Poems on Several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

Where proud Augusta, blest with long Repose,
Her ancient Wall and ruin'd Bulwark shows;
Close by a verdant Plain, with graceful Height
A stately Fabric rises to the Sight.
Yet though its Parts all elegantly shine,
And sweet Proportion crowns the whole Design;
Though Art, in strong expressive Sculpture shown,
Consummate Art informs the breathing Stone;

Far other Views than these within appear,
And Woe and Horror dwell for ever here.
For ever from the echoing Roofs rebounds
A dreadful Din of heterogeneous Sounds;
From This, from That, from ev'ry Quarter rise
Loud Shouts, and sullen Groans, and doleful Cries;
Heart-soft'ning Plaints demand the pitying Tear,
And Peals of hideous Laughter shock the Ear.

Thus, when in some fair Human Form we find
The Lusts all rampant, and the Reason blind,
Griev'd we behold such Beauty given in vain,
And Nature's fairest Work survey with Pain.

Within the chambers which this Dome contains,
In all her frantic forms Distraction reigns.
For when the Sense from various Objects brings,
Through Organs craz'd, the Images of Things;
Ideas, all extravagant and vain,
In endless Swarms croud in upon the Brain:

The cheated Reason true and false confounds,
And forms her Notions from fantastic Grounds.
Then, if the Blood impetuous swells the Veins,
And Choler in the Constitution reigns,
Outrageous Fury straight inflames the Soul,
Quick beats the Pulse, and fierce the Eye-balls roll;
Rattling his Chains the Wretch all raving lies,
And roars, and foams; and Earth and Heav'n defies.
Not so, when gloomy the black Bile prevails,
And lumpish Phlegm the thick'ned Mass congeals:
All lifeless then is the poor Patient found,
And sits for ever moping on the Ground;
His active Pow'rs their Uses all forego,
Nor Senses, Tongue, nor Limbs their Functions know.
In Melancholy lost, the vital Flame
Informs, and just informs the listless Frame.
If brisk the circulating Tides advance,
And nimble Spirits through the Fibres dance,

Then all the Images delightful rise,
The tickled Fancy sparkles through the Eyes;
The Mortal, all to Mirth and Joy resign'd,
In ev'ry Gesture shews his freakish Mind;
Frolick and free, he laughs at Fortune's Pow'r,
And plays ten thousand Gambols in an Hour.

Now ent'ring in, my Muse, thy Theme pursue,
And all the Dome, and each Apartment view.

Within this lonely Lodge, in solemn Port,
A shiv'ring Monarch keeps his awful Court,
And far and wide, as boundless Thought can stray,
Extends a vast imaginary Sway.
Utopian Princes bow before his Throne,
Lands unexisting his Dominion own,
And airy Realms and Regions in the Moon.
The Pride of Dignity, the Pomp of State,
The dazling Glories of the envy'd Great,
Rise to his View, and in his Fancy swell,
And Guards and Courtiers croud his empty Cell.

See how he walks majestic through the Throng!
(Behind he trails his tatter'd Robes along)
And cheaply blest, and innocently vain,
Enjoys the dear Delusion of his Brain,
In this small Spot expatiates unconfin'd,
Supreme of Monarchs, First of Human Kind.

Such joyful Ecstasy as this possest
On some triumphal Day great Cæsar's Breast;
Great Cæsar, scarce beneath the Gods ador'd,
The World's proud Victor, Rome's Imperial Lord,
With all his Glories in their utmost Height,
And all his Pow'r display'd before his Sight.
Unnumber'd Trophies grace the pompous Train,
And captive Kings indignant drag their Chain.
With laurell'd Ensigns glitt'ring from afar,
His Legions, glorious Partners of the War,
His conqu'ring Legions march behind the golden Car:
Whilst Shouts on Shouts from gather'd Nations rise,
And endless Acclamations rend the Skies.

For This to vex Mankind with dire Alarms,
Urging with rapid Speed his restless Arms,
From Clime to Clime the mighty Madman flew,
Nor tasted Quiet, nor Contentment knew,
But spread wild Ravage all the World abroad,
The Plague of Nations, and the Scourge of God.

Poor Cloe—whom yon little Cell contains,
Of broken Vows and faithless Man complains:
Her heaving Bosom speaks her inward Woe:
Her Tears in melancholy Silence flow.
Yet still her fond Desires tumultuous rise,
Melt her sad Soul, and languish in her Eyes,
And form her wild Ideas as they rove,
To all the tender Images of Love;
And still she sooths and feeds the flatt'ring Pain,
False as he is, still, still she loves her Swain;
To hopeless Passion yields her Heart a Prey,
And sighs and sings the livelong Hours away.

So mourns th' imprison'd Lark his hapless Fate,
In Love's soft Season ravish'd from his Mate,
Fondly fatigues his unavailing Rage,
And hops and flutters round and round his Cage,
And moans and droops, with pining Grief opprest,
Whilst sweet Complainings warble from his Breast.

Lo! here a Wretch to Avarice resign'd,
'Midst gather'd Scraps, and Shreds, and Rags confin'd;
His Riches these—for these he rakes and spares,
These rack his Bosom, these engross his Cares;
O'er these he broods, for ever void of Rest,
And hugs the sneaking Passion of his Breast.
See, from Himself the sordid Niggard steals,
Reserves large Scantlings from his slender Meals;
Scarce to his Bowels half their due affords,
And starves his Carcase to increase his Hoards,
'Till to huge Heaps the treasur'd Offals swell,
And stink in ev'ry Corner of his Cell.

And thus with wondrous Wisdom he purveys
Against contingent Want, and rainy Days,
And scorns the Fools that dread not to be poor,
But eat their Morsel, and enjoy their Store.

Behold a Sage! immers'd in Thought profound:
For Science He, for various Skill renown'd.
At no mean Ends his Speculations aim,
(Vile Pelf he scorns, nor covets empty Fame)
The Public Good, the Welfare of Mankind
Employ the generous Labour of his Mind.
For this his rich Imagination teems
With rare Inventions and important Schemes;
All Day his close Attention he applies,
Nor gives he midnight Slumbers to his Eyes;
Content if this his toilsom Studies crown,
And for the World's Repose neglects his own.
All Nature's secret Causes he explores,
The Laws of Motion, and mechanic Pow'rs:

Hence ev'n the Elements his Art obey,
O'er Earth, o'er Fire, he spreads his wondrous Sway,
And through the liquid Sky, and o'er the wat'ry Way.
Hence, ever pregnant with some vast Design,
He drains the Moor-land, or he sinks the Mine,
Or levels lofty Mountains to the Plain,
Or stops the roaring Torrents of the Main;
Forc'd up by Fire he bids the Water rise,
And points its Course reverted to the Skies.
His ready Fancy still supplies the Means,
Forges his Tools, and fixes his Machines,
Erects his Sluices, and his Mounds sustains,
And whirls perpetual Windmills in his Brains.
All Problems has his lively Thought subdu'd,
Measur'd the Stars, and found the Longitude,
And squar'd the Circle, and the Tides explain'd:
The grand Arcanum once he had attain'd,

Had quite attain'd, but that a Pipkin broke,
And all his golden Hopes expir'd in Smoke.
And once, his Soul inflam'd with Patriot Zeal,
A Scheme he finish'd for his Country's Weal:
This in a private Conference made known,
A Statesman stole, and us'd it for his own:
And then, O Baseness! the Deceit to blind,
Our poor Projector in this Jail confin'd.

The Muse forbears to visit ev'ry Cell,
Each Form, each Object of Distress to tell;
To shew the Fopling curious in his Dress,
Gayly trick'd out in gaudy Raggedness:
The Poet, ever wrapt in glorious Dreams
Of Pagan Gods, and Heliconian Streams:
The wild Enthusiast, that despairing sees
Predestin'd Wrath, and Heav'n's severe Decrees;
Thro' these, thro' more sad Scenes she grieves to go,
And paint the whole Variety of Woe.

Mean Time, on These reflect with kind Concern,
And hence this just, this useful Lesson learn:
If strong Desires thy reasoning Pow'rs control;
If arbitrary Passions sway thy Soul;
If Pride, if Envy, if the Lust of Gain,
If wild Ambition in thy Bosom reign,
Alas! thou vaunt'st thy sober Sense in vain.
In these poor Bedlamites thy Self survey,
Thy Self, less innocently mad than They.

TOMO CHACHI:

AN ODE.

Hanc olim veteres vitam coluere Sabini,
Hanc Remus et Frater; sic fortis Hetruria crevit
Scillicet et rerum facta est pulcherima Roma.

What Stranger's this? and from what Region far
This wond'rous form, majestic to behold?
Uncloath'd, but arm'd offensive for the War,
In hoary Age and wise Experience old;
His Limbs, inur'd to Hardiness and Toil,
His strong large Limbs what mighty Sinews grace
Whilst Truth sincere, and artless Virtue smile
In the expressive Features of his Face;
His bold free Aspect speaks his inward Mind,
Aw'd by no slavish Fear, from no vile Passion blind.

Erst in our Isle with such an Air and Mien,
Whilst Britain's Glory stood in Times of Yore,
Might some redoubted Chief of hers be seen
In all his painted Pride upon the Shore.
Or he, who grateful from the Chariot's Height,
When conqu'ring Julius landed from the Main,
Urg'd his confederated Tribes to fight
For gen'rous Freedom, fierce Cassibelain;
Or he, whose Fame in Roman Annals told,
Must live through every Age, Caractacus the bold.

From the wide western Continent of Land,
Where yet uncultivated Nature reigns;
Where the huge Forests undiminish'd stand,
Nor Towns nor Castles grace the naked Plains.
From that new World undaunted he pursues
To our fam'd Nation his advent'rous Way,
His Soul elated high with glorious Views

Our Strength, our Arts, our Manners to survey;
The boasted European Skill to find,
To bear triumphant home and civilize his Kind.

And, O the idle impotent Disdain
Of vulgar Error, partial to decide!
Must this be stil'd by us a savage Man?
O! the blind Folly of conceited Pride!
Ever by Reason's equal Dictates sway'd
Conscious of each great Impulse in the Soul,
And all his Words, and all his Actions weigh'd
By unaffected Wisdom's just Controul.
Must he be rank'd in an inferior Place
In our inglorious Times, to our degenerate Race!

Alas! brave Indian, good Old England's Fame
Thou see'st sunk down from its Meridian Height;
The noble Ardors now no more inflame
Of conscious Worth, and Honor's dear Delight:

As then when welcom'd to your happy Shore
Our Fleets first landed from the watr'y Way,
And, each strange Region studious to explore,
Pass'd the long Gulf, and vast pacific Sea:
And round emerging to the Eastern Train,
Maintain'd from Sun to Sun their Gloriana's Reign.

