Licenced,  
November 27. 1676. Roger L'Estrange.   

POEMS.  
BY N. TATE.  
LONDON, Printed by T. M. for Benj. took at the Sign of the Ship in St. Paul's, Church-yard, MDCLXXVII.   

To The LEARNED and much HONOURED Dr. Walter Needham OF Charter-House.  
A Dedication (according to the present Mode) must be an Harangue on the Accomplishments of the Person to whom it is Addressed; But, Sir, though your general Acquaintance with the Sciences, and your happy Performances in the most useful of them, invite me (on the first View) to embrace so excellent a Theme; yet when I reflect how that on this occasion no Rhetoric can be Pardonable that is not Extraordinary; and when I farther Consider how well your Excellencies are known to the World, I find that my best Endeavours can prove but an Impertinent Zeal. Besides, Sir, had I been able to do Justice to your worth and Fame, yet I have Reason to believe, that my Silence on that Subject would with you find better Welcome, than the most Elaborate Panegyric. As for the following Poems (which I have published on Reasons Satisfactory to myself, and my Friends) they are Fortunate enough, in having first been Pardoned, and then received into your Favour. 'Twere Injury to the Public to Intrude on those portions of your time that are employed in the Health of your Country; but if the best products of my humble Fancy may have Access to your Leisure Hours, 'tis the highest Ambition of,  
SIR, Your devoted humble Servant, N. TATE.   

THE CONTENTS.  

THe Indisposed Page 1.  
On a Diseased old Man who Wept at Thought of Leaving the World 4  
To Mr. Flatman on his excellent Poems 8  
On the Present Corrupted state of Poetry 14  
The Search 19  
The Prospect 24  
The Request 26  
The Instalment 27  
The Penance 29  
Laura's Walk 30  
The Usurpers 32  
The Amusement. Dialogue, Strephon and Sylvia. 34  
The Amorist 37  
The Surprisal 38  
The Unconfined 39  
Dialogue, Alexis and Laura 40  
The Restitution 44  
The Escape 45  
The Politicians 47  
The Vow-Breaker 48  
The Tear 50  
The Discovery 52  
The Parting 55  
On an old Miser that hoarded his Money in a steel Chest and Buried it 57  
The Vision Written in a dangerous Fit of Sickness 58  
Ode to my ingenious Friend Mr Flatman. 67  
The Banquet. 68  
The Match. 69  
The Disconsolate 71  
Sliding on Scates in very hard Frost 73  
Strephon's Complaint on quitting his Retirement 74  
The Gold-Hater 78  
The Ingrates 79  
Disappointed 80  
Some of Marshal's Epigrams Translated and paraphrased. From Page 81 to Page 87  
The Confinement 87  
On Snow fallen in Autumn, and dissolved by the Sun 88  
Melancholy 89  
On a Grave Sirs Retireing to write in order to undeceive the World 92  
On a deformed Old Beldame designing to have her Picture drawn 94  
Advice to a Friend designing to publish his Poems 96  
The Ignorant 97  
The Beldame's Song 98  
The Inconstant. A Paraphrase on the XV Epod of Horace 100  
Of the Ape and the Fox. A Paraphrase on one of the Centum Fabulae. 102  
The Round 104  
The Malcontent 105  
The Dream 106  
Amor Sepulchralis 108  
The 3 first Verses of the 46 Psalms paraphrased 109  
The Midnight Thought 131  
The Counter-turn 113  
The Voyagers 114  
The Choice 115  
On Sight of some Martyr's Sepulchers 116  
Of the Few Adherents to Virtue 117  
The Requital 118  
To a Desponding Friend Ibid.  
Dissuasion of an Aged Friend from quitting his Retirement 119  
Recovering from a Fit of Sickness 120  
The Challenge 122  
The Cure 124  
The Hurricane 131  
The Grateful Shepherd 132    

ERRATA.  
PAge 68 line 8. for Dairie's store read Dairies store, p. 70. l. 5. for yields r. yield. p. 71. l. 7. for sink r. sinks. p. 74. l. 3. for are restrained r. are now restrained. p. 89. l. 14. for Egyptian r. t'Egyptian. p. 91. l. 19 for springs in r. springs not in.   

POEMS.  

The Indisposed.  

I.  
WHat tho th'unwearied Sun  
Already has his Race begun?  
Already summoned to their Pleasant Toil  
Th'Inhabitants o'th' open Soil?  
What Comfort in his Lustre can I find,  
If yet no cheerful Glimpse begin  
A Glorious Morn Within,  
But Mists and Darkness still oppress my Mind?   

II.  
What Entertainment can it be  
To hear the Tuneful Birds from every Tree,  
With Grateful Songs the rising Day salute,  
Unless my Fancy with the Music suit?  
If in my Thoughts I find no Harmony,  
I shall (Alas!) as soon Rejoice  
At th'Ominous Ravens doleful Voice;  
Or be diverted with the Bell,  
That Rings my Own, or dearer Friends untimetly Knell.   

III.  
Whilst in my Breast the Weather's Fair,  
I ne'er inquire the Temper of the Air:  
So Reason o'er my Appetites bear sway,  
I'm unconcerned what Planet Rules the Day.  
If hushed and silent my fierce Passions lie,  
The loudest Gusts that rend the Sky,  
Invite Repose, and make my Sleep more sound:  
The Tempest in my Breast  
Alone can break my Rest;  
Even Hurricanes abroad are sound  
To Damage less than smallest Winds hatched Underground.    

On a Diseased Old Man, who Wept at thought of leaving the World.  

I.  
Shame on thy Beard! That thou canst Bug-bears dread!  
Fear Death whom thou so oft hast seen,  
So oft his Guest at Funerals been;  
Thyself ' i'th' Better Half already Dead!  
'Tis strange to see that Frozen Head  
Such Plenteous Moisture shed;  
Whence can this Stream be fed?  
The Tears were just, which at thy Birth did flow,  
For then Alas! thou hadst t'engage  
Life's Inconveniences, but now  
Thou art allowed to quit the Tragic Stage,  
Now to be careful to prolong the Scen●,  
And Act thy Miseries o'er again,  
Is Folly not to be forgiven in even thy Doting Age.   

II.  
Full Fourscore Years (Bless us! a dreadful Space)  
The World has used Thee ill,  
Abused Thee to Thy Face;  
And Dotard canst Thou still  
Solicit her Embrace?  
In vain Thou covetest to enjoy  
This haughty Dame, when Age and Pains  
Have shrunk thy Nerves, and chilled thy Veins,  
Who to thy Flourishing Years, was so Reserved and Coy.   

III.  
Can Cramps, Catarrhs, and Palsies be  
Such ravishing Company,  
That thou shouldst mourn the Loss of their Society?  
What Pleasures can the Grave deprive  
Thy Senses of? What Inconvenience give,  
Which thou'rt exempted from Alive?  
At worst thou canst but have  
Cold Lodging in the Grave;  
Nor liest thou Warmer now though covered o'er  
In Furr, till thy faint Limbs can bear no more:  
Thou sleepest each Night in so much Cerecloth bound,  
Thou'dst need no more wert thou to take thy Lodging Underground.   

IV.  
Go; lay thy friv'lous Hopes of Health aside;  
No longer Potions take,  
No more Incisions make,  
Let thy dull Flesh no more be Scarifyed:  
Resign, resign thy Fated Breath,  
Consult with no Physician more, but Death:  
When all thy Surgeon's Instruments prove vain,  
His neverfailing Dart  
Will Bleed thee gently at thy Heart,  
And let out Life, the Source of all thy Pain:  
Let then thy Funeral Pile be made,  
With Rosemary and Cypress graced,  
Aloft on it thy Carcase placed;  
Beside thee there thy Crutches laid:  
Those utensils will thus oblige thee more,  
Fomenting the kind Flame, then when they bore  
Thy Crazy and Decrepit Limbs before!    

TO Mr. THOMAS FLATMAN ON HIS Excellent POEMS.  

STrange Magic of thy Wit and Style  
Which to their griefs mankind can Reconcile!  
Whilst thy Philander's tuneful Voice we hear,  
Condoling our Disastrous state,  
Touched with a sense of our hard Fate,  
We sigh perhaps, or drop a Tear;  
But he the mournful Song so sweetly sings,  
That more of Pleasure than Regret it brings,  
With such becoming Grief  
The Trojan Chief  
Troy's Conflagration did relate,  
Whilst even the sufferers in the Fire drew near,  
And with a greedy Ear  
Devoured the story of their own subverted state.   

II.  
Kind Heaven (as to her darling Son) to Thee  
A double Portion did impart,  
A Gift of Painting and of Poesy:  
But for thy Rivals in the Painter's Art,  
If well they Represent, thy can effect  
No more, nor can we more expect.  
But more than this Thy happy Pencils give;  
Thy Drafts are more than Representative;  
For, if we'll credit our own eyes, they Live!  
Ah! Worthy Friend, couldst Thou maintain the State  
Of what with so much Ease thou dost Create,  
We might reflect on Death with Scorn!  
But Pictures like th'Originals decay!  
Of Colours Those consist, and These of Clay;  
A like Composed of Dust, to Dust alike Return!   

III.  
Yet 'tis our Happiness to see  
Oblivion, Death, and adverse Destiny  
Encountered, Vanquished, and Disarmed by thee.  
For if thy Pencils fail,  
Change thy Artillery,  
And thou'rt secure of Victory;  
Employ thy Quill, and thou shalt still prevail.  
The grand Destroyer greedy Time reveres  
Thy Fancy's Imagery, and spares  
The meanest things that bear  
Th' Impression of thy Pen:  
Tho' course and cheap their Natural Metal were,  
Stamped with thy Verse, he knows theyare sacred, then.  
He knows them by that Character to be  
Predestinate, and set a part for Immortality.   

IV.  
If native Lustre in thy Themes appear,  
Improved by thee, it shines more clear:  
Or if thy Subject's void of native Light,  
Thy Fancy need but dart a Beam  
To gild thy Theme,  
And make the rude Mass beautiful and bright.  
Thou vary'st oft thy Strains, but still  
Success attends each Strain:  
Thy Verse is always lofty as the Hill,  
Or pleasant as the Plain.  
How well thy Muse the Pastoral Song improves!  
Whose Nymphs and Swains are in their Loves,  
As Innocent, and yet as Kind as Doves.  
But most She moves our Wonder and Delight,  
When She performs her loose Pindaric Flight;  
Oft to their outmost reach She will extend  
Her towering Wings to soar on high,  
And then by just Degrees descend:  
Oft in a swift straight Course she glides,  
Obliquely oft the air divides,  
And oft with wanton Play hangs hovering in the sky.   

V.  
Whilst sense of Duty into my artless Muse,  
Th' ambition would infuse  
To mingle with those Nymphs that Homage pay,  
And wait on Thine in her triumphant Way;  
Defect of Merit checks her forward Pride,  
And makes her dread t'approach thy Chariot side;  
For 'twere at lest a rude Indecency  
(If not Profane) t'appear  
At this Solemnity,  
Crowned with no Laurel Wreath (when others are.)  
But this she will presume to do,  
At distance to attend the show,  
Officiously to gather up  
The scattered Bays, if any drop  
From others Temples; and with those,  
A plain Plebeian Coronet compose.  
This, as your Livery, she'd wear, to hide  
Her Nakedness, not gratify her Pride!  
Such was the Verdant dress,  
Which the offending Pair did frame  
Of plaited Leaves, not to express  
Their Pride i'th' Novel-garb, but to conceal their Shame.    

ON THE Present Corrupted State OF POETRY,  

I.  
Writ thy own Elegy Apostate Art,  
Thou Angel once of Light;  
But, since thy Fall, a Fiend of Night,  
Mankind endeavouring to pervert.  
At first, to th'Altars Service thou wert bound,  
With Innocence instead of Laurel Crowned;  
Anthems and Hallelujahs only didst resound:  
But now, forgetful of thy high Descent, meanly thou labourest to foment  
The Vanity and Vices of the Age;  
Flattering in Courts, and Rev'lling on the Stage.  
That Poesy, that did at first inspire  
Devotion and Seraphic Fire,  
Degenerate now her Art imploy's  
In Recommending Sensual joys;  
Bawd-like, contriving to excite  
The wasted Letcher's Appetite;  
And with forced Heat sustain Love's languishing Desire.   

