Matthew Prior. Dialogues of the Dead and Other Works ::

DAMON.
See Strephon see what a refulgent ray
Dispells yon Clouds, and gilds the rising day
The smiling Feilds their early Treasures bring
And warbling Birds proclaim the coming spring
Young tender Plants and swelling buds appear
Whilst Nature smiling seems to bless the Year
Lively the Nymphs and sportive are their Swains
All sorrows Banish'd from the cheerful Plains
Save only what Thy troubl'd Soul contains
Then tell me Strephon, prythee tell me why
Dost Thou in mournful shades obscurely lye?
Why dost Thou sigh, why strike Thy panting breast
And steal from life the needful hours of rest?
Are thy Kids starv'd by rig'rous Winter's frost?
Are any of thy bleating straglers lost?
Have Strangers Cattle trod thy new Plow'd ground
Or (what is worst) has great Joanna frown'd.

STREPHON.
On yonder Hills my bleating straglers play
(Ah! were their Master unconcern'd as they)
No beasts (at Noon I look'd) had trod my ground
Nor have I lost my Kids, nor has Joanna frown'd.

DAMON.
Then stop the lavish fountains of your Eyes
Nor let those Sighs from your swoln bosom rise,
Send all these melancholy thoughts away
And once again rejoice, and once again look gay.

STREPHON.
Ah Damon what can add to Sorrows more
Then thoughts of happyness enjoy'd before?
What more disturbs the slighted Lovers breast
Then sad remembrance how he has been bless'd
What kind reception once his Passion found
And how he flourish'd e'er his fair one frown'd

273

What more the wretched Exil's soul annoys
Then recollection of his former Joys?
Or what severer Sentence can be giv'n
Then having seen to be excluded Heav'n.

DAMON.
None Shephard none—

STREPHON.
—then cease to chide my Cares
And rather pitty then restrain my Tears,
Those tears, my Damon, which I justly shed
To think how great my Joys, how soon they fled;
I told the[e], Friend (when I forsook those Sheep
Which Thou the while with equal care didst keep)
That I wou'd visit fair Celinda's Shrine
And pay those Vows which gratitude enjeyn
Since then how happy did thy Strephon live
Happy ------
In all kind Heav'n or kinder She cou'd give
Happy as new form'd Man in Paradice
E'er Sin debauch'd his inoffensive bliss
Happy as Heroes after Battles won
Prophets entranc'd or Monarchs on their Throne.
Then chide not if I sometimes drop a Tear
When I remember how I triumph'd there
And with past pleasures present woes compare.

DAMON.
But were those pleasures so extremely vast?
Wonder not then that they so quickly past.
Too happy shou'd we be wou'd smiling Fate
Render one blessing durable and great
But (Ah! the sad Vicisitude) how soon
Unwelcome Night succeeds the chearful Noon
And rigid Winter nips the flow'ry pomp of June.
Then grieve not Friend, like The[e] since all Mankind
A certain change of Joy and sorrows find
Come give thy anxious Soul its wonted peace
And from this Hour let all sad troubles cease
Suppress thy Sighs, those down cast Eyelids raise
Tune thy neglected Harp, and sing the Goddess' praise.

274

To a Lady Sleeping.

Still Sleep stil fold those lovely Arms
Stil be free from noise and harms
Whilst all the Gods of Love defend Thee
(The Gods of Love which stil attend thee)
Whilst around in humble state
A Thousand wanton Angels wait
Whilst Gods officiously find
Pleasing Dreams to charm thy mind,
Dreams of things (if such there are)
Like yourself Serene and fair,
And when You open those bright Eyes
When Morpheus with the wel-cloath'd Vision flyes
May You that happyness renew
And all the pleasures of your Dream prove true.

Charity never faileth.

1 Cor: xiii. 8.

I.

Say would'st Thou gain eternal Praise,
Go foolish Man thy great designs pursue,
Go, try ten thousand ways
Thy Toil like Sisyphus each hour renew
Yet know that after all Thy Pain
Like him thou dost but roll a heavy Stone in vain.

II.

Rush, if thou wilt into the Camp, and try
To purchace Fame by Victory,
Let Fortune stil against thy foes conspire
Still on Thee, her Darling wait
And kindly seem to make her great,
Great as thy soaring wishes can require

275

Yet when thy Troops return with Conquest crown'd
Thy recompence is only shouts and noise
(The Rabbles unintelligible voice)
And scarce a Lawrel-leaf for every wound.

III.

But say the Senate should thy Service own
And to thy Memory with comely Pride
Erect a shining Pyramide
By this Thou canst not be for ever known,
The Marble will decay, the Polish'd Iron rust,
And both will be as soon as Thou art, Dust.

IV.

Then throw your Sword and Gauntlet by
Change your Armour for a Gown
Read all the Secrets of Philosophy
And thus endeavor to obtain renown,
Yet here thy Study will prove vain
No glory can'st Thou hence obtain
Since Men the mighty Stagyrite disdain.

V.

Should'st Thou invoke the Muses then, and try
If honor can be gain'd by Poetry,
Alas! no glory will from hence arise
Tho (which is much improbable) thy Rhimes
Affect the Squeamish Criticks of these times
What they Admire their Children may dispise
Homer is Censur'd, Ennius quite thrown by,
Then how short-liv'd will be thy Praise
Like what thou labour'est for, a sprig of Bayes
'Twill with its Transitory Master Dye.

VI.

Hard fate! can nothing then secure our Name
From Envys cruel rage
And the devouring Teeth of Age
Can nothing Purchace everlasting Fame?

276

Yes, Charity will do't, 'tis This alone
Will make its Author always known
The Charitable Man shal live
Without what needless Art can give
And every Tongue his Acts rehearse
Tho no Man built his Tomb, or sung his Praise in Verse.

VII.

Old Time and Envy shal his glory view
Each vainly striving to pursue
Whilst looking back he sees them fly behind
And scapes the fatal Gulph which swallows all Mankind
Nay even in that dreadful Day
When all Men else to Rocks and Caverns run
And desperately strive an angry God to shun
When time it self shal be no more
Who fed the Orphan, and reliev'd the Poor
Shal with undaunted Courage stay
And Ten times more receive, then e'er he gave away.

There be Those that leave Their Names behind them.

Ecc: 44. 8.

In Praise of the Lady Margaret Foundress of St John's.

I.

If gilded flaggs and heaps of polish'd Stone
Can make the Deads memorial known
If from the well-cutt brass will long appear
The Just the Gener'ous the Good lies here
How long will Margaretta's Name be prais'd,
Who spent her Wealth another way
Who built what never will Decay
Who Living Pillars of Her Glory rais'd?

277

CHORUS.
Margaretta's Name shal live
And lasting Tribute of just Fame receive
Long as the Sacred Walls she founded stand,
The Pride, the light, the glory of our Land.
Long as the learned Youth shal flourish there
Inspir'd with Thoughts of Heav'n and Her.
Shal press with pleasing force the grateful String
And thanks and Praises to their Godess sing.

II.

If charitable Acts alone
Best make their Pious Authors known
If to the chearful Giver Men shal raise
Lasting Monuments of praise
How long shal Margaretta's Name
Grace the bright Rolls of Piety and Fame?

CHORUS.
Long as Three Nations gratefully shal show
The mighty Thanks they to her goodness owe
Long as the sacred Page shal be Carress'd
Which tells Us Charity and She are bless'd.

III.

If Charitable Acts alone
Can for a Multitude of Sins attone
If at that great that dreadful day
Beyond which Time shal be no more
Who cherish'd Orphans and reliev'd the Poor
With holy Confidence shal stay
And see his Sins and Sorrows wash'd away
What then shal be to Margaretta giv'n?

CHORUS.
One of the best the brightest Seats in Heav'n
With Saints and Marty'rs she shal live
Encircl'd round with lasting Joy
Which no mischance, no Sorrow can destroy
Which Man desires, and God alone can give.

278

Many Daughters have done well, But Thou Excellest them all.

Prov: 31. 29.

As spoken in a Vision to the Lady Margaret Foundress of St John's.

T'was night, the Drousy Diety began
To chain with sleep the buisy thoughts of Man,
When free from Noise and troubles of the Day
Our --- Poet in those flow'ry Meadows lay
Where reverent Cham cuts out its famous way
When loe! O strange, an unexpected light
Dispers'd the Native darkness of the Night
And rais'd at once his wonder and delight
But how, how welcome did that light appear
Which usher'd in a form all Heav'nly fair
A Form which lately left its Mansh'on there.
A Woman proper, beautiful and fine
Her garb was Noble and her Mein divine
Majestick greatness Triumph'd in her face
And every Limb had its peculiar grace
With sober Pace the lovely Ghost drew near
Her smiling seem'd to Chide his useless fear
At length he knows the venerable Shade
Runs to meet that of which he was afraid
And thus with reverence Thrice bowing said
Hail mighty Patroness! Hail great and Good!
Hail doubly fam'd for Virtue and for blood!
Hail Thou, whose Acts shou'd I presume to show
I shou'd blasphem by Epithets too low.
Hail St or Princess royal or Divine
Hail wonder of our Sex and Fame of Thine
Be Thou my Muse vouchsafe to look on me
The meanest of thy learned Progeny
Inspire my Soul that I may sing Thy fame
And raise a work eternal as my Theam

279

Inspire my Soul that I may loudly tell
How far Thou dost all Woman kind Excell
How Thou bless'd Shade—
When York had Lancaster so long withstood
And Englands face was stain'd with English blood
Did'st bless the Nation with a Godlike Son
Who recompenc'd the Ills their Arms had done
Who made all Faction all Rebellion cease
And gave Us Plenty, Liberty, and Peace.
You heard each Tongue with joy your glory sing
Each bless the Parents of so good a King
With all the Praises Gratitude cou'd bring.
But thought the Gift not worthy yet of You
Unless with Peace You gave Us Learning too
Then, then indulgently both paps you drew
And rais'd Two fabricks which shal ever be
Great Monuments of Piety and Thee—

Fain wou'd the cheerful Poet have gon on
To Sing the Works her Charity had done
But She who did like Heav'n her Gifts dispence
Without the Hopes of any recompence
Seem'd by a frown to chide his saucy Eloquence
And moving from him with a graceful Pace
Ascended to that bright that happy Place
Where Saints like Her enjoy an everlasting Peace.

On the Coronation.

I.

No 'tis in vain; what limits shal controll
The rovings of my active Soul?
That Soul which Scorns to be to place confin'd,
And leaves its dull Companion earth behind.
Whilst fancy with unbounded flight
Enjoys that object of delight
Which Envious distance wou'd conceal from sight.
Giving Poets to partake
(Like those Deities they make)
Of infinite Ubiquity.

280

II.

Thus methinks I see the barge
Pleas'd with the sacred weight of its Majestic charge
Old Argo with a weight less glorious fraught
The treasure from impov'rish'd Colchos brought
And Hellespont now vanquish'd must confess
His burthen meaner and his triumph less
Since richer Thames does James and Mary bear
He great as Jove She as Europa fair.
They come! Joy doubles strength to every Oar
Resounding Ecchoes fill the crowded Shoar
The waves with an unusual pride
Pay homage to the Lord
Of our Asserted Main
And calmly as they glide
Auspitiously afford
An Omen of his Reign.

III.

See glorious as the Eastern Sun
Our Monarch from the Waters rise
Whilst Crowds like Zealous Persians run
To own the blessing of their Sacrifice
He comes, religious Shouts proclaim him near
James and Hosannah bless each ear,
Delighted Heav'n confirms the mighty Joys
And in glad sounds reflects the Image of the Voice.

IV.

Triumphant Cæsar in less glory rode
When heighten'd from a Victor to a God
When captiv'd Monarchs trembl'd by his side
And by their Shame encreas'd his Pride
No private Sorrows here allay
The common transports of the happy Day
But in each exalted breast
Of happyness and James possess'd
Is evidently shown
His Peoples blessings greater then his own
And he that gives the Triumph triumphs least.

281

V.

Now fancy to the Altar bring
Second to what we there adore, the King.
By the anointing Prelate mett
And rising where the mighty Brother sett,
But Oh! forbid the Omen heavn,
Protect the blessing You have giv'n,
Late he ascends, long may he fill the Throne
And for the Nations bliss defer his own
Whilst Marys charms unbend the care
Of that rich load his sacred temples wear
(Herself the brightest Jewel there).

Not Writing to K. P.

So from Divinity and things above
The Zealots thoughts have sometimes chanc'd to rove
Till on his life he does with grief reflect
Compares heav'ns goodness with his own neglect.
Abhors his crime and vows he'l now begin
With double Penitence to clear his Sin
Then sighing trembling doubting he draws near
His Piety stil vanquish'd by his fear.
Till heav'n beholds and Pittys what he feels
And with glad Omens his wish'd Pardon Seals
Pleas'd with the truth of his repent[a]nce more
Then with his constant Pray'rs and drudging Zeal before.

282

Arria and Petus out of Martial.

Paraphrase.

With Roman constancy and decent pride
The dying Matron from her wounded side
Drawing forth the guilty blade
To her lov'd Lord the fatal gift convey'd
But then in streams of blood and sorrow drown'd
Pardon she crys an unbecoming Tear
(The Womans weakness will appear)
Yet think not tis that I repent the Deed
Or that my firm resolves give ground
Witness just Heav'n 'tis nothing that I bleed
But that You must, there Petus, there's the Wound.

To the Countess of Dorset walking in a Garden.

Yes I did stubernly believe
The place no added Beauty cou'd receive
'Till bright Dorinda's passing by
Convinc'd my Infidelity.

Where e'er She came new Glories fell
The dullest Plant grew Sensible
Its willing branches every Tree
By grateful instinct spread
And round the fair Divinity
Cast the glad shade of its protecting head.

283

The opening Flowers where e'er She went
Diffus'd their tributary scent
Crowding beneath her beauteous feet
Officiously they bow'd
With pleas'd Humility to meet
The fresher beauties of their sacred Load.

Nature seem'd to serve and woo
As she wou'd make her Queen of Seasons too
The Sun for her prolongu'd the Day
Kindly stop'd his setting light
She went, that only cou'd engage his stay
And all was gloomy, all was Night.

Ah shou'd the God returning show
The wonders he has seen below
The amazing Truth his am'rous Sire wou'd move
Make him confess
His Thunder less
Then are the Shafts of Love
Descending his transform'd Divinity
He'd to your bosom pour
And Poets once might hope to see
An other Golden Shower.

To the E. of D. upon His Marriage.

The scorching Dogstar and the Suns fierce ray
Conspir'd with mingl'd flames to vex the day
When by young Damon Lycidas was laid
Beneath a spacious Oaks obliging shade
And thus with harmless strife the emulous Shepherds plaid.

284

DAMON.
Let this bless'd day our fruitless Quarrels end
Soften the Rival to the friend
And make our kindness not our skil contend.

LYCIDAS.
Begin, raise Thou thy tuneful Voice
So may my Muse approve thy happy choice.

