wou'd sing Must Force and Fire and Indignation bring For 't is no Satyr if it has no sting In short who in that Field wou'd famous be Must think and write like Iuvenal and Thee Let others boast of all the mighty nine To make their Labours with more lustre shine I never had no other Muse but thee Ev'n thou wer 't all the mighty nine to me 'T was thy dear Friendship did my Breast inspire And warm'd it first with a Poetick Fire But 't is a warmth that does with thee expire For when the Sun is set that guides the day The Traveller must stop or lose his way To the Memory of Edmund Waller Esq. THough ne'r so base or never so sublime All human things must be the spoil of time Poet and Hero with the rest must go Their Fame may higher mount their dust must ly as low Thus mighty Waller is at last expir'd With Cowley from a vitious Age retir'd As much lamented and as much admir'd Long we enjoy'd him on his tuneful tongue All Ears and Hearts with the same rapture hung As if Heav'n had indited and an Angel sung Here the two bold contending Fleets are found The mighty Rivals of the wat'ry round In Smoak and Flame involv'd they cou'd not fight With so much force and fire as he does write Here Galatea mourns in such sad strains Poor Philomel her wretched Fate complains Here Fletcher and Immortal Iohnson shine Deathless preserv'd in his Immortal Line But where O mighty Bard where is that he Surviving now to do the same for Thee At such a Theme my conscious Muse withdraws Too weak to plead in such a weighty cause Whether for Peaceful Charles or Warlike Iames His Lyre was strung the Muse's dearest Themes Whether of Love's success when in the Eyes Of the kind Nymph the kindling glances rise When blushing she breaths short and with constraint denies Whether he paint the Lover's restless care Or Sacharissa the disdainful Fair Relentless Sacharissa deaf to Love The only she his Verse cou'd never move But sure she stopt her Ears and shut her Eyes He cou'd not else have miss'd the Heav'nly Prize All this is done with so much grace and care Hear it but once and you 'd for ever hear His Labours thus peculiar Glory claim As writ with something more than mortal flame Wit Judgment Fancy and a heat divine Throughout each part throughout the whole does shine The expression clear the thought sublime and high No flutt'ring but with even wing he glides along the Sky Some we may see who in their Youth have writ Good sense at fifty take their leave of wit Chimaera's and Incongruous Fables feign Tedious Insipid Impudent and Vain The Hinds and Panthers of a Crazy Brain But he when he through eighty years had past Felt no decay the same from first to last Death only cou'd his vig'rous Flame o'ercast Such was the Man whose loss we now deplore Such was the Man but we shou'd call him more Immortal in himself we need not strive To keep his sacred Memory alive Just Loyal Brave Obliging Gen'rous Kind The English Tongue he to the height refin'd his Legacy And the best Standard of it leaves behind To the Memory of Colonel Edward Cooke 'T Is Vertue which alone supports the whole For without that the World 's without a Soul Most certain then as it grows faint and weak Th' eternal Chain decays at last must break When great Cooke fell the jarring Links did twang And Nature sigh'd as if she felt the pang Nor is it strange For Vertue was his guide And scarce before so much e're with a votary dy'd In War he was nurs't up Arms his delight Courted in Peace and as much shun'd in fight Death he had seen in various shapes but none Cou'd move him to be fearful of his own Nor did old Age abate the martial Flame 'T was always great and always was the same His Charity did equally extend To cherish the distress'd and serve his Friend When he did good and who his Life surveys Will find he did delight in 't all his dayes 'T was for the sake of good and not for praise Restless Ambition ne'r his thought employ'd Peace and Conteet he sought and those enjoy'd Merit he priz'd though 't were in rags enshrin'd He look't not on the Person but the Mind His Judgment was unbyast clear and strong His Conversation pleasant gay and young But then his Mirth was still from Folly free Take all profane from Wit and that was he And as when Tygers range the Woods for prey And chance to meet a Lyon in their way Streight they forget their rage and learn t' obey So Atheous Men though they blasphem'd before Aw'd with his Presence their vain talk forbore For Piety was still his constant Guest And found its safest refuge in his Breast Such was his Life and now his Death we 'll shew His Death the greater wonder of the two