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MISCELL A N I E S.

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THE RAPTURE,

Loaded with guilt, they still pursue their course,

Not ev'n restrain'd by love or friendship's force.
YIELD, 1 yield, and can no longer stay

Not to enlarge on such an obvious thought,
My tager thoughts, that force themselves away. Behold their folly, which transcends their fault!
Sure none inspir'd ( whose heat transports them itill Alas, their cares and cautions only tend
Above their reason, and beyond their will)

To gain the means, and then to lose the end,
Can firm against the strong impulse remain; Like heroes in romances, still in fight
Censure itself were not so sharp a pain.

For mistresses that yield them no delight.
Let vulgar minds submit to vulgar sway;

This, of all vice, does most debase the mind,
What ignorance shall think, or malice say, Gold is itself th'allay to human-kind.
To me are trifles; if the knowing few,

Oh, happy times! when no such thing as coin
Who can see faults, but can see beautics too, E'er tempted friends to part, or foes to join :
Applaud that genius which themselves partake, Cattle or corn, anong those harmless men,
And spare the poet for the muse's sake.

Was all their wealth, the gold and silver then :
The muse, who raises me from humble ground, Corn was too bulky to corrupt a cribe,
To view the vast and various world around; And bellowing herds would have betray'd the bribes
How fast I mount! in what a wondrous way

Ev'n traffic now is intercourse of ill,
I grow transported to this large farvey!

And every wind brings a new mischief still;
I value earth no more, and far below

By trade we flourish in our leaves and fruit,
Methinks I see the busy pigmies go.

But avarice and excess devour the root,
My soul entranc'd is in a rapture brought

Thus far the muse unwillingly has been
Above the common tracks of vulgar thought : Fix'd on the dull, less happy forts of sin;
With fancy wing'd, I feel the purer air,

But now, more pleas'd, ihe views the different ways
And with contempt look down on human care. Of luxury, and all its charms surveys.
Airy ambition, ever soaring high,

Dear luxury! thou soft, but sure deceit!
Stands first expos'd to my censorious eye.

Rise of the mean, and ruin of the great!
Behold some tniling up a slippery hill,

Thou sure presage of ill-approaching fates,
Where, though arriv'd, they must be toiling ftill: The bane of empires, and the change of states !
Some, with unsteady feet, just fallen to ground, Armies in vain resist thy mighty power;
Others at top, whose heads are turning round. Not the worst conduct would confound them more,
To this high sphere it happens still that some, Thus Rome herself, while o'er the world the
T'he most unfit, are forwardest to come;

flew,
Yet among these are princes forc'd to choose, And did by virtue all that world subdue,
Or seek out such as would perhaps refuse.

Was by her cwn victorious arms oppress’d,
Favour too great is safely plac'd on none,

And catch'd infection from the conquer'd east;
And foon becomes a dragon or a drone;

Whence all those vices cane, which foon devour Either remiss and negligent of all,

The best foundations of renown and power. Or else imperious and tyrannical.

But oh! what need have we abroad to roam,
The muse inspires me now to look again, Who feel too much the sad effects at home,
And see a meapcr sort of fordid men

Of wild excess ? which we lo plainly find
Dcating on little heaps of yellow dust;

Decays the body, and impairs the mind.
For that despising honour, ease, and lust.

But yet grave fops must not presume from hence
Let other bards, expressing how it fines,

To Right che sacred pleasures of the sense :
Describe with envy what the miser finds;

Our appetites are Nature's laws, and given
Only as heaps of dirt it seems to me,

Under the broad authentic seal of heaven.
Where we such despicable vermin fee,

Let pedants wrangle, and let bigots fight,
Who creep through filth a thousand crooked ways, To put restraint on innocent delight,
Insensible of infany or praise :

But Heaven and Nature's always in the right;

can;

Admire at wit, because themselves have ronc,

MISCELLANI E S. They would not draw poor mortals in,

And in such wild attempts are blindly bold, Or give desires tha: fall be doom'd for fin. Which afterwards they tremble to behold: Yet, that in height of harmless joy we may

