Ir will be to little purpose, the author presumes, to offer any reasons why the following poems appear in public; for it is ten to one whether he gives the true; and if he does, it is much greater odds, whether the gentle reader is so courteous as to believe him. He could tell the world, according to the laudable custom of prefaces, that it was through the irresistible importunity of friends, or some other excuse of ancient renown, that he ventured them to the press, but he thought it much better to leave every man to guess for himself, and then he would be sure to satisfy himself: for, let what will be pretended, people are grown so very apt to fancy they are always in the right, that, unless it hit their humour, it is immediately condemned for a sham and hypocrisy. In short, that which wants an excuse for being in print, ought not to have been printed at all; but whether the ensuing poems deserve to stand in that class, the world must have leave to determine. What faults the true judgment of the gentleman may find out, i to be hoped his candour and good-humour will easily pardon; but those, which the peevishness and ill-nature of the critic may discover, must expect to be unmercifully used: though, methinks, it is a very preposterous pleasure, to scratch other persons till the blood comes, and then laugh at and ridicule them.
Some persons, perhaps, may wonder, how things of this nature dare come into the world without the protection of some great name, as they call it, and a fulsome epistle dedicatory to his grace, or right honourable: for, if a poem struts out under my lord's patronage, the author imagines it is no less than scandalum magnatum to dislike it; especially if he thinks fit to tell the world, that this same lord is a person of wonderful wit and understanding, a notable judge of poetry, and a very considerable poet himself. But if a poem have no intrinsic excellencies, and real beauties, the greatest name in the world will never induce a man of sense to approve it; and if it has them, Tom Piper's is as good as my lord duke's; the only difference is, Tom claps half an ounce of snuff into the poet's hand, and his grace twenty guineas: for, indeed, there lies the strength of a great name, and the greatest protection an author can receive from it.
To please every one, would be a new thing; and to write so as to please nobody, would be as new: for even Quarles and Withers have their admirers. The author is not so fond of fame, to desire it from the injudicious many; nor of so mortified a temper, not to wish it from the discerning few. It is not the multitude of applauses, but the good sense of the applauders, which establishes a valuable reputation; and if a Rymer or a Congreve say it is well, he will not be at all solicitous how great the majority may be to the contrary.
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Heaven the grateful liberty would give,
IF Heaven ine would live;
And all those hours propitious Fate should lend,
In blissful ease and satisfaction spend;
Near some fair town I 'd have a private seat,
Built uniform, not little, nor too great:
Better, if on a rising ground it stood;
On this side fields, on that a neighbouring wood.
It should within no other things contain,
But what are useful, necessary, plain:
Methinks 'tis nauseous; and I'd ne'er endure
The needless pomp of gaudy furniture.
A little garden, grateful to the eye;
And a cool rivulet run murmuring by:
On whose delicious banks a stately row
Of shady limes, or sycamores, should grow.
At th' end of which a silent study plac'd,
Should be with all the noblest authors grac'd:
Horace and Virgil, in whose mighty lines
Immortal wit, and solid learning, shines;
Sharp Juvenal, and amorous Ovid too,
Who all the turns of love's soft passion knew:
He that with judgment reads his charming lines,
In which strong art with stronger nature joins,
Must grant his fancy does the best excel;
His thoughts so tender, and express'd so well:
With all those moderns, men of steady sense,
Esteem'd for learning, and for eloquence.
In some of these, as Fancy should advise,
I'd always take my morning exercise:
For sure no minutes bring us more content,
Than those in pleasing useful studies spent.
I'd have a clear and competent estate,
That I might live genteely, but not great:
As much as I could moderately spend ;
A little more, sometimes t'oblige a friend.
Nor should the sons of Poverty repine
Too much at Fortune, they should taste of mine;
And all that objects of true pity were,
Should be reliev'd with what my wants could spare;
For that our Maker has too largely given,
Should be return'd in gratitude to Heaven.
A frugal plenty should my table spread;
With healthy, not luxurious, dishes spread:
Enough to satisfy, and something more,
To feed the stranger, and the neighbouring poor.
Strong meat indulges vice, and pampering food
Creates diseases, and inflames the blood.
But what's sufficient to make nature strong,
And the bright lamp of life continue long,
I'd freely take; and, as I did possess,
The bounteous Author of my plenty bless.
I'd have a little vault, but always stor'd
With the best wines each vintage could afford.
Wine whets the wit, improves its native force,
And gives a pleasant flavour to discourse:
By making all our spirits debonair,
Throws off the lees, the sediment of care.
But as the greatest blessing Heaven lends
May be debauch'd, and serve ignoble ends;
So, but too oft, the grape's refreshing juice
Does many mischievous effects produce.
My house should no such rude disorders know,
As from high drinking consequently flow;
Nor would I use what was so kindly given,
To the dishonour of indulgent Heaven.
If any neighbour came, he should be free,
Us'd with respect, and not uneasy be,
In my retreat, or to himself or me.
What freedom, prudence, and right reason gave,
All men may, with impunity, receive:
But the least swerving from their rule 's too much;
For what 's forbidden us, 'tis death to touch.
