Madam, I Own Impertinence a Crime,
And tax Presumption tho' dress'd up in Rhime :
Yet by fome hidden Charm I'm blindly wrought
To act the Thing, whilft I condemn the Thought;
And as a Wretch who labours to disguise
Some dangerous Truth (which once declar'd) he dies,
Till thousand Eyes without, and Fears within
'Spite of his Art, unveils the guilty Scene;
So I whom Love a Criminal has made,
(By fate and you to the sweet guilt betray'd;)
Tho' dangers thick as Clouds around me wait,
Each urging in his turn my coming Fate,
Yet 'fpite of Absence, Infamy, and all
The threatning Dangers that attend my fall;
'Spite of my felf, I must my self declare
And tell you, you are dangerously fair,
And Oh! that fuch a Truth should e're displease
Which your own Bashful Vertues must confess.
There was a time (but ah! Remembrance stay,
Enjoyments paft fresh Torments ill repay)
When I officiously could stand and gaze,
And traverse all the Wonders of that Face,
Saw where the treacherous Loves in Ambush lay
That seiz'd me, whilst I stood to guard my way.
Yet ftill too weak that Paffion to oppose
Which (Vertue like) by Oppofition grows.
Too well I've learnt the undisputed Skill
Your Beauty Claims, or to preserve or kill :
Should then a captiv'd Heart prefume to add
One bleeding Trophy to the Spoils you've made,
Say charming Nymph, would you reject the Prize,
And scorn the Inglorious Conquest of your Eyes?
No! Nature's felf stands ready to oppose
That Thoughts (and mercy mixt with Beauty shows)
Creating Heav'n had else mistook its Care
To mould an excellence so greatly fair
With so much Art to wound, but none to spare.
Oh! had I never seen those fatal Charms
Unwounded then I'de 'scap'd Love's feeble Arms
For who, when he had pass'd one Storm before
Could e're have dream'da Shipwreck on the Shore:
But fure some God does in your Eyes perswade
For Love in you's implicitely obey'd,
With undesigning Graces you entice,
And whilst you thun the Conqueft meet the Prize!
Form'd with fuch vast Advantages to please,
Your Wit must conquer, were your Beauty less;
Yet fair as the first dawn of Infant Light
With Blushes Springing from the Womb of Night
Chaft as the Flame the Vestal Altar bears,
And modest as the watchful Virgins Prayers.
So pure your Thoughts, your Soul so near Divine,
That proftrate Saints might worship at your Shrine;
At least if in Perfection they'd appear,
Must copy all the shining Vertues there.
Such Charms, and such alone; my Breast could move
And melt my stubborn Temper into Love.
Careless before as Sleep,as Fancy free
That in foft Dreams does flitting Shadows fee,
I view'd the Planets of the Court and Town,
My Heart unfmitten yet, and all my own.
The Theatre and Park did next engage
My Search, and the Mock Angels of the Stage.
Yet still I kept my freedom from the Snare
Of the Tame Beauties here, or Wild Ones there;
With cold Regard I faw the gay Pageants pafs
Unmov'd by that black Eye, or this fair Face
But fure our beft Resolves are Guards too weak,
The deftin'd Portions of our Fates to check!
For Nature whilft she keeps your Sex in View
In forming Man, she stampt a Lover too;
Th' obedient Mould a double impress takes,
This Prints the Soul, that varies but the Sex,
Thus whilft her Chimick Hand the Work prepares,
The Gold great. Love is thine, the Drofs all hers,
And tho' one Heart more flow than t'other burns,
Yet all Men must be Lovers in their Turns,
Why then should I a fingle Stoick aim
To hide my Fires, when the whole World's in flame.
No! Since my Choice the Nicest Test may brave
I'le hug the Chain would you but own your Slave.
Sure, tho' I meet my Doom, of this Applause,
To fall Love's Martyr in the noblest Cause..
FULL in the midft of this created Space, Betwixt Heav'n and Earth, and Skies, there stands (a Place
Confining on all three, with Triple Bound;
Whence all Things, tho' remote, are view'd around
And thither bring their undulating found,
The Palace of loud Fame! Her Seat of Pow'r,
Plac'd on the fummit of a Lofty Tow'r:
A thousand winding Entries, long and wide,
Receive of fresh Report a flowing Tide;
A thousand Crannies in the Walls are made,
Nor Gates, nor Bars, exclude the busy Trade.
Tis built of Brass, the better to diffuse
The spreading Sounds, and multiply the News:
Where Echoes in repeated Echoes play:
A Mart for ever full, and open Night and Day :
Nor Silence is within, nor Voice express,
But a deaf Noise of Sounds that never ceafe :
Confus'd, and chiding like the hollow Roar
Of Tides, receding from th' insulting Shore;
Or like the broken Thunder, heard from far,
When Jove at Distance drives the rolling War.
The Courts are fill'd with a tumultuous Din
Of Crowds, or iffuing forth, or entring in
A Thorough-Fare of News; where some Devise
Things never Heard, some mingle Truth with lies:
The troubled Air, with empty Sounds they beat,
Intent to hear, and eager to repeat.
Error fits Brooding there, with added Train
Of vain Credulity; and Joys as Vain:
Sufpicion, with Sedition joyn'd, are near;
And Rumours rais'd; and Murmurs mixt, and Pa-
(nick Fear.
Fame fits aloft, and sees the Subject Ground;
And Seas about, and Skyes above, enquiring
The Description of Fame.
THERE is a tall long-fided Dame,
But wond'rous Light, ycleped Fame,
That like a thin Camelion boards
Herself on Air; and eats her Words:
Upon her Shoulders Wings she wears
Like Hanging-Sleeves, lin'd thro' with Ears,
And Eyes, and Tongues, as Poets Lift,
Made good by deep Mythologist.
With these she through the Welkin flies,
And fometimes carries Truth, oft Lies;
With Letters hung like Eastern Pigeons,
And Mercuries of farthest Regions;
Diurnals writ for Regulation
Of Lying, to inform the Nation;
And by their publick Use to bring down
The rate of Whetstones in the Kingdom:
About her Neck a Pacquet-Male,
Fraught with Advice, some fresh, some stale,
Of Men that walk'd when they were dead,
And Cows of Monsters brought to Bed;
Of Hailstones big as Pullets Eggs,
And Puppies whelp'd with twice two Legs;
A Blazing-Star seen in the West,
By Six or Seven Men at least:
Two Trumpets she does found at once,
But both of clean contrary Tones,
But whether both with the fame Wind,
Or one before, and one behind,..
We know not, only this can tell,
The one founds vilely, th' other well;
And therefore Vulgar Authors Name
The one Good, the other Evil Fame..
Sampson's Complaint on his Blindness.
Loss of Sight, of thee I most complain!
Blind among Enemies, O worse than Chains,
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