Poems on Several Occasions By Henry Jones |
 |
To the Reverend Dr. Mann, occasioned by
the Author's asking him for a Subject to
write on, and his saying he could think of none.
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 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
To the Reverend Dr. Mann, occasioned by the Author's asking him for a Subject to write on, and his saying he could think of none.
Is ev'ry moral Subject found so trite?
Hath wholsome Satire nothing new to write?
No Vice to lash, no Folly to expose?
Shall happier Pulpits do the Work in Prose?
Shall they reclaim the erring Sons of Men?
And Preachers Tongues supplant the Poet's Pen?
Shall distant Fears reform flagitious Times?
Nor present Shame give Sanction to my Rhimes?
How much would Breeding and Politeness fail,
Should Wits be frighted at a formal Tale!
Clear Truths, in such a Garb, would give Offence;
What! think to scare with Bugbears Men of Sense!
Thank Heaven! they bid these Monkish Dreams good Night.
The Clouds are gone, and all again looks bright.
Hath wholsome Satire nothing new to write?
No Vice to lash, no Folly to expose?
Shall happier Pulpits do the Work in Prose?
Shall they reclaim the erring Sons of Men?
And Preachers Tongues supplant the Poet's Pen?
Shall distant Fears reform flagitious Times?
Nor present Shame give Sanction to my Rhimes?
How much would Breeding and Politeness fail,
Should Wits be frighted at a formal Tale!
Clear Truths, in such a Garb, would give Offence;
What! think to scare with Bugbears Men of Sense!
Thank Heaven! they bid these Monkish Dreams good Night.
The Clouds are gone, and all again looks bright.
48
Such Sentiments there are, such Humours spread
Their noxious Poison through the Heart and Head;
What learned Cure can Doctors here advise,
Since Fools extol what wiser Knaves despise?
An odd Experiment for once be try'd,
Inlist a Poet on Religion's Side.
Let Verse with all her youthful Train appear,
And Wit to Virtue serve a Volunteer,
At her own Weapons foil the dext'rous Foe,
And shoot down Folly with her fav'rite Bow.
Deck'd in bright Arms, ler Reason gaily tread,
First win the Fancy, then surprize the Head;
Since Truth must, like a pelted Pillar, stand
The Butt and Aim of each fantastic Hand,
That sacred Pile, whose Rock eternal bears
The Rage of hostile Storms, and sapping Years,
In vain the Floods assault its stedfast Base;
In vain would Hell its heav'nly Form deface.
Tho' eighteen rolling Ages loud proclaim
Its Strength unshaken, and its Height the same;
Tho' half the Kings who rule this pendent Ball,
Bow down their Scepters, and before it fall:
Against it Knaves their impious Force will try,
And mimick Fools their feeble Bolts let fly.
Their noxious Poison through the Heart and Head;
What learned Cure can Doctors here advise,
Since Fools extol what wiser Knaves despise?
An odd Experiment for once be try'd,
Inlist a Poet on Religion's Side.
Let Verse with all her youthful Train appear,
And Wit to Virtue serve a Volunteer,
At her own Weapons foil the dext'rous Foe,
And shoot down Folly with her fav'rite Bow.
Deck'd in bright Arms, ler Reason gaily tread,
First win the Fancy, then surprize the Head;
Since Truth must, like a pelted Pillar, stand
The Butt and Aim of each fantastic Hand,
That sacred Pile, whose Rock eternal bears
The Rage of hostile Storms, and sapping Years,
In vain the Floods assault its stedfast Base;
In vain would Hell its heav'nly Form deface.
Tho' eighteen rolling Ages loud proclaim
Its Strength unshaken, and its Height the same;
Tho' half the Kings who rule this pendent Ball,
Bow down their Scepters, and before it fall:
Against it Knaves their impious Force will try,
And mimick Fools their feeble Bolts let fly.
Say then, my Friend! from whence this Humour springs,
This bloated Vice, this angry Form of Things,
Whose inbred Venom stirs such tumid Rage;
The Bane and Brand of this licentious Age?
Shall not the Muse the hidden Cause disclose,
Probe the proud Part, the putrid Plague expose?
Regardless she, who feels the pungent Smart;
The Head misguided, or the high-blown Heart;
If Priest or People most in Fault she finds,
If Pride oppresses, or if Envy blinds,
To both alike impartial, she proceeds,
And forms her Estimate of Men by Deeds.
