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Slight not, in fupercilious ftrain,
Loag practis'd modes as low or vain!
The world will vindicate their cause,
And claim blind faith in Cuftom's laws.
Safer with multitudes to ftray,
Than tread, alone, a fairer way:
To mingle with the erring throng,
Than boldly fpeak ten millions wrong.
Beware of the relentlefs train
Whom forms adore, who forms maintain !
Left prudes demure, or coxcombs loud,
Accuse thee to the partial crowd;
Foes who the laws of honor flight,
A judge who meatures guilt by fpite.
Behold the fage Aurelia stand,
Difgrace and fame at her command;
As if Heav'n's delegate defign'd
Sole arbiter of all her kind.
Whether the try fome favour'd piece,
By rules devis'd in ancient Greece;
Or whether, modern in her flight,
She tells what Paris thinks polite :
For, much her talents to advance,
She fudy'd Greece, and travell'd France;
There learn'd the happy art to please,
With all the charms of labour'd cate;
Thro' looks and neds with meaning fraught,
To teach what the was never taught.
By her each latent fpring is seen;
The workings foul of fecret fpleen;
The guilt that fkulks in fair pretence,
Or folly, veil'd in fpecious fenfe.
And much her righteous fpirit grieves
When worthleffnefs the world deceives;
Whether the erring crowd commends
Some patriot fway'd by private ends;
Or husband truft a faithlefs wife,
Secure in ignorance from ftrife.
Averte fhe brings their deeds to view,
But justice claims the rig'rous due;
Humanely anxious to produce,
At leaft, fome potĥible excufe.
O ne'er may virtue's dire difgrace
Prepare a triumph for the bate!

Mere forms the fool implicit fway,
Which withings with contempt furvey;
Blind folly no defect can fee;
Half wifdom views but one degree.
The wife remoter ufes reach,
Which judgment and experience teach.
Whoever would be pleas'd and pleafe,
Muft do what others do with cafe.

precept undefin'd by rule,
And only learn'd in Cuffom's fchool;
To no peculiar form confin'd,
It fpreads thro' all the human kind;
Beauty, and wit, and worth fupplies,
Yet graceful in the good and wife.
Rich with this gift, and none bufide,
In Fashion's ftream how many glide!
Secure from ev'ry mental woe,
From treach'rous friend or open for;
Front forial fympathy, that fhares
The public lofs or private cares;

Whether the barb'rous foe invade,
Or Merit pine in Fortune's fhade.
Hence gentle Anna, ever gay,
The fame to-morrow as to-day,
Save where, perchance, when others wer
Her cheek the decent farrow fteep:
Save when, perhaps, a melting tale
O'er ev'ry tender breaft prevail.
The good, the bad, the great, the foal,
She likes, fhe loves, the honors all.
And yet, if fland'rous malice blame,
Patient the vields a fifter's fame;
Alike if fatire or if praife,
She fays whate'er the circle favs;
Implicit does whate'er they do,
Without one point in wifh or view.
Sure teft of others, faithful glafs
Thro' which the various phantoms paß.
Wide blank, unfeeling when alone;
No care, no joy, no thought her own.

Not thus fucceeds the peerlefs dame
Who looks, and talks, and acts for fame;
Intent fo wide her cares extend,
To make the univerfe her friend.
Now with the gay, in frolics fhines ;
Now reafons deep with deep divines;
With courtiers now extols the great;
With patriots fighs o'er Britain's fate;
Now breathes with zealots holy fires;
Now melts in lefs refin'd defires.
Doom'd to exceed in cach degree,
Too wife, too weak, too proud, too free;
Too various for one fingle word,
The high fublime of deep abfurd.
While ev'ry talent nature grants
Juft ferves to fhew how much the wants.
Altho' in

The virtues of our sex and thine :

Her hand reftrains the widow's tears;
Her fenfe informs, and foothes, and cheers ↑
Yet, like an angel in difguife,

She shines but to fome favour'd eyes;
Nor is the diftant herd allow'd
To view the radiance thro' the cloud.

But thine is ev'ry winning art;
Thine is the friendly honeft heart;
And fhould the gen'rous fpirit flow
Beyond where prudence fears to go;
Such fallies are of nobler kind

Than virtues of a narrow mind.

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The lovely Thais by his side

Revolving in his alter'd soul Sat, like a blooming eaftern bride,

The various turns of fate below;
In How'r of youth and beauty's pride,

And now and then a figh he stole ;
Happy, happy, happy pair ;

And tears began to flow.
None but the brave,

The mighty master fiild, to see
None but the brave,

That love was in the next degree :
None but the brave deserves the fair.

