Collected Poems of Thomas Parnell

I hate the Vulgar with untuneful Mind,
Hearts uninspir'd, and Senses unrefin'd.
Hence ye Prophane, I raise the sounding String,
And Bolingbroke descends to hear me sing.

When Greece cou'd Truth in Mystick Fable shroud,
And with Delight instruct the list'ning Crowd,
An ancient Poet (Time has lost his Name)
Deliver'd Strains on Verse to future Fame.
Still as he sung he touch'd the trembling Lyre,
And felt the Notes a rising Warmth inspire.
Ye sweet'ning Graces in the Musick Throng,
Assist my Genius, and retrieve the Song
From dark Oblivion. See, my Genius goes
To call it forth. 'Twas thus the Poem rose.

Wit is the Muses Horse, and bears on high
The daring Rider to the Muses Sky:
Who, while his strength to mount aloft he tries,
By Regions varying in their Nature, flies.

At first he riseth o'er a Land of Toil,
A barren, hard, and undeserving Soil,
Where only Weeds from heavy Labour grow,
Which yet the Nation prune, and keep for show.
Where Couplets jingling on their Accent run,
Whose point of Epigram is sunk to Pun.

Where Wings by Fancy never feather'd fly,
Where Lines by measure form'd in Hatchets lie;
Where Altars stand, erected Porches gape,
And Sense is cramp'd while Words are par'd to shape;
Where mean Acrosticks labour'd in a Frame,
On scatter'd Letters raise a painful Scheme;
And by Confinement in their Work controul
The great Enlargings of the boundless Soul.
Where if a Warriour's elevated Fire
Wou'd all the brightest Strokes of Verse require,
Then streight in Anagram a wretched Crew
Will pay their undeserving Praises too;
While on the rack his poor disjointed Name
Must tell its Master's Character to Fame.
And (if my Fire and Fears aright presage)
The lab'ring Writers of a future Age
Shall clear new ground, and Grotts and Caves repair,
To civilize the babbling Ecchoes there.
Then while a Lover treads a lonely Walk,
His Voice shall with its own Reflection talk,
The closing Sounds of all the vain Device,
Select by trouble frivolously nice,
Resound through Verse, and with a false Pretence
Support the Dialogue, and pass for Sense.
Can things like these to lasting Praise pretend?
Can any Muse the worthless Toil befriend?
Ye sacred Virgins, in my Thoughts ador'd,
Ah, be for ever in my Lines deplor'd!
If Tricks on Words acquire an endless Name,
And Trifles merit in the Court of Fame.

“At this the Poet stood concern'd a while,
“And view'd his Objects with a scornful Smile:
“Then other Images of diff'rent kind,
“With diff'rent Workings enter'd on his Mind;
“At whose Approach he felt the former gone,
“And shiver'd in Conceit, and thus went on.

By a cold Region next the Rider goes,
Where all lies cover'd in eternal Snows;

Where no bright Genius drives the Chariot high,
To glitter on the Ground, and gild the Sky.
Bleak level Realm, where Frigid Stiles abound,
Where never yet a daring Thought was found,
But counted Feet is Poetry defin'd;
And starv'd Conceits that chill the Reader's Mind
A little Sense in many Words imply,
And drag with loit'ring numbers slowly by.
Here dry sententious Speeches half asleep,
Prolong'd in Lines, o'er many Pages creep;
Nor ever shew the Passions well exprest,
Nor raise like Passions in another's Breast.
Here flat Narrations fair Exploits debase,
In Measures void of ev'ry shining Grace;
Which never arm their Hero for the Field,
Nor with Prophetick Story paint the Shield,
Nor fix the Crest, or make the Feathers wave,
Or with their Characters reward the Brave;
Undeck'd they stand, and unadorn'd with Praise,
And fail to profit while they fail to please.
Here forc'd Description is so strangely wrought,
It never stamps its Image on the Thought;
The liveless Trees may stand for ever bare,
And Rivers stop, for ought the Readers care;
They see no Branches trembling in the Woods,
Nor hear the Murmurs of encreasing Floods,
Which near the Roots with ruffled Waters flow,
And shake the shadows of the Boughs below.
Ah sacred Verse, replete with heav'nly Flame,
Such cold Endeavours wou'd invade thy Name!
The Writer fondly wou'd in these survive,
Which wanting Spirit never seem'd alive:
But if Applause or Fame attend his Pen,
Let breathless Statues pass for breathing Men.

“Here seem'd the Singer touch'd at what he sung,
“And Grief a while delay'd his Hand and Tongue:
“But soon he check'd his Fingers, chose a Strain,
“And flourish'd shrill, and thus arose again.

Pass the next Region which appears to show,
'Tis very open, unimprov'd, and low;
No noble Flights of elevated Thought,

No nervous strength of Sense maturely wrought,
Possess this Realm; but common Turns are there,
Which idely sportive move with childish Air.
On callow Wings, and like a Plague of Flies,
The little Fancies in a Poem rise,
The jaded Reader ev'ry where to strike,
And move his Passions ev'ry where alike.
There all the graceful Nymphs are forc'd to play
Where any Water bubbles in the way:
There shaggy Satyrs are oblig'd to rove
In all the Fields, and over all the Grove:
There ev'ry Star is summon'd from its Sphear,
To dress one Face, and make Clorinda fair:
There Cupids fling their Darts in ev'ry Song,
While Nature stands neglected all along:
Till the teiz'd Hearer, vex'd at last to find
One constant Object still assault the Mind,
Admires no more at what's no longer new,
And hastes to shun the persecuting View.
There bright Surprizes of Poetick Rage,
(Whose Strength and Beauty more confirm'd in Age
For having lasted, last the longer still)
By weak Attempts are imitated ill,
Or carry'd on beyond their proper Light,
Or with Refinement flourish'd out of sight.
There Metaphors on Metaphors abound,
And Sense by differing Images confound:
Strange injudicious Management of Thought,
Not born to Rage, nor into Method brought.
Ah, sacred Muse! from such a Realm retreat,
Nor idly waste the Infl'ence of thy Heat
On shallow Soils, where quick Productions rise,
And wither as the Warmth that rais'd them dies.

“Here o'er his Breast a sort of Pity roll'd,
“Which something lab'ring in the Mind controul'd,
“And made him touch the loud-resounding Strings,
“While thus with Musick's stronger Tones he sings.

Mount higher still, still keep thy faithful Seat,
Mind the firm Reins, and curb thy Courser's Heat;
Nor let him touch the Realms that next appear,
Whose hanging Turrets seem a Fall to fear,

And strangely stand along the Tracts of Air
Where Thunder rolls, and bearded Comets glare.
The Thoughts that most extravagantly soar,
The Words that sound as if they meant to roar;
For Rant and Noise are offer'd here to Choice,
And stand elected by the Publick Voice.
All Schemes are slighted which attempt to shine
At once with strange and probable Design;
'Tis here a mean Conceit, a vulgar View,
That bears the least Respect to seeming true;
While ev'ry trifling turn of things is seen
To move by Gods descending in Machine.
Here swelling Lines with stalking Strut proceed,
And in the Clouds terrifick Rumblings breed:
Here single Heroes deal grim Deaths around,
And Armies perish in tremendous Sound:
Here fearful Monsters are preserv'd to die,
In such a Tumult as affrights the Sky;
For which the Golden Sun shall hide with dread,
And Neptune lift his sedgy-matted Head,
Admire the Roar, and dive with dire Dismay,
And seek his deepest Chambers in the Sea.
To raise their Subject thus the Lines devise,
And false Extravagance wou'd fain surprize;
Yet still, ye Gods, ye live untouch'd by Fear,
And undisturb'd at bellowing Monsters here:
But with Compassion guard the Brain of Men,
If thus they bellow through the Poet's Pen:
So will the Readers Eyes discern aright
The rashest Sally from the noblest Flight,
And find that only Boast and Sound agree
To seem the Life and Voice of Majesty,
When writers rampant on Apollo call,
And bid him enter and possess them all,
And make his Flames afford a wild Pretence
To keep them unrestrain'd by common Sense.
Ah, sacred Verse! lest Reason quit thy Seat,
Give none to such, or give a gentler Heat.

“'Twas here the Singer felt his Temper wrought
“By fairer Prospects, which arose to Thought;

“And in himself a while collected sat,
“And much admir'd at this, and much at that;
“Till all the beauteous Forms in order ran,
“And then he took their Track, and thus began.

Above the Beauties, far above the Show
In which weak Nature dresses here below,
Stands the great Palace of the Bright and Fine,
Where fair Ideas in full Glory shine,
Eternal Models of exalted Parts,
The Pride of Minds, and Conquerors of Hearts.

Upon the first Arrival here, are seen
Rang'd Walks of Bay, the Muses ever-Green,
Each sweetly springing from some sacred Bough,
Whose circling Shade adorn'd a Poet's Brow,
While through the Leaves, in unmolested Skies,
The gentle breathing of Applauses flies,
And flatt'ring Sounds are heard within the Breeze,
And pleasing Murmur runs among the Trees,
And falls of Water join the flatt'ring Sounds,
And Murmur soft'ning from the Shore rebounds.
The warbled Melody, the lovely Sights,
The Calms of Solitude inspire Delights,
The dazzled Eyes, the ravish'd Ears, are caught,
The panting Heart unites to purer Thought,
And grateful Shiverings wander o'er the Skin,
And wondrous Ecstasies arise within,
Whence Admiration overflows the Mind,
And leaves the Pleasure felt, but undefin'd.
Stay, daring Rider, now no longer rove;
Now pass to find the Palace through the Grove;
Whate'er you see, whate'er you feel, display
The Realm you sought for, daring Rider stay.

Here various Fancy spreads a vary'd Scene,
And Judgment likes the sight, and looks serene,
And can be pleas'd its self, and helps to please,
And joins the Work, and regulates the Lays.
Thus on a Plan, design'd by double Care,
The Building rises in the glittering Air,
With just Agreement fram'd in ev'ry part,
And smoothly polish'd with the nicest Art.

Here Lawrel-boughs, which ancient Heroes wore,
Now not so fading as they prov'd before,
Wreath round the Pillars which the Poets rear,
And slope their Points to make a Foliage there.
Here Chaplets pull'd in gently-breathing Wind,
And wrought by Lovers innocently kind,
Hung o'er the Porch, their fragrant Odours give,
And fresh in lasting Song for ever live.
The Shades, for whom with such indulgent care
Fame wreaths the Boughs or hangs the Chaplets there,
To deathless Honours thus preserv'd above,
For Ages conquer, or for Ages love.

Here bold Description paints the Walls within,
Her Pencil touches, and the World is seen:
The Fields look beauteous in their flow'ry Pride,
The Mountains rear aloft, the Vales subside,
The Cities rise, the Rivers seem to play,
And hanging Rocks repell the foaming Sea;
The foaming Seas their angry Billows show,
Curl'd White above, and darkly roll'd below,
Or cease their Rage, and as they calmly lie,
Return the pleasing Pictures of the Sky;
The Skies extended in an open View,
Appear a lofty distant Arch of Blue,
In which Description stains the painted Bow,
Or thickens Clouds, and feathers out the Snow,
Or mingles Blushes in the Morning ray,
Or gilds the Noon, or turns an Evening gray.

Here on the Pedestalls of War and Peace,
In diff'rent Rows, and with a diff'rent Grace,
Fine Statues proudly ride, or nobly stand,
To which Narration with a pointing Hand
Directs the Sight, and makes Examples please
By boldly vent'ring to dilate in Praise,
While chosen Beauties lengthen out the Song,
Yet make her Hearers never think it long.
Or if with closer Art, with sprightly Mien,
Scarce like her self, and more like Action seen,
She bids their Facts in Images arise,
And seem to pass before the Readers Eyes,
The Words like Charms inchanted Motion give,

And all the Statues of the Palace live.
Then Hosts embattel'd stretch their Lines afar,
Their Leaders Speeches animate the War,
The Trumpets sound, the feather'd Arrows fly,
The Sword is drawn, the Lance is toss'd on high,
The Brave press on, the fainter Forces yield,
And Death in differing Shapes deforms the Field.
Or shou'd the Shepherds be dispos'd to play,
Amintor's jolly Pipe beguiles the Day,
And jocund Ecchoes dally with the Sound,
And Nymphs in measures trip along the ground,
And e're the Dews have wet the Grass below,
Turn homewards singing all the way they go.

Here, as on Circumstance Narrations dwell,
And tell what moves, and hardly seem to tell,
The Toil of Heroes on the dusty Plains,
Or on the Green the Merriment of Swains,
Reflection speaks, then all the Forms that rose
In Life's inchanted Scene themselves compose;
Whilst the grave Voice, controlling all the Spells
With solemn Utt'rance, thus the Moral tells:
So publick worth its Enemies destroys,
Or private innocence it self enjoys.

Here all the Passions, for their greater sway,
In all the Pow'r of Words themselves array;
And hence the soft Pathetick gently charms,
And hence the Bolder fills the Breast with Arms.
Sweet Love in Numbers finds a World of Darts,
And with Desirings wounds the tender Hearts.
Fair Hope displays its Pinnions to the Wind,
And flutters in the Lines, and lifts the Mind.
Brisk Joy with Transport fills the rising Strain,
Breaks in the Notes, and bounds in ev'ry Vein.
Stern Courage, glittering in the sparks of Ire,
Inflames those Lays that set the Breast on fire.
Aversion learns to fly with swifter Will,
In Numbers taught to represent an Ill.
By frightful Accents Fear produces Fears.
By sad Expression Sorrow melts to Tears.
And dire Amazement and Despair are brought

By words of Horror through the Wilds of Thought.
'Tis thus tumultuous Passions learn to roll;
Thus arm'd with Poetry they win the Soul.

Pass further through the Dome, another View
Wou'd now the Pleasures of thy Mind renew,
Where oft Description for the Colours goes,
Which raise and animate its native Shows;
Where oft Narration seeks a florid Grace
To keep from sinking e're 'tis time to cease;
Where easy turns Reflection looks to find,
When Morals aim at Dress to please the Mind;
Where lively Figures are for Use array'd,
And these an Action, those a Passion, aid.

There modest Metaphors in order sit,
With unaffected undisguising Wit,
That leave their own, and seek anothers place,
Not forc'd, but changing with an easy pace,
To deck a Notion faintly seen before,
And Truth preserves her shape, and shines the more.

By these the beauteous Similes reside,
In look more open, in Design ally'd,
Who, fond of Likeness, from anothers Face
Bring ev'ry Feature's corresponding Grace,
With near approaches in Expression flow,
And take the turn their Pattern loves to show;
As in a Glass the Shadows meet the Fair,
And dress and practice with resembling Air.
Thus Truth, by Pleasure doth her Aim pursue,
Looks bright, and fixes on the doubled View.

There Repetitions one another meet,
Expresly strong, or languishingly sweet,
And raise the sort of Sentiment they please,
And urge the sort of Sentiment they raise.

There close in order are the Questions plac'd,
Which march with Art conceal'd in shows of haste,
And work the Reader till his Mind be brought
To make its Answers in the Writers Thought.

For thus the moving Passions seem to throng,
And with their Quickness force the Soul along;
And thus the Soul grows fond they shou'd prevail,
When ev'ry Question seems a fair Appeal;
And if by just degrees of Strength they soar,
In Steps as equal each affects the more.

There strange Commotion naturally shown,
Speaks on regardless that we speak alone,
Nor minds if they to whom she talks be near,
Nor cares if that to which she talks can hear.
The warmth of Anger dares an absent Foe;
The words of Pity speaks to Tears of Woe;
The Love that hopes, on Errands sends the Breeze;
And Love despairing moans to naked Trees.

There stand the new Creations of the Muse,
Poetick Persons, whom the Writers use
Whene'er a Cause magnificently great,
Wou'd fix Attention with peculiar weight.
'Tis hence that humbled Provinces are seen
Transform'd to Matrons with neglected Mien,
Who call their Warriors in a mournful Sound,
And shew their Crowns of Turrets on the ground,
While over Urns reclining Rivers moan
They shou'd enrich a Nation not their own.
'Tis hence the Virtues are no more confin'd
To be but Rules of Reason in the Mind;
Their heav'nly Forms start forth, appear to breath,
And in bright Shapes converse with Men beneath,
And, as a God, in Combat Valour leads,
In Council Prudence as a Goddess aids.

There Exclamations all the Voice employ
In sudden Flushes of Concern or Joy:
Then seem the Sluices which the Passions bound,
To burst asunder with a speechless Sound;
And then with Tumult and Surprize they roul,
And shew the Case important in the Soul.

There rising Sentences attempt to speak,
Which Wonder, Sorrow, Shame, or Anger, break;
But so the Part directs to find the rest,

That what remains behind is more than ghest.
Thus fill'd with Ease, yet left unfinish'd too,
The Sense looks large within the Readers View:
He freely gathers all the Passion means,
And artful Silence more than Words explains.

Methinks a thousand Graces more I see,
And I cou'd dwell—But when wou'd Thought be free?
Engaging Method ranges all the Band,
And smooth Transition joins them hand in hand:
Around the Musick of my Lays they throng,
Ah too deserving Objects of my Song!
Live wondrous Palace, live secure of Time,
To Senses Harmony, to Souls sublime,
And just Proportion all, and great Design,
And lively Colours, and an Air divine.

'Tis here, that guided by the Muses Fire,
And fill'd with sacred Thought, her Friends retire,
Unbent to Care, and unconcern'd with Noise,
To taste Repose and elevated Joys,
Which in a deep untroubled Leisure meet,
Serenely ravishing politely sweet.
From hence the Charms that most engage they choose,
And as they please the glittering Objects use;
While to their Genius more than Art they trust,
Yet Art acknowledges their Labours just.
From hence they look, from this exalted Show,
To choose their Subject in the World below,
And where an Hero well deserves a Name,
They consecrate his Acts in Song to Fame;
Or if a Science unadorn'd they find,
They smooth its Look to please and teach the Mind;
And where a Friendship's generously strong,
They celebrate the Knot of Souls in Song;
Or if the Verses must inflame Desire,
The Thoughts are melted, and the Words on fire:
But when the Temples deck'd with Glory stand,
And Hymns of Gratitude the Gods demand,
Their Bosoms kindle with Celestial Love,
And then alone they cast their Eyes above.
Hail sacred Verse! ye sacred Muses hail!
Cou'd I your Pleasures with your Fire reveal,

The World might then be taught to know you right,
And court your Rage, and envy my Delight.
But whilst I follow where your pointed Beams
My Course directing shoot in golden Streams,
The bright Appearance dazzles Fancy's Eyes,
And weary'd out the fix'd Attention lies,
Enough my Verses have you work'd my Breast,
I'll seek the sacred Grove, and sink to Rest.

“No longer now the ravish'd Poet sung,
“His Voice in easy Cadence left the Tongue;
“Nor o'er the Musick did his Fingers fly,
“The Sounds ran tingling, and they seem'd to die.

O Bolingbroke! O Fav'rite of the Skies,
O born to Gifts by which the Noblest rise,
Improv'd in Arts by which the Brightest please,
Intent to Business, and polite for Ease;
Sublime in Eloquence, where loud Applause
Hath stil'd thee Patron of a Nation's Cause.
'Twas there the World perceiv'd and own'd thee great,
Thence ANNA call'd thee to the Reins of State;
Go, said the Greatest Queen, with OXFORD go,
And still the Tumults of the World below,
Exert thy Powers, and prosper; he that knows
To move with OXFORD never shou'd repose.
She spoke: the Patriot overspread thy Mind,
And all thy Days to publick Good resign'd.
Else might thy Soul so wonderfully wrought
For ev'ry depth and turn of curious Thought,
To this the Poet's sweet Recess retreat,
And thence report the Pleasures of the Seat,
Describe the Raptures which a Writer knows,
When in his Breast a Vein of Fancy glows,
Describe his Business while he works the Mine,
Describe his Temper when he sees it shine,
Or say when Readers easy Verse insnares,
How much the Writers Mind can act on theirs:
Whence Images in charming Numbers set,
A sort of Likeness in the Soul beget,
And what fair Visions oft we fancy nigh
By fond Delusions of the swimming Eye,

Or further pierce through Natures Maze to find
How Passions drawn give Passions to the Mind.

Oh what a sweet Confusion! what Surprize!
How quick the shifting Views of Pleasure rise!
While lightly skimming, with a transient Wing,
I touch the Beauties which I wish to sing.
Is Verse a sov'raign Regent of the Soul,
And fitted all its Motions to controul?
Or are they Sisters, tun'd at once above,
And shake like Unisons if either move?
For when the Numbers sing an eager Fight,
I've heard a Soldier's Voice express Delight;
I've seen his Eyes with crowding Spirits shine,
And round his Hilt his Hand unthinking twine.
When from the Shore the fickle Trojan flies,
And in sweet Measures poor Eliza dies,
I've seen the Book forsake the Virgins Hand,
And in their Eyes the Tears but hardly stand.
I've known them blush at soft Corinna's Name,
And in red Characters confess a Flame:
Or wish Success had more adorn'd his Arms,
Who gave the World for Cleopatra's Charms.

Ye Sons of Glory, be my first Appeal,
If here the Pow'r of Lines these Lines reveal.
When some great Youth has with impetuous Thought
Read o'er Atchievements which another wrought,
And seen his Courage and his Honour go
Through crowding Nations in Triumphant Show,
His Soul enchanted by the Words he reads
Shines all impregnated with sparkling Seeds,
And Courage here, and Honour there, appears
In brave Design that soars beyond his Years,
And this a Spear, and that a Chariot lends,
And War and Triumph he by turns attends:
Thus gallant Pleasures are his waking Dream,
Till some fair Cause have call'd him forth to Fame.
Then form'd to Life on what the Poet made,
And breathing Slaughter, and in Arms array'd,
He marches forward on the daring Foe,
And Emulation acts in ev'ry Blow.

Great Hector's Shade in Fancy stalks along,
From Rank to Rank amongst the Martial Throng,
While from his Acts he learns a Noble Rage,
And shines like Hector in the present Age.
Thus Verse will raise him to the Victor's Bays,
And Verse, that rais'd him, shall resound his Praise.

Ye tender Beauties, be my Witness too,
If Song can charm, and if my Song be true.
With sweet Experience oft a Fair may find
Her Passions mov'd by Passions well design'd;
And then she longs to meet a gentle Swain,
And longs to Love, and to be lov'd again.
And if by chance an Am'rous Youth appears,
With Pants and Blushes she the Courtship hears;
And finds a Tale that must with theirs agree,
And he's Septimius, and his Acme she:
Thus lost in Thought her melted Heart she gives,
And the rais'd Lover by the Poet lives.

FINIS.

Homer's Battle of the Frogs and Mice.

Names of the Mice.

Psycarpax, One who plunders Granaries.
Troxartas, A Bread-eater.
Lychomile, A Licker of Meal.
Pternotractas, A Bacon-eater.
Lychopinax, A Licker of Dishes.
Embasichytros, A Creeper into Pots.
Lychenor, A Name from Licking.
Troglodytes, One who runs into Holes.
Artophagus, Who feeds on Bread.
Tyroglyphus, A Cheese-Scooper.
Pternoglyphus, A Bacon-Scooper.
Pternophagus, A Bacon-Eater.
Cnissodioctes, One who follows the Steam of Kitchens.
Sitophagus, An Eater of Wheat.
Meridarpax, One who plunders his Share.

Names of the Frogs.

Physignathus, One who swells his Cheeks.
Peleus, A Name from Mud.
Hydromeduse, A Ruler in the Waters.
Hypsiboas, A loud Bawler.
Pelion, From Mud.
Seutlæus, Call'd from the Beets.
Polyphonus, A great Babbler.
Lymnocharis, One who loves the Lake.
Crambophagus, Cabbage-eater.
Lymnisius, Call'd from the Lake.
Calaminthius, From the Herb.
Hydrocharis, Who loves the Water.
Borborocates, Who lies in the Mud.
Prassophagus, An Eater of Garlick.
Pelusius, From Mud.
Pelobates, Who walks in the Dirt.
Prassæus, Call'd from Garlick.
Craugasides, from Croaking.

Book I.

To fill my rising Song with sacred Fire,
Ye tuneful Nine, ye sweet Celestial Quire!
From Helicon's imbow'ring Height repair,
Attend my Labours, and reward my Pray'r.
The dreadful Toils of raging Mars I write,
The Springs of Contest, and the Fields of Fight;
How threatning Mice advanc'd with warlike Grace,
And wag'd dire Combats with the croaking Race.
Not louder Tumults shook Olympus' Tow'rs,
When Earth-born Giants dar'd Immortal Pow'rs.
These equal Acts an equal Glory claim,
And thus the Muse records the Tale of Fame.

Once on a Time, fatigu'd and out of Breath,
And just escap'd the stretching Claws of Death,
A Gentle Mouse, whom Cats pursu'd in vain,
Flies swift-of-foot across the neighb'ring Plain,
Hangs o'er a Brink, his eager Thirst to cool,
And dips his Whiskers in the standing Pool;
When near a courteous Frog advanc'd his Head,
And from the Waters, hoarse-resounding said,

What art thou, Stranger? What the Line you boast?
What Chance hath cast thee panting on our Coast?
With strictest Truth let all thy Words agree,
Nor let me find a faithless Mouse in thee.
If worthy Friendship, proffer'd Friendship take,
And entring view the pleasurable Lake:
Range o'er my Palace, in my Bounty share,
And glad return from hospitable Fare.
This Silver Realm extends beneath my Sway,
And me, their Monarch, all its Frogs obey.
Great Physignathus I, from Peleus' Race,
Begot in fair Hydromeduse' Embrace,

Where by the nuptial Bank that paints his Side,
The swift Eridanus delights to glide.
Thee too, thy Form, thy Strength, and Port proclaim,
A scepter'd King; a Son of Martial Fame;
Then trace thy Line, and aid my guessing Eyes.
Thus ceas'd the Frog, and thus the Mouse replies.

Known to the Gods, the Men, the Birds that fly
Thro' wild Expanses of the midway Sky,
My Name resounds; and if unknown to thee,
The Soul of Great Psycarpax lives in me.
Of brave Troxartas' Line, whose sleeky Down
In Love compress'd Lychomile the brown.
My Mother she, and Princess of the Plains
Where-e're her Father Pternotroctas reigns:
Born where a Cabin lifts its airy Shed,
With Figs, with Nuts, with vary'd Dainties fed.
But since our Natures nought in common know,
From what Foundation can a Friendship grow?
These curling Waters o'er thy Palace roll;
But Man's high Food supports my Princely Soul.
In vain the circled Loaves attempt to lie
Conceal'd in Flaskets from my curious Eye,
In vain the Tripe that boasts the whitest Hue,
In vain the gilded Bacon shuns my View,
In vain the Cheeses, Offspring of the Pale,
Or honey'd Cakes, which Gods themselves regale.
And as in Arts I shine, in Arms I fight,
Mix'd with the bravest, and unknown to Flight.
Tho' large to mine the humane Form appear,
Not Man himself can smite my Soul with Fear.
Sly to the Bed with silent Steps I go,
Attempt his Finger, or attack his Toe,
And fix indented Wounds with dext'rous Skill,
Sleeping he feels, and only seems to feel.
Yet have we Foes which direful Dangers cause,
Grim Owls with Talons arm'd, and Cats with Claws,
And that false Trap, the Den of silent Fate,
Where Death his Ambush plants around the Bait;
All-dreaded these, and dreadful o'er the rest
The potent Warriours of the tabby Vest,
If to the dark we fly, the Dark they trace,
And rend our Heroes of the nibling Race.
But me, nor Stalks, nor watrish Herbs delight,

Nor can the crimson Radish charm my Sight,
The Lake-resounding Frogs selected Fare,
Which not a Mouse of any Tast can bear.

As thus the downy Prince his Mind exprest,
His Answer thus the croaking King addrest.

Thy Words luxuriant on thy Dainties rove,
And, stranger, we can boast of bounteous Jove:
We sport in Water, or we dance on Land,
And born amphibious, Food from both command.
But trust thy self where Wonders ask thy View,
And safely tempt those Seas, I'll bear thee through:
Ascend my Shoulders, firmly keep thy Seat,
And reach my marshy Court, and feast in State.

He said, and leant his Back; with nimble Bound
Leaps the light Mouse, and clasps his Arms around,
Then wond'ring floats, and sees with glad Survey
The winding Banks dissemble Ports at Sea.
But when aloft the curling Water rides,
And wets with azure Wave his downy Sides,
His Thoughts grow conscious of approaching Woe,
His idle Tears with vain Repentance flow,
His Locks he rends, his trembling Feet he rears,
Thick beats his Heart with unaccustom'd Fears;
He sighs, and chill'd with Danger, longs for Shore:
His Tail extended forms a fruitless Oar,
Half-drench'd in liquid Death his Pray'rs he spake,
And thus bemoan'd him from the dreadful Lake.

So pass'd Europa thro' the rapid Sea,
Trembling and fainting all the vent'rous Way;
With oary Feet the Bull triumphant rode,
And safe in Crete depos'd his lovely Load.
Ah safe at last! may thus the Frog support
My trembling Limbs to reach his ample Court.

As thus he sorrows, Death ambiguous grows,
Lo! from the deep a Water-Hydra rose;
He rolls his sanguin'd Eyes, his Bosom heaves,
And darts with active Rage along the Waves.
Confus'd, the Monarch sees his hissing Foe,
And dives to shun the sable Fates below.
Forgetful Frog! The Friend thy Shoulders bore,
Unskill'd in Swimming, floats remote from Shore.
He grasps with fruitless Hands to find Relief,
Supinely falls, and grinds his Teeth with Grief,

Plunging he sinks, and struggling mounts again,
And sinks, and strives, but strives with Fate in vain.
The weighty Moisture clogs his hairy Vest,
And thus the Prince his dying Rage exprest.

Nor thou, that flings me flound'ring from thy Back,
As from hard Rocks rebounds the shatt'ring Wrack,
Nor thou shalt 'scape thy Due, perfidious King!
Pursu'd by Vengeance on the swiftest Wing:
At Land thy Strength could never equal mine,
At Sea to conquer, and by Craft, was thine.
But Heav'n has Gods, and Gods have searching Eyes:
Ye Mice, ye Mice, my great Avengers rise!

This said, he sighing gasp'd, and gasping dy'd.
His Death the young Lychopinax espy'd,
As on the flow'ry Brink he pass'd the Day,
Bask'd in the Beams, and loyter'd Life away:
Loud shrieks the Mouse, his Shrieks the Shores repeat;
The nibbling Nation learn their Heroe's Fate:
Grief, dismal Grief ensues; deep Murmur's sound,
And shriller Fury fills the deafen'd Ground;
From Lodge to Lodge the sacred Heralds run,
To fix their Council with the rising Sun;
Where great Troxartas crown'd in Glory reigns,
And winds his length'ning Court beneath the Plains;
Psycarpax Father, Father now no more!
For poor Psycarpax lies remote from Shore;
Supine he lies! the silent Waters stand,
And no kind Billow wafts the Dead to Land!

Book II.

When rosy-finger'd Morn had ting'd the Clouds,
Around their Monarch-Mouse the Nation crouds,
Slow rose the Monarch, heav'd his anxious Breast,
And thus, the Council fill'd with Rage, addrest.

For lost Psycarpax much my Soul endures,
'Tis mine the private Grief, the publick, yours.
Three warlike Sons adorn'd my nuptial Bed,
Three Sons, alas, before their Father dead!
Our Eldest perish'd by the rav'ning Cat,

As near my Court the Prince unheedful sate.
Our next, an Engine fraught with Danger drew,
The Portal gap'd, the Bait was hung in View,
Dire Arts assist the Trap, the Fates decoy,
And Men unpitying kill'd my gallant Boy!
The last, his Country's Hope, his Parent's Pride,
Plung'd in the Lake by Physignathus, dy'd.
Rouse all the War, my Friends! avenge the Deed,
And bleed that Monarch, and his Nation bleed.

His Words in ev'ry Breast inspir'd Alarms,
And careful Mars supply'd their Host with Arms.
In verdant Hulls despoil'd of all their Beans,
The buskin'd Warriours stalk'd along the Plains,
Quills aptly bound, their bracing Corselet made,
Fac'd with the Plunder of a Cat they flay'd,
The Lamp's round Boss affords their ample Shield,
Large Shells of Nuts their cov'ring Helmet yield;
And o'er the Region, with reflected Rays,
Tall Groves of Needles for their Lances blaze.
Dreadful in Arms the marching Mice appear:
The wond'ring Frogs perceive the Tumult near,
Forsake the Waters, thick'ning form a Ring,
And ask, and hearken, whence the Noises spring;
When near the Croud, disclos'd to publick View,
The valiant Chief Embasichytros drew:
The sacred Herald's Scepter grac'd his Hand,
And thus his Words exprest his King's Command.

Ye Frogs! the Mice with Vengeance fir'd, advance,
And deckt in Armour shake the shining Lance;
Their hapless Prince by Physignathus slain,
Extends incumbent on the watry Plain.
Then arm your Host, the doubtful Battle try;
Lead forth those Frogs that have the Soul to die.

The Chief retires, the Crowd the Challenge hear,
And proudly-swelling, yet perplex'd appear,
Much they resent, yet much their Monarch blame,
Who rising, spoke to clear his tainted Fame.

O Friends, I never forc'd the Mouse to Death,
Nor saw the Gaspings of his latest Breath.
He, vain of Youth, our Art of Swimming try'd,
And vent'rous, in the Lake the Wanton dy'd.
To Vengeance now by false Appearance led,

They point their Anger at my guiltless Head.
But wage the rising War by deep Device,
And turn its Fury on the crafty Mice.
Your King directs the Way; my Thoughts elate
With Hopes of Conquest, form Designs of Fate.
Where high the Banks their verdant Surface heave,
And the steep Sides confine the sleeping Wave,
There, near the Margin, and in Armour bright,
Sustain the first impetuous Shocks of Fight:
Then where the dancing Feather joins the Crest,
Let each brave Frog his obvious Mouse arrest;
Each strongly grasping, headlong plunge a Foe,
'Till countless Circles whirl the Lake below;
Down sink the Mice in yielding Waters drown'd;
Loud flash the Waters; ecchoing Shores resound:
The Frogs triumphant tread the conquer'd Plain,
And raise their glorious Trophies of the slain.

He spake no more, his prudent Scheme imparts
Redoubling Ardour to the boldest Hearts.
Green was the Suit his arming Heroes chose,
Around their Legs the Greaves of Mallows close,
Green were the Beetes about their Shoulders laid,
And green the Colewort, which the Target made.
Form'd of the vary'd Shells the Waters yield,
Their glossy Helmets glist'ned o'er the Field;
And tap'ring Sea-Reeds for the polish'd Spear,
With upright Order pierc'd the ambient Air.
Thus dress'd for War, they take th' appointed Height,
Poize the long Arms, and urge the promis'd Fight.

But now, where Jove's irradiate Spires arise,
With Stars surrounded in Æthereal Skies,
(A Solemn Council call'd) the brazen Gates
Unbar; the Gods assume their golden Seats:
The Sire superiour leans, and points to show
What wond'rous Combats Mortals wage below:
How strong, how large, the num'rous Heroes stride;
What Length of Lance they shake with warlike Pride:
What eager Fire, their rapid March reveals;
So the fierce Centaurs ravag'd o'er the Dales;
And so confirm'd, the daring Titans rose,
Heap'd Hills on Hills, and bid the Gods be Foes.

This seen, the Pow'r his sacred Visage rears,

He casts a pitying Smile on worldly Cares,
And asks what heav'nly Guardians take the List,
Or who the Mice, or who the Frogs assist?

Then thus to Pallas. If my Daughter's Mind
Have join'd the Mice, why stays she still behind?
Drawn forth by sav'ry Steams they wind their Way,
And sure Attendance round thine Altar pay,
Where while the Victims gratify their Tast,
They sport to please the Goddess of the Feast.

Thus spake the Ruler of the spacious Skies,
When thus, resolv'd, the Blue-Ey'd Maid replies.
In vain, my Father! all their Dangers plead,
To such, thy Pallas never grants her Aid.
My flow'ry Wreaths they petulantly spoil,
And rob my chrystal Lamps of feeding Oil.
(Ills following Ills) but what afflicts me more,
My Veil, that idle Race profanely tore.
The Web was curious, wrought with Art divine;
Relentless Wretches! all the Work was mine.
Along the Loom the purple Warp I spread,
Cast the light Shoot, and crost the silver Thread;
In this their Teeth a thousand Breaches tear,
The thousand Breaches skilful Hands repair,
For which vile earthly Dunns thy Daughter grieve,
And Gods, that use no Coin, have none to give.
And Learning's Goddess never less can owe,
Neglected Learning gets no Wealth below.
Nor let the Frogs to gain my Succour sue,
Those clam'rous Fools have lost my Favour too.
For late, when all the Conflict ceast at Night,
When my stretch'd Sinews work'd with eager Fight,
When spent with glorious Toil, I left the Field,
And sunk for Slumber on my swelling Shield,
Lo from the Deep, repelling sweet Repose,
With noisy Croakings half the Nation rose:
Devoid of Rest, with aking Brows I lay,
'Till Cocks proclaim'd the crimson Dawn of Day.
Let all, like me, from either Host forbear,
Nor tempt the flying Furies of the Spear.
Let heav'nly Blood (or what for Blood may flow)
Adorn the Conquest of a meaner Foe,
Who, wildly rushing, meet the wond'rous Odds,

Tho' Gods oppose, and brave the wounded Gods.
O'er gilded Clouds reclin'd, the Danger view,
And be the Wars of Mortals Scenes for you.

So mov'd the blue-ey'd Queen, her Words persuade,
Great Jove assented, and the rest obey'd.

Book III.

Now Front to Front the marching Armies shine,
Halt e'er they meet, and form the length'ning Line,
The Chiefs conspicuous seen, and heard afar,
Give the loud Sign to loose the rushing War;
Their dreadful Trumpets deep-mouth'd Hornets sound,
The sounded Charge remurmurs o'er the Ground,
Ev'n Jove proclaims a Field of Horror nigh,
And rolls low Thunder thro' the troubled Sky.

First to the Fight the large Hypsiboas flew,
And brave Lychenor with a Javelin slew.
The luckless Warriour fill'd with gen'rous Flame,
Stood foremost glitt'ring in the Post of Fame;
When in his Liver struck, the Jav'lin hung;
The Mouse fell thund'ring, and the Target rung;
Prone to the Ground he sinks his closing Eye,
And soil'd in Dust his lovely Tresses lie.
A Spear at Pelion Troglodytes cast,
The missive Spear within the Bosom past;
Death's sable Shades the fainting Frog surround,
And Life's red Tide runs ebbing from the Wound.
Embasichytros felt Seutlæus' Dart
Transfix, and quiver in his panting Heart;
But great Artophagus aveng'd the slain,
And big Seutlæus tumbling loads the Plain,
And Polyphonus dies, a Frog renown'd,
For boastful Speech and Turbulence of Sound;
Deep thro' the Belly pierc'd, supine he lay,
And breath'd his Soul against the Face of Day.
The strong Lymnocharis, who view'd with Ire,
A Victor triumph, and a Friend expire;
And fiercely flung where Troglodytes fought,
With heaving Arms a rocky Fragment caught,
A Warriour vers'd in Arts, of sure Retreat,

Yet Arts in vain elude impending Fate;
Full on his sinewy Neck the Fragment fell,
And o'er his Eye-lids Clouds eternal dwell.
Lychenor (second of the glorious Name)
Striding advanc'd, and took no wand'ring Aim;
Thro' all the Frog the shining Jav'lin flies,
And near the vanquish'd Mouse the Victor dies;
The dreadful Stroke Crambophagus affrights,
Long bred to Banquets, less inur'd to Fights,
Heedless he runs, and stumbles o'er the Steep,
And wildly flound'ring flashes up the Deep;
Lychenor following with a downward Blow
Reach'd in the Lake his unrecover'd Foe;
Gasping he rolls, a purple Stream of Blood
Distains the Surface of the Silver Flood;
Thro' the wide Wound the rushing Entrails throng,
And slow the breathless Carkass floats along.
Lymnisius good Tyroglyphus assails,
Prince of the Mice that haunt the flow'ry Vales,
Lost to the milky Fares and rural Seat,
He came to perish on the Bank of Fate.
The dread Pternoglyphus demands the Fight,
Which tender Calaminthius shuns by Flight,
Drops the green Target, springing quits the Foe,
Glides thro' the Lake, and safely dives below.
The dire Pternophagus divides his Way
Thro' breaking Ranks, and leads the dreadful Day.
No nibbling Prince excell'd in Fierceness more,
His Parents fed him on the savage Boar;
But where his Lance the Field with Blood imbru'd,
Swift as he mov'd Hydrocharis pursu'd,
'Till fall'n in Death he lies, a shatt'ring Stone
Sounds on the Neck, and crushes all the Bone,
His Blood pollutes the Verdure of the Plain,
And from his Nostrils bursts the gushing Brain.
Lycopinax with Borbocætes fights
A blameless Frog, whom humbler Life delights;
The fatal Jav'lin unrelenting flies,
And Darkness seals the gentle Croaker's Eyes.
Incens'd Prassophagus with spritely Bound,
Bears Cnissiodortes off the rising Ground,
Then drags him o'er the Lake depriv'd of Breath,
And downward plunging, sinks his Soul to Death.

But now the great Psycarpax shines afar,
(Scarce he so great whose Loss provok'd the War)
Swift to revenge his fatal Jav'lin fled,
And thro' the Liver struck Pelusius dead;
His freckled Corps before the Victor fell,
His Soul indignant sought the Shades of Hell.
This saw Pelobates, and from the Flood
Lifts with both Hands a monst'rous Mass of Mud,
The Cloud obscene o'er all the Warrior flies,
Dishonours his brown Face, and blots his Eyes.
Enrag'd, and wildly sputtring, from the Shore
A Stone immense of Size the Warrior bore,
A Load for lab'ring Earth, whose Bulk to raise,
Asks ten degen'rate Mice of modern Days.
Full to the Leg arrives the crushing Wound,
The Frog supportless, wriths upon the Ground.
Thus flush'd, the Victor wars with matchless Force,
'Till loud Craugasides arrests his Course,
Hoarse-croaking Threats precede, with fatal Speed
Deep thro' the Belly runs the pointed Reed,
Then strongly tug'd, return'd imbru'd with Gore,
And on the Pile his reeking Entrails bore.
The lame Sitophagus oppress'd with Pain,
Creeps from the desp'rate Dangers of the Plain;
And where the Ditches rising Weeds supply,
To spread their lowly Shades beneath the Sky,
There lurks the silent Mouse reliev'd of Heat,
And safe imbower'd, avoids the Chance of Fate.
But here Troxartes, Physignathus there,
Whirl the dire Furies of the pointed Spear:
Then where the Foot around its Ankle plies,
Troxartes wounds, and Physignathus flies,
Halts to the Pool, a safe Retreat to find,
And trails a dangling Length of Leg behind.
The Mouse still urges, still the Frog retires,
And half in Anguish of the Flight expires;
Then pious Ardor young Prassæus brings,
Betwixt the Fortunes of contending Kings:
Lank, harmless Frog! with Forces hardly grown,
He darts the Reed in Combats not his own,
Which faintly tinkling on Troxartes' Shield,
Hangs at the Point, and drops upon the Field.

Now nobly tow'ring o'er the rest appears

A gallant Prince that far transcends his Years,
Pride of his Sire, and Glory of his House,
And more a Mars in Combat than a Mouse:
His Action bold, robust his ample Frame,
And Meridarpax his resounding Name.
The Warrior singled from the fighting Crowd,
Boasts the dire Honours of his Arms aloud;
Then strutting near the Lake, with Looks elate,
Threats all its Nations with approaching Fate.
And such his Strength, the Silver Lakes around,
Might roll their Waters o'er unpeopled Ground.
But pow'rful Jove who shews no less his Grace
To Frogs that perish, than to human Race,
Felt soft Compassion rising in his Soul,
And shook his sacred Head, that shook the Pole.
Then thus to all the gazing Pow'rs began,
The Sire of Gods, and Frogs, and Mouse, and Man.

What Seas of Blood I view, what Worlds of slain,
An Iliad rising from a Day's Campaign!
How fierce his Jav'lin o'er the trembling Lakes
The black-fur'd Hero Meridarpax shakes!
Unless some fav'ring Deity descend,
Soon will the Frogs loquacious Empire end.
Let dreadful Pallas wing'd with Pity fly,
And make her Ægis blaze before his Eye:
While Mars refulgent on his ratling Car,
Arrests his raging Rival of the War.

He ceas'd, reclining with attentive Head,
When thus the glorious God of Combats said.
Nor Pallas, Jove! tho' Pallas take the Field,
With all the Terrors of her hissing Shield,
Nor Mars himself, tho' Mars in Armour bright
Ascend his Car, and wheel amidst the Fight;
Nor these can drive the desp'rate Mouse afar,
And change the Fortunes of the bleeding War.
Let all go forth, all Heav'n in Arms arise,
Or launch thy own red Thunder from the Skies.
Such ardent Bolts as flew that wond'rous Day,
When Heaps of Titans mix'd with Mountains lay,
When all the Giant-Race enormous fell,
And huge Enceladus was hurl'd to Hell.

'Twas thus th' Armipotent advis'd the Gods,
When from his Throne the Cloud-Compeller nods,

Deep length'ning Thunders run from Pole to Pole,
Olympus trembles as the Thunders roll.
Then swift he whirls the brandish'd Bolt around,
And headlong darts it at the distant Ground,
The Bolt discharg'd inwrap'd with Light'ning flies,
And rends its flaming Passage thro' the Skies,
Then Earth's Inhabitants the Niblers shake,
And Frogs, the Dwellers in the Waters, quake.
Yet still the Mice advance their dread Design,
And the last Danger threats the croaking Line,
'Till Jove that inly mourn'd the Loss they bore,
With strange Assistants fill'd the frighted Shore.

Pour'd from the neighb'ring Strand, deform'd to View,
They march, a sudden unexpected Crew,
Strong Sutes of Armor round their Bodies close,
Which, like thick Anvils, blunt the force of Blows;
In wheeling Marches turn'd oblique they go,
With harpy Claws their Limbs divide below,
Fell Sheers the Passage to their Mouth command,
From out the Flesh the Bones by Nature stand,
Broad spread their Backs, their shining Shoulders rise,
Unnumber'd Joints distort their lengthen'd Thighs,
With nervous Cords their Hands are firmly brac'd,
Their round black Eye-balls in their Bosom plac'd,
On eight long Feet the wond'rous Warriors tread,
And either End alike supplies a Head.
These, mortal Wits to call the Crabs, agree;
The Gods have other Names for Things than we.

Now where the Jointures from their Loins depend,
The Heroes Tails with sev'ring Grasps they rend.
Here, short of Feet, depriv'd the Pow'r to fly,
There, without Hands upon the Field they lie.
Wrench'd from their Holds, and scatter'd all around,
The bended Lances heap the cumber'd Ground.
Helpless Amazement, Fear pursuing Fear,
And mad Confusion thro' their Host appear,
O'er the wild Wast with headlong Flight they go,
Or creep conceal'd in vaulted Holes below.

But down Olympus to the Western Seas,
Far-shooting Phœbus drove with fainter Rays,
And a whole War (so Jove ordain'd) begun,
Was fought, and ceas'd, in one revolving Sun.

109

The Horse and the Olive: Or, War and Peace

With Moral Tale let Ancient Wisdom move,
Which thus I sing to make the Moderns wise:
Strong Neptune once with sage Minerva strove,
And rising Athens was the Victor's Prize.

By Neptune, Plutus (Guardian Pow'r of Gain),
By Great Minerva, Bright Apollo stood:
But Jove superior bad the Side obtain
Which best contriv'd to do the Nation Good.

Then Neptune striking, from the parted Ground
The Warlike Horse came pawing on the Plain,
And as it toss'd its Mane, and pranc'd around,
By this, he cries, I'll make the People Reign.

The Goddess smiling gently bow'd the Spear,
And, rather thus they shall be bless'd, she said;
Then upwards shooting in the Vernal Air
With loaded Boughs the fruitful Olive spread.

Jove saw what Gifts the Rival Pow'rs design'd,
And took th' impartial Scales, resolv'd to show,
If greater Bliss in Warlike Pomp we find,
Or in the Calm which Peaceful Times bestow.

On Neptune's part he plac'd Victorious Days,
Gay Trophies won, and Fame extending wide:
But Plenty, Safety, Science, Arts, and Ease,
Minerva's Scale with greater Weight supply'd.

Fierce War devours whom gentle Peace wou'd save,
Sweet Peace restores what angry War destroys,

110

War made for Peace with that rewards the Brave,
While Peace its Pleasures from it self enjoys.

Hence vanquish'd Neptune to the Sea withdrew,
Hence wise Minerva rul'd Athenian Lands,
Her Athens hence in Arts and Honour grew,
And still her Olives deck pacifick Hands.

From Fables thus disclos'd, a Monarch's Mind
May form just Rules to chuse the Truly-Great:
And Subjects weary'd with Distresses find
Whose kind Endeavours most befriend the State.

Ev'n Britain here may learn to place her Love,
If Cities won her Kingdoms Wealth have cost,
If Anna's Thoughts the patriot-souls approve
Whose Cares restore that Wealth the Wars had lost.

But if we ask the Moral to disclose
Whom best europa's Patroness it calls,
Great ANNA's Title no Exception knows,
And unapply'd in this the Fable falls.

With Her no Neptune or Minerva vyes;
Whene'er she pleas'd her Troops to Conquest flew,
Whene'er she pleases Peaceful Times arise:
She gave the Horse, and gives the Olive too.

111

Poems from Steele's Poetical Miscellanies

A Hymn on Contentment.

Lovely lasting Peace of Mind,
Sweet delight of Human Kind,
Heav'nly born, and bred on high,
To crown the Fav'rites of the Sky
With more of Happiness below,
Than Victors in a Triumph know:
Whither, O whither art thou fled,
To lay thy meek contented Head?
What happy Region dost thou please
To make the Seat of Calms and Ease?

Ambition searches all its Sphere
Of Pomp and State to find thee there.
Encreasing Avarice wou'd find
Thy Presence in its Gold enshrin'd.
The bold Advent'rer ploughs his way
Through Rocks amidst the foaming Sea
To gain thy Love, and then perceives
Thou wer't not in the Rocks and Waves.
The silent Heart whom Grief assails,
Treads soft and lonesome o'er the Vales,
Sees Daizies open, Rivers run,
And seeks (as I have vainly done)
Amusing Thought; but learns to know
That Solitude's a Nurse of Woe.
No real Happiness is found
In trailing Purple o'er the Ground:
Or in a Soul exalted high

112

To range the Circuit of the Sky,
Converse with Stars above, and know
All Nature in its Forms below;
The Rest it seeks in seeking dies,
And Doubts at last for Knowledge rise.

Lovely lasting Peace appear;
This World it self, if thou art here,
Is once again with Eden bless'd,
And Man contains it in his Breast.

'Twas thus, as under Shade I stood,
I sung my Wishes to the Wood,
And, lost in Thought, no more perceiv'd
The Branches whisper as they wav'd;
It seem'd as if the quiet Place
Confess'd the Presence of the Grace,
When thus she spoke—Go rule thy Will,
Bid thy wild Passions all be still,
Know God—and bring thy Heart to know
The Joys which from Religion flow;
Then ev'ry Grace shall prove its Guest,
And I'll be there to crown the rest.

Oh! by yonder Mossie Seat,
In my Hours of sweet Retreat,
Might I thus my Soul employ
With sense of Gratitude and Joy,
Rais'd, as Ancient Prophets were,
In heav'nly Vision, Praise, and Pray'r,
Pleasing all Men, hurting none,
Pleas'd and bless'd with God alone.

Then, while the Gardens take my Sight,
With all the Colours of Delight,
While Silver Waters glide along,
To please my Ear, and court my Song;
I'll lift my Voice, and tune my String,
And Thee, great source of nature , sing.

The Sun that walks his airy Way,
To light the World, and give the Day;
The Moon that shines with borrow'd Light,

113

The Stars that gild the gloomy Night,
The Seas that roll unnumber'd Waves,
The Wood that spreads its shady Leaves,
The Field whose Ears conceal the Grain,
The yellow Treasure of the Plain;
All of these, and all I see,
Wou'd be sung, and sung by me,
They speak their Maker as they can,
But want and ask the Tongue of Man.

Go search among your idle Dreams
Your busie or your vain Extreams,
And find a Life of equal Bliss,
Or own the next begun in this.

Song.

My Days have been so wondrous Free,
The little Birds that flie
With careless Ease from Tree to Tree,
Were but as bless'd as I.

Ask gliding Waters, if a Tear
Of mine encreas'd their Stream?
Or ask the flying Gales, if ere
I lent a Sigh to them?

But now my former Days retire,
And I'm by Beauty caught,
The tender Chains of sweet Desire
Are fix'd upon my Thought.

An eager Hope within my Breast
Does ev'ry Doubt controul,
And charming Nancy stands confest
The Fav'rite of my Soul.

Ye Nightingales ye twisting Pines,
Ye Swains that haunt the Grove,
Ye gentle Ecchoes, breezy Winds,
Ye close Retreats of Love;

114

With all of Nature, all of Art,
Assist the dear Design;
O teach a young unpractis'd Heart
To make Her ever Mine.

The very Thought of Change I hate,
As much as of Despair;
And hardly covet to be great,
Unless it be for Her.

'Tis true, the Passion in my Mind
Is mix'd with soft Distress;
Yet while the Fair I love is kind,
I cannot wish it Less.

To a YOUNG LADY, ON Her Translation of the Story of Phoebus and Daphne, from Ovid.

In Phœbus Wit (as Ovid said)
Enchanting Beauty woo'd;
In Daphne Beauty coily fled,
While vainly Wit pursu'd.

But when you trace what Ovid writ,
A diff'rent Turn we view;
Beauty no longer flies from Wit,
Since both are joyn'd in You.

Your Lines the wondrous Change impart,
From whence our Lawrels spring;
In Numbers fram'd to please the Heart,
And merit what they Sing.

Methinks thy Poet's gentle Shade
Its Wreath presents to Thee;
What Daphne owes you as a Maid,
She pays you as a Tree.

115

Anacreontick.

I

Gay Bacchus liking Estcourt's Wine,
A noble Meal bespoke;
And for the Guests that were to Dine,
Brought Comus, Love, and Joke.

II

The God near Cupid drew his Chair,
And Joke near Comus plac'd;
Thus Wine makes Love forget its Care,
And Mirth exalts a Feast.

III

The more to please the sprightly God,
Each sweet engaging Grace
Put on some Cloaths to come abroad,
And took a Waiters Place.

IV

Then Cupid nam'd at every Glass
A Lady of the Sky;
While Bacchus swore he'd Drink the Lass,
And had it Bumper high.

116

V

Fat Comus tost his Brimmers o're,
And always got the most;
For Joke took care to fill him more,
When-e'er he mist the Toast.

VI

They call'd, and drank at every Touch,
Then fill'd, and drank again;
And if the Gods can take too much,
'Tis said, they did so then.

VII

Free Jests run all the Table round,
And with the Wine conspire,
(While they by sly Reflection wound,)
To set their Heads on Fire.

VIII

Gay Bacchus little Cupid stung,
By reck'ning his Deceits;
And Cupid mock'd his stammering Tongue,
With all his staggering Gaits.

IX

Joke droll'd on Comus' greedy Ways,
And Tales without a Jest;
While Comus call'd his witty Plays,
But Waggeries at Best.

117

X

Such Talk soon set 'em all at Odds;
And, had I Homer's Pen,
I'd sing ye, how they drunk, like Gods,
And how they fought, like Men.

XI

To part the Fray, the Graces fly,
Who make 'em soon agree;
And had the Furies selves been nigh,
They still were Three to Three.

XII

Bacchus appeas'd, rais'd Cupid up,
And gave him back his Bow;
But kept some Darts to stir the Cup,
Where Sack and Sugar flow.

XIII

Joke taking Comus' rosie Crown,
In Triumph wore the Prize,
And thrice, in Mirth, he pusht him down,
As thrice he strove to rise.

XIV

Then Cupid sought the Myrtle Grove,
Where Venus did recline,
And Beauty close embracing Love,
They join'd to Rail at Wine.

118

XV

And Comus loudly cursing Wit,
Roll'd off to some Retreat,
Where boon Companions gravely sit,
In fat unweildy State.

XVI

Bacchus and Joke, who stay behind,
For one fresh Glass prepare;
They Kiss, and are exceeding kind,
And Vow to be sincere.

XVII

But part in Time, whoever hear
This our Instructive Song;
For tho' such Friendships may be dear,
They can't continue long.

119

From Pope's Works

To Mr. Pope.

To praise, and still with just respect to praise
A Bard triumphant in immortal bays,
The Learn'd to show, the Sensible commend,
Yet still preserve the province of the Friend,
What life, what vigour must the lines require?
What Music tune them, what affection fire?

O might thy Genius in my bosom shine!
Thou should'st not fail of numbers worthy thine;
The brightest Ancients might at once agree,
To sing within my lays, and sing of thee.

Horace himself wou'd own thou dost excell
In candid arts to play the Critic well.
Ovid himself might wish to sing the Dame,
Whom Windsor-Forest sees a gliding stream:
On silver feet, with annual Osier crown'd,
She runs for ever thro' Poetic ground.

How flame the glories of Belinda's Hair,
Made by thy Muse the envy of the Fair?
Less shone the tresses Ægypt's Princess wore,
Which sweet Callimachus so sung before.
Here courtly trifles set the world at odds;
Belles war with Beaus, and Whims descend for Gods.
The new Machines, in names of ridicule,
Mock the grave frenzy of the Chimick fool.
But know, ye fair, a point conceal'd with art,
The Sylphs and Gnomes are but a woman's heart.
The Graces stand in sight; a Satyr-train,
Peeps o'er their head, and laughs behind the scene.

120

In Fame's fair Temple o'er the boldest wits,
Inshrin'd on high, the sacred Virgil sits,
And sits in measures, such as Virgil's Muse,
To place thee near him, might be fond to chuse.
How might he tune th' alternate reed with thee,
Perhaps a Strephon thou, a Daphnis he;
While some old Damon, o'er the vulgar wise,
Thinks he deserves, and thou deserv'st the Prize.
Rapt with the thought, my fancy seeks the plains,
And turns me shepherd while I hear the strains.
Indulgent nurse of ev'ry tender gale,
Parent of flowrets, old Arcadia hail!
Here in the cool my limbs at ease I spread,
Here let thy Poplars whisper o'er my head!
Still slide thy waters soft among the trees,
Thy Aspins quiver in a breathing breeze!
Smile, all ye valleys, in eternal spring,
Be hush'd, ye winds! while Pope and Virgil sing.

In English lays, and all sublimely great,
Thy Homer warms with all his ancient heat;
He shines in Council, thunders in the fight,
And flames with ev'ry sense of great delight.
Long has that Poet reign'd, and long unknown,
Like Monarchs sparkling on a distant throne;
In all the majesty of Greek retir'd,
Himself unknown, his mighty name admir'd;
His language failing, wrapt him round with night;
Thine, rais'd by thee, recalls the work to light.
So wealthy Mines, that ages long before
Fed the large realms around with golden Oar,
When choak'd by sinking banks, no more appear,
And shepherds only say, The mines were here:
Should some rich youth (if nature warm his heart,
And all his projects stand inform'd with art)
Here clear the caves, there ope the leading vein;
The mines detected flame with gold again.

How vast, how copious are thy new designs!
How ev'ry Music varies in thy lines!
Still, as I read, I feel my bosom beat,
And rise in raptures by another's heat.
Thus in the wood, when summer dress'd the days,
When Windsor lent us tuneful hours of ease,
Our ears the lark, the thrush, the turtle blest,

121

And Philomela sweetest o'er the rest:
The shades resound with song—O softly tread,
While a whole season warbles round my head.

This to my friend—and when a friend inspires,
My silent harp its master's hand requires,
Shakes off the dust, and makes these rocks resound;
For fortune plac'd me in unfertile ground.
Far from the joys that with my soul agree,
From wit, from learning—very far from thee.
Here moss-grown trees expand the smallest leaf;
Here half an Acre's corn is half a sheaf;
Here hills with naked heads the tempest meet,
Rocks at their sides, and torrents at their feet;
Or lazy lakes, unconscious of a flood,
Whose dull, brown Naiads ever sleep in mud.
Yet here Content can dwell, and learned ease,
A Friend delight me, and an Author please;
Ev'n here I sing, when Pope supplies the theme,
Shew my own love, tho' not increase his fame.

