 | Miscellanies in Verse and Prose |  |
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To Major Pack, upon Reading his Poems.
Sway'd by the vulgar Tide (forgive the Wrong)
I thought before I heard your pow'rful Song,
In noisy War the Muses Voice was Mute,
Nor hop'd to find the Trumpet near the Lute.
But now I see, from thy melodious Lays,
The Laurel well may mingle with the Bays;
The Warrior's Oak may tremble on the Crest,
And yet the Lovers Myrtle shade the Breast.
I thought before I heard your pow'rful Song,
In noisy War the Muses Voice was Mute,
Nor hop'd to find the Trumpet near the Lute.
But now I see, from thy melodious Lays,
The Laurel well may mingle with the Bays;
The Warrior's Oak may tremble on the Crest,
And yet the Lovers Myrtle shade the Breast.
Minerva thus in Homer's Camp is seen,
Now the Maid threatens with a Warlike Mien;
Now in soft Words perswades the giddy Throng,
And melts in Musick on Ulysses Tongue.
So on the Bosom of the Thames unite
The Fruits of gentle Peace, and Pomp of Fight.
Here breath the Spicy Gumms from India's Shores,
In Thunder there the Royal Navy Roars.
Now the Maid threatens with a Warlike Mien;
Now in soft Words perswades the giddy Throng,
And melts in Musick on Ulysses Tongue.
So on the Bosom of the Thames unite
The Fruits of gentle Peace, and Pomp of Fight.
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In Thunder there the Royal Navy Roars.
May Britain never want such Sons as you,
To Fight her Battels, and Record them too,
Tyrtæus so lead Sparta's Soldiers on,
Then sung the Trophies which himself had won.
Be this thy Double Praise; while We commend
The Wars you Write, the Freedom you Defend.
To Fight her Battels, and Record them too,
Tyrtæus so lead Sparta's Soldiers on,
Then sung the Trophies which himself had won.
Be this thy Double Praise; while We commend
The Wars you Write, the Freedom you Defend.
G. S. M. D.
1
Original Poems AND TRANSLATIONS.
ELEGY. Sylvia to Amintor.
Excute Virgineo conceptas Pectore flammas,
Si potes, infelix. Si possem, sanior essem.
At trahit invitam nova vis; aliudque cupido,
Mens aliud suadet. Video meliora, proboque,
Deteriora sequor. ------
Ovid.
Si potes, infelix. Si possem, sanior essem.
At trahit invitam nova vis; aliudque cupido,
Mens aliud suadet. Video meliora, proboque,
Deteriora sequor. ------
Ovid.
Behold, Amintor, an abandon'd Maid,
By Love and You to Misery betray'd
With tend'rest Vows, and fond bewitching Art,
You press'd, on ev'ry side, my easy Heart;
Till, having thrown the weak Intrenchments down
You plunder'd first, then left the naked Town.
Was it for this I all the World forsook,
And in your Arms my wish'd Asylum took:
To be, like some cheap Flower, unkindly torn
From my fix'd Root, then flung away in Scorn?
Ill-fated Passion! oh unequal Lot!
So long persu'd, am I so soon forgot?
Sure all our Sex are born to suffer Pain,
Either from Falshood, or from cold Disdain.
When Old, or ugly, Men our Faces shun:
If Young and handsome, we're too oft undone.
By Love and You to Misery betray'd
With tend'rest Vows, and fond bewitching Art,
You press'd, on ev'ry side, my easy Heart;
2
You plunder'd first, then left the naked Town.
Was it for this I all the World forsook,
And in your Arms my wish'd Asylum took:
To be, like some cheap Flower, unkindly torn
From my fix'd Root, then flung away in Scorn?
Ill-fated Passion! oh unequal Lot!
So long persu'd, am I so soon forgot?
Sure all our Sex are born to suffer Pain,
Either from Falshood, or from cold Disdain.
When Old, or ugly, Men our Faces shun:
If Young and handsome, we're too oft undone.
Ye happier Virgins, whose unblemish'd Fame
Has ne'er been sullied by this guilty Flame;
By my Example warn'd, avoid with Care
All close Engagements in Love's fatal War.
Tho' long uninjur'd you maintain the Fight,
You'll find your only Safety's in your Flight.
The Foe all Stratagems and Methods tries:
Who Force escape, are taken by Surprize.
On Wings of Down his treach'rous Arrows fly:
Ah! guard each Avenue, or else you Die.
Trust not the slight Defence of Female Pride,
Nor in your boasted Honour much confide.
So still the Motion, and so smooth the Dart,
It stole unfelt into my heedless Heart.
The subtle Poison lurk'd a while conceal'd;
But soon the Symptoms the Disease reveal'd.
A sad afflictive melancholy Pain
Throbb'd at my Breast, and beat in ev'ry Vein.
My heaving Bosom swell'd with sudden Sighs,
And Tears unbidden trickled from my Eyes.
In restless Fevers languishing I lay,
Dreaming all Night, and raving all the Day.
Yet this, methinks, with ease I could sustain,
Abjure my Freedom, and embrace my Chain;
Would but Amintor one kind Look bestow
To sooth my Grief, and mitigate my Woe.
One flatt'ring Smile would scatter all my Fears,
As Shadows vanish when the Sun appears.
So, if the Weight of some unfriendly Storm
Crush the pale Hyacinth, his Charms deform,
He hangs his Head, and seems a while to mourn,
Till the bright Ruler of the Day return;
But soon as e'er he feels his genial Fire,
With kindly Warmth his tender Leaves inspire;
Strait he revives with the same Purple Grace;
And the chill Dews no longer cloud his Face.
But, ah! This Image no Resemblance bears,
Amintor still is false, and Sylvia still despairs.
Has ne'er been sullied by this guilty Flame;
By my Example warn'd, avoid with Care
All close Engagements in Love's fatal War.
Tho' long uninjur'd you maintain the Fight,
You'll find your only Safety's in your Flight.
The Foe all Stratagems and Methods tries:
Who Force escape, are taken by Surprize.
3
Ah! guard each Avenue, or else you Die.
Trust not the slight Defence of Female Pride,
Nor in your boasted Honour much confide.
So still the Motion, and so smooth the Dart,
It stole unfelt into my heedless Heart.
The subtle Poison lurk'd a while conceal'd;
But soon the Symptoms the Disease reveal'd.
A sad afflictive melancholy Pain
Throbb'd at my Breast, and beat in ev'ry Vein.
My heaving Bosom swell'd with sudden Sighs,
And Tears unbidden trickled from my Eyes.
In restless Fevers languishing I lay,
Dreaming all Night, and raving all the Day.
Yet this, methinks, with ease I could sustain,
Abjure my Freedom, and embrace my Chain;
Would but Amintor one kind Look bestow
To sooth my Grief, and mitigate my Woe.
One flatt'ring Smile would scatter all my Fears,
As Shadows vanish when the Sun appears.
So, if the Weight of some unfriendly Storm
Crush the pale Hyacinth, his Charms deform,
4
Till the bright Ruler of the Day return;
But soon as e'er he feels his genial Fire,
With kindly Warmth his tender Leaves inspire;
Strait he revives with the same Purple Grace;
And the chill Dews no longer cloud his Face.
But, ah! This Image no Resemblance bears,
Amintor still is false, and Sylvia still despairs.
Like some misguided Traveller that strays
Through pathless Woods, and unfrequented Ways,
My Soul, deluded from her Native Seat,
Finds no kind Shelter, no secure Retreat.
Safe while I follow'd Virtue's steady Light:
Depriv'd of That, I'm left in endless Night.
What shall I do? Ah, whither shall I turn?
In lawless Fires must I for ever burn?
Nor Peace, nor Innocence again return?
Ah no! All other Ills some Cure may find;
But there's no Med'cine for a Love-sick Mind.
Death only can my mortal Anguish end,
And Nature's Enemy must be my Friend.
Ungen'rous Victor, from whose Rage thy Slave
Flies for Relief to the relentless Grave.
But when my Ashes in their Urn are laid,
Who scorn'd me Living, will lament me Dead.
My Suff'ring cannot fail at length to move
Your Mind to Pity, though averse to Love.
Through pathless Woods, and unfrequented Ways,
My Soul, deluded from her Native Seat,
Finds no kind Shelter, no secure Retreat.
Safe while I follow'd Virtue's steady Light:
Depriv'd of That, I'm left in endless Night.
What shall I do? Ah, whither shall I turn?
In lawless Fires must I for ever burn?
Nor Peace, nor Innocence again return?
Ah no! All other Ills some Cure may find;
But there's no Med'cine for a Love-sick Mind.
Death only can my mortal Anguish end,
And Nature's Enemy must be my Friend.
5
Flies for Relief to the relentless Grave.
But when my Ashes in their Urn are laid,
Who scorn'd me Living, will lament me Dead.
My Suff'ring cannot fail at length to move
Your Mind to Pity, though averse to Love.
6
A Pastoral.
In Imitation of Virgil's Second Eclogue.
Young
Corydon, a poor inamour'd Swain,
The Fair Miranda lov'd, but lov'd in vain.
With Gifts he brib'd her; and with Songs he strove
To tune her Heart to the soft Notes of Love.
But still successless the fond Shepherd woo'd:
The Wanton faster fled, the more persu'd.
The Fair Miranda lov'd, but lov'd in vain.
With Gifts he brib'd her; and with Songs he strove
To tune her Heart to the soft Notes of Love.
But still successless the fond Shepherd woo'd:
The Wanton faster fled, the more persu'd.
With Grief and Shame, and hot Desire he press'd,
(Tyrants that rul'd by Turns within his Breast.)
Pensive and sad he sought the silent Grove;
And thus in artless Numbers mourn'd his Love.
Ungrateful Nymph, and oh too rudely coy!
Thy fierce Unkindness will my Life destroy.
No Tongue can speak the Torments I endure.
So deep the Wound that I despair a Cure.
Fool that I am, on certain Fate to run,
And court the Mischief that I ought to shun.
The Flocks and Herds oppress'd with sultry Heat,
To the thick Shades, and cooling Springs retreat,
And the green Lizard, and the painted Snake
Find a kind Refuge in some neighb'ring Brake.
But where, alas I can wretched I retire?
No Shades can cool, no Streams can quench my Fire.
Careless and unconcern'd I could have born
Dorinda's Hate, or Saccharissa's Scorn.
Those vulgar Beauties scarce our Passions move
But you inspire me with the Rage of Love.
Yet know, Fond Maid, tho' so divinely Fair,
That with'ring Time will all thy Charms impair.
How gay the Lilly, and how sweet the Rose,
When the young Months their Virgin Bloom disclose.
But soon as e'er they feel the chilling Frost,
Their Leaves are blasted, and their Odours lost.
