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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| Divine Poems AND PARAPHRASES. |
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 | The Works of Mr. Robert Gould |  |
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Divine Poems AND PARAPHRASES.
A Contemplation touching Atheism.
What e'er a Race of impious Men have writ,
Or argu'd in their Wine to shew their Wit,
There never yet was one so hardy found
But in his secret Thought the GOD-HEAD own'd;
Nor cou'd, with all his Labour and Debate,
Suppress the Notions of a FUTURE STATE:
CONSCIENCE wou'd thro' all Prejudice appear,
And what he wou'd not Credit, make him Fear.
Or argu'd in their Wine to shew their Wit,
There never yet was one so hardy found
But in his secret Thought the GOD-HEAD own'd;
Nor cou'd, with all his Labour and Debate,
Suppress the Notions of a FUTURE STATE:
CONSCIENCE wou'd thro' all Prejudice appear,
And what he wou'd not Credit, make him Fear.
'Tis true, we grant it might much better be
For such were there indeed no Deitie:
Who wholly following a perverted Will,
(As if Created only to be Ill)
Wou'd fain perswade us no Reward succeeds
A Vertuous Life, or Hell for impious Deeds;
But as before our Births we nothing knew,
So after Death we shall be nothing too
Vain Men! that, for the poor Repute of Wit,
Will stand eternal Fools in sacred Writ!
'Tis such that in their Hearts themselves deceive,
And say what Reason never can believe;
There is no GOD they softly whisper there,
But softly whisper, least a GOD shou'd hear:
So go on frontless, cleaving to the Sin,
In Spite of Self-Conviction from within.
For such were there indeed no Deitie:
Who wholly following a perverted Will,
(As if Created only to be Ill)
Wou'd fain perswade us no Reward succeeds
A Vertuous Life, or Hell for impious Deeds;
But as before our Births we nothing knew,
So after Death we shall be nothing too
Vain Men! that, for the poor Repute of Wit,
Will stand eternal Fools in sacred Writ!
'Tis such that in their Hearts themselves deceive,
And say what Reason never can believe;
There is no GOD they softly whisper there,
But softly whisper, least a GOD shou'd hear:
403
In Spite of Self-Conviction from within.
Nor is this Method (I presume) a vain
Ungenuine way that Scripture to explain.
For how can any Creature that has ran
Thro' Childhood, Youth, and now is reach't to Man;
Whom Providence with it's own Hand has led,
From Danger sav'd, and with Abundance fed,
Perhaps while better Christians wanted Bread,
How can this Wretch (tho' much a Sceptick dares)
Doubt of that Goodness he so largely shares?
Did he these Hints but seriously apply,
And use his clearer Reason with his Eye,
He wou'd not then so faithless look on high;
Where the bright Sun has thro' all Times been found
To take his Regular and Glorious Round,
Create the Seasons as he comes and goes,
Want it Himself, and give the World Repose.
Where the pale Moon the Earth's low Globe befriends,
And freely all her borrow'd Lustre lends;
While her bright Train of Stars around appear,
And shew 'tis only GOD cou'd place 'em there.
Where Thunder rolls, and, breaking from the Cloud,
Tells out Heav'n's angry Messages aloud;
While pale the Atheist at the Sound appears,
And owns at least th'Almighty in his Fears.
Nor less the Work, when Thetis, to supply
Th'exhausted watry Magazins on high,
Does seem to lade the Sea into the Sky;
Where with Prolifick Pow'r indu'd, in Rain
The Genial Moisture spreads, and Covers all the Plain:
While, Phœnix like, we Life from Death behold,
And a New Nature rising from the Old!
But most the Heav'ns his Majesty declare;
The Fabrick shews who 'tis Inhabits there.
Nor as on High (did we those Wonders prize)
We neither shou'd in vain cast down our Eyes;
Where such a strange Variety is shown,
So vast a Bank of Treasure all our Own;
What Man can wish, as Eden yet were new,
With like Profusion op'ning to our view!
Here smiling Flora does the Meads adorn,
There bounte'ous Ceres loads the Earth with Corn:
Next Autumn with her Riches courts the Eye,
Aurora so does paint the Morning Sky!
Ruddy her Fruits, and mellow'd for the Tast,
As Brides with Blushes call to be embrac'd.
But as all this were yet too small to give,
And we amid'st such Wealth cou'd wanting live,
No Distant Region but it's Product pours
Upon our Soil, and makes it's Plenty Ours;
Nor yet is Providence but bounteous here;
But rains on all alike so vast a Share,
That the most barren Country has to spare.
From each to each, sent on the Watry Fields,
No Nation wants what any Nation yields.
Nor is the Winter of her Blessings short:
But recompences naked Fields with Sport:
The Horn and Hound revive us with their sound,
And Wat's loud Knell is rung the Country round.
Nor yet does Reynard scape the unequal Strife,
But with his Death compensates for his Life.
Return'd, in Bowls the Wine does spark'ling rise,
And cheerful Fire the distant Sun Supplies;
Nor stop we there, but with Discourse pursue
The noble Theme, and run the Chase a new:
A Subject that does Converse better fit
Than fulsom Lewdness, or abusive Wit.
Here Woods their Shady Fronts Expose to view,
Which give us Fewel and our safety too;
From these our Strength, our sailing Forts, we draw,
Right injur'd States, and give Ambition Law.
There humble Vales, and here aspiring Hills
Are plac'd, and at their Feet harmonious Rills,
Which from the Mountains are with Pleasure seen,
Like the blue Veins thro' a transparent Skin;
Alike their Office; for, (as Blood does do)
Thro' Earth they take their Circulation too:
While on their Banks the Shepherds chant their Lays,
And the whole Theme is their Creator's Praise.
Thus Order is by ev'ry thing obey'd,
Order! the Word by which the World was made.
The Rav'nous Beasts to their own Haunts repair,
The Birds possess the Regions of the Air,
The Fish thro' the Transparent Currents glide,
And watch the Ebbs and Flowings of the Tyde;
And when by Rain the Streams are rais'd, they post
With them to Sea, and there with them are lost.
There sportive Whales, those Living Islands, play,
And scarce have room, tho' half the Globe is Sea.
Thus, as above, below a GOD we see,
And all his Works full of the Deity.
Ungenuine way that Scripture to explain.
For how can any Creature that has ran
Thro' Childhood, Youth, and now is reach't to Man;
Whom Providence with it's own Hand has led,
From Danger sav'd, and with Abundance fed,
Perhaps while better Christians wanted Bread,
How can this Wretch (tho' much a Sceptick dares)
Doubt of that Goodness he so largely shares?
Did he these Hints but seriously apply,
And use his clearer Reason with his Eye,
He wou'd not then so faithless look on high;
Where the bright Sun has thro' all Times been found
To take his Regular and Glorious Round,
Create the Seasons as he comes and goes,
Want it Himself, and give the World Repose.
Where the pale Moon the Earth's low Globe befriends,
And freely all her borrow'd Lustre lends;
While her bright Train of Stars around appear,
And shew 'tis only GOD cou'd place 'em there.
Where Thunder rolls, and, breaking from the Cloud,
Tells out Heav'n's angry Messages aloud;
While pale the Atheist at the Sound appears,
And owns at least th'Almighty in his Fears.
Nor less the Work, when Thetis, to supply
Th'exhausted watry Magazins on high,
Does seem to lade the Sea into the Sky;
Where with Prolifick Pow'r indu'd, in Rain
The Genial Moisture spreads, and Covers all the Plain:
While, Phœnix like, we Life from Death behold,
And a New Nature rising from the Old!
But most the Heav'ns his Majesty declare;
The Fabrick shews who 'tis Inhabits there.
404
We neither shou'd in vain cast down our Eyes;
Where such a strange Variety is shown,
So vast a Bank of Treasure all our Own;
What Man can wish, as Eden yet were new,
With like Profusion op'ning to our view!
Here smiling Flora does the Meads adorn,
There bounte'ous Ceres loads the Earth with Corn:
Next Autumn with her Riches courts the Eye,
Aurora so does paint the Morning Sky!
Ruddy her Fruits, and mellow'd for the Tast,
As Brides with Blushes call to be embrac'd.
But as all this were yet too small to give,
And we amid'st such Wealth cou'd wanting live,
No Distant Region but it's Product pours
Upon our Soil, and makes it's Plenty Ours;
Nor yet is Providence but bounteous here;
But rains on all alike so vast a Share,
That the most barren Country has to spare.
