Canterbury: Printed byJ. Abree.Mdccxl.
The Names of the Subſcribers to this Work.
- RightHon.Honorable the Earl ofAylesford.
- Ch.Selby Amhurſt, Eſq; of Bayhall in Kent.
- Edward Andrews, Eſq; of Briſtol.
- Rev.Mr. Alſton, of Upper Hardres, Kent.
- Miſs Ayerſt, Canterbury.
- Mr. John Auſten, St. Martin’s-Hill.――6 Books.
- Mrs. Auſten.
- His Grace the Duke of Beaufort, ―― 2 Books.
- Her Grace the Dutcheſs of Beaufort.
- Right Hon. the Lord Viſcount Blundel.
- Nicholas Bonnefoy, Esq; ――4 Books.
- Mr. Bonnefoy,――2 Books.
- Mrs. Bonnefoy.
- Miſs Bonnefoy.
- ―― Broderick, Eſq;
- Tho. Brampſton, Eſq; Member of Parliament for the County of Eſſex.
- Mrs. Brampſton.
- Tho. Barret, Eſq; of Lee, Kent. — 2 Books.
- John Bridger, Eſq; of Canterbury. — 2 Books. Miſs iii a2r iii
- Miſs. Bridger, ―― 2 Books.
- Tho. Bowdler, Eſq;
- Norbern Berkley, Eſq;
- Charles Brownof the Inner Temple, Eſq;
- Walter Breamof St. Stephen’s, near Canterbury, Eſq;
- John Bridges; Eſq; of Canterbury.
- Mr. Edward Bridges.
- William Busby, Eſq;
- William Bedford, M. D.
- Mrs. Mary Bedford.
- Rev. Dr. Bowtell, Rector of Bridge, Kent.
- Rev.Tho. Brett, L.L.D. Spring Grove, Kent, ―― 3 Books.
- Mrs. Sarah Brett.
- Rev.Dr. Bowes, Rector of Eaſtling, Kent4 Books.
- Rev. Mr.Tho. Birch, F. R. S. — 3 Books.
- Rev. Mr. Brown, Prebendary of Wincheſter.
- Rev. Mr. John Bunce, Rector of Chingford, Eſſex.
- Rev. Mr. John Bunce, Jun. Vicar of St. Stephen’s near Canterbury. a2 Rev. iv a2v iv
- Rev. Mr.Wm. Bunceof Brenſet, Kent.
- Rev. Mr. Buttonſhaw, Rector of St. Peter’s in Canterbury.
- Mrs. Bydeof Ware Park.
- Mrs. Beauchampof Hertford, deceaſed.
- Mrs. Batleyof Canterbury.
- Tho. Back, M.B.of Tenterden, Kent.
- Maſter Burdet.
- Miſs Burdet.
- Mrs. Ann Boothof Cranbrook, Kent.
- Miſs Brookof Margate.
- Capt. John Bernardof theRoyal Welſh Fuſileers.
- Lieut. John BellofBrig. Harriſon’s Regiment.
- Lieut. Robert Bell of the ſame.
- Lieut. Bernersof theRoyal Welſh Fuſileers.
- Mrs. Ann Beal.
- Mrs. Beſt.
- Mrs. Belcher.
- Mrs. Brandonof St. George’s, Canterbury.
- Mrs. Mary Brandon of St. Margaret’s, Canterbury.
- Mrs. Barnhamof Burgate, Canterbury.
- Mrs. Boothof Cranbrook, Kent. Miſs v a3r v
- Miſs Bolverof St. George’s, Canterbury.
- Mr. Barnard.
- Mr. Barnage.
- Mr. Iſaac Bargraveof Canterbury.
- Mr. John Batchelorof Dodington, Kent.
- Mr. John Beale, Surgeon, of Wye, Kent.
- Mr. Daniel Briſſendenof Canterbury.
- Right Hon. Lady Ann, Counteſs Dowager of Coventry.
- Right Hon. Counteſs of Coningsby.
- Right Hon. Lady Dowager Counteſs of Cardigan.
- Right Hon. William Earl Cowper.
- Hon. and Rev. Mr. Spencer Cowper.
- Lady Conyers.
- Miſs Charlotte Conyers.
- Miſs Tereſa Conyers.
- Lady Codrington.
- Sir Robert Cotton, Bart.
- John Cotton, Eſq; ―― 20 Books.
- Miſs Cotton.
- Miſs Betty Cotton.
- Miſs Fanny Cotton. Miſs vi a3v vi
- Miſs Polly Cotton.
- George Courthop, Eſq; of Whiligh, Suſſex.
- Mrs. Courthop.
- George Courthop, Eſq; Jun.
- Mrs. Courthop.
- Mrs. Albinia Courthop.
- Mrs. Catherine Courthop.
- Mrs. Barbara Courthop.
- Mrs. Philadelphia Courthop.
- Mrs. Ann Courthop.
- Alex. Courthopof Spreversin Hormonden, Kent, Eſq;
- Mrs. Corbettof Bourn Place, Kent.—2 Books.
- Henry Campion, Eſq; of Danny, Suſſex.
- Mrs. Barbara Campionof Whiligh, Suſſex.
- Mrs. Cockman.――4 Books. Deceaſed.
- John Cageof Thurnham, Kent, Eſq;
- ――Champnies, Eſq; ofBoxley Abby.
- Denis Chirack, Eſq;
- Mrs. Eliza. Carterof Deal, Kent.
- Rev.Mr. Clough, Vicar of Aſhford, Kent.
- Rev.Mr. John Conentof Elmstead, Kent. Rev. vii a4r vii
- Rev.Mr. Thomas Crownfield.
- Mr. Honorious Combauld.
- Mr. Claphamof Boxley, Kent.
- Mr. George Childrensof Ramhurſt in Kent.
- Mr. Richard Childrens, Jun. of Ramhurſt.
- Miſs Ellen Cooke atSwifts, Cranbrooke, Kent.
- Mrs. Courtof Waltham in Kent.
- Miſs Cuckowof Canterbury.
- Mr. Caſtle, Alderman of Canterbury.
- Thomas Cradock, M. B.
- Miſs Camelof Canterbury.
- Mr. Edward Caveof Clerkenwell, London.
- Mr. Benj. Chandler, Apothecary of Canterbury.
- Mr. Edm. Crane, Diſtiller in Canterbury.
- Mr. George Carter.
- Mr. Clarmont.
- Mr. John Chalie.
- Mr. James Chalie.
- Mr. Thomas Creedof St. Margaret’s, Canterbury.
- Right Hon. Counteſs Dowager of Donnegal.
- Hon. andRev. Henry Dawnay, D. D. Prebendary of Canterbury.
- Sir Edward Dering, Bart. Member ofParliamentfor the County of Kent.
- Lady Dering.
- Cholmondely Dering, Eſq;
- Sir Thomas Dyke, Bart. of Horeham, Suſſex. ――4 Books.
- Lady Dyke.――2 Books.
- Lady Dymſdaleof Hertford.
- William Duncomb, Eſq; of Soho.
- John Dechancour, Eſq;
- Mrs. Denewof St. Stephen’s near Canterbury.
- Mrs. Mary Denew.
- Mrs. Deedsof Canterbury.
- Mrs. Deeds of Hythe, Kent.
- Mrs. Margaret Deeds.
- Mrs. Daſhwood.
- Miſ Daſhwood.
- Mr. Dixon, Attorney at Law, of Sutton Vallence in Kent. Mrs. ix b1r ix
- Mrs. De L’Angleof Littlebourn, Kent.
- Rev.Mr. De L’Angle, Rector of Tenterden. ――2 Books.
- Lieut. Merick De L’Angle.
- Mr. William De L’Angle.
- Mrs. Eliza. De L’Angle, Jun.
- Mr. Darellof Milgate in Bearſted, Kent.
- Lieut. James Driſdale.
- Rev.Mr. Drayton, of Crundal, in Eaſt Kent.
- Mrs. Drayton.
- Mrs. Jane Decanfour.
- Mrs. Drewry.
- Mrs. Mary Duke, of Maidſtone.
- Mr. Samuel Duke.
- Mrs. Danchand.
- Miſs Ducharean.
- Mr. Butler Dewe, of Lamberhurſt.
- Mr. Edw. Dering, of Dodington in Kent.
- Mrs. Daniel, of Netherington in Wiltſhire.
- Miſs Dawes, of South-ſtreet, Kent.
- Mr. Tho. Davis, Alderman of Canterbury.
- Right Hon. Earl of Eſſex.
- Rev.Mr. Owen Evans, Rector of St. Martin’s, Canterbury.
- Rev.Mr. Eve.
- Rev.Mr. Enar.
- Rev.Mr. James Evans, Canterbury.
- Capt. David Ellis, of Haſtingleigh, Suſſex.
- Mr. Samuel Eaſtchurch, Attorney at Law, of Maidſtone, Kent.
- Mrs. Evelyn.
- Hon. Miſs Fairfax, of Leeds Caſtle, Kent, deceaſed.
- Lady Filmer, of Eaſt Sutton, Kent.
- Mrs. Dor. Filmer, of Sutton, Kent.
- Brian Fauſſett, Eſq; of Heppington, Kent.
- Mrs. Fuzzardof Wye, Kent.
- Rev.Mr. John Frances, Fellow ofPembroke Hall, Cambridge.
- Rev.Mr. Fremoult, Vicar of Wotton, in Kent. Mrs. xi b2r xi
- Mrs. Furſman, of Exeter.
- Mrs. Finch, of Tenterden, Kent.
- Miſs Fairfax.
- Mrs. Frye, of Netherington, Wiltſhire.
- Mrs. Fox.
- Mrs. Ferand.
- Mr. Peter Flower.
- Mr. Falconer, of Eaſt Grinſtead, Suſſex.
- Mr. Samuel Fullagar, Attorney at Law, of Maidſtone, Kent.
- Mr. Walter Franklyn, of Maidſtone, Kent.
- Mrs. Fletcher, of London.
- Mr. John Friend, Canterbury.
- Mr. John Fuller, of St. George’s, Canterbury.
- Hon. Mrs. Greville.
- Lady Grey, of Barham, Kent.
- Rev. W. Geekie, D. D. Prebendary of Canterbury.
- Fulk Greville, Eſq;
- John Grove, Eſq; of Tunſtall, Kent.
- Paul Guiradot, Eſq; b2 Capt. xii b2v xii
- Capt. Griffith, of theRoyal Welſh Fuſileers.
- Mrs. Goulſtone, of Suffolk.
- Mrs. Gardon.
- Mrs. Grainger.
- Mrs. Le Grand, of St. Alphage, Canterbury.
- Mrs. Le Grand, of Beſtis Lane, Canterbury.
- Mr. Jo Grigg.
- Mr. Peter Groombridge, Attorney at Law.
- Mr.Wm. Gates, Attorney at Law, at Rocheſter.
- Mr. Edward Georgeof Chartham, Kent.
- Mr. Gambier.
- Mrs. Gordoun.
- Mr.Wm. Grey, of Burgate, Canterbury.
- Mrs. Catherine Grebble, of Rye, Suſſex.
- Mrs. Glanville.
- Mrs. Gilman.
- Lady Hardreſs, of Hardreſs Court, Kent.
- John Hardreſs, Jun.Eſq; of Canterbury.
- John Honeywood, Eſq; of Kent.
- Tho. Hawkins, Eſq; of Preſton, Kent.
- William Hugeſſon, Eſq; of Provender, Kent. John xiii b3r xiii
- John Harvey, Eſq; of Dane Court, Eaſt Kent.
- Rev.Mr. Head, Clerk of the Cloſet to his Majeſty.
- Mrs. Head.
- Rev.Mr. Walter Harte, Fellow of St. Mary Hall, Oxon.
- Rev.Mr. Hind, Rectorof Milton, near Sittingbourn, Kent.
- Rev.Mr. Holman.
- Mrs. Holman, of Tenterden, Kent.
- Mrs. Anne Holman.
- Mrs. Frances Holman.
- Mrs. Rebecca Holman.
- Mrs. Horner.
- Mrs. Hanmer.
- Miſs Hanmer.
- Mrs. Howard.
- Mrs. Howard.
- Mrs. Heath, of Cranbrook, Kent.
- Mrs. Hawkins, of Boughton Blean, Kent.
- Mrs. Hendley, of Ottam, Kent.
- Mrs. Heathof Hertford.
- Miſs Hayes. Mrs. xiv b3v xiv
- Mrs. Hawkins.
- Mrs. Finch Hooper, of Stockbury, Kent.
- Mrs. Catherine Hooper.
- Miſs Hulſe, of Canterbury.
- Miſs Hougham, of Canterbury.
- Mrs. Head, of Berkſhire, deceaſed.
- Mrs. Harriſs, of Exeter.
- Mrs. Hatton, of Pluckley, Kent.
- Mrs. Hodgeſs, of Warehorn, Kent.
- Mr. John Hawker, ofUniverſity Coll. Oxford.
- Mr. John Hooker, of Great Chart, Kent.
- Mr. Stephen Hooker.
- Mr. Richard Holford, Attorney at Law, of Hythe, Kent.
- Mr. Edw. Hayward, Apothecary, of Canterbury.
- Mr. Hammond.
- Mr. Gibeon Hawker, of Dodington, Kent.
- Mr. Hemett.
- Mr. Tho. Hatch, Goldſmith, of Canterbury.
- Mrs. Hayward, of Sandwich, Kent.
- Mr. James Hanſon, Attorney at Law, Canterbury.
- Mrs. Hanſon.
- Charles Jennens, Eſq;
- ―― Jones, Eſq; of Chiſlet, Kent.
- Mrs. Jones.
- Rev.Mr. W. Jenken.
- Rev.Mr. Iſaac Johnſon, Canterbury.—2 Books.
- Rev.Mr. Rich. Jacob, Fellow ofAll-Souls College, Oxon.
- Rev.Mr. Jefferiesof Wincheſter.
- Rev.Mr. J――s.
- Capt. Alex. Johnſtonofthe Royal Regiment of Welch Fuzileers.
- Mr. Valentine Jekin, Alderman of Canterbury.
- Mr. Edward Jacob, Alderman of Canterbury.
- Mrs. Phil. Jamesof Eaſt-Grinſtead, Suſſex.
- Mrs. Jenkin, St. Martin’s Hill.
- Mrs. Jenkins, Canterbury.
- Mrs. Jekinof Longport, Canterbury.
- Samuel Johnſon, M.B. of Canterbury.
- Miſs Sarah Jacob.
- Mrs. Jumperof Stockbury, Kent. Ma- xvi b4v xvi
- Major De Jean.
- Mrs. Johnſon of Rocheſter. ―― 6 Books.
- Mrs. Mary Johnſonof Crundal, Kent.
- Sir Wyndham Knatchbull, Bart.
- Thomas Knight, Eſq; Member of Parliament for the City of Canterbury.
- George Knappof the Inner Temple, Eſq;
- John Knowler, Eſq; Recorder of Canterbury.
- Rev.Mr. Kelwayof Hythe, Kent.
- Capt. William Kingſleyof Maidſtone, Kent.
- Mrs. Knightof Oxfordſhire.
- Mrs. Kettilbyof Staple-Hall, Salop.
- Mr. Knipeof Boxley, Kent.
- Mr. Charles Knowler, Alderman of Canterbury.
- Mr. Daniel Kerby.
- Mr. Tho. Ketcherell of Burgate, Canterbury.
- Hon. Lady Emma Long.
- George Littleton, Eſq; Rev. xvii c1r xvii
- Rev. John Lynch, D. D. Dean of Canterbury. ――2 Books.
- Mrs. Lynch,――2 Books.
- Miſs Lynch.
- Miſs Anna Maria Lukyn, of Canterbury.
- Rev.Mr. Lunn.
- Rev.Mr. Thomas Leigh, Rector of Murſton in Kent.
- Mr. Lavaladeof St. George’s, Canterbury.
- Mr. William Loftie, of Canterbury.
- Mr. John Lane, of Sittingbourne.
- Mr. Leglife.
- Mrs. Catherine Lawrence.
- Mr. Adam Lawrence.
- Mr. Robert Lacy.
- Mrs. Leche.
- Mr. J. Lake, of Merſham, Kent.
- Mrs. Long, of Canterbury.
- Mrs. Loftie, of St. Margaret’s, Canterbury.
- Mr. Lipyeate, of Swale-clifte, Kent.
- Mr. Thomas Litton.
- Richard Mead, M.D. ――4 Books.
- Peter Mazere, Eſq;
- Edw. Mapleſden, Eſq; of Cheveney, Kent.
- Mrs. De Mollien.――2 Books.
- Rev.Mr. Monins, Maſter of theKing’s School, Canterbury.――6 Books.
- Mrs. May, of Tokes Court, London.
- Rev.Mr. Moreſs, Rector of Tunſtall, Kent, deceaſed.
- Rev.Mr. Milles, Rector of Harbledown, Kent.
- Rev.Mr. Martin, of Sandwich, Kent.
- Rev.Mr. Rob. Mawſon, B. A. Aſſiſtant of the King’s School, Canterbury.
- Mrs. Morley, of Droxford, Hampſhire.
- Mrs. Marſh, of Barham, Kent.
- Mrs. Maſters, of Brooke, Kent.
- Mrs. Malet, of Hertford.
- Mrs. Elizabeth Manley. Mrs. xix c2r xix
- Mrs. Millington.
- Mr. Thomas Milles, of Horſmanden, Kent.
- Mr. Francis Moyle, Attorney at Town-Malling.
- Mr. Maſcall.
- Mrs. Murrell, London.
- Mr. Marſhall, Surgeon of Aſhford.
- Mrs. Ellen Mapleſden, of Maidſtone, Kent.
- His Grace the Duke of Norfolk. ――4 Books.
- Rev.Mr. Nairn, Rector of Berwick St. Leonard, Wiltſhire.
- Rev.Mr. Norcroſs, Rector of Hothfield, Kent.
- Rev.Mr. Tho. Nicholſon, Rector of Lenham, Kent.
- Miſs Napleton, of Canterbury.
- Miſs Norman, of Newgate-ſtreet, London.
- Mr. Nicholas, of Horſeley in Surry.
- Mr. Newman, of Weſtbeer, Kent.
- Mrs. Catherine Norton.
- Mr. Noguier.
- Mr. Newoffe. c2 Mr. xx c2v xx
- Mr. Stephen Naſh, of Briſtol.
- Mr. Henry Nichol, of Barham Downs, Kent.
- Her Grace the Dutcheſs of Portland.
- Hon.Mrs. Price.
- Alexander Pope, Eſq;
- Robert Pulleyn, Eſq;――4 Books.
- Thomas Panuwell, Eſq; of Caverleys.
- Mrs. Pierce.
- Charles Pain, of Otterden in Kent, Eſq;―― —2 Books.
- Humph. Pudner, Eſq; of Canterbury. — 4 Books.
- Lewis Peters, of St. Paul’s Canterbury, Eſq;
- Bryan Pybus, Eſq; of Dover.
- Chriſtopher Packe, M. D. of Canterbury.―― —2 Books.
- Rev.Mr. Samuel Pegge, Vicar of Godmerſham, Kent.
- Rev.Mr. Peirſon, of Chiſlet, Kent.
- Rev.Mr.Wm. Pyſing, Student of Chriſt-Church, Oxon.
- Mrs. Price, Eſſex. Capt. xxi c3r xxi
- Capt. Parkinſon, of General Gore’s Regiment of Dragoons.
- Mrs. Payne, Suſſex.
- Mrs. Petman, St. Paul’s, Canterbury.
- Mrs. Parker, of St. Dunſtan’s, Canterbury.
- Mr. John Pilcher.
- Mrs. Petit.
- Mrs. Petit, Jun.
- Mrs. Crommelin Pique.
- Right Hon. Earl of Rockingham. ―― 4 Books.
- Right Hon. the Counteſs of Rockingham.―― 2 Books.
- Lady Roberts, of Glaſtenbury, Kent.
- Miſs Randolph, of Canterbury.
- Miſs Dorothy Randolph, of Canterbury.
- Rev. Th. Randolph, D. D. Rector of Petham, Kent.
- Rev.Mr. R――.
- Richard Rawlinſon, L. L. D.
- ―― De Rolle, Eſq;
- James Rucks, Eſq; William xxii c3v xxii
- William Rucks, Eſq;
- Mr. Cyprien Rondeau.
- Mr. Charles Randolph.
- Mr. D’Rouſſel, Canterbury.
- Mrs. Ring.
- Mr. Roods, of Feverſham, Kent.
- Mrs. Rebow, Parſon’s Green, Middleſex.
- Mr. Rutton, of Aſhford, Kent.
- Mr. John Roberts, Surgeon in Canterbury.
- Mr. William Rigden, of St. Paul’s, Canterbury.
- Mr. Reynolds, of Canterbury.
- Mr.Wm. Rigden, of Canterbury.
- Right Hon. Lord Charles Noel Somerſet.
- Hon. John Stanhope, Eſq;
- George Smith, Eſq;
- ―― Swayne, Eſq;
- Miſs Sawbridgeof Ollintigh, Kent.
- Miſs Kitty Sawbridge.
- Mrs. Sparks, of Rocheſter. Rev. xxiii c4r xxiii
- Rev.Dr. Stephens, Arch-Deacon of Exeter.
- Mrs. Stephens.
- Rev.Mr. Symonds, Rector of Otterden, Kent. —2 Books.
- Rev.Mr. Rich. Smith, Newington near Hythe, Kent.
- Lieu. Sediere, ofBrig. Harriſon’s Regiment.
- Miſs Spencer, Canterbury.
- Mrs. Sawkins, of St. Margaret’s, Canterbury.
- Mrs. Sawkins, of St. George’s, Canterbury.
- Mrs. Sole, of Bobbing, Kent.
- Mrs. Stample, Jun.
- Mrs. Sydenham, of Fordwich, Kent.
- Mr. Smith, of Chart-Sutton, Kent.
- Mrs. St. John, of Seven Oakes, Kent.—2 Books.
- Miſs Sarah Spencer, of St. Dunſtan’s, Canterbury.
- Mr. John Skeere, Canterbury.
- Mr. Simens, Merchant.
- Mr. S――.
- Mr. Stone, of Great Chart, Kent.
- Right Hon. Thomas Earl of Thanet.
- Right Hon. Henry Lord Teynham.—2 Books.
- Right Hon. Lady Teynham.――2 Books.
- John Toke, Eſq; of Godinton, Kent.—2 Books.
- Nicholas Toke, Eſq; of Eſſex-Street.—4 Books.
- William Tonge, Eſq; of Briſtol.
- Tho. Tompſon, Eſq; of Petham, Kent.
- Tho. Teddeman, Eſq; of Harbledown.
- Henry Tonge, M. D. of Briſtol.
- Rev.Mr. Herbert Taylor, of Bifrons, in Kent.
- Mrs. Taylor.
- Rev.Mr. Thomſon, Rector of Fonthil Gifford, Wiltſhire.
- Rev.Mr. David Turner, of Feverſham, Kent.
- Rev.Mr. Peter Torriano, A. B. of Jeſus College, Cambridge.――2 Books.
- Rev.Mr. Tyſoe, Vicar of Bredgar, Kent.―― —4 Books.
- Mr. Henry Terry, Canterbury.
- Miſs Tigh, of Canterbury.
- Mrs. Tilbe, of St. Dunſtan’s Canterbury. Mrs. xxv d1r xxv
- Mrs. Taddy, of St. Paul’s, Canterbury.
- Mr. Mark Thomas, Attorney at Law, of Canterbury.
- Mrs. Toker, of Stubington, near Canterbury.
- Mr. Matt. Teſtas.
- Mr.Wm. Twort, Jun.of Horſmanden, Kent.
- Mr. John Taylorof Biddenden, Kent.
- Mr. John Tolputt, Canterbury.
- Right Hon. Lady Grace Vane.
- Rev.Mr. Valavine, Minor Canon of C. C. Canterbury.
- Right Hon. Lady Catherine Wheler.
- Hon. Lady Frances Williams.
- Hon. Thomas Watſon, Eſq;――2 Books.
- ―― Webb, Eſq;
- ―― Weſt, Eſq;
- Francis Wiat, Eſq; of the Iſle of Thanet, deceaſed.