DAMON.
May Venus so my choice approve
As I begin with mighty things and Love.
When first Heav'ns Eldest offspring Light,
Sprang from the fertile Womb of solid night;
What made the melancholy discord cease
And charm'd the warring Elements to peace?
From what great cause what brooding influence came
This well proportion'd frame?
From Thee, blest Queen of Harmony and Love;
Thou greatest pow'r on Earth, thou brightest star above.

LYCIDAS.
When Loves great Dictates were obey'd,
And Heav'ns last noblest Master Piece was made
To make the new form'd Monarch truly blest
And in one richer Gift compleat the rest
What secret pow'r unlock'd his pregnant side,
To the soft Yoak bow'd his delighted mind
Taught the unpractic'd Lover to be kind
And bless the wound whilst he embrac'd the Bride
'Twas Thou Almighty King of Heav'n and Love
That Govern'st all below, and blesse'st all above.

DAMON.
'Twas Love subdu'd the noble Daphnis heart
Love gave the welcome happy wound,
And with this triumph all his Conquest crown'd
Whilst Daphnis blest the wound and met the Dart
Pleas'd with the grateful bondage more
Then with his early spoyls, and boasted Liberty before.

285

LYCIDAS.
'Twas Love subdu'd the fair Dorinda's breast
Love to her heart a secret warmth convey'd
With pleasing Pain surpris'd the wond'ring Maid
And kindly for her Joys disturb'd her rest.
Whilst Daphnis stronger charms with Love's conspire
To make her own the Diety and fan the growing fire.

DAMON.
But thy rude Music Swain, my ruder Tongue
The glories they shou'd reach wou'd wrong,
For Daphnis Love
Shou'd only prove
The Theam of Daphnis' Song.

LYCIDAS.
Nor can the Joys of Angells be exprest
Nor know we ought of Heav'n above yon Skies
Which yet we bless with Pray'rs and please with Sacrifice.

DAMON.
Lett's then the hasty Sun arrest
Time will stay till they are blest;

LYCIDAS.
Nay rather blame the Suns too hasty flight
Bid him withdraw his tedious light
And kindly send the wish for night.

DAMON.
May Daphnis wound her with a lure,

LYCIDAS.
And may Dorinda's flames endure
Like Vesta's fires ------

DAMON.
------ for these like them are pure.

LYCIDAS.
Let Heaven its utmost Care employ
To make Their life but one continu'd Joy.

286

DAMON.
Let Nature all her Tribute bring
To make their Year but one continu'd Spring.

LYCIDAS.
With softest Violetts strow her bed,

DAMON.
With freshest Myrtill crown his head.

LYCIDAS.
With Hymens Tree Apollo's joyn,
And round his brow their mingl'd honors twine
Their mingl'd honors sure to him are due
Who with the Nymph has gain'd the Lawrel too.

DAMON.
The Joys of Harvest crown their Cares,
And stil encrease their Plenty with their Years.

LYCIDAS.
The Joys of Vintage swell their Bowers,
And if they overflow, o'erflow on Ours:

DAMON.
Fly swift the smiling Hours, let each glad Morn
The fruitful pleasures of the last return.

LYCIDAS.
Fly smiling Hours, let each succeeding Night
Improve the transports of the first delight.

DAMON.
In glad Procession let each rolling Year
See the joyful Mother bear
A beauty Second only to her own.

LYCIDAS.
Or if the kinder Gods conspire to crown
Her stronger wishes with a Son
His Parents great Perfections let him share
And prove her Beauty's, and his Virtue's Heir.

287

Journey to Copt-Hall.

Thirty Six Miles—too far to walk a foot
And Pegasus, God knows, will never do't:
Yet I will on—It is decree'd,
I'l hire a more substantial Steed.
Accoutrement of Sword and Coat
Useless Ornament I vote.
Thus borrowing Whip and Cordibeck,
Proceed we next to Tick for Hack.

With Faith I'l pay, and six pence earnest
I got my Quondam Coach-horse harnest:
I mount, and great as Hudibrass,
With unarm'd kick urge on my horse;
Whilst he by instinct stil approaches
His old acquaintance of the Coaches:

With whipping constant as his trott,
My Beast and I to Eppin gott,
From whence, with loss of Whip and Leather,
I brought my sober Machin heither.
I came I say,—what once to see again
My Horse I'd pardon, and renew my Pain.

Here well-set Simile might shine
Of Pilgrimage to Power divine,
Of zealous Persian who wou'd run
To gaze on beams of distant Sun;
But th'are abus'd by franctic Lee
And sung to Stuttring Durfey's Ge sol re.

Well then—to Supper admirable
I sit, near Mahon grave and head of Table
Methodically She carves Cunney
Whilst Frenchman talks of blood and mony
Diff'rent Discourses crown the Meal
Much of Religion past and much of Veal
But one thing spoilt my appetite
Monsieur till ten from Candle-light
Extended Three Prodigious Lies—Good night.

288

On Mr Fleetwood Shephards Killing the French K***

To the E. of D*****

To F. S.

The joyful Slaves, whom your report set free
From Taxes, wooden Shoes, and Slavery;
Their Neighbours too, who by the Bully scar'd,
His Warlike Bombs and Politic Rats bane fear'd;
All that have trembling shook at his Alarms,
Dutch-Men and Protestants that felt his Arms,
And wisely hop'd, his less Religious Son
Wou'd tolerate the Mass or Alcoran:
Last, German Bishops, who began to think,
They now might see less Fighting, and more drink:
All these their humblest Thanks to S****** send,
France's Deliv'erer, and the Muses Friend.
S********* the glory of whose lasting Name
Shal crack Time's Iron Teeth and swel the cheeks of fame
S******** whose mighty Monarch-murthering word
Rivals the force of St Raviliac's Sword
Say, (for Thou knowest,) thou hero-heart'ning Muse!
What wou'd his presence, what his Arms produce?
Whose bare Report has nobler Mischiefs done,
Then Oates's Mustard Balls, or Pickerin's gun:
That at more distance kills, and Ecchoes louder,
Than Aurum fulminans or German Powder?

289

Say, how at Paris, free from zealous fear,
S********* and Reformation shal appear:
Brutus at Rome less honor'd than he there!
How the swift Bumpers shal with joy go round,
Whilst every Bowl with S********'s Name is crown'd;
And to his health the Mawdlin Protestants
Shal first drink Bourdeaux dry, then beggar Nantz.

Advice to the Painter, Upon the defeat of the Rebels in the West, and the Execution of the late D. of Monmouth.

—Pictoribus atque Poetis
Quidlibet—

Since by just Flames the guilty Piece is lost,
The noblest Work thy fruitless Art could boast;
Renew thy faithful Pains a second time,
From the Duke's Ashes raise the Prince of Lime,
And make thy Fame eternal as his Crime.

The Land (if such it may be counted) draw,
Whose Interest is Religion, Treason Law;
Th' ingrateful Land, whose Treacherous Sons are Foes
To the kind Monarchy by which they rose,
And by instinctive Hatred dread that Pow'r,
Join'd in our King and in their Conqueror.

Amidst the Councils of this black Divan,
Draw the misled, aspiring, wretched Man,
His Sword maintaining what his Fraud began.
Draw Treason, Sacrilege, and Perfidy,
The curst Achitophel's kind Legacy;
Three direful Engins of a Rebel's hate,
Fit to perform the blackest work of Fate.

290

But lest their horrid Force too weak shou'd prove,
Add tempting Woman's more destructive Love:
Give the Ambitious Fair—
All Nature's Gifts refin'd by subtlest Art,
Too able to betray that easy Heart,
And with more charms than Helen's to destroy
That other Hope of our mistaken Troy.

The Scene from Dulness, and Dutch Plots bring o'er,
And set the hopeful Parracide ashore,
Fraught with the Blessings of each boorish Friend,
And the kind helps their Pray'rs and Brandy lend,
With those few Crowns—
Some English Jews, and some French Christians send.

Next in thy darkest Colours paint the Town,
For old Hereditary Treason known,
Whose Infant Sons in early mischiefs bred,
Swear to the Cov'nant they can hardly read;
Brought up with too much Charity to hate
Ought but their Bible, and their Magistrate.

Here let the gawdy Banner be display'd,
While the kind Fools invoke their Neighbours Aid
T' adore that Idol they themselves have made,
And Peasants from neglected Fields resort
To fill his Army, and adorn his Court.

Near this, erected on a Drum unbrac'd,
Let Heaven's and James's Enemy be plac'd,
The Wretch that hates, like false Argyle, the Crown,
The Wretch that, like vile Oates, defames the Gown,
And through the Speaking-Trumpet of his Nose
Heav'n's sacred Word profanely does expose,
Bidding the large-ear'd Rout with one accord
Stand up and fight the Battel of the Lord.

Then nigh the Pageant Prince (alas too nigh!)
Paint [Gray] with a Romantick Constancy,
Resolv'd to Conquer, or resolv'd to Fly;

291

And let there in his Guilty Face appear
The Rebel's Malice and the Coward's Fear,
That future Ages in thy Face may see
Not his Wife falser to his Bed, than to all Parties he.

Now let the curst Triumvirate prepare
For all the baneful Ills of horrid War;
Let zealous Rage the dreadful Work begin,
Back'd with the sad variety of Sin;
Let Vice in all its numerous shapes be shown,
Crimes which to milder Brennus were unknown,
And innocent Cromwel wou'd have blush'd to own.
Their Arms from pillag'd Temples let 'em bring,
And rob the Deity to wound the King.

Excited then by their Camp-Priest's long Pray'r
Their Country's Curses, and their own Despair,
While Hell combines with its vile Offspring Night,
To hide their Treachery, or secure their Flight,
The watchful Troops with cruel hast come on,
Then shout, look terrible, discharge, and run.

Fal'n from his short-liv'd Pow'r and flatter'd Hopes,
His Friends destroy'd by Hunger, Swords, and Ropes;
To some near Grove the Western Monarch flies,
In vain the innocent Grove her Shade denies.
The Juster Trees—
Who when for refuge Charles and Virtue fled,
By grateful Instinct their glad Branches spread,
And round the Sacred Charge cast their inlarged Head,
Straight when the outcast Absalom comes nigh,
Drop off their fading Leaves, and blasted dy.
Nor Earth her self will hide her Guilty Son,
Tho he for refuge to her Bowels run.
Rebellious Corah to her Arms she took
When Heav'n, and Israel his old Cause forsook;
But now provok'd by a more just disdain,
She shrinks her frighted Head, and gives our Rebel back again.

292

Now Artist, let thy juster Pencil draw
The sad effects of necessary Law.
In painted Words, and speaking Colours tell
The dismal Exit this sham Prince befel;
On the sad Scene the glorious Rebel place,
With Pride, and Sorrow strugling in his Face;
Describe the Pangs of his distracted Breast
(If by thy Labours Thought can be exprest)
Shew with what difference two vast Passions move,
And how the Hero with the Christian strove.

Then place the Sacred Prelate by his side,
To raise his Sorrow, and confound his Pride
With the dear dreadful Thoughts of a God crucify'd.
Paint, if thou canst, the Heavenly Words that hung
Upon the Holy Mens perswasive Tongue,
Words sweet as Moses writ, or Asaph sung;
Words whose prevailing Influence might have won
All but the haughty harden'd Absalon.

At distance round their weeping Mother, place
The too unmindful Fathers beauteous Race;
But like the Grecian Artist, spread a Veil
O'er the sad Beauties of fair Annabel.

No Art, no Muse those Sorrows can express,
Which would be render'd by Description less.

Here close the dismal Scene, conceal the rest
That the sad Orphans Eyes will teach us best;
Thy guilty Art might raise our ill-tim'd Grief too high,
And make us, while we pity him, forget our Loyalty.

The Duke's Picture burnt at Cambridg.

Holland.

Lady Harr. Wentworth.

Taunton.

Ferguson.

[The lead taken of the Cathedral of Wells to make Bullets.]

Taken in a Ditch.

[Bishop of Ely.]

[Dutchess.]

293

To the Bishop of Rochester Upon His Account of the Whiggish Conspir[a]cy by His late Majesty's order.

My Lord,

With humble hopes Your goodness will excuse
The hasty Zeal of an Aspiring Muse.
I with unequal steps Your pace persue
And thought I trod Securely following You
Repenting now like Phaeton too late
I feebly sink beneath the glorious weight
And find the Work for all but You too great.

The hand that rivall'd Heav'n took thence it's fire
E'er He the senseless Machine cou'd Inspire
And the rash Author wou'd Attempt in vain
(Unless he borrow'd Your Diviner Pen)
To imitate or Praise with equal flight
What only Charles cou'd Dictate only You cou'd write.

If Troubles past by repetition please
Tho meaner Tongues Your grateful Tale express
What Joys, what raptures, must those Ills create
Which bravely, as he conquer'd, You relate.
Our Joys, without our Sufferings, had been less
And for Your Remedy the wound we bless
So, did not Catilines defeated rage
Your much lov'd Tully's daring Pen engage
His Rome wou'd want one Glory of his tongue
The World a Masterpiece, and Fame a Song.

294

God is Love.

I.

Almighty Power!
Whom Angells Hymns, men's Prayers adore.
For whom no Speech, no thought cou'd frame
A comprehensive Name;
Till Thou from Heav'n vouchsafst a ray,
Thy glory and our knowledge to improve;
Thou mixt Thy beams with our exalted Clay,
And we, enlightened, learn to call thee Love.

II.

All was in Chaos and confusion laid
Till by Loves creating word
The melancholy Mass was stir'd
And the commanded Elements with hasty joy obey'd.
Then peaceful Sphears with wond'rous Music roll'd,
Time his harmonious course began,
The circling Years in glad procession ran,
Order and beauty blest the New-born World.
And every object strove to prove
That all was made and all preserv'd by love.

III.

When Heav'ns last noblest Masterpiece was made
Love, pow'rful love, unlockt his pregnant side
And kindly thence call'd forth the blushing Bride
Love to his heart a secret was convey'd
And made him bless the wound --- court the Maid
Love did the willing Souls unite
Whilst he became her strength She his delight
This happy Pair more truly One
Then when both Sexes lay in Adams side alone.

295

IV.

Thus they liv'd and thus they Lov'd
Each smiling Hour their bliss improv'd
But when for knowledge and Sins sake they stray'd
When God and love were disobey'd
By God and love the mild decree was giv'n
Which threw them down from Paradise and rais'd them up to Heav'n.

V.

Exalted Lyre thy tuneful sinews move
Teach Man divinity and love
Forgetfull Man in Bethlems poor abode
Behold new born Eternity
And hear the Thunderers voice chang'd to an Infants cry
Nourish'd like Thee with circulating blood
Compound like Thee with limbs and cloath'd with skin
Like Thee in every thing, but Sin.

VI.

Then cast (if Tears restrain not) cast thy Eye
Up to the dismal top of frighted Calvary
See whom thy Pray'rs so oft invok'd
To whom thy fatlings fell, thy Altars smoak'd
See to the fatal Cross he's ty'd
The thorns his temples wound, the spear his side:
And to compleat his glorious Miserys,
Imperious Love, what wou'dst thou more? he Dyes.
What wou'dst Thou more? Thy Deity we own
By thy mysterious Power alone
The World was fram'd, Man sav'd, God crucified.

