We must conclude it beft it should be fo,
And not defponding or impatient grow.
For he that will his confidence remove
From boundless wisdom and eternal love,
To place it on himself, or human aid,
Will meet those woes he labours to evade.
But, in the keeneft agonies of grief,
Content's a cordial that still gives relief:
Heaven is not always angry when he strikes,
But most chaftifes thofe whom most he likes;
And, if with humble fpirits they complain,
Relieves the anguish, or rewards the pain.
ANOTHER FRIEND UNDER AFFLICTION.
SINCE the first man by disobedience fell
An eafy conqueft to the powers of hell,
There's none in every stage of life can be
From the infults of bold affliction free.
If a fhort refpite gives us fome relief,
And interrupts the series of our grief,
So quick the pangs of mifery return,
We joy by minutes, but by years we mourn,
Reafon refin'd, and to perfection brought,
By wife philofophy, and serious thought,
Support the foul beneath the ponderous weight
Of angry stars, and unpropitious fate;
Then is the time the fhould exert her power,
And make us practice what he taught before.
For why are fuch voluminous authors read,
The learned labours of the famous dead,
But to prepare the mind for its defence,
By fage refults, and well digefted sense;
That, when the ftorm of milery appears,
With all its real or fantastic fears,
We either may the rolling danger fly,
Or ftem the tide before it fwells too high,
But though the theory of wisdom's known
With eafe, what should, and what fhould not be done;
Yet all the labour in the practice lies,
To be, in more than words and notion, wife;
The facred truth of found philofophy
We fludy early, but we late apply.
When stubborn anguish feizes on my foul,
Right reafon would its haughty rage controul;
But, if it mayn't be fuffer'd to endure,
The pain is juft, when we reject the cure.
For many men, close observation finds,
Of copious learning, and exalted minds,
Who tremble at the fight of daring woes,
And floop ignobly to the vileft foes;
As if they understood not how to be
Or wile, or brave, but in felicity;
And by fome action, fervile or unjust,
Lay all their former glories in the dust.
For wildom first the wretched mortal Alies,
And leaves him naked to his enemies:
So that, when moft his prudence fhould be fhewn,
The most imprudent, giddy things are done.
For when the mind's furrounded with diftrefs,
Fear or inconftancy the judgment prefs.
And render it incapable to make
Wife refolutions, or good counfels take.
Yet there's a steadiness of foul and thought,
By reafon bred, and by religion taught,
Which, like a rock amidst the stormy waves,
Unmov'd remains, and all afflictions braves.
In fharp misfortunes, fome will fearch too deep
What heaven prohibits, and would secret keep:
But thofe events 'tis better not to know,
Which known, ferve only to increase our woe.
Knowledge forbid ('tis dangerous to pursue)
With guilt begins, and ends with rain too.
For, had our earliest parents been content
Not to know more than to be innocent,
Their ignorance of evil had preferv'd
Their joys entire; for then they had not fwerv'd.
But they imagin'd (their defires were fuch)
They knew too little, till they knew too much.
E'er fince my folly moft to wisdom rife;
And few are, but by fad experience, wife.
Confider, Friend! who all your bleffings gave,
What are recall'd again, and what you have;
And do not murmur when you are bereft
Of little, if you have abundance left :
Confider too, how many thousands are
Under the worst of miferies, defpair;
And don't repine at what you now endure;
Cuftom will give you eafe, or time will cure:
Once more confider, that the present ill,
Though it be great, may yet be greater ftill;
And be not anxious; for, to undergo.
One grief, is nothing to a numerous woe.
But fince it is impoffible to be
Hunian, and not expos'd to mifery,
Bear it, my friend, as bravely as you can:
You are not more, and be not less than man!
Afflictions paft can no existence find,
But in the wild ideas of the mind;
And why fhould we for thofe misfortunes mourn,
Which have been fuffer'd, and can ne'er return?
Those that can weather a tempeftuous night,
And find a calm approaching with the light,
Will not, unless their reason they difown,
Still make thofe dangers prefent that are gone.
What is behind the curtain none can fee;
It may be joy: fuppofe it mifery:
'Tis future ftill; and that which is not here,
May never come, or we may never bear.