Consider, Beauty will not always last,
Then lay out ev'ry happy Hour in haste.
That lovely Face proclaims a gentler Mind:
The Gods who form'd you Fair, design'd you Kind.
Return, dear Fugitive, return again;
And bless, at last, thy much-enduring Swain.
Regard your Lover with impartial Eyes;
And see that Wealth, which you unknown despise.
Here mantling Vines the rising Hills adorn,
There the glad Vallies smile with rip'ning Corn.
My num'rous Flocks o'er-spread the flow'ry Plains,
And I'm the Envy of my Fellow Swains.
Content already with my present Store,
For your Sake only I could wish for more.
Secure and happy in yon little Cell,
Like Sylvan Gods we might together dwell.
With chearful Hounds we'd rise e'er Morning Dawn
To course the Hare, or chase the nimble Fawn.
In Rural Sports, and harmless Wanton play,
Unmark'd the swift-wing'd Hours would glide away.
No busy Cares shou'd our soft Thoughts annoy,
But all our Life be Gentleness and Joy.
Ah Coridon! thy airy Hopes restrain,
Nor feast with flatt'ring Dreams thy Mind in vain.
Int'rest, you see, prevails o'er all Mankind;
And Gold so Dazzles, that it makes Love blind.
Thy Wealthier Rival, tho' Deform'd and Old,
Does thy Heart's Darling from thy Arms with-hold.
Go, prune thy Vines, or tend thy woolly Care;
Nor waste thy Youth in Mourning and Despair.
Let no false Raptures discompose thy Mind,
Forget the Cruel, and embrace the Kind.
(Tyrants that rul'd by Turns within his Breast.)
Pensive and sad he sought the silent Grove;
And thus in artless Numbers mourn'd his Love.
Ungrateful Nymph, and oh too rudely coy!
Thy fierce Unkindness will my Life destroy.
No Tongue can speak the Torments I endure.
So deep the Wound that I despair a Cure.
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And court the Mischief that I ought to shun.
The Flocks and Herds oppress'd with sultry Heat,
To the thick Shades, and cooling Springs retreat,
And the green Lizard, and the painted Snake
Find a kind Refuge in some neighb'ring Brake.
But where, alas I can wretched I retire?
No Shades can cool, no Streams can quench my Fire.
Careless and unconcern'd I could have born
Dorinda's Hate, or Saccharissa's Scorn.
Those vulgar Beauties scarce our Passions move
But you inspire me with the Rage of Love.
Yet know, Fond Maid, tho' so divinely Fair,
That with'ring Time will all thy Charms impair.
How gay the Lilly, and how sweet the Rose,
When the young Months their Virgin Bloom disclose.
But soon as e'er they feel the chilling Frost,
Their Leaves are blasted, and their Odours lost.
Consider, Beauty will not always last,
Then lay out ev'ry happy Hour in haste.
That lovely Face proclaims a gentler Mind:
The Gods who form'd you Fair, design'd you Kind.
8
And bless, at last, thy much-enduring Swain.
Regard your Lover with impartial Eyes;
And see that Wealth, which you unknown despise.
Here mantling Vines the rising Hills adorn,
There the glad Vallies smile with rip'ning Corn.
My num'rous Flocks o'er-spread the flow'ry Plains,
And I'm the Envy of my Fellow Swains.
Content already with my present Store,
For your Sake only I could wish for more.
Secure and happy in yon little Cell,
Like Sylvan Gods we might together dwell.
With chearful Hounds we'd rise e'er Morning Dawn
To course the Hare, or chase the nimble Fawn.
In Rural Sports, and harmless Wanton play,
Unmark'd the swift-wing'd Hours would glide away.
No busy Cares shou'd our soft Thoughts annoy,
But all our Life be Gentleness and Joy.
Ah Coridon! thy airy Hopes restrain,
Nor feast with flatt'ring Dreams thy Mind in vain.
Int'rest, you see, prevails o'er all Mankind;
And Gold so Dazzles, that it makes Love blind.
9
Does thy Heart's Darling from thy Arms with-hold.
Go, prune thy Vines, or tend thy woolly Care;
Nor waste thy Youth in Mourning and Despair.
Let no false Raptures discompose thy Mind,
Forget the Cruel, and embrace the Kind.
10
The Praise of Sulpitia.
Forsake, Great God of War, thy Native Skies,A brighter Heaven is in Sulpitia's Eyes.
To grace thy Festival, behold her dress'd,
In all the shining Glories of the East.
On the Soft Pomp indulge thy ravish'd Sight,
Nor fear least Venus grudge the chaste Delight.
But thou, impetuous Warrior well beware;
Thy Arms will scarce defend thee from the Fair.
When Cupid would some am'rous God inflame,
He steals his Fire from this Celestial Dame.
The chearful Graces, and the sportive Loves,
Attend the Beauteous Maid, where'er she moves:
With secret Harmony each Act compose,
And give a happy Turn to all she does.
Whether in artful Pleats she brades her Hair,
Or lets it loosely Wanton in the Air:
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Or Neatly Plain seems negligently dress'd:
Alike there does through ev'ry Manner shine,
A Grace peculiar, and a Form divine.
Vertumnus so a thousand Dresses wears,
And Charming still in all the youthful God appears.
This matchless Fair is worthy to enjoy
Whatever Art, or Nature can supply.
For her the Tyrian shou'd employ his Care,
For her alone the costly Fleece prepare.
For her the Sun in bless'd Arabia's Soil,
Shall ripen Gums, and Incense, Spice, and Oil.
For her Both Indies shall their Treasures bring:
For her our Roses blow, our Violets spring.
For her the Muses shall young Bards inspire;
For her Apollo tune his Vocal Lyre.
Unnumber'd Years may she their Toil prolong,
No nobler Subject can adorn their Song.
12
To D. C. when very YOUNG.
If to be Gay, well-humour'd, Witty,Youthful, Agreeable, and Pretty,
Attracts the Eye, and wins the Mind;
Then what Resistance can you find,
Whom Heaven has form'd with ev'ry Grace,
A sprightly Soul, an Angel's Face?
Yet shall I, gentle Boy, impart,
What Kindness dictates from my Heart.
Something there is that's still requir'd,
To make my Campbell more admir'd.
Nature but half the Work has done;
Art must compleat what She begun.
The richest Oar has some Allay,
'Till Labour does the Mass refine;
The Fire must Purge the Dross away,
E'er the Intrinsick Bullion shine.
13
Useful and well-bred Conversation,
Must dress your Mind, correct your Taste,
And give your Thoughts a juster Cast:
Must polish the rough Draught of Nature;
Re-touch, and soften ev'ry Feature:
Set in true Light, each Trait will Shine,
And the whole Piece will look Divine.
A Genius like to yours shou'd aim,
To merit more than common Fame;
Shou'd strive in all Things to excel;
In Judging right, and acting well:
Ambitious still to please the Best,
Despising all the Vulgar rest.
Think not, I mean by this Advice,
To censure Pleasure as a Vice.
My Lyre to softer Notes is strung.—
I laugh at those mysterious Fools,
Who live inslav'd to formal Rules,
And under a constrain'd Disguise,
By looking Grave wou'd pass for Wise.
14
Yet blames Severity no less.
She, like a Maid, our Fancy warms
With modest, but obliging Charms:
With decent Pride disdains to tread
The Paths that to Dishonour lead;
But safe from Danger, far from Noise,
Revels in silent real Joys;
Such as true Friendship does inspire,
Or Love's more active nobler Fire.
15
The Third ELEGY of the Third Book of Tibullus.
Quid prodest cælum votis implesse Neæra?
Blandaque cum multâ thura dedisse prece?
Blandaque cum multâ thura dedisse prece?
Why to the Gods do I my Vows repeat?
With Incense bribe them, and with Pray'r intreat?
Is it, Neæra, that thou may'st behold
Me tread on Marble under Roofs of Gold?
That Bacchus would a joyful Vintage yield?
Or Ceres crown the Labours of the Field?
No, (Only Blessing!) 'tis for thy Return,
The sacred Fires on ev'ry Altar burn.
In thy Embraces let me happy live,
'Tis all that I would ask, or Heav'n can give:
16
Clasp'd in thy Arms, when seiz'd by those of Death.
Not Heaps of treasur'd Gold allure my Eye;
The Phrygian Column, or the Tyrian Dye;
Not awful Bow'rs, like sacred Groves design'd,
That strike Religious Rev'rence on the Mind;
Not all the Pomp that gazing Crowds admire,
The gawdy Equipage and rich Attire:
These Envy raise. Nor can the lab'ring Mind
Assur'd Repose in their Possession find.
Fortune, who governs with Despotick Sway,
Resumes to Morrow, what she gave to Day.
Poor be my Lot, Inglorious be my State,
Bless'd with thy Presence, I'll absolve my Fate.
But if thy Absence I must still bemoan,
What Gift of Life can for the Loss attone?
The Wealth of Kings wou'd be too mean a Price,
On Crowns less Splendor waits than on thy Eyes.
Pride and Ambition vulgar Souls may fire,
But Love's the Empire to which I aspire.
Saturnian Juno! hear thy Suppliant's Pray'r,
And thou, O Venus! aid a Lover's Care.
17
That shall Neæra to my Arms convey.
Or, if the Fates averse with sullen Pride,
Mock my fond Passion, and my Hopes deride;
Deep let me drink of the Lethæan Wave,
And dark Oblivion hide me in the Grave.
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The Twelfth ELEGY of the Second Book of Propertius.
Quicunque ille fuit, puerum qui pinxit Amorem,
Nónne putas miras hunc habuisse manus?
Nónne putas miras hunc habuisse manus?
Who first drew Cupid a young Boy, and blind,
With Skill, no doubt, the moral Piece design'd.
He saw how Lovers with fond Childish Play
Lavish in idle Cares their Hours away.
His Airy Wings the Artist too exprest,
Flutt'ring in wanton Sport from Breast to Breast.
(For so our Hopes no constant Measures know,
And Tides of Love alternate ebb and flow;)
And arm'd his little Hands with pointed Darts,
To shew his Tyranny o'er human Hearts.
With fatal Certainty he draws his Bow,
And unobserv'd directs the silent Blow.
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But sure the Wand'rer now has lost his Wings:
For settled here, he rages in my Breast,
And my poor wearied Soul can find no Rest.
Ah cease a wretched Spectre to invade!
Attack some blooming Youth, or haughty Maid:
Me thy old Servant, and thy Poet spare;
Else who shall sing the Triumphs of thy War?
My Muse oppress'd, now scarce one Note can raise;
Restore my Liberty, I'll sound thy Praise.
I will describe thy Cynthia's Air and Mien,
Those Eyes, that Shape, that Grace in Motion seen.