That life may be more comfortable yet,
And all my joys refin'd, sincere, and great;
I'd choose two friends, whose company would be
A great advance to my felicity:
Well-born, of humours suited to my own,
Discreet, and men as well as books have known:
Brave, generous, witty, and exactly free
From loose behaviour, or formality:
Airy and prudent; merry, bu not light;
Quick in discerning, and in judging right:
Secret they should be, faithful to their trust;
In reasoning cool, strong, temperate, and just;
Obliging, open, without huffing, brave;
Brisk in gay talking, and in sober, grave:
Close in dispute, but not tenacious; try'd
By solid reason, and let that decide:
Not prone to lust, revenge, or envious hate;
Nor busy meddlers with intrigues of state:
Strangers to slander, and sworn foes to spite;
Not quarrelsome, but stout enough to fight;
Loyal, and pious, friends to Cæsar; true
As dying martyrs, to their Maker too.
In their society I could not miss
A permanent, sincere, substantial bliss.
Would bounteous Heaven once more indulge, I'd (For who would so much satisfaction lose, As witty nymphs, in conversation, give?) Near some obliging modest fair to live: For there's that sweetness in a female mind, Which in a man's we cannot hope to find; That, by a secret, but a powerful art, Winds up the spring of life, and does impart Fresh vital heat to the transported heart.
I'd have her reason all her passion sway: Easy in company, in private gay: Coy to a fop, to the deserving free; Still constant to herself, and just to me. A soul she should have for great actions fit; Prudence and wisdom to direct her wit: Courage to look bold danger in the face; No fear, but only to be proud, or base; Quick to advise, by an emergence prest, To give good counsel, or to take the best. I'd have th' expression of her thoughts be such, She might not seem reserv'd, nor talk too much: That shows a want of judgment, and of sense; More than enough is but impertinence. Her conduct regular, her mirth refin'd; Civil to strangers, to her neighbours kind: Averse to vanity, revenge, and pride; In all the methods of deceit untry'd: So faithful to her friend, and good to all, No censure might upon her actions fall: Then would ev'n Envy be compell'd to say, She goes the least of womankind astray.
To this fair creature I'd sometimes retire;
Her conversation would new joys inspire;
Give life an edge so keen, no surly care
Would venture to assault my soul, or dare
Near my retreat, to hide one secret snare.
But so divine, so noble a repast
I'd seldom, and with moderation, taste:
For highest cordials all their virtue lose,
By a too frequent and too bold a use;
And what would cheer the spirits in distress,
Ruins our health, when taken to excess.
I'd be concern'd in no litigious jar;
Belov'd by all, not vainly popular.
Whate'er assistance I had power to bring,
T'oblige my country, or to serve my king,
Whene'er they call, I'd readily afford
My tongue, my pen, my counsel, or my sword.
Lawsuits I'd shun, with as much studious care,
As I would dens where hungry lions are;
And rather put up injuries, than be
A plague to him, who 'd be a plague to me.
I value quiet at a price too great,
To give for my revenge so dear a rate:
For what do we by all our bustle gain,
But counterfeit delight for real pain?
If Heaven a date of many years would give,
Thus I'd in pleasure, ease, and plenty live.
And as I near approach'd the verge of life,
Some kind relation (for I'd have no wife)
Should take upon him all my worldly care,
Whilst I did for a better state prepare.
Then I'd not be with any trouble vex'd,
Nor have the evening of my days perplex'd;
But by a silent and a peaceful death,
Without a sigh, resign my aged breath.
And when committed to the dust, I'd have
Few tears, but friendly, dropt into my grave,
Then would my exit so propitious be,
All men would wish to live and die like me.
LOVE TRIUMPHANT OVER REASON.
THO' gloomy thoughts disturb'd my anxious breast
All the long night, and drove away my rest,
Just as the dawning day began to rise,
A grateful slumber clos'd my waking eyes;
But active Fancy to strange regions flew,
And brought surprising objects to my view.
Methought I walk'd in a delightful grove,
The soft retreat of gods, when gods make love.
Each beauteous object my charm'd soul amaz'd,
And I on each with equal wonder gaz'd;
Nor knew which most delighted: "all was fine:
The noble product of some power divine.
But as I travers'd the obliging shade,
Which myrtle, jessamine, and roses made,
I saw a person, whose celestial face
At first declar'd her goddess of the place:
But I discover'd, when approaching near,
An aspect full of beauty, but severe.
Bold and majestic, every awful look
Into my soul a secret horrour struck.
Advancing further on, she made a stand,
And beckon'd me; I, kneeling, kiss'd her hand :
Then thus began-"Bright deity! (for so
You are, no mortals such perfections know)
I may intrude; but how I was convey'd
To this strange place, or by what powerful aid,
I'm wholly ignorant; nor know I more,
Or where I am, or whom I do adore.
Instruct me then, that I no longer may
In darkness serve the goddess I obey."
"Youth!" she reply'd, "this place belongs to one,
By whom you'll be, and thousands are, undone.
These pleasant walks, and all these shady bowers,
Are in the government of dangerous powers.
Love's the capricious master of this coast;
This fatal labyrinth, where fools are lost.
I dwell not here amidst these gaudy things,
Whose short enjoyment no true pleasure brings;
But have an empire of a nobler kind :
My regal seat 's in the celestial mind;
Where, with a godlike and a peaceful band,
I rule, and make those happy I command.
For, while I govern, all within 's at rest;
No stormy passion revels in my breast:
But when my power is despicable grown,
And rebel appetites usurp the throne,
The soul no longer quiet thoughts enjoys;
But all is tumult and eternal noise. [spis'd;
Know, youth! I'm Reason, which you 've oft de-
I am that Reason, which you never priz'd:
And though my argument successless prove,
(For reason seems impertinence in love)
Yet I'll not see my charge (for all mank'nd
Are to my guardianship by Heaven assign'd)
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