs. Mary Peachley.
Come hither You who the Fair Sex reproach,
And basely rail at what you can't debauch,
That in loose Satyr tell us of their Crimes,
And say they're now the Griev'ance of the Times;
Come hither all; while in my faithful Verse
Peachley's Immortal Vertues I rehearse;
That you may see how very much you Err,
Repent, and learn how to be Good by HER.
And basely rail at what you can't debauch,
That in loose Satyr tell us of their Crimes,
And say they're now the Griev'ance of the Times;
Come hither all; while in my faithful Verse
Peachley's Immortal Vertues I rehearse;
That you may see how very much you Err,
Repent, and learn how to be Good by HER.
Ev'n in her Youth her early Worth did show
To what a vast Proportion it wou'd grow,
When she by Practice reap'd what she in Faith did sow:
On whose strong Wings she oft to Heav'n wou'd flee,
And by it find what can, or cannot be,
Better than all their vain Philosophy.
Charming her Form, capacious was her Mind;
At least, 'twas something above Womankind.
Trace her thro' all the Series of her Life,
You'll find her free from Envy, Hate and Strife,
A Dut'eous Child, and then a Vertu'ous Wife;
A Careful Mother next;—and if we find
Any Concern for Dying touch'd her Mind,
It was to leave her Infant Brood behind
Defenceless, an unequal War to wage
With Early Vices, and a Barba'rous Age.
O lost, and to be ever pity'd, Young,
The World's a Laby'rinth where you must go wrong,
Without the Clue of her Instructive Tongue:
She wou'd have taught You when with Doubts perplex'd
And lost in this World, how to find the next.
How easily she wrested Texts wou'd clear!
And yet how pleas'd to make the Truth appear!
So sweet her Converse, so compos'd and ev'n,
That following Her, the Precepts by her giv'n,
We found no Roughness in the Paths to Heav'n.
So truly Humble, and so fast a Friend,
No Human Malice cou'd the Union end.
Offence she Pardon'd, no Offence wou'd give,
But, like the Dove, without a Gall did live.
Well read in History, in Devotion more,
And had a Heart that ne'er forgot the Poor.
To what a vast Proportion it wou'd grow,
When she by Practice reap'd what she in Faith did sow:
On whose strong Wings she oft to Heav'n wou'd flee,
And by it find what can, or cannot be,
Better than all their vain Philosophy.
Charming her Form, capacious was her Mind;
At least, 'twas something above Womankind.
Trace her thro' all the Series of her Life,
You'll find her free from Envy, Hate and Strife,
A Dut'eous Child, and then a Vertu'ous Wife;
A Careful Mother next;—and if we find
Any Concern for Dying touch'd her Mind,
It was to leave her Infant Brood behind
Defenceless, an unequal War to wage
With Early Vices, and a Barba'rous Age.
O lost, and to be ever pity'd, Young,
The World's a Laby'rinth where you must go wrong,
Without the Clue of her Instructive Tongue:
She wou'd have taught You when with Doubts perplex'd
And lost in this World, how to find the next.
229
And yet how pleas'd to make the Truth appear!
So sweet her Converse, so compos'd and ev'n,
That following Her, the Precepts by her giv'n,
We found no Roughness in the Paths to Heav'n.
So truly Humble, and so fast a Friend,
No Human Malice cou'd the Union end.
Offence she Pardon'd, no Offence wou'd give,
But, like the Dove, without a Gall did live.
Well read in History, in Devotion more,
And had a Heart that ne'er forgot the Poor.
Ah! mourn, ye Graces, mourn your Darling's Fall,
The most exalted Wonder of you all!
To whom, or where can you for Refuge run,
Now she that gave you Life, is dead and gone?
Her Charms behind a Ghastly Pale retir'd,
As much Affrighting now, as late admir'd:
She Cloath'd you Gay, and rais'd Your Honours high,
By Beauty much, and more by Chastity.
Who of the Fair was ever less withstood
Than those that strive to Charm by being Good?
Beauty, at best, does but the Eye controul,
But Vertue Sinks, and Settles at the Soul.
The most exalted Wonder of you all!
To whom, or where can you for Refuge run,
Now she that gave you Life, is dead and gone?
Her Charms behind a Ghastly Pale retir'd,
As much Affrighting now, as late admir'd:
She Cloath'd you Gay, and rais'd Your Honours high,
By Beauty much, and more by Chastity.
Who of the Fair was ever less withstood
Than those that strive to Charm by being Good?
Beauty, at best, does but the Eye controul,
But Vertue Sinks, and Settles at the Soul.
By that alone she did her Actions square,
And liv'd and dy'd the Glory of the Fair,
With fix'd Submission did her Fate obey
Perhaps the first that went resign'd away,
With such true Reasons for a longer Stay.
And liv'd and dy'd the Glory of the Fair,
With fix'd Submission did her Fate obey
Perhaps the first that went resign'd away,
With such true Reasons for a longer Stay.
| The Works of Mr. Robert Gould | |