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State Tracts

Containing Many Necessary Observations and Reflections on the State of our Affairs at Home and Abroad; With some Secret Memoirs. By the Author of the Examiner [i.e. William Oldisworth]

Oldisworth, William (1680-1734)

VOL. I.

Coffee-House Chat; BY WAY OF DIALOGUE

Job's Trial under the Persecutions of Satan.

VOLPONE, OR THE FOX.

A Poetical ESSAY ON THE Last Sea-fight with the French ,

THE Royal PROPHETESS.

Doctor HANNES Dissected IN A Familiar Epistle by way of Nosce Teipsum.

Upon the Third Verse of the Fifth Chapter of Eccles. For a Dream cometh thro' the Multitude of Business: And the following Lines of Petronius.

An Ode composed for St. Luke's Day, 1712. in praise of Painting.

ON TUNBRIDGE-WELLS, A LAMPOON.

On a FRIEND.

On the Cold Bath at Oldcastles.

Hor. Ode xiv. O navis, referent in mare te novi Fluctus.

The Oxford Almanack explain'd, 1711.

SONGS.

On a Piece of the Royal Oak sent to a Gentleman as a Tobacco-stopper.

In Imitation of Sir John Sucklin.

To the eternal Fame of that wonderful Politician, indefatigable S---esman, faithful M---er, incomparable Patriot, loyal Subject, facetious Gentleman, profound Lawyer, and undaunted Stickler for the non-forgiving Party, Harlequin le Grand; once the first in the H---se, tho' the last in the L---st; who had the Honour to climb without Merit, and to fall without Pity; the Mirror of all Scribes, the Punisher of Wit, the Patron of D. D'F---, and the President of the Pi---ry.

To the eternal Shame of Low-Ch---h, and the lasting Reproach to Mo---on, Segnior Harlequin Occasi, the modern Turn-coat.

To my generous Friends, and worthy Patriot, Harlequin le Grand. The humble Memorial of your little Scribler, Spy, Champion, Closet-Counsellor, and Poet, D---l D'F---e.

To the late Right H---ble: An Epigram. Written by an Infant little Scribler, whose Father has been ruin'd by the severe Conduct, and over-sharp Management of Harlequin le Grand.

THE INSECT WAR: OR, A BATTLE BETWEEN The Hornets, the Wasps, the Catterpillars, and the Butter-Flies.

On the UNION A POEM

THE RETIREMENT.

A POEM

On the BATTLE Of OUDENARD.

THE EIGHTH ECCLOGUE of VIRGIL

The Ninth Ecclogue of VIRGIL.

Britain's Palladium;

THE British Court:

THE CIRCUS: OR, British Olympicks.

St. James's Park: A SATYR.

THE Singing-Birds Address TO THE EAGLE, For Relief against the Tyranny of the Birds of Prey:

LIBERTY AND PROPERTY.

THE SPLITTER OF FREE-HOLDS.

A SEARCH AFTER RELIGION.

The Burning of the Ch--- of En---d MEMORIAL.

THE City Beauties, &c.

THE Gothick HERO.

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I. VOL. I.

Cupio ut recte capiar.

Coffee-House Chat; BY WAY OF DIALOGUE

The PROLOGUE.

Since such promiscuous Crowds are hither come,
From sundry Neighb'ring parts of Christendom,
Knaves of all Trades, and Fools in ev'ry Art,
Not only to behold, but play their Part;
Therefore the Poet, who Commands our Stage,
Skill'd in the various Humours of the Age,

184

In hopes to please you, has Ordain'd to Day
Poor me to be the Zany of his Play.
For how profusely Dull would Farce appear,
Were not a Pinkethman or Bullock there?
Tho' I confess, we don't like them propose
To please Town Punks, or win Applause from Beaus:
For our Diverting Stage is of a Nature
Quite different from that of the Theatre:
We raise no blust'ring Heroes from the Grave,
To Strut in Buskins, and like Madmen Rave,
Because some Jilting Beauty has the Grace
To hold her Play-thing from their Lewd Embrace:
We have no Fighting Lovers for the Fair;
No Anthony's shall on our Stage appear
With Am'rous Rants, the Ladies Hearts to move,
And Teach our Modern Blockheads how to love,
Yet we've a Sturdy Soldier, and 'tis said
Women will Snap at any Fool in Red:
But I must needs confess our Poet asks
No favour now from Merry Dames in Masks:
He's only bent to please a buzzing Breed,
That o'er their Coffee Tattle, Smoke, and Read;
And blust'ring in their Talk like Petty Lords,
Win and Loose Worlds as Children do at Cards.
In short, our Merry Author only means
To give you back what he amongst ye gleans,
That when your num'rous Faults at large are shown,
Each Knave and Fool may justly see his own,
And stain'd with Blushes, or provok'd to Smiles,
View their past Follies at their Leisure whiles.

The Soldier, Gamester, Sharper, and the Beau,
Shall in true Colours all their Vices show:
The Miser, Lawyer, Conjurer and Quack,
The Merchant, and the Knave that Jobs in Stock,
Shall open each the Myst'ries of their Trade,
And how their subtle Wiles and Snares are laid:

185

The wav'ring Fox that changes with the Times;
The Jingling Poet, stuff'd with Songs and Rhimes;
The Frothy Punster, and the Downright Dealer;
The News-hound; the Projector; and the Sailor;
The Merry Roaring Rake that lives apace,
And Values nothing but his Friend and Glass,
All on our Stage agree to play their Parts,
And shew their sundry Vanities and Arts.
But e're we draw the Curtain, let me see
Who wants fresh Coffee, Chocolate, or Tea.
Drink, Gentlemen, for that's the only way
To save poor Bohee, tho' you damn our Play.

Vol. II.

Qui nescit, Versus tamen audet fingere.
Hor. de Arte Poet.

Job's Trial under the Persecutions of Satan.

Rumour thro' all the East Job's Fall Proclaim'd,
Too swift a Ruin for a Man so Fam'd,
When from afar Three Faithful Friends repair
To sooth his Sorrows, and prevent Despair.
From Sutah's Plains an Ancient Comrade came,
Well known to Job, Old Bildad was his Name;
The News to Naamath had spread at last,
Which made kind Zophar use his utmost haste:
And Theman's Head with Palms for ever Crown'd,
Heard the sad News, and trembled all around;
Its Lord, Wise Eliphas the Summons takes,
And to assist his Friend, his House forsakes.
At distance, as they saw th'Unhappy Man,
Tears from their Eyes in Lavish Torrents ran;
Their Eyes they hardly trust, the Object seen
They once remember had more Happy been;

Their Hair they tear; their Sable Garments rend,
And on the Ground sit by their Wretched Friend:
Seven Days no vent was to their Sorrow found,
All prostrate lay upon the Humid Ground,
And dreadful Silence walk'd the Nightly Round.

The Fruitful Fountain of the Eyes was dry,
Nature no further Moisture cou'd supply;
And Tears so long had plaid their Mournful part,
Words only cou'd express his Bleeding Heart:
Thrice he Essay'd to speak, but the Parch'd Tongue,
Silent as Death, beneath the Palate hung;
With much ado his Silence thus he broke,
Whilst list'ning Angels writ down what he spoke.

Ye Heavens! Unrivet but one Link of Fate,
Forget that Day which to my Birth gave Date;
Curst be the Night, when from the Genial Bed
I was in Triumph to my Father led.
O! Why was I not Strangled in the Womb,
Or left my Cradle for a Peaceful Tomb?
For ever be that Day forgot ------

O! may the Sun, at each revolving Year,
Stop when he sees the Luckless Moment near:
Let dismal Screech-Owls multiply their Notes,
And threaten Ruin from their Boding Throats:
May such amazing Darkness then appear,
To fright that Day and Night from out the Year.
Why did the Midwife ease my Mothers throws?
Why did the Womb so willingly unclose,
And me to Life and Misery Expose?
How Happy were I now, had I ne'er been,
Had I the Miseries of Life ne'er seen?
With Kings and Statesmen shou'd my Dwelling have
Within that dark retiring Room, the Grave;
There Sin and Virtue both together rest,
The Poor is by the Tyrant Un-Opprest:
The Pris'ner with the Judge undaunted lies,
Nor dreads his Second Sentence, that he dies:
Nor Great nor Small, the least Distinction find,
No Busie Thoughts invade the Labouring Mind,
But all to the same Dungeon are confin'd.
Why shou'd the Man that loaths the Light to see,
Drag on a Tedious Life of Misery?

Like wearied Travellers that long for Home,
I wish for Death, but Death denies to come.
What Use is Day of to the Man that's Blind?
Sure for his sake the Stars were ne'er design'd?
The Stomach pall'd, why do you offer Meat?
Hunger is less a Pain than 'tis to Eat:
With mightier Griefs my wearied Soul's opprest,
Hunger can now no more disturb my Rest.
'Midst Show'rs of Plenty I foresaw this Storm,
Yet all my Prudence cou'd not shun th'Alarm,
Nor Patience 'gainst the threatned Ruin Arm.

No more cou'd Job his pitteous Plaints pursue;
His Sick'ning Soul into it self withdrew,
And Inward Mourn'd to shun the Publick View:
When Eliphaz the wish'd Occasion took,
And in these Words his drooping Friend bespoke.

I'm griev'd t'offend thee, Job, yet cannot hear,
Unanswer'd, what thou offer'st to my Ear:
How can that Man whose Counsels aw'd the Crowd,
To whose Instructions Age it self has bow'd,

Whose great Example has prevail'd so far
To Cure the worst of Evils, ev'n Despair,
The Strong Confirm'd, the Fainting still did'st Guard,
By Preaching Patience, as the surest Ward?
Thus by thy Precepts thou coud'st others save,
Yet now refuse what once to them you gave.
Is this thy Strength, thy boasted Piety,
Who art a Slave to each Calamity?
Wer't thou that Man that once thou seem'dst to be,
Th'unblemish'd Pattern of Integrity,
Heaven ne'er had left thee in this Exigence,
Nor thus repay'd with Woes thy Innocence?
It is the Wicked, who their God offend,
Nurs'd up in Vice, by sure Destruction end.
Who Sow Iniquity, can never hope
The Vicious Seed will better in the Crop:
Th'Ungrateful Product lifts its Sickly Head,
And in its Infancy appears as Dead;
Shou'd it revive a Thousand Dangers past,
Yet sure Destruction is its due at last.
The Mighty Robber, who by Rapine Lives,
And by the Ruin of his Neighbour Thrives,

Has Miseries enough kept in reserve,
His Lavish Youth, his Feeble Age may Starve:
Or in the midst of Sin, whilst he is Young,
Find Sudden Fate surpriz'd by one more Strong.

Shew me what Saint will in thy Cause appear,
And for thy sake become Petitioner?
The Fool is by himself best over-thrown,
And Envy needs no Ruin but its own.
I've seen this Wretch all Beauteous to the Eye,
His Lofty Structure reach'd the very Sky;
Like to a mighty Pine his Waving Head
Did with its Top, the yielding Clouds invade:
I've Laught at his suppos'd Security,
When I beheld his sudden Danger nigh:
At once he fell, of Life and Wealth bereft,
And Naked to the World his Off-spring left;
Then all his ill got Gains are snatch'd away,
His Children's Portions made the Robbers Prey.

How thou mistak'st! Afflictions do not come,
Nor Troubles rise from Earths all Fruitful Womb.

By Fate's Decree we're Born to Miseries,
As Fiery Sparks mount upwards to the Skies:
Go then implore his Aid, at whose Command
This vast Creation of Delightful Land,
Her Fruitful Bosom thus extending wide
To fly the close Embraces of the Tide,
Commit thy Griefs to him, to him thy Sorrows give,
Whose Nature 'tis thy Sorrows to relieve,
Whose mighty Works Proclaim his Deity,
Unsearchable, to Reason's Purblind Eye,
Who sends Refreshment to the Thirsty Earth,
And to the Fields restores the Grassy Birth,
Who hears th'Afflicted, Succours his sad State,
But leave the Proud expos'd to certain Fate.
See! The designing Man is over thrown,
The Ruin he intends his Neighbour proves his own:
The Wise is by his Wisdom oft betray'd,
Caught in the Snare he for another laid:
The Tricking Statesman boasts his Policy,
Fancies his Plots above Discovery;
But when by Heaven Reveal'd, they are Betray'd,
Confounded, then his Wit denies him Aid,
Nor can his Fancy'd Sense the coming Storm evade:

The Poor are always the Almighty's Care,
Nor need they ever the Oppressor fear;
The Great may Threaten, but without his Leave
Long they may Threaten Death, but cannot give:
The Just have certain Hope, then who shall dare
Under such mild Correction to Despair?
Heaven, as a Proof of Love, Affliction sends,
But to remind the Patient he Offends;
'Tis as a Warning, not Destruction meant,
Some unforeseen Misfortune to prevent.
That Hand that hurts thee will again restore
Thy Sickly Fortune greater then before:
Like full grown Corn brought from the Harvest Home,
Thou shalt descend in Honour to thy Tomb.
Learn, and at my Expence, in time be Wise,
Thy Suff'rings as a Mark of Favour Prize,
Hope better Fortune, and these Things despise.

Then the Afflicted Job, with Grief opprest,
His secret Sorrows in these Words exprest.
O! That I cou'd my Woes together bind,
O! That my Griefs were in one Scale confin'd.

The Countless Sands that bound the Foaming Seas
Are light, are light indeed, compar'd to these:
So heavy are my Pains, so vast my Grief,
Words cannot ease, nor Silence bring Relief:
My frighted Soul wou'd shun the Dreadful Rod,
And fly the Presence of my Angry God;
Do not my Shrieks convince you of my Pain?
Can you believe I without Cause complain?
Sense is allow'd, ev'n to th'o're Labour'd Brute,
For at the Crib the weary Ox stands Mute.
Why shou'd you fancy I alone shou'd be
So much in Love with gross Stupidity?
Who is so Dull, the sweets of Life to lose,
To hate its Good, and its Misfortunes chuse?
Your idle Words do but encrease my Woe,
And only from a Poison'd Judgment flow.
Were you like me, you wou'd like me intreat,
Within the Grave, a Peaceable Retreat.

That Heaven wou'd now dismiss me from the Strife,
The Sorrows and Vexations of this Life;

Then in the Bosom of the Earth confin'd,
Free from the Torments of my Sickly Mind,
I might at last this wish'd for Quiet find:
Yet hear me Heaven! And let my Suff'rings end,
Thy pittying Ear to my Complainings lend.
Why shou'd I hope to beg a longer Lease,
To wish Afflictions, and Despair's encrease?
Am I a Stone? That I can thus withstand
Th'amazing Terrors of thy Heavy Hand?
If I from Man might gain the wish'd Redress,
I from my self might hope the best Success.
Sense still remains, but Eloquence is vain,
And Wisdom yield no Balm to ease my Pain:
Wou'd ye be thought my Friends, then Words prepare,
Grateful as Winds that Fan the Scorching Air,
To lull my Sorrows, and prevent Despair?

While blest with Riches, I had many Friends,
But Friendship ever in Affliction ends:
My near Relations from my Ruin run,
As from my Fall they did conclude their own;
So Waters fly, their humble Fountains leave,
And to the Oceans Court with Fury drive.

Friendship, like Ice, does to the Eye appear,
Tempting the Footsteps of the Traveller;
Solid it seems, but it is quickly gone,
And melts beneath the warm Meridian Sun;
As well might Thæma quit her Sun-burnt Plain,
And fly to Shœba for Refreshing Rain,
As I find Comfort from such Friends as these,
One Word of Comfort in my Miseries.

Have I demanded ought now I am Poor,
Demanded ought from your abounding Store?
Did I desire you wou'd your Force Unite,
From the Sabæans to redeem my Right?
What have I done that might your Scorn provoke?
How has my Tongue offended, whilst I spoke?
I wou'd be glad to learn, if you in Love,
And not in Malice, wou'd your Friend Reprove.
Reprove! What for Reproof does Bildad find?
Thou might'st as well convince the Stormy Wind,
As talk to one with Grief thus over-born,
Whose Anguish utters Words unlike his own.
Why do you 'ssault the Helpless, wrong the Poor,
and to a load of Sorrow add yet more?

You know I do not Lye: O! Then be gone,
Be gone, and leave me to my self alone:
You've seen my Life, such as my Life has been,
Such are my Secret Actions ------
My Judgment yet is sound, and in Despight
Of your Malicious Thoughts, I am Upright.

Fix'd is the Period of our Days by Fate,
Each, like a Hireling, does his Minute wait:
The Labourer wishes for th'approaching Night,
Expects his Pay at the declining Light.

But Months of Pain and Sorrow I possess,
Nor does the Night afford me a Redress:
My Curtain's drawn about my Downy Bed,
And the soft Pillow props my Pensive Head:
I try to Sleep, but O! I try in vain,
Then Sigh and Wish the Day was come again;
As when the Wind invades some Monument,
And in its sides has made a mighty Rent;
A Scene of Horror to the Eye's disclos'd,
And all the Secrets of the Dead Expos'd;

Just so do I appear; thus Ghastly lie,
And from the Loathsome Sight Divert my Eye:
Corruption, Worms, and Dust, are now my share,
Yet Death's deny'd, and flies a Wretches Pray'r.

Swift are my Hours, they eagerly Post on,
And Weeks and Months insensibly are gone;
Yet Hope at distance keeps, and seems afraid:
To approach me now, and lend its needful Aid;
My Life is only like a rustling Wind
That swiftly flies, and leaves no Tract behind.
No more shall Joy my wearied Soul delight,
Nor Pleasure entertain my Sick'ning Sight.
When I am Dead, unminded I shall lye,
Lost to the World, even in Memory;
For when thy Eyes have mark'd my certain Doom,
Swift as a Cloud I vanish to my Tomb,
For ever lost, nor leave Enquiry room.
He that is laid within his Peaceful Urn,
To his once lov'd Mansion never shall return:
The Palace which his own right Hand did Build,
Scarce the remembrance of his Name shall yield.

Why should I Silent be, since I have none
To tell this hapless Story when I'm gone?
No, no, I must, I will my Griefs Proclaim,
For Silence often argues us too blame.

Good God! Why dost thou fence me thus around,
As Winding Shores their Roaring Torrents bound?
Is this for Innocence the just Reward?
Like Criminals, I'm ever under Guard,
And such a Guard from whom no Man can fly,
That watchful Guard of thy all searching Eye.

When tir'd with Waking to my Bed I go,
Or on my Couch this wretched Lumber throw;
Sleep flies my Eyes, the Terrors of the Night,
Beyond the Plagues of Day, my Soul affright;
Or if by chance refreshing Slumber creep,
And for a Moment lull my Cares Asleep,
Such dreadful Visions pass before my Sight,
I Trembling Wake, and Chide the Tardy Light.
Death wou'd a Blessing prove, But Life's a Pain,
Yet Pray'rs nor Tears that Blessing can obtain.

I loath, I loath, to drag this hated Chain,
And beg to be reduc'd to Dust again.
Why? What is Mankind but Mortality?
To be the Darling of the Deity.
Sprung from the Dust, and yet Unrival'd share
The Daily Blessing of their Maker's Care?

This is the Effect of Love, but too severe,
Nor can I longer these Afflictions bear.
O Pardon! Whilst I've Pow'r t'implore thy Aid,
E'er I descend to Nights Eternal Shade,
Where Silence and Oblivion ever Reign,
And dreadful Darkness does her Sway maintain,
There even thou may'st seek me, but in vain.

To whom thus Bildad answer'd,—

How like the Winds ungovernable Rage,
When with a Warring Sea it does engage,
Are these Wild Sallies of Infirmity,
Where you Condemn the very Deity?
Can God be Unjust? Why dost thou thus exclaim,
And with imputed Sin Prophane his Name?

As Thistles are destry'd from farther growth,
'Cause the base Weed is but of little Worth,
So did the Sinful Race untimely Dye,
As the Reward of their Impiety:
To Heaven with Humblest Adoration Pray,
And grateful Incense on the Altar lay:
The Just ne'er Pray in vain, for Mercy's Ear
Still open stands to the Petitioner:
The Dwellings of the Righteous still appear
Like the sweet Blossoms of the Infant Year.
From small Beginnings mighty Torrents came,
The Petty Riv'lets swell to Rapid Streams;
And Streams with Streams Uniting by Degrees,
Have form'd the spacious Navigable Seas.
Even so the Just encrease; one Family
In time to many Tribes shall Multiply.
Examples are not wanting, cast thy Eye
Upon the Records of Antiquity;
Those Oracles thy Folly will convince,
And shew how Prosperous was Innocence.
Blest Sires! But O! Degenerate Race!
How do our Sins your Memory Disgrace?

There, Job, within the Sacred Annals read,
And trace the Stories of the Pious Dead;
There thou shalt see succeeding Ages live,
And by the Merits of their Fathers thrive;
Prosperity and Piety are over joyn'd,
You hardly one without the other find.

Th'Unjust are but a Moments growth, a Day
Gives their Rise Birth, and sees its swift Decay:
Like Forward Fruits, inviting they appear,
And boast the earliest Product of the Year;
When Blasted in the Bud, they hand their Head,
The earlier Blown, the sooner they are Dead.
Thus the Ungodly thrives, tho' for a while
Obsequious Fortune he allow'd to smile;
Tho' Lofty Structures for himself he Builds,
And Reaps the Harvest of a Thousand Fields,
In Substance Great, Great in Authority,
Rever'd by all for seeming Piety.
Yet Heav'n will find him out, and Man shall see
The just Reward of his Hypocrisie:
At his Destruction none Concern'd shall show,
Unpitty'd and Forgotten he shall go;

His very Name shall Perish with his Place,
And on his Ruins rise a Righteous Race.
The Perfect cannot fail, the Sinner must;
Heaven loves the Righteous, but abhors th'Unjust.
If thou art Just, why shou'd thou then complain?
Thou shalt thy former Glory see again;
Smile then not thus Lament: On Heaven rely,
That will thy Pains remove, renew thy Joy,
On thy Insulting Foes Revenge thy Wrongs,
And Guard thee from the Malice of base Tongues.

Well hast thou Argu'd, Bildad, Job replies,
But who is Righteous in his Makers Eyes?
Wisdom is Heavens; its Pow'r is Absolute,
Who then, without Offence, can here Dispute?
To oppose such Pow'r wou'd double Folly speak,
Where the Opposer does Destruction seek;
When at his Nod the Hills their Stand forsake,
And Earths Foundations at his Anger shake:
At whose Command the Sun denies to rise,
And Stars refuse their brightness to the Skies;
Who like a Veil, the spacious Heavens has spread,
And on the Waves as on dry Land does dread.

Who made Orion and the Pleides,
To whom he gave the Empire of the Seas.
The Wat'ry South in Chambers he confin'd,
And put a Bridle o'er the Driving Wind:
The Wonders of his Pow'r who can express?
And to define that Pow'r, or Skill is less.

I loath this Burthen of a Life, and see
Destruction won't distinguish Piety:
Alike his Ministers the Sword employ,
The Perfect and Unjust alike Destroy:
In vain the Guiltless Plead; th'avenging Sword
Cuts short his Plea, nor Answer will afford:
Vast are the Bounds which the Ungodly have,
And Heaven and Chance those vast Dominions gave
Goodness and Greatness seldom are a Kin,
The distance is too great that's set between:
The Hoary Judge, just dropping to his Grave,
To Sordid Bribery is still a Slave:
Thus what Heaven pleases, ever shall be done,
All-powerful and Accountable to none.

If I am Wicked, O! I strive in vain,
With Floods of Tears, to wash me white again.
How shall I dare as Man, a worthless Mite,
To hold dispute with Pow'r so Infinite?
Which if 'twill cease to afflict, I will appear
Bold in my Innocence, and void of Fear:
Then willingly I will my Task begin,
And prove I'm Guiltless of imputed Sin,
Till that's allow'd I only can complain,
But never hope for Happiness again.

O my Sick Soul! Life does a Burthen prove,
Yet nothing can the hated Load remove:
The Briny Currents flow without controul,
And Sighs come rushing from my tortur'd Soul.
O God! All I implore, is but to know
What I have done to be afflicted so?
Is there Necessity the Just must be
The daily Marks of thy Severity?
Whilst the Ungodly their full Harvests reap,
And ev'n to excess enjoy a prosp'rous Crop.
Art thou like Man, whose short Sight cannot see
Beyond the reach of gross Mortality?

Are thy Years limited, their Number told,
Or is the Period of thy Days enroll'd?
Cease to enquire, and to afflict me, cease,
Let me alone t'enjoy a little Peace.
Thou know'st, O God! For who but God can tell,
That no Transgression in my Soul does dwell?
If I am Guilty, were Earth at my Command,
It cou'd not save me from thy Pow'rful Hand;
The Work of thy Almighty Hand yet must,
Since 'tis Decreed, be brought again to Dust?
Kneaded from Clay refin'd, 'tis hard to fall,
Shaken by Storms, to my Original.

How artfully this Structure was design'd,
Whilst yet within the teeming Womb confin'd?
What Tongue can tell what vast Variety
Of little Vessels in the Body lie?
The Fluid Substance does the Circuit ride,
The Heart's the Fountain that supplies the Tide:
In narrow Channels, Life-conducing Blood
Waters the little World with 'ts Purple Flood.

With Nerves and Bones the Work is Fenc'd within,
And yet Unfinish'd is the great Machine,
Till over all is cast the Cloathing Skin:
Thus was I form'd, with Life and Favour blest,
The choicest of thy Bounties I possest.
But why this change of Fate to me's unknown,
And is discover'd to thy self alone;
To thee alone, who only can descry,
And justly Punish my Impiety.
If I am Wicked, Punishment's my due,
And my Deserts, if I am found Untrue:
If Just, I will not, nor I dare not speak,
Yet sure my Heart will with Afflictions break;
Therefore do thou with Pity view my Pain,
Nor the Submission of my Soul disdain.

Hunted I am just like a Beast of Prey,
And Groan beneath my Suff'ring all the Day:
Then for a Moment my Afflictions cease,
And o'er my Soul thou spreads thy Wings of Peace;
When strait behold new Miseries assail,
And pour upon me like a Storm of Hail,

Wearied with these new Plagues thou dost devise,
T'encrease my Pain, by changing Miseries:
Again the shifting Scene presents my Sight
With Thousand Enemies prepar'd for Fight,
Which from my Eyes their Balmy Slumbers fright.
And was I Born for this? O! Rather why
Was not that Hour appointed me to Dye?
How had I baffled the expecting Crowd,
If from the Womb I'd slip'd into the Shrowd?
Behold my Race of Life is almost run,
Already I am past my joyful Noon,
And hastily declines the Setting Sun.
Forbear to afflict, let me some Comfort have
Before I take Possession of my Grave;
Before my Journey to Eternity,
Deep does the way beneath the Centre lie,
Where lightsome Day ne'er chears the gloomy Sky.
Where pitchy Clouds the dismal Vaults Invade,
And all around is one continued Shade;
A Land of Darkness, from whose dreadful Bourn
Fate has forbid our Footsteps to return;
A Land of Death, and of Obscurity,
Where Night for ever Rules, and Anarchy.

Zophar severe in his returns, Storm'd loud,
And thus accus'd him to the listening Crowd;
Vain Boaster! To presume thou art Upright,
And blameless standst before thy Makers Sight;
O! That he wou'd himself in Person come,
And from his Sacred Mouth pronounce thy Doom:
Shew thee what Wisdom is, and what thou art,
The difference 'etwixt thy Meaning and thy Heart.
I tell thee, Wretch, slight are these Miseries,
If measur'd with thy own Iniquities:
Dost thou pretend to search Immensity,
And to Perfection know the Deity?
As far unsearchable to Reason's Eye
As the Recesses of the utmost Sky:
Thou might'st as well pierce with thy Mortal Sight
Thro' Hells wide Regions, over void of Light,
To find him out, the distance is so vast,
Comparison in this is even lost,
For Seas, tho' distant, still must meet a Coast.
All our Conceptions of God's Excellence
Are but imperfect Guesses, from imperfect Sense:
From him alone we Wealth and Being have,
And he may take what he so Freely gave:

What tho' he Kill or Heal, Destroy or Bless,
Who shall the Loss bemoan, or the Encrease?
For his own Glory every thing is done,
And he depends upon himself alone;
For Man to Question with the Deity,
Is to the last Degree, high Blasphemy:
The Hypocrite affects to be thought Wise,
To hide his Actions from observing Eyes;
He puts on Zeal, the safest, best Disguise.
What tho' the World's deceiv'd, Heaven cannot be,
Thin is the Veil of Man's Hypocrisie:
The darkest Plots, the Eye of Heaven does find,
Tho' lodg'd in the close Chambers of the Mind;
How then can Man escape his Wrathful Hand,
Who willfully Transgresses Heaven's Command?
How little cause has he of Sense to boast,
It proves his Ruin, tho' 'tis valu'd most;
Sense ill apply'd, will ever prove a Vice,
And over Sinful, is not over Wise:
Man does Mis-judge of Wisdom; only he
Is truly Wise that loves Integrity;
The rest are knowing Beasts, not a Degree,
By Sin debas'd, above Brutality.

Wou'dst thou find Peace, wou'dst thou from Pain be free,
Remove the Cause, leave thy Impiety?
If by Oppression thou hast wrong'd the Poor,
Tenfold, to make amends, thou shou'dst restore
To Angry Heaven, with Sacrifice repair,
And with a Contrite Heart prefer thy Pray'r;
Then may'st thou boldly hope again to see
A blooming Spring of fresh Prosperity;
No more shall these Afflictions wrack thy Mind,
Scarce the Remembrance shall be left behind;
Thy Winter like a Summer shall appear,
And prove the happier Season of the Year;
Belov'd of all, in Peace thou shalt possess
The last remains of Life in Happiness.
B' assur'd of this, who scorn thy Fortunes now,
Shall Flatter once again, and to thy Plenty bow:
Their Expectation, and their Hope shall fly
Like Transient Mists that Cloud the Azure Sky;
Like hope of Life to him that's Doom'd to Die.

Then spake the Uzzite, you are wond'rous Friends,
Whose borrow'd Light a feeble Lustre lends,
And when you Die, your Fame for Knowledge ends.

I know as well as you relate,
In Sense your equal, tho' deprest by Fate:
Why do you thus my Miseries deride?
Why vent the Venom of your secret Pride,
And 'stead of Comfort, thus Unfriendly Chide?
Shou'd God, at my Request, my Cause defend,
'Tis 'gainst your Nature to be Virtue's Friend;
You Judge by Circumstance, and outward Show,
And 'tis Success makes Man your Friend or Foe.

Once to have Flourish'd can no Favour win,
Riches are Goodness, Poverty's a Sin;
Proud of your Store, whilst you securely stand,
You scorn to lend a sinking Friend your Hand:
'Tis prosperous Villany that now bears Sway,
The Rich, tho' bad, the Vulgar still Obey:
But 'tis in vain they Plot, God's piercing Eye
Does soon detect their Vicious Policy.
The Judge gives Sentence, as 'tis first Decreed,
By him the Prisoner's not Condemn'd or Freed,
He Gravely fills the Bench as a State-Tool,
And spite of all his Law, is but a Fool;

Kings are no more than common Men to him,
The Beggar has with God a like Esteem:
Now this King Reigns, and does his Glory fill,
Proud to behold his Rival Monarch Kneel.
When the next Battle turns the Tott'ring Scales,
The Victor flies, the vanquish'd Side prevails:
The Orator no more delights his Audience,
Rob'd of his Graces and his Eloquence;
And Aged Statesman finds a want of Sense.
By Heavens Command even Kings descend their Thrones,
Strip'd of their Purple, and their shining Crowns.

All this my self have seen as well as you,
What I have utter'd, Knowledge vouches true:
Believe not your Experience more than mine,
In Human Actions, or in Things Divine.
Truth is to you a Stranger, you devise
False Notions, Formal Tales, and Specious Lies,
For not one Word your Virtue Justifies:
Like Senseless Quacks, the Med'cines you apply
Heigtens, but cannot Ease the Malady,
And he that takes your Physick needs must die.

Wou'd you be thought my Friends, who thus advise;
I'll tell you how your Counsels I will prize;
For ever hold your Peace, and I shall think you Wise?
Advise you cannot, therefore ought to hear,
Bridle your Tongues, and lend a serious Ear.
How Impiously your Arguments are bent
Against all right to Judge the Innocent:
No more thus Wickedly for God dispute;
Fairly you cannot what I urge confute.
Who made you Judges of Integrity?
And how came you God's Substitutes to be?
Ye abject Wretches, how wou'd you appear,
Wou'd God the Secrets of your Hearts declare?
How wou'd you Tremble and Confounded stand,
If once you felt the Vengeance of his Hand?
Trod to your native Dirt, forsaken lie,
A dire Example to Posterity.
Forbear such Talk, with Patience hear me speak,
For 'tis but just I some Defence shou'd make;
And I will speak, since Truth directs my Tongue;
How can that Man offend who does no wrong?
Secure that what I offer shall be Just,
I will proceed, nor e'er my Fate distrust.

Why, why shou'd I despair, why tear my Hair?
Or take of future Life no farther Care?
Shou'd God destroy me, yet I will relie
Only on Him, when deep in Earth I lie,
And will proceed my self to Justifie,
He my Salvation is, Him I shall see
Deck'd in the Glory of his Majesty:
This is my Hope; but sure the Hypocrite
Shall never come before his Righteous Sight.
Hear me: For once I thought you Friends indeed;
Hear, if you can, my injur'd Virtue Plead:
Ready I stand, I wish my Cause was Try'd,
Assur'd I am I shall be Justify'd.
Come, who my Indictment reads? I will reply,
And, as a Martyr, unto Truth will die.

Of Heaven Two Things I beg to ease my Pain,
Remove these Plagues, and make me whole again;
Let not thy dreadful Presence terrifie
So very much, not to admit Reply.
This granted, I am ready to defend
My Cause, and on my Innocence depend;

Produce my Charge: O! How have I Transgress'd!
What are the Sins that thus Polute my Breast?
Why all this Labour to undo a Wretch,
Already Faded like a wither'd Beach?

Of Woman Born, the Best and Wisest Man
In vain tires Art, to lengthen out his Span;
Like Flow'rs, we Bloom, smile at the Rising Sun,
But O! How quickly our short Task is done;
For at his Setting even our Race is run.
Suffer me then in Peace my Hour to live,
Cease for a little while, my Soul to grieve;
There is a time prefixt, when all must come,
And from the Judge of all, receive their Doom;
Till then I wou'd be Quiet, till thy Wrath is past,
And then, even then, wou'd beg to be the last:
Death never can be Brib'd, therefore wou'd I
Till that Hour comes, in Peace forgotten lie.

Torn by the Roots, the lofty Mountains fall,
In their own Ruins find a Funeral;
As Softest Streams thro' Marble Quarries drive,
And by Degrees thro' Flints a passage rive;

So does the Hope of Man each Hour decay,
Security too often does it self betray;
All he forecasts, one Moment does destroy,
And turns to Fears his Flatt'ring Hopes of Joy:

Here for a while he Paus'd, when Theman's Prince
In bitter Terms arraigns his Innocence.

How can Discretion so misguide thy Tongue,
That thus thou ever argu'st in the wrong?
As unregarded thro' the Vaulted Skies,
The Wat'ry South in Noisy Tempest flies:
Just so the vain Expressions touch our Mind,
Nor any strong Impressions leave behind.
Respect to Heaven is now no more thy Care,
Nor dost thou seek thy Angry God with Prayer:
Art thou Coœval with this Frame of Earth,
Or had'st thou e'er the Hills were made thy Birth?
Has God his Secrets only show'd to thee,
To thee alone disclos'd the Mystery?
'Bove Twice thy Age I've seen, our Silver Hairs
Will almost treble thy short Lease of Years;

What hast thou seen, that is to us unknown?
Or else is Wisdom given to thee alone?
Thy secret Pride will fatal to thee prove,
Why dost thou slight these Overtures of Love?
Too Willful Wretch, all Deaf to Mercy's Cries,
Thou stop'st thy Ears, and shut'st thy Guilty Eyes;
Each Word, each Action, does produce a Crime,
And Mute in Sullen Silence do'st Blaspheme:
Who can be Righteous that is Born in Sin,
The troubled Fountain makes the Stream unclean?
When in his sight the Heavens imperfect seem,
And Saints themselves are capable of Blame;
How Loathsome then the Race of Man appears
Whose Numerous Sins out-vie the Countless Stars.

O lend to what I speak a serious Ear,
And what I know, I'll Faithfully declare;
In Pain the Sinner drags a Hated Life,
Incumbred with Anxieties and Strife;
He knows his Days are but a slender Date,
Yet knows not when their Period's fix'd by Fate:
Even in Prosperity he dreads surprize,
And Fear is ever brooding in his Eyes;

His harden'd Soul does from Repentance fly,
Yet always thinks some sudden Danger nigh:
Trembling he seeks his Lawless Food, afraid
Lest ev'ry Moment he should be betray'd;
Trouble and Anguish his Companions are,
Which in his Breast foment Intestine War;
In Unfrequented Houses he resides,
And dreading Ruin, 'midst of Ruin hides.

Be not deceiv'd, nor trust in Vanity,
For on a Faithless Friend thou dost rely;
Tho' Green the Branch, it finds a swift decay,
And in its Dawn concludes its Promis'd Day:
So Unripe Fruits are from their Branches thrown,
And from their Stalks are new Born Blossoms blown;
For Fire shall Burn th'Assembly of th'Unjust,
Whom Bribes Corrupt to falsifie their Trust.

Then Job,—

All this before I've heard; what nothing new,
Still the Old Path of Folly you pursue?
Such Wretched Comforters Man never knew.

Why this Excess of Talk? O Obstinate!
Thy Words new Trouble to my Soul create;
How can'st thou take Delight to Plague thy Friend?
When will thy tiresome Reas'nings have an End?
Were I like you, such Answers I cou'd use,
With Unavailing Talk your Ears abuse;
And whilst I seem'd to Pity, I cou'd Smile,
And at your Sufferings unconcern'd, Revile.
This I cou'd do: But sure my Bleeding Heart
Wou'd in a Friends Affliction share its part:
My Words shou'd be like Balm to Heal your Grief,
And ev'ry Accent bring some kind Relief;
Yet gentlest Words are all mispent on me;
Nor Silence can asswage my Misery,
Even Company is tiresome to me now,
And Friendships self does out of Fashion grow:
For I am made to Loath my self I see,
And I abhor my own Deformity:
The Wicked at my Ruin Laugh, around they wait,
And grieve to find Destruction comes so late:
Impatiently they stand, with eager Eyes,
All ready to Devour the unhappy Prize:

With Peace and Plenty I have long been blest,
Still Storms arose to rob me of my Rest:
Like some Tall Pine that long on Ida stood,
The Pride and Glory of the Mighty Wood;
So did I stand, Respected and Ador'd,
And had Obedience from the Servile Crowd;
Till Heaven Conspir'd to shake my happy State,
And let me to the Worlds opprobrious Hate.
Now all at once Affliction rushes on;
Th'impetuous Torrent hurries me along:
Destruction on Destruction, Ruin on Ruins lie;
And Heaven on me pours its Artillery:
Vile Sackcloth on my Body I have spread,
And Ashes cover my dishonour'd Head:
My weeping Eyes supply a ready Flood;
Reflect they are, as they had Wept in Blood:
Yet still my own Sincerity I trust,
And tho' afflicted I am not Unjust:
O Earth! If thou art Conscious of my Guilt,
Reveal the Blood my impious Hands have spilt;
In vain, if Guilty, are my Pray'rs preferr'd,
The Ears of Mercy to such Pray'rs are barr'd.