- John Whitefield, Eſq; of St. Margaret’s, Canterbury.
- Robert Whitefield, Eſq; of Chartham, Kent. d Rev. xxvi d1v xxvi
- Rev.Wm. Warren, L. L. D. Fellow ofTrinity Hall, Cambridge.
- Rev.Mr. P. Wright, V. of Ugley in Eſſex.
- Rev.Mr. Woodof Eaſt Sutton, Kent.
- Mrs. Wrightſon.
- Mrs. Wharwoodof Barham Down.
- Mrs. Heſter Whitefieldof London.
- Mrs. Watterhouseof Langley, Kent.
- Mrs. Wolletof Great Ruſſel-Street, London.
- Mr. Edward Warmoll, Surgeon, at Bury St. Edmond’s, Suffolk.
- Mrs. Withersof Wincheſter.
- Mrs. Williamsof Droxford, Hampſhire.
- Miſs Wickſteed.
- Mrs. Wogan.
- Mr. Tho. Wright.
- Mr. Edward Wardof Canterbury.
- Mrs. Webbof Canterbury.
Names of Subscribers before omitted.
- Mr. Nicholas Brett.
- Mrs. Martha Bendiſhof Chingford in Eſſex.
- Mrs. Moyerof Low Layton in Eſſex.
Not Vanity, nor any ridiculous Conceit of their Worth, engaged the Author of the following Pages to ſubmit her Writings to a general Inſpection and publick Cenſure. Senſible ſhe is how ſeverely juſt that Cenſure would be, and what an additional d2 Weight ii d2v Weight of Uneaſineſs that general Examination would bring upon her, had ſhe not Reaſon to be confident of the Favour and kind Allowances of the Wiſe and Learned: for ſhe has the Pleaſure, in the Liſt of her Subſcribers, to ſee many illuſtrious Names of Perſons too wiſe to be entertained with ſuch Trifles, did not their ſuperiour Goodneſs encline them to bear with innocent Folly. To theſe Honourable and generous Perſonages ſhe humbly dedicates the enſuing Sheets. Their Protection and Encouragement alone ſhe requeſts, by whoſe kind Aſſiſtance they are now publiſhed.One, iii d3r
One, indeed, there is amongſt them, whom her Gratitude would gladly ſingle out as the pleaſing Subject of her more particular Acknowledgments. But ſhe is forbid to mention that Name, which to the lateſt Day of her Life ſhe muſt always contemplate with Overflowings of unfeigned Gratitude and deſerved Eſteem. Thus much, however, ſhe will ſay, that to Him it is owing that ſhe has no Occaſion to aſſign thoſe Reaſons now for the Publication of theſe Sheets, which would have been abundantly ſatiſfactory, but His unexampled Generoſity has rendered impertinent.――Unwillingly ſhe deſiſts from enlarging upon this delightful Theme.As iv d3v
As to the following Pieces the Reader is to know they were the Employment (an innocent, and, ſhe thinks, no improper Employment) of a Youth of much Leiſure. Some little Taſte of Poetry, improved by ſome Reading, tempted our Author to try her Talents, for her own Amuſement, and the Diverſion of her Friends, in a Country Solitude. As Occaſion offered, their Number encreaſed. Had their Merit encreaſed with them! But never had ſhe a Thought of ſending them to the Preſs, till Reaſons, before hinted at, overcame that Modeſty which ſhe enjoys in common with the better Part of her charming Sex.―― Whatever Faults the v d4r the Reader meets with in the Impreſſion, they are not to be imputed to her.
N.B. The Book had been much ſooner deliver’d to the Subſcribers, had not the hard Weather at firſt, and unexpected Buſineſs afterwards, hinder’d the Printer from finiſhing the impreſſion at the Time he hop’d to have done it.
A Collection of Miscellany Poems.
On the New-Year.
Who in the Annals of preceeding Days
The different Æras of the World ſurveys,
Will find, the chequer’d Series is no more
Than a ſhort Hiſtory of Fortune’s Power;
Will find th’ Events, that mark each varying Date,
Are only as ſhe frown’d, or smil’d in State.
’Tis thus with Man—We count our rolling Span
By the Arthimetick of Joy and Pain;
Thoſe ſtrong Impreſſions Rules of Art ſupply,
Numb’ring the noted Minutes, as they fly:
On ſuch a Day I bought, or ſold a Seat,
Planted this Avenue, or rooted That;
In ſuch a Term my Law Suit had an End,
And the ſucceeding Autumn ſtole my Friend;
My Woes with Wedlock ſuch a Spring began,
And but laſt Winter I was freed again:
And thus the Chain of Life continued on
Conſiſts, of what we’ve ſuffer’d, or have done;
The reſt, a Slumber with no Viſion wrought,
Steals unperceived away, and is forgot.
Hence, or too ſhort, or tedious it appears,
As loſt in Gaiety, or dragg’d out in Cares:
And who ſo fair a Catalogue can boaſt,
As not to find his Sum of Woes the moſt?
Yet all a Face of Gladneſs ſeem to wear,
And hail with Pleaſure the renewing Year;
Strange! that we learn not by the Draught we taſte,
Our future Cup will be but as the paſt:
Why ſhould the Bleſt expect more Joys in ſtore,
Or why the Wretched they ſhall ſmart no more?
Falſe flatt’ring Hope! ſtill ready with thy Song,
To tempt the weary Traveller along;
Thou know’ſt the rugged Paths of Life to ſmooth;
And preſent Pain with future Proſpects ſooth;
Yet even thou, deceitful friendly Gueſt!
Ne’re deign’d till now to harbour in my Breaſt;So 3 B2r 3
So deep immers’d in every Scene of Grief,
Fancy itſelf ne’re pictur’d me Relief;
And now, I fear, thou charm’ſt but to betray,
To fix my Ruin a more certain Way:
How ſhou’d my Lines all artleſs, uninform’d,
Nor weigh’d with Judgment, nor with Fancy warm’d,
Expect the Wiſe the Learn’d to entertain,
Or ’ſcape the Cenſures of the Critick’s Pen?
Or how my modeſt, friendleſs Muſe prevent
The galling Taunts of idle Merriment?
Thou ſay’ſt, my Verſe with Pity ſhall be read,
In my Neceſſity my Faults be hid;
That candid-judging Charity ſhall look,
More on the Author’s Miſery, than Book!
Ah! could’ſt thou others blind as well as me,
Thy Tale might carry Probability,
And this New-Year a truly New one be:
My Life’s decline one kind Event might bleſs,
And I one Æra mark with Happineſs.
On paſſing thro’ the Place where I was Born, after many Years abſence.
Such awful Reverence as of Old was paid
To myſtick Fane, and conſecrated Shade,B2 Such 4 B2v 4
Such I by ſecret Impulſe pay to Thee,
Thou well-lov’d Place of my Nativity!
The conſcious Soul I with Gratitude renews
Her firſt Acquaintance, and with Joy purſues
The pleaſing Theme—Hail ever honour’d Earth,
Nurſe of my Youth, and Author of my Birth!
Here firſt my Soul this Robe of Fleſh receiv’d,
Here firſt in outward Semblance breath’d and liv’d;
Here firſt my trembling half-extended Sight,
With wat’ry Welcome met the Rays of Light;
Foreboding Tears! too truly that preſage
What wailful Pleaſures fill this Earthly Stage!
Scarce ſome few Years in harmleſs Follies paſt,
And ah! how quick the vacant Periods haſt!
When Reaſon dawn’d: ſuch Reaſon as by Heaven
To weaker Woman in its Wrath was given;
Spoil’d was the Spoiler; and the audacious Thirſt
Of too much Wiſdom with too little curſt;
Eve’s Theft but ſerv’d to dignify Man’s Soul,
Her Sex deny’d the Knowledge which ſhe ſtole,
Weak as it was, it yet inform’d my Mind
With new Ideas, Notions more refin’d;
Now low, contemptible, beneath Regard
The fond Amuſements of my Youth appear’d;
Fooliſh! I learnt not that all future Joys
Would prove like theſe, when paſt, but empty Toys:En- 5 B3r 5
Enlarg’d my Thought, to worthier Objects ſoar’d
My Hopes, as high as youthful Fancy towr’d;
A diſtant Proſpect glitter’d to my View,
Gay was the Surface, and the Figure new,
It ſeem’d a perfect Circle of Delight,
No Hills, no Mountains to obſtruct the Sight:
Deceitful Diſtance, thou hadſt ſmooth’d the Scene,
Levell’d the rough, and made th’ uneven plain,
Onward I roam’d—but ſtill each Object chang’d
As I approach’d; no more in Order rang’d:
Confuſion follow’d; all the ſhining Round
Was now irregular, and hideous found:
Now plain appear’d Care, Envy, Rapin, Strife,
The rugged Inequalities of Life!
How oft reluctant on the Minutes paſt,
A wiſhful unavailing Thought I caſt!
How oft, dear Place, begirt with Miſery,
Have ſigh’d for Youth, for Innocence and Thee!
Oh had my Life been ended where began,
Of all my infant Wiſh could frame poſſeſt,
And Hope and Care been Strangers to my Breaſt.
So the tall Veſſel ſitting for the Sea,
In Safety lies imperfect on the Key,
But rigg’d and ballaſt, launches out from Land,
Hoiſts all her Sail, and ſplits upon the Sand.
Collinand Silvio. A Pastoral.
Hey Silvio! whither do’ſt thou drive thy Sheep
In Heat of Day, and down the Rocks ſo ſteep?
Thou careleſs Shepherd! whither do’ſt thou roam?
No Matter where, if far enough from Home.
And why from Home? this is no feſtal Day,
Nor has thy Maſter given thee Leave to play;
Or if he had, an honeſt Lad wou’d ner’e
Let the Flock ſuffer, truſted to his Care.
Do thou take Care then, lead them to the Mead
Where thine and Philemon’s in Safety feed;
For I, no more can tend them with Delight;
Now they may ſhift (for Silvio) Day and Night.
What other Way of Living can’ſt thou learn?
Alas! to live, Silvio has no Concern.
Once I had Hopes fair Lalia would be kind,
And what a deal of Pleaſure fill’d my Mind:
Me-thought the World had quite another Look,
The Care was well beſtow’d which then I took:Up 7 B4r 7
Up with the Lark I trudg’d from Fold to Fold,
Scorch’d by the Sun, and chill’d with Winter’s Cold:
My Wages paid, I laid it by in Store
For Lalia’s Uſe, then ſweat again for more.
Three thriving Ewes already are my own,
Are her’s (I mean) they are for her alone.
Pan witneſs for me! witneſs Pan, for thou
The Love I have for that fair Maid do’ſt know.
And art thou one too, of thoſe luckleſ Swains,
Who of fair Lalia’s Cruelty complains?
Pity ſhe ever trod upon theſe Plains.
For her, poor Pollidor once loſt his Way
In Sight of Home; and let his Lamb-kins ſtray.
Young Cuddy walk’d with folded Arms one while
Becauſe, forſooth, coy Lalia would not ſmile.
Fine Lads, to let your Maſter’s Buſineſs lye,
To watch the twinkling of a Woman’s Eye!
Some evil Star o’re rul’d when I was born,
Blaſting the Fruit, and blighting all the Corn.
No kindly Yeaning had the tender Ewes,
Nor did the Kid on wonted Ivy brouſe.
The gentle Kine kick’d down the well-fill’d Pail,
And lowing Herds ran frighted through the Vale.On 8 B4v 8
On yond fear Oak the boading Raven ſat,
By Cynthia’s Beams croak’d my ſiniſter Fate.
Since then all ſorts of Cares purſu’d me cloſe,
And now, alas! I muſt my Lalia loſe.
Indeed, fond Youth, thou may’ſt have Care enough,
If against Female Arts thou art not proof.
Hie to thy Maſter, e’re the sun go to,
And mind his Buſineſs as thou uſe to do:
Or Lalia ſtill will like thee worſe and worſe.
Go, prithee get more Money in thy Purſe.
Let croaking Ravens, evil Stars, alone;
They’l vex thee more too, when thy Money’s gone.
Yet ſhun, my Lad, old Linco’s ſinful Gain,
Injoying nothing that he gets with Pain.
Sordid Diſtruſt imbitters every Hour:
Gold upon Gold, yet ſcraping ſtill for more:
Who fourſcore Years penuriouſly has ſpent,
And heap’d up Riches for his Puniſhment.
An honest Induſtry, young Swain, purſue;
Love and a Muſe, my Friend, will never do,
By purling Streams with Verſe and Oaten Reed,
Perhaps in Sing-Song thou may’ſt all exceed:
But thoſe Companions when old Age comes on,
Won’t bear thy Charges at next Market Town.A 9 C1r 9
They vainly pretended,
Who Paris defended,
For giving to Venus the Prize:
Our Moderns all hold,
One Piece of old Gold,
Is worth forty fine ſparkling Eyes.
Elante may dreſs,
And receive the Careſs,
Of each idle Fop of the Town:
Her Charms to revive,
And Cloe coquet it around.
The Strong Box
Plutus! Thou Miſers Deity! explain,
The ſecret Joys which the ſtrong Box contain;
That Laſco in his Face ſhows ſo much Glee,
When all about him, looks like Penury:
Inclos’d in Iron, un-refin’d from Ore,
What makes the Difference in the glitt’ring Store?
For whom doſt thou the envy’d Hoard ſecure?
For Fools in Folio, Wits in Miniature;
Extreams of Avarice, Extreams of Waſte,
Not Men of Merit;—but for Men of Taste.
Then let it ruſt, till a new Race ariſe;
At preſent thoſe are common Nuſancies:
See! Fools in Shoals, like wild Geeſe, flutter round,
The Gay inſipid every where are found:
Of leſs Importance than the Summer’s Fly:
By Sex diſtinguiſhed; and ’tis hard to know,
Which the moſt worthleſs Inſect of the two.
If ſuch as theſe, the Treaſure muſt divide,
Clap adamantine Locks on every Side:
Dig to the Center, place the Casket there;
And doubly curſt be he, who gives it Air:
Worſe than Pandora’s Plagues he will diſperſe,
And to Perdition bring the Univerſe.To 11 C2r 11
To Silvio. On a Country Life.
What can allure the Man, who once has known
This ſoft Retreat, to viſit yonder Town!
Thoſe ſhining Towers, which rear their lofty Heads,
As to inſult our poor and humble Meads,
With all their vaſt Incloſures, which ſupply
Such various Objects to th’ inſatiate Eye,
Are but the Inſtances of human Pride;
Which thither ſuch prodigious Wealth convey’d,
By ſome incroaching Tyrant firſt amaſs’d,
And by the ſtrongeſt Arm e’er ſince poſſeſs’d.
There Treaſons brood, and Maſſacres are forg’d,
And leſſer Crimes by greater Villians judg’d.
There thriving Avarice and Fraud are nurſt,
With dire Revenge and Soul-deſtroying Luſt:
Reſtleſs Ambition, and pale Envy reign,
And nautious Sycophants in Courts obtain.
The Wiſe by timely Flight Contagion ſhun,
Where bare-fac’d Guilt outdares the mid-day Sun;
Let bluſhing Virtue into Deſerts run.
See o’re the Mountain’s Top the harmleſs Deer
Strains all her Strength, and roughs the Thorns for Fear,
Yet the fierce Tyger ſtill maintains the Chace
And we with Pleaſure can behold the Race:C2 Till 12 C2v 12
Till the purſued, o’re-match’d, becomes at length
A Prey to the rapacious Victor’s Strength.
Then Pity claims a Share, and we deplore
Th’ unhappy Wretch, who made us Sport before.
But oh! what Horrors ſhall thy Mind aſſail,
To ſee Mankind over Mankind prevail!
The ſtanding Laws of Nature all reverſt,
And Conſcience made a Slave to Intereſt:
Whoſe rapid Streams the Banks of Honour flow,
And bear down all the ſacred Tyes below.
Nurtur’d in theſe calm Regions, why ſhouldſt thou
A Hurrican of Life in Town purſue:
Time wears ſedately here, and every Hour
Thou haſt thy ſelf, and Peace within thy Bower;
Bleſſings which mighty Monarchs cou’d not find,
Till they for Cottages their Crowns reſign’d.
Snatch’d from her warm, her native Neſt,
And to a Cage confin’d,
The Callow Linnet thus expreſt
The Chagrin of her Mind:2. Ah 13 C3r 13
Ah, Sylvia! ſince it is my Fate
Your Captive to be made,
Uſe me like Priſoners of State,
To generous Hands betray’d.
Had Nature form’d my little Throat
Like Philomel’s to ſing,
Beſtow’d on me each varying Note
With which the Woods do ring;
I’d ſoothe your anxious Hours by Day,
And charm you to your Reſt,
In thoſe bright Eyes I’d bask and play,
Then perch upon your Breaſt.
Nor once the blooming Spray regret,
The Groves or pearly Dew;
Or wiſh for any other Mate,
But live and dye with you.
Sylvia the pretty Fool careſt,
And eas’d its throbbing Heart;
Not Lesbia’s Sparrow half ſo bleſt,
Nor half ſo much deſer’t.
Had ſhe the ſame Compaſſion ſhown
To Damon’s tender Flame,
She’d kept the Shepherd ſtill her own,
And ſtill preſerv’d her Fame.
But now the Hills, the Groves, the Plains,
And tatt’ling Echo too,
Of Sylvia’s Cruelty complains,
And faithful Damon’s Woe.
Absence. Sylvia to Strephon.
No boiſterous Seas which pointed Rocks conceal,
No Deſerts wide, nor ſteepid Alpine Hill,
Oppoſe their Dangers ’gainſt the charming Swain,
And yet (alas) of Abſence I complain.
Ye Sylvan Powers, who rule this conſcious Shade,
Where he ſo often ſacred Vows has made;
Say, ſince my Heart is now ſo much his own,
Why is my Shepherd ſuch a Stranger grown.
Thrice has the Chariot of the Sun been drove
Around the World, ſince I beheld my Love;
Thrice has the joyous God in Splendor roſe
From Thetis Bed, ſince I theſe Lids could cloſe;
And thrice three thouſand Sighs have torn this Breaſt:
Prophetick all, and have forbid my Reſt,
Till with my Shepherd I again am bleſt.
Can he be falſe? That Thought be far away;
He will not Sylvia’s Innocence betray.
’Tis Honours call, he to the Field is fled;
For me, perhaps, he wields the glittering Blade:
For me he wreſtles with Dame Fortune’s Spight,
To purchaſe for us both more calm Delight.
My anxious Heart, un-us’d to theſe Delays;
How various the Ideas which you raiſe!
Love without Jealouſie is ſeldom known,
(Avert the Omen, and my Wiſhes crown!)
Should ſome fond Maid preſume to rival me,
I’d trace her through the World t’avenge the Injury.
But ah! return, ſhould I miſtaken prove,
There’s yet a greater Curſe than Jealouſie in Love.
Evadne once a flaming Toaſt,
Perceiv’d her Power decay;
Never conſider’d Time rides Poſt,
Nor will be brib’d to ſtay.
Poor Jenny oft’ was in Diſgrace
When Things ſucceeded ill;
No Fault there cou’d be in her Face,
’Twas Jenny’s want of Skill.
Madam, ſays Jenny, all in Tears,
You can’t be better dreſt;
Your Ladyſhip to me appears
A Venus, I proteſt.
New place the Glaſs, Evadne cries,
What can the Matter be?
Aminta now has all thoſe Eyes,
Which once were fixt on me!
The Toy was mov’d from Side to Side,
Yet gave us no Content;
At length to break it both agreed,
By way of Puniſhment.
The Guardian Silph who lay conceal’d
Within the Mirror’s Frame,
Soon as their Miſchief was reveal’d
Accoſted thus the Dame:
Evadne! darling of my Care,
Your Anger is in vain;
The innocent Reflector ſpare,
Of what do’ſt thou complain?
Was not an early Homage paid
Those Charms you now deplore?
Remember, thou ungrateful Maid,
Thy paſt deſpotick Power.
Art thou, Evadne, yet to learn
There is no ſecond Spring,
For that which gives thee this Concern,
And all this Trifling.
Partial to thee, my darling Care!
Beyond frail Nature’s Date;
I have preſerv’d thee ſtill ſo fair,
But now ’tis not in Fate.
No Flower ſo ſweet, ſo freſh, ſo gay,
Can ſtand the Winter’s Blaſt;
Their Bloom goes off; they ſoon decay,
And wither thus at laſt.
Jane,—bring my Night-Dreſs, put it on,
And ſet the Glaſs aſide;
When once a Woman’s Beauty’s gone,
How needleſs is her Pride?
Verses left on a Lady’s Toilet.
When Celia frowns, I vow and ſwear
She makes both Friends and Foes deſpair:
I hate to think that Things ſo vain
As heedleſs Maids and dirty Men,
A Diſh ill-cook’d, a Glaſs un-waſh’d,
A Petticoat wrong cut and ſlaſh’d,
Shou’d make good Humour, Wit, and Senſe,
Give Way to their Impertinence.
Rather let me with Sops in Ale,
In nut-brown Bowl my ſelf regale;
In Scotiſh Plod, or Iriſh Frize,
Let me be dreſs’d, if Toys like theſe,
So foriegn to ſubſtantial Joy,
Can Celia’s Peace of Mind deſtroy.
On Fair Idulia’s fertil Plain,
Once worthy of a royal Swain,
Beneath a Shade there lay a Youth,
Superiour both in Love and Truth;
Ah, Prince! the ſighing Shepherd ſaid,
Cou’dſt thou forgo that conſtant Maid;
Could Ilium’s Crown more Joys impart,
Than Love and fair O Enone’s Heart?
Me Heir to old Palemon’s Land,
Extended o’re th’ Æſepian Strand;
Well ſtock’d with many a thriving Sheep,
All truſted to my Hand to keep;
Would cruel Laura deign to love,
What Kingdom ſhould my Faith remove?
No treacherous Wife, tho’ fair as ſhe,
Who broke her Vows, and perjur’d thee,
Shou’d make me leave my Laura’s Arms,
Nor quench the Flame my Boſom warms:D2 Once 20 D2v 20
Once more be Witneſs, Xanthus Streams,
Ye gentle Soothers of my Dreams;
Ye Hills, ye Dales, ye Rocks and Floods,
Ye ſweeteſt Warblers of the Woods;
Tho’ Laura does deſpiſe my Cares,
My ſloe-black Eyes, and yellow Hairs,
My beachen Bowl with carved Brim,
My ebon Crook, and Garland trim,
My Lampee beats, and ſhows her Spight,
To every Thing that’s my Delight,
Tho’s ſqueamiſh ſhe at my Approach,
And flies me like the Serpent’s Touch,
Yet ſhe alone my Love ſhall have;
For Laura all the World I’ll leave.
Could the young Aſian Monarch be ſo vain,
To ſigh and weep more Worlds like this to gain?
What in his mighty Dangers, mighty Toils,
His dear bought Pleaſures, or his envy’d Spoils,
Could ſo attach his Soul! we, Fools! miſtake,
And of his Grief a wrong Conſtruction make:
’Twas not a wild Ambition to poſſeſs,
But generous Pity of its Emptineſs;
Propenſe to ſolid Good, his nobler Mind,
Aim’d at a Happineſs he cou’d not find
In this low Orb; Pomp, Power, Pleaſure, Praiſe,
All he had found debas’d with ſuch Allays,
That tho’ ſole Lord of the prodigious Whole,
It cou’d not ſatiate his capacious Soul;
But ſtill his native Greatneſs truly kept,
And not for other Worlds, but for a better wept.
A Pastoral. Claius and Old Philemon.
Well met, young Claius, thou perhaps may’ſt know,
The Cauſe which alters poor Alexis ſo;
E’er bright Aurora left fond Titan’s Bed,
He us’d to riſe, and skipping o’er the Mead,
Call up his fellow Swains, who ſlept too long,
And jeer the Sluggards with ſome merry Song;
His thriving Herd freſh Paſture wou’d provide,
Then ſit contented piping by their Side.
When rural Sports began, then who but he,
For Singing, Dancing, Mirth and Jollity:
Oh, how he’d laugh! and make the Laſſes bound,
Whirl ’em like Tops, they ſcarcely touch’d the Ground.