From each to each, sent on the Watry Fields,
No Nation wants what any Nation yields.
Nor is the Winter of her Blessings short:
But recompences naked Fields with Sport:
The Horn and Hound revive us with their sound,
And Wat's loud Knell is rung the Country round.
Nor yet does Reynard scape the unequal Strife,
But with his Death compensates for his Life.
Return'd, in Bowls the Wine does spark'ling rise,
And cheerful Fire the distant Sun Supplies;
Nor stop we there, but with Discourse pursue
The noble Theme, and run the Chase a new:
A Subject that does Converse better fit
Than fulsom Lewdness, or abusive Wit.
Here Woods their Shady Fronts Expose to view,
Which give us Fewel and our safety too;
From these our Strength, our sailing Forts, we draw,
Right injur'd States, and give Ambition Law.
405
Are plac'd, and at their Feet harmonious Rills,
Which from the Mountains are with Pleasure seen,
Like the blue Veins thro' a transparent Skin;
Alike their Office; for, (as Blood does do)
Thro' Earth they take their Circulation too:
While on their Banks the Shepherds chant their Lays,
And the whole Theme is their Creator's Praise.
Thus Order is by ev'ry thing obey'd,
Order! the Word by which the World was made.
The Rav'nous Beasts to their own Haunts repair,
The Birds possess the Regions of the Air,
The Fish thro' the Transparent Currents glide,
And watch the Ebbs and Flowings of the Tyde;
And when by Rain the Streams are rais'd, they post
With them to Sea, and there with them are lost.
There sportive Whales, those Living Islands, play,
And scarce have room, tho' half the Globe is Sea.
Thus, as above, below a GOD we see,
And all his Works full of the Deity.
Ev'n our own Weakness (strong in such a Cause)
Shou'd humble us, and make us own His Laws;
Not foolishly (and yet pretending Sense)
With Impious Notions charge his Providence.
We do not know why Grass that Colour wears,
Or why our Blood the Sanguin Tincture bears;
What makes the Painting in Heav'n's radiant Bow,
Or gives that matchless Whiteness to the Snow:
How dare we then the Sacred Name decry,
And tax Incomprehensibility?
A strange Perverseness, sure, to Man is giv'n,
That knows so little, yet prescribes to Heav'n;
That Gracious Pow'r who pardons, tho' blasphem'd;
For Man Created how to be esteem'd!
And how (O boundless Love!) for Man Redeem'd.
Shou'd humble us, and make us own His Laws;
Not foolishly (and yet pretending Sense)
With Impious Notions charge his Providence.
We do not know why Grass that Colour wears,
Or why our Blood the Sanguin Tincture bears;
What makes the Painting in Heav'n's radiant Bow,
Or gives that matchless Whiteness to the Snow:
How dare we then the Sacred Name decry,
And tax Incomprehensibility?
A strange Perverseness, sure, to Man is giv'n,
That knows so little, yet prescribes to Heav'n;
That Gracious Pow'r who pardons, tho' blasphem'd;
For Man Created how to be esteem'd!
And how (O boundless Love!) for Man Redeem'd.
406
But shou'd not this Great World incline our Sense
To have a due Belief of Providence,
The Lesser, MAN, at least shou'd Man convince.
Who will against the Deity declare,
That asks himself how He himself came here?
Who 'twas that form'd him in the Womb, and who
The Lumpish Mass with Reason did endue?
What 'tis that makes him Argue, Think, and Move,
Invent, Design, Distinguish, and Approve;
And ev'n of old, so strongly in Debate
Assert a GOD, and hope a Future State?
When thro' a thicker Veil that Hope was shown,
And Revelation totally unknown?
What is all this but a most clear and bright
Reflection, streaming from Eternal Light,
And stampt into our Nature, to declare
Whose Work we are, and Image 'tis we bear?
Leaving it uncontestable, that none
Cou'd our Producer be but GOD alone;
Our Souls (that will a like Duration see)
Th'Infusion of his Immortality:
And tho' the Body must dissolve, it yet
But suffers Death a better Life to get;
As Gold and Silver, and sever'd from the Dross,
Are made but the more glorious by the Loss.
To have a due Belief of Providence,
The Lesser, MAN, at least shou'd Man convince.
Who will against the Deity declare,
That asks himself how He himself came here?
Who 'twas that form'd him in the Womb, and who
The Lumpish Mass with Reason did endue?
What 'tis that makes him Argue, Think, and Move,
Invent, Design, Distinguish, and Approve;
And ev'n of old, so strongly in Debate
Assert a GOD, and hope a Future State?
When thro' a thicker Veil that Hope was shown,
And Revelation totally unknown?
What is all this but a most clear and bright
Reflection, streaming from Eternal Light,
And stampt into our Nature, to declare
Whose Work we are, and Image 'tis we bear?
Leaving it uncontestable, that none
Cou'd our Producer be but GOD alone;
Our Souls (that will a like Duration see)
Th'Infusion of his Immortality:
And tho' the Body must dissolve, it yet
But suffers Death a better Life to get;
As Gold and Silver, and sever'd from the Dross,
Are made but the more glorious by the Loss.
Tremble, ye Wretches, that wou'd Truth disguise,
And tell us as the Body falls it lies;
The Dead, you'll find, will certainly arise.
I hear, methinks, the last loud Trumpet sound!
I see the Quick'ning Bodies cleave the Ground!
Lo! at the Gen'eral and Impartial Bar,
All that were ever born at once appear,
To take th'unalterable Sentence there!
There! on the Left, behold the Impious Crew,
Scarce thinking yet a Resurrection true!
But glorious and exulting, on the Right,
Rang'd by their SAVIOUR, stand the Sons of Light!
There Justice does a dismal Scene display!
Here Mercy opens an Eternal Day!
Rejoice my Soul!—for tho' the Human Frame
Must be dissolv'd, it yet will rise the same.
Were Revelation wholly silent, yet
Reason it self cou'd speak—and Reason's Wit.
Cannot that GOD (so manifested there)
Who did from Nothing make us what we are,
Who to the Lifeless Dust did Being give,
Raise up that Dust again, and bid it Live?
Advanc'd to Heav'n, and crown'd with Glory there,
If truly fitted by Obedience here.
Less wond'rous 'tis the Dead new Life shou'd see,
Than, e'er we did exist, it was to Be;
As easier 'tis with Timber, Brick and Stone,
To raise a stately Fabrick, than with none.
The first the harder Work to Human Sense,
Tho' both are equal to Omnipotence.
And tell us as the Body falls it lies;
The Dead, you'll find, will certainly arise.
I hear, methinks, the last loud Trumpet sound!
I see the Quick'ning Bodies cleave the Ground!
Lo! at the Gen'eral and Impartial Bar,
All that were ever born at once appear,
To take th'unalterable Sentence there!
There! on the Left, behold the Impious Crew,
Scarce thinking yet a Resurrection true!
407
Rang'd by their SAVIOUR, stand the Sons of Light!
There Justice does a dismal Scene display!
Here Mercy opens an Eternal Day!
Rejoice my Soul!—for tho' the Human Frame
Must be dissolv'd, it yet will rise the same.
Were Revelation wholly silent, yet
Reason it self cou'd speak—and Reason's Wit.
Cannot that GOD (so manifested there)
Who did from Nothing make us what we are,
Who to the Lifeless Dust did Being give,
Raise up that Dust again, and bid it Live?
Advanc'd to Heav'n, and crown'd with Glory there,
If truly fitted by Obedience here.
Less wond'rous 'tis the Dead new Life shou'd see,
Than, e'er we did exist, it was to Be;
As easier 'tis with Timber, Brick and Stone,
To raise a stately Fabrick, than with none.
The first the harder Work to Human Sense,
Tho' both are equal to Omnipotence.
This Life, that so Immoderately we Love,
Is but the Shadow of that Life above.
To Souls resign'd what Transport must it be
To think, Hereafter ev'ry Faculty
(So bounded here, and with such Frailties charg'd)
Shall like the Minds of Angels be enlarg'd!
I've said Y'are GODS—the Scripture does declare,
No Figure then, we shall be like 'em there;
All Truth shall know, all Knowledge shall comprize,
And be without Deliberation wise.
Those hidden Myste'ries that confound us Here,
No more Abstruse, shall all lie open there:
How Seeds of Things were first in Discord hurl'd,
And how but—LET IT BE—did form a World;
That Word which from old Chaos chas'd the Night,
And out of Darkness struck Eternal Light.