Wealth, without End, from such Exploits as these,
Crown'd our large Commerce and extended Sway;
And hence, dissolv'd in soft luxurious Ease,
Our ancient Virtue vanish'd soon away.
Rare to be found is the old generous Strain
So fam'd amongst us once for Patriot Zeal,
Of try'd good Faith and Manners staunch and plain,
And bold and active for their Country's Weal:
Clear from all Stain, superior to all Fear,
Alas, sew such as these, few Oglethorpes are here.

Oft hast thou seen with what assiduous Care,
His own young infant Colony he rears,
Like a fond Parent, anxious to prepare
His tender Offspring for maturer Years;
To love of Labour he subdues their Minds,
And forms their Morals with instructive Laws;
By Principle their solid Union binds,
And Zeal that only heeds the public Cause;
Still with Example strength'ning Reason's Call,
Still by superior Toil distinguish'd from them all.

Whate'er of Empire underneath the Sun
Time through revolving Ages has survey'd,
First from such manly Discipline begun,
And merit summon'd Fortune to its Aid.
And hence, when opening Scenes of Fate make known
The long-determin'd Purpose of the Skies,
Shall Georgia, to a mighty Nation grown,
In Arts and Arms and glorious Actions rise;

And stand renown'd upon the Western Shore,
When Europe's Fame shall cease, and Britain be no more.

Renown'd shall Georgia stand, its own short Hour;
For soon must all that's Human pass away;
Fix'd are the gradual Dates of earthly Power
To rise, to grow, to flourish, and decay.
Still the Effect must follow from the Cause,
And every Work of mortal Man must fall,
And Kingdoms change, by Nature's stated Laws,
For ever round the habitable Ball:
All must in Turn the self-same Tenor run;
All rais'd by honest Toil, by Licence all undone.

But sacred Virtue, ever self-sustain'd,
Whilst all Things fleeting round her she surveys,
Alone to Time shall unobnoxious stand,
And live and flourish in perpetual Praise.

Thine, with thy Oglethorpe's fair Fame shall last,
Together to Eternity consign'd,
In the immortal Roll of Heroes plac'd,
The mighty Benefactors of Mankind:
Those heav'n-born Souls, from whose high Worth we know
The Deity himself best imag'd here below.

The Name of an Indian Chief brought over to this Country from America by Gen. Oglethorpe, when he returned from the Settlement of the Colony of Georgia, of which he was the first Governor.

TO MY HONOURED PATRON Sir JOHN EVELYN, Bart.

O Born conspicuous in your Sphere
To move, and shine, and far and near
To shed your Influence round!
Of each ingenuous Art possess'd,
With every useful Talent bless'd,
With every Virtue crown'd.

For ever in some worthy Aim,
Your Care exerted still the same,

Its generous Ardour shows;
And yet, if hap'ly for a while,
Unbending from your glorious Toil,
You snatch a short Repose;

Say, does not the Retirement please?
The sweet still Life, the learned Ease,
The Solitude serene:
Where ev'ry Charm of Nature meets
In Wotton's elegant Retreats
And rich romantic Scene?

For me, I own, I ever lov'd
Far, far from Courts and Crowds remov'd,
The calm unenvied State,
And, Sir, the utmost of my View,
(Thanks to all-gracious Heav'n and you)
Is now my happy Fate.

Not that my Hours I idly spend
Whilst my Parochial Charge I tend,
Nor run they on in vain,
Or social Converse when I chuse,
Or turn my books, or court my Muse
To tune the sprightly Strain.

As these alternately engage,
I solace my declining Age,
And cast Old Care aside:
And hence such harmless Pleasures flow
As the great World can never know
With all its Pomp and Pride.

Blest is the Man without Offence,
From the plain Paths of Innocence,
That never went Astray;

And the next blest is he who mourns
His Errors, and repenting turns
Back to the sacred Way.

But Oh! 'tis Bliss beyond compare,
Such solid Joys as yours to share,
Recalling still to Mind
An active Life from first to last,
In one perpetual Labour past
To benefit Mankind.

The late Sir John Evelyn, of Wotton, in the County of Surry, Bart. presented the Author with the only Church Preferment he ever enjoyed; viz. the Livings of Wotton, and Abinger, in Surry.

AN ODE.

[No Glory I covet, no Riches I want]

No Glory I covet, no Riches I want,
Ambition is nothing to me:
The one Thing I beg of kind Heav'n to grant,
Is a Mind independent and free.

With Passion unruffled, untainted with Pride,
By Reason my Life let me square;
The Wants of my Nature are cheaply supply'd,
And the rest is but Folly and Care.

The Blessings which Providence freely has lent
I'll justly and gratefully prize,
Whilst sweet Meditation and chearful Content
Shall make me both healthy and wise.

In the Pleasures the great Man's Possessions display,
Unenvy'd, I'll challenge my Part;
For ev'ry fair Object my Eyes can survey,
Contributes to gladen my Heart.

How vainly through infinite Trouble and Strife,
The many their Labours employ!
Since all that is truly delightful in Life,
Is what All, if they will, may enjoy.

A SONG.

[The Charms which blooming Beauty shows]

The Charms which blooming Beauty shows
From Faces heav'nly fair,
We to the Lily and the Rose
With Semblance apt compare:

With Semblance apt, for ah, how soon!
How soon they all decay!
The Lily droops, the Rose is gone,
And Beauty fades away.

But when bright Virtue shines confess'd,
With sweet Discretion join'd;
When Mildness calms the peaceful Breast,
And Wisdom guides the Mind;

When Charms like these, dear Maid, conspire
Thy Person to approve,
They kindle generous chaste Desire,
And everlasting Love.

Beyond the Reach of Time or Fate,
These Graces shall endure;
Still, like the Passion they create,
Eternal, constant, pure.

A PROLOGUE to CATO.

[_]

As it was Acted, by some young Gentlemen, at the Time of the threatened Invasion from Spain, in the Year 1717.

'Twas worth remark with how much Heat and Rage,
When first our Cato grac'd the British Stage,
Contending Parties all his Words apply'd,
And strove to list the Patriot on their Side;
Nay, by how natural an Application
He chim'd with ev'ry Faction of the Nation,
Of Freedom he asserts the glorious Cause;
Straight rung the Theatre with Whig Applause,
Short Joy! for in ten Lines he chang'd the Story,
And ranted like a hot tantivy Tory:

Fiercely exclaim'd, from Generals for Life,
From standing Legions springs our Civil Strife.
In short—though all could find, or here or there,
Their fav'rite Schemes to hit the Character;
Yet none could fix it all throughout their own,
And claim him to themselves, and them alone.

Could then th' unconquer'd Soul and Stoick Pride
Of Cato ever bear to change his Side?
Could He unfix'd in Principle remain?
O Addison! th' important Doubt explain,
Say, didst thou draw him a mere Mod'rate Man?
No, to impartial Eyes he will appear
True to himself throughout, and regular.

When Rome, by wild Ambition's Fury tost,
Her Laws all broke, her Constitution lost,

With War's mad Rage was urging on her Fate,
Then Cato rose to save the sinking State,
Victorious Cæsar's mighty Pow'r defy'd,
Arm'd in his Country's Cause, and bravely stem'd the Tide.

Ever to us be good Old England's Cause
The same that good Old Rome's to Cato was.
On this firm Ground let's resolutely stand,
And drive the bold Invader from our Land;
Our Laws, our Country, and our King defend;
Let us do this, and Cato is our Friend.

THE PUPPET-SHEW.

[_]

Translated from the LATIN of Mr. ADDISON.

Γηγενεων ανδρων μιμουμενοι εργα γιγαντων. Batrachom.

Of wondrous Art the Muse delighted sings,
And rare Diversion rais'd from trivial Things,
Of Pigmy-folk, by Pow'r Mechanic wrought,
And Men, the Product of the Workman's Thought.
Where the throng'd Street resounds with Laughter loud,
And Andrew, drolling, charms the gaping Crowd;
Within, whom Mirth and Novelty invite
To humble Sport and innocent Delight,

In a small Theatre an Audience meets,
And fills, but unpromiscuous fills the Seats;
For each from each distinct the Benches stand,
And different Prices different Seats demand.
The Curtain drawn discloses to the View
The lengthen'd Stage and opening Avenue,
Whose narrow Limits and contracted Space,
Gay glittering Scenes magnificently grace.
And now with Comic Mirth, or Tragic Rage,
The little Actors enter on the Stage,
The Drama swells, and to the wond'ring Eyes
Triumphs, and Wars, and solemn Consults rise;
All Actions that on Life's great Stage appear,
In Miniature are represented here.

Above the rest, the Hero of the Throng,
A prattling merry Mortal stalks along,
Of Comic Mien, and Shape uncouth to see:
His Back projects a huge Gibbosity;

His portly Belly of enormous Size,
Brac'd in a Range of monstrous Buttons lies;
And with incessant Motion roll his Eyes:
His Limbs a Bulk and Strength superior boast,
And uncontroul'd he struts, and rules the Roast;
Chatters, and laughs immoderately loud,
And scolds and swaggers at the Pygmy Crowd;
For mimic Mirth and ready Repartee,
For arch Conceits, and Pranks of Pleasantry,
Was never an unluckier Stick than he.
When solemn Scenes th' attentive Eye engage,
And Tragedy in Buskins treads the Stage;
Then ever loving Mischief at his Heart,
Besure this boist'rous Ruffian plays his Part;
With Flouts and Jests impertinently gay,
Disturbs the Action, and confounds the Play:
Nor his outrageous Insolence forbears,
With saucy Freedoms and indecent Airs.

For the soft Sex to his own am'rous Flames,
And ravish Kisses from the struggling Dames.

Sometimes a Train more glorious to behold,
With Gems resplendent and embroider'd Gold,
In Robes of State attir'd and rich Array,
Displays the Pomp of some illustrious Day:
Small Nobles, tiny Peers, a splendid Throng,
And wooden Heroines pass in State along:
With active Steps the gentle Knights advance,
And graceful lead the Ladies to the Dance:
Safe from the Insults of the hostile Crane,
The Pygmy Court seems here restor'd again,
In all the Glories of its ancient Reign.
At Noon of Night, by Phœbe's lightsome Ray,
Thus the brisk Tribe of slender Fairies play,
Still round and round their circling Dance pursue,
And leave their Footsteps in the Morning Dew.

The fruitful Earth hence draws a quick Produce,
And teems luxuriant with a mystic Juice,
Pours forth full Crops where they have led the Round,
And verdant Circles mark the sacred Ground.