Harmonious Beauty shall my Song inspire;
And Love's bright Torch shall set the World on Fire.
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The Fourth ELEGY of the Fourth Book of Tibullus.
To Phoebus.
Huc ades, & teneræ morbos expelle puellæ,
Huc ades, intonsâ Phœbe superbe comâ.
Huc ades, intonsâ Phœbe superbe comâ.
Come and relieve the sweet complaining Maid.
Trust me, make Haste: She well deserves thy Care:
Who would not be Physician to the Fair?
Revive the fading Roses on her Cheek;
Revive the drooping Lillies on her Neck:
And far to Winds commit, and distant Seas
Each Rebel Atom that disturbs her Ease.
Come, Sacred Sire, and bring each pow'rful Juice,
Each pow'rful Sound thy double Skill can chuse.
Nor wound the Youth who mourns her doubtful State,
And with unnumber'd Vows wou'd bribe her Fate.
21
Distracted he blasphemes, and Heaven arraigns.
But fear no Foes, Cerinthus, from above:
The Gods will all befriend the Cause of Love.
Weep then no more; thy Tears were only Due,
Were she grown Cold, Indiff'rent, or Untrue:
But well thou know'st, for thee alone she lives;
Nor minds th' officious Crowd besides that grieves.
Propitious Phoebus! show'r thy Blessings down:
Preserve Two Lovers Lives in saving One.
So, when the grateful Pair their Praise shall join,
And hand in hand approach thy hallow'd Shrine,
The thronging Sanctities of Heaven shall own,
No Arts worth envying but Thine alone.
22
To my Dear Friend, Captain David Campbell.
Cividadella in Minorca, Nov. 1712.
When Campbell, on the Banks of Thames,
Mixt with the Beaus and shining Dames,
The sweet Variety you prove
Of Wit, and Wine, and happy Love;
Reflect a little on this Scene,
The Seat of Poverty and Spleen;
And while gay Pleasure fills your Mind,
Pity those Friends you left behind,
Who, banish'd from the Fair and Young,
Must live unblest, and dye unsung.
Mixt with the Beaus and shining Dames,
The sweet Variety you prove
Of Wit, and Wine, and happy Love;
Reflect a little on this Scene,
The Seat of Poverty and Spleen;
And while gay Pleasure fills your Mind,
Pity those Friends you left behind,
Who, banish'd from the Fair and Young,
Must live unblest, and dye unsung.
In vain kind Nature would employ
Her baffled Aid to give me Joy:
In vain each Pulse proclaims aloud,
The gen'rous Fire that warms my Blood:
To Rocks, alas! or desart Plains,
(Far from the Nymphs and tuneful Swains)
Confin'd, I mourn my Vigor lost,
By Love forsook, by Fortune cross'd.
No Verdant Beauty cheers my Sight;
No feather'd Quires my Ear delight;
No Park, nor Play, nor fond Amour,
Amuse one tedious lonesome Hour;
But the same Round stills wears away,
In Sleep the Night, in Sloth the Day.
Her baffled Aid to give me Joy:
In vain each Pulse proclaims aloud,
The gen'rous Fire that warms my Blood:
23
(Far from the Nymphs and tuneful Swains)
Confin'd, I mourn my Vigor lost,
By Love forsook, by Fortune cross'd.
No Verdant Beauty cheers my Sight;
No feather'd Quires my Ear delight;
No Park, nor Play, nor fond Amour,
Amuse one tedious lonesome Hour;
But the same Round stills wears away,
In Sleep the Night, in Sloth the Day.
How partial is the Hand of Fate,
Who roul in Wealth, and ride in State;
See we not some, like Insects born,
Our Sex Disgrace, the other's Scorn,
Yet favour'd by capricious Chance,
By Springs unseen their Steps advance;
Mount to the Top of Fortune's Wheel,
Made happy ev'n against their Will?
While the brave Youth, whose Counsels aim
By vertuous Acts to merit Fame,
In fruitless Toils consumes his Days,
And neither meets Reward or Praise.
Others, whom Beauty's Pow'r controuls,
Form'd with soft-impassion'd Souls,
(And oh my Heart is tend'rer far
Than Sighs of pitying Virgins are)
Address in vain the cruel Boy;
Feel all his Pains, nor taste the Joy.
The Gods of their own Bliss secure,
Neglect the Ills which we endure.
Who roul in Wealth, and ride in State;
See we not some, like Insects born,
Our Sex Disgrace, the other's Scorn,
Yet favour'd by capricious Chance,
By Springs unseen their Steps advance;
Mount to the Top of Fortune's Wheel,
Made happy ev'n against their Will?
While the brave Youth, whose Counsels aim
By vertuous Acts to merit Fame,
24
And neither meets Reward or Praise.
Others, whom Beauty's Pow'r controuls,
Form'd with soft-impassion'd Souls,
(And oh my Heart is tend'rer far
Than Sighs of pitying Virgins are)
Address in vain the cruel Boy;
Feel all his Pains, nor taste the Joy.
The Gods of their own Bliss secure,
Neglect the Ills which we endure.
If all our Piety's not vain;
If long Intreaty Heav'n can gain;
E'er yet my Noon of Life be past,
E'er gath'ring Clouds my Sun o'ercast,
Let me, ye Pow'rs! successful prove
In my Ambition, and my Love.
My Active, Restless, Fiery Mind,
Can ill submit to be confin'd:
Urg'd by Desires perhaps too great,
I fain, methinks, would tempt my Fate:
But if the Spear, and cumbrous Shield
Too weighty are for me to wield;
If shut out from the Lists of Fame,
I'm doom'd to live without a Name:
Grant me, at least, This one Request,
(And that, alone, will make me Blest)
Redeem me from a long Despair,
And make my Charmer Kind, as Fair.
If long Intreaty Heav'n can gain;
E'er yet my Noon of Life be past,
E'er gath'ring Clouds my Sun o'ercast,
Let me, ye Pow'rs! successful prove
In my Ambition, and my Love.
My Active, Restless, Fiery Mind,
Can ill submit to be confin'd:
Urg'd by Desires perhaps too great,
I fain, methinks, would tempt my Fate:
25
Too weighty are for me to wield;
If shut out from the Lists of Fame,
I'm doom'd to live without a Name:
Grant me, at least, This one Request,
(And that, alone, will make me Blest)
Redeem me from a long Despair,
And make my Charmer Kind, as Fair.
26
To his Grace the Duke of Argyle.
Port-Mahon, Jan. 1st. 1713.
Argyle
, deriv'd from Royal Blood,
My surest Guard, my sweetest Good;
O that inspir'd with happy Skill,
And force proportion'd to my Zeal,
In lasting Verse I cou'd proclaim
Thy matchless Worth, thy growing Fame!
Like Thee should be my num'rous Song,
Exact yet easy, smooth tho' strong.
But the small Genius I could boast,
Shipwreck'd on this dull Shore, is lost.
My banish'd Melancholy Muse,
Condemn'd to live a poor Recluse,
Mourns her neglected Charms decay'd,
And moults her Wings, and droops her Head.
My surest Guard, my sweetest Good;
O that inspir'd with happy Skill,
And force proportion'd to my Zeal,
In lasting Verse I cou'd proclaim
Thy matchless Worth, thy growing Fame!
Like Thee should be my num'rous Song,
Exact yet easy, smooth tho' strong.
But the small Genius I could boast,
Shipwreck'd on this dull Shore, is lost.
My banish'd Melancholy Muse,
Condemn'd to live a poor Recluse,
Mourns her neglected Charms decay'd,
And moults her Wings, and droops her Head.
27
When Horace by the Tyber's Flood
Sung young Augustus, Great and Good,
His chearful Hours with Pleasure fraught,
Enlarg'd his Soul, and tun'd his Thought.
Gay od'rous Flow'rs his Temples crown'd;
The Loves and Graces play'd around;
The Purple Chian flush'd his Wit;
He laugh'd, he lov'd, he sung, he writ.
Th' immortal Offspring of his Lyre,
Conceiv'd in Energy and Fire,
Still Triumphs over Age and Time,
Beautiful, Noble, and Sublime.
Sung young Augustus, Great and Good,
His chearful Hours with Pleasure fraught,
Enlarg'd his Soul, and tun'd his Thought.
Gay od'rous Flow'rs his Temples crown'd;
The Loves and Graces play'd around;
The Purple Chian flush'd his Wit;
He laugh'd, he lov'd, he sung, he writ.
Th' immortal Offspring of his Lyre,
Conceiv'd in Energy and Fire,
Still Triumphs over Age and Time,
Beautiful, Noble, and Sublime.
So, if my lucky Star would smile,
If Landed on the British Isle,
Within some little snug Retreat,
At length I could my Wishes meet;
On Thames fair Banks supinely laid,
Beneath a spreading Poplar's Shade,
By no uneasy Passions press'd,
(Which now in Crowds insult my Breast)
Tho' far unequal to his Strain,
I might not sing perhaps in vain.
Smit with Ambition of thy Praise,
I'd strive my feeble Notes to raise.
Thy Sight new Vigor wou'd infuse;
The Heroe is the Poet's Muse.
Not the shrill Lark, when Morn does spring,
Should higher Soar, or sweeter Sing.
The list'ning Groves should bless my Choice,
And Eccho learn to speak my Voice.
This Merit I'll, however, claim,
To Love, tho' not Adorn thy Name.
If Landed on the British Isle,
Within some little snug Retreat,
At length I could my Wishes meet;
On Thames fair Banks supinely laid,
Beneath a spreading Poplar's Shade,
By no uneasy Passions press'd,
(Which now in Crowds insult my Breast)
28
I might not sing perhaps in vain.
Smit with Ambition of thy Praise,
I'd strive my feeble Notes to raise.
Thy Sight new Vigor wou'd infuse;
The Heroe is the Poet's Muse.
Not the shrill Lark, when Morn does spring,
Should higher Soar, or sweeter Sing.
The list'ning Groves should bless my Choice,
And Eccho learn to speak my Voice.
This Merit I'll, however, claim,
To Love, tho' not Adorn thy Name.
29
Upon Religious Solitude.
Occasion'd by Reading the Inscription on the Tomb of Casimir King of Poland, who Abdicated his Crown, and spent the Remainder of his Days in the Abbey of St. Germain's at Paris, where he is interr'd.
Man, foolish Man! made wretched by his Will,
Conscious of Good, yet still declines to Ill,
Reason in vain directs our wand'ring Choice:
Each Passion turns us with her Syren Voice.
Through Airy Visions (giddy with the Round)
Our Fancy leads us o'er inchanted Ground;
Till tir'd, at length, with Change, and out of Breath,
We close the Scene, and shut up all in Death.