Therefore the prefent ill alone we ought
To view, in reafon, with a troubled thought;
But, if we may the facred pages truft,
He's always happy, that is always just.
HIS FRIEND INCLINED TO MARRY.
I WOULD not have you, Strephon, choose a mate,
From too exalted, or too mean a state;
For in both thefe we may expect to find
A creeping fpirit, or a haughty mind.
Who moves within the middle region, fhares
The leaft difquiets, and the smallest cares.
Let her ex ration with true luftre fhine;
If fomething brighter, not too bright for thine:
Her education liberal, not great;
Neither inferior nor above her state.
Let her have wit; but let that wit be free
From affectation, pride, or pedantry:
For the effect of wowan's wit is fuch,
Too little is as dangerous as too much.
But chiefly let her humour clofe with thine;
Unlefs where your's does to a fault incline;
The leaft difparity in this deftroys,
Like fulphurous blafts, the very buds of joys.
Her perfon amiable, ftraight, and free
From natural, or chance deformity.
Let not her years exceed, if equal thine;
For women paft their vigour, foon decline:
Her forture competent; and, if thy fight
Can reach fo far, take care 'tis gather'd right.
If thine's enough, then her's may be the lefs:
Do not afpire to riches in excefs.
For that which makes our lives delightful prove,
Is a genteel fufficiency and love.
PAINTER, AFTER HE HAD FINISHED DORINDA'S PICTURE.
PAINTER, thou haft perform'd what man can do
Only Dorinda's felf more charms can fhew.
Bold are thy ftrokes, and delicate each touch;
But ftill the beauties of her face are fuch,
As cannot justly be defcrib'd; though all
Confefs 't is like the bright original.
In her, and in thy picture, we may view
The utmoft Nature, or that Art, can do;
Each is a mafter-piece, defign'd so well,
That future times will ftrive to parallel;
But neither Art nor Nature's able to excel.
PAINTER DRAWING DORINDA'S
PAINTER, the utmost of thy judgment fhew; Exceed ev'n Titian, and great Angelo: With all the livelinefs of thought exprefs 'The moving features of Dorinda's face. Thou canst not flatter, where fuch beauty dwells; Her charms thy colours, and thy art excels. Others lefs fair, may from thy pencil have Graces, which fparing Nature never gave: But in Dorinda's afpect thou wilt fee Such as will pofe thy famous art, and thee; So great, fo many in her face unite, So well proportion'd, and fo wonderous bright. No human kill can e'er exprefs them all, But muft do wrong to th' fair original. An angel's hand alone that pencil fits, To mix the colours when an angel fits. Thy picture may as like Dorinda be As art of man can paint a deity; And justly may perhaps, when the withdraws, Excite our wonder, and deferve applaufe : But when compar'd, you'll be oblig'd to own, No art can equal what's by Nature done. Great Lely's noble hand, excell'd by few, The picture fairer than the perfon drew: He took the beft that nature could impart, And made it better by his powerful art. But had he feen that bright, furprising grace, Which spreads itself o'er all Dorinda's face, Vain had been all the effays of his skill: She must have been confett the fairest ftill.
Heaven in a landscape may be wondrous fine, And look as bright as painted light can thine; But fill the real glories of the place All art, by infinite degrees, surpass,
EPISTOLARY ESSAY *.
WHERE can the wretched'st of all creatures Яy,
To tell the ftory of her mifery?
Where, but to faithful Calia, in whofe mind
A manly bravery's with foft pity join'd,
I fear, thefe lines will fearce be understood,
Blurr'd with inceffant tears, and writ in blood;
But if you can the mournful pages read,
The fad relation fhews you fuch a deed,
As all the annals of th' infernal reign
Shall ftrive to equal, or exceed in vain.
Neronior's fame, no doubt, has reach'd your
Whofe cruelty has caus'd a fea of tears;
Fill'd each lamenting town with funeral fighs,
Deploring widows fhrieks, and orphans cries.
At every health the horrid monfter quaff'd,
Ten wretches dy'd, and as they dy'd, he laugh'd:
Till, tir'd with acting devil, he was led,
Drunk with excefs of blood and wine, to bed.
Oh, curfed place!-1 can no more command
My pen: hame and confufion shake my hand:
But I must on, and let my Calia know
How barbarous are my wrongs, how vast my woe.
Among the crowds of Western youths who
To meet the brave, betray'd unhappy man †,
My husband, fatally uniting, went;
Unus'd to arms, and thoughtless of th' event.
But when the battle was by treachery won,
The chief, and all but his falfe friend, undone;
Though, in the tumult of that defperate night,
He 'cap'd the dreadful flaughter of the fight;
Yet the fagacious bloodhounds, fkill'd too well
In all the murdering qualities of hell,
Each fecret place fo regularly beat,
They foon difcover'd his unfafe retreat.
* This Piece was occafioned by the barbarity of Kirke, a commander in the Weltern Rebellion, in 1685, who de bauched a young lady with a promile to fave her hof band's ti e, but hanged him next morning.
As hungry wolves triumphing o'er their prey,
To fure deftruction hurry them away;
So the purveyors of fierce M loc's fon
With Charion to the common butchery run;
Where proud Neronior by his gibbet ftoed,
To glut himself with fresh fupplies of blood.
Our friends, by powerful interceffion, gain'd
A fhort reprieve, but for three days obtain'd,
To try all ways might to compaffion move
The favage general; but in vain they strove.
When I perceiv'd that all addreffes fail'd,
And nothing o'er his stubborn foul prevail'd;
Distracted almoft, to his tent I flew,
To make the last effort, what tears could do.
Low on my knees I fell; then thus began:
Great genius of success, thou more than man!
Whofe arms to every clime have terror hurl'd,
And carry'd conquest round the trembing world!
Still may the brightest glories Fame can lend,
Your fword, your conduct, and your caufe, at-
tend.
Here now the arbiter of fate you fit,
While fuppliant flaves their rebel heads submit.
Oh, pity the unfortunate! and give
But this one thing: Oh, let but Charion live!
And take the little all that we poffets.
I'll bear the meagre anguish of diftrefs
Content, nay, pleas'd, to beg or earn my bread:
Let Charion live, no matter how I'm fed.
The fail of fuch a youth no luftre brings
To him whofe fword performs fuch wondrous
things
As faving kingdoms, and fupporting kings.
That triumph only with true grandeur thines,
Where godlike courage, godlike pity joins.
Cæfar, the eldest favourite of war,
Took not more pleasure to submit, than spare:
And fince in battle you can greater be,
That over, ben't lefs merciful than he.
Ignoble fpirits by revenge are known,
And cruel actions spoil the conqueror's crown;
In future hiftories fill each mournful page
With tales of blood, and monuments of rage:
And, while his annals are with horror read,
Men curfe him living, and deteft him dead.
Oh! do not fully with a fanguine dye
(The fouleft ftain) fo fair a memory!
Then, as you'll live the glory of our ifle,
And Fate on all your expeditions fimile:
So when a noble courfe you've bravely ran,
Die the beft foldier, and the happiest man.
None can the turns of Providence forefee,
Or what their own catastrophe may be;
Therefore, to perfons labouring under woe,
That mercy they may want, fhould always fhew:
For in the chance of war the flightest thing
May lose the battle, or the victory bring.
And how would you that general's honour prize,
Should in cool blood his captive facrifice?
He that with rebel arms to fight is led,
To juftice forfeits his opprobrious head:
But 'tis unhappy Charion's firft offence,
Seduc'd by fome too plaufibie pretence,
To take the injuring fide by error brought;
He had no malice, though he has the fault.
Let the old tempters find a fhameful grave,
But, the half innocent, the tempted, fave;
Vengeance divine, though for the greatest crime,
But rarely ftrikes the first or fecond time:
And he beft follows th' Almighty's will,
Who fpares the guilty he has power to kill.
When proud rebellions would unhinge a ftate,
And wild diforders in a land create,
'Tis requifite the first promoters thould
Put out the flames they kindled with their blood:
But fure 'tis a degree of murder all
That draw their fwords fhould undiftinguifh'd fall.
And fince a mercy muft to fome be thewn,
Let Charion 'mongst the happy few be one:
For as none guilty has lefs guilt than he,
So none for pardon has a fairer plea.
When David's general had won the field,
And Abfalom, the lov'd ungrateful, kill'd,
The trumpets founding made all flaughter cease,
And milled Ifraelites return'd in peace.
The action paft, where fo much blood was fpilt,
We hear of none arraign'd for that day's guilt;
But all concludes with the defir'd event,
The monarch pardons, and the Jews repent.
As great example your great courage warms, And to illuftrious deeds excites your arms; So when you inftances of mercy view, They should infpire you with compaflion too: For he that emulates the truly brave, Would always conquer, and fhould always fave.
Here, interrupting, ftern Neronior cry'd,
(Swelt'd with fuccefs, and blubber'd up with pride)
Madam, his life depends upon my will,
For every rebel I can fpare or kill.
I'll think of what you've faid: this night return
At ten, perhaps you'll have no cause to mourn. -
Go, fee your husband, bid him not despair;
His crime is great, but you are wondrous fair.
When anxius miferies the foul amaze,
And dire confufion in the fpirits raise,
Upon the least appearance of relief,
Our hopes revive, and mitigate our grief;
Impatience makes our wishes earneft grow,
Which through falfe optics our deliverance fhew,
For while we fancy danger does appear
Moft at a distance, it is oft too near,
And many times, fecure from obvious foes,
We fall into an ambuscade of woes.
Pleas'd with the falfe Neronior's dark reply,
I thought the end of all my forrows nigh,
And to the main-guard haften'd, where the prey,
Of this blood-thirty fiend, in durance lay.
When Charion faw me, from his turfy bed
With eagerness he rais'd his drooping head:
Oh! fly, my dear, this guilty place, he cry'd,
And in fome diftant clime thy virtue hide!
Here nothing but the fouleft dæmous dwell,
The refuge of the damn'd, and mob of hell.
The air they breathe is every atom curt:
There's no degree of ills, for all are worst.
In rapes and murders they alone delight,
And villanies of lefs importance flight:
Act them indeed, but fcorn they should be nam'd,
For all their glory's to be more than damn'd.
Hh iiij
Neronior's chief of this infernal crew,
And feems to merit that high station too:
Nothing but rage and luft infpire his breaft,
By Afmodai and Maloc both poffeft,
When told you went to intercede for me,
It threw my foul into an agony;
Not that I would not for my freedom give
What's requifite, or do not wish to live;
But for my fafety I can ne'er be bafe,
Or buy a few short years with long difgrace;
Nor would I have your yet unipotted fame
For me expos'd to an eternal fhame.
With ignominy to preferve my breath,
Is worse, by infinite degrees, than death.
But if I can't my life with honour fave,
With honour I'll defcend into the grave.
For though revenge and malice both combine
(As both to fix my ruin feem to join)
Yet, maugre all their violence and skill,
I can die juft, and I'm refolv'd I will.
But what is death we fo unwifely fear?
An end of all our bufy tumults here:
The equal lot of poverty and state,
Which all partake of by a certain fate.
Whoe'er the prospect of mankind furveys,
At divers ages, and by divers ways,
Will find them from this noify fcene retire;
Some the first minute that they breathe, expire:
Others, perhaps, furvive to talk, and go;
But die, before they good or evil know.
Here one to puberty arrives; and then
Returns lamented to the dull again:
Another there maintains a longer ftrife
With all the powerful enemies of life;
Till, with vexation tir'd, and threefcore years,
He drops into the dark, and difappears.
I'm young, indeed, and might expect to fee
Times future, long and late pofterity,
'Tis what with reafon 1 could wish to do,
If to be old, were to be happy too.
But fince fubftantial grief to fcon deftroys
The gut of all imaginary joys,
Who would be too importunate to live,
Or more for life, than it can merit, give!
Beyond the grave fupendous regions lie,
The boundless realms of vaft eternity;
Where minds, remov'd from earthly bodies,
dwell;
But who their government or laws can tell?
What's their employment till the final doom
And time's eternal period fhall come?
Thus much the facred oracles declare,
That all are blefs'd or miserable there;
Though, if there's fuch variety of fate,"
None good expire too foon, nor bad too late.
