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To this high Sphere it happens ftill that some,
The most unfit, are forwardest to come ;
Yet among these are Princes forc'd to chure,
Or seek out such as would perhaps refuse.
Pow'r, if too great, is safely plac'd in none,
And soon becomes a Dragon, or a Drone.
Either remiss and negligent of all,
Or else Imperious and Tyrannical.
The Muse inspires me now to look agen,
And see a meaner sort of sordid Men,
Doating on little Heaps of yellow Duft;
For that, despising Honour, Ease, and Luft.
Let other Bards, expressing how it shines,
Describe with Envy, what the Miser finds ;
But like some Heap of Dirt it seems to me,
Where we may just such crawling Vermine see.
Through Filth they creep a thousand crooked ways,
Insensible of Infamy or Praise.
Loaded with Guilt, they still pursue their Course;
Nor are to be restrain'd by Friendship's sacred Force.
Not to inlarge on such an obvious Thought;
Behold their Folly, which transcends their Fault!
Alas, their Cares and Caution only tend
To gain the Means, and then to lose the End.
Like Heroes in Romances, still in Fight
For Mistresses that yield them no Delight.
This, of all Vice, does moft debase the Mind,
And Gold is an Allay to Human-kind.
Oh, happy Times, when no such thing as Coin
E’er tempted Friends to part, or Foes to join !
Cattle, or Corn, among those harmless Men,
Was all their Wealth; the Gold and Silver then:
Corn was too bulky to corrupt a Tribe,
And bellowing Herds would have betray'd the Bribe..
Our Traffick is meer intercourse of 111,
And ev'ry Wind brings a new Mischief ftill;
By Trade we flourish in our Leaves and Fruity,
But Avʼrice and Excess devour the Roos,
Thus far the Muse unwillingly has been
Fix'd on the dull, less plealing forts of sin;
But with Delight she views the diffrent ways
Of Luxury, and all its Charms surveys.
Oh Luxury! chou soft, but sure Deceit!
Rise of the Mean, and Ruin of the Great !
Thou sure Presage of ill approaching Fates!
The Bane of Empires, and the Change of States!
Armies in vain relift thy mighty Pow'r;
Not Plagues, or Famine would confound them more,
Thus Rome her self, while o'er the World she flew,
And did, by Virtue, all the World subdue,
Was by her own Victorious Arms opprest,
And catch'd Infe&tion from the conquer'd East;
Whence all those Vices came, which soon devous
The best Foundations of Renown and Pow'r.
But, oh, what need have we abroad to roam,
Who feel too much the sad Effects at home
Of wild Excess; which we so plainly find
Decays the Body, and impairs the Mind.
Yet the grave Fops must not presume from hence
To flight the facred Pleasures of the Sense;
Our Appetites are Nature's Laws, and giv'n
Under the broad Authentick Seal of Heav'n.
Let Pedaats wrangle, and let Biggots fight,
To put restraint on innocent Delight,
But Heav'n and Nature's always in the right ;
They wou'd not draw poor wretched Mortals in,
Nor give Desires that shall be doom'd for Sin.
But that, in height of harmless Joys, we may
Last to old age, and never lose a Day:
Amidst our Pleasures we our selves should spare,
And manage all with Temperance and Care.
