Графични страници
PDF файл
ePub

;

II.

Yet for the fame of all these deeds

What beggar in the Invalides,

With lameness broke, with blindness smitten,

Wish'd ever decently to die,

To have been either Mezeray,

Or any monarch he has written?

III.

It 's strange, dear author, yet it true is,
That, down from Pharamond to Louis,
All covet life, yet call it pain;
All feel the ill, yet shun the cure :
Can sense this paradox endure ?

Resolve me, Cambray, or Fontaine.

IV.

The man, in graver tragick known
(Though his best part long fince was done),

Still on the stage defires to tarry:
And he, who play'd the Harlequin,
After the jest still loads the scene,

Unwilling to retire, though weary.

Written in the Nouveaux Interêts des
PRINCES de l'EUROPE.

BLEST be the princes, who have fought

For pompous names, or wide dominion;

Since by their error we are taught,

That happiness is but opinion!

ADRIANI ADRIANI MORIENTIS ad Animam Suam.

A

NIMULA vagula, blandula,
Hofpes, comesque corporis,

Quæ nunc abibis in loca,
Pallidula, rigida, nudula?
Nec, ut foles, dabis joca.

By Monfieur FONTENELLE.

MA petite ame, ma mignonne,

Tu t'en vas donc, ma fille, & Dieu fache ou tù vas:

Tu pars feulette, nuë, & tremblotante, helas!

Que deviendra ton humeur folichonne ?

Que deviendront tant de jolis ébats ?

IMITATED.

POOR, little, pretty, fluttering thing,
Muft we no longer live together?
And dost thou prune thy trembling wing,

To take thy flight thou know'st not whither?

Thy humourous vein, thy pleasing folly,

Lies all neglected, all forgot :

And, penfive, wavering, melancholy,

Thou dread'st and hop'st thou know'st not what.

A Paffage

A Paffage in the MORIÆ ENCOMIUM, of ERASMUS, imitated.

IN awful pomp, and melancholy state,

See fettled Reafon on the judgement-feat:
Around her croud Distruft, and Doubt, and Fear,
And thoughtful Forefight, and tormenting Care :
Far from the throne, the trembling Pleasures stand,
Chain'd up, or exil'd by her stern command.
Wretched her fubjects, gloomy fits the queen;
Till happy Chance reverts the cruel scene;
And apish Folly, with her wild refort
Of wit and jest, disturbs the folemn court.
See the fantaftic minstrelsy advance,
To breathe the fong, and animate the dance.
Bleft the ufurper! happy the furprize!
Her mimic postures catch our eager eyes;
Her jingling bells affect our captive ear;
And in the fights we fee, and founds we hear,
Againft our judgement, the our fenfe employs;
The laws of troubled Reason she deftroys,

And in their place rejoices to indite

Wild fchemes of mirth, and plans of loofe delight.

To

TO DR. SHERLOCK,

ON HIS

PRACTICAL DISCOURSE concerning DEATH.

FORGIVE the Mufe, who, in unhallow'd strains,

The Saint one moment from his God detains:

For fure, whate'er you do, where-e'er you are,
'Tis all but one good work, one constant prayer :
Forgive her; and intreat that God, to whom
Thy favour'd vows with kind acceptance come,
To raise her notes to that fublime degree,
Which fuits a fong of piety and thee.

Wondrous good man! whose labours may repel
The force of fin, may stop the rage of hell;
Thou, like the Baptift, from thy God waft fent,
The crying voice, to bid the world repent.

The Youth shall ftudy, and no more engage
Their flattering wishes for uncertain age;
No more, with fruitless care and cheated ftrife,
Chase fleeting pleasure through this maze of life;
Finding the wretched all they here can have,
But present food, and but a future grave:
Each, great as Philip's victor son, shall view
This abject world, and, weeping, ask a new.
Decrepit Age shall read thee, and confefs
Thy labours can afsuage, where medicines ceafe;
Shall blefs thy words, their wounded foul's relief,
The drops that sweeten their last dregs of life;

Shall

Shall look to Heaven, and laugh at all beneath;
Own riches gather'd, trouble; fame, a breath;
And Life an ill, whose only cure is Death..

Thy even thoughts with fo much plainness flow,
Their sense untutor'd Infancy may know :
Yet to fuch height is all that plainness wrought,
Wit may admire, and letter'd pride be taught.
Easy in words thy style, in sense sublime,

On its blest steps each age and fex may rife;
'Tis like the ladder in the Patriarch's dream,
Its foot on earth, its height above the skies :
Diffus'd its virtue, boundless is its power;
'Tis public health, and universal cure :
Of heavenly manna 'tis a fecond feast;
A nation's food, and all to every taste.

To its laft height mad Britain's guilt was rear'd;
And various death for various crimes she fear'd.
With your kind work her drooping hopes revive;
You bid her read, repent, adore, and live:
You wreft the bolt from Heaven's avenging hand;
Stop ready death, and fave a finking land.

O! save us still: still bless us with thy stay:
! want thy Heaven, till we have learnt the way:
Refuse to leave thy deftin'd charge too foon;
And, for the church's good, defer thy own.
O! live; and let thy works urge our belief;
Live to explain thy doctrine by thy life;
Till future Infancy, baptiz'd by thee,
Grow ripe in years, and old in piety;
Till Christians, yet unborn, be taught to die.

}

}

Then,

« ПредишнаНапред »