The Sacred Records of the Holy Sky
Bear Witness with me of my Integrity,
Your base Reflections little move my Mind;
Unto Heavens Will my Thoughts are all resign'd.
Wou'd God allow, I wou'd my Cause defend,
And freely Plead with him as with a Friend:
In a few Years I must return to Earth,
A Tribute due to Nature, whence I took my Birth;
Thence no return is ever to be made,
From that irremiable dismal Shade.

My Snuff of Life, lends but a Sickly Light,
Th'aspiring Flame foretells the Eternal Night;
Yet in my utmost Pangs, your Scorn is more
Than all the Miseries I felt before.
O! I'm become the publick Scorn and Hate,
And as their common Jest, am Pointed at;
My Eyes are blind with Weeping, pale my Face,
I seem the Shadow now of what I was.
The Just may wonder at my sudden Fall,
And Pity me, since useless Pity's all:
Yet my Example shall prevailing be,
And they like me shall hate Hypocrisie.

The Upright in his Innocence shall Trust,
And Hell shall ne'er prevail against the Just.

O! Then forbear, cease to Afflict your Friend,
At length let your unjust Reproaches end:
Strangers themselves wou'd Blush to use me so,
But a false Friend is ever the worst Foe.
If I have Sin'd, who can the Crime attone?
The Punishment has fall'n on me alone.
How can you basely thus Insult my Fate,
And proudly Triumph o'er my unhappy State:
Of Heaven forsaken, and with Woes opprest,
I never can obtain a Moments Rest:
I tell my Sorrows, and reveal my Grief,
But O! In vain I beg a kind Relief;
I'm fast, I strive in vain to shun the Snare,
No way to break my Fetters does appear;
Strip'd of my Glory, I am Naked left,
Of all my Pompous Ornaments bereft:
Hope like a Shadow seems, but hardly seen,
And straight it Wings its hasty flight again.
Th'avenging Ministers of Heaven are nigh,
And Frowning treat me as an Enemy:

Where-e'er I turn my Eyes, Destruction stands,
And Smiles to find her Prey so near her Hands.
My Brothers from my sudden Ruin fly,
And Friends estrang'd despise my Misery.

O! I had drawn a Scheme,—but Fate breaks in,
And makes me leave in hast the imperfect Scene:
My Hour draws nigh, when I in Peace shall go
Down to the gloomy Wilderness below;
Where vile Corruption and base Reptiles breed,
And on their Fellow Creatures daily feed:
For they, as well as Man, receive their Birth
From One Original, all Fruitful Earth;
There is the end of Hope, in that Obscurity,
Worms and Mankind together blended lie.

But yet ------
I know my Saviour Lives, whom I shall see
At the last Day, in all His Majesty:
On Earth I shall behold him and appear
In the same Robe of Flesh, which now I wear:
And tho' devouring Worms this Garb consume,
Whilst I lie Moulding in the silent Tomb;

Yet shall these Eyes behold him reconcil'd
To me, Indulgent, Merciful and Kind.
Cease to Afflict me, since my Cause is just;
Nor to your own Opinions safely trust;
For to your Sorrow you at last shall know,
Justice is sure, tho' late she gives the Blow.

VOLPONE, OR THE FOX.

In Times of Yore, when Brutes were Speakers
And Men were only reckon'd Sneakers,
There was a Fox of great Renown,
One of th'Supporters of the Crown,
Which kept the meaner Beasts at odds,
About their Worshipping their Gods,
And set the others at defiance,
Because he had such near Alliance
With a strong Neighb'ring Lyon made
That was brought up to th'fighting Trade.
And had procur'd immortal Fame,
As had the Lyoness his Dame:

For she was Sly and always near
The Regal Lyon's gentle Ear,
And did observe the subtle Fox,
Much taken with her goldy Locks.

Sir Ren (quoth she) I hope't's no Sin,
Since you and I're so near a kin,
To talk in private now and then,
And settle Matters where, and when?
For you know what a Charge we bear,
That we must manage with great care,
While my dear Spouse is at the War.

I must confess I bear a weight
Enough to sink the Richest State,
While you pour in such unheap'd Measure,
As will consume a Nations Treasure.
Alas you think not what you do,
We cannot now much further go;
Let us pursue our Ease and Sport,
You rule the Country, I the Court:

We need no Foreign Dangers fear,
The Noble Lyon hunts the Bear,
And makes us safe and happy here.
While you prevent the Panther's Race,
From what they aim at Pow'r and Place;
For tho' they're beautiful, it's true,
We have some other things in view,
The World knows not, 'twixt I and you.

Madam, quoth Ren, 'tis by your Grace,
I smile with such a Court Grimace,
For who can frown, that sees your Face?
Your Features fair, inspire me still,
I'm but a Slave to act your Will;
If you're Religious, I am so,
And whom you hate, I'll make my Foe.
See if the Panthers dare complain,
Or any murmur at your Reign.
While I this Magick Wand controul,
Which is the Nations better Soul;
The Panthers are a suppliant brood,
That own the golden Calf's their God,
And they'll pay Homage to my Rod.

As for the Geese they are our Friends,
Tho' it is all for their own ends;
They think I'm Godly, 'cause I Preach,
And that I will Religion teach;
I shall do so while in their reach.
But if they'd read old Æsop o'er,
They might have thought on this: Before
The Fox begins his Prey to seize,
He Preaches, then beware the Geese.

There are some Wolves that grin and fleer,
To see the Fox exalted here,
And to your Lyonship ally'd so near.
But, Madam, on my brutish Word,
I value not the Beasts a T****d;
But will, with all industrious Care,
Still pay my chief Devotions here:
I'll set the Geese to gabble at 'em,
For tho' I fear 'em not, I hate 'em;
They are such strange insulting Cattle,
Tho' they can't hurt, they'll give you Battle,
And joyn with the wild Panther's Race,
If they can bring me to Disgrace;

Tho' Wolves and Panthers ne'er agreed,
They will Unite to make me bleed.

But I have got some Swans that Sing
Louder than a Church-Bell can Ring,
Those I'll imploy to deaf the Cry,
That 'mong the Wolves and Panthers fly,
For they're so hot, they miss the Scent,
And then repine with Discontent.
They cannot gain what they design,
Because the Fox soon springs the Mine,
And so discovers the Deceit
They lay to catch him as a Bait;
But all their Nets are yet too thin
To hold me, shou'd I once get in.

They may perhaps some Geese ensnare,
Who are too heedless to beware,
And think the Panthers shou'd be kind,
'Cause once they met a civil Hind.
The Wolves, for sure they hate and fly,
You know the Cause as well as I:

If they'd succeeded, as they thought,
Then you and I had come to nought,
So we have reason to look shy,
And put on Airs, when they are by.

The Geese despise 'em, you may Swear,
They love a Beast with a long Pray'r;
And Wolves are said to be profane,
Because they were so the last Reign,
Tho' now they're Godly without gain.

But pray, Sir Ren, what can it be,
That makes the Geese so shy of me,
Since I espouse, with you, their Cause,
And save them from the Panther's Laws?
I wonder why they shou'd not join
Me, with your Lordship, in their Wine;
Or Sing the wond'rous Things I've done,
Since my auspicious Reign begun.
How I've a Treasury of Pelf,
That I have hoarded up my self;
And tho' the Lyon gain great store,
I get, less dang'rous ways, much more.

If Honour's purchas'd I'm the Spring,
If 'tis rewarded, you're the King;
What wou'd we more, we cannot have,
Life we preserve, from Death we save;
But Gratitude to none bestow:
That is the only Debt we owe.

Well, Madam, we'll pay off the Score
At once, 'twill make the Favour more,
When Panthers are turn'd out o'th' Door.
The Geese will Triumph then, and say,
Who wou'd not such a Beast obey,
As guards with safety all our Flocks?
Henceforth we'll ever chuse a Fox.
Then let 'em, if they dare deny,
To own your Beastly Majesty.
For my part I shall ever show,
What to the Lyonness I owe,
My Love, and Duty both bestow.
But 'tis most strange among the Herd
You shou'd be neither lov'd, nor fear'd,
That all your fighting Lord has done,
Of Friends shou'd not engage you one:

'Tis Malice all, and Wolfish Spite,
Let 'em grin on, they cannot bite:
We both shall live to mock their Folly,
And raise their Spleen and Melancholly;
I'll dress me spruce, begin to spark it,
Among the Racers at New-market,
I know the Geese such Fools-caps are,
To think I do it for the Air:
But you and I know better things,
For we are rais'd upon their Wings,
And for them have good cause to Pray,
But we shall all their Favours pay,
And clear their Score another way.

I hope, my Lord, you do not mean
That e'er the Geese should Rule again,
They are such noisy, foolish Fowls,
I'd rather you'd promote the Owls;
Who tho' they can i'th' Dark see Light,
When th'Sun shines brightest, have no Sight.
The Panther is a Noble Brute,
And fit for Pow'r without dispute,

And tho' they strive all to offend you,
'Tis because the Geese commend you;
They all suppose you are their Creature,
Not thinking 'tis against your Nature,
For tho' you love to see them Fat,
It is, that you may kill and eat.

The Panther knows you can't destroy him,
But you have Power to annoy him,
Therefore he won't submit to those
Severe Commands you wou'd impose.
Now, I desire, your Beastship wou'd
Consider th'best, for both our good,
Since, as a Brute, you do profess
Such kindness for the Lyoness.

Madam, you have advis'd aright,
For to the Panther I've no Spite,
No other rival Brute I fear,
The Wolf's too near a kin to th'Bear,
And cannot gain much Favour here.
Therefore, it is my Policy
To be to all the Panthers shy.

As for the Geese, I am their Ward,
And they believe me their Safe-guard;
So that I am in Conscience bound,
To keep 'em from the greedy Hound;
Not, but I always did design
To pick their Feathers off as mine,
And, I'm in hopes, you'll not disdain,
To add them to your Peacock Train.

A Swan came to me t'other Day,
And told me he expected Pay,
For he had well deserv'd Reward,
Being he was the Fox's Bard;
That, he had Sung so long for me,
The Beasts began to Mutiny,
And threaten'd they wou'd clip his Wing,
If e'er again they heard him Sing.
At last a Goose set up her Quill,
And did the Fields with Musick fill,
When soon the Ass began to Bray,
Said, he'd as much as Geese to say:
Then all the Brutes with wonder gaz'd,
To know what had this Hubbub rais'd.

They all concurr'd, and spake as one,
What is the Fox so gen'rous grown,
That Geese and Asses change their Tone?
A little Weasel standing by,
Soon gave them all a Reason, why
These Brutes were of the Fox so fond,
Because he'd drawn them into Bond;
And did design the rest to Fleece,
By kind assistance of the Geese.
The Ass disdain'd to come behind
The Swan, or Geese, in any kind,
And so began the Fox to praise,
In hopes he shou'd have got the Bays.
But as ill luck wou'd have it be,
I had retain'd a Goose in fee,
Both void of Wit, and Poetry;
Jove knows my Income is too poor
To give a better Poet more.

But shortly, now, the Brutes will meet:
I fear all those that have Four Feet
Will quite expunge who have but Two,
And then I know not what to do.

If Geese be voted as unfit,
Among Four-footed Beasts to sit,
And Judge of either Sense, or Wit;
Then all the labour I have ta'en
Is lost, and I'm undone again.
Or if the Panthers find it out,
That to the Geese I'm so devout,
I must be forc'd to Tack about.

I thought you'd scorn'd that filthy Name,
Wou'd lose your Life, to save your Fame;
But I must recollect your'e Wise,
And can discern without glass Eyes,
The Fox's Interest is his Prize.
But still, my Lord, the Wolves are sly,
And Brutes who're given much to Lye:
So, if your Honour, take not care,
They'll neither you, nor I, much spare.

If they against you shou'd inform,
'Twou'd bring on me a dreadful Storm,

And therefore, Sir, provoke them not,
For they are dang'rous at a Plot,
And you know we have made a blot:
I wou'd not have the Wolves to hit,
For all that we have got by it.
The Panthers do suspect a cheat,
Which makes them manage with such heat,
But dare not trust the Wolves, because
They are obnoxious to the Laws.

Now if the Brutes shou'd all consent,
To chuse a Panther-Parliament,
What must we think, will be th'event?
But that the Wolves will quite untwist,
The Quill thro' which we both have Pist,
And then, Sir, I must bid adieu,
To all Affairs 'twixt me, and you.

Madam,—

You touch me in the tend'rest Part,
Both of my Int'rest, and my Heart,
And what you say, I can't deny,
It does perplex my Policy:

Yet I have still a Card to play,
Will please the Wolves another way,
Since they are greedy after Prey.
So that will stop their Throats a while,
And make them sometimes on me smile;
Till I have drawn the Brutes aside,
And soften'd all their Hate and Pride;
That they forsake the Panther's Chace,
And let the Fox go his own Pace;
For 'tis not that I dread them single,
But when they in Assemblies mingle;
They are most fierce, tyrannick Beasts,
And have the subtlest Smell, and Tasts.
They won't be by the Fox then put on,
But will be serv'd with the best Mutton,
So far that I begin to tremble,
Against the time they next assemble;
Least in a rage, when they are vex'd,
And with the Asses much perplex'd,
They shou'd into their Passions fly,
And all the Geese at once destroy.

For then it is, they break my Measures,
And to be sure they'll search my Treasures,
So that at last I lose my Bacon,
For which such mighty Pains I've taken;
Therefore I labour hard to make
Some Panthers mine, and save my Stake;
And then I'll let the Geese go gabble,
To save themselves among the Rabble.
For 'tis not for the least respect,
That I their Interest protect,
But only to support my own,
Tho' at the hazard of the Crown;
For what are all the Geese to me?
But I gain by their flattery,
And so encrease my Treasury.

Let them go seek some other Fools,
I am not theirs, but they're my Tools;
And if they cannot see the Cheat,
They're Geese indeed, without deceit:
But I must keep in my disguise,
As yet, a while, if I am Wise,

Least Wolves, and Panthers shou'd descry
The secret Haunts where now I lye,
And act my sweet Hypocrisie.
Alass, if they cou'd make plain Proof,
With Geese I'm under the same Roof,
I'm sure enough to lose my Head,
Or sent abroad to beg my Bread.

Nay then, my Lord, if that's the Sport,
The Wolves and Panthers take at Court,
Pray follow your own Policy,
And both with Geese and them agree:
But if you must with One dispute,
Be sure side with the strongest Brute.
It's far from being a Disgrace,
For Beasts that are in your high Place
To be call'd Trimmers now-a-days,
But an addition to your Praise,
That you're not obstinately bent
To thwart and vex a Parliament.
For if they're Panthers, so are You:
If Wolves, you're something of their Hue:
And if they're Geese, you'll be as true.

To ev'ry Party well inclin'd,
But to your self be always kind,
And constant to your faithful Hind.

A Poetical ESSAY ON THE Last Sea-fight with the French ,

August 12. 1704.

I sing the Pride of Albion, and the Pow'r
That guards our own, but threats the Gallick Shore.
To Britain's Glory, I my Song prepare,
Britain, the Arbiter of Peace and War,
How glorious Her extended Canvas shows,
Her Navy, how commanding to Her Foes,
To whose Majestick Height, all Europe bows?

Then tell, my Muse, if thou can'st well express,
Such wond'rous Greatness in the Art of Verse;
How Albion's Fame does more at large appear,
When armed Fleets Sail thro' the yielding Air,
And awe the Neighb'ring Worlds with pannick Fear.

Tell, how the sharpen'd Keel divides the Main,
And how the turgid Waves press in again;
How fond their close Embraces they pursue,
And Kiss their Verdure into Azure Blew.

Tell, how these floating Citadels prepare
For Friendly Union, or Destructive War:
In Strife, how like Leviathan they move,
And when they speak, how like the Voice of Jove;
How many Prodigies we here may find,
And see with what great Art they are design'd;
How nicely weigh'd is ev'ry pond'rous Beam,
And how each closely fitted to its Frame;
With what Command the Rudder guides the Hulk,
How such Proportion in the Massy Bulk.

Tell this, and Twice Ten Thousand Wonders more,
These that in wond'rous Machines we explore.
And when we've all our Admiration cloy'd,
Observe to what great Ends they are imploy'd:
What God-like Souls the chief Directors are;
Then view the Myst'ry with the last Despair,
When prudent Conduct gives the great Command,
These Wooden Worlds obey the Ruling Hand.

Now was the time when the hot Syrian Dog
Infects the Seas with ev'ry noisom Fog;
The Month the Roman Senate did decree,
Perpetual, to Augustus Memory.
In those same Seas, where that fam'd Cæsar fought,
And where at Actium, he such Glory got;
Great Albion's Navy did with Thunder roar,
Dreadful to Africk, and th'Iberian Shore:
In that renown'd Cantabrian Ocean, She
Display'd Her British Flags of Victory.

The wond'rous Tale of Actium must be lost,
When this is told on the same Barbary Coast;

The Battel of Lepanto quite forgot,
Where this, the Greatest, and the last was fought;
This Battel, which at once made Europe know
What Albion cou'd, what Gallia cou'd not do.

In Tyrrhene Seas near proud Iberia's Shore,
Insulted often by the Barbarous Moor,
Aspiring France her Canvas Wings display'd,
Pluming her self with Thoughts to be Obey'd,
She spread her Sails, and her vast Anchors weigh'd.

With flattering Pomp, she made the Watry Main
Servile to her, and her Majestick Train.

But see, fair Albion's Fleet from Africk's Shore,
Soon does the Hopes and Fears of France explore;
Her Peacock Train hoisted with so much Pride
Late on her Top-masts Head, now's laid aside,
They take th'Alarm, and for the Charge prepare,
Swoln big with Conquest, tho' possess'd with Fear.

Africk and Spain both saw th'amazing Sight,
And look'd with Horror at th'approaching Fight:

They saw with Wonder, what encreas'd their Fear,
And shook like Cowards, as the Fleets drew near:
In dire Amaze, the Spaniards saw that Day,
That must enforce their Nation, either way,
Be Slaves to France, or Charles the Third obey.

From their steep Clifts, they saw both Navies come,
Crowding their Sails, like Clouds before a Storm;
The Air grew dark, and all the Lights of Heaven
Seem'd in Eclipse; as when a Sea is driven
By Lybian Winds, that on the Beeches roar,
And cast the Billows on th'Iberian Shoar,
The Flood breaks in, the frighted People fly,
And more by Flight, than by the Tempest Die;
The Surging Waves swell still in higher Pride,
And sport in Triumph on the raging Tide:
While the sad Shore, thus vanquish'd with Despair,
Yields to the Waves, and the tormenting Air.

So stood the Spaniards on the Neighbouring Shore,
And so, with dreadful Aspects look'd the Moor,
The loud Mouth'd Cannon quickly did repeat,
The General's Brav'ry, and the Sailors Heat:

Gallia return'd with Fire, their glorious Rage,
And now the Murd'ring Engines of the War Engage.

Now Shot pours in, like ratling Show'rs of Hail,
Or Spouts that in the Western Ocean fall;
Now Darkness Black as Hell, that wou'd affright,
And Fire breaks out, like Lightning in the Night;
Thick Sulp'rous Flames spread o'er the Beamy Skies,
Not to give Light, but blind the Soldiers Eyes,
While Horror still encreases with their Cries.
Deaf'ned with Noise, Amaz'd with sudden Blows,
Now 'mong the Sailors more Confusion grows;
Their Shrowds are torn, Masts by the Ship-board fall,
And Rage and dire Destruction reigns thro' all.

Here Legs and Arms in wild Disorder lie,
While furious Flames amidst the Tackling fly:
This way they run to prop the falling Mast,
Then leave't, to save the sinking Ship with haste:
Here a Broad-side has pour'd a Deluge in,
Then at the Pump they Work with all their main,
To pour the Sea into the Sea again.

Now the Fight rages, now the Battel's hot,
And e'ery Sailor to his Business got;
Gen'ral with Gen'ral now design'dly meet,
While Shovel Thunders thro' the Gallick Fleet,
And streaming Flags lie shatter'd at his Feet.
Whole Show'rs of Fiery Balls on Ship-board rain,
While the dread Sounds disturb th'Atlantick Main;
For Sovereignty the Bellowing Engines roar,
And make their Claim known to each distant Shore.

Ev'n Neptune trembles at th'impetuous Shocks,
Forsakes the Deep, for Safety, seeks the Rocks.
But Earth and Seas, the dire Convulsions feel,
The frantick Waves, like Drunkards, toss, and reel,
And tumble too and fro, the mighty Keel:
Rouling 'gainst Seas, her Massy Ribs are split,
And forc'd in this Combustion to resit:
Others like burning Beacons do appear,
Stor'd well with Pitchy Cordage, and with Tar.

Next see a horrible and hideous Blast,
Blow up the Deck, and rend the sturdy Mast;

Break the tuff Oak in Splinters thro' the Sky,
Then force the pond'rous Waves in Air to fly;
While mangled Limbs amidst the Surges ride,
Toss'd by the Sea, in a disdainful Pride.

The Eastern Winds drive on the roaring Train,
That fret the angry Billows of the Main:
Now Nereus Foams, and now the storming Tide,
With Violence 'gainst ev'ry Ship does ride;
Waves fall on Waves, and Seas on Seas are driven,
Then break, like Thunder-Claps that fall from Heaven.

Both Sides attack, both Sides alike defend,
This gives the Charge, the other Aids his Friend.
Sometimes they hope, sometimes they doubtful grow,
While Death strikes sure on both at ev'ry Blow.

Conquest leans here, then on the other side,
Like boist'rous Winds that drive th'unruly Tide:
Here one drops down, his Room another fills,
That a huge Ball, this a small Splinter Kills;
His Friend succeeds him, takes the vacant Place,
And falls himself within a little space.

Heaps crowd on Heaps, and Groans so dreadful grow,
The hideous Objects from their Sight they throw,
And in their Cries, sink to the Deep below.

Behold the Sea-green Waves with Blood are dy'd,
And Purple Billows on the Surface ride;
See how the Porpoise Monster is afraid,
Looks pale with Horror, dares not show his Head,
But hides himself in the Seas ouzy Bed.
Tritons in vain attempt to banish Fear,
But fly with hast unusual, here and there,
Thro' all the Deep, Astonishment they spread,
And more the Fire, than Neptune's Anger dread.

See how the Gen'ral Toils and Foams to meet
The Gallick Heroe, 'midst his pompous Fleet;
How his Eyes sparkle, how his Eye-Balls roul,
How wife his Conduct, and how great his Soul
Swoln big with Rage, with Albion's Glory fir'd,
To ev'ry Soldier he new Life inspir'd.
Each did his Fellow with stern Wrath inflame,
And swelling Pride, made ev'ry Sailor claim
The spreading Lawrels of their Gen'ral's Fame.

Clapping and Raving with tumultuous Sound,
The very Seas did to the Noise rebound;
Disdaining Fear, tho' Death their Huzza's met,
They spurn'd the Grisly Tyrant from their Feet.

Now Pale, then Black, and Bloody as they lay,
Pursuit of Conquest banish'd Fear away,
And ev'ry Soldier Blest the Glorious Day.
No base Contention rose, but noble Strife,
To see, who shou'd—
Most Honour gain, not who shou'd save his Life.

Thoulouse, the Pride of Gallia's Fleet, in vain
On mighty Rook, pour'd all his fiery Train:
Whose hideous Clamours rent the very Skies
With Terror, nought but Briton's durst despise.
Like some fell Monstrous Whale, cast on the Shore,
That scares the Neighb'ring Cattel with his Roar,
So France spoke from the Cannons murd'ring Breath,
Doleful Presages of approaching Death.

Whole Sholes of Gallies to their Admiral come,
Which from Great Rook receive a speedy Doom:

With slavish Dread they cross the Eddies Row,
But e'er their Work is finish'd, sink below,
With hideous Shrieks and Cries of Gallick Woe.
Down as they Tumble, fresh Men raise their Heads,
Then sink beneath, into their liquid Beds.

Rook, like Great Neptune in his God-like Pride,
When on a sporting Dolphin pleas'd to Ride;
Mounted on tossing Billows in a Storm
Round him, as Guards, a Thousand Tritons swarm.
Such is his Glory, and as firm he stands
'Gainst Gallia's Navy, and her Batt'ring Rams;
While Jennings, like a Noble Second, came
To Aid his Gen'ral's Battel, and proclaim
How like an English-man he courted Fame:
His Heart was Oak, free from the Thoughts of Fear,
While Death attacks him both in Van and Rear,
And throws Destruction round him ev'ry where.

Now Tholouse does afresh his Fury try,
And Bullets flaming from the Furnace fly,
They Burn, they Break, they Tear, and they Destroy.

Here gushing Blood the crowded Decks wash down,
While gorging in the Purple Stream they Drown:
Or welt'ring in their Gore, their Spirits spend
In helpless Cries, before the Battel end.

For such the Fury of these Captains were,
Each brave Commander did his Danger share,
And ev'ry Soldier felt the shocking War.
Like as with equal Rage and equal Might,
Two adverse Winds contend, together Fight;
Cloud against Cloud, and Wave 'gainst Wave, they dash,
And Sea and Air, with strong Convulsions clash.
Then on some Rock with furious Shocks, they rush,
And whatsoe'er opposes them, they crush.

So met these Royal Navies on the Main,
While streaming Fires spread o'er the Watry Plain.
Like some dire Comet, whose fierce Flames foretel,
Where bloody Death, or Pestilence will dwell.

As a Wild Bull his Rival's wont to meet,
So daring Shovel Storms the Gallick Fleet;
His Eyes speak Fire, the Language of his Guns,
That with the Force of these, their Courage stuns:
Like some fierce Tyger, who displays his Head
'Midst Herds of Deer, who've their Pursuer fled.

Some Cyclops sure, at Vulcan's Anvil, Struck
This Dauntless Heroe out of Fire and Smoke.

Now Leake, and Bing, and Dilks, with Fire bear down,
In Gallia's Ruin, they involve their own:
Their Courage prove, where the most Danger grows,
And Satisfaction in their slaughter'd Foes:
Pale Gastly Death all their Decrees obey,
Fiercer than Hurricanes, or a Mad Sea,
That fights the Wind in vain, for Victory.

Or just like Phaeton they wou'd aspire
With Gallia's Fleet, to set the World on Fire:
Vast Fleaks of Light'ning from their Cannon fly,
While Death pursues the vanquish'd Enemy;

And Albion's fierce Artillery proclaim,
Great ANNA's Glory and Immortal Fame,
Like Jove's dread Voice, in Thunder and in Flame.

THE Royal PROPHETESS.

AN Heroick POEM.

When Pious Joshua Israel's People led
After the Mighty Prophet had 'em fed
With Food from Heaven for their daily Bread.
Jacob's ungrateful Race forgot the God
That had preserv'd them by his Sacred Rod;
Perverse and Stubborn as their Fathers were,
They scorn'd the tenders of his bounteous Care,
And ev'n 'gainst high Heav'n it self made War.
Tho' when the great Dictator of their Laws
Was snatch'd away, Joshua espous'd their Cause.
Joshua, so much for Arms and Arts renown'd,
And who the hopes of Israel's People Crown'd.

When such a Guide did for their Tribes appear
Old Judah's Lyon rose, and Israel banish'd fear,
Whilst from his Sphere fled back the glaring Sun,
Amaz'd, asham'd, to see himself out-run,
Stock-still he gaz'd, with Wonder fill'd, and fear,
Nor durst he to his Journey's end draw near,
But as a vain Spectator of the Day,
Stood loit'ring of his precious Hours away.

Mean time the Hero, with a matchless Grace
Met nought but Victory in ev'ry Place,
Where grizly Death was staring in his Face.

The Haughty Amorites press'd his Troops in vain
Till Gibeons Fields were cover'd with the Slain;
The bashful trembling Moon, all pale and wan
Affrighted stood to view the God-like Man.
While thro' the rapid Streams of Jordan, he
Made his bold Passage like a Deity.
No Terrors did his fiery Passion cool,
His Armour was the Courage of his Soul.
Nor did the God, for whom his Joshua fought,
Permit his Hero to be long forgot,

For 'midst th'eternal Monuments of Fame
None will compare to Joshua's Deathless Name.

He liv'd thro' Israel's Tents for Arms renown'd,
And dy'd with never-fading Lawrels Crown'd.

While Jacob's Sons in Sorrow bath'd their Eyes,
And Clouds with Mourning Sables deck'd the Skies,
Deb'rab the Royal Prophetess did rise.
Deb'rab, whose Sacred Name tunes every Lyre,
And does my Muse with Pious Thoughts inspire:
From Ephram's Tribe her sacred Breath she drew,
And Israel well her great Fore-Fathers knew.
Divinely fair her sparkling Beauty shin'd,
As Jaspers with the Chrystal more refin'd;
Her flowing Hair like the first dawn of Light,
With Gold enamel'd show'd the Silver-white;
Upon her Brow a Thousand Graces met,
Where they in Thrones of spotless Ivory sate;
Her Cheeks with native Blushes were o'er-spread,
Not yielding to the fair Carnation Red;
Her Eyes would swell and burst, and melt in Showers,
As Pearly Dews sit on the choicest Flow'rs:

To Crown her Charms the Sun lay hid for shame,
And own'd her Eyes by far the brighter flame;
Like Rocks of Marble on a Silver Mold,
Her Snowy Breasts their Beauties do unfold,
So every Heart with pleasure she commands,
No Heart, no Soul, her Lordly Pow'r withstands.

Of Lapidoth she was the virtuous Wife,
And liv'd a very Pattern all her Life
Free from the Jars of Matrimonial strife.
Heav'n such a Bridegroom never yet describ'd,
Nor ever Earth so Good, so Chaste a Bride.

Under the spreading Palm-Trees She abode,
Securely tended by her Guardian God,
On Ephraim's Mount, with awful Pow'r She sate
To govern Israel, and prescribe their Fate.

There stands a lofty Pile, which looking high,
Rears up its stately Head to meet the Sky,
Deep founded on a Rock it firmly stood,
Fenc'd from th'Insults of Jordan's Swelling Flood.

The Beauteous Frame with curious Art was wrought,
With Wood from Ophir, and from Chittim brought,
With tallest Cedars that the Forrests shade,
Of Fir, the Beams and Rafters all were made,
The Roof with Gold of Parvaim overlaid:
Such wond'rous Architrave the Structure show'd,
As if design'd by some all Artful God;
Huge Mountain Pines, th'Imperial load sustain'd,
Which from the solid Trunks alone were fram'd,
On Pedestals of Molten Brass they stood,
And Leaves of purest Gold o're-laid the Wood;
Their Chapiters were Carv'd with nicest Art,
And in their form each Workman play'd his Part.

One Tow'ring Cedar, of Gigantick size,
That did on Lebanon's fair Forrest rise,
Did by its Native Strength alone support
Th'ascending Ladder of this spacious Court;
A Hundred Paces, to the Floor you mount,
And Twice Two Hundred afterwards might count.
Of purest Ebony, the Steps were made,
With Chittim Iv'ry, curiously Inlaid;

No Walls were there, but of the Onyx Stone,
Nor Light; but what thro' clearest Chrystal shone;
The Ceiling, of stupendious height did seem,
Shewing no Crack, or Flaw, or Artless Beam,
But in the Noblest Paintings, there Divine
Did all the Glorious Acts of Israel shine.
There, Moses by the Fiery Pillar stood,
And Pharoah's Chariots rowling in the Flood;
There, stood the Waves, in heaps on either side,
And Moses leading Israel as their Guide;
There, were in Colours, Artfully exprest
All Egypt's Plagues, in lively Horror drest,
And living Streams flow'd from the Painters Rock,
Just as they look'd when the great Prophet struck;
Nor were the wond'rous Deeds of Joshua forgot,
And all the mighty Battels which he fought.

A Lordly Dome rais'd up its Antique Head,
Which o're the Centre of the Building spread,
Two Hundred Cubits 'bove the Roof did rise,
And the same Number spann'd the bulky size.
With pond'rous Gold the Pile was cover'd o'er,
And Orient Gems adorn'd the inner Floor.

There Varrio's Skill in shining Colours lives,
And there immortal Joshua survives.
There you may see, the Radient Beamy Sun
By Man's soft Pencil, Artfully out-done,
When he stood still upon the Burning Zone.

There, see, how the great Painter so can dress
Art, as t'exceed ev'n Nature in Distress;
So bold he Paints the fall of Jericho,
That She scarce felt such mighty Pangs of Woe,
When Her surrounding Walls were tumbling down,
And Joshua's Host Triumphing in the Town;
When Childless Matrons, with unpitied Eyes
Wept, at the Universal Sacrifice.
There, Colours do by bold Expressions tell
How the Great Heroe stood when Bashan fell,
How Jordan's Streams, cou'd never stem the Tide
Of Joshua's Fire; He thro' the Flood wou'd Ride,
And force the Waves stand still on either side.

Beneath the Glories of this Painted Sky,
Statues of lasting Brass, stood mounting high,
At whose proud Feet numberless Trophies lye.

There, haughty Nimrod, like a Tyrant stood,
And those Rebellious Sons, who since the Flood
Wag'd War with Heav'n, and durst confront their God
In daring Forms, that did their boldness crown,
Who Babel rais'd, and with it tumbled down.
Their Images appear'd of Gyant size,
Grim were their looks, and Gorgon like their Eyes:
No smiling aspects did the Heroe's grace,
But Horror star'd in ev'ry Grizly Face,
Naked and bare, their Brawny Limbs descry'd
Th'insulting Men, that Heav'n and Earth defy'd.

Beneath these huge Colossus's, you might see
Twelve spacious Arches, fram'd of Ebony;
With lust'rous Pearl, each Bow was spangled o'er,
And Jasper Stones pav'd all the low'most Floor,
The choicest Onyx, form'd the Pillars thro',
And the Pilasters were of Saphire blue.

Next, hence adjoyning lies a Gallery,
With Marble polish'd like a Chrystal Sea.

Hence by ascending Steps you mount a Throne,
Of burnish'd Gold, which with like splendor shone,
As does the Chariot of the Blazing Sun:
Fix'd o're't, was set a high Imperial Crown,
Which nought but Tyranny cou'd tumble down:
There hung on high a Canopy of State,
Where Deb'rah like, a powerful Monarch sate.

Close by this Palace, flows fair Jordan's Streams,
Where spreading Palm Trees shade the Sun's fierce Beams,
Where Beauteous Sea-Nymphs, on the Waters sport,
And bulky Triton's grace the splendid Court.
Here, Ships from Tarshish safe at Anchor ride,
Here, Men of War bear out the foaming Tyde,
While Wanton Skiffs at pleasure o'er it glide.
Here, Season'd Ashes make the Sailors Oars,
And Senir Oaks, the Merchants hoard in Stores;
Work-men from Gebal hew the Timber down,
And Zidon's Carpenters the Labour Crown.
Fam'd Arvad's Pilots steer Her Ships to Land,
When in the midst of them tall Cedars stand;

Up Jordan's swelling Flood, swift sailing come
Merchants from Lud and Persia, laden home;
Coral and Agat, they with Emralds buy,
And Dedan's Merchants Trade in Ivory,
For finest Wooll, and Balm of Gilead they
Bring Gold and Precious Stones from Raamah;
Arabian Spices are exchang'd for Corn,
And for choice Ebony, they barter Horn;
With Tin and Lead, Shebah and Ashur Trade,
And with fine Silver home their Shipping lade;
For Honey, Wax and Wheat, of Minniths Soil
They bring back Olives, Cassia, Wine and Oyl.
Thus Jordan's flowing Streams more fruitful are,
Than either East or Western Oceans far,
Plenteous in all the Riches of the West,
And stor'd with fine Apparel from the East;
In Rich Embroid'ry they from Haram shine,
And Eden's softer Linnen makes 'em fine.

Near hence, a pleasing Prospect to the Eyes,
The Beauteous Garden of the Palm-Trees lies,
Where Jordan's Streams in various windings play,
And thro' thick glades cut out their shady way;

Thence their fresh Rills delight the sporting Fawns,
When they glide gently down the verdant Lawns,
When o'er the Pebles, softly they complain
Their broken Numbers touch the Love-sick Swain:
The Muses, all these Silver Brooks Flock round,
And Nymphs and Fawns, with Water Lillies crown'd;
A Thousand Loves express in Am'rous strains,
A Thousand Joys disperse among the Plains.

Here, well secur'd from Envy, Flatt'ry, Hate
And Discontent, that oft on Great Men wait,
In Innocence Men prove their Happy State,
And Challenge all the Tyrannies of Fate;

Here, lavish Nature Prodigal of Bliss,
Shows us, what pleasure in Her Bosom lies,
What to the Earth Her kindly Offspring bring,
And how Her Beauteous Blossoms freshly spring;
How Fountains rise, from the Seas swelling Tyde,
And Flow'rs are dress'd with such delightful Pride.

Here, Art it self so lively does appear,
As if this place by Her created were,

And does so near to Natures Thoughts aspire,
She gilds the kindly Plants with new attire,
Where Nature has too great a Niggard been,
In Homely Russet, or in Native Green;
Beams of more lively and delightful show,
Do from their Beds in glorious Colours grow:
So does She wed the Tulip to the Sun,
While various Mixtures thro' each other run.
The verdant Holly ev'ry circling Year,
A diff'rent Livery She gives to wear,
So lustrous, Art can make ev'n Nature shine,
From Mountain slips, she dwarfs the lofty Pine;
She joyns the Hawthorn to Alcinous Pear,
While Wilding-Stocks Pomona's Apples bear.

Here, Triumphs Art, and here Heav'ns smiling brow,
Does all the sweets of Infant Nature show;
The Joyous Birds in little Songs conspire,
To raise delight and melt us to desire.

Then tell me Jordan, why thy crooked Tyde,
Does thro' this spacious Artful Canal glide?

Why, here your healing Fountains dance and play,
Then hide their curled heads, and steal away?
Tell me ye Streams, why here your Current flows?
Why leave the Banks, that did you once enclose?
Say lovely Springs, what is it you have got
By this exchange, or what is't you have not?
Here ev'ry Day from an adjacent Bow'r.
The Beauties of the East each Morning Flow'r:
The early Sun, with Beams comes dancing out,
And sporting Nereids wanton here about;
Here Swallows from their Winter Beds arise,
And downy Sleep is banish'd from their Eyes.

All perfum'd Odours that delight the Sence,
Are here pour'd out in lavish Affluence;
Not Ida's Fields or Tempe's flow'ry plain,
On which the streaming Floods of Heaven rain,
Or Hybla's Thyme, but must compare with thee in vain.
To all these Nature did some Sweets bestow,
But in this Garden every Sweet does grow.
With various mixtures ev'ry Bank she dy'd,
And damask'd all the Fields with od'rous Pride.

Here on high Trillage made of golden Wire
Sweet Limes or shady Elms are taught t'aspire,
While for her Guard their boughy Arms they bear,
And ev'ry Tree erects its Leafy Spear.
The wanton Flood o'er spacious Cascades rowls,
And laves its liquid Waves in Silver Bowls,
Upon whose sides fresh fragrant Roses stray,
O'er which the watry Streams delight to play.

