The Fourth Volume of the Writings Of the Author of the London-Spy ::

Sir, Whoever you are that obliged us with the following Subject, tho it be a little too serious for our Design, yet according to your Request we have presented you and the rest of the World that shall think it worth their Reading, with a short Poem upon the same, which we hope you will accept as a small requital of your Kindness, and excuse the insufficiency of those who subscribe themselves your humble Servants upon all like Occasions.

When Phœbus had exhal'd the Winter's Floods,
And Nature had adorn'd the Fields and Woods,
That every Mead her verdant Mantle wore,
With Gold and Purple Flowers embroider'd o'er,
Whose beauteous Charms administred Delight
To humane Soul as well as humane sight,
Subliming from the World each humble Thought,
Tow'ards him who all these mighty Wonders wrought,
And teaching us at e'ry glance to know
The Pow'r that dwells above by things below.
For who beholds so excellent a Frame,
Must needs adore the Author of the same,
As he that views an admirable Piece,
Nobly descended or from Rome or Greece;
Pleas'd with the artful strokes, he next enquires
The Author of the Work he so admires,
Gives him that Praise that's owing to his Fame,
And always speaks with Rev'rence to his Name.

Thus when the Spring in all her Beauty clad,
Made Birds and Beasts like humane Nature glad,
Finding the nobler part of Man, my Mind
To Contemplation seriously inclin'd,
I left my Closet and those darling Friends,
My Books, who serve me for no secret ends,
But void of Lucre faithfully impart
Such Councils that instruct and please the Heart,
To spend some hours in the refreshing Fields,
And muse on the delights which Nature yields;
Hoping in such Variety to find
New Wonders to enlarge my narrow Mind.

For who that's fill'd with an immortal Soul,
Can sensibly observe 'twixt Pole and Pole,
The numerous Blessings to our uses given,
And not extend his grateful Thoughts to Heav'n.

With folded Arms my Progress I began,
And gently mov'd like some enamour'd Swain;

Gazing with Pleasure, e'ery Step I took
Upon the flowry Mead or Crystal Brook,
Whose Murmurs seem'd to glorify his Name,
Who first gave motion to each purling Stream,
As if inanimates in Nature's School
Were taught (more Shame for the Athiestick Fool)
To praise, tho destitute of Soul or Sense,
The Works and Mercies of Omnipotence,

At last I came to a delightful Grove,
Where Philomel in Songs proclaim'd her Love,
And am'rous Turtles on each lofty Tree,
With Chooings mollify'd the Harmony;
The kind Refreshments of a gentle Breeze,
Fann'd the aspiring Branches of the Trees,
Each bowing to the Wind their tow'ring Head,
Most pleasing Whispers to my Ears convey'd,
Whilst the reviving Glories of the Day
Did here and there 'twixt drooping Boughs make way
And darting in its Beams divinely bright,
Marbled the dusky Shade with streams of Light;

Bless me, thought I, how vain is humane Kind,
By Pride corrupted, and by Wealth made blind,
That can, for vicious Pleasures, disagree
With these Delights so innocent and free;
And to the shortning of their days admire
Expensive Joys, which every Fool may hire;
Such as are base and sinful whilst they last,
And nauseous in Reflection when they're past,
So vile and odious to a modest Ear,
That when enjoy'd they'll no Rehearsal bear;
But in a moment lose their pleasing force,
And terminate in Scandal and Remorse;
So angry Fools will in a furious heat
Pursue Revenge because they think 'tis sweet,
But when they've gratify'd their Rage, they find
As Passion cools, the Evil leaves behind
The Horrour of a sad despairing Mind.

I sate me down my happy Soul to please,
Beneath a Towring Canopy of Trees,
Whose yielding Branches bended o're my Head,
And sporting with the Wind, sweet Musick made.

Whilst I (with humble Thoughts to Heaven resign'd)
Enjoy'd the Treasure of a peaceful Mind,
A Bliss the Worldlings of a vicious Age,
Could never find upon this publick Stage,
Who slight the best things to pursue the worst,
And only labour to be more accurst;
So greedy Fools desert their Native Soil,
Beneath the Torrid Zone to sweat and toil;
Forsake for base and mercenary Ends,
Their Wives, their Children and their dearest Friends,
And all the Comforts both of Life and Health,
To gorge their boundless Avarice with Wealth.