How the high Spheres were into Musick strung,
And lasting Order from Confusion sprung.
How Justice cou'd in Adam doom us all,
Unborn, and unconsenting to the Fall.
How in the Flesh th'Eternal Word abode,
And how a Mother-MAID conceiv'd a GOD.
How Mercy, to effect what it began,
Cou'd suffer Death it self to Rescue Man.
How ev'ry Language cou'd unlearn'd be known,
How Unity and Trinity are ONE.
There what has been from all Eternity,
And what to all Eternity shall be,
One endless Instant, we at once shall see!
Mean while in Hymns the sacred Quires will move,
They sing his Praise, and HE their Songs approve;
For Heav'n is Heav'n by Harmony and Love.
Is but the Shadow of that Life above.
To Souls resign'd what Transport must it be
To think, Hereafter ev'ry Faculty
(So bounded here, and with such Frailties charg'd)
Shall like the Minds of Angels be enlarg'd!
I've said Y'are GODS—the Scripture does declare,
No Figure then, we shall be like 'em there;
All Truth shall know, all Knowledge shall comprize,
And be without Deliberation wise.
Those hidden Myste'ries that confound us Here,
No more Abstruse, shall all lie open there:
How Seeds of Things were first in Discord hurl'd,
And how but—LET IT BE—did form a World;
408
And out of Darkness struck Eternal Light.
How the high Spheres were into Musick strung,
And lasting Order from Confusion sprung.
How Justice cou'd in Adam doom us all,
Unborn, and unconsenting to the Fall.
How in the Flesh th'Eternal Word abode,
And how a Mother-MAID conceiv'd a GOD.
How Mercy, to effect what it began,
Cou'd suffer Death it self to Rescue Man.
How ev'ry Language cou'd unlearn'd be known,
How Unity and Trinity are ONE.
There what has been from all Eternity,
And what to all Eternity shall be,
One endless Instant, we at once shall see!
Mean while in Hymns the sacred Quires will move,
They sing his Praise, and HE their Songs approve;
For Heav'n is Heav'n by Harmony and Love.
On then my Soul! the happy Path pursue
This Noble Contemplation sets in view,
Quit not thy Hope for all the Globe can give;
'Tis here to Dream, and only there to Live!
This Noble Contemplation sets in view,
Quit not thy Hope for all the Globe can give;
'Tis here to Dream, and only there to Live!
The True FAST:
A Paraphrase on the 58th of Isaiah.
Cry! let thy Voice like the loud Trumpet sound,
Thro' the wide Air diffuse it all around,
To tell my People how their Crimes abound:
Not but they outwardly pretend Delight
To know my Ways, and practise what is Right:
As if they ne'er did Trespass, or Rebel,
They Justifie their Conduct, and think all is well.
Thro' the wide Air diffuse it all around,
To tell my People how their Crimes abound:
Not but they outwardly pretend Delight
To know my Ways, and practise what is Right:
409
They Justifie their Conduct, and think all is well.
Wherefore (say they) do we make tedious Fasts?
Thou see'st not, still thy Indignation lasts:
To mortify our Lusts why do we roam,
And wander such a wicked Way from home?
Why such lean Penance do we undergo?
Thou tak'st no Knowledge, tho' thou all dost know.
Thou see'st not, still thy Indignation lasts:
To mortify our Lusts why do we roam,
And wander such a wicked Way from home?
Why such lean Penance do we undergo?
Thou tak'st no Knowledge, tho' thou all dost know.
Here me (O Rebels!) that can thus Report,
Do you not Fast for Wantonness and Sport?
Is it th'Effect of a well weigh'd Remorse?
An Humbleness of Soul, or Form of Course?
A Form, alas! a Form of neither Power or Force;
A meer perverted Rite, an outward shew
That neither me Delights, or Profits you.
Under this specious Veil much Sin you hide,
Contention, Hate, Hypocrisie, and Pride;
Done chiefly that you may have room to blame
The Wiser few that will not do the same,
Participating in your Guilt and Shame;
Such as the Nonsense of your Fasts detect,
And clearly prove they are of no effect.
But Fasts you call 'em, and you Fasts Proclaim,
When Lux'ury oft were more the nat'ral Name:
The Deep is ransack't, all her Treasures shown,
For Flesh one Day deny'd, the Sea is all your own.
In vain with this loose Custom you comply,
In vain for this you lift your Voices high,
They come lame Intercessors to the Sky.
Do you not Fast for Wantonness and Sport?
Is it th'Effect of a well weigh'd Remorse?
An Humbleness of Soul, or Form of Course?
A Form, alas! a Form of neither Power or Force;
A meer perverted Rite, an outward shew
That neither me Delights, or Profits you.
Under this specious Veil much Sin you hide,
Contention, Hate, Hypocrisie, and Pride;
Done chiefly that you may have room to blame
The Wiser few that will not do the same,
Participating in your Guilt and Shame;
Such as the Nonsense of your Fasts detect,
And clearly prove they are of no effect.
But Fasts you call 'em, and you Fasts Proclaim,
When Lux'ury oft were more the nat'ral Name:
The Deep is ransack't, all her Treasures shown,
For Flesh one Day deny'd, the Sea is all your own.
In vain with this loose Custom you comply,
In vain for this you lift your Voices high,
They come lame Intercessors to the Sky.
Observe (O stubborn Brood! your Maker's Voice,
Is this the Fast which I have made my Choice?
Is this t'afflict the Mind?—to Sigh and Moan,
And drawl my Name out with a ruful Tone;
To be in Publick seen with Heads reclin'd,
Like Bull-Rushes that bend without a Wind;
To dress in Sack-Cloath, and the Lash to feel,
With all th'External Pomp of Hair-brain'd Zeal;
What Merit on such Trifling can you lay?
Or can this be to ME a Fast, or acceptable Day?
Whose Eyes thro' the most dark Recesses see;
Thy Thoughts, ev'n yet unborn, lie open all to Me.
Is this the Fast which I have made my Choice?
Is this t'afflict the Mind?—to Sigh and Moan,
And drawl my Name out with a ruful Tone;
410
Like Bull-Rushes that bend without a Wind;
To dress in Sack-Cloath, and the Lash to feel,
With all th'External Pomp of Hair-brain'd Zeal;
What Merit on such Trifling can you lay?
Or can this be to ME a Fast, or acceptable Day?
Whose Eyes thro' the most dark Recesses see;
Thy Thoughts, ev'n yet unborn, lie open all to Me.
No, no; the Fast with which I'm pleas'd is this;
Not to Connive at the least thing amiss:
To fly from willful Sin, and ev'ry way
In which th'unwary Soul is led astray;
To break the Yoke where e'er the oppress'd you see,
Redeem the Slave, and set the Debtor free:
Ne'er to forbid the Dole to those in Want,
But ready still at ev'ry Boon to Grant;
For he that has but Little yet may be,
By giving Little, sav'd for Charity:
To think not thy own House too fine, or great,
For the poor Out-cast to Sojourn and Eat;
Unjustly, oft, from their Possessions hurl'd
By Cruel Powe'r, and hunted thro' the World:
To let the Mourning Widow be thy Care;
To fence the Orphan (Shudde'ring, Wan and Bare)
From the Inclemency of Winters Air:
To be to no Indecent Rage beguil'd,
But lead a Life all Merciful and Mild;
Hiding from none the Will of doing Good,
But least to those of thy own Flesh and Blood:
Not to Detraction to let loose the Rein,
With Gybes and Scoffs, (the Sport of the Profane)
But free thy Lips from all Obscene and Vain.
Not to Connive at the least thing amiss:
To fly from willful Sin, and ev'ry way
In which th'unwary Soul is led astray;
To break the Yoke where e'er the oppress'd you see,
Redeem the Slave, and set the Debtor free:
Ne'er to forbid the Dole to those in Want,
But ready still at ev'ry Boon to Grant;
For he that has but Little yet may be,
By giving Little, sav'd for Charity:
To think not thy own House too fine, or great,
For the poor Out-cast to Sojourn and Eat;
Unjustly, oft, from their Possessions hurl'd
By Cruel Powe'r, and hunted thro' the World:
To let the Mourning Widow be thy Care;
To fence the Orphan (Shudde'ring, Wan and Bare)
From the Inclemency of Winters Air:
To be to no Indecent Rage beguil'd,
But lead a Life all Merciful and Mild;
Hiding from none the Will of doing Good,
But least to those of thy own Flesh and Blood:
Not to Detraction to let loose the Rein,
With Gybes and Scoffs, (the Sport of the Profane)
But free thy Lips from all Obscene and Vain.
