The Works, In Verse and Prose, of Leonard Welsted ... Now First Collected. With Historical Notes, And Biographical Memoirs of the Author, by John Nichols |
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 | The Works, In Verse and Prose, of Leonard Welsted |  |
“—JUVAT IMMEMORATA FERENTEM
“INGENUIS OCULISQUE LEGI, MANIBUSQUE TENERI.”
Hor.
“INGENUIS OCULISQUE LEGI, MANIBUSQUE TENERI.”
Hor.
1
POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS.
APPLE-PYE.
Of all the Delicates which Britons try,
To please the palate, or delight the eye;
Of all the several kinds of sumptuous fare;
There's none that can with Apple-pye compare,
For costly flavour, or substantial paste,
For outward beauty, or for inward taste.
To please the palate, or delight the eye;
Of all the several kinds of sumptuous fare;
There's none that can with Apple-pye compare,
For costly flavour, or substantial paste,
For outward beauty, or for inward taste.
When first this infant-dish in fashion came,
Th' ingredients were but coarse, and rude the frame;
As yet, unpolish'd in the modern arts,
Our Fathers eat Brown Bread instead of Tarts:
Pyes were but indigested lumps of Dough,
Till time and just expence improv'd them so.
Th' ingredients were but coarse, and rude the frame;
As yet, unpolish'd in the modern arts,
Our Fathers eat Brown Bread instead of Tarts:
Pyes were but indigested lumps of Dough,
Till time and just expence improv'd them so.
King Cole (as ancient British Annals tell)
Renown'd for fiddling and for eating well,
Pippins in homely Cakes with Honey stew'd,
“Just as he bak'd,” the Proverb says, “he brew'd!”
Renown'd for fiddling and for eating well,
Pippins in homely Cakes with Honey stew'd,
“Just as he bak'd,” the Proverb says, “he brew'd!”
2
Their greater art succeeding Princes show'd,
And model'd Paste into a neater mode;
Invention now grew lively, palate nice,
And Sugar pointed out the way to Spice.
And model'd Paste into a neater mode;
Invention now grew lively, palate nice,
And Sugar pointed out the way to Spice.
But here for ages unimprov'd we stood,
And Apple-pye was still but homely food;
When god-like Edgar, of the Saxon Line,
Polite of taste, and studious to refine,
In the Desert perfuming Quinces cast,
And perfected with Cream the rich repast.
Hence we proceed the outward parts to trim,
With Crinkumcranks adorn the polish'd brim;
And each fresh Pye the pleas'd spectator greets
With virgin-fancies, and with new conceits.
And Apple-pye was still but homely food;
When god-like Edgar, of the Saxon Line,
Polite of taste, and studious to refine,
In the Desert perfuming Quinces cast,
And perfected with Cream the rich repast.
Hence we proceed the outward parts to trim,
With Crinkumcranks adorn the polish'd brim;
And each fresh Pye the pleas'd spectator greets
With virgin-fancies, and with new conceits.
Dear Nelly, learn with care the Pastry art,
And mind the easy precepts I impart:
Draw out your Dough elaborately thin,
And cease not to fatigue your Rolling-pin:
Of Eggs and Butter see you mix enough:
For then the Paste will swell into a Puff,
Which will, in crumpling sounds, your praise report,
And eat, as Housewives speak, “exceeding short.”
Rang'd in thick order let your Quinces lie;
They give a charming relish to the Pye.
If you are wise, you'll not Brown Sugar slight,
The browner (if I form my judgement right)
A tincture of a bright vermeil will shed,
And stain the Pippin, like the Quince, with red.
And mind the easy precepts I impart:
Draw out your Dough elaborately thin,
And cease not to fatigue your Rolling-pin:
Of Eggs and Butter see you mix enough:
For then the Paste will swell into a Puff,
Which will, in crumpling sounds, your praise report,
And eat, as Housewives speak, “exceeding short.”
Rang'd in thick order let your Quinces lie;
They give a charming relish to the Pye.
If you are wise, you'll not Brown Sugar slight,
The browner (if I form my judgement right)
A tincture of a bright vermeil will shed,
And stain the Pippin, like the Quince, with red.
When this is done, there will be wanting still
The just reserve of Cloves and Candied Peel;
Nor can I blame you, if a drop you take
Of Orange-water, for perfuming-sake.
But here the nicety of art is such,
There must not be too little, nor too much:
If with discretion you these costs employ,
They quicken appetite; if not, they cloy.
The just reserve of Cloves and Candied Peel;
Nor can I blame you, if a drop you take
Of Orange-water, for perfuming-sake.
But here the nicety of art is such,
There must not be too little, nor too much:
If with discretion you these costs employ,
They quicken appetite; if not, they cloy.
Next, in your mind this maxim firmly root,
“Never o'ercharge your Pye with costly fruit:”
Oft let your Bodkin through the lid be sent,
To give the kind imprison'd treasure vent;
Lest the fermenting liquors, mounting high,
Within their brittle bounds disdain to lie;
Insensibly, by constant fretting, waste,
And o'er-inform the tenement of Paste.
“Never o'ercharge your Pye with costly fruit:”
3
To give the kind imprison'd treasure vent;
Lest the fermenting liquors, mounting high,
Within their brittle bounds disdain to lie;
Insensibly, by constant fretting, waste,
And o'er-inform the tenement of Paste.
To chuse your Baker, think, and think again
(You'll scarce one honest Baker find in ten):
Adust and bruis'd, I've often seen a Pye,
In rich disguise and costly ruin lie,
While the red Crust beheld its form o'erthrown,
Th' exhausted Apples griev'd, their moisture flown,
And Syrup from the sides ran trickling down.
(You'll scarce one honest Baker find in ten):
Adust and bruis'd, I've often seen a Pye,
In rich disguise and costly ruin lie,
While the red Crust beheld its form o'erthrown,
Th' exhausted Apples griev'd, their moisture flown,
And Syrup from the sides ran trickling down.
O be not, be not tempted, lovely Nell,
While the hot-piping odours strongly smell,
While the delicious fume creates a gust,
To lick th' o'erflowing juice, or bite the crust.
You'll rather stay (if my advice may rule)
Until the hot is temper'd by the cool.
Oh, first infuse the luscious store of Cream,
And change the purple for a silver stream;
That smooth balsamic viand first produce,
To give a softness to the tarter juice.
While the hot-piping odours strongly smell,
While the delicious fume creates a gust,
To lick th' o'erflowing juice, or bite the crust.
You'll rather stay (if my advice may rule)
Until the hot is temper'd by the cool.
Oh, first infuse the luscious store of Cream,
And change the purple for a silver stream;
That smooth balsamic viand first produce,
To give a softness to the tarter juice.
Then shalt thou, pleas'd, the noble fabrick view,
And have a slice into the bargain too;
Honour and fame alike we will partake,
So well I'll eat, what you so richly make.
And have a slice into the bargain too;
Honour and fame alike we will partake,
So well I'll eat, what you so richly make.
4
A POEM, occasioned by the late Famous Victory of Audenarde.
Humbly inscribed to the Hon. ROBERT HARLEY, 1709.
“Salve, magna parens frugum, Britannica tellus,
“Magna virûm: tibi res antiquæ laudis & artis
“Ingredior, sanctos ausus recludere fontes.”
Virg. Georg. ii. 173.
“Magna virûm: tibi res antiquæ laudis & artis
“Ingredior, sanctos ausus recludere fontes.”
Virg. Georg. ii. 173.
All hail, Saturnian soil! hail, parent great
Of fruits and mighty men! my lays repeat
For thee this argument of ancient art,
These useful toils, rever'd of old, impart:
For thee, I dare unlock the sacred spring,
And through the Roman streets Ascrean numbers sing.
Warton.
Of fruits and mighty men! my lays repeat
For thee this argument of ancient art,
These useful toils, rever'd of old, impart:
For thee, I dare unlock the sacred spring,
And through the Roman streets Ascrean numbers sing.
Warton.
O For that heavenly Voice, that pierc'd so high,
As bore Eliza to her native sky!
Or that no less renowned Bard's, whose tongue
With accents all divine, with musick hung,
Immortal Boyne, and Nassau's glory sung!
O that my feeble echo I could raise,
To the high pitch of their eternal lays!
But let not all presumptuously pursue
What is so sacred, and reveal'd to few.
Strong must the plume, and daring be the flight,
That would attempt to reach that wond'rous height:
True genuine blood must the young eagle grace,
Who stands the sun, and braves his fiery face.
As bore Eliza to her native sky!
Or that no less renowned Bard's, whose tongue
With accents all divine, with musick hung,
Immortal Boyne, and Nassau's glory sung!
O that my feeble echo I could raise,
To the high pitch of their eternal lays!
But let not all presumptuously pursue
What is so sacred, and reveal'd to few.
Strong must the plume, and daring be the flight,
That would attempt to reach that wond'rous height:
True genuine blood must the young eagle grace,
Who stands the sun, and braves his fiery face.
Yet, since exalted worth may so prevail,
As to create a Muse, though Nature fail;
Since, if these lines to future ages last,
The Poet, not the Hero, is disgrac'd;
They'll only weep, to see great Philip's Son
Dress'd up again to Chærilus's tune.
As to create a Muse, though Nature fail;
Since, if these lines to future ages last,
The Poet, not the Hero, is disgrac'd;
5
Dress'd up again to Chærilus's tune.
Her meanest Son then let not Britain blame,
Who would commend his country's praise to fame,
Her prowess and her generous might record,
In the fair actions of this valiant Lord.
How swiftly the wing'd Warrior takes his way,
To reach the Foe, and seize the flying prey!
How, like a breaking cloud, portending ire,
With thunder charg'd, impregnated with fire,
He darts through all their files. Despair and Fear
Hang on their flight, and hover o'er their rear.
How Lewis, inscious of his glory lost,
Sees not the fatal blow that Bruges cost;
Reckons to what vast profit Ghent amounts,
With haughty pomp his little gain recounts:
Dilates his heart, his swelling pride displays,
Then loudly calls lost Flanders his, and says:
Who would commend his country's praise to fame,
Her prowess and her generous might record,
In the fair actions of this valiant Lord.
How swiftly the wing'd Warrior takes his way,
To reach the Foe, and seize the flying prey!
How, like a breaking cloud, portending ire,
With thunder charg'd, impregnated with fire,
He darts through all their files. Despair and Fear
Hang on their flight, and hover o'er their rear.
How Lewis, inscious of his glory lost,
Sees not the fatal blow that Bruges cost;
Reckons to what vast profit Ghent amounts,
With haughty pomp his little gain recounts:
Dilates his heart, his swelling pride displays,
Then loudly calls lost Flanders his, and says:
“Welcome, thou earnest of succeeding bliss,
“Of days more happy, more august than this.
“Fortune, I find, repents her foolish flight,
“And would atone for having been so light.
“She, who my youth with constancy did bless,
“And tickled sweet Ambition with success;
“Who swell'd my lordly hopes, with equal pride,
“Lavishly good, and partial to my side;
“Though once the Wanderer (senseless as she was)
“Mock'd expectation, and deny'd my cause;
“Yet now grows kinder, courts me, and appears
“Just to my later and declining years.
“Stay then, light Goddess, stay.—Hah!—what news now?
“Is Audenarde, at last, invested too?
“Spain, thou art mine, though sought with War alarms;
“Thee, Flanders, will I grasp within my arms.
“Tremble, thou Northern Heresy, and dread
“The fatal ruin hanging o'er thy head:
“I'll shake thee, sure; and, for that Female Thing,
“Set up my own, my Tributary King!”
“Of days more happy, more august than this.
“Fortune, I find, repents her foolish flight,
“And would atone for having been so light.
“She, who my youth with constancy did bless,
“And tickled sweet Ambition with success;
“Who swell'd my lordly hopes, with equal pride,
“Lavishly good, and partial to my side;
“Though once the Wanderer (senseless as she was)
“Mock'd expectation, and deny'd my cause;
“Yet now grows kinder, courts me, and appears
“Just to my later and declining years.
“Stay then, light Goddess, stay.—Hah!—what news now?
“Is Audenarde, at last, invested too?
6
“Thee, Flanders, will I grasp within my arms.
“Tremble, thou Northern Heresy, and dread
“The fatal ruin hanging o'er thy head:
“I'll shake thee, sure; and, for that Female Thing,
“Set up my own, my Tributary King!”
Idle, fantastic rage, delusion all!
The Monarch in his gaudy dream must fall:
For Britain's Chief the little arts disowns,
Of stealing castles, or surprizing towns;
Such abject purposes his soul disdains,
By arms he conquers, and by force he gains;
Flies, like some mighty Minister of Fate,
These to pull down, and those to reinstate;
Right to establish, Justice to decree,
To vanquish, and to set the vanquish'd free.
Like Consuls, who, with generous pity sway'd,
Spurn'd not the Vassal, which their arms had made;
Nor meanly did insult their captives' woes,
But made Free Citizens of conquer'd Foes.
Let France, for violating leagues renown'd,
France, to her promise never faithful found,
Let Her present inglorious actions fair,
And finely call them Stratagems of War.
Britain, 'tis thine to stride among the slain,
To shake the spear, and battle in the plain
The sword let others for ambition wield,
Or for the spoils and harvest of a field:
Let Interest urge on others to be brave,
To gain new conquests, or their old to save.
Britain, 'tis thine in fields of blood to toil,
And fight, that others may enjoy the spoil.
“These be thy arts,” and this thy lasting praise,
To scourge the insolent, the weak to raise;
To fly where-e'er wrong'd Justice calls aloud,
To aid the Injur'd, and fubdue the Proud.
And see the mighty Champion leads to fame,
With Victory and Fortune in his name;
He drives the hunted Gaul from place to place,
Hot in pursuit, and eager in the chace;
Bears on the flying foe in full career,
And shews that Vengeance is as swift as Fear.
So a fierce tiger in Numidia's plain,
Breathing out wrath, and boiling with disdain,
When some ignoble meaner beast he spies,
Dread in his looks, and lightning in his eyes,
With furious joy he starts, then shoots away,
At once secure and greedy of his prey.
The Monarch in his gaudy dream must fall:
For Britain's Chief the little arts disowns,
Of stealing castles, or surprizing towns;
Such abject purposes his soul disdains,
By arms he conquers, and by force he gains;
Flies, like some mighty Minister of Fate,
These to pull down, and those to reinstate;
Right to establish, Justice to decree,
To vanquish, and to set the vanquish'd free.
Like Consuls, who, with generous pity sway'd,
Spurn'd not the Vassal, which their arms had made;
Nor meanly did insult their captives' woes,
But made Free Citizens of conquer'd Foes.
Let France, for violating leagues renown'd,
France, to her promise never faithful found,
Let Her present inglorious actions fair,
And finely call them Stratagems of War.
Britain, 'tis thine to stride among the slain,
To shake the spear, and battle in the plain
The sword let others for ambition wield,
Or for the spoils and harvest of a field:
Let Interest urge on others to be brave,
To gain new conquests, or their old to save.
Britain, 'tis thine in fields of blood to toil,
And fight, that others may enjoy the spoil.
“These be thy arts,” and this thy lasting praise,
To scourge the insolent, the weak to raise;
To fly where-e'er wrong'd Justice calls aloud,
To aid the Injur'd, and fubdue the Proud.
7
With Victory and Fortune in his name;
He drives the hunted Gaul from place to place,
Hot in pursuit, and eager in the chace;
Bears on the flying foe in full career,
And shews that Vengeance is as swift as Fear.
So a fierce tiger in Numidia's plain,
Breathing out wrath, and boiling with disdain,
When some ignoble meaner beast he spies,
Dread in his looks, and lightning in his eyes,
With furious joy he starts, then shoots away,
At once secure and greedy of his prey.
At length, with rude indignities o'erborn,
Vex'd with repeated marks of hostile scorn,
Like that low reptile, which, when proudly spurn'd,
Hath at reiterated insults turn'd;
The Gaul, his hosts drawn up in deep array,
Resolves to stand the shock, and bear the fray.
Arm'd with despair, from whence his courage grows,
Necessity instructs him to oppose,
To face the bold invader, and confront his foes.
So the swift stag, when the close chase draws near,
And thicker cries invade his trembling ear;
When heavily he pants along the mound,
And scarce, but scarce, eludes the doubtful wound;
Relies no longer on his winged speed,
But trusts his clashing beams, his armed head;
And, brandishing sublime his shady brow,
Was not so swift before as desperate now:
For, since he must become the hunter's prey,
He is resolv'd to fall a nobler way,
Turns furious on the chace, and stands at bay.
Vex'd with repeated marks of hostile scorn,
Like that low reptile, which, when proudly spurn'd,
Hath at reiterated insults turn'd;
The Gaul, his hosts drawn up in deep array,
Resolves to stand the shock, and bear the fray.
Arm'd with despair, from whence his courage grows,
Necessity instructs him to oppose,
To face the bold invader, and confront his foes.
So the swift stag, when the close chase draws near,
And thicker cries invade his trembling ear;
When heavily he pants along the mound,
And scarce, but scarce, eludes the doubtful wound;
Relies no longer on his winged speed,
But trusts his clashing beams, his armed head;
And, brandishing sublime his shady brow,
Was not so swift before as desperate now:
For, since he must become the hunter's prey,
He is resolv'd to fall a nobler way,
Turns furious on the chace, and stands at bay.
Now the stout Britons to the charge advance,
With the shrill clarion, and the trembling lance;
The wanton ensigns play, and all around
With glittering armour shines the waving ground.
Methinks I see in solemn pomp appear
The beauteous shape and figure of the war;
The decent order in each cohort seen,
And every haughty warrior's graceful mein;
The thick embattel'd squadrons in array,
Lovelily dreadful, and in horrour gay.
With the shrill clarion, and the trembling lance;
The wanton ensigns play, and all around
With glittering armour shines the waving ground.
Methinks I see in solemn pomp appear
The beauteous shape and figure of the war;
8
And every haughty warrior's graceful mein;
The thick embattel'd squadrons in array,
Lovelily dreadful, and in horrour gay.
One of tall stature at the head appears,
Like a large bull his spacious front who rears
Amongst the herd, and lords it o'er the mead;
Majestical his eyes and princely head,
High, eminent, and all the ranks above,
Like Mars his posture, and his state like Jove.
Like a large bull his spacious front who rears
Amongst the herd, and lords it o'er the mead;
Majestical his eyes and princely head,
High, eminent, and all the ranks above,
Like Mars his posture, and his state like Jove.
The Hero's presence makes the Soldier glow,
And menace death and vengeance to the foe;
Each nod's tremendous, as the shock begins,
Each from the Gallic arms a trophy wins.
Like a fierce torrent with impetuous sway,
Through broken legions mowing out their way;
Slaughter and death around the field they spread,
And heap the dying on the numerous dead.
But lo! while horrour and confusion join,
And round each host their sable arms entwine,
Unchang'd in mind the valiant Leader stands,
Calmly distributing his wise commands;
Fix'd on his purpose, and his thought sedate,
His temper steady and unmov'd as Fate,
Like that he guides the war, and smiles to own
What he so soon determines, sooner done.
But if he finds the dubious battle veer,
As swift as thought he brings his thunder there,
And forces back the bias of the war;
Scatters around the host ten thousand fears,
And Terrour, like a Gorgon, on his crest appears.
So Jove, enthron'd in peaceful state above,
Serenely views this lower fabrick move;
Hears undisturb'd the boisterous winds engage,
Hears the rough ocean roar, and billows rage;
On the world's business is sedately bent,
And guides the most minute, or great event;
But, if mankind with impious rage revolt,
The Thunderer assumes his angry bolt,
With a loud voice comes rattling through the skies,
And deals almighty vengeance as he flies.
And menace death and vengeance to the foe;
Each nod's tremendous, as the shock begins,
Each from the Gallic arms a trophy wins.
Like a fierce torrent with impetuous sway,
Through broken legions mowing out their way;
Slaughter and death around the field they spread,
And heap the dying on the numerous dead.
But lo! while horrour and confusion join,
And round each host their sable arms entwine,
Unchang'd in mind the valiant Leader stands,
Calmly distributing his wise commands;
Fix'd on his purpose, and his thought sedate,
His temper steady and unmov'd as Fate,
Like that he guides the war, and smiles to own
What he so soon determines, sooner done.
But if he finds the dubious battle veer,
As swift as thought he brings his thunder there,
And forces back the bias of the war;
Scatters around the host ten thousand fears,
And Terrour, like a Gorgon, on his crest appears.
So Jove, enthron'd in peaceful state above,
Serenely views this lower fabrick move;
Hears undisturb'd the boisterous winds engage,
Hears the rough ocean roar, and billows rage;
On the world's business is sedately bent,
And guides the most minute, or great event;
9
The Thunderer assumes his angry bolt,
With a loud voice comes rattling through the skies,
And deals almighty vengeance as he flies.
O! hadst thou in some former age been born,
The Greek or Roman Muses to adorn;
Had they beheld thy martial deeds of old,
What stories had been rais'd, what fables told!
How blue-eyed Pallas in your chariot rode;
A suit of armour given you by a God;
You'd been deriv'd from some high Dame above,
And could not have been less than Third from Jove.
The Greek or Roman Muses to adorn;
Had they beheld thy martial deeds of old,
What stories had been rais'd, what fables told!
How blue-eyed Pallas in your chariot rode;
A suit of armour given you by a God;
You'd been deriv'd from some high Dame above,
And could not have been less than Third from Jove.
The Princely Youth of Hanoverian line,
In whom his god-like Father's virtues shine,
Who chears Britannia with a distant ray,
Britannia's earliest hopes and dawning day,
Beholds with equal wonder and applause
Thy gallant actions, worthy of the cause
Which mov'd those actions first; urg'd on to fame,
His youthful breast is fir'd with rival flame.
Heroic thoughts within his bosom roll,
And his eyes speak the purpose of his soul.
Somewhat in danger lovely he descries,
Then like a falcon to the quarry flies,
Brisk and undaunted braves impendent doom,
Though young, and all his glory in the bloom;
Through crimson streams of blood pursues renown,
Though to an Empire born, and destin'd to a Throne.
In whom his god-like Father's virtues shine,
Who chears Britannia with a distant ray,
Britannia's earliest hopes and dawning day,
Beholds with equal wonder and applause
Thy gallant actions, worthy of the cause
Which mov'd those actions first; urg'd on to fame,
His youthful breast is fir'd with rival flame.
Heroic thoughts within his bosom roll,
And his eyes speak the purpose of his soul.
Somewhat in danger lovely he descries,
Then like a falcon to the quarry flies,
Brisk and undaunted braves impendent doom,
Though young, and all his glory in the bloom;
Through crimson streams of blood pursues renown,
Though to an Empire born, and destin'd to a Throne.
If the great deeds of Thetis' god-like Son,
So many years in long succession gone,
The Hero dead and moulder'd, could inspire
The seed of Ammon with so bright a fire;
If Homer's draughts could add to every blow
New strength, and make him lead his Persian foe
In captive pomp; well may Augustus feel
His youthful breast with love of glory swell:
Who no less deeds has always in his sight,
And views upon the plain as great a Warrior fight.
So many years in long succession gone,
The Hero dead and moulder'd, could inspire
The seed of Ammon with so bright a fire;
If Homer's draughts could add to every blow
New strength, and make him lead his Persian foe
In captive pomp; well may Augustus feel
His youthful breast with love of glory swell:
10
And views upon the plain as great a Warrior fight.
I see my blooming Hero cover'd o'er
With comely dust, and richly clad in gore;
Involv'd in night, and battle's sable shroud;
As the bright sun envelop'd in a cloud.
Like nimble Mercury I see him move,
His feather'd plume shakes like a laurel grove,
While he rides stern and furious on the foe,
Rearing his arm, and bounding from the blow.
Such was young Harry, when, in early days,
From Hotspur's head he pluck'd the envy'd bays:
Equal in youth, and like in arms he stood,
And by his virtue prov'd his title good.
With comely dust, and richly clad in gore;
Involv'd in night, and battle's sable shroud;
As the bright sun envelop'd in a cloud.
Like nimble Mercury I see him move,
His feather'd plume shakes like a laurel grove,
While he rides stern and furious on the foe,
Rearing his arm, and bounding from the blow.
Such was young Harry, when, in early days,
From Hotspur's head he pluck'd the envy'd bays:
Equal in youth, and like in arms he stood,
And by his virtue prov'd his title good.
Mistaken Youth, thy flatter'd hopes bemoan,
Proudly adorn'd with titles not thy own.
No more expect to guide the promis'd helm,
That fancy'd kingdom, and that fairy realm;
Behold what laurels, in the Flandrian plains,
Thy great Competitor for Empire gains:
How in his looks the Sovereign's air he bears,
And in each act the royal stamp appears.
Or, if thou'rt bent upon delusion still,
Why wilt thou mimick majesty so ill?
If yet th' ideas round thy fancy play
Of power, dominion, and imperial sway;
Why court'st thou not War's terrible alarms,
To combat, and dispute thy right in arms?
Why dost thou not advance, and bravely dare
That youthful Champion to decisive war?
Thou didst not from our ancient Worthies spring,
Thou Royal Shade, thou lmage of a King!
Vain as thou art, like that fam'd Macedon,
Who bade the Priest declare him Ammon's Son.
To scorn thy earth-born Parent's mean abodes,
And claim the lineage of the British Gods.
Such Britain's Chief, such is the Royal Heir,
Who must Imperial Britain's sceptre bear:
Well then may struggling Gallia quit the field,
And well to such superior Virtue yield.
For what can weaker Tyranny oppose,
To British Freedom, and th' united Rose?
How can Oppression singly stem in fight
The force of Union, Liberty, and Right?
Tallard's ill stars on each new Leader wait,
And what was Villeroy's, is Vendosme's fate.
Proudly adorn'd with titles not thy own.
No more expect to guide the promis'd helm,
That fancy'd kingdom, and that fairy realm;
Behold what laurels, in the Flandrian plains,
Thy great Competitor for Empire gains:
How in his looks the Sovereign's air he bears,
And in each act the royal stamp appears.
Or, if thou'rt bent upon delusion still,
Why wilt thou mimick majesty so ill?
If yet th' ideas round thy fancy play
Of power, dominion, and imperial sway;
Why court'st thou not War's terrible alarms,
To combat, and dispute thy right in arms?
Why dost thou not advance, and bravely dare
That youthful Champion to decisive war?
Thou didst not from our ancient Worthies spring,
Thou Royal Shade, thou lmage of a King!
Vain as thou art, like that fam'd Macedon,
Who bade the Priest declare him Ammon's Son.
To scorn thy earth-born Parent's mean abodes,
And claim the lineage of the British Gods.
Such Britain's Chief, such is the Royal Heir,
Who must Imperial Britain's sceptre bear:
11
And well to such superior Virtue yield.
For what can weaker Tyranny oppose,
To British Freedom, and th' united Rose?
How can Oppression singly stem in fight
The force of Union, Liberty, and Right?
Tallard's ill stars on each new Leader wait,
And what was Villeroy's, is Vendosme's fate.
No more let Fortune be arraign'd as blind,
Fickle as seas, inconstant as the wind:
No more let Poets prostitute her name,
To palliate error, and detract from fame.
With Virtue hand in hand the Goddess goes,
And bears the Brave triumphant on their Foes;
She sports with fools, and with the coward plays,
Stoops to the valiant, and the great obeys.
They with superior majesty command,
And teach the wavering Deity to stand.
Thus were great Cæsar and Gustavus rais'd,
Fortune on both with equal wonder gaz'd,
With constant favours did the heroes crown,
And they deserv'd her smile, but were above her frown.
Fickle as seas, inconstant as the wind:
No more let Poets prostitute her name,
To palliate error, and detract from fame.
With Virtue hand in hand the Goddess goes,
And bears the Brave triumphant on their Foes;
She sports with fools, and with the coward plays,
Stoops to the valiant, and the great obeys.
They with superior majesty command,
And teach the wavering Deity to stand.
Thus were great Cæsar and Gustavus rais'd,
Fortune on both with equal wonder gaz'd,
With constant favours did the heroes crown,
And they deserv'd her smile, but were above her frown.
In vain to arts great Bourbon has recourse,
And specious bribery, his usual force;
In vain he waves his shining gilded spear,
And plays the foolish sophister in war.
Not so the British Chief; with sword in hand
(Like brave Camillus in the Latian land,
When before Rome's high Capitol he came,
Demanding justice in his country's name),
He turns the balance in the Gallic scales,
Not glittering gold, but the keen steel prevails.
Thus shaken as she is, and worn with care,
Can France again her shatter'd force repair?
Will she not sink beneath the fatal blast,
And like a dying taper blaze her last?
Or will these lilies still look pale and mourn,
Yet with the summer brisk and gay return?
Will they ne'er fall, that do so often shake?
How can they always bend, and never break?
Shall Marlborough's sword still conquer as before?
And shall there still be room to conquer more?
And specious bribery, his usual force;
In vain he waves his shining gilded spear,
And plays the foolish sophister in war.
Not so the British Chief; with sword in hand
(Like brave Camillus in the Latian land,
When before Rome's high Capitol he came,
Demanding justice in his country's name),
He turns the balance in the Gallic scales,
Not glittering gold, but the keen steel prevails.
Thus shaken as she is, and worn with care,
Can France again her shatter'd force repair?
Will she not sink beneath the fatal blast,
And like a dying taper blaze her last?
12
Yet with the summer brisk and gay return?
Will they ne'er fall, that do so often shake?
How can they always bend, and never break?
Shall Marlborough's sword still conquer as before?
And shall there still be room to conquer more?
Yes, still that Ornament of Virtue's name,
That mighty Favourite and Friend of Fame,
Shall, like great Cyrus, Heaven's immortal Son,
Go on successful, as he first begun;
Make haughty Gallia's proudest turrets bend,
And o'er the Continent his arms extend;
A suffering Monarch's injur'd cause maintain,
'Till he his Empire has, her Freedom Spain:
That, thus defeating France's vast designs,
We may not tremble with her Western mines;
That the new world no more may vex the old,
Nor Europe's Freedom shake with India's gold.
That mighty Favourite and Friend of Fame,
Shall, like great Cyrus, Heaven's immortal Son,
Go on successful, as he first begun;
Make haughty Gallia's proudest turrets bend,
And o'er the Continent his arms extend;
A suffering Monarch's injur'd cause maintain,
'Till he his Empire has, her Freedom Spain:
That, thus defeating France's vast designs,
We may not tremble with her Western mines;
That the new world no more may vex the old,
Nor Europe's Freedom shake with India's gold.
Then, when fair Liberty triumphant rides,
And sacred Justice o'er the world presides;
When smiling Plenty her gay trains shall spread,
And silken Peace erect her downy head;
The Victor (as of old the Latian hind,
That was Dictator, conquer'd and resign'd)
To those much-fam'd recesses shall retreat,
The mansion of the Muses, Chaucer's seat.
Thither the British Scipio shall retire,
Where once the British Ennius tun'd his lyre:
Who sung so well of war and martial deeds,
To his abodes the God of War succeeds;
That sacred monument of right restor'd,
Which Gloriana gave the British Lord;
Where Blenheim's ruins so augustly rise;
Her humble seat's translated to the skies.
And sacred Justice o'er the world presides;
When smiling Plenty her gay trains shall spread,
And silken Peace erect her downy head;
The Victor (as of old the Latian hind,
That was Dictator, conquer'd and resign'd)
To those much-fam'd recesses shall retreat,
The mansion of the Muses, Chaucer's seat.
Thither the British Scipio shall retire,
Where once the British Ennius tun'd his lyre:
Who sung so well of war and martial deeds,
To his abodes the God of War succeeds;
That sacred monument of right restor'd,
Which Gloriana gave the British Lord;
Where Blenheim's ruins so augustly rise;
Her humble seat's translated to the skies.
In the fair Palace shall be seen engrav'd
Kingdoms subdued and sinking Empires sav'd:
Here breathing Statues shall salute our eyes,
That boldly from the polish'd basis rise,
Triumphant figures, that at once proclaim
The Workman's skill, and the great Hero's fame:
There curious plans, with nice proportion true,
Shall offer to the pleas'd spectator's view
Each different scene and theatre of War:
Here Marlborough fought; the brave Eugenio there.
While, in each space elaborately fine,
Descriptions and illustrious mottoes shine;
Whate'er by th' Architect's device is wrought,
The Painter's fancy, or the Poet's thought.
Kingdoms subdued and sinking Empires sav'd:
Here breathing Statues shall salute our eyes,
That boldly from the polish'd basis rise,
13
The Workman's skill, and the great Hero's fame:
There curious plans, with nice proportion true,
Shall offer to the pleas'd spectator's view
Each different scene and theatre of War:
Here Marlborough fought; the brave Eugenio there.
While, in each space elaborately fine,
Descriptions and illustrious mottoes shine;
Whate'er by th' Architect's device is wrought,
The Painter's fancy, or the Poet's thought.
Strangers shall here, and travellers resort,
To see the beauties of this rural court,
And, ravish'd with delight, and struck with awe,
In miniature the lovely model draw;
That to each foreign land they may impart
Britain's politeness seen, in Vanbrugh's art.
To see the beauties of this rural court,
And, ravish'd with delight, and struck with awe,
In miniature the lovely model draw;
That to each foreign land they may impart
Britain's politeness seen, in Vanbrugh's art.
Near this my Muse a pleasing object sees,
A spacious Park adorn'd with aged trees;
Where, fall and spring, the deer, a stately crew,
Lose their old ornaments, and teem with new;
Proud, like unthinking man, and vainly gay,
With things that soon spring up, and soon decay.
The Victor here, his consort by his side,
With gold and glittering trappings deck'd shall ride.
Nimbly the Goddess shall divide the air,
And through the stag transfix her silver spear;
Which dying will confess the lucky chance,
And proudly fall by fair Diana's lance.
A spacious Park adorn'd with aged trees;
Where, fall and spring, the deer, a stately crew,
Lose their old ornaments, and teem with new;
Proud, like unthinking man, and vainly gay,
With things that soon spring up, and soon decay.
The Victor here, his consort by his side,
With gold and glittering trappings deck'd shall ride.
Nimbly the Goddess shall divide the air,
And through the stag transfix her silver spear;
Which dying will confess the lucky chance,
And proudly fall by fair Diana's lance.
Hard-by, a landskip sweet, a sylvan scene,
Cool artful grots and shady bowers are seen;
Through which the whistling vernal Zephyr breathes
An odorous smell, and tunes the trembling leaves.
The crystal streams in wild meanders run,
Glide through the grove, and murmur gently on;
While Flora spreads her fragrant sweets around,
And richly damasks the embroider'd ground;
With all we can desire of Eden's stream,
And all the Antients of Elysium dream.
Cool artful grots and shady bowers are seen;
Through which the whistling vernal Zephyr breathes
An odorous smell, and tunes the trembling leaves.
The crystal streams in wild meanders run,
Glide through the grove, and murmur gently on;
While Flora spreads her fragrant sweets around,
And richly damasks the embroider'd ground;
With all we can desire of Eden's stream,
And all the Antients of Elysium dream.
14
Here shall the Hero with himself confer,
Of State, of Politicks, of Peace, and War,
Of antient Prudence, nor sometimes forget
Great Henry's love, and Rosomonda's fate;
Her fate, who could a royal heart ensnare:
Beauteous indeed and young; yet happier far,
Had Nature not mistook, but form'd aright
Her mind more virtuous, or her eyes less bright.
How here the Monarch did his passion prove,
Lost in his guilty labyrinth of love;
How in that Charmer's mournful death was seen
The just revenge of his heroic Queen.
Then shall he bless that bright immortal Dame,
Whose equal beauty, but much fairer fame,
Crowns his chaste wishes, and adorns his flame.
Of State, of Politicks, of Peace, and War,
Of antient Prudence, nor sometimes forget
Great Henry's love, and Rosomonda's fate;
Her fate, who could a royal heart ensnare:
Beauteous indeed and young; yet happier far,
Had Nature not mistook, but form'd aright
Her mind more virtuous, or her eyes less bright.
How here the Monarch did his passion prove,
Lost in his guilty labyrinth of love;
How in that Charmer's mournful death was seen
The just revenge of his heroic Queen.
Then shall he bless that bright immortal Dame,
Whose equal beauty, but much fairer fame,
Crowns his chaste wishes, and adorns his flame.
Ye Goddesses, inhabiting the woods,
The hills, the fertile dales, and silver floods,
Mix flowers of various hue with nicest skill,
The rose, the violet, and daffodil;
A shady branch let old Sylvanus find,
The Victor's brow with sacred wreaths to bind;
With burnish'd fruit bestrew'd around his feet,
His wish'd arrival let Pomona greet.
And, Pan, prepare thy shriller notes to raise,
And tune thy oaken reed to Marlborough's praise:
For see, he comes, to beautify the glades,
And spend his peaceful days in rural shades;
Great Marlborough comes, whose ever-conquering hand
Brings peace and safety home to Albion's land,
Who, like the sun, upon your harvest shines,
Secures your plenty, and protects your shrines.
The hills, the fertile dales, and silver floods,
Mix flowers of various hue with nicest skill,
The rose, the violet, and daffodil;
A shady branch let old Sylvanus find,
The Victor's brow with sacred wreaths to bind;
With burnish'd fruit bestrew'd around his feet,
His wish'd arrival let Pomona greet.
And, Pan, prepare thy shriller notes to raise,
And tune thy oaken reed to Marlborough's praise:
For see, he comes, to beautify the glades,
And spend his peaceful days in rural shades;
Great Marlborough comes, whose ever-conquering hand
Brings peace and safety home to Albion's land,
Who, like the sun, upon your harvest shines,
Secures your plenty, and protects your shrines.
15
A POEM to the Memory of the incomparable Mr. J. PHILIPS;
humbly inscribed to the Right Honourable HENRY ST. JOHN, 1710.
“Ergo Quintilium perpetuus sopor
“Urget! Cui Pudor, & Justiciæ soror
“Incorrupta fides, nudaque veritas
“Quando ullum invenient parem?”
Hor. 1 Od. xxiv. 5.
“Urget! Cui Pudor, & Justiciæ soror
“Incorrupta fides, nudaque veritas
“Quando ullum invenient parem?”
Hor. 1 Od. xxiv. 5.
Quinctilius sunk to endless rest,
With Dearh's eternal sleep opprest!
Oh! when shall Faith of soul sincere,
Of Justice pure the Sister fair,
And Modesty, unspotted maid,
And Truth in artless guise array'd,
Among the race of human kind
An equal to Quinctilius find?
Francis.
With Dearh's eternal sleep opprest!
Oh! when shall Faith of soul sincere,
Of Justice pure the Sister fair,
And Modesty, unspotted maid,
And Truth in artless guise array'd,
Among the race of human kind
An equal to Quinctilius find?
Francis.
“Aggredere O magnos (aderit jam tempus) honores;
[OMITTED]
“Aspice venturo lætantur ut omnia seclo!”
Virg. Ecl. iv. 48—52.
“Aspice venturo lætantur ut omnia seclo!”
Virg. Ecl. iv. 48—52.
Assume thy state! thy destin'd honours prove,
Dear to the gods! O progeny of Jove!
Behold how tottering Nature nods around,
Earth, air, the watery waste, and heaven profound!
At once they change—they wear a smiling face,
And all with joy th' approaching age embrace!
Warton.
Dear to the gods! O progeny of Jove!
Behold how tottering Nature nods around,
Earth, air, the watery waste, and heaven profound!
At once they change—they wear a smiling face,
And all with joy th' approaching age embrace!
Warton.
17
FORGIVE my crime, forgive it, gentle Shade;
If, by the fondness of my grief betray'd,
I make that grief inelegantly known,
In sounds that are but echoes to thy own.
How can I write? Could Israel's captive band
Sing Songs of Sion in a foreign land?
Or do the birds in bleak December play
Their vernal musick and their notes of May?
On my cold brow a rising damp appears,
And all my rhetorick is in my tears;
What witty sorrow is, I never knew,
And grief that's eloquent is seldom true.
If, by the fondness of my grief betray'd,
I make that grief inelegantly known,
In sounds that are but echoes to thy own.
How can I write? Could Israel's captive band
Sing Songs of Sion in a foreign land?
Or do the birds in bleak December play
Their vernal musick and their notes of May?
On my cold brow a rising damp appears,
And all my rhetorick is in my tears;
What witty sorrow is, I never knew,
And grief that's eloquent is seldom true.
If, Strephon, from the shades you could transmit
One pregnant beam of your enlivening wit,
That might raise all my powers, inform the whole,
And with harmonious vigour tune my soul;
Then, like young prophets with new visions blest,
Like lovers of their bridal charms possest,
With pleasing raptures I might fill my breath,
And give ev'n beauty to the face of death;
Nor need, for want of poesy or sense,
Those idle fictions, and that dull pretence
Of weeping nymphs and melancholy floods,
Of pensive shepherds and more pensive woods,
To make my verse emphatically low,
And furbish up a threadbare tale of woe.
One pregnant beam of your enlivening wit,
That might raise all my powers, inform the whole,
And with harmonious vigour tune my soul;
18
Like lovers of their bridal charms possest,
With pleasing raptures I might fill my breath,
And give ev'n beauty to the face of death;
Nor need, for want of poesy or sense,
Those idle fictions, and that dull pretence
Of weeping nymphs and melancholy floods,
Of pensive shepherds and more pensive woods,
To make my verse emphatically low,
And furbish up a threadbare tale of woe.
But, since that hope is vain, and human art
Can act no other than a human part;
Accept this mute but unaffected tear;
The speechless mourner truly speaks his care;
And, if words here and there confus'd are found
(For grief sometimes will vent itself in sound),
Attribute them to no poetic strain,
Nor the kind dictates of a happy vein;
They're but the signs of sorrow in excess,
The sallies of a dumb but wild distress;
The fruitless efforts of distracted care,
Of grief and passion blended with despair.
Can act no other than a human part;
Accept this mute but unaffected tear;
The speechless mourner truly speaks his care;
And, if words here and there confus'd are found
(For grief sometimes will vent itself in sound),
Attribute them to no poetic strain,
Nor the kind dictates of a happy vein;
They're but the signs of sorrow in excess,
The sallies of a dumb but wild distress;
The fruitless efforts of distracted care,
Of grief and passion blended with despair.
O'er thy dear reliques how could I complain,
And in soft murmurs rigid Fate arraign!
Oh, I could languish, till I were become
A breathless shape, a statue to thy tomb.
Yet, lest my silence should be thought pretence,
And or misconstrued want of zeal or sense,
Lest I should seem (when Piso does commend,
Piso at once my Patron and my Friend)
More cold to Virtue than averse to Rhime,
And my excuse itself be made my crime;
I'll give thee what my sorrows will admit,
What may evince my love, though not my wit;
And sing thy virtues in a lowly strain,
Though every virtue makes me weep again.
And in soft murmurs rigid Fate arraign!
Oh, I could languish, till I were become
A breathless shape, a statue to thy tomb.
Yet, lest my silence should be thought pretence,
And or misconstrued want of zeal or sense,
Lest I should seem (when Piso does commend,
Piso at once my Patron and my Friend)
More cold to Virtue than averse to Rhime,
And my excuse itself be made my crime;
I'll give thee what my sorrows will admit,
What may evince my love, though not my wit;
And sing thy virtues in a lowly strain,
Though every virtue makes me weep again.
Each all my tears and all my art demands;
But Modesty the first and fairest stands;
She strove with virgin blushes to conceal
The charms her Sister Graces did reveal;
She strove with conscious shame to veil their light,
But made them shine more eminently bright.
So when some shade would drive the light away,
And intercept the gladsome beams of day;
Taught by the sun to shine, that painted cloud
Contributes to the lustre it would shrowd.
But Modesty the first and fairest stands;
19
The charms her Sister Graces did reveal;
She strove with conscious shame to veil their light,
But made them shine more eminently bright.
So when some shade would drive the light away,
And intercept the gladsome beams of day;
Taught by the sun to shine, that painted cloud
Contributes to the lustre it would shrowd.