This bloated Vice, this angry Form of Things,
Whose inbred Venom stirs such tumid Rage;
The Bane and Brand of this licentious Age?
49
Probe the proud Part, the putrid Plague expose?
Regardless she, who feels the pungent Smart;
The Head misguided, or the high-blown Heart;
If Priest or People most in Fault she finds,
If Pride oppresses, or if Envy blinds,
To both alike impartial, she proceeds,
And forms her Estimate of Men by Deeds.
Say first, Why rolls the Force of Fashion's Tide
So smoothly swift against Religion's Side,
Whilst down its Stream the Men of Power throng,
The Men of Pleasure, and the Men of Song?
Drawn by the artful Peer's seducing Lore,
Join the gay Crowd, and seek th'enchanting Shore:
There the abandon'd, headlong, and prophane,
With Pride press forwards, and of Priests complain.
So smoothly swift against Religion's Side,
Whilst down its Stream the Men of Power throng,
The Men of Pleasure, and the Men of Song?
Drawn by the artful Peer's seducing Lore,
Join the gay Crowd, and seek th'enchanting Shore:
There the abandon'd, headlong, and prophane,
With Pride press forwards, and of Priests complain.
Bright as the Beams that from the Ocean rise,
When radiant Rays adorn the Eastern Skies;
Fair as the Essence of Etherial Light,
Dawning o'er Chaos, and coeval Night;
Pure as the Gale that from Arabia blows,
Than Lillies whiter, or than falling Snows,
Religion shone, when first the Heaven-born Maid
With Virgin Truth and Purity array'd,
Sublimely meek disclos'd her Angel Face,
Beaming celestial Smiles and shedding Grace.
Her suff'ring Sons the scourging Rod sustain;
Their Province, Patience, and their Portion Pain.
No Pomp they seek, no pageant Pow'r they need,
Ambitious only for her Sake to bleed.
In Meekness rob'd, thus humble was her State;
“She knew no Wish so mean, as to be great.”
On Heav'n alone she fix'd her stedfast Eye,
Her Master's Kingdom was beyond the Sky.
She sought not Wealth, unanxious of her Store;
For his Example taught her to be poor.
Thus in her blooming Years oppress'd, she grew,
By Patience arm'd, the Mighty to subdue.
How mild her Mien, how winning then her Ways,
How diff'rent from her Looks in later Days!
When radiant Rays adorn the Eastern Skies;
Fair as the Essence of Etherial Light,
Dawning o'er Chaos, and coeval Night;
Pure as the Gale that from Arabia blows,
Than Lillies whiter, or than falling Snows,
Religion shone, when first the Heaven-born Maid
With Virgin Truth and Purity array'd,
Sublimely meek disclos'd her Angel Face,
Beaming celestial Smiles and shedding Grace.
Her suff'ring Sons the scourging Rod sustain;
Their Province, Patience, and their Portion Pain.
50
Ambitious only for her Sake to bleed.
In Meekness rob'd, thus humble was her State;
“She knew no Wish so mean, as to be great.”
On Heav'n alone she fix'd her stedfast Eye,
Her Master's Kingdom was beyond the Sky.
She sought not Wealth, unanxious of her Store;
For his Example taught her to be poor.
Thus in her blooming Years oppress'd, she grew,
By Patience arm'd, the Mighty to subdue.
How mild her Mien, how winning then her Ways,
How diff'rent from her Looks in later Days!
The Muse would spare what sullen Truth may blame,
Nor dwells delighted on so harsh a Theme.
Truth, like the genial Sun, will still abide,
Tho' Vapours veil it, and tho' Clouds may hide.
Could prying Malice, or could Envy see
Religion leaning, in the least Degree,
To fetter Freedom, or bright Reason blind,
Or throw a tangling Snare on Humankind:
Could one Ingredient in that pure Compound
To Parts pernicious, or the Whole, be found;
The Fool of Wit, with some Pretence, might fleer,
The Coxcomb rally, and the Pedant sneer.
Nor dwells delighted on so harsh a Theme.
Truth, like the genial Sun, will still abide,
Tho' Vapours veil it, and tho' Clouds may hide.
Could prying Malice, or could Envy see
Religion leaning, in the least Degree,
To fetter Freedom, or bright Reason blind,
Or throw a tangling Snare on Humankind:
Could one Ingredient in that pure Compound
To Parts pernicious, or the Whole, be found;
The Fool of Wit, with some Pretence, might fleer,
The Coxcomb rally, and the Pedant sneer.