Here Circe's sleeping Charms so fam'd of old
Are quite out-done by the Springs Icy cold.
Here Evening Breezes freshly fan the Air,
Quench the hot Flame, and cool the rage of Care;

But now the pensive Queen by Heav'n inspir'd,
And with the Publick Good divinely fir'd,
Fix'd in her Mind her People's Cares, revolv'd,
At last her teeming Thoughts she thus resolv'd.

Th'insulting Amorites have long perplex'd
This Promis'd Land, and long have Israel vex'd.

Jabin, their haughty Monarch every where
Makes Zebulon and Naphtali by fear
Fly from his conq'ring Arms with base despair,
While all the Gentiles tremble at their Flight,
None dare resist the Fury of his Might:

All must submit, or his depleasure find
In rancour suited to his Savage kind.
This said, a Message soon was sent
T'assemble Israel's Elders to her Tent.

Mean time, her wearied Soul with Cares opprest
Drew down the Curtains of her Eyes to rest;
Extended on a Flow'ry Couch she lay
Entranc'd, as Death had wing'd her Soul away:
While thus the Prophetess took her repose,
A sudden Vision to her Fancy rose.
A Form appear'd, but so amazing bright,
Its lustre flash'd intolerable light;
Her Knees together knock'd, her starting Hair,
With trembling Heart confess'd unusual fear.
His Garments seem'd thin as the upper Air,
Sweet was his Mein, his Face divinely fair,

Soft as a Cloud, but more Ætherial bright,
His Image shone like springing Tydes of Light;
Down on his Shoulders with an easy Care,
A flaming Meteor flow'd like Silver Hair;
His Cheeks were blushing as the Morning Sun,
His Eyes more piercing than his Rays at Noon;
His Voice like softest Zephirs that on Violets play,
Refreshing Odours all the scorching day.
Such Harmony his Numbers did inspire,
Her Soul was tun'd to his melodious lyre.
When thus the sacred Bard his Message told.

Deb'rah, thou Favourite Friend of Heav'n rise,
Dispel all Fears, wipe Sorrow from thy Eyes:
The great Jehovah, Founder of this State,
The God that did on your Fore-Fathers wait,
Will still the Wonders of his Mercy show,
And surely make Philistine Nations know,
There is a God to whom they do not bow.
By thee, fairest of Women, most divine,
By thee thy God thro' Israel's Land will shine;
Thou shalt in all thy glorious Works succeed,
Obey my Words, for they're by Heav'n decreed.

Heav'n, which makes ev'n Kings descend their Thrones,
Stript of their Purple and their shining Crowns,
Who boast of Strength, and trust in that alone,
Are by the breath of Heav'n soon tumbled down;
Mysterious Truths hid in the Veil of Night
Are by his Pow'r produc'd to open light.
In Plenty now the happy Nation lives,
And like a spreading Vine the Country thrives.
When sudden Desolation unforeseen
Reduces all her Pride to want again.
What numerous Crowds did once Samaria grace,
They seem'd to murmur at the narrow space;
Now all her mighty Warriors can't oppose
The daring Fury of insulting Foes.
Her Senators are at a stand, nor know which way
T'avoid the ruin of the fatal Day;
Council will not avail, all in amaze
With haggard Eyes upon each other gaze;
Fain would they fly, but know not where to run,
No hope is near the threatned Death to shun.

Call strait the Mighty Men of Israel here,
And tell this Message in the Peoples Ear,
That Jacob's Race shall curb the growing Pow'r
Of proud Philistine Lords who wait each hour
The chosen Tribes of Israel to devour.
From Issachar the Hero shall be born,
Whom thou shalt with the chief Command adorn;
He shall be Captain o'er thy Men of War,
Inspir'd from Heav'n with Conduct and with Care
And brave, tho' not insensible of fear.
Abinoam's Son, Barak's the Hero's Name,
Oh Deb'rah! That shall exalt thy Fame,
And bring on Jabin everlasting shame.
Send for the Warrior, let the People know,
To Barak's Genius Sisera must bow;
Consult your Council, for the dreadful War
With all the strength of Israel prepare:
For Moab is with Sisera gone down,
And Jabin hunts for an Imperial Crown.
The Amorites and Moabites are Friends,
And hated Nations joyn for hated ends;
Then hast to Arms thou best of thy fair Race,
Let Peace thy Mind, while Smiles adorn thy Face,

Wake glorious Princess from thy Rest, and see
Thou for a Guardian hast a Deity.

Swift from her Eyes the Spirit made its way,
And nought remain'd to Sight but lightsome Day,
When all alone she was surpriz'd to find
Such strong Impressions on her feeble Mind.

No sooner was the leaden Clouds of Sleep dispell'd,
And Morpheus loos'd the Fetters which he held,
But Israel's Chieftains waited at her Tent,
To understand the Message she had sent.

A goodly Frame rais'd high of carved Wood,
Leaning its lofty Head, on Cedars stood,
Near an old Venerable Pile ------
Adorn'd with curious Work of Antique Hands,
There all the States in full Assembly met;
Where they in Princely Robes of Scarlet set,
Glitt'ring in costly Gems, each takes his Place,
And fills the Senate with Majestick Grace;

While Warlike Trumpets their shrill clangors sound,
The Peoples Voices ecchoing rebound,
And Shouts and Tramplings shake the trembling Air and dancing Ground.
There hangs the Balance of the weighty State,
And there Rewards and Punishment do wait
A rigorous, or an equitable fate:
There Arbitrary Laws are curb'd and chain'd,
And there the Summit of all Justice gain'd,
Judges themselves, if Lawless, are not free,
From this Tribunal Seat of Equity.
Blest Liberty in Triumph sits her down,
Nor hurts the State, nor shakes the Imperial Crown.

All now were met, the Council fill'd apace,
And every Elder took his wonted place:
When thus Queen Deb'rah spoke—
My Lords, the cause why you're assembled here,
Is to advise—
About th'important Bus'ness of the War;
Jabin, you know, his Conquests spreads around,
And Vict'ry has His Arms with Triumph crown'd.

The slavish Amorites deflow'r our Fields,
Whilst Zebulon to their Incursions yields,
And Moab's Race, with heavy Burdens bent,
Submit to haughty Jabin's Government.
The might of Hazor's King, I need not tell,
Or all His vast Designs: You know too well
Israel has felt the fury of his Pow'r,
When God-like Joshua deliver'd you before.
But now, more potent by his Allies grown,
He Triumphs e're the Battel is begun.
While all his num'rous Squadrons do prepare
For dreadful Mischief, and destructive War;
Whom shall I chuse 'mongst Israel's mighty Men,
The Conduct of the Battel to sustain.
Who dare 'gainst Sisera, his Courage try
To Conquer bravely, or as bravely Die.
Then Barak answer'd Deb'rah, and said,
I will the Noble Youths of Israel lead,
And proudly for my Countries Honour bleed.
No Philistine shall on Mount Ephraim boast,
That Israel wants a Captain for their Host;
If Jacob's Rulers the design approve,
I'll take the Charge and to the Battel move.

But Othniel a Benjamite, with Glory fir'd,
And who to Pow'r, with less desert aspir'd;
Stood up, and thus with furious rage reply'd,
Is Barak fit to lead the Tribes to War,
Who once against all Israel did appear?
Have I in vain on Ephraims Mount defy'd,
The Ammonites, and all the Hilly side,
That Bethel does from Moab's Land divide.
And shall not Othniel lead the People out,
Speak Princess now, my Lords, declare your doubt;
Can you deny the Glory of my Fame,
Or what has Othniel done to brand his Name?
With that, an Ephramite in Council wise,
With def'rence to the rest, did thus advise.
We all are sensible, the happy State
Of Israel, does on our great Councils wait;
That Judah's Lyon is dismay'd with fear,
And Hazor's Monarch Conquers ev'ry where.
What Noble Othniel then propos'd before,
I well approve, and think on any score,
Barak shou'd never serve in Israel more.
Did not brave Othniel lead us with Success,
When Barak left Judea in distress:

'Tis true, his Conduct is upheld by Fame,
But Israel doats on Othniel's dearer Name;
Matchless he stands in all the Peoples Voice,
And I opine he ought to be our Choice.

At these warm Words, a Danite old in War,
All cover'd o'er with Scars and Martial care,
Of dauntless Courage and of thoughtful Pride,
Sate still, considering by the Chieftains side,
Wanting Revenge on Othniel cast his Eye,
With marks of Passion not of Cruelty:
At last his Rage abating, Silence broke,
The Council being mute, these Words he spoke.

O Princess! Let not Popular Applause,
Byass your Judgment in a glorious Cause;
Barak has offer'd to lead Israel out,
And who can of his Conduct, or his Courage doubt;
The better part of War in him remains,
By wise Designs more than by Blood he gains;
He that like Othniel does to Battel go,
With Strength alone, he beats but half his Foe;

Mature in Councils Gen'rals ought to be,
Not fill'd with Fire so much as Policy,
For Life's of more concern than Victory.
But how dares Othniel, e're his grey Head age,
Attempt with War-like Sis'ra to engage,
Or lead united Forces to the War,
Where old experienc'd Gen'rals appear.

This Speech fill'd Zoab, a Naphtalite with rage
That did exceed the Conduct of his Age.
My Lords, said he, I've long in Council sate,
And oft consider'd Israel's dangerous State,
But never yet expected, once to have heard
A Prince of Issachar, with Othniel compar'd:
What cou'd he find none to espouse his Cause,
But one so little vers'd in Israel's Laws;
One who in Foreign Service may have known
What, by Despotick Monarchs has been done.
But Israel's State is blest with such a Gem,
She'd not exchange for Jabin's Diadem:
And this old doating Danite has forgot,
That Dan must suffer too in Zoab's lot:

Must we the Portions of our Land divide,
To pamper Barak with a Gen'ral's Pride,
And make the Sons of Issachar disdain,
The very Tribes that do their Pomp maintain.

These furious Words, from Party Passion rais'd,
The Queen and Council with surprize amaz'd.
At last, strict Silence was commanded round,
When Deb'rah, thus with God-like Patience crown'd,
These Words pronounc'd: My Lords, I call'd you here,
'Tis true, to advise about the present War,
But ne'er design'd you shou'd 'fore me declare.
If Jewish Blood with too much Passion Boil,
'Nere Spil't in vain on Israel's faten'd Soil;
Let Moab's. Land your lavish Courage share,
At Home 'tis base, Abroad, 'tis Noble War.
Let me Command you, your Contentions cease,
And give me your Debates in settled Peace;
I wou'd b' advis'd, when I wou'd Govern well,
And advise you, that Pattern to excel:
Then once again let me with Temper hear,
Who you Judge fittest to Command the War.

Then Barak humbly Spoke—
Great Princess! And you Lords of Israel hear,
Who make the Jewish State your constant care;
To you with all Submission I appeal,
You are the Balm that our Divisions heal.

Tell me, my Lords, if you have ever seen
Barak, to Israel false, or to the Queen;
Why then shou'd Ephraim, or Napthali, revile
The Race of Issachar—
But I can Zoab's Rage with ease forgive,
So Israel prosper, and Queen Deb'rah live;
You may remember when all Ephraim fled,
And Juda's Nobles stood like Statues dead.
Then Barak propt that proud ungrateful Race,
That in Judea, Barak wou'd disgrace:
Oh hear me Lords! Spare your Reproaches now,
Does not all Israel to Philistine Jabin bow?
Do we not cringe below the Tyrants Feet,
And to the Laws his Arms prescribe submit.

What then has Barak done? do Jewish Peers
Despise the Man that wou'd dispel their Fears?

Not for my self, do I this Honour seek,
My Countries Danger, 'tis that makes me speak:
But since I find in faithless Israel few,
When pressing Dangers call, that will be true,
I shall my Courage for the future spare,
Cowards can boast, when Danger is not near.

With that, a Reubenite, tho' Young, yet Wise
Stood up, and thus in Council did advise,
Tho' grey, Experience has not reach'd my Years,
Nor have I been alarm'd with Foreign Fears,
Yet I am sensible all Israel's Fate,
Does much on our Wise Councils wait.
Judea's Safety in our Conduct lies,
And Strength is nothing if we are not Wise;
Therefore, my Lords, I must my Judgment give
For Barak, which I hope you will receive.
Then all the Council mov'd with willing Ears,
Attended to the Wisdom of his Years;
While thus the Noble Youth continued on,
The bold Discourse he had so well begun.
I am amaz'd, from this Wise Board to hear,
One Soul of ancient Jacob's Race appear,

'Gainst Barak: Did he not Judea save?
Are not his Thoughts, his Looks, his Words, his Actions brave?
Don't we by long Experience know how great
He stood, at Frighted Ephraim's last defeat,
And what we by his prudent Councils gain,
Is equal to the Glories of a Monarchs Reign;
How provident at Home, how watchful in the Field,
Envy its self must to His Virtues yield:
The pompous Luxury of Camps he flies,
While downy Rest their Rioting supplies,
Who're chain'd in Sleep, when Sleep forsakes his Eyes.

He said, and as the hallow Caverns of some Wood,
Send back in Eccho's the still Voice aloud,
So from the Silence of the Council rose,
To all his Words, a general applause.
But Malice in the Assembly still remains,
Whilst Maroc's Blood fermented in his Veins;
He was, of Judah's Captains, rank'd the Prime,
For Strength and Matchless Valour in his time,
Who thus, with cloudy Aspect sour'd, began—

100

O, Princess! And you Lords of Israel hear,
What Reverend Age is able to declare;
You all must know how awful once I sate,
When Scepter'd Monarch's waited at my Gate,
And proud Philistine Lords their Homage paid,
On Ephraims Mount, where now they are obey'd:
I tell you Nobles, Barak must not go,
To lead out Israel, or engage the Foe;
Has not great Hazor's powerful Monarch seen,
Israel distress'd, and Deb'rah made their Queen:
What then remains for us to seek but Peace:
Divided as we are, how must we Fight,
But perish poorly by inglorious flight:
I know what Strength all Israel can Command,
Not able to protect our Holy-Land.

At these base Words, the Queen in Passion rose,
And with becoming Zeal did Maroc thus oppose,
Tho' She was with the softest Nature blest,
Like sleeping Doves, when on their downy rest,
For Israel's Cause She was Divinely fir'd,
And spoke these moving Words, by Heav'n inspir'd.

101

O Sons of Jacob! Look ye from a far,
And see the Ruins of approaching War,
How sure Destruction shows its ghastly hue,
And Death and Mis'ry stand in open view,
Like ancient Night and Horror, Discord seems,
But Union centers like the Sun its Beams;
Avoid my People then, resolve to fly
Confusion and Eternal Anarchy;
Ponder the Dangers of that wild Abyss,
Wherein the pregnant Cause of Mischief is:
The Womb of War, lies in the rowling Tyde
Of Factious Streams, that does the Flood divide,
And drowns the level Land on either side.
But neither Sea nor Shore Divisions please,
Bellona's Storms create to them no ease;
But trembling at the noisy Sounds they make,
As with Convulsions seiz'd the Earth does shake,
The Massy Frame on which her Pillars stand,
Rock thus as at the Thund'rers dire command.
When surging Smoke breaks from huge clashing Clouds,
And Warring Winds confound the Sailors Shrowds,

102

As if Heav'ns Battlements were tumbling down,
All Nature Trembles at the hideous frown
Of War ------
Whose ruddy Flame like Gorgon's Eyes appear,
Too bright at distance, and too killing near;
Remorseless is the Pity of this Fiend,
Uncertain are his ways, but sure his end.
His Arms out-stretch'd are like a Furnace wide,
Thousands he Measures at each spacious stride;
And his infernal Belching who can bide
His Wings extended fan the boistrous deep,
And does the Scaly Brood in Terror keep;
The batt'ring Engins of his awful flame,
Ruin and Want and Misery proclaim,
Bent on his Rage no Time nor Place he'll save,
But murder Mankind to recruit the Grave.

This said, the Queen to Maroc turn'd her Eyes,
And to his biting Words she thus replies,

My Lord,—

Tho' War of all our Evils is the worst,
And brought on Man when Man by Heav'n was Curst,

103

Yet such the State of Israel is this Day,
I sought your Aid, knowing no other way;
For Deb'rah was expedient, to maintain
The Glories you expected from my Reign;
But wondring now, I gaz'd with much surprise,
And scarcely can believe the object of my Eyes.
Is not that Maroc, Prince of Judah's Blood,
That once for Israel like a Bulwark stood,
And can his Courage dwindle into Fear,
'Cause Jabin threats, and Sisera draws near?
Have we not oft Philistine Hofts defy'd
On Jordan's Banks, and on the Hilly side,
Triumph'd o'er that insulting Monarch's pride.
What have I heard pronounc'd from Maroc's Tongue
Of Peace, who always has of Battels sung.
What Peace from perjur'd Jabin can we find?
Jabin the Monster of the Monarch kind.
Has he not all his tyes of Friendship broke,
When he was fetter'd once with Israel's Yoke,
When he to Judah's Lyon su'd for Peace,
But only kept it for his Soldiers ease?

104

Think you, I'll hold the Regal Rod in vain,
But guide my People, and their Rights maintain.
Then tell me, Prince, why must not Barak go
To lead out Israel's Host, against her Foe?
I call'd you here in Council to advise,
But find by your delays Dangers arise;
The Enemy encreases ev'ry where,
And yet we in Security appear,
Careless at Home, Abroad Destruction fear;
By prying Cowardice we make them bold,
Some glory in the Advantages they hold;
Yet in our Native Strength we daily boast,
And never think how soon it may be lost:
Therefore all Thoughts of discord let us fly,
When Danger calls, 'tis time to think of Unity.

At this a general Murmour fill'd the Room,
Like whistling Winds that from deep Caverns come,
When strait behold thro' all the sacred Place,
Consent sate chearfully on ev'ry Face;
But stern Samor's, who with contracted Brows,
That the perverseness of his Nature shows,
Frown'd, and with Ireful Looks the Queen oppos'd.

105

My Lord, I sit no vain Spectator here,
To trifle with my Country's Safety, but I fear
Ev'n now She suffers more than She can bear;
If War be what the Council does advise,
I hope the Council will provide Supplies;
Not go to fight with Jabin's Power by halv's,
And make us sooner, than we need, be Slaves:
As for this Barak, whom you wou'd declare,
Will he lend Money to support the War,
Or serve his Country like a Jewish Peer;
Without a Mercenary Soldier's Pay
That fights for Gold, or for it runs away;
Are there no Nobles in Judea left,
Or are we of Nobility bereft?
Not one brave Soul thro' Israel's Tents to say
I fight for Honour, not for Jewish Pay.
Where is the ancient Pride of Judah fled,
That suffered none to lead them but their Head?
Victorious Sov'raigns, whose Imperial Sway
Taught them at once to Conquer and Obey,
Then who's this Mighty Son of Issachar,
That he such Glory shou'd attempt to share?

106

Is not experienc'd Zobab living still,
The Mighty Heir of his great Father's Skill?
Was he not bred up in the Martial Field,
That first did to his Infant softness yield?
Where then is Israel's boasted Wisdom seen,
Or yours, in choosing Barak, Mighty Queen?

At this a sudden Noise breaks thro' the Air,
Which chills the Senates Blood with pannick Fear;
Th'Earth shakes, Dogs houl, while they all trembling stand,
As once the Sun did at Heav'ns great Command;
A Haggard Fury cuts her winged way
Amidst the Senate, at the Noon of Day;
Her sable Mantle was embroider'd o'er
With loathsome Spots and Stains of Purple gore;
Four Steeds her Chariot drew, as black as jet,
With unpair'd Nails, and torturing Claws beset;
The frightful Screech Owl first prepares the way,
And sulp'rous Poyson Steams proclaim her stay,
With staring ghastly Looks, unmov'd she sate,
Swoln big with Pride, but more with Rage and Hate,

107

Pale Pinnard Cheeks, black Hair, sharp pointed Chin,
A breathless Corps without, all Hell within,
Then Lordly like old Lucifer in state,
She look'd, while all the Hall in Silence sate,
With flatt'ring Speeches, and with soothing Rage,
She strives the Tribes of Israel to engage.
See, see my Sons your fruitful Land no more,
Smiling in pleasant Shows and plenteous store,
If you to War with Jabin go, ah! See!
The Earth no more replete with Luxury;
Now Lutes and Viols charm the ravish'd Ear,
Then will you be distracted with pale Fear.

Let War sleep safe, and Whips of Furies cease,
Let ease succeed, and Israel live in Peace,
Let all your Youths, in sporting, laugh and play,
And with fresh Olives, crown the smiling Day.
So said, she vanish'd, while the Senate round
Look'd sullen, with stern Anger frown'd,
Some bit their Lips with Rage, some stupid sate,
Some gnash'd their poys'nous Teeth with spite and hate;

108

Soft Murmours first, crept thro' th'enraged Crowd;
At length, they storm'd and chaf'd, and Thunder'd loud,
And all sad Vengeance swore, and all dire Mischief vow'd.

When see amidst this heat, before their Eyes
A form of Light ineffable did rise,
Like the glad Morning Sun in flow'ry May,
That gilds the Sphere with his uprising Ray,
Her upper Garments were like Silken Lawn,
Or the blue Curtain, which o'er Heav'n is drawn;
Of Crimson red her rosy Cheeks were dy'd,
With beauty blushing nought but Natures Pride,
So snowy white, her milky Breasts, so fair,
Light wou'd be Shadow if we shou'd compare;
Low at her Feet the Earth lay grov'ling down,
And humbly waited her to tread upon;
The curling Waves about her only Crow'd,
To grace her Triumphs when they roar aloud;
This beauteous Image sate upon a Throne,
And more than mortal Lustre 'bout her shone.

109

At last, the Clouds broke from their misled Eyes,
When they beheld their Queen with glad surprize;
Deb'rah they saw was sent 'em from above,
To Rule and Guide them by her pious Love.

And now the Queen prepar'd to let 'em know
How bounteous Heav'n in Goodness did o'erflow,
Charms from her Tongue did fall, and ev'ry Word
Pierc'd thro' the Ears soft Organ like a Sword,
Th'Assembly stood all lifeless, Pale and Mute,
Nor durst reply, nor durst again dispute;
But to the Throne, with down cast Eyes they bow'd.
And prostrate at Her Feet, their Duty show'd,
Conviction fell with fear on every Son,
Who had oppos'd the Choice, the Queen begun;
And every one now strives to loose his Tongue
To Deb'rah, then to Barak makes his Song:

Zobab whom Samor wou'd have made their Choice,
First mov'd the Senate with exalted Voice:
Who can forget, O! Queen th'Happy Day
Thou blest our Israel, with thy peaceful Sway?

110

When Israel slept, thou wak'd our slumbring Eyes,
And as another Sun did at our Midnight rise;
Heav'n did it self in bright Apparel dress,
And tuneful Angels sung soft Hymns of Peace,
In dancing Airs, Stars from their Spheres were sent,
And springing Joy spread o'er your Royal Tent.

Why then shou'd we ungratefully oppose
Our Royal Mistriss? Why her Favours lose,
Who such vast Bounties on her Palestine bestows?

If Barak be the Man by Heav'n decreed
Why dare we Heav'n and thus make Deb'rah bleed,
If neither Heaven nor yet the Queen had said,
Barak shou'd lead out Israel as their Head,
Is not his Courage, and his Conduct known
To Israel, that we choose him for our own.

111

Doctor HANNES Dissected IN A Familiar Epistle by way of Nosce Teipsum.

September 10. 1710.

A learned Wight, some say of late
That always lov'd to serve the Great,
Met a Disease out-match'd his Skill,
And some pretend to say so still,
Tho' learnedly he's told the Mob,
The Lungs were tainted ev'ry Lobe,
And how th'Abdomen was affected
So nicely well it was dissected
As who shou'd say that Dr. Hannes
If any one wou'd take the Pains
Wanted either Guts or Brains.

112

I know not what the Vulgar think
Or how some Men at Noon-day Wink,
But thus it is, may't please you all,
To raise a P---p a Prince must fall.

Thus when grave Sages are neglected,
And beardless Boys so much respected,
When Oracles, that wont of old,
Mighty Mysteries to unfold,
Are like Stories still untold:
When solid Truth and solid Gold,
Are for Noise and gingle Sold;
Then Notion may for knowledge Pass,
And Æsculapius for an Ass.
Thisles and Logick chop together
As Baro—men do Wind and Weather,
Both hit alike, and both prove good
One for the Mind, the other Food.
Had not Men's Wits Eclipsed been,
'Tis Ten to One we had Foreseen,
And then we'd wanted no Dissections,
No Consultations, no Inspections,
Nor any need of these Reflections;

113

But when Mens Eyes are grown so bad,
They cannot see what once they had,
'Tis time to let 'em feel the Smart,
And clear their Eyes by Rules of Art,
When that falls short, 'tis some Content
Tho' th'Mark was miss'd it was well Meant.
And thus poor Mortals seek for Ease,
When the Physician's the Disease,
As learned Heathens use to tell
Where such Men live does Sorrow dwell,
But sure a Nation must be Blind,
Or else they wear their Eyes behind,
That cannot tell a Man of Sence,
From one that's all Impertinence.
All Guts and Meseraick Veins;
Lungs, Liver, Spleen and rotten Reins,
But little Head, and much less Brains.
Joynts stiff, Inflexible as Stones,
No Juice or Marrow in his Bones,
Nor flesh nor Fat is to be seen,
But Muscles shrivel'd dry and lean.
This is the wondrous piece of Nature,
That picks the Bones of every Creature;

114

And yet you'd Swear to look upon him,
He knows no more than what comes from him.
But how so great a Man of Art,
Should let a Royal Heir depart,
And never tell the reason why,
He shou'd not Live, or he shou'd Dye.
Tho' some time after as they say,
He cou'd have told a certain Way,
How to have got the Poison out,
That lurk'd in th'Heart or there about.
But then his Thoughts were so Perplext,
Just as a Priest that takes a Text,
And has forgot what he design'd
When first the Text came in his Mind.
Ev'n so, our learn'd Apollo did,
Not thinking what Heaven had forbid.
But had the People thought on't then,
They might have been great Friends to Spain,
And sav'd them many a needless Shilling,
That they bestow'd on their King's Killing,
By sending for a Neapolitan,
When we have much a quicker Man,

115

And far more dextrous at the Parts,
At shewing livid Lungs or Hearts,
Or any Secret of that Nature,
For this is but the smallest Matter,
He can of few Years Practice shew,
How he has serv'd a Thousand so.
And wou'd you wonder at his Skill,
Whose Business 'tis he proves to Kill;
Spaniards, dull Souls, preserv'd their King,
By Chocolet, or some such thing:
When Hanns has Arts, as yet unknown,
Where 'tis but Presto—and they'er gone.
I wonder any one then dare,
With this Philosopher compare,
Gibbons and Ratclife, he'd prove Fools,
If laid in's Anatomick Schools.
He'd so dissect both their Abdomens
You'd swear they were but nasty Omens.
Then tell you 'tis but common Matter,
Such as is found in every Creature,
As Wise in Brutes as human Nature.
For my part, I believe it true,
Since Hanns, I see no more in you.

116

Upon the Third Verse of the Fifth Chapter of Eccles. For a Dream cometh thro' the Multitude of Business: And the following Lines of Petronius.

Somnia quæ ludunt Mente volitantibus umbris
Non delubra Deum, nec ab æthere Numina Mittant
Sed sibi quisque facit, &c.

The fleeting Dreams that play before the Mind
Are not by Heav'n for Prophesies design'd,
Nor by Ætherial Beings sent us down,
But each Man is Creator of his own:
For when the weary Limbs are sunk in ease,
The Soul essays to Wander where it please;

117

The scatter'd Images have space to play,
And Night repeats the Labours of the Day.

An Ode composed for St. Luke's Day, 1712. in praise of Painting.

I

Descend Apollo with thy sacred lays,
Strike the tuneful Lyre,
Harmonious Accents raise,
That Musick may conspire,
To mount our Souls up high'r,
And Celebrate the wond'rous Painters Praise.

II

Sounds with thy Colours blend,
And ev'ry Passion please;
Ravish the Ear, the Eye surprise,
Whilst Musick's Strain
Thrills thro' each Vein,
And Pleasure thro' the Fancy flies.

III

Paint Mirth and Joy
On the Idalian Boy,

118

Whilst Smiles adorn Face,
A free and wanton Air
Let Venus share,
And Pallas a Majestick Grace.

IV

Imperial Greatness bolder Strokes Command
from the great Painters Hand,
For 'tis that Noble Art
That touches most the Heart;
His Pencil seems to make the Monarch know,
Seraphick Bliss and melancholy Woe.

V

Oh Sacred Patron of this Art Divine
Of heavenly Origine,
Whence Things inanimate arise
With Life and Action fill'd,
So beauteous they surprise
And scarce to Nature yield.

119

ON TUNBRIDGE-WELLS, A LAMPOON.

Not many Miles from Tunbridge Town
Are Waters found of great Renown,
Which rising in a dirty Vale,
By dirty Naiads are set to Sale.

Here formal worthless Querpo Plies,
Extorting Fees for wrong Advice;
Who drauling says, this Spring is good,
T'invigorate and cleanse the Blood:
That it surely cures the Cholick,
And makes the vap'ry Ladies Frolick;
That it's for the Scurvy a Specifick,
And makes unteeming Dames Prolifick;

120

Tho' a Gallant for that sad Ill,
Might prove a surer Cure than Steel.

Hither well-fletch'd Cullies come,
Are stript, and so march naked home;
The under Beaux come here to spark it,
And Maids forlorn to make their Market.

The Widow comes to drink the Water
For Grief and Spleen when't's no such Matter,
Another Husband's th'only Cure,
For the Sorrow Relicts do endure.

The hung'ry Sharper flies down hither
Some fair plum'd Bubble to unfeather,
He Palms and Coggs, and with false Lewis,
Pays what the upright Gamster's due is.

The Dotard comes to his last Stage,
Drinks Water to renew his Age,
While his Spouse of younger date,
Prays Heaven it may conclude his Fate.

121

Dorinda here for Wit and Fire
And Satyr keen beyond her Sire,
Had made sad Work, but that her Spouse,
At ev'ry Jest wou'd knit his Brows.

Frettina next begot by Jove,
Rivals for Shape the Queen of Love;
Hither she did for Stoppage come,
But carried her Obstructions Home.

Sprightly Calebrus wou'd do better
For her Disease than Tunbridge Water,
He poor Swain has hardly spoke,
Since she th'unhappy Place forsook.

Babilla too of ancient Merit,
Comes down for Poverty of Spirit,
Tho' Heaven be prais'd her Tongue affords,
A fair fæcundity of Words;
Tho' Old as Lud she's Young in Thought,
And tho' she always talkes says nought.

122

Griza half skill'd in Analytick,
Affects to be a female Critick,
Who like the Bat forsakes her kind,
And tires the Men t'improve her Mind;
She crowds among the Beaux Esprits
And half of what she learns forgets;
The other half being not precise,
'Tis Ten to one she misapplies.

Rampana of Gigantick Strain,
Unweildy like Leviathan,
If tapt wou'd yield as much Train Oyl,
As any monstrous Green-land Whale;
With sullen Air along she walks,
Th'half animated Mountain Stalks;
The trembling Pavement with regret,
Bears up against the lumpish Weight.

Bounce makes Love in Terms of War,
He Frights with dreadful Sounds the Fair,
He does the Dippers entertain
With fine Thoughts out of Harlequin,

123

Five Thousand Times he calls to Starch,
To bid the Haut-Bois play his March;
The nimble Boy performs his Trust
And straight again comes back to's Post,
To which I think he is Three Inches scarce
On pain of Death from Bounces A---
The Page must there attend for fear
The meen shou'd not the Lord declare.
He Dances like a founder'd Horse,
And yet at Politicks he's worse,
But worst of all at writing Verse;
The Heroes of inferior Name,
I leave to Cawdry to Proclaim;
The City Nymphs and Country Dames
Will take it ill to miss their Names,
It is a gross Affront I own
To be excluded a Lampoon;
But they'll excuse me when they hear,
That an ungainly awkard Air
Wont furnish out a Character.

124

On a FRIEND.

And shall a Friend depart without a decent Verse,
To sing his Requiem, and adorn his Herse.
No; tho' dull Sorrow cloud my Lines, I'll show
The kind remembrance to his Name I owe,
And Gratitude at least shall from my Numbers flow.
Fancy to Friendship freely gives the Place,
And Truth to ev'ry Word the Noblest Grace;
Receive dear Soul, the Tribute of my Ink,
Which deeper than my Tears will in thy Marble sink,
And tell the World while thou in Silence lies,
What they shou'd do, to Grace thy Obsequies,
What thou thy self wou'd to thy Friend have done,
Had he, as 'twas thy harder Fate, first gone.
Weep then ye Relicks of the sacred Dead,
And mourn those Virtues which too early fled;

125

Indulgent Fondness, void of secret Strife,
Among his Servants, Children, or his Wife;
Constant Companion of his daily Care
As he was ever fond and kind to her;
The tendrest Parent here the World might see,
Nature her self ev'n is out-done by thee;
For thou art dead for thy Posterity.
Thy Care in Life was for their Good imploy'd
And for their Happiness at last thou dy'd,
Wondrous Goodness both in Life and Death,
Which was continued to thy latest Breath;
Patient in Sickness, in Distress Content,
To Anger Slow, but easy to Relent;
Indulgence so pursu'd thee to the End,
Thou cou'dst forgive much easier than offend.

On the Cold Bath at Oldcastles.

Hail sacred Spring! Thou ever-living Stream!
Ears to the Deaf, Supporters to the Lame
Where fair Hygienia ev'ry Morn attends
And with kind Waves her gentle Succour lends,

126

While in the Christal Fountain we behold
The trembling Limbs, Enervate, Pale and Cold;
A Rosy Hue she on the Face bestows,
And Nature in the chilling Fluid glows,
The Eyes shoot Fire, first kindled in the Brain,
As beds of Lime smoke after show'rs of Rain;
The fiery Particles concentred there
Break ope' their Prison Doors and rage in Air:
Hail then, thou pow'rful Goddess that presides,
O'er these cold Baths as Neptune o'er his Tides;
Receive what Tribute a poor Muse can pay
For Health that makes the Senses Brisk and Gay,
The fairest Off-spring of the heavenly Ray.

Hor. Ode xiv. O navis, referent in mare te novi Fluctus.

Unhappy Bark! What dost thou do? Why stay?
Tempests afresh will drive thee out to Sea.
Ply stoutly to the Haven, make the Shore,
See how thy Banks are strip'd of ev'ry Oar.
South-Western Winds blow with impetuous Blast
They crack the Yard, and bend the sturdy Mast;

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The lab'ring Keel the Cables scarce sustain
Toss'd by the Billows of th'imperious Main,
Not one whole Sail is left, no Gods are near,
Or when invok'd, refuse to lend an Ear.
Tho' thou from Pontick Pines may boast thy Fame,
And from those lofty Woods an useless Name;
The cautious Mariner who has Dangers try'd
Wont in a painted Ship alone confide,
To be the Pastime of the Winds and Tide.
At least with anxious Thoughts drove to despair
By what delighted most, was most his Care;
But hap'ly scape those dang'rous rocky Seas
That lye among the shining Cyclades.

The Oxford Almanack explain'd, 1711.

Tell us O Juno whom thou hast sent down
In Prophets Dress to guard the British Crown,
Is't Osborn's Face or Hyde's that now appears
With Wisdom equal to their finish'd Years,
And prudent care of frugal Treasurers?

128

Who is't beneath that Mantle does preside,
With a perswasive Grace, devoid of Pride;
Is not that Pillar, his peculiar Care,
Which ripes with such Strength and solemn Air,
With more than human Art and Wisdom cast,
For Service of the Gods design'd to last.
Does he not from that School of Learning come,
Known by the Muses Hill, and sacred Dome.
To whom Aurora does her Message bring
Of Light renew'd, and a returning Spring.
When Charity again revives her Hope
Of better Days, and a more fruitful Crop.
When the false Brother hides his shameful Head,
Beneath that Altar where he found his Bread;
But the true Eaglet dares the height of Day,
Does all his Secrets 'fore the Sun display
And bids Truth Shine in its Meridian Ray.

But Juno O! That graceful Form defend
That to the Prophet does her Palm extend,
Whose Virtues, by the Mural Crown exprest,
Her Countries Safety show, and People blest;

129

See at her Elbows how Two Villains waid
Regardless of her Honour, or their Fate,
Into her secret Councils still wou'd pry,
And naked dare the View of Majesty.
Mechanicks too, insult her to her Face,
And threaten when they shou'd implore for Grace;
Yet she unmov'd with glorious Freedom stands,
And well advis'd, resolves on fresh Commands;
Scorning that Slaves shou'd bind her Royal Hands.
See how she bids her Martial Subject go,
And scatter Terror on the British Foe.

See from afar Britain's triumphant Fleet
Cutting the Surges with unrivall'd State,
How to the Skies their streaming Flags aspire,
And how their Bulks pregnant with Men and Fire,
To execute their Monarch's Will conspire.
That Fleet which Succour to the Eagle brings
And bids him now display his Royal Wings,
For she'd conduct him thro' the Indian Main,
And make him Monarch of the Richer Spain;

130

Whilst its great Mistress seeks no more Renown
But to preserve what Heav'n has made her own,
And not to seek, but give another Crown.

SONGS.

On a Gentleman and a Lady that fell in Love with each other at first Sight.

When Strephon saw Olinda's Charms
He own'd the Pow'r of Love:
He sigh'd and wish'd within his Arms,
He might the Blessing prove.

The silent Maid, divinely Fair
With Blushes strove in vain,
To stifle in her Breast the Fear
Of smiling on the Swain.

Both sigh'd and gaz'd while from their Eyes
Love spoke his Language plain,

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Strephon confess'd the kind surprize,
Which she return'd again.

A Song set to Musick and Sung at York-Buildings.

You that Beauty's Flame adore
Tell me by what Magick Pow'r
All your Cares are softned so
Lovers know not what they do.

How you're charm'd with ev'ry Fair
Celia's Wit and Cloe's Air,
Or like Poppets how you move
Here and there by Wires of Love.

Come tell me each Swain
That has felt the kind Pain,
When the God does prevail
In the Head or the Tail.
Is not Love then a Riddle
A Dance without Fiddle,

132

That make all Men Addle,
Then he that is free
From the Halter like me,
May mount any Jade without Saddle.

Another Song.

[We are pleas'd with a Glass]

We are pleas'd with a Glass
And we Ogle the Lass
That has Wit and a delicate Feature,
While Musick and Wine
Do joyntly combine
T'inspire the fair she with good Nature.

Then Love darts a Smile
Does our Senses beguile
That we cannot tell what is the matter,
We Laugh and we Play
And something we say
To discover our Mirth or our Folly.

133

But when the Nymph's gone
And we left all alone
We return to our old Melancholy,
We're thoughtful in vain
'Till she comes back again
Then we ramp like young Bacchus as jolly.

On the Queen's first Appearance after the Death of his Royal Highness the Prince of Denmark. A Song.

Strike, Harmonious Sounds begin
To Crown the joyful Air,
Ev'ry Voice and ev'ry String
Fresh Melody Prepare.

Hark, the conq'ring Briton's shout;
Anna moves her drooping Head;
The Trumpets Clangor and the Drums
Wake her from her mourning Bed.