Now late he riſes, then but juſt awake,
And to ſome diſtant Shade his Steps will take;
With Arms acroſs, and leaning on his Crook,
’Tis like you find him by ſome murmuring Brook.His 23 D4r 23
His Sheep neglected, wander here and there,
No more his Pleaſure, nor no more his Care:
Slovenly dreſs’d, he comes not to the Green,
Where he ſo oft the ſpruceſt Lad was ſeen:
His Reed (I’m told) he broke the other Day,
And in a peeviſh Humour threw away;
His favourite Lightfoot, friſks and plays no more,
But lies (poor Cur) half ſtarving at his Door.
For Jokes and merry Songs he ſighs and groans,
And through the Grove reſounds Alexis Moans;
Do’ſt thou not think the Alteration ſtrange?
Say, Claius, if thou can’ſt, whence comes the Change?
Alexis caught a little Bird last Spring,
Which with indulgent Care he taught to ſing;
The Linnet and the Thruſh it did excel,
Nay, moſt agreed it rival’d Philomel.
Forgetful of her native Freedom ſhe
Delighted all that heard her Harmony:
Fair Lydia of the Priſoner did accept,
And for Alexis Sake ’twas to be kept.But 24 D4v 24
But—it is hardly yet a Month agone
That ſhe beſtow’d it on young Corridon:
Since which unhappy Hour Alexis pines,
His wonted Peace, nor his Diverſion finds.
Ah, ſilly, ſilly Youth, if this be all!
Alas! and can you think the Reaſon ſmall?
Me once my lov’d Brunetta ſerv’d as ill;
And, oh! methinks I tremble at it ſtill.
I went e’re Morning Dews forſook the Roſe,
And made a Garland for the fair One’s Brows;
Each fragrant Flower I ſtript, with Mirtle green,
With blooming Pinks and Jeſſamine between,
The Wreath compos’d; ſhe ſmil’d, and put it on,
And in my Eyes a ſecond Venus ſhone:
Thanks, Claius, ſaid the Nymph, and tript away;
But on the Evening of the ſelf ſame Day,
I ſaw her give it old Melander’s Son,
A Lad who till that Time was quite unknown.
Wild as the Winds I rav’d, and o’re the Plain
Purſu’d the Youth, and ſnatch’d my Wreath again.She 25 E1r 25
She frown’d,—and I was like Alexis ſeen,
Long time the wretched’ſt Shepherd on the Green.
And were you pity’d? ――
――Wond’rouſly by all.
Ha, ha, no more; I hear the Shepherds call.
The Time was come, the unrelenting Sheers
Sever’d the Thread of gay Lothario’s Years:
Ambition, Wealth, and Faction now no more,
His guilty Soul was wafted to the Shore,
Where Death, grim Death, preſides, and Stygian Billows roar.
New Scenes, new Notions in his Mind create;
Intenſe Reflection, now, alaſ! too late,
Inform’d him Juſtice, tho’ corrupted here,
Keeps a more ſtrict impartial Ballance there;E Con- 26 E1v 26
Condemn’d to wander in that dreadful Plain,
With thoſe whom Rapine, Murthers, Perjuries ſtain,
’Midſt Tortures all; ineffably ſevere,
The Stings of Conſcience whetted by Deſpair,
And ſtill to aggravate the Pangs of theſe
Within the View of Paradiſe and Peace;
There, on that happier Side, the Mourner view’d
Caliſta’s Shade, whom once he falſly woo’d.
He woo’d and won, then left the wretched Maid
To Shame, to Weeping and to Death betray’d,
Now pale with Grief, as was her wat’ry Tomb,
Who ſhone like Venus in her early Bloom;
With Ariadne and the Tyrian Queen,
She walk’d the Groves, and trod the flow’ry Green.
A Train attended, Partners of her Grief,
The eaſie Victims of too fond Belief.
Part wept the Source from whence their Woes began,
And talk’d of perjur’d Vows, and faithleſs Man;
Part ſung how thoſe no ſolid Joys can prove,
Who revel in the Guilt of unpermitted Love.
Conſcious Lothario ’midst a Thouſand Fears,
His Eyes now ſtreaming with no artful Tears,Ad- 27 E2r 27
Addreſs’d the well known Shade. If Love e’re dwelt
Within that Breaſt, if e’re Calista felt
One tender Paſſion, let her Thoughts reflect
On that, on all, all but my ſtern Neglect;
Recall th’ Endearments that our Youth employ’d,
Recall the Raptures which we once enjoy’d,
And reach in Pity thy once plighted Hand,
To guide Lothario to that peaceful Land.
Ah! cruel Maid! why turn’ſt away thy Head?
Is then Lothario’s Image wholly fled?
Am I forgot, or do I ſtill appear
As hateful now as when I left my Fair?
And is there none among that Troop will tell,
Will not Caliſta own, I once lov’d well?
Away, Deceiver, cry’d the injur’d Maid,
’Twas once indeed thy Talent to perſwade;
Deluſive Charmer of my unguarded Youth,
Thou Foe to me, to Honour and to Truth:
In vain, too late for Pity you implore,
Thy Crimes have fix’d thee on that dreary Shore,
Too pond’rous for the wafting Bark to bear;
Thou muſt for ever on thoſe Banks deſpair:E2 Aſſo- 28 E2v 28
Aſſociate with thine Equals! if there be
’Mongst the Ungrateful any Wretch like thee;
Theſe peaceful Regions are for Souls ſincere,
None but repenting Spirits enter here.
She ſigh’d, then ſmil’d, and glided on her Way
Thro’ the bleſt Realms of everlaſting Day.
The trembling Lover caſt a wiſhful Look,
And the Forſaking wept, himſelf forſook:
His Flame new-kindled with the Sight return’d
With Rage, with Love, with Jealouſie he burn’d:
Wild Rage, vain Love, perpetual gnaw’d his Heart,
And all Caliſta’s Woe prov’d now Lothario’s Smart.
Tir’d with the Diſappointments of the Day,
As on her Bed the Fair Aminta lay,
The wild Ideas which her Mind impreſt
Still kept their Rounds, and wou’d not let her reſt;
Till the ſweet Lark, who dedicates the Prime
To the Diſpoſer of her future Time,
Had prun’d her Wings, and tow’ring thro’ the Air
Call’d drowſie Mortals to their Morning Prayer.
With Cloyſter’d Virgins had ſhe Vigils kept,
Aminta now perhaps had ſweetly ſlept;
A Stranger been to Love, and all its Cares,
Fallacious Hopes, inſeparable Fears.
Juſt as the Sun lick’d off the pearly Dews,
Her long extended Lids began to cloſe;
Gay Fancy then aſſum’d to play its Part
In every Avenue of Head and Heart;
In various Trim preſented every Wiſh,
And the Unhappy dream’d of Happineſs:
Group of inconſiſtent Figures firſt
Addreſs’d her Senſes, by her Paſſions nurſt:The 30 E3v 30
The ſtubborn Goddeſs Fortune led the Van,
Smiles in her Face and Trophies in her Hand:
Attractive Riches, dying Lovers Tears,
Obliging Friendſhips, many happy Years;
Park, Balls, and Opera’s, and Bruſſel’s Lace,
A gilded Chariot and a laſting Face:
Fictitious Joys! how fleet your Motions haſte,
Like flying Shadows juſt obſerv’d e’re paſt;
The haſty Bubbles of a chriſtal Brook,
Rais’d in a Moment, in a Moment broke.
Loud Acclamations ſnapt the pleaſing Chain,
And all the Gew-gaws vaniſh’d from her Brain:
Her Maid in Tears the fatal Tiding brought,
Silvio had all his Vows and Her’s forgot;
That Morning married to her favourite Friend,
And here, poor Girl, her Expectations end.
Strephonto the River.
Run, little River, run and tell my Dear
The trueſt of her Lovers waits her here:
Tell her my Sighs contribute to your Speed;
Drive on your Waves till they their Banks exceed,
And my ſalt Tears combine t’ o’rflow the Mead.
Ah! happy You, which may with Freedom run
Cloſe by that Door which I am bid to ſhun.
Beneath her Window as you murm’ring go,
Sooth all her Dreams; and let the Fair One know,
As conſtant as your Motion to the Sea,
Shall the fond Strephon’s Love to Sylvia be.
A Prophecy in Julius Cæsar’s Time.
Not all thy Conqueſts o’re th’ unbounded Eaſt
Can ſatisfy th’ Ambition of thy Breast;
Tho’ North and South their humble Tribute bring,
And all confeſs, tho’ none dare call thee King;
Yet till th’ expanded Ocean Homage pay,
Cæſar! thy Glories muſt admit Allay.
Trim all thy Gallies, let thy Streamers fly,
And on yond Weſtern Iſland fix thine Eye;
See! her white Boſom ſhining from afar;
Bend all thy Force, compleat thy Triumphs there.
Serene the Climatoe, fertile is the Soil,
Worthy of Cæſar and his utmost Toil;
Honeſt and brave, the Natives yet may boaſt,
Pity! the Time will come, when both are loſt!
When Pagan Morals prove a Chriſtian’s Shame,
And Britiſh Honour’s but an empty Name;
Yet ſuch a Time—long Ages hence will come,
As ſure as Pompey’s Statue ſtands in Rome;
As ſure as Brutus does a Poniard wear,
And thou, O Julius! art Dictator here.
Hymn for the Morning.
Awake my Soul! in Concert joyn,
Soul of my Soul! the Praiſe inſpire.
Shall every Creature’s Song but thine,
Be heard in Nature’s grateful Choir?
E’re one bright Beam the Sun diſplays,
The chearful Lark has rous’d his Mate;
They ſpread their Wings and tune their Lays,
Attempt the Clouds, and ſing in State.
Who gave the Roſe that lovely Bloom?
Who gives the tender Bud to blow?
Whither aſcends their ſweet Perfume,
The Incenſe of the early Dew?
Who bounds the Ocean’s reſtleſs Wave?
From whom do chriſtal Fountains flow,
From whom the Bleſſings which we crave?
And whither do we wiſh to go?
To Him, my Soul, great Lord of all!
To Him, thy ardent Thanks return,
Low at his Footſtool humbly fall,
Who gives us yet another Morn.
Another Morn to raiſe the Soul
Beyond the daring Lark’s acceſs,
Where nothing can our Hopes controul,
Where Joy admits of no increaſe.
But, O beware! ten thouſand Snares
Lurk in the Shade of this Day’s Sun:
What ever Shape the Tempter wears,
The Tempted certain Dangers run.
Whether ſoft Pleaſures ſtrew the Way,
Or thorny Cares our Steps purſue,
An equal Malice they betray;
In both Extremes we meet a Foe.
Then hear me! Great Eternal, hear!
Through the dark Night my ſole Defence!
Be Thou in every waking Hour
The Guardian of mine Innocence.
From all Below, from all Above,
To the Eternal three be Praiſe;
Being of Beings! Source of Love!
Accept my Song, conduct my Ways.
Why, my ſuperior Part, art thou diſmay’d?
Of what, my Soul, art thou afraid?
That thus oppreſt
Thou know’ſt no Reſt,
What has thy preſent Peace betray’d?
Can Grief, can Poverty, or Pain,
With all their Terrors, direful Train,
Affect what cannot dye,
What muſt exiſt to all Eternity?
When Kings are Duſt, and Empire is no more,
And Gold has loſt its efficacious Power;
When the bright Sun and Stars ſhall mourn,
And Earth and Seas unquenchable ſhall burn,
All our Amuſements, all our Care,
All our Hope, and all our Fear,
Leſs than our preſent Shadows ſhall appear:Yet 37 F3r 37
Yet thou, my Soul! muſt be,
Tho’ now a Part of this uncomfortable Me,
A Ray of Immortality.
Joint Candidate for Bliſs or Woe,
What has thy Partner brought thee to?
In Search of Gems or golden Ore
When Merchants quit their native Shore,
If One ſupine
The Task decline,
Both muſt their glorious Hopes reſign:
Judicious Monitor! how oft do’ſt thou
Adjure me ſet the Compaſs right?
That when the Storm of Paſſions blow,
The Veſſel may be kept upright.
The Tide of Life runs ſwiftly on;
Nor needs the Influence of the Moon,
Preſs’d onwards by our Cares;
No mortal Force
Can ſtop the rapid Courſe,
Nor bid come back the long neglected Years.Yet 38 F3v 38
Yet Peace, my Soul; the God of Peace ſtill lives;
Eſſential Mercy and eſſential Power
Can every conſcious Penitent reſtore,
We ſorrow, he forgives.
The now declining Lamp renew,
Tho’ dim the glimmering Light;
Bid Sin and anxious Cares adieu,
And every vain Delight;
United to ourſelves alone,
Our Intereſt can be but one:
With utmoſt Toil
Waſh off contracted Soil;
That every Sigh and every Tear,
Caus’d by thy ſlothful Partner here,
May to the Throne of Grace aſcend,
And Heaven itſelf become our Friend.
Open, ye everlaſting Gates!
Kind Guardian Angel! lend thine Aid;
An humble Sinner proſtrate waits,
Whoſe Ranſom has long ſince been paid:In 39 F4r 39
In that laſt tremendous Day,
Remember, O my God! I am but worthleſs Clay;
The Dregs of Life and Duſt, if thou refine,
Psyche and I, beyond the Stars ſhall ſhine:
With pardon’d Saints thy Attributes adore,
And the Accuſer ſhall upbraid no more.
Peace,gentle Peace! oh, in what mortal Breaſt,
Say, doeſt thou build thy downy Halcion Neſt?
Thou early Forfeit! paid at the Expence
Of our more early Loſs of Innocence;
Through various Mazes we thy Track purſue,
Miſtake our Guide, and loſe th’ uncertain Clue;
Thy ſoft Aſylum when we ſeek t’attain,
Life wants Extent, and our Purſuits are vain.
From Fields victorious does the Hero come
With thee t’ enjoy his little World at Home?When 40 F4v 40
When the dark Stateſman’s puzling Schemes ſucceed
Art thou a Partner in his Golden Bed?
Do thy ſoft Pinions round his Temples wait
Who all Day long ſat brooding o’re a State?
Can Affluence purchaſe? dear bought Honours claim
The utmoſt Point at which the Stoicks aim?
If ſo, my Stars (injurious) I upbraid,
Whoſe niggard Influence have my Hopes betray’d;
Fix’d me in humble Shades, and warm’d my Heart
With Inclinations of another Sort;
Bad me beware Ambition’s reſtleſs Toils,
The Bait of Power, and Pleaſure’s gilded Smiles:
To ſhun thoſe Maxims Virtue never taught,
Virtue! the Baſis of each peaceful Thought:
Solid Foundation! which no Storms can move,
No Flatt’ry ſoften, — Impudence reprove;
Like hidden Treaſure, very rarely found,
Where thou reſid’ſt is conſecrated Ground.
To thee the Anchorite in his choſen Cell
Owes the Content does in his Boſom dwell;
Poſſeſs’d of thee, accompliſhes with Eaſe
Th’ unenvy’d Life of ſharp Auſterities.Nor 41 G1r 41
Nor inconſiſtent with exalted State,
If not repuls’d,—enters the Palace Gate.
By all Degrees th’ intrinſick Worth is known;
The brighteſt Gem adorns a Monarch’s Crown:
’Tis Wealth, ’tis Empire, ’tis immortal Fame,
And will ſubſiſt, when this ſtupendous Frame
Of Nature ſinks; and Vice abhors its Name:
Let that black Monſter all his Arts employ,
And each luxuriant, guilty Wiſh enjoy,
The Acquiſition muſt his Peace deſtroy.
Virtue, dear Lindamor’s, the milkey Way,
We loſe the Clue, when we from Virtue ſtray.
Cupid and the Rose-Bush.
One Moon-ſhiney Night,
The Stars too ſhone bright,
You might ſee o’re the Launs at a View;
Young Cupid ſat huſh,
Behind a Roſe-Buſh,
As the Trifler had nothing to do.
Unlucky for her,
Poor Sylvia was near,
Who ſo often had baffl’d his Power;
To Cloe apply’d,
Who walk’d by her Side,
They thought themſelves very ſecure.
That palt’ry Boy
Blind Cupid, ſaid ſhe,
How laviſh he grows of his Darts;
At Random he wounds
The meaneſt of Clowns,
He deſpairs of our generous Hearts.
There’s Damon and Thee,
There’s Alexis and Me,
What a Fool have we made of his Skill;
Tho’ he and his Mother
Make ſo much a Pother
I’ll be hang’d, if He e’re have his Will.
Says Cloe, indeed
I often have ſaid,
I would never come under his Clutches;
Young Damon is fair,
But I do declare
I’d not have him, to make me a Dutcheſs.
Let’s gather a Roſe,
Now ſo freſh with the Dews
Not Venus herſelf is ſo ſweet;
Were the blind Puppy here,
We have nothing to fear,
I’d tell him his own if we meet.
Say ye ſo, pretty Maid,
The Youngſter he ſaid,
Theſe Arrows are ſharp, I ſuppoſe,
He aim’d at each Heart;
They ſcream’d at the Smart,
But thought it a Thorn from the Roſe.
Soon came the two Swains,
Tripping over the Plains,
They ſnatch’d a ſweet Roſe as they paſt.
That little blind Brat
Shot, and hit ’em full pat;
So he conquer’d them all at the laſt.
Cupid ran to Mamma,
With ha, ha, ha, ha.
And what haſt thou done, my dear Lovey?
I have met with the Crew
That deſpis’d Me and You,
And I’Faith I have caught the whole Covey.
To the Fair Injur’d Celia.
Beauty! thou ſoft Intruder to the Heart,
Where is thy Triumph? Tell us what thou art.
Like Light and Truth, thine Energy we feel,
Hard to deſcribe, but harder to conceal:
A Gift celestial! and of mighty Sway,
Whoſe tranſient Power we willingly obey:
Auxiliary Aid! which by ill Conduct loſt
Betrays the Fair, and leaves Mankind to boaſt.
Rich in thy ſelf, but oft’ without Defence,
What Guard has Celia found from Innocence?
With glitt’ring Fortune, and obſequious Lyes,
How many Charms one Fop can ſacrifice!
Ah! Celia, thou not ſingly art undone,
The vile Contagion through the Sex has run;
We gaze, admire, then all our Arts employ,
With the ſame Pleaſure, ruin and injoy.
A generous Foe, this Secret I confeſs,
Honour is ſhock’d at Celia’s great Distreſs.
To Mrs. S――. An Epigram.
When Jupiter to Fair Alcmena’s Bed,
By Love the greater Deity was led;
He knew the Theban Dame ſo nicely chaſte,
In vain (alas) he ſhou’d his Courtſhip waſte,
Tho’ with reſplendent Rays of Godhead grac’d.
For Women have a different Taſte of Bliſs,
And one’s Averſion’s t’ other’s Happineſs:
Not Io’s Bull, nor Leda’s tempting Swan,
No Gold in Showers diſtill’d, nor artful Man,
Cou’d move the faithful Wife to change her Mind;
(Too ſtrict Example for the Female Kind.)
Amphitrion’s Image, all her Soul poſſeſt;
And in that Form, ſhe made th’Immortal bleſt.
Love’s Power’s eternal! ſhou’d the God forego
His Heaven a while, to be belov’d by you,
With leſs Expence, he might his Paſſion own,
In any Shape ſucceed,—if he your Husbands ſhun.
The Scots Lovers. A Ballad.
Trees had their verdant Beauties loſt,
Keen Northern Winds did blow,
The Earth was candy’d o’re with Froſt
And bury’d deep in Snow.
The lowing Herd for Covert ſought,
The Herdſmen blew their Nails,
And blowſey Mopſa homeward brought
Her Milk in Icy Pails.
The idle Vagrant ſhook with Cold,
As Cowards ſhake with Fear,
Half naked through the Village ſtroll’d
And to their Straw repair.
When Bonny Scot for Jenny’s Love
Advent’rous croſs’d the Tweed,
And, that ſhe might his Faith approve,
Did many a noble Deed.
Her Engliſh Lovers ſigh’d and pray’d,
But would no Hazards run,
He, tho’ he loſt the lovely Maid,
Was gloriouſly undone.
For Fortune, than the Winter hard,
Nipt every Hope in Bloom;
His Rivals all her Favours ſhar’d,
And ſent him wounded Home.
So quite undone poor Sawny was,
And quite undone the Maid;
She ſaw his Blood run on the Graſs,
And found they were betray’d.
As on the frozen Earth they lay,
Each own’d their Love ſincere,
She kiſs’d the trickling Blood away,
They dy’d together there.
Then every faithful wretched Pair,
Brought Cypreſs and Yew,
With mournful Garlands deck’t their Beir,
And ſtrew’d ’em o’re with Rue.
But Juſt Aſtrea own’d their Cauſe,
Threw Palms and Laurels down,
Beſtow’d from Heaven her loud Applauſe,
And did their Virtues crown.
When You and I ſhall to our Earth return,
And the World thinks each quiet in their Urn;
When Life’s gay Scene no more ſhall cheat the Eye
With flattering Proſpects of uncertain Joy;
When Truth and Falſhood ſhall unveil’d appear,
And Gold which rules below no Influence ſhall bear,
Then tell me, Strephon, where our Souls ſhall move,
And how our Tale ſhall be receiv’d above?H Of 50 H1v 50
Of broken Vows, a long Account for You;
For Me—the Sin of Loving ought below:
Ah! Strephon! why, was I ordain’d by Fate,
To pleaſe a Swain, ſo fickle and ingrate?
Why, from the Airy, Witty, and the Fair,
Was I the Choice of One ſo inſincere?
And why, my conſtant Heart, art thou the ſame?
Why not extinguiſh’d the diſaſt’rous Flame?
Fond Heart! falſe Strephon!—but the Conflict’s o’re;
You can betray, nor I believe, no more.
Forgive Us, Heaven! tho’ never, never here,
We meet again, may We be Angels there:
There, may my faithful Paſſion find Reward;
Your Guilt pardon’d, and my Prayers be heard.
On theLossof Stella’sFriendship.
Tell me not Cloe, ’tis in vain
Of broken Kindneſs to complain;
That it is nothing new or ſtrange,
That Stella ſhould like others change:
Wou’d that ſuffice, ’tis ſure as true,
Death is to all as common too;
Yet I remember, Cloe cry’d,
When Thyrſis favourite Shepherd dy’d.
The Body’s Sickneſs ſhall we moan,
Unmov’d with this more dangerous one?
For when we Friendſhip failing find,
’Tis ſure the Jaundice of the Mind:
The Soul her Friend diſcolour’d ſees
Thro’ the falſe Medium of Diſeaſe;
His Thoughts to Her’s aſſimilates,
Then loaths the Object ſhe creates.
Or is’t not Jealouſie that blights,
This Bud of mutual Delights?
Or does not Envy’s ſcatter’d Seed,
This Canker of Affection breed?
Which like the Roſe-enwrapped Worm,
Or ſpreads around its poyſ’nous Sperm;
Or ſucks the Sweets which Life ſupply,
And leaves the ſapleſs Flower to dye.
Medea’s Secret, we are told,
Cou’d re-invigorate the Old;
Rekindle Youth’s extinguiſh’d Blaze,
And thaw the frozen Stream of Age:
This may be probable, But who
Decaying Friendſhip can renew?
That, once impair’d, like Womens Fame,
No Art, no Labour, can redeem.
Ungrateful Lambs! Why ſhou’d ye play,
In fond Agreement, all the Day?Is’t 53 H3r 53
Is’t not enough, my Friend to loſe,
But you muſt aggravate my Woes?
Ah, Philomel! how chang’d thy Note!
Is then thy Melody forgot?
Why dos’t that mournful Tale repeat,
Who erſt were us’d to ſing ſo ſweet?
Be ſilent there, thou troubled Spring!
Peace, Zephyr, with thy murmuring!
Ye envious Shades, What have I done,
That you ſhou’d hide me from the Sun?
Are you then all with Stella join’d?
Or is the Difference in my Mind?
I liſt not it was Friendſhip’s Power,
That taught you all to pleaſe before.
Forgetful Maid! How oft’ did we,
Beneath yon Shade-extending Tree
Together, Shakeſpear’s Senſe admire,
Or Congreve’s Wit or Waller’s Fire?
How useful have our Minutes paſt,
While each improv’d the other’s Taſte;And 54 H3v 54
And mutual Comment brought to Light
Beauty’s eſcaping ſingle Sight.
