That all the excellence of human-kind
Concurr'd to make of both but one united mind,
Which Friendship did so fast and closely bind,
Not the leaft cement could appear by which their fouls
were join'd.
That tye which holds our mortal frame,
Which peor unknowing we a foul and body name,
Seems not a composition more divine,
Or more abftruse, than all that does in friendship shine.
From mighty Cæfar and his boundless grace,
Though Brutus, once at least, his life receiv'd;
Such obligations, though so high believ'd,
Are yet but flight in such a cafe,
Where friendship fo poffeffes all the place,
There is no room for gratitude; fince he,
Who fo obliges, is more pleas'd than his fav'd friend can be.
Juft in the midst of all this noble heat,
While their great hearts did both so kindly beat,
That it amaz'd the lookers-on,
And forc'd them to suspect a father and a fon *
(Though here ev'n Nature's felf ftill feem'd to be out
From such a friendship unprovok'd to fall
Is horrid, yet I wish that fact were all
Which does with too much caufe Ungrateful Brutus call.
*Cæfar was fufpected to have begotten Brutus.
In coolest blood he laid a long defign
Against his best and dearest friend;
Did ev'n his foes in zeal exceed,
To fpirit others up to work fo black a deed;
Himself the centre where they all did join.
Cæfar, mean time, fearless, and fond of him,
Was as induftrious all the while
To give fuch ample marks of fond esteem,
As made the graveft Romans fimile
To fee with how much ease love can the wife beguile.
He, whom thus Brutus doom'd to bleed,
Did, setting his own race afide,
Nothing lefs for him provide,
Than in the world's great empire to fucceed:
Which we are bound in juftice to allow,
Is all-fufficient proof to show,
That Brutus did not ftrike for his own fake: And if, alas! he fail'd, 'twas only by mistake..
YIELD, I yield, and can no longer stay
My eager thoughts, that force themselves away,
Sure none infpir'd (whose heat transports them still
Above their reason, and beyond their will)
Can firm against the ftrong impulfe remain;
Cenfure itself were not fo fharp a pain.
Let vulgar minds fubmit to vulgar sway;
What Ignorance shall think, or Malice fay,
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 Mufe, who raises me from humble ground,
To view the vaft and various world around:
How faft 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 bufy 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 still:
Some, with unsteady feet, just fallen to ground,
Others at top, whose heads are turning round.
To this high sphere it happens still that fome,
The most unfit, are forwardeft to come;
Yet among these are princes forc'd to chufe,
Or seek out such 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 Mufe 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, ease, 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 despicable 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 mistresses that yield them no delight.
This, of all vice, does most 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 thofe 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 excefs devour the root.
Thus far the Mufe unwillingly has been
Fix'd on the dull, lefs happy forts of fin;
But now, more pleas'd, fhe 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 East;
Whence all thofe vices came, which foon devour
The best foundations of renown and power.
|