For when the fatal pangs were drawing on And the last Sands were eager to be gone When all his Friends lay drown'd in tears of grief Wishing alas but hopeless of relief Ev'n he alone his Change with Patience bore Like all the Changes of his Life before No labouring sound no murmuring groan exprest But dy'd as weary Pilgrims go to rest O Pity pity some more able Quill Had not adorn'd this Theme with greater skill That Fame to late Posterity might tell Few Men can live but fewer dy so well To the Memory of M rs M. Peachley COme hither You who the fair Sex reproach And basely rail at what you can't debauch That in loose Satyr tell us of their Crimes And say they are the grievance of the Times Come hither all while in sad Funeral Verse Peachley's Immortal Vertues I reherse That you may see how very much you err Repent and learn how to be good by her Ev'n in her Youth her early worth did show To what a vast proportion it wou'd grow When Faith had taught her all she was to know On whose strong Wings she oft to Heav'n wou'd flee And by it find what can what cannot be Better than all their vain Philosophy Charming her Form and matchless was her Mind At least 't was something above Womankind Trace her through all the Series of her Life You 'l find her free from Envy Hate and Strife A Duteous Child and then a Vertuous Wife A careful Mother next and if we find Any regret for dying touch'd her mind It was to leave her Angel-Brood behind And not the love of Life O hapless young The World 's a Maze where you will sure go wrong Without the Clue of her Instructive tongue She wou'd have taught you when with cares perplext And lost in this World how to find the next O how shall we enough her Worth commend So good a Christian and so true a Friend She 'd take Offence but never wou'd offend Well read in History in Religion more
my grief Which but for her had never hop'd relief Ingrateful then ill natur'd shou'd I be Did I not wish as good a Spouse to thee Did I not wish that she whom you have chose May make her chief diversion thy repose For Vertuous we will think her though unknown Ev'n in thy Choice her Worth and Wit are shown What cou'd inspire thee with a Lover's care Must needs be something very Chast and Fair. O may you long be happy in her Arms You never want for Love nor she for Charms But smoothly glide along the stream of Life A tender Husband and Obedient Wife And O may never Jealousy destroy Your Peace of Mind and clog your rising Joy May ev'n the World to thy own wish agree The World which has too often frown'd on me To G. G. C. Esq upon the Report of his being dead WHen to my Ears the dismal Tydings flew And my own Fears had made me think 't was true A silent sorrow on my Soul did seize And fill'd my Breast with such sad thoughts as these Ah! why shou'd mortal Man on Life depend Which once and none can tell how soon must end Ev'n he who was but now all blythe and gay Cheerful as April's Sun and fresh as May Whom every grace adorn'd and doated on In the full bloom of Life is dead and gone Cropt from his Stalk his vernal sweets decay'd So flourish't Jonah's Bower and so did fade Nor cou'd that loss th' impatient Prophet bear He beat his Breast and griev'd ev'n to despair Ah! how can I then mourn enough for thee Who always wert a Jonah's Gourd to me A shelter from the storms of Poverty Yet Witness Heav'n it is not only gain The loss of so much worth I most complain Honour he priz'd and has this Honour gain'd 'T was ne'r by an ignoble action stain'd Nor was his Wit of a less sterling Coin He ow'd it not to Blasphemy or Wine Ah! Why ye Pow'rs why was his Morn so bright If you design'd so soon to banish light And bring on gloomy death and endless night But lo while thus I did indulge my grief The happy news arriv'd that gave relief A gust of Joy ran through each vital part Flam'd in my Eyes and revell'd in my heart He lives I cry'd dy those that wish him ill He lives the great young man is with us still He lives that word shall dwell upon my Tongue He lives shall be the burden of my Song He lives and 't is my Prayer he may live long To P. A. Esq on his Poems and Translations c. THE sacred Wreath of Bays is worn by few Scarce in a hundred years by one or two Yet from that hope we must not banish you You who so well and with so strong a wing Of love and the bright charms of Beauty sing Thy Version does th' Original refine Though oft 't is rough in that 't is always smooth in thine To thee the Languages so well are known We may with Justice call 'em all thy own And by thy learned converse e'en presume At Madrid Paris Portugal or Rome Thou art as