When happily ſecure of This,
I envy’d not a Monarch’s Bliſs;
Pleaſure like this, what Monarch ſhares?
Who ſhou’d be kind are Flatterers.
Ah, Stella! I ſuſpect that you
Had better lik’d a Flatterer too
Whoſe Tongue, perhaps, had ſpread your Fame,
Where awkward Friendſhip hinted Blame.
Ingenious Pope! whoſe better Skill
Can dive into a Woman’s Will,
How truly have thy Numbers told
Her Soul is of too ſoft a Mould,
A laſting Character to hold.
Her Inclination’s fickle Side,
The varying Guſt of Paſſion guide;
And her Affection ſhifting Stream,
Flows and reflows as mov’d by Them.
Since this is ſo, ſome future Wind
May change again my Stella’s Mind;
And that inconſtant Appetite,
Which firſt divorc’d us, re-unite.
’Tis thus the Viper’s venom’d Smart
Eludes the baffled Rules of Art;
Till in her ſelf a Medicine’s found
To heal her ſting-inflicted Wound.
Reflections on the Sight of a Vault.
In this dark Gloom by the pale Taper’s Light,
How my Soul ſhudders at th’ amazing Sight!
Solemn Tranquility! moſt aweful State!
Tremendous Ruin! wretched Mortal’s Fate!
Ye ſilent Horrors!—Where’s the Grandeur now
With which you made your Ent’rance here below?
When Dust on Dust, and Earth on Earth is thrown,
The Pomp retreats, and we are left alone;That 56 H4v 56
That undiſturb’d th’ inſatiate Worm may feed,
Seize the cold Prey, and wanton o’re the Dead:
Nouriſh’d by what was once our Pride and Care,
How cloſe th’ Alliance which commences here!
O, my ſad Soul! muſt thy Companion be
Reduc’d indeed to this Deformity?
Made a pale Victim to remorſeleſs Death,
A mould’ring nautious Clod devoid of Breath?
See, ’midst theſe ſqualid Heaps, if ought appear,
That Beauty, Senſe, or Strength did once inhabit there.
Humane the Tears which the Great Perſian ſhed,
As He his Millions on to Glory led;
To Think how ſoon each Individual muſt
Pay Nature’s Tribute, and unite in Duſt:
Ambition paus’d, and generous Pity ſway’d;
Compaſſion govern’d, and his Eyes obey’d:
His Soul confeſs’d, what he abhorr’d to own,
A Power ſuperior to the Perſian Throne.
Down Pride, and Vanity! Reſentment dye,
Theſe Manſions know, no Inequality:The 57 I1r 57
The Glair of Riches, the Inſults of Power,
When here arriv’d, will envy’d be no more;
Diſtinguiſh’d once, have now impartial Share
Of the cold Honours which are center’d here:
Fortune’s proud Minions ſhall no more oppreſs,
And the much Injur’d ſhall obtain Redreſs:
The ſighing Priſoner ſhall no more complain,
Nor longer drag his macerating Chain;
But every Wretch, emphatically ſo,
Shall quit the Burthen of his various Woe.
Tremble thou, Atheist! who’s extended Wiſh
Is to find a Refuge in a State like this!
Conſcious too late; when Time ſhall be no more,
Were thy vile Atoms drove from Shore to Shore,
Omnipotence will thence collect the Whole,
And re-unite them to thy blacken’d Soul;
Raiſe thee to Horrors, exquiſitely great,
Which cou’d Thought fathom, Tongue cou’d ne’re repeat.
Hail, venerable Reliques! once the Shrine
Of Souls, who now in bliſsful Regions ſhine!
Tho’ the Great Maker’s Image be defac’d
By Sin, by Sorrow, Time and Death laid waſte,
The latent Principle of Life entire,
You’ll Phenix like, riſe from celeſtial Fire:
Sure of Refinement, to your priſtine State,
Meet your glad Conſort, and her Joys compleat.
No impious Hand this ſacred Duſt prophane!
To the deciſive Day, in Peace remain.
Forgive me, Philomel, if I no more
Can Tereus matchleſs Cruelty deplore;
I muſt believe thy Senſe of Grief is paſt,
Who ſo melodiouſly the Night canſt waſte,
Nor can the pointed Thorn annoy thy Breaſt,
Was ever Sorrow in ſuch Notes expreſt?
O, no, the Gods, in Pity to thy Wrong,
Gave in Exchange, for a frail Woman’s Tongue,
A laſting Power to pleaſe with thy inimitable Song.
Indulgent of thy Fate, they now aſſign,
That every Glory of the Spring be thine;
Where, undiſturb’d, thou may’ſt its Joys poſſeſs,
And listening Ears, with me, thy tuneful Numbers bleſs.
To a Lady.
Who deſir’d Me to Anſwer her Lover’s Letter.
When Philadella you deſire
That I of Love ſhould write,
You muſt ſuppoſe I’ve felt the Fire
Or how ſhould I indite?
The tender Paſſion, I confeſs,
Was once poor Sylvia’s Theme;
But, ah! how hard ’twas to expreſs,
Even while I felt the Flame.
A Stranger to the happy Swain,
Who does your Thoughts employ;
I may by my unlucky Pen
Your growing Hopes deſtroy.
No Rules, alas! there are in Art,
Which can the Paſſion move;
Nature muſt dictate from the Heart,
And Love himſelf teach Love.
From Tempe’s charming Vale draw near,
And from th’ Arcadian Plains;
Ye Nymphs and Shepherds all declare
Love’s Pleaſures and his Pains.
Say, when Poſſeſſion crowns your Wiſh,
If Joy be then ſincere?
O, no! we fear to loſe a Bliſs,
Which once has coſt ſo dear.
’Tis hard to know when Hearts are joyn’d;
Or, if they’ll ſo remain:
The Nymph too often proves unkind;
Too often falſe the Swain.
Tityrus, Damonand Linco.
This ſpeckl’d Goat, I for my Cloe rear;
Fair is the Maid, and how to pleaſe my Care.
Behold this Garland, ’tis for Phillis wove;
Fair is the Maid, and I all over love.
Sing thou of Phillis, Cloe I’ll rehearſe:
And Linco, be thou Umpire of our Verſe.
If I ſing beſt, thy Lelaps ſhall be mine;
If Thou, this Crook and Tar-box ſhall be thine.
Count all the Pebbles in this bubling Brook,
Or all the Leaves on yonder ſpreading Oak;
Then may’ſt thou number up my Cloe’s Charms,
And gueſs the Paſſion which my Boſom warms.
Count all the Colours of the Rain-bow bright,
Or all the Stars in a clear Winter’s Night,
My beauteous Phillis has as many Charms;
As many Joys contain’d within her Arms.
Apollo lov’d not Daphne half ſo true;
I’ll give her all I’m worth, this tender Ewe,
With both her Lambs; and all my mellow Pears;
My Linnet, and my prating Starling’s hers:
Grant, Venus! ſhe Accept of Them and Me,
And every Year I’ll pay a Dove to Thee.
On this ſame Bank I kept my Goats one Day,
And down that Path came Cloe freſh as May;
A Sky-blue Ribbon ty’d her flaxen Hair,
Her Arm a Basket full of Flowers did bear:
Two little Lambs run frisking by her Side;
By Turns ſhe play’d with both, and both would chide;
One was all black, and did his ſhining owe
To her fair Hand, which did beſtroke him ſo:Black 64 I4v 64
Black, as a Coal, is Titryus; may ſhe,
Great Cupid! quickly grow as fond of me.
My Phillis may with any Maiden vie;
A lovely Cheſnut Hair and ſparkling Hazle Eye;
Slender, and tall; a Goddeſs in her Mein;
The Wonder and Delight of all the Green.
Cloe her Lambs by Iſis River feeds,
And all the Naids leave their ouzey Beds,
To ſee her pretty Face, and hear her Song;
The Nymphs and Graces wait her all Day long:
For Cloe, every Swain will make him fine;
And Pan, for her, will all his Flocks reſign.
I yield my Verſe, but will for Love contend;
Here, take thoſe Toys, and Hymen both befriend.
Both have ſung well, and Damon well has ſpoke;
He ſhall not want a Tar-box, nor a Crook.
To theMemoryof AnnaBella.
From Parnaſſus Hill deſcend
A while, ye Tuneful Nine attend;
Attend on me alone:
A bold Demand, ’tis true!
But ſingly ne’re a One of You,
Can the rapturous Song purſue;
With exalted Thoughts inſpire,
Bring every One her ſofteſt Lire,
And make the Cauſe her own.
Let Sacred Friendſhip be the Theme;
And ſing my Annabella’s Name;
Worthy of all your Art:
Let the ſame Honours here be done,
As Cowly paid to Jeſſe’s Son,
And his beloved Jonathan,
When Greater than Apollo bore a Part.
Sing of the Maid from early Youth,
A Patroneſs to every Truth;
Whom Intereſt could not ſway:
To all who truly knew her dear;
Of tender Nature, Soul ſincere;
A poinant Wit, and Judgment clear,
As Phœbus brighteſt Ray.
But this, alas! ſeems all my own;
A weak Attempt, and nothing done;
I begg’d for Inſpiration:
Or, do the conſcious Choir,
Knowing her Virtue’s ſo divine,
The bold advent’rous Task decline;
And enviouſly admire.
Say, gentle Siſters, is it juſt,
That Annabella’s ſacred Duſt,
Shou’d unreguarded lie?
That ſuch a Daughter, Siſter, Friend,
You ſhould unwillingly attend,
And not your beſt Aſſiſtance lend,
To grace her Memory?
Ingrateful! to deſert a Name,
No Stranger to Caſtalia’s Stream;
Tho’ ſtudious to avoid the Fame:
Melodious was her Soul:
Love and Friendſhip ſhar’d her Breaſt;
Friendſhip which could bear the Teſt,
And nothing over-rule.
Inexorable! ſtill refuſe!
Not one good-natur’d generous Muſe,
To aid my feeble Lays;
Hark! how the Choriſters above,
From Regions of eternal Love,
Smiling aſſert, Not all our Skill,
Had I the Power, and you the Will,
Could chaunt out half her Praiſe.
Salina ſaunt’ring in a Shade,
Her Shoes were ſlipt, her Gown unty’d;
A ſingle Pinner on her Head,
And thus the eaſie Trollop cry’d;
Thus diſengag’d from all the Crew,
Which on a Lady’s Riſing wait,
I can without Conſtraint purſue,
The Pleaſure of this ſoft Retreat.
She oft had heard, that Poets choſe
To be retir’d from Noiſe and Rout;
And fancy’d ſhe could now compoſe,
If ſhe could find a Subject out.
By Chance ſhe had one Pocket on;
Therein a Pencil neatly made:
She pull’d it out, and ſat her down,
And thought ſhe’d more than half her Trade.
The back-ſide of a Billet deux
Was ready to receive her Notions:
The firſt Thing ſhe reſolv’d to do,
To put in Rhime her Morn Devotions.
She then began with the Sublime;
But found the Theme ſo much above her,
She paſt it till another Time,
And choſe to Poetize her Lover.
The great Diſpute, which Name to uſe,
Of Damon, Pythias, or Endymion;
Did, by the Way, ſo damp her Muſe,
That ſoon ſhe alter’d her Opinion.
Aid me, Melpomene! ſhe cries,
The Weakneſs of my Sex to ſing;
While I lament their Vanities,
Do thou thy choiceſt Numbers bring.
Bleſs me! how trifling is the Laſs,
Spends ever half the Day in Dreſſing;
It makes me hate a Looking-Glaſs,
And loathe a Toilet paſt expreſſing.
No farther had the Nymph the Power;
Abrupt ſhe threw the Paper by;
Quo’ ſhe, ’tis an unlucky Hour,
Walk one Turn more, and then I’ll try.
Help, Thalia! comic Strains to ſing;
Apollo, pray attend it;
Juſt then, her Petticoat broke a String,
And forced her Home to mend it.
Venus Reveng’d. A Song.
A Renegade Swain,
Who Love’s Sanctions had broke,
Triumph’d o’re the Plain,
He had caſt off the Yoke:
He Venus inſulted, and banter’d the Boy;
While his Jeſt, and his Bottle, compleated his Joy.
The Goddeſs prophan’d,
Thought it Time to aſſert,
The Power ſhe once gain’d,
O’re his trifling Heart;
She ſwore by her Charms, ſhe’d reduce the fond Youth;
And plague him at once, with Love and with Truth.
From Paphos inrag’d,
Her Honour came down;
And quickly engag’d
That Stripling her Son
To ſharpen his Arrows, and ſhe’d find a Laſs,
Should revenge the Affront and humble the Aſs.
Young Cloe appear’d;
And twang went the Bow:
The Shepherd declar’d,
She had met with him now.
But to leſſen the Conqueſt, took Care to diſcover
As much of the Mad-man and Fool, as the Lover.
Plunging through all the various Ills of Life,
With every Paſſion, every Care at Strife,
Shun vain Amuſements; for in them you’ll find,
Only a ſuperficial Eaſe of Mind:
Firſt, Heaven addreſs; then to the Muſe repair;
That will ſupport thee, this divert thy Care:
Tho’, like ſucceeding Waves, Miſfortunes haſte,
And thou on Rocks and dangerous Shelves art caſt,
Deſpair not to attain the Port of Peace at laſt.
This found the Royal Saint, diſtreſſed Iſrael’s King,
Who, though the Floods o’rewhelm’d, could pray and ſing:
His ſtrong Reſource was Heaven; there fix thine Eye,
And with the Eagle build thy Neſt on high:
Indignant look on ſublunary Bliſs;
Diſtance will render every Object leſs;
And cloſe Reflection, the true Value ſhow
Of what has Power, to diſcompoſe thee now.
What Sacrifice ſhall I prepare!
How an accepted Altar rear?
Great Babel’s Tower it muſt out-vie;
Surmount the Clouds, and reach the Sky:
Of poliſh’d Marble let it be,
Form’d with mighty Accuracy:
Let Ophir’s Gold adorn the Baſe,
Its Pedeſtals Corinthian Braſs,
And ſhining Gems its Corniſh grace.
Shittim and Lebanon contend,
Which ſhall the faireſt Cedars ſend;
Sidonian Artiſts carve them out,
And Ivory Columns place about:
Let Perſian Carpets ſpread the Ground,
And Tyrian Purple hang around:
The coſtly Fir and Ebony,
The Myrtle and the Almug Tree;
Bring every Shrub from Carmel’s Hill,
Delightful for its Shade and Smell;From 75 L2r 75
From Sheba’s Land bring each Perfume,
And let Arabian Spices come.
Sharon, thy Roſe in Splendor bring;
The Lilly, fairer far than Iſrael’s King,
Come, and profuſely ſtrew the Offering.
The fatted Calf from Jordan’s Stream,
The Kid juſt bleating from its Dam,
The firſt Year’s Heifer hither lead,
Freſh from the Paſture let it bleed:
Nor will one of each ſuffice,
To count-leſs Numbers let ’em riſe:
Whole Hecatombs the Pile ſhou’d load,
Pacifick of an Angry God!
Could this be done, this Care and Coſt,
It were, my Soul, intirely loſt,
Till thou, with contrite Tears apply
To Him, who ſuffer’d on Mount Calvary:
On that Attonement only, dare confide,
Who now lives for thee, and there for thee dy’d.
An Evening Hymn.
Come, Bleſſed Spirit, Great Three One!
My languid Soul inſpire;
Help me to do what muſt be done,
E’re I to Reſt retire.
The Morn is paſt, the Noon-tide o’re;
And the declining Sun,
Obedient to Creative Power,
His ſteady Courſe has run.
Perhaps, no more on Earth to riſe,
At leſt, to ſhine on me;
The Cloſe of Night, may cloſe theſe Eyes
To all Eternity.
Reflect, my Soul, the Days and Years,
The Hours of dark Account;
Trifling Purſuits, and fruitleſs Cares,
To what do they amount?
E’re thou preſume to lay thy Head
On thy ſoft Pillow down,
Call the Almighty to thine Aid
And thy Tranſgreſſions own.
Art thou in Peace, in perfect Peace;
No Guilt of Heart, or Tongue?
Are there no Paſſions to repreſs;
Nothing to wiſh undone?
With Magdalen doſt thou repent,
The Errors of thy Youth?
With Peter’s, do’s thy Heart relent
When deviating from Truth?
If ſo, there’s richer Balm in Store
To cleanse and heal thy Wound,Than 78 L3v
Than ever fruitful Gilead bore,
Or can on Earth be found.
And ſhou’d the dreadful Trumpet call,
To Univerſal Doom;
Thy Sins, tho’ red as Scarlet, ſhall
As white as Snow become. Iſaiah 1.18.
What, tho’ To-morrow’s Dawn behold,
This corruptible Frame,
Lie a pale Object ſtiff and cold,
And nothing but a Name?
My Soul, enlarg’d, may tow’ring fly,
Born on ſoft Mercy’s Wing,
Through all the Wonders of the Sky
Toward Heaven’s Almighty King.
The Angelick Hoſts, forever pure,
My late Return ſhall bleſs;
Nor Sin, nor Sorrow, ever more,
Conſpire againſt my Peace.
Then O, ye Lov’d! ye Darling few!
On Earth my Joy! my Care!
We ſhall again our Loves renew,
As laſting as ſincere.
Thoſe falſe Suggeſtions, Fleſh and Blood,
Did interpoſe below,
Shall then be clear’d, and underſtood,
And unmixt Friendſhip flow.
That cordial Drop, made Life ſo ſweet,
Shall ſwell like Jordan’s Stream;
Make every other Bliſs compleat,
In one celeſtial Flame.
Glory and Praiſe! for ever due,
Let every Creature pay,
To Him, who only can beſtow,
That Peace, for which we pray.
Thou Power, Supream! who didſt inſpire
The Royal Prophet’s Sacred Song,
Permit me, take my humble Lyre,
Aſſiſt the Muſe, and tune my Tongue.
Bid every Storm of Paſſion ceaſe;
And ſoften every jarring String:
Sooth all my Faculties to Peace,
While to the God of Peace I ſing.
Bleſt Paraclete! my Soul adorn,
That fit Reception may be given,
The Day-ſpring of this happy Morn;
And the glad Tidings ſent from Heaven.
From Heaven and Earth, from Seas and Air,
All ye harmonious Beings join;
Exert your ſelves, in Praiſe and Prayer,
And make the Concert all divine.
A Saviour Born, to Loſt Mankind!
O, conſcious Sinner, bend thine Knee;
The next Great Advent let him find,
Th’ Effects of boundleſs Charity.
With thy Offences, quit thy Fears;
Confide in an Almighty Power;
Mix with thy Joy repentant Tears,
And all thy Wants to Heaven explore.
Then, with the bright Angelick Train,
Who waited on Heaven’s New-born King;
Repeat their rapturous Hymn again,
And with ſeraphick Ardour ſing.
Blame not, Miranda, what you’re now to learn;
Who can be wretched yet without Concern?
You, on the ſmiling Surface, gently glide,
The Winds to favour, and a flowing Tide;
Your tender Bark ne’re felt a Winter’s Gale,
No Storms to ruffle your expanded Sail:
But I, from Wave to Wave, have long been toſt;
My Tackling ſhatter’d, my Sheet Anchor loſt:
Frequent, on pointed Rocks, my Veſſel thrown,
Or Savage Coaſts, where Pity is unknown:
Pity! even that cool Cordial’s ſome Relief,
That may alleviate, tho’ it cure no Grief:
No Judgment can you make from what you feel;
Time and ill Fortune muſt the Secret tell.
Whilſt that afflicted Pattern of the Eaſt Job, 1ſt Chap.
Was in his Subſtance, in his Children bleſt;Whilſt 83 M2r 83
Whilſt the Almighty’s Favours crown’d his Head,
What Adoration by the World was paid?
Old Age ſubmitted, by his Grandeur aw’d;
And Self-conceited Youth his Senſe applaud:
The Poor were grateful, whilſt a liberal Power
Thought fit to bleſs, and give ’em Hopes of more.
But when rapacious Hands had made a Prey,
Deſtroy’d his Servants, led his Flocks away;
When the commanded Terrors from on High,
Took every Child from the fond Father’s Eye,
The Great, the Good, the Patient did lament;
And ſhew’d his Grief, tho’ not his Diſcontent:
Diſtreſt on every Side, and left forlorn,
Durſt curſe the fatal Hour that he was born;
Friendship itſelf grew rigid and ſevere,
And added to the Weight he had to bear:
Ceaſe then, my Dear Miranda, give me Room,
My Woes are preſent, Heav’n knows what’s to come.
Lovely, as happy Eden, to the Sight!
When firſt created Man beheld the Light;
As worſhiping he rais’d him from the Ground,
And with admiring Eyes ſaw all around
Thus gaily dreſs’d, he blooming Nature found.
Such, the delightful Greens, and every Flower;
With which well pleas’d, he adorn’d the Bridal Bower.
When to his Arms his charming Spouſe was given
A Preſent, worthy of indulgent Heaven;
So ſung the Birds, ſo ſmelt the opening Roſe,
And ſuch Perfumes, did through the Air diffuſe;
No ruffling Winds oppos’d the curling Waves,
Nor from their Branches tore the verdant Leaves;
No ſultry Dog-Star threatned to annoy,
Nor nipping Froſts the tender Fruit deſtroy:
The Elements were all at Peace with Man,
Till he, himſelf, the dangerous War began.Nature 85 M3r 85
Nature recoil’d at the audacious Stroke;
And Heaven, with Justice, did its Gifts revoke:
Thoſe promis’d Joys, he to Obedience gave,
All diſappear’d and Man became a Slave;
Subject to Paſſions, liable to Death;
To breathe with Sorrow, momentary Breath:
From Paradice, tranſporting Scene! was driven,
And made precarious all the Joys of Heaven.
A Letterfrom aGentlemanin Ruſſia.
With the Answer.
From Seas of Ice and Hills of Snow,
Where Nore Nore-Eaſt ſo frequent blow,
Where Sun but ſeldom ſhews its Head,
No ſooner up, but goes to Bed:
While Beaſts of Prey do roam all Night,
And Ink is frozen while I write,
Where Balls, nor Parks, nor Plays are ſeen,
Nor Ladies with a jaunty Mein:‘I, 86 M3v 86
I, wrapt in Skin of Native Bear,
Do ſhudd’ring ſpend the gloomy Year.
The Date of Yours ſo chills my Veins,
How ſhall I read the ſad Remains?
Neighbouring Siberia’s dreadful Waſte,
Where Criminals of State are plac’d,
When Jealouſies diſturb the Reſt
Of the Great Ruſſian’s Royal Breaſt;
There, till ſuſpicious Qualms abate,
The Wretch lives Object of his Hate,
Ah! have a Care, with all your Tricks,
How you ingage in Politicks;
Baniſh’d, my Dear, Aurelia’s Sight,
And Friends which were my Soul’s Delight,
Were you to Dear Aurelia true?
Nor did your Friends complain of you?
To you, my Love, in happier Clime,
I chuſe to eaſe my Heart in Rhyme;
Tho’ you, perhaps, mayn’t now receive
’Bove half the Lines which I contrive:
For, have you never heard, my Dear,
Our Froſts are ſometimes ſo ſevere,‘That 87 M4r 87
That even our Words congeal ſo faſt,
They can’t be heard till Winter’s paſt?
Theſe Things, as real Truths, are known
Upon the Spot, where they were done.
Yes, I have heard of ſome ſuch Jokes,
You Travellers tell to home-bred Folks;
Of Heaps of Noſes too were found;
Take Heed, if yours yet be found.
Then think, my Love, what ’tis I bear,
Who freeze and burn throughout the Year!
Can’t you proportion theſe Extreams,
And make Snow-water quench your Flames?
With us, ’tis us’d at every Turn;
Probatum eſt, to cure a Burn.
O’re Rocks and Mountains, Seas and Land,
As I my Rain-Deer’s Speed command,
How oft’ I wiſh her nimble Feet,
By Nature, were with Wings replete;
That I might poſt o’re all, through Air,
And in Hide-Park ſalute my Fair.
