To chace the charms of found, the pomp of fhow,

For useful mirth, and falutary woe;

Bid fcenic virtue form the rifing age,

And truth diffuse her radiance from the stage.

XXXXX

XXXX

Of ACTIVE and RETIRED LIFE.

A N

EPISTLE to H. C. Esq;

Meo quidem judicio neuter culpandus, alter dum expetit debitos titulos, dum alter mavult videri contempfile.

By WILLIAM MELMOTH, Efq;

PLIN. Ep.

First printed in the Year MDCCXXXV.

YES, you condemn those sages too refin❜d,

That gravely lecture ere they know mankind; Who whilst ambition's fiercer fires they blame, Would damp each useful spark that kindles fame.

'Tis in false estimates the folly lies; The paffion's blameless, when the judgment's wife. In vain philofophers with warmth conteft, Life's fecret fhade, or open walk is best: Each has its feparate joys, and each its use: This calls the patriot forth, and that the Muse. Hence not alike to all the fpecies, heav'n An equal thirst of public fame has giv❜n: Patrius it forms to fhine in action great; While Decio's talents best adorn retreat. If where Pierian maids delight to dwell, The haunts of filence, and the peaceful cell, Had, fair Aftræa! been thy Talbot's choice, Could lift'ning crowds now hang upon his voice? And thou, blest maid, might'st long have wept in vain The distant glories of a second reign,

In exile doom'd yet ages to complain.

Were high ambition ftill the power confess'd That rul'd with equal fway in every breast,

Say where the glories of the facred nine?

Where Homer's verfe fublime, or, Milton, thine? Nor thou, fweet bard! who "turn'd the tuneful art, "From found to fenfe, from fancy to the heart."

Thy lays inftructive to the world hadft giv'n,
Nor greatly juftified the laws of heav'n.

Let fatire blast with every mark of hate,
The vain afpirer, or dishonest great,
Whom love of wealth, or wild ambition's fway
Push forward, ftill regardless of the way;
High and more high who aim with restlefs pride,
Where neither reason nor fair virtue guide:
And him, the wretch, who labors on with pain,
For the low lucre of an useless gain,

(Wife but to get, and active but to save)
May scorn deferv'd still follow to the grave.
But he who fond to raise a fplendid name,
On life's ambitious height would fix his fame,
In active arts, or vent'rous arms would fhine,
Yet fhuns the paths which virtue bids decline;
Who dignifies his wealth by gen'rous use,
To raise th' opprefs'd, or merit to produce
Shall reafon's voice impartial e'er condemn
The glorious purpose of so wise an aim?

Where virtue regulates this juft defire,

'Twere dangerous folly to fuppress its fire.

Say, whence could fame fupply (its force unknown) Her roll illuftrious of fair renown?

What

What laurels prompt the hero's useful rage
What prize the patriot's weighty toils engage?

Each public paffion bound to endless frost,
Each deed of focial worth for ever loft.

O! may the Muse inspire the love of praise,

Raise the bright paffion, but with judgment raife!
For this fhe oft has tun'd her facred voice,

Call'd forth the patriot, and approv'd his choice;
Bid him the steep ascent to honor take,
Nor, 'till the fummit gain'd, her paths forfake.
Yet not fuccefs alone true fame attends;

He too fhall reach it who but well intends.

a

See 'midft the vanquifh'd virtuous, Falkland lies;

His gen'rous efforts vain, and vain his sighs;

Yet true to merit faithful records tell,

To distant ages how the patriot fell:

Bleft youth! infur❜d the sweetest voice of praise,
Who lives approv'd in Pope's unrival❜d lays.

Grave precepts fleeting notions may impart,
But bright example best inftructs the heart;
Then look on Patrius, let his conduct fhew

From active life what various bleffings flow.

He was killed in the civil wars: fee his character at large in Clarendon's hiftory.

In

In him a just ambition ftands confefs'd;
It warms, but not inflames, his equal breast.
See him in fenates act the patriot's part,
Truth on his lips, the public at his heart;
There neither fears can awe, nor hopes controul,
The honeft purpose of his steady foul.
No mean attachments e'er feduc'd his tongue
To gild the cause his heart fufpected wrong;
But deaf to envy, faction, fpleen, his voice
Joins here, or there, as reafon guides his choice.
To one great point his faithful labors tend,
And all his toils in Britain's intereft end.
To him each neighbour fafe refers his claim,
The right he fettles, and abates the flame.
Nor arts nor worth to Patrius fue in vain,
Nor unreliev'd the injur'd e'er complain.
For him the hand unseen, are pray'rs prefer'd,
And grateful vows in diftant temples heard;
Like nature's bleffings to no part confin'd,
His well-pois'd bounty reaches all mankind,
That infolence of wealth, the pomp of state
Which crowds the mansions of the vainly great,
Flies far the limits of his modeft gate.

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