II.  
The wisest and most potent Kings of Old, did not disdain  
To leave their Royal Names Enrolled,  
With those of the Poetic Train:  
They reaped more durable Renown  
From Writing well,  
Then when they did in Arms excel:  
They prized their Poet's Wreath above their Prince's Crown.  
But then the Celebrated Nine,  
Pious as Sibyls, chaste as Vestals were,  
The Graces were not more Divine;  
But now Deformed, and Bloated they appear;  
Nyctimene sustained, no Change so fowl,  
Transformed into a glaring Owl;  
Or when th' Audacious King a Newmade Wolf did Howl.   

III.  
In Ages past, when Virtue was allowed,  
The Dignity of Verse was Understood:  
'Twas then employed t'embalm some Worthy 's Name:  
Nought then could purchase Eulogies but Fame.  
But Poetry now is Mercenary grown.  
Encomiums she'll bestow  
On Potentates, by their high Rank alone,  
And singular Vices infamously known;  
For, if no Paint or Varnish can disguise  
Their gross Enormities,  
Audaciously she'll Praise their Vices too!  
Thus none more largely share in her Applause,  
Than some grand Murderer O'th' Field,  
That boasts of Myriads killed,  
Regardless of the Justice of his Cause.  
If to Destroy can challenge Fame,  
Famines and Plagues the largest Trophies claim;  
But these the Muses Peccadillo's are,  
And cannot with their blacker Crimes compare:  
Long since they were Immodest grown, and Vain;  
But are (Oh! Heaven) at last become Profane!  
Atheism and Blasphemy have dared to Preach,  
Religion of Imposture to impeach;  
Stifling that Zeal, which first Themselves to the rude World did. Teach.   

IV.  
Time was when Pious Bards might safely Dream  
By Helicon, or fair Pirene's Stream;  
And fly their towering Wit at some Celestial Theme:  
But now, with Leprous Fancies bathing there,  
Those Springs so infamous are grown,  
chaste Souls fear to approach the Muse's Air;  
And sacred Themes the Poisoned Waters shun.  
Nor has heavens just Revenge regardless viewed,  
Th' Enormities  
Of these Apostate Votaries;  
But them and their Confaed'rates too, with signal Rage pursued.  
A constant Curse of Poverty attends  
Th'Unfortunate Man, whom any Muse befriends.  
All who in this deluding Art engage,  
Set out with Pleasure, drooping reach their Stage;  
Frolic in Youth, and Malcontent in Age!  
Thus (near Learned Cam's fair Current Pensive laid)  
Th'Ill-treated Cowley did his Muse upbraid:  
Ah! who'd Credit that Surveys,  
Th' Amours and Dalliance of their Youthful Days?  
That ere this Peaceful Bard, and gentle Muse,  
Could Bicker thus, and mutually accuse?  
So, whilst some seeming Happy Pair  
(who Hymen's Fetters wear)  
In Public Fond as Turtles are,  
Th' Unwed with Envy their Caresses View  
But Ah! What would they do,  
If (as they see their open Loves) their private Feuds  
They knew?    

The Search.  

I.  
COnfess Ingenuously O Man,  
The Upshot of thy Toil and Pain,  
The Product of thy Brain;  
Since first thy busy Race began.  
Canst thou produce one Evidence,  
Or plausible Pretence,  
Thy boasted Reason to Evince?  
Yes— Gradually each Age has been Refined  
By the important Labours of Mankind;  
The Labours of their Hand, and of their Mind,  
Even wily Nature, with her Protean Shapes,  
Rarely from their Inquisitive Search escapes;  
Long she Resists; but strictly pressed,  
Resigns th' Arcanas of her Breast.  
Bold Mortals Rob with Ease  
Her Richest Cossers, be they laid  
Deep i'th' Recesses of profoundest Seas,  
Or to the Caverns of the Earth conveyed;  
For rather than live Poor,  
They'll dive in quest of Gems that sleep  
On Beds of Rock beneath the Deep,  
And Travel Underground for Golden-Oar.   

II.  
Enough!— If we'll lay claim,  
From these Performances, to Fame,  
Where will the Catalogue of our Praises end?  
For, thousand Instances beside  
Will vindicate our Pride,  
And still the Triumphs of our Wit extend.  
Such are the Conquests which we daily gain  
On Learning's Undiscovered Parts:  
Our active Fancies still Create New Arts;  
Or, what is more,  
Even from the Dead Restore  
Arts, that in Ages Past have buried lain.  
And yet 'tis feared, there's Reason to suspect  
Our Glory's Weight will fail,  
And Vanity prove the Heavier Scale:  
Impartially if we Reflect,  
We shall perceive there's wanting yet  
The Richest Crown our Tirumphs to Complete;  
In vain we boast Discoveries,  
Whilst we Return without the Master Prize;  
The Art of Happiness still Undiscovered lies.   

III.  
Oh Happiness! (if Happiness be aught  
Beside a wild Chimaera in the Thought)  
To what close Nook art Thou confined?  
What distant Continent or Isle,  
That thou canst still beguile  
The restless Scrutiny of all Mankind!  
Even in this Vale of Misery,  
Some Rivulets of Bliss we taste;  
But rivulets almost Dry,  
And tainted with th' Unsavoury Grounds through which they passed.  
Ah! that some friendly Seraph would convey,  
Or point me out the Way  
To those glad Lands, where Happiness slows pure;  
Where I might drink secure  
At Pleasure's Fountainhead;  
No Surfeit would I dread,  
But quaff the Cordial Flood;  
Till mingling with my Blood,  
And circ'ling through each Part,  
It should like Balsam ease my Smart;  
Like Nectar, Cherish my dejected Heart!   

IV.  
In various Ways deluded Mortals Toil,  
All busied I'th' Discovery of Content:  
This is the Game we All pursue,  
But Hunt it still on a cold Scent;  
The wary Prey ne'er comes in view,  
But skulks Aloof, and leaves us at a Foil.  
Yet where's the disappointed Man will say,  
He now despairs of being Blest;  
For though at present unpossest  
Of his dear Hope, He's yet in a fair Way:  
And now his Project wants but carrying on as 'tis Begun,  
And then th'important Task is done:  
Done, sayest thou Credulous Man?  
Yes! So the Babel Builders heretofore,  
Raising to Heaven their proud Tower, lacked no more  
Than carrying on the Work as they Began.  
But, grant thy Years of Drudgery were passed,  
'Tis odds but thou'rt imposed upon at last:  
Thou like the Syrian Husbandman of Old,  
Conceivest thyself to hold  
The Beauteous Rachel fast in thy Embrace,  
Yet (though th'Imposture last a Night)  
Be sure the next returning Light  
Shall fight thee with an unexpected Face,  
When thou beholdest a Blear-eyed Leah in thy Rachell's Place.    

The Prospect.  
FRom a tall Precipice on the Seaside,  
A Reverend Hermit viewed the spreading Tide:  
The Flood was curled with a becoming Wave;  
But no Praesage of rising Tempests gave.  
A goodly Ship was coasting by the Place,  
Like a proud Courser foaming in her Pace;  
With flattering Courtship, the Lascivious Gails  
Her Streamers curled, and wantoned in her Sails.  
The Waves divide to give the Pageant way;  
Then close, and with raised Heads, the Pomp survey.  
Whilst the grave Man this spectacle intends,  
(Pleased with the sight) a sudden Storm descends.  
The Winds grow rude, and rend the shaken Boat;  
On the swollen Flood, the tattered Streamers float:  
So, Blossoms with too violent a Breeze,  
Are torn, and scattered round their shaken Trees.  
Then, to his Cell returned, the Anchorite  
Draws sage remarks from this Disastrous sight  
Of Earthly Grandeur, weighs the Uncertain state;  
Which, in its gawdiest Bloom, and proudest Height,  
Stands most exposed to th'Shock of sudden Fate.   

The Request.  
SO may you Spring, and so heavens choicest Dew,  
In Nightly-Show'rs, distil fair Plants on You;  
As You on Me Your rankest Venom shed,  
Whilst at Your Feet I make My grassy Bed.  
And Thou O Goddess (whose Obliging Womb  
Affords the Living Food, the Dead a Tomb)  
Permit Me ere I die, to dig my Grave;  
'Tis all My starved Ambition now will crave!  
I Rob Thee not; for, though My delving Spade  
Dislodge thy Mould, yet there's no Trespass made:  
For I the petty Damage shall Repay,  
Filling the Vacant Ground with My own Clay.   

The Instalment.  

I.  
LOng have I Languished in the Fire  
Of an unquenchable Desire;  
And will it not suffice thee Love,  
That I thy patient Martyr am,  
Unless thy Worship I promove,  
And proselyte others to thy Flame?  
If as a Laick-Lover ought I act,  
What canst thou more from me expect,  
Who am not gifted for a Teacher in the Sect?   

II.  
My Gifts of Nature are too small;  
I own it, and pretend no Call!  
Beside, I've found at last the Cheat;  
The Flame that does thy Priests inspire,  
(Pretended for Seraphic Heat)  
Is mere Enthusiastic Fire.  
When Heaven inspires the mind no Trouble knows;  
But Love's wild Extasics (like those  
That Raged in Heathen Priests) torment and discompose.   

III.  
And 'tis no more than their Desert,  
That these Impostors thus should smart;  
By whose false Wiles we are betrayed  
To Love's cursed Tyranny and Rage;  
For they, when once Love's Captives made,  
Their Griefs dissembling, Sing i'th' Cage:  
Then from afar, the Credulous Flock repairs,  
T'attend their soft and charming Airs;  
And whilst they listening sit, are caught in unseen Snares.   

IV.  
But why fond Love wilt thou make choice  
Of my untaught and grating Voice?  
Fool, whilst amidst thy Gins I sing,  
I shall not only fright away  
Such as already are on Wing,  
But those that were inclined to stay!  
Consult thy Reason first deluded Boy,  
Ere my rude Verse thou dost employ;  
Verse that will prove a Scarecrow, rather than Ducoy.    

The Penance.  
Nymph Fanarett, supposed to be  
The Gentlest, most indulgent She;  
(For what Offence I cannot say)  
A Day and Night, and half a Day,  
Banished her Shepherd from her sight:  
Sure his Default could not be Light,  
Or this Compassionate Judge had ne'er  
Imposed a Penance so severe.  
And lest she should anon revoke  
What in her warmer rage she spoke,  
She bound the Sentence with an Oath,  
Protested by her Faith and Troth,  
Nought should Compound for his Offence,  
But the full Term of Abstinence.  
But when his Pennance-Glass were run,  
His Hours of Castigation done,  
Should he defer one Minutes space  
T' appear, and be restored to Grace,  
With sparkling threatening Eyes she swore,  
That Failure would Incense her more  
Than all his Trespasses before.   

Laura's Walk.  

I.  
THE Sun far sunk in his Descent,  
Laid now his Tyrant Rays aside,  
When Laura to the Garden went,  
To Triumph over Nature's Pride.   

II.  
The Rosebuds blushed with deeper Dye,  
The envying Lilies paler grew;  
The Violets drooped with Fear to spy  
On Laura's Veins a richer Blue.   

III.  
She stooped and gathered as she went,  
But whilst she slaughtered sweetly Smiled;  
As Angels though for Ruin sent,  
Appear with Looks Serene and Mild.   

IV.  
But now grown weary with her Toil,  
She sits and flowery Wreaths she frames;  
Thus with proud Trophies made o'th' Spoil,  
Her Conquest o'er the Flowers proclaims.    

The Usurpers.  

I.  
USurping Passions held a long Contest  
For the Supreme Dominion of my Breast;  
But whilst in mutural Broils the Tyrants raged  
Whoso'ver by the Battle Gained,  
I still the certain Loss sustained;  
For they nere-failed whenever they Engaged,  
To Waste the Province where the War was waged.   

II.  
Whilst such wild Havoc in my Breast was made,  
Reason first came to tender me his Aid;  
And sure with that puissant Prince Allied,  
Had I but played the Man i'th' Fight.  
My Passions had been put to Flight.  
But I not only to Assist denied,  
But treacherously fell off to th' Enemy's side.   

III.  
Then from the Powers of Love Redress I craved,  
But was by that Alliance worse Enslaved;  
For though Loves Forces quickly did degrade  
These proud Usurpers of my Breast,  
Yet was I not hereby Redressed,  
For Love himself proved false, when Victor made,  
And seized the Province which he came to Aid.   

IV.  
But heavier now the Bondage I sustain,  
Then during my tumultuous Passions Reign.  
'Twere now no small Presumption to impore  
The Indulgent Fates to set me free  
As in my Native Liberty.  
No! So it please their kind Powers to Restore  
My former Tyrants, I demand no more.    

The Amusement.  Strephon. 
WHy Weeps my Sylvia, prithee why?  Sylvia. 
To think my Strephon once must Die,  
To think withal poor Sylvia may  
When He's removed, be doomed to stay.  Streph. 
Nymph you're too Lavish of your Tears,  
To spend them on Fantastic Fears.  Sylu. 
No, for when I this Life resign,  
(If Fate prolong the Date of Thine)  
The Tears you'll give my Funeral,  
Will pay me Interest, Stock and all.  Steph. 
Not so, for should this setting Light  
ne'er Rise again in Sylvia's sight,  
Without a Tear in mine I'd view  
Her Dying Eyes.  Sylu. 
'Tis False!  Streph. 
'Tis true.  Sylu. 
Not weep false Shepherd? Swear.  Streph. 
I Swear  
I would not give thy Hearse a Tear.  Sylu. 
Break swelling Heart! perfidious Man!  
Death! are you Serious? Swear again.  
Yes! Swear by Ceres and by Pan.  Streph. 
Let then great Pan and Ceres hear,  
And punish if I falsely Swear.  Sylu. 
Gods! can ye hear this and Forgive?  
You may, for I have Herd and Live!  
Half this Unkindness timely shown,  
Had kept me Blest, kept me my Own;  
ere to your false embrace I came,  
I could have quenched my kindling Flame;  
I could have done't without Remorse,  
Parting had then been no Divorce.  Streph. 
Rage's not rash Nymph, for I've Decreed  
When Sylvia Dies—  Sylu. 
Speak, what?  Streph. 
To Bleed.  
I'll drain my Life-blood from my Heart,  
But no cheap Tear shall dare to start.  Sylu. 
Kind Shepherd, could you Life Despise,  
And Bleed at Sylvia's Obsequies?  Streph. 
To Ceres I appeal, for She  
Knows this has long been my Decree;  
And knows that I resolve it still.  Sylu. 
Since than you could your Vow fulfil,  
Swear, Swear once more you never will.   

The Amorist.  
SEe where enammoured Thirsis lies,  
And cannot cease to gaze  
On his Larissa's sparkling Eyes,  
But takes Delight to see those Comets Blaze;  
Whose Lustre still is Fatal to the Swain,  
o'er whom they Reign,  
For by their Influence the poor Shepherd Dies,  
Or (more to be Lamented) Lives in Pain.   

The Surprisal.  
I'th' narrowest walk of a close Grove,  
Whom should I chance to meet but Love?  
I seized the Elf, and said— At last  
I've caught thee, and I'll hold thee fast.  
Now by thy Mother's Doves and Sparrows,  
I'll rob thee of thy Bow and Arrows;  
I'll chain Thee up and clip thy Wings,  
Or Strangle Thee in thy own Strings,  
If thou refuse me to relate  
The Grounds of my Olinda's Hate.  
Then thus the Boy replied— Fond Swain,  
Vex not yourself and me in Vain:  
Your Love as noble is and brave  
As ere this Bow and Quiver gave;  
But that Olinda flights your Flame,  
Nor Thou, nor I, nor She's too Blame.  
Weigh Circumstances, and you'll find  
She's of Necessity Unkind:  
She's Mortal, therefore never can  
Commiserate a suffering Swain;  
For such refined Perfections shine  
In Her, that could She but Incline  
To Pity Men, She were Divine!   

The Unconfined.  
BElieve me Nymph you strive in Vain  
My Passion to Confine:  
'Tis noble, and must need repine  
To wear the Slaves most Servile Badge, the Chain.  
'Tis more than all your Charms can do  
To lay Restraint on Love;  
But if you are disposed to prove  
Your Beauties utmost Power, pursue  
Some likelier Enterprise; but spare  
Your vain Attempts to bind  
What is by Nature Unconfined,  
For Love's a Planet, not a fixed Star.   

Dialogue. Alexis and Laura.  Laur. 
Alexis.—  Alex. 
Dear!  Laur. 
Take—  Alex. 
What?  Laur. 
A Kiss.  Alex. 
What means this Unexpected Bliss,  
A Bliss which I so oft in Vain  
Have craved, and now unasked obtain?  Laur. 
When to my Swain reserved I seemed,  
I Loved him, Kissed him Less esteemed!  Alex. 
Dear Nymph, your Female Arts forbear,  
Nor fond thus new 'Gins prepare  
For one already caught i'th'snare.  
You may impose a heavier Chain,  
But none that surer will retain.  
'Tis Laura, an unjust design  
To Treat so Plain a Soul as mine  
With Oracles; with mystic sense  
Religion may perhaps dispense,  
But these Aenigmas mar Love's Joy,  
As Clouds Gems in their worth destroy.  Laur. 
Then take it on your Peril Swain,  
(Since you compel me to be plain)  
The Kiss I gave you was in lieu  
Of all Love-debts from Laura due,  
To Swain Alexis, since the Hour  
Of our first Entrance on Amour.  Alex. 
What Crimes can I have wrought t'enforce  
This sudden and severe Divorce?  
'Tis, sure, impossible such Gild  
Should press my Soul and not be felt.  Laur. 
Recall false Shepherd what to day  
I heard you to Dorinda say.  
You said she did Noons Light outshine,  
More than the Paphian Queen Divine.  
You vowed respect to her Commands,  
And (Heaven Forgive you) Kissed her Hands.  Alex. 
You wrong me Nymph, by Pan you do;  
For if that Courtship you review,  
You'll find 'twas Compliment to you.  Laur. 
Yes, I was Sov'rainly respected  
By Prayers t' Another Saint directed.  Alex. 
Dorinda's Graces, 'tis well known,  
Bear such Resemblance with your own,  
That when I made my late Address,  
'Twas in that gentle Shepherdess  
The sweetness of those Charms to taste,  
Which so divinely Laura graced.  Laur. 
Weak Nymphs with Men contend in Vain,  
Who thus can their Defaults maintain.  
Wise Nature has her care expressed,  
That neither Sex should be Oppressed;  
For when to Us she did commit  
Tyrannic Beauty, she thought fit  
To Teach Men Wit and Arts t' Allay  
And Temper Beauties Absolute Sway.   

The Restitution.  
HEr keen Disdain pierced deep my Breast;  
The gaping Orifice dismissed  
The dearest drops my Heart contained:  
I ventured to her and complained,  
To ease my smart and still my Fears;  
She wept and Bathed my Wound with Tears.  
Blood will have Blood (they say) and be  
Repaid in Kind. 'Tis false in Me.  
For Sylvia wound me yet more deep,  
If after you vouchsafe to weep,  
(So much I prise your Tears) I'll own  
You have not satisfied Alone,  
But so ore-recompenct my wrongs, that I  
Bleeding to Death shall Sylvia's Debtor Dye.   

The Escape.  

ON a Streams Bank I saw her stand,  
A pliant Angle in her Hand.  
I marked how she disguised the Hook,  
And cast her Bait into the Brook.  
The sport succeeded to her wish,  
For straight she hung a ponderous Fish;  
But too too eager on her Prey,  
Refused to give the Captive Play  
Till Tired, himself he would resign;  
But trusting to her slender Line,  
The struggling Animal enraged,  
With the rude check soon Disengaged  
His wounded Jaws; but whilst He thus Regains  
His Liberty, the bearded wire remains  
And galls his tender Gills with restless Pains.   

II.  
Is't not enough inhuman Maid,  
That we are by thy Wiles betrayed,  
But you your Treach'ry must employ,  
The Floods Inhabitants to destroy?  
This Fish has my hard fortune shared,  
When first by thy false Charms Ensnared;  
For so I gorged the Bait you threw;  
Whilst (on your game too Eager) you  
Came violently to seize your Prey,  
Which with hard struggling broke away.  
But to what purpose am I Free,  
Living in painful Liberty.  
In vain I boast, that I survive the Dart  
Whose Venomed Pile lies festering in my Heart,  
And (though it kill not) galls with restless smart.    

The Politicians.  
HOw grossly do the Learned and Wise  
Mistake in Love's State-policies!  
If I and Caelia chance to jar,  
They take our Feuds for open War;  
So little they perceive the power  
Of Quarrels to Improve Amour.  
Do we not see how perfect are  
The Loves of every Turtle Pair,  
Yet they like us disguise their Bliss,  
Cooing and murmuring while they Kiss!  
Love's Fire like Lightning shines as fair  
In Storms as in Serener Air.  
Let none my Caelia judge the mode  
Of our Amour, and call it odd;  
But such as Love to our Degree  
(If any more such Lovers be!)  
Whose wedded Love persists the same,  
As when we burnt in Virgin Flame.  
Sometimes like parting Streams we stray,  
And seem to Rove a sundry way,  
But meet ere long, and so United move  
Till we are lost in a full Sea of Love.   

The Vom-Breaker.  

CLose by a Mossy Fountain's side,  
A spacious Marble Basin stands;  
Passing that way, Ardelia there I spied;  
Oft-times, and oft, she washed and dried her Hands.  
Bless me! I could not choose but smile  
At her Impertinent Toil;  
For from her Arms the Waters purer fell,  
Than when she took them from the Well!  
So Vapours change their muddy Blue  
(When raised aloft) to fairer Hue;  
They Rise in Mists and fall in Dew.   

II.  
Ah! I'm Undone; the fear was just  
That checked me when I gave my Heart  
To this fair Nymph, who stormed at my Mistrust,  
And Swore from the dear Pledge she'd never part,  
A while she lodged it in her Breast,  
Where like a Turtle in its Nest  
It slept, till she (would you believe she could?)  
Imbrued her hands in its warm Blood!  
Then, washing Here, designed to slain  
The Innocent Fount, but strove in Vain,  
Her Hands the Conscious Die Retain.   

III.  
Henceforth let none your Beauty prize,  
But such as can be False as You;  
You who admit no Hearts your Votaries,  
Save what you make (like Mine) your Victims too,  
'Tis evident what you design  
You'd be in Earnest thought Divine.  
Then, Goddess, know your Rites amiss proceed,  
Your Victims Burn before they Bleed;  
But you Enjoin your own odd way  
To Exercise your Absolute sway,  
And try how Blindly we'll obey.    

The Tear.  

I.  
STay julia, let me watch that Tear,  
Lest the rich drop glide from thine Eye,  
The Meteor sparkles in its Sphere,  
But Fallen to impure Earth, 'twill Die;  
Yet where it is it cannot stay,  
For see the Sunbeams come in swarms to Prey  
And sip the rich delicious juice Away.   

II.  
Into this Viol let it fall—  
See, julia, how it sparkles through?  
Well may those Eyes prevail on All,  
Whose Tears have Killing glances too.  
If solid as a Gem it were,  
No Gem could vie with this Transparent Tear;  
The Eye that wept it only could compare.   

III.  
It shall be so, I will convert  
This Tear to a Gem, 'tis Feasible;  
For laid near Julia's Frozen Heart,  
'Twill to a Diamond congeal.  
And yet if I consider well,  
These Tears of Julia's can fore-bode no Ill,  
The Frost is Breaking when such Drops Distil.    

The Discovery.  
WHen first Love's Votary I became,  
(Charmed with the Lustre of his Flame)  
My Youth his Godlike form admired,  
And fond thought his Priests inspired.  
Mongst Them I proudly sought a Place,  
And was by Chance allowed the Grace;  
But once admitted to his Shrine,  
That Love whom I esteemed Divine,  
More terrible than Moloch stood,  
His Altars stained with Humane Blood.  
Of all Infernal Tyrant Powers,  
None like this Daemon of Amours.  
None so severely Exercise  
Their Rage on their poor Votaries!  
The Wounded Lover lives in pain,  
Lies neither Curable nor Slain  
Till his keen Sword sheathed in his Heart,  
Complete the Slaughter of the Dart.  
Others to Quench this Calenture  
Have ta'en a speedy Course and sure,  
Whilst from some Praecipice's Brow,  
They plunged into the Floods below.  
To Deserts Others have Retired,  
And pensive there in Caves expired,  
What Place or Age or Sex is free  
From this Usurper's Tyranny?  
The populous City he frequents,  
And pitches in the Camp his Tents.  
In Courts and Palaces He Reigns,  
And proudest Monarches wear his Chains.  
Yet He that thus the Sceptre awes,  
Disdains not to impose his Laws  
On Cottages, and there destroys  
The Nymphs and Shepherds native Joys.  
Their purer Air methinks should be  
From Love's severe Contagion free,  
But all their Meads and Gardens bear  
No Herb t'assuage this fever There!  
Far from his Flock Alexis weeps,  
Neglects to Feed, and rarely Sleeps;  
His once sure Charm for every Grief,  
The Pipe affords him no Relief;  
Gasping at Sylvia's Feet he lies,  
Whilst She for Scornful Strephon dies.  
How wretched is the Lover's State,  
Pressed on all sides with some hard Fate?  
His Hopes alike it will destroy,  
Not to Succeed or to Enjoy.  
For if he Lawlessly Embrace,  
He's then Unhappy 'cause He's Base;  
And He that Honourably Love's  
Less Wretched, but not Happy proves!  
To him that waits his Nuptial Day,  
The Hours pass Lazily away;  
False Dreams of Bliss his Thoughts Employ,  
Impatient therefore to Enjoy,  
Rashly he bargains for a Wife,  
And with her Weds the Cares of Life;  
But wrought to Expectations Height  
His fancied Blisses Vanish straight,  
For Leapt into the Marriage Bed,  
With Briars and Thorns He finds it spread,  
Reputes too Late and Envies the Unwed.   

The Parting.  
HEre do I fix my Foot, and Farewell Love!  
I will no further move.  
When first in Error's Misty Night  
I lost myself, and roved about,  
This Ignis-fatuus found me out,  
Before me rolled with Wanton Play,  
And begged to bring me on my Way.  
Rashly I followed the seducing Fire  
Through briny Floods of Tears,  
Mongst Thorny jealousies and Fears,  
O'er Praecipices of Despair,  
And where no Passage did appear,  
Oft have I forced a Path, but now I Tyre.  
What Glimpse was that which struck my Eye  
From yonder Sky?  
Welcome bright Harbinger of Day;  
By thee I know the Sun is on his way.  
What Deserts this?— Alas! I fear I'm Strayed,  
And after all my Toil and Fright  
In this Tempestuous Night,  
By my Officious Guide Betrayed.  
Oh! when shall I arrive at the Abode  
Of Happy Souls (since they that earliest strive  
To reach that Stage, are late ere they Arrive)  
I, who am Cumbered with so vast a Load  
Of Vain Desires, and have alas!  
So many a weary step to pass  
Ere I redress my Stray's, & get into the Road.   

On an Old Miser that Hoarded his Treasure in a Steel Chest, and buried it.  
CAnst Thou in Dungeons smother up that Pelf  
That's dearer to thee than thy Self?  
Th' ill-treated Prisoner is debarred the sight  
Of its own cheerful Parent Light.  
Dost Thou in such strict Ward thy Gold retain,  
As Pagans did their Idols Chain,  
Lest some audacious Foe by Force should seize  
Or charm away their Deities?  
In Vain from Others Reach thou dost confine  
What is no Less reserved from Thine!  
So Merchants rather than resign their goods  
To Pirates, sink them in the Floods.  
Dull Miser, nought of thy laborious Gains  
Falls to thy share, beside the Pains.  
Like the dull Ass thou Starv'st beneath a Pack  
Of Provender that breaks thy Back.  
Think not Thou dost like Nature to Inter  
Thy Gold, 'cause 'twas Interred by Her;  
The Cell which Nature gave it, was a Womb  
To Breed the Oar, but Thine its Tomb.   

The Vision,  
Written in a dangerous fit of Sickness.  
Dissolved in Sleep near a complaining Stream,  
My Fancy strove with an important Dream.  
Methought I was with Violence born away  
Through a dark Vault, whose Cavern did convey  
To Death's sad Courts; the brazen Gates I passed,  
Which on my entrance were again made fast.  
The dismal Cell with horror I surveyed,  
For dead men's Bones in Piles were round me laid,  
And Skulls of largest size the Pavement made.  
The Sun to this dark Mansion darts no Ray,  
But glimmering Lamps make an imperfect Day:  
By their faint Light I searched the Cave around,  
And in each Nook amazing Objects found.  
In a long Row stood Glasses stored with Sand,  
Which of some Mortals years the Tale contained:  
His or Her Name the bloody Letters spelled,  
The Number of whose years the Hourglass held.  
Grim Fate stood by to watch the hindmost Grain,  
And cut the slender Thread of Life in Twain;  
Then down the Tablet dropped t'a stream below,  
Supposed from the Lethaean Lake to flow:  
A while it floated till born Underground,  
'Twas in th' Abyss of deep Oblivion drowned.  
Whilst into Fate's Arcanas thus I pried,  
My own Name on a Tablet I descried.  
But oh the Pangs and Agonies that rend  
My panting Breast to find my Glass near spent!  
The Tragic Scene begins (Forgive me Fate  
That thy occult Proceedings I Relate.)  
Straight was I summoned to receive my Doom,  
For Death with horrid Grace approached the Room  
Arrayed majestic in a mourning Robe,  
A Dart his Sceptre, and a Skull his Globe.  
He sat, th' Attendants on his Person stood,  
All armed for Slaughter, and distained with Blood.  
Diseases next were placed a numerous Train,  
Producing each a Beadroll of his slain.  
No sooner were my scattered Thoughts restored,  
But I with mental Prayers heavens Aid implored;  
Then thus with hollow Voice the Tyrant spoke—  
In vain fond Youth heavens succour you invoke,  
Stand to the Bar, and hear th'indictment read;  
For ere Thou diest Thou art allowed to Plead:  
Thy Charge is deep, but for thyself Reply,  
Oh I am Guilty and deserve to Dye!  
My years in Vanity's pursuit I spent,  
Too oft Transgressed, too rarely did Repent;  
Some Vices (Heaven Assisting) I suppressed,  
And lasting War proclaimed with all the Rest;  
But oft i'th' Combat I shrunk back and fled,  
By Passions oft surprised and Captive led.  
But are this Courts Proceedings so severe,  
That Youth can Challenge no Indulgence Here?  
Had Fate my Life to Manlier years promoved,  
Perhaps my Skill and Courage had improved:  
Mortal thy Doom already is decreed,  
(The judge replied) and Sentence must proceed!  
This Court's Records with Instances abound  
Of Younger Brows than Thine with Laurel crowned,  
Approach ye Ministers of Fate, and bear  
Th'Offender Hence to th'Region of Despair,  
In Liquid Flames of Sulphur let him roll,  
In sharpest Agonies of a Hell-wreckt Soul:  
Thus let him howl Eternity Away,  
Refreshed with no short Glimpse of Heavenly Day.  
Confusion now my Tortured Bosom filled;  
Cold Sweat adown my Lifeless joints distilled.  
A Guard of Daemons at the Tyrant's call  
With hideous Yell rushed into the Hall  
Monstrous of Shape, of Size, Prodigious Tall.  
In this Distress behold a Heavenly Ray,  
Around me did his cheerful Light display.  
The Lamps grew pale and shrunk into their Case,  
The frighted Daemons Vanished from the Place;  
The haughty Tyrant's Self confused appeared;  
Mongst the dead Bones a rattling Noise was heard,  
As Summoned to the Universal Doom,  
They justled with each other in their Tomb.  
Not daring yet to hope Relief I spied  
My Guardian-Angel smiling by my side;  
A silent joy through all my Vitals ran,  
Whilst Thus in Charming Language He began.  
Rejoice my charge, for from heavens Court I come  
With gracious Orders to Revoke thy Doom.  
Thy Sun is set, thy Life-glass almost run,  
Thy Virtue's Race imperfectly begun.  
But Heaven in Pity to thy sickly Pace,  
Has Lincenced me or to contract the space,  
Or on my Wing thy lingering Spirit convey  
To Blissful Mansions of Eternal Day.  
To Heaven and Him my Humblest Thanks I paid,  
And begged to be to those glad Seats conveyed;  
But first admit the Lot of all Mankind  
And Leave (said He) that Load of Earth behind,  
Prisoners Absolved, less gladly quit their Chain  
Than I this Flesh that did my Spirit detain.  
But when my Soul her naked Self Surveyed,  
Leprous and soul by Sin 's Contagion made,  
She Blushed and sought to cover her Disgrace,  
Retreating back into her Fleshy case.  
The Guardian-Spirit her fond Attempr withstood,  
And straight with Hyssop dipped in Sacred Blood,  
Baptised Her; and behold, whilst I enquired  
Th'Intent o'th' Ceremony, I grew inspired  
With mental joys, and now descried no more  
Those Blemishes that stained my Soul before:  
Thought of New Worlds my Mind had so engrossed,  
That all Remembrance of the Old it Lost:  
That Body too (which once I fond thought  
Could never be from my Remembrance wrought)  
Had now quite scaped my Memory, till I spied  
The pale and Lifeless Engine by my side.  
Bless me (said I) what ghastly thing lies there?  
Was this the Mansion where so many a year,  
I lingered 'twixt successive Hope and Fear?  
Was this the Thing I took such Care t'improve,  
Taught it to Cringe, and in just measures move?  
The thing that lately did in Business sweat,  
That talked so much of being Rich and Great!  
That sought with Verse to make its Love renowned,  
And hoped ere long to see its Passion Crowned;  
Behold where the designing Machine lies,  
Prey to those Infects it did once Despise.  
Suppose that Body now lay covered o'er  
In Perfumes brought from Ormus Spicy Shore;  
What courteous Female would vouchsafe the Grace  
To Curl those Locks, or Kiss that ghastly Face?  
Why is the Corpse so long detained from Ground,  
'tis more than Time those Hands and Feet were bound;  
Close the dull Eyes, support the falling Chin,  
With grassy Turfs suppress the swelling Skin:  
Go, let the Funeral Peal be Rung aloud,  
In Winding-Sheets th'offensive Carcase shroud  
And in some Nook the Useless Lumber crowed.  
Insulting Thus I spoke, and more had said,  
But was by my Assistant Angel stayed;  
My Charge, said he, (these gloomy shades with-drawn)  
Behold of Everlasting Day the Dawn:  
At th'Entrance to th' Elysian Land (a Grace  
Conferred on Souls when first they arrive the Place)  
The Blissful Throng are met to welcome Thee  
To their fair World of Immortality.  
He said, and straight his Threatening Wand upheaved,  
The Neighbouring Walls obeyed the Stroke and cleaved;  
Such was the Blow given by the Hebrew Guide,  
When forcing his Foot-passage through the Tide,  
The Waters there Congealed and stood in Walls,  
The Building here like breaking Water falls.  
But now the parting Stones brought Heaven in View,  
When (Fatal Chance!) my rapt'rous Dream withdrew  
The grateful slumber from my Temples fell,  
Round me I viewed the Grove, and thought it Hell;  
Aloud I called my Guide! Obligingly  
The Echoing Rocks kept up th'expiring cry,  
But the false Vision fled without Reply.   