Royal Hearts Rejoice
Anna fills each Voice
That did her Sorrows moan,

134

Anna once again
Britain's darling Queen
Ascends with Joy the Throne.

On a Piece of the Royal Oak sent to a Gentleman as a Tobacco-stopper.

I send you Sir, this poor Remain of Wood,
Vile as it seems, 'tis venerably good:
It is a Fragment of that Ancient Tree
The Royal Oak; Safeguard of Majesty:
Which has the Force of Wind and Weather stood
Till Time decay'd, this very Heart of Wood,
And tho' some abdicated Years have pass'd
Since that brave Stock shot out and sprouted last,
It still remains such in its sacred Parts
As those who truly suffer, Loyal Hearts.

In Imitation of Sir John Sucklin.

To tell thee Jack, what I have seen to Day,
Wou'd lead thy Eyes as well as mine astray;

135

A Beauty of such Excellence, so rare,
It wou'd be Prophanation to compare;
Her Cheeks are dy'd with such a blushing Red
As on the full blown Rose was never spread,
No Lilly with her whiter Skin can Vie,
All Nature's Store's a counterfeited dye;
So plump, so soft's her Lips, so full of Bliss,
No Grape that's Ripe more Juicy is.
Then, he that looks upon her Eyes,
Must be immortal or he dies.

To the eternal Fame of that wonderful Politician, indefatigable S---esman, faithful M---er, incomparable Patriot, loyal Subject, facetious Gentleman, profound Lawyer, and undaunted Stickler for the non-forgiving Party, Harlequin le Grand; once the first in the H---se, tho' the last in the L---st; who had the Honour to climb without Merit, and to fall without Pity; the Mirror of all Scribes, the Punisher of Wit, the Patron of D. D'F---, and the President of the Pi---ry.

Chear up, Friend Harlequin! Thou'rt not the first
That has been blest, in order to be curst:
Knaves, Fools, and Tools, have often climb'd aloft,
Not by their Merit, but by others Craft,

136

That such rais'd Prodigals to serve a Turn,
Might do those Ills the Just and Wise would scorn;
Till boldly Wicked they the Laws despise,
And Sin, like common Whores, without Disguise.
Then all their Villanies unmask'd appear,
Whilst the proud Fates, with angry Looks, draw near,
And make 'em soundly pay for Honours bought so dear.

Thus flatt'ring Minions, for their fawning priz'd,
Wade thro' Preferments to be sacrific'd;
And by their sudden Fall, at last attone
For some ill Conduct, not perhaps their own.

Wise Governors are taught by Abraham,
To save their Isaac by a hamper'd Ram.
Therefore, according to the World's Desires,
Thou stand'st intangl'd in the thorny Bryers;
All wishing thou may'st never be releas'd
By other Means, than was the horned Beast;
But that to please the head-strong Rabble's Eyes,
Thou may'st become a glorious Sacrifice;

137

Such that may to the angry Gods atone,
For all those Mischiefs done by thee alone.

Therefore, take Courage; he that Climbs at all
By wicked Means, should never fear to fall.

Thy tott'ring Height by mighty Strides was gain'd;
Thy Speed was much too swift to be maintain'd:
For Man or Horse too violent in their Pace,
Are apt to stumble e'er they win the Race.
Thy tow'ring Height no prudent Limits had;
Pride made the blind, and Malice made thee mad;
Stern in Authority, severe to all
That did beneath thy Want of Mercy fall;
Pettish and haughty, easily provok'd,
Or Poets, by thy Means, had ne'er been yok'd
Within those Wooden Gimcracks, which we find
Where first for Knaves, and not for Wits design'd.
For who can merit Scandal, more than those
Who sell their C---ry to their C---ry's Foes?

What, tho' you once did o'er the N---n tow'r!
Yet now with Shame you've lost that awful Pow'r,

138

And art become the Subject of Lampoon,
For all the little Scribblers of the Town;
Whilst those, o'er whom thou triumph'st, when so Great,
Sing thy Disgrace, and hasten on thy Fate,
That Heav'n's promis'd Vengeance may be shew'd,
On thee and thine, and all that cursed Brood,
Whose Father triumph'd o'er the Royal Martyr's Blood.

Thus ruin'd Families, undone by thee,
With joyful Eyes, thy happy Downful see:
For who can pity him, who ne'er could show
One gen'rous Act to either Friend or Foe;
But always promis'd Favours, to deceive,
And ne'er in Pow'r had Mercy to forgive?

The same hard Measure may'st thou always find,
Not only from the Laws, but all Mankind,
That the same Path thy Servant has prepar'd,
May be assign'd thee as thy just Reward;
For since no Mercy would the Traytor save,
Ev'n h---g the Master too, who taught the Knave

139

That little Scriblers, who were once thy Scorn,
May trot to see thee take one happy Turn,
And teach the angry World in doleful Verse,
To curse thy Actions, and reproach thy Herse:
Nay, may the jingling Champion of thy Crimes,
Give us thy Hist'ry in his nauseous Rhimes,
That all thy Deeds may shine without a Mask,
In Numbers only fit for such a Task.
And to oblige thee farther, when the Law
Against thee shall the Sword of Justice draw,
May the fond Fool be of his Hymns as free
To th'Gallows, as he was to th'Pillory.

Thus may the Prophet, with his empty Sounds,
Labour in vain to heal thy Mem'ry's Wounds;
And with his windy Bombast, crown thy Fate,
Which, tho' it comes to Morrow, comes too late.

140

To the eternal Shame of Low-Ch---h, and the lasting Reproach to Mo---on, Segnior Harlequin Occasi, the modern Turn-coat.

Hail! Glorious Patriot of the R---s Race,
With T---n in thy Heart, and T---y in thy Face!
No more let Church-men praise thy fiery Steed,
The Horse runs best, that can maintain his Speed:
But you, like Phaeton, drove on too fast,
Till from your Chariot you was headlong cast.
Let Sneakers then, no more prick up their Ears;
Or such tantivy Men encrease our Tears.
The Chair's too good for you, to act your Part,
You'd better talk at T---n in a Cart:
There you deserve in Robes of State to sit,
Adorn'd with Hemp, not Wooden Ruff, as fit.
Here by confessing you have been i'th' Wrong,
You then may bore your self thro' your own Tongue,

141

That all the World you've injur'd, then may find,
You for Preferment sail'd with ev'ry Wind;
Follow'd the hottest Scent without Controul,
And to the Devil gave Body and Soul:
You couzen'd all the Sophists, and the Tribe,
That took you for a learned faithful Scribe.

Your Conscience first, like Baalam's Ass, was shy,
Boggl'd and whinc'd, which when you did espy,
You cudgel'd her, and spurr'd her on each Side,
Until the Jade her Paces all could ride.
When first you mounted on her tender Back,
She would not leave the Presbyterian Track,
Till in her Mouth the High-Ch---h Bit you got,
And made her learn to Gallop or to Trot.
'Twas a hard Trot, and fretted her, alas!
The Moderation Amble easier was:
You taught her that, and out of that to fall
To the Tantivy, of Prelatical.
Now with a Snafle, or a twined Thread,
To any Government she'll turn her Head.

142

Hail! Then, Great Patriot of the Turn-coat Crew,
May'st thou ne'er fail to change, and still be new,
Till thou hast met, what to thy Merit's due.

To my generous Friends, and worthy Patriot, Harlequin le Grand. The humble Memorial of your little Scribler, Spy, Champion, Closet-Counsellor, and Poet, D---l D'F---e.

Ah! Sir, before your great Deserts were known
To th'Court, the S---e, the Country, or the Town;
When you and I met slyly at the Vine,
To spin out Legion Letters o'er our Wine,
I then foresaw your Malice and your Pride,
With Forty more aspiring Gifts beside,
Would raise you, by some Toil, in spite of Fate,
To be an Upstart-Prodigy of S---e:
But yet believ'd, when you so high had soar'd,
And to the pow'rful P---t you aim'd at, towr'd,
That you'd have stood more steady, than to fall
At once from such a lofty Pinacle:

143

But S---e-Preferments are uncertain Things,
Ruin sometimes from R---l Favour Springs;
But he that robs the Bees, must never fear their Stings.

I once stood fair to be a mighty Man,
You know the Time when who but Prophet Dan;
But I, alas! Impatient of Delay,
Unwisely play'd the Fool The Shortest Way;
Or else to be chief H---quin of S---e,
Had been my Fortune, as it prov'd your Fate.
Why not? For if it's possible to rise
By crafty Projects, and officious Lies;
'Tis plain, that I'm for any Station fit,
For who can doubt my Cunning, or my Wit,
Since I am Courtier, Poet, Prophet, and a Cit?
You know my Parts, for you have try'd 'em oft,
I've been the Tool that rais'd you up aloft;
The Offspring of my bold unbridl'd Muse,
My Flirts and Flights, my Hymns, and my Reviews;
My Legion-Letters scatter'd up and down,
And Cries of Pop'ry to amuse the Town;

144

But above all, that excellent Essay,
My Step to th'P---y The Shortest Way.
These were the useful Flams and Shams, thou know'st,
Which made thy Passage easy to thy Post;
For my keen Wit, with your ill Nature join'd,
Blacken'd the Wise, and did the Foolish blind:
Or, by the sacred Stile of my R---w,
There never had been Room for such as you.

Have I not rhim'd and rail'd, sworn, ly'd, and spy'd,
And all to pleasure your Revenge and Pride?
Have I not chang'd, by your Advice, my Name,
And us'd Ten Thousand Arts to spread your Fame?
Have I not travell'd Scotland in Disguise,
And fill'd the N---th with Reams of mighty Lies?
Dispatch'd Intelligence, that you might find
How freckl'd Caledonia stood inclin'd?
Did I not flatter them, and plainly prove,
Their Scabs were Saint-like Blessings from above?
And all to serve you at a Time of Need?
'Tis true, I own, I did it for my Bread.

145

How oft have I impos'd upon the Crowd,
And whisper'd T---n, 'till 'twas talk'd aloud,
That you your lucky Cards might better play,
And win the doubtful Game The Shortest Way?

But now our Projects are at once undone;
Tho' you may stand, 'tis Time for me to run;
But I'd advise you to proceed with Care,
Since all your Hopes is in a T***ft of H***r;
Forget not the unhappy Fate of Ninus,
'Tis dangerous trusting to a Mount of V---us.

But noble Patron, e'er I take my Leave,
One special Favour I must humbly crave;
Whate'er you do, pray save me from the Fate,
That fell upon my Brother Spy of late;
Nouns! Who'd be Agent to a S****be of S****e?
But sure, Great Master, you're too much my Friend
To prove a Captain Porter in the End;
For tho' I'm thought to be a Saint by some,
I'm really unprepar'd for Martyrdom.
Besides, I vow and swear it makes me sweat,
To think so small a Volume as a Sheet,

146

Should all the Glories of my Life contain,
Wrote by that sad Historian, Paul L---in.

Therefore, if once you draw me in so far,
To make me fear a Tyburn Sledge or Car,
You'll find no foolish Gregg of Prophet Dan,
For I shall turn the Tables, if I can,
And hang that Master, that has hang'd his Man.

To the late Right H---ble: An Epigram. Written by an Infant little Scribler, whose Father has been ruin'd by the severe Conduct, and over-sharp Management of Harlequin le Grand.

Had'st thou in Pow'r, been merciful and good,
As Great Men ought to be, and Christians shou'd,
The little Scriblers wou'd have sung thy Praise,
And soften'd thy Misfortunes with their Lays;
But since large Fines, and Pil---es, by thee
Where made the base Rewards of Poetry,

147

The injur'd Muses their Revenge will have,
And without Mercy, chase thee to the Grave;
There, on thy Tomb, eternalize the K---ve,
That future Times may read thy true Desert,
And see how grand a V---n once thou wer't.
For what ungrateful Son, tho' ne'er so young,
Has he the Gift of either Pen or Tongue,
Can bridle his Revenge, in Silence sit,
And see his Father punish'd for his Wit,
By him who gull'd whole K---s by his Fraud,
Ruin'd, by Tr---y, our Af---rs Abroad,
And serv'd his Prince as falsly as he does his G---d?

148

THE INSECT WAR: OR, A BATTLE BETWEEN The Hornets, the Wasps, the Catterpillars, and the Butter-Flies.

A FABLE.

Written in the Year, 1706.

Rara est Concordia fratrum.

In Old, and Modern Fables I have read,
What Birds and Beasts, like Men of Sense have said;

149

How both cou'd with, as much ease Tattle,
As Women Scold, or Children Prattle.
But ne'er before this Pregnant Age was't known,
The Reptile Kind had so much Reason shown;
That they cou'd speak; in long Harangues Debate,
And talk about Affairs of Church and State;
Nay, settle Matters, Dang'rous in some Cases,
So as to turn some Insects out of Places;
Till by a fatal Battle they had try'd
Each others Strength, and found the Weakest Side.

The Butter-Flies were Grand and Num'rous grown,
They swarm'd in ev'ry Field, and ev'ry Town;
But to speak Truth, did not in any Place,
Damage like the foul Catterpillar's Race;
Which spar'd no Living thing, that they cou'd meet,
For all was Fish with them that came to Net.
The Honest Hornets, mean time, Buzz'd about,
To see what Budding Flowers they cou'd pick out;
But they were strangely baulk'd, for ev'ry where
They went, they found the Catterpillars there.
This they resented, and at last grew shy,
In short, they told the Haughty Butter-Fly,

150

'Twas hard the Catterpill's were not Content,
To be excus'd by them from Punishment;
Which they had Merited, for running o'er
The Wealthy Product of all Natures Store;
But they must be so Pert and Insolent,
To take a Liberty was never meant.

For Catterpillars, at least, shou'd understand,
They are not Natives of this Fruitful Land;
But only sent among us for a Curse,
As they to Ægypt were, but here are worse.
The Butter-Flies to make a Formal Show,
As if they wou'd the self-same Mischiefs do;
With that Inhospitable Barb'rous Guest,
Which wou'd devour his once too Gen'rous Host;
He who at first receiv'd him kindly in,
And to Protect him, own'd him for his Kin;
Now he, forsooth, must call him Elder Brother,
Or be Kick'd out of Doors by th'other;
And if of Danger he but speaks one Word,
Bilboa—they threaten him with Fire and Sword.

151

The Hornets thus deplor'd their woeful Case,
And swore by Jove such Usage shou'd not pass;
Not thinking all this while the Butter-Fly,
Had in him so much Damn'd Hypocrisie.
But soon they found the Matter was too plain,
That these same Butter-Flies were Rogues in Grain,
As well as Catterpillars, tho' more Sly,
Yet, like them, hated Uniformity:
And ev'ry thing besides, the Hornets did,
That they one Day had like to've Wings forbid,
Because the humble Catterpills had none;
But that Sham wou'd not with the Mob-Flies down,
Lest they at last pass for a Rabble Rout,
For want of Wings to spread their Fame about:
Not but they're Mad, they cannot so high rise
As Hornets, 'cause the Sun Distracts their Eyes.
For they have Wings in Measure Twice as long,
Yet neither are they half so Swift, or Strong;
But notwithstanding this they gain'd apace,
In Interest with the Feeble Insect Race.

For Butter-Flies made not a small Pretence
To all the Politicks, and all the Sense,

152

So that they wou'd perswade the Hornet Kind,
They need not harbour Jealousies in Mind;
But they might Sleep securely in their Nests,
For Catterpillars wou'd not break their Rests:
Yet told them, at the same time, They had Right
To every thing of theirs, that they cou'd get;
And if they thought themselves secur'd by Laws,
Or trusted to the Justice of their Cause,
They were Deceiv'd.—
For if that it was th'utmost they cou'd Plead
Assur'd them, and without Ceremony said,
That it wou'd stand them but in little stead.
For they were now resolv'd to change their Tones,
To take away their Stings and make 'em Drones.
As for the Huge Cathedral Noise they made,
Like their own Humming Bag-Pipes when they play'd,
Of that they were not in the least afraid.

This, you must think, did very much perplex
The Honest Hornets, and their Leaders vex;
For they had long Possess'd the Fruitful Place,
Free from the Spoils of that devouring Race.

153

At this the Hornets round the Fields did send
Their Summons, for their Brethren to attend.
Accordingly they met one fatal Day,
When Hornets thought they had a deal to say
Against this Plaguy, Perverse, Treach'rous Train,
That basely had disturb'd their Peaceful Reign,
With Factious Civil Broils of This and That,
About Religious Things, and God knows What.
That Crawling Catterpillars never meant,
But with a Secret, Devilish, Black Intent,
To Undermine the Hornets, whom they saw
Fenc'd in, and Guarded by a Sacred Law:
Which they at any rate desir'd to break,
That they might be at Liberty to speak.

By this means they were sure to gain their Ends,
And make the Trimming Butter-Flies their Friends;
Who Secretly did never much Esteem,
The Hornets more, than they did them.
They hate the Catterpillars, who profess
Religion, formal both in Show and Dress;
Which Butter-Flies, by their Neglect despise,
And fancy both themselves too Great and Wise.

154

But Hornets could not rightly understand
That Butter-Flies at last wou'd Rule the Land;
Till they, too soon, to their own Sorrow found
Their Faith was Built upon too sure a Ground.
For when th'Appointed Day of Tyral came,
Whole Swarms of Catterpillars Blind and Lame
Crept in to give for Butter-Flies their Vote,
And Hollow'd all the Honest Hornets out.
This the Wing'd Brood took for a sure disgrace,
As what poor Insects that had Sense, cou'd less;
Since they were compass'd round with swarms of Lies,
And False Suggestions from the Butter-Flies.
Who Lorded it with such Tyrannick Sway,
The Hornets were compell'd to yield the Day.

But e'er th'Embattled Host forsook the Field,
An Angry Wasp, one that disdain'd to yield,
Flew up, and swore he wou'd not quit his Shield.
This rais'd Confusion 'mong the Creeping Kind,
Who were, for want of Wings, lagging behind;
Yet e'er the Rumour had o'er-spread the Plain,
The Butter-Flies had Rally'd them again;

155

And manag'd with such Skill their Rabble Rout,
That to the Waspish Chief they Fac'd about;
Who mean time had oblig'd his Hornet Bands
To stand the Charge; submit to his Commands;
And so maintain'd their just Possessions, free
From the vile Yoke of Cringing Slavery.
This pleas'd the generous Race, who now disdain
To give, what they to keep before, thought Vain.
What hasty Rage they wou'd to Battel fly,
Seem not to dread their Powerful Enemy,
But rather than submit, are now enclin'd to Dye.

Thus stood the Combatants till a surprize
Fell out, that dazzled all the Hornets Eyes,
To see themselves joyn'd by the Butter-Flies.
This forc'd them quickly, like some Magick Charm,
For fear of their Dishonour, to disarm:
Their Leader strait lays down his Manly Shield,
Bends his way Home, and quits th'Inglorious Field.
While Oh! The Damn'd Deceit of outward Show,
The Hypocrites cou'd scarcely let him go,
E'er they fell foully on the Hornet Bands,
Seiz'd all their Arms, and Manacl'd their Hands;

156

Curb'd 'em with Laws, 'gainst which if they complain,
They lose the Favors of their hotspur Reign.

Thus Hornets lay, till some Decreed by Fate,
To Rescue them from such a Tyrants Hate,
Shou'd raise Divisions in the Insect State.
Make Flies and Worms 'bout Pride to disagree,
One plead for Order, one for Anarchy,
Till both were Ruin'd by Hypocrisie.
At last the Waspish Race entirely rose,
And did the Butter-Flies with Rage Oppose;
Nor spar'd the Catterpillars baser Brood,
Prone to all Ill, to ev'ry thing, but Good:
They Arm'd themselves, each with a Pois'nous Sting,
And ev'ry Wasp in Gall first dip'd his Wing.
Then spread th'Infection o'er each Herb and Flower,
The Creeping Catterpillar shou'd devour;
Till gorg'd with Rage, and swell'd up big with Spleen,
They burst; and gave the Earth her own again.

157

Thus Wasps perplex'd the Catterpillars State,
Made by the Simple Hornets Proud and Great;
Who were so weak, they cou'd not see the Cheat.
But still believ'd the Gawdy Reptile Kind,
As they were Gay in Show, Honest in Mind.
While their own Kindred, who for Publick Good,
Have all the Rage of Butter-Flies withstood;
Thus Shamefully Neglected, let 'em Fight
'Gainst all the Insects, for the Hornets Right.
Which Wasps have so industriously maintain'd,
They've lost their own, and nothing by the Hornets gain'd;
Yet still their Courage for their Cause they show,
'Gainst a most Numerous, and Unequal Foe;
Knowing thy gain an Immortality,
The Fading Butter-Fly will never see.
Tho' Wasps, like them, are of a short Liv'd Line,
To others they can leave their great Design;
And make their Actions, tho' themselves don't live,
When Butter-Flies are quite extinct, survive.

158

But yet to Crush this Feeble, Peevish Race,
They Toil and Moil, and break the Insects Peace;
When they might know it is in vain to strive,
For Wasps, as well as Butter-Flies, must live.
And tho' the Peaceful Hornet they run o'er,
Wasps are resolv'd to try their utmost Pow'r;

But see a Bloody Battel is begun,
The Long Wing'd Insects quite Eclipse the Sun,
And reach even to the Regions of the Moon.
While Wasps, like Bats, that dare not Face the Light,
Fight in the Dark Obscurities of Night;
In Caves and Dens, for shelter they retire,
Yet Sally out again with dreadful Fire;
With wond'rous Art compos'd, they spread around,
And the more stifled, do the more rebound.
Great Coeborn's Machine's have not half the Pow'r
To Ruin Towns, and Cities to Devour;
As the quick Poison in this Insects Sting,
That can destroy th'Ambition of a King;
That at one Stroke can make a Coward Brave,
And then reduce him to the Meanest Slave;

159

Heroes Immortalize, or let 'em Dye,
And undistinguish'd, with the Vulgar lye.
So Strong and Fatal is their Poison grown,
A Diadem it props, or can pull down,
And is a Trusty Safeguard to a Crown.
This is the Battering Engine that they Play,
Which sometimes thro' a Kingdom makes its way.
That tho' the Wasp so despicably shows,
Not like the Butter-Fly in Gaudy Cloaths;
He can offend with greater Force his Foes.
More to the Purpose, and for greater Ends,
Raise up the Greatest, and the Noblest Friends;
But as forsaken by the Hornet now,
He must to every Catterpillar bow;
With Servile Words, and with Obsequious Face,
Cringe to the hollow Butter-Fly for Grace.
This is the Fate of Wasps, on their Defence,
Pleading for Liberty and Innocence;
But when in War, they all their Poison throw,
Strike Home their Stings, and Murder as they go.

160

Witness this Onset from the Waspish Race,
That has procur'd the Butter-Flies Disgrace,
How many Leaders have been Stung to Death?
How many fal'n by their Infectious Breath?
Yet still Revengeful, they pursue the Wasp,
Who will destroy more at his Dying Gasp,
Of such strange Particles this Insect's made,
His Strength encreases, as his Vitals fade;
Nearer he comes to his Immortal State,
Great is his Soul, much greater is his Hate;
With Dire Convulsions, that it shakes the Earth,
As Ætna Trembles at an Earth-quake's Birth;
Around the Globe the Black Contagion spreads,
Harbours in Courts, and sculks in Downy Beds,
Where it Infects the Mighty and the Great,
And shows each Statesman his approaching Fate.

Yet still behold this odd Mysterious Kind,
Of Insect Race, can no Indulgence find;
Spight of his Charms, the Butter-Fly pursues,
The more he's Baffled, still the Fight renews.
Still, still, Exasperates the Wasp to wound,
And by his Numbers makes him quit the Ground:

161

But all in vain he offers to destroy
The Insect which is Fated not to Dye:
A strange unhappy Immortality.
Who is't that pities not the Wretches Fate,
Who knows not when his Pains will Terminate?
Yet still the Wasps maintain th'unequal Fight,
And Gall their Foes with Liberty and Right;
For Power can never alter Natures Laws,
Or Insects Perish in a Righteous Cause,
Where equal Justice holds the Ballance true,
And Butter-Flies and Wasps have both their due.

162

On the UNION A POEM

To the QUEEN.

How shall my Muse express thy Pow'r or Praise,
Whose Godlike Gifts are Crowns, and Peaceful Days,
While our weak Eyes delude our weaker Sense,
To view a Mortal with Omnipotence?

163

How cou'dst thou else, when Discord had o'erspread
This Isle, couch it in its own proper Bed?
How cou'dst thou make a Paradise appear,
Where such Dissentions has possess'd the Sphere?
Restore that Sun and Moon again, whose Light
Give us Day now, and over-rules our Night.
How cou'd'st thou make each disagreeing Beast,
Trust their own Safety in each other's Breast?
How cou'dst thou Flagrant Mischief overawe,
And calmly make it yield to Nature's Law?
When stubborn Nations jarr'd with mutual Spite,
'Twas then thou shone with a Diviner Light,
And then inspir'd the People to Unite.

164

Treaties of Old refus'd thou didst Renew,
And perfected, to show what thou cou'dst do.

When Beauty had no Form, and Form no Sire,
Nor Waters felt the quickning Force of Fire;
As the first Chaos at th'Almighty Call,
So at your Nod Subjection fell on all:
The Sword declin'd its Head and seem'd to low'r;
And drop'd to find your Word of greater Pow'r;

We are amaz'd at this strange Act of thine,
This Union looks so like a Work Divine.
What shall we say? By making of us One,
You've fix'd upon your Head a Tripple Crown;
The Glory of Ten Crowns is all too vain,
As a Reward to offer such a Soveraign.

165

For Virtue 'tis makes her great Fame and Worth,
The Widow's Oyl encrease by pouring forth:
A Torrent thus in Winter that does flow,
O'er Trees and Hills in Summer, runs below;
The higher led by Fortune ANNA gets,
Her Goodness ev'ry where the more remits.
Then let us think on thee, while we Suppress
Our Words, for Speaking will but make thee Less
Fathom the Ocean, and what we find
Boundless, by Measures cannot be confin'd;
Tho' after you with Phæbus Light we run,
We must not think to overtake the Sun,
While with its Light it opens our Eyes thus,
The Brightness as we view it dazles us.

166

When Winter's past the Teeming Earth grows glad,
And Prides it self like Infants newly clad;
So Love this Union meets, its Joy to fill,
Past Fears and Dangers spreading farther still.
Two Realms embrace our Patriots with one Heart,
While Heaven and ANNA fill up every Part.
A Gift Twice Giv'n, first from the God's above,
Then here, we shou'd return with double Love;
But while we think on this, and wonder thus,
Fate shows it self still more Miraculous.
O never for a happier Nation leave us,
Since all we are, and do enjoy, you give us!
For whom you've made a New World to dispence,
Your ever Wise Protecting Providence.
Ne'er leave us till our growing Palm expands
Above the daring reach of human Hands;
Until you've made United Britain seem
A very Golden Brook and Silver Stream;
The very Land of Happiness, from whence
Proceeds such wond'rous Pow'r and Excellence;

167

Let Xerxes ride in his vast Armies Front,
Dry Rivers up, and Stem the Hellespont,
All this wont equal what we now enjoy,
By healing Union, and soft Liberty.
Praise here must sink in Merit when we strive
To keep an Act so wond'rous great alive:

Then let us Dedicate the Happy Day
That Britons do their Just Oblations pay,
To Union first, to Flora, and to May.
The Triumph of our Joy from thence bears Date,
When Thee and ANNA's Name we Celebrate;
When we cry Triumph with a Jubilee,
We cann't but we must cast our Eyes on Thee;
Those Rays that made this Day, and which were sent
By kinder Heaven on the Parliament;

168

When we sing Io Pæans we must say,
That it was Providence that led the Way.

To give to ANNA Praise, and to prefer
This Day of Flora Sacred unto her.
So Jove's Bird doubles with his Two Sun'd Sight,
And only Day appears by this clear Light;
Our Phœbus thus in his true Lustre seems,
When we behold him with these shining Beams;
When we our Thanks to our great Patriots pay,
Shou'd we at any but this Altar pray?
Derive our Fate from any other Spring,
Than this blest Royal Chrystal Stream, the Queen?

Et quo te Carmine dicam?
Virg. Georg. l. 2. ------ O Fama ingens ------
Quibus Cœlo tu laudibus æquem?
Virg. Æ. l. 11. ------ Utinam modo dicere possem
Carmina digna.
Ovid Met. lib. 5. f. 6.

Cum Sceptro tribuit.

Virg. Æn. l. 8.

Mente deos adiit.
Ovid. Met. l. 5. t. 2. Chara deum soboles, magnum Jovis incrementum.
Vir. Ed. 4.

------ Furor impius intus
Sæva sedit super arma, & centum victus abenis
Post tergum Nodis.
Lucan. l. 7.

Collectasq; fugat nubes, solemq; reducit.

Virg. Æn. l. r.

Cum canibus timidi veniunt Pocula damæ.
Vir. Ecl. 8. Ipse licet videas, cavea fabulantur in una,
Et pariter socias carpit uterq; dapes.
Mart. l. 9. Ep. 72.

------ Quem flagitat. ------
Vestra diem Virtus, finis Civilibus armis,
Quem quæsitis adest.
Lucan. l. 7.

Patim divinæ mentis & haustus.
Æthereas dixere.
Virg. Georg. l. 4.

O fortunatæ Gentes, ------
------ Quae nos fortuna quietos
Sollicitat, suadetq; ignota lacessere bella?
Virg. Æ. l. 11.

Digestum partes scimus habere suos.

Ovid de Pont. l. 4. Ec. 8.

------ Signa ego ------
------ & arma
Militibus fine cæde, discerpta vide.
Hor. lib. 3. Od. 5.

------ Dat Anna Britannis,
Mentis majora fideq;
Munera.
Ovid Met. l. 13. Fab. 4.

A diis plura feret.

Hor. l. 3. Ode 16.

Lenius, & modico, strepitu decurrere vidi.

Satis laudat qui tacet.

Laus est non facere quod facere non possumus.

Lact. 63.

------ Grates persolvere dignas
Non opis est nostræ.
Verg. En. l. 1.

Oceani fluctus me numerare jubes.

Mart. l. 6. Ep. 34.

Et animos certe vestros sensuros honores?

Lib. 13. Fab. 1.

Cœpit, & augusta fieri gravitate verendus:

Ovid M. l. 9. f. 4.

Sol vetat ire.

Lucan. l. 10.

Pectore quam Pietas, sit tua pulsa meo.

Ovid de Pont. l. 2.

Pendet in hac anima Populorum vita salusque
------ O serum fælix turela, salusque.
Mart. l. 5. Ep. 1.

Britannis plus nunquam præstitit ulla dies
Mar. l. 3. Ep. 6. Hunc Aurora diem spectacula tanta ferentem.
Quam premum croceis roscida portet equis
------ Ver illud erat, ver magnus agebat.
Virg. Georg. Orbis, &c.

Quando Palatini plus meruere Dei?

Mant. l. 5.

------ Tibi sic sint vota quotannis.

Virg. Ecl. 5.

May-day, from whence the Union begins.

Ecce Parens verus Patriæ
Lucan

169

THE RETIREMENT.

Hail my delight! All Hail thou happy Shade!
Under whose Branches once fam'd Cowley laid.
Hail ye Cherfean Groves! All Hail ye Woods!
And Silver Swans! All Hail ye Nymphs and Floods!
Who e'er near Thames have their abodes
The sweet Retirement both of Men and Gods;
Hail ev'ry happy Mortal seated there,
So near to Bus'ness, and so far from care.

Blest with th'Enjoyment that full Plenty yields
In Nature's Garden the luxurious Fields,
Where soft Contentment rears its verdant Head
On ev'ry humble Plant and ev'ry mossy Bed,

170

There stretch'd at ease true Satisfaction lies,
That all the Noise and Heat of London flies;
Like Slaves Men Toil in that tumultuous Town
And only Free-men are when here laid down,
They can their Labour at their leisure Crown.
Under an Elm or Walnut's Branches rest,
And be all Day with Peace and Pleasure blest;
With all things decent for a Rural State,
To make Men Happy, not to make them great;
For Nature here has in Perfection shown
The Pride and Grandure of a Pompous Town,
Which Folly makes Men Mimick but in vain,
No Tyrian Dye can give the Violet stain,
Or Rose or Julyflow'r be dy'd in Grain:
The beauteous Green the homely Holly wears
Lasts her without repair some Hundred Years,
Such frugal Ways Nature instructs the Hind,
And with wise Lessons Cultivates his Mind;
He must be Happy that her Laws pursue,
For what she dictates, is what we shou'd do.

Oh happy State of happy Man first made!
E'er of himself or Solitude afraid;

171

But of the Joys of Life cou'd take his fill,
Nor wanted ought to do it but his Will;
He saw Delight and had it at Command,
Pleasure and Appetite went Hand in Hand.
But what is Eden if it cannot please,
For with his Garden 'twas he lost his Ease.
Oh sad exchange! From such a cool Retreat,
To mix with Crowds and Bustle in the Heat,
To gain the Bread of Life with Care and Sweat.

How unconcern'd does that Man live, how free,
Like the first State of Native Liberty,
That sates himself in his own little Store,
Nor hoards up Wealth, nor wishes to have more;
But looks with chearful Pleasure on his own,
And Smiles at the false Gems that fill a Crown.
Round his own Grounds can take the wholesome Air,
And finds his Satisfaction in his fare.
When having lopt his Trees, or prun'd his Vine,
On coarse clean Linnen can be pleas'd to Dine,
Or Roast, or Boil'd, without Ragou's, or Wine.

172

This plain Content is all Heav'n can bestow
To wretched Man, while he remains below.

A POEM

Occasion'd by the Promotion of the Right Honourable Sir Thomas Trevor, now Lord Trevor, to the Dignity of Lord Chief Justice of the Common-Pleas.

Ante triumphales currus Ecclesia præses
Justitia & Pietas, cingit utrumque latus.
Inter purpureas fulget clementia turmas
Virtutum glomerans, agmine tota Cobors.

Let Britain now adorn'd with Justice Shine,
And by her Pow'r shew she's of Race Divine;
Let Heav'nly Dew in pearly Drops fall down,
And Ceres ev'ry Field with Plenty crown;

173

Since Trevor sits in blest Astræa's Seat,
Made by his Merit, not his Sov'reign great,
Nor honour'd, but an Honour to the State.
None e'er the Laws of England better knew,
And to those Laws and Country durst be true;
Fearless of Threats, for flatt'ring Arts too great,
He rul'd the Law, and by it serv'd the State.
Thus Trevor o'er the Common Bench presides,
And with th'exactest Rules of Justice Guides;
He softens all the Rigour of the Laws,
And pleads as well as Judges ev'ry Cause.

How long will Fortescue and Fleta live,
And Littleton the fate of Time survive;
How Coke to endless Days be tumbled o'er,
And Hales rever'd till Time shall be no more.
But first my Muse, with careful heed survey
The Days of Old, when Law in Darkness lay,
And Anarchy possess'd Tyrannick Sway.
When Lawless Men each other did invade
E'er Property was known, or Laws were made,
Till they by Reason and Experience saw,
Men cou'd not long subsist without a Law;

174

The wiser sort in Friendly manner joyn'd,
And quickly were by social Leagues combin'd;
For mutual Help each others Aid they sought,
And thus were into Form and Order brought:
Necessity that first instructed Men to live;
Taught 'em by slow Degrees at last to live.
But too luxuriant Nature did at last
The great Design into a Labyrinth cast,
And what for use was once so well apply'd
Their lavish Prodigality deny'd.
So vain Mankind do from their Safety fly,
And for blest Freedom court inglorious Slavery.

After some Ages in Confusion past,
And nought but War succeeded War, at last;
Heav'n it always was more kind to Man
Than he was to himself, did thus Ordain,
That States shou'd Flourish, and all Laws shou'd be
The Ligaments of all Society.
Then 'twas that Solon and Lycurgus rose,
And did the force of Anarchy oppose;
Then were the Rules of Law and Justice giv'n,
And the Astrea did descend from Heav'n.

175

From Athens, Rome her mighty Treasure brings,
And by her Laws destroy'd her Tyrant Kings:
The Godlike Brutus laid the Corner Stone
Of wholesome Laws and Liberty in Rome;
Hence did her awful Pow'r and Greatness rise,
And Barb'rous distant Nations thought her Wise;
Now Consuls rul'd and Government Ordain'd,
And like true Patriots, not like Tyrants Reign'd;
O'er all the World their easy Conquest spread,
And where their Arms prevail'd the People led;
Not in base Servitude, but Nobly as they fought,
Their Laws impos'd, and Civil Manners taught,
So wide of force, they did their Conquests awe,
'Twas not their Legions govern'd, but their Law.
Then 'twas their Two neck'd Eagles 'gan to fly,
And spread their Wings of soft Humanity;
Like Fame they soar'd, and like her much cou'd tell,
How Roman Virtue, did the World excel;
How Lœlius Friendship and how Scipio's Love
The bravest Souls to Noblest Acts improve,
Glory Spurs on, and Dictates to my Theme,
The mention of Immortal Cato's Name.

176

Thus always Rome protected Virtue's Cause,
And on that Foot establish'd all her Laws:
When Consuls cou'd no longer that defend,
Cæsar prescrib'd to all their Government an end.
Then o'er the Conquests that his Arms obtain'd,
The Laws of Rome without Obstruction reign'd,
But the rough Britain's Roman Laws distain'd:
They under Cæsar's Government were free,
And bore his Rule without the Slavery.

Not Cæsar's Sword or Cicero's Matchless Pen
Cou'd move the Minds of steady British Men;
Ev'n then they were of foreign Customs shy,
Not to be flatter'd out of Liberty.
In Course of Time, where Rome her Pow'r had lost,
The Saxon first our Eastern Ocean crost,
Rough as the British Race they hit the Clime,
Nor strove to alter Customs in their time;
But what the Fam'd Dunwallo first had done,
That they establish'd on the British Throne.
Dunwallo who Molmative Laws assign'd,
And executed Justice in its kind:

177

The Temple first a sacred Refuge made,
And did protect the Plowman's Share and Blade.

Alfred in Saxon Language writ his Laws,
So sacred he esteem'd the Nation's Cause;
Nor ought my Muse pass over Guitheline,
A famous Monarch of the British Line;
Warlike and Brave he kept the Picts in awe,
And blest his Country with the Mercian Law.

But see how various are the turns of Fate
Some Mal-contents there are in ev'ry State;
For in the best and mildest Government
There will be Villains that are discontent.

The Warlike Danes then to their aid they call,
First set 'em up, and soon proclaim their fall;
With mighty Zeal they bring those Safe-guards o'er,
And stake their own, to gain a foreign Power.
But still the Laws kept steady in the State
Which their own Merits, not their Craft made great;
For had they not the Sense of Justice shown,
The Law had been subservient to the Crown.

178

Now Saxons do again their Pow'r obtain,
Not 'gainst the Laws, but with the Laws they reign.
Alfred and Edgar well deserve our praise,
Who rul'd with Justice till King Edward's Days:
True English Men still for oppressive Might,
That ne'er will know when they are in the Right.
But when the Norman Duke assum'd the Throne,
Boldly he did attempt to follow none.
But Henry with indulgence did withdraw
The Weight and Rigour of the Norman Law,
From heavy Burdens set the People free,
And broke the Yoke of Dane-gilt Slavery;
So great a Prince deserv'd a greater Name,
Had not his Brother's Death Eclips'd his Fame.