Conscious of Good, yet still declines to Ill,
Reason in vain directs our wand'ring Choice:
Each Passion turns us with her Syren Voice.
Through Airy Visions (giddy with the Round)
Our Fancy leads us o'er inchanted Ground;
Till tir'd, at length, with Change, and out of Breath,
We close the Scene, and shut up all in Death.
But ah! how bless'd are they, and only they,
Who Nature's wise Instructions can obey:
Who within Bounds their Appetites confine;
Nor drink too deep of Pleasure's heady Wine:
Who free from Bus'ness too the Leisure find
To dress the little Garden of their Mind.
That Grateful Tillage best rewards our Pains:
Sweet is the Labour, certain are the Gains.
The rising Harvest never mocks our Toil;
Secure of Fruit, if we manure the Soil.
Who Nature's wise Instructions can obey:
30
Nor drink too deep of Pleasure's heady Wine:
Who free from Bus'ness too the Leisure find
To dress the little Garden of their Mind.
That Grateful Tillage best rewards our Pains:
Sweet is the Labour, certain are the Gains.
The rising Harvest never mocks our Toil;
Secure of Fruit, if we manure the Soil.
Cities and Courts, with false Allurements bright,
Mislead the Judgment by their dazzling Light.
Our Envy sometimes we on those bestow,
Whom we our Pity rather should allow.
Gay Looks too oft the sadned Heart belye;
And the loud Laugh is follow'd by a Sigh.
Not all the Charms of the luxurious East,
Can quell the Tumults of a troubled Breast.
Musick and Wine in vain exert their Pow'r:
The Musick grates our Ears, the Wine turns sow'r.
Nor Beauty Love, nor Wit can Mirth excite:
Dull lags the Day, and joyless is the Night.
Mislead the Judgment by their dazzling Light.
Our Envy sometimes we on those bestow,
Whom we our Pity rather should allow.
Gay Looks too oft the sadned Heart belye;
And the loud Laugh is follow'd by a Sigh.
Not all the Charms of the luxurious East,
Can quell the Tumults of a troubled Breast.
Musick and Wine in vain exert their Pow'r:
The Musick grates our Ears, the Wine turns sow'r.
Nor Beauty Love, nor Wit can Mirth excite:
Dull lags the Day, and joyless is the Night.
31
Ye bold Disturbers of Mankind be warn'd,
Dear costs the Glory, which your Guilt has earn'd.
Fortune, awhile, deceitfully may smile,
And with smooth Hopes your secret Fears beguile;
But Horrour will succeed, and dire Remorse
Nor Strength can check, nor Skill elude their Force,
They board the Three-deck'd Ship, and bade the Warrior-Horse.
Dear costs the Glory, which your Guilt has earn'd.
Fortune, awhile, deceitfully may smile,
And with smooth Hopes your secret Fears beguile;
But Horrour will succeed, and dire Remorse
Nor Strength can check, nor Skill elude their Force,
They board the Three-deck'd Ship, and bade the Warrior-Horse.
Greatness, at best, when by just Arts persu'd,
Is but a partial and unequal Good.
Those needful Cares that do the Throne secure,
Give Princes Pains, which Peasants ne'er endure.
Sick of this Evil, Casimir retir'd,
And gave the Kingdom back his Arms acquir'd.
He saw the tempting Lustre of a Crown;
But felt its Weight, and laid the Burthen down.
Pride, Cruelty, Contempt of Sacred Things,
(The usual Ministers of Conqu'ring Kings)
Banish'd by him, to grace his future Reign,
Faith, Hope, and Charity were all his Train.
Is but a partial and unequal Good.
Those needful Cares that do the Throne secure,
Give Princes Pains, which Peasants ne'er endure.
Sick of this Evil, Casimir retir'd,
And gave the Kingdom back his Arms acquir'd.
He saw the tempting Lustre of a Crown;
But felt its Weight, and laid the Burthen down.
Pride, Cruelty, Contempt of Sacred Things,
(The usual Ministers of Conqu'ring Kings)
Banish'd by him, to grace his future Reign,
Faith, Hope, and Charity were all his Train.
32
Hail, gentle Piety! (unmingled Joy!)
Whose Fullness satisfies, but ne'er can cloy:
Spread thy soft Wings o'er my devoted Breast,
And settle There, an everlasting Guest.
Not cooling Breezes to the languid Swain,
To Winter Sun-shine, or to Summer Rain;
To sinking Mariners the friendly Hand,
That bears 'em up, and guides 'em safe to Land;
Bring half the Comfort, or the Welcome find,
As thy Accesses to a Shipwreck'd Mind.
Whose Fullness satisfies, but ne'er can cloy:
Spread thy soft Wings o'er my devoted Breast,
And settle There, an everlasting Guest.
Not cooling Breezes to the languid Swain,
To Winter Sun-shine, or to Summer Rain;
To sinking Mariners the friendly Hand,
That bears 'em up, and guides 'em safe to Land;
Bring half the Comfort, or the Welcome find,
As thy Accesses to a Shipwreck'd Mind.
33
An Epistle from a Half-Pay Officer in the Country to his Friend in London, upon Reading the Address of the Two Houses, to thank her Majesty for the Safe, Honourable, and Advantageous Peace.
Ipswich
April 1714.
O Dulces comitum valete cætus,
Longè quos simul à domo profectos,
Diverse variæ viæ reportant.
Catull.
Longè quos simul à domo profectos,
Diverse variæ viæ reportant.
Catull.
Curse on the Star, dear Harry, that betray'd
My Choice from Law, Divinity, or Trade,
To turn a Rambling Brother o'the Blade!
Of all Professions sure the worst is War.
How whimsical our Fortune! how Bizarre!
This Week we shine in Scarlet, and in Gold:
The next the Cloak is pawn'd—The Watch is sold.
To Day we're Company for any Lord:
To Morrow not a Soul will take our Word.
Like Meteors rais'd in a tempestuous Sky,
A while we Glitter, then obscurely Dye.
Must Heroes suffer such Disgrace as This?
O Curst Effects of Honourable Peace!
My Choice from Law, Divinity, or Trade,
To turn a Rambling Brother o'the Blade!
Of all Professions sure the worst is War.
How whimsical our Fortune! how Bizarre!
This Week we shine in Scarlet, and in Gold:
The next the Cloak is pawn'd—The Watch is sold.
To Day we're Company for any Lord:
To Morrow not a Soul will take our Word.
34
A while we Glitter, then obscurely Dye.
Must Heroes suffer such Disgrace as This?
O Curst Effects of Honourable Peace!
I, who not long ago indulg'd my Hours
In witty Commerce, or in soft Amours;
And in rich Mulso, Volney, or Champaigne,
Ador'd each Night the Beauties then in Reign;
(Till Arms submitting to the Awful Gown,
Our Troops were forc'd to abdicate the Town,)
Must now retire, and languish out my Days
Far from the Roads of Pleasure, or of Praise:
Quit sweet Hyde-Park for dull Provincial Air;
And change the Play-House for a Country-Fair:
With sneaking Parsons beastly Bumpers quaff;
At low Conceits, and vile Conundrums laugh;
Toast to the Church, and talk of Right Divine;
And Herd with Squires—more noisy than their Swine.
Must Heroes suffer such Disgrace as This?
O Curst Effects of Honourable Peace!
In witty Commerce, or in soft Amours;
And in rich Mulso, Volney, or Champaigne,
Ador'd each Night the Beauties then in Reign;
(Till Arms submitting to the Awful Gown,
Our Troops were forc'd to abdicate the Town,)
Must now retire, and languish out my Days
Far from the Roads of Pleasure, or of Praise:
Quit sweet Hyde-Park for dull Provincial Air;
And change the Play-House for a Country-Fair:
With sneaking Parsons beastly Bumpers quaff;
At low Conceits, and vile Conundrums laugh;
Toast to the Church, and talk of Right Divine;
And Herd with Squires—more noisy than their Swine.
Must Heroes suffer such Disgrace as This?
O Curst Effects of Honourable Peace!
35
There was a Time—Oh! yes there was a Time—
(E'er Poverty made Luxury a Crime,)
When Marigolds in Porridge were a Jest;
And Soups were us'd to introduce the Feast.
Then French Ragouts were Orthodox and Good;
And Trufles held no Heresy in Food.
Nor to eat Mackarel was judg'd High-Treason,
Tho' Goosberries as yet were not in Season.
But under H---ley's frugal Dispensation,
These Vanities require a Reformation.
Scourg'd by his Wand, and Humbled by his Sway,
I've learn'd to suit my Diet to my Pay;
And Now can sanctify, with solemn Face,
A heavy Dumpling with a formal Grace.
In Aukward Plenty slovenly I Dine:
And nappy Ale supplies the want of Wine.
No nice Disserts my learned Palate please.
To fill up Chinks—a Slice of Suffolk-Cheese.
And must then Heroes Nibble Suffolk-Cheese?
O Curst Effects of Honourable Peace!
(E'er Poverty made Luxury a Crime,)
When Marigolds in Porridge were a Jest;
And Soups were us'd to introduce the Feast.
Then French Ragouts were Orthodox and Good;
And Trufles held no Heresy in Food.
Nor to eat Mackarel was judg'd High-Treason,
Tho' Goosberries as yet were not in Season.
But under H---ley's frugal Dispensation,
These Vanities require a Reformation.
Scourg'd by his Wand, and Humbled by his Sway,
I've learn'd to suit my Diet to my Pay;
And Now can sanctify, with solemn Face,
A heavy Dumpling with a formal Grace.
In Aukward Plenty slovenly I Dine:
And nappy Ale supplies the want of Wine.
No nice Disserts my learned Palate please.
To fill up Chinks—a Slice of Suffolk-Cheese.
And must then Heroes Nibble Suffolk-Cheese?
O Curst Effects of Honourable Peace!
36
But ah! the hardest Part is still behind—
The Fair too, Gentle Harry, prove unkind.
Think then how wretchedly my Life must pass!
For what's this World, my Friend, without a Lass?
Poor be my Lot, Inglorious be my State,
Give me but—Woman, I'll absolve my Fate.
But 'tis in vain.—
Th' ungrateful Sex, as senseless as unjust,
To feed their Pride, will even starve their Lust:
And fool'd by Equipage and empty Show,
Quit the Tough Soldier for the Lathy Beau.
I, who so oft their forward Zeal have show'd,
And in their Service spent my warmest Blood,
Am Now reduc'd, (hard Fate!) for want of Pelf,
To fight the Jesuit's Battle by my self.
Must Heroes suffer such Disgrace as This?
O Curst Effects of Honourable Peace!
The Fair too, Gentle Harry, prove unkind.
Think then how wretchedly my Life must pass!
For what's this World, my Friend, without a Lass?