true a Native as at home Had'st thou at Babel been and but allow thou 'd'st understood the Tongues as well as now In vain had Heav'n their Structure overthrew thou 'd'st made 'em carry on the Work anew Their different Dialects had'st reconcil'd And made all regular when all was wild Ah Friend it grieves me that at such a time When all that 's learn'd or good is thought a crime Thou should'st be doom'd to the hard fate of rhime So base ill natur'd are our Criticks grown They will damn any thing but what 's their own These lines of thine which well deserve to live And have what praise Judicious Men can give Must not though nicely written hope to be From their ungovern'd Lawless Censure free But let not that disturb thee though they frown Insult despise thy Works or cry 'em down For Resignation is the mark of Grace And Persecution shews the chosen Race To M r G. F. then in the Country Writ in 1681. AH Friend Oft have I wish't my self with you Walking among the Meads and pregnant Fields Now in sweet Dales and then on Hills to view How every Spring fresh streams of pleasure yields Where true content so very seldom found If any where eternally does dwell Where all the store of Nature does abound To feast the Eye the Ear the Tast and Smell But Ah! reserv'd for some more rigid fate I 'me doom'd to a perpetual Bondage here Just in the Bosom of a murmuring State Where Tumults reign as in their proper sphere The greatest Storms are soonest overpast They do but make a Visit and away But here the wrack eternally does last And without Intermission Night or Day Wer't possible to mount among the Clouds When Thunder does with greatest fury rave Compar'd with London they were peaceful shrouds Still as a Calm and silent as the grave Nor wonder at it Murder Schism Debate Treach'ry Revenge with thousand Mischiefs more Make a more loud Report than anger'd Fate When Winds below and Heav'n above does roar Ah loving Friend how happy shou'd I be Were I remov'd as far from the lewd Town as thee To the Countess of Abingdon IF to commend and raise true Vertue high To fix it's Station in the Starry sky To cloath it gay and make it flourish long Be the best subject for a Poet's Song Then Madam I may hope you will excuse This dutiful presumption of the Muse For since in that bright track so far y 'ave gone And with unweary'd swiftness still keep on Something we ought to your vast Merit raise What all Mankind admires 't were impious not to praise Long the fair Sex under reproach have lain And felt a general oft a just disdain But you redeem their Fame in you we find What Excellence there is in Womankind Of some bright Dames w'have been by Poets told Whose Breasts were Alabaster Hair of Gold Whose Eyes were Suns able to guide the day In which ten thousand Cupids basking lay And on their Lips did all the Graces play Flow'rs sprouted and th' obsequious Winds did bring Arabian Odours and around 'em fling Where e're they came 't was everlasting spring Their Voices ev'n the Rivers stopt to hear Not singing Angels when they tun'd a sphere Made softer Musick or more charm'd the Ear This we thought Fiction all but seeing You We own 't is possible it might be true So finely temper'd and so nobly form'd With so much sweetness so much Grace adorn'd If ought like Angels we can see below It is to You that Happiness we owe None sees you that unwounded can retire He knows his errour but he must admire Yet though he loves he dare not hope your Grace For your chast heart is spotless like your Face Had you but liv'd in the blest days of old What Stories had the Antick Poets told It had been
chance as well does show How little to that trifle Life we owe How transitory the best gift below Nor worth one half we to preserve it pay That is in spite of all our care so quickly snatch't away O Life O nothing for y' are both the same Or if you differ 't is but in the name 'T is equal to be what we nothing call As to be sure we shall to nothing fall Add to all this his firm unshaken mind To the fixt Pole of Glory still inclin'd A Carriage graceful and a Wit sublime A Friendship not to be impair'd by Time A Soul sedate with no misfortune mov'd And no Man was with more misfortune prov'd Death he ne'r fear'd in its most ghastly form In Slaughter Blood and Cities took by storm Now he caress'd him with a cheerful brow Welcome at all times but most welcome now O had you heard him e're he did resign With how much Zeal he talkt of things divine You wou'd have thought so sweet his dying Tongue While he discours'd descending Angels sung Waiting his better part with them to bear Which now let loose