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And hungry hopes regale the while
Scarce known to the fastidious dames, On the spare diet of a smile.
Nor skill'd to call them by their names. There you may see the idol stand
Nor can their passports in these days, With mirror in his wanton hand;
Your profit warrant, or your praise. Above, below, now here, now there,
On poems by their dictates writ, He throws about the sunny glare.
Critics, as sworn appraisers, sit, Crowds pant, and press to seize the prize,
And mere upholst'rers in a trice The gay delusion of their eyes.
On gems and paintings set a price. When Fancy tries her limning skill
These tayl’ring artists for our lays To draw and colour at her will,
Invent cramp'd rules, and with straight stays And raise and round the figure well,
Striving free Nature's shape to hit And show her talent to excel,
Emaciate sense, before they fit. I guard my heart, lest it should woo
A common place, and many friends, Unreal beauties Fancy drew,
Can serve the plagiary's ends, And disappointed, feel despair
Whose easy vamping talent lies, At loss of things, that never were.
First wit to pilfer, then disguise. When I lean politicians mark
Thus some devoid of art and skill Grazing on ether in the Park;
To search the mine on Pindus' hill, Who e'er on wing with open throats
Proud to aspire and workmen grow, Fly at debates, expresses, votes,
By genius doom'd to stay below, Just in the manner swallows use,
For their own digging show the town Catching their airy food of news;
Wit's treasure brought by others down. Whose latrant stomachs oft molest
Some wanting, if they find a mine, The deep-laid plans their dreams suggest ;
An artist's judgment to refine, Or see some poet pensive sit,
On fame precipitately fix'd, Fondly mistaking Spleen for Wit :
The ore with baser metals mix'd Who, though short-winded, still will aim
Melt down, impatient of delay, To sound the epic trump of Fame;
And call the vicious mass a play. Who still on Phoebus' smiles will doat,
All these engage to serve their ends, Nor learn conviction from his coat;
A band select of trusty friends, I bless'd my stars, I never knew
Who, lesson's right, extol the thing, Whimsies, which close pursu'd, undo,
As Psapho * taught his birds to sing; And have from old experience been
Then to the ladies they submit, Both parent and the child of Spleen.
Returning officers on wit: These subjects of Apollo's state,
A crowded house their presence draws, Who from false fire derive their fate,
And on the beaus imposes laws, With airy purchases undone
A judgment in its favour ends, Of lands, which none lend money on,
When all the pannel are its friends: Born dull, had follow'd thriving ways,
Their natures merciful and mild Nor lost one hour to gather bays.
Have from mere pity sav'd the child; Their fancies first delirious grew,
In bulrush ark the bantling found And scenes ideal took for true.
Helpless, and ready to be drown'd, Fine to the sight Parnassus lies,
They have preserv'd by kind support, And with false prospects cheats their eyes; And brought the baby-muse to court. The fabled gods the poets sing,
But there's a youth † that you can name, A season of perpetual spring,
Who needs no leading-strings to fame, Brooks, flow'ry fields, and groves of trees,
Whose quick maturity of brain Affording sweets and similes,
The birth of Pallas may explain : Gay dreams inspir'd in myrtle bow'rs,
Dreaming of whose depending fate, And wreaths of undecaying flow'rs,
I heard Melpomene debate, Apollo's harp with airs divine,
“ This, this is he, that was foretold The sacred music of the Nine,
Should emulate our Greeks of old. Views of the temple rais'd to Fame,
Inspir'd by me with sacred art, And for a vacant niche proud aim,
He sings, and rules the varied heart; Ravish their souls, and plainly show
If Jove's dread anger he rehearse, What Fancy's sketching power can do.
We hear the thunder in his verse; They will attempt the mountain steep,
If he describes love turn'd to rage,
The furies riot in his page.