Poor be my Lot, Inglorious be my State,
Give me but—Woman, I'll absolve my Fate.
But 'tis in vain.—
Th' ungrateful Sex, as senseless as unjust,
To feed their Pride, will even starve their Lust:
And fool'd by Equipage and empty Show,
Quit the Tough Soldier for the Lathy Beau.
I, who so oft their forward Zeal have show'd,
And in their Service spent my warmest Blood,
Am Now reduc'd, (hard Fate!) for want of Pelf,
To fight the Jesuit's Battle by my self.
Must Heroes suffer such Disgrace as This?
O Curst Effects of Honourable Peace!
37
The Fourth Eclogue of Virgil Imitated.
Sicilian
Muse exalt thy tuneful Voice:
Not always make the Woods and Groves thy Choice.
Or, if that humbler Theme you still persue,
Make the Groves worthy of a Consul's View.
Not always make the Woods and Groves thy Choice.
Or, if that humbler Theme you still persue,
Make the Groves worthy of a Consul's View.
The Time is come, the Sybil long foretold,
Restoring the Saturnian Age of Gold.
Again Astræa is return'd to Earth:
And a new Race descends of Heav'nly Birth.
O Chaste Lucina! thy kind Aid bestow;
(Lo! thy Apollo rules the World below)
Discharge the Mother of her pregnant Load,
And quick Reveal to Light the Infant God.
And thou, O Pollio! chose by smiling Fate,
From thy great Consulship shall give this Æra Date.
If any Seeds of Vice shall dare appear,
Thy bright Example, and successful Care,
Shall free the World at once from Guilt, and Fear.
Th' Illustrious Babe for future Sway decreed,
Belov'd by Gods, the Life of Gods shall lead:
Long with Hereditary Virtues reign;
And late ascend his native Skies again.
Restoring the Saturnian Age of Gold.
Again Astræa is return'd to Earth:
And a new Race descends of Heav'nly Birth.
O Chaste Lucina! thy kind Aid bestow;
(Lo! thy Apollo rules the World below)
Discharge the Mother of her pregnant Load,
And quick Reveal to Light the Infant God.
And thou, O Pollio! chose by smiling Fate,
From thy great Consulship shall give this Æra Date.
38
Thy bright Example, and successful Care,
Shall free the World at once from Guilt, and Fear.
Th' Illustrious Babe for future Sway decreed,
Belov'd by Gods, the Life of Gods shall lead:
Long with Hereditary Virtues reign;
And late ascend his native Skies again.
The grateful Earth to greet her Infant King
Shall sacred Wreaths of Circling Ivy bring:
While Flora decks with various Art the Ground,
And Zephyrs scatter Her Perfumes around.
At thy Approach, blest Boy! shall strait remove
Each rougher Kind that's Enemy to Love.
The Prowling Wolf no more shall hunt for Prey;
The Ox and Lyon shall together play;
The Serpent lose his Sting; each pois'nous Weed
Shall die, and Syrian Roses flourish in their Stead.
Shall sacred Wreaths of Circling Ivy bring:
While Flora decks with various Art the Ground,
And Zephyrs scatter Her Perfumes around.
At thy Approach, blest Boy! shall strait remove
Each rougher Kind that's Enemy to Love.
The Prowling Wolf no more shall hunt for Prey;
The Ox and Lyon shall together play;
The Serpent lose his Sting; each pois'nous Weed
Shall die, and Syrian Roses flourish in their Stead.
But when, contemplating thy Father's Praise,
Thy ripen'd Thought shall Emulation raise
To urge thy Fate the same Heroic Ways:
The dreary Waste shall rise with wavy Corn;
The blushing Grape in Clusters load the Thorn;
And Pearls of Honey-Dew the rugged Oak adorn.
Yet still some Footsteps shall of Fraud remain.
The greedy Mariner, in hopes of Gain,
Shall tempt the Dangers of the faithless Main;
Cities with Walls shall be incompass'd round;
Troops shall embark, and Martial Trumpets sound;
Greece shall again a new Achilles boast,
And Troy once more lament her Glory lost.
Thy ripen'd Thought shall Emulation raise
To urge thy Fate the same Heroic Ways:
39
The blushing Grape in Clusters load the Thorn;
And Pearls of Honey-Dew the rugged Oak adorn.
Yet still some Footsteps shall of Fraud remain.
The greedy Mariner, in hopes of Gain,
Shall tempt the Dangers of the faithless Main;
Cities with Walls shall be incompass'd round;
Troops shall embark, and Martial Trumpets sound;
Greece shall again a new Achilles boast,
And Troy once more lament her Glory lost.
But as thy firmer Years to Manhood rise,
The Port no more shall hear the Sailor's Cries;
Traffick shall cease; alike in ev'ry Land
All things shall be produc'd by Nature's bounteous Hand
The sharpned Share no more shall vex the Soil,
Nor the luxuriant Vine demand the Pruner's Toil.
The lusty Hind no more shall yoke the Ox,
Nor for the Tyrian Merchant sheer his Flocks.
Unborrow'd Lustre shall the Fleece adorn,
And native Gold and Purple shall be Shorn.
In Fate's eternal Volume 'tis decreed:
And the glad Years come rowling on with happy Speed.
The Port no more shall hear the Sailor's Cries;
Traffick shall cease; alike in ev'ry Land
All things shall be produc'd by Nature's bounteous Hand
The sharpned Share no more shall vex the Soil,
Nor the luxuriant Vine demand the Pruner's Toil.
The lusty Hind no more shall yoke the Ox,
Nor for the Tyrian Merchant sheer his Flocks.
Unborrow'd Lustre shall the Fleece adorn,
And native Gold and Purple shall be Shorn.
40
And the glad Years come rowling on with happy Speed.
Advance; and to thy destin'd Honours move,
O Darling Care! O genuine Seed of Jove!
Aloft behold the Gods inthron'd in State,
While Heav'n inclines beneath the glorious Weight!
Gay looks the Earth; the Skies serenely fair;
Calm are the Seas, and Breezes fan the Air.
Each jarring Element forgets its Rage,
Pleas'd with the Prospect of the coming Age.
O Darling Care! O genuine Seed of Jove!
Aloft behold the Gods inthron'd in State,
While Heav'n inclines beneath the glorious Weight!
Gay looks the Earth; the Skies serenely fair;
Calm are the Seas, and Breezes fan the Air.
Each jarring Element forgets its Rage,
Pleas'd with the Prospect of the coming Age.
O! that kind Heaven, propitious to my Vow,
Would to my Life so long a Space allow:
To celebrate the Blessings of thy Reign!
Not Thracian Orpheus with his pow'rful Strain,
Nor Linus should the envy'd Prize obtain:
Tho' each great Parent did their Sons inspire,
And Phoebus with Calliope conspire.
Should Pan's own Song be with my Numbers try'd,
And his own Arcady the Prize decide;
Ev'n Pan himself, who with my Numbers vy'd,
Should lose the Prize, tho' Arcady decide.
Would to my Life so long a Space allow:
To celebrate the Blessings of thy Reign!
Not Thracian Orpheus with his pow'rful Strain,
Nor Linus should the envy'd Prize obtain:
Tho' each great Parent did their Sons inspire,
And Phoebus with Calliope conspire.
Should Pan's own Song be with my Numbers try'd,
And his own Arcady the Prize decide;
41
Should lose the Prize, tho' Arcady decide.
See! See! thy Mother smiles, Auspicious Boy!
She owns her Ten Months Qualms o'erpaid with Joy.
The Parents Frowns the hapless Child should dread:
No God shall grace his Board, nor Goddess bless his Bed.
She owns her Ten Months Qualms o'erpaid with Joy.
The Parents Frowns the hapless Child should dread:
No God shall grace his Board, nor Goddess bless his Bed.
42
To his Grace the Duke of Argyle.
April. 1714.
While you, my Lord, by Birth and Virtue Great,
Depend not on the giddy Turns of State;
Nor aw'd by Threats, nor by vain Flatt'ry sway'd,
Can tamely see your Country's Cause betray'd;
But Brave and Wise with equal Merit claim
The Gen'ral's Triumph, and the Patriot's Fame:
In Camps ador'd, in Senates too rever'd;
By good Men honour'd, and by bad Men fear'd:
Tho' far retir'd from the ambitious Throng,
Soft Images alone employ my Song,
The Muse inamour'd with thy fair Renown,
Quits her lov'd Groves to seek the busy Town.
Depend not on the giddy Turns of State;
Nor aw'd by Threats, nor by vain Flatt'ry sway'd,
Can tamely see your Country's Cause betray'd;
But Brave and Wise with equal Merit claim
The Gen'ral's Triumph, and the Patriot's Fame:
In Camps ador'd, in Senates too rever'd;
By good Men honour'd, and by bad Men fear'd:
Tho' far retir'd from the ambitious Throng,
Soft Images alone employ my Song,
The Muse inamour'd with thy fair Renown,
Quits her lov'd Groves to seek the busy Town.
43
When with impartial Eyes we Courts survey,
And see what Insects in that Sun-shine play;
How Vice and Folly most Preferments share;
And what dull Rogues are thoughtless Monarchs Care;
What Mimick Nobles do the Robe Disgrace,
From Dunghils rais'd to Dignity and Place;
Such upstart Giants, who were Pigmies born,
Tempt not our Envy, but provoke our Scorn.
Those Titles only true Respect can give,
Which bold Exploits, or gen'rous Acts atchieve:
When Men, superior by a Right of Fate,
(But ah! how far unlike the Vulgar great)
With Dauntless Courage, and a Godlike Mind,
By Arts improve, or Arms relieve Mankind.
This be thy Praise,—who, while the Star you wear,
Are less distinguish'd by that Mark you bear,
Of Royal Favour, on your Noble Breast,
Than by a Soul of ev'ry Grace possess'd.
Aspiring, Gallant, Liberal, and Good,
Each Action blazons your illustrious Blood,
Which through successive Heroes still has run,
But ne'er before with such Advantage shone.
And see what Insects in that Sun-shine play;
How Vice and Folly most Preferments share;
And what dull Rogues are thoughtless Monarchs Care;
What Mimick Nobles do the Robe Disgrace,
From Dunghils rais'd to Dignity and Place;
Such upstart Giants, who were Pigmies born,
Tempt not our Envy, but provoke our Scorn.
Those Titles only true Respect can give,
Which bold Exploits, or gen'rous Acts atchieve:
When Men, superior by a Right of Fate,
(But ah! how far unlike the Vulgar great)
With Dauntless Courage, and a Godlike Mind,
By Arts improve, or Arms relieve Mankind.
This be thy Praise,—who, while the Star you wear,
Are less distinguish'd by that Mark you bear,
Of Royal Favour, on your Noble Breast,
Than by a Soul of ev'ry Grace possess'd.
