 | Miscellanies In Prose And Verse |  |
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AN ESSAY ON HUMAN LIFE.
Pleasure but cheats us with an empty Name,
Still seems to vary, yet is still the same;
Amusement's all its utmost Skill can boast,
By Use it lessens, and in Thought is lost.
The Youth that riots, and the Age that hoards,
Folly that sacrifices Things to Words;
Pride, Wit, and Beauty in one Taste agree,
'Tis sensual, or 'tis mental Luxury.
Sad State of Nature, doom'd to fruitless Pain,
Something to wish and want, but never gain:
Restless we live, and disappointed die,
Unhappy, tho' we know not how nor why.
Still seems to vary, yet is still the same;
Amusement's all its utmost Skill can boast,
By Use it lessens, and in Thought is lost.
The Youth that riots, and the Age that hoards,
Folly that sacrifices Things to Words;
Pride, Wit, and Beauty in one Taste agree,
'Tis sensual, or 'tis mental Luxury.
Sad State of Nature, doom'd to fruitless Pain,
Something to wish and want, but never gain:
Restless we live, and disappointed die,
Unhappy, tho' we know not how nor why.
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Reason, perhaps may lend her gen'rous Aid;
Reason, which never yet her Trust betray'd:
Let her direct us in the doubtful Strife,
Let her conduct us thro' the Maze of Life.
Is human Reason then from Weakness free?
Partakes she not of our Infirmity?
Can she apply with never-failing Art,
The healing Balsam to the wounded Part?
Correct those Errors, which the Passions cause,
And teach the Will to follow Wisdom's Laws?
Alas! Experience but too plainly shows
That Man can act against the Truth he knows:
By Customs led, or by Allurements won,
Discern that Evil, which he cannot shun.
Whate'er we do, the Motive's much the same,
'Tis Impulse governs, under Reason's Name;
Each eagerly some fav'rite End pursues,
And diff'rent Tempers furnish diff'rent Views.
Reason, which never yet her Trust betray'd:
Let her direct us in the doubtful Strife,
Let her conduct us thro' the Maze of Life.
Is human Reason then from Weakness free?
Partakes she not of our Infirmity?
Can she apply with never-failing Art,
The healing Balsam to the wounded Part?
Correct those Errors, which the Passions cause,
And teach the Will to follow Wisdom's Laws?
Alas! Experience but too plainly shows
That Man can act against the Truth he knows:
By Customs led, or by Allurements won,
Discern that Evil, which he cannot shun.
Whate'er we do, the Motive's much the same,
'Tis Impulse governs, under Reason's Name;
Each eagerly some fav'rite End pursues,
And diff'rent Tempers furnish diff'rent Views.
Is it for Fear of Wrong, or Love of Right,
That Statesmen labour, or that Warriors fight?
T'enrich his Country, does the Sailor brave
The cruel Pirate, and the threat'ning Wave?
In Search of Truth, do learned Sages try,
By certain Rules, to fix Uncertainty?
No! 'tis Desire and Hope that drive them on:
Thus greatest Things for meanest Ends are done.
That Statesmen labour, or that Warriors fight?
T'enrich his Country, does the Sailor brave
The cruel Pirate, and the threat'ning Wave?
In Search of Truth, do learned Sages try,
By certain Rules, to fix Uncertainty?
No! 'tis Desire and Hope that drive them on:
Thus greatest Things for meanest Ends are done.
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Self-Love, howe'er disguis'd, misunderstood,
Howe'er misplac'd, is still the sov'reign Good:
Virtue or Wisdom but the vain Pretence,
These may direct, but Passions influence.
Presumptuous Man! why dost thou boast Free-Will
By Constitution doom'd to Good or Ill?
What feeble Checks are all those studied Rules,
Unpractis'd Lessons of the useless Schools?
Say, can thy Art oppos'd to Nature's Force
Obstruct her Motions, or suspend her Course?
Go, change in Africa their sable Hue,
Or make our Europe bring her Negroes too;
Roll back the Tides, forbid the Streams to flow,
Nor let this Earth returning Seasons know.
Slave to thy self, whilst Lord of all beside,
Surmount thy Weakness, or renounce thy Pride.
Howe'er misplac'd, is still the sov'reign Good:
Virtue or Wisdom but the vain Pretence,
These may direct, but Passions influence.
Presumptuous Man! why dost thou boast Free-Will
By Constitution doom'd to Good or Ill?
What feeble Checks are all those studied Rules,
Unpractis'd Lessons of the useless Schools?
Say, can thy Art oppos'd to Nature's Force
Obstruct her Motions, or suspend her Course?
Go, change in Africa their sable Hue,
Or make our Europe bring her Negroes too;
Roll back the Tides, forbid the Streams to flow,
Nor let this Earth returning Seasons know.
Slave to thy self, whilst Lord of all beside,
Surmount thy Weakness, or renounce thy Pride.
That moving Pow'r which first produc'd the Whole,
To every Thing has fix'd a certain Goal:
Thither all tend, and must their Circles run,
For such the Order when the Whole begun.
To diff'rent Creatures, diff'rent Ranks assign'd,
Man claims the first, as of a nobler Kind;
How just his Claim, what Wisdom must decide?
Reason is his alone, by Reason try'd:
Inferior Creatures silently submit,
'Tis his to talk, and therefore to have Wit.
Thus haughty Greece with Pity view'd Mankind,
She only saw, whilst all the rest were blind.
To every Thing has fix'd a certain Goal:
Thither all tend, and must their Circles run,
For such the Order when the Whole begun.
To diff'rent Creatures, diff'rent Ranks assign'd,
Man claims the first, as of a nobler Kind;
How just his Claim, what Wisdom must decide?
Reason is his alone, by Reason try'd:
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'Tis his to talk, and therefore to have Wit.
Thus haughty Greece with Pity view'd Mankind,
She only saw, whilst all the rest were blind.
Look o'er the wide Creation, see how all
Its several Parts obey the Maker's Call:
The Earth how fertile, and how rich the Sea,
In various Salts, for Nature's Chymistry;
How Air digests, what burning Suns exhale,
And Dews, and Snows, and Rains, by Turns prevail.
Beasts, Birds, and Reptiles, see them all conspire,
To act whate'er their several States require.
But wiser Man disdains this meaner Part,
Nature with him must still give way to Art;
Vain of Conceit, he boasts his fancy'd Skill,
And, arbitrary, rules the World at Will:
Now fierce and cruel, then as mild and kind,
Each Action owing to each Turn of Mind;
One Day a Friend, the next as great a Foe,
As Humour, Pique, Caprice, or Int'rests go;
Wisdom and Folly thus by Turns preside,
And Chance alone incline to either Side.
Its several Parts obey the Maker's Call:
The Earth how fertile, and how rich the Sea,
In various Salts, for Nature's Chymistry;
How Air digests, what burning Suns exhale,
And Dews, and Snows, and Rains, by Turns prevail.
Beasts, Birds, and Reptiles, see them all conspire,
To act whate'er their several States require.
But wiser Man disdains this meaner Part,
Nature with him must still give way to Art;
Vain of Conceit, he boasts his fancy'd Skill,
And, arbitrary, rules the World at Will:
Now fierce and cruel, then as mild and kind,
Each Action owing to each Turn of Mind;
One Day a Friend, the next as great a Foe,
As Humour, Pique, Caprice, or Int'rests go;
Wisdom and Folly thus by Turns preside,
And Chance alone incline to either Side.
Ask the bold Freeman, or the coward Slave,
What makes one abject, and the other brave?
What gives to Fools their Faith, to Knaves their Wiles,
To Cynicks Sow'rness, and to Flatt'rers Smiles?
This one great Truth must stand by all confest,
Some ruling Passion lurks in ev'ry Breast;
That Weakness by a specious Name they call,
But 'tis that Weakness still which governs all.
What makes one abject, and the other brave?
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To Cynicks Sow'rness, and to Flatt'rers Smiles?
This one great Truth must stand by all confest,
Some ruling Passion lurks in ev'ry Breast;
That Weakness by a specious Name they call,
But 'tis that Weakness still which governs all.
Wisely the Springs of Action we conceal,
Thus Sordidness is Prudence, Fury, Zeal;
Ambition makes the Publick Good her Care,
And Hypocrites, the Mask of Saintship wear.
Thus Sordidness is Prudence, Fury, Zeal;
Ambition makes the Publick Good her Care,
And Hypocrites, the Mask of Saintship wear.
Inur'd to Falshood, we ourselves deceive,
Oft what we wish, we fancy, we believe;
We call that Judgment which is only Will,
And as we act, we learn to argue ill;
Like Bigots, who their various Creeds defend
By making Reason still to System bend.
Oft what we wish, we fancy, we believe;
We call that Judgment which is only Will,
And as we act, we learn to argue ill;
Like Bigots, who their various Creeds defend
By making Reason still to System bend.
Customs or Int'rests govern all Mankind,
Some Biass cleaves to the unguarded Mind;
Thro' this, as in a false or flatt'ring Glass,
Things seem to change their Natures as they pass.
Objects the same in diff'rent Lights appear,
And but the Colours which we give 'em wear.
Error and Fraud from this great Source arise,
All Fools are modish, and all Knaves are wise.
Who does not boast some Merit of his own,
Tho' to himself perhaps 'tis only known?
Each suits Rewards to his own fav'rite Vice,
Pride has its Crowns, and Lust its Paradise:
Bonze, Priest and Dervise, all in this agree,
That Heaven must be for Pomp or Luxury;
Man, Slave to Sense no higher Bliss can know,
Still measures Things above by Things below.
Joys much the same, but differ in Degree,
As Time enlarg'd becomes Eternity.
Some Biass cleaves to the unguarded Mind;
Thro' this, as in a false or flatt'ring Glass,
Things seem to change their Natures as they pass.
Objects the same in diff'rent Lights appear,
And but the Colours which we give 'em wear.
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All Fools are modish, and all Knaves are wise.
Who does not boast some Merit of his own,
Tho' to himself perhaps 'tis only known?
Each suits Rewards to his own fav'rite Vice,
Pride has its Crowns, and Lust its Paradise:
Bonze, Priest and Dervise, all in this agree,
That Heaven must be for Pomp or Luxury;
Man, Slave to Sense no higher Bliss can know,
Still measures Things above by Things below.
Joys much the same, but differ in Degree,
As Time enlarg'd becomes Eternity.
How vain is all that Science we pursue!
Scorn'd by the Many, useless to the Few:
Since short of Truth our utmost Labours end,
Who knows but Ign'rance is our greatest Friend?
Our fruitless Pains but shew our Weakness more,
And we, like Misers, 'midst our Wealth are poor.
Much hoarded Learning but like Lumber lies,
Or ends in Guess-work and Obscurities.
Scorn'd by the Many, useless to the Few:
Since short of Truth our utmost Labours end,
Who knows but Ign'rance is our greatest Friend?
Our fruitless Pains but shew our Weakness more,
And we, like Misers, 'midst our Wealth are poor.
Much hoarded Learning but like Lumber lies,
Or ends in Guess-work and Obscurities.
What tho' proud Greece her sev'n old Sages boast?
The Names alone remain, the Race is lost.
Satyrs, and Centaurs too, might live of old,
(For so we are in ancient Story told)
But shou'd we doubt in this our faithless Age;
Who can produce a Centaur or a Sage?
Such mighty Births were Nature's first Essays,
The lusty Offspring of her youthful Days;
Our later Times can no such Wonders shew,
But what were Giants then, are Pigmies now.
The Names alone remain, the Race is lost.
Satyrs, and Centaurs too, might live of old,
(For so we are in ancient Story told)
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Who can produce a Centaur or a Sage?
Such mighty Births were Nature's first Essays,
The lusty Offspring of her youthful Days;
Our later Times can no such Wonders shew,
But what were Giants then, are Pigmies now.
Of all the painful Follies of Mankind,
Still to be seeking what they ne'er must find,
Is sure the greatest; not unlike the Toil
Of him who labours in a barren Soil.
Beyond our State if our fond Wishes tend,
Means must be vain where we mistake our End.
Pride whispers mighty Projects in our Ear,
Bids us be great, be wise, be happy here;
But sad Experience shews the Laws of Fate,
And teaches us to know ourselves too late.
Still to be seeking what they ne'er must find,
Is sure the greatest; not unlike the Toil
Of him who labours in a barren Soil.
Beyond our State if our fond Wishes tend,
Means must be vain where we mistake our End.
Pride whispers mighty Projects in our Ear,
Bids us be great, be wise, be happy here;
But sad Experience shews the Laws of Fate,
And teaches us to know ourselves too late.
Error is a Distemper of the Mind,
Hard to be cur'd, because 'tis hard to find;
So mixt and blended with our very Frame,
It lurks secure, and borrows Reason's Name.
In diff'rent Persons diff'rent Ways it springs,
'Tis Factiousness in Subjects, Pride in Kings;
Boundless alike, they in Extremes agree,
These in Oppression, those in Anarchy;
Both aim at what is Ruin to obtain,
A civil Frenzy, or a Tyrant Reign.
Hard to be cur'd, because 'tis hard to find;
So mixt and blended with our very Frame,
It lurks secure, and borrows Reason's Name.