So I review there rallies of my pen,
Last to old age, and never lose a day,

And modeft reason is return'd again;
Amidst our pleasures we ourselves should spare, My confidence I curse, my fate acccse,
And manage all with temperance and care. Scarce hold from censuring the sacred muse.
The gods forbid but we fimetimes may steep

No wretched poet of the railing pit,
Our joys in wine, and lull our cares asleep:

No critic curs'd with the wrong side of wit,
It raises nature, ripens feeds of worth,

is more severe itom ignorance and spite,
As moistening pidures calls the colours forth; Than I with judgment against all I write.
But if the varnish we too oft apply,
Alas: like colours, we grow faint, and die.
Hold, hold, impetuous muse: I would restrain
Her over-eager heat, but all in vaio;

ON MR. HOBBES, AND HIS WRITINGS.
Abandon'd to delights, she longs to rovc;
I check'd her here, and now she flies to love; Soch is the mode of these ceosorious days,
Shows me some rural nymph, by shepherd chas'd, The art is loft of knowing how to praise;
Soon overtaken, and as soon embraca:

Poets are en vious now, and fools alone
The grass by her, as she by him, is press'd;
For shame, my muse, let fancy guess the rest : Yet whatsoever is by vain critics thought,
At such a point fancy can never stay,

Prailing is harder much than finding fault;
But flies beyond whatever you can fay.

In homely pieces er'n the Dutch excel, Behold the silent shades, the amorous grove,

Italians only can draw beauty well. The dear delights, the very act of love.

As strings, alike wound up, so equal prove, This is his lowest sphere, his country scene, That one resounding makes the other move; Where love is humble, and his fare but mear

From fuch a cause our satires please so much, Yet springing up without the help of art,

We sympathize with each ill-natur'd touch; Leaves a Gncerer relish in the heart,

And as the sharp infection spreads about, More healthfully, though not so finely fed, The reader's malice helps the writer out. And better thrives than where more nicely bred. To blame, is easy; to commend, is bold; But 'tis in courts where most he makes a fhow, Yet, if the muse inspires it, who can hold? And, high enthron'd, governs the world below; To merit we are bound to give applause, For though in histories learn'd ignorance

Content to suffer io so just a cause. Attributes all to cunning or to chance,

While in dark ignorance we lay afraid Love will in those disguises often smile,

Of fancies, ghosts, and every empty shade; And knows the cause was kindness all the while. Great Hobbes appear'd, and by plain reason's light What story, place, or person, cannot prove

Put such fantastic forms to shameful flight. The boundles influence of mighty love?

Food is their fear, who think men needs must be Where'er the sun can vigorous heat inspire,

To vice enslav'd, if from vain terrors free; Both sexes glow, and languish with delire.

The wife and good morality will guide, The weary'd swain, fast in the arms of sleep, And superstition all the world belide. Love can awake, and often fighing keep;

In other authors though the thought be good,
And busy gown-men, by fond love disguis'd, 'Tis not sometimes so easily undersiood;
Will leisure find to make themselves despis'd. That jewel oft'unpolish'd has remain':;
The proudest kings submit to beauty's sway; Some words should be left out, and some explain'd;
Beauty itself, a greater prince than they,

So that, in search of sense, we either stray,
Lies sonetimes languishing with all its pride Orelle grow weary in so rough a way.
By a belov'd, though fickle lover's fide,

But here (weet eloquence does always smile,
I mean to fight the soft enchanting charni, In such a choice, yet unaffected style,
But, oh! my head and heart are both too warm. As must both knowledge and delight impart,
I doat on woman-kind with ail cheir faults,

The force of reason, with the fiowers of art;
Love turns my satire into softest thoughts; Clear as a beautiful transparent skin,
Of all that paffion which our peace destroys

Which nerer hides the blood, yet holds it in:
Instead of mifchiess, I describe the joys.

