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AN EPISTLE TO EUDOXUS.
Suppos'd to be written about the Year 1646.
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[_]
Our Author wrote this about Ten Years ago , and inscrib'd it to a Courtier, whom he industriously conceals under a fictitious Name.
Long have I ask'd of my unfriendly Fate,
A private Living with a small Estate,
Far from the splendid Tumults of the Great.
But me, alas! th'imagin'd Pleasure flies,
And some unkinder Deity denies
To my importune Pray'rs the courted Prize.
Since then, EUDOXUS, Fortune has declin'd
To grant these Favours to my longing Mind;
Since then the Muse delights in easy Strain
To sing the Blessings, which she can't obtain;
What can you hope? Or what can she bestow
In humble Rhymes, like her Condition, low?
A private Living with a small Estate,
Far from the splendid Tumults of the Great.
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And some unkinder Deity denies
To my importune Pray'rs the courted Prize.
Since then, EUDOXUS, Fortune has declin'd
To grant these Favours to my longing Mind;
Since then the Muse delights in easy Strain
To sing the Blessings, which she can't obtain;
What can you hope? Or what can she bestow
In humble Rhymes, like her Condition, low?
Me neither Heaps of golden Treasure move,
Nor the sweet Poison of inchanting Love.
Unwilling and unskilful to sustain
The Cares of State, and Honour's glitt'ring Pain.
None but Your Self can, like a Pilot, steer
The Nation's Vessel, but with anxious Fear.
A thousand Troubles your Delights destroy,
And rob you of that Rest, which Swains enjoy.
Nor the sweet Poison of inchanting Love.
Unwilling and unskilful to sustain
The Cares of State, and Honour's glitt'ring Pain.
None but Your Self can, like a Pilot, steer
The Nation's Vessel, but with anxious Fear.
A thousand Troubles your Delights destroy,
And rob you of that Rest, which Swains enjoy.
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The Dutch at last, as runs a feint Report,
Have just concluded with the Spanish Court
A Peace so oft refus'd; and now intrigue
To break with France, their long-establish'd League
Austrians have brib'd the Boian to her Side,
And in that false ungrateful Duke confide:
Nor has their ancient Faith the Germans ty'd.
Displeasing News! nor has our Fleet been more
Crown'd with Successes, nigh the Tuscan Shore.
But by her quick Return, without Renown,
Has freed from a long Siege a paltry Town,
This galls your Heart, this does your Pleasures drown.
If a Chance-Ball a hopeful Youth destroy,
His Father's Comfort, and his Mother's Joy,
The giddy Rout unanimous exclaim
On impious Wars, and stern Gradivus blame.
Distracted thro' the mutt'ring Streets they run,
And load with many a Curse the guiltless Throne;
But chiefly Him, who sitting at the Helm,
Advises Taxes, and confounds the Realm.
All in this Cry agree, and jointly swear,
They cannot, nay, they will no longer bear
The Charges of a tedious, bloody War.
Hence Fears and Horrors in the Statesman's Soul,
Hence the Militia's rais'd, and Guards patroul;
Lest mad Sedition, with her lighted Brand,
Should kindle to a Flame the murm'ring Land.
Why should I mention Envy's various Arts?
By what sinister Fraud she strikes at Hearts?
By Stabs or Poisons brings a Monarch's Fate,
And rids him of a Kingdom's pond'rous Weight.
Deluded Man! who, by a silken Thread,
Sees the drawn Sword impending o'er his Head;
Who leaps the Precipice he ought to shun,
Industrious to be wretched and undone.
Have just concluded with the Spanish Court
A Peace so oft refus'd; and now intrigue
To break with France, their long-establish'd League
Austrians have brib'd the Boian to her Side,
And in that false ungrateful Duke confide:
Nor has their ancient Faith the Germans ty'd.
Displeasing News! nor has our Fleet been more
Crown'd with Successes, nigh the Tuscan Shore.
But by her quick Return, without Renown,
Has freed from a long Siege a paltry Town,
This galls your Heart, this does your Pleasures drown.
If a Chance-Ball a hopeful Youth destroy,
His Father's Comfort, and his Mother's Joy,
The giddy Rout unanimous exclaim
On impious Wars, and stern Gradivus blame.
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And load with many a Curse the guiltless Throne;
But chiefly Him, who sitting at the Helm,
Advises Taxes, and confounds the Realm.
All in this Cry agree, and jointly swear,
They cannot, nay, they will no longer bear
The Charges of a tedious, bloody War.
Hence Fears and Horrors in the Statesman's Soul,
Hence the Militia's rais'd, and Guards patroul;
Lest mad Sedition, with her lighted Brand,
Should kindle to a Flame the murm'ring Land.