Smart Virro frankly owns it makes him grieve,
To see the floating Robe and swelling Sleeve:
The Chin high bolster'd. and the florid Face,
Are mighty Marks of Wisdom, and of Grace:
Pert in the wrong, and seldom right in Season;
Too much in Haste to hear or offer Reason,
At Creeds he mocks; how loud the Laughing Fit!
How willing to be damn'd, to shew his Wit!
Sporus, forsooth! allows some pious Cheats,
But then, such clumsey Bugbears, gross Deceits,
Such Monkish Phantoms, make the Juggle clear,
To Men of Sense the Thing will still appear;
Such Arts, indeed, may Vulgar Minds restrain,
And graver Fools, who like, may hug the Chain.
To talk of Fasting, Purity, and Grace,
With all that Sanctity, and Form of Face,
Which pamper'd Priests o'er Velvet Cushions wear,
Would make a Hermit smile, a Stoic stare.
When they aloft hold forth the Cake and Rod,
And point to Paths, which Paul and Peter trod,
To narrow Paths they point, and thorny Ways,
And those who like, may tread them, if they please.
Far other Objects their Affections fix,
In Stalls to snore, or in a Coach and six.
To see the floating Robe and swelling Sleeve:
The Chin high bolster'd. and the florid Face,
Are mighty Marks of Wisdom, and of Grace:
Pert in the wrong, and seldom right in Season;
Too much in Haste to hear or offer Reason,
51
How willing to be damn'd, to shew his Wit!
Sporus, forsooth! allows some pious Cheats,
But then, such clumsey Bugbears, gross Deceits,
Such Monkish Phantoms, make the Juggle clear,
To Men of Sense the Thing will still appear;
Such Arts, indeed, may Vulgar Minds restrain,
And graver Fools, who like, may hug the Chain.
To talk of Fasting, Purity, and Grace,
With all that Sanctity, and Form of Face,
Which pamper'd Priests o'er Velvet Cushions wear,
Would make a Hermit smile, a Stoic stare.
When they aloft hold forth the Cake and Rod,
And point to Paths, which Paul and Peter trod,
To narrow Paths they point, and thorny Ways,
And those who like, may tread them, if they please.
Far other Objects their Affections fix,
In Stalls to snore, or in a Coach and six.
Meer Censure is at best a poor Pretence,
And Malice ill supplies the Place of Sense:
Reproach so keen, when vulgar found, and trite,
Shows less of Candour, than of partial Spight.
Since Pride in all, and Passions still abound,
Since few are Proof, and none are perfect found;
To Nature's Slips be kind Allowance made,
And o'er her Failings cast a friendly Shade.
Tho' Priests, indeed, should good Examples give,
Yet Priests have Appetites, and Priests must live.
“But why such Wealth and Grandeur? Why so great?
“Like Lords attended, and like Kings they eat.”
This more betrays the Rancour of your Will,
You'd have the Clergy barefoot Beggars still,
Still homeless wander, through the World opprest,
Without Protection, or a Place of Rest.
The Wealth they have was by the State bestow'd,
Or rather paid them as a Debt it ow'd.
For Shame! no more such bitter Railings bring,
You Quarrel with the Men, and not the Thing.
O'er Vices watchful, and to Virtues blind,
By Nature prone to prejudice, inclin'd
With sharpen'd Sight each human Spot to spy,
On shinning Worth to shut th'indignant Eye,
Shall groping Pride in Error's Twilight stray,
While Truth directs, and Wisdom points her Way,
Self-wilder'd, still the glorious Lamp evade,
And seek with purblind Orbs the sullen Shade?
And Malice ill supplies the Place of Sense:
Reproach so keen, when vulgar found, and trite,
Shows less of Candour, than of partial Spight.
Since Pride in all, and Passions still abound,
Since few are Proof, and none are perfect found;
To Nature's Slips be kind Allowance made,
And o'er her Failings cast a friendly Shade.
Tho' Priests, indeed, should good Examples give,
Yet Priests have Appetites, and Priests must live.
“But why such Wealth and Grandeur? Why so great?
“Like Lords attended, and like Kings they eat.”