In diff'rent Persons diff'rent Ways it springs,
'Tis Factiousness in Subjects, Pride in Kings;
Boundless alike, they in Extremes agree,
These in Oppression, those in Anarchy;
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A civil Frenzy, or a Tyrant Reign.
The Wise must into Nature's Secrets pry;
The Weak believe, they know not what, nor why;
And we may equally deluded call,
Those who doubt nothing, as who doubt of all.
Profane or pious, Bigotry's the same,
The Motives Terror, Avarice, or Fame;
Opinion is but Int'rest in Disguise,
And Right or Wrong in Strength of Parties lies.
The Weak believe, they know not what, nor why;
And we may equally deluded call,
Those who doubt nothing, as who doubt of all.
Profane or pious, Bigotry's the same,
The Motives Terror, Avarice, or Fame;
Opinion is but Int'rest in Disguise,
And Right or Wrong in Strength of Parties lies.
Some wou'd be happy, know nor Want nor Care,
Others still find more Evils than there are;
While Truth, unheeded, in the Midway lies,
And all the Extremes are like Absurdities.
Others still find more Evils than there are;
While Truth, unheeded, in the Midway lies,
And all the Extremes are like Absurdities.
Wrong Turns of Head are Nature's greatest Curse,
Improving ev'ry Day from bad to worse.
In some odd Light all Objects still they view,
Thus true with them is false, and false is true.
In Trifles solemn, diligent and wise,
Important Things as Trifles they despise;
Caressing Enemies, their Friends they shun,
And doat on Knaves, by whom they are undone.
Deaf to Advice, or taking Wrong for Right,
They boldly blunder on in Reason's Spight;
And under clearer Light's obscure Pretence,
Live the Antipodes of common Sense.
Improving ev'ry Day from bad to worse.
In some odd Light all Objects still they view,
Thus true with them is false, and false is true.
In Trifles solemn, diligent and wise,
Important Things as Trifles they despise;
Caressing Enemies, their Friends they shun,
And doat on Knaves, by whom they are undone.
Deaf to Advice, or taking Wrong for Right,
They boldly blunder on in Reason's Spight;
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Live the Antipodes of common Sense.
Wou'd you persuade a Wretch intent on Pelf,
Tho' he starves others, not to starve himself;
To fence, at least, his sapless Trunk from Cold,
Nor seem as fond of Tatters as of Gold;
No! he's too cunning for your sly Design,
You'd have him like yourself, be poor and fine;
But he, in spite of Envy, richer grows,
And scorns the Luxury of Meat and Cloaths.
Ask the Ambitious why he wastes his Life,
In needless Struggles and uncertain Strife?
Why not in Peace enjoy what Plenty gives?
So the Obscure, the Weak, the Lazy lives;
Exalted Spirits have a nobler Aim,
And know no Happiness but Toil and Fame.
Tho' he starves others, not to starve himself;
To fence, at least, his sapless Trunk from Cold,
Nor seem as fond of Tatters as of Gold;
No! he's too cunning for your sly Design,
You'd have him like yourself, be poor and fine;
But he, in spite of Envy, richer grows,
And scorns the Luxury of Meat and Cloaths.
Ask the Ambitious why he wastes his Life,
In needless Struggles and uncertain Strife?
Why not in Peace enjoy what Plenty gives?
So the Obscure, the Weak, the Lazy lives;
Exalted Spirits have a nobler Aim,
And know no Happiness but Toil and Fame.
Well! must it suit a selfish hollow Heart,
To act the honest Patriot's gen'rous Part;
No Tool of Party, nor a Slave of State,
No mean Dependant on the guilty Great;
Boldly he pleads for Liberty and Laws,
Content to perish in his Country's Cause;
When, lo! a Ray divine of Favour gleams,
Quite diff'rent Topicks then become his Themes,
Old Friends, old Notions are at once forgot,
And Shame and Wages are the Hireling's Lot.
To act the honest Patriot's gen'rous Part;
No Tool of Party, nor a Slave of State,
No mean Dependant on the guilty Great;
Boldly he pleads for Liberty and Laws,
Content to perish in his Country's Cause;
When, lo! a Ray divine of Favour gleams,
Quite diff'rent Topicks then become his Themes,
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And Shame and Wages are the Hireling's Lot.
The little Mind whose Joy in Mischief lies,
Hates all Mankind, but most the Good and Wise;
Proud of his Shame, he boasts his frightful Skill,
And places all his Worth in doing Ill.
But base-born Fear oft checks what Rage devis'd,
And leaves him disappointed and despis'd.
Hates all Mankind, but most the Good and Wise;
Proud of his Shame, he boasts his frightful Skill,
And places all his Worth in doing Ill.
But base-born Fear oft checks what Rage devis'd,
And leaves him disappointed and despis'd.
Endless the Task to point the various Ways,
How each Wrong-head its diff'rent Gifts displays;
How Poverty in Boasts its Wants wou'd hide,
And Meanness shews itself in awkward Pride;
How Knaves are cunning at their own Expence,
And Coxcombs fansy Forwardness is Sense.
Vain is th'Attempt to be what Heav'n denies,
As vain the Art that Weakness to disguise.
Prudence alone can teach the useful Skill,
T'improve the Good, and to correct the Ill.
True Wisdom lies in Practice more than Rules,
For what are Maxims when apply'd to Fools?
A Head right judging, and a Heart sincere,
The Purpose honest, as the Reas'ning clear;
This is true Worth, the rest is all Pretence,
Good Parts are dang'rous things without good Sense.
Of Wit and Folly, reason all you can,
Who acts most wisely, is the wisest Man.
How each Wrong-head its diff'rent Gifts displays;
How Poverty in Boasts its Wants wou'd hide,
And Meanness shews itself in awkward Pride;
How Knaves are cunning at their own Expence,
And Coxcombs fansy Forwardness is Sense.
Vain is th'Attempt to be what Heav'n denies,
As vain the Art that Weakness to disguise.
Prudence alone can teach the useful Skill,
T'improve the Good, and to correct the Ill.
True Wisdom lies in Practice more than Rules,
For what are Maxims when apply'd to Fools?
A Head right judging, and a Heart sincere,
The Purpose honest, as the Reas'ning clear;
This is true Worth, the rest is all Pretence,
Good Parts are dang'rous things without good Sense.
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Who acts most wisely, is the wisest Man.
Each State of Life has its peculiar View,
Alike in each, there is a false and true:
This Point to fix is Reason's Use and End,
On this Success all other must depend:
But in this Point no Error can be small,
To deviate e'er so little, ruins all.
The Mark once miss'd, however near you aim,
Miss'd by an Inch or Furlong, 'tis the same:
Who sets out wrong is more than half undone,
Error has many Ways, and Truth but one.
Alike in each, there is a false and true:
This Point to fix is Reason's Use and End,
On this Success all other must depend:
But in this Point no Error can be small,
To deviate e'er so little, ruins all.
The Mark once miss'd, however near you aim,
Miss'd by an Inch or Furlong, 'tis the same:
Who sets out wrong is more than half undone,
Error has many Ways, and Truth but one.
Wrong Estimates wrong Conduct must produce,
They lose the Blessing who mistake its Use:
Who value Wealth or Pow'r but more or less
As that can riot, or as this oppress;
What say they else, but that they both are given
To execute the Wrath of angry Heaven.
They lose the Blessing who mistake its Use:
Who value Wealth or Pow'r but more or less
As that can riot, or as this oppress;
What say they else, but that they both are given
To execute the Wrath of angry Heaven.
Fools ever vain, at some Distinction aim,
And fansy Madness is the Way to Fame:
No Matter how the deathless Name's acquir'd,
By Countries ravag'd, or a Temple fir'd:
Alike transmitted down to latest Times,
A Trajan's Virtues, and a Nero's Crimes.
Means are indiff'rent so the End's obtain'd,
Richard was guilty, but what then? he reign'd.
Wou'd you be Good and Great, the Hope is vain,
The Bus'ness is not to deserve, but gain:
Fortune is fickle, and but short her Stay,
He comes too late that takes the farthest Way.
And fansy Madness is the Way to Fame:
No Matter how the deathless Name's acquir'd,
By Countries ravag'd, or a Temple fir'd:
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A Trajan's Virtues, and a Nero's Crimes.
Means are indiff'rent so the End's obtain'd,
Richard was guilty, but what then? he reign'd.
Wou'd you be Good and Great, the Hope is vain,
The Bus'ness is not to deserve, but gain:
Fortune is fickle, and but short her Stay,
He comes too late that takes the farthest Way.
Is this, Oh Grandeur! then, thy envy'd State,
To raise Men's Wonder, and provoke their Hate?
By Crimes procur'd, and then in Fear enjoy'd,
By Mobs applauded, and by Mobs destroy'd.
Say, mighty Cunning! which deserve the Prize,
The Courtier's Promises, or Trader's Lies?
Some short-liv'd Profit, all the Pains rewards
Of Bankrupt Dealers, and of perjur'd Lords.
To raise Men's Wonder, and provoke their Hate?
By Crimes procur'd, and then in Fear enjoy'd,
By Mobs applauded, and by Mobs destroy'd.
Say, mighty Cunning! which deserve the Prize,
The Courtier's Promises, or Trader's Lies?
Some short-liv'd Profit, all the Pains rewards
Of Bankrupt Dealers, and of perjur'd Lords.
Honest alike, you own, but wiser far,
The Knave upon the Bench than at the Bar:
Where lies the Diff'rence? only in Degree,
And higher Rank is greater Infamy.
Poor Rogues in Chains but dangle to the Wind,
Whilst rich ones live the Terror of Mankind.
The Knave upon the Bench than at the Bar:
Where lies the Diff'rence? only in Degree,
And higher Rank is greater Infamy.
Poor Rogues in Chains but dangle to the Wind,
Whilst rich ones live the Terror of Mankind.
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Pomp, Pow'r and Riches, all mere Trifles are,
When purchas'd by the Loss of Character:
Chance may the Wise betray, the Brave defeat,
But they correct, or are above their Fate.
Credit once lost can never be retriev'd,
How few will trust the Man who once deceiv'd?
Craft, like the Mole, works only under Ground,
Is lost in Day-light, and destroy'd when found.
When purchas'd by the Loss of Character:
Chance may the Wise betray, the Brave defeat,
But they correct, or are above their Fate.
Credit once lost can never be retriev'd,
How few will trust the Man who once deceiv'd?
Craft, like the Mole, works only under Ground,
Is lost in Day-light, and destroy'd when found.
Notions mistaken, Reas'nings ill apply'd.
And Sophisms that conclude on either Side;
Alike th'Unwary, and the Weak, mislead,
Who judge of Men and Things, as each succeed.
Did Rivals fall by Borgia's vile Deceit,
A Machiavel will call a Borgia great;
The lucky Cheat proclaims the Villain wise,
And Fraud and Murder are but Policies.
The same Despair which made good Cato die,
To Cæsar gave his last great Victory.
Had Right decided, and not Fate, the Cause,
Rome had preserv'd her Cato, and her Laws.
Fortune sets off the Bad, as tawdry Dress
Shews but the more the Wearer's Homeliness.
So mad Caligula's
vain Triumph tells,
That all his Conquests are but Cockle-Shells.
True Merit shines in native Splendor bright,
Whilst false but glares awhile, and hurts the Sight:
As Midnight Vapours cast a glimm'ring Blaze,
And to the Darkness owe their feeble Rays.
The wise Egyptians when their Monarch dy'd,
By Truth's sure Standard all his Actions try'd.
When no false Lustre, Wealth, or Pow'r, appears
To biass Judgment by its Hopes or Fears;
Then conqu'ring Chiefs profuse of Subjects Blood,
And lazy Dotards, indolently good;
That trust their People to a Fav'rite's Care,
Whose peaceful Rapines cost 'em more than War,
By injur'd Thousands, Wrongs are doom'd to be
Perpetual Marks of Scorn and Infamy.
And Sophisms that conclude on either Side;
Alike th'Unwary, and the Weak, mislead,
Who judge of Men and Things, as each succeed.
Did Rivals fall by Borgia's vile Deceit,
A Machiavel will call a Borgia great;
The lucky Cheat proclaims the Villain wise,
And Fraud and Murder are but Policies.
The same Despair which made good Cato die,
To Cæsar gave his last great Victory.
Had Right decided, and not Fate, the Cause,
Rome had preserv'd her Cato, and her Laws.
Fortune sets off the Bad, as tawdry Dress
Shews but the more the Wearer's Homeliness.
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That all his Conquests are but Cockle-Shells.
True Merit shines in native Splendor bright,
Whilst false but glares awhile, and hurts the Sight:
As Midnight Vapours cast a glimm'ring Blaze,
And to the Darkness owe their feeble Rays.
The wise Egyptians when their Monarch dy'd,
By Truth's sure Standard all his Actions try'd.
When no false Lustre, Wealth, or Pow'r, appears
To biass Judgment by its Hopes or Fears;
Then conqu'ring Chiefs profuse of Subjects Blood,
And lazy Dotards, indolently good;
That trust their People to a Fav'rite's Care,
Whose peaceful Rapines cost 'em more than War,
By injur'd Thousands, Wrongs are doom'd to be
Perpetual Marks of Scorn and Infamy.