Why should I mention Envy's various Arts?
By what sinister Fraud she strikes at Hearts?
By Stabs or Poisons brings a Monarch's Fate,
And rids him of a Kingdom's pond'rous Weight.
Deluded Man! who, by a silken Thread,
Sees the drawn Sword impending o'er his Head;
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Industrious to be wretched and undone.
How much more sweet, and worth our constant Pray'r,
A Mind unshaken by the Storms of Care!
Which can a Vain and empty World despise,
And with an upward Flight affect the Skies;
Which the gay Trappings of the Great contemns,
Their sounding Titles, and their shining Gems.
Discharg'd of all which Happiness debars,
She plants her Conversation in the Stars;
Looks on the Clouds and lower Earth with Scorn,
And seeks that Country, where she first was born.
Soon as the Eastern Sun begins to gleam,
And sprinkles from above a rosie Beam,
She leaves her Prison of inferiour Clay,
And springs with Freedom to a better Day,
The Father of the Gods and Men adores,
And purest Off'rings on his Altar pours;
Then our Religion's Mysteries recounts,
Dwells on our Faith, which shallow Sense surmounts;
On fallen Man restor'd to heav'nly Bliss!
Unfathom'd Love! deep, wond'rous deep Abyss!
A Mind unshaken by the Storms of Care!
Which can a Vain and empty World despise,
And with an upward Flight affect the Skies;
Which the gay Trappings of the Great contemns,
Their sounding Titles, and their shining Gems.
Discharg'd of all which Happiness debars,
She plants her Conversation in the Stars;
Looks on the Clouds and lower Earth with Scorn,
And seeks that Country, where she first was born.
Soon as the Eastern Sun begins to gleam,
And sprinkles from above a rosie Beam,
She leaves her Prison of inferiour Clay,
And springs with Freedom to a better Day,
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And purest Off'rings on his Altar pours;
Then our Religion's Mysteries recounts,
Dwells on our Faith, which shallow Sense surmounts;
On fallen Man restor'd to heav'nly Bliss!
Unfathom'd Love! deep, wond'rous deep Abyss!
Then, launching out, the penetrating Soul,
Travels with winged Thought from Pole to Pole;
Surveys Earth's Fabric, exquisitely Fair,
Which rowl'd from Nothing, and is hing'd on Air.
How the contending Elements renew
Perpetual Quarrels, and their Course pursue.
How Stars, distinguish'd o'er th'Etherial Space,
Shed their auspicious Beams on Human Race.
How Times and Seasons by just Turns succeed;
How Earth, impregnate with a Vernal Breed,
Shoots Violets and Roses from her Womb,
Whose od'rous Sweets the fanning Air perfume.
How Ceres, golden by Apollo's Rays,
His Kindness with a yellow Year repays.
How plump Pomona does in Summer shoot,
And knots her ripening Blossoms into Fruit.
How Bacchus, from Autumnal Grapes exprest,
Makes with Nectarean Juice the Vintage blest.
Rich, florid Wine, which mingling in the Blood
The Heart inlarges, with a generous Flood;
Chears our dull Life, and noble Thoughts inspires;
Nor asks the Poet for Phæbean Fires,
Whose Brain with this enlivening Liquor glows,
Tho' the keen Breath of freezing Boreas blows,
And warms the seeded Ground with wintry Snows.
Travels with winged Thought from Pole to Pole;
Surveys Earth's Fabric, exquisitely Fair,
Which rowl'd from Nothing, and is hing'd on Air.
How the contending Elements renew
Perpetual Quarrels, and their Course pursue.
How Stars, distinguish'd o'er th'Etherial Space,
Shed their auspicious Beams on Human Race.
How Times and Seasons by just Turns succeed;
How Earth, impregnate with a Vernal Breed,
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Whose od'rous Sweets the fanning Air perfume.
How Ceres, golden by Apollo's Rays,
His Kindness with a yellow Year repays.
How plump Pomona does in Summer shoot,
And knots her ripening Blossoms into Fruit.
How Bacchus, from Autumnal Grapes exprest,
Makes with Nectarean Juice the Vintage blest.
Rich, florid Wine, which mingling in the Blood
The Heart inlarges, with a generous Flood;
Chears our dull Life, and noble Thoughts inspires;
Nor asks the Poet for Phæbean Fires,
Whose Brain with this enlivening Liquor glows,
Tho' the keen Breath of freezing Boreas blows,
And warms the seeded Ground with wintry Snows.
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Nor is the Soul unactive, or supine;
But sees the radiant Beam of Thought Divine,
As Moses did of old, in budding Bushes shine.