To the E. of Dorset on the Birth of His Son.

I.

Wake Goddess wake Thy drousy Lyre
Let the neglected Chords to louder Strains be strung,
And raise Thy voice, and swell thy numbers higher,
No common Theme requires Thy Song

296

For loe! from old Eternities glad Womb
The promis'd day, the glorious Birth is come:
'Tis come; the noble Babe securely lies
On his fair Mothers joyful breast;
(Happy his Age whose Infancy enjoys
A Seat of Plenty and a Heav'n of rest.)
But Oh! what Clouds of glory, clouds of light
Too strong for feeble Mans external Eye
Roll round the noble Babe, and mock my drowned sight:
That Light, that glory I wou'd see;
Hear, Goddess, hear thy Votary
The meanest of thy Sons inspire
Come to my breast, and with Thy pow'rful ray
Drive dimm humanity away
Wake, Goddess, wake thy Lyre.

II.

Hark the quicken'd Lyre awaks
Each willing string melodious tremblings makes:
And see! the appeas'd Air, and opening sky
Proclaim the Goddess nigh.
She's here, I feel the generous rage within
Enliven each extended vein.
I feel the kind the cruel Goddess roll
All through each part of my exalted Soul
And prest with Joy and pain'd with extacy
Loe! what mighty things I see.

III.

Mids't a fair Troop of smiling Deities:
Grave Janus with Majestic pace draws near
The sacred place where the blest Infant lies
Janus with pleasing Care and easy Joy
Does all his happy Eyes imploy
The lovely Babe to view
Employs 'em all, and thinks them all too few.
Pleas'd and ravish'd with the sight
He wings the coming Hours with new delight
No more looks backward now, but here
From this blest Birth dates the enobl'd Year.

297

IV.

Jocund Hymen next appears
His fragrant head with chearful joy he rears
With freshest wreaths his hair was bound
With brightest flames his torch was crown'd
Onward he came and coming smil'd
And saw and kist and blest the happy Child
He saw and kist and blest, and laugh'd aloud
Whilst all the little lovely crowd
Who with officious Joy stood hov'ring by
Laugh'd aloud with Him, and blest the Augury.

V.

Wanton and gay came Venus by
Venus saw Dorinda's Son
Smil'd and took him for her own
And much She wou'd have said of flames and darts
Of sighing Maids and yeilding hearts
But Pallas with majestic gravity
Reprov'd the light discourse, and know she crys
This Child is born to nobler Victories
Arms and the dusky field shal be his care
'Tis he shal lead the gene'rous Britain forth
To hazardous encounter and hard war
He shal renew his fam'd forefathers worth
And bid the wond'ring Soldier imitate
His Virtue and be great.
She said, and reverently low deprest
Her armed head down to the Lovely Child
The lovely Child with Ominous gallantry
Threw his young Arms around her glittring Crest
And claspt it to him close and smil'd
Whilst all the greater Gods that waited by
Bow'd to the Babe, and blest the Augury.

With mild Magnificence and humble State
See Jove himself vouchsafes to wait.

298

A Hymn to the Spring.

I

Fairest Child of flowing time,
Earths refreshment, Heav'ns delight,
Beauties honor, Natures prime
Joy of our Soul, and glory of our sight!
O bridle in the posting hours;
Thy too precipitated course restrain,
Cast out thy blossoms, spread thy flow'rs,
Augment our pleasure, and prolong thy reign.
For t'were impiety to wish Thee gone,
Tho Summer next and all her fruits come on.

II

All, thy absent Deity
With repeated Pray'rs implore;
All rejoice, thy Presence nigh,
Behold thy Miracles, and bless thy Pow'r.
The Farmer from thy looks receives
The blooming promise of a fruitful Year:
The Lover from thy bounty weaves
An early Honor for his Mistress' hair:
The sullen Warrior smiles, to see thee spread
The future Pride of his ennobled head.

III

Senseless as the Year we lye,
'Till kind spring's enlivening fires
Wakens our activity,
Improves our Joys, and heightens our desires.
For thee ev'n Venus we'l despise
Thou brighter Queen of Harmony and Love!
And Thee too born above the skies
Without a fictious Metaphor we'l prove:
For what is Heav'n but bright recesses, where
A constant Spring inriches all the Year?

299

A Session of the Poets
[_]

(imperfect).

Since the King like a venterous Gamster at Loo
Threw by his old Courtiers, and took in for new
Till by shuffling and drawing the cards were so mix't
That those which Won this deal were laid aside next
The Sons of the Muses began to repine
That who e'er was turn'd out John Dryden kept in
So, Numerous and Noisy to Phœbus they came
To ask why of All the Knaves he shou'd be Pam.

John Dryden appear'd at the head of the Gang,
And with a low bow and learned Harangue
He said with Submission he thought t'wou'd be hard
If he of the Bays shou'd at length be debar'd
Who so well had writ and so frankly declar'd.
Declaring says Phœbus, concerns not this court;
They that set you at work let 'em e'en pay you for't
Whats Religion to Us, tis well known that many
Have manag'd the Place well without having Any.
For matter of Writing 'tis frankly confest
If we'l take your bare word for't You do it much best.

[OMITTED] next thing that advances
Is the Priest to the Sacrifice honest St Francis
Ochanti, Huy Hannon, Rozarno, Tzinzummey
Bloody hands, blazing Comets, Priests devils and Mummy
Sure this will engage You? Apollo says No
All these pritty tricks Lee in Bedlam can show
Why then (tho Despina and Tamerlane fail)
I'm my Lord Dorsets Friend, I hope that may prevail,
Apollo bow'd low at the name, and declar'd
What a just Veneration he had for my Lord.
But heark'yee Sir Knight, says the God, that wont do
For if he had the Bays whom his honor best knew
W. R. has fairer pretences than You.

300

Old Waller came next, and handsomly pleaded
That none writ so neat and so calmly as he did
That with very much Wit he no anger exprest
Nor sharpen'd his Verse with a Venemous Jest.
And granting all this, said Apollo, old Friend
'Twil signify little to'th' business in hand
For as he that's dubb'd Hero, must first to the Wars
And bring home sore bruises and hazardous scars
So, he that wou'd rise and be prov'd a true Bays
(To be fitted in every respect to the Place)
Must be damn'd for his plays and for Satyr Sustain
To beatings at least in a little By-Lane.

Next little Tom Durfey demanded the Bays
For the sense of his Songs and the Plot of his Plays
A double pretence which I'l vow very Strong
But I've heard says Apollo a Scurrilous Song
In which You've affronted my friend Mrs. Long
And heark-yee Squire Durfey the Man that refuses
Respect to the Sex is no friend to the Muses.

Next Maidwel who young Poetasters can bring
As some do tame Blackbirds, to Whistle and Sing
His Tropes and his Figures most finely employs
To purchace the Wreath for himself and his Boys
For if he that Taught best had most right to the Laurel
Old Busby not he must determine the Quarrel
Apollo inform'd him he shou'd be most glad
If from his own Works any Plea cou'd be made
But at present he thought his pretences but bad.

From the Island of Love with a Shipload of Verse
Comes Afra and asks the Court leave to Rehearse
Enjoyment and Raptures and pretty Devises
Enamell'd on Watches for Damon and Isis
The Poetess Sung: at length swore She'd prove
That She and Jack Hoyle taught the whole Age to Love
And on with't She ran, nor had ended till now
But Phœbus reprov'd her, and gave her to know
That her Tongue went too fast, and her Love watch too Slow.
[OMITTED] If e'er he was found
To chuse words for any thing else but the sound.

301

The next that put in for't was little Jo Crown
He swore his Sir Courtly had ravish'd the Town.
Then Shadwel too sweated amain in the Praise
Of the language and Plot of his Squire of Alsace
They both were put by, So were two or three more
That fell short of the Lawrel the Session before
For they cou'd no more their Pretensions repeat
Than a horse thats once distanc'd may run second heat.

With a bundle of Poetry Settle was there
Some brought from the Play-house, and some from the Fair.
But Apollo assur'd him, he never wou'd chuse
The Laurel from such Demi Poets as those
Who write Treason in Verse, and recant but in Prose.

Sir Ch:**** that can write and better Translate
Was likewise Deny'd it for he'd an Estate
And from Homer to D****n it never was known
That the Laureat had three Pence a Year of his own.

Tom Wicherly challeng'd the Bays as his Due
And brought the plain Dealer to prove his words true.
I own says Apollo the Strength of Your Plea
But e'er You've the Place, there's one rub in Your way
The Test my Dear Friend, You must certainly take
Wou'd to God we cou'd get it repeal'd for your Sake.

After these a whole Gang with ill looks and hard Names
Thrust up to Apollo and forc'd in their Claims.

To a Friend on his Marriage.

Chamont was absent, and remembrance brought
Him and past blessings thick upon my thought;
Those but my Tortures now, whilst my vext heart
Beat quick and throb'd, and sought its nobler part
Nor wou'd have rest, uneasy still Alone
I scorn'd the Wretch My self, my Worth was gon.
In Company I strove for ease in Vain,
Whilst Mirth in others but increas'd my Pain.
Med'cines from Books as vain I often took,
They that writt best but told me how you spoke

302

In vain I saw: each object thrô my Eye
Touch'd my Soul quick with something stil of Thee
My Friend and I sat there, we that way mov'd
These read, these Talk'd, and every where we Lov'd.
But when 'twas said thou n'er must hope to see
That Friend return to things below and Thee.
Happy He triumphs, happy has possest
A Seat of Glory and a Heav'n of rest
'Twas base to Sigh and grew a Crime to moan
So much I Prize Your Bliss beyond my own.

Theseus stil lov'd, and stil desir'd his Friend
Whilst great Alcides yet on Earth remain'd:
But when the Hero to his Heav'n arriv'd,
Most the Youth wanted him, yet least he griev'd
Pleas'd that the Friend was in the God improv'd,
He learn'd to Worship what before he lov'd.
Accept my first Oblation, thy own heart,
(For Friendship shal be forc'd to let it part)
'Tis Love demands it, and I will resign:
Honoria gave her own, and merits Thine,
And to return it thus I triumph more
Then keeping it from all the Sex before.
Accept my Wishes too; meet all the Charms
The Muses gave, in Dear Honoria's Arms.

[Herself a Muse more Noble than the Nine
For when we harmony it self wou'd paint
Art does but in One graceful figure join
The Lovely Woman and the Pious Saint.]
May all thy Hours in glad Procession pass
Kind as her look and soft as her Embrace
And every Hour new Pleasures may'st thou find
All fair and Lovely as thy Mistress' Mind
And sure that's very lovely, very fair
Nothing but Heav'n and You, my friend, are there.
May all her future Minutes happy prove
As are Thy Numbers when Thou writst of Love
How strangely happy these well beauty knew
She fled Apollo but she ran to You

303

May smiling Peace and gentle Concord spread
Their blooming Sweets around thy spotless Bed
And may Mankind with pleasing wonder see
Successive Hopes of Thy great Progeny
'Till Dear Chamonts and Virgils labours Dye.

Letter to J****

My little Wid: to you I send
Or as my Doctress or my Friend
Hoping these Lines may find You S*****g
As I am at this present writing
I yesternight read Nendicks bills
Believ'd his lies and took his Pills
No sooner was the Rascall swallow'd
Ah J***y can you guess what follow'd?
I'l swear I thought I shou'd have quicken'd,
And from that moment fondly reckon'd.
At last my Physic like your Marriage
Brought nothing forth but a Miscarriage.
When I had suffer'd as I tell Yee
Those plaguey wamblings in my Belly
Backwards I much Dismist, and after
Indeed I scarse cou'd hold my Water.
Faith J**e those Pills are past enduring
That work at once by Stool and Urine;
I shou'd not, were you here, intreat Yee
To give me liberty to beat Yee;
For gentle walking will alone
Bring neighbor Nendick kindly down.
Thus having Thirty times I think
Drank your dear health in posset drink
I Answer to my Billet doux Require
And rest
Sweet J**e
Your filthy Friend
M. Pr***r.

304

To Dr F********* in a Letter to Beverley disswading him from drinking Waters.

To clear the Brain or purge the thought
Your Waters are not worth a Groat,
The Spaw it self cou'd never do't
Unless Your Brain lay in your Gutt.
Your Costive fancy if You'd stir up,
Add to your Waters Pills or Syrrup.
So your loose Muse may chance to store yee
With Arguments a Posteriori
You (like the Spaniard) may be writing
Some handsom Tract of easy Sh****g,
Or making some clean Returnello
Of who Sh***s white or who Sh***s yellow.
But if some labour you design
Like all its Breth'ren fair and fine
Lay by your Element and rather
Drink (by my Lords good leave) Forefather.
When Jove his Godhead purg'd with water
He got some Sneaking Fountain Daughter.
But for the Offspring of his brain
His head ak'd much, and he cry'd Alass!
Twas Wine that brought the generous pain
The God drank hard, and out sprang Pallas.
To her pale Sons, insipid Isis
The draught of her own Stream advises;
But well We know, our Alma-Mater
Holds Claret wholsomer than Water:
And by her Caudle and her Cup
Bids Sitt up late, and drink all up.

305

[Inspired Wit.]

If ever I had any Wit t'was when I had the Honor to be with Your Lordship, and then too it was not mine by Nature but inspiration.

So when the meanest Priest comes near the Cell
Where the pleas'd Deity vouchsafes to dwell
Farewell Humanity, a Nobler ray
Descends and drives Him from Himself away
With mighty Joy his sacred Silence breaks
And much the God inspires, and much the Prophet speaks.

Epistle to Lord ---.

That with much Wealth and large encrease, My Lord,
Your happy Granaries are amply stor'd;
That You can boast a Noble race, and show
United Honors Center'd all in You;
That in all Turns of State Your word has stood,
To Your own Honor, and Your Countries Good;
That You so sing, that since great Strephons death
No daring brow claims ev'n the Second wreath:
Yet these Perfections, were my thoughts declar'd,
Nor ask that praise, nor merit that reward,
As that One good, which ev'en Your Foes confess
(If any such there can be) You Possess.
A real Judgment, and a Solid Mind
Expert to use these blessings in their kind,
As Prudence dictates, and as God design'd.

'Tis true, I think not an impartial dole
Of Sense distributed to every Soul;
So that no Two, but can exactly say,
Each had his Measure, tho a diff'rent way:
Yet potent Nature frankly has bestow'd
Such various gifts amongst the mingl'd Crowd,

306

That I believe, the dullest of the kind,
Wou'd he but Husband and Manure his Mind,
Might find some Exce'llence there, which well-improv'd
At home might make him Pleas'd, in public Lov'd.