44
Each Action blazons your illustrious Blood,
Which through successive Heroes still has run,
But ne'er before with such Advantage shone.
The Beams your Youthful Dawn did first display,
Foretold the Brightness of your Future Day.
Early you enter'd on the World's great Stage;
Saw, and despis'd the Follies of the Age:
Forsaking Pleasure, and disdaining Rest,
The Thirst of Glory fir'd your daring Breast.
Expos'd to Dangers, and inur'd to Care,
You first deserv'd the Lawrel which you wear;
For the Fair Prize you thought no Labours hard,
When Honour call'd, to suffer was Reward.
Unsatisfy'd, tho' foremost in the Race,
As you advanc'd, you quicken'd still your Pace;
Till long Experience, and superior Sense,
Gain'd you at last your just Preheminence.
Fortune, Fantastick in her Choice, we find
Rarely to those, whom Nature Favours, Kind:
But here Both Blessings we behold compleat,
In You those Winding Streams united meet.
Foretold the Brightness of your Future Day.
Early you enter'd on the World's great Stage;
Saw, and despis'd the Follies of the Age:
Forsaking Pleasure, and disdaining Rest,
The Thirst of Glory fir'd your daring Breast.
Expos'd to Dangers, and inur'd to Care,
You first deserv'd the Lawrel which you wear;
For the Fair Prize you thought no Labours hard,
When Honour call'd, to suffer was Reward.
Unsatisfy'd, tho' foremost in the Race,
As you advanc'd, you quicken'd still your Pace;
Till long Experience, and superior Sense,
Gain'd you at last your just Preheminence.
Fortune, Fantastick in her Choice, we find
Rarely to those, whom Nature Favours, Kind:
45
In You those Winding Streams united meet.
By just Degrees acquainted with it's Weight,
Your Virtue sinks not underneath your State.
No Luxury betrays your Thoughts to Ease.
No Starts of Fancy on your Judgment seize.
No Pride insults; no Vanity prevails.
Justice and Candour poise the equal Scales.
Tho' Foe to all whose Pow'r affects Excess,
You stoop, like Heav'n, to hearken to Distress.
Kind without Affectation or Disguise,
Your Heart makes good the Promise of your Eyes.
Your Virtue sinks not underneath your State.
No Luxury betrays your Thoughts to Ease.
No Starts of Fancy on your Judgment seize.
No Pride insults; no Vanity prevails.
Justice and Candour poise the equal Scales.
Tho' Foe to all whose Pow'r affects Excess,
You stoop, like Heav'n, to hearken to Distress.
Kind without Affectation or Disguise,
Your Heart makes good the Promise of your Eyes.
False Heroes, rais'd by undeserv'd Success,
Jealous of others Merit, make it Less.
You, like the Sun, essentially are Bright,
Lend to the meaner Orbs a Portion of your Light:
Aid the young Vigour of a rising Name;
Point out the Quarry, and provoke to Fame.
Possess'd of all for which fond Mortals toil,
You fear no Rival, and can want no Foil.
Jealous of others Merit, make it Less.
You, like the Sun, essentially are Bright,
Lend to the meaner Orbs a Portion of your Light:
Aid the young Vigour of a rising Name;
Point out the Quarry, and provoke to Fame.
Possess'd of all for which fond Mortals toil,
You fear no Rival, and can want no Foil.
46
In various Lands your Skill and Valour long
Supply'd fresh Wonders to the Poet's Song.
The proud Iberian, and the faithless Gaul:
Have seen their Tow'rs beneath your Thunder fall.
Where'er you steer'd, successful prosp'rous Gales
Favour'd your Course, and fill'd your spreading Sails.
But now the surly Drum, and sprightly Fife,
No longer wake the drowsy World to Strife:
Peace is ordain'd.—
And oh! that diff'rent Wars did not succeed,
And Civil Fury make the Nation bleed,
While Faction does in ev'ry Place declaim,
And Malice blots out the Records of Fame.
No Faith is kept, no Quarter is allow'd,
Among these Ruffian Champions of the Crowd.
Each hot-brain'd Fool pleads Merit, if he can
Draw his vile Pen, and stab some envy'd Man.
Supply'd fresh Wonders to the Poet's Song.
The proud Iberian, and the faithless Gaul:
Have seen their Tow'rs beneath your Thunder fall.
Where'er you steer'd, successful prosp'rous Gales
Favour'd your Course, and fill'd your spreading Sails.
But now the surly Drum, and sprightly Fife,
No longer wake the drowsy World to Strife:
Peace is ordain'd.—
And oh! that diff'rent Wars did not succeed,
And Civil Fury make the Nation bleed,
While Faction does in ev'ry Place declaim,
And Malice blots out the Records of Fame.
No Faith is kept, no Quarter is allow'd,
Among these Ruffian Champions of the Crowd.
Each hot-brain'd Fool pleads Merit, if he can
Draw his vile Pen, and stab some envy'd Man.
Enough my Muse—Restrain thy just Disdain—
Thy Bus'ness is to Praise, and not Complain.
And you, my Lord, in conscious Virtue bold,
Careless and unconcern'd the Storm behold,
Firm as the deathless Gods you keep your Course;
Drive through the Waves, and Baffle all their Force.
Vain their Attempts! who wou'd the Man invade,
Whose Arm must conquer, and whose Voice persuade.
(For Britain's Annals shall with Pride record
Your Tongue no less victorious than your Sword.
That pow'rful Eloquence must needs succeed,
Where Art and Nature both united plead:
Where Strength and Beauty do the Charm compose,
Keen as the Thistle, sweeter than the Rose.)
With double Weapons you your Foes engage,
Convince their Reason, or disarm their Rage.
Unlike the num'rous Herd of senseless Braves,
Who, Tools to Statesmen, or their Fortune's Slaves,
Hire out for low Rewards their Health and Ease,
The Plagues of War, or Lumber of a Peace;
In either State you challenge our Esteem;
The Soldier's Darling, and the Gownsman's Theme.
Minerva so at Athens was confess'd,
With Olive crown'd, or in bright Armour dress'd.
Thy Bus'ness is to Praise, and not Complain.
47
Careless and unconcern'd the Storm behold,
Firm as the deathless Gods you keep your Course;
Drive through the Waves, and Baffle all their Force.
Vain their Attempts! who wou'd the Man invade,
Whose Arm must conquer, and whose Voice persuade.
(For Britain's Annals shall with Pride record
Your Tongue no less victorious than your Sword.
That pow'rful Eloquence must needs succeed,
Where Art and Nature both united plead:
Where Strength and Beauty do the Charm compose,
Keen as the Thistle, sweeter than the Rose.)
With double Weapons you your Foes engage,
Convince their Reason, or disarm their Rage.
Unlike the num'rous Herd of senseless Braves,
Who, Tools to Statesmen, or their Fortune's Slaves,
Hire out for low Rewards their Health and Ease,
The Plagues of War, or Lumber of a Peace;
In either State you challenge our Esteem;
The Soldier's Darling, and the Gownsman's Theme.
48
With Olive crown'd, or in bright Armour dress'd.
Amidst the Cares, the Hurry, and the Strife,
That fill the busy Scenes of Publick Life,
You in your soft Retirement Leisure find,
With gentler Arts to entertain your Mind.
Tho' train'd to nobler Wars, you don't disdain
To listen to the Combats of the Plain:
The Trumpet's Clangor, and the Canon's Noise
Drown not the Music of the Shepherd's Voice.
Few in this dull degen'rate Iron Age,
Who boast the Martial, share the Tuneful Rage.
In you great Nature shew'd herself profuse;
And form'd at once a Hero and a Muse.
To either Lawrel you have just pretence;
Your Country's Ornament, and her Defence.
That fill the busy Scenes of Publick Life,
You in your soft Retirement Leisure find,
With gentler Arts to entertain your Mind.
Tho' train'd to nobler Wars, you don't disdain
To listen to the Combats of the Plain:
The Trumpet's Clangor, and the Canon's Noise
Drown not the Music of the Shepherd's Voice.
Few in this dull degen'rate Iron Age,
Who boast the Martial, share the Tuneful Rage.
In you great Nature shew'd herself profuse;
And form'd at once a Hero and a Muse.
To either Lawrel you have just pretence;
Your Country's Ornament, and her Defence.
49
Fragment of a Letter
To the Honble Mr. James Brudenell, 1714.
Curse on the lazy, fawning, treach'rous Tribes;
Who meanly would our Freedom circumscribe;
And bred themselves in Slav'ry and in Vice,
Would prostitute our Reason to their Lies.
Mistake me not—with Reverence I bow,
And bend my humbled Heart devoutly low
To those good Men, who zealous but sincere,
Serve at the Altar with Religious Fear,
Practise th' Austerities they gravely Teach,
And in their Lives as well as Sermons preach.
Such are the Guardian Angels of Mankind;
All must adore their Light who are not Blind.
But when some sawcy Pedant of the Schools
Would bridle Senates by Fantastick Rules;
When Mother Church turns Bawd to Regal Pow'r.
That her black Locusts may the Land devour,
Each honest Britton should assert his Right,
And put those Spiritual Dragoons to Flight.
Who meanly would our Freedom circumscribe;
And bred themselves in Slav'ry and in Vice,
Would prostitute our Reason to their Lies.
Mistake me not—with Reverence I bow,
And bend my humbled Heart devoutly low
To those good Men, who zealous but sincere,
Serve at the Altar with Religious Fear,
Practise th' Austerities they gravely Teach,
And in their Lives as well as Sermons preach.
Such are the Guardian Angels of Mankind;
All must adore their Light who are not Blind.
But when some sawcy Pedant of the Schools
Would bridle Senates by Fantastick Rules;
50
That her black Locusts may the Land devour,
Each honest Britton should assert his Right,
And put those Spiritual Dragoons to Flight.
Too fully did a late Example show
What ill Effects from Superstition flow.
Our Laws and Treaties were become a Jest,
And blind Obedience was the only Test.
Some Prigg Divine was ready still at hand,
With spread Phylactery, and well-starch'd Band,
(The sacred Ensigns of his dread Command)
To preach th' Absurdity throughout the Land.
All Orders and Degrees of Men infected,
Acted as the smooth Hypocrites directed.
Laymen and Priests were huddled in the Cry,
And Atheists wrangled for a Mystery.
Ev'n Whores would Cant Religion (so they mock'd her!
And lewdly Toasted to the Church and Doctor;
Rail'd at the Taxes, grumbled at the War;
While Love (poor Things!) was but their second Care;
For when oppress'd with Miseries like these,
How could they Cultivate the Arts of Peace?
What ill Effects from Superstition flow.
Our Laws and Treaties were become a Jest,
And blind Obedience was the only Test.
