nflHHflRl
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 FREDERIC THOMAS BLANCHARD 
 ENDOWMENT FUND
 
 .?
 
 POEMS 
 
 UPON 
 
 SEVERAL OCCASIONS. 
 
 By Mrs. LEA P R of Bradley 
 in Northamptonshire. 
 
 LONDON, 
 
 Printed : And Sold by J. Roberts in Warwick-Lane, 
 MDCCXLVIII.
 
 n
 
 TO THE 
 
 READ 
 
 THE Author of the following Poems was 
 taken from the World at the time when fhe 
 firft began to meet with Encouragement to 
 print them, and, in Compliance with her dying Re- 
 queft, they are now publimed for the .Benefit of her 
 Father, who is defirous to make life of this Oppor- 
 tunity of returning his humble Thanks to .the Sub- 
 fcribers for the Favour they have been pleafed to 
 mew him. 
 
 The moit Account which has been given of 
 Mrs. Leapor, with the Propofals for a Subfcription, it is 
 hop'd, will fufficiently apologize for the Defects that 
 mall be found in this Collection. Had /he lived to cor- 
 rect and finim thefe firft Productions of a young unaf- 
 fifled Genius, certainly they would have been greatly 
 improved, tho', as they now appear in their native 
 Simplicity, they cannot furely but afford an agreeable 
 Entertainment to the Reader, and ferve as a con- 
 vincing Proof of the common Aphorifm, Poet a 
 nafcitur, non fit. 
 
 Mrs. Leapor from a Child delighted in reading, 
 
 and particularly Poetry, but had few Opportunities 
 
 of procuring any Books of that kind. The Author 
 
 A 2 flic 
 
 7G4463
 
 To the Readen 
 
 the moil admired was Mr. Pope, whom me chiefly 
 endeavoured to imitate j how far fhe fucceeded in 
 this, or any other of her Attempts, mult be left to 
 the Judgment of the Publick. And indeed if the 
 Poems will not recommend themfelves to the Reader, 
 little Advantage is to be expected from any thing that 
 can be faid of them here ; but, in Juftice to the 
 Memory of the Author, as well as for the Satisfaction of 
 all thofe who have fo chearfully and generoufly contri- 
 buted to improve the heft Legacy fhe could bequeath 
 to her Father, we beg leave to inform them, that her 
 Conduct and Behaviour entirely correfponded with 
 thofe - virtuous and pious Sentiments which are con- 
 fpicuous in her Poems. She was courteous and oblig- 
 ing to all, chearful, good-natured, and contented in 
 the Station of Life in which Providence had placed 
 her. The generous and charitable Spirit that appeared 
 in her was exerted upon all Occafions to the utmoft 
 of her Ability, and was fuch as would have been 
 ornamental in a much higher Sphere, to which in all 
 Probability, if it had pleafed God to fpare her Life, her 
 own Merit would have raifed her. 
 
 Some of her Papers, a little time before her Death, 
 were communicated to feveral Perfons of Rank and 
 of diftinguimed Tafte and Judgment, who were 
 pleafed to exprefs a great Satisfaction in the View they 
 had of promoting a Subfcription for their being 
 printed, and by that means encouraging her to pro- 
 ceed in a Science fo agreeable to herfelf, and enter- 
 taining to them j but her Friends are now left to la- 
 ment her Lofs, and that fo great a Part of a fliort and 
 valuable Life was fpent in Obfcurity. 
 
 A
 
 I 
 
 T 
 
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 Rigbt Honourable the 
 Earl of Arran. 
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 2 Bcoks. 
 
 The Right Honourable the 
 
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 Reverend Mr. Dod. 
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 E 
 
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 Lady Fitzwilliams. 
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 2 Books. 
 
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 Mr. Benjamin Forward. 
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 Lady Hertford. 
 fhe Honourable Mrs. Hume. 
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 Mrs. Halifax. 
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 Sir Thomas Head. 
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 2 Books. 
 
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 Mrs. Haiftwell. 
 
 Mr. 
 
 The Right Honourable the Earl 
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 Earl of Granville, zBooks. 
 
 The Right Reverend the Bijhop 
 of Gloucester. 
 
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 io SUBSCRIBERS NAMES. 
 
 Mr. Morins Hollinberry. 
 Mrs. Haiftwell. 
 Mr. Stephen Harvey. 
 John Hill, Efa 
 Mr. Hiccocks. 
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 I 
 
 Mrs. Jennens. 
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 Mifs Ifaacfon. 
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 Mrs. Ifliam. 
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 Mrs. Jones of Ramfturg. 
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 , Ejq\ 
 
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 2 Books. 
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 2 Bcoh. 
 
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 Leeds. 
 fbe Right Honourable Lord 
 
 Vif count Lymington. 
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 Mr. Langley. 
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 ii 
 
 Mr. Lancafter. 
 
 Mrs. Ann Lynn. 
 
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 of C. C. C. 
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 Fellow of 'C.C.C. 
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 Her Grace the Dutchefs of 
 
 Portland, 4 Books. 
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 Mifs Rickfon.
 
 SUBSCRIBERS NAMES. 
 
 The Right Honourable the 
 Count eft 0f Sunderland. 
 
 The Right Honourable the 
 Dowager Countefs ^/Shafts- 
 bury. 
 
 27.tf Right Honourable the 
 Countefs of Shaftsbury. 
 
 The Honourable the Lady 
 Ann Scott. 
 
 Lady Strickland. 
 
 Lady Elizabeth Smithfon. 
 
 &V.Thomas Samwell, Bart. 
 
 Lady Smith. 
 
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 2 Books. 
 
 Robert Sharrock,^/^; 2 Books 
 
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 Mr. Edward Short, 
 
 Dottor Smith. 
 
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 Mr. Samuel Simons. 
 Mr. Nicholas Stokes. 
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 Mr. James Samfon.' 7 
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 Mr. William Thomas. 
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 Mrs. Vernon. 
 Robert Vincent, Efq 
 
 W 
 
 fbe Lady Wills. 
 
 The Honourable Colonel Whit- 
 
 worth. 
 
 Mrs. Whitworth. 
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 Mrs. Wilmot. 
 Mrs. Wefton. 
 Richard Willis, Efa- 9 
 Mifs Watfon. 
 Mr. John Whitmore. 
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 Charles Whitworth, Efq\ 
 Rever. Dr. David Williams. 
 Mr. Thomas Whatley. 
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 Mrs. Catharine Whitlock. 
 Mr. William Wooton. 
 William Wood, Ef# 
 Charles Wade, Efq; 
 
 Edward
 
 SUBSCRIBERS NAMES. 
 
 Mr. Thomas Watfon. 
 Mr. John Watfon. 
 Mr. John Wharry. 
 
 Mr. Edward Yates. 
 Mrs. Elizabeth Young. 
 Robert Young, Efa 
 Mifs Sally Yeats. 
 
 Edward Wyat, 
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 Mr. Robert Wefton. 
 John Whormby, Efy; 
 Reverend Mr. Wyat. 
 Con way Whithorne, Efq\ 
 
 Webfter, Efqt 
 
 Andrew Wilkinfon, Ef%\ 
 Kyffin WilJiams, Efo 
 Mrs. Wifeman. 
 
 THE
 
 THE 
 
 CONTENTS, 
 
 'The Fi 
 
 A 'Dialogue. 
 Imitation of Part 
 
 O R I N D A at her Glafi. 
 Mira'j Will 
 *iendin Difgrace. 
 An Ode on Mercy: In 
 
 145/^6 Pfalm. 
 'The Beauties of the Spring. 
 Damon #W Strephon. A Pajl oral Complaint. 
 A Summer's Wifh. 
 An Hymn to the Morning. 
 Colinetta. 
 
 'The Linnet and the Goldfinch. 
 The Month 0/*Auguft. Sylvanus, a Courtier , 
 
 a Country Maid. 
 An Epiftle to a Lady. 
 The Proclamation of Apollo. 
 
 Page r 
 
 P . 8 
 
 p. 10 
 
 of the 
 
 p. 12 
 
 P- '5 
 
 p. 18 
 
 p. 21 
 
 P- 2 3 
 
 p. 26 
 p. 31 
 
 Phillis, 
 
 P-34 
 P-3
 
 The C O N T E N T S. 
 
 p. 48 
 
 'The Crucifixion and Refurreffiion. An Ode. p. 50 
 -The Third Chapter of the Wijdom of Solomon. From 
 
 the Firjl to the Sixth Verje. p. 52 
 
 'An EJjay on Happinefs. p. 54 
 
 An Effay on Hope. p. 60 
 
 The Moral Vijion* p. 65 
 
 A Prayer for the Tear 1745. p. 69 
 
 David'5 Complaint, ii Samuel, chap. i. p. 72 
 
 An Effay on Friendjhip. p. 74 
 
 The Mijiaken Lover. p. 8 1 
 
 The Way of the World. p. 90 
 
 The Fox and the Hen. A Fable. p. 97 
 
 The Head-acb. To Aurelia. p. ioi 
 
 Strephon to Celia. A modern Love-Letter, p. 104 
 To Artemifia. Dr. King's Invitation to Bellvill : 
 
 Imitated. p. 106 
 
 The Apparition. p. 108 
 
 The infpir'd Quill. Qccafiorfd by a prefent of Crow 
 
 Pens. p. in 
 
 The Penitent. Occaforfd by the Author's being asked 
 
 if Jhe 'would take Ten Pounds for her Poems. 
 
 p. 118 
 
 Song to Cloe, playing on her Spinet. p. 1 20 
 
 To Grammaticus. p. 122 
 
 *The Ten-Penny-Nail. p. 125 
 
 The Genius, in Difguife. p. 131 
 
 Celadon to Mira. p. 136 
 
 On Mr. Pope'.* Univerfal Prayer? p. 142 
 
 The Fields of Melancholy and Chearfulnefs. p. 145 
 
 The
 
 The C O N T E N T S. 
 
 The Libyan Hunter, a Fable. Infcrib'd to the Me- 
 mory of a late admird Author. p. 153 
 The Temple of Love. p. 162 
 Advice to Myrtillo. p. 1 67 
 On Difcontent. To Stella, p. 170 
 The Propofal. p. 173 
 Soto ; A Character. p. 175 
 The Univerfal Dream, p. 177 
 The Sow and the Peacock. A Fable. p. 1 79 
 Florimelia, the Firft Pajloral. By Mr. Newton. 
 
 p. 183 
 Florimelia, the Second Paftoral. By Mr. Newton. 
 
 P . i8 7 
 
 Catharina'j Cave. -By Mr. Newton. p. 192 
 
 The Enquiry. p. 196 
 
 The Rival Brothers. p. 20 c 
 
 The Queftion. Occafiorfd by a ferious Admonition. 
 
 p. 224 
 
 The Sacrifice. An Epiflle to Celia. p. 226 
 
 The Power of Beauty. p. 229 
 
 The Death o/'Abel. ' p. 232 
 
 Job's Curfe, and his Appeal Taken out o/'Job, 
 Chap, i, and xxxi. p. 238 
 
 The Tale of Cuflii. From II. Samuel, Chap, xviii. 
 
 P- 2 43 
 
 ProferpineV Ragout. p. 247 
 
 The Charms of Anthony. p. 249 
 
 On the Death of ajuftly admird Author. p. 252 
 
 An Epitaph. p. 255 
 
 On Winter. p. 256 
 
 Mira to Oftavia. p. 258 
 
 a 2 T/k
 
 The C O N T E N T S. 
 
 *T'he Setting Sun. p. 261 
 
 An Epitaph. p, 263 
 
 -O Sicknefs. ibid, 
 70 tf Gentleman with a Manufcript Play. p. 267 
 
 Silvia and the Bee. p. 270 
 
 The Cruel Parent. A Dream. p. 27 i 
 
 A Reqiicft to the Divine Being. p. 278 
 
 POEMS
 
 POEMS 
 
 O N 
 
 SEVERAL OCCASIONS. 
 
 D o R i N D A at her Glafs. 
 
 . 
 
 ORINDA, once the faireft of the Train* 
 Toaft of the Town, and Triumph of the 
 
 Plain j 
 
 Whofe {Lining Eyes a thoufand Hearts alarm'd, 
 Whole Wit infpired, and whofe Follies charm'd : 
 Who, with Invention, rack'd her careful Breafl 
 To find new Graces to infult the reft, 
 Now fees her Temples take a fwarthy Hue, 
 And the dark Veins refign their beauteous Blue ; 
 
 B 
 
 While
 
 2 P o E M s on fever al Occafions. 
 
 While on her Cheeks the fading Rofes die, 
 And the laft Sparkles tremble in her Eye. 
 
 Bright Sol had drove the fable Clouds away, 
 And chear'd the Heavens with a Stream of Day, 
 The woodland Choir their little Throats prepare, 
 To chant new Carols to the Morning Air : 
 In Silence wrap'd, and curtain'd from the Day, 
 On her fad Pillow loft Dorinda lay ; 
 To Mirth a Stranger, and the like to Eafe, 
 No Pleafures charm her, nor no Slumbers pleafe, 
 For if to clofe her weary Lids me tries, 
 Detefled Wrinkles fwim before her Eyes ; 
 At length the Mourner rais'd her aking Head, 
 And difcontented left her hated Bed. 
 But iighing fhun'd the Relicks of her Pride x 
 And left the Toilet for the Chimney Side : 
 Her carelefs Locks upon her Shoulders lay 
 Uncurl'd, alas ! becaufe they half were Gray j 
 No magick Baths employ her skilful Hand, 
 But ufelefs Phials on her Table ftand : 
 
 She
 
 POEMS on fever al Qccafions. 
 
 She flights her Form, no more by Youth infpir'd, 
 And loaths that Idol which fhe once admir'd. 
 At length all trembling, of herfelf afraid, 
 To her lov'd Glafs repair'd the weeping Maid, 
 And with a Sigh addrefs'd the alter'd Shade. 
 Say, what art thou, that wear 'ft a gloomy Form, 
 With low'ring Forehead, like a northern Storm ; 
 Cheeks pale and hollow, as the Face of Woe, 
 And Lips that with no gay Vermilion glow ? 
 Where is that Form which this falfe Mirror told 
 Bloom'd like the Morn, and ftiou'd for Ages hold j 
 But now a Spectre in its room appears, 
 All fcar'd with Furrows, and defac'd with Tears ; 
 Say, com'ft thou from the Regions of Defpair, 
 To fhake my Senfes with a meagre Stare ? 
 Some ftragg'ling Horror may thy Phantom be. 
 But furely not the mimick Shape of me. 
 
 Ah ! yes the Shade its mourning Vifage rears, 
 
 Pants when I figh, and anfwers to my Tears : 
 Now who (hall bow before this wither'd Shrine, 
 This Mortal Image, that was late Divine F 
 
 B 2 What
 
 4 P o E M s on feveral Occafioni. 
 
 What Vi&im now will praife thefe faded Eyes, 
 Once the gay Bafis for a thoufand Lyes ? 
 
 Deceitful Beauty falfe as thou art gay, 
 
 And is it thus thy Vot'ries find their Pay ; 
 This the Reward of many careful Years, 
 Of Morning Labours, and of Noon-day Fears, 
 The Gloves anointed, and the bathing Hour, 
 And foft Cofmetick's more prevailing Pow'r ; 
 Yet to thy Worfhip Ml the fair Ones run, 
 And hail thy Temples with the riling Sun ; 
 Still the brown Damfels to thy Altars pay 
 Sweet-fcented Unguents, and the Dews of May j 
 Sempronia fmooths her wrinkled Brows with Care, 
 And Ifabella curls her grilled Hair : 
 See poor Augufta of her Glafs afraid, 
 Who even trembles at the Name of Maid, 
 Spreads the fine Mechlin on her making Head, 
 While her thin Cheeks difown the mimick Red. 
 Soft Sihia y who no Lover's Breaft alarms, 
 Yet fimpers out the Ev'ning of her Charms, 
 
 And
 
 POEMS on fever al Occafions. 5 
 
 And tho' her Cheek can boaft no rofy Dye, 
 Her gay Brocades allure the gazing Eye. 
 
 But hear, my Sifters Hear an ancient Maid, 
 
 Too long by Folly, and her Arts betray'd ; 
 From thefe light Trifles turn your partial Eyes, 
 'Tis fad Dorinda prays you to be wife j 
 And thou Celinda, thou mufl fhortly feel 
 The fad Effedt of Time's revolving Wheel ; 
 Thy Spring is paft, thy Summer Sun declin'd, 
 See Autumn next, and Winter ftalks behind : 
 But let not Reafon with thy Beauties fly, 
 Nor place thy Merit in a brilliant Eye -, 
 'Tis thine to charm us by fublimer ways, 
 And make thy Temper, like thy Features, pleafe : 
 And thou, Sempronia> trudge to Morning Pray'r, 
 Nor trim thy Eye-brows with fo nice a Care; 
 
 Dear Nymph believe 'tis true, as you're alive, 
 
 Thofe Temples mow the Marks of Fifty-five. 
 
 Let Ifabel unload her aking Head 
 
 Of twifted Papers, and of binding Lead 5 
 
 B 3 Let
 
 6 P o E M s on fevered Occafions. 
 
 Let fage Augujla now, without a Frown, 
 Strip thofe gay Ribbands from her aged Crown ; 
 Change the lac'd Slipper of delicious Hue 
 For a warm Stocking, and an eafy Shoe ; 
 Guard her fwell'd Ancles from Rheumarick Pain, 
 And from her Cheek expunge the guilty Stain. 
 
 Wou'd fmiling Sihia lay that Hoop afide, 
 'Twou'd ftiow her Prudence, not betray her Pride : 
 She, like the reft, had once her flagrant Day, 
 But now me twinkles in a fainter Ray. 
 Thofe youthful Airs fet off their Miftrefs now, 
 Juil as the Patch adorns her Autumn Brow : 
 Jn vain her Feet in fparkling Laces glow, 
 Since none regard her Forehead, nor her Toe. 
 Who would not burft with Laughter, or with Spleen, 
 At Prudo, once a Beauty, as I ween ? 
 But now her Features wear a dusky Hue, 
 The little Loves have bid her Eyes adieu : 
 Yet me purfues the Pleafures of her Prime, 
 And vain Defires, not fubdu'd by Time j 
 
 Thrufts
 
 POEMS on feveral Occafions. 7 
 
 Thrufts in amongfl the Frolick and the Gay, 
 But muts her Daughter from the Beams of Day : 
 The Child, me fays, is indolent and grave, 
 And tells the World Ophelia can't behave : 
 But while Ophelia is forbid the Room, 
 Her Mother hobbles in a Rigadoon 5 
 Or to the Sound of melting Mufick dies, 
 And in their Sockets rolls her blinking Eyes j 
 Or ftuns the Audience with her hideous Squal, 
 While Scorn and Satire whifper through the Hall. 
 
 Hear this, ye fair Ones, that furvive your Charms, 
 Nor reach at Folly with your aged Arms ; 
 Thus Pope has fung, thus let Dorinda fing ; 
 " Virtue, brave Boys, 'tis Virtue makes a King ;" 
 Why not a Queen ? fair Virtue is the fame 
 In the rough Hero, and the fmiling Dame : 
 Dorinda's Soul her Beauties mall purfue, 
 Tho' late I fee her, and embrace her too : 
 Come, ye bled Graces, that arc flire to pleafe, 
 The Smile of Friendfhip, and the carclefs Eafe ; 
 
 
 B 4 The
 
 8 POEMS on feveral Occafions. 
 
 The Breait of Candour, the relenting Ear, 
 The Hand of Bounty, and the Heart iincere : 
 May thefe the Twilight of my Days attend, 
 And may that Ev'ning never want a Friend 
 To fmooth my PafTage to the filent Gloom, 
 And give a Tear to grace the mournful Tomb. 
 
 MIRA's WILL. 
 
 IMPRIMIS My departed Shade I truft 
 To Heav'n My Body to the filent Duft ; 
 My Name to publick Cenfure I fubmit, 
 To be dispos'd of as the World thinks fit ; 
 My Vice and Folly let Oblivion clofe, 
 The World already is o'erftock'd with thofe ; 
 My Wit I give, as Mifers give their Store, 
 To thofe who think they had enough before. 
 Beflow my Patience to compofe the Lives 
 Of flighted Virgins and neglected Wives 3 
 To modiih Lovers I refign my Truth, 
 My cool Reflexion to unthinking Youth ; 
 
 And
 
 POEMS on feveral Occafions. 9 
 
 And fome Good-nature give ('tis my Defire) 
 To furly Husbands, as their Needs require ; 
 And firfl difcharge my Funeral and then 
 To the fmall Poets I bequeath my Pen. 
 
 Let a fmall Sprig ( true Emblem of my Rhyme) 
 Of blafted Laurel on my Hearfe recline ; 
 Let fome grave Wight, that ftruggles for Renown, 
 By chanting Dirges through a Market-Town, 
 With gentle Step precede the folemn Train $ 
 A broken Flute upon his Arm mail lean. 
 Six comick Poets may the Corfe furround, 
 And All Free-holders, if they can be found : 
 Then follow next the melancholy Throng, 
 As fhrewd Inftructors, who themfelves are wrong. 
 The Virtuofo, rich in Sun-dry'd Weeds, 
 The Politician, whom no Mortal heeds, 
 The filent Lawyer, chamber'd all the Day, 
 And the ftern Soldier that receives no Pay. 
 
 But ftay the Mourners fhou'd be firft our Care, 
 
 Let the freed Prentice lead the Mifer's Heir ; 
 
 Let
 
 io POEMS on fever al Qccaftom. 
 
 Let the young Relid wipe her mournful Eye, 
 And widow'd Husbands o'er their Garlick cry. 
 
 All this let my Executors fulfil, 
 And reft aflur'd that this is Mtra's Will, 
 Who was, when {he thefe Legacies defign'd, 
 In Body healthy, and compos'd in Mind. 
 
 The F R i E N > in D.ifgrace. 
 A DIALOGUE. 
 
 LYCANDER. 
 
 DAMON, why fo cold and ferious ? 
 Wherefore that reluftant Bow? 
 Why fo haughty and imperious ? 
 Say, have you forgot me now ? 
 
 Tho array *d in coarfe Attire, 
 You may read Lycander's Face; 
 
 For 'tis Him ( my gentle Squire) 
 Juftled in a homely Cafe, 
 
 True,
 
 POEMS m feveral Qccafam. t 1 
 
 True, no mining Slaves furround me, 
 
 And my Brows with Sorrow bend j 
 Fortune left me as me found me, 
 
 Yet let Damon own his Friend. 
 DAMON. 
 Sir, your Servant, and all that, Sir ; 
 
 But indeed I am in hafte 5 
 Surely (pray keep on your Hat, Sir), 
 
 I have fomewherc feen your Face, 
 LYCANDER. 
 Am I grown fo great a Stranger ? 
 
 Yet 'tis hardly half a Year, 
 Since you vow'd (in e'ery Danger) 
 
 Not your Life was half fo dear. 
 
 Sure the Court is mighty lulling, 
 
 (Not the Streams of Lethe more) 
 E'en the Groom and dirty Scullion 
 
 Know not thpfe they lov'd before. 
 
 So
 
 12 P o E M s on feveral Occajions. 
 
 So on that fatal Day you did 
 
 The Levee of his Grace attend ; 
 You of your Memory was rid, 
 
 I of my Fortune and my Friend. 
 DAMON. 
 'Tis Bus'nefs, Sir, that fills my Head, 
 
 Believe me now I cannot flay ; 
 I'll order half a Pint of Red, 
 
 And if you'll drink it, Sir, you may. 
 
 An O D E on M E R C Y: 
 
 In Imitation of Part of the 145^ Pfalm. 
 
 I 
 
 >r*T"MS Mercy calls Awake, my grateful String j 
 y -I* Ye Worlds of Nature, liften while I fmg j 
 
 'Tis not his dire avenging Rod, 
 
 I fing the Mercies of a God j 
 
 Hark, ye Warblers of the Sky, 
 
 Rivers glide ferenely by; 
 Or rather in the facred Chorus join, 
 Till our united Voices reach the Seats Divine. 
 
 Where
 
 POEMS on federal Qccafions. 1 3 
 
 II. 
 
 Where injur'd Saints, that us'd to mourn below, 
 Find their glad Breafts with Joys eternal glow ; 
 
 Where thoufand Tongues incefTant cry, 
 
 Glory be to God on high ; 
 
 Dominion, Power, Praife, and then 
 
 Mercy to the Sons of Men. 
 Heav'n hears delighted, and the joyful Sound 
 Swell'd withceleftial Mufick fpreads the Regions round. 
 
 III. 
 
 The Lord, though feated far beyond the Sky, 
 Yet fees the wretched with a pitying Eye ; 
 
 That Power knows our fecret Fear, 
 
 The lonely Sigh, or filent Tear 5 
 
 He fees the Widows flreaming Eye, 
 
 And hears the hungry Orphans cry. 
 Depending Worlds his facred Bounty ihare, 
 All Creatures find a Part of their Creator's Care. 
 
 IV. 
 
 His Juftice next employs the heavenly String, 
 And hymning Angels tremble while they fing ; 
 
 The
 
 14 POEMS on fever -al Qccafions. 
 
 The Lord is juft and holy, then 
 O weep ye thoughtlefs Sons of Men : 
 For who can from his Anger fly, 
 Or fhun the Frown of God moft high ? 
 Yet fhall the Sigh, or penitential Groan, 
 Mount like the Seraph's Wing, and reach the facred 
 Throne. 
 
 V. 
 
 Hear this, ye pious but dejected Minds, 
 Whom Errors darken, or whom Weaknefs binds ; 
 Lift from the Duft your mournful Eye, 
 And know the Lord your Help is nigh ; 
 Thefe Sorrows from your Breads mall roll,. 
 And Comfort blefs the humble Soul j 
 Let chearful Hope in ev'ry Bofom fpring, 
 For boundlefs Mercy dwells with Heaven's immortal 
 King* 
 
 VI. 
 
 Come then, ye Worlds, with mingled Voices raife 
 A Song of mean, but not ungrateful Praife j 
 Tho' the dull Numbers rudely flow, 
 And our cold Hearts but faintly glow, 
 
 Our
 
 POEMS on feveral Occa/ions. 1 5 
 
 Our Raptures own a lefs Degree, 
 Yet Cherubs fing, and fo (hou'd we. 
 The Almighty hears, and gives us leave to call 
 On him the Judge, the Guide and facredLord of AIL 
 
 VII. 
 
 All you that bend beneath the Stroke of Time, 
 And you whofe Cheeks confefs their healthy Prime, 
 Your Maker and Preferver praife, 
 For early and for length of Days j 
 The pious and the grateful Song, 
 Shall lifp upon the Infant's Tongue, 
 While heav'nly Mercy fooths the Mourner's Care, 
 And bids the Innocent rejoice, the Sinner not defpair. 
 
 The BEAUTIES of the SPRING. 
 
 HAIL happy Shades, and hail thou chearful Plain, 
 Where Peace and Pleafure unmolefted reign ; 
 Where dewy Buds their blufhing Bofoms (how, 
 And the coel Rivers murmur as they flow : 
 
 Set
 
 1 6 P o E M s on feveral Occapons. 
 
 See yellow Crowfoots deck the gaudy Hills, 
 
 While the faint Primrofe loves the purling Rills : 
 
 Sagacious Bees their Labours now renew, 
 
 Hum round the Bloflbms, and extract their Dew : 
 
 In their new Liv'ries the green Woods appear, 
 
 And fmiling Nature decks the Infant Year ; 
 
 See yon proud Elm that {nines in borrow'd Charms, 
 
 While the curl'd Woodbines deck her aged Arms. 
 
 When the ftreak'd Eaft receives a lighter Gray, 
 And Larks prepare to meet the early Day ; 
 Through the glad Bowers the fhrill Anthems run, 
 While the Groves glitter to the rifing Sun : 
 Then Phillis haftens to her darling Cow, 
 Whofe mining TrefTes wanton on her Brow, 
 While to her Cheek enliv'ning Colours fly, 
 And Health and Pleafure fparkle in her Eye, 
 UnfpoiPd by Riches, nor with Knowledge vain, 
 Contented Cymon whittles o'er the Plain ; 
 His Flock difmifles from their nightly Fold, 
 Obferves their Health, and fees their Number told. 
 
 Pleas'd
 
 POEMS on feveral Occajions. 1 7 
 
 Pleas'd with its Being, fee the nimble Fawn 
 Sports in the Grove, or wantons o'er the Lawn, 
 While the pleas'd Courfers frolick out the Day, 
 And the dull Ox affects unwieldy Play. 
 
 Then hafte, my Friend, to yonder Sylvan Bowers, 
 Where Peace and Silence crown the blifsful Hours ; 
 In thofe Ml Groves no martial Clamours found, 
 No ftreaming Purple ftains the guiltlefs Ground ; 
 But fairer Scenes our ravifli'd Eyes employ, 
 Give a foft Pleafure, and a quiet Joy ; 
 Grief flies from hence, and wafting Cares fubfide, 
 While wing'd with Mirth the laughing Minutes gli Js. 
 See, my fair Friend, the painted Shrubs are gay, 
 And round thy Head ambrofial Odours play ; 
 At Sight of thee the fwelling Buds expand, 
 And op'ning Rofes feem to court thy Hand ; 
 Hark, the mrill Linnet charms the diftant Plain, 
 And Philomel replies with fofter Strain ; 
 See thofe bright Lilies mine with milky Hue, 
 And thofe fair Cowflips drop with balmy Dew ;
 
 1 8 P o EMS on fever al Occajions. 
 
 To thee, my Fair, the chearful Linnet fings, 
 And Philomela warbles o'er the Springs ; 
 For thee thofe Lilies paint the fertile Ground, 
 And thofe fair Cowflips are with Nedtar crown'd ; 
 Here let us reft to fhun the fcorching Ray, 
 While curling Zephyrs in the Branches play. 
 In thefe calm Shades no ghaftly Woe appears, 
 No Cries of Wretches ftun our frighted Ears ; 
 Here no glofs'd Hate, no fainted Wolves are feen, 
 Nor bufy Faces throng the peaceful Green ; 
 But Fear and Sorrow leave the careful Breaft, 
 And the glad Soul finks happily to Reft. 
 
 DAMON and STREPHON. 
 
 A Paftoral Complaint. 
 
 Damon. 
 
 SAY, why thefe Sighs that in thy Bofom rife ? 
 Why from thy Cheek the wonted Crimfon flies?] 
 Why on the Ground are fix'd thy ftreaming Eyes?
 
 POEMS on fever al Qcc a/ions. 19 
 
 Strephon. 
 
 Still let this Bofom fwell with aking Woe, 
 And from my Eyes the ftreaming Sorrows flow. 
 But Oh! the Caufe ( Sec Clouds are gath'ring round, 
 And Zephyrs wait to catch the mournful Sound ; 
 The lick'ning Trees all fhed their blooming Store) 
 
 Why wouldft thou hear it ? Sylvius is no more. 
 
 Damon. 
 
 Is Sylvius dead ? then Phillis rend thy Hair, 
 
 And blot thofe Features that were late fo fair. 
 Thou Sun, forbear to gild this fatal Day ; 
 Nor you my Lambkins dare to think of Play. 
 
 Strephon. 
 
 No more alas ! no more the tuneful Swain 
 Shall with foft Numbers charm the lifl'ning Plain. 
 No more his Flute mall greet the dawning Spring ; 
 Nor to his Hand rebound the trembling String. 
 
 Damon. 
 
 Ah cruel Death ! wou'd none but Sylvius do ? 
 No meaner Swain amongft the worthy few ? 
 Why didft thou take (and leave the bafer Tribe) 
 The Flow'r of Shepherds and the Mufes Pride ? 
 
 C 2 Strephn,
 
 ZQ POEMS on feveral Occafions. 
 
 Strephon. 
 
 None knew like him the heav'nly Notes to fwell, 
 And moral Tales in pleafing Numbers tell. 
 While Syhius fung, none thought the Day too long > 
 But all repin'd at the too hafty Song. 
 
 Damon. 
 
 Ye folemn Winds that whittle through the Glade, 
 Or rudely blufler in the darker Shade, 
 Go bear our Sorrows to the diftant Shore, 
 And tell them Syhius chears our Plains no more. 
 
 Strephon. 
 
 Vain are our Sighs, our Tears as vainly flow, 
 And each fad Bofom fwells with fruitlefs Woe ! 
 As northern Blafls deftroy the Autumn Store, 
 So Syhius fell and (hall return no more. 
 Damon. 
 
 Enough of Sorrow now your Garlands bring; 
 
 Crop all the Beauties of the early Spring ; 
 Around his Tomb thefe willing Hands mall twine 
 The choicefl Briers of fweet Eglantine. 
 
 Strephon.
 
 
 POEMS on federal Qccafam. 
 
 On his cold Grave a Laurel I beftow, 
 Which late did in my Father's Garden grow : 
 This Wreath Amyntas ask'd to {hade her Brow, 
 But to my Sylvius I refign it now. 
 
 Damon. 
 
 The penfive Swains (hall ftrike their Bofoms there, 
 And foft-ey'd Virgins drop a gentle Tear : 
 May fome good Angel guard the facred Ground, 
 And Flow'rs unfading fhed their Sweets around. 
 
 A SUMMER'S WISH. 
 
 MY Guardian, bear me on thy downy Wing 
 Tofomecool Shade where infant Flow'rs fpring; 
 Where on the Trees fweet Hony-fuckles blow> 
 And ruddy Daifies paint the Ground below : 
 Where the fhrill Linnet charms the folemn Shade, 
 And Zephyrs pant along the cooler Glade, 
 Or make the Bull-rum by a River Side, 
 While the gay Sun-beams fparkle on the Tide : 
 
 C 3 O
 
 22 POEMS on fever al Occafans. 
 
 O for fome Grot whofe ruftick Sides declare, 
 Eafe, and not Splendor, was the Builder's Care ; 
 Where Rofes fpread their unaffected Charms, 
 And the curPd Vine extends her clafping Arms ; 
 Where happy Silence lulls the quiet Soul, 
 And makes it calm as Summer Waters roll. 
 Here let me learn to check each growing 111, 
 And bring to Reafon difobedient Will ; 
 To watch this incoherent Breaft, and find 
 What fav'rite Paffions rule the giddy Mind, 
 
 Here no Reproaches grate die wounded Ear 5 
 We fee delighted, and tranfported hear, 
 While the glad Warblers wanton round the Trees, 
 And the ftill Waters catch the dying Breeze, 
 Grief waits without, and melancholy Gloom : 
 Come, chearful Hope, and fill the vacant Room ; 
 Come ev'ry Thought, which Virtue gave to pleafe j 
 Come fmiling Health with thy Companion Eafe : 
 Let thefc, and all that Virtue's felf attends, 
 Blefs the ftill Hours of my gentle Friends : 
 
 Peace
 
 POEMS on feveral Occafans. 2 3 
 
 Peace to my Foes, if any fuch there be, 
 And gracious Heav'n give Repofe to me. 
 
 An HYMN to the MORNING. 
 
 I. 
 
 SEE the lovely Morning rife, 
 See her Glories paint the Skies, 
 Half o'er the reviving Globe 
 Gaily fpreads her Saffron Robe : 
 See the Hills with Flowers crown'd, 
 And the Valleys laughing round. 
 
 II. 
 
 Mira to Aurora fings, 
 While the Lark exulting fprings 
 High in Air and tunes her Throat 
 To a foft and merry Note; 
 The Goldfinch and the Linnet join: 
 Hail Aurora, Nymph divine. 
 
 C 4 Sec
 
 24 POEMS on feveral Occajions. 
 
 III. 
 
 See C/ione's gilded Car, 
 
 See it blazes from afar; 
 
 Here the fair One bends her Way r 
 
 Balmy Zephyrs round her play; 
 
 Now me lights upon the Vale, 
 
 Fond to meet the weftern Gale. 
 
 IV. 
 
 May this artlefs Praife be thine, 
 Soft Clione half divine. 
 See her fnowy Hand me waves, 
 Silent ftand her waiting Slaves ; 
 And while they guard the Silver Reins, 
 She wanders lonely o'er the Plains. 
 
 V. 
 
 See thofe Cheeks of beauteous Dye, 
 Lovely as the dawning Sky, 
 Innocence that ne'er beguiles 
 Lips that wear eternal Smiles : 
 Beauties to the reft unknown, 
 Shine in her and her alone. 
 
 Now
 
 POEMS on fever al Qccafan. 25 
 
 VI. 
 
 Now the Rivers fmoother flow, 
 
 Now the op'ning Rofes glow, 
 
 The Woodbine twines her odorous Charms 
 
 Round the Oaks fupporting Arms : 
 
 Lilies paint the dewy Ground, 
 
 And Ambrofia breathes around, 
 
 VII. 
 
 Come, ye Gales that fan the Spring; 
 Zephyr, with thy downy Wing, 
 Gently waft to Mira's Breaft 
 Health, Content, and balmy Reft, 
 Far, O far from hence remain 
 Sorrow, Care, and fickly Pain. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Thus fung Mlra to her Lyre, 
 Till the idle Numbers tire : 
 Ah! Sappho fweeter lings, I cry, 
 And the fpiteful Rocks reply, 
 (Refponfive to the jarring Strings) 
 Sweeter Sappho fweeter fings. 
 
 COL-
 
 26 POEMS on feveral Occ a/ions. 
 
 COLINETTA 
 
 rr^ WAS when the Fields had fhed their 
 
 A golden Grain. 
 
 And burning Suns had fear'd the ruflet Plain ; 
 No more the Rofe nor Hyacinth were feen, 
 Nor yellow Cowflip on the tufted Green : 
 But the rude Thiftle rear'd its hoary Crown, 
 And the ripe Nettle fhew'd an irkfom Brown. 
 In mournful Plight the tarnim'd Groves appear, 
 And Nature weeps for the declining Year, 
 The Sun too quickly reach'd the weftern Sky, 
 And rifing Vapours hid his ev'ning Eye : 
 Autumnal Threads around the Branches flew, 
 While the dry Stubble drank the falling Dew. 
 
 In this fick Seafon, at the clofe of Day, 
 On Lydia's Lap pale Colinetta lay ; 
 Whofe fallow Cheeks had loft their Tofy Dye, 
 The Sparkles languim'd in her clofing Eye. 
 
 Parch'd
 
 POEMS on fever a! Qccafions. 27 
 
 Parch'd were thofe Lips whence Mufick us'd to flow, 
 Nor more the Flute her weary Fingers know, 
 Yet thrice to raife her feeble Voice me try'd, 
 Thrice on her Tongue the fainting Numbers dy'd ; 
 At laft reviv'd, on Lydia's Neck fhe hung, 
 And like the Swan expiring thus fhe fung. 
 
 :v ' 
 Farewel, ye Forefts and delightful Hills, 
 
 Ye flow'ry Meadows and ye cryftal Rills, 
 Ye friendly Groves to whom we us'd to run, 
 And beg a Shelter from the burning Sun. 
 Thofe blafled Shades all mournful now I fee, 
 Who droop their Heads as tho' they wept for me. 
 The penfive Linnet has forgot to fing, 
 The Lark is filent till returning Spring. 
 The Spring fhall all thofe wonted Charms reftore, 
 Which Colinetta mufl behold no more. 
 