Some with grave Judgment can decide the Cause,
And govern Nations and Establish Laws.
Others in rougher Policy Excell,
Manage their Troops and wage the Battel well.
With useful Science, some, and wholsom rules,
Improve our Virtues, and exalt our Souls.
And some search cunning Nature, and declare
How all things did, and why they thus appear.
Some know to bound the Earth; and some to Guide
The lab'ring Bark above th' impetuous Tyde.
Some can with Art alure the trembling string,
And happy wonders in apt Measures Sing.
Others can form the Hero or the Saint,
In breathing Stone, or animated Paint.
Thus some may profit us, and some may please;
All may have diff'rent Honors, diff'rent ways.

Some have large Wealth and may receive the guest
Others have Wit and Mirth to crown the feast.

Then all that Vice, and those absurdities,
Which every moment every body sees,
Arise, (might I declare my thoughts,) from this;
Not that Men want, but use their Parts amiss:
Not One in Twenty their own Tallents know,
The Ox wou'd champ the bitt, the War horse plough;
The Coward Sieges and Campaigns recites,
The Cripple dances, and the Coxcomb writes.

[1.] Is there a Man, on whom indulgent fate
Has smil'd, and thrown a competent Estate?
With Sense enough to use the blessing right,
To his own Pleasure, and his Friends delight.
On he shal run, where Nature never mean't,
Nor friends, nor force, nor Bedlam, shal prevent.
Perhaps his Whim runs to Divinity,
Not Pulton then, not Casuist ABC,
Or their new Converts, troublesome as he.

307

Perhaps to Law; his Cases then shal tire
A City Orphan, or a Norfolk Squire;
His unintelligible Talk shal put
A Widow, or a real Lawyer, out.
Take heed (crys all the Country) come not near!
'Tis Term-time at his Table all the Year.

[2.] Is there another, with such moderate Sence
As just suffices not to give offence?
Tis odds but he shal Print his Poetry,
Thô such perhaps as Higden writes or I:
Nestles amongst the Criticks in the Pitt,
And talks at Will's, and wou'd be thought a Wit.

(1) No Ancient Piece, much harder than the rest,
That by Translation scorns to be exprest,
But all those People who to Phillis chime,
And make admiring and desiring Rhime,
With Emu'lous Labour turn and tumble it,
And heads forthwith are scratch'd, and nailes are bitt.

No happy Picture, whose rich features show
Vandyke! Thy labour, or Thine, Angelo!
But whilst the Dawbers with joint pains combine
To rival each inimitable line,
The great Original comes forth a Sign.

Painters and Poets any thing may dare—
I grant You, Sir, but with a previous care
Of what their Strength denys, & what t'wil bear.
Who, after Waller sings the Holland-fight,
Tells but how Ill 'tis possible to write:
& who wou'd throughly show his want of Skill,
From Lely draws my Lady Cleveland ill.

Well; most their business, their Discourse, their Cloaths,
Their very Vice, unfit for them will chuse.
The Squire from Mother sent unfleg'd and raw,
To learn good breeding and to read the Law,
Though he has little else to justify
His parts, but Innocence and modesty,
Quitts these as soon as possibly he can,
And swears, and drinks, and fain wou'd be —

308

The rough Tarpaulin when he home has brought
Health, Strength, and Treasure, every thing but Thought:
Must needs turn Spark forsooth; and to be known
Keeps very High, is jilted, and Undon.

The Land-Commander, whose ill favor'd face
Might make him rail at Love, and break his glass;
If he 'as been once in France, affects to go
Odly ill-drest, and spruce as any Beau,
Ogles, and Combs, and Bows, and does not doubt
To raise his Fortunes by the Pettycoat.

The Awkerd City Spark, who shou'd not Swear
But sneaking Shop-Oaths to put off bad Ware,
Nor drink but at the chusing of the May'r,
Getts very drunk, and with it very rude:
Some Suit their Inclinations, and are lewd;
On Vice, in him, 'tis Saucy to intrude.
Vice (Says the Moralist, and wou'd dispute)
With no Mans Nature realy can Suit.
It may Deceive us thô, Sir; but in these
It looks so ill, it scarse appears to please.

But to my Theme—I firmly still aver
Tis not through want of parts, but want of care,
To use those Parts aright, so many err.
They wont spare time to weigh the good or ill,
We blame their Intellect, the fault lyes in their will.

I know a hopeful Youth about the Town,
Whose Friends and Parts design'd him for the Gown;
His body was but weak, his quiet mind
To gentle peace seemed happily inclin'd:
Yet Thoughtless he, and erring in this Care,
Of his own strength is fall'n in love with War;
Herds with the Fighters, and with pleasure feels
A long Toledo jarring at his Heels:
Talks ill of Sieges rais'd, and Armys led,
And wears his Cravat string, and Breeches red.
I met the Youth, and truly, far from spight,
Told him his Tallent never was to fight—
He frown'd, and said, “Nor Yours perhaps to Write.”

309

To My Lady Exeter, on New Years day.

Her Birth-Day.

I

Great God of Time, whose early care
Ordain'd the first-born of the Year
To wait the gentle Anna's birth
O stil that happy Care employ
And stil let all her Minutes fly
All wing'd with Peace, & crown'd with Myrtle.
With softest Slumbers bless her Nights
And wake her still to new Delights
Bless all her Days and bid the Year
To show'r its blessings all on Her.

II

If Autumn blasts or Winter Storms
O turn on us the threaten'd harms.
From all that ill her beauties guard
For her let Spring diffuse its flowers
And Harvest spread its richer Stores
With all thats good her cares reward.
O let delight and Plenty spread
Their blooming Sweets around her Head
O let the Seasons all desire
To Shower their Blessings all on Her.

III

In the dear Lord of her Desires
Bless her, for all his Joys are hers:
Bless him Secure from noise and harms
And O when Love appoints the Day
Enrich it with thy Noblest ray
And bring him safe[ly] to her Arms
O let her all those Blessings know
That Men can ask or Gods bestow
Let Love and Heav'n and Earth conspire
To Shower their Blessings all on her.

310

[Answer to an] Orange.

Good People, I pray
Throw the Orange away,
'Tis a very sour Fruit, and was first brought in Play,
When good Judith Wilk
In her Pocket brought Milk,
And with Cushions and Warming-Pans labour'd to bilk
This same Orange.

When the Army retreats,
And the Parliament sits,
To vote our King the true use of his Wits;
'Twill be a sad means,
When all he obtains
Is to have his Calf's Head dress'd with other Mens Brains,
And an Orange.

The Sins of his Youth
Made him think of one Truth,
When he spawl'd from his Lungs, and bled twice at the Mouth,
That your fresh sort of Food
Does his Carcase more good,
And the damn'd thing that cur'd his putrify'd Blood
Was an Orange.

This hopeful young Son
Is surely his own,
Because from [an] Orange it cry'd to be gone:
But the Hereticks say,
He was got by Dada,
For neither King nor the Nuncio dare stay
Near an Orange.

311

Since Lewis was cut
From his Breech to the Gut,
France fancies an Openarse delicate Fruit:
We wiser than so,
Have two Strings to our Bow,
For we've a good Queen [that's] an Open[arse] too,
And an Orange.

Till Nanny writ much
To the Rebels the Dutch,
Her Mother, good Woman, ne'er ow'd her a Grutch:
And the Box on the Ear
Made the Matter appear,
That the only foul Savour the Queen could not bear
Was an Orange.

An honest old Peer,
That forsook God last year,
Pull'd off all his Plaisters, and arm'd for the War:
But his Arms would not do,
And his Aches throb'd too,
That he wish'd his own Pox, and his Mistress's too
On an Orange.

Old Tyburn must groan,
For Jefferies is known
To have perjur'd his Conscience to marry his Son;
And [Devonshires] Cause
Must be try'd by the Laws,
And Herbert must taste a most damnable Sauce
With an Orange.

Pen, Lob, and a score
Of those honest Men more,
Will find this same Orange exceedingly sour;
The Queen to be seiz'd,
Will be very ill pleas'd,
And so will King Pippin, too dry to be squeez'd
By an Orange.

312

Song
[_]

Set by Mr K.

[Love has often threaten'd War]

I

Love has often threaten'd War
Beauty led up all the Fair
Yet stil my heart repell'd the Harms
Their cruelty intended
But when my Cælia took up Arms
Unable to resist her Charms
The Fort no longer I defended.

II

Strength and Wisdom useless prove,
Once to see her is to Love;
Others in Time a heart may gain
By Treaty or Perswasion,
Their Conquests They by Siege obtain;
You o'er my heart were born to reign
And bravely took it by Invasion.

Song
[_]

Set by Messrs Pickering and Tudway.

[Love I confess I thought Thee but a Name]

Love I confess I thought Thee but a Name
The Painters fancy and the Poets Theme,
The Old Wives Tale, the wishing Virgins dream
But if indeed Thou art a God
Supreme in Goodness and in Pow'r
Now make it clearly understood
And I'l repent and I'l adore.
Or use thy Mercy, and withdraw the dart
Gently! Ah! gently, from my fester'd heart;
Or strike the weapon thrô my Cælia's breast
And be Thy Godhead by thy Pow'r exprest.
For whilst I follow and my Cælia flies
Whilst I entreat and She denys
I own my Self a harden'd Atheist stil
And must deny thy Power, or blame thy Will.

313

[Great Nassau rise from Beauty]

[_]

To Mr K---s Tune of the Prince's march.

Great Nassau rise from Beauty
Leave Maria's softer Charms
Call the Soldier to his Duty
Bid the Trumpet sound Alarms
To renown Love excites Thee
O prepare
Sudden War
Mary's injur'd Cause invites Thee
Love and Mary bless thy Arms.

Great Nassau rise to Glory
Rise to Save our sinking State
Truth and Justice march before Thee
Vi[c]tory behind shal wait.
Death and Hell n'er shal vex Thee
Faith and Laws
Back thy Cause
All our Isle with Joy expects Thee
March to Conquer and be great.

Sound to France, spread Thy Banner
Hoist thy Sails and plow the Main
Guarded by Success and Honor
Vindicate thy own again
Fortune laughs Fate is willing
To Advance
Thee o'er France
Court the Hours whilst yet they'r smiling
March to Overcome and Reign.

314

Cælia.

Were Cælia Absent and remembrance brought
Her and past Pleasures thick upon my thought
With Bacchus' Liquors I'd Loves flames defeat
He'd soon leave flut'ring, if his Wings were wet.
Else to my Books I'd dedicate my Days,
Forget my Daphne whilst I sought the Bays.
Or shou'd all other Cures successless prove
To some kind Present She my Suit I'd move
Burns are expell'd by fire and Love by Love
But when I want my Friend, when my vext heart
Beats short, and pants and seeks its nobler part
That absent one not millions can attone
Amidst a Multitude I'm stil Alone
My mind like Telephus's hurt is found.
The cause that gave can only Cure the wound.

The same Varied.

Were C[æ]lia absent and remembrance brought
Her and past raptures thick upon my thought
The next kind She might meet my rais'd desire
And beastly Lust quench Loves disabl'd Fire.
But when I want my Friend, when my vex't heart
Beats short, and pants and seeks its nobler part
For the sad Ill no medi'cine can be found
'Tis You that made, 'tis You must cure the Wound.

315

A Hymn to Venus, upon a Marriage.

I.

Almighty pow'r of Harmony and Love
That Governst all below and blessest all above
At whose command this well proportion'd frame
From the dark womb of empty Chaos came
Whose smile bid wild confusion cease
And charm'd the jarring Elements to peace,
Who life and joy to th' earliest beings gave
And stil with new supplies defeats the conquest of the Grave
Marriage I sing be thou my Muse
To thy young Prophets Soul infuse
Such vigorous heat such active fire
As tun'd thy dear Anacreons Lyre
That my officious Song may prove
Noble as was our Lovers first desire
Sweet as their Courtship lasting as their Love.

II.

Yes Venus your Divinity we own
Your pow'r and goodness equally are shown,
Since this happy pair you join
Forsake Cythera's crouded shrine
Victims of vulgar hearts disclaim
Nor seek new Conquests but the last m[ai]ntain
Your last which has outdone
All other glories which your Cupids won
Since yielding to your Godhead Jove
Confest his Thunder less then were the Shafts of Love
Go let your darlings useless arms be broke
Let his torch languish in enactive Smoak
His little Deity must now dispair
To see such Lovers at his Altars crown'd
Or vanquish with an equal wound
So great an Hero, and a Bride so fair.

316

III.

On these may all your Blessings flow
On these your choicest Gifts bestow
Let all their after minutes prove
Kind as is your kindest Dove
And soft as down upon the wings of love:
Still with their years encrease their joy
Stil be their raptures full yet never cloy
Whilst each succeeding Night
Improves the Transport of the last delight
In glad procession may each rolling Year
See the joyful Parent bear
A Beauty second only to her own
Or if the smiling Gods conspire to crown
Her stronger Wishes in a Son,
His Fathers Soul as Image let him share
And prove his Honors & his Virtues Heir.

A Fable.

In Æsop's Tales an honest Wretch we find,
Whose Years and Comforts equally declin'd;
He in two Wives had two domestick Ills,
For different Age they had, and different Wills;
One pluckt his black Hairs out, and one his Grey,
The Man for Quietness did both obey,
Till all his Parish saw his Head quite bare,
And thought he wanted Brains as well as Hair.

The Moral.

The Parties, hen-peckt W—m, are thy Wives,
The Hairs they pluck are thy Prerogatives;
Tories thy Person hate, the Whigs thy Power,
Tho much thou yieldest, still they tug for more,
Till this poor Man and thou alike are shown,
He without Hair, and thou without a Crown.

317

A new Answer to an Argument against a Standing-Army.

Would they who have nine years look'd sour
Against a French and Popish Power,
Make Friends with both in half an hour?
This is the time.

Would they directly break the Sword
By which their Freedom was restor'd,
And put their Trust in Lewis Word?
This is the time.

Would they leave England unprotected,
To shew how well they are affected,
And get themselves next bout elected?
This is the time.

Would they preserve their Wives and Pullets
Against the Soldiers Lusts and Gullets,
And break our Guns to save our Bullets?
This is the time.

Would they oblige a Winter-Sea
Their prudent Orders to obey,
And keep a standing Wind in pay?
This is the time.

Would they but say what they're pursuing,
Whom they're advancing, whom undoing,
What pack of Knaves shall prove our Ruin?
This is the time.

A-God's Name let 'em shew their Games,
And fix to one of these Extreams,
A Commonwealth, or else King James;
For now's the time.

318

[A Prophecy.]

Thy King (O may I call him by that Name?
But he shal be the last that e'er shal bear it).

No Man more heartily shal hate his Wife
Then he shal Thee; nor fly with more impatience
Into a yielding Mistress' dear Embraces
Then he to Belgia's shore, Belgia thy Rival
In Empire and in Interest. She shal Triumph,
Shal to the farthest East send forth
New Colonies and build her proud Abodes
On Ganges and in India, She shal have Treaties
Made for Her sake alone and Kingdom given.

Thy Miters shal be worn by Men at best
Stupid and Ignorant, scarce capable
To guide a Parish Flock, by others famous
For Rapes, and Outlaw'd from their Native Country
For having by Vile Treasons giv'n up
The Masters that had fed them, Fools and Madmen
Shal Prophecy false dreams, that take distemper
For Revelation
And comment Blasphemy on sacred Scripture
These, these shal Rule thy Clergy.