Some Prigg Divine was ready still at hand,
With spread Phylactery, and well-starch'd Band,
(The sacred Ensigns of his dread Command)
To preach th' Absurdity throughout the Land.
All Orders and Degrees of Men infected,
Acted as the smooth Hypocrites directed.
Laymen and Priests were huddled in the Cry,
And Atheists wrangled for a Mystery.
Ev'n Whores would Cant Religion (so they mock'd her!
And lewdly Toasted to the Church and Doctor;
51
While Love (poor Things!) was but their second Care;
For when oppress'd with Miseries like these,
How could they Cultivate the Arts of Peace?
52
On Friendship.
To the Honourable Collonel William Stanhope.
1715.
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 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.
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.
53
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.
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.
54
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,
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.
55
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.
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;
56
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.
57
Le Chevalier sans soucis.
I
Let Whig and Tory, Will, debate,And in Defense of Church and State
Proclaim their zealous Folly;
While we, ingenious for our Ease,
Contrive our own dear selves to please,
And banish Melancholy.
II
The Gay, the Witty, and the Fair,Are all the Parties worth our Care;
The Rest would but Enslave Us.
Let Us adore the God of Wine,
Submit to Beauty's Right-Divine,
And trust to Chance to save Us.
58
In Imitation of Catullus, ad seipsum.
Miser Catulle desinas ineptire,
Et, quod vides perîsse, perditum ducas.
Et, quod vides perîsse, perditum ducas.
Prithee, Pack, the Strife give over,
Yield a Game you can't recover.
Once, 'tis true, thy Days were fair,
Free from Clouds of jealous Care,
When the lovely loving Maid
All thy Vows with Warmth repaid;
With a Thousand Ways of Toying,
Still Inviting, never Cloying.
Once, indeed, thy Days were fair,
Free from Clouds of jealous Care.
But since grown Coquet and Vain,
She rejects thee with disdain.
Quit the Fickle, False, Ingrate,
And revenge her Scorn with Hate.
Yield a Game you can't recover.
Once, 'tis true, thy Days were fair,
Free from Clouds of jealous Care,
When the lovely loving Maid
All thy Vows with Warmth repaid;
With a Thousand Ways of Toying,
Still Inviting, never Cloying.
Once, indeed, thy Days were fair,
Free from Clouds of jealous Care.
But since grown Coquet and Vain,
She rejects thee with disdain.
59
And revenge her Scorn with Hate.
Well! from hence I'll break my Chains.
Love adieu, and all thy Pains.
Lesbia too, perhaps, may Mourn,
When neglected, in her Turn;
When she sits whole Nights alone,
Sought by Few, believ'd by None.
Who will now that Bosom Press,
Mad with Joy, and sweet Excess?
Who will Mark those Lips with Kisses?
Who Dissolve in riper Blisses?
Well! at length I've broke my Chains.
Love adieu, and all thy Pains.
Love adieu, and all thy Pains.
Lesbia too, perhaps, may Mourn,
When neglected, in her Turn;
When she sits whole Nights alone,
Sought by Few, believ'd by None.
Who will now that Bosom Press,
Mad with Joy, and sweet Excess?
Who will Mark those Lips with Kisses?
Who Dissolve in riper Blisses?
Well! at length I've broke my Chains.
Love adieu, and all thy Pains.
60
The Lover's Parting.
She.Hark! the Trumpet sounds to Arms,
O fatal Noise!
Hark! the Trumpet sounds to Arms,
Adieu my Joys!
Ah! the thousand Fears I prove,
For thy Life, and for my Love.
He.
Cease thy Plaints, and dry thy Tears,
My Charming Maid!
Cease thy Plaints, and dry thy Tears,
Nor Fate upbraid.
Heav'n that makes Mankind its Care,
Guards the Brave to serve the Fair.
61
Stanzas, to the Tune of Colin's Complaint.
I
Ye Nymphs who frequent those sweet Plains,Where Thame's gentle Current doth glide,
Who whilom have heard my glad Strains,
Nor grateful Attention deny'd.
With Pity, ye Fair, oh reflect
On the cruel Reverse of my Fate!
See Constancy paid with Neglect,
And Fondness rewarded with Hate!
II
How joyous and gay was each Hour,How wing'd with soft Pleasures they fled,
E'er shipwreck'd on Humber's dull Shore,
By Love my poor Heart was betray'd!
62
Whose Charms have so long been my Theme:
In Beauty the Maid doth excel,
But is Fickle and Wild as the Stream.
III
If averse to my Courtship at first,She had check'd my fond infant Desire,
Her Coldness had left me less curst,
And, perhaps, had extinguish'd my Fire.
But a thousand false Arts She employ'd,
(Ingenious and wanton in Ill)
The Passion She nurs'd, She destroy'd;
And only Created to Kill.
IV
Yet tho' She delights in my Smart,Tho' She robs me of all I held Dear,
Revenge is below a brave Heart,
I wish Her a Lot less severe.
63
By his Kindness deserve to be priz'd:
'Twould double, methinks, my Distress,
At last to see Her too Despis'd.
64
To Lady Katherine Mannors.
Upon her Commending and Singing the foregoing Stanzas.
Inspir'd by Love, my tender artless StrainsHave oft, in lonely Shades, amus'd the Swains:
But shun'd to venture on a publick Scene,
The Coxcomb's Envy, or the Critick's Spleen,
Now more assur'd the modest Poet Writes,
Since YOU vouchsafe to sing what he indites.
When Britain's fairest Nymph approves my Lays,
Dull were their Censure, and as vain their Praise.
Your Favour's all the Fame my Verse wou'd Boast;
The Muse will share the Merit of the Toast.
65
To John Creed of Oundle in Northamptonshire, Esq
Mombrio in Catalonia, Oct. 9. 1709.
While you, dear Creed, secure at Land,
Enjoy your Fortune at Command;
And, careless of the Wind and Tide,
Anchor'd at Oundle safely ride:
I have been rowling on the Ocean,
Sick as I'd taken Pill or Potion.
Coup'd up within a narrow Cabbin,
(Grave as a Monk, or ancient Rabbin)
I led a Life so odd and lazy,
By Jove it almost made me crazy.
Instead of Men of Conversation,
Mix'd with a Wapping Generation,
The Filth and Scum of all the Nation,
Rogues without Souls, or other Fire,
Than what their Brandy did inspire;
I guzzled Flip, or viler Liquor,
And drank and smoak'd like Country Vicar.
But, Thanks to Heav'n, that Plague is o'er;
And I'm got safe again ashore;
Where, free from Sickness, and from Sorrow,
I'll Live to Day, and—Hang to Morrow.
For I'm the same as heretofore;
Just as Extravagant and Poor:
Resolv'd to spend the utmost Farthing;
And ne'er increase my Pelf by starving:
But freely feed my Genial Fire,
Indulge each elegant Desire,
While Wit, and Mirth, and gen'rous Wine,
Shall all their happy Forces join,
To soften the rough Scene of War,
And find a Charm for ev'ry Care.
Enjoy your Fortune at Command;
And, careless of the Wind and Tide,
Anchor'd at Oundle safely ride:
I have been rowling on the Ocean,
Sick as I'd taken Pill or Potion.
Coup'd up within a narrow Cabbin,
(Grave as a Monk, or ancient Rabbin)
I led a Life so odd and lazy,
By Jove it almost made me crazy.
Instead of Men of Conversation,
Mix'd with a Wapping Generation,
The Filth and Scum of all the Nation,
66
Than what their Brandy did inspire;
I guzzled Flip, or viler Liquor,
And drank and smoak'd like Country Vicar.
But, Thanks to Heav'n, that Plague is o'er;
And I'm got safe again ashore;
Where, free from Sickness, and from Sorrow,
I'll Live to Day, and—Hang to Morrow.
For I'm the same as heretofore;
Just as Extravagant and Poor:
Resolv'd to spend the utmost Farthing;
And ne'er increase my Pelf by starving:
But freely feed my Genial Fire,
Indulge each elegant Desire,
While Wit, and Mirth, and gen'rous Wine,
Shall all their happy Forces join,
To soften the rough Scene of War,
And find a Charm for ev'ry Care.
Had I been Turn'd for Ways of Thriving,
(As my grave Father was Contriving)
E'er this you might have heard me Bawl
At Westminster, or Hicks's-Hall:
I at the Temple had been Plodding,
Instead of Plund'ring and Marauding.
But 'tis in vain to force the Mind,
Which way soever 'tis inclin'd:
Else I should never spend my Time in
This trifling Dogrel Vein of Rhiming,
But in plain Prose, and better Sense
Tell you what News there is from hence.
(As my grave Father was Contriving)
67
At Westminster, or Hicks's-Hall:
I at the Temple had been Plodding,
Instead of Plund'ring and Marauding.
But 'tis in vain to force the Mind,
Which way soever 'tis inclin'd:
Else I should never spend my Time in
This trifling Dogrel Vein of Rhiming,
But in plain Prose, and better Sense
Tell you what News there is from hence.
Our present Theatre of War
Lies chiefly here among the Fair:
How to subdue the Ladies Hearts;
And manage Cupid's pointed Darts.
Each Cavalier attacks his Dame,
And all our little Camp's in Flame.
The Spaniards, to their Cost, may feel
Our Eyes are fatal as our Steel.
F--- Who, by Nature form'd for Love,
Alike does both the Sexes move,
With am'rous Airs and wanton Glances,
Tickles the young Sennoras' Fancies.
Whilst I, who turn'd of Seven and twenty,
Find Venus' Treasure not so Plenty,
With more Success, and better Grace
Supply the absent Chaplain's Place;
Admonish Youth to fly from Vice,
Abstain from Whoring, Cards, and Dice,
And, like an Orthodox Divine,
Damn all Mens Sins, yet stick to mine.
Lies chiefly here among the Fair:
How to subdue the Ladies Hearts;
And manage Cupid's pointed Darts.
Each Cavalier attacks his Dame,
And all our little Camp's in Flame.
The Spaniards, to their Cost, may feel
Our Eyes are fatal as our Steel.
F--- Who, by Nature form'd for Love,
Alike does both the Sexes move,
68
Tickles the young Sennoras' Fancies.
Whilst I, who turn'd of Seven and twenty,
Find Venus' Treasure not so Plenty,
With more Success, and better Grace
Supply the absent Chaplain's Place;
Admonish Youth to fly from Vice,
Abstain from Whoring, Cards, and Dice,
And, like an Orthodox Divine,
Damn all Mens Sins, yet stick to mine.
I rise each Day by Morning-Peep,
(For Hunger will not let me sleep)
Then in fat Chocolate I Riot,
To bribe my Stomach to be quiet.
At Noon I twist at such a rate,
Twould do you Good to see me Eat.
