 | Miscellany Poems |  |
On the Right Honourable John Earl of Rutland, &c.
Off-spring of Hero's! Who art truly Great,Above the reach of pleas'd, or angry, Fate;
And equally dost scorn her smile and hate.
In Innocence and Vertuous Courage safe,
Above the World, You at its Troubles laugh:
Nor can its Pageantry attract your Eyes;
You fear not one, and th' other You despise.
A Life like this did Atticus commend,
The pride of glorious Rome and Tully's Friend,
Who 'n Rome none of its Civil wars did feel,
With no Commotions of the State did reel,
But in the world scarce with the World did deal.
“'Tis the world's Imperfection still to want,
“And satisfaction, nor to have, nor grant;
“But with incessant pains to tear the Breast,
“And beg of every helpless Cause for rest.
Angelick Natures our weak state exceed,
Their Purity's from taint of Matter freed,
Their Knowledge no increase or growth doth need.
In this they most show our confined store;
They are so happy, they can wish no more.
Ambition is the Feaverish Soul's disease,
Which restless seeks for something, that may please.
2
And wheresoe're they fly, they find it near,
And grope for help around and grasp the Air.
“Content's not there: He that doth strive for more
“Doth live uneasie with his present store.
“The wise Man doth Retirement's pleasures know,
“And's never less alone, than when he's so.
Fools are for nothing fit; the Middle Size
Drive on the Business of the world and Noise;
The Highest Souls to Nobler pleasures rise.
Out of the reach of Fortune they are plac'd,
Draughts of Sublime Æthereal Joys do tast,
Whom no Misfortunes break, nor Time doth wast
So Adam in his Paradise did live,
Bless'd in himself and his beloved Eve.
Er'e Glory drew unwary Eyes aside,
Er'e Gold did or'e the servile Troops preside:
And to all Mischief ope'd a passage wide.
Er'e glittering Courts Mens yielding Minds did sway,
Did all their tender precious Hours betray;
Whose loss not all their hopes and golden dreams could pay.
Er'e Men their Ease barter'd for Gold or State,
And sold themselves at an Unworthy rate:
Er'e Vice on Innocency's Tomb did grow:—
Such is Your Life, and such a Paradise have You.
Who in Your Self find Native Inborn store,
Nor from the World do need to borrow more:
For he, that wants, thô ne'r so rich, is poor.
A scheme of Life, like Yours, Lucretius laid,
(Whose Boundless Wit all Nature's works survey'd)
And fitted to th' Immortal Gods, he made:
He gave them what would most Divinely please;
And lull'd them up in bless'd Content and Ease.
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