Yet oft' their Sports are lost in loud Alarms,
Whilst cager fly the dapper Chiefs to Arms;
To stern Contention joyous Peace gives way,
As sudden Show'rs deform the smiling Day.
Thus are our Pleasures still chastis'd with Strife,
And Good and Evil checquer Human Life.
Now Swords, and Spears, and murd'ring Guns they bear,
And all the fatal Instruments of War;
The Scenes with Crackers dreadful Bursts resound,
And Squibs and Serpents hiss along the Ground.
Whole Troops of slaughter'd Heroes strow the Stage,
The Crimes of dire Revenge and civil Rage.

Soon as the Fury of the Fight is o'er,
And War's tumultuous Din is heard no more;
Their former Cares the jovial Tribe renew,
And all the pleasant Arts of Peace pursue.
Heroes of old, in happier Ages born,
Whose godlike Acts the sacred Page adorn,
Here much contracted in their Bulk return.
The Sages of the Patriarchal Seed,
A hoary venerable Train proceed;
Wrinkled their Face, with Age their Body bends,
Adown their Breast a rev'rend Beard descends.
Old Tithon thus, if ancient Tales speak true,
Small, and more small, by Age diminish'd grew;
His Form, at last, worn by a Length of Years,
Shrunk from a Pygmy's to a Grashopper's.

Now say, my Muse, from what superior Cause
This slender Nation its Existence draws:

Say from what Pow'r their various Motions rise?
What Hand such Vigour to their Limbs supplies?
The Artist's Skill contrives the wooden Race,
And carves in lifeless Sticks the Human Face;
Then shapes the Trunk, and then the Parts assigns,
And Limbs to Limbs in meet Proportion joins;
With slender Tendons ev'ry Joint he strings,
And forms the Movements with elastic Springs:
And now directed by a Hand unseen,
The finish'd Puppet struts before the Scene,
Exalts a treble Voice, and Eunuch Tone,
And squeaks his Part in Accents not his own.

UPON THE POETS CORNER IN WESTMINSTER-ABBEY.

Hail, sacred Reliques of the tuneful Train!
Here ever honour'd, ever lov'd remain.
No other Dust of the once Great or Wise,
As each beneath the hallow'd Pavement lies,
To this old Dome a juster Rev'rence brings;
No, though she keeps the Ashes of our Kings.
Yet you the Herald's idle Art disclaim,
('Tis yours to give, and not to borrow Fame)
No Vaunts of far-fetch'd Ancestry are here,
Nor dusty Trophies waving in the Air;
No blazon'd Metals spread their tawdry Charms,
And only Shadwell shews a Coat of Arms:

Though those who foremost of our Nobles stand,
Peers of the Realm, and Princes of the Land,
Crowd to appear to your high Merits just,
And rear the Tomb, and place the breathing Bust:
Villers is read with Cowley on the Stone,
And Sheffield adds to Dryden's Name his own.
And this in future Times shall be their Boast,
When all Memorials else of Fame are lost;
When Time shall have devour'd whate'er proclaims
The Grandeur of their now illustrious Names,
And levell'd, as successive Ages pass,
The proud Inscription and the sculptur'd Brass;
Your Sanction then Eternity shall give,
In your immortal Lustre theirs shall live;
As still Mecanas our lov'd Theme we make,
And Honour Pollio for his Virgil's Sake.

AN EPIGRAM.

[Dear Frank, with Fancy, Fire, and Style]

Dear Frank, with Fancy, Fire, and Style,
Form'd a consummate Poet,
Burns with Impatience all the while,
That all the World should know it.

Where'er he goes, with pompous Boast
His Talent he displays;
No, not a Tittle shall be lost
Of his minutest Praise.

Then let's be candid to our Friend,
And own his just Pretence;
Nor yet, whilst we his Wit commend,
Despise his Want of Sense.

ANOTHER.

[Dick's sprightly Wit, like bottled Beer]

Dick's sprightly Wit, like bottled Beer,
For ever bouncing out,
In Froth pursues its full Career,
And spatters all about.

Whene'er the hum'rous Topics rise,
Nor stop nor stay he knows,
But slap the picquant Raill'ry flies
Alike at Friends or Foes.

Not the most clear or sacred Name
Can 'scape the trying Test;
But still, let Heaven and Earth reclaim,
Still he must urge his Jest.

And hence, with Joy too dearly priz'd,
Tho' thus he rules the Roast,
Soon shall he see himself despis'd,
And all his Friendships lost.

As he has his, he soon must find
The World will have their Whim.
He laughs and sneers at all Mankind,
And all Mankind at him.

THE FREE-THINKER.

Clodio, that steals each Fair one's Heart away,
Clodio the bright, the courtly, and the gay,
Is yet full fraught with Notions wond'rous sage,
And shines a prime Free-thinker of the Age.
To the revolving Business of the Day,
His Bed, his Dress, the Tavern, and the Play,
Succeeds the Midnight Revel; then run high
His Joys uncheck'd, and Care and Spleen defy.
Then, whilst the Pedantry of Creeds he shows,
How clear, how free his Elocution slows!
How keen his Wit, his Reas'ning how profound,
Whilst down he knocks poor Priestcraft to the Ground!
For thus, when Wine and Mirth his Spirits raise,
He vents his Knowledge, and his Parts displays;

From each new Scheme harangues with graceful Ease,
And Rabbi Tindal's deep Discoveries.

Say then at last, what is this mighty Man?
Free-thinker! let's define him if we can,
And fix our Meaning, and our Term explain.
From Clodio be the certain Standard known,
(There are ten thousand Clodios in the Town)
And what's the Man we a Free-thinker call?
What? why 'tis he, that never thinks at all.

A FABLE.

In what Dress, or what Manner soever convey'd,
Still Truth will affect, and good Sense will persuade;
Let this for a While with your Patience prevail,
From honest old Æsop to hear an old Tale.

As once on a Time, in a savoury Chat,
A Fox was profoundly engag'd with a Cat,
With modest Assurance and due Condescension,
His Talents and Parts he thought proper to mention,
And made it by plain demonstration appear
No Jeopardy he could have Reason to fear;
For his Match never yet, as is ev'ry where own'd,
Was for Quickness, and Slyness, and Stratagem found:

Such subtle Devices in petto had he
For ev'ry Alarm that could possibly be:
In short, let his Foes, be they Dog, be they Man,
Let 'em try to catch him in a Scrape if they can.

Puss heard his Harangue with a Face full of Wonder,
And thought it was decent for her to knock under,
And pay a becoming Respect and Submission
To the Merits and Parts of this great Politician.
Indeed a small Shift, tho' it never yet fail'd her,
One Shift she had ready when Danger assail'd her;
If that should miscarry—but hark! by the Bye—
The Horns, and the Huntsmen, and Hounds in full Cry!
Puss nimbly whipp'd up, and sat snug in a Tree;
And, as for the Fox, like the Devil flew he;
But so richly he stunk as they follow'd behind,
And the Hounds they all kept him so close in the Wind,

That without Loss of Time, by his Genius forsaken,
In Spite of his Cunning poor Reynard was taken.

Thus the crafty Contriver with Doubles and Fetches,
In his own wise Conceit the whole World over-reaches,
And takes it for granted no Mortal can be
So notably artful and clever as he.
By Self-admiration perpetually cheated,
He wonders to find his Finesses defeated;
Whilst the only sure Way, without further Pretence,
Is Honesty guided by plain Common Sense.

THE MUSE'S COMPLAINT;

Humbly addressed to the Right Honourable the Earl of MIDDLESEX.

Quique pii Vates, & Phœbo digna locuti,
Omnibus his niveâ cinguntur Tempora vittâ.

Griev'd and dishonour'd with licentious Strains,
My Lord, O hear her! your own Muse Complains;
See, 'tis to you her suppliant Hand she rears,
Whose Wit she loves, whose Virtue she reveres.
Admit besides her old peculiar Claim,
Her Zeal distinguish'd for the Sackville Name.
For O, what Age but has from them supply'd
Her noblest Patron, and her justest Pride!

In the Recesses of th' Aonian Shade,
Her sacred Seat long held the heav'n-born Maid;
Copious from hence the tuneful Train inspir'd,
Enrich'd their Fancy, and their Genius fir'd;
Taught them to Wisdom's topmost Height to soar,
To copy Nature through her endless Store,
To paint the Passions, to exalt the Mind,
To charm, to polish, to instruct Mankind.
Hence to our View majestic Homer brings
The Port of Gods, and Sentiments of Kings;
With rich Description swells his pompous Page,
And bids the War in all its Terrors rage.
The Theban Swan hence his bold Music tries,
And tow'ring spreads his Pinions to the Skies,
The Victor Hero crowns with heav'nly Lays,
And pays fair Virtue with immortal Praise.
Hence gay Menander, with deserv'd Applause,
True to the Life each hum'rous Folly draws;

Whilst Sophocles the Human Mis'ry shews,
In wretched Greatness and exalted Woes.

By these, and such as these, her various Aid
Still has the Goddess to Mankind convey'd;
Whilst some, so urges their poetic Fire,
Breathe the soft Flute, or touch the warbling Lyre;
Some sing sweet Love and Innocence serene,
In the calm Pleasures of the Rural Scene;
Some the keen Edge of threat'ning Satyr draw,
And keep the Follies of the World in Awe;
All to their sev'ral Aims Sublimely rise,
From Age to Age still transmigrating flies
The Soul of Poetry and never dies.
And hence in Pope, and hence in Shakespeare shine
Homer's bright Fire, and strong pathetic Line:
Up to the Summit of th' Aonian Height
Horace pursues bold Pindar in his Flight;

Menander's sprightly Graces charm again
In Terence, and in Steel's facetious Vein;
Whilst Sophocles's moving Numbers flow
In Otway, Southern, and Corneille, and Rowe.

When such Desert, drawn by some wretched Aim,
The Cause of Virtue and the Paths of Fame;
When Minds like these obscure their glorious Fire
With grov'ling Instinct and lewd low Desire,
To blend with idle Ribaldry submit
The Charms of Style and Elegance of Wit;
Who does not grieve Heav'n's noblest Gifts to see
Prophan'd, perverted, stain'd with Infamy!

Untouch'd, unheeded, by the Muse be pass'd
The rare Refinements of the modern Taste:
Not with his Fool's Grimaces Harlequin,
Not the pert smatt'ring Epilogue obscene,

Not the dull Farce last creeping in the Rear,
Or move her Spleen, or need her Anger fear:
By their own Nonsense let them stand or fall,
Her they concern not, she disdains them all.
No 'tis when Bards with happiest Talents born,
Whom all the Graces, all the Arts adorn,
Yet heedless, shameless, impotently vain,
Debase and prostitute the hum'rous Strain;
For the loud Laugh all Decency defy,
And urge th' ambiguous Jest and loose Reply;
Champions in Vice's odious Cause engage,
And sooth the vile Corruptions of the Age;
This, this she mourns—
This Fools admire, and Men of Sense despise,
It grieves the Virtuous, and offends the Wise.

