Poems upon several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

Unhappy Man! the Boast of Nature born:
Who whilst, ambitious to be fear'd,
Thou scorn'st thy Fellow-Creatures of the Herd,
Art made thy Self no less their Scorn.

Yet, proud aspiring Dust, wilt thou
Assume the Empire of the World below,
Thy patrimonial Globe to sway,
Before thee form'd of præexistent Clay?
The humble Earth you insolently tread,
The Fleece, the Furrow, and the Field
Warm Cloathing, and Subsistence yield,
And bounteously allow thee Bread.
“But Godlike Man! his Charter is divine,
“From Heav'n his Tenure, and that Tenure's thine.
“Th' expanded Air, the Land, the Sea
“Thy Tenants are, and jointly hold from thee:
But tho' you vaunt with Heav'n the World to share,
The Gentle Flocks, and Savage Herds,
The Wild, and Tamer Beasts, and Birds,
Thy Benefactors all, and elder Brethren are.
This young vain-glorious Ammon's Son,
Who dreams that he the vanquish'd World has won,
Is by his Captives led in Chains;
And subject to the Slaves o're which he reigns.

His own Rebellious Creatures disobey,
To ev'ry Reptil made, and ev'ry Worm, a Prey.

II.

While yet the Parts unfinish'd are, and rude,
Before the nitrous Air has ting'd the watry Blood,
Weak Nature conscious trembles at the Doom
Of Heav'ns Decrees, and Punishments to come.
Death like a Spy employ'd by th' envious Fates,
Upon the Birth of Motion waits,
And e're we fully live, it often uncreates.
Nor yet alas! do we alone
Beneath th' oppressive Torments groan,
But fruitful of the Pains we undergo,
We propagate our Ills, and multiply our Woe.
While wrapt in Secondine the Embryo lies,
'Tis blasted with unwholsom Sighs;
Thus Infants with the Parents mourn,
Who back again the mutual Griefs return,
And sympathetick Tears infect the Mother's Eyes.

With Pangs, and Throws into the World we come,
The Curse, and Burthen of the Womb:
The Dawn of Life its Part of Torment shares,
Discover'd first by Cries, and introduc'd with Tears.

III.

Like some fleet Arrow from a Parthian Bow
With Fury drawn, to charge the following Foe,
Thro' pathless Air we haste;
Which by no Track discovers where we past.
Along th' impetuous Course of Life we fly,
Life, the Assurance Mankind has to die;
Short-winded Life, unable far to run,
Which almost ends where it begun,
It starts, and lo! the momentary Race is done.
The first Advance we make approaches Death,
And we draw Air to render back our Breath.

As swift as Time our Age posts on,
As swift as Time alas 'tis gone,
And as the hasty Minutes pass,
The ebbing Sand creeps lower in the Glass.
The Body lightn'd of its Weight,
Prepares us for our speedy Flight;
The Hours our Substance on their Wings convey,
Insensibly they steal us from our selves away.

IV.

To Time's victorious Scythe we all
A sudden Trophy fall.
Large Heaps he mows, thro' wide Destruction flies,
While Ruin in large Swarths around him lies.
Thus in the Spring some loud tempestuous Blast
Sweeps o're the Plain, and lays whole Nature waste;
Trees, Plants, and Flow'rs promiscuously are spread,
And on the Womb, that gave them Birth, lie dead.
So swift the Blow, the Flow'rs awhile
Forget to wither, and in Death they smile,

Their Beauties seemingly retain,
As if again they grew, and flourish'd there again.

V.

The Bubble Life does gawdy Colours show,
Like those that paint the Heav'nly Bow;
Which on a watry Cloud appears,
A spangl'd Vapour dropt with shining Tears.
Tho' in the setting Sky departing Light
Forewarns us of approaching Night,
We idly dream one feeble Ray
Has Pow'r to reinforce the Day;
And fancy we extend the Line,
The Shadows lengthning, as the Beams decline.
Thus by Appearances we are betray'd,
Deluded by the Image of a Shade,
Which fondly we admire, till with the Sun
It vanishes, and streight the mighty Phantom's gone.

VI.

As Life is short, 'tis full of Troubles too.
What num'rous Plagues Mankind pursue?
Between the Womb, and neighb'ring Grave,
We scarce from Pain a Moment's Respite have;
Nor living can we hope for a Release,
Since with our Years our Miseries increase.
We rowl this Ball with Sisyphus's Fate,
Lab'ring beneath the dull unactive Weight;
With our collected Pow'rs we first urge on
The sluggish, and unweildy Stone;
The pond'rous Mass creeps up the Race
With lazy Motion, and unwilling Pace,
And as the lifted Orb still higher climbs,
It breaks our Vigor, and unnerves the Limbs:
We faint, that falling with redoubl'd Might
Crushes our Frame in the revolving Flight;

Down the Descent it scowrs with rapid Force,
Rowling in Dust, and Smoke along the furious Course.