Thou shalt have Priests immerst in Lust & Gluttony
And Bishops Three times Married, thy Cathedrals
The Seats where Prayer and Hospitality
Shou'd dwell, shal be the Taverns of the Land,
Where drunken bowles incessantly go round
In leud debauch and midnight Dice are Hurl'd,
The Beds wherein the weari'd Pilgrim us'd
To ease his crippled Limbs, he now shal find
Possess'd with Women, Nurses, She Attendants
And a dishonest Brood of ugly Children.

319

Ballad.

[The Factions which Each other claw]

The Factions which Each other claw
By joint consent have both undone Thee
Thou like the Goat in Moses Law
Hast all the Nations Sins upon Thee.

Whilst H** upon thy Faults descants
H***** and M******* shal join
Not one but roars at Irish grants
But all forget You past the Boyne.

Five hundred Hams all pleas'd all proud
That they their Fathers Shame discover
But not one Japhet in the Crowd
To draw the Decent Mantle over.

What in Thy Government is right
To So****r's Name shal stand recorded
The Lawrels Thou hast gain'd in fight
Let O*****d's Merit be rewarded.

Thy Ministry supports the Throne,
With prudence O*****d all disasters:
What proves successful is their own,
And what Miscarrys is their Masters.

Twas by a House of Commons wrought
That Priests and Papists shan't Alarm ye
But twas His Majestys own fault
That we have neither Fleet nor Army.

[A Ballad of Vigour.]

The Crown once again
Its Rights shal maintain
And the Nation shal make a good Figure
For our Glorious Redeemer
Tells Harley and Seymour
Tis time They shou'd Act with great vigor.

320

When the Hands of the Pages
Find how sad a thing Age is
In our little dispirited Fr:—
Tis likely his Brains
New fire shou'd retain
And He'l act with abundance of Vigor

His Majesty's Actions
Shal soon suppress Factions
And by May he shal Paris beleaguer
For without Troops or Pence
Without Counsels or Sense
The King has a fancy for Vigor.

Whilst He lays his concerns on
The shoulders of Vernon
His Credit will surely grow bigger
And if Sunderland comes
Sound Trumpet beat Drums
No doubt but We'l act with great Vigor.

Albemarle leads the way
Drest like Mars in a play
With Cassie as fierce as a Tyger
And Miremont the Prince
Shal his Country convince
That His Majesty's Fav'rites have Vigor.

Vice Chamberlain Bartie
Is in the Court Partie
Lord Cuts for the Combat is eager
And for Jore and Laloe
Grand Loüis shal know
What it is to be given to Vigor.

But if Whigs get the better
You'l see how He'l fetter
And Hamstring our Royal Intreguer
If the Tory prevails
In comes little W****,
And have We not acted with Vigor?

321

Seneca, Troas. Act 2d.

The Chorus Translated.

Is it a Truth, or but a well told Lye
That Souls have being, when their Bodies Dye.
When the sad Wife has clos'd her Husbands Eyes
And pier[c]'d the ecchoing Vaults with doleful crys,
Is not the Husbands life entirely fled,
His Soul extinguish'd as the Body dead;
Or does that other part of Him remain
Stil chain'd to Life, and stil condemn'd to Pain?
No no, before Our Friends officious Care,
Can light the Torch and solemn rites prepare,
Our breath is mix'd, and lost, with common air.
As far as East or West extended go,
As far as Sun-beams gild or Waters flow,
All beings have a destin'd space to run,
And all must Perish, as they all begun.
The Sun, the Moon, and every Sign above
Fix'd by strong Fate, in destin'd Courses move
Like Us for certain Periods they endure,
Their life much longer, but their end as sure.
As smoke which rises from the kinling Fires
Is seen this moment, and the next expires;
As empty Clouds by rising winds are tost,
Their fleeting forms scarce sooner found, then lost,
So vanishes our State, so pass our days,
So life but opens now, and now decays
The Cradle and the Tomb alas! too nigh
To live is scarce distinguish'd from to Dye
After Death nothing is, and very Death,
It self is nothing, 'tis but want of breath,
The utmost Limit of a narrow span,
An end of Motion which with life began.
Death shows us only what we know was near,
It cures the Misers wish, and checks the Cowards fear,

322

Where shalt Thou be when thou art laid in Earth
Where we'rt Thou timorous thing, before thy birth?
Disolv'd in Chaos, on the formless Mass,
Of what may be contending with what was,
Old Night and Death extend their noxious Pow'r,
O'er all the Man, the Body they devour,
Nor spare the Soul, a Kingdom in the dark
Furies that Howl three headed Dogs that bark
Are empty Rumors form'd in Childrens Schools
The Tales of Pedants, and the Dreams of Fools.

Translated from the Original French.

While soft She Parly'd with becoming grace,
And courteous smiles adorn'd her lovely face;

Who heard her speak Himself might soon deceive;
And fondly hope she felt the wound she gave:
But, Oh! great Love Thy Votarie's must take care
To Serve Thee well, but trust Thee not too far.

[Reality and Image.]

For instance, when You think You see a
Fair Woman, 'tis but her Idea:
If You her real Lips Salute,
Or but their shade, will bear dispute.
“Look there (say You) I see a Horse”—
Lord Sir how Idly you discourse?
“I see a Horse, I'm sure thats true.”
I say the Devil a Horse see You;

323

You see a Horse's Image, lain
In Miniature upon your brain;
But what you take for fourteen Hand,
Is less than half a grain of Sand.
Things must be stated by their Nature;
The less cant comprehend the greater:
Now, if your Groom wou'd n'er be able
To set old Crop into the Stable,
Unless (pray mind) the Door at least
Was something larger than the beast:
The Fellow sure wou'd never be
Devoid of Sense to that Degree,
As to desire, much less to try,
To thrust his Nagg into your Eye.

Verses Intended for Lock and Montaigne.

Lock, wou'd the Human understanding show;
In vain he squanders Thought & Time and Ink.
People themselves most certainly must know,
Better than He cou'd tell, how they can think?

I fancy things may quickly be agreed,
If once for All we state our notions right;
And I (thank gracious Heav'n) need never read
One line that Thou, Friend Lock, did'st ever write.

Sic argumentum pono: if my head
Had been exactly made, and fill'd like Thine,
I shou'd have known what ever thou had'st said,
Tho in Thy work I had not read a line.

And if again, pray mind, Thy head and Mine
Are form'd and stuff'd quite diff'rent from each other;
I n'er shal understand one single line,
Thô I shou'd read thy Folio ten times over.

Written at Down-Hall.

324

Fragments Written At Down-Hall.

For when your Judge becomes your Foe
Think nor to give nor ward the blow
The danger prudently to shun
Forbear to plead and learn to run
What good can Culprits staying do
When Laws explain'd by Pow'r pursue?
Avails it [a]ught what you can say
If all the Bench resolves the Nay?
When Truth out-voted comes too late
What does She but Prevaricate?
The Circumstances change the case,
'Tis now no Tryal but a race,
What signifies Achilles speed
But to be rid in time of need?
When angry Paris aim'd the Dart
Against the Heroes Mortal part
Instead of Fighting, had he fled,
His Heel might have secur'd his Head.

To her loose dress She calls some foreign Aid
That shows the wanton fears to dye a Maid
Some flow'ry Honor from the neighbo'ring field
Or Emblem taken from her Lovers Shield
Yet when her fine degrees thy Column rise
Their secret charms illude our captive Eyes
With too much Science we admire Thee wrought
Yet praise thy Beauty while we own thy Fault.

The Plowshares now deform the martial plain
Raking the Sculls of the once glorious Slain.

325

Still craving yet stil Roger cry'd
I'll live to-Morrow but to-Night he dy'd
Strange the delusion of his hopes and fears
While that he Starv'd himself to cram his heirs.

Stil base to those who meant Thee well
Ungrateful stil to those that rais'd Thee.
Forget my too officious Zeal
And pardon Me if I have prais'd Thee.

Fragments for Alma.

Stil like to keep their fancy up
No more can drink yet kiss the Cup
* * * those who have weak heads
Their Answer from their fitts provide
And wear their Logic by their side.

Blind Folks shall know You by Your walk
And Dumb and Deaf shal see You talk.

All this says Richard is but Nonsense
For whats the Will without the Conscience
That mighty Pow'r by whom the thought
Is from Kings Bench to Chancery brought
What Seat for her have You assign'd
When She may view and sway the mind.

Dear Dick at Surgeons Hall they tell Y[e]
There are two Regions in the belly
The Diaphragma (You love Greek)
The Midriff as the Vulgar speak
Lyes between both that thou may'st know
How far the bounds of either go
As in the Tennis-court the Nett
Determines either Parties bett
Or Berwick whilom did distinguish
The Limitts between Scots and English.

326

For hark You, Richard, shou'd we put
The Conscience lower towards the Gut
It wou'd remain inept and quiet
And stil go downward with our Diet
Hence the Desires She wou'd Produce
Wou'd all be Sordid Base & Loose.

Now place her in a higher part
Amid'st the Region of the heart
From thence so many Conduits lead
Directly upward to the head
That mounting by too swift advances
And bursting in ten thousand fancys
She wou'd from Neighborhood of place
Be always flying in your face
And fire your Brain with so much Heat
That You wou'd neither Sleep nor Eat
For Dick Your Conscience—

Yet happy Human race my Friend
Did here the sickly madness end.
But Mitis troubl'd half the nation
About his Offsprings Education;
And urg'd by some unhappy fate
Gave him Two Thirds of his Estate
To settle the sad Wretch in Mariage
(This of his life the Sole Miscariage)
Yet Hopeful counts his Fathers Years,
And blames the Sloth of Clotho's Sheers;
That thus protracts the long wish'd death;
Of whom? the Man who gave him breath,
Say this, and the ill jesting Calf
Replyes ye with an impious laugh
His Mother help'd, and he cou'd spare
Her too, from all this Worldly care:
Were She, good Soul, but once in Heav'n
Her Jointure wou'd set matters even.
Wou'd Fate this double Blessing give
A happy Orphan he shou'd Live.

327

Hence Frantic Att-all's endless rage
Hates the Recess requir'd by Age
[OMITTED]* * * * * *
Most People live by Drink and Diet,
He feeds on other Mens disquiet.
Eternal Watch the Madman keeps
When e'er he knows his Neighbor Sleeps.
Scar'd with his own injurious Deed
He thinks it safest to proceed.
Hears jingling Chains and Clinking Fetters
And wou'd impose 'em on his Betters
Which does the Bedlam fear the most
H***** Alive or G*****y's Ghost
Leave him as God and Man has done
And let the Muse go gently on.

With the Image of his own ill deed
Frighted he must to worse proceed
Hearing the Clinck of Chains & Fetters
He hopes to put them on his Betters.

And make Him say what just they please
As Statesmen do with Witnesses.

Further tis easy to produce
People who make the proper use
Of others Limbs, for Instance now
The General (Poets thus Allow
And Socrates) gain the Price of War
The Lawrel hides his want of Hair.

Besides, Dear Dick, tho You and I
With ipse dixet shou'd comply
He never will obtain his Ends
On many of our Gresham friends;
Who with Authority dispense
And in its Place have setl'd sense.

328

Besides a Man must never put
His Oar into anothers Boat.
Are there not Bells in every Steeple
To Summon in the Docile People?
And Deans and Prebends, whose great Care
Some Two and Fifty times a Year
Shou'd to their Parish gravely read?
But if They send them in their stead
Some Curate who can hardly spell,
This some conceive does e'en as well.

The World was 200 Year in the Dark following Aristotle.

Till great Des-Cart and his Sectators
Light up their Philosophic papers
Which say th' Aristotelians again
Were but Jack-a-lents by which men
Thinking they saw mistook their way
More then before.

Fragments.

Odd is the Justice of that Land
Which only lopps the Thiefs right-hand:
The left, before inur'd to Robb,
Is each new Sessions in your Fobb.
In Britain We with wiser care
Chastise a Limb that has no pair;
And when You hang him by the Neck
E'en trust him for a Second Trick.

But that of which he was bereft
Alas, had n'er a fellow left.

329

Anaxarchus being upon the Torture in hopes of some discovery bitt off his Tongue and spit it into the Tyrants face—The Tongue thus separated from the dear root

Thus wounded and thus spit
Express'd more Wisdom Sense and Wit
Then Homer Sung or Plato writ.

Virtue and Love instruct me well
What to Conceal and what to tell.

Yet Distanc'd and Undone by those
Whom sure thou did'st Excell in Prose
When thou thy long mistake did'st see
And los'd from Prison came to me
Say did I not receive thee say
As thou had'st never gone astray.

To make thy Fortune fair Amends
In raising Thee Twelve Hundred friends
By which succeeding Age may see
Who Lov'd the Muse and Pardon'd Thee.

I saw a Thousand ill look'd foes
Their Daggers to thy breast oppose.

And if the Motion by the Sense you prove
The Ship stands still the Shoars & Cities move.

And be the Wretch thy Pitty or delight
Yet Swim or sink I'll hold the rudder right.

[OMITTED] I'll have a Dart
Shal strike him to the heart
Else let me n'er to Heav'n soar
Nor e'er on Earth do Mischief more.

Who e'er a serious view will take
Of that learn'd book the Almanack
Will find a figur'd Man Pierc'd thrô
With sundry Darts from head to toe

330

Just so at least a Year stood I
Smote breast and back and hip and Thigh
Full twenty Foes around me came
And each at me took several Aim
Against some part each took
One at my head with Malice Stroke
T'other ram'd Perjury at my throat
This with Sophisticated reason
Shot at my hand for writing Treason
Against Them All I stood.

We bid the Men stand and deliver their Purses
And tying their Hands up we laugh at their Curses.

To Florimel.

Careless and Young O Florimel
Thou little Think'st of whats to come
O it wou'd fright Thee shou'd I tell
What soon must be Thy Countries Doom.

Written under a Picture painted by Mr Howard.

Invocation to Fortune.

Assist my Cause with Honour, Justice, Truth,
And Thou great Fortune wont to favor Youth
For me Thy Godhead by Thy Mercy prove
Chain cruel rage, and aid afflicted Love
Great Heavens Decrees undaunted let me try
And live with Empire or with Virtue dye.

331

True Statesmen.

True Statesmen only Love or Hate
What Lessens them, or makes them great.
With wond'rous kindness each Ascends,
Supported by his Shouldring Friends:
And fleering Criticks sometimes Note
His dirt imprinted on his Coat.