See echoing with the Thunder of Applause
The crouded Theatre—and what's the Cause?

Still the old Topic, still the amorous Flame,
The brisk Galant, and the intriguing Dame.
Loud, and more loud their Joys the Audience own
As the Plots open, and th' Affair goes on:
Meanwhile free Action and free Hints unite,
To keep the Fancy tickled to the Height;
Till all for Love victorious we survey,
Till the poor Cuckold baffled sneaks away,
And Rake remains the Hero of the Play.
Brave Morals these! the blushing Muse for Shame
Forbears to mention each transgressing Name,
Her Fav'rites all, who stoop thus meanly low
To catch what Breath of Praise the Town can blow.

So Andrew drolling on his Stage appears,
And holds his dirty Audience by the Ears,
Jocund and free pursues the sleering Strain,
Broad his Allusions, and his English plain;

With dear Delight stands round th' attentive Throng,
Joy flows from ev'ry Heart, and Shouts from ev'ry Tongue.

What worthy Lay, instructive pleasant Steele,
Shall praise thy easy Mirth and honest Zeal!
What Wreaths, what never-fading Wreaths shall crown
Thee, and thy glorious Partner Addison!
Sworn against Vice eternal War to wage,
Spectator, Censor, Guardian of the Age!
These, skilful every Character to hit
With manly Humour and superior Wit,
To its due Object point the Ridicule,
To gall the Coxcomb, and expose the Fool;
From Affectation strip her borrow'd Grace,
And pull the Mask from Fraud's detested Face;
Doom each bold Guilt, convicted as they stand,
To feel the Lash from Satyr's vengeful Hand;

Whilst all abroad this useful Truth is borne;
What taints, 'tis that deserves our Hate and Scorn.

And now 'tis yours, my Lord, whose generous Mind,
Such conscious Worth with such rare Talents join'd,
Reflects new Lustre to the Rank you bear,
'Tis yours to dictate and determine here.
All must assent where you espouse the Cause,
Guided by yours will be the World's Applause.
But could she see in graceful Verse express'd
The Fire that warms your own illustrious Breast,
With some fair Pourtrait from your curious Thought
O were she blest, by your own Pencil wrought;
How would the Muse with just Respect bow down,
Fix this her Standard, and triumphant own
'Tis this at last with Time itself must stand
A perfect Pattern to each Master's Hand.

PROLOGUE to JULIUS CÆSAR.

[_]

Spoken by a young Nobleman of Westminster School, before the Queen and the Royal Family, in the Year 1727.

To represent a Hero we aspire,
Our Authors long have taught us to admire;
For what Historian's Work, what Pooet's Lays,
But boast this Theme, and shine with Cæsar's Praise?
He still appears the fav'rite Classic Name,
And stands unrivall'd on the List of Fame.

But O! superior as his Worth was known,
By that superior Worth was Rome undone.
She wept the mighty Genius she ador'd;
His Parts, his Industry, his Pen, his Sword,
Nay, ev'n his very Clemency deplor'd.

She prais'd her Son, the good, the wise, the brave,
And whilst she prais'd him, griev'd she was his Slave.

For no Restraints his Lust of Pow'r confin'd,
High were his Aims, and uncontrol'd his Mind;
Fiercely he grasp'd at a forbidden Throne,
And in a Commonwealth would reign alone.
Hence Civil Wars and dire Dissension rose,
And hence the Friends of Rome were Cæsar's Foes.

With no such Dread beholds our happy Land
Her Scepter plac'd in George's sacred Hand:
He's our best Strength who bears the Regal Sway,
He our best Patriot who can best obey.
One is the People's and the Sov'reign's Cause;
Britannia's King is Guardian of her Laws:
Secure she draws her Freedom from the Throne,
And in her Cæsar's Safety stands her own.

CHEARFULNESS.

Fair as the dawning Light! auspicious Guest!
Source of all Comfort to the Human Breast!
Depriv'd of thee in sad Despair we moan,
And tedious roll the heavy Moments on.
Though beauteous Objects all around us rise
To charm the Fancy, and delight the Eyes;
Though Art's fair Works and Nature's Gifts conspire
To please each Sense, and satiate each Desire,
'Tis joyless all—till thy enliv'ning Ray
Scatters the melancholy Gloom away.
Then opens to the Soul a heav'nly Scene,
Gladness and Peace, all sprightly, all serene.

Where dost thou deign, say, in what blest Retreat,
To choose thy Mansion, and to fix thy Seat?

Thy sacred Presence how shall we explore?
Can Av'rice gain thee with her golden Store?
Can vain Ambition with her boasted Charms
Tempt thee within her wide-extended Arms?
No, with Content alone canst thou abide,
Thy Sister, ever smiling by thy Side.
When boon Companions, void of ev'ry Care,
Crown the full Bowl and the rich Banquet share,
And give a Loose to Pleasure—art thou there?
Or when the eager Swains pursue the Chace
With active Limbs, and Health in ev'ry Face,
Is it thy Voice, that wak'ning up the Morn,
Cheers the stanch Hound, and winds the jolly Horn?
Or when the th' assembled Great and Fair advance
To celebrate the Mask, the Play, the Dance,
Whilst Beauty spreads its sweetest Charms around,
And Airs extatic swell their tuneful Sound,
Art thou within the pompous Circle found?

Does not thy Influence more sedately shine?
Can such tumultuous Joys as these be thine?
Surely more mild, more constant in their Course,
Thy Pleasures issue from a nobler Source,
From sweet Discretion ruling in the Breast,
From Passions temper'd, and from Lusts represt,
From Thoughts unconscious of a guilty Smart,
And the calm Transports of an honest Heart.

Thy Aid, Oh! ever faithful, ever kind,
Thro' Life, thro' Death, attends the virtuous Mind;
Of angry Fate wards from us ev'ry Blow,
Cures ev'ry Ill, and soften's ev'ry Woe.
Whatever Good our mortal State desires,
What Wisdom finds, or Innocence inspires;
From Nature's bounteous Hand whatever flows,
Whate'er our Maker's Providence bestows,
By thee Mankind enjoys; by thee repays
A grateful Tribute of perpetual Praise.

INDUSTRY.

Queen of all Virtues! for whate'er we call
Godlike and Great, 'tis thou obtain'st it all.
No Task too arduous for thy strong Essay,
And Art and Nature own thy potent Sway.
Inspir'd by thee to each superior Aim,
We press with Ardour thro' the Paths of Fame
Up to the sacred Top, and leave behind
Th' inglorious Crowd, the Herd of Humankind;
Whilst Wisdom round us pours her heav'nly Ray,
And old Experience guides our steady Way.
No anxious Cares, no furious Lusts controul
The free habitual Vigour of the Soul.

Each Part, each Station gracefully we fill,
And bend and shape our Fortune to our Will.

The Hero, down through ev'ry Age renown'd,
With Triumph, Praise, and glorious Titles crown'd,
By thee has gain'd his honourable Spoils,
And mighty Fame's atchiev'd by mighty Toils.
The Sage, whilst Learning studious he pursues,
By thee the stubborn Sciences subdues;
Through Truth's wide Fields expatiates unconfin'd,
And stores for ever his capacious Mind.
Nor seeks the low Degree thy Aid in vain,
The poor Mechanic and the lab'ring Swain;
Health, Peace, and sweet Content to these it brings;
More precious Prizes than the Wealth of Kings.

When whelming round us Death's sad Terrors roll,
'Tis thou speak'st Peace and Comfort to the Soul.

Then, if our recollecting Thoughts present
A well-plann'd Life in virtuous Labour spent;
If useful we have pass'd through every Stage,
And paid our Debt of Service to the Age;
If still we've made our Duty our Delight,
Nor hid our Master's Talent from our Sight,
All's well; 'tis all by our own Heart approv'd,
From hence we pass by God and Man belov'd;
Cheerful we pass, to Heav'n's high Will resign'd,
And leave a blessed Memory behind.

'Till all from thee, that rising by Degrees,
The Muse, this humble Muse attempts to please;
For this the just Materials to prepare,
She gleans with Patience, and digests with Care.
Like the small Bee, whom restless Labour leads
To range the Gardens and the painted Meads,

Pois'd on her tender Wings she joys to stray;
As artful Fancy points her various Way;
Works the rich Hints from each fair Form she meets,
And from a thousand Flow'rs extracts their Sweets;
Nor thinks at last the tedious Travel long,
If MIDDLESEX approve her finish'd Song.

THE GOLDEN VERSES OF PYTHAGORAS.

[_]

Translated from the GREEK.

Felix qui potuit rerum Cognoscere causas,
Quique metus omnes, & inexorabile fatum
Subjecit pedibus, strepitumque Acherontis avari.

First, the great Gods thy utmost Rev'rence claim;
Use with religious Awe their sacred Name:
Assur'd they View thy Ways, let nought controul
The Oath thou once hast bound upon thy Soul.
Next, to the Heroes bear a grateful Mind,
Whose glorious Cares and Toils have bless'd Mankind.

Let just Respect and decent Rites be paid
To the immortal Manes of the Dead.
Honour thy Parents, and thy next of Kind:
And virtuous Men wherever thou canst find,
In the same Bond of Love let them be join'd.

Useful and steady let thy Life proceed,
Mild ev'ry Word, Good-natur'd ev'ry Deed;
Oh, never with the Man thou lov'st contend!
But bear a thousand Frailties from thy Friend.
Rashly inflam'd, vain Spleen, and slight Surmise,
To real Feuds and endless Discords rise.

O'er Lust, o'er Anger, keep the strictest Rein,
Subdue thy Sloth, thy Appetite restrain.
With no vile Action venture to comply,
No, tho' unseen by ev'ry mortal Eye.

Above all Witnesses thy Conscience fear,
And more than all Mankind thyself revere.

One Way let all thy Words and Actions tend,
Reason their constant Guide, and Truth their End.
And ever mindful of thy mortal State,
How quick, how various are the Turns of Fate;
How here, how there the Tides of Fortune roll;
How soon impending Death concludes the Whole;
Compose thy Mind, and free from anxious Strife
Endure thy Portion of the Ills of Life:
Tho' still the good Man stands secure from Harms,
Nor can Misfortune wound, whom Virtue arms.

Discourse in common Converse, thou wilt find
Some to improve, and some to taint the Mind;
Grateful to that a due Observance pay;
Beware lest this intice thy Thoughts astray;

And bold Untruths which thou art forc'd to hear,
Receive discreetly, with a patient Ear.

