If Myra is unkind, if it can be
That any nymph can be unkind to thee; If, penfive made by love, you thus retire, Awake your Mufe, and ftring your lyre; Your tender fong and your melodious strain Can never be addreft in vain,
She needs must love, and we shall have you back again.
OCCASIONED BY THE FOREGOING.
HOE'ER thou art, who tempt'st in such a strain, Sweet is thy Syren fong, but fung in vain; When the winds rage, and the loud billows roar,
What fool will truft the fea, and quit the fhore?
Early and vain into the world I came,
Big with falfe hopes, and eager after fame,
Till, looking round me ere the race began,
Madmen and giddy fools were all that ran:
Reclaim'd betimes, I from the lift retire,
And thank the gods who my retreat infpire.
Survey the world, and with impartial eyes
Confider, and examine, all who rife,
Weigh well their actions and their treacherous ends,
How greatness grows, and by what steps afcends,
What murders, treafons, perjuries, deceit,
How many fall, to make one monster great.
Would you command, have fortune in your power?
Hug whom you stab, and finile when you devour:
N 4
Be bloody, falfe, flatter, forfwear, and lie,
Turn pandar, pathic, parafite, or spy;
Such thriving arts may your wifh'd purpose bring,
At least a general be, perhaps a king.
Fortune we most unjustly partial call,
A miftrefs free, who bids alike to all,
But on fuch terms as only fuit the base,
Honour denies, and fhuns the foul embrace;
The honeft man, who starves and is undone,
Not fortune, but his virtue, keeps him down.
Had Cato bent beneath the conquering cause,
He might have liv'd to give new fenates laws
But, on vile terms difdaining to be great,
He perish'd by his choice, and not his fate :
Honour and life th' ufurper bids, and all
That vain mistaken men good fortune call;
Virtue forbids, and fets before his eyes
An honest death, which he accepts, and dies.
O glorious refolution! noble pride!
More honour'd than the tyrant liv'd, he dy'd;
More prais'd, more lov'd, more envy'd in his doom
Than Cæfar trampling on the rights of Rome.,
The virtuous nothing fear but life with fhame,
And death's a pleasant road that leads to fame.
On bones and scraps of dogs let me be fed,
My limbs uncover'd, and expos'd my head
To bleakeft colds, a kennel be my bed;
This, and all other martyrdom, for thee
Seems glorious all, thrice-beauteous Honesty!
Fortune and life depend on fate alone,
My honour and my confcience are my own.
Ye great difturbers, who in endless noise,
In blood and horror, feek unnatural joys;
For what is all this buftle but to fhun
Those thoughts with which you dare not be alone?
As men in mifery, oppreft with care,
Seek in the rage of wine to drown despair.
Let others fight, and eat their bread in blood,
Regardless if the cause be bad or good,
Or cringe in courts, depending on the nods
Of strutting pigmies, who would pass for gods:
For me, unpractis'd in the courtier's school,
Who loath a knave, and tremble at a fool,
Who honour generous Wycherley oppreft,
Poffeft of little, worthy of the best;
Rich in himself, in virtue that outshines
All but the fame of his immortal lines,
More than the wealthiest lord, who helps to drain
The famish'd land, and rolls in impious gain.
What can I hope in courts, or how fucceed?
Tigers and wolves fhall in the ocean breed,
The whale and dolphin fatten on the mead,
And every element exchange its kind,
When thriving honesty in courts we find.
Happy the man, of mortals happiest he,
Whose quiet mind from vain defires is free ;
Whom neither hopes deceive nor fears torment,
But lives at peace within himself, content;
In thought or act accountable to none
But to himself and to the gods alone.
O fweetness of Content! feraphic joy,
That, nothing wanting, nothing can destroy! Where dwells this peace, this freedom of the mind? Where, but in fhades remote from human kind
In flowery vales, where nymphs and fhepherds meet,
But never comes within the palace-gate.
Farewel then cities, courts and camps farewel,
Welcome ye groves, here let me ever dwell;
From care, from business, and mankind remove,
All but the Mufes and infpiring Love.
How sweet the morn, how gentle is the night!
How calm the evening, and the noon how bright!
From hence, as from a hill, I view below
The crowded world, that like fome wood does fhow,
Where feveral wanderers travel day and night
Through feveral paths, and none are in the right.
WHEN will the gods, propitious to our prayers,
Compose our factions, and conclude our wars ?
Ye fons of Inachus, repent the guilt
Of crowns ufurp'd, and blood of parents spilt,
For impious greatnefs vengeance is in store,
Short is the date of all ill-gotten power.
Give ear, ambitious princes, and be wife;
Liften, and learn wherein true greatness lies;
Place not your pride in roofs that shine with gems,
In purple robes nor fparkling diadems,
Nor in dominion nor extent of land;
He's only great who can himself command:
Whose guard is peaceful Innocence, whose guide
Is faithful Reafon; who is void of pride,
Checking ambition, nor is idly vain
Of the false incense of a popular train :
Who without ftrife or envy can behold
His neighbour's plenty, and his heaps of gold,
Nor covets other wealth but what we find
In the poffeffions of a virtuous mind.
Fearless he fees who is with virtue crown'd,
The tempeft rage, and hears the thunder found:
Ever the fame, let Fortune fmile or frown,
Whether upon the fcaffold or the throne;
Serenely as he liv'd, resigns his breath,
Mects destiny half way, nor fhrinks at death.
Ye fovereign lords, who fit like gods in state,
Awing the world, and bustling to be great;
Lords but in title, vaffals in effect,
Whom luft controls, and wild defires direct,
The reins of empire but fuch hands difgrace,
Where Paffion, a blind driver, guides the race.
What is this fame, thus crouded round with flaves?
The breath of fools, the bait of flattering knaves.
|