The Clergy Steph'n from Temp'ral Laws set free,
But bound the Lay-men fast in Slavery;
Till Saxon Blood in Second Henry broke
The servile Fetters of the Norman Yoke:
Tho' Rome from Stephen yet usurpt a Pow'r,
Which Church-men fail'd not to improve each Hour,
For then the Priests did ev'ry where controul,
And show'd how they cou'd Rule in Becket's Soul.

179

Becket, who once supply'd the Chanc'lor's Chair
With haughty Mein, and with as proud an Air,
As if the Holy Father had been there.
Priests well might chuse from Rome a Sov'raign Guide,
Rome taught 'em Priest-craft, Priest-craft taught 'em Pride.
But Henry did the Ancient Laws restore,
Inspite of Rome and all her thund'ring Pow'r;
Bulls had no force Anathema's were vain,
The King resolv'd, and did his Pow'r maintain.
No sooner was the Land from Rome made free
But she return'd to her Captivity;
While Richard's Triumphs grac'd abroad his Crown,
The Laws at Home were basely trampled on;
By Ely a false Church-man, so are all
That Crasp at Pow'r, the Miter and the Ball.

When the Third Henry, fill'd the English Throne,
Then Justice, Law and Liberty, were known;
King Edward's Laws were once again reviv'd,
And Magna Charta in full Freedom liv'd,
Till Liberty to base Corruptions grown,
Defil'd the Laws, and oft disturb'd the Crown.

180

This is the Monster that devours a State,
And makes the People Tremble at their Fate,
To see by what vast Strength and Pow'r she sways,
And like Leviathan pursues her ways;
Dark as the Pit of Hell from whence she rose,
To vex the Land and ruin its Repose.

On the BATTLE Of OUDENARD.

Pursue, pursue, follow the glorious blow,
Leave no remainder of the haughty Foe;
Lewis with Pride, and Wealth, and Pow'r, made great,
Must sully all his Glories by Retreat.
Bacchus with Tygers swift to India rode,
And 'twas pursuit of Conquest made the God:
Thus distant Regions Eccho ANNA's Name,
Convey'd by the Progressive Voice of Fame;
Whilst ANNA's Sword is lodg'd in Malbro's Hand,
'Tis Victory to Obey, and Empire to Command.
See how the scatter'd Troops extend their Flight,
And bless the sable Covert of the Night.

181

THE EIGHTH ECCLOGUE of VIRGIL

Damon and Alphæsibæus.

The mournful Muse of Two contending Swains,
Of slighted Love and Witchcraft both complains.
The wondering Cattle quite forget their Food,
The Lynxes of their Verse amazed stood;
And the swift Flood takes on the Banks his Seat,
While we the Swains rejected Songs repeat.
And thou great Prince, whether thou passest o'er
Timavus Rocks or Coasts th'Illyrian Shore,
Assist my trembling Muse, whilst I rehearse
Thy mighty Triumphs in immortal Verse;
In lofty Numbers thou may'st justly claim,
Due to thy great Commands and to thy Name;

182

And suffer 'mong the conq'ring Laurels now
The humble Ivy to adorn thy Brow.
Scarce had the Shades of Night forsook the Sky,
And the cool Dew on tender Grass to lie,
When Damon to repeat his am'rous Song,
Reclining 'gainst an Olive thus begun.

DAM.

Bright Lucifer, thou that prepares the way
Before the Sun, for the approaching Day;
Go on, whilst I of Nisa's Perjury complain,
Cry to the Gods for Aid, but all in vain;
Begin my Pipe, with me, play the Mænalian Strain.

Mæn'lus does always hear the ecchoing Groves,
The lofty Pines, and Swains distressed Loves;
And active Reeds were still imploy'd by Pan,
Begin my Pipe, with me, play the Mænalian Strain.

Fair Nisa's Charms on Mopsus are bestow'd,
Hopes are for ev'ry Lover now allow'd.
Now may the Horse and Gryphin friendly greet,
And tim'rous Deer with Dogs at watring meet;

183

Cut your fresh Torches Mopsus, opportunely made,
You now have got a Wife to light to Bed;
Disperse thy Nuts about to please the Boys,
And solace all the Night in Nuptial Joys.
Hesper forsakes his Bed, while I complain,
Begin my Pipe, with me, play the Mænalian Strain.

You are well match'd, and slight the courting Swain,
Whilst you with Pride my Pipe and Goats disdain.
Careless, distracted now my Looks appear,
My comely Chin o'er-spread with bushy Hair,
As if the Gods regarded not my Pain,
Begin my Pipe, with me, play the Mænalian Strain.

I was the forward Lad, when in our Ground,
Gath'ring of ruddy Apples, you I found,
Though scarce arriv'd to Thirteen Years of Age,
The yielding Boughs for you I did engage;
But as I look'd I dy'd, and gather'd all in vain,
Begin my Pipe, with me, play the Mænalian Strain.

184

I know what Love is now, its Birth must be
On horrid Smaros, or cold Rhodope,
Or Libya's wild supplies thy barb'rous Veins,
Begin my Pipe, with me, begin Mænalian Strains.

Dire Love, first taught the Mother's Hand to Sin,
And with her Children's Blood she did begin.
Inhuman Parent! To destroy her own,
Was she more cruel, or her impious Son?
The Boy was base, her Cruelty remains,
Begin my Pipe, with me, begin Mænalian Strains.

Hence let the tender Sheep the Wolves provoke
And golden Apples bud upon the Oak,
The Alder bear Narcissus gentle Flow'r,
And ev'ry Shrub the purest Amber pour.
With Swans, the Owls contend on ev'ry Tree,
And Tyt'rus, Orpheus, in the Woods with Thee.
The Dolphins with Arion on the Main,
Begin my Pipe, with me, play the Mænalian Strain.

Let all things find a different Course to live,
Ye Sylvan Shades your verdure still survive,

185

From yonder Precipice I'll take my flight,
And drench my self in Floods far from her sight.
This Legacy bestows a dying Man,
Cease now my Pipe, cease the Mænalian Strain.

These Words poor Damon spoke without disguise
To which Alphæsibæus thus replies;
The sacred Muses their Decrees can tell,
All Men alike all things cannot reveal.

ALPH.

Bring me some Water here, this Altar fence
Around, with Vervain, Oyl and Frankincense,
That by some sacred Magick I may find
A certain way to change his fickle Mind;
Nothing is wanting, but my Charms remain
To bring home Daphnis from the Town again.

For Charms will make the Moon dance from her Sphere,
Ulysses Friends by Charms transformed were:
Charms will in Fields, destroy the deadly Snake,
And from the Town my Charms bring Daphnis back.

186

Thrice round his Head Three Fillets tye
Of various Colours and of different Dye,
Thrice round these Altars bear his Effigie.
In the odd Count the Gods some pleasure take,
Then from the Town, my Charms, bring Daphnis back.

Three different Dyes let Amarillis bring,
And tye in treble Knots the Magick String,
Then say, these are Love's mystick Knots I make,
Now from the Town, my Charms, bring Daphnis back.

As Fire melts Wax, or hardens stubborn Clay,
So shall my Love make Daphnis Heart obey.
Sprinkle the Cake, and burn with sulph'rous Steem
The crackling Laurel, Daphnis does the same,
And I for him this raging Fire maintain,
To bring back Daphnis to my Arms again.

Daphnis is seiz'd with such desiring Love
As a young Heifer that around does rove,
To seek the Bull through ev'ry Copse and Grove.

187

Near purling Streams, on the green Bank lies down
Lost to her self nor thinks the Night comes on,
When to the expecting Herd she shou'd return.
Such is fond Daphnis Love, nor shall I ease his Pain,
Oh let my Charms from thence bring Daphnis back again.

The Perjur'd Man these Garments left behind
The only Pledge remaining that he once was kind,
Which after him to Earth shall be confin'd.
These Pledges I bestow for Daphnis sake,
Then from the Town, my Charms bring Daphnis back.

Mœris on me these poys'nous Drugs bestows,
Plenty whereof in Pontus daily grows:
With these into a Wolf he's often chang'd
Himself, and in the Woods at large has rang'd;
Often I've seen him from the Grave return,
Poor wand'ring Souls, that in dark Regions mourn,
Remove to his own Fields anothers standing Grain,
Then from the Town, my Charms, bring Daphnis back again.

188

The sacred Ashes Amaryllis bring,
And throw 'em o'er thy Head into the running Spring.
Look not behind, these Rites for Daphnis are,
Who slights the Gods and Philters we prepare,
Bring back, ye sacred Herbs, and powerful Charms,
Bring back lov'd Daphnis to my longing Arms.

See now the Ashes round our Altar play
And of themselves their trembling Flames display,
Whilst in suspence I'm kept with his delay.
I know not what the Omen means, but hark,
There Hylax at the Door begins to bark.
We must believe the best, as those that love
Their Dreams to their own Fancies still improve;
Then Amaryllis let's forbear our Charms,
I've brought my Daphnis to my longing Arms.

The Ninth Ecclogue of VIRGIL.

Lycidas and Mœris.
Lyc.
Whither does Mœris thus uncern'dly haste?
That he pursues the Road to Rome so fast;

189

Mœr.
'Tis much we have escap'd thus far alive;
This Day I thought not, Shepherd, to survive:
When I shou'd hear a Stranger say; This Ground,
And all these fertile Fields by me are own'd:
Begone, you Rascals, from this pleasant Farm;
Discons'late we depart, for fear of Harm.
Since Fortune over all things bears the sway,
What can remain for us but to Obey?
Two fatted Kids to the proud Rogue I bear;
That they may choak him, is my constant Pray'r.

Lyc.
I heard indeed from th'Foot of that high Hill,
That by Degrees descends to yonder Rill;
And where the dodder'd Beech hath stood so long,
Menalcus sav'd that Land with his diviner Song.

Mœr.
You heard so, and loud Fame proclaim'd it true,
But it was not our Verse alone wou'd do.
For War, O Lycidas, is more severe,
And Doves with Eagles might as well compare;
The boding Chough from an old hollow Tree
Advis'd to cease our Strife, and to agree;
Had he not taught us these dire Ills t'avoid,
Nor Mœris, nor Menalcas had his Life enjoy'd.

190

Lyc.
Who cou'd have perpetrated such a Deed
So cruel, as to make Menalcas bleed?
Who of the Nymphs wou'd then bright Songs have made,
The fruitful Soil with flagrant Flow'rs have spread,
Or shelter Fountains with a leafy Shade?
Compose such Songs as late from thee I took,
When on our Amaryllis thou didst look,
And with her Beauty charm'd cast down thy Hook;
And said, pray feed these Goats for me, dear Swain,
And water them, I'll soon return again;
I have not far to go, howe'er take heed
Of that old Ridgling with the butting Head.

Mœr.
To Varus such like Strains he did rehearse;
Varus, whose Name's worthy immortal Verse,
If we in Mantua can but rest in Peace;
Ah! 'Tis too near Cremona for our ease:
But if thou canst preserve thy Mantuan Plains
Our Verse shall soar above the winged Swans.

Lyc.
So may thy swarms avoid the Cyrnean Yew
And Milk in Plenty from thy Heifers flow;

191

Begin, if thou'ft the Gift of Poetry
The Muses lately have bestow'd on me.
I have made Verses too, to fix my Fame;
And all the Swains give me the Poets Name.
I'm not so vain to Credit what they say;
I can't yet please my self, in my own way.
Cinna nor Varus have vouchsaf'd to hear
Therefore like gabbling Geese 'mong Swans I must appear.

Mœr.
I'm thinking, Lycidas, I can rehearse,
If I remember right, a noble Verse;
Advance, fair Nymph, my Galatea hear
What Pastime is in gentle Streams, declare;
Here Flow'rs the Spring, and there the pregnant Soil,
On ev'ry Bank, does with fresh verdure smile,
Round ev'ry Flood delightful Objects rise;
White Poplar here, the naked Bow'r supplies;
And tender Vines compleat the cooling Shade,
Whilst raging Floods th'unbounded Shore invade.

Lyc.
Something I heard thee Sing alone last Night
I have the Tune, cou'd I the Words recite.

Mœr.
Why on the old Æra Daphnis dost thou pore?
Since Cæsar's Time, that Reck'ning is no more.
Tis Cæsar's Star, that makes the joyful Field,
And on the Hills the Grape her Purple yield.

192

Graft Tears for Daphnis; After Ages may
Be glad to crop, and bless the joyful Day
'Tis Time brings all things forth, we all decay;
I when a Boy consum'd a Summers Day
In Singing; but my Voice, alas! Is gone,
My Voice and tuneful Notes fled with my Song,
As if I'd seen a Wolf; but yet you can,
If you're requir'd, repeat 'em o'er again.

Lyc.
You raise my Expectation by delay,
Tho' all the Fields are peaceable and gay.
See all things now so much to rest inclin'd,
The trembling Leaves scarce feel the murm'ring Wind;
And on our Journey we are got half way,
Bianor's Tomb does now its Top display.
On these strip'd Leaves here, let us stretch a long
Here lay the Kids, and Sing a merry song.
We've time enough to reach the Town by Light,
Or if we fear the gathering Clouds e're Night,
A pleasant Song will shorten much the Road;
Come, let us Sing, I'll ease you of your Load.

Mœr.
Let's mind what we're about, dear Swain forbear;
We shall Sing better, when my Master's here.

193

Britain's Palladium;

OR, My Lord Bolingbroke's Welcome from France.

Et thure & fidibus Juvat
Placare, & vituli sanguine debito
Custodes Numidæ Deos.
Hor. lib. 1. Ode 36. ------ ad Pomponium Numidium
Ob cujus ex Hispania redditum gaudio exultat.

What Noise is this, that interrupts my Sleep?
What ecchoing Shouts rise from the briny Deep?
Neptune a solemn Festival prepares,
And Peace thro' all his flowing Orb declares:
That dreadful Trident which he us'd to shake,
Make Earth's Foundations, and Jove's Palace quake,
Now, by his Side on ouzy Couch reclin'd,
Gives a smooth Surface and a gentle Wind:
Innumerable Tritons lead the Way,
And crouds of Nereids round his Chariot play.

194

The ancient Sea-Gods with attention wait,
To learn, what's now the last result of Fate.
What earthly Monarch Neptune does decree
Alone; his great Vicegerent of the Sea.

By an auspicious Gale, Britania's Fleet
On Gallia's Coast this shining Triumph met;
These Pomps Divine their mortal Sense surprize,
Loud to the Ear, and dazling to the Eyes:
Whilst scaly Tritons, with their Shells, proclaim
The Names that must survive to future Fame;
And Nymphs their Diadems of Pearl prepare
For Monarchs who, to purchase Peace, make War:
Then Neptune his majestick Silence broke,
And to the trembling Sailors mildly spoke:
Throughout the World Britania's Flag display,
'Tis I command, that all the Globe obey:
Let British Streamers wave their Heads on high,
And dread no Foe beneath Jove's azure Sky;
The rest let Nereus tell ------

If I have Truth, says Nereus, and foresee
The intricate Designs of Destiny:

195

I that have view'd whatever Fleets have rode
With sharpen'd Keels, to cut the yielding Flood:
I that could weigh the Fates of Greece and Rome,
Phœnician Wealth, and Carthaginian Doom,
Must surely know what, in the Womb of Time,
Was fore-ordain'd for Britain's happy Clime;
How Wars upon the watry Realms shall cease,
And ANNA give the World a glorious Peace:
Restore the Spicy Traffick of the East,
And stretch her Empire to the distant West:
Her Fleets descry Aurora's purple Bed,
And Phœbus Steeds after their Labours fed.
The Southern Coasts, to Britain scarcely known,
Shall grow as hospitable as their own:
No Monsters shall be feign'd to guard their Store,
When British Trade secures their golden Ore:
The fleecy Product of the Cotswold Field
Shall equal what Peruvian Mountains yield:
Iron shall there, intrinsick Value show,
And by Vulcanian Art more precious grow.

BRITANIA's Royal Fishery shall be
Improv'd by a kind Guardian Deity:

196

That mighty Task to Glaucus we assign,
Of more importance than the richest Mine;
He shall direct them how to strike the Whale,
How to avoid the Danger, when prevail;
What Treasure lies upon the frozen Coast
Not yet explor'd, nor negligently lost.

In vast Acadia's Plains, new Theme for Fame,
Towns shall be built, sacred to ANNA's Name;
The Silver Firr and lofty Pines shall rise
From Britain's own united Colonies;
Which to the Mast shall Canvas Wings afford,
And Pitch, to strengthen the unfaithful Board;
Norway may then her Naval Stores with-hold,
And proudly starve for want of British Gold.

O happy Isle! to such Advantage plac'd,
That all the World is by thy Counsels grac'd;
Thy Nation's Genius, with industrious Arts,
Renders thee lovely to remotest Parts.
ELIZA first the sable Scene withdrew,
And to the ancient World display'd the New.

197

When Burleigh at the Helm of State was seen,
The truest Subject to the greatest QUEEN:
The Indians, from the Spanish Yoke made free,
Bless'd the Effects of English Liberty;
Drake, round the World, his Sov'reign's Honour spread,
Thro' Straights and Gulphs immense, her Fame convey'd;
Nor rests Enquiry here; his curious Eye
Descries new Constellations in the Sky,
In which vast space, ambitious Mariners
Might place their Names on high, and chuse their Stars.
Rawleigh, with hopes of new Discoveries fir'd,
And all the Depths of human Wit inspir'd,
Rov'd o'er the Western World, in search of Fame,
Adding fresh Glory to Eliza's Name;
Subdu'd new Empires, that will Records be
Immortal of a Queen's Virginity.

(Virginia)

But think not Albion that thy Sons decay,
Or that thy Princes have less Power to sway;
Whatever in Eliza's Reign was seen,
With a re-doubled Vigour springs again:

198

Imperial ANNA shall the Seas controul,
And spread her Naval Laws from Pole to Pole:
Nor think Her Conduct, or Her Counsels less
In Arts of War, or Treaties for a Peace;
In thrifty Management of Britain's Wealth,
Imbezzel'd lately, or purloin'd by Stealth:
No Nation can fear Want, or dread Surprize,
Where Oxford's Prudence, Burleigh's Loss supplies;
On him the Publick most securely leans,
To ease the Burthen of the best of Queens:
On him the Merchants fix their longing Eyes,
When War shall cease, and British Commerce rise.

Alcides Strength, and Atlas firmer Mind,
To narrow Streights of Europe were confin'd.
The British Sailors, from their Royal 'Change,
May find a nobler Liberty to range.
Oxford shall be their Pole-Star to the South,
And there reward the Efforts of their Youth:
Whence, thro' his Conduct, Traffick shall encrease,
Ev'n to those Seas which take their Name from Peace.

PEACE is the Sound must glad the Briton's Ears
But see! the Noble Bolingbroke appears;

199

Gesture compos'd, and Looks serene declare
The approaching Issue of a doubtful War.
Now my Cerulean Race safe in the deep,
Shall hear no Canons roar, disturb their Sleep;
But smoothest Tides, and the most Halcion Gales
Shall, to their Port, direct Britania's Sails.

Ye Tritons, Sons of Gods! 'tis my Command,
That you see Bolingbroke in safety Land;
Your concave Shells for softest Notes prepare,
Whilst Eccho shall repeat the gentlest Air;
The River-Gods shall there, your Triumphs meet,
And in old Ocean mixt, your Hero greet;
Thames shall stand wondring, Isis shall rejoice,
And both in tuneful Numbers raise their Voice.
The rapid Medway, and the fertile Trent,
In swiftest Streams confess their true Content.
Avon and Severn shall in Raptures join,
And Fame convey them, to the Northern Tine:
Tweed then no more the Britons shall divide,
But Peace and Plenty flow on either side;
Triumphs proclaim, and Mirth and jovial Feasts,
And all the World invite for welcome Guests.

200

Faction, that thro' the Land so fatal spread,
No more shall dare to raise her Hydra's Head;
But all her Votaries, in silence mourn,
The happiness of Bolingbroke's return;
Far from the common Pitch, he shall arise,
With great Designs, to dazzle Envy's Eyes;
Search deep to know, of Whiggish Plots the source,
Their ever-turning Schemes, and restless Course.

Who shall hereafter, British Annals read,
But will reflect, with Wonder, on this Deed.
How artfully his Conduct overcame
A stubborn Race, and quench'd a raging Flame;
Retriev'd the Britons from unruly Fate,
And overthrew the Phaetons of State:
These wise Exploits thro' Gallia's Nation ran,
And fir'd their Souls, to see the wond'rous Man:
The aged Counsellors, without surprize,
Found Wit and Prudence sparkling in his Eyes;
Wisdom that was not gain'd in course of Years,
Or Reverence owing to his hoary Hairs,
But struck by force of Genius; such as drove
The Goddess Pallas from the Brain of Jove.

201

The Youth of France, with Pleasure, look'd to see
His graceful Mien, and beauteous Symetry:
The Virgins ran, as to unusual Show,
When he to Paris came, and Fountainbleau;
Viewing the blooming Minister desir'd,
And still the more they gaz'd, the more admir'd.
Nor did the Court, that best true Grandeur knows,
Their Sentiments, by lesser Facts disclose,
By common Pomp, or ceremonious Train,
Seen heretofore, or to be seen again;
But they devis'd new Honours, yet unknown,
Or paid to any Subject of a Crown.

The Gallick King, in Age and Counsels Wise,
Sated with War, and weary of disguise,
With open Arms salutes the British Peer,
And gladly owns his Prince and Character.
As Hermes from the Throne of Jove descends,
With grateful Errand, to Heav'ns choicest Friends:
As Iris from the Bed of Juno flies,
To bear her Queens Commands thro' yielding Skies,
Whilst o'er her Wings fresh Beams of Glory flow,
And blended Colours paint her wond'rous Bow;

202

So Bolingbroke appears in Louis Sight,
With Message Heavenly, and with equal Light,
Dispels all Clouds of Doubt, and Fear of Wars,
And in his Mistress's Name for Peace declares:
Accents Divine! which the Great King receives
With the same Grace, that mighty ANNA gives.

Let others boast of Blood, the Spoil of Foes,
Rapine and Murder, and of endless Woes,
Detested Pomp! and Trophies gain'd from far,
With spangled Ensigns, streaming in the Air:
Count how they made Bavarian Subjects feel
The rage of Fire, and edge of hardned Steel:
Fatal Effects of foul insatiate Pride,
That deal their Wounds alike on either side:
No Limit's set to their ambitious Ends,
For who bounds them, no longer can be Friends.
By different Methods Bolingbroke shall raise
His growing Honours, and immortal Praise.

He fir'd with Glory, and the publick Good,
Betwixt the People and their Danger stood;
Arm'd with convincing Truths he did appear,
And all he said was sparkling, bright and clear.

203

The list'ning Senate, with attention heard,
And some admir'd, while others trembling fear'd;
Not from the Tropes of formal Eloquence,
But Demosthenick Strength, and weight of Sense:
Such as fond Oxford to her Son supply'd,
Design'd her Own, as well as Britain's Pride.
Who less beholden to the ancient Strains,
Might shew a Nobler Blood in English Veins:
Out-do whatever Divine Homer sung
Of Nestor's Counsels, or Ulysses Tongue.

Oh! all ye Nymphs, whilst Time and Youth allow,
Prepare the Rose and Lilly for his Brow.
Much he has done, but still has more in View;
To ANNA's Interest, and his Country true.
More I could Prophecy, but must refrain,
Such Truths would make another Mortal Vain.

Annapolis.

205

THE British Court:

A POEM, &c.

Give me a Genius, fill'd with soft delight
Of Beauteous Forms, blest Images of Light;
Teach me, Apollo, some Harmonious Song,
And with thy Heavenly Lays inspire my Tongue:
Be hush'd as Silence in the Dead of Night,
Black Satyrist, thou Monster of the Light,
Cease howling, base Disturber of Mankind,
And look on with more Pleasure, or be blind.
Why shou'd thy Venom touch my tender Muse,
And poison all the Sweetness she shou'd use?
Tho' such bright Charms my Numbers does inspire
As will expel't, and fill my Breast with Fire,

206

Dart thro' my Soul, and with their Native Rays
Shine on my Lines, and raise Eternal Praise:
While Fame flies swift, thro' ev'ry Cavern bears,
And ev'ry spacious Void, th'Immortal Airs.

Attend, ye God-like Artists, that descry
The secret Touches which in Beauty lie;
Here, let your Pencils curiously distain
The blushing Paint, which Nature does ordain
Triumphant in the Female Sex to reign.

Behold the Happy Monarch from Her Throne,
Eas'd of the Pressures of a weighty Crown:
Now, far more Blest and Glorious does appear,
Her Guard, a Train of Noble Beauties are;
Here ev'ry Smile fresh Beams of Joy dispense,
Whilst the Bright Circle owns its Influence:
Softness of Nature, in the depth of Thought,
The Goddess, with the Woman interwrought;
Bus'ness and Pleasure so in her agree,
They make the most delightful Harmony.
But say, my Muse, when ANNA moves along,
How Pleasure sits upon the Charming Throng!

207

And what blest Scene can more delight the Fair
Than smiling MAJESTY, when Regent there?
Like Phœbus, darting Splendor from her Eyes,
Whose piercing Beams quick as the Lightning flies;
Nor do they dazzle less than they amaze
All who with Awe, or Admiration gaze:
A Ruler, Sov'reign o'er her own vast Will,
Slow to Revenge, and sure to act no ill:
Pleasure sits Light without, whilst from within
Somewhat divine appears, that shows the QUEEN.

Go on, my Muse, next to Minerva's Smile,
Minerva, the bright Goddess of the Isle,
The happy Partner of Great ORMOND, place
Where Beauty still maintains a pleasing Face.

Stop now, my Muse, lest here thou vainly seem
T'abuse with thy unskilful Hand, this noble Theme;
Yet still with awful Fear approach the Fair,
And tremble where such shining Mortals are,
Where Beauty, Modesty, and flowing Wit,
Do in the Presence of bright Virtue sit,

208

Where Pleasure can no wanton Charms bestow,
But what from Chaste Idea's purely flow,
And such as Virgin Innocence may know.
Free from the Faults of Fashionable Vice
In the most easie, not in Airs precise.

From this Foil, Beauty its true Lustre gains,
And tho' once Fetter'd by inglorious Chains,
Now absolute, it like a Monarch Reigns.
Reason has once again possess'd its Place,
And banish'd Folly from the Beauteous Race.
'Tis Vision all, and shuns Diviner Light,
For Shades must vanish where they shine so bright:
The Flame of Love consumes our dull Desires,
And melts the Dross away by purer Fires.
Thus the Fair Sex like Goddesses appear,
And all Mankind with Pleasure must Revere,
Whilst Modest Art their Excellence displays,
And Nature shows it self a thousand ways.

So ORMOND's Graceful Mein attracts all Eyes,
And Nature needs not ask from Art Supplies;

209

Forgiving Goodness shines thro' ev'ry Part,
And shows that Form contains the Noblest Heart.
In vain Mankind adore, unless she were
By Heaven made, less Virtuous, or less Fair.

BOLTON's bright Image raises soft Delight,
And, like Prometheus, kindles Fire at sight;
Such Magick dwells within her secret Breast,
As cannot be but by her Eyes exprest.

Such Airs has RAN' LAUGH to delight Mankind
That yet no Equal to her Charms we find;
Soft Sounds of Harmony run thro' her Soul,
And nought but Musick's Voice does there controul:
By secret ways, the little God takes place,
And Beauty plays the Tyrant in her Face.
But what dull Atoms can soft Sounds resist,
Since they Create, at once, ev'n what they list,
Delightful Forms from shapeless Chaos raise,
Since Heav'n the Voice of Harmony obeys?
Concord and Musick, such as charms the Ear,
First mov'd this Earth, this dull unactive Sphere,
And first made ev'ry sleeping Atom hear.

210

Musick's the Spring made by Divinest Art,
To move the Vital Machine of Man's Heart,
And circulate with Pow'r thro' ev'ry Part.

GODOLPHIN so engaging does appear,
That Angels only can resemble her,
When to please Men they put on Forms of Air.
Like hers, their matchless Faces look divine,
Light shines without, all Goodness dwells within.

Whilst Collier's Shape pursues th'Admirer home,
And adds fresh Flame where'er her Presence come
She still the Lover's Wishes close imploys
On Youthful Charms, and soft engaging Eyes,
On lasting Beauty, and ne'er-fading Joys.

But see the Sacred Marks of Beauty shine
In FORESTER, more Glorious and Divine;
Easie her Shape is wrought in ev'ry Turn,
Charming her Mein, and Elegant her Form.
Artless she walks, with such a moving Grace,
'Tis difficult for Wit, or Words, to express
Which pleases most, her Looks, her Air, her Dress.

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But I dare only mention SPENCER's Face,
That fires all Bodies, like a Burning-glass:
The very Soul of Love, and Beauty's Sun,
Whose shining Beams has half Mankind undone.

So BRIDGWATER, the Gods peculiar care,
Is not less Good and Virtuous than she's Fair.
Becoming Airs from her Indulgence grow,
And solid Virtues her true Honour show.
Mildness of Nature in each Feature's dress'd,
And nought but Softness dwells within her Breast.

In SHEFFIELD's easie Shape and Mein we see
The Matchless Venus of great Normanby;
But that's a Painted, this a Living Deity.
In chusing which, he shew'd his Judgment more
Than all the Beauteous Images before.
This Goddess, only for Apollo fit,
Triumphs in Virtue, as her Lord in Wit.

But, oh my Muse! how gentle Beauty sighs,
And tempts the Swain, in Wyndham's moving Eyes,
That Look and Languish with a kind surprize!

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But her reserv'dness chides the Lover's stay,
And silently commands his Eyes away;
A modest Blush has such prevailing Charms,
It both forbids, and draws Men to her Arms.

Behold Melpomene, fair SEYMOUR, shine
In Somerset and Piercy's Ancient Line:
Happy's the Man prepar'd for such a Bride,
Blest with all Nature's Treasure by his Side;
Greatness of Soul her Noble Nature moves,
While Objects worthy of her self she loves.

WHARTON amidst the fairest may appear,
And rival Pallas in her flowing Hair,
That does to Beauty so much Pleasure yield,
Like Ears of Wheat upon the fertile Field;
The Owner looks on with such great delight,
All other Objects vanish from his Sight:
As Stars at their Meridian Height look clear,
Wharton as fair and lucid does appear.

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If Dross, and Wit, and Air Mankind can move,
The Prussian Dame must reign bright Queen of Love.
Fair Spanheim's Eyes shoot out their pointed Darts,
Where-e'er they fly, they wound a thousand Hearts.

In HIDE's fair Face true Majesty resides,
Yet Cupid claims his Empire, gently rides,
And as a God commands; when all obey,
For Love and Pow'r have each an equal sway,
Like Sun & Moon, this rules the Night, that the Day.

How DUNCH and DIG BY all their Charms dispense,
While COWPER adds her Power of Eloquence,
And fills the World with Musick, Wit, and Sense.
Such Charms as these deservedly may claim
In Beauty's Annals a much larger Fame.

MANCHESTER moves with irresistless Air,
Her Dress is taking, as her Face is fair;
Something that's new is always in her found,
With some peculiar Grace she does abound

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That is engaging, happy, new, and rare,
Which makes her affable and debonair.
Endless in numbers would the Circle prove,
To trace these beauteous Images of Love.
How LEE's Complexion, and how COLVERT's Smile
Do grace the Fame of Britain's Happy Isle.
So HARPER's killing Eyes, and BARTON's Air,
Oblige Mankind to own 'em Heav'nly Fair;
Real Perfection's (which in both these live)
Beyond what little Arts of Flattery give.

Why do we find in the Records of Fame,
Such lavish Trophies to Orinda's Name?
Or why should Sappho still immortal be,
When both, alas! were but faint Types of thee,
And may still brighter shine in ORRERY?
Rough were those Draughts, and carelessly design'd,
Thou art the Masterpiece of Womankind.

WORTLEY, is made of tender moving Sighs,
Refin'd Ætherial Mould, soft melting Eyes;

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Magick, which all our Mortal Cares beguiles,
Enchanting Glances, ever-pleasing Smiles;
These are the bright Retinue which declare
That Cupid daily plays the Wanton there.

LONG is discover'd by her sweet Regard,
With the same Pleasure seen, that she is heard;
Modest, but not Precise; Free, but not Wild;
Neither Affected, too Reserv'd, nor Mild:
To distant Courts her Infant Glory flies,
Ten thousand Victims at her Altar lies,
And twice Ten thousand offer to her Eyes.

Behold the Off-spring of a tuneful Sire,
Fair BEAUFORT! blest with more than mortal Fire:
Such are her Charms, as was the Poet's Song,
When Orpheus did enchant the list'ning Throng:
So artful, so melodious were his Strains,
They made the Damn'd, tho' loaded with their Chains,
Enjoy some Ease amidst Eternal Pains.
So were the sporting Dolphins charm'd, around
The Vessel's side, at sweet Arion's Sound

216

They on their Backs the sinking Prophet bore,
And safely brought him to the wish'd-for Shore.
So did Amphion touch his well-tun'd Strings,
For Nature follows when the Poet sings:
Rivers stood still, attentive to his Strains,
And Woods forsook the Hills to shade the Plains:
Vast Stones and Trees in order were dispos'd,
And to his Tuneful Lyre was Thebes compos'd.

But see the Star now risen on our Sphere,
Bright as the Evening Venus shining here.
Clear as the Moon is her unblemish'd Face,
With Hebe's Bloom, and Juno's matchless Grace.
Her Charms has in short time such Conquests won,
That Churchill's rival'd by a NEWINGTON.

St. ALBAN's conq'ring Eyes their Pow'r maintain,
While Beauty lives, she will a Monarch reign,
Yet, Tyrant like, Love's Liberty restrain.

While blushing ESSEX's chaster Flame survives,
By sprightly Looks and gentle Sighs she lives.

217

Thus the Admirers to her Beauty draws,
Tho' from too near approach her Thunder awes.

In WOODSTOCK's Goodness all the Graces shine,
Plac'd in her Form is Venus's Magazine;
All Beauty's Treasure lodges in her Eyes,
And from her Store bring still their fresh Supplys.
Happy's the Man who leads with her a Life,
So pow'rful is the Charm of such a Wife.
Happy as Gods he lives, and sure as blest,
Where no false Joys can rob him of his Rest.

When radiant Glances shoot from PRICE's Eyes,
They fill the World, like Comets, with surprize:
But when they gently lay their Lightning by,
The World seems lost in dark Obscurity.
Each Charm about 'em looks both fresh and gay,
Young as the Spring, and sweet as Flowers in May.

The Charms that from MONTHERMER's Aspect stray
Diffuse themselves as Orient Light, the Day,
And merit more than all the World can pay.

218

Let GIBBONS 'mong the brightest Beauties shine,
Since 'tis her Air that makes her Form divine.
Give COWPER Wit, still BARTON will have Sense,
And VERE maintain a killing Influence.
These Rival Beauties, thus we find appear
The same by Art that they by Nature are;
Lovely and bright as unmix'd Honour shines,
That rises not by proud, or servile Art declines.
The Graces all on SOMERSET attend,
And Virtue does to Beauty Honour lend.
The Charming Sex are pleas'd to mix with her,
That's with the Highest, Noble, Rich, and Fair,
Essential Ornaments that vest the Great,
And which did ever on the Percy's wait;
Not in meer Pageantry and publick Show,
But in such Actions as from Virtue flow.

But how, presumptuous Muse, dar'st thou aspire
To draw the Beams of Beauty without Fire?
Why thou attempt such a bold dang'rous Part
With so much Weakness, and so little Art?
In vain thou labours to describe the Fair,
Since here so many shining Beauties are;

219

And those so many different Charms put on,
'Tis hard to find a Woman without one.
Stand round, ye Beauties, all your Charms disclose,
The fairest Circle that e'er shone, compose.
Stand round, ye Lovers, all your Passions own,
What Pains you've felt, what Agonies you've known:
Your soft Desires will all their Centre find
In these Bell-Dames, the Loveliest of their Kind.

221

THE CIRCUS: OR, British Olympicks.

224

From vulgar Eyes, on Plains exalted high,
Where Noble Dust does in Confusion fly,
Thither the Wealthy and the Great repair,
To draw Contagion from polluted Air.
In gilded Chariots some delight to ride,
And with their Folly gratifie their Pride,
While the vile Ends they court from this Address
Gives them false Notions of true Happiness.
The empty Fame these Gallants have in view,
And with such hasty Violence pursue,
Alas! will wither e're the Glory's got,
Tho' destin'd theirs by Fortune's bounteous Lot;
And tho' no Laurel-Palms adorn their Brows,
Immortal Wreaths are giv'n by gentle Spouse
T'exalt their Honour, and adorn their House.
These are the Glories, this the hunted Prize,
The boasted Fame of Circle-Victories.

225

Blush, Britons, then, that here you tamely yield
The Trophies won in Cressy's dustier Field;
Where your brave Ancestors rejoic'd to see
Honour retriev'd by British Gallantry.
But see how soon the blooming Flower is gone,
With'ring beneath the Coldness of the Moon!
Heavy and dull, like that moist Planet, now
The sprightly Wits and active Heroes grow;
The wat'ry Phlegm lies floating in the Brain,
And makes them, like the Women, proud and vain,
A thousand diff'rent Whims possess the Mind,
To day they love, to morrow are inclin'd
Fantastically to vary like the Wind.
Flora her self, tho' much more nice and gay,
Changes her Liv'ry not so oft as they.
The fickle Fop, insatiate in his Lust,
Has not for ought but Equipage a Gust;
The tinsel Harness glitters in his Eyes,
And makes him fancy, as he's fine, he's wise:
While the bold Coursers, bound with full career,
Lash'd briskly by the brawny Charioteer;

226

The sated Epicure lolls at his Ease,
'Till Vanity becomes ev'n a Disease;
The Head turns giddy, as the Wheels run round,
And this wise Man at last a Fool is found;
A meer Mock-man, or if there's ought that's less,
A Blockhead made on purpose for a Dress.
But Heavens; is't possible for to believe
Mankind should study Mankind to deceive,
To see such glorious Shows of Outside shine,
And find no kind of Furniture within,
Ensigns of Grandeur painted at the Door,
But all within diminutively poor?
The gaudy Slaves may show their Master's vain,
And cheat th'Unwary with a num'rous Train;
But 'spight of all the tawdry Coat and Lace,
Th'unthinking Thing will peep thorow the Glass
And shew the Multitude his Monkey-Face.

Sometimes alone th'insipid Ideot rouls,
The Admiration of fond gazing Fools,
Whose slender Opticks can no farther go
Than to the Splendor of the gilded Show.

227

Sometimes, to prove his Conversation bright,
He brings with him a Gamester, Rake, or Wit;
Then decently derides the beauteous Ring,
And bawdy Jests around the Circle fling.
With bouncing Bell a lushious Chat he holds,
Squabbles with Moll, or Orange Betty scolds,
Then laughs immoderately, vain, and loud,
To raise the Wonder of th'attentive Crowd:
At last, to finish here the Puppy's Show,
The Bawd's dispatch'd to serve a Billet-deux.

