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 a very Vertuous Gentlewoman, on her being traduc'd, &c.
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 | The Works of Mr. Robert Gould |  |
To a very Vertuous Gentlewoman, on her being traduc'd, &c.
Defend us from Reproach is, sure, a Prayer
We often ought to use, that Heav'n may hear:
When e'er the Devil wou'd exert his Skill,
And, as supreme in Hell, be so in Ill,
He glides into some black Detractor's Ear,
His first Essay and sheds his Poison there:
Possest of that he next secures the Heart;
And then the Tongue, that does th'Abuse impart,
He points and makes each Word a Scythian Dart.
Scandals too false and sinful to be nam'd,
Are whisper'd first for Truths, and then for Truths proclaim'd.
In Friends this does the Breach of Trust create,
And sowing deep the Seeds of dire Debate,
Pity to Spite, and Love resolves to Hate.
Strife, Bloodshed, and almost all Ills on Earth
From this accursed Fountain draw their Breath.
What Mischief did there ever reach our Ears
That a malicious Villain don't or dares?
What Libyan Armour, or Vulcanian Shield
(Tho' ne'er so much as dinted in the Field)
Can save us from th'invisible Attack
Of Slander? or, approaching, drive her back?
Where ever Breath can Entrance find she comes,
Nor so contented, tears up Marble Tombs;
What close Recess can hide us from her Power,
When the cold Grave can't its own Dead secure?
What Guard ye Powers! from such a Shaft as this,
That flies so swift and certain not to miss!
Not Love or Fate can scarce take surer Aim
Than a flagitious Tongue, that shoots at Fame:
To be gay, youthful, vertu'ous chast and fair,
But make their Owners more obnoxious there.
Against this conqu'ring Evil what Defence?
O what!—is Patience best, or Innocence?
Or are they both, arm'd each by each, the thing
That from this deadly Hornet plucks the Sting?
These, sure, (if any Heav'nly Gifts of Force
T'arrest this Bolt in its destructive Course)
Sure these are Proof (against all human Wrong,
And e'en the worst of all,—An Envious Tongue!
We often ought to use, that Heav'n may hear:
When e'er the Devil wou'd exert his Skill,
And, as supreme in Hell, be so in Ill,
He glides into some black Detractor's Ear,
His first Essay and sheds his Poison there:
105
And then the Tongue, that does th'Abuse impart,
He points and makes each Word a Scythian Dart.
Scandals too false and sinful to be nam'd,
Are whisper'd first for Truths, and then for Truths proclaim'd.
In Friends this does the Breach of Trust create,
And sowing deep the Seeds of dire Debate,
Pity to Spite, and Love resolves to Hate.
Strife, Bloodshed, and almost all Ills on Earth
From this accursed Fountain draw their Breath.
What Mischief did there ever reach our Ears
That a malicious Villain don't or dares?
What Libyan Armour, or Vulcanian Shield
(Tho' ne'er so much as dinted in the Field)
Can save us from th'invisible Attack
Of Slander? or, approaching, drive her back?
Where ever Breath can Entrance find she comes,
Nor so contented, tears up Marble Tombs;
What close Recess can hide us from her Power,
When the cold Grave can't its own Dead secure?
What Guard ye Powers! from such a Shaft as this,
That flies so swift and certain not to miss!
Not Love or Fate can scarce take surer Aim
Than a flagitious Tongue, that shoots at Fame:
To be gay, youthful, vertu'ous chast and fair,
But make their Owners more obnoxious there.
Against this conqu'ring Evil what Defence?
O what!—is Patience best, or Innocence?
Or are they both, arm'd each by each, the thing
That from this deadly Hornet plucks the Sting?
These, sure, (if any Heav'nly Gifts of Force
T'arrest this Bolt in its destructive Course)
Sure these are Proof (against all human Wrong,
And e'en the worst of all,—An Envious Tongue!
106
Quit then, fair Mourner, these Destructive Fears,
Afflict our Souls no longer with Your Tears:
Free from all Ills those Vertues can resist,
Tho' ever aim'd at You'd be ever mist:
Off from those Shields they turn, with fierce intent,
Like Shafts recoiling, when there's Treach'ry meant,
Back on the Sender with Destruction sent.
