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 Honourable Colonel Henry
Chiver, on the Death of Lionel Duckett, Esq
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 | The Works of Mr. Robert Gould |  |
To the Honourable Colonel Henry Chiver, on the Death of Lionel Duckett, Esq
Where Slaughter, Horror, Fire and Fate have join'd
To wreak their utmost Fury on Mankind,
You oft have been, with all their Rage unmov'd,
As if Life had been scorn'd, or Death belov'd.
As if in fatal Broils and fierce Alarms
Y'ad known more Pleasure, and enjoy'd more Charms
Than in the Fair, the Chast Almeria's Arms:
But ah! if Glory only was your Aim,
You might have found it in the matchless Dame;
Her Smile is Love, and her Embrace is Fame.
To wreak their utmost Fury on Mankind,
You oft have been, with all their Rage unmov'd,
As if Life had been scorn'd, or Death belov'd.
As if in fatal Broils and fierce Alarms
Y'ad known more Pleasure, and enjoy'd more Charms
Than in the Fair, the Chast Almeria's Arms:
But ah! if Glory only was your Aim,
You might have found it in the matchless Dame;
Her Smile is Love, and her Embrace is Fame.
Yet tho' all Flame, and daring to a Crime,
When Gene'rous Duckett fell in all his Prime,
That Iron Heart which ne'er before did bend
Broke into Tears, and melted for a Friend.
When Gene'rous Duckett fell in all his Prime,
That Iron Heart which ne'er before did bend
Broke into Tears, and melted for a Friend.
From hence the Temper of your Soul we see;
For Courage takes not from Humanity:
Compassion always shou'd with Valour live,
For they can never love that never grieve.
For Courage takes not from Humanity:
Compassion always shou'd with Valour live,
For they can never love that never grieve.
Nor is it you alone that mourn his Fall,
To all a Friend, his Loss affects us all:
Living, no Man before more Praise cou'd have,
Or e'er went more Lamented to the Grave.
To all a Friend, his Loss affects us all:
237
Or e'er went more Lamented to the Grave.
No Means of doing Good he e'er declin'd;
His Libe'ral Hand and his Instructive Mind
Were two Exchequers, that did well declare
The Learn'd and Needy equally his Care:
This with new Knowledge adding to our Store,
That always open to relieve the Poor.
His Libe'ral Hand and his Instructive Mind
Were two Exchequers, that did well declare
The Learn'd and Needy equally his Care:
This with new Knowledge adding to our Store,
That always open to relieve the Poor.
By Nature form'd for Friendship, Wit and Love,
He soon in all did most Successful prove:
How cou'd he fail to enjoy their Greatest Charms,
YOU in his Heart, and Chloris in his Arms?
He soon in all did most Successful prove:
How cou'd he fail to enjoy their Greatest Charms,
YOU in his Heart, and Chloris in his Arms?
Chloris the soft, the Youthful and the Fair,
That with the Fruit of Love did crown his Care;
And, sure to Conquer, makes it Doubtful yet
Which most excels, her Beauty, or her Wit.
That with the Fruit of Love did crown his Care;
And, sure to Conquer, makes it Doubtful yet
Which most excels, her Beauty, or her Wit.
How frail is Life, and Gloomy now the Scene
That then was all so Radiant and serene?
Misled by Hope, when Pleasure first appears
We fondly think of many happy Years:
Teeming with Sweets, and Youth begetting more,
Life seems to have a thousand Joys in Store:
When strait pale Death the Envious Shaft does throw,
And lays our Airy Expectations low!
That then was all so Radiant and serene?
Misled by Hope, when Pleasure first appears
We fondly think of many happy Years:
Teeming with Sweets, and Youth begetting more,
Life seems to have a thousand Joys in Store:
When strait pale Death the Envious Shaft does throw,
And lays our Airy Expectations low!
Yet ev'n 'tis better so, than to be sold
To Cares, Afflictions, and a Life too old:
When the stale Drudge to Impotence resigns,
And his Shril Spouse her Loss of Pleasure pines;
When hungry Avarice their Rest impairs,
And hoards an Ill got Portion for their Heirs;
When Mutual Hatred and Domestick Strife
Change 'em from Lovers into Man and Wife:
These drink the Dregs, expos'd to all the Crimes
Of Age, which they escape that die betimes.
To Cares, Afflictions, and a Life too old:
When the stale Drudge to Impotence resigns,
And his Shril Spouse her Loss of Pleasure pines;
When hungry Avarice their Rest impairs,
And hoards an Ill got Portion for their Heirs;
238
Change 'em from Lovers into Man and Wife:
These drink the Dregs, expos'd to all the Crimes
Of Age, which they escape that die betimes.
Unlike this Life was his now gone from hence,
A Life compos'd of Mirth and Innocence.
We dare not argue he no Errors knew;
But ev'n his Errors had their Beauties too:
His very Failings, by a Matchless Art
Peculiar to themselves, allur'd the Heart.
His Wit cou'd make all Turns of Humour please,
For still 'twas new; and manag'd with that Ease,
The very Stoick, tho' he meant to blame,
Approv'd the Mirth, and warm'd him at the Flame.
A Life compos'd of Mirth and Innocence.