Others come here to please their Appetites
In nicer Pleasures, and in soft Delights,
Sylvanus languishes the Night away,
And wishes that the Light would longer stay:
If he but sees the fair Aurelia's Shade,
The pliant Youth bows down his suppliant Head
Just like a Bulrush, or the slender Reed:
But if her Garment touch his am'rous Eye,
His Sighs encrease, as if the Swain would die:
No sooner does he view the charming Face,
But instantly he quits th'enchanted Place;

228

No longer able to sustain the Fire
That draws him thither with such warm Desire.
Pity Sylvanus, and his wretched Doom,
Who is in Love, but knows not well with whom.

Horatio round the splendid Circle flies,
And, like the Hawk, darts Terror from his Eyes.
The captive Fair, just like the Coward Game,
Trembles to look upon the blazing Flame:
The Tyrant-Lover triumphs o'er the Prize;
For what we gain with Ease we most despise.
Inhuman this, to use bright Lycia so,
Who gave him first the Essence of a Beau.

See how Salmonio's turn'd a Country Clown,
From being once the First-rate Fop in Town!
When spangl'd Coach and Six did so surprize,
And drew along with them the Ladies Eyes;
How then Salmonio revel'd in each Heart,
That scarce can claim in any now a part!

Here, in this View, a thousand diff'rent ways
There are to raise Mens Wonder, and to please:

229

Some satisfie with gaudy Cloaths their Pride,
And some in Stuffs too in a Coach will ride.
Six Days the Niggard shall his Carcase pine,
That on the seventh he may nobly dine.
Th'ambitious Fair aspiring to be great,
Shall, for these Ends, refuse to drink or eat;
So that on Sunday they be sure to bring
A handsom Equipage to make the Ring.

Others there are, rather than not appear,
Will hire a Chariot fifty times a Year;
Good-natur'd Madam strip her Petticoat
To make her Coachman fine in a Surtout;
Tho' in a Garret laid, and homely Bed,
The Coach and Horses hurry in her Head.
These quell the Vapours, and those stagnant Fumes
Which, as 'tis said, for want of Motion comes;
For Hippo will in some so strongly fix,
It can't be cur'd without a Coach and Six;
Whose swift Career whirls with such force about,
It drives gymnastickly the Vapours out;
Tho', as the Learn'd pretend to make it plain,
They catch hereby a more malignant Pain;

230

That which admits not of the wisest Rule,
But Ratcliff's here alike with Garth, a Fool.

Satyr, behold with more discerning Eyes,
Where Golden Dust does from the City rise,
That triumphs boldly in th'Olympick Prize.
Goverius shines with most exalted Pride,
Because he's honour'd with a noble Bride;
The Pageant-painting, like a Lord Mayor's Show,
Deck'd out with Maiden Queen and mimick Beau,
Lets the Spectator quickly understand
The Owner wants no Money, and no Land:
For, rais'd above the Crowd, with pompous Train,
He thinks his equal to a Monarch's Reign.
Th'indulgent Culls of late are grown so kind,
For Vanity they still Excuses find;
Seldom to Park th'good-natur'd Ninny drives,
But pleads, This we must do to please our Wives;
When th'Odds are very great, whether or no
You ever see the Dowdy with the Beau:
But if a Belle, the Ape is fond to play,
As Kittens do, by pawing all the Day;

231

Or else in publick with an awkward Grin,
He fleers at Madam to regale her Spleen.

Reverse to this Oneglia thinks her 'Spouse
The dullest, useless Thing about her House;
Perswades the Coxcomb, and he does believe
She is a Saint, tho' others think an Eve.
With him she scorns to visit Plays or Park,
But rather there, than meet him in the dark.
The Coquet does in ev'ry Thing prevail,
Tho' all Men know her Art and Beauty stale;
But in the Ring she always will be seen
In various Colours, yellow, red, and green;
Yet, like her Horses, skinny, old, and lean.
No gaudy Tulip in the Month of May
Smells half so rank, or dresses half so gay.

Manlius thro' all the City does proclaim
His Arms, his Equipage, and ancient Name;
For search the Court of Honour, and you'll see
Manlius's Name, but not his Pedigree.

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What then? this is the Practice of the Town,
For should no Man bear Arms but what's his own
Hundreds that make the Ring would carry none:
And that would spoil the Glory of the Place,
For 'Scutcheons shew Antiquity and Race;
Which ev'ry one have Right to, that come here,
As Soldiers have to Arms, that go to War.
This is th'Olympick Field, he wins the Prize
That dazzles most the fair Spectator's Eyes.

Here young Furnesio, like his Father, vain,
Without the Purchase would the Conquest gain;
With tawdry Dress, for great and noble pass,
As with the Lyon's Skin once did the Ass;
But, 'spite of all his Politicks, appears
Unluckily to his Disgrace, his Ears,
Just so the fancy'd Equipage will show
The Judgment, and the Choice from whence they flow.
Liv'ries sometimes afford a decent Grace
That are not trimm'd with Gold or Silver Lace:
But who in Bays and Worsted would appear
Ingeniously genteel, must copy here.

233

Gazius and Lycius long have been enroll'd
In the bright Circus, and their Stories told:
What Conquests they have made, what Triumphs won
How often round th'Olympick Circle run,
The Prizes they have gain'd, how many Nymphs undone.

Tell now, my Muse, what Wonders thou hast seen,
What heaps of Chariot-wheels thick crouding in,
To scour the dusty Plain, or beat the flowry Green.
Contend for Victory, which should exceed
The noblest Chariot, or the noblest Steed;
The Gilding, Carving, or the brightest Glass,
The fairest Wigg, or else the whitest Face;
The richest Cloathing, or the nicest Shape,
The best Retinue, or the greatest Ape.
Nor are the beauteous Sex excluded here,
As anciently in Greece and Rome they were,
But may contend to win the glorious Prize,
Gain'd by their Dress more often than their Eyes.
Here Heads 'gainst Heads are drawn up in array,
When careless Negligence shall win the Day;

234

Hoods against Hoods, and Ribbons singly prove
The Colour which conduces most to Love;
Ev'n Handkerchiefs are Ensigns now of War,
At once attract our Eyes and guard the Fair,
Thus glitt'ring Ornaments most deeply wound,
And dart us thro' as hurry'd swiftly round:
Just like the heated Wheels the Heart grows warm,
And struggling Nature sucks in ev'ry Charm:
Lab'ring for Breath, instead of cooling Air,
We draw in Poison scatter'd by the Fair.
Contagious this, Men frantick grow, and mad,
And here forget the Reason once they had.
Cymander thus, from a plain home-spun Clown,
Is now become the errant'st Beau in Town,
And dazzles with a splendid Show the Ring,
Tho' like the Batt at Twylight he comes in:
For 'tis enough Cymander has been there,
To boast of Favours, and to toast the Fair.
Well skill'd in Heraldry, he vaunts his Arms
Have more Admirers than Serinda's Charms;
Tho' in a Hack he loves a gen'rous She,
He hates the nauseous Airs of Quality.

235

Freedom and Liberty is what he seeks,
And downright Bawdy chiefly what he speaks.
In short, to make his Character compleat,
All Rakish Vices singly in him meet.

Volubius has a nice and courtly Mein,
That seldom is but with Decorum seen,
Hates gaudy Colours, but affects much green.
His House, his Coach, his Equipage, his Wife,
Must bear his Badge. To draw him to the Life,
How strangely we're in love with Colours grown!
For House-painting Marlb'rough is only known;
But for our Vices, we have really none.
This is a happy Age, when Vice may naked walk,
And Virtue only wants th'informing Cloak.

That Virgius gives, not out of modish Whim,
But for a Cure, that others follow him
In Russet-brown, and well-chose Orange-trim.
He that wou'd to the top Court-fashion go,
Must not in flaunting Lace assume the Beau,
But chuse grave Colours fac'd with red, or so.

236

These decently apply'd with Harness plain,
And six rare Steeds to stretch the silken Rein,
Will win the noblest Prize there set to view,
Before the Green, the Yellow, or the Blue.

Not but Severus has much Honour gain'd,
And long the Glory of the Field maintain'd,
Since Grandeur from Nobility will shine,
And make the Heirs confess their Noble Line,
When Upstart Heroes must the Prize decline.
Fortune don't always give the Palm away
To him that constantly is vain and gay;
But sometimes does indulgent Favours grant
To those that merit, and to those that want.
The gaudy Fop, with all his pompous State,
Envies this Greatness he can't imitate:
In vain he strives, by Air or Dress, to please,
While this Ambition breaks his fancy'd Ease:
In vain he labours by these Arts to rise;
He must be humble e're he can be wise;
That Rule well learnt, he boldly may essay
T'ascend the Scale of Honour, since he treads the Way.

237

Ambition eas'ly teaches us to fly
Like Icarus, boldly to attempt the Sky,
Where most, like him, meet with unsteady Fate,
And Thousands perish, for One fortunate.

Ormond indeed without these Wings has flown
Beyond Ambition's reach, without a Crown:
Immortal Fame has mounted him so high,
He has no Space to touch 'twixt Earth and Sky,
But is the Glory of our British Isle,
On whom the British Circus e'er shall smile,
And yield their Honour sacred to his Word,
Who has preserv'd it by his peaceful Sword.

239

St. James's Park: A SATYR.

Non mihi si Linguæ Centum sint, Oraq; Centum
Ferrea Vox, omnes Fatuorum evolvere Formas,
Omnia Stultitiæ percurrere Nomina possim.

In Days of old, when Virtue was admir'd,
And modest People lov'd to live retir'd,
Conduct was thought a necessary Ill,
And by the Prudent may be thought so still:
Tho' now with Scorn the World such ridicule,
And every Wise Man is declar'd a Fool,

240

Who misapplys his Passions, Love or Hate,
Or Whatsoe'er he does comes out of date,
For Pride as well as Folly rules his Fate.
His Nat'ral Vanity is always such,
He either does too little, or too much.

Nor walks one singly here, without his She,
That can as noisie and as empty be:
Ev'ry Coquet can now her Author quote,
And, like her Paraquet, talk off by rote.
Their Wit is like their Cloaths, gaudy and slight,
That pleases not the Ear, nor these the Sight.
Their soft'ning Airs unthinking Fops beguile,
But cannot make the Stoick deign to smile.
For who can laugh at such prepost'rous Vice,
To see meer Ideots gravely look precise,
Of Wits, and Beaux, and Belle's assume the Shape,
And censure those they want the Sense to Ape!

Thus M---g---ve like a moving May-pole stalks,
And M---g---ue with ev'ry Female talks;
Then loudly laughs at the insipid Jest,
As rustick Hob does at a Country Feast,

241

When eager Mastiff takes the Bull by th'Ear,
Or Roger's tumbled over by the Bear.
This clownish Mode they seem much to affect,
As careless, and an Air of their Neglect,
To shew the Prudes and Jilts, that they despise
The Character of being thought too wise:
While Lemon fancies to be very tart,
To shew the Ladies his profound Desert.

Nor must we here omit, among the rest,
G---r---d and L---t---n, to make up the Jest,
As two Eternal Fops about the Town,
The common Theme of ev'ry stale Lampoon:
These banter Phillis in a Hackney Way,
But to Myrtillo han't one Word to say;
No more than that insipid painted Sign
Of Wit and Gallantry F--- Col---ine;
Whose nauseous Phiz, at the first sight, foretell
The Qualities that in the Carcase dwell.
To ev'ry Woman he makes some Pretence,
That is, if she have Merit (I mean Pence)
Enough to countervail his Want of Sense,

242

Who boasts of Favours given to the Fair,
Tho' to a Soldier's Honour, such as never were.
Incorrigible!—to frequent that place
Where still the Object meets the guilty Face.

Hold, Satyr! why shouldst thou pursue his Name?
There 're twenty such as he, who're void of Shame,
Who strut the Mall, look big, and huff,
Like any Citizen attir'd in Buff:
But they've forgot Almanza's fatal Plain,
While here St. James's Park is the Campaign.
Inglorious Mortals! such as go about
To kill the Fair with Powder, without Shot.
For shame give o'er your murd'ring Trade of War,
At least forbear t'attempt again the Fair;
For they've discover'd now the Ambuscade
Of Lace, and Sash, and Feather for them laid:
These were the Stratagems, you knew full well,
That us'd in Spain and Flanders to prevail.
But now, alas! your Mines of Dress are sprung,
And you left naked to a fault'ring Tongue,
Unus'd to Eloquence, but rather made
To fright the tender Sex, than to perswade:

243

While thus one crys, Madam, you're very fair;
'Tis true, by G---d! G---d damn me, so you are!
Another more polite, in Bombast read,
Doubts not but, when once he comes to plead,
His Rhime or Rhetorick may succeed;
And thus accosts the Fair: The Moon shines bright
But nothing, Madam, to that Heav'nly Sight
Your Eyes, that would perswade me 'tis not Night.
But will you go? Cruel! to leave me here,
Dark without you, as Heav'n without a Star.
But what Concern is't, when from me you go,
Whether I break my Neck this Night, or no?

But while the whining Fop's bidding adieu,
Reels in, of noble Rank, a drunken Crew;
'Mong whom R---d ne'er fails, with Mo---n and Tun,
Who's always seconded by Brother Gun.
These are scarce ever sober in the Mall,
But they're supply'd by D---r, W---n, or Lapel;
And honest drunken Jo disdains to be
Behind the best of them for Ribaldry;
For, like the Jackall, he is sent before
To hunt out Game, and to secure a W---.

244

Tho' they pretend to all the Belles in Town,
And toast the reigning Beauties for their own,
Their Joys are only fix'd at the Queen's Arms,
Where 'tis the Wine, and not the Beauty warms:
But then their Souls in wanton Flames dissolve,
And with some common She they prostitute their Love.
This is the utmost Conquest that they gain,
And so they boast of Happiness in vain,
While virtuous Beauty does in Triumph reign.
Now, Satyr, leave them spewing in the Dark,
And let us view the Jest of all the Park:
At threescore Years, a young, an airy Spark,
Who, after honest Pimping all his Life,
At last procur'd himself a youthful Wife;
And now, without Remorse of Gout or Stone,
From Sixty odd, sets up for Twenty-one.
Like D---s impertinent, and yet precise,
Who, by much questioning, would be thought wise.
So C---t's affected Mein and awkard Gate
Shews much the Lord, but not the Man of State:

245

And little L---ml---y's warm Amours to all
Tells ev'ry Fair, that he's a Prodigal:
While, see one crowding in to make his Court,
Make room for a Brigade with D---port;
Who jostles up the Ladies on each side,
While they despise his ill-appointed Pride.

Satyr, take care, a Gen'ral comes this way,
And to the Ladies has a deal to say:
No, I'm mistaken, he stays only there
Whisp'ring the reigning Beauty in the Ear.
Oh! 'tis no Wonder she should raise his Fire,
Whom all Mankind so justly do admire:
But his conceited Speeches, I'm afraid,
Make small Impressions on the lovely Maid.
Hark, Satyr! hear soft Radnor's am'rous Moan,
Cooing like some sad Turtle left alone;
And of his Mate bereft, in Silence walks,
While ev'ry chirping She about him talks:
From him such fragrant Scents perfume the Air,
As with contagious Sweets infect the Fair.

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Mean time old Morton's peeping in their Faces,
As if the Ladies Eyes were Looking-glasses;
Tho' at the same time dreads that they should see
His Age's Wrinkles and Deformity.
Therefore, like Athens Guardian, he comes out
When Batts dare fly, and Owls dare stare about;
Then he with Leicester's Figure may compare,
And think himself as lovely, and as fair;
Which none come here that would not be, or are.

Now, Satyr, leave thy pois'nous Sting behind,
And shew how to the Good thou canst be kind;
How thou art pleas'd with Dorset's gentle Nature,
His Wit and Humour, and with ev'ry Feature;
Such as we see in Sidney's Image shine,
Like the Arcadian Shepherd, all divine.
So Bath, a hopeful beauteous Youth, appears
Blooming in Virtue, as he grows in Years:
And Hardwich's rich and sprightly Genius shows,
The gen'rous Blood that in the Cistern flows.
Hunter is brave, Read handsom, Kerr genteel,
And ev'ry honest Fellow loveth Will.

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So Hill's engaging Way, and Shorter's Voice,
Make them the Men, as well as Womens Choice.
And here, with these, at one Survey we see
Grafton's good Nature, Grav'nor's Gravity.
Windham, with an obliging gen'rous Air,
Good humour'd, and indulgent to the Fair:
While Britton's handsom yet enough to please,
Was not his ruling Wife such a Disease.
Coote is agreeable, Fitzpatrick good,
And rich in Virtue as he is in Blood.
Evans is taking yet as once he was,
But the fine Gentleman's drown'd i'th' Glass.
Now Bing survey, after his Toil and Care,
Amidst the Conversation of the Fair;
Pleas'd here with such a beauteous noble Show,
He bravely guarded from th'insulting Foe;
Proud only now he had so happy been,
Subjects so fair to save, to serve so good a Queen.

But let us view, 'mong these, the am'rous Spark
That ev'ry Night is martyr'd in the Park;

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Observe his Sighs, as if his Heart would break,
But yet he dare not, or he cannot speak;
Reasons too weighty to be understood,
But we'll suppose, at all times they are good,
Else Tunbridge would not bow so oft in vain,
To one the Town would publish his Disdain;
While She, unmindful of his Love or Hate,
With a regardless Smile commands his Fate.
The awkward Gallant, like a new-mark'd Deer,
Once meets the Fair, then quits the Field with Fear:
His hasty flight makes him confess his Love,
And tho' the Object does, the Dart he can't remove.
Being struck with awful Silence and Surprize,
Like Travellers, with Lightning from the Skies,
She blasts the Lover with her killing Eyes.

Now comes the Keeping Cully, from the Arms
Of wanton Cælia and her Syren Charms,
To watch the Motions of th'inconstant Fair,
Lest she should be too early for him here.
His jealous Eye makes ev'ry Couple She,
Pleasing herself with some more able He;
And while this Passion labours in his Soul,

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His Fancy roves, and frantick Eye-bells roul.
The next kind-looking Female he pursues,
Out of Revenge, ev'n to the nauseous Stews
Near Drury-lane, and round about the Mews:
Then to his Mistress Lodgings hastens home,
Laden with all the pois'nous Plagues of Rome,
Or those that from Leghorn and Venice come,
The Rheumatism, the Gout, the Pox, the Stone.
Thus the kind Keeper, to compleat the Cure
Of what he is not able to endure,
Makes her an equal Suff'rer with himself,
And satisfies the World that he's an Elf.

Another sort of Mortals here we find,
That neither are so cruel, or so kind,
But only traffick for a Night or Day,
And by the Hour, like Hackney-Coaches pay,
Tho' some there are that bilk and sneak away.
These are the busie Men that fill the Park,
And scowre the Mall as soon as e're 'tis dark;
With the same Insolence attack each Fair,
And look as if they'd ask 'em who they were:

250

'Gainst those that laugh at them for Fools they rail,
But ev'ry Drabble-tail they walk with is a Belle.
Good Heav'ns! to see such silly awkward Apes
Set up for Mode and Manners, Dress and Shapes,
'Twould give a Man of serious thought the Spleen,
But that there's such Variety again,
Ev'ry new Couple makes a diff'rent Scene.
Folly's so mix'd with Vanity and Pride,
'Tis hard to tell which is the strongest Side.
This in their Commendation may be said,
They imitate each other, Good or Bad;
But then, that there should be so many Fools,
Is such a Quære, 'twould perplex the Schools.

The Wonder lies, that th'keeping Tribe should be
The Club of Wit, the Men of Poetry.
But this makes out, that Wit, when brought to test,
Is nothing but a Flash, an empty Jest;
And those that to it make the most Pretence
Are always found to have the least of Sense.
This they are fond to let the People know,
That Notice may be ta'en of what they do.

251

Thus Manw'ring has the Vanity to boast
Of what he ought to be asham'd of most;
One that deserves no better Name than W---re.
Tho' many a P---r had had her here before;
Not but she has alike to all been chast,
And shewn her Constancy still to the last.
Ev'n M---n will blush to hear Ophelia nam'd,
But would be glad to have her surely d---d;
And E---g---be has by St---rs thus been fitted;
Ought not the little Man then to be pity'd?
While ev'ry Night the Park is made the Scene,
Where he's for acting the same Game again.
With Buda's 'Prentices he's proud to walk,
And laughs, profusely pleas'd with what they talk:
Which the severest Critick must think witty,
Because the Jades, tho' awkward things, are pretty.

Nor can the sober trading Cit forbear,
From coming to regale his Palate here
With the fresh Breezes of St. James's Air;
Which whets his Appetite to a degree
Of imitating the Top of Quality;

252

Which, like an Ape, he mimicks in his Dress,
But quite outdoes him in his keeping Miss,
Which he comes here to see in all her Airs,
As entertaining as the dancing Bears.
Another comes only with a design
Of taking Phillis to a Glass of Wine:
But first to shew his Breeding, is profuse,
In squandring all the Compliments in use;
To some Madona, pick'd out from the rest,
Who gives herself strange Airs, and so is drest,
'Twould make a Man ev'n puke to look upon her;
She's deck'd in Print, like any Maid of Honour.
But some there come from thence so wondrous rude
The Footmen of the Town an't half so lewd.
These play their Wit upon the Orange Wenches,
And pester the poor Masks upon the Benches;
'Till having rak'd about 'till it is dark,
They scowre away, and cry, G---d damn the Park:
Then to some Bawdy-house or Tavern go,
And sport off their loose Corns, 'till One or Two.

But what are these, to all the mimick Sport
Those make who in dumb Language court?

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Who bow their Heads in Terse, and cringe in Cart?
Who kiss their Hands, and clap 'em on their Heart?
Who coo like Turtles, grin like fawning Fools?
Purr like Boar-Cats, and look like blinded Owls?
Stare ev'ry female Creature in the Face,
Then bray upon 'em like some untaught Ass?
But what are these to such as whine and cant,
And purely to oblige the Ladies, paint?
Like Talbor at full Mall, ride in his Chair
When other Folks are walking for the Air?
Prepost'rous Ideots! how each strives to show
Which is the greatest Fop, not which the Beau!

Here let us cautiously the Belle's survey,
And take their Pictures as they pass this way;
View those that gladly would be fancied fair,
And let them in this Glass see what they are.
But, Satyr, if they dare not trust thy Skill,
Then let 'em die, while they behold their Rivals kill:
And see the Men imploy'd, searching the Air
To borrow Similies, to shew how fair

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Is Bedingfield, whose Charms do lie
Beyond the Flight of Wit or Poetry.
A pleasing Strife arises in her Face,
'Twixt White and Red, to give the greater Grace,
That Beauty may in all her Colours play,
Awful, to fright the Coward Hearts away.

This is the Glass wherein the Fair may see
Unstudied Art, native Simplicity;
Charms modest, and unborrow'd as the Dress,
Are things that in a Woman always please,
While Newton's Affectation's the Reverse.
Tho' Shape and Air and good Complexion join,
The Art of Pleasing is the main Design.
That makes fantastick Boyce so much abhorr'd,
While Osborn, Wortley, Windham are ador'd.
This makes the Th**lds, ugly as they are,
Mix ev'ry Night among the charming Fair;
And tho' their Age and Malice both prevail,
They would perswade themselves each is a Belle.
So from the City constantly they come
To mortifie themselves, and then go home:

255

While Hale and Lawrence are deserv'dly prais'd,
And all Mankind are with th'Encomiums pleas'd.
The S***by's dress'd with Fanatick Pride,
In gilded Coach each Day to Hide-Park ride;
Then to St. James's are more fond to go;
Alike the Mother, and the Daughters too;
But, to their Sorrow, they may plainly see
The Men despise such sordid Company.
While beauteous Seymour shews her graceful Face,
And Thoumont still adorns the happy Place.
Censorious Southwells envious are in vain,
And the scrub Crew from Westminster complain.
Mean time Monthermer does her Charms display,
And Dudley ev'ry Night is fresh and gay.
The Howards, with Pigs Eyes, affect to be
Genteel, and thought the best of Quality.
While Dunch, whose spreading Beauty is full blown,
With modest Blushes would her Charms disown.
But Winchcombe, fancying to be very gay,
With Jewels her Deformities display;
And at the same time wisely does suppose
The Pendants at her Ears will hide her Nose.

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But let us now facetious Sherrard see,
The Life and Soul of all good Company;
With Griffin's Air and Mein, join'd to a Voice,
Not our Aversion, Wharwood's Like, but Choice;
For tho' malicious Censure in them dwell,
Yet each of them would still be thought a Belle.
Clargys, or Chetwynd, both assert their Reign,
And shew their Pow'r to punish Hearts, or gain.
While L---r and G---d both affect to be
What they are really, Apes of Quality;
Fantastick both, as they are of one Mind,
So to each other said to be inclin'd:
Then 't's hard that they should not be Censure free,
And give some grains, as well as take, of Liberty.

But since so many do frequent this Place
For Conversation, not to shew a Face,
Dormer a bright Example may be made,
To virtuous Love and Marriage to perswade:
Since here he lets the World in publick see
How happy 'tis when Man and Wife agree.

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The chaste and prudent Wife, her Part to prove,
In Conduct makes Returns for virtuous Love;
Not like that Coquet H---m---d, in a Chair
With Curtains drawn, visit a Strumpet Player.
But for her Husband's sake, and her own Fame,
Preserve her Charms, her Honour, and her Name.

259

THE Singing-Birds Address TO THE EAGLE, For Relief against the Tyranny of the Birds of Prey:

A POEM.

------ Minora Canamus
Parva nec Invideas.

Somewhere about the Sun, as I have read,
There is a Government of Birds, 'tis said,
Where they, like us, are rul'd by Queens and Kings,
And God knows how many such fine things:

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That Liberty and Property's in vogue
As much among them as here Whore and Rogue;
And they have Laws, some good ones, tho' they're made,
As in most other Countries now, a Trade,
To punish those they meet with as severe
As Turkey Slaves, or we do Horses here.
Those who're in Office rais'd above the rest
Fancy each Bird they ride to be their Beast;
So whip and spur till they're flown to their Height,
Then down they fall at last with their own weight.

The Eagle there, is Sov'reign of the Place,
A Bird of Courage, and of wond'rous Grace
To all the merry chirping Feather'd kind,
Who Safety under her Protection find,
Which makes them in delightful Accents sing
Their Thanks each Morn with a God bless the Queen.
But what is strange to the domestick Fowls,
The Ministers of State are there the Owls;
Kites are the Magistrates that j---ge the Laws,
And Crows and Rooks must plead in ev'ry Cause,

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With Noise obstrep'rous to disturb the Court,
And make the suff'ring Singing-Birds their Sport;
While Cuckoes Jaylors, Tipstaffs, Bailiffs are,
That suck their Eggs, poor Birds, when they appear.

It happen'd out, hard Fate! upon a time,
A Nightingale was whistling merrily in Rhime,
And chanc'd to jumble, as it were, together
Some Birds, who prov'd to be of the same Feather;
Howe'er, she was extolling their fine Parts
Better than, as it's said, was their Deserts,
Then plac'd 'em all upon the Raven's Back,
Which wou'd not hit his Colour, being black.
The Raven there is great, has the first Place
In Rank, of all the Crows and Rookish Race,
And therefore took 't in dudgeon to be nam'd,
Or by the Nightingale's poor Song defam'd,
Tho' all the Birds for whom she'd strain'd her Throat
Were of the finest Feathers there, of Note.

The stam'ring Jay, she said, sung sweet and clear
As any Bird inhabiting the Air;

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His squalling Voice was Musick for a King,
Beside the Blue Distinction on his Wing.

The Nightingale did next extol the Dove
For Courage, which he shew'd in making Love:
Said, Wrens were Birds facetious, brisk, and gay,
While chirping Sparrows nothing had to say,
But mourn'd their solitary Hours away.
Then of the Peacock made the following Strain:
His Tail, tho' great, was but a modest Train,
For Juno's Bird had humbly laid aside
The thoughts of Grandeur, and the plague of Pride.
Much of the chattering Magpye too she sung,
For Readiness and Eloquence of Tongue,
For Stratagem and politick Design,
That he does often with the Jackdaw joyn,
A Bird that cunningly takes care to build
Where he may have the Church still for his Shield.

The Crane was next this warbling Songster's Praise,
Admir'd for Piety in those blest Days
When neither Flesh nor Fish were once forbid,
But what the Birds desir'd, ev'n that they did.

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The Hawk was then extoll'd, and call'd a Saint,
For he cou'd with the best among 'em cant,
And preach o'er any thing but good strong Liquor,
Which those rapacious Fowls drank down the quicker.

Again soft Philomel advanc'd her Voice,
And of her Song the Pheasant made the choice,
Prais'd him indeed where it was not his due,
But yet said nought but what shou'd have been true:
Then to the Hoby gave the Faulcon's Praise,
Which did a foolish Emulation raise,
And caus'd the Turky-cock to strut about,
Because poor Philomel had left him out
To introduce a Starling, who had flown
The nearest to the Royal Eagle's Throne:
Then prais'd the Cock, at least his double Comb,
That only crows on his own Dunghill, Home.
Nay, she commended in her Song Tom-Titt,
And innocently said he was a Wit;
And that poor Robin was no Bird of Prey,
But Batts made ev'ry Night a Holy-day.

264

In short, That Swallows sung melodious Strains,
And no Birds had, more than the Woodcock, Brains.

This was the Charge laid to the Nightingale
By Sir John Rook, Att---y Gen---l;
Who said, it was a Crime ev'n but to name
Those Birds, for they were Birds of Fame,
Many of whom the Eagle did imploy
To serve the State, tho' not the Birds destroy.
But as't befel the Singing Choir, hard Fate!
The peevish Owl ow'd all these Birds a Hate;
She first oblig'd the Thrush and Lark to Bail,
And hated mortally the Nightingale:
Nor spar'd he a choice Linnet once he kept,
That us'd to warble sweetly when he slept,
But punish'd her with more than usual Rage,
Because, poor Bird! she had defil'd his Cage:
Tho' this was natural to every Bird,
The purblind Owl snuff'd mainly at the T---d,
And so long turn'd the matter o'er and o'er,
The more he stirr'd in't, still it stunk the more.

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This caus'd much Mirth among the other Fowl,
Who laugh'd at this Resentment of the Owl,
Which so enrag'd his Honour, that he swore
The Singing-birds should pay the Piper's Score,
Tho' all the Cry lay at the Eagle's Door.
With that he sent the Cuckoe's round about
In search to find the little Songsters out,
Who in the dead of Night surpriz'd a Thrush
Sitting alone upon a Haw-thorn Bush;
And strait they hurried him before the Owl,
Who look'd with Indignation in his Soul:
You scoundrel Bird, said he, how dare you face
One you have wrong'd of my Majestick Race?
Know you who I am, that you thus boldly dare
Profane my Name? Use it not, ev'n in Pray'r;
For by Jove's Bird, whose Minister I am,
I'll make you paultry Songsters dread my Name:
You, that sing Ballads thus on ev'ry Bush,
And value not us State-Birds of a Rush,
Shall know we rule at will the Feather'd Laws,
And can command whene'er we please our Cause.

266

This struck on heap the trembling Whistler strait,
To hear pronounc'd such arbitrary Fate.
Right Honourable Owl, said he, you seem
By the great Post you bear, of some Esteem;
But for my part, excuse me, I don't know
I'm guilty of a Crime in what I do;
And therefore thank you for your kind Advice,
That I may home, and learn to be more wise.
“And is this all, said th'Owl, that you've to say?
“If so, Sir, I shall send you another way.
With that he call'd a Cuckoe waiting nigh,
And bid him mind the Traytor did not fly,
But pluck his Feathers first, or clip a Wing,
Then let him try how he could fly or sing.
The Thrush, confounded at this sudden Rage,
Durst not attempt his Anger to asswage,
But, with the Cuckoe, silently retir'd,
And at his Owlship's Passion much admir'd.

The next they apprehended was a Lark,
One that was always a High-flying Spark,

267

But that was guilty of no other Crime
Than singing in the Stile they call Sublime;
Yet notwithstanding this, vex'd to the Soul,
The croaking Raven, and the screeching Owl,
Who swore most bitterly that soaring Bird
Should be brought down, upon their Honour's word.
The Lark still cheerfully maintain'd his Note,
And seem'd not to regard their Threats one Groat.
Messieurs, said he, I am a merry Blade,
As you may see, and Singing is my Trade:
I mean no Hurt, without 'tis an Offence
By whistling of a Song to get me Pence,
And chaffer for't with my small stock of Sence.
I'd have you think I don't imploy my Head
To study Mischief, but to get my Bread:
My Father did, before that I was born,
Sing in the Fields all day for a poor Blade of Corn:
And you, who're rais'd above us, to be great
And govern wisely all the Feather'd State,
Shou'd now consider what we Songsters are,
Poor Birds, that shou'd be your great Wisdom's Care,
Not by your Pow'r drove to a mean Dispair.

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This sensible Discourse made 'em both look
Upon each other, as if Thunder-struck.
My Lord, said th'Owl, your Lordship knows
These Birds of late look big, set up for Beaux,
And strut about in their new Suits of Cloaths,
Meet us in ev'ry place where'er we go,
And scarcely will (as 'tis their Duty) bow.
For my part, I think they shou'd be all stript,
And when they are unplum'd, severely whipt:
This will correct their Self-conceit and Pride,
And humble their too stubborn Hearts beside.
This may be dangerous, the Raven made Reply,
Take heed of overmuch Severity;
For I remember once, how by surprize
Some Singing-birds pick'd out a Raven's Eyes:
Nay, who knows but the Eagle too may blame
The Owl one day, if he abuse her Name?
For these same injur'd Birds will go and sing
Their melancholy Dittys to the Queen:
Therefore commit them over to the Crows,
Then you are quit of them, under the Rose;
Those hungry Birds will soon strip off their Cloaths.

269

Accordingly the Owl took this Advice,
And 'mong the Crows dispatch'd him in a trice.
The Lark, who was a Bird of Wit, now saw
His Case much worse committed to the Law,
Where they wou'd not regard him of a Straw.
For Crows were Birds of a rapacious kind,
And valu'd not th'Acquirement of the Mind;
Nay, were averse almost to every thing
But what would Profit to their clutches bring:
So that the Lark had nothing left to hope
For now but Want, except it was a Rope.
The Cuckoe constantly, from his scabb'd Throat,
Was plaguing him with the same tiresome Note;
And endless Repetitions made them worse
Than all the Plagues of Egypt were, a Curse.

But let's return to the poor Nightingale,
On whom their Plagues showr'd down as thick as Hail.
The Owl, incens'd with all the Marks of Rage,
Confines her close in a strong Iron Cage,
Where Philomel attempted to complain
Of her hard Usage, but 'twas all in vain;

270

The Owl refus'd to hear her Nightly Song
And warbling Notes, whereby she sung her Wrong.
At last the Kites she su'd to for Redress,
Who were oblig'd to hear her sad Distress,
Tho' they as cruel were, and merciless;
Told her, she should have kept out of the Laws,
And not concern'd herself with Birds of Claws;
Who now assur'd her she should be their Prey,
And that was all the Kites had then to say.
This was poor Comfort for a Bird like her,
Who was not arm'd with Talons for a War;
Yet she was brisk, and chirping merry still,
And was resolv'd once more to try her Skill,
Being unsatisfied that by her Song
Those Noble Birds had suffer'd any Wrong,
But that the hasty Owl had been to blame
In putting Philomel to so much Shame.

Early next Morning, e're 'twas Day, she 'rose,
And to the Owl a Ballad did compose:
She strain'd her Voice, and louder much did roar
Than she was wont; before his Honour's Door

271

Whistled in Notes that were well understood
By all the feather'd Dwellers in the Wood:
Nay, was not pleas'd with what she here could do,
But went and sung 't before the Raven too.
Soft were her Notes, tho' she had rais'd her Voice,
As made by hard Necessity her Choice,
Knowing her Thoughts were free from Evil still,
And so had been the Products of her Quill:
Assur'd of this, bold she was to a fault,
That made her singing Race not worth a Groat.
Here she repeated her first Song again,
So fond she seem'd of ev'ry moving Strain,
That she did all the secret Notes explain,
And prais'd those Birds to such a high degree,
The Kites and Crows constru'd it Blasphemy,
Tho' they, and all the feather'd Choir beside,
Were from their Hearts entirely satisfy'd
'Twas not the Talent of the Nightingale
Against those kind of colour'd Birds to rail:
Her Malice had been spent against the Crows,
Who always she profess'd her open Foes:

272

But for the Dove, the Pheasant, and the Wren,
They'd ever been the Subject of her Pen;
Their Fame, she said, was mounted on her Wing,
And she must daily their just Praises sing.
As for the Raven, she had often shown
A Veneration 'above the rest of's Gown,
Because he did appear to have a Soul
Greater than any of the Carniv'rous Fowl,
For he dislik'd the Malice of the Owl,
Who mean time Mischief pensively revolv'd,
And Vengeance 'gainst the Nightingale resolv'd;
So sent the Cuckoes ev'ry where in search,
Who found her out at last upon her Perch,
From whence they pluck'd her with unusual spight,
And carried her before the Owl that Night;
Where he no sooner saw the Nightingale,
But his fierce angry Visage turn'd quite pale;
Malice and Rage did o'er his Face so spread,
Enough to've struck the little Songster dead,
But that her Resolution had o'ercome
The utmost Rigour of her threatned Doom.

273

At last the Owl thus from his Passion broke,
To vent his Spleen, these furious Words he spoke:
Audacious Bird! how durst thou thus appear
'Fore me, or sing again in open Air?
After I had forbid thee by my Pow'r,
Thou insolently sung before my Door:
Nay, thou upbraidst me with what I'ad done,
And said I durst not, since that, face the Sun.
Thou little Hedge-bird, of obscurer Note,
I'll lose my Feathers but I'll stop thy Throat,
Whistling eternally some odious Praise
Of chattering Magpies, and of sensless Jays,
But I've discover'd thy Hypocrisie,
Thou Trifler, insignificant to me.
How dost thou know but that the Owl can sing
As well as any Bird of that short Wing?
But thou, because a Songster, make'st pretence
To understand both Politicks and Sense,
When 'tis not in thy Sphere, poor Fool, to know
What Owls that are great S---y's do.

274

But Philomel reply'd with equal Scorn,
That Nightingales, as well as Owls, were born:
Tho' he the Post of Honour first obtain'd,
He cou'd not say 'twas by his Merit gain'd.
For Nightingales had merited much more
Than Owls like him cou'd claim on any score;
Therefore she humbly hop'd it no Disgrace
To tell his Honour so, tho' to his Face;
For Singing-birds had always had a Name,
Long before Owls great Ministers became,
Much more e're they pretended to such Fame.

The Owl, amaz'd at such a bold Reply,
Call'd to a servile Cuckoe waiting nigh:
Here, take your Pris'ner, said he, let her feel
The worst Resentments of your crooked Will;
Then to the Crows deliver her a Prey,
Let's see if she' as more Impudence than they.
I wish with these damn'd Singing-birds I'd done,
Who boast themselves Descendents of the Sun;
For I've a Thought strangely awakes my Fears,
That sometime this may reach the Eagle's Ears:

275

I'll satiate my Revenge for once howe'er,
And for the future let the Birds take care:
This Nightingale shall their Example be;
For Fear they shall, tho' they don't value me.
If Jove will suffer what I have design'd,
And aid the Projects of my lab'ring Mind,
These Singing-birds shall be the Mark of Fate,
And perish by my Pow'r, or by my Hate.

