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POEM S.

ODE

TO THE

HONOURABLE SIR WILLIAM TEMPLE. Written at Moar-Park, June 1689.

ViaTur, the greatest of all monarchies !

Till, its firit emperor rebellious man
Depos'd from off his feat,

It fell, and broke with its own weight
Iste fmall states and principalities,

By many a petty lord poffefs'd,

But ne'er fince feated in one ingle breast!
'Tis you who must this land fubdue,
The mighty conqueft's left for you,
The conqueft and discovery too;
Search out this Utopian ground,
Virtue's Terra Incognita,
Where none ever led the way,
Not ever since but in defcriptions found,
Like the philofopher's stone,

With rules to fearch it, yet obtain'd by none.

We have too long been led aftray; Too long have our mifguided fouls been taught With rules from mufty morals brought, 'Tis you must put us in the way; Let us (for fhame!) no more be fed With antique relics of the dead, The gleanings of philofophy, Philofophy the lumber of the schools, The roguery of alchemy;

And we, the bubbled fools,

Spend all our prefent life in hopes of golden rules.
But what does our proud ignorance learning call?
We oddly Plato's paradox make good,
Our knowledge is but mere remembrance all;

Remembrance is our treasure and our food;
Nature's fair table-book our tender fouls,
We crawl all o'er with old and empty rules,
Stale memorandums of the schools:
For karning's mighty treasures look
In that deep grave a book;

Think that he there does all her treafures hide, And that her troubled ghoù still haunts there fince the dy'd.

Confine her walks to colleges and schools;

Her priests, her train, and followers show
As if they all were spectres too!

They purchafe knowledge at th' expence
Of common breeding, common sense,
And grow at once scholars and fools;
Affe ill-manner'd pedantry,
Rudeness, ill-nature, incivility,

VOL. IX.

And, fick with dregs of knowledge grown,
Which greedily they fwallow down,

Still caft it up, and naufeate company.

Curft be the wreteh! nay, doubly curft!
(If it may lawful be

To curfe our greatest enemy)
Who learnt himself that herefy first

(Which fince has feiz'd on all the rest)
That knowledge forfeits all humanity;
Taught us, like Spaniards, to be proud and poor,
And fling our scraps before our door!
Thrice happy you have 'feap'd this general peft;
Thofe mighty epithets, learn'd, good, and great,
Which we ne'er join'd before, but in romances
We find in you at laft united grown. [meet,

You cannot be compar'd to one :

I muft, like him that painted Venus' face,
Borrow from every one a grace;
Virgil and Epicurus will not do,

Their courting a retreat like you,
Unless I put in Cefar's learning too:

Your happy frame at once controls
This great triumvirate of fouis.
Let not old Rome boast Fabius' fate;
He fav'd his country by delays,
But you by peace.

You bought it at a cheaper rate;
Nor has it left the ufual bloody fear,

To fhow it coft its price in war; War! that mad game the world fo loves to play And for it does fo dearly pay; For, though with lofs or victory a while

Fortune the gamefters does beguile,
Yet at the last the box sweeps all away.
Only the laurel got by peace

No thunder e'er can blaft:
Th' artillery of the ikies

Shoots to the carth, and dies;

Nor ever green and flourishing 't will laft, Nor dipt in blood, nor widow's tears, nor orphan's

cries.

About the head crown'd with these bays,
Like lambent fire the lightning plays;

Nor, its triumphal cavalcade to grace,

Makes up its folemn train with death; It melts the fword of war, yet keeps it in the fheath.

The wily fhifts of state, thofe juggler's tricks,
Which we call deep defigns and politics
(As in a theatre the ignorant fry,

Because the cords efcape their eye,
Wonder to fee the motions fly);

A

Methinks, when you expofe the scene,
Down the ill-organ'd engines fall;
Off fly the vizards, and difcover all :

How plain I fee through the deceit !
How fhallow, and how grofs, the cheat!
Look where the pully's tied above!
Great God! (faid I) what have I feen!

On what poor engines move

The thoughts of monarchs, and defignis of states!
What petty motives rule their fates!
How the mouse makes the mighty mountain shake!
The mighty mountain labours with its birth,

Away the frighten'd peasants fly,
Scar'd at th' unheard-of prodigy,
Expect fome great gigantic fon of earth;

Lo! it appears!

See how they tremble! how they quake!

Out ftarts the little beaft, and mocks their idle

fears.

Then tell, dear favourite mufe!

What ferpent's that which still reforts,

Still lurks in palaces and courts?