'Twas but a kindred found to move ; Timotheus plac'd on high

For pity melts the mind to love !
Amid the tuneful quire,

Softly fiveet, in Lydian measures,
With flying fingers touch'd the lyre :

Soon he footh'd his foul to pleasures.
The trembling notes ascend the sky,

War, he lung, is toil and trouble ;
And heav'nly joys inspire. ,

Honor but an empty bubble ;
The song began from Jove ;

Never ending, still beginning, Who left his blissful seats above,

Fighting still, and still destroying : Such is the pow'r of mighty love!

If the world be worth thy winning,

Think, O, think it worth enjoging !
A dragon's fiery form bely'd the god :
Sublime on radiant spheres he rode,

Lovely Thais fits beside thee,
When he to fair Olympia press’d,

Take the good the gods provide thee.
And stamp'd an image of himtelf, a sov’reign of

The many rend the skies with loud applause; the world.

So love was crown'd, but music won the cause. The list’ning crowd adınire the lofty found;

The prince, unable to conceal his pain,
A present deity, the vaulted roofs rebound.

Gaz'd on the fair
With ravith'd ears

Who caus'd his care,
The monarch hears,

And figh'd and look’d, figh'd and look’d,
Assumes the god,

Sighid and look’d, and fiqh'd again :
Affects to nod,

At length, with love and wine at once oppress’d, And seems to shake the spheres.

The vanquilh'd victor funk upon her brealt.

Now strike the golden lyre again; The prailc of Bacchus then, the sweet musician

And louder yet, and yet a louder strain.
Of Bacchus ever fair, and ever young;

Break his bands of sleep asunder,
The jolly god, in triumph comes;

And rouse him like a rartling peal of thunder.

Hark, hark the horrid sound
Sound the trumpets, beat the drums;

Has rais'd up his head;
Flush'd with a purple grace

As awak'd from the dead
He sheivs his honest face.

And amaz’d, he starcs around.
Now give the hautboys breath; he comes, he

Revenge, revenge, Timotheus crics,
Bacchus, ever fair and young, [comes !

See the furies arise,
Drinking joys did first ordain :

Sce the snakes that they rear,
Bacchus' blessings are a treasure,

How they hiss in the air,
Drinking is the foldier's pleafure;

And the sparkles that flash from their eyes !
Rich the treasure,

Behold a ghastly band,
Sweet the pleasure;

Each a torch in his hand,
Sweet is the pleasure after pain.

These are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were Sooth'd with the found, the king grew vain;

And unburied remain, [flain, Fought all his battles o'er again ;

Inglorious on the plain;
And thrice he routed all his focs; and thrice he

Give the vengeance due
New the flain.

To the valiant crew:
The inaster saw the madness rise; Behold how they toss their torches on high,
His glowing checks, his ardent evcs;

How they point to the Persian abedes, And while he heav'n and earth defyid, And glittring temples of their hostile gods ! Chang'd his hand, and check'd his pride,

The princes applaud with a furious joy ; He chose a mourliful muse

And the King seiz'd a flambeau, with zeal to Soft pity to infuse :

Thais led the way

[destroy ; He sung Darius great and good,

To light him to his prey, By too severe a fate,

And, like another Hclen, fir'd another Troy. Fall'n, fall’n, fall’n, fall'n,

Thus, long ago, Fall’n from his high eltatc,

Ere licaving bellows learn’d to blow, And welt'ring in his blood;

While organs yet were mute, Deserted at his utmost need,

Timotheus to his breathing fute By those his former bounty fed,

And founding lyre On the bare earth expos'd he lics,

Could swell the foulto rage, or kindle soft desire, With not a friend to close his eves.

At last divine Cecilia came, With down-cast look the joyless vi&tor fate, Inventress of the vocal frame;



The fweet enthufiaft, from her facred ftore,

Enlarg'd the former narrow bounds, And added length to founds, With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown Let old Timotheus yield the prize, [before. Or both divide the crown; He rais'd a mortal to the fkies; She drew an angel down.

$113. An Epifle, from Mr. Phillips to the Earl of Dorfet. Copenhagen, March 9, 1709.

frozen climes, and endless tractsof now,

From ftreams that northern winds forbid to

What prefent fhall the Mufe to Dorfet bring,
Or how, fo near the Pole, attempt to fing?
The hoary winter here conceals from fight
All pleasing objects that to verse ́invite.
The hills, and dales, and the delightful woods,
The flowry plains, and filver-ftreaming floods,
By fnow difguis'd, in bright confufion lie,
And, with one dazzling wafte, fatigue the eye,
No gentle breathing breeze prepares the fpring,
No birds within the defart region fing.