Your Fau'tless Life (tho' but at Noon arriv'd,
But thro' more Good than Thousands longer liv'd)
Will better plead, and more exalt your Praise,
Than Envy's worst Invectives can debase.
Afflict our Souls no longer with Your Tears:
Free from all Ills those Vertues can resist,
Tho' ever aim'd at You'd be ever mist:
Off from those Shields they turn, with fierce intent,
Like Shafts recoiling, when there's Treach'ry meant,
Back on the Sender with Destruction sent.
Your Fau'tless Life (tho' but at Noon arriv'd,
But thro' more Good than Thousands longer liv'd)
Will better plead, and more exalt your Praise,
Than Envy's worst Invectives can debase.
As Guilty Ghosts, when first the Cock does crow,
Fly at the Summons to their Den below;
So all Reports with which we'd brand your Fame
Vanish like them, repeating but your Name:
Envy in others does her Ends obtain
But her Attempt your Matchless Worth to stain,
Was the first Work she e'er advanc'd in vain.
Fly at the Summons to their Den below;
So all Reports with which we'd brand your Fame
Vanish like them, repeating but your Name:
Envy in others does her Ends obtain
But her Attempt your Matchless Worth to stain,
Was the first Work she e'er advanc'd in vain.
Yet, while our Thoughts we on this Theme impart,
Who knows but that your Conduct is your Art?
The Glorious Sun, behind thick Clouds retir'd,
(For what's not seen does cease to be admir'd)
Seems lost to us while they possess the Air;
Not that He's less in Glory, not seen here,
But that, perhaps, he lists not to appear;
As knowing that his Warmth with-held, and Light,
Will more endear him than if always bright:
At his own Choice he can exert his Ray,
But without Darkness who wou'd prize the Day?
So, tho' your black Aspersor basely drew
A Gloomy Scene between our Eyes and you,
Your shining VVorth the Shade does circumvent;
Remaining veil'd but by your own Consent:
Discreetly, so, to make our VVonder more;
That, breaking forth, we might afresh adore,
Confirm'd in all the Good we thought before.
Who knows but that your Conduct is your Art?
The Glorious Sun, behind thick Clouds retir'd,
(For what's not seen does cease to be admir'd)
Seems lost to us while they possess the Air;
Not that He's less in Glory, not seen here,
But that, perhaps, he lists not to appear;
As knowing that his Warmth with-held, and Light,
Will more endear him than if always bright:
At his own Choice he can exert his Ray,
But without Darkness who wou'd prize the Day?
So, tho' your black Aspersor basely drew
A Gloomy Scene between our Eyes and you,
Your shining VVorth the Shade does circumvent;
Remaining veil'd but by your own Consent:
107
That, breaking forth, we might afresh adore,
Confirm'd in all the Good we thought before.
VVhat Reason then to grieve at his Offence
That sought to bring your Goodness in Suspence?
Let him, to his Confusion, now perceive
No Vitious Habit in your Breast can live,
And that the worst Affronts you can forgive.
Not stung with Spight, or raging for Abuse,
VVho knows what your Example may produce!
Thus his Conversion may be wrought by you,
And your be'ng vertu'ous make him vertu'ous too:
How can his clear Conviction be withstood,
That finds his Evil still producing Good?
He will not, dare not, cannot go astray,
That sees you thus persisting in the VVay.
VVho then wou'd rush with Passion on the Shelves
VVhen Patience Saves ev'n Others and our Selves?—
But daring to Instruct You I'm too bold;
Tho' few your Years, in Prudence you are old,
And know how to be Good without be'ng told.
That sought to bring your Goodness in Suspence?
Let him, to his Confusion, now perceive
No Vitious Habit in your Breast can live,
And that the worst Affronts you can forgive.
Not stung with Spight, or raging for Abuse,
VVho knows what your Example may produce!
Thus his Conversion may be wrought by you,
And your be'ng vertu'ous make him vertu'ous too:
How can his clear Conviction be withstood,
That finds his Evil still producing Good?
He will not, dare not, cannot go astray,
That sees you thus persisting in the VVay.
VVho then wou'd rush with Passion on the Shelves
VVhen Patience Saves ev'n Others and our Selves?—
But daring to Instruct You I'm too bold;
Tho' few your Years, in Prudence you are old,
And know how to be Good without be'ng told.
| The Works of Mr. Robert Gould | |