Take thy unwonted flight,

And on the terrace light.

See where fhe lies!

See how the rears her head,

And rolls about her dreadful eyes,
To drive all virtue out, or look it dead!
'Twas fure this bafilifk fent Temple thence,
And though as fome ('tis faid) for their defence
Have worn a cafement o'er their skin,
So he wore his within,

Made up of virtue and transparent innocence;
And though he oft renew'd the fight,
And almost got priority of fight,

He ne'er could overcome her quite (In pieces cut, the viper still did re-unite),

Till, at laft, tir'd with lofs of time and eafe, Refolv'd to give himself, as well as country, peace. Sing belov'd mufe! the pleafures of retreat,

And in fome untouched virgin ftrain
Show the delights thy fifter nature yields;
Sing of thy vales, fing of thy woods, fing of thy
fields;

Go publish o'er the plain
How mighty a profelyte you gain!
How noble a reprifal on the great!

How is the mufe luxuriant grown!
Whene'er she takes this flight,
She foars clear out of fight.
These are the paradifes of her own:
(The Pegafus, like an unruly horfe,
Though ne'er fo gently led

To the lov'd pafture where he us'd to feed,
Runs violently o'er his usual course.)

Wake from thy wanton dreams,

Come from thy dear-lov'd ftrcams,
The crooked paths of wandering Thames!
Fain the fair nymph would stay,
Oft fhe looks back in vain,
Oft 'gainst her fountain does complain,

And foftly fteals in many windings down, As loath to fee the hated court and town, And murmurs as the glides away.

In this new happy fcene

Are nobler fubjects for your learned pen ;
Here we expect from you
More than your predeceffor Adam knew;

Whatever moves our wonder, or our Ipott,
Whatever ferves for innocent emblems of the court
How that which we a kernel fee
(Whofe well-compacted forms efcape the light,
Unpierc'd by the blunt rays of fight)

Shall ere long grow into a tree;
Whence takes it its increafe, and whence its birth,
Or from the fun, or from the air, or from the earth
Where all the fruitful atoms lie;

How fome go downward to the root, Some more ambitiously upwards fly, And form the leaves, the branches and the fruit. You ftrove to cultivate a barren court in vain, Your garden's better worth your noble pain, Here mankind fell, and hence must rise again.

Shall I believe a spirit fo divine

Was caft in the fame mould with mine?. Why then does nature fo unjustly share Among her elder fons the whole eftate,

And all her jewels and her plate?
Poor we! cadets of heav、n not worth her care,
Take up at beft with lumber and the leavings of a fair
Some the binds 'prentice to the fpade,
Some to the drudgery of a trade,

Some she does to Egyptian bondage draw,
Bids us make bricks, yet fends us to look out fo
Some the condemns for life to try [firaw
To dig the leaden mines of deep philofophy:
Me fhe has to the mufe's gallies tied,
In vain I strive to cross this fpacious main,
In vain I tug and pull the oar,

And, when I almost reach the shore, Straight the mufe turns the helm, and I launc out again:

And yet, to feed my pride,

Whene'er I mourn, ftops my complaining breat With promife of a mad reverfion after death.

Then, Sir, accept this worthlefs verse,
The tribute of an humble muse,
"Tis all the portion of my niggard stars;
Nature the hidden spark did at my birth infuse,
And kindled first with indolence and cafe ;

And, fince too oft' debauch'd by praise,
"Tis now grown an incurable disease:
In vain to quench this foolish fire I try
In wifdom and philofophy;

In vain all wholesome herbs I fow,
Where nought but weeds will grow.
Whate'er I plant (like corn on barren earth)
By an equivocal birth

Seeds and runs up to poetry.

ODE TO KING WILLIAM,

On bis Success in Ireland. To purchase kingdoms, and to buy renown, Are arts peculiar to diffembling France; You, mighty monarch, nobler actions crown, And folid virtue docs your name advance. Your matchlefs courage with your prudence jo

The glorious ftructure of your fame to raife With its own light your dazzling glory fhines, And into adoration turns our praife.

Had you by dull fucceffion gain'd your crown (Cowards are monarchs by that title made) Part of your merit chance would call her own And half your virtues had been loft in fhad

i

But now your worth its juft reward fhall have:
What trophies and what triumphs are your due;
Who could to well a dying nation save,

At once deserve a crown, and gain it too!
You faw how near we were to ruin brought,
You faw th' impetuous torrent rolling on;
And timely on the coming danger thought,

Which we could neither obviate nor fhun.
Britanzia tripp'd from her fole guard the laws,
Ready to fall Rome's bloody facrifice;
You right itepp'd in, and from the moniter's jaws
Did bravely fnatch the lovely helpless prize.
Nor this is all; as glorious is the care

To preferve conquefts, as at first to gain :
In this your virtue claims a double fhare,
Which, what it bravely won, does all maintain.
Your arm has now your rightful title fhow'd,
An arm on which all Europe's hopes depend,
To which they look as to fome guardian god,
That must their doubtful liberty defend.
Amaz'd, thy action at the Boyne we fee!

