Page images
PDF
EPUB

EPISTLE S.

ТО А

FRIEND,

WHO

DESIRED ΜΕ ΤΟ WRITE ON THE DEATH OF KING WILLIAM.

TRUST

April 20, 1702.

RUST me, dear George, could I in verfe but show What forrow I, what forrow all men, owe To Naffau's fate, or could I hope to raise A fong proportion'd to the monarch's praise, Could I his merits, or my grief, exprefs, And proper thoughts in proper language drefs, Unbidden fhould my pious numbers flow, The tribute of a heart o'ercharg'd with woe; But, rather than prophane his facred hearfe With languid praifes, and unhallow'd verse, My fighs I to myfelf in filence keep, And inwardly, with fecret anguish, weep.

Let Halifax's Mufe (he knew him well)
His virtues to fucceeding ages tell.

Let him, who fung the warrior on the Boyne,
(Provoking Derfet in the task to join)
And fhew'd the hero more than man before,
Let him th' illuftrious moital's fate deplore;

12

16

A mourn

A mournful theme: while, on raw pinions, I
But flutter, and make weak attempts to fly :
Content, if, to divert my vacant time,
I can but like fome love-fick fopling rhyme,
To fome kind-hearted miftrefs make my court,
And, like a modifh wit, in funnet fport.

Let others, more ambitious, rack their brains

20

24

In polifh'd fentiments, and labour'd ftrains:

To blooming Phyllis I a fong compofe,
And, for a rhyme, compare her to the rose;

Then, while my fancy works, I write down morn,
To paint the blush that does her cheek adorn,

28

And, when the whiteness of her skin I show,
With ecftafy bethink myfelf of fnow.

32

Thus, without pains, I tinkle in the clofe,

And fweeten into verfe infipid profe.

The country fcraper, when he wakes his crowd,

And makes the tortur'd cat-gut fqueak aloud,

36,

Is often ravish'd, and in transport lost :

What more, my friend, can fam'd Corelli boast,

When harmony herfelf from heaven defcends,

And on the artift's moving bow attends?

40

Why then, in making verfes, fhould I strain

For wit, and of Apollo beg a vein ?
Who ftudy Horace and the Stagyrite?

Why cramp my dulnefs, and in torment write?
Let me tranfgrefs by nature, not by rule,

44

An artless idiot, not a study'd fool,

A Withers, not a Rymer, fince I aim

At nothing lefs, in writing, than a name.

48 FROM

FROM HOLLAND, TO A FRIEND IN

ENGLAND, IN THE YEAR 1703.

FRO

ROM Utrecht's filent walks, by winds, I fend
Health and kind wishes to my absent friend.

The winter spent, I feel the poet's fire;
The fun advances, and the fogs retire:
The genial fpring unbinds the frozen earth,
Dawns on the trees, and gives the primrose birth.
Loos'd from their friendly harbours, once again
Confederate fleets affemble on the main :

The voice of war the gallant foldier wakes;
And weeping Cloë parting kiffes takes.
On new-plum'd wings the Roman eagle foars;
The Belgick lion in full fury roars.
Dispatch the leader from your happy coaft,

The hope of Europe, and Britannia's boat:
O, Marlborough, come! fresh laurels for thee rife!
One conqueft more; and Gallia will grow wife.
Old Lewis makes his laft effort in arms,

4

8

12

16

And fhews how, ev'n in age, ambition charms.

Meanwhile, my friend, the thickening shades I haunt,

And finooth canals, and after rivulets pant:

20

The fmooth canals, alas, too lifeless fhow!

Nor to the eye, nor to the ear, they flow.
Studious of eafe, and fond of humble things,
Below the fmiles, below the frowns of kings,
Thanks to my stars, I prize the sweets of life:
No fleepless nights I count, no days of ftrife.

24

Content

Content to live, content to die, unknown,

Lord of myself, accountable to none;

28

I fleep, I wake, I drink; I fometimes love;

I read, I write; I fettle, and I rove,

When, and where-e'er, I pleafe: thus, every hour
Gives fome new proof of my defpotic power.

All, that I will, I can; but then, I will

As reafon bids; I meditate no ill;

And, pleas'd with things which in my level lie,
Leave it to madmen o'er the clouds to fly.

But this is all romance, a dream to you,

Who fence and dance, and keep the court in view.
White ftaffs and truncheons, feals and golden keys,
And filver ftars, your towering genius please:
Such manly thoughts in every infant rise,
Who daily for fome tinfel trinket cries.

Go on, and profper, Sir: but first from me
Learn your own temper; for I know you free.
You can be honeft; but you cannot bow,
And cringe, beneath a fupercilious brow:
You cannot fawn; your stubborn foul recoils
At bafenefs; and your blood too highly boils.
From nature fome fubmiflive tempers have;
Unkind to you, the form'd you not a flave.
A courtier must be supple, full of guile,
Must learn to praise, to flatter, to revile,
The good, the bad, an enemy, a friend,
To give falfe hopes, and on falfe hopes depend.
Go on, and profper, Sir: but learn to hide
Your upright fpirit: 't will be conftrued pride.

32

36

40

44

48

52

56

The

The fplendor of a court is all a cheat;
You must be fervile, ere you can be great.
Befides, your ancient patrimony wafted,

Your youth run out, your schemes of grandeur blafted, You may perhaps retire in difcontent,

And curfe your patron, for no ftrange event:

The patron will his innocence protest,

And frown in earneft, though he finil'd in jeft.
Man, only from himself, can fuffer wrong;
His reafon fails, as his defires grow ftrong:
Hence, wanting ballast, and too full of fail,
He lies expos'd to every rising gale.
From youth to age, for happiness he's bound:
He fplits, on rocks, or runs his bark aground,
Or, wide of land, a defert ocean views,
And, to the laft, the flying port pursues,
Yet, to the last, the port he does not gain,
And dying finds, too late, he liv'd in vain.

TO THE EARL OF DORSET.

F

64

68

[ocr errors]

Copenhagen, March 9, 1709.

ROM frozen climes, and endless tracts of fnow, From ftreams which northern winds forbid to flow, What prefent fhall the Mufe to Dorset bring,

Or how, fo near the Pole, attempt to fing?
The hoary winter here conceals from fight
A pleafing objects which to verfe invite.

The

« PreviousContinue »