S it to me, this fad lamenting strain ?
Are heaven's choiceft gifts befow'd in vain?
A plenteous fortune, and a beauteous bride,
Your love rewarded, gratify'd your pride:
Yet leaving her 'tis me that you pursue,
Without one fingle charm, but being new.
How vile is man! how I deteft their ways
Of artful falfehood, and defigning praise !
Tastelefs, an easy happiness you flight,
Ruin your joy, and mischief your delight:
Why should poor pug (the mimic of your kind)
Wear a rough chain, and be to box confin'd?
Some cup, perhaps, he breaks, or tears a fan,
While roves unpunish'd the destroyer, man.
Not bound by vows, and unreftrain'd by shame,
In fport you break the heart, and rend the fame.
Not that your art can be fuccessful here,
Th' already plunder'd need no robber fear;
N 3
Nor fighs, nor charms, nor flatteries can move,
Too well fecur'd against a second love.
Önce, and but once, that devil charm'd my
To reafon deaf, to obfervation blind;
I idly hop'd (what cannot love perfuade!)
My fondness equal'd, and my love repay'd;
Slow to diftruft, and willing to believe,
Long hush'd my doubts, and did myself deceive :
But, oh! too foon this tale would ever laft;
Sleep, fleep, my wrongs, and let me think 'em past,
For you, who mourn with counterfeited grief,
And ask fo boldly like a begging thief,
May foon fome other nymph inflict the pain,
You know fo well with cruel art to feign.
Tho' long you sported have with Cupid's dart,
You may fee eyes, and you may feel a heart.
So the brisk wits, who ftop the evening coach,
Laugh at the fear that follows their approach;
With idle mirth, and haughty scorn despise
The paffenger's pale cheek, and staring eyes:
But feiz'd by Juftice, find a fright no jest,
And all the terror doubled in their breast.
I view this various fcene with equal eyes :
In crowded courts I find myself alone,
And pay my worship to a nobler throne.
Long fince the value of this world I know,
Pity the madness, and defpife the show.
Well as I can my tedious part I bear,
And wait for my difmiffion without fear.
Seldom I mark mankind's detefted ways,
Not hearing cenfure, nor affecting praise ;
And, unconcern'd, my future ftate I trust
To that fole Being, merciful and just.
An Address of the STATUES at STOWE, to Lord COBHAM, on his return to his Gardens.
ROM ev'ry Mufe and ev'ry art thy own,
Thy bow'rs our theatres, thy mind our throne;
Hail to thy virtues manumiz'd from state;
Hail! to thy leisure to be wifely great.
Fetter'd by duties and to forms enflav'd,
How timely have thy years a remnant fav'd !
To taste that freedom which thy fword maintain'd,
And lead in letter'd ease, a life unpain❜d :
So Scipio (Carthage fall'n) refign'd his plume,
And smil'd at the forgetfulness of Rome.
O greatly blefs'd! whofe evening sweetest shines,
And, in unclouded flowness, calm declines!
While free reflection with reverted eye,
Wan'd from hot noon-tide and a troubl'd fky,
Divides life well: the largest part, long known
Thy country's claim; the laft and beft thy own.
Here while detach'd, thy felf-fupported foul
Refumes dominion and escapes controul;
Moves with a grandeur, monarchs wish in vain,
Above all fears, ftorms, dangers, hopes or pain;
A glance fometimes from thy fafe fummit throw,
And fee the dufty world look dim below :
Thro' the dark throng difcern huge flaves of pride
Should'ring unheeded Happiness afide;
Thwarted and push'd and lab'ring into name,
And dignify'd with all the dirt of fame :
Then with a smile fuperior, turn away,
And lop th' exub'rance of some straggling spray;
Wind thro' thy mazes to ferene delight,
And from the bursting bubbles shade thy fight.
Yet where thou shin'st like heav'n, behind a cloud,
Moving like light, all piercing, tho' not loud;
The Muse shall find thee in thy bleft retreat,
And breathe this honeft wish at Cobham's feet:
Fresh as thy lakes, may all thy pleasures flow!
And breezy like thy groves, thy paffions blow!
Wide as thy fancy, be thy spreading praise !
And long and lovely as thy walks, thy days,
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