124

POEMS ON Several Occasions.

Dignum laude Virum Musa vetat mori.
Hor.

125

Hesiod : or, The Rise of Woman.

What antient Times (those Times we fancy wise)
Have left on long Record of Woman's Rise,
What Morals teach it, and what Fables hide,
What Author wrote it, how that Author dy'd,
All these I sing. In Greece they fram'd the Tale
(In Greece, 'twas thought, a Woman might be frail)
Ye modern Beauties! where the Poet drew
His softest Pencil, think he dreamt of you;
And warn'd by him, ye wanton Pens, beware
How Heav'n's concern'd to vindicate the Fair.
The Case was Hesiod's; he the Fable writ;
Some think with Meaning, some with idle Wit:
Perhaps 'tis either, as the Ladies please;
I wave the Contest, and commence the Lays.

In days of yore, (no matter where or when,
'Twas e're the low Creation swarm'd with Men)
That one Prometheus, sprung of heav'nly Birth,
(Our Author's Song can witness) liv'd on Earth.
He carv'd the Turf to mold a manly Frame,
And stole from Jove his animating Flame.
The sly Contrivance o'er Olympus ran,
When thus the Monarch of the Stars began.

Oh vers'd in Arts! whose daring Thoughts aspire
To kindle Clay with never-dying Fire!
Enjoy thy Glory past, That Gift was thine;
The next thy Creature meets, be fairly mine:

126

And such a Gift, a Vengeance so design'd,
As suits the Counsel of a God to find;
A pleasing Bosom-cheat, a specious Ill,
Which felt they curse, yet covet still to feel.

He said, and Vulcan strait the Sire commands,
To temper Mortar with etherial Hands;
In such a Shape to mold a rising Fair,
As Virgin-goddesses are proud to wear;
To make her Eyes with Diamond-water shine,
And form her Organs for a Voice divine.
'Twas thus the Sire ordain'd; the Pow'r obey'd;
And work'd, and wonder'd at the Work he made;
The fairest, softest, sweetest Frame beneath,
Now made to seem, now more than seem, to breathe.

As Vulcan ends, the chearful Queen of Charms
Clasp'd the new-panting Creature in her Arms;
From that Embrace a fine Complexion spread,
Where mingled Whiteness glow'd with softer red.
Then in a Kiss she breath'd her various Arts,
Of trifling prettily with wounded Hearts;
A Mind for Love, but still a changing Mind;
The Lisp affected, and the Glance design'd;
The sweet confusing Blush, the secret Wink,
The gentle-swimming Walk, the courteous Sink,
The Stare for Strangeness fit, for Scorn the Frown,
For decent yielding Looks declining down,
The practis'd Languish, where well-feign'd Desire
Wou'd own its melting in a mutual Fire;
Gay Smiles to comfort; April Show'rs to move;
And all the Nature, all the Art, of Love.

Gold-scepter'd Juno next exalts the Fair;
Her Touch endows her with imperious Air,
Self-valuing Fancy, highly-crested Pride,
Strong sov'reign Will, and some Desire to chide:
For which, an Eloquence, that aims to vex,
With native Tropes of Anger, arms the Sex.

Minerva (skillful Goddess) train'd the Maid
To twirl the Spindle by the twisting Thread,
To fix the Loom, instruct the Reeds to part,

127

Cross the long Weft, and close the Web with Art,
An useful Gift; but what profuse Expence,
What world of Fashions, took its Rise from hence!

Young Hermes next, a close-contriving God,
Her Brows encircled with his Serpent Rod:
Then Plots and fair Excuses, fill'd her Brain,
The Views of breaking am'rous Vows for Gain,
The Price of Favours; the designing Arts
That aim at Riches in Contempt of Hearts;
And for a Comfort in the Marriage Life,
The little, pilf'ring Temper of a Wife.

Full on the Fair his Beams Apollo flung,
And fond Persuasion tip'd her easy Tongue;
He gave her Words, where oyly Flatt'ry lays
The pleasing Colours of the Art of Praise;
And Wit, to Scandal exquisitely prone,
Which frets another's Spleen to cure its own.

Those sacred Virgins whom the Bards revere,
Tun'd all her Voice, and shed a Sweetness there,
To make her Sense with double Charms abound,
Or make her lively Nonsense please by Sound.

To dress the Maid, the decent Graces brought
A Robe in all the Dies of Beauty wrought,
And plac'd their Boxes o'er a rich Brocade
Where pictur'd Loves on ev'ry cover plaid;
Then spread those Implements that Vulcan's Art
Had fram'd to merit Cytherea's Heart;
The Wire to curl, the close-indented Comb
To call the Locks that lightly wander, home;
And chief, the Mirrour, where the ravish'd Maid
Beholds and loves her own reflected Shade.

Fair Flora lent her Stores, the purpled Hours
Confin'd her Tresses with a Wreath of Flow'rs;
Within the Wreath arose a radiant Crown;
A Veil pellucid hung depending down;
Back roll'd her azure Veil with Serpent fold,
The purfled Border deck'd the Floor with Gold.
Her Robe (which closely by the Girdle brac't

128

Reveal'd the Beauties of a slender Waste)
Flow'd to the Feet; to copy Venus Air,
When Venus's Statues have a Robe to wear.

The newsprung Creature finish'd thus for Harms,
Adjusts her Habit, practises her Charms,
With Blushes glows, or shines with lively Smiles,
Confirms her Will, or recollects her Wiles:
Then conscious of her Worth, with easy Pace
Glides by the Glass, and turning views her Face.

A finer Flax than what they wrought before,
Thro' Time's deep Cave the Sister Fates explore,
Then fix the Loom, their Fingers nimbly weave,
And thus their Toil prophetick Songs deceive.

Flow from the Rock my Flax! and swiftly flow,
Pursue thy Thread; the Spindle runs below.
A Creature fond and changing, fair and vain,
The Creature Woman, rises now to reign.
New Beauty blooms, a Beauty form'd to fly;
New Love begins, a Love produc'd to dye;
New Parts distress the troubled Scenes of Life,
The fondling Mistress, and the ruling Wife.

Men, born to Labour, all with Pains provide;
Women have Time, to sacrifice to Pride:
They want the Care of Man, their Want they know,
And dress to please with heart-alluring Show,
The Show prevailing, for the Sway contend,
And make a Servant where they meet a Friend.

Thus in a thousand wax-erected Forts
A loytering Race the painful Bee supports,
From Sun to Sun, from Bank to Bank he flies,
With Honey loads his Bag, with Wax his Thighs,
Fly where he will, at home the Race remain,
Prune the silk Dress, and murm'ring eat the Gain.

Yet here and there we grant a gentle Bride,
Whose Temper betters by the Father's side;
Unlike the rest that double humane Care,

129

Fond to relieve, or resolute to share:
Happy the Man whom thus his Stars advance!
The Curse is gen'ral, but the Blessing Chance.

Thus sung the Sisters, while the Gods admire
Their beauteous Creature, made for Man in Ire;
The young Pandora she, whom all contend
To make too perfect not to gain her End:
Then bid the Winds that fly to breath the Spring,
Return to bear her on a gentle Wing;
With wafting Airs the Winds obsequious blow,
And land the shining Vengeance safe below.
A golden Coffer in her Hand she bore,
(The Present treach'rous, but the Bearer more)
'Twas fraught with Pangs; for Jove ordain'd above,
That Gold shou'd aid, and Pangs attend on Love.

Her gay Descent the Man perceiv'd afar,
Wond'ring he run to catch the falling Star;
But so surpriz'd, as none but he can tell,
Who lov'd so quickly, and who lov'd so well.
O'er all his Veins the wand'ring Passion burns,
He calls her Nymph, and ev'ry Nymph by turns.
Her Form to lovely Venus he prefers,
Or swears that Venus must be such as hers.
She, proud to rule, yet strangely fram'd to teize,
Neglects his Offers while her Airs she plays,
Shoots scornful Glances from the bended Frown,
In brisk Disorder trips it up and down,
Then hums a careless Tune to lay the Storm,
And sits, and blushes, smiles, and yields, in Form.

“Now take what Jove design'd (she softly cry'd)
“This box thy Portion, and my self thy Bride:”
Fir'd with the Prospect of the double Charms,
He snatch'd the Box, and Bride, with eager Arms.

Unhappy Man! to whom so bright she shone,
The fatal Gift, her tempting self, unknown!
The Winds were silent, all the Waves asleep,
And Heav'n was trac'd upon the flatt'ring Deep;
But whilst he looks unmindful of a Storm,

130

And thinks the Water wears a stable Form,
What dreadful Din around his Ears shall rise!
What Frowns confuse his Picture of the Skies!

At first the Creature Man was fram'd alone,
Lord of himself, and all the World his own.
For him the Nymphs in green forsook the Woods,
For him the Nymphs in blue forsook the Floods,
In vain the Satyrs rage, the Tritons rave,
They bore him Heroes in the secret Cave.
No Care destroy'd, no sick Disorder prey'd,
No bending Age his sprightly Form decay'd,
No Wars were known, no Females heard to rage,
And Poets tell us, 'twas a golden Age.

When Woman came, those Ills the Box confin'd
Burst furious out, and poison'd all the Wind,
From Point to Point, from Pole to Pole they flew,
Spread as they went, and in the Progress grew:
The Nymphs regretting left the mortal Race,
And alt'ring Nature wore a sickly Face:
New Terms of Folly rose, new States of Care;
New Plagues, to suffer, and to please, the Fair!
The Days of whining, and of wild Intrigues,
Commenc'd, or finish'd, with the Breach of Leagues;
The mean Designs of well-dissembled Love;
The sordid Matches never joyn'd above;
Abroad, the Labour, and at home the Noise,
(Man's double Suff'rings for domestick Joys)
The Curse of Jealousy; Expence, and Strife;
Divorce, the publick Brand of shameful Life;
The Rival's Sword; the Qualm that takes the Fair;
Disdain for Passion, Passion in Despair—
These, and a thousand, yet unnam'd, we find;
Ah fear the thousand, yet unnam'd behind!

THUS on Parnassus tuneful Hesiod sung,
The Mountain echo'd, and the Valley rung,
The sacred Groves a fix'd Attention show,
The chrystal Helicon forbore to flow,
The Sky grew bright, and (if his Verse be true)
The Muses came to give the Laurel too.
But what avail'd the verdant Prize of Wit,

131

If Love swore Vengeance for the Tales he writ?
Ye Fair offended, hear your Friend relate
What heavy Judgment prov'd the Writer's Fate,
Tho' when it happen'd, no Relation clears,
'Tis thought in five, or five and twenty Years.

Where, dark and silent, with a twisted Shade
The neighb'ring Woods a native Arbour made,
There oft a tender Pair for am'rous Play
Retiring, toy'd the ravish'd Hours away;
A Locrian Youth, the gentle Troilus he,
A fair Milesian, kind Evanthe she:
But swelling Nature in a fatal Hour
Betray'd the Secrets of the conscious Bow'r;
The dire Disgrace her Brothers count their own,
And track her Steps, to make its Author known.

It chanc'd one Evening, ('twas the Lover's Day)
Conceal'd in Brakes the jealous Kindred lay;
When Hesiod wand'ring, mus'd along the Plain,
And fix'd his Seat where Love had fix'd the Scene:
A strong Suspicion strait possest their Mind,
(For Poets ever were a gentle kind.)
But when Evanthe near the Passage stood,
Flung back a doubtful Look, and shot the Wood,
“Now take, (at once they cry) thy due Reward,”
And urg'd with erring Rage, assault the Bard.
His Corps the Sea receiv'd. The Dolphins bore
('Twas all the Gods would do) the Corps to Shore.

Methinks I view the Dead with pitying Eyes,
And see the Dreams of antient Wisdom rise;
I see the Muses round the Body cry,
But hear a Cupid loudly laughing by;
He wheels his Arrow with insulting Hand,
And thus inscribes the Moral on the Sand.
“Here Hesiod lies: Ye future Bards, beware
“How far your Moral Tales incense the Fair:
“Unlov'd, unloving, 'twas his Fate to bleed;
“Without his Quiver Cupid caus'd the Deed:
“He judg'd this Turn of Malice justly due,
“And Hesiod dy'd for Joys he never knew.

132

Song.

When thy Beauty appears
In its Graces and Airs,
All bright as an Angel new dropt from the Sky;
At distance I gaze, and am aw'd by my Fears,
So strangely you dazzle my Eye!

But when without Art,
Your kind Thoughts you impart,
When your Love runs in Blushes thro' ev'ry Vein;
When it darts from your Eyes, when it pants in your Heart,
Then I know you're a Woman again.

There's a Passion and Pride
In our Sex, (she reply'd,)
And thus (might I gratify both) I wou'd do:
Still an Angel appear to each Lover beside,
But still be a Woman to you.

A Song.

Thyrsis , a young and am'rous Swain,
Saw two, the Beauties of the Plain;
Who both his Heart subdue:
Gay Cælia's Eyes were dazzling fair,
Sabina's easy Shape and Air
With softer Magick drew.

He haunts the Stream, he haunts the Grove,
Lives in a fond Romance of Love,
And seems for each to dye;
'Till each a little spiteful grown,
Sabina Cælia's Shape ran down,
And she Sabina's Eye.

Their Envy made the Shepherd find
Those Eyes, which Love cou'd only blind;
So set the Lover free:
No more he haunts the Grove or Stream,

133

Or with a True-love Knot and Name
Engraves a wounded Tree.

Ah Cælia! (sly Sabina cry'd)
Tho' neither love, we're both deny'd;
Now, to support the Sex's Pride,
Let either fix the Dart.
Poor Girl! (says Cælia) say no more;
For shou'd the Swain but one adore,
That Spite which broke his Chains before,
Wou'd break the other's Heart.

Anacreontick.

When Spring came on with fresh Delight,
To cheer the Soul, and charm the Sight,
While easy Breezes, softer Rain,
And warmer Suns salute the Plain;
'Twas then, in yonder Piny Grove,
That Nature went to meet with Love.

Green was her Robe, and green her Wreath,
Where-e'er she trod, 'twas green beneath;
Where-e'er she turn'd, the Pulses beat
With new recruits of Genial Heat;
And in her Train the Birds appear,
To match for all the coming Year.

Rais'd on a Bank, where Daizys grew,
And Vi'lets intermix'd a Blew,
She finds the Boy she went to find;
A thousand Pleasures wait behind,
Aside, a thousand Arrows lye,
But all unfeather'd wait to fly.

When they met, the Dame and Boy,
Dancing Graces, idle Joy,
Wanton Smiles, and airy Play,
Conspir'd to make the Scene be gay;
Love pair'd the Birds through all the Grove,
And Nature bid them sing to Love,

138

Sitting, hopping, flutt'ring, sing,
And pay their Tribute from the Wing,
To fledge the Shafts that idly lye,
And yet unfeather'd wait to fly.

'Tis thus, when Spring renews the Blood,
They meet in ev'ry trembling Wood,
And thrice they make the Plumes agree,
And ev'ry Dart they mount with three,
And ev'ry Dart can boast a Kind,
Which suits each proper turn of Mind.

From the tow'ring Eagle's Plume
The Gen'rous Hearts accept their Doom;
Shot by the Peacock's painted Eye
The vain and airy Lovers dye:
For careful Dames and frugal Men,
The Shafts are speckled by the Hen.
The Pyes and Parrots deck the Darts,
When Prattling wins the panting Hearts:
When from the Voice the Passions spring,
The warbling Finch affords a Wing:
Together, by the Sparrow stung,
Down fall the wanton and the young:
And fledg'd by Geese the Weapons fly,
When others love they know not why.

All this (as late I chanc'd to rove)
I learn'd in yonder waving Grove.
And see, says Love, (who call'd me near)
How much I deal with Nature here,
How both support a proper Part,
She gives the Feather, I the Dart:
Then cease for Souls averse to sigh,
If Nature cross ye, so do I;
My Weapon there unfeather'd flies,
And shakes and shuffles through the Skies.
But if the mutual Charms I find
By which she links you, Mind to Mind,
They wing my Shafts, I poize the Darts,
And strike from both, through both your Hearts.

139

A Fairy Tale in the Ancient English Style.

In Britain's Isle and Arthur's days,
When Midnight Faeries daunc'd the Maze,
Liv'd Edwin of the Green;
Edwin, I wis, a gentle Youth,
Endow'd with Courage, Sense and Truth,
Tho' badly Shap'd he been.

His Mountain Back mote well be said
To measure heigth against his Head,
And lift it self above:
Yet spite of all that Nature did
To make his uncouth Form forbid,
This Creature dar'd to love.

He felt the Charms of Edith's Eyes,
Nor wanted Hope to gain the Prize,
Cou'd Ladies took within;
But one Sir Topaz dress'd with Art,
And, if a Shape cou'd win a Heart,
He had a Shape to win.

Edwin (if right I read my Song)
With slighted Passion pac'd along
All in the Moony Light:
'Twas near an old enchaunted Court,
Where sportive Faeries made Resort
To revel out the Night.

His Heart was drear, his Hope was cross'd,
'Twas late, 'twas farr, the Path was lost
That reach'd the Neighbour-Town;
With weary Steps he quits the Shades,
Resolv'd the darkling Dome he treads,
And drops his Limbs adown.

But scant he lays him on the Floor,
When hollow Winds remove the Door,
A trembling rocks the Ground:
And (well I ween to count aright)

140

At once an hundred Tapers light
On all the Walls around.

Now sounding Tongues assail his Ear,
Now sounding Feet approachen near,
And now the Sounds encrease:
And from the Corner where he lay
He sees a Train profusely gay
Come pranckling o'er the Place.

But (trust me Gentles!) never yet
Was dight a Masquing half so neat,
Or half so rich before;
The Country lent the sweet Perfumes,
The Sea the Pearl, the Sky the Plumes,
The Town its silken Store.

Now whilst he gaz'd, a Gallant drest
In flaunting Robes above the rest,
With awfull Accent cry'd;
What Mortall of a wretched Mind,
Whose Sighs infect the balmy Wind,
Has here presum'd to hide?

At this the Swain whose vent'rous Soul
No Fears of Magick Art controul,
Advanc'd in open sight;
‘Nor have I Cause of Dreed, he said,
‘Who view by no Presumption led
‘Your Revels of the Night.

‘'Twas Grief, for Scorn of faithful Love,
‘Which made my Steps unweeting rove
‘Amid the nightly Dew.
'Tis well, the Gallant crys again,
We Faeries never injure Men
Who dare to tell us true.

Exalt thy Love-dejected Heart,
Be mine the Task, or e'er we part,
To make thee Grief resign;
Now take the Pleasure of thy Chaunce;

141

Whilst I with Mab my part'ner daunce,
Be little Mable thine.

He spoke, and all a sudden there
Light Musick floats in wanton Air;
The Monarch leads the Queen:
The rest their Faerie Partners found,
And Mable trimly tript the Ground
With Edwin of the Green.

The Dauncing past, the Board was laid,
And siker such a Feast was made
As Heart and Lip desire;
Withouten Hands the Dishes fly,
The Glasses with a Wish come nigh,
And with a Wish retire.

But now to please the Faerie King,
Full ev'ry deal they laugh and sing,
And antick Feats devise;
Some wind and tumble like an Ape,
And other-some transmute their Shape
In Edwin's wond'ring Eyes.

'Till one at last that Robin hight,
(Renown'd for pinching Maids by Night)
Has hent him up aloof;
And full against the Beam he flung,
Where by the Back the Youth he hung
To spraul unneath the Roof.

From thence, “Reverse my Charm, he crys,
“And let it fairely now suffice
“The Gambol has been shown.
But Oberon answers with a Smile,
Content thee Edwin for a while,
The Vantage is thine own.

Here ended all the Phantome-play;
They smelt the fresh Approach of Day,
And heard a Cock to crow;
The whirling Wind that bore the Crowd

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Has clap'd the Door, and whistled loud,
To warn them all to go.

Then screaming all at once they fly,
And all at once the Tapers dy;
Poor Edwin falls to Floor;
Forlorn his State, and dark the Place,
Was never Wight in sike a Case
Through all the Land before.

But soon as Dan Apollo rose,
Full Jolly Creature home he goes,
He feels his Back the less;
His honest Tongue and steady Mind
Han rid him of the Lump behind
Which made him want Success.

With lusty livelyhed he talks,
He seems a dauncing as he walks,
His Story soon took wind;
And beautious Edith sees the Youth,
Endow'd with Courage, Sense and Truth,
Without a Bunch behind.

The Story told, Sir Topaz mov'd,
(The Youth of Edith erst approv'd)
To see the Revel Scene:
At close of Eve he leaves his home,
And wends to find the ruin'd Dome
All on the gloomy Plain.

As there he bides, it so befell,
The Wind came rustling down a Dell,
A shaking seiz'd the Wall:
Up spring the Tapers as before,
The Faeries bragly foot the Floor,
And Musick fills the Hall.

But certes sorely sunk with woe
Sir Topaz sees the Elphin show,
His Spirits in him dy:
When Oberon crys, ‘a Man is near,

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‘A mortall Passion, cleeped Fear,
‘Hangs flagging in the Sky.

With that Sir Topaz (Hapless Youth!)
In Accents fault'ring ay for Ruth
Intreats them Pity graunt;
For als he been a mister Wight
Betray'd by wand'ring in the Night
To tread the circled Haunt;

‘Ah Losell Vile, at once they roar!
‘And little skill'd of Faerie lore,
‘Thy Cause to come we know:
‘Now has thy Kestrell Courage fell;
‘And Faeries, since a Ly you tell,
‘Are free to work thee Woe.

Then Will, who bears the wispy Fire
To trail the Swains among the Mire,
The Caitive upward flung;
There like a Tortoise in a Shop
He dangled from the Chamber-top,
Where whilome Edwin hung.

The Revel now proceeds apace,
Deffly they frisk it o'er the Place,
They sit, they drink, and eat;
The time with frolick Mirth beguile,
And poor Sir Topaz hangs the while
'Till all the Rout retreat.

By this the Starrs began to wink,
They skriek, they fly, the Tapers sink,
And down ydrops the Knight.
For never Spell by Faerie laid
With strong Enchantment bound a Glade
Beyond the length of Night.

Chill, dark, alone, adreed, he lay,
'Till up the Welkin rose the Day,
Then deem'd the Dole was o'er:
But wot ye well his harder Lot?

144

His seely Back the Bunch has got
Which Edwin lost afore.

This Tale a Sybil-Nurse ared;
She softly strok'd my youngling Head,
And when the Tale was done,
‘Thus some are born, my Son (she cries)
‘With base Impediments to rise,
‘And some are born with none.

‘But Virtue can it self advance
‘To what the Fav'rite Fools of Chance
‘By Fortune seem'd design'd;
‘Virtue can gain the Odds of Fate,
‘And from it self shake off the Weight
‘Upon th' unworthy Mind.

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The Vigil of Venus .

[_]

Written in the Time of Julius Cæsar, and by some ascrib'd to Catullus.

Let those love now, who never lov'd before,
Let those who always lov'd, now love the more.

The Spring, the new, the warb'ling Spring appears,
The youthful Season of reviving Years;
In Spring the Loves enkindle mutual Heats,
The feather'd Nation chuse their tuneful Mates,
The Trees grow fruitful with descending Rain
And drest in diff'ring Greens adorn the Plain.
She comes; to morrow Beauty's Empress roves
Thro' Walks that winding run within the Groves;
She twines the shooting Myrtle into Bow'rs,
And ties their meeting Tops with Wreaths of Flow'rs,
Then rais'd sublimely on her easy Throne
From Nature's pow'rful Dictates draws her own.
Let those love now, who never lov'd before,
Let those who always lov'd, now love the more.

'Twas on that Day which saw the teeming Flood
Swell round, impregnate with celestial Blood;
Wand'ring in Circles stood the finny Crew,
The midst was left a void Expanse of Blue,
There Parent Ocean work'd with heaving Throes,
And dropping wet the fair Dione rose.
Let those love now, who never lov'd before,
Let those who always lov'd, now love the more.

She paints the purple Year with vary'd show,
Tips the green Gem, and makes the Blossom glow.
She makes the turgid Buds receive the Breeze,
Expand to Leaves, and shade the naked Trees.
When gath'ring damps the misty Nights diffuse,
She sprinkles all the Morn with balmy Dews;
Bright trembling Pearls depend at ev'ry spray,

149

And kept from falling, seem to fall away.
A glossy Freshness hence the Rose receives,
And blushes sweet through all her silken Leaves;
(The Drops descending through the silent Night,
While Stars serenely roll their golden Light,)
Close 'till the Morn, her humid Veil she holds;
Then deckt with Virgin Pomp the Flow'r unfolds.
Soon will the Morning blush: Ye Maids! prepare,
In rosy Garlands bind your flowing Hair
'Tis Venus' Plant: The Blood fair Venus shed,
O'er the gay Beauty pour'd immortal Red;
From Love's soft Kiss a sweet Ambrosial Smell
Was taught for ever on the Leaves to dwell;
From Gemms, from Flames, from orient Rays of Light
The richest Lustre makes her Purple bright;
And she to morrow weds; the sporting Gale
Unties her Zone, she bursts the verdant Veil;
Thro' all her Sweets the rifling Lover flies,
And as he breaths, her glowing Fires arise.
Let those love now, who never lov'd before,
Let those who always lov'd, now love the more.

Now fair Dione to the Myrtle Grove
Sends the gay Nymphs, and sends her tender Love.
And shall they venture? is it safe to go?
While Nymphs have Hearts, and Cupid wears a Bow?
Yes safely venture, 'tis his Mother's Will;
He walks unarm'd and undesigning ill,
His Torch extinct, his Quiver useless hung,
His Arrows idle, and his Bow unstrung.
And yet, ye Nymphs, beware, his Eyes have Charms,
And Love that's naked, still is Love in Arms.
Let those love now, who never lov'd before,
Let those who always lov'd, now love the more.

From Venus Bow'r to Delia's Lodge repairs
A Virgin Train compleat with modest Airs:
‘Chast Delia! grant our Suit! or shun the Wood,
‘Nor stain this sacred Lawn with savage Blood.
‘Venis, O Delia! if she cou'd persuade,
‘Wou'd ask thy Presence, might she ask a Maid.

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Here chearful Quires for three auspicious Nights
With Songs prolong the pleasurable Rites:
Here Crouds in Measures lightly-decent rove;
Or seek by Pairs the Covert of the Grove,
Where meeting Greens for Arbours arch above,
And mingling Flowrets strow the Scenes of Love.
Here dancing Ceres shakes her golden Sheaves:
Here Bacchus revels, deckt with viny Leaves:
Here Wit's enchanting God in Lawrel crown'd
Wakes all the ravish'd Hours with silver Sound.
Ye Fields, ye Forests, own Dione's Reign,
And Delia, Huntress Delia, shun the Plain.
Let those love now, who never lov'd before,
Let those who always lov'd, now love the more.

Gay with the Bloom of all her opening Year,
The Queen at Hybla bids her Throne appear;
And there presides; and there the fav'rite Band
(Her smiling Graces) share the great Command.
Now beauteous Hybla! dress thy flow'ry Beds
With all the Pride the lavish Season sheds,
Now all thy Colours, all thy Fragrance yield,
And rival Enna's Aromatick Field.
To fill the Presence of the gentle Court
From ev'ry Quarter rural Nymphs resort,
From Woods, from Mountains, from their humble Vales,
From Waters curling with the wanton Gales.
Pleas'd with the joyful Train, the laughing Queen
In Circles seats them round the Bank of green;
And 'lovely Girls, (she whispers) guard your Hearts;
‘My Boy, tho' stript of Arms, abounds in Arts.
Let those love now, who never lov'd before,
Let those who always lov'd, now love the more.

Let tender Grass in shaded Allys spread,
Let early Flow'rs erect their painted Head.
To morrow's Glory be to morrow seen,
That Day, old Ether wedded Earth in green.
The Vernal Father bid the Spring appear,
In Clouds he coupled to produce the Year,
The Sap descending o'er her Bosom ran,

153

And all the various sorts of Soul began.
By Wheels unknown to Sight, by secret Veins
Distilling Life, the fruitful Goddess reigns,
Through all the lovely Realms of native Day,
Through all the circled Land, and circling Sea;
With fertil Seed she fill'd the pervious Earth,
And ever fix'd the mystick Ways of Birth.
Let those love now, who never lov'd before,
Let those who always lov'd, now love the more.

'Twas she the Parent, to the Latian Shore
Through various Dangers Troy's Remainder bore.
She won Lavinia for her warlike Son,
And winning her, the Latian Empire won.
She gave to Mars the Maid, whose honour'd Womb
Swell'd with the Founder of immortal Rome.
Decoy'd by Shows the Sabin Dames she led,
And taught our vig'rous Youth the Means to wed.
Hence sprung the Romans, hence the Race divine
Thro' which great Cæsar draws his Julian Line.
Let those love now, who never lov'd before,
Let those who always lov'd, now love the more.

In rural Seats the Soul of Pleasure reigns;
The Life of Beauty fills the rural Scenes;
Ev'n Love (if Fame the Truth of Love declare)
Drew first the breathings of a rural Air.
Some pleasing Meadow pregnant Beauty prest,
She laid her Infant on its flow'ry Breast,
From Nature's Sweets he sipp'd the fragrant Dew,
He smil'd, he kiss'd them, and by kissing grew.
Let those love now, who never lov'd before,
Let those who always lov'd, now love the more.

Now Bulls o'er Stalks of Broom extend their Sides,
Secure of Favours from their lowing Brides.
Now stately Rams their fleecy Consorts lead,
Who bleating follow thro' the wand'ring Shade.
And now the Goddess bids the Birds appear,
Raise all their Musick, and salute the Year:

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Then deep the Swan begins, and deep the Song
Runs o'er the Water where he sails along;
While Philomela tunes a treble Strain,
And from the Poplar charms the list'ning Plain.
We fancy Love exprest at ev'ry Note,
It melts, it warbles, in her liquid Throat.
Of barb'rous Tereus she complains no more,
But sings for Pleasure as for Grief before.
And still her Graces rise, her Airs extend,
And all is Silence 'till the Syren end.

How long in coming is my lovely Spring?
And when shall I, and when the Swallow sing?
Sweet Philomela cease,—Or here I sit,
And silent lose my rapt'rous Hour of Wit:
'Tis gone, the Fit retires, the Flames decay,
My tuneful Phœbus flies averse away.
His own Amycle thus, as Stories run,
But once was silent, and that once undone.
Let those love now, who never lov'd before,
Let those who always lov'd, now love the more.

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Health, an Eclogue.

Now early Shepherds o'er the Meadow pass,
And print long Foot-steps in the glittering Grass;
The Cows neglectful of their Pasture stand,
By turns obsequious to the Milker's Hand.

When Damon softly trod the shaven Lawn,
Damon a Youth from City Cares withdrawn;
Long was the pleasing Walk he wander'd thro',
A cover'd Arbour clos'd the distant view;
There rests the Youth, and while the feather'd Throng
Raise their wild Musick, thus contrives a Song.

Here wafted o'er by mild Etesian Air,
Thou Country Goddess, beauteous Health! repair;
Here let my Breast thro' quiv'ring Trees inhale
Thy rosy Blessings with the Morning Gale.
What are the Fields, or Flow'rs, or all I see?
Ah! tastless all, if not enjoy'd with thee.

Joy to my Soul! I feel the Goddess nigh,
The Face of Nature cheers as well as I;
O'er the flat Green refreshing Breezes run,
The smiling Dazies blow beneath the Sun,
The Brooks run purling down with silver Waves,
The planted Lanes rejoice with dancing Leaves,
The chirping Birds from all the Compass rove
To tempt the tuneful Echoes of the Grove:
High sunny Summits, deeply shaded Dales,
Thick Mossy Banks, and flow'ry winding Vales,
With various Prospect gratify the Sight,
And scatter fix'd Attention in Delight.

Come, Country Goddess, come, nor thou suffice,
But bring thy Mountain-Sister, Exercise.
Call'd by thy lively Voice, she turns her Pace,
Her winding Horn proclaims the finish'd Chace;
She mounts the Rocks, she skims the level Plain,
Dogs, Hawks, and Horses, crowd her early Train;
Her hardy Face repels the tanning Wind,
And Lines and Meshes loosely float behind.

157

All these as Means of Toil the Feeble see,
But these are helps to Pleasure join'd with thee.

Let Sloth lye softning 'till high Noon in Down,
Or lolling fan her in the sult'ry Town,
Unnerv'd with Rest; and turn her own Disease,
Or foster others in luxurious Ease:
I mount the Courser, call the deep mouth'd Hounds,
The Fox unkennell'd flies to covert Grounds;
I lead where Stags thro' tangled Thickets tread,
And shake the Saplings with their branching Head;
I make the Faulcons wing their airy Way,
And soar to seize, or stooping strike their Prey;
To snare the Fish I fix the luring Bait;
To wound the Fowl I load the Gun with Fate.
'Tis thus thro' change of Exercise I range,
And Strength and Pleasure rise from ev'ry Change.
Here beautious Health for all the Year remain,
When the next comes, I'll charm thee thus again.

Oh come, thou Goddess of my rural Song,
And bring thy Daughter, calm Content, along,
Dame of the ruddy Cheek and laughing Eye,
From whose bright Presence Clouds of Sorrow fly:
For her I mow my Walks, I platt my Bow'rs,
Clip my low Hedges, and support my Flow'rs;
To welcome her, this Summer Seat I drest,
And here I court her when she comes to Rest;
When she from Exercise to learned Ease
Shall change again, and teach the Change to please.

Now Friends conversing my soft Hours refine,
And Tully's Tusculum revives in mine:
Now to grave Books I bid the Mind retreat,
And such as make me rather Good than Great.
Or o'er the Works of easy Fancy rove,
Where Flutes and Innocence amuse the Grove:
The native Bard that on Sicilian Plains
First sung the lowly Manners of the Swains;
Or Maro's Muse, that in the fairest Light
Paints rural Prospects and the Charms of Sight;
These soft Amusements bring Content along,
And Fancy, void of Sorrow, turns to Song.

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Here beauteous Health for all the Year remain,
When the next comes, I'll charm thee thus again.

The Flies. An Eclogue.

When in the River Cows for Coolness stand,
And Sheep for Breezes seek the lofty Land,
A Youth whom Æsop taught that ev'ry Tree
Each Bird and Insect spoke as well as he:
Walk'd calmly musing in a shaded Way
Where flow'ring Hawthorn broke the sunny Ray,
And thus instructs his Moral Pen to draw
A Scene that obvious in the Field he saw.

Near a low Ditch, where shallow Waters meet,
Which never learnt to glide with liquid Feet,
Whose Naiads never prattle as they play,
But screen'd with Hedges slumber out the Day,
There stands a slender Fern's aspiring Shade,
Whose answ'ring Branches regularly layd
Put forth their answ'ring Boughs, and proudly rise
Three Stories upward, in the nether Skies.

For Shelter here, to shun the Noon-day Heat,
An airy Nation of the Flies retreat;
Some in soft Air their silken Pinions ply,
And some from Bough to Bough delighted fly,
Some rise, and circling light to perch again;
A pleasing Murmur hums along the Plain.
So, when a Stage invites to pageant Shows,
(If great and small are like) appear the Beaus,
In Boxes some with spruce Pretension sit,
Some change from Seat to Seat within the Pit,
Some roam the Scenes, or turning cease to roam;
Preluding Musick fills the lofty Dome.

When thus a Fly (if what a Fly can say
Deserves attention) rais'd the rural Lay.

Where late Amintor made a Nymph a Bride,
Joyful I flew by young Favonia's side,

159

Who, mindless of the Feasting, went to sip
The balmy Pleasure of the Shepherd's Lip.
I saw the Wanton, where I stoop'd to sup,
And half resolv'd to drown me in the Cup;
'Till brush'd by careless Hands, she soar'd above:
Cease, Beauty, cease to vex a tender Love.

Thus ends the Youth, the buzzing Meadow rung,
And thus the Rival of his Musick sung.

When Suns by thousands shone in Orbs of Dew,
I wafted soft with Zephyretta flew;
Saw the clean Pail, and sought the milky Chear,
While little Daphne seiz'd my roving Dear.
Wretch that I was! I might have warn'd the Dame,
Yet sat indulging as the Danger came,
But the kind Huntress left her free to soar:
Ah! guard, ye Lovers, guard a Mistress more.

Thus from the Fern, whose high-projecting Arms,
The fleeting Nation bent with dusky Swarms,
The Swains their Love in easy Musick breathe,
When Tongues and Tumult stun the Field beneath.
Black Ants in Teams come darkning all the Road,
Some call to march, and some to lift the Load;
They strain, they labour with incessant Pains
Press'd by the cumbrous weight of single Grains.
The Flies struck silent gaze with Wonder down:
The busy Burghers reach their earthy Town;
Where lay the Burthens of a wint'ry Store,
And thence unwearied part in search of more.
Yet one grave Sage a Moment's space attends,
And the small City's loftiest Point ascends,
Wipes the salt Dew that trickles down his Face,
And thus harangues them with the gravest Grace.

Ye foolish Nurslings of the Summer Air,
These gentle Tunes and whining Songs forbear;
Your Trees and whisp'ring Breeze, your Grove and Love,
Your Cupids Quiver, and his Mother's Dove:
Let Bards to Business bend their vig'rous Wing,
And sing but seldom, if they love to sing:
Else, when the Flourets of the Season fail,

160

And this your Ferny Shade forsakes the Vale,
Tho' one would save ye, not one Grain of Wheat
Shou'd pay such Songsters idling at my Gate.

He ceas'd: The Flies, incorrigibly vain,
Heard the May'r's Speech, and fell to sing again.

An Elegy, To an Old Beauty.

In vain, poor Nymph, to please our youthful sight
You sleep in Cream and Frontlets all the Night,
Your Face with Patches soil, with Paint repair,
Dress with gay Gowns, and shade with foreign Hair.
If Truth in spight of Manners must be told,
Why really Fifty Five is something old.

Once you were young; or one, whose Life's so long
She might have born my Mother, tells me wrong.
And once (since Envy's dead before you dye,)
The Women own, you play'd a sparkling Eye,
Taught the light Foot a modish little Trip,
And pouted with the prettiest purple Lip—

To some new Charmer are the Roses fled,
Which blew, to damask all thy Cheek with red;
Youth calls the Graces there to fix their Reign,
And Airs by thousands fill their easy Train.
So parting Summer bids her flow'ry Prime
Attend the Sun to dress some foreign Clime,
While with'ring Seasons in Succession, here,
Strip the gay Gardens, and deform the Year.

But thou (since Nature bids) the World resign,
'Tis now thy Daughter's Daughter's time to shine.
With more Address, (or such as pleases more)
She runs her Female Exercises o'er,
Unfurls or closes, raps or turns the Fan,
And smiles, or blushes at the Creature Man.
With quicker Life, as guilded Coaches pass,
In sideling Courtesy she drops the Glass.

161

With better Strength, on Visit-days she bears
To mount her fifty Flights of ample Stairs.
Her Mein, her Shape, her Temper, Eyes and Tongue
Are sure to conquer.—for the Rogue is young;
And all that's madly wild, or oddly gay,
We call it only pretty Fanny's way.

Let Time that makes you homely, make you sage,
The Sphere of Wisdom is the Sphere of Age.
'Tis true, when Beauty dawns with early Fire,
And hears the flatt'ring Tongues of soft Desire,
If not from Virtue, from its gravest Ways
The Soul with pleasing Avocation strays.
But Beauty gone, 'tis easier to be wise;
As Harpers better, by the loss of Eyes.

Henceforth retire, reduce your roving Airs,
Haunt less the Plays, and more the publick Pray'rs,
Reject the Mechlin Head, and gold Brocade,
Go pray, in sober Norwich Crape array'd.
Thy pendent Diamonds let thy Fanny take,
(Their trembling Lustre shows how much you shake;)
Or bid her wear thy Necklace row'd with Pearl,
You'll find your Fanny an obedient Girl.
So for the rest, with less Incumbrance hung,
You walk thro' Life, unmingled with the young;
And view the Shade and Substance as you pass
With joint Endeavour trifling at the Glass,
Or Folly drest, and rambling all her Days,
To meet her Counterpart, and grow by Praise:
Yet still sedate your self, and gravely plain,
You neither fret, nor envy at the Vain.

'Twas thus (if Man with Woman we compare)
The wise Athenian crost a glittering Fair,
Unmov'd by Tongues and Sights, he walk'd the place,
Thro' Tape, Toys, Tinsel, Gimp, Perfume, and Lace;
Then bends from Mars's Hill his awful Eyes,
And What a World I never want? he cries;
But cries unheard: For Folly will be free.
So parts the buzzing gaudy Crowd, and He:
As careless he for them, as they for him;
He wrapt in Wisdom, and they whirl'd by Whim.

162

The Book-Worm.

Come hither, Boy, we'll hunt to Day
The Book-Worm, ravening Beast of Prey,
Produc'd by Parent Earth, at odds
(As Fame reports it) with the Gods.
Him frantick Hunger wildly drives
Against a thousand Authors Lives:
Thro' all the Fields of Wit he flies;
Dreadful his Head with clust'ring Eyes,
With Horns without, and Tusks within,
And Scales to serve him for a Skin.
Observe him nearly, lest he climb
To wound the Bards of antient Time,
Or down the Vale of Fancy go
To tear some modern Wretch below:
On ev'ry Corner fix thine Eye,
Or ten to one he slips thee by.

See where his Teeth a Passage eat:
We'll rouse him from the deep Retreat.
But who the Shelter's forc'd to give?
'Tis Sacred Virgil as I live!
From Leaf to Leaf, from Song to Song,
He draws the tadpole Form along,
He mounts the gilded Edge before,
He's up, he scuds the Cover o'er,
He turns, he doubles, there he past,
And here we have him, caught at last.

Insatiate Brute, whose Teeth abuse
The sweetest Servants of the Muse.
(Nay never offer to deny,
I took thee in the Fact to fly.)
His Roses nipt in ev'ry Page,
My poor Anacreon mourns thy Rage.
By thee my Ovid wounded lies;
By thee my Lesbia's Sparrow dies:
Thy rabid Teeth have half destroy'd
The Work of Love in Biddy Floyd,
They rent Belinda's Locks away,
And spoil'd the Blouzelind of Gay.

163

For all, for ev'ry single Deed,
Relentless Justice bids thee bleed.
Then fall a Victim to the Nine,
My self the Priest, my Desk the Shrine.

Bring Homer, Virgil, Tasso near,
To pile a sacred Altar here;
Hold, Boy, thy Hand out-run thy Wit,
You reach'd the Plays that D---s writ;
You reach'd me Ph---s rustick Strain;
Pray take your mortal Bards again.

Come bind the Victim,—there he lies,
And here between his num'rous Eyes
This venerable Dust I lay,
From Manuscripts just swept away.

The Goblet in my Hand I take,
(For the Libation's yet to make)
A Health to Poets! all their Days
May they have Bread, as well as Praise;
Sense may they seek, and less engage
In Papers fill'd with Party-Rage.
But if their Riches spoil their Vein
Ye Muses, make them poor again.

Now bring the Weapon, yonder Blade,
With which my tuneful Pens are made.
I strike the Scales that arm thee round,
And twice and thrice I print the Wound;
The sacred Altar floats with red,
And now he dies, and now he's dead.

How like the Son of Jove I stand,
This Hydra stretch'd beneath my Hand!
Lay bare the Monster's Entrails here,
To see what Dangers threat the Year:
Ye Gods! what Sonnets on a Wench?
What lean Translations out of French?
'Tis plain, this Lobe is so unsound,
S--- prints, before the Months go round.

But hold, before I close the Scene,

164

The sacred Altar shou'd be clean.
Oh had I Sh---ll's Second Bays,
Or T---! thy pert and humble Lays!
(Ye Pair, forgive me, when I vow
I never miss'd your Works till now)
I'd tear the Leaves to wipe the Shrine,
(That only way you please the Nine)
But since I chance to want these two,
I'll make the Songs of D---y do.

Rent from the Corps, on yonder Pin,
I hang the Scales that brac't it in;
I hang my studious Morning Gown,
And write my own Inscription down.

‘This Trophy from the Python won,
‘This Robe, in which the Deed was done,
‘These, Parnell glorying in the Feat,
‘Hung on these Shelves, the Muses Seat.
‘Here Ignorance and Hunger found
‘Large Realms of Wit to ravage round;
‘Here Ignorance and Hunger fell;
‘Two Foes in one I sent to Hell.
‘Ye Poets, who my Labours see,
‘Come share the Triumph all with me!
‘Ye Criticks! born to vex the Muse,
‘Go mourn the grand Ally you lose.

An Allegory on Man.

A thoughtful Being, long and spare,
Our Race of Mortals call him Care:
(Were Homer living, well he knew
What Name the Gods have call'd him too)
With fine Mechanick Genius wrought,
And lov'd to work, tho' no one bought.

This Being, by a Model bred
In Jove's eternal sable Head,
Contriv'd a Shape impow'rd to breathe,
And be the Worldling here beneath.

165

The Man rose staring, like a Stake;
Wond'ring to see himself awake!
Then look'd so wise, before he knew
The Bus'ness he was made to do;
That pleas'd to see with what a Grace
He gravely shew'd his forward Face,
Jove talk'd of breeding him on high,
An Under-something of the Sky.

But e'er he gave the mighty Nod,
Which ever binds a Poet's God:
(For which his Curls Ambrosial shake,
And Mother Earth's oblig'd to quake:)
He saw old Mother Earth arise,
She stood confess'd before his Eyes;
But not with what we read she wore,
A Castle for a Crown before,
Nor with long Streets and longer Roads
Dangling behind her, like Commodes:
As yet with Wreaths alone she drest,
And trail'd a Landskip-painted Vest.
Then thrice she rais'd, (as Ovid said)
And thrice she bow'd, her weighty Head.

Her Honours made, Great Jove, she cry'd,
This Thing was fashion'd from my Side;
His Hands, his Heart, his Head are mine;
Then what hast thou to call him thine?

Nay rather ask, the Monarch said,
What boots his Hand, his Heart, his Head,
Were what I gave remov'd away?
Thy Part's an idle Shape of Clay.

Halves, more than Halves! cry'd honest Care,
Your Pleas wou'd make your Titles fair,
You claim the Body, you the Soul,
But I who join'd them, claim the whole.

Thus with the Gods Debate began,
On such a trivial Cause, as Man.
And can Celestial Tempers rage?
(Quoth Virgil in a later Age.)

166

As thus they wrangled, Time came by;
(There's none that paint him such as I,
For what the Fabling Antients sung
Makes Saturn old, when Time was young.)
As yet his Winters had not shed
Their silver Honours on his Head;
He just had got his Pinions free
From his old Sire Eternity.
A Serpent girdled round he wore,
The Tail within the Mouth before;
By which our Almanacks are clear
That learned Ægypt meant the Year.
A Staff he carry'd, where on high
A Glass was fix'd to measure by,
As Amber Boxes made a Show
For Heads of Canes an Age ago.
His Vest, for Day, and Night, was py'd;
A bending Sickle arm'd his Side;
And Spring's new Months his Train adorn;
The other Seasons were unborn.

Known by the Gods, as near he draws,
They make him Umpire of the Cause.
O'er a low Trunk his Arm he laid,
(Where since his Hours a Dial made;)
Then leaning heard the nice Debate,
And thus pronounc'd the Words of Fate.

Since Body from the Parent Earth,
And Soul from Jove receiv'd a Birth,
Return they where they first began;
But since their Union makes the Man,
'Till Jove and Earth shall part these two,
To Care who join'd them, Man is due.

He said, and sprung with swift Career
To trace a Circle for the Year;
Where ever since the Seasons wheel,
And tread on one another's Heel.

'Tis well, said Jove, and for consent
Thund'ring he shook the Firmament.
Our Umpire Time shall have his Way,

167

With Care I let the Creature stay:
Let Bus'ness vex him, Av'rice blind,
Let Doubt and Knowledge rack his Mind,
Let Error act, Opinion speak,
And Want afflict, and Sickness break,
And Anger burn, Dejection chill,
And Joy distract, and Sorrow kill.
'Till arm'd by Care and taught to Mow,
Time draws the long destructive Blow;
And wasted Man, whose quick decay
Comes hurrying on before his Day,
Shall only find, by this Decree,
The Soul flies sooner back to Me.

An Imitation of some French Verses.

Relentless Time! destroying Pow'r
Whom Stone and Brass obey,
Who giv'st to ev'ry flying Hour
To work some new Decay;
Unheard, unheeded, and unseen,
Thy secret Saps prevail,
And ruin Man, a nice Machine
By Nature form'd to fail.
My Change arrives; the Change I meet,
Before I thought it nigh.
My Spring, my Years of Pleasure fleet,
And all their Beauties dye.
In Age I search, and only find
A poor unfruitful Gain,
Grave Wisdom stalking slow behind,
Oppress'd with loads of Pain.
My Ignorance cou'd once beguile,
And fancy'd Joys inspire;
My Errors cherish'd Hope to smile
On newly-born Desire.
But now Experience shews, the Bliss
For which I fondly sought,
Not worth the long impatient Wish,
And Ardour of the Thought.
My Youth met Fortune fair array'd,
(In all her Pomp she shone)

168

And might, perhaps, have well essay'd
To make her Gifts my own:
But when I saw the Blessings show'r
On some unworthy Mind,
I left the Chace, and own'd the Pow'r
Was justly painted blind.
I pass'd the Glories which adorn
The splendid Courts of Kings,
And while the Persons mov'd my Scorn,
I rose to scorn the Things.
My Manhood felt a vig'rous Fire
By Love encreas'd the more;
But Years with coming Years conspire
To break the Chains I wore.
In Weakness safe, the Sex I see
With idle Lustre shine;
For what are all their Joys to me,
Which cannot now be mine?
But hold—I feel my Gout decrease,
My Troubles laid to rest,
And Truths which wou'd disturb my Peace
Are painful Truths at best.
Vainly the Time I have to roll
In sad Reflection flies;
Ye fondling Passions of my Soul!
Ye sweet Deceits! arise.
I wisely change the Scene within,
To Things that us'd to please;
In Pain, Philosophy is Spleen,
In Health, 'tis only Ease.

A Night-Piece on Death.

By the blue Tapers trembling Light,
No more I waste the wakeful Night,
Intent with endless view to pore
The Schoolmen and the Sages o'er:
Their Books from Wisdom widely stray,
Or point at best the longest Way.
I'll seek a readier Path, and go
Where Wisdom's surely taught below.

169

How deep yon Azure dies the Sky!
Where Orbs of Gold unnumber'd lye,
While thro' their Ranks in silver pride
The nether Crescent seems to glide.
The slumb'ring Breeze forgets to breathe,
The Lake is smooth and clear beneath,
Where once again the spangled Show
Descends to meet our Eyes below.
The Grounds which on the right aspire,
In dimness from the View retire:
The Left presents a Place of Graves,
Whose Wall the silent Water laves.
That Steeple guides thy doubtful sight
Among the livid gleams of Night.
There pass with melancholy State,
By all the solemn Heaps of Fate,
And think, as softly-sad you tread
Above the venerable Dead,
Time was, like thee they Life possest,
And Time shall be, that thou shalt Rest.

Those Graves, with bending Osier bound,
That nameless heave the crumbled Ground,
Quick to the glancing Thought disclose
Where Toil and Poverty repose.

The flat smooth Stones that bear a Name,
The Chissels slender help to Fame,
(Which e'er our Sett of Friends decay
Their frequent Steps may wear away.)
A middle Race of Mortals own,
Men, half ambitious, all unknown.

The Marble Tombs that rise on high,
Whose Dead in vaulted Arches lye,
Whose Pillars swell with sculptur'd Stones,
Arms, Angels, Epitaphs and Bones,
These (all the poor Remains of State)
Adorn the Rich, or praise the Great;
Who while on Earth in Fame they live,
Are sensless of the Fame they give.

Ha! while I gaze, pale Cynthia fades,

170

The bursting Earth unveils the Shades!
All slow, and wan, and wrap'd with Shrouds,
They rise in visionary Crouds,
And all with sober Accent cry,
Think, Mortal, what it is to dye.

Now from yon black and fun'ral Yew,
That bathes the Charnel House with Dew,
Methinks I hear a Voice begin;
(Ye Ravens, cease your croaking Din,
Ye tolling Clocks, no Time resound
O'er the long Lake and midnight Ground)
It sends a Peal of hollow Groans,
Thus speaking from among the Bones.

When Men my Scythe and Darts supply,
How great a King of Fears am I!
They view me like the last of Things:
They make, and then they dread, my Stings.
Fools! if you less provok'd your Fears,
No more my Spectre-Form appears.
Death's but a Path that must be trod,
If Man wou'd ever pass to God:
A Port of Calms, a State of Ease
From the rough Rage of swelling Seas.

Why then thy flowing sable Stoles,
Deep pendent Cypress, mourning Poles,
Loose Scarfs to fall athwart thy Weeds,
Long Palls, drawn Herses, cover'd Steeds,
And Plumes of black, that as they tread,
Nod o'er the 'Scutcheons of the Dead?

Nor can the parted Body know,
Nor wants the Soul, these Forms of Woe:
As men who long in Prison dwell,
With Lamps that glimmer round the Cell,
When e'er their suffering Years are run,
Spring forth to greet the glitt'ring Sun:
Such Joy, tho' far transcending Sense,
Have pious Souls at parting hence.
On Earth, and in the Body plac't,
A few, and evil Years, they wast:

171

But when their Chains are cast aside,
See the glad Scene unfolding wide,
Clap the glad Wing and tow'r away,
And mingle with the Blaze of Day.

The Hermit.

Far in a Wild, unknown to publick View,
From Youth to Age a rev'rend Hermit grew;
The Moss his Bed, the Cave his humble Cell,
His Food the Fruits, his Drink the chrystal Well:
Remote from Man, with God he pass'd the Days,
Pray'r all his Bus'ness, all his Pleasure Praise.

A Life so sacred, such serene Repose,
Seem'd Heav'n it self, 'till one Suggestion rose;
That Vice shou'd triumph, Virtue Vice obey,
This sprung some Doubt of Providence's Sway:
His Hopes no more a certain Prospect boast,
And all the Tenour of his Soul is lost:
So when a smooth Expanse receives imprest
Calm Nature's Image on its wat'ry Breast,
Down bend the Banks, the Trees depending grow,
And Skies beneath with answ'ring Colours glow:
But if a Stone the gentle Scene divide,
Swift ruffling Circles curl on ev'ry side,
And glimmering Fragments of a broken Sun,
Banks, Trees, and Skies, in thick Disorder run.

To clear this Doubt, to know the World by Sight,
To find if Books, or Swains, report it right;
(For yet by Swains alone the World he knew,
Whose Feet came wand'ring o'er the nightly Dew)
He quits his Cell; the Pilgrim-Staff he bore,
And fix'd the Scallop in his Hat before;
Then with the Sun a rising Journey went,
Sedate to think, and watching each Event.

The Morn was wasted in the pathless Grass,
And long and lonesome was the Wild to pass;
But when the Southern Sun had warm'd the Day,

172

A Youth came posting o'er a crossing Way;
His Rayment decent, his Complexion fair,
And soft in graceful Ringlets wav'd his Hair.
Then near approaching, Father Hail! he cry'd,
And Hail, my Son, the rev'rend Sire reply'd;
Words followed Words, from Question Answer flow'd,
And Talk of various kind deceiv'd the Road;
'Till each with other pleas'd, and loth to part,
While in their Age they differ, joyn in Heart:
Thus stands an aged Elm in Ivy bound,
Thus youthful Ivy clasps an Elm around.

Now sunk the Sun; the closing Hour of Day
Came onward, mantled o'er with sober gray;
Nature in silence bid the World repose:
When near the Road a stately Palace rose:
There by the Moon thro' Ranks of Trees they pass,
Whose Verdure crown'd their sloping sides of Grass.
It chanc't the noble Master of the Dome,
Still made his House the wand'ring Stranger's home:
Yet still the Kindness, from a Thirst of Praise,
Prov'd the vain Flourish of expensive Ease.
The Pair arrive: the Liv'ry'd Servants wait;
Their Lord receives them at the pompous Gate.
The Table groans with costly Piles of Food,
And all is more than Hospitably good.
Then led to rest, the Day's long Toil they drown,
Deep sunk in Sleep, and Silk, and Heaps of Down.

At length 'tis Morn, and at the Dawn of Day,
Along the wide Canals the Zephyrs play;
Fresh o'er the gay Parterres the Breezes creep,
And shake the neighb'ring Wood to banish Sleep.
Up rise the Guests, obedient to the Call,
An early Banquet deck'd the splendid Hall;
Rich luscious Wine a golden Goblet grac't,
Which the kind Master forc'd the Guests to taste.
Then pleas'd and thankful, from the Porch they go,
And, but the Landlord, none had cause of Woe;
His Cup was vanish'd; for in secret Guise
The younger Guest purloin'd the glittering Prize.

As one who 'spys a Serpent in his Way,

173

Glistning and basking in the Summer Ray,
Disorder'd stops to shun the Danger near,
Then walks with Faintness on, and looks with Fear:
So seem'd the Sire; when far upon the Road,
The shining Spoil his wiley Partner show'd.
He stopp'd with Silence, walk'd with trembling Heart,
And much he wish'd, but durst not ask to part:
Murm'ring he lifts his Eyes, and thinks it hard,
That generous Actions meet a base Reward.

While thus they pass, the Sun his Glory shrouds,
The changing Skies hang out their sable Clouds;
A Sound in Air presag'd approaching Rain,
And Beasts to covert scud a cross the Plain.
Warn'd by the Signs, the wand'ring Pair retreat,
To seek for Shelter at a neighb'ring Seat.
'Twas built with Turrets, on a rising Ground,
And strong, and large, and unimprov'd around;
Its Owner's Temper, tim'rous and severe,
Unkind and griping, caus'd a Desert there.

As near the Miser's heavy Doors they drew,
Fierce rising Gusts with sudden Fury blew;
The nimble Light'ning mix'd with Show'rs began,
And o'er their Heads loud-rolling Thunder ran.
Here long they knock, but knock or call in vain,
Driv'n by the Wind, and battered by the Rain.
At length some Pity warm'd the Master's Breast,
('Twas then, his Threshold first receiv'd a Guest)
Slow creaking turns the Door with jealous Care,
And half he welcomes in the shivering Pair;
One frugal Faggot lights the naked Walls,
And Nature's Fervor thro' their Limbs recals:
Bread of the coursest sort, with eager Wine,
(Each hardly granted) serv'd them both to dine;
And when the Tempest first appear'd to cease,
A ready Warning bid them part in Peace.

With still Remark the pond'ring Hermit view'd
In one so rich, a Life so poor and rude;
And why shou'd such, (within himself he cry'd,)

174

Lock the lost Wealth a thousand want beside?
But what new Marks of Wonder soon took place,
In ev'ry settling Feature of his Face!
When from his Vest the young Companion bore
That Cup, the gen'rous Landlord own'd before,
And paid profusely with the precious Bowl
The stinted Kindness of this churlish Soul.

But now the Clouds in airy Tumult fly,
The Sun emerging opes an azure Sky;
A fresher green the smelling Leaves display,
And glitt'ring as they tremble, cheer the Day:
The Weather courts them from the poor Retreat,
And the glad Master bolts the wary Gate.

While hence they walk, the Pilgrim's Bosom wrought,
With all the Travel of uncertain Thought;
His Partner's Acts without their Cause appear,
'Twas there a Vice, and seem'd a Madness here:
Detesting that, and pitying this he goes,
Lost and confounded with the various Shows.

Now Night's dim Shades again involve the Sky;
Again the Wand'rers want a Place to lye,
Again they search, and find a Lodging nigh.
The Soil improv'd around, the Mansion neat,
And neither poorly low, nor idly great:
It seem'd to speak its Master's turn of Mind,
Content, and not for Praise, but Virtue kind.

Hither the Walkers turn with weary Feet
Then bless the Mansion, and the Master greet:
Their greeting fair bestow'd, with modest Guise,
The courteous Master hears, and thus replies:

Without a vain, without a grudging Heart,
To Him who gives us all, I yield a part;
From Him you come, for Him accept it here,
A frank and sober, more than costly Cheer.
He spoke, and bid the welcome Table spread,
Then talk'd of Virtue till the time of Bed,
When the grave Houshold round his Hall repair,
Warn'd by a Bell, and close the Hours with Pray'r.

175

At length the World renew'd by calm Repose
Was strong for Toil, the dappled Morn arose;
Before the Pilgrims part, the Younger crept,
Near the clos'd Cradle where an Infant slept,
And writh'd his Neck: the Landlord's little Pride,
O strange Return! grew black, and gasp'd, and dy'd.
Horrour of Horrours! what! his only Son!
How look'd our Hermit when the Fact was done?
Not Hell, tho' Hell's black Jaws in sunder part,
And breathe blue Fire, cou'd more assault his Heart.

Confus'd, and struck with Silence at the Deed,
He flies, but trembling fails to fly with Speed.
His Steps the Youth pursues; the Country lay
Perplex'd with Roads, a Servant show'd the Way:
A River cross'd the Path; the Passage o'er
Was nice to find; the Servant trod before;
Long arms of Oaks an open Bridge supply'd,
And deep the Waves beneath the bending glide.
The Youth, who seem'd to watch a Time to sin,
Approach'd the careless Guide, and thrust him in;
Plunging he falls, and rising lifts his Head,
Then flashing turns, and sinks among the Dead.

Wild, sparkling Rage inflames the Father's Eyes,
He bursts the Bands of Fear, and madly cries,
Detested Wretch—But scarce his Speech began,
When the strange Partner seem'd no longer Man:
His youthful Face grew more serenely sweet;
His Robe turn'd white, and flow'd upon his Feet;
Fair rounds of radiant Points invest his Hair;
Celestial Odours breathe thro' purpled Air;
And Wings, whose Colours glitter'd on the Day,
Wide at his Back their gradual Plumes display.
The form Etherial bursts upon his Sight,
And moves in all the Majesty of Light.

Tho' loud at first the Pilgrim's Passion grew,
Sudden he gaz'd, and wist not what to do;
Surprize in secret Chains his words suspends,
And in a Calm his settling Temper ends.
But Silence here the beauteous Angel broke,
(The Voice of Musick ravish'd as he spoke.)

176

Thy Pray'r, thy Praise, thy Life to Vice unknown,
In sweet Memorial rise before the Throne:
These Charms, Success in our bright Region find,
And force an Angel down, to calm thy Mind;
For this commission'd, I forsook the Sky,
Nay, cease to kneel—Thy fellow Servant I.

Then know the Truth of Government Divine,
And let these Scruples be no longer thine.

The Maker justly claims that World he made,
In this the Right of Providence is laid;
Its sacred Majesty thro' all depends
On using second Means to work his Ends:
'Tis thus, withdrawn in State from human Eye,
The Pow'r exerts his Attributes on high,
Your Actions uses, not controuls your Will,
And bids the doubting Sons of Men be still.

What strange Events can strike with more Surprize,
Than those which lately strook thy wond'ring Eyes?
Yet taught by these, confess th' Almighty Just,
And where you can't unriddle, learn to trust!

The Great, Vain Man, who far'd on costly Food,
Whose Life was too luxurious to be good;
Who made his Iv'ry Stands with Goblets shine,
And forc'd his Guests to morning Draughts of Wine,
Has, with the Cup, the graceless Custom lost,
And still he welcomes, but with less of Cost.

The mean, suspicious Wretch, whose bolted Door,
Ne'er mov'd in Duty to the wand'ring Poor;
With him I left the Cup, to teach his Mind
That Heav'n can bless, if Mortals will be kind.
Conscious of wanting Worth, he views the Bowl,
And feels Compassion touch his grateful Soul.
Thus Artists melt the sullen Oar of Lead,
With heaping Coals of Fire upon its Head;
In the kind Warmth the Metal learns to glow,
And loose from Dross, the Silver runs below.

Long had our pious Friend in Virtue trod,

177

But now the Child half-wean'd his Heart from God;
(Child of his Age) for him he liv'd in Pain,
And measur'd back his Steps to Earth again.
To what Excesses had his Dotage run?
But God, to save the Father, took the Son.
To all but thee, in Fits he seem'd to go,
(And 'twas my Ministry to deal the Blow.)
The poor fond Parent humbled in the Dust,
Now owns in Tears the Punishment was just.

But how had all his Fortune felt a Wrack,
Had that false Servant sped in Safety back?
This Night his treasur'd Heaps he meant to steal,
And what a Fund of Charity wou'd fail!

Thus Heav'n instructs thy Mind: This Tryal o'er,
Depart in Peace, resign, and sin no more.

On sounding Pinnions here the Youth withdrew,
The Sage stood wond'ring as the Seraph flew.
Thus look'd Elisha, when to mount on high,
His Master took the Chariot of the Sky;
The fiery Pomp ascending left the View;
The Prophet gaz'd, and wish'd to follow too.

The bending Hermit here a Pray'r begun,
Lord! as in Heaven, on Earth thy Will be done.
Then gladly turning, sought his antient place,
And pass'd a Life of Piety and Peace.

178

Biblical Poems from British Library Add. MS 31114

The Gift of Poetry.

From Realms of never-interrupted peace,
From thy fair station near the throne of Grace,
From Quires of Angells, Joys in endless round,
& endless Harmonys enchanting sound,
Charmd with a zeal the Makers praise to show,
Bright Gift of Verse descend, & here below
My ravishd heart with raisd affection fill,
& warbling ore the Soul incline my will.
Among thy pomp lett rich expression wait,
Lett ranging numbers form thy train compleat,
While at thy motions thro' the ravishd sky
Sweet Sounds & Eccho's sweet-resounding fly,
& where thy feet with gliding beauty tread
Lett Fancys flowry spring erect its head.

It comes it comes with unaccustomd light,
The tracts of airy Thought grow wondrous bright,
Its notions ancient Memory reviews,
& Young Invention new design pursues,
To some attempt my will & wishes press,
& pleasure raisd in hope forebodes success.

My God from whom proceed the Gifts divine
My God the gift I think I feel is thine.
Be this no vain Illusion which I find,
Nor natures Impulse on the passive mind,
But reasons act, producd by good desire,
By Grace enlivend with celestiall fire:
While base Conceits like misty sons of night
Before such beams of Glory wing their flight;

179

& frail Affections born of earth decay
Like weeds that wither in the warmer ray.

I thank thee Father with a gratefull mind,
Man's undeserving & thy mercy kind.
I now perceive I long to sing thy praise,
I now perceive I long to find my lays
The Sweet incentives of anothers love,
& sure such Longings have their rise above.
My resolution stands confirmed within,
My Lines aspiring eagerly begin.
Begin my lines to such a subject due
That aids our Labours & rewards ym too;
Begin while Canaan opens to mine eyes,
Where Soules & Songs divinely formd arise.

As one, whom ore ye Sweetly varyd meads
Intire Recess or Lonely Pleasure leads
To verdurd banks, to paths adornd with flowrs,
To shady trees, to closely-weaving bowrs,
To bubbling fountains, & aside ye stream
That softly gliding soothes a waking dream,
Or bears ye thought inspird with heat along,
& with fair images improves a song.
Through sacred Anthems so may Fancy range
So still from beauty still to beauty change
So feel delights in all the radiant way,
& with sweet numbers what it feeles repay.
For this I call that Ancient Time appear
& bring his rolls to serve in method here,
His rolls which acts that endless honour claim,
Have rankd in order for ye voice of Fame.
My call is favourd, Time fm first to last
Unwinds his years, the Present sees ye Past,
I view their circles as he turns ym o're,
& fix my footsteps where he went before.

The Page unfolding woud atop disclose
Where sounds melodious in their birth arose;
Where first the Morning starrs together sung;
Where first their harps the Sons of Glory strung
With Shouts of Joy, while Halelujahs rise
To prove the Chorus of Eternall skys.
Rich sparkling strokes the letters Doubly gild,
& all's with Love & admiration filld.

180

Moses

To grace those lines wch next appear to sight,
The Pencil shone with more abated light,
Yet still ye pencil shone, ye lines were fair,
& awfull Moses stands recorded there.
Lett his repleat with flames & praise divine
Lett his the first-rememberd Song be mine.
Then rise my thought, & in thy Prophet find
What Joy shoud warm thee for ye work designd.
To that great act which raisd his heart repair,
& find a portion of his Spirit there.

A Nation helpless & unarmd I view,
Whom strong revengefull troops of warr pursue,
Seas Stop their flight, their camp must prove their grave.
Ah what can Save them? God alone can save.
Gods wondrous voice proclaims his high command,
He bids their Leader wave the sacred wand,
& where the billows flowd they flow no more,
A road lyes naked & they march it o're.
Safe may the Sons of Jacob travell through,
But why will Hardend Ægypt venture too?
Vain in thy rage to think the waters flee,
& rise like walls on either hand for thee.
The night comes on the Season for surprize,
Yet fear not Israel God directs thine eyes,
A fiery cloud I see thine Angel ride,
His Chariot is thy light & he thy guide.
The day comes on & half thy succours fail,
Yet fear not Israel God will still prevail,
I see thine Angel from before thee go,
To make the wheeles of ventrous Ægypt slow,
His rolling cloud inwraps its beams of light,
& what supplyd thy day prolongs their night.
At length the dangers of the deep are run,
The Further brink is past, the bank is won,
The Leader turns to view the foes behind,
Then waves his solemn wand within the wind.
O Nation freed by wonders cease thy fear,
& stand & see the Lords salvation here.

Ye tempests now from ev'ry corner fly,
& wildly rage in all my fancyd Sky.

181

Roll on ye waters as ye rolld before,
Ye billows of my fancyd ocean roar,
Dash high, ride foaming, mingle all ye main.
Tis don—& Pharaoh cant afflict again.
The work the wondrous work of Freedomes don,
The winds abate, the clouds restore ye Sun,
The wreck appears, the threatning army drownd
Floats ore ye waves to strow the Sandy ground.

Then Place thy Moses near the calming flood,
Majestically mild, serenely good.
Lett Meekness (Lovely virtue) gently Stream
Around his visage like a lambent flame.
Lett gratefull Sentiments, lett Sense of love,
Lett holy zeal within his bosome move.
& while his People gaze ye watry plain,
& fears last touches like to doubt remain,
While bright astonishment that seems to raise
A questioning belief, is fond to praise,
Be thus the rapture in the Prophets breast,
Be thus the thankes for freedome gaind expresst.

Ile sing to God, Ile Sing ye songs of praise

[Exodus 15]

To God triumphant in his wondrous ways,
To God whose glorys in the Seas excell,
Where the proud horse & prouder rider fell.

The Lord in mercy kind in Justice strong
Is now my strength, this Strength be now my song,
This sure salvation, (such he proves to me
from danger rescu'd & from bondage free).
The Lords my God & Ile prepare his seat,
My Fathers God & Ile proclaim him great,
Him Lord of Battles, him renownd in name,
Him ever faithfull, evermore the same.

His gracious aids avenge his peoples thrall,
They make the pride of boasting Pharaoh fall.
Within the Seas his stately Chariots ly,
Within the Seas his chosen Captains dy.
The rolling deeps have coverd o're the foe,
They sunk like stones they Swiftly sunk below.
There O my God thine hand confessd thy care,
Thine hand was glorious in thy power there,
It broke their troops unequall for the fight
In all the greatness of excelling might.

182

Thy wrath Sent forward on ye raging Stream,
Swift sure & Sudden their destruction came,
They fell as stubble burns, while driving skys
Provoke & whirl a flame & ruin fly's.

When blasts dispatchd with wonderfull intent
On soveraign orders from thy nostrills went,
For our accounts the waters were affraid,
Perceivd thy presence & together fled,
In heaps uprightly placd they learnd to stand,
like banks of Christall by ye paths of sand.
Then fondly flushd with hope, & swelld with pride,
& filld with rage, the foe prophanely cryd,
Secure of conquest Ile pursue their way,
Ile overtake them, Ile divide the prey,
My lust I'le Satisfy, mine anger cloy,
My sword Ile brandish, & their name destroy.
How wildly threats their anger: hark above
New blasts of wind on new commission move,
To loose the fetters that confind the main,
& make its mighty waters rage again,
Then overwhelmd with irresistless Sway
They Sunk like lead they sunk beneath the Sea.

O who like thee thou dreaded Lord of Host
Among the Gods whom all the nations boast
Such acts of wonder & of Strength displays,
O Great! O Glorious in thine holy ways!
Deserving praise, & that thy praise appear
In Signs of reverence & Sence of fear.
With Justice armd thou stretcht thy powrfull hand,
& earth between its gaping Jaws of land,
Receivd its waters of the parted main,
& swallowd up the dark Ægyptian train.
With mercy rising on the weaker Side,
Thy self became the rescud peoples guide,
& in thy strength they past th' amazing road,
To reach thine holy mount thy blessd abode.

What thou hast don the neighb'ring realms shall hear,
& feel the strange report excite their fear.
What thou hast don shall Edoms Dukes amaze,
& make dispair on Palestina Seize.
Shall make the warlike Sons of Moab Shake,

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& all the melting hearts of Canaan weak.
In heavy damps diffusd on ev'ry breast
Shall cold distrust & hopeless Terrour rest.
The matchless greatness which thine hand has shown,
Shall keep their kingdomes as unmovd as stone,
While Jordan Stops above & failes below,
& all thy flock across the Channel go.
Thus on thy mercys silver-shining wing
Through seas & streams thou wilt ye nation bring,
& as the rooted trees securely stand,
So firmly plant it in the promisd land,
Where for thy self thou wilt a place prepare,
& after-ages will thine altar rear.
There reign victorious in thy Sacred Seat,
O Lord for ever & for ever great.

Look where the Tyrant was but lately seen,
The Seas gave backward & he venturd in,
In yonder gulph with haughty pomp he showd,
Here marchd his horsemen, there his chariots rode;
& when our God restord the floods again,
Ah vainly strong they perishd in the main.
But Israel went a dry surprizing way,
Made safe by miracles amidst ye sea.

Here ceasd the Song, tho' not ye Prophets Joy,
Which others hands & others tongues employ.
For still the lays with warmth divine expresst
Inflamd his hearers to their inmost breast.
Then Miriams notes the Chorus sweetly raise,
& Miriams timbrel gives new life to praise.
The moving sounds, like Soft delicious wind
That breathd from Paradise, a passage find,
Shed Sympathys for Odours as they rove,
& fan the risings of enkindled love.
Ore all ye crowd the thought inspiring flew,
The women followd with their timbrells too,
& thus from Moses where his strains arose,
They catchd a rapture to perform the close.

We'le sing to God, we'le sing ye songs of praise
To God triumphant in his wondrous ways,
To God whose glorys in ye Seas excell,
Where ye proud horse & prouder rider fell.

Thus Israel rapturd wth ye pleasing thought

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Of Freedome wishd & wonderfully gott,
Made chearfull thanks from evry bank rebound,
Expressd by songs, improvd in Joy by sound.

O Sacred Moses, each infusing line
That movd their gratitude was part of thine,
& still the Christians in thy numbers view,
The type of Baptism & of Heaven too.
So Soules from water rise to Grace below:
So Saints from toil to praise & glory goe.

O gratefull Miriam in thy temper wrought
too warm for Silence or inventing thought
Thy part of anthem was to warble o're
In sweet response what Moses sung before.
Thou led the publick voice to Joyn his lays,
& words redoubling well redoubled praise.
Receive thy title, Prophetess was thine
When here thy Practice showd ye form divine.
The Spirit thus approvd, resignd in will
The Church bows down, & hears responses still.

Nor slightly suffer tunefull Jubals name
To miss his place among ye Sons of Fame,
Whose Sweet infusions coud of old inspire,
The breathing organs & ye trembling Lyre.
Father of these on earth, whose gentle Soul
By such ingagements coud ye mind controul,
If holy verses ought to Musick owe,
Be that thy large account of thanks below,
Whilst then ye timbrels lively pleasure gave,
& now whilst organs Sound Sedately grave.

My first attempt ye finishd course commends,
Now Fancy flagg not as that subject ends,
But charmd with beautys which attend thy way,
Ascend harmonious in the next essay.
So flys ye Lark, (& learn from her to fly)
She mounts, she warbles in ye wind on high,
She falls from thence, & seems to drop her wing,
but e're she lights to rest remounts to sing.

It is not farr the days have rolld their years,
Before the Second brightend work appears.
It is not farr, Alas the faulty cause
Which from the Prophet sad reflection draws!
Alas that blessings in possession cloy,

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& peevish murmurs are preferrd to Joy,
That favourd Israel coud be faithless still,
& question Gods protecting power or will,
Or dread devoted Canaans warlike men,
& Long for Ægypt & their bonds again.

Scarce thrice the Sun since hardend Pharaoh dyd
As bridegrooms issue forth with glitt'ring pride
Rejoycing rose, & lett ye nation See
three Shining days of easy liberty,
Ere the mean fears of want producd within
Vain thought replenishd with rebellious Sin.
O Look not Israel to thy former way,
God cannot fail, & either wait or pray.
Within the borders of thy promisd Lands,
Lots hapless wife a strange example stands,
She turnd her eyes & felt her change begin,
& wrath as fierce may meet resembling Sin.
Then forward move thy camp & forward Still,
& lett sweet mercy bend thy Stubborn will.

At thy complaint a branch in Marah cast
With sweetning virtue mends ye waters tast.
At thy complaint the Lab'ring Tempest sailes,
& drives afore a wondrous showr of Quailes.
On tender grass the falling Manna lyes,
& Heav'n it self the want of bread supplys.
The rock divided flows upon the plain,
At thy complaint, & still thou wil't complain.
As thus employd thou went ye desart through,
Lo Sinai mount upreard its head to view.
Thine eyes perceivd the darkly-rolling cloud,
Thine ears the trumpet shrill ye thunder loud,
The forky lightning shot in livid gleam,
The Smoke arose, ye mountain all aflame
Quak'd to ye depths, & worked with signs of awe,
While God descended to dispense the law.
Yet neither mercy manifest in might
Nor pow'r in terrour coud preserve thee right.

Provokt with crimes of such an heinous kind
Allmighty Justice sware the doom designd,
That these shoud never reach ye promisd seat,
& Moses gently mourns their hastend fate.

Ile think him now resignd to publick care,
While night on pitchy plumes slides soft in air.

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Ile think him giving what ye guilty sleep
To thoughts where Sorrow glides & numbers weep,
Sad thoughts of woes that reign where Sins prevail,
& mans short life, tho' not so short as frail.
Within this circle for his inward eyes
He bids the fading low creation rise,
& streight a train of mimick Senses brings
The dusky shapes of transitory things,
Thro' pensive shades the visions seem to range,
They seem to flourish, & they seem to change;
A moon decreasing runs the silent sky,
The sickly birds on molting feathers fly,
Men walking count their days of blessings o're,
The blessings vanish & the tales no more,
Still hours of nightly watches steal away,
Big waters roll green blades of grass decay,
Then all ye Pensive shades by Just degrees
Grows faint confuses & goes off with these.
But while the affecting notions pass along,
He chuses such as best adorn his song,
& thus with God the rising lays began,
God ever reigning God, compard with man:
& thus they movd to man beneath his rod;
Man deeply sinning, man chastisd by God.

O Lord O Saviour, tho' thy chosen band

[Psalm 90]

Have staid like strangers in a forreign land,
Through numberd ages which have run their race,
Still has thy mercy been our dwelling place.
Before the most exalted dust of earth,
The stately mountains had receivd a birth;
Before the pillars of the world were laid,
Before its habitable parts were made,
Thou wer't the God, from thee their rise they drew,
Thou great for ages great for ever too.

Man (mortall creature framd to feel decays)
Thine unresisted pow'r at pleasure sways,
Thou sayst return & parting Soules obey,
Thou sayst return & bodys fall to clay.
For whats a thousand fleeting years wth thee?
Or Time compard with long eternity,
Whose wings expanding infinitely vast,
Orestretch its utmost ends of first & last?

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Tis like those hours that lately saw ye Sun,
He rose, & set, & all the day was don.
Or like the watches which dead night divide,
& while we slumber unregarded glide,
Where all ye present seems a thing of nought,
& past & future close to waking thought.

As raging floods, when rivers swell with rain,
Bear down ye groves & overflow ye plain,
So swift & strong thy wondrous might appears,
So Life is carryd down the rolling years.
As heavy sleep pursues the days retreat,
With dark with silent & unactive state,
So lifes attended on by certain doom,
& deaths ye rest, ye resting place a tomb.
It quickly rises & it guickly goes,
& youth its morning, age its evening shows.
Thus tender blades of grass, when beams diffuse,
Rise from the pressure of their early dews,
Point tow'rds ye skys their elevated spires,
& proudly flourish in their green attires,
But soon (ah fading state of things below!)
The Scyth destructive mows ye lovely show,
The rising Sun that Saw their glorys high
That Sun descending sees their glorys dy.

We still with more than common hast of fate
Are doomd to perish in thy kindled hate.
Our publick sins for publick Justice call,
& stand like markes on which thy Judgements fall.
Our secret sins that folly thought conceald
Are in thy light for punishment reveald.
Beneath the terrours of thy wrath divine
Our days unmixd with happiness decline,
Like empty storys tedious, short, & vain,
& never never more recalld again.

Yet what were Life, if to ye longest date
Which men have namd a life we backned fate?
Alas its most computed length appears
To reach ye limits but of Seav'nty years,
& if by strength to fourscore years we goe,
That strength is labour, & that labour woe.
Then will thy term expire, & thou must fly

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O man O Creature surely born to dy.

But who regards a truth so throughly known?
Who dreads a wrath so manifestly shown?
Who seems to fear it tho' ye danger vyes
With any pitch to which our fear can rise?
O teach us so to number all our days
That these reflections may correct our ways,
That these may lead us from delusive dreams
To walk in heavnly wisdomes golden beams.

Return O Lord, how Long shall Israels sin
How Long thine anger be preservd within!
Before our times irrevocably past
Be kind be gracious & return at last.
Let Favour soon-dispensd our soules employ,
& long endure to make enduring Joy.
Send years of comforts for our years of woes,
Send these at least of equall length with those.
Shine on thy flock & on their offspring shine
With tender mercy (sweetest act divine).
Bright rays of Majesty serenely shed,
To rest in Glorys on the nations head.
Our future deeds with approbation bless,
& in the giving them give us success.

Thus with forgiveness earnestly desird,
Thus in the raptures of a bliss requird,
The man of God concludes his Sacred Strain,
Now sitt & see ye subject once again.

See Ghastly Death where Desarts all around
Spread forth their barren undelightfull ground:
There stalks the silent melancholly shade,
His naked bones reclining on a spade,
& thrice the spade with solemn sadness heaves,
& thrice earth opens in the form of graves,
His gates of darkness gape to take him in,
Then where he soon woud Sink he's pushed by sin.

Poor Mortalls here your common picture know,
& with your Selves in this acquainted grow.
Through life with airy thoughtless pride you range
& vainly glitter in the Sphear of change,
A sphear where all things but for time remain,
Where no fixd starrs with endless glory reign,
But Meteors onely short-lived Meteors rise

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To shine shoot down & dy beneath ye skys.

There is an hour, Ah who yt hour attends!
When man ye guilded vanity descends.
When forreign force or wast of inward heat
Constrain ye soul to leave its ancient seat;
When banishd Beauty from her empire flyes,
& with a languish leaves ye Sparkling eyes;
When softning Musick & Persuasion fail,
& all the charms that in ye tongue prevail,
When Spirits stop their course, when nerves unbrace,
& outward action & perception cease.
'Tis then the poor deformd remains shall be
That naked Skeleton we seem to see.

Make this thy mirrour if thou woudst have bliss,
No flattring image shows it self in this;
But such as lays the lofty lookes of pride,
& makes cool thought in humble channel glide;
But such as clears ye cheats of Errours den,
Whence magick mists surround ye soules of men,
Whence Self-Delusions trains adorn their flight,
As Snows fair feathers fleet to darken sight,
Then rest, & in the work of Fancy spread
To gay-wavd plumes for ev'ry mortals head.
These empty Forms when Death appears disperse,
Or melt in tears upon its mournfull hearse,
The sad reflection forces men to know,
“Life surely failes & swiftly flys below.

O Least thy folly loose ye proffit sought
O never touch it with a glancing thought,
As men to glasses come, & straight wth draw,
& straight forgett what sort of face they saw:
But fix intently fix thine inward eyes,
& in the strength of this great truth be wise.
“If on ye globes dim Side our sences Stray,
“Not usd to perfect light we think it day:
“Death seems long sleep, & hopes of heavnly beams
“Deceitfull wishes big with distant dreams.
“But if our reason purge ye carnal sight,
“& place its objects in their Juster light,
“We change ye side, from Dreams on earth we move,
“& wake through death to rise in life above.

Here ore my soul a solemn silence reigns,

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Preparing thought for new celestial strains.
The former vanish off, ye new begin,
The solemn silence stands like night between,
In whose dark bosome day departing lyes,
& day succeeding takes a lovely rise.
But tho' ye song be changd, be still ye flame,
& Still ye prophet in my lines ye Same,
With care renewd upon the children dwell,
Whose sinfull Fathers in the desart fell,
With care renewd (if any care can do)
Ah least they sin & least they perish too.

Go seek for Moses at yon Sacred tent
On which ye Presence makes a bright descent.
Behold ye cloud with radiant glory fair
Like a wreathd pillar curl its gold in air.
Behold it hovering Just above the door,
& Moses meekely kneeling on the floor.
But if the gazing turn thine edge of sight,
& darkness Spring from unsupported light,
Then change ye Sense, be sight in hearing drownd,
While these strange accents from the vision sound.
The time my Servant is approaching nigh
When thou shall't gatherd with thy Fathers ly,
& soon thy nation quite forgetfull grown
Of all the glorys which mine arm has shown,
Shall through my covenant perversely break,
Despise my worship & my name forsake,
By customes conquerd where to rule they go,
& Serving Gods that cant protect ye foe.
Displeasd at this Ile turn my face aside
Till sharp Afflictions rod reduce their pride
Till brought to better mind they seek relief,
by good confessions in the midst of grief.
Then write thy song to stand a witness still
Of favours past & of my future will,
For I their vain conceits before discern,
Then write thy Song which Israels sons shall learn.

As thus ye wondrous voice its charge repeats
The Prophet musing deep within retreats.
He Seems to feel it on a streaming ray
Pierce through ye Soul enlightning all its way.
& much Obedient will & free desire,
& much his Love of Jacobs Seed inspire,

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& much O much above ye warmth of those
The Sacred Spirit in his bosome glows,
Majestick Notion Seems Decrees to nod,
& Holy Transport speakes ye words of God.

Returnd at length, the finishd roll he brings,
Enrichd with Strains of past & future things.
The Priests in order to ye tent repair,
The Gatherd Tribes attend their Elders there:
O Sacred Mercys inexhausted Store!
Shall these have warning of their faults before,
Shall these be told ye recompenses due,
Shall Heavn & Earth be calld to witness too!
Then still ye tumult if it will be so,
Its Fear to loose a word lett caution Show,
Lett close Attention in dead calm appear,
& softly softly steal with silence near,
While Moses raisd above ye listning throng,
Pronounces thus in all their ears the Song.

Hear O ye Heav'ns Creations lofty show,

[Deuteronomy 32]

Hear O thou heavn-encompassd Earth below.
As Silver Showrs of gently-dropping rain,
As Honyd Dews distilling on ye plain,
As rain as Dews for tender grass designd,
So shall my speeches sink within ye mind,
So sweetly turn ye Soules enlivening food,
So fill & cherish hopefull seeds of good.
For now my Numbers to the world Abroad,
Will lowdly celebrate ye name of God.

Ascribe thou nation, evry favourd tribe
Excelling greatness to ye Lord ascribe,
The Lord, the Rock on whom we safely trust,
Whose work is perfect, & whose ways are Just,
The Lord whose promise stands for ever true,
The Lord most righteous & most holy too.

Ah worse Election! Ah the bonds of sin!
They chuse themselves to take corruption in.
They stain their soules with vices deepest blots,
When onely frailtys are his childrens spots.
Their thoughts words actions all are run astray,
& none more crooked more perverse than they.

Say rebell Nation O unwisely light,
Say will thy folly thus thy God requite?

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Or is He not the God who made thee free,
Whose mercy purchasd & establishd thee?

Remember well ye wondrous days of old,
The years of ages long before thee told,
Ask all thy fathers who the truth will show,
Or ask thine elders for thine elders know.

When ye most high with scepter pointed down
Describd ye Realms of each beginning Crown,
When Adams offspring Providentiall care
to people countrys scatterd here & there,
He so ye limits of their lands confind,
That favourd Israel has its part assignd,
For Israel is ye Lords, & gaines ye place
Reservd for those whom he woud chuse to grace.

Him in ye desart him his mercy found
where famine dwells & howling deafs ye ground,
Where dread is felt by savage noise encreast,
Where solitude erects its seat on wast.
& there he led him, & he taught him there,
& safely kept him with a watchfull care,
The tender apples of our heedfull eye
Not more in guard nor more securely ly.
& as an eagle that attempts to bring
Her unexperiencd young to trust the wing,
Stirrs up her nest, & flutters ore their heads,
& all ye forces of her pinnions spreads,
& takes & bears ym on her plumes above,
To give peculiar proof of royall love,
Twas so ye Lord, the gracious Lord alone,
With kindness most peculiar led his own,
As no strange God concurrd to make him free,
So none had powr to lead him through but he.
To lands excelling lands & planted high
That boast ye kindlyest-influencing sky
He brought, he bore him on ye wings of Grace,
To tast ye plentys of ye grounds encrease,
Sweet-dropping hony from the rocky soil,
from flinty rocks ye smoothly-flowing oyl,
The guilded butter from the stately kine,
The milk with which ye duggs of sheep decline,
The marrow-fatness of the tender lambs,
The bulky breed of Basans goats & rams,
The finest flowry wheat that crowns the plain

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Distends its husk & loads the blade with grain,
& still he drank from ripe delicious heaps
Of clusters pressd the purest blood of grapes.

But thou art waxen fatt & kickest now,
O Well-Directed O Jesurun thou.
Thou soon w'ert fatt, thy sides were thickly grown,
Thy fattness deeply coverd evry bone
Then wanton fullness vain oblivion brought,
& God that made & savd thee was forgott,
While Gods of forreign lands & rites abhorrd,
To Jealousys & anger movd ye Lord;
While Gods thy fathers never knew were ownd;
& Hell ev'n Hell with sacrifice attond.
Oh fooles unmindfull whence your orderd frame
& whence your life-infusing spirit came!
Such strange corruptions his revenge provoke,
& thus their fate his indignation spoke.

It is decreed. Ile hide my face & see
When I forsake them what their end shall be.
For they're a froward very froward strain,
That promisd duty but returnd disdain.
In my grievd soul they raise a Jealous flame
By new-namd Gods & onely Gods in name,
They make the burnings of mine anger glow
By guilty vanitys displeasing show:
Ile also teach their Jealousy to frett
At people not formd a people yet,
Ile make their anger vex their inward breast
When such as have not known my laws are blesst.
A fire a fire that nothing can asswage
Is kindled in the fierceness of my rage,
To burn the deeps, consume ye lands increase,
& on the mountains strong foundations seize.
Thick heaps of mischief on their heads I send,
& all mine arrows wingd with fury spend.
Slow-parching dearth & pestilentiall heat,
Shall bring the bitter pangs of lingring fate.
Sharp teeth of beasts shall swift destruction bring,
Dire serpents wound them with invenomd sting,
The sword without & dread within consume
The youth the virgin in their lovely bloom,
Weak tender Infancy by suckling fed,
& helpless age with hoary-frosted head.

194

I said Ide scatter all the sinfull race,
I said Ide make its meer remembrance cease,
But much I feard the foes unruly pride,
Their glory vaunted & my powr denyd,
While thus they boast, our arm has shown us brave,
& God did nothing, for he could not Save.
So fond their thought, so farr remote of sense,
& blind in every course of Providence.
O knew they rightly where my Judgements tend,
O woud they ponder on their latter end!
Soon woud they find, that when upon ye field
One makes a thousand two ten thousand yield,
The Lord of Hosts has Sold a rebel state,
The Lord inclosd it in ye netts of fate.
For whats anothers rock compard with ours,
Lett them be Judges that have provd their powrs,
That on their own have vainly calld for aid,
While ours to freedome & to glory led.
Their vine may seem indeed to flourish fair,
But yet it grows in Sodoms tainted air,
It sucks corruption from Gomorrahs fields,
Rank Galls for grapes in bitter clusters yields,
& poison sheds for wine, like yt which comes
from asps & Dragons death-infected gums;
& are not these their hatefull sins reveald,
& in my treasures for my Justice seald?
To me the province of revenge belongs,
To me the certain recompense of wrongs,
Their feet shall totter in appointed time,
& threatning danger overtake their crime,
For wingd with featherd hast ye minutes fly,
To bring those things that must afflict them nigh.
The Lord will Judge his own & bring ym low,
& then repent & turn upon ye foe,
& when the Judgements from his own remove,
Will thus the foe convincingly reprove.
Where are ye Gods ye rock to whom in vain
Your offrings have been made your victims slain?
Lett them arise, lett them afford their aid,
& with Protections shield surround your head.
Know then your maker, I the Lord am he,
Nor ever was there any God with me,
& death or life & wounds or health I give,

195

Nor can another from my powr reprieve.
With Solemn state I lift mine arm on high
Ore ye rich glorys of the lofty sky,
& by my self majestically swear,
I live for ever & for ever there.
If in my rage ye glitt'ring sword I whet,
& sternly sitting take ye Judgement seat,
My Just-awarding sentence dooms my foe,
& vengeance wields ye blade & gives ye blow,
& Deep in flesh ye blade of Fury bites,
& deadly-deep my bearded arrow lightes,
& both grow drunk with blood defild in sin,
When executions of revenge begin.

Then lett his nation in a common voice,
& with his nation lett ye world rejoyce.
For whether God for crimes or tryalls spill
His Servants blood, he will avenge it still.
He'le break ye troops, he'le scatter all afarr
Who vex our realm with desolating warr.
& on ye favourd tribes & on their land
Shed Victorys & peace from Mercys hand.

Here ceasd ye song, & Israel lookd behind
& gazd before with unconfining mind,
& fixd in silence & amazement saw
The strokes of all their state beneath ye law.
Their Recollection does its light present
To show ye mountain blessd with Gods descent,
To show their wandrings, their unfixd abode,
& all their guidance in the desart road.
Then where the beams of Recollection goe
To leave ye fancy dispossessd of show,
The fairer light of Prophecy's begun
Which opening future days supplys their sun.
By such a sun (& fancy needs no more)
They see the coming times & walk ym o're,
& now they gain that rest their travel sought,
Now milk & hony stream along the thought,
Anon they fill their soules, ye blessings cloy,
& God's forgot in full excess of Joy.
& oft they sin, & oft his anger burns
& ev'ry nations made their scourge by turns,
Till oft repenting they convert to God,

196

& he repenting too destroys the rod.

O nation timely warnd in sacred strain,
O never lett thy Moses sing in vain.
Dare to be good & happiness prolong
Or if thy folly will fullfill the song,
At least be found the seldomer in ill,
& still repent & soon repent thee still.
When such fair paths thou shalt avoid to tread,
Thy blood will rest upon thy sinfull head,
Thy crime by lasting long secure thy foe,
The gracious warning to the Gentiles goe,
& all the world thats calld to witness here
convincd by thine example learn to fear.
The gentil world a mystick Israel grown
Will in thy first condition find their own,
A Gods descent, a Pilgrimage below,
& Promisd rest where living waters flow.
They'le see the pen describe in ev'ry trace,
The frowns of Anger, or the Smiles of Grace,
Why mercy turns aside & leaves to shine,
What cause provokes the Jealousy divine,
Why Justice kindles dire-avenging flames,
What endless powr ye Lifted Arm proclaims,
Why Mercy shines again with chearfull ray,
& Glory double-gilds ye lightsome day.
Tho Nations change & Israels empire dyes,
Yet still ye case which rose before may rise,
Eternall Providence its rule retains,
& still preserves, & still applys ye strains.

Twas such a gift ye Prophets sacred pen
On his departure left ye sons of men.
Thus he, & thus ye Swan her breath resigns
(Within ye beautys of Poetick lines,)
He white with innocence, his figure she,
& both harmonious, but the sweeter he.
Death learns to charm, & while it leads to bliss
Has found a lovely circumstance in this
To suit the meekest turn of easy mind,
& actions chearfull in an air resignd.

Thou flock whom Moses to thy freedome led
How will't thou lay the venerable dead?
Go (if thy Fathers taught a work they knew)

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Go build a Pyramid to Glory due,
Square ye broad base, with sloping sides arise,
& lett the point diminish in the skys.
There leave the corps, suspending ore his head
The wand whose motion winds & waves obeyd.
On Sabled Banners to ye sight describe
The painted arms of evry mourning tribe,
& thus may publick grief adorn ye tomb
Deep-streaming downwards through ye vaulted room.
On the black stone a fair inscription raise
That Sums his Government to speak his praise,
& may the style as brightly worth proclaim,
As if Affection with a pointed beam
Engravd or fird ye words, or Honour due
Had with its self inlaid ye tablet through.

But stop ye pomp that is not mans to pay,
For God will grace him in a nobler way.
Mine eyes perceive an orb of heavnly state
With splendid forms & light serene repleat,
I hear the Sound of fluttring wings in air,
I hear the tunefull tongues of Angels there,
They fly, they bear, they rest on Nebo's head,
& in thick glory wrap the rev'rend dead.
This errand crowns his songs, & tends to prove
His near communion with ye quire above.
Now swiftly down the Steepy mount they go,
Now swiftly glides their shining orb below,
& now moves off where rising grounds deny
To spread their vally to the distant eye.
Ye blessd inhabitants of glitt'ring air
You've born ye prophet but we know not where.
Perhaps least Israel overfondly led
In rating worth when envy leaves ye dead,
Might plant a grove, invent new rites divine,
Make him their Idol, & his grave ye shrine.

But what disorder? what repells ye light
& ere its season forces up ye night?
Why sweep the spectres ore ye blasted ground?
What shakes ye mount with hollow-roaring sound?
Hell rolls beneath it, Terrour stalkes before
With shriekes & groans, & Horrour bursts a door,
& Satan rises in infernall state

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Drawn up by Malice Envy Rage & Hate.
A darkning Vapour with sulphureous steam,
In pitchy curlings, edgd by sullen flame,
& framd a chariot for ye dreadfull Form,
drives whirling up on mad Confusions storm.

Then fiercely turning where ye Prophet dyd,
Nor shall thy nation scape my wrath he cry'd;
This corps Ile enter & thy flock mislead,
& all thy Miracles my lyes shall aid.
But where?—Hes gon, & by ye scented sky
The fav'rite courtiers have been lately nigh.
O slow to buisness, cursd in mischiefs hour,
Track on their Odours, & if Hell has powr—
This said with spight & with a bent for ill
He shot in fury from ye trembling hill.

In vain Proud Fiend thy threats are half exprest,
& half ly choaking in thy scornfull breast,
His shining bearers have performd ye rite,
& laid him softly down in shades of night.
A Warriour heads ye band, Great Michael he,
Renownd for conquest in ye warr with thee,
A sword of flame to stop thy course he bears,
Nor has thy rage availd, nor can thy snares,
The Lord rebuke thy pride he meekly cryes:
The Lord has heard him & thy project dyes.

Here Moses leaves my song, ye tribes retire,
The desart flyes, & fourty years expire.
& now my fancy for awhile be still,
& think of coming down from Nebo's hill.
Go Search among thy forms, & thence prepare
A cloud in folds of Soft-surrounding air,
Go find a breeze to lift thy cloud on high,
To waft thee gently rockd in open sky,
Then stealing back to leave a silent calm,
& thee reposing in a grove of palm.
The place will suit my next-succeeding strain,
& Ile awake thee soon to sing again.

Deborah.

Time Sire of years unwind thy leaf anew,
& still the past recall to present view,

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Spread forth its circles, swiftly gaze ym ore,
But where an action's nobly sung before
There stop & stay for me whose thoughts design
To make anothers song resound in mine.
Pass where ye priests procession bore the law,
When Jourdans parted waters fixd with awe,
While Israel marchd upon ye naked Sand,
Admird ye wonder, & obtaind the land.
Slide through the num'rous fates of Canaans kings,
While conquest rode on Expeditions wings.
Glance over Israel at a single view
In bondage oft, & oft unbound anew,
Till Jabin rise, & Deborah stand enrolld
On the broad guilded leafs revolving fold.

O King subdu'd! O Woman born to fame!
O Wake my fancy for the glorious theme,
O wake my fancy with the sense of praise,
O wake with warblings of triumphant lays.
The Land you rise in sultry suns invade,
But where you rise to sing you'le find a shade.

Those trees in order & with verdure crownd,
The Sacred Prophetesses tent surround.
& that fair palm afront exactly plact
That overtops & overspreads the rest,
Near ye broad root a mossy bank supports,
Where Justice opens unexpensive courts.
There Deb'rah sits, the willing tribes repair,
Referr their causes, & she Judges there.
Nor needs a guard to bring her subjects in,
Each Grace each Virtue proves a guard unseen.
Nor wants the penaltys enforcing law,
While Great Opinion gives effectuall awe.

Now twenty years that rolld in heavy pain
Saw Jabin gall them with Oppressions chain,
When she submissive to divine command,
Proclaims a warr for freedome o're ye land,
& bids young Barack with those men descend,
Whom in the mountains he for battle traind.
Go, says the Prophetess, thy foes assail,
Go make ten thousand over all prevail,
Make Jabins captains feel thy glittering sword,
Make all his army: God has spoke the word.
He fitt for warr & Israels hope in sight

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Yet doubts ye number & by that the fight,
Then thus replys with wish to stand secure,
Or eager thought to know the conquest sure:
Belovd of God, lend thou thy presence too
& I with gladness lead th' appointed few,
But if thou wil't not lett thy son deny,
For whats ten thousand men or what am I?
If so, she crys, a share of toil be mine,
Another share & some dishonour thine,
For God to punish doubt resolves to show
That less than numbers can suppress his foe;
You'le move to conquer, & the foes to yield,
But 'tis a womans act assures the field.

Now seem the warriours in their ranks assignd,
Now furling banners flutter in the wind,
Her words encourage, & his actions lead,
Hope spurrs them forward, valour draws ye blade,
& Freedome like a fair reward for all
Stands reaching forth her hand & seems to call.

On T'other side & allmost ore ye plain
Proud Sis'ra Jabins captain brings his men,
As thick as locusts on the vintage fly,
As thick as scatterd leaves in Autumn ly,
Bold with success against a nation tryd,
& proud of numbers, & secure in pride.

Now sound the trumpets, now my fancy warms,
& now methinks I view their toiles in arms,
The lively Phantomes tread my boundless mind
With no faint colours or weak strokes designd.
See where in distant conflict from afarr
The pointed arrows bring the wounds of warr.
See where the lines with closer force engage,
& thrust the spear & whirl ye sword of rage.
Here break the files & vainly strive to close,
There on their own repelld assist their foes.
Here Deb'rah calls & Jabins souldiers fly,
There Barack fights & Jabins souldiers dy.
But now nine hundred chariots roll along,
Expert their guiders & their horses strong,
& Terrour rattling in their fierce array
Bears down on Israel to restore the day.
O Lord of battles, O the dangers near,
Assist thine Israel or they perish here.

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How swift is Mercys aid, behold it fly
On rushing tempests through ye troubled sky,
With dashing rain with pelting hail they blow,
& sharply drive them on the facing foe,
Thus blessd with help & onely touchd behind,
The fav'rite Nation presses in the wind.
But heat of action now disturbs ye sight,
& wild confusion mingles all ye fight,
Cold-whistling winds & shriekes of dying men
& groans & armour sound in all ye plain.
The bands of Canaan fate no longer dare,
Oppressd by weather & destroyd by warr,
& from his chariot whence he ruld ye fight,
Their haughty Leader leaps to Joyn ye flight.
See where he flys, & see the Victour near,
See rapid Conquest in pursuit of Fear,
See See they both make off, ye work is ore,
& fancy cleard of vision as before.

Thus (if ye mind of man may seem to move
With some resemblance of ye skyes above)
When warrs are gath'ring in our hearts below
We've seen their battles in Ætheriall show:
The Long-distended tracts of opening sky
The Phantoms Azure field of fight supply;
The whitish clouds an argent armour yield;
A radiant blazon guilds their argent shield;
Young glittring comets point ye leveld spear,
Which for the pennons hang their flaming hair;
& ore their helms for gallant glory dresst
Sit curles of air & nod upon the crest.
Thus armd they seem to march & seem to fight,
& seeming wounds & deaths delude ye sight,
The ruddy thunder-clouds look staind with gore,
& for ye din of warr within they roar.
Then flys a side, & then a side pursues,
Till in the motion all their shapes they loose,
Dispersing air concludes ye mimick scene,
The sky shuts up & swiftly clears again.

But does their Sis'ra share ye common fate,
Or mourn his humbled pride in dark retreat?
With such enquiry near the palm repair,

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Victorious Honour knows & tells it there.

To that fair type of Israels late success
Which nobly rises as its weights depress,
To that fair type returns ye Joyfull band,
Whose courage rose to free their groaning land,
There stands ye Leader in the pomp of arms,
There stands the Judge in beautys awfull charms.
& whilst reclind upon the resting spear
He pants with chace & breaths in calmer air,
Her thoughts are working with a backward view,
& woud in song the great exploit renew.

She sees an armd Oppressions hundred hands
impose its fetters on the promisd lands.
She sees her nation struggling in the chains,
& warrs arising with unequall trains.
She sees their feats in arms, the field embru'd,
The foe disorderd, & the foe pursud.
Till Conquest dressd in rays of Glory come
With Peace & Freedome brought in triumph home.
Then round her heart a beamy gladness plays,
Which darting forward thus converts to praise.

For Israels late avengings on ye foe

[Judges 5]

When led by no compelling powr below,
When each sprung forward of their own accord,
For this, for all the mercy praise the Lord.

Hear O ye Kings, ye neighbring Princes hear,
My song triumphant shall instruct your fear,
My song triumphant bids your glory bow
To God confessd the God of Jacob now.

O Glorious Lord when with thy sov'raign hand
Thou led thy nation off from Edoms Land,
Then trembled Earth, & shook ye Heav'ns on high,
& clouds in drops forsook ye melted sky,
With tumbling waters hills were heard to roar,
& felt such shocks as Sinai felt before.

But fear abating which by time decays,
The Kings of Canaan rose in Shamgars days,
& still continud into Jaels times
Their empire fixing with succesfull crimes.
Oppression ravagd all our lost abodes,
Nor durst ye people trust ye common roads,
But paths perplexd & unfrequented chose

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To shun the dangers of insulting foes.
Thus direfull wast deformd ye country round,
Unpeopled towns & disimprovd the ground.
Till I resolving in the gap to stand
I Deb'rah rose a Mother of the Land,
Where others slaves by settled custome grown
Coud serve & chuse to serve the Gods unknown,
Where others sufferd with a tame regrett
Destruction spilling blood in ev'ry gate,
& fourty thousand had not for the field
One spear offensive or defensive shield.

O towrds ye Leaders of my nation move
O beat my warming heart with sense of love,
Commend th' Assertours on their own accord,
& bless ye Sovreign causer, bless the Lord.

Speak ye that ride with powr returnd in state,
Speak ye the praise that rule ye Judgement seat,
Speak ye the praise to God that walk ye roads,
While Safety brings you to restord abodes.

The rescud villagers no more affraid
Of Archers lurking in the faithless Shade,
& sudden death conveyd from sounding strings,
Shall safe-approach ye waters rising springs,
& while their turns of drawing there they wait,
Loytring in ease upon a grassy Seat,
Call all ye blessing of ye Lord to mind,
& sing the Lord in all ye blessing kind.
The townsmen rescud from ye tyrants reign
Shall flock with Joy to fill their walls again,
See Justice in ye gates her ballance bear,
& none but her unsheath a weapon there.

Awake O Deb'rah, O Awake to praise,
Awake & utter forth triumphant lays,
Arise O Barack, be thy pomp begun,
Lead on thy triumph thou Abinoams Son,
Thy captives bound in chains when Gods Decree
Made humbled Princes stoop their necks to thee,
When He the Giver of Success in fight
Advancd a Woman Ore ye Sons of Might.

Against this Amalek of banded foes
I Deb'rah root of All ye warr arose,
From Ephraim sprung, & leading Ephraims line,
The next in rising Benjamin was thine.

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The ruling heads of half Manassehs land
To serve in danger left their safe command.
The tribe of Zebuluns unactive men
For Glorious arms forsook ye peacefull pen.
The Lords of Issachar with Deb'rah went,
The tribe with Barack to ye vale was sent,
Where he on foot performd the gen'ralls part,
& shard ye souldiers toil to raise their heart.

But Reubens strange divisions Justly wrought
Amongst his brethren deep concern of thought.
Ah while ye nation in affliction lay,
How coudst thou Reuben by ye sheepfold stay?
& lett thy bleating flock divert ye days
That idely passd thee with inglorious ease.
Divided Tribe, without thy danger free,
Deep were the Searchings of our hearts for thee.
Our Gilead too by such example swayd
With unconcern beyond ye river staid,
& Dan in ships at sea for safety rode,
& frighted Asher in its rocks abode.

Now Sing ye field, ye feats of warr begun,
& Praise thy Nepthali with Zebulun.
To deaths exposd, in posts advancd they stood,
With soules resolvd & gallant rage of blood.
Then came ye Kings & fought, ye Gatherd Kings
By waters streaming from Megiddo's springs,
In Tanaach vale sustaind ye daring toil,
Yet neither fought for pay, nor won ye spoil.
The skys indulgent to the cause of right
On Israels side against their army fight;
In evil aspects starrs & Planets range,
& by the weather in tempestuous change
Promote their dire distress, & make it known
That God has hosts above to save his own.
The Kishon swelld, grew rapid as they fled,
& rolld them sinking down its sandy bed.
O River Kishon, River of renown!
& O my soul that trod their glory down!
The stony paths by which disorderd flight
Conveyd their troops & chariots from ye fight
With rugged points their horses hoofs distresst,
& broke them prancing in impetuous hast.

Curse curse ye Meroz, curse ye town abhorrd,

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(So spake ye glorious Angel of ye Lord.)
For Meroz came not into field prepard
To Joyn that side on which the Lord declard.

But bless ye Jael, be ye Kenites name
Above our womens blessd in endless fame.
The Captain faint with sore fatigue of flight,
Implord for water to support his might,
& milk she powrd him while he water sought,
& in a lordly dish her butter brought.
With courage well deserving to prevail
One hand her hammer held & one ye nail,
& him reclind to sleep she boldly slew,
She Smote, she piercd, she struck ye temples through,
Before her feet reluctant on the clay
He bowd he fell, he bowd he fell he lay,
He bowd he fell he dyd. by such degrees
As thrice she struck each strokes effect she sees.

His mother gazd with long-expecting eyes,
& grown impatient through ye lattice cryes;
Why moves ye chariot of my son so slow?
Or what affairs retard his coming so?
Her Ladys answerd.—but she woud not stay,
(For Pride had taught what Flattry meant to say)
They've sped she says, & now ye prey they share,
For each a damsel or a lovely pair,
For Sis'ras part a robe of gallant grace
Where diverse colours rich embroid'ry trace,
Meet for ye necks of those who win ye spoil
When triumph offers its reward for toil.

Thus perish all who Gods decrees oppose,
Thus like ye vanquishd perish all thy foes.
But lett ye men that in thy name delight
Be like ye Sun in heavnly glory bright,
When mounted on ye dawn he posts away,
& with full strength encreases on the day.

Twas here ye Prophetess respird fm song.
Then loudly shouted all ye chearfull throng,
By freedome gaind, by victory compleat,
Prepard for mirth irregularly great.
The frowns of sorrow gave their ancient place
To pleasure drawn in smiles on ev'ry face.
The groans of slav'ry were no longer wrung,

206

But thoughts of comfort from ye blessing sprung.
& as they shouted in ye breezy west,
Amongst ye plumes that deckt ye singers crest
The Spirit of Applause it self conveyd
On waving air, & lightly wanton plaid.
Such was ye case, (or such Ideas flow
From thought replenishd with triumphant show.)

What raisd their Joy their love coud also raise,
& each contended in the words of praise,
& evry word proclaimd the wonders past,
& God was still ye first & still ye last,
Deep in their soules ye fair impression lay,
Deep-tracd & never to be worn away.

From hence ye rescud generation still
Abhorrd the practice of rebellious ill,
& feard the punishment for ill abhorrd,
& lovd repentance & adord ye Lord.

From hence in all their day ye Lord was kind,
His face serene with settled favour shind,
Fair banishd Order was recalld in state,
The Laws revivd, the princes ruld ye gate,
Peace cheard ye vales, Contentment laughd wth Peace,
Gay-blooming Plenty rose with large encrease,
Sweet Mercy those who thought on mercy blesst,
& so for fourty years ye land had rest.

Rest happy Land awhile, ah longer so
didst thou thine happiness sincerely know!
But soon thy quiet with thy goodness past,
& in the song alone obtaind to last.

Live song triumphant, live in fair record,
& teach succeeding times to love ye Lord:
For fancy moves by bright example wood,
& wins ye mind with images of good.

Touchd with a sacred rage & heavnly flame,
I strive to sing thine universall aim,
To quit ye subject, & in lays sublime
The morall fitt for any point of time:
Then go my verses with applying strain
Go form a triumph not ascribd to men.

Lett all ye clouds of Grief impending ly,
& storms of Trouble drive along ye sky,
Then Humble Piety thine accents raise,
For prayr will prove ye powrfull charm of ease.

207

Lo now thy soul has spoke its best desires,
How blessings answer what ye prayr requires.
Before thy sighs the cloudes of Grief retreat,
The Storms of trouble by thy tears abate,
& Radiant Glory from her upper sphear
Lookes down & glitters in relented air.

Rise Lovely Piety from earthy bed,
The Parted flame descends upon thine head,
This wondrous Mitre framd by Sacred Love,
& for thy triumph sent thee from above,
In two bright points with upper rays aspires,
& rounds thy temples with innocuous fires.
Rise Lovely Piety, with Pomp appear,
& thou Kind Mercy Lend a chariot here,
On either side fair Fame & Honour place,
Behind lett Plenty walk in hand with peace,
While Irreligion mutt'ring horrid sound
With fierce & proud Oppression backward bound
dragg by the wheeles along ye dusty plain,
& gnashing lick ye ground, & curse with pain.

Now come ye thousands & more thousands yet,
With order Joyn to fill ye train of state,
Soules tund for praising to ye temple bring,
& thus amidst ye Sacred Musick sing.
Hail Piety! triumphant Goodness hail!
Hail O prevailing! Ever O prevail!
At thine Entreaty Justice leaves to frown,
& Wrath appeasing lays ye Thunder down,
The tender heart of yearning Mercy burns,
Love asks a blessing & ye Lord returns.
In his great name that heavn & earth has made
In his great name alone we find our aid,
Then bless the Name, & lett ye world adore
From this time forward & for evermore.

Hannah.

Now Crowds more off, retiring trumpetts sound
On Eccho's dying in their last rebound,
The notes of fancy seem no longer strong,
But sweetning closes fitt a private song.

208

So when the storms forsake ye seas command
To break their forces in the winding land,
No more their blasts tumultuous rage proclaim,
But sweep in murmurs ore a murm'ring stream.

Then Seek ye Subject & its song be mine
Whose numbers next in Sacred story shine;
Go brightly-working thought, prepard to fly
Above ye page on hov'ring pinnions ly,
& beat with stronger force to make thee rise
Where beautious Hannah meets ye searching eyes.

There frame a town & fix a tent with cords,
The town be Shiloh calld, the tent ye Lords.
Carvd pillars filleted with silver rear
To close ye curtains in an outward square,
But those within it which ye porch uphold
Be finely wrought & overlaid with gold.

Here Eli comes to take ye resting Seat,
Slow-moving forward with a revrend gate,
Sacred in office, venerably sage
& venerably great in silverd age.

Here Hannah comes, a melancholly wife
Reproachd for barren in ye marriage life.
Like summer-mornings she to sight appears,
Bedewd & shining in the midst of tears.
Her heart in bitterness of grief she bowd,
& thus her wishes to the Lord she vowd.
If thou thine handmaid with compassion see,
If I my God am not forgott by thee,
If in mine offspring thou prolong my line,
The Child I wish for all his days be thine,
His life devoted in thy courts be led,
& not a rasour come upon his head.

So from recesses of her inmost soul
Through moving lips her still devotion stole:
As silent waters glide through parted trees
Whose branches tremble with a rising breeze.
The words were lost because her heart was low,
But free desire had taught ye mouth to go.
This Eli markd, & with a voice severe,
While yet she multiplyd her thoughts in prayr,
How long shall wine he crys distract thy breast,
Begon & lay ye drunken fitt by rest.
Ah says ye mourner count not this for sin,

209

It is not wine but grief that workes within,
The spirit of thy wretched handmaid know,
Her prayr's complaint, & her condition woe.
Then spake ye Sacred Priest, in peace depart,
& with thy comfort God fullfill thine heart.
His blessing thus pronouncd with awfull sound,
The Vot'ry bending leaves ye solemn ground,
She seems confirmd the Lord has heard her crys,
& Chearfull Hope the tears of trouble drys,
& makes her alterd eyes irradiate roll
With Joy that dawns in thought upon ye soul.

Now lett ye Town & Tent & court remain,
& leap the time till Hannah comes again.
As painted prospects skip along ye green
from hills to mountains eminently seen,
& leave their intervalls that sink below
In deep retirement unexpressd to show.

Behold she comes (but not as once she came
To grieve to sigh & teach her eyes to stream.)
Content adorns her with a lively face,
An open look, & smiling kind of grace.
Her little Samuel in her arms she bears
The wish of long desire & Child of prayrs,
& as ye sacrifice she brought begun,
To rev'rend Eli she presents her son.
Here, crys ye Mother, here my Lord may see
The woman come who prayd in grief by thee,
The Child I su'd for God with bounty gave,
& what he granted let him now receive.

But still ye Vot'ry feeles her temper move
With all ye tender violence of Love.
That still enjoys ye gift, & inly burns
To search for larger or for more returns.
Then filld with blessings which allure to praise,
& raisd by Joy to soul-enchanting lays,
Thus thankes ye Lord beneficently-kind
In sweet effusions of ye gratefull mind.

My lifting heart with more than common heat
Sends up its thankes to God on ev'ry beat.
My glory raisd above ye reach of scorn
In God exalts its highly-planted horn.
My mouth enlargd mine enemy defys,

210

& finds in Gods salvation full replys.
O Bright in holy beautys, Powr divine,
Theres none whose glory can compare wth thine,
None share thine honours, nay theres none beside,
No rock on which thy creatures can confide.

Ye proud in spirit who your gifts adore,
Unlearn the fault & speak with pride no more:
No more in words your arrogance be shown,
Nor call ye workes of Providence your own,
Since he that rules us infinitely knows,
& as he will his acts of Powr dispose.

The strong whose sinewy forces archd ye bow
Have seen it shatterd by ye conqu'ring foe.
The weak have felt their nerves more firmly brace,
& new-sprung vigour in the limbs encrease.
The full whom varyd tasts of plenty fed
Have lett their labour out to gain their bread.
The poor that languishd in a starving state
Content & full have ceased to beg their meat.
The barren womb, no longer barren now,
(O be my thankes accepted with my vow)
In pleasure wonders at a mothers pain,
& sees her offspring & conceives again,
While she that gloryd in her numerous heirs,
Now broke by feebleness no longer bears.

Such turns their rising from ye Lord derive,
The Lord that kills the Lord yt makes alive.
He brings by sickness down to gaping graves,
& by restoring health from sickness saves;
He makes ye poor by keeping back his store,
& makes ye rich by blessing men with more;
He sinking hearts with bitter grief annoys,
Or lifts them bounding with enlivend Joys.