This more betrays the Rancour of your Will,
You'd have the Clergy barefoot Beggars still,
52
Without Protection, or a Place of Rest.
The Wealth they have was by the State bestow'd,
Or rather paid them as a Debt it ow'd.
For Shame! no more such bitter Railings bring,
You Quarrel with the Men, and not the Thing.
O'er Vices watchful, and to Virtues blind,
By Nature prone to prejudice, inclin'd
With sharpen'd Sight each human Spot to spy,
On shinning Worth to shut th'indignant Eye,
Shall groping Pride in Error's Twilight stray,
While Truth directs, and Wisdom points her Way,
Self-wilder'd, still the glorious Lamp evade,
And seek with purblind Orbs the sullen Shade?
If Goodness charms, if Learning's Palm you prize,
To Boulter bow, to Berkeley lift your Eyes.
If public Virtue for Esteem may call,
Behold his Country's Pride in mitred Maul ,
Diffusing Truth on pious Plans, to raise
Her present Hope, her Joy in future Days;
Sacred to her his upright Life he spends,
Her winning Charms displays, her Cause defends.
To Boulter bow, to Berkeley lift your Eyes.
If public Virtue for Esteem may call,
Behold his Country's Pride in mitred Maul ,
Diffusing Truth on pious Plans, to raise
Her present Hope, her Joy in future Days;
Sacred to her his upright Life he spends,
Her winning Charms displays, her Cause defends.
Thee, rev'rend Patriot! thee the Muse should sing,
And rise, exulting, on thy Clio's Wing:
In Verse, like thine, recording Numbers raise,
And Deeds, unequal'd, sing with lasting Praise.
See Science shine, see public Virture bloom,
See Arts advance to rival Greece and Rome!
No more the steril Glebe shall stint the Swain,
See barren Mountains crown'd with golden Grain;
The staple Web employs th'industrious Hand,
For Madden bids, and Wealth o'erflows the Land.
Who dare such Worth with venom'd Tongue invade?
Yet these are Priests, and this their daily Trade.
And rise, exulting, on thy Clio's Wing:
In Verse, like thine, recording Numbers raise,
And Deeds, unequal'd, sing with lasting Praise.
See Science shine, see public Virture bloom,
See Arts advance to rival Greece and Rome!
53
See barren Mountains crown'd with golden Grain;
The staple Web employs th'industrious Hand,
For Madden bids, and Wealth o'erflows the Land.
Who dare such Worth with venom'd Tongue invade?
Yet these are Priests, and this their daily Trade.
Nor Prelates only shall the Muse inspire,
Lo! Ranks subordinate her Strains require.
A shining Throng, whom raging Vice must spare,
Mild Virtue honour, and calm Sense revere;
Exalted Minds, that would Perfection reach,
Still living Lessons of the Truths they teach,
Whose Practice proves the Precept pure display'd,
Whose Words illustrate, and whose Lives perswade,
Whose blameless Breasts th'invidious World might scan
From Vice as distant, as thy Mind, O Mann!
Where Meekness, thron'd, her pious Scepter sways,
And Virtue's Pow'r commands these feeble Lays,
Long, long esteem'd with thy lov'd Lelius shine,
And give me leave, for once, to call him mine.
O! could my Verse to distant Years declare
The grateful Heart, the Sentiment sincere,
Which ill in Words, and worse in Deeds, I tell,
Felt only in that Bosom where they swell;
Then should this Strain on Time's last Period tend,
Worthy so bright a Guide, so good a Friend.
Lo! Ranks subordinate her Strains require.
A shining Throng, whom raging Vice must spare,
Mild Virtue honour, and calm Sense revere;
Exalted Minds, that would Perfection reach,
Still living Lessons of the Truths they teach,
Whose Practice proves the Precept pure display'd,
Whose Words illustrate, and whose Lives perswade,
Whose blameless Breasts th'invidious World might scan
From Vice as distant, as thy Mind, O Mann!
Where Meekness, thron'd, her pious Scepter sways,
And Virtue's Pow'r commands these feeble Lays,
Long, long esteem'd with thy lov'd Lelius shine,
And give me leave, for once, to call him mine.
O! could my Verse to distant Years declare
The grateful Heart, the Sentiment sincere,
Which ill in Words, and worse in Deeds, I tell,
Felt only in that Bosom where they swell;
Then should this Strain on Time's last Period tend,
Worthy so bright a Guide, so good a Friend.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |