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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 Happy Mother.
  
  
  
  
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To the Happy Mother.

Whether we with thy Virgin State begin,
A State to that of Angel next of kin;
(Not that in Goodness thou art alter'd since,
For all thy Life's one State of Innocence;)
Ev'n there we such a modest Sweetness see,
As none can have that Copy not from thee:
Never were any of the Virgin Train,
So Fair as thee, so far from being vain.
Whether we take thee in that Scene of Life,
That made Hamilcar happy in a Wife:
Or whether next (for Joy but Grief precedes)
We see thee Mourning in thy Sable Weeds:
At once to your dear Husband's Mem'ry kind,
And to the fatal VVill of Heav'n resign'd:
No Plaints we heard, and no Repining saw;
Yet all your Servants treated with that awe,
VVe well perceiv'd that Noble Flame of thine,
Extinct with him was never more to shine:
That one, and only one, was e'er to prove
That more than Mortal Blessing of thy Love.
VVell may that Matron from the Gene'ral Voice
Meet gene'ral Praise that makes no second Choice;
It shews the Ardour of her first Desire
Survives her Loss, and upward does aspire

112

To meet her Consort in the Courts above,
VVhere the whole Scene is Everlasting Love!
Love suited to the long Embrace of Souls;
Not clogg'd, as here, with vain Fantastick Rules.
In all these Stations, thro' th'Entangling Maze,
You still have trod the Path that leads to Praise:
VVhether a Virgin, VVife, or VVidow found,
Fame with her clearest Blast your VVorth does sound:
Pleas'd with the Theme, we all encline an Ear,
And with an Eager Transport crowd to hear:
'Tis then, both profited and charm'd we find
VVhat VVonders may be said of VVomankind.
And yet our Admiration stops not here,
But to a Nobler Call invites the Ear:
Wife, Virgin, Widow, Honour'd o'er and o'er,
VVe yet must praise thee as a MOTHER more.
Not Lemuel was instructed with that Care
And Prudence thy three vertuous Daughters are;
Nor with that Zeal did, in so short a time,
To Praise, to Honour, and Perfection climb:
Their Fau'tless Lives, and their unspotted Fame,
Shew that from thee their Education came.
Thy Eldest has already Copy'd forth
The Noble Scheme of thy Immortal VVorth;
Her Soul the same; like thine still tow'ring higher,
Touch'd with a Coal of the Celestial Fire.
Happy those Virgins that are Vertu'ous Young!
For Vertue's least attain'd by living long:
Age makes our Frailties into Habits grow,
Evil, and when we'd cease from being so,
Like fam'd Alcide's Shirt, our Vice so fast
Does cleave, it tears away the Flesh at last;

113

We sigh and grieve to leave our Favo'rite Sins,
And 'tis with Sorrow that our Joy begins.
VVhile they that in their Youth become Devout,
Tread but that Path in which they first set out:
Thy Pious Daughter thus her Race began,
And half Perfection has already ran.
Some Ladies nothing talk, yet take it all;
No VVord that e'er she speaks does idly fall.
Books her Delight, Religion all her Thought;
Heav'n must be found with so much Ardour sought.
VVhile other Nymphs of Husband talk, and VVife,
(Which is indeed of Nonsense and of Strife)
Her Heav'nly Study is a Holy Life:
Not that her Beauty wants those Flames and Darts
That charm the Lovers Eyes, and wound their Hearts.
But from this Mirrour, where all Maids may see,
By what She is, what they their selves shou'd be,
Thy Elder Hope, we next descend to Her
That Marriage did to single Life prefer:
Belov'd, and loving, she has took her Fate,
And is an Honour to the Sacred State:
She Honours that, and does her Husband bless
With all that wisest Men call Happiness.
A Face and Form that all Mankind admire,
But then so chast as blasts all vain Desire,
And quench as fast as Love renews the Fire.
Prest in her Snowy Arms, from him we know
That there's (indeed!) a Paradise below:
By a yet closer Tye than Marriage joyn'd;
Not only one in Flesh, but one in Mind.
High in their Orbs to faut'less Joys they go,
And scorn the distant Rack that rolls below;
Where Wedlock-Strifes a fearful Prospect form,
Confusion, Fury, Fright, all driving on the Storm:

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From whose rude Breast those Flames and Bolts are hurl'd,
That scatter such Cumbustion thro' the World;
And, like the murde'ring Angel heretofore
Of Egypt's First-born, knock at ev'ry Door.
But they, in Love's bright Goshen, free from fear,
See all around 'em Halcion, still, and clear;
The swift and wide Destroyer comes not there:
For them, ye Pow'rs! your Blessings we implore
Let Plenty clip 'em round with all her Store,
Safety attend behind, and Truth lead on before;
Till, having ran thro' a long Train of Years,
They're rais'd to Heav'n unknown to Human Cares.
Two Daughters such as these may well assure
The World y'are happy, if you had no more:
But O thy Youngest does new Matter raise
Both for our Admiration, and our Praise!
Here Beauty does in all it's Pomp appear,
But comes and sees, and settles Conquest there!
Humbles the Proud, and makes the Wise adore,
And reaches to the Soul thro' ev'ry Pore!
As when before some earnest Saint at Prayer,
An Angel all in Glory does appear,
O'ercome with Rapture and the Blaze of Light,
He for a while does lose his Sense and Sight,
Sunk in the Boundless Ocean of Delight!
So when the bright Serapha's in our view,
We know not where we are! or what we do!
Her Beauties almost Beatifick too!
Such is her Form; but when her Voice we hear.
W' are lost anew, and find fresh Magick there!
Or when she does in Art full Measures move,
There's a new Scene for Wonder and for Love!
We bleed! we burn! and rush upon our Fate,
Resolv'd to die, if she resolves to Hate!

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Pardon this Rapture!—but when we'd express
Serapha's Beauties how can it be less?
She that is all the Lover e'er admir'd,
And all that Poets Praise when they're inspir'd!
Hail HAPPY MOTHER!—and be blest the Womb
From which this fair Triumviri did come!
If Beauty, Truth, or Piety can give
Their Owners Fame, their Names shall ever Live,
And Thine with theirs! from that they took their Aim,
And by Example follow'd THEE to Fame:
For tho' they might have Vanity withstood,
And seem by Choice, and Inclination, Good,
They ne'er had been to such Perfection brought,
Had they not seen YOU Practice what you Taught.