* Psapho was a Lybian, who desiring to be acYou, friend, like me, the trade of rhyme counted a god, effected it by this means : he took Avoid, elab'rate waste of time,
young birds and taught them to sing, Psapho is a Nor are content to be undone,
great god. When they were perfect in their lesson To pass for Phæbus' crazy son.
he let them fly; and other birds learning the same Poems, the hop-grounds of the brain,
ditty, repeated it in the woods; on which his counAfford the most uncertain gain ;
trymen offered sacrifice to him, and considered him And lott’ries never tempt the wise
deity. With blanks so many to a prize.
+ Mr. Glover, the excellent author of Leonidas, I only transient visits pay,
Boadicea, Medea, &c. Meeting the Muses in my way,
If he fair liberty and law
With understandings of a size By ruffian pow'r expiring draw,
To think their master very wise. The keener passions then engage
May Heav'n (it 's all I wish for) send Aright, and sanctify their rage ;
One genial room to treat a friend, If he attempt disastrous love,
Where decent cupboard, little plate, We hear those plaints that wound the grove. Display benevolence, not state. Within the kinder passions glow,
And may my humble dwelling stand And tears distillid from pity flow."
Upon some chosen spot of land : From the bright vision I descend,
A pond before full to the brim, And my deserted theme attend.
Where cows may cool, and geese may swim; Me never did ambition seize,
Behind, a green like velvet neat, Strange fever most inflam'd by ease!
Soft to the eye, and to the feet; The active lunacy of pride,
Where od'rous plants in evening fair That courts jilt Fortune for a bride,
Breathe all around ambrosial air; This par'dise-tree, so fair and high,
From Eurus, foe to kitchen ground, I view with no aspiring eye :
Fenc'd by a slope with bushes crown'd, Like aspen shake the restless leaves,
Fit dwelling for the feather'd throng, And Sodom-fruit our pains deceives,
Who pay their quit-rents with a song ; Whence frequent falls give no surprise,
With op’ning views of hill and dale, But fits of spleen, call'd growing wise.
Which sense and fancy too regale, Greatness in glitt'ring forms display'd
Where the half-cirque, which vision bounds, Affects weak eyes much us'd to shade,
Like amphitheatre surrounds ; And by its falsely-envy'd scene
And woods impervious to the breeze, Gives self-debasing fits of Spleen.
Thick phalanx of embodied trees, We should be pleas'd that things are so,
From hills through plains in dusk array Who do for nothing see the show,
Extended far, repel the day. And, middle-siz'd, can pass between
Here stillness, height, and solemn shade Life's bubbub safe, because unseen,
Invite, and contemplation aid : And midst the glare of greatness trace
Here nymphs from hollow oaks relate A wat'ry sunshine in the face,
The dark decrees and will of Fate, And pleasure fled to, to redress
And dreams beneath the spreading beech The sad fatigue of idleness.
Inspire, and docile fancy teach ; Contentment, parent of delight,
While soft as breezy breath of wind, So much a stranger to our sight,
Impulses rustle through the mind. Say, goddess, in what happy place
Here Dryads, scorning Phæbus' ray Mortals behold thy blooining face ;
While Pan melodious pipes away, Thy gracious auspices impart,
In measur'd motions frisk about, And for thy temple choose my heart.
Till old Silenus puts them out. They, whom thou deignest to inspire,
There see the clover, pea, and bean, Thy science learn, to bound desire ;
Vie in variety of green; By happy alchymy of mind
Fresh pastures speckled o'er with sheep, They turn to pleasure all they find ;
Brown fields their fallow sabbaths keep, They both disdain in outward mien
Plump Ceres golden tresses wear, The grave and solemn garb of Spleen,
And poppy top-knots deck her hair, And meretricious arts of dress,
And silver streams through meadows stray, To feign a joy, and hide distress ;
And Naïads on the margin play, Unmov'd when the rude tempest blows,
And lesser nymphs on side of hills Without an opiate they repose;
From play-thing urns pour down the rills. And, cover'd by your shield, defy
Thus shelter’d, free from care and strife, The whizzing shafts, that round them fly:
May I enjoy a calm through life; Nor meddling with the god's affairs,
See faction, safe in low degree, Concern themselves with distant cares ;
As men at land see storms at sea, But place their bliss in mental rest,
And laugh at miserable elves And feast upon the good possess'd.