We dare not argue he no Errors knew;
But ev'n his Errors had their Beauties too:
His very Failings, by a Matchless Art
Peculiar to themselves, allur'd the Heart.
His Wit cou'd make all Turns of Humour please,
For still 'twas new; and manag'd with that Ease,
The very Stoick, tho' he meant to blame,
Approv'd the Mirth, and warm'd him at the Flame.
You best can tell how much his Converse charm'd:
Rage he cou'd tame, and Envy he disarm'd:
Wisdom stood Mute, and Emulation hung
With more than pleas'd Attention on his Tongue;
Despairing e'er to reach so high a Flight,
All her Ambition was to keep in Sight.
Our Souls were mov'd! and cou'd not but admire,
How still from all he touch'd, he struck the Fire!
Rage he cou'd tame, and Envy he disarm'd:
Wisdom stood Mute, and Emulation hung
With more than pleas'd Attention on his Tongue;
Despairing e'er to reach so high a Flight,
All her Ambition was to keep in Sight.
Our Souls were mov'd! and cou'd not but admire,
How still from all he touch'd, he struck the Fire!
But when he pleas'd we shou'd no longer smile,
And to sublimer Subject turn'd his Stile,
He steer'd our Wonder just as he thought fit,
And ne'er was less the wiser for his Wit.
And to sublimer Subject turn'd his Stile,
He steer'd our Wonder just as he thought fit,
And ne'er was less the wiser for his Wit.
Ill fare the Men that misdirect our Sight,
That never look but squint upon the Right,
And gravely damn all Innocent Delight:
He shew'd, and You, Sir, still go on to shew
There's such a Truth as—Wise, and Merry too;
That all we ought to learn and understand,
Is not confin'd to those that wear the Band:
He with a Thousand Gifts and Arts was fraught
Of which they never read, or never sought.
That never look but squint upon the Right,
And gravely damn all Innocent Delight:
He shew'd, and You, Sir, still go on to shew
There's such a Truth as—Wise, and Merry too;
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Is not confin'd to those that wear the Band:
He with a Thousand Gifts and Arts was fraught
Of which they never read, or never sought.
Nor was his Worth to our small Island pent,
But travel'd with him o'er the Continent:
The State and Pow'r of Europe's Courts he saw,
Their Manners, Language, Policy and Law;
And brought, to shew he did not idly roam,
A faithful Abstract of their Vertues home:
But left their Vices, Dresses and Disease,
To Fops and Coxcombs they were made to please;
They who but Travel to debase their Kind;
For what's more senseless than an Ass refin'd?
But travel'd with him o'er the Continent:
The State and Pow'r of Europe's Courts he saw,
Their Manners, Language, Policy and Law;
And brought, to shew he did not idly roam,
A faithful Abstract of their Vertues home:
But left their Vices, Dresses and Disease,
To Fops and Coxcombs they were made to please;
They who but Travel to debase their Kind;
For what's more senseless than an Ass refin'd?
There the Harmonious Art he long had lov'd,
He to the utmost height 'twou'd bear improv'd.
I see him yet in Solitude retir'd,
At once with Musick and the Muse Inspir'd.
What Raptures wou'd he breath! what soft'ning Airs!
How tune our Souls! and how disperse our Cares!
In the two Sister-Arts so amply Skill'd,
He's only in the Heav'nly Quire excell'd;
The Quire where with ineffable Delight,
He sings the Hymns he did himself indite.
He to the utmost height 'twou'd bear improv'd.
I see him yet in Solitude retir'd,
At once with Musick and the Muse Inspir'd.
What Raptures wou'd he breath! what soft'ning Airs!
How tune our Souls! and how disperse our Cares!
In the two Sister-Arts so amply Skill'd,
He's only in the Heav'nly Quire excell'd;
The Quire where with ineffable Delight,
He sings the Hymns he did himself indite.
In vain, alas! (too covetous of Fame)
We Poets strive to get a Deathless Name,
And with the short Applause of vulgar Breath,
Wou'd keep alive our Memories after Death:
His leisure Hours found out a sweeter Vein
Of Verse, than all our Labour of the Brain:
Secure of Fame in his own mighty Line,
He there in State will live, and there will shine,
Long after dark Oblivion folds up mine.
We Poets strive to get a Deathless Name,
And with the short Applause of vulgar Breath,
Wou'd keep alive our Memories after Death:
His leisure Hours found out a sweeter Vein
Of Verse, than all our Labour of the Brain:
Secure of Fame in his own mighty Line,
He there in State will live, and there will shine,
Long after dark Oblivion folds up mine.
240
We'll then no more deplore his dying Young,
For, tho' so few his Years, his Fame is long.
That happy Soul does not untimely go,
Adorn'd in Youth with all that Age cou'd know.
Beside, 'twere vain his Loss shou'd be repin'd
While the more noble Chivers stays behind;
Chivers! in whom in fairer Strokes are writ
His dauntless Spirit, and his deathless Wit!
For, tho' so few his Years, his Fame is long.
That happy Soul does not untimely go,
Adorn'd in Youth with all that Age cou'd know.
Beside, 'twere vain his Loss shou'd be repin'd
While the more noble Chivers stays behind;
Chivers! in whom in fairer Strokes are writ
His dauntless Spirit, and his deathless Wit!
| The Works of Mr. Robert Gould | |