 Farewel, ye Fields ; my native Fields, adieu ; 
 Whofe fertile Lays my early Labours knew $ 
 Where, when an Infant, I was wont to ftray, 
 And gather King-cups at the doling Day. 
 
 How
 
 28 POEMS on fever -al Occafiom. 
 
 How oft has Lydia told a mournJElil Tale, 
 By the clear Lake that mines in yonder Vale ; 
 When he had done I fung a chearful Lay, 
 While the glad Goldfinch liften'd on the Spray : 
 Lur'd by my Song each jolly Swain drew near, 
 And rofy Virgins throng'd around to hear : 
 Farewel, ye Swains j ye rofy Nymphs, adieu : 
 Tho' I (unwilling) leave the Streams and you, 
 Still may foft Mufick blefs your happy Shore, 
 But, Cotinetta, you muft hear no more. 
 
 O Lydia , thou, (if wayward Tongues fhou'd blame 
 My Life, and blot a harmlefs Maiden's Name) 
 Tell them if e'er I found a {haggling Ewe, 
 Although the Owner's Name I hardly knew ; 
 I fed it kindly with my Father's Hay, 
 And gave it fhelter at the clofing Day : 
 I never ftole young Pigeons from their Dams, 
 Nor from their Pafture drove my Neighbours Lambs : 
 Nor fet my Dog to hunt their Flocks away, 
 That mine might graze upon the vacant Lay. 
 
 When
 
 POEMS on feveral Qccafions. 29 
 
 When Phillida by dancing won the Prize, 
 
 Or Colin prais'd young Mariana's Eyes : 
 
 When Damon wedded Urs'/a of the Grange, 
 
 My Cheek with Envy ne'er was feen to change : 
 
 When-e'er I faw Aminda crofs the Plain, 
 
 Or walk the Foreft with her darling Swain, 
 
 I never whifper'd to a Stander-by, 
 
 But hated Scandal and abhorr'd a Lye. 
 
 On Sundays I (as Sifter Sue can tell) 
 
 Was always ready for the Sermon-bell : 
 
 I honour'd both the Teacher and the Day ; 
 
 Nor us'd to giggle when he bid me pray : 
 
 Then fure for me there's fomething good in Store, 
 
 When Colinetta fhall be feen no more. 
 
 When I am gone, I leave to Sifter Sue 
 My Gown ofjerfey, and my Aprons blue. 
 My ftudded Sheep-hook PbilUda may take, 
 Likewife my Hay- fork and my Hazel Rake : 
 My hoarded Apples and my winter Pears 
 Be thine, O Lydia, to reward thy Cares. 
 
 Thefc
 
 go P o E M s on federal Qccafions. 
 
 Thefe Nuts that late were pluck'd from yonder Tree, 
 And this Straw-basket, I bequeath to thee ; 
 That Basket did thefe dying Fingers weave : 
 My boxen Flute to Corydon I leave, 
 So {hall it charm the lift'ning Nymphs around, 
 For none like him can make it fweetly found. 
 
 In our Churchyard there grows a fpreading Yew* 
 Whofe dark green Leaves diftil a baneful Dew : 
 Be thofe fad Branches o'er my Grave reclin'd, 
 And let thefe Words be graven on the Rind : 
 " Mark, gentle Reader, Underneath this Tree 9 
 " There fleeps a Maid, old Simon's Daughter me ; 
 " Thou too, perhaps, ere many Weeks be o'er, 
 " Like Cotinetta t malt be feen no more. 
 
 Here ends the Maid for now the Seal of Death 
 Clos'd her pale Lips, and ftop'd her rofy Breath. 
 Her finking Eye-balls took their long Adieu, 
 And with a Sigh her harmlefs Spirit flew. 
 
 The
 
 P OEMS en feveral Occa/ions. 3 
 
 The LINNET and the GOLDFINCH. 
 
 >/"T^ WAS when the Morn difclos'd her rofy Brow, 
 
 A And new-wak'd Heifers in the Paftures low, 
 When little Songfters in the Gales refpire : 
 To Mira's Shades repair'd the woodland Choirj 
 Perch 'd on a Bough that fhone with Morning Dew, 
 The Linnet thus addrefs'd the feather'd Crew. 
 
 'The LINNET. 
 
 Say, my foft Sifters ; fay, ye tuneful Throng ; 
 Who now demands the Tribute of a Song ? 
 Who call'd us here ? Who gave us leave to rove 
 And warble in this late forbidden Grove ? 
 Not long ago as Mira, mournful Maid, 
 All penfive fat beneath the dusky Shade, 
 Juft o'er her Head I whittled on a Bough, 
 But Difcontent fat frowning on her Brow : 
 Be gone thou too officious Bird, flie cries - y 
 (And turn'd on Me on Me her angry Eyes) 
 
 Go
 
 32 P o B M 3 on feveral facet/tons. 
 
 Go from my Bowers, lead the tuneful Throng 
 For Artemifia hears no more your Song. 
 Thefe flighted Shades can. pleafe the Fair no more j 
 Ye Hony-fuckles fhed your blooming Store ; 
 Ye fpreading Trees now let your Branches die ; 
 And ye fhrill Warblers from thofe Branches fly : 
 
 She faid : the Bloflbms fell from ev'ry Tree. 
 
 And we dejected from her Arbours flee ; 
 We fled all mournful to the diftant Pkin : 
 Then fay who calls us to thefe Groves again. 
 
 The GOLDFINCH. 
 By Mtra's Order to this Grove we came, 
 Mir a, whofe Sonnets pleafe the rural Dame : 
 'Twas Yefternight fhe wav'd her Hand to me, 
 As I fat whittling on a Chefnut-tree : 
 Come here (me cry'd) ye foft aerial Choirs ; 
 My Ear no more your fprightly Mufick tires : 
 Now I can liften all the Ev'ning long, 
 For Artemifia will attend your Song : 
 She comes : Ye Trees put on your beft Array, 
 And whh frefh Odours greet the riling Day. 
 
 Breathe
 
 P o E M s on feveral Qccafions. 3 3 
 
 Breathe fweet, ye Woodbines, and with Heads reclin'd 
 Court the foft Whifpers of the weftern Wind. 
 Ye friendly Zephyrs, dry the dewy Ground - t 
 Shine bright, thou Sun j and laugh, ye Meads around : 
 
 Thus Mir a fpoke. Once more the Bloflbms glow, 
 
 And milder Breezes o'er the Mountains blow. 
 The fmiling Grove once more renews its Charms, 
 And Trees embracing twift their curling Arms ; 
 Safely to flicker the expected Fair, 
 From the hot Sun-beams or the northern Air : 
 Here we attend, and hop from Spray to Spray, 
 'Till the kind Fates mail bring the wifli'd-for Day, 
 When She, of whom our Mir a daily lings, 
 Whofe Name me whifpers to the lift'ning Springs, 
 Shall blefs thefe Shades then, ye melodious Throng, 
 Let each prepare 'em for the fprightly Song. 
 Let the mrill Thrufh begin her vary'd Strain, 
 And the fmall Wren in fofter Note complain. 
 The piercing Linnet and the Lark agree, 
 Lefs loud the Red-breaft, Nightingale and me. 
 Here ends the Goldfinch, and exulting fprings j 
 Her pleas'd Companions clap their joyful Wings. 
 
 D The
 
 34 POEMS on feveral Occajtons. 
 -The MONTH of AUGUST. 
 
 Sylvanus, a Courtier. Philiis, a Country Maid. 
 
 SYLVAN us. 
 
 HAIL, Philiis, brighter than a Morning Sky, 
 Joy of my Heart, and Darling of my Eye j 
 See the kind Year her grateful Tribute yields, 
 And round-fac'd Plenty triumphs o'er the Fields. 
 But to yon Gardens let me lead thy Charms, 
 Where the curl'd Vine extends her willing Arms : 
 Whofe purple Clufters lure the longing Eye, 
 And the ripe Cherries mow their fcarlet Dye. 
 
 P H I L L I S. 
 
 Not all the Sights your boafted Gardens yield, 
 Are half fo lovely as my Father's Field, 
 Where large Increafe has blefs'd the fruitful Plain, 
 And we with Joy behold the fwelling Grain, 
 Whofe heavy Ears towards the Earth reclin'd, 
 Wave, nod, and tremble to the whisking Wind. 
 
 SYL-
 
 POEMS on fever al Occafions. 3 5 
 
 S Y L V A N U S. 
 
 But fee, to emulate thofe Cheeks of thine, 
 On yon fair Tree the bluming NedYrins mine : 
 Beneath their Leaves the ruddy Peaches glow, 
 And the plump Figs compofe a gallant Show. 
 With gaudy Plumbs fee yonder Boughs recline, 
 And ruddy Pears in yon Efpalier twine. 
 There humble Dwarfs in pleafing Order ftand, 
 Whofe golden Product feerns to court thy Hand. 
 
 P H I L L I S* 
 
 In vain you tempt me while our Orchard bears 
 Long-keeping RufTets, lovely Cath'rine Pears, 
 Pearmains and Codlings, wheaten Plumbs enough, 
 And the black Damfons load the bending Bough. 
 No Pruning-knives our fertile Branches reaze, 
 While yours mutt grow but as their Matters pleafe. 
 The grateful Trees our Mercy well repay, 
 And rain us Bufliels at the rifmg D.iy. 
 SYLVANUS. 
 
 Fair are my Gardens, yet you flight them all - 
 Then let us hafte to yon majeftick HUM, 
 
 D 2 Where
 
 36 Po E M s on feveral Occafions. 
 
 Where the glad Roofs fhall to thy Voice refound, 
 Thy Voice more fweet than Mufick's melting Sound : 
 Now Orion's Beam infefts the fultry Sky, 
 And fcorching Fevers through the Welkin fly ; 
 But Art mall teach us to evade his Ray, 
 And the forc'd Fountains near the Windows play; 
 There choice Perfumes mail give a pleafing Gale, 
 And Orange-flow'rs their od'rous Breath exhale, 
 While on the Walls the well- wrought Paintings glow, 
 And dazzling Carpets deck the Floors below : 
 O tell me, Thou whofe carelefs Beauties charm, 
 Are thefe not fairer than a Threfher's Barn ? 
 
 P H I L L I S. 
 
 Believe me, I can find no Charms at all 
 In your fine Carpets and your painted Hall. 
 'Tis true our Parlour has an earthen Floor, 
 The Sides of Plafter and of Elm the Door : 
 Yet the rub'd Cheft and Table fweetly fhines, 
 And the fpread Mint along the Window climbs : 
 An aged Laurel keeps away the Sun, 
 And two cool Streams acrofs the Garden run. 
 
 S Y L-
 
 POEMS on feveral Occafions. 3 7 
 
 SYLVAN us. 
 
 Can Feafts or Mufick win my lovely Maid ? 
 In both thofe Pleafures be her Tafte obey'd. 
 The ranfack'd Earth (hall all its Dainties fend, 
 Till with its Load her plenteous Table bend. 
 Then to the Roofs the fwelling Notes (hall rife, 
 Pierce the glad Air and gain upon the Skies, 
 While Eafe and Rapture fpreads itfelf around, 
 And diftant Hills roll back the charming Sound. 
 P H i L L i s. 
 
 Not this will lure me, for I'd have you know 
 This Night to feaft with Corydon I go : 
 To Night his Reapers bring the gather'd Grain, 
 Home to his Barns, and leave the naked Plain : 
 Then Beef and Cole worts, Beans and Bacon too, 
 And the Plumb-pudding of delicious Hue, 
 Sweet-fpiced Cake, and Apple-pies good Store, 
 Deck the brown Board j who can defire more ? 
 His Flute and Tabor too Amyntor brings, 
 And while he plays foft Amaryllis fmgs. 
 Then ftrive no more to win a iimple Maid, 
 From her lov'd Cottage and her filent Shade. 
 
 D 3 Lee
 
 38 P o fi M s on federal Occafions. 
 
 Let Pbillis ne'er, ah never let her rove 
 From her firft Virtue and her humble Grove. 
 Go feek fome Nymph that equals your Degree, 
 And leave Content and Corydon for me. 
 
 An EPISTLE to a LADY, 
 
 IN vain, dear Madam, yes in vain you ftrive j 
 Alas ! to make your lucklefs Mir a thrive. 
 For Tychq and Copernicus agree, 
 No golden Planet bent its Rays on me. 
 
 'Tis twenty Winters, if it is no more ; 
 To fpeak the Truth it may be Twenty four. 
 As many Springs their 'pointed Space have run, 
 Since Mira'% Eyes firft open'd on the Sun. 
 'Twas when the Flocks on flabby Hillocks lye, 
 And the cold Fifhes rule the watry Sky : 
 But tho' thefe Eyes the learned Page explore, 
 And turn the popd'rous Volumes o'er and o'er.
 
 P o E M s on fe-veral Occdfions. 39 
 
 I find no Comfort from their Syftems flow, 
 Bat am dejected more as more I know. 
 Hope mines a while, but like a Vapour flics, 
 (The Fate of all the Curious and the Wife) 
 For, Ah ! cold Saturn triumph'd on that Day, 
 And frowning Sol deny'd his golden Ray. 
 
 You fee I'm learned, and I mew't the more, 
 That none may wonder when they find me poor. 
 Yet Mir a dreams, as flumbring Poets may, 
 And rolls in Treafures tilt the breaking Day : 
 While Books and Pictures in bright Order rife, 
 And painted Parlours fwim before her Eyes : 
 Till the {brill Clock impertinently rings, 
 And the foft Vifions move their mining Wings : 
 
 Then Mira wake?, her Pictures are no more, 
 
 And through her Fingers flides the vanim'd Ore. 
 Convinc'd too foon, her Eye unwilling falls 
 On the blue Curtains and the dufty Walls : 
 She wakes, alas ! to Bufinefs and to Woes, 
 To fweep her Kitchen, and to mend her Clothes. 
 
 D 4 Btt
 
 40 P o E M s on feveral Occafions. 
 
 But fee pale Sicknefs with her languid Eyes, 
 At whofe Appearance all Delufion flies : 
 The Woild recedes, its Vanities decline, 
 Clorinda's Features feem as faint as mine : 
 Gay Robes no more the aking Sight admires, 
 Wit grates the Ear, and melting Mufick tires : 
 Its wonted Pleafures with each Senfe decay, 
 Books pleafe no more, and Paintings fade away : 
 The fliding Joys in mifty Vapours end : 
 Yet let me ftill, Ah ! let me grafp a Friend : 
 And when each Joy, when each lov'd Object flies, 
 Be you the laft that leaves my doling Eyes. 
 
 But how will this difmantl'd Soul appear, 
 When flrip'd of all it lately held fo dear, 
 Forc'd from its Prifon of expiring Clay, 
 Afraid and ihiv'ring at the doubtful Way. 
 
 Yet did thefe Eyes a dying Parent fee, 
 Loos'd from all Cares except a Thought for me, 
 Without a Tear refign her fhort'ning Breath, 
 And dauntlefs meet the ling'ring Stroke of Death. 
 
 Then
 
 POEMS on federal Qccafions. 41 
 
 Then at th' Almighty's Sentence mall I mourn : 
 " Of Daft thou art, to Duft malt thou return." 
 Or mail I wifh to ftretch the Line of Fate, 
 That the dull Years may bear a longer Date, 
 To mare the Follies of fucceeding Times 
 With more Vexations and with deeper Crimes : 
 Ah no tho' Heav'n brings near the final Day, 
 For fuch a Life I will not, dare not pray $ 
 But let the Tear for future Mercy flow, 
 And fall refign'd beneath the mighty Blow. 
 
 Nor I alone for through the fpacious Ball, 
 
 With me will Numbers of all Ages fall : 
 And the fame Day that Mira yields her Breath, 
 Thoufands may enter through the Gates of Death. 
 
 7/k Proclamation of APOLLO. 
 
 MAY Artemifia hear my Strain, 
 I quote the Sages once again : 
 And fhou'd you ask the Reafon why, 
 " Old Authors fib, and fo may I.*" 
 
 Proceed
 
 42 POEMS on fever al Occafans. 
 
 Proceed we then Old Authors fay, 
 
 Apollo once made Holiday, 
 And call'd the Brethren of the Quill, 
 To feaft upon his tuneful Hill, 
 From ev'ry Nook and ev'ry Wind : 
 They came, for who wou'd ftay behind ? 
 Great was the Crowd, as may be guefs'd : 
 Side grew to Side, and Back to Breaft, 
 Till the Imperial Prince of Song, 
 Who fearing fomething might be wrong, 
 Sent forth a Troop with Caps and Spears, 
 Much like Parnafflan Granadiers, 
 With furly Eyes and four Faces, 
 To part the Crowd and give 'em Places. 
 Now I have quite forgot, I fear, 
 What Names the People gave 'em there 
 
 Amongft the Mufes But I trow 
 
 Men call 'em Criticks here below. 
 Now when at laft thefe fage Reformers, 
 Had drove the Crew to Heaps and Corners, 
 They call'd them out by two and three, 
 And fet 'em in a due Degree, 
 
 That
 
 POEMS on feveral Qccafions. 43 
 
 That each his proper Place fhou'd know, 
 On Laurel Benches all a-row. 
 
 Now you may think they all were happy, 
 As Drunkard o'er his Jug of Nappy, 
 That ev'ry Brow was fmooth and clear, 
 But firft I beg you'd lend an Ear: 
 The Queen of Love to grace the Feaft, 
 Had fent a thouland Pipes at leaft 
 Of fmiling Neftar neat and fine, 
 To whet the Guefts before they dine : 
 But when the Cups had walk'd about, 
 Some furly Bards began to pout, 
 And wrinkle up their tiny Faces, 
 And fret and fume about their Places : 
 Their giddy Brains began to glow, 
 Each thinking he was plac'd too low : 
 This vow'd to make all Creatures fear him, 
 And That cou'd bear no Creature near him. 
 One feem'd to talk with mighty Spirit, 
 Of baffl'd Worth and flighted Merit: 
 Another was in Paffion hurl'd, 
 And curs'd the ftupid fenfekfs World, 
 
 Till
 
 44 P o E M s on fever at Occafions. 
 
 Till Choler fwell'd in ev'ry Vein, 
 And each no longer cou'd contain, 
 But fairly went, as I'm a Sinner, 
 To Loggerheads before their Dinner. 
 
 jfpollo was offended quite, 
 And all the Mufes in a Fright : 
 Then thunder'd out a Proclamation. 
 " O Ye And all the rhiming Nation, 
 " Our King commands you to be ftill, 
 <c And not difturb the facred Hill. 
 " If fome refilling to be quiet, 
 <f Shall dare to aid this lawlefs Riot : 
 " The Statutes of Parnajfian tender 
 " The Stocks to ev'ry fuch Offender. 
 ce At this the Riot feem'd to ceafe, 
 " And with a murmur funk in Peace : 
 <c When all 'was filent to a Man, 
 tc Again the Herald thus began. 
 
 " Directed by your Prince I bring 
 " This MefTage from the laurel'd King, 
 " Who long has view'd with filent Woe 
 <c Your Quarrels in the World below, 
 
 " How
 
 POEMS on feveral Occaftons. 45 
 
 " How moral and fatirick Wits 
 " And jingling Pedants Rhiming Cits, 
 " The gay, the empty, and the full, 
 " The foft, the froward, and the dull, 
 " Wage endlefs Wars with one another, 
 ce And ev'ry Blockhead hates his Brother. 
 " But while you take a world of pains 
 " In pelting at each other's Brains ; 
 <c While Envy fwells the little Mind, 
 " You ne'er confider that you find 
 " (To fee you in the Tempeft hurl'd) 
 u Diver fion for the laughing World ; 
 
 " And fo you break all moral Rules 
 " To grow the Mocking-flock of Fools : 
 
 <e But now Apollo begs you will 
 
 " Sufpend your Quarrels, and be ftill. 
 
 " Let Wits (hake Hands with one another, 
 
 " And ev'ry Dunce embrace his Brother, 
 
 " From batter'd Bards with ne'er a Shoe 
 
 " To thofe who ftrut about with two ; 
 
 " From Poets doom'd to whittle Sticks, 
 
 " To Rhimers in a Coach and Six. 
 
 " Let
 
 46 P o E M s on feveral Occa/ions. 
 
 " Let none prefume to fret and fquabble, 
 tc Nor curfe the dirty rhiming Rabble : 
 " For fee the Beams of Pbabus ftrike 
 " The Meadows, Hills, and Dales alike : 
 " So mines the Mufe on ev'ry Creature, 
 " Who tags his humble Lines with Metre. 
 
 He faid The Children of the Bays 
 Sent up a Shout of mingled Praife, 
 Devoutly promifing to pay 
 Obedience to the Prince of Day ; 
 
 And now they fee the Tables fpread 
 
 With Dainties and Parnajjian Bread, 
 
 Whofe tiny Loaves were nicely white, 
 
 And no French Rolls were half fo light : 
 
 The firft bold Courfc was brought along 
 
 In Dimes made of Homer's Song. 
 
 Next Virgil on the Table mines, 
 
 And then fmooth Ovid's tender Lines. 
 
 The gay Defert exposed to view, 
 
 Of modern Authors not a few, 
 
 Heroicks in the midft prefide, 
 
 With Elegy on either Side : 
 
 Here
 
 POEMS on feveral Occafions. 47 
 
 Here through tranfparent Sonnets gleam 
 Whip-Syllabubs and fpiced Cream : 
 There loaded Epigrams appear, 
 And little Mottos clofe the Rear. 
 
 Now Dinner paft their jolly Souls, 
 Cut Capers to the Netfar Bowls, 
 Till ev'ry Bard had drank his fill, 
 And then they left the tuneful Hill. 
 But ere they part, the laurel'd King, 
 Extracted from a wond'rous Spring 
 A magick Bath of mighty Pow'r, 
 Whofe Virtues could in half an Hour 
 Make Proof againft fharp Satyr's Pain, 
 The Fibres of a Dunce's Brain ; 
 And give him Confidence to pufh 
 Through the broad World without a Blum. 
 
 Apollo next upon the Crew, 
 Beftow'd a Grey-goofe Quill or two, 
 With Ink that into Metre runs, 
 And charms againft the Fear of Duns. 
 This done difmifs'd 'em, as before, 
 With Sirs, your Servant, and no more.
 
 48 POEMS on feveral Occafions. 
 
 lie FALL of LUC I A. 
 
 * 
 
 LUCIA was fair and bright as rifing Day, 
 Sweet as Arabia, or the Buds of May j 
 Frefh as the Winds that fweep the dewy Hills, 
 Or Beds of Rofes wam'd by healthy Rills: 
 Whofe Soul was fofter than a trembling Dove, 
 Nor knew a Failing till fhe learn'd to love. 
 Nor Fraud nor Scandal to her Lips were known, 
 And thought each Bofom guiltlefs as her own. 
 Thus only arm'd with Innocence and Smiles, 
 She fell the Victim of a Tyrant's Wiles. 
 So loft from Shepherd and its mourning Dam, 
 Through fome lone Defart roves a ftragg'ling Lamb j 
 No Danger fears, but as he idly ftrays 
 Round ev'ry Bum the heedlefs Wanton plays ; 
 Till raging Wolves the beauteous Toy furround, 
 Or foaming Tigers rend the mofly Ground : 
 Then from his Heart the guiltlefs Purple flows, 
 A grateful Morfel to his hungry Foes : 
 
 Thus
 
 POEMS on feveral Occajions. 49 
 
 Thus wrap'd in Sorrows wretched Lucia lies, 
 Whofe Sighs ftill anfwer to her ftreaming Eyes. 
 And Damon ftill Ah ! faithlefs Damon cries, 
 No more thofe Lips like dewy Rofes glow ; 
 Her weary Lids no peaceful Slumbers know : 
 But left to flrike her penfive Breaft in vain, 
 And curfe the Author of her lading Pain. 
 Her Soul of Eafe has took its long Adieu : 
 Hear this, ye Nymphs ; but hear and tremble too, 
 Ye Fair that lanch in Pleafure's tempting Sea, 
 Though Fortune crowns you with a calmer Day, 
 And Joy's foft Gale falutes your nimble Oar : 
 Where Lucia's Fame was fhipwreck'd on the Shore, 
 Yet let Reflexion mark your gliding Days, 
 Nor drink too deeply in the Draught of Praife : 
 For Flatt'ry is " So fay the learned Schools, 
 " The Bane of Virgins and the Bait of Fools." 
 How happy me whofe purer Spirit knows, 
 No Thought lefs harmlefs than a Saint's Repofe,. 
 Whofe guiltlefs Charms purfue no greater End, 
 But to rejoice a Parent or a Friend ; 
 
 E Whofe
 
 50 POEMS on feveral Occafions. 
 
 Whofe Care it is her Paffions to control, 
 And keep the Steerage of a quiet Soul : 
 Then this mall grace her monumental Page, 
 " In Youth admir'd, and belov'd in Age. " 
 
 RUCIFIXION andR* E SURRECTION. 
 
 An ODE. 
 
 I. 
 
 WHAT means the reeling Earth? O why 
 Thefe Wonders in the dreadful Sky ? 
 The frighted Sun withdraws its Beams, 
 Deep Groans are heard and doleful Screams. 
 O fay, what this Convuliion means : 
 Afflided Nature with a Shriek replies, 
 A God expires, a mighty Saviour dies. 
 
 II. 
 
 The confcious Stars their Rays deny, 
 The Moon receives a crhnfon Dye. 
 The Temple confcious of its Fall, 
 Now (hakes its emblematick Wall. 
 
 The
 
 POEMS onfeveral Occafions. 5 1 
 
 The Ocean Magnates, and the Mountains bow, 
 And Angels weep that never, wept till now. 
 III. 
 
 Still tremble, Earth, and ftill, O Sky, 
 
 Thy ever-chearing Lamps deny : 
 
 Amaz'd ftill let the Ocean ftand, 
 
 But what remains for guilty Man ? 
 What Groans ? what Sorrows are for him decreed ? 
 For Man whofe Crimes have made Perfection bleed ? 
 IV. 
 
 But fee, O fee, the Sun returns ! 
 
 No more affli&ed Nature mourns ! 
 
 The Stars their vacant Orbs regain ! 
 
 And the Moon fheds a filver Beam ! 
 While heav'nly Voices warble in the Skies, 
 " Behold your Saviour from his Tomb arife. ! " 
 V. 
 
 While Saints attend the blefled Morn, 
 
 He rofe : The God in human Form, 
 
 A Form not made of vulgar Clay : 
 
 Which, tho' it flept, cou'd not decay ! 
 
 E 2 Hail,
 
 52 POEMS on feveral Occafions. 
 
 Hail, Mortals j Hail (tranfported Seraphs cry) 
 Redeem'd, and favour'd by the God moil high. 
 VI. 
 
 In Heav'n let Joys eternal flow, 
 
 And Mercy in the Worlds below ; 
 
 The Penitent mall Peace obtain, 
 
 And not a Tear fhall fall in vain. 
 Then join, ye Worlds, in one glad Chorus fing, 
 Praife to Meffiah, and th' Almighty King. 
 
 The Third Chapter of the Wifdom of 
 SOLOMON. 
 
 From the Firft to tie Sixth Verfe. 
 
 THUS fung the Man, for Wifdom longrenown'd, 
 What mean thefe Tears and mournful Numbers 
 
 round ? 
 
 Is Death the Caufe ? Ah ! then reftrain your Tears, 
 That flubborn Monarch nor regard nor hears, 
 And the bleft Shades for whom you vainly mourn, 
 To thefe dim Regions wou'd no more return, 
 
 Wrap'd
 
 POEMS on feveral Occafions. 5 3 
 
 Wrap'd in bright Viiions they no Ills endure, 
 From Sin, from Danger, and from Death fecure : 
 'Tis paft. The parting Struggles are no more, 
 They now are landed on the blifsful Shore, 
 Where no pale Fears nor fullen Sorrows dwell, 
 But Joys beyond what mortal Tongues can tell ? 
 Where fmiling Hope for ever blooms around, ' 
 And growing Pleafures that mall know no Bound. 
 
 When thoughtlefs Mortals by conftraint attend 
 On the lafl Moments of their parting Friend, 
 See the chang'd Features wear a deathful Hue, 
 The Temples water'd with a fainting Dew, 
 The Limbs that tremble with convulfive Pain : 
 Then ftand agaft the ignorant and vain, 
 Who miver at the feeming ftern Decree ; 
 But look no farther than their Eyes can fee, 
 The happy Soul glides unobferv'd away 
 To Worlds of Glory and eternal Day. 
 
 The Pains and Sorrows which the Virtuous know, 
 Which long had bid the Tears in fecret flow, 
 Shall not be loft nor bury'd in the Ground -, 
 But ferve to brighten their immortal Crown : 
 
 E 3 From
 
 54 POEMS on federal Occajions. 
 From that great Being they (hall find their Pay, 
 Who blefl the rifing and the clofmg Day. 
 
 When the pure Spirit from its Prifon flies, 
 How joy the Seraphs in their brighter Skies : 
 Around their Gueft the mining Guards attend, 
 And heav'njy Harps with heav'nly Voices blend. 
 
 ESSAY 0* HAPPINESS. 
 
 NOTHING, dear Madam, nothing is more 
 true, 
 
 Than a fhort Maxim much approv'd by you ; 
 The Lines are thefe : t We by Experience know 
 cc Within ourfelves exifts our Blifs or Woe. " 
 Tho' round our Heads the Goods of Fortune roll 5 
 Dazzle they may, but cannot chear the Soul. 
 Content, the Fountain of eternal Joy, 
 Can Riches purchafe, or can Want deftroy ? 
 No. Born of Heav'n, its Birth it will maintain, 
 No Slave to Power nor the Prize of Gain : 
 Say, who can buy what never yet was fold ? 
 No Wealth can bribe her, nor no Bonds can hold : 
 
 Some-
 
 POEMS on feveralOcca/ions. 5 5 
 
 Sometimes flie deigns to mine in lofty Halls, 
 Bat found more frequent in a Cottage Walls ; 
 Her Flight from thence too often is decreed, 
 Then Poverty is doubly curs'd indeed. 
 
 Content and Blifs, which differ but in Name, 
 Alike their Natures and their End the fame, 
 Faft bound together in eternal Chains. 
 This as the End The other, as the Means, 
 Will ne'er divide. But who enjoys the one, 
 Muft find the other ere the fetting Sun. 
 
 Then where ? Ah where do thefe fair Sifters fly ? 
 Beneath the northern or the fouthern Sky. 
 Courts do they love ? The Senate or the Town, 
 Or the ftill Village and the healthful Down. 
 Say, do they like Humilo's humble Veft, 
 Or the gay Diamonds on Belinda's Breaft. 
 To none of thefe, alas, are they confin'd, 
 But the ftill Bofom and the virtuous Mind. 
 
 E 4 See
 
 56 P o E M s on fever at Occafions. 
 
 See Glaro feated on his gilded Car, 
 Whofe flubborn Paffions wage continual War, 
 Who cannot call that ravag'd Heart his own, 
 Where Vice and Virtue ftruggle for the Throne, 
 See Rage appearing in that hoftile Frown : 
 Now Fears diffract him and now Pleafures drown, 
 Now turns to Heav'n with repentant Tears : 
 But the next Hour at his Chaplain fneers : 
 This day a Beaft, the next a reas'ning Man : 
 Behold him right, then envy, if you can, 
 Pale Ltvia too - Who pants beneath the weight 
 Of irkfom Jewels and afflicting State ; 
 Whofe Glafs and Pillow do her Time divide, 
 At once opprefs'd with Sicknefs and with Pride. 
 The fhapely Stays her aking Ribs confine, 
 And in her Ears the fparkling Pendents mine. 
 Yet not a Joy the tortur'd Wretch can feel, 
 Beyond Ixion on his rolling Wheel. 
 
 See refllefs Che, fond to be admir'd, 
 Of Joy impatient and as quickly tir'd, 
 
 Whea
 
 POEMS on feveral Occafions. 57 
 
 When firft her Eye-lids open on the Day, 
 With eager hafte (he gobbles down her Tea, 
 And to the Park commands her rolling Wheels, 
 Yet iighs and wifhes for the rural Fields : 
 Then back to Cards and Company (he flies, 
 Then for the Charms of melting Mulick dies. 
 At Eve the Play, Aflembly, or the Ball : 
 She hates them fingly, yet wou'd grafp 'em all : 
 With languid Spirits and appal'd Defires, 
 She to her Clofet and her Book retires. 
 But Solitude offends the fprightly Fair ; 
 Reading me loaths, and Thought me cannot bear. 
 Then to her Chamber and her Couch me flies, 
 Where gilded Chariots fvvim before her Eyes. 
 In vain for Sleep (he folds her weary Arms, 
 Who wou'd be Cloe to enjoy her Charms ? 
 
 i 
 
 In yonder Path Sir Thrifty we behold, 
 
 With Beaver drooping and with Garments old -, 
 Whofe dirty Linen mews no Mark of Pride, 
 Nor fparkling Laces deck his (lender Side j 
 
 Whofo
 
 $$ POEMS on feveral Occ a/ions. 
 
 Whofe heavy Soul a faucy Wit wou'd fwear, 
 
 Was made exactly to his eafy Chair. 
 
 Whofe taftelefs Senfes ask for nothing new, 
 
 Whofe Meals are temp'rate and whofe pleafures few : 
 
 " Is this Man bleft ? He may be fo. But when ? 
 
 <c Why, when his Thoufands rife to number ten, 
 
 f- 1 From ten to twenty, and from twenty Hold, 
 
 <c To one round Million of bright Sterling Gold ; " 
 
 Not there we flop, for Avarice will crave 
 
 Till it mall meet with jts grand Cure, the Grave. 
 
 Lavinia's bleft with all that Man defires, 
 With Eyes that charm andReafon that infpires; 
 Youth, Wealth, and Friends, to gild her fhining Days, 
 The poor Man's Bleffing and the rich Man's Praife. 
 With Judgment found and touch 'd by no extreme, 
 Speech gently flowing and a Soul ferene, 
 For ever pleafing and for ever true, 
 By all admir'd, envy'd by a few : 
 ^ Then me is happy, tho' beneath the Sky, 
 " Hold, not fo hafty : Let her Husband die/ 
 
 Then
 
 POEMS on feveral Occafions. 59 
 
 Then who are happy, 'twill be hard to fay, 
 Since undifturb'd it feldom lafts a Day : 
 For who in Smiles beholds the Morning Sun, 
 May weed before his (hort-liv'd Journey's done. 
 All Pleafures fatiate and all Objedls cloy 3 
 We crave, we grafp, but loath the tafted Joy : 
 Nor Wealth nor Beauty, Friend's norFortune's Smile, 
 Can blefs our Moments, tho' they may beguile : 
 Nor Wit with Happinefs can often grow, 
 A helplefs Friend, if not an arrant Foe. 
 
 Where then ? O where fhall Happinefs be found ? 
 'Say, fhall we fearch the rolling World around, 
 On borrow'd Pinions travel through the Sky, 
 Or to the Centre drive our piercing Eye ? 
 Ceafe, bufy Fool : Is Happinefs thy Care ? 
 Pierce thy own Breaft, and thou wilt find it there : 
 Drive thence the Paffions, and the Guilt expel, 
 And call fair Virtue to the polifh'd Cell. 
 Call foft Content with all her fmiling Train ; 
 Peace for thy Health, and Patience for thy Pain : 
 
 Then
 
 60 P o E M s on feveral Occafions. 
 Then not till then, O Man, thy Heart mall know 
 Blifs fo ador'd, but feldom found below. 
 
 An E S S A Y on H O P E. 
 
 TO you who ne'er the willing Verfe refufe, 
 Thus fings an humble but a grateful Mufe : 
 Our Theme is Hope but of a difFrent kind, 
 The Bane or BlefTmg of the fubjecT: Mind j 
 This dawning Joy that to the Soul was given, 
 As a ihort Earneft of its future Heav'n : 
 To blame is not the Purpofe of my Song, 
 But warn our Sifters not to place it wrong. 
 Shun trifling Hope, that bids your Fancy roll, 
 The conftant Torment of a reftlefs Soul : 
 For two pale Handmaids are for ever near, 
 Sick Difappointment and the fecret Tear : 
 'Tis this that makes the reftlefs Heart repine, 
 Beneath the Treafures of an Indian Mine 
 Much Fortune gives Yet, Give us more, they cry, 
 And fome new Profpecl lures the dazzPd Eye : 
 
 Like
 
 POEMS on feveral Occ a/ions. 61 
 Like wanton Babes they reach at fomething more, 
 And drop the Gewgaws which they held before. 
 
 See the puff'd Tradefman ftrut before his Door, 
 Whole Birth was humble and whofe Fortune poor ; 
 Yet you may fee his roving Thoughts depend 
 On fome bold Venture or fome wealthy Friend, 
 Till the loft Bankrupt drops into the Jaw 
 Of pale Difcredit and voracious Law. 
 
 The grave-fac'd Student better learn'd than fed 
 With Store of Logick in his aking Head, 
 Sees pleafing Pictures in his Bofom drawn, 
 The Dean's foft Cufhion and the Bifhop's Lawn : 
 He dines with Lords and takes the highefl Place, 
 And weds a Countefs, Coufin to his Grace. 
 But foon his Heart the loft Delufion mourns : 
 And the proud Prelate to a Curate turns 
 On fome dark Dome with thirty Pounds per-ann, 
 He fips his Liquors in a pewter Cann. 
 
 Young
 
 6 2, POEMS on federal Qccafions. 
 
 Young Seizum, fated to diftracl: the Law, 
 Who talks of Men and Books he never faw, 
 Now ftruts a Counfellor, a Serjeant now, 
 While the quick Turns elate his fcornful Brow. 
 Behold the Judge in that commanding Frown : 
 See then : juft then he ftrok'd his Ermin'd Gown. 
 Cecilia foft, whofe pleafing Features mine 
 Bright in their Wane, and beauteous in Decline, 
 Still to her eyes recalls the fcatter'd Darts, 
 Still hopes the Conqueft of a thoufand Hearts. 
 Care flalks around : Vexation hovers nigh ; 
 Her Friends bewail her, and her Children cry t 
 Her wounded Ears their hateful Whinings tire, 
 Whofe Fancy dwells upon a wealthy 'Squire : 
 Wrap'd in foft Vifions on her Couch me lies j 
 Knights, Peers, and Garters fwim before her Eyes. 
 She rides in triumph through her Husband's Fields, 
 And hears the rattling of her Chariot Wheels, 
 Till her charm'd Senfes will contain no more; 
 Then flies the Villon through its Iv'ry Door, 
 
 See
 
 POEMS on feveral Occajions. 6 $ 
 
 See Acamas with Time's fad Burden bow, 
 Guilt in his Breaft and Wrinkles on his Brow j 
 Yet points out Che for his charming Bride, 
 And fain would tempt her to his frozen Side : 
 At Chapel where foft Grace and Virtue calls, 
 And pale Vice trembles at the facred Walls ; 
 Where Confcience warns the guilty Wretch to pray, 
 And beg a Bleffing on his clofing Day. 
 The Preacher reads : But Acamas the while 
 Grins at his Cloe with a ghaftly Smile. 
 In their red Orbs his waiting Eye-balls roll, 
 And charming Cloe rufhes on his Soul : 
 But Death will teach the filver-bearded Fool 
 Some other Leflbn in his gloomy School. 
 
