Mufick so softens and disarms the Mind,
That not one Arrow does Resistance find :
Thus the fair Tyrant celebrates the Prize,
And acts her self the Triumph of her Eyes.
So Nero once with Harp in Hand survey'd
His flaming Rome, and as that burn'd he play'd.
To burning Rome when frantick Nero play'd,
Had he but heard thy Lute, he foon had found
His Rage eluded, and his Crime atton'd :
Thine, like Amphion's Hand, had rais'd the Stone,
And from Destruction call'd a fairer Town:

Malice to Musick had been forc'd to yield,
Nor could he burn so fast as thou could'st build.

LYRE.

Awake, awake, my Lyre,

And tell thy filent Master's humble Tale,

In Sounds that may prevail;

Sounds that gentle Thoughts inspire :

Tho' so exalted the,

And I fo lowly be,

Tell her fuch different Notes make all thy Harmony.

Hark how the Strings awake,

And tho' the moving Hand approach not near,

Themselves with awful Fear,

A kind of num'rous Trembling make:
Now all thy Forces try,

Now all thy Charms apply;

Revenge upon her Ear the Conquests of her Eye.

Weak Lyre, thy Virtue fure
Is useless here, since thou art only found
To cure, but not to wound,
And the to wound, but not to cure.

Too weak too wilt thou prove
My Passion to remove:

Physick to other Ills, thou'rt Nourishment to Love.

Sleep! fleep again, my Lyre;
For thou canst never tell my humble Tale
In Sounds that will prevail,
Nor gentle Thoughts in her inspire:

All thy vain Mirth lay by,

Bid thy Strings silent lie,

Sleep, fleep again, my Lyre, and let thy Master die.

MAD.

Now see that noble and most sov'raign Reason, Like sweet Bells jangled out of Tune and harsh Mad as the Seas and Winds, when both contend

Which is the mightier.

Wall.

Prior.

Cowl

She She hems, and beats her Breaft,

Spurns enviously at Straws; speaks things in Doubt,

That carry but half Sense:

Yet her unshap'd Use of Speech does move

The Hearers to Collection: They aim at it,

And her Words up-fit to their own Thoughts;

Which as her Winks, and Nods, and Gestures yield them,

Indeed would make one think there would be Thoughts;

Tho' nothing fuit, yet much, unhappily.

Behold her lying in her Cell,

Her unregarded Locks

Matted like Furies Treffes; her poor Limbs

Shak. Haml.

Chain'd to the Ground; and stead of those Delights,
Which happy Lovers taste, her Keeper's Stripes,
A Bed of Straw, and a coarse wooden Dish

Of wretched Sustenance.

Otw. Orph.

Observe the Gallantry of her Distraction :
Hark how she mouths the Heav'ns, and mates the Gods;
Her blazing Eyes darting the wand'ring Stars,
While with her thund'ring Voice she threatens high,
And ev'ry Accent twangs with smarting Sorrow.

He raves: His Words are loose

As Heaps of Sand, and scatt'ring wide from Sense.

So high he's mounted in his airy Throne,
That now the Wind is got into his Head,

And turns his Brains to Frenzy.

Wild

As a robb'd Tigress bounding o'er the Woods.

Wild as Winds,

That sweep the Desarts of our moving Plains.
There is a Pleasure sure in being mad,

Lee Oedip.

Dryd. Span. Fry.

'Lee Oedip.

Dryd. Don Seb.

Which none but Madmen know.

Dryd. Span. Fry.

But who can help their Frenzy ?

Dryd. Span. Fry.

A Woman! If you love my Peace of Mind,

Name not a Woman to me: But to think

Madmen ought not to be mad,

Of Woman were enough to taint my Brains

Till they ferment to Madness. A Woman is the thing
I would forget, and blot from my Remembrance. Otw: Orph.

To my charm'd Ears no more of Woman tell;

Name not a Woman and I shall be well:

Like a poor Lunatick that makes his Moan,
And for a while beguiles his Lookers on;

He reasons well, his Eyes their Wildness lose,

He vows the Keepers his wrong'd Sense abuse :

But

But if you hit the Cause that hurt his Brain,
Then his Teeth gnash, he foams, he thakes his Chain,

His Eye-balls rowl, and he is mad again.

2

TOM-A-BEDLAM.

I have bethought my felf

Lee Caf. Borg.

To take the basest and the poorest Shape,
That ever Penury in Contempt of Man,
Brought near to Beast. My Face I'll grime with Filth,

Blanket my Loins, put all my Hair in Knots;

And with presented Nakedness out-face

The Winds and Perfecutions of the Sky.
The Country gives me Proof and President
Of Bedlam Beggars, who with roaring Voices
Strike into their numm'd and mortify'd Arms
Pins, wooden Pricks, Nails, Sprigs of Rosemary;
And with this horrible Object from low Farms,
Poor pelting Villages, Sheep cotes, and Mills,
Sometimes with lunatick Bans, sometimes with Pray'rs,
Inforce their Charity.

1

Shak. K. Lear.

MAN. See Babe, Creation, Philosophy.

