Fortitude, a poem Inscribed to Colley Cibber, Esq; by Henry Jones. With An introductory essay (As Publish'd in the London Daily Advertiser, or Literary Gazette.) Written by The inspector |
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 | Fortitude, a poem |  |
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FORTITUDE, a POEM,
Incrib'd to Colley Cibber, Esq;
By Henry Jones.
Happy the Man at fourscore Years,
From Anguish free, and free from Fears;
Whose Appetites sollicit still,
With Fancy warm, and Wit at will;
Who feels no Stroke of rude Decay,
But laughs his pleasing Hours away,
With conscious Sense of Deeds design'd
To help, not hurt, the human Kind;
By most belov'd, with none in Hate,
Esteem'd and honour'd by the Great.
From Anguish free, and free from Fears;
Whose Appetites sollicit still,
With Fancy warm, and Wit at will;
Who feels no Stroke of rude Decay,
But laughs his pleasing Hours away,
With conscious Sense of Deeds design'd
To help, not hurt, the human Kind;
By most belov'd, with none in Hate,
Esteem'd and honour'd by the Great.
Tho' Vice prevails, and Folly rules,
Tho' Knaves exclaim at Knaves and Fools;
Bad as the World, to most, may seem,
Yet moral Worth shall meet Esteem;
And Genius too, perhaps, may find
By lucky Chance, some Patron kind;
Since Decency, when Virtue's fled,
Has often acted in her stead;
Ev'n Affectation, fond to press
A frolic Point, has met Success;
Nay Justice too, effectual strove,
For she prevail'd when Cibber throve:
Thrice happy Man, on whose Decline
The kindest Rays of Fortune shine,
By Fame extoll'd, by Friends desir'd,
Tho' near Life's Verge, of Life untir'd;
Yet fearless too from hence to part,
Arm'd by that Sheild, an honest Heart.
Tho' Knaves exclaim at Knaves and Fools;
Bad as the World, to most, may seem,
Yet moral Worth shall meet Esteem;
And Genius too, perhaps, may find
By lucky Chance, some Patron kind;
Since Decency, when Virtue's fled,
Has often acted in her stead;
Ev'n Affectation, fond to press
A frolic Point, has met Success;
Nay Justice too, effectual strove,
For she prevail'd when Cibber throve:
Thrice happy Man, on whose Decline
The kindest Rays of Fortune shine,
By Fame extoll'd, by Friends desir'd,
Tho' near Life's Verge, of Life untir'd;
Yet fearless too from hence to part,
Arm'd by that Sheild, an honest Heart.
The Pedant cant, I'll hear no more,
The Stoic Theme and boasted Lore;
Where grave Impertinence, and Pride,
Inculcate Rules, by Sense deny'd,
And teach, with false assuming Air,
What Nature's Strength could never bear.
The Stoic Theme and boasted Lore;
Where grave Impertinence, and Pride,
Inculcate Rules, by Sense deny'd,
And teach, with false assuming Air,
What Nature's Strength could never bear.
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A chearful Temper, with good Sense,
Will ever prove the firmest Fence
'Gainst Doubts and Fears, which oft annoy,
In fancy'd Forms, each human Joy.
Will ever prove the firmest Fence
'Gainst Doubts and Fears, which oft annoy,
In fancy'd Forms, each human Joy.
How happy he whose dauntless Breast
Nor anxious Guilt, nor Cares, molest;
Whom Envy's Darts could never pain,
By Malice struck, but struck in vain;
Who stands prepar'd to meet Time's Shock,
As gay as Moore , as firm as Locke!
Nor anxious Guilt, nor Cares, molest;
Whom Envy's Darts could never pain,
By Malice struck, but struck in vain;
Who stands prepar'd to meet Time's Shock,
As gay as Moore , as firm as Locke!
The lowest Worth his Goodness shares,
When Life no more deserves his Cares,
His manly Soul, oppress'd by Pain,
Still scorns to live, and live in vain;
And in that dread alarming Hour,
When Nature shrinks through ev'ry Pow'r!
When Resolution yields to Fear!
(The ghastly Monarch stalking near)
He grasps the Pen, with fault'ring Hand,
(Regardless of his ebbing Sand)
His straining Heart's last Stretch to try;
For, as he liv'd, he fain would die,
Still doing Good—
One Object yet his Care would see,
And kindly cast a Look at me;
He reach'd the Scrowl, his Head reclines,
“To Grafton give these grateful Lines;
“Weak Words no more my Wish can tell:
“But take this last”—then, fainting, fell.