ODE.  
To my Ingenious Friend Mr. Flatman.  
AS when the famed Artificer of Greece,  
With wondrous Art but ill Success  
Contrived his own and Captived Son's Escape.  
By Wings which He with inspired Craft did shape,  
He taught the Youth how safely He might Glide,  
And keep a Mean betwixt the Sun and Tide;  
So you (Learned Friend) with equal Art  
To me the Wings of poesy impart,  
Besore me through the spacious Sphere  
A steady Course you Steer,  
There You securely Wonders act  
And th' Eyes of All Attract,  
Whilst I Unfortunate,  
Like Icarus Die, but with less glorious Fate!  
He Soaring fell, I flag Below,  
Where with damp Wings disabled to pursue  
I yield me Lost, and plunging down  
In deep oblivion Drown.   

The Banquet.  
DIspatch, and to the Myrtle Grove convey  
whatever with the natural palate suits,  
The Dayrie's Store with Salads, Roots & Fruits;  
I mean to play the Epicure to Day!  
Let nought be wanting to complete  
Our Bloodless Treat;  
But Bloodless let it be, for I've Decreed  
The Grape Alone for this Repast shall Bleed.  
Sat worthy Friends— But ere we Feed,  
Let Love b'expelled the Company;  
Let no man's Mirth Here interrupted be  
With Thought of any Scornful Little She!  
Fall too my Friends. Trust me the Cheer is good!  
Ah! (if our Bliss we Understood)  
How should we Bless th' Indulgent Fates!  
Indulgent Fates, that with Content have stored  
Our Rural Board,  
A Rarity ne'er sound amongst the Cates  
Of most Voluptuous Potentates.   

The Match.  
BY what wild Frenzy was I Led,  
That with a Muse I needs must Wed?  
Whose dower consists of popular Fame,  
The short Possession of a Name!  
Yet with what Trouble and Debate  
The owner holds this poor Estate?  
Where after long Expense and Toil  
He Starves on the Ungrateful Soil.  
The Fields and Groves which Poets feign  
The curious Fancy Entertain,  
But yields no nourishing Grain or Fruit,  
The craving Stomach to recruit.  
With Thirsty Tongue the Rhymer Sings  
Of Nectar and Olympian Springs.  
And such I fear the Fairy ground  
Of their Elysium will be found.  
A mere Fool's Paradise, and fit  
For such as will be Men of Wit.  
Yet fain would I that Rhymer know,  
That Raves not of th' Shades below,  
Whose Verse describes not there each Hill,  
Each Flowery Vale and wand'ring Rill,  
With such praecise particular Care,  
As He had been a Native there;  
When (maugre all his Art and Pains)  
What are his Gay Elysian Plains  
But an Imaginary Cheat,  
Utopia's formed i'th' wild Conceit,  
When with Poetic Calenture  
'Tis seized, and Death alone can Cure.   

The Disconsolate.  

MY labouring Soul no longer can sustain,  
But sink beneath th'increasing Pain;  
I Wish, Contrive, Attempt, and Rage in Vain!  
Down by these falling Springs I'll Lay  
My weary Limbs, and Sigh my troubled Soul Away!  
To these loan Fields my Griefs I will impart,  
Oh my distracted Head! Oh my afflicted Heart!  
Put stay, why should I mournfully recite  
My Grievances, to Fright  
The feathered Poets of these Streams?  
To interrupt their Mirth and Peace,  
Whilst philomel her querulous Song shall cease,  
And from my sorrows, learn more Tragic Themes!  
No! No! I will conceal my weighty Ills,  
Seal up my Lips, nor lose them even to Pray,  
But all my Plaints in Mental Prayers convey,  
That shall to Heaven as silent rise as Dew from thence Distils.   

II.  
Dream I? or is't a real Prodigy?  
For I descry  
A Rent in that unclouded Sky;  
The Azure Curtains are drawn wide  
And to my View disclose  
Th' Elysian Lands where happy Spirits Reside!  
See where the Spring of Pleasure flows,  
On whose fair Banks the Blessed take soft Repose.  
Exempt from Sense or thought of Misery,  
They Sing, and Smile, and Rove,  
And Feast on Joys in every Grove;  
Their Paradise has no Forbidden Tree!  
Cursed that I am to View this glorious Scene  
With a vast Gulf of Air Between!  
So from a Rock the Shipwreckt Mariner  
Surveys the distant Shore with watery Eyes,  
Reflects on the full Meals and Pastimes there,  
But having framed his fancied Theatre  
Of Sports and rich Varieties,  
Sits down Disconsolate, and Starving Dies.    

Sliding on Skates in very hard Frost.  
HOw well these frozen Floods now Represent  
Those Crystal Waters of the Firmament!  
Tho Hurricanes should rage, they could not now  
So much as curl the solid Water's Brow;  
Proud Fleets whose stubborn Cables scarce withstood  
Th' impetuous shock of the Unstable Flood,  
In watery Ligaments are restrained  
More strict than when in binding O oze detained.  
But though their Services at present fail,  
Ourselves without the aid of Tide or Gale  
On Keels of polant Steel securely Sail  
From every creek to every point we Rove,  
And in our lawless passage swister move  
Than Fish beneath us, or than Fowl above.   

Strephon's Complaint on quitting his Retirement.  

I.  
BUsiness!— Oh stay till I recover Breath,  
Th'astonishing Word puts my mazed Spirits to Flight;  
Business to me sounds terrible as Death,  
As Death to Lovers on their Bridal Night.  
Free as Air, but more Serene,  
The Series of my Life has been;  
But I uncustomed to the yoke, must now  
In stubborn Harness toil at the dull Blow.   

II.  
Then farewell Happiness, Repose farewell!  
You come not where poor Strephon must Reside '  
For you like Halcyons on calm Waters dwell,  
But Business is a rough and troubled Tide.  
Few Suns have risen since I was Blest,  
Of God like Liberty possessed;  
But Slave t'Employment now without Repose  
I'm (Ghost-like) hurried where my Daemon goes.   

III.  
But Business to Preferment will direct,  
And 'tis even necessary to be Great.  
Ah have I then no more than this t'expect?  
My stinted Hopes will starve on such thin meat.  
Impertinents! Content I crave,  
And wildly you of Grandieur Rave!  
If Life's at best a tedious rugged Road,  
What must it be with Grandieurs cumbering Load?   

IV.  
Condemned to th' Town-Noise and Impertinence,  
Where Mode and Ceremony I must view!  
Yet were the sight all Strephon could dispense,  
But He must there be Ceremonious too.  
I fear my rural Soul's too plain  
To Learn the Towns dissembling strain;  
For whilst I practice the sly Courtier's Art,  
I shall forget myself, and speak my Heart.   

V.  
When first th' unwelcome Tidings I received,  
Summoned to bid my peaceful shades Adieu;  
Scarce was I by my Fellow-Swains believed,  
Till streaming Tears proved my sad story True.  
Then pensive they my Doom resent,  
As 'twere to Death or Banishment;  
But oh my Panalthaea's passionate moan  
Surpassed her Sex's kindness, and her own.   

VI  
Thus spoke She with a forced frown on her Brow,  
Will you be gone? false Strephon, will you go?  
Then go thy way; go, for I Hate thee now!  
But tell me, are you serious Swain, or no?  
This is some newfound wile to prove  
(Ridiculous Jealousy!) my Love:  
But whilst of mine this feigned suspect is shown,  
You would suggest that you've renounced your Own.   

VII.  
Thy Love chaste Nymph deep in my Breast I laid,  
When first the precious Pledge I did receive,  
Nor have I thence the sacred store conveyed,  
Here, force the Cabinet open and you'll believe!  
You'll see with what a bleeding Heart,  
From these dear Shades and thee I part;  
But rigorous Fate— then on her Virgin Breast  
I leaned my drooping Head, and wept the Rest.   

VIII.  
Oh Floods and Groves, beneath whose sacred shade  
I've sat as Happy as first Mortals were;  
For when Distractions did my breast invade,  
Some rapt'rous Shepherd's Song redressed my Care.  
But 'bove the Flights of other Swains  
I prized my Astragon's soft strains;  
For (Turtle-like) my pensive Astragon  
Is sweetly Sad and charming in his Moan.    

The Gold-hater.  
WEll, I perceive the Antipathy  
Is mutual now 'twixt Gold and Me;  
For that flies me as fast as I  
The false pernicious metal fly.  
So wild a Prey why should I Trace  
That yields no Pleasure in the Chase?  
A Prey that must with Toil be sought,  
And which I prise not when 'tis Caught.  
Gold I contemn when rude i'th' Oar,  
But in a Crown despise it more.  
No Crown can any Temples fit  
So well, but 'twill uneasy sit.  
By an Eternal Law of Fate,  
Vexations still attend on State;  
Insep'rable by Humane Art,  
A Crown'd-Head and an Aking-Heart.   

The Ingrates.  
DUll Mortals with the same preposterous breath  
We bless Love's Darts, and Curse the shafts of Death.  
The Author of our Ills, a God we style;  
But the Redresser of those wrongs Revile.  
Yet gentle Death (though rudely treated) still  
Persists in generous Charity to Kill  
And Cure th'Ingrateful even against their Will!  
Ah should he once in just Resentment give  
Our Wishes, and permit us ever Live,  
What should we do when Soul and Body jar  
And Loath each other like an Ill-wed Pair?  
Can envious Fiends a Penalty invent  
That shall than Loathed Embraces more Torment?  
But friendly Death absolves us from this Curse,  
And when the Parties clash, makes a Divorce.   

Disappointed.  

I.  
FRom Clime to Clime with restless toil we Roam,  
But sadly still our old Griefs we Retain,  
And with us bear (though we out-rove the Main)  
The same disquiet selves we brought from Home!  
Can Nature's plenteous Board  
Spread wide from Pole to Pole,  
Sufficient Cates afford  
To Satiate or Delude one Craving Soul?  
Produce what wealth the Sea contains,  
Or sleeps deep lodged in Indian Veins,  
Th' Insatiate Mind will gorge the store  
And call for more.   

II.  
The Food of Angels of immortal kind,  
Alone can be designed  
To Feast th'unbounded Appetite o'th' Mind.  
To those bright Seats let me aspire  
Where solid joys remain,  
So firm they can sustain,  
And stand the full Career of chaste Desire.  
Th'Enjoyments we pursue  
So hotly here below,  
Are Charming Daphne's in the Chase  
And (Daphne-like) Transforming, Fool us in th' Embrace!    

Some of Marshal's Epigrams Translated and paraphrased.  

Lib. 1. Epigr. IX.  
FRom needless dangers timely to Retreat,  
Speaks not our Courage small, but Prudence Great.  
Thus Cato still was foremost in the Fight,  
Whilst victory (though at distance) was in fight;  
Yet oft the Unequal Battle he would wave,  
Wise in Retreat as in th'Engagement Brave.  
Who of his Game, Advantage cannot make,  
Is wise in plotting how to part the Stake.  
Who pays his Blood for't, buys his Fame too dear  
I would have Fame, but I'd enjoy it Here.  
Who mingles Cypress with his Laurel Wreath,  
Is poor, and Debtor for his Fame to Death.   

Lib. 1. Epigr. XIV.  
De Arriâ & Paeto.  
WHen from her Breast chaste Arria did unsheathe  
The reeking Sword, & led the way to Death '  
The blushing Steel to her Loved Lord she gave,  
And said— Tho Wretched, let us still be Brave!  
Ah that I might prevent thy Fate with Mine:  
At my own Breast I Bleed, but Smart in Thine.   