Then strait away they carried Philomel,
To tell in vain her melancholy Tale,
Which with the Crows they knew would not prevail:
So they brought her before the Kites again,
To undergo fresh Misery and Pain.
And now the Rook's repeated to the Court
Her former Song, made for Disgrace and Sport,
Said, 'twas a Crime against the Eagle's Rights,
And which requir'd the Judgment of the Kites,
Who to the Birds of old had Justice shown,
But in these Cases had regarded none;

276

For th'Rooks no sooner had declar'd their Plea
But they ne'er minded what she had to say:
For urging, that she was a Bird born free,
And boldly challeng'd Native Liberty;
That Singing was a Gift the Gods bestow'd,
And therefore ought by them to be allow'd,
A furious Kite did sternly thus reply,
That he would that free Gift himself deny;
That if she did continue on to bawl,
Henceforth no Nightingale should sing at all.
This was a Sentence struck the Songster mute,
To hear a Bird cou'd e'er be such a Brute;
Till by another she was satisfied
The Kites, with Rooks and Crows, were all ally'd;
That she must now contentedly submit
To such a Punishment as Kites thought fit.
Accordingly they judg'd her by the Throat,
To hang one Day, till she shou'd change her Note.
But Philomel continued still the same,
Knowing her Innocence was not to blame,
She sung her Song again in the old Strain.

277

The Singing-birds perceiving now their Doom
Must be the same to which the Nightingale had come,
Resolv'd with one Consent that a Complaint
Should to the Eagle instantly be sent;
Therefore that 't might be done with all the speed
Requir'd, they to the following Form agreed.

Most Excellent and Gracious Eagle hear
From all your feather'd Choir this humble Pray'r:
Hear our Complaint, as Birds that are distrest,
By Owls and Kites and Rooks and Crows opprest.
Regard, dread Sov'reign, once a moving Tale,
Let it be said we Songsters did prevail,
The Lark, the Linnet, and the Nightingale.
Such Scenes of Woes distract our waking Hours,
Owls haunt our Roosts, and Cuckoes watch our Doors:
Tim'rous we fly, as runs the hunted Hare,
That ev'ry one's for driving to Despair,

278

That we had better dream our Lives away
Than live thus miserably, brisk and gay,
To curse each Night, and ev'ry coming Day.
With Rage implacable the Owl's our Foe,
And hunts us out where'er we fly or go:
Such is his Malice to our Free-born Trade,
He will not let us earn our Daily Bread.
Tho' we were wont on ev'ry Bush to sing,
And boast the ancient Freedom of our Wing,
We must not now declare we have a Soul,
For fear of being brought before the Owl.

Nor are the Kites less tyrannous than he,
Tho' they shou'd mild, and just, and gen'rous be;
Plac'd by the royal Eagle's special Care
To hear the injur'd Birds complaining Pray'r.

And now, dread Sov'reign, such is our hard Fate
That Kites and Crows pursue us with like Hate;

279

Tell us, we are unruly noisie Birds,
Frighting our feeble Race with threatning Words,
Enough to strike us little Songsters dead,
Who to such Language ne'er were born or bred.
We want Compassion, and not Punishment,
That we may barely live, and be content.

281

LIBERTY AND PROPERTY.

A Satyr.

My Muse attempts no vain Heroick Skill,
Or soars the top of Pindar's lofty Hill;
But begs Assistance from the force of Rhime,
The craggy Rock of Satyr's Mount to climb:
Sharp Scourge of Villany! reforming Gin,
That stings and lashes ev'ry darling Sin!
Bane to the Great 'midst their voluptuous Joys,
Which all their Golden Dreams of Vice destroys.

282

'Rise thou Disturber of the Libertine,
Thou that invades his Free-born Right to Sin;
'Rise now, and shame him from his boasted Crime,
That he would plead Prescription for, in time,
And tell Posterity Cain did proceed
A Wretch nefarious, from the Serpent's Seed;
But losing Paradise, gain'd Liberty,
Like Lucifer, a larger World to rule,
Where all he saw he call'd his Property.
And this is Native Freedom, which we now
With the feign'd Name of Liberty pursue.

This is the State of Libertines True-born,
Who wou'd their Land with Servitude adorn,
A Servitude which they themselves term Free,
Tho' 'tis but counterfeited Liberty;
When just Respect to Laws does others bless,
It curses them with their own Happiness.

Mankind will still think that Condition best
In which they are with their own Freedom blest.

283

So Adam judg'd, nor did he go astray,
Till Heaven's Command prescrib'd him to obey.
He try'd, and found his Vicious Will was free,
And then resolv'd on fatal Liberty.
What 'twas he gain'd, his Race knows now too well,
Freedom on Earth, to damn himself in Hell.
Of Lust this was th'unerring Consequence,
That he might reign 'midst the Delights of Sense,
And know no Ruler o'er him but Desire,
Which kindled in his Breast a raging Fire,
And makes Man thirst still after that in vain
Which gives him Pleasure, not which gives him Pain.

Oh cursed Liberty! thou didst prepare
The murd'ring Engines of Flagitious War.
From thee Famine may date its Train of Ills;
For had it not been for our Vicious Wills
To raise Rebellion, we had never known
Mischiefs our Appetites procure alone.
Desire, the Spring of our insatiate Lust,
Still rages in us with a pleasing gust,
And makes us run more than the Brute astray,
The happy Brute that Nature does obey,

284

And is more free than Man with all his Vanity
Of Reason, and of boasted Liberty.

What strange bewitching Word is that which draws
So many Fools to Bondage without Laws,
And gilds o'er Slavery with so fine a Gloss,
It tempts th'Unwary to embrace the Cross?
That such a Train of splendid Good can show,
And ostentatious Pomp, that with it go,
To flatter Multitudes, and to delight
Those who are pleas'd with such a dazling Sight?

Alas! such see not thro' the painted Screen,
Behind which is disclos'd a rueful Scene,
A Chasm horrid, like the gaping Pit,
Where sudden Ruin in Rebellion's writ,
And where the Fates for Man's Destruction sit.

Unhappy Freedom! how thou'rt understood
The Author of those Ills that we call Good;
Because thy specious Name's ne'er us'd in vain,
In what designing Men attempt to gain!

285

Thou foremost stands in every Change of State,
And art enroll'd in the Black List of Fate.
By thee alone Knaves act their Villany,
And ev'ry Triumph's grac'd with Liberty.

The Godlike Brutus first did honour thee
With Spoils of Noble Immortality;
Of Tarquin's bloody Cruelties asham'd,
His gen'rous Breast with Freedom was inflam'd,
But curst the Cause from whence it first was nam'd.
For Liberty, that once was counted brave,
Is now proclaim'd by ev'ry servile Slave.
Ass-like, it bears the Burthens we would flee,
Bends low beneath the weight of Tyranny,
And is the Pack-horse of rebellious Liberty.
A Clock to every State-Design that's base,
And masks the Villain with a beauteous Face.

Victorious Rome oft felt its fatal Pow'r,
And did at last yield to this Conqueror,
Till chang'd so often with the specious Name,
It lost the Blessing when it gain'd the Fame.

286

Around the wondring World this Deity
With frantick Madness flew; and Victory
Pursu'd where'er her Banners were display'd,
In vain was Force imploy'd against her Aid.
The Eastern Monarchies, that spread so wide,
Were made as sportive Victims to her Pride.
Greece was with all its ancient Glory lost,
And Rome of Liberty that boasted most,
For the rough Gauls their Expectations cross'd.

At last the Goths rush'd in like a vast Sea,
And curs'd all Europe with new Liberty.
So do impetuous Torrents down the Volga pour,
And in the calm pacifick Ocean roar.
This broke the Neck of the Imperial Sway,
And brought Confusion into Italy.
Nor did our Island miss this storming Tide
Of fatal Pow'r, enrag'd with Free-born Pride:
The sad Effects remain among us yet,
We love the Poison, and we reap the Fruit;

287

Fond of the Charm, still propagate the Seed,
And cultivate with care the baneful Weed,
From which of Faction we've a plenteous Breed.

Good Heavens! Is this our Native Property,
For which we so much Time and Blood imploy?
No sure, 'tis something more and greater still,
We fancy't Freedom to do what we will.
Alas! is this the Liberty we boast,
For which just Heav'n our great Forefather curst?
Then he that is most Happy, and most Free,
Is he that knows least of such Liberty.
Who can just Laws without Reserve obey,
Laws made secure from Arbitrary Sway,
Where Pow'r is limited, Justice confin'd,
To Rules of Reason, not a lawless Mind,
For that is Tyranny in any kind?

We hunt for Freedom with a studied Care,
Till we our selves are fetter'd with the Snare:
At last we find 'tis harder to avoid
The Net, than gain the thing we thought deny'd.

288

How vain we talk of Briton's living Free,
And Rights, which we enjoy as happily,
While Liberty with Liberty is cross'd,
Tho' that is ev'ry Zealous Patriot's Boast,
While he is seeking t'enslave his Country most.
So did the vile Usurper Cromwel cry,
Amidst the Crowd, for Free-born Liberty;
For this it was he pray'd, for this he fought,
But Empire 'twas his false Ambition sought:
And Liberty he call'd the pleasing Cheat
That made the People Slaves, the Tyrant great.
His Golden Promises they ne'er enjoy'd,
But soon perceiv'd their Liberties destroy'd.

What Force on Fancy wou'd we then impose
For real Good, which e're we gain we lose?
How we deceive our selves with Liberty in vain,
And call that Pleasure which still gives us Pain!
Tyrants in Pow'r we Noble Patriots call,
Not such as built, but wou'd blow up Whitehall;
Such as wou'd sell Old English Liberty,
And New entail on their Posterity.

289

These are the Men that now-a-days profess
Religion for no more than outward Dress;
A thing at liberty to leave or chuse,
Which few or none but for a Fashion use:
Those who pretend to most, are found to be
At last the most engag'd in Villany.

The Hypocrite will always be in vogue,
For none deceives us like an holy Rogue:
No State can exercise such Tyranny,
But, for his Ends, he'll call it Liberty.
Nor can Religion be profess'd amiss,
For ev'ry True or False Religion's his.
He that professes none 'gainst Law offends,
For want of that, will ruin all its Ends.
Ev'n the Pretence excuses many Crimes,
'Cause most are but Pretenders in these Times.

Tho' of our fancy'd Freedom we may boast,
All our old English Property is lost:
Yet we are blest; for, under bounteous Heav'n,
We had a great deal well preserv'd by Seven,

290

Who were the Guardian Angels of the State,
When Plots in Scotland were so rife of late:
And their Endeavours now wou'd set us free
From all the Fears of Hell and Popery:
For Property it shou'd in common be,
No Lawyer nor Physician take a Fee;
The Priest shou'd preach without Tithe-Goose or Pig,
And ev'ry Man be free that was a W---g.

Thus Liberty you see's a Heav'nly Thing,
That some wou'd not exchange to be a King;
While Bribes can make a Senate chosen Free,
And Gallick Wine buy English Liberty:
While good and honest Men these things abhor,
Strong Beer and Brandy makes a Senator.
But 'tis our English Birthright to be Free,
Elections are a kind of Jubilee,
By Custom privileg'd for Villany.
The Mob are then our Sov'reign Lords, that rule,
And who they chuse must be their Idol Fool.
A Man who must not make the least Pretence
To judge by Reason, or be rul'd by Sence,

291

But must, for what they chuse him, still maintain
Their Liberty and Property to reign.
The People then are mad with Liberty,
Tho' that's the meanest Blessing they enjoy.
Mistaken in their Aim, they miss the End,
That Happiness for which they so contend.
The Use of Liberty is known to few
Who steer aright, and can their Course pursue.
Man's Will's so various, Wise Men only know
What 'tis they wou'd, or what they wou'd not do.

Th'Extent of Liberty is sordid Lust,
That makes Men Villains, Barb'rous, and Unjust.
Not such a Freedom as was once possess'd
By Britons under Glorious Monarchs bless'd,
Who taught Rebellious Subjects to obey,
And yet impos'd no Yoke of Slavery.
Monarchs that kept wild Libertines in awe,
Yet gave the People ev'ry wholsom Law.
No Base Republican durst then aspire
To set the Land with Liberty on fire;

292

But honest Laws then made the People free,
And Law was understood just Liberty:
But now 'tis chang'd, and hard to understand
What is the Law or Freedom of the Land.
Judges themselves in dubious Judgment sit,
Nor dare pronounce that Law which was so writ;
And Legislators wo'n't those Records know,
Those ancient Scrolls of Power that make 'em so.

Yet this is Liberty, with which we're blest,
Or with which we are dev'lishly possest;
For none but Englishmen wou'd love that Pow'r
Again, which did their Country once devour:
That fatal Power, which makes the Bloodhounds cry
So fiercely, and so loud, for Liberty.
For what else can b' imagin'd their Pretence
'Gainst Law, 'gainst Reason, against common Sense,
But Popular Applause, that may support
Their Pride and Vanity to grace the Court?
These are the Wooden Gods which we adore,
And which are made so by the Peoples Pow'r;

293

But they are hollow Vessels, we destroy
The pleasant Fruits of Peace we shou'd enjoy.

Nor is Religion, us'd among us, free
From this usurping Pow'r of Liberty;
For any now may safely approach the Throne
That has a Name whereby it may be known.
B---sh---ps themselves such strange Opinions hold,
We cannot tell the New Church from the Old,
And Pastors do such small Distinction keep,
We know not well the Shepherds from the Sheep.

So M---re, tho' Apostle-like he makes not Tents,
Yet buys and sells old Books t'encrease his Rents;
Nor is contented with such crafty Gains,
But quacks in Physick with industrious Pains,
Not for the Church, but for the Pence, imploys his Brains:
You may him daily to a Patient trace,
Dispensing Physick, not dispensing Grace,
Which wou'd become one better in his Place.

294

But P---ts in Bills like Mountebanks appear,
We meet 'em now in publick ev'ry where:
V---k---rs and A---, and a Thousand more,
Pretend this Liberty to help the Poor,
But all Men know 'tis on another score.
Priest and Physician never was allow'd,
For both in one's a Villain understood:
Who by Profession recommends Deceit,
For Priestcraft will make Physick more a Cheat.

Then he who ventures that dear Blessing Health,
'Mong Priests, Old Women, Quacks, to save his Wealth,
Ought never to be pitied, more than he
Who sells his Life to purchase Liberty.
Or spends his Substance to support a Pow'r
That governs o'er him like a Conqueror
With one continu'd Arbitrary Sway,
That makes ev'n Majesty itself obey.
No Tyrant reigns so absolute as she,
For the more Lawless, the more Liberty.

How idly then we struggle to be Free,
And lose our Primitive Simplicity!

295

How fondly catch at fancied Happiness,
And lose the Blessing that we wou'd possess;
Start from the Laws that Nature does ordain,
And follow Politicks, abstruse and vain;
Pursue the Slights of subtle Machiavel,
The Road that leads at Liberty to Hell,
And leave th'unerring Way right Reason shows,
Reason, that ev'ry thing we need to know bestows!

This is the Case of all that wou'd be free,
And follow the wild Laws of Liberty:
Men who're debauch'd in Principles from Good,
And have Rebellion running in their Blood,
Wou'd have it only Freedom understood.
But 'tis the Lust of Rule such Men desire,
A Lust their vicious Appetites require;
For Reason governs with a milder sway,
Learns us to be Content, and to Obey.

297

THE SPLITTER OF FREE-HOLDS.

Long has the City been the Scene of Vice,
Whence every Seed of Mischief takes its Rise;
But in the Country better prospers now,
Under th'industrious Tillage of the Plow.

Strange Pow'r of Ignorance and Rustick Pride,
That does triumphant o'er Mens Reasons ride,
And leaves the Hind free from the least Pretence
Of Manners, Honesty, or Conscience!
He with Religious Frenzy fills his Brain,
Then cancels all the Reason of the Man;
Lead by the Nose, under Pretence of Zeal
For Moderation and the Common-weal,

298

Resigns his Conscience to his Teacher's Care,
And sleeps supinely without Wit or Fear.

This is the Man that calls himself Born Free,
And votes so zealously for Liberty;
Yet cannot tell what by the Thing he means
That Liberty and Property maintains.
It is in vain for to instruct his Mind,
He is to every thing, but Passion, blind.
If his Spleen-Preacher be discontent
Against the Queen, or else the Government,
This busie Fool engages in the Cause,
And breaks the Peace to regulate the Laws:
Or like Old Noll, who with Geneva Tye
Cou'd better swallow down State-Perjury:
Else what makes now-a-days each Country Clown
Swallow their Voting Oaths so glibly down?
Turn o'er their Free-holds to their Neighbour strait,
And for Religion carry on the Cheat.
So round whole Counties let the Frolick run,
Faces mean while of Sanctity put on;

299

Fail not uncharitably to suggest
The Church has got upon't the Mark at least
Of Persecution, if not of the Beast.

This Antichristian Censure each bestows,
Which from their want of True Religion flows,
That and Ill-nature hand in hand still goes.
These are the Men that Moderation chuse,
Not to hide Faults, but Villany to use.
Vice may be good, if circumscrib'd by Grace;
'Tis as apply'd, in a right Time and Case.
For Christ's sake still the Godly plead for Sin,
Hypocrisie is reckon'd then Divine;
A Saint without ne'er wants a Knave within.

But it is time such Rogu'ry to display,
And shew the Men, tho' we can't shew their Way;
Let Satyr pour her utmost Vengeance down,
And load them home with Crimes that are their own,
With Crimes to ev'ry Age before unknown;
Such as the Heathen World would ne'er believe,
That Men themselves so grosly cou'd deceive,

300

To perpetrate such Crimes as want a Name,
And cannot be reveal'd without their Shame,
Who have involv'd a Nation in a Vice,
Wherein the deepest Gulph of Misery lies,
If publick Actions favour Perjury,
They're Fools that Laws and Government obey,
If that's their Aim, Satyr, be it thy End,
Thy Country from their Poison to defend;
Which is malignant, and will spread o'er all,
If once permitted to be National.

Rip up their Breasts who are infected deep,
And wou'd with Pleasure lull the rest to sleep;
Curse with Satyrick Rage the monstrous Man,
That Splitting English Free-holds first began.
If it from B---ks do claim its Hellish Rise,
We may conclude it a Fanatick Vice,
Sprung from the Patron of that perjur'd Race,
Which has the Mark of Whig writ in his Face;
And was he not a Shame to ev'ry Peer,
I'd write his Name as well as Character:

301

But then, good Heav'ns! what a spacious Field
The very Letters of his Name wou'd yield!
Whoe'er durst read 'em wou'd turn pale with fear,
How innocent before soe'er they were:
A huge long Scroll of Vice lies at his Door,
Rebellion first, and in the Rear a Wh---re;
Tyburn's left out, for that's a sacred Tree,
On which hangs Truth sometimes, as well as Villany;
No Place therefore for such rank W---gs as he.

Shou'd all th'Enthusiasts in thy Train appear,
Hell, what a num'rous Croud wilt thou have there!
When howling Quakers shall 'gainst thee complain,
For now, instead of One, thou hast damn'd Ten,
Who, when in Chains, will curse their Fate and thee,
Who taught 'em first the Cheat of being Free,
To damn themselves in endless Misery.
Oh! let the Poet's Curse prevent thy Fate,
Rob not the Church with care to serve the State,
For Politicks shou'd on Religion wait.

302

Nor by fat Bribes the Peoples Rights to save,
Both them and their Religion to enslave:
For Perjury, when encourag'd by a State,
Will make it little soon, its Misery great.
When Legislators dare not once oppose
That Vice which has them to their Office chose,
Then Laws must sink, and with Religion lie,
The Jest of ev'ry State Incendiary.

This is the Case, and thus we're bought and sold
By ev'ry Knave, a Splitter of Free-hold,
Who barters English Liberty for Gold;
Talks much of God, and of Religious Zeal,
With Peace and Union in the Common-weal,
Which in his Country he promotes so much,
You cannot tell a Conventicle from a Church;
The Difference only by the Test is known,
One's for dividing what is not his own,
And casting Lots with High-Church for their own.
The other hating Splitters, can't agree
To such a kind of Christian Unity.

303

Both may pretend to palliate as they please,
But Moderation is the State Disease.

Whoe'er dare venture on the Cure, at first
Must launch th'Imposthume e'er the Poison burst,
Then to the bottom rankle in the Wound,
Till he has cleans'd each Part, and made it sound.
But e'er the Cure is done, he must prepare
All the Reproaches of the Sick to bear.

Then, Satyr, arm thy self with pointed Steel,
Make Free-hold Splitters all thy Venom feel;
Tell how for D---r S--- Interest made,
How many Traps for Villany were laid,
How many Free-holders were there betray'd:
Tell more, and add thy Curses to 'em all,
That such rank Villains may yet deeper fall:
What Vengeance great enough can on them lie
Who sell their Souls, yet cry up Liberty?
Peace, Peace, abroad in ev'ry Town proclaim,
Yet to destroy that Peace themselves they damn;
Against their Int'rest for their Int'rest vote,
And on the Men who ruin them, most doat.

304

For Slavish Ends no doubt such Men were born,
Who hate Instruction, and their Teachers scorn:
Teachers appointed to inform their Minds,
T'observe whose Doctrine too their Duty binds.
Not Teachers who've usurp'd upon the Laws,
And preach up Splitting to support their Cause:
But how that Doctrine can be made t'agree
With Peace and Moderation-Sanctity,
They who divide, Satyr, can better tell than thee.
Their Principles thou by Dissention knows,
For still their Practice with their Preaching goes;
Both bent to finish what they have begun,
And Split the Church as Free-holds they have done.

Witness their mighty Industry and Pains
Bestow'd in E---x, where their R---ry reigns,
And will remain a Monument of Shame
To M---m's Credit, and to W---n's Fame:
While publick Funds pay off their Alehouse Scores,
And Aulick Pensions purchase Senators.

But, Satyr, hence fresh Springs of Mischief flow,
Mischiefs thou canst not trace, or truly know;

305

While Herds of K---s in Consultation sit,
And Act what most their black Designs may fit;
Stop at no V---y to gain their Ends,
By Bribing Foes, or Perjuring of Friends;
While one poor Freehold's made the Grand Deceit,
To carry on the new-invented Cheat,
Fools to delude, and to oblige the Great.
Hundreds of Wretches under the Pretence
Of Interest, Liberty, or Conscience,
Are drawn into the Snare, the spreading Vice
Of falsest Oaths, and wilful Forgeries:
When Forty Freeholds in one Hour are made
By the same Lands, and the same written Deed,
In Course to one another still convey'd.

Satyr proceed, this is but one of those
Grand Cheats by which these Men their M---rs chose;
The Splitting-way draws more weak Brethren in,
Has more Pretence, and a more damning Sin;
One of the blackest Dye, that ruins more
Than ever will be sav'd by H--- or Sh---re,

306

The first Arch-rebel ne'er had such a Thought,
Else he'd more Angels to his Party got:
Some Cunning Devil has hit on this of late,
To ruin those he ne'er cou'd injure yet.
A Rebel must the first Inventer be,
A Sneaking Devil, that hates the Hierarchy,
For Splitting's opposite to Monarchy.

This is the Basis on which now we stand,
The Prop of Peace that's to support the Land;
That is, to Calm the Dang'rous Tide of Strife,
That ebbs and flows as this receives new Life.

Come hither, Satyr, and help me to Curse
The Man who once was loaded with a Purse,
Who R---g---t by his Minion T---s---n bought,
And there the Freehold Splitting Myst'ry taught;
Load him with the worst Plagues of Humane Life,
Old P---y Ulcers, and the S---ns Wife;
Let him be never from her J---ue free,
But D---n th'Entail on his Posterity.

307

How can a Nation think e'er to be blest,
When all their Riches are by W--- possest,
Who wou'd perswade the People to content,
By making them believe that they are sent,
As the Poor Hermite said, for Peaceful Ends?
A hopeful Project! likely to succeed
As the Cat's preaching in Monastick Weed.

Good Brother Mouse, come forth, and let us chat,
I'm now a Priest you see, I am no Cat;
When Cats say Mass, Mice pray against their Will;
Puss may look smug, her Heart is wicked still.

The Moral needs small Application
To those who live by Moderation,
Divide the People to Unite the Nation.

But these are Edomites, who wou'd Prophane
All we possess as sacred, for their Gain;
And sell our Birthrights for a Mess of Broth
Well spic'd and season'd with a pious Oath;

308

Their Throats are wide enough to swallow down
A Pope, was he but larded with a Crown;
But yet 'tis strange, their Consciences are strait,
And fit to choak 'em, fed with plain Church Meat.

They're much offended at St. Andrew's Steeple,
And say it is an Eye-sore to the People;
While others think it looks like Babylon,
And can't be call'd a Christian Corner-stone;
For, if you wou'd believe them on their Word,
They wou'd destroy't with Moderation-Fire and Sword;
The Keenest Sword's the Weapon of the Spirit,
And that they do religiously inherit.

Witness the Pious M---x Election,
That shows it self without so much Inspection;
It needs no Catalogue, a Thing in Fashion,
For that wont shew their Bonds of Resignation;
How many Purchases were lately made,
And whether now they are not reconvey'd;

309

How many Freeholders of Millers, Bakers,
Some Coachmen, Footmen, but many Quakers,
Who ne'er yet saw their Houses, nor their Acres.
There's scarce a Swords-man for 'em did appear,
And not one Gentleman of Note was there.

These are the Men into the Snare are drawn,
To Vote up Scotchcloath, and to cry down Lawn;
But were this all the Matter 'twou'd be well,
Their Deeds are Blacker yet, Blacker than Hell;
Let H---n Witness, Votes were Bought and Sold,
Ten Shillings Free, and Thirty Copy-hold.
He that of little Parcels cou'd make more,
Shou'd have paid down a Hundred for the Score,
Barns and Thatch'd Houses that on Freehold stood,
Tho' let at Twenty, were swore Forty good.
England may boast her num'rous Freeholds more,
Than ever M---x cou'd claim of Yore,
For now they're reckon'd to exceed their Poor.

Their List of F--- more Eminent appears
In their large Catalogue of Wappineers;

310

Nor does White-Chapel fall the least behind,
They swore as heartily, and were as kind;
Fathers for Sons, and Sons for Fathers swore,
And what wou'd you have zealous W--- do more,
Than D--- their Families to serve a Turn,
And for a Righteous Cause Hang, Drown, or Burn?

311

A SEARCH AFTER RELIGION.

Tell me, you glorious Shades, where I may trace
Your gliding Footsteps; in what silent Place
Your Separated Essences abides,
Which Fate from prying Eyes so strictly hides:
I've search'd the Universe, and travail'd o'er
More than Greek Poets Fabl'd heretofore;
Long was I weary'd e'er I first did 'spy
The dreadful Mansions of Eternity,
And view that ever-restless Central Fire
Always in Chains, yet struggling to Expire;

312

That shuns Approaches with Majestick Hate,
And keeps Eternal Solitude in State.

From hence into th'Elysian Fields I fly,
With unseen Wonders to acquaint my Eye;
Perpetual Spring was here, fresh blooming Youth,
Sweet flow'ry Joy, with never-dying Truth;
Soft gliding Streams which Zephir gently Fans,
In which swam Multitudes of Silver Swans;
Myrtle and Bays were there, thick shady Bow'rs,
Sweet Walls, enamel'd with Ten Thousand Flow'rs,
Wherein lodg'd Nightingales, those constant Guests,
Whisp'ring soft Murmurs from their warbling Breasts.
The Voice of Winds were not here understood,
Nor Frost to blast the tender Infant Bud,
But various Prospects, which had Charms t'invite
The Ravish'd Senses to a fresh Delight.

Diff'rent Apartments, variously drest,
Distinguish'd the Retirements of the Blest:
In some were Votaries, whose wing'd Desire
Had been inflam'd with Pure Religious Fire;

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In others Lovers were; those few that knew
The Mystery of Love, and Loving True,
Who now with Chaplets crown'd, and Glorious Names,
Burn with Serene and Unmolested Flames;
Others there were as Worthy to be prais'd,
Who by their learned Works their Fame had rais'd;
And some who by Inventions ne'er before
Discover'd, had enrich'd the Publick Store:
Last came those Ancient Sages, Nature's Priests,
Who had unravell'd her thro' all her Mists,
And with laborious Search and Thoughts profound
Had digg'd out Truths long bury'd under Ground.
Here was the Samian, and that knowing Greek,
Whom Nature prompted Martyrdom to seek;
Plato and Matchiavel had join'd in One
Interest of State to each Religion:
Nay, there were some whose Works, now out of Sight,
Appear'd e'er Zoroaster's saw the Light:
Of these I asked much, and learned more
Mysterious Secrets than I knew before.

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Here I was taught the Series of Fate,
With all its Secret Laws, and at what rate
They are dispens'd; by what strange force of Love
Inferiors Marry'd are to Things Above.

I saw that ev'ry Thing included all,
As larger Images are drawn in small.
How many various Motions did agree
To make One System of Bright Harmony;
Yet all these Motions, crooked and transverse,
Met in the Center of one Universe;
The Souls Original I learn'd, and why
For this poor Mansion it exchang'd a Sky;
By what Allurements its first Glorious Ray
Came thus Betray'd into a House of Clay;
Its different Degrees of Rise and Fall,
In this Enquiry I was taught them all.

Such as had mindful been from whence they came,
And had improv'd their Spark into a Flame,
Where after their departure we are Blest,
Burying their Labours in Eternal Rest.

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Others who had been drown'd in Sensual Mire,
Were purged here with Subterranean Fire;
Some by vast Cataracts, and by Winds,
Were cleans'd from the Diseases of their Minds;
But those who had preserv'd some Seeds of Light,
Tho' much Eclips'd, yet not Extinguish'd quite,
To several Stations of the World assign'd,
Wander'd about, still seeking Rest to find;
Some hover'd in the Air, some in the Wind,
And some to Woods and Waters were confin'd;
Always in Motion, still in eager quest
Of their long wish'd-for and desir'd Rest.

But such as too much doated on this Life,
Fast glew'd to Interest, and this Scene of Strife,
Or unawares out of this World were thrust
By sudden Violence, or Laws unjust,
Deceas'd, their Old Affections still retain,
And long to be Imbodied once again.
Sometimes their Astral Images do dwell
About their Dormitories, which foretell

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Murthers, or over Treasures brooding sits,
Affording Problems to discoursive Wits.

But those Diviner Souls, who by the Rays
Of Heavenly Light to Heaven their Thoughts do raise,
And with the Wings of Faith 'bove Nature soar,
And never flag till they have gain'd the Shore,
Freed from this Vale of Misery and Tears,
Are each distributed in several Spheres.
But Light of Nature never hither led,
For Fountains rise not higher than their Head.
When these Mysterious Truths I had learnt plain,
I re-ascended to the Earth again,
And now instructed, I began a Quest
To find Religion out among the rest;
Which by the Fury of Divisions born
Away, was from our Clime untimely torn.
The Dissolution of her Parts by Fire,
Suggested strait that she must needs expire;
The Day too Sacred to the Sun's Bright Ray,
The Heliotrope like, seem'd to point that way;

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No wat'ry Dropsie ever durst essay
To wash thy Purer Essences away,
Nor drowsy Lethargy durst e'er presume
To choak thy Spirits with its Earthly Fume;
Yet as those search, who look for things with Care,
As well where they are not, as where they are,
So lest I rashly shou'd in Error fall,
I took all Places in, and Searched all.

No Spirits unmask'd I left, not those that dwell
In Min'ral Caverns, or the darkest Cell.
The Woods, the Hills, the Waters, and the Lawns,
Th'Androgades, the Satyrs, and the Fawns,
The Dryads, Oreads, Hemadryades,
Nereids, and Water Nymphs, I ask'd all these;
I ransack'd ev'ry Herb, and ev'ry Flow'r;
That pays Allegiance to Fair Flora's Pow'r;
I search'd the Hollow Ecchoes Airy Cell,
But she of this great Loss cou'd nothing tell.

I ask'd the Winds which from each Quarter flow,
But they reply'd in Sighs, and answer'd, No;

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No Region of the Air, so thick bestrew'd
With various Meteors, that I left unview'd:
With Troops of Spirits was the Way beset,
Which wandring up and down I often met.
Nay, to be satisfied in this Desire,
I search'd the Zealots Element of Fire,
Fancying if I pure Zeal cou'd once but see,
I shou'd not then despair of finding thee.

When I the Elements had circled round,
And yet in all my Enquiries nothing found,
Despairing of Success, I thought to quit
A Task so disproportion'd to my Wit.
How can my drooping Fancy soar so high,
Or with this Load of Earth ascend the Sky?
Rash Icarus, that needs to Heav'n wou'd fly,
For his Presumption was adjudg'd to die.
Dang'rous Exploits sometimes great Thoughts excite,
And add fresh Wings unto the Appetite.
Obstructions prove Incentives to Desires,
And rather kindle than extinguish Fires.

319

So now with Zeal inflam'd I left the Mists
Of these dark Elements, Corruption's Lists,
And here I prov'd great Aristotle true,
The Higher Places are Diviner too;
For now got past the Earth's Magnetick Sphere,
The Difficulty vanish'd with the Fear:
Methoughts I lighter and more airy grew,
Still entertain'd with Objects fresh and new;
My Thoughts were more Refin'd, and fill'd with Joy,
When they were freed from this dull Earth's Alloy;
But like as Travellers when they come ashore,
Into strange Countries they ne'er saw before,
Amazed stand to hear a Speech unknown,
People and Customs diff'rent from their own;
So now approaching near a Brighter Sphere,
I was supriz'd with Wonder, and with Fear;
My Eyes grew dazled with strange Rays of Light,
And an unusual Splendor dimn'd my Sight;
For now a Region did it self display
Of whitish Lustre, like the Milky Way;

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But that the Galaxy look'd not so clear,
And yet this had some Spots which did appear.

This Radiant Place seem'd much less than our Sphere,
Tho' it was far more Glorious ev'rywhere;
For all Things are in grosser Matter here,
There in Ideas and pure Forms they were;
Here the rough outside rudely courts the Sense,
There's nothing but the Air and Quintessence;
With Essences the Air was all perfum'd,
Which ne'er evaporated, nor consum'd;
Roses and Jessemine, the Violet,
With Oranges, all here conspiring met;
But that which most amaz'd me, was to see
The various, diff'rent, strange disparity
Of these Bright People, tho' in Glorious Dress,
Yet all of them were Spotted more or less:
And what did chiefly Admiration gain,
To see those Spots both outward and within;
Some on their Faces were, some on their Breast,
Some on their Hearts and Livers were imprest;

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Some of these Spots were fresh, some half outworn,
For Wounds at length to Cicatrices turn.
These are the Spots which we discern below,
Thro' the Moon's Body, which so great doth grow
Sometimes, and so condens'd, they darken all
This Region, which we then Eclipses call.
The Parts unspotted, all transparent were,
The inward Motions visible and clear.
Oh! were Vitruvius here to have admir'd
And seen those Windows he so much desir'd,
So Crystalline and Radiant in Excess,
They shone thro' all the Shadows of their Dress.

And now ascending, I descry'd a Place
Much Brighter than the first, but less in Space;
The Air perfum'd was with a Richer Scent,
'Twas hard to say the People flew or went,
So Volatile they were, of such an Airy Strain,
I fear'd I never shou'd discern them plain.
As Squirrels nimbly skip from Tree to Tree,
Their very Motion seem'd Ubiquity.

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Yet with much looking, at the last I 'spy'd
These had some Spots, tho' not so deeply dy'd.

Yet that which most my Sight to nonplus put,
Were certain Figures, so exactly cut
In lucid Amber, with such Curious Art,
'Twas easy to discern each inward Part.
Some were with Pearl, and some with Gold inlaid,
And some with Precious Stones were much display'd:
Some of these Statues, as they stood arow,
I knew Fair Tyrant Goddesses below.
But amongst all, one larger than the rest
Bred a confused Wonder in my Breast;
Had she not been so tall, I shou'd have swore
This was the same whose Loss I here deplore.
Three Radiant Crowns upon her Head she wore,
And look'd more Fresh and Youthful than before;
From this Fair Statue did this Motto rise,
Religion always was the Golden Prize.

As I stood gazing here with wondring Eyes,
One smil'd, and ask'd, What was't that did surprize

323

In that Effigies? Which no sooner said,
But that he smiling answer'd, 'twas a Maid;
And this Fair Statue with so many Crowns,
Whose Eyes dart Rays, and ev'ry Ray darts Wounds,
Had she not been a Virgin Chaste and Pure,
She'ad in your grosser Climate tarnish'd sure;
Who calls her less than Martyr wrongs her Name,
Seeing she did expire amidst the Flame;
Her Essence did not in the least depend
Upon the Wheels of Time, which once must end,
They are Material Substances below,
Which from Imperfect to Perfection grow,
She ever Perfect, freed once from Earth's Light,
Doth presently assume her perfect Height.

Well satisfied with this Discov'ry here,
I mounted upwards to another Sphere;
Scarce had I touch'd the Confines with my Eyes,
But a strange Joy within me did arise,
My Thoughts grew Flow'ry all, and all Serene,
So quickly was I alter'd with the Scene;

324

Such were my Thoughts e'er I acquainted grew
With this false World, or its Delusions knew.

If it be true, to know our Genial Air,
We shou'd observe where we best placed are,
Our Souls most Airy, Clear and Liveliest,
Where our Affairs succeed and prosper best,
From all these Observations I shou'd swear
I never knew't before that I came here.
So Aromatick smelt the Fragrant Air,
And the whole Place so Beautiful and Fair,
That all I look'd on, with admiring Eyes
Before, now suddenly I did despise;
So much the other were exceeded here,
As they exceeded our dull Earthly Sphere.
So that as Sappho sweetly stiles the Rose
The Darling Flow'r that costs the Spring more Showres
In its Production, being Nature's Pride,
Than all the Beauties of the Field beside;
So Charming and Alluring was this Place,
By Heaven's peculiar Influence and Grace,

325

As if t'enrich this One, and make it blest,
Nature had quite impov'rish'd all the rest.

With sweetest Flow'rs were ev'ry Way beset,
Which, as by Chance, in Perfect Order met,
From whose Coincidence there did arise
A Sweet Reflexion ravishing the Eyes.
The Flow'rs were set upon a Carpet Green,
Never in Emerald was like Verdure seen,
And all in Rows were placed Trees along,
Which with sweet Blossoms and with Fruits were hung,
Amidst whose shady Branches one might hear
The Birds of Paradise sing sweet and clear,
Which the shrill Eccho counterfeiting well,
Carries to those which at far distance dwell.

Close at the Feet of these ran purling Streams,
Whose Murmurs lull'd the Thoughts in pleasing Dreams,
And on the Banks were Arborets and Bow'rs
Close interwoven, and thick strew'd with Flow'rs,
In whose cool Shades the People of the Clime
In various Pleasures pass'd away the Time;

326

Some sung while others play'd upon the Lute,
Or danc'd, for nothing here was Coy or Mute,
But fresh Diversions still they did invent,
Enjoying free and undisturb'd Content;
For all were Lovers here, but with such Flames
As were well Understood, but have no Names.

What Extasies shall we imagine here,
Where Flames are all Seraphick, Bright, and Clear?
To Amorous Thoughts this Climate all did move,
That none came here but fell at once in Love;
Nay, tho' they ne'er this Passion knew before,
Straight Charm'd, they felt it as they touch'd the Shore;
Such is the Gods Delight, such their Decree,
That none, unless they love, can Happy be.