When Schomberg started at the vast design:
The boundless glory all redounds to thee, [thine.
Th' impulfe, the fight, th' event, were wholly

The brave attempt does all our foes disarm;

You need but now give orders and command, Your mame fhall the remaining work perform, And spare the labour of your conquering hand. France does in vain her feeble arts apply,

To interrupt the fortune of your course :
Your influence does the vain attacks defy
Of fecret malice, or of open force.

Bolly we hence the brave commencement date
O glorious deeds, that must all tongues employ:
Wiliam's the pledge and earneft given by fate
Of England's glory, and her lafting joy.

ODE TO THE ATHENIAN SOCIETY.

Meor-Park, Feb. 14. 1691.

As when the deluge first began to fall
That mighty ebb never to flow again
When this huge body's moisture was fo great,
It quite o'ercame the vital heat);
That mountain which was higheft, first of all
Anorar'd above the univerfal main,
To be the primitive failor's weary fight!
And 'twas perhaps Parnaffus, if in height
It be as great as 'tis in fame,

Ard nigh to heaven as is its name:

So after th' inundation of a war,

When learning's little household did embark

When the bright fun of peace began to fhine,
And for a while in heavenly contemplation fat
On the high top of peaceful Ararat ;
And pluck'd a laurel branch (for laurel was the
first that grew,

The first of plants after the thunder, ftorm, and rain);
And thence, with joyful nimble wing,

Flew dutifully back again,

And made an humble chaplet for the king *.
And the dove-mufe is fled once more

(Glad of the victory, yet frighten'd at the war);
And now difcovers from afar

A peaceful and a flourishing fhore:
No fooner did fhe land

On the delightful strand,

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Had rather water'd it than drown':
It seems fome floating piece of paradife,
Preferv'd by wonder from the flood,
Long wandering through the deep, as we are told
Fam'd Delos did of old,

And the transported mufe imagin'd it
To be a fitter birth-place for the god of wit,
Or the much talk'd oracular grove;
When with amazing joy fhe hears

An unknown mufic all around

Charming her greedy ears

With many a heavenly fong

Of nature and of art, of deep philofophy and love,
Whilti angels tune the voice, and God infpires the
tongue.

In vain he catches at the empty found,
In vain purfues the mufic with her longing eye,
And courts the wanton echoes as they fly.

Pardon, ye great unknown, and far-exalted men,
The wild excurfions of a youthful pen;
Forgive a young, and (almost) virgin-muse,
Whom blind and eager curiofity

(Yet curiofity, they fay,

Is in her fex a crime needs no excufe)

Has forc'd to grope her uncouth way
After a mighty light that leads her wandering eye.
No wonder then the quits the narrow path of sense
For a dear ramble through impertinence;
Impertinence! the fcurvy of mankind.
And all we fools, who are the greater part of it,
Though we be of two different factions still,

Both the good natur'd and the ill,
Yet wherefoe'er you look, you'll always find
We join, like flies and wafps, in buzzing about wit
In me, who am of the firft fect of thefe,
All merit, that tranfcends the humble rules
Of my own dazzled fcanty fenfe,

Whher world's fruitful fyftem in her facred ark, Begets a kinder folly and impertinence

At the frit ebb of noife and fears,

Pphy's exalted head appears;
And the dove-mufe will now no longer stay,
But planes her filver wings and flies away;
And now a laurel wreath fhe brings from far,
To crown the happy conqueror,
To how the flood begins to ceafe,
And brings the dear reward of victory and peace.
The eager mufe tock wing upon the waves' decline,
When war her cloudy afpe&t juft withdrew,

Of admiration and of praife.

And our good brethren of the furly feet

Muft e'en all herd us with their kindred fools: For though, poffefs'd of prefent vogue, they've Railing a rule of wit, and obloquy a trade; [made Yet the fame want of brains produces each effect. And you, whom Pluto's helm does wifely fhroud From us the blil and thoughtless crowd, Like the fam'd hero in his mother's cloud,

* The ode I writ to the King in Ireland.