Wouldst thou be justly rank'd among the Wise?
Think ere thou dost, ere thou resolv'st advise.
Still let thy Aims with thy Experience square,
And plan thy Conduct with sagacious Care.
So shalt thou all thy Course with Pleasure run,
Nor wish an Action of thy Life undone.

Among the various Ends of thy Desires,
'Tis no inferior Place thy Health requires.
Firmly for this from all Excess refrain,
Thy Cups be mod'rate, and thy Diet plain:
Nor yet unelegant thy Board supply,
But shun the nauseous Pomp of Luxury.
Let Spleen by cheerful Converse be withstood,
And honest Labour purify the Blood.

Each Night, ere needful Slumber seals thy Eyes,
Home to thy Soul let these Reflexions rise;
How has To-day my Duty seen express'd?
What have I done, omitted, or transgress'd?
Then grieve the Moments thou hast idly spent:
The rest will yield thee Comfort and Content.

Be these good Rules thy Study and Delight,
Practise by Day, and ponder them by Night;
Thus all thy Thoughts to Virtue's Height shall rise,
And Truth shall stand unveil'd before thy Eyes;
Of Beings the whole System thou shalt see,
Rang'd as they are in beauteous Harmony;
Whilst all depend from one superior Cause,
And Nature works obedient to her Laws.
Hence, as thou labour'st with judicious Care
To run the Course allotted to thy Share,

Wisdom refulgent with a heav'nly Ray,
Shall clear thy Prospect, and direct thy Way.

Then all around compassionately view
The wretched Ends which vain Mankind pursue,
Tost to and fro by each impetuous Gust,
The Rage of Passion, or the Fire of Lust,
No certain Stay, no safe Retreat they know,
But blindly wander thro' a Maze of Woe.
Meanwhile congenial Vileness works within,
And Custom quite subdues the Soul to Sin.
Save us from this Distress, Almighty Jove!
Our Minds illumine, or our Ills remove.

But O! secure from all thy Life is led,
Whose Feet the happy Paths of Virtue tread.
Thou stand'st united to the Race Divine,
And the Perfection of the Gods is thine.

Imperial Reason, free from all Controul,
Maintains her just Dominion in thy Soul.
Till purg'd at length from ev'ry sinful Stain,
When friendly Death shall break the cumb'rous Chain,
Loos'd from the Body thou shalt take thy Flight,
And range immortal in the Fields of Light.

Upon the burning of the COTTONIAN MANUSCRIPTS AT ASHBURNHAM HOUSE, MDCCXXXI.

For future Fame when anxious we prepare,
How false our Views, how fruitless is our Care!
In vain Ambition hopes, or Virtue claims;
'Tis Fate, imperious Fate controuls our Aims,
See what a glorious Trophy Cotton rears!
The learned Spoils of twice a thousand Years:
From Goths and Vandals 'scap'd, and what we feel
Than these more dreadful, from reforming Zeal;
From ev'ry Foe the Muses us'd to fear,
Sacred and safe preserv'd—to perish here!

So Philadelphus through the World explor'd,
And Learning's copious Works insatiate stor'd;
Nor deem'd, such precious Treasures to obtain
The Wealth of mighty Kingdoms giv'n in vain.
All the past Annals of revolving Time,
The Acts of ev'ry Age and ev'ry Clime,
The rich Productions of each studious Mind,
The various Skill and Science of Mankind,
Collected stand, the World's stupendous Boast!
And all in one, one fatal Blaze, are lost.

Old Laws, old Usage, old Events to tell,
Where shall we seek our faithful Oracle?
Whence shall we now adjust each learn'd Debate?
Clear the dark Fact, and fix the doubtful Date?
Call forth historic Truth in all her Charms?
And snatch fair Virtue from Oblivion's Arms?

Here all was open to the curious View,
Nor Delphin Phœbus ever spoke so true;
Such rich Remains, such Works of ancient Days,
Such Monuments of our Forefathers Praise,
Once these poor Walls, this ruin'd Dome could show,
Such Fame—which now the World must never know.

Whate'er the Fury of the Flames has spar'd,
With zealous Care, with awful Rev'rence guard.
Let Heav'n no more, what late its Wrath has show'd,
Resent such Gifts unworthily bestow'd.
Beyond what Av'rice seeks, or Wealth supplies,
Each Code, each Volume, ev'ry Fragment Prize:
As Rome her Relicks sav'd from Times of old,
With Gems profusely decks, and shrines in Gold;
Tho' none like these, with all her Pomp and Cost,
Or Rome, or all her Vatican can boast.

For see what valu'd Records still appear:
The Whole how valu'd when they All were here!
O 'twas too much, when all entire were told,
Too rich a Treasure for one Land to hold!
Yet these let future Times with Joy receive,
The noblest Legacy that ours can leave.

So when the angry Sibyl saw expire
Six of her facred Volumes in the Fire,
For the threo last, repenting from his Soul,
The King paid down the Purchase of the Whole:
And these, inspir'd from her prophetic Rage,
Inform'd their Counsels down through ev'ry Age,
To ev'ry public Enterprize gave Law,
And taught old Rome to keep the World in Awe.

Upon His Excellency The Lord Lieutenant of Ireland's DANGER at SEA, 1732.

------Sunt ipsa pericula tanti.

Her Viceroy now had Ireland's Coast
Survey'd with his last parting Eye:
And now the less'ning Land was lost,
And all was only Sea and Sky;

When round the watr'y Mountains rise,
Rolling aloft in proud Array,
Roar the rough Winds, the Lightning flies,
And black'ning Clouds exclude the Day.

The lab'ring bark no Stay nor Rest,
No Help or knows, or hopes to find;
In the wide distant Main distrest,
And to the Tempest's Rage resign'd.

But ah, her rich illustrious Freight!
Must They the dismal Horror share!
Must all be join'd in one sad Fate,
The Great, the Good, the Wise, the Fair!

That best-lov'd Man, whose princely Heart
With sweet Beneficence refin'd,
Practis'd so long the godlike Art
Of dealing Blessings to Mankind;

Him, through the angry Deep pursu'd,
Must such dire Scenes of Death invade!
Must, O ye Pow'rs that guard the Good,
His generous Virtue thus be paid!

What ardent Vows has Ireland sent,
Grateful for his auspicious Sway!
Whilst anxious for some dread Event,
Britannia mourns his long Delay.

But, blest be Heaven's indulgent Care,
See all at once the Danger past!
The Vessel rescu'd from Despair
Has gain'd a friendly Port at last.

And now receives the noble Guest
His own fair Isle, his native Shore,
With Joy by so much more increas'd,
By how much more she griev'd before.

Thus Fate with Human Passions plays,
And wakes the Tumults of the Soul;
More fierce impetuous Gusts they raise
Each from its Opposite's Controul.

Hence You, though surely This appears
A strange Assertion to be prov'd;
And yet, since You alarm'd our Fears,
Ev'n You, my Lord, are more belov'd.

Lionel, Duke of Dorset.

A WINTER's EVENING.

See, from the Year are all its Honours fled,
And dull November rears his gloomy Head;
The distant Sun emits a fainter Ray,
And a long Night succeeds each transient Day.
In damp dark Mists the thick'ning Vapour falls,
And the chill'd Cattle shudder in their stalls;
The sapless Trees their naked Branches show,
Till cover'd o'er with gath'ring Flakes of Snow;
Keen Blasts and piercing Frost the Floods constrain,
And bind the solid Earth, and fix old Winter's Reign.

Yet now, when quick-descending Night denies,
To rouse the Blood with vig'rous Exercise,
In our own hospitables Homes we find
The Climate temp'rate, and the Season kind;

Where blazing Hearths a genial Warmth display,
And chearful Lamps supply the absent Day;
Where all things round us with Delight we see,
And hum'rous Sport, and sweet Society,
The friendly Banquet, and the flowing Bowl,
Deceive the merry Minutes as they roll.
Then, if we freely from our Store impart,
To cheer with needful Aid the Poor Man's Heart,
And pleas'd, our gen'rous Bounty to employ,
Diffuse the various Blessings we enjoy;
In Life, what happier Portion can we find?
Easy ourselves, and Friends of Human Kind.
So spent, our rugged Winter Ev'nings bring
Joys scarce exceeded by the blooming Spring.

THE SPRING.

Spring returns, the Winter's gone,
And Nature puts her Beauties on.
The Sun, that erst shone out from high,
Feebly through the frozen Sky,
Now rejoices to display
All the Majesty of Day.
The teeming Earth her Riches yields,
And clothes the Trees, and paints the Fields,
And, grateful for its Blessings giv'n,
Breathes a thousand Sweets to Heav'n.
The cloudless Æther shines serene,
And graceful nods the Sylvan Scene.
Old Ocean smooths his Brow, and all
His Storms subside, his Surges fall,

And only o'er the wat'ry Way.
Soft Etesian Breezes play.

And now let's make the most we can
Of ev'ry Moment of our Span.
Now let us to the utmost Height
Indulge our Joys, for sure 'tis right;
'Tis right, tho' Fate no more should give,
Whilst, This sweet Season lasts, to live.

AN ODE.

[No, no, 'tis in vain in this turbulent Town]

No, no, 'tis in vain in this turbulent Town,
To expect either Pleasure or Rest;
To Hurry and Nonsense still tying us down;
'Tis an overgrown Prison at best.

From hence to the Country escaping away,
Leave the Croud and the Bustle behind;
And there you'll see liberal Nature display
A thousand Delights to Mankind.

The Change of the Seasons, the Sports of the Fields,
The sweetly-diversify'd Scene,
The Groves, and the Gardens—nay ev'ry thing yields
A Happiness ever serene.

Here, here from Ambition and Avarice free,
My Days may I quietly spend;
Whilst the Cits and the Courtiers, unenvy'd for me,
May gather up Wealth without end.

No, I thank 'em, I'll never to add to my Store,
My Peace and my Freedom resign;
For who, for the sake of possessing the Ore,
Would be sentenc'd to dig in the Mine?

EPIGRAM XCVI.

MARTIAL. Book X.

Thou wonder'st much, my Friend, grown gray
In the Town Life and modish Way;
Thou wonder'st much how I could bear
To quit the Pomp and Pleasures there
For this uncouth obscure Retreat,
My ancient, rude, paternal Seat,
Where through the Vales the Salo glides,
And Tagus rolls his golden Tides.

Alas, but set minutely down
The vain Expences of the Town,
Sussicient ev'ry Tax to pay
That Fashion, Vice, and Folly lay,
What could my slender Income bring?
Which Here maintains me like a King.