through the vast tract of Air Pierc't like a Sun-beam to its native sphere Dor. There let him rest and let the thought my Friend That he is happy thy Complaints suspend But come 't is time we now shou'd homeward steer And to be plain 't is but cold comfort here The mold is damp the wind perversely blows And Night far spent invites us to repose Come let me raise thee by the Friendly Arm What still in Tears and has my Voice no charm Amin. Yes I will go but think not of repose My heart 's too full to let my Eyelids close No cheerful thought shall in my Breast find room But Death and Man's inevitable doom Nor Rest will I invoke unless it be That Rest that shakes off dull Mortality When following him that is past on before I lay me down to sleep and wake no more The End of the Funeral Elegies Pindarick Poems TO THE SOCIETY OF THE Beaux Esprits TO Fleetwood Sheppard Esq. SIR I Need not here the Servile path pursue By doing what most Dedicators do Lay out their Patron 's Vertues on a Stall Like Pedlar's Ware to please the Crowd withal And be despis'd by the Iudicious Eye Which does but look and loath and pass regardless by Your Merit speaks it self a Poet's care In lofty praise wou'd be superfluous there What need that Man in a Fool 's coâ—â— be shown That hath one very graceful of his own I wave that Subject then your generous mind Wit Iudgment Converse and what else we find So lov'd admir'd and courted by Mankind And humbly at your Feet this worthless Tribute lay I owe you much and blush I can so little pay I am Sir Your much Obliged Servant R. Gould Advertisement FOR the Reader 's clearer understanding I am to inform him that the word Beaux-Esprits as here us'd has no relation to the Beaux-Esprits or Vertuosi of France but means barely what the word in that Language imports in its simple signification which is fine good or true Wits The Poem being written to a Society of Ingenious Gentlemen whom the World has honour'd with that Distinction Not but they might without Arrogance have assum'd to themselves that Title as being Men whose charming Conversations have render'd 'em the delight and Ornament of the Age it being thought no small Honour ev'n by the most Accomplish't to be admitted of their Number What more relates to 'em follows in the Poem which though it does not particularize their Endowments may serve to let the World see how sublime a piece a better hand wou'd have made upon the subject But for my Insufficiency I beg their Pardon this being my first Essay in Pindarick and likely to be the last since nothing that can or at least has of late been writ in this kind is comparable to what that Admirable Poet has done who first retriev'd and made this stately way of writing familiar to us and indeed has perform'd so much as cuts off all hope of like success to any that now do or shall I prophesie hereafter attempt it for though he has imitated Pindar without the danger that Horace presag'd shou'd befal the Man shou'd dare to do it 't is vain for us without the same portion of Genius to mount that unruly Steed whose guidance requir'd ev'n all the strength and skill of so great and so celebrated an Author Pindarick Poems TO THE SOCIETY OF THE Beaux Esprits ODE 1. IF Poets when they undertake Some happy lofty Theme That does their Hero's worth immortal make And fix it in the foremost rank of Fame So firm 't is hard to say if Fate Or that will bear the longer date If they invoke some God to be Propitious and infuse Life Spirit Warmth and Vigour in the Muse That through the whole may brightly shine And shew they 're guided by a hand Divine What Power what Deity You learn'd Society Must be invok't by me 'T is You great Souls 't is You Whose Fame I sing must aid me too If your assistance does my labours bless 'T were vain to doubt success For while I write to Men Themselves such Masters of the Pen Solid Judicious Wise That search the dark retreats where errour lies And pluck off the Disguise While such I praise shame if not skill Will my desire fulfil 'T is hard on such a Subject to write ill 2. No tedious ways y 'ave taken no Meander's trac'd Well knowing they That will be obstinate and go astray And leave the easie for a rugged way Are but the more remarkably disgrac't As sordid Chymists with much toyl and pain Labour of Body and of Brain Wear out their wretched days In solid Poverty and empty praise And all to find such Notions do they start What neither is in Nature nor in Art. In vain they strive that passless Rock t' explore Where they have seen so many split before And lost on that Inhospitable shore Castles they still build in the