Not kind, so much as to themselves, Fore'd by soft violence of pray'r,
Curs'd with such souls of base alloy, The blithsome goddess soothes my care,
As can possess, but not enjoy ; I feel the deity inspire,
Debarr'd the pleasure to impart And thus she models my desire.
By av'rice, sphincter of the heart, Two hundred pounds half-yearly paid,
Who wealth, hard-earn’d by guilty cares, Anguity securely made,
Bequeath untouch'd to thankless heirs. A farm some twenty miles from town,
May I, with look ungloom'd by guile, Small, tight, salubrious, and my own;
And wearing Virtue's liv'ry-smile, Two maids, that never saw the town,
Prone the distressed to relieve, A serving-man, not quite a clown;
And little trespasses forgive,
With income not in Fortune's pow'r
With trips to town life to amuse,
To purchase books, and hear the news, And better to preserve the peace,
To see old friends, brush off the clown, Commission'd by the name of niece,
And quicken taste at coming down,
Unhurt by sickness' blasting rage,
But, conscious of his distance, gives And slowly mellowing in age,
Mute praise, and humble negatives. When Fate extends its gathering gripe,
In one, no object of our sight, Fall off like fruit grown fully ripe,
Immutable, and infinite, Quit a worn being without pain,
Who can't be cruel or unjust, Perhaps to blossom soon again.
Calm and resign'd, I fix my trust; But now more serious see me grow,
To him my past and present state And what I think, my Memmius, know.
I owe, and must my future fate. Th' enthusiast's hope, and raptures wild, A stranger into life I'm come, Have never yet my reason foil'd.
Dying may be our going home, His springy soul dilates like air,
Transported here by angry Fate, When free from weight of ambient care,
The convicts of a prior state. And, hush'd in meditation deep,
Hence I no anxious thoughts bestow Slides into dreams, as when asleep;
On matters I can never know; Then, fond of new discoveries grown,
Through life's foul way, like vagrant passid, Proves a Columbus of her own,
He'll grant a settlement at last, Disdains the narrow bounds of place,
And with sweet ease the wearied crown, And through the wilds of endless space,
By leave to lay his being down. Borne up on metaphysic wings,
If doom'd to dance th' eternal round Chases light forms and shadowy things,
Of life no sooner lost but found, And in the vague excursion caught,
And dissolution soon to come, Brings home some rare exotic thought.
Like sponge, wipes out life's present sum, The melancholy man such dreams,
But can't our state of pow'r bereave As brightest evidence, esteems;
An endless series to receive; Fain would he see some distant scene
Then, if hard dealt with here by Fate, Suggested by his restless Spleen,
We balance in another state, And Fancy's telescope applies
And consciousness must go along, With tinctur'd glass to cheat his eyes.
And sign th' acquittance for the wrong. Such thoughts, as love the gloom of night,
He for his creatures must decree I close examine by the light;
More happiness than misery, For who, though brib'd by gain to lie,
Or be supposed to create, Dare sun-beam-written truths deny,
Curious to try, what 't is to hate : And execute plain common sense
And do an act, which rage infers, On faith's mere hearsay evidence?
'Cause lameness halts, or blindness errs. That superstition mayn't create,
Thus, thus I steer my bark, and sail And club its ills with those of Fate,
On even keel with gentle gale ; I many a notion take to task,
At helm I make my reason sit, Made dreadful by its visor-mask.
My crew of passions all submit. Thus scruple, spasm of the mind,
If dark and blust’ring prove some nights, Is cur'd, and certainty I find.
Philosophy puts forth her lights; Since optic reason shows me plain,
Experience holds the cautious glass, I dreaded spectres of the brain.
To shun the breakers, as I pass, And legendary fears are gone,
And frequent throws the wary lead, Though in tenacious childhood sown.