VII.

Few are our Days, and painful; yet fond Man
Will stretch his lengthen'd Hopes beyond his Span:
And as the num'rous Torments sent,
Were insufficient,
He to increase th' unhappy Store,
Still seeks out new, and adds a Thousand more.
See but what different Courses Mortals run!
What certain Measures take to be undone!
We all pursue the various Game
Of Honour, Pleasure, Wealth, and Fame;
We roam thro' lonely Wilds, and devious Ways,
Lost in the doubling World's mysterious Maze;
Condemn'd to suffer Life, we're now betray'd
To drag the Fetters which our Follies made:

We struggle, and we strive in vain
To break our Prison, or dissolve our Chain;
The grisly King of Terrors sets us free,
He only can confer a General Goal-Delivery.

VIII.

We here consume in Noise, and Strife,
The Oyl design'd to feed the Lamp of Life.
By starts it flares awhile with dubious Fires,
Then with a Blaze ascends, and lost in Smoke expires.
The Seeds of Change in ev'ry Part we bear,
The fighting Elements now jar,
And all within us raise a Civil War;
Troops of Diseases grim, and pale,
The Ramparts, and the Walls assail,
Th' external Works they batter down,
The Soul within affrighted flies, and quits the Town.

IX.

In secret Beds the Body's Earth contains
More teeming Seeds of sprouting Pains,
More complicated Plagues, than fill
The dreadful Bead-roll of the Weekly Bill.
To keep the destin'd Prey in view,
Infectious Atoms swim the Crimson Flood,
Thro' purple-winding Streams pursue,
Till hunted down it stagnates in the Blood.
The Limb-tormenting Gout with tardy Pace
O'retakes the nimblest in the Race:
Bound Hand and Foot in Chains we lie,
Unable to defend ourselves, or flie.
Thro' all the Parts the wide Contagion's spread,
Till by degrees it mounts into the Head,
And as it racks the tortur'd Brain,
The Victim in the Capitol lies slain,
The knotted Joints distorted with convulsive Pain.

With Eyes inflam'd now scorching Fevers rage.
Kindl'd by Pestilential Heat
The Juice ferments, and throbbing Art'ries beat,
No Juleps cool, nor can Ptisans asswage.
The bloodshot Orbs with glowing Beams look red,
Like Basilisks they glare, and strike us dead.
Within an unseen Ætna reigns,
Which hidden Nourishment contains,
Of liquid Burnings sluic'd thro' parching Veins.
Thus when a Bomb red Vengeance pours
On some beleaguer'd City's blazing Tow'rs,
The Soldiers from th' unguarded Fort retire,
The Magazine in Flames, and Citadel on Fire.

X.

These our Domesticks are, ordain'd by Fate
On Life, th' Original Disease, to wait:

With an innumerable Train behind
Of Ghastly Maladies, assign'd
A sad Retinue to attend Mankind.
All Industry, all Arts in vain are try'd,
No Mole can hinder the departing Tide.
Not the Physician can ensure,
Th'inevitable Urn admits no Cure.
Tho' Frampton, Æsculapius of the Age,
Shou'd in th' unequal Task engage,
Our Athens best Apollo scarce wou'd be
Sufficient to reverse the firm Decree
Of unrelenting Destiny.
Frampton, whom Heav'n did in Compassion give,
Our Publick Fund of Health, and best Preservative.
Who does each secret Virtue know
Of Leaf, of Blossom, and of Fruit that grow
On Intellectual Branch, or Vital Bough;
Who from the Jaws of Death shall rescue more,
Than all his Predecessors slew before.

The Time will come, O! may that Time be late,
When He the Good, the Gen'rous, and the Great,
Must reascend his Bright, Hereditary Seat,
And propitiously from thence
Reviving Lustre shall dispense,
And shed down salutary Influence.
There He with Harvey, Sydenham, Ent shall go
Into a League, confed'rate Aid bestow,
And with superior Arts relieve the suppliant World below.

XI.

Yet while on Earth he strives to join
Unweary'd Care, to Skill Divine,
Does ev'ry Healing Juice employ,
Contending to restore, Death labours to destroy.
Fearing his Skill, and jealous of his Art,
Th' unerring Shaft is level'd at his Heart:

The silent Dart unseen steals on,
He trembles, faints, looks pale, is gone,
Neglects his Patients Life to guard his own:
Thus while h'extends his pious Hands to save,
Ev'n He himself must grace the Triumphs of the Grave.