When Life no more deserves his Cares,
His manly Soul, oppress'd by Pain,
Still scorns to live, and live in vain;
And in that dread alarming Hour,
When Nature shrinks through ev'ry Pow'r!
When Resolution yields to Fear!
(The ghastly Monarch stalking near)
He grasps the Pen, with fault'ring Hand,
(Regardless of his ebbing Sand)
His straining Heart's last Stretch to try;
For, as he liv'd, he fain would die,
Still doing Good—
One Object yet his Care would see,
And kindly cast a Look at me;
He reach'd the Scrowl, his Head reclines,
“To Grafton give these grateful Lines;
“Weak Words no more my Wish can tell:
“But take this last”—then, fainting, fell.
Ye
Grecian Sages, hence give o'er,
And boast your Socrates no more;
Nor, Romans, think I do amiss,
When I compare your Worth with his:
Did Cato's Soul so calmly glow?
Did Seneca more Firmness shew,
Tho' taught by Rules, as false as vain,
To mock Distress, and laugh at Pain?
Here Fortitude, in Virtue strong,
Not Technic Modes, which reason wrong,
On Nature's Basis, built by Sense,
Sustains its just and true Pretence;
Whilst Conscience clear, decrees within,
And good Intention cancels Sin.
And boast your Socrates no more;
Nor, Romans, think I do amiss,
When I compare your Worth with his:
Did Cato's Soul so calmly glow?
Did Seneca more Firmness shew,
Tho' taught by Rules, as false as vain,
To mock Distress, and laugh at Pain?
Here Fortitude, in Virtue strong,
Not Technic Modes, which reason wrong,
On Nature's Basis, built by Sense,
Sustains its just and true Pretence;
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And good Intention cancels Sin.
Integrity! celestial Maid!
O lend my sinking Heart such Aid,
When Death's cold Gripe my Pulse restrains,
And ebbing Life forsakes my Veins,
Do thou stand by, and let Men see
My sole Dependence is on thee.
Far hence with Rigour's steril Rules,
The pompous Tyranny of Schools,
The narrow Path which Art has made,
Where hoodwink'd Folly long has stray'd,
In Mazes hid from Wisdom's View,
Misled by Craft's entangling Clue.
O lend my sinking Heart such Aid,
When Death's cold Gripe my Pulse restrains,
And ebbing Life forsakes my Veins,
Do thou stand by, and let Men see
My sole Dependence is on thee.
Far hence with Rigour's steril Rules,
The pompous Tyranny of Schools,
The narrow Path which Art has made,
Where hoodwink'd Folly long has stray'd,
In Mazes hid from Wisdom's View,
Misled by Craft's entangling Clue.
Wise Nature points to ev'ry Eye
The way to live, the way to die,
And is, in spight of human Pride,
The only sure, unerring Guide:
Then let me make her Footsteps mine,
And tread, O Friend, the Path that's thine;
The pleasing Path, which Fancy made,
O'er funny Hill, through dusky Shade,
Where Wit and Humour wont to stray,
And prudent Pleasure led the Way.
The way to live, the way to die,
And is, in spight of human Pride,
The only sure, unerring Guide:
Then let me make her Footsteps mine,
And tread, O Friend, the Path that's thine;
The pleasing Path, which Fancy made,
O'er funny Hill, through dusky Shade,
Where Wit and Humour wont to stray,
And prudent Pleasure led the Way.
This fleeting Life is but, at best,
A chequer'd Dream, a motly Jest;
We form ourselves its Pains and Cares,
Its Wants and Doubts, its Hopes and Fears,
With all the Train of fancy'd Ills,
Which Peace destroys, and Pleasure kills.
A chequer'd Dream, a motly Jest;
We form ourselves its Pains and Cares,
Its Wants and Doubts, its Hopes and Fears,
With all the Train of fancy'd Ills,
Which Peace destroys, and Pleasure kills.
Possess'd of ev'ry Good, my Friend,
Which Earth affords, or Heav'n can lend,
Adown Life's Steep serenely slide,
And laugh at Ignorance and Pride;
Enjoy each Span which Time bestows,
And pluck the Fruit which round you grows:
Enjoy your own contented Mind,
And pity those you leave behind;
With this Reflection, bid Adieu,
That Life can owe no Good to you.
Which Earth affords, or Heav'n can lend,
Adown Life's Steep serenely slide,
And laugh at Ignorance and Pride;
Enjoy each Span which Time bestows,
And pluck the Fruit which round you grows:
Enjoy your own contented Mind,
And pity those you leave behind;
With this Reflection, bid Adieu,
That Life can owe no Good to you.
FINIS.
| Fortitude, a poem | |