All power of numbers in thy verse did meet,
Which Learning made correct, and Nature sweet;
Wit mix'd with spirit through the whole was found,
And manly sense supported lofty sound;
Judgement, combin'd with fancy, grac'd the song,
And all was solid, beautiful, and strong.
Thy sweet but nervous lines were doubly fair,
Food to the soul, and musick to the ear;
To the strong features of a lively face,
You still the last embellishments did place,
An easy sweetness and a flowing grace.
Which Learning made correct, and Nature sweet;
Wit mix'd with spirit through the whole was found,
And manly sense supported lofty sound;
Judgement, combin'd with fancy, grac'd the song,
And all was solid, beautiful, and strong.
Thy sweet but nervous lines were doubly fair,
Food to the soul, and musick to the ear;
To the strong features of a lively face,
You still the last embellishments did place,
An easy sweetness and a flowing grace.
With Classicks intimate and friendly grown,
Whate'er you writ, or said, was still your own;
And, though so fondly Milton's Muse you lov'd,
His graces were not borrow'd, but improv'd;
Nor didst thou rob great Maro's sacred shrine;
But by amendment mad'st his beauties thine.
They flourish, and confess thy generous toil,
Like plants translated to a richer soil.
Thoughts proper, words expressive and polite,
A judgement piercing, an invention bright,
In thy great labours all exert their part,
And much you owe to Nature, much to Art.
Whate'er you writ, or said, was still your own;
And, though so fondly Milton's Muse you lov'd,
His graces were not borrow'd, but improv'd;
Nor didst thou rob great Maro's sacred shrine;
But by amendment mad'st his beauties thine.
They flourish, and confess thy generous toil,
Like plants translated to a richer soil.
Thoughts proper, words expressive and polite,
A judgement piercing, an invention bright,
In thy great labours all exert their part,
And much you owe to Nature, much to Art.
How nobly daring in thy pompous page
The German and the British Prince engage!
With what impetuous force and rage divine
The Gallick and confederate squadrons join!
To worlds unborn our deathless fame is told;
And Blenheim will be young, when Time is old.
But hear, oh hear, the mourning Muse relate
Our once young Churchill's and our Gloster's fate.
Less sad is Philomel's nocturnal tune,
Less sad the musick of a dying swan;
Involv'd in pleasing pangs the Reader lyes,
And languishing on every accent dies.
Each word revives indulgent Anna's pain,
And makes her act the Mother o'er again;
The mourning Victor drops his laurel crown,
Proclaims thy conquest, and forgets his own.
The German and the British Prince engage!
With what impetuous force and rage divine
The Gallick and confederate squadrons join!
To worlds unborn our deathless fame is told;
And Blenheim will be young, when Time is old.
20
Our once young Churchill's and our Gloster's fate.
Less sad is Philomel's nocturnal tune,
Less sad the musick of a dying swan;
Involv'd in pleasing pangs the Reader lyes,
And languishing on every accent dies.
Each word revives indulgent Anna's pain,
And makes her act the Mother o'er again;
The mourning Victor drops his laurel crown,
Proclaims thy conquest, and forgets his own.
When of big war and martial fame you write,
War seems your province, conquest your delight;
And, when you choose some peaceful rural theme,
By Nature fram'd for rural lays you seem.
Thy Cyder, thy immortal Cyder, smiles
With richest fragrance through these happy Isles;
Of equal worth, since so divinely sung,
To Maro's vintage, and shall last as long.
Henceforth the pippin shall the grape outshine,
The painted redstreak triumph o'er the vine;
Henceforth this odorous liquor shall be made
The cool refreshment of each lover's shade;
Give the coy nymph a free luxurious air,
And tempt her to be kind as well as fair;
In the brisk gallant's humorous mirth surprize,
And sparkle in the maudlin coquet's eyes;
O'er jocund frolick wit it shall preside,
And raise the wishes of each longing bride;
Rouse the blithe bucksome youth to Love's alarms,
And add fresh lustre to the lady's charms.
War seems your province, conquest your delight;
And, when you choose some peaceful rural theme,
By Nature fram'd for rural lays you seem.
Thy Cyder, thy immortal Cyder, smiles
With richest fragrance through these happy Isles;
Of equal worth, since so divinely sung,
To Maro's vintage, and shall last as long.
Henceforth the pippin shall the grape outshine,
The painted redstreak triumph o'er the vine;
Henceforth this odorous liquor shall be made
The cool refreshment of each lover's shade;
Give the coy nymph a free luxurious air,
And tempt her to be kind as well as fair;
In the brisk gallant's humorous mirth surprize,
And sparkle in the maudlin coquet's eyes;
O'er jocund frolick wit it shall preside,
And raise the wishes of each longing bride;
Rouse the blithe bucksome youth to Love's alarms,
And add fresh lustre to the lady's charms.
Oh, that experience had not taught me this,
And that it were the frantick Poet's guess!
But much I fear the Shepherds told me true,
Who said, Maria, Strephon died for you;
Cyder improv'd each feature in thy face,
And gave a softer turn to every grace;
In thy all-piercing eyes did magick prove,
And warm'd his willing heart to fatal love.
Ah! gentle Strephon, was there on the plain
Such killing beauty and severe disdain,
A nymph with more than woman's charms supply'd,
A nymph, was curs'd with more than woman's pride?
If such there was, oh may the shameful blot
Be in oblivion's gloomy shades forgot!
Nor her fair name in envious annals writ,
A stain to virtuous love and solid wit!
And that it were the frantick Poet's guess!
But much I fear the Shepherds told me true,
Who said, Maria, Strephon died for you;
21
And gave a softer turn to every grace;
In thy all-piercing eyes did magick prove,
And warm'd his willing heart to fatal love.
Ah! gentle Strephon, was there on the plain
Such killing beauty and severe disdain,
A nymph with more than woman's charms supply'd,
A nymph, was curs'd with more than woman's pride?
If such there was, oh may the shameful blot
Be in oblivion's gloomy shades forgot!
Nor her fair name in envious annals writ,
A stain to virtuous love and solid wit!
To speak thee generous, loyal, just, and true,
A constant friend and not unfriendly foe,
Were with superfluous trouble here annext,
And but a comment on a canvass'd text.
But that Religion, Piety, and Zeal,
Should influence thy life, and guide thy will,
Was wondrous strange! A Bard devout and good!
Why 'tis a crime unpardonably rude:
To the beau monde, the polish'd world, a jest;
Uncomplaisant and singular at best;
But monstrous in these lewd unrighteous times,
When the vile Muse's prostituted rhimes
Become subservient to dishonour's rise,
Turn pimps to wantonness, and bawds to vice;
When Priests and Poets are at open breach,
And the Stage censures what the Pulpits teach;
When jests indecent female converse stain,
And none is witty that is not prophane.
'Twas wondrous strange, in such an age, that you,
A Wit, a Lover, and a Poet too,
Should stand conform'd to strict Religion's laws,
And shun the fashionable sins of those,
Whose maxims are, to live by Nature's rule,
That the poor Parson is the Statesman's tool;
That Priesthood then began to flourish most,
And find increase, though at the people's cost,
When subtle knaves and politicians found
Mankind by laws restrain'd, by conscience bound,
Themselves in more security might reign,
And Priests perceiv'd, that “Godliness was gain.”
Yet ev'n in this degen'rate æra cast,
Thy Muse was modest, as thy manners chaste;
Whatever, though in sportive mood, she said,
By matrons might be spoke, by virgins read:
An emblem of thyself in her we see;
Wise were thy pleasures, and thy wisdom free.
A constant friend and not unfriendly foe,
Were with superfluous trouble here annext,
And but a comment on a canvass'd text.
But that Religion, Piety, and Zeal,
Should influence thy life, and guide thy will,
Was wondrous strange! A Bard devout and good!
Why 'tis a crime unpardonably rude:
To the beau monde, the polish'd world, a jest;
Uncomplaisant and singular at best;
But monstrous in these lewd unrighteous times,
When the vile Muse's prostituted rhimes
Become subservient to dishonour's rise,
Turn pimps to wantonness, and bawds to vice;
When Priests and Poets are at open breach,
And the Stage censures what the Pulpits teach;
When jests indecent female converse stain,
And none is witty that is not prophane.
'Twas wondrous strange, in such an age, that you,
A Wit, a Lover, and a Poet too,
Should stand conform'd to strict Religion's laws,
And shun the fashionable sins of those,
Whose maxims are, to live by Nature's rule,
That the poor Parson is the Statesman's tool;
That Priesthood then began to flourish most,
And find increase, though at the people's cost,
22
Mankind by laws restrain'd, by conscience bound,
Themselves in more security might reign,
And Priests perceiv'd, that “Godliness was gain.”
Yet ev'n in this degen'rate æra cast,
Thy Muse was modest, as thy manners chaste;
Whatever, though in sportive mood, she said,
By matrons might be spoke, by virgins read:
An emblem of thyself in her we see;
Wise were thy pleasures, and thy wisdom free.
Thus excellent you was---
But, ah! Such heaven's mysterious ways we find;
So Providence disposes human-kind;
The most deserving have the shortest date,
And Virtue seems the mark of envious Fate;
The Learn'd, the Good, the Witty, and the Brave,
Find the cold comfort of an early grave:
Bion forsook us early, Shadwell late,
And Creech and Oldham are surviv'd by Tate.
But, ah! Such heaven's mysterious ways we find;
So Providence disposes human-kind;
The most deserving have the shortest date,
And Virtue seems the mark of envious Fate;
The Learn'd, the Good, the Witty, and the Brave,
Find the cold comfort of an early grave:
Bion forsook us early, Shadwell late,
And Creech and Oldham are surviv'd by Tate.
Whether Prometheus' bold attempt above,
To steal th' authentic real flames of Jove,
From fiction wholly or in part began,
Yet sure there's something in the soul of man,
That bears resemblance to material fire;
The brighter 'tis, the sooner 'twill expire.
To steal th' authentic real flames of Jove,
From fiction wholly or in part began,
Yet sure there's something in the soul of man,
That bears resemblance to material fire;
The brighter 'tis, the sooner 'twill expire.
Blooming and young to fall is thy reward;
While every Mævius of the age is spar'd,
From stiff Criterio to the City Bard;
With numerous D'Urfeys I omit to name,
Lest that might seem some merit to proclaim,
Implying envy still, and envy fame.
While every Mævius of the age is spar'd,
From stiff Criterio to the City Bard;
With numerous D'Urfeys I omit to name,
Lest that might seem some merit to proclaim,
Implying envy still, and envy fame.
23
Virtue in all regards is Fortune's sport;
Nor are her days less wearisome than short:
Each heavier mortal may his wealth increase,
And sleep out many drowsy days in peace;
With plenty or with honours blest may thrive,
If you had what would keep content alive;
Thanks to your generous Patron, good as great,
Who, in despight of all the storms of Fate,
Though the world frown, and swift the billows throng,
Shall be the subject of my love and song;
Whose bounties, like the Nile, unweary'd flow
Through the fair realms where Arts and Learning grow,
And always come unsought, yet never slow.
Nor are her days less wearisome than short:
Each heavier mortal may his wealth increase,
And sleep out many drowsy days in peace;
With plenty or with honours blest may thrive,
If you had what would keep content alive;
Thanks to your generous Patron, good as great,
Who, in despight of all the storms of Fate,
Though the world frown, and swift the billows throng,
Shall be the subject of my love and song;
Whose bounties, like the Nile, unweary'd flow
Through the fair realms where Arts and Learning grow,
And always come unsought, yet never slow.
Nor let me pass unsung that boasted name
Which I and every British Bard should claim,
Sacred to verse, and heir to endless fame;
Harcourt, whose powerful rhetoric, when of late
In solemn judgement Britain's Peerage sate,
Ennobled Learning and Religion's cause,
And reconcil'd old truths to modern laws;
How years erase not foul Rebellion's name,
That Scripture always was and is the same,
And loyal just allegiance merits praise
As well in Anna's as in Charles's days;
His every word than honey sweeter flow'd;
His tongue more charming was than Hermes' rod.
Harcourt, while I thy death ignobly mourn,
Pays the last office to thy sacred urn;
And, rearing with majestick pomp thy tomb,
Swells the big honours of that hallow'd dome,
Where their dark gloomy vaults the Muses keep,
And, lov'd by Monarchs, near those Monarchs sleep;
Where Royal Heroes, mouldering, justly claim
Those their Associates that preserve their fame,
Justly in death with those one mansion have,
Whose works redeem their glories from the grave;
Where venerable Chaucer's antient head,
And Spenser's much-ador'd remains are laid;
Where Cowley's precious stone, and the proud mould
That glories Dryden's mortal parts to hold,
Command high reverence and devotion just
To their great relicks and distinguish'd dust.
Which I and every British Bard should claim,
Sacred to verse, and heir to endless fame;
Harcourt, whose powerful rhetoric, when of late
In solemn judgement Britain's Peerage sate,
Ennobled Learning and Religion's cause,
And reconcil'd old truths to modern laws;
How years erase not foul Rebellion's name,
That Scripture always was and is the same,
And loyal just allegiance merits praise
As well in Anna's as in Charles's days;
His every word than honey sweeter flow'd;
His tongue more charming was than Hermes' rod.
Harcourt, while I thy death ignobly mourn,
Pays the last office to thy sacred urn;
And, rearing with majestick pomp thy tomb,
Swells the big honours of that hallow'd dome,
Where their dark gloomy vaults the Muses keep,
And, lov'd by Monarchs, near those Monarchs sleep;
Where Royal Heroes, mouldering, justly claim
Those their Associates that preserve their fame,
24
Whose works redeem their glories from the grave;
Where venerable Chaucer's antient head,
And Spenser's much-ador'd remains are laid;
Where Cowley's precious stone, and the proud mould
That glories Dryden's mortal parts to hold,
Command high reverence and devotion just
To their great relicks and distinguish'd dust.
'Tis well a Harcourt in this age remains,
And generous blood adorns a St. John's veins;
'Tis well our annals Trevor can enroll;
And that the Patriot lives in Harley's soul;
Else you, illustrious Virtue, might have seen
What Shakspeare saw before, and worthy Ben.
And generous blood adorns a St. John's veins;
'Tis well our annals Trevor can enroll;
And that the Patriot lives in Harley's soul;
Else you, illustrious Virtue, might have seen
What Shakspeare saw before, and worthy Ben.
Under penurious stars are Poets born,
Subject to envy, or expos'd to scorn;
By some strange force and supernatural bent
Ever betray'd to poverty and want;
To lofty garrets by degrees they rise,
And there are truly said to touch the skies;
They purchase dear their idol God Renown,
And still are complimented—and undone.
Alas! Fame's palace in the air is built;
We wooe a mistress, but we find a jilt.
Subject to envy, or expos'd to scorn;
By some strange force and supernatural bent
Ever betray'd to poverty and want;
To lofty garrets by degrees they rise,
And there are truly said to touch the skies;
They purchase dear their idol God Renown,
And still are complimented—and undone.
Alas! Fame's palace in the air is built;
We wooe a mistress, but we find a jilt.
This Cowley and this Spenser felt before,
And honest Butler died exceeding poor;
And when grim Death did tuneful Dryden seize,
He had not what would pay the sexton's fees.
Ev'n he, who sung on yellow Xanthus' shore
The Trojan Fidler and the Grecian Whore,
Whom seven proud cities wrangled for when dead,
Was a poor mendicant, that stroll'd for bread;
And, when kind almers had his wants supply'd!
“Great Jove reward you, Sirs!” in metre cry'd.
And honest Butler died exceeding poor;
And when grim Death did tuneful Dryden seize,
He had not what would pay the sexton's fees.
Ev'n he, who sung on yellow Xanthus' shore
The Trojan Fidler and the Grecian Whore,
Whom seven proud cities wrangled for when dead,
Was a poor mendicant, that stroll'd for bread;
And, when kind almers had his wants supply'd!
“Great Jove reward you, Sirs!” in metre cry'd.
Since then much poverty and little fame
Is all the dowry that a Muse can claim;
Since that sublime invigorating heat,
That makes the Poet's pulse divinely beat,
At last rewards him but with barren praise,
Which Envy sullies, and which Want allays;
Here weeping o'er thy tomb in mournful verse,
And shedding roses on thy honour'd hearse,
I'll take my last farewell, and bid adieu
To the curs'd trade and all the jingling crew;
Nay, rather than relapse to write, or strain
A miserable crambo once again;
I'll turn Horse-doctor, bear a Scotchman's pack,
Be Pettifogger, Conjurer, or Quack,
Or any thing you can conceive or know,
All but a Poet, Pedant, or a Beau.
Is all the dowry that a Muse can claim;
Since that sublime invigorating heat,
That makes the Poet's pulse divinely beat,
25
Which Envy sullies, and which Want allays;
Here weeping o'er thy tomb in mournful verse,
And shedding roses on thy honour'd hearse,
I'll take my last farewell, and bid adieu
To the curs'd trade and all the jingling crew;
Nay, rather than relapse to write, or strain
A miserable crambo once again;
I'll turn Horse-doctor, bear a Scotchman's pack,
Be Pettifogger, Conjurer, or Quack,
Or any thing you can conceive or know,
All but a Poet, Pedant, or a Beau.
Ye Criticks, that like locusts vex the press,
With little reason damn, and write with less;
Ye honourable Bards, that sung of old
The mighty stories Greece or Athens told;
And thou, the worthiest of th 'inspired host,
The pride of Isis and thy St. John's boast;
Be witness to the sacred vow I make;
And when, by verse debauch'd, that vow I break,
Pure unenlightened Dullness on my head
The soul and quintessence of Blackmore shed!
With little reason damn, and write with less;
Ye honourable Bards, that sung of old
The mighty stories Greece or Athens told;
And thou, the worthiest of th 'inspired host,
The pride of Isis and thy St. John's boast;
Be witness to the sacred vow I make;
And when, by verse debauch'd, that vow I break,
Pure unenlightened Dullness on my head
The soul and quintessence of Blackmore shed!
Sooner shall Players to virtue make pretence,
And learned Pedants condescend to sense;
Sooner shall Country Curates Hebrew speak,
Physicians' noddles be o'ercharg'd with Greek,
Attorneys cease to flock in shoals to Hell,
And Maurus to write ill, or Prior well;
Sooner shall eloquence in Smalridge fail,
And humble W—ll-s over Sprat prevail;
Cuckold and Citizen two senses frame,
And, differing in sound, not mean the same;
Than I the purpose of my soul forget,
His Lordship's titles for true worth admit,
And be a Beggar to be styl'd a Wit.
And learned Pedants condescend to sense;
Sooner shall Country Curates Hebrew speak,
Physicians' noddles be o'ercharg'd with Greek,
Attorneys cease to flock in shoals to Hell,
And Maurus to write ill, or Prior well;
Sooner shall eloquence in Smalridge fail,
And humble W—ll-s over Sprat prevail;
Cuckold and Citizen two senses frame,
And, differing in sound, not mean the same;
Than I the purpose of my soul forget,
His Lordship's titles for true worth admit,
And be a Beggar to be styl'd a Wit.
26
An EPISTLE to MR. STEELE, on the KING's Accession to the Crown, 1714.
“Hic Vir, hic est, tibi quem promitti sæpius audis,
“Augustus ..... Divûm genus: aurea condet
“Secula qui rursus Latio.”
Virg. Æn. vi. 791.
“Augustus ..... Divûm genus: aurea condet
“Secula qui rursus Latio.”
Virg. Æn. vi. 791.
This, this is he! the Chief so long foretold
To bless the land, where Saturn rul'd of old,
And give the Lernean realms a second age of gold.
The promis'd Prince, Augustus the divine,
Of Cæsar's race, and Jove's immortal line.
Pitt.
To bless the land, where Saturn rul'd of old,
And give the Lernean realms a second age of gold.
The promis'd Prince, Augustus the divine,
Of Cæsar's race, and Jove's immortal line.
Pitt.
O generous Varus, happy and admir'd!
With love of truth and public spirit fir'd,
Esteem'd by Virtue, and by Envy prais'd!
Fill'd with new joys, the sounding string I rais'd:
The Muse's friend, in numbers you delight;
O! be my genius, and inspire the flight!
With love of truth and public spirit fir'd,
Esteem'd by Virtue, and by Envy prais'd!
Fill'd with new joys, the sounding string I rais'd:
The Muse's friend, in numbers you delight;
O! be my genius, and inspire the flight!
Britain at length asserts her antient name,
And rises glorious with reviving Fame:
A finish'd Prince, a Hero fills the throne,
Grac'd with a genius martial like her own;
Expert to train to arms her valiant bands,
And lead successful wars in foreign lands;
Of sinews equal to the regal weight,
The chosen prop of her declining state;
Proclaim, ye Muses, through these happy plains,
Proclaim aloud, another Nassau reigns.
And rises glorious with reviving Fame:
A finish'd Prince, a Hero fills the throne,
Grac'd with a genius martial like her own;
Expert to train to arms her valiant bands,
And lead successful wars in foreign lands;
Of sinews equal to the regal weight,
The chosen prop of her declining state;
Proclaim, ye Muses, through these happy plains,
Proclaim aloud, another Nassau reigns.
27
His skilful choice shall give preferment grace,
And with peculiar beauty honours place;
Distinguish Britain's worthier friends from those
Who sacrific'd her faith, or sav'd her foes:
Establish'd Law, unmov'd, he shall maintain,
And by that certain standard form his reign.
No smooth seducer shall by flattering art
Tempt his ambition, or misguide his heart;
No favourite, to unequal greatness grown,
Usurp his bounty, or direct his frown.
And with peculiar beauty honours place;
Distinguish Britain's worthier friends from those
Who sacrific'd her faith, or sav'd her foes:
Establish'd Law, unmov'd, he shall maintain,
And by that certain standard form his reign.
No smooth seducer shall by flattering art
Tempt his ambition, or misguide his heart;
No favourite, to unequal greatness grown,
Usurp his bounty, or direct his frown.
Princes, who our Deliverer's friendship prov'd,
Admir'd his wisdom, and his virtues lov'd,
Shall now rest fearless of th' invading sword,
And trust their safety to his valued word;
Wise States shall wait observant on his Throne,
And by his happier conduct rule their own.
Admir'd his wisdom, and his virtues lov'd,
Shall now rest fearless of th' invading sword,
And trust their safety to his valued word;
Wise States shall wait observant on his Throne,
And by his happier conduct rule their own.
His influence shall extend to farthest shores,
Unite th' Allies, and bind their weaken'd powers:
The pure Religion, the Reform'd, shall share,
Amidst oppression, his protecting care;
By him and Heaven assisted, spread at length,
Insensibly prevail, and rise in strength:
Refulgent Rome from her proud height shall stoop,
And see her long-supported honours droop:
The worship'd image shall neglected stand,
And boast in vain the work of Raphael's hand;
Mankind, to freedom wak'd, her pride shall tame,
Restrain her Pontiff, and his laws disclaim.
Unite th' Allies, and bind their weaken'd powers:
The pure Religion, the Reform'd, shall share,
Amidst oppression, his protecting care;
By him and Heaven assisted, spread at length,
Insensibly prevail, and rise in strength:
Refulgent Rome from her proud height shall stoop,
And see her long-supported honours droop:
The worship'd image shall neglected stand,
And boast in vain the work of Raphael's hand;
Mankind, to freedom wak'd, her pride shall tame,
Restrain her Pontiff, and his laws disclaim.
Brave Confessors, illustrious in your grief!
Look up to Liberty, and hope relief:
Forget the threat'ned flame and servile oar,
Forget the altar stain'd with kindred gore:
Not long shall Innocence unsuccour'd stand,
And wait the stroke from the fierce zealot's hand;
Not long Religious Rage mankind shall tear,
Nor wasting Zeal her bloody standard rear.
Commerce again prepares to lift its head,
Again to flourish, and its bounds to spread;
The Merchant shall transplant in British air
Whatever growths remotest regions bear,
Whatever Art in various lands improves,
Or the sun ripens, or its climate loves;
All parts he shall explore, where trade is known,
And with each country's spoils enrich his own.
I see disclos'd Augusta's future state:
Lo! her proud fleets admire their costly freight:
Her busy mart th' adventuring world employs:
Confusion greatly splendid! welcome noise!
Thames, swell'd with wealth, his envious banks o'erflows,
Seeks other shores, and a new empire knows.
Look up to Liberty, and hope relief:
Forget the threat'ned flame and servile oar,
Forget the altar stain'd with kindred gore:
Not long shall Innocence unsuccour'd stand,
And wait the stroke from the fierce zealot's hand;
Not long Religious Rage mankind shall tear,
Nor wasting Zeal her bloody standard rear.
Commerce again prepares to lift its head,
Again to flourish, and its bounds to spread;
28
Whatever growths remotest regions bear,
Whatever Art in various lands improves,
Or the sun ripens, or its climate loves;
All parts he shall explore, where trade is known,
And with each country's spoils enrich his own.
I see disclos'd Augusta's future state:
Lo! her proud fleets admire their costly freight:
Her busy mart th' adventuring world employs:
Confusion greatly splendid! welcome noise!
Thames, swell'd with wealth, his envious banks o'erflows,
Seeks other shores, and a new empire knows.
Th' approaching scenes of bliss attract my eyes,
And shining images in order rise.
Here smiling Plenty waves her fruitful horn,
Wheatsheafs and clusters her wreath'd head adorn;
Sweetest complacence guilds her chearful face,
And all her motions flow with conscious grace.
Here Credit rises with lost fame regain'd;
Guarded by Honour, and by Truth sustain'd:
Her powerful art discloses glittering mines,
And when she bids, a new creation shines.
And shining images in order rise.
Here smiling Plenty waves her fruitful horn,
Wheatsheafs and clusters her wreath'd head adorn;
Sweetest complacence guilds her chearful face,
And all her motions flow with conscious grace.
Here Credit rises with lost fame regain'd;
Guarded by Honour, and by Truth sustain'd:
Her powerful art discloses glittering mines,
And when she bids, a new creation shines.
These are the glories from this reign shall flow:
This triumph to our Brunswick line we owe.
For this, the patriot stemm'd prevailing rage;
And oft, O Varus, thy applauded page
With just resentments thy wrong'd country fir'd;
Greatly, for this, the British youth expir'd,
Blanamian fields were strow'd with heaps of slain,
And virtue won on Almenara's plain.
O Liberty! O Goddess! hail. Thy charms
Politeness give to Peace, and fame to Arms:
Great Patroness of arts! thy ripening fire
Instructs each waking genius to aspire:
Thou mak'st the Poet's heighten'd fancy glow
With richest veins of thought; the numbers flow,
Like happy streams untroubled in their course,
With clearer beauty and with greater force.
This triumph to our Brunswick line we owe.
For this, the patriot stemm'd prevailing rage;
And oft, O Varus, thy applauded page
With just resentments thy wrong'd country fir'd;
Greatly, for this, the British youth expir'd,
Blanamian fields were strow'd with heaps of slain,
And virtue won on Almenara's plain.
O Liberty! O Goddess! hail. Thy charms
Politeness give to Peace, and fame to Arms:
Great Patroness of arts! thy ripening fire
Instructs each waking genius to aspire:
Thou mak'st the Poet's heighten'd fancy glow
With richest veins of thought; the numbers flow,
29
With clearer beauty and with greater force.
Let wanton tyrants sport in power's abuse,
And barbarous nations to their yoke reduce;
Let them their conquer'd vassals proudly tame:
Our Hero cherishes a nobler flame;
O'er freeborn subjects he aspires to reign,
To govern Citizens, not Slaves to chain;
With scorn he looks on mean despotic arts,
And seeks no Empire but in English hearts,
Accepts a Kingdom with a Patriot's sense,
And in the People's Father hides the Prince.
And barbarous nations to their yoke reduce;
Let them their conquer'd vassals proudly tame:
Our Hero cherishes a nobler flame;
O'er freeborn subjects he aspires to reign,
To govern Citizens, not Slaves to chain;
With scorn he looks on mean despotic arts,
And seeks no Empire but in English hearts,
Accepts a Kingdom with a Patriot's sense,
And in the People's Father hides the Prince.
By these great arts, eternal Reason's law,
Alcides, Pollux, Numa, and Nassau,
Envy subdued, their native sky attain'd;
Hence rising Polities were first ordain'd,
And the best schemes their origin did claim
FromKings like George and men of Lincoln's frame.
Before the world was ripe for social ties,
Or docile crouds inclin'd in states to rise;
While men, promiscuous, were to rapine led,
Nor knew the good which just restriction bred;
One rose superior, so approv'd by Fate,
He saw and pity'd Nature's savage state;
Pallas and every Muse his thought inspir'd;
With love of knowledge human breasts he fir'd;
Explain'd, how vice and virtue were defin'd,
What moral good and moral ill design'd,
What man to man in each relation ow'd,
And Reason's use, and whence Religion flow'd.
His strains, ye Gods! th'admiring throng engage;
Their strifes he reconciles, and calms their rage:
To him, as wisest, each submits his cause;
His wisdom, not his will, distributes laws:
Thus he becomes their head, the general choice,
A Prince appointed by the People's voice:
To him the power did, by consent, belong
To compensate desert, and obviate wrong:
'Twas theirs, that power to limit or oppose,
When hurtful to themselves, from whom it rose.
Alcides, Pollux, Numa, and Nassau,
Envy subdued, their native sky attain'd;
Hence rising Polities were first ordain'd,
And the best schemes their origin did claim
FromKings like George and men of Lincoln's frame.
Before the world was ripe for social ties,
Or docile crouds inclin'd in states to rise;
While men, promiscuous, were to rapine led,
Nor knew the good which just restriction bred;
One rose superior, so approv'd by Fate,
He saw and pity'd Nature's savage state;
Pallas and every Muse his thought inspir'd;
With love of knowledge human breasts he fir'd;
Explain'd, how vice and virtue were defin'd,
What moral good and moral ill design'd,
What man to man in each relation ow'd,
And Reason's use, and whence Religion flow'd.
His strains, ye Gods! th'admiring throng engage;
Their strifes he reconciles, and calms their rage:
To him, as wisest, each submits his cause;
His wisdom, not his will, distributes laws:
Thus he becomes their head, the general choice,
A Prince appointed by the People's voice:
30
To compensate desert, and obviate wrong:
'Twas theirs, that power to limit or oppose,
When hurtful to themselves, from whom it rose.
Succeeding Worthies, with like happy arts,
Polish'd rough men, and harmoniz'd their hearts.
Reported hence the stupid rocks to move,
To make the cedars rise, to lead the grove,
Or sooth with magic sound a tiger's breast:
Amphion, Orpheus, Linus, and the rest,
Illustrious names in Poets' works enroll'd,
Were pious Rulers and just Kings of old:
They first to life did beauteous numbers suit;
Each had a city, which he call'd his lute,
And, when to charm descending gods he strove,
The string he play'd on was his People's love.
Polish'd rough men, and harmoniz'd their hearts.
Reported hence the stupid rocks to move,
To make the cedars rise, to lead the grove,
Or sooth with magic sound a tiger's breast:
Amphion, Orpheus, Linus, and the rest,
Illustrious names in Poets' works enroll'd,
Were pious Rulers and just Kings of old:
They first to life did beauteous numbers suit;
Each had a city, which he call'd his lute,
And, when to charm descending gods he strove,
The string he play'd on was his People's love.
Thus shall it fare, erewhile, with Britain's King;
As in his reign the future glories spring,
Some Bard in sweetly fabling verse may tell,
How, when our Orpheus touch'd his sounding shell,
The oaks obey'd, the pines forsook the plain,
And rose a floating forest on the main;
Or how the marble, ravish'd as he sung,
Ran into order, and a palace sprung.
As in his reign the future glories spring,
Some Bard in sweetly fabling verse may tell,
How, when our Orpheus touch'd his sounding shell,
The oaks obey'd, the pines forsook the plain,
And rose a floating forest on the main;
Or how the marble, ravish'd as he sung,
Ran into order, and a palace sprung.
We have attempted, in a feebler strain,
To sing the dawning honours of his reign:
But, when its riper greatness strikes our sight,
Clio shall tune the harp, or Garth shall write.
So, on the breaking of a cloudless day,
The little larks their slender notes assay:
But when the Sun his genial warmth has shed,
And a delightful glow o'er Nature spread;
The tuneful nightingales their voices raise,
And charm the woods with more melodious lays.
To sing the dawning honours of his reign:
But, when its riper greatness strikes our sight,
Clio shall tune the harp, or Garth shall write.
So, on the breaking of a cloudless day,
The little larks their slender notes assay:
But when the Sun his genial warmth has shed,
And a delightful glow o'er Nature spread;
The tuneful nightingales their voices raise,
And charm the woods with more melodious lays.
31
To the Earl of CLARE, on his being created Duke of Newcastle, 1715.
When Justice with her train to Earth descends,Parnassus wakes, and every Muse attends:
In chosen ages does she leave the skies,
And in such ages men like Holles rise.
In Holles hast thou lost thy former name,
And art Newcastle by no stranger claim:
That gem, not worn by thee, would cease to shine;
That flower would fade on any stem but thine.
From genial suns exil'd and softer skies,
In alien lands, the withering vineyard dies;
Nor more the circling tendrils we behold
Luxuriant, nor the grapes that glow with gold;
A foreign soil the faded boughs bemoan,
And languish in a climate not their own.
32
To the Countess of WARWICK,
On her Marriage with Mr. Addison, Aug. 2, 1716.
Ambition long has Woman's heart betray'd,
And tinsel grandeur caught th' unwary Maid;
The pompous styles, that strike th' admiring throng,
Have glitter'd in the eye of beauty long:
You, Madam, first the female taste improve,
And give your fellow-charmers laws for love;
A pomp you covet, not to Heralds known,
And sigh for virtues equal to your own;
Part in a man immortal greatly claim;
And frown on titles, to ally with fame:
Not Edward's star, emboss'd with silver rays,
Can vie in glory with thy Consort's bays;
His country's pride does homage to thy charms,
And every merit crowds into thy arms.
And tinsel grandeur caught th' unwary Maid;
The pompous styles, that strike th' admiring throng,
Have glitter'd in the eye of beauty long:
You, Madam, first the female taste improve,
And give your fellow-charmers laws for love;
A pomp you covet, not to Heralds known,
And sigh for virtues equal to your own;
Part in a man immortal greatly claim;
And frown on titles, to ally with fame:
Not Edward's star, emboss'd with silver rays,
Can vie in glory with thy Consort's bays;
His country's pride does homage to thy charms,
And every merit crowds into thy arms.
While others gain light conquests by their eyes,
'Tis thine with wisdom to subdue the wise:
To their soft chains while courtly beaux submit,
'Tis thine to lead in triumph captive Wit:
Her sighing vassals let Clarinda boast,
Of lace and languishing cockades the toast;
In beauty's pride unenvy'd let her reign,
And share that wanton Empire with the vain:
For thee, the arts of Greece and Rome combine;
And all the glories, Cato gain'd, are thine;
Still Warwick in thy boasted rank of life,
But more illustrious than when Warwick's wife.
'Tis thine with wisdom to subdue the wise:
To their soft chains while courtly beaux submit,
'Tis thine to lead in triumph captive Wit:
Her sighing vassals let Clarinda boast,
Of lace and languishing cockades the toast;
In beauty's pride unenvy'd let her reign,
And share that wanton Empire with the vain:
For thee, the arts of Greece and Rome combine;
And all the glories, Cato gain'd, are thine;
Still Warwick in thy boasted rank of life,
But more illustrious than when Warwick's wife.
Come forth, reveal thyself, thou chosen bride,
And shew great Nassau's poet by thy side;
Thy bright example shall instruct the fair,
And future nymphs shall make renown their care;
Embroidery less shall charm the Virgin's eye,
And kind Coquets, for plumes, less frequent die:
Secure shall Beauty reign, the Muse its guard;
The Muse shall triumph, Beauty its reward.
And shew great Nassau's poet by thy side;
Thy bright example shall instruct the fair,
And future nymphs shall make renown their care;
Embroidery less shall charm the Virgin's eye,
And kind Coquets, for plumes, less frequent die:
Secure shall Beauty reign, the Muse its guard;
The Muse shall triumph, Beauty its reward.
33
The GENIUS;
An ODE;
I
A wful Hero, Marlborough, rise:Sleepy charms I come to break:
Hither turn thy languid eyes:
Lo! thy Genius calls; awake!
34
II
Well survey this faithful plan,Which records thy life's great story;
'Tis a short, but crowded span,
Full of triumphs, full of glory.
III
One by one thy deeds review:Sieges, battles thick appear;
Former wonders, lost in new,
Greatly fill each pompous year.
IV
This is Blenheim's crimson field,Wet with gore, with slaughter stain'd!
Here retiring squadrons yield,
And a bloodless wreath is gain'd!
35
V
Ponder in thy godlike mindAll the wonders thou hast wrought;
Tyrants, from their pride declin'd,
Be the subject of thy thought!
VI
Rest thee here, while life may last:The utmost bliss, to man allow'd,
Is to trace his actions past,
And to own them great and good.
VII
But 'tis gone—O mortal born!Swift the fading scenes remove—
Let them pass with noble scorn:
Thine are worlds, which roll above.
VIII
Poets, Prophets, Heroes, Kings,Pleas'd, thy ripe approach foresee;
Men, who acted wondrous things,
Though they yield in fame to thee.
IX
Foremost in the Patriot-band,Shining with distinguish'd day,
See thy friend Godolphin stand!
See! he beckons thee away.
X
Yonder seats and fields of lightLet thy ravish'd thought explore:
Wishing, panting for thy flight!
Half an Angel; man no more.
36
PALÆMON to CÆLIA, at Bath;
or the TRIUMVIRATE; 1717.
Cælia, you rule with such despotic sway,
Though your commands displease us, we obey:
Inclin'd to praise, averse to censure still,
The task, you give me, suits my genius ill:
To paint the Town, requires a sullen Muse;
'Tis the worst-natur'd subject Verse can chuse:
Whatever rises in the mingled scene,
Or makes our virtue blush, or stirs our spleen:
To prosperous counterfeits all arts submit;
And now th' infectious ill has reach'd to Wit:
Wit was ordain'd to recreate the heart,
With sprightly strokes of Nature and of Art;
The charming talent for delight was born;
But now our pleasure is become our scorn;
To lawless licence Fame now owes its rise,
And Dulness brightens when 'tis dress'd in vice.
Though your commands displease us, we obey:
Inclin'd to praise, averse to censure still,
The task, you give me, suits my genius ill:
To paint the Town, requires a sullen Muse;
'Tis the worst-natur'd subject Verse can chuse:
Whatever rises in the mingled scene,
Or makes our virtue blush, or stirs our spleen:
To prosperous counterfeits all arts submit;
And now th' infectious ill has reach'd to Wit:
Wit was ordain'd to recreate the heart,
With sprightly strokes of Nature and of Art;
The charming talent for delight was born;
But now our pleasure is become our scorn;
To lawless licence Fame now owes its rise,
And Dulness brightens when 'tis dress'd in vice.
Of Nature's gifts no excellence we find,
But is resembled in a spurious kind;
Whate'er is shining, has some copy still,
Which imitates the genuine picture ill.
So awkward Mucius, with impure desires,
To elegant Petronio's fame aspires;
So Learning is in S---n and Salter seen,
And Cloe's amble mocks Clarissa's mien.
One truth I would conceal from Love and Thee,
Ev'n Beauty from imposture is not free:
Our shining Picts with borrow'd lustre reign,
And o'er our hearts felonious conquests gain:
They buy the artful beauties which they wear,
And every Nymph, that is not poor, is fair:
To blend with skill the blushing red, is known,
And glaze the neck with lilies not its own,
To teach the coral on the lip to stand,
And polish with eburnean white the hand:
The swains, whose souls in dying murmurs waste,
See not, they pine for wash, and sigh for paste:
Each the complection, that she loves, can frame,
And is at will another or the same:
Her whom the evening saw a gay brunette,
The morning oft admires in lovely jett;
The same that sleeps with eye-brows of japan,
To-morrow shines more snowy than the swan;
She on whose cheek too high the colour glows,
Mingles the softer olive with the rose;
Her lover views, with doubts perplexing tost,
Another face, and mourns his mistress lost.
But is resembled in a spurious kind;
Whate'er is shining, has some copy still,
Which imitates the genuine picture ill.
So awkward Mucius, with impure desires,
To elegant Petronio's fame aspires;
So Learning is in S---n and Salter seen,
And Cloe's amble mocks Clarissa's mien.
One truth I would conceal from Love and Thee,
Ev'n Beauty from imposture is not free:
Our shining Picts with borrow'd lustre reign,
And o'er our hearts felonious conquests gain:
They buy the artful beauties which they wear,
And every Nymph, that is not poor, is fair:
37
And glaze the neck with lilies not its own,
To teach the coral on the lip to stand,
And polish with eburnean white the hand:
The swains, whose souls in dying murmurs waste,
See not, they pine for wash, and sigh for paste:
Each the complection, that she loves, can frame,
And is at will another or the same:
Her whom the evening saw a gay brunette,
The morning oft admires in lovely jett;
The same that sleeps with eye-brows of japan,
To-morrow shines more snowy than the swan;
She on whose cheek too high the colour glows,
Mingles the softer olive with the rose;
Her lover views, with doubts perplexing tost,
Another face, and mourns his mistress lost.
When you, lov'd Nymph, came forth the public care,
And grac'd the bright assemblies of the fair;
An upright Censor sway'd the realms of Wit,
And Virtue gain'd a friend whene'er he writ;
In such engaging lights the Goddess rose,
She drew applauses from her wondering foes:
Now in the myrtle garden thistles grow,
And streams impure from vicious fountains flow;
The province of delight two Bards invade,
With mock astrology and emp'ric aid:
No satyr starts, no humour, or intrigue,
But still we owe it to this triple league:
O listen, while the Muse their triumphs sings;
Nor vulgar toils we write, nor common things.
And grac'd the bright assemblies of the fair;
An upright Censor sway'd the realms of Wit,
And Virtue gain'd a friend whene'er he writ;
In such engaging lights the Goddess rose,
She drew applauses from her wondering foes:
Now in the myrtle garden thistles grow,
And streams impure from vicious fountains flow;
The province of delight two Bards invade,
With mock astrology and emp'ric aid:
No satyr starts, no humour, or intrigue,
But still we owe it to this triple league:
O listen, while the Muse their triumphs sings;
Nor vulgar toils we write, nor common things.
Near Dunstan's rising pile, where crowds repair,
The young for assignations, th' old for prayer;
Where two grim giants strike the vocal blow,
While damsels sell their toys and love below;
A noted Bibliopole great cares sustains,
Fam'd for his sufferings, envy'd for his gains,
Who venal Learning courts with low rewards,
And hires with promis'd pence ill-fated Bards,
A Mercury in ingenious frauds expert,
Renown'd for witty wiles and stealths of art:
This harmless Artist fell a destin'd prey
To the Triumvirs' unrelenting sway;
By secret stratagem they subtly wrought,
And couch'd their satyr in a purging draught;
The poisonous juice, with vellicating pains,
Successful Wits! ferments in all his veins;
He speaks his anguish in distorted looks:
Ah! what avail his copies or his books!
At length, the dwindled Hero rais'd his head:
“O frolic Bard, severely blythe,” he said,
“What Patriot shall from pungent pains be free,
“If such facetious drugs are known to thee?
“Keen thy resentments are, and operate soon:
“O say, is this a Protestant lampoon?
“Now, Dennis, learn, learn from your foe to write;
“Mix jalap with your satyr, and 'twill bite:
“And you, my friends, when call'd to chearful bowls,
“By me take warning, and shun rhubarb-drolls:
“I faint; no Art my sickening life can save:
“The Quack prescrib'd the purge the Poet gave.”
The young for assignations, th' old for prayer;
Where two grim giants strike the vocal blow,
While damsels sell their toys and love below;
A noted Bibliopole great cares sustains,
Fam'd for his sufferings, envy'd for his gains,
38
And hires with promis'd pence ill-fated Bards,
A Mercury in ingenious frauds expert,
Renown'd for witty wiles and stealths of art:
This harmless Artist fell a destin'd prey
To the Triumvirs' unrelenting sway;
By secret stratagem they subtly wrought,
And couch'd their satyr in a purging draught;
The poisonous juice, with vellicating pains,
Successful Wits! ferments in all his veins;
He speaks his anguish in distorted looks:
Ah! what avail his copies or his books!
At length, the dwindled Hero rais'd his head:
“O frolic Bard, severely blythe,” he said,
“What Patriot shall from pungent pains be free,
“If such facetious drugs are known to thee?
“Keen thy resentments are, and operate soon:
“O say, is this a Protestant lampoon?
“Now, Dennis, learn, learn from your foe to write;
“Mix jalap with your satyr, and 'twill bite:
“And you, my friends, when call'd to chearful bowls,
“By me take warning, and shun rhubarb-drolls:
“I faint; no Art my sickening life can save:
“The Quack prescrib'd the purge the Poet gave.”
Here, as he paus'd, he felt returning ease,
And found the torture lessen by degrees;
Then thus went on, his anguish to relieve:
“Sarcastic Youth,” said he, “I give thee leave
“In artless low obscenities to shine:
“The fertile realms of Drury shall be thine:
“Design with deep contrivance plotless plays,
“And teem with comets which no wonder raise;
“Be still licentious, and still teaze the age
“With feeble malice, and with hectic rage:
“To all thy pen shall threaten I submit;
“But let not Cornakina aid thy wit.
“Thy friend, unrival'd, undisturb'd, by me,
“Gleans an insipid fame, from envy free;
“His verse, like countries nor polite nor rude,
“Keeps the dull medium between bad and good;
“As other works for energy and strength,
“His are, like May-poles, famous for their length:
“Canorous trifles let him still pursue;
“Second to none but Arbuthnot or you:
“But let him this unnatural war decline;
“His trade was here an enemy to mine.
“What spoils, what trophies, on that joyful day,
“You and your spruce apprentice shall display,
“In which one Pirate by the treachery dies
“Of two Twin-bards, assisted from the skies!”
And found the torture lessen by degrees;
Then thus went on, his anguish to relieve:
“Sarcastic Youth,” said he, “I give thee leave
“In artless low obscenities to shine:
“The fertile realms of Drury shall be thine:
“Design with deep contrivance plotless plays,
“And teem with comets which no wonder raise;
“Be still licentious, and still teaze the age
“With feeble malice, and with hectic rage:
“To all thy pen shall threaten I submit;
“But let not Cornakina aid thy wit.
39
“Gleans an insipid fame, from envy free;
“His verse, like countries nor polite nor rude,
“Keeps the dull medium between bad and good;
“As other works for energy and strength,
“His are, like May-poles, famous for their length:
“Canorous trifles let him still pursue;
“Second to none but Arbuthnot or you:
“But let him this unnatural war decline;
“His trade was here an enemy to mine.
“What spoils, what trophies, on that joyful day,
“You and your spruce apprentice shall display,
“In which one Pirate by the treachery dies
“Of two Twin-bards, assisted from the skies!”
At length the potion's influences stop;
Restor'd at length to Learning and his Shop,
To just revenge the valiant Sufferer slies,
Seeks the support of Protestant Allies,
And to his aid victorious Ridpath draws,
The famous Champion of the Whiggish cause:
Fierce strife succeeds, and paper-wars are writ,
With doubtful fortune, and with equal wit.
Restor'd at length to Learning and his Shop,
To just revenge the valiant Sufferer slies,
Seeks the support of Protestant Allies,
And to his aid victorious Ridpath draws,
The famous Champion of the Whiggish cause:
Fierce strife succeeds, and paper-wars are writ,
With doubtful fortune, and with equal wit.
Oh, when wilt thou thy Lover's joys renew,
And place thy beauties in the public view?
All mourn thy absence with a thousand sighs,
For all behold thee with Palæmon's eyes:
Leave the digressing Muse a while to rove,
And lose her subject in the thought of love.
Through Latian plains, when, cautious of delay,
The traveller pursues his pleasing way;
If, wrought with skill, he sees a Venus rise,
On the soft statue oft he turns his eyes;
He finds his wishes with his cares at strife,
And grieves, the melting marble is not life.
And place thy beauties in the public view?
All mourn thy absence with a thousand sighs,
For all behold thee with Palæmon's eyes:
Leave the digressing Muse a while to rove,
And lose her subject in the thought of love.
Through Latian plains, when, cautious of delay,
The traveller pursues his pleasing way;
If, wrought with skill, he sees a Venus rise,
On the soft statue oft he turns his eyes;
40
And grieves, the melting marble is not life.
Seldom I visit our declining Stage,
The scene of noise, and sunk to party rage,
Where, privileg'd by time, old Authors reign,
And new ones live three languid days with pain:
Sometimes my heart to social joys inclines,
When friendship calls, or conversation shines:
Late, with a chosen set, I pass'd the night;
Gay were the hours, and conscious of delight:
As the wine flow'd, as mirth more freely ran,
On Wit, the common topic, I began;
“Who shines in prose, or who in polish'd rhimes?
“What bright productions rise in Brunswick's times?”
The scene of noise, and sunk to party rage,
Where, privileg'd by time, old Authors reign,
And new ones live three languid days with pain:
Sometimes my heart to social joys inclines,
When friendship calls, or conversation shines:
Late, with a chosen set, I pass'd the night;
Gay were the hours, and conscious of delight:
As the wine flow'd, as mirth more freely ran,
On Wit, the common topic, I began;
“Who shines in prose, or who in polish'd rhimes?
“What bright productions rise in Brunswick's times?”
When Fopling, in his known plain-dealing way,
“Writings of every sort the times display,
“Works by no power nor any Muse inspir'd,
“Yet, by a fate unheard before, admir'd:
“Stupidity may thrive in other arts,
“And plodding Cits grow rich by want of parts;
“'Tis natural, nor do we think it strange,
“If Plumb succeeds at Garraway's or Change:
“But Poets now, to flourish, Wit disclaim;
“And Dullness prospers in the Land of Fame.”
“Writings of every sort the times display,
“Works by no power nor any Muse inspir'd,
“Yet, by a fate unheard before, admir'd:
“Stupidity may thrive in other arts,
“And plodding Cits grow rich by want of parts;
“'Tis natural, nor do we think it strange,
“If Plumb succeeds at Garraway's or Change:
“But Poets now, to flourish, Wit disclaim;
“And Dullness prospers in the Land of Fame.”
“Some praise,” gay Wildair with a smile reply'd,
“To Archness is allow'd, where Wit's deny'd;
“But late Aspirers want this little art,
“The low Plebeian talent to be smart.
“Spleen to poor quibbles through their satyr runs;
“O rage! to persecute unhappy puns!
“Burlesqu'd you see the tuneful Hebrew's strain,
“And David is both Bard and Saint in vain.”
“To Archness is allow'd, where Wit's deny'd;
“But late Aspirers want this little art,
“The low Plebeian talent to be smart.
“Spleen to poor quibbles through their satyr runs;
“O rage! to persecute unhappy puns!
“Burlesqu'd you see the tuneful Hebrew's strain,
“And David is both Bard and Saint in vain.”
“The Stage,” said Bruce, “yet feels a harder fate;
“We see and mourn in vain its drooping state:
“E'er since the town to Cato rung applause,
“And Roman Virtue sav'd the British Laws;
“No Hero wakes our pity, or our fears,
“No soft distress dissolves the soul to tears.”
“We see and mourn in vain its drooping state:
41
“And Roman Virtue sav'd the British Laws;
“No Hero wakes our pity, or our fears,
“No soft distress dissolves the soul to tears.”
“The Comic Muse,” here Wildair, “hides her head;
“The Comic Mufe with Steele and Congreve fled:
“Just strokes of humour Steele can best impart,
“And picture human life with truest art:
“They who have genius, our applauses shun;
“They labour to obtain them, who have none.”
“The Comic Mufe with Steele and Congreve fled:
“Just strokes of humour Steele can best impart,
“And picture human life with truest art:
“They who have genius, our applauses shun;
“They labour to obtain them, who have none.”
“'Tis plain,” Sir Fopling cry'd, “'tis plainly so:
“For me, I have not writ, of late, you know:
“This province the Triumvirs only claim,
“Crown'd, by The Wife of Bath, with thundering fame;
“To see their first essay, the House was full;
“None fear'd a secret to make Chaucer dull:
“This damn'd, absurder projects they disclose,
“And raise preposterous mirth from human woes:
“From generous minds th' unhappy claim relief,
“And Virtue sees a dignity in grief;
“But they, with sport unknown to human breast,
“Laugh in distresses, and in horrors jest.”
“For me, I have not writ, of late, you know:
“This province the Triumvirs only claim,
“Crown'd, by The Wife of Bath, with thundering fame;
“To see their first essay, the House was full;
“None fear'd a secret to make Chaucer dull:
“This damn'd, absurder projects they disclose,
“And raise preposterous mirth from human woes:
“From generous minds th' unhappy claim relief,
“And Virtue sees a dignity in grief;
“But they, with sport unknown to human breast,
“Laugh in distresses, and in horrors jest.”
These censures sounded harsh in Bruce's ear:
“O fie, fie! Fopling, you are too severe.”
“O fie, fie! Fopling, you are too severe.”
“He speaks blunt truths,” says Wildair; “'tis his use.”
“Nay, it's not worth contesting,” answer'd Bruce;
“Their last attempt, I own, I least commend;
“'Tis hard to please, though easy to offend.”
“Their last attempt, I own, I least commend;
“'Tis hard to please, though easy to offend.”
42
“That Play,” retorted Fopling, “was so lewd,
“Ev'n Bullies blush'd, and Beaux astonish'd stood;
“But gentle Widows with soft Maids prevail,
“And kindly save the Alligator's tail:
“Ill-fated, in a barren age, we stand;
“And Poetry no more shall bless the land.”
“Ev'n Bullies blush'd, and Beaux astonish'd stood;
“But gentle Widows with soft Maids prevail,
“And kindly save the Alligator's tail:
“Ill-fated, in a barren age, we stand;
“And Poetry no more shall bless the land.”
“Soft,” cry'd Sir Harry; “Poets we can name,
“In other kinds, the glorious Heirs of Fame:
“The Wit he praises, happier Garth improves,
“And is himself the Ovid whom he loves:
“When Philips through the tuneful groves complains,
“Arcadian softness melts in English strains:
“Like Titian's finish'd work is Tickell's song,
“The colouring beauteous, and the figures strong:
“Ev'n Pope (I speak the judgement of his foes)
“The sweets of rhime and easy measures knows.”
“In other kinds, the glorious Heirs of Fame:
“The Wit he praises, happier Garth improves,
“And is himself the Ovid whom he loves:
“When Philips through the tuneful groves complains,
“Arcadian softness melts in English strains:
“Like Titian's finish'd work is Tickell's song,
“The colouring beauteous, and the figures strong:
43
“The sweets of rhime and easy measures knows.”
“This,” answered Fopling, “is a vulgar art,
“Which never wakes the soul, or warms the heart:
“He wants the spirit, and informing flame,
“Which breathes divine, and gives a Poet's name:
“His verse the mind to indolence may sooth;
“The strain is even, and the numbers smooth;
“But 'tis all level plain; no mountains rise,
“No startling line, that's pregnant with surprize.”
“Which never wakes the soul, or warms the heart:
“He wants the spirit, and informing flame,
“Which breathes divine, and gives a Poet's name:
“His verse the mind to indolence may sooth;
“The strain is even, and the numbers smooth;
“But 'tis all level plain; no mountains rise,
“No startling line, that's pregnant with surprize.”
Here some incline to praise what others blame;
So hard it is to fix Poetic Fame:
Bacchus no more the circling healths renews;
When, to divert our thoughts from critic views,
A flask I rear'd, whose sluice began to fail,
And told from Phædrus this facetious Tale.
So hard it is to fix Poetic Fame:
Bacchus no more the circling healths renews;
When, to divert our thoughts from critic views,
A flask I rear'd, whose sluice began to fail,
And told from Phædrus this facetious Tale.
“Sabina, very old, and very dry,
“Chanc'd, on a time, an empty flask to spy:
“The flask but lately had been thrown aside,
“With the rich grape of Tuscan vineyards dy'd;
“But lately, gushing from the slender spout,
“Its life, in purple streams, had issued out:
“The costly flavour still to sense remain'd,
“And still its sides the violet colour stain'd:
“A sight so sweet taught wrinkled age to smile;
“Pleas'd she imbibes the generous fumes a while,
“Then, downward turn'd, the vessel gently props,
“And drains with patient care the lucid drops:
“O balmy spirit of Etruria's vine,
“O fragrant flask, she said, too lately mine!
“If such delights, though empty, thou canst yield,
“What wondrous raptures didst thou give, when fill'd!”
“Chanc'd, on a time, an empty flask to spy:
“The flask but lately had been thrown aside,
“With the rich grape of Tuscan vineyards dy'd;
“But lately, gushing from the slender spout,
“Its life, in purple streams, had issued out:
“The costly flavour still to sense remain'd,
“And still its sides the violet colour stain'd:
“A sight so sweet taught wrinkled age to smile;
“Pleas'd she imbibes the generous fumes a while,
“Then, downward turn'd, the vessel gently props,
“And drains with patient care the lucid drops:
“O balmy spirit of Etruria's vine,
“O fragrant flask, she said, too lately mine!
“If such delights, though empty, thou canst yield,
“What wondrous raptures didst thou give, when fill'd!”
This merry Fable, obvious to explain,
Instructs the glass to flower and smile again;
Free from debates, unmingled joys we boast;
The theme was Love, and Beauty was the toast;
Each star appear'd with native lustre bright;
But Cælia was the Venus of the night.
Instructs the glass to flower and smile again;
Free from debates, unmingled joys we boast;
The theme was Love, and Beauty was the toast;
44
But Cælia was the Venus of the night.
If numbers, and the power of verse I knew,
Now to the Palace I would guide thy view,
The pomp and grandeur of our Isle display,
And to thy thought each shining scene convey:
Here, round their Prince a valiant band are plac'd,
With wounds, and trophies torn from Rebels, grac'd:
There a bright train of smiling Beauties rise,
Who plead their Monarch's right with conquering eyes;
The smiles of Beauty legal power maintain,
And Liberty and Love together reign.
Now to the Palace I would guide thy view,
The pomp and grandeur of our Isle display,
And to thy thought each shining scene convey:
Here, round their Prince a valiant band are plac'd,
With wounds, and trophies torn from Rebels, grac'd:
There a bright train of smiling Beauties rise,
Who plead their Monarch's right with conquering eyes;
The smiles of Beauty legal power maintain,
And Liberty and Love together reign.
Still Walpole, not restor'd in vain to health,
Directs with frugal honour public wealth:
O Patriot, whom each Muse and Gift adorn!
With all the powers of great persuasion born!
Rais'd by the Muse, the Muse's cause defend;
Renown'd for Arts, oh, be to Arts a friend:
Propitious on thy own Minerva shine,
And prove to Her a Patron, who was thine:
Adorn'd with wit refin'd! possess'd of power!
Oh, let Imposture lift her brow no more:
Cherish'd by thee, the genuine bays shall spread,
And plant eternal honours round thy head:
'Tis thine to wake another Mantuan strain,
And raise a learned age in Brunswick's reign.
Directs with frugal honour public wealth:
O Patriot, whom each Muse and Gift adorn!
With all the powers of great persuasion born!
Rais'd by the Muse, the Muse's cause defend;
Renown'd for Arts, oh, be to Arts a friend:
Propitious on thy own Minerva shine,
And prove to Her a Patron, who was thine:
Adorn'd with wit refin'd! possess'd of power!
Oh, let Imposture lift her brow no more:
Cherish'd by thee, the genuine bays shall spread,
And plant eternal honours round thy head:
'Tis thine to wake another Mantuan strain,
And raise a learned age in Brunswick's reign.
Zeal to the public, and the Patriot's praise,
To other themes have led my erring lays:
Excuse the rapture, gentle Maid; nor blame
A loyal Muse, that pants for England's fame:
Two equal slames Palæmon's breast refine;
One is his Country's, and the other thine.
To other themes have led my erring lays:
Excuse the rapture, gentle Maid; nor blame
A loyal Muse, that pants for England's fame:
Two equal slames Palæmon's breast refine;
One is his Country's, and the other thine.
45
ACON and LAVINIA.
A Love-Tale.
Among the Nymphs, who random conquests boast,
Lavinia spreads the careless triumph most:
Flush'd with immortal bloom, where'er she moves,
All eyes adore, and each beholder loves:
Free from concern she seems, while crowds admire;
And with unconscious beauty wakes desire:
Unrival'd in the heedless art to please,
Pain to all hearts she gives, her own at ease.
Lavinia spreads the careless triumph most:
46
All eyes adore, and each beholder loves:
Free from concern she seems, while crowds admire;
And with unconscious beauty wakes desire:
Unrival'd in the heedless art to please,
Pain to all hearts she gives, her own at ease.
The crowd of females shine in gay brocades,
And half their charms are lost in lights and shades:
Hid in the rich embarrassments of art,
A Nymph is of herself the smallest part:
Lavinia nor with diamond stars is dress'd,
Nor rubies bleed in crosslets on her breast:
The Persian loom and glittering tissue scorn'd,
She boasts more envy'd graces, unadorn'd:
No aid from cost she needs; for Nature's care
With a free hand indulg'd her to be fair.
And half their charms are lost in lights and shades:
Hid in the rich embarrassments of art,
A Nymph is of herself the smallest part:
Lavinia nor with diamond stars is dress'd,
Nor rubies bleed in crosslets on her breast:
The Persian loom and glittering tissue scorn'd,
She boasts more envy'd graces, unadorn'd:
No aid from cost she needs; for Nature's care
With a free hand indulg'd her to be fair.
Her glossy tresses wear the golden hue,
The lustre which in sunny rays we view:
Her rosy cheek a genuine vermeil dyes,
And a bright blue the fluid in her eyes!
Behold her bosom, an expanded white,
Opening at large, the prospect of delight!
The finish'd figure, not retouch'd by art,
Imprints a lasting image on the heart.
The lustre which in sunny rays we view:
Her rosy cheek a genuine vermeil dyes,
And a bright blue the fluid in her eyes!
Behold her bosom, an expanded white,
Opening at large, the prospect of delight!
The finish'd figure, not retouch'd by art,
Imprints a lasting image on the heart.
This matchless Nymph, ere Nature's genial fire
Warm'd her unripen'd bosom to desire,
By virgin legends to disdain betray'd,
Had vow'd to live, and vow'd to die a maid:
From man and Hymen's dreaded rites she flew,
A rebel to the joys she never knew;
Resolv'd her sex's fortune not to share,
And shun alike the folly and the care:
Fond of sequester'd scenes, from noise remov'd,
The shady wood and limpid stream she lov'd;
Oft seen a huntress in the shady wood,
And often bathing in the limpid flood:
Now, with the morn she chac'd the flying fawns
Through the green meadows, and the shrubby lawns;
Now, lost in thought, and pleas'd alone to stray,
Through silent shades she marks her pathless way:
But, while through Nature's works she joys to rove,
She never thinks of Nature's parent, Love.
Warm'd her unripen'd bosom to desire,
By virgin legends to disdain betray'd,
Had vow'd to live, and vow'd to die a maid:
From man and Hymen's dreaded rites she flew,
A rebel to the joys she never knew;
Resolv'd her sex's fortune not to share,
And shun alike the folly and the care:
Fond of sequester'd scenes, from noise remov'd,
The shady wood and limpid stream she lov'd;
Oft seen a huntress in the shady wood,
And often bathing in the limpid flood:
47
Through the green meadows, and the shrubby lawns;
Now, lost in thought, and pleas'd alone to stray,
Through silent shades she marks her pathless way:
But, while through Nature's works she joys to rove,
She never thinks of Nature's parent, Love.
The scene that bless'd lavinia's leisure smil'd
With hills, and vales, and woods; a blooming wild!
She shunn'd the sultry ray in jasmine bowers;
She trod on carpets of sweet-smelling flowers;
Where'er she turns, luxuriant landskips rise,
And still she breathes in aromatic skies;
For with the day spontaneous sweets are born,
And shed the fragrant freshness of the morn:
Echoes and rude cascades are heard around,
While, with soft murmurs, through th' enchanted ground,
A winding rivulet shapes its silver flow,
And shews a shining bed of sands below:
Wide-branching trees are rang'd on either side;
The branching shadows tremble in the tide.
With hills, and vales, and woods; a blooming wild!
She shunn'd the sultry ray in jasmine bowers;
She trod on carpets of sweet-smelling flowers;
Where'er she turns, luxuriant landskips rise,
And still she breathes in aromatic skies;
For with the day spontaneous sweets are born,
And shed the fragrant freshness of the morn:
Echoes and rude cascades are heard around,
While, with soft murmurs, through th' enchanted ground,
A winding rivulet shapes its silver flow,
And shews a shining bed of sands below:
Wide-branching trees are rang'd on either side;
The branching shadows tremble in the tide.
This chaste recess, this unfrequented shade,
By day for Nymphs, by night for Fairies made,
Lavinia's hours, devoid of care, employs,
And soothes her soul with fond romantic joys:
Oft in the silver stream herself she views,
And, often pleas'd, her likeness oft renews;
There grace in dress she learn'd, in motion ease;
And practis'd, though she knew not why, to please:
Now some poetic tale her mind relieves;
And now she bathes, and now the garlands weaves;
A thousand follies, to amuse, she tries;
A thousand different ways from Love she flies:
But all her thousand follies fruitless prove,
And all the arts she tries are snares of Love.
By day for Nymphs, by night for Fairies made,
Lavinia's hours, devoid of care, employs,
And soothes her soul with fond romantic joys:
Oft in the silver stream herself she views,
And, often pleas'd, her likeness oft renews;
There grace in dress she learn'd, in motion ease;
And practis'd, though she knew not why, to please:
Now some poetic tale her mind relieves;
And now she bathes, and now the garlands weaves;
A thousand follies, to amuse, she tries;
A thousand different ways from Love she flies:
But all her thousand follies fruitless prove,
And all the arts she tries are snares of Love.
48
A youthful suitor, Acon was his name,
Though hopeless to approve his faithful flame,
Languish'd her beauties naked to explore,
And still the more he saw, he languish'd more.
Within a secret grot, clandestine laid,
Oft, when she bath'd, he view'd the heavenly maid:
His piercing eye ran quick o'er every part,
And took in all Lavinia, but her heart:
As painters master-works, he scans her o'er,
And dwells on beauties unobferv'd before;
And spies out graces, through her faultless frame,
So cast in shades, so nice, they want a name.
Though hopeless to approve his faithful flame,
Languish'd her beauties naked to explore,
And still the more he saw, he languish'd more.
Within a secret grot, clandestine laid,
Oft, when she bath'd, he view'd the heavenly maid:
His piercing eye ran quick o'er every part,
And took in all Lavinia, but her heart:
As painters master-works, he scans her o'er,
And dwells on beauties unobferv'd before;
And spies out graces, through her faultless frame,
So cast in shades, so nice, they want a name.
Of all who strove Lavinia's heart to gain,
She heard with least reluctance Acon's pain;
Not proud to scorn, nor kind to ease his fate;
Averse to love, but wanting power to hate:
His growing virtues lavish to commend,
She wish'd those virtues in a female friend;
All she could give, she gave; and strove to show,
She was not Acon's, but his passion's foe.
She heard with least reluctance Acon's pain;
Not proud to scorn, nor kind to ease his fate;
Averse to love, but wanting power to hate:
His growing virtues lavish to commend,
She wish'd those virtues in a female friend;
All she could give, she gave; and strove to show,
She was not Acon's, but his passion's foe.
Once on a day, a most auspicious day!
While in his grot the longing Lover lay,
She came, her wonted hour, to bathe undrest;
Misdeeming nought, she loos'd her flowing vest:
Her vest by wanton winds was wav'd aside,
And only fann'd the limbs it us'd to hide:
The needless covering, now, apart she threw,
And gave her spotless form entire to view:
A blaze of charms, unveil'd, the Vestal shows,
And beauties in a bright assemblage rose:
A while her watery picture she survey'd,
Pleas'd with the fair creation which she made;
Then, stepping in, defac'd the rival shade:
Confiding to the stream, around her throng
The liquid waves, and bear the Nymph along;
Her pliant limbs the liquid waves divide,
And shine, like polish'd marble, through the tide;
As lilies, clos'd in chrystal, court the sight
With a new lustre, and a purer white.
While in his grot the longing Lover lay,
She came, her wonted hour, to bathe undrest;
Misdeeming nought, she loos'd her flowing vest:
Her vest by wanton winds was wav'd aside,
And only fann'd the limbs it us'd to hide:
The needless covering, now, apart she threw,
And gave her spotless form entire to view:
A blaze of charms, unveil'd, the Vestal shows,
And beauties in a bright assemblage rose:
A while her watery picture she survey'd,
Pleas'd with the fair creation which she made;
Then, stepping in, defac'd the rival shade:
Confiding to the stream, around her throng
The liquid waves, and bear the Nymph along;
Her pliant limbs the liquid waves divide,
And shine, like polish'd marble, through the tide;
49
With a new lustre, and a purer white.
And now her sportive exercise is o'er:
Cool from the stream, she seeks the flowery shore;
Stretch'd on the tender herb, with cowslips spread,
Her ivory arm supports her bending head;
And now soft sleep her softer soul disarms,
And triumphs o'er her unmisgiving charms:
Half naked, cover'd half, supine she lay,
In sight of Acon, and the face of day.
How should th' impatient Youth an object bear,
Distracting sight! so opportunely fair!
Forth from the grot he springs, resolv'd to prove
The lucky hour, if such there be in love;
Resolv'd, howe'er, his certain fate to try;
To live belov'd, or by her scorn to die.
Cool from the stream, she seeks the flowery shore;
Stretch'd on the tender herb, with cowslips spread,
Her ivory arm supports her bending head;
And now soft sleep her softer soul disarms,
And triumphs o'er her unmisgiving charms:
Half naked, cover'd half, supine she lay,
In sight of Acon, and the face of day.
How should th' impatient Youth an object bear,
Distracting sight! so opportunely fair!
Forth from the grot he springs, resolv'd to prove
The lucky hour, if such there be in love;
Resolv'd, howe'er, his certain fate to try;
To live belov'd, or by her scorn to die.
Her nearer beauties give him new surprize:
He views her all at large, except her eyes;
Her eyes alone the power of sleep withdrew;
He view'd her lips, but could not only view;
He gently stoop'd, and, fearful of the bliss,
Ravish'd with doubtful joy a hasty kiss:
The Virgin started, and back sprung the Swain,
With fear half-dying, but his fear was vain;
For 'twas not the kind kiss, that made her start;
'Twas not the kiss, that trembled from her heart.
He views her all at large, except her eyes;
Her eyes alone the power of sleep withdrew;
He view'd her lips, but could not only view;
He gently stoop'd, and, fearful of the bliss,
Ravish'd with doubtful joy a hasty kiss:
The Virgin started, and back sprung the Swain,
With fear half-dying, but his fear was vain;
For 'twas not the kind kiss, that made her start;
'Twas not the kiss, that trembled from her heart.
The slighted God of Love, who long address'd
His shafts in vain against Lavinia's breast,
Had sent a dream, her fancy to dismay,
While fetter'd in the chain of sleep she lay:
Before her stands the image of a rape,
And shews the ravisher in Acon's shape;
The strong delusion paints th' enamour'd Boy,
Eager to seize, and rushing to his joy:
She shudders at the crime, and fain would fly;
Her feet seem fasten'd, and the flight deny:
Now, his fierce grasp she struggles to elude,
Now, breathless lies, and seems to Love subdued:
The phantom with such energy deceiv'd,
Her colour vary'd, and her bosom heav'd,
And broken sighs and troubled murmurs rose;
No dubious tokens of her fancy'd woes.
His shafts in vain against Lavinia's breast,
Had sent a dream, her fancy to dismay,
While fetter'd in the chain of sleep she lay:
Before her stands the image of a rape,
And shews the ravisher in Acon's shape;
50
Eager to seize, and rushing to his joy:
She shudders at the crime, and fain would fly;
Her feet seem fasten'd, and the flight deny:
Now, his fierce grasp she struggles to elude,
Now, breathless lies, and seems to Love subdued:
The phantom with such energy deceiv'd,
Her colour vary'd, and her bosom heav'd,
And broken sighs and troubled murmurs rose;
No dubious tokens of her fancy'd woes.
Acon perceiv'd the tumult of her mind,
And what the dream suggested, half divin'd:
What could he do to strengthen the deceit,
And to her waking heart her fears repeat?
Led by his happy guess, and from despair
Grown cunning to contrive, and apt to dare;
His vestments loose he threw, and aim'd to seem
Some lustful God, fresh-rising from the stream:
Panting and new from flushing joys he show'd,
And with dissembled heat his features glow'd:
Th' event may happy or unhappy prove,
Precipitate her hate, or speed his love:
Then boldly let him give his fancy scope;
He needs not fear, who is depriv'd of hope.
And what the dream suggested, half divin'd:
What could he do to strengthen the deceit,
And to her waking heart her fears repeat?
Led by his happy guess, and from despair
Grown cunning to contrive, and apt to dare;
His vestments loose he threw, and aim'd to seem
Some lustful God, fresh-rising from the stream:
Panting and new from flushing joys he show'd,
And with dissembled heat his features glow'd:
Th' event may happy or unhappy prove,
Precipitate her hate, or speed his love:
Then boldly let him give his fancy scope;
He needs not fear, who is depriv'd of hope.
Now from the Virgin's eyes the slumber fell,
And Love aveng'd dissolves the drowsy spell:
Her Lover seen, she sickens at the sight,
And her pale cheeks confess a wild affright:
She shuns his look, her eyes in doubtful tears;
Her eyes see only to confirm her fears;
Her posture, and her dress, the place, the youth,
Assist the fraud, and give it force like truth:
Sunk in confusion, and oppress'd with shame,
She now no longer doubts her injur'd fame:
On rage at first her frantic thoughts are bent;
But soon, alas! her idle rage is spent:
She pines, she droops, desponding of relief,
And all her passions soften into grief:
Speechless, awhile, with downcast looks she lies,
The silent anguish streaming from her eyes:
At length her head th' afflicted Nymph uprears,
And adds these moving accents to her tears:
And Love aveng'd dissolves the drowsy spell:
Her Lover seen, she sickens at the sight,
And her pale cheeks confess a wild affright:
She shuns his look, her eyes in doubtful tears;
Her eyes see only to confirm her fears;
Her posture, and her dress, the place, the youth,
Assist the fraud, and give it force like truth:
Sunk in confusion, and oppress'd with shame,
She now no longer doubts her injur'd fame:
51
But soon, alas! her idle rage is spent:
She pines, she droops, desponding of relief,
And all her passions soften into grief:
Speechless, awhile, with downcast looks she lies,
The silent anguish streaming from her eyes:
At length her head th' afflicted Nymph uprears,
And adds these moving accents to her tears:
“If wrongs are doom'd, for crimes unknown, to me;
Yet how do I deserve those wrongs from thee?
Go, base pretender to a Lover's name;
False to thy vows, and traitor to thy flame!
Inhuman Youth, my ravish'd fame restore:
But ravish'd fame, alas! returns no more.
Ye Heavens, if Innocence deserves your care,
Why have you made it fatal to be fair?
Base man the ruin of our sex is born:
The beauteous are his prey, the rest his scorn:
Alike unfortunate, our fate is such,
We please too little, or we please too much.”
Yet how do I deserve those wrongs from thee?
Go, base pretender to a Lover's name;
False to thy vows, and traitor to thy flame!
Inhuman Youth, my ravish'd fame restore:
But ravish'd fame, alas! returns no more.
Ye Heavens, if Innocence deserves your care,
Why have you made it fatal to be fair?
Base man the ruin of our sex is born:
The beauteous are his prey, the rest his scorn:
Alike unfortunate, our fate is such,
We please too little, or we please too much.”
The Cyprian Queen, who gives in Love success,
And guides the lucky seasons of address,
Beheld with pitying eyes Lavinia's grief,
And by a power divine apply'd relief:
In that bless'd hour she taught her favourite swain
The frightful vision kindly to explain,
And gave him skill to plead a Lover's pain.
The long-perplex'd delusion first he clear'd,
And freed her mind from half the ills she fear'd;
Then spoke his passion with such tender art,
The melting inspiration touch'd her heart;
The thoughts that did, before, her terror move,
Are reasons now to sway her soul to Love.
And guides the lucky seasons of address,
Beheld with pitying eyes Lavinia's grief,
And by a power divine apply'd relief:
In that bless'd hour she taught her favourite swain
The frightful vision kindly to explain,
And gave him skill to plead a Lover's pain.
The long-perplex'd delusion first he clear'd,
And freed her mind from half the ills she fear'd;
Then spoke his passion with such tender art,
The melting inspiration touch'd her heart;
The thoughts that did, before, her terror move,
Are reasons now to sway her soul to Love.
52
Now, Acon, the coy Nymph is wholly thine:
Nor will her fame permit her to decline
His suit, who saw her, with familiar eyes,
Asleep, and only cover'd with the skies:
The happy Youth saw, through her guiltless shame,
The first-born blushes of an infant flame;
The sweet confusion of her face he view'd,
Her gentle looks, and soft solicitude:
With welcome force he met her yielding charms,
And press'd the faint Resister in his arms.
Nor will her fame permit her to decline
His suit, who saw her, with familiar eyes,
Asleep, and only cover'd with the skies:
The happy Youth saw, through her guiltless shame,
The first-born blushes of an infant flame;
The sweet confusion of her face he view'd,
Her gentle looks, and soft solicitude:
With welcome force he met her yielding charms,
And press'd the faint Resister in his arms.
The vanquish'd Maid soon rose a sparkling Wife;
Rose to new joys, and unexperienc'd life:
Brib'd with the pleasures of her faultless love,
She quits the limpid stream and shady grove,
On the wild taste of virgin bliss refines,
And in the bright assembly brightest shines.
Rose to new joys, and unexperienc'd life:
Brib'd with the pleasures of her faultless love,
She quits the limpid stream and shady grove,
On the wild taste of virgin bliss refines,
And in the bright assembly brightest shines.
53
Thyrsis and Daphne, A Tale;
In Imitation of CATULLUS.
Thyrsis, the darling of the Fair,
And Daphne, every shepherd's care,
To mutual joys did Love ordain;
And either wore the other's chain:
Their breasts with pleasing tumults tost,
All thoughts in thoughts of Love they lost,
Each hour grew fonder than before,
And every moment doated more:
In groves whose verdures banish day,
In grots where trembling echoes play,
In arbrets green with frequent shade,
Beneath the spreading mulberry laid,
Or on brook-margins, strew'd with flowers,
They joy'd to pass the silent hours;
The silent hours, the brooks, the groves,
Recorded their unalter'd loves.
And Daphne, every shepherd's care,
To mutual joys did Love ordain;
And either wore the other's chain:
Their breasts with pleasing tumults tost,
All thoughts in thoughts of Love they lost,
Each hour grew fonder than before,
And every moment doated more:
In groves whose verdures banish day,
In grots where trembling echoes play,
In arbrets green with frequent shade,
Beneath the spreading mulberry laid,
Or on brook-margins, strew'd with flowers,
They joy'd to pass the silent hours;
The silent hours, the brooks, the groves,
Recorded their unalter'd loves.
There is an hour, by Fate assign'd,
When Nature works on Beauty's mind;
A season, lucky to persuade;
A moment, when the chastest maid,
That feels of Love the melting pains,
Yields to the laws by which he reigns:
Nor watchful guards, nor bars of steel,
Nor cloysters rais'd by Papal zeal,
Can ward the charming Virgin's doom,
When once her hour of bliss is come:
Such was this charming Virgin's fate,
And every Nymph finds soon or late.
From Thyrsis' eye in vain she strove
To hide the longings of her love;
He faw her passion in her face,
And strain'd her in a strict embrace.
When Nature works on Beauty's mind;
A season, lucky to persuade;
A moment, when the chastest maid,
That feels of Love the melting pains,
Yields to the laws by which he reigns:
Nor watchful guards, nor bars of steel,
Nor cloysters rais'd by Papal zeal,
Can ward the charming Virgin's doom,
When once her hour of bliss is come:
Such was this charming Virgin's fate,
And every Nymph finds soon or late.
From Thyrsis' eye in vain she strove
To hide the longings of her love;
54
And strain'd her in a strict embrace.
Behold him clasp'd in Daphne's arms,
The lovely spoiler of her charms!
Abandon'd to his fierce desire
He lies, and trembles to expire:
When, “Oh!” cried she, “my better part!
“Kind inmate of my faithful heart!
“O give not yet desire its sway;
“Soul of my eyes! my Thyrsis, stay!
“Entranc'd together let us lie;
“Together, Thyrsis, let us die!”
The lovely spoiler of her charms!
Abandon'd to his fierce desire
He lies, and trembles to expire:
When, “Oh!” cried she, “my better part!
“Kind inmate of my faithful heart!
“O give not yet desire its sway;
“Soul of my eyes! my Thyrsis, stay!
“Entranc'd together let us lie;
“Together, Thyrsis, let us die!”
With sweet surprize the Shepherd heard
Prayers in such soft distress preferr'd:
And, though Love gives but short delays,
And, travers'd, from his channel strays,
Yet, with those melting whispers press'd,
That shudder'd to his inmost breast,
He strove obedient to refrain,
And check'd the pressing joy with pain.
Prayers in such soft distress preferr'd:
And, though Love gives but short delays,
And, travers'd, from his channel strays,
Yet, with those melting whispers press'd,
That shudder'd to his inmost breast,
He strove obedient to refrain,
And check'd the pressing joy with pain.
What pictures now his mind employ,
In this delightful pause of joy!
What thoughts the soul of Thyrsis rais'd!
A moment on her eyes he gaz'd,
A moment sooth'd her kind complaint,
And languish'd in the still restraint;
At length, indulgent nature sway'd
To equal warmth the tender Maid.
In this delightful pause of joy!
What thoughts the soul of Thyrsis rais'd!
A moment on her eyes he gaz'd,
A moment sooth'd her kind complaint,
And languish'd in the still restraint;
At length, indulgent nature sway'd
To equal warmth the tender Maid.
“Ah! now, my blooming Boy!” she cries,
“Ah! now, my life! thy Daphne dies.”
“Ah! now, my life! thy Daphne dies.”
“And I the keen impulse obey,”
Reply'd the Youth, and died away.
Reply'd the Youth, and died away.
Thus the fond pair resign'd their breath,
And died a transient amorous death;
Returning life they counted pain,
And wish'd and sigh'd to die again.
And died a transient amorous death;
Returning life they counted pain,
And wish'd and sigh'd to die again.
55
To ZELINDA,
in Imitation of TIBULLUS, Book III. Eleg. III.
My labouring breast is swol'n with ceaseless sighs;
With vows and prayers I importune the skies:
In vain my breast its sighing anguish bears;
In vain the skies I importune with prayers:
Still angry Fates with-hold thy wish'd-for charms,
Nor give Zelinda to Amintor's arms.
With vows and prayers I importune the skies:
In vain my breast its sighing anguish bears;
In vain the skies I importune with prayers:
Still angry Fates with-hold thy wish'd-for charms,
Nor give Zelinda to Amintor's arms.
I wish not, under stately roofs, to sleep
On purple beds; nor mighty crops to reap,
High-waving grain, through endless acres sown;
Lord of the harvest, and the year my own!
I covet not th' increase the pasture yields;
The flocks and herds that graze a thousand fields!
My whole desire, if so the Powers decree,
Is, still to love, and to be lov'd by thee;
Long ages on thy panting breast to lie,
And in thy kind embrace, when old, to die.
On purple beds; nor mighty crops to reap,
High-waving grain, through endless acres sown;
Lord of the harvest, and the year my own!
I covet not th' increase the pasture yields;
The flocks and herds that graze a thousand fields!
My whole desire, if so the Powers decree,
Is, still to love, and to be lov'd by thee;
Long ages on thy panting breast to lie,
And in thy kind embrace, when old, to die.
What would avail me through saloons to go,
All glorious with the paint of Angelo?
Or what, historic figures to behold,
On the rich arras wrought, or weav'd in gold?
Of what avail were types on plate emboss'd,
Or sumptuous floors inlaid with regal cost;
Gay watery forms, from magic founts that rise,
The conic greens, and vary'd flowery dies?
Th' ill-judging crowd admire those empty toys:
The arguments for envy and for noise!
Not all the treasures Indian regions bear,
Can soothe inquietude, or banish care.
All glorious with the paint of Angelo?
Or what, historic figures to behold,
On the rich arras wrought, or weav'd in gold?
Of what avail were types on plate emboss'd,
Or sumptuous floors inlaid with regal cost;
Gay watery forms, from magic founts that rise,
The conic greens, and vary'd flowery dies?
Th' ill-judging crowd admire those empty toys:
The arguments for envy and for noise!
Not all the treasures Indian regions bear,
Can soothe inquietude, or banish care.
All human things submit to Fortune's will,
And change by giddy laws from good to ill:
With thee, Zelinda, may it be my fate,
Of life and love to know an equal date!
With thee, an humble cottage-life will please,
Above the pride of royal palaces:
May they, in search of wealth, through dangers rove,
Who feel not beauty, nor have hearts to love!
To others wealth, ye sacred Powers, assign;
To others crowns; but make Zelinda mine.
And change by giddy laws from good to ill:
56
Of life and love to know an equal date!
With thee, an humble cottage-life will please,
Above the pride of royal palaces:
May they, in search of wealth, through dangers rove,
Who feel not beauty, nor have hearts to love!
To others wealth, ye sacred Powers, assign;
To others crowns; but make Zelinda mine.
Oh, how divinely bright the day will rise,
That shall restore thee to my ravish'd eyes!
Oh, long-expected, rise; fair dawn, appear;
The most auspicious of the Julian year!
And thou, bright Goddess! Queen of Paphian groves,
Drawn in thy glittering shell by milk-white doves,
If not a fabled Goddess, oh! impart
The wish'd-for aid, and ease thy votary's heart.
That shall restore thee to my ravish'd eyes!
Oh, long-expected, rise; fair dawn, appear;
The most auspicious of the Julian year!
And thou, bright Goddess! Queen of Paphian groves,
Drawn in thy glittering shell by milk-white doves,
If not a fabled Goddess, oh! impart
The wish'd-for aid, and ease thy votary's heart.
But, if inexorable Fates ordain,
I still shall languish with desponding pain;
To realms of rest and silence let me go,
Where Lovers in oblivion lose their woe!
I still shall languish with desponding pain;
To realms of rest and silence let me go,
Where Lovers in oblivion lose their woe!
The FAULTLESS FAIR.
Of all her works, to polish Woman, most
Does Nature strive, of all her works the boast!
Yet, while she moulds the tender clay with art,
And fashions it for empire o'er the heart;
Short of perfection still she leaves her plan,
In pity to the slave of Beauty, Man!
Bestowing charms, she kindly casts allays,
And what we censure blends with what we praise;
Her gifts unmix'd but rarely do we trace;
We spy a blemish, while we prize a grace.
Aurelia's face assembled crowds adore;
Her shape survey'd, th' enchantment reigns no more:
From Fulvia's eye none e'er confess'd a fire,
Or on her bosom long'd not to expire:
To Love might Chloe melt a flinted breast,
If Chloe with Myrtilla's wit were blest:
Myrtilla to despair might monarchs doom,
Had but Myrtilla youthful Chloe's bloom:
When pensive, Cynthia's charms all hearts obey;
But in her smiles the Goddess fades away:
If Cynthia smile, all hearts are free from pain;
But let her languish, and they pant again.
Does Nature strive, of all her works the boast!
Yet, while she moulds the tender clay with art,
And fashions it for empire o'er the heart;
Short of perfection still she leaves her plan,
In pity to the slave of Beauty, Man!
Bestowing charms, she kindly casts allays,
And what we censure blends with what we praise;
Her gifts unmix'd but rarely do we trace;
We spy a blemish, while we prize a grace.