Fortune with Fools, and Wit with Knaves you find,
'Tis social Virtue, shews the noble Mind.
Above low Wisdom, Cunning's mean Pretence,
There is no counterfeiting Excellence:
The artful Head may act the honest Part,
But all true Honour rises from the Heart.
'Tis social Virtue, shews the noble Mind.
Above low Wisdom, Cunning's mean Pretence,
There is no counterfeiting Excellence:
The artful Head may act the honest Part,
But all true Honour rises from the Heart.
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Which serv'd his Country best, let Story shew,
A guilty Clodius, or good Cicero?
Faults are in all; but here the Diff'rence lies,
Clodius had Vices, Tully Vanities.
Who loves Mankind by social Duty taught,
Will never think their Good too dearly bought;
What tho' he sacrifice the vain Desire
Of some gay Bawbles, which the World admire;
Despising Riches, and abhorring Pow'r
When blasted with the Name of Plunderer;
Still he may taste Life's greatest Good, Content;
For who so happy as the Innocent?
A guilty Clodius, or good Cicero?
Faults are in all; but here the Diff'rence lies,
Clodius had Vices, Tully Vanities.
Who loves Mankind by social Duty taught,
Will never think their Good too dearly bought;
What tho' he sacrifice the vain Desire
Of some gay Bawbles, which the World admire;
Despising Riches, and abhorring Pow'r
When blasted with the Name of Plunderer;
Still he may taste Life's greatest Good, Content;
For who so happy as the Innocent?
Jugurtha
murder'd, brib'd, and fought his Way
From subject Station to imperial Sway;
But insecure 'midst all his guilty State,
The Man was wretched, tho' the Monarch great;
Like Cromwell, daring in the doubtful Fight,
But pale and trembling in the Dead of Night.
From subject Station to imperial Sway;
But insecure 'midst all his guilty State,
The Man was wretched, tho' the Monarch great;
Like Cromwell, daring in the doubtful Fight,
But pale and trembling in the Dead of Night.
314
Passion is lawless, headstrong Youth is mad,
But Nature varies not in Good and Bad.
From the same Causes same Effects must flow,
Truth is but what it was an Age ago:
Modes may be chang'd, but Truths are stubborn Things,
They court not Fav'rites, nor will flatter Kings.
But Nature varies not in Good and Bad.
From the same Causes same Effects must flow,
Truth is but what it was an Age ago:
Modes may be chang'd, but Truths are stubborn Things,
They court not Fav'rites, nor will flatter Kings.
Rome had her Cæsar, and our Cromwell we,
Alike in Fortune, Pow'r, and Infamy;
And shou'd new Cæsars and new Cromwells rise,
They could but act the same dire Tragedies:
Foes to Mankind, themselves, and Virtue's Rules,
Whilst living, Heroes, and when dead, but Fools.
Alike in Fortune, Pow'r, and Infamy;
And shou'd new Cæsars and new Cromwells rise,
They could but act the same dire Tragedies:
Foes to Mankind, themselves, and Virtue's Rules,
Whilst living, Heroes, and when dead, but Fools.
Fools, not to know the Glory they pursue,
To honest Bravery alone, is due:
Not he who stretches his unjust Command,
And rudely triumphs o'er his native Land:
But he whose Valour saves a sinking State,
In future Annals shall be call'd the Great.
To honest Bravery alone, is due:
Not he who stretches his unjust Command,
And rudely triumphs o'er his native Land:
But he whose Valour saves a sinking State,
In future Annals shall be call'd the Great.
View well this World, and own the dear-bought Truth,
That Happiness is but the Dream of Youth:
State of Perfection, not for Man design'd,
Howe'er the fond Idea fills his Mind;
Itself an Evil, while to Good it tends,
But in a Round of Disappointments ends.
Man's State in Life, uncertain, mix't, at best;
Conduct some little does, but Fate the rest:
Fantastick Fate! to Merit ever blind,
Whilst lavish to the worst of all Mankind.
By Roman Hands, how else cou'd Cicero fall?
Or Carthage banish her own Hanibal?
While Cleopatra, spite of Scorn and Hate,
Liv'd to compleat the Ruin of her State?
That Happiness is but the Dream of Youth:
State of Perfection, not for Man design'd,
Howe'er the fond Idea fills his Mind;
315
But in a Round of Disappointments ends.
Man's State in Life, uncertain, mix't, at best;
Conduct some little does, but Fate the rest:
Fantastick Fate! to Merit ever blind,
Whilst lavish to the worst of all Mankind.
By Roman Hands, how else cou'd Cicero fall?
Or Carthage banish her own Hanibal?
While Cleopatra, spite of Scorn and Hate,
Liv'd to compleat the Ruin of her State?
Judge then by outward Things, you're sure to err,
And inward lie remote, few look so far.
Appearances still guide, and still deceive,
For giddy Crowds must wonder, and believe.
And inward lie remote, few look so far.
Appearances still guide, and still deceive,
For giddy Crowds must wonder, and believe.
Who sees gay Codrus loll in gilt Machine,
Grand his Attendance, and self-pleas'd his Mien:
Can he imagine all these Trappings hide
A Wretch made up of Folly, Guilt and Pride?
Greedy to get, and as profuse to spend,
Stiff when attended, servile to attend;
Good but by Accident, by Habit bad,
In Reas'ning specious, and in Acting mad.
Grand his Attendance, and self-pleas'd his Mien:
Can he imagine all these Trappings hide
A Wretch made up of Folly, Guilt and Pride?
Greedy to get, and as profuse to spend,
Stiff when attended, servile to attend;
316
In Reas'ning specious, and in Acting mad.
Princes we blame for Benefits misplac'd,
Some ill Man rais'd, perhaps some good disgrac'd:
Cruel their Lot! whom Numbers join to blind,
How hard thro' Labyrinths the Way to find!
But Fortune's Sons we see, without Surprize,
Thrive by Mismanagements, by Blunders rise:
Events, like Atoms jumbling in a Dance,
Create these Wonders like a World by Chance.
Some ill Man rais'd, perhaps some good disgrac'd:
Cruel their Lot! whom Numbers join to blind,
How hard thro' Labyrinths the Way to find!
But Fortune's Sons we see, without Surprize,
Thrive by Mismanagements, by Blunders rise:
Events, like Atoms jumbling in a Dance,
Create these Wonders like a World by Chance.
Search Time's Records, compare the old and new,
Set distant Ages in one Point of View;
Still the same Prospects, under diff'rent Dates,
All dark Decrees of over-ruling Fates:
Madness succeeds, where cautious Wisdom fails,
And Story's self more strange than Fairy's Tales:
Reason but seeks the hidden Clue in vain,
Lost and bewilder'd in th'entangled Skane.
Set distant Ages in one Point of View;
Still the same Prospects, under diff'rent Dates,
All dark Decrees of over-ruling Fates:
Madness succeeds, where cautious Wisdom fails,
And Story's self more strange than Fairy's Tales:
Reason but seeks the hidden Clue in vain,
Lost and bewilder'd in th'entangled Skane.
Where then the Wonder, if succeeding Times
Still vary only in the Kinds of Crimes?
Ages of Iron, Silver, Gold or Lead,
What are they but the Emblems of the Dead?
The same low Ends, by diff'rent Means obtain'd,
As Fury, Avarice, or Folly reign'd?
Still vary only in the Kinds of Crimes?
Ages of Iron, Silver, Gold or Lead,
What are they but the Emblems of the Dead?
317
As Fury, Avarice, or Folly reign'd?
In vain grave Moralists, with specious Skill,
Nicely distinguish Actions good and ill;
The World is led by much more easy Rules,
Success determines who are Wise or Fools.
Causes lie hid, but their Effects appear,
Few Men can judge, but all can see and hear.
Gold, Gems and Purple charm alike the Eye,
Worn by Octavius, or Anthony;
His Right they were to whom by Lot they fell,
And Actium the decisive Oracle:
Corrupted Legions Jove's Vicegerent name,
And servile Senates own the righteous Claim.
Nicely distinguish Actions good and ill;
The World is led by much more easy Rules,
Success determines who are Wise or Fools.
Causes lie hid, but their Effects appear,
Few Men can judge, but all can see and hear.
Gold, Gems and Purple charm alike the Eye,
Worn by Octavius, or Anthony;
His Right they were to whom by Lot they fell,
And Actium the decisive Oracle:
Corrupted Legions Jove's Vicegerent name,
And servile Senates own the righteous Claim.
Each Age must truckle to the reigning Modes,
And worship Devils when they make them Gods;
Call Rapine Industry, Distraction Sense,
And stupid Squand'ring call Magnificence:
No Folly, Crime or Whim too wild to be
Admir'd, when drest in Fashion's Livery.
Fashion, whose strong magnetic Pow'r o'er-rules,
And ever must attract the Lead of Fools;
Her Rise uncertain, but her Progress sure,
Wisdom itself knows no specific Cure.
Wits, Heroes, Statesmen, Monarchs, all must own,
They owe their Merit oft to her alone,
And whilst the epidemic Fit prevails,
No Fop, no Blockhead, nor no Villain fails.
And worship Devils when they make them Gods;
Call Rapine Industry, Distraction Sense,
And stupid Squand'ring call Magnificence:
No Folly, Crime or Whim too wild to be
Admir'd, when drest in Fashion's Livery.
Fashion, whose strong magnetic Pow'r o'er-rules,
And ever must attract the Lead of Fools;
Her Rise uncertain, but her Progress sure,
Wisdom itself knows no specific Cure.
318
They owe their Merit oft to her alone,
And whilst the epidemic Fit prevails,
No Fop, no Blockhead, nor no Villain fails.
See the same Notions variously receiv'd,
Legends, Impostures, every thing believ'd:
See Priests and Tyrants full Obedience find,
And sacred Gibberish enslave Mankind.
View next, with Wonder, an Extreme as odd,
Who knelt to Images, denies a God.
Wretches from Chains and Bondage just set free,
Presumptuous! know no Bounds of Liberty.
Wicked or pious, in a frantick Way,
Mad, they blaspheme, or superstitious, pray.
Legends, Impostures, every thing believ'd:
See Priests and Tyrants full Obedience find,
And sacred Gibberish enslave Mankind.
View next, with Wonder, an Extreme as odd,
Who knelt to Images, denies a God.
Wretches from Chains and Bondage just set free,
Presumptuous! know no Bounds of Liberty.
Wicked or pious, in a frantick Way,
Mad, they blaspheme, or superstitious, pray.
By Chance we live, and act, now right, now wrong,
Both in Excess, and, therefore, neither long:
Virtues too rigid soften by Degrees,
Refine themselves at first to Policies;
When once declining, swiftly downwards tend,
And then in Guilt and Prostitutions end.
Follies tho' opposite, yet still combine,
And jointly carry on Heav'n's great Design.
Changes of Manners Change of Empire cause,
States sink by Licence, as they rose by Laws.
Thus human Things their stated Circles run,
Who one Age flourish, are the next undone.
Both in Excess, and, therefore, neither long:
Virtues too rigid soften by Degrees,
Refine themselves at first to Policies;
When once declining, swiftly downwards tend,
And then in Guilt and Prostitutions end.
Follies tho' opposite, yet still combine,
And jointly carry on Heav'n's great Design.
Changes of Manners Change of Empire cause,
States sink by Licence, as they rose by Laws.
319
Who one Age flourish, are the next undone.
Virtue alone, unchangeable and wise,
Secure, above the Reach of Fortune lies:
Tho' doom'd to Meanness, Poverty or Scorn;
Whilst Fools and Tyrants are to Empire born:
Blest in an humble, but a peaceful State,
She feels no Envy, and she fears no Hate:
With Stoick Calmness views Life's empty Round,
Where Good is sparing sown, but Ills abound.
Secure, above the Reach of Fortune lies:
Tho' doom'd to Meanness, Poverty or Scorn;
Whilst Fools and Tyrants are to Empire born:
Blest in an humble, but a peaceful State,
She feels no Envy, and she fears no Hate:
With Stoick Calmness views Life's empty Round,
Where Good is sparing sown, but Ills abound.
Erostratus, a very obscure Man, set Fire to the Temple of Diana at Ephesus, in order to immortalize his Name, and has succeeded in it, in Spite of all Endeavours to the contrary.
Caligula drew up his Army in Battle Array on the Coast, and then ordered them to gather Shells; for which great Exploit, he returned to Rome in great Triumph. See Suetonius.
Sall. Bell. Jugur. Neque post id locorum Jugurthæ dies aut nox ulla quieta fuit: Neque loco, neque mortali cuipium aut tempori satis credere:—Alio atque alio loco sæpè contra decus regium noctu requiescere—
Clarendon Hist. Rebell. Of Cromwell he says, He was not easy of Access, nor so much as seen abroad, and seem'd to be in some Disorder when his Eyes found any Stranger in the Room, &c. rarely lodg'd two Nights in one Chamber, &c.