Like a delicious stream it ever ran,
But short will be his reign (I fear too short), As smooth as woman, but as trong as man.
And present cares shall be my future sport.

Bacon himself, whose universal wit
Then love's bright torch put nut, his arrows broke, Does admiration through the world beget,
Loose from kind chains, and from th'engaging Scarce fiore his age's ornanient is thought,
yoke,

Or greater credit to his country brought, To all fond thoughts I'll sing such counter-charms, While fame is young, coo weak to fly away, The fair shall liten in their lovers arms.

Malice pursues her, like some bird of prey; Now the enthusiastic fit is spent,

But once on wing, then all the quarrels cease; I feel my weakness, and tou late repent.

Envy herself is glad to be at peace,
As they who walk in dreanis oft climb too high Gives over, weary'd with so high a flight,
For feníc to follow with a waking eye;

Above her reach, and scarce within ber light

Hobbes, to this happy pitch arriv'd at last,

For, sure, the noble thirst of fame Might have look'd down with pride on dangers past: With the frail body never dies; But such the frailty is of human kind,

But with the soul ascends the skies, Men toil for fame, which no man lives to find;

From whence at first it came. Long ripening under ground this China lies;

'Tis sure no little proof we have Fame bears no fruit, till the vain planter dies.

That part of us survives the grave, , Thus Nature, tir'd with his unusual length And in our fame below still bears a share : Of life, which put her to her utmost strength, Why is the future else so much our care, Such stock of wit unable to supply,

Ev'n in our latest moment of despair ? (brave? To spare herself, was glad to let him die.

And death despis'd för fame by all the wife and
Oh, all yè blest harmonious choir !

(mire! Who power almighty only love, and only that ad

Look down with pity from your peaceful bower, WRITTEN OVER A GATE,

On this sad ille perplex'd,

And ever, ever vex'd Here lives a man, who, by relation,

With anxious care of trifles, wealth and power. Depends upon predestination;

In our rough minds due reverence infufe For which the learned and the wise

Før sweet melodious sounds, and each harmonious

muse. His understanding much despise : But I pronounce with loyal tongue

Music exalts man's nature, and inspires Him in the right, them in the wrong ;

High elevated thoughts, or gentle, kind desires. For how could such a wretch succeed, But that, alas, it was decreed?

ON THE LOSS OF AN ONLY SON,

ROBERT MARQUIS OF NORMANDY.
THE MIRACLE, 1707.

OÙR morning's gay and shining;

The days our joys declare; MERIT they hate, and wit they slight;

At evening no repining;
They neither act nor reason right,

And night's all void of care.
And nothing mind but pence.
Unskilful they victorious are,

A fond transported mother
Conduct a kingdom without care,

Was often heard to cry, A council without sense.

Oh, where is such an other
So Moses once, and Joshua,

Su bless'd by Heaven as I ?
And that virago Debora,
Bestrid poor Ifrael:

A child at first was wanting;
Like reverence pay to these! for who

Now such a son is sent, Could ride a nation as they do,

As parents most lamenting Without a miracle?

In him would find content.

ON THE DEATH OF HENRY PURCELL.

A child of whom kind Heaven
O DE

Not only hope bestows,
But has already given

Him all our hopes propofc.
Good angels snatch'd him eagerly on high ; [sky, | The happy fire's poffeffing
Joyful they flew, singing and soaring through the His fhare in such a boy,
Teaching his new-fledg'd foul to fly;

Adds still a greater blessing
While we, alas ! lamenting lie.

To all my other joy.
He went mufing all along
Composing new their heavenly song:

But ah ! this shiny weather
A while his skilful notés loud hallelujahs drown'd; Became too hot at last;
But soon they ceas'd their own, to catch his pleaf- . Black clouds began to gather,
ing found.

And all the sky o'ercaft.
David himself improv'd the harmony,
David, in facred story fo renown'd

So fierce a fever rages,
No less for music, than for poctry!