Your Equipage would ſtrangely pleaſe;
We ſtill delight in Novelties:But, 88 M4v 88
But, pray, don’t make the Devil your Friend,
To help you to your Journey’s End;
Aſtride behind ſome Lapland Witch,
Upon a new-cut Hazle Switch,
If at my Feet you ſhould alight,
You’ll kill your Deareſt with the Fright.
Kind Fortune! back to Albion’s Shore,
Th’ unhappy Celladon reſtore!
I own that your Diſtreſs is great;
But――e’en make a Merit of your Fate:
For ſhou’d kind Fortune play the Fool,
And take you from Affliction’s School,
You’ll ne’re return a Man of Worth,
Who were not ſo, at ſetting forth:
Believe me, Celladon, that here
We’ve Thouſands ſuch as You to ſpare.
No Strephon, no, I now diſpute your Power;
There was a Time――which can return no more,
When my fond Heart, too partial in your Cauſe,
With Pleaſure had ſubmitted to your Laws:
The Influence own’d, you like a Tyrant reign’d;
With how much Toil my Freedom I regain’d!
You found my Heart diſintereſt’ and ſincere;
But, Strephon――did we meet upon the Square?
Did not your falſe malignant Paſſion come,
Like Honey Dews, upon my early Bloom?
As fatal to my Peace, as to the Spring
The Ruin, thoſe deſtructrive Symptoms bring?
Cou’d ought but Tears waſh off the dang’rous Blaſt;
And cou’d I fly from your Deſigns too faſt?
Foreboding Fears to my Aſſiſtance came,
Lov’d was my Strephon, much more lov’d my Fame:N Go, 90 N1v 90
Go, Strephon go; the Guards are doubl’d now;
Such my Defence I fear not even you:
You! the grand Maſter in the Art to pleaſe,
Who boaſt of Conqueſts gain’d with ſo much Eaſe,
Muſt to ſome diſtant Climate now remove;
And where your Name’s unknown pretend to love.
Shou’d Cæſar’s Fortunes there, your Steps purſue,
And Victory incline where e’re you go,
May Sylvia’s guardian Angel warn the Fair,
To ſhun the Miſchiefs you have practic’d here;
Or――let her all the Woman’s Skill exert,
To plague, or to reduce thy treach’rous Heart.
On the New Faſhion’d Fans with Motto’s.
A Speaking Fan! a very pretty Thought;
The Toy is ſure to full Perfection brought:
It is a noble, useful, great Deſign,
May the Projector’s Genius ever ſhine!
The Fair One now, need never be alone:
A Hardſhip ſometimes on the Sex is thrown;
For Female Notions are of that Extent,
Impoſſible, one Tongue, ſhould give ’em vent.
New Schemes of Dreſs, Intrigue, and Play,
Want new Expreſſions every Day:
And doubly bleſt! muſt be that mortal Man,
Who may converſe with Sylvia and her Fan.
A Receipt for an Extraordinary Made-Dish.
Take off Fleſh, and Blood, and Bone,
A living Thing of Twenty One;
Sent from the Schools for want of Brain,
To ſee its dear Mamma again:
It may be either fat or lean,
Or black or fair, or blue or green;
’Tis not the Colour, but the Make,
Quantum ſufficit you muſt take;
Fit it out, to make a Tour,
Let it return by Twenty Four;
Provided with ſome Scraps of French,
And Fragments of a foreign Wench;
A flippant Blockhead let it come,
Equip with well-bred Oaths at Home;
Let little Pumps incloſe its Feet,
Silk Stockings make the Leg compleat;
The fineſt Holland ruffl’d Shirt,
A Waiſtcoat with a dapper Skirt;A 93 N3r 93
A Snuff-Box with a nauſeous Lid,
A Pound of Powder on its Head,
Muſt ſhine with Lace from Top to Toe;
Whither you like it aye or no,
This Thing we Ladies call a Beau.
The Rover. A Ballad.
When Love did firſt my Heart enſnare,
My Conſtancy to ſhow ye,
All Day and Night, for half a Year,
I dreamt and talkt of Cloe.
’Till brighter Phillis came in View;
Who had ſuch Charms about her,
I thought I cou’d all Joys forgoe,
Rather than live without her.
But, on a ſhining Summer’s Day,
In Meditation walking,I 94 N3v 94
I ſaw young Cloris making Hay;
And to her would be talking.
Her Tittle-tattle pleas’d ſo well,
I’ll vow I cou’d not leave her;
But with a Tear began to tell,
That I wou’d love her ever.
Going next Morn to ſee the Fair,
Sylvia I chanc’d to meet;
With ſuch a Shape and ſuch an Air,
I threw me at her Feet.
And there moſt certainly had dy’d,
Had Celia not been by;
But ſomething which her Eyes apply’d,
Was preſent Remedy.
For two whole Days the happieſt Lad
I thought me on the Plain;
But Love not half his Pranks had play’d,
He whet his Darts again.
Then bright Clemene gave a Wound,
No mortal Man cou’d bear;
And I reſolv’d to hang or drown,
Or mollify the Fair.
About the Woods I wildly rave,
To find a decent Willow;
Preparing for the ſilent Grave,
I made the Earth my Pillow.
In gentle Notes I heard a Maid,
Cry, Perjur’d Youth, adieu!
I rais’d my Head, and through the Glade,
Long abſent Cloe knew.
My Heart confeſs’d her early Sway,
And new Allegiance ſwore;
Her nat’ral Subject I obey,
And now can change no more.
The Return’d Heart.
It muſt be mine! no other Heart cou’d prove
Conſtant ſo long, yet ſo ill us’d in Love.
How bruis’d and ſcarify’d! how deep the Wound!
Senſeleſs! of Life no Symptom to be found.
Can it be this, that left me young and gay?
Juſt in the gaudy Bloom it fled away:
Unhappy Rover! what cou’dſt thou pretend?
Where Tyrants reign, can Innocence defend?
I’ll vow thou art ſo alter’d, I ſcarce know
Thou art the Thing, which Strephon ſigh’d for ſo:
Look, how it trembles! and freſh Drops declare
It is the ſame, and he the Murderer.
Thus lawleſs Conquerors our Town reſtore,
With the ſad Marks of their inhuman Power;
No Art, nor Time, ſuch Ravage can repair,
No Superſtructure, can theſe Ruins bear.
Cupidand Miſs Kitty.
Young Cupid piqu’d at Kitty’s Scorn,
She too his Tricks reſented,
They met by Chance one May-day Morn,
And thus their Spleen they vented.
Hey-day! ſays he, is Kitty here?
What Whimſey now prevails?
Gath’ring May-dew to make her fair
And getting draggl’d Tails.
No Good, ſhe cries, can now be done,
Thou little medling Elf,
Take up thy Trumpery, and be gone,
And leave me to my ſelf.
I think your Mother but a Fool,
To truſt you with thoſe Arrows,O Such 98 O1v 98
Such Boys as you ſhou’d go to School,
And not be ſhooting Sparrows.
And what ſhou’d you be doing, Miſs,
That were ſo pert and ſilly,
To flounce and frisk, and ſhun a Kiſs,
From ſuch a Swain as Billy.
This Dart was forg’d by――I know who,
I’m ſure ’tis ſharp as Hunger:
And for this Bow,――I’m ſure ’twill do;
I never――drew a ſtronger.
Then, prithy, ſhoot that Butter-Fly,
Says Kitty, in a Joke:
The Rogue took Aim immediately;
But Kitty felt the Stroke.
On a Diſpute betweenTwo Farmers for an Old Sow.
Undreſs’d and void of Art, my humble Muſe,
Has choſe a Theme which will all Faults excuſe;
The ſimple Lines are of the rural Strain,
Serve but to ſing what’s acting on the Plain;
From Pan himſelf I did this Leave obtain.
Lord of the Vale, fair Syrinx by his Side,
Beneath a Shade, where murm’ring Waters glide,
How oft has Pan my ruſtick Numbers grac’d,
And made them Muſick when his Reed he preſs’d.
I ſung the ſpeckl’d Ewe and ſtouteſt Lamb,
Who own’d the Kid that ſtraggl’d from its Dam;
Of Clumſey’s Ox, and of Menalcas’ Cow,
Of Callia’s Goat, and now of Collin’s Sow:
’Tis fit you know the beſt my Muſe pretends,
And here the Preface to the Poem ends.
Domeſtick Animal, of worthy Race!
Stand thou a while in beauteous Hellen’s Place;O2 That 100 O2v 100
That each Contender may his Right aſſert,
And tell th’ expecting World whoſe Beaſt thou art.
Come, Coridon, declare her Birth and Breed;
Come, Collin, thou who didſt her Hunger feed,
Come tell her Age, her Built, her Blighs, her Face,
Her winning Carriage, and each charming Grace.
Say, all ye conſcious Swains, whoſe Mark ſhe bears,
Who ring’d her Noſe, who notch’d her pretty Ears?
That Mark (ſays Coridon) aſſures her mine;
Known for the ſame of all my other Swine:
A ſtrolling Fancy after Change of Food,
(As we ſuppoſe) ſeduc’d her to the Wood.
Prone are the Sex, old Eſon then reply’d,
Gadding they love, and will not be deny’d.
In ſolemn Manner, with a long O――yes,
Three Times in publick I proclaim’d her Loſs;
Some Moons paſt o’re, ſhe came all lean and weak,
Her Hair an end, a Yoke about her Neck;
And young Ones had,――tho’ I ne’re heard ’em ſqueak:
Her well-known Mates with grunting Joy expreſs’d
Her ſafe Return, and recogniz’d the Beaſt.The 101 O3r 101
The Beaſt is mine, ſays Collin, in a Heat,
With Life and Fortune I’ll the Cauſe debate:
She ſtray’d from my Back-ſide; and I can prove
I found her feeding in the neighbouring Grove.
My Wife affirms it too, as well as I,
Who, tho’ ſhe’ll ſcold a little, ſcorns to lye:
Let Law decide; I’ve Witneſſes enow;
The Coſt be Coridon’s, and mine the Sow.
Law, Law, he cry’d, and ſummon’d up a Force
Of ſturdy Swains, cou’d ſwear a Man’s a Horſe:
Some knew her from a Pig, and ſaid no more;
But others knew the Creature long before.
Nay, then,—ſays Coridon, ’tis Time for me
To right my ſelf; ’tis but a Lawyer’s Fee.
On, on, the Lawyers cry’d, you both are right;
One ſues for Juſtice, t’other out of Spight:
Charge will prove a Trifle in the End,
And glorious is the Cause, you both defend!
A helpleſs Female wrong’d to this Degree,
What Man of Honour can with Patience ſee?
My Witneſſes, ſays Coridon, are few,
They’ll take no Bribe to ſwear the Thing that’s true,There’s 102 O3v 102
There’s old Dame Gillian lives at yonder Houſe,
Who wiſely has reſerv’d ſome kindred Souſe,
And kindly in the Chimney given it Place,
E’re ſince it ceas’d to ornament the Face;
On harneſs’d Dobbin ſhe’ll for me appear,
And juſtify the Mark on either Ear.
I fear you not, ſays Collin, nor will give
My Title up to any Man alive;
We ſoon ſhall know who has the beſt Pretence,
Since there is Law, and I have ſome odd Pence.
Loud were their Threats, on both Sides Friends combine,
To eaſe their Pockets, and retrieve the Swine.
Thus the contending Chiefs in Days of Yore,
Prepar’d the Battle on the Grecian Shore;
While the fair Cauſe did all her Charms diſplay,
And with one Smile, could influence the Day.
Of all the fooliſh Things which Women do,
Which (by the way) we know are not a few,
My great Averſion is their Game Quadrille,
Of which no Woman ever had her fill:
All other Whims they like by Starts and Fits;
But this, their laſting Inclination hits.
See the grave Matron crawling from her Prayers,
Sit down to Cards with Beaux, Coquets, and Airs,
Pore on Spadil, and for the Vole prepares.
Nay, little Miſs, in hanging Sleeves and Bib,
Has all the Terms of this black Art ſo glib;
None ask if ſhe can either read or ſpell,
Since ſhe knows Mattador’s ’tis full as well.
The married Lady, tho’ her Spouſe make one,
Has a fair Chance to play the Game alone;
Or changing Hands, the kind Gallant may prove
The Ruler of her Pocket and her Love.There 104 O4v 104
There was a Time, bleſs’d be thoſe happy Days!
When Women ſpent their Hours in diff’rent Ways;
When the fond Husband found his Wife at Home,
And Virgins had not learn’d perpetually to roam;
Conſcious that Vertue added to their Charms,
Gladden’d the Parent, warm’d the Husband’s Arms;
Iſpir’d the Lover with a Flame ſo true,
That every Beauty doubl’d to his View:
But, now! without Reſerve, the Sexes meet,
Parties of Scandal ſome, and ſome to cheat.
All modeſt Freedoms every Female takes,
And truſts her Character to Fops or Rakes:
Freſh, as the blooming Roſe, the Nymph ſets forth,
Loſes her Vertue, e’re ſhe knows its Worth.
On Sylvan Scenes and Paſtoral Delights,
Ambition’s reſtleſs Courſe or bloody Fights,
On Friendſhip’s Falſehood, or of Love decay’d,
The perjur’d Swain or the forſaken Maid,
My Muſe no more will waſte her tuneful Breath;
But Earth’s vain Trifles to the Earth bequeath.
Too long (alas) ſhe did her Song confine;
Wou’d now aſpire, and aim at Things divine.
Thy Aid, Urania! firſt, I humbly ask;
Without thy Aid, unequal is the Task;
Thou in celeſtial Song doſt ſtill delight;
My Pen attends, Goddeſs do thou indite.
Sing of the Man, who did from Tarſhiſh fly,
And ſought t’evade th’Almighty’s Embaſſy:
Weak Suppoſition! Can the Seas divide
Thee from that God, whom thou haſt diſobey’d?
So thinks the audacious Sinner, who goes on,
And juſtly meets the Wrath he ſtrives to ſhun.P A 106 P1v 106
A ſoothing Calm the Ocean’s Boſom grac’d,
When from the Shore the Prophet made ſuch haſte;
From ſinful Nineveh, a pleaſing Gale
Gave a ſoft Motion to their ſpreading Sail;
Bright ſhone the Sun, and diſtant Coaſts appear’d,
To which with Joy the buſie Ship-men ſteer’d;
The Rebel Prophet thought himſelf ſecure,
And ſafe from his avenging Maſter’s Power,
Lay down to Sleep, and all his Cares gave o’re.
But, lo! that Mighty, that Eternal Lord,
Who rules the whole Creation by his Word,
With dark’ning Clouds, o’re-ſpread the azure Skies,
And boiſterous Winds, from their pent Caverns riſe;
At his firſt bidding, Winds and Seas obey’d;
And Man’s Neglect of his Commands upbraid.
Man! who his glorious Maker’s Image wears,
And ſuch an Affluence of his Bounty ſhares,
Yet moſt Remiſs in Duty, ſtill appears.
Loud Thunders roll, and the blue Lightnings fly;
The Seas ferment, the Waves run Mountain high;
The Storm increaſes, Sea-men toil in vain;
And all deſpair, the wiſh’d for Coaſt to gain:They 107 P2r 107
They ſtrive to rule th’ unwieldy Bark no more;
Let fly their Cordage, and their Gods implore.
While ſullen Jonah they awake, and cry,
Who art thou, Man, that thus compos’d canſt lie?
What, and from whence? inſenſible! to ſleep
Admiſt the Dangers of th’ inraged Deep;
Call on thy Gods, if any God thou own;
More powerful he, perhaps than thoſe to us are known:
Hark, how the Surges beat the conſtant Shores;
How the Wind riſes, and the Tempeſt roars!
The cheering Sun from our Horizon gone,
Leaves us the Conduct, of the pale-fac’d Moon;
Whoſe Light dependant, gathering Clouds obſcure;
And not one Star attempts to ſhow its Power!
Hark, how the Thunders burſt the ſwelling Clouds!
Behold! the Lightning ſcorch our tatter’d Shrowds!
Wide yawns the Deep, juſt ready to devour;
Call on thy God! immediate Help implore,
E’re Death and Hell, receive us to their Power.P2 Agaſt 108 P2v 108
Agaſt and ſhudd’ring, up the Prophet roſe;
And guilty Fear in every Action ſhows;
Silent, amidſt th’ amazed Crowd he ſtands;
Lifts up his Eyes and wrings his trembling Hands.
Oh, wretched Caitif! they cry’d aloud,
Thou’rt by ſome angry Deity purſu’d;
Thy Life muſt ranſom ours, and Lots ſhall ſhow
If we miſtake the Criminal, or no.
Then all approach to ſtand the fatal Proof,
And bound themſelves by Oath to fling him off
Into the raging Main, who ſhou’d be prov’d,
The Cauſe for which all Nature thus was mov’d.
On Jonah, Guilty Jonah! fell the Chance;
Then up to Heaven, in Praiſe their Hands advance:
Which done, with ſpeed they fling the Prophet o’re;
The Seas grew calm, and ſoon they reach’d the Shore.
What art thou Man, that dareſt with Heaven contend!
Knoweſt thou his Power, yet willingly offend?
Mercy abus’d, Judgment muſt next aſſume,
Or ſaucy Man, would to the laſt preſume.
Yet, on Urania! Mercy ever wakes,
And of repentant Tears Compaſſion takes;
Tho’ in the great Abyſs inclos’d he lay,
That glorious Attribute, had found a Way,
To give him back to Light, and Peace, once more;
And land him ſafe upon the deſtin’d Shore.
On Part of Psalm the cxxxixth.
Thou,Lord, do’ſt ſearch my ſecret Soul,
Through every dark Receſs;
Obſerv’ſt what darling Paſſions rule,
And where they moſt diſtreſs.
The latent Seeds of Vice to Thee
Long e’re their full Maturity
Thou ſeeſt the Poyſon there.
About my Path, about my Bed,
Omniſcience deigns to wait;Knows 110 P3v 110
Knows every Thought, and every Tread,
And what ſhall be their Fate.
This animated Lump of Clay,
Which muſt be Earth again,
Was accurately form’d by Thee,
For laſting Joy or Pain.
Preſumptuous! when I dare aſpire
Theſe Wonders to explore,
My bounded Reaſon, does retire,
And humbly I adore.
If inſincere my Language flow,
The Fraud is known to Thee;
Then whither muſt thy Creature go,
From ſuch a Scrutiny?
If I attempt the Heavens to ſcale;
There is the Throne of God:
If in Deſpair I fly to Hell;
There, his avenging Rod.
If with the Wings of Morn I fly,
And in the Deep remain;
There I ſhall meet thy piercing Eye;
Even there, Thou canſt ſuſtain.
Darkneſs, as thick as Egypt’s Curſe,
Cannot thy Day obſcure;
At thy Command the Clouds diſperſe;
And own Almighty Power.
Whilſt thus dependent Beings ſtand,
In every Part diſplay’d;
O, let thy All-aſſiſting Hand,
Be every where my Aid.
AFarewelto L―― Park.
Belov’d of Phœbus! Favourite of the Nine!
Oh, Sydney! could my Pen but copy thine:
The fam’d Arcadian Plains and ſhady Groves,
Joy of the Shepherds, Scene of Royal Loves,
In this ſmall Compaſs ſhou’d a Rival find;
With equal Charms to ſooth the penſive Mind.
Lovely Incloſure! Circle of Delight!
To what untainted Pleaſures you invite?
Say, Sylvan Powers! the joyous Hours that paſt,
When Sylvia was by Stella’s Friendſhip grac’d!
How oft have we, on theſe green Banks reclin’d,
Reciprocally eas’d each other’s Mind?
When Joy was Her’s, Sylvia had double Share;
And generous She divided all my Care;
With balmy Friendſhip laid my Woes to Reſt,
And huſh’d the wild Diſorders of my Breaſt
But Stella’s gone; nor ſhe, nor I to blame;
Our Stars have differ’d—we are ſtill the ſame:I muſt 113 Q1r 113
I muſt, my Friend, to her own Worth reſign;
Virtue, like her’s, ſhou’d univerſal ſhine.
High born, yet humble, affable, ſincere,
Fine Senſe, ſtrict Piety, all meet in her:
Unjuſt ſuch Treaſure to monopolize!
But who, unmov’d, can give up all their Joys?
Ye chearful Plains! ye ever pleaſing Shades,
Well known Receſs when ought my Peace invades;
Ye verdant Vales, ye ſlow aſcending Hills,
Ye Carpet Walks, ye little murmuring Rills,
Tall nodding Elms, and Shrubs which gently move,
When fanning Zephyr whiſpers through the Grove,
And all ye feather’d Kind, who tuneful ſing
Your faithful Loves, and the returning Spring,
Enjoy your Loves—enjoy the fragrant May;
Adieu to all; my Stella is away.
March on majeſtick Herd; and o’re the Lawns,
In uſual Safety lead your tender Fawns;
May no malignant Planet blaſt your Food;
Nor Mid-night Rapin ſhed offenceleſs Blood:Q No 114 Q1v 114
No ſpiteful Elves, which but for Miſchief wake,
Rouze your fond young Ones from their native Brake.
Lords of this ſweet Incloſure! jocund play;
Adieu to all――my Stella is away.
See, Coridon, the Sun-burnt Swains haſte Home;
And to the Folds our bleating Flocks are come,
The Kine have fill’d the Pail and to the Meads are gone.
The ſweaty Labourer, weary with Employ,
Now quits his Work, and wiſhes to enjoy
Th’ unenvied Morſel he has earn’d to Day:While 115 Q2r 115
While lengthning Shades, the cautious Beauties Court,
To taſte the Air and ſhare our rural Sport;
In Pairs the choſen Lovers tread the Green;
There’s Thyrſis, with the much-lov’d Sylvia ſeen;
Alexis, here, with charming Niſſa walks,
Of Love when abſent ſings, when with her talks.
How oft, Menalcas, underneath this Tree,
Have thee and I, from Love and Buſineſs free,
Enjoy’d the Mid-day Sun, and Evening Breeze,
Improv’d our Friendſhip, and indulg’d our Eaſe;
’Till the May Garland Amarillis grac’d,
And ’twas thy Hand the fatal Chaplet plac’d:
I ſaw her bluſh, yet conſcious of Deſert,
To merit that, and every Shepherds Heart.
Didſt thou not mark, how all the Maids look’d pale,
To ſee her Brow become the Wreath ſo well?
Ah, Coridon! our Hearts ſo much the ſame,
By Friendſhip made, now periſh in one Flame:Q2 ’Twas 116 Q2v 116
’Twas then my Heart an unknown Meaſure beat;
Reaſon retir’d, and Paſſion took its Seat:
Inſenſible to all the Means of Cure,
Thou ſeeſt me now Love’s raging Calenture.
I in ſoft Notes have ſtrove to gain her Heart,
In dying Numbers did my Griefs impart;
Inanimates from Sounds ſo ſoft have ſhown
The Force of Muſick, and ’tis ſhe alone,
That’s more inflexible than Trees or Stone.
Not Ovid’s tender Lines, with great Apollo’s Lyre,
Can change the Maid, or Thoughts of Love inſpire;
The fleeting Air returns the melting Strain,
Nature and Art exert themſelves in vain.
I love to Madneſs, great as thine, fond Youth;
Have the ſame Raptures, equal thee in Truth;
But in my Breaſt the God a Tyrant reigns,
I, while I ſcorn his Empire, wear his Chains:
Her Pride, with Pride I meet, and wou’d repel
With Force, the poyſon’d Arrows which I feel.An 117 Q3r 117
An abject Sufferance I cannot bear,
To kneel and ſue, and after all deſpair!
But, like an injur’d Wretch, her Steps I trace,
Call Vengeance down on her bewitching Face;
Inſulting Beauty is the Theme I chuſe,
Erynnis’ Rage inſpires my angry Muſe:
Proud Amarillis, on each Bark you ſee
Stands deep ingrav’d, with matchleſs Cruelty;
Like Marks at Sea, to warn advent’rous Man,
T’ avoid her Eyes, and certain Ruin ſhun.
Ah! hold Menalcas, this Way turn thine Eye,
A Star more bright than Heſper’s gliding by;
Look through yond Glade, her Beams like Day appear!
And the Sun ſets in vain while ſhe is near.