From Sinful Passions free I gaz'd about,
Happy within, and pleased with all without;
Sweet Contemplation fill'd my Mind with Ease,
And busy'd all my nobler Faculties;
The various Products I beheld around,
That rais'd their tops above the fertile Ground,
Each spreading Oak by Nature's bounty fed,
That from an Acorn rais'd its lofty Head,

Whose sollid Trunk, and whose extensive Arms,
Had been so long preserv'd in spite of Storms,
Which Wonder is alone enough to show
How Providence protects the World below.

The feather'd Choristers whose warbling Throats
Delight Mankind with their harmonious Notes,
Whose minute Bodies tho of slender force,
Can move with greater speed than Stag or Horse,
And do with equal Safety bear we find,
The Rage and Violence of the blust'ring Wind;
Therefore we ought no Creature to despise,
Because it little seems to humane Eyes,
Since e'ery Bird, tho short of humane Sence,
Is blest with some peculiar Excellence.

The gaudy Flow'rs, whose Colours please the Sight,
And by their fragrant Odour yield Delight,
That from their Beds start up amuse the Eye,
And when they've plaid their Part, in silence die;
That humane Race from thence might meditate
The sudden Changes of a mortal State,

And learn to live prepar'd that we might be
From hence transferr'd to Immortality.

My Contemplations next I fix'd on Earth,
From whence these Beings had at first their Birth,
That fertile Nurse who with her Plenty feeds
The various Fruits and Offsprings that she breeds,
And does so fond and kind a Mother prove,
So full of Pity and maternal Love,
That when her Sons are dead she gives them rest,
And hugs their Lifeless Relicks in her Breast;
Blest be the tender Mother, who from thence
Learns how to cherish Infant Innocence;
That fruitful Matrons may their duty know,
And to their Sons the like Indulgence show,
Which Providence extends to all below.

These and a Thousand various Products more,
That the exuberant Soil in order bore,
Fill'd me at once with Wonder and Delight,
When rightly scann'd, tho common to the Sight;

For senceless Atoms sure could never dance
Into such order by the Pow'r of Chance,
Nor jumbled Mites by accident compose
The meanest Brute that lives, or Plant that grows,
For could consenting Atoms ever join,
To make a Man a Monkey or a Swine;
Why should not now the Particles that rise
From putrid Bodies 'twixt the Earth and Skies,
Jump into Order as they us'd to do,
And produce something wonderful and new?
For could the various Fumes that range above
Their Senceless State to form, and Life improve,
That to convince the World the Clouds might rain
Plants, Monsters, brutish Animals or Men,
Then Moses to Lucretius should submit,
And Athiests be alone deem'd Men of Wit.
But till such Demonstrations I shall see,
With Scripture and with reason I'll agree,
And stedfastly believe the Great and Wise
Omnipotence that rules above the Skies,
That God, for Mercy upon whom we call,
To be the great Original of all,

With these Resolves I left the happy Grove,
And to my Books return'd all Peace and Love;
Pleas'd with the Moments I so well had spent,
And fill'd with all the Sweetness of Content;
These are the lasting Riches of the Mind,
The Wise alone in Contemplation find,
Whilst all the noisy bussle of the Great,
Their Wealth and Pow'r, their mighty Pomp and State,
Their Mercenary Slaves, who serve for Coin,
And envy every Mouthful when they dine;
Are but a Pest and do those Cares create,
That Plague the mighty Men on whom they wait.
Their beauteous Dames to satiate their Lust,
And foreign Dainties to oblige their Gust;
When once made common to the Taste or Sight,
Are stale, and will no longer yield Delight,
Grow flat and nauseous when the Fancy's cloy'd,
And change to be those Plagues they wou'd avoid.

But Contemplation teaches us to use
Those Pleasures which, without, we of abuse,

Kindly instructs us how we ought to steer
Our Lives in e'ery thing and e'ery where;
Does the whole World in proper Colours shew,
And calls to our imaginary View,
Something that's always good and always new.

University of Virginia Library

Solitary Enjoyment:

Or, the Pleasures of Contemplation.