 Blank Difappointment with its Train attends 
 In Delia's Heart, if Delta's Heart depends 
 On Si/ia's Tongue fo aptly hung with Guile, 
 On Cynthia's Friendfhip or on Clara's Smile : 
 Such courtly Friends are like the mow'ry Bow, 
 Ting'd with falfe Luilre by Reflexion glow i
 
 64 P o M s 0# feveral Qcc a/tons. 
 Like its faint Rays they hardly lafl an Hour, 
 Loft in a Cloud or melted in a Show'r. 
 
 If trifling Hope has any room to plead, 
 'Tis that where Nature's fimple Didates lead : 
 So the wet Hind, who travels o'er the Plain 
 Through the cold Mire and affiiding Rain j 
 Tho' his low Roofs with trickling Show'rs run, 
 May hope next Morn to fee the chearful Sun : 
 Or when keen Hunger at the ev'ning Tide 
 Drives home the Shepherd to his ruftick Bride, 
 His honeft Reafon haply might not ft ray, 
 Tho' he fhould dream of Dumpling all the way. 
 
 See fad JEmilia doom'd by fatal Vows 
 To the harm Ufage of a Tyrant Spoufe, 
 To fee his Miftrefs in her Woes rejoice, 
 Her Fortune wafted on his guilty Choice, 
 To bear Reproaches doubled on her Ear, 
 Yet only anfwer with a filent Tear. 
 Tho' patient Wives muft wait the Fate's good time; 
 Yet (he, I think, may hope without a Crime. 
 
 But
 
 POEMS on feveral Occafions. 65 
 
 But the grand Hope that yields perpetual Joy, 
 No trifles gave, no trifles can deftroy $ 
 With Mercy from the bleft Abode it came, 
 Its Birth Celeftial and its End the fame ; 
 That bids our Days in one fmooth Tenor roll, 
 Its task to chear and harmonize the Soul. 
 On fmarting Want it pours a healing Balm, 
 Makes Toil feem pleafant and Affliction calm. 
 
 The MORAL VISION. 
 
 TYRANN I C K Winter's Iron Reign was done, 
 And the foftTwinsreceiv'd the radiant Sun; 
 The chearful Earth appear'd in vernal Pride, 
 And the clear Waves did more ferenely glide : 
 Kind Zephyrs play'd around the waving Trees, 
 While op'ning Rofes caught the welcome Breeze. 
 
 Amid thefe Scenes beneath a Maple Shade, 
 Sat carelefs Mir a on her Elbow laid, 
 
 White
 
 66 POEMS on federal Occafeons^. 
 
 While froiick Fancy led the ufual Tram 
 
 Of gaudy Phantoms through her cheated Brain : 
 
 Till Slumber feiz'd upon her thoughtful Breaft, 
 
 And the ftill Spirits funk in balmy Reft : 
 
 But while her Eyes had bid the World farewel, 
 
 Thus Mira dream'd, and thus her Dreams we tell ; 
 
 A feeming Nymph, like thofe of Dian's Train, 
 
 Came fwiftly tripping o'er the flow'ry Plain, 
 
 Whofe fmiling Face was as the Morning fair, 
 
 A filver Fillet ty'd her flaxen Hair, 
 
 A golden Zone her lovely Bofom bound, 
 
 And her green Robe hung carelefs on die Ground. 
 
 Sleep, happy Mortal, with a Smile (he cries, 
 
 And turn'd on Mira her far-beaming Eyes. 
 
 Still o'er thy own aerial Mountains flray, 
 
 And in bright Vifions flumber out the Day 5 
 
 With gaudy Scenes delude thy dazzl'd Mind, 
 
 Yet thou muft wake and leave 'em all behind : 
 
 Yes, thou fhalt drop from that enchanted Sky, 
 
 And wake to Wifdom with a weeping Eye, 
 
 While in a Mift the (Lining Profpeds end; 
 
 Then hear, O Mira, thy immortal Friend. 
 
 Recall
 
 POEMS on federal Occafans. 67 
 
 Recall thy wand' ring Thoughts,and make 'em dwell 
 In the fmall Limits of their native Cell. 
 To thine own Heart confine thy chiefeft Care, 
 For Mira y know, thy Joys are planted there : 
 And as you manage and improve the Soil, 
 'Twill punim your Neglect, or pay your Toil j 
 Here let your Views and your Ambition reft, 
 To reign the Queen of a well-govern'd Breaft, 
 This Point fecur'd, let Hoay'n diipofe the reft. 
 Yet you may ask for what your State requires, 
 But not the Gewgaws your Caprice deiires : 
 As thus, { O keep me from the reach of Pain, 
 c From meagre Famine and her mournful Train : 
 c Let not Reproach afTault my wounded Ears, 
 c Nor let my Soul behold a Friend in Tears : 
 
 * Secure from Noife, let my ftill Moments run, 
 
 * And ftill be chearful as the rifing Sun : 
 
 4 Or if a Gloom my trembling Heart invades, 
 ' Ah ! may it vanifh with the nightly Shades 
 c Through the craz'd Walls : O may not Reafon fly ? 
 c But if it does then let its Manfion, die : 
 
 F 2 Let
 
 68 POEMS on federal Occafions. 
 
 * Let not Remorfe of Guilt the certain Pay, 
 ' Blot my clear Sun nor ftain its parting Ray : 
 Give me a lively but a guiltlefs Mind, 
 ' A Body healthful and a Soul refign'd. 
 
 Thus far, O Mira y thou may ft ask of Heav'n, 
 How blefs'd the Mortal to whom thele are giv'n : 
 Jf fuch thy Lot, let Kings enjoy their Crowns, 
 Their pageant State and arbitrary Frowns : 
 Who, tho' encircPd by their mining Slaves, 
 Intriguing Friends and well diflembl'd Knaves, 
 Are only wretched Idols plac'd on high, 
 To bear the Rage of a tempefluous Sky : 
 And while the Storms around his Temples blow, 
 His fawning Servants fafely fneer below : 
 But now the Sun brings on the Noon of Day, 
 Rife, Mira, rife and mun the fcorching Ray : 
 This faid, no more appear'd the beauteous Maid, 
 And Mira waking found a lonely Shade.
 
 POEMS on federal Occafions. 69 
 
 SPRAYER for the YEAR, 1745. 
 
 A L MIGHTY Wifdom, atwhofcNod 
 '** The Stars fliall ceafe to mine, 
 Great Nature's Father, Guide, and God, 
 O let me call thee mine, 
 
 Yet not for me, and me alone, 
 
 Thy Mercies I implore : 
 No, let that Blifs to all be known, 
 
 That tremble and adore, 
 
 Now Fear, that makes the Sorrows flow 
 
 Ev'n from the Infant's Eyes, 
 O'er-whelms in one promifcuous Woe 
 
 The Ignorant and Wife. 
 
 Then hear, O hear, thy Servants cry, 
 
 We beg thy faving Hand : 
 To whom but Heav'n fliou'd we apply, 
 
 To raife a drooping Land ! 
 
 F 3 Be
 
 yo POEMS on fever al Occafions. 
 
 Be thou the Guard of helplefs Age, 
 The wretched Orphan's Friend : 
 
 O fmooth the Face of hoftile Rage, 
 And fpare its purple End. 
 
 Reftrain the Hand of threat'ning Pride, 
 Affwage the cruel Breaft : 
 
 Teach Mercy to the Viftor Side, 
 And Patience to the reft. 
 
 And when the Sword of Conqueft mall 
 The trembling Wretch arraign, 
 
 Let Juftice guide the equal Scale, 
 Nor fwerve the fleady Beam. 
 
 Preferve the merciful and kind 
 From Violence and Pain : 
 
 And let the meek and gentle 
 Rejoice, and not complain. 
 
 Nor
 
 POEMS on fever al Occafiom. 7 1 
 
 Nor let the barb'rous Steel invade 
 
 The Breaft of hoary Age : 
 Nor give the unrefifting Babe 
 
 A Prey to purple Rage. 
 
 Amongft un-number'd Worlds if I 
 
 Am worth my Maker's Care, 
 Then let me live and let me die 
 
 Unwounded by Defpair. 
 
 Tho' Want or Peril, Pain or Death, 
 
 Affeult this feeble Clay, 
 Let Hope attend my lateft Breath 
 
 And chear the gloomy Way. 
 
 Preferve my Parent and my Friend 
 
 From Danger, Guilt or Shame : 
 In Peace their chearful Days extend 
 
 To praife thy holy Name. 
 
 Forgive the Errors of my Youth, 
 If in my Youth I fall: 
 
 F 4 Or
 
 72 P o E M s on fever at Occafions. 
 
 Or teach my Age thy faving Truth, 
 O hear me when I call. 
 
 Thou mighty Lord of all above 
 
 And all beneath the Sun, 
 Thy Servant's humble Suit approve $ 
 
 If not, thy Will be 4one. 
 
 D A v i D 's Complaint ', ii Samu el, clap. i. 
 
 MOURN, Judab, mourn beneath the filent 
 Sky, 
 
 And pierce the Deferts with thy midnight Cry. 
 See Zion, confcious of her failing Powers, 
 Heaves from herBafe and makes the nodding Bowers. 
 For their loft Sires orphan'd Babes complain, 
 And Matrons ftrike their widow'd Breads in vain j 
 From Street to Street the howling Mourners fly, 
 Fear on their Brows and Horror in their Eye. 
 For why, her Peers are wafh'd with purple Gore : 
 Her Princes and her Monarch is no more : 
 
 Whom
 
 POEMS on federal Occafions. 73 
 
 Whom not the facred Diadem cou'd fhield, 
 
 But ferv'd to fwell the Horrors of the Field. 
 
 But why, amongft the Heathen doom'd to fall ? 
 
 Is this, alas, the End of mighty Saul? 
 
 Mourn, mourn, in Silence left Philiftia hear, 
 
 Nor let our Foes behold the ftreaming Tear. 
 
 But O my Friend (Ah there my Sorrows fwell) 
 
 Deny'd the Bleffing of a fad Farewel ? 
 
 Whofjb ruddy Cheeks confefs'd their early Prime, 
 
 Nor his fmooth Brows had felt the Stroke ofTime. 
 
 He was my Soul's beft Pleafure while alive, 
 
 And is he blafted ? then do I furvive ? 
 
 Ah no, 'tis Deajth and aggravated Woe. 
 
 O fay, my Heart, canft thou fuftain the Blow ? 
 
 Ye Nations, mourn if fuch a thing cou'd be, 
 
 Till Nature too fhou'd learn to grieve, like me : 
 Ye fmiling Dames, your gaudy Robes refign, 
 And fuit your Garments and your Griefs to mine. 
 Go, hide your flighted Beauties from the Sun, 
 While down your Cheeks the ftreaming Sorrows run. 
 Still let your Eye-balls wafte their humid Store, 
 And ftill repeat Your Monarch is no more ! 
 
 Be
 
 74 POEMS on feveral Occafons. 
 Be thou, Gilboa, wrap'd in endlefs Night, 
 Nor let thy Hills behold the Beams of Light. 
 Let the gay Sun to thee his Rays deny, 
 While rattling Tempefts o'er thy Borders fly. 
 There Judab's Chief lay proftrate on the Ground, 
 And there my Friend receiv'd the mortal Wound. 
 
 ESSAY on FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 O Artemijia+ 'Tis to her we fmg,. 
 
 For her once more we touch the founding String, 
 'Tis not to Cytbera's Reign nor Cupid's Fires, 
 But facred Friendihip that our Mufe infpires. 
 A Theme that fuits Mmilids pleaiing Tongue : 
 So to the Fair Ones I devote my Song. 
 
 The Wife will feldom credit all they hear, 
 Tho' faucy Wits Ihou'd tell them with a Sneer, 
 That Womens Friendfhips, like a certain Fly, 
 Are hatch'd i'th Morning and at Ev'ning die. 
 'Tis true, our Sex has been from early Time 
 A conftant Topick for Satirick Rhyme ; 
 
 Nor
 
 POEMS on fever al Qccafi&m. 75 
 
 Nor without Reafon fince we're often found, 
 Or loft in Paflion, or in Pleafures drown'd : 
 And the fierce Winds that bid the Ocean r,Qll> 
 Are lefs inconftant than a Woman's Soul : 
 Yet fome there are who keep the mod'rate Way, 
 Can think an Hour, and be cairn a Day : 
 Who ne'er were known to ftart into a Flame, 
 Turn Pale or tremble at a lofing Game. 
 Run Cbke\ Shape or De&a\ Features down, 
 Or change Complexion at Cetinda's Gown : 
 But ftill ferene, compaffionate and kiad, 
 Walk through Life's Circuit with au equal Mifld. 
 
 Of all Companions I would choofe to ilmn 
 Such, whofe blunt Truths are like a burfting Gun ? 
 Who in a Breath count all your Follies o'er, 
 And dole their Lectures with a mirthful Roar :' 
 But Reafon here will prove the fafeft Guide, 
 Extremes are dang'rous plac'd on either Side. 
 A Friend too foft will hardly prove lincere ; 
 The Wit's inconflant, and the Learn'd fevere. 
 
 Good-
 
 76 POEMS on fever al Occafions. 
 
 Good-Breeding, Wit, and Learning, all confpire 
 To charm Mankind and make the World admire : 
 Yet in a Friend but ferve an under Part, 
 The main Ingredient is an honeft Heart : 
 By this can Ursula all our Souls fubdue 
 Which wanting, this, not Sytvza's Charms, can do. 
 
 Now let the Mufe (who takes no Courtier's Fee) 
 
 Point to her Friend- and future Ages fee 
 
 (If this mall live 'till future Ages be) 
 
 One Line devoted to Fidelia's Praife, 
 
 The lov'd Companion of my early Days : 
 
 Whoufe harmlefs Thoughts are fprightly as her Eyes, 
 
 By Nature chearful, and by Nature wife. 
 
 To have them laft, the focial Laws decree ; 
 We choofe our Friend{hips in the fame degree : 
 What mighty Pleafure, if we might prefume, 
 To ftrut with Freedom in Arvida's Room, 
 Or mare the Table what fupreme Delight ? 
 With fome proud Dutchefs or a icornful Knight, 
 
 TQ
 
 POEMS on fever "al Occafions. 77 
 
 To fit with formal and aflenting Face ? 
 For who mall dare to contradict her Grace ? 
 
 Our free-born Nature hates to be confm'd, 
 Where State and Power check the fpeaking Mind ; 
 Where heavy Pomp and fullen Form withholds 
 That chearful Eafe and Sympathy of Souls. 
 
 But yet the Soul whate'er its Partner do, 
 Muft lift its Head above the bafer Crew. 
 Celeflial Friendship with its nicer Rules, 
 Frequents not Dunghills nor the Clubs of Fools. 
 It asks, to make this Union foft and long, 
 A Mind fufceptible, and Judgment ftrong ; 
 And then a Tafte : But let that Tafte be giv'n 
 By mighty Nature and the Stamp of Heav'n : 
 PofTeft of thefe, the juftly temper'd Flame 
 Will glow inceffant, and be ftill the lame : 
 Not mov'd by Sorrow, Sicknefs, or by Age 
 To fullen Coldnefs or diftemper'd Rage. 
 The Soul unftain'd with Envy or with Pride, 
 Pleas'd with itfelf and all the World befide, 
 
 Unmov'd
 
 7 8 POEMS on feveral Occafions. 
 
 Unmov'd can fee gilt Chariots whirling by, 
 Or view the wretched with a melting Eye, 
 Difcern a Failing and forgive it too : 
 Such, Artemfiti, we may find in you. 
 
 Be feidom four, or your Friends will fty 
 From the hung Forehead and the fcornful Eyt : 
 Nor, like Aurelia, in the Morning kind, 
 And foft as Summer or the weftern Wind : 
 But round ere night her giddy Paffions wheel, 
 She'll clap the Door againft your parting Heel. 
 An even Temper will be fure to pleafe, 
 With cool Reflexion and a chearful Eafe. 
 
 But fee Armida's unfrequented Rooms, 
 How vainly fpread with Carpets and Perfumes : 
 All fhun her like the Cocatrice's Beams, 
 And for no other Reafon but her loath'd Extremes. 
 To-day more holy than a cloifterM Nun, 
 Almoft an Atheift by to-morrow's Sun : 
 Now fpeaks to Heaven with a lifted Eye : 
 Now to her Footman, You're a Rogue, and lye., 
 
 O
 
 POEMS on feveral Occafans. 79 
 
 O fay, from what ftrange Principles begin 
 Thefe odd Compounds of Piety and Sin ? 
 A fickly Fair may fome Excufes find, 
 (What grieves the Body will affect the Mind) 
 But not the Creatures who have learn'd to fcreen 
 Their own Ill-nature in the name of Spleen. 
 What the black Mifts afflict the aking Skull, 
 The Spirits tremble and the Heart be dull : 
 Have you from thence a Licence to offend, 
 Affront a Patron or abufe a Friend ? 
 And ape the Manners of a furly Beaft, 
 Becaufe 'tis cloudy and the Wind's i'th' Eaft ? 
 
 But all have Failings, not the beft are 
 Or in a greater or a lefs Degree. 
 What follows then ? Forgive, or unforgiven 
 Expect no PafTage at the Gate of Heav'n. 
 Kind Nature gave, in Pity to Mankind, 
 This focial Virtue to the human Mind 
 This gives our Pleafures a more eafy Flow, 
 helps to blunt the Edge of fmarting Woe : 
 
 The
 
 So POEMS on feveral Qccafions. 
 
 The Soul's Relief, with Grief or Cares opprcft, 
 Is to difclofe them to a faithful Breaft ; 
 And then how lovely in a Friend appear, 
 The mournful Sigh and fympathizing Tear. 
 When changing Fortune with propitious Ray, 
 Gilds the brown Ev'ning or the fmiling Day > 
 The pleas'd Companion (hares the welcome Tide, 
 And wrap'd in Joy the happy Minutes glide. 
 
 Grave Authors differ^ Men of Senfe incline 
 This Way or that Opinions rarely join : 
 Their Thoughts will vary. Why ? Becaufe they're free, 
 But moft in this and only this agree ; 
 That our chief Task is feldom to offend, 
 And Life's great Bleffing a well-chofen Friend.
 
 P o E M s on fevcral Occafons. 8 1 
 
 MISTAKEN LOVER. 
 
 Q TREPHONthe fprightly and the gay, 
 ^-J Lov'd Celia frem and fair as May : 
 None (hone fo brilliant in the Mall, 
 The Court, th' AiTembly and the Ball 5 
 None bare at Wilts the laurePd Prize, 
 But Celia with the killing Eyes. 
 
 'Twas at the Drawing Room or Play, 
 (But which our Author cannot fay) 
 As Celia roll'd her Eyes around, 
 This Youth receiv'd a mortal Wound. 
 What fhou'd he do ? - " Commence the Beau, 
 " For Women oft are caught by Show." 
 The wounded Strephon now behold, 
 ! Array'd in Coat of Green and Gold, 
 (Of which we fomething might advance) 
 The Sleeve was a-la-mode dc France. 
 
 G We
 
 82 POEMS on federal Occafions. 
 
 We leave it here and hafte to tell, 
 
 How fmartly round his Temples fell 
 
 The modim Wig. Yet we prefume, 
 
 More graceful was the fcarlet Plume : 
 Tho' fome rude Soldier (doom'd to bear 
 The Southern and the Northern Air, 
 And walk through ev'ry kind of Weather) 
 Might jeer at Strephon's fcarlet Feather ; 
 And tell us fuch fliou'd ne'er be wore, 
 Unlefs you fought at Marion-moor. 
 
 His Perfon finim'd, now the Care 
 Is to addrefs and gain the Fair : 
 He purchas^ all the Songs of Note, 
 And got the Lover's Cant by rote : 
 He brib'd her Footmen and her Maids, 
 And with his nightly Serenades 
 Her vaulted Roofs and Gardens rung: 
 For her he ogled, danc'd and fung $ 
 Was often at her Toilet feen, 
 With Sonnets to the Papbian Queen :
 
 POEMS on fevtral Qccafiom* % 3 
 Then at her Feet dejected lying, 
 Praying, weeping, fighing, dying. 
 
 " Was Celia kind ? " It (hall be known : 
 D'ye think our Hearts are made of Stone ? 
 Yes, me was kind, and to proceed, 
 The Writings drawn and Friends agreed : 
 Grave Hymen's facred Knot was ty'd, 
 And Celia Fair comrnenc'd a Bride. 
 
 But I {hall pafs the Wedding-day, < 
 
 Nor flay to paint the Ladies gay, 
 Nor Splendor of the lighted Hall, 
 The Feaft, the Fiddles, nor the Ball. 
 
 A lovely Theme ! 'Tis true, but then 
 
 We'll leave it to a fofter Pen : 
 
 Thofe tranfient Joys will fade too foon, 
 
 We'll therefore skip the Hony-Moon. 
 
 'Twas half a Year It might be more, 
 Since Celia brought her mining Store, 
 
 G 2 Five
 
 84 P o E M s on Jeveral Occafions. 
 Five thoufand Pounds of Sterling clear, 
 To blefs the Maniion of her Dear. 
 
 Some tell us Wives their Beauties lofe, 
 When they have fpoiPd their bridal Shoes : 
 Some learned Cafuifts make it clear, 
 A Wife might pleafe for half a Year : 
 And others fay, her Charms will hold 
 As long as the fufpended Gold ; 
 But that her Bloom is foon decay'd, 
 And wither'd when her Fortune's paid. 
 
 Now which of thefe was Cetia's Cafe, 
 (Tho' all are common to her Race) 
 I mall not rack my Brains about, 
 But leave the Learn'd to pick it out. 
 
 This Husband, whimiical and gay, 
 Lov'd Mufkk, Mafquerades, and Play, 
 Was one of thofe mofl happy Elves, 
 That dote upon their charming Selves :
 
 POEMS on fevtral Occajlom. 85 
 
 Who hating dull domeftick Walls, 
 Fly here and there as Fancy calls 5 
 Still in purfuit of fomething new, 
 Nor even to their Vices true. 
 
 Miftaken Strepbon finds no more 
 His Celia charming as before : 
 Her Eyes ! Why, they have loft their Fire : 
 The Rofes on her Cheek expire. 
 Her Shape Tis alter'd ftrangely, fure ; 
 Her Voice no Mortal can endure. 
 
 Then to the Park where Claudia rolls 
 Her Eyes to fiih for (hallow Souls : 
 Or at the Play he muft appear, 
 For lovely Lindamine is there : 
 No mortal Bell fo fair as fhe, 
 If wretched Strephon was but free. 
 
 I'th' Country he deludes the Morn 
 With .Ringwood and the hunting Horn : 
 
 G 3 Perhaps
 
 86 POEMS on feveral Occafions. 
 
 Perhaps may with his Deareft dine, 
 Then hey for Company and Wine ; 
 Wine that wou'd make an Hermit gay, 
 With Mufick intermixed and Play. 
 For Tables and for Cards they call : 
 The Dice-box rattles in the Hall. 
 
 Now all are happy nor give o'er, 
 Till Watches point to Number Four : 
 Then fee the Face of dawning Day : 
 Here Lucy. " Where's your Lady, pray ? 
 " She's gone to reft. There let her be, 
 " Go make the crimfon Bed for me. " 
 All this a while in Silence pafs'd, 
 The Lady's Patience fail'd at kft. 
 
 One Morning (fo the Fates decree) 
 Alone was fitting he and (he : 
 Not yet arriv'd the roaring Band, 
 Nor Rake nor Coxcomb was at hand. 
 This bleft Occafion pleas'd the Fair, 
 And with a mild and chearful Air,
 
 P o E M s on feveral Occafiom. 8? 
 
 She thus began : " My Strephon fay, 
 " Why this dejected Face to day ? 
 " Why art thou always crofs and dull, 
 " Unlefs the noify Rooms are full ? 
 <f Black Difcontent and Anger lies 
 " Clofe lurking in thy fullen Eyes; 
 " Thofe Eyes that I With Sorrow fee 
 ? * Difgufted when they roll on me. 
 
 Here ceas'd the greatly injur'd Bride, 
 And Strephon with a Blufh reply'd : 
 " Why, Madam, I muft own that you, 
 " Have Merit, (give the De'l his due) 
 <e And was the Pleafure of my Life, 
 " Before you wore the Name of Wife : 
 <c But Ma'm, the Reafon was, I find, 
 ct That while a Lover I was blind : 
 " And now the Fault is not in me, 
 " Tis only this that I can fee. 
 I thought you once a Goddefs trim, 
 ' The Graces dwelt on ev'ry Limb.: 
 
 G 4 ' But
 
 88 PoEMs0tf feveral Oca/ions. 
 
 " But, Madam, if you e'er was fuch, ~" 
 
 < Methinks you're alter'd very much : 
 
 te As firft (I beg your Pardon tho') 
 
 " You hold your Head extremely low : 
 
 " And tho' your Shape is not awry, 
 
 " Your Shoulders ftand prodigious high : 
 
 c< Your curling Hair I durft have fwore, 
 
 ce Was blacker than the fable Moor : 
 
 " But now I find 'tis only brown, 
 
 " A Colour common through the Town : 
 
 " 'Tis true you're mighty fair But now 
 
 " I fpy a Freckle on your Brow ; 
 <e Your Lips I own are red and thin, 
 " But there's a Pimple on your Chin ; 
 " Befides your Eyes are gray. Alack ! 
 <{ 'Till now J always thought 'em black. 
 
 " Thus, Madam, I the Truth have told 5 
 '* 'Tis true, I thank you for your Gold 5 
 " But find in fearching of my Breaft, 
 cc That I cou'd part with all the reft.
 
 POEMS on feveral Occa/tons. 89 
 
 He ceas'd And both were mute a while, 
 'Till Celia anfwer'd with a Smile : 
 " Who would have thought, my Dear, fays me, 
 " That Love was blind to this degree ; 
 " But in my Turn I'll own it too, 
 " That I'm as much decciv'd as you : 
 " From hence let our Example (how 
 " The gay Coquette and fprightly Beau ; 
 " That Love like theirs will never hold, 
 a Not tho' 'tis cemented with Gold : 
 " Let all the Youths to you repair, 
 
 " For Counfel and to me the Fair. 
 
 " 'Twill help to make our Strephons wife, 
 " And flop the Growth of tender Lies : 
 " And more than Plato's moral Page 
 " Inftruft the Cetia's of the Age. 
 
 " But now, my Deareft, as you fee 
 " In mutual Hatred we agree, 
 " Methinks 'tis better we retreat, 
 " Each Party to a diftant Seat ; 
 
 And
 
 90 POEMS on fever al Occafam. 
 
 " And tho' we value each the other, 
 " Juft as one Rufh regards another : 
 " Yet let us often fend to hear, 
 " If Health attend the abfent Dear : 
 " And tho' each other we would fhun, 
 " As Debtors do a hateful Dun : 
 " (Nor mind the crotfing of a Street) 
 " Yet let's be civil when we meet, 
 " And live in fhort like courtly Friends : 
 " They part and thus the Story ends. 
 
 Tte W A y of the W o R L D. 
 
 SOME Herbs there are, whofe deadly Juices fill 
 The Heart with Venom, and dire<% kill : 
 Some operate more ilowly, but as fure 5 
 The Dart lefs fudden, but admits no Cure. 
 Yet there's a Drug, nor Plain nor Mountain yields, 
 Not Libya's Defarts nor Britannia's Fields, 
 Deftrudive more than all the baneful kind ; 
 
 'Tis Flatt'ry call'd the Poifon of the Mind. 
 
 This,
 
 POEMS on fever al Occajions. 91 
 
 This, foft Sir Wealthy feeds on all the Day : 
 
 This, Delia fwallows with her foft Bohea, 
 
 To this we owe Subtitno's fcornful Eye, 
 
 And Malta's Cheeks that blufh with borrow'd Dye. 
 
 Sublimo once cou'd like his Neighbours walk, 
 
 Bow to his Friends, or with his Tenants talk ; 
 
 Nor had been feiz'd with this majeftick Fit, 
 
 If fubtle Florio had not prais'd his Wit. 
 
 Gray Thalia too wou'd now her Arts give o'er, 
 
 And reft thofe Eye-balls that muft flay no more ; 
 
 Nor would that Face engrofs her Morning's Care, 
 
 Did not Philander tell her {he is fair. 
 
 Akidas tells you with an artful Smile, 
 That Womens Eyes were giv'n them to beguile : 
 His Way is cunning and mifchievous too, 
 He'll praife in others what he finds in you. 
 You hear delighted, nor perceive the Foe ; 
 But drink in Flatt'ry ere you think 'tis fo. 
 And when he's run the gay Dcfcription through, 
 The fmart Conclufion is apply'd to you : 
 
 But
 
 g 2 POEMS on femral Occafions. 
 
 But turn your Back Alctdas with a Grin 
 
 Will vow you're ugly as a Sooterkin- 
 
 How oft you hear from a defigning Knave, 
 Sir, I'm your Servant, Madam, I'm your Slave ; 
 Yet if you're bleft with penetrating Eyes, 
 You'll in his Features read the Villain lies. 
 
 See foft Courting, whofe Hat with Silver bound, 
 Is fo obfequious that 'twill kifs the Ground : 
 Whofe Actions point to fome unworthy End, 
 And ne'er was Patron, Counfellor, or Friend : 
 Whofe narrow Views are to himfelf confm'd, 
 Yet he's the humble Slave of all Mankind. 
 
 Theie fawning Rogues are irkfom Creatures True, 
 But then a Clown is full as odious too : 
 The Face unpraclis'd in the Arts of Guile, 
 Need not be ftretech'd with an eternal Smile : 
 Nor yet affeft the Cynick's awful Scowl, 
 Screw'd like the Vifage of Minerva's Owl ; 
 
 For
 
 POEMS on fever al Occajions. 93 
 
 For fome rejed (and hold it as a Rule,) 
 The Crab-faced Student for the tender Fool. 
 
 The Phrafe unftndied flows with graceful Eafe, 
 And carelefs Geflure never fails to pleafe : 
 The Heart inftructs the Features and the Tongue ; 
 Let that be right, and thefe will ne'er be wrong. 
 
 Ask Cyntbio's Judgment in fome nice Affair, 
 He'll praife your Conduct with a charming Air, 
 Extol your Senfe and Prudence to the Skies : 
 " Andfurefuch Merits were defign'dto rife." 
 His candid Eyes can hidden Beauties fee, 
 Ev'n Faults are ufeful, or they ceafe to be : 
 And each no-meaning Cynthio can explore j 
 But asks his Friendship, and he fpeaks no more. 
 
 But the worft Flatterer that wears a Tongue, 
 Is him whofe Power aggravates the Wrong : 
 To whofe grand Levee Crowds of Suppliants run, 
 And bow like Perjiam to the riling Sun : 
 
 Where
 
 94 POEMS on fevaler Occafions. 
 
 Where ftarv'd Dependents linger out their Days, 
 Yet proud to {hare his Snuff-box and his Praife, 
 Grow ftiff with Standing and with Staring thin, 
 To watch the Dimple on their Patron's Chin : 
 Who with a Nod can make the Wretch believe. 
 And fmiles on Hunger which he'll ne'er relieve. 
 
 Surrounded thick with Bus'nefs and with Gold, 
 Yet drefs'd in Smiles Virgimm you behold : 
 The expecting Crowd around his Table ftand, 
 You ask a Favour and he grafps your Hand : 
 Another comes with an obfequious Air, 
 He winks and whifpers.- " Leave it to my Care." 
 
 Then to the next " Oh I'll remember you ; 
 
 C Sir, truft my Honour, you mall find me true : " 
 Then bows a third. " Good Sir, your Pardon." 
 Why ? 
 
 f * I law you not. Forgive my carelefs Eye. 
 
 " Next tfuefday fe'en-night, let me fee you pray, 
 " Perhaps you'll find it Hundreds in your way. " 
 
 The
 
 POEMS on fever al Occafiom. 95 
 
 The meagre Wight departs with happier Soul, 
 Romantick Vi lions in his Bofom roll : 
 He fafts in Rapture, as of late in Sorrow ; 
 For who can eat, that's to be rich to-morrow ? 
 But Tuefday fee, the joyful Day is come > 
 Now to his Patron.- " But he's not at home. 
 " Alas ! But then to-morrow Morn will do, 
 
 " And I'll be early. Gentlemen, adieu. 
 
 Next Day at Six before the Gate appears, 
 The Wretch divided by his Hopes and Fears. 
 The haughty Servants meet him with a Frown. 
 
 I'd fee his Honour. " But he's not come down ; 
 
 " Your Servant, Sir I'll flay then in the Hall : 
 
 " But he is fick and can't be fpoke withaL 
 " I'll wait with Patience till another Day, 
 " And for his Honour and his Health (hall pray. 
 At laft the Knight (his Fate had order'd fo) 
 Was feiz'd and boarded by the lurking Foe ; 
 And wifely thinking 'twas in vain to fly, 
 Smooth'd up his Face and with a leering Eye 
 Began. Oh Mr. What-d'ye-call, Is'tyou? 
 " I'm glad to fee you : Yet I'm forry too, 
 
 " Sure
 
 96 POEMS on feveral Qccafiom* 
 
 " Sure fome ill Stars prefided o'er your Fate, 
 
 " I cou'd have ferv'd you, but you're come too late. 
 
 Yet fure, there is whofe honeft Soul was made 
 Too grand a Being for the foothing Trade j 
 Whofe Wit can neither flatter nor offend, 
 A gay Companion, yet a conftant Friend ; 
 Willing to pleafe where Honefty may win, 
 Averfe to Slander, tho' it was no Sin. 
 With native Manners as with Senfe endu'd ; 
 Not foft as Cynthio, nor as Damon rude; 
 Not bafely humble, yet a Foe to Pride : 
 Whofe Tongue ne'er promis'd what his Heart deny'd. 
 Whofe Satire charms, nor Mirth offends the Ear ; 
 Tho' wife not froward, juft but not fevere ; 
 Not fway'd by Int'reft, nor in Paffion hurl'd : 
 But walks a calm Spectator through the World, 
 Whofe Breaft (where no unmanly Vapours grow) 
 Can feel Companion for another's Woe ; 
 Where Courage, Mercy, Juftice, Candour lie> 
 That mine celeftial in the fpeaking Eye. 
 
 This
 
 POEMS on fever at Occafans. 
 
 This Man is greati whate'er be his Degree \ 
 O blefs him, Heav'n, if fuch a one there be : 
 May Life's beft Comforts on his Days attend, 
 Bleft in himfelf, and happy in his Friend : 
 Far from his Gate fly Poverty and Woe ; 
 Let not a Sigh his quiet Manfion know : 
 But the fair Dome each roving Eye allure^ 
 With Peace and Plenty fmiling at the Door : 
 Let him foft Days and happy Ev'nings find, 
 And live ftill bleft, and bleffing all Mankind* 
 
 The F o x and the H fc N. A F A B L E* 
 
 WAS on a fair and healthy Plain, 
 There liv'd a poor but honefl Swain, 
 
 Had to his Lot a little Ground, 
 
 Defended by a quick-fet Mound : 
 
 'Twas there he milk'd his brindled KinCj 
 
 And there he fed his harmlefs Swine : 
 
 His Pigeons flutter'd to and fro, 
 
 And bask'd his Poultry in a Row: 
 
 Much
 
 98 P o E M s on feveral Occaflons. 
 Much we might fay of each of thefe, 
 As how his Pigs in Confort wheeze ; 
 How the fweet Hay his Heifers chew, 
 , And how the Pigeons foftly coo : 
 But we mail wave this motley Strain, 
 And keep to one that's fhort and plain : 
 Nor paint the Dunghill's feather'd King, 
 For of the Hen we mean to fing. 
 
 A Hen there was, a ftrange one too, 
 Cou'd fing (believe me, it is true) 
 Or rather (as you may prefume) 
 Wou'd prate and cackle in a Tune : 
 This quickly fpread the Pullet's Fame, 
 And Birds and Beafts together came : 
 All mixt in one promifcuous Throng, 
 To vifit Partlet and her Song, 
 It chanc'd there came amongft the Crew, 
 Of witty Foxes not a few: 
 But one more fmart than all the reft, 
 His ferious Neighbour thus addreft :
 
 P o E M s on feveral Occasions. 99 
 
 * What think you of this Partlet here ? 
 
 * 'Tis true her Voice is pretty clear : 
 c Yet without paufing I can tell, 
 
 * In what much more me wou'd excel : 
 ' Methinks fhe'd eat exceeding well. 
 This heard the lift'ning Hen, as fhe 
 Sat perch'd upon a Maple-tree. 
 
 The fhrewd Propofal galPd her Pride^ 
 And thus to Reynard fhe reply'd : 
 ' Sirj you're extremely right I vow, 
 4 But how will you come at me now ? 
 c You dare not mount this lofty Tree, 
 
 * So there I'm pretty fafe, you fee. 
 4 From long ago; (or Record lies) 
 
 ' You Foxes have been counted wife 'i 
 
 * But fure this Story don't agree 
 
 * With your Device of eating me. 
 
 * For you, Dame Fortune flill intends 
 
 * Some coarfer Food than finging Hens : 
 
 * Befides e'er you can reach fo high, 
 ' Remember you mufl learn to fly. 
 
 H *
 
 i oo P o E M s on feveral Occafans. 
 
 ' I own 'tis but a fcurvy way, 
 e You have as yet to feize your Prey, 
 e By fculking from the Beams of Light, 
 
 * And robbing Hen-roofts in the Night : 
 ' Yet you muft keep this vulgar Trade 
 
 * Of thieving till your Wings are made. 
 
 ' Had I the keeping of you tho', 
 
 * I'd make your fubtle Worfhip know, 
 
 * We Chickens are your Betters due, 
 e Not fatted up for fuch as you : 
 
 ' Shut up in Cub with rufty Chain, 
 ' Td make you lick your Lips in vain : 
 And take a fpecial Care, be fure, 
 
 * No Pullet fhou'd come near your Door : 
 c But try if you cou'd feed or no, 
 
 ' Upon a Kite or Carrion Crow.' 
 Here ceas'd the Hen. The baffl'd Beaft 
 March'd off without his promis'd FeafL
 
 POEMS on fever al Occajtons, 101 
 "The HE A D- A C H. 
 
 To A U R E L I A. 
 