Eutropius says, l. 4. Huic Antiocho Annibal se junxerat, Carthaginem patriam suam, ne Romanis traderetur relinquens. Such Ingratitude would seem incredible, did not every Age produce Instances of much the same kind, where the Talents of truly Great Men are rendered useless to their Country, by the Jealousies, low Interests, and Artifices of Little Ones.
321
AN EPISTLE TO Mr. P---.
323
Disdain not P---, my Verse to hear,
Nor let low Doggrel shock your Ear;
Such Music's suited to our Times,
As Dutchmen love the Din of Chimes.
Let formal Fools, their Wisdom boast,
And talk like Hamlet to the Ghost;
'Tis ours to sing, and dress, and dance,
And in her Follies out-do France.
What tho' John Trot, at first appears
But awkward in his foreign Geers?
Tho' Solitaire, and Bag, and Cue ,
With milk-white Hose, and picked Shoe,
As ill his native Stiffness fit,
As Birth-day Suit some clumsy Cit?
Here's a mere Milk-sop, that's afraid
T'appear in modish Masquerade.
Old Britons knew nor Silk, nor Stuff,
And yet the Fops would paint their Buff;
Tho' not, as now the modern Trade is,
For Men to love to look like Ladies;
But 'twas to make the World afraid;
As some wear Broad-sword and Cockade.
Nor let low Doggrel shock your Ear;
Such Music's suited to our Times,
As Dutchmen love the Din of Chimes.
Let formal Fools, their Wisdom boast,
And talk like Hamlet to the Ghost;
'Tis ours to sing, and dress, and dance,
And in her Follies out-do France.
What tho' John Trot, at first appears
But awkward in his foreign Geers?
Tho' Solitaire, and Bag, and Cue ,
With milk-white Hose, and picked Shoe,
324
As Birth-day Suit some clumsy Cit?
Here's a mere Milk-sop, that's afraid
T'appear in modish Masquerade.
Old Britons knew nor Silk, nor Stuff,
And yet the Fops would paint their Buff;
Tho' not, as now the modern Trade is,
For Men to love to look like Ladies;
But 'twas to make the World afraid;
As some wear Broad-sword and Cockade.
From hence to me it seems most plain,
That Man was ever mighty Vain:
The Diff'rence lies but in the Ways,
How he shall quench his Thirst of Praise.
'Tis certain, what we Glory call,
Is mere Imagination all;
'Tis just as Times of Humours vary,
Now one thing, and then quite contrary.
When our Eighth Harry rul'd the Nation,
And Cudgel-playing was in Fashion:
'Twas Matter of most high Renown
To meet, and knock each other down:
And he was then esteem'd well-bred,
Who valu'd not a Broken-head.
Oh! what a Glory to that Land,
Whose King could best a Drubbing stand!
The Ladies doated on a Beau,
Clad in bright Steel, from Top to Toe:
How happy each to see her Knight
Return, half crippled from the Fight?
That Man was ever mighty Vain:
The Diff'rence lies but in the Ways,
How he shall quench his Thirst of Praise.
'Tis certain, what we Glory call,
Is mere Imagination all;
'Tis just as Times of Humours vary,
Now one thing, and then quite contrary.
When our Eighth Harry rul'd the Nation,
And Cudgel-playing was in Fashion:
'Twas Matter of most high Renown
To meet, and knock each other down:
And he was then esteem'd well-bred,
Who valu'd not a Broken-head.
Oh! what a Glory to that Land,
Whose King could best a Drubbing stand!
325
Clad in bright Steel, from Top to Toe:
How happy each to see her Knight
Return, half crippled from the Fight?
In pious Mary's righteous Days,
No more of those Bear-Garden Ways.
Religious Zeal at once surpriz'd us,
And Fire and Faggot civiliz'd us:
'Till good Elizabeth came in,
And brought us to our Wits again.
Then Essexes and Raleighs shone,
And Merit was well look'd upon.
Wise Burleigh showr'd his Plenty down,
And Arts and Arms adorn'd the Crown:
Ador'd at Home, Abroad rever'd,
At once both courted, lov'd and fear'd.
No more of those Bear-Garden Ways.
Religious Zeal at once surpriz'd us,
And Fire and Faggot civiliz'd us:
'Till good Elizabeth came in,
And brought us to our Wits again.
Then Essexes and Raleighs shone,
And Merit was well look'd upon.
Wise Burleigh showr'd his Plenty down,
And Arts and Arms adorn'd the Crown:
Ador'd at Home, Abroad rever'd,
At once both courted, lov'd and fear'd.
What Pity, that so bright a Day
Should see obscur'd her parting Ray!
But selfish Arts and Court-like Guile,
The common Nuisance of our Isle,
Did then, and will for ever show,
Some Weeds in best-till'd Lands will grow.
Should see obscur'd her parting Ray!
But selfish Arts and Court-like Guile,
The common Nuisance of our Isle,
Did then, and will for ever show,
Some Weeds in best-till'd Lands will grow.
Pacific James next trod the Stage,
To act the Sol'mon of the Age.
Oh! how well fitted for his Part,
Hung 'round with Logic King-craft Art,
And such like Implements of State,
Cut out to make a Nation Great!
Sagacious to look thro' Mankind,
And hidden Excellencies find;
So closely hid, none else saw any
In virtuous Car, or handsome Stenny!
But James, who to the Bottom sifted,
Cou'd soon find out how each was gifted.
Assisted by such Heads as these,
And safely lock'd within our Seas,
How he advanc'd Old Albion's Glory,
May easily be seen from Story:
Where you will find he was most great in
The Science of negotiating.
To act the Sol'mon of the Age.
326
Hung 'round with Logic King-craft Art,
And such like Implements of State,
Cut out to make a Nation Great!
Sagacious to look thro' Mankind,
And hidden Excellencies find;
So closely hid, none else saw any
In virtuous Car, or handsome Stenny!
But James, who to the Bottom sifted,
Cou'd soon find out how each was gifted.
Assisted by such Heads as these,
And safely lock'd within our Seas,
How he advanc'd Old Albion's Glory,
May easily be seen from Story:
Where you will find he was most great in
The Science of negotiating.
Of Charles's Times, least said is best,
All Politicks became a Jest:
While some for Kirk fight, some for Church,
Both Sides leave Morals in the Lurch,
And make Religion's grave Pretence,
A Cloak for want of common Sense:
'Till tir'd of Plund'ring, Canting, Praying,
Each Party still their Friends betraying;
Call home the murder'd Father's Son,
And end just where they first begun;
There, for a while, stock-still remain,
Till the old Game begins again.
What to infer from all these Rumbles,
These Follies, Skirmishes, and Jumbles,
But that Mankind a little varies,
Just from Vagaries to Vagaries?
Thus, Whims of Dress, and Whims of State
Possess, by Turns, the empty Pate;
And both from this, one Cause arise,
The Lust of seeming Fine, or Wise.
All Politicks became a Jest:
While some for Kirk fight, some for Church,
Both Sides leave Morals in the Lurch,
And make Religion's grave Pretence,
A Cloak for want of common Sense:
'Till tir'd of Plund'ring, Canting, Praying,
Each Party still their Friends betraying;
Call home the murder'd Father's Son,
And end just where they first begun;
327
Till the old Game begins again.
What to infer from all these Rumbles,
These Follies, Skirmishes, and Jumbles,
But that Mankind a little varies,
Just from Vagaries to Vagaries?
Thus, Whims of Dress, and Whims of State
Possess, by Turns, the empty Pate;
And both from this, one Cause arise,
The Lust of seeming Fine, or Wise.
The Bravo, of Romantick Taste,
Almanzor-like, lays Countries waste;
And hopes the World will be so civil,
Once more to deify the Devil.
True, he is mad, and does not know it;
But thinks it very fine, to shew it;
Proud, by as mighty Mischiefs done,
To rival Ammon's crack-brain'd Son:
And is he then less odd a Creature,
With Hero Airs, and Coward Nature?
Pleas'd to put in (so wise his Aim)
To Fool and Madman equal Claim;
Tho' he's at best but Sancho Pancha,
The 'Squire of Quixote de la Mancha.
Almanzor-like, lays Countries waste;
And hopes the World will be so civil,
Once more to deify the Devil.
True, he is mad, and does not know it;
But thinks it very fine, to shew it;
Proud, by as mighty Mischiefs done,
To rival Ammon's crack-brain'd Son:
And is he then less odd a Creature,
With Hero Airs, and Coward Nature?
Pleas'd to put in (so wise his Aim)
To Fool and Madman equal Claim;
Tho' he's at best but Sancho Pancha,
The 'Squire of Quixote de la Mancha.
328
The Knave profess'd, who laughs at all
That Stuff, which Blockheads Honour call,
Allows no other Good but Pelf,
And knows no Publick but himself;
Admiring Nature's wise Decree,
That all her Sons may plunder free:
Yet, when by pilf'ring all he can,
He comes to be a weighty Man,
He deems the World (so just his Pride is)
Must own him for an Aristides;
No Questions, Doubts, or Jokes can bear,
But keeps his Flatt'rers by the Year.
That Stuff, which Blockheads Honour call,
Allows no other Good but Pelf,
And knows no Publick but himself;
Admiring Nature's wise Decree,
That all her Sons may plunder free:
Yet, when by pilf'ring all he can,
He comes to be a weighty Man,
He deems the World (so just his Pride is)
Must own him for an Aristides;
No Questions, Doubts, or Jokes can bear,
But keeps his Flatt'rers by the Year.
They merit Fame, who highest prize it;
Such sure is he, who dearly buys it:
Did ever tawdry Suits sit ill
On one, who paid the Taylor's Bill?
Corruption is a venal Sin,
That kindly take Associates in;
And Bribery becomes deserving,
When it keeps honest Men from starving.
Then, what is all that mighty Stir,
About the Thing, call'd Character?
Since good or bad, 'tis much the same,
For some must praise, whilst others blame;
And he who pays to be commended,
Will always be the best attended.
So Faggots, at a Muster, tell,
Tho' they mayn't battle quite so well:
Most Things are just but as you take 'em,
And Good or Bad, as Customs make 'em.
In Rome's first Days, when paltry Huts
For Houses pass'd, with queer old Puts,
Roots, Nuts, and Acorns grac'd the Boards
Of Savages, call'd Roman Lords;
And Element, most pure and fine,
Was tip'd off clean, like good French Wine.
What wonder such poor Souls as these,
Ne'r dreamt of Life's Conveniencies;
Desir'd not Wealth, they never knew,
Nor spoke a Word, but what was true;
Return'd with Joy, when Wars were ended,
And till'd the Lands they late defended?
Such sure is he, who dearly buys it:
Did ever tawdry Suits sit ill
On one, who paid the Taylor's Bill?
Corruption is a venal Sin,
That kindly take Associates in;
And Bribery becomes deserving,
When it keeps honest Men from starving.
Then, what is all that mighty Stir,
About the Thing, call'd Character?
Since good or bad, 'tis much the same,
For some must praise, whilst others blame;
And he who pays to be commended,
Will always be the best attended.
329
Tho' they mayn't battle quite so well:
Most Things are just but as you take 'em,
And Good or Bad, as Customs make 'em.
In Rome's first Days, when paltry Huts
For Houses pass'd, with queer old Puts,
Roots, Nuts, and Acorns grac'd the Boards
Of Savages, call'd Roman Lords;
And Element, most pure and fine,
Was tip'd off clean, like good French Wine.
What wonder such poor Souls as these,
Ne'r dreamt of Life's Conveniencies;
Desir'd not Wealth, they never knew,
Nor spoke a Word, but what was true;
Return'd with Joy, when Wars were ended,
And till'd the Lands they late defended?
But had they liv'd in better Times,
To taste the Sweets of modern Crimes;
Had they but felt that Lust of Pow'r,
Like Thirst, increasing ev'ry Hour;
Or known the magick Force of Gold,
By which the World is bought and sold;
They had been wiser far, I trow,
And acted much as we do now.
How curious 'tis to see all Ages,
Produce their diff'rent Kind of Sages!
Philosophers, with Beards depending,
Their Lives in Search of Flea-traps spending:
And then again, the jovial Race
Of those, who think, and live apace;
Pursuing, with an equal Zeal,
The Welfare of the Common Weal;
Wrapt up in Visions, Whims, and Fancies,
All Heroes of their own Romances!
To taste the Sweets of modern Crimes;
Had they but felt that Lust of Pow'r,
Like Thirst, increasing ev'ry Hour;
Or known the magick Force of Gold,
By which the World is bought and sold;
They had been wiser far, I trow,
And acted much as we do now.
How curious 'tis to see all Ages,
Produce their diff'rent Kind of Sages!
330
Their Lives in Search of Flea-traps spending:
And then again, the jovial Race
Of those, who think, and live apace;
Pursuing, with an equal Zeal,
The Welfare of the Common Weal;
Wrapt up in Visions, Whims, and Fancies,
All Heroes of their own Romances!
The rough athletick Race of Tartars,
Who first eat up, then change, their Quarters,
Enjoy their Horse-Flesh, Dirt and Thieving,
As the politest Way of living:
Whilst Countries of a Taste refin'd,
To Arts of Peace and Sloth inclin'd;
In Pleasures spend their Days and Nights,
And live like arrant Sybarites.