Each Herb and Tree does Heavenly Knowledge give,
And every growing thing's Demonstrative:
By turns they Perish, and by turns they Live.
Such shall they be; till, when Times's Sand is run,
All Worlds shall in their own Materials burn,
And to Their empty Origin return.
But sees the radiant Beam of Thought Divine,
As Moses did of old, in budding Bushes shine.
Each Herb and Tree does Heavenly Knowledge give,
And every growing thing's Demonstrative:
By turns they Perish, and by turns they Live.
Such shall they be; till, when Times's Sand is run,
All Worlds shall in their own Materials burn,
And to Their empty Origin return.
Nor does the Mind on these alone revolve,
But, wand'ring far, improves her grand Resolve.
She makes her Voyage o'er the liquid World,
Where Winds have bluster'd, and the Billows curl'd.
She views the numerous Nations of the Deep,
Where vast Leviathans their Empire keep.
In Air and Land, with swift, admiring Eyes,
Or painted Birds, or shaggy Monsters spies,
Or frightful Behemoth's prodigious Size.
And chiefly Man, who o'er Earth, Air, and Main
Extends his wide and undisputed Reign.
What Theme more noble can our Thoughts employ?
How can we better Reason's Strength enjoy?
If by Reflection, her unerring Ray
Our guilty selves within our selves display.
If her brave Valour, like her Birth, sublime,
Break thro' the double Ranks of Vice, and Crime.
For where's our Dignity of Nature shown,
If we, so sear'd in Sin, so callous grown,
Tame others Passions, and Caress our own?
How weak that Monarch, who with Sovereign Sway
Commands, nor follows the directed Way,
But teaches all his Slaves to disobey?
How can Physicians a Contagion heal,
Who labour with the same infectious Ill?
I, whose last Scene of Life has long declin'd,
Opprest in Body, but confirm'd in Mind;
From jutting Rocks, and from invidious Sand,
Reclining on the Beach, and welcome Strand,
Bless my Escape, and re-salute the Land.
But, wand'ring far, improves her grand Resolve.
She makes her Voyage o'er the liquid World,
Where Winds have bluster'd, and the Billows curl'd.
She views the numerous Nations of the Deep,
Where vast Leviathans their Empire keep.
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Or painted Birds, or shaggy Monsters spies,
Or frightful Behemoth's prodigious Size.
And chiefly Man, who o'er Earth, Air, and Main
Extends his wide and undisputed Reign.
What Theme more noble can our Thoughts employ?
How can we better Reason's Strength enjoy?
If by Reflection, her unerring Ray
Our guilty selves within our selves display.
If her brave Valour, like her Birth, sublime,
Break thro' the double Ranks of Vice, and Crime.
For where's our Dignity of Nature shown,
If we, so sear'd in Sin, so callous grown,
Tame others Passions, and Caress our own?
How weak that Monarch, who with Sovereign Sway
Commands, nor follows the directed Way,
But teaches all his Slaves to disobey?
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Who labour with the same infectious Ill?
I, whose last Scene of Life has long declin'd,
Opprest in Body, but confirm'd in Mind;
From jutting Rocks, and from invidious Sand,
Reclining on the Beach, and welcome Strand,
Bless my Escape, and re-salute the Land.
The fatal Prospect I remember yet,
Nor my past Dangers can so soon forget;
Nor those disorder'd Torrents, which opprest
My swelling Heart, and labour'd in my Breast.
When with fantastic Pleasure's gay Pretence
My tender Reason was subdu'd by Sense:
When my warm wanton Youth, which scorn'd a Guide,
Was hurry'd downward by th'impetuous Tide,
When sanguin in my Hopes, and fondly vain,
I launch'd my slender Vessel on the Main:
Studious of Honour, and, affecting Fame,
An Enemy to Life without a Name,
With hot Pursuit I panted to be Great,
And manage dark Intrigues of Court and State.
But since ripe Years, and Times more fit for Thought,
Have my wild Senses to cool Judgment brought;
Since Age has conquer'd my unruly Heat,
I seek a Learned Ease, and Wise Retreat.
Nor my past Dangers can so soon forget;
Nor those disorder'd Torrents, which opprest
My swelling Heart, and labour'd in my Breast.
When with fantastic Pleasure's gay Pretence
My tender Reason was subdu'd by Sense:
When my warm wanton Youth, which scorn'd a Guide,
Was hurry'd downward by th'impetuous Tide,
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I launch'd my slender Vessel on the Main:
Studious of Honour, and, affecting Fame,
An Enemy to Life without a Name,
With hot Pursuit I panted to be Great,
And manage dark Intrigues of Court and State.