 AUREL I A y when your Zeal makes known 
 Each Woman's Failing but your own, 
 How charming Silvia's Teeth decay, 
 And Cetia's Hair is turning gray : 
 Yet Cella gay has fparkling Eyes, 
 But (to your Comfort) is not wife : 
 Methinks you take a world of pains, 
 To tell us Cella has no Brains, 
 
 Now you wife Folk, who make fuch a pother 
 About the Wit of one another, 
 With Pleafure wou'd your Brains refign, 
 Did all your Noddles ach like mine. 
 
 Not Cuckolds half my Anguifh know, 
 When budding Horns begin to grow ^ 
 
 H Nor
 
 IO2 POEMS on fever al Qccafions. 
 
 Nor batter'd Skull of wreftling Dick, 
 Who late was drubb'd at lingle Stick $ 
 Not Wretches that in Fevers fry, 
 Not Sappho when her Cap's awry, 
 E'er felt fuch tort'ring Pangs as I ; 
 Nor Forehead of Sir Jef'ry Strife, 
 When fmiling Cynthio Jdfs'd his Wife. 
 
 Not love-fick Marcia's languid Eyes, 
 Who for her iimp'ring Corin dies, 
 So fleepy look or dimly mine, 
 As thefe dejecled Eyes of mine : 
 Nor Claudia's Brow fuch Wrinkles made 
 At fight of Cynthia's new Brocade. 
 
 Jttd fo, Aurtlia, you complain 
 Of Vapours, Rheums, and gouty Pain -, 
 Yet I am patient, fo fhou'd you, 
 For Cramps and Head-achs are our due : 
 We fuffer juftly for our Crimes ; 
 for ^candal you, and I for Rhymes : 
 
 Yet
 
 POEMS on fever al Occafions. 103 
 
 Yet we (as hardened Wretches do) 
 Still the enchanting Vice purfue ; 
 Our Reformation ne'er begin, 
 But fondly hug the Darling Sin. 
 
 Yet there's a mighty difF'rence too, 
 Between the Fate of me and you ; 
 Tho' you with tott'ring Age (hall bow, 
 And Wrinkles fear your lovely Brow j 
 Your bufy Tongue may ftill proclaim 
 The Faults of ev'ry finful Dame : 
 You ftill may prattle nor give o'er, 
 When wretched I muft fin no more. 
 The fprightly Nine muft leave me then, 
 This trembling Hand refign its Pen j 
 No Matron ever fweetly fung, 
 Apollo only courts the young ; 
 Then who wou'd not (Aurelia, pray) 
 Enjoy his Favours while they may ? 
 Nor Cramps nor Head-achs (hall prevail * 
 I'll ftill write on, and you (hall rail. 
 
 H 4 STRE-
 
 164 POEMS on federal Occapons. 
 
 STEPHON/0CELIA, 
 
 A modern LOVE-LETTER, 
 
 MADAM, 
 
 T H O P E you'll think it's true, 
 
 * I deeply am in Love with you, 
 
 When I allure you t'other Day, 
 
 As I was mufing on my way, 
 
 At thought of you I tumbl'd down 
 
 Directly in a deadly Swoon : 
 
 And tho' 'tis true I'm fomething better, 
 
 Yet I can hardly fpell my Letter : 
 And as the latter you may view, 
 I hope you'll think the former true. 
 You need not wonder at my Flame, 
 For you are not a mortal Dame : 
 I faw you" dropping from the Skies ; 
 And let dull Idiots fwear your Eyes 
 With Love their glowing Breaft infpire, 
 I tell you they are Flames of Fire, 
 
 That
 
 POEMS on feveral Occajiom. 1 05 
 
 That fcortch my Forehead to a Cinder, 
 
 And burn my very Heart to Tinder. 
 
 Your Breaft fo mighty cold I trow, 
 
 Is made of nothing elfe but Snow : 
 
 Your Hands (no wonder they have Charms) 
 
 Are made of Iv'ry like your Arms. 
 
 Your Cheeks that look as if they bled, 
 
 Are nothing elfe but Rofes red. 
 
 Your Lips are Coral very bright, 
 
 Your Teeth tho' Numbers out of fpite, 
 
 May fay they're Bones yet 'twill appear 
 
 They're Rows of Pearl exceeding dear. 
 
 Now, Madam, as the Chat goes round, 
 I hear you have ten thoufand Pound : 
 But that I as a Trifle hold, 
 Give me your Perfon, dern your Gold ; 
 Yet for your own Sake 'tis fecur'd, 
 
 j hope your Houfes too enfur'd, 
 
 I'd have you take a fpecial Care, 
 of falfe Mortgages beware j 
 
 You've
 
 jc6 P o E M s on fever al Occafans. 
 
 You've Wealth enough 'tis true, but yet 
 
 You want a Friend to manage it. 
 
 Now fuch a Friend you foon might have, 
 
 By fixing on your humble Slave ; 
 
 Not that I mind a flately Houfe, 
 
 Or value Mony of a Loufe -, 
 
 But your Five hundred Pounds a Year, 
 
 I wou'd fecure it for my Dear : 
 
 Then fmile upon your Slave, that lies 
 
 Half murder'd by your radiant Eyes ; 
 
 Or elfe this very Moment dies < 
 
 Strefhon. 
 
 To ARTEMISIA. 
 
 Dr. K i N G'S Invitation ^BELLVILL: Imitated. 
 
 IF Artemifia's Soul can dwell 
 Four Hours in a tiny Cell, 
 (To give that Space of .Blifs to me) 
 I wait my Happinefs at three, 
 
 Our
 
 POEMS on feveral Occafions. 107 
 Our Tommy in .a Jug {hall bring 
 Clear Netfar from the bubbling Spring : 
 The Cups {hall on the Table {land, 
 The Sugar and the Spoons at hand : 
 A skilful Hand {hall likewife {pread 
 Soft Butter on the yielding Bread ; 
 And (as you eat but mighty little, 
 And feem an arrant Foe to Vittlc) 
 You'll cry perhaps, One Bit may do, 
 But I'm refolv'd it {hall be two : 
 With you and your Amanda blefl. 
 Care flies away from Mtra's Breaft ; 
 O'er ftubborn Flax no more I grieve, 
 But flick the Needle on my Sleeve : 
 For let them work on Holiday, 
 Who won't be idle when they may : 
 If I muft fret and labour too, 
 Like Caricus and Lumberloo ; 
 As well I might, like Simoneer, 
 Be plagu'd with fixty Pounds a Year. 
 
 What
 
 io8 POEMS 0# fever at Occafions. 
 
 What Nymph, that's eloquent and gay, 
 But owes it chiefly to her Tea ? 
 With Satire that fupplies our Tongues, 
 And greatly helps the failing Lungs. 
 By that affifted we can fpy 
 A Fault with microfcopick Eye ; 
 DiiTecT: a Prude with wond'rous Art, 
 And read the Care of Delia's Heart. 
 
 Now to the Company we fall, 
 'Tis Me and Mir a that is all : 
 More wou'd you have Dear Madam, then 
 Count me and Mira o'er agen. 
 
 7&? APPARITION. 
 
 FROM that inevitable Shore, 
 Wheer Styx's tremendous Waters roar^ 
 Thus wing'd with Vengeance lo I fly* 
 And skim beneath the gloomy Sky, 
 To you O falfe, O faithlefs Fair, 
 (Yet tremble do ~- and wildly flare) 
 
 To
 
 POEMS on feveral Occafions. 109 
 
 To you this angry Vifit's paid, 
 To you once lov'd, but faithlefs Maid, 
 Perhaps (too thin for mortal Eyes) 
 You know me not in this Difguife ; 
 I ne'er was number'd with your Foes, 
 But what I'm now, (hall not difclofe 
 My Name (efteem'd by one or two) 
 
 Was Mira while I liv'd like you, 
 
 Till your Unkindnefs cut the Twine 
 Of Life, before its dated Time. 
 
 And fhou'd you ask to know the End 
 Of her that once you call'd a Friend ? 
 Whether of Pleurifies (he dy'd, 
 Or in a parching Fever dry'd ? 
 Or pale Confumption fure and flow ? 
 Or Apoplexy's fudden Blow ? 
 'Twas none of thefe no common Dart, 
 That ftruck my unrefifting Heart : 
 The dire Diftemper you ihall hear, 
 Then liften with attentive Ear. 
 
 Did
 
 no POEMS on fevered Occafiom. 
 
 Did you not, Ah ! did you not fay, 
 That you wou'd come the next fair Day 
 To Mira's Dome ? rejoic'd to fee 
 At once the Butterflies and me ? 
 But now, Alas ! (too late, I find) 
 The promis'd Joys of human Kind; 
 Inconftant as the flitting Wind : 
 You came not That I need not tell 
 But then, O then your Mlra fell, 
 That fatal Day expecting you ; 
 I fwept my Houfe, and din'd by Two, 
 Took off the Night-Cap from my Brow 3 
 (O Pride ! ) but I repent it now : 
 (Ambitious her I lov'd to pleafe) 
 And, Ah ! too ftraitly lac'd my Stays 5 
 Then lilent fate 'twixt Hopes and Fears^ 
 With beating Heart and lift'ning Ears, 
 Till the (brill Clock had founded four; 
 Then wretched Mira was no more : 
 Her Cheeks put on a death-like Hue, 
 Her Eye-balls bid this World Adieu : 
 
 An
 
 POEMS on fever al Occafions. 1 1 1 
 
 And tho' untouch'd by Cupifa Dart, 
 She perifh'd with a broken Heart. 
 
 But I have done Farewel, for I 
 From this corporeal World mufl fly : 
 So the relentlefs Fates decree, 
 Once more Farewel Remember Me. 
 
 Tie INSPIR'D QJJ I L L. 
 
 Occafion'd by a Prefent of CROW-PENS. 
 
 TO you, Dear Madam, I complain, 
 Where Wretches never figh in vain 5 
 But always find, if not Relief, 
 At leaft Compaffion for their Grief. 
 
 But I fhou'd make my Woes appear, 
 Before I claim a gentle Tear ; 
 My Tale is fomething odd, 'tis true ; 
 Yet fure 'twill Credit find with you. 
 
 The
 
 112 POEMS on feveral OccafionSi 
 
 The fage Pythagoras, you know, 
 Aflerted many Years ago, 
 That when or Man or Woman dies^ j 
 The Soul to fome new Manfion flies ? 
 If fo, Belinda, now fo fair 
 May range the Woods a fallen Bear * 
 Likewife the courtly Bellamour y 
 The Lady's Darling to be fure : 
 Tho* he in fparkling Laces glow, 
 The Pattern of a perfedt Beau ; 
 When he puts off the human Shape, 
 May ftrut a Monkey or an Ape. 
 
 For me who now to you indite, 
 Whofe Talent chiefly is to write ; 
 What Form it was, I do not know", 
 I. wore two thoufand Years ago : 
 The Being that I firft remember, 
 Was on a Morning of December < 
 But not December laft (I ween) 
 No many Years have pad between >
 
 POEMS on federal Occasions. i j 3 
 
 I found myfelf a wealthy Squire, 
 
 And feated by a Parlour- Fire, 
 
 A fine Eftate of mellow Ground, 
 
 In Cafh full Thirty thoufand Pound, 
 
 Two hundred Oxen in a Stall, 
 
 And ten lean Servants at my Call, 
 
 An ancient Houfe well built but low, 
 
 Behind of Oaks an ample Row, 
 
 A Court before without much State, 
 
 And three Gaunt Maftiffs at the Gate j 
 
 All thefe had I a happy Knave 
 
 As you may think - but with your Leave 
 
 A wretched Ufurer was I, 
 
 With hagard Jaws and eager Eye, 
 
 That ftarv'd amidft unwieldy Store, 
 
 And loft my Life in fearch of more, 
 
 This Pluto faw, and bid me go 
 Into the Carcafe of a Beau, 
 To tafte of Pleafure and of Pains, 
 With flender Purfe and (hallow Brains,
 
 H4 POEMS on feveral Occafions, 
 
 My Wig behind was fmartly ty'd, 
 My filver Box with Snuff fupply'd : 
 On Books I feldom lov'd to pore, 
 But fung and danc'd, and aptly tv/ore ; 
 Where-e'er I came the Ladies irnil'd ; 
 This call'd me Pug and t'other Child : 
 To pleafe and to addrefs the Fair, 
 Was all my Buiinefs and my Care j 
 But now my Gold began to fly, 
 And furc Deftrudlion hover'd nigh : 
 At laft to Limbo was I led, 
 From whence the ftruggling Spirit fled. 
 
 Almericfs Lap-dog next I grew, 
 And wore a Coat of glofly Hue, 
 Carefs'd and courted ev'ry Day, 
 At Ev'ning by her Side I lay : 
 Her Smiles were always bent on me 
 (The happieft Days that e'er I fee) 
 But, Oh, as by a River-fide, 
 I walk'd along with fhort-liv'd Pride,
 
 POEMS on feveral Occafions. 115 
 
 A cruel Foot-boy threw me in, 
 And laugh'd as tho' it was no Sin.' 
 
 Once more to gain a human Face, 
 J flep'd into a Lawyer's Cafe : 
 This Station pleas'd me wond'rous well, 
 And in a trice I learn'd to fpell, 
 Cou'd read old Coke with prying Eyes, 
 Explain, diftinguifh, and advife, 
 Talk Latin to a good degree $ 
 As Admittendo Cuftode, 
 Ejefl, Extendi : and my Fee : 
 *Tis true I fcorn'd to rob or kill, 
 But not to cheat or forge a Will : 
 In Jointures I cou'd fplit a Hair, 
 And make it turn againft the Heir : 
 I fpar'd no Widow for her Tears, 
 No Orphan for his tender Years : 
 My Maxim was 'Get Money, Man, 
 Get Money, where and how you can : 
 Thus through the Stage of Life I run, 
 (For, Ah ! my Race was quickly done) 
 
 I 2 And
 
 i r6 POEMS on fever al Occajions. 
 
 And ftill preferv'd my Ears and Nofe, 
 In Ipite of venial Sins like thofe. 
 
 My next Difguife too well you know, 
 Degraded to a fimple Crow ; 
 Both Cold and Hunger doom'd to bear, 
 And hover in the limpid Air, 
 Till on a day a fpiteful Hind, 
 With dreadful Arms and bloody Mind, 
 Vow'd quick Deftrudtion to my Head : 
 And in a Moment mot me dead : 
 Then fct my ghaftly Corfe on high 
 To fright my Fellows from his Rye. 
 
 I now grew out of Pluto's Favour, 
 Who grumbl'd at my late Behaviour; 
 And vow'd (when thus his Sentence ran) 
 I mou'd no more appear as Man ; 
 But that he wou'd confine me ftill 
 Within the compafs gf a Quill.
 
 POEMS on fever al Occafions. 1 1 7 
 
 My Fate is hard, as you may guefs, 
 
 Vet I cou'd bear it ne'er-the-lefs, 
 
 IVou'd you or Fortune be fo kind 
 
 To comfort an afHifted Mind, 
 d take me from the hated Cell, 
 
 Where Yefterday you bid me dwell : 
 
 ? or Oh, I guefs nay more I know it, 
 
 That my new Miftrefs is a Poet; 
 
 Then how mall I who flill inherit, 
 
 \ Tincture of the Lawyer's Spirit ; 
 'How mall I bear from time to time 
 To fcrawl unprofitable Rhyme ? 
 To live for Years and ne'er behold 
 The Prefence of enchanting Gold, 
 Yet fcribblc on Beiides, alack, 
 I fear fhe'll quickly break my Back. 
 
 Then fmcc my Pedigree you know : 
 (Dear Madam,) Ah fome Pity mow, 
 And recommend me to a Place - 3 
 For fure there's Mercy in your Face, 
 
 I 3 To
 
 n8 POEMS on fever al Qccafions. 
 
 To fome Attorney let me go, 
 For there my Talents fuit (you know) 
 Heroicks I fhall write but ill j 
 But I'm a Doctor at a Bill, 
 At Flights of Fancy very dull $ 
 But I can form Receipts at full. 
 
 The Favour that I ask of you, 
 (Have pity when the Wretched fue) 
 Is your good Word or what is better, 
 A Recommandatory Letter? 
 And if I'm happy in your Grace, 
 I think I need not doubt a Place. 
 
 The PENITENT. 
 
 Occafiorfd by the Author's being asked if fie would 
 take Ten Pounds for her Poems. 
 
 WHEN PartheniJJa talk'd to-day 
 Of Profits and of Mira's Lay, 
 And lift'ning Mira heard the Sound 
 Of number Ten with added Pqund, 
 
 The
 
 POEMS on feveral Occajiom. 119 
 
 The faucy Minx betray'd her Pride, 
 
 And ttirn'd her fcornful Head afide : 
 
 You, doubtlefs, Madam, wonder'd why, 
 
 And hardly could believe 'twas I : 
 
 But all have Faults, and 'twou'd be vain 
 
 To boaft a Heart that's free from Stain. 
 
 This Maxim Mira prov'd was true, 
 
 No golden Apples lay in view 
 
 Acrofs her Path and yet fhe fell : 
 
 The Caufe have Patience and we'll tell, 
 
 You faw not no, to my Surprize 
 
 [t fcap'd your penetrating Eyes ; 
 
 The wicked Knot 'twas new to-day, 
 
 The Knot what Colour was it, pray ? 
 So gay, 'twou'd make a Hermit vain -, 
 Then wonder not at M/Ws Brain. 
 
 But now difrob'd with clirty Shoes 
 
 And Apron ragged as the Mufe, 
 [n Night-cap tight and wrapping Gown, 
 more is feen the haughty Frown $ 
 
 I 4 The
 
 120 POEMS on federal Occafions. 
 
 The fatal Top-knot laid afide 
 With its definitive Daughter Pride. 
 The vain Chimeras all are flown, 
 And Reafon re-affumes her Throne. 
 
 Now, could you find an honeft Dealer, 
 (As an Attorney or a Taylor) 
 Who wants a Mufe that's not too dear, 
 Send him dire&ly you know whore : 
 We for a Trifle fhall not part, j 
 
 Nor from an eafy Bargain ftart, 
 And that his Purchafe may'nt be hard, 
 I'll add of Packthread half a Yard, 
 To fatisfy the greedy Lout, 
 And bind the Papers round about. 
 
 SONG to CLOE, playing on her Spinet. 
 
 WHEN Che flrikesthe trembling Strings, 
 Applauding Cupids round her fly ; 
 Exulting clap their little Wings 
 
 Bask'd in the Sun-fhine of her Eye. 
 
 The
 
 POEMS on feveral Occajions. i 2 1 
 
 The Graces too, 
 
 As others do, 
 In Raptures ftand to hear, 
 Time flays his flagging Wings, and adds, 
 One Hour to the rolling Year : 
 
 Keep off, ye Beaus, 
 
 For who but knows 
 That Che 's Eyes can wound ? 
 
 If thofe you mifs yet pray avoid 
 
 The Danger of enchanting Sound. 
 
 Amphion led the ravifh'd Stones 
 
 (They fay) and as he'd rife or fall, 
 
 Bricks, Pebbles, Slats, and Marrow-Bones 
 Wou'd form a Steeple or a Wall : 
 
 But this, you know, 
 
 Is long ago : 
 We fancy 'tis a Whim : 
 O had they charming Cloe heard, 
 They'd furely not have ftir'd for him. 
 
 The Thracian Bard, 
 
 Whofe Fate was hard, 
 
 (And
 
 122 POEMS on feveral Occafions. 
 
 (And Proferpine fevere) 
 
 Had brought Eurydice back alas ! 
 
 But Cloe was not there. 
 
 To G R A M M A T I C U S, 
 
 SIR, 
 
 MIR A wou'd with Tears atone 
 For all the Mifchief me has done; 
 Sincerely mourns (believe it true) 
 The lending of her Rhymes to you. 
 
 The Wound my Verfes gave your Ear, 
 Was undefign'd it will appear ; 
 Nor in the leaft the Fault of me, 
 As by this Sorrow you may fee. 
 
 And cou'd I in our Meadows find, 
 Among the vegetable Kind, 
 A healing Simple, that wou'd cure 
 Thofe fmarting Pangs which you endure :
 
 POEMS on feveral Occafions. 123 
 
 Whofe Juice the Matrons well efteem 
 For Cuts and Bruifes that are green, 
 I'd fend it with an Heart mod willing, 
 Tho' it fhou'd coft me half a Shilling : 
 Yet I can ferve you but in Will, 
 For I've confulted Doctor Pill, 
 Who tells me that a Cafe like yours 
 Will not admit of common Cures ; 
 For that Incilions made by Rhymes 
 Are worfe than Ulcers fifty times : 
 He gives a Reafon that is clear, 
 Becaufe they always flrike the Ear, 
 And give un-utterable Pain 
 To the fmall Fibres of the Brain : 
 Yet as the Dodlor is my Friend, 
 His Worfhip order' d me to fend 
 This grand Receipt which he has known, 
 To ferve in Cafes like your own : 
 'Tis true, the Drug is fomething rare, 
 And yet I wou'd not quite defpair ; 
 But hope the Med'cine may be found 
 Within the Space QiBritiJh Ground ; 
 
 This
 
 124 POEMS on feveral Qccafiom. 
 
 This Balfam then Pd have you feek, 
 
 No matter for its Name in Greek > y 
 
 But fure 'tis call'd (or I am wrong) 
 
 Good-nature in the Englijh Tongue : 
 
 The Doftor fwears by all his Skill, 
 
 If this don't cafe you, nothing will 
 
 To either Ear be this apply'd, 
 
 (The better if 'tis quickly try'd) 
 
 Then fill the hollow Spaces full 
 
 With Aqua-vita drop'd on Wool : 
 
 And take a fpecial Care be furc, 
 
 No Poets come about your Door : 
 
 For you might keep the Bench of Law, 
 
 Or hear the fqueaking of a Saw, 
 
 More fafely by a hundred times, 
 
 Than half a Page of modern Rhymes : 
 
 But when you gather Strength a little, 
 
 Can walk abroad and eat your Vittle ? t 
 
 As you are mighty fond of Verfe, 
 
 Let fome with gentle Voice rehearfe : 
 
 How Corn grows now where Troy Town flood, 
 
 Or elfe the Children in the Wood : 
 
 Thefc
 
 POEMS on feveral Occafions. 125 
 
 Thefe gentle Numbers will compofe 
 Your Spirits and your Eye-lids clofc ! 
 Thofe Slumbers will complete the Cure ; 
 Now, Sir, your Servant, and no more. 
 
 7&? TEN-PENNY NAIL, \ 
 
 *rr-^W AS paft the Date of fav'ry Noon, 
 
 - And downwards roll'd the radiant Sun, 
 When all (except us rhyming Sinners) 
 Had rofted, boil'd, and eat their Dinners; 
 In my great Chair I fat to pout, 
 And beat my weary Brains about 3 
 About (what did not much avail) 
 Amanda's Riddle of the Nail * -, 
 When Somnus took me by Surprife, 
 And put his Finger in my Eyes : 
 'Twas He, for Poets never nod 
 Without the Influence of a God : 
 
 * &e gueftion was this, Where was the firft Nail 
 ftruck > 
 
 I
 
 126 POEMS on federal Occafwm. 
 
 I dream'd of what- Why, you fhall hear, 
 Good People all, I pray draw near, 
 Methought there lay before my Eyes 
 A Nail of more than common Size 5 
 'Twas one that nails our Garden Door, 
 And oft my Petticoat has tore : 
 When fudden (it is true, my Friend) 
 It rear'd itfelf, and flood an end, 
 And tho' no Mouth I cou'd defcry, 
 It talk'd as faft as you or I : 
 
 And thus began 'As I am told 
 
 c You Poets feldom deal in Gold ; 
 
 * That's not the Price of empty Songs, 
 
 * But to Sir Thrifty Gripe belongs ; 
 f Bright Silver is Sir Peary's Claim, 
 
 c And Copper for the lab'ring Dame ; 
 
 * If fo (that each may have their due) 
 We rufty Nails belong to you j 
 
 * I therefore ask as my Defert 
 
 ' (I hope you bear a grateful Heart) 
 
 ' You write my Life and be it &:; , n 
 
 c What ftrange Adventures I have known.
 
 POEMS on fever al Occafions. 127 
 
 ' I muft confefs I was not made 
 c So early quite as Adcuris Spade ; 
 ' Yet many Ages I have known, 
 ' And double with my Labours grown : 
 e loccupy'd, the firft of all, 
 c A worthy Poft at Gloomy-Hall, 
 c Where I, with feven hundred more, 
 c Were hammer'd in the fpacious Door : 
 " And there had haply ftuck till now, 
 f Had not old Simon broke his Plough ; 
 e Who feeing none but us at hand, 
 
 * And knowing us a trufty Band, 
 
 ' Me with the Pincers fore opprefs'd, 
 
 * And drew me headlong from the reft : 
 
 * My lazy Life, alas ! was done, 
 
 ' And now I toil'd from Sun to Sun : 
 c None pity me, and none relieve, 
 ' Till Fortune gave me a Reprieve: 
 e My Mafter broke his Plough again, 
 
 * And I from thence was dragg'd amain. 
 
 To
 
 128 POEMS on ftvtral Occafions, 
 
 c To Celia's Chamber next I came, 
 And bore a Glafs with curious Frame ; 
 
 * To whom the lovely Nymphs repair : 
 ' There Delia fpread her fhining Hair ; 
 ' All fmiling there was Claudia feen, 
 
 And TbaUa ty'd her Ribbands green. 
 
 At laft my Miftrefs drew too nigh 3 
 
 ' And fome ill Genius {landing by, 
 
 c Drove me directly in her Eye. 
 
 e Then I was banifh'd from her Train, 
 
 * Hurl'd on a Dunghill with Difdain. 
 c But idle long I did not lie, 
 
 For old Sir Gripus walking by, 
 
 * Who held it was a crying Sin, 
 
 * To trample o'er and flight a Pin. 
 ' And that they well deferve a Jail, 
 
 * Who proudly fcorn a nifty Nail, 
 
 ' Carry'd me home, and made fecure 
 
 c With me a {lately oaken Door. 
 
 c Through the ftrong Boards he made me go, 
 e To keep his Daughter from a Beau ; 
 
 < Butt
 
 POEMS on fever al Occafions. 129 
 
 ' But me (what is't but Love can do ?) 
 e With Aqua-forth eat me through : . 
 ' A Cripple now, and ufeleis quite, 
 c I'm banim'd from the chearful Light : 
 ' And all folk defpife me that behold ; 
 c At laft I to a Smith was fold, 
 
 Who had Compaflion on my Pain, 
 And brought me to myfelf again. 
 
 ' To Jeff* 1 ? Eouze * next belong, 
 
 * Where fparkling Ale was clear and ftrong ; 
 
 * One Vault, more precious than the reft, 
 
 * Was flow'd with Hogfheads of the beft : 
 ' And having lately loft the Key, 
 
 ' He faft'ned up the Door with me : 
 
 * I ftood a faithful Gentry there, ' 
 c To guard the choice infpiring Beer 
 
 ' From thirfty Bacchanalian Rage, 
 c Till his Son Guzzle was of Age : 
 
 * At length the Youth an Entrance found, 
 
 * Tho' ftoutly I maintained my Ground > 
 
 Yet
 
 130 P o M s 0# feveral Occafans. 
 
 ' Yet all my Strength wou'd not avail, 
 ' For how cou'd one poor fingle Nail 
 f Maintain a dang'rous Poft (you know) 
 c Againft whole Legions of the Foe ; 
 ' Who well confid'ring Life's a Bubble, 
 * And drinking is the Cure of Trouble, 
 
 f And more that he again could brew 
 
 ' Before the Date of Twenty two ; 
 < While e'er that time the prefent Ale 
 ' Might happen to be flat or ftale ; 
 ' He came himfelf with fifty more, 
 ' And wifely drank it out before. 
 
 { It wou'd be tedious now to tell 
 ' What to your humble Slave befel, 
 e Amongft a rude mechanick Band, 
 ' Till Fortune gave me to your Hand : 
 4 Now if a proper Poft I knew, 
 e I'd gladly be of ufe to you ; 
 { But you refolve to hide no Pelf, 
 c And choofe to walk abroad your felf :
 
 POEMS on feveral Occafions. 131 
 
 ' But, Mira y thefe arc dang'rous Times, 
 ' I'd have you faften up your Rhymes ; 
 * And 'tis the beft thing you can do, 
 c To nail up Pens and Paper too : 
 ' Do this and get thee gone to fpinning, 
 ' Or wifely dearn your Father's Linen. " 
 
 This faid a Cart with rumbling Sound 
 
 Came by, and fhook the trembling Ground ; 
 The Vifion vaniili'd from her Sight, 
 And Mira waken'd in a Fright. 
 
 The GENIUS in D I S G U I S E. 
 
 AS I Fidelia and my Sire, 
 Sat mufing o'er a fmoky Fire, 
 We heard a Knocking at the Door, 
 Rife, fomething is the Matter fure. 
 The little Turret feem'd to quake, 
 The Shelves, the Chairs and Tables make ; 
 Fidelia cries, O, what's the Matter ? 
 And Mtras Teeth began to chatter : 
 
 K 2 The
 
 132 POEMS on federal O&ajtons. 
 
 The frighted Door (as what could choofe) 
 Flew open (pray believe the Mufe) 
 A hollow Voice for Entrance calls, 
 And foon Although the dirty Walls 
 Were flain'd with Ignorance and Sin, 
 Yet Mira's Genius ventur'd in, 
 Not in a Cherub's Form enmrin'd, 
 Nor in the ihape of human kind : 
 But Locks and Hinges round him glow, 
 In Figure like a neat Buroe ; 
 Like Brambles in a thorny Gap 
 Stood Mzra's Hair beneath her Cap : 
 Her frighted Senfes gone affray, 
 She bent her Knees in aft to pray j 
 But the prefuming Priefl drew near, 
 As void of Piety as Fear, 
 And by its Side undaunted flood, 
 And wou'd perfuade us it was Wood : 
 With Rev'rence then we did prefume 
 To place him in the little Room ; 
 The Prieft excluded with the reft, 
 The Stranger Mir a thus addrefs'd,
 
 POEMS on federal Occafions. 133 
 
 (Tho' fhaking with Surprife and Fear) 
 
 * O fay what Power fent thee here, 
 
 f Not Fortune, for I ne'er cou'd fee 
 ' As yet her Favours bent on me : 
 ' Nor Chance although we often find 
 ' She governs moft of human kind ; 
 ' Or can, againft the Maid's Defire, 
 ' Throw Madam's Caudle in the Fire j 
 
 Can light a Candle, or can mifs, 
 ' She never brought a thing like this. 
 
 This faid, pale Mir a gazing flood, 
 And thus reply 'd the feeming Wood j 
 ' Canft thou behold me and not find 
 1 The Pi&ure of the Giver's Mind ? 
 c Behold the Lock and fhining Key, 
 
 That ne'er its Miftrefs mail betray, 
 
 Not blemifh'd with a Spot of Ruft, 
 c And always faithful to its Truft. 
 
 c The reft may be to you confign'd, 
 F or in this narrow Space you'll find 
 
 K 3 No
 
 i 34 Po E M s on fever at Oca/ions. 
 
 ' No Emblem large enough to fit 
 
 * Her Bounty, Judgment, and her Wit. 
 
 * But, Mira, fince I have begun, 
 c The Thread of my Difcourfe {hall run, 
 ' Explaining how I am to you 
 c A Monitor and Table too, 
 ' My hollow Spaces you may fill 
 With all your Verfes good and ill ; 
 f One fmall one for your Wit may do, 
 4 But then your Faults will take up two. 
 ' And from the reft I pray exclude 
 
 * One facred Place for Gratitude : 
 
 And what our Patron yours and mine 
 
 * Shall to my trufty Care confign, 
 
 * For thofe lov'd Strangers I'll fecure 
 c The Clofet with its tiny Door, 
 
 ' And now I've prattl'd long, my Dear, 
 c Yet you arc lift'ning frill to hear, 
 e Expedting that I fhou'd fupply 
 : At once Advice and Prophefy j 
 
 < But
 
 POEMS on fever a! Occajions. 135 
 
 * But that's not right for me nor you 
 
 * To dive fo deeply tho', 'tis true,, 
 ' Without Divining I can fee 
 
 * You'll ne'er deferve the Gift of me : 
 
 4 More wou'd you know why, may be then 
 e Within thefe Mornings nine or ten, 
 
 * Propitious Jet may trudge before, 
 
 c And lead his Miftrefs to your Door j 
 
 ' And when the Sun (whofe diftant Wheels 
 
 * But faintly warm the icy Fields) 
 
 * Shall gild your Cot with brighter Ray, 
 
 * I hope to fee her ev'ry Day. 
 
 ' But turn away thy ftedfaft Eyes, 
 c That flare fo ghaftly with Surprife : 
 c Go feek your Pillow and be Hill, 
 [ And dream of me or what you will. 
 
 ' This faid (which Mir a hop'd was true) 
 c The Lid fhut up, and cries Adieu. " 
 Then gave a Crack, and fpoke no more, 
 And all was ment as before. 
 
 K 4 C E L A-
 
 136 POEMS on fever al Qecafiom. 
 
 CELADON ;* MIRA. 
 
 TO thee, O Mira, I thefe Lines commend, 
 Thefe from thy gentle and immortal Friend, 
 Tho' not to thee my airy Form appears, j 
 Yet I've been oft a Witnefs to thy Tears, 
 (At Night when, lonely by the Taper's Flame, 
 In a ftill Whifper thou haft breath'd my Name) 
 And in thy Eyes beheld the rifing Woe j 
 (Ah fimple Sorrows when for me they flow ! ) 
 
 Think not, O Mzra, not in me to find 
 A Friend like Vido, or like Rofalind, 
 Or like Court ine to cheat thy dazzl'd Eye, 
 And footh thy Weaknefs with a well-bred Lye : 
 Thefe are (as thou wilt by the Sequel find) 
 Below a Spirit of the blifsful kind : 
 And was thy Form, as wanton Helen gay, 
 Or did thy Eyes outfhine the Lamp of Day, 
 
 Thefe
 
 POEMS on feveral Occafions. 137 
 
 Thefe pleafe not me Bright Eyes in vain may roll, 
 I read no Charms but in the purer Soul. 
 
 By thy chang'd Features I too often find 
 The wild Ideas of thy reftlefs Mind ; 
 All ferious now abftracted from the Crew, 
 No prudent Stoick more ferene than you, 
 Till in your Brain ibme gaudy Pictures fpring, 
 All gay and carelefs, then you laugh and fing : 
 
 Thefe vanifh like a painted Cloud and now 
 
 Pale Difcontent o'er-fhades thy mournful Brow : 
 You form dark Vifions and at Phantoms ftart, 
 Thefe Woes proceed from an ill-govern'd Heart,,. 
 From a too thoughtlefs or too roving Mind ; 
 For thefe are Strangers to a Soul refign'd. 
 
 Canft thou prefume thy little Bark may fleer 
 From Griefs black Eddy and the Gulphs of Fear ? 
 Or canft thou hope to fcape the gloomy Land, 
 Where Difappointments crowd the rocky Strand ? 
 Not fo nor let thy Vanity pretend 
 To hope for more than ever bleft thy Friend ; 
 
 In
 
 138 POEMS on federal Occafivns. 
 
 In Life I fhone confpicuous o'er the reft, 
 While the pure Beams malignant Eyes oppreft ; 
 Sound Judgment, Learning, Wifdom, too was mine> 
 And piercing Wit fupcrior far to thine ; 
 Yet gaping Rage flood ready to devour, 
 And Dulnefs rain'd on me a leaden Shower : 
 Now flung with Scoffs, and now with Flatt'ry tir'd, 
 Defam'd, applauded, envy'd, and admir'd : 
 This Fate was mine to hope canft thou prefume 
 A milder PafTage and more eafy Doom ? 
 Deluded Girl ! let not a Thought fo vain 
 Elate thy Spirits, nor afcend thy Brain. 
 
 But hear, O Mira, nor too late be wife, 
 From painted Trifles turn thy longing Eyes ; 
 Ask not for what will make thy Pray'r offend, 
 But ask Content, a Parent and a Friend j 
 Ask Bread and Peace, 'tis all that Nature craves, 
 This Kings acknowledge, when they find their Graves. 
 
 Say, why thy Features lofe their healthful Dye, 
 And the Tears tremble in the languid Eye ? 
 
 The
 
 POEMS on feveral Occafiom. \ 39 
 
 The mighty Conflict I with pity fee, 
 When thy rude Paffions flruggle to be free, 
 And rack thy Breaft the incoherent Stage, 
 Where grave and comick jar like Youth and Age ; 
 Now Death appears all horrible and grim : 
 
 But the next Moment none fo fair as him, 
 
 \ 
 
 And now you figh Ah, let me calmly die : 
 
 Then (blinking, trembling from the Grave you fly, 
 
 Such jarring Tumults in your Bofom roll ; 
 
 (Ah, what fo various as a Woman's Soul ! ) 
 
 But thou, beware, and if thy Fate has join'd 
 
 A fickly Body to a roving Mind j 
 
 Be calm nor mourn at the Supreme Decree, > 
 
 Nor think the Mandate fhalf be chang'd for thee, 
 
 But meet with Patience what thou canft not flee. J 
 
 Wou'dfl thou repine to fee thy Form decay, 
 When Spio's Eye-lids are forbid the Day ! 
 Might'ft thou with us unbodied Spirits fly, 
 From Sphere to Sphere and trace the boundleis Sky ? 
 Then wou'd the Lives of little Mortals fhew, 
 Like empty Bubbles rais'd of Morning Dew : 
 
 All
 
 ^4 POEMS on fever al Occafioni. 
 
 All feem as Trifles, whether we behold 
 A Monarch banifh'd, or a Sparrow fold j 
 A thoughtlefs Infect trampled in the Mire, 
 Or a proud Beauty in her Bloom expire. 
 More noble Scenes enraptur'd Spirits view, 
 But the grand Profpecft is too large for you : 
 A clofer Bound bell fuits thy narrow Mind, 
 A few Examples of thy fading kind. 
 
 Haft thou forgot the foft Iphenia's Name, 
 Whofe fmiling Face not Spleen itfelf could blame ; 
 Scarce nineteen Years her dawning Beauties knew, 
 E'er the young Rofes bid^ her Cheeks adieu j 
 Yet blefs'd with all, cou'd pleafe a Woman's Pride : 
 In this gay Bloom the bright Iphenia dy'd - y 
 Her Sire lifts to Heav'n his mournful Eyes, 
 And her fad Brother fills the Air with Cries : 
 Her Brother Clodius, who to Grief refign'd 
 To fruitlefs Paffion all his manly Mind. 
 What fimple Sorrow to the dead you pay, 
 Who foon muft follow the fame dusky Way. 
 
 For
 
 POEMS on feveral Occafions. 141 
 
 For e'er the Tranfport of his Grief was o'er, 
 Fate gave the Sign and Clodlus was no more. 
 Still Pero liv'd a yet furviving Son, 
 A little Space and Pero's Race was done : 
 Death's icy Hand his youthful Limbs invades, 
 And bids him mingle with his kindred Shades. 
 