Some Lords like Wife and Husband Squable
For this fine thing, for that blew bauble,
But soon the present folly ends
And common Intrest makes them Friends.
Whilst yet Erinnis rages high
And Paper Darts in Pamphlets fly
He whose hot head wou'd interpose
Is sure to have his share of blows
But in the reconciling feast
When all the bustle proves a Jest
Where matters are adjusted fairly,
And [OMITTED] sweetly kisses H*****y
The little Agents of the Plott
The understrappers are forgot
And if the Doctor uninvited
Afraid to fancy he was slighted
Comes in, his Labours he may spy
Fix'd to the bottom of a Pye
Or find how those reward his trouble
That light their Pipes with Dear T** D*****

Be not the Bully of the Nation
Nor foam at mouth for Moderation
Take not thy Sentiments on trust
Nor be by others Notions just
To Church and Queen and Laws be hearty
But hate a Trick and scorn a Party
And if thou ever has't a voice
Tho it be only in the Choice
Of Vestry Men or grey-Coat-Boys

332

Vote right thô certain to be blam'd
And rather Starve than be asham'd
This Method I shou'd fancy best
You may think otherwise. I rest.

Simile.

The worthless Cypher, when alone,
Is in himself much less then one;
But plac'd behind more Cunning Men,
Exalts each figure up to Ten:
And when Two thoughtless Noughts have blunder'd,
The Knave before becomes a Hundred.

So rise, by Aid of worthless Fools,
The Men who know to use their Tools.

The Courtier.

Fragment.

Our Courtiers traffick for their fame
Like Nymphs for what I need not name
If this and that time they hold out
It is their Virtue? Yes no doubt
In short they happen to despise
The Lover now and now the Price
But be the Youth Gallant, the Sum
Sufficient, what reply they—Mum
Nature and Intrest must prevail
And flesh and blood you know are frail.

To charm the fair to cheat the Wise
To lure us to the Proffer'd Vice
'Tis all but coming to our Price.

333

Fragments.

For K------n------tt call'd White, and Bu***t Gil. show,
That Doctors may change as Preferment may go
And Twenty Years hence for ought You and I know
Twil be Hoadly the high & Sacheverel the Low.
Who knows how each Author may alter his mind
As they or the Text other Comments may find.

Grey hairs the blossom of Old age appear
To show that Death the fruit of Time is near.

When thy fair Soul ascends her Native Skys
Lillys and Roses from thy Dust shal rise.

One commonly talks most when one has least to say.

And giving You both Yea and Nay
Talks most when he has least to say.

Beauty.

Howe'er confess'd O Queen of Love Thy pow'r
It acts precarious to the coming Hour
And as with certain wings Old Saturn flies
It blossoms flourishes decays and Dies.

Pursu'd by time the pow'r of beauty flies
Arises flourishes Decays and dies.

In its midd Empire darts precarious rays
By distance bounded and confin'd to place.

Tho joyful Health and blooming Youth combine
To lay the Gift on Cythereas shrine
Far as the Nymph can look, she only reigns,
The Youth must see her Charms, to feel her Chains.

Sickness can spoil and absence can remove
The fond Ideas that arise from Love.

334

Whilst yet it flourishes with fullest grace
Tis bound by distance and confin'd to place
Tho joyful health and blooming Youth combine
To bring the sacred flame to Cupids Shrine.

Narcissus.

O happy Youth what can destroy
The long Excesses of thy Joy
For nothing in the whole Creation
Will prove a Rival to thy Passion.

On the Marchioness of Caermarthen.

[OMITTED] future time shal say
How Harleys Daughter studious past the day
While four-fold to the Patriot Father She restor'd
Blessings, which from him She at Morn implor'd.

Virgils Georgic 4 Verse 511 Qualis ------ implet

Translated.

So Philomel beneath the Poplar shade
Mournful bewails her Brood whom the rough hind
Finding has taken Callow from the Nest
All night she weeps and sitting on the branch
Often repeats her Melancholly song
And fills the Country with her sad complaint.

335

Answer to the Female Phaeton.

As Almoner in Holy Week
Dealing good George's Cloth and bread
Sends forth his Officers to seek
The People who stand most in need.

So Thou director great in Wit
Amongst Us Authors rule'st the roast
Distributing as Thou think'st fit
To those that seem to want the most

Thou didst to me a Bard half starv'd
A plenteous Dole of Fame provide
And gav'st Me what I n'er deserv'd
Something of Phaeton and Hyde.

Respect and Memory O look back
Recall the beauteous Mothers Youth
Curl thou hast put me on the Wrack
And now believe I tell thee truth

That bright great good Nymph such I found
Such! how? durst I? cou'd Kneller tell:
How many Years hid I the Wound
Which forc'd by Curl I now reveal!

The Mothers beauties as I lov'd
And thought She rul'd by Right Divine
I saw the Daughters Charms improv'd
I courted — in the Legal Line

When I saw J*** what can they mean
Said I that e'er can think of Kitty
As Kath'arine grew and pleas'd my view
Poor Charlotte I beheld with pitty

Next Charlotte comes and on They run
Like Banco's offspring in Mackbeth
All to the Rebells of their Throne
Denouncing Anger wrath and Death

336

If beauteous Hyde can thus supply
Her everlasting Store of Darts
Come on I cry'd we all must dye
Tho every Man had twenty Hearts

What e'er may to my charge be laid
In public Prints or Secret Whispers
I'll tell thee all I ever said
Of Jinny or her beauteous Sisters.

In these I [OMITTED] the Graces three
All beautifull all like their Mother
And Each the reigning Toast shal be
Why? because Each is likest t' Other

If You three Sister Roses view
From that which is the fullest blown
The beauties of the other Two
Without much forecast may be known

Soft April, blooming May, bright J[u]ne
Do each in diff'rent Charms appear
Yet with succeeding Pleasures crown
The Joys and Honors of the Year

But Phaeton or Kittys Act
Has set our Amorous World on fire
If Similes are not quite exact
Why must they needs be made by Prior?

Alas By adding to my fame
Oh gentle Curl, thou hast undone me
Making me richer than I am
Thou draws't my Creditors upon Me

From Blanket and Purgation free,
Thou long shal't live and we'el be friends,
Put out my Name & We'el agree
Make me at least this smal Amends.

Then Curl for Mine and for Truths Sake
They righteous Printing Press employ
To prove I never did mistake
A Lady for a Boy.

337

In a Window in Lord Villiers house.

1696.

In Vain by Druggs and rules of Art
Poor Ratcliff wou'd my Lungs ensure
They lye too near a wounded heart
Whose sickness Death alone can cure.

To a Painter (fragments).

In foreign Lands my Poetry stands dumb
Thy Pictures speak and Act where e'er they Come.

But narrow bounds the English Muse can boast
Confin'd and fetter'd to her Native Coast.

On foreign Shoars she sullen stands & Dumb
Larger her Sisters pace [OMITTED]

[OMITTED] at Paris and at Rome
She speaks the Tongue and always is at home.

The pride of Babel that confin'd our Tongue
To narrow bounds confines the Poets Song
The Painters meaning thrô the Earth may fly
For Babels Curse affected not the Eye.

Unequal is our Labour & our fame
Whilst Men talk different but they see the same.

But Thou may'st go to Athens or to Rome
And in each Region think Thyself at Home.

Shou'd adverse Fortune banish Me or Pope
What cou'd our Pens from France or Holland hope?
With cruel je n'entens pas we shou'd meet,
Or soft veracht et ik verstaen ye neet.

338

A Prologue intended to the Play of Chit Chat, but never finished.

The ugly Beau too partial to his Glass,
As more he looks, and better likes his face,
In every place is certain to appear
Abroad I mean—but there are None such here.
'Tis much the same with those who trade in verse
Fondly they write, then saucily rehearse,
By frequent Repetition bolder grown
First tire their Friends and after plague the Town.
This from Our Author I am bid to say
As some Excuse for his First coup d'Essay
When next he dares his Cens'uring Pen to draw
E'en leave him to the Letter of the Law:
With gentle Stripes Correct the young beginner,
And hang him if he proves a Harden'd Sinner.
What he attempts to paint is Human life,
A good Man injur'd by a Modern wife;
While neither Sense or kindness have the charms
To keep the Cocquet from the Coxcombs arms.
Had the wrong'd Husband been deseas'd and Old
Or to her play deny'd the needful gold,
The Lady might have done as She thought fit,
And these lose Scenes perhaps had n'er been writ.
But in the flower and vigour of His Age
To Cuckold him, creates so just a rage
It is a very Scandal — to the Stage.

Now à propos to what we nam'd, these Scenes:
Some will be asking what the Author means.
Loose and irregular they are 'tis true,
But pray reflect it is your Lives he drew.
A well laid Plot, close order, clear design
Shou'd all conspire to make the Dramma Shine
His Plot he hopes will pardon every fault
'Tis what wou'd puzzle Machiavels own thought
'Tis such pray find it out ---
As Alberoni to his Pupil taught.

339

Follow these Steps, ye learn'd in State Intreagues!
Who deal in Politicks and Powder'd Wiggs.
E'er yet quite form'd, your Schemes are all reveal'd,
But here ------
The action's done, but yet the Plot conceal'd.
For the design, 'tis twenty several facts,
First dropt in Scenes, then shuffl'd into Acts.
He builds his Schemes in the Lucretian way;
Atoms their motions into forms convey:
And Chance may rule in wit, as well as play.
One thing he bids me beg in his Defence,
That none may Praise or blame that have not Sense.
Take not poor Culprits just request amiss;
It reaches None of You—pray freely Clap or Hiss.

Prelude to a Tale from Boccace in blank Verse.

To the Ds of Shrewsbury Frederick &c:

What Bocace with superior Genius Cloath'd
In Tuscan dress, and ludicrous Fontaine
(Modern Anacreon) well has imitated
In Gallic Style, Himself inimitable:
How e'er unequal to the glorious Task,
Yet of the noblest Heights and best Examples,
Ambitious, I in English Verse attempt.
But not as heretofore, the line prescrib'd
To equal cadence, and with semblant Sounds
Pointed, (so Modern Harmony advises)
But in the Ancient Guise, free, uncontroll'd,
The Verse, compress'd the Period, or dilated,
As close discourse requires, or fine description.
Such Homer wrote; such Milton imitated;
And Shrewsb'ury, candid Judge of Verse, approves.

340

What Shrewsb'ury may approve, to whom pertains it?
But to the Lady, loving Shrewsbury best,
And best by Him belov'd? To Thee, fair Matron!
The warm debate I bring and soft recital
Of constant Passion, and rewarded friendship.
Weak the Performance haply, yet the work
Beneath Thy feet I lay; and bless'd in this,
As Thou good Princess, in each part of Life:
That I but act what Thy great Lord commands.

As Dorset's smile benign, and fair Example,
In pleasing Rhime indulg'd my Infant Years;
(O be his Memory ever wept and Honor'd!)
May Shrewsb'ury's will prescribe my Elder Muse
A diff'rent course, Great, bounteous Adelida!
Be Thou my Friend, my gentle Intercessor,
That thy great Lord with his Illustrious Name
May shield the Goddess from the Darts of Censure
Unwounded, and assure her future flight
With equal favour and successive goodness.

How e'er again reflecting, She must blame
Her own Ambition, that with vain Attempt
Wou'd bring Thee [a]ught from Paris or from Rome,
Transfer'd and Habited in English dress:
When Thou, great Mistress! in Italian sounds,
Canst breathe Thy thought, not Petrarch's Laura sweeter:
When thou in Gallic Style can well indite,
So well, the famous Scudery's learned Sister.
Or Faber's Daughter might attentive learn.
Yet Thou hast right, fair Dame, to claim the Song
In British sounds; amongst her best lov'd daughters
Britannia Numbers Thee, by Twofold Title
To her endear'd: Partner of Talbots bed,
And right descended from the race of Dudley.
And well hast Thou with correspondent Grace
Answer'd thy gentle Mother's Love endearing,
To form her Accents, and to speak her language:
In Womanhood, industrious to Reclaim
By Study and by Art the legal Portion

341

Which Fortune to Thy Infancy deny'd.
And well hast Thou Achiev'd the Task; Thy care
By subtil Mem'ory aided; and Thy Lessons,
Practis'd with Wit, and perfected by Judgment.
But Love, fair Dame (and Thou with Pride may'st own
The grateful Impulse) constant o'er Thy toyle
Presided; Well we learn, when He is Master.

Not harsh, I hope fair Judge thou wilt avow
The British tongue, thô sometimes charg'd with words
Saxon and Danish, when the Manly Sounds
Break from the Potent lipps of Finch or Harcourt.
Our Language, semblant to our Native Streams,
O'er little Flints and scatter'd Pebbles rolling
Its curled Wave, unequal not unpleasing
The Surface. But, O Mercury! O Venus!
(For I attest You Both) when the fair Sex,
When Buckingham, or Grafton, (kind comperes
And faithful Friends to that Illustrious Dame
Who claims my Song) when They (or beauteous Cloe
My Hope, my Joy,) emit their Natal Sound;
Softer than Down from Venus fav'rite birds,
Or flakes of feather'd Snow, the Accents fall!

Exalt Thy Thought my Muse! when our great Sov'raign
Disparts Her comely Lipps, August Pronouncing
The Speech; 'tis sweet as Morning fumes which rise
From Sharon's Rose; grateful as Arabs gums,
By Cædar fir'd, and curling from the Altar:
Our Dread at Once and our Delight! She guides
And charms the Senate; from her silver voice
Pou'ring her fierce Forefather's diction, temper'd
With Heav'nly Mildness and Angelic Grace.
We then, disdainful of our Modern Rivals,
Provoke the Latian or the Greek; resigning
But to the Sacred Hebrew. Agrippina,
Or great Andromache by Homer aided,
Speaks with less height, and Majesty of Style,
Than British Anna. With resembling Prevalence
Pleads Hester, and victorious Deborah Sings.

342

Around the Throne the Nations to their Queen
Obedient stand, and bid Her Live for Ever!

Illustrious Patroness, excuse the Prelude,
And Thou Calliope begin the Song. [OMITTED]

In Florence heretofore (who knows not Florence
Beautiful Sov'raign of Etrurias Cities)
Liv'd Frederic from a Noble race Descended
With fair Revenues blest and large Estate.
His Years were just arriv'd to perfect Manhood
Well limb'd his Body and his Person comely
His Mind with all those open Virtues bright
Which an Indulgent Mothers previous Hope
Can figure for her best lov'd Infants Age.
Unmarri'd yet (his Marriage is my Story)
On Frederic therefore every Eye was cast
What e'er he did was Talk'd: he went or came
The public Care: The P:--- the G***:
Illustrious Houses courted his Alliance
And every noble Virgin sighing wisht
Her Father might succeed, but O in vain
Propose the Parents, or the Daughters Hope:
Clitia, so Venus destins, must alone
Gain Frederic's Love; and Love must rule his Fortune.
Rich Young She was a Widow, of One Son
The Mother and the Tutoress: Frederic courts Her
Courts her but How? With Presents, with Expence
Surpassing all his Rivals, of that sort
How many gather, where the prevalent charms
[At] once of Beauty and of Wealth Attract
From Homer's time to ours stand fair recorded.
The Tilt and Tournament, so Gallantry
Ancient allow'd, and Frederic well Excell'd
In Feats of Arms and Manly Exercises
Took up the Dance delightful: Clitia Seated
Sublime, commands the sports. Clitia's Device
Portray'd on Frederics Shield declares her Champion.