Air Rapt with the Bliss They shall possess In their new Golden Worlds the Lord knows where But after all we see In spite of their stupidity When their whole Life is in expectance past Drill'd on by Hope and flatter'd to the last Instead of the fam'd Stone of which they 're proud That Geugaw in whose praise they 've been so loud Meet the Resemblance only and an empty Cloud 3. No You have better fix't your aim And to the Honour of your Name Acquir'd a just and lasting Fame When first you did your Forces join When first you did your mingl'd lustre twine In that bright Orb where now you shine The Envious must confess Though great the Praise we gave you did deserve no less When 't was your Pleasure to enrol In your fam'd List some worthy Soul With one joint Mind and Voice You made the generous Choice For whom one Recommended all
wou'd be hard to tell Which of ' em's most adorn'd with Beauty and with life Such haunts as these might possibly inspire My Breast with a Poetick Fire And set those thoughts on wing Which now but faintly fly and hoarsely sing 3. No longer Clio on the Mansions live Though they deserve more praise than thou can st give As situate in a happy soil And blest with Flora's earliest smile But view the Hospitality within And a new flight begin For that 's a Theme where thou may'st ever dwell And every day have something new to tell A Theme which had great Pindar's greater Son Been but so happy to have known Through every Village 't wou'd have rung The sole delight of every Tongue Through ev'ry Meadow ev'ry Grove Where Shepherds seal their Vows of Love Through ev'ry populous City ev'ry Cell And every where where Vertue 's known to dwell Nay to the Clouds it Echoing wou'd have flew What less when his the Song and the great Subject you 4. Nor had his vast Carere Or stop't or tired here Your God-like Sire's high worth he wou'd have sung Who while he liv'd was blest by every Loyal Tongue He wou'd have told inspir'd with the Heroick thought How great his Conduct and how well he fought How like a Bulwark by his Prince he stood When 't was found Treason to be great or good And spite of Death and Time's devouring Jaws Have crown'd his memory with deserv'd applause So great the Warriour and so just his Cause From thence Triumphantly have fled To the Production of your fertile Bed In whom already does appear And 't is the Spring that crowns the following Year Their Father's Courage and their Mother's Charms A Guard from future harms And here again fresh thoughts wou'd spring How they might one day serve their Country and their King. For that untainted Blood which from your Veins does flow Can produce nothing but what 's truly so 5. Nor had your Wisdom and your Piety Been past neglected by And least of all your stedfast Loyalty Which stood the pow'rful Faction's late Impetuous shock Unshaken as a Rock Upon smooth Seas we may with safety steer For there the Pleasure does surmount the Fear But hard and dangerous 't is to gain the Port When Winds and Waves with equal Fury roar And make those stately Barks their cruel sport They seem'd to court before Such is the Sea nor was our storm at Land By yours and other Loyal Hands represt Less dangerous to withstand All this he gladly wou'd have done In Verse as lasting as the Sun While at an humble distance I Had blest the happy Muse that wou'd have soar'd so high Sacred To the Memory of our late Sovereign LORD King CHARLES the Second ODE EAch Man has private Cares enow To make him bend to make him bow Ah! how then shall we bear the general Sorrow now Unless we dy with Grief what Sanction can we bring Sufficient for the loss of such a gracious King Peace like a Mountain-stream from him did flow And water'd all us humble Plants below And made us flourish too Yet Peace himself but seldom knew Too rigid Ah! too rigid is the Fate That on indulgent Monarchs wait While for the Publick good the Publick weight they bare As they 're Supreme in Power so they 're Supreme in Care Theirs is the Toyl theirs is the pain Ours is the Profit ours the gain And this was prov'd in Charles's Reign Think Britains think how oft h' has broke his sleep Intrench't on his few hours of needful rest To make us free to make us blest And if you are not Marble you must weep 2. Long as our stubborn Land he sway'd Ah that w' had all so long obey'd Our stubborn Land a Paradise was made Indulg'd by his enliv'ning smiles The Glory of all other Isles We did in Safety Ease and Plenty live Enjoy'd all Priviledges He cou'd give Till sated with continu'd Happiness Like Devils we conspir'd to make it less False Fears and Iealousies