To see what dangers may be hid ; Thus in opinions I commence
And once in seven years I'm seen Freeholder in the proper sense,
At Bath or Tunbridge, to careen. And neither suit nor service do,
Though pleas'd to see the dolphins play, Nor homage to pretenders show,
I mind my compass and my way, Who boast themselves by spurious roll
With store sufficient for relief, Lords of the manor of the soul ;
And wisely still prepar'd to reef, Preferring sense, from chin that's bare,
Nor wanting the dispersive bowl To nonsense thron'd in whisker'd hair.
Of cloudy weather in the soul, To thee, Creator uncreate,
I make, (may Heav'n propitious send O Entium Ens! divinely great!
Such wind and weather to the end) Hold, Muse, nor melting pínions try,
Neither becalm’d, nor over-blown,
Life's voyage to the world unknown.
Here 'tis the soul feels sudden youth,
And meets exulting, virgin Truth; ON BARCLAY'S APOLOGY FOR THE Here, like a breeze of gentlest kind, QUAKERS.
Impulses rustle through the mind;
Here shines that light with glowing face, These sheets primeval doctrines yield,
The fuse divine, that kindles grace ; Where revelation is reveal’d;
Which, if we trim our lamps, will last, Soul-phlegm from literal feeding bred,
'Till darkness be by dying past. Systems lethargic to the head
And then goes out at end of night, They purge, and yield a diet thin,
Extinguish'd by superior light. That turns to gospel-chyle within.
Ah me! the heats and colds of life, Truth sublimate may here be seen
Pleasure's and pain's eternal strife, Extracted from the parts terrene.
Breed stormy passions, which confin'd, In these is shown, how men obtain
Shake, like th' Æolian cave, the mind. What of Prometheus poets feign :
And raise despair ; my lamp can last, To scripture plainness dress is brought,
Plac'd where they drive the furious blast. And speech, apparel to the thought.
False eloquence ! big empty sound ! They hiss from instinct at red coats,
Like showers that rush upon the ground! And war, whose work is cutting throats,
Little beneath the surface goes, Forbid, and press the law of love :
All streams along, and muddy flows. Breathing the spirit of the dove.
This sinks, and swells the buried grain, Lucrative doctrines they detest,
And fructifies like southern rain. As manufactur’d by the priest ;
His art, well hid in mild discourse, And throw down turnpikes, where we pay
Exerts persuasion's winning force, For stuff, which never mends the way;
And nervates so the good design, And tythes, a Jewish tax, reduce,
That king Agrippa's case is mine. And frank the gospel for our use.
Well-natur'd, happy shade forgive ! They sable standing armies break;
Like you I think, but cannot live. But the militia useful make :
Thy scheme requires the world's contempt, Since all unhir'd may preach and pray,
That from dependence life exempt;
And constitution fram'd so strong,
Not such my lot, not Fortune's brat,
I live by pulling off the hat; Such is its bustle and its noise ;
Compellid by station every hour Reason the proclamation reads,
To bow to images of power; But not one riot passion heeds.
And in life's busy scenes immers'd, Wealth, honour, power the graces are,
See better things, and do the worst. Which here below our homage share :
Eloquent Want, whose reasons sway, They, if one votary they find
And make ten thousand truths give way, To mistress more divine inclin’d,
While I your scheme with pleasure trace, In truth's pursuit, to cause delay,
Draws near, and stares me in the face. Throw golden apples in his way,
“ Consider well your state," she cries, Place me, O Heav'n, in some retreat ;
Like others kneel, that you may rise ; There let the serious death-watch beat,
Hold doctrines, by no scruples vex’d, There let me self in silence shun,
To which preferment is annex'd; To feel thy will, which should be done.
Nor madly prove, where all depends, Then comes the Spirit to our hut,
Idolatry upon your friends. When fast the senses' doors are shut;
See, how you like my rueful face, For so divine and pure a guest
Such you must wear, if out of place. The emptiest rooms are furnish'd best.
Crack'd is your brain to turn recluse O Contemplation ! air serene !
