YIELD, I yield, and can no longer stay
My eager thoughts, that force themselves away,
Sure none infpir'd (whofe heat transports them still
Above their reason, and beyond their will)
Can firm against the strong impulse remain;
Cenfure itself were not fo fharp a pain.
Let vulgar minds fubmit to vulgar fway;
What Ignorance shall think, or Malice say,
To me are trifles; if the knowing few,
Who can fee faults, but can fee beauties too,
Applaud that genius which themselves partake,
And fpare the Poet for the Mufe's fake.
The Muse, who raises me from humble ground,
To view the vast and various world around:
How fast I mount! in what a wondrous way,
I grow transported to this large furvey!
I value earth no more, and far below
Methinks I fee the busy pigmies go.
My foul entranc'd is in a rapture brought
Above the common tracks of vulgar thought:
With fancy wing'd, I feel the purer air,
And with contempt look down on human care.
Airy Ambition, ever foaring high,
Stands first expos'd to my cenforious eye.
Behold fome toiling up a flippery hill,
Where, though arriv'd, they must be toiling ftill:
Some, with unsteady feet, just fallen to ground,
Others at top, whose heads are turning round.
To this high sphere it happens ftill that some,
The most unfit, are forwardest to come;
Yet among thefe are princes forc'd to chufe,
Or feek out fuch as would perhaps refuse.
Favour too great is fafely plac'd on none,
And foon becomes a dragon or a drone;
Either remifs and negligent of all,
Or else imperious and tyrannical.
The Muse inspires me now to look again,
And fee a meaner fort of fordid men
Doating on little heaps of yellow duft;
For that defpifing honour, eafe, and luft.
Let other bards, expreffing how it shines,
Describe with envy what the miser finds;
Only as heaps of dirt it seems to me,
Where we fuch defpicable vermin see,
Who creep through filth a thousand crooked ways,
Infenfible of infamy or praise :
Loaded with guilt, they still pursue their course, Not ev'n restrain'd by love or friendship's force.
Not to enlarge on fuch an obvious thought, Behold their folly, which tranfcends their fault! Alas! their cares and cautions only tend To gain the means, and then to lose the end.
Like heroes in romances, ftill in fight
For miftreffes that yield them no delight.
This, of all vice, does moft debase the mind,
Gold is itself th' allay to human-kind.
Oh, happy times! when no fuch 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 filver then :
Corn was too bulky to corrupt a tribe,
And bellowing herds would have betray'd the bribe.
Ev'n traffick now is intercourse of ill,
And every wind brings a new mischief still;
By trade we flourish in our leaves and fruit,
But avarice and excess devour the root.
Thus far the Muse unwillingly has been
Fix'd on the dull, lefs happy forts of fin;
But now, more pleas'd, the views the different ways
Of luxury, and all its charms furveys.
Dear luxury! thou foft, but fure deceit !
Rife of the mean, and ruin of the great!
Thou fure prefage of ill-approaching fates,
The bane of empires, and the change of states!
Armies in vain refift thy mighty power;
Not the worst conduct would confound them more.
Thus Rome herself, while o'er the world fhe flew,
And did by virtue all that world fubdue,
Was by her own victorious arms opprefs'd,
And catch'd infection from the conquer'd Eaft;
Whence all thofe vices came, which foon devour
The best foundations of renown and power.
But oh! what need have we abroad to roam,
Who feel too much the fad effects at home,
Of wild excefs? which we fo plainly find
Decays the body, and impairs the mind.
But yet grave fops must not prefume from hence
To flight the facred pleasures of the sense:
Our appetites are Nature's laws, and given
Under the broad authentic feal of heaven.
Let pedants wrangle, and let bigots fight,
To put restraint on innocent delight,
But heaven and nature's always in the right;
They would not draw poor wretched mortals in,
Or give defires that fhall be doom'd for fin.
Yet, that in height of harmless joy we may
Laft to old age, and never lofe a day;
Amidft our pleasures we ourselves should spare,
And manage all with temperance and care.
The gods forbid but we fometimes may steep
Our joys in wine, and lull our cares afleep
It raifes nature, ripens feeds of worth,
As moistening pictures calls the colours forth;
But if the varnish we too oft' apply,
Alas! like colours, we grow faint and die.
Hold, hold, impetuous Mufe: I would restrain
Her over-eager heat, but all in vain ;
Abandon'd to delights, the longs to rove;
I check'd her here, and now the flies to love;
Shews me fome rural nymph, by fhepherd chac'd,
Soon overtaken, and as foon embrac’d:
The grafs by her, as the by him is prefs'd;
For fhame, my Muse, let fancy guess the rest :
At fuch a point fancy can never stay,
But flies beyond whatever you can say.
Behold the filent fhades, the amorous grove,
The dear delights, the very act of love.
This is his loweft fphere, his country scene,
Where love is humble, and his fare but mean;
Yet fpringing up without the help of art,
Leaves a fincerer relish in the heart,
More healthfully, though not fo finely fed,
And better thrives than where more nicely bred.
But 'tis in courts where most he makes a fhow,
And, high enthron'd, governs the world below;
For though in hiftories learn'd ignorance
Attributes all to cunning or to chance,
Love will in those disguises often smile,
And knows the cause was kindnefs all the while. What ftory, place, or perfon, cannot prove The boundless influence of mighty love? Where-e'er the fun can vigorous heat inspire, Both fexes glow, and languish with defire. The weary'd fwain, fast in the arms of fleep, Love can awake, and often fighing keep; And bufy gown-men, by fond love disguis'd, Will leisure find to make themselves defpis'd. The proudest kings fubmit to beauty's sway; Beauty itself, a greater prince than they, Lies fometimes languishing with all its pride By a belov'd, though fickle lover's fide.
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