[]

HORAE LYRICAE.

POEMS, Chiefly of the Lyric kind. In Two Books.

I. SONGS, &c. Sacred to DEVOTION.

II. ODES, ELEGYS, &c. to VERTUE Loyalty and Friendſhip.

By I. WATTS.

—Si non Uranie lyram
Coeleſtem cohibet, nec Polyhymnia
Humanum reſugit tendere barbiton.
Horat. Od. 1. Imitat.
[...] Pythag. Aur. Carm.

LONDON, Printed by S. and D. Bridge, for John Lawrence at the Sign of the Angel in the Poultrey. MDCCVI.

PREFACE.

[]

IT has been a long Complaint of the Vertuous and Refined World, that Poeſie whoſe Original is Divine, ſhould be enſlav'd to Vice and Profaneneſs; that an Art inſpired from Heaven ſhould have ſo far loſt the Memory of its Birth-place, as to be ingaged in the Intereſts of Hell: and bring all her reſiſtleſs Forces of Metaphor, Wit, Rhyme and Number, and range them under the Banner of the Great Malicious Spirit to aſſault the Honour of God and the Souls of Men.

The Eldeſt Song which Hiſtory has brought down to our Ears was a noble Act of Worſhip paid to the God of Iſrael, ‘When his Right hand became glorious in Power, when thy Right hand, O Lord, daſhed in pieces the Enemy; the Chariots of Pharaoh and his Hoſt were caſt into the Red-Sea; Thou didſt blow with thy Wind, the Deep covered them, and they ſank as Lead in the mighty Waters, Exod. 15.’ This Art was maintain'd Sacred thro' the following Ages of the Church, and imploy'd by Kings and Prophets, by David, Solomon, and Iſaiah, in breathing the Life of Angels into the Hearts of Men, and rearing their Minds Heavenward in warm and tuneful Devotion.

[] In the Younger Days of Heatheniſm the Muſes were devoted to the ſame Service: The Language in which Old Heſiod addreſſes them is this.

[...],

In Engliſh.
Pierian Muſes, fam'd for Heavenly Lays,
Deſcend, and ſing the God your Fathers Praiſe.

And the purſues the Subject in ten Pious Lines, which I could not forbear to Tranſcribe if the Aſpect and Sound of ſo much Greek were not terrifying to a nice Reader.

But ſome of the later Poets of the Pagan World have more debaſed this Divine Gift, and many of the Writers of firſt Rank in this our Age of National Chriſtians have to their Eternal Shame ſurpaſſed the vileſt of the Gentiles. They have Expos'd Religion to Drollery, and dreſt her up in the moſt Ridiculous Habit, for the Scorn of the ruder Herd of Mankind. They have painted the Vices like ſo many Goddeſſes, added the Charms of Wit to Debauchery, and heightned the Temptation where Nature needs the ſtrongeſt Reſtraints. With Sweetneſs of Sound and Delicacy of Expreſſion they have given a Reliſh to Blaſphemies of the harſheſt kind, and when they rant at their Maker in Sonorous Numbers they fancy themſelves to have acted the Hero well.

[] Thus almoſt in vain have the Throne and the Pulpit cried, Reformation, while the Stage and Licentious Poems have waged open War with the Pious Deſign of Church and State. The Preſs has ſpread the Poyſon far, and ſcatter'd wide the Mortal Infection; Unthinking Youth have been allured to Sin beyond the Vicious Propenſities of Nature, plung'd early into Diſeaſes and Death, and ſunk down to Damnation in Multitudes. How will theſe Allies of the Nether World, the Lewd and Profane Verſifiers ſtand aghaſt before the Great Judge, when the Blood of many Souls whom they never ſaw ſhall be laid to the Charge of their Writings, and be dreadfully requir'd at their Hands. The Reverend Mr. Collier has ſet this Awful Scene before them in juſt and flaming Colours; and if the Application were not too rude and uncivil, that noble Stanza of my Lord Roſcommon on Pſal. 148. might be addreſs'd to them,

Ye Dragons, whoſe Contagious Breath
Peoples the dark Retreats of Death,
Change your dire Hiſſings into Heav'nly Songs,
And praiſe your Maker with your Forked Tongues.

But alaſs! there is a deep Silence among theſe Men of all Divine Subjects, unleſs in Banter; The Wonders of Creating Power, the Myſteries of Redeeming Love, and the mighty Works of Renewing Grace are neglected by thoſe, whom Heaven has indued with a Gift proper to adorn and cultivate 'em: An Art whoſe ſweet Inſinuations might have almoſt [] convey'd Piety into reſiſting Nature, and melted Souls of Iron to the Love of Virtue.

Will the Writers of this Age cite the French Critic on their ſide, and ſay,

De la Foy d'un Chrétien les Myſteres terribles
D'Ornemens egayez ne ſont point ſuſceptibles:

That the Myſteries of Chriſtianity are not capable of [...] Ornaments: The Davideis and the two Arthurs [...] broke down this Obſtacle, and experimentally [...]futed the vain pretence.

Beſides, the Chriſtian Myſteries have no need of theſe Tinſel Trappings; the Glories of our Religion in a plain Narration and a ſimple Dreſs have ſomething brighter and bolder in them, ſomething more ſurprizing and Divine, than all the Adventures of Gods and Heroes, all the dazling Images of falſe luſtre that compoſe and garniſh a Heathen Poem; here the Subjects themſelves would give wonderful Aids to the Muſe; and the Heavenly Theme would ſo relieve a dull Hour and a languiſhing Genius, that when the Muſe nods, the Senſe would burn and ſparkle upon the Reader, and keep him feelingly awake.

With how much leſs toil and expence might a Dryden, an Otway, a Congreve, or a Dennis furniſh out a Chriſtian Poem than a Modern Play; there is nothing amongſt all the Ancient Fables or Later Romances, that have two ſuch Extremes united in them, as the Eternal God becoming an Infant of