We all lie drown in tears; Genius sublime in either art!

And dismal fad presages Crown'd with applause surpaffing all desert! Come thundering in our ears.

A man just after God's own heart ! If human cares are lawful to the blest,

The doubts that made us fanguish Already fettled in eternal rest;

Did worse, far worse than kill, Needs must he wish that Purcell only might Yat, oh, with all their anguish, Have liv'd to fct what he vouchfaf'd to write; Would we had doubted till!

5

IN M.DCC.XIX.

MISCELLANI E S. But why so much digression,

Who knows but my example then may please This fatal loss to show ?

Such noble, hopeful spirits as appear Alas, there's no expression

Willing to flight their pleasures and their ease, Can tell a parent's woe!

For fame and honour? till at last they hear, After much trouble borne, and danger run,

The crown affifted, and my country serv'd;

Without good fortune I had been undone,
ON MR. POPE, AND HIS POEMS.

Without a good estate I might have starv'de
Witu age decay'd, with courts and business tir’d,
Caring for poching but what ease requir'd,
Too serious now a wanton muse to court,
And from the critics safe arriv'd in port;

THE ELECTION OF A POET LAUREAT
I little thought of launching forth again,
Amidst adventurous rovers of the pen;
And, after some small undeserv'd success,
Thus hazarding at last to make it less.

A PAMOUS assembly was summon'd of late : Encomiums suit not this censorious time,

To rown a new laureat, came Phæbus in state, Itself a subject for satiric rhyme;

With all that Montfaucon himself could delire, Ignorance honour'd, wit and worth defam'd,

His bow, laurel, harp, and abundance of fire.
Folly triumphant, and ev'n Honer blam'd.
But to this genius, join'd with so much art,

At Bartlemew-fair ne'er did bullies so justle,
Such various learning mix'd in every part,

No country election e'er made such a bustle: Poets are bound a loud applause to pay;

From garret, mint, tavern, they all post away, Apollo bids it, and they must obey.

Some thirsting for fack, some ambitious of bay. And yet so wondrous, so fublime a thing, As the great Iliad, scarce could make me ling;

All came with full confidence,flush'd with vain hope, Except I justly could at once conimend

From Cibber and Durfey, to Prior and Pope. A good companion, and as firm a friend.

Phæbus smil'd on these last, but yet ne'ertheless, One moral, or a mere well-natur'd deed,

Said, he hop'd they had got enough by the preise Can all desert in sciences exceed.

'Tis great delight to laugh at some men's ways; With a hage mountain-load of heroical lumber, But a much greater to give merit praise.

Which from Tonson to Curll every press had groan'd under,

[lays, Came Blackmore, and cry'd, Look, all these are my STANZA S.

But at present I beg you'd but read my Essays. Whene'er my foolish bent to public good, Or fonder zeal for some misguided prince,

Lampooners and critics rush'd in like a tide,

Stern Dennis and Gildon came first side-by-Gde. Shall make my dangerous humour understood, For changing minifters for nien of sense :

Apollo confess'd that their lashes had stings,

Buc beadles and hangmen were never chose kings. When, vainly proud to show my public care, And ev'n afham'd to see thrce nations foul'd,

Steele long had so cunningly manag'd the town, I shall no longer bear a wretched share

He could not be blan'd for expecting the crown; In ruling ill, or being over-ruld:

Apollo demurr'd as to granting his wish,

But wisi'd him good luck in his project of fish. Then, as old lechers in a winter's night To yawning hearers all their pranks disclose;

Lame Congreve, unable such things to endure, And what decay deprives them of delight,

Of Apollo begg'd either a crown or a cure; Supply with vain endeavours to impose :

To refuse such a writer, Apollo was loth,

And almost inclin'd to have granted him both. Just fo fhall I as idly entertain

Some stripling patriots, fond of seeming wife; When Buckinghamı came, he scarce car'd to be seen Tell, how I still could great employments gain,

