 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
284
TO Mr. M---l.
Tho', under Stars auspicious, born,
And best Brocades thy Back adorn;
Tho' Slander can't thy Outside blame,
And Fortune favours Thee, in Game;
Tho' Ladies view Thee with Delight,
And wish Thee with 'em all the Night;
Tho' Beau's, at Bottle, and at Play,
Court thy lov'd Presence all the Day:
Yet Something still is unpossest,
That might give Sanction to the rest;
That cruel Something, not obtain'd,
Eclipses all the Glories gain'd;
For Want of Fame is but Disgrace
To Charms of Person, Purse, or Place.
And best Brocades thy Back adorn;
Tho' Slander can't thy Outside blame,
And Fortune favours Thee, in Game;
Tho' Ladies view Thee with Delight,
And wish Thee with 'em all the Night;
Tho' Beau's, at Bottle, and at Play,
Court thy lov'd Presence all the Day:
Yet Something still is unpossest,
That might give Sanction to the rest;
That cruel Something, not obtain'd,
Eclipses all the Glories gain'd;
285
To Charms of Person, Purse, or Place.
Trust me, gay Youth, the World is vain,
And Life's a Course of Care and Pain;
A Bubble all, that breaks and dies,
Unless the Man immortal rise.
The Brave and Wise, in ev'ry Age,
Have try'd the Goddess to engage;
Ambition, worthy human Minds!
What few, among the many, finds.
And Life's a Course of Care and Pain;
A Bubble all, that breaks and dies,
Unless the Man immortal rise.
The Brave and Wise, in ev'ry Age,
Have try'd the Goddess to engage;
Ambition, worthy human Minds!
What few, among the many, finds.
But two Ways only Fame is won!
By deathless Verse, and Actions done:
Happy are they, who nobly strive,
To keep themselves, by Worth, alive!
Whose proper Works, and Virtues, claim
A Title to the Prize of Fame!
But ah! how rare is native Worth?
How seldom are the Great brought forth?
By deathless Verse, and Actions done:
Happy are they, who nobly strive,
To keep themselves, by Worth, alive!
Whose proper Works, and Virtues, claim
A Title to the Prize of Fame!
286
How seldom are the Great brought forth?
O M--- can'st thou not succeed,
By some bright, meritorious, Deed,
Find'st thou it hard to grow divine
By any glorious Act of thine?
Then hire a Bard, whom Heav'n inspires,
With sacred Raptures, holy Fires;
To Him thy Life, thy Fame, commit;
He'll raise Thee by immortal Wit!
By some bright, meritorious, Deed,
Find'st thou it hard to grow divine
By any glorious Act of thine?
Then hire a Bard, whom Heav'n inspires,
With sacred Raptures, holy Fires;
To Him thy Life, thy Fame, commit;
He'll raise Thee by immortal Wit!
Great Agamemnon's self had dy'd,
If Homer had not Death defy'd:
Nor had we heard Mecenas' Name,
Had Horace not transfer'd his Fame.
'Tis poor to live obscure, unknown,
And die remember'd, prais'd, by none.
Thou easily thy self can'st save,
From dull Oblivion, in the Grave.
The Pow'r of Verse may set thee free!—
Others have Bards—Thou may'st have Me.
What tho' I sing Thee not, for Nought?
Is Immortality dear bought?
Shall simple Shakeing of the Dice
But once, for me, be thought high Price?
Does M--- rate his Game so high,
To grudge a Chance for such as I?
No sure—altho' 'twere but in Jest,
Win fifty Pounds for Me, at least.
If Homer had not Death defy'd:
Nor had we heard Mecenas' Name,
Had Horace not transfer'd his Fame.
'Tis poor to live obscure, unknown,
And die remember'd, prais'd, by none.
287
From dull Oblivion, in the Grave.
The Pow'r of Verse may set thee free!—
Others have Bards—Thou may'st have Me.
What tho' I sing Thee not, for Nought?
Is Immortality dear bought?
Shall simple Shakeing of the Dice
But once, for me, be thought high Price?
Does M--- rate his Game so high,
To grudge a Chance for such as I?
No sure—altho' 'twere but in Jest,
Win fifty Pounds for Me, at least.
Cha--- I dare be bold to swear,
Wou'd hardly judge a Thousand dear.
For Fame's a Gem, so rich and rare,
No Cost can earn it every where.
If M--- loves it, speak in Time,—
To Morrow I may want my Rhime.
Perhaps too, Chance may play the Jade,
And thy Success run Retrogade.
Wou'd hardly judge a Thousand dear.
For Fame's a Gem, so rich and rare,
No Cost can earn it every where.
288
To Morrow I may want my Rhime.
Perhaps too, Chance may play the Jade,
And thy Success run Retrogade.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |