Such as our atoms were, ev'n fuch are we,
Or call it chance, or ftrong neceffity:
Thus loaded with dead weight, the will is free.
And thus it needs must be: for feed conjoin'd
Lets into nature's work th' imperfect kind;
But fire, th' enliv'ner of the general frame,
Is one, its operation ftill the fame.
Its principle is in itfelf: while ours
Works, as confederates war, with mingled pow'rs;
Or man or woman, which foever fails:
And, oft, the vigour of the worse prevails.
Æther with fulphur blended altars hue,
And cafts a dufky gleam of Sodom blue.
Thus, in a brute, their ancient honour ends,
And the fair mermaid in a fish defcends:
The line is gone; no longer duke or earl;
But, by himself degraded, turns a churl.
Nobility of blood is but renown
Of thy great fathers by their virtue known,
And a long trail of light, to thee defcending down.
If in thy fmoke it ends, their glories fhine;
But infamy and villanage are thine.
Then what I faid before is plainly show'd,
The true nobility proceeds from God:
Nor left us by inheritance, but giv'n
By bounty of our stars, and
grace of heav'n.
Thus from a captive Servius Tullius rofe,
Whom for his virtues the first Romans chofe :
Fabricius from their walls repell'd the foe,
Whofe noble hands had exercis'd the plough.
From hence, my lord, and love, I thus conclude,
That tho' my homely ancestors were rude,
Mean as I am, yet I may have the grace
To make you father of a generous race:
And noble then am I, when I begin,
In virtue cloath'd, to caft the rags of fin.
If poverty be my upbraided crime,
And you believe in Heav'n, there was a time
When he, the great controller of our fate,
Deign'd to be man: and liv'd in low eftate:
Which he who had the world at his difpofe,
If poverty, were vice, would never choose.
Philofophers have faid, and poets fing.
That a glad poverty's an honeft thing.
Content is wealth, the riches of the mind;
And happy he who can that treasure find.
But the base miser starves amidst his store,
Broods on his gold, and, griping ftill at more,
Sits fadly pining, and believes he's poor.
The ragged beggar, tho' he want relief,
Has not to lofe, and fings before the thief.
Want is a bitter and a hateful good,
Because its virtues are not understood:
Yet many things, impoffible to thought,
Have been by need to full perfection brought:
The daring of the foul proceeds from thence,
Sharpness of wit, and active diligence;
Prudence at once, and fortitude, it gives,
And, if in patience taken, mends our lives;
For ev'n that indigence, that brings me low,
Makes me myself, and Him above, to know.
A good which none wou'd challenge, few would choose, A fair poffeffion, which mankind refufe.
If we from wealth to poverty descend,
Want gives to know the flatt'rer from the friend,
If I am old and ugly, well for you,
No lewd adult'rer will my love pursue.
Nor jealoufy the bane of marry'd life,
Shall haunt you for a wither'd homely wife,
For age and uglinefs, as all agree,
Are the best guards of female chastity.
Yet fince I fee your mind is worldly bent,
I'll do my best to further your content.
And therefore of two gifts in my difpofe,
Think ere you speak, I grant you leave to choose;
Wou'd you I should be ftill deform'd and old,
Naufeous to touch, and loathfom to behold;
On this condition to remain for life
A careful, tender and obedient wife,
In all I can contribute to your ease,
And not in deed, or word, or thought displease:
Or would you rather have me young and fair,
And take the chance that happens to your fhare?
Temptations are in beauty, and in youth,
And how can you depend upon my truth!
Now weigh the danger with the doubtful bliss,
And thank yourself, if ought fhould fall amifs.
Sore figh'd the knight, who this long fermon heard; At length confid❜ring all, his heart he chear'd; And thus reply'd: My lady, and my wife, To your wife conduct I refign my life: Choose you for me, for well you understand The future good and ill, on either hand: But if an humble husband may request, Provide, and order all things for the beft; Yours be the care to profit, and to please: And let your fubject fervant take his ease.
Then thus in peace, quoth fhe, concludes the ftrife,
Since I am turn'd the hufband, you the wife:
The matrimonial victory is mine,
Which, having fairly gain'd, I will refign;
Forgive if I have faid or done amifs,
And feal the bargain with a friendly kiss:
I promis'd you but one content to share,
But now I will become both good and fair,
No nuptial quarrel shall disturb your eafe;
The bus'nefs of my life shall be to please:
And for my beauty, that, as time shall try,
But draw the curtain firft, and caft your eye.
He look'd, and faw a creature heav'nly fair,
In bloom of youth, and of a charming air.
With joy he turn'd, and feiz'd her iv'ry arm;
And like Pygmalion found the ftatue warm.
Small arguments there needed to prevail,
A ftorm of kiffes pour'd as thick as hail.
Thus long in mutual bliss they lay embrac'd,
And their firft love continu'd to the laft:
One funshine was their life, no cloud between;
Nor ever was a kinder couple feen.
And fo may all our lives like theirs be led;
Heav'n fend the maids young husbands fresh in bed:
May widows wed as often as they can,
And ever for the better change their man.
And fome devouring plague pursue their lives,
Who will not well be govern'd by their wives.
Parish priest was of the pilgrim-train;
An awful, reverend, and religious man..
His eyes diffus'd a venerable grace,
And charity itself was in his face.
Rich was his foul, tho' his attire was poor;
(As God had cloth'd his own ambassador;)
For fuch, on earth, his blefs'd redeemer bore.
Of fixty years he seem'd; and well might last
To fixty more, but that he liv'd too fast;
Refin'd himself to foul, to curb the fense;
And made almost a fin of abftinence.
Yet, had his aspect nothing of severe,
But fuch a face as promis'd him fincere.
Nothing referv'd or fullen was to fee:
But sweet regards; and pleafing fanctity:
Mild was his accent, and his action free.
With eloquence innate his tongue was arm'd;
Tho' harsh the precept, yet the people charm'd.
For letting down the golden chain from high,
He drew his audience upward to the sky:
And oft with holy hymns, he charm'd their ears:
(A mufic more melodious than the spheres.)
For David left him, when he went to rest,
His lyre; and after him he fung the beft.
|