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Her shape survey'd, th' enchantment reigns no more:
From Fulvia's eye none e'er confess'd a fire,
Or on her bosom long'd not to expire:
To Love might Chloe melt a flinted breast,
If Chloe with Myrtilla's wit were blest:
Myrtilla to despair might monarchs doom,
Had but Myrtilla youthful Chloe's bloom:
When pensive, Cynthia's charms all hearts obey;
But in her smiles the Goddess fades away:
If Cynthia smile, all hearts are free from pain;
But let her languish, and they pant again.
Thus graces with defects together spring,
And the same hour does chains and freedom bring:
Thou only claim'st, my Love, sincere applause,
Exempted from Creation's common laws;
To thee, Zelinda, Nature, over-kind,
Gave all her gifts of feature and of mind;
Thee she did finish with an Artist's care,
Without a rival, and a Faultless Fair!
Thy envy'd form does every charm disclose,
And in that nursery every beauty grows.
And the same hour does chains and freedom bring:
Thou only claim'st, my Love, sincere applause,
Exempted from Creation's common laws;
To thee, Zelinda, Nature, over-kind,
Gave all her gifts of feature and of mind;
Thee she did finish with an Artist's care,
Without a rival, and a Faultless Fair!
Thy envy'd form does every charm disclose,
And in that nursery every beauty grows.
So the fam'd Tree, that springs in Java's groves,
Bends with its freight of Nutmeg, Mace, and Cloves;
One costly sap the precious load supplies,
And from one stem the mingled odours rise;
Beneath its shade, indulg'd, the natives lie,
And in a scene so soft desire to die.
Bends with its freight of Nutmeg, Mace, and Cloves;
One costly sap the precious load supplies,
And from one stem the mingled odours rise;
Beneath its shade, indulg'd, the natives lie,
And in a scene so soft desire to die.
58
THE PORTRAITURE.
When Titian did in lights and shades disclose
The Nymph he languish'd for, a Venus rose:
He touch'd her beauties, and surpass'd his art;
Beauties which Love had painted on his heart:
Carnation-freshness on her cheek he shed,
And temper'd, as it grew, the kindling red:
Through its fine progress all her shape he trac'd,
Deduc'd in soft proportion to her waist:
With whitest blossoms did her bosom vie:
Her bosom panted to the cheated eye!
The finish'd form, the lovely painted Maid,
To every land the Painter's fame convey'd;
All eyes beheld her beauty with despair,
And pin'd in secret for a fancy'd Fair.
The Nymph he languish'd for, a Venus rose:
He touch'd her beauties, and surpass'd his art;
Beauties which Love had painted on his heart:
Carnation-freshness on her cheek he shed,
And temper'd, as it grew, the kindling red:
Through its fine progress all her shape he trac'd,
Deduc'd in soft proportion to her waist:
With whitest blossoms did her bosom vie:
Her bosom panted to the cheated eye!
The finish'd form, the lovely painted Maid,
To every land the Painter's fame convey'd;
All eyes beheld her beauty with despair,
And pin'd in secret for a fancy'd Fair.
If Poesy on Picture may refine:
Or could I call that Roman's genius mine!
Since one my fate in love, and like my flame,
My art ally'd to his, or near the same:
Thy fame, Zelinda, should unrival'd be,
And Titian's Mistress yield the prize to Thee:
Unfaded should'st thou wear thy youthful prime;
And count, my Love, among thy conquests, Time:
Thy eye's lost lustre should no day upbraid,
Or see thy temples want their golden shade:
Thy smooth soft neck despoil'd no year should show,
Nor age pollute its everlasting snow.
Or could I call that Roman's genius mine!
Since one my fate in love, and like my flame,
My art ally'd to his, or near the same:
Thy fame, Zelinda, should unrival'd be,
And Titian's Mistress yield the prize to Thee:
Unfaded should'st thou wear thy youthful prime;
And count, my Love, among thy conquests, Time:
Thy eye's lost lustre should no day upbraid,
Or see thy temples want their golden shade:
Thy smooth soft neck despoil'd no year should show,
Nor age pollute its everlasting snow.
What lies within the compass of my art,
All that I can, my Charmer, I impart;
Oft strive thy beauties to reveal to sight,
And shew thee in the Muse's shade and light:
Now to thy cheek its blushing stain I give,
And bid the undissembled roses live;
Now imitate thy hand, or veiny wrist;
Now thy white neck reclining to be kiss'd;
Now one, and then by turns another charm;
Thy lip soft-swelling, or thy ivory arm:
At leisure, then the Portrait I review,
And with the copy'd Nymph compare the true:
Oh, with what languor is the work sustain'd!
How does the genuine Maid surpass the feign'd!
How short an abstract is the painted Fair!
How little of th' original is there!
All that I can, my Charmer, I impart;
Oft strive thy beauties to reveal to sight,
And shew thee in the Muse's shade and light:
Now to thy cheek its blushing stain I give,
And bid the undissembled roses live;
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Now thy white neck reclining to be kiss'd;
Now one, and then by turns another charm;
Thy lip soft-swelling, or thy ivory arm:
At leisure, then the Portrait I review,
And with the copy'd Nymph compare the true:
Oh, with what languor is the work sustain'd!
How does the genuine Maid surpass the feign'd!
How short an abstract is the painted Fair!
How little of th' original is there!
Oft as thou sitt'st, sweet-smiling in my eye;
A thousand charms, unfound before, I spy:
A thousand soft results of air and mien,
That 'scap'd the curious sight till now, are seen;
A thousand more lie hid, and wait alone
The seasons and inducements to be shewn:
No hour, but whence its birth some beauty dates,
And scarce a gesture but a grace creates;
Not any passion but restores to view
The dormant beauties, or produces new;
No grief, but every feature does alarm;
No joy, but varies or exalts a charm:
Each added charm into the piece I cast;
Yet ne'er can call the charm, I add, the last:
In vain a single picture strives to trace,
Through every attitude, thy matchless face;
Nor one, but many plans it would require,
To paint thee all, and give the Nymph entire.
A thousand charms, unfound before, I spy:
A thousand soft results of air and mien,
That 'scap'd the curious sight till now, are seen;
A thousand more lie hid, and wait alone
The seasons and inducements to be shewn:
No hour, but whence its birth some beauty dates,
And scarce a gesture but a grace creates;
Not any passion but restores to view
The dormant beauties, or produces new;
No grief, but every feature does alarm;
No joy, but varies or exalts a charm:
Each added charm into the piece I cast;
Yet ne'er can call the charm, I add, the last:
In vain a single picture strives to trace,
Through every attitude, thy matchless face;
Nor one, but many plans it would require,
To paint thee all, and give the Nymph entire.
Thus do I start, and thus pursue my game,
Solicitous to raise thy Beauty's fame:
Nor shall thy Beauty's fame, if I presage
Aright, not last beyond the present age;
Nor shall thy bloom, a fading essence, die,
But charm posterity's admiring eye:
Zelinda was not destin'd to decay,
Or but to reign the Goddess of a day,
Like vulgar Virgins, of an humbler lot,
Prais'd in one age, and in the next forgot!
Solicitous to raise thy Beauty's fame:
Nor shall thy Beauty's fame, if I presage
Aright, not last beyond the present age;
Nor shall thy bloom, a fading essence, die,
But charm posterity's admiring eye:
Zelinda was not destin'd to decay,
Or but to reign the Goddess of a day,
Like vulgar Virgins, of an humbler lot,
Prais'd in one age, and in the next forgot!
60
The PICTURE of a fine April Morning.
The snows are melted, and the frosts are past;
No longer do we dread the wintery blast:
What garland shall Amintor now design?
What wreath, Zelinda, round thy temple twine?
For wreaths of every kind the season yields:
And garlands rest in plenty through the fields.
No longer do we dread the wintery blast:
What garland shall Amintor now design?
What wreath, Zelinda, round thy temple twine?
For wreaths of every kind the season yields:
And garlands rest in plenty through the fields.
The dawning year revives the poet's fire;
Soft strains of Love returning suns inspire:
In every wood, behold, in every glade,
Th' unsully'd verdure, and the growing shade!
All nature, like a bride, emerges bright;
And her lap teems, luxuriant with delight.
Soft strains of Love returning suns inspire:
In every wood, behold, in every glade,
Th' unsully'd verdure, and the growing shade!
All nature, like a bride, emerges bright;
And her lap teems, luxuriant with delight.
O'er tepid plains the tempering Zephyrs pass,
Call forth the bursting leaves, and spring the grass:
Afresh the painted Pansy rears its head;
The whiten'd meadow starry Daisies spread:
The birds sweet-warble from the sappy boughs;
And swains in tuneful sighs renew their vows.
Call forth the bursting leaves, and spring the grass:
Afresh the painted Pansy rears its head;
The whiten'd meadow starry Daisies spread:
The birds sweet-warble from the sappy boughs;
And swains in tuneful sighs renew their vows.
Inspire, oh blooming Maid, my artless lay,
While I recall our first auspicious day;
The dawn! my fair, when early I address'd
My tender suit, and sigh'd upon thy breast!
Zelinda blush'd; a blush the morning wore:
Zelinda smil'd; nor was it day before.
The sun a radiant lustre holds awhile;
The image of Zelinda's gleamy smile:
A feeble shine does on the water play,
And disappear by turns; a fickle ray.
Zelinda wept; when soon the changing skies
Grow black with gathering clouds, that westward rise;
Thin scatter'd now the drops, like gems, descend:
Now with the frequent shower the lilies bend:
How calm the air! a pleasing stillness reigns;
And the moist verdure brightens through the plains!
Soft-sinking falls the silver rain: when, lo!
Athwart th' horizon stretch'd, the watery bow
Swells its proud arch, with braided colours gay,
That interchange their dyes, and swift decay.
The clouds disperse: the sun pursues on high
His vaulted course, and glows along the sky:
The linnets in the dewy bushes sing;
And every field is redolent of spring.
While I recall our first auspicious day;
The dawn! my fair, when early I address'd
My tender suit, and sigh'd upon thy breast!
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Zelinda smil'd; nor was it day before.
The sun a radiant lustre holds awhile;
The image of Zelinda's gleamy smile:
A feeble shine does on the water play,
And disappear by turns; a fickle ray.
Zelinda wept; when soon the changing skies
Grow black with gathering clouds, that westward rise;
Thin scatter'd now the drops, like gems, descend:
Now with the frequent shower the lilies bend:
How calm the air! a pleasing stillness reigns;
And the moist verdure brightens through the plains!
Soft-sinking falls the silver rain: when, lo!
Athwart th' horizon stretch'd, the watery bow
Swells its proud arch, with braided colours gay,
That interchange their dyes, and swift decay.
The clouds disperse: the sun pursues on high
His vaulted course, and glows along the sky:
The linnets in the dewy bushes sing;
And every field is redolent of spring.
Such was the morn, Zelinda; may it prove
A happy emblem of Amintor's love!
Begun by smiling hopes, but soon o'ercast!
Our jealous fears, like clouds, dispers'd at last.
Pensive I hung my head, like drooping flowers;
And tears my bosom dew'd, like gentle showers:
But soon with settled joys my soul is blest;
Thy face, my Heaven, in lasting smiles is dress'd.
Let fond distrust no more past pains renew:
While thou art kind, Amintor will be true.
A happy emblem of Amintor's love!
Begun by smiling hopes, but soon o'ercast!
Our jealous fears, like clouds, dispers'd at last.
Pensive I hung my head, like drooping flowers;
And tears my bosom dew'd, like gentle showers:
But soon with settled joys my soul is blest;
Thy face, my Heaven, in lasting smiles is dress'd.
Let fond distrust no more past pains renew:
While thou art kind, Amintor will be true.
62
TO ZELINDA.
Cease, Zelinda, to complain:
Ease thy breast of every pain.
Sooner shall the mother find
Hatred vex her tender mind,
When she views her first-born child,
Than Amintor, once beguil'd,
Fly from thine to Cælia's arms,
Or delight in vulgar charms.
Ease thy breast of every pain.
Sooner shall the mother find
Hatred vex her tender mind,
When she views her first-born child,
Than Amintor, once beguil'd,
Fly from thine to Cælia's arms,
Or delight in vulgar charms.
Call to mind the furtive hour,
And the Love-sequester'd bower,
Arch'd with fragrant orange-boughs!
Call to mind our plighted vows!
All the Spring, the joys of May,
Smil'd on that auspicious day:
Winds the branches gently sway'd;
And the sun-beams, through the shade,
Glanc'd in gleams of golden light:
Rob'd wert thou in virgin white:
Rosy shame thy cheeks o er-spread,
And thy olive flush'd with red;
Blushes only, wak'd by Love,
Could thy olive bloom improve.
And the Love-sequester'd bower,
Arch'd with fragrant orange-boughs!
Call to mind our plighted vows!
All the Spring, the joys of May,
Smil'd on that auspicious day:
Winds the branches gently sway'd;
And the sun-beams, through the shade,
Glanc'd in gleams of golden light:
Rob'd wert thou in virgin white:
Rosy shame thy cheeks o er-spread,
And thy olive flush'd with red;
Blushes only, wak'd by Love,
Could thy olive bloom improve.
On thy lips, with moisture strow'd,
Oh, my life! carnations blow'd:
Swelling, melting, breathing sweet;
Oh, those lips I long to meet!
To my darling bliss I sprung;
On thy ruddy lips I hung:
O'er thy spreading chest I stray'd;
In thy joyous bosom play'd:
From thy neck, where hlies rise,
Often pass'd, to kiss thy eyes:
From thy eyes again I go
To thy neck, where lilies grow.
Oh, my life! carnations blow'd:
Swelling, melting, breathing sweet;
Oh, those lips I long to meet!
To my darling bliss I sprung;
On thy ruddy lips I hung:
O'er thy spreading chest I stray'd;
In thy joyous bosom play'd:
From thy neck, where hlies rise,
Often pass'd, to kiss thy eyes:
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To thy neck, where lilies grow.
Beauty still for beauty chang'd,
Over all thy charms I rang'd:
Nor thy forehead, pearly white,
Nor the bow, that shades thy sight,
Nor thy veiny marble wrist,
Nor thy hand remain'd unkiss'd.
Over all thy charms I rang'd:
Nor thy forehead, pearly white,
Nor the bow, that shades thy sight,
Nor thy veiny marble wrist,
Nor thy hand remain'd unkiss'd.
O, my fair, my doating heart
From thy image cannot part:
Think thy jealous Love to blame;
Absence but revives my flame;
Unimprov'd no moment fleets;
Still thy form my fancy meets;
All I do, and all I say,
Shews my faith, and proves thy sway.
From thy image cannot part:
Think thy jealous Love to blame;
Absence but revives my flame;
Unimprov'd no moment fleets;
Still thy form my fancy meets;
All I do, and all I say,
Shews my faith, and proves thy sway.
If my eye does, curious, pass
O'er immortal paint, or brass;
Some resembling grace I find,
Which presents thee to my mind.
If I read in his sweet strain,
Whom the Muse surnam'd “The Swain,”
How the Nymph, of birth divine,
Did in lonely forests shine;
Ravish'd, still I think on thee,
And thy bloom in Thulé see.
Fond remem brance still, anew,
Brings the blissful bower to view;
Where unenvy'd, where unseen,
I, methinks, possess my Queen.
O'er immortal paint, or brass;
Some resembling grace I find,
Which presents thee to my mind.
If I read in his sweet strain,
Whom the Muse surnam'd “The Swain,”
How the Nymph, of birth divine,
Did in lonely forests shine;
Ravish'd, still I think on thee,
And thy bloom in Thulé see.
Fond remem brance still, anew,
Brings the blissful bower to view;
Where unenvy'd, where unseen,
I, methinks, possess my Queen.
64
THE INVITATION.
66
Freeman, I treat to-night; and treat your Friends:
If, happily, from care your thought unbends;
If Lucy rules not with her jealous sway;
I shall expect you at the close of day,
If, happily, from care your thought unbends;
If Lucy rules not with her jealous sway;
I shall expect you at the close of day,
I give you the rough wholesome grape, that grows
In Tuscan vales, or where the Tagus flows;
Or, if the Gallic vine delight you more,
Of Hermitage I boast a slender store.
This is my wealth: If you have better wine,
Make me your Guest; if not, I claim you mine.
In Tuscan vales, or where the Tagus flows;
Or, if the Gallic vine delight you more,
Of Hermitage I boast a slender store.
This is my wealth: If you have better wine,
Make me your Guest; if not, I claim you mine.
Already is my little side-board grac'd;
The glasses marshal'd; the decanters plac'd:
The room is cool; the summer hearth is gay
With greens and flowers, th' exuberance of the May.
Indulge the bliss this chearful season brings;
Omit minuter hopes, and joyless things;
Let fame and riches wait: this happy morn,
With Brunswick, Peace and Liberty were born!
'Tis fit, my Friend, we consecrate to mirth
The day which gave th' illustrious Monarch birth:
When the sun sets, we'll break into delight,
And give to gay festivity the night.
The glasses marshal'd; the decanters plac'd:
The room is cool; the summer hearth is gay
With greens and flowers, th' exuberance of the May.
Indulge the bliss this chearful season brings;
Omit minuter hopes, and joyless things;
Let fame and riches wait: this happy morn,
With Brunswick, Peace and Liberty were born!
'Tis fit, my Friend, we consecrate to mirth
The day which gave th' illustrious Monarch birth:
When the sun sets, we'll break into delight,
And give to gay festivity the night.
Of what avail is fortune unenjoy'd?
Or what is life, in anxious hours employ'd?
Let the dull miser pine with niggard care,
And brood o'er gold devoted to his heir:
While we in honest mirth send time away,
Regardless what severer Sages say.
In chearful minds unbidden joys arise,
And well-tim'd levities become the wise.
Or what is life, in anxious hours employ'd?
67
And brood o'er gold devoted to his heir:
While we in honest mirth send time away,
Regardless what severer Sages say.
In chearful minds unbidden joys arise,
And well-tim'd levities become the wise.
What virtue does not generous Wine impart?
It gives a winning frankness to the heart;
With sprightly hope the drooping spirits arms;
Awakens Love, and brightens Beauty's charms;
High, florid thoughts th' inspiring juices breed;
Spleen they dispell, and clear the brow of need.
It gives a winning frankness to the heart;
With sprightly hope the drooping spirits arms;
Awakens Love, and brightens Beauty's charms;
High, florid thoughts th' inspiring juices breed;
Spleen they dispell, and clear the brow of need.
Expect superfluous splendor from the Great;
Ragousts, and costly follies serv'd in plate;
And ortolans, from distant regions brought.
In foreign arts of luxury untaught,
I give you only lamb from Uxbridge fields:
And add the choicest herb the garden yields;
Silesian lettuce, with soft Lucca oil,
Delicious blessings, of a different soil!
Ragousts, and costly follies serv'd in plate;
And ortolans, from distant regions brought.
In foreign arts of luxury untaught,
I give you only lamb from Uxbridge fields:
And add the choicest herb the garden yields;
Silesian lettuce, with soft Lucca oil,
Delicious blessings, of a different soil!
None do our band of fellowship compose,
But know the chasteness of the banquet-rose.
Belmour is ours; Loveless, with humour stor'd;
And careless Florio, if he keeps his word.
I should exceed your rule, were more allow'd:
There's less of mirth, than tumult, in a crowd.
But know the chasteness of the banquet-rose.
Belmour is ours; Loveless, with humour stor'd;
And careless Florio, if he keeps his word.
I should exceed your rule, were more allow'd:
There's less of mirth, than tumult, in a crowd.
Remember, Time posts on with subtle haste:
Now, as I write, the number'd minutes waste.
Then, Freeman, let us seize the present hour,
And husband the swift moments in our power.
Good-humour bring along, and banish care:
You know your Friends; you know your Bill of Fare.
Now, as I write, the number'd minutes waste.
Then, Freeman, let us seize the present hour,
And husband the swift moments in our power.
Good-humour bring along, and banish care:
You know your Friends; you know your Bill of Fare.
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HORACE, BOOK I. ODE XIX.
The Queen who gives soft wishes birth,The youthful God of Wine and Mirth,
And wanton, libertine Desire,
My mind afresh with Love inspire.
Bright Glycera revives the smart;
Revives the flame within my heart:
The polish of her neck out-shines
The marble born in Parian mines:
Her girlish wantonness has charms;
Her froward play the heart alarms:
Doating on her face, I die;
A face too dazzling to the eye.
All Venus rages in my breast,
And leaves her Cyprian groves unblest:
Nor will she suffer me to write
Of hardy Scythians put to flight,
Or deaths from Parthian quivers sent,
Or things to Love not pertinent.
Here, Boy, to cruel Venus, here
Of living turf an altar rear:
Sweet herbs and frankincense bestow,
And let the winy offering flow:
These rites the Goddess will appease,
And give my frantic bosom ease.
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TIBULLUS, BOOK I. ELEGYI.
Let others wealth amass in heaps of gold,
And many acres plow'd with pride behold;
Disturb'd amidst their daily toil with fears,
Oft as the trumpet sound, or foe appears:
The dire alarm repeated still denies
Peace to their mind, and slumber to their eyes:
An humbler life less painful I require,
While in my parlour shines a nightly fire;
Unblighted while my promis'd harvest grows,
And with the racy grape my vat o'erflows:
Of my own farm the husbandman I'll be,
And prune the vine, and plant the apple-tree;
Nor will I scorn the rustic fork to wield,
Or goad the heifer o'er the furrow'd field;
Or in my arms to bear the bleating lamb,
Or kid forsaken of its heedless dam.
And many acres plow'd with pride behold;
Disturb'd amidst their daily toil with fears,
Oft as the trumpet sound, or foe appears:
The dire alarm repeated still denies
Peace to their mind, and slumber to their eyes:
An humbler life less painful I require,
While in my parlour shines a nightly fire;
Unblighted while my promis'd harvest grows,
And with the racy grape my vat o'erflows:
Of my own farm the husbandman I'll be,
And prune the vine, and plant the apple-tree;
70
Or goad the heifer o'er the furrow'd field;
Or in my arms to bear the bleating lamb,
Or kid forsaken of its heedless dam.
With due lustrations through my flock I go,
And yearly does my milk to Pales flow;
And if a land-mark deck'd with flowers I see,
I worship tow'rds the sacred stone or tree:
Of every orchard, fruit the year bestows,
The choice an offering to Vertumnus grows:
O Ceres, yellow Goddess of the corn!
Thy porch my wheaten garland shall adorn:
Thou, ruddy God, thy sickle shalt display,
To guard my fruit, and fright the birds away:
Nor you invoke I with an empty hand,
Ye Gods, once guardians of a spreading land;
A heifer, then, for a vast herd I slew;
But now a victim lamb is scarcely due:
A lamb I vow; the village youth shall join,
And cry aloud, “O bless the corn and wine!”
Though small, attend, ye powers, my sacrifice,
Nor vessels fashion'd out of clay despise;
While yet the world was of an early date,
The purest clay was molded into plate:
Spare my poor flock, ye men and beasts of prey,
And let the crowded folds your tribute pay.
And yearly does my milk to Pales flow;
And if a land-mark deck'd with flowers I see,
I worship tow'rds the sacred stone or tree:
Of every orchard, fruit the year bestows,
The choice an offering to Vertumnus grows:
O Ceres, yellow Goddess of the corn!
Thy porch my wheaten garland shall adorn:
Thou, ruddy God, thy sickle shalt display,
To guard my fruit, and fright the birds away:
Nor you invoke I with an empty hand,
Ye Gods, once guardians of a spreading land;
A heifer, then, for a vast herd I slew;
But now a victim lamb is scarcely due:
A lamb I vow; the village youth shall join,
And cry aloud, “O bless the corn and wine!”
Though small, attend, ye powers, my sacrifice,
Nor vessels fashion'd out of clay despise;
While yet the world was of an early date,
The purest clay was molded into plate:
Spare my poor flock, ye men and beasts of prey,
And let the crowded folds your tribute pay.
I ask you not those harvests to restore,
Which to their barns my rich forefathers bore:
A sparing crop will all my wants supply,
If stretch'd at ease on my own couch I lie:
How sweet to hear the winds at midnight blow,
While round my Love my tender arms I throw;
Or, when aslant the wintery tempests sweep,
Lull'd by the beating rain, secure to sleep!
This be my lot: let riches be their share,
Who cold and wet and stormy seas can bear;
For I, averse to journey by the wind,
Can plenty in a little income find:
On the cool margin of a murmuring stream,
Shaded by trees, I shun the sultry beam:
Oh! rather let the earth her treasures keep,
Than any virgin should my absence weep!
Which to their barns my rich forefathers bore:
A sparing crop will all my wants supply,
If stretch'd at ease on my own couch I lie:
How sweet to hear the winds at midnight blow,
While round my Love my tender arms I throw;
Or, when aslant the wintery tempests sweep,
Lull'd by the beating rain, secure to sleep!
This be my lot: let riches be their share,
Who cold and wet and stormy seas can bear;
For I, averse to journey by the wind,
Can plenty in a little income find:
71
Shaded by trees, I shun the sultry beam:
Oh! rather let the earth her treasures keep,
Than any virgin should my absence weep!
Do you, Messala, seek out warlike toils
By land and sea, and grace your house with spoils;
While I unactive wear some Beauty's chain,
And watching at her door whole nights complain:
Inglorious be my life, and lost to praise;
So I with thee, my Delia, count my days:
With thee, my Delia, I the plow could speed,
Or sheep upon a lonely mountain feed;
And, while with soft embrace I fold thee round,
Indulge my slumbers on the barren ground:
In vain, alas! are beds of Tyrian dye,
If hopeless in our loves we waking lie;
For then in down and silk no sleep we find,
Nor the soft fall of water lulls the mind.
By land and sea, and grace your house with spoils;
While I unactive wear some Beauty's chain,
And watching at her door whole nights complain:
Inglorious be my life, and lost to praise;
So I with thee, my Delia, count my days:
With thee, my Delia, I the plow could speed,
Or sheep upon a lonely mountain feed;
And, while with soft embrace I fold thee round,
Indulge my slumbers on the barren ground:
In vain, alas! are beds of Tyrian dye,
If hopeless in our loves we waking lie;
For then in down and silk no sleep we find,
Nor the soft fall of water lulls the mind.
How rugged and how void of sense was he,
Who could, to follow camps, abandon thee!
Let him pursue Cilicia's routed bands,
And pitch his tents amidst their conquer'd lands;
In gold and silver, ornaments of pride,
Conspicuous through the cohorts let him ride:
Thee feebly grasping, Delia, let me die,
And view thy beauties with my closing eye;
Then shalt thou weep, then kisses mix with tears,
When on the kindling pile my corpse appears:
Sure thou wilt weep, and tender sorrows feel;
Nor flint thy heart, nor is thy breast of steel.
The youths, the virgins, all shall grace my urn,
With moisten'd eyes, and weeping home return:
Disturb not thou my shade; O Delia, spare
Thy lovely cheeks, and thy dishevel'd hair.
Who could, to follow camps, abandon thee!
Let him pursue Cilicia's routed bands,
And pitch his tents amidst their conquer'd lands;
In gold and silver, ornaments of pride,
Conspicuous through the cohorts let him ride:
Thee feebly grasping, Delia, let me die,
And view thy beauties with my closing eye;
Then shalt thou weep, then kisses mix with tears,
When on the kindling pile my corpse appears:
Sure thou wilt weep, and tender sorrows feel;
Nor flint thy heart, nor is thy breast of steel.
The youths, the virgins, all shall grace my urn,
With moisten'd eyes, and weeping home return:
Disturb not thou my shade; O Delia, spare
Thy lovely cheeks, and thy dishevel'd hair.
While Fate permits, let us our loves enjoy;
Darkness and death will soon our hopes destroy:
Soon will age come; nor Love will then be sped,
Nor dalliances become the hoary head:
Now, Venus, is thy time, when bolts and bars
I bravely force, nor dread fond midnight's jars;
Skill'd in those wars, deaf to the trumpet's call,
Let wounds and wealth to the vain-glorious fall;
Safe in my little fortunes I retire;
No want I fear, nor opulence desire.
Darkness and death will soon our hopes destroy:
Soon will age come; nor Love will then be sped,
Nor dalliances become the hoary head:
72
I bravely force, nor dread fond midnight's jars;
Skill'd in those wars, deaf to the trumpet's call,
Let wounds and wealth to the vain-glorious fall;
Safe in my little fortunes I retire;
No want I fear, nor opulence desire.
A SONG.
I
While in the bower, with beauty bless'd,The lov'd Amintor lies;
While, sinking on Zelinda's breast,
He fondly kiss'd her eyes;
II
A wakeful nightingale, who longHad mourn'd within the shade,
Sweetly renew'd her plaintive song,
And warbled through the glade.
III
“Melodious Songstress,” cry'd the swain,“To shades less happy go;
“Or, if with us thou wilt remain,
“Forbear thy tuneful woe.”
IV
“While in Zelinda's arms I lie,“To Song I am not free;
“On her soft bosom while I sigh,
“I discord find in thee.
V
“Zelinda gives me perfect joys:“Then cease thy fond intrusion;
“Be silent; Music now is noise,
“Variety confusion.”
73
An EPISTLE to His Grace the Duke of CHANDOS.
While over Arts unrival'd you preside,
And to renown the rising Genius guide;
While merit from obscurity you raise,
And call forth modest virtue into praise;
Vouchsafe, my Lord, this suppliant verse to read,
And aid the Muses in their time of need:
No brow with sacred ivy now is crown'd;
No Amaryllis do the woods resound;
The Hero, now the harp in silence lies,
Lives scarcely known, and undistinguish'd dies.
And to renown the rising Genius guide;
While merit from obscurity you raise,
And call forth modest virtue into praise;
Vouchsafe, my Lord, this suppliant verse to read,
And aid the Muses in their time of need:
No brow with sacred ivy now is crown'd;
No Amaryllis do the woods resound;
The Hero, now the harp in silence lies,
Lives scarcely known, and undistinguish'd dies.
Then, Chandos, take the Muses to thy care;
Their ruin'd temples, oh, do Thou repair;
Their ancient honours let thy power restore,
And bid them mourn their Halifax no more.
A race of happy years does Heaven ordain,
And gives th' assurance of a peaceful reign;
If you vouchsafe to lend the timely aid,
Nor Greece nor Rome shall Britain's sons upbraid;
The sunny climes, that boast a kindlier soil,
With hills of wine enrich'd, and groves of oil,
To us in Arts shall yield, to us in Song,
And distant nations prize the British tongue.
The growth of Learning, like the growth of trees,
Thrives unobserv'd, and springs by slow degrees;
Like the fam'd English oak, her head she rears,
And gains perfection through a length of years;
The first essays in Verse are rudely writ,
The numbers rough, and unchastiz'd the wit:
Thus, Brydges, in thy great forefathers' times,
Harsh was our language, and untun'd our rhimes;
Great Spenser first, in blest Eliza's days,
Smooth'd our old metre, and refin'd our lays;
Next manly Milton, Prince of Poets, came,
And to our numbers added Homer's flame;
Since when, in verse few wonders have been wrought,
And our smooth cadence flows devoid of thought.
Their ruin'd temples, oh, do Thou repair;
Their ancient honours let thy power restore,
And bid them mourn their Halifax no more.
A race of happy years does Heaven ordain,
And gives th' assurance of a peaceful reign;
If you vouchsafe to lend the timely aid,
Nor Greece nor Rome shall Britain's sons upbraid;
The sunny climes, that boast a kindlier soil,
With hills of wine enrich'd, and groves of oil,
To us in Arts shall yield, to us in Song,
And distant nations prize the British tongue.
The growth of Learning, like the growth of trees,
Thrives unobserv'd, and springs by slow degrees;
74
And gains perfection through a length of years;
The first essays in Verse are rudely writ,
The numbers rough, and unchastiz'd the wit:
Thus, Brydges, in thy great forefathers' times,
Harsh was our language, and untun'd our rhimes;
Great Spenser first, in blest Eliza's days,
Smooth'd our old metre, and refin'd our lays;
Next manly Milton, Prince of Poets, came,
And to our numbers added Homer's flame;
Since when, in verse few wonders have been wrought,
And our smooth cadence flows devoid of thought.
No more neglected shall the Lyre remain;
Thou, Chandos, shalt improve its heavenly strain:
Thy smiles already in the dawn I see,
And England many Pollios boasts in thee;
To every art thy generous cares extend,
But chiefly shalt thou be the Poet's friend.
Th' approaching times my raptur'd thought engage:
I see arise a new Augustan age:
Here, stretch'd at ease, beneath the beechen boughs,
The Sylvan Poet sings his faithful vows;
Others, retiring from the vulgar throng,
At leisure meditate an Epic Song;
Or chuse the Worthies of a former age,
With all their pomp of grief to fill the stage;
While, here, Historians Brunswick's praise sustain,
Record his deeds, and lengthen out his reign.
Thou, Chandos, shalt improve its heavenly strain:
Thy smiles already in the dawn I see,
And England many Pollios boasts in thee;
To every art thy generous cares extend,
But chiefly shalt thou be the Poet's friend.
Th' approaching times my raptur'd thought engage:
I see arise a new Augustan age:
Here, stretch'd at ease, beneath the beechen boughs,
The Sylvan Poet sings his faithful vows;
Others, retiring from the vulgar throng,
At leisure meditate an Epic Song;
Or chuse the Worthies of a former age,
With all their pomp of grief to fill the stage;
While, here, Historians Brunswick's praise sustain,
Record his deeds, and lengthen out his reign.
In different ages different countries view,
And through its various periods time pursue;
In every age, which generous spirits bore,
The Muse was cherish'd, and had strength to soar;
Disturb'd by civil tumult, she withdrew
From cities far, and lay conceal'd from view:
So the bright passion-flower, in sunshine days,
Its vary'd colours to the light displays;
But, when the blackening sky pours down a storm,
Close-folds its leaves, and hides its radiant form;
Nor can the careful florist then behold
Its purple lustre, and its beams of gold,
And through its various periods time pursue;
In every age, which generous spirits bore,
The Muse was cherish'd, and had strength to soar;
Disturb'd by civil tumult, she withdrew
From cities far, and lay conceal'd from view:
So the bright passion-flower, in sunshine days,
Its vary'd colours to the light displays;
But, when the blackening sky pours down a storm,
Close-folds its leaves, and hides its radiant form;
75
Its purple lustre, and its beams of gold,
Without renown shall be the Patriot's toils;
Th' exploits of Beauty, and the Victor's spoils,
Without their praise; except a deathless song
Their glories to a future date prolong:
Not Helen only, fatal in her charms,
Drew Gods and Heroes to the strife of arms;
Distracting Beauties earlier ages bore,
And Love embroil'd whole empires long before.
Nor did the Grecian Teucer only know
To lance the spear, and bend the Cretan bow;
And many warriors many trophies won,
Ere yet Achilles conquer'd Priam's son:
But, wanting Poets, all, one fate they share,
Alike forgot, the valiant and the fair.
Th' exploits of Beauty, and the Victor's spoils,
Without their praise; except a deathless song
Their glories to a future date prolong:
Not Helen only, fatal in her charms,
Drew Gods and Heroes to the strife of arms;
Distracting Beauties earlier ages bore,
And Love embroil'd whole empires long before.
Nor did the Grecian Teucer only know
To lance the spear, and bend the Cretan bow;
And many warriors many trophies won,
Ere yet Achilles conquer'd Priam's son:
But, wanting Poets, all, one fate they share,
Alike forgot, the valiant and the fair.
With ancient Worthies, Chandos, shalt thou live
In verse, if I a living verse can give:
To thee, betimes, I consecrate my Muse,
For thee the fairest laurels do I chuse;
Employ my thoughts to grace thy favourite name,
And strive thy bounty to repay with fame.
In verse, if I a living verse can give:
To thee, betimes, I consecrate my Muse,
For thee the fairest laurels do I chuse;
Employ my thoughts to grace thy favourite name,
And strive thy bounty to repay with fame.
AN EPIGRAM.
“I owe,” says Metius, “much to Colon's care;“Once only seen, he chose me for his Heir!”
True, Metius; hence your fortunes take their rise;
His Heir you were not, had he seen you twice.”
76
A PROLOGUE occasioned by the Revival of a PLAY of SHAKESPEAR,
written at the Decline of the South-Sea Scheme, 1721.
77
At length, the phrenzy of the realm is o'er,
And the wide-spreading mischief reigns no more:
Lur'd by false prospects, and misguided long,
At last to Balls and Theatres you throng:
A wide outrageous scene we lately saw;
Iniquity and Fraud usurping Law:
Arts, Learning, did they not neglected stand,
And every Virrue languish through the land?
On haughty Clerks did humble Nobles wait;
And Brokers rul'd, like Ministers of State.
And the wide-spreading mischief reigns no more:
Lur'd by false prospects, and misguided long,
At last to Balls and Theatres you throng:
A wide outrageous scene we lately saw;
Iniquity and Fraud usurping Law:
Arts, Learning, did they not neglected stand,
And every Virrue languish through the land?
On haughty Clerks did humble Nobles wait;
And Brokers rul'd, like Ministers of State.
To such excess the lust of wealth was grown,
That every vice was lost in that alone:
Nor Wine nor Women could allure the Rake;
And Libertines reform'd, for lucre-sake.
The Fair, to mingle in the sordid strife,
Forbore their lov'd intrigues; the City Wife
On the dear gay Adulterer ceas'd to smile,
And Marriage-martyrs had a truce a-while;
By other bargains were Love-contracts cross'd,
And Edging mourn'd “her occupation lost:”
From factious noise the Pulpit did refrain,
And Priests preach'd Gospel out of love to gain:
Physicians tainted with the time's disease,
The people died, without the cost of fees:
Alone th' insatiate Miser kept in view
His antient vice, and to himself was true.
That every vice was lost in that alone:
Nor Wine nor Women could allure the Rake;
And Libertines reform'd, for lucre-sake.
78
Forbore their lov'd intrigues; the City Wife
On the dear gay Adulterer ceas'd to smile,
And Marriage-martyrs had a truce a-while;
By other bargains were Love-contracts cross'd,
And Edging mourn'd “her occupation lost:”
From factious noise the Pulpit did refrain,
And Priests preach'd Gospel out of love to gain:
Physicians tainted with the time's disease,
The people died, without the cost of fees:
Alone th' insatiate Miser kept in view
His antient vice, and to himself was true.
Such was the wayward face of things a'late,
When all degrees ran headlong on their fate:
But now, the malice of the magic spent,
The mind returns to its accustom'd bent:
In every breast prevails its first desire;
Poets their verses, Beaux themselves admire;
The Females stretch the fam'd rotundo wide;
Some, to reveal their secrets; some, to hide;
Each character restor'd, at length, we find,
And fopperies rise again of every kind.
When all degrees ran headlong on their fate:
But now, the malice of the magic spent,
The mind returns to its accustom'd bent:
In every breast prevails its first desire;
Poets their verses, Beaux themselves admire;
The Females stretch the fam'd rotundo wide;
Some, to reveal their secrets; some, to hide;
Each character restor'd, at length, we find,
And fopperies rise again of every kind.
Wak'd from your dream, and from misfortunes new,
Less hurtful follies wisely you pursue;
To low provincial Drolls, in crowds, you run,
By foreign modes and foreign nonsense won;
To see French Tumblers three long hours you sit,
And Criticks judge of capers in the Pit.
Less hurtful follies wisely you pursue;
To low provincial Drolls, in crowds, you run,
By foreign modes and foreign nonsense won;
To see French Tumblers three long hours you sit,
And Criticks judge of capers in the Pit.
What art shall teach us to refine your joys,
And wean your sickly taste from alien toys?
For this we toil, and in our cause engage
Th' immortal Writers of an early age:
This night, to Virtue do we trophies raise,
Or what was Virtue thought in former days:
Fond labour! antient sense must quit the field,
And Shakespear to the soft Bercelli yield:
Whence is this change in nature! one would swear
That Eunuchs were not form'd to lead the Fair:
In times of old, at least as Poets feign,
True Manhood only could the Virgin gain;
But what to Demi-gods was arduous then,
Is now perform'd by Things that are not Men.
And wean your sickly taste from alien toys?
For this we toil, and in our cause engage
Th' immortal Writers of an early age:
This night, to Virtue do we trophies raise,
Or what was Virtue thought in former days:
Fond labour! antient sense must quit the field,
And Shakespear to the soft Bercelli yield:
79
That Eunuchs were not form'd to lead the Fair:
In times of old, at least as Poets feign,
True Manhood only could the Virgin gain;
But what to Demi-gods was arduous then,
Is now perform'd by Things that are not Men.
EPILOGUE,
by Sir R. STEELE.
What could our young Dramatic Monarch mean,
Now to revive this chaste old-fashion'd scene?
Did he project to make in this free nation
A capital offence of Fornication?
Thrice whimsical! who such wise plans espouses;
I'm sure it ne'er would pass through both the houses.
'Tis what our Men scarce e'er think worth repenting,
And Women only Prudence not consenting.
But eyes speak loud what's not pronounc'd by lips,
Whilst wide proclaiming hoop scarce covers hips.
Now to revive this chaste old-fashion'd scene?
Did he project to make in this free nation
A capital offence of Fornication?
Thrice whimsical! who such wise plans espouses;
I'm sure it ne'er would pass through both the houses.
'Tis what our Men scarce e'er think worth repenting,
And Women only Prudence not consenting.
But eyes speak loud what's not pronounc'd by lips,
Whilst wide proclaiming hoop scarce covers hips.
This is the taste our sad experience shews;
This is the taste of Belles as well as Beaux:
Else say, in Britain why it should be heard
That Etherege to Shakespear is preferr'd;
Whilst Dorimant to crowded audience wenches,
Our Angelo repeat to empty benches:
Our Nymph deluded has but coolly sped,
While to unwilling Bridegroom's arms she's led;
Loveit unpity'd mourns, unpity'd wooes;
Still Dorimant triumphant guilt pursues;
You've lost the sense of giving Virgins aid;
Tis Comedy with you, an injur'd Maid:
The perjur'd Dorimant the Beaux admire;
Gay perjur'd Dorimant the Belles desire:
With fellow-feeling, and with conscious gust,
Each sex applauds inexorable lust.
This is the taste of Belles as well as Beaux:
Else say, in Britain why it should be heard
That Etherege to Shakespear is preferr'd;
Whilst Dorimant to crowded audience wenches,
Our Angelo repeat to empty benches:
Our Nymph deluded has but coolly sped,
While to unwilling Bridegroom's arms she's led;
80
Still Dorimant triumphant guilt pursues;
You've lost the sense of giving Virgins aid;
Tis Comedy with you, an injur'd Maid:
The perjur'd Dorimant the Beaux admire;
Gay perjur'd Dorimant the Belles desire:
With fellow-feeling, and with conscious gust,
Each sex applauds inexorable lust.
For shame, for shame, ye men of sense, begin,
And scorn the base captivity of sin;
Sometimes at least to understanding yield,
Nor always leave to appetite the field;
Love, glory, friendship, languishing must stand,
While sense and appetite have sole command;
Give man sometimes some force in the dispute;
Be sometimes rational, though oftener brute.
And scorn the base captivity of sin;
Sometimes at least to understanding yield,
Nor always leave to appetite the field;
Love, glory, friendship, languishing must stand,
While sense and appetite have sole command;
Give man sometimes some force in the dispute;
Be sometimes rational, though oftener brute.
Believe it, Sirs, if fit for us to say,
Or if our Epilogue may suit our Play;
'Tis time, 'tis time, ye should be more severe;
And what less guilty nations suffer, fear;
Be men, or hope not Heaven will long secure ye
From quicker pestilence than that round Drury.
Or if our Epilogue may suit our Play;
'Tis time, 'tis time, ye should be more severe;
And what less guilty nations suffer, fear;
Be men, or hope not Heaven will long secure ye
From quicker pestilence than that round Drury.
81
HORACE, BOOK IV. ODE II.
The man, Iülus, who presumptuous vies
With Pindar, on Dædalean aid relies;
On faithless pinions labouring after fame,
His rashness gives the sea a name.
With Pindar, on Dædalean aid relies;
On faithless pinions labouring after fame,
His rashness gives the sea a name.
