Her Son. So fail not thou, who thee implores:
For thou art heav'nly, she an empty Dream.
Thou that with Ale or viler Liquors,
Didst inspire Withers, Pryn, and Vickars,
And force them, tho' it were in Spight
Of Nature, and their Stars, to write;
Who, as we find in sullen Writs,
And cross-grain'd Works of modern Wits,
With Vanity, Opinion, Want,
The Wonder of the Ignorant,
The Praises of the Author, pen'd
B'himself, or Wit-infuring Friend,
The Itch of Picture in the Front,
With Bays, and wicked Rhyme upon't,
All that is left o'th'forked Hill,
To make Men scribble without Skill;
Canst make a Poet spite of Fate,
And teach all People to translate;
Tho' out of Languages in which
They understand no Part of Speech:
Assist me but this once I implore,
And I shall trouble thee no more.
MUSICK. See Lute, Lyre, Poetry, Singing.
Tell me, O Muse! (for thou, or none, canft tell)
The mystick Pow'rs, that in blest Numbers dwell.
At first a various unform'd Hint we find
Rise in some God-like Poet's fertile Mind,
Till all the Parts and Words their Places take;
And with just Marches Verse and Musick make.
Such was God's Poem, this World's new Essay;
So wild and rude in its first Draught it lay :
Th'ungovern'd Parts no Correspondence knew,
And artless War from thwarting Motions grew,
Till they to Number and fix'd Rules were brought
By the eternal Mind's poetick Thought:
Water and Air he for the Tenour chose,
Earth made the Base, the Treble Flame arose:
To th'active Moon a quick brisk Stroke he gave,
Το Saturn's String a Touch more soft and grave:
The Motions strait, and round, and swift, and flow,
And short, and long, were mix'd and woven so,
Did in such artful Figures smoothly fall,
As made this decent measur'd Dance of All.
And this is Musick.
From Harmony, from Heav'nly Harmony,
This universal Frame began :
From Harmony to Harmony
Thro' all the Compass of the Notes it ran,
The Diapafon closing full in Man.
But Man may justly tuneful Strains admire,
His Soul is Musick, and his Breast a Lyre.
A Lyre, which while its various Notes agree,
Enjoys the Sweet of its own Harmony.
In us rough Hatred with soft Love is joyn'd,
And sprightly Hope with grov'ling Fear combin'd,
To form the Parts of our harmonious Mind.
What ravishes the Soul, what charms the Ear,
Is Musick, tho' a various Dress it wear.
Beauty is Musick too, tho' in Disguise,
Too fine to touch the Ear, it strikes the Eyes,
And thro' 'em to the Soul the filent Stroke conveys.
'Tis Musick Heavenly, such as in a Sphere,
We only can admire, but cannot hear.
Nor is the Pow'r of Numbers less below;
By them all Humours yield, all Passions bow,
And stubborn Crowds are chang'd, yet know not how.
Let other Arts in sensless Matter reign,
Mimick in Brass, or with mix'd Juices stain;
Musick, the mighty Artist, Man can rule,
As long as it has Numbers, he a Soul,
As much as Man can those mean Arts controul:
If Musick be the Food of Love, play on :
That Strain again: It had a dying Fall :
Oh! It came o'er my Ear like a sweet Sound,
That breaths upon a Bank of Violets,
Stealing and giving Odour.
Musick has Charms to sooth a savage Breast,
To foften Rocks, and bend a knotty Oak:
I've read that things inanimate have mov'd,
And, as with living Souls, have been inform'd
By Magick Numbers, and perswasive Sound. Cong. Mourn. Brides
Let there be Musick! Let the Master touch
The sprightly String, and softly-breathing Flute;
Till Harmony rowze ev'ry gentle Passion!
Teach the cold Maid to lose her Fears in Love,
And the fierce Youth to languish at her Feet.
Begin! Ev'n Age it self is cheer'd with Musick,
It wakes a glad Remembrance of our Youth,
Calls back past Joys, and warms us into Transport. Row.Fair Pen.
Twas at the Royal Feast for Perfia won,
By Philip's warlike Son;
Aloft in awful State
The God-like Heroe sate,
On his Imperial Throne.
His valiant Peers were plac'd around,
Their Brows with Roses and with Myrtles bound,
(So should Desert in Arms be crown'd)
The lovely Thais by his Side
Sate like a blooming eastern Bride,
In Flow'r of Youth and Beauties Pride.
Happy, happy, happy Pair,
None but the Brave deserves the Fair.
Timotheus plac'd on high
Amid the tuneful Quire,
With flying Fingers touch'd the Lyre;
The trembling Notes afcend the Sky,
And heav'nly Joy inspire.