Who both our follies and impertinences fee,
Do laugh perhaps at theirs, and pity mine and me.
But cenfure's to be understood
Th' authentic mark of the elect,
The public ftamp heav'n fets on all that's great
and good,

Our fhallow fearch and judgment to direct.
The war methinks has made

Our wit and learning narrow as our trade;
Inftead of boldly failing far, to buy
A ftock of wifdom and philofophy,

We fondly ftay at home, in fear
Of every cenfuring privateer;

Forcing a wretched trade by beating down the fale,
And felling bafely by retail.

The wits, I mean the atheists of the age, Who fain would ru'e the pulpit as they do the Wondrous refiners of philofophy, [ftage;

Of morals and divinity,

By the new modish system of reducing all to sense,
Against all logic and concluding laws,
Do own th' effects of Providence,
And yet deny the cause.

This hopeful fect, now it begins to fee
How little, very little, do prevail

Their firft and chiefeft force

To cenfure, to cry down, and rail,
Not knowing what, or where, or who you be,
Will quickly take another courfe:

And, by their never-failing ways
Of folving all appearances they please,
We foon fhall fee them to their ancient methods fall,
And straight deny you to be men, or any thing at

all.

I laugh at the grave answer they will make,
Which they have always ready,general, and cheap:
"Tis but to fay, that what we daily meet,
And by a fond mistake

Perhaps imagine to be wondrous wit,
And think, alas! to be by mortals writ,
Is but a crowd of atoms juftling in a heap,

Which from eternal feeds begun,

Justling fome thousand years till ripen'd by the fun;
They're now, juft now, as naturally born,
As from the womb of earth a field of corn.

But as for poor contented me,

Who muft my weakness and my ignorance confefs, That I believe in much I ne'er can hope to fee; Methinks I'm fatisfy'd to guefs

That this new, noble, and delightful scene Is wonderfully mov'd by fome exalted men, Who have well ftudied in the world's disease (That epidemic error and depravity,

Or in our judgment or cur eye), That what furprifes us can only pleafe. We often fearch contentedly the whole world round, To make fome great difcovery;

And fcorn it when 'tis found. Jun fo the mighty Nile has fuffer'd in its fame, Becaufe 'tis faid (and perhaps only faid) We've found a little inconfiderable head,

That feeds the huge unequa! ftream. Confider human folly, and you'll quickly own, That all the praifes it can give,

By which fome fondly boaft they fhali for ever live, Won't pay th' impertinence of being known: Elfe why fhould the fam'd Lydian king

(Whom all the charms of an ufurped wife and state With all that power unfelt courts mankind to be great,

Did with new unexperienc'd glories wait)
Still wear, ftill doat, on his inviflible ring?
Were I to form a regular thought of fame,
Which is perhaps as hard t' imagine right
As to paint echo to the fight;

I would not draw th' idea from an empty name;
Because alas! when we all die,
Careless and ignorant pofterity,

Although they praife the learning and the wit
And though the title feems to fhow
The name and man by whom the book was writ
Yet how fhall they be brought to know,
Whether that very name was he, or you, or I?
Lefs fhould I daub it o'er with transitory praise,
And water-colours of thefe days:
Thefe days! where e'en th' extravagance of poetr
Is at a lofs for figures to exprefs

Men's folly, whimfies and inconftancy,

And by a faint defcription makes them lefs. Then tell us what is fame, where fhall we feare Look where exalted virtue and religion fit [forit Enthron'd with heavenly wit!

Look where you fee

The greateft fcorn of learned vanity! And then how much a nothing is mankind! Whofe reafon is weigh'd down by popular air, Who, by that, vainly talks of baffling death; And hopes to lengthen life by a transfufion breath,

Which yet whoe'er examines right will find To be an art as vain as bottling up of wind! And when you find out thefe, believe true fam is there,

Far above all reward, yet to which all is due; And this, ye great unknown? is only known i

you.

The juggling fea-god, when by chance trepan'
By fome inftructed querift fleeping on the fand,
Impatient of all anfwers, ftrait became
A ftealing brook, and ftrove to creep away
Into his native fea,

Vext at their follies, murmur'd in his stream;
But, difappointed of his fond defire,
Would vanish in a pyramid of fire.
This furly flippery god, when he defign'd
To furnish his cfcapes,

Ne'er borrow'd more variety of fhapes
Then you to please and fatisfy mankind,
And seem (almoft) transform'd to water, flam
and air,

So well you anfwer all phænomena there: Though madmen and the wits, philofophers an

fools,

With all that factious or enthufiaftic dotards drean And all the incoherent jargon of the schools;

Though all the fumes of fear, hope, love, an

fhame, [doub Contrive to fhock your minds with many a fenfele Doubts where the Delphic god would grope in is norance and night,

The god of learning and of light Would want a god himself to help him out.