343

Music the splendid Ball and costly banquet
First fruits to hopeful Love by all his Zealots
Offer'd employ the softer Hours of Night,
Queen of the Feast reigns Clitia, Clitia's Name,
Adorns the Song, and at her Health alone
Breathes the shrill Hautboy, and the Clarion sounds. [OMITTED]

The Mem'ory of kind Frederic and good Clitia
They drink, and tell the Story of the Hawk.

She sigh'd she wept and gave the Year to Mourning
As Decency requir'd, but mighty Love
Had erst possess'd her heart, that Monarch God
Admits no rival Pow'r, his Ardent flames
Dispel the little damps which sorrow casts
Upon the Soul, nor suffers others Tears
To fall adown the Cheek, but those alone
Which his Attendant Cares and fears create.

But where Necessity obliges, Patience
Lessens the Ill, and grief is born away
Upon the wings of Time.

Not Snow melts faster on the craggy mount
The Alp, or Appen[n]ine, when Sol in Spring
Arising cheers the World, not Waves and winds
Subside more sudden, when great Neptune rears
His awful Trident, and commands a Calm
Then in one moment fell from Clitia's breast
The coldness of Disdain, the Widows Pride
And Prudery of the Sex.

Here since Great Maro dos not doubt to Sing
Cayeta Nurse to his eternal Hero
Let poor good Thestylis my Muse be mention'd
Not without praise:
Fresh Flowers upon her Grave were strew'd by Clitia's hand.
And on her Tombstone stand Engrav'd her Virtue
Gracious acknowledgments of faithful Service.

344

[OMITTED] and all that chain of mad expence
Whose extreme link is ruin, Lands are Sold
And Mortgages contracted, false Trustees
Greedy She Wins, and Frederick willing Loses.

And Faithless Stewards join to wrong the Master
[OMITTED] and profit by those Negligences
Which 'twas their only Service to retrieve.

[OMITTED] for not the Noble Matron
Whose Womb bore pensive Frederic lov'd him better
Then did old Thestylis whose breast had fed him.

[OMITTED] as he now has fed
His darling Hawk, and in his Garden water'd
The Rose and Jess'mine or with careful hand
Propt the Figg-tree luxuriant from the danger
Of its own weight, or view'd
The little promise of his future Vintage cluster'd grapes
Half purple round the verdant Elm encircled
His little hopes of Vintage.

For better then my Self thee Thee I love
My Self how can I name having prefer'd
My Ease to Thine, having in Lux' and wealth
Securely slept, while Thou perchance hast Wak'd
With fear of Debts alarm'd and shame of want.

O to Thy Arms receive that Penitent
That never shal again repent of [a]ught
But of too late Conversion O my Frederic
Mine wilt Thou be, receive Thy Clitia Thine
And be our next Endeavor join'd to save
The lingring life of him, . . . .
And Thou wilt grant I next to Thee shou'd Love
My Son.

345

[_]

Brouillon of a Poem Begun at Wimpole in August 1721. Transcribed from the Authors Papers since his Death.

PREDESTINATION.

A POEM.

Apostles teach, and Holy books declare,
That 'tis in God we move, and live, and are:
In him we all begin, continue, end,
And all our Actions on his help depend.
I therefore must eternally have laid
In Nothings bosom, and Oblivions shade,
Among existing Beings not confest,
(For nothing by no words can be exprest)
Unless obedient to his High command,
Call'd by his word, and Plastor'd by his hand,
And from his breath receiving Vital flame,
I had begun to be the thing I am.

Then the same pow'rfull, constant, heav'nly Aid
Must stil prese[r]ve the Creature it had made.
For shou'd that Aid one Moment be deny'd;
Dissolv'd and lost, I shou'd again subside
Into the sad Negation where I lay,
Before I swell'd the Womb, or saw the Day.

Form'd by his Will, assisted by his Powr,
From the great period of my Native hour
Forward I hasten thro this path of life,
Nor with false pleasure smooth no violent Strife
Why was I then of my sole guide bereft?
And why to errour and amazement left?

346

Collected to my self I sadly find
Ten thousand doubts divide my anxious mind.
The potent bias of my crooked will
I found averse to good, and prone to ill;

Whence rises this depravity of thought
Was it from mine or my forefathers fault?
Shal I descend and say that Death and Sin
Did from ill judging Adams crime begin
Or tracing them from springs perhaps too high
To good and Ill give Coeternity?

Say did the Godhead infinitely wise
Create all good? then whence did ill arise?
Do two great Pow'rs their adverse strength employ
This to preserve, and t'other to Destroy?

Wou'd God set free what Deemon cou'd enslave?
Cou'd Sin annoy what Sanctity wou'd save?
Of this no further Mortal man can know,
Than as from Scripture God has deign'd to show.
Here too we find the mighty Probleme laid
In Mystic darkness, and Prophetic shade:
Pen'd by the Poets rage and breast enlarg'd,
Adorn'd with Emblems, and with figures charg'd;
Form'd to the Lyre, and fitted to be Sung
To proper measures of the Hebrew Tongue;
By time corrupt, at first however pure;
And by Translation render'd more obscure;
By Sects eluded, and by Scholes perplext,
Till in the Comment we involve the Text.

E'er Time was bid his measures to begin,
E'er Angels knew to praise, or man to sin,
(Say Austin's words transfer'd to Calvins school,)
God fix'd one firm unalterable rule.
The word was fated which th' Almighty spoke
Nor can his future Will that will revoke.
All things determin'd by this Solemn Doom,
And settled in the order they must come.

347

Select to pleasures, or condemn'd to pains;
Man only Executes what God ordains.
Is God subservient to his own Decree?
Is that Omnipotent which is not free?
Providence then in her continual course
Must stil be stopt by some superior force:
Then upon strict enquiry will be found,
That God himself by his own Act is bound;
That in a like dependence, he and Man
Must own a Pow'r which neither can restrain?
Then those Elect by this eternal doom
Must have been Sav'd, thô it had never come;
And the reprov'd in vain for Mercy call
To him who came to free and save us All.
Vain therefore prudent thought, and previous care
Useless our Alms, and foolish is our Pray'r:
And with superfluous babling we have said,
“Give us this day our Father! dayly bread”;
If what we ask by fixt decree of Heav'n
Was giv'n before, or never can be giv'n.

Now what is Man? a reas'nable Machine,
A puppet danc'd upon this Earthly Scene,
An instrument in Gods o'erbearing hand,
Mov'd by his Pow'r and forc'd by his command.
Cou'd destin'd Judas long before he fell
Avoid the terrors of a future Hell?
Cou'd Paul deny, resist, or not embrace
Obtruded Heav'n, and efficacious Grace?

Yet is the great Apostle heard to say,
“Does not the Potters hand dispose the Clay?
“And shal the Vase his makers Art upbraid,
“If or to honour or Destruction made?”
'Tis true; but view we then the different State
Of beings living and inanimate:
Incapable of Sense and void of mind,
The passive Vessel cou'd no pleasure find,
Thô plac'd above where Saints and Angels reign;
And damn'd to Hell beneath, cou'd feel no Pain.
Nor in his action is that Agent free

348

Who must fulfill immutable decree.
Allow we freedom to the whirling Stone,
Which in the Battel from the sling is thrown?
Allow we freedom to the flying reed,
From the drawn Bow elanc'd with violent speed?
If these attain, or if they lose their Aim,
Their rectitude or Error is the same:
Who blames their fault, or celebrates their fame?
Now scale our Deeds and let the Plummet fall
Betwixt the senseless and the rational.
If Both alike by primitive decree
Are bound to Act, and if what is must be;
For Slain Goliah to young Davids praise
Can we in justice greater triumph raise,
Than to the chosen Pebble, which he took
Among the thousand from the Neighb'ring brook?
Or greater Crime impute to furious Saul,
Than to his Jav'elin struck against the Wall?

Far other sure with Human Mind it fares
Now raised to pleasures now deprest with Cares.

Possess we not free liberty of Will
How are our Acts imbu'd with good or ill
Allow Gods promises and threatnings made
E'er the foundations of the World were laid;
They were contingent, and conditional;
From Adams Choice proceeded Adams fall.
By Cains free action Abells blood was spilt,
His Punishment must presuppose his Guilt.
And Abra'ms faith on Isaac doom'd to dye
Was founded on the Patriarchs piety.
When Judah breaks Jehovahs great command,
He turns his wrathful Viols on the land:
When of her Sins in Ashes she repents,
The weeping Priest attones and God relents.
Our Deed is form'd and guided by our thought,
And equal to our Duty or our fault.
By means however hid from human eyes
Gods future threatnings and his Mercy rise.
While yet we reconcile free Will to fates
To solve this doubt we greater doubts create:

349

That God regards the simple Act alone,
Making Omnipotence by Prescience known;
And leaves to Us by Impulse from within,
To Cloath that Act with Duty, or with Sin.

But does he then his previous will suspend,
And does his Science on our Deed attend?
If this way acting, we the sequel draw,
We act as God permitted and foresaw:
But if our Act be otherways employ'd,
Is his permission and prevision voy'd?
Has he, as human means may change the Scene,
In other guise permitted or foreseen;
And left the Slacken'd Reins of Providence
To the mad guidance of our feeble sense?

Say rather, that he Will'd what he foresaw;
That his volition is his Creatures law:
For God (excuse the saying) cou'd not see
Contingences which never were to be.
And if they were to be, that very sight
Brought them from Nothing into future light
Permitting their Existence, fix'd their fate;
And to forsee, was to Predestinate.

Well then Man Wills and from that Will proceed
The stains and Colours of his sinfull deed
The Son whom he destroy'd he might have sav'd
And freed the Captive whom his hand enslav'd.

As rolling down the Rocks the waters bring
The last and hue of their original spring;
So from our Will, that fountain of our Deed,
The stains and Colours of our Acts proceed.

Against Gods Spirit here we fight
Had leave to cho[o]se but wou'd not use it right
Our ill produc'd and we must suffer Woe
But had we merit or Perfection, No.
In vain You cite this Liberty of Will
Free to do good, but more inclin'd to ill.

350

Almighty Lord the way, the door, [the] light,
O let me stil find favor in thy sight
Excuse my going wrong or set me right.

O Soveraign! great Three in One! O God and Man!
Who set those Measures which I dare not Scan;
If I have leave to chuse, I beg that choice
Guided at least by thy Assistant Voice.
If I must pursue a Destin'd way
Direct my Footsteps for thou can'st not stray
From dang'rous doubts my wandering Soul retrieve
I cannot Argue, grant me to believe!
Lifeless I lay, thou wak'st me into Sense;
Frailty is mine, and Thine Omnipotence.

Dare we reply or frighted stand we Mute
Shall Man, assertion dire! to God impute
Or Ignorance, or Mutability,
Or want of Pow'r to finish his Decree?

While God does in his hand Sustain
This last great Link of this eternal Chain.

So run the close Meanders of our mind
By this first Cause stil secretly inclin'd
This guidance of our thought
To this high power be brought
[OMITTED] and backward we must run
To that high Origin where all begun.

Nor can we justly say that we Possess
A Will which we can Govern as we please.

Who reasons thus his sense in terms confounds
Speaks one Idea in two different sounds.

Before we grant or Answer let us bring
Our pow'r of thinking to its pristin spring.

Trace we this Thought to its Original
Let Heav'n be justify'd in Adams fall.

351

All was settl'd by Gods primeval Will.

Nor do I ask whence Sin came, but it was such that to Save the World from it the Son of God must Dye.

Could the Heathen by the dictates of Nature obtain Salvation, where was the necessity of Christs coming, and if they could not, how happens it that they were not called to pertake the benefit of His passion.

Nor matters it that God gave a free Will to Man since by his Prescience he had ordered that Man could not employ that free will otherwise then he had forseen Man should employ it.

If we had not freedom of Will there would be neither Good or ill in our Actions. There would be no occasion for a Judgement, nor Punishment, nor reward.

Now if we have not Liberty of Will
How are our Deeds imbu'd with good or ill.

[OMITTED] is it in Our Choice
To love or hate to weep or to rejoice?
Are not the Texture of our Actions wrought
By something inward that directs our thought
And we perceive delight and suffer pain
Which we can neither quicken nor restrain?

Now change the Scene my friends & let us see
How are our Actions & our Motions free.

Whence else a Dying Saviors grief & fame
And dire Convulsion of this general frame
That shook the Earth, made frighted Nature groan.
And the great Fathers will that must be done.

[OMITTED] some middle means
Which Man but hardly comprehends
[OMITTED] and let us see
How destin'd Sentence and free Will agree.

That with spontaneous Liberty we move
In vain the adverse Sect desires to prove
From inward Power and Nature of the Soul
Which Natures God can alter or controll.

352

If God does Universal Vows reject
Or only justifys his own Elect
Or those in Climes remote who never heard
His Word reveal'd are from his Anger Spar'd.

By time and Age its Notions are disrang'd
By passions short and by distemper chang'd
Nor let us vaunting fancy we are free
That we can mend or alter Heavn's decree.

Or with our little Arms go up to fight
With Omnipresence & with Infinite
Our Operations by his Will were wrought
And when he gave he fixt the Pow'r of thought.

All matters particles, all Motions laws,
Cou'd not produce so great a Second cause.
Attoms, how ever sep'rate or combin'd,
Cou'd not compose or animate the mind.
That with spontaneous Liberty we move,
In vain the adverse sect desires to prove,
From inward Pow'r and Nature of the Soul
Which Natures God can alter or controll.
Earth cou'd not form it then from heav'n it came
A part it self of the Celestial flame
Let Christians sanctify the Heathen chain
And that Prometheus which their Poets feign
Was Gods great Spirit enlight'ning passive Earth
And kindling Human action into birth
If then its vigor from Heav'n proceed
By Heav'n its force and measure is decreed
That First who did this Second cause produce
Proportions it to each recipients use
Tis Sisyphus' Stone returning stil
If God who gave the freedom form'd the Will
To form it and incline it was the same
You grant the thing while you dispute the Name.

As running Streams their parted Waters spread
Adown the hill or thrô the flow'ry Mead
Here rising bold and Turbulent in waves
There sunk in Sand or sunk in Rocky Caves

353

The human Eye may still collect and bring
To their first Murmur and Original spring:
So from the various action of our mind
To pleasure better or to grief enclin'd
Glitt'ring in Courts and shining bright in Arms
Fond of Mans praises & of Womans charms
Or flying Crowds desiring more to dwel
In the thick Woods or Melancholy Cell.

Pursue this Search to its Original:
Allowing Heav'ns Decree and Adams fall
A new Alliance and firm Covenant made
By God to be requir'd, by Man Obey'd:
Faith and Repentance on the Mortal side
The two great knots by which the Bond is ty'd
And on the part of God the human race
Assisting Mercy and preventing Grace.
Yet how can we believe or how repent
Unless the influence first from Heav'n is sent?
Strong the Condition to our bounded view
Contracted seemingly and sign'd by Two
To perfect which unable one attends
While t'other furnishes the Total means.