Plain Appetite prescribes my Chear;
Convenience tells me what to wear.
Pleasure and Health the Fields afford,
And unbought Plenty crowns my Board:
My Tenants just and faithful found;
Friendly and free my Neighbours round;
I feel my Bliss without Alloy,
And all I want, or with, enjoy.

Go, court the Great, and herd in vain
Among their fawning cringing Train;
Thy Pay for long Attendance past,
Perhaps a gracious Smile at last;
Whilst all the Sweets of Wealth and Ease,
Thy Hopes absurdly seek from These;
Could'st thou but there submit to live,
Thy own Estate would amply give.

From MARTIAL. Lib. xii.

We two, in sacred Friendship bound,
Have seen full forty Years run round;
Nor ceas'd, my Julius still to share
Each others Joy, each others Care:
And many a sad, from first to last,
And many a happy Day have past:
Though when I call them back to view,
If slattering Fancy tells me true,
The Days with sweet Enjoyment blest
In Number far exceed the rest.

Through Life compleatly wouldst thou know
What Ease the Human Lot can show?
Wouldst thou much deep Distress avert,
And many a Pang that rends the Heart?

Why, all fond Sympathy reprove;
Nor ever too intensely love.
Thou'lt feel, 'tis true, less exquisite
Of social Bonds the dear Delight:
But, Oh! my Friend, 'tis true again,
Thou'lt feel less exquisite the Pain.

FROM THE GREEK.

Gasping for Life, all Hopes of Succour past,
Alcimenes was laid to breathe his last:
A Fever raging with resistless Pain
Fir'd the whole Mass, and breath'd in ev'ry Vein.
While Stitches, as the Lungs their Functions ply'd,
Stab'd like a thousand Daggers in his Side.
In this Distress, a Sage of mighty Fame;
A Sage from Coos Calignotus came,
By Practice skill'd, in Books profoundly read,
The Whole Pæonian Science in his Head:
And first, with Care, the Patients Pulse he tries,
And views his Posture, with judicious Eyes;
The latent Symptoms next Essays to trace
Through ev'ry Line and Muscle of his Face:
And then Proceeds, minutely to display
How the just Crisis answers to a Day;

Explains the Turns of each acute Disease,
And backs his Reas'nings from Hippocrates.
All which premis'd, in Form he sets his Face,
And thus pronounces on the present Case:—
If these Oppressions can but be controul'd,
If this same Fever will but quit his hold,
If once these Stabs, these cruel Stabs would cease,
If we can come to fetch our Breath with ease,
All will be well, my Art perceives it plain,
We shan't yet die of our Pleuretic Pain.
So, with my Fee, permit me to withdraw,
And leave you to the Learned in the Law.
From this vain World compose yourself to rest,
'Tis all but Toil and Trouble at the best.
You've only now to order your Affairs,
To draw your Writings, and appoint your Heirs,
And sign and seal;—and for his Care and Skill,
Be sure you put your Doctor in the Will.

THE FISHERMEN.

An IDILLIUM of THEOCRITUS.

'Tis Penury that whets the Human Mind
To painful Toil in Crafts of every Kind.
Care to subsist, still carking in his Breast,
Bars the poor Lab'rer of his needful Rest.
Works him by Day, and haunts him in the Night;
Stirs his old Stumps before the Morning Light:
And late and early prompts his hard Essay
To earn the scanty Pittance of the Day.

Two Fishermen, long season'd to the Trade,
Fast in their lonely Cot asleep were laid;
Their Cot, whose low Mud Walls with Osiers bound
Propt the thatch'd Roof from tumbling to the Ground;
Whilst Sea-Weed dry'd, and underneath them spread,
And Reeds and Rushes furbish'd up their Bed.

The Implements to catch their daily prize,
Nets, Lines, and Hooks of ev'ry Sort and Size;
Baskets and twisted Ropes were scatter'd round,
And the old Boat, hard by was haul'd aground.
This was their Wealth, and thus for Toil prepar'd,
They fed as coarsely as they labour'd hard:
Whilst roaring round their Cot on ev'ry Side
The Sea came daily with the flowing Tide;
Nor social Friends, nor Neighbourhood they knew,
Far from a Place so rueful, all withdrew.
The Moon advancing with her silver Light
Had past, and hardly past the Noon of Night,
When these two Comrades rose without Delay
To urge the toilsome Travel of the Day.
All in an Instant from sweet Sleep they broke,
And thus the one with deep Amasement spoke.

“Sure without Grounds is the receiv'd Report
That all our Nights in Summer must be short,

When the warm Sun enlarges his Career,
And Jove unfolds the Beauties of the Year.
What Scenes have I survey'd this live-long Night;
And yet, far distant is the dawning Light.
Canst thou, my Friend, the various Dreams explain
Which mimic Fancy forges in the Brain?
Fair fall th' Event, whatever mine may mean,
But sure, such Dreams as mine were never seen!
I know thee prudent, and the prudent Mind
Can best interpret what's by Fate design'd.
At least attend the pleasing Tale, and share
Thy Friend's Amusement as thou dost his Care.
Hear the Dream told.”

Second Fisherman.
“Relate then all that past,
The whole Adventure speak from first to last.”

First Fisherman.
“Our Meal dispatch'd, full easy to digest,
(Our Meals, Heav'n help us! seldom hurt our Rest)
Last Night I laid me down resign'd to Sleep;
And straight methought, to angle in the Deep:
On a Rock's Brow I took my silent Stand,
My Rod held out, and trembling in my Hand;
And still I eyed the dancing Cork, to know
If aught were nibbling at the Bait below;
When lo, at last my utmost Hopes to crown,
The Rod bent double, and the Cork sunk down;
Fast to my Hook I felt with glad Surprize
A Fish was floundering of enormous Size.
With my best Skill to seize the welcome Prey
I loos'd my Length of Line to let him Play;
Till tir'd and spent, and struggling now no more
I drew him fair and softly to the Shore;

Then stopt to view, and wond'rous to be told,
I found my Fish was form'd of beaten Gold.
Not Neptune's Self a richer Prize could show,
In all his azure Treasury below.
Gods! how I felt, of all this Wealth possest;
How my Heart leapt and bounded in my Breast!
In Pleasure now, thought I, I'll take my Swing
And live as free and happy as a King.
Safe and secure upon the Land, I swore
I'd fix my Fortune, and enjoy my Store,
And never ply my Trade of Fishing more.
And now advise, since Heav'n's just Wrath I dread,
And Vengeance pointed at the perjur'd Head,
Since all my Schemes of Wealth and Ease are vain,
And Want compels me out to Sea again,
What shall I do? or how shall I controul
The Oath I thus have bound upon my Soul?”

Second Fisherman.
“Alas! my Friend, in Fact thou didst not swear,
There's nothing real in the whole Affair.
Now to our Toil,—and fairly may we speed
In Heaven's good Bounty to supply our Need!
For Man, whate'er his foolish Hopes may say,
Must live from Hand to Mouth, from Day to Day.
Still 'tis the Fish that's earn'd by Labour past,
The real Fish must be our Food at last.
Else shall we soon lament the sad Extremes,
And dye for Want amidst our golden Dreams.

UPON THE DEATH OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRIETTA Countess of ORRERY.

------Non hæc sine numine Divûm
Eveniunt.

It must be so—on Terms so slight
Does Heav'n its best good Gifts bestow,
To point out fond Affections right,
And wean us from the World below.

See, all extinct the vital Flame,
She lies consign'd to sacred Rest;
She who but now where'er she came
Inspir'd with Gladness ev'ry Breast.

From This dark Scene of Human Woes
Her spotless Soul dismiss'd away,
The full Rewards of Virtue knows,
And shines in God's eternal Day.

Celestial Joys has She to share,
Whilst we our gen'ral Loss deplore,
Since now, of all that's Good and Fair,
The brightest Pattern is no more.

Where shall we such rich Talents trace?
Such Prudence, with such Sweetness join'd,
Such pious Zeal, such courteous Grace,
Is there again in Human Kind?

Is there another Fair, where'er
Through all the Sex our Search can rove,
That equals her Parental Care,
Or Filial or Connubial Love?

But still the Tears that copious flow
O'er her sad Urn, are all in vain;
Nor when stern Fate has struck the Blow,
Can call departed Life again.

And You once, once alas! the dear,
The happy Partner of her Heart,
All that You may, my Lord, forbear
To urge the keen afflictive Smart.

Let Time and Nature work their Course,
Let Reason then prescribe Relief;
Oh, check the strong impetuous Force,
To total Luxury of Grief.

Your Friends, Your Country, this Restraint,
And ev'ry lov'd and valu'd Name;
Your tender Offspring—ev'n the Saint,
Ev'n She You mourn for, this must claim.

100

For what more pleasing can She find
Beneath the Regions of the Bless'd,
Than to survey Your noble Mind
Of ev'ry Sorrow dispossess'd?

101

Cowley's Epitaphium vivi Authoris, PARAPHRASED.

Here, Traveller, from Human Eyes
Conceal'd for ever, Cowley lies:
In this mean Cell the Poet chose
To seek his long-lov'd last Repose;
When tir'd with each ambitious Strife,
And all the foolish Farce of Life,
To sacred Silence he withdrew,
And bid the busy World adieu.

His better Part surviving tries
To Truth's and Wisdom's Heights to rise,
The solid Joys of Virtue finds,
Converses with Celestial Minds,

102

And pitying sees what various Woe
The giddy Crowd pursues below.

Peace to his ever-gentle Shade!
May no rude Cares his rest invade!
Light lie the Earth, that Flow'rs may bloom
Around the metaphoric Tomb!
That here in this small Spot may grow
(A Spot how small suffices now!)
What Summer's short-liv'd Pride bestows,
The Lily, and the blushing Rose.
Surely unenvy'd we may have
Flow'rs to attend us in the Grave.

103

ANTRUM RICHMONDIENSE. MDCCXXXII.

104

Sweet lonely Grott! nor art thou less
Than those antique Retreats admir'd,
Where or the Sylvan Goddesses,
Or where Diana's Self retir'd;

105

In thee no glorious Roofs are shown,
Nor the proud Column's graceful Height;
But hoary Moss, and rustic Stone,
Commend thy Structure to the Sight;

In this plain Neatness lovelier far,
Than all the pompous Piles of State,
Since here nor enters Dread, nor Care,
Nor busy Strife, nor factious Hate.

Here CAROLINE to learned Ease,
And studious Solitude resign'd,
The Depths of Truth and Wisdom sees,
And stores her rich capacious Mind.

Not that ev'n here she leaves unsought
Whate'er the Publick Weal may claim;
But plans for ever in her Thought
Britannia's Pow'r, and Wealth, and Fame.