――Let the vain Thing go on;
Why ſhould we wiſh to be yet more undone:
Stay, till thou canſt a real Cauſe aſſign,
How Fire and Froſt, how Heat and Cold combine;How 118 Q3v 118
How when her Eyes, like ſcorching Meteors glow,
Does her chill’d Heart congeal to Ice and Snow!
Know’ſt thou from whence the fair Deſtroyer came?
From Ætna ſure; her Compoſition flame.
Rather a Native of the frigid Zone,
Where one eternal Winter ſtill is known;
Where bleak North Winds bind up the barren Soil,
Where Nature never once vouchſaf’d to ſmile;
Where plenteous Crops ne’re bleſt the Tiller’s Hand,
Gay Spring, or fruitful Summer, ever nam’d:
No odorous Flowers, nor wholeſom Shrubs are found,
But Heaven’s firſt Curſe poſſeſſes ſtill the Ground;
There, in that ſtarving Clime, the Maid was born,
Her ſavage Breaſt no Paſſion knows but Scorn.
To Amanda. OnScandal.
Can that celeſtial Spark, thy generous Soul,
Admit Diſturbance from each Knave and Fool?
Drop thy Reſentment, and thy Virtue raiſe,
Beyond the Reach of ſublunary Praiſe:
Scandal! that dear Regale of little Minds,
Where the moſt conſcious Entertainment finds,
Like ſome foul Meteor, blazes for a Time,
Then falls to Earth, and vaniſhes in Slime.
Our Actions muſt not center in the Name
Of that moſt common Jilt, call’d Common Fame;
Whoſe noiſy Tongue no Reputation ſpares,
Extempore repeats what e’re ſhe hears;
Fixes on Innocence peſtiferous Bane,
And leaves ſucceſsful Villany to reign.
No, my Amanda! never let thy Peace
Depend on ſuch Uncertainties as theſe;
Dare to be ſingular, where Vice prevails;
Truth will ſubſiſt when the Detractor fails.The 120 Q4v 120
The ſtately Swan when riſing from the Wave,
Upon her Breaſt no Sign of Wet you have;
On your white Name no Soil, by Malice thrown,
Here, or hereafter, ſhall be call’d your own.
Psalm the xxiiid.
I To the Great Jehova’s Flock belong;
To him addreſs my Prayer, to him my Song:
What e’re my Wants, he has the Power to give;
What e’re my Cares, the Goodneſs to relieve.
To Meadows freſh with everlaſting Bloom,
(An Emblem of thoſe Joys he has to come)
He’ll lead me forth, and at the River’s Brink,
Of inexhauſted Streams, will make me drink.
For his own Mercy Sake, he will convert,
My willing, tho’ a weak inconſtant Heart;
Tho’ in the Shades of Death a while I ſtray,
No horrid Fantoms ſhall my Soul diſmay;
Thy Rod ſhall teach me, and thy Staff ſupport,
Omnipotence ſhall be my ſafe Reſort;In 121 R1r 121
In Deſerts wide thou ſhalt my Table ſpread,
And feed my Soul with Euchariſtick Bread,
The Affluence of Grace thou wilt beſtow,
It ſhall, like Ointment, Head and Cup o’reflow:
Within thy Temple ſhall my Station be,
Bleſt with thy Mercy to Eternity.
To the Muse.
FFriend to my Peace, thou Object of my Love,
E’re dawning Reaſon could the Choice approve,
Through every change of Life and Fortune, Thou,
My conſtant Solace, to this inſtant Now.
Can’ſt thou ſo ſoon forget my ſeeming Scorn,
Forgive my Weakneſs, and with Smiles return?
We, like fond Lovers when they’re piqu’d, reſent,
Then feel in Abſence mutual Puniſhment.
By Friends and Foes, forewarn’d I’d often been,
To ſhun thy Syren Note like deadly Sin;R Was 122 R1v 122
Was told thy Strains, ſo wond’rous ſweet to me,
To half the World at leaſt want Harmony;
That Criticks no Compaſſion had in Store,
And Fortune ever gives thy Votaries o’re;
That Nature err’d, when tempting me to ſing,
Who never taſted the Parnaſſian Spring.
Too juſt Reproof,—then like the tim’rous Maid,
Who loves, and fears to be by Love betray’d,
I baniſh’d thee, which gave a greater Pain
Than all their ſpiteful Eloquence cou’d feign.
Frighted, provok’d, yet griev’d, I raſhly ſwore
Thy Soul delighting Charms ſhou’d ſooth no more;
No more advent’rous wou’d my Genius ſtretch,
To ſoar at empty Fame, beyond my Reach.
I then at once grew peeviſh, ſullen, wiſe,
Cou’d even Pope and Addiſon deſpiſe,
And call’d their Inſpirations—Fooleries.
’Midſt the polite, the trifling, gigling Crowd,
I thruſt my vacant ſelf, and laugh’d aloud;
Rally’d th’ abſurd Impertinence of thoſe
Who Books and ſtupid Solitude had choſe.But 123 R2r 123
But—e’re the long, the irkſome Day was done,
Oh! how I’ve ſigh’d, and wiſh’d my ſelf alone:
’Tis then the Soul her Heaven born Freedom finds,
Learns its own Worth, and this mad World reſigns;
This Farce of Life the World! with ſome ſoon paſt,
Traverſe the Stage, and to their Period haſte.
Others in larger Characters appear,
With loud Applauſes rend the Theatre;
Are bleſt or curſt with all that they deſire,
In Splendor enter,—triumph, and retire:
The ſhifting Scenes no Change of Fortune bring,
Conſtant to them, tho’ ever on the Wing.
My Scene of Action is the tragick Part,
How e’re perform’d,— I feel it at my Heart;
Taſte every Drop of well digeſted Woe,
And quaff the bitter Fountains as they flow.
Honour, with all her Train of rigid Laws,
Which, like the Diamond, admits no Flaws,
Love, Fear and Pity, war within my Breaſt,
Active as Whirlwinds, never let me reſt.
No Truce with Fortune—nor ſo mean to ſtop
At every Toy, which ſhe thinks fit to drop.R2 But 124 R2v 124
But why, my Muse, ſhou’d Thee and I complain,
In theſe ſtill Shades, and Friendſhip met again?
Theſe conſcious Shades, ſacred to Love and Thee,
Have tun’d my ruffl’d Soul; and ſet it free
From galling Spleen, and from corroding Care:
Be only Love and Hope, Attendants here.
O, gently ſooth me with thy wonted Charm;
Let lambent Flames my tender Boſome warm:
Collect ſoft Sounds from each harmonious Thing;
The Soul of Muſick, to my Refuge bring;
In Numbers melting as the Mantuan Swain,
Tuneful as Orpheus on the Thracian Plain.
I feel thy Influence, and ſweet Peace comes on;
Care flies before thee;—ſo the riſing Sun
Diſpels the noxious Miſts; what Joy to find
My lov’d Companion to my Wiſhes kind!
Nature reſumes her Bloom, and my paſt Years
Are in Oblivion loſt; a new gay World appears!
Serene the Air, How freſh the Evening Breeze?
Huſh’d are the Waves, and murmuring roll the Seas:De- 125 R3r 125
Delightful all! Hark, how the Wood Larks ſing!
The bubling Brooks with ſofter Cadence ring;
Obliging Philomel her Note improves,
Forgets her Woe, and warbles through the Groves:
The rival Songſters flutter all around,
And Eccho lengthens each melodious Sound.
Here fearleſs Innocence has fixt her Seat,
Queen of all chaſte Deſires, and calm Retreat;
Without Allay, her Pleaſures does beſtow,
And, grateful, I confeſs,—there’s Bliſs below:
Thou kind indulgent Muſe wer’t ever ſure
To eaſe, what Æſculapius cannot cure.
On the --01-30xxxth of January.
Whilſt ſhining Characters from Greece or Rome,
By learned Authors, are tranſmitted Home;
We trace the Glories of each diſtant Age,
And read with Pleaſure the inſtructive Page.
The gen’rous Soul expands, and ardent feels
The innate Joys, conſummate Virtue yields.
But when the Prince, the Patriot, or the Saint,
In every Ornament of Truth they paint,
Let conſcious Britain, bluſhing, make her Claim,
Of all united, in one deathleſs Name;
And call him Charles,—read him with Candour through,
You’ll find inimitable Goodneſs flow;
Pride of his Friends, the Envy of his Foes;
Whoſe Soul above the common Standard roſe.
Undaunted Champion of our Church and Laws;
Impartial Friend, to every noble Cauſe:
Humble in Royal, Great in Abject State,
As truly Pious as Unfortunate;Conſpi- 127 R4r 127
Conſpicuous in thy Actions, all may ſee,
The Christian Hero perfected in Thee!
Is it too much, with the revolving Year,
To offer for our ſelves and Thee a Tear?
The Tears thy Virtues and thy Sufferings claim;
The only Tribute we can pay thy Fame.
Tho’ circling Ocean do’s embrace our Shores,
And rich returning Fleets increaſe our Stores;
Tho’ Theologick Truths are purely taught,
And Civil Sanctions accurately wrought;
Wars dreadful Din, confin’d to foreign Climes,
Reflect, O Britain! on thy Native Crimes;
In all thy Boaſt of Peace and Plenty, bring
To thy Remembrance, thy Martyr’d King.
Then fell the Saint, the Patriot, and the Prince;
Victim to Honour, and to Innocence:
Eraſe our Annals, or our Griefs renew,
Give to his Memory, at leaſt, its Due.
From aSheetofGilt Paper.
In Days of Yore, Beaſt, Birds, and Trees,
Expreſt their Sentiments with Eaſe;
They ſigh’d, made love, complain’d or rail’d,
As Inclination moſt prevail’d.
Then bar Surprize;――’twas really ſo,
Æſop and Ovid ſwear ’tis true.
In our own Iſle, a Brazen Head
Makes probable what they have ſaid;
Thrice that Rhetorically ſpoke,
And then the fell Inchantment broke.
Theſe Things premis’d, Attention give,
Your Intereſt ’tis, you ſhou’d believe:
The Motive’s ſtrong, your Faith extend;
Madam, I call my ſelf your Friend.
From filthy Rubbiſh, bleach’d with Care,
Preſs’d, and impreſs’d, and gilded fair;Inſcrib’d 129 S1r 129
Inſcrib’d—To Cloe in her Bloom,
On a Love Embaſſy I’m come;
Scraul’d o’re with Words of myſtick Sounds,
And Hieroglyphick Darts and Wounds,
The neat Produce of genuin Beau,
Ambitious all the World may know,
That the Sun ſhines, and Cloe reigns;
And He—has nothing in his Brains.
Touch’d with Remorſe, tho’ guiltleſs, I
Approach you with Humility.
A paſſive Vehicle, I’m made,
How many Hearts have I betray’d?
Forgive th’ Intruſion, lovely Maid!
Cajol’d by Fortune, he preſumes
Beauty ſubmits where e’re he comes.
O, ſet thoſe falſe Ideas by,
Which Dreſs and Equipage ſupply,
You’ll find your Lover means no more,
Than I, who now his Thoughts explore;
Thoſe random Thoughts, which e’re the Poſt
Reach’d his firſt Stage, were wholly loſt;S Or 130 S1v 130
Or new vampt up, to Sylvia ſent,
To give prolifick Folly vent.
In Pity thus, the Fates decree
You ſhou’d be undeceiv’d by me.
White as your Hand, I came to his;
Behold the Metamorphoſis!
With Lyes and Nonſenſe ſlubber’d o’re,
More vile by far, than heretofore,
Take this kind Hint, deſpiſe the ’Squire,
And gently lay me――on the Fire.
OnFriendship. To Aminta.
You talk of Friendship! who were never known
To ſtudy any Intereſt but your own!
No more,—’tis Affectation of a greater Good
Than You, Aminta, ever underſtood:
Your’s are but Words of courſe and common Cant;
A ſort of running Caſh you never want;
Thy little Way of Thinking’s too confin’d
To taſte that noble Rapture of the Mind.
A Friend! there’s ſomething ſacred in the Name;
’Tis Love and Honour,—a celeſtial Flame.
By Wealth, by Beauty, nor by Art acquir’d,
Sameneſs of Soul, by Heav’n alone inſpir’d;
It ſpeaks a Creature of moſt perfect Mould,
Such Poets ſung,—and ſuch there were of Old:
The Word’s ſynonimous,—I apprehend;
And when I name my ſelf,—I mean my Friend.
No ſep’rate Intereſts, no ſep’rate Joys,
What chagrins one, the other’s Peace deſtroys;S2 Im- 132 S2v 132
Imbib’d from ſomething,—never learn’d in Schools,
Exalted far above meer Nature’s Rules:
Or in the Brother, Siſter, Parent, we
Were always ſure of this Felicity;
Even in the Nuptial Bed, too oft we find,
An awkward Love and diff’rent Int’reſt join’d;
Yet ſelf convicted, that there ought to be,
In every Character, this Harmony,
What fair Pretenſions every where are found,
Which, Eccho like, ſtill terminates in Sound.
Can you reprove the Friend you fear to loſe;
In private chide thoſe Follies you’ll excuſe?
Can you in Grief as well as Pleaſure ſhare?
And prove moſt kind, when Fortune’s moſt ſevere?
Unbleſt by her, abandon’d and forlorn,
My Bloſſoms wither’d, and my Branches torn,
Obnoxious to the Winter’s Storms, ſhou’d I,
Like a poor blaſted Vegetable, lie,
Dare you tranſplant me to a happier Soil,
Diſpel thoſe Clouds, and chear me with a Smile?
Dare you, in Abſence, my Defence preſume,
Tho’ Scandal from the Tongue of Greatneſs come?At- 133 S3r 133
Attempt, e’vn then, to palliate a Crime,
Which paſt uncenſur’d in my proſp’rous Time?
When the ſad Heart diſcharges all its Woe,
With Pity wipe the Tears which gently flow?
Take the Forſaken to thy gen’rous Breaſt,
And lull the Broken-hearted to their Reſt?
This were a Friend indeed!—You ſtartle now!
I ſee Reluctance gath’ring on your Brow;
A Damp to your Delights my Cares would prove;
Friendship’s at leaſt, as great a Weight as Love:
No Medium is ſuppos’d where theſe prevail;
Who ever lov’d, or ſerv’d their Friend, too well?
Forbear then, your no-meaning Complaiſance,
And frankly own the Offer came by Chance.
Prithee, Aminta, ſpare diſſembling Breath,
Nor, when you write, conclude,—Your Friend ’till Death:
’Tis fulſome Nonſenſe to a Heart ſincere,
And ſullies Life’s moſt radiant Character.
An Answer to Belinda in the Country.
Neither Buſineſs nor Pleaſure have took up my Time,
But an Indolence owing to Nature;
Or, to your Request, I had anſwer’d in Rhyme,
Your whimſical ſort of a Letter.
As to Phillis, ſhe’s now in a curable State;
(That Coquet of the lateſt Edition)
With a loſt Reputation, in Spite of his Fate,
She’s married to — the Phyſician.
Miſs Kitty you know is a Prude at Eighteen;
But the Captain her preſent Pretender,
Declares he ſo much of that Species has ſeen,
He’s ſure he ſhall make her ſurrender.
Compos’d of gay Atomes as wild as the Wind,
With a Heart light as Cork or a Feather;
Young Clody addreſſes to all Womankind;
Tho’ he care not a Button for either.
As the Butterflies range o’re the blooming Parterre,
And the Graſshopper chirps o’re the Meadow,
He dangles about from the Fair to the Fair,
As unheeded by them as their Shadow.
Poor Sylvio! (the Cauſe of your ſcribling to me)
Nay, prithee, don’t bluſh when I name him,
Is as conſtant as you can expect him to be,
’Till a Ring and a Licence reclaim him.
For my ſelf, I’ll aſſure you, I’m free as the Air;
A meer Novice in modern Intrigue:
And humbly confeſs, ſhou’d I fall in the Snare,
The Man I like beſt, is a—Whig.
If you pleaſe, you may take my bare Word for all this;
But if I may with Freedom adviſe ye,A 136 S4v 136
A ſpeedy Return wou’d not be amiſs,
Leſt you hear of ſuch Things as ſurprize ye.
From this ſmokey gay Town, to you in the Spleen,
One Secret I needs muſt impart;
I had rather be ſaunt’ring with you o’re the Green,
Than here run the Risk of my Heart.
Celadon to the Limner Drawing His Mistress’s Picture.
Artist, deſiſt, I can no longer bear
The matchleſs Charms of my relentleſs Fair;
So nigh the beauteous Life thou doſt approach,
I cannot live to bear another Touch.
Ah! ſet her by, ſhe’s univerſal Bane
To all who love like me, and love in vain:
Draw the reverſe of all that’s fair and good,
T’ expel the dang’rous Poyſon in my Blood;Draw 137 T1r 137
Draw me Zenobia with her antique Face,
Scoring her Eyebrows at the Looking-Glaſs;
When her Cheeks glow with Wine and lewd Deſire,
And every Word and Action all conſpire
To make us loath the Sex we ſhou’d admire.
’Tis done,—the outward Form betrays the reſt;
At Home a Torment, and Abroad a Jeſt:
Affecting Youth, fond of a vicious Life,
A rampant Widow, and provoking Wife.
Now to the Flames commit the horrid Piece,
For, O ye Powers! I feel my Pangs increaſe:
This is a Foil for lovely Womankind,
And adds new Grace to every Face and Mind;
How muſt it then my Delia’s Charms improve,
Confirm her Empire, and increaſe my Love?
What mighty Conqueſt, Strephon’s Arts to ſhun,
To be by your’s more certainly undone!
Scorch’d with that dang’rous Paſſion, I withdrew,
The cooler Shades of Friendſhip to purſue,
And hop’d to find that ſafe Retreat with you.
But the Unhappy can no Shelter find,
Love is too cruel, Friendſhip is too kind;
For Sylvia’s Ruin each alike contend,
Perjur’d the Lover, treacherous the Friend.
Thus different Veſſels to one Port deſign’d,
Make their Advantage by an adverſe Wind;
(Pyrates at large, you’re all, to Womankind)
To Fortune’s rougheſt Billows let me be
Expos’d a Prey; from theſe Deſtroyers free.
Sad! when the richeſt Cordials Heaven beſtows,
So often prove the Source of all our Woes!Miſ- 139 T2r 139
Miſplac’d our Loves, ill choſe our Friendſhips are;
And want of Judgment is our fatal Snare.
Tho’, with much Art, your Sex inſinuate
Eve, as the Authoreſs of the firſt Deceit,
Obſerve, at leaſt, how we degenerate;
Thoſe Maxims which long Ages ſince were known,
To fix weak Woman in Dominion,
Are ſuperſeded by your manly Skill,
And we are govern’d now—juſt as you will:
By the ſame Inſtinct that the timerous Hare
Bounds o’re the Lawns, and roughs the Woods for fear;
The eager Hound purſues, and knows her Turnings there.
’Tis Nature that; but, oh! ungen’rous Man,
From whoſe Applauſe our Vanity began,
Whoſe ſervile Worſhip did the Idol rear,
Then curſt it with the Epithet of Fair;
Who gave an Empire of ſo ſhort Extent,
As makes th’ Ambitious their own Puniſhment,
Scorn to betray the Goddeſs you adore;
And shew your Honour, when you ſhew your Power:T2 A 140 T2v 140
A Power you dare not for your Hopes aſſert,
While we have real Intereſt in your Heart;
To that dark Cavern, we have no Acceſs,
’Till all the Goddeſs, all the Charmer ceaſe;
’Till then ſeduc’d, by wand’ring Fires we’re led;
(Unskilful Travellers are ſo betray’d)
The ſtrong illuſive Glair entices on,
Through dreary Waſts and uncouth Paths we run,
While Fancy points the hoſpitable Dome,
And draws the Veil of Fraud, o’re Years to come;
Shews ſmiling Love and faithful Friendſhips wait
To ope’, with ready Hands, the willing Gate.
Fluſh’d with theſe Hopes, redoubling every Pace,
Quick, through the Gloom we ruſh, and meet the fated Place:
Where Tygers, Scorpions, and Hyenas reſt,
And Birds of evil Omen make their Neſt;
Where Vultures hover, and where Satyrs ſtalk,
And mutt’ring Wizards take their Midnight Walk.
Not leſs diſtreſt is th’ advent’rous Maid,
Who truſts deſigning Man; and is betray’d;His 141 T3r 141
His the Hyena’s Tears, the Satyr’s Grin,
The Tyger’s Pity, Scorpion’s poyſon’d Sting,
With Hell makes contract to diſturb our Peace,
Advance falſe Lights,—then lead us as they pleaſe.
As Humdrum the Poet was ſhut up in his Garret,
Luxuriouſly feaſting on brown Bread and Carrot,
He examin’d his Caſh for a Pint of ſmall Beer,
To enliven his Muſe, and make her ſing clear;
But,—as ill Luck wou’d have it, and it was a hard Thing,
His Pocket was torn, he had loſt the odd Farthing.
He’d a new Sett of Notions, unwilling to baulk,
So call’d over the Way, and bad ’em uſe Chalk;
He was writing Heroicks, and calling to Mind,
That his old Maſter Homer was Beggar and Blind,
He invok’d the Nine Muſes, and ſpur’d up his Jade,
(For his Landlady ſwore ſhe muſt quickly be paid;)Then 142 T3v 142
Then applauded his Stars, who had brought it to paſs,
He cou’d read his own Lines by the Help of a Glaſs:
And happy it was, that cou’d give him Content,
For no Soul, but himſelf, cou’d tell what he meant.
All ye Patrons of Poetry, take my Advice;
All ye mangling Criticks, ſo curiouſly nice,
All ye who love Ballads, for the ſake of the Rhyme,
Where Words and ſoft Syllables prettily chime;
All ye Printers and Hawkers ſo deeply concern’d,
With the whole Claſs of Mortals we call the Book —learn’d.
Spare, ſpare your poor Bard, when his Works ſhall appear;
Let him live, tho’ debar’d Pen and Ink the next Year:
Conſider, he ſcrauls to the beſt of his Power,
And your Popes or your Granvilles have never done more.
Welcome, thou ſilent ſoft Retreat;
Bleſſing ſo oft deny’d the Great!
Welcome, as Eaſe to Men in Pain;
Or to the Miſer, ſordid Gain:
Welcome! as the relenting Fair,
Is to her Lover in Deſpair.
No Wretch, who long by Tempeſts toſt,
Survives the Fright and gains the Coaſt,
Where Plenty, Peace, and darling Friends,
And every happy Wiſh attends,
Can feel Delight that’s more ſincere
Than what my Soul poſſeſſes here.
Time is a Treaſure ill beſtow’d
Amongſt the noiſey thoughtleſs Crowd;
A Jewel of a Price ſo high,
As Crœſus’ Wealth cou’d never buy.
Great Macedon’s extenſive Soul,
Had found One World enough to rule,144 T4v 144
If (the Fatigues of Glory o’re)
He’d given himſelf one thinking Hour.
Tell me no more of Love ſincere,
Which but with Life ſhall waſte;
I own you promiſe very fair,
But, oh! you think too faſt.
Your Life may many Years contain,
And various Changes know;
E’re half be done, you’ll own how vain,
Were your Pretenſions now.
Forbear thoſe Sighs, and raſher Vows;
Reflect upon the Cauſe:
We can’t of Time to come diſpoſe,
Nor give frail Nature Laws.
The Request of Alexis.
Give, give me back, that Trifle you deſpiſe,
Give back my Heart, with all its Injuries:
Tho’ by your Cruelty it wounded be,
The Thing is yet of wond’rous Uſe to me.
A gen’rous Conqueror, when the Battle’s won,
Beſtows a Charity on the Undone:
If from the well aim’d Stroke no Hope appear,
He kills the Wretch, and ſhews Compaſſion there:
But you, Barbarian! keep alive in Pain,
A laſting Trophy of unjuſt Diſdain.
And now, fond Love, where is thy boaſted Power?
Thoſe Wounds which neither Time nor Fate could cure;
Thoſe ſoft Deluſions which the Heart betray’d,
Sighs which could ſpeak, and Tears which could perſuade.
Romantick Notions of unthinking Youth!
Inſtill’d with Art, they bear the Stamp of Truth.