 So quickly Pero and Narcijfa fell, 
 Scarce looking round them e'er they bid farewel : 
 Yet dang'rous 'tis to wander here too long ; 
 Thefe went more willing as they fell more young ; 
 But Laura's Name demands thy flowing Tears, 
 Whofe Doubts increafing with her lengthen'd Years^ 
 Serv'd not to clear but cloud the dusky Way, 
 And gave new Terrors to her final Day : 
 The dreadful Moment wou'd have paft as well, 
 At fixteen Years had weeping Laura fell. 
 
 Let this, O Mira, chear thy drooping Mind, 
 To bear the Sentence paft on all Mankind : 
 J bore the fame, whofe Life was more defir'd, 
 More lov'd, more known, and juftly more admir'd : 
 
 Yet
 
 142 P o E M s on feveral Occafiom. 
 
 Yet this grand Fear is wove with Nature's Laws j 
 Is fometimes right, and fometimes has no Caufe : 
 Repent and mend thefe Vapours then will fly. 
 And the Clouds brighten to a purer Sky ; 
 Still look to Heav'n and its Laws attend, 
 And next the Lines of thy aerial Friend. 
 
 On Mr. P o P E *s Univerfal PRAYER. 
 
 AH Thou ! whom Nature and thy Stars defigii'd, 
 At once the Joy and Envy of Mankind, 
 To thy lov'd Memory this Sigh I fend ; 
 To thee a Stranger, to thy Lines a Friend : 
 How bleft the Mufe cou'd fhe like thine afpire, 
 So fmooth her Accent, and fublime her Fire ; 
 With bright Description make the Bofom glow, 
 Charm like thy Senfe, and like thy Numbers flow : 
 O teach my Soul to reach the Seats divine, 
 And praife her Maker in a Strain like thine. 
 
 Ye carelefs Ones, who never thought before, 
 Read this grand Verfe, then tremble and adore : 
 
 Let
 
 POEMS on fever al Occafions. 143 
 
 Let ftern Enthufiafts here be taught to know, 
 'Tis from the Heart true Piety muft flow : 
 Here Hope, Content, and finiling Mercy mine ; 
 And breathe celefdal through the fpeaking Line : 
 From the ftill Mind its guilty Paffions roll, 
 And dawning Grace awakes the fervent Soul. 
 
 Let angry Zealots quarrel for a Name, 
 The good, the jufl, the virtuous are the feme : 
 Grace to no Sect, nor Virtue is confin'd ; 
 They blend with all, and fpread among ft the kind 5 
 And the pure Flame that warms the pious Breaft ; 
 Thofe cannot merit who condemn the reft. 
 
 To the dark Nations when Religion came, 
 All dreft in Smiles ; they faw the heav'nly Darne^ 
 Till fome ftern Teachers of their Office proud, 
 Chofe not to foften but affright the Crowd, 
 With gloomy Terrors fill'd the dusky Age, 
 And veil'd her Beauties in the mask of Rage : 
 Then bid the Hand-maids of Perdition rife, 
 Black Cruelty with fierce and flaming Eyes ; 
 
 Dif-
 
 144 POEMS on fevaler Qccajions* 
 
 Diftraftion ravag'd on the publick Weal, 
 And Perfecution wore the Robe of Zeal : 
 Deluded Faith efpous'd the ftronger Side, 
 And conquer'd Juftice gave her Sword to Pride. 
 
 This faw the furly difcontented Mind, 
 By Nature haughty and to Vice inclin'd : 
 And thence concluded all their Syflems vain, 
 The Cant of Schools and Phrenfy of the Brain : 
 From hence the Seel: of Libertines arofe, 
 Who fcorn what Reafon or the Priefts impofe : 
 Who give to Chance the World's that round us roll, 
 And tear from Man his ever-confcious Soul. 
 
 But thou whofe Name (immortal as thy Rhymes) 
 Shall live and brighten through fucceeding Times : 
 (Whofe Lines can Wit and Virtue both infpire, 
 Whom future Ages mall like me admire) 
 Teach me between the two Extremes to glide, 
 Not brave the Stream nor fwim with ev'ry Tide : 
 But more with Charity than Zeal poffeft, 
 Keep my own Faith, yet not condemn the reft.
 
 POEMS on feveral Occajlons. 145 
 
 The FIELDS ^/MELANCHOLY 
 and CHEARPULNESS. 
 
 STILL were the Groves, and venerable Night 
 O'er half the Globe had caft her gloomy Vefl, 
 When by a Taper's folitary Gleam 
 Sat mufing Mlra penfive and alone 5 
 In her fad Breaft officious Memory 
 Reviv'd the Pictures of departed Friends, 
 Whofe pleafing Forms me muft behold no more. 
 Forgotten Woe, that for a time had flept, 
 Rofe into Life, and like a Torrent pour'd 
 On her faint Soul, which funk beneath its Rage ; 
 At length foft Slumber kindly interven'd, 
 And clos'd thofe Eye-lids that were drench'd in 
 
 Tears ; 
 
 But reftlefs Fancy that was waking ftill. 
 Led my deluded Spirit on the Wing 
 To pictur'd Regions and imagin'd Worlds. 
 I feem'd tranfported to a gloomy Land, 
 Whofe Fields had never known the chearful Sun : 
 
 L A
 
 146 POEMS on feveral Occafiom. 
 
 A heavy Mid hung in 'the frowning Sky, 
 
 No feather'd Warblers chear'd the mourning Groves, 
 
 Nor bluming Flow'rs adorn'd the barren Ground : 
 
 I gaz'd around the folitary Coaft, 
 
 When lo a Nymph with folemn Air approach'd, 
 
 Whofe Drefs was carelefs and her Features grave, 
 
 Her Voice was broken and her Hearing dull : 
 
 She fpoke but feldom, yet at laft me told 
 
 Me in a Whifper, that her Name was Thought 5 
 
 And more, fhe offer'd, with a friendly Air, 
 
 To lead -me fafely through the dreary Gloom : 
 
 We walk'd along through rough unpleafing Paths, 
 
 O'er Beds of Night-Shade and through Groves of 
 
 Yew, 
 
 Till we arriv'd within a dusky Wood, 
 Whofe fpacious Bound was fenc'd with magged 
 
 Thorn. 
 
 The Trees were* baleful Cyprefs; and a few 
 Tall Pines that murmur'd to the rufhing Wind : 
 Here dwelt the Natives, (mournful as the Place) 
 Or funk in real or imagin'd Woe 5 
 Complaining Sounds were heard on ev'ry Side, 
 
 And
 
 POEMS on fever al Occajiws. 147 
 
 And each bewail'd the lofs of fomething dear : 
 Some mourn'd a Child that in its Bloom expir'd, 
 And fome a Brother's or a Parent's Fate : 
 Loft Wealth and Honours many Tongues deplor'd, 
 And fome were wretched, tho' they knew not why. 
 
 But as ^we reach'd the Centre of the Place, 
 Complaints were heard more piercing than before : 
 The gathering Fogs grew thicker o'er our Heads, 
 And a cold Horror thrhTd our wounded Souls, 
 And thus we travell'd, penfive beyond meafure, 
 Through Paths half cover 'd with perplexing Thorns ; 
 At length we found two Rows of aged Firs, 
 Whofe Tops were blafted by unwholfom Winds, 
 This folitary Vifta op'ning wide, 
 Difclos'd the Palace of its mournful Queen : 
 Before the Gate was plac'd a frightful Guard, 
 Who ferv'd as Porters to the gloomy Dome : 
 Here, flretch'd upon a milerable Couch, 
 Lay pining Sicknefs with continual Groans ; 
 And by her Side, (array 'd in filthy Weeds) 
 Sat quaking Poverty with ghaftly ftare : 
 His Prefence feem'd to aggravate her Pain, 
 
 L 2 F*r
 
 148 POEMS on feveral Occafions. 
 
 For when me caft her languid Eyes on him, 
 She hid her Face and rais'd a fearful Cry. 
 There Difappointment like a Statue flood, 
 With Eyes dejected and with Vifage pale : 
 Her heaving Bofom feem'd to fwell with Anguifh, 
 And in her Hand (he grafp'd a broken Reed : 
 Here, in the Garb of Piety, wefaw 
 Proud Error frowning with a Look fevere : 
 Doubt at his Elbow bore a Rod of Snakes, 
 And held a Cup fill'd to the Brim with Tears, 
 By thefe we pafs'd into the dusky Court, 
 O'er-run with Hemlock and with gloomy Fern : 
 Perpetual Night hung o'er the difmal Walls, 
 And from the Ground unhealthy Vapours rofe; 
 Through folding Doors of Ebony we came, 
 Into a winding Paflage hung with black, . 
 For ever dark pofTefl by flitting Shades, 
 By waking Fancies, and by frightful Dreams 
 This led us to a fubterraneous Cell, 
 Where the fad Emprefs Melancholy reign'd -, 
 The mufing Matron fat upon a Throne 
 Of mould'ring Earth her Footftool of the fame ; 
 
 And
 
 POEMS onfeveral Occajions. 1 49 
 
 And for her Canopy an aged Yew 
 Spread o'er her Head its venerable Arms : 
 Her carelefs Robe was of a fable Hue, 
 And on her Shoulders flow'd her flighted Hair : 
 Her Lips were clos'd with an eternal Silence ; 
 Her Arms were folded and her Head reclin'd ; 
 On either Side her pale Attendants flood, 
 Two mournful Maids, Dejection and Defpair j 
 The firft (attended with continual Paintings) 
 Seem' d on the Point to clofe her dying Eyes : 
 A conftant Dew hung on her death-like Brow, 
 And her cold Bofom half forgot to heave, 
 Defpair (whofe Garments by herfelf were torn) 
 Was mark'd with Wounds that Time can never heal : 
 With defp'rate Hand fhe ftruck her bleeding Breafr, 
 And wafh'd the Ground with never-ceafing Tears ; 
 With ghaflly Figures was the Cave adorn'd, 
 And in the midft the Effigies of Death. 
 
 Shock'd at the Place we hafted to return, 
 And left the horrid Manfion far behind ; 
 Long time we travell'd through untrodden Paths, 
 Where the brown Forefls caft an awful Gloom : 
 
 L 3 At
 
 150 POEMS on feveral Qccafions. 
 
 At length the floating Clouds began to part, 
 And left behind them Streaks of chearful Azure j 
 Our Path grew fmoofch and widen'd to the view, 
 Until it open'd on a fpacious Field -, 
 A Field whofe Charms no Painter e'er cou'd reach. 
 Though he fhou'd borrow from the Poet's Heav'n > 
 The Clime was temp'rate and the Air was ftill, 
 The fprouting Turf was of a beauteous Green, 
 Speckled with Flqw'rs of a delicious Dye. 
 Here cryftal Lakes were border'd round with Trees, 
 Where Bloffoms flourifh'd in eternal Spring ; 
 For here the Groves no blafting Tempers know, 
 But ftill are bleft with Fruits that ne'er decay : 
 Perpetual Sun-fhine crown'd the gaudy Hills, 
 And the fair Vallies were with Plenty gay. 
 
 A Path there was, trod o'er the fpicy Field, 
 Which led the Wand'rer to a blifsful Shade, 
 Whofe Fence was made of balmy Eglantine ; 
 Where the fair Plane o'erlook'd the Myrtle Shrub, 
 And flow'ring Orange that perfume the Air $ 
 Flere flew in Throngs the foft aerial Choir, 
 Whofe glitt'ring Necks like polifh'd Anilier fhpne : 
 
 We 

 
 P o E M s o?2 fever al Qccafiom. 151 
 
 We pafs'd delighted through ambrofial Paths, 
 And Bovvers move with JefTamine and Rofe ; 
 Joy feiz'd the ra villa 'd Spirits, while we breath'd 
 In Gales that tafted of immortal Sweets. 
 
 At length the parting Trees broke into Form, 
 And with a Circle bound a charming Plain, 
 I'th' midft of which upon an Iv'ry Throne 
 Sat Chearfulnefs, the Genius of the Place : 
 Her Mien was graceful and her Features fair ; 
 Continual Smiles dwelt on her dimpl'd Cheeks, 
 tier Hair was bound beneath a mining Crown, 
 Her Robes were Azure bright with golden Stars, 
 And in her Hand he held a iilver Lute. 
 
 On either Side her royal Sifters iat, 
 Both lovely, as herfelf, tho' not fb gay ; 
 The eldeft had a Face divinely fair ; 
 Calm was her Look, with Lips prepar'd for fmiling, 
 She often rais'd her thankful Eyes to Heav'n ; 
 Her Form was eafy and her Name Content : 
 The other (much the youngefl) was array'd 
 In Virgin Robes white as unfully'd Snow 3 
 Her thoughtlefs Smiles wou'd tame a Tiger's Rage, 
 L 4 A
 
 152 POEMS on fever a! Otcafions. 
 
 A Lamb (whofe Neck was circl'd with a Band 
 Of new blown Rofes) at her Feet was laid, 
 A milk-white Dove upon her Hand me bore : 
 Thus ever blcft fat Innocence the fair. 
 
 Behind thefe Sifters flood a mining Train, 
 As Maids of Honour to the Royal Fair : 
 Projberity (the firft) was climbing up 
 A ilately Pyramid of painted Marble ; 
 From whofe high Top me reach'd a brilliant Crowd : 
 Then with an Air that fpoke a joyful Heart, 
 Look'd down with Pleafure on the Plain below. 
 
 Gay Wealth the next, in herembroider'd Veft, 
 Shone like the Entrails of the eaftern Mine -, 
 Her Hair was platted thick with fparkling Gems, 
 And in her Hand me bore a golden Wand. 
 
 Healthy like a Sylvan Huntrefs cloath'd in Green, 
 In her right Hand .a dapled Palfry held, 
 Her Air was mafculine, and fwift her Motion ; 
 A Wreath of Flow'rs juft ravifh'd from the Meads, 
 Bound up the Ringlets of her fable Hair - 3 
 Her Cheeks were ruddy; and her large black Eyes 
 Confefs'd the Vigour of her fprightly Soul. 
 
 Thefe
 
 POEMS on feveral Qccafions. 153 
 
 Thefe were the Natives of this happy Land, 
 The Sight of whom fo fill'd my glowing Bread 
 With Ecftafy that I awoke : And thus 
 Their Glories vanifh'd, and were fcen no more. 
 
 The LIBYANHUNTER, tf F A B L E. 
 
 Infcritid to the Memory of a late admlr'd Author. 
 
 WHEN Merit rifes like the Prince of Day, 
 Pale Envy turns her aking Eyes away ; 
 Then fallow Cheeks with Rage are taught to glow, 
 And narrow Souls to bloated Furies grow. 
 
 Old Story tells us, on an earthly Plain 
 Once Jove defcended wrap'd in golden Rain : 
 Now Fate permits no fuch familiar Powers, 
 But Shoals of Criticks fall in leaden Showers : 
 Thefe gaze at Wit, as Owls behold the Sun, 
 And curfe the Luftre which they fain wou'd fhun j 
 Thefe Beafts of Prey no living worth endure, 
 Nor are the Regions of the Dead fecure $ 
 
 Yet
 
 j 54 P o E M s 0# fever al Occafions. 
 
 Yet mall the Worthy o'er their Spite prevail ; 
 Here lies the Moral follows next the Tale. 
 
 Once on a time on Libya's thirfty Land, 
 Where Showers feldom wet the burning Sand, 
 Liv'd happy Syfoius as the Morning gay, 
 A well-known Fav'rite of the Prince of Day ; 
 Whofe Hand, unerring, to the Mark in view 
 Sent the fwift Arrow from the twanging Yew : 
 The trembling Panthers from his Fury fly, 
 When the keen Jav'lin hifs'd along the Sky ; 
 Fierce were his Eyes, and dazzling as the Sun ; 
 His raven Looks in mazy Ringlets run, 
 A well-ftor'd Quiver at his Back was ty'd, 
 A mining Spear his better Hand fupply'd : 
 Thus rudely charming, he was fure to pleafe 
 With graceful Negligence and carelefs Eafe : 
 He breath'd foft Mufick from his tuneful Tongue, 
 And the wild Tiger liften'd to his Song : 
 The woodland Nymphs their dusky Shades forego, 
 And the blue Naiads left the Deeps below ; 
 
 None 

 
 POEMS on feveral Occafiom, \ 55 
 
 None guard the Flocks, nor hunt the flying Prey, 
 Till he had finifh'd the enchanting Lay : 
 Then Sylvan Dames with Wreaths of Laurel bound, 
 His chearful Temples and with Rofes crown'd. 
 Put grudging Envy heard the juft Applaufe, 
 And the pale Phantom writh'd her hagard Jaws j 
 J^ow fwell'd the Bofoms of repining Swains, 
 And hifiing Scandals flew acrofs the Plains. 
 
 At length his Fame the wondrjng Sky invades, 
 And reach'd the Mufes in their facred Shades ; 
 Bright 'Thalia view'd him with an envious Eye, 
 And thus addrefs'd her Partners of the Sky : 
 ' Ye tuneful Maids, give o'er the labour'd Song, 
 
 * Small are the Praifes to our mare belong ; 
 
 ' Look down and fee on yonder iultry Plain, 
 
 ' Our Voices equal'd by a Libyan Swain ; 
 
 f Give o'er the Lay, ye too officious Fair, 
 
 ' Lay down the Lyre and fruitlefs Hymns forbear, 
 
 * Nor hope to charm the partial Prince of Day, 
 
 4 While heav'nly Accents breathe from mortal Clay ; 
 
 In
 
 156 POEMS on feveral Qccafiom. 
 
 In vain we keep our radiant Seats on high, 
 
 * If rural Swains {hall with ourMufick vie : ' 
 She faid : And Rage pofleft the beauteous Ring, 
 Some ciirfe the Youth and fome their partial King, 
 The Dame who faw th' infe&ious Murmurs run, 
 Roll'd her blue Eyes, and thus afrem begun : 
 
 ' No more the Bays {hall to our Share belong, 
 
 * Nor charm'd Celeftials mall attend our Song : 
 ' But all to Sylvius mall their Off 'rings pay j 
 
 c To Sylvius favour'd by the Prince of Day, 
 ' Shall he exceed the Mufes {acred Choir : 
 
 * Not while Revenge mall injur'd Bofoms fire. 
 
 4 But fee, my Sifters : On the Plains below 
 
 * Swift Cynthia's Hounds purfue the flying Doe : 
 4 Be mine the Task to bear a fraudful Tale, 
 
 ' To the fwift Hunters in the Libyan Vale : 
 ' As how her Herds in vain from Sylvius fly ; 
 ' His Darts purfue them, and the Victims die : 
 ' So Delia's Rage mall Hop his tuneful Tongue, 
 ' And we no more {hall dread the rival Song. 
 
 Here
 
 POEMS on fever a I Occajions. 157 
 
 Here ceas'd the Dame the fmiling Sifters join : 
 Their loud Applaufes to her fly Defign. 
 
 Now had the Sun withdrawn his piercing Eye, 
 And Night aflum'd the Empire of the Sky : 
 Lull'd in her Lap repofing Nature lay, 
 And Swains forgot the Labours of the* Day : 
 The Winds were hufli'd, the Ocean ceas'd to roar, 
 4 And foftly murmur 'd by the fandy Shore, 
 When from ParnaJJus flew the envious Maid, 
 To feek the Huntrefs of the lonely Shade : 
 The fierce Virago on a verdant Plain, 
 She found, encircl'd by her fleeping Train 
 Where a cool River bleft the fertile Ground, 
 Its Bank with Trees and bending Ofier's crown'd : 
 Beneath a Shade the lovely Dian flood 
 With down-caft Eyes, and view'd the rolling Flood ; 
 Whofe Waves were bright with the reflected Beams 
 Of her own Orb that fparkl'd on the Streams. 
 
 4 Hail, Delia, Hail, (began the artful Dame) 
 c Lives there a Wretch who owns not Delia's Name ? 
 
 e Lives
 
 158 POEMS on federal Occafions. 
 
 ' Lives there a Slave whofe daring Hand defies 
 
 * The awful Emprefs of the nightly Skies ? 
 
 * Yes, haughty Sylvius triumphs o'er the Plain, 
 
 ' Tho' thy choice Herds are by his Arrows fiain 5 
 c The frighted Fauns his wanton Rage wou'd fly, 
 
 * But the keen Dart o'ertakes 'em, and they die. 
 c His mining Spear arrefts the trembling Doe, 
 
 * And groaning Stags the deadly Weapon know i 
 
 * But if fair Delia to the Libyan Swain 
 
 * Refigns the Freedom of her facred Plain, 
 
 * Let none difpute the Licence of her Wil! y 
 c And I retire to our tuneful Hill. * 
 
 With fluming Features and diforder'd Charms 
 The angry Goddefs feiz'd her deathful Arms -, 
 c Shall Man with me difpute the Plain (fhe cries,. 
 While kindling Rage inflam'd her rolling Eyes) 
 
 * This Hand fhall well revenge my flaughter'd Deer : 
 She faid : And furious grafp'd the dreadful Spear, 
 And o'er her Shoulder flung the fliining Bow, 
 Then breathing Vengeance fought her guiltlefs Foe. 
 
 Thi
 
 P o E M s on feveral Occa/tons. 159 
 
 The Youth beneath a dusky Shade flie found, 
 Thoughtlefs of 111 and fleeping on the Ground } 
 A deadly Shaft deluded Cynthia drew, 
 And to his Heart the feather'd Vengeance flew j 
 The reaking Blood came bubbling through the Wound^ 
 Pour'd o'er his Bofom and diftain'd the Ground ; 
 Then the freed Spirit took her airy Way, 
 To Fields of Pleafure and of endlefs Day. 
 
 The red-cheek'd Morning had now chas'd away 
 Night's fable Curtain and the dawning Day 
 Call'd forth abroad the trufty Bands Again 
 To chafe the Tiger o'er the Defert Plain ; 
 To fearch-the Caves where kingly Lions roar. 
 And from thick Shades diflodge the hriftled Boar : 
 Sylvius they want, for him they fearch^ they call, 
 They fearch the Shades where cryftal Waters fall, 
 His wonted Haunts : Then ev'ry Voice they try : 
 In vain they call, for none, alas ! reply : 
 <Hear, Sylvius, hear, they cry, and all around ; 
 Hear, Sylvius y hear, -the hollow 'Rocks refound. 
 
 At
 
 160 POEMS on fever at Occafions* 
 
 At length a Crew, the bafeft of the Plain, 
 Approach'd, the Covert of the flaughter'd Swain : 
 Glad they beheld him breathlefs en the Ground, 
 And gaz'd with Rapture on the purple Wound, 
 When one began Now blefs the friendly Hand, 
 That Swept off Sylvius from the gazing Land : 
 Behold the Day fo oft by us defir'd, 
 Here lies the Swain whom lately all admir'd. 
 
 This Phoebus faw, as from his blazing Wheels, 
 With his broad Eye he view'd the glitt'ring Fields, 
 Behold the Youth whom he had taught to throw 
 The feather'd Arrow from the bounding Bow, 
 Beheld his Sylvius, to whofe artful Tongue 
 He taught the Numbers of enchanting Song. 
 Now cold and breathlefs on the dewy Plain, 
 And his worft Foes infulting o'er the Slain : 
 Then rag'd the God that wears the illver Bow, 
 And his broad Eyes with fparkling Fury glow, 
 Defcended Phcebus in a burning Ray, 
 His beamy Locks deckres the Prince of Day, 
 And flaming Glories round his Temples play,
 
 P o E M s on federal Occafions. 1 6 1 
 
 Each on his Face the trembling Victims fall, 
 Their ftammering Tongues wou'd fain for Mercy call ; 
 But as all grov'ling on the Dufl they lie, 
 His Shafts difpatch them to the darker Sky : 
 Learn hence (he cry'd) ye impious Men, to know, 
 And dread the Pow'r that wears the mortal Bow : 
 For while I rule the blazing Throne of Day, 
 None wrong my Servants but (hall find their Pay - t 
 He faid and rais'd his Fav'rite from the Ground, 
 Then fmiPd the Features : And the gaping Wound 
 Was feen no more. The glowing Cheeks revive, 
 Shake off the Stamp of Death, and feem alive ; 
 Inftead of Cyprefs and a mournful Shroud, 
 Apollo wrap'd him in a golden Cloud, 
 And bore him thence : But where, there's none Can fay, 
 Unlefs to his own Regions of the Day. 
 
 And from the Ground where Sylvius late was feen, 
 Where the warm Gore had ftain'd the thirfty Green j 
 A pleafing Tree arofe with {lender Stems, 
 That breath'd Ambrofia from its op'ning Gems : 
 
 M Thofc
 
 1 6 2 POEMS on federal Occafions. 
 
 Thofe op'ning Gems the Virgins us'd to wear 
 On their fair Bofoms, and their mining Hair : 
 Now the gay Shrub each happy Climate knows, 
 By all admir'd, and 'tis cali'd the Rofe. 
 
 The T E M P L E of L O V E. 
 
 WHEN lonely Night compos'd the drowfy 
 Mind, 5 
 
 And hufli'd the Bofom of the weary Hind, 
 Pleas'd with plain Nature and with firriple Life, 
 I read the Scenes of Shore's deluded Wife, 
 Till my faint Spirits fought the filent Bed, 
 And on ks Pillow drop'd my aking Head ; 
 Then Fancy ever to her Mira kind> 
 Prepar'd her Phantoms for the roving Mind. 
 
 Behold a Fabrick rifing from the Ground, 
 To the foft Timbrel and the Cittern's Sound : 
 Corinthian Pillars the vaft Building hold, 
 Of polifh'd Silver and Peruvian Gold j 
 
 In
 
 POEMS on fever al Occajions. 163 
 
 Jn four broad Arches fprcad the fhining Doors, 
 The blazing Roofs enlighten all the Floors : 
 Beneath a fparkling Canopy that {hone 
 With Perfian Jewels, like a Morning Sun 
 Wrap'd in a Robe of pureft lyrian Dye, 
 Cythera's Image met the ravim'd Eye, 
 Whofe glowing Features wou'd in Paint beguile : 
 So well the Artifl drew her mimick Smile $ . 
 Her fhining Eyes confefs'd a fprightly Joy ; 
 Upon her Knees reclin'd her wanton Boy j 
 On the bright Walls, around her and above, 
 Were drawn the Statutes and the Arts of Love : 
 Thefe taught the filent Language of the Eye, 
 The broken Whifper and amufing Lye ; 
 The carelefs Glance peculiar to the Fair, 
 And Vows for Lovers, that difTolve in Air ; 
 The graceful Anger, and the rolling Eyes ; 
 The pra&is'd Blum and counterfeit Surprife, 
 The Language proper for pretending Swains ; 
 And fine Defcription for imagin'd Pains ; 
 The friendly Caution and deligning Eafe, 
 And all the Arts that ruin while they pleafe. 
 
 M 2 Now
 
 164 PoEMS0tf fever a I Ocafions. 
 
 ' Now cntred, follow'd by a fplendid Train, 
 A blooming Damfel and a wealthy Swain j 
 The gaudy Youth in mining Robes array'd, 
 Behind him follow'd the unthinking Maid : 
 Youth 'in her Cheek like op'ning Rofes fprung, 
 Her carelefs TrefTes on her Shoulders hung. 
 Her Smiles were chearful as enliv'ning May-, 
 Her Drefs was carelefs, and her Eyes were gay ; 
 Then to foft Voices and melodious Sound 
 The Board was fpread, the fparkling GlafTes crown'd : 
 The fprightly Virgin in a Moment fhines 
 In the gay Entrails of the eaftern Mines ; 
 Theft Pride comes in with Patches for the Fair, 
 And fpicy Odours for her curling Hair : 
 Rude Riot in a crimfon Veft array'd, 
 With fmooth-fac'd Flatt'ry like a Chamber-maid : 
 Soft Pomp and Pleafure at her Elbow ftand, 
 And Folly {hakes the Rattles in her Hand. 
 
 But now her feeble Structure feem'd to make, 
 Its Bafts trembl'd and its Pillars quake j 
 
 Then
 
 POEMS on fevcral Occa/fons. 165 
 
 Then rum'd Sufpicion through the lofty Gate, 
 With heart-lick Loathing led by ghaftly Hatej 
 And foaming Rage, to clofe the horrid Band, 
 With a drawn Poniard in her (halting Hand. 
 Now like an Earthquake (hook the reeling Frame, 
 The Lamps extinguifh in a purple Flame : 
 One univerfal Groan was heard, and then 
 The Cries of Women and the Voice of Men : 
 Some roar out Vengeance, fome for Mercy call ; 
 And Shrieks and Tumult fill the dreadful Hall. 
 
 At length the* Spectres vanifh'd from my Sight, 
 Again the Lamps refum'd a feeble Light j 
 But chang'd the Place : No Splendor there was fliown, 
 But gloomy Walls that Mirth had never known ; 
 For the gay Dome where Pleafure us'd to dwell, 
 Appear'd an Abbey and a doleful Cell ; 
 And here the fad, the ruin'd Nymph was found, 
 Her Robe diforder'd and her Locks unbound, 
 While from her Eyes the pearly Drops' of Woe, 
 Wam'd her pale Cheek where Rofes us'd to blow : 
 
 M Her
 
 1 66 POEMS on fever al Occafioni. 
 
 Her blue and trembling Lips prepar'd to breathe 
 The Sighs that made her fvvelling Bofom heave ; 
 Thus ftupid with her Grief ftie fat and preft 
 Her lily Hands acrofs her penlive Breafl ; 
 A Group of ghaflly Phantoms flood behind, 
 Whofe Task it is to wreck the guilty Mind : 
 Wide-mouth'd Reproach with Vifage rude and thin, 
 And hiffing Scandal made a hideous Din $ 
 Remorfe that darted from her deadly Wings, 
 Invenom'd Arrows and a thoufand Stings : 
 Then with pale Cheeks and with a ghaflly Stare, 
 Peep'd o'er her Shoulder hollow-ey'd Defpair ; 
 Whofe Hand extended bore a bleeding Heart, 
 And Death behind her mook his threat'ning Dart : 
 Thefe Forms with Horror fill'd my aking Breaft, 
 And from my Eye-lids drove the Balm of Reft : 
 I woke and found old Night her Courfe had run, 
 And left her Empire to the rifing Sun. 
 
 ADVICE
 
 POEMS on feveral Occafions. 167 
 
 ADVICE to MYRTILLO. 
 
 SINCE you, Myrtillo, will devote your Time 
 To the lean Study of delufive Rhyme : 
 Since you're content to flumber out your Days, 
 To dream of Dinners, but to feed on Praife - 3 
 Receive this Counfel, e'er your Flights begin, 
 From one long pradis'd in the darling Sin. 
 
 Now Fame's broad Ocean lies before your Way ; 
 Yet, Friend, be careful j 'tis a dang'rous Sea : 
 Where (tho' fomc few may reach the happy Land) 
 Are Numbers wreck'd upon the treach'rous Sand : 
 Then guard your Spirits, as you prize your Eafe, 
 Nor once indulge 'em in a thirft of Praife -, 
 For Fame, like Fortune, (proud, yet wanton too) 
 Is pleas'd to fly and make the Wretch purfue ; 
 Frowns on her Slaves, but to the carelefs Mind 
 That flights her Favours me is always kind. 
 
 M 4 Would
 
 l68 POEMS on fever al Occafions. 
 
 Would you thie Ladies mou'd approve your Song ? 
 Paint Sylvia's Eyes, or praife Clarinda's Tongue ; 
 Defcribe the Charms of doe's fprightly Air, 
 Or blooming Daphne more divinely fair 5 
 Or Venus s Son that hurls the flaming Dart, 
 And tag each Stanza with a bleeding Heart : 
 Tell them of Rocks where Tears eternal flow, 
 DifTolv'd to Fountains by a Lover's Woe : 
 Of icy Bofoms that in Summer freeze, 
 And Sighs much ftronger than a fouthern Breeze. 
 
 Perhaps the Fair, whom for a Theme you choofe, 
 Mufl owe her Beauties to your skilful Mufe : 
 Has erring Nature raifs'd her Nofe too high, 
 Sunk down her Cheeks, or drawn her Lips awry ? 
 No matter how the twifted Features ftand, 
 They'll grow divine beneath a Poef's Hand : 
 Tho' her dim Eye-balls roll within her Head, 
 \,ike two gray Bullets in a Verge of red j 
 r ou like Promotions muft. their Rays infpire, 
 vnd fill their Orbs with more than mortal Fire. 
 
 Do
 
 POEMS on feveral Occajions. 169 
 Do you the Levee of his Grace attend, 
 And (like moft Poets) fhou'd you want a Friend, 
 Make not his Worth the Meafure of your Song ; 
 But learn his Humour, and you can't be wrong ; 
 Perhaps this Maxim may offend the wife j 
 But you muft flatter, if you mean to rife : 
 Obferve what Paffions in his Bofom roll, 
 And watch the fecret Motions of his Soul : 
 Mind what falfe Guard has left a Breach within, 
 For fome choice Folly, or fome darling Sin : 
 
 Thefe you muft hide but draw his Virtues nigh. 
 
 Left the rude Picture mock the gazing Eye. 
 
 The Heralds-Office you muft fearch with Care j 
 And look you find no Pimps nor Taylors there : 
 Bring none to light but honourable Knaves $ 
 Shut up the Peafants in their mouldy Graves : 
 If Knights are wanting in the dusky Breed, 
 Arthur's round Table will fupply your Need. 
 
 No more for I (as many Teachers do) 
 Shew my own Folly by inftructing you j 
 
 And
 
 170 POEMS on feveral Occaftoni. 
 
 And you perhaps difdain my wholfom Rules ; 
 So faucy Pupils count their Matters Fools : 
 But fhou'd your Pride the common Track refufe, 
 You'll find ffnall Penfions for your haughty Mufe : 
 Still you may. fcribble on 3 and in the End 
 Be juft as rich as Sir, your humble Friend. 
 
 On DISCONTENT. 
 
 T<? STELLA. 
 
 SA Y, deareft Stella, why this penfive Air ? 
 Tell me, tell thy Sorrows and thy Care; 
 Why thy Lips tremble, and thy Cheeks are pie ? 
 Why heaves thy Bofom with a mournful Gale ? 
 Let not thy Eyes for diftant Evils flow, 
 Nor rack thy Bofom with prophetick Woe : 
 Imagin'd Ills deceive our aking Eyes, 
 As lengthen'd Shades appear of monftrous Size, 
 When fetting Pb&bus gilds the Ev'ning Skies. 
 
 Tho*
 
 POEMS on fever al Occajions. 171 
 
 Tho' pi&ur'd Joy deludes our panting Souls, 
 When round the Heart its fmiling Phantom rolls ; 
 The gay Impoftor mocks our reaching Arms ; 
 Yet while it lafts, the pleafmg Vifion charms : 
 Not fo Diftruft, her gloomy Forehead rears $ 
 She brings cold Anguifh and a crowd of Fears : 
 Ah lovely Stella I as you prize your Reft, 
 Expel this Fury from your guiltlefs Breaft. 
 
 The wife and mighty Guardian of Mankind, 
 To each Dividual has their Draught affign'd ; 
 And tho' no Pearls ftiou'd in our Potion fall, 
 Let us be chearful while he fpares the Gall : 
 Unmeaning Tranfports for a Moment pleafe, 
 Yet Peace alone can blefs your equal Days. 
 
 But coldly view'd or quickly thrown afide, 
 See cringing Merit at the Gates of Pride ; 
 See Wit and Wifdom (that our Fathers priz'd) 
 In Youth negleded as in Age defpis'd : 
 Behold (the Scorn, as late the Dread of all) 
 The Politician from Eis Glory fall : 
 
 He
 
 172 POEMS on feveral Occafions. 
 
 He whofe fly Genius cou'd a Kingdom rule, 
 Shall have his Exit hifs'd by ev'ry Fool : 
 With aking Bofom and a ftreaming Eye 
 The hoary Soldier fees his Honour fly j 
 Who in his Age muft to Oppreflion bow, 
 And yield his Laurels to a younger Brow : 
 Thofe Laurels (hall the proud Succeffor wear 
 A while 5 then (trip and leave 'em to his Heir, 
 
 If thefe are wretched let not us repine, 
 Whofe meaner Talents ne'er were made to mine : 
 Our Good and 111, our Vice and Virtue falls 
 Within the compafs of domeftick Walls : 
 To thofe fmall Limits be thy Views confin'd, 
 And blefs thy Cottage with an humble Mind. 
 
 Look not at Joys that dazzle from afar, 
 Nor envy Glaro on his gilded Car ; 
 For all Degrees their Days of Anguim know, 
 And the moil happy have a tafte of Woe : 
 Then calmly take what Providence ordains, 
 le fwells the Load who murmurs and complains ; 
 
 Foi
 
 POEMS on fever al Occafions. 1 73 
 
 For all things vary : And who fits to day 
 Half-drown'd in Tears ; to-morrow may be gay. 
 
 The P R O P O S A L, 
 
 WITH aking Fingers, twinging Nofe, 
 And vex'd, deaf Madam, we'll fuppofe : 
 (To leave yourfelfand Parlour-fire) 
 Trudg'd Mir a to her own good Sire ; 
 Beneath a cold and gloomy Sky 
 Walk'd cheek by jole the Mufe and I : 
 The lift'ning Goffip, tho* unfeexi, 
 Had watch'd the Talk that pafs'd between 
 Myfelf and you : And much offended 
 (It feems) at what was there intended. 
 s So cries the peevifh Maid, (and fquinting) 
 e Methinks I heard you talk of Printing : 
 
 Have I beftow'd a world of Pains, ' 
 : To fpirit up your blockifh Brains, 
 c To get from thence an idle Rhyme, 
 
 ' That made me blufh to call it mine ? 
 
 4 And
 
 174 POEMS on feveral Occajlom. 
 
 c And (hall I fee the crippl'd Crew 
 
 e Difcarded from their Seat and you, 
 
 ' Turn'd out to skip from hand to hand 
 
 * In dirty Gazettes round the Land, 
 ' To grace the Knee of ev'ry Sot, 
 
 * And catch the Droppings of his Pot, 
 ' While in a Rage the drowfy Swains 
 
 c Perhaps may curfe you for your Pains, 
 
 c Protefting with a Critick's Spite, 
 
 ' That none fince Durfey knew to write ? 
 
 c But, Mira, if you want a Mufe, 
 
 ' To grace the Page of weekly News, 
 
 c The Task is much too low foe me, 
 
 * Yet I've a Maid of lefs Degree, 
 
 ' (With Spirit fuiting to her State) 
 
 * Will ferve you at an eafy Rate : 
 
 Whofe Voice, tho* hoarfe, is loud and ftrong, 
 
 ' An Artift at a ranting Song, 
 
 ' Can chaunt Lampoons without much flraining, 
 
 ' Or Epigrams with double Meaning, 
 
 ' To join the Tavern-Harp or Viol : 
 
 ' Now if you'll take her upon trial, 
 
 < To
 
 POEMS on feveral Occajions. 175 
 
 To her Defervings fuit your Pay, 
 And then you take the fafeft way : 
 Perhaps you'll profper in the End, 
 1*11 fay no more : But ask your Friend, 
 Here ends the Mufe Dear Madam, fay, 
 Shall I reject her or obey ? 
 
 SOTO. A CHARACTER. 
 
 IN Sofo's Bofom you may find 
 The Glimm'ring of a worthy Mind : 
 'Tis but a faint and feeble Ray, 
 Imperfect as the dawning Day j 
 Yet were the jarring Paflions tun'd, 
 And the wild Branches nicely prun'd, 
 The Soil from Thorns and Thirties clear, 
 Some latent Virtues might appear ; 
 Fth' Morning catch him, (early tho' 
 Your Bird will elfe be flown, I trow,) 
 E'er he has reach T d the bowzing Can, 
 You'll find the Stamp of reasoning Man : 
 
 Then
 
 1 76 POEMS OH feveral Occafans. 
 
 Then fee the Wretch whom none can rule, 
 E'er Night a Mad-man and a Fool ; 
 The witty Sofo then you'll find, 
 Juft level with the brutal Kind, 
 With crimfon Face and winking Eyes, 
 That look like Woodcocks, mighty wife : 
 See flreams a Current down his Chin, 
 From foft Tobacco lodg'd within ; 
 Be pleas'd to (leal a Glance or two, 
 But one may ferve to make you 
 
 He fain wou'd walk, but cannot fland, 
 And fee a Palfy in his Hand ; 
 And tho' his Throat has fwallow'd down 
 Two Gallons of October brown, 
 His greedy Guts impatient roar, 
 And feem to call aloud for more : 
 More they fhall have : But hark, within 
 Is heard a rude and lawlefs Din : 
 Wind, Ale, and Phlegm their Powers wage, 
 And Hickups call them to engage j 
 
 And 

 
 POEMS on feveral Occafans. 1 7 7 
 
 And now, Ah now ! incefiant flows 
 The frothy Tide from Mouth and Nofe : 
 No more is feen the cover'd Ground, 
 But a huge River floating round : 
 Down drops the Youth, his giddy Head 
 Falls eafy on the liquid Bed : 
 So fwam Achilles fierce and brave, 
 On angry Xffntbus's fwelling Wave ; 
 And 'fcap'd with being wet to th' Skin ; 
 For Pallas held him up by th' Chin : 
 So Bacchus faves, by mighty Charms, 
 His helplefs Devotee from Harms : 
 And Soto fleeps till break of Day, 
 Then makes his Ears and walks away. 
 
 The UNIVERSAL DREAM, 
 
 e S^\ I V E o'er your Whims, fays my confideratc 
 Lj Friend ; 
 
 ' Retrieve the fleeting Hours you idly fpend : 
 
 * Blind to Advice, incorrigible, vain, 
 
 1 You follow Fancy and her laughing Train; 
 
 N < Your
 
 178 POEMS on feveral Qccafions. 
 
 < Your thoughtlefs Days in fvvift Delufion fly : ' 
 
 So let them go, fays unconverted I, 
 
 Look round the Globe, my Friend, and then you'll fee 
 
 The drowfy World is flumb'ring juft like me. 
 
 See on foft Beds the Hero fleeps feeure, 
 
 Till War comes thund'ring at his trembling Door ; 
 
 In wifer Dreams the Politician prys 
 
 Through diftant Kingdoms with his half-fhut Eyes : 
 
 The lulPd Projector builds aerial Towers, 
 
 And rolls fmooth Rivers through enchanted Bowers. 
 
 The Chymift flumbers o'er irnagin'd Gold, 
 
 So Delia's Conquefts in her Dreams are told. 
 
 What monftrous Phantoms in that Trance are born, 
 
 Through which Amyntor fees his fprouting Horn ? 
 
 When purblind Mortals found the Depths of Fate, 
 Or fome lean Poet aims at an Eftate ; 
 Or when the good believing Man depends 
 On the flight Promife of his courtly Friends ; 
 Shou'd thofe awake they to their Coft wou'd find, 
 Thefe are but Shadows of a fleeping Mind. 
 
 Few
 
 POEMS on feveral Occafons. 179 
 
 Few real Pleafures are on Earth pofleft, 
 And Mortals only in their Dreams are bleft ; 
 Then dream no longer, my well-meaning Friend, 
 That Mira's Follies with her Mufe (hall end : 
 Some younger Vanity fucceeds the firft, 
 And thejaft Folly often proves the word : 
 No : While the reft in fruitlefs Cares are hurl'd, 
 Let me enjoy my vifionary World : 
 To this glad Bofom hug the dear Miflake, 
 If Dreams are Bleffings, who wou'd wim to wake ? 
 
 The Sow and the PEACOCK. 
 
 A FABLE. 
 
 IN Days of Yore, as Authors tell, 
 When Beads and Birds cou'd read and fpell, 
 (No matter where, in Town or City,) 
 There liv'd a Swine exceeding witty, 
 And for the Beauties of her Mind, 
 Excelling all her briftl'd Kind : 
 
 N 2 But
 
 180 POEMS on fever at Qccafions. 
 
 But yet to mortify her Pride, 
 She found at lail her failing Side. 
 
 -Philefophy {he had good Store, 
 Had ponder'd Seneca all o'er ; 
 Yet all Precautions ufelefs prove 
 Againft the Pow'r of mighty Love. 
 It happen'd on a fultry Day, 
 Upon her fav'rite Couch me lay : 
 'Twas a round Dunghil foft and warm, 
 O'er-fhadow'd by a neighboring Barn, 
 When lo, her winking Eyes behold 
 A Creature with a Neck of Gold, 
 With painted Wings and gorgeous Train s 
 That fparkl'd like the ftarry Plain : 
 His Neck and Breaft all brilliant mine 
 Againft the Sun : The dazzl'd Swine, 
 Who never faw the like before, 
 Began to wonder and adore ; 
 But feeing him fo fair and nice, 
 She left ber Dunghil in a trice, 
 
 Am
 
 POEMS on feveral Occafions. 1 8 1 
 
 And (fond to plcafe) the grunting Elf 
 Began to wafli and prune herfelf, 
 And from the ftinking Wave (he run 
 To dry her Carcafe in the Sun : 
 Then rubb'd her Sides againft a Tree, 
 And now as clean as Hogs can be, 
 With cautious Air and doubtful Bread, 
 The glitt'ring Peacock thus addreft ; 
 
 * Sir ; I, a homely rural Swine, 
 ' Can boaft of nothing fair nor fine, 
 ' No Dainties in our Troughs appear, 
 
 * But as you feem a Stranger here, 
 
 * Be pleas'd to walk into my Sty, 
 
 * A little Hut as plain as I ; 
 
 c Pray venture through the humble Door ; 
 ' And tho' your Entertainment's poor, 
 
 * With me you mall be fure to find 
 ' An open Heart and honeft Mind ; 
 
 * And that's a Dainty feldorn found 
 
 ' On Cedar Flow'rs and City Ground. 
 
 N 3 Thus
 
 1 8 2 POEMS oh fever al Occafions. 
 
 Thus far the Sow had preach'd by rule, 
 She preach'd, alas ! but to a Fool ; 
 For this fame Peacock (you muft know) 
 Had he been Man, had been a Beau : 
 And had (like them) but mighty little 
 To fay : So fquirted out his Spittle. 
 And with an Air that teflified, 
 He'd got at leaft his fhare of Pride, 
 He thus began : c Why, truly now, 
 4 You're very civil Mrs. Sow : 
 ' But I am very clean, d'ye fee ? 
 ' Your Sty is not a Place for me. 
 ' Shou'd I go through that narrow Door, 
 ' My Feathers might be foil'd or tore ; 
 4 Or fcented with unfav'ry Fumes : 
 * And what am I without my Plumes ? 
 
 The much offended Sow replies, 
 (And turns a-fquint her narrow Eyes) 
 ' Sir, you're incorrigibly vain, 
 f To value thus a mining Train j
 
 POEMS on fever al Occajions. 1 8 3 
 
 ' For when the northern Wind fhall blow, 
 
 * And fend us Hail, and Sleet, and Snow ; 
 
 < How will you fave from fuch keen Weathers 
 e Your Merit ? Sir, I mean your Feathers : 
 As for myfelf : to think that I 
 
 * Shou'd lead an Idiot to my Sty, 
 
 * Or flrive to make an Oaf my Friend, 
 ' It makes my Briftles ftand an end : 
 
 ' But for the future when I fee 
 ' A Bird that much refembles thee, 
 ' Til ever take it as a Rule, 
 c The fhining Cafe contains a Fool. 
 
 FLO RIME LI A, the Ftrft PASTORAL. 
 By Mr. NEWTON. 
 
 OF Florimelia and her Charms I fing, 
 Fair as the BlofToms of the fmiling Spring ; 
 Whofe lovely Temples wore a Myrtle Wreath, 
 That ferv'd to made her glowing Cheeks beneath : 
 
 N 4 How
 
 1 84 P o E M s on fever al Qccajions. 
 
 How wou'd that Brow, which never knew to frown, 
 Become the Splendor of an awful Crown j 
 For, by the luftre of her fhining Eyes, 
 You'd take her for an Emprefs in difguife : 
 Thofe graceful Limbs tho' clad in humble Green, 
 Wou'd fuit a Princefs, nor difgrace a Queen : 
 Yet a plain .Crook adorn'd her fnowy Hands, 
 Fair as the Fleeces of her tender Lambs : 
 Her Task it was, thofe tender Lambs to lead, 
 O'er the tall Mountain on the fertile Mead : 
 Where the clear Fountains gently murmur by, 
 And founding Grottos to her Flute reply : 
 Her Flute and Song delude the tedious Day, 
 And her foft Hours calmly glide away. 
 In Smiles the Fair One view'd the rifing Sun, 
 In Smiles beheld him when his Race was done : 
 And when his Beams had bid the Fields adieu, 
 And the damp Meadows fhone with pearly Dew ; 
 Pent in their Fold me leaves her wanton Care, 
 And to her home returns the happy Fair : 
 'Twas a low Cottage, humble as their Fate, 
 
 Where an old Father met her at the Gate : \ 
 
 This
 
 POEMS on feveral Occafions. \ 85 
 
 This Hind was call'd Afcphm of the Plain, 
 A Name much valu'd by each honeft Swain : 
 On whofe grave Brow were feen the Marks of Time, 
 No more his Cheeks confefs'd their healthy Prime : 
 Dim were his Eyes: Thofe Eye- balls that had feen 
 Full fourfcorc Springs array'd in fprightly Green : 
 Child of his Age was Florimel the Fair ; 
 And flic alone his Comfort and his Care. 
 
 Their little Houfe was plac'd beneath a Hill, 
 Whofe Verge was water 'd by a ftreaming Rill : 
 The Stranger here no gilded Spires law, 
 For this low Roof was thatch 'd with humble Straw ; 
 Mofaick here nor Fret-work there was none, 
 Nor Venice Glafs to fparkle in the Sun : 
 Its only Window was of Ofier made, 
 Full South it look'd and feldom knew the Shade, 
 Where by the Sun this careful Peafant knew, 
 How o'er his Head the fwift-wing'd Minutes flew ; 
 A little Orchard too was planted nigh, 
 And the cool River roll'd its Waters by : 
 
 In
 
 i86 POEMS*?/* feveral Occa/tons. 
 
 In whofe clear Stream the pendent Willows lave, 
 And the weak Bullrum trembl'd o'er the Wave : 
 Yv ithin the Banks foft Water-crefles fpring, 
 Where the pleas'd Heron prunes her dabbled Wing. 
 
 Thus dwelt Afophus happier far than he 
 Whofe Slaves approach him with a bending Knee j 
 His willing Eye-lids in foft Slumbers clofe, 
 No midnight Revels break his lov'd Repofe ; 
 No dark Intrigue for open Vengeance calls, 
 Nor Envy dwelt within his peaceful Walls : 
 But his calm Days in one fmooth Circle run ; 
 He bleft the riling and declining Sun, 
 A Stranger both to Sicknefs and to Sin : 
 'Twas Health without and Happinefs within, 
 While by his Side his Florimelia fung, 
 And his fond Soul upon her Mufick hung : 
 Like him no Parent lov'd his darling Care, 
 No Child like her fo duteous and fo fair : 
 Him with crumb'd Milk both Morn and Eve fhe fed, 
 And fmooth'd the Pillows for his weary Head : 
 
 With
 
 POEMS on feveral Occ a/ions. 1 87 
 
 With her his Moments gently glide away, 
 Who drefs'd in Smiles the Ev'ning and the Day. 
 
 Hear this, ye great Ones, whofe unwieldy Store 
 Is ftill embitter'd with a Wifli for more j 
 Who ftrive to climb on Fortune's flipp'ry Hill, 
 And fwallow Ruin in a golden Pill. 
 But learn from hence that Happinefs can dwell, 
 With a plain Peafant in his humble Cell : 
 She loves the Village and the harmlefs Hind, 
 With a clear Confcience and a chearful Mind -, 
 And the gay Wantons vainly fearch around, 
 For Blifs which only is with Virtue found. 
 
 F L o R i M E L I A, the Second PASTORAL. 
 
 By Mr. NEWTON, 
 
 AS Florimelia watch'd her fnowy Fold, 
 Soft Florimelia with her Locks of Gold, 
 Low in a Vale beneath a fpreading Shade, 
 Two ruddy Youths that lov'd the beauteous Maid, 
 
 To
 
 i88 POEMS on feveral Occ a/tons . 
 
 To pleafe the Fair thus form'd the rival Song, 
 While the Herds liften'd to each tuneful Tongue. 
 
 PHILASTER, 
 
 This Morn I wander'd through a poplar Grove, 
 Where a lone Turtle mourn'd her abfent Love j 
 With penfive Coo fhe well exprefs'd her Woe, 
 Lull'd by her Voice the Brooks more gently flow; 
 When lo the Partner of her Neft drew nigh 
 Withhov'ring Wings : And bid her Sorrows fly. 
 All fprightly now with brisker Note fhe tings, 
 Prunes her foft Breaft, and fpreads her joyful Wings. 
 No more the Grove is Witnefs to her Woe, 
 Such are the Joys that faithful Lovers know. 
 
 C H R o M i s. 
 
 As yefter'-even, while my Sheep did feed 
 On a foft Bank, I tun'd my Oaten Reed ; 
 'Twas there a fingle Violet I fpy'd, 
 That breath'd its Odours, droop'd its Head, and dy'd 3 
 When from the Root a gay Companion grew, 
 Fair as the firft and frefh as Morning Dew : 
 Whofe fragrant Leaves perfum'd the bord'ring Plain, 
 Then did the firfl its former Beauties gain, 
 
 Pleas'd
 
 POEMS on federal Occafiom. 189 
 
 Pleas'd with each other fide by fide they grow, 
 Such are the Joys that faithful Lovers know. 
 
 PHILASTER. 
 As fweet as was the Violet is my Love. 
 
 C H R o M i s. 
 And I as conftant as the Turtle-Dove. 
 
 P II I L A S T E R. 
 
 Soft are the Murmurs of a fouthern Wind, 
 And the Complainings of a love-lick Mind ; 
 Soft are the Breathings of an Infant's Sleep, 
 But (he is foftcr than her harmlefs Sheep. 
 C H R o M i s. 
 
 Sweet are the Gales that meet the roiy Morn, 
 Sweet are the Flow'rs that yonder Meads adorn ; 
 Sweet are the Banks on which my Lambkins play, 
 Bat my lov'd Nymph is fweet as early Day. 
 PHILASTER. 
 
 Where walks my Love there op'ning Rofes bloom, 
 And yellow Cowflips (bed a choice Perfume ; 
 When (he is gone the op'ning Rofes fade, 
 The Sun himfelf laments the abfent Maid. 
 
 C H R O-
 
 190 POEMS on feveral Occafam. 
 
 C H R O M I S. 
 
 When fmiles my Love, then fmile the Groves 
 
 below ; 
 
 And the clear Skies with brighter Luftre glow : 
 But when fhe frowns, thofe Groves are glad no more, 
 And the Sky lowers that was bright before. 
 
 PHILASTER. 
 
 While we prefer the Spring to Winter Storms, 
 Or goodly Cedars to unfeemly Thorns -, 
 While Maples keep below the lofty Pine, 
 Shall my lov'd Nymph before her Sifters fhine ? 
 
 C H R o M i s. 
 
 As we prefer the Peacock to the Crow, 
 As Maidens fairer than their Mothers mow \ 
 And as my Voice above Philafter fwells, 
 So my lov'd Nymph each other Nymph excels. 
 
 PHILASTER. 
 
 You fung laft Night with more melodious Air, 
 As you lay plaiting Che's yellow Hair ; 
 While the fhrill Pipe her flender Fingers ply'd, 
 The Pipe you gave her, and your Heart befide. 
 
 CH R o-
 
 P o E M s on feveral Occafions. 191 
 
 C H R O M I S. 
 
 'Twas you I few beneath a maple Shade j 
 With blubber'd Cheeks you curs'd the cruel Maid, 
 Who broke your Cyprefs Bowl on yonder Plain, 
 And fent the Willow to her flighted Swain. 
 
 P H I L A S T E R. 
 
 'Tell me at midnight where do Mandrakes groan, 
 And Blood fall dropping from the darkned Moon : 
 Tell this, and I mall for thy Learning yield, 
 A coal-black Lamb that fports in yonder Field. 
 C H R o M i s. 
 
 Tell me, where Oaks have tender Medlars bore, 
 And Shrubs yield Apples that were Crabs before ; 
 And for thy Knowledge I mail not refufe 
 To give the beft of all my fpeckled Ewes. 
 
 Thus fung the Shepherds while the lid'ning Maid, 
 Prais'd both their Songs, and thus their Songs repaid j 
 Behold this lovely Pine-apple, me cry'd ; 
 And this Twin-chefnut once my chiefeft Pride, 
 Thefe long were mine, and thefe I give to you j 
 To both a Prize, a Prize to both is due. 
 
 Now
 
 192 P o E M s on fevsral Occafions. 
 
 Now nightly Vapours taint the colder Air, 
 They part the Flocks, and to the Folds repair ; 
 And the black Clouds forbid their longer Stay, 
 Their Feet unwilling tread their deftin'd Way 
 At once : Farewel too lovely Nymphs, they cry, 
 And on the Virgin caft a parting Eye. 
 
 C ATHARINA's C A VE. 
 
 By Mr. NEWTON. 
 
 BENEATH a Mountain's folitary Shade 
 Liv'd Catharina, then an ancient Maid, 
 An ufeful Dame that ev'ry Simple knew, 
 And from choice Herbs exhal'd a cordial Dew. 
 Rude was her Dome, and hid from prying Eyes, 
 By lofty Hills that feem'd to reach the Skies j 
 Deep in a Rock the winding Cavern run, 
 A bending Cyprefs skreen'd it from the Sun : 
 From its rude Side a Fountain us'd to flow, 
 That pour'd incefTant on the Stones below : 
 
 This
 
 POEMS on feveral Occafions. 1 93 
 
 This Mufick lull'd the penfive Dame to Reft, 
 And drew foft Slumbers on her aching Breaft : 
 No Sun was there, nor fcarce a dawning Gleam, 
 No twinkling Stars, nor Cynthia's filver Beam. 
 There naked Elms and faplefs Oaks appear'd, 
 With Age grown rotten, and by Light'ning fear'd ; 
 There perch'd the Raven and the gray-ey'd Owl, 
 With his wife Vifage and his ferious Scowl ; 
 No Flow'rets there bedeck the mofly Ground, 
 But a thick Foreft fpread its Shade around, 
 Where the fmooth Box and browner Hafel grew, 
 The folemn Pine-tree and the baleful Yew : 
 Here no glad Sound was heard nor human Tongue, 
 Not Cotin's Flute nor Blouzelinda's Song : 
 Thefe gloomy Shades for Grief were only made, 
 And howling Wolves that fcamper'd thro' the Glade. 
 
 Here Catharina fpent her irkfom Days, 
 Secluded both from Envy and from Praife. 
 Not fo her laughing Moments us'd to run, 
 When her bright Eyes were like a Morning Sun : 
 When to her Flock repair'd the gazing Swains, 
 Her Flock was then the faireft of the Plains : 
 
 O And
 
 194 POEMS on fever al Occa/ions. 
 
 And flie no lefs with Veins of fprightly Blue, 
 And Cheeks like Rofes wrap'd in Morning Dew, 
 The Loves and Graces round her Features flew. 
 Her Mind was chearful as the rifing Day, 
 Mature as Summer and as April gay ; 
 Yet Fate too foon eclips'd her early Joy, 
 She fell the Victim of the winged Boy, 
 The winged Boy that bears the fatal Darts : 
 Henceforth may Virgins better guard their Hearts. 
 'Twas Celadon, 'twas he that caus'd her Pain, 
 The faireft Shepherd of the rural Train ; 
 Whofe carelefs Beauty made her Heart his Prize, 
 And ftole the Slumbers from her wakeful Eyes. 
 Long time her Pride and cooler Reafon ftrove 
 Againft the Power of encroaching Love, 
 In vain her Cheeks and mournful Eyes declare 
 The fmother'd Paffion and the fecret Care, 
 While the dull Youth, whom Beauty ne'er cou'd 
 
 pleafe, 
 
 Who fought no more than Indolence and Eafe, 
 Rang'd o'er the Vallies with his darling Tray, 
 Or near fome Fountain flumber'd out the Day : 
 
 All
 
 POEMS on feveral Qccafiom. 1 95 
 
 All Nymphs he ftrovc (but moftly her) to mun, 
 And to thick Shades and diftant Failures run : 
 There the foft Flute his nimble Fingers ply'd, 
 While his lov'd Dog fat lift'ning by his Side. 
 
 Then wept the Fair with Grief and Rage opprefs'd $ 
 Strange Paffions laboured in her penfive Breaft ; 
 She loft her Crook her Flocks no more were told, 
 And her Lambs wander'd from their nightly Fold, 
 Till to thefe Shades fhe took her defp'rate Way, 
 And vow'd no more to fee the Beams of Day : 
 Here the gay Rofes on her Cheek expir'd, 
 And from her Eyes the laughing Loves retir'd : 
 No flow'ry Wreaths her faded Temples knew, 
 Her Locks uncomb'd upon her Shoulders flew ; 
 No filken Veftments on her Limbs were roll'd, 
 A ruffet Mantle fav'd her from the Cold ; 
 A fimple Cordage round her Wafte {lie ty'd, 
 And a rude Staff her better Hand fupply'd. 
 
 Here learn'd the Dame the Phyfick of the Field, 
 And what the Woods and what the Mountains yield 
 Of fov'reign Balm, to heal a rankling Wound, 
 Or ripen Swellings where no Sores are found 5 
 
 02 TQ
 
 196 POEMS on few era I Occajions. 
 
 To ftrengthen Sinews, and Catarrhs expel, 
 And none for Colicks cou'd her Art excel. 
 With magick Herbs {he drew out felVring Thorns 
 Her Charms cou'd bani(h Tooth-ach , Cramps, 
 
 Corns. 
 
 To her repair'd from all the neighb'rlng Plains, 
 The fickly Matrons and the wounded Swains : 
 Nor to one Species was her Art confin'd ; 
 Her Skill was known amongft the fleecy Kind, 
 Her Qordials flrengthen'd the declining Ewe, 
 And limping Calves her healing Plaifters knew. 
 
 Me E N 
 
 U I R Y. 
 
 IN vain, alas ! (do lazy Mortals cry) 
 In vain wou'd Wifdom trace the boundlefs Sky 
 Where doubled Wonders upon Wonders rife, 
 And Worlds on Worlds confound our dazzl'd Eyes 
 Better be ftill Let Nature reft, fay they, 
 Than err by Guefs and with Opinion ftray : 
 Then tell me, why our Eyes were made to view 
 Thofe Orbs that glifter in the fluid Blue ? 
 
 Why
 
 POEMS on fever a! Occafiom. 197 
 
 Why in our Sight thofe mining Wonders roll ? 
 Or why to Man was giv'n a thinking Soul ? 
 May I not ask how moves the radiant Sun ? 
 How the bright Stars their pointed Circuits run ? 
 What warms thofe Worlds that fo remotely mine ? 
 And what can temper Saturn's frozen Clime ? 
 Who that beholds the full-orb'd Moon arife, 
 That chearful Emprefs of the nightly Skies -, 
 Who wou'd not ask (cou'd learned Sages tell) 
 What kind of People on her Surface dwell ? 
 But there we paufe Not Newton $ Art can mow 
 A Truth, perhaps, not fit for us to know. 
 
 How great the Pow'r, who gave thofe Worlds 
 to roll 5 
 
 The Thought ftrikes inward, and confounds the Soul ; 
 
 Fall down, O Man Ah fall before the Rod 
 
 Of this Almighty, All-creating God : 
 
 But hark from Heav'n there came a chearing Sound 5 
 
 Now Man revives, and fmile the Worlds around : 
 
 'Tis Mercy lo a golden Ray defcends, 
 
 And Hope and Comfort in the Luflre blends. 
 
 
 
 O V When
 
 198 POEMS onfeveral Occafions. 
 
 When from the Stars we turn our aking Eyes, 
 To Earth we bend them where new Wonders rife ; 
 Where Life and Death the equal Scale fulpend, 
 New Beings riling as the former end. 
 Who not furpris'd can trace each juft Degree 
 From the fwift Eagle to the peevifh Bee; 
 From the fierce Lion that will yield to none, 
 To the weak Moufe that hides her from the Sun ! 
 
 How near one Species to the next is join'd, 
 The due Gradations pleafe a thinking Mind ; 
 And there are Creatures which no Eye can fee, 
 That for a Moment live and breathe like me : 
 Whom a fmall Fly in bulk as far exceeds, 
 As yon tall Cedar does the waving Reeds : 
 Thefe we can reach and may we not fuppofe 
 There ftill are Creatures more minute than thole. 
 
 Wou'd Heav'n permit, and might our Organs bear 
 To pierce where Comets wave their blazing Hair : 
 Where other Suns alternate fet and rife, 
 And other Moons light up the chearful Skies : 
 The ravilh'd Soul might ftill her Search purfue, 
 Still find new Wonders op'ning on her view : 
 
 From
 
 POEMS on federal Occa/tons. 199 
 
 From thence to Worlds in Miniature defcend, 
 
 And ftill prcfs forward, but ftiou'd find no End : 
 
 Where little Forefts on a Leaf appear, 
 
 And Drops of Dew are mighty Oceans there : 
 
 Thefe may have Whales that in their Waters play, 
 
 And wanton out their Age of half a Day : 
 
 In thofe fmall Groves the fmaller Birds may fing, 
 
 And (hare like us their Winter and their Spring. 
 
 Pluck off yon Acorn from its Parent Bough, 
 Divide that Acorn in the midft and now 
 In its firm Kernel a fair Oak is feen 
 With fpreading Branches of a fprightly Green : 
 From this young Tree a Kernel might we rend, 
 There wou'd another its fmall Boughs extend. 
 
 All Matter lives, and (hews its Maker's Power; 
 There's not a Seed but what contains a Flower : 
 Tho' unobferv'd its fecret Beauty lies, 
 Till we arc bleft with Microfcopick Eyes. 
 When for blue Plumbs our longing Palate calls, 
 Or fcarlet Cherries that adorn the Walls; 
 
 O 4 With
 
 200 POEMS on fever al Occafions. 
 
 With each plump Fruit we fwallow down a Tree, 
 And fo deftroy whole Groves that elfe wou'd be 
 As large and perfect as thofe Shades we fee. 
 
 Behold yon Monfter that unwieldly kves 
 Beneath the, Surface of the briny Waves : 
 Still as he turns, the troubled Sea divides } 
 And rolls in Eddies from his ilimy Sides. 
 
 Lefs huge the Dolphin to the Sun difplays 
 His Scales, and in the fmoother Ocean plays : 
 Still lefs the Herring and round Mackrel fweep 
 The mallow Tide, nor trull the roaring Deep : 
 How far by gradual numberlefs Degrees, 
 The fenfelefs Oyfler is remov'd from thefc. 
 
 Who follows Nature through her mazy Way, 
 From the mute Infect to the Fount of Day, 
 (Where now me rifes, now her Steps decline) 
 Has need of Judgment better taught than mine : 
 But on this Subject we have talk' d too long, 
 Where grave-fac'd Wifdom may itfelf be wrong. 
 
 
 
 ma 
 
 Vtt
 
 POEMS on fever al Occajtons. 201 
 
 TAe RIVAL BROTHERS, 
 
 CELIA and I, to (hare the vernal Gales, 
 One Ev'ning wander'd o'er the dewy Vales ; 
 Still was the Soul, and ev'ry Senfe was pleas'd, 
 And the cool Heart from Care and Bufinefs eas'd : 
 Arm lock'd in Arm with heedlcfs Steps we rove, 
 Round the fair Borders of a blooming Grove ; 
 Reclin'd at eafe within the fecret Shades, 
 A lovely Bower held two fairer Maids, 
 Soft Flavia one, with Cheeks of rofy Dye, 
 And Sylvia famous for her ftar-like Eye. 
 Sylvia, whofe Wit was vers'd in charming Wiles, 
 Who often varied her Difcourfe with Smiles : 
 Love-tales me told, fome fi&ious and fome true, 
 The Subject various and her Stories new ; 
 Of Innocence opprefs'd by mightier Wrong, 
 And many Proofs me drew from iacred Song : 
 When Flavia thus behold the ling'ring Day 
 Still paints yon Heavens with a filver Gray ; 
 
 And
 
 2O2 POEMS en fever al Occafons* 
 
 And flothful Night with gentler Pace comes on, 
 As if me liften'd to thy charming Tongue : 
 The Rival Brothers^ let my Sylvia tell, 
 How crofs they lov'd, and who untimely fell : 
 Her Friend reply'd, You fhall not ask in vain, 
 Although the Story gives thy Syhia Pain : 
 Then on her Cheek her iv'ry Hand fhe laid, 
 And with a Sigh began the lovely Maid. 
 
 Long time before our Fathers Lives began, 
 There liv'd an ancient and a worthy Man, 
 Was long the Fav'rite of indulgent Fame j 
 For Wretches knew and blefs'd Clyttphon's Name, 
 Juft without Pride, without Reluctance kind ; 
 For inborn Goodnefs with foft Pity join'd, 
 To form the Bafis of his godlike Mind. 
 His temp'rate Soul was ne'er difturb'd with Rage, 
 But graceful bore the rev'rend Weight of Age : 
 All bounteous Heav'n had to his fhare confign'd : 
 A moderate Fortune with a peaceful Mind : 
 His Dwelling feated on a rifing Hill, 
 Was water'd round with many a cryftal Rill : 
 
 Gardens
 
 POEMS on fever al Occafions. 203 
 Gardens and Groves the fmother'd Buildings fcreen, 
 Which look'd the Seat of fome retir'd Queen. 
 
 Cythania toft of the admiring Land, 
 The faireft Virgin of the mining Band, 
 Did to Clytiphon's Honour truft her Charms, 
 And gave her Beauties to his faithful Arms : 
 But cruel Death, whofe Bufinefs is to rend 
 The pale-ey'd Matron from her weeping Friend, 
 Had torn Cytbania from his widow'd Side, 
 And left her Spoufe to wail his conftant Bride : 
 Heav'n fpar'd one Child to crown his feeble Age. 
 To chear his Spirits and his Grief aflwage : 
 Sophinia precious to her Father's Mind, 
 To her alone was ev'ry Wim confin'd : 
 Nor did the Virgin lefs deferve his Care, 
 Her guiltlefs Soul was like her Perfon fair ; 
 For Heav'n to form this matchlefs Beauty join'd 
 Her Mother's Features to her Father's Mind j 
 Not op'ning Rofes nor the bafhful Day, 
 Blufh'd half fo fweetly as Sophinia gay : 
 Her Eyes were dazzling and her Temples fair, 
 And ev'ry Feature wore a failing Akj 
 
 For
 
 204 POEMS on feveral Occafions. 
 
 For Wit and Learning me out-ftrip'd her Kind, 
 Nor cou'd her Sex debafe her noble Mind- 
 In fearch of Knowledge (he wou'd fpend the Day, 
 And Judgment walk'd before her guiltlefs Way. 
 Not many Furlongs ftom thofe blifsfal Plains, 
 Where good Clytiphon rul'd the happy Swains, 
 There liv'd a wealthy and a worthy Peer, 
 Lov'd by his Friends and to his Country dear ; 
 Laon the great in Valour juftly fam'd, 
 His Sons Lycander and Polyphon nam'd, 
 Both noble Youths and by their Friends admir'd, 
 And Thirft of Glory both their Hearts infpir'd : 
 Lycander's Form was fairer than his Mind j 
 His Shape was faultlefs and his Brow fublirric, 
 His jetty Locks in mazy Ringlets run, 
 And his bright Eyes were like a Morning Sun : 
 Rays quick and fierce their fubtle Light'nings fling, 
 His Cheeks were frefher than the dawning Spring; 
 But then as Tempefts o'er the Ocean roll, 
 Continual Paffion tore his boiling Sol ; 
 Difdainful, proud, with an imperious Will, 
 Headlong he rufh'd on unfufpe&ed 111 : 
 
 Reafon
 
 POEMS on feveral Occafans* 205 
 
 Reafon in vain oppos'd her facred Shield, 
 
 And Virtue's felf muft to the Whirlwind yield : 
 
 Polypbon's Soul was of a gentler Kind, 
 
 No rugged Storms cou'd fhake his eafy Mind, 
 
 Still calm and pleafant as the Ev'ning Skies : 
 
 When not a Breeze through the ftill Region flics, 
 
 No gloomy Frowns a fullen Heart betray, 
 
 His Brow was thoughtlefs and his Air was gay : 
 
 Thefe to Clytiphon's did their Sire attend, 
 
 The plealing Manfion of their Father's Friend, 
 
 With Lovers Eyes they both Sophinia view, 
 
 As with her Years her rifing Beauty grew, 
 
 With airy Hopes they nurs'd the rival Flame, 
 
 And fought with Gifts to win the fmiling Dame ; 
 
 But fhe too cautious to be foon betray'd, 
 
 Their Merit balanc'd, and their Tempers weigh'd : 
 
 Lycander's Fortune pleas'd the lovely Dame, 
 
 His Power, Titles and his rifing Fame ; 
 
 And the gay Maid beheld with early Pride, 
 
 Laon's bright Heir attending at her Side : 
 
 That way wou'd oft her Vanity incline, 
 
 But then her Reafon fear'd his bafe Defign : 
 
 Still
 
 206 POEMS on federal Occa/tonf. 
 
 Still at her Heart the fullen Doubt remains, 
 And put a Period to the golden Dreams : 
 Polyphon's Image on her Fancy ftole 
 With thoufand Beauties in his taintlefs Soul ; 
 Clear as his Face and fprightly as his Mien 5 
 Soft as his Voice, and like his Brow ferene. 
 Polyphon now the wavering Nymph admires, 
 Nor thinks of Caftles, Towns, and ihining Spires j 
 Her changing Thoughts prefer an eafy Home, 
 And dwell with Patience on a younger Son. 
 Lycander once her Fav'rite was, but now 
 He meets Refentment and a frozen Brow : 
 In vain to move the fcornful Nymph he tries, 
 With fprightly Oaths and well diffembPd Lies : 
 His Form no more can pleafe Sopbinia's Eyes. 
 Without Concern he met the Fair's Difdain, 
 Nor cou'd her Frown difturb the haughty Swain: 
 Confcious of Merit he purfu'd her ftill, 
 And only thought her Tongue bely'd her Will : 
 For Impudence, to Vice a trufty Squire, 
 Who bears her Arms and fans her purple Fire, 
 
 Had
 
 POEMS on fever al OccaJIons. 207 
 
 Had taught Lycander, that Affairs of Love 
 Are not regarded in the Realms above j 
 That Oaths are licens'd to addrefs th' Fair, 
 And Vows to Virgins but the Sport of Air j 
 That Maids are Merchandife, and may be fold 
 For charming Eloquence and mighty Gold. 
 
 II. 
 
 A Grove there was, a venerable Shade, 
 No hoftile Iron durft her Boughs invade, 
 Whofe lofty Pines for fev'ral Ages grew, 
 And rev'rend Oaks a hundred Winters knew : 
 A cryftal River wander'd half-way round, 
 The reft defended with a hafel Mound ; 
 'Twas here to fhun Lycandcr's jealous Eye, 
 When Sol departed to the weftern Sky ; 
 The fly Sopbinia us'd to leave her Maids, 
 And meet Polyphon in the balmy Shades ; 
 While the proud Youth who found himfelf defpis'd, 
 His Perfon flighted and Polyphon priz'd ; 
 Grew wild with Love and defp'rate with Defpair, 
 And vow'd Deftru&ion to the gentle Pair : 
 
 No
 
 2o8 POEMS on feveral Qccafions. 
 
 No quiet Hour his furly Spirit knows, 
 Nor Reft by Day-light or at Night Repofe: 
 Cold to his Friends, and if they ask his Care, 
 He only anfwers with a fallen Glare. 
 
 One Ev'ning when the fparkling Sun withdrew, 
 And thirfty Flowers fip'd the grateful Dew > 
 When this fair Grove had put on all her Charms, 
 And Zephyrs play'd amidfl her curling Arms ; 
 Sopbinia weary of the fultry Day, 
 To the cool Foreft took her lonely Way, 
 Attentive only to the Linnets Song, 
 No ill {he thought of, and {he fear'd no Wrong: 
 Pleas'd with the Glories of the fmiling Year, 
 For guilty Minds are only taught to fear. 
 The well-known Path her willing Feet purfue 
 Through the brown Shade, where in the Centre grew 
 A Row of Laurels crown'd with Jailing Green, 
 AndfofterBeech and flow'ring Rofe between : 
 Here in a fatal Hour Sopbinia came ; 
 For proud Lycander watch'd the lovely Dame : 
 Revenge and Love at once his Bofom fire ; 
 His broad Eyes flafli with more than mortal Fire: 
 
 Then
 
 POEMS on fever al Occafiom* 209 
 
 Then to his Friends the raging Hero flew, 
 His Friends a thoughtlefs and a wanton Crew, 
 Whofe flothful Hands were backward, as their Will, 
 In Virtue's Caufe, but refolute in 111 : 
 To thefe the Youth difclos'd his ram Defign, 
 His glad Companions in th' Adventure join, 
 That fome well pradtis'd in the Ruffians Trade 
 Shou'd bear Sophinia from the filent Shade : 
 The Mifchief pleas'd, yet none proposed the Way, 
 Tho* ftiort the Time and dang'rous the Deky : 
 In ftiil fufpenfe the lift'ning Heroes ftand, 
 Till with rude Voice Miranthus thus began : 
 
 * A Caftle has for many Gentries flood, 
 Within the Confines of the neigh' bring Wood, 
 
 * Whofe gloomy Arches fcem difpos'd to hide 
 
 * Offended Subjects from a Tyrant's Pride. 
 