For my own part, with refignation, still
I can fubmit to my Creator's will;
Let him recal the breath from him I drew,
When he thinks fit, and when he pleates too.
The way of dying is my leaft concern;
That will give no difturbance to my urn.
If to the feats of happinets I go,
There end all poffible returns of woe:
And when to those bleft marfions I arrive,
With pity I'll behold those that furvive.
Once more I beg, you'd from thefe tents retreat,
And leave me to my innocence and fate.
Charion, faid I, Oh, do not urge my flight!
I'll fee the event of this important night:
Some firange prefages in my foul forebode,
The worst of miferies, or the greatest good.
Few hours will shew the utmost of my doom;
A joyful fafety, or a peaceful tomb.
If you mifcarry, I'm refolv'd to try
If gracious Heaven will fuffer me to die:
For, when you are to endiefs raptures gone,
If I furvive, 'tis but to be undone.
Who will fupport an injur'd widow's right,
From fly injuftice, or oppreflive might?
Protect her perfon, or her caufe defend?
She rarely wants a foe, or finds a friend:
I've no distrust of Frovidence; but ftill
'Tis heft to go beyond the reach of ill:
And thofe can have no reafon to repent,
Who, though they die betimes, die innocent.
But to a world of everlasting blifs
Why would you go, and leave me here in this!
'Tis a dark paffage; but our foes fhall view,
I'll die as calm, though not fo brave, as you:
That my behaviour to the last may prove
Your courage is not greater than my love.
The hour approach'd; as to Neronier's tent, With trembling, but impatient steps, I went, A thousand horrors throng'd into my breast, By fad ideas and ftrong fears poffeft: Where'er I pafs'd, the glaring lights would fhew Fresh of jects of despair, and scenes of woe.
Here, in a crowd of drunken foldiers, flood A wretched, poor, old man, befmcar'd with bloed; And at his feet, just through the body run, Struggling for life, was laid his only fon; By whofe hard labour he was daily fed, Dividing ftill, with pious care, his bread: And while he mourn'd, with floods of aged tears, The fole fupport of his decrepid years, The barbarous mob, whofe rage no limit knows, With blafphemous derision, mock'd his woes.
There, under a wide oak, difconfolate, And drown'd in tears, a mournful widow fate. High in the boughs the murder'd father hung; Beneath, the children round the mother clung: They cry'd for food, but 'twas without relief: For all they had to live upon, was grief. A forrow to intenfe, fuch deep defpair, No creature, merely human, long could bear. Fift in her arms her weeping babes she took, And, with a grean, did to her husband look: Then lean'd her head on theirs, and, fighing, cry'd, Pity me, Saviour of the world! and dy'd.
From this fad fpe&acle my eyes I turn'd, Where fons their fathers, maids their lovers, mourn'd;
Friends for their friends, fifters for brothers, wept,
Prifoners of war, in chains, for flaughter kept:
Each every hour did the black meflage dread,
Which fhould declare the perf in lov'd was dead,
Then I beheld, with brutal fhouts of mirth,
A comely yourh, and of no cornmen birth,
To execution led; who hardly bore
The wounds in battle he receiv'd before:
And, as he pass'd, I heard him bravely cry, I neither wish to live, nor fear to die.
At the curs'd tent arriv'd, without delay,
They did me to the general convey:
Who thus began-
Madam! by fresh intelligence, I find,
That Charion's treafon's of the blackest kind;
And my commiffion is exprefs to spare
None that fo deeply in rebellion are:
New measures therefore 'tis vain to try;
No pardon can be granted; he must die.
Muft, or I hazard all: which yet I'd do
To be oblig'd in one request by you:
And, maugre all the dangers I forefee,
Be mine this night, I'll fet your husband free.
Soldiers are rough, and cannot hope fuccefs
By fupple flattery, and by foft addrefs;
The pert, gay coxcomb, by thefe little arts,
Gains an afcendant o'er the ladies hearts.
But I can no fuch whining methods ufe :
Confent, he lives; he dies, if you refuse.
Amaz'd at this demand; faid I, The brave,
Upon ignoble terms, difdain to fave:
They let their captives ftill with honour live,
No more require, than what themselves would
give;
For, generous victors, as they fcorn to do
Difhoneft things, fcorn to propofe them too.