The Song began from Jove,
Who left his blissful Seats above,
(Such is the Pow'r of mighty Love;)
A Dragon's fiery Form bely'd the God:
Sublime on radiant Spires he rode, When he to fair Olympia press'd, And while he fought her snowy Breast; Then round her flender Waste he curl'd, And stamp'd an Image of himself, a Sov'raign of the World, The lift'ning Crowd admire the lofty Sound, A present Deity, they shout around,
A present Deity the vaulted Roofs rebound.
With ravish'd Ears
The Monarch hears,
Affumes the God,
Affects to nod,
And feems to shake the Spheres.
The Praise of Bacchus then the sweet Musician fung,
Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young:
The jolly God in Triumph comes;
Sound the Trumpets, beat the Drums.
Flush'd with a purple Grace,
He shews his honest Face;
Now give the Hautboys Breath; he comes! he comes
Bacchus ever fair and young,
Drinking Joys did first ordain:
Bacchus Blessings are a Treasure,
Drinking is the Soldier's Pleasure;
Rich the Treasure,
Sweet the Pleasure,
Sweet is Pleasure after Pain.
Sooth'd with the Sound, the King grew vain,
Fought all his Battels o'er again,
And thrice he routed all his Foes, and thrice he flew the Slain:
The Master saw the Madness rise,
His glowing Cheeks, his ardent Eyes;
And while he Heav'n and Earth defy'd,
Chang'd his Hand, and check'd his Pride:
He chose a mournful Muse
He sung Darius great and good,
By too severe a Fate
Fall'n, fall'n, fall'n, falfn,
Fall'n from his high Estate,
And welt'ring in his Blood;
Deserted at his utmost Need
By those his former Bounty fed: .
On the bare Earth expos'd he lies,
With not a Friend to close his Eyes.
With down-cast Looks the joyless Victor fate,
Revolving in his alter'd Soul
The various Turns of Chance below,
And now and then a Sigh he stole,
And Tears began to flow.
The mighty Master smil'd to see
That Love was in the next Degree;
'Twas but a kindred Sound to move,
For Pity melts the Soul to Love.
Softly sweet, in Lydian Measures,
Soon he footh'd his Soul to Pleasures:
War, he fung, is Toil and Trouble,
Honour but an empty Bubble;
Never ending, still beginning;
Fighting still, and still destroying:
If the World be worth thy winning,
Think, O think it worth enjoying!
Lovely Thais fits beside thee;
Take the Good the Gods provide thee:
The Many rend the Skies with loud Applause,
So Love was crown'd, but Musick won the Caufe.
The Prince, unable to concealhis Pain,
Who caus'd his Care,
And figh'd and look'd, figh'd and look'd,
Sigh'd and look'd, and figh'd again.
Atlength with Love and Wine at once oppress'd,
The vanquish'd Victor funk upon her Breast.
Now strike the golden Lyre again,
A louder yet, and yet a louder Strain;
Break his Bands of Sleep asunder,
And rouze him like a rattling Peal of Thunder.
Hark, hark, the horrid Sound
Has rais'd up his Head;
As awak'd from the Dead,
And amaz'd, he stares round.
Revenge, Revenge, Timotheus cries,
See the Furies arife!
See the Snakes that they rear,
How they hiss in their Hair,
And the Sparkles that flash from their Eyes!
Behold a ghastly Band,
Each a Torch in his Hand!
These are Grecian Ghosts that in Battel were flain,
And unbury'd remain
Inglorious on the Plain;
Give the Vengeance due
To the valiant Crew
Behold how they toss their Torches on high,
How they point to the Persian Abodes,
And glitt'ring Temples of their hostile Gods.
The Princes applaud with a furious Joy, And the King fiez'd a Flambeau with Zeal to destroy
Thais led the Way,
To light him to his Prey;
And like another Hellen, fir'd another Troy.
E'er heaving Bellows learn'd to blow,
While Organs yet were mute;..
Timotheus to his breathing Flute,
And founding Lyre,
Could swell the Soul to Rage, or kindle soft Defire.
Thus David's Lyre did Saul's wild Rage controul,
And tune the harsh Disorders of his Soul.
His Sheep would scorn their Food to hear his Lay,
And savage Beasts stand by as tame as they.....
Rivers whose Waves roul'd down aloud before,
Mute as their Fish, would listen tow'rds the Shore.
The Groves rejoyc'd the Thracian Verse to hear,
In vain did Nature bid them stay :
When Orpheus had his Song begun,
They call'd their wondering Roots away,
And bade them filent to him run.
For Orpheus Lute could soften Steel and Stone,
Make Tigers tame, and huge Leviathans
Forfake unfounded Deeps, and dance on Sands.
Shak. the twe (Gent. of Verona:
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