The Works of the Reverend and Learned Isaac Watts, D. D. Containing, besides his Sermons, and Essays on miscellaneous subjects, several additional pieces, Selected from his Manuscripts by the Rev. Dr. Jennings, and the Rev. Dr. Doddridge, in 1753: to which are prefixed, memoirs of the life of the author, compiled by the Rev. George Burder. In six volumes |
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TO THOMAS GUNSTON, ESQ.
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 | The Works of the Reverend and Learned Isaac Watts, D. D. |  |
481
TO THOMAS GUNSTON, ESQ.
1700. Happy Solitude. Casimire, book iv. ode 12. Imitated.
Quid me latentem, &c.
I.
The noisy world complains of meThat I should shun their sight, and flee
Visits, and crowds, and company.
Gunston, the lark dwells in her nest
Till she ascend the skies;
And in my closet I could rest
Till to the heavens I rise.
II.
Yet they will urge, ‘This private life‘Can never make you blest,
‘And twenty doors are still at strife
‘T'engage you for a guest.’
Friend, should the towers of Windsor or Whitehall
Spread open their inviting gates
To make my entertainment gay;
I would obey the royal call,
But short should be my stay,
Since a diviner service waits
T'employ my hours at home, and better fill the day.
III.
When I within myself retreat,I shut my doors against the great;
My busy eye-balls inward roll,
And there with large survey I see
All the wide theatre of me,
And view the various scenes of my retiring soul;
There I walk o'er the mazes I have trod,
While hope and fear are in a doubtful strife,
Whether this opera of life
Be acted well to gain the plaudit of my God.
IV.
There's a day hast'ning, 'tis an awful day!When the great Sov'reign shall at large review
All that we speak, and all we do,
The several parts we act on this wide stage of clay:
These he approves, and those he blames,
And crowns perhaps a porter, and a prince he damns.
O if the Judge from his tremendous seat
Shall not condemn what I have done,
I shall be happy tho' unknown,
Nor need the gazing rabble, nor the shouting street.
V.
I hate the glory, friend, that springsFrom vulgar breath, and empty sound;
Fame mounts her upward with a flatt'ring gale
Upon her airy wings,
Till Envy shoots, and Fame receives the wound;
Then her flagging pinions fail,
Down Glory falls and strikes the ground,
And breaks her batter'd limbs.
Rather let me be quite concealed from Fame;
How happy I should lie
In sweet obscurity,
Nor the loud world pronounce my little name!
Here I could live and die alone;
Or if society be due
To keep our taste of pleasure new,
Gunston, I'd live and die with you,
For both our souls are one.
VI.
Here we could sit and pass the hour,And pity kingdoms and their kings,
And smile at all their shining things,
Their toys of state, and images of power;
Virtue should dwell within our seat,
Virtue alone could make it sweet,
Nor is herself secure, but in a close retreat,
While she withdraws from public praise
Envy perhaps would cease to rail,
Envy itself may innocently gaze
At beauty in a veil:
But if she once advance to light,
Her charms are lost in Envy's sight,
And Virtue stands the mark of universal spite.
| The Works of the Reverend and Learned Isaac Watts, D. D. | |