Mercy, the brightest virtue of the mind,
Should with no devious appetite be join'd:
For if, when exercis'd, a crime it cost,
"Th' intrinfic luftre of the deed is loft.
Great men their actions of a piece should have;
Heroic all, and each entirely brave;
From the nice rules of honour none should swerve;
Done, because good, without a mean referve.
The crimes new charg'd upon the unhappy
youth,
May have revenge, and malice, but no truth.
Suppofe the accufation justly brought,
And clearly prov'd to the minutest thought;
Yet mercies next to infinite abate
Offences next to infinitely great:
And 'tis the glory of a noble mind,
In full forgivenefs not to be confin'd.
Your prince's frowns if you have caufe to fear,
This act will more illuftrious appear;
Though his excufe can never be withstood,
Who difobeys, but only to be good.
Perhaps the hazard's more than you exprefs;
The glory would be, were the danger less.
For he that, to his prejudice, will do
A noble action, and a generous too,
Deferves to wear a more refplendent crown
Than he that has a thousand battles won.
Do not invert divine compaffion fo,
As to be cruel, and no mercy fhow!
Of what renown can such an action be,
Which faves my husband's life, but ruins me?
Though, if you finally refolve to ftand
Upon fo vile, inglorious a demand,
He muft fubmit; if 'tis my fate to mourn
His death, I'll bathe with virtuous tears his urn.
Well, madam, haughtily, Neronior cry'd,
Your courage and your virtue fhall be try'd.
But to prevent all profpect of a flight,
Some of my lambs fhall be your guard to-night;
By them, no doubt. you'll tenderly be us'd;
They feldom afk a favour that's refus'd:
Perhaps you'll find them so genteely bred,
They'll leave you but few virtuous tears to fhed,
Surrounded with fo innocent a throng,
The night must pass delightfully along :
And in the morning, fince you will not give
What I require, to let your husband live,
You shall behold him figh his latest breath,
And gently swing into the arms of death.
His fate he merits, as to rebels due:
And yours will be as much deferv'd by you.
Oh Cælia, think! fo far as thought can fhew,
What pangs of grief, what agonies of woc,
At this dire refolution, seiz'd my breast!
By all things fad and terrible poffeft.
In vain I wept, and 'twas in vain I pray'd,
For all my prayers were to a tiger made:
A tiger! worfe; for, 'tis beyond difpute,
No fiend's fo cruel as a reasoning brute.
Encompass'd thus, and hopeless of relief,
With all the fquadrons of defpair and grief,
| Ruin-it was not poffible to fhun:
What could I do? Oh! what would you have done?
The hours that pafs'd, till the black morn re-
turn'd,
With tears of blood fhould be for ever mourn'd.
When, to involve me with confummate grief,
Beyond expreffion, and above belief.
Madam, the monster cry'd, that you may find
I can be grateful to the fair that's kind;
Step to the door, I'll fhew you fuch a fight,
Shall overwhelm your fpirits with delight.
Does not that wretch, who would dethrone his
king,
Become the gibbet, and adorn the string?
You need not now an injur'd husband dread;
Living he might, he'll not upbraid you dead.
'Twas for your fake I feiz'd upon his life;
He would perhaps have scorn'd fo chafte a wife.
And, madam, you'll excufe the zeal I fhew,
To keep that fecret none alive fhould know.
Curs'd of all creatures! for, compar'd with thee,
The devils, faid I, are dull in cruelty.
Oh, may that tongue eternal vipers breed,
And waftelefs their eternal hunger feed;
In fires too hot for falamanders dwell,
The burning earnest of a hotter hell;
May that vile lump of execrable luft
Corrupt alive, and rot into the duft!
May't thou, defpairing at the point of death, With oaths and blafphemies refign thy breath; And the worst torments that the damn'd fhould
In thine own perfon all united bear!
Oh Celia! oh my friend! what age can fhew Sorrows like mine, fo exquifite a woe? Indeed it does not infinite appear, Because it can't be everlafting here: But it's fo vaft, that it can ne'er increase: And fo confirm'd, it never can be lefs.
Kirke ufed to call the most inhuman of his foldiers his lambs.
|