106

Her boundless Goodness She conveys
To Lands remote, and foreign Climes;
And through the peaceful World essays
To bring the old Saturnian Times.

And oft, nor ever giv'n in vain,
Her Aid the Royal Counsels own;
Thus She transmits her Consort's Reign,
By Her improv'd in Glory down;

Nor, though our KING protracts his Stay,
The happy Briton aught complains,
Since still with delegated Sway
Our ROYAL GUARDIAN holds the Reins.

107

To my worthy Friend THOMAS SOUTHERN, Esq.

Say, Southern, ever form'd to please,
Since Time its Traces shows,
And yet such Grace, such sprightly Ease
In all thy Converse flows;

Say, does not still that Warmth remain
Of thy rich fertile Mind,
Which so inspir'd thy Tragic Strain
To move and charm Mankind?

'Tis still, tho' not so fiercely bright,
The self-same glorious Ray;
And sheds a calmer sweeter Light
In thy declining Day.

108

Hence the Polite and Learn'd to Thee
Perpetual Trophies raise;
In thy just Praises all agree
Themselves who merit Praise.

Honour'd and lov'd through ev'ry Stage
Thy happy Talents shine,
And still, of each successive Age,
The ORRERY is Thine.

109

A THOUGHT upon DEATH.

'Tis vain, my Soul, 'tis impious all,
The Human Lot to mourn,
That Life so soon must fleet away,
And Dust to Dust return.

Alas! from Death the Terrors fly
When once 'tis understood;
'Tis Nature's Call, 'tis God's Decree,
And is, and must be good.

Wearied his Limbs with honest Toil,
And void of Cares his Breast,
See how the lab'ring Hind sinks down
Each Night to wholesom Rest.

110

No nauseous Fumes perplex his Sleep,
No guilty Starts surprise;
The Visions that his Fancy forms,
All free and chearful rise.

So thou, nor led by Lusts astray,
Nor gall'd with anxious Strife,
With virtuous Industry fulfil
The plain Intent of Life,

Pass calmly thy appointed Day,
And usefully employ,
And then thou'rt sure, whate'er succeeds,
Is Rest, and Peace, and Joy.

111

FROM THE LATIN of Mr. BOURNE.

To a Friend's Mansion journeying down,
Distant some threescore Miles from Town,
For speed and safety I engage
My Passage in the flying Stage.
The Coachman, with imperious Haste,
Puts to e'er Midnight's hardly past;
When, rous'd from Sleep, and hurrying in,
And jamb'd two fat old Crones between,
Seated against me I behold
A Captain, resolute and bold;
A jolly Host, round, plump, and squab;
A Mother with her little Babe:
All thus commodiously bestow'd,
We rock and jolt along the Road,

112

Jumbled, as Ruts or Quags betide,
From Fore to Aft, from Side to Side:
And straight, the Converse to refine,
All in melodious Concert join,
Each Beldam her sweet Lungs unfolds;
And whilst one coughs, the other scolds:
Assuming all his martial Airs
The Captain cocks his Hat and swears:
Mine Host, whom slumb'rous Nods compose,
Exalts the Trumpet through his Nose:
The Matron prays we won't rebuke
Her Child, for the poor Thing must puke:
A Coach—If thus it gives us ease,
If it's Conveniencies are these,
My Toil henceforth I'll never spare,
But freely foot it twice as far.

113

PART OF PSALM XXXVII. PARAPHRASED.

View not with Envy fretting in thy Breast
The Impious Man, of Wealth and Pow'r possest;
Let no rash Thoughts perplex thy even Mind,
When proud Oppressors lord it o'er Mankind.
Wait but the Evening of their fleeting Day,
And all this boasted Pomp shall pass away.
So to the sweeping Scythe at once must yield
All the gay Verdure of the smiling Field:
So the short Moments of the self-same Hour
Behold the blooming and the faded Flow'r.

Only do Thou Religion's Rules pursue,
And keep thy Duty ever in thy View;

114

Let all thy Life in this just Tenor move,
And all Occasions to do Good improve.
Then with full Trust on God securely rest,
Assur'd that whatsoe'er befals, is best.
For all thy Needs his Goodness shall provide,
His Pow'r shall guard thee, and his Wisdom guide,
If pois'nous Tongues thy upright Deeds defame,
And foul-mouth'd Slander fasten on thy Name,
Yet still be calm, and he shall soon expose
The vain, the baffled Malice of thy Foes;
Shall clear thy Cause, thy Virtue shall display,
Bright as the Sun, and open as the Day.

When Storms of State aloft impetuous roar,
And mighty Villains fall, and are no more,
Still safe and happy is the Good Man seen,
His Aspect chearful, and his Mind serene.

115

Though no huge Heaps of ill-got Riches rise,
To sooth his Pride, and feed his rav'nous Eyes;
Yet Thrift and Industry increase his Store,
And sweet Content forbids him to be poor.
Heaven's gracious Bounty, freely as it flows,
Freely again his lib'ral Hand bestows;
And timely Aid and Kindness to impart,
Employs his Labour, and delights his Heart.
Well pleas'd the Fruits of his good Works he sees,
With God, with Man, and with himself at Peace;
The choicest Gifts of Providence he shares,
And leaves a thousand Blessings to his Heirs.

116

PSALM CIV. PARAPHRASED.

Ex Ipso, et per Ipsum, et in Ipso sunt omnia: Ipsi gloria in sæcula. Amen. Rom. xi. 36.

Thee, Thee my rising Soul aspires to sing,
Almighty Father, everlasting King,
Benign Creator! wond'rous to survey,
Thy Works excite the grateful pious Lay.
So full, so plain through all the System shine
Thy glorious Pow'r, and Majesty Divine.

From Thy bright Throne beyond the starry Height,
Spread the vast Plains of Empyræan Light;
The Spheres assume the next inferior Place,
And form their Orbits through th' Æthereal Space.

117

Denser beneath, and close-compacted lie
The Elemental Regions of the Sky;
Here sloat the Clouds, and hence the Thunders roll,
And Tempests shake the World from Pole to Pole;
And here thy Ministerial Spirits find
Thy dreadful Stores of Vengeance for Mankind;
And hence, well pleas'd, thy Orders to perform,
Lance the hot Bolt, or drive the raging Storm.

Till thou restrain'dst it, like an ample Robe,
The Deep involv'd the habitable Globe;
And now, though where permit thy dread Decrees,
Or through the Oceans, or the midland Seas,
Restless and proud the foaming Surges rise,
Range the wide wat'ry Waste, and threat the Skies;
Yet where Thou bidst the firm dry Land extend,
Fix'd is their Barrier, and their Tumults end;

118

Aw'd with Thy Voice, aloof they vainly roar,
And tumble unincroaching to the Shore.
Meanwhile the penetrating Liquid strains
Through Paths unseen, and subterraneous Veins,
And thence forc'd up, and struggling into Light,
Gushes spontaneous from the Mountain's Height;
Down from each Hill the silver Currents flow,
And wind and wander through the Vales below:
And, whilst their Streams refreshing Moisture yield
To the dry Cattle panting from the Field,
Trees by the Sides project their Branches fair,
And lodge the little Songsters of the Air.

With grateful Food thy Creatures to sustain,
Thou send'st the former and the latter Rain:
The Earth receives it with a quick Embrace,
And straight springs up the Vegetable Race;

119

Their sev'ral Fruits the sev'ral Seasons bear,
And various Plenty crowns the loaded Year:
Hence have the beasts, to answer Nature's Call,
Grass in the Field, and Fodder in the Stall:
And hence for Man, the fatt'ning Olive grows:
To chear Man's Heart, hence the rich Vintage flows:
And hence, his Life and Vigour to maintain,
O'er the long Furrows waves the rip'ning Grain.
Lord, how does thy all-bountenous Goodness send
Unnumber'd Gifts, and Blessings without end!

To their full Growth advanc'd, by just Degrees,
Firm and majestic stand the Forest-Trees;
Up to the Clouds their sturdy Arms they throw,
And seek the Center in their Roots below.
And here a hospitable Dwelling find
All the wild Nations of the feather'd Kind:

120

And here the Stork, in the tall Fir-trees Height,
Leaves her young Brood and takes her airy Flight:
And whilst a long-extended Gloom they show,
And hang tremendous o'er the Mountain's Brow,
Beneath (for nothing breathes too mean to share
Thy tender Love and providential Care)
The Goat among the Precipices stroles,
And the small Conies borough in their Holes.

The Moon, refulgent with a borrow'd Ray,
Fills her pale Orb, and runs her destin'd Way.
The Sun revolving in his just Career,
Points out the Seasons, and divides the Year;
Duly withdrawing his diurnal Light,
He leaves o'ershaded with the Veil of Night
Half the Terrestial Globe; then rav'ning stray
The savage Beasts, outrageous for their Prey;

121

Growling they roam the spacious Desarts o'er;
The Hills re-echo, and the Forests roar.

When the East reddens with the op'ning Day,
Back to their Dens abash'd they haste away;
And Man comes forth, his stated Task begun,
His Task, returning with the rising Sun,
Pursues his Work with anxious Toil and Strife,
And earns the needful Sustenance of Life;
Till Ev'ning aids him, wearied and Opprest,
With sweet Refreshment and alternate Rest.
O Lord, how various is thy Praise display'd
In all the Creatures which thy Hand hath made!
Lost at the View, in Wonder down we fall;
Lord, with what Wisdom hast Thou made them all!
How on the Earth thy Riches dost Thou show'r,
And bless it with an unexhausted Store!

122

And yet, behold another Scene disclose!
Nor less the wat'ry World thy Goodness knows.
What Shoals, what endless Shoals fill ev'ry Space!
Or the testaceous, or the scaly Race.
What Forms uncouth innumerable stray!
Dive through the Deep, or on the Surface play!
How vast the huge Leviathans that reign,
Fierce in their Might, the Tyrants of the Main!
Their monst'rous Backs like floating Islands rise;
Their Nostrils spout a Tempest to the Skies.
And here the Ships in all their Glory ride,
And spurn the Billows with triumphant Pride.

These all subsist by thy paternal Care,
Only in thee they live, and move, and are.
To thee they owe their Life's perpetual Stay,
And ask of thee their Food from Day to Day;

123

Enjoy the copious Good thy Hand bestows,
And solace on thy Bounty as it flows.
But, thy enliv'ning Influence once withdrawn,
No more does Joy, nor Light, nor Comfort dawn:
Tormenting Pain succeeds, and sad Decay,
And greedy Death demands his destin'd Prey.
The Soul thou gav'st us then resigns it's Trust,
And the poor Carcase tumbles into Dust.