He takes ye beggar from his humble clay
From off ye dunghill where despisd he lay
To mix with Princes in a rank supream,
Fill thrones of Honour & inherit fame.
For all the pillars of exalted state
So nobly firm so beautifully great,
Whose various orders bear ye rounded ball
Which woud without them to confusion fall,
All are ye Lords, at his disposure stand,
& prop ye governd world at his command.

211

His mercy still more wonderfully sweet
Shall guard ye righteous & uphold their feet.
While through ye darkness of ye wicked soul
Amazement Dread & Desperation roll,
While envy stops their tongues, & hopeless grief
that sees their fears but not their fears relief,
& they their strength as unavailing view,
Since none shall trust in that & safely too.

The foes of Israel for his Israels sake
God will to pieces in his anger break.
His bolts of thunder from an opend sky
Shall on their heads with force unerring fly.
His voice shall call, & all ye world shall hear,
& all for sentence at his Seat appear.

But mount to gentler praises, mount again
My thought prophetick of Messiahs reign,
Perceive the glorys which around him shine,
& thus thine hymn be crownd with grace divine.
“Strength to ye King for mans salvation born,
“& honours rising like ye lifted horn.

Tis here ye numbers find a bright repose,
The vows accepted & the Vot'ry goes.
But thou my soul upon her accents hung,
& sweetly pleasd with what she sweetly sung,
Prolong the pleasure with thine inward eyes,
Turn back thy thought, & see ye subject rise.

In her peculiar case ye song begun,
& for awhile through private blessings run,
As through their banks the curling waters play,
& soft in murmurs kiss ye flowry way.
With force encreasing then she leaps ye bounds,
& largely flows on more extended grounds,
Spreads wide & wider, till vast seas appear,
& boundless views of Providence are here.

How Swift these views along her Anthem glide,
As waves on waves pushd forward in ye tide!
How swift thy wonders ore my fancy sweep,
O Providence thou great unfathomd deep,
Where Resignation gently dips ye wing,
& learns to love & thank, admire & sing,
But bold presumptious Reasnings diving down
To reach ye bottom, in their diving drown.

212

Neglecting man forgetfull of thy ways
Nor owns thy care, nor thinkes of giving praise,
But from himself his happiness derives,
& thankes his wisdome when by thine he thrives.
His limbs at ease in soft repose he spreads,
Bewitchd with vain delights on flowry beds,
& while his sense ye fragrant breezes kiss,
He meditates a waking dream of bliss.
He thinks of Kingdomes & their crowns are near;
He thinkes of glorys & their rays appear;
He thinks of beautys & a lovely face
Serenely smiles in evry taking grace;
He thinks of riches & their heaps arise
Display their glittring forms & fix his eyes;
Thus drawn with pleasures in a charming view
Rising he reaches & woud faign pursue.
But still ye fleeting shadows mock his care,
& still his fingers grasp at yielding air,
What ere our tempers as their comforts want
It is not mans to take but Gods to grant.

If then persisting in the vain design
We seek true bliss unblessd with help divine,
Still may we search, still search without relief,
Nor onely want a bliss but find a grief.
That such conviction may to sight appear
Sitt down ye Sons of men spectatours here,
Behold a scene upon your folly wrought,
& lett this lively scene instruct ye thought.

Boy blow thy pipe untill ye bubble rise,
Then cast it off to float upon ye skys,
Still swell its sides with breath. O beautious frame!
It grows, it shines, be now the world thy name.
Methinks Creation forms itself within,
The men, the towns, ye birds, ye trees are seen,
The skys above present an Azure show,
& lovely Verdure paints an earth below.
Ile wind my self in this delightfull sphere,
& live a thousand years of pleasure there,
Rolld up in blisses which around me close,
& now regald with these & now with those.
False hope, but falser words of Joy farewell,
You've rent the lodging where I meant to dwell,

213

My bubble's burst, my prospects disappear,
& leave behind a moral & a tear.

If at the type our dreaming soules awake,
& Hannahs strains their Just impression make,
The boundless powr of Providence we know,
& fix our trust on nothing here below.
Then He grown pleasd that men his greatness own,
Lookes down Serenely from his starry throne,
& bids ye blessed days our prayrs have won
Put on their glorys & prepare to run.
For which our thanks be Justly sent above,
Enlargd by gladness, & inspird with Love:
For which his praises be for ever sung,
Oh Sweet employments of ye gratefull tongue!

Burst forth my temper in a godly flame,
For all his blessings laud his holy name:
That ere mine eyes saluted chearfull day
A gift devoted in ye womb I lay,
like Samuel vowd before my breath I drew,
O coud I prove in life like Samuel too!
That all my frame is exquisitely wrought,
The world enjoyd by sense, & God by thought;
That living streams through living Channels glide
To make this frame by natures course abide;
That for its good by Providences care
Fire Joyns with water, earth concurrs wth air;
That Mercys ever-inexhausted store
Is pleasd to proffer & to promise more,
& all ye proffers stream with grace divine,
& all ye promises with glory shine.
O praise the Lord my Soul, in one accord
Lett all that is within me praise ye Lord;
O praise ye Lord my soul, & ever strive
To keep the sweet remembrances alive:
Still raise ye kind affections of thine heart,
Raise evry gratefull word to bear a part,
With ev'ry word the strains of love devise,
Awake thine harp, & thou thy self arise,
Then if his Mercy be not half expresst,
Lett wondring silence magnify ye rest.

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Biblical Poems from Posthumous Works (1758)

David.

My thought, on views of admiration hung,
Intently ravish'd and depriv'd of tongue,
Now darts a while on earth, a while in air,
Here mov'd with praise and mov'd with glory there;
The joys entrancing and the mute surprize
Half fix the blood, and dim the moist'ning eyes;
Pleasure and praise on one another break,
And Exclamation longs at heart to speak;
When thus my Genius, on the work design'd
Awaiting closely, guides the wand'ring mind.

If while thy thanks wou'd in thy lays be wrought,
A bright astonishment involve the thought,
If yet thy temper wou'd attempt to sing,
Another's quill shall imp thy feebler wing;
Behold the name of royal David near,
Behold his musick and his measures here,
Whose harp Devotion in a rapture strung,
And left no state of pious souls unsung.

Him to the wond'ring world but newly shewn,
Celestial poetry pronounc'd her own;
A thousand hopes, on clouds adorn'd with rays,
Bent down their little beauteous forms to gaze;
Fair-blooming Innocence with tender years,
And native Sweetness for the ravish'd ears,
Prepar'd to smile within his early song,
And brought their rivers, groves, and plains along;
Majestick Honour at the palace bred,
Enrob'd in white, embroider'd o'er with red,

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Reach'd forth the scepter of her royal state,
His forehead touch'd, and bid his lays be great;
Undaunted Courage deck'd with manly charms,
With waving-azure plumes, and gilded arms,
Displaid the glories, and the toils of fight,
Demanded fame, and call'd him forth to write.
To perfect these the sacred spirit came,
By mild infusion of celestial flame,
And mov'd with dove-like candour in his breast,
And breath'd his graces over all the rest.
Ah! where the daring flights of men aspire
To match his numbers with an equal fire;
In vain they strive to make proud Babel rise,
And with an earth-born labour touch the skies.
While I the glitt'ring page resolve to view,
That will the subject of my lines renew;
The Laurel wreath, my fames imagin'd shade,
Around my beating temples fears to fade;
My fainting fancy trembles on the brink,
And David's God must help or else I sink.

As rolling rivers in their channels flow,
Swift from aloft, but on the level slow;
Or rage in rocks, or glide along the plains,
So, just so copious, move the Psalmist's strains;
So sweetly vary'd with proportion'd heat,
So gently clear or so sublimely great,
While nature's seen in all her forms to shine,
And mix with beauties drawn from truth divine;
Sweet beauties (sweet affections endless rill,)
That in the soul like honey drops distil.

Hail holy spirit, hail supremely kind,
Whose inspirations thus enlarg'd the mind;
Who taught him what the gentle shepherd sings,
What rich expressions suit the port of kings;
What daring words describe the soldiers heat,
And what the prophet's extasies relate;
Nor let his worst condition be forgot,
In all this splendour of exulted thought.
On one thy diff'rent sorts of graces fall,
Still made for each, of equall force in all,
And while from heav'nly courts he feels a flame,
He sings the place from whence the blessing came;
And makes his inspirations sweetly prove

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The tuneful subject of the mind they move.

Immortal spirit, light of life instil'd,
Who thus the bosom of a mortal fill'd,
Tho' weak my voice and tho' my light be dim,
Yet fain I'd praise thy wond'rous gifts in him;
Then since thine aid's attracted by desire,
And they that speak thee right must feel thy fire;
Vouchsafe a portion of thy grace divine,
And raise my voice and in my numbers shine;
I sing of David, David sings of thee,
Assist the Psalmist, and his work in me.

But now my verse, arising on the wing,
What part of all thy subject wilt thou sing?
How fire thy first attempt, in what resort
Of Palestina's plains, or Salem's court?
Where, as his hands the solemn measure play'd,
Curs'd fiends with torment and confusion fled;
Where, at the rosy spring of chearful light
(If pious fame record tradition right)
A soft Efflation of celestial fire
Came like a rushing breeze and shook the Lyre;
Still sweetly giving ev'ry trembling string
So much of sound as made him wake to sing.

Within my view the country first appears,
The country first enjoy'd his youthful years;
Then frame thy shady Landscapes in my strain,
Some conscious mountain or accustom'd plain;
Where by the waters, on the grass reclin'd,
With notes he rais'd, with notes he calm'd his mind;
For through the paths of rural life I'll stray,
And in his pleasures paint a shepherds day.

With grateful sentiments, with active will,
With voice exerted, and enliv'ning skill,
His free return of thanks he duely paid,
And each new day new beams of bounty shed.
Awake my tuneful harp, awake he crys,
Awake my lute, the sun begins to rise;
My God, I'm ready now! then takes a flight,
To purest Piety's exalted height;
From thence his soul, with heav'n itself in view,
On humble prayers and humble praises flew.
The praise as pleasing and as sweet the prayer,
As incense curling up thro' morning air.

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When t'wards the field with early steps he trod,
And gaz'd around and own'd the works of God,
Perhaps in sweet melodious words of praise
He drew the prospect which adorn'd his ways;
The soil but newly visited with rain,
The river of the Lord with springing grain
Inlarge, encrease the soft'ned furrow blest,
The year with goodness crown'd, with beauty drest,
And still to pow'r divine ascribe it all,
From whose high paths the drops of fatness fall;
Then in the song the smiling sights rejoyce,
And all the mute creation finds a voice;
With thick returns delightful Ecchos fill
The pastur'd green, or soft ascending hill,
Rais'd by the bleatings of unnumb'red sheep,
To boast their glories in the crowds they keep;
And corn that's waving in the western gale,
With joyful sound proclaims the cover'd vale.

When e'er his flocks the lovely shepherd drove
To neighb'ring waters, to the neighb'ring grove;
To Jordan's flood refresh'd by cooling wind,
Or Cedron's brook to mossy banks confin'd,
In easy notes and guise of lowly swain,
'Twas thus he charm'd and taught the listning train.

The Lord's my Shepherd bountiful and good,
I cannot want since he provides me food;
Me for his sheep along the verdant meads,
Me all too mean his tender mercy leads;
To taste the springs of life and taste repose
Wherever living pasture sweetly grows.
And as I cannot want I need not fear,
For still the presence of my shepherd's near;
Through darksome vales where beasts of prey resort,
Where death appears with all his dreadful court,
His rod and hook direct me when I stray,
He calls to Fold, and they direct my way.

Perhaps when seated on the river's brink,
He saw the tender sheep at noon-day drink,
He sung the land where milk and honey glide
And fat'ning plenty rolls upon the tide.

Or fix'd within the freshness of a shade,
Whose boughs diffuse their leaves around his head,
He borrow'd notions from the kind retreat,

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Then sung the righteous in their happy state,
And how by providential care, success
Shall all their actions in due season bless.
So firm they stand, so beautiful they look,
As planted trees aside the purling brook:
Not faded by the rays that parch the plain,
Nor careful for the want of dropping rain:
The leaves sprout forth, the rising branches shoot,
And summer crowns them with the ripen'd fruit.

But if the flow'ry field with vari'd hue
And native sweetness entertain'd his view;
The flow'ry field with all the glorious throng
Of lively colours, rose to paint his song;
Its pride and fall within the numbers ran
And spake the life of transitory man.

As grass arises by degrees unseen
To deck the breast of earth with lovely green,
'Till Nature's order brings the with'ring days,
And all the summer's beauteous pomp decays;
So by degrees unseen doth man arise,
So blooms by course and so by course he dies.
Or as her head the gawdy flowret heaves,
Spreads to the sun and boasts her silken leaves;
'Till accidental winds their glory shed,
And then they fall before the time to fade;
So man appears, so falls in all his prime,
'Ere age approaches on the steps of time.
But thee, my God! thee still the same we find,
Thy glory lasting, and thy mercy kind;
That still the just and all his race may know
No cause to mourn their swift account below.

When from beneath he saw the wand'ring sheep
That graz'd the level range along the steep,
Then rose, the wanton straglers home to call,
Before the pearly dews at ev'ning fall;
Perhaps new thoughts the rising ground supply,
And that employs his mind, which fills his eye.
From pointed hills, he crys, my wishes tend,
To that great hill from whence supports descend:
The Lord's that hill, that place of sure defence,
My wants obtain their certain help from thence.

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And as large hills projected shadows throw,
To ward the sun from off the vales below,
Or for their safety stop the blasts above,
That with raw vapours loaded, nightly rove;
So shall protection o'er his servants spread,
And I repose beneath the sacred shade,
Unhurt by rage, that like a summer's day,
Destroys and scorches with impetuous ray;
By wasting sorrows undepriv'd of rest
That fall like damps by moon-shine, on the breast.
Here from the mind the prospects seem to wear,
And leave the couch'd design appearing bare;
And now no more the Shepherd sings his Hill,
But sings the sovereign Lord's protection still.
For as he sees the night prepar'd to come
On wings of ev'ning, he prepares for home,
And in the song thus adds a blessing more,
To what the thought within the figure bore:
Eternal goodness manifestly still
Preserves my soul from each approach of ill:
Ends all my days, as all my days begin,
And keeps my goings and my comings in.

Here think the sinking sun descends apace,
And from thy first attempt, my fancy, cease;
Here bid the ruddy shepherd quit the plain,
And to the fold return his flocks again.
Go, least the lyon or the shagged bear,
Thy tender lambs with savage hunger tear;
Tho' neither bear nor lyon match thy might,
When in their rage they stood reveal'd to sight;
Go, least thy wanton sheep returning home,
Shou'd as they pass thro' doubtful darkness roam.
Go ruddy youth, to Beth'lem turn thy way,
On Beth'lem's road conclude the parting day.

Methinks he goes as twilight leads the night,
And sees the Crescent rise with silver light;
His words consider all the sparkling show,
With which the stars in golden order glow.
And what is man, he crys, that thus thy kind,
Thy wond'rous love, has lodg'd him in thy mind?
For him they glitter; him the beasts of prey,

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That scare my sheep, and these my sheep, obey.
O Lord, our Lord, with how deserv'd a fame,
Do's earth record the glories of thy name.
Then as he thus devoutly walks along,
And finds the road as finish'd with the song;
He sings with lifted hands and lifted eyes,
Be this, my God, an ev'ning sacrifice.

But now, the lowly dales, the trembling groves,
O'er which the whisper'd breeze serenely roves,
Leave all the course of working fancy clear,
Or only grace another subject here;
For in my purpose new designs arise,
Whose brightning images engage mine eyes.
Then here my verse thy louder accents raise,
Thy theme thro' lofty paths of glory trace,
Call forth his honours in imperial throngs
And strive to touch his more exalted songs.

While yet in humble vales his harp he strung,
While yet he follow'd after Ewes with young;
Eternal wisdom chose him for his own,
And from the flock advanc'd him to the throne;
That there his upright heart and prudent hand,
With more distinguish'd skill and high command,
Might act the shepherd in a noble sphere,
And take his nation into regal care.
He cou'd of mercy then and justice sing,
Those radiant virtues that adorn a king,
That make his reign blaze forth with bright renown,
Beyond those Gems whose splendour decks a crown:
That fixing peace, by temper'd love and fear,
Make plains abound, and barren mountains bear.
To thee to whom these attributes belong,
To thee my God, he cry'd, I send my song,
To thee from whom my regal glory came,
I sing the forms in which my court I frame;
Assist the models of imperfect skill,
O come with sacred aid, and fix my will.
A wise behaviour in my private ways,
And all my soul dispos'd to publick peace,
Shall daily strive to let my subjects see
A perfect pattern how to live in me.
Still will I think as still my glories rise,
To set no wicked thing before mine eyes.

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Nor will I choose the favourites of state
Among those men that have incur'd thine hate,
Whose vice but makes 'em scandalously great;
'Tis time, that all whose froward rage of heart
Wou'd vex my realm, shall from my realm depart;
'Tis time that all whose private sland'ring lye
Leads judgment falsly, shall by judgment dye;
And time the Great who loose the reins to pride,
Shall with neglect and scorn be laid aside.
But o'er the tracts that my commands obey,
I'll send my light with sharp disarming ray,
Thro' dark retreats where humble minds abide,
Thro' shades of peace where modest tempers hide;
To find the good that may support my state,
And having found them, then to make them great.
My voice shall raise them from the lonely cell,
With me to govern and with me to dwell.
My voice shall flatt'ry and deceit disgrace,
And in their room exulted virtue place;
That with an early care and stedfast hand,
The wicked perish from the faithful land.

When on the throne he sat in calm repose,
And with a royal hope his Offspring rose,
His prayers, anticipating time, reveal
Their deep concernment for the publick weal;
Upon a good forecasted thought they run,
For common blessings in the king begun:
For righteousness and judgment strictly fair,
Which from the king descends upon his heir.
So when his life and all his labour cease,
The reign succeeding brings succeeding peace;
So still the poor shall find impartial laws,
And Orphans still a guardian of their cause:
And stern oppression have its galling yoke,
And rabid teeth of prey to pieces broke.
Then wond'ring at the glories of his way,
His friends shall love, his daunted foes obey;
For peaceful Commerce neighb'ring kings apply
And with great presents court the grand ally.
For him rich gums shall sweet Arabia bear,
For him rich Sheba, mines of gold prepare,
Him Tharsis, him the foreign isles shall greet,
And ev'ry nation bend beneath his feet.

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And thus his honours far extended grow,
The type of great Messiah's reign below.

But worldly realms that in his accents shine,
Are left beneath the full advanc'd design,
When thoughts of empire in the mind encrease
O'er all the limits that determine place,
If thus the monarch's rising fancy move
To search for more unbounded realms above,
In which celestial courts the king maintains
And o'er the vast extent of nature reigns;
He then describes in elevated words,
His Israel's shepherd, as the Lord of Lords:
How bright between the Cherubims he sits,
What dazling lustre all his throne emits,
How righteousness with judgment join'd, support
The regal seat, and dignify the court.
How fairest honour and majestick state
The presence grace, and strength and beauty wait;
What glitt'ring ministers around him stand,
To fly like winds or flames at his command.
How sure the beams on which his palace rise
Are set in waters rais'd above the skies,
How wide the skies like outspread curtains fly
To vail majestick light from humane eye,
Or form'd the wide expanded vaults above,
Where storms are bounded tho' they seem to rove,
Where fire and hail and vapour so fulfil
The wise intentions of their makers will,
How well 'tis seen the great eternal mind
Rides on the clouds and walks upon the wind.

O wond'rous Lord! how bright thy glories shine,
The heav'ns declare, for what they boast is thine:
And yon blew tract, enrich'd with orbs of light,
In all its handy work displays thy might!

Again the monarch touch'd another strain,
Another province claim'd his verse again,
Where goodness infinite has fix'd a Sway,
Whose outstretch'd limits are the bounds of day.
Beneath this empire of extended air,
Yet still in reach of Providences care,
God plac'd the rounded earth with stedfast hand
And bid the basis ever firmly stand;
He bid the mountains from confusion's heaps

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Exalt their summits, and assume their shapes.
He bid the waters like a garment spread,
To form large seas, and as he spake, they fled;
His voice, his thunder made the waves obey,
And forward hasten, 'till they form'd the sea;
Then least with lawless rage the surges roar,
He mark'd their bounds, and girt them in with shoar;
He fill'd the land with brooks that trembling steal
Through winding hills along the flow'ry vale,
To which the beasts that graze the vale, retreat
For cool refreshings in the summers heat;
While perch'd in leaves upon the tender sprays
The birds around their singing voices raise.
He makes the vapours which he taught to fly,
Forsake the chambers of the clouds on high,
And golden harvest rich with ears of grain,
And Spiry blades of grass adorn the plain,
And grapes luxuriant chear the soul with wine,
And ointment shed, to make the visage shine.
Through trunks of trees, fermenting sap proceeds,
To feed, and tinge the living boughs it feeds:
So shoots the firr, where airy storks abide,
So cedar, Lebanon's aspiring pride,
Whose birds by God's appointment in their nest,
With green surrounded, lye secure of rest.
Where small encrease the barren mountains give,
There kine adapted to the feeding live,
There flocks of goats in healthy pastures browse,
And in their rocky entrails rabbits house.
Where forrests thick with shrub entangled stand,
Untrod the roads and desolate the land;
There close in coverts hide the beasts of prey
'Till heavy darkness creeps upon the day,
Then roar with hunger's voice, and range abroad
And in their method seek their meat from God;
And when the dawning edge of eastern air
Begins to purple, to their dens repair.
Man next succeeding, from the sweet repose
Of downy beds, to work appointed goes;
When first the morning sees the rising sun,
He sees their labours both at once begun,
And night returning with its starry train,
Perceives their labours done at once again.

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O manifold in works supremely wise,
How well thy gracious store the world supplies!
How all thy creatures on thy goodness call,
And that bestows a due support for all!
When from an open hand thy favours flow,
Rich bounty stoops to visit us below;
When from thy hand no more thy favours stream,
Back to the dust we turn from whence we came;
And when thy spirit gives the vital heat,
A sure succession keeps the kinds compleat;
The propagated seeds their forms retain,
And all the face of earth's renew'd again.
Thus, as you've seen th' effect reveal the cause,
Is nature's ruler known in nature's laws;
Thus still his pow'r is o'er the world display'd
And still rejoices in the world he made.
The Lord he reigns, the king of kings is king,
Let nations praise, and praises learn to sing.

My verses here may change their stile again,
And trace the Psalmist in another strain;
Where all his soul the soldiers spirit warms,
And to the musick fits the sound of arms,
Where brave disorder does in numbers dwell,
And artful number speaks disorder well.
Arise my genius and attempt the praise
Of dreaded pow'r and perilous essays,
And where his accents are too nobly great,
Like distant ecchos give the faint repeat.
For who like him with enterprizing pen,
Can paint the Lord of Hosts in wrath with men,
Or with just images of tuneful lay
Set all his terrors in their fierce array?
He comes! The tumult of discording spheres,
The quiv'ring shocks of earth, confess their fears;
Thick smoaks precede, and blasts of angry breath
That kindle dread devouring flames of death.
He comes! the firmament with dismal night
Bows down, and seems to fall upon the light,
The darkling mists inwrap his head around,
The waters deluge and the tempests sound,
While on the cherub's purple wings he flys,
And plants his black pavilion in the skies.
He comes! the clouds remove, the rattling hail

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Descending, bounds and scatters o'er the vale;
His voice is heard, his thunder speaks his ire,
His light'ning blasts with blue sulphurious fire,
His brandish'd bolts with swift commission go
To punish man's rebellious acts below.
His stern rebukes lay deepest ocean bare,
And solid earth by wide eruption tear;
Then glares the naked gulph with dismal ray,
And then the dark foundations see the day.
O God! let mercy this thy war asswage,
Alas! no mortal can sustain thy rage.

While I but strive the dire effects to tell,
And on another's words attentive dwell,
Confusing passions in my bosom roll,
And all in tumult work the troubled soul:
Remorse with pity, fear with sorrow blend,
And I but strive in vain; my verse, descend,
To less aspiring paths direct thy flight,
Tho' still the less may more than match thy might,
While I to second agents tune the strings,
And Israel's warrior, Israel's battles sings;
Great warrior he, and great to sing of war,
Whose lines (if ever lines prevail'd so far)
Might pitch the tents, compose the ranks anew,
To combat sound, and bring the toil to view.
O nation most securely rais'd in name,
Whose fair records he wrote for endless fame;
O nation oft victorious o'er thy foes,
At once thy conquests and thy thanks he shews;
For thus he sung the realms that must be thine
And made thee thus confess an aid divine.
When mercy look'd, the waves perceiv'd its sway,
And Israel pass'd the deep divided sea.
When mercy spake it, haughty Pharoah's host
And haughty Pharoah by the waves were tost.
When mercy led us through the desart sand,
We reach'd the borders of the promis'd land:
Then all the kings their gather'd armies brought,
And all those kings by mercy's help we fought:
There with their monarch Amor's people bleed,
For God was gracious, and the tribes succeed.
There monst'rous Ogg was fell'd on Basan's plain,
For God was gracious to the tribes again.

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At length their yoke the realms of Canaan feel,
And Israel sings that God is gracious still.

Nor has the warlike prince alone enroll'd
The wond'rous feats their fathers did of old;
His own emblazon'd acts adorn his lays,
These too may challenge just returns of praise.
My God! he crys, my surest rock of might,
My trust in dangers and my shield in fight,
Thy matchless bounties I with gladness own,
Nor find assistance but from thee alone;
Thy strength is armour, and my path success,
No pow'r like thee can thus securely bless;
When troops united wou'd arrest my course,
I break their files, and through their order force;
When in their towns they keep, my seige I form,
And leap the battlements, and lead the storm;
And when in camps abroad intrench'd they lye,
As swift as hinds in chace I bound on high;
My strenuous arms thou teachest how to kill,
And snap in sunder temper'd bows of steel;
My moving footsteps are enlarg'd by thee,
And kept from snares of planned ambush free;
And when my foes forsake the field of fight,
Then flush'd with conquest I pursue their flight;
In vain their fears that almost reach despair,
The trembling wretches from mine anger bear;
As swift as fear brisk warmth of conquest goes,
And at my feet dejects the wounded foes;
For help they call, but find their helper's gone,
For God's against them, and I drive them on:
As whirling dust in airy tumult fly
Before the tempest that involves the sky;
And in my rage's unavoided sway,
I tread their necks like abject heaps of clay.

The warriour thus in song his deeds express'd,
Nor vainly boasted what he but confess'd,
While warlike actions were proclaim'd abroad,
That all their praises, shou'd refer to God.

And here to make this bright design arise
In fairer splendor to the nation's eyes,
From private valour he converts his lays,
For yet the publick claim'd attempts of praise,
And publick conquests where they jointly fought,

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Thus stand recorded by reflecting thought;
God sent his Samuel from his holy seat
To bear the promise of my future state,
And I rejoicing see the tribes fulfil
The promis'd purpose of almighty will;
Subjected Sichem, sweet Samaria's plain,
And Succoth's valleys have confess'd my reign;
Remoter Gilead's hilly tracts obey,
Manasseh's parted sands accept my sway;
Strong Ephraim's sons, and Ephraim's ports are mine,
And mine the throne of princely Judah's line;
Then since my people with my standard go,
To bring the strength of adverse empire low:
Let Moab's soil, to vile subjection brought,
With groans declare how well our ranks have fought;
Let vanquish'd Edom bow its humbled head,
And tell how pompous on its pride I tread;
And now Philistia with thy conqu'ring host,
Dismaid and broke, of conquer'd Israel boast;
But if a Seir or Rabbah yet remain
On Johemaan's Hill, or Ammon's plain,
Lead forth our armies Lord, regard our prayer,
Lead Lord of battles and we'll conquer there.
As this the warrior spake, his heart arose,
And thus with grateful turn perform'd the close;
Though men to men their best assistance lend,
Yet men alone will but in vain befriend,
Through God we work exploits of high renown,
'Tis God that treads our great opposers down.

Hear now the praise of well disputed fields,
The best return victorious honour yields;
'Tis common good restor'd, when lovely peace
Is join'd with righteousness in strict embrace;
Hear all ye victors what your sword secures,
Hear all you nations for the cause is yours;
And when the joyful trumpets loudly sound,
When groaning captives in their ranks are bound;
When pillars lift the bloody plumes in air,
And broken shafts and batter'd armour bear,
When painted arches acts of war relate,
When slow procession's pomps augment the state,
When fame relates their worth among the throng,
Thus take from David their triumphant song;

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Oh clap your hands together, Oh rejoice
In God with melody's exalted voice,
Your sacred Psalm within his dwelling raise,
And for a pure oblation offer praise,
For the rich goodness plentifully shews,
He prospers our design upon our foes.
Then hither all ye nations hither run,
Behold the wonders which the Lord has done,
Behold with what a mind, the heap of slain,
He spreads the sanguine surface of the plain,
He makes the wars that mad confusion hurl'd,
Be spent in victories, and leave the world.
He breaks the bended bows, the spears of Ire,
And burns the shatter'd chariots in the Fire,
And bids the realms be still, the tumult cease,
And know the Lord of war, for Lord of peace;
Now may the tender youth in goodness rise,
Beneath the guidance of their parents eyes,
As tall young poplars when the rangers nigh,
To watch their risings least they shoot awry.
Now may the beauteous Daughters bred with care,
In modest rules and pious acts of fear,
Like polish'd corners of the Temple be,
So bright, so spotless, and so fit for thee.
Now may the various seasons bless the soil,
And plenteous Garners pay the Ploughman's toil;
Now sheep and kine upon the flow'ry meads,
Encrease in thousands and ten thousand heads,
And now no more the sound of grief complains,
For those that fall in fight, or live in chains;
Here when the blessings are proclaim'd aloud,
Join all the voices of the thankful crowd,
Let all that feel them thus confess their part,
Thus own their worth with one united heart;
Happy the realm which God vouchsafes to bless
With all the glories of a bright success!
And happy thrice the realm if thus he please,
To crown those glories with the sweets of ease.

From warfare finish'd, on a chain of thought
To bright attempts of future rapture wrought;
Yet stronger, yet thy pinnions stronger raise,
Oh fancy, reigning in the pow'r of lays.

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For Sion's Hill thine airy courses hold,
'Twas there thy David Prophecy'd of old,
And there devout in contemplation sit,
In holy vision and extatick fit.

Methinks I seem to feel the charm begin,
Now sweet contentment tunes my soul within,
Now wond'rous soft arising musick plays,
And now full sounds upon the sense encrease;
Tis David's Lyre, his artful fingers move,
To court the spirit from the realms above,
And pleas'd to come where holiness attends,
The courted spirit from above descends.
Hence on the Lyre and voice new graces rest,
And bright Prophetick forms enlarge the breast;
Hence firm decrees his mystick Hymns relate,
Affix'd in Heav'ns adamantine gate,
The glories of the most important age,
And Christ's blest empire seen by sure presage.

When in a distant view with inward eyes,
He sees the Son descending from the skies,
To take the form of Man for Mankind's sake,
Tis thus he makes the great Messiah speak:
It is not, Father, blood of bullocks slain
Can cleanse the World from universal stain,
Such Off'rings are not here requir'd by thee,
But point at mine, and leave the work for me;
To perfect which, as Servants ears they drill,
In sign of op'ning to their Masters will,
Thy will wou'd open mine, and have me bear,
My sign of Ministry, the body there.
Prophetick volumes of our state assign
The worlds redemption as an act of mine,
And lo, with chearful and obedient heart,
I come, my father, to perform my part.
So spake the Son, and left his throne above,
When wings to bear him were prepar'd by love,
When with their Monarch on the great descent,
Sweet humbleness and gentle patience went,
Fair sisters both, both bless'd in his esteem,
And both appointed here to wait on him.

But now before the Prophet's ravish'd eyes,
Succeeding Prospects of his Life arise,

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And here he teaches all the world to sing,
Those strains in which the nation own'd him King.
When boughs as at an holy feast they bear,
To shew the Godhead manifested there;
And garments as a mark of glory strow'd,
Declar'd a Prince proclaim'd upon the road;
This day the Lord hath made we will employ
In songs, he crys, and consecrate to joy.
Hosannah, Lord, Hosannah, shed thy peace,
Hosannah, long expecting nations grace,
Oh, bless'd in honour's height triumphant, thou
That wast to come, Oh bless thy people now.

Twere easy dwelling here with fix'd delight,
And much the sweet engagement of the sight;
But fleeting visions each on other throng,
And change the musick and demand the song.
Ah! musick chang'd by sadly moving show,
Ah! song demanded in excess of woe!
For what was all the gracious Saviour's stay,
Whilst here he trod in Life's encumber'd way,
But troubled patience, persecuted breath,
Neglected sorrows, and afflicting death?
Approach ye sinners, think the garden shews
His bloody sweat of full arising throes,
Approach his grief, and hear him thus complain
Through David's person, and in David's strain.

Oh save me God, thy floods about me roll,
Thy wrath divine hath overflow'd my soul,
I come at length where rising waters drown,
And sink in deep affliction deeply down.
Deceitful snares to bring me to the dead,
Lye ready plac'd in ev'ry path I tread;
And Hell itself, with all that Hell contains,
Of fiends accurs'd, and dreadful change of pains;
To daunt firm will, and cross the good design'd,
With strong temptations fasten on the mind;
Such grief such sorrows in amazing view,
Distracted fears and heaviness pursue.
Ye sages deeply read in human frame,
The passions causes, and their wild extream,
Where mov'd an object more oppos'd to bliss,
What other agony cou'd equal his?

The musick still proceeds with mournful airs,

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And speaks the dangers, as it speaks the fears.
Oh sacred Presence from the son withdrawn,
Oh God my father wither art thou gone?
Oh must my soul bewail tormenting pain,
And all my words of anguish fall in vain?
The trouble's near in which my life will end,
But none is near that will assistance lend;
Like Basan's bulls my foes against me throng
So proud, inhuman, numberless, and strong.
Like desart lyons on their prey they go,
So much their fierce desire of blood they shew:
As ploughers wound the ground, they tore my back
And long deep furrows manifest the track.
They pierc'd my tender hands, my tender feet,
And caus'd sharp pangs, where nerves in numbers meet;
Rich streams of life forsake my rended veins
And fall like water spill'd upon the plains;
My bones that us'd in hollow seats to close,
Disjoint with anguish of convulsive throes;
My mourning heart is melted in my frame
As wax dissolving runs before a flame,
My strength dries up, my flesh the moisture leaves,
And on my tongue my clammy palate cleaves.
Alass! I thirst, alass! for drink I call,
For drink they give me vinegar and gall.
To sportful game the savage soldiers go
And for my vesture on my vesture throw;
While all deride who see me thus forlorn
And shoot their lips and shake their heads in scorn.
And with despiteful jest, behold, they cry,
The great peculiar darling of the sky,
He trusted God wou'd save his soul from woe,
Now God may have him if he loves him so.
But to the dust of death by quick decay
I come, O Father, be not long away.
And was it thus the prince of life was slain?
And was it thus he dy'd for worthless men?
Yes blessed Jesus! thus in ev'ry line
These suff'rings which the Prophet spake were thine.

Come christian to the corps, in spirit come,
And with true signs of grief surround the tomb.
Upon the threshold stone let sin be slain,
Such sacrifice will best avenge his pain.

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Bring thither then repentance, sighs and tears,
Bring mortify'd desires, bring holy fears;
And earnest pray'r express'd from thoughts that roll
Through broken mind, and groanings of the soul;
These scatter on his hearse, and so prepare
Those obsequies the Jews deny'd him there,
While in your hearts the flames of love may burn,
To dress the vault, like lamps in sacred urn.
There oft my soul in such a grateful way,
Thine humblest homage with the godly pay.

But David strikes the sounding chords anew,
And to thy first design recalls thy view;
From life to death, from death to life he flies
And still pursues his object in his eyes.
And here recounts in more enliven'd song
The sacred Presence, not absented long.
The flesh not suffer'd in the grave to dwell,
The soul not suffer'd to remain in hell;
But as the conqueror fatigu'd in war,
With hot pursuit of enemies afar,
Reclines to drink the torrent gliding by,
Then lifts his looks to repossess the sky,
So bow'd the Son in life's uneasy road,
With anxious toil, and thorny danger strew'd;
So bow'd the son, but not to find relief,
But taste the deep imbitter'd floods of grief;
So when he tasted these he rais'd his head,
And left the sabled mansions of the dead,
Ere mould'ring time consum'd the bones away,
Or slow corruption's worms had work'd decay;
Here faith's foundations, all the soul employ
With springing graces, springing beams of joy,
Then paus'd the voice where nature's seen to pause,
And for a time suspend her ancient laws.

From hence arising as the glories rise,
That must advance above the lofty skies,
He runs with sprightly fingers o'er the Lyre,
And fills new songs with new celestial fire:
In which he shews by fair description's ray,
The Christ's Ascention, to the realms of day;
When Justice, pleas'd with life already paid,
Unbends her brows, and sheaths her angry blade;

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And meditates rewards, and will restore
What mercy woo'd him to forsake before,
When on a cloud with gilded edge of light,
He rose above the reach of human sight,
And met the pomp that hung aloft in air
To make his honours more exceeding fair.
See, cries the prophet, how the chariots wait
To bear him upwards in triumphant state,
By twenty thousands in unnumber'd throng,
And Angels draw the glitt'ring ranks along.
The Lord amongst them sits in glory dress'd,
Nor more the Presence Sinai mount confest.
And now the chariots have begun to fly,
The triumph moves, the Lord ascends on high,
And Sin and Satan, us'd to captive men,
Are dragg'd for captives in his ample train;
While as he goes seraphick circles sing
The wond'rous conquest of their wond'rous king,
With shouts of joy their heav'nly voices raise,
And with shrill trumpets manifest his praise.
From such a point of such exceeding height
A while my verses stoop their airy flight,
And seem for rest on Olivet to breath,
And charge the two that stand in white beneath,
That as they move and join the moving rear,
Within their honour'd hands aloft they bear
The crown of thorns, the cross on which he dy'd,
The nails that pierc'd his limbs, the spear his side;
Then where kind mercy lays the thunder by,
Where Peace has hung great Michael's arms on high,
Let these adorn his magazine above,
And hang the trophies of victorious love,
Least man by superstitious mind entic'd,
Shou'd idolize whatever touch'd the Christ.

But still the Prophet in the spirit soars
To new Jerusalem's imperial doors;
There sees and hears the bless'd angelick throng,
There feels their musick, and records their song:
Or with the vision warm'd, attempts to write
For those inhabitants of native light,
And teaches harmony's distinguish'd parts,
In sweet respondence of united hearts;

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For thus without might warbling angels sing,
Their course containing on the flutter'd wing;
Eternal gates! your stately portals rear,
Eternal gates! your ways of joy prepare,
The king of glory for admittance stays,
He comes, he'll enter, O prepare your ways;
Then bright arch-angels that attend the wall,
Might thus upon the beauteous order call;
Ye fellow ministers that now proclaim
Your king of glory, tell his awful name.
At which the beauteous order will accord,
And sound of solemn notes pronounce the Lord,
The Lord endew'd with strength, renown'd for might,
With spoils returning from the finish'd fight.
Again with Lays they charm the sacred gates,
And graces double while the song repeats,
Again within the sacred guardians sing,
And ask the name of their victorious king,
And then again the Lord's the name rebounds
From tongue to tongue, catch'd up in frequent rounds.

New thrones and pow'rs appear, to lift the gate,
And David still pursues their enter'd state;
Oh prophet! father! whither woudst thou fly?
Oh mystick Israel's chariot for the sky,
Thou sacred spirit! what a wond'rous height,
By thee supported, soars his airy flight!
For glimpse of Majesty divine is brought,
Among the shifted prospects of the thought;
Dread sacred sight! I dare not gaze for fear,
But sit beneath the singers feet and hear,
And hold each sound that interrupts the mind,
Thus in a calm by pow'r of verse confin'd.

Ye dreadful ministers of God, displeas'd,
Loud blasting tempests, be no longer rais'd!
Ye deep mouth'd thunders leave your direful groan,
Nor roll in hollow clouds around the throne,
The still small voice more justly will express
How great Jehovah did the Lord address,
And you bright feather'd choirs of endless peace,
A while from tuneful Hallelujahs cease,
A while stand fix'd with deep attentive care,
You'll have the time to sing for ever there.
The royal prophet will the silence break,

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And in his words almighty goodness speak.
He spake (and smil'd to see the business done,)
Thou art my first, my great begotten son;
Here on the right of Majesty sit down,
Enjoy thy conquest and receive thy crown,
While I thy worship and renown compleat,
And make thy foes the foot-stool of thy feet,
For I'll pronounce the long resolv'd decree,
My sacred Sion be reserv'd for thee.
From thence thy peaceful rod of pow'r extend,
From thence thy messenger of mercy send,
And teach thy vanquish'd enemies to bow,
And rule where Hell has fix'd an empire now.
Then ready nations to their rightful king,
The free-will off'rings of their hearts shall bring,
In holy beauties for acceptance dress'd,
And ready nations be with pardon bless'd;
Mean while thy dawn of truth begins the day,
Enlightened subjects shall encrease thy sway,
With such a splendid and unnumber'd train,
As dews in morning fill the grassy plain.
This by myself I swore; the great intent
Has past my sanction and I can't repent;
Thou art a king and priest of peace below,
Like Salem's monarch and for ever so.
Ask what thou wilt, 'tis thine; the gentiles claim,
For thy possession take the world's extream,
The kings shall rage, the parties strive in vain,
By persecuting rage to break thy reign;
Thou art my Christ and they that still can be
Rebellious subjects, be destroy'd by thee.
Bring like the Potter to severe decay,
Thy worthless creatures, found in humble clay.
Then hear ye monarchs, and ye judges hear,
Rejoice with trembling, serve the Lord with fear,
In his commands with signs of homage move,
And kiss the gracious offers of his love;
Ye surely perish if his anger flame,
And only they be bless'd that bless his name.
Thus does the Christ in David's anthems shine,
With full magnificence of art divine,
Then on his subjects gifts of grace bestow,
And spread his Image on their hearts below,

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As when our earthly kings receive the globe,
The sacred unction and the purple robe,
And mount the throne with golden glory crown'd,
They scatter medals of themselves around;
There heav'nly singers clap their vary'd wings,
And lead the choir of all created things,
Relate his glory's everlasting prime,
His fame continu'd with the length of time,
While e're the Sun shall dart a gilded beam,
Or changing Moons diffuse the silver'd gleam,
Where e're the waves of rolling ocean sent,
Encompass land with arms of wide extent.
Hail, full of mercy, ready nations cry!
Hail, for ever, ever bless'd on high!
Hail, Oh for ever on thy beauteous throne!
Thou Lord that workest wond'rous things alone,
Still let thy glory to the world appear,
And all the riches of thy goodness hear.

But thou fair Church in whom he fixes love,
Thou queen accepted of the prince above;
Behold him fairer than the sons of men,
Embrace his offer'd heart, and share his reign;
In Moses's laws they bred thy tender years,
But now to new commands incline thine ears,
Forget thy people, bear no more in mind
Thy Father's houshold, for thy spouse is kind.
Within thy soul let vain affections dye,
Him only worship, and with him comply.
So shall thy spouse's heart with thine agree,
So shall his fervour still encrease for thee.
Come while he calls, supremely favour'd queen,
In heav'nly glories dress thy soul within;
With pious actions to the throne be brought,
In close connection of the virtues wrought,
Let these around thee for a garment shine,
And be the work to make them pleasing, thine:
Come, lovely queen, advance with stately port,
Thy good companions shall compleat thy court,
With joyful souls their joyful entrance sing,
And fill the palace of your gracious king.
What tho' thy Moses and the prophets cease,
What tho' the Priesthood leaves the settled race,
The Father's place their offspring well supplies,

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When at thy spouse's Ministry they rise,
When thy bless'd houshold on his orders go,
And rule for him where'er he reigns below.
Come, Queen exalted, come, my lasting song
To future ages shall thy fame prolong.
The joyful nations shall thy praise proclaim,
And for their safety crowd beneath thy name.
Oh bounteous Saviour! still thy mercy kind,
Still what thy David sung, thy servants find,
Still why thy David sung thy servants see,
From thee sent down, and sent again to thee.
They see the words of thanks and love divine,
In strains mysterious intermingl'd shine,
As sweet and rich unite in costly waves,
When purling gold the purpled webb receives,
And still the Church he shadow'd hears the lays,
In daily service as an aid to praise.
At these her temper good devotion warms,
And mounts aloft with more engaging charms.
Then as she strives to reach the lofty sky,
Bids gratitude assist her will to fly;
In these our gratitude becomes on fire,
Then feels its flames improv'd by strong desire,
Then feels desire in eager wishes move,
And wish determine in the point of love.

Such hymns to regulate and such to raise,
Approach, ye sounding instruments of praise.
Tis fit you tune for him whose holy love,
In wish aspiring to the choir above,
And fond to practice e're his time to go,
Devoutly call'd you to the choir below;
There where he plac'd you, with your solemn sound,
For Gods high glory fill the sacred ground,
And there and ev'ry where his wond'rous name,
Within his firmament of pow'r proclaim.
Soft pleasing lutes with easy sweetness move,
To touch the sentiments of Heav'nly love,
Assist the Lyre and voice to tell the charms
That gently stole him from the Father's arms;
Gay trembling Timbrels us'd with airs of mirth,
Assist the loud Hosannah rais'd on earth,

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When on an Ass he meekly rides along,
And multitudes are heard within the song.
Full-tenor'd Psalt'ry, join the doleful part,
In which his agony possest his heart;
And seem to feel thyself, and seem to shew,
Arising heaviness and signs of woe.
Sonorous organ at his passion moan,
And utter forth thy sympathizing groan,
In big slow murmurs anxious sorrow speak,
While melancholy winds thine entrails shake,
As when he suffer'd, with complaining sound,
The storms in vaulted caverns shook the ground;
Swift chearful cymbals give an airy strain,
When having bravely broke the doubled chain,
Of Death and Hell, he left the conquer'd grave,
And rose to visit those he dy'd to save.
And as he mounts in song and Angels sing
With grand procession their returning king,
Triumphant trumpets raise their notes on high,
And make them seem to mount, and seem to fly.
Then all at once conspire to praise the Lord,
In musick's full consent, and just accord:
Ye sons of art, in such melodious way
Conclude the service which you join to pay,
While nations sing Amen, and yet again,
Hold forth the note and sing aloud Amen.

Here has my fancy gone where David leads,
Now softly pacing o'er the grassy meads,
Now nobly mounting where the monarchs rear
The gilded spires of palaces in air,
Now shooting thence upon the level flight,
To dreadful dangers and the toils of fight,
Anon with utmost stretch ascending far,
Beyond the region of the farthest star;
As sharpest sighted eagles tow'ring fly,
To weather their broad sails in open sky,
At length on wings half clos'd slide gently down,
And one attempt shall all my labours crown.
In other's verse the rest be better shewn,
But this is more, or should be more, thine own.

If then the spirit that supports my lines,
Have prov'd unequal to my large designs,
Let others rise from earthly passion's dream,

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By me provok'd to vindicate the theme.
Let others round the world in rapture rove,
Or with strong feathers fan the breeze above,
Or walk the dusky shades of death, and dive
Down Hell's abyss, and mount again alive.
But Oh my God! may these unartful rhimes,
In sober words of woe bemoan my crimes.
Tis fit the sorrows I for ever vent,
For what I never can enough repent;
Tis fit, and David shews the moving way,
And with his pray'r instructs my soul to pray.
Then since thy guilt is more than match'd by me,
And since my troubles shou'd with thine agree,
O Muse to glories in affliction born!
May thine humility my soul adorn.
For humblest prayers are most affecting strains,
As Mines lye rich in lowly planted veins;
Such aid I want to render mercy kind,
And such an aid as here I want I find:
Thy weeping accents in my numbers run,
Ah thought! ah voice of inward dole begun!

My God, whose anger is appeas'd by tears,
Bow gently down thy mercy's gracious ears;
With many tongues my sins for justice call,
But mercy's ears are manifold for all.
Those sweet celestial windows open wide,
And in full streams let soft compassion glide,
There wash my soul and cleanse it yet again,
O th'roughly cleanse it from the guilty stain,
For I my life with inward anguish see,
And all its wretchedness confess to thee.
The large Inditement stands before my view,
Drawn forth by conscience, most amazing true,
And fill'd with secrets hid from human eye,
When foolish man, thy God stood witness by.
Then Oh, thou majesty divinely great,
Accept the sad confessions I repeat,
Which clear thy justice to the world below,
Shou'd dismal sentence doom my soul to woe.
When in the silent womb my shape was made,
And from the womb to lightsome life convey'd,
Curs'd sin began to take unhappy root,
And thro' my veins its early fibres shoot;

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And then what goodness did'st thou shew, to kill
The rising weeds, and principles of ill;
When to my breast in fair celestial flame,
Eternal truth and lovely wisdom came,
Bright gift by simple nature never got,
But here reveal'd to change the antient blot.
This wond'rous help which mercy pleas'd to grant,
Continue still, for still thine aid I want,
And as the men whom leprosies invade,
Or they that touch the carcase of the dead,
With Hysop sprinkled and by water clean'd,
Their former pureness in the law regain'd;
So purge my soul diseas'd alas! within,
And much polluted with dead works of sin.
For such bless'd favours at thine hand I sue,
Be grace thine Hysop and thy water too.
Then shall my whiteness for perfection vie
With blanching snows that newly leave the sky.
Thus through my mind thy voice of gladness send,
Thus speak the joyful word, I will be clean'd;
That all my strength consum'd with mournful pain,
May by thy saving health rejoice again:
And now no more my foul offences see,
Oh turn from these, but turn thee not from me,
Or least they make me too deform'd a sight,
Oh, blot them with oblivion's endless night.
Then further pureness to thy servant grant,
Another heart, or change in this, I want.
Create another, or the change create,
For now my vile corruption is so great,
It seems a new creation to restore
Its fall'n estate to what it was before.
Renew my spirit, raging in my breast,
And all its passions in their course arrest,
Or turn their motions, widely gone astray,
And fix their footsteps in thy righteous way.
When this is granted, when again I'm whole,
Oh ne'er withdraw thy presence from my soul:
There let it shine, so let me be restor'd
To present joy which conscious hopes afford.
There let it sweetly shine, and o'er my breast
Diffuse the dawning of eternal rest;
Then shall the wicked this compassion see,

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And learn thy worship and thy works from me.
For I to such occasions of thy praise
Will tune my lyre, and consecrate my lays.
Unseal my lips, where guilt and shame have hung
To stop the passage of my grateful tongue,
And let my prayer and song ascend, my prayer
Here join'd with saints, my song with angels there;
Yet neither prayer I'd give, nor songs alone,
If other off'rings were as much thy own:
But thine's the contrite spirit, thine's an heart
Oppress'd with sorrow, broke with inward smart;
That at thy footstool in confession shews
How well its faults, how well the judge it knows;
That sin with sober resolution flies,
This gift thy mercy never will despise.
Then in my soul a mystick altar rear,
And such a sacrifice I'll offer there;
There shall it stand in vows of virtue bound,
There falling tears shall wash it all around;
And sharp remorse, yet sharper edg'd by woe,
Deserv'd and fear'd, inflict the bleeding blow;
There shall my thoughts to holy breathings fly
Instead of incense to perfume the sky,
And thence my willing heart aspires above,
A victim panting in the flames of love.

Solomon.

As thro' the Psalms from theme to theme I chang'd,
Methinks like Eve in Paradice I rang'd;
And ev'ry grace of song I seem'd to see,
As the gay pride of ev'ry season, she.
She gently treading all the walks around,
Admir'd the springing beauties of the ground,
The lilly glist'ring with the morning dew,
The rose in red, the violet in blew,
The pink in pale, the bells in purple rows,
And tulips colour'd in a thousand shows:
Then here and there perhaps she pull'd a flow'r
To strew with moss, and paint her leafy bow'r;
And here and there, like her I went along,

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Chose a bright strain, and bid it deck my song.

But now the sacred Singer leaves mine eye,
Crown'd as he was, I think he mounts on high;
Ere this Devotion bore his heav'nly psalms,
And now himself bears up his harp and palms.
Go, saint triumphant, leave the changing sight,
So fitted out, you suit the realms of light;
But let thy glorious robe at parting go,
Those realms have robes of more effulgent show;
It flies, it falls, the flutt'ring silk I see,
Thy son has caught it and he sings like thee,
With such election of a theme divine,
And such sweet grace, as conquers all but thine.

Hence, ev'ry writer o'er the fabled streams,
Where frolick fancies sport with idle dreams,
Or round the sight enchanted clouds dispose,
Whence wanton cupids shoot with gilded bows;
A nobler writer, strains more brightly wrought,
Themes more exulted, fill my wond'ring thought:
The parted skies are track'd with flames above,
As love descends to meet ascending love;
The seasons flourish where the spouses meet,
And earth in gardens spreads beneath their feet.
This fresh-bloom prospect in the bosom throngs,
When Solomon begins his song of songs,
Bids the rap'd soul to Lebanon repair,
And lays the scenes of all his action there,
Where as he wrote, and from the bow'r survey'd
The scenting groves, or answ'ring knots he made,
His sacred art the sights of nature brings,
Beyond their use, to figure heav'nly things.

Great son of God! whose gospel pleas'd to throw
Round thy rich glory, veils of earthly show,
Who made the vineyard oft thy church design,
Who made the marriage-feast a type of thine,
Assist my verses which attempt to trace
The shadow'd beauties of celestial grace,
And with illapses of seraphick fire
The work which pleas'd thee once, once more inspire.

Look, or illusion's airy visions draw,
Or now I walk the gardens which I saw,
Where silver waters feed a flow'ring spring,
And winds salute it with a balmy wing.

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There on a bank, whose shades directly rise
To screen the sun, and not exclude the skies,
There sits the sacred church; methinks I view
The spouse's aspect and her ensigns too.
Her face has features where the virtues reign,
Her hands the book of sacred love contain,
A light (truth's emblem) on her bosom shines
And at her side the meekest lamb reclines:
And oft on heav'nly lectures in the book,
And oft on heav'n itself, she cast a look;
Sweet, humble, fervent zeal that works within
At length bursts forth, and raptures thus begin.

Let Him, that Him my soul adores above,
In close communions breath his holy love;
For these bless'd words his pleasing lips impart,
Beyond all cordials, chear the fainting heart.
As rich and sweet, the precious ointments stream,
So rich thy graces flow, so sweet thy name
Diffuses sacred joy; tis hence we find
Affection rais'd in ev'ry virgin mind;
For this we come, the daughters here and I,
Still draw we forward, and behold I fly,
I fly through mercy, when my king invites,
To tread his chambers of sincere delights;
There, join'd by mystick union, I rejoice,
Exalt my temper, and enlarge my voice,
And celebrate thy joys, supremely more
Than earthly bliss; thus upright hearts adore.
Nor you ye maids, who breath of Salem's air,
Nor you refuse that I conduct you there;
Tho' clouding darkness hath eclips'd my face,
Dark as I am, I shine with beams of grace,
As the black tents, where Ishmael's line abides,
With glitt'ring trophies dress their inward sides;
Or as thy curtains, Solomon, are seen,
Whose plaits conceal a golden throne within.
'Twere wrong to judge me by the carnal sight,
And yet my visage was by nature white,
But fiery suns which persecute the meek,
Found me abroad, and scorch'd my rosy cheek.
The world, my brethren, they were angry grown,
They made me dress a vineyard not my own,
Among their rites, (their vines) I learn'd to dwell,

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And in the mean employ my beauty fell;
By frailty lost, I gave my labour o'er
And my own vineyard grew deform'd the more.
Behold I turn, O say my soul's desire,
Where do'st thou feed thy flock and where retire
To rest that flock, when noon-tide heats arise?
Shepherd of Israel, teach my dubious eyes
To guide me right, for why shou'd thine abide
Where wand'ring shepherds turn their flocks aside?

So spake the church and sigh'd, a purple light
Sprung forth, the Godhead stood reveal'd to sight,
And heav'n and nature smil'd; as white as snow
His seamless vesture loosely fell below;
Sedate and pleas'd he nodded, round his head
The pointed glory shook, and thus he said:
If thou the loveliest of the beauteous kind,
If thou canst want thy shepherd's walk to find,
Go by the foot-steps where my flocks have trod,
My saints obedient to the laws of God,
Go where their tents my teaching servants rear,
And feed the kids, thy young believers there.
Shou'd thus my flocks increase, my fair delight,
I view their numbers, and compare the sight
To Pharaoh's Horses, when they take the field,
Beat plains to dust, and make the nations yield.
With rows of gems, thy comely cheeks I deck,
And chains of pendant gold o'erflow thy neck,
For so like gems the riches of my grace,
And so descending glory, chears thy face:
Gay bridal robes a flow'ring silver strows,
Bright gold engrailing on the border glows.

He spake, the spouse admiring heard the sound,
Then meekly bending on the sacred ground,
She cries, Oh present to my ravish'd breast,
This sweet communion is an inward feast;
There sits the king, while all around our heads,
His grace, my Spikenard, pleasing odours sheds;
About my soul his holy comfort flies,
So closely treasur'd in the bosom lies
The bundled myrrhe, so sweet the scented gale
Breaths all En-gedi's aromatick vale.
Now says the king, my love, I see thee fair,

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Thine eyes for mildness with the dove's compare.

No, thou, belov'd, art fair, the church replies,
(Since all my beauties but from thee arise,)
All fair, all pleasant, these communions shew
Thy councels pleasant, and thy comforts so.
And as at marriage feasts they strow the flow'rs,
With nuptial chaplets hang the summer bow'rs,
And make the rooms of smelling cedars fine,
Where the fond bridegroom and the bride recline;
I dress my soul, with such exceeding care,
With such, with more, to court thy presence there.

Well hast thou prais'd, he says; the Sharon rose
Through flow'ry fields a pleasing odour throws,
The valley-lillies ravish'd sense regale,
And with pure whiteness paint their humble vale;
Such names of sweetness are thy lover's due,
And thou my love, be thou a lilly too,
A lilly set in thorns; for all I see,
All other daughters are as thorns to thee.

Then she; the trees that pleasing apples yield,
Surpass the barren trees that cloath the field,
So you surpass the sons with worth divine,
So shade, and fruit as well as shade, is thine.
I sat me down, and saw thy branches spread,
And green protection flourish o'er my head,
I saw thy fruit, the soul's celestial food,
I pull'd, I tasted, and I found it good.
Hence in the spirit to the blissful seats,
Where love, to feast, mysteriously retreats,
He led me forth; I saw the banner rear,
And love was pencil'd for the motto there.
Prophets and teachers, in your care combine,
Stay me with apples, comfort me with wine,
The cordial promises of joys above,
For hope deferr'd has made me sick with love.
Ah! while my tongue reveals my fond desire,
His hands support me, least my life expire;
As round a child the parent's arms are plac'd,
This holds the head, and that enfolds the waist.

Here ceas'd the church, and lean'd her languid head
Bent down with joy, when thus the lover said:
Behold, ye daughters of the realm of peace,

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She sleeps, at least her thoughts of sorrow cease.
Now, by the bounding roes, the skipping fawns,
Near the cool brooks, or o'er the grassy lawns,
By all the tender innocents that rove,
Your hourly charges in my sacred grove,
Guard the dear charge from each approach of ill,
I wou'd not have her wake, but when she will.

So rest the church and spouse, my verses so
Appear to languish with the flames you shew,
And pausing rest; but not the pause be long,
For still thy Solomon pursues the song.
Then keep the place in view; let sweets more rare
Than earth produces, fill the purpled air;
Let something solemn overspread the green
Which seems to tell us, here the Lord has been:
But let the virgin still in prospect shine,
And other strains of hers, enliven mine.
She wakes, she rises; bid the whisp'ring breeze
More softly whisper in the waving trees,
Or fall with silent awe; bid all around,
Before the church's voice, abate their sound,
While thus her shadowy strains attempt to shew
A future advent of the spouse below.

Hark! my beloved's voice! behold him too!
Behold him coming in the distant view,
No clamb'ring mountains make my lover stay,
(For what are mountains, in a lover's way?)
Leaping he comes, how like the nimble roe
He runs the paths his prophets us'd to shew!
And now he looks from yon partition wall,
Built till he comes—'tis only then to fall,
And now he's nearer in the promise seen,
Too faint the sight—tis with a glass between;
From hence I hear him as a lover speak,
Who near a window, calls a fair to wake.