 6 And often me has lent her hoftile Towers, * ' . 
 
 * The guilty Refuge of rebellious Powers : 
 
 ' Here let your Friends this peevifh Girl convey, 
 K And keep her fecret from the Face of Day. 
 e Thofe Doors with iron Eloquence fliall plead 
 ' Your mighty 'Paflion to the fcornful Maid : 
 
 P < You
 
 2 1 o POEMS on fevered Occaponi. 
 
 You have what my unready Thought dcfign'd, 
 ' The hafty Dictates of a ruftick Mind, 
 ' A Mind inur'd to Wars and rude Alarms, 
 1 UnskilPd in Love and Beauty's fofter Charms : 
 He ceas'd Applaufe was feen in ev'ry Eye, 
 And Peals of Laughter rent the troubled Sky ; 
 Two fav'rite Heroes flngl'd from the Crew, 
 With hoflile Feet that facred Path purfue ; 
 Whofe winding Maze betray 'd the fmiling Bower, 
 That held Sophinia in a baneful Hour : 
 The heedlefs Virgin on a Bank they found, 
 Where the faint Primrofe Ipreads her Odours roundj 
 And nodding Poppies feem'd to kifs the Ground. 
 With frighted Eyes the trembling fair One fees 
 Their furly Figures through the parting Trees j 
 But yet me rofe collected in her Fear, 
 'Tvvas vain to call and no Affiftance near : 
 Then from the Ground me rais'd her beauteous 
 
 Eye's, 
 
 And weeping turn'd them on the pitying Skies : 
 Affift me Heaven and heavenly Pow'r, me cries. 
 
 You
 
 POEMS on feveral Occafioni. 
 
 You Saints that hover round celeftial Springs : 
 
 take and wrap me in your facred Wings, 
 
 1 fee black Violence come frowning on $ 
 
 But may Lycander mourn the dear-bought Wrong $ 
 Ah hear, Sophinia 9 in this fearful Hour ; 
 And fave, O fave me from a Villain's Pow'r. 
 
 But now a Slave whom Beauty ne'er cou'd charm, 
 drew nigh and feiz'd her by the ivory Arm : 
 Through untrod Paths they bore the ftruggling Maid 
 To thofe rude Towers where Lycander ftay'd, 
 A difmal Dwelling hid by waving Trees 5 
 So thick they fcarce admit the healthy Breeze, 
 On whofe black Walls condenfing Vapours hung, 
 Whofe lofty Spires hardly knew the Sun : 
 H^s Beams ne'er enter'd here, but in the Room 
 Perpetual Coldnefs and eternal Gloom : 
 Here the pleas'd Youth his charming Prey fecures, 
 And round his Prisoner (hut the plated Doors -, 
 Then left the Virgin to herfelf, nor ftay'd 
 To bear Reproaches from the injur'd Maid : 
 Fierce as he was he, like a Coward, flies 
 The Rage that fparkl'd in her glowing Eyes j 
 
 P 2 But
 
 212 POEMS on fevered Occajions. 
 
 But when he thought the dang'rous Storm Was o'er, 
 Again he fought thofe Eyes he fled before, 
 Like fome pale Wretch impatient for his Doom, 
 His fearful Steps approach 'd the hallow'd Room : 
 For riling Confcience now her Task began, 
 And guilty Blufhes through his Features ran : 
 Unufual Horrors o'er his PafTage hung, 
 At ev'ry Step the founding Portals rung : 
 Before the Door he took a filent Stand, 
 And the pale Taper trembl'd in his Hand : 
 A hollow Voice Lycander feem'd to call, 
 And Shadows danc'd along the gloomy Wall : 
 His haughty Spirit was at this difmay'd, 
 Lycander trembl'd, and was once afraid : 
 Why beats my Heart, my coward Heart, he cries; 
 And why this Mift before my dazzl'd Eyes ? 
 Sophinia's mine, and I will feize my Store, 
 If thoufand Spectres guard the awful Door : 
 Then rufhing in, the lovely Dame he found 
 In fullen Pofture and in Thought profound ; 
 The wonted Rofes from her Cheeks were fled, 
 On her fair Hand reclin'd her beauteous Head : 
 
 With
 
 POEMS on fever al Occajions. 213 
 
 With Flatt'ry firft he tip'd his artful Tongue, 
 And ftrove to palliate and excufe the Wrong : 
 Let not Sophinia, with a Smile he cries, 
 Think we have feiz'd her as a hoflile Prize ; 
 The Fault we owe to this unconquer'd Flame, 
 Love was the Aggreflbr and be his the blame : 
 Truft not thy Reafon to a haughty Guide, 
 Nor call that Honour which is only Pride : 
 Honour a pageant Miftrefs of the vain, 
 The Virgin's Tyrant and the Hero's Chain ; 
 If fparkling Wealth can pleafe thy brighter Eyes, 
 The Mines of Perfia at thy Feet fhall rife ; 
 And when thy Chariot marks the dufty Fields, 
 Full thirty Slaves {hall grace the mining Wheels : 
 For thee the Eafl fhall yield her fpicy Bowers, 
 And fweeter Baths diftil from weeping Flowers ; 
 Then fmile my feir One and be timely wife ; 
 The Maid rcply'd, and roll'd her fcornful Eyes. 
 Hence, fawning Traitor, why wouldft thou be told, 
 How much I hate thy Perfon and thy Gold r 
 Miftaken Nature with too nice a Care, 
 In vain has fhap'd thec in a Mold fo fair : 
 
 P 3 Vice
 
 2i4 POEMS on feveral Occafam, 
 
 Vice will be Vice howe'er 'tis polifh'd o'er, 
 Thou Villain, dare to meet my Eyes no more. 
 
 Thofe gloomy Birds that love the midnight Air, 
 And hover round the Manlions of Defpair; 
 When to their Shrieks the hollow Roofs rebound, 
 And the hoarfe Raven aids the dreadful Sound ; 
 Tho' howling Wolves ftiou'd with their Voices join, 
 Are lefs offenfive to my Ears than thine : 
 Beyond my Hate, if yet a Thought remain, 
 To make thy Spirit curfe the galling Chain j 
 Jf with thdfe Thorns that Love's foft Empire bounds, 
 Succefsful Rivals give the deepeft Wounds : 
 I love thy Brother, and, if that can be, 
 With Paffion equal to my Hate for thee. 
 She faid And Rage poffeft Lycander's Soul, 
 His pale Lips tremble and his Eye-balls roll : 
 Three times he rais'd a Dagger to her Breaft, 
 But mighty Love his daring Hand fupprefs'd ; 
 And now (hrill Cries invade his wond'ring Ears, 
 The noife of Battle and the clam of Spears 5 
 Starting he turn'd, nor ftaid to make reply, 
 Tho* Fury fparkl'd in his threat'ning Eye : 
 
 To
 
 POEMS on feveral Occafions. 2 1 5 
 
 To Arms his Friends in mingled Voices call, 
 And Danger hover 'd o'er the frowning Wall. 
 
 HI. 
 
 In that lad Hour, when the frighted Maid 
 Was drawn by Villains from the mourning Shade, 
 Polyphon to th' appointed Foreft came ; 
 He rcach'd the Bower, but he mifs'd the Dame ; 
 Through balmy Paths with infant Rofes bound, 
 Where blufhing Dailies ftrew the painted Ground -, 
 He rov'd, impatient of. the Nymph's Delay, 
 And often doubted to return or flay : 
 By chance he turn'd his mournful Eye, and fees 
 His Friend Acanthus through the parting Trees : 
 The Youth drew nearer with an eager Pace 
 Amazement hovcr'd on his boding Face ; 
 And thus impatient to Polyphon faid, 
 Where is Sophinia^ where thy darling Maid, 
 This Ev'ning reftlefs, tho' I know not why, 
 When fetting Phxbus ftain'd the weftern Sky : 
 To thefe fweet Shades I took my heedlefs Way, 
 To (hare the Fragrance of declining Day : 
 
 P 4 Alone
 
 2 1 6 P o E M s on federal Occafions, 
 
 Alone and penfive as I wander'd here, 
 A Woman's Voice furpris'd my Hft'ning Ear j 
 To yon rude Tow'rs I trac'd the finking Sound, 
 Till the flill'd Out-cries were in diftance drown'd : 
 What think you now ? I fear fome threat'ning 111 
 From headftrong Paffion and imperious Will : 
 I fear Sopbinia and yourfelf betray'd, 
 I know your Brother loves the beauteous Maid ; 
 Then hear my Vow, the frantick Lover cries, 
 And turn'd his Eye-balls on the glimm'ring Skies : 
 Hear me, ye Pow'rs whofe ifacred Hands fuftain 
 Thefe Worlds of Nature in a mighty Chain j 
 If my fierce Brother has prefum'd to bear, 
 And from her Bowers force my injur'd Fair, 
 Thefe wakeful Eye-lids fhall no more be clos'd : 
 This Spirit refted, nor thefe Limbs repos'd j 
 This vengeful Rapier fhall be fheath'd no more, 
 Till the rude Traitor mail his Prize reflore : 
 He faid, an4 raging left the gloomy Shade, 
 Full of Refentment for his injur'd Maid : 
 Acanthus fummon'd to a neighb'ring Plain 
 Their Friends a little, but a martial Train : 
 
 Twice
 
 POEMS on fever at Occafions. 2 1 7 
 
 Twice twenty Youths their Gen'ral's Voice attend, 
 And (hare the Quarrel of their injur'd Friend. 
 Polyphon pleas'd to fee the aflcmbl'd Pow'rs, 
 Led his fmall Squadron to the hoflile Towers : 
 The frowning Portals well fecur'd they found, 
 The gloomy Court with Gentries guarded round; 
 Who fpite of Reafon and their Country's Laws, 
 Were drawn to combat in a guilty Caufe : 
 The firft of thefe Cyrenus, fair and young, 
 Whofe curling Locks below his Shoulders hung, 
 Too rafhly bold encounter'd hand to hand, 
 Fierce Polyarchus of Polyphoris Band : 
 The pointed Jav'lin fped beneath his Chin, 
 And ftreaming Purple ftain'd his beauteous Skin : 
 His very Cheeks are wafh'd with deeper Dyes, 
 And lafting Slumber feals his fwimming Eyes ; 
 This piteous Sight enrag'd the vicious Train, 
 But moftly Iphis Brother of the ilain ; 
 Revenge, he cry'd, and hurPd his deathful Dart : 
 It hifs'd along, but mifs'd the Hero's Heart, 
 Defpairing, raging, on the Youth he flew, 
 \Vhile down his Forehead roll'd the fultry Dew : 
 
 Blowg
 
 2i 8 POEMS on fever al Qccafions. 
 
 Blows anfwer Blows, and round their Temples iing 
 The glancing Weapons, and the Bucklers ring : 
 Aloof they fight, or now in Circles wheel'd, 
 Each thought to conquer ; both difdain to yield, 
 Till Pofyarcbus with a fide-way Blow 
 Tranfpierc'd the Liver of his heedlefs Foe : 
 He drew the Weapon from his tortur'd Side, 
 The gaping Wound difgorg'd a purple Tide : 
 His Eyes turn'd upward with a ghaftly Roll, 
 Headlong he fell and fob'd away his Soul : 
 Now Joy tranfported the victorious Throng, 
 With Polyarchus all the Welkin rung : 
 Applaufe and Clamour (hook the trembling Ground, 
 Lycander heard arid curs'd the hated Sound : 
 Griev'd for his Friend he with the foremoft prefs'd, 
 And all their Lances glitter round his Breaft : 
 But the ftrong Shield their Points at diftance holds, 
 Where two fair Eagles fpread their Wings in Gold ; 
 A weighty Spear his better Hand fupplies, 
 And livid Light'nings fparkle in his Eyes. 
 Vmario firft fuftain'd the Warrior's Rage, 
 The beauteous Darling of his Father's Age j 
 
 His
 
 POEMS on feveral Qccafwm. 219 
 
 His tender Arm the deadly Spear arrefts, 
 
 And tore his Shoulder from his ivory Breaft : 
 
 Too late his Friends to his ArMance run, 
 
 For his black Eyes no more behold the Sun. 
 
 Miranthus next did his bright Lance extend, 
 
 A bluft'ring Soldier and Lycander's Friend : 
 
 Him Merias met, old Meriander's Heir, 
 
 The youthful Husband of Lycofia fair : 
 
 Now born untimely from his Father's Side, 
 
 His fmiling Fortunes and his lovely Bride : 
 
 Juft at his Hip the Steel an Entrance found, 
 
 And tore his Bowels with a ghaftly Wound : 
 
 Back fell the Youth, his tinkling Arms reply ; 
 
 Loud Shrieks and Ckmours rend the frighted Sky : 
 
 Polyphon now with deadly Anguifh flung, 
 
 His ready Jav'lin at the Vidor flung : 
 
 The erring Weapon with a whittling Sound 
 
 Flew o'er his Head, and ploughed the diftant Ground : 
 
 Enrag'd to fee the bloodlefs Point defcend, 
 
 And mifs the Vengeance for his bleeding Friend ; 
 
 His mining Eyes that did with Fury glow, 
 
 He turn'd, and thus defy'd the ftronger Foe : 
 
 Hop*
 
 22O PoEMs0# feveral Occafans. 
 
 Hope not for Conqueft, mighty Clown, he cries. 
 From thy ftern Vifage and gigantick Size : 
 A little Arm, if Heav'n direct the Blow, 
 May fend thee howling to the Shades below : 
 Slave, cries Mirantbus with a ftormy Glare, 
 Go, warn thy Face, and curl thy waving Hair, 
 Thy coward Heart belies thy daring Tongue , 
 He fpoke and drove his weighty Spear along, 
 The failing Mifchief on the Buckler fung : 
 Not fo Polyphonfent his faithful Dart, 
 The fpeedy Vengeance reach'd the Hero's Heart ; 
 Down fell the Knight, his clanging Arms rebound, 
 And his proud Soul came rufhing thro' the Wound. 
 Lycander faw, but turn'd his Eyes away, 
 Where in the Duft the mighty Soldier lay ; 
 Then like a Whirlwind rufh'd the Youth along, 
 And fought his Brother in the hoftile Throng : 
 Polyphony Spear his frantick Hand arrefts, 
 And hurl'd the Weapon at its Owner's Breaft ; 
 The miffive Death deceiv'd his bloody Hand, 
 Its thinly Point lay fhiver'd in the Sand : 
 
 Sufpence
 
 POEMS on feveral Qccajions. 221 
 
 Sufpence and Horror held the martial Crew, 
 And the*fick Moon receiv'd a paler Hue : 
 The Stars retir'd from the hated Sight,' 
 And wrap'd their Glories in the Clouds of Night. 
 Polyphon cry'd, O ftay thy hoflile Arm, 
 The Name of Brother wears a potent Charm : 
 Our Mother did in Youth's fair Bloom expire, 
 And left us Infants to our tender Sire ; 
 And till Sophinia blew this deadly Flame, 
 Our Fears were equal and our Hopes the fame ; 
 The fame our Pleafures and the like our Woes ; 
 We flept together and as fondly rofe, 
 Then let, O let not murd'rous Rage divide 
 Our Hearts, but lay thofe threat'ning Arms afide : 
 Let ranc'rous Hate pofTefs our Souls no more, 
 Thou to her Friends the beauteous Maid reflore ; 
 Then let her Voice our rival Caufe decide, 
 And him me favours wed the fmiling Bride : 
 He faid ; but Rage had ftop'.d Lycander's Ears ; 
 Bafe Slave, he cry'd, thou Child of puny Fears, 
 Not Laons Son thy Soul difclaim her Race, 
 My Mother ne'er produc'd a Thing fo bafe, 
 
 Some
 
 222 POEMS on feveral Occafans. 
 
 Some fairy Elf or treach'rous Nurfe beguil'd 
 My flecping Parents of their, lawful Child : * 
 Then in his Place her dunghil Offspring laid, 
 And my young Brother to her Hut convey'd : 
 This was thy Mother coarfer than her Fate, 
 And thou the Son of her plebeian. Mate : 
 Here ceas'd the Youth - y for Actions fpoke the reft, 
 And hurl'd a Jav'lin at Pofypbon's Breaft : 
 His Shield receiv'd it with a fmart Rebound, 
 The miflive Weapon trembPd on the Ground ; 
 Now hand to hand the rival Youths engage, 
 Lycander burn'd with more than mortal Rage : 
 Black Fury roll'd in each relentlefs Eye, 
 Both fought to conquer or refolv'd to die ; 
 But now Lycander, tho' with Hate infpir'd, 
 By fits was fainting and by fits refpir'd ; 
 Polyphon's Sword a fatal Paffage found, 
 Beneath his Arm a deep and ghaftly Wound j 
 Stagg'ring he drop'd and grafp'd the bloody Ground. 
 Yet as he liv'd, without a Groan he fell, 
 \ Tor drew a Sigh, but only cry'd, 'Tis well ; 
 
 'Tis
 
 POEMS on feveral Occafiom. 223 
 
 'Tis well, my Fury with my Life mail end : 
 Farewel, my Brother and at laft my Friend j 
 By our dear Parent fee me quickly laid, 
 Be thine the Conqueft, thine the beauteous Maid ; 
 He paus'd, and then with feebler Accent cries, 
 My Friends, Farewel, and clos'd his fwimmingEyes: 
 The mourning Victor bending o'er the flain, 
 Eflay'd to raife him, but eflay'd in vain : 
 His failing Arms refign'd their feeble Hold, 
 And Drops of Horror from his Temples roll'd : 
 From each cold Cheek the bluming Beauty flies, 
 And the Ground danc'd before his dazzl'd Eyes ; 
 The weeping Youth, with friendly Force, divide 
 The gentle Mourner from his Brother's Side ; 
 Then Friends and Foes united gather round, 
 And lift the bleeding Body from the Ground ; 
 Some raife the drooping Head, and others prefs'd 
 Their careful Arms around his manly Breaft; 
 Tho' with black Duft and hoftile Crimfon ftain'd, 
 Its native Fiercenefs ft ill the Face retain 'd ; 
 Back on his Shoulders fell his graceful Hair, 
 And the grand Features wore a fcornful Air. 
 
 Now
 
 224 POEMS on fever a! Occafwm. 
 
 Now all too late the ram Adventure blame, 
 Pale Conqueft figh'd and loath'd her hated Name j 
 From the black Tow'rs their folemn Steps return, 
 And both the Victors and the Vanquifh'd mourn. 
 
 The Q. U E S T I O N. 
 
 Occafion'd by aferious Admonition. 
 
 IS Mirth a Crime? Inftruft me you that know; 
 Or mou'd thefe Eyes with Tears eternal flow : 
 No (let ye Powers) let this Bofom find, 
 Life's one grand Comfort a contented Mind : 
 Preferve this Heart, and may it find no room 
 For pale Defpondence or unpleafing Gloom : 
 Too well the Mifcfiief and the Pangs we know 
 Of doubtful Mufing and prophetick Woe. 
 But now thefe Evils for a Moment reft, 
 And brighter Vifions pleafe the quiet Breaft, 
 Where fprightly Health its blefled Cordial pours, 
 And chearful Thought deceives the gliding Hours : 
 
 Then
 
 POEMS on feveral Occ a/ions. 225 
 
 Then let me fmile, and trifle while I may, 
 Yet not from Virtue nor from Reafon ftray : 
 From hated Slander I wou'd keep my Tongue ; 
 My Heart from Envy, and from Guilt my Song : 
 Nature's large Volume with Attention read, 
 Its God acknowledge, and believe my Creed : 
 Through Weaknefs, not Impiety, offend ; 
 But love my Parent, and efteem my Friend. 
 
 If (like the moft) my undiftinguim'd Days 
 Defervc not much of Cenfure or of Praife : 
 If my ftill Life, like fubterraneous Streams, 
 Glides unobferv'd, nor tainted by Extremes, 
 Nor dreadful Crime has ftain'd its early Page, 
 To hoard up Terrors for reflecting Age ; 
 Let me enjoy the fweet Sufpence of Woe, 
 When Heav'n ftrikes me, I mall own the Blow : 
 Till then let me indulge one fimple Hour, 
 Like the pleas'd Infant o'er a painted Flow'r : 
 Idly 'tis true : But guiltlefly the Time 
 Is fpent in trifling with a harmlefs Rhyme. 
 
 Heroick
 
 226 P o E M s on feveral Occafans. 
 
 Heroick Virtue asks a noble Mind, 
 A Judgment ftrong, and Paffions well refin'd : 
 But if that Virtue's meafur'd by the Will, 
 'Tis furely fomething to abftain from 111. 
 
 ^SACRIFICE. 
 
 An EPISTLE to C ELI A. 
 
 IF you, dear Celia, cannot bear, 
 The low Delights that others mare : 
 If nothing will your Palate fit 
 But Learning, Eloquence, and Wit, 
 Why, you may fit alone (I ween) 
 'Till you're devour'd with the Spleen : 
 But if Variety can pleafe 
 With humble Scenes and carelefs Eafe ; 
 If Smiles can banifh Melancholy, 
 Or Whimfy with its Parent Folly ; 
 If any Joy in thefe there be, 
 I dare invite you down to me. 
 
 You
 
 POEMS on fever al Occajions. 227 
 
 You know thefe little Roofs of mine 
 Are always facred to the Nine ; 
 This Day we make a Sacrifice 
 To the Parnajfian Deities, 
 Which I am order'd by Apollo, 
 To fhew you in the Words that follow/ 
 
 As firft we purge the hallow 'd Room, 
 With foft Utenfil call'd a Broom ; 
 And next for you a Throne prepare, 
 Which vulgar Mortals call a Chair, 
 While Zephyrs from an Engine blow, 
 And bid the fparkling Cinders glow ; 
 Then gather round the mounting Flames, 
 The Prieftefs and aflembPd Dames, 
 While fome inferior Maid mall bring 
 Clear Water from the bubbling Spring : 
 Shut up in Vafe of fable Dye, 
 Secure from each unhallow'd Eye, 
 Fine wheaten Bread you next behold, 
 Like that which Homer fings of old, 
 
 2 And
 
 228 POEMS 0# federal Occafions. 
 
 And by fome unpolluted Fair 
 
 It muft be fcorch'd with wond'rous Care : 
 
 So far 'tis done : And now behold 
 
 The facred Veffels not of Gold : 
 
 Of polifh'd Earth muft they be form'd, 
 
 With Painting- curiou fly adorn'd, 
 
 Thefe Rites are paft : And now mufl follow 
 
 The grand Libation to Apollo, 
 
 Of Juices drawn from magick Weeds, 
 
 And Pith of certain Indian'Reeds. 
 
 For Flow'r of Milk the Prieftefs calls, 
 
 Her Voice re-echoes from the Walls ; 
 
 With hers the fitter Voices blend, 
 
 And with the od'rous Steam afcend : 
 
 Each fair One now a Sibyl grows, 
 
 And ev'ry Cheek with Ardour glows, 
 
 And (tho' not quite befide their Wits) 
 
 Arc feiz'd with deep prophetick Fits, 
 
 Some by myfterious Figures (how 
 
 That Celia loves a (hallow Beau ; 
 
 And forne by Signs and Hints declare, 
 
 That Damon will not weql Ziphair : 
 
 Their
 
 POEMS on fever al Occafans. 129 
 
 Their Neighbours Fortunes each can tell, 
 So potent is the mighty Spell. 
 
 This is the Feaft and this, my Friead, 
 Are you commanded to attend : 
 Yes at your Peril : But adieu, 
 I've tir'd both myfelf and you. 
 
 The POWER of B E A u T Y. 
 
 O GODDESS of eternal Smiles, 
 Bright Cythera the fair, 
 Who taught Sabinas pleafmg Wiles, 
 By which me won Bellair. 
 
 Bellair, the witty and the vain, 
 
 Who laugh'd at Beauty's Pow'r ; 
 But now the conquer'd humble Swain 
 
 Adores a painted Flow'r. 
 
 WW,
 
 230 POEMS on feveral Qccafiom. 
 
 With Delia's Art my Song infpire, 
 
 Whofe Lips of rofy Hue 
 Can ne'er the partial Audience tire, 
 
 Tho' wifer Claudia's do. 
 
 Tho' Claudia's Wit and Senfe refin'd, 
 Flows eafy from her Tongue j 
 
 Her Soul but coarfly is enfhrin'd, 
 So Claujia's in the wrong. 
 
 Hark, Delia fpeaks that blooming Fair, 
 See Crowds are gathering round 
 
 With open Mouths : and wildly flare 
 To catch the empty Sound. 
 
 See Leila with a Judgment clear, 
 
 With manly Wifdom bleft ; 
 Wit, Learning, Prudence, all appear 
 
 In that unruffled Breaft. 
 
 But
 
 POEMS on fever al Occafwm. 231 
 
 But yet no Beau for Lelia dies, 
 
 No Sonnets pave her way ; 
 Say, Mufe, from whence thefe Evils rife, 
 
 Why Leilas Teeth decay. 
 
 
 Then, why do rev'rend Sages rail 
 At \Voman 's wanton Pride ? 
 
 If Wifdom, Wit, and Prudence fail, 
 Let meaner Arts be try'd. 
 
 Thofe Arts to pleafe are only meant j 
 
 But with an angry Frown, 
 The Queen of Wifdorn lately fent 
 
 This Proclamation down : 
 
 Minerva, with the azure Eyes, 
 
 And thus the Statute runs, 
 If you wou'd have your Daughters wife, 
 
 Take care to mend your Sons. 

 
 232 POEMS on fever al Occafiom. 
 
 The DEATH 0/* A B E L. 
 
 WHEN from the Shade of Eden's blifsf 
 Bow'rs, 
 
 Its Fruit ambrofial and immortal Flow'rs, 
 Our gen'ral Mother (who too foon rebelPd,) 
 Was, with the Partner of her Crime, expell'd 
 To Fields lefs fruitful where the rugged Soil 
 With Thorns and Thiftles often paid their Toil ; 
 Where the pale Flow'rs foon loft their chearful Hue, 
 And rufhing Tempefts o'er the Mountains flew : 
 Two Sons the Matron in her Exile bore, 
 Unlike in Feature but their Natures more ; 
 The eldefl Youth for Husbandry renown'd, 
 Tore up the Surface of the fteril Ground ; 
 His nervous Arms for rugged Tasks were form'd - f 
 His Cheek but feldom with a Smile adorn'd j 
 Drops rais'd by Labour down his Temples run, 
 jr/Jis Tempjes tarnifh'd by the mid-day Sun, 
 
 Robuft
 
 POEMS on feveral Occafions. 233 
 
 Robuft of Body, and of Soul feverc, 
 Unknown to Pity, and the like to Fear. 
 
 Not fo his Brother, caft in fairer Mold 
 Was he and fofter than his fleecy Fold j 
 Fair were his Cheeks that blufh'd with rofy Dye, 
 Peace dwelt for ever in his chearful Eye, 
 Nor Guilt, 'nor Rage his gentle Spirit knew ; 
 Sweet were his Slumbers, for his Cares were few ; 
 Thofe were to feed and watch the tender Lamb, 
 And feek frefh Pafture for its bleating Dam, 
 From burning Suns his thirfty Flocks to hide, 
 And feek the Vales where limpid Rivers glide. 
 
 'Twas ere rude Hands had reap'd the waving Grain, 
 When Plenty triumph'd on the fertile Plain, 
 That to the Centre of a pleafant Down, 
 Where half was Pafture, half a plenteous Brown : 
 Thefe Youths repair'd both emulous of Fame, 
 And rais'd an Altar to Jefcovak's Name, 
 With Heart elate and felf-prefuming Eye, 
 Firft to the Pile unhappy Cain drew nigh. 
 
 Choice
 
 234 POEMS on feveral Occafions. 
 
 Choice was his Off 'ring, yet no Sign appear 'd, 
 No Flame was feen, nor Voice celeftial heard : 
 Aftonifh'd flood the late prefumptuous Man, 
 Then came his Brother with a trembling Lamb ; 
 His God accepts the Sacrifice fincere j 
 The Flames propitious round the Slain appear ; 
 The curling. Smoke afcended to the Skies : 
 This Cain beheld, and roll'd his glowing Eyes. 
 Stung to the Soul, he with his frantick Hand 
 A Stone up-rooted from the yielding Sand, 
 Nor fpoke for Rage had ftop'd his failing Tongue ; 
 The heavy Death impetuous whirl'd along : 
 This Abel met his Heart receiv'd the Wound ; 
 Amaz'd he fell, and grafp'd the bloody Ground. 
 The gentle Spirit fprung to endlefs Day, 
 And left, behind her Cafe of beauteous Clay ; 
 Pale ftood the Brother to a Statue chilPd, 
 A confcious Horror through his Bofom thrill'd : 
 His frighted Eyes abhorr'd the Beams of Light, 
 And long'd to find a never-ceaiing Night. 
 
 Shock'd 
 
 .
 
 POEMS on fever al Occafions. 235 
 
 Shock'd at the Sight of Murder firft begun, 
 Down the fteep Heavens roll'd the radiant Sun, 
 Old Night afluming her appointed Sway, 
 Stretch'd her black Mantle o'er the Face of Day : 
 Now for their Leader mourn'd the bleating Lambs, 
 That rov'd neglected by their penfive Dams ; 
 The careful Parents fearch the Fields around 
 They call the Woods roll back an empty Sound. 
 
 Within a Foreft's folitary Gloom, 
 Slept gentle Abel'm a iecret Tomb, 
 And there (beneath a Cyprefs Shade reclin'd) 
 Cain breath'd his Sorrows to the rufhingWind : 
 That in the Branches made a doleful Sound ; 
 'Twas Silence elfe, and horrid Darknefs round, 
 When lo ! a fudden and a piercing Ray 
 O'er-fpread the Foreft with a Blaze of Day, 
 And then defcended on the hallow'd Ground, 
 A Seraph with empyreal Glory crown 'd : 
 Afflicted Cain (.that knew not where to fly) 
 Gaz'd on the Vifion with diAradted Eye : 
 
 When
 
 236 POEMS on federal Occafions. 
 
 When thus the Angel Why thefe mournful Cries, 
 Thefe loud Complaints that pierce the nightly Skies. 
 Lye not to Heaven, but direftly fay, 
 Where roves thy Brother, where does Abel ftray. 
 He faid . and thus the guilty Wretch return'd j 
 
 facred Guardian, I for Abel mourn'd : 
 
 1 ne'er beheld him fince the Day began, 
 But why this Vilit to a fimple Man ? 
 
 Thus the Celeftial -Wretch, canft thou prefume, 
 
 Thy Brother's Blood may flumber in its Tomb : 
 
 Or thou may 'ft ward off Vengeance with a Lye, 
 
 And dare attempt deceiving God moft high ; 
 
 But now thy Doom, O wretched Mortal hear ; 
 
 The fleeting Hours nor the rolling Year, 
 
 To thec nor Joy, nor chearful Eafe fhall bring : 
 
 Alike to thee the Winter and the Spring, 
 
 Still vex'd with Woe, thy heavy Days mall fly 
 
 Beneath a radiant or a gloomy Sky : 
 
 Curs'd malt thou be amidft thy vagrant Band, 
 
 And curs'd the Labours of thy guilty Hand : 
 
 He ceas'd But Cain all proftrate on the Ground, 
 
 Still in his Ears retain'd the dreadful Sound : 
 
 At
 
 Po E M s on fever al Qccafwns. 237 
 
 \t length he rofe, and trembling thus began j 
 Fhis is too much too much for mortal Man : 
 rhe mighty Debt, O let me quickly pay, 
 &nd fweep me inftant from the Beams of Day : 
 Fhe yet unborn, that I am curs'd, fhall know, 
 A.nd all mall hate me to augment the Blow : 
 Ev'n my own Sons, if fuch are giv'n to be 
 Fhe Death of dbel^ fhall revenge on me : 
 Fhus he to change the dreadful Sentence try'd, 
 rhus the feraphick MefTenger reply'd j 
 rhis Mark, O Cain, I fix upon thy Brow : 
 A.nd thus by Heav'n's mighty Monarch vow, 
 Who fheds thy Blood, that Criminal mail be 
 
 Curs'd Sev'n times curs'd, and wretched more 
 
 than thee. 
 
 Thus be that Mortal who (hall tear the Rod 
 Of fcorching Vengeance from the Hand of God ; 
 That Man may learn to fear the King of Kings : 
 He faid and waving his immortal Wings, 
 That inftant mingled with the ftarry Train, 
 And Darknefs wrap'd the filent Shades again. 
 
 J o B'S
 
 238 POEMS on feveral Occafans. 
 
 JOB'S CURSE, and his APPEAL. 
 'Taken out of Job, Cbap. i, and xxxi. 
 
 LE T not that Day in circling Moments run, 
 When firft thefe Eyes beheld th' odious Sun : 
 Let his gay Beams forfake the mourning Fields, 
 And ftarting backward roll his flaming Wheels ; 
 Let fulphurous Hail defcend in baneful Show'rs, 
 And horrid Darknefs mix the jumbling Hours ; 
 Let trembling Mortals gaze in vain for Light, 
 Curs'd be the Day and doubly curs'd the Night : 
 Thou my great Judge thefe Imprecations hear, 
 And rend her Minutes from the rolling Year ; 
 To the fad Skies be every Star deny'd ; 
 While fcorching Plagues on quivering Meteors ride, 
 Let the black Air no melting Mufick know, 
 But ring with Horror and Complaints of Woe : 
 Through the grim Shade let grifly Terrors run, 
 And weeping Sorrows that abhor the Sun : 
 
 Let
 
 POEMS *n fiver al Occ a/ions. 239 
 
 Let pale-ey'd Spectres burft their yawning Tombs, 
 And dreadful Echos make th' hideous Gloom ; 
 The low'ring Eaft pour down a laming Storm ; 
 Nor through her Gates admit th' ftruggling Morn : 
 Let the dark Hours no lively breaking fee, 
 Becaufe they gave thefe ceafelefs Tears to me. 
 
 As others have, alas ! why could not I 
 Yield my fhort Being, and an Infant die ? 
 Why was a Mother's Care indulg'd to me P 
 And why fupported on her friendly Knee ? 
 Why did I in her tender Bofom grow, 
 A-fofter'd Subject of impending Woe? 
 Did friendly Death my marble Limbs enchain/ 
 This bleeding Heart would know no fmarting Pain ; 
 Then lading Sleep would feal my maded Eyes, 
 Where frozen Pride and conquer'd Vengeance lies j 
 There weary Slaves forgotten Reft may find, 
 And injur'd Orphans leave their Tears behind ; 
 Tyrannick Rage muft in the Grave fubfide, 
 Where ftarving Wretches find their Wants fupplyd, 1 
 Thrice happy Reft, O why to me deny'd ! 
 
 Life
 
 240 POEMS on feveral Occajlom. 
 
 Life ftill will hover round defpairing Slaves, 
 
 Who flight her Favours, and would court their 
 
 Graves ; 
 
 Death gliding by us, mews his grizly Charms ; 
 But the coy Phantom mocks our reaching Arms : 
 He flies the Dungeons of intreating Woe, 
 And ftrikes the Profp'rous with unwelcome Blow : 
 To blooming Youth his partial Arrows fly, 
 O'er wither'd Mendicants, that vainly try 
 To meet the fatal Shaft, and only wifh to die. 
 
 When Darknefs fits as Regent of the Skies, 
 And round my Bed redoubled Horrors rife, 
 Till Night grows hideous with my conftant Cries : 
 My tortur'd Limbs with ceafelefs Pangs are torn , 
 But yet I live to fee returning Morn : 
 The piercing Sun thrufls in a fpiteful Ray, 
 To wound my Eyelids with unwelcome Day. 
 
 Tyrannick Death, whom trembling Mortals flee, 
 The Prince of Ills to ev'ry Wretch but me, 
 
 Plavs
 
 POEMS on feveral Occafiom. 241 
 
 Plays with the Torments of my ftruggling Heart, 
 And o'er my Bofom (hakes his ling'ring Dart. 
 O ! facred Judge, when will thy Wrath be done ? 
 Why do I live to fcare the wond'ring Sun ? 
 Let not thy Mercy fpare my wounded Clay, 
 But flrike and fweep me from offenfi vc Day. 
 
 My Heart is vtxed with confuming Fears, 
 
 And nourifli'd only with continual Tears ; 
 
 Clofe at my Heels purfue a meagre Train 
 
 Of pining Sicknefs and diftorting Pain, 
 
 Pale-ey'd Confufion with dimivel'd Hair, 
 
 And wild Impatience leading on Defpair. 
 
 Did I with Crimes profane my Days ef Reft ? 
 Did e'er Prefumption fwell my rifing Bread? 
 Did guilty Flame my tainted Soul furprife ? 
 Or Snares of Beauty catch my wand'ring Eyes ? 
 If e'er Injuftice fwell'd my fpreading Lands, 
 If e'er Opprefljon ftain'd my guiltlefs Hands ; 
 Then let my God his flaming Vengeance throw, 
 Renew my Plagues, and double every Woe. 
 
 R Did
 
 242 POEMS on feveral Occajions. 
 
 Did e'er my Servants of their Lord complain ? 
 Did humble Rhetorick ever plead in vain ? 
 In vain to me did helplefs Widows cry ? 
 Or at my Gate neglected Orphans lie ? 
 No ; their glad Eyes my plenteous Table knew, 
 And with my own the fofter'd Infants grew. 
 Was e'er my Portals barr'd againft the Poor ? 
 Did not the Stranger blsfs my friendly Door ? 
 Tho' cold and hungry in my Courts he mourn'd, 
 Joyful and full the fmiling Wretch returned. 
 
 When every Good obey'd my lordly Will, 
 Did I by Fraud my glitt'ring Coffers fill ? 
 Did I by Fraud increafe the tempting Store ? 
 Or dote too fondly on the mining Ore ? 
 Did reftlefs Envy in my Bofom roll ? 
 Or lurking Malice blot my tainted Soul ? 
 No this fond Heart has bled for diftant Wot, 
 And learn'd Companion for a finking Foe. 
 Did e'er my Soul from its Creator run 
 To painted Idols, or the beaming Sun ? 
 
 Or
 
 POEMS on fever al Occafions. 243 
 
 Or to the Moon my wav'ring Senfes yield, 
 When her pale Rays adorn'd the glift'ring Field ? 
 
 Yet ftay, prefumptuous Wretch, nor urge too far 
 Thy doubtful Sentence at the dreadful Bar : 
 What melting Rhet'rick, or what potent Friend, 
 At Heav'n's Tribunal fhall thy Caufe defend ? 
 Where fmother'd Evils, hid from mortal Eye, 
 Mature and open to Omnifcience lie. 
 
 The T A L E of C U S H I. 
 
 From II. Samuel, Chap, xviii. 
 
 HO W fares my Son ? the trembling Monarch 
 cry'd, 
 
 Why wouldft thou ask ? afflicted Cujh reply'd ; 
 A Fate like his may all that hate thee feel, 
 Whofe Blood, alas ! has ftain'd the guilty Steel. 
 He fell beneath the Hand of David's Friend, 
 But to my Story let my Lord attend. 
 