Lib. 1. Epigr. CX.  
De Issa Catellâ Publij.  
Issa much to be preferred  
To Catullus amorous Bird;  
Chaster Thou than Stella's Dove,  
But fond as Girls when first they Love.  
Issa worth both Indies Treasure,  
Issa Publiu's Life and Pleasure.  
Issa mourns if He complain,  
Issa shares his Health and Pain.  
All Night on his warm Neck She lies,  
Nor stirs till He's disposed to rise:  
But if Digestion chance to call,  
The cleanly well-bred Animal  
ne'er harms the Bed, but lightly creeps  
O'er Publius' Bosom while He sleeps,  
Or wakes him with her gentle moan,  
And motions to be handed down.  
But passing other Virtues by,  
Such is this Creatures Modesty,  
She ne'er could Love, though daily Wooed  
By Shocks of Quality and Blood.  
But lest Death take her quite away  
When time brings on her fatal Day,  
(To Countermand Fate's rigid Law)  
Publius did her Picture draw;  
Where every Feature, every Hair  
Is feigned with so much Art and Care,  
It leaves you doubtful which to call  
The Copy, which th' Original.  
In short, compare 'em both together,  
And you'll Swear Both have Life, or Neither.   

Lib. 9 Epigr: VI.  
Doll Swears she will have Ralph— The Wiser she!  
Ralph Swears he'll not have her— The Wiser He!   

Lib. XI. Epigr. XCV.  
Translated in Dialogue.  A. 
FRiend Giles and I had late â bloody bout.  B. 
Eternal Cronies how could you fall out?  A. 
Faith guess th'Occasion.  B. 
Some fresh Doxy?  A. 
No,  
Fools as we are, we have more Sense than So.  
He that Asserts a modest Lady's Right,  
(Tho sound Drubbed) is a true Errand Knight;  
But Whelps are they, who for such Carrion Fight.  B. 
When Toapt (which he's of course some twice a Day)  
He'll rail on's Grandsire's Beard if't come in's way;  
Perhaps miscalled you then, gave you the Lie,  
Or in rude Language damned your Poetry.  A. 
Had lily to resolve the Quaere tried,  
Even lily's self could not have guest more wide!  
Don Critic ne'er could wound my thoughts so deep  
As to beguile me of one minutes sleep;  
Censures I still despise as things of course,  
But th' damage I sustain by Giles is worse.  
The Rascal stole—  B. 
Your Poems?  C. 
No, my Horse.   

Lib. XI. Epigr. XLIII.  

THere's not a drowsy Alderman i'th'Town,  
But I'll engage more nobly shall requite  
Dull hobbling Meeter on his Beard and Gown,  
Than you the most elab'rate lines I write.   

And yet your Worship still gives me strict charge  
To write in Honour of your Patronage;  
And that my thoughts upon the Theme be large,  
And favouring of the smartness of the Age.  
Troth Sir, you have less Conscience than a Turk,  
To put an honest Muse on Conjuring Work,  
To make Wesphalia Hams of English Pork.     

The Confinement.  
OFt had I formed Ideas of Content,  
But by Experience knew not what it meant.  
At length I strove to Counterplot my Stars,  
And free my Soul by Stratagem from Cares.  
In a cool Jess'mine shade my Lute I strung,  
Where with divertive Airs I played and Sung;  
The grateful Sounds composed my Cares to sleep,  
Which o'er me now no Watch appeared to keep.  
Thrice blest (said I) this long expected Hour,  
That frees me from my cruel Gaolers' Power.  
I fled; but soon was by my jealous Guard  
Pursued, o're-tane, and laid again in Ward.  
Yet even this Disappointment I could bear,  
Had Fate set bounds to my Misfortunes Here;  
But since my Attempt t'escape I suffer more,  
Than in my Hardest Bondage heretofore!  
Like a Designing Captive now I'm used,  
A Prisoners Common Courtesies refused;  
Pressed with more Chains, awed by a stricter Guard,  
From Sleep (the vilest Slaves Relief) debarred.   

On Snow fallen in Autumn, and dissolved by the Sun.  

I.  
NAture now stripped of all her Summer-Dress,  
And modestly surmizing, 'twere unmeet  
For each rude Eye to view her Nakedness;  
Around her bare Limbs wraps this Snowy Sheet.   

II.  
The wanton Sun the slight-wrought Shroud removes  
T'embrace the naked Dame, whose fertile Womb  
Admits the lusty Paramour's warm Love 's,  
And is made big with the fair Spring to come.    

Melancholy.  

I.  
MAlignant Humour, Poison to my Blood!  
Bane of those active Spirits that glide  
And sport within the circling Tide,  
As Fish Expire in an infected Flood.  
When all th' Horizon of my Soul is clear,  
And I suspect no change of Wether near,  
Straight like a sudden Storm I find  
Thy black Fumes gathering in my Mind,  
Transforming All Egyptian Darkness there;  
Darkness where nought occurs to Sight  
But Flashes, more amazing than the Night;  
And fiery Spectres gliding through the troubled Air.   

II.  
Sleep that in other Maladies brings Ease,  
Feeds and enrages this Disease;  
For when my weary Lids I close  
And slumber, 'tis without Repose.  
This Fury still into my Dreams will creep  
To Hag my timorous Fancy while I sleep;  
Through Charnel Houses than I'm led,  
Those gloomy Mansions of the Dead,  
Where pensive Ghosts by their loved Relics stay,  
And Curse th'approaching Day.  
By Merc'less Foes pursued and ta'en;  
Oft shipwreckt on the Main,  
Beneath the Floods I seem to Dive;  
Oft in Wild Sarras Desert forced t'engage  
Some Savage Monster's Rage.  
Oft (Typhon-like) beneath a Mountain's weight I strive!   

III.  
Might I the Book of Fate peruse,  
To Read the Lot for me designed,  
I should perhaps auspicious find  
Those Planets I accuse;  
But whilst for Information I  
Consult the false Astrology  
Of Melancholy Fear,  
Dark and o'ercast my future Days appear:  
All possible Misfortunes while I dread,  
I draw all possible Misfortunes on my Head;  
Whilst this solicitous Fear of Future Ill  
My credulous Thought employs,  
(Tho false its Augury, yet) it destroys  
My present Rest, and still  
Diverts me from pursuit of certain Joys.  
Who seeks for Happiness with nicest Care  
Must watch its Seasons, and frequent its Haunt.  
Delight is a Rich tender Plant  
That Springs in all Soils, and all the Year:  
'Tis like the Manna which in plenty lay,  
If early sought, around  
Each Hebrews Tent, but if till Heat of Day  
Their Search they did delay.  
Th' Ambrosial Food was no where to be found.    

On a Grave Sir retiring to Write in Order to undeceive the World.  
CErtis of all well-meaning Fools, thy Fate  
Is most deplorably Unfortunate.  
Hadst Thou Domitian-like in catching Flies  
Employed thy Privacy, thou'dst passed for Wise;  
For what should hinder thee, but thou mayst catch  
As fast as He, and be the Emperor's Match?  
But whilst thy solitary Hours are spent  
In scribbling tedious Systems, to prevent  
The Worlds Mistakes, its Follies to Reform,  
Thou mayst as well pretend to lay a Storm.  
Go, cut the Caspian Lake a Road to th'Ocean;  
Contrive an Engine with perpetual Motion,  
Make Machiavillians of the Red-Bull Rout,  
Jilts Constant, Breakers Honest, Bawds Devout;  
If these Adventures seem unfeazable,  
At least enough to pose Don Sidrophel.  
Then think how frantically thou dost devise,  
To make this Hare-brained World grow stayed and wise.  
In Youth and Prime when likeliest to improve,  
No Precepts this besotted World could move;  
And wilt thou at these Years begin to School,  
(Dull Moralist!) the crazy doting Fool?  
Go dreaming Stoic, once again Retire;  
And since thou art Ambitious to acquire  
Repute for Judgement— Set thy Works on Fire.   

On a deformed Old Bawd designing to have her Picture drawn.  

I.  
THy Picture drawn soul Beldame! Thine!  
What Frenzy haunts thy Mind,  
And drives Thee on this vile Design,  
T'affront all Womankind?   

II.  
For whilst thy swarthy cankered Face  
Posterity shall view,  
They'll loathe the fairest of the Race,  
For sharing Sex with You.   

III.  
To some forlorn Churchyard repair,  
And Haggard Thou shalt see,  
The sternest Goblin will not dare  
To stand the sight of Thee.   

IV.  
Those Ghosts that strike with Pannick-Fear  
The Breasts of stoutest Braves,  
At thy Approach will disappear,  
And Burrogh in their Graves.   

V.  
Fix thy Effigies on the Shield  
Of some bold Knight in Arms,  
'Twill Aid him more to win the Field,  
Than all his Lady's Charms.   

VI  
Don Perseus with his Gorgon's Face  
That Combatant would flee;  
For Hag Medusa (no Disgrace!)  
A Beauty were to Thee.    

Advice to a Friend, designing to Publish his Poems.  
REclaim, rash Friend, your wild Resolves t'engage  
A captious, and ill-natured Age.  
'Tis not enough the Verse you write be Good,  
To Take, it must be Understood.  
And to instruct the World, where you excel,  
Is harder much than writing Well.  
theyare different Tasks to write Well, and to Please;  
The last (alas!) a Work of Ease.  
Whilst Midas Umpire sits; let None admire  
Pan's Pipe preferred to Phoebus' Lyre.  
The gawdiest Painting takes the Vulgar sight,  
Whilst artful Pieces less Delight.  
In vain is Nature Represented Well,  
If't it be not Gay, 'twill never Sell.  
Hark in your Ear ('Tis a strange Mystery,  
But a grand Truth), if Popular you'd be,  
Faith spare your Pains, and Write Ex-tempore.   

The Ignorant.  
AN Ignorant I am,  
And Glory in the Name '  
I wot not what of yore  
Rash Furioso's did,  
Nor what the dreaming Sages said:  
I cannot run a List of Old Rome's Triumphs o'er.  
'Twas Knowledge first to Ruin led us on;  
For with this Mortal Itch possessed  
The happy Pair Transgressed,  
Needs must they Know, they Knew and were Undone!  
And to this Hour our miseries sole Relief  
Consists in Ignorance of our Grief!  
Then plodding Mortal cease  
To boast your dear-bought Faculties;  
For since with Knowledge Sorrow must increase,  
Let such as on those Terms can Science prise,  
Improve in Science; but for me,  
So I may Ignorant and Happy be,  
I'll ne'er Repine or look with envious Eyes,  
On the Unhappy Learned, and Miserable Wise.   

The Beldame's Song.  
APpear my Kib-welkin, dear Spirit appear  
In the Shape  
Of an Ape,  
A Fire-spitting Dragon, or Clump-footed Bear.  
Madge has whoopt me twice from her Ivy-bound Oak,  
And twice have I heard the dull Night-Raven croak.  
Let me stride thee my Welkin, and post it away  
E'er the Moon  
Reach her Noon.  
For the Night is the Wey-ward Sister's Day.  
Through the Air let us take our fantastical Round,  
And sipp of the Dew  
While 'tis New,  
Ere the Honeydrops fall to the Ground.  
But when we are mounted, and in our Carear,  
Make neither Halt nor Stay,  
And to none give the Way,  
Tho Hecat herself should be rounding the Air.  
For once I'll encounter,  
And try to dismount her,  
Pitch her Heels over Head  
To some Quagg-mire below, and Reign Queen in her stead  
Bustle, bustle my Kib, and be sure ere we part,  
Thou shalt Suck at the Dug that is next to my Heart.   

The Inconstant.  
A Paraphrase on the XV. Epod of Horace.  
PRecisely I remember All, 'twas Night,  
Calm Sky, and the full Moon shone bright,  
When first you Swore, that bleating Flocks should feed  
With Wolves, nor other Keeper's need;  
That boisterous Winds hushed in Eternal sleep,  
Should cease to Revel on the Deep;  
You Vowed that these, and Prodigies more strange  
Should fall e'er your fixed Heart could change.  
Yet (Woman-like) to your new Favourite now,  
Unswear as oft as you did Vow!  
Ah! if I could (and sure if half a man,  
Or some what less than half, I can)  
Could I in just Resentment quit your Chain,  
And with more caution choose again;  
Nymph, you'd Repent my wrongs, when flying Fame  
Should publish to your grief and shame,  
How your wronged Swain had found a Nymph more True  
And equal in her Charms to You.  
But Treacherous Rival, you that reap my Toils,  
And Pride yourself in my stolen spoils,  
Should Fates and Stars Adopt you for their own,  
And shower their richest Blessings down,  
Nought should secure you from the sure Praesage  
Of an Offended Poet's Rage.  
The time shall come (and to enhance your sear,  
Know, Wretch, that fatal time is near)  
When you shall perish by th' Inconstancy  
Of Her that first learned breach of Faith from thee;  
Whilst from the safe shore your sad wreck I see.   