Attend ye virgins, while the words that trace
An opening spring, design the day of grace.
Hark! or I dream, or else I hear him say,
Arise my love, my fair one, come away,
For now the tempests of thy winter end,
Thick rains no more in heavy drops descend,
Sweet painted flow'rs their silken leaves unclose,
And dress the face of earth with vari'd shows;

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In the green wood the singing birds renew
Their chirping notes, the silver turtles coo:
The trees that yield the fig, already shoot,
And knit their blossoms for their early fruit;
With fragrant scents the vines refresh the day,
Arise my love, my fair one come away.
O come my dove, forsake thy close retreat,
For close in safety hast thou fix'd thy seat,
As fearful pidgeons in dark clefts abide,
And safe the clefts their tender charges hide.
Now let thy looks with modest guise appear,
Now let thy voice salute my longing ear,
For in thy looks an humble mind I see,
Prayer forms thy voice, and both are sweet to me.
To save the bloomings of my vineyard, haste,
Which foxes, (false deluding teachers) waste;
Watch well their haunts, and catch the foxes there,
Our grapes are tender and demand the care.
Thus speaks my love: surprizing love divine!
I thus am his, he thus for ever mine.
And 'till he comes, I find a presence still,
Where souls attentive serve his holy will,
Where down in vales unspotted lillies grow,
White types of innocence, in humble show.
O 'till the spicy breath of heav'nly day,
Till all thy shadows fleet before thy ray,
Turn my beloved with thy comforts here,
Turn in thy promise, in thy grace appear,
Nor let such swiftness in the roes be shown
To save themselves, as thou to chear thine own;
Turn like the nimble harts that lightly bound
Before the stretches of the fleetest hound,
Skim the plain chace of lofty Bether's head,
And make the mountain wonder if they tread.

But long expectance of a bliss delay'd
Breeds anxious doubt, and tempts the sacred maid;
Then mists arising strait repel the light,
The colour'd garden lies disguis'd with night,
A pale-horn'd crescent leads a glimm'ring throng,
And groans of absence jarr within the song.

By night, she cries, a night which blots the mind,
I seek the lover, whom I fail to find;
When on my couch compos'd to thought I lie,

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I search, and vainly search with reason's eye;
Rise fondly rise, thy present search give o'er
And ask if others know thy lover more.
Dark as it is, I rise, the moon that shines,
Shows by the gleam, the city's outward lines,
I range the wand'ring road, the winding street,
And ask, but ask in vain, of all I meet,
'Till, toil'd with ev'ry disappointing place
My steps the guardians of the temple trace,
Whom thus my wish accosts, ye sacred guides,
Ye prophets, tell me where my love resides?
'Twas well I question'd, scarce I pass'd them by,
Ere my rais'd soul perceives my lover nigh:
And have I found thee, found my joy divine?
How fast I'll hold thee, 'till I make thee mine.
My mother waits thee, thither thou repair,
Long waiting Israel wants thy presence there.
The lover smiles to see the virgin's pain,
The mists roll off, and quit the flow'ry plain.

Yes, here I come, he says, thy sorrow cease,
And guard her, daughters of the realms of peace,
By all the bounding roes and skipping fawns,
Near the cool brooks, or o'er the grassy lawns,
By all the tender innocents that rove,
Your hourly charges, in my sacred grove;
Guard the dear charge from each approach of ill,
I'll have her feel my comforts, while she will.

Here hand in hand with chearful heart they go,
When wand'ring Salem sees the solemn show,
Dreams the rich pomp of Solomon again,
And thus her daughters sing the approaching scene.

Who from the desart, where the waving clouds
High Sinai pierces, comes involv'd with crowds?
For Sion's hill her sober pace she bends,
As grateful incense from the Dome ascends.
It seems the sweets from all Arabia shed,
Curl at her side, and hover o'er her head.
For her the king prepares a bed of state,
Round the rich bed her guards in order wait,
All mystick Israel's sons, 'tis there they quell
The foes within, the foes without repel.
The guard his ministry, their swords of fight
His sacred laws, her present state of night.

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He forms a chariot too to bring her there,
Not the carv'd frame of Solomon's so fair;
Sweet smells the chariot as the temple stood,
The fragrant cedar lent them both the wood,
High wreaths of silver'd columns prop the door,
Fine gold entrail'd, adorns the figur'd floor,
Deep fringing purple hangs the roof above,
And silk embroid'ry paints the midst with love.

Go forth ye daughters, Sion's daughters go,
A greater Solomon exalts the show,
If crown'd with gold, and by the queen bestow'd,
To grace his nuptials, Jacob's monarch rode;
A crown of glory from the king divine,
To grace these nuptials, makes the Saviour shine;
While the bless'd pair, express'd in emblem ride,
Messiah Solomon, his church the bride.

Ye kind attendants who with wond'ring eyes
Saw the grand entry, what you said suffice,
You sung the lover with a loud acclaim,
The lover's fondness longs to sing the dame.
He speaks, admiring nature stands around
And learns new musick, while it hears the sound.

Behold, my love, how fair thy beauties show,
Behold how more, how most extremely so!
How still to me thy constant eyes incline,
I see the turtle's when I gaze on thine,
Sweet through the lids they shine with modest care,
And sweet and modest is a virgin's air.
How bright thy locks! how well their number paints
The great assemblies of my lovely saints!
So bright the kids, so numerously fed,
Graze the green top of lofty Gilead's head;
All Gilead's head a fleecy whiteness clouds,
And the rich master glorys in the crowds.

How pure thy teeth! for equal order made,
Each answ'ring each, whilst all the publick aid,
These lovely graces in my church I find,
This candour, order, and accorded mind:
Thus when the season bids the shepherd lave
His sheep new shorn, within the chrystal wave,
Wash'd they return, in such unsully'd white,
Thus march by pairs, and in the flock unite.
How please thy lips adorn'd with native red!

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Art vainly mocks them in the scarlet thread!
But if they part, what musick wafts the air!
So sweet thy praises, and so soft thy Prayer.
If through thy loosen'd curls with honest shame
Thy lovely temples fine complexion flame,
Whatever crimson Granate blossoms show,
'Twas never theirs, so much to please, and glow.
But what's thy neck, the polish'd form I see!
Whose Iv'ry strength supports thine eyes to me;
Fair type of firmness when my saints aspire,
The sacred confidence that lifts desire,
As David's turret on the stately frame
Upheld its thousand conqu'ring shields of fame.
And what thy breasts! they still demand my lays,
What image wakes to charm me whilst I gaze?
Two lovely mountains each exactly round,
Two lovely mountains with the lilly crown'd,
While two twin roes, and each on either bred,
Feed in the lillies of the mountain's head.
Let this resemblance, spotless virtues show,
And in such lillies feed my young below.
But now farewell 'till night's dark shades decay,
Farewel my virgin, 'till the break of day,
Swift for the hills of spice and gums I fly,
To breath such sweets as scent a purer sky,
Yet as I leave thee, still above compare,
My Love, my spotless, still I find thee fair.

Here rest celestial maid, for if he go,
Nor will he part, nor is the promise slow,
Nor slow my fancy move; dispel the shade,
Charm forth the morning and relieve the maid.
Arise fair sun, the church attends to see
The sun of righteousness arise in thee;
Arise fair Sun, and bid the church adore,
'Tis then he'll court her, whom he prais'd before.
As thus I sing, it shines, there seems a sound
Of plumes in air, and feet upon the ground;
I see their meeting, see the flow'ry scene
And hear the mystick love pursu'd again.

Now to the mount whose spice perfumes the day,
'Tis I invite thee, come my spouse away,
Come, leave thy Lebanon, is ought we see

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In all thy Lebanon, compared to me?
Nor tow'rd thy Canaan turn with wishful sight,
From Hermon's, Shenir's, and Amana's height;
There dwells the leopard, there assaults the bear,
This world has ills, and such may find thee there.

My spouse, my sister, O thy wond'rous art,
Which through my bosom drew my ravish'd heart!
Won by one eye, my ravish'd heart is gone,
For all thy seeing guides consent as one,
Drawn by one chain which round thy body plies,
For all thy members one bless'd union ties.
My spouse, my sister, O the charm to please,
When love repaid, returns my bosom ease!
Strongly thy love, and strongly wines restore,
But wines must yield, thy love enflames me more.
Sweetly thine ointments, (all thy virtues) smell,
Not altar spices please thy king so well.
How soft thy doctrine on thy lips resides!
From those two combs the dropping honey glides,
All pure without as all within sincere,
Beneath thy tongue—I find it honey there.
Ah while thy graces thus around thee shine,
The charms of Lebanon must yield to thine!
His spring, his garden, ev'ry scented tree,
My spouse, my sister, all I find in thee.
Thee for myself I fence, I shut, I seal,
Mysterious spring, mysterious garden, hail!
A spring, a font, where heav'nly waters flow,
A grove, a garden, where the graces grow.
There rise my fruits, my cyprus, and my firr,
My saffron, spikenard, Cinnamon and Myrrhe;
Perpetual fountains for their use abound,
And streams of favour feed the living ground.

Scarce spake the Christ, when thus the church replies
(And spread her arms where e'er the spirit flies.)
Ye cooling northern gales, who freshly shake
My balmy reeds, ye northern gales awake.
And thou the regent of the southern sky,
O soft inspiring o'er my garden fly,
Unlock and waft my sweets, that ev'ry grace
In all its heav'nly life regale the place.
If thus a paradice thy garden prove,

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'Twere best prepar'd to entertain my love,
And that the pleasing fruits may please the more,
O think my proffer, was thy gift before.

At this, the Saviour cries, behold me near,
My spouse, my sister, O behold me here,
To gather fruits, I come at thy request,
And pleas'd my soul accepts the solemn feast;
I gather myrrhe with spice to scent the treat,
My virgin-honey with the combs I eat,
I drink my sweet'ning milk, my lively wine,
(These words of pleasure mean thy gifts divine)
To share my bliss, my good elect I call,
The church (my garden) must include them all;
Now sit and banquet, now belov'd you see
What gifts I love, and prove these fruits with me;
O might this sweet communion ever last!
But with the sun the sweet communion past,
The Saviour parts, and on oblivion's breast
Benumb'd and slumb'ring lies the church to rest,
Pass the sweet allies while the dusk abides,
Seek the fair lodge in which the maid resides,
Then, fancy, seek the maid, at night again
The Christ will come, but comes, alas in vain.

I sleep, she says, and yet my heart awakes,
(There's still some feeling while the lover speaks)
With what fond fervour from without he cries!
Arise my love, my undefil'd arise,
My dove, my sister, cold the dews alight,
And fill my tresses with the drops of night;
Alas I'm all unrob'd, I wash'd my feet,
I tasted slumber, and I find it sweet.

As thus my words refuse, he slips his hands
Where the clos'd latch my cruel door commands.
What, tho' deny'd, so persevering kind!
Who long denies a persevering mind?
From my wak'd soul my slothful temper flies,
My bowels yearn, I rise, my love, I rise,
I find the latch thy fingers touch'd before,
Thy smelling myrrhe comes dropping off the door.
Now where's my love?—what! hast thou left the place?
O, to my soul, repeat thy words of grace,
Speak in the dark, my love; I seek thee round
And vainly seek thee 'till thou wilt be found.

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What no return? I own my folly past,
I lay too listless; speak my love at last.
The guards have found me—are ye guards indeed,
Who smite the sad, who make the feeble bleed?
Dividing teachers these; who wrong my name,
Rend my long veil, and cast me bare to shame.
But you, ye daughters of the realm of rest,
If ever pity mov'd a virgin breast,
Tell my belov'd how languishing I lie,
How love has brought me near the point to dye.

And what belov'd is this you wou'd have found,
Say Salem's daughters, as they flock'd around?
What wond'rous thing? what charm beyond compare?
Say what's thy lover, fairest o'er the fair?
His face is white and ruddy, she replies,
So mercy join'd to justice, tempers dyes;
His lofty stature, where a Myriad shine,
O'ertops, and speaks a majesty divine.
Fair honour crowns his head, the raven-black
In bushy curlings flows adown his back.
Sparkling his eyes, with full proportion plac'd,
White like the milk, and with a mildness grac'd;
As the sweet doves, when e'er they fondly play
By running waters in a glitt'ring day.
Within his breath, what pleasing sweetness grows!
'Tis spice exhal'd, and mingl'd on the rose.
Within his words, what grace with goodness meets!
So beds of lillies drop with balmy sweets.
What rings of eastern price his finger hold!
Gold decks the fingers, Beryl decks the gold!
His Iv'ry shape adorns a costly vest,
Work paints the skirts, and gems inrich the breast;
His limbs beneath, his shining sandals case
Like marble columns on a golden base.

Nor boasts that mountain, where the cedar tree
Perfumes our realm, such num'rous sweets as he.
O lovely all! what cou'd my king require
To make his presence more the world's desire?
And now ye maids if such a friend you know,
'Tis such my longings look to find below.

While thus her friend, the spouse's Anthems sing,
Deck'd with the Thummim, crown'd a sacred king,
The Daughter's hearts, the fine description drew,

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And that which rais'd their wonder, ask'd their view.

Then where, they cry, thou fairest o'er the fair,
Where goes thy lover, tell the virgins where?
What flow'ring walks invite his steps aside?
We'll help to seek him, let those walks be try'd.

The spouse revolving here the grand descent,
'Twas that he promis'd, there, she cries, he went,
He keeps a garden where the spices breath,
Its bow'ring borders kiss the vale beneath,
'Tis there he gathers lillies, there he dwells,
And binds his flow'rets to unite their smells.
O 'tis my height of love, that I am his!
O he is mine, and that's my height of bliss!
Descend my virgins, well I know the place,
He feeds in lillies, that's a spotless race.

At dawning day, the bridegroom leaves a bow'r,
And here he waters, there he props a flow'r,
When the kind damsel, spring of heav'nly flame,
With Salem's daughters to the garden came.
Then thus his love the bridegroom's words repeat
(The smelling borders lent them both a seat.)
O great as Tirzah! 'twas a regal place,
O fair as Salem! 'tis the realm of peace,
Whose aspect, awful to the wond'ring eye,
Appears like armies when the banners fly;
O turn my sister, O my beauteous bride,
Thy face o'ercomes me, turn that face aside,
How bright thy locks, how well their number paints
The great assemblies of my lovely saints,
So bright the kids, so numerously fed,
Graze the green wealth of lofty Gilead's head.
How pure thy teeth! for equal order made,
Each answ'ring each, while all the publick aid;
As when the season bids the shepherd lave
His sheep new shorn within the silver wave,
Wash'd they return in such unsully'd white,
So march by pairs, and in the flock unite.
How sweet thy temples! not pomegranates know
With equal modest look to please and glow.
If Solomon his life of pleasure leads,
With wives in numbers, and unnumbered maids,
In other paths, my life of pleasure shewn,

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Admits my love, my undefil'd alone;
Thy mother Israel, she the dame who bore
Her choice, my dove, my spotless owns no more;
The Gentile queens at thy appearance cry,
Hail queen of nations! hail, the maids reply,
And thus they sing thy praise: what heav'nly dame
Springs like the morning with a purple flame?
What rises like the morn with silver light?
What like the sun assists the world with sight?
Yet awful still, tho' thus serenely kind,
Like hosts with ensigns rattling in the wind.
I grant I left thy sight, I seem'd to go,
But was I absent when you fancy'd so?
Down to my garden, all my planted vale,
Where nuts their ground in underwood conceal,
Where blow pomegranates, there I went to see
What knitting blossoms white the bearing tree,
View the green buds, recall the wand'ring shoots,
Smell my gay flow'rets, taste my flavour'd fruits,
Raise the curl'd vine, refresh the spicy beds,
And joy for ev'ry grace my garden sheds.

The Saviour here, and here the church arise,
And am I thus respected, thus she cries!
I mount for heav'n transported on the winds,
My flying chariot's drawn by willing minds.

As rap'd with comfort thus the maid withdrew,
The waiting daughters wonder'd where she flew,
And O! return, they cry, for thee we burn,
O maid of Salem, Salem's self return.
And what's in Salem's maid we covet so?
Here all ye nations—'tis your bliss below;
That glorious vision by the patriarch seen,
When sky-born beauties march'd the scented green,
There the met saints, and meeting angels came,
Two lamps of God, Mahanaim was the name.

Again the maid reviews her sacred ground,
Solemn she sits, the damsels sing around.

O princes daughter! how with shining show
Thy golden shoes prepare thy feet below!
How firm thy joints! what temple-work can be
With all its gems and art preferr'd to thee?
In thee, to feed thy lover's faithful race,

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Still flow the riches of abounding grace,
Pure, large, refreshing, as the waters fall
From the carv'd navels of the cistern-wall.
In thee the lover finds his race divine,
You teem with numbers, they with virtues shine;
So wheat with lillies, if their heaps unite,
The wheat's unnumb'red and the lillies white;
Like tender roes thy breasts appear above,
Two types of innocence and twins of love.
Like Iv'ry turrets seems thy neck to rear,
O sacred emblem, upright, firm and fair!
As Heshbon pools, which with a silver state
Diffuse their waters at their city gate,
For ever so thy virgin eyes remain,
So clear within, and so without serene.
As thro' sweet Firr the royal turret shews,
Whence Lebanon surveys a realm of foes,
So thro' thy lovely curls appear thy face
To watch thy foes, and guard thy faithful race.
The richest colours flow'ry Carmel wears,
Red fillets cross'd with purple braid thy hairs;
Yet not more strictly these thy locks restrain
Than thou thy king with strong affections chain,
When from his palace he enjoys thy sight,
O love, O beauty, form'd for all delight!
Strait is thy goodly stature, firm, and high,
As palms aspiring in the brighter sky;
Thy breasts the cluster, (if those breasts we view
As late for beauty, now for profit too.)
Woo'd to thine arms, those arms that oft extend
In the kind posture of a waiting friend,
Each maid of Salem cries, I'll mount the tree,
Hold the broad branches, and depend on thee.
O more than grapes, thy fruit delights the maids,
Thy pleasing breath excels the Citron shades,
Thy mouth exceeds rich wine, the words that go
From those sweet lips, with more refreshment flow,
Their pow'rful graces slumb'ring souls awake
And cause the dead that hear thy voice to speak.

This anthem sung, the glorious spouse arose,
Yet thus instructs the daughters ere she goes.
If ought, my damsels, in the spouse ye find
Deserving praises, think the lover kind:

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To my belov'd these marriage robes I owe,
I'm his desire, and he wou'd have it so.

Scarce spake the spouse, but see the lover near,
Her humble temper brought the Presence here;
Then rais'd by grace, and strongly warm'd by love,
No second Languor lets her Lord remove,
She flies to meet him, zeal supplies the wings,
And thus her haste to work his will she sings;
Come my beloved, to the fields repair,
Come where another spot demands our care,
There in the village we'll to rest recline,
Mean as it is I try to make it thine.
When the first rays their chearing crimson shed,
We'll rise betimes to see the Vineyard spread,
See Vines luxuriant verdur'd leaves display,
Supporting Tendrils curling all the way,
See young unpurpled Grapes in clusters grow,
And smell Pomegranate blossoms as they blow;
There will I give my loves, employ my care,
And as my labours thrive, approve me there.
Scarce have we pass'd my gate, the scent we meet;
My covering Jessamines diffuse a sweet,
My spicy flow'rets mingled as they fly,
With doubling odours crowd a balmy sky.
Now all the fruits which crown the season view,
These nearer Fruits are old, and those are new,
And these, and all of ev'ry loaded tree,
My love I gather and reserve for thee.
If then thy spouse's labour please thee well,
Oh! like my brethren with thy Sister dwell;
No blameless maid, whose fond caresses meet
An Infant-brother in the publick street,
Clings to its lips with less reserve than I
Wou'd hang on thine where'er I found thee nigh:
No shame wou'd make me from thy side remove,
No danger make me not confess thy love.
Strait to my Mother's house, thine Israel she,
(And thou my Monarch wou'dst arrive with me,)
'Tis there I'd lead thee, where I mean to stay,
'Till thou, by her, instruct my Soul to pray;
There shal't thou prove my virtues, drink my Wine,
And feel my joy to find me wholly thine.
Oh! while my soul were sick thro' fond desire,

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Thine hands shou'd hold me least my life expire;
As round a child the Parent's arms are plac'd,
This holds the head, and that enfolds the waist.

So cast thy cares on me, the lover cry'd,
Lean to my bosom, lean my lovely Bride,
And now ye daughters of the realm of bliss,
Let nothing discompose a love like this;
But guard her rest from each approach of ill,
I caus'd her Languor, guard her while she will.

Here pause the lines, but soon the lines renew,
Once more the pair celestial come to view;
Ah! seek them once, my ravish'd fancy, more,
And then thy songs of Solomon are o'er:
By yon green bank pursue their orb of light,
The Sun shines out, but shines not half so bright.
See Salem's maids in white attend the King,
They greet the Spouses—hark to what they sing.

Who from the Desart, where the wand'ring clouds
High Sinai pierces, comes involv'd with crowds?
'Tis she, the Spouse, Oh! favour'd o'er the rest!
Who walks reclin'd by such a lover's breast.

The Spouse rejoicing heard the kind salute,
And thus address'd him—all the rest were mute.
Beneath the law, our goodly parent tree,
I went my much belov'd in search of thee,
For thee, like one in pangs of travail strove,
Hence, none may wonder if I gain thy love.
As seals their pictures to the wax impart,
So let my picture stamp thy gentle heart,
As fix'd the Signets on our hands remain,
So fix me thine, and ne'er to part again;
For love is strong as Death, whene'er they strike,
Alike imperious, vainly check'd alike;
But dread to loose, love mix'd with jealous dread!
As soon the marble Tomb resign the dead.
Its fatal arrows fiery-pointed fall,
The fire intense, and thine the most of all;
To slack the points no chilling floods are found,
Nay shou'd afflictions roll like floods around,
Were wealth of nations offer'd, all wou'd prove
Too small a danger, or a price for love.
If then with love this world of worth agree,
With soft regard our little Sister see,

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How far unapt as yet, like maids that own
No Breasts at all, or Breasts but hardly grown,
Her part of Proselyte is scarce a part,
Too much a Gentile at her erring heart,
Her day draws nearer, what have we to do,
Least she be ask'd, and prove unworthy too?

Despair not Spouse, he cries, we'll find the means,
Her good beginnings ask the greater pains.
Let her but stand, she thrives; a wall too low
Is not rejected for the standing so;
What falls is only lost, we'll build her high,
'Till the rich palace glitters in the sky.
The Door that's weak, (what need we spare the cost?)
If tis a door, we need not think it lost;
The Leaves she brings us, if those Leaves be good,
We'll close in Cedar's uncorrupting wood.

Rap'd with the news, the spouse converts her eyes,
And Oh! companions, to the maids she cries;
What joys are ours to hail the nuptial day
Which calls our Sister?—Hark I hear her say,
Yes I'm a wall; lo! she that boasted none,
Now boasts of Breasts unmeasurably grown,
Large tow'ry buildings, where securely rest
A thousand thousand of my lovers guests;
The vast increase affords his heart delight,
And I find favour in his Heav'nly sight.
The Lover here, to make her rapture last,
Thus adds assurance to the promise past.

A spacious Vineyard in Baal-Hamon vale,
The vintage set, by Solomon, to sale,
His keepers took; and ev'ry keeper paid
A thousand Purses for the gains he made.
And I've a vintage too; his vintage bleeds
A large increase, but my return exceeds.
Let Solomon receive his keepers pay,
He gains his thousand, their two hundred they;
Mine is mine own, 'tis in my presence still,
And shall increase the more, the more she will.
My love my Vineyard, Oh the future shoots,
Which fill my garden rows with sacred fruits!
I saw the list'ning maids attend thy voice,
And in their list'ning saw their eyes rejoice,
A due success thy words of comfort met,

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Now turn to me—'tis I wou'd hear thee yet.
Say dove and spotless, for I must away,
Say Spouse and Sister, all you wish to say.
He spake, the place was bright with lambent fire,
(But what is brightness if the Christ retire?)
Gold bord'ring purple mark'd his road in air,
And kneeling all, the Spouse address'd the pray'r.

Desire of nations! if thou must be gone,
Accept our wishes, all compriz'd in one;
We wait thine advent, Oh we long to see,
I and my Sister, both as one in thee.
Then leave thy Heav'n, and come and dwell below,
Why said I leave?—'tis Heav'n where ere you go.
Haste my belov'd, thy promise haste to crown,
The form thou'lt honour waits thy coming down,
Nor let such swiftness in the Roes be shewn
To save themselves, as thine to save thine own.
Haste like the nimblest Harts, that lightly bound
Before the stretches of the swiftest Hound,
With reaching feet devour a level way,
Across their backs their branching antlers lay,
In the cool dews their bending body ply,
And brush the spicy mountains as they fly.

Jonah.

Thus sung the king—some angel reach a bough
From Eden's tree to crown the wisest brow;
And now thou fairest garden ever made,
Broad banks of spices, blossom'd walks of shade,
O Lebanon! where much I love to dwell,
Since I must leave thee Lebanon, farewel!

Swift from my soul the fair Idea flies,
A wilder sight the changing scene supplies,
Wide seas come rolling to my future page,
And storms stand ready when I call, to rage.
Then go where Joppa crowns the winding shore,
The prophet Jonah just arrives before,
He sees a ship unmooring, soft the gales,
He pays, and enters, and the vessel sails.

Ah wou'dst thou fly thy God? rash man forbear,

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What land so distant but thy God is there?
Weak reason, cease thy voice.—They run the deep,
And the tir'd prophet lays his limbs to sleep.
Here God speaks louder, sends a storm to sea,
The clouds remove to give the vengeance way;
Strong blasts come whistling, by degrees they roar
And shove big surges tumbling on to shore;
The vessel bounds, then rolls, and ev'ry blast
Works hard to tear her by the groaning mast;
The sailors doubling all their shouts and cares
Furl the white canvas, and cast forth the wares,
Each seek the God their native regions own,
In vain they seek them, for those Gods were none.
Yet Jonah slept the while, who solely knew,
In all that number, where to find the true.
To whom the pilot: sleeper, rise and pray,
Our Gods are deaf; may thine do more than they.

But thus the rest: perhaps we waft a foe
To heav'n itself, and that's our cause of woe;
Let's seek by lots, if heav'n be pleas'd to tell;
And what they sought by lots, on Jonah fell:
Then whence he came, and who, and what, and why
Thus rag'd the tempest, all confus'dly cry,
Each press'd in haste to get his question heard,
When Jonah stops them with a grave regard.

An Hebrew man you see, who God revere,
He made this world, and makes this world his care,
His the whirl'd sky, these waves that lift their head,
And his yon land, on which you long to tread.
He charg'd me late, to Nineveh repair,
And to their face denounce his sentence there:
Go, said the vision, prophet, preach to all,
Yet forty days and Nineveh shall fall.
But well I knew him gracious to forgive,
And much my zeal abhor'd the bad shou'd live,
And if they turn they live; then what were I
But some false prophet when they fail to die?
Or what I fanci'd had the Gentiles too
With Hebrew prophets, and their God to do?
Drawn by the wilful thoughts, my soil I run,
I fled his presence and the work's undone.

The storm increases as the prophet speaks,
O'er the toss'd ship a foaming billow breaks,

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She rises pendant on the lifted waves
And thence descries a thousand watry graves,
Then downward rushing, watry mountains hide
Her hulk beneath in deaths on ev'ry side.
O, cry the sailors all, thy fact was ill,
Yet, if a prophet, speak thy master's will,
What part is ours with thee? can ought remain
To bring the blessings of a calm again?

Then Jonah—mine's the death will best atone
(And God is pleas'd that I pronounce my own)
Arise and cast me forth, the wind will cease,
The sea subsiding wear the looks of peace,
And you securely steer. For well I see
Myself the criminal, the storm for me.

Yet pity moves for one that owns a blame,
And awe resulting from a prophet's name;
Love pleads, he kindly meant for them to die,
Fear pleads against him, lest they pow'r defy:
If then to aid the flight abets the sin,
They think to land him, where they took him in.
Perhaps to quit the cause might end the woe,
And God appeasing, let the vessel go.
For this they fix their oars and strike the main,
But God withstands them, and they strike in vain.

The storm increases more with want of light,
Low black'ning clouds involve the ship in night,
Thick batt'ring rains fly thro' the driving skies,
Loud thunder bellows, darted light'ning flies,
A dreadful picture night-born horrour drew,
And his, or theirs, or both their fates, they view.

Then thus to God they cry; Almighty pow'r,
Whom we ne'er knew 'till this despairing hour,
From this devoted blood thy servants free,
To us he's innocent, if so to thee;
In all the past we see thy wond'rous hand,
And that he perish, think it thy command.

This pray'r perform'd, they cast the prophet o'er,
A surge receives him and he mounts no more;
Then stills the thunder, cease the flames of blue,
The rains abated and the winds withdrew,
The clouds ride off, and as they march away,
Thro' ev'ry breaking shoots a chearful day;
The sea, which rag'd so loud, accepts the prize,

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A while it rolls, then all the tempest dies,
By gradual sinking, flat the surface grows,
And safe the vessel with the sailors goes.
The Lion thus, that bounds the fences o'er,
And makes the Mountain-Ecchoes learn to roar,
If on the lawn a branching deer he rend,
Then falls his hunger, all his roarings end,
Murm'ring a while, to rest his limbs he lays,
And the freed lawn enjoys its herd at ease.

Bless'd with the sudden calm, the sailors own
That wretched Jonah worship'd right alone,
Then make their vows, the victim sheep prepare,
Bemoan the prophet, and the God revere.

Now tho' you fear to loose the pow'r to breath,
Now tho' you tremble, Fancy, dive beneath;
What world of wonders in the deep are seen;
But this the greatest—Jonah lives within!
The man who fondly fled the Maker's view,
Strange as the crime has found a dungeon too.
God sent a monster of the frothing sea,
Fit by the bulk to gorge the living prey,
And lodge him still alive; this hulk receives
The falling prophet as he dash'd the waves.
There newly wak'd, from fanci'd death he lies,
And oft again in apprehension dies:
While three long days and nights depriv'd of sleep,
He turn'd and toss'd him up and down the deep.
He thinks the judgment of the strangest kind,
And much he wonders what the Lord design'd;
Yet since he lives, the gift of life he weighs,
That's time for pray'r, and thus a ground for praise;
From the dark entrails of the whale to thee,
(This new contrivance of a hell to me)
To thee my God I cry'd, my full distress
Pierc'd thy kind ear, and brought my soul redress.
Cast to the deep I fell, by thy command,
Cast in the midst beyond the reach of land;
Then to the midst brought down, the seas abide
Beneath my feet, the seas on ev'ry side;
In storms the billow, and in calms the wave,
Are moving cov'rings to my wand'ring grave;
Forc'd by despair I cry'd; how to my cost
I fled thy presence, Oh for ever lost!

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But hope revives my soul, and makes me say,
Yet tow'rds thy temple shall I turn and pray,
Or if I know not here, where Salem lies,
Thy temple's heav'n, and faith has inward eyes.
Alas the waters which my whale surround,
Have thro' my sorr'wing soul a passage found;
And now the dungeon moves, new depths I try,
New thoughts of danger all his paths supply.
The last of Deeps affords the last of dread,
And wraps its funeral weeds around my head:
Now o'er the sand his rollings seem to go
Where the big mountains root their base below;
And now to rocks and clefts their course they take,
Earth's endless bars, too strong for me to break;
Yet from th' Abyss, my God! thy grace divine
Hath call'd him upward, and my life is mine.
Still as I toss'd, I scarce retain'd my breath,
My soul was sick within, and faint to death.
'Twas then I thought of thee, for pity pray'd,
And to thy temple flew the pray'rs I made.
The men whom lying vanity insnares
Forsake thy mercy, that which might be theirs.
But I will pay—my God! my King! receive
The solemn vows my full affection give,
When in thy temple, for a psalm, I sing
Salvation only from my God my king.

Thus ends the prophet, first from Canaan sent,
To let the Gentiles know they must repent:
God hears, and speaks; the Whale at God's command,
Heaves to the light, and casts him forth to land.

With long fatigue, with unexpected ease,
Oppress'd a while, he lies aside the seas,
His eyes tho' glad, in strange astonish'd way
Stare at the golden front of chearful day;
Then slowly rais'd he sees the wonder plain,
And what he pray'd, he wrote to sing again.

The song recorded brings his vow to mind,
He must be thankful, for the Lord was kind;
Strait to the work he shun'd, he flies in haste,
(That seems his vow, or seems a part at least,)
Preaching he comes, and thus denounc'd to all,
Yet forty days and Nineveh shall fall,
Fear seiz'd the Gentiles, Nineveh believes,

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All fast with Penitence, and God forgives.

Nor yet of use the prophet's suff'ring fails,
Hell's deep black bosom more than shews the Whales,
But some resemblance brings a type to view,
The place was dark, the time proportion'd too.
A race, the Saviour cries, a sinful race,
Tempts for a sign, the pow'rs of Heav'nly grace,
And let them take the sign, as Jonah lay,
Three days and nights within the fish of prey;
So shall the Son of Man descend below,
Earth's op'ning Entrails shall retain him so.

My soul now seek the song, and find me there,
What Heav'n has shewn thee to repel despair;
See where from Hell she breaks the crumbling ground,
Her hairs stand upright, and they stare around;
Her horrid front, deep-trenching wrinkles trace,
Lean sharp'ning looks deform her livid face;
Bent lie the brows, and at the bend below,
With fire and blood, two wand'ring eye-balls glow;
Fill'd are her arms with num'rous aids to kill,
And God she fancies but the judge of ill;
Oh fair-ey'd Hope! thou see'st the passion nigh,
Daughter of Promise, Oh forbear to fly!
Assurance holds thee, fear would have thee go,
Close thy blue wings and stand thy deadly foe;
The judge of ill is still the Lord of grace,
As such behold him in the Prophet's case;
Cast to be drown'd, devour'd within the sea,
Sunk to the deep, and yet restor'd to day.

Oh love the Lord my soul, whose present care
So rules the world, he punishes to spare.
If heavy grief my downcast heart oppress,
My body danger, or my state distress,
With low submission in thy temper bow,
Like Jonah pray, like Jonah make thy vow,
With hopes of comfort kiss the chast'ning rod,
And shunning mad despair, repose in God;
Then whatsoe'er the Prophet's vow design,
Repentance, Thanks, and Charity be mine.

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Hezekiah.

From the bleak Beach and broad expanse of sea,
To lofty Salem, Thought direct thy way;
Mount thy light chariot, move along the plains,
And end thy flight where Hezekiah reigns.

How swiftly thought has pass'd from land to land,
And quite outrun Time's meas'ring glass of sand,
Great Salem's walls appear and I resort
To view the state of Hezekiah's court.

Well may that king a pious verse inspire,
Who cleans'd the temple, who reviv'd the choir,
Pleas'd with the service David fix'd before,
That heav'nly musick might on earth adore.
Deep-rob'd in white, he made the Levites stand
With Cymbals, Harps, and Psaltries in their hand;
He gave the Priests their trumpets, prompt to raise
The tuneful soul, by force of sound to praise.
A skilful master for the song he chose,
The songs were David's these, and Asaph's those.
Then burns their off'ring, all around rejoice,
Each tunes his instrument to join the voice;
The trumpets sounded, and the singers sung,
The People worship'd and the temple rung.
Each while the victim burns presents his heart,
Then the Priest blesses, and the People part.

Hail sacred musick! since you know to draw
The soul to Heav'n, the spirit to the law,
I come to prove thy force, thy warbling string
May tune my soul to write what others sing.

But is this Salem? this the proms'd bliss,
These sighs and groans? what means the realm by this?
What solemn sorrow dwells in ev'ry street?
What fear confounds the downcast looks I meet?
Alas the King! whole nations sink with woe,
When righteous Kings are summon'd hence to go;
The King lies sick, and thus to speak his doom,
The Prophet, grave Isaiah, stalks the room:
Oh Prince thy servant sent from God, believe,
Set all in order for thou can'st not live.
Solemn he said, and sighing left the place,
Deep prints of horror furrow'd ev'ry face,

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Within their minds appear eternal glooms,
Black gaping marbles of their monarchs tombs,
A King belov'd deceas'd, his offspring none,
And wars destructive e'er they fix the throne.
Strait to the wall he turn'd with dark despair,
('Twas tow'rds the temple, or for private pray'r,)
And thus to God the pious monarch spoke,
Who burn'd the groves, the brazen serpent broke:
Remember Lord with what a heart for right,
What care for truth, I walk'd within thy sight.

'Twas thus with terror, pray'rs and tears he toss'd,
When the mid-court the grave Isaiah cross'd,
Whom in the cedar columns of the square,
Meets a sweet Angel hung in glitt'ring air.
Seiz'd with a trance he stop'd, before his eye
Clears a rais'd arch of visionary sky,
Where as a minute pass'd, the greater light
Purpling appear'd, and south'd and set in night;
A Moon succeeding leads the starry train,
She glides, and sinks her silver horns again:
A second fanci'd morning drives the shades;
Clos'd by the dark the second ev'ning fades;
The third bright dawn awakes, and strait he sees
The temple rise, the monarch on his knees.
Pleas'd with the scene, his inward thoughts rejoice,
When thus the Guardian angel form'd a voice.
Now tow'rds the captain of my people go,
And, Seer, relate him what thy visions show,
The Lord has heard his words, and seen his tears,
And through fifteen extends his future years.

Here to the room prepar'd with dismal black,
The Prophet turning, brought the comfort back.
Oh monarch hail, he cry'd, thy words are heard,
Thy virtuous actions meet a kind regard,
God gives thee fifteen years, when thrice a day,
Shews the round Sun, within the temple pray.

When thrice the day! surpriz'd the monarch cries,
When thrice the Sun! what pow'r have I to rise!
But if thy comfort's human or divine,
'Tis short to prove it—give thy prince a sign.

Behold, the Prophet cry'd, (and stretch'd his hands)
Against yon lattice where the dial stands,
Now shall the Sun a backward journey go

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Through ten drawn lines, or leap to ten below.
'Tis easier posting nature's airy track,
Replies the monarch, let the Sun go back.
Attentive here he gaz'd, the prophet pray'd,
Back went the Sun, and back pursu'd the shade.

Chear'd by the sign, and by the Prophet heal'd,
What sacred thanks his gratitude reveal'd?
As sickly Swallows when a summer ends,
Who miss'd the passage with their flying friends,
Take to a wall, there lean the languid head,
While all who find them think the sleepers dead;
If yet their warmth new days of summer bring,
They wake and joyful flutter up to sing;
So far'd the monarch, sick to death he lay,
His court despair'd, and watch'd the last decay;
At length new favour shines, new life he gains,
And rais'd he sings; 'tis thus the song remains.

I said, my God, when in the loath'd disease
Thy Prophet's words cut off my future days,
Now to the grave with mournful haste I go,
Now death unbars his sable gates below.
How might my years by course of nature last?
But thou pronounc'd it, and the prospect pass'd.
I said, my God, thy servant now no more
Shall in thy Temple's sacred courts adore,
No more on earth with living man converse,
Shrunk in a cold uncomfortable hearse.
My life, like tents which wand'ring shepherds raise,
Proves a short dwelling and removes at ease.
My sins pursue me, see the deadly band,
My God, who sees them, cuts me from the land;
As when a weaver finds his labour sped,
Swift from the beam he parts the fast'ning thread.
With pining sickness all from night to day,
From day to night, he makes my strength decay:
Reck'ning the time, I roll with restless groans,
'Till with a lion's force, he crush my bones,
New-morning dawns, but like the morning past,
'Tis day, 'tis night, and still my sorrows last.
Now screaming like the Crane my words I spoke,
Now like the swallow, chatt'ring quick and broke,
Now like the doleful dove, when on the plains
Her mourning tone affects the list'ning swains.

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To heav'n for aid my wearying eyes I throw,
At length they're weary'd quite, and sink with woe.
From death's arrest for some delays I sue,
Thou Lord who judg'd me, thou reprieve me too.

Rapture of joy! what can thy servant say?
He sent his Prophet to prolong my day;
Through my glad Limbs I feel the wonder run,
Thus said the Lord, and this Himself has done.
Soft shall I walk, and well secur'd from fears
Possess the comforts of my future years.
Keep soft my heart, keep humble while they roll,
Nor e'er forget my bitterness of soul.
'Tis by the means thy sacred words supply
That mankind live, but in peculiar I;
A second grant thy mercy pleas'd to give,
And my rais'd spirits doubly seem to live.
Behold the time! when peace adorn'd my reign,
'Twas then I felt my stroke of humbling pain;
Corruption dug her pit, I fear'd to sink,
God lov'd my soul, and snatch'd me from the brink.
He turn'd my follies from his gracious eye,
As men who pass accounts and cast them by.

What mouth has death which can thy praise proclaim?
What tongue the grave to speak thy glorious name?
Or will the senseless dead exult with mirth,
Mov'd to their hope by promises on earth?
The living Lord, the living only praise,
The living only fit to sing thy lays,
These feel thy favours, these thy temple see,
These raise the song, as I this day to thee.
Nor will thy truth the present only reach,
This the good fathers shall their offspring teach,
Report the blessings which adorn my page,
And hand their own with mine from age to age.

So when the Maker heard his creature crave,
So kindly rose his ready Will to save.
Then march we solemn tow'rds the Temple door,
While all our joyful musick sounds before,
There on this day through all my life appear,
When this comes round in each returning year,
There strike the strings, our voices jointly raise,
And let his dwellings hear my songs of praise.

Thus wrote the monarch, and I'll think the lay

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Design'd for publick when he went to pray;
I'll think the perfect composition runs,
Perform'd by Heman's or Jeduthun's sons.

Then since the time arrives the Seer foretold,
And the third morning rolls an orb of gold,
With thankful zeal recover'd prince prepare
To lead thy nation to the Dome of pray'r.

My fancy takes her chariot once again,
Moves the rich wheels, and mingles in thy train;
She sees the singers reach Moriah's hill,
The minstrels follow, then the porches fill,
She wakes the num'rous instruments of art,
That each perform its own adapted part,
Seeks airs expressive of thy grateful strains,
And list'ning hears the vary'd tune she feigns.

From a grave pitch, to speak the Monarch's woe,
The notes flow down and deeply sound below,
All long-continuing, while depriv'd of ease
He rolls for tedious nights and heavy days.
Here intermix'd with discord, when the Crane
Screams in the notes through sharper sense of pain;
There run with descant on, and taught to shake
When pangs repeated force the voice to break;
Now like the dove they murmur, 'till in sighs
They fall, and languish with the failing eyes.
Then slowly slack'ning, to surprize the more,
From a dead pause, his exclamations soar,
To meet brisk health the notes ascending fly,
Live with the living, and exult on high.
Yet still distinct in parts the musick plays,
'Till prince and people both are call'd to praise,
Then all uniting strongly strike the string,
Put forth their utmost breath, and loudly sing;
The wide spread chorus fills the sacred ground,
And holy transport scales the clouds with sound.

Or thus, or livelier, if their hand and voice
Join'd the good anthem, might the realm rejoice.

This story known, the learn'd Chaldeans came,
Drawn by the sign observ'd, or mov'd by fame;
These ask the fact for Hezekiah done,
And much they wonder at their God the sun,
That thrice he drove through one extent of day
His gold-shod horses in etherial way:

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Then vainly ground their guess on nature's laws,
The soundest knowledge owns a greater cause.

Faith knows the fact transcends, and bids me find
What help for practice here incites the mind;
Strait to the song, the thankful song I move,
May such the voice of ev'ry creature prove,
If ev'ry creature meets its share of woe,
And for kind rescues ev'ry creature owe;
In publick so thy Maker's praise proclaim,
Nor what you beg'd with tears, conceal with shame.

'Tis there the ministry thy name repeat
And tell what mercies were vouchsaf'd of late,
Then joins the church, and begs through all our days
Not only with our lips, but lives to praise.

'Tis there our Sov'reigns for a signal day,
The feast proclaim'd, their signal thanks repay.
O'er the long streets we see the chariots wheel,
And, following, think of Hezekiah still;
In the bless'd Dome we meet the white-rob'd Choir,
In whose sweet notes our ravish'd souls aspire;
Side answ'ring side we hear and bear a part,
All warm'd with language from the grateful heart,
Or raise the song where meeting keys rejoice,
And teach the Base to wed the treble voice;
Arts soft'ning ecchos in the musick sound,
And answ'ring natures from the roof rebound.

Here close my verse, the service asks no more,
Bless thy good God, and give the transport o'er.

Habakkuk.

Now leave the Porch, to vision now retreat,
Where the next rapture glows with varying heat;
Now change the time, and change the Temple scene,
The following Seer forewarns a future reign.
To some retirement, where the Prophets sons
Indulge their holy flight, my fancy runs,
Some sacred College built for praise and pray'r
And heav'nly dream, she seeks Habakkuk there.
Perhaps 'tis there he moans the nation's sin,
Hears the word come, or feels the fit within,

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Or sees the vision fram'd with Angels hands,
And dreads the judgments of revolted lands,
Or holds a converse if the Lord appear,
And, like Elijah, wraps his face for fear.
This deep recess portends an act of weight,
A message lab'ring with the work of fate.

Methinks the Skies have lost their lovely blue,
A storm rides fiery, thick the clouds ensue.
Fall'n to the ground with prostrate face I lye,
Oh! 'twere the same in this to gaze and dye!
But hark the Prophet's voice: my pray'rs complain
Of labour spent, of Preaching urg'd in vain;
And must, my God, thy sorrowing servant still
Quit my lone joys to walk this world of ill?
Where spoiling rages, strife and wrong command,
And the slack'd laws no longer curb the land?

At this a strange and more than human sound
Thus breaks the cloud and daunts the trembling ground.
Behold the Gentiles, wond'ring all behold,
What scarce ye credit tho' the work be told,
For lo the proud Chaldean troops I raise,
To march the breadth and all the region seize,
Fierce as the proling wolves at close of day,
And swift as eagles in pursuit of prey.
As eastern winds to blast the season blow,
For blood and rapine flies the dreadful foe;
Leads the sad captives countless as the sand,
Derides the princes and destroys the land.
Yet these triumphant grown offend me more,
And only thank the Gods they chose before.

Art thou not holiest, here the prophet cries,
Supream, Eternal, of the purest eyes?
And shall those eyes the wicked realms regard,
Their crimes be great yet vict'ry their reward?
Shall these still ravage more and more to reign,
Draw the full net, and cast to fill again?
As watch-men silent sit, I wait to see
How solves my doubt, what speaks the Lord to me.

Then go, the Lord replys, suspend thy fears,
And write the vision for a term of years.
Thy foes will feel their turn when those are past,
Wait tho' it tarry, sure it comes at last.
'Tis for their rapine, lusts and thirst of blood

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And all their unprotecting Gods of wood.
The Lord is present on his sacred hill,
Cease thy weak doubts, and let the world be still.

Here terrour leaves me with exalted head,
I breath fine air, and find the vision fled,
The Seer withdrawn, inspir'd, and urg'd to write,
By the warm influence of the sacred sight.

His writing finish'd, Prophet-like array'd,
He brings the burthen on the region laid;
His hands a tablet and a volume bear,
The tablet threatnings, and the volume pray'r,
Both for the temple, where to shun decay,
Enroll'd the works of inspiration lay.
And awful oft he stops, or marches slow,
While the dull'd nation hears him preach their woe.

Arriv'd at length, with grave concern for all,
He fix'd his table on the sacred wall.
'Twas large inscrib'd that those who run might read,
“Habakkuk's burthen by the Lord decreed,
“For Judah's sins, her empire is no more,
“The fierce Chaldeans bath her ralm in gore”.

Next to the priest his volume he resign'd,
'Twas pray'r with praises mix'd to raise the mind,
'Twas facts recounted which their fathers knew,
'Twas pow'r in wonders manifest to view.
'Twas comfort rais'd on love already past,
And hope that former love returns at last.

The priests within the prophecy convey'd,
The singers tunes to join his anthem made.
Here and attend the words. And holy thou
That help'd the prophet, help the Poet now.

O Lord who rules the world, with mortal ear
I've heard thy judgments, and I shake for fear.
O Lord by whom their number'd years we find,
E'en in the midst receive the drooping mind;
E'en in the midst thou canst—then make it known
Thy love, thy will, thy power, to save thine own.
Remember mercy tho' thine anger burn,
And soon to Salem bid thy flock return.
O Lord who gav'st it with an outstretch'd hand,
We well remember how thou gav'st the land.

God came from Teman, southward sprung the flame,
From Paron-mount the one that's Holy came,

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A glitt'ring glory made the desart blaze,
High Heav'n was cover'd, earth was fill'd with praise.
Dazzling the brightness, not the sun so bright,
'Twas here the pure substantial Fount of Light
Shot from his hand and side in golden streams,
Came forward effluent horny-pointed beams:
Thus shone his coming, as sublimely fair
As bounded nature has been fram'd to bear,
But all his further marks of grandeur hid,
Nor what he cou'd was known, but what he did.
Dire plagues before him ran at his command,
To waste the nations in the promis'd land.
A scorching flame went forth where'er he trod,
And burning Fevers were the coals of God.
Fix'd on the mount he stood, his meas'ring reed
Marks the rich realms for Jacob's seed decreed:
He looks with anger and the nations fly
From the fierce sparklings of his dreadful eye.
He turns, the mountain shakes its awful brow,
Awful he turns, and hills eternal bow.
How glory there, how terrour here, displays
His great unknown yet everlasting ways.

I see the Sable tents along the strand
Where Cushan wander'd, desolately stand,
And Midian's high pavilions shake with dread,
While the tam'd seas thy rescu'd nation tread.
What burst the path? what made the Lord engage?
Cou'd waters anger? seas incite thy rage?
That thus thine horses force the foaming tide
And all the chariots of salvation ride.
Thy bow was bare for what thy mercy swore,
Those oaths, that promise Israel had before.

The rock that felt thee cleav'd, the rivers flow,
The wond'ring desart lends them beds below.
Thy Might the mountain's heaving shocks confess'd,
High shatter'd Horeb trembled o'er the rest.
Great Jordan pass'd its nether waters by,
Its upper waters rais'd the voice on high,
Safe in the deep we went, the liquid wall
Curling arose, and had no leave to fall.
The sun effulgent and the moon serene,
Stop'd by thy will, their heav'nly course refrain;
The voice was Man's, yet both the voice obey,

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'Till wars compleated close the lengthen'd day.
Thy glitt'ring spears, thy ratling darts prevail,
Thy spears of lightning and thy darts of hail.
'Twas thou that march'd against their heathen band,
Rage in thy visage, and thy flail in hand;
'Twas thou that went before to wound their head,
The captain follow'd where the Saviour led;
Torn from their earth they feel the desp'rate wound,
And pow'r unfounded fails for want of ground.
With village-war thy tribes where'er they go
Distress the remnant of the scatter'd foe;
Yet mad they rush'd, as whirling wind descends,
And deem'd for friendless those the Lord befriends.
Thy trampling horse from sea to sea subdue,
The bounding ocean left no more to do.

O when I heard what thou vouchsaf'st to win
With works of wonder, must be lost for sin,
I quak'd thro' fear, the voice forsook my tongue,
Or at my lips with quiv'ring accent hung;
Dry leanness ent'ring to my marrow came,
And ev'ry loos'ning nerve unstrung my frame.
How shall I rest, in what protecting shade,
When the day comes, and hostile troops invade?

Tho' neither blossoms on the Fig appear,
Nor vines with clusters deck the purpling year,
Tho' all our labours olive-trees belie,
Tho' fields the substance of the bread deny,
Tho' flocks are sever'd from the silent Fold,
And the rais'd stalls no lowing cattle hold,
Yet shall my soul be glad, in God rejoice,
Yet to my Saviour will I lift my voice,
Yet to my Saviour still my temper sings,
What David set to instruments of strings:
The Lord's my strength, like Hinds he makes my feet,
Yon mount's my refuge, as I safely fleet,
Or (if the song's apply'd) he makes me still
Expect returning to Moriah's hill.

In all this hymn what daring grandeur shines,
What darting glory rays among the lines,
What mountains, earthquakes, clouds, and smokes are seen,
What ambient fires conceal the Lord within,
What working wonders give the promis'd place
And load the conduct of a stubborn race!

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In all the work a lively fancy flows,
O'er all the work sincere affection glows,
While Truth's firm Rein the course of fancy guides
And o'er affection Zeal divine presides.

Borne on the prophet's wings, methinks I fly
Amongst eternal Attributes on high,
And here I touch at love supremely fair,
And now at pow'r, anon at mercy there;
So like a warbling bird my tunes I raise
On those green boughs the Tree of life displays,
Whose twelve fair fruits each month by turns receives
And for the nations healing ope their leaves.
Then be the nations heal'd, for this I sing
Descending softly from the prophet's wing.

Thou world attend, the case of Israel see,
'Twill thus at large refer to God and thee.
If love be shewn thee, turn thine eyes above
And pay the duties relative to love;
If pow'r be shewn, and wonderfully so,
Wonder and thank, adore and bow below.
If pow'r that led thee now no longer lead,
But brow-bent Justice draws the flaming blade,
When love is scorn'd, when sin the sword provokes,
Let tears and pray'rs avert or heal the strokes;
If justice leaves to wound, and thou to groan
Beneath new Lords in countries not thine own,
Know this for Mercy's act, and let your lays
Grateful in all, recount the cause of praise:
Then love returns, and while no sins divide
The firm alliance, pow'r will shield thy side.

See the grand round of providence's care,
See realms assisted here, and punish'd there,
O'er the just circle cast thy wond'ring eyes,
Thank while you gaze, and study to be wise.

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The Affections of Divine Poetry

A Hymn for Morning.

See the star that leads the day
Rising shoots a golden ray,
To make the shades of darkness go
From heav'n above and earth below;
And warn us early with the sight
To leave the beds of silent night,
From an heart sincere and sound
From its very deepest ground,
Send Devotion up on high
Wing'd with heat to reach the sky.
See the time for sleep has run,
Rise before, or with the sun,
Lift thine hands and humbly pray
The fountain of eternal day,
That as the light serenely fair
Illustrates all the tracts of air,
The sacred spirit so may rest
With quick'ning beams upon thy breast,
And kindly clean it all within
From darker blemishes of sin,
And shine with grace until we view
The realm it gilds with glory too.
See the day that dawns in air,
Brings along its toil and care,
From the lap of night it springs
With heaps of business on its wings;
Prepare to meet them in a mind
That bows submissively resign'd,

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That wou'd to works appointed fall,
And knows that God has order'd all.
And whether with a small repast
We break the sober morning fast,
Or in our thoughts and houses lay
The future methods of the day,
Or early walk abroad to meet
Our business, with industr'ous feet,
Whate'er we think whate'er we do,
His glory still be kept in view.
O Giver of eternal bliss,
Heav'nly Father grant me this,
Grant it all as well as me,
All whose hearts are fix'd on thee,
Who revere thy son above
Who thy sacred spirit love.

A Hymn for Noon.

The sun is swiftly mounted high,
It glitters in the southern sky,
Its beams with force and glory beat,
And fruitful earth is fill'd with heat.
Father, also with thy fire
Warm the cold the dead desire,
And make the sacred love of thee,
Within my soul a sun to me.
Let it shine so fairly bright,
That nothing else be took for light;
That worldly charms be seen to fade,
And in its lustre find a shade.
Let it strongly shine within
To scatter all the clouds of sin,
That drive when gusts of passion rise
And intercept it from our eyes.
Let its glory more than vie
With the sun that lights the sky,
Let it swiftly mount in air,
Mount with that, and leave it there,
And soar with more aspiring flight
To realms of everlasting Light.

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Thus while here I'm forc'd to be,
I daily wish to live with thee,
And feel that union which thy love
Will, after death, compleat above.
From my soul I send my pray'r,
Great Creator bow thine ear;
Thou for whose propitious sway
The world was taught to see the day,
Who spake the word and earth begun
And shew'd its beauties in the sun,
With pleasure I thy creatures view,
And wou'd with good affection too,
Good affection sweetly free,
Loose from them and move to thee;
O teach me due returns to give,
And to thy glory let me live,
And then my days shall shine the more
Or pass more blessed than before.

A Hymn for Evening.

The beam-repelling mists arise,
And ev'ning spreads obscurer skies:
The twilight will the night forerun,
And night itself be soon begun.
Upon thy knees devoutly bow,
And pray the Lord of glory now
To fill thy breast, or deadly sin
May cause a blinder night within.
And whether pleasing vapours rise,
Which gently dim the closing eyes,
Which make the weary members bless'd
With sweet refreshment in their rest;
Or whether spirits in the brain
Dispel their soft embrace again,
And on my watchful bed I stay,
Forsook by sleep and waiting day;
Be God for ever in my view
And never he forsake me too;
But still as day concludes in night,
To break again with new born light,

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His wond'rous bounty let me find
With still a more enlighten'd mind,
When grace and love in one agree,
Grace from God, and love from me,
Grace that will from heav'n inspire,
Love that seals it in desire,
Grace and love that mingle beams,
And fill me with encreasing flames.
Thou that hast thy palace far
Above the moon and ev'ry star,
Thou that sittest on a throne
To which the night was never known,
Regard my voice and make me bless'd,
By kindly granting its request.
If thoughts on thee my soul employ,
My darkness will afford me joy,
'Till thou shalt call, and I shall soar,
And part with darkness evermore.

The Soul in Sorrow.

With kind compassion hear my cry
O Jesu, Lord of life, on high!
As when the Summer's seasons beat
With scorching flame and parching heat,
The trees are burnt, the flowers fade,
And thirsty gaps in earth are made,
My thoughts of comfort languish so,
And so my soul is broke by woe.
Then on thy servant's drooping head,
Thy dews of blessing sweetly shed;
Let those a quick refreshment give
And raise my mind, and bid me live.
My fears of danger while I breath,
My dread of endless hell beneath,
My sense of sorrow for my sin,
To springing comfort, change within,
Change all my sad complaints for ease,
To chearful notes of endless praise;
Nor let a tear mine eyes employ
But such as owe their birth to joy:

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Joy transporting sweet and strong,
Fit to fill and raise my song,
Joy that shall resounded be
While days and nights succeed for me:
Be not as a Judge severe,
For so thy presence who may bear?
On all my words and actions look,
(I know they're written in thy book)
But then regard my mournful cry
And look with Mercy's gracious eye,
What needs my blood since thine will do
To pay the debt to justice due.
O tender mercy's art divine!
Thy sorrow proves the cure of mine,
Thy dropping wounds, thy woful smart,
Allay the bleedings of my heart:
Thy death, in death's extreme of pain,
Restores my soul to life again.
Guide me then for here I burn
To make my Saviour some return.
I'll rise, (if that will please him still
And sure I've heard him own it will)
I'll trace his steps and bear my cross
Despising ev'ry grief and loss;
Since he despising pain and shame,
First took up his, and did the same.

The Happy Man.

How bless'd the man, how fully so,
As far as man is bless'd below,
Who taking up his cross essays
To follow Jesus all his days,
With resolution to obey,
And steps enlarging in his way.
The Father of the saints above
Adopts him with a Father's love,
And makes his bosom throughly shine
With wond'rous stores of grace divine;
Sweet grace divine the pledge of joy
That will his soul above employ;

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Full joy, that when his time is done
Becomes his portion as a son.
Ah me! the sweet infus'd desires
The fervid wishes, holy fires,
Which thus a melted heart refine,
Such are his and such be mine.
From hence, despising all besides
That earth reveals or ocean hides,
All that men in either prize,
On God alone he sets his eyes.
From hence his hope is on the wings,
His health renews, his safety springs,
His glory blazes up below,
And all the streams of comfort flow.

He calls his Saviour, King above,
Lord of mercy, Lord of love,
And finds a kingly care defend,
And mercy smile, and love descend,
To chear, to guide him in the ways
Of this vain world's deceitful maze:
And tho' the wicked earth display
Its terrors in their fierce array,
Or gape so wide that horrour shews
Its hell replete with endless woes;
Such succour keeps him clear of Ill
Still firm to good and dauntless still.
So fix'd, by Providence's hands
A rock amidst an ocean stands;
So bears without a trembling dread
The tempest beating round its head,
And with its side repels the wave
Whose hollow seems a coming grave;
The skies the deeps are heard to roar
The rock stands settled as before.