The painted Cupid with his downy Wings,
His Bow, his Quiver, thoſe Poetick Things;
His Mother’s Beauty, his un-erring Dart,
As real Miſchiefs plague a tender Heart.
Chimera all! they’re in the Poets Brain;
Thoſe idle Triflers teach Mankind to feign.
Theirs the Elyſium, they profuſe beſtow;
And theirs the Stygian Lake which foams below.
Ixion’s Wheel, and Siſiphus’s Stone,
Medea’s Witchcraft, Ariadne’s Crown,Prome- 147 U2r 147
Prometheus’ Vulture, Tantalus’s Curſe,
With tender application, charm of Courſe.
The vain Theology! by Ovid taught,
When Julia’s wanton Eye, corrupted e’ry Thought;
Their ſenſual Paſſion, did the Art improve;
New-nam’d the flagrant Guilt, and call’d it Love.
Myſterious Love! what Langauge can define?
’Tis from the Soul, the Soul from Love divine.
From the ſame Power, which lends the Lover Breath;
And tho’ in Cloe’s Arms can give him Death.
Founded on Virtue, and to Virtue firm;
That the Attractive, That the laſting Charm.
’Tis not the Sally of a looſe Deſire,
Nor the pale glimm’ring of a Glow-worm Fire;
Not in the Feature, nor the polliſh’d Skin,
Th’ intrinſick Jewel muſt be found within.
’Tis Sympathy of Soul, muſt Souls unite;
Without that Sympathy, no true Delight.
What Gold cements, by Gold may be dis-join’d;
There is no Intereſt in the Lover’s Mind.U2 This 148 U2v 148
This, fair Lucinda, now too well can prove;
Who liſten’d to a Tale of Modern Love.
Her Birth, reputed Fortune and Deſert,
Worthy the Conqueſt of an honeſt Heart:
Num’rous her Slaves, obſequious and ſincere,
As by the Sequel, we may well aver.
Amongſt the reſt, Philander Homage paid;
He lik’d her Fortune—but ador’d the Maid.
Perpetual ſigh’d, made Vows, and dy’d away,
Not leſs than twenty thouſand times a Day. The Lady had 20000 l. in the South Sea Stock.
Repeated all the Cant of Paſſion o’re,
Grew raving, wept and pray’d, and ly’d and ſwore.
But hold, my Muſe, nor tragick Tale prolong;
Take not Example from Philander’s Tongue.
In height of Hopes, freſh blooming every Hour,
Bleſt with her Smiles, ne’re ſmil’d on him before;
New plum’d with Hopes, the Beau, with Charms, the Fair,
(Secure of Bliſs, who ſuch a Change can bear!)
Diſaſt’rous Fortune, by a South Sea Blaſt,
In one ſhort Day, laid all her Beauties waſte.Invi- 149 U3r 149
Invidious Fame, who never wants Supplies,
Found the fond Lover in his Extaſies;
At large declares the epidemick Woe;
Lucinda’s ruin’d,—where’s the Lover now?
Her Charms (at once) to his admiring Eye,
Vaniſh’d, like gaudy Iris, from the Sky:
He felt the thrilling News through every Vein;
His Heart grew temperate, and cool his Brain.
Paſſion ſubſides,—bright Reaſon re-aſſumes;
He ſighs,—is ſorry,—and at length preſumes,
His Chariot waits,—paſt Ten, upon my Word!
Madam, your Pardon,—I muſt meet my Lord.
On the Loſs of Stella’sFriendſhip.
My little Flock let Cloe feed,
While Stella I bemoan;
Take thou my Scrip and tuneful Reed,
And then—I’m quite undone.
No Melody the Pipe contains,
I all reſign with Eaſe;
Stella her faithful Friend diſdains;
And nothing now can pleaſe;
No more retir’d from high Eſtate,
And its Attendants free,
Will ſhe in ſome well-choſe Retreat,
Converſe with humble me.
My wither’d Garland ſhe no more,
Will deck with Flow’rs ſo gay;Nor 151 U4r 151
Nor call me forth at early Hour,
To crop the blooming May.
My rural Notes no more can pleaſe;
Nor ſhall the gaudy Sun,
When he his cheerful Light withdraws,
Be thought to ſet too ſoon.
Sweet Philomel on every Bough,
May undiſturb’d complain;
No more ſhall we together go,
To hear her charming Strain.
Ye ſhady Coverts, verdant Meads!
Ye Nymphs and Swains can tell,
’Mongſt all Arcadia’s happy Maids,
No two e’re lov’d ſo well.
How oft at Foot of yonder Hill,
Cloſe by the green Wood ſide;
Have we obſerv’d that little Rill,
Do’s o’re the Pebbles glide?
So pure (ſaid ſhe) is Friendſhip’s Courſe,
When Hearts like Ours are join’d;
It ſprings from an immortal Source,
By flowing more refin’d.
But, oh! the Brook’s a Mirror ſtill,
Tho’ Friendſhip be no more;
Poor Stella’s falſe againſt her Will;
Forc’d by ſome envious Pow’r.
Yes, Celadon, I ſee it plain,
Your Heart is on the Wing;
You play the Hypocrite in vain,
To ſay ’tis no ſuch Thing.
The golden Bait has lur’d it hence,
And Delia’s Wealth ſupplies,
With its potent Influence,
What’s wanting in her Eyes.
Purſue the gilded Butter-fly,
And be a Slave for Life;
You’ll catch a very pretty Toy;
But—an inſipid Wife.
’Tis falſe, I never really lov’d;
’Twas Affectation all;
A Woman’s Art, to the height improv’d,
You Inclination call.
An Anſwer to your kind Addreſs,
Was playing on the Square;
And when we Trick for Trick confeſs,
I think ’tis very fair.
The Gameſter who will throw the Dice,
When he can nothing win,
Muſt certainly indulge the Vice,
And if he’s damn’d, ’tis out of Choice;
Which aggravates the Sin.
Turn, Goddeſs! turn; reflect on thoſe beneath;
Eaſe the dead Weight, and let the Wretched breath.
Not Crœſus’ Wealth, nor Cæſar’s Pow’r I crave,
No dang’rous Baits, which may the Soul enſlave;
No Lydian Softneſs, nor no Perſian Pride,
Voluptuous Joys I beg to be deny’d;
’Twere to be wretched ſtill, and never know,
Thoſe tranquil Hours, for which I’m wiſhing now.
Un-envy’d and un-pity’d would I live;
’Tis all I ask, and all I would receive.
By Nature juſt, benevolent, ſincere,
What Luggage theſe! for Indigence to bear?
Happy the Man! dare with the World contend;
Can risk thy Frown, to ſerve and bleſs his Friend;
To help the Weak, to animate the Strong;
Preſerve the Innocent, and improve the Young.
Theſe generous Notions, muſt abortive dye;
Who ſtops the Fountain, leaves the Channels dry.X2 Turn, 156 X2v 156
Turn, Goddeſs! turn; reflect on thoſe beneath;
Eaſe the dead Weight, and let the Wretched breath.
Sylvia, when you thoſe Symptoms ſee,
In other Men, which are in me,
Then I’ll give you Leave to chuſe;
Which to take, and which refuſe.
If to ſee, when you are by,
Nothing elſe that gives me Joy;
If when abſent not to know,
Whether I’m alive or no;
If my Friends can give no Pleaſure;
If (but for you) I ſcorn all Treaſure;
If my Bottle cannot warm me;
If no other Woman charm me;
Then, dear Sylvia, do, believe me,
Such a Love can ne’re deceive ye;I ne- 157 X3r 157
I never talk’d of Darts and Flames,
Nor call’d you by romantick Names;
All I ever ſaid to gain ye,
Was—I love you beſt of any:
My very Soul is in your Power;
Sylvia, be kind, and that ſecure.
On Receiving aLetterfrom a Lady, I had neither ſeen, nor heard of, for ſome Years.
When to my Hand thy friendly Letter came,
It rais’d Emotions, which muſt want a Name.
Thoſe gay Ideas which in Youth we ſhar’d,
Thoſe ſoft Amuſements then our chief Regard,
Thoſe calm Delights, which Innocence ſupply’d,
And all the bliſsful Hours we then injoy’d,
Ruſh’d on my Soul, and ſnatch’d me from my Cares;
And Time, methought, relinquiſh’d half my Years.
O wond’rous Proof of Love’s reſiſtleſs Force!
Which will prevail, through Life’s long rugged Courſe;Like 158 X3v 158
Like Arethuſa wandering under Ground,
The bub’ling Fountain will at length be found;
Whoſe hidden Streams, as rapid run and clear,
As thoſe expatiating in open Air.
Scanty the Bounds are ſet to earthly Bliſs!
When overflowing, naturally decreaſe.
Thoſe Tranſports your unlook’d for Letter gave,
Ended in Pangs, you only can conceive:
Emphatick Sorrow breaths in every Line,
While Love, Joy, Grief, and Pity, all combine,
To wound my Heart, without relieving Thine.
Had the poor Wanderer (as you call it) come,
And Sylvia ſleeping lain, within her Tomb,
The Seal broke up by ſome indiff’rent Hand,
Perhaps ſome rude ill-natur’d Wit had ſcan’d;
But if its Deſtiny had thrown it, where
Good Senſe, and ſoft Compaſſion have a Share,
The tender Sentiments, in ſome Degree,
Had wrought the ſame Effects they do in me.
Where have you been? and where has Sylvia ſlept?
What perſevering Star our Friendſhip kept?Long 159 X4r 159
Long Abſence, and long Silence always prove,
The Bane of vulgar Friendships, vulgar Love;
But You and I, ſo early took the Bent,
Yielding that Way, now meet in full Conſent.
Officious Fame, ſo prodigal of Breath,
Has kept your Secret as the Shades of Death,
And left the curious World, in vain to gueſs,
What happy Climate you thought fit to bleſs;
And, as a greater Prodigy, my Heart,
Wanted the Inſtinct, Friendſhip ſhou’d impart;
Or in that Solitude you now reveal,
You’d found a Friend cou’d all your Sorrows feel:
Could Sigh for Sigh, and Tear for Tear repay,
Hear thy ſad Tale, and mourn the live-long Day.
Unhappy Mortals! tho’ divinely led,
With Inadvertency we ſeem to tread;
Nor can extend one Thought ſo far, to know,
Why Inundations of Miſfortunes flow;
Weak Reaſon’s ſhallow Ford we ſearch in vain,
In Doubts and endleſs Errors ſtill remain:
Yet watchful Providence conducts with Care;
Proportions to our Strength, the Weight we bear;Or 160 X4v 160
Or Thee and I Conſtantia, long ago,
Had ſunk beneath accumulated Woe.
How much more wretched, we might both have prov’d.
Poſſeſt of all we wiſh’d, of all we lov’d!
One Refuge yet remains for every Ill;
(Submiſſion to the Great Diſpoſer’s Will.)
There Safety dwells; thither let us retire;
’Twill bring at laſt, the Peace we both deſire:
And may that Peace, be antedated here;
Averted be thoſe Ills you ſeem to fear:
And, oh! may I this ample Wiſh obtain,
To ſee my dear Conſtantia ſmile again;
’Till then—let Paper Embaſſies ſupply
Fewel to Friendſhip, which can never dye.
Such Fewel! as may warm and raiſe the Soul,
To Regions far beyond the diſtant Pole;
No crack’ling Blaſts, fan’d by gay Fancy’s Wing,
(They end in Vapour, and from Follies ſpring)
But let right Reaſon dictate every Line,
Glow in each Breaſt, in all our Actions ſhine.
The Play call’d The Bondman being Revis’d and Publiſh’d by Mr. Row ſome Years ſince, the following Prologue and Epilogue Were Written in the Country for the Diverſion of a Friend.
An Age of Criticks this! where all contend,
Who firſt, ſhall damn thoſe Lines they cannot mend.
We—come prepar’d; nor fear your ſolemn Cenſures;
Theſe Lines have paſt the Pikes, before your Grandfires.
You’ll ſay, alaſs! we have a diff’rent Gout,
And what was Wit with them is Nonſenſe now.
That’s very hard upon our quondam Betters;
For ſome of them (’tis ſaid) were Men of Letters.
Beſide, you’ll ſay, you pay a better Price;
And ought to have your Entertainment Choiſe:
If their good Natures could contented ſit,
And think their Twelvepence well beſtow’d, is’t fit,
You pay more Money for the ſelf ſame Wit?
For once, be plain,—is’t Wit and Senſe you follow,
When with ſuch Care you dreſs for Punchinello?
Can it be Wit, and Senſe, that you are ſeeking,
When you ſpend Hours to hear Italian Squeaking?
―― No, this will never do;
’Tis the dear Novelty, that rules your Purſe;
If new, ’tis worth your Time, and Caſh of Courſe.
Knowing your blind Side, makes us hope, at leaſt,
To pleaſe one Night, with an old Play new dreſs’d;
Here’s nought to make the Ladies look askew;
And very little which reflects on Beau;
Some Hints there are, which might the Age improve,
There’s ſome Morality, and a World of Love.
Epilogue to the ſame Play.
Spoke by Timandra.
That I have play’d my Part, you’ll all allow,
Both for my ſelf, and for my Brother too;
Had we ſat wringing of our Hands at Home,
And like forſaken Turtles made our Moan,
My faithleſs Lover in his Sins had dy’d,
And I liv’d all my mournful Days—a Maid.
Cleora’s dreadful Vow, ſtill makes me ſhake;
When once ſuch ſwinging Ones we Lovers make,
How great is the Temptation then, to break!
Yet ſhe perſiſted; which methinks was ſtrange;
Since e’re perform’d—her Inclinations change.
But outward Objects baniſh’d, wiſe Men ſay,
The Intellects injoy a brighter Day;
And ſhe in thoſe dark Hours both Cauſes try’d;
Love turn’d the Scale, and gave it on our Side.
You Ladies thought me wond’rouſly reſign’d,
That to a Rival cou’d appear ſo kind;Y2 And 164 Y2v 164
And you, gay Sparks, believ’d Piſander ſo,
Who had her in his Power,—yet let her go.
Young Tarquins all, you wou’d have ſeiz’d the Prey,
And by that means have ſpoilt a harmleſs Play.
Theſe Lovers, all liv’d in a peaceful Nation,
In Days of candid, cool Conſideration;
When Men in Earneſt, valu’d Moderation.
While dull Morality was much in Uſe;
And Folks for doing Ill, made ſome Excuſe.
When Love, was really Love, and Honour too;
Which was, you’ll own, a many Years ago.
Ne’re call it a Reflection on the Age,
We vamp old Plays to furniſh out the Stage;
As well may we condemn your Dreſſes now;
For ſome of them, about that Time, were new.
And, oh! the Air of Ruff and Fardingale,
Shou’d Quality but wear it in the Mall.
The Art of pleaſing long, we can’t attain;
Where all the Men are falſe, the Women vain.
Proteus himſelf wou’d all his Skill diſown,
E’re be a Slave to this fantaſtick Town:Par- 165 Y3r 165
Pardon a Woman’s Spleen—’tis quickly over;
Conſider, I had almoſt loſt my Lover!
The charming Sex will for my Fault attone;
If they’ll be pleas’d to make my Caſe—their own.
Then Rakes, and Beaux, and Bullies do your worſt,
And if you dare—begin the Quarrel firſt.
Prithy tell me, Amoret,
Why that Look of ſad Diſtreſs;
Haſt thou loſt thy Paraquet?
Or has thy Husband loſt his Place?
Haſt thou broke a China Diſh?
Or has the Coachman broke his Neck?
At Ombre haſt thou loſt a Fiſh?
Or lies thy Character at Stake?
Haſt thou loſt thy prat’ling Boy?
Or has Miſs Tabby loſt a Chit?
Has little Veny gone Aſtray;
That thus Diſconſolate you ſit?
What Tears! Nay then, thy Gown’s ill made.
Perhaps—a Quarrel with your Spouſe.
Or, is your favourite Monkey dead?
Or quite burnt down the Manſion Houſe?
Theſe, ’tis like, might equal move me;
But, I’ll tell you all, my Dear;
Celia, laſt Night, was plac’d above me!
Such a Tryal who can bear.
On a very Pretty Young Lady, an everlaſting Talker, and very Ill-humour’d.
There need not thoſe forbidding Frowns,
On beaut’ous Cynthia’s Brow;
She has a Tongue—which deeper wounds,
Than e’re her Eyes can do.
The Acids in her Blood to cure,
Wou’d baffle all Great Galen’s Skill;
What Mortal wou’d the Houſe endure,
If Cynthia wants her Will.
The Roaring of Veſuvius’ Flames,
Are Symphony, compar’d;
Wou’d lull, like ſoft Meander’s Streams;
Nor, when ſhe talks, be heard.
Short is the Triumph of her Face;
Tho’ tempting as the Heſperian Tree:
Her Tongue ſupplies the Dragon’s Place;
And is Mankinds Security.
On the Loſs of herLover.
Tell—dear Aminta, now ’tis over,
How came you, to loſe your Lover?
Tell me, firſt, how I obtain’d him.
O, ’twas Youth and Beauty gain’d him.
My Youth and Beauty ſtill remain;
Yet, you ſee, I have loſt the Swain.
Ah! my Girl, the Thing’s too certain;
Th’ Pangs he felt, were for my Fortune.
Why—five and forty—thouſand—Pound!
Had given the Great Mogul a wound.
The Mighty Czar, had He been living,
Had thought the Preſent worth receiving.
But—that delightful South-Sea Scheme;
That charming, warming, golden Dream,Which 169 Z1r 169
Which made ſo many Fools and Knaves;
And left ſo many well-bred Slaves;
Fell to the Depths from whence it came;
And quench’d at once his tow’ring Flame.
On theDeathof MyDear Brother; Late of Univerſity College, Oxford. Who Dy’d Young.
Mournful the Night! with utmoſt Horror ſpread;
Which told my trembling Soul, that thine was fled.
To Senſe ’twas dreadful, Nature cou’d not bear
So great a Breach, nor the ſad Tidings hear,
Without the Symptoms of a wild Deſpair.
’Twas then I loſt, a Brother and a Friend!
What poinant Grief, muſt ſuch a Stroke attend?
Tho’ as prophetick of ſo ſhort a Date,
His Soul was diſciplin’d, to meet his Fate,
Yet my Diſtreſs no Mitigation finds;
That Bleſſing is reſerv’d for ſtronger Minds:
Minds like his own, who can extend their View;
Sit looſe to every tranſient Good below,
Riſe to ætherial Joys, and the bright Track purſue.
Wond’rous young Man! thou early blooming Good,
Snatch’d hence, e’re half thy Virtue’s underſtood.
In uſeful Learning, what ſwift Progreſs made!
How ſoon the tender Parents Care repaid.
His toward Genius did with Eaſe attain,
What ſome by long Fatigue have ſought in vain;
Strict were his Morals, his Addreſs polite!
Wit, Judgment, and Humanity, unite
To make his Loſs eſteem’d, as infinite.
Ah! faint Deſcription, of a Worth ſo great;
This a ſhort Sketch, th’ Original compleat.
Like ſome Noviciate, I attempt to ſhow,
Thoſe Lines a Maſter Hand wants Skill to do:
Who can paint Souls? or trace to Realms of Light,
Spirits prepar’d, to reach that glorious Height.
’Twas Heav’n, not Death, that raviſh’d him away,
For ſuch Perfection never can decay.
TheComplaintof theShepherd Adrasto.
Tho’ the bright Nymph whom I adore
Forſakes the myrtle Shade,
Alaſs! it is not in my Power
To ſhun the lovely Maid.
She’s in my Heart, my Soul, my Brain,
My daily Thought, my Dream,
Her dear Idea ſtill will reign;
She’s every where the ſame.
When by ſome raſh unlucky Hand,
The Twig receives a Wound;
It kills at firſt, or will expand,
And on the Tree be found.
That Storm alone, which ſhakes the Fruit,
Rends the Branches, rives the Root,
Th’ Impreſſion can remove;
Own my Laura, prithy do,
’Tis ſo with Hearts in Love.
My Aſhes only can deny,
To cruel Curioſity,Z2 “With 172 Z2v 172
With taunting Smile, or pitying Tear,
To point the Wounded, or the wounding Fair.
Thus ſung Adrasto to his oaten Reed;
The Sun was down, and all his Flocks at feed;
Deſcending Dews fell ſilent on the Plain;
Sweet ſmelt the Thyme, and ſweetly ſung the Swain.
The Wood Nymphs charm’d, forgoe their eager Chaſe,
And conſcious Philomel her wonted Place;
Rememb’ring well how fatal the Diſpute,
What Numbers fell on the contending Lute;
When Emulation ſwell’d each little Throat,
And broke a Heart, for every melting Note:
Conſtrain’d ſhe ſat in the adjacent Wood;
While the wild Satyrs, by his Voice ſubdu’d,
With ſavage Pleaſure grinn’d, and ſoftly trod,
As apprehenſive to incenſe a God.
All, all was calm, but in the Shepherd’s Breaſt,
There perjur’d Laura wou’d admit no Reſt.
Laura! no more the Pleaſure of the Plain,
But Laura now, the Fickle and the Vain;By 173 Z3r 173
By ſome unhappy Influence had stray’d,
And left the purling Streams and peaceful Shade.
Had ſeen great Towns, ſince firſt ſhe heard his Tale,
Where artful Courtſhips, artful Charms prevail.
Had glitter’d in the Boxes and the Ring,
Seen Harlequin, heard Faranelli ſing,
Refin’d her Taſte, and her own Charms ſurvey’d,
Heard her ſelf call’d the lovely rural Maid;
The Rounds of Vanity, new form’d her Mind,
Debas’d her to the worſt of Womankind.
While gay young Fops with neither Love nor Truth,
Bluſt’ring for Honour, tho’ a Foe to both,
Had in her fripp’ry Heart ſuch Havock made,
Love rais’d the Siege, and gave the Shepherd Aid.
His Empire ſcorn’d, the little Deity,
Swore by his Dart, ſhe was more blind than he;
Diſdain’d a Heart, no Merit cou’d ingage,
Unbent his Bow, and left her in a Rage.
Each Pow’r compaſſionates Adrasto’s Wrong,
Pleas’d with his Truth, and ſoften’d by his Song;
Gave blooming Phebe to the Shepherd’s Arms,
Equal their Virtues, equal were their Charms.
Made by ――, on her Resolution to Leave off the Vanities of Dress.
To the Tune of, The Green Willow.
Gaudy Trappings here I leave ye,
Tarniſh’d Beauty to adorn;
All the Charms which you can give me,
Vary like an April Morn.
Daphne when Apollo woo’d her,
Knew no Art the God to pleaſe;
Her Hair thus flowing, he purſu’d her,
She ſcorn’d ſuch idle Toys as theſe.
’Twas not with a ſparkling Jewel
Helen won the Trojan Swain;
Love ſubſiſts by other Fewel,
Will by other Methods reign.
Triumph, Youth! and Triumph Nature,
Welcome honest rural Grey!
Love alone improves each Feature,
Love can every Charm convey.
On Cloe all my Hopes were bent,
Forgive me, mighty Jove!
I thought the Flame from thee was ſent;
But find it mortal Love.
Her wand’ring Heart no Charms can fix,
No Truth her Soul reclaim;
With all the Beauties of the Sex,
She’s Faults I bluſh to name.
Yet is my Paſſion ſo ſincere,
So fondly dotes my Heart,Ra- 176 Z4v 176
Rather than loſe the worthleſs Fair,
With all the World I’ll part.
Why when her Eyes I chance to meet,
Muſt mine to Fountains turn?
Not rather the falſe Nymph forget,
And pay back all her Scorn.
Nor Pride, nor Reaſon bring Redreſs,
There’s Magick in her Face;
I cannot, wou’d not, love her leſs,
In ſpight of my Diſgrace.
If ’mongſt Mankind, one Heart there prove,
So weak, ſo true as mine,
Let it from Cloe’s Charms remove,
Or all its Peace reſign.
On a YoungGentleman’sReturn from Flanders.
When Clody the valiant return’d from the War,
So ſpiteful was Fame his Laurels to blaſt;
Becauſe in his Face he had never a Scar,
She preſum’d he ne’re went, till the Battle was paſt.
The Hero perceiving his Honour at Stake,
In Dread of the Odium Therſites ſuſtains,
In a Hurry of Thought, expos’d his bare Back;
And at the ſame Time, diſcover’d his Brains.