Yet Heav'n forbid, but we sometimes may fteep
Our Joys in Wine, and lull our Cares alleep :
It raises Nature, ripens Seeds of Worth;
Like Pictures wet, to fetch the Colours forth:
But if the Varnish we too oft apply,
Like Colours, we, alas! grow faint and dic,
Hold, hold,' impetuous Muse: I wou'd restrain Her over-eager Heat, but all in vain ; Abandon'd to Delights, he longs to rove ; I check her here, and now the flies to Love; Shews me some rural Nymph by Shepherd 'chas'd, Soon overtaken, and as soon embrac'd ; The Grass by her, as she by him is prest; For shame, my Muse, let Fancy guess the rest ; At such a Point Fancy can never ftay, But flies beyond whatever you can say. Behold the silent Shades, the am'rous Grove; The dear Delights, the very Ad of Love. This is his lowest Sphere, his Country Scene, Where Love is hemble, and his Fare but mean, Yet springing up, without the Help of Art, Leaves a sincerer Relish of the Heait ;: More healthfully, tho’not so finely ted, And better thrives than where more nicely bred: But 'tis in Courts where most he makes a Show, And high Fnthron’d; governs the World below; For, though in Histories learn’d Ignorance Attributes all to Cunning, or to Chance, Love, in that grave Disguise, does often smile, Knowing the Cause was Kindness all the while, What Story, Place, or Person does not prove: The boundless Influence of mighty Love! Where-e'er the Sun does vigious Heats inspire, Both Sexes love and languis in Desire. The weary'd Swain, fast in the Arms of Sleep, Love can awake, and often fighing keep; And busie Gown-men, by fond. Love disguis'd, Will leasure find to make themselves despis’d. Imperious Kings submit to Beauty's sway; Beauty.it felf, a greater Prince than they, With all.its Vanity, and all its Pride, Lyes often languising by some blefs’d Shepherd's side, I meanë to flight the soft bewitching Charm, But yet my Head and Heart are both too warm z.
I doat on Womankind with all its Faults,
Love turns my Satyr into foftest Thoughts;
Of all that Pallion which our Peace destroys,
Instead of Mischiefs I describe the Joys.
But short will be its Reign (1 fear too short)
And present Cares shall be my future Sport.
Then, Love's bright Torch put out, his Arrows broke,
Loose from kind Chains, and from obliging Yoke,
To all fond Thoughts I'll sing such counter Charms,
The Fair fhall liften in their Lovers Arms.
Now the Enthusiastick Fit is spent,
I feel my. Weakness, and too late repent.
As they, who walk in Dreams oft climb too high
For Sense to follow with a waking Eye;
And, in such dangorous Paths, are blindly bold,
Which afterward they tremble to behold;
So I review the Sallies of my Pen,
And modeft Judgment is return'd agen;
My Confidence 1 curse, my Fate accuse,
Scarce hold from censuring the sacred Muse.
No wretched Poet of the railing Pit,
No Critick curs'd with the wrong-lide of Wit,
Is more severe from Ignorance and Spice,
Than I with Reason against all I Write.
The Speeches of Brutus and Cato. Trana paied from Lucan, Lib. 2. Lin. 234
By Mr. ROWE.
In the latter part of the First Book, and the beginning of
the Second, the Poet, after having describ'd the Prodia gies that fore-yan the Civil Wars, gives an Account of the general consternation every Body was under at Rome, from an Apprehension of the Calamities they were to suffer between the two Fattions. From thence
he takes an occasion to introduce the Famous M. Brue tus consulting Cato concerning the War that was likely to ensue, which is the subject of the two follow ing Speeches.
Labour'd with Evils that were yet to come,
But Brutus Temper fail'd not with the rest,
Nor with the common Weakness was opprest,
But kept the Native Peace within his manly Breaft.
'Twas when the folemn dead of Night came on,
When bright Calisto, with her thining Son,
Now half their Circle round the Pole had run;
When Brutus, on the busie Times intent,
To virtuous Cato's humble Dwelling went.
Waking he found him, careful for the Stare,
Grieving and fearing for his country's Fate.
For Rome, and wretched Rome alone he fear’d;
Secure within himself, and for the worft preparid.
To him thus Brutus fpoke. O thou, to whom
Forsaken Virtue flies, as to her Home: -
Driv'n out, and by an impious "Age oppreft,
She finds no room on Earth but Cato's Breast;
There, in her one good Man, she reigns secure,
Fearless of Vice, or Fortune's Hoftile Pow'r.
Then teach my Soul, to Doubt and Error prone,
Teach me a Resolution like thy own.
Let partial Favour, Hopes, or Int'rest guide,
By various Motives, all the World beside,
To Pompey's, or ambitious Cæsar's Side;
Thou, Cato, art my Leader. Whether Peace
And calm Repose, amidst these Storms shall please;
Or whether War thy Ardour shall engage,
To gratifie the Madness of this Age, [Rage:
.? Herd with the fa&ious Chiefs, and urge the People's The Ruffian, Bankrupt, loose Adulterer, All who the Pow'r of Laws and Justice fear, From Guilt learn specious Reasons for the War.