The Priests, who find me always Cramming,
Pray against Heresy and Famine.
But how should Men be Stout and Warlike,
Who feed on nought but Fish and Garlick.
'Tis Beef and Pork support the War,
And not their Fasting, nor their Pray'r.
(For Hunger will not let me sleep)
Then in fat Chocolate I Riot,
To bribe my Stomach to be quiet.
At Noon I twist at such a rate,
Twould do you Good to see me Eat.
The Priests, who find me always Cramming,
Pray against Heresy and Famine.
But how should Men be Stout and Warlike,
Who feed on nought but Fish and Garlick.
69
And not their Fasting, nor their Pray'r.
When cooler Thoughts by chance prevail,
Sometimes from Company I steal,
With Horace, Virgil and Tibullus,
Or that most pleasant Droll Catullus,
In private I enjoy the Night,
And reap both Profit and Delight.
Sometimes from Company I steal,
With Horace, Virgil and Tibullus,
Or that most pleasant Droll Catullus,
In private I enjoy the Night,
And reap both Profit and Delight.
Thus in a merry idle Scene,
I make a Shift to steer between
Th' Extremes of Folly, or of Vice,
And hope in time I may grow wise:
Then worn a little of my Mettle,
I'll e'en go Home, and Wive, and Settle.
I make a Shift to steer between
Th' Extremes of Folly, or of Vice,
And hope in time I may grow wise:
Then worn a little of my Mettle,
I'll e'en go Home, and Wive, and Settle.
70
To Mr. Addison.
Occasioned by the News of the Victory obtained over the Rebels in Scotland, by his Grace the Duke of Argyle.
On Eagles Wings Immortal Scandals fly,
But virtuous Actions are but Born and Dye.
Dryd. Juv.
But virtuous Actions are but Born and Dye.
Dryd. Juv.
How long shall, Addison, thy charming Lyre
Hang up unstrung amid the tuneful Quire,
Thou! who with ev'ry Master Stroke of Art
To Love can sooth, or rouse to Rage the Heart?
One Labour more at least, sweet Poet, yield;
And sing Dunblain, as well as Blenheim Field.
Germania there, was sav'd by Churchill's Deed;
And Britain here, by Campbell's Arm was freed.
71
What nobler Subject for a Patriot-Muse?
Of late the Bigotry of our dull Times,
Had sunk the Dignity of Sacred Rhimes.
Mock-Triumphs only then supply'd our Scenes:
Pacifick-Generals, and Pious-Queens.
O vindicate the Majesty of Verse!
And loftier Things in loftier Song Rehearse.
Describe Argyle in all his Glories dress'd;
A Godlike Soul in Human Shape confess'd:
Like fair Adonis beautiful and young;
Like great Alcides valorous and strong:
In Camps experienc'd, and in Courts refin'd;
Like Fate resolv'd, and yet as Woman kind.
If Heav'n, indulgent to my duteous Zeal,
Had bless'd me with some Portion of thy Skill,
In Verse Immortal should the Hero shine,
And Milton's Thunder had been drown'd in mine.
But I, alas! a lower Theme must chuse,
(An Ardent, but an Unsuccessful Muse!)
Content in humbler Numbers to commend
The Gen'rous Patron, and the Tender Friend.
72
A Burlesque Imitation of the First Ode of Horace.
To my Friend Captain Anthony Hinton.
Hinton
, whose happy-humour'd Face
Proclaims thy gen'rous jovial Race;
Frequent thou hast observ'd at Feasts,
The various Tastes of different Guests.
This Squire in Venison is a Glutton,
That swears the Prince of Meats is Mutton.
East-Saxons stick by kindred Veal,
And Pork to Tarr is Duck and Teal.
Hucks will forsake good Beef and Mustard,
To run a muck at filthy Custard;
And Thee I've seen, with Paunch of Yeoman,
Quilt Cheesecake like a very Woman.
Pudding the Parson still commends,
And Dumpling too has many Friends.
73
May lavish forth Boil'd, Bak'd, and Roast:
Some travell'd Fop, more nice than wise,
Shall wholesome Luxury despise,
And rise from Table in Disdain,
For want of Ragouts and Champaign.
To me, whom frugal Nature meant
A Fool on easier Terms content.
Nought comes amiss that Fate assigns,
Soups, Hashees, Fricasses, or Chines:
But, since each Man will chuse his Dish,
If I too might indulge my Wish,
When in the circling Annual Dance
November shall her Ides advance,
To grace my Birth-Day ev'ry Year,
Turkey should Crown my Bill of Fare.
74
The RETREAT.
To ------
Whilst within the silent Grove,
Favour'd by Auspicious Love,
You in Peaceful Triumphs reign,
All the Trophies, all the Spoils,
(Tho' so pompous) seem but vain,
That Reward the Warrior's Toils.
Favour'd by Auspicious Love,
You in Peaceful Triumphs reign,
All the Trophies, all the Spoils,
(Tho' so pompous) seem but vain,
That Reward the Warrior's Toils.
See the chearful Hours advance,
Unmolested in their Dance.
Busy Hopes, and anxious Care
Change not here by turns the Scene:
All your Days are cloudless-Fair;
All your Ev'nings are serene.
Unmolested in their Dance.
Busy Hopes, and anxious Care
Change not here by turns the Scene:
All your Days are cloudless-Fair;
All your Ev'nings are serene.
75
On bright Cynthia's Bosom laid,
Cynthia for Inchantment made!
Through a World of Sweets you rove,
Unconfin'd as wanton Air:
When did e'er Ambition prove
Joys so Tempting, so Sincere?
Cynthia for Inchantment made!
Through a World of Sweets you rove,
Unconfin'd as wanton Air:
When did e'er Ambition prove
Joys so Tempting, so Sincere?
Let the Storms of adverse Fate
Fright the Rich, and shake the Great;
Let the Waves tumultuous rise;
In that Harbour you're secure:
Hid from Fortune's prying Eyes,
He's most Happy, who's Obscure.
Fright the Rich, and shake the Great;
Let the Waves tumultuous rise;
In that Harbour you're secure:
Hid from Fortune's prying Eyes,
He's most Happy, who's Obscure.
114
Epitaph for my dear Friend David Campbell.
Sprung from an Ancient, and Illustrious Line,(O may it to Eternal Ages shine!)
Here lies interr'd a much lamented Youth,
For Sense Distinguish'd, and Esteem'd for Truth:
Whom Heav'n had fashion'd with peculiar Care,
And form'd the Darling of the Brave, and Fair.
To the rich Talents Nature did impart,
He joyn'd the fine Embellishments of Art:
Yet liv'd as much Unenvy'd, as Admir'd.
But ah! how soon alas his Life expir'd.
The Noble Plant was dress'd in Beauty's Pride;
Gaily it Bloom'd, but in the Blooming dy'd.
115
And round Your Vot'ry's Urn strict Vigils keep!
And you, sweet Maids, who lately bless'd his Charms,
Tho' he no more must fold you in his Arms,
Cherish the Dear Remembrance in your Heart,
And let no Fop intrude where Campbell had a Part.
116
Writ at Sea in 1709, to a Friend on Board the Admiral.
To you, dear Cotton, who on Board
Have all that Land, or Seas afford,
And, if you please, in Fortune's Spight,
May laugh from Morning until Night;
Poor Pack in doleful Cabbin shut,
No bigger than the Cynick's Hut,
Makes bold to send this homely Greeting,
Hopeing, e'er long, a happy Meeting.
Have all that Land, or Seas afford,
And, if you please, in Fortune's Spight,
May laugh from Morning until Night;
Poor Pack in doleful Cabbin shut,
No bigger than the Cynick's Hut,
Makes bold to send this homely Greeting,
Hopeing, e'er long, a happy Meeting.
The Moon has thrice renew'd her Prime,
(Aid me, some friendly Muse, with Rhime!)
Since first our Redcoats and their Trulls,
Were stow'd on Board these rotten Hulls;
Where we, condemn'd to Dirt and Fleas,
Live, God knows, little at our Ease,
For all we're cramm'd with Pork and Pease.
Oft have I wish'd the Coxcomb damn'd,
Who weary of his Native Land,
First fell'd for Masts the Mountain Pine,
And spoil'd good honest Beef with Brine.
'Tis true, whilst we indulg'd in Claret,
I made some kind o'Shift to bear it.
But what Defense against the Hip—
Now we're reduc'd from Wine to Flip?
Nay more, I fear I shall e'er long
Have neither Liquor small or strong,
To quench my Thirst, or cool my Tongue.
Unless, my Dear, I can prevail,
With you to Beg, or else—to Steal,
A Dozen or Two of Wine or Ale.
May you succeed! and so Farewel.
(Aid me, some friendly Muse, with Rhime!)
Since first our Redcoats and their Trulls,
Were stow'd on Board these rotten Hulls;
117
Live, God knows, little at our Ease,
For all we're cramm'd with Pork and Pease.
Oft have I wish'd the Coxcomb damn'd,
Who weary of his Native Land,
First fell'd for Masts the Mountain Pine,
And spoil'd good honest Beef with Brine.
'Tis true, whilst we indulg'd in Claret,
I made some kind o'Shift to bear it.
But what Defense against the Hip—
Now we're reduc'd from Wine to Flip?
Nay more, I fear I shall e'er long
Have neither Liquor small or strong,
To quench my Thirst, or cool my Tongue.
Unless, my Dear, I can prevail,
With you to Beg, or else—to Steal,
A Dozen or Two of Wine or Ale.
May you succeed! and so Farewel.
118
Amintor to Sylvia.
Unjustly, Sylvia, you my Coldness blame:I wish, my Dear, that I were still the Same.
But Nature seconds not my fond Desires;
The Oil once spent, o'course the Lamp expires.
Love's Food is Luscious, and too apt to fill;
And 'tis the Devil to eat against one's Will.
Your wanton Cupid's an Insatiate Guest,
And thinks that ev'ry Meal must be a Feast.
I play'd my Part as ably as I cou'd;
But thou'rt, i'faith, too hard for Flesh and Blood.
Have Conscience, Fair One, and the Vanquish'd spare;
Grant a short Truce—divert a while the War—
Draw off your Forces from a ravag'd Land,
And seek some Wealthier Province to command.
119
Content at one poor Stream to slake your Flame,
Who, like the glorious Ruler of the Day,
Demand, to quench your Fires, at least a Sea.
Your Beauty too should, like his Beams, design'd
A Gen'ral Good, be to no One Confin'd.
Conceal not then the Lustre of your Charms,
Open to All, the Heaven within your Arms.
Mankind for this alone the Gods Adore,
Because their Bounty's equal to their Pow'r.
FINIS.
| Miscellanies in Verse and Prose | |