I, all with whom he has to do,
Admire the life which blesses you,
That feeds a foe, that aids a friend,
Without a bye designing end;
Its knowing real int'rest lies
On the bright side of yonder skies,
Where having made a title fair
It mounts and leaves the world to care.
While he that seeks for pleasing days

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In earthly joys and evil ways,
Is but the fool of toil or fame,
(Tho' happy be the specious name)
And made by wealth, which makes him great,
A more conspicuous wretch of state.

The Way to Happiness.

How long ye miserable blind
Shall idle dreams engage your mind,
How long the passions make their flight
At empty shadows of delight?
No more in paths of error stray,
The Lord thy Jesus is the way,
The spring of happiness, and where
Shou'd men seek happiness but there?
Then run to meet him at your need,
Run with boldness, run with speed,
For he forsook his own abode
To meet thee more than half the road.
He laid aside his radiant crown
And love for mankind brought him down
To thirst and hunger, pain and woe,
To wounds, to death it self below,
And he that suffer'd these alone
For all the World, despises none.
To bid the soul that's sick be clean,
To bring the lost to life again,
To comfort those that grieve for ill,
Is his peculiar goodness still.
And as the thoughts of parents run
Upon a dear and only son,
So kind a love his mercies shew,
So kind and more extreamly so.

Thrice happy men (or find a phrase
That speaks your bliss with greater praise)
Who most obedient to thy call
Leaving pleasures leaving all,
With heart with soul, with strength incline
O sweetest Jesu! to be thine;
Who know thy will, observe thy ways,

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And in thy service spend their days:
E'en death that seems to set them free
But brings them closer still to thee.

The Convert's Love.

Blessed Light of saints on high
Who fill the mansions of the sky,
Sure defence, whose mercy still
Preserves thy subjects here from ill,
O my Jesus! make me know
How to pay the thanks I owe.

As the fond sheep that id'ly strays
With wanton play thro' winding ways,
Which never hits the road of home,
O'er Wilds of danger learns to roam,
'Till weari'd out with idle fear
And passing there and turning here,
He will for rest to covert run
And meet the wolf he wish'd to shun;
Thus wretched I, thro' wanton will
Run blind and headlong on in ill:
'Twas thus from sin to sin I flew
And thus I might have perish'd too;
But mercy dropt the likeness here
And shew'd and sav'd me from my fear;
While o'er the darkness of my mind
The sacred spirit purely shin'd,
And mark'd and bright'ned all the way
Which leads to everlasting day,
And broke the thick'ning clouds of sin
And fix'd the light of love within.

From hence my ravish'd soul aspires
And dates the rise of its desires.
From hence to thee my God! I turn,
And fervent wishes say I burn,
I burn thy glorious face to see
And live in endless joy with thee.

There's no such ardent kind of flame
Between the lover and the dame,
Nor such affection parents bear
To their young and only heir,

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Tho' join'd together both conspire
And boast a doubled force of fire.
My tender heart within its seat
Dissolves before the scorching heat,
As soft'ning wax is taught to run
Before the warmness of the sun.

O my flame my pleasing pain
Burn and purify my stain,
Warm me, burn me, day by day
'Till you purge my earth away,
'Till at the last I throughly shine
And turn a torch of love divine.

A Desire to Praise.

Propitious Son of God to thee
With all my soul I bend my knee,
My wish I send my want impart,
And dedicate my mind and heart,
For as an absent parent's son
Whose second year is only run,
When no protecting friend is near,
Void of wit and void of fear,
With things that hurt him fondly plays,
Or here he falls, or there he strays;
So shou'd my soul's eternal guide
The sacred spirit be deny'd,
Thy servant soon the loss wou'd know,
And sink in sin, or run to woe.

O spirit bountifully kind,
Warm, possess, and fill my mind,
Disperse my sins with light divine
And raise the flames of love with thine,
Before thy pleasures rightly priz'd
Let wealth and honour be despis'd,
And let the Father's glory be
More dear itself than life to me.

Sing of Jesus! virgins sing
Him your everlasting King;
Sing of Jesus! chearful youth,
Him the God of love and truth:
Write and raise a song divine

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Or come and hear, and borrow mine.
Son Eternal, word supreme,
Who made the universal frame,
Heav'n and all its shining show,
Earth and all it holds below;
Bow with mercy bow thine ear
While we sing thy praises here;
Son Eternal ever bless'd,
Resting on the Father's breast,
Whose tender love for all provides,
Whose power over all presides;
Bow with pity, bow thine ear
While we sing thy praises, hear.

Thou, by pity's soft extream,
Mov'd, and won, and set on flame,
Assum'd the form of man, and fell
In pains, to rescue man from hell;
How bright thine humble glories rise
And match the lustre of the skies,
From death and hell's dejected state
Arising, thou resum'd thy seat,
And golden thrones of bliss prepar'd
Above, to be thy saints reward.

How bright thy glorious honours rise,
And with new lustre grace the skies.
For thee, the sweet seraphick Choir
Raise the voice and tune the Lyre,
And praises with harmonious sounds
Through all the highest heav'n rebounds.

O make our notes with theirs agree
And bless the souls that sing of thee:
To thee, the churches here rejoice,
The solemn organs aid the voice:
To sacred roofs the sound we raise,
The sacred roofs resound thy praise:
And while our notes in one agree,
O! bless the church that sings to thee.

On Happiness in this Life.

The morning opens very freshly gay
And life itself is in the month of May.

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With green my fancy paints an arbour o'er
And flowrets with a thousand colours more;
Then falls to weaving that, and spreading these
And softly shakes them with an easy breeze,
With golden fruit adorns the bending shade,
Or trails a silver water o'er its bed.
Glide, gentle water, still more gently by
While in this summer-bower of bliss I lye
And sweetly sing of sense delighting flames,
And nymphs and shepherds soft invented names,
Or view the branches which around me twine
And praise their fruit, diffusing sprightly wine,
Or find new pleasures in the world to praise
And still with this return adorn my lays;
“Range round your gardens of eternal spring,
“Go range my senses while I sweetly sing.”

In vain, in vain alas, seduc'd by ill
And acted wildly by the force of will!
I tell my soul it will be constant May,
And Charm a season never made to stay,
My beauteous arbour will not stand a storm,
The world but promises, and can't perform:
Then fade ye leaves and wither all ye flow'rs,
I'll doat no longer in enchanted bow'rs;
But sadly mourn in melancholy song,
The vain conceits that held my soul so long.
The lusts that tempt us with delusive show,
And sin brought forth for everlasting woe.
Thus shall the notes to sorrow's object rise,
While frequent rests procure a place for sighs;
And as I moan upon the naked plain,
Be this the burthen closing ev'ry strain;
Return my senses, range no more abroad,
He'll only find his bliss, who seeks for God.

On Divine Love by Meditating on the Wounds of Christ.

Holy Jesus! God of Love!
Look with pity from above,
Shed the precious purple tide
From thine hands, thy feet, thy side,
Let thy streams of comfort roll,

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Let them please and fill my soul.
Let me thus for ever be
Full of gladness, full of thee,
This for which my wishes pine
Is the cup of love divine,
Sweet affections flow from hence,
Sweet above the joys of sense;
Blessed Philtre! how we find
Its sacred worships, how the mind
Of all the world forgetful grown,
Can despise an earthly throne,
Raise its thoughts to Realms above,
Think of God, and sing of love.

Love Celestial, wond'rous heat
O beyond expression great!
What resistless charms were thine
In thy good thy best design!
When God was hated, Sin obey'd,
And man undone without thy aid.
From the seats of endless peace
They brought the son, the Lord of grace,
They taught him to receive a birth,
To cloath in flesh, to live on earth,
And after lifted him on high,
And taught him on the Cross to die.

Love Celestial ardent fire,
O extreme of sweet desire!
Spread thy brightly raging flame
Thro' and over all my frame;
Let it warm me let it burn,
Let my corps to ashes turn,
And might thy flame thus act with me
To set the soul from body free,
I next wou'd use thy wings and fly
To meet my Jesus in the sky.

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Poems from Works in Verse and Prose, 1755

Bacchus: Or, The Vines of Lesbos.

As Bacchus ranging at his leisure,
(Io Bacchus! king of pleasure)
Charm'd the wide world with drink and dances,
And all his thousand airy fancies;
Alas! he quite forgot the while
His fav'rite vines in Lesbos isle.

The God returning ere they died,
Ah! see my jolly Fawns, he cried,
The leaves but hardly born are red,
And the bare arms for pity spread;
The beasts afford a rich manure,
Fly, my boys, and bring the cure,
Up the mountains, down the vales;
Thro' the woods, and o'er the dales;
For this, if full the clusters grow,
Your bowls shall doubly overflow.

So chear'd, with more officious haste
They bring the dung of ev'ry beast,
The loads they wheel, the roots they bare,
They lay the rich manure with care,
While oft he calls to labour hard,
And names as oft the red reward.

The plants revive, new leaves appear,
The thick'ning clusters load the year;
The season swiftly purple grew,
The grapes hung dangling deep with blue.

A vineyard ripe a day serene
Now calls them all to work again;

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The Fawns thro' ev'ry furrow shoot
To load their flaskets with the fruit;
And now the vintage early trod,
The wines invite the jovial God.

Strow the roses, raise the song,
See the master comes along!
Lusty Revel join'd with Laughter,
Whim and Frolic follow after.
The Fawns beside the vatts remain
To shew the work, and reap the gain.

All around, and all around
They sit to riot on the ground,
A vessel stands amidst the ring,
And here they laugh, and there they sing;
Or rise a jolly jolly band,
And dance about it hand in hand;
Dance about, and shout amain,
Then sit to laugh and sing again.

But, as an antient author sung,
The vine manur'd with ev'ry dung,
From ev'ry creature strangely drew,
A tang of brutal nature too;
'Twas hence in drinking on the lawns
New turns of humour seiz'd the Fawns.

Here one was crying out, by Jove!
Another, fight me in the grove;
This wounds a friend, and that the trees;
The Lion's temper reign'd in these.

Another grins and leaps about,
And keeps a merry world of rout,
And talks impertinently free;
And twenty talk the same as he:
Chatt'ring, airy, idle, kind:
These take the Monkey-turn of mind.

Here one who saw the nymphs that stood
To peep upon them from the wood,
Steals off, to try if any maid
Be lagging late beneath the shade;
While loose discourse another raises
In naked Nature's plainest phrases;
And ev'ry glass he drinks enjoys
With change of nonsense, lust and noise;
Mad and careless, hot and vain,

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Such as these the Goat retain.

Another drinks and casts it up,
And drinks and wants another cup,
Solemn, silent, and sedate,
Ever long and ever late,
Full of meats and full of wine;
This takes his temper from the swine.

Here some who hardly seem to breathe,
Drink and hang the jaw beneath,
Gaping, tender, apt to weep;
Their natures alter'd by the sheep.

'Twas thus one autumn all the crew
(If what the Poets sing be true)
While Bacchus made the merry feast
Inclin'd to one or other beast;
And since 'tis said for many a mile
He spread the vines of Lesbos isle.

Piety: Or, The Vision.

'Twas when the night in silent sable fled,
When chearful morning sprung with rising red,
When dreams and vapours leave to crowd the brain,
And best the Vision draws its heav'nly scene;
'Twas then, as slumb'ring on my couch I lay,
A sudden splendor seem'd to kindle day,
A breeze came breathing in a sweet perfume,
Blown from eternal gardens, fill'd the room;
And in a void of blue, that clouds invest,
Appear'd a daughter of the realms of rest;
Her head a ring of golden glory wore,
Her honour'd hand the sacred volume bore,
Her rayment glitt'ring seem'd a silver white,
And all her sweet companions sons of light.

Strait as I gaz'd my fear and wonder grew,
Fear barr'd my voice, and wonder fix'd my view,
When lo! a cherub of the shining crowd
That sail'd as guardians in her azure cloud,
Fann'd the soft air and downward seem'd to glide,
And to my lips a living coal applied;
Then while the warmth on all my pulses ran,

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Diffusing comfort, thus the maid began.

‘Where glorious mansions are prepar'd above,
‘The seats of Music, and the seats of Love,
‘Thence I descend, and piety my name,
‘To warm thy bosom with celestial flame,
‘To teach thee praises mix'd with humble pray'rs,
‘And tune thy soul to sing seraphic airs;
‘Be thou my bard.’ A vial here she caught,
(An angel's hand the chrystal vial brought)
And as with awful sound the word was said,
She pour'd a sacred unction on my head,
Then thus proceeded. ‘Be thy muse thy zeal,
‘Dare to be good, and all my joys reveal;
‘While other pencils flatt'ring forms create,
‘And paint the gawdy plumes that deck the great;
‘While other pens exalt the vain delight,
‘Whose wasteful revel wakes the depth of night;
‘Or others softly sing in idle lines,
‘How Damon courts, or Amaryllis shines;
‘More wisely thou select a theme divine;
‘'Tis Fame's their recompence, 'tis Heav'n is thine.

‘Despise the fervours of unhallow'd fire,
‘Where wine, or passion, or applause inspire,
‘Low restless life, and ravings born of earth,
‘Whose meaner subjects speak their humble birth;
‘Like working seas, that when loud Winters blow,
‘Not made for rising, only rage below:
‘Mine is a great, and yet a lasting heat,
‘More lasting still, as more intensely great,
‘Produc'd where pray'r, and praise, and pleasure breathe,
‘And ever mounting whence it shot beneath.

‘Unpaint the Love that hov'ring over beds,
‘From glitt'ring pinions guilty pleasure sheds,
‘Restore the colour to the golden mines
‘With which behind the feather'd idol shines;
‘To flow'ring greens give back their native care,
‘The rose and lily never his to wear;
‘To sweet Arabia send the balmy breath,
‘Strip the fair flesh, and call the phantom Death;
‘His bow be sabled o'er, his shafts the same,
‘And fork and point them with eternal flame.

‘But urge thy pow'rs, thine utmost voice advance,
‘Make the loud strings against thy fingers dance,

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‘'Tis Love that angels praise, and men adore,
‘'Tis Love Divine that asks it all and more:
‘Fling back the gates of ever-blazing day,
‘Pour floods of liquid light to gild the way,
‘And all in glory wrapt, thro' paths untrod,
‘Pursue the great unseen descent of GOD!
‘Hail the meek virgin, bid the child appear,
‘The child is GOD! and call him Jesus here;
‘He comes; but where to rest? a manger's nigh,
‘Make the great being in a manger lye;
‘Fill the wide skies with angels on the wing,
‘Make thousands gaze, and make ten thousand sing:
‘Let men afflict him, men he came to save,
‘And still afflict him, 'till he reach the grave;
‘Make him resign'd, his loads of sorrow meet,
‘And me, like Mary, weep beneath his feet;
‘I'll bathe my tresses there, my pray'rs rehearse,
‘And glide in flames of love along thy verse.

‘Hah! while I speak, I feel my bosom swell,
‘My raptures smother what I long to tell!
‘'Tis GOD! a present GOD! thro' cleaving air
‘I see the throne! I see the Jesus there!
‘Plac'd on the right; he shows the wounds he bore!
‘(My fervours oft have won him thus before)
‘How pleas'd he looks! my words have reach'd his ear,
‘He bids the gates unbar, and calls me near.’

She ceas'd. The cloud on which she seem'd to tread,
Its curls unfolded, and around her spread;
Bright angels waft their wings to raise the cloud,
And sweep their iv'ry lutes, and sing aloud;
The scene moves off, while all its ambient sky
Is tun'd to wond'rous music, as they fly;
And soft the swelling sounds of music grow,
And faint their softness, till they fail below.

My downy sleep the warmth of Phoebus broke,
And while my thoughts were settling, thus I spoke;
Thou beauteous Vision on the soul imprest,
When most my reason wou'd appear to rest!
'Twas sure with pencils dipt in various lights
Some curious angel limn'd thy sacred sights;
From blazing suns his radiant gold he drew,
White moons the silver gave, and air the blue.
I'll mount the roving wind's expanded wing,

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And seek the sacred hill, and light to sing;
('Tis known in Jewry well) I'll make my lays,
Obedient to thy summons, sound with praise.

But still I fear, unwarm'd with holy flame,
I take for truth the flatt'ries of a dream;
And barely wish the wond'rous gift I boast,
And faintly practise what deserves it most.

“Indulgent lord! whose gracious love displays
Joys in the light, and fills the dark with ease;
Be this, to bless my days, no dream of bliss,
Or be, to bless my nights, my dreams like this.

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Miscellaneous Poems From Posthumous Works (1758)

On Queen Anne's Peace, Anno 1713.

Dignum laude virum Musa vetat mori.
Hor.

Mother of plenty, daughter of the skies,
Sweet Peace, the troubl'd world's desire, arise;
Around thy poet weave thy summer shades,
Within my fancy spread thy flow'ry meads,
Amongst thy train soft ease and pleasure bring,
And thus indulgent sooth me whilst I sing.

Great Anna claims the song; no brighter name
Adorns the list of never-dying fame,
No fairer soul was ever form'd above,
None e'er was more the grateful nation's love
Nor lov'd the nation more. I fly with speed
To sing such lines as Bolingbroke may read,
On war dispers'd, on faction trampled down,
On all the peaceful glories of the crown.
And if I fail in too confin'd a flight,
May the kind world upon my labours write;
“So fell the lines which strove for endless fame,
“Yet fell attempting on the noblest theme.

Now twelve revolving years has Britain stood
With loss of wealth and vast expence of blood
Europa's Guardian; still her gallant arms
Secur'd Europa from impending harms.
Fair honour, full success, and just applause,
Pursu'd her marches, and adorn'd her cause;
Whilst Gaul, aspiring to erect a throne
O'er other empires, trembled for her own,

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Bemoan'd her cities won, her armies slain,
And sunk the thought of universal reign.

When thus reduc'd the world's Invaders lie,
The fears which rack'd the nations, justly die:
Pow'r finds its balance, giddy motions cease
In both the scales, and each inclines to peace.
This fair occasion Providence prepares,
To answer pious Anna's hourly pray'rs,
Which still on warm Devotion's wings arose,
And reaching Heav'n obtain'd the world's repose.

Within the vast expansion of the sky,
Where Orbs of gold in fields of Azure lie,
A glorious palace shines, whose silver ray
Serenely flowing lights the milky way,
The road of angels. Here with speedy care
The summon'd Guardians of the world repair.
When Britain's Angel on the message sent
Speaks Anna's pray'rs and Heaven's supream intent,
That war's destructive arm shou'd humble Gaul,
Spain's parted realms to diff'rent monarchs fall,
The grand alliance crown'd with glory cease,
And joyful Europe find the sweets of peace.
He spoke: the smiling hopes of man's repose,
The joy that springs from certain hopes arose
Diffusive o'er the place; complacent airs
Sedately sweet were heard within the spheres;
And bowing all adore the sovereign mind,
And fly to execute the work design'd.

This done, the Guardian on the wing repairs
Where Anna sat revolving publick cares
With deep concern of thought. Unseen he stood
Presenting peaceful images of good
On Fancy's airy stage; returning Trade,
A sunk Exchequer fill'd, an Army paid,
The fields with men, the men with plenty bless'd,
The towns with riches, and the world with rest.
Such pleasing objects on her bosom play,
And give the dawn of glory's golden day,
When all her labours at their harvest shewn
Shall in her subjects joy compleat her own.
Then breaking silence, 'tis enough, she cries,
That war has rag'd to make the nations wise.
Heav'n prospers armies whilst they fight to save,

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And thirst of further fame destroys the brave;
The vanquish'd Gauls are humbly pleas'd to live,
And but escap'd the chains they meant to give.
Now let the pow'rs be still'd and each possess'd
Of what secures the common safety best.

So spake the Queen, then fill'd with warmth divine
She call'd her Oxford to the grand design;
Her Oxford prudent in affairs of state,
Profoundly thoughtful, manifestly great
In ev'ry turn, whose steddy temper steers
Above the reach of gold or shock of fears;
Whom no blind chance, but merit understood
By frequent tryals, pow'r of doing good,
And will to execute, advanc'd on high,
O soul created to deserve the sky!
And make the nation, crown'd with glory, see
How much it rais'd itself by raising thee!
Now let the schemes which labour in thy breast
The long Alliance bless with lasting rest:
Weigh all pretences with impartial laws,
And fix the sep'rate Int'rests of the cause.

These toils the graceful Bolingbroke attends,
A Genius fashion'd for the greatest ends,
Whose strong perception takes the swiftest flight,
And yet its swiftness ne'er obscures its sight:
When schemes are fix'd, and each assign'd a part,
None serves his country with a nobler heart,
Just thoughts of honour all his mind controul,
And Expedition wings his lively soul.
On such a Patriot to confer the Trust,
The Monarch knows it safe as well as just.

Then next proceeding in her Agents choice
And ever pleas'd that worth obtain the voice,
She from the list of high-distinguish'd fames
With pious Bristow gallant Strafford names:
One form'd to stand a church's firm support,
The other fitted to adorn a court,
Both vers'd in business, both of fine address,
By which experience leads to great success:
And both to distant lands the Monarch sends,
And to their conduct Europe's peace commends.

Now ships unmoor'd to waft her Agents o'er
Spread all their sail, and quit the flying shore.

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The foreign Agents reach th' appointed place,
The Congress opens, and it will be peace.
Methinks the war like stormy winter flies,
When fairer months unveil the blueish skies,
A flow'ry world the sweetest season spreads,
And doves with branches flutter round their heads.

Half-peopled Gaul whom num'rous ills destroy
With wishful heart attends the promis'd joy.
For this prepares the Duke—ah sadly slain
'Tis grief to name him whom we mourn in vain:
No warmth of verse repairs the vital flame,
For verse can only grant a life in fame,
Yet cou'd my praise like spicy odours shed
In everlasting song embalm the dead,
To realms that weeping heard the loss I'd tell,
What courage, sense, and faith, with Brandon fell.

But Britain more than one for glory breeds,
And polish'd Talbot to the charge succeeds,
Whose far-projecting thoughts maturely clear
Like glasses draw their distant objects near.
Good Parts by gentle breeding much refin'd,
And stores of learning grace his ample mind,
A cautious virtue regulates his ways,
And Honour gilds them with a thousand rays.
To serve his nation at his Queen's command,
He parts commission'd for the Gallick land:
With pleasure Gaul beholds him on her shore
And learns to love a name she fear'd before.

Once more aloft there meet for new debates
The Guardian Angels of Europa's states:
And mutual concord shines in ev'ry face
And ev'ry bosom glows with hopes of peace,
While Britain's steps in one consent they praise,
Then gravely mourn their other realms delays,
Their doubtful claims through seas of blood pursu'd,
Their fears that Gallia fell but half subdu'd,
And all the reas'nings which attempt to shew
That war shou'd ravage in the world below.
“Ah fall'n estate of man! can rage delight!
“Wounds please the touch, or ruin charm the sight!
“Ambition make unlovely mischief fair!
“Or ever Pride be Providence's care!

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“When stern Oppressors range the bloody field,
“'Tis just to conquer and unsafe to yield:
“There save the nations; but no more pursue
“Nor in thy turn become Oppressor too.”
Our rebel angels for Ambition fell,
And war in Heav'n produc'd a Fiend in hell.
Thus with a soft concern for man's repose
The tender Guardians join to moan our woes,
Then awful rise, combin'd with all their might,
To find what Fury 'scap'd the den of night
The pleasing labours of their love withstands,
And spreads a wild distraction o'er the lands.
Their glitt'ring pinnions sound in yielding air,
And watchful Providence approves the care.

In Flandria's soil where Camps have mark'd the plain,
The Fiend, impetuous Discord, fix'd her reign;
A tent her royal seat. With full resort
Stern shapes of Horrour throng'd her buisy court,
Blind Mischief, Ambush close concealing Ire,
Loud Threat'nings, Ruin arm'd with sword and fire,
Assaulting Fierceness, Anger wanting breath,
High Red'ning Rage, and Various Forms of death,
Dire Imps of darkness, whom with Gore she feeds
When war beyond its point of Good proceeds.
In Gallick armour, call'd with alter'd name
Great love of Empire, to the field she came;
Now, still supporting Feud, she strives to hide
Beneath that name, and only change the side:
But as she whirl'd the rapid wheels around
Where mangl'd limbs in heaps pollute the ground,
(A sullen Joyless Sport,) with searching eye
The shining Chiefs regard her as they fly,
Then hov'ring, dart their beams of heav'nly light,
She starts, the Fury stands confess'd to sight,
And grieves to leave the soil, and yells aloud,
Her Yells are answer'd by the Sable Crowd,
And all on Bat-like wings (if Fame be true)
From Christian lands to Northern climates flew.

But rising murmours from Britannia's shore
With speed recal her watchful Guardian o'er.
He spreads his pinions, and approaching near,
These hints in scatter'd words assault his ear,

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The People's Pow'r—The Grand Alliance cross'd
The Peace is sep'rate—Our Religion's lost.
Led by the Blatant voice along the skies,
He comes where Faction over cities flies;
A talking Fiend whom snaky locks disgrace,
And num'rous mouths deform her dusky face,
Whence Lies are utter'd, Whisper softly sounds,
Sly Doubts amaze, or Innuendo wounds.
Within her arms are heaps of Pamphlets seen,
And these blaspheme the Saviour, those the Queen;
Associate Vices: thus with tongue and hand
She shed her venom o'er the troubled land.
Now vex'd that Discord and the Baneful Train
That tends on Discord, fled the neighb'ring plain,
She rag'd to madness: when the Guardian came,
And downwards drove her with a sword of flame.
A mountain gaping to the Nether Hell
Receiv'd the Fury railing as she fell:
The mountain closing o'er the Fury lies,
And stops her passage where she means to rise,
And when she strives, or shifts her side for ease,
All Britain rocks amidst her circling seas.

Now Peace returning after tedious woes
Restores the comforts of a calm repose:
Then bid the Warriors sheath their sanguin'd arms,
Bid Angry Trumpets cease to sound Alarms,
Guns leave to thunder in the tortur'd air,
Red streaming colours furl around the spear,
And each contending realm no longer jarr,
But pleas'd with rest unharness all the war.

She comes the Blessing comes, where'er she moves
New springing Beauty all the land improves:
More heaps of fragrant flow'rs the field adorn,
More sweet the Birds salute the Rosy Morn,
More lively Green refreshes all the leaves,
And in the Breeze the corn more thickly waves.
She comes the Blessing comes in easy state,
And Forms of Brightness all around her wait:
Here smiling Safety with her bosom bare
Securely walks, and chearful Plenty there;
Here wond'rous Sciences with Eagles sight,
There Liberal Arts which make the world polite,
And open Traffick joining hand in hand

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With honest Industry, approach the land.

O welcome long desir'd and lately found!
Here fix thy seat upon the British ground,
Thy Shining Train around the Nation send,
While by degrees the loading Taxes end:
While Caution, calm yet still prepar'd for arms,
And Foreign Treaties, guard from foreign harms:
While equal Justice hearing ev'ry cause
Makes ev'ry Subject join to love the laws.

Where Britain's Patriots in Council meet
Let publick safety rest at Anna's feet:
Let Oxford's schemes the Path to Plenty shew
And through the realm increasing Plenty go.
Let Arts and Sciences in glory rise,
And pleas'd the world has leisure to be wise,
Around their Oxford and their St. John stand,
Like Plants that flourish by the Master's hand:
And safe in hope the sons of Learning wait
Where Learning's Self has fix'd her fair retreat.
Let Traffick cherish'd by the Senate's care
On all the seas employ the wafting air:
And Industry with circulating wing
Through all the land the goods of Traffick bring.
The Blessings so dispos'd will long abide,
Since Anna reigns, and Harley's thoughts preside;
Great Ormond's arms the sword of Caution wield,
And hold Britannia's broad-protecting Shield;
Bright Bolingbroke and worthy Dartmouth treat
By fair dispatch with ev'ry foreign State;
And Harcourt's knowledge equitably shewn
Makes Justice call his firm Decrees her own.

Thus all that Poets fanci'd Heav'n of old
May for the nation's present Emblem hold:
There Jove imperial sway'd; Minerva wise,
And Phœbus eloquent, adorn'd the skies;
On Arts Cyllenius fix'd his full delight,
Mars rein'd the War, and Themis judg'd the Right:
All mortals once beneficently great,
(As Fame reports) and rais'd in Heav'nly State;
Yet sharing labours, still they shun'd repose,
To shed the blessings down by which they rose.

Illustrious Queen, how Heav'n hath heard thy pray'rs,
What stores of Happiness attend thy Cares!

306

A Church in safety fix'd, a State in rest,
A Faithful Ministry, a People bless'd,
And Kings submissive at thy foot-stool thrown,
That others Rights restore, or beg their own.
Now rais'd with thankful mind, and rolling slow,
In grand Procession to the temple go,
By snow-white Horses drawn; while sounding Fame
Proclaims thy coming, Praise exalts thy name,
Fair Honour dress'd in robes adorns thy state,
And on thy Train the crowded Nations wait,
Who pressing view with what a temper'd grace
The looks of Majesty compose thy face,
And mingling Sweetness shines, or how thy dress
And how thy Pomp an inward Joy confess,
Then fill'd with Pleasures to thy glory due
With Shouts the Chariot moving on pursue.

As when the Phœnix from Arabia flown,
(If any Phœnix were like Anna known,)
His spice at Phœbus Shrine prepar'd to lay,
Where'er their Monarch cut his airy way
The gath'ring Birds around the Wonder flew,
And much admir'd his Shape and much his Hue,
The tuft of Gold that glow'd above his head,
His spacious Train with golden feathers spread,
His gilded Bosom speck'd with purple pride,
And both his Wings in glossy purple dy'd:
He still pursues his way, with wond'ring eyes
The Birds attend, and follow where he flies.

Thrice happy Britons, if at last you know,
'Tis less to conquer than to want a foe;
That Triumphs still are made for War's decrease,
When Men by Conquest rise to views of Peace;
That over Toils for Peace in view we run,
Which gain'd, the World is pleas'd, and War is done.
Fam'd Blenheim's field, Ramillies noble seat,
Blaregni's desperate act of gallant heat,
Or wond'rous Winendale, are war pursu'd
By wounds and deaths through plains with blood embru'd;
But good Design to make the world be still,
With human Grace adorns the needful Ill;
This end obtain'd, we close the Scenes of rage
And gentler Glories deck the rising age.

Such gentler Glories, such reviving days,

307

The Nation's wishes, and the Statesman's praise,
Now pleas'd to shine in golden Order throng,
Demand our Annals and enrich our Song.
Then go where Albion's Cliffs approach the skies,
(The Fame of Albion so deserves to rise)
And deep engrav'd for Time 'till Time shall cease,
Upon the Stones their fair Inscription place.
Iberia rent, the Pow'r of Gallia broke,
Batavia rescu'd from the threat'ned Yoke,
The royal Austrian rais'd, his Realms restor'd,
Great Britain arm'd, triumphant and ador'd,
Its State enlarg'd, its Peace restor'd again,
Are Blessings all adorning Anna's Reign.

The Judgment of Paris.

Where waving Pines the brows of Ida shade,
The swain young Paris half supinely laid,
Saw the loose Flocks thro' shrubs unnumber'd rove
And Piping call'd them to the gladded grove.
'Twas there he met the Message of the skies,
That he the Judge of Beauty deal the prize.

The Message known, one Love with anxious mind,
To make his Mother guard the time assign'd,
Drew forth her proud white Swans, and trac'd the pair
That wheel her Chariot in the purple air:
A golden Bow behind his shoulder bends,
A golden Quiver at his side depends,
Pointing to these he nods, with fearless State,
And bids her safely meet the grand Debate.
Another Love proceeds with anxious care
To make his Iv'ry sleek the shining hair,
Moves the loose Curls and bids the Forehead shew
In full Expansion all its native snow.
A third enclasps the many colour'd Cest
And rul'd by Fancy sets the silver Vest,
When to her Sons with intermingl'd sighs
The Goddess of the rosy lips applies.

'Tis now my darling boys a time to shew
The love you feel, the filial aids you owe:
Yet would we think that any dar'd to strive

308

For Charms, when Venus and her Loves alive?
Or should the prize of beauty be deni'd,
Has Beauty's Empress ought to boast beside?
And ting'd with Poison, pleasing while it harms,
My Darts I trusted to your infant arms;
If, when your hands have arch'd the golden Bow,
The World's great Ruler bending owns the blow,
Let no contending Form invade my due,
Tall Juno's Mein, nor Pallas Eyes of blew.
But grac'd with Triumph, to the Paphian shore,
Your Venus bears the Palms of Conquest o'er,
And joyful see my hundred Altars there
With costly Gums perfume the wanton air.

While thus the Cupids hear the Cyprian Dame,
The groves resounded where a Goddess came.
The warlike Pallas march'd with mighty stride,
Her Shield forgot, her Helmet laid aside.
Her Hair unbound, in curls and order flow'd,
And Peace, or something like, her Visage shew'd;
So with her eyes serene and hopeful haste,
The long stretch'd Allys of the Wood she trac'd.
But where the Woods a second Entrance found,
With Scepter'd Pomp, and Golden Glory crown'd
The stately Juno stalk'd, to reach the Seat,
And hear the Sentence in the last Debate,
And long, severely long resent the Grove;
In this, what boots it, she's the wife of Jove.

Arm'd with a Grace, at length, secure to win,
The lovely Venus smiling enters in;
All sweet and shining near the Youth she drew,
Her rosy Neck ambrosial odours threw;
The sacred Scents diffus'd among the leaves,
Ran down the Woods and fill'd their hoary Caves;
The Charms, so am'rous all, and each so great,
The conquer'd Judge no longer keeps his Seat;
Oppress'd with Light, he drops his weary'd eyes
And fears he should be thought to doubt the Prize.

309

A Riddle.

Upon a Bed of humble clay
In all her Garments loose
A Prostitute my Mother lay
To ev'ry Comer's use.

'Till one Gallant in heat of love
His Own Peculiar made her
And to a Region far above
And softer Beds convey'd her.

But in his Absence, to his Place
His rougher Rival came
And with a cold constrain'd Embrace
Begat me on the Dame.

I then appear'd to Publick View
A Creature wondrous bright
But shortly perishable too
Inconstant, nice and light.

On Feathers not together fast
I wildly flew about
And from my Father's country past
To find my Mother out.

Where her Gallant of her beguil'd
With me enamour'd grew
And I that was my Mother's Child
Brought forth my Mother too.

On Mrs. Ar: F: Leaving London.

From Town fair Arabella flies,
The Beaux unpowder'd grieve,
The Rivers play before her eyes,
The Breezes softly breathing rise
The Spring begins to live.

310

Her Lovers swore they must expire
Yet quickly find their Ease,
For as she goes, their Flames retire
Love thrives before a nearer fire
Esteem by distant Rays.

Yet soon the Fair one will return
When Summer quits the Plain
Ye Rivers pour the weeping Urn,
Ye Breezes sadly sighing mourn,
Ye Lovers burn again.

'Tis constancy enough in Love
That Nature's fairly shewn
To search for more will fruitless prove
Romances and the Turtle Dove
The Virtue boast alone.

312

From Pope's Works, Volume 2, Part 2, 1738

313

The Third Satire of Dr. John Donne .

Compassion checks my spleen, yet Scorn denies
The tears a passage thro' my swelling eyes;
To laugh or weep at sins, might idly show,
Unheedful passion, or unfruitful woe.
Satyr! arise, and try thy sharper ways,
If ever Satyr cur'd an old disease.

Is not Religion (Heav'n-descended dame)
As worthy all our soul's devoutest flame,
As Moral Virtue in her early sway,
When the best Heathens saw by doubtful day?
Are not the joys, the promis'd joys above,
As great and strong to vanquish earthly love,
As earthly glory, fame, respect and show,
As all rewards their virtue found below?
Alas! Religion proper means prepares,
These means are ours, and must its End be theirs?
And shall thy Father's spirit meet the sight
Of Heathen Sages cloath'd in heavenly light,
Whose Merit of strict life, severely suited
To Reason's dictates, may be faith imputed?
Whilst thou, to whom he taught the nearer road,
Art ever banish'd from the bless'd abode.

Oh! if thy temper such a fear can find,
This fear were valour of the noblest kind.

Dar'st thou provoke, when rebel souls aspire,
Thy Maker's Vengeance, and thy Monarch's Ire?
Or live entomb'd in ships, thy leader's prey,
Spoil of the war, the famine, or the sea?

315

In search of pearl, in depth of ocean breathe,
Or live, exil'd the sun, in mines beneath?
Or, where in tempests icy mountains roll,
Attempt a passage by the Northern pole?
Or dar'st thou parch within the fires of Spain,
Or burn beneath the line, for Indian gain?
Or for some Idol of thy Fancy draw,
Some loose-gown'd dame; O courage made of straw!
Thus, desp'rate Coward! would'st thou bold appear,
Yet when thy God has plac'd thee Centry here,
To thy own foes, to his, ignobly yield,
And leave, for wars forbid, the appointed field?

Know thy own foes; th' Apostate Angel, he
You strive to please, the foremost of the Three;
He makes the pleasures of his realm the bait,
But can he give for Love, that acts in Hate?
The World's thy second Love, thy second Foe,
The World, whose beauties perish as they blow,
They fly, she fades herself, and at the best
You grasp a wither'd strumpet to your breast.
The Flesh is next, which in fruition wasts,
High flush'd with all the sensual joys it tasts,
While men the fair, the goodly Soul destroy,
From whence the flesh has pow'r to tast a joy.

Seek thou Religion, primitively sound—
Well, gentle friend, but where may she be found?

By Faith Implicite blind Ignaro led,
Thinks the bright Seraph from his Country fled,
And seeks her seat at Rome, because we know
She there was seen a thousand years ago;
And loves her Relick rags, as men obey
The foot-cloth where the Prince sat yesterday.

These pageant Forms are whining Obed's scorn,
Who seeks Religion at Geneva born,
A sullen thing, whose coarsness suits the crowd,
Tho' young, unhandsome; tho' unhandsome, proud:
Thus, with the wanton, some perversely judge
All girls unhealthy but the Country drudge.

No foreign schemes make easy Cæpio roam,
The man contented takes his Church at home;
Nay should some Preachers, servile bawds of gain,
Shou'd some new Laws, which like new-fashions reign,
Command his faith to count Salvation ty'd

317

To visit his, and visit none beside,
He grants Salvation centers in his own,
And grants it centers but in his alone:
From youth to age he grasps the proffer'd dame,
And they confer his Faith, who give his Name:
So from the Guardian's hands, the Wards who live
Enthral'd to Guardians, take the wives they give.

From all professions careless Airy flies,
For, all professions can't be good, he cries,
And here a fault, and there another views,
And lives unfix'd for want to heart to chuse:
So men, who know what some loose girls have done,
For fear of marrying such, will marry none.

The Charms of all, obsequious Courtly strike;
On each he doats, on each attends alike;
And thinks, as diff'rent countrys deck the dame,
The dresses altering, and the sex the same;
So fares Religion, chang'd in outward show,
But 'tis Religion still, where'er we go:
This blindness springs from an excess of light,
And men embrace the wrong to chuse the right.

But thou of force must one Religion own,
And only one, and that the Right alone.
To find that Right one, ask thy Reverend Sire;
Let him of his, and him of his enquire;
Tho' Truth and Falshood seem as twins ally'd,
There's Eldership on Truth's delightful side,
Her seek with heed—who seeks the soundest First
Is not of No Religion, nor the worst.
T' adore, or scorn an Image, or protest,
May all be bad: doubt wisely for the best;
'Twere wrong to sleep, or headlong run astray;
It is not wandring, to inquire the way.

On a large mountain, at the Basis wide,
Steep to the top, and craggy at the side,
Sits sacred Truth enthron'd; and he, who means
To reach the summit, mounts with weary pains,
Winds round and round, and every turn essays
Where sudden breaks resist the shorter ways.

Yet labour so, that, e're faint age arrive,
Thy searching soul possess her Rest alive;
To work by twilight were to work too late,
And Age is twilight to the night of fate.

318

To will implyes delay, therefore now do:
Hard deeds, the bodie's pain; hard knowledge too
The mind's indeavours reach; and mysteries
Are like the Sun dazling, yet plain to all eyes.
Keep the truth thou hast found; men do not stand
In so ill case, that God hath with his hand
Sign'd Kings blank-charters to kill whom they hate,
Nor are they Vicars, but hangmen to Fate.
Fool and wretch, wilt thou let thy soul be tyed
To mans laws, by which she shall not be tryed
At the last day? Or will it then boot thee
To say a Philip or a Gregory,
A Harry or a Martin taught me this?
Is not this excuse for meer contraries,
Equally strong, cannot both sides say so?
That thou mayest rightly obey power, her bounds know;
Those past, her nature, and name are chang'd; to be
Then humble to her is Idolatry.
As streams are, Power is; those blest flowers that dwell
At the rough streams calm head, thrive and do well,
But having left their roots, and themselves given
To the streams tyrannous rage, alas, are driven
Through Mills, Rocks, and Woods, and at last, almost
Consum'd in going, in the sea are lost:
So perish Souls, which more chuse mens unjust
Power, from God claim'd, then God himself to trust.

319

To will alone, is but to mean delay;
To work at present is the use of day:
For man's employ much thought and deed remain,
High Thoughts the Soul, hard deeds the body strain:
And Myst'ries ask believing, which to View
Like the fair Sun, are plain, but dazling too.

Be Truth, so found, with sacred heed possest,
Not Kings have pow'r to tear it from thy breast,
By no blank Charters harm they where they hate,
Nor are they Vicars, but the hands of Fate.
Ah! fool and wretch, who let'st thy soul be ty'd
To human Laws! Or must it so be try'd?
Or will it boot thee, at the latest day,
When Judgment sits, and Justice asks thy plea,
That Philip that, or Greg'ry taught thee this,
Or John or Martin? All may teach amiss:
For, every contrary in each Extream
This holds alike, and each may plead the same.

Wou'dst thou to Pow'r a proper duty shew?
'Tis thy first task the bounds of pow'r to know;
The bounds once past, it holds the name no more,
Its nature alters, which it own'd before,
Nor were submission humbleness exprest,
But all a low Idolatry at best.

Pow'r, from above subordinately spread,
Streams like a fountain from th' eternal head;
There, calm and pure the living waters flow,
But roar a Torrent or a Flood below;
Each flow'r, ordain'd the Margins to adorn,
Each native Beauty, from its roots is torn,
And left on Deserts, Rocks and Sands, or tost
All the long travel, and in Ocean lost:
So fares the soul, which more that Pow'r reveres
Man claims from God, than what in God inheres.

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Poems from Swift's Works, Volume 8, 1765

Dr. Parnel to Dr. Swift, on His Birth-day, November 30th, MDCCXIII.

Urg'd by the warmth of Friendship's sacred flame,
But more by all the glories of thy fame;
By all those offsprings of thy learned mind,
In judgment solid, as in wit refin'd,
Resolv'd I sing: Tho' lab'ring up the way
To reach my theme, O Swift, accept my lay.

Rapt by the force of thought, and rais'd above,
Thro' Contemplation's airy fields I rove;
Where pow'rful Fancy purifies my eye,
And lights the beauties of a brighter sky;
Fresh paints the meadows, bids green shades ascend,
Clear rivers wind, and op'ning plains extend;
Then fills its landscape thro' the vary'd parts
With Virtues, Graces, Sciences, and Arts:
Superiour Forms, of more than mortal air,
More large than mortals, more serenely fair.
Of these two Chiefs, the guardians of thy name,
Conspire to raise thee to the point of fame.
Ye Future Times, I heard the silver sound!
I saw the Graces form a circle round!
Each, where she fix'd, attentive seem'd to root,
And all, but Eloquence herself, was mute.

High o'er the rest I see the Goddess rise,
Loose to the breeze her upper garment flies:
By turns, within her eyes the Passions burn,

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And softer Passions languish in their turn:
Upon her tongue Persuasion, or Command;
And decent Action dwells upon her hand.

From out her breast ('twas there the treasure lay)
She drew thy labours to the blaze of day.
Then gaz'd, and read the charms she could inspire,
And taught the list'ning audience to admire,
How strong thy flight, how large thy grasp of thought,
How just thy schemes, how regularly wrought;
How sure you wound when Ironies deride,
Which must be seen, and feign to turn aside.
'Twas thus exploring she rejoic'd to see
Her brightest features drawn so near by thee:
Then here, she cries, let future ages dwell,
And learn to copy where they can't excel.

She spake. Applause attended on the close:
Then Poesy, her sister-art, arose;
Her fairer sister, born in deeper ease,
Not made so much for bus'ness, more to please.
Upon her cheek sits Beauty, ever young;
The Soul of Music warbles on her tongue;
Bright in her eyes a pleasing Ardour glows,
And from her heart the sweetest Temper flows:
A laurel-wreath adorns her curls of hair,
And binds their order to the dancing air:
She shakes the colours of her radiant wing,
And, from the Spheres, she takes a pitch to sing.

Thrice happy Genius his, whose Works have hit
The lucky point of bus'ness and of wit.
They seem like show'rs, which April months prepare
To call their flow'ry glories up to air:
The drops descending, take the painted bow,
And dress with sunshine, while for good they flow.
To me retiring oft, he finds relief
In slowly-wasting care, and biting grief:
From me retreating oft, he gives to view
What eases care and grief in others too.
Ye fondly grave, be wise enough to know,
“Life ne'er unbent were but a life of woe.”
Some full in stretch for greatness, some for gain,
On his own rack each puts himself to pain.
I'll gently steal you from your toils away,

322

Where balmy winds with scents ambrosial play;
Where, on the banks as crystal rivers flow,
They teach immortal amarants to grow:
Then, from the mild indulgence of the scene,
Restore your tempers strong for toils again.

She ceas'd: Soft music trembled in the wind,
And sweet delight diffus'd thro' ev'ry mind:
The little Smiles, which still the Goddess grace,
Sportive arose, and ran from face to face.
But chief (and in that place the Virtues bless)
A gentle band their eager joys express:
Here Friendship asks, and Love of Merit longs
To hear the Goddesses renew their songs;
Here great Benevolence to Man is pleas'd;
These own their Swift, and grateful hear him prais'd.
You gentle band, you well may bear your part,
You reign Superior Graces in his heart.

O swift! if fame be life, (as well we know
That Bards and Heroes have esteem'd it so)
Thou canst not wholly die; thy works will shine
To future times, and Life in Fame be thine.

On Bishop Burnet's being set on Fire in his Closet.

From that dire æra, bane to Sarum's pride,
Which broke his schemes and laid his friends aside,
He talks and writes that Pop'ry will return,
And we, and he, and all his works will burn.
What touch'd himself was almost fairly prov'd,
(Oh, far from Britain be the rest remov'd!)
For, as of late he meant to bless the age
With flagrant Prefaces of party-rage,
O'er-wrought with passion and the subject's weight,
Lolling, he nodded in his elbow-seat,
Down fell the candle; Grease and Zeal conspire,
Heat meets with heat, and Pamphlets burn their Sire.
Here crawls a Preface on its half-burn'd maggots,
And there an Introduction brings its faggots;
Then roars the Prophet of the Northern Nation,
Scorch'd by a flaming speech on Moderation.

323

Unwarn'd by this, go on the realm to fright,
Thou Briton, vaunting in thy second-sight;
In such a Ministry you safely tell,
How much you'd suffer, if Religion fell.

324

From A Miscellaneous Collection of Poems, 1721

On the Death of Mr. Viner .

Is Viner Dead? and shall each Muse become
Silent as Death, and as his Musick Dumb?
Shall he depart without a poet's Praise,
Who oft to Harmony has tun'd their Lays?
Shall he, who knew the Elegance of Sound,
Find no one voice to sing him to the Ground?
musick and poetry are Sister-Arts,
Shew a like Genius, and consenting Hearts:
My Soul with his is secretly ally'd,
And I am forc'd to speak, since viner dy'd.
Oh that my Muse, as once his Notes, could swell!
That I might all his Praises fully tell;
That I might say with how much skill he play'd,
How nimbly four extended Strings survey'd;
How Bow and Fingers, with a noble Strife,
Did raise the vocal fiddle into Life;
How various Sounds, in various Order rang'd,
By unobserv'd Degrees minutely chang'd;
Thro' a vast Space could in Divisions run,
Be all distinct, yet all agree in One:
And how the fleeter Notes could swiftly pass,
And skip alternately from Place to Place;
The Strings could with a sudden Impulse bound,
Speak every Touch, and tremble into Sound.

The liquid Harmony, a tuneful Tide,
Now seem'd to rage, anon wou'd gently glide;
By Turns would ebb and flow, would rise and fall,

325

Be loudly daring, or be softly small:
While all was blended in one common Name,
Wave push'd on Wave, and all compos'd a Stream.

The diff'rent tones melodiously combin'd,
Temper'd with Art, in sweet Confusion join'd;
The Soft, the Strong, the Clear, the Shrill, the Deep,
Would sometimes soar aloft, and sometimes creep;
While ev'ry Soul upon his Motions hung,
As tho' it were in tuneful Concert strung.
His Touch did strike the Fibres of the Heart,
And a like Trembling secretly impart;
Where various Passions did by Turns succeed,
He made it chearful, and he made it bleed;
Could wind it up into a glowing Fire,
Then shift the Scene, and teach it to expire.

Oft have I seen him on a Publick Stage,
Alone the gaping Multitude engage;
The Eyes and Ears of each Spectator draw,
Command their Thoughts, and give their Passions Law;
While other Musick in Oblivion drown'd,
Seem'd a dead Pulse, or a neglected Sound.

Alas! he's gone, our Great Apollo's dead,
And all that's sweet and tuneful with him fled.
hibernia—with one universal Cry,
Laments its Loss, and speaks his elegy.
Farewel, thou Author of refin'd Delight,
Too little known, too soon remov'd from Sight;
Those Fingers, which such Pleasure did convey,
Must now become to stupid Worms a prey:
Thy grateful fiddle with for ever stand
A silent Mourner for its master's Hand:
Thy art is only to be match'd Above,
Where Musick reigns, and in that Musick Love:
Where Thou wilt with the happy chorus join,
And quickly Thy melodious soul refine
To the exalted pitch of Harmony Divine.

326

Poems from Pancharis, Queen of Love, 1721

Chloris appearing in a Looking Glass.

I

Oft have I seen a Piece of Art,
Of Light and Shade, the Mixture fine,
Speak all the Passions of the Heart,
And shew true Life in every Line.

II

But what is this before my Eyes,
With every Feature, every Grace,
That strikes with Love and with Surprize,
And gives me all the Vital Face.

III

It is not Chloris, for behold
The shifting Phantom comes and goes;
And when 'tis here 'tis pale and cold,
Nor any Female Softness knows.

IV

But 'tis her Image, for I feel
The very Pains that Chloris gives;

327

Her Charms are there, I know 'em well,
I see what in my Bosom lives.

V

Oh cou'd I but the Picture save!
'Tis drawn by her own matchless Skill;
Nature the lively Colours gave,
And she need only Look to Kill.

VI

Ah! Fair-one, will it not suffice,
That I shou'd once, your Victim lye;
Unless you multiply your Eyes,
And strive to make me doubly Dye.

On the Castle of Dublin, Anno 1715.

This House and Inhabitants both well agree,
And resemble each other as near can be;
One half is decay'd, and in want of a Prop,
The other new built, but not finish'd a-top.

Love in Disguise.

I

To stifle Passion is no easy Thing,
A Heart in Love is always on the Wing;
The bold Betrayer flutters still,
And fans the Breath prepar'd to tell:
It melts the Tongue, and tunes the Throat,
And moves the Lips to form the Note;
And when the Speech is lost,
It then sends out its Ghost,
A little Sigh,
To say we dye.
'Tis strange the Air that Cools, a Flame shou'd prove,
But wonder not, it is the Air of Love.

328

II

Yet Chloris I can make my Love look well,
And cover bleeding Wounds I can't conceal,
My Words such artful Accents break,
You think I rather act than speak:
My Sighs enliven'd thro' a Smile,
Your unsuspecting Thoughts beguile;
My Eyes are vary'd so,
You can't their Wishes know:
And I'm so gay,
You think I play.
Happy Contrivance! such as can't be priz'd,
To Live in Love, and yet to Live disguis'd.

On a Lady with a foul Breath.

Art thou alive? It cannot be,
There's so much Rottenness in Thee,
Corruption only is in Death;
And what's more Putrid than thy Breath?
Think not you Live, because you Speak,
For Graves such hollow Sounds can make;
And Respiration can't suffice,
For Vapours do from Caverns rise:
From Thee such noisom Stenches come,
Thy Mouth betrays thy Breast a Tomb.
Thy Body is a Corpse that goes,
By Magick rais'd from its Repose:
A Pestilence that walks by Day,
But falls at Night to Worms and Clay.
But I will to my Chloris run,
Who will not let me be undone:
The Sweets her Virgin-Breath contains,
Are fitted to remove my Pains;
There will I healing Nectar sip,
And to be sav'd, approach her Lip,
Tho' if I touch the matchless Dame,
I'm sure to burn with inward Flame.
Thus when I wou'd one Danger shun,
I'm strait upon another thrown:

329

I seek a Cure one Sore to ease,
Yet in that Cure's a New Disease.
But Love, tho' fatal, still can bless,
And greater Dangers hide the less;
I'll go where Passion bids me fly,
And chuse my Death, since I must Dye;
As Doves pursu'd by Birds of Prey,
Venture with milder Man to stay.

On the Number Three.

Beauty rests not in one fix'd Place,
But seems to reign in every Face;
'Tis nothing sure, but Fancy then,
In various Forms bewitching Men;
Or is it Shape and Colour fram'd,
Proportion just, and woman nam'd?
If Fancy only rul'd in Love,
Why shou'd it then so strongly move?
Or why shou'd all that Look, agree
To own its mighty Pow'r in three?
In Three it shews a different Face,
Each shining with peculiar Grace;
Kindred a Native Likeness gives,
Which pleases, as in All it lives;
And where the Features disagree,
We praise the dear Variety.
Then Beauty surely ne'er was yet,
So much unlike it self and so complete.

Epigram.

Haud facile emergunt, quorum virtutibus obstat
Res angusta Domi ------

The greatest Gifts that Nature does bestow,
Can't unassisted to Perfection grow:
A scanty Fortune clips the Wings of Fame,
And checks the Progress of a rising Name;
Each dastard Vertue drags a Captive's Chain,

330

And moves but slowly, for it moves with Pain.
Domestick Cares sit hard upon the Mind,
And cramp those Thoughts which shou'd be unconfin'd;
The Cries of Poverty alarm the Soul,
Abate its Vigour, its Designs controul:
The Stings of Want inflict the Wounds of Death,
And Motion always ceases with the Breath.
The Love of Friends is found a languid Fire,
That glares but faintly, and will soon expire;
Weak is its Force, nor can its Warmth be great,
A feeble Light begets a feeble Heat.
Wealth is the Fuel that must feed the Flame,
It dyes in Rags, and scarce deserves a Name.

331

Poems from the “Schoedinger” Notebook

Ps 67

1

Have mercy mercy Lord on us
& grant thy blessed grace
Direct us in ye way of life
By th' sunshine of thy face

2

So all the nations on the earth
Shall praise my god & king
& when they see thy saving health
Shall in a chorus sing.

3

Let all thy people praise thy name
& lift their voice on high
Let ym extoll it so with shouts
That heav'n may ring with Joy

4

Rejoyce o earth thy gods thy Judge
Be glad who righteous are
He'le rule ye world with equity
& govern it with fear

5

Let all thy people praise thy name
& lift their voice on high
Let ym extoll it so with shouts
that heav'n may ring with Joy

Then god shall open heavens gates
& pour down all his store
he shall you bless with great encrease
& you shall him adore.

332

On ye queens Death.

The Persians us'd at setting of ye sunn
To howl, as if he nere again should runn
They onely acted it but we indeed
Must doot for all that lovely was is fled
all that was great good Just & vertuous Dead.
The poets of ye graces do relate
that they did upon none but Venus wait
'Tis false or this was she for in each eye
of hers ten thousand graces you might spy
So many her vertues were Death heard ym told
Mistook ye for her dayes & thought her old
yet she is gone all that was lovely fled,
all that was great good Just & vertuous dead
When Romulus was taken to ye gods
& Ceesar mounted to ye blest abodes
in floods & earth-quakes nature Largely grievd
for these her Heroes heaven had receivd
She wept indeed then now she cannot weep
the stillness of ye waves but shows ye deep
the greatness of ye Loss putts all her faculties asleep.

51 Psalm

1

Look mercyfully down O Lord
& wash us from our sinn
2 Cleanse us from wicked deeds without
from wicked thoughts within
3 Lord I Confess my many sinns
that I against thee doe
Each minute they're before my face
& wound my soul anew
4 So Great my god my ills have been
Gainst thee & onely thee
Thy Justice tho' I were Condemnd
would good & righteous bee
5 For att my birth I wickedness
Did with my breath suck in

333

6 But thou shalt teach me in thy ways
& keep me pure from sinn
7 Thoult me with hyssopp purge who am
all over soil's & stain's
Thou with thy sanctifiyng grace
shalt wash & make me clean
8 Thoult bless my days with peace no sound
But Joy shall reach mine ear
That where thy Justice wounded Lord
There Gladness may appear
9 Blott from thy thoughts past faults & from
The present turn thy face
10 O make my spirit right & good
Confirm my heart with grace
11 thy Presence & thy mercy lett
Me ever Ld possess
12 Me with the comfort of thy help
& with thy love still bless
13 Then shall the wicked know thy pow'r
& turn ym from theyr wayes
14 Deliver me from blood my god
& I will sing thy praise.
15 Unseal my lips & to ye Bad
I will thy mercy shew
16 For since thou lovest not sacrifice
Tis all that I can doo
17 A heart that is with sorrow pierct
My God thou wilt receive
this is ye sweetest offering
that we to thee can give
18 On Sion Graciously look down
Preserve us still we pray
19 & hearts upon thine altars Lord
Instead of beasts we'el Lay.

Meditation Before sacrament.

Arise my soul & hast away
Thy god doth call & canst thou stay
Thee to his table he invites

334

To tast of heavenly delights
He sufferd death to sett thee free
From sin; & canst thou slothfull be
To serve him should he for it call
Thy life would be a gift too small
But he desires to make it Blest
And now Invites thee to a feast
A feast of the divinest food
A feast of our own saviours flesh & blood
For shame dull sluggish soul arise
Wilt thou so great a good despise
You'de earthly kings obey with pride
& is ye king of heav'n deni'de
Thou know'st not what this act doth mean
Or would'st not sure be Backward then
The god who all has made tis he
Invites so base a worm as thee
& wilt thou then ungratefull be
No Ld I come & be thou kind
In mercy to me wretchd & blind
The way thou must not onely shew
But give me eyes to find it too
Each step I take yn to thy holy place
Ile utter Halelujahs to thy praise

On ye Plott against King William.

Rome when she could King Pyrrhus Life have bought
She scornd a triumph So ignobly gott,
The treason & ye traitor both disdaind,
& ever Justly conquerd ever Justly reignd.
But (Like an Affrick) England serpents bears
Which would their parent country's bowels teare,
Our better Genius tumble Headlong down,
& sett our evil one upon ye throne.
The Titans wickedness nere reacht so high,
They fought but for ye empire of ye sky,
When Jove unjustly held the soveraignity.
That Godlike soul which doth inform our state
Gerion-like, ye'de conquer by deceit.
Ye in one stroke would make three kingdomes bleed,

335

& Leave our Iles as nile without a head.
Cease fooles with Hellish plotts to wrack your brain,
Ye Cannot wound a God, ye strive in vain;
Ixions fate again is acted here,
He for a Deity imbrac't, ye wounded, air.

Ps: 113

1

Ye who ye Ld of host adore
O praise his name alone
O send his praises to ye skyes
Untill they reach his throne
2 his throne who's ever ever blest
Whose great whose holy name
still great still holy will endure
Who ever is ye same
3 Morning & night letts praise yt god
Who gave us morn & night.
4 Above all thinges yt are he is
Above ye heav'ns his might
5 tell of his mercy humbleness
yt tho so high he be
yet he will stoop to mind such poor
such wretched things as we
6 Tell of his Justice too yt from
A mean & lowly state
7 ye poor & innocent he does
among ev'n princes sett
Those who with barreness were curst
he blesses wth increase,
That happy thus in all they wish
They might his goodness praise.