 R 2 When
 
 244 P o E M s 0;z feveral Qccafions. 
 
 When the pale Morning fliew'dher languid Face, 
 And the dim Sun began his ufual Race ; 
 Whofe fullen Orb receiv'd a crimfon Dye, 
 And Tempefts hover'd in the frowning Sky, 
 As tho' the Heavens wept a Mortal's Fate, 
 And Nature trembl'd at domeftick Hate ; 
 Within the Shade ofEphraim's dusky Wood, 
 In juft Array the meeting Armies flood ; 
 The frowning Hofts with equal Fury glow, 
 And each to Death defy'd his meeting Foe ; 
 All tender Thoughts were loft in horrid Rage, 
 And with a Shout the charging Hofts engage : 
 Then Clouds of Arrows hide the darken'd Sky, j 
 And hiffing Lances lighten as they fly : > 
 
 Dreadful the Sight and horrid was the Cry. j 
 
 Here groan'd a Steed that felt its fmarting Wound, 
 And there a Soldier pinion'd to the Ground : 
 At length, proud Ifrael began to fail, 
 Our jufter Caufe cou'd o'er their Strength prevail; 
 The vanquifti'd Army rais'd a fearful Cry, 
 And thro* the Wood their mighty Numbers fly; 
 
 There
 
 POEMS on fever al Occajiom. 245 
 
 There horrid Brambles tore their Wounds anew, 
 And thou&nd Deaths their flying Heels purfue : 
 Then rag'd our Gen'ral thro' the dreadful Gloom, 
 Pale Terror hover'd on his waving Plume j 
 From his known Spear the (bricking Numbers run, 
 And from his Fury fled your conquer'd Son ; 
 Grim Danger urg'd him on with fatal Speed, 
 And thro' black Shades he lam'd the weary Steed : 
 In the dark Center of this Foreft flood 
 A lofty Oak, which overlook'd the Wood. 
 Thro* its thick Arms he ventur'd carelefs in, 
 They fpringing caught him by the beauteous Chin ; 
 His curling Locks among the Branches flew ; 
 His Spirit fails him, and his Foes purfue ; 
 Around in vain he caft a mournful Eye, 
 And wim'd a Friend ; for none, alas ! was nigh : . 
 But hoftile Shouts invade his frighted Ears, 
 And foon beneath him {hone a Grove of Spears : 
 Now, Traitor, fall our mighty Leader cries : 
 (While glowing Vengeance fparkl'd in his Eyes) 
 Then flep'd a Captain of the loyal Band, 
 And vainly flrove to flay his fatal Hand. 
 
 R 3 That
 
 246 POEMS on fever al Occajions. 
 
 That cruel Arm impclFd the flying Dart, 
 And the keen Weapon funk within his Heart : 
 Then thofe fair Cheeks refign'd their rofy Dye, 
 Yet Life a Moment ftruggl'd in his Eye ; 
 As from fo fair a Manfion loth to fly, 
 Till the red Torrent flain'd his throbbing Tide ; 
 Then with a Groan the beauteous Rebel dy'd. 
 
 Hold, "flop thy Story," cries the weeping 
 
 King, 
 
 Thy horrid Tale has left a mortal Sting ; 
 My Soul tho' pra&is'd in the Paths of Woe, 
 Grows lick and ftaggers at this mighty Blow : 
 From its cold Fountain Life forgets to run ; 
 Oh Abfalom r~ Oh Abfalom> my Son, 
 Eternal Shade has feal'd thy chearful Eyes ; 
 And on the Ground thy breathlefs Beauty lies : 
 Curft be the Hand that all my Hopes beguiPd, 
 And left a Parent to lament his Child : 
 Without a Tear let none his Story tell, 
 But curfe the Foreft where my Darling fell : 
 
 While
 
 POEMS on feveral Occafions. 247 
 
 While thefe wan Eyes with lading Sorrows run, 
 Loft to the World, and Strangers to the Sun ; 
 Let milder Songs attend his noon-tide Ray, 
 For mine will beft become the clofing Day, 
 While round my Lyre afflicted Fathers throng, 
 And Orphans liflen to the mournful Song. 
 
 PROSERPINE 's RAGOUT. 
 
 A 8 once grave Pluto drove his royal Wheels, 
 O'er the large Confines of the Stygian Fields : 
 With kingly Port he fat, and by his Side, 
 Rode his fair Captive, now his awful Bride ; 
 But from the Lakes a fulph'rous Mift invades, 
 And ftrikes the fainting Emprefs of the Shades. 
 The trembling Queen is feiz'd with fickly Yawns, 
 With griping Colicks and with fcverifh Qualms. 
 Back to the Palace was the general Cry, 
 Before the Lam her fable Courfers fly : 
 There refts the Dame, and fought her Royal Bed. 
 Where the foft Pillows rais'd her drooping Head : 
 
 R 4 Reftoring
 
 248 POEMS on federal Occafans. 
 
 Reftoring Lenitives were fought in vain, 
 To cool her Vitals and afTwage her Pain. 
 On nothing would the peevifh Matron feed j 
 Then ufeful Mercury was call'd with fpeed, 
 And fent on Earth fome curious Difh to frame, 
 Of light Digeftion for the fickly Dame. 
 To Earth he ported where he quickly found, 
 Proper Ingredients on our fertile Ground $ 
 Here firft he feiz'd as nonfubftantial Foods, 
 The Courtiers Friendmip and the Zeal of Prudes ; 
 The Sighs of Widowers, and blends with thofe 
 The Vows of Lovers and the Brains of Beaux j 
 The Mifer's Charity, . the Drunkard's Cares ; 
 The Wealth of Poets, and the Tears of Heirs ; 
 Pbilander's Patience, when his Lord denies 
 The Frowns of Celia, when her Heart complies : 
 Then with a Breath along the Air he drives 
 The Love of Husbands, and the Charms of Wives 5 
 Where Trifles dwell fagacious Hermes knew, 
 The winged Youth to lordly Senates flew j 
 From thence Debates and long Harangues to cull, 
 And fleep'd them fofdy in a Statefman's Skull, 
 
 And
 
 POEMS on fevered Occafions. 24.9 
 
 And now the frothy Dim began to feem, 
 A proper Viand for his lickly Queen : 
 To crown the reft, he met by lucky Chance 
 The Wit of England > and the Truth of 'France. 
 
 CHARMS of A N T H o N Y. 
 
 YE Swains, attend > t let ev'ry Nymph be near ; 
 Be (till, ye Rivers, that the Swains may hear : 
 Ye Winds, be calm, and brufh with fofcer Wing ; 
 We mean the Charms of Anthony to fmg ; 
 See all around the lift'ning Shepherds throng ; 
 O help, ye Sifters of immortal Song. 
 
 LUCY. 
 
 Sing, Phebe y fmg what Shepherd rules the Plain, 
 Young Colin 's Envy, and Amindtfs Pain : 
 Whom none can rival when he mows the Field, 
 
 And to whofe Flute the Nightingale muft yield. 
 
 P H E B E. 
 
 'Tis Anthony 'tis he deferves the Lay, 
 As mild as Ev'ning, and as Morning gay -, 
 
 Not
 
 250 POEMS on feveral Occajlons. 
 
 Not the frem Blooms on yonder Codling-tree, 
 Nor the white Hawthorn half fo fair as he ; 
 Nor the young Daify drefs.'d in Morning Dew ; 
 Nor the Pea Bloflbm wears a brighter Hue. 
 
 LUCY. 
 
 None knows like him to ftrew the wheaten Grain, 
 Or drive the Plough-fhare o'er the fertile Plain ; 
 To raife the Sheaves, or reap the waving Corn, 
 Or mow brown Stubble in the early Morn. 
 
 P 'H E B E. 
 
 How. mild the Youth, when on a fultry Day 
 In yonder Vale we turn'd the fragrant Hay : 
 How on his Voice the lift'ning Shepherds hung, 
 Not tuneful Stella half fo fweetly fung. 
 LUCY. 
 
 Whether he binds the Sheaf in twifted Band, 
 Or turns the Pitch-fork on his nimble Hand ; 
 He's fure to win a Glance from ev'ry Eye, 
 While clumfy Colin ftands neglected by. 
 
 P H E B E. 
 
 His curling Locks by far more lovely mew, 
 Than the white Wig on Squire Fopting's Brow ; 
 
 An
 
 POEMS on feveral Occafiom. 251 
 
 And when the Shepherd on a rainy Day, 
 Weaves for his Hat a Wifp of flow'ry Hay, 
 The fcarlet Feather not fo gay appears, 
 Which on his Crown Sir Ambrofe Fino wears. 
 
 LUCY. 
 
 For Anthony Merlah leaves her Cow, 
 'And {lands to gape at him upon the Mow : 
 While he (for who but muft that Wench defpife ? ) 
 Throws Straws and Cobwebs on her flaring Eyes. 
 
 P H E B E. 
 
 To the Back-door I law proud Lydia hie, 
 To fee the Team with Anthony go by 
 He (lily laugh'd, and turn'd him from the Door, 
 I thought the Damfel would have fpoke no more. 
 
 LUCY. 
 
 Me once he met, 'twas when from yonder Vale, 
 Each Morn I brought the heavy milking Pail : 
 He took it from my Head, and with a Smile 
 Reach'd out his Hand, and help'd me o'er the Stile, 
 
 P H E B E. 
 
 As I was dancing late amongft the Crew, 
 A yellow Pippin o'er my Head he threw ; 
 
 Su*
 
 252 POEMS on feveral Occ a/ions. 
 
 Sue bit her Lips, and Earbaretta frown'd ; 
 
 And Phillis look'd as tho' me wou'd have fwoon'd. 
 
 Thus fung the Maids till Colinet came by, 
 And Rodrigo from weeding of the Rye ; 
 Each took his Lafs, and fped 'em to the Town, 
 To drink cool Cider at the Hare and Hound : 
 The Damfels fimper like the fparkling Beer, 
 And Colin mines till Anthony is near. 
 
 On the Death of a jujlly admir'd AUTHOR. 
 
 WHEN pale-ey'd Winter rules the mourning 
 Fields, 
 
 And miv'ring Nature to his Sceptre yields, 
 Dejeded Earth is ftrip'd of all her Pride, 
 And fculking Flowers in her Bofom hide ; 
 Through naked Groves afflidled Warblers fly, 
 And Storms of Hail come rattling through the Sky : 
 But when foft April lifts her downy Wing, 
 And calls the blufhing Infants of the Spring, 
 
 The
 
 POEMS on fever al Occajions. 255 
 
 The verdant Groves their wonted Charms regain, 
 
 And laughing Nature paints the gaudy Plain ; 
 
 Sweet-fcented Vi'lets take their ufual Blue, 
 
 And the fair Primrofe drinks the Morning Dew; 
 
 Again revive their Beauty and their Smell, 
 
 But Man once blafted takes, a long Farewel. 
 
 Ah filly Mufe ! thy fond Complaints give o'er, 
 
 Departed Sylvius mall return no more : 
 
 No Charms of Verie can win the heav'nly Mind, . 
 
 Back to the flighted Cafe me left behind ; 
 
 Not tho' each Line fhou'd make our Bofoms glow, 
 
 Like his grand Numbers, and as fweetly flow. 
 
 His Name mall laft to warm a diftant Age, 
 Nor want th' Affiftance of a Title-page; 
 For his bright Lines are by their Luftre known, 
 Ev'n Homer mines with Beauties not his own : 
 Unpolim'd Souls, like Codrus or like mine, 
 Fill'd with Ideas that but dimly mine, 
 Read o'er the Charms of his inftruftive Pen, 
 And tafte of Raptures never known till then. 
 
 Ill-
 
 254 POEMS on feveral Occajions. 
 
 Ill-nature liften'd, and appro v'd the Song ; 
 And blufhing Envy check'd her burning Tongue i 
 Happy are thofe, tho' Grief their Hours attend, 
 Whom once he honour'd with the Name of Friend 
 Whofe pleafing Thoughts at lead may ponder o'er 
 The fmiling Days, that mall return no more : 
 Ev'n we condemn'd at diftance to admire, 
 Bewail the Hopes that with our Guide expire : 
 Ah ! who mail now our ru flick Thoughts refmCj 
 And to grave Senfe and folid Learning join 
 Wit ever fparkling, and the Sweets of Rhyme? 
 Farewel, ye Themes, which none but he can fing, 
 And fylvan Scenes that wear eternal Spring 3 
 Fair Nymphs, that in his fairer Paintings glow, 
 And ye fmooth Lines that Sylvius taught to flow t 
 But hum, fad Mufe, thy dull Complaint give o'er : 
 Hence figh in fecrel:, and his Lofs deplore, 
 Who ne'er, O ne'er, mall grace our Regious more. 
 
 An
 
 POEMS on feveral Occafions. 255 
 
 t" V --'. V/u' ' 
 
 ./^EPITAPH. 
 
 NO W triumph, Death, for here lies flam 
 More worth than Crowns can buy : 
 Celeflial Zephyrs, waft her Soul 
 
 Back to its native Sky. 
 Who now fhall charm, where F/avia once 
 
 Her chearful Smiles beftow'd ? 
 When pleafing Candor fwell'd her Breaft 3 
 
 And in her Afpect glow'd : 
 Now to that Heav'n, where Virtue ihines 
 
 With an eternal Blaze, 
 Her lofty Soul has wing'd its Flight, 
 
 And left this earthly Maze. 
 So from the fmiling Infant's Hand 
 
 We force the coftly Gem, 
 Which he, not knowing how to prize, 
 
 Might to the Dufl condemn. 
 
 * 
 
 On
 
 256 POEMS on fever al Occafions. 
 
 On W I N T E R. 
 
 WHAT Pictures now mall wanton Fancy 
 bring? 
 
 Or how the Mufe to Artemlfia fmg ? 
 Now (hiv'ring Nature mourns her ravifh'd Charms, 
 And finks fupine in Winter's frozen Arms. 
 No gaudy Banks delight the ravim'd Eye, 
 But northern Breezes whittle thro' the Sky. 
 No joyful Choirs hail the riiing Day, 
 But the froze Cryftal wraps the leaf! efs Spray : 
 Brown look the Meadows, that were late fo fine, 
 
 And cap'd with Ice the diflant Mountains ihine ; 
 
 The filent Linnet views the gloomy Sky, 
 
 Sculks to his Hawthorn, nor attempts to fly : 
 
 Then heavy Clouds fend down the feather 'd Snow ; 
 
 Through naked Trees the hollow Tempefts blow ; 
 
 The Shepherd fighs, but not his Sighs prevail ; 
 
 To the foft Snow fucceeds the rufhing Hail > 
 
 And
 
 POEMS on feveral Occajiofis. 257 
 
 And thefe white Profpefts foon refign their room 
 To melting Showers or unpleafing Gloom $ 
 The Nymphs and Swains their aking Fingers blow. 
 Shun the cold Rains and blefs the kinder Snow ; 
 While the faint Travellers around them fee, 
 Here Seas of Mud and there a leaflefs Tree : 
 No budding Leaves nor Honeyfuckles gay, 
 No yellow Crow-foots paint the dirty Way 5 
 The Lark fits mournful as afraid to rife, 
 And the fad Finch his fofter Song denies. 
 
 Poor daggled Urs'Ia ftalks from Cow to Cow, 
 Who to her Sighs return a mournful Low ; 
 While their full Udders her broad Hands affail, 
 And her fharp Nofe hangs dropping o'er the Pail. 
 With Garments trickling like a mallow Spring, 
 And his wet Locks all twitted in a String, 
 Affli&ed Cymon waddles through the Mire, 
 And rails at Win'fred creeping o'er the Fire. 
 
 Say gentle Mufes, fay, is this a Time 
 To fport with Poefy and laugh in Rhyme j 
 
 S While
 
 258 POEMS on few era! Occafions. 
 
 While the chill'd Blood, that hath forgot to glide, 
 Steals through its Channels in a lazy Tide : 
 And how can Phtzbus, who the Mufe refines, 
 Smooth the dull Numbers when he feldom mines. 
 
 MlRA tO OCTAVIA. 
 
 FAIR One, to you this Monitor I fend ; 
 Otfavza, pardon your officious Friend : 
 You think your Conduct merits only Praife, 
 But out-law'd Poets cenfure whom they pleafe 
 Thus we begin your Servant has been told, 
 That you, (defpifmg Settlements and Gold) 
 Determine Florio witty, young and gay, 
 To have and hold for ever and for ay ; 
 And view that Perfon as your mortal Foe, 
 Who dares object againft your charming Beau 5 
 But now to furnim Metre for my Song, 
 Let us fuppofe OStavia may be wrong : 
 'Tis true, you're lovely ; yet the learn'd aver, 
 That even Beauties like the reft may err.
 
 POEMS on feveral Occajions. 259 
 
 I know, to fhun, you hold it as a Rule, 
 The arrant Coxcomb and the ftupid Fool : 
 No fuch is Florio y he has Wit 'tis true, 
 Enough, Offavia, to impofe on you : 
 Yet fuch a Wit you'll, by Experience, find 
 Worfe than a Fool that's complaifant and kind : 
 It only ferves to gild his Vices o'er, 
 And teach his Malice how to wound the more, 
 
 I need not tell you, moft ingenious Fair, 
 That hungry Mortals are not fed with Air, 
 But folid Food : And this voracious Clay 
 Asks Drink and Victuals more than once a Day : 
 Now cou'd your Florio by his Wit infpire 
 The chilly Hearth, to blaze- with kiting Fire : 
 Or when his Children round the Table throng. 
 By an Allufion or a fprightly Song, 
 Adorn the Board, i'th' twinkling of an Eye, 
 With a hot Party or a Warden Pye, 
 There might be Reafon on Oflavia's Side, 
 And not a Sage cou'd blame the prudent Bride. 
 
 S 2 Yet
 
 2 60 POEMS on feveral Occafans. 
 
 Yet (or fome Authors often deal in Lies) 
 Lovers may live on Nuts and Blackberries ; 
 For roving Knights bewilder'd in their way, 
 Who in black Forefts half a Seafon ftray ; 
 Ufllefs they find -Proviiion on the Trees, 
 Muft fup on Grafs and breakfaft on the Breeze. 
 But as you've long been us'd to nicer Fare, 
 Your Conftitution wou'd but hardly bear 
 Such Food as this : And therefore I advife 
 That you'd confider (for you're mighty wife) 
 If fober Dufterandus wou'd not make 
 A better Husband than your darling Rake, 
 Grave Dufterandus : He whofe ftedfaft Mind 
 Is yet untainted, tho' not much refin'd ; 
 Whofe Soul ne'er roves beyond his native Fields $ 
 Nor asks for Joys but what his Pafture yields ; 
 On Life's dull Cares with Patience can attend, 
 A gentle Mafter and a conftant Friend 5 
 Who in foft Quiet fpends the guiltlefs Days, 
 His Servants bleffing and his Neighbours praife : 
 Say, would you, in his happy Manfion, reign, 
 Toaft of the Village and the rural Plain ? 
 
 With
 
 POEMS on feveral Qccafiom. 261 
 
 With honeft Friends your chcarful Days beguile, 
 While Peace and Plenty on your Table fmile : 
 Or cold and hungry writhe your tired Jaws, 
 And dine with Florio upon Hips and Haws, 
 In troth I think there's little room to paufe. 
 
 In fpite of all romantick Poets ling ; 
 This Gold, my Deareft, is an ufeful thing : 
 Not that I'd have you hoard the precious Store, 
 For not a Wretch is like the Mifer poor : 
 Enjoy your Fortune with a chcarful Mind, 
 And let the Bleffing fpread amongft the Kind : 
 But if there's none but Florio that will do, 
 Write Ballads both, and you may thrive Adieu.' 
 
 The SETTING SUN. 
 
 To SILVIA. 
 
 SE E, Silvia, fee the fparkling Lamp of Day; 
 From our fond Eyes he draws the trembling Ray : 
 The curling Clouds purfue his fhort'ning Beams, 
 And catch new Colours from the parting Gleams : 
 
 S 3 . From
 
 262 POEMS on fever al Occafions. 
 
 From marfhy Vales unhealthy Fogs arife, 
 And gloomy Vapours fill the mourning Skies. 
 A creeping Mift o'erfpreads the filent Field, 
 And drooping Flow'rs their Ev'ning Incenfe yield. 
 On ev'ry Leaf the pearly Drops appear, 
 And Nature weeps an univerfal Tear. 
 
 So will it be when thofe fair Suns of thine, 
 By Fate eclips'd, their chearful Beams reiign : 
 When the juft Heav'ns remand their beauteous Store, 
 And Silvia's Eyes muft chear the World no more : 
 Death may forbid thofe dazzling Orbs to roll, 
 But cannot ilrip the Radiance from thy Soul. 
 Amid the Stars, in fpite of Fate or Time, 
 The Charms of Silvia mall eternal mine. 
 
 An
 
 POEMS on fever al Occafions. 163 
 
 An EPITAPH. 
 
 A Heart to Mercy as to Zeal inclin'd, 
 As well a gentle as a prudent Mind ; 
 Still free to pardon, cautious to offend 
 A tender Parent and a faithful Friend. 
 All Parts perform'd, fhe willingly withdrew, 
 Turn'd from the World, and bid her Friends adieu. 
 Ah thou ! (if Spirits or regard or know 
 The Sigh of Friendship or a Daughter's Woe) 
 Mix'd with thofe Tears that wafh the facred Shrine, 
 Accept the Tribute of a grateful Line. 
 
 0*SICKNESS. 
 
 WHEN Heav'n's almighty King prepares, 
 The angry Shaft to throw ; 
 Ev'n Fortitude itfelf defpairs 
 To bear the deadly Blow. 
 
 S 4 Cold
 
 POEMS on fever al Occa/lom. 
 
 Cold Tremors fhake each fainting Limb, 
 
 That weeps a fickly Dew ; 
 The Features, chang'd to pale and dim, 
 
 Refign their chearful Hue. 
 
 No more foft Eloquence {hall flow, 
 Nor drefs the filent Tongue ; 
 
 But the dull Heart refufe to glow, 
 Tho* charm'd by melting Song. 
 
 Thofe laughing Eyes, that lately fhone 
 
 So fprightly and fo gay, 
 Sunk down with Sicknefs, faint and wan, 
 
 Decline the piercing Day. 
 
 And fcarcely bear a chearful Beam, 
 To light the drooping Soul ; 
 
 While round the weak afflicted Brain 
 Romantick Vapours roll. 
 
 Deceit-
 
 P Q E M s on feveral Occafans. 2 65 
 
 Deceitful Earth and all its Joys 
 
 Elude our grafping Hands : 
 Tho' Nature all her Skill employs, 
 
 To bind the failing Bands. 
 
 Death drives us to the horrid Steep > 
 
 And while we vainly mourn, 
 He pointing mews th'unmeafur'd Deep, 
 
 From whence we ne'er return. 
 
 There the grim Spectre, with a Smile, * 
 
 His panting Victim fees : 
 Who fain wou'd linger here a while, 
 
 To fwallow naufeous Lees. 
 
 Who Death's great Empire wou'd difpute, 
 
 And hugs the gilded Pill, 
 Not knowing That his faithful Mute, 
 
 Whofe Bufmefs is to kill, 
 
 The
 
 266 POEMS dn feveral Occafions. 
 
 o fave, 
 
 The loft, the flipp'ry Hold to 
 To lenient Arts we run ; 
 
 They caft us headlong on the Wave, 
 And we are twice undone. 
 
 The Pow'r who flamp'd the reas'ning Mind 
 
 Its Partner can reftore ; 
 There we a lafting Cordial find, 
 
 And learn to figh no more. 
 
 But if the flow-confuming III 
 
 Shou'd lead us to the Grave, 
 Our Faith perfuades us that he will 
 
 The trembling Spirit favc. 
 
 O thou, whofe Bounty all things tafle, 
 Whofe Anger none can bear $ 
 
 Revive the melancholy Breaft, 
 Nor let the Wretch defpair.
 
 POEMS on fever al Occ a/ions. 267 
 
 To a Gentleman with a Manufcript Play. 
 
 AS fome grave Matron bred on rural Downs, f 
 Who at the mention of a Top-knot frowns, S 
 And the proud Minxes of the Market-Towns ; 
 Whofe humble Senfes are not much refin'd, 
 But us'd to Labour with a chearful Mind ; 
 Clad in plain Coifs and Gown of ruflet Hue, 
 With home-fpun Aprons of a decent Blue ; 
 From the white Curds extracts the greener Whey, 
 Nor dreams of Famion, Poetry, or Play ; 
 From wicked Verfe me turns her cautious Eyes, 
 And wonders People can delight in Lies : 
 At length her Landlord, the right noble Squire, 
 Takes her young Daughter at her own Defire ; 
 Prefers the Damfel to attend his Spoufe, 
 And (he with Joy refigns her brindl'd Cows : 
 For "London now prepares the fmiling Dame, 
 While her fad Mother trembles at the Name : 
 
 But
 
 268 P o E M s on feveral Qccajions. 
 
 But O ! what Griefs attend the parting Leave, 
 No Mufe can paint 'em, nor no Heart conceive : 
 In vain her Spoufe or friendly Neighbour tries, 
 To quell the Sorrows in her ftreaming Eyes : 
 Roffell (he fears will flight her Jerfey Gown, 
 And wear white Aprons in the flnful Town ; 
 On the pure Ghoft of Win *J red then me calls, 
 To guard her Child within its guilty Walls. 
 
 So this rude Babe I to your Mercy yield, 
 Rough as the Soil of fome untillag'd Field : 
 Can Nature pleafe ? Not 'till {he's well refin'd, 
 Reforming Art fhou'd follow clofe behind ; 
 But that proud Dame with me difdains to dwell, 
 And far me flies Ah far from Mira's Cell. 
 What then remains ? What Hope for me or mine. 
 But the kind Silence of forgetful Time ? 
 To fave us from the fly buffooning Leer, 
 The fpiteful Grimace, and the fcornful Sneer ; 
 The threat'ning Critic with his dreadful Rules, 
 The Wit's keen Satire and the Burft of Fools. 
 
 The
 
 POEMS on fever al Occafions. 269 
 
 The wretched Villain pinion'd up on high, 
 Two Hours pendent 'twixt the Earth and Sky, 
 With Eggs and Turnips whirling round his Pate, 
 Is but an Emblem of an Author's Fate. 
 A dread Example to the rhyming Fry, 
 So Poets; tell me, but I hope they lye : 
 The World's good-natur'd, if it is not crofs'd, 
 But Wits are often faucy to their Coft. 
 
 Tho' unafTur'd, yet not in deep Defpair, 
 I truft this Infant to its Patron's Care : 
 Ah let your Roofs the fimple Vagrants fhield, 
 I ask no more than Charity may yield, 
 Some little Corner in the friendly Dome, 
 (Left the loofe Varlet be induc'd to roam) 
 Where the cold Storms may hover round in vain, 
 The chilling Snow or penetrating Rain ; 
 Where the fierce Rat (all dreadful) never climbs, 
 Nor the fleek Moufe fad Foe to Mtra's Rhymes. 
 
 But I have done for who implores a Friend 
 With long Petitions, juftly may offend : 
 
 To
 
 270 POEMS on feveral Occafions. 
 
 To no ftrait Bounds Good-nature is confin'd j 
 And who fhall dictate to a gen'rous Mind ? 
 Which not content in narrow Space to roll, 
 Like the broad Ocean fpreads from Pole to Pole : 
 While the glad Nations blefs the ample Tide, 
 And wafted Treafures o'er its Surface glide : 
 That flill waves on, regardlefs of their Praife, 
 As you perhaps of Mira's idle Lays. 
 
 S I L V I A and the B E E. 
 
 AS Silvia in her Garden ftray'd, 
 Where each officious Rofe, 
 To welcome the approaching Maid, 
 With fairer Beauty glows. 
 
 Tranfported from their dewy Beds, 
 
 The new blown Lilies rife : 
 Gay Tulips wave their mining Heads, 
 
 To pleafe her brighter Eyes, 
 
 A
 
 POEMS on feveral Occapons. 271 
 
 A Bee that fought the fweeteft Flow'r, 
 To this fair Quarter came : 
 
 Soft humming round the fatal Bow'r, 
 That held the fmiling Dame. 
 
 He fearch'd the op'ning Buds with Care, 
 And flew from Tree to Tree : 
 
 But Silvia (rinding none fo fair) 
 Unwifely fix'd on thee. t 
 
 Her Hand obedient to her Thought, 
 
 The River did deftroy ; 
 And the flain Infeft dearly bought 
 
 Its momentary Joy. 
 
 But now too ram unthinking Maid, 
 Confider what you've done ; 
 
 Perhaps you in the Duft have laid 
 A fair and hopeful Son. 
 
 Or
 
 272 POEMS on feveral Occafans. 
 
 Or from his Friends and Senate wife 
 
 
 Have fwept a valu'd Peer; 
 Whofe life, that you fo lightly prize, 
 Was to his Country dear, 
 
 Then, Silvia, ceafe your Anger now, 
 To this your guiltlefs Foe ; 
 
 And fmooth again that gentle Brow, 
 Where lafting Lilies blow. 
 
 Soft Cynthio vows when you depart, 
 The Sun withdraws its Ray, 
 
 That Nature trembles like his Heart, 
 And Storms eclipfe the Day. 
 
 Amintor fwears a Morning Sun's 
 Lefs brilliant than your Eyes ; 
 And tho' his Tongue at random runs, 
 You feldom think he lyes.
 
 POEMS en feveral Occapons. 
 
 They tell you, thofe foft Lips may vie 
 
 With Pinks at op'ning Day ; 
 And yet you flew a fimple Fly, 
 
 For proving what they fay. 
 
 Believe me, not a Bud like thee 
 
 In this fair Garden blows ; 
 Then blame no more the erring Bee 3 
 
 Who took you for the Rofe. 
 
 273 
 
 Tie CRUEL PARENT. 
 
 A D R E A 
 
 M. 
 
 jrr-^W AS when the Sun had his fwift Progrefs 
 
 JL made, 
 
 And left his Empire to the Queen of Shade 3 
 Bright Cynthia too, with her refulgent Train^ 
 Shot their pale Luftre o'er the dewy Plain : 
 Sat lonely Mira with her Head reclin'd, 
 And mourn'd the Sorrows of her helplefs Kind : 
 
 T Then
 
 274 P o E M s feveral Occafans. 
 
 Then to her Fancy Celia's Woes appear, 
 
 The Nymph, whofe Tale deferves a pitying Tear , 
 
 Whofe early Beauties met a fwift Decay - y 
 
 A Rofe that faded at the rifmg Day, 
 
 While Grief and Shame opprefs'd her tender Age, 
 
 Purfu'd by Famine and a Father's Rage j 
 
 Till too much Thought the aking Heart opprefs'd. 
 
 And Mira's Eye-lids clos'd in filent Reft : 
 
 Then adive Fancy, with her airy Train, 
 
 Compos'd the Subftance of the enfuing Dream. 
 
 In a black Shade my wand'ring Self I found, 
 A Wood encircPd by a thorny Bound j 
 Where Oaks up-rais'd their kingly Heads on high, 
 And the pleas'd Linnets thro* the Branches fly : 
 There lofty Elms the wond'ring Skies invade, 
 And the dark Cyprefs caft a browner Shade : 
 Grave Laurels there the humbler Shrubs o'erlook 
 There the pale Am, and there the Poplar mook ; 
 Here pliant Elder whom her Fruits adorn, 
 And the brown Hafel wove with fliagged Thorn : 
 
 Rude
 
 POEMS on feveral Occajions. 2 75 
 
 Rude Briers there their clafping Tendrels twine, 
 Whofe rugged Arms with ufelefs Rofes mine. 
 
 Beyond the Confines of the dusky Brake, 
 A Plain was bounded with a putrid Lake, 
 Where Planks of Timber ftretch'd on mould 'ring 
 
 Beams, 
 
 Form'd a weak Paflage o'er the {landing Streams, 
 Whofe flimy Waters to its Arches clung, 
 Where wrap'd in Weeds the clodded Vermin hung, 
 
 On this brown Plain furrounded by the Wood, 
 And the green Lake an aged Caflle flood ; 
 Whofe iron Gates were flrictly fhut to all, 
 And frowning Roofs hung o'er the crumbling Wall : 
 Here perch'd Revenge and ever-wafting Care, 
 And Melancholy with difhivel'd Hair. 
 Before the Portals wait a grifly Band, 
 Fraud with a Pencil in her fhaking Hand : 
 Long Scrolls of Parchment at her Feet were laid, 
 Behind her Shoulder flood her ghaftly Maid : 
 
 T 2 Oppreflion
 
 176 POEMS on fweral Occafans. 
 
 Oppreffion nam'd and ftretch'd her filthy Claw, 
 And next pale Av'rice with infatiate Maw ; 
 Two cumbrous Bags his twining Arms infold, 
 Of canker'd Silver and of ufelefs Gold : 
 Grimly he ftands, and by his Side appears 
 Fierce Cruelty, all drench'd in Orphans Tears j 
 Within (attended by relentlefs Hate) 
 Sufpicion fquinted through the barbarous Grate : 
 To thefe rude Doors approach'd with baftiful Mien 2 
 Soft Celia once the brighteft of the Plain,] 
 But now the Rofes from her Cheeks were flown, 
 Nor cou'd the Fair One by her Charms be known i 
 Thofe Charms are now in fable Weeds array'd, 
 Her Arm fupported by a mournful Maid : 
 From her wan Eyes the Tears incefTant flow, 
 And all her Form was Penitence and Woe. 
 
 But fee Lyfegus, her relentlefs Sire, 
 Whofe Eye-balls fparkl'd with difdainful Ire $ 
 His potent Hand the founding Locks obey, 
 With grating Noife the horrid Gates gave way ; 
 Then prpftrate at bis Feet the Damfel lay. 
 
 Three
 
 POEMS on feveral Occafanf. 277 
 
 Three times to fpeak the lovely Mourner try'd ; 
 Thrice on her Lips the fainting Murmurs dy'd ; 
 Sigh follows Sigh, and Tear fucceeds to Tear : 
 At length me cry'd Ah ! may Lyfegus hear ; 
 If Nature or if Penitence may fue, 
 Ah ! let my Sorrows find Relief from you ; 
 The nightly Stars my conftant Wailings know, 
 The riling Sun is Witnefs to my Woe : 
 But who (hall paint what wretched Celia feels, 
 While Shame and Famine hunt her flying Heels : 
 The Fools deride me, and the virtuous fhun, 
 Then to the Fields and lonely Shades I run ; 
 Yet find no Comfort from the lonely Shade, 
 At my Approach the Bloffbms feem to fade : 
 I fly to Wilds unknown to human Kind, 
 But cannot leave my hated Self behind ; 
 And am Oh am I by my Parent curs'd - 9 
 Of all my Woes the deepeft and the worft : 
 
 She faid Lyfegus anfwer'd in a Rage, 
 
 Hence vile Diilurber of my lucklefs Age : 
 Think not by Tears this ftubborn Heart to win, 
 Nor jar my Senfes with thy hateful Din : 
 
 Go
 
 2 7 8 POEMS on feveral Occafans. 
 
 Go learn of Vagrants (fit Companions) go, 
 Their Arts of Stealing and their Whine of Woe. 
 Yet when before the Gate of Pride you ftand, 
 And crave your Morfel at the Porter's Hand ; 
 May fome ftern Slave prevent the coming Prize, 
 Thrown to the Dogs before thy longing Eyes : 
 He ceas'd -- but Celia views no more the Sun, 
 For now her Sorrow with her Life was done : 
 Her Eyes no more afford their lucid Streams, 
 Nor the Pulfe ftruggles in her quiet Veins. 
 
 The Tyrant view'd her with a ghaftly Look, 
 His Heart beat heavy, and his Sinews fhook j 
 When lo a Spectre horrible to view, 
 Rofe quick as Vapours of a Morning Dew ; 
 Whofe Prefence caft unpleafing Darknefs round, 
 A Cyprefs Wreath his faded Temples crown'd : 
 Strange Forms were painted on his fable Robe, 
 One Hand extended bore a cryftal Globe ; 
 Where the pale Sinner might his Picture find, 
 Yet not his Features, but his darker Mind : 
 
 In
 
 POEMS on fever al Occajions. 279 
 
 In vain to (hun the faithful Glafs he tries, 
 It plays unask'd before his aking Eyes : 
 His quick left Hand with this performed its Part, 
 His Right was dreadful with a poifon'd Dart : 
 Then with a loud and horrid Voice he cry'd, 
 Lyfegus, mourn thy Cruelty and Pride : 
 From the fair Court of Equity I came, 
 CalPd by thy Sins, and Confcience is my Name : 
 This venom'd Dart mail now thy Entrails tear, 
 And teach thy Eyes to know the melting Tear : 
 Prepare thy Spirits for their Weight of Woe, 
 With Celia's Name I arm the dreadful Blow : 
 He laid and ftruck - the vifionary Dart 
 Sought the dark Bottom ofLyfegus' Heart : 
 
 He fell and falling rais'd a fearful Cry ; 
 
 Then Mira 'woke, and found the Morning Sky.
 
 280 POEMS m feveral Occa/tons, 
 
 A REQUEST to the DIVINE BEING. 
 L 
 
 THOU great and facred Lord of all, 
 Of Life the only Spring, 
 Creator of nunumber'd Worlds, 
 Immenfely glorious King. 
 
 II. 
 
 Whofe Image fhakes the flagg'ring Mind^ 
 
 Beyond Conception high; 
 Crown'd with Omnipotence, and veiPd 
 
 With dark Eternity. 
 
 III. 
 
 Drive from the Confines of my Heart, 
 
 Impenitence and Pride : 
 Nor let me in erroneous Paths 
 
 With thoughtlefs Idiots glide. 
 
 What-
 
 POEMS m federal Occa/lons* 1 8 1 
 
 Whate'er thy all-difcerning Eye 
 
 Sees for thy Creature fit, 
 I'll blefs the Good, and to the 111 
 
 Contentedly fubmit. 
 
 V. 
 
 With humane Pleafure let me view 
 
 The proip'rous and the great 5 
 Malignant Envy let me fly 
 
 With odious Self-conceit. 
 
 VI, 
 
 Let not Deipair nor curs'd Revenge 
 
 Be to my Bofom known ; 
 Oh give me Tears for others Woe, 
 
 And Patience for my own. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Feed me with neceffary Food, 
 
 I ask not Wealth nor Fame : 
 But give me Eyes to view thy Works, 
 
 And Senfe to praife thy Name. 
 
 U And
 
 282 POEMS on federal Occajions. 
 
 VIII. 
 And when thy Wifdom thinks it fit, 
 
 To {hake my troubled Mind ; 
 Preferve my Reafon with my Griefs, 
 
 And let me not repine. 
 
 IX. 
 
 May my ftill Days obfcurely pafs, 
 
 Without Remorfe or Care ; 
 And let me for the parting Hour, 
 
 My trembling Ghoft prepare. 
 
 FINIS,
 
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