Knaves did create And once more strove to plunge the State In all the miseries it felt from forty one to Eight Here did our pitying Monarch timely interpose And sav'd us from our selves for who else were our Foes On those whom goodness cou'd not awe He let loose Iustice and the Law His Iustice prob'd our fester'd wound His Iustice heal'd and made it sound From Exile call'd our banisht right Good Angel's and good Men's delight And made us happy in our own despight 3. Not op'ning Buds more certain Tydings bring Of the approaching Glories of the Spring Than his least Action spoke him King He talkt he look't he trod And had the Air the Port and Manage of a God! These Wonders in his Person all might find But who can tell the wonders of his mind How Wise how Just how Mild how Kind In Exile Danger Want and Strife In all the various Changes of his Life Before and when he reign'd His troubles were with Saint-like Constancy sustain'd And great and num'rous was the store His Martyr'd God and Martyr'd Father only suffer'd more His Favours too like theirs Did to his deadliest Foes extend Forgave as fast as ill Men did offend And when he had forgave wou'd prove a Friend What greater proof of Clemency Cou'd Heav'n it self express 'T was Vertue Goodness Mercy to excess 4. If ought that 's excellent or brave Cou'd priviledge their Owners from the Grave He like Elijah to his Bliss had fled And never mingled with the dead But Man was born to dy And though the Prophet might the easier Passage find Our Pious Sovereign left his Dross behind And went to Heav'n more pure and more refin'd There rest blest shade from all the sorrow free From all the Treachery From all the Infidelity That did attend thy painful Progress of Mortality There rest while the poor Melancholy Bards below Though they can ne'r pay all they owe At least their Love and Duty show And in sad Funeral-Verse embalm Their ever haypy Patron 's name Not that it needs it for 't wou'd live Without th' Assistance Poets give The End of the Pindarick Poems SATYRS PROLOGUE To the following Satyrs and Epistles TO that Prodigious height of vice w' are grown Both in the Court the Theatre and Town That 't is of late believ'd nay fixt a rule Who ever is not vitious is a Fool Hiss't at by old and young despis'd opprest If he be not a Villain like the rest Vertue and Truth are lost search for good men Among ten thousand you will scarce find ten Half Wits conceited Coxcombs Cowards Braves Base Flatt'rers and the endless Fry of Knaves Fops Fools and Pimps you every where may find And not to meet 'em you must shun Mankind The other Sex too whom we all adore When search'd we still find rotten at the core An old dry Bawd or a young juicy Whore Their love all false their Vertue but a name And nothing in 'em
and yet the trash does please Are grown as dang'rous as the French Disease Stum'd mixt adulterate for nothing good But sharpen and corrupt the wholsom blood Not that I am a Foe to the rich juice If it be right and free from all abuse For it helps Fancy makes it walk as high The Muses Friend as 't wou'd without it fly But as the Age goes now good Wine 's as scarce As Truth in Friendship or as Wit in Farce Free from all this and what ere else we find That shocks the peace and quiet of the mind The happy Country Swains supinely ly In the soft Arms of kind obscurity Nor Death nor Poverty by them are fear'd Against the worst of ills they stand prepar'd For a good Conscience is the safest Guard And that they ever have as wronging none And living on that little of their own And very little is a boundless store To him who wisely does desire no more More Instances might easily be shown To prove the Country Life excell'd by none But I shall mention at this time but one One fit to crown the rest and that shall be Good House-keeping and Hospitality The Gentry there can dine upon a Dish Two or three Eggs or some small scraps of Fish You think they 're frugal but 't is all a cheat And this in short's the truth of the deceit They spend so much on Drabs they are not able To live up to their Birth and keep a Table Hence you may guess how they relieve the Poor Two or three Bones perhaps not a bit more Which Footmen and the Dogs had pick't before Footmen I say for in this Courtly Age Though they want Bread they 'l have an Equipage But here 't is seen to their Immortal Fame That Charity is not an empty Name For to the needy they relief dispence With a free heart and general Influence No man can starve if to the Bounty shown They add some little labour of their own Consider but these Truths impartially And I dont doubt but you will