Philofophy, as it before us lies,

Seems to have borrow'd fome ungrateful tafte

Of doubts, impertinence, and niceties,

From every age through which it pafs'd, But always with a stronger relish of the laft. This beauteous queen, by Heaven defign'd To be the great original

For man to dress and polifh his uncourtly mind, In what mock habits have they put her fince the fall!

[fages,

More oft' in fools' and madmen's hands than
She feems a medley of all ages,

Ta huge fardingale to fwell her fustian stuff,
A new commode, a top-knot, and a ruff,
Her face patch'd o'er with modern pedantry,
With a long fweeping train

Of comments and disputes, ridiculous and vain,
All of old cut with a new dye:

How foon have you reftor'd her charms, And rid her of her lumber and her books, Dreit her again genteel and neat,

And rather tight than great!

How fond we are to court her to our arms!
How much of heaven is in her naked looks!

Thus the deluding Mufe oft' blinds me to her ways,
And ev'n my very thoughts transfers

And changes all to beauty, and the praise
Of that proud tyrant fex of hers."
The rebel Mufe, alas! take part
But with my own rebellious heart,

And

you with fatal and immortal wit confpire
To fan th' unhappy fire.

Cruel unknown! what is it you intend?

Ah! could you, could you hope a poet for your friend!

Rather forgive what my first tranfport faid: May all the blood, which fhall by woman's fcorn be shed,

Lie upon you and on your childrens head! For you fah! did I think I e'er fhould live to fee The fatal time when that could be!) Have ev'n increas'd their pride and cruelty. Woman feems now above all vanity grown, Still boafting of her great unknown Piatonic champions, gain'd without one female Or the vaft charges of a smile; [wile, Which 'tis a fhame to fee how much of late You've taught the covetous wretches to o'er

rate,

And which they've now the confciences to weigh

In the fame balance with our tears, And with fuch fcanty wages pay The bondage and the flavery of years. Let the vain fex dream on; the empire comes from And, had they common generofity, [us, They would not ufe us thus. Well-though you've rais'd her to this high Ocrielves are rais'd as well as fhe; [degree, And, fpite of all that they or you can do, Tis pride and happiness enough to me

to be of the fame exalted fex with you. Alas, how fleeting and how vain In the nobler man, our learning and our wit! I figh whenc'er I think of it: As at the clofing of an unhappy fcene Of fome great king and conqueror's death, When the fad melancholy mufe Stays but to catch his utmost breath.

I grieve, this nobler work moft happily hegun,

So quickly and fo wonderfully carry'd on, May fall at last to intereft, folly, and abuse. There is a noon-tide in our lives,

Which ftill the fooner it arrives, Although we boast our winter-fun looks bright, And foolishly are glad to fee it at its height," Yet fo much foouer comes the long and gloomy night.

No conqueft ever yet begun,

And by one mighty hero carried to its height,
E'er flourish'd under a fucceffor or a fon;
It loft fome mighty pieces through all hands it paft,
And vanill'd to an empty title in the laft.
For, when the animating mind is fled
(Which nature never can retain,
Nor e'er call back again),

The body, though gigantic, lies all cold and dead.

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PERUSE my leaves through every part,
And think thou feeft my owner's heart,
Scrawl'd o'er with trifles thus, and quite
As hard, as fenfelefs, and as light;
Expos'd to every coxcomb's eyes,
But hid with caution from the wife.
Here you may read, "Dear charming faint!"
Here, in beau-fpelling, "Tru tel deth;"
Beneath, "A new receipt for paint;"

There, in her own, "For an el breth ;"
Here, "Lovely nymph, pronounce my doom!"
There, "A fafe way to ufe perfume:"
Here, a page fill'd with billets-doux ;
On t'other fide, "Laid out for fhoes"-

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Madam, I die without your grace"Who that had wit would place it here, "Item, for half a yard of lace." For every peeping fop to jeer;

In

power of fpittle and a clout, Whene'er he please, to blot it out; And then, to heighten the difgrace, Clap his own nonfenfe in the place? Whoe'er expects to hold his part In fuch a book, and fuch a heart, If he be wealthy, and a fool, Is in all points the fittest tool; Of whom it may be justly faid, He's a gold pencil tipp'd with lead. A

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