On Sr Charles porter the chancellours death

& tis too true alass! we find, he's gonn,
Virtue from earth a second time is flown,
She onely then with her two sisters flew,

336

But now since he, what ere were good withdrew;
Uncertain where to fix, in him they lost their seat,
& had But Heaven as a sure retreat.
He Held ye scales when Justice Hand did shake:
When He, youd think that wisdomes self did speak.
He was with Honour blest, with Honesty, & praise,
ev'n Blest with all we could desire but dayes:
& those were much too few, for he is gon
(Not for himself but for ye world) too soon.
In him we found, & with him buried lies
What ever poets gave their deity's,
Joves Brow, Minervas learning, Hermes tongue
Apollo's wisdom, yeares, & his still seeming young;
The same sweet temper he to all did shew,
& as his face his mind no wrinkle knew.
He when with foes opprest was still ye same,
Pittying forgave, & smiling overcame.
this glorious sunn, like Heavens, was o're cast
By enymies, as that By clouds opprest,
That keepes his lookes compos'd, & this his breast.
Both do in glory sett, as both in glory reign,
But this for ever, that to rise again.
Perfections here as to their centre flowd,
He was tho great, yet farr from being proud.
Was gentle, liberall, & tho modest free,
Gold has allay, nay ev'ry thing but he.
yet is he tak'n away snatcht hence by heaven
as if it seemd to envy what 't had given.
But when we've such a loss—
How can ye planetts shine ye cloudes not melt to rain
But ev'ry thing their wonted course retain.
Heav'n in our sorrow cannot have a share
We've lost a god on earth 't has got a saint a starr

On Content

Grant heav'n that I may chuse my bliss
If you design me worldly Happiness
Tis not Honour thats but air
Glory has but fancied light
Fame as oft speak's false as right

337

Riches have wings & ever dwell with care
Give me an undistemperd mind
As ye third region undisturbd by wind
Content from passions ever free
to rule ones selfs indeed a monarchy
this I request of thee

Tho all we see are fortunes apes
& change as oft as she their shapes
Tho my kinder fortune leave me
Tho my dearest friends deceive me
I in this universall tide
firm on heav'ns mercy would abide
& 'mongst ye giddy waves securely ride
Tho they should die
Who never did my love abuse
Perhaps in tears I would my passion vent
But straight again I'de be content
Remembring 'twas th' almighty's deed tho I
should my best relations loose
Ide sighing cry Heav'ns will be done
It did but lend them now it has its own.
Fortune should never be
Adored as a deity by me
She onely makes them fooles who make her great
But still content on earth intent on heav'n I'de be
an equall temper keep in ev'ry state
nor Care nor fear my destiny
Death when most dreadfull should not fright
Wn ere he comes Ide patiently submitt
Content thus in my soul should build its halcyons nest
As did thy spirit on ye waters rest
& keep an everlasting calm with in my breast.

On ye Bishop of meaths death

Mourn widdowd Iland, Mourn, your Pan is dead.
Mourn ye unhappy flocks your Sheapherd Pan is fled;
Around your grief in dolefull straines convey,
& Lett ym in sad Eccho's dy away,
As sympathising wth their masters care,

338

As if they felt th' unlucky newes they bear,
Of this so true a saint heav'n seem'd to send him here.
To shew how good in innocence we were:
So true a saint.—
We thought he was no man, but from ye skyes
(as there were oft of old) some angell in disguise,
But see to undeceive us to our grief, he dies.
He was with so good thoughts so freely springing blest,
ye divine garden so few briars did molest,
As if a Paradise were in his breast.
Serene his mind as heaven did appear;
His lookes serene as mercy's self might wear;
His actions might in Justice scales be try'd;
When ere he speak & heav'n a theam suppli'd,
Hed melt ye rockiest hearts like Moses to a tide.
But now he setts, his paines & toiles are o're,
& heav'n rewards ye seer with all his store:
He's spent wth doing good, & now lies down at ease
Stretcht on ye Pillows of æternall peace.
So ye fam'd Pithian Priestess when her soul
With ye demanded Oracle is full,
Vext with ye God yt rages in her breast,
Nature is tir'd, her spirits are opprest,
She flyes to sacred groves, & sinkes away to rest.

The penitent sinner.

Ah that my eyes were fountaines & could poar
Eternall streams from inexhausted stores
Enough but ah enough there cannot be
to drown th' innumerable ills are done by me
Not all my breath t attone ym would suffice
Tho' all were turnd to penitentiall sighs
Ive sinnd my heart & tongue are vain
Ive sinnd my eyes to vice too pronely rove
Slowly to good my limbs to ill they promptly move
Ive sinnd & all my soul's but one continu'd stain
My crimes beyond all number like my hairs are grown
I sink beneath the weight they press they bend me down
Wt Charming looks did ill in acting wear
how lovely ruin did appear

339

Now but ah I fear too late
Conscience unmasques the guilded cheat
stript of their borrowd rays the horrid forms I see
& ye gross daub no more deludes my eye
I see I know my wickedness & misery
fancys too exquisite & nicely paints
my horrid & deserved punishments
no comfortable glympse my eye or thought presents
All all things speak dispair to poor unhappy me

But stay what heavn'ly light
Breakes thro' this black Egyptian night
It strikes my heartstrings wth unusuall bliss
& tunes ym to delight & happiness
It tells me hope remains
& gives me hope to sooth my raging pains
Wthin my breast it plays I feel the sacred flame
I know it tis my saviours name
his suffrings onely can my troubles calm
His blood alones my balm
In him alone I must confide
In him alone who for me di'd
In him who kindly does on sinners call
Who kindly does receive & welcome all
Come come to me his sacred voice has said
Repent ye of your sinns & come to me he cryes
Tho' nere so great & nere so bad
Ile ease you of your load & calm your miseries
Come take my yoak upon you & my burthens bear
Easy my yoak & light my burthens are
Nor need you a hard master fear
Since he who is my servant is my son
a son & servant is wth me all one

Yes I will come my god to thee
I know thou wilt not turn me back
thou'lt not refuse the offering I make
Altho' so bad so late so mean a one it be
No flood can drown my sinn but one of tears
No arms can conquer sinn but prayers
Behold in tears & pray'rs & sighs I turn
See how unfeignedly I mourn
See in wt pain what grief of soul I ly

340

Have mercy mercy lord & hear my cry
Oh save me from this deluge of iniquity
Save me my god oh rid me from my fear
Oh save me from dispair
look on a wounded & repenting heart
Oh ease it of its smart

Wn to my soul thou'st spoken peace
When from its bonds thou wilt my soul release
all my mourning then shall cease
then all my sorrow shall be turnd to Joy
& then thy mercyes onely shall my soul employ
Oh hear my god my saviour hear
& lett thy goodness towr'ds me soon appear
arm me wth heavn'ly temperd arms my Lord
Give for my buckler faith & for a sword thy word
Girt up my loins wth truth & on my breast
lett righteousness be plac't
thus thus I safely shall oppose
& safely triumph o're my foes
thus shall I break the force of hell & flee
With a glad heart to thee
to thee who (all my dangers past)
Wilt give thy self to me thy self & heav'n at last
theres the continuall treasury of bliss
the magazine of happiness
Pleasure there does never Cease
& in æternall Joy I shall remain
Where in æternall glory thou doest reign.

To Mr Brown on his book against T---

Giddy wth fond ambition, mad wth pride,
Apostate angells once ev'n heavn defi'de;
Avenging heavn its hottest bolts prepard,
And hell and thunder provd their sad reward.

Yet foolish man by no example won,
perverse in ill, dare rashly venture on,
Wildly rebells, calls reason to his aid,
And uses it on him who reason made.
For crimes like this what vengeance is in store?

341

What but the same wch heaven showrd down on fiends before?
What milder could wee hope wee should receive?
But god is kindly willing to forgive,
He usd his Justice then, but mercy now,
Was then wth thunder armd, but now wth you:
He bid you rise truths champion, & oppose
Wth their own arms wth reason his audacious foes.
You take ye lists, & in your gods defence,
Unravell all their specious arguments,
Who lull their hearers with a show of sense,
In artfull words their best objections place,
and in fair terms their sly delusions dress;
this guilding you remove, & streight we see
What nothings all their demonstrations be.

Thus when a fiend upon their sabbats cheats
The witches he has made wth fancyd treats,
The air condenses round to costly meates:
But if a stranger who by chance has viewd
their rites, dares venture to be boldly good,
No more the pleasing Phantome does remain,
But to its former air dissolves again.

On Mr Colliers essay on the stage

Some ages has the stage triumphant stood,
and vice in masquerade debauchd the crowd;
In charming numbers, all bewitching arts,
has the gay syren drest to steal our hearts:
like undesigning pleasure she appears,
at once delights & unperceivd insnares,
long has she found th' unhappy pow'r to please,
& wantond in a luxury of success.
But you unmasque the fashionable cheat,
Draw off the curtain, & dissect the bait,
Expose to view the hook so closely hid,
Break down her altars, & her priests deride.
thus, when to painted Idols Israel bowd,
the good Elijah Zealous for his god
Against the blocks, and all their prophets rose,
Alone attackd and overthrew his foes.

Hail man of god, all hail, whose pious quill

342

Dares check a world thats so perversly ill,
Dares ev'n its darling vanities abuse,
and in its full Carreer arrest the looser muse.
You like some angell guide conduct us on,
& shew the sodom wch you teach to shun;
You spoil the varnisht ill of all its rays,
of all its beauty's, evry borrowd grace,
& shew wt lurks beneath so smooth a face.

Thus (say the bards) some worthy knight maintains
A warr wth fairy states, enchanted scenes,
When he moves on the bright delusion fly's,
& dismall dungeons gape before his eyes

Ps: 116

Ime Pleasd that Heaven hears my cry,
Regards me when I pray,
Ime pleasd, & in a gratefull Joy,
Will worship every day.
God heard my voice, & I escapd,
Tho death had spread his snare,
Tho hell with horrid pleasure gapd
to be my sepulchre.
& when with troubles Ime besett
again Ile call on thee,
Ah help the wretch that cry's for aid,
My God deliver me.
How Just how gratious is the Lord,
How mercyfull is he?
He to the simple help affords,
Yes, he has succourd me.
Then rest my soul secure from fear,
Since he so kind has been,
Since he has kept my eyes from tears,
My sliding feet from sin.
Tis he who keeps me living still,
& when sore vext I cryd;
Since mankind is as weak as ill,
In him I must confide.
How shall I then the God reward
Who did my all bestow?

343

To pray, & thank, & praise thee Lord,
Is all that I can do.
In publick will I pay my vows,
& tell thy mercy's ore,
Tell how our lives are precious
to thee, whom we adore.
Behold me Lord, for I am thine,
My parents so have been;
Behold me Lord, for thou art mine,
By thee I'me freed from sin.
Then all shall hear my ready tongue,
Extoll thy name on high,
That all by my example won,
May praise as well as I.

344

Poems from the “Satires” Notebook

A Letter to a friend. On poets Satyr 1st

Poets are bound by ye severest rules,
the great ones must be mad, ye little all are fools,
thus wn. I rime 'tis at my own expence,
to please my friend, I drop my claim to sence.
but now ye greater sway wch custome bears,
to forfeit souls in oaths, or sence in verse?
the using of an ill has so much power,
stamp it a fashion, & its ill no more.
since then ye humour so extremely reigns,
that ye gay folly every brest unbends,
let me beneath ye common shadow hide
the fault's not mine thats all ye worlds beside.
say then if passion, discontent, or ease
sho'd e're your friend wth poetry possess,

345

for these, and want, ye muses setters seeme,
to draw in cullies to their loosing game,
how may I know yepath I ought to tread,
for 'tis in all mens natures to succeed
some one way more than any else beside.
fancy the reigning planet of yer. mind
guides poets, & like her they're unconfin'd;
a bounded genius will attempt to prove,
the stings of satyr, & ye flames of love,
Jear folly, virtue by example praise,
& move our passions & or. language raise
happy one way but one he'l scorn to chuse
so much or. wilder hopes our parts abuse.
Durfy more luckily employs his quill
weak as he is he knows his talent still.
Wn C---r taught how plays debaucht ye age
he left to V---ke to defend the stage,
in rufull ballad humbly pleas'd to rage.
how great & undisturb'd by censuring foes
might eithers fame beneath thier wreaths repose
had B---l nere written verse nor C---ve prose.
B---r in Epicks may be still inspir'd,
by men of sence approv'd by all ye rest admir'd
let him of Williams thickned lawrells sing
while for himself from every page they spring
& that shall crowne ye poet wch adorns ye King
but nere to tread in scandalls rougher ways
again depart ye peacefull realms of praise.
we read his satyr & his wit allow,
we read & own the blended malice too.
but oft his muse shows an unpointed tooth
Wn. a just turn of verse don't raise ye illnaturd truth
low puns for wit his lines do often fill
& oft he rambles in too loose a stile;
the biting satyr fights in closer file.
laborious T---te has many methods try'd,
to know wt. happy way he may succeed,
A play or two employ'd his hopes at first,
far from ye best, a little from ye worst,
then bits of foreign poets to or. tongue,
more happily he brought, more sweetly sung,
flush'd with success, he rises up from hence,
to rescue David at his own expence.

346

so have I known some painters wn. a face
in spight of all their touches wants to please
turn up its eys & alter all its dress
the auction piece a flowing glory wears,
& where the syren fail'd; ye saint appears.
Now I, who proudly authors thus arraign,
am, may be, envious thought, & may be vain,
but if my lines can gain one friends esteem,
or my diversion be, 'tis all my aim,
I never bid perhaps nere shall for fame.
Nay sho'd I find my censures too severe,
Ide in my changing prove my temper fair,
and see with joy an error disappear;
let Dennis rules for writing well lay downe,
believe wt he prescribes his play has done,
a preface write to shew he dos not faile,
Till Hypers to himself ye fop reveale.

On Dr. Brown's death.

[1.]

Alas will nothing do,
Nothing arrest the arm of Death
Must learning, sence, nay virtue too,
Must these or. real blessings go
like all things else beneath?
Must these best guifts while here yey shine
Like ye great Stagyrites stars in solid spheres
A common power wth. worthless meteors share
To guild the orbs they're in?
Yes now we find it so since he is gone

347

In whom enough of goodness shone
T'adorn an age, a second Sodom save
but not himself from the devouring grave
He's gone & that prodigious store
Of piety wch. here he bore
Sat on him onely like the Summers pride
Which crown'd ye ancients victims 'ere they dy'd

2.

He's gon far far on high
Born on ye wings of virtue to his skye
for sure this world was lesse yn. t'other, his,
So much he courted that, so little this,
Besides had he been hers ye earth had mourn'd his loss
In dreadfull heavings & unwonted flows
But silently he stole away
Like some celestial ray
Wch. plays awhile upon ye wings of day
Then soft retiring off ye Air
Do's without troubling nature disappear.

3.

Sure (but avert ye omen fate)
Sure a decay of learning's state,
Is now just now a pressing on
Wn. thus her great good pillar tumbles down
Wn. the light's gone wch. show'd us to advance
Thro ye Ægyptian night of ignorance
For why, why mayn't we fear
'Twill ye same course wth. nature run?
Wch. when ye generall dissolution's near,
Shall see a genuine night Ecclypse her sun.
How well, how too too well does death,
The cause of ignorance maintain,
Robbing her rivalls leader of his breath,
To fix his Tyrant sisters reign.
How too, too well he mocks or. blooming joys
& him & all or. hopes destroys
Him of the tree of life depriving thus
& of the tree of knowledge us
Thus have his arms disabled at a blow
Both learnings Monarch & its empire too
Just so ye Epick muse indites

348

Ending wth. some great life ye enterprise
Nor longer toyles she ore her pageant fights
The work is ended wn. an Heroe dyes.

4.

Curst be the Hour, ye Day, ye Year,
Curst ye disease that ravish'd hence or. seer,
Whose sacrilegious dart cou'd show,
That one so good was not immortall too;
Yet wt. alas can this avail?
Why all this mad distemper'd Zeal
As wt it did were the effects of chance,
& not of providence.
No the impatient heavens thought long to want
In their blest choirs so true a saint,
And sent a ministring sickness from above,
his earthy fetters to remove.
It came ye call he knew,
& streight obey'd & streight wthdrew,
Loos'd from ye chains of flesh his freer mind
Rose up to sacred love,
To perfect saint or seraphim refin'd,
Quitting his lump of clay,
As subtle spirits fume away
Loos'd from their earth they upward mount, they flye,
They light, they shine, & blaze along the skye.

349

2 To T:--- M.---y. on Law Satyr

Health & advice an old acquaintance sends,
Health & advice, the wish & debt of friends,
Tis fitt I teach the templar how to thrive,
Who teaches me with temperance to live.
Be still then murmuring Clients for a while,
Ye noisy four Court walls awhile be still,
Splitt with hard banter, & the Lawyers tongue,
Now Give a gentler Eccho to my song.
Of Law I sing, inspire my weaker pen,
Lost Suits, & pleaders little usd to gain.

That angry Justice to her heaven went
There seems not so confessd an argument,
As Lawyers thriving in her name below,
When were she here again, again she'd go.
Thus courtiers, if a Kings from care wthdrawn,
Rise without meritt, & with fraud rule on.

All Law was conscience once, unmixd wth tricks,
Found out by interest, or for politicks:
To his award each happy village stands,
Whose awfull virtue most respect commands,
Nor bribes, nor favour swayd the rigid man,
But all his acts in golden order ran;
Till love of gain, or fame, found out ye croud,
& rose by seeming good, above the good.
From this gross error to relieve their lands
Projecting patriots gave their helping hands:
Then Laws were putt in writing, courts were reard,
& Men for forehead, & strong lungs preferrd,
A friend or whore became a heightning clause,
& mony grew the meritt of the cause.

Woud you be taught your paths of gain to tread,
But man wants little teaching to be bad,
Gett impudence, each nation has its share,
Or something which does wondrous like appear,
Scotch confidence, the vanity of France,
The surly English air, the Irish ignorance,
All stand for this, or up to this advance.
Letts hear the other side, the Judge commands,
& Tully rises with his brief in hand,
Tully so known, so little heard of late,

350

But bauling Matho wont give over yet,
Forbid & shameless still he quotes ye lawes
Till want of time & his unceasing noise,
Staves of a Judgement or obtains the cause.
Thus what the first of every term he gaines,
So great a family so well maintaines.
Poor modesty, as old records declare,
Was starvd to death behind the foremost barr.
Have many words, nor spare ye breath you sell,
Your Clients pleasd you labour, tho' you fail;
Hence fluent Nevolus his great success,
Smoothly he utters, finds his words with ease,
his reasons places in the clearest light,
& pleads with humour, where he has not right.
Livy, whose country talks upon his words,
Shows reason, reason if the cause affords,
& by his happy fault of speaking long
Makes some believe he shows it in ye wrong.
Your terms are too of wondrous consequence,
To dazzle ignorance, & puzzle sence.
& many private tricks besides are known,
Which practise finds, or custom has sett down.
Young Brutus, who so quickly came in play,
To gainfull fame found this effectuall way,
In formâ pauperis much he undertook,
As men who fish take worm upon ye hook,
& to be often heard, for nothing often spoke.
With this last rule I close my whole advice,
Take all you can, he looses who deny's,
Who by one side is usd may honest be,
But he is rich who takes of both his fee.
& least you want a story of your art,
Hear how began this double-dealing part.

In times of yore, & Æsops vocall grove,
When fingers talkd of something else then Love,
The hands fell out, the plaintiff, left maintaind,
The right in all things tho unjustly reignd.
Then this her plea, that had her answer heard,
This brought deponents, that Cross bills preferrd.
After a Long debate to make them pay,
(for you as well may hope to gett away,
for nought, as allmost nought) the Judges say,

351

What ere the world in other things intends,
To shew how much we wish relations friends,
As often as we can, the court decrees,
To use you both alike in taking fees

[_]

[the men namd are of ye Irish barr.]

On The Trust.

Think England what it is to shake,
& better use your King,
His power raisd the frozen snake,
& Must he when he hears it speak,
find how the tongue can sting?

Trustees you make in long debates,
Which he is forcd to give;
While by your trust the rebell getts,
The subject looses bought estates,
& the oppressors live.

Pitty us heaven, & lend your aid,
Anothers intrest sett us free,
& now it gives us slavery,
Thus weakness is a property,
& Greatness still obeyd.

The men whose heavy arms we feel
By Politicks are good or ill,
Deceiving, or deceivd;
Their law is founded on their will,
& our's by that inslavd.

Against their princes acts they rise,
& in their princes name;
The sly intreaguing factions choice,
& erring patriots shame.
So Dunghill foggs by fiery rays
To saucy empire scale,

352

Obscure the royall planetts face,
With pride supply a lofty place,
& with out pitty fall.

A Divine Pastorall.

Strephon & I upon a bank were laid,
Where the gay spring in varied colours playd,
& her rich odours lavish nature shed.
When thus the Youth, while this we wondring view
Can we but wonder at its maker too,
Amintas, if I know him, did not use
Shoud such a subject call, to want a muse,
Oh sing the great, the wise creating powr,
While silent I admire, & in your words adore.
Then I, for long before the thought was mine,
Did thus to meet the good demand begin.

Ye Mountains, & ye hills which lower rise,
Ye humble vallies, & ye spreading trees,
Ye pleasant meadows, & thou easy stream,
O praise the Lord, O magnify his name!
Yes, as you can you tell his name abroad,
The wondrous work proclaims the worker God.
Gently awhile sweet Breezes move along,
Then swiftly bear aloft my finisht song.

Ye tame & savage beasts in one accord,
Joyn with all these to Glorify the Lord;
Ye Birds, Ye tunefull birds in him rejoyce,
Give him your musick, who gave you your voice,
Hark how the cheerfull labour of their throats,
returns the tribute of their pretty notes.
Gently awhile sweet Breezes move along,
Then swiftly bear aloft my rising song.

But still the earth, & still the seas are mute,
The Birds are speechless, speechless is the Brute,
Man that alone can speak his praise must doo't.
Praise him O man with a transported heart,
Let the melodious hand confess its art,
Let the raisd voice his bounteous glory's sing,
Shoud less be joynd to praise so great a King?

353

Gently awhile sweet Breezes move along,
Then swiftly bear aloft my rising song.

For thee the seasons run the circling year,
The clouds drop fatness, & the fruits appear,
Thee as the Lord of all below he plac'd,
Free in thy choice, & by thy chusing bless'd,
Tis true we must account for all we do,
But to a God alone th' account is due.
Gently awhile sweet Breezes move along,
Then swiftly bear aloft my rising song.

The Seraphim, & all the Heavenly pow'r,
Bright in their shapes, but in their virtues more,
Came to the shade where our first parents lay,
They heard him reason, & they heard her pray,
Then struck their Golden harps, & as they flew,
Cry'd, Halelujah, man is made for heaven too.
Go on, my Muse, Go on, & Gratefully express,
The Creatures thanks, in the Creators praise.

To see this pair the fallen powrs came in,
Torturd with malice, & deformd by sin,
They saw this happy pair designd to fill
The realms, from whence they fell by doing ill,
They heard their Joyfull anthems to their God,
& faign they woud have harmd ym if they coud,
Whom they woud harm they impotently curse,
Their strength indeed was great but God was ours.
Go on, My Muse, Go on, & Gratefully express.
The Creatures thanks, in the Creators praise.

I know I cannot speak his mercy's through,
Yet what I can, of what I ought Ile do,
Mean as they are, my notes to him belong,
Mean as it is, he will reward my song.
Go on, my Muse go on, & gratefully express
The Creatures thanks, in the Creators praise.

On such a theam I coud for ever dwell,
Thus lett my voice when I must perish fail
& thus my monument my story tell;
Here lyes a Youth—stay passenger & pray,
Nor pitty him who di'd no common way,
But when his breath was all in hymns bestowd
Sent up his soul to bear 'em to his God.

So lett me end, the twilight does appear,
The heat has left to rarify the air,

354

The winds it broke grow strong enough to fly,
Yes swiftly fly ye winds, & bear my Lays on high.

To ------

Thanks to the friend whose happy lines coud cheer
In Derry's oaten soil & frozen air
When to the Citty late I bid farewell
Beneath my firm resolves my scribling fell
The Ghost of my departed Muse you raise
& tune her tongue to long forgotten layes
Thus a poor girl by passion overrun
Tires with the folly & forsakes the town
But if her shades present a powrfull swain
She feels ye woman stirr & loves again

Your thoughts are Just your words fall in wth ease
Who woud not be abused in lines like these
Mindless of all the ill they say of me
I read them & admire their poetry
So when a Charming beauty strikes ye heart
We slight the wound to gaze upon ye dart
But oh My friend of writing much beware
If once you're charmd youre fixd for ever there
Fame all abroad & loose desires with in
Intice a giddy creature to the pen
A Cælia soon he getts to whom to write
& the brisk bottle must compleat ye witt
Then every minute of succeeding time
Invents a frolick or creates a whim
Which his leud absent friend must hear in rime
You'll think (& others have been thus undone)
Your reason can the growing passion shun
But did you know its strength youd doubt your own

Your best endeavours on ye law bestow
Rough as it is 'tis proffitable too
Cowel & Blunt have words & Cook ye way
to keep the wrangling sons of earth in play
then if your books you use your Clients pay

Stay Muse in paths you never trod you rove
My lean advice does my presumption prove
But Can it shew my fault & not my love

355

Kindly accept what I in kindness send
& think me as I think my self your friend.

[Thou Gaudy Idle world adieu]

Thou Gaudy Idle world adieu,
& all thy tinsell Joys;
I lovd thee dearly once tis true,
But since a better choice I knew,
Ive made that better choice.

My wishes mount above the sky
Upon the wings of faith,
My soul shall follow when I dy,
For much I doubt if bodys fly,
What ever Asgill saith.

All things are fickle here below,
How ere above they be,
& If I had not left thee now,
Thy pleasures had left me.

Count but the changes Memory
Which your short time has known,
This is the third King which you see
Upon the English throne.

The Irish who by Williams reign
Were run so much aground,
Do by the Trust (confound it) Gain
three hundred thousand pound.

& My acquaintance wonder not
When you my change discover
Ev'n Methwin has a prayr book bought
'Gainst Rochester comes over.

356

[A Beavy of the fair & Gay]

A Beavy of the fair & Gay,
Such as are daily Smoakt in tea,
& toasted over wine,
Vext to be made so long the Jeast
Of tongues & pens, to go in quest
Of reputation Joyn.

To K---d's house they first repair,
But scarce find any footsteps there,
to keep them off cold scent;
Long had she fled his slavery,
Her gallants stabbd him first, & she
Woud bury him in paint.

To O---y's they next advance,
But he was vanishd on a glance
to Make some conquest shott;
One who so many loves as she,
& one who loves fooles company,
Must love for you know what.

Of T---n newes in vain they sought,
Scarce M---ws covets to be thought
So ignorant in dressing;
For scandall had like Cr---fts appeard,
He urgd his suit, the God retird,
& left the Nymph unlacing.

No longer on your search remain,
For since your labour must be vain,
What need you make it long:
Believe me fairs, that every one
preserves him for her self alone,
Upon her proper tongue.

357

3 Satyr Virtue

Is virtue something reall here below
Or but an Idle name & empty show
While on this head I take my thoughts to task
Methinks young Freedom answers wt I ask
In his own moralls thus the Spark goes on
Or thus if he were here he might have don

In what wild hill or unfrequented plain
hast thou been bred so ignorant of men
Such doubts in such a world to entertain
Or has thy father had an hopefull son
by Colledge education quite undon
& therefore wisely gave his others none
Believe me Sr that what you faign woud know
is but a word to signify a show
Often it is 'tis often not designd
& still it makes a riddle of the mind.
Now see how evidently this appears
in the clear language of particulars.

All men do Sporus very chast esteem
But does he rule his will or nature him
What he might be himself he little knows
Who never had a passion to oppose
he must be chast with out a world of pains
for all his virtue is his impotence.

Damon the hottest rakell of the town
has his cast misses on the common thrown
No signs of great repentance does he show
But the mans bound his wife's his virtue now

Nor friends nor glorious wine nor sparkling witt
Makes Codrus ere beyond a bottle sitt
this is his temperance his acquaintance say
& att the barr they give him leave to pay
But they forgett that Codrus is so poor
& all his virtue may be want of more

A sexton scarcely can resolve to ring
But Cotta flyes as on devotions wing
tows his old aunt in black to every prayer
Whines as he goes & prayes aloud when there
thus to be Guardian when she dies he'le gett
his virtue is the hopes of pow'r to cheat

358

thus various mankind cou'd I quickly trace
& show how fondly we mistake their wayes
how something which they are not oft they seem
& how that something brings them in esteem
but to be short with in my self I feel
too deepely rooted all the seeds of ill
Mad passions reason not invincible
& chance to be misguided in my will
Why shoud I think another has not these
is he more perfect man or am I less.

To such a loose harangue on t'other side
My honest Trueman woud have thus replyd
While by yr own you blame anothers soul
You must go wrong & ye illbiassd bowl
bear on a falser ground at every roul
tis granted where the moralls run awry
there your reflections very justly ly
but think you there are none to good inclind
from the meer sway of reason on their mind
think you that every one woud rather be
Slave to his passions then from passion free
for such they are who have no powr to stay
When every weak temptation calls away
Curio is summond to Corinna's house
Cross is his father cruell is her spouse
the dangers great but Curio must be gon
a pleasure tempts a passion hurry's on
Nor are the troubles which pursue it all
for you may feel the very fetters gall
Dispair & hope with lingring pangs remain
Sorrow & Joy give much a quicker pain
& love & hate in wild convulsions reign.
When with their proper objects these attack
tis to be virtuous then to drive 'em back
entrenchd with in ye rules wch prudence makes
tis virtue still an æquall mind to bear
Nor swoln wth hope nor too depressed wth fear
to lett the Man secure from passion move
in reasons orb serenely plac'd above
tis Virtue to maintain your country's cause
Support your king while he supports her laws
nor in th' oppressing of a kingdom share
for fifteen hundred English pounds a year
paid down by order of ye Commons here

359

tis virtue & the highest mentiond yet
to think religion not a trick of state

Nature has fooles who know not of this way
& fooles alone have priviledge to stray
But if a Competence of Sense she give
& the receivers do not upright live
their different failures do such words create
as Atheist traytor villain rakehell cheat
defamer pander whore knight of ye post
& hypocrites a Common name for most
Most strive to varnish their prevailing vice
& grant with ease when they succeed in this
the Case the same where the appearance is
but goodness ever has the same appeard
While no design is still upon its guard
the best is onely but ye best begun
Sooner or later by its self undon

Ore peaceful citts the hectring bullys reign
But while they hector so they know their men
Shoud they vex one at last to Cudgells bred
the masque of valour wont protect ye head
While the tough cane insults the shining blade

I scorn in verity old Gripus cry's
this swearing this unprofitable vice
but mony mollifys the wretches scorn
& he who hates to swear will be forsworn

thus ill men never fail of being known
how sly so e're a vizard they put on
but still the good both seem & are ye same
unmovd by passion, int'rest, humour, fame
tis thus that they deserve ye name of men
by ruling of themselves they empires gain
& laugh at fortune raisd above her reign.

A dream

Just when ye dead of night began to fail
& boding visions senceless dreams expell
Methought a matron stood beside my bed
Upon her face a wondrous sweetness playd
& pointed Glorys dressd the modest visions head

360

my tongue grew speechless & my eyes were fixt
by silent fear with admiration mixt
She to my lips a living coal apply's
perhaps from some well pleasing sacrifice
then thus she said while I more courage found
to bear her sight & hear ye heav'nly sound
from the bright realms my vot'ries have I came
saints are my vot'ries Piety my name
Oft do I come but often am dispisd
happy were all if all my favour prizd
now my best offers to yr soul I give
Accept these offers O be mine & live
Ile teach you how to pray for wt you want
& when I teach you God yr prayr will grant
Ile teach you your redeemer to rehearse
& glide in flames of love along yr verse
Lett other men describe wth flowing lines
How Damon courts or Amarillis shines
But for your subject chuse a theme divine
fames their reward while heaven it self is thine
& then since Angells sing of nought below
they'le sing like men but like an angell you
Be thou my bard (& as these words she said
She powrd a sacred unction on my head
then thus proceeded) Be thy muse thy Zeal
dare to be good & all my Joys reveal
if Drunkards to their Deity apply
A short contentment & a fleeting Joy
Apply to me true peace & lasting bliss
I should not dress in weaker charms yn his
New-paint ye love yt hov'ring over beds
from purple wings his guilty pleasures sheds
his bow be sable sable be the darts
but tingd with endless flame to scorch our hearts
his bones without the sanguin stream or vital parts
But above all employ thy utmost powr
on love Divine twill need it all & more
Oh boundless Goodness to poor mankind shown
tell but the fact, lett rhetorick alone,
no colours can become it like its own.
Draw a Descending Jesus from ye sky
Make the great being in a manger ly
Of men despisd of men he came to save
pursu'd afflicted to ye very grave

361

Make ye great being cheerfully submitt
& me like Mary weeping at his feet
Much have I said & more woud tell you yet
but raptures smother what I woud repeat
My thoughts grow giddy while I strive to sound
the height & depth of love wthout a bound
My God I cannot comprehend thy wayes
but what I cannot comprehend Ile prayse

& then With raptures in her mouth she fled
the Cloud (for on a cloud she seemd to tread)
its curles unfolded & around her spread
My downy rest the warmth of fancy broke
& when my thoughts grew settled thus I spoke

Ah Gracious Lord make all my dreams like this
& make mine innocence compose my bliss
When reason lyes Asleep & leaves to reign
May my good Angell my passions restrain
Or I must wake to find upon my breast
the gaudy forms more deep yn ere imprest
they'le make my reason's victorys in vain
& make my former habits mine again
Thus if the snake wch hardly moves the tail
to shun the conqu'ring season takes a cell
if nature in a sleep a skin prepare
give him more strength & make him look more fair
He finds his robe is changd fm what he wore
He proudly shoots along ye sunny shore
& hunts the man fm whom he fled before.

Satyr. 4 The Pretty Gentleman

Where Creditors their bankrupt debtors stow
Where men for want of coin to durance go
& are for being wretched made more so
Where poor W---G---could 3 months abide
When all his creditt would not him provide
with one nights lodging any where beside
there on a bed by moths half eat away
Damon ye witt ye generous ye gay
the heir of Eighteen hundred sterling lay
Sullen with grief impatient to endure

362

& yet oppressd with what he could not cure
Long did his thoughts upon his Sorrows dwell
then they on generall reflections fell
for still the mind by private ills aggrievd
Is by the thought of common ills relieved
this soths ye spleen while that creates dispair
One you ingross in 'tother others share

Alass he crys how many have I known
by giddy pleasures & ymselves undon
We hunt for happiness on eager speed
& have a chance that we may all succeed
reason & passion draw ye diffrent views
& we're all blessd according as we chuse
but to our reason seldom we attend
tho' all our hopes upon that choice depend
see ye degrees thou heedless creature man
by which the passions on ye mind obtain
as in ye pretty Gentleman suppose
for instance how in him yr empire grows
up from his swadling to his beauish clothes

Scarce can his tongue in tripping accents rove
but the nurse lulls him wth wild tales of love
Where a kings son as many such have been
dyes for ye youngest daughter of a queen
these mold his temper till he learns to read
& then romantick authors fill his head
Where honour in enamelld armour bleeds
for love thats errant on ye milk white steed
how his eyes dance when magick Castles fly
When beautyes freed how pants his heart for Joy
how much what ere he reads he longs to try
When he can Nature more distinctly see
he finds such things as these coud never be
Yet still the prejudice is on his Soul
& love & honour must his actions rule
then that he may their due proportions trace
playes following nature he will follow playes
at these he dresses talkes fightes loves from these
he railes at buisness wch he does not know
because ye poett who had none did so
In wine & whores & games his guinnys run
because the like in such a part is don
thats drawn with art to please ye lookers on

363

to repeat verse & with a grace be leud
is gay is Dorimant & must be good
But when his fullgrown witt a figure makes
Without a guide agreably he rakes
Nor the stage longer for a pattern takes
himself a mode a man of airs a beau
Nay poet too—as far as songs will go
thus with a world of pains the work is past
& he's an entertaining fool at last
he does the men of buisness pitty move
the men of Moralls soberly reprove
the tradesmen cheat him—but the Ladies love.

As on this head he woud have spoken more
the Jailour happend to unlock the door
to lett him know his creditors did wait
to make him sell if he woud freedom gett
At least three quarters of his whole estate

Satyr 5 Verse.

Thou soft Engager of my tender years
Divertive verse now come & ease my cares
The Rake has wine the aged knave ye view
Of what his death bed Charity will do
to lay his cares & mine are layd by you
You give my mind when I unbend relief
Raise ev'ry Joy & lessen ev'ry grief
Nor do I onely these thy comforts find
thy comforts are diffusive to mankind
The men of sense of buisness or of whims
half witts or lovers ev'ry one sometimes
Will toy away a vacant hour in rimes

& they give all but lovers troubles ease
the Muses fires the flames of love encrease
Yet the fond fooles write more yn all ye rest
as if they studyd to be more unblest
of Moving things they speak in moving strains
& moan & beg a cure of all their pains
till at the last theyre workd to a belief
that what they said has been their reall grief

364

As strong as fate they call the chains they wear
To starrs & Angells ev'ry nymph compare
Then think their chains as strong, their nymphs as fair
thus our loves more & more the womens pride
so the wounds deeper & the cure denyd
Long may you gentle souls your fetters wear
if still you write upon ye pangs you bear
Yet know that writing makes them more severe
If Celia or Aminta scornfull grow
On the great praises which your lines bestow
Long may you feel them since you make ym so

Verse is on other subjects less unkind
& with its transports brightens up ye mind
the Drunkards catch is half the rogues delight
Where noise & briskness do their charms unite
The drawers calld & ink & paper brought
& so extempore the work is wrought
While wine inspires they never stay for thought
the Jolly words are roard in tunefull sound
While the full bottles run the tables round
& Ecchoes from the Empty ones rebound
Raisd to the Joyes above the cares of kings
their singing makes ym drink their drinking sing
O happy men if twere not for the curse
of qualms repentance & an empty purse
but happy men at least for some few hours
Who force the Muse to nothing else but rime
& when your sense is drownd sing off yr time

Verse has another powr on other men
When the vexd thoughts by writing grow serene
full of the spleen & rage & scorn to see
the tide of vice & folly run so high
some from the world retire to poetry
& when their pens what grieves their bosoms speak
how honesty's a cully witt a rake
fair Virtue beggerd beauty grown a baud
Religion made a masque & gold a God
their breasts find ease by laying down their load
so Prophetts usd inspird of old to swell
& when they spoke their Oracles grew well

For me who never have a drinker been
Nor provd the witty forces of the spleen

365

for me who be it chance or carelessness
(forgive me half the world when I confess)
have never been in love in all my dayes
On other principles my pen I take
for meer disintrested diversions sake
I onely write as many lovers woo
but just when I have nothing else to do
& then to please my self as well as you
I seek no praise & keep me safe from shame
Not known to many & unknown to fame
I woud not blunty rail a folly down
Nor with undecent rage on vices run
Our master Horace wisely sung of old
that satyrs better if it Jear then scold
the Gall too much prevailing spoils the ink
Nor woul I frett mankind but make ym think
tis farr more human thus to show ye place
Where you ly open then throw in ye pass

Satyr: 6 the Spleen

Hail to the sacred silence of this Grove
Hail to the greens below the greens above
Oft have I found beneath these shady trees
A reall in imaginary bliss
for they my fancy sooth & she's a cheat
Which can agreably adorn deceit
some state of life she draws with pleasing art
& brings Enchanted reason to her part
Reason awhile is captive by consent
& acts from all its rigid rules unbent
from our own selves conceales our reall case
Nor shows us what may be but what may please
When I by these am from my self with drawn
I straight become what ere I think upon

Now do I turn a statesman of the rate
that furnishes the world beside with chat
I many use I make a friend of none
& if I flatter tis my prince alone

366

Mankind well versd in various villany
Misrepresent each study'd Case to me
in long petitions & a present fee
sayes one your Lordship has ye royall ear
& I some articles against me fear
for sinking publick funds in such a year
Then on my chair he layes a bag of coin
Nor dares to offer what he woud have mine
Another cryes I want a place at Court
Your L:dships word woud make ye buisness short
& I present two hundred guinnys for't
This as I take it is a life of state
& when I think of this I think Ime great
But now a leaf is noisy by my head
My chain is broke & all my greatness fled
In vain I woud recall the vanishd thought
Something I know did please I cant tell what
& as I hunt the traces of my mind
In a new whim a new delight I find

Now among books my chief diversion lyes
& I affect to be thought wondrous wise
in strange experiment discovery's
On All ye sorts & shapes of flyes I read
Or print a book of shells as Lister did
& when I meet a thing unknown till yn
I write for Holland to ye Learned men
the subtiltys of schooles with ease I cutt
Where learnings nothing but a meer dispute
With Ipse Dixit's fixd for arguments
& quibbles formd by rules & hid with pains
Waging a warr of words in spight of sense
My skill in many languages is shown
Altho' I gracefully can speak in none
No Cares no business do my brain molest
the world admires the treasures of my breast
& I in barren satisfaction rest

Here do I change Insensibly again
& my gay fancy paints another scene
Heark or a pleasing madness charms my sense
Or I hear songs & well tund instruments
Yes tis a ball where I with airs & cloths
Engage the Ladys & outshine the beaus
I chuse a creature beautious as the light

367

Of her I beg & she denys a night
Scorn with the fair does still attendant go
they're proud because their outward charms they know
& fondly think them reasons to be so
But passion hearts of any temper moves
Anon shes complaisant anon she loves
When sated with the bliss their arms I quitt
I boast my triumph to each friend I meet
for men are now so scandalously vain
They think it less of pleasure to obtain
their Joys then tell 'em or'e to other men
& more of grief to hide the ripe amour
then twas to smother infant love before
I drink I dance I swear I shake ye dice
& try each path of pleasurable vice
till at ye last my wild unsettled life
like Comedys is finishd in a wife

by Just degrees the breezes louder grow
& the same breast they sooth they roughen too
Methinks Ime strangely alterd in a trice
All soft unmanly pleasures I despise
Warr is my buisness honour is my prize
I grasp it in my thoughts & push along
Nor mind the toiles by which it must be won
With such bewitching powr the walking light
leads men thro' all the dangers of the night
Ore hills & vales they hunt the dazzling game
Nor feel the trouble while they see the flame
Strange force of Glory what a world are slain
to please the pride of two or three great men
how towns have fed on ratts yt scornd to yield
how dear ye hardy soldier buys ye field
Warm without anger to their arms they crowd
& for anothers quarrell wast their blood
some fight & curse while others run & pray
In Camps they rook each other at their play
& then the loosers mutiny for pay
are my brave followers slain why lett ym dy
false musterd companys my purse supply
Thus summers fraud feeds winters luxury
When in warm quarters nature craves a punk
& for the Queen I loyally get drunk

Give ore my wanton fancy now give ore

368

the clouds are gath'ring & anon they'le powr
the pleasures of my groves are fled away
the sacred silence & ye shiny day
what have you then to lull you in your play

7 The Isle of Wight.

In noble deeds our valiant fathers shone
We'le shine in all their glory's & our own
So Or---d does & O---d Leads us on

Thus say ye Gallant youth who bravely dare
Not to expect—tis more—to meet the warr

Ye Men of pleasure be like these, awake,
Your Country calls consider whats at stake
our wealths decaying while our trading stands
& Europes Ballance shakes within our hands
This is a Cause thats greater nobler farr
then wanton loves on beds of feathers are

Abroad your wounds meet plunder & renown
While infamy pursues your Jarrs in town
Where the whole acts a breach upon ye laws
perhaps a stew ye scene a whore ye cause

If here at home you stay & rack your brains
to find out fashions then to dress with pains
Vain is the humour, Idle the expence
The garb appears Phantastick which we see
Before 'tis grown familiar to the eye
& when it is then half its beauty's dy

If you would stay that Lady's shoud not want
A gay Mirtillo for a smooth Courant
Alas you need not speak to show your soul
Your bounds Coupees & sinks betray the fool
Men find a jest in evry diffrent step
for postures are the buisness of an ape

In short if you woud stay at home to run
thro' all the lawless pleasures of the town
How vile the means how guilty is the end
How many troubles your designs attend
You live a life that merits infamy
& live to be forgotten when you dy

369

For shame arise & in this cause appear
It is not for our selves alone we're here
Your country Justly claims her share in you
& honour does her rightfull claim allow
Honour a courage still imployd in good
Unshockd by passions & above the croud
the soul in this Heroick beauty deckt
Stands over these triumphant & erect
Dares for its country any fate defy
& mounts a brave deserver of the sky

Some men of pleasure have been drawn so farr
by such like reasons as to think on warr
Straight in a heat their Horses they provide
& to the Ile of wight like warriors ride
before them pistolls placd & swords aside
but with what arms the mock campaign is made
With inlaid pistolls & a guilded blade
Thus at a distance each the foe defy's
Who fears to meet a toil or leave a bliss
But for the ending of their great design
they light they see his grace in publick dine
they view the ships they talk among the men
& when a gale blows fair are gone again
the world believd they nobly did intend
their Country by their going to defend
& now it wonders at the trifling end

Some Indians thus the town a gazing ore
Saw a white vizard hanging at a door
& wonderd at the fighting face it wore
But that soon turning with the change of wind
They wonderd more the counterfeit to find
So like a man before & nought behind.

8 The Picture of Time

Well he designd & well deserves our praise
Whose pencill first a drafft of time coud trace
He knew how fast the flowing moments glide
& to the figure airy wings applyd
He knew how all things have their proper date

370

& drew a scyth to do the work of fate
His right hand this his left hand held a glass
thro which by sand an emblem of our dayes
Life ever ever ebbing seemd to pass

Methinkes the picture thus instructs my mind
Our hours are fleeting & the last assignd
Soon will it Come too soon alas for most
& all the time we use not well is lost

This all allow but many disagree
In settling what the use of time shoud be
The disagreement I with ease espyd
& to an old experiencd friend applyd
Who thus when he had heard my question cryd

Believe my son your fathers friend in this
Whom sixty teaches how to give advice
When mankind with a serious thought I read
I found the most by various follys led
these think their own because they are so best
& much of life to gratify ym wast
for still the reigning folly is the end
to which the actions of the man will tend
When reason at the Helm no longer steers
She onely means to help it on prepares
thus goes their present time their past has gon
& at this rate their future will go on
The man for Conversation onely fitt
Will evry night be drunk to speak his witt
if thus his minutes indolently glide
he knows no cause to lay the course aside
the Miser allwayes is of this belief
that to heap riches is the use of life
tis a sure maxim few or none gett ore
that who loves mony much will love it more

In short such instances as these youle find
As numerous as the passions in our mind
If so the way by which we safest tread
Is to quitt passions & lett reason lead
lett her the offices of man define
& then your hours to what she says resign
She'le teach you what devotions sacred flame
Your country what & what your friends may claim
Nor is she in prescribing too severe
Since pleasure wisely mingled eases care

371

To buisness diligently now attend
Anon in innocent delights unbend
this course our nature has by tiring shewd
nor does our reason speak against her good
But why shoud man intirely life employ
On idle humours & forbidden Joy
Why shoud the beau but onely mind his dress
the whore her wantonness the rake excess
& Courtiers nothing but what gains a place
The noble Titus when a setting sun
Had seen by him no virtuous action don
(Be still his name preservd) was heard to say
With sighs Alas—my friends Ive lost a day
We thank you Heathen Christians thank you now
Your words have taught us what we ought to do
twas wisdom this and well becoming grief
Who ever feels it knows the use of life

He Ceasd—Contentment shone upon my face
for knowledge ever has a charm to please
My tongue my satisfaction then exprest
& Ime convincd he told me for the best
but for the picture by whose sight my thought
Was sett a work & then to knowledge brought
that I may nere forgett the truths he taught
With in my closett will I hang the piece
& underneath it write such lines as these
Fly swiftly Time bear off our numberd dayes
Yet if man will you cannot win ye race
He who lives well outlives your scanty space
By virtuous actions is a fame bestowd
& fames the least reward of doing good.

9 The state of Love imitated fm an Elegy of Mons:r Desportes.

In the 1st season of the infant earth
When all from Chaos took their orderd birth
When mankind from the hand of heaven came
All pure & white ere vice had gott a name

372

But evry act with innocence indu'd
Was more by nature then from knowledge good
Love mighty powr did graciously descend
grew fond of man & here wth man remaind
In their unsullyd hearts he chose to stay
their bliss anights their buisness all the day
Nor wonder if in such he made abode
No temples better can befitt a god
His gentle influence did their soules inspire
Each found a mate nor wanted amorous fire
Evn when injoyment had allayd desire
Secure of sweet content they daily livd
Content unmixd with fears to be deceivd
their tongues their reall sentiments disclosd
Nor studyd language on the ears imposd
their eyes an undissembling flame expresst
& they who felt it most coud speak it least
desert & softness love or beauty were
their onely arts to make a yielding fair
Plain undesigning love that never knew
to practise crueltys as Empire grew
to fashion smiles with managd airs to court
& wound a tender breast in barb'rous sport
twas more then riches riches coud not move
the meanest thought them not a price for love

But when the vices to a head increast
& all this age of downy pleasure ceast
when gold by glistring showd its dark abode
& fickleness began to be the mode
When feigning was by way of breeding taught
& onely worth his wealth the lover thought
When first to speak the mind was reckond shame
& masqd hypocrisy took honours name
the fatall change with anger Cupid saw
& thus bespoke ym ready to withdraw

Hence lett us hence with Just abhorrence go
for ill their happyness these mortalls know
Who slight the mighty favours I bestow

then darting upwards soon ye clouds he gaind
& hung in air his purpose thus explaind

You shall repent ungratefull race you shall
& know too late the Joyes from whence you fall

373

the loss regretting by your selves undon
who true contentments heavnly blisses shun
& after false appearing pleasures run
Since all in common do my Godhead slight
On all in common shall my fury light

& first on men who wont their hours employ
In my soft paths of simple artless Joy
Who woud be free tho for the worse you change
My powr shall thus my slighted gifts revenge
Henceforth your charmers shall be versd in arts
Not loving faithless & designing hearts
the tend'rest shall their pitty least obtain
they'le feel a pride ore many slaves to reign
to make believing fooles then give ym pain
their look their smile their action their intent
Shall all against your peace of Soul be bent
Now hope restraining when it forward bears
Now quickning hope when you're restraind by fears
Oft seeming kind then scrupulously nice
& mixing as it were their flames with Ice
to keep confusd irresolute & rackt
those bosoms they by various wayes distract
What pains you then shall feel wt rage express
How many purposes to love ym less
How many oaths to shun their sight you'le swear
Which never shall be kept against the fair
A tear a word thats feignd shall soon restore
their empire & enslave their rebells more
No matter what you saw you must believe
for strange enchantments may the sight deceive

Nay more Ile change my quiver bow & darts
to make mad work within your alterd hearts
Nor ever give the pleasing wounds I usd
Ere you my empire scornd my laws refusd
Here one a nymph that is deformd shall fire
another one to honour lost admire
& while all night by others she's embracd
The wretch shall doat because she acts the chast
Some shall be prodigall their end to gain
Nor know that who gives most shall least obtain
their hopes will still be fed but never don
to keep them still in play & loving on

374

In short Ile make them feel & own it pain
to live beneath inconstant womans chain
& know their folly when they scornd my reign

& You ye women shall confess it too
repenting that you ere from me withdrew
You who have given wealth its powr to move
& triumph ore the sacred rites of love
Who vice to virtue ignorance to parts
& mony can prefer to faithfull hearts
Who think to sell your selves is nothing mean
& from the prostituted bed reap gain
You never never shall again perceive
the wondrous sweets that mutuall passions have
but for their mighty riches love the great
While even they shall win you by deceit
their purpose in inveagling flattrys hide
& the lost creatures whom they gain deride
then leaving those that can be new no more
the self same arts to others practise ore
by such poor victorys to boast adress
& the faint glorys of their fame increase

As Huntsmen when they have a hare in view
Fird & impatient eagerly pursue
Now ore the mountains now across the plains
& for a little take a world of pains
Unweari'd still they follow with delight
fond of the hunting tho the game they slight
Just so the great their amorous chace shall run
Nor ought to gain you shall be left undon
With oaths & sighs & tears they will assail
but love no more when ever these prevail
Unmindfull then of what had causd their cares
for other beautys they display their snares

While you who soon perceive their broken faith
their oaths no more esteemd then common breath
tho never by my flame divine inspird
Shall inly with a rage of soul be fird
All spight to find your flatterd charms contemnd
& mad to see another more esteemd
for Justly thus my anger does ordain
that you shoud each create ye others pain

When Cupid thus had spoke his wings he spread
& with redoubled springs to heaven fled

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Nor were in Idle air his curses lost
Succeeding ages found them to their cost

Ah Madam you alas have found them true
The prophesy is made too good on you
You've had the great become your beautys slave
& by experience know the great deceive
& tho' those starrs of love your charming eyes
Outshine the brightness of the midday skys
tho' your complexion with the morning vies
tho all the Graces which around you wait
Dwell on each part & fill up beautys state
Tho the bright virtues which within remain
Might promise you an everlasting reign
You see the heart was givn to you before
at a new shrine anothers charms adore
But cease my lovely weeper cease to mourn
The fair that triumphs now will have her turn
No charm against inconstancy secures
You know the lovers fire but short endures
& she'le forsaken meet a fate like yours

10 Colin

Ye tender virgins listen to the strains
With which our skillfull Colin charmd the plains
tis true the rivers did not cease to run
the winds still blew tho still the shepheard sung
But greater strangely greater things were don
the younger nymphs woud give no lover ear
the older even left their talk to hear

Twas thus if I remember he begun
Fly charming beauty fly the lovers tongue
tis not in beauty to resist it long
Be very cautious whom you chuse to hear
Your hearts are tender shepheards know they are
Not that of sacred love my layes complain
Perish the layes that dare its fires prophane,
But men shoud never in feignd passions rave,
Or women know how much they can deceive,
Believe me virgins, for I tell you true,
Believe your Colin the sincere are few.

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A hope of pleasure or a pride to gain
brings to a fair some well-dissembling swain
thus urgd along he practises to move
thro' each ingaging path of reall love
If e're he lookes his passions in his eyes
If ere he sighes tis heard upon his sighes
In all his words a soft enchantment reigns
Ah shepheardess beware his words are chains
& their design is on your innocence
You must not lett him conquer tho he swear
Nor longer than he talks of Hymen hear
Oaths without Hymen never bind till death
The lovers oaths but go for so much breath
Believe me fairs he best deserves a heart
Who gives you proof that he can never part

A gratitude or pitty well designd
Oft unawares has made a woman kind
she sees she pittys by degrees she burns
& all the youth perhaps but acts returns
Ah shepheards leave in this to show yr skill
The more success you meet the more you're ill
deceive those women who design on you
But why shoud harmless virgins suffer too
Methinks they shoud not—yet Alas they do
Believe ye fairs what faithfull Colin speakes
He who dissembles no distinction makes.

By easy numbers some obtain a love
By presents some, by dressing others move
by singing this by dancing that insnares
Inconstancy is often in its airs
thus by a thousand slights to love you're drawn
While he who draws you may be touchd by none
Or if he chance to be so maynt be long
Believe ye Virgins what the poet sings
Loves darts have feathers & himself has wings

Yet have I seen & read of happy pairs
Who with a mutuall kindness past their years
Hang up your garlands Beautys to their fame
& ever in your songs preserve their name
Nay I have seen a lover hereto fore
Who dy'd to show how much he did adore
He might to lust or pride a martyr prove
But since tis said Alexis dy'd for love

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give up a tear to his uncommon doom
still when at each full moon the shepheards come
With Hellebore to strow along his tomb
These are the rights the shepheards think are due
to him whom they call mad to dy for you
Believe their actions & tis quickly known
Men think their constancy is fairly shown
In loving allwayes not in loving one

Take not a perjurd lover for you know
He may be false because he has been so
Take not a fool for fear you may esteem
Another more to be belovd than him
Take not a man thats but a man of airs
for the nymphs qualitys he little cares
Who likes his own too well to value hers
In ages humours riches or in bloods
Unequall matches make eternall feuds
Believe me virgins if you woud be blest
You must how ere you manage for the rest
Take one thats near your temper to your breast
Thus without quarrells will your hours run on
While your opinions still unite in one
Thus when the thing will please yrself you know
You know what pleases one another too.

Divine Orinda now my labours crown
& if my voice or harp have glory won
Thine was the influence thine the glory be
Thee Colin loves & loves thy sex for thee

He ceasd his voice was rather sweet than loud
The mountains coud not as the nymphs applaud
but every fair of that admiring throng
Warbling a part on't as she went along
Raisd a shrill Eccho to resound his Song.

11 The Court

Now see the port lett winds & waters warr
You madam triumph in your happy starr
& as the Pilot safe arrivd from shore
With pleasure hears tumultuous billows roar

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With pleasure sees the tempest toss the seas
for even dangers in a prospect please
so now look back & view with such delight
Your great deliv'rance when the court you quitt
While your retirements give you certain ease
& calmer hours to spend in virtues wayes

Believe me nymph no common grace inspires
When any from this dang'rous place retires
Where the small boats or ships that proudly ride
Meet the same wracking winds & driving tide
The courts involvd in errors endless night,
You see, but with a false deceiving light,
Its splendour cheats & does at once surprize
Nor less your Judgement suffers than your eyes
None there the lookes of simple nature wears
theres none without disguise & art appears
the fault is publick & a custom grown
that scarce a soul without its masque is shown
The young the old the little & the great
With miens affected & feignd colours cheat
Now gay now sad & never long the same,
they change to suit the time or serve their aim.
Friendship unsound, caresses unsincere,
& praises with a faint malicious air,
Low flattrys, oaths on purpose made to cheat,
& all the glossy varnish of deceit
the supple courtiers masquing dress compleat

What greater dangers can be mett with there
Where lions rage & dragons poison air
With open forces to destroy they run
& can be shunnd because they can be known
But at ye court the Lions like the deer
& dragons like the gentle lambs appear

Assist us heavn where such disguisements reign
Or human wisdom will assist in vain
When borrowed Manners all our fears remove
& feather out the vultur like the dove
Where as in woods in which the robbers live
We're lost by innocence by rapin thrive
& all around us scarce we hear a noise
but of the robd or of the robbers voice
there by a strange but often tryd device
On wrecks of houses greater houses rise

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Which suffring in their turn make others great
& raise them high in view for marks to fate.

Thus nothing stands at court on stable ground
Not you your self have always favour found
Yet wonder not that while your beautys reign
While the bright Loves & Graces form yr train
the winds are high bring envy on their wing
& ruffle all the glorys of your spring
Evn on the breast of Flora where it grows
Spight of its charms rude blasts will discompose
the sweet carnation or the lovely rose

Nor think you've lost yr freedoms rather savd
for to be there you must have been enslavd
All courts are gallys painted dazzling fair
Where the great slaves their chains wth glory wear
In golden chains at polishd oars they sweat
thus undergoing drudgerys of state
But what availes this mighty pomp & shine
No yoak is less a yoak for being fine
those abject slaves who to their oar confind
With heavy pains supply the want of wind
Whose arm the badge whose feet the fetters wear
Are less inthralld then fortunes prisoners here

These suffer deeper in a better part
& tho the legs unbound enslave the heart
their words when words are free in all beside
Or to their close or known designs are ty'd
Dependance is the common servile case
& the free-will a stranger to the place
the tyrant passions tread fair meritt down
& their proud thrones erect above the crown
their wretched captives many bonds secure
for love ambition avarice make ym sure

But we may yet much greater ills declare
for much impiety infects its air
The blessed Gospell courtiers can believe
A sett of fables minted to deceive
That canopys of state where monarchs reign
Are Heav'ns on earth & Heav'n a Fairy scene

The courts no ground where virtues often grow
Their proper soil is less exposd & low
Retirement means the tempting world to shun
& when thats quitted virtues workes begun

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To fly with safety is to conquer here
& scaping triumphs ore a baffled snare
Tis true the pow'r above in ev'ry place
Dispenses flames divine & heav'nly grace
That Lillys may have grown on thorny ground
& there a Glorious Anna may be found
but yet the priviledge is rarely known
Like Arethusa's fabled stream to run
tis hard to roll along the briny sea
With pure untainted waters all the way
Your life has made the common fable true
& few I fear at court will follow you
How few coud ever keep themselves from blame
If the great gifts that crown you tempted them
The bright enchantments of unbounded witt
With charms adornd in easy nature sweet
The rank you held besett with ev'ry vice
Which follow pleasures or from grandeur rise.