Reach but this Goal and Happiness you win,
This is a Fast indeed!—a Fast from Sin.
Then thou shalt be exempt from ev'ry Pain,
Thy Health shall quickly come and long remain:
All thy Good Deeds shall in the Front appear,
And Glory shall attend 'em in the Rear:
Thy frustrate Prayers their Fate no more shall mourn,
But meet a Gracious and a swift Return:
From dark Obscurity thy Light shall rise,
And take it's Lofty Station in the Skies;
The Sun himself shall hardly shine so bright,
Hardly diffuse around a more Refulgent Light.
Nay more, (for Nothing from thy View I'll hide,)
'Tis I my Self, ev'n I will be thy Guide,
I'll set Thee in the Path, and mark the Way;
O happy Man that cannot go astray!
In Famine Thou shalt daily have Supply,
In tedious Droughts Thou never shalt be dry,
But, like a water'd Garden, still be Gay,
Or Fountain rising in a shiny Day,
Whose Springs ne'er fail, but ever mount and Play:
The long rais'd Structures, now with Rubbish fill'd,
Thy Sons again shall gloriously rebuild;
But thine shall be the Credit, thine the Praise
Both of the Present, and all after Days;
Yes this was HE, the General Voice shall cry,
That fill'd the Breach, and rais'd our Ruins high;
That did our Temples to our God restore,
In all the Pomp they were adorn'd before;
That the waste Places nobly did renew,
And gave those Temples Congregations too.
This is a Fast indeed!—a Fast from Sin.
411
Thy Health shall quickly come and long remain:
All thy Good Deeds shall in the Front appear,
And Glory shall attend 'em in the Rear:
Thy frustrate Prayers their Fate no more shall mourn,
But meet a Gracious and a swift Return:
From dark Obscurity thy Light shall rise,
And take it's Lofty Station in the Skies;
The Sun himself shall hardly shine so bright,
Hardly diffuse around a more Refulgent Light.
Nay more, (for Nothing from thy View I'll hide,)
'Tis I my Self, ev'n I will be thy Guide,
I'll set Thee in the Path, and mark the Way;
O happy Man that cannot go astray!
In Famine Thou shalt daily have Supply,
In tedious Droughts Thou never shalt be dry,
But, like a water'd Garden, still be Gay,
Or Fountain rising in a shiny Day,
Whose Springs ne'er fail, but ever mount and Play:
The long rais'd Structures, now with Rubbish fill'd,
Thy Sons again shall gloriously rebuild;
But thine shall be the Credit, thine the Praise
Both of the Present, and all after Days;
Yes this was HE, the General Voice shall cry,
That fill'd the Breach, and rais'd our Ruins high;
That did our Temples to our God restore,
In all the Pomp they were adorn'd before;
That the waste Places nobly did renew,
And gave those Temples Congregations too.
And if to this thou add these Vertues more,
I'll yet add greater Blessings to thy Store.
If from all loose Desires thou turn'st away,
Not following Pleasure on my Holy Day,
Unless the Pleasure that is most Sublime,
Not that of Wasting, but Redeeming Time!
If still the Sabbath Thou with Joy dost see,
(For He that Honours That does Honour ME;)
Wish with Impatience for it's coming on,
And when 'tis with thee that 'twou'd ne'er be gone;
Not walking in the least the Worldly Way,
Nor after dull Enthusiasts run astray,
Distrusting still thy self, and cleave to what I say:
In the True Fast that I have nam'd remain,
(For t'other's Superstitious, Fond and Vain;)
Then Thou shalt be my Darling, my Delight,
Dear to my Soul, and pleasing to my Sight!
High I'll advance, and far diffuse thy Name,
The Globe shall be too Narrow for thy Fame:
With me to Heav'n I'll carry it along,
An Endless Theme for the Celestial Song.
All Nature's Products too thou shalt command,
And feed upon the Fatness of the Land;
'Tis I have spoke it—and My WORD shall stand.
I'll yet add greater Blessings to thy Store.
If from all loose Desires thou turn'st away,
Not following Pleasure on my Holy Day,
Unless the Pleasure that is most Sublime,
Not that of Wasting, but Redeeming Time!
412
(For He that Honours That does Honour ME;)
Wish with Impatience for it's coming on,
And when 'tis with thee that 'twou'd ne'er be gone;
Not walking in the least the Worldly Way,
Nor after dull Enthusiasts run astray,
Distrusting still thy self, and cleave to what I say:
In the True Fast that I have nam'd remain,
(For t'other's Superstitious, Fond and Vain;)
Then Thou shalt be my Darling, my Delight,
Dear to my Soul, and pleasing to my Sight!
High I'll advance, and far diffuse thy Name,
The Globe shall be too Narrow for thy Fame:
With me to Heav'n I'll carry it along,
An Endless Theme for the Celestial Song.
All Nature's Products too thou shalt command,
And feed upon the Fatness of the Land;
'Tis I have spoke it—and My WORD shall stand.
The HARLOT:
A Paraphrase on the 7th of Proverbs.
Young Man, let what I speak Attention draw,
Observe it as you wou'd Heav'n's strictest Law;
Hear my Commands, and rivet to thy Heart
My Precepts fast, that they may never part:
Do this, You'll quickly find the good Effect,
But swift Destruction follows the Neglect.
Observe it as you wou'd Heav'n's strictest Law;
Hear my Commands, and rivet to thy Heart
My Precepts fast, that they may never part:
Do this, You'll quickly find the good Effect,
But swift Destruction follows the Neglect.
To Wisdom say—Thou my fair Sister art,
My Hope, my Guide, and Goddess of my Heart,
Dearer than Life! with Life I'd sooner part!
And Chastity thy near Relation call;
Get these (O happy Youth!) and thou hast all:
No better Gift can Bounte'ous Heav'n bestow,
No safer Guard from Human Ills below.
Envy may Hiss, but she can do no harm;
She flies, or dies before the Pow'rful Charm.
Particularly, it will keep thee free
From the loose Strumpet's speci'ous Flattery
Whose Words, like Oil on Rivers, glide along,
Her Words, more tuneful than the Sirens Song;
The Charming Accent fixes all around,
Ev'n Vertue, tho' it quit th'Enchanted Ground,
Seems yet to move reluctant from the Sound.
Fly, as 'twere Death, the Inhospitable Coast,
But once incline to hear her, and y'are lost;
All Human Aid will then arrive too late;
Lost to Remorse, and hurry'd to your Fate:
While on her Wanton Breast your Head you lay,
For one Thought that advises—Rise; Away!
You'll have ten Thousand pressing you to stay—
But let the Wretch's Fate which here is shown
Incline you to be careful of your own.
My Hope, my Guide, and Goddess of my Heart,
Dearer than Life! with Life I'd sooner part!
413
Get these (O happy Youth!) and thou hast all:
No better Gift can Bounte'ous Heav'n bestow,
No safer Guard from Human Ills below.
Envy may Hiss, but she can do no harm;
She flies, or dies before the Pow'rful Charm.
Particularly, it will keep thee free
From the loose Strumpet's speci'ous Flattery
Whose Words, like Oil on Rivers, glide along,
Her Words, more tuneful than the Sirens Song;
The Charming Accent fixes all around,
Ev'n Vertue, tho' it quit th'Enchanted Ground,
Seems yet to move reluctant from the Sound.
Fly, as 'twere Death, the Inhospitable Coast,
But once incline to hear her, and y'are lost;
All Human Aid will then arrive too late;
Lost to Remorse, and hurry'd to your Fate:
While on her Wanton Breast your Head you lay,
For one Thought that advises—Rise; Away!
You'll have ten Thousand pressing you to stay—
But let the Wretch's Fate which here is shown
Incline you to be careful of your own.
Just in the Close and shutting up of Day
When the last Gleams were hurrying swift away,
The Harlot's Hour her subtle Trains to lay;
As in my Window I stood leaning out,
Thoughtless of Ill, and gazing round about,
Among the Youthful Train a Wretch I spy'd,
That neither wou'd his Guilt or Folly hide;
What shou'd have been his Shame he made his Pride.
For to his Drabs Apartment he was bent;
His glowing Cheeks discover'd his Intent:
Pleas'd with the Thought he scarcely touch'd the Ground,
But like a Mountain Roe, did leap and bound.