The ships, unmor'd, the boift'rous winds defy,
While rattling chariots o'er the ocean fly.
The vaft Leviathan wants room to play,
And fpout his waters in the face of day.
The ftarving wolves along the main fea prowl,
And to the moon in iey vallies howl.
For many a fhining league the level main
Here fpreads itfell into a glatly plain:
There folid billows, of enormous fize,
Aips of green ice, in wild diforder rife.
And yet but lately have I feen, e'en here,
The winter in a lovely drefs appear.
Ere yet the clouds let fall the treafur'd fnow,
Or winds begun thro' hazy fkies to blow,
At ev'ning a keen caftern breeze arofe;
And the defcending rain untullied froze.
Soon as the fient fhades of night withdrew,
The ruddy morn difclos'd at once to view
The face of nature in a rich difguife,
And brighten'd every object to my eyes:
For ev'ry fhrub, and ev'ry blade of grafs,
And ev'ry pointed thorn feem'd wrought in glafs,
In pearls and rubies rich the hawthorns how,
While thro' the ice the crimfon berries glow.
The thick-fprung reeds the wat'ry marthes yield,
Scem polifh'd lances in a hoftile field.
The ftag, in limpid currents, with furprize
Sees crystal branches on his forehead rife.
The fpicading oak, the beech, and tow'ring pine,
Glaz'd over, in the freezing ather shine.
The frighted birds the rattling branches fhun,
That wave and glitter in the diftant fun :
When, if a fudden gust of wind arife,
The brittle foreft into atoms flies:
The crackling wood beneath the tempeft bends,
And in a fpangled thow'r the profpect ends;
Or if a fouthern gale the region warm,
And, by degrees, unbind the wint'ry charm,

The traveller a miry country fees,
And journies fad beneath the dropping trees.

Like fome deluded peafant Merlin leads
Thro' fragrant bow'rs, and thro' delicious not
While here enchanted gardens to him rife,
And airy fabrics there attract his eyes,
His wond'ring feet the magic paths purice;
And, while he thinks the fair illufion true,
The trackleís fcenes difperfe in fluid air,
And woods, and wilds, and thorny ways, appe
A tedious road the weary wretch returns,
And, as he goes, the tranfient vision mourns

$114. The Man of Sorrow. GREVILL H! what avails the length'ning mead, By Nature's kindeft bounty fpread Along the vale of flowers!


Ah! what avails the dark'ning grove, Or Philomel's melodious love,

That glads the midnight hours! Ne'er glitters on the hawthorn fpray, From me (alas !) the god of day

Nor night her comfort brings:
I have no pleasure in the rofe;
For me no vernal beauty blows,
Nor Philomela fmgs.

See how the sturdy peafants ftride
Adown yon hillock's verdant fide,
In cheerful ignorance biest;
Alike to them the role or thorn,
Alike arifes every morn,

By gay Contentment dreft.
Content, fair daughter of the fkies,
Or gives fpontaneous, or denies,

Her choice divinely free: She vifits oft the hamlet cot, When Want and Sorrow are the lot Of Avarice and me.

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But fee or is it Fancy's dream?
Methought a bright celeftial gleam

Shot fudden thro' the groves;
Behold, behold, in loofe array,
Euphrofyne, more bright than day,

More mild than Paphian doves! Welcome, O! welcome, Pleafure's queen! And fee along the velvet green

The jocund train advance : With fcatter'd flow'rs they fill the air. The wood-nymph's dew-befpangled hair Plays in the fportive dance. Ah! baneful grant of angry Heaven, When to the feeling wretch is given A foul alive to joy! Joys fly with ev'ry hour away, And leave th'unguarded heart a prey To cares, that peace defiroy. And fee, with vifionary hafte (Too foon the gay delufion paft)



How in her sweet expressive face Despair has seiz’d my captive soul,

Beam'd forth the beauties of her mind, And horror drives without controul,

Yet heighten'd by exterior grace,
And flackens still the reins.

Of manners most engaging, most refin'd. Ten thousand beauties round me throng;

No piteous object could the fee,
What beauties, say, ye nymphs belong

But her fott bofom shard the woe,
To the distemper'd soul?

While (miles of aitability
I see the lawn of hideous dye,

Endear'd whatever boon the might bestow. The tow'ring elm nods misery;

Whate'er th’emotions of her heart,
With groans the waters roll.

Still thone conípicuous in her eyes,
Ye gildcd roofs, Palladian domnes,

Stranger to every female art,

Alike to feign or to disguise : Ye vivid tints of Persia's looms,

And O the boast how rare! Ye were for mifery made.

The secret in her faithful breast repos'd, 'Twas thus the Man of Sorrow spoke; She ne'er with lawless tongue disclos'd, His wayward step then pensive took

In secret filence lody'd inviolate there. Along th’unhallow'd lhade.

Of feeble words- unable to express

Her matchless virtues, or my own distress ! $115. Morody to the Memory of a Young Ladly. Relentless death! that, steel'd to human woe,


With murd'rous hands deals havoc on man

Why (cruel!)strike this deprecated blow, (kind, YET do I live! O how shall I fustain

And leave such wretched multitudes behind ?
This vast unutterable weight of woe ? Hark! Groans come wing'd on ev'ry breeze ?
This worse than hunger, poverty, or pain, The fons of grief prefer their ardent vow;
Or all the complicated ills below
She, in whole life my hopes were treasur'd all, Opprefs d with forrow, want, or dire disease,

And supplicate thy aid, as I do now:
Is gone — for ever fled-

In vain - Perverse, still on the unweeting head
My dearest Emma's dead;

'Tis thine thy vengeful darts to thed; These

eyes, these tear-Iwoln eyes beheld her fall: Hope's infant blossoms to destroy, Ah no- - the lives on some far happier shore, And drench in tears the face of joy. She lives — but (cruel thought !) the lives for me

But oh fell tyrant! yet expect the hour I, who the tedious absence of a day light;

When Virtuc íhall renounce thy power; Remov'd, would languish for my charmer's When thou no more thalt blot the face of day, Would chide the ling’ring moments for delay,

Nor mortals tremble at thy rigid sway.
And fondly blame the flow return of night;

Alas' the day — where'er I turn my eyes,
How, how shall I endure

Some fad memento of my lors

appears ; (O misery past a cure!)

I fly the fatal house --- suppress my fighs, Hours, days, and years, successively to roll,

Resolv'd to dry my una vailing tears: Nor cver more behold the comfort of my soul ?

But, ah! in vain — no change of time

The memory can efface (or place Was she not all my fondest wish could frame?

Of all that fiveetness, that enchanting air, [spair. Did ever mind so much of heav'n partake?

Now loft; and nought remains but anguish and de.
Did she not love me with the purest fame?
And give up friends and fortune for my fake? Where were the delegates of Heav'n, oh, where!
Though mild as ev'niny skies,

Appointed Virtue's children tafe to keep!
With downcast, streaming eyes,

Had Innocence or Virtue been their care,
Stood the stern frown of supercilious brows,

She had not dy'd, nor had I liv’d to weep: Deaf to their brutal threats, and faithful to her Mov'd by my tears, and by her patience mov’d,

To see her foite th’endearing fmile, Come then, fome Muse, the saddest of the train

My forrows to beguile, (No more your bard shall dwell on idle lays) When Torture's keeneft rage the prov'd; Teach me each moving melancholy itrain,

Sure they had warded that untimely dart, And O discard the pageantry of phrale:

Which broke her thread of life, and rent a hus. Il suit the flower of speech with woes like mine!

band's heart.
Thus, haply, as I paint

How Tall I e'er forget that dreadful hour,
The fource of my complaint,

When, feeling Death's resistless pow'r,
My soul
may own th'impassion'd line ;

My hand the press’d, wet with her falling tears, A flood of tears may guih to my relief, [of grief. And thus, in fault'ring accents, spoke her fears : And from my lwelling hcart discharge this load " Ah, my lov'd lord, the transient scene is o'er, Forbear, my fond officious friends, forbear “ And we must part (alas!) to meet no more! To wound my ears with the fad tales you tell ; “ But oh! if e'er thy Emma's name was dear, " How good she was, how gentle, and how fair!" !" If e'cr'thy vows have charm'd my ravilh'd

In pity cealcoalas ! I know too well:

no more.


car; Gg3

“ If,

"If, from thy lov'd embrace my heart to gain,
"Proud friends have frown'd, and Fortune
"fmil'd in vain;

"If it has been my fole endeavour still
"To act in all, obfequious to thy will;
"To watch thy very fmiles, thy with to know,
"Then only truly bleft when thou wert fo;
"If I have doated with that fond excefs,
"Nor love could add, nor Fortune make it lefs;
"If this I've done, and more-oh then be kind
"To the dear lovely babe I leave behind.
"When time my once lov'd mem'ry thall efface,
"Some happier maid may take thy Emma's

"With envious eyes thy partial fondness see,
"And hate it for the love thou bore to me-
"My deareft Shaw, forgive a woman's fears;
"But one word more (I cannot bear thy tears)
"Promife and I will truft thy faithful vow
" (Oft have I try'd, and ever found thee true)
"That to fome diftant fpot thou wilt remove
"This fatal pledge of haplefs Emma's love,
"Where fafe, thy blandithments it may partake


"And oh! be tender for its mother's fake. "Wilt thou?