Of the Ape and the Fox.  
A Paraphrase on one of the Centum Fabulae.  
TO his fourfooted Subjects through the Nation,  
The King of Bruits thus issues Proclamation,  
Being well informed we have incurred Disgrace  
By harbouring in our Realm a Scandalous Race,  
A Sect that have No Tails; These Presents are  
T' enjoin such Miscreants, All and singular,  
Straight to depart our Land, or on Demur,  
Our Laws Grand-Treason Penalties incur.  
Sly Reynard straight sifts out this state Design,  
Turns Goods and Chattels All to ready Coyn.  
The unprojecting Neighbourhood Admire,  
And Flock, th'Occasion of his March t'Enquire.  
Where amongst the Rest the ceremonious Ape  
Accosts him with Grimmace and formal Scrape.  
Bon jour Monsieur! You pass for a prime Wit;  
But in this Project give small Proof of it.  
We of the Cur-tailed Tripe b'express Command  
Of our great Cham prepare to quit the Land;  
But why Sir should you Budge, Whose Posterns bear  
A Swashing Train well furrd to guard your Rear?  
Had Nature lent me but an Inch of Dock,  
A Tust to Shade, or Scutt to grace my Nock,  
I should Presume I had no Obligation  
From the late Act to take this Peregrination.  
Then thus the Fox— You've spoke an Oracle,  
Doubtless your Gravity reads Machiavelli.  
I must Confess I've no pretence to rail,  
Or Curse my stars for stinting me in Tail;  
But grant my Train might with a Commet's measure,  
Suppose withal that 'twere his Highness' Pleasure  
To say I've None? which if he once Assert,  
Near doubt but he has Sycophants will swear't;  
Thus charged, should I attempt my own Defence,  
(To give his Lawless Tyranny Pretence)  
'Tis Odds but I am Dockt upon the Spott,  
And then for want of Tail poor Reynard goes to Pot.   

The Round.  
HOw Vain a Thing is Man whom Toys Delight,  
And shdadows Fright!  
Variety of Impertinence  
Might give our Dotage some Pretence;  
But to a Circle bound,  
We Toil in a dull Round:  
We sit, move, Eat and Drink,  
We Dress, Undress, Discourse and Think  
By the same Passions hurried on,  
Imposing or Imposed upon:  
We pass the time in Sport or Toil,  
We Blow the Seas or Safer Soil:  
Thus all that we Project and Do,  
We did it many a year ago.  
We Travel still a beaten way,  
And yet how eager rise we to pursue  
Th'affairs of each returning day,  
As if its Entertainments were Surprising All and New.   

The Male Content.  
MOngst winding Rocks (his swelling griefs t'allay)  
The disappointed Thirsis took his way.  
In the Wild Cliffs a natu'ral Vault he found  
With woven Ivye Cheaply decked around.  
He rushed into the Solitary Nook,  
Where into these Pathetic Sounds he broke.  
Oh when will Nature take the life she gave,  
And Lodge me free from Trouble in the Grave!  
Sleep there alone deserves the Name of Rest,  
No frightful Dreams the sleep of Death infest.  
Whilst shrouded in this marble Cell I Lie,  
What can be more Commodious than to Die?  
Each Object Here wears such a mournful Face,  
That Dying seems the Business of the Place!  
Here from the wrangling World I will Retire,  
And as I Lived Unknown, Unknown Expire.  
Then let that hanging Rock that shades my Head  
Sink down, and shut this Vault when I am Dead:  
Rude as it is, this Marble Cell would save  
Th'expensive Rites that formal Burials crave,  
Itself my Cousin, Monument and Grave.   

The Dream.  
BEneath the Syc'more shade,  
Amintas sat to sing and Play  
On his shrill pipe i'th'Heat o'th' Day;  
His Amarillis beside him laid:  
Charmed with the Music of his Reed,  
The listening Ewes forgot to Feed,  
The sportive Lambs gave o'er their Play,  
And to their Master's Song attentive lay,  
The Song as Soft and Innocent as They!  
Mean while on the pleased Amari'll  
A downy slumber fell,  
Till with a Sigh and Sudden start  
She ' work and Cried— Heaven save my Swain!  
Are you not hurt?— I will provide a Dart,  
And if the Bruit approach again,  
I'll drench it in the Savage Monster's Heart.  
What means (Amintas smiling said) This Rage?  
I dreamt (said she) a ruthful Bear  
Had broke into our Fold, and slaughtered there;  
And whilst you rant' Engage  
(Ah! why were you so Rash?) th' unequal Foe,  
The Ravenous Monster Seized on You!  
Then to your Rescue I came in  
And cast myself between,  
But with the motion Waking, found the Dream Untrue.   

Amor Sepulchralis.  
IN a Large stately Cave (of old the Court  
Of Rural Gods as neighbouring Swains report)  
Interred the dear Remains of Damon lay,  
Converted now to their Original clay.  
Each wishing Nymph the living Swain approved,  
The Shepherd fair Emmoria only Loved.  
Their mutual Passion's Kindling Flame was more  
Than ere Inspired Consenting Hearts before;  
But was with time Improved to that Degree,  
That now 'twas Love no more, but Ecstasy.  
Their linked Affections Fate could not divorce,  
Nor rigorous Death restrain their Intercourse:  
The Nymph to living Swains did still prefer  
Her Damon's Dust, and even that Dust Loved Her.  
At Damon's Tomb the chaste Emmoria kept  
Perpetual Watch, and o'er his Ashes wept;  
(Fit emblem of her grief) a sprig of Yew  
She planted there, the Branch took Root and grew.  
This Cave to the Sun's Rays Access denied,  
No Rain or Dew the thirsting Plant Supplied,  
Yet still it sprang, by Love's Miracu ' lous Power,  
For th' Ashes still Glowed with their Old Amour  
Emmoria's Eyes wept a nere-Ceasing Shower;  
This Heat and Moisture kept the Plant Alive,  
And Tempering still each other, made it Thrive.   

The three First Verses of the 46th Psalms paraphrased.  

I.  
OUr Strength, is the Omnipotent;  
We cannot therefore condescend to Fear,  
Tho danger in its gastliest shape appear;  
Tho Mountains from their marble Roots were rend,  
And headlong to the Ocean hurled,  
Their Violent Career might shake the World;  
But our fixed Feet should keep their Ground,  
No Tremour in our Breast be found;  
Our raised Heads should o're-look the Floods, where  
Hills lay Drowned.   

II.  
What though the Sea, whose most capacious Womb  
Gave the Subverted Hills a Tomb?  
What though its raging Waters roar,  
And swell in Mountains vast as those  
Which the profound Gulf gorged before?  
This most impertinently angry Main,  
With its own Rocks fierce contest may maintain,  
But can no more our Passions discompose,  
Than when on a Serene and shiny day,  
Some shallow rivulet we survey,  
Contesting with each Pibble for its Interrupted way.    

The Midnight Thought.  
NOw that the twinkling stars Essay  
A Faint Resemblance of the Day,  
Shown fairer now for being beset  
With Night (like Diamonds in jet)  
Let me Reposed within this Grove,  
The Solemn season There Improve.  
Restless alas! from Sun to Sun,  
A Round of Business I have run:  
Whilst others slept projecting Lay,  
Yet since I THOUGHT how many a day!  
How long since I did meditate  
Of Life, of Death, and Future state?  
Approaching Fate his Pace will keep,  
Let Mortals Watch, or let them Sleep.  
What Sound is That?— a Passing Bell!  
Then to Eternity Farewell!  
Poor Soul, thou'rt at thy Crisis now,  
And one short Hour thy Doom shall show,  
Eternal Bliss, or endless Woe!  
If Virtue's Lore Thou hast despized,  
How Would That Virtue now be prized!  
Or say, Thou didst in our Loose Age,  
On her forsaken Side Engage,  
Wouldst Thou the dear Remembrance now,  
For the World's Monarchy Forgo?  
What other Medicine canst Thou find  
T'assuage the fever in thy mind?  
Now Wakened Conscience speaks at Large,  
And envious Fiends enhance the Charge!  
Let the bold Atheist now draw near,  
Thy i'll and drooping spirits to cheer;  
His Briskest Wine and Wit to Thee  
Will now alike Insipid be!  
Where is the Lawless Hectring Brave  
That from th' Arrest of Death can save?  
Wh ' Attempt a Rescue Here, will fail,  
And this grim Sergeant takes no Bail.   

The Counter-Turn.  
OBserve that Pile of skulls, but chiefly There  
That mossy skull Survey:  
Does the sage Front display  
Plots, Projects, and nocturall Care?  
Methinks it should, for once it did belong  
T'a Machiavilian that could Shock a State,  
And trusted He could Bastle Fate.  
Who would have sought that Head-piece in this Throng?  
The plotting Wight promised that skull a Crown,  
In Lowest Earth He founded the Design,  
With Heaven the Roof did join;  
Till with a sudden shock of Fate O'erthrown,  
The Fabric fell on the Contrivers Head,  
And crushed th'aspiring Politician Dead.   

The Voyagers.  
WHilst Stemming Life's uncertain Tide,  
Tossed on the Waves of Doubts and Fears,  
If to frail Reason's Conduct we Confide  
We strive in vain  
The happy Port to gain,  
For oft as Clouded Reason disappears  
We cannot fail to Rove afar  
Mistaking each false Meteor for our Star.  
How dismal are the Perils we engage  
When (grown t'a Hurricane)  
Our boisterous Passions Rouse the sleeping Main?  
But ah! how Few have perished by the Rage  
Of Storms, if numbered with the daily Throng  
Whom Siren Pleasures as they fail along  
Seduce to the dead shore,  
Where They saw others wrecked before,  
Yet still pursue though certain to be Lost;  
For if from their cleft Boat they climb the Coast  
They fall into the treacherous Siren's Power  
Who Entertain them first, and then Devour.   

The Choice.  
GRant me indulgent Heaven a rural Seat,  
Rather Contemptible than Great.  
Where, though I Taste Life's Sweets, still I may be  
Athirst for Immortality.  
I would have Business, but exempt from Strife;  
A Private, but an Active Life.  
A Conscience bold and punctual to his Charge;  
My Stock of Health or Patience Large.  
Some Books I'd have, and some Acquaintance too,  
But very Good, and very Few.  
Then (if one Mortal Two such Grants may Crave)  
From Silent Life I'd Steal into my Grave.   

On Sight of some Martyr's Sepulchers.  
HEre lies Dust Confusedly hurled,  
But Dust that once shall judge the World!  
Blessed Saints, when the quick Flames Enlarged  
Your Souls, and from dull Flesh discharged,  
Th'Ambitious Fires strove to Convey  
Your Spirits on their triumphant Way,  
But winged with Glory They Aspired,  
And lest the Flames behind them Tired.   

Of the Few Adherers to Virtue.  
THat Virtue Points our Way to Happiness,  
Even the Profane in Cooler Moods Confess:  
But 'Cause the Brave and generous are Few,  
Thin Trains this Guide to Happiness pursue.  
Who ' Vouch her Cause, must ' bet a Suffering side  
Exposed to all the Outrages of Pride.  
She's Exiled now, and 'tis not strange to see  
Mean Souls desert afflicted Majesty:  
But when just Heaven (and sure that Time draws on)  
Restores this Empress to her Starry Throne,  
With Crowns She will enrich her Loyal Few.  
Whilst Shame and Vengeance Crush the Rebel Crew.   

The Requital.  
VIle Infidel, that dar'st for Vice declaim,  
And take vain pride to Publish thy own shame!  
What can thy Patron Vice enough Confer  
On his officious zealous Orator?  
he'll doubtless give his wont Recompense,  
And, Rot the Tongue that Pleads in his Defence.   