Some river like, that down a mountain roars,
And, swell'd by rains, exceeds the bounding shores,
Does Pindar rage; and with impetuous sweep
Pour forth his torrent, wide and deep:
And, swell'd by rains, exceeds the bounding shores,
Does Pindar rage; and with impetuous sweep
Pour forth his torrent, wide and deep:
Claiming Apollo's laurel, ever due;
Whether he boldly rolls a language new
Down Dithyrambic tides, and free, along
He drives, the Sovereign of his song:
Whether he boldly rolls a language new
Down Dithyrambic tides, and free, along
He drives, the Sovereign of his song:
Whether of Gods, and Kings to Gods ally'd,
By whom the double Centaurs justly dy'd,
His Hymns resound; and him, ordain'd to tame
The fell Chimera, breathing flame:
By whom the double Centaurs justly dy'd,
His Hymns resound; and him, ordain'd to tame
The fell Chimera, breathing flame:
Or, whom the Elean palm in triumph brings
Ennobled home; or combatant he sings,
Or the proud steed; and with more lasting praise
Rewards, than thousand statues raise:
Ennobled home; or combatant he sings,
Or the proud steed; and with more lasting praise
Rewards, than thousand statues raise:
Or, mourns the youth torn from the weeping bride;
Nor lets the darksome urn his virtues hide;
But in a constellation bids them rise
Entire, and wins them to the skies.
Nor lets the darksome urn his virtues hide;
But in a constellation bids them rise
Entire, and wins them to the skies.
When the Dircæan Swan prepares to fly,
A depth of air, Antonius, bears him high,
Above the racking clouds: meantime, you see,
Resembling the Calabrian bee,
A depth of air, Antonius, bears him high,
Above the racking clouds: meantime, you see,
Resembling the Calabrian bee,
That culls the pleasing thymes with busy care,
To Tibur's grove and rivulets I repair;
Where, uninspir'd and feeble in my pains,
I meditate laborious strains.
To Tibur's grove and rivulets I repair;
Where, uninspir'd and feeble in my pains,
I meditate laborious strains.
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An EPISTLE to the Earl of CADOGAN.
“Vitam quæ faciunt beatiorem,
“------hæc sunt.”
Martial.
“------hæc sunt.”
Martial.
Whilst careful crowds your levees wait,
The pomp and anguish of the Great:
Accept this verse, Illustrious Chief,
From business no undue relief.
The pomp and anguish of the Great:
Accept this verse, Illustrious Chief,
From business no undue relief.
Thy aid though George's councils claim,
In arms confess'd the Second Name;
Though Holland does thy charge attend,
By ancient leagues our country's friend!
Yet to the Muses dost thou spare
The few soft moments won from care;
And hours, to Friendship set apart,
Relieve thy frank good-natur'd heart.
In arms confess'd the Second Name;
Though Holland does thy charge attend,
By ancient leagues our country's friend!
Yet to the Muses dost thou spare
The few soft moments won from care;
And hours, to Friendship set apart,
Relieve thy frank good-natur'd heart.
Those hours, my Lord, those moments prize;
Known only to the learn'd and wise;
On damask-seats at ease reclin'd,
Thy brow with laurel-garlands bind;
Stain the bright chrystal with the dye
Of grapes, Hungarian hills supply;
Let Poesy thy feasts refine;
Let Music raise the joys of wine;
Thy pleasing care let Picture be;
Rubens and Urbin wrought for thee:
Behold the rock, by Michael's aid,
Soft-breathing in a blooming maid!
See Warriors, that on canvass groan,
And Fights, that emulate thy own!
Known only to the learn'd and wise;
On damask-seats at ease reclin'd,
Thy brow with laurel-garlands bind;
Stain the bright chrystal with the dye
Of grapes, Hungarian hills supply;
Let Poesy thy feasts refine;
Let Music raise the joys of wine;
Thy pleasing care let Picture be;
Rubens and Urbin wrought for thee:
Behold the rock, by Michael's aid,
Soft-breathing in a blooming maid!
See Warriors, that on canvass groan,
And Fights, that emulate thy own!
Live as thou'rt wont; with free address
And open heart thy friend caress;
Thy elegance, thy taste display,
And close with smiles a solemn day.
And open heart thy friend caress;
83
And close with smiles a solemn day.
In his fond heart, in vain, does man
Short-liv'd a thousand systems plan,
In vain, in mighty perils bold,
He ransacks earth and seas for gold;
Deaf to the laws impos'd by Fate
On human nature, soon or late.
Whether a mean ignoble birth
We own, ally'd to common earth;
Or a long lineage proudly trace,
Th' Emilian or Cadogan race;
Alike ordain'd we are to go
To the dark seats of rest below:
The rich and poor one grave shall find;
The rich shall leave their pomp behind,
The spacious domes, the lands, the groves,
The gay parterres, the proud alcoves,
The vistos in the skies that end,
The fondling wife, the bosom friend.
Short-liv'd a thousand systems plan,
In vain, in mighty perils bold,
He ransacks earth and seas for gold;
Deaf to the laws impos'd by Fate
On human nature, soon or late.
Whether a mean ignoble birth
We own, ally'd to common earth;
Or a long lineage proudly trace,
Th' Emilian or Cadogan race;
Alike ordain'd we are to go
To the dark seats of rest below:
The rich and poor one grave shall find;
The rich shall leave their pomp behind,
The spacious domes, the lands, the groves,
The gay parterres, the proud alcoves,
The vistos in the skies that end,
The fondling wife, the bosom friend.
What folly, then, to toil out life,
Sustain'd with anguish, pain, and strife;
Our thoughts in search of good employ'd,
Or never gain'd, or not enjoy'd!
Our spirits broke with restless care!
Let vulgar souls such evils bear:
But thou, great Captain! mindful be
Of unrelenting Fate's decree;
Seize, as it flies, the posting hour;
Crop, now, the swiftly-fading flower;
Enjoy, each irksome care forgot,
Thy fame; enjoy thy splendid lot.
Thus Scipio, prosperous and renown'd,
Proud Carthage smoaking on the ground,
In learned banquets deign'd to shine,
While Wit improv'd the Formian vine;
Reliev'd stern cares with soft delights,
And Roman days with Attic nights.
Sustain'd with anguish, pain, and strife;
Our thoughts in search of good employ'd,
Or never gain'd, or not enjoy'd!
Our spirits broke with restless care!
Let vulgar souls such evils bear:
But thou, great Captain! mindful be
Of unrelenting Fate's decree;
Seize, as it flies, the posting hour;
Crop, now, the swiftly-fading flower;
Enjoy, each irksome care forgot,
Thy fame; enjoy thy splendid lot.
Thus Scipio, prosperous and renown'd,
Proud Carthage smoaking on the ground,
In learned banquets deign'd to shine,
While Wit improv'd the Formian vine;
Reliev'd stern cares with soft delights,
And Roman days with Attic nights.
84
Dean SMEDLEY'S Ode to the Earl of CADOGAN.
I
Hero! sprung from ancient blood,Cadogan, valiant, wise, and good;
What golden lyre, what happy Muse,
To sing thy praises, shall we chuse?
So great a theme, so new a song,
To Welsted only does belong;
Like Ovid soft is he, like Flaccus strong.
II
Virtues, that soar so high, demandThe touches of a master-hand;
Love disdain'd, on Pindar's wing,
Thee and conquest he shall sing;
To times unborn transmit thy praise,
On thy laurels graft his bays,
And with thy triumphs swell his polish'd lays.
III
Whether thy deeds he backwards trace,With atchievements past, to grace
The numerous Ode, and bring anew
Fields, with slaughter stain'd, to view;
Part in Marlborough shalt thou claim,
Next to Marlborough rise in fame;
The strain resounds with each immortal name.
IV
Whether from a nearer themeThe tuneful Poet form his scheme,
And court with skill the ravish'd ear,
The glories which we see, to hear,
Glories unrival'd! fit alone,
By wit unrival'd to be shewn,
By harmony inspir'd, and numbers not his own.
85
V
If glorious war his fancy charms,Thy courage, and thy skill in arms,
Thy brandish'd steel, and spreading wreath,
Bold and sublime the verse shall breathe;
If thy social life he show,
Soft the gentler strain shall flow,
And every line with truth and friendship glow.
VI
Oh! thou, whom ev'n thy foes approve,Whom foreign nations praise and love;
Darling of the British court,
Thy country's boast, thy king's support;
Distinguish'd honours born to wear,
Favourite of the bright and fair,
The soldier's glory, and the soldier's care;
VII
Could I boast thy vigorous mind,Thy sprightly wit and judgement join'd;
Were all those arts and graces mine,
Which make thy finish'd merit shine:
Then would I raise the sounding strain,
Alarm around the listening plain,
And with thy various praise my verse sustain.
VIII
I'd paint thee then with matchless art,The clearest head, the bravest heart,
Boldly honest to advise,
Blest effect of being wise;
Ever prompt thy aid to lend,
Swift thy country to defend,
And doom'd th' impostor's blasted hopes to end.
IX
But, stay! fond Muse, th' attempt refrain;The theme ill suits thy humble strain:
Welsted! oh, begin thy song;
Blooming poet, bright and young,
86
In lofty verse the toil pursue,
In verse to glory and Cadogan due.
X
His past and present actions sung,Let thy lyre again be strung;
Let thy sweet prophetic lays
Anticipate his coming praise:
Place the scene before our eyes,
That wrapt in clouds and darkness lies,
The scene ordain'd in distant times to rise.
XI
Many years the Hero give,Lov'd, and happy, make him live;
Draw him at the helm of state,
As in arms, in council great,
Let the god-like portrait shine:
So thou (for Poets may divine)
Shalt share his fame, and make his triumphs thine.
87
An EPISTLE to the late Dr. Garth,
Occasioned by the Death of The Duke of MARLBOROUGH.
From the fair banks of Thame this verse I send,
To those blest realms that late receiv'd my friend;
Where vernal seasons smile without decay,
And purple skies indulge a purer day:
Nor shall the verse (if, haply, care invades,
For human things, the conscious learned shades,)
Ungrateful be: In thee, when young, I found
The prop and sanction of a name renown'd;
Yet rude to art, and while in life untry'd,
Thy precepts form'd, thy virtue was my guide.
To those blest realms that late receiv'd my friend;
Where vernal seasons smile without decay,
And purple skies indulge a purer day:
Nor shall the verse (if, haply, care invades,
For human things, the conscious learned shades,)
Ungrateful be: In thee, when young, I found
The prop and sanction of a name renown'd;
Yet rude to art, and while in life untry'd,
Thy precepts form'd, thy virtue was my guide.
In different orbs, what different hopes we wear!
How chang'd our passions, and revers'd our care!
When to the shades the great and good are borne,
The shades rejoice, the while the living mourn;
While we repine on earth for Marlborough's fate,
Elysium triumphs in a Guest so great:
A greater, Garth, ne'er reach'd those realms before!
Oh, hail him to the bright unclouded shore;
Hail thy great Friend! That title shalt thou claim,
And no inglorious part of Churchill's fame!
On earth, the Hero's glory strung thy lays,
And still wert thou the Herald of his praise:
For thy lov'd Marlborough yet thy care employ,
And point him out among the lawns of joy;
Let every warlike shade the Leader view;
A name so glorious, and a shade so new!
Ev'n to the Ghosts, that purpled o'er with blood
Ramillia's fields, and swell'd the Danube's flood;
Ev'n to the Gallic Ghosts their Conqueror show;
Alate how dreaded! now no more their foe!
How chang'd our passions, and revers'd our care!
When to the shades the great and good are borne,
The shades rejoice, the while the living mourn;
While we repine on earth for Marlborough's fate,
Elysium triumphs in a Guest so great:
A greater, Garth, ne'er reach'd those realms before!
Oh, hail him to the bright unclouded shore;
Hail thy great Friend! That title shalt thou claim,
And no inglorious part of Churchill's fame!
On earth, the Hero's glory strung thy lays,
And still wert thou the Herald of his praise:
For thy lov'd Marlborough yet thy care employ,
And point him out among the lawns of joy;
Let every warlike shade the Leader view;
A name so glorious, and a shade so new!
Ev'n to the Ghosts, that purpled o'er with blood
Ramillia's fields, and swell'd the Danube's flood;
88
Alate how dreaded! now no more their foe!
Methinks, I see in throngs the airy host,
Ambitious who shall praise the stranger most!
How do they eye the fair majestic-form!
And lo! the Hero-shades around him swarm!
His ancestry and titles these enquire,
What Mother bore, and mortal if his Sire;
His life's recesses those beseech to know,
With pleasures how indulg'd, or pain'd with woe:
While some with ambient wreaths his brow adorn;
Names, old in song, ere England's Chief was born!
In early days who Tyrants did restrain;
For prowess unexcell'd, 'till Anna's reign!
See Nassau, crown'd with laurels, welcome bring!
Mankind's Deliverer! Britain's boasted King!
With virtuous joy, in Marlborough, does he see
Whate'er he was, and all he wish'd to be;
In Marlborough, to the shades he sees descend
A Chief, a Prince, a Subject, and a Friend;
The rising Hero oft he wont to bless,
And from his virtues augur'd his success.
Ambitious who shall praise the stranger most!
How do they eye the fair majestic-form!
And lo! the Hero-shades around him swarm!
His ancestry and titles these enquire,
What Mother bore, and mortal if his Sire;
His life's recesses those beseech to know,
With pleasures how indulg'd, or pain'd with woe:
While some with ambient wreaths his brow adorn;
Names, old in song, ere England's Chief was born!
In early days who Tyrants did restrain;
For prowess unexcell'd, 'till Anna's reign!
See Nassau, crown'd with laurels, welcome bring!
Mankind's Deliverer! Britain's boasted King!
With virtuous joy, in Marlborough, does he see
Whate'er he was, and all he wish'd to be;
In Marlborough, to the shades he sees descend
A Chief, a Prince, a Subject, and a Friend;
The rising Hero oft he wont to bless,
And from his virtues augur'd his success.
Much did I mourn, my Friend, thy parting breath;
But more I mourn thy loss, since Churchill's death;
Hadst thou, O Garth, surviv'd that godlike name,
(Nor thou, nor he, shall be surviv'd in fame)
How hadst thou talk'd thy Hero's victories o'er,
Unequal'd, tho' forbid to vanquish more!
How had thy tongue describ'd the Flandrian plains!
The months of glory, and the great campaigns!
In fresh description, hourly, France had bled,
And every day defeated Villars fled;
The name of Marlborough, echoing walls around
Had heard, and vaulted roofs beat back the sound.
But more I mourn thy loss, since Churchill's death;
Hadst thou, O Garth, surviv'd that godlike name,
(Nor thou, nor he, shall be surviv'd in fame)
How hadst thou talk'd thy Hero's victories o'er,
Unequal'd, tho' forbid to vanquish more!
How had thy tongue describ'd the Flandrian plains!
The months of glory, and the great campaigns!
In fresh description, hourly, France had bled,
And every day defeated Villars fled;
The name of Marlborough, echoing walls around
Had heard, and vaulted roofs beat back the sound.
Shall I not lead thee to the Victor's tomb?
An awful march, and through a length of gloom!
In sable triumph, lo! the standard borne!
The martial horse, and battle-trophies mourn!
The gleaming armour view, and ensigns round!
Hark, the hoarse drum and solemn ordnance sound!
With looks how downcast march the soldier throng!
How slowly moves the mourning war along!
Not so, returning home from vanquish'd foes,
They look'd.—There, Marlborough's great Successor goes,
And midst his glory droops! This, this, is he,
To whom our hero's wreaths his stars decree!
Should Fate again fill Europe with alarms,
He shall revive the fame of British arms;
Ordain'd to be, if Poets may divine,
In such an age, what Churchill was in thine.
An awful march, and through a length of gloom!
In sable triumph, lo! the standard borne!
The martial horse, and battle-trophies mourn!
89
Hark, the hoarse drum and solemn ordnance sound!
With looks how downcast march the soldier throng!
How slowly moves the mourning war along!
Not so, returning home from vanquish'd foes,
They look'd.—There, Marlborough's great Successor goes,
And midst his glory droops! This, this, is he,
To whom our hero's wreaths his stars decree!
Should Fate again fill Europe with alarms,
He shall revive the fame of British arms;
Ordain'd to be, if Poets may divine,
In such an age, what Churchill was in thine.
So on the tree, to Proserpine consign'd,
The bough, with glittering leaves and golden rind,
Pluck'd from the trunk; another bough, behold!
Springs in its room, the rind and leaf of gold;
Like to the first, and scarce discern'd for new;
The same the value; one the radiant hue.
The bough, with glittering leaves and golden rind,
Pluck'd from the trunk; another bough, behold!
Springs in its room, the rind and leaf of gold;
Like to the first, and scarce discern'd for new;
The same the value; one the radiant hue.
To mortal men, too rash, we may not give,
O Garth! the name of happy, while they live;
For Fortune oft does human ills foreslow,
And after longest calms come wrecks of woe:
The Son of Victory now consign'd to rest,
How may we praise his lot, and call him blest!
His fortune gently, as the cedar grows,
Up-grew, and with his rising virtues rose;
By easy steps he climb'd secure to fame;
No sudden wonder, nor unpromis'd name!
His smiling hopes no adverse wind did blast;
And seventy winters bless'd him as they pass'd:
Great lasting joys and flender griefs he bare;
His joys were many, and his sorrows rare:
The smiles of Monarchs grac'd his bloom of life,
The loveliest offspring, and the fairest wife:
Esteem, and trust, and favour, and applause,
Pursued his manly zeal for William's cause;
His riper years in triumphs fruitful ran,
And Glory clos'd the scene which Love began.
O Garth! the name of happy, while they live;
For Fortune oft does human ills foreslow,
And after longest calms come wrecks of woe:
The Son of Victory now consign'd to rest,
How may we praise his lot, and call him blest!
His fortune gently, as the cedar grows,
Up-grew, and with his rising virtues rose;
By easy steps he climb'd secure to fame;
No sudden wonder, nor unpromis'd name!
His smiling hopes no adverse wind did blast;
And seventy winters bless'd him as they pass'd:
Great lasting joys and flender griefs he bare;
His joys were many, and his sorrows rare:
The smiles of Monarchs grac'd his bloom of life,
The loveliest offspring, and the fairest wife:
Esteem, and trust, and favour, and applause,
Pursued his manly zeal for William's cause;
90
And Glory clos'd the scene which Love began.
At last he rests with thee, O sacred Bard!
Unreach'd by envy, and above reward!
Renew'd in purple beauty does he shine;
A brighter bloom, and fresh with health divine:
So graceful look'd he, and so fair to view,
In youth, ere camps and crimson fields he knew;
Ere yet he thought on glory gain'd in arms,
Or any conquests but of female charms.
Unreach'd by envy, and above reward!
Renew'd in purple beauty does he shine;
A brighter bloom, and fresh with health divine:
So graceful look'd he, and so fair to view,
In youth, ere camps and crimson fields he knew;
Ere yet he thought on glory gain'd in arms,
Or any conquests but of female charms.
Enjoy, ye happy Shades, your quiet seat:
To you the Gods permit a safe retreat;
Soft odours round you skies ambrosial shed;
No shelves have you to shun, nor storms to dread:
We roam about, by various chances cross'd,
Still from one fortune to another tost;
To many harms and perils we survive,
With hatred and with envy doom'd to strive;
The pangs of balk'd ambition do we prove,
The jealous torments and the rage of love;
With open arms the treacherous friend embrace,
Or doat upon the wily harlot's face;
A thousand wants, unsatisfy'd, we moan,
And feel a thousand sorrows not our own.
These ills are ours: they touch not thy repose;
No longer dost thou pine for human woes;
No more dost hear, amidst unchang'd delights,
What Cinna, in the lust of nonsense, writes.
To you the Gods permit a safe retreat;
Soft odours round you skies ambrosial shed;
No shelves have you to shun, nor storms to dread:
We roam about, by various chances cross'd,
Still from one fortune to another tost;
To many harms and perils we survive,
With hatred and with envy doom'd to strive;
The pangs of balk'd ambition do we prove,
The jealous torments and the rage of love;
With open arms the treacherous friend embrace,
Or doat upon the wily harlot's face;
A thousand wants, unsatisfy'd, we moan,
And feel a thousand sorrows not our own.
These ills are ours: they touch not thy repose;
No longer dost thou pine for human woes;
No more dost hear, amidst unchang'd delights,
What Cinna, in the lust of nonsense, writes.
On flowery beds, meseems, I see thee lie,
While young immortal maids pass smiling by;
Close at thy feet while rivulets flow of wine,
And Sappho slights her Phaon to be thine!
Or to thy Ovid thou dost, pleas'd, relate
Thy country's story, and its envy'd fate;
A chosen spot, with ocean compass'd round!
The land of beauty, and for war renown'd!
How fam'd for arts! in genius how refin'd!
What wealth, what empire, by the waves and wind!
The forest oak, and the strong-hearted steed!
The proud-arm'd fleets! and men, a godlike breed,
From Dardan Brutus! spirits uncontroul'd!
A generous offspring, hardy, wise, and bold!
What civil conflicts, and what stern debates
For liberty, and tyrants' headlong fates!
The sea's green floods, how oft with crimson stain'd!
What rescued states, and distant trophiesgain'd!
If this thy theme; on Churchill's every deed
Thy tongue shall dwell, and boast of Europe freed;
Still in thy thought his battles shall prevail,
And Blenheim never wander from the tale;
Lo! thy lov'd Roman Friend with rapture hears
The triumphs of those ten great rolling years!
While every year in toil with ages vies,
And scenes with wonder more replete arise,
Than all the changes in his feigning lays,
Deduc'd from Nature's birth to Cæsar's days.
While young immortal maids pass smiling by;
Close at thy feet while rivulets flow of wine,
And Sappho slights her Phaon to be thine!
Or to thy Ovid thou dost, pleas'd, relate
Thy country's story, and its envy'd fate;
A chosen spot, with ocean compass'd round!
The land of beauty, and for war renown'd!
How fam'd for arts! in genius how refin'd!
What wealth, what empire, by the waves and wind!
91
The proud-arm'd fleets! and men, a godlike breed,
From Dardan Brutus! spirits uncontroul'd!
A generous offspring, hardy, wise, and bold!
What civil conflicts, and what stern debates
For liberty, and tyrants' headlong fates!
The sea's green floods, how oft with crimson stain'd!
What rescued states, and distant trophiesgain'd!
If this thy theme; on Churchill's every deed
Thy tongue shall dwell, and boast of Europe freed;
Still in thy thought his battles shall prevail,
And Blenheim never wander from the tale;
Lo! thy lov'd Roman Friend with rapture hears
The triumphs of those ten great rolling years!
While every year in toil with ages vies,
And scenes with wonder more replete arise,
Than all the changes in his feigning lays,
Deduc'd from Nature's birth to Cæsar's days.
O think not, learn'd Machaon, I reveal
A heart too cold, or want Hortensio's zeal,
If I resign our mighty Churchill's name,
Unus'd to soar, and fearful for my fame:
To lower themes my unambitious lyre
Is tun'd, and humbler praises I require;
Let Steele immortal Mildenheim sustain,
And trace his story in the Livian strain;
While I the subject, to his pen assign'd,
But lightly touch, and follow far behind.
A heart too cold, or want Hortensio's zeal,
If I resign our mighty Churchill's name,
Unus'd to soar, and fearful for my fame:
To lower themes my unambitious lyre
Is tun'd, and humbler praises I require;
Let Steele immortal Mildenheim sustain,
And trace his story in the Livian strain;
92
But lightly touch, and follow far behind.
Oft, if I judge aright, thy master lays
Alarm Elysian groves with Marlborough's praise;
And oft, O Poet, England's triumphs swell
The song, and tremble on thy British shell!
For dying changes but th' organic frame;
The self-immortal soul exists the same:
What passions e'er, confin'd to clay, we know,
Pursue us to the myrtle-grove below;
Whate'er does please, while pilgrims we remain,
Shall in another being please again:
Great Maro still the lofty Epic charms,
And Turnus takes delight in shining arms;
In Archimedes' thought do figures roll,
While Horace revels o'er the nectar-bowl;
In Dido's amorous breast its flame returns,
And Cleveland for some other Churchill burns.
Alarm Elysian groves with Marlborough's praise;
And oft, O Poet, England's triumphs swell
The song, and tremble on thy British shell!
For dying changes but th' organic frame;
The self-immortal soul exists the same:
What passions e'er, confin'd to clay, we know,
Pursue us to the myrtle-grove below;
Whate'er does please, while pilgrims we remain,
Shall in another being please again:
Great Maro still the lofty Epic charms,
And Turnus takes delight in shining arms;
In Archimedes' thought do figures roll,
While Horace revels o'er the nectar-bowl;
In Dido's amorous breast its flame returns,
And Cleveland for some other Churchill burns.
From joys of Paradise with-held too long,
A moment yet attend the lingering song,
While thy lov'd Poet's marble I explore,
And the proud fane, but half adorn'd before!
Without a tomb, 'till late, forgot he lay,
While the Muse mourn'd, and ages wore away;
At length the stone, so long delay'd, is rear'd:
An awful image, and a front rever'd!
No verse engrav'd records at large his fame;
But Dryden's epitaph is Dryden's name.
A moment yet attend the lingering song,
93
And the proud fane, but half adorn'd before!
Without a tomb, 'till late, forgot he lay,
While the Muse mourn'd, and ages wore away;
At length the stone, so long delay'd, is rear'd:
An awful image, and a front rever'd!
No verse engrav'd records at large his fame;
But Dryden's epitaph is Dryden's name.
In bowers of roses by his side reclin'd,
Oh, what delights o'erflow thy ravish'd mind!
No fraud molests thee now, nor any crime
Pollutes the beauty of that guiltless clime;
No falshood, there, the heedless heart beguiles;
Nor hidden hatred wears dissembled smiles;
No awkward pride is there, of humble birth;
Nor shining affluence, gay with thoughtless mirth;
No Fools of Fortune, giddy with success;
No little teazing Wits, admir'd by less;
No harden'd gripes; nor earth-worms, urg'd by Fate,
Against their creeping genius, to be great;
But, there, eternal freshness Zeyhyrs bring,
And all the year is temper'd into Spring;
There men, who liv'd upright like thee reside;
There, the brave legion, that for Freedom dy'd;
Whoe'er in arts polite divinely wrought;
And pious Priests, that Headly's doctrines taught;
And they, who virtue, sunk in ills, sustain'd;
And Bards inspir'd; and Kings like George that reign'd.
Oh, what delights o'erflow thy ravish'd mind!
No fraud molests thee now, nor any crime
Pollutes the beauty of that guiltless clime;
No falshood, there, the heedless heart beguiles;
Nor hidden hatred wears dissembled smiles;
No awkward pride is there, of humble birth;
Nor shining affluence, gay with thoughtless mirth;
No Fools of Fortune, giddy with success;
No little teazing Wits, admir'd by less;
No harden'd gripes; nor earth-worms, urg'd by Fate,
Against their creeping genius, to be great;
But, there, eternal freshness Zeyhyrs bring,
And all the year is temper'd into Spring;
There men, who liv'd upright like thee reside;
There, the brave legion, that for Freedom dy'd;
Whoe'er in arts polite divinely wrought;
And pious Priests, that Headly's doctrines taught;
And they, who virtue, sunk in ills, sustain'd;
And Bards inspir'd; and Kings like George that reign'd.
Farewell. It may be, I shall see, or seem
To see thee in some soft delightful dream:
Farewell; Oh! ever to remembrance dear!
Of Poets first, and most of Men sincere!
To see thee in some soft delightful dream:
Farewell; Oh! ever to remembrance dear!
Of Poets first, and most of Men sincere!
94
PROLOGUE to Steele's CONSCIOUS LOVERS, 1722.
To win your hearts, and to secure your praise,
The Comic-writers strive by various ways;
By subtle stratagems they act their game,
And leave untry'd no avenue to fame:
One writes the spouse a beating from his wife;
And says, each stroke was copy'd from the life:
Some fix all wit and humour in grimace,
And make a livelihood of Pinkey's face:
While one gay shew and costly habits tries,
Confiding to the judgement of your eyes;
Another smuts his scene (a cunning shaver)
Sure of the rakes' and of the wenches' favour!
The Comic-writers strive by various ways;
By subtle stratagems they act their game,
And leave untry'd no avenue to fame:
One writes the spouse a beating from his wife;
And says, each stroke was copy'd from the life:
Some fix all wit and humour in grimace,
And make a livelihood of Pinkey's face:
While one gay shew and costly habits tries,
Confiding to the judgement of your eyes;
Another smuts his scene (a cunning shaver)
Sure of the rakes' and of the wenches' favour!
Oft have these arts prevail'd; and, one may guess,
If practis'd o'er again, would find success:
But this bold Sage, the Poet of to-night,
By new and desperate rules resolv'd to write:
Fain would he give more just applauses rise,
And please by Wit that scorns the aids of Vice;
The praise, he seeks, from worthier motives springs;
Such praise, as praise to those that give it, brings!
If practis'd o'er again, would find success:
But this bold Sage, the Poet of to-night,
By new and desperate rules resolv'd to write:
Fain would he give more just applauses rise,
And please by Wit that scorns the aids of Vice;
The praise, he seeks, from worthier motives springs;
Such praise, as praise to those that give it, brings!
Youraid, most humbly sought, then, Britons, lend,
And liberal mirth, like liberal men, defend:
No more let Ribaldry, with licence writ,
Usurp the name of Eloquence or Wit;
No more let lawless Farce uncensur'd go;
The lewd dull gleanings of a Smithfield show!
'Tis yours, with breeding to refine the age,
To chasten Wit, and moralize the Stage.
And liberal mirth, like liberal men, defend:
No more let Ribaldry, with licence writ,
Usurp the name of Eloquence or Wit;
No more let lawless Farce uncensur'd go;
The lewd dull gleanings of a Smithfield show!
'Tis yours, with breeding to refine the age,
To chasten Wit, and moralize the Stage.
Ye modest, wise, and good, ye fair, ye brave,
To-night the Champion of your virtues save;
Redeem from long contempt the Comic name,
And judge politely for your Country's fame.
To-night the Champion of your virtues save;
Redeem from long contempt the Comic name,
And judge politely for your Country's fame.
95
EPILOGUE to the Same;
Our Author, whom intreaties cannot move,
Spight of the dear coquetry that you love,
Swears he'll not frustrate (so he plainly means)
By a loose Epilogue his decent scenes.
Is it not, Sirs, hard fate I meet to-day?
To keep me rigid still, beyond the Play!
And yet I'm sav'd a world of pains that way.
I now can look, I now can move at ease,
Nor need I torture these poor limbs to please,
Nor with the hand or foot attempt surprize,
Nor wrest my features, nor fatigue my eyes:
Bless me! what freakish gambols have I play'd!
What motions try'd, and wanton looks betray'd!
Out of pure kindness all, to over-rule
The threaten'd hiss, and screen some scribbling fool!
Spight of the dear coquetry that you love,
Swears he'll not frustrate (so he plainly means)
By a loose Epilogue his decent scenes.
Is it not, Sirs, hard fate I meet to-day?
To keep me rigid still, beyond the Play!
And yet I'm sav'd a world of pains that way.
I now can look, I now can move at ease,
Nor need I torture these poor limbs to please,
Nor with the hand or foot attempt surprize,
Nor wrest my features, nor fatigue my eyes:
Bless me! what freakish gambols have I play'd!
What motions try'd, and wanton looks betray'd!
Out of pure kindness all, to over-rule
The threaten'd hiss, and screen some scribbling fool!
With more respect I'm entertain'd to-night:
Our Author thinks, I can with ease delight.
My artless looks while modest graces arm,
He says, I need but to appear, and charm:
A Wife so form'd, by these examples bred,
Pours joy and gladness round the marriage-bed;
Soft source of comfort! kind relief from care!
And 'tis her least perfection to be fair.
Our Author thinks, I can with ease delight.
My artless looks while modest graces arm,
He says, I need but to appear, and charm:
A Wife so form'd, by these examples bred,
Pours joy and gladness round the marriage-bed;
Soft source of comfort! kind relief from care!
And 'tis her least perfection to be fair.
The Nymph, with Indiana's worth who vies,
A Nation will behold with Bevil's eyes.
A Nation will behold with Bevil's eyes.
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To Mr. PHILIPS,
on his Tragedy of Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester.
To rural lays, ere yet in manhood ripe,
A Shepherd, didst thou tune thine oaten pipe;
The groves, and streams, and daisy-painted plains,
The joys and griefs of unambitious swains,
Employ'd thy verse; thy verse, whose magic force
The Severn charm'd, and stopp'd his silver course.
A Shepherd, didst thou tune thine oaten pipe;
The groves, and streams, and daisy-painted plains,
The joys and griefs of unambitious swains,
Employ'd thy verse; thy verse, whose magic force
The Severn charm'd, and stopp'd his silver course.
Thus play'd thy youth: but weightier cares engage
Thy more experienc'd life, and learned age;
Thy country's love thy tragic strains infuse;
And the free Britons bless thy Patriot Muse.
Who has not heard Orestes' dire despair?
Who not repin'd for Gwendolen the fair?
What freeman, but her woes, in thought, redress'd,
And felt his own enflam'd, like Vanoc's breast!
Thy more experienc'd life, and learned age;
Thy country's love thy tragic strains infuse;
And the free Britons bless thy Patriot Muse.
Who has not heard Orestes' dire despair?
Who not repin'd for Gwendolen the fair?
What freeman, but her woes, in thought, redress'd,
And felt his own enflam'd, like Vanoc's breast!
And lo! the Realm's Protector now we view!
Thy Country's glory, still, thy thoughts pursue;
A Briton, still, thy manly scenes adorn,
And warm the soul with virtues English-born:
To foreign lands nor need we vainly roam,
In search of glories to be found at home:
In our own climate does the laurel grow;
A climate fruitful of heroic woe!
Thy Country's glory, still, thy thoughts pursue;
A Briton, still, thy manly scenes adorn,
And warm the soul with virtues English-born:
To foreign lands nor need we vainly roam,
In search of glories to be found at home:
In our own climate does the laurel grow;
A climate fruitful of heroic woe!
At length, kind Fate has rais'd the Poet's Song,
Indulgent to repair brave Gloucester's wrong:
At length his virtue in a blaze appears,
From the dark night retriev'd of monkish years:
And now, through every age his worth shall shine,
And Humphrey's name be, still, rever'd with thine.
Indulgent to repair brave Gloucester's wrong:
At length his virtue in a blaze appears,
From the dark night retriev'd of monkish years:
And now, through every age his worth shall shine,
And Humphrey's name be, still, rever'd with thine.
97
VERSES addressed to Mr. WELSTED,
From the Briton, Jan. 29, 1723–4.
When Priests usurp'd the offices of State,
And mean subjection was our Monarch's fate;
Then fabled Tales by British Bards were sung;
With roaring Lions every Forest rung:
Dragons and baleful Monsters haunt the plain,
On Virgins feast, nor spare the trembling Swain:
In towers of adamant, Urganda's charms
Detain the Princess from her Hero's arms;
'Till some adventurous Knight, in prowess bold,
By Fate conducted to the magic-hold,
Destroys the hideous Giant, frees the Fair;
And raises mourning Beauty from despair.
And mean subjection was our Monarch's fate;
Then fabled Tales by British Bards were sung;
With roaring Lions every Forest rung:
Dragons and baleful Monsters haunt the plain,
On Virgins feast, nor spare the trembling Swain:
In towers of adamant, Urganda's charms
Detain the Princess from her Hero's arms;
'Till some adventurous Knight, in prowess bold,
By Fate conducted to the magic-hold,
Destroys the hideous Giant, frees the Fair;
And raises mourning Beauty from despair.
With Superstition these chimæras fled,
And ancient Learning rear'd its drooping head;
Old Homer's Gods in Britain's isle are seen,
While Pans and Satyrs frisk it o'er the green.
And ancient Learning rear'd its drooping head;
Old Homer's Gods in Britain's isle are seen,
While Pans and Satyrs frisk it o'er the green.
But you, my Friend, judiciously decline
The aids of magic, or the fabled Nine;
Let no ambitious ornaments appear;
Be just in thought, and in expression clear;
Let Fools with lofty nonsense catch the crowd,
And of unreputable praise be proud:
Thus paint and patches charm the rural 'Squire,
While Nature unadorn'd the few admire.
The aids of magic, or the fabled Nine;
Let no ambitious ornaments appear;
Be just in thought, and in expression clear;
Let Fools with lofty nonsense catch the crowd,
And of unreputable praise be proud:
Thus paint and patches charm the rural 'Squire,
While Nature unadorn'd the few admire.
If e'er your buskin'd Hero tread the Stage,
Like Vanoc, let the fierce old Briton rage.
The fiery Moor in sun-burnt climates born,
By strong desires, and storms of passion torn,
Unskill'd in wiles, unprincipled in art,
Throws out with warmth the transports of his heart.
The talents of each sex regard with care;
No male-perfections let the Fair-one share:
The Stoic Marcia kindles no desire;
But with Monimia's plaints all hearts conspire:
The Grecian Bards will best your labours guide;
But let their Grecian Gods in Greece reside.
Like Vanoc, let the fierce old Briton rage.
The fiery Moor in sun-burnt climates born,
By strong desires, and storms of passion torn,
Unskill'd in wiles, unprincipled in art,
Throws out with warmth the transports of his heart.
98
No male-perfections let the Fair-one share:
The Stoic Marcia kindles no desire;
But with Monimia's plaints all hearts conspire:
The Grecian Bards will best your labours guide;
But let their Grecian Gods in Greece reside.
Through classic land let airy Laurus rove,
With Paphian Venus, and Olympian Jove.
The Fair-one's waste is with a cestos bound:
And nectar in the flowing bowl goes round.
Let Crassus marry, with united voice
The Gods assembled shall approve his choice.
See Evan! see Apollo's beauteous face,
Satyrs, Fauns, Naiads, all the marriage grace.
The gay Coquette has Cytherea's charms,
The Prude (no doubt averse to Love's alarms)
Is chaste as Pallas, Virgin Queen of Arms.
With Paphian Venus, and Olympian Jove.
The Fair-one's waste is with a cestos bound:
And nectar in the flowing bowl goes round.
Let Crassus marry, with united voice
The Gods assembled shall approve his choice.
See Evan! see Apollo's beauteous face,
Satyrs, Fauns, Naiads, all the marriage grace.
The gay Coquette has Cytherea's charms,
The Prude (no doubt averse to Love's alarms)
Is chaste as Pallas, Virgin Queen of Arms.
While these, my Friend, such idol-worship bring,
Fair as the morning, sweet as opening spring,
Zelinda smiles; an artless beauty shows;
The rose in June not half so fragrant blows.
No Goddess born, nor of Idalian race,
Nor kindred Deities her lineage grace:
Earth-born, on Nature's charms the Nymph relies,
Nor draws fictitious graces from the skies:
Pleas'd with her beauteous form, where'er she moves,
All eyes admire, and each beholder loves:
Vain Amoret and Myra quit the field;
Alone to Thulé shall Zelinda yield.
Fair as the morning, sweet as opening spring,
Zelinda smiles; an artless beauty shows;
The rose in June not half so fragrant blows.
No Goddess born, nor of Idalian race,
Nor kindred Deities her lineage grace:
Earth-born, on Nature's charms the Nymph relies,
Nor draws fictitious graces from the skies:
Pleas'd with her beauteous form, where'er she moves,
All eyes admire, and each beholder loves:
Vain Amoret and Myra quit the field;
Alone to Thulé shall Zelinda yield.
Jan. 25.
Anti-Laurus.
99
The Occasion of ÆSCULAPIUS being brought to ROME.
Melodious Maids of Pindus, who inspire
The flowing strains, and tune the vocal lyre;
Tradition's secrets are unlock'd to you,
Old tales revive, and ages past renew;
You, who can hidden causes best expound,
Say, whence the isle, which Tiber flows around,
Its altars with a heavenly stranger grac'd,
And in our shrines the God of Physic plac'd.
The flowing strains, and tune the vocal lyre;
Tradition's secrets are unlock'd to you,
Old tales revive, and ages past renew;
You, who can hidden causes best expound,
Say, whence the isle, which Tiber flows around,
Its altars with a heavenly stranger grac'd,
And in our shrines the God of Physic plac'd.
A wasting plague infected Latium's skies;
Pale, bloodless looks were seen, with ghastly eyes;
The dire disease's marks each visage wore,
And the pure blood was chang'd to putrid gore:
In vain were human remedies apply'd;
In vain the power of healing herbs was try'd:
Weary'd with death, they seek celestial aid,
And visit Phœbus in his Delphic shade;
In the world's centre sacred Delphos stands,
And gives its oracles to distant lands:
Here they implore the God, with fervent vows,
His salutary power to interpose,
And end a great afflicted City's woes.
The holy Temple sudden tremors prov'd;
The Laurel-grove and all its quivers mov'd;
In hollow sounds the Priestess thus began,
And through each bosom thrilling horrors ran:
Pale, bloodless looks were seen, with ghastly eyes;
The dire disease's marks each visage wore,
And the pure blood was chang'd to putrid gore:
In vain were human remedies apply'd;
In vain the power of healing herbs was try'd:
Weary'd with death, they seek celestial aid,
And visit Phœbus in his Delphic shade;
In the world's centre sacred Delphos stands,
And gives its oracles to distant lands:
Here they implore the God, with fervent vows,
His salutary power to interpose,
And end a great afflicted City's woes.
The holy Temple sudden tremors prov'd;
The Laurel-grove and all its quivers mov'd;
In hollow sounds the Priestess thus began,
And through each bosom thrilling horrors ran:
“Th'assistance, Roman, which you here implore,
“Seek from another and a nearer shore;
“Relief must be implor'd, and succour won,
“Not from Apollo, but Apollo's Son;
“My Son, to Latium born, shall bring redress:
“Go with good omens, and expect success.”
“Seek from another and a nearer shore;
“Relief must be implor'd, and succour won,
“Not from Apollo, but Apollo's Son;
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“Go with good omens, and expect success.”
When these clear oracles the Senate knew;
The sacred Tripod's counsels they pursue,
Depute a pious and a chosen band,
Who sail to Epidaurus' neighbouring land:
Before the Grecian elders when they stood,
They pray them to bestow the healing God:
“Ordain'd was he to save Ausonia's state;
“So promis'd Delphi, and unerring Fate.”
The sacred Tripod's counsels they pursue,
Depute a pious and a chosen band,
Who sail to Epidaurus' neighbouring land:
Before the Grecian elders when they stood,
They pray them to bestow the healing God:
“Ordain'd was he to save Ausonia's state;
“So promis'd Delphi, and unerring Fate.”
Opinions various their debates enlarge:
Some plead to yield to Rome the sacred charge;
Others, tenacious of their Country's wealth,
Refuse to grant the power who guards its health.
Some plead to yield to Rome the sacred charge;
Others, tenacious of their Country's wealth,
Refuse to grant the power who guards its health.
While dubious they remain'd, the wasting light
Withdrew before the growing shades of night;
Thick darkness now obscur'd the dusky skies:
Now, Roman, clos'd in sleep were mortal eyes,
When Health's auspicuous God appears to thee,
And thy glad dreams his form celestial see:
In his left hand a rural staff preferr'd,
His right is seen to stroke his decent beard.
“Dismiss,' said he, with mildness all divine,
“Dismiss your fears; I come, and leave my shrine;
“This Serpent view, that with ambitious play
“My staff encircles; mark him every way;
“His form, though larger, nobler, I'll assume,
“And chang'd, as Gods should be, bring aid to Rome.”
Here fled the vision, and the vision's flight
Was follow'd by the chearful dawn of light.
Withdrew before the growing shades of night;
Thick darkness now obscur'd the dusky skies:
Now, Roman, clos'd in sleep were mortal eyes,
When Health's auspicuous God appears to thee,
And thy glad dreams his form celestial see:
In his left hand a rural staff preferr'd,
His right is seen to stroke his decent beard.