Say, which is best then, you who can,
The savage or the polish'd Man;
Since Wisdom, Folly, Madness, Reason,
By Turns, are in, or out of Season?
I hold, that Logick best apply'd,
Which still maintains the strongest Side.
As Storms are said to clear the Air,
From noxious Vapours gathering there;
Why may not Scolding be as good,
To cleanse and purify the Blood?
And thus a little Alteration,
May serve as Physick to a Nation.
For should the World too well agree,
The Calm might turn to Lethargy.
Thus all Men first or last divide,
And every one must take his Side:
For as the Body's always best,
When not indulg'd in too much Rest:
So gentle stirring, still we find,
Is full as healthful to the Mind.
And happy 'tis, that Church and State,
Yield endless Matter of Debate;
And nothing e'er was yet so plain,
But may be argued o'er again.
Thus Arians, Sectaries, Socinians,
Are Football-players of Opinions;
Politic Schemes, and shrewd Conjectures,
Thus furnish Weekly useful Lectures;
And what to-day, seems past Dispute,
To-morrow, fails not to confute.
Who first eat up, then change, their Quarters,
Enjoy their Horse-Flesh, Dirt and Thieving,
As the politest Way of living:
Whilst Countries of a Taste refin'd,
To Arts of Peace and Sloth inclin'd;
In Pleasures spend their Days and Nights,
And live like arrant Sybarites.
Say, which is best then, you who can,
The savage or the polish'd Man;
Since Wisdom, Folly, Madness, Reason,
By Turns, are in, or out of Season?
I hold, that Logick best apply'd,
Which still maintains the strongest Side.
As Storms are said to clear the Air,
From noxious Vapours gathering there;
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To cleanse and purify the Blood?
And thus a little Alteration,
May serve as Physick to a Nation.
For should the World too well agree,
The Calm might turn to Lethargy.
Thus all Men first or last divide,
And every one must take his Side:
For as the Body's always best,
When not indulg'd in too much Rest:
So gentle stirring, still we find,
Is full as healthful to the Mind.
And happy 'tis, that Church and State,
Yield endless Matter of Debate;
And nothing e'er was yet so plain,
But may be argued o'er again.
Thus Arians, Sectaries, Socinians,
Are Football-players of Opinions;
Politic Schemes, and shrewd Conjectures,
Thus furnish Weekly useful Lectures;
And what to-day, seems past Dispute,
To-morrow, fails not to confute.
Doubting is next to being Wise;
'Tis here, that all the Diff'rence lies,
Both are in Architecture skill'd,
One to pull down, and one to build:
But then there is more Art I own,
In building up, than pulling down:
So, where's the Wonder, if you find,
More Workmen of the latter Kind?
'Tis here, that all the Diff'rence lies,
Both are in Architecture skill'd,
One to pull down, and one to build:
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In building up, than pulling down:
So, where's the Wonder, if you find,
More Workmen of the latter Kind?
Subjection never yet was good;
Too grating much to Flesh and Blood.
All Adam's Sons are born Coheirs,
And this round World in common theirs:
For whate'er human Laws pretend,
Nature's an universal Friend:
And as she makes Men Knaves, or Fools,
Leaves each to follow their own Rules;
Those still to cog, or filch, or flatter,
These to know nothing of the Matter;
Both happy, and alike conceited,
Of cheating, and of being cheated.
Since this is so, the Learned say,
'Tis arrant Nonsense to obey,
Unless the Jure be Divino,
Which best appear by Ready Rhino:
For tho' Men diff'rent Doctrines hold,
All own the Monarch on the Gold;
And many a Jack has left off snarling,
Convinc'd by Revolution Sterling.
What else is all Administration,
But being Steward to a Nation:
And Stewards, all good Men believe,
Should pay as fast as they receive:
For that's their Duty; Reason good;
Poundage being always understood.
Too grating much to Flesh and Blood.
All Adam's Sons are born Coheirs,
And this round World in common theirs:
For whate'er human Laws pretend,
Nature's an universal Friend:
And as she makes Men Knaves, or Fools,
Leaves each to follow their own Rules;
Those still to cog, or filch, or flatter,
These to know nothing of the Matter;
Both happy, and alike conceited,
Of cheating, and of being cheated.
Since this is so, the Learned say,
'Tis arrant Nonsense to obey,
Unless the Jure be Divino,
Which best appear by Ready Rhino:
For tho' Men diff'rent Doctrines hold,
All own the Monarch on the Gold;
And many a Jack has left off snarling,
Convinc'd by Revolution Sterling.
What else is all Administration,
But being Steward to a Nation:
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Should pay as fast as they receive:
For that's their Duty; Reason good;
Poundage being always understood.
One Point in Life, all Diff'rence makes,
He that can give, and he that takes:
And he that gives, must be allow'd
Superior to the begging Crowd.
All other Merit, one may doubt of;
But those, one can get Money out of,
Are wise and good, as Man can be,
And prove it most demonstrably.
The surest Pledge of honest Dealing
'Twixt Friends, must be a Fellow-feeling:
And the best Way to understand,
Is by some Token in the Hand;
Which makes all Matters wond'rous clear,
Repeat it but four Times a Year.
He that can give, and he that takes:
And he that gives, must be allow'd
Superior to the begging Crowd.
All other Merit, one may doubt of;
But those, one can get Money out of,
Are wise and good, as Man can be,
And prove it most demonstrably.
The surest Pledge of honest Dealing
'Twixt Friends, must be a Fellow-feeling:
And the best Way to understand,
Is by some Token in the Hand;
Which makes all Matters wond'rous clear,
Repeat it but four Times a Year.
Of all the various Aims of Life,
Which set the busy World at Strife;
The End has still been much alike,
'Tis Grandeur, Pow'r, or Pence, that strike.
Our Age, to prudent Schemes inclin'd,
Has fix'd upon the golden Kind:
The rest are idle, fleeting Things;
Huzza's of Mobs, or Smiles of Kings.
But solid Gold, each Man confides in,
'Tis this alone can bring all Sides in.
Dispute and jangle, tho' you may,
First one Thing, then another say,
As either suits Occasion best;
Which brings in most, 'tis that's the Text.
For who but Fools e'er made a Pother;
Or talk'd of helping one another?
Stale Topicks fit for those alone,
Who have no better Doctrines known.
True Wisdom lies in Heaps of Pelf;
True social Love is Love of Self:
For, reason e'er so long, 'tis plain,
All modern Orthodoxy's vain.
Which set the busy World at Strife;
The End has still been much alike,
'Tis Grandeur, Pow'r, or Pence, that strike.
Our Age, to prudent Schemes inclin'd,
Has fix'd upon the golden Kind:
334
Huzza's of Mobs, or Smiles of Kings.
But solid Gold, each Man confides in,
'Tis this alone can bring all Sides in.
Dispute and jangle, tho' you may,
First one Thing, then another say,
As either suits Occasion best;
Which brings in most, 'tis that's the Text.
For who but Fools e'er made a Pother;
Or talk'd of helping one another?
Stale Topicks fit for those alone,
Who have no better Doctrines known.
True Wisdom lies in Heaps of Pelf;
True social Love is Love of Self:
For, reason e'er so long, 'tis plain,
All modern Orthodoxy's vain.
A kind of fantastic Dress, which the young Fellows learnt of the Petit Maitres in France, and were fond to appear in.
335
A Kind of a DIALOGUE IN HUDIBRASTICKS.
337
Oft have we reason'd much and long,
Not knowing who was right, or wrong:
I hold that Fortune rules the Roast,
And favours Fools, and Knaves the most:
You still on Conduct lay the Blame,
And fancy Luck is much the same,
Else Wisdom's Worth might well be doubted,
If we cou'd do as well without it.
'Tis true, I own, this looks like Sense;
But what's that to Experience?
Not knowing who was right, or wrong:
I hold that Fortune rules the Roast,
And favours Fools, and Knaves the most:
You still on Conduct lay the Blame,
And fancy Luck is much the same,
Else Wisdom's Worth might well be doubted,
If we cou'd do as well without it.
'Tis true, I own, this looks like Sense;
But what's that to Experience?
Frank Charters fairly scap'd his Due,
And so have others hitherto.
Say, is it Luck or Merit saves,
The Wretch, that ev'ry Tongue beslaves?
As well they may, since all agree,
That Losers have this Liberty.
If crafty P**** gets a Plumb,
And robs each Client of a Sum,
To make the Total up compleat,
Whilst plunder'd Cullies hug the Cheat;
His Merits sure could ne'er befool 'em,
But 'tis his Stars that over-rule 'em.
When good Sir Blackmore first set up,
Some few Years since, his Epick Shop,
The modish Ware so quickly sold,
One would have sworn 'twas made of Gold:
Sure it must be more Luck than Sleight,
To pass off Pinchbeck Ore for right.
What Sage, with all his Wisdom, ever
Could play a Trick so very clever,
As those most justly fam'd Projectors,
Great Britain's and South-Sea Directors?
Who, tho' convict to Demonstration
Of having pillag'd half the Nation;
Yet (what's most wond'rous to be told)
Escap'd with Life, and Limb, and Gold.
And so have others hitherto.
338
The Wretch, that ev'ry Tongue beslaves?
As well they may, since all agree,
That Losers have this Liberty.
If crafty P**** gets a Plumb,
And robs each Client of a Sum,
To make the Total up compleat,
Whilst plunder'd Cullies hug the Cheat;
His Merits sure could ne'er befool 'em,
But 'tis his Stars that over-rule 'em.
When good Sir Blackmore first set up,
Some few Years since, his Epick Shop,
The modish Ware so quickly sold,
One would have sworn 'twas made of Gold:
Sure it must be more Luck than Sleight,
To pass off Pinchbeck Ore for right.
What Sage, with all his Wisdom, ever
Could play a Trick so very clever,
As those most justly fam'd Projectors,
Great Britain's and South-Sea Directors?
Who, tho' convict to Demonstration
Of having pillag'd half the Nation;
Yet (what's most wond'rous to be told)
Escap'd with Life, and Limb, and Gold.
But now, methinks, I hear you say,
That ev'ry Dog should have his Day.
I grant it true; but then I hold,
A Saying just as trite and old;
Those Dogs, like Birds of the same Feather,
Should flock, that is, should hang, together;
But not be left to play their Tricks,
And spoil all those, with whom they mix;
With Arts corrupt debauch the Town,
And turn the whole World upside down;
Like Mobsters, in a frosty Day,
When they a Game at Foot-ball play;
And keep all honest Folks within Doors,
Whilst they are breaking Shins and Windows.
That ev'ry Dog should have his Day.
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A Saying just as trite and old;
Those Dogs, like Birds of the same Feather,
Should flock, that is, should hang, together;
But not be left to play their Tricks,
And spoil all those, with whom they mix;
With Arts corrupt debauch the Town,
And turn the whole World upside down;
Like Mobsters, in a frosty Day,
When they a Game at Foot-ball play;
And keep all honest Folks within Doors,
Whilst they are breaking Shins and Windows.
Sir John, you say, would fain be great,
Well lodg'd, attended, serv'd in Plate;
Build, purchase, shew a Taste, and do
Much more than e'er his Father knew.
And shall such Talents be confin'd;
And shall we cramp this noble Mind;
Because some musty Book-worms tell us,
(In the true Cant of all old Fellows)
Of Right and Wrong, and God knows what,
With Morals, Virtue, and all that?
Name, if you can, the When, and Where,
Such Doctrines ever practis'd were.
Much wrote of, I confess, they've been;
And talk'd of too, but never seen.
Take each old Book, to English turn it,
And make Paul Jove as plain as Burnet;
You'll find both Papist, Whig, and Tory,
Agreeing in the self-same Story.
And tho' some flatter, and some lye,
And both perhaps have Reasons why;
Upon the whole, one Truth appears,
That, for these last five hundred Years,
The wise Men still of all Opinions,
All Ages, Countries, and Dominions,
Have found it ever right to do,
Whate'er their Int'rest led them to.
Well lodg'd, attended, serv'd in Plate;
Build, purchase, shew a Taste, and do
Much more than e'er his Father knew.
And shall such Talents be confin'd;
And shall we cramp this noble Mind;
Because some musty Book-worms tell us,
(In the true Cant of all old Fellows)
Of Right and Wrong, and God knows what,
With Morals, Virtue, and all that?
Name, if you can, the When, and Where,
Such Doctrines ever practis'd were.
Much wrote of, I confess, they've been;
And talk'd of too, but never seen.
340
And make Paul Jove as plain as Burnet;
You'll find both Papist, Whig, and Tory,
Agreeing in the self-same Story.
And tho' some flatter, and some lye,
And both perhaps have Reasons why;
Upon the whole, one Truth appears,
That, for these last five hundred Years,
The wise Men still of all Opinions,
All Ages, Countries, and Dominions,
Have found it ever right to do,
Whate'er their Int'rest led them to.
'Tis shrewdly urg'd, Friend Dick; but pray,
Explain one Part of what you say.
Who's this Sir John? and how came he
Akin, to either you or me?