Yet undiminish'd stand the Species all,
And slourish, whilst the Individuals fall.
A new Succession ev'ry Chasm supplies,
And still one rises, as another dies.
Hence is the Praise of thy all-glorious Name
From Age to Age, from Race to Race the same;
Thy Pow'r, throughout the whole Creation known,
As was, is now, and ever shall be shown,

124

Till thou who mad'st it, with devouring Flame
Shalt quite consume the universal Frame.

O praise the Lord, my Soul, whilst Sinners wait
From his consuming Hand a dreadful Fate,
Praise thou the Lord; be he thy stedfast Friend,
He, the first Cause of all Things, and the End:
So over Time and Fate shalt thou prevail,
For God sustains thee, and thou canst not fail.

125

ABRAHAM's SACRIFICE.

------Dignus vindice nodus.

From the third Morning dawn'd the orient Light,
When Abraham gain'd the destin'd Mountain's Height;
And Isaac, now their Journey's Period found,
Had thrown his cumbrous Burden to the Ground,
His Load of Wood, with solemn Rite assign'd
To burn the Sacrifice by God enjoin'd.

And now the ready Care and zealous Toil
Of Sire and Son had rear'd the sacred Pile,
When thus (yet oft' with Sighs his Utt'rance broke,
And oft' with gushing Tears) the Patriarch spoke.

126

Thou, in whom Heaven's best Love to me was shown,
Kind, good, and duteous; O my darling Son!
Firm to my Soul, whom all dear Ties engage,
Crown of my Hopes, and Comfort of my Age;
Now be the Ardour of thy Faith display'd,
And summon all thy Virtue to thy Aid,
To hear the Doom by God's own Voice decreed,
That thou, O can I speak it! thou must bleed:
Thy harmless Life, so runs the dread Command,
Must here be offer'd by thy Father's Hand.
Fain, fain, Heav'n knows, by strong Reluctance prest,
And partial Nature pleading in my Breast,
Fain would I have mistook the sacred Call:
'Twas Dream, 'twas Fancy, 'twas Illusion all.
Can God, I reason'd, his own Law controul,
Impress'd so deeply on the Human Soul;
His Law, which as the Wrath divine they dread,
Prohibits Man Man's vital Blood to shed?

127

Did He establish This a Rule to bind
Through all successive Ages all Mankind?
And can He, ever gracious, just, and mild,
Can He command me to destroy my Child?—
Alas! why not? who shall maintain the Strife
With Him, sole sov'reign Arbiter of Life?
On These plain Terms he gives us all to see
New-born th' Æthereal Light, and bids us Be;
That whensoever He, or soon, or late,
Shall summon us to leave our earthly State,
The Body its congenial Dust must claim,
The Soul return to God from whom it came.
And sure for this, the Time, the Means, the Way,
'Tis His to choose, His providential Sway
Inflicts the sudden Stroke, or slow Decay:
To each inferior Cause He gives its Weight,
And arms with all its Darts the Hand of Fate.

128

Then great Creator, since 'tis Thy Decree
That Isaac now must fall, and fall by me;
Prostrate and mute, I bow before thy Throne,
Thy Name be hallow'd, and thy Will be done.—
Oft' thy dread Voice has fill'd me with Delight,
Or in the Trance, or Vision of the Night;
And still as I obey'd it hast thou shed
Riches, and Peace, and Honour round my Head:
And shall I now resist the well-known Call?
And grudge one Gift to Thee, who gav'st me All?
Hast Thou so blest my whole long Life-time past,
And shall I now forsake Thee at the last?
Yet, my good God, all-gracious as Thou art,
Forgive the Yearnings of a Parent's Heart;
That my poor Service may be rightly paid,
Support my Frailness with thy heav'nly Aid,
And suffer not, by this hard Instance try'd,
My stedfast Faith in Thee to start aside.

129

Thus far his Grief the rev'rend Sire exprest,
A copious Flood of Tears forbad the rest:

When Isaac thus; Ill must it surely suit,
When God commands, for Mortals to dispute.
His Will once spoke, the whole Creation awes,
And what am I, to make a Moment's Pause?
But Here so plainly stands His Love exprest,
Here to obey, is only to be blest;
'Tis only earlier to be call'd away
To God's own Presence, and the Realms of Day,
Snatch'd from the Ill to come, nor doom'd to know
The various Bitterness of Human Woe.

Can I, beneath good Abraham's forming Hand,
In heav'nly Truth and steady Virtue train'd,
Taught, O my God, with one perpetual Aim,
To love thy Service and to fear thy Name;

130

Can I not hope, unbodied when I roam
Where Spirits immortal find their destin'd Home,
In that new World thy Goodness still to share,
And praise and bless my kind Preserver there?
Can I thy Mercy not securely trust
To hide my Human Frailties in the Dust,
And there admit me, one short Struggle o'er,
Where Death, and Sin, and Sorrow are no more?
But, Oh my Father! how shall he sustain
This Load of Woe, this Heart-oppressing Pain?
Cancell'd at once to view high Heav'ns Decree
Of Blessings to his future Race in me!
His Hopes all blasted, all his Comforts fled,
Grief to the Grave must bow his hoary Head,
Him, thro' the op'ning Scenes my Thoughts employ,
Of Heav'n, and Raptures of immortal Joy;
Yet him with deep Affliction I condole,
And feel his Anguish in my inmost Soul.

131

With just Rebuke the Patriarch mild replies,
In vain, my Son, thy anxious Terrors rise.
Think'st thou that Change affects th' Eternal Will?
Hath God once said, and shall not He fulfil?
Revolving Time must bring the dreadful Day
When Heav'n and Earth dissolv'd shall pass away:
At once the glorious universal Frame
Shall shrink like Parchment crackling in the Flame;
Ruin o'er total Nature shall prevail:
But not one Tittle of his Word can fail.
Thee, the just Heir of all my Hopes to come,
His Goodness gave me from the barren Womb:
Thee the same Goodness, sacrific'd and slain,
Can raise and quicken into Life again.
Or, as the Seed, though from the Sower's Hand
It dies and rots beneath the furrow'd Land,
Soon with new Strength reviv'd, essays to rise,
And seeks the genial Influence of the Skies;

132

The rip'ning Ears a rich Abundance yield,
And golden Harvests crown the siniling Field;
So from what here the hallow'd Pile must burn,
Ev'n from thy Ashes sleeping in their Urn,
A new corporeal System he may frame,
And re-inspire the animating Flame.

Events to come, and Fate by God design'd,
The Counsels of his own omniscient Mind,
Himself alone surveys; but here we rest,
That what he wills must be, and must be best.
'Tis his to Man his Pleasure to display:
Ours to adore, to tremble, and obey.
Yet, had it rather pleas'd the Will Divine
To spare my Isaac's Life, and call for mine,
In her own Tenor to let Nature run,
Nor bid the Sire survive the slaughter'd Son;

133

How had I then (my Course all faithful found,
My End by God's express Acceptance crown'd)
How had I joy'd to hear his Orders spoke?
Bow'd my old Head submissive to the Stroke?
In Praise resign'd my last expiring Breath?
And met with Transport the Embrace of Death?

He said, and both the sacred Rite prepare,
And both pour out their Souls in ardent Pray'r,
And humbly hope Heaven's mightiest Aid to find,
To wake each latent Virtue in their Mind.
And now the Altar blaz'd, and now display'd
Abraham advanc'd aloft his glitt'ring Blade,
With strenuous Zeal represt his inward Woe,
And rais'd his trembling Hand to strike the Blow:
When lo! effulgent with amazing Light,
A Form Celestial stood before his Sight;

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Less glorious shines, his rapid Race to run,
Forth issuing from his eastern Goal, the Sun.
The Patriarch gaz'd, nor Speech nor Motion found,
And dropt his lifted Weapon to the Ground.
A sweet Regard the pitying Angel show'd,
And thus his solemn Words complacent flow'd.

Sheath, Abraham, sheath the Sword; in gracious part
Accepts th' Almighty thy obedient Heart,
For the full forfeit takes thy Service done,
And freely gives thee thy devoted Son.
Now hear, thou faithful Man, whilst I unfold
Successive Scenes, illustrious to behold,
Of Fame to thee, and wondrous Love design'd,
In thy distinguish'd Race to Humankind.
Try if thou canst, by numb'ring to explore
All the loose Atoms on the sandy Shore;

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Or upwards turn thy penetrating Eye,
And count the radiant Spangles of the Sky:
Like These shall Isaac's Progeny outgo
What Bounds or Thought can reach, or Number show.
From his fam'd Seed, as Heav'n its Aid supplies,
Shall States be form'd, and mighty Empires rise;
And Kings, ordain'd in future Realms to shine,
Shall boast their Royal Stock deriv'd from thine.

But one fair Branch God's larger Love must share,
His chosen People, his peculiar Care:
Himself confest shall own their favour'd Cause,
Conduct their Counsels, and prescribe their Laws.
Himself shall raise inspir'd with matchless Might,
For Rule their Judges, and their Chiefs for Fight.
How oft' for them shall his fierce Wrath confound
The Faithless Nations gathering all around!

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How oft' shall rise his wonder-working Sway,
And turn old Nature from her destin'd Way,
To crush whoe'er their conqu'ring Arms withstand,
And plant his People in the promis'd Land!

Whilst the vain World to impious Rites resign'd,
To Lusts abandon'd, and to reason blind,
Stray in the Dark; to them to them alone
Shall Heaven's pure Will and genuine Truth be known:
Religion shall be theirs, her sacred Ray
Shall Wisdom pour to guide them in the Way.

For this shall rev'rend Seers, divinely taught,
God's great Designs impress'd upon their Thought,
From Age to Age his gradual Word display,
And shed the chearful dawning of the Day;
Till in full Light Messiah's self shall rise,
Sprung from thy Seed, descending from the Skies;

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Stupendous Union! Heav'n and Earth combin'd!
Incarnate God, to rescue lost Mankind!
With him, erst fled from Sin's polluting Stain,
Shall ancient Virtue visit Earth again;
Peace sent from Heav'n shall bless the World below,
And like the spreading Sea shall Knowledge flow.
Mercy Divine Messiah shall bring down
To sinful Man, and mighty in Renown
Shall break Hell's Pow'r, and Death's tyrannic Chain,
And end the long Reproach of Satan's Reign.

He said, and instant, pleas'd whilst they pursue
The great Ideas, vanish'd from their View.
A thousand Thoughts their reas'ning Pow'rs controul,
And deep Amazement fills the lab'ring Soul.
Yet all they could to shew their just Regard,
A beast they bring, for Sacrifice prepar'd,

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And his free Grace with holy Vows implor'd,
Burn the vicarious Victim to the Lord.
Then pond'ring all the Wonders of the Day.
With Hearts exulting, homeward bend their Way,