Twice twelve Years fmce when in my Infant State My Sighs were fure Prognofticks of my Fate: Sad was I then, and ftill remain the fame Dragging a Life Scarce worthy of that Name. All Day black Thoughts my clouded Mind pursue, Rendring all Objects of their own dark hue; The Sun no Comfort yields, and in the Night Vexatious Thoughts my restless Soul affright. Fain wou'd I drive thefe Tyrants from my Breaft, And court, I fear in vain, the Stranger, Reft: By Books I Jeek to eafe my troubled Mind, But there for Comfort new Vexation find: My Judgment's loft, my Intellect decays, Whilft fullen Humour in their places fways; Which like my felf 1 bate, but if it quit My Breaft, and draw awhile the Leaden Bitt, Such Frolicks ftraight poffefs the empty Throne As need no worse Reflections than my own ;

Thus by contending Winds my Soul is toft, By too much loofenefs, too much traitness loft: How then, Athenians, may I fteer between Thefe fatal Rocks, and keep the Golden Mean?

A. Unhappy Man! Who Freedom boafts in vain,
While every Paffion makes him drag their Chain :
That Noble Freedom loft, which Nature gave,
His own as well as other Creatures, flave."
A Flux of Blood, a Tide of Humours (way,
And Reafon muft her Rebel-Senfe obey:
How her loft Empire fhall the then regain?
Refume her Rights, and break the inglorious Chain!
The God of Wisdom, and of Medicine joyn'd,
Rescues at once the Body and the Mind;
This with Sage Counsel purges o'er and o'er,
As that with powerful Herbs and Hellebore.

Q. Why do we Friendship praife, why rail at Love,
Since both alike our fure Tormentors prove?
Each Man has more of bad than good while here,
Troubles we daily feel, and daily fear,

And is it not enough our own to bear?
Why do we fondly then our Griefs increase,
And for an empty Name exchange our Peace.

A. Too fhort is Man's own Fund to make him bleft

He must go seek abroad for Peace and Reft:
Nor ought more like it felf kind Heaven can lend,
Than the Emanation of it self- A Friend.
By him our Joy flows in, in fuller Tides,
And he who doubles that, our Grief divides..
None then wou'd Friendship's Heavenly Name difown,
But he that's curft so much he can have none.

Q. The Female Sex is not so much defpis'd
By th' Ignorant, as by the Learned priz'd:
Have you not in this fam'd Society,
A Womens Pen to bear yours Company?

A. If one like yours, a great Fe-li-ci-ty!

Q. I am just entring on the Stage of Life,
For what is paft, has only Childhood been;
To act my part amongst the numerous Crowd;
How long, how foort 'twill be, there's none can tell;
How fhort foe'er, I'd live to learn to die:
A Chriftian I profefs my felf, and fain
Wou'd live as fuch, and no dishonour bring,
Unto my God, my Country, or my Friend:
I implore your Aid, and kind Direction how
I may avoid the various Smares the World

}

Throws

Throws in the way of heedless giddy Youth.
How all its wealth and Pleafure I may learn
To trample on, and fcorn its fort liv'd Honours.
Athenians, help against the Efforts of Vice,
Which with fuch eafe unwary Youth entice,
While all our Refolutions prove too weak

To oppose their Charms, or ftrong Enchantments break.
Ab, tis too much for us at once t' oppose
Clandeftine Traytors, and our open Foes!
Nature we may expel, but 'tis in vain ;
Tho' faft driv'n back, it faft returns again:
And with inteftine Force and foreign Aid,
Soon are our Hearts, or conquer'd, or betray'd.
A. Ah, What can Youths unfteddy Steps fecure?
Or who can fay his Hands and Eyes are pure?
But yet 'tis poffible the Prize to gain,

The glorious Prize, which far exceeds the Pain.
If you for Vertues fhining Race intend,
For your affiftance get a vertuous Friend.
Shun ill Occafions! Quench the kindling Fire!
To nobler Pleafures, nobler Thoughts aspire!
Mind was not made for Earth, it foars above,
And good and true it knows, and knowing needs must love:
Nor will you ever from the Way depart,

If on the End you fix your Eyes and Heart,

To one that perfwades me to leave the Mufes.