He'd fain be great at our Expence;
But where is then our common Sense?
Are we to lend a helping Hand,
That he may on our Shoulders stand?
Since Right and Wrong, are old Wives Tales,
And nothing's bad, but that which fails;
Why should not you and I Sir John it,
And try our Skill and Luck upon it?
If Int'rest be our only Rule,
'Tis better being Knave than Fool.
Explain one Part of what you say.
Who's this Sir John? and how came he
Akin, to either you or me?
He'd fain be great at our Expence;
But where is then our common Sense?
Are we to lend a helping Hand,
That he may on our Shoulders stand?
Since Right and Wrong, are old Wives Tales,
And nothing's bad, but that which fails;
Why should not you and I Sir John it,
And try our Skill and Luck upon it?
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'Tis better being Knave than Fool.
I like, quoth Dick, the Motion well;
But I am no Sir Sidrophel.
I wish I were; you'd quickly find,
I'm not to Scruples much inclin'd:
Scruples, the out-of-fashion Taste,
Of simple Puppies too shame-fac'd;
All which, since Ro---n's pious Reign,
Are wisely banish'd 'cross the Main.
But 'tho' I can't lead up the Ball,
Must I not therefore dance at all?
I'll be no Stander-by, I'll swear;
And tho' without much Grace or Air,
Whoever leads, in spite of Laughter,
Most actively I'll fidget after.
But I am no Sir Sidrophel.
I wish I were; you'd quickly find,
I'm not to Scruples much inclin'd:
Scruples, the out-of-fashion Taste,
Of simple Puppies too shame-fac'd;
All which, since Ro---n's pious Reign,
Are wisely banish'd 'cross the Main.
But 'tho' I can't lead up the Ball,
Must I not therefore dance at all?
I'll be no Stander-by, I'll swear;
And tho' without much Grace or Air,
Whoever leads, in spite of Laughter,
Most actively I'll fidget after.
I much approve, Dick, your Good-will;
But what's this to my Question still?
To do Things truly great is hard,
But not to pocket the Reward.
'Tis Mars must charge thro' Blood and Thunder;
But Mercury as well can plunder.
To serve, improve, enrich a Nation,
Requires a Fleury's Application;
But Cha---n's without Skill or Toil,
Can run away with all the Spoil.
Each Man his proper Talents feels;
Who cannot guide, may greaze the Wheels.
Consider we're not talking now,
Of what Men ought to do, or how:
If playing all the Game be fair,
'Tis who shall have the largest Share:
And you and I may soon agree,
Which should have that, Sir John, or we.
For whether Luck or Art prevails,
Since Merit ne'er yet turn'd the Scales;
Why then not bustle thro' the Crowd,
Be busy, impudent, and loud?
Get once but o'er their Heads, they'll swear,
That Heav'n itself has plac'd you there.
But what's this to my Question still?
To do Things truly great is hard,
But not to pocket the Reward.
'Tis Mars must charge thro' Blood and Thunder;
But Mercury as well can plunder.
To serve, improve, enrich a Nation,
Requires a Fleury's Application;
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Can run away with all the Spoil.
Each Man his proper Talents feels;
Who cannot guide, may greaze the Wheels.
Consider we're not talking now,
Of what Men ought to do, or how:
If playing all the Game be fair,
'Tis who shall have the largest Share:
And you and I may soon agree,
Which should have that, Sir John, or we.
For whether Luck or Art prevails,
Since Merit ne'er yet turn'd the Scales;
Why then not bustle thro' the Crowd,
Be busy, impudent, and loud?
Get once but o'er their Heads, they'll swear,
That Heav'n itself has plac'd you there.
As Quack, when on his Scaffold mounted,
A mighty Doctor is accounted;
And ev'ry gaping Fool that passes,
Adds to the Number of his Asses;
Whilst Zany still bawls out the louder,
And sells his Pimpernello Powder;
Just so, upon the World's great Stage,
Whoe'er gets up, becomes a Sage;
And so continues 'till some other,
Can jostle out this elder Brother;
Then takes his Place, is just as great,
And gravely carries on the Cheat.
A mighty Doctor is accounted;
And ev'ry gaping Fool that passes,
Adds to the Number of his Asses;
Whilst Zany still bawls out the louder,
And sells his Pimpernello Powder;
Just so, upon the World's great Stage,
Whoe'er gets up, becomes a Sage;
And so continues 'till some other,
Can jostle out this elder Brother;
343
And gravely carries on the Cheat.
Old England's Sons (tho' free) are found,
To pay ten Shillings in the Pound;
But then their Taxes they must vote,
Or else they would not pay a Groat;
Whilst poor French Senates have no Share
In Edicts, but to register.
The Difference is great, you see;
They must wear wooden Shoes; but we,
When once we have excis'd our Leather,
May fairly have our Choice of either.
To pay ten Shillings in the Pound;
But then their Taxes they must vote,
Or else they would not pay a Groat;
Whilst poor French Senates have no Share
In Edicts, but to register.
The Difference is great, you see;
They must wear wooden Shoes; but we,
When once we have excis'd our Leather,
May fairly have our Choice of either.
Hold, hold, cry'd Dick, you go too far,
You make Men sillier than they are;
And of the Mark are quite too wide,
In fancying, 'tis but up, and ride.
Think you, Mankind can e'er be led
By Hands alone, without a Head?
You make Men sillier than they are;
And of the Mark are quite too wide,
In fancying, 'tis but up, and ride.
Think you, Mankind can e'er be led
By Hands alone, without a Head?
By Hands alone? Ay, sure, say I;
I wish we could the Fancy try:
Command whate'er you will, and then
Do you find Money, I'll find Men.
What makes your Folks in Power so stout,
And right or wrong, put in and out;
Nor care who hisses, or who hollows?
When Money leads, they know what follows.
A Hunks (that for the sake of Metre,
I'll dignify with Name of Peter)
Who was a Man so very willing,
He stuck at nought to get a Shilling,
Had once a noble Offer made him,
To have five hundred Pieces paid him:
Hear, how they chink; now see them told,
Fresh from the Mint, Great George's Gold!
All you need do to gain this Pelf,
Is but to go and hang yourself.
Come, swing away, 'tis all your own;
For quick we run and cut you down.
But wary Hunks, too sharp for this,
Strait turn'd about, and bid them kiss—
I wish we could the Fancy try:
Command whate'er you will, and then
Do you find Money, I'll find Men.
What makes your Folks in Power so stout,
And right or wrong, put in and out;
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When Money leads, they know what follows.
A Hunks (that for the sake of Metre,
I'll dignify with Name of Peter)
Who was a Man so very willing,
He stuck at nought to get a Shilling,
Had once a noble Offer made him,
To have five hundred Pieces paid him:
Hear, how they chink; now see them told,
Fresh from the Mint, Great George's Gold!
All you need do to gain this Pelf,
Is but to go and hang yourself.
Come, swing away, 'tis all your own;
For quick we run and cut you down.
But wary Hunks, too sharp for this,
Strait turn'd about, and bid them kiss—
Oh! that I once might live to see,
My Countrymen as wise as he;
That when, at seven Years end, come down
The Dealers to each Country Town,
To purchase Calves Heads at low Prices,
And sell them as the Market rises;
They'd hear their Speeches, drink their Wines,
And having made them pay their Fines,
In just Return of such sly Tricks,
Instead of Leases, give them Kicks.
My Countrymen as wise as he;
That when, at seven Years end, come down
The Dealers to each Country Town,
To purchase Calves Heads at low Prices,
And sell them as the Market rises;
They'd hear their Speeches, drink their Wines,
And having made them pay their Fines,
In just Return of such sly Tricks,
Instead of Leases, give them Kicks.
An Italian Bishop, famous for his Knack of writing History, and much esteemed for his Veracity and Disinterestedness.
345
Poetical Miscellanies.
The Character of Almenon,
out of an old Manuscript.
Almenon
had a Sort of Merit,
Some Sense, good Humour, Wit, and Spirit;
But then, he had a strange weak Side,
He hated Roguery and Pride;
Nor saw at Court, without a Sneer,
The Mummeries he met with there.
To Senates, by his Country sent,
He serv'd them well in Parliament;
Nor wou'd for tawdry Toys, or Pelf,
Betray his Trust, and sell himself.
Sincere, and friendly, not punctilious,
No Mamamouche, nor Supercilious:
In Conversation gay, and free,
But lik'd not too much Company.
No toping Sot, nor noted Rake,
But yet would too much Pleasure take;
Tho' he ne'er hurt Estate, nor Fame,
Nor brought a Scandal on the Name.
Good Books he priz'd, from earliest Youth,
And valued Men for Worth and Truth.
Chit-chat he lov'd; but could not bear
Dull Jokes, nor spiteful Tales to hear,
And rather chose to spend the Day
Alone, in his amusing Way,
Than barter Time, and Health, and Quiet,
For idle News, and noisy Riot.
He could not fawn on Fools, and Knaves,
Nor live with Sycophants, and Slaves;
But still preferr'd the lone Retreat,
To being that way, Rich and Great.
Some Sense, good Humour, Wit, and Spirit;
But then, he had a strange weak Side,
He hated Roguery and Pride;
Nor saw at Court, without a Sneer,
The Mummeries he met with there.
To Senates, by his Country sent,
He serv'd them well in Parliament;
Nor wou'd for tawdry Toys, or Pelf,
Betray his Trust, and sell himself.
Sincere, and friendly, not punctilious,
No Mamamouche, nor Supercilious:
In Conversation gay, and free,
But lik'd not too much Company.
346
But yet would too much Pleasure take;
Tho' he ne'er hurt Estate, nor Fame,
Nor brought a Scandal on the Name.
Good Books he priz'd, from earliest Youth,
And valued Men for Worth and Truth.
Chit-chat he lov'd; but could not bear
Dull Jokes, nor spiteful Tales to hear,
And rather chose to spend the Day
Alone, in his amusing Way,
Than barter Time, and Health, and Quiet,
For idle News, and noisy Riot.
He could not fawn on Fools, and Knaves,
Nor live with Sycophants, and Slaves;
But still preferr'd the lone Retreat,
To being that way, Rich and Great.
Say! What became of this odd Creature,
So out of Fashion, out of Nature?
So out of Fashion, out of Nature?
Luck he had little, Favour less;
Nor did much worldly Means possess:
(Tho' born to Title and Estate;
So whimsically odd his Fate!)
Yet he, with Joy, gave all he cou'd,
To do his needy Neighbours good.
To studious Ease was much inclin'd,
And bless'd with a contented Mind:
Obscure, a peacely Life he led;
Nor envied those, who better sped.
Nor did much worldly Means possess:
(Tho' born to Title and Estate;
So whimsically odd his Fate!)
Yet he, with Joy, gave all he cou'd,
To do his needy Neighbours good.
347
And bless'd with a contented Mind:
Obscure, a peacely Life he led;
Nor envied those, who better sped.
An EPIGRAM.
[Suppose two Patriots in Debate]
Suppose two Patriots in Debate,Deciding of Affairs of State;
The one thinks all our Measures right,
And to the Skies extols the Knight:
The other, full of Doubts and Fears,
Complains of Taxes, Debts, Arrears;
Grudges the Hessian Troops their Pay,
Nor minds what Hare and Horace say;
Curses the Treaties, one and all,
Distrusts the very Cardinal.
How shall we end this great Dispute;
Where both Sides argue, both confute?
Why, send for Scroop, and let him bring,
A Sample of his Reasoning.
Remarks, Enquiries, Observations,
And even Osborn's Demonstrations:
Not half so clear a Light afford,
As from Scroop's Mouth a single Word.
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Part of a SATIRE.
What strange odd Whimsies govern human Race:
A Feather, Ribband, Pension, or a Place.
Such are the wise Pursuits of publick Life,
In private, 'tis a Plumb, a Whore, or Wife.
See here two Muck-worms counting each his Store,
And as it rises, griping still the more:
Tho' one of low, and one of high Degree,
Both worthy Knights of honest Industry;
Both place in hoarded Pelf their mean Delight,
Nor mind the Difference of Wrong and Right.
A Feather, Ribband, Pension, or a Place.
Such are the wise Pursuits of publick Life,
In private, 'tis a Plumb, a Whore, or Wife.
See here two Muck-worms counting each his Store,
And as it rises, griping still the more:
Tho' one of low, and one of high Degree,
Both worthy Knights of honest Industry;
Both place in hoarded Pelf their mean Delight,
Nor mind the Difference of Wrong and Right.
Lo! there grave Statesmen, spite of Age's Ice,
Affecting Youth, and counterfeiting Vice;
Full well, the mimick Part, these Dotards fits;
Cupid, in Ambush, in each Wrinkle sits,
And from the Parchment Cell, his Shafts let fly,
Inspire each Nymph, with Love of Gallantry:
Close clings the Fair One to her ancient Ninny,
Sure to be constant still, to Buss and Guinea.
Affecting Youth, and counterfeiting Vice;
Full well, the mimick Part, these Dotards fits;
Cupid, in Ambush, in each Wrinkle sits,
And from the Parchment Cell, his Shafts let fly,
Inspire each Nymph, with Love of Gallantry:
Close clings the Fair One to her ancient Ninny,
Sure to be constant still, to Buss and Guinea.