“Dismiss,' said he, with mildness all divine,
“Dismiss your fears; I come, and leave my shrine;
“This Serpent view, that with ambitious play
“My staff encircles; mark him every way;
“His form, though larger, nobler, I'll assume,
“And chang'd, as Gods should be, bring aid to Rome.”
Here fled the vision, and the vision's flight
Was follow'd by the chearful dawn of light.
Now was the morn with blushing streaks o'erspread,
And all the starry fires of Heaven were fled;
The Chiefs perplex'd, and fill'd with doubtful care,
To their Protector's sumptuous roofs repair,
By genuine signs implore him to express,
What seats he deigns to chuse, what land to bless:
Scarce their ascending prayers had reach'd the sky;
Lo, the serpentine God, erected high!
Forerunning hissings his approach confess'd;
Bright shone his golden scales, and wav'd his lofty crest;
The trembling altar his appearance spoke;
The marble floor and glittering cieling shook;
The doors were rock'd; the statue seem'd to nod;
And all the fabric own'd the present God:
His radiant chest he taught aloft to rise,
And round the temple cast his flaming eyes:
Struck was th' astonish'd crowd; the holy Priest,
His temples with white bands of ribband dress'd,
With reverend awe the Power divine confess'd:
“The God! the God!” he cries; “all tongues “be still!
“Each conscious breast devoutest ardour fill!
“O beauteous! O divine! assist our cares,
“And be propitious to thy votaries prayers!”
And all the starry fires of Heaven were fled;
The Chiefs perplex'd, and fill'd with doubtful care,
To their Protector's sumptuous roofs repair,
By genuine signs implore him to express,
What seats he deigns to chuse, what land to bless:
Scarce their ascending prayers had reach'd the sky;
Lo, the serpentine God, erected high!
101
Bright shone his golden scales, and wav'd his lofty crest;
The trembling altar his appearance spoke;
The marble floor and glittering cieling shook;
The doors were rock'd; the statue seem'd to nod;
And all the fabric own'd the present God:
His radiant chest he taught aloft to rise,
And round the temple cast his flaming eyes:
Struck was th' astonish'd crowd; the holy Priest,
His temples with white bands of ribband dress'd,
With reverend awe the Power divine confess'd:
“The God! the God!” he cries; “all tongues “be still!
“Each conscious breast devoutest ardour fill!
“O beauteous! O divine! assist our cares,
“And be propitious to thy votaries prayers!”
All, with consenting hearts and pious fear,
The words repeat, the Deity revere:
The Romans in their holy worship join'd,
With silent awe, and purity of mind:
Gracious to them, his crest is seen to nod,
And, as an earnest of his care, the God,
Thrice hissing, vibrates thrice his forked tongue;
And now the smooth descent he glides along:
Still on the ancient seats he bends his eyes,
In which his statue breathes, his altars rise;
His long-lov'd shrine with kind concern he leaves,
And to forsake th' accustom'd mansion grieves:
At length, his sweeping bulk in state is borne
Through the throng'd streets, which scatter'd flowers adorn;
Through many a fold he winds his mazy course,
And gains the port, and moles, which break the Ocean's force.
'Twas here he made a stand, and having view'd
The pious train, who his last steps pursued,
Seem'd to dismiss their zeal with gracious eyes,
While gleams of pleasure in his aspect rise.
The words repeat, the Deity revere:
The Romans in their holy worship join'd,
With silent awe, and purity of mind:
Gracious to them, his crest is seen to nod,
And, as an earnest of his care, the God,
Thrice hissing, vibrates thrice his forked tongue;
And now the smooth descent he glides along:
Still on the ancient seats he bends his eyes,
In which his statue breathes, his altars rise;
His long-lov'd shrine with kind concern he leaves,
And to forsake th' accustom'd mansion grieves:
At length, his sweeping bulk in state is borne
Through the throng'd streets, which scatter'd flowers adorn;
Through many a fold he winds his mazy course,
And gains the port, and moles, which break the Ocean's force.
'Twas here he made a stand, and having view'd
The pious train, who his last steps pursued,
Seem'd to dismiss their zeal with gracious eyes,
While gleams of pleasure in his aspect rise.
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And now the Latian vessel he ascends;
Beneath the weighty God the vessel bends:
The Latins on the strand great Jove appease,
Their cables loose, and plough the yielding seas:
The high-rear'd Serpent from the stern displays
His gorgeous form, and the blue deep surveys;
The ship is wafted on with gentle gales,
And o'er the calm Ionian smoothly sails;
On the sixth morn th' Italian coast they gain,
And touch Lacinia, grac'd with Juno's fane;
Now fair Calabria to the sight is lost,
And all the cities on her fruitful coast;
They pass at length the rough Sicilian shore,
The Brutian soil, rich with metallic ore,
The famous isles where Æolus was King,
And Pæstus blooming with eternal spring:
Minerva's cape they leave, and Capreæ's isle,
Campania, on whose hills the vineyards smile,
The city, which Alcides' spoils adorn,
Naples, for soft delight and pleasure born,
Fair Stabia, with Cumean Sibyls' seats,
And Baia's tepid baths and green retreats:
Linternum next they reach, where balmy gums
Distill from mastic trees, and spread perfumes:
Caieta, from the nurse so nam'd, for whom
With pious care Æneas rais'd a tomb,
Vulturne, whose whirlpools suck the numerous sands,
And Trachas, and Minturnæ's marshy lands,
And Formia's coast is left, and Circe's plain,
Which yet remembers her enchanting reign;
To Antium, last, his course the Pilot guides;
Here, while the anchor'd vessel safely rides,
(For now the ruffled deep portends a storm)
The spiry God unfolds his spheric form,
Through large indentings draws his lubric train,
And seeks the refuge of Apollo's fane.
Beneath the weighty God the vessel bends:
The Latins on the strand great Jove appease,
Their cables loose, and plough the yielding seas:
The high-rear'd Serpent from the stern displays
His gorgeous form, and the blue deep surveys;
The ship is wafted on with gentle gales,
And o'er the calm Ionian smoothly sails;
On the sixth morn th' Italian coast they gain,
And touch Lacinia, grac'd with Juno's fane;
Now fair Calabria to the sight is lost,
And all the cities on her fruitful coast;
They pass at length the rough Sicilian shore,
The Brutian soil, rich with metallic ore,
The famous isles where Æolus was King,
And Pæstus blooming with eternal spring:
Minerva's cape they leave, and Capreæ's isle,
Campania, on whose hills the vineyards smile,
The city, which Alcides' spoils adorn,
Naples, for soft delight and pleasure born,
Fair Stabia, with Cumean Sibyls' seats,
And Baia's tepid baths and green retreats:
Linternum next they reach, where balmy gums
Distill from mastic trees, and spread perfumes:
Caieta, from the nurse so nam'd, for whom
With pious care Æneas rais'd a tomb,
Vulturne, whose whirlpools suck the numerous sands,
And Trachas, and Minturnæ's marshy lands,
And Formia's coast is left, and Circe's plain,
Which yet remembers her enchanting reign;
To Antium, last, his course the Pilot guides;
Here, while the anchor'd vessel safely rides,
(For now the ruffled deep portends a storm)
The spiry God unfolds his spheric form,
Through large indentings draws his lubric train,
And seeks the refuge of Apollo's fane.
The fane is situate on the yellow shore:
When the sea smil'd, and the winds rag'd no more,
He leaves his father's hospitable lands,
And furrows, with his rattling scales, the sands
Along the coast; at length the ship regains,
And sails to Tibur, and Lavinum's plains.
Here mingling crowds to meet their patron came,
Ev'n the chaste guardians of the vestal flame,
From every part tumultuous they repair,
And joyful acclamations rend the air:
Along the flowery banks, on either side,
Where the tall ship floats on the swelling tide,
Dispos'd in decent order altars rise;
And crackling incense, as it mounts the skies,
The air with sweets refreshes; while the knife,
Warm with the victim's blood, lets out the streaming life.
When the sea smil'd, and the winds rag'd no more,
103
And furrows, with his rattling scales, the sands
Along the coast; at length the ship regains,
And sails to Tibur, and Lavinum's plains.
Here mingling crowds to meet their patron came,
Ev'n the chaste guardians of the vestal flame,
From every part tumultuous they repair,
And joyful acclamations rend the air:
Along the flowery banks, on either side,
Where the tall ship floats on the swelling tide,
Dispos'd in decent order altars rise;
And crackling incense, as it mounts the skies,
The air with sweets refreshes; while the knife,
Warm with the victim's blood, lets out the streaming life.
The world's great mistress, Rome, receives him now;
On the mast's top reclin'd he waves his brow,
And from that height surveys the great abodes,
And mansions, worthy of residing Gods.
The land, a narrow neck, itself extends,
Round which his course the stream divided bends;
The stream's two arms, on either side, are seen,
Stretch'd out in equal length; the land between.
The isle so call'd from hence derives its name:
'Twas here the salutary Serpent came;
Nor sooner has he left the Latian pine,
But he assumes again his form divine,
And now no more the drooping City mourns,
Joy is again restor'd, and Health returns.
On the mast's top reclin'd he waves his brow,
And from that height surveys the great abodes,
And mansions, worthy of residing Gods.
The land, a narrow neck, itself extends,
Round which his course the stream divided bends;
The stream's two arms, on either side, are seen,
Stretch'd out in equal length; the land between.
The isle so call'd from hence derives its name:
'Twas here the salutary Serpent came;
Nor sooner has he left the Latian pine,
But he assumes again his form divine,
And now no more the drooping City mourns,
Joy is again restor'd, and Health returns.
The Deification of Julius Cæsar.
But Æsculapius was a foreign power:
In his own city Cæsar we adore:
Him Arms and Arts alike renown'd beheld,
In peace conspicuous, dreadful in the field;
His rapid conquests, and swift finish'd wars,
The Hero justly fix'd among the stars;
Yet is his progeny his greatest fame:
The Son immortal makes the Father's name.
The sea-girt Britons, by his courage tam'd,
For their high rocky cliffs and fierceness fam'd;
His dreadful navies, which victorious rode
O'er Nile's affrighted waves and seven-sourc'd flood;
Numidia, and the spacious realms regain'd,
Where Cinyphis or flows, or Juba reign'd;
The powers of titled Mithridates broke,
And Pontus added to the Roman yoke;
Triumphal shows decreed, for conquests won,
For conquests which the triumphs still outshone;
These are great deeds; yet less, than to have given
The world a Lord, in whom, propitious Heaven,
When you decreed the sovereign rule to place,
You bless'd with lavish bounty human race.
In his own city Cæsar we adore:
Him Arms and Arts alike renown'd beheld,
In peace conspicuous, dreadful in the field;
His rapid conquests, and swift finish'd wars,
The Hero justly fix'd among the stars;
104
The Son immortal makes the Father's name.
The sea-girt Britons, by his courage tam'd,
For their high rocky cliffs and fierceness fam'd;
His dreadful navies, which victorious rode
O'er Nile's affrighted waves and seven-sourc'd flood;
Numidia, and the spacious realms regain'd,
Where Cinyphis or flows, or Juba reign'd;
The powers of titled Mithridates broke,
And Pontus added to the Roman yoke;
Triumphal shows decreed, for conquests won,
For conquests which the triumphs still outshone;
These are great deeds; yet less, than to have given
The world a Lord, in whom, propitious Heaven,
When you decreed the sovereign rule to place,
You bless'd with lavish bounty human race.
Now lest so great a Prince might seem to rise
Of mortal stem, his Sire must reach the skies;
The beauteous Goddess, that Æneas bore,
Foresaw it, and foreseeing did deplore;
For well she knew her Hero's fate was nigh,
Devoted by conspiring arms to die.
Trembling, and pale, to every God, she cry'd,
“Behold, what deep and subtle arts are try'd,
“To end the last, the only branch that springs
“From my Iulus, and the Dardan kings!
“How bent they are! how desperate to destroy
“All that is left me of unhappy Troy!
“Am I alone by Fate ordain'd to know
“Uninterrupted care, and endless woe?
“Now from Tydides' spear I feel the wound:
“Now Ilium's towers the hostile flames surround:
“Troy laid in dust, my exil'd son I mourn,
“Through angry seas, and raging billows borne;
“O'er the wide deep his wandering course he bends;
“Now to the sullen shades of Styx descends,
“With Turnus driven at last fierce wars to wage,
“Or rather with unpitying Juno's rage.
“But why record I now my ancient woes?
“Sense of past ills in present fears I lose;
“On me their points the impious daggers throw;
“Forbid it, Gods, repel the direful blow:
“If by curs'd weapons Numa's priest expires,
“No longer shall ye burn, ye vestal fires.”
Of mortal stem, his Sire must reach the skies;
The beauteous Goddess, that Æneas bore,
Foresaw it, and foreseeing did deplore;
For well she knew her Hero's fate was nigh,
Devoted by conspiring arms to die.
Trembling, and pale, to every God, she cry'd,
“Behold, what deep and subtle arts are try'd,
“To end the last, the only branch that springs
“From my Iulus, and the Dardan kings!
“How bent they are! how desperate to destroy
“All that is left me of unhappy Troy!
“Am I alone by Fate ordain'd to know
“Uninterrupted care, and endless woe?
“Now from Tydides' spear I feel the wound:
“Now Ilium's towers the hostile flames surround:
“Troy laid in dust, my exil'd son I mourn,
“Through angry seas, and raging billows borne;
“O'er the wide deep his wandering course he bends;
“Now to the sullen shades of Styx descends,
“With Turnus driven at last fierce wars to wage,
“Or rather with unpitying Juno's rage.
105
“Sense of past ills in present fears I lose;
“On me their points the impious daggers throw;
“Forbid it, Gods, repel the direful blow:
“If by curs'd weapons Numa's priest expires,
“No longer shall ye burn, ye vestal fires.”
While such complainings Cypria's grief disclose;
In each celestial breast compassion rose:
Not Gods can alter Fate's resistless will;
Yet they foretold by signs th' approaching ill.
Dreadful were heard. among the clouds, alarms
Of echoing trumpets, and of clashing arms;
The sun's pale image gave so faint a light,
That the sad earth was almost veil'd in night;
The æther's face with fiery meteors glow'd;
With storms of hail were mingled drops of blood;
A dusky hue the morning star o'erspread,
And the moon's orb was stain'd with spots of red;
In every place portentous shrieks were heard,
The fatal warnings of th' infernal bird;
In every place the marble melts to tears;
While in the groves, rever'd through length of years,
Boding and awful sounds the ear invade,
And solemn music warbles through the shade;
No victim can atone the impious age,
No sacrifice the wrathful Gods assuage;
Dire wars and civil fury threat the state;
And every omen points out Cæsar's fate:
Around each hallow'd shrine, and sacred dome,
Night-howling dogs disturb the peaceful gloom;
Their silent seats the wandering shades forsake,
And fearful tremblings the rock'd city shake.
In each celestial breast compassion rose:
Not Gods can alter Fate's resistless will;
Yet they foretold by signs th' approaching ill.
Dreadful were heard. among the clouds, alarms
Of echoing trumpets, and of clashing arms;
The sun's pale image gave so faint a light,
That the sad earth was almost veil'd in night;
The æther's face with fiery meteors glow'd;
With storms of hail were mingled drops of blood;
A dusky hue the morning star o'erspread,
And the moon's orb was stain'd with spots of red;
In every place portentous shrieks were heard,
The fatal warnings of th' infernal bird;
In every place the marble melts to tears;
While in the groves, rever'd through length of years,
Boding and awful sounds the ear invade,
And solemn music warbles through the shade;
No victim can atone the impious age,
No sacrifice the wrathful Gods assuage;
Dire wars and civil fury threat the state;
And every omen points out Cæsar's fate:
Around each hallow'd shrine, and sacred dome,
Night-howling dogs disturb the peaceful gloom;
Their silent seats the wandering shades forsake,
And fearful tremblings the rock'd city shake.
Yet could not, by these prodigies, be broke
The plotted charm, or stay'd the fatal stroke;
Their swords th' assassins in the temple draw;
Their murthering hands nor Gods nor temples awe;
This sacred place their bloody weapons stain,
And Virtue falls before the altar slain.
'Twas now fair Cypria, with her woes oppress'd,
In raging anguish smote her heavenly breast;
Wild with distracting fears, the Goddess try'd
Her Hero in th' etherial cloud to hide,
The cloud which youthful Paris did conceal,
When Menelaus urg'd the threatening steel;
The cloud, which once deceiv'd Tydides' sight,
And sav'd Æneas in th' unequal fight.
The plotted charm, or stay'd the fatal stroke;
Their swords th' assassins in the temple draw;
Their murthering hands nor Gods nor temples awe;
This sacred place their bloody weapons stain,
And Virtue falls before the altar slain.
106
In raging anguish smote her heavenly breast;
Wild with distracting fears, the Goddess try'd
Her Hero in th' etherial cloud to hide,
The cloud which youthful Paris did conceal,
When Menelaus urg'd the threatening steel;
The cloud, which once deceiv'd Tydides' sight,
And sav'd Æneas in th' unequal fight.
When Jove—“In vain, fair daughter, you assay
“To o'er-rule Destiny's unconquer'd sway:
“Your doubts to banish, enter Fate's abode;
“A privilege to heavenly powers allow'd;
“There shall you see the records grav'd, in length,
“On iron and solid brass, with mighty strength;
“Which heaven's and earth's concussion shall endure;
“Maugre all shocks, eternal and secure:
“There, on perennial adamant design'd,
“The various fortunes of your race you'll find:
“Well I have mark'd them, and will now relate
“To thee the settled laws of future Fate.
“He, Goddess, for whose death the Fates you blame,
“Has finish'd his determin'd course with fame:
“To thee 'tis given, at length, that he shall shine
“Among the Gods, and grace the worship'd shrine:
“His Son to all his greatness shall be heir,
“And worthily succeed to empire's care:
“Ourself will lead his wars, resolv'd to aid
“The brave avenger of his Father's shade:
“To him its freedom Mutina shall owe,
“And Decius his auspicious conduct know:
“His dreadful powers shall shake Pharsalia's plain,
“And drench in gore Philippi's fields again:
“A mighty Leader, in Sicilia's flood,
“Great Pompey's warlike Son, shall be subdued:
“Ægypt's soft Queen, adorn'd with fatal charms,
“Shall mourn her Soldier's unsuccessful arms:
“Too late shall find, her swelling hopes were vain,
“And know, that Rome o'er Memphis still must reign:
“What name I Afric or Nile's hidden head?
“Far as both oceans roll, his power shall spread:
“All the known earth to him shall homage pay,
“And the seas own his universal sway:
“When cruel war no more disturbs mankind;
“To civil studies shall he bend his mind,
“With equal justice guardian laws ordain,
“And by his great example vice restrain:
“Where will his bounty or his goodness end?
“To times unborn his generous views extend;
“The virtues of his Heir our praise engage,
“And promise blessings to the coming age:
“Late shall he in his kindred orbs be plac'd,
“With Pylian years, and crowded honours grac'd.
“Meantime, your Hero's fleeting spirit bear,
“Fresh from his wounds, and change it to a star:
“So shall great Julius rites divine assume,
“And from the skies eternal smile on Rome.”
“To o'er-rule Destiny's unconquer'd sway:
“Your doubts to banish, enter Fate's abode;
“A privilege to heavenly powers allow'd;
“There shall you see the records grav'd, in length,
“On iron and solid brass, with mighty strength;
“Which heaven's and earth's concussion shall endure;
“Maugre all shocks, eternal and secure:
“There, on perennial adamant design'd,
“The various fortunes of your race you'll find:
“Well I have mark'd them, and will now relate
“To thee the settled laws of future Fate.
“He, Goddess, for whose death the Fates you blame,
“Has finish'd his determin'd course with fame:
“To thee 'tis given, at length, that he shall shine
“Among the Gods, and grace the worship'd shrine:
“His Son to all his greatness shall be heir,
“And worthily succeed to empire's care:
“Ourself will lead his wars, resolv'd to aid
“The brave avenger of his Father's shade:
“To him its freedom Mutina shall owe,
“And Decius his auspicious conduct know:
“His dreadful powers shall shake Pharsalia's plain,
“And drench in gore Philippi's fields again:
“A mighty Leader, in Sicilia's flood,
“Great Pompey's warlike Son, shall be subdued:
“Ægypt's soft Queen, adorn'd with fatal charms,
“Shall mourn her Soldier's unsuccessful arms:
“Too late shall find, her swelling hopes were vain,
“And know, that Rome o'er Memphis still must reign:
107
“Far as both oceans roll, his power shall spread:
“All the known earth to him shall homage pay,
“And the seas own his universal sway:
“When cruel war no more disturbs mankind;
“To civil studies shall he bend his mind,
“With equal justice guardian laws ordain,
“And by his great example vice restrain:
“Where will his bounty or his goodness end?
“To times unborn his generous views extend;
“The virtues of his Heir our praise engage,
“And promise blessings to the coming age:
“Late shall he in his kindred orbs be plac'd,
“With Pylian years, and crowded honours grac'd.
“Meantime, your Hero's fleeting spirit bear,
“Fresh from his wounds, and change it to a star:
“So shall great Julius rites divine assume,
“And from the skies eternal smile on Rome.”
This spoke, the Goddess to the Senate flew:
Where, her fair form conceal'd from mortal view,
Her Cæsar's heavenly part she made her care,
Nor left the recent soul to waste to air;
But bore it upwards to its native skies:
Glowing with new-born fires she saw it rise;
Forth springing from her bosom up it flew,
And, kindling as it soar'd, a comet grew;
Above the lunar sphere it took its flight,
And shot behind it a long trail of light.
Where, her fair form conceal'd from mortal view,
Her Cæsar's heavenly part she made her care,
Nor left the recent soul to waste to air;
But bore it upwards to its native skies:
Glowing with new-born fires she saw it rise;
Forth springing from her bosom up it flew,
And, kindling as it soar'd, a comet grew;
Above the lunar sphere it took its flight,
And shot behind it a long trail of light.
The reign of Augustus, in which Ovid flourished.
Thus rais'd, his glorious offspring Julius view'd,
Beneficently great, and scattering good,
Deeds, that his own surpass'd, with joy beheld,
And his large heart dilates to be excell'd.
What though this Prince refuses to receive
The preference which his juster subjects give;
Fame uncontrol'd, that no restraint obeys,
The homage shunn'd by modest virtue, pays,
And proves disloyal only in his praise.
Though great his Sire, him greater we proclaim:
So Atreus yields to Agamemnon's fame;
Achilles so superior honours won,
And Peleus must submit to Peleus' Son;
Examples yet more noble to disclose,
So Saturn was eclips'd, when Jove to empire rose:
Jove rules the heavens; the earth Augustus sways,
Each claims a Monarch's and a Father's praise.
Beneficently great, and scattering good,
Deeds, that his own surpass'd, with joy beheld,
And his large heart dilates to be excell'd.
What though this Prince refuses to receive
The preference which his juster subjects give;
108
The homage shunn'd by modest virtue, pays,
And proves disloyal only in his praise.
Though great his Sire, him greater we proclaim:
So Atreus yields to Agamemnon's fame;
Achilles so superior honours won,
And Peleus must submit to Peleus' Son;
Examples yet more noble to disclose,
So Saturn was eclips'd, when Jove to empire rose:
Jove rules the heavens; the earth Augustus sways,
Each claims a Monarch's and a Father's praise.
Celestials, who for Rome your cares employ;
Ye Gods, who guarded the remains of Troy;
Ye native Gods, here born, and fix'd by Fate;
Quirinus, founder of the Roman state;
O parent Mars, from whom Quirinus sprung;
Chaste Vesta, Cæsar's household Gods among,
Most sacred held; domestic Phœbus, thou,
To whom with Vesta chaste alike we bow;
Great guardian of the high Tarpeian rock;
And all ye powers, whom Poets may invoke;
O grant, that day may claim our sorrows late,
When lov'd Augustus shall submit to Fate,
Visit those seats where Gods and Heroes dwell,
And leave in tears the world he rul'd so well!
Ye Gods, who guarded the remains of Troy;
Ye native Gods, here born, and fix'd by Fate;
Quirinus, founder of the Roman state;
O parent Mars, from whom Quirinus sprung;
Chaste Vesta, Cæsar's household Gods among,
Most sacred held; domestic Phœbus, thou,
To whom with Vesta chaste alike we bow;
Great guardian of the high Tarpeian rock;
And all ye powers, whom Poets may invoke;
O grant, that day may claim our sorrows late,
When lov'd Augustus shall submit to Fate,
Visit those seats where Gods and Heroes dwell,
And leave in tears the world he rul'd so well!
The Poet concludes.
The work is finish'd, which nor dreads the rageOf tempests, fire, or war, or wasting age:
Come, soon or late, death's undetermin'd day,
This mortal being only can decay;
My nobler part, my fame, shall reach the skies,
And to late times with blooming honours rise:
Whate'er th' unbounded Roman power obeys,
All climes and nations shall record my praise:
If 'tis allow'd to Poets to divine,
One half of round eternity is mine.
109
ΟΙΚΟΓΡΑΦΙΑ
A POEM, To his Grace the Duke of DORSET, 1725.
“Non ebur, nee aureum
“Meâ renidet in domo lacunar;
“Non trabes Hymettiæ
“Premunt columnas untimâ recisas
“Africâ, neque Attali;
“Ignotus hæres regiam occupavi.”
Hor 2 Od. xviii. 1–6.
“Meâ renidet in domo lacunar;
“Non trabes Hymettiæ
“Premunt columnas untimâ recisas
“Africâ, neque Attali;
“Ignotus hæres regiam occupavi.”
Hor 2 Od. xviii. 1–6.
At length, O Dorset, not to raise
Trophies to thee of tinsel praise;
Nor barren compliments to frame;
Vain incense to so great a name!
At length I've gain'd, as men will guess,
What not great cunning nor address,
But Fortune in my way has thrown,
A House that I may call my own:
Kind Heaven from every ruin save it,
And bless the generous hand that gave it!
This House, your Grace may please to know,
Is eminent for outward show:
The Architect that plann'd the dome,
Foreseeing well a Druid's home,
The portal rais'd august, supply'd
Two tall sash-lights on either side;
And well he knew, three rooms a floor,
That no wise man would wish for more;
Then steps, a fair ascent! of stone
Uprear'd from living quarries hewn:
A sightly front; no flaw, nor blot!
Stands warm; and on a cunning spot:
Th' alcove at top! from whence one may
At once the rising spires survey,
The freighted Thames what treasure fills,
And 'cross the flood the Kentish hills.
Trophies to thee of tinsel praise;
Nor barren compliments to frame;
Vain incense to so great a name!
At length I've gain'd, as men will guess,
What not great cunning nor address,
But Fortune in my way has thrown,
A House that I may call my own:
Kind Heaven from every ruin save it,
And bless the generous hand that gave it!
This House, your Grace may please to know,
Is eminent for outward show:
The Architect that plann'd the dome,
Foreseeing well a Druid's home,
The portal rais'd august, supply'd
Two tall sash-lights on either side;
And well he knew, three rooms a floor,
That no wise man would wish for more;
Then steps, a fair ascent! of stone
Uprear'd from living quarries hewn:
A sightly front; no flaw, nor blot!
Stands warm; and on a cunning spot:
110
At once the rising spires survey,
The freighted Thames what treasure fills,
And 'cross the flood the Kentish hills.
This for the shell—In all within,
A different face of things is seen;
No pomp, nor cost bestow'd in vain!
But decent furniture, and plain;
Where nothing sordid is to see;
Neat, though from ostentation free:
To pass the entry, which we call,
Sometimes, in raillery, a Hall;
The Parlour's what the house does grace!
That is to say, my Lord, the place
Where humble Bards our levee wait;
Which True-wit calls my room of state:
At once you see the Pannel-glass,
The matted Chairs, and Locks of brass;
The Stove, that chears the wintery moon,
Or Flower-piece, in its stead, in June;
The Beaufet, that, with glasses fine,
Tempts heedless folks to stay to dine;
And, last, the genial Board, not large,
Nor equal to a sumptuous charge,
Yet, where one could with ease compose
All Vafer's friends, or Methuen's foes:
Such needful things are, chief, in view;
To ornament there are but few:
Howe'er, the careful eye may see
Gilt Spoons, for equipage of Tea,
And Cups, the soft Chinese's art!
Partly entire, in fragments part;
An Almanack, Feast-days to spy;
And Skreens of Gause for privacy;
In one and t'other place a Print;
Th' Engraver's skill, or Mezzotint!
Here, Harriot looks as she would smile;
Here, Dorset, thy brave friend Argyll,
His learned Brother, there, is seen,
Buchanan and Puffendorf between.
Here, Smelt to all the Muses dear;
And the great Statesman, Walpole, here;
The Royal Race, Dahl's master-hand!
Come forth to fight; beside them stand
Garth, Dryden, Cavendish, in a row;
And Durfey, for a joke, below:
With such like toys we make a shift;
The more, because Jack Trueman's gift.
A different face of things is seen;
No pomp, nor cost bestow'd in vain!
But decent furniture, and plain;
Where nothing sordid is to see;
Neat, though from ostentation free:
To pass the entry, which we call,
Sometimes, in raillery, a Hall;
The Parlour's what the house does grace!
That is to say, my Lord, the place
Where humble Bards our levee wait;
Which True-wit calls my room of state:
At once you see the Pannel-glass,
The matted Chairs, and Locks of brass;
The Stove, that chears the wintery moon,
Or Flower-piece, in its stead, in June;
The Beaufet, that, with glasses fine,
Tempts heedless folks to stay to dine;
And, last, the genial Board, not large,
Nor equal to a sumptuous charge,
Yet, where one could with ease compose
All Vafer's friends, or Methuen's foes:
Such needful things are, chief, in view;
To ornament there are but few:
Howe'er, the careful eye may see
Gilt Spoons, for equipage of Tea,
And Cups, the soft Chinese's art!
Partly entire, in fragments part;
An Almanack, Feast-days to spy;
And Skreens of Gause for privacy;
In one and t'other place a Print;
Th' Engraver's skill, or Mezzotint!
Here, Harriot looks as she would smile;
Here, Dorset, thy brave friend Argyll,
111
Buchanan and Puffendorf between.
Here, Smelt to all the Muses dear;
And the great Statesman, Walpole, here;
The Royal Race, Dahl's master-hand!
Come forth to fight; beside them stand
Garth, Dryden, Cavendish, in a row;
And Durfey, for a joke, below:
With such like toys we make a shift;
The more, because Jack Trueman's gift.
As yet, is found no decoration
Of long descent, nor antique fashion;
No reverend portraiture to strike
The eye, here Lely, there Vandyke!
Till, in the Dining-room, behold!
(Let it with honest pride be told)
My Grandsire's awful form appears,
The silver beard of fourscore years!
And, near, his aged Help-mate hung,
Toast of Belgravian Swains, when young!
By her, plain Robert's rustic dress!
Fair Catharine with the auborn tress!
And of my Line some other few,
Blest people that had nought to do!
Who, gravely, nothing made their care,
But to leave nothing to their Heir!
Here too, Seats, some half score, are found;
And a Tarpaulin on the ground;
A Mirror, Cosmo's constant friend,
Does, down the pier, direct, descend;
Each side, a Sconce, for waxen lights,
To grace the dance on Christmas nights;
A Map you see the chimney o'er;
At a small distance, a Scritore,
Contriv'd my little wealth to hold
Of Staple Poetry, or Gold;
A Couch, beside, of homely sort,
But serves, thank worthy Bevill for't,
To entertain one's thoughts at ease,
Or muse of what may Dorset please;
On learned shelves, while, close at hand,
A few old trusty Classicks stand,
Quintilian, Plutarch, Mantua's fame,
Herodotus, the great Livian name,
Petronius, Ovid, Bion's tears,
Wilmot, and Waller, 'mong their Peers,
And other names of modern birth,
Hoadly, Verulam, Chillingworth,
Thy Sire, with his immortal wreath!
And our own Laurel, far beneath.
Such this apartment—With small pains
A man may guess at what remains.
Of long descent, nor antique fashion;
No reverend portraiture to strike
The eye, here Lely, there Vandyke!
Till, in the Dining-room, behold!
(Let it with honest pride be told)
My Grandsire's awful form appears,
The silver beard of fourscore years!
And, near, his aged Help-mate hung,
Toast of Belgravian Swains, when young!
By her, plain Robert's rustic dress!
Fair Catharine with the auborn tress!
And of my Line some other few,
Blest people that had nought to do!
Who, gravely, nothing made their care,
But to leave nothing to their Heir!
Here too, Seats, some half score, are found;
And a Tarpaulin on the ground;
A Mirror, Cosmo's constant friend,
Does, down the pier, direct, descend;
Each side, a Sconce, for waxen lights,
To grace the dance on Christmas nights;
112
At a small distance, a Scritore,
Contriv'd my little wealth to hold
Of Staple Poetry, or Gold;
A Couch, beside, of homely sort,
But serves, thank worthy Bevill for't,
To entertain one's thoughts at ease,
Or muse of what may Dorset please;
On learned shelves, while, close at hand,
A few old trusty Classicks stand,
Quintilian, Plutarch, Mantua's fame,
Herodotus, the great Livian name,
Petronius, Ovid, Bion's tears,
Wilmot, and Waller, 'mong their Peers,
And other names of modern birth,
Hoadly, Verulam, Chillingworth,
Thy Sire, with his immortal wreath!
And our own Laurel, far beneath.
Such this apartment—With small pains
A man may guess at what remains.
The Chamber, set apart for rest,
With few embellishments is drest;
Void of the needless curious skill!
And would become de Vilette ill:
Howe'er, the walls are lin'd with stuff,
Coarse-spun, but warm; so rich enough.
To cherish love, hangs full in view
A Venus, Peregrini drew;
The boards look brown, through Jenny's care,
Fresh-rubb'd with marjoram and myrrh;
And these a cheap-bought carpet strows;
A wholesome hearth with embers glows,
Vapours and wintery damps to cure;
And other useful furniture;
The chief, what all the rest does crown,
A neat clean bed! its feathers, down!
Soft, as e'er gave the peacock pride,
Or blanch'd the silver cygnet's side.
The rest o'th' house, and neigh bouring rooms,
Alike undeck'd with Persia's looms,
Your Grace's trouble not t'increase,
Is much the same, and of a piece.
With few embellishments is drest;
Void of the needless curious skill!
And would become de Vilette ill:
Howe'er, the walls are lin'd with stuff,
Coarse-spun, but warm; so rich enough.
To cherish love, hangs full in view
A Venus, Peregrini drew;
The boards look brown, through Jenny's care,
Fresh-rubb'd with marjoram and myrrh;
And these a cheap-bought carpet strows;
A wholesome hearth with embers glows,
Vapours and wintery damps to cure;
And other useful furniture;
The chief, what all the rest does crown,
A neat clean bed! its feathers, down!
Soft, as e'er gave the peacock pride,
Or blanch'd the silver cygnet's side.
113
Alike undeck'd with Persia's looms,
Your Grace's trouble not t'increase,
Is much the same, and of a piece.
Such lowly things Philemon show'd,
And Baucis, in their mean abode;
Yet Gods descending grac'd their cot:
Like theirs, is my all humble lot:
Nor covet we the wealth, that shines
In domes of Eastern concubines;
The luxury of Cardinals;
Nor British Barons echoing Halls;
The Cabinets of amber pure;
The golden Lamp, nor silver Ewer;
Nor ample Goblets, that relate
Histories, rough-rising on the Plate;
Nor Crimson Flowers on Arras feign'd;
Nor soft Perfumes in wood engrain'd:
These wants I bear; not wants to me!
While Innocence and Piety
Defend my roof, and Britain deigns
To listen to my Lestrian strains.
And Baucis, in their mean abode;
Yet Gods descending grac'd their cot:
Like theirs, is my all humble lot:
Nor covet we the wealth, that shines
In domes of Eastern concubines;
The luxury of Cardinals;
Nor British Barons echoing Halls;
The Cabinets of amber pure;
The golden Lamp, nor silver Ewer;
Nor ample Goblets, that relate
Histories, rough-rising on the Plate;
Nor Crimson Flowers on Arras feign'd;
Nor soft Perfumes in wood engrain'd:
These wants I bear; not wants to me!
While Innocence and Piety
Defend my roof, and Britain deigns
To listen to my Lestrian strains.
One only place, the humble grief,
That of your Grace implores relief,
Is yet unsung—All wan it lies,
And, deep, beneath the azure skies;
Here, oft, to nourish spleen I go,
A darksome path! descending low;
Here, Fate so will'd, the scene begins;
Fit penance for a life of sins!
Aid me, great Shades, Milton and Kneller,
To paint the horrors of the Cellar;
The Cellar! rather say the frame,
That but usurps a Cellar's name:
Lo! a sad void! and void of chear;
No Bellarmine, my Lord, is here;
Eliza none at hand to reach,
A Betty call'd in common speech!
Nor Muscate, nor Frontignac's treasure,
To ensnare kind girls to pleasure;
Nor Margou, stor'd in priestly cells,
That on the palate grateful dwells;
Nor yet the grape, matur'd by suns
O'er glittering sands where Tagus runs,
Is here; Pontac, nor Hermitage,
In rusty bottles, pledge of age!
Nor Cyprus soft, the Lover's balm,
Is here; nor Vine surnam'd the Palm,
That does to mind bright Windsor call!
But all is blank, and empty all;
Empty and blank, and full of rue:
My soul! ridiculous to view!
A Cellar, but in outward plan!
As Senesino is a man:
A bootless vacuum, vainly wide!
Where no kind tap is to be spy'd;
No maiden hogshead lies, retir'd,
For chosen friends, and men inspir'd;
No precious flask, the night to close
With amorous talk beneath the rose;
Nor any hidden pint, t'arrest
At parting hours, a favourite guest:
O most forlorn of space! in vain
I search it o'er and o'er again;
And scarce my faithful eyes believe,
And wish my senses could deceive.
Not otherwise Louisa sped,
To a plane man by fortune wed;
Like me, the Nymph admir'd her state,
When her soft hand, that o'er her mate,
From chin to toe did wistly stray,
Met nothing all the level way.
That of your Grace implores relief,
Is yet unsung—All wan it lies,
And, deep, beneath the azure skies;
Here, oft, to nourish spleen I go,
A darksome path! descending low;
Here, Fate so will'd, the scene begins;
Fit penance for a life of sins!
Aid me, great Shades, Milton and Kneller,
To paint the horrors of the Cellar;
The Cellar! rather say the frame,
That but usurps a Cellar's name:
Lo! a sad void! and void of chear;
No Bellarmine, my Lord, is here;
Eliza none at hand to reach,
A Betty call'd in common speech!
114
To ensnare kind girls to pleasure;
Nor Margou, stor'd in priestly cells,
That on the palate grateful dwells;
Nor yet the grape, matur'd by suns
O'er glittering sands where Tagus runs,
Is here; Pontac, nor Hermitage,
In rusty bottles, pledge of age!
Nor Cyprus soft, the Lover's balm,
Is here; nor Vine surnam'd the Palm,
That does to mind bright Windsor call!
But all is blank, and empty all;
Empty and blank, and full of rue:
My soul! ridiculous to view!
A Cellar, but in outward plan!
As Senesino is a man:
A bootless vacuum, vainly wide!
Where no kind tap is to be spy'd;
No maiden hogshead lies, retir'd,
For chosen friends, and men inspir'd;
No precious flask, the night to close
With amorous talk beneath the rose;
Nor any hidden pint, t'arrest
At parting hours, a favourite guest:
O most forlorn of space! in vain
I search it o'er and o'er again;
And scarce my faithful eyes believe,
And wish my senses could deceive.
Not otherwise Louisa sped,
To a plane man by fortune wed;
Like me, the Nymph admir'd her state,
When her soft hand, that o'er her mate,
From chin to toe did wistly stray,
Met nothing all the level way.
Trace backward the Pierian story;
Run over the Crown'd Heads of Glory;
Then tell me, Buckhurst, who of all
The Sacred Band we Prophets call,
Old time or late, but tasted free
The grape, and bless'd its energy!
Horace, read him, still he chats,
Untir'd, of his Falernian vats;
Their age precise! the Consul's name!
Gay Catullus does the same;
The clusters, Lebanon that clad,
Made David's heart and Psaltry glad;
And every vine Anacreon try'd,
A Martyr to the vine who dy'd!
What name I soft Perfecti's lay?
He chaunts, by turns, and sucks Tokay:
Great Eugene's bard, that Bully-rock,
Drinks, like his mother's milk, Old Hock;
And Ramsay, offspring of our own,
Through the Northward Islands known,
Rich fumes of Chianti does inspire,
Then strikes the Caledonian Lyre:
Whoe'er affect a Poet's praise,
Ev'n Beaux, that sing their courtly lays,
O'er Tuscan bowls long nights regale,
And blast the fame of damsels frail.
Run over the Crown'd Heads of Glory;
Then tell me, Buckhurst, who of all
The Sacred Band we Prophets call,
115
The grape, and bless'd its energy!
Horace, read him, still he chats,
Untir'd, of his Falernian vats;
Their age precise! the Consul's name!
Gay Catullus does the same;
The clusters, Lebanon that clad,
Made David's heart and Psaltry glad;
And every vine Anacreon try'd,
A Martyr to the vine who dy'd!
What name I soft Perfecti's lay?
He chaunts, by turns, and sucks Tokay:
Great Eugene's bard, that Bully-rock,
Drinks, like his mother's milk, Old Hock;
And Ramsay, offspring of our own,
Through the Northward Islands known,
Rich fumes of Chianti does inspire,
Then strikes the Caledonian Lyre:
Whoe'er affect a Poet's praise,
Ev'n Beaux, that sing their courtly lays,
O'er Tuscan bowls long nights regale,
And blast the fame of damsels frail.
What wonders will not Wine create!
The cordial of unprosperous fate!
The charm, that, easing dull delay,
Gives us to-morrow's good to-day;
The flattering mirrour, that does raise
Beauty's lustre to a blaze!
The cheat, on Chloris that bestows
How's lily, and Campbella's rose!
The cordial of unprosperous fate!
The charm, that, easing dull delay,
Gives us to-morrow's good to-day;
The flattering mirrour, that does raise
Beauty's lustre to a blaze!
The cheat, on Chloris that bestows
How's lily, and Campbella's rose!
These are the thoughts, that from my breast,
Great Line of Sackville, banish rest;
Ev'n Wit depriving of its charms!
My torment in Zelinda's arms!
Demure and pale, I travel round
These ramparts, and these walls renown'd;
And when some claret phiz I spy,
I note it with an envious eye.
Great Line of Sackville, banish rest;
Ev'n Wit depriving of its charms!
My torment in Zelinda's arms!
Demure and pale, I travel round
These ramparts, and these walls renown'd;
And when some claret phiz I spy,
I note it with an envious eye.
116
O Thou! their theme whom Poets chuse!
Refuge of the lost English Muse!
The day, thou darling of my song!
Led by the swift-wing'd Hours along,
The day draws nigh, that shall restore
Our Cæsar to his Albion shore;
And that auspicious other day,
Distinguish'd through the vernal May,
The Suns bring on, to grace our mirth;
Th' illustrious morn that gave him birth:
Then let me not, while with one voice
Mankind on Britain's Fasts rejoice,
Let me not want (Heaven's boon!) Champaign,
T' engay the heart; or wish in vain
To hail great George in Bourdeaux wine,
Thy Lord, O Middlesex, and mine.
Refuge of the lost English Muse!
The day, thou darling of my song!
Led by the swift-wing'd Hours along,
The day draws nigh, that shall restore
Our Cæsar to his Albion shore;
And that auspicious other day,
Distinguish'd through the vernal May,
The Suns bring on, to grace our mirth;
Th' illustrious morn that gave him birth:
Then let me not, while with one voice
Mankind on Britain's Fasts rejoice,
Let me not want (Heaven's boon!) Champaign,
T' engay the heart; or wish in vain
To hail great George in Bourdeaux wine,
Thy Lord, O Middlesex, and mine.
117
PROLOGUE to SOUTHERN'S Money's the Mistress, 1725.
From the dull beaten road resolv'd to stray,This Author, for the subject of his Play,
Does every sect and every nation chuse:
French, Spaniards, Moors, and unbelieving Jews!