Orego the Charming Mules! No, in fpite
Of your ill natur'd Prophecy I'll write;

And, for the future, paint my Thoughts at large,
I wafte no Paper at the Hundreds Charge;
I rob no Neighbouring Geefe of Quills, nor flink
For a Collection to the Church for Ink:
Befides my Mufe is the moft gentle thing
That ever yet made an Attempt to fing:
I call no Lady Punk, nor Gallants Fops,
Nor fet the married world an edge for Ropes;
Yet I'm fo fcurvily inclin'd to Rhining,

That undefign'd my Thoughts burst out a chiming 3-
My active Genius will by no means fleep,
And let it then its proper Chanel keep.
I've told you, and you may believe me too,
That I must this, or greater Mifchief do ;

And

And let the World think me infpir'd, or mad,

I'll furely write whilft Paper's to be had;
Since Heaven to me has a Retreat affign'd,
That would infpire a lefs barmonious Mind.
All that a Poet loves, I have in view,

Delightfome Hills, refreshing Shades, and pleasant Valleys too,
Fair fpreading Valleys cloath'd with lafting Green,
And Sunny Banks, with gilded Streams between,
Gay as Elyfium, in a Lover's Dream,

Or Flora's Manfion, feated by a Stream,
Where free from fullen Cares I live at eafe,
Indulge my Mufe, and Withes, as I please;
Exempt from all that looks like Want or Strife,
Ifmoothly glide along the Plains of Life.
Thus Fate confpires, and what can I do to't?
Befides, I'm veh'mently in Love to boot;
And that there's not a Willow Sprig, but knows
In whofe fad Shade I breathe my direful Woes.
But why for these dull Reasons do 1 pause,
When I've at hand my genuine one, because!
And that my Mufe may take no counter spell,
I fairly bid the Boarding Schools farewel:
No Young Impertinent fhall here intrude,
And vex me from this blissful Solitude.
Spite of her Heart, Old Pufs fhall damn no more
Great Sedley's Plays, and never look 'em o'er ;
Affront my Novels, no, nor in a Rage
Force Dryden's lofty Products from the Stage,
Whilft all the reft of the melodious Crew,
With the whole Syftem of Athenians too,
For Study's fake out of the Window flew.
But I to Church fhall fill her Train no more,
And walk as if I fojourn'd by the hour.
To Stepivel and his Kit I bid adieu,
Fall off and on, be hang'd and Coopeè too
Thy felf for me, my dancing Days are o'er ;
I'll act th' infpired Bachanels no more.
Eight Notes muft for another Treble look,
In Burlefque to make Faces by the Book.
Japan, and my efteemed Pencil too,
And pretty Cupid, in the Glafs, adieu;
And fince the deareft Friends that be muft part,
Old Governess, farewel with all my heart.
Now welcome all ye peaceful Shades and Springs,
And welcome all the infpiring tender things,
That please my Genius, fuit my Make and Years,
Unburden'd yet with all but Lovers Cares.

}

To

To Sir Thomas Travel.

Rompted by that Great Genius that inspires

Your Noble Breaft with thofe Heroick Fires;

I need implore no God, or Mufe, t'affift

My Thoughts, which now can rife what height they lift ;
For the fame Spring that your bold Motions have,
Does make me love and celebrate the Brave...
And fure 'twere more than ftupid to refufe
To fuch Defert, the Tribute of my Mufe:
To you, whefe Breaft doth circumfcribe a Mind
As vaft as e'er Humanity confin'd;

Which through your Life fuch Glory does convey,
That scarce your Eyes more lucent Beams display;
And all you do, and all you fay, does bear
A Godlike and inimitable Air.

Equipt for War, not Mars in Lemnian Arms,
Blushing and active, lookt fo full of Charms;
And fhould he now affume Mortality,

He'd look, be'd move, and manage all like thee.
Whilft others charm'd with an inglorious Ease,
Forget the Royal Victim of their Peace,
Thou, as excited by a Nobler Flame,
Purfu'ft the deathless Glories of a Name;
And follow'ft, prompted by a Manlier Blood,
Bright Honour, wading through a Crimson Flood.
May all thy Actions meet their juft Success,
And to thy Arms let Charming Glory prefs;
My Mufe the while fresh Garlands fhall defign,
Which round thy Brows the Queen of Love fhall twine.

Occafion'd by the Report of the Queen's Death.

WH

HEN Fame had blown among the Western Swains
The faddeft News that ever reach'd their Plains,

Like Thunder in my Ears, the found did break

The killing Accents which I dare not speak.
Lefs was I toucht with that pernicious Dart,

That pierc'd through naine to reach my Daphne's Heart,
From off my Head the florid Wreath I tore,
That I, to please the fond Oreftes, wore;

And, quite our charg'd with Grief, upon the Ground
I funk my Brows, with mournful Cypress Crown'd;