From Wisdom, let us next to Wit descend,
And see how much we shall the Prospect mend.
What goodly Views, as far as Sight can pierce,
Of future Laureats, both in Prose and Verse?
Some Popes and Swifts remov'd for Britain's Peace,
She then, for Arts may rival modern Greece:
Safe in her Seas, but much more in her Fame,
Whilst Nations start at Brunswick's warlike Name.
Superiour, ballancing the Globe, she seems,
Renown'd alike for Courage and for Schemes;
New Burnets and new Oldmixons, shall be
Hereditary Scribes of History:
Stephens and Collies, yet to come, shall raise
Wings, Altars, Odes, and Anagrams of Praise;
Recording thus the Glories of their Times,
In lying Legends, and in monkish Rhimes.
'Till Albion, weary of th'insipid Strains,
Calls in, once more, her Saxons, Picts, and Danes.
And see how much we shall the Prospect mend.
What goodly Views, as far as Sight can pierce,
Of future Laureats, both in Prose and Verse?
349
She then, for Arts may rival modern Greece:
Safe in her Seas, but much more in her Fame,
Whilst Nations start at Brunswick's warlike Name.
Superiour, ballancing the Globe, she seems,
Renown'd alike for Courage and for Schemes;
New Burnets and new Oldmixons, shall be
Hereditary Scribes of History:
Stephens and Collies, yet to come, shall raise
Wings, Altars, Odes, and Anagrams of Praise;
Recording thus the Glories of their Times,
In lying Legends, and in monkish Rhimes.
'Till Albion, weary of th'insipid Strains,
Calls in, once more, her Saxons, Picts, and Danes.
The Northern Climate, an Epigram.
Of Three sure Seasons doth our Years consist,We've Summer, Autumn, Winter, all the rest.
That's pleasant truly: You ne'er mention Spring!
And, pray why should I? We have no such Thing.
350
Occasion'd by Reading the Gazetteer of Saturday, December 11, 1736.
1
If naughty Caleb, praise Queen Bess,As popish Craftsmen us'd to call her;
Immediately her Fame grows less,
And Gazetteer begins to maul her.
2
She, an Example! Danvers, fie!What Stories strange you tell us!
She'd bully People, God knows why,
And take Advice of High-church Fellows.
3
Imprison Commons, for a Speech;And use as scurvily the Peers;
Sometimes she'd bid them kiss her B---,
And sometimes too she'd box their Ears.
4
If her Affairs went well: 'twas Chance,And Subjects too were wond'rous civil:
'Twas so, she Holland sav'd, and France,
And beat the Spaniards to the Devil.
351
5
But if a Pack of grumbling Varlets,Will never let good Folks be quiet;
What can be done for Sons of Harlots,
Who must be ever running Riot?
6
Then pr'ythee, Caleb, burn thy Tools,And scribble no more silly Stuff;
The Outs are always Knaves and Fools;
The Ins are Wise and Good enough.
An Epistle to a Young Gentleman.
To you, dear Ned, unask'd, Advice I send,
The kind Remembrance, of a distant Friend:
Forgive th'Intrusion; but approve th'Intent;
And take that rightly, which was rightly meant.
The kind Remembrance, of a distant Friend:
Forgive th'Intrusion; but approve th'Intent;
And take that rightly, which was rightly meant.
How hard a thing it is in Life to steer
Thro' all those Rocks, and Shelves, we meet with here!
Abandon'd to our own unsteady Will,
To Good invited, but made prone to Ill;
Whilst Passions biass, and while Fancy guides,
Reason's but talk'd of, and in vain presides:
Swerve but the least, how soon you go astray;
So much the wrong is still the readiest Way.
Thro' all those Rocks, and Shelves, we meet with here!
Abandon'd to our own unsteady Will,
To Good invited, but made prone to Ill;
352
Reason's but talk'd of, and in vain presides:
Swerve but the least, how soon you go astray;
So much the wrong is still the readiest Way.
If Love of Pow'r, and mad Ambition seize,
If the false Glitter of a Courtier please:
Beware in Time, and check the growing Heat;
Nor run, too rashly, on the gross Deceit.
Consider well, how easy 'tis to fail,
And what the Methods are that must prevail.
Can you pervert that honest, generous Mind?
Can you in Interest your sole Pleasure find?
Forget yourself, your Country, and your Friends,
And sacrifice 'em all to vilest Ends?
Then you may soar, aloft, above the rest,
With all the Pomp of State unwieldly, blest.
And, like a Comet shine with dreadful Blaze;
Whilst giddy Mortals tremble as they gaze.
If the false Glitter of a Courtier please:
Beware in Time, and check the growing Heat;
Nor run, too rashly, on the gross Deceit.
Consider well, how easy 'tis to fail,
And what the Methods are that must prevail.
Can you pervert that honest, generous Mind?
Can you in Interest your sole Pleasure find?
Forget yourself, your Country, and your Friends,
And sacrifice 'em all to vilest Ends?
Then you may soar, aloft, above the rest,
With all the Pomp of State unwieldly, blest.
And, like a Comet shine with dreadful Blaze;
Whilst giddy Mortals tremble as they gaze.
Shou'd Thirst of Wealth, with specious Names engage,
And steal upon you in your tender Age:
The prudent Youth, too careful of his Gold,
Will grow a downright Miser, when he's old.
In vain Compassion, Honour, Justice plead,
Widows must starve, and even Orphans bleed.
No Ebbs this headstrong, sordid Passion knows,
But swells, like Winter Torrents, as it flows.
And steal upon you in your tender Age:
The prudent Youth, too careful of his Gold,
Will grow a downright Miser, when he's old.
In vain Compassion, Honour, Justice plead,
Widows must starve, and even Orphans bleed.
353
But swells, like Winter Torrents, as it flows.
When Love invades, and Nature fain wou'd yield,
Can Youth, so ill defended, keep the Field?
When thus assaulted, and when thus betray'd,
Reason, ere well awake, is Captive made:
Pleas'd with its Bonds, scarce wishing to be free,
And hardly feels, the Loss of Liberty:
Then, oh! remember, ere it be too late,
What real Pains, on fancied Pleasures wait.
Think, whilst you gaze, the Nymph so fair, so kind,
Is still as fickle, as the wavering Wind;
For Conquest made, she thinks that beauteous Frame,
And like ambitious Heroes, kills for Fame.
Can Youth, so ill defended, keep the Field?
When thus assaulted, and when thus betray'd,
Reason, ere well awake, is Captive made:
Pleas'd with its Bonds, scarce wishing to be free,
And hardly feels, the Loss of Liberty:
Then, oh! remember, ere it be too late,
What real Pains, on fancied Pleasures wait.
Think, whilst you gaze, the Nymph so fair, so kind,
Is still as fickle, as the wavering Wind;
For Conquest made, she thinks that beauteous Frame,
And like ambitious Heroes, kills for Fame.
Written in February, 1737.
'Tis odd, that all Ages complain of the Times;Is Life then made up but of Follies and Crimes?
Might each Man, by a Wish, obtain what he wou'd;
The Wisest could hardly find out his own Good:
354
So nearly all Joy does still border on Sorrow.
The old Hunks, 'midst his Heaps, cries aloud for more Gold;
The gay Nymph only prays, she may never grow old;
Th'Ambitious wou'd lead the whole World in a String;
The Voluptuous desires, but to have his full Swing.
Suppose all this granted, you'll say, and what then?
Every one falls to wishing and praying again.
Content, like Perfection's a mere Term of Art,
It may lodge on the Tongue, but ne'er reaches the Heart.
Usbeck, King of the Tartars.
An Epigram.
Why should old Usbeck Worth despise,
And doat on Female Flatteries?
Find wond'rous Joy, in Spite, and Pelf,
And love no Creature, but himself?
Avoid whatever looks like Right;
In Knaves and Fools, take great Delight?
And doat on Female Flatteries?
Find wond'rous Joy, in Spite, and Pelf,
And love no Creature, but himself?
Avoid whatever looks like Right;
In Knaves and Fools, take great Delight?
355
'Tis odd! and all that can be said, is,
Usbeck a Tartar born, and bred is.
Usbeck a Tartar born, and bred is.
The Honest Englishman's Wish.
From bad Health, and bad Weather, and Party's dull Strife;From an insolent Miss, and a troublesome Wife;
From the Kindred of such, (or by Father or Mother)
Who most wisely delight in plaguing each other;
From noisy Companions, and brew'd Tavern Wines;
From the Wretch, who can cant, when he Mischief designs;
From the Dealers in Wit, full of Scandal and Lies;
From a Friend who betrays, while he seems to advise;
From Hermaphrodite Toupee, and smart Female Rake;
From your haughty Grandees, who a Kicking will take;
From a wrong-headed Race of mean, narrow-soul'd Fools,
Who are fond of their Fleecers, and proud of being Tools;
From Curses, like these, if kind Heaven defend me,
I will never complain of the Fortune it sends me.
356
And I envy not Great Ones, tho' Millions they raise.
An Extempore Reflection, in the Stile of our English Tragedy.
Nous arrivons tout nouveaux aut divers Ages de la Vie, &c.
Rochefaucaut.
What's Life? (That Gantlope we poor Mortals run)
But a vain Farce, set off with various Scenes,
Which shift so quick, 'tis hard to act one's Part.
Each different Stage steals on us, unawares,
Like Northern Spring, that bears the Face of Winter;
The Change scarce felt, we oft from others, learn
What we ourselves, ought, first of all, to know:
Thus Childhood still lives on in Youth, and Youth in Manhood,
And Manhood fain would do the same in Age;
But finds the hoary Miser too severe,
Too jealous of his arbitrary Sway;
Which, like a Tyrant, he with Joy indulges,
To ruin that fair Fabrick, Nature rais'd.
357
An Epigram upon Jovial John of Twickenham.
Whilst we listen, how sweetly John tickles his Strings:Behold, on a sudden, he runs mad, and sings.
Thus, at once, we must lose all the Charms of the Lyre,
Because he will needs strain his rusty Voice higher.
Just so, when soft Philomel tunes up her Note,
If a neighbouring Raven should stretch his hoarse Throat;
Wou'd it not be a thing most confounded provoking,
To drown all her Warbles with his cursed Croaking?
Relationship.
What Follies are all the Engagements of Life,The dear Friend, the dear Kinsman, and much dearer, Wife?
Experience will shew, they alike can betray;
And act the same Part, tho' a different Way.
358
They must own, on your Side, there is still something wanting:
Some Failings there are, which they cannot disguise;
For Flatt'ry, all honest People despise:
If Affairs go on well; what a strange lucky Man!
If ill; 'tis your Fault, do whatever you can:
You're too Gay, or too Dull, too Foolish, or Wise;
How much better 'twou'd be, did you let them advise?
Each then, with their Counsels, might mix their own Ends,
Be good Kindred to you, to themselves be good Friends:
And who wou'd repine to be cheated of Pelf,
When it goes to another, as dear as himself?
[Conquest and Glory are the Warrior's Aim]
Conquest and Glory are the Warrior's Aim,
He throws at all, and stakes his Life for Fame;
Thoughtless, how few against such Odds succeed,
Where one is chronicled, whilst thousands bleed.
The witty Courtier lays his crafty Schemes,
And barters real Wealth for golden Dreams;
Deckt with false Colours, and in Tinsel brave;
To govern others, makes himself a Slave.
The painful Student, spends his sleepless Nights,
And fancies he's Immortal, if he writes;
Fond of Applause, he wastes his Span of Days;
Nor thinks of Envy, whilst he looks for Praise.
He throws at all, and stakes his Life for Fame;
Thoughtless, how few against such Odds succeed,
Where one is chronicled, whilst thousands bleed.
The witty Courtier lays his crafty Schemes,
And barters real Wealth for golden Dreams;
359
To govern others, makes himself a Slave.
The painful Student, spends his sleepless Nights,
And fancies he's Immortal, if he writes;
Fond of Applause, he wastes his Span of Days;
Nor thinks of Envy, whilst he looks for Praise.
Wise Men, and Fools, thus share an equal Fate;
These never knew their Errors, those too late.
These never knew their Errors, those too late.
A Receipt to make an Author rich.
Written in the Year 1737.
An Author's is a glorious Trade;And yet has few Men's Fortune made;
Unless for Authors those you cite,
Who pen Indenture Tripartite:
However, there is still one Way,
To get almost as much as they.
Where Pride, and Int'rest have a Share,
Be sure employ your Talents there:
Rich Wits, rich Widows, Princes praise,
Or to Saint Bob address your Lays;
His Virtues sing, and wond'rous Zeal
For publick, as for private Weal;
360
Reform'd the Rogues of Guarda-costas;
That we no more their Visits fear,
Than those of our Excisemen, here;
Who, tho' to search our Houses sent,
Do greater Evils but prevent,
Assist weak Grace, with Nature struggling,
And save us from the Sin of Smuggling.
This sung, or said, no Matter which,
You will be soon, or may be, Rich:
Be Posted, Pension'd, and made Free
Of Gazetteer's good Company.
To the Quidnuncs.