So subtle chemists to import are known,
From different climates, medicines for their own:
This is his scheme—But much, he fears, at length,
Is wasted of his fire and wonted strength.
The suns decay; the brightest lustre wanes;
Nor is he all he was in former reigns:
Then was his day to court th' inconstant stage;
Enfeebled now, and diffident with age,
118
O! last defend, who first inspir'd his Muse!
In your soft service he has pass'd his days,
And glory'd to be born for woman's praise:
Depress'd at length, and in your cause decay'd,
The good old man to Beauty bends for aid;
That Beauty he has taught so oft to moan!
That never let Imoinda weep alone,
And made his Isabella's griefs its own!
Ere you arose to life, ye blooming train;
Ere time brought forth our pleasure and our pain;
He melted hearts, to Monarchs' vows deny'd!
And soft'ned to distress unconquer'd pride:
O! then protect, in his declining years,
The man that fill'd your mothers' eyes with tears!
The last of Charles's Bards! The living name,
That rose, in that Augustan age, to fame!
And you, his Brother-authors, bravely dare
To join to-night the squadrons of the Fair;
With zeal protect your veteran Writer's page,
And save the Drama's Father in his age:
Nor let the wreath from his grey head be torn;
For half a century with honour worn!
His merits to your tribe to mind recall;
Of some the Patron, and a Friend to all!
In him the Poets' Nestor ye defend!
Great Otway's Peer, and greater Dryden's Friend.
174
PROPOSALS for translating HORACE.
HORACE, BOOK I. ODE I.
To the Right Honourable George Dodington.
I
Descended from old British sires!Great Dodington, to kings allied;
My Patron thou! my laurel's pride;
There are, whom thirst of fame inspires.
II
To win the lordly Grecian prize;And the proud dust, and wheels, that roll,
Swift as the lightning, round the goal,
Uplift Earth's Sovereigns to the skies:
III
These struggle, with ambitious pains,To be by wavering crowds ador'd;
Those, in their granaries, uphoard
The harvests mow'd on Libya's plains:
IV
While others, pleas'd with rural arts,Manure their own paternal fields;
175
Persuade them, with desponding hearts,
V
To cross in ships th' Ægean seas:The Merchant, when the south-west blast,
With surges struggling, drives the mast,
Most happy calls a life of ease;
VI
Most happy his sweet native air!Yet, straight, he hastens to reform
His vessel, shatter'd in the storm;
Ill-nurtur'd poverty to bear!
VII
There are, who quaff, throughout the day,Old Massic wine, or careless laid
Beneath the wilding-apple's shade,
Or where the rising fountains play:
VIII
And many be, whom camps delight,Who in the rife's, and clarion's voice,
The symphony of war, rejoice,
And battles, that fond mothers fright:
176
IX
The Hunter bears bleak cold, and wet,Unmindful of his lovely spouse;
Whether the stag the beagles rouze,
Or the wild boar has broke the net:
X
To thee the ivy crown belongs;For thee alike and Phœbus wove!
Thee, Dodington, the gelid grove,
And the light nymphs, and Druid-throngs,
XI
Shall o'er the vulgar greatly blaze;If Clio not restrain the lyre,
Nor she, that does the flute inspire,
Refuse the Lesbian note to rase:
XII
I too the golden harp, my pride,And fair distinction, fain would claim;
Give me a Lyric Poet's name,
And I'll look down on all beside.
178
HORACE, BOOK I. ODE III.
To the Yacht that is to bring over the Marquis of Blandford.
May Beauty's Goddess guide thy way!
The bright twin-stars dispense their ray!
The Sire of winds the winds compose,
All but the gale that northward blows!
O Yacht, that all my hopes dost bear,
Entrusted with great Marlborough's heir!
O guard the darling of the land,
And give him safe to Dover's strand!
The bright twin-stars dispense their ray!
The Sire of winds the winds compose,
All but the gale that northward blows!
O Yacht, that all my hopes dost bear,
Entrusted with great Marlborough's heir!
O guard the darling of the land,
And give him safe to Dover's strand!
Oak was his heart, his breast with steel
Thrice mail'd, that first the brittle keel
Committed to the murtherous deep;
Nor dreaded battling winds, that sweep
The flood, the Hyads stormy train,
Nor furious South, of Adria's main
The lawless monarch, be his will
T' enrage the gulphy wave, or still:
All fear of death did he repell,
Who, tearless, saw the billows swell;
Saw the fell monsters floating by,
And rocks, deaf to the seaman's cry!
Vain has Almighty Wisdom plac'd,
For earth's fix'd bourne, the watery waste;
If impious men the art have found
T' o'erleap th' inviolable mound:
Bold man, that all things dares assay,
Through crimes forbidden makes his way.
Bold Japhet's race, of human-kind
The curse, celestial fire purloin'd;
The fire celestial ill-obtain'd,
Straight, the wan lingering Phthisis reign'd;
Came Fevers, with pestiferous breath,
A spotted legion! and slow Death,
Far off before, though sure decreed,
Catch'd up his steps, and march'd with speed.
Presuming Dædalus! he tried
Through air, with wings to man deny'd,
To journey; rash Alcmena's son
The barriers broke of Acheron.
To deeds stupendous mortals rise;
We ev'n in folly brave the skies,
Nor suffer Jove, through stubborn pride,
To lay th' uplifted bolt aside.
Thrice mail'd, that first the brittle keel
Committed to the murtherous deep;
Nor dreaded battling winds, that sweep
179
Nor furious South, of Adria's main
The lawless monarch, be his will
T' enrage the gulphy wave, or still:
All fear of death did he repell,
Who, tearless, saw the billows swell;
Saw the fell monsters floating by,
And rocks, deaf to the seaman's cry!
Vain has Almighty Wisdom plac'd,
For earth's fix'd bourne, the watery waste;
180
T' o'erleap th' inviolable mound:
Bold man, that all things dares assay,
Through crimes forbidden makes his way.
Bold Japhet's race, of human-kind
The curse, celestial fire purloin'd;
The fire celestial ill-obtain'd,
Straight, the wan lingering Phthisis reign'd;
Came Fevers, with pestiferous breath,
A spotted legion! and slow Death,
Far off before, though sure decreed,
Catch'd up his steps, and march'd with speed.
Presuming Dædalus! he tried
Through air, with wings to man deny'd,
To journey; rash Alcmena's son
The barriers broke of Acheron.
To deeds stupendous mortals rise;
We ev'n in folly brave the skies,
Nor suffer Jove, through stubborn pride,
To lay th' uplifted bolt aside.
HORACE, BOOK I. ODE V.
Who, Amoret, is now the joyOf thy fond heart? what blooming boy,
Rich-essenc'd, and on rose-beds laid,
Pants o'er thee on the grotto's shade?
For whom, like rural maidens fair,
Wreath'st thou with flowers thy flaxen hair?
181
Of the chang'd Gods how oft complain?
With what surprize, unwont, survey
The lowring heavens and clouded day?
The youth who, now with smiles carest,
Trusts in the charms that make him blest;
Who paints thee vacant, lovely, kind;
Unweening of the faithless wind!
Curs'd! who to those false smiles confide;
Doat on that darling face untry'd!
In yonder tablet 'tis exprest,
That I have hung my sea-dank vest,
An offering, in his sacred-shrine,
To the great Power that rules the brine.
182
HORACE, BOOK I. ODE XXII.
To the Right Honourable the Earl of Pembroke.
From Virtue's laws who never parts,O Pembroke, safe may go
Without the Moorish lance or bow,
Or quiver stor'd with poison'd darts,
The womb of woe!
Whether through Libya's scorching land
To journey he provides,
By savage Caucas' rocky sides,
Or where the stream, o'er golden sand,
Of Indus glides:
183
To my sweet lute I play'd,
And, wrapt in Harriot, carless stray'd,
A wolf espy'd me all unarm'd,
And fled dismay'd:
A direr portent, nor a worse,
Has warlike Daunia view'd,
Through her vast wilds and forests rude:
Nor Juba's arid realms, that nurse
The lion-brood:
Bear me to cold and wintery plains,
Where no fair-blossom'd trees
Adduce the soft-aspiring breeze;
But fogs abound, and chilly rains,
With dews that freeze:
In the burnt climate let me reek;
The houseless desart Isle!
There Harriot shall my cares beguile;
My Harriot, that does sweetly speak,
And sweetly smile!
185
EPILOGUE to “The Widow Bewitched,”
a Comedy, by JOHN MOTLEY, Esq. 1730.
The Widow was Bewitch'd, and Author too,
To give his work a mame so oddly new:
He might have reason for this wild pretence;
But, sure, a Wife Bewitch'd were plainer sense:
The standing ill, which courts and cities know!
The peasant's grievance, and the statesman's woe!
Through Heaven itself the magic reign'd of old,
Where every Married Goddess was a scold;
From thence to earth, the gift of Gods! it came,
And Juno thunders in Xantippe's name:
On its own strength this character relies,
Bright and immortal as its native skies!
From age to age deriv'd with greater sway,
And re-confirm'd on every wedding-day!
Thus womankind one fated impulse drives;
When maids, they're witches; and bewitch'd, when wives!
But what's a title after all? you'll say.
Why, faith! 'tis every thing, 'tis half the play:
Whate'er's call'd merit, through the world, explore;
You'll find 'tis empty title, and no more:
Set that aside, who might not safe defy
Lord Belmour's wit, or Lady Spangle's eye?
“Were I,” says Mopsa, “wedded to an Earl,
“My life for yours, l'd be a pretty girl!”
To give his work a mame so oddly new:
He might have reason for this wild pretence;
But, sure, a Wife Bewitch'd were plainer sense:
The standing ill, which courts and cities know!
The peasant's grievance, and the statesman's woe!
Through Heaven itself the magic reign'd of old,
Where every Married Goddess was a scold;
From thence to earth, the gift of Gods! it came,
And Juno thunders in Xantippe's name:
On its own strength this character relies,
Bright and immortal as its native skies!
From age to age deriv'd with greater sway,
And re-confirm'd on every wedding-day!
Thus womankind one fated impulse drives;
When maids, they're witches; and bewitch'd, when wives!
But what's a title after all? you'll say.
Why, faith! 'tis every thing, 'tis half the play:
Whate'er's call'd merit, through the world, explore;
You'll find 'tis empty title, and no more:
Set that aside, who might not safe defy
Lord Belmour's wit, or Lady Spangle's eye?
“Were I,” says Mopsa, “wedded to an Earl,
“My life for yours, l'd be a pretty girl!”
But, let this circumstance be as it will;
We have a title to your pity still:
What bosom so revolts from Nature's laws,
As not to plead this wretched Widow's cause!
In her first chain ordain'd to drag-out life;
A fancy'd Widow, and a real Wife!
With double cruelty by fortune crost,
Who found a Husband, and a Lover lost.
We have a title to your pity still:
What bosom so revolts from Nature's laws,
As not to plead this wretched Widow's cause!
In her first chain ordain'd to drag-out life;
A fancy'd Widow, and a real Wife!
With double cruelty by fortune crost,
Who found a Husband, and a Lover lost.
186
ONE EPISTLE to Mr. A. POPE,
Occasioned by Two Epistles lately published.
“Spiteful he is not, though he writ a Satire,
“For still there goes some Thinking to Ill-nature.”
Dryden.
“For still there goes some Thinking to Ill-nature.”
Dryden.
189
IF noble Buckingham, in metre known,
With strains has grac'd thee, humble as thy own;
Who Gildon's dullness did for thine discard,
A better Critick, for as bad a Bard!
Not unregarded let this tribute be,
Though humble, just; well-bred, though paid to thee.
With strains has grac'd thee, humble as thy own;
Who Gildon's dullness did for thine discard,
A better Critick, for as bad a Bard!
Not unregarded let this tribute be,
Though humble, just; well-bred, though paid to thee.
Parnassian groves, and Twick'nam fountains, say,
What homage to the Bard shall Britain pay?
The Bard! that first, from Dryden's thrice-glean'd page,
Cull'd his low efforts to poetic rage;
Nor pillag'd only that unrival'd strain,
But rak'd for couplets Chapman and Duck-Lane,
Has sweat each century's rubbish to explore,
And plunder'd every dunce that writ before,
Catching half lines, till the tun'd verse went round,
Complete, in smooth dull unity of sound;
Who, stealing human, scorn'd celestial fire,
And strung to Smithfield airs the Hebrew lyre;
Who taught declining Wycherley to doze
O'er wire-drawn sense, that tinkled in the close,
To lovely F---r impious and obscene,
To mud-born Naiads faithfully unclean;
Whose raptur'd nonsense, with prophetic skill,
First taught that Ombre, which fore-ran Quadrille;
Who from the skies, propitious to the fair,
Brought down Cæcilia, and sent Cloris there,
Censur'd by Wake, by Atterbury blest,
Prais'd Swift in earnest, and sung Heaven in jest,
Here mov'd by whim, and there by envy stung,
Would flatter Chartres, or would libel Young,
By Fenton left, by Reverend Linguists hated,
Now learns to read the Greek he once translated.
What homage to the Bard shall Britain pay?
The Bard! that first, from Dryden's thrice-glean'd page,
Cull'd his low efforts to poetic rage;
190
But rak'd for couplets Chapman and Duck-Lane,
Has sweat each century's rubbish to explore,
And plunder'd every dunce that writ before,
Catching half lines, till the tun'd verse went round,
Complete, in smooth dull unity of sound;
Who, stealing human, scorn'd celestial fire,
And strung to Smithfield airs the Hebrew lyre;
Who taught declining Wycherley to doze
O'er wire-drawn sense, that tinkled in the close,
To lovely F---r impious and obscene,
To mud-born Naiads faithfully unclean;
Whose raptur'd nonsense, with prophetic skill,
First taught that Ombre, which fore-ran Quadrille;
Who from the skies, propitious to the fair,
Brought down Cæcilia, and sent Cloris there,
Censur'd by Wake, by Atterbury blest,
Prais'd Swift in earnest, and sung Heaven in jest,
Here mov'd by whim, and there by envy stung,
Would flatter Chartres, or would libel Young,
By Fenton left, by Reverend Linguists hated,
Now learns to read the Greek he once translated.
Oh say, to him what trophies shall be rais'd,
That unprovok'd will strike, and fawn unprais'd!
Each favourite toast who marks, or rising wit,
To sketch a satire that in time may fit;
Still hopes your sun-set, while he views your noon,
And still broods o'er the closely-kept lampoon;
The lurking presents o'er the tomb he paid,
And thus aton'd our British Virgil's shade,
A mushroom satire in his life conceal'd,
Since chang'd to libel, and in print reveal'd;
Who lets not Beauty base detraction 'scape,
And mocks Deformity with Æsop's shape;
Who Cato's Muse with faithless sneers bely'd,
The prologue father'd, and the play decry'd,
On Hoadly's learned page dull-sporting trod,
Betray'd his patrons, and lampoon'd his God;
Translator, Editor, could far out-go
In Homer Ogleby, in Shakespeare Rowe.
Oh! how burlesqued, great Dryden, is thy strain,
When little Alexander slays the slain!
That unprovok'd will strike, and fawn unprais'd!
191
To sketch a satire that in time may fit;
Still hopes your sun-set, while he views your noon,
And still broods o'er the closely-kept lampoon;
The lurking presents o'er the tomb he paid,
And thus aton'd our British Virgil's shade,
A mushroom satire in his life conceal'd,
Since chang'd to libel, and in print reveal'd;
Who lets not Beauty base detraction 'scape,
And mocks Deformity with Æsop's shape;
Who Cato's Muse with faithless sneers bely'd,
The prologue father'd, and the play decry'd,
On Hoadly's learned page dull-sporting trod,
Betray'd his patrons, and lampoon'd his God;
Translator, Editor, could far out-go
In Homer Ogleby, in Shakespeare Rowe.
Oh! how burlesqued, great Dryden, is thy strain,
When little Alexander slays the slain!
On, mighty Rhimer, haste new palms to seize,
Thy little, envious, angry genius teaze;
Let thy weak wilful head, unrein'd by art,
Obey the dictates of thy flattering heart;
Divide a busy, fretful life between
Smut, libel, sing-song, vanity, and spleen;
With long-brew'd malice warm thy languid page,
And urge delirious nonsense into rage;
Let bawdy emblems, now, thy hours beguile;
Now, fustian epic, aping Virgil's style;
To Virgil like, to Indian clay as delf,
Or Pulteney, drawn by Jervas, to herself:
Rheams heap'd on rheams, incessant, may'st thou blot,
A lively, trifling, pert, one knows not what!
Form thy light measures, nimbler than the wind,
Whilst heavy lingering sense is left behind;
With all thy might pursue, and all thy will,
That unabating thirst, to scribble still,
Giv'n at thy birth! the Poetaster's gust,
False and unsated as the Eunuch's lust!
Thy little, envious, angry genius teaze;
Let thy weak wilful head, unrein'd by art,
Obey the dictates of thy flattering heart;
Divide a busy, fretful life between
Smut, libel, sing-song, vanity, and spleen;
With long-brew'd malice warm thy languid page,
And urge delirious nonsense into rage;
Let bawdy emblems, now, thy hours beguile;
Now, fustian epic, aping Virgil's style;
To Virgil like, to Indian clay as delf,
Or Pulteney, drawn by Jervas, to herself:
Rheams heap'd on rheams, incessant, may'st thou blot,
A lively, trifling, pert, one knows not what!
192
Whilst heavy lingering sense is left behind;
With all thy might pursue, and all thy will,
That unabating thirst, to scribble still,
Giv'n at thy birth! the Poetaster's gust,
False and unsated as the Eunuch's lust!
Illustrious Fops, meantime, o'er-rate thy lays,
And blooming Critics, as they spell thee, praise:
Blest Coupleter! by blooming Critics read,
At toilets ogled, and with sweetmeats fed:
See, lisping toilets grace thy Dunciad's cause,
And scream their witty Scavenger's applause,
While powder'd wits and lac'd cabals rehearse
Thy bawdy cento, and thy bead-roll verse;
Gay, bugled statesmen on thy side debate,
And libel'd blockheads court thee, though they hate. [OMITTED]
Fools of all kinds their suffrages impart,
The fools of Nature, and the fools of Art.
And blooming Critics, as they spell thee, praise:
Blest Coupleter! by blooming Critics read,
At toilets ogled, and with sweetmeats fed:
See, lisping toilets grace thy Dunciad's cause,
And scream their witty Scavenger's applause,
While powder'd wits and lac'd cabals rehearse
Thy bawdy cento, and thy bead-roll verse;
Gay, bugled statesmen on thy side debate,
And libel'd blockheads court thee, though they hate. [OMITTED]
Fools of all kinds their suffrages impart,
The fools of Nature, and the fools of Art.
These in thy threadbare farce shall beauties show,
Shall praise thy ribald mirth, and maudlin woe;
Praise ev'n thy imitating Chaucer's tales,
And call that merry Temple, Fame's Versailles:
Thy shepherd song with rapture they shall see,
Which rivals Philips, as Banks rivals Lee;
Thy Guernsey and Barbados wreath shall own,
Where D'Urfey ne'er was read, nor Settle known;
That wreath, that name, which through both worlds is gone,
Which Doctor Young applauds, and Prester John.
Shall praise thy ribald mirth, and maudlin woe;
Praise ev'n thy imitating Chaucer's tales,
And call that merry Temple, Fame's Versailles:
Thy shepherd song with rapture they shall see,
Which rivals Philips, as Banks rivals Lee;
Thy Guernsey and Barbados wreath shall own,
Where D'Urfey ne'er was read, nor Settle known;
That wreath, that name, which through both worlds is gone,
Which Doctor Young applauds, and Prester John.
193
Lo! as Anchises to the Goddess-born,
So I the Worthies that thy page adorn
Point out to thee.—See here [OMITTED]
The Prelate! next, exil'd by cruel Fates,
Who plagues all Churches, and confounds all States;
With treasons past perplex'd, and present cares;
A fop in rhime, and bungler in affairs. [OMITTED]
And here! a groupe of brother Quill-men see,
Co-witlings all, and Demi-bards like thee;
Such whom the Muse shall pass with just disdain,
Nor add one trophy to thy motley train:
But Quack Arbuthnot shall oblivion blot,
That puzzling, plodding, prating, pedant Scot,
The grating scribbler! whose untun'd essays
Mix the Scotch thistle with the English bays,
By either Phœbus pre-ordain'd to ill,
The hand prescribing, or the flattering quill,
Who doubly plagues, and boasts two arts to kill!
So I the Worthies that thy page adorn
Point out to thee.—See here [OMITTED]
The Prelate! next, exil'd by cruel Fates,
Who plagues all Churches, and confounds all States;
With treasons past perplex'd, and present cares;
A fop in rhime, and bungler in affairs. [OMITTED]
And here! a groupe of brother Quill-men see,
Co-witlings all, and Demi-bards like thee;
Such whom the Muse shall pass with just disdain,
Nor add one trophy to thy motley train:
But Quack Arbuthnot shall oblivion blot,
That puzzling, plodding, prating, pedant Scot,
The grating scribbler! whose untun'd essays
Mix the Scotch thistle with the English bays,
By either Phœbus pre-ordain'd to ill,
The hand prescribing, or the flattering quill,
Who doubly plagues, and boasts two arts to kill!
'Midst this vain tribe, that aid thy setting ray,
The Muse shall view, but spare, ill-fated Gay:
Poor Gay, who loses most when most he wins,
And gives his foes his fame, and bears their sins;
Who, more by fortune than by nature curs'd,
Yields his best pieces, and must own thy worst.
The Muse shall view, but spare, ill-fated Gay:
Poor Gay, who loses most when most he wins,
And gives his foes his fame, and bears their sins;
Who, more by fortune than by nature curs'd,
Yields his best pieces, and must own thy worst.
Thus propp'd, thy head with Grub-street Zephyrs tainted,
By Rich recorded, and by Jervas painted;
Jervas! who so refin'd a rake is reckon'd,
He breaks all Sinai's laws except the second:
Thus prais'd, thus drawn, t'extend thy projects try,
Leave the blue languish, and the crimson sigh;
Leave the gay epithets that beauty crown,
White Whitylinda, and Brownissa brown;
Forget awhile Belinda and the Sun:
Forget the fights of stand, and flights of run:
No more let Ombre's play inspire thy vein,
Nor strow with captive Kings the velvet plain;
Omit awhile the silver peal to ring,
Nor talk dulcissant, nor mellifluous sing,
Nor hang suspended, nor adherent cling.
But haste to mount immortal Envy's throne,
To crush all merit that disputes thy own;
For thou wert born to damp each rising name,
And hang, like mildews, on the growth of fame;
Fame's fairest blossoms let thy rancour blast,
Bane of the modern laurel, like the past;
While stupid riot stands in humour's place,
And bestial filth, humanity's disgrace,
Low lewdness, unexcited by desire,
And all great Wilmot's vice, without his fire.
By Rich recorded, and by Jervas painted;
194
He breaks all Sinai's laws except the second:
Thus prais'd, thus drawn, t'extend thy projects try,
Leave the blue languish, and the crimson sigh;
Leave the gay epithets that beauty crown,
White Whitylinda, and Brownissa brown;
Forget awhile Belinda and the Sun:
Forget the fights of stand, and flights of run:
No more let Ombre's play inspire thy vein,
Nor strow with captive Kings the velvet plain;
Omit awhile the silver peal to ring,
Nor talk dulcissant, nor mellifluous sing,
Nor hang suspended, nor adherent cling.
195
To crush all merit that disputes thy own;
For thou wert born to damp each rising name,
And hang, like mildews, on the growth of fame;
Fame's fairest blossoms let thy rancour blast,
Bane of the modern laurel, like the past;
While stupid riot stands in humour's place,
And bestial filth, humanity's disgrace,
Low lewdness, unexcited by desire,
And all great Wilmot's vice, without his fire.
At length, when banish'd Pallas shall withdraw,
And Wit's made treason by the Popian law;
When minor dunces cease, at length, their strife,
And own thy patent to be dull for life;
By tricks sustain'd, in Poet-craft compleat,
Retire triumphant to thy Twickenham seat;
That seat! the work of half-paid drudging Broome,
And call'd, by joking Tritons, Homer's tomb:
There to stale, stol'n, stum crambo bid adieu,
And sneer the fops that thought thy crambo new;
There, like the Grecian chief, on whom thy song
Has well reveng'd unhappy Priam's wrong,
Waste, in thy hidden cave, the festive day,
With mock Machaon, and Patroclus Gay.
Sleep, sleep in peace the works for Wapping born!
No more thy cuckoo note shall wake the morn;
In ease, and avarice, and aukward state,
The fool of fortune, shalt thou hail thy fate;
Slumbering in quiet o'er lampoons half writ,
Which, ripe in malice, only wait for wit.
And Wit's made treason by the Popian law;
When minor dunces cease, at length, their strife,
And own thy patent to be dull for life;
By tricks sustain'd, in Poet-craft compleat,
Retire triumphant to thy Twickenham seat;
That seat! the work of half-paid drudging Broome,
And call'd, by joking Tritons, Homer's tomb:
There to stale, stol'n, stum crambo bid adieu,
And sneer the fops that thought thy crambo new;
There, like the Grecian chief, on whom thy song
Has well reveng'd unhappy Priam's wrong,
Waste, in thy hidden cave, the festive day,
With mock Machaon, and Patroclus Gay.
Sleep, sleep in peace the works for Wapping born!
No more thy cuckoo note shall wake the morn;
196
The fool of fortune, shalt thou hail thy fate;
Slumbering in quiet o'er lampoons half writ,
Which, ripe in malice, only wait for wit.
So when Vanessa yielded up her charms,
The blest Cadenus languish'd in her arms;
High, on a peg, his unbrush'd beaver hung,
His vest unbutton'd, and his God unsung;
Raptur'd he lies; Deans, Authors, are forgot,
Wood's Copper Pence, and Atterbury's Plot;
For her he quits the tithes of Patrick's fields,
And all the Levite to the Lover yields.
The blest Cadenus languish'd in her arms;
High, on a peg, his unbrush'd beaver hung,
His vest unbutton'd, and his God unsung;
Raptur'd he lies; Deans, Authors, are forgot,
Wood's Copper Pence, and Atterbury's Plot;
For her he quits the tithes of Patrick's fields,
And all the Levite to the Lover yields.
Of DULNESS and SCANDAL
OCCASIONED BY THE Character of Lord TIMON, In Mr. Pope's Epistle to the Earl of Burlington, 1732.
“Turno tempus adest, magno cum optaverit emptum
“Intactum Pallanta ------
“Pallas te hoc vulnere donit.”
Virg. Æn. x. 583.
“Intactum Pallanta ------
“Pallas te hoc vulnere donit.”
Virg. Æn. x. 583.
While strife subsists 'twixt Cibber and the Pit;
While Vice with Virtue wars, and Pope with Wit;
While dreams to Walker pregnant prudes disclose;
To Chartres rapes, to light Corinna beaux;
So long shall Thames through all his coasts proclaim
Victoria's grief, and Pollio's injur'd fame.
While Vice with Virtue wars, and Pope with Wit;
While dreams to Walker pregnant prudes disclose;
To Chartres rapes, to light Corinna beaux;
So long shall Thames through all his coasts proclaim
Victoria's grief, and Pollio's injur'd fame.
Ye vales of Richmond, fraught with wasting thyme!
Ye beds of lilies, and ye groves of lime!
Say, where is she that made those lilies bright!
The scribbler's shame, who was the swains' delight!
Ye beds of lilies, and ye groves of lime!
197
The scribbler's shame, who was the swains' delight!
Behold the Charmer, wasting to decay;
Like Autumn faded in her virgin May!
To pore o'er curs'd Translation, rest she flies,
And dims by midnight lamps her beamless eyes;
With Iliads travestied, to age she stoops,
In fustian withers, and o'er crambo droops.
No conquest now, Victoria, shalt thou boast;
The second victim to Achilles' ghost!
Yet fair, though fall'n! a star with feebler fire;
The more we pity, while we less admire:
The spell of nonsense, guiltless injur'd dame,
Thy charms that blasted, shall not blast thy fame;
Thy fame, thy wrong, shall go to future times,
While Pope damns Sheffield with his bellman's rhimes.
Like Autumn faded in her virgin May!
To pore o'er curs'd Translation, rest she flies,
And dims by midnight lamps her beamless eyes;
With Iliads travestied, to age she stoops,
In fustian withers, and o'er crambo droops.
No conquest now, Victoria, shalt thou boast;
The second victim to Achilles' ghost!
Yet fair, though fall'n! a star with feebler fire;
The more we pity, while we less admire:
The spell of nonsense, guiltless injur'd dame,
Thy charms that blasted, shall not blast thy fame;
Thy fame, thy wrong, shall go to future times,
While Pope damns Sheffield with his bellman's rhimes.
Nor Innocence alone its injury rues;
Nor Beauty feels alone th' assassin's Muse:
His felon arts the Patriot's seats alarm,
And spite assails what dulness cannot harm:
See! Pollio falls a victim to the rage,
Which goodness could not charm, nor friendship swage;
Immortal Pollio! high o'er malice rais'd;
Honour'd by Kings, and by the Muses prais'd!
He whom the Happy love! th' Unhappy bless!
Wealth to the Poor, and to the Wrong'd redress!
Who in the Orphan's anguish still has part,
And gives to sing with joy the Widow's heart!
Profuse in good, and like creation kind;
The softest mercy in the noblest mind!
A mind sublime! where vice nor passion reign;
Nor proud in state, nor midst applauses vain!
The thousands weal, and the rich temple's plan,
His zeal to God proclaim, and love to man.
Nor Beauty feels alone th' assassin's Muse:
His felon arts the Patriot's seats alarm,
And spite assails what dulness cannot harm:
See! Pollio falls a victim to the rage,
Which goodness could not charm, nor friendship swage;
Immortal Pollio! high o'er malice rais'd;
Honour'd by Kings, and by the Muses prais'd!
He whom the Happy love! th' Unhappy bless!
Wealth to the Poor, and to the Wrong'd redress!
Who in the Orphan's anguish still has part,
And gives to sing with joy the Widow's heart!
Profuse in good, and like creation kind;
The softest mercy in the noblest mind!
A mind sublime! where vice nor passion reign;
Nor proud in state, nor midst applauses vain!
The thousands weal, and the rich temple's plan,
His zeal to God proclaim, and love to man.
198
Inglorious Rhimer! low licentious slave!
Who blasts the Beauteous, and belies the Brave:
In scurril verse who robs, and dull essays,
Nymphs of their charms, and Heroes of their praise:
All laws for pique or caprice will forego;
The friend of Catiline, and Tully's foe!
Who blasts the Beauteous, and belies the Brave:
In scurril verse who robs, and dull essays,
Nymphs of their charms, and Heroes of their praise:
All laws for pique or caprice will forego;
The friend of Catiline, and Tully's foe!
Oh! born to blacken every virtuous name;
To pass, like blightings, o'er the blooms of fame;
The venom of thy baneful quill to shed
Alike on living merit, and the dead!
Sure, that fam'd Machiavel, what time he drew
The soul's dark workings in the crooked few;
The rancour'd spirit, and malignant will,
By instinct base, by nature shap'd to ill,
An unborn Dæmon was inspir'd to see,
And in his rapture prophesy'd of thee.
To pass, like blightings, o'er the blooms of fame;
The venom of thy baneful quill to shed
Alike on living merit, and the dead!
Sure, that fam'd Machiavel, what time he drew
The soul's dark workings in the crooked few;
The rancour'd spirit, and malignant will,
By instinct base, by nature shap'd to ill,
An unborn Dæmon was inspir'd to see,
And in his rapture prophesy'd of thee.
Ordain'd a hated name by guilt to raise;
To bless with libel, and to curse with praise!
A softling head! that spleeny whims devour;
With will to Satyr, while deny'd the power!
A soul corrupt, that hireling praise suborns!
That hates for Genius, and for Virtue scorns!
A Coxcomb's talents, with a Pedant's art!
A Bigot's fury in an Atheist's heart!
Lewd without lust, and without wit profane!
Outrageous, and afraid! contemn'd, and vain!
To bless with libel, and to curse with praise!
A softling head! that spleeny whims devour;
With will to Satyr, while deny'd the power!
A soul corrupt, that hireling praise suborns!
That hates for Genius, and for Virtue scorns!
A Coxcomb's talents, with a Pedant's art!
A Bigot's fury in an Atheist's heart!
Lewd without lust, and without wit profane!
Outrageous, and afraid! contemn'd, and vain!
Immur'd, whilst young, in Convents hadst thou been,
Victoria still with rapture we had seen:
But now our wishes by the Fates are crost;
We've gain'd a Thersite, and an Helen lost:
The envious planet has deceiv'd our hope;
We've lost a St. Leger, and gain'd a Pope.
Victoria still with rapture we had seen:
But now our wishes by the Fates are crost;
We've gain'd a Thersite, and an Helen lost:
199
We've lost a St. Leger, and gain'd a Pope.
A little Monk thou wert by Nature made!
Wert fashion'd for the Jesuit's gossip trade!
A lean Church-pandar, to procure, or lie!
A pimp at Altars, or in Courts a spy!
Wert fashion'd for the Jesuit's gossip trade!
A lean Church-pandar, to procure, or lie!
A pimp at Altars, or in Courts a spy!
The verse, that Blockheads dawb, shall swift decay,
And Jervas' fame in fustian fade away:
Forgot the self-applauding strain shall be;
Though own'd by Walsh, or palm'don Wycherley:
While Time, nor Fate, this faithful sketch erase,
Which shews thy mind, as Reisbrack's bust thy face.
And Jervas' fame in fustian fade away:
Forgot the self-applauding strain shall be;
Though own'd by Walsh, or palm'don Wycherley:
While Time, nor Fate, this faithful sketch erase,
Which shews thy mind, as Reisbrack's bust thy face.
“Yet thou proceed;” impeach with stedfast hate
What-e'er is god-like, and what-e'er is great:
Debase, in low burlesque, the song divine,
And level David's deathless Muse to thine:
Be Bawdry, still, thy ribald Canto's theme:
Traduce for Satyr, and for Wit blaspheme:
Each chaste idea of thy mind review;
Make Cupids squirt, and gaping Tritons spew:
All Sternhold's spirit in thy verse restore,
And be what Bass and Hey wood were before.
What-e'er is god-like, and what-e'er is great:
Debase, in low burlesque, the song divine,
And level David's deathless Muse to thine:
Be Bawdry, still, thy ribald Canto's theme:
Traduce for Satyr, and for Wit blaspheme:
Each chaste idea of thy mind review;
Make Cupids squirt, and gaping Tritons spew:
All Sternhold's spirit in thy verse restore,
And be what Bass and Hey wood were before.
200
OF FALSE FAME;
An Epistle to the Right Honourable the Earl of PEMBROKE, 1732.
Judice, quem nosti, populo, qui stultus honores
Sæpe dat indignis, & famæ servit ineptus;
Qui stupet in titulis & imaginibus. Quid oportet
Nos facere, à vulgo longè latèque remotos?
Hor. 1 Sat. vi. 15.
Sæpe dat indignis, & famæ servit ineptus;
Qui stupet in titulis & imaginibus. Quid oportet
Nos facere, à vulgo longè latèque remotos?
Hor. 1 Sat. vi. 15.
“—The rude multitude, you know,
“Oft, on the worthless, honours will bestow,
“Led by false notions, and with wondering eyes,
“High-sounding titles and old statues prize.
“How should those act, who from the vulgar train
“Notions so widely different entertain?”
Duncombe.
“Oft, on the worthless, honours will bestow,
“Led by false notions, and with wondering eyes,
“High-sounding titles and old statues prize.
“How should those act, who from the vulgar train
“Notions so widely different entertain?”
Duncombe.
Amidst the factions that the world enrage;
The wars which Monarchs, and which Poets wage!
Amidst the feuds that make Parnassus groan;
Or shake the Sultan in his Eastern throne:
Attend, great Sage, these moralizing rhimes;
And teach me to reform misguided times:
For thou by Heaven wert destin'd to impart
The fountains, first, of Truth, and Reason's art!
What record, from the birth of time, conveys
All Nature's knowledge, trac'd through all her ways,
Is given to thee---O! Wisdom's Son renown'd!
With peace, with length of days, and glory crown'd!
The wars which Monarchs, and which Poets wage!
Amidst the feuds that make Parnassus groan;
Or shake the Sultan in his Eastern throne:
Attend, great Sage, these moralizing rhimes;
And teach me to reform misguided times:
For thou by Heaven wert destin'd to impart
The fountains, first, of Truth, and Reason's art!
What record, from the birth of time, conveys
All Nature's knowledge, trac'd through all her ways,
Is given to thee---O! Wisdom's Son renown'd!
With peace, with length of days, and glory crown'd!
201
Say thou, what Glory is, and whence it springs;
If 'tis the breath of Courts, or boon of Kings:
In that base vogue, do Virtue's praises live,
Which Chance may offer, or Cabal can give?
These to a Newton's name no palm decree;
Nor throw the blaze on Fenelon and Thee:
These rais'd not Pembroke's Sidney to the skies—
Then call renown, the suffrage of the Wise.
If 'tis the breath of Courts, or boon of Kings:
In that base vogue, do Virtue's praises live,
Which Chance may offer, or Cabal can give?
These to a Newton's name no palm decree;
Nor throw the blaze on Fenelon and Thee:
These rais'd not Pembroke's Sidney to the skies—
Then call renown, the suffrage of the Wise.
The Rabble's cry, untaught by Reason's rules,
Nor truth to Traitors gives, nor wit to Fools;
Nor adds to Plume, nor takes from Chandos taste;
Nor Cinna grateful makes, nor Lais chaste:
The marsh becomes not, hence, a limpid rill;
Nor Windsor Forest shines a Cooper's Hill.
Nor truth to Traitors gives, nor wit to Fools;
Nor adds to Plume, nor takes from Chandos taste;
Nor Cinna grateful makes, nor Lais chaste:
The marsh becomes not, hence, a limpid rill;
Nor Windsor Forest shines a Cooper's Hill.
Lo! Hedges strikes the soft resounding lyre:
The style is Roman, and 'tis British fire!
If Nature did not her own gifts disarm;
Who shines a Poet, might a Senate charm:
The painting Poem, see! the Master draws;
He wins the laurel, and he shuns th' applause;
Vain vogue contemns, contemns the riot throng;
Nor bribes, nor flatters, for an hireling's song:
'Gainst shouting crowds, one Walpole's voice he weighs;
And counts Almeria's smile a thousand bays.
The style is Roman, and 'tis British fire!
If Nature did not her own gifts disarm;
Who shines a Poet, might a Senate charm:
The painting Poem, see! the Master draws;
He wins the laurel, and he shuns th' applause;
Vain vogue contemns, contemns the riot throng;
Nor bribes, nor flatters, for an hireling's song:
'Gainst shouting crowds, one Walpole's voice he weighs;
And counts Almeria's smile a thousand bays.
From envy, and from base ambition, free;
With truth, as with a garment, cloath'd like thee;
The merit prizing, in myself unknown;
Though thou canst prize no merit, not thy own;
Thy tenor, Herbert, let me still pursue:
False honour scorn, and frankly give the true;
Scorn vulgar fame, that incense long debas'd!
Which shuns the noblest, and the worst has grac'd:
To Oldisworth paid! by Maynwaring sought in vain!
What Pope once had, and Dryden could not gain!
With truth, as with a garment, cloath'd like thee;
202
Though thou canst prize no merit, not thy own;
Thy tenor, Herbert, let me still pursue:
False honour scorn, and frankly give the true;
Scorn vulgar fame, that incense long debas'd!
Which shuns the noblest, and the worst has grac'd:
To Oldisworth paid! by Maynwaring sought in vain!
What Pope once had, and Dryden could not gain!
Cast, learned Peer, oh, cast thine eye around,
Through envy'd ages, and through states renown'd:
Still shalt thou find the injur'd Muse, in tears;
And all her lovely regions fill'd with fears!
Imposture, pluming, shalt thou still behold;
And Vida's tinsel pass'd for Dillon's gold:
Ev'n he, ev'n Mævius, got a Witling's name;
In Wit's own realms, and in the reign of Fame!
Awhile he saw his furtive ivy bloom;
The foe of Virgil, and disgrace of Rome!
Awhile, in France, the sway when Richelieu bore,
A Pope was worship'd, in the dunce Montmaure:
Through all her streets that courtly fop was priz'd;
Racine unheard-of, and Boileau despis'd!
And reign'd not Shadwell, long, the lord of all,
By the great vulgar honour'd, and the small!
While Dryden mourn'd his unregarded strain,
As Syrens warble to the rocks in vain!
Through envy'd ages, and through states renown'd:
Still shalt thou find the injur'd Muse, in tears;
And all her lovely regions fill'd with fears!
Imposture, pluming, shalt thou still behold;
And Vida's tinsel pass'd for Dillon's gold:
Ev'n he, ev'n Mævius, got a Witling's name;
In Wit's own realms, and in the reign of Fame!
Awhile he saw his furtive ivy bloom;
The foe of Virgil, and disgrace of Rome!
Awhile, in France, the sway when Richelieu bore,
A Pope was worship'd, in the dunce Montmaure:
Through all her streets that courtly fop was priz'd;
Racine unheard-of, and Boileau despis'd!
And reign'd not Shadwell, long, the lord of all,
By the great vulgar honour'd, and the small!
While Dryden mourn'd his unregarded strain,
As Syrens warble to the rocks in vain!
Look back, Montgomery, to the Tudors age!
Behold, the great rude Writer of our stage!
Not Jacob's shelves, but hulks, he then adorn'd:
Defac'd so late, who was so early scorn'd!
Ben's Smithfield book the frequent audience drew;
While he, that kill'd dead Hotspur, smil'd to few:
The eye saw fair Macduff, unflowing, weep!
The ear scarce heard, when Glamis murther'd sleep!
No tongue for poor Lavinia's wrong complain'd;
And the foul fiend, uncurs'd, in Edgar reign'd.
Behold, the great rude Writer of our stage!
Not Jacob's shelves, but hulks, he then adorn'd:
Defac'd so late, who was so early scorn'd!
Ben's Smithfield book the frequent audience drew;
While he, that kill'd dead Hotspur, smil'd to few:
203
The ear scarce heard, when Glamis murther'd sleep!
No tongue for poor Lavinia's wrong complain'd;
And the foul fiend, uncurs'd, in Edgar reign'd.
Such too, great Albion! was our Milton's lot;
The hymns of angels, through an age, forgot!
Darkling he sung, the emblem of his kind!
For all was darkness, and the land was blind:
Till Somers rose, and Eden brought to view;
Then bloom'd the Muse's tree of life anew:
In the bright song, ev'n scepticks did believe;
“And blest the fairest of her daughters, Eve.”
The hymns of angels, through an age, forgot!
Darkling he sung, the emblem of his kind!
For all was darkness, and the land was blind:
Till Somers rose, and Eden brought to view;
Then bloom'd the Muse's tree of life anew:
In the bright song, ev'n scepticks did believe;
“And blest the fairest of her daughters, Eve.”
Now, Pembroke, hear; the story I'll recite!
And see imposture by an humbler light:
See, in low life and in an abject state,
The spurious glory, and the guilty fate!
Her infant years, in Shropshire, Cælia led;
A peasant's wench was born, a drudge was bred:
Bare-footed, in the fen, she gather'd reeds;
In fields, the gleanings; and in gardens, weeds:
Up to the roost, or pent house, wont to climb;
And watch'd the orchard-fruit in harvest-time:
Or carries cheese, and beverage, to the plow;
Or pelts into the lane the pie-bald cow.
And see imposture by an humbler light:
See, in low life and in an abject state,
The spurious glory, and the guilty fate!
Her infant years, in Shropshire, Cælia led;
A peasant's wench was born, a drudge was bred:
Bare-footed, in the fen, she gather'd reeds;
In fields, the gleanings; and in gardens, weeds:
Up to the roost, or pent house, wont to climb;
And watch'd the orchard-fruit in harvest-time:
Or carries cheese, and beverage, to the plow;
Or pelts into the lane the pie-bald cow.