"I know thou wilt fad filence fpeaks affent; "And in that pleasing hope thy Emma dies

" content."

I, who with more than manly ftrength have bore
The various ills impos'd by cruel Fate,
Suftain the firmnefs of my foul no more,
But fink beneath the weight;
Juft Heav'n! (I cry'd ) from Mem'ry's earlieft
No comfort has thy wretched fuppliant known;
Misfortune ftill, with unrelenting fway,

Has claim'd me for her own.
But O-in pity to my grief, restore
This only fource of blifs, I afk, I ask no more-
Vain hopeth'irrevocable doom is paft;
Ev'n now the looks. the fighs her laft —
Vainly I ftrive to stay her flecting breath,[death.
And, with rebellious heart, protest against her
When the ftern tyrant clos'd her lovely eves,

How did I rave, untaught to bear the blow!
With impious wish to tear her from the skies;
How curfe my fate in bitternefs of woe!
But whither would this dreadful frenzy lead
Fond man, forbear;

Thy fruitless forrow spare; [creed;
Dare not to talk what Heav'n's high will de-
In humble rev'rence kifs th'afflictive rod,
And proftrate bow to an offended God.
Perhaps kind Heaven in mercy dealt the blow,
Some faving truth thy roving foul to teach;
To wean thy heart from groveling views below,
And point out blifs beyond Misfortune's

To fhew that all the flatt'ring fchemes of joy,
Which tow'ring hope fo fondly builds in air,
One fatal moment can deftrov, ·
And plunge th'exulting Maniac in defpair.

Then O! with pious fortitude fuftain
Thy prefent lofs-haply thy future gain;
Nor let thy Emma die in vain;
Time fhall adminifter its wonted balm, fca'- 1
And hush this ftorm of grief to no unplay
Thus the poor bird, by fome disast'rous fate,

Caught and imprifon'd in a lonely cage.
Torn from its native fields, and dearer matt,
But finding all its efforts weak and vain,
Flutters a while, and spends its little rage:

Moping a while, in fullen mood
No more it pants and rages for the plain;

Droops the fweet mourner-but ere long
Prunes its light wings, and pecks its food,
And meditates the fong:

Serenely forrowing, breathes its piteous cafe,
And with its plaintive warblings faddens z
the place.

Forgive me, Heaven!-yet-yet the tears wal
To think how foon my fcene of blifs is pan'
My budding joys, juft promifing to blow,
My hours, that laughing wont to fleet away,
All nipt and wither'd by one envious blaft!
Move heavily along; jocund fong :
Where's now the fprightly jeft, the
How shall I cheat the tedious day!
Time creeps unconscious of delight:

And O-the joyless night!
Where fhall I reft my weary head?

How fhall I find repofe on a fad widow'd be
Come, Theban drug †, the wretch's only aid,
To my torn heart its former peace reftore:
Thy votary, wrap'd in thy Lethean fhade,

A while fhall ceafe his forrows to deplore:
Haply when lock'd in sleep's embrace,
Again I fhall behold my Emma's face;
Again with transport hear

Her voice oft whispering in my ear;
May fteal once more a balmy kifs,
And taste at least of vifionary blifs.
But, ah! th'unwelcome morn's obtruding Fight

Will all my fhadowy fchemes of blifs depois,
Will tear the dear illufion from my fight,
And wake me to the fenfe of all my woes!
If to the verdant fields I ftray,
Alas what pleasures now can these convey'
Her lovely form purfues where'er I

And darkens all the fcene with woe.
By Nature's lavish beauties cheer'd no more,
Sorrowing I rove

Through valley, grot, and grove; Nought can their beauties or my lofs reftore; No herb, no plant can med'cine my difeafe, And my fad fighs are borne on ev'rypatling breeze. Sicknefs and forrow hov'ring round my bed,

Who now with anxious hafte fhall briguld With lenient hand fupport my drooping heat, Adwage my pains, and mitigate my grief! Should worldly bufinefs call away,

Who now thall in my absence fondly mourn, Count ev'ry minute of the loit'ring day, Impatient for my quick return?



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