So wonderful wise, you are growing of late,That of nothing you chat, but Intrigues of the State:
Of Austrian Schemes, and of Treaties of Seville,
Like Fanatick of old, of the Pope, and the Devil.
What avails it to us, how our Minister rules;
Who buys, and who sells; who are Knaves, and who Fools?
Since the End of all Governors still is the same,
For the Publick to stake, whilst they play the Game,
361
Which are best, our new French, or our old Friends, the Dutch.
This Isle, God be prais'd, can ne'er want Good Allies,
Whilst the Farmer pays Land-tax, and Maltster Excise.
The Balance of Europe we still wisely hold,
With their Int'rests in one Scale, in t'other our Gold.
To Himself.
To you, my old Friend, and Companion so dear,I've some plain Truths to tell; pr'ythee lend me your Ear;
They're what you won't like; but I think it my Duty,
Having flatter'd so long, for, this once, to be true t'ye.
I doubt you'll be vex'd, when you come to be told,
That, altho' not much wiser, you're growing more old,
That your jaunty fine Airs, and Cavalier Dress,
Become you, alas! ev'ry Day less and less;
And you soon must lay down that sure Claim to be witty,
By such Jokes, as all Nymphs find so moving and pretty:
In one word, you will lose the two vigorous Joys;
For the Downs and the Girls must be left to the Boys:
362
Look as sour as you please, it won't alter the Case;
What! amongst all your Books, ha'n't you learnt the Discretion,
To quit with some Grace, when you can't keep Possession?
Come, let me advise; never fret, fume, and swear;
Never rail, nor affect to be mighty severe:
The World will but laugh at a Wisdom so great;
And cry with a Sneer, You begin it too late.
What is then to be done? A new Course to be taken;
And, oh! harder still, an old one forsaken.
'Tis cruel, I own, but the Matter well scan'd,
'Twill be vain to contest, when you cannot withstand:
In what's common to all, how can one be befriended?
And why make things worse, since they're not to be mended?
Curse your Stars then no more, but contentedly say,
Th'old Proverb is true, Ev'ry Dog has his Day.
Leave Wrongheads t'intrigue on, 'till Threescore and ten;
And, at last, like true Dotards, to marry again.
363
Two against One.
I
Our Grandsire Adam was full sad,Whilst he liv'd all alone;
On t'other hand, he grew quite mad,
When once he Eve had known.
II
He needs must let his Fair-One go,To ramble out, we find;
The Devil pick'd her up; and so
They both against him join'd.
III
'Twas Two to One! What could he do;In short, the Man was cheated.
Had he been Wise, or she been True,
The Devil had been defeated.
MEMNON.
Memnon has Knowledge, Breeding, Wit, Good Nature,In Conversation's a delightful Creature;
364
Nor will use Arts to get himself admir'd.
'Tis for this Reason only, he's not fam'd,
And by the Wits that know him, rarely nam'd:
For Wits, like Beaus, will no Acquaintance own,
But with the publick Toasts of all the Town.
[Avaro's Rich! What's that to me?]
L'Illusion des Avares est de prendre l'or et l'argent pour des
biens au lieu que ce ne sont que des Moiens pour en avoir.
Rochefaucault.
Avaro 's Rich! What's that to me?
If neither Meat, nor Drink, I see.
He cannot bear to part with Gold;
And I hate Hunger, Thirst, and Cold.
Give me good Eating, and good Drinking;
Let others live on Guinea-chinking.
At Dinner, who's the Fool so great,
To quit the Stake, and ring the Plate?
[True Wisdom is the Grant of bounteous Heaven]
True Wisdom is the Grant of bounteous Heaven,Which to the Worthy Few alone, is given;
365
Are Chances in the Lottery of Fate:
Choose then, my Friend (if Choice there can be any)
Would you be of the Few, or of the Many?
Written in a blank Leaf of Thuanus's History of his Own Times.
Who wou'd not read, to be thus nobly told,How Heroes fought, and Statesmen rul'd of old?
Whilst others meanly but bare Facts indite;
Or only copy what they seem to write:
Thuanus brings his Actors on the Stage;
You see the Men and Manners of the Age:
In Order rang'd, his ancient Worthies stand,
Like Pictures drawn by some great Master's Hand.
No servile Flatt'ry, no Disguise appears,
But every one his native Colours wears.
Th'ambitious Patriot, who sets up for Zeal,
And piously defends the Common Weal:
The fancied Brave, who struts in borrow'd Plumes,
And the sly Sinner, that the Saint assumes,
With honest Freedom, here are boldly shewn,
Nor longer boast of Merits not their own.
366
And Virtue meets her late, but just, Rewards.
Written in 1740.
What avails it, dear Tom, to be honest, and true,Since the World's not made up, of such Sages as you?
If Mankind reason'd right, or but reason'd at all,
Or could learn to distinguish 'twixt Honey and Gall;
I should then freely grant, that your Method was best;
But, as Matters now stand, in good Faith, 'tis a Jest.
To be Courteous, Humane, and to Bounty inclin'd;
To be Liberty's Friend, and a Friend to Mankind;
To be just in your Dealings, both publick and private;
To play no Tricks yourself, nor in others connive at;
To give things their true Names (when you must give them any)
Nor abandon the Few, out of Fear of the Many:
This is what you approve, and declare to be right;
Very well! let's cast up what has e'er been got by't.
Does a Worthy, like this, make a Figure in Town?
Is he lov'd by the People, employ'd by the Crown?
367
Were he lodg'd in Algiers, would they club to redeem him?
Is he ever much thought of, but just whilst he's giving?
Or, if dead a Fortnight, would his Name still be living?
But suppose the World envies a Merit so great,
It can never sure miss of the Favour of Fate:
Long-life, with good Health, and much Cattle possessing,
It at least may enjoy an old Patriarch's Blessing:
Consult then your Books, and Experience too;
Take my Word, you'll soon find the Reverse of this, true;
The Phænomenon's odd; and its Reason you'd know?
Why the Reason is plain, It has always been so.
Written in the Year 1735.
Wou'd you in Life a Figure make?These never-failing Measures take.
Learn to be supple, smooth, and easy,
Let every thing that pleases, please you.
368
Or wand'ring, view the fam'd White Bear.
Observe the Manners, watch the Times,
Condemning Virtues, praising Crimes.
Just as you find each Man prevail,
Prepar'd to flatter, or to rail.
Are Fops and Folly Alamode,
And Servileness Preferment's Road;
Be sure, avoid the least Suspicion,
Of being Wit, or Politician.
Let Dressing, Punning, Fawning, Lying,
Be the Accomplishments you vie in;
Despising Truth, opposing Sense,
And valuing nothing but the Pence:
Laugh at the Out of-fashion Fools,
That doat about their antique Rules;
Existing only in old Stories,
Useless to modern Whigs, or Tories.
The SINCERE FRIEND.
An Epigram.
Erasmus vows, he's much my Friend,And to convince me of it better,
Each Post some good Advice he'll send,
In smooth and well-concerted Letter.
369
But why to me this sudden Favour?
Dean Swift, long since, told all the Town,
Erasmus was a cunning Shaver.
A CATCH.
Versus in opes rerum nugæque canore.
I
God bless the good Isle of Great Britain,With the Monarchs who her Throne shall sit on.
Let them do whatsoever they please;
A true Patriot's known,
By his Zeal for the Crown,
Whilst it pays him his quarterly Fees.
II
He is no Politician for me,Who boasts of being Honest and Free,
But can give neither Power nor Pence;
For my part, I'll pray
Still for those, who can pay,
Since, without it, there's no Common Sense.
370
A SONG.
[Phillis, the Glory of the Plain]
I
Phillis , the Glory of the Plain,(Whom you so long ador'd in vain)
In lucky Minute, let me nick her.
Last Night, the True Love's Knot was ty'd,
And she became my gentle Bride,
By Licence of the Parish Vicar.
II
I clasp'd her close, with eager Arms,And revell'd in her various Charms;
But what still added to the Bliss,
In Ecstasy, she softly swore,
She ne'er had felt such Joy before,
And paid her Forfeit, with a Kiss.
III
The Pleasure great, the Pride no less,To think that I alone possess;
Whilst others love, and envy too:
Yet, I must own this friendly Truth,
Of all our blooming, Sylvan Youth,
I pity, Thyrsis, only you.
371
IV
Dear Damon, I must thank you much,Since you declare your Friendship such,
As to raise kind Compassion:
But let me whisper in your Ear;
For me, you need no Danger fear,
Dying for Love, is out of Fashion.
V
Tho' Phillis left me in the Lurch,And silently stole off to Church;
Small Favours she has not denied;
In the Grove, that borders on the Plain,
In True Love's Knot we oft have lain,
Tho' never, quite, so firmly tied.
Verses sent to a Young Lady.
Of all the Pleasures that in Life we boast,
How many are in the Enjoyment lost?
How few the least delightful Sense retain;
Or when once past, will bear a Thought again?
How many are in the Enjoyment lost?
How few the least delightful Sense retain;
Or when once past, will bear a Thought again?
The sparkling Wines, that Mirth and Wit inspire,
Warm us, 'tis true, but 'tis with borrow'd Fire,
Which crackles, as with short-liv'd Blaze it burns;
Then the Chill Fit with double Force returns.
Warm us, 'tis true, but 'tis with borrow'd Fire,
372
Then the Chill Fit with double Force returns.
The painted Canvas, with its mimick Arts,
Imagin'd Beauties to the Soul imparts:
Presents gay Phantoms to the cheated View;
And gives us airy Nothings to pursue.
Imagin'd Beauties to the Soul imparts:
Presents gay Phantoms to the cheated View;
And gives us airy Nothings to pursue.
Bewitching Sounds wou'd banish ev'ry Pain,
Cou'd they continue, or cou'd we retain?
But softest Notes, with all their magick Skill,
Suspend our Cares a-while, but leave 'em still.
Cou'd they continue, or cou'd we retain?
But softest Notes, with all their magick Skill,
Suspend our Cares a-while, but leave 'em still.
A nobler Sense poetick Numbers move,
And whilst they charm the Ear; the Mind improve;
Exalt the Genius, and the Fancy raise,
And give us Transports in Exchange for Praise:
Sweet, tho' they are, these Transports only can,
At best, but charm, but ravish half the Man.
And whilst they charm the Ear; the Mind improve;
Exalt the Genius, and the Fancy raise,
And give us Transports in Exchange for Praise:
Sweet, tho' they are, these Transports only can,
At best, but charm, but ravish half the Man.
Woman alone, the richest Gift of Jove,
Can give us all at once, in giving Love:
In her we all our Joys concenter'd find,
And think of nothing else, whilst she is kind.
Can give us all at once, in giving Love:
In her we all our Joys concenter'd find,
And think of nothing else, whilst she is kind.
373
To a Young Lady that told me my Fortune on the Cards.
If Dreams, as ancient Sages hold,
The future Turns of Life unfold:
If Palms judiciously inspected,
Have Feats yet unperform'd detected;
Nay, even Cards, turn'd up, can show
A thousand Things, we want to know.
The future Turns of Life unfold:
If Palms judiciously inspected,
Have Feats yet unperform'd detected;
Nay, even Cards, turn'd up, can show
A thousand Things, we want to know.
By all these Signs, Fate seems to tell us,
She is not of her Secrets jealous;
But that nice Observation might,
Let us into a World of Light.
She is not of her Secrets jealous;
But that nice Observation might,
Let us into a World of Light.
Thus, some by looking in your Face,
Will judge of th'Inside by the Case;
Tell you the Things you're most inclin'd to,
The very Bauble you've a Mind to:
And fairly with their naked Eye,
Your innocent secret Thoughts descry.
Will judge of th'Inside by the Case;
Tell you the Things you're most inclin'd to,
The very Bauble you've a Mind to:
And fairly with their naked Eye,
Your innocent secret Thoughts descry.
Sagacious this! but why mayn't we,
Our own Prognosticators be?
As by observing Frame and Features,
We guess the Use of other Creatures;
We surely by our own might know,
What we ourselves are destin'd to.
Our own Prognosticators be?
As by observing Frame and Features,
We guess the Use of other Creatures;
374
What we ourselves are destin'd to.
Thus, when in Pier of Glass at length,
You view that Air, that Shape, that Strength;
Need you be told what Nature meant,
When she those several Beauties lent?
In vain this Secret you conceal,
What Words disguise, your Eyes reveal.
You view that Air, that Shape, that Strength;
Need you be told what Nature meant,
When she those several Beauties lent?
In vain this Secret you conceal,
What Words disguise, your Eyes reveal.
The Fond Wives.
The Harlot's a Nymph to Lubricity prone,
And, if she can help it, lies few Nights alone;
Both in publick and private, sticks close to her Man,
Nor asham'd is to shew she will have all she can.
And, if she can help it, lies few Nights alone;
Both in publick and private, sticks close to her Man,
Nor asham'd is to shew she will have all she can.
Say, my new-married Prudes, if this Character's true,
Where the Difference lies betwixt Harlots and you?
Where the Difference lies betwixt Harlots and you?
FINIS.
| Miscellanies In Prose And Verse | |