This Region less than ours, but of a Sphere,
Larger than Mercury or Luna were,
Differs but from the Sun as to degree
Of Heat, for both in Substance do agree.
Roses and Violets thus, as Chymists tell,
Differ in Colour only, and in Smell;

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Did not one Spot their other Beauties stain,
They need not hence remove, but here remain;
Which is the Cause, unless I've read amiss,
That Venus with a Mole still pictur'd is.

'Mongst many other Rareties, I saw
Such Pictures as Apelles ne'er cou'd draw,
Whose Portraictures did represent the Mein
Of those whose Statues I before had seen;
Here the Fair Shadow with three Crowns was too,
Which I so earnestly had long'd to view:
Deservedly this Art of Limning here
Takes Place of Statues in the other Sphere;
Seeing so ingeniously it can supply,
Matter by Shadows, and delude the Eye;
Nay, more, the farthest Distance, Depth, and Height,
Which a few Shadows so well counterfeit,
And which the others Skill cannot reach near,
Make Morning, Evening, Twilight, Night appear;
The subt'lest Passions too so well express,
That almost Speech it self you'd here confess.

328

Here I receiv'd more full Intelligence
Than I had done since I first parted hence,
For I had learn'd, Religion for some space
Had made a Stay in this Delightful Place.

This Picture while she staid was taken here,
And hence transmitted to the other Sphere,
By which the Amber Statue which I saw
Was wrought by skilful Art's unerring Law,
Yet long she staid not here, but quit her Dross,
And left us sadly to bewail her Loss.

Had I not been engag'd in this bright Quest,
Here I had fix'd my Standard, and set up my Rest;
But now thus fortified I upwards flew,
To see this Brighter Place I long'd to view;
No sooner I approach'd its lucid Sphere,
But a strange Harmony surpriz'd my Ear;
This was the far-fam'd Musick of the Spheres,
Which Men talk of so much, but no one hears.

And now a Flaming Region I cou'd see,
More Glorious far than can imagin'd be,

329

Which as I nearer drew, ascending higher,
Look'd like an Universal World of Fire,
Brighter than any Carbuncle it shone,
And glitter'd more than Gold or Onyx Stone;
A Hundred Sixty times it did appear
And Six, larger than our Terrestrial Sphere;
This World of Light a Paradice is nam'd,
So universally Renown'd and Fam'd,
The settled Habitation of the Blest,
Where free from Discontents in Peace they rest
And with incessant Praises bless the Name
Of the Creator of this Wondrous Frame.

But that which most Miraculous was here,
Th'Inhabitants seem'd brighter than the Sphere
So lucid and diaphanous they shone,
Their inward Motions might be seen and known

Each Spirit, Nerve, Vein, Tendon, Muscle, here
Did to the Eye clear and distinct appear;
All the Pulsations of the Secret Heart,
The Site and Situation of each Part;

330

How from the Brain the subtile Spirits were
Thro' Pipes transmitted, small as any Hair,
To ev'ry Part; and which we'd wondrous call,
To see the Soul shining at once thro' all:
All other Lustres vanish'd in this Light,
'Twas so incredible a Glorious Sight;
Each Part transparent was, and to be seen,
And yet amongst them all I saw no Spleen.

Some Measur'd out the Minutes, some the Hours,
Days, Weeks, and Years, which Time so swift devours;
Others the Rain compute, or weigh the Wind,
Which to the several Climates were assign'd;
Hail, Frost, and Snow, which Winter in our Sphere;
No Meteor was, but had its Standard here
Better employ'd than Jove, as Lucian lies,
That spent his Time in Painting Butterflies;
But amongst all, none seem'd so Bright to me
As this Fair Virgin, which I came to see;
Never were seen such lively sparkling Eyes,
Or Looks so fresh, they outshone all the Skies;

331

Lightning thro' ev'ry Part of this Bright Sphere,
And dazling all Beholders that came near.

Had not an Antidote preserv'd my Sight,
I had been swallow'd up in this vast Light;
My Thoughts with Extasies and Raptures flam'd,
Seraphick Joys, which cannot here be nam'd.

Scarce recollected, when as I essay'd
To speak, she only bow'd, but nothing said;
'Tis a Decree which Fate can ne'er reverse
That Purity cannot with Flesh converse.
Whilst thus my Eyes did on the Object dwell,
An inward Violence did me impel
To quit this Place; nothing can here endure,
Unless it be Immaculate and Pure.

With much unwillingness forc'd to retire,
I often looking back, did still admire,
And as my parting Looks upon her fell,
She smiling bow'd her Head, and said, Farewel:

332

So sadly leaving this Illustrious Place,
I soon descended with an easy Pace.
'Tis hard to climb, but easy to descend;
All Bodies to their Center swiftly tend.

Fain in the next Place wou'd I've made some stay,
But Cruel Destiny forc'd me away;
Only the Pictures as I pass'd them by
And Statues I saluted with my Eye,
And so descending, I was gotten soon
To the last Confines of the wand'ring Moon.
Upon this Precipice I made some stay,
The Golden Chain of Plato to survey;
Whose topmost Link was plac'd in Luna's Sphere,
By which Effects to Causes coupled are,
So Serpentine, and with Mæanders twin'd,
It seem'd impossible the End to find.
This from the Moon reach'd down ev'n to the Earth,
Lending its Influence to ev'ry Birth.
As I stood musing here, methoughts our Sphere
Did an Umbragious Gloomy Lump appear.

333

Have you not sometimes stood upon a Hill,
Which yet a Show'r hath not o'erta'n, but will,
And thence into the Valley looking down,
With much ado descry'd some little Town,
So clouded o'er with Blackness, Smoak, and Rain,
As if it never wou'd look clear again?
Just such a clouded Spot the Earth appear'd,
That hence to look on it I was afear'd.
Here with like Thoughts I ev'ry thing did scan,
As sometimes Charon did in Lucian.

The People look'd like Bees, their Cities Hives,
Where ev'ry one maligneth him that thrives;
Swarming they went in Crouds that almost smother,
Each bare a Sting wherewith to prick another;
Inquisitive of News, or to get Pelf,
But ne'er a one that look'd into himself;
Yet all this while their Fate hangs by a Hair,
Which Atropos stands ready by to shear.

334

For since my Eyes were now anointed, I
Grew clearer-sighted, cou'd each Atom Spy;
And now come nearer to my Eyes, the Face
Of Things look'd discontented, like the Place.
My Joys grew quickly damp'd, and in their stead
Succeeded Grief, that always hangs its Head.
As tho' in Jaundice Things look ne'er so clear,
Yet to the Sick all Yellow they appear;
So now with Sadness tainted, to my Eye
All things as Melancholly look as I;
Each Thing below seem'd to bewail a Loss,
And to lie under some malignant Cross;
My Thoughts were so intently fix'd with Grief,
They seem'd beyond Death's Cure, or Time's Relief.

Methoughts the Winds did only sigh, not blow,
And from the Fountains Tears, not Waters, flow.
The Ecchoes to retired Desarts fled,
And ev'ry Flow'r with weeping hung its Head;

335

The Trees all blasted, bare and wither'd, mourn
As if with Lightning they had late been torn;
The Rivers wept themselves to little Brooks,
And ev'ry thing put on their mourning Looks;
Sorrow's the only Comfort we ingross,
Religion's such an Universal Loss,
The Sacred Mother weeps, tho' she dispense
Nothing but healing Counsel, Life, and Sense.

337

The Burning of the Ch--- of En---d MEMORIAL.

I come; but come with trembling, lest I prove
The unequal Match of Semele and Jove.
As she was too obscure, and he too bright,
My Theme's too heavy, and my Muse too light.
And whilst, like Midas, I presume to sit
In wise Apollo's Chair, without his Wit,
Is it not just t'expect, that he who dares
Mount above Midas, shou'd wear longer Ears.
May I not fear Patroclus Fate, and feel
The dangerous Honour of Achilles Steel,
Just like that busy Youth, whose daring Pride
Found none but Titan, Titan's Coach to guide?

338

Oh for a Jeremy to sing our Woe!
From whom such Tragick Rhetorick might flow
As wou'd become our sinking Ch---, and dress
Our Sorrows with a dismal Gaudiness.
See hov'ring Judgments, which will surely fall
On Albion's State, and crush the Heads of all
Who sung our Holy Ch--- M---l.
Over her Ashes to lament her full
Wou'd gorge and overcome the greatest Soul.
The trivial Off'rings of our blubbering Eyes
Are but fair Libels at such Obsequies.
When Grief bleeds inward, not to Sense, 'tis deep,
We've lost so much, that 'twere a Sin to weep.
The wretched Bankrupt counts not up his Sums,
When his inevitable Ruin comes.
Our Loss, if finite, when we can compute,
But that strikes Speechless, which is past Recruit.
We're sunk to Sense, and on the Ruin gaze,
As on a curled Comet's fiery Blaze,
And Earthquakes fright us, when the Teeming Earth
Rends up her Bowels for a fatal Birth;

339

As Inundations seize our trembling Eyes,
Whose rouling Billows over Kingdoms rise,
Alas! Our Ruins are cast up, and all
Our Dooms are sign'd in a M---l:
The mangled Ch---on the sad Pile is laid,
And all her Beauties in the Flame display'd.
Hers now is Albion's Epidemick Tomb,
Her Sacrifice, a numerous Hecatomb;
November's Powder-Plot's outdone, and worse,
September now compleats the Nation's Curse:
Our Liberties, Laws, and Religion, all
Lie crush'd and moulding in this dismall Fall.

Such was the B---m J---y, such the C---,
That made the Church's Cause the Rabbles Sport,
While all the Mob, as the old Jews did cry
For Justice, which was nought but Crucify;
So that this martyr'd Book will henceforth be
The Ch--- of E---d's best Apology.

Sure no fond Story in Romance did treat
Of such a wild Eutopian Judgment-Seat;

340

At whose dire black Decrees we wondring stand,
As some pale Ghost's dimn Taper and cold Hand,
Did wast us thro' the Shades until we come
To see some strange fantastick fairy Doom,
While slumb'ring we invoke the Morning's Light,
To chase the Legend Vision from our Sight.

High in this Dream, in this Tribunal Seat,
S---l sits with Hydra's at his Feet;
One whom the Genuin Bar does seldom see,
Whose nauseous Tongue scarce boasts a Seven Years Fee;
Whose Conscience wears a Face for ev'ry Dress,
Religion justifies Ungodliness.

A sordid Wh---g's a Tyger without Faith,
Whose guilty Soul no Fence nor Safety hath:
But tho' stung Conscience press to be secure,
And wou'd be wary when she can't be sure.
Yet oft she most encounters what she flies,
And all her Ruin in her Refuge lies;
While Albion, naked to the weakest Eyes,
Resigns her ablest Guard, the Whigs Disguise;

341

Whose Pow'r, like Men in Ambush, still hath been
Not from their Strength, but 'cause their Strength's unseen:
Yet shall she from her Murd'rers Use and Reign,
Tho' burnt, from Phœnix Cinders bud again.

They whose thick Vows, exalted Hearts and Eyes,
Mount in the Air to meet the moving Skies,
Will now no longer forge their Hate and Spleen
Nor by Elusions steer their Course again:
Nor prize the Shame, rais'd from a former Sin,
At the sad rate of wading further in.
But Haste returns as vigorous as Mistake,
Which makes them hate the Dream the more they wake;
Like a dry Comet mounted in the Air,
Which on Mankind rains Plagues and mortal Care.

They find this hot Impatience of their own
Does by its Embers warm and light the Throne,
Like him who rais'd his God's adored Head,
To make his own Blaspheme it in the stead.

342

Hence Moderation Chains and Shackles throws,
As not what we agree, but they impose;
Gilding the piercing'st Flames with specious Smoke,
As if we did consent to wear their Yoke,
While they wou'd persecute, yet cry save,
Intomb the Nation in the Churches Grave.
Where shall they build their Plea, who at once do
Destroy the best of Churches at a Blow?
Who supple Laws, and gage them to their Wills,
Not to support their Rights, but strengthen Ills;
Whence poorly conscious of their ticklish Sway,
They sweat to husband and improve the Day;
Working to steer their base Designs about,
E'er the next Session strikes their Title out:
For who bids most buys Mercenary Throats,
And reaps a plenteous Harvest by their Votes.
Then share the Ch--- to bear the Fleece away,
Not as their Orphan-wards, but happier Prey.
Place and Preferment pass their Market Curse,
Not to the worthiest Men, but longest Purse.
Electors Vote, by a Politick Scale,
Make Patriots not their Choice, but their Entail:

343

Forsake or hold their Stations with the Tyde
Ruin, or Ruined, as Factions guide.

Yet these Encroachments they repay with Spite,
And cheat the Ch---men of their Native Right.
But shou'd this Sea, these Winds, conduct their Threats
To th'awful Palace where Great Neptune sits;
Shou'd their swel'd Surges make his Trident groan,
And dash their foaming Billows 'gainst his Throne,
Then might we all their wild Distractions see,
Nor Phrensy less than Hellish Anarchy;
But like that fatal inauspicious Day,
When all the less and larger Birds of Prey
Conspir'd to force the Eagle from her Throne,
Because her Eyes were clearer than their own.
The injur'd Eagle pent in this Distress,
When Reason nothing cou'd, and Force cou'd less,
Arms all her active Plumes with swiftest Spring,
Darts thro' their Ranks, and saves herself by Wing:
But Eagles they are well when freed from Rape,
And need no Satisfaction but th'Escape.

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Review the Sun, with undishonour'd Eye,
And build again their Towering Nests as high.

But the afflicted Quill, whose Penance lies
Amidst the Flames, must Story's Martyr rise.
What hardy Plume dares register her Cares,
When Sov'raignity protects not her Affairs,
But lets her at the Bar of Faction stand
For some rash Korah's foul unhallow'd Hand,
Who burns her Virgin Truths, and raises Smoke,
Not to appease the Deity, but choke;
While the revolted Cassocks plume their Darts
With crooked Sophistry's perverted Arts,
To reason down Ch--- Faith with studied Pow'r,
And drown Old Truth in a Confederate Show'r.

To heighten these, when some whose nobler Name
In her declining Banners arms their Fame;
Whom yet ignoble Envy bent awry,
Or faint Devotion cool'd t'Indifferency;
Conspir'd the Ch---'s Ruin, while her Weights
Took Balance from their Cause, not from their Heats.

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She pois'd their Calumny by ponderous Good,
Her sole, and yet unconquer'd, Reasons stood
When warmer Onsets, like the searching Plows,
Tills deeper Scars on Nature's yielding Brows;
Where what is sown a Cross springs up a Sheaf,
To Harvest Virtue thro' the Furrow Grief.
Her Glorious own Record gives this Presage,
Which next to hallow'd Writ and sacred Page
Shall busy pious Wonders, and abide
To Christian Pilgrimage, a second Guide;
Which shall then reconcile th'eternal Hate,
'Twixt simple Piety, and a divided State;
Shall fix a stable Ch---, whose secure Chance,
Shall steady sit, or by her Fall, advance.

Is not old Bell-Dame Nature truly said
T'advance her Heels, and stand upon her Head?
Does not the J---ge, and Law too, for a Need,
The Styrrup hold, while Faction mounts the Steed?
Is not Religion, Providence besides,
Us'd as a Lacquey while the Devil rides?

346

Sure all things thus into Confusion hurl'd,
Make, tho' an Universe, yet not a World.
Hence we've a Ch--- that's not our Choice, but Fate,
Since it is rul'd by Interest of State.

How to their Haven shall Ch--- Pilots steer,
'Twixt the Wh---g Statesman, and the P--- sb---t---r?
Plac'd in the Confines of two Shipwracks; Thus
The Greeks are seated 'twixt the Turks and us;
Whom did Byzantium free, Rome wou'd condemn;
And freed from Rome, they are enslav'd by them;
So plac'd betwixt a Precipice and Wolf,
There Pop'ry stands, here the Geneva Gulf;
What with the rising, and the setting Sun,
By those we're hated, and by these undone.

And what can we expect, our Lot being gone,
But that a Hell from Heaven shou'd tumble down
On this our sinful Sodom, unless we
Are damn'd, yet worse, to an Impunity;
How does our Delos, which so lately lay
Unmov'd, lie floating in a troubled Sea!

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And can we hope to Anchor, who discern
Nought but wild Tempests ruling at the Stern,
Whilst Pluto's Rival, with his Saints by's side,
Drawn by the Spirit of Avarice and Pride;
Being fairly seated in the Chair of Scorn,
Sits Brewing Tears for Infants, yet unborn?
Vast Stocks of Mis'ry, which his Guardian Rage,
Does husband for them, 'till they come at Age.

When future Times shall look what Plagues befel
Ægypt, and us, by way of Parallel,
They'll find at once presented to their View,
The Frogs and Lice, we our D---ss---nt---rs too;
Only this signal Difference will be known,
'Twixt those Ægyptian Judgments, and our own:
Those were God's Armies; but th'Effect doth tell,
That these our Vermin are the Host of Hell.

Pausanias and Herostratus will look
Like Pigmy Swimmers writ in Time's Black Book.
The Spanish Fleet, and Powder-Plot, will lack
Their usual Mentions in our Almanack:

348

Nay, which is more, Alaricus his Name
Will scarce be read amidst the Works of Fame,
When this shall be remember'd to our Shame.

But what! can Israel find no other way
To their wish'd Land, than thro' this dang'rous Sea?
Must God have his dreading Fire and Cloud,
And be the Guide to this outragious Croud?
Shall the black Conclave counterfeit his Hand,
And superscribe their Guilt by a Command?
Doth th'ugly Fiend usurp a Saint-like Grace,
And Holy Water wash the Devil's Face?
Shall Dagon's Temple the mock'd Ark enclose?
Can Esau's Hands agree with Jacob's Voice?
Must Moloch's Fire now on the Altar burn,
And Abel's Blood to Expiation turn?
Is Righteousness so lewd a Bawd? And can
The Bible's Lover serve the Alcoran?
Thus when Hell's meant, Religion's bid to shine,
As Faux's Lanthorn lights him to his Mine:
Tho' the soft Hours a while in Pleasures fly,
And conq'ring Faction sings her Lull-a-bye.

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The Guilt at length in Fury she'll enroll
With barbed Arrows on the Factious Soul.
For if just Providence reprieve the Fate,
The Judgment will be deeper, though 't be late:
And After-times shall feel the Curse enhanc'd,
By how much they've the Tyrant Sin advanc'd.

Mean time (Blest Ashes!) each Religious Eye
Shall pay their Tribute to thy Memory;
Thy Aromatick Name shall feast our Sense,
'Bove balmy Spikenard's fragrant Redolence.

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THE City Beauties, &c.

As larger Orbs plac'd in a higher Sphere,
By their vast distance don't so bright appear,
Lights of less Magnitude look larger near.
The Rays that shoot from Beauties piercing Sun,
Thro' ev'ry Climate with equal Vigour run:
Men, like Idolators, its Rising do adore,
And own themselves the Creatures of its Pow'r.
So Adam, when fair Eden was his own,
Paid his first Off'ring to the Female Throne;
And thus entail'd upon his Future Race,
The same Devotion to a Beauteous Face.
So all Mankind, who boast of Liberty,
Are but the Slaves of ev'ry Charming She.

352

Since Beauty then's the Sun we call Divine,
And cannot live but when she's pleas'd to shine;
How can our Opticks so much Lustre bear,
Of many shining in one Hemisphere?
The Sun himself, one Orb alone controuls,
But Beauty thro' a thousand Orbits rouls,
And scorns to be confin'd to either Pole.

Aid then my willing Muse, ye Sacred Nine,
Lest she debase the Image made Divine;
And by her Artless Lays prophane the Name
Of Beauty; Dear to Poetry and Fame:
Whose sounding Changes eccho'd forth her Praise,
When Nymphs crown'd all the Happy Swains with Bays;
And Shepherds then, that worship'd on the Plain,
Were destin'd afterwards, as Gods, to Reign.
Pan thus was rais'd whom Shepherds do adore,
Because he worship'd Beauty there before.
As Hellen was to Paris giv'n the Prize,
For owning but the Power of Venus's Eyes;
So just is Beauty to her Votaries.

353

But if we Statues make, not Goddesses create,
We must take care of Niobe's sad Fate.

If Eyes such Magick round about them throw,
What Pleasure may in curling Tresses flow!
Such soft Enchantment's spread in ev'ry Hair,
Like winding Shades, we lose our Senses there,
Till on the Blooming Cheeks we cast our Eye,
And blush our selves to see the Crimson dye.
That Nature has unerring on them thrown,
Fresh as the Rose just at the Sunrise blown:
Fair as the Dawning Day the Skin is spread,
And beautifies the whole with Streaks of Red.
Like Ivory Pillars, Teeth in order grow,
Proceeding from the Coral Gums below;
Cover'd with Lips, whose Lustre does outshine
The Ruby, or the Beautiful Carmine.
And that Variety might be exprest,
No Swan's so white a Neck, or soft a Breast
As Woman, that is excellently Fair,
For Nature triumphs in her Bounty here;

354

Which she bestows not only for to please,
But as a kind Repose to give Man ease:
On that Indulgent Pillow once laid down,
Monarchs forget the Glories of a Crown,
And Heroes all their Dangers undergone.
The Statesman of this Seat of Joy possest,
No longer thinks what may the State molest,
But reckoneth himself securely blest.
If such Endearments lie in one soft Part,
What wond'rous Magick centers in the Heart!
Diffusing round its Influence ev'ry where,
In Looks, in Words, in Gesture, and in Air,
In Shape, in Mein, in ev'ry Graceful Turn,
The Fire is kindled, and the Passions burn.
How does the Hand move ev'ry Vital Part,
And steal in gently to the Lover's Heart!
With equal Force, Unguarded Man surprize,
And make as sure a Conquest as the Eyes,
Whose pointed Darts no Mortal yet withstood,
They wound at distance, and infect the Blood,

355

There circulate without the least controul,
Till the dire Poyson reach the very Soul.

So G---n's Eyes the Power of Beauty show,
And spread their Influence round 'em as they go;
Quick kindling Flames in both of them appear,
Outshining the rich Brillants that they wear;
Yet Soft and Languishing these Charmers look,
As if they had these Airs from Britain took:
A Soil so Fertile, with Fair Beauties sown,
We're apt to think of none but of our own:
But here two noble, bright Examples shine,
And shew th'Extensiveness of Beauty's Line.

But yet if Beauty grows in Foreign Soils,
Albion's an Empire where it smiles.
White as her Chalky Cliffs her Natives are,
Or as the First-born Light, divinely Fair,
As Ward's Complexion, or as Dashwood's Hair.
As both their Eyes Cerulean Lights dispense,
And charm with unaffected Innocence.

356

But see the Goddess of our Vows appears,
Which such a solemn Garb of Virtue wears,
We warm with Love, and chill again with Fears.
El---k, Augusta cries! El---k's the Name,
Her Face, her Shape, her Air, her Soul's the same;
All Beautiful, and exquisitely Bright,
No Spot or Stain disturbs the curious Sight,
But when we gaze, still 'tis with fresh Delight;
And when she speaks, the Musick of her Tongue,
Pleases beyond the Force of Tofts's Song;
Each Motion too has some peculiar Grace,
That takes beyond another's fairer Face:
Her Step, her easy Gate, her active Feet,
Tie down our Eyes, the nimble Charm to meet.

'Tis pity M---x, thou art now no more
The Idol which the City must adore;
Those Charms which sent their killing Beams abroad,
And call'd from Court each Youthful Am'rous Lord,
Are buried now in thy late Nuptial Bed,
Where all thy Virgin Innocence is laid;

357

That was the Sweet that call'd the Buyer in,
The Purchase now is greater by the Sin:
Howe'er thy Looks, engaging Dress, and Air,
Will give the Lover's Hope, you no Despair.

While rigid Virtue reigns in R---d's Eyes,
Her Breast is tender, and her Conduct Wise;
Soft languishing her Looks, her Soul sincere,
Yet no Ill-natur'd Smiles are regent there;
But gentle Goodness makes her Aspect kind,
And Beauty wantons in her Face and Mind.

L--- puts on a true Majestick Face;
Yet with such tenderness are drawn the Lines,
In every Feature some Good-nature shines;
Her killing Eyes shoot out such fetter'd Darts,
They wound so gently, that they melt all Hearts.
The Flame that kindles in her Peaceful Breast,
Burns others up, but only warms herself to Rest.

F---, Augusta's sprightly Venus see,
She only wants the little Deity,

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To show she's Goddess of the charming Race,
Since Youth and Beauty Revel in her Face;
Native Simplicity her Virtue owns,
And winning Charms are pregnant in her Frowns.

See B---'s Complexions, and that pleasing Bloom
That from the Sweets of Innocence does come;
Easy, Genteel, from the Reserv'd, bred free,
The wond'rous Charm of Modest Liberty,
A thousand diff'rent ways these Beauties move,
To all Degrees of Virtue and of Love.

Vernon's agreeable in ev'ry turn,
Her easy Air 'tis makes the Lovers burn;
So unaffected ev'ry thing appears,
No Dress but is genteel that Vernon wears;
And if she let her Eyes extend their Pow'r,
The Swain is wretched that her Charms adore.

But hold,—take care my Muse,
Lest S---r's matchless Beauty thou abuse;

359

And fully with too rash a Hand the fair
And faultless Form of Studious Nature's Care,
We know not which excels, her Shape, or Air.
Her careless Mein, her soft engaging Look,
Which yet for Infant Bembo's might be took:
So tender she is touch'd in ev'ry Part,
None cou'd refuse an Off'ring to her Heart.

Thompson's Good-nature has a winning Grace,
That equally affects us as her Face;
Which with a Shape so easy, Artless join'd,
Shows us the equal Freedom of her Mind;
So from a well-appointed Dress is seen
The Sense of Fifty, Air of Seventeen.

C---ff---d's are like the Fatal Sisters three,
In Number equal, not in Quality,
These are our Wishes, those our Destiny.
The first we justly may admire for Sense,
In Humankind the chiefest Excellence.
Next that, Proportion is the kindling Fire,
And Shape the Loadstone that attracts Desire;

360

All these at last center'd in Youthful Charms,
Procure the coldest Lovers to their Arms.

Duport's agreeable engaging way
Inclines my Muse to make a strict Survey,
Observe the taking Beauties that arise,
Both from her unaffected Mein and Eyes:
And when she's pleas'd to Dance, her Motion's such,
We never think she can perform too much:
So graceful 'tis she moves, and yet so free,
Her Ease sh' expresses in her Liberty.

If Youth, and all the Charms that from it rise,
Have Pow'r to fix a wand'ring Lover's Eyes,
Buckle has that, and ev'ry pleasing Grace
That Beauty gives us in a Shape or Face.
Her moving Eyes direct us to admire,
But 'tis her Blushes sets our Hearts on Fire.

See now how Art and Nature both are kind,
In two bright Sisters intimately join'd:
The Lawrences their fragrant Charms dispence,
While all Mankind confess their Influence;

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Darts from their piercing Eyes like Light'ning fly,
And scatter wild Contagion through the Sky.
Such lovely Features, and such charming Hair,
Shining and black, as Raven's Feathers are,
Are Foils invincible that Nature does prepare;
And by unerring Methods to us shows,
The choicest Beauties in her Garden grows.

So Child appears the Loveliest of her kind,
T'whom Nature has so large a Portion join'd,
A beauteous Body, and a Godlike Mind.
Fair as the Heavens is her Complexion seen,
Artless her Dress, unstudied is her Mein;
Free from a formal and consulted Air,
The natural and the easy are her Care.

Bright Houblon moves with irresistless Air,
Her Form's engaging, as her Face is fair;
No Charm she wants but that of pitying Love,
Beauty does now its Pow'r too forward prove,
Unless the Nymph she to Compassion move.

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The softness which in Gore's fair Eyes we see,
Admits of nought but tender Piety;
No other Inclination can we find,
But gentle Nature, innocently kind.
Charms which Seraphick Pleasure must improve,
And wou'd invite an Angel to her Love.

What Mortal can behold the pleasing Air
In J---n, and not own the lovely Fair?
Where such bright Charms are in her Face display'd,
She, tho' a Wife, triumphs as if a Maid:
Who views her well, the Object must admire,
Her beauteous Hand alone procures Desire,
And ev'ry Feature in her carries Fire.

So B---d gives the admiring World delight,
Her lovely Form, like Angels gay and bright,
Strikes us with Wonder at th'approaching Sight:
So quick she moves with a becoming Pace,
We scarce can judge the most excelling Grace,
Her easy Manner, or her beauteous Face.

363

B--- has sparkling Eyes, whose Magick Pow'r,
A thousand Worshipers each Day adore;
The Sun himself, each Morn, at his Uprise,
Receives not half the grateful Sacrifice.
The Lovers here such Idolizers are,
They weep to find a Deity so fair
And yet so cruel to refuse their Prayer.
When all they move for by their fond Address,
Is hers, as well as their own Happiness.

Whate'er's Engaging, Charming, Young, or Fair,
Are in the tender Features writ of Eyre;
Her Eyes such Influence have o'er ev'ry Heart,
Each Glance she casts at Mankind is a Dart;
Each Lock's a Charm, and ev'ry Smile's a Grace,
That wantons in the Beauties of her blooming Face.

365

THE Gothick HERO.

A POEM, Sacred to the Memory of Charles XII, King of Sweden, Restorer of the Protestant Religion in Silesia, &c.

I sing not of Bellona's Praise or War,
But a new constellated Northern Star;
Who from old Gothick Blood derives his own,
As Great and Ancient as of Saturn's Son.
For tho' from Jove Poetick Heroes drew
Their God-like Lineage, and their Virtues too:

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We boast Great Charles, a Race much more Divine,
From Goths, and Vandals, and Gustavus Line.

Rise then, my Muse, in lofty numbers sing,
As bold as Charles, as daring as the King!
Let Nations wonder at thy soaring Flights,
As they're astonish'd when the Hero fights;
When num'rous Armies from his Presence run,
As Mists are scatter'd at the rising Sun.
Look o'er Silesia's fruitful Lands, and see
The glorious Work of happy Liberty!
Behold Religion rearing up its Head,
That lately disappear'd as if she'ad fled,
Or was entomb'd among the silent Dead!
Look now upon those Venerable Piles,
Where ev'ry Pillar with its Freedom smiles,
So lately loaded with Mock-Gods of Stone,
By Men, who own themselves there is but One.
The stupid Marble blushes at the Priest,
And is asham'd of the Religious Jest;
Rejoices now to find itself set free,
And triumphs in its native Liberty.

367

Survey, my Muse, the joyful Hearts of those
Who love Devotion, but false Gods oppose:
See how their kind Deliverer they bless,
How they their Thankfulness to Heav'n express,
And heap on Charles's verdant Head, Success!
Their Io Pœans reach the very Skies,
And Conquest swifter than their Wishes flies.
Alcides Son th'Hespexian Gardens freed,
And worthy 'twas of Hercules, the noble Deed.
So good Æneas did his Strength imploy
To save his Father 'midst the Flames of Troy,
And gain'd, by this, a Name for Piety.
Aged Anchises bless'd his pious Son,
From whence a Race of Heroes after sprung:
The Cæsars fill'd the World with Fame and Blood,
But none, like Charles, with Universal Good.
For Fame 'twas Jason fetch'd the Golden Fleece,
And wise Ulysses first engag'd with Greece,
Left his lov'd Ithaca, to seek Renown,
And prove his Conduct before Ilea's Town.
Laertes saw his brave aspiring Son
With Eyes of Pride, as what himself had done;

368

Bless'd the bold Soldier, when in open Field
He did contend for Great Achilles Shield;
When 'fore the Princes he with Ajax strove,
And gain'd his Armour, and the People's Love.
These were great Feats of Arms in elder Days,
E're Alexander, Scipio, Cæsar was;
But what were those to Wonders done of late
By Charles the Wise, the Virtuous, and the Great!
What were th'Olympick Games but Boyish Plays
To gain the People's Voice, (an empty Praise!)
To wear the Laurel, Ivy, or the Bays?
What were all these, but Pageantry and Shows,
Trifles, to what our Gothick Hero does;
Who Nations frees, and Liberty restores,
And whom Religion in Distress adores.

Here our Victorious Goth devoutly fights,
To rescue Nations, and restore their Rights.
Constant in Courage, he sustains the War,
Nor doubts th'Event from such a pious Care:
Crowns are his Aim, for God-like 'tis to give
Where Merit claims, and not the Prize receive

369

This is true Glory, such as ancient Rome
Show'd to the People that she overcome:
She did not do't t'usurp her Neighbour's Crown,
But gave her Laws much better than her own.
So pious Charles with equal Glory fir'd,
Nought but to equal Justice has aspir'd.

These are the Schemes, and these the glorious Ends,
For which our Hero generously contends;
Witness Silesia, where his Banners shine
With Christian Triumphs; Goodness all divine,
So when among the fiercer Savage Kind,
One Lyon 'bove the rest to Love inclin'd;
Compassion dwelling in his noble Breast,
Distinguishes himself among the rest,
He claims a Reverence from ev'ry Beast.
The brutal Herd stand wond'ring, and appear
At once surpriz'd with awful Love and Fear:
His Goodness tender'd to his captive Prey,
Forces ev'n rav'nous Tygers to obey;

370

And all the rest, by such Indulgence won,
The gen'rous Lyon for their Monarch own.
Thus Charles is justly by Mankind rever'd,
Lov'd by the Good, and by the Vicious fear'd.
Tyrants that reign by arbitrary Sway,
To Justice he compels, and to obey.
Subjects that yield their Princes due respect,
He does from all their Violence protect;
Not to enslave them more, but set them free,
And bless the World with Godlike Liberty.
He quells the Pride of Kings that are unjust,
And rule their Subjects with the Reins of Lust,
Who force their Consciences for sov'reign Pow'r.
And prostitute the God they do adore.
For this it was Augustus lost his Crown,
By serving Gods to him before unknown.
So Icarus fell; not that he soar'd too high,
But his Presumption on the Deity.
Heav'n thus, to punish daring Mortals, shows
It always will aspiring Men oppose,
Whom neither Honour, or yet Oaths can bind,
But whose Religion veers with ev'ry Wind.

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These are the adverse Marks of knowing Fate,
That ministers alike to ev'ry State,
Nor spares the Mean, or flatters more the Great.
All bear the Stroke, as they are all decreed,
The Poor to beg or starve, the King to bleed.
And those who execute these mighty Ends,
Are such as Heav'n by wise Appointment sends.

Charles, thus we may from all his Actions fee,
Is sent for Glory, Peace, and Liberty:
These are the Ends for which he seems design'd,
And are the greatest, and the best of Humankind.
Pride and Ambition are both deadly Things,
That ruin Statesmen, and that flatter Kings;
While with th'Excess of either over-run,
Others th'undo, or are themselves undone;
'Till with the subtle Poyson overcome,
They rarely 'scape at last some fatal Doom.

But whosoe'er has trod the middle Way;
Made Folly and insulting Vice obey;
Is only fit for universal Sway.

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Realms may to him their awful Sceptres yield,
And Armies own his Influ'nce in the Field.
Who then that mighty Hero is, we find
By what's impress'd on Charles's gen'rous Mind,
And what his greater Virtues daily shew,
What Charles has done, what Wonders he can do.

He'as quel'd the Hydra of despotick Pow'r,
Legions of petty Gods that Rome adore,
Whose Pride and Avarice have overcome
The freeborn Liberties of Christendom.
Princes she has enslav'd, and Monarchs rule,
Only to be the Holy Father's Tool;
Whilst to his Laws their Subjects must submit,
And they can only rule as he thinks fit.

The noble Goth with this divinely fir'd,
And with a holy Zeal and Rage inspir'd,
Marches his bold Brigades at once, to free
The Poles from base usurping Tyranny,
And brave Silesians from false Popery;
From all the heavy Burthens that they bore,
And saucy Insults of the Scarlet Whore.

373

Saint Loyola impos'd his own tyrannick Laws,
By which he govern'd ev'ry private Cause,
And made Silesian Freemen worst of Slaves,
That were compel'd to dig their very Graves;
'Till unexpected Charles dispel'd their Fear,
And a new Sun with Wonder did appear.
Like Light'ning quick, that melts the solid Gold,
Their Joys break out, or e'er the Story's told.
As was the Pleasure, so was the Surprize;
They saw, but durst not credit their own Eyes.
Cimmerian Darkness had perplex'd their Sight;
They only hop'd this Blessing was the Light:
The glorious Morn that they at last should see
Replete with happy Peace and Liberty
In the bright Realms of vast Eternity.
Like Men, who in the midst of Dreaming wake,
And can't be satisfy'd of the Mistake;
But still believe that what they saw was true;
Their Eyes were open, and their Senses too.

So these, tho' waking, thought all this a Dream,
That Nothing was, as it appear'd to them;

374

'Till they at last, with Satisfaction, found
The Story true, the Place no Fairy Ground,
But all was real and substantial Bliss;
Nothing appear'd, but Liberty and Peace:
Tho' num'rous Legions overspread the Land,
They came for Safety, and not to command:
Their Godlike Leader, of Divinest Race,
Bless'd with Religion, and with ev'ry Grace,
Has taught all Nations what from his they see,
The Consequence of Martial Piety.
When Soldiers are instructed in their Youth,
To tread the Paths of Virtue and of Truth;
Know no Ambition, but what's truly brave,
No Bed of Honour, but the Hero's Grave;
No Cowardice, but Conduct, when to fly
Before a brave and stronger Enemy.
This Practice 'tis the gen'rous Swedes pursue;
They fight for Glory, and Religion too:
Vertue's the noble End they have in View

Examples easiest spread, sent from the Throne,
And here they have the brightest of their own;

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A Hero matchless in the Field of War
For Martial Conduct, Discipline, and Care:
No Dangers interrupts his great Designs;
No secret Plots his Projects countermines:
Justice and Glory fire his Godlike Soul,
And Mercy does o'er ev'ry Act controul.
Religion thus inspires the Christian Chief,
And thus he fights, because 'tis his Belief.
Greater Conceptions fill his noble Mind,
That are all good, compassionate, and kind.
Worthy himself, and worthy all his Fame,
His mighty Actions, and his glorious Name.

Now, Muse, expand thy airy Wings, and soar
Above the Clouds, where Charles's Fame is bore;
Where all the Gods look down, and smile to see
A Man that's equal to a Deity;
To see a Hero so transcendant Great,
That Immortality does emulate.
Like some amazing Comet 'tis he shows,
We know not whence it comes, or where it goes.

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Silent as Night, and secret as the Grave,
His Councils are; but yet his Actions brave:
Tho' in the Dark he forms his mighty Deeds,
The Execution with the Light succeeds.
Free are Mankind his Actions to behold,
But they're compleated always e'er they're told.
Wisdom it self steers at the Helm of State;
She 'tis that makes him Just, to make him Great:
With so much Glory, and such high Success,
Blind Chance can ne'er her faithless Vot'ries bless:
A nobler Cause we must for this assign,
That on the Brave attends, and is Divine;
For Heroes are not accidental Things,
But born of noblest Race, the best of Kings:
Their Blood untainted, more sublime they are,
The Gods good Gifts, and their peculiar Care:
On such their Glory, Fame, and Victories shine,
And all the Wonders of their Power Divine.

377