But Lo! she met him, coming forth to see
For some kind Friend of her Fraternity;
For any Fop had serv'd as well as he.
Th'Experienc'd Harlot that wou'd gain by Sin,
Must trapes as well without, as Trade within,
In ev'ry Street, and ev'ry Corner ply,
To angle Coxcombs as the Shoal goes by:
As soon as e'er the Bait appears in sight,
There's scarce a Gudgeon passes but does bite.
Have you e'er seen (what Time the Seasons yield
Such kind of Sports) a Spaniel range the Field,
And mark'd what Pains he takes to set his Game?
Th'Industrious City Drab is just the same.
Thus strait the Youth she spies, and round him cast
Her Snowy Arms, she press'd, she held him fast;
And with an eager and a close Embrace
Laid Cheek to Cheek, and squeez'd him to her Face.
Bare were her Breasts, and Careless her Attire,
Learn'd in the Art how to inflame Desire,
And kindle what was found too apt to take the Fire;
Harlot thro'out; she not a Gesture made
But writ her Punk, and perfect in her Trade—
But after some fond Looks and Dalliance past,
Thus the fair Faithless tun'd her Tongue at last.
When the last Gleams were hurrying swift away,
The Harlot's Hour her subtle Trains to lay;
As in my Window I stood leaning out,
Thoughtless of Ill, and gazing round about,
Among the Youthful Train a Wretch I spy'd,
That neither wou'd his Guilt or Folly hide;
What shou'd have been his Shame he made his Pride.
For to his Drabs Apartment he was bent;
His glowing Cheeks discover'd his Intent:
Pleas'd with the Thought he scarcely touch'd the Ground,
But like a Mountain Roe, did leap and bound.
414
For some kind Friend of her Fraternity;
For any Fop had serv'd as well as he.
Th'Experienc'd Harlot that wou'd gain by Sin,
Must trapes as well without, as Trade within,
In ev'ry Street, and ev'ry Corner ply,
To angle Coxcombs as the Shoal goes by:
As soon as e'er the Bait appears in sight,
There's scarce a Gudgeon passes but does bite.
Have you e'er seen (what Time the Seasons yield
Such kind of Sports) a Spaniel range the Field,
And mark'd what Pains he takes to set his Game?
Th'Industrious City Drab is just the same.
Thus strait the Youth she spies, and round him cast
Her Snowy Arms, she press'd, she held him fast;
And with an eager and a close Embrace
Laid Cheek to Cheek, and squeez'd him to her Face.
Bare were her Breasts, and Careless her Attire,
Learn'd in the Art how to inflame Desire,
And kindle what was found too apt to take the Fire;
Harlot thro'out; she not a Gesture made
But writ her Punk, and perfect in her Trade—
But after some fond Looks and Dalliance past,
Thus the fair Faithless tun'd her Tongue at last.
'Tis Peace (said she) 'tis Peace and Love I bring,
This Day I've paid my Vows, and made my Offering,
And therefore came I forth; with thee to meet,
Thus late, and thus alone, I rove the Street.
The Dangers of the Night affright not me,
At least they vanish at the Sight of thee.
Without thee what a tedious Night I'd past!
And who knows, too, but it had prov'd my last?
Depriv'd of thee must have strange Tortures wrought,
And plung'd me deep in Melancholy Thought.
But I have found thee; long I've wisht it so;
And it shall longer be before I let thee go.
I've deck't (my Love) I've deck't my Bed with Flow'rs,
Not sweeter were the Gods delicious Bow'rs:
With costly Tap'stry I have hung my Room,
Not richer ever stretch't the Tyrian Loom:
There Venus is in all her Postures wrought,
And how Love's Pleasure she with hazard sought,
Surprizing to the Eye! transporting to the Thought!
Perfum'd with richest Scents, such as Inspire
Gay Loves! and melting Joy! and soft Desire!
Come then, away, and take of Love our fill;
In Passion such as ours there is no Ill.
Let Aged Matrons rail, and Gown-men Preach,
They are too wise to practise what they Teach.
Away, and let me plung into thy Arms,
Find you the Love and I'll create the Charms.
Come till the Morning let us Sport and Play,
Nor rise the sooner for it's being Day.
Nor let the Thought of Husband pall your Joy,
He's now far distant on a grand Employ;
Cash he has took long Charges to defray,
And will not come till his appointed Day;
And (O ye Gods!) I wish he never may!
My Right in Him I'd willingly resign;
Millions of his Embraces are but One of thine.
But ah! the Hours have Wings—away! away!
Let not the precious Time be lost when Love and Pleasure stay.
This Day I've paid my Vows, and made my Offering,
And therefore came I forth; with thee to meet,
Thus late, and thus alone, I rove the Street.
The Dangers of the Night affright not me,
At least they vanish at the Sight of thee.
Without thee what a tedious Night I'd past!
And who knows, too, but it had prov'd my last?
Depriv'd of thee must have strange Tortures wrought,
And plung'd me deep in Melancholy Thought.
415
And it shall longer be before I let thee go.
I've deck't (my Love) I've deck't my Bed with Flow'rs,
Not sweeter were the Gods delicious Bow'rs:
With costly Tap'stry I have hung my Room,
Not richer ever stretch't the Tyrian Loom:
There Venus is in all her Postures wrought,
And how Love's Pleasure she with hazard sought,
Surprizing to the Eye! transporting to the Thought!
Perfum'd with richest Scents, such as Inspire
Gay Loves! and melting Joy! and soft Desire!
Come then, away, and take of Love our fill;
In Passion such as ours there is no Ill.
Let Aged Matrons rail, and Gown-men Preach,
They are too wise to practise what they Teach.
Away, and let me plung into thy Arms,
Find you the Love and I'll create the Charms.
Come till the Morning let us Sport and Play,
Nor rise the sooner for it's being Day.
Nor let the Thought of Husband pall your Joy,
He's now far distant on a grand Employ;
Cash he has took long Charges to defray,
And will not come till his appointed Day;
And (O ye Gods!) I wish he never may!
My Right in Him I'd willingly resign;
Millions of his Embraces are but One of thine.
But ah! the Hours have Wings—away! away!
Let not the precious Time be lost when Love and Pleasure stay.
With her fair Speech She forc'd him soon to yield,
But Force is needless when we quit the Field:
Too credulous, her Flatt'ery he believ'd,
Nor was he the first Fool she had deceiv'd.
She turns, he follows; nor his Joy conceals;
Or sees Destruction dog him at the Heels.
As Oxen to the Slaughter (wretched State!)
So on he Walks, unmindful of his Fate;
Or as a Vagrant to Correction goes,
To lasting Scorn he does his Fame expose:
So the wing'd Racers, to their safety blind,
Haste to the Snare and meet the Death design'd.
In vain, at last, he sees the Ills h'has done,
His Life is going, and his Wealth is gone.
Disease o'ertakes him, makes his Health a Prey,
Meagre and Wan he looks that once was Gay;
His Winter, his December comes in May,
Too late his Lustful Hours are Understood,
He feels her hot Embraces in his tainted Blood.
With Aches crampt and strong Convulsions torn,
Pox, Stone and Gout, too Grievous to be born.
He lies and roars, (not Hell a Torment worse,)
Till his last Breath evaporates in a Curse.
But Force is needless when we quit the Field:
Too credulous, her Flatt'ery he believ'd,
Nor was he the first Fool she had deceiv'd.
She turns, he follows; nor his Joy conceals;
Or sees Destruction dog him at the Heels.
416
So on he Walks, unmindful of his Fate;
Or as a Vagrant to Correction goes,
To lasting Scorn he does his Fame expose:
So the wing'd Racers, to their safety blind,
Haste to the Snare and meet the Death design'd.
In vain, at last, he sees the Ills h'has done,
His Life is going, and his Wealth is gone.
Disease o'ertakes him, makes his Health a Prey,
Meagre and Wan he looks that once was Gay;
His Winter, his December comes in May,
Too late his Lustful Hours are Understood,
He feels her hot Embraces in his tainted Blood.
With Aches crampt and strong Convulsions torn,
Pox, Stone and Gout, too Grievous to be born.
He lies and roars, (not Hell a Torment worse,)
Till his last Breath evaporates in a Curse.
Hear me (O Youth!) and to my Words attend,
Dispise 'em not because I am a Friend,
But persevere, and Glory Crowns the End.
