Miscellanies in Verse and Prose :: :: University of Virginia Library

Say, Gentle Stanhope, for thou well can'st tell
The happy Charms that in true Friendship dwell,
Say, why those Charms so seldom long endure;
Why few e'er taste the gen'rous Blessing Pure;
But most still find that Cordial Wine of Life,
With fulsom Flatt'ry stum'd, or sow'rd with Strife.

The Cause seems this: To Vanity resign'd,
Fancy not Reason rules our wayward Mind.
We seek not Virtue in the Man we Love,
But such affect, who Like what we Approve.
With forc'd Complacency, and venal Smiles,
The Harlot thus, and Parasite Beguiles.
The dear Dissemblers we with Pride believe,
Nor think such civil Creatures can Deceive.

When young, Unskilful of the World's false Arts,
Careless w'unlock to ev'ry Guest our Hearts;
Till better Taught, we by Experience find,
Smooth Looks are Artifice, and Vows are Wind.
Then Craftier grown (as Cullies turn to Rooks)
We try, perhaps, the Cheat on other Folks;
Revenge the Suff'rings of our heedless Youth;
And to our Int'rest sacrifice our Truth.

But Virtue in a Friend will not suffice,
He should not only Honest be, but Wise.
Discreetly Bold, and mannerly Severe,
Averse to Court, or to Offend the Ear;
Cautious, to skreen from publick View, or Shame,
Those Faults which he in private can't but blame.
Some, who'd disdain to act a treach'rous Part,
Turn Villains out of Gaiety of Heart;
And, to indulge their wanton Ridicule,
Will shock a modest Man to please a Fool:
For Fools are ever on the laughing Side;
And nothing easier is than to deride.

The Pert Buffoon, for Mischief only fit,
Is but, at best, the Jackanapes of Wit:
And sometimes Lash'd for his Impertinence,
The Fop proves merry at his own Expence.
Such course rude Freedoms are not to be born.
Malice is less Provoking far than Scorn.

Friendship's the highest Elegance of Mind,
Few know to Relish Pleasure so refin'd.
As Poetry can ne'er be Learn'd by Art,
(For Heav'n the tuneful Talent must impart.)
So Friendship seems a Genius to require,
Some Spark peculiar of Celestial Fire,
To guide our Choice by its unerring Light,
And wing our Passions in their noble Flight.
Where this bright Flame is kindled in the Soul,
It Mounts apace, and Spreads without controul.
The pregnant Seeds lye long perhaps conceal'd,
But oh! how fierce the Blaze, when once reveal'd!
Thus have we seen a secret wondrous Charm,
At the first View of one expos'd to harm,
With fond Concern a Stranger's Breast alarm.

The Call of Nature, he with Joy obey'd,
Nor waited for Reflexion's slower Aid:
Swift as a Wish with Extacy he mov'd;
And hurry'd to embrace the New-belov'd,

When we consider, in this Mortal State,
How none are shelter'd from the Bolts of Fate;
What sudden Storms arise within our Sphere,
And change the Face of the inverted Year;
Methinks we should in social Cares unite,
Nor add our Indolence to Fortune's Spite;
But by Compassion of our Brother's Woe,
Engage his Help against the common Foe.
And tho' alike the Pulpit and the Stage,
Have both debauch'd to Rage, or Vice the Age,
Yet ev'n in these flagitious factious Days,
Some I could name (and Such as all must praise)
Whom this benign, this tender Spirit sways.
To Merit just, to sad Misfortune kind,
Now Pity melts, now Zeal inflames their Mind.
But oh! in vain the grateful Muse would aim
Her Duty, or their Bounty to proclaim;

(To whom my Soul bends more devoutly low,
Than Mitred Hypocrites at Altars Bow)
My faint Expressions my Ideas wrong;
My Heart's ill represented by my Tongue.
Some Features seem to mock the Painter's Skill.
'Tis hard to draw a Stanhope, or Argyle.