To a Desponding Friend.  
REpine not, pensive Friend, to meet  
A Thorn and Sting in every Sweet;  
Think it not yours or my hard Fate,  
But the fixed Lot of Humane State.  
Since then this Portion is Assigned,  
By the great Patron of Mankind,  
(Though ne'er so darkly Understood)  
We should presume the Method Good.  
Heaven does its tenderest Care express  
Conducting through a Wilderness,  
Lest Sluggards we should Take our Stand  
And stop short of the Promised Land.   

Dissuasion of an Aged Friend from Leaving his Retirement.  
IN Life's unactive Wane your shades forsake,  
And into th' World a Sally make:  
Deluded Friend, what Surfeit have you ta'en  
Of Bliss, that now you long for Pain?  
The Favourites of th'austere World are Few,  
Yet They have their disasters too.  
What therefore must your Entertainment be  
That have professed Hostility?  
You have not learned to Flatter and Caress  
The Great, for faithless Promises;  
When Disappointed, Thankful to Appear,  
And say, How much Obliged you are!  
For Lucre you must Practise every Wile;  
Defraud, and do it with a Smile.  
Worldlings with many Vices must be fraught,  
Which you my Friend were never Taught.  
Well, you may Roam, but soon Return distressed;  
Wounded and Maimed to your Old Nest.   

Recovering from a Fit of Sickness.  

I.  
When late the tyrannous Malady  
With intermitted Rage  
Seemed to presage,  
Or Sudden Health or Dissolution nigh;  
False World (said I) that Stealest my real Joys  
Shuffling in stead thy changeling Toys:  
Begun! I'll not be bribed at any Rate  
To sell m'approaching Fate,  
And Reassume that Toilsome Task to Live:  
I prise not Grandieur, and I know  
(Were I thy Favourite as I'm thy Foe)  
What I affect, thou never canst bestow:  
I'd have Content, but That was never Thine to give.  
Remove that Taper from my sight,  
Th' impertinent Light  
Presents no grateful Object to my View;  
Even those Fair Eyes that Planets once appeared,  
(The only Planets I revered)  
To my dim sight, se●m now t'have Lost their Lustre too   

II.  
Thus Musing as I Lay, to my Bedside  
(Attired in all his Mourning Pride)  
The King of Terrors came;  
Awful his Looks, but not deformed and Grim;  
He's no such bugbear as we seign of H●m,  
Scarce we ourselves so Civilised and Tame!  
Unknown the Doom assigned me in this Change  
For full Crimes and imperfect Penitence,  
(Though justly I might dread the Strict Revenge  
Of an Enraged Omnipotence)  
Yet with my present Griefs distressed,  
With curious Thoughts of unknown Worlds possessed  
Inflamed with Thirst of Liberty,  
Long Loved, but ne'er Enjoyed by me,  
Issued for Leave the fatal Gulf to Pass:  
My Vital Sand is almost run,  
And Death (said I) will strike anon,  
Then to dull Life I bid along Farewell;  
But as the last grains fell,  
Death failed my credulous Hopes, and Turned the Glass.    

The Challenge.  
YE Sages that pretend  
In Science to Transcend  
The dull illiterate Crowd,  
You that of Ignorance impeach,  
(Ere your Pretences be allowed)  
Define that Prudence which you Teach;  
I fear 'tis much above your Learning's Reach.  
Prudence has no fixed Being, but depends  
On Person, Time, and Chance,  
And every petty Circumstance:  
Actions directed to the Selfsame ends,  
May prudent th' one, the other peccant be;  
For what would prove Discreet in Thee  
Perhaps were wild Extravagance in Me.  
The Ants are Wise, that from their Summer Hoard  
Supply their Winter Board;  
And doubtless full as wise as They  
The Grasshoppers that Play  
And Revel all their Harvest Days away;  
For 'twere in Them a Senseless Drudgery  
To Toil for a Supply  
In Winter's Dearth, that must ere Winter, Die.   

The Cure.  
A Dialogue.  Claius and Coridon. Claius 
COme Coridon, Sat by me gentle Swain;  
Thy Cheek is pale: Speak Shepherd, where's thy Pain?  Cor. 
Say, Claius Priest of our great Pan (for you  
Of Humane Science th'utmost Limits know)  
Is Physics power to th' Bodies use confined,  
Have you no Medicine for a troubled Mind?  Clai. 
Yes, for as Balsams raging Pains appease  
Sage Counsels to distempered Souls give ease,  
Even Love is no incurable Disease.  
Ha Swain! What meant that Sudden blush and start?  
Have I guest right, and touched the tender Part?  Cor. 
I would Conceal't, but have not learned to Feign—  
You've guest, and while you named it, Waked my Pain.  Clai. 
T'effect the Cure we'll take the Safest course,  
And Trace the Malady to its first Scource:  
Say then, what Female Gims and Baits were laid;  
Or was your fond Soul by its self betrayed?  Cor. 
When from Severer Business I withdrew,  
'twixt Love and Me a fatal Friendship grew:  
Such was my Ignorance and his Craft, my Breast  
Admitted the Impostor for its Guest;  
With my Heart's Blood our Covenant we sealed,  
A Solemn Contract ne'er to be repealed:  
Then all Delights young Sorcerers Enjoy,  
A While did my deluded Soul employ,  
Love fed my waking Thoughts with glorious Themes,  
And blest my Slumbers with transporting Dreams.  
When at an awful Distance I surveyed  
My Nymph, Transported, to myself I said,  
Ah Charming Fair! Oh Excellence Divine!  
Whilst Love would Whispering Answer— Swaine She's Thine.  Clai. 
Thus, Whilst from far our high-placed Hopes appear,  
(The Gulfs between Concealed) we deem them Near.  Cori. 
Yet boldly through all Obstacles I pressed.  Clai. 
Why therefore Shepheard are you not possessed?  Cori. 
Force not th' Unwilling secret from my Breast,  
There let it Lurk in Sympathising Night,  
And never roam from its dark Cell to Fright.  
Let it suffice that on a Barren Soil  
I've Lost of many years th' Expense and Toil.  Clai. 
Does the false Nymph—  
The Wages you so dearly Earned refuse?  Cori. 
Myself I cannot, will not her Accuse.  
But my Relief must from your Counsels Rise:  
Examine not good Claius, but Advise;  
Bring your best Art (for 'twill your best require)  
T'unspell my soul from Love's tormenting Fire.  Clai. 
Call Reason to your Aid, you'll put to flight  
The Foe not to be quelled by other Might.  
Of happiest Love's Delights Sum up th' Account,  
And Learn to what the Totall will amount;  
Then in the Balance Love's Vexations Weigh,  
How certain These, and how uncertain They.  
Sordid his joys, and of delight so nice,  
That Female Coyness only gives them Price.  
Short-lived the warmest Amorist's Desires,  
At Kindling Hymen's, oft Love's Torch expires.  
There are that from Large Dow'rs derive their Flame  
And These in full Career pursue their Game;  
They wreck their Wits, the Golden Prize to gain,  
But dream not how that Gold is wrought into a Chain.  Cor. 
When late Love's false suggestions I Obeyed,  
'Twas in Pursuit of Happiness I strayed.  
My credulous Youth had seen no brighter Flame,  
And Straight Concluded that from Heaven it came.  
In error's Night Love's Fire shone bright and gay,  
But at th' approach of Reason's conquering Ray  
The Meteor's lost in the full Blaze of Day.  Clai. 
Mistake not Swain, I would not Quench your Flame,  
But slip your Passion at a Nobler Game.  
Wave Sensual joys, and with a Flame refined  
Court those Diviner Pleasures of the Mind.  
To sacred Virtue next make your Address;  
Confess you've no Regard of Happiness,  
Or Live henceforth of Virtue's service proud,  
The brightest Beauty and the best endowed.  
She'll guard your Youth from Passions baneful Rage,  
With peaceful Thoughts divert the Pains of Age.  
But then in Largest Streams her Blessings Flow,  
When Love grown Bankrupt can no more bestow.  
When rigorous Death shall check your Circling Blood,  
And Life die stifled in the Frozen Flood,  
Your pensive Nymph at large may tell her Grief,  
But to your ravished Soul give no Relief;  
'Twill lurk a pensive Ghost in Caves all day,  
And to its Relics Midnight Visits pay.  
But pious Souls by Death are Gainers made,  
By Virtue to th' Elysian Seats conveyed;  
There Mirth and Peace, and softest Transports reign,  
Delights refined from all Allays of Pain;  
The Grateful Soil untilled her Harvest yields;  
Unclouded Skies and ever-verdant Fields.  
There Emulation no Dissension gives,  
For Happy Each in others Blisses Lives.  
No Cares o'th' Future their free Thoughts Employ,  
The Business of the Place is to Enjoy.  
That Swain is most Industrious held that best  
Improves his Bliss, exceeds in Joys the Rest.  
If Love can Bless beyond these Heights, Return  
To drag his Chain, and in his fever Burn;  
Take Leave of blissful Immortality,  
Chide my impert'nent Zeal to set you Free,  
And Court the Frowns of some imperious She.  Cor. 
Destroy not thus your generous Courtesies  
By an unfriendly and unjust Surmise;  
Heaven sends me Freedom, and to sell the Pledge,  
Must Brand me with the foulest Sacrilege.  
Against Love and Beauty I'll maintain the Fort  
And fix a Guard of Virtues in my Heart.  Clai. 
If Beauty's Force too rashly you despise,  
'Tis Odds but you are ruined by Surprise:  
Would you live free from Female Tyranny?  
Near Parley with the Tempting Sex, but Fly.  
Their very Tears are Fuel to Desire,  
And with their Sighs They'll Fan th'expiring Fire.  
Their Mirth and Grief, their kindness and Disdain,  
Are fatal All, and Work Poor Shepherd's Pain!  
Nature and Art Conspire to Arm the Fair;  
For in the Charming, All things Charming are;  
Their Glances Darts, and every Curl a Snare.   

The Hurricane.  
WHat cheer my Mates? Luff ho! We Toil in Vain!  
That Northern Mist forebodes a Hurricane.  
See how th'expecting Ocean Raves,  
The Billows Roar before the Fray,  
Untimely Night devours the Day,  
I'th' Dead Eclipse we Nought descry  
But Lightnings Wild Caprices in the Sky,  
And Scalye Monsters sparkling through the Waves.  
Ply! Each a Hand, and furl your Sails.  
Port, Hard a'Port— The Tackle sails.  
Sound ho!— Five Fathom and the most.  
A Dangerous Shelf! sh'as struck, and we are Lost.  
Speak in the Hold— She Leaks amain— Give o'er;  
The Crazy Boat can Work no more.  
She draws apace, and we approach no shore.  
A Ring my Mates: Let's join a Ring, and so  
Beneath the Deep Embracing Go.  
Now to new Worlds we steer, and quickly shall Arrive:  
Our Spirits shall Mount as fast as our dull Corpses Dive   

The Grateful Shepherd.  
WHilst by his grazing Flock a gentle Swain,  
His Vacant Hours to entertain,  
Perused a Volumn whose each Tragic Page  
Discoursed of some Intrigue of State,  
Of Rebell-Insolence and Rage,  
And some unhappy Monarch's Fate:  
The Youth into these passionate sounds broke forth  
What Virtue of my Ancestors  
So much Obliged you ye indulgent Powers,  
That in these Silent shades you gave me Birth?  
You might have made me Fortune's Sport,  
Doomed me to some Corrupted Court,  
Where I this rural Bliss had never known;  
My Cottage might have been a Throne,  
My Crook a Sceptre, and my Wreath a Grown:  
Some Tyrant-Prince I might have been,  
(By your Indulgence now a peaceful Swain)  
My Chloris some proud Cruel Queen,  
The tenderest Nymph of the Arcadian Plain.  
When for these Blessings I forget t' invoke  
Your Powers, neglect to make your Altar's smoke;  
Then Ravished let me be  
From this Secure Retreat,  
And placed aloft on Grandieurs Seat,  
An open Mark to the sure Darts of envious Destiny.  
FINIS.