Let not thy Footsteps to her Paths decline,
She's all a Devil, tho' she seems Divine:
Strip her but of her Perfume, Patch and Paint,
And see how fit she's then to be a Saint;
Then mark her shrivel'd Face, and sallow Skin,
Rank all without, and Rotten all within.—
And yet such soft Delusions she'll display,
The Rich, the Noble, Witty, Wise and Gay,
The Great, the Strong have been by turns her Prey.
Warriours themselves have by her Arts been slain,
Have lain down by her, but ne'er rose again.
Her House is the wide-gaping Gulph of Sin,
From whence there's no Return whence once y'are in:
Down to the Courts of deepest Hell it goes;
O don't thy safety to this Rock expose,
'Tis but a Kiss you gain, and 'tis a Soul you lose.
Dispise 'em not because I am a Friend,
But persevere, and Glory Crowns the End.
Let not thy Footsteps to her Paths decline,
She's all a Devil, tho' she seems Divine:
Strip her but of her Perfume, Patch and Paint,
And see how fit she's then to be a Saint;
Then mark her shrivel'd Face, and sallow Skin,
Rank all without, and Rotten all within.—
And yet such soft Delusions she'll display,
The Rich, the Noble, Witty, Wise and Gay,
The Great, the Strong have been by turns her Prey.
Warriours themselves have by her Arts been slain,
Have lain down by her, but ne'er rose again.
Her House is the wide-gaping Gulph of Sin,
From whence there's no Return whence once y'are in:
Down to the Courts of deepest Hell it goes;
O don't thy safety to this Rock expose,
'Tis but a Kiss you gain, and 'tis a Soul you lose.
417
The ATHEIST:
A Paraphrase on the second Chapter of the Wisdom of Solomon.
Our Days th'Ungodly cry, the Impious throng,
(Thus Reas'ning with themselves, but Reas'ning wrong)
Our Days, they cry, uncertain are and few,
Yet, tho' so short, they oft seem tedious too.
As against Death no Remedy we have,
So none that die can e'er unclose the Grave.
At meer Adventure born;—no Planet's Rule
Does dub this Man a Knave, or that a Fool:
By Chance produced, and by like Chance destroy'd,
Like Beasts we Perish in the Boundless Void.
Hereafter shall, when once we are no more,
Be the same thing to us as Heretofore:
To the same State we shall again retire,
And, dying once, Eternally Expire.
The Breath no more the silent Lungs shall heave,
No more than Smoak, when it the Wood does leave,
Shall Ages hence to the same Body go,
To be breath'd out again in Smoak, as now.
Life is, at best, but only at the Heart
A Hovering Flame, just trembling to depart;
A while it moves, a while its quick'ning Heat
Diffuses Warmth, and gives the Pulse their Beat;
But once extinguish'd, Darkness does invade
The Mind, and wrapt it in perpetual Shade:
Away the various Notions madly fly,
Born down the Endless Tide of Destiny.
No Mention of us when w'are gone shall stay,
But with our Names our Mem'ories flit away:
A Black Lethean Veil our Works shall hide,
And on th'Eternal Basis fixt abide,
Quite over-whelming all Laborious Pride:
The Body, too, to crumbling Dust shall fall,
And a Profound Oblivion swallow all.
As where the Clouds have been no Paths appear,
So not a Track of What, or How, or Where,
Life leaves behind; dispers'd like Dew it flies,
Exhal'd into the vast extended Skies.
So light! so vain! when once we disappear,
W'are not so much as our own Shadows were.
Ah Foolish Man! when of the Grave possess'd,
To think there's ought will thy Repose molest;
'Tis that's the Region of Eternal Rest:
No Resurrection, or feign'd Trumpet's Blast
Can reach us there;—the Sleep of Death will last,
And long Annihilation seal the silent Mansions fast.
(Thus Reas'ning with themselves, but Reas'ning wrong)
Our Days, they cry, uncertain are and few,
Yet, tho' so short, they oft seem tedious too.
As against Death no Remedy we have,
So none that die can e'er unclose the Grave.
At meer Adventure born;—no Planet's Rule
Does dub this Man a Knave, or that a Fool:
By Chance produced, and by like Chance destroy'd,
Like Beasts we Perish in the Boundless Void.
Hereafter shall, when once we are no more,
Be the same thing to us as Heretofore:
To the same State we shall again retire,
And, dying once, Eternally Expire.
The Breath no more the silent Lungs shall heave,
No more than Smoak, when it the Wood does leave,
Shall Ages hence to the same Body go,
To be breath'd out again in Smoak, as now.
Life is, at best, but only at the Heart
A Hovering Flame, just trembling to depart;
A while it moves, a while its quick'ning Heat
Diffuses Warmth, and gives the Pulse their Beat;
But once extinguish'd, Darkness does invade
The Mind, and wrapt it in perpetual Shade:
Away the various Notions madly fly,
Born down the Endless Tide of Destiny.
418
But with our Names our Mem'ories flit away:
A Black Lethean Veil our Works shall hide,
And on th'Eternal Basis fixt abide,
Quite over-whelming all Laborious Pride:
The Body, too, to crumbling Dust shall fall,
And a Profound Oblivion swallow all.
As where the Clouds have been no Paths appear,
So not a Track of What, or How, or Where,
Life leaves behind; dispers'd like Dew it flies,
Exhal'd into the vast extended Skies.
So light! so vain! when once we disappear,
W'are not so much as our own Shadows were.
Ah Foolish Man! when of the Grave possess'd,
To think there's ought will thy Repose molest;
'Tis that's the Region of Eternal Rest:
No Resurrection, or feign'd Trumpet's Blast
Can reach us there;—the Sleep of Death will last,
And long Annihilation seal the silent Mansions fast.
What then remains but quitting Future Fear
And Future Hope, we take our Portion here?
No Man th'Enjoyments past can back recall,
And for the Future, 'tis uncertain all:
The Present's Ours, which we'll to Pleasure give;
No Man e'er yet began too soon to live.
All Nature's Rarities before us stand,
Pour'd out with a most free and copious Hand:
What she profusely gives, profusely we
Will wast, and Ape her Prodigality:
Make Life but one Debauch—Youth shall engage
For Manhood, Manhood give the Reins to Age:
At least while Youth does last we'll Joy prolong;
He that knows only Pleasure dies not Young.
With costly Wines be all the Goblets crown'd,
And moving swiftly take their flowing round:
See how it sparkles! how the Flavour sends
An Invitation to its Youthful Friends,
And, rising to the Brim, its Quick'ning Pow'r commends!
Nor let to Wine the Woman wanting be,
The Crown of Love! and Soul of Extasie!
Who twisting round us ev'ry Fibre drains,
She emptying still as 'tother fills the Veins.
Rich Ointments let us on our Temples pour
With Libe'ral Hand, as 'twere an April Show'r,
All her Rich Progeny let Flora bring,
Her Groves of Balm, and Fragrance of the Spring:
Chiefly the Rose unwither'd let her bear,
The Queen of Sweets, add Glory of the Year!
Voluptuously let each enjoy his Part,
Of all that can be reach'd by Pow'r, or Art:
Where e'er we come all Sadness we'll destroy,
And set up Feasting, Laughter, Love and Joy.
This is the Portion that to Man is giv'n,
And if not this there is no other Heav'n.
And Future Hope, we take our Portion here?
No Man th'Enjoyments past can back recall,
And for the Future, 'tis uncertain all:
The Present's Ours, which we'll to Pleasure give;
No Man e'er yet began too soon to live.
All Nature's Rarities before us stand,
Pour'd out with a most free and copious Hand:
What she profusely gives, profusely we
Will wast, and Ape her Prodigality:
Make Life but one Debauch—Youth shall engage
For Manhood, Manhood give the Reins to Age:
At least while Youth does last we'll Joy prolong;
He that knows only Pleasure dies not Young.
419
And moving swiftly take their flowing round:
See how it sparkles! how the Flavour sends
An Invitation to its Youthful Friends,
And, rising to the Brim, its Quick'ning Pow'r commends!
Nor let to Wine the Woman wanting be,
The Crown of Love! and Soul of Extasie!
Who twisting round us ev'ry Fibre drains,
She emptying still as 'tother fills the Veins.
Rich Ointments let us on our Temples pour
With Libe'ral Hand, as 'twere an April Show'r,
All her Rich Progeny let Flora bring,
Her Groves of Balm, and Fragrance of the Spring:
Chiefly the Rose unwither'd let her bear,
The Queen of Sweets, add Glory of the Year!