Though homely, buxom; blowse, though rude of shape;
And ripe to tempt a keen invader's rape:
One day, she stopt Sir Jasper, straggling by!
Smit with her lustful look and squinting eye,
The tatter'd trapes he catches to his arms;
Lov'd, and enjoy'd, and huggtd her dirty charms!
Proud of his prize, to town he brings her soon,
Dress'd, and adorn'd; and doated half a moon:
That moon declin'd, but, ere another came,
He grows distasted with his rustic flame:
He loaths, he leaves her, impudent for change:
“Go to the herd, and with the commons range.”
And ripe to tempt a keen invader's rape:
One day, she stopt Sir Jasper, straggling by!
Smit with her lustful look and squinting eye,
The tatter'd trapes he catches to his arms;
Lov'd, and enjoy'd, and huggtd her dirty charms!
Proud of his prize, to town he brings her soon,
Dress'd, and adorn'd; and doated half a moon:
That moon declin'd, but, ere another came,
He grows distasted with his rustic flame:
He loaths, he leaves her, impudent for change:
“Go to the herd, and with the commons range.”
204
By time and hunger taught, she hits her part;
Learns every pace, and every harlot's art:
The light coquettish trip! the glance askew!
To slip the vizor, and to skulk anew!
For Cuper's bowers, she hires the willing scull:
A cockswain's now, and now a sharper's trull!
A different face, by turns, or dress does borrow!
To-day a Quaker, and in weeds to-morrow!
At windows twitters, or from hacks invites;
While, here, a 'prentice; there, a captain bites:
With new success, new 'ffrontery she attains;
And grows in riot, as she grows in gains:
In tavern brawls, the shatter'd crystal flings,
Swears with the rake, and with the drunkard sings:
Shameless at length, that was but loose before,
A fleering, faithless, fluttering, flimsy whore!
When, lo! at Hamstead Wells, Lord Lovemore spy'd
The mimic charmer, in her plaster'd pride;
He saw, he lov'd, his eyes his passion tell;
And what he likes, the world must own a belle:
Swift, through the town, th' affected murmurs go;
And Cælia's praise is caught from beau to beau:
Now, the rich equipage her pride proclaims;
The tissue brightens, and the diamond flames:
Low bows the mercer, as her chariot flies!
Each booby stares, and every coxcomb dies.
Learns every pace, and every harlot's art:
The light coquettish trip! the glance askew!
To slip the vizor, and to skulk anew!
For Cuper's bowers, she hires the willing scull:
A cockswain's now, and now a sharper's trull!
A different face, by turns, or dress does borrow!
To-day a Quaker, and in weeds to-morrow!
At windows twitters, or from hacks invites;
While, here, a 'prentice; there, a captain bites:
With new success, new 'ffrontery she attains;
And grows in riot, as she grows in gains:
In tavern brawls, the shatter'd crystal flings,
Swears with the rake, and with the drunkard sings:
Shameless at length, that was but loose before,
A fleering, faithless, fluttering, flimsy whore!
When, lo! at Hamstead Wells, Lord Lovemore spy'd
The mimic charmer, in her plaster'd pride;
He saw, he lov'd, his eyes his passion tell;
And what he likes, the world must own a belle:
Swift, through the town, th' affected murmurs go;
And Cælia's praise is caught from beau to beau:
Now, the rich equipage her pride proclaims;
The tissue brightens, and the diamond flames:
Low bows the mercer, as her chariot flies!
Each booby stares, and every coxcomb dies.
Meantime, ye gods! if verse can truth convey,
In Brumpton-vale the bright Lavinia lay:
Obscure she lay, consum'd in pensive thought;
Nor sung by poets, nor by lovers sought:
Lavinia! born when Beauty's planet reign'd;
And Luna's silver beam with envy wan'd!
In stature, like the Tyrian Dido, seen!
With more than Harvey's charms, in Suffolk's mien!
Form'd for all parts! in every shape to please!
To dress, to move, with spirit and with ease!
To grace the banquet, and to lead the ball!
From prayer, to love, the wandering mind to call!
To throng thin churches, or save sinking plays!
To stop processions, and make triumph gaze:
In Brumpton-vale the bright Lavinia lay:
Obscure she lay, consum'd in pensive thought;
Nor sung by poets, nor by lovers sought:
Lavinia! born when Beauty's planet reign'd;
And Luna's silver beam with envy wan'd!
In stature, like the Tyrian Dido, seen!
With more than Harvey's charms, in Suffolk's mien!
Form'd for all parts! in every shape to please!
To dress, to move, with spirit and with ease!
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From prayer, to love, the wandering mind to call!
To throng thin churches, or save sinking plays!
To stop processions, and make triumph gaze:
Yet, what preposterous fate! this maid divine,
In cities, nor in courts, was doom'd to shine:
Her matchless charms an humble village bless;
Her food but scant, but barely clean her dress:
Pleas'd, and contented, in the sylvan life!
Myrtillo's bliss, but not Myrtillo's wife!
In cities, nor in courts, was doom'd to shine:
Her matchless charms an humble village bless;
Her food but scant, but barely clean her dress:
Pleas'd, and contented, in the sylvan life!
Myrtillo's bliss, but not Myrtillo's wife!
Thus fare Parnassus' sons! the meanest Bard
With favour, oft, is grac'd, and meets reward:
As oft the noblest mourn, compell'd to shun
The fame they merit, and the bays they've won!
Was he not doom'd, an exile, to retire,
Who brought, from rival'd Greece, Arcadia's lyre!
Who thaw'd the melted soul, with Sappho lost!
Then left us shivering, in his Danish frost?
Who gave great Glo'ster to the dying stage!
And made the benches shake with Vanoc's rage!
Bavius, the while, till Fate decreed his fall,
A dunce triumphant reign'd, and captiv'd all:
Dull, on the golden harvest did he gaze;
Grew envious with success, and pale with praise:
Still brew'd, in gall, his teazing, trifling song;
And spar'd no malice, though he knew no wrong:
Writ, rail'd, and duncify'd, from year to year:
The Jesuit's hate inflam'd the Eunuch's fear.
With favour, oft, is grac'd, and meets reward:
As oft the noblest mourn, compell'd to shun
The fame they merit, and the bays they've won!
Was he not doom'd, an exile, to retire,
Who brought, from rival'd Greece, Arcadia's lyre!
Who thaw'd the melted soul, with Sappho lost!
Then left us shivering, in his Danish frost?
Who gave great Glo'ster to the dying stage!
And made the benches shake with Vanoc's rage!
Bavius, the while, till Fate decreed his fall,
A dunce triumphant reign'd, and captiv'd all:
Dull, on the golden harvest did he gaze;
Grew envious with success, and pale with praise:
Still brew'd, in gall, his teazing, trifling song;
And spar'd no malice, though he knew no wrong:
Writ, rail'd, and duncify'd, from year to year:
The Jesuit's hate inflam'd the Eunuch's fear.
Unmark'd at first! necessitous and scorn'd!
No patron own'd him, and no bays adorn'd;
One Critic's pupil, with one Bard he vy'd,
And knew not to be “sick with civil pride.”
A hungry scribbler, and without a name;
Till fraud procur'd him wealth, and falshood fame!
That wealth obtain'd, faith, friendship he disclaims;
Sneers where he fawn'd, and where he prais'd de fames;
No virtue leaves unwrong'd, or vice untry'd;
No fame not scarr'd, no genius not decry'd:
In scandal curious, busy still to pry;
Ill-natur'd, servile, scraping, weak, and sly!
When most provok'd, a patient fearful Muse!
When most oblig'd, most ardent to abuse!
The rage of envy, and the reek of spite,
Spleen swell'd with grief, and dulness wrap'd in night,
His head to jargon, heart to guilt, incline:
And the next libel, Pembroke, may be thine!
No patron own'd him, and no bays adorn'd;
One Critic's pupil, with one Bard he vy'd,
And knew not to be “sick with civil pride.”
206
Till fraud procur'd him wealth, and falshood fame!
That wealth obtain'd, faith, friendship he disclaims;
Sneers where he fawn'd, and where he prais'd de fames;
No virtue leaves unwrong'd, or vice untry'd;
No fame not scarr'd, no genius not decry'd:
In scandal curious, busy still to pry;
Ill-natur'd, servile, scraping, weak, and sly!
When most provok'd, a patient fearful Muse!
When most oblig'd, most ardent to abuse!
The rage of envy, and the reek of spite,
Spleen swell'd with grief, and dulness wrap'd in night,
His head to jargon, heart to guilt, incline:
And the next libel, Pembroke, may be thine!
207
EPISTLE to Mr. WELSTED,
On the Death of his only Daughter, 1726.
By Mr. COOKE.
While on the winding banks of Thames I rove,
Or chuse, for silence more profound, the grove;
Or in the flowery vale enamour'd stray,
Where Innocence and Truth direct the way;
While charm'd sublimely by the various scene,
The Muse propitious, and the mind serene;
What, to a mortal so divinely bless'd,
Can strike so deeply as a friend distress'd!
Or chuse, for silence more profound, the grove;
Or in the flowery vale enamour'd stray,
Where Innocence and Truth direct the way;
While charm'd sublimely by the various scene,
The Muse propitious, and the mind serene;
What, to a mortal so divinely bless'd,
Can strike so deeply as a friend distress'd!
Ev'n now, dejected, I thy lot deplore;
And the gay prospect can delight no more.
In vain to me the gilded landskips rise,
While the tears fall from my Horatio's eyes.
Well is my soul for friendship form'd, or love;
In concert to my friend my passions move.
Ev'n now the sovereign balm, that never fail'd,
That always o'er the heavy heart prevail'd,
That ever charm'd me in the mournful hour,
Ev'n thy own lays, my friend, have lost their power.
Oh! how I long to let our sorrows flow,
And mingle in the tender strife of woe!
And the gay prospect can delight no more.
In vain to me the gilded landskips rise,
While the tears fall from my Horatio's eyes.
Well is my soul for friendship form'd, or love;
In concert to my friend my passions move.
Ev'n now the sovereign balm, that never fail'd,
That always o'er the heavy heart prevail'd,
That ever charm'd me in the mournful hour,
Ev'n thy own lays, my friend, have lost their power.
Oh! how I long to let our sorrows flow,
And mingle in the tender strife of woe!
'Tis done,—and lo! the debt of nature's paid:
Soft lie the dust, and happy rest the maid!
And now the last, the pious, tear is shed,
The unavailing tribute to the dead;
No longer let thy faithful friends complain:
See, they demand thee to themselves again.
Petronius, now, allures thy soul to ease,
A happy man! by nature form'd to please:
Whose virtues well may call Horatio friend;
Whom love and mirth-dispelling care attend;
In him, to full perfection met, we see
All that the wise, or gay, can wish to be.
In the sad hour from him I find relief,
With him forget that I have cause for grief.
Haste to enjoy the hours I've heard you prize,
Those hours known only to the good and wise;
To sacred friendship be thy days assign'd,
Be to thyself, and thy associates, kind.
Or if thy soul, all-resolute in woe,
Still bids the wakeful eye of sorrow flow;
Make reason, the great guide of life, thine aid:
Say, is the frenzy grateful to the maid?
Or, could the virgin-shade perceive thee mourn,
Would she, embody'd, to thy arms return?
Whatever cause, my friend, concludes her date,
The course of nature, or the work of fate,
Let this the burden of thy heart relieve,
'Tis weakness or impiety to grieve.
What though her charms might savage rage compose,
And vye in sweetness with the Syrian rose;
What though her mind beseem'd her angel's face,
Where every virtue met, and every grace;
Yet think, my friend, the heavy-falling shower,
Without distinction, lays the loveliest flower.
Trace every age, in every age you find
A thousand weeping fathers left behind;
The common lot of all is fall'n to thee,
What was, what is, and what shall always be.
To dust reduc'd shall thy Zelinda lye;
And know, thyself, thy dearer self, shall die.
Know this, and stop the fountain of thine eyes;
Excess of sorrow ill becomes the wise.
Soft lie the dust, and happy rest the maid!
And now the last, the pious, tear is shed,
The unavailing tribute to the dead;
208
See, they demand thee to themselves again.
Petronius, now, allures thy soul to ease,
A happy man! by nature form'd to please:
Whose virtues well may call Horatio friend;
Whom love and mirth-dispelling care attend;
In him, to full perfection met, we see
All that the wise, or gay, can wish to be.
In the sad hour from him I find relief,
With him forget that I have cause for grief.
Haste to enjoy the hours I've heard you prize,
Those hours known only to the good and wise;
To sacred friendship be thy days assign'd,
Be to thyself, and thy associates, kind.
Or if thy soul, all-resolute in woe,
Still bids the wakeful eye of sorrow flow;
Make reason, the great guide of life, thine aid:
Say, is the frenzy grateful to the maid?
Or, could the virgin-shade perceive thee mourn,
Would she, embody'd, to thy arms return?
Whatever cause, my friend, concludes her date,
The course of nature, or the work of fate,
Let this the burden of thy heart relieve,
'Tis weakness or impiety to grieve.
What though her charms might savage rage compose,
And vye in sweetness with the Syrian rose;
What though her mind beseem'd her angel's face,
Where every virtue met, and every grace;
Yet think, my friend, the heavy-falling shower,
Without distinction, lays the loveliest flower.
Trace every age, in every age you find
A thousand weeping fathers left behind;
The common lot of all is fall'n to thee,
What was, what is, and what shall always be.
To dust reduc'd shall thy Zelinda lye;
And know, thyself, thy dearer self, shall die.
Know this, and stop the fountain of thine eyes;
Excess of sorrow ill becomes the wise.
293
A POEM to her Royal Highness The PRINCESS of WALES;
Occasioned by her late happy Delivery, and the Birth of a PRINCESS, 1737.
“Jam nova progenies cœlo demittitur alto......
“Aggredere, O! magnos, aderit jam tempus, honores,
“Clara Deûm soboles!”
Virg. Ecl. iv. 7. 56.
“Aggredere, O! magnos, aderit jam tempus, honores,
“Clara Deûm soboles!”
Virg. Ecl. iv. 7. 56.
“See a new progeny from Heaven descend!.....
“Assume thy state! thy destin'd honours prove,
“Dear to the Gods! O progeny of Jove.”
Warton.
“Assume thy state! thy destin'd honours prove,
“Dear to the Gods! O progeny of Jove.”
Warton.
Strike the deep note, the concent swell,
My psaltry, and my golden shell;
No more delight in shepherds themes,
Or warble to mæandering streams:
For, lo! the Triumph-song we bring,
To the fair Daughter of a King
Devoted.—Britons, this is She,
Who shall your tower and bulwark be!
With Caroline, who wipes the stains
And griefs away of former reigns:
Nor England's Angel now bemoans
Her childless Queens, and barren Thrones.
My psaltry, and my golden shell;
No more delight in shepherds themes,
Or warble to mæandering streams:
For, lo! the Triumph-song we bring,
To the fair Daughter of a King
Devoted.—Britons, this is She,
Who shall your tower and bulwark be!
With Caroline, who wipes the stains
And griefs away of former reigns:
Nor England's Angel now bemoans
Her childless Queens, and barren Thrones.
Within the womb, in silence kept,
While yet the Babe Imperial slept:
Distrust, the harbinger of Sorrow,
With panting breast still wak'd the morrow:
But now, dispers'd those doubtful glooms,
Gay Pleasure mounts on eagles' plumes:
I feel, I taste, Joy's saffron gale!
Bright Princess! blest Augusta, hail.
Sweet Blossom of a conquering Race;
The realms of Conquest doom'd to grace!
Beneath the dazzling British Sun,
Great Beauty's circuit shalt thou run:
Lo! in thy eye Love's lightnings stand:
All o'er thee is his promis'd Land.
While yet the Babe Imperial slept:
Distrust, the harbinger of Sorrow,
With panting breast still wak'd the morrow:
294
Gay Pleasure mounts on eagles' plumes:
I feel, I taste, Joy's saffron gale!
Bright Princess! blest Augusta, hail.
Sweet Blossom of a conquering Race;
The realms of Conquest doom'd to grace!
Beneath the dazzling British Sun,
Great Beauty's circuit shalt thou run:
Lo! in thy eye Love's lightnings stand:
All o'er thee is his promis'd Land.
To Heaven the Hallelujah send!
Where shall our thanks or raptures end?
Most fair of Mothers! happiest Bride!
Like palms art thou, the brook beside;
Like fields with waving harvests crown'd:
The fields which lilies border round!
Ordain'd to bless a Royal Line,
With virtues and with charms divine;
To bless a more than Royal Youth,
With boundless love and spotless truth.
Where shall our thanks or raptures end?
Most fair of Mothers! happiest Bride!
Like palms art thou, the brook beside;
Like fields with waving harvests crown'd:
The fields which lilies border round!
Ordain'd to bless a Royal Line,
With virtues and with charms divine;
To bless a more than Royal Youth,
With boundless love and spotless truth.
Recount me, Muse, the Dames of old,
In Christian charts, or Jewish, roll'd;
Whom Israel's or whom Albion's swains
Have canoniz'd in mighty strains!
See, led by Abraham's lordly hand,
The tempting Foundress of her land!
Here, lo! the Star with Nassau seen:
There, proud Ahasuerus' Queen!
Anne Bullen this—too lovely rose!
Who views her form, shall feel her woes:
That's She, in Egypt's grand attire,
Who tun'd the Hebrew Monarch's lyre!
Such were the high-rais'd Nymphs, whom Fate
Gave to subdue the Wise or Great;
Whom, through a thousand rubric days,
Fame's never dying heralds blaze:
Yet, sparkling Princess, could I be,
As Time to them, most just to Thee;
O'er theirs thy brighter name should last,
And present glories cloud the past.
In Christian charts, or Jewish, roll'd;
Whom Israel's or whom Albion's swains
Have canoniz'd in mighty strains!
See, led by Abraham's lordly hand,
The tempting Foundress of her land!
Here, lo! the Star with Nassau seen:
There, proud Ahasuerus' Queen!
Anne Bullen this—too lovely rose!
Who views her form, shall feel her woes:
That's She, in Egypt's grand attire,
Who tun'd the Hebrew Monarch's lyre!
Such were the high-rais'd Nymphs, whom Fate
Gave to subdue the Wise or Great;
295
Fame's never dying heralds blaze:
Yet, sparkling Princess, could I be,
As Time to them, most just to Thee;
O'er theirs thy brighter name should last,
And present glories cloud the past.
At length, Hope bleeding now no more,
A virtuous Empire's danger o'er,
Come, Goddess, forth! and with thee bring
The gloss that mocks the cygnet's wing!
The mien, t' Immortals that belongs:
The voice, more sweet than sky-lark songs!
The face, that, innocent of wiles,
Like Hebe blooms, like Venus smiles.
A virtuous Empire's danger o'er,
Come, Goddess, forth! and with thee bring
The gloss that mocks the cygnet's wing!
The mien, t' Immortals that belongs:
The voice, more sweet than sky-lark songs!
The face, that, innocent of wiles,
Like Hebe blooms, like Venus smiles.
Yet first awhile the long'd-for day,
The Virgin's jubilee, delay;
Nor gladness yet through worlds inspire;
Nor yet re-wake great Vario's lyre:
First with thy God the covenant seal;
At his all-hallow'd altars kneel;
Devoutly, sweetly, charming there,
Lift to the Mercy-seat thy prayer;
There praise the Power, that propt the life
Of Gotha's Sister, Frederick's Wife!
In battle cover'd George's head,
Through whom the Belgic surges fled:
Who quell'd Sedition's angry dart,
And now o'erjoys thy Prince's heart.
The Virgin's jubilee, delay;
Nor gladness yet through worlds inspire;
Nor yet re-wake great Vario's lyre:
First with thy God the covenant seal;
At his all-hallow'd altars kneel;
Devoutly, sweetly, charming there,
Lift to the Mercy-seat thy prayer;
There praise the Power, that propt the life
Of Gotha's Sister, Frederick's Wife!
In battle cover'd George's head,
Through whom the Belgic surges fled:
Who quell'd Sedition's angry dart,
And now o'erjoys thy Prince's heart.
296
The SUMMUM BONUM;
Or WISEST PHILOSOPHY. In an EPISTLE to a FRIEND, 1741.
Εφ' ημιν μεν υποληψις, ορμη, οπεξις, εκκλισις ουκ εφ' ημιν
το σωμα, η κτησις, δοξαι, αρχαι.
Epictetus.
Smile, my Hephestion, smile; no more be seen
This dupe to anger, and this slave of spleen;
No more with pain Ambition's trappings view,
Nor envy the false greatness nor the true.
Let dull St. Bevil dream o'er felons fates;
Bright Winnington in Senates lead debates;
Vain Bulbo let the Sheriff's robe adorn,
And Holles wake to bless the times unborn.
This dupe to anger, and this slave of spleen;
No more with pain Ambition's trappings view,
Nor envy the false greatness nor the true.
Let dull St. Bevil dream o'er felons fates;
Bright Winnington in Senates lead debates;
297
And Holles wake to bless the times unborn.
The world will jog, my friend, as it begun;
Nor can you change the course 'tis doom'd to run:
As well you'll hope to move the milky-way,
In other orbits bid the planets stray.
On birth-days see old Doris, ever showy,
Beset with fifty gems, to one of Chloe.
Five flaunting lacqueys still Berrault shall keep;
Still Meursius dine on plate, in tissue sleep:
And Mirimont attain, and crowds beside,
The glitter, and the pomp, to you deny'd.
Nor can you change the course 'tis doom'd to run:
As well you'll hope to move the milky-way,
In other orbits bid the planets stray.
On birth-days see old Doris, ever showy,
Beset with fifty gems, to one of Chloe.
Five flaunting lacqueys still Berrault shall keep;
Still Meursius dine on plate, in tissue sleep:
And Mirimont attain, and crowds beside,
The glitter, and the pomp, to you deny'd.
The palm excels, that trembles o'er the brooks,
The bastard-rose, nor half so gaudy looks:
The myrrh is worth, that scents Arabia's sky,
A hundred gourds, yet rises not so high.
This not disturbs you, nor your bliss alloys;
Then why should Fortune's sports and human toys?
What is't to us, if Clod, the self-same day,
Trolls in the gilded car, and drives the dray?
If Richvil for a Roman patriot pass,
And half the livery vote for Isinglass?
The bastard-rose, nor half so gaudy looks:
The myrrh is worth, that scents Arabia's sky,
A hundred gourds, yet rises not so high.
This not disturbs you, nor your bliss alloys;
Then why should Fortune's sports and human toys?
What is't to us, if Clod, the self-same day,
Trolls in the gilded car, and drives the dray?
If Richvil for a Roman patriot pass,
And half the livery vote for Isinglass?
With grateful minds let's use the given hour;
And what's our own enjoy, and in our power.
To his great chiefs the conqueror Pyrrhus spoke:
“Two moons shall wane, and Greece shall own our yoke.”—
“'Tis well,” reply'd the Friend, “admit it so;
“What next?”—“Why, next, to Italy I'll go,
“And Rome in ashes lay.”—“What after that?”
“Waste India's realms.”—“What then?”—“Then sit and chat;
“Then quaff the grape, and mirthful stories tell.”—
“Sir, you may do so now, and full as well.”
And what's our own enjoy, and in our power.
To his great chiefs the conqueror Pyrrhus spoke:
“Two moons shall wane, and Greece shall own our yoke.”—
“'Tis well,” reply'd the Friend, “admit it so;
“What next?”—“Why, next, to Italy I'll go,
“And Rome in ashes lay.”—“What after that?”
“Waste India's realms.”—“What then?”—“Then sit and chat;
“Then quaff the grape, and mirthful stories tell.”—
“Sir, you may do so now, and full as well.”
298
Look through but common life, run o'er mankind;
A thousand humbler madmen there you'll find;
A thousand heroes of Epirus view:
Then scorn to beat this hackney'd path anew;
In search of fancy'd good forget to roam,
Nor wander from your safer, better home:
Is't not more wise to fix enjoyment here?
To move unhurt within your destin'd sphere?
See Heartgood! how he tugs for empty praise!
He 'as got the vine, yet scrambles for the bays:
A friendly neighbour born, his vain desire
Prompts him to get a little cubit higher;
When all unvex'd, untroubled, he might live;
And all that Nature ask'd, his farm would give.
A thousand humbler madmen there you'll find;
A thousand heroes of Epirus view:
Then scorn to beat this hackney'd path anew;
In search of fancy'd good forget to roam,
Nor wander from your safer, better home:
Is't not more wise to fix enjoyment here?
To move unhurt within your destin'd sphere?
See Heartgood! how he tugs for empty praise!
He 'as got the vine, yet scrambles for the bays:
A friendly neighbour born, his vain desire
Prompts him to get a little cubit higher;
When all unvex'd, untroubled, he might live;
And all that Nature ask'd, his farm would give.
Colvil and Madge one field, one cow, possess'd;
Had dwelt, unanxious, many years, and bless'd:
A quiet conscience, and their neighbours praise,
They held—it was in Friar Bacon's days.
No thief alarm'd the lowly cottage roof,
And pride and base contention kept aloof.
At length, the rumour all about was flown,
The Monk had found the Philosophic Stone:
Quoth Colvil, “Be 't.—In comfort, peace, we live;
“For his arcanum not a hair I'll give.
“To me all wealth contentment does impart;
“I have this chemic secret in my heart.”
Had dwelt, unanxious, many years, and bless'd:
A quiet conscience, and their neighbours praise,
They held—it was in Friar Bacon's days.
No thief alarm'd the lowly cottage roof,
And pride and base contention kept aloof.
At length, the rumour all about was flown,
The Monk had found the Philosophic Stone:
Quoth Colvil, “Be 't.—In comfort, peace, we live;
“For his arcanum not a hair I'll give.
“To me all wealth contentment does impart;
“I have this chemic secret in my heart.”
Let Munich bow the haughty Ott'man crest;
Among my humble teams I'll be as blest.
Let the great Schach o'er trembling Ganges ride;
I'll boast more conquests by my chimney-side.
What post you stand in, trust me, my Hephestion,
The part you bear in life, is not the question;
But how you act it, how your station grace!
There is the matter—that's the point in case.
All one, if peer or pedlar you sustain,
A laurel'd victor be, or shepherd swain:
For social weal alike each state was made,
And every calling meant the other's aid:
Together all in mystic numbers roll;
All in their order act, and serve the whole;
Who guard the laws, or bid the orchat bloom,
Who wield the sceptre, and who guide the loom.
Among my humble teams I'll be as blest.
Let the great Schach o'er trembling Ganges ride;
I'll boast more conquests by my chimney-side.
What post you stand in, trust me, my Hephestion,
The part you bear in life, is not the question;
But how you act it, how your station grace!
There is the matter—that's the point in case.
All one, if peer or pedlar you sustain,
A laurel'd victor be, or shepherd swain:
299
And every calling meant the other's aid:
Together all in mystic numbers roll;
All in their order act, and serve the whole;
Who guard the laws, or bid the orchat bloom,
Who wield the sceptre, and who guide the loom.
Behold the moon, her splendor who renews,
To chear the herb, and silver o'er the dews!
Behold the taper, whose consuming fire
Supplies the day when Phœbus' beams retire!
Behold the glow-worm next, whose glimmering light,
For humbler uses, decks the silent night!
With the same thought the moral world survey,
And mark the different glories in your way:
See different lights arrang'd with equal care;
A Farinello here, a Nassau there!
The one the ear with syren music charms,
And one protects us with the victor's arms:
The same omniscient Power and ruling plan
Design'd the Demi-god and Demi-man.
To chear the herb, and silver o'er the dews!
Behold the taper, whose consuming fire
Supplies the day when Phœbus' beams retire!
Behold the glow-worm next, whose glimmering light,
For humbler uses, decks the silent night!
With the same thought the moral world survey,
And mark the different glories in your way:
See different lights arrang'd with equal care;
A Farinello here, a Nassau there!
The one the ear with syren music charms,
And one protects us with the victor's arms:
The same omniscient Power and ruling plan
Design'd the Demi-god and Demi-man.
Thus wisely Heaven its vary'd cares extends,
And different men are form'd for different ends:
With temper'd warmth, and with a candid heart,
Review the whole, consider every part;
The pomp, and show grotesque, unmurmuring see;
What God has made you, that content to be:
Nor, for the gifts you want, inglorious pine;
Nor envy orbs about your own that shine:
Of Science deep I cannot tread the maze,
Nor trace Antiquity to Adam's days;
Yet still a Sykes's honours I'll rehearse,
Though Drollman and Delany puff the verse:
If Gordon's works a fame o'er mine presage,
I'll yet the fire confess, and manly page;
Ev'n to a rival hand will candour show,
Nor scorn the genius, if I hate the foe.
True worth be prais'd and own'd, where-ever found,
Prais'd in a name or nation unrenown'd.
And different men are form'd for different ends:
With temper'd warmth, and with a candid heart,
Review the whole, consider every part;
The pomp, and show grotesque, unmurmuring see;
What God has made you, that content to be:
Nor, for the gifts you want, inglorious pine;
Nor envy orbs about your own that shine:
Of Science deep I cannot tread the maze,
Nor trace Antiquity to Adam's days;
Yet still a Sykes's honours I'll rehearse,
Though Drollman and Delany puff the verse:
300
I'll yet the fire confess, and manly page;
Ev'n to a rival hand will candour show,
Nor scorn the genius, if I hate the foe.
True worth be prais'd and own'd, where-ever found,
Prais'd in a name or nation unrenown'd.
With wars and factions compass'd round we stand;
We see an envious and divided land:
On interest interest, sect on sectary starts;
The blast of honour, and the bane of arts!
What can one do?—Why, thus:—Like Chandos live;
What-e'er is right, commend; what's wrong, for-give;
Where good and ill are mix'd, the merit prize,
And even view the vice with virtue's eyes.
We see an envious and divided land:
On interest interest, sect on sectary starts;
The blast of honour, and the bane of arts!
What can one do?—Why, thus:—Like Chandos live;
What-e'er is right, commend; what's wrong, for-give;
Where good and ill are mix'd, the merit prize,
And even view the vice with virtue's eyes.
Let's still for man a faithful verdict find;
Just to his worth, and to his failings kind:
Not every heedless slip, dishonour call;
Nor, like Thalestris, madly rail at all.
“See, see,” she cries, “the fool to dice is gone;
His wife, his children, and his race, undone!
A whole year's pay this luckless die shall cost;
A hundred faggots at that throw are lost!”
Again, “Behold, ye stars, that wretched rake!
Plague him, for Woman's and for Virtue's sake:
Each wanton look his vagrant eye alarms,
And every wench he meets has Richmond's charms.
Vile Poacher! who her virgin fame shall save!”
Be still, my soul, and let the Beldame rave;
While we the weak or indiscreet befriend,
Nor flirt at all we can't approve or mend:
This error I'll impute to hasty thought;
To human frailty give that venial fault:
Let Avarice grow, let Pride her branches shoot,
But cut up base Ill-nature from the root.
Just to his worth, and to his failings kind:
Not every heedless slip, dishonour call;
Nor, like Thalestris, madly rail at all.
“See, see,” she cries, “the fool to dice is gone;
His wife, his children, and his race, undone!
A whole year's pay this luckless die shall cost;
A hundred faggots at that throw are lost!”
Again, “Behold, ye stars, that wretched rake!
Plague him, for Woman's and for Virtue's sake:
Each wanton look his vagrant eye alarms,
And every wench he meets has Richmond's charms.
Vile Poacher! who her virgin fame shall save!”
Be still, my soul, and let the Beldame rave;
While we the weak or indiscreet befriend,
Nor flirt at all we can't approve or mend:
301
To human frailty give that venial fault:
Let Avarice grow, let Pride her branches shoot,
But cut up base Ill-nature from the root.
There is, 'tis true, what can be solv'd by none,
A thing most hard to bear beneath the sun,
The Dolt! that all at once the quarry gains,
Deny'd to honesty, and ages' pains!
Thus Fortunebrass, when halters were his due,
In one auspicious minute got Peru;
And Stockwell, by a bold and lucky jobb,
The city caught at once, and echoing mob.
A thing most hard to bear beneath the sun,
The Dolt! that all at once the quarry gains,
Deny'd to honesty, and ages' pains!
Thus Fortunebrass, when halters were his due,
In one auspicious minute got Peru;
And Stockwell, by a bold and lucky jobb,
The city caught at once, and echoing mob.
Yet fret not for't; repine at no success;
Nor mind whom ragmen and the ring caress:
Let this not nourish spleen and gloomy hours:
On strumpets Jove will fall in golden showers:
In robes of ore and ermine fools will shine;
What then? Their happiness not lessens mine.
If Periosto pants for conquest's charms;
If Swift, like Vainlove, dies in Venus' arms;
If Gulliver's eclipses Crusoe's fame;
If Hoadly and Hortensius are the same;
'Twere “spite,” ye gods, “proud spite!” the soul of pride,
To hate such Heroes, or such Wit deride:
I'll never cavil, nor my stars impeach,
For laurels, and for crowns, beyond my reach.
Nor mind whom ragmen and the ring caress:
Let this not nourish spleen and gloomy hours:
On strumpets Jove will fall in golden showers:
In robes of ore and ermine fools will shine;
What then? Their happiness not lessens mine.
If Periosto pants for conquest's charms;
If Swift, like Vainlove, dies in Venus' arms;
If Gulliver's eclipses Crusoe's fame;
If Hoadly and Hortensius are the same;
'Twere “spite,” ye gods, “proud spite!” the soul of pride,
To hate such Heroes, or such Wit deride:
I'll never cavil, nor my stars impeach,
For laurels, and for crowns, beyond my reach.
An easy and contented mind is all:
On whom, and where it will, let glory fall.
Let us the soul in even balance bear;
Content with what we have, and what we are!
Praise your own arb'rets, and be wise betimes;
Nor envy other men, nor other climes:
Obey not flattering Fancy's gay decoys;
Nor court Campanian hills for pictur'd joys.
Here Nature laughs, and crowns the verdant year,
And Ulubris and Baiæ both are here:
All good you'll taste in your paternal fields,
And find at Banstead more than Tyber yields.
On whom, and where it will, let glory fall.
Let us the soul in even balance bear;
Content with what we have, and what we are!
Praise your own arb'rets, and be wise betimes;
Nor envy other men, nor other climes:
Obey not flattering Fancy's gay decoys;
Nor court Campanian hills for pictur'd joys.
Here Nature laughs, and crowns the verdant year,
And Ulubris and Baiæ both are here:
All good you'll taste in your paternal fields,
And find at Banstead more than Tyber yields.
302
On rapturous visions long had Berkeley fed:
The lemon-groves were ever in his head.
He hangs on Waller, and the landscape aids;
Sees in Bermudas blooming Ida's shades!
'Tis said, 'tis done:—The project quick prevails;
He gets the promis'd freight; he weds, he sails:
The storms loud rattle, but on storms he smiles:
They will but waft me to Bermudas Isles.
At length the port he gains; when, lo! his dreams
He vanish'd views, and owns the airy schemes:
The orange-branch had lost its fragrant load;
The cedar wav'd not, nor the citron blow'd:
In Eden's stead, he sees a desart sand;
For figs and vines, a poor unpeopled land;
For balmy breezes, and for cloudless skies,
He hears around the whistling tempests rise:
“And is this all?” said the good Dean of Down;
“Is this the end, my hope and labours crown?
Too blest the swain, o'er Ormond's flowery vales
Who roves at ease, or sleeps in Derry's dales!
Henceforth I'll gratulate my native shore,
In search of bright delusions range no more;
Content to be, to cure this rambling itch,
An humble Bishop, and but barely rich.”
The lemon-groves were ever in his head.
He hangs on Waller, and the landscape aids;
Sees in Bermudas blooming Ida's shades!
'Tis said, 'tis done:—The project quick prevails;
He gets the promis'd freight; he weds, he sails:
The storms loud rattle, but on storms he smiles:
They will but waft me to Bermudas Isles.
At length the port he gains; when, lo! his dreams
He vanish'd views, and owns the airy schemes:
The orange-branch had lost its fragrant load;
The cedar wav'd not, nor the citron blow'd:
In Eden's stead, he sees a desart sand;
For figs and vines, a poor unpeopled land;
For balmy breezes, and for cloudless skies,
He hears around the whistling tempests rise:
“And is this all?” said the good Dean of Down;
“Is this the end, my hope and labours crown?
Too blest the swain, o'er Ormond's flowery vales
Who roves at ease, or sleeps in Derry's dales!
Henceforth I'll gratulate my native shore,
In search of bright delusions range no more;
Content to be, to cure this rambling itch,
An humble Bishop, and but barely rich.”
You'll answer strait, I know, `All this is true;
You preach a duty easy to pursue:
'Tis nothing hard, I think, at home to stay;
From one's own ducks and pidgeons not to stray!
'Tis no great point, disquiet to disclaim,
For Merry-andrew's luck, and Melvor's fame:
I'd call him witless, with regret who saw
Lothario's furrs, or Ten-per-cent's landau;
Yon upstart fops, with gold embroider'd o'er,
Now sneer the lords, whose pimps they were before;
That 'Squire was Cobler first, a Justice after:
'Tis nothing this—Such things we pass with laughter.
But how to hear the injur'd orphan's moan!
Or see the son his begging sire disown!
How brook proud insult, and unfeeling wrong!
See Misers doors the Poor, unpity'd, throng:
Lo! blaz'd abroad, stupendous Folly flies!
And Wisdom walks unseen, in Trueman's guise!
These are the plagues, the ills, that life debase!
Now tell me”—Poo! 'tis nothing to the case.
The world, we still must take it as it goes,
Sail with the tide that comes, and gale that blows:
What if an idle and an abject rout,
For second Tully, singles Glover out,
With garlands and with anagrams adorns
The rhetoric, Scurra steals, and Carteret scorns,
And forty times as much! What's this to me?
You only blame what was, will ever be;
A truant turn in Providence's school;
Arraign the laws that human fortunes rule;
What none can help, nor ought—'Twas right decree'd,
That St. John should be quit, and Raleigh bleed.
You preach a duty easy to pursue:
'Tis nothing hard, I think, at home to stay;
From one's own ducks and pidgeons not to stray!
'Tis no great point, disquiet to disclaim,
For Merry-andrew's luck, and Melvor's fame:
I'd call him witless, with regret who saw
Lothario's furrs, or Ten-per-cent's landau;
Yon upstart fops, with gold embroider'd o'er,
Now sneer the lords, whose pimps they were before;
That 'Squire was Cobler first, a Justice after:
'Tis nothing this—Such things we pass with laughter.
303
Or see the son his begging sire disown!
How brook proud insult, and unfeeling wrong!
See Misers doors the Poor, unpity'd, throng:
Lo! blaz'd abroad, stupendous Folly flies!
And Wisdom walks unseen, in Trueman's guise!
These are the plagues, the ills, that life debase!
Now tell me”—Poo! 'tis nothing to the case.
The world, we still must take it as it goes,
Sail with the tide that comes, and gale that blows:
What if an idle and an abject rout,
For second Tully, singles Glover out,
With garlands and with anagrams adorns
The rhetoric, Scurra steals, and Carteret scorns,
And forty times as much! What's this to me?
You only blame what was, will ever be;
A truant turn in Providence's school;
Arraign the laws that human fortunes rule;
What none can help, nor ought—'Twas right decree'd,
That St. John should be quit, and Raleigh bleed.
304
Whate'er we fret for, or whate'er bemoan,
For ends of wisdom, is to us unknown:
The winds and tempests must eternal blow,
And the fix'd order stand of things below:
Now from her holds shall Truth be rudely torn;
Anon the great and injur'd Statesman mourn:
Nor dies this scandal with the former age;
Another Hyde shall grapple faction's rage;
A second Cecil save, from threatening fate,
The mobs that curse him, and the leagues that hate.
For ends of wisdom, is to us unknown:
The winds and tempests must eternal blow,
And the fix'd order stand of things below:
Now from her holds shall Truth be rudely torn;
Anon the great and injur'd Statesman mourn:
Nor dies this scandal with the former age;
Another Hyde shall grapple faction's rage;
A second Cecil save, from threatening fate,
The mobs that curse him, and the leagues that hate.
Suppress your grief, the rising sigh restrain:
Some ills have rose, and some must rise again.
Here, proud Oppression towering high you'll see;
There, weeping Virtue, on the suppliant's knee!
O'er hidden mischief rancorous hearts will brood,
And lofty villains overlook the good:
Too blest our lot, for ever could we find
The Churchill's beauty, and the Pelham's mind!
Some ills have rose, and some must rise again.
Here, proud Oppression towering high you'll see;
There, weeping Virtue, on the suppliant's knee!
O'er hidden mischief rancorous hearts will brood,
And lofty villains overlook the good:
Too blest our lot, for ever could we find
The Churchill's beauty, and the Pelham's mind!
In every age alike you'll Vice discover;
See Folly starting in one shape or t'other;
Ev'n where 'twere pity, malice will prevail,
And toilets vilify, and tea-boards rail;
The harlot still will cheat, and courtier fawn;
The priest still flatter for the prelate's lawn:
Yet this but little hurts.—The order'd train
Goes on, and men are honest in the main;
The world, right take it, right enough behaves:
Not all the handicrafts we meet are knaves;
Not half the dames they tell are found to slide;
Or half th' attornies fee'd for either side;
Physicians kill not millions, as they say;
Nor are whole wards made cuckolds in a day:
Good, bad, by turns, the medley drama brings,
Where Glory oft displays her shining wings:
The seat of Equity, so Brunswick wills,
A Talbot now, and now a Hardwicke fills:
Then say not all that's good or just is fled;
We have her Viceroy in Astræa's stead.
See Folly starting in one shape or t'other;
Ev'n where 'twere pity, malice will prevail,
And toilets vilify, and tea-boards rail;
The harlot still will cheat, and courtier fawn;
The priest still flatter for the prelate's lawn:
Yet this but little hurts.—The order'd train
Goes on, and men are honest in the main;
The world, right take it, right enough behaves:
Not all the handicrafts we meet are knaves;
Not half the dames they tell are found to slide;
Or half th' attornies fee'd for either side;
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Nor are whole wards made cuckolds in a day:
Good, bad, by turns, the medley drama brings,
Where Glory oft displays her shining wings:
The seat of Equity, so Brunswick wills,
A Talbot now, and now a Hardwicke fills:
Then say not all that's good or just is fled;
We have her Viceroy in Astræa's stead.
Haste, Sall, the oranges and arrack bring;
Fetch me the water from Castalia's spring:
Since nought with reason may impede our bliss,
Let's every grief and every care dismiss:
All my Hephestion has that's worth possessing:
Then seize the swift-wing'd hour and fleeting blessing.
While yet, entranc'd, that envy'd life they led,
Thus to her love Ægypt's Princess said:
Fetch me the water from Castalia's spring:
Since nought with reason may impede our bliss,
Let's every grief and every care dismiss:
All my Hephestion has that's worth possessing:
Then seize the swift-wing'd hour and fleeting blessing.
While yet, entranc'd, that envy'd life they led,
Thus to her love Ægypt's Princess said:
“Gaze on me, Antony, with raptur'd eyes,
And factious Rome and all its fools despise,
And empty pride—for softer triumphs born,
And better joys, on Cæsars look with scorn:
O'er thine, my love, thy Rival's eagles soar;
Grant his demands, nor dream of Empire more:
Let conquer'd worlds his boyish care beguile:
Enough for us is Memphis and the Nile.”
And factious Rome and all its fools despise,
And empty pride—for softer triumphs born,
And better joys, on Cæsars look with scorn:
O'er thine, my love, thy Rival's eagles soar;
Grant his demands, nor dream of Empire more:
Let conquer'd worlds his boyish care beguile:
Enough for us is Memphis and the Nile.”
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FRAGMENT of a POEM,
Published by Mr. WELSTED, in 1714.
THE force of Britain's evil star,And strong delusions nurs'd with care,
Retard a while the vengeance just;
But when th' enchanted scene is o'er,
And Reason reassumes her power,
Fall, Traytor, fall you must!
| The Works, In Verse and Prose, of Leonard Welsted | |