Without one farthing out at use. From damps of sense, and fogs of spleen!
They, who have lands, and safe bank-stock, Pure mount of thought! thrice holy ground, With faith so founded on a rock, Where grace, when waited for, is found.
May give a rich invention ease,
And construe scripture how they please. • This celebrated book was written by its author, “ The honour'd prophet that of old, botb in Latin and English, and was afterwards Us’d Heav'n's high counsels to unfold, trzaslated into High Dutch, Low Dutch, French, Did, more than courier angels, greet and Spanish, and probably into other languages. The crows, that brought him bread and mcat." It has always been esteemed a very ingenious defence of the principles of Quakerism, even by those who deny the doctrines which it endeavours to establish. The author was born at Edinburgh in 1648, and received part of his education at the Scots College in Paris, where his uncle was principal. His
THE SEEKER. father became one of the earliest converts to the new sect, and from his example, the son seems to When I first came to London, I rambled about, have been induced to tread in his steps. He died From sermon to sermon, took a slice and went out. on the 3d of October, 1690, in the 42d year of his Then on me, in divinity bachelor, try'd age.
Many priests to obtrude a Levitical bride ;
And urging their various opinions, intended
Say, father Thames, whose gentle pace To make me wed systems, which they recom
Gives leave to view what beauties grace mended.
Your flow'ry banks, if you have seen Said a lech'rous old fri'r skulking near Lincoln's The much-sung Grotto of the queen. inn,
Contemplative, forget awhile
And Wolsey's pride † (his greatest guilt)
Brow-beats your flood, look cross the way,
The milder scenes of Surrey side. Said a formal non-con, (whose rich stock of Though yet no palace grace the shore, grace
To lodge that pair you should adore ; Lies forward expos'd in shop-window of face,) Nor abbeys, great in ruin, rise, “ Ah! pity your soul : come, be of our sect : Royal equivalents for vice; For then you are safe, and may plead you're elect. Behold a grot, in Delphic grove, As it stands in the Acts, we can prove ourselves The Graces' and the Muses' love. saints,
(O, might our laureat study here,
A temple from vain glories free,
The only pilgrimage I know,
Which sweet abode, her wisest choice, And surely in medio tutissimus ibis."
Urania cheers with heavenly voice, Said a yea and nay friend, with a stiff hat and While all the Virtues gather round, band,
To see her consecrate the ground. (Who while he talk'd gravely would hold forth his If thou, the god with winged feet, hand,)
In council talk of this retreat, * Dominion and wealth are the aim of all three, And jealous gods resentment show Though about ways and means they may all dis- At altars rais'd to men below; agree;
Tell those proud lords of Heaven, 'tis fit
A lazy lewd immortal thing,
Needless it is in terms unskill'd
To praise whatever Boyle § shall build ;
Needless it is the busts to name
Four chiefs adorn the modest stone ,
For Virtue as for learning known; PETER DRAKE, A FISHERMAN OF BRENTFORD.
The thinking sculpture helps to raise Printed in the Year 1732, but not published.
Deep thoughts, the genii of the place : Scilicet hic possis curvo dignoscere rectum,
Hampton Court, begun by Cardinal Wolsey, Atque inter silvas Academi quærere verum.
and improved by King William Ill. Hor.
# Queen Anne, consort to King Richard II. and
Queen Elizabeth, both died at Richmond.
Duke of Northumberland.
§ Richard Boyle, Earl of Burlington, a nobleADIEU awhile, forsaken flood,
man remarkable for his fine taste in architecture. To ramble in the Delian wood,
“ Never were protection and great wealth more And pray the god my well-meant song
generously and judiciously diffused than by this May not my subject's merit wrong.
great person, who had every quality of a genius and artist, except envy.
He died December 4.
1753. A building in Richmond Gardens, erected by Queen Caroline, and committed to the custody of The author should have said five; there being Stephen Duck. At the time this poem was written the busts of Newton, Locke, Wollaston, Clarke, many other verses appeared on the same subject. and Boyle.