Nor Glory, nor Profit, but a charming red Coat,
Had allur’d the young Puppy to make a Campaign;
The Sound of the Drum put his Courage on float;
Which the Noiſe of the Cannon, ſoon ſettl’d again.
That Part of Command which proclaim’d a Retreat,
Was Muſick the ſweeteſt, that ever he heard;
He ſhew’d the Activity prone to his Feet,
And the Wound on his Back his Character clear’d.
Now he raves at Dame Fortune, a B— and a Wh––e,
And ſwears ’twas wrong Conduct to rally ſo ſoon;
When next he takes Leave of the old Britiſh Shore,
Will puſh for Preferment, in the World in the Moon.
Linesoccaſion’d by the Burning of ſomeLetters.
Not all pale Hecate’s direful Charms,
When Hell’s invok’d to riſe in Swarms;
When Graves are ranſack’d, Mandarrakes torn,
And Rue and baleful Nightſhade burn,
Cou’d give that torturing racking Pain,
Theſe magick Lines did once obtain;
There’s not a Letter in the Whole,
But what conſpir’d to wound the Soul.
But, now! the dread Inchantment’s o’re;
The Spell is broke, they plague no more;
’Twas only Paper dawb’d with Art;
Could ſuch a Trifle gain a Heart?
Obſtruct the Peace of early Life,
And ſet the Paſſions all at Strife?
Admit no Cure, till Time eras’d
The fond Ideas Fancy plac’d?
Combuſtible, I’m ſure you are;
Ariſe, ye Flames! aſſiſt me Air!
Waſt the vain Atoms to the Wind;
Diſperſe the Fraud, and purge Mankind.
The fatal Reliques, thus remov’d,
Do’s Celia look like one who lov’d?
Who durſt her future Peace repoſe,
On Vows, and Oaths, and Toys like thoſe.
Fallacious Deity! to Thee
The Guilt, and the Simplicity;
Who thought ſuch Cobweb Arts cou’d bind,
To all Eternity, the Mind?
When Honour’s fled, thy Flames expire,
And end in Smoke like common Fire.
Thus the intangl’d Bird ſet free,
Finds treble Joy in Liberty:
Her little Heart may throb and beat,
Nor ſoon the Danger paſt, forget:Dread 181 Aa3r 181
Dread to forſake the ſafeguard Wood,
And ſhun a-while, the criſtal Flood;
But, with the next returning Spring,
Retire to Shades――you’ll hear her ſing.
To Mr. ―― after a Denial from his Mistress.
So fell Phaeton from the Sky,
Who ſtrove the fiery Steeds to rule;
The vain Attempt undid the Boy,
And none lament the Fool
As your Ambition was no leſs,
We’re not ſurpriz’d at your Succeſs.
What hair-brain’d Planet rul’d your Fate,
To aim at Cloe’s Heart?
She looks, ſhe reigns, ſhe kills in State;
And minds no Mortal’s Smart:
A haughty Beauty, ſo well known!
The Toaſt, the Joy, the Plague of all the Town.
Poor Lyſander――think again,
Move in a lower Sphere;
Cloe’s Love you’ll never gain,
She—bilk’d a Garter and a Star!
The gentle Reins of ſoft Deſire,
Can never, manage Air and Fire.
The Sad Shepherd.
By the Side of a Pond,
Alexis the Fond,
Laid him down at the Foot of a Willow;
His Bed was a Stone;
For Graſs there was none;
And the muſty damp Moſs, was his Pillow.
The Rain and the Wind,
Beat before and behind;
And the Frogs were all Croaking about him;
But the Pangs in his Breaſt,
Kept the Shepherd from Reſt;
Much more than the Evils without him.
Ah, Phillis! he cry’d;
Is’t Averſion or Pride,
That’s the Cauſe of your Lover’s Deſpair?
Tho’ ſo Charming to Me,
Perhaps no other He,
Will think you a Maiden ſo fair.
For Love we know’s blind;
And to Miſchief inclin’d;
He ſhoots not an Arrow in vain.
Tho’ now ’tis my Turn,
Thus hopeleſs to Burn;
There’s Vengeance in Store for Diſdain.
If Mortals may preſume to Wiſh,
And lay their Schemes for Happineſs;
Propoſe to ſweeten Human Cares,
And gently waſt their number’d Years;
Propitious Heaven! my Prayer permit,
Yet grant what Portion thou thinks’t fit.
While rival Princes Crowns defend,
Glory the Motive, Pow’r the End:
While Fate determines who’s the Slave,
And who the bandy’d Ball ſhall have,
From factious Strife let me retire;
Un-ſcorch’d by wild Ambition’s Fire.
Where warlike Sounds ne’re reach’d the Ear;
Nor Echo can the Clangor bear:
The ſad Diſtreſs, the Vanquiſh’d feel,
For ever from my Breaſt conceal;
There’s not a tender Fiber there,
But muſt in their Misfortunes ſhare.
I ask no Wealth, but to provide,
For Nature’s Uſe, without its Pride;
Something with Pleaſure to impart,
To eaſe an honeſt akeing Heart;
Beneath an humble cleanly Roof;
Convenient, but yet Envy-proof.
Inclos’d by Hills and flow’ry Meads,
Where e’en the Brute in Safety feeds:
One Friend ſelect, whoſe Heart I truſt,
Who true to Me, will love my Duſt.
Not Rome, in all her State, and Trim,
Tho’ Titus wore the Diadem,
E’re gave a Laurel could diſpence,
The Joys are found in Innocence;
What cou’d intrude to hope or fear?
What Ills, could gain Admiſſion here?
Impartial Conſcience cou’d no Terrors bring;
Life know no Pain, nor Death no Sting.
Thus, on Salona’s peaceful Plain,
His Crown contemn’d, diſmiſs’d his Train,
Great Diocles knew firſt, to live and reign.
The Shepherd’s Daughter.
An humble Imitation of Chaucer’s Tales, as told by Mr. Dryden.
Far from the Court where curſt Ambition rules;
Where Merit ſtarves, and Villians prey on Fools;
Far from the noiſie, buſie, factious Town,
With all its Follies, which the Wiſe diſown;
Where yet ſoul Scandal no Abetters found,
To give the Innocent a ſecret Wound,
Dwelt poor Palemon, as old Stories tell,
Near Cypreſs Groves, and in an humble Cell.
A tight warm Cottage to keep out the Cold;
Some fertile Vines, and an un-envy’d Fold,
Was all his Store; except the Fair Clemene,
Who for her ſprightly Dancing on the Green
With one Conſent, was choſe the Shepherd’s Queen.
This was their Law, that ſhe who danc’d the beſt,
Shou’d win the annual Crown, from all the reſt.
And Laws with them, were counted ſacred Things,
None durſt diſpute, corrupt them, or infringe.
’Twas her Prerogative alone, to chuſe
Whom to reward, and whom ſhe wou’d refuſe.
Beneath a well-ſpread Beach ſhe kept her Court,
Where every Nymph and Shepherd did reſort,
While ſhe gave Rules to all their ruſtick Sport.
No injur’d Nymph, or well-deſerving Swain,
E’re made Appeal to fair Clemene in vain:
For fair ſhe was,—and as my Authors tell,
She, in thoſe Days, did every Nymph excel.
Palemon’s Joy all Parents muſt allow,
He ſaw her Virtues, with her Beauties grow;
Immenſely rich he thought himſelf in her,
His greateſt Bleſſing, and his greateſt Care.
To Heav’n his aged Knees were daily bow’d,
To have the choiceſt of its Gifts beſtow’d
Upon the beauteous, the deſerving Maid;
And ſhe with tender’ſt Duty, all his Cares repaid.
’Twas thus they liv’d, of every Good poſſeſt,
Which in reality, could make Life bleſt;Bb2 Till 188 Bb2v 188
Till in the midſt of May, one pleaſant Eve,
(The firſt that they had ever cauſe to grieve)
Rob’d all in White, her Garland freſh and gay,
Came bright Clemene, to ſee the Shepherds play;
A Train of Nymphs ſtood waiting all around,
While her fair Hand held forth the Laurel Crown.
The Cuſtom was the Laurel Bough to place
Upon that Shepherd ſhe thought fit to grace,
For his ſweet Notes upon the Oaten Reed;
And happy was the Swain that ſhould ſucceed:
Each tun’d his Pipe, with utmoſt rural Skill;
And each perform’d his Roundelay ſo well,
’Twas hard to know, if either did excel.
But young Philaſter did the Prize obtain,
A Youth, who long had ſigh’d the lovely Maid to gain.
Peculiar Favours none had e’re receiv’d;
But he ſo happy was to be believ’d.
In moving Phraſe he did his Paſſion tell,
He ſung, he pip’d, he danc’d,—did all Things well;
And ſhe, without a Bluſh, his Flame might own,
For in the Lad a thouſand Graces ſhone.But 189 Bb3r 189
But Fame, who idly round the World does roam,
Had took her gadding Wings, and told at Rome,
The unlearned Graces of the lovely Maid,
And every Secret of her Bliſs betray’d,
Spoke loud her Praiſe, then did her Fate deplore,
In Beauty only rich, in Fortune poor.
This heard, young Delphio, and his Heart grew warm,
Reſolv’d to ſee what could at Diſtance charm.
A nearer View, he thought, might bring Relief;
Of Roman Lords he was eſteem’d the Chief:
Polite in Manners, and of Form compleat,
In Arts and Arms inimitably great;
Made to be lov’d, and wanton as the Wind,
A fond Admirer of the Female Kind.
Unknown to all, the Court he bid adieu,
And with a Lover’s Speed to fair Clemene flew.
That Hour arriv’d, when innocent and gay,
Admiſt the harmleſs Troops that grac’d the May,
She ſat well pleas’d, and gave impartial Heed
To the ſoft Melody of every Reed.Love 190 Bb3v 191
Love (not remiſs) his Eyes directed right,
And fills his Soul with Wonder and Delight,
Diana thus, among her Nymphs was known;
(Superior Graces did Clemene crown)
Gazing he ſtood ſome Time, then on the Graſs
He threw himſelf, near where Palemon was;
Complain’d to him, that he had miſs’d his Road,
And now belated, far from his Abode:
He beg’d his hoſpitable Care that Night;
A ſober Gueſt, and wou’d the Deed requite.
There needs not, ſays Palemon, a Return,
To ſerve our fellow Creatures we were born;
Humanity obliges, ’tis your Due,
I ſhou’d expect, young Man, the ſame from you;
If gilded Roofs and coſtly Fare you’ll wave,
To what you find you ſhall a Welcome have.
And now the Flocks began to want their Care,
And to their Homes the jolly Swains repair;
The pretty Arbitratreſs ſmiling roſe,
And wills ’em all, to haſten to Repoſe.
Obſerving Delphio yet had ’ſcap’d her View,
The Throng was great, and ſhe had much to do,Till 191 Bb4r
Till with Palemon, to conduct the Fair,
The noble Stranger took her to his Care;
She bluſh’d, as tenderly he touch’d her Hand,
He ſighing begg’d, ſhe wou’d his Life command.
As o’re the verdant Meads they paſt along,
The Dews of Hybla oyl’d his flatt’ring Tongue:
No more, ye Powers! let me in Courts no more,
Supinely vain, Fame, Power, and State adore;
Thoſe artificial Joys no more can pleaſe;
Ye Gods! ſend me Delights un-mixt like theſe,
Which you, fair Shepherdeſs, with happy Swains,
And their kind Nymphs enjoy on flow’ry Plains.
No more he ſpoke, his Eyes declar’d the reſt,
Whilſt her’s unwonted Pleaſure too confeſt.
The Way not long, they to the Cottage come,
Where good Palemon bad them welcome Home;
His niggard Fortune had not ſtarv’d his Soul,
He cou’d diſpenſe as he were born to rule,
And knew a cheerful Freedom better Fare
Than costly Viands with Confinement are.
We paſs their Evening Chat and nightly Reſt,
The Pleaſure of the Hoſt, and of their Gueſt,And 192 Bb4v 192
And only tell you that with early Day,
They all ariſe to celebrate the May.
The noble Roman their Employ wou’d ſhare,
He cropt freſh Noſegays to adorn the Fair,
With her made Vows for a propitious Year.
That done, a handſome Preſent wou’d beſtow,
But old Palemon wou’d not that allow;
The Honour done his Cottage was enough,
So brave a Youth ne’re ſlept beneath his Roof:
Then took reluctant Leave, and o’re the Plain
They ſaw his bounding Steed gain Ground amain.
He reach’d the Mountains Top, then ſlack’d his Pace,
And turn’d once more to view the happy Place;
There lives the charming Maid who bleſt theſe Eyes,
There, there, ſhe dwells, th’ inamour’d Roman cries.
Hark their ſweet Lays, the Shepherds now begin,
And now they pay Obeyſance to their Queen.
See! when ſhe comes, the Graces diſappear;
Defective Beauties all, when ſhe is near.
Happy the Nymphs who lead her to the Grove,
How bleſt the Man who ſhall enjoy her Love!
’Twas thus he talk’d,—then ſudden turn’d again,
To look once more on the delightful Plain;
And can I quit that Proſpect? charming Shade!
Forſake thoſe Plains,—and that diſtracting Maid!
But one Look more,—that drew another on,
He ſigh’d, then wept, and cry’d I am undone,
Let my Stars finiſh what they have begun.
Rome’s lofty Tow’rs leſs glorious now appear,
Alaſs! I cannot find Clemene there.
Not the ſhrill Trumpet, Honour’s Call to War;
Tho’ now the diſtant Sounds ſalute mine Ear,
Can move my Soul; Ambition ſleeps, and Love alone will rule,
Love gives me Laws, no Reaſon can controul,
I muſt—I will the beauteous Maid obtain;
Let Caſſius fight, and let Octavius reign.
Then, ſays my Tale, he bad farewel to Rome;
Turn’d his proud Steed, reſolv’d to ſeek his Doom,
And try the utmoſt Force of Love and Art,
To gain Admiſſion to Clemene’s Heart:
Her Heart, where Love already had a Friend,
Apt to perſwade, and powerful to contend;Cc Who 194 Cc1v 194
Who mourn’d his Abſence, as ſhe knew his Flame;
Her Hopes, her Fears, her Wiſhes were the ſame.
He’s gone, ſhe ſays, the noble Stranger’s gone;
The Bleſſing, tranſient as a Winter’s Sun,
Bleſt me too late, forſaken me too ſoon,
He muſt to Empire, and to Crowns be born,
Whom Nature’s ſo induſtrious to adorn!
No homebred Shepherd, at the Feaſt of Pan,
When he his beſt Attire, with Care, puts on,
The God to honour, and the Fair to pleaſe,
Cou’d e’re ſubdue a Heart with ſo much Eaſe.
In artful Courts he’s practis’d to deceive
Thoſe unlearnt Maids who ſhall his Vows believe.
What would my Heart? why do theſe Thoughts intrude?
Diſturb my Peace, and haunt my Solitude?
The Cauſe is gone; and now in gaudy Courts,
To ſome beloved She, perhaps, reſorts;
And thinks of me no more: ’Twas thus ſhe talk’d,
As by pale Cynthia’s Beams ſhe penſive walk’d.
(Evil the Omen) Delphio then arriv’d;
And had, to meet her in that Grove, contriv’d;The 195 Cc2r 195
The Tranſports either felt, let thoſe reveal,
Who know the Paſſion, and once lov’d as well.
’Twas then he told how much he did contemn
The Roman Pomp, and Cæſar’s Diadem;
His own high Birth, his Pow’r and early Fame.
Then Female Nature did its Force exert,
And taught Clemene’s Tongue t’ oppoſe her Heart.
But Delphio, skill’d in the bewitching Sex,
Knew with how much Reluctance they perplex
A gay young Lover, ſighing at their Feet;
And Stratagem, with Stratagem, cou’d meet:
With Patience heard the Fair his Conduct blame,
And vow ſhe never wou’d allow his Flame;
Who took Advantage of her humble State,
And preſs’d ſo rudely on her lov’d Retreat.
Is this well done? oh, noble Youth, be gone,
Leave me, to juſt Reſentment, here alone.
Forgive me then, ſaid the admiring Youth,
Earth, Air, and Seas, be witneſs to my Truth!
Thoſe glitt’ring Lights which make the Night ſo fine,
Can hardly boaſt a Flame more pure than mine.Cc2 ’Tis 196 Cc2v 196
’Tis Love’s magnetick Force which brings me here,
And from your Lover what have you to fear?
Go, gentle Youth, ſhe cries, (if I have Power)
Where Glory calls, and think of me no more;
Contented with his choſen Country Life,
Palemonmeans me for a Shepherd’s Wife;
If Inclination do my Duty join,
Delphio, deſpair; for I can ne’re be thine.
That word Deſpair, had ſtruck the Roman dumb,
But he perceiv’d how on her fault’ring Tongue,
In almoſt dying Sounds the Accents hung.
He ſaw with Tranſport—what ſhe cou’d not hide,
That Love with Duty did her Soul divide;
And ſtrove t’ improve the firſt with all his Heart;
To make a perfect Conqueſt of her Heart;
Nor did he long contend,—for now his Care,
Was how to fix his Habitation near,
Where he unknown to old Palemon might
With lov’d Clemene hourly bleſs his Sight.
Part of a Cottage the next Day he took;
Hir’d half the Land, and bought a little Flock:
A Shepherd’s Weed puts on, and on the Green,
With Crook and Scrip, and rural Toys was ſeen;
Wholly tranſform’d to all but his Clemene.
He ſoon improv’d in all their paſt’ral Care;
And learn’d by Rote the Shepherd’s Kalendar:
Could carve the Beechen Bowl, and pip’d ſuch Lays,
As ſwelling Envy was oblig’d to praiſe.
She ſeem’d ſurpriz’d, while her inclining Heart,
With Pleaſure felt Love made him ſo expert;
The foreign Foe that inbred Traytor joyn’d,
And every adverſe Star againſt her Peace combin’d.
His ruſtick Garb took nothing from his Air;
There’s no diſguiſing of the Young and Fair.
Thus when Apollo in Diſgrace did keep,
’Mongſt ſimple Swains, the King Admetas’ Sheep;
He ow’d their undeſigning Tempers more,
For his Concealment, than his mighty Pow’r.
The Stranger Swain was every Muſes Theme;
The Shepherd’s Wonder, and the Maiden’s Dream:
Not one fair She, but with repeated Vows,
Kind Heaven entreated to be made his Spouſe.In- 198 Cc3v 198
Indeed he talk’d of Hymen’s golden Joys;
But, oh! that was put on with his Diſguiſe;
Thoſe ſanctimonious Tyes long ſince diſclaim’d,
But to amuſe and gain Belief, were nam’d;
Ambitious to poſſeſs, and unconfin’d,
Lay Beauty waſte, then wander as the Wind:
The little God ne’re gain’d ſo much before,
To make him three long Moons the ſame fair Maid adore;
As ſhe in Charms excell’d, in Falſhood he;
Unequal Match! ’twixt Truth and Perfidy.
Affected Virtue made Palemon free
To uſe him with a friendly Liberty;
Nor ſaw the Roman through the homely Weed,
Nor knew what Mazes ſubtle Lovers tread;
To his Brunetta’s Arms he came ſincere,
From Youth to Age he lov’d, and only her;
Stranger to Fraud, his unſuſpecting Soul
Gave Delphio room to court without Controul.
Unhappy Fair! here draw the Cyprus Vail;
Her Garland wither’d,――and her Cheeks look’d pale.God- 199 Cc4r 199
Goddeſs! Protectreſs of the Virgin Train,
Bear’st thou the Silver Bow and Shaft in vain,
How ’ſcap’d falſe Delphio thy diſcerning Eye,
Or wer’t thou charm’d too, by his Flattery?
Not leſs reſerv’d was our deluded Fair,
Left in the Bloom of Youth to black Deſpair.
Ingratitude! thou Monſter of the Earth!
’Twas the infernal Shades which gave thee Birth,
The firſt black Crime, the laſt to be forgiven,
Abhorr’d below, no Int’reſt in Heaven:
’Gainſt thee the generous Mind no Fence provides,
To all benevolent,—in all confides.
Is there Neceſſity each hapleſs Maid,
Who gives a Heart, ſhou’d be ſo ill repaid?
Have the weak Sex no Maxims to elude
The natural Bent of Man’s Ingratitude?
Then weak they are indeed, and curſt be he,
Who triumphs over Imbecility.
Tell thou, Melpomene, the next ſad Scene;
Thou haſt Companion to Philaſter been;
In darkſome dreary Nights to thee alone,
The so fond Youth oft made his piteous Moan.No 200 Cc4v 200
No Tongue but thine, pretend to tell his Pain;
Who ’ſpy’d the Rival in the treach’rous Swain,
His infant Hopes he hourly ſaw decreaſe;
Nor durſt complain,—but dy’d of the Diſtreſs.
Upon a flow’ry Bank th’ ill-fated Maid,
Early one Morning found her Lover dead;
Wrote with his Blood upon his faithful Breaſt,
Theſe few ſhort Lines th’ unhappy Cauſe expreſt:
Cruel Clemene! Love ſo true as mine,
Not ev’n to Delphio will its Rights reſign;
Ask your own Heart if I deſerve my Woe,
Who without you can find no Joy below.
She look’d with Horror on the bleeding Wound,
And too much Guilt in her own Boſom found;
Swift o’re the Mead th’ affrighted fair One flew,
So ſwift, ſhe ſcarce bruſh’d off the Morning Dew;
Thought every Step Philaſter muſt purſue.
Breathleſs and panting to the Cottage come,
She hop’d to find a Comforter at Home;
There all Confuſion reign’d, for now ’twas known,
The Stranger Shepherd, from his Flock was gone;Had 201 Dd1r 201
Had left his ſimple Weed, and did declare,
He had no longer any Buſineſs there;
That Glory was his Miſtreſs; and the Charms
Of Beauty ſhould give Place to thoſe of Arms.
Heaven ſaw the recent Fact, nor wou’d forgive;
What Right, have ſuch vile Caitiffs to live?
T’infect the ambient Air which fans the Grove,
And wrong a Paſſion ſo ſublime as Love!
The baſe Ungrateful was no ſooner fled,
But Thunders roll o’re his devoted Head;
Incens’d Astrea hurl’d a fiery Dart
(Mortal the Wound) to his perfidious Heart:
Fal’n from his Steed, the Furies plunge his Soul
In direful Styx, where wretched Spirits howl.
As thus my mournful, dol’rous Lines go on,
Let either Sex, exempt from Hearts of Stone,
Wipe the becoming Tears, and make one Character their own.
Palemon ſunk beneath his Weight of Woe;
Clemene’s Ruin gave the fatal Blow.Dd Re- 202 Dd1v 202
Remorſe, Deſpair, Diſtraction tore her Breaſt,
Love, Duty, Pity, Scorn, her Soul oppreſt:
Diſtruſt and Terror ſeize the Nymphs and Swains,
And general Conſternation fills the Plains.
Diana rag’d, Love drooping ſlack’d his Bow,
And rival Venus did Compaſſion ſhow!
The Graces fled who did the Maid attend!
Conſcious how ill they could their Charge defend.
No more the ſportive Youth their Revels keep;
Diſpers’d to Grottos in Retirement weep:
Neglected Flocks at Random feed all Day;
At Night unfolded o’re the Mountains ſtray.
The ſmiling Goddeſs Peace no more is ſeen;
And every Maiden ſhun’d the loſt Clemene;
Fell Execrations reſt on Delphio’s Name,
The Blot of Honour and of Roman Fame.
On ſolid Stone, and laſting Oak you’ll read,
Engrav’d by Shepherd’s, the inglorious Deed;
From that black Æra, back they count their Cares,
Their Shepherd’s Falſhood, and their Virgin’s Tears.
Hence, thou Deceiver! whoſoe’r thou art,
Dread Delphio’s Fate, as due to thy Deſert;
Boaſt not of Honour, Pow’r, or noble Blood;
By virtous Actions all are underſtood.
Be cautious all ye Fair, nor truſt too ſoon;
For tho’ my Tale bear Date ſo long agone,
Beauty retains the ſame attractive Pow’r;
And Man’s—at leaſt as falſe as heretofore.