Time was when we were sow'd, and just began
From some few fruitful Drops, the Promise of a Man:
Then Nature's Hand (fermented as it was)
Moulded to Shape the soft coagulated Mass ;
And when the little Man was fully form'd,
The breathless Embryo with a Spirit warm'd:
But when the Mother's Throes begin to come,
The Creature pent within the narrow Room,
Breaks his blind Prison, pushing to repair
His stifled Breath, and draw the living Air;
Caft on the Margin of the World he lies
A helpless Babe, but by Instinct he cries:
He next essays to walk, but downwards press'd,
On four Feet imitates his Brother-Beaft:
By flow Degrees he gathers from the Ground
His Legs, and to the Rouling-Chair is bound:
Then walks alone; a Horseman now become,
He rides a Stick, and travels round the Room.
In time he vaults among his youthful Peers,
Strong bon'd, and strung with Nerves, in Pride of Years.
He runs with Mettle his first merry Stage,
Maintains the next, abated of his Rage,
But manages his Strength and spares his Age:
Heavy the third, and stiff, he finks apace,

And tho' 'tis Down-hill all, but creeps along the Race.

Now fapless on the Verge of Death he stands,
Contemplating his former Feet and Hands;
And, Milo like, his slacken'd Sinews sees,
And wither'd Arms, once fit to cope with Hercules,
Unable now to shake, much less to tear the Trees.
Thus ev'n our Bodies daily Change receive,
Some Part of what was theirs before, they leave;
Nor are to Day what Yesterday they were,
Nor the whole Same To-morrow will appear.

So Man, at first a Drop, dilates with Heat;
Then form'd, the little Heart begins to beat :
Secret he feeds, unknowing in the Cell,
At length, for hatching ripe, he breaks the Shell,
And strugglesinto Breath, and cries for Aid,
Then helpless in his Mother's Lap is laid:
He creeps, he walks, and issuing into Man,
Grudges their Life from whence his own began:
Retchless of Laws, affects to rule alone,
Anxious to reign, and restless on the Throne.
First vegetive, then feels, and reasons last,
Rich of three Souls, and lives all three to waste:
Some thus, but thousands more in Flow'r of Age,
For few arrive to run the latter Stage.

}

Dryd. Ovid.

Dryd. Pal. & Arc.

Man is but Man, inconstant still and various.
There's no To-morrow in him like To-day :
Perhaps the Atoms rolling in his Brain,
Make him think honestly this present Hour;
The next, a Swarm of base ungrateful Thoughts

May mount aloft.

Who would trust Chance, since all Men have the Seeds
Of Good or Ill, which should work upward first? Dryd. Cleom.

Men are but Children of a larger Growth,

Our Appetites as apt to change as theirs,
And full as craving too, and full as vain:
And yet the Soul, shut up in her dark Room,
Viewing so clear abroad, at home fees nothing;
But like a Mole in Earth, busy and blind,
Works all her Folly up, and casts it outward
To the World's open View.

Dryd. All for Love.

Ah! what is Man when his own Wish prevails! How rash, how swift to plunge himself in Ill! Proud of his Pow'r, and boundless in his Will! With what unequal Tempers are we fram'd? One Day the Soul, supine with Ease and Fullness, Revels secure, and fondly tells her self,

Dryd.

The Hour of Evil can return no more:

The next, the Spirits pall'd, and fick of Riot,

Turn

Turn all to Discord, and we hate our Beings;
Curse the past Joy, and think it Folly all,
And Bitterness and Anguish.

Row. Fair Pen.

Mankind one Day serene and free appear,
The next they're cloudy, fullen, and severe.
New Passions new Opinions still excite,
And what they like at Noon despise at Night.
They gain with Labour what they quit with Eafe,
And Health for want of Change becomes Disease.

Religion's bright Authority they dare,

And yet are Slaves to superstitious Fear.
They counsel others, but themselves deceive,
And tho' they're couzen'd still, they still believe,

Mankind upon each others Ruin rise,

Gar.

Cowards maintain the Brave, and Fools the Wife. How. Veft. Vir.

Mankind each others Stories still

repeat,

And Man to Man is a succeeding Cheat.

How. D. of Lerm.

Were I, [who to my Cost already am One of those strange prodigious Creatures Man] A Spirit free to chuse for my own Share What Cafe of Flesh and Blood I'd please to wear ; I'd be a Dog, a Monkey, or a Bear, Or any thing but that vain Animal, Who is so proud of being rational. The Senfes are too gross, and he'll contrive A fixth to contradict the other five : And before certain Instinct will prefer Reason, which fifty times for one does err. Reason, an Ignis Fatuus in the Mind, Which leaving Light of Nature, Sense, behind, Pathless, and dang'rous wandring Ways it takes, Thro' Errors fenny Bogs, and thorny Brakes : While the misguided Follow'r climbs with Pain Mountains of Whimseys heap'd in his own Brain; Stumbling from Thought to Thought, falls headlong down Into Doubt's boundless Sea, where like to drown, Books bear him up a while, and make him try To fwim with Bladders of Philosophy, In hopes still to o'ertake th'escaping Light; Till spent, it leaves him to eternal Night. Huddled in Dirt the reas'ning Engine lies, Who was so proud, so witty, and so wise: Pride drew him in, as Cheats their Bubbles catch, And made him venture to be made a Wretch: His Wisdom did his Happiness destroy; Aiming to know that World he should enjoy.

}