Again whilst Grace is Gods immediate Gift
To Heav'n in vain my Voice and heart I lift
To ask th' Almighty's Tutelary Care
Except this Grace prevents my very Prayer.
Now of this Gift if once I stand posses't
Yee Angels am I not for ever blest?
Tell me can Satan take what God has giv'n
Or all Hells darkness quench the light of Heav'n?
What after this do I implore or Crave
And need I ask what I already have?
What light of Comment can these Clouds remove
Backward and forward I uncertain rove
Thrô Labyrinths wander and in Circles prove
If the Creator call'd me forth to birth
Wou'd he, I ask, his helpless Creature leave
Thus wand'ring dark, thus groveling low on Earth
That I might Sin, he punish or forgive.

354

Before we Grant or Answer let us bring
Our pow'r of Thought to its primæval spring. [OMITTED]

The deep decrees the fatalist replyes
Of an eternal God supremely Wise
As firmly fixt are permanently sure
Thro endless chains of Ages shal endure.
Made before heav'n and Earth the word shal last
Unchangeable when heav'n and Earth are past.
Allow free will that Sentence is destroy'd
A Covenant Seal'd which after Acts may void
A Casual Fabric built upon the sand
Which can nor winds nor falling rains withstand
But yields inflex'd and sapp'd by human pray'rs
Blown down with Sighs and wash'd away by tears.

Or trace your steps thro the determin'd way
Or from the Christian Principles You stray
The Godhead thô with all perfection crown'd
Inclin'd to Mercy is by justice bound
Else whence the wond'rous kind necessity
That to Absolve poor Adam Christ must Dye
Whence the old stains imprest on human race
The heav'nly means that must those stains efface
And Nature lost redeem'd by saving Grace. [OMITTED]

Hence the long Series of Events to come
And four Monarchic Empires stated doom
Else future knowledge of Three thousand Years
The Psalmists raptures and the Prophets tears
The unveil'd Mysteries to a world restor'd
Forseen by Angels and by Men ador'd;
Hence the great Object of our future hope
And blessings following in that bitter Cup
Which God incarnate loving and belov'd
How'ever yielding beg'd might be remov'd
When prest with Agonies the suffering Son
Said Father not my will but Thine be done.

355

[Fragment from Britanicus.]

Who would prevail o'er Men must first Observe
Their Darling passion of their hearts, and thence
Govern their Ductile reason, in Britanicus
The power of Love prevails the Dazl'd Lover.

To Cloe.

There's all Hell in her Heart, and all Heaven in her eye
He that sees her must love, he that loves her must Dye.

Epigram.

My Lord there's a Christ'ning the Officer said,
The Gossips are ready, the Cushions are laid:
What, without my leave ask'd? said the Prelate inflam'd
Go lock up My Font, let the Infant be damn'd.

356

Translation of an Epitaph upon Gilbert Glanville Bishop of Rochester as written in Rochester Cathedral.

Gilbertus Glanville whose heart was as hard as an Anvil
Always litigious who shou'd have been highly religious
Full fraught with Law suits he to that Court aptly descended
Where quiet appears not, and quarrels never are ended.

From Ronsard's Franciade Book the IVth Folio 465.

On yonder Guilty Plain, long Seasons hence
Perhaps a thousand Years, Helmets and Shields,
And plated harnois shal be found, sad marks
Of memorable War, with sudden wonder
Appal'd the Villager lab'ring the Glebe
Shal hear his Plow-Share crash on buried Armour,
And throw up bones of Horses slain in Battle.

[Fragments in Prose and Verse.]

Who e'er forsakes Old Mother Church
And of new Doctrines makes profession
Will find himself soon left ith Lurch
Or cited to the Quarter Session.

I learn to think no Precept strange
That Convocation can propose
Nor ever wish nor seek for change
Except in Mistresses & Cloaths.

357

A less desert may gain a People's trust
But Thou and Aristides were too just
And whilst Thy Mind had ev'rywhere its Home
They were most banish'd who were nearest Rome.

Like a true Irish Marlin that misses her flight
Little Nanny sat Pensive & Sullen all night,
The Jack-Daw escap'd her, the loss was not great,
She may yet take a Woodcock, & that's better meat.

The God of Love was but a Boy
What Amrous Cares did P[s]yches Mind employ
And yet the God of Love was but a Boy.

Even Chast Diana mindless of her way
Stop'd on the hill where Young Endymion lay
Lay by the Stream or Slumber'd in the Wood
And rose next Day as late as e'er She cou'd.
Diana too forsoo[k] her other Cares
To teach Endymion to Observe the Stars
Stopt on the Mountain where the Lover lay
And rose But very little before Day.

Early in Life We learn the Mighty Rule
Taught by Old Bess the Foundress of our School
Neither to Flatt'ry, nor to Frowns to bend
To Scorn our Foe, but Dye to Serve our Friend.

The same Man in Place and at Court or turned out and removed from thence has a different way of Voting and speaking, as some Pictures that in another Light she[w] a quite different figure. On one side it is a Pope, on the other side a Devil, here it is a Magistrate, and there a Monkey.

Everybody Commends Modesty, Few Practice it, and None get by it.

358

We often yield to Importunity, and do good to those who do not Deserve it, meerly for our own Ease. This kind of Generosity is at best Blameable, and shews Us rather the Weakness of our Tempers than the goodness of Our Inclinations.

Regards no Judges Frown, nor Courtiers fawn
Contemns the Knave tho hid in Furrs or Lawn
Not covetous of Praise nor fearing blame
With Honour Dyes, but will not live with Shame.

Act Honestly however blam'd
And rather Dye than be asham'd.

Broghil did Cowleys thankful Muse commend
And is not Broghils Grandson Prior's Friend?
Roscommons Verse indulg'd poor Drydens Pride
While to the Patrons Voice the Bard reply'd.
Roscommon writes to that unerring Hand
Muse—slay the Bull that spurns the yellow sand.
Sheffield great Buckingham Illustrious Name
Old in Policy and in Civil Fame
Transferr'd his Lawrel to his Pupil Pope
The Patrons goodness pass'd the Poets hope.

Let Reason then her Arts imploy
Let her convince Thee doubtful Maid
That Venus is the Queen of Joy
And Thou art gentle when Obey'd.

Let reason therefore leave the breast
Which vainly we wou'd Strive to hold
And try his strength in Cælia's breast
Severe and disengaged and Cold.

There bid her all her Arts imploy
And showing Thy eternal Slave
Convince her Victors may destroy
But Legal Sov'raigns always save.

359

Thou arm'st thy Self in Cælias Eyes
Great Love when reason wou'd rebell
And ev'ry time I dare be wise
Thy rage more terrible I feel.

Repeated thoughts present the ill
Which seeing I must stil endure
They tell me Thou hast Darts to kill
And Wisdom has no Pow'r to Cure.

Avails it [a]ught to see the Ill
Which seeing I must stil endure
To know that Love has Darts to kill
While Wisdom wants the Pow'r to Cure.

O Dear to God and Man O Prince approv'd
And try'd by Heav'n, by Earth Confest and lov'd
Oh for our good Ascend thy Native Seat:
In Thee let Judah once again be great.
Let the glad Oyle from thy Anointed head,
Upon a bleeding Nation's wounds be Shed,
Pardon & Rule, let kindness grace thy Pow'r
The Throne on Mercy founded Stands Secure.

Song.

[Let Us my Dear my life be Friends]

Let Us my Dear my life be Friends
Forget all fears and troubles past
Our Pleasure on this Hour depends,
And hence for ever may it last.

Stil to improve each opening Day
Be all our future thought imploy'd
And let our Faithful Tombstone say
That we liv'd, & lov'd, and Joy'd.

Nor more e'er let our Tombstone say
Then that we Liv'd, and lov'd, & Joy'd.

Since all indeed was done by Fate
We vainly of the Events complain
Our Sorrows why Shou'd we relate
If Mem'ory but renews the Pain?

360

Those ills that were before too great
We stil augment whilst we complain
Our Sorrows why shou'd we relate
If Memory but renews the Pain.

Mankind whose various Action strives
Each others blessing to destroy
Wou'd smile malicious if our Lives
Knew any Interval of Joy.

[Jinny the Just.]

Releas'd from the noise of the Butcher and Baker
Who, my old Friends be thanked, did seldom forsake her
And from the soft Duns of my Landlord the Quaker

From chiding the Footmen and watching the Lasses,
From Nell that burn'd Milk, and Tom that broke Glasses
(Sad mischiefs thro which a good housekeeper passes!)

From some real Care but more fancy'd vexation
From a life party Colour'd half reason half passion
Here lies after all the best Wench in the Nation

From the Rhine to the Po, from the Thames to the Rhone
Joanna or Janneton, Jinny or Joan
Twas all one to her by what name She was known

For the Idiom of words very little She heeded
Provided the Matter She drove at succeeded
She took and gave Languages just as She needed

So for Kitching and Market, for bargain & Sale
She paid English or Dutch or french down on the Nail
But in telling a Story she sometimes did fail

Then begging Excuse as She happen'd to Stammer
With respect to her betters but none to her Grammer
Her blush helpt her out and her Jargon became her

361

Her Habit and Mein she endeavor'd to frame
To the different Gout of the place where She came
Her outside stil chang'd, but her inside the same

At the Hague in her Slippers & hair as the Mode is
At Paris all Falbalow'd fine as a Goddess
And at censuring London in smock sleeves and Bodice

She order'd Affairs that few People cou'd tell
In what part about her that mixture did dwell
Of Vrough or Mistress, or Medemoiselle

For her Sirname and race let the Heraults e'en Answer
Her own proper worth was enough to advance her
And he who lik'd her, little valu'd her Grandsire.

But from what House so ever her lineage may come
I wish my own Jinny but out of her Tomb,
Tho all her Relations were there in her Room

Of such terrible beauty She never cou'd boast
As with absolute Sway o'er all hearts rules the roast
When J— bawls out to the Chair for a Toast

But of good Household Features her Person was made
Nor by Faction cry'd up nor of Censure afraid
And her beauty was rather for Use than Parade

Her Blood so well mix't and flesh so well Pasted
That tho her Youth faded her Comliness lasted
The blew was wore off but the Plum was well tasted

Less smooth then her Skin and less white than her breast
Was this pollisht stone beneath which she lyes prest
Stop, Reader and Sigh while thou thinkst on the rest.

With a just trim of Virtue her Soul was endu'd
Not affectedly Pious nor secretly lewd
She cut even between the Cocquet and the Prude.

Her Will with her Duty so equally stood
That seldom oppos'd She was commonly good
And did pritty well, doing just what she wou'd.

362

Declining all Pow'r she found means to perswade
Was then most regarded when most she Obey'd
The Mistress in truth when she seem'd but the Maid

Such care of her own proper Actions She took
That on other folks lives She had no time to look
So Censure and Praise were struck out of her Book

Her thought stil confin'd to its own little Sphere
She minded not who did Excell or did Err
But just as the matter related to her

Then too when her Private Tribunal was rear'd
Her Mercy so mix'd with her judgment appear'd
That her Foes were condemn'd & her friends always clear'd

Her Religion so well with her learning did suite
That in Practice sincere, and in Controverse Mute
She shew'd She knew better to live then dispute

Some parts of the Bible by heart She recited
And much in historical Chapters delighted
But in points about Faith She was something short sighted

So Notions and modes She refer'd to the Schools
And in matters of Conscience adher'd to Two Rules
To advise with no Biggots, and jest with no Fools

And scrupling but little, enough she believ'd
By Charity ample smal sins She retriev'd
And when she had New Cloaths She always receiv'd

Thus stil whilst her Morning unseen fled away
In ord'ring the Linnen and making the Tea
That she scarce cou'd have time for the Psalms of the Day

And while after Dinner the Night came so soon
That half she propos'd very seldom was done
With twenty god bless Me's how this day is gone

While she read and Accounted & payd & abated
Eat and drank, Play'd & Work't, laught & Cry'd, lov'd & hated,
As answer'd the end of her being Created.

363

In the midst of her Age came a cruel Desease
Which neither her Julips nor recepts cou'd appease
So down dropt her Clay, may her Soul be at peace

Retire from this Sepulchre all the Prophane
You that love for Debauch or that marry for gain
Retire least Ye trouble the Manes of J—

But Thou that know'st Love above Intrest or lust
Strew the Myrtle and Rose on this once belov'd Dust
And shed one pious tear upon Jinny the Just

Tread soft on her Grave, and do right to her honor
Let neither rude hand nor ill Tongue light upon her
Do all the smal Favors that now can be done her

And when what Thou lik't shal return to her Clay
For so I'm perswaded she must do one Day
What ever fantastic J**** Asgil may say

When as I have done now, thou shalt set up a Stone
For something however distinguisht or known
May some Pious Friend the Misfortune bemoan
And make thy Concern by reflexion his own.

University of Virginia Library

POEMS FROM THE LONGLEAT MSS.

To Madam K. P.

A Pastoral Dialogue.

To a Lady Sleeping.

Charity never faileth.

1 Cor: xiii. 8.

I.

II.

III.

IV.

V.

VI.

VII.

There be Those that leave Their Names behind them.

Ecc: 44. 8.

In Praise of the Lady Margaret Foundress of St John's.

I.

II.

III.

Many Daughters have done well, But Thou Excellest them all.

Prov: 31. 29.

As spoken in a Vision to the Lady Margaret Foundress of St John's.

On the Coronation.

I.

II.

III.

IV.

V.

Not Writing to K. P.

Arria and Petus out of Martial.

Paraphrase.

To the Countess of Dorset walking in a Garden.

To the E. of D. upon His Marriage.

Journey to Copt-Hall.

On Mr Fleetwood Shephards Killing the French K***

To the E. of D*****

Advice to the Painter, Upon the defeat of the Rebels in the West, and the Execution of the late D. of Monmouth.

To the Bishop of Rochester Upon His Account of the Whiggish Conspir[a]cy by His late Majesty's order.

God is Love.

I.

II.

III.

IV.

V.

VI.

To the E. of Dorset on the Birth of His Son.

I.

II.

III.

IV.

V.

A Hymn to the Spring.

I

II

III

A Session of the Poets [_] (imperfect).

To a Friend on his Marriage.

Letter to J****

To Dr F********* in a Letter to Beverley disswading him from drinking Waters.

[Inspired Wit.]

Epistle to Lord ---.

To My Lady Exeter, on New Years day.

Her Birth-Day.

I

II

III

[Answer to an] Orange.

Song [_] Set by Mr K.

[Love has often threaten'd War]

I

II

Song [_] Set by Messrs Pickering and Tudway.

[Love I confess I thought Thee but a Name]

[Great Nassau rise from Beauty]

Cælia.

The same Varied.

A Hymn to Venus, upon a Marriage.

I.

II.

A Session of the Poets
[_]

(imperfect).

Song
[_]

Set by Mr K.

Song
[_]

Set by Messrs Pickering and Tudway.

[_]

Brouillon of a Poem Begun at Wimpole in August 1721. Transcribed from the Authors Papers since his Death.

PREDESTINATION.