But since ripe Years, and Times more fit for Thought,
Have my wild Senses to cool Judgment brought;
Since Age has conquer'd my unruly Heat,
I seek a Learned Ease, and Wise Retreat.
Thrice Happy They! who in Retirement find
The sweetest Joys of an ingenuous Mind.
Whose Barks have scap'd the Shipwracks of a Court,
And ride at Anchor in a quiet Port.
The sweetest Joys of an ingenuous Mind.
Whose Barks have scap'd the Shipwracks of a Court,
And ride at Anchor in a quiet Port.
Yet think me not so stupid to commend
A lazy Leisure to an active Friend.
Nor am I of that Philosophic Herd
Which a dull Sloth, and Solitude prefer'd;
But fruitful Fields, and steepy Hills allow
To those, who prune the Vine, and guide the Plough.
Some Nature fashion'd of a better Clay,
For high Employments, and superiour Sway;
A Genius, form'd to hold a Kingdom's Reins,
Should slight the loytering Life of idle Swains.
Damon may tend his Flocks, his Cattle feed,
And warble Amaryllis on his Reed.
But His large Soul, which, like the common Air,
The World demands, and all Mankind should share,
Th'alluring Syrens of soft Ease should scorn,
Not for Himself, but for his Country Born.
O France! what Trophies had you never won!
What Cities, Kingdoms, never call'd your own!
What People never had your Laws obey'd,
Had Heaven, and Mazarine deny'd their Aid!
O Julius, Glory of Ausonia's State,
Thou ruling Engine of auspicious Fate!
Thou with a strong Maturity of Soul
Dost curb the Spaniard, and his Heat controul.
Powerful alike to Conquer, and to Free,
And Rome's Cæsarean Genius reigns in Thee.
A lazy Leisure to an active Friend.
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Which a dull Sloth, and Solitude prefer'd;
But fruitful Fields, and steepy Hills allow
To those, who prune the Vine, and guide the Plough.
Some Nature fashion'd of a better Clay,
For high Employments, and superiour Sway;
A Genius, form'd to hold a Kingdom's Reins,
Should slight the loytering Life of idle Swains.
Damon may tend his Flocks, his Cattle feed,
And warble Amaryllis on his Reed.
But His large Soul, which, like the common Air,
The World demands, and all Mankind should share,
Th'alluring Syrens of soft Ease should scorn,
Not for Himself, but for his Country Born.
O France! what Trophies had you never won!
What Cities, Kingdoms, never call'd your own!
What People never had your Laws obey'd,
Had Heaven, and Mazarine deny'd their Aid!
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Thou ruling Engine of auspicious Fate!
Thou with a strong Maturity of Soul
Dost curb the Spaniard, and his Heat controul.
Powerful alike to Conquer, and to Free,
And Rome's Cæsarean Genius reigns in Thee.
But few are favour'd with the Smiles of Jove,
Who can the whirling Orb of Empire move.
None but an Atlas can be found to bear
The ponderous Heavens, and shoulder up the Sphere.
None but Alcides can oppose his Breast
To cope with Tyrants, who the World infest.
Who can the whirling Orb of Empire move.
None but an Atlas can be found to bear
The ponderous Heavens, and shoulder up the Sphere.
None but Alcides can oppose his Breast
To cope with Tyrants, who the World infest.
Mean time the Man, to whom the Muse is kind,
And breathes Ambrosia on his sacred Mind,
Who with chaste Love the peaceful Paths pursues,
Of Virtue, and imbibes Castalian Dews,
Laughs with a scornful Pleasure at the Rage
And the vain Labours of a Frantic Age;
Visits Aonian Mountains in his Flight,
And with his Song surmounts their starry Height.
Whose double Tops perpetual Laurels bear,
Which none but Poets, and their Heroes wear;
Which shall their Brows eternally adorn,
And hand their mingled Fame to Worlds unborn.
And breathes Ambrosia on his sacred Mind,
Who with chaste Love the peaceful Paths pursues,
Of Virtue, and imbibes Castalian Dews,
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And the vain Labours of a Frantic Age;
Visits Aonian Mountains in his Flight,
And with his Song surmounts their starry Height.
Whose double Tops perpetual Laurels bear,
Which none but Poets, and their Heroes wear;
Which shall their Brows eternally adorn,
And hand their mingled Fame to Worlds unborn.
To these thy usual, sprinkling Dew impart,
And nurse the Darlings grafted in thy Heart.
This, O Eudoxus, every Muse desires,
This Phæbus, Father of the Muse, requires,
And this the Virtue which thy Breast inspires.
And nurse the Darlings grafted in thy Heart.
This, O Eudoxus, every Muse desires,
This Phæbus, Father of the Muse, requires,
And this the Virtue which thy Breast inspires.
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