Till Phæbus desir'd his old friend to walk in; Without concealing truths, or whispering lies! But a laureat peer had never been known,

The commoners claim'd that place as their own. Boast of succeeding in my country's cause

Ev'n against some almost too high to blame; Yet if the kind god had been de'er so inclin'd Whom, when advanc'd beyond the reach of laws, To break an old rule, yet he well knew his mind, I oft' had ridicul'd to fense and shame;

Who of such preferment would only make sport,

And laugli'd at all suitors for places at court. Say, I resisted the most potent fraud; But friendless merit openly approv'd;

Notwithstanding this law, yet Lansdowne was And chat I was above the being aw'd

nani'd, Not only by my prince, but thofe he loved : But Apollo with kindness bis iodolence blam'da

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And said he would chrofe'hin; but that he should fear
An enployment of trouble he never could bear.

ON THE TIMES.
A prelate.* for wit and for eloquence fam'd, Since in vain our parsons teach,
Apollo soon miss'd, and he needs not be nam'd; Hear, for once, a poet preach.
Since amidst a whole bench, of which some are so

Vice has lost its very, nanie, bright,

Skill and cozenage thought the same;
No one of them shines fo learn'd and polite. Only playing well the game.

Foul contrivances we see
To Shippen, Apollo was cold with respect, Calld but ingenuity :
Since he for the state could the muses neglect: Ample fortunes often made
But said, in a greater afsembly he thin'd,

Out of frauds in every trade,
And places were things he had ever declin'd. Which an aukward child afford:

Enough to wed the greatest lord.
Trap, Young, and Vanbrugh, expected reward, The mifer larves to raise a son,
For some things writ well : but Apollo declar'd But, if once the fuol is. gone,
That one was too flat, the other too rough, Years of thrist scarce ferve a day,
And the third sure already had places enough. Rake-hell squanders all away.

Husbands seeking for a place,
Fert Budgell came next, and, demanding the bays, Or toiling for their pay;
Said, those works must be good, which had Addi While their wives undo their race
son's praise :

By petticoats, and play :
But Apollo reply'd, Child Eulace, 'tis known, Breeding boys to drink and dice,
Most authors will praise whatsoever's their own. Carrying girls to comedies,

Where mania's intrigues are shown,
When Philips came forth, as starch as a Quaker, Which erc long will be their own.
Whose simple profeffion's a pastoral-maker; Having first at sermon slept,
Apollo advis'd him from playhouse to keep, Tedious day is weekly kept
And pipe to nought else but his dog and his sheep. By worse hypocrites than men,

Till Monday comes to chcat again,
Hughes, Fenton, and Gay, came last in the train, Ev'n among the nobleft-born,
Too modeft to ask for the crown they would gain : Moral virtue is a fcorn;
Phæbus thought them too bashful, and said they Gratitude, but rare at best,
would need

And fidelity a jest.
More boldness, if ever they hop'd to facceed. All our wit but pårty-mocks,

All our wisdomi raising stocks :
Apollo, now driven to a cursed quandary,

Counted folly to defend
Was wishing for Swift, or the fam'd Lady Mary: Sinking fide, or falling friend.
Nay, had honest Tom Southerne but been within Long an officer may serve,
call-

Prais'd and wounded, he may starve :
But at last he grew wanton, and laugh'd at them all:

No receipt, to make him rise,

Like inventing loyal lies.
And so spying one who came only to gaze, We, whose ancestors have shind
A hater of verse, and despiser of plays;

In arts of peace, and fields of fanie,
To him in great form, without any delay,

To ill and idleness inclin'd, (Though a zealous fanatic) presented the bay,

Now are grown a public shame.

Fatal that intestine jar, All the wits stood astonish'd at hearing the god

Which produc'd our civil war! So gravely pronounce an election fo odd;

Ever since, how fad a race! And though Prior and Fope only laugh'd in his face,

Senseless, violent, and bafe! Most others were ready to sink in the place.

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