soon comply To think as lightly of the Town as I. TO My LORD of ABINGDON c. My Lord PLeas'd with the Fate that from the noisy Town To this Retreat of yours has charm'd me down And at once freed me from the City Foes That are so troublesom to Man's repose The Flatt'rers smiles and the false Friend's embrace Fiend at the heart though Angel on his Face From Tradesmens Cheats ill Poets dogrel Rhimes Which now are grown the grievance of the Times To this add that which does Mankind most wrong The Harlot's Tayl and worse the Lawyer 's Tongue The Lawyer who can be a Friend to none False to our Interest falser to his own For if a future doom their Errors wait Where is that One will pass the narrow Gate The Text that says a Camel may as well Go through a Needle as the Rich scape Hell Was meant of Lawyers for the ill got store That makes one rich has made three Nations poor Had I a thousand Sons e'r one shou'd be A Member of that vile Society I 'd in the Temple hang him up nay boil His Quarters as a Traytor 's are in Oyl To fright all future Villains from the Soil Freed from all this and pleas'd I now am here Where the fresh Seasons breath their vital air And all the various Fragrancies dispence That with a grateful flavour charm the sense On tuneful rapture I my thought employ And am e'en lost in a Poetick Ioy. As when a Lark after a gloomy night The Cloudless Morn indulgent to her flight Stands glad a while stretching her airy Wings Then with a sprightly vigor upward springs So fares my Muse who vail'd in darkness long While the Town Mists obscur'd her humble Song Does now again her wonted spright resume And with gay Feathers deck her airy Plume Looks smiling all around for subject where T' employ her utmost skill and nicest care Some worthy Theme that with a prosp'rous wing She like the Lark may mount and mounting sing But long she need not rove her Game 's in view Sh' approves my choice and says it must be you Whose Praises she has oft long'd to reherse Her dear Mecaenas Patron of her Verse To bless your Choice that here set up your rest Where Innocence and Honesty 's profest And shun the Vice that does large Towns infest Where the loose courtly Coxcombs wast their Days In Brawls in Iilting Game and Bawdy Plays While you in nature prime and vigor's pride The gaudy fry of Vanities deride Temptation still have with firm Soul withstood Nor think your self too Noble to be good But with judicious choice have plac't aright In useful Authors your sublime delight Such as of Heav'n of God and Nature treat Religious Philosophical and great These with nice Judgment and a piercing Eye You search and into hidden causes pry Nature explore make abstruse notions plain And find what men well learn'd have sought in vain Ah wou'd the Atheist seriously encline Like you to study things that are Divine Observe how God's high Wisdom does disperse His pow'rful Genii through the Vniverse How orderly Sun Moon and Stars advance Create the Seasons in their various Dance And shew their Essence not the work of Chance But that some Power first made and is the Soul That actuates and maintains the mighty Whole Wou'd he but faithfully on this reflect With just Confusion he 'd his crime reject And when unprejudic't by Reason see In the least spire of grass the Deity But such you rather pity than deride Led on by Sin and hoodwink't by their Pride To say they 're Fools they 'd think a gross abuse Yet if they 've sense alas where 's the excuse That can put such a Gift to such a use Than Beasts why are we better but to know And contemplate the Power that made us so Though living these let vain expressions fly And to be Hero's thought high Heav'n defy They 're sordid Cowards when they come to dy The boldest of 'em shrink unhappy Men 'T is well indeed they see their errour then But ah that shou'd not be left last to do For late Repentance scarce is ever true Happy the Man that to be Vertuous strives And is prepar'd when the black hour arrives Ten thousand Fears he daily does eschew That in wild shapes the guilty wretch pursue His Smooth-pac't-hours glide pleasantly away His troubles vanish and his Comforts stay For of all good with which Mankind is blest That of a clear untainted mind is best Which you enjoy for all your Actions show The Fountains Purity from whence they flow In Converse charming and in courage brave A lasting Eye-sore to the Fool and Knave Not rapt with Pleasure nor with grief deprest But to your steady temper owe your rest Honour is talk't of much and some men think ' Stead of Embalming Names it makes 'em stink As being oft but nasty popular Breath A Fume