Voluptuously let each enjoy his Part,
Of all that can be reach'd by Pow'r, or Art:
Where e'er we come all Sadness we'll destroy,
And set up Feasting, Laughter, Love and Joy.
This is the Portion that to Man is giv'n,
And if not this there is no other Heav'n.
The Meagre Wretches who our Ways oppose,
(To all our sensual Pleasures Mortal Foes)
Let us with black opprobrious Scand alload,
And pelt with Jests when e'er they peep abroad:
To their own Cloysters let the Moaps be pent,
Serenely dull, and gravely Impudent:
There let 'em wast their Time in fruitless Prayer,
Address'd to Pow'rs that neither see, nor hear.
No Reve'rence to the Aged let us show,
For Nothing's due to those that Nothing know:
Like us Voluptuously their Youth they spent,
And now they can't be wicked wou'd be Innocent.
Nothing that's just or sacred let us prize,
Compassion banish from our Hearts and Eyes,
Nor spare the Widow for her dying Cries;
The senseless Dame that shuns to be embrac'd,
When 'tis Ill Nature only makes her Chast.
Extortion, Fraud, and Rapine let us ply,
There's no Injustice in Necessity.
By Force, the Life of Government, we'll awe;
For nothing that's Precarious can be Law:
All Ancient Times no Right but Force allow,
And as 'twas then by Consequence 'tis now.
Behind that Guard undaunted let us stand,
And the meek; senseless, Right'eous Tool command,
With growing Rancour and unless'ning Hate
Pursue him, Credit, Person and Estate.
His own Designs we'll on him grinning turn,
And give him Sorrow that wou'd make us mourn.
By musty Rules he wou'd our Actions awe,
And brands us for offending Israel's Law:
In us our great Progenitors he blames,
And in our Breeding their Neglect proclaims;
Says Impious Notions Impious Deeds beget,
Our Learning Insolence, and Blasphemy our Wit.
Nor does he stop ev'n there; but to our Eyes
Wou'd make that glaring Spectre Conscience rise,
To take the Chair, and fright us from our Joys.
He seems, as 'twere, maliciously design'd
To thwart, reprove, and search the Inmost Mind,
The Secrets of that hidden World t'explore,
And probe th'uneasie In-mate to the Core:
There he wou'd ev'ry Thought and Act survey,
And bring expos'd to the clear view of Day.
His Counsels wound us more than Him our Scorn,
Nor is his Sight to be with Patience born.
He shuns our Lux'ury, ridicules our Wear;
His Works and Ways have quite a different Air.
In Death he Cries, what e'er we here may boast,
We shall be founder'd on the Stygian Coast,
And find a Soul—ev'n when we find it, lost.
Our Doings he with Detestation flies,
Death to our Ears, and Poison to our Eyes!
From certain Truths wrong Infere'nces he draws,
And calls us Beasts for follo'wing Nature's Laws,
Tho' we as sharply might retort again,
They, by that Reason, might as well be Men.
The End of the Just Man he happy calls,
Tho' scorn'd he lives, and unlamented falls.
Thus he believes all Knowledge to him giv'n,
And proudly calls himself a Son of Heav'n.
(To all our sensual Pleasures Mortal Foes)
Let us with black opprobrious Scand alload,
And pelt with Jests when e'er they peep abroad:
To their own Cloysters let the Moaps be pent,
Serenely dull, and gravely Impudent:
There let 'em wast their Time in fruitless Prayer,
Address'd to Pow'rs that neither see, nor hear.
No Reve'rence to the Aged let us show,
For Nothing's due to those that Nothing know:
Like us Voluptuously their Youth they spent,
And now they can't be wicked wou'd be Innocent.
420
Compassion banish from our Hearts and Eyes,
Nor spare the Widow for her dying Cries;
The senseless Dame that shuns to be embrac'd,
When 'tis Ill Nature only makes her Chast.
Extortion, Fraud, and Rapine let us ply,
There's no Injustice in Necessity.
By Force, the Life of Government, we'll awe;
For nothing that's Precarious can be Law:
All Ancient Times no Right but Force allow,
And as 'twas then by Consequence 'tis now.
Behind that Guard undaunted let us stand,
And the meek; senseless, Right'eous Tool command,
With growing Rancour and unless'ning Hate
Pursue him, Credit, Person and Estate.
His own Designs we'll on him grinning turn,
And give him Sorrow that wou'd make us mourn.
By musty Rules he wou'd our Actions awe,
And brands us for offending Israel's Law:
In us our great Progenitors he blames,
And in our Breeding their Neglect proclaims;
Says Impious Notions Impious Deeds beget,
Our Learning Insolence, and Blasphemy our Wit.
Nor does he stop ev'n there; but to our Eyes
Wou'd make that glaring Spectre Conscience rise,
To take the Chair, and fright us from our Joys.
He seems, as 'twere, maliciously design'd
To thwart, reprove, and search the Inmost Mind,
The Secrets of that hidden World t'explore,
And probe th'uneasie In-mate to the Core:
There he wou'd ev'ry Thought and Act survey,
And bring expos'd to the clear view of Day.
His Counsels wound us more than Him our Scorn,
Nor is his Sight to be with Patience born.
He shuns our Lux'ury, ridicules our Wear;
His Works and Ways have quite a different Air.
421
We shall be founder'd on the Stygian Coast,
And find a Soul—ev'n when we find it, lost.
Our Doings he with Detestation flies,
Death to our Ears, and Poison to our Eyes!
From certain Truths wrong Infere'nces he draws,
And calls us Beasts for follo'wing Nature's Laws,
Tho' we as sharply might retort again,
They, by that Reason, might as well be Men.
The End of the Just Man he happy calls,
Tho' scorn'd he lives, and unlamented falls.
Thus he believes all Knowledge to him giv'n,
And proudly calls himself a Son of Heav'n.
But let us look his vain Opinions thro',
Not take 'em crudely at a distant view.
While Fools about Futurity contend,
We'll mark what does befall him in the End.
For if the Man that Holiness does boast
Be Son of God, he will not see him lost;
He will not suffer Vice to strut before,
And Vertue follow, base, despis'd and poor:
In worst Extremities, tho' ne'er so low,
He'd raise him up, and save him from the Foe.
Let us then prove the Force of his Pretence
With Hate, Abuse, Disgrace and Insolence;
We by such Usage to the Quick shall go,
And find his boasted Patience all a Show.
If there we fail, the last Extreme we'll try,
And doom him Ignominiously to Dye:
If then Deliverance come (for God, if there
Be such a thing as God, will then appear)
If then by Miracle he aid Receive,
We will Respect his Word!—but not till then believe.
Not take 'em crudely at a distant view.
While Fools about Futurity contend,
We'll mark what does befall him in the End.
For if the Man that Holiness does boast
Be Son of God, he will not see him lost;
He will not suffer Vice to strut before,
And Vertue follow, base, despis'd and poor:
In worst Extremities, tho' ne'er so low,
He'd raise him up, and save him from the Foe.
Let us then prove the Force of his Pretence
With Hate, Abuse, Disgrace and Insolence;
We by such Usage to the Quick shall go,
And find his boasted Patience all a Show.
If there we fail, the last Extreme we'll try,
And doom him Ignominiously to Dye:
If then Deliverance come (for God, if there
Be such a thing as God, will then appear)
If then by Miracle he aid Receive,
We will Respect his Word!—but not till then believe.
422
Such things they did against the Just devise,
For their own Wickedness had clos'd their Eyes;
Deliver'd over by their Lust and Pride,
(As if they'd sworn to have no other Guide,)
To a most Reprobate and Devilish Sense
Of Justice, Mercy, and Omnipotence.
By vain Imaginations, self deceiv'd,
No Good they Practis'd, and no God believ'd.
As for the Peace, Protection, Truth and Love,
Stream'd from the high Creator Thron'd above,
They feel 'em not, nor think from whence they came
Lost to Remorse, and hardn'd in their Shame:
So thick a film of Sin their Sight controuls,
They see not a Reward for Blameless Souls;
Nor that our God created Man to be
An Image of his Own Eternitie.
Thus, Devil-like, they wilfully are blind;
And, Devil-like, are for that Hell design'd
Which Here they'l not believe—and there must find.
For their own Wickedness had clos'd their Eyes;
Deliver'd over by their Lust and Pride,
(As if they'd sworn to have no other Guide,)
To a most Reprobate and Devilish Sense
Of Justice, Mercy, and Omnipotence.
By vain Imaginations, self deceiv'd,
No Good they Practis'd, and no God believ'd.