12 The Test of Poetry

Much have I writt, says Bavius, Mankind knows
By my quick printing how my fancy flows:
Yet Thyrsis (& they say the youth's inspird)
Mindless of mine, your Genius has admird;
When have you ere, or in what paper been,
Where the news faild, among our authors, seen?
In what collection do we meet yr name?
No, what you write, you can your self condemn
& lett the private closett hide from fame.
Here, ink & paper, lett us lock the door,
The Muses flames are quick, weel write an hour,
Then count whose lines are fewer, whose are more.
What shoud I do? The challenge I decline,
& own his readier knack to master mine.

Is witt thus tryd? is this its onely test?
Or is it but the newest, not the best?
You Mighty Bards, whose memorys remain,
& ore oblivion, time, & envy reign,
With your long-labourd works in hand, appear,

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Raise your pale conscious lamps, tell ore yr care,
& fright the sudden writers of our times,
from giddy flights & undigested rimes:
Those hardend Browns, that Plague a Judging age,
That scribble fast, & many a thoughtless page,
To prove their title to poetick rage.
How distant are the Beautys from their sight,
Which come by years, & keep a Poem bright.
These catch the little flashes of their witt,
They teach them how to move wth numberd feet,
Then hasty to supply a craving dun,
Or warm from Taverns, to the Press they runn:
No length of Judgement ripens every line,
They own no chain of thought, no great design,
But to succeed, to spurious arts descend,
Which sooth our follys, or our vice defend;
Brisk drunken Catches on the Sober Jest;
Soft luscious Elegys debauch the chast;
Lampoon will rage upon unspotted fame;
& Panegyrick daub a worthless name;
So plants unapt to bear the wintry skys
If dunghill warmth the distant sun supplys
To seasons not their own appear with hast
And while they boast a colour want a tast.

Tis hence the proffit which accrues from all
May now be nothing, & anon be small;
Perhaps the sellers (ventrous race of men)
While their lost pains the writers mourn in vain,
May reap a silver harvest from their pen;
Or both at last (for both a hazzard run)
By the same labours find themselves undon.
they woud be known, tis thats the Poets aim,
Yet few shall have, since few deserve a name,
The rest shall find their hopes at dying fled,
Or ere they dy themselves in fame be dead.

The world woud verse with love & warmth admire,
But the wild managers put out the fire;
For shoud not man respect the sacred thing
Which prophets write, which saints & angells sing?
Be then our poetry, (to make it please,)
Fair sense & virtue, in a charming dress,
Nor publishd soon, it will the more endure,
By being kept for years, of years secure.

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The Justest may be partial to his strains,
While the fresh subject on his mind remains,
himself applaud, & evry line approve,
With all the blindness of a fathers love;
Till in cool temper, as at ebb of tide,
He sees those shallows which before coud hide,
Waits till his heat by Just degrees expires,
The Parents dotage by the same retires,
& then hele censure what he now admires;
Hele look his labours ore & ore wth care,
Appeal to Judgement, & consult his ear,
While here he dashes out, & changes there:
He'le figures when they are not proper quit,
& lop rank branches off luxuriant witt
Hele give the swelling verse a sober pace,
He'le smooth the rugged, & the flatt he'le raise;
Then Bid the Polishd lines securely thrive;
and the great founder of their fame survive.

The Ecstasy.

The fleeting Joy that all things have beneath
Goes off like snow while Zephirs warmly breath
The happy wish that makes our bliss compleat
it is not wealth it is not to be great
To glide along on pleasures easy floud
Or in fames wreaths to shine above the croud
Weak man who charms in these alone can see
Hear what I ask & learn to ask of me.

Send to my breast Allmighty King send down
A beam of brightness from thy starry throne
Break on my mind drive errors cloud away
& make a calm in passions troubled sea
that the poor banishd Soul serene & free
May rise from earth to visit heav'n & thee.
Come peace Divine shed gently from above
Inspire my willing bosome wondrous love
& lend thy wings & teach me how to move

But Whither whither now? what wondrous fire
With this blest influence equalls my desire?

383

I rise or love the kind deluder reigns
& acts in fancy such inchanted scenes
The earth retires, the parting skyes give way
& now I view the native realms of day
I mount above the starrs above the sun
& still methinks the spirit bears me on.
O strange enjoyment of a bliss unseen!
O ravishment! o sacred rage within!
Tumultuous pleasure raisd on peace of mind
Which he thats good & onely he can find!
I hear (it must be so) Ime sure I hear
Seraphick musick strike my rapturd ear
I see the light that veiles the throne on high
A light too glorious for the dazzled eye
look how around this great mysterious place
The Angells fly & as they fly they praise
Look how Apostles prophets martyrs Joyn
& all their tongues & all their harps combine
to celebrate the Majesty divine
to please heav'ns King their heav'nly lays are sung
No voice is silent not a harp unstrung

Pure & immortall quire allow me now
Since faign my heart woud pay its tribute too
Allow my Zeal to bear a part wth you
Assist my words and as they move along
With Halelujah's crown the burthend song

Father Eternall, God of truth & light
Great above all beyond expression bright
No bounds thy knowledge none thy powr confine
For powr & knowledge in their source are thine
Around thee Glory spreads her golden wing
Sing Glittering Angells Halelujah sing.

Son of the Father, blest, begotten Son
Ere the short measuring line of time begun
In thee his perfect Essence makes abode
the world has seen thy workes & owns thee God
The world must own thee loves unfathomd spring.
Sing Glittering Angells Halelujah Sing.

Proceeding Spirit, Equally divine
In whom the Godheads true perfections shine
You fill our bosomes with celestiall fire
& tis a bliss to burn when you inspire
O Lord Of Grace for Grace on earth you bring.

384

sing glittering Angells Halelujah sing

But Ah whats this? & where is all my heat
What interruption makes my Joy retreat
the worlds gott in my meditation crost
& the gay pictures in my fancy lost
How willingly Alas our soules woud rise
& be fixd starrs inserted in the skyes
But our attempts these chains of earth restrain
Deride our toiles & dragg us down again
Thus meteors mounting with the planets vie
But their own bodys sink them in the Sky
When the warmths gon that taught ym how to fly.

Concerning Resolution.

Happy the man whose firm resolves obtain
Assisting Grace to burst his sinfull chain
For him the Days with golden minutes glow
Tis his the Land where milk & hony flow
Justice & mercy piety & peace
Attend his workes & crown them with success
He hopes the best that is for heavn prepard
& wants no bliss while virtue can reward
That purpled hour which ushers in the light
& that which shuts its beautys up in night
Still hears him pray still sees his actions right
For him they still on easy minutes speed
& as they move for him the rest succeed

But most Alas by vain opinion lead
Ore the wild maze of erring passions tread
& now to this & now to that we go
& each desire & neither rightly know
& act irresolute in all we do
& seldom stay to search our objects through
Desire is vain & wanton free to range
Fond of a Chace & fond the Chace to Change
By turns a thousand inclinations rise
& each by turns as impotently dies
Now thought grows wild if loose Aminta's kind
Shee spreads her Charms & captivates the mind
Anon Aminta leaves the thought at ease

385

No more her aires & soft Allurements please
We love reclining in ye shady bowers
by running waters near sweet banks of flowrs
To surfeit nature with full bowles of wine
& with forcd appetites on bliss refine
Then buisy then fantastically wise
Then to be some thing else we streight devise
For Fancy still undreind affors supplys
tis thus if reason from the throne be gon
The madd affections bear their master on
His life proves restless & his labour vain
By hurrying after Phantomes of the brain
So the brave Falcon when its glorys fade
When its strong wings their generous forces shed
The vacant holds ignobler birds supply
With Ravens feathers impd she mounts on high
& weak or giddy strayes along the sky

In Every Change indeed resolves we make
But those resolves to settle newer break
By contradictions thus we seem to live
Nor want the colour of a cause to give
Kind heav'n forgive us when for what we do
We woud debauch our knack of reasning too
When int'rest does on thought its force dispence
When pleasure beats upon the dazzled sence
Our resolutions oft in vain are made
Kind heavn forgive the fault & lend thine aid.
If by thy law we must temptations find
If these must try the temper of the mind
We begg thee not to change thy good decree
We begg for pardon or support from thee
Our wisdome never shoud thy ways confine
but thus confess & humbly rest in thine
Tis well theres tryalls since the mans so proud
& since he's weak tis well theres Grace allowd.

To ------ on the various Styles of Poetry

At modern Rome an easy Nymph was bred
In tender tales & soft Romances read
These on the brain a wild impression brought

386

& made her sure she saw what ere she thought
Within her Fancy shady groves were reard
& Dancing nymphs & piping swains appeard
Complaints were heard rewarded passions glowd
A plain extended & a river flowd
But Soon Alas her friends successfull care
from the sweet frenzy disengagd ye fair
Untimely friends restore my Joys again
Restore my grove my river & my plain
She often cryd & often cryd in vain
Till a bright youth with skill to manage came
Who while he fed her fancy raisd her flame
Then the fond creature lost her heedless heart
In making Celia's answer Damons part.

Change but ye sex make poetry ye thing
& the whole story to my case you bring
When first to think with order I began
& dawning reason aimd to show the man
Pleasd with the flowing graces of a line
Methought I wishd ye name of poet mine
The wish grew stronger & became design
Strange modells in my fancy then were reard
& ye thin shades of different styles appeard
My pastorall enervate movd along
My rough was Satyr & my smooth was song
Ah cruell world thou foe to calm repose
from thee the knowledge of this errour rose
I thought I coud have taught the birds to love
& wakt the tunefull Ecchoes of ye grove
What made your truths my pleasing cheat destroy
Tho' twas opinion twas a reall Joy
But see the fetters of your wisdome loose
A friend once more provokes ye silent muse
the magick charms which in his numbers reign
Strike on ye tender part that turnd my brain
buisness & verse he calls consistent things
& Ile believe that 'tis a truth he sings
I yield I yield unusuall heats arise
twere now resisting pleasure to be wise

I hate ye vulgar with untunefull ears
Soules uninspird & negligent of verse
Hence ye prophane be farr removd away
While to my powr I woud my friend repay

387

When Greece did truth in mystick fables shroud
& with delight instruct the listning croud
An ancient bard (I need not tell his name)
These strains deliverd down to future fame
Still as he sung he touchd the trembling lyre
& felt the notes his rising song inspire
Forgive my Genius where I want his fire

Witt is the Muses horse & bears on high
The daring rider to the muses Sky
Who while his strength to mount aloft he trys
By regions varying in their nature flyes

By the poor trifling region first he goes
Where words inverted anagrams compose
Where Jingling puns the meagre couplets raise
That do the pointed Epigram debase
Where mean Acrosticks labourd in a frame
On scatterd letters raise a painfull scheme
Whose scanty bounds exclude ye sprightly flame
Ah sacred verse within my thoughts adord
Ah be for ever in my lines deplord
If men get fame by tricks upon a word
Can such as these to character pretend
Can any muse the worthless toil befriend
At this awhile ye poet held his peace
& scornfull smiles were spread upon his face
Which moving off he thus resumd the layes

By a cold country next ye rider goes
Where all is coverd with eternall snows
Ore which the shining Genius never rose
Bleak level realm where frigid styles abound
Where never yet a mounting thought was found
But starvd conceits that chill the readers mind
& counted feet is poetry defind
Ah sacred verse replete with heavnly flame
If such a frozen piece invade thy name
The name of man may breathless statues claim
Here grief awhile delayd his hand & tongue
But then again he playd again he sung.

Pass the next region which appears to show
Tis very open very green & low
No noble flight no strength of sence is there
Its turns are common childish is their air
On callow wings & like a plague of flyes

388

The little fancys through a poem rise
The Jaded reader every where to strike
& move his passions every where alike
There the best beautys which ye brightest write
are copy'd ill or flourishd out of sight
There metaphors on metaphors abound
& sence with differing images confound
Strange injudicious management of fire
Ah sacred verse from such a realm retire
Tis credit lost no better to inspire
Here a soft pitty rolld within his breast
& soon his voice the following strains exprest

Mount higher still, still keep thy faithfull seat
Mind the firm reins & curb thy coursers heat
Nor lett him touch the realms yt next appear
They're all composd of castles in ye air
Whose threatning turrets seem a fall to fear
Thoughts for extravagance & words for noise
are here the reasons that conclude their choice
The swelling lines with stalking strutt proceed
& in the clouds terrifick rumblings breed
The reader scard with sounds does plainly see
Tyrannick port mistook for majesty
While the loud Bard does on Apollo call
he bids him enter to possess him all
& makes his flames afford a wild pretence
to keep him unrestraind by common sence
Ah sacred verse least reason quitt thy state
Give none to such or give a gentler heat
The poet here awhile collected stood
Within himself & thus his track pursud.

Above ye beautys farr above ye show
in which weak nature dresses here below
Stands the great Palace of ye bright & fine
That does around with fair Ideas shine
Eternall modells of unbounded parts
The pride of minds & conquerours of hearts
Tis here that guided by the muses fire
& full of warmth divine her friends retire
To tast repose & elevated Joys
Which in a deep untroubled leisure rise
from hence the charms that most engage they chuse
& as they please the glittering objects use

389

While to their genius more than art they trust
Yet art acknowledges their labours Just
from hence they look from this exalted place
On the low world sublimely rich in layes
to crown a victour wth rewarding praise
The Soul with knowledge gently to improve
to knitt a friendship or obtain a love
& but to speak of heaven look above
Hail sacred verse ye sacred muses hail
Coud I your pleasures with your fire reveal
The world might then be brought to know you right
& court your rage & envy my delight
But time may bring a genius on his wings—
With admiration stoppd no more he sings
No more his flying fingers shake ye strings

To this recess do you my friend retreat
From thence report the pleasures of the seat
Describe the raptures which a writer knows
When in his breast a vein of fancy glows
say what he feeles while op'ning of ye mine
& what he feeles when first he sees it shine
say when a reader views a beauteous piece
How much the writers mind can act on his
How images in charming numbers sett
a sort of likeness in the soul begett
What various things ye softned swiming eye
Believes it sees & onely seems to see
Pierce further still thro' natures maze to find
How passions drawn give passions to ye mind
Is verse a Soveraign regent of the soul
& fitted all its motions to controul
Or are they sisters tund at once above
& shake like unisons if either move
For at a fine description of a fight
Ive heard a souldiers voice confess delight
Ive seen his eyes with crowding spirits bright
When from his fair the fickle Trojan flyes
& in enchanting lines Eliza cryes
Ive seen ye tears stand in ye virgins eyes
Ive seen ym blush at soft Corinnas name
& in red Characters confess a flame
say tender maids (to such my lays appeal)
If here the powr of verse my verses tell

390

Oft does a nymph by sweet experience prove
the passions well describd her passions move
& longs to meet a swain & longs to love
Then if by chance the sighing youth arrives
In pleasure lost her melted heart she gives
& the raisd lover by the poet lives

Metr: Boetius 1s 1 Quisquis comp

The Man whose mind & actions still Sedate
Can bravely triumph ore ye thoughts of fate
He who unaltered fortunes Changes brookes
Without elated or dejected lookes
With a fixd carriage & undaunted soul
Shall see ye oceans boiling surges roll
Vesuvius flames in smoaky pillars rise
& bolts of thunder dart from opening skys
Why dread we wretched mankind tell me why
When the vain threats of tyrants idely fly
Weigh all things right as in themselves they are
Unlearn your minds to move by hope & fear
With in yr breast lett resolution reign
& all their baffled forces act in vain
But he who servily can wish or grieve
For that which is not in his powr to give
Casts off the firmness wch shoud make him great
the strongest shield we can oppose to fate
letts inclinations grow & thus he weaves
Those very bonds which keep us passions slaves.

A Tavern feast

Gay Bacchus liking B---s wine
A noble meal bespoke
& for ye guests that were to dine
Brought Comus Love & Joke

391

The God near Cupid drew his chair
& Joke by Comus plact
Thus wine makes Love forget his care
& Mirth exalts a feast
To make it more deserve ye God
Each sweet engaging Grace
Put on some cloaths to come abroad
& took a waiters place
Then Cupid namd for ev'ry glass
A Lady of ye sky
& Bacchus swore he'd drink ye ye Lass
& had it bumper high
Fat Comus tossd his brimmers o're
& allways gott ye most
For Joke took care to fill him more
When ere he missd ye toast
They calld & drunk at evry touch
& calld & drunk again
& if ye Gods can take too much
Tis said they did so then
Free Jests ran all the table round
& with ye wine conspire
While they by sly reflections wound
To Set their heads afire
Plump Bacchus little Cupid stung
By reckning his deceits
& Cupid mockd his stammring tongue
& all his stagg'ring gates
Joke drolld on Comus Greedy ways
& tales without a Jest
& Comus calld his witty plays
But waggerys at best
such talking sett them all at odds
& had I Homers pen
Ide sing you how they drunk like Gods
& how they fought like men
To part ye fray the Graces fly
Who make them soon agree
& had ye furys selves been nigh
They still were three to three
Bacchus appeasd letts Cupid up
& gave him back his bow
But kept some darts to stirr ye Cup

392

Where Sack & Sugar flow
Joke taking Comus rosy crown
In triumph wore ye prize
& thrice in mirth he pushd him down
As thrice he strove to rise
Then Cupid sought ye mirtle grove
Where Venus did recline
& Beauty close embracing Love
They Joyn to rail at Wine
& Comus loudly cursing witt
Rolld off to some retreat
Where boon companions gravely sitt
In dull unwieldy state
Bacchus & Joke who stay behind
For one fresh glass prepare
& kiss & are exceeding kind
& vow to be sincere
But part in time whoever here
Are couchd within my song
For tho the friendship may be dear
It cant continue long.

The Ecstasy.

The fleeting Joys which all affords below
Work the fond heart with unperforming show
And vanish off as snows that swiftly fail
Thawd by the breathings of a Vernall gale
The Wish that makes our happier life compleat
Nor grasps the wealth nor honours of the great
Nor loosely sailes on Pleasures easy stream
Nor crops for Lawrels all ye groves of Fame
Weak man who charms to these alone confine
Attend my prayr & learn to make it thine

From thy rich throne where circling trains of light
Make day that's endless infinitely bright
Thence heavnly Father thence with pitty dart
One beam of brightness to my longing heart
Dawn through the mind drive Errors clouds away
And still the rage in Passions troubled sea
That the poor banishd soul serene and free

393

May rise from Earth to visit heavn & thee
Come Peace Divine shed gently from above
Inspire my willing bosome wondrous Love
Thy Purple pinnions to my shoulders ty
And point the passage where I want to fly.

But whither whither now what powrfull fire
With this blest influence equals my desire
I rise (or love the kind Deluder reigns
and acts in fancy such enchanted scenes)
Earth lessning flys the parting skys retreat
The fleecy clouds my waving feathers beat
And now the sun and now the starrs are gon
And still methinks the spirit bears me on
Where Tracts of Æther purer blue display
And edge the golden realm of native day

Oh strange Enjoyment of a bliss unseen
Oh ravishment Oh sacred rage within
Tumultuous Pleasure raisd on peace of mind
Sincere excessive from the world refind
I see the light that veiles the throne on high
A light unpiercd by mans impurer eye
I hear the words which issuing thence proclaim
That Gods attendants praise his awfull name
Then heads unnumberd bend before the shrine
Mysterious seat of Majesty divine
And hands unnumberd strike the silver String
And tongues unnumberd Halelujah sing
See where the shining seraphims appear
And sink their decent eyes with holy fear
See flights of Angels all their feathers raise
Range the vast heigths and as they range they praise
Behold the great Apostles sweetly met
And high on Curles of Azure Æther sett
Behold the Prophets full of Heavnly fire
With wandring fingers wake the tunefull lyre
And hear the Martyrs sing and all around
The Church Triumphant make the region sound
With harps with Crowns of Gold with boughs of green
With robes of white the pious throngs are seen
Exalted Anthems all their hours employ
And all is musick and excess of Joy

Charmd with the sight I long to bear my part
The pleasure flutters at my ravishd heart

394

Sweet saints and Angels Heavns immortall Quire
If Love have warmd me with celestial fire
Assist my words and as they move along
With Halelujah crown the burthend Song

Father of all above and all below
O great and farr beyond expression so
No bounds thy knowledge none thy powr confine
For powr and knowledge in their source are thine
Around thee glory spreads her golden wing
Sing glittering Angels Halelujah sing

Son of the Father first begotten son
Ere the short measuring line of Time begun
The world has seen thy workes & Joyd to see
His bright Effulgence manifest in thee
The world must own thee Loves unfathomd spring
Sing glittering Angels Halelujah sing

Proceeding Spirit equally divine
In whom the Godheads full perfections shine
With various grace with comfort unexprest
With Holy transport you refine the breast
And Earth grows heavnly where your gifts you bring
Sing Glittering Angels Halelujah sing

But wheres my rapture where my wondrous heat
What interruption makes my bliss retreat
This worlds got in the thoughts of T'other crosst
And the fair pictures in my fancy Lost
With what an eager zeal the Conscious Soul
Woud seek its home & soaring pass the Pole
But our attempts these chains of earth restrain
Deride the toil and drag us down again
So from the ground aspiring Meteors goe
And rankd with Planets light the world below
But their own bodys sink them in the Sky
When the warmths gon by which they learnd to fly.

The Horse & Olive or Warr & Peace

With Moral tale let Ancient wisdome move
Which thus I sing to make ye moderns wise
Strong Neptune once with sage Minerva strove
And rising Athens was the Victors prize

395

By Neptune Plutus guardian Powr of gain
By great Minerva Bright Apollo stood
But Jove superiour Bad ye side obtain
Which best contrivd to do ye nation good

Then Neptune striking from the parted ground
The Warlike horse came pawing on ye plain
And as it tossd its main & prancd around
By this he crys Ile make the people reign

The Goddess smiling gently bowd ye spear
And rather thus they shall be blessd she said
Then upwards shooting in ye Vernal air
With loaded boughs ye fruitfull Olive spread

Jove saw what gifts ye rival Powrs designd
Then took th' impartial scales resolvd to show
If greater bliss in warlike pomp we find
Or in ye calm which peacefull times bestow

On Neptunes part he placd victorious days
Gay trophys won & fame extending wide
But plenty safety science arts & ease
Minerva's scale with greater weight supplyd

Fierce warr devours whom gentle Peace woud save
Sweet peace restores wt angry warr destroys
Warr made for peace with that rewards ye brave
While Peace its pleasures from it self enjoys

Hence Vanquishd Neptune to ye Sea withdrew
Hence Wise Minerva ruld Athenian lands
Her Athens hence in arts & honour grew
And still her Olives deck pacifick hands

From fables thus disclosd a Monarchs mind
May form Just rules to chuse ye truly great
And subjects wearyd with distresses find
Whose kind endeavours most befriend a state

Evn Britain here may learn to place her love
If Citys won her kingdomes wealth have cost
If Anna's thoughts ye Patriot soules approve
Whose cares restore yt wealth ye wars had lost

396

But if we ask ye Moral to disclose
Whom best Europa's patroness it calls
Great Anna's title no exception knows
And unapplyd in this ye fable falls

With her no Neptune or Minerva vyes
When ere she pleasd her troops to conquest flew
When ere she pleases peaceful times arise
She gave the horse & gives ye Olive too.

A Parody of Donec Gratus Eram in A dialogue Between M--- & his Wife.

He.
When first my Biddy love profest
My rapture ran so high
Not Gentle S---s fondly prest
To beautious G---s panting breast
Was half so blest as I

She.
When first my bard you taught my name
To sound in Song divine
Not S---s exalted fame
Tho S---s a P--- aim
I wishd instead of mine

He.
But now the Muse thy late delight
You See thy rival prove
For night & day & day & night
To write & read & read & write
Is all ye life I love

She
Forlorn yet senceless of ye pain
I to the Mirrour fly
Survey my self am Justly vain
And but I know my self again
For that dear face coud dy

He.
But shoud thy Bard no longer pore
Wilt thou forsake thy glass
If I admire my works no more
Wilt thou to court thy shade give o're

397

And all be as it was

She
Since none but we our rivals are
And none the lovers too
Be fond or void of am'rous care
I fond or vain of being fair
Yet both are ever true.

Epigram. On a Ladys lace shown for a favour

As Nelly to a chamber got
To take her leave of Ned
She loosd her lace & Cast a knot
(Ah why unlacd the maid.).

Now pull the further end she cryd
The Youth obeyd commands
And still the knot ye faster tyd
The more they parted hands

This fancy by the lover seen
She gave the silken braid
And with a kiss or two between
The parting posy said

When this you see remember me
And love me more & more
This knot when you at distance drew
Came closer than before.

An Allegory on Man.

A thoughfull Being, long and spare,
Our race of Mortals call him Care,
(Were Homer living well he knew
What Name the Gods woud call him too)
With fine Mechanick Genius wrought,

398

And lovd to work tho no one bought.

This Being by a Model bred
In Joves eternal sable head,
Contrivd a Shape impowrd to breath
And be the worldling here beneath.

The Man rose staring, like a stake,
Wondring to see himself awake;
Then lookd so wise before he knew
The buisness he was made to do,
That pleasd to see with what a grace,
He gravely showd his forward face,
Jove talkd of breeding him on high
An under-something of the Sky.

But ere he gave the mighty nod,
Which ever binds a Poets God,
For which his curles Ambrosial shake,
And Parent Earth's oblidgd to quake,
He felt her move, he saw her rise,
She stood confessd before his eyes.
But not with what we read she wore,
A Castle for a crown before,
Or lengthning streets and longer roads;
Dangling behind her like Commodes:
As yet with onely wreaths She drest,
She traild a landskip-painted vest;
And thrice she raisd, as Ovid said,
And thrice she bowd her weighty head.

Her honours made, great Jove, she cryd,
The man was fashiond from my side,
His hands, his heart, his head are mine,
Then what hast thou to call him thine?
Nay rather ask, ye Monarch said,
What boots his hand, his heart, his head,
Were what I gave removd away,
Thy part's an Idle shape of clay.
To shares apiece, says artfull Care,
Your pleas woud make your titles fair,
You claim The body, you the soul;
But I who Joynd them claim the whole.

Thus with the Gods debate began,
On such a trivial cause as man.
And can Celestial tempers rage!
(Quoth Virgil in a later age.)

399

As thus they wrangled Time came by;
(Theres none who paints him such as I;
For what the Fabling Ancients sung,
Makes Saturn old when Time was young)
As yet his winters had not shed
Their silver honours on his head,
He Just had got his pinions free,
From his old sire Eternity.
A serpent Girdled round he wore,
The tail within the mouth before,
By which our Almanacks are clear,
That learned Ægypt meant the Year.
A staff he carryd, where on high
He fixd a glass to Measure by;
As Amber boxes made a show
For heads of Canes an age agoe.
His Vest for day and night was pyd;
A bending Sickle arms his side;
And Springs new months his train adorn;
(The Other Seasons were unborn)

Known by the Gods as near he draws
They make him Umpire of the Cause.
Ore a low trunk his arm he layd,
Where since his Hours a Dial made.
Then leaning heard the nice debate,
And thus pronouncd the words of Fate.

Since Body from the Parent Earth,
And Soul from Jove receivd a Birth,
Return they where they first began,
But since their Union makes the man,
Till Jove & Earth shall Part the two,
To Care who Joynd them Man be due.

He said, & sprung with swift career
To trace a Circle for the year,
Where since the seasons ever wheel,
And tread on one anothers heel.

Tis well, says Jove, & for Consent
Thundring he shook the firmament.
Our Umpire Time shall have his way,
With Care I lett the Creature stay.
But thou for whom he seems to breath
Shall half defeat thy grant beneath:
For Time whose forces should be shown,

400

When Natures harvest fully grown
Bows with the Mellowd ears of grain,
And longs to Prostrate on ye plain,
Will Natures bended Sickle bear
But till he gets ye Scythes of Care.
Then Toil shall rise from fond desire,
And Idleness & buisness tire,
Bright Glory strain for Shades of Joy,
Soft Pleasure but to Pains decoy,
Ambition Vex, or Av'rice blind,
And doubt & knowledge rack ye Mind,
Mad Errour act, Opinion speak,
Low want afflict, & Sickness break,
Wild Anger burn, dejection chill,
And Joy distract, & Sorrow kill.
Thus armd by Care & taught to mow,
Time Draws the long promiscuous blow,
And wasted Man, whose quick decay
Comes hurrying on before the day,
Will onely find by this decree,
The Soul flys sooner back to me.

Epigram

Kate counts her years on ev'ry finger ten
And counts them over & begins again
For a whole cent'ry passd she lovd to ly
For which the creature well deservd to dy
She railes & scolds in one eternall strain
For which the Creature ought to dy again
Pin on her back a paper where tis said
Since Kate still lives the Devil must be dead

Martial

For Nothing Lucy never plays ye whore
Thats true—for Lucy ever pays before

401

An Eclogue

Now early shepheards ore ye meadow pass,
And print long foot-steps in the glittering grass;
The Cows unfeeding near the cottage stand,
By turns obedient to the Milkers hand,
Or loytring stretch beneath an Oaken shade,
Or lett the suckling Calf defraud the maid.

When Harry softly trod the shaven lawn,
Harry a youth from Citty care with drawn,
Unlike the lowly swains Arcadia bore,
Their Pipes but sounded in the days of yore:
Now Gales regardless range the Vaults above,
And No fond swain believes they sigh for love,
No more the Waters sympathising weep;
Our Lads unskilld in musick tend the sheep;
For Tom and Will our Yellow Ceres waves,
And Kate instead of Chloris binds ye sheaves.
Sicilian Muse thy higher strains explore,
Thy higher strains may suit with nature more.

Long was the pleasing Walk he wanderd through;
A Coverd arbour closd ye distant View:
Cross-sloping railes a lattice front supplyd,
And twind the flowring woodbine crept aside.
There rests the Youth, and while the featherd throng
Raise their wild Musick, thus contrives a song.

Here wafted o're by mild Etesian air
Thou Country Goddess Beautious Health repair;
Here lett my breast thro' quiv'ring trees inhale,
Thy rosy blessings with the Morning gale.
The Months that wake ye fragrant year renew,
The Sun is golden and the skys are blue,
Fair silver sprinklings fill ye walk with light,
The boughs are verdant and the blossoms white;
Yet what are these, or those, or all I see,
Ah Joyless all! if not enjoyd with thee.

Come Country Goddess come, nor thou suffice,
But bring thy Mountain Sister Exercise.
Calld by thy lively voice she turns her pace,
Her winding horn proclaims a finishd chace,
She bounds the rocks, she skims ye level plain,
Dogs hawks and horses croud her early train,
Her hardy face repells the tanning wind,

402

And lines and meshes loosely float behind.
These all as means of toil the feeble see,
But these are helps of pleasure all wth thee.

O come the Goddess of my rural Song,
And bring thy daughter calm content along,
Dame of the ruddy cheek & laughing eye,
From whose bright presence clouds of trouble fly;
For her I mow my walks, I platt my bowrs,
Clip my low hedges & support my flowrs.
To wellcome her this summer seat I drest;
And here Ile court her when she comes to rest.
She'le lead from exercise to learned Ease,
And Change again, & teach ye change to please.

Joy to my soul! I feel the Goddess nigh,
The face of Nature cheers as well as I.
Ore the flat Green refreshing Breezes run
To make young Dazys blow beneath the sun;
While limpid waters to the bottom seen
Lave the soft margin of the lovely Green,
Brisk chirping birds from all the compass rove
To tempt ye warbling Ecchoes of ye grove,
High sunny summits, deeply-shaded dales,
Thick mossy banks, and flowry winding vales,
With Various prospect gratify the sight,
And scatter fixd attention with delight.
Till the raisd soul by gay confusion wrought
Within a sphear of pleasure rolls on thought.
Here beautious Health for all ye year remain,
When ye next comes I'le charm thee thus again.

But rustling boughs yt round my temples play,
Drive the deep doze of Vision swift away.
Lett sloth ly softning till the noon in down,
Or lolling fan her in the sultry town,
Unnerve with rest & turn her own disease,
Or foster others in luxurious ease.
I mount the Courser, call ye deep'ning hounds,
The fox unkennelld flys to covert grounds.
I lead where stags through cumbrous thickets tread,
And shake the saplings with their branching head.
I make the falcons wing their airy way,
And soar to seize, or stooping, strike ye prey.
To snare ye fish I fix ye luring bait.
To Wound ye fowl I load ye gun with fate.

403

Tis thus through changing shows of toil I range,
And strength & pleasure rise in ev'ry change.
Here beautious Health for all ye year remain,
When the next comes Ile charm thee thus again.

Now friends my life with usefull talk refine,
And Tullys Tusculum revives in mine.
Now to grave books I bid ye mind retreat,
And such as make me rather good than great.
Or o're the works of easy fancy rove,
Where pipes and innocence amuse ye grove:
The Native Bard that on Sicilian plains
Best sung the lowly manners of the Swains;
Great Maro's Muse, that in the finest light
Paints Country prospects and the charms of sight;
Strong Spencers Calender, whose Moons appear
To trace their Changes in the rural year;
Sweet Pope whose lays along with Nature run
Through all the seasons which divide ye sun;
The tender Philips lines, who lately tryd
To plant Arcadia by the Severn side;
And Gentle Gays that happily explore
Those British Shepheards Spencer sought before.
The Soft Amusements bring content Along,
And Fancy, void of sorrow, runs to song.
Here Beautious Health for all ye year remain,
When the next comes Ile charm thee thus again.

So sung the Youth. But now ye cool wth drew;
The sun had dryd the shaking drops of dew,
Then ragd with flames insufferably bright,
& shot the lattice with a checq'ring light;
The Zephirs fall, tho' not to hear his lay,
And in his shade the Flyes offensive play.

The Heroins or Cupid Punishd Transl: from Ausonius.

In airy fields ye fields of bliss below
Where woods of Myrtle sett by Maro grow
Where grass beneath & shade diffusd above
Refresh the feavour of distracted Love

404

There at a solemn tide ye Beautys slain
By tender passion act their fates again

Through gloomy light that Just betrays ye grove
In orgys all disconsolately rove
They range the reeds & ore ye poppys Sweep
That nodding bend beneath their load of Sleep
By lakes subsiding with an easy face
By rivers stealing with a silent pace
Where kings & swains of ancient Authors sung
Now changd to flowrets ore ye margin hung
The self-admirer white Narcissus so
Fades at ye brink his picture fades below
In Bells of Azure Hyacynth arose
In crimson painted young Adonis glows
The Fragrant Crocus shines with golden flame
And leaves inscribe with Ajax haughty name

A sad remembrance brings their lives to view
And with their passion makes their tears renew
Unwinds ye years & lays ye former scene
Where after death they live for deaths again

Deluded Semele bewailes her fate
Lost by the glorys of her Lovers state
She runs & seems to burn the flames arise
And fan with Idle furys as she flys
The lovely Cænis whose transforming shape
Securd her honour from a second rape
Now moans ye first with ruffled garb appears
Feeles her whole sex return & baths with tears
The Jealous Procris wipes a seeming wound
Whose trickling Crimson dyes ye bushy ground
Knows the sad shaft & calls before she goe
To kiss ye favrite hand that gave ye blow
Ore well-dissembled waves ye Sestian fair
Holds forth a taper from a towr of air
A noiseless wind assaults ye wav'ring light
The Damsel tumbling mingles with ye night
Where Curling shades for rough Leucate rose
With love distracted tunefull Sappho goes
Sings to mock cliffs a melancholy lay
And with a Lovers leap affrights ye Sea
The sad Eryphile retreats to moan
What wrought her husbands death & causd her own

405

Surveys ye glitt'ring Vail ye bribe of fate
& tears ye shadow but she tears too late
Here three that brand ye royal house of Crete
In thin design & airy picture fleet.
To court a bull the mad Pasiphae flys
The snowy Phantome feeds before her eyes
Left Ariadne raves the thread she bore
Trailes on unwinding as she walks ye shore
And desp'rate Phædra seeks ye lonely groves
To read her guilty letter while she roves
Red shame confounds ye first ye second wears
A starry crown the third a halter bears.
Here Laodamia mourns her nuptial night
Of Love defrauded by the thirst of fight
Yet for another as delusive crys
And dauntless sees her Heroes ghost arise
There Thisbe Canace & Dido stand
All armd with swords a fair but angry band
This sword a Lover ownd A Father gave
The next a stranger chancd ye last to leave
And there evn she the Goddess of ye grove
Joynd with the Phantome fairs affects to rove
As once for Latmos she forsook ye plain
To steal the Kisses of a slumbring swain
Around her head a starry fillet twines
And at ye front a silver Crescent shines
These & a thousand & a thousand more
With sacred rage recall ye pangs they bore
Strike ye deep dart afresh & ask relief
Or sooth the wound with softning words of grief.

At Such a tide Unheedfull Love invades
The dark recesses of the Madding shades
Through long descent he fans ye foggs around
His purple feathers as he flyes resound
The Phrantick Beautys thickning all to gaze
Perceive the common troubler of their ease
Tho Dulling Mists & dubious day destroy
The fine appearance of ye fluttering Boy
Tho all ye Pomp that glitters at his Side
The golden belt ye clasp & quiver hide
& tho the torch appear a gleam of white
That faintly spots & moves in haizy night

406

Yet still they know ye Boy ye gen'rall foe
& threatning lift their airy hands below
As mindless of their rage he slowly sailes
On pinnions cumberd in ye misty vales.
Ah fool to light, the nymphs no more obey,
Nor was this region ever his to sway
Cast in the deepend ring they close ye plain
& seize the God reluctant all in vain

From hence they lead him where a myrtle stood
The saddest Myrtle in ye darkling wood
Devote to vex ye Gods. To this before
Hells awfull Empress soft Adonis bore
When the Young Hunter scornd her graver air
And onely Venus warmd his shadow there

Fixd to ye trunk ye tender Boy they bind
They cord his feet beneath his hands behind
He mourns but Vainly mourns his angry fate
For Beauty still relentless acts in hate
Tho no offence be don No Judge be nigh
Love must be guilty by ye common cry
For all are pleasd by partial passion led
To shift their follys on anothers head

Now Sharp reproaches ring their shrill alarms
And all the Heroins brandish all their arms
And evry Heroin makes it her decree
That Cupid suffer Just the same as she
To fix the desp'rate halter one essaid
One Seekes to wound him with an empty blade
Some headlong hang the nodding rocks of air
They fall in fancy & he feels despair
Some toss their hollow seas around his head
The seas that want a wave afford a dread
Or shake ye torch ye sparkling fury flys
And flames that never burnd afflict his eyes
The Mournfull Myrrha bursts her rinded womb
& drowns his Visage in ye moist perfume
While others Seeming mild advise to wound
With hum'rous pains by sly derision found
That prickling bodkins teach ye blood to flow
From whence the roses first began to glow
Or when their flames to singe ye boy prepare
That all shoud chuse by wanton fancy where

The lovely Venus with a bleeding breast

407

She too Securely through ye Circle presst
Forgot ye Mother urgd his hasty fate
& spurrd the female rage beyond debate
Ore all her scenes of frailty swift she runs
Absolves her self & makes ye crime her sons
That claspd in chains with Mars she chanc'd to ly
A noted fable of the laughing sky
That from her loves intemp'rate heat began
Sicanian Eryx born a savage man
The loose Priapus & ye monster wight
In whom the sexes shamefully unite

Nor words suffice ye Goddess of ye fair
She snaps the rosy wreath yt binds her hair
Then on the God who feard a fiercer woe
Her hands upittying dealt the frequent blow

From all his tender skin a purple dew
The dreadfull Scourges of ye Chaplet drew
From whence the rose by Cupid tingd before
Now doubly tinging flames with lustre more

Here ends their wrath ye Parent seems severe
The strokes unfit for little love to bear
To Save their foe the melting Beautys fly
& Cruel Mother spare thy Child they cry
To loves account they placd their deaths of late
& now transferr the sad account to fate
The Mother pleasd beheld ye storm aswage
Thankd ye calmd mourners & dismissd her rage

Thus Fancy once in dusky shade expresst
With empty terrours workd ye time of rest
Where wretched Love endurd a world of woe
For all a winters length of night below
Then soard as sleep dissolvd unchaind away
& through ye port of Iv'ry reachd ye day.

[Ye Wives who scold & fishes sell]

Ye Wives who scold & fishes sell,
Or sing & sell your fruit,
I want a wondrous thing to tell,
Then (if you can) be mute.

408

From some of You one Homer came,
Who wrote a ballad first,
For He knew neither Parents name
Nor livd where he was nurst

His verse in length exceeds us all
So when a crowd he drew,
Like you he got him to a stall,
& spoke as long as you.

Some tatterd Mermaid gave him birth
Who crys her oyster wares
Or Else some ragged nymph of earth
Who sings her Mellow pears

If 'twas the nymph of fruit was prest,
Apollo was ye Lover:
With tunefull cry he filld her breast,
& got a singing Rover.

A Man, tho blind, yet usd to ply
Where 'ere he heard of Chear;
His dog it seems preserved an eye,
Its Master livd by ear.

Or if Apollo chancd to Love
The Mermaid near ye sea,
Whose shriller voice he taught to move
With buy my oysters pray.

Her shriller voice when raised to Ire
Woud thunder on ye crew,
So from ye Mother & ye Sire
Old Homers Iliad grew.

& then (as big with child she stood)
The place she sold her fishes
Might in his fancy form a floud
To rage in all th' Odysses.

409

Poems from the “Lyrics” Notebook

[Fragmentary ending of a poem]

To the kind powr who taught me how to sing
Thus with the first of all wch he bestowd
Did ancient piety approach the God.

Defended long by prejudice & pride
Ive fancyd love a cant its god defyd
but bravely you assert yr monarchs reign
wound with a look & wth a word inchain
I feel th' enchanting pain wth pleasure bow
& surely fair Aminta none but you
Can slav'ry give yet make it lovely too

[Now kind now coy wth how much change]

Now kind now coy wth how much change
You feed my fierce desire
As if to more extravagance
Youd manage up the fire
In vain if this your meaning be
In vain you use these wayes
Tis æqually as hard for me
To love you more as less
To other nymphs bequeath yr arts
Whose eyes more faintly shine
Or practise them at least on hearts
Which love you not like mine.

410

[Phillis I long yr powr have ownd]

Phillis I long yr powr have ownd
& you still gently swayd
Now nature has yr charms dethrond
& time your chain decayd
Both are wth such perversness curst
they still would bliss destroy
this change approves tho' for ye worst
that makes the best things cloy
try then the forces of disdain
Since kindness wins not me
for know you must to rule again
another woman be.

The hint fm french.

How nicely fair Phillis you manage yr slave
You neither reproach nor approve him
Just keep him in play wth ye hopes wch you leave
Not give him enough that you'le love him
Tis tyrrany ruling in love wth such art
Own rather the cruellest meaning
If I cant have the pleasure to conquer yr heart
I shall have some at least in complaining

On ------ Embroydring

How justly art when Cælia aids so well
Contends her ms nature to excell
The slender needles in that hand create
Such forms as hers but of a better date
The silk is placd the winding traces laid
& the gay scene with rising figures spread
here springing lillies opening roses dress
in such sweet colours & so fixd a grace
they outdoe all but those wthin her face

411

the well turnd leaves if by the natrall shown
You'd think they both were workd or both had grown
So strange yet beautious birds are here designd
as if she had increasd the Phœnix kind
Sure had she livd wn poets tho below
Where meritt pleaded cou'd a heavn bestow
the wondrows product of her needle here
had made her self a goddess it a starr.

Oh may no moth so rare a piece approach
May nought corrupt it with unhallowd touch
May nothing—but alas I wast my prayr
My wishes rise to loose themselves in air.
This work wch angells wou'd not blush to own
Must once the common road of ruin run
then quickly fairest on yr life reflect
Nor all your downy hours of youth neglect
think you behold this lovely piece decayd
think you are brighter yet must sooner fade
then quitt your folly be no more severe
Why woud you have no difference appear
In how the ugly live & how the fair
& tell me Celie where the diffrence lyes
'twixt those who Cant & those who wont possess
When both alike are distanc't fm their bliss.

412

[Fragmentary ending of a poem]

Then do not Cloe do not more
Boast what success youve found
Tis pride to tell your conquests ore
Tis cruelty to wound.
These are the ills which Beauty breeds
its blisses woud you give
With pitty all your slaves besides
& me with love relieve.

Prop: 2, L: 11 E: Quicunque &c

Vast was his soul some favorite above
Whose bolder pencil made a boy of love
A boy he thought him lovers less then boyes
Who barter all things for a crop of toyes
He wisely too his roving pow'r bestowd—
& in unconstant feathers drest the God
for now we love anon we hate ye same
Fantastick passion varyes all extreams
Justly he drew him for his play things darts
The little wanton sports with bleeding hearts
Justly he drew them to my cost Ive found
Unseen they fly & still secure to wound
his arms & younger follys fill my heart
But he has lost or hid his better part
His wings no more their heav'nly burthen bear
He sitts an everlasting trouble here
My bloud he fires torments my wretched breast
Drains all my bones & robs my soul of rest
Cease cruell master fly to fuller veines
Your slave is wasted with incessant pains
Imploy your force on something I alas
Am but the shadow of the man I was
Why shoud I dy who live but for your use
& to your part debauch the virgin muse
Who write of nought but arrows flames & eyes
& sing your brightest servants to the skyes.

413

[I lookd & in a moment run]

I lookd & in a moment run
The poison thro' my veins
Nor Celia think your self too young
to give me amorous pains
When heaven did the Sun create
He shone as bright as now
& wth the fires which guild them yet
The infant starrs did glow.

[O Tell if any fate you see]

O Tell if any fate you see
Can more unhappy prove
Than where the nymph will cruell be
& still the swain must love
Twere Joy to sigh & serve a fair
Coud sighs & service gain
But if they not availing are
they grow the lovers pain
Damon as thus he spoke his grief
Thought all around him pind
But Celia bringing no relief
He Car'd not what was kind

[Young Philomela's powrfull dart]

Young Philomela's powrfull dart
Two gentle shepheard's hitt
With Beauty touchd Amintors heart
& Celadons with witt
The Rivall swains on either side
Their am'rous pangs expressd
Till young Amintor she denyd
& Celadon she blessd

414

The youth who mett a mutuall fire
In pleasure lost his pain
The others hopeless flames expire
Beneath a cold disdain
Ye Priests of love ye Poets tell
What Cupids forces are
If when the suit goes ill or well
No more we serve a fair.

[Since bearing of a Gentle mind]

Since bearing of a Gentle mind
Woud make you perfect be
Dear Celia to your self be kind
By being so to me
Hast to be happy while you can
Time flys and pleasures flow
Nor ere will have the Chance again
To be so long as now
Give me a kiss now give me more
And now another bliss
For Love has such a world in store
We need not dy on this
Twas thus Amintor Celia wood
the Fair expecting lay
He took the hint his point pursud
And blessd the lucky day.

[Hark the thundring Drums inviting]

Hark the thundring Drums inviting
All our forward youth to arms
Hark the trumpets sounds exciting
Manly Soules with fierce alarms
Peace affords an Idle pleasure
Glory shines an active flame
Life has but too short a Measure
Strive to make it long by fame.
See the brave by boldly daring
Raises trophys of the slain
See the brave by nothing fearing
Comes in triumph back again
The Men admire the Women love him
Fortune favours all he does
The Powrs that bless the great approve him
Praise & Lawrell crown his brows.

416

[As Celia with her Sparrow playd]

As Celia with her Sparrow playd
She took a glass unseen
Her mouth she filld
& while he billd
She spirts ye liquor in

Usd to such sweet such rosy lips
He feard no treach'ry there
But love & such
Were too too much
For one poor bird to bear

Against ye Pretty fluttring fool
The Mighty foes combine
So down he Sunk
Bewitchd or drunk
By Beauty or wth wine

But ere left ye Chirping cup
& dropp'd the little head,
The folks who guess
What Birds express
have told me thus he said,

How use the various scenes of joy
at various times to reign?
Men kiss'd in one
They drunk anon
Then after kiss'd again.

But Celia shews short life to grasp
A double store of blisses,
While by her Means
A Bird obtains
At once both Drink & kisses.

417

Scriblerian Epigrams

Our Carys a Delicate Poet; for What?
For having writt? No: but for having writ not.

On Mr Pope drawing D: Swifts Picture.

One authour has anothers head begun
Lett no man say it might be better don
For since they both are Witts Ime very glad
To find he has not drawn him twice as bad.

After the French Manner

As Pope who gathers mony to translate
With Gay the Shepheard Writer mett of late.
Says Pope, your Ecclogues wont come out wth speed
For Phillips to reprieve him Tonson feed.
Indeed the story may be true, says Gay,
For Your Subscriptions give him powr to pay.

A Impromptu like Martial.

Gays gon out early, how comes it to pass?
Not that he has buisness, but thinks that he has

418

On a certain Poets Judgement between Mr Pope & Mr Philips don in an Italian air

Upon a time, and in a place,
With Pan Apollo playd,
Grave Midas sat to Judge ye case,
And Pan ye Victour made.
The Rustick to his Fauns withdrew;
Whilst on ye silver wing
Sweet Phœbus for Parnassus flew
To hear his Homer sing.
Yet ere he went to Midas said,
Ile fitt you for your Jears,
So took two leaves from off his head,
And stuck them in his ears.
Tis hence he thinks the bays his own,
And hence it comes to pass
That as we think his ears are grown
We sooner find the Ass.

To Mistress ------.

Hadst thou but livd before ye Gods were dead
That Heathens ownd ye world might thus have said.
“If any settled seat ye Muses use
“Thou art that seat or art thy self a Muse.

On Platina Prosperus Spiriteus

The Man whose Judgement Joynd with force of Witt
The lives of Popes & lives of Heroes writt
Who sung true Pleasure showd ye Golden mean
And taught Wild Youth to shun ye Lovers pain
Who wrote all this—Who more than this designd
All fine impressions of Celestial mind
That Man that Platina so lately fled

419

From earth to silent Darkness is not dead
Evn Death is here restraind ye stroke he gives
has killd the man ye Writer ever lives.

Jac: Faber Stapul: by J: Scaliger.

[_]

[space has been left in the manuscript for two lines]

a Nations praise thine ample glory be
or let the Nation find its praise in thee.

By Simon Vallambert. Erasmus

Here Great Erasmus resteth all of thine
That Death can touch or Monument confine
Thy Hope and Virtue soard ye lofty sky
Round ye wide world thy Fame & Knowledge fly
Those meet rewards above and these below.
Thus seek Erasmus. What has Death to show?

[Once Pope under Jevais resolvd to adventure]

Once Pope under Jevais resolvd to adventure
& from a Good Poet Pope turnd an ill painter
So from a Good Painter Charles Jervais we hope
May turn an ill Poet by living with Pope
Then Each may perform the true parts of a friend
While each will have something to blame or commend

out of Greek

The things that Mortals love are mortal too
& swiftly transient fleet before the view
Or if with man a longer while they stay
Man swiftly transient fleets himself away.

420

An Epitaph desird on one Wheeler

My name is Wheeler here I ly
Because I happend for to dy
life wheeld me in death wheeld me out
how strangely things are wheeld about.

421

Miscellaneous Poems

[In Biddy's Cheeks ye roses blow]

In Biddy's Cheeks ye roses blow
In Cattys nose they rise
From Biddys lips soft accents flow
And streams from Catty's Eyes

The jet that Biddy's brows display
To Catty's teeth repairs
And Biddy's Lillies bleachd to grey
Appear in Catty's hairs

Yet all ye world sweet Biddy toast
neglected Catty lyes
While she deserves ye Bumper most
who most attracts our Eyes

[Oft have I read that Innocence retreats]

Oft have I read that Innocence retreats
Where cooling streams salute ye summer Seats
Singing at ease she roves ye field of flowrs
Or safe with shepheards lys among the bowrs
But late alas I crossd a country fare
And found No Strephon nor Dorinda there
There Hodge & William Joynd to cully ned
While Ned was drinking Hodge & William dead

422

There Cicely Jeard by day the slips of Nell
& ere ye night was ended Cicely fell
Are these the Virtues which adorn the plain
Ye bards forsake your old Arcadian Vein
To sheep those tender Innocents resign
The place where swains & nymphs are said to shine
Swains twice as Wicked Nymphs but half as sage
Tis sheep alone retrieve ye golden age.

For Philip Ridgate Esq.

To friend with fingers quick & limber,
I send this piece of tunefull timber:
that, as 'tis said in Orpheus story,
He may teach trees to dance a Bory;
Or else in modern Phrase more knavish,
He may the heart of broomstick ravish.
The man whose parts in Taverns shine,
Doates on the merry pipe of wine;
& he who late has got his pate full,
perceives the water pipe is gratefull;
But these are pipes that still are mute,
there is some musick in a flute.
Which since I as a present send,
the presents worth to recommend,
Ile in soft words its praises warble,
translated from Italian marble.
“When ere we hear its strains & closes,
“Enchanted reason sweetly dozes,
“on laps of nymphs, & beds of roses;
“the Soul that all its charms admires,
“for lodgings in the ear enquires;
“Gay pictures do the Fancy store;
“& passions felt but heard no more.
All that my author says is true,
When th' instrument is playd by you.
& least you think I came by this ill,
Splut her was preed her from a whistle.

423

[When Haizy clouds obscure the night]

When Haizy clouds obscure the night
No more the starrs afford us light
When ruffling winds arise at sea
tho smooth as glass & clear as day
the mudd workes up the ocean frys
& thickend waters stopp the eyes,
The brook which from the mountain flows
oft runs astray if rocks oppose
then woud you with the piercing sight
of reason see the truth aright
still woud you tread in virtues way
remove the hindrance & you may
Banish Joy & banish love
Banish hope & banish fear
the mind has clouds we run astray
& reason's captive when they sway

Caius Rubrius Urbanus Romae in domo Lud: Matthæi. E Grutero.

The Father lying in Bed hugging in his left arm a pot of Mony & laying severall pieces out of it before him. the son sitts at his feet in the habit of a souldier taking with his right hand some pieces that drop. A three footstool stands near him on which three other pots: this written.

424

[_]

The case something near it in English

The Man who livd with avaritious care
Who starvd the growing virtues of his heir
Who bound to slav'ry by the vice he chose
Coud envy to himself his own respose
Woud have his latest image here exprest
Thus lolling on ye Genial bed of rest
That since with death his long vexations cease
His Stone might speak him with an air of peace
Beneath his feet the son a Souldier leans
Compelld by want to warr in forreign plains
There fell the Youth by deaths unerring dart
& with fresh sorrows broke ye misers heart
Here both seem pleasd but what avails ye sight
No Picturd kindness gives ye dead delight
The Father Never thus supplyd the son
But thus to bless them both he shoud have don

428

Fragments

[Three verse passages from a prose meditation]

On verdurd trees ye silver blossoms grow
Whose leaves atop their perfect whiteness show
& faintly streak with stains of red below
The western breeze steales ore ye shady grove
to sigh near roses as insnard by love.

The waves pushed on by waves in mountains ly
Mixd with ye clouds ye Parent waters fly
& the cross'd winds roar hideous in ye sky
The east & west the south & north contend
While the vexd sea beneath is neithers friend
Above ye winds below the billows Jarr
& nature is become the seat of warr

Look how ye silent waters stealing by
With such smooth motions as deceive our eye
Returns ye pleasing pictures of ye sky
There shines ye sun with imitated rayes
her borrowd light ye paler moon displays
& ye cleare heavens wear an azure face
So lett thy temper due composure find
By all the modest rules that bound ye mind
That Whether fortune with a storm assails
Or Courts thy wishes with indulgent gales
No passion interpose a cloud between
But on thy bosome undisturbd within
May natures God & natures form [be seen]

429

[Untitled, unfinished poem]

The first who lovd me turnd wth tender eyes
Since ye rogue will why lett us sail she cryes
Her kind consent was sure for Love is kind
& Woman's Love when Love has won her mind
The second stopd then with a careless moan—
Tis well—tis dang'rous to be left alone

The grant obtaind ye lovely creatures plact
I loosd—No reader—broke ye broke ye rope for hast
Bending I plyd the oar to me twas rare
A new mean labour—but ye dear was there
Yet far from Shore I never meant to rove
Fond to divert but not to risque my Love.
No means were here to shun ye Lovers view
& I woud gaze & she must bear it too
But as I gazd (the maid sat Just before)
how faint I drew ye Long forgetfull oar
How my tird balls with fixd attention strain
Still feel ye pleasure & forget ye pain
In my soft words I made my soul appear
& tund my voice to melt them in her ear
She sits & heares yet hears with no regard
I thought the rocks we passd not half as hard
The second maid the more unhappy she
With eager glances bent her eyes on me
Whilst I regardless from her rival dame
Still took ye fewel which increasd my flame
Yet not to kill her as a lovers cares
Are oft dissembled I grew brisk in airs
Then both grew brisk & as they saild along
first softly warbling raisd a syren song
Through seas & air the trembling Musick flew
& charmd ye powers that wear ye watry blew
Drawn by the notes around them Dolphins play
& wave soft circles in the glassy Sea

430

[When ore my temples balmy vapours rise]

When ore my temples balmy vapours rise
Whose soft suffusion dims the sinking eyes
Gay dreams in troops fantastically light
On silent plumes wave down through sable night
Nights sable curtains draw before my eye
& gently clears a visionary Sky
the running darkness draws its dusky shade
from off the beautys of a flowry mead
More & still more forsakes the lengthening plain
Mounts gray & ends it in a sylvan scene.

Poizd & aloft I sail in glittring air
& Joy to view my newborn earth so fair

[Untitled fragment]

When Pop'ry s arbitrary yoak
Britannia feard of late
To liberty Religion spoke
To save ye sinking state
Joy of the World the Goddess said
Can no great soul be found
To move for this
Ore
Joy of both worlds the nymph replyd

University of Virginia Library

An Essay on the Different Stiles of Poetry

Homer's Battle of the Frogs and Mice.

Names of the Mice.

Names of the Frogs.

Book I.

Book II.

Book III.

The Horse and the Olive: Or, War and Peace

Poems from Steele's Poetical Miscellanies

A Hymn on Contentment.

Song.

To a YOUNG LADY, ON Her Translation of the Story of Phoebus and Daphne, from Ovid.

Anacreontick.

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

X

XI

XII

XIII

XIV

XV

XVI

XVII

From Pope's Works

To Mr. Pope.

POEMS ON Several Occasions.

Hesiod : or, The Rise of Woman.

Song.

A Song.

Anacreontick.

A Fairy Tale in the Ancient English Style.

The Vigil of Venus .

Health, an Eclogue.

The Flies. An Eclogue.

An Elegy, To an Old Beauty.

The Book-Worm.

An Allegory on Man.

An Imitation of some French Verses.

A Night-Piece on Death.

The Hermit.

Biblical Poems from British Library Add. MS 31114

The Gift of Poetry.

Moses

Deborah.

Hannah.

Biblical Poems from Posthumous Works (1758)

David.

Solomon.

Jonah.

Hezekiah.

Habakkuk.

The Affections of Divine Poetry

A Hymn for Morning.

A Hymn for Noon.

A Hymn for Evening.

The Soul in Sorrow.

The Happy Man.

The Way to Happiness.

The Convert's Love.

A Desire to Praise.

On Happiness in this Life.

On Divine Love by Meditating on the Wounds of Christ.

Poems from Works in Verse and Prose, 1755

Bacchus: Or, The Vines of Lesbos.

Piety: Or, The Vision.

Miscellaneous Poems From Posthumous Works (1758)

On Queen Anne's Peace, Anno 1713.

The Judgment of Paris.

A Riddle.

On Mrs. Ar: F: Leaving London.

From Pope's Works, Volume 2, Part 2, 1738

The Third Satire of Dr. John Donne .