As for the Peace, Protection, Truth and Love,
Stream'd from the high Creator Thron'd above,
They feel 'em not, nor think from whence they came
Lost to Remorse, and hardn'd in their Shame:
So thick a film of Sin their Sight controuls,
They see not a Reward for Blameless Souls;
Nor that our God created Man to be
An Image of his Own Eternitie.
Thus, Devil-like, they wilfully are blind;
And, Devil-like, are for that Hell design'd
Which Here they'l not believe—and there must find.
The HAPPY MAN.
A Paraphrase on the 15th Psalm.
Who, Gracious Lord, shall be on Earth possest
Of all that's Good? nor only here be blest,
But, when this Life is done, obtain Eternal Rest?
Of all that's Good? nor only here be blest,
But, when this Life is done, obtain Eternal Rest?
Ev'n he that takes delight in Prayer and Praise
And in that Path walks Steady all his Days.
Whose firm Integrity no Strength can force,
No Sin corrupt, or Sanguin Law divorce.
Whose full Intention and whose sole Delight
Is to speak Truth, and do the thing that's right.
In whom Deceit and Flatt'ry have no part,
But lets his Tongue be guided by his Heart.
That to his Neighbor has no Evil done,
But rather warn'd him how that Ill to shun.
That lets no Rancour mingle with his Phrase,
Ill Men t'Encourage, or the Good debase;
A Foe to Slander, and a Friend to Praise.
That looks on his own self with humble Eyes;
Nor thinks he is too Vertu'ous, or too Wise
By Loss to gain, and Lowliness to rise.
That takes to find out Peace a certain Guide
In keeping down the Timpany of Pride.
And as he walks in a Religious Fear,
So all that love Religio'n makes his Care;
Excites their Diligence, their Ardor warms,
Their Faith enlarges, and their Patience Arms.
That faithfully performs the thing he vows;
And ne'er commits the Sin he disallows;
But if he ought have to his Neighbour sworn,
Fulfil it, tho' he meet with Loss, or Scorn,
And let th'Affliction cheerfully be born.
That has not Pity of the Poor forsook,
Or for his Money lent Extortion took;
Or sided with Successful Pow'r and Laws,
To murder and destroy without a Cause.
And in that Path walks Steady all his Days.
Whose firm Integrity no Strength can force,
No Sin corrupt, or Sanguin Law divorce.
423
Is to speak Truth, and do the thing that's right.
In whom Deceit and Flatt'ry have no part,
But lets his Tongue be guided by his Heart.
That to his Neighbor has no Evil done,
But rather warn'd him how that Ill to shun.
That lets no Rancour mingle with his Phrase,
Ill Men t'Encourage, or the Good debase;
A Foe to Slander, and a Friend to Praise.
That looks on his own self with humble Eyes;
Nor thinks he is too Vertu'ous, or too Wise
By Loss to gain, and Lowliness to rise.
That takes to find out Peace a certain Guide
In keeping down the Timpany of Pride.
And as he walks in a Religious Fear,
So all that love Religio'n makes his Care;
Excites their Diligence, their Ardor warms,
Their Faith enlarges, and their Patience Arms.
That faithfully performs the thing he vows;
And ne'er commits the Sin he disallows;
But if he ought have to his Neighbour sworn,
Fulfil it, tho' he meet with Loss, or Scorn,
And let th'Affliction cheerfully be born.
That has not Pity of the Poor forsook,
Or for his Money lent Extortion took;
Or sided with Successful Pow'r and Laws,
To murder and destroy without a Cause.
Pow'r, Pleasure, Glory and Ambition must
Stoop low, and lay their Airy Heads in Dust,
The Heav'ns sink down and crush this nether Ball—
But he that so will stand shall never fall.
Stoop low, and lay their Airy Heads in Dust,
The Heav'ns sink down and crush this nether Ball—
But he that so will stand shall never fall.
424
Hymn for Christmas-Day.
I
What Words? what Voices can we bring?Which way our Accents raise
To welcom the Mysteri'ous King?
And sing a SAVIOUR's Praise!
What Earthly Harmony can reach
Up to the Theme so high?
When Angels ne'er cou'd soar that Pitch,
Who dwell above the Sky.
II
Lo! Heav'n this Day descends to Earth,Th'Immortal Mortal grows!
Made Man by this stupendious Birth,
To quell our Deadly Foes:
In swadling Bands the Godhead lies,
To Human Flesh debas'd,
That we, his dearly Ransom'd Prize,
Might be to Glory rais'd.
III
Sing! let the Universal FrameThe Great REDEEMER Sing!
And Men and Angels at the Name
Bow to the Mystick King!
Redemption be the General Sound,
This Day no Grief appear!
From Earth to Heav'n the Notes rebound,
And Mercy smile to hear!
425
IV
O 'tis too little, all we can,For this unbounded Love!
All that was ever writ by Man,
Or sung in Hymns above!
But tho' we can't fit Language find,
We Praise! Believe! Adore!
With Joyful Hearts, and Souls resign'd;
And wish we cou'd do more!
Hymn for Easter-Day.
I
If Angels sung a SAVIOUR's BirthOn that Auspicious Morn,
We well may Imitate their Mirth
Now He again is born.
He, frail Mortality shook off,
Puts Incorruption on;
And He that late was crown'd in Scoff,
Now fills th'Eternal Throne.
II
Grieve not vain Man, who Mortal art,That thou to Earth must fall;
It was his Portio'n 'twas the Part
Of Him that sav'd us all:
Himself He humbl'd to the Grave,
Made Flesh, like us, to shew
426
A Resurrection, too.
III
Let Heav'n and Earth, in Concert joyn'd,His boundless Mercies sing;
Ev'n Hell does now a Conq'rour find,
And Death has lost his Sting.
If, when in Eden Adam fell,
The whole Creation groan'd;
The whole Creation, sure, shou'd smile,
Now Justice is aton'd.
IV
Hence all ye Faithless, far away,That this great Myst'ery flight;
They that deny an endless Day
Will find an endless Night:
Beyond Time's short and scanty Bounds
The Soul shall surely live;
But when the last loud Trumpet sounds,
You'll then too late believe.
Hymn for Whit-sunday.
I
He's come! let ev'ry Knee be bent,All Hearts new Joy resume;
Let Nations sing with one Consent,
The COMFORTER is come!
427
This Day all Grief retire;
Let ev'ry Fear for ever cease,
And ev'ry Doubt expire.
II
There is no end of the ContentAnd Joy the Spirit brings!
Happy the Man to whom 'tis lent!
That Man sees wond'rous Things!
What greater Gift, what greater Love
Can God on Man bestow?
'Tis half the Angels Heav'n above,
And all our Heav'n below.
III
Hail Blessed Spirit! not a SoulBut does the Influe'nce feel;
Thou dost our Darling Sins controul,
And fix our Waveri'ng Zeal:
Thou to the Consciene dost convey
The Checks that all must know;
Thy Motions first does point the Way,
Then give us Strength to go.
IV
As Pilots by the Compass steerTill they their Harbour find,
So do thy sacred Breathings here
Guide ev'ry wand'ring Mind:
The Flesh may strive our Course t'impeach,
The World's rough Billows roar;
But following Thee w'are sure to reach
The safe, Eternal Shore!
428
On Good Friday.
I
No Songs of Triumph now be sung,Cease all your sprightful Airs;
Let Sorrow silence ev'ry Tongue,
And Joy dissolve to Tears:
See! where opprobriously for us
Our bleeding SAVIOUR's nail'd!
Ah see! while Death he suffers thus,
How much our Sins prevail'd!
II
We were devoted to the Stroke,At us the Bolt was thrown;
He stept between, the Torture took,
And made our Guilt his own.
Ah! think what Agonies he felt!
How vast the Weight he bore!
And let your Souls in weeping melt,
And bleed at ev'ry Pore!
III
Desponding—let all Heads decline,All Arms be hung across;
Let Angels in our Sorrows join,
And Nature groan his Loss!
The op'ning Graves, the Temple torn
Our Stony Hearts shou'd rend;
Shou'd make us melt shou'd make us mourn,
Nor only mourn but mend.
429
IV
If at this Sight we don't Repent,What other Sight can move!
Ingrateful! shou'd we not relent,
And pay such Love, with Love:
If still Contrition is forgot,
And we our Sins retain;
As far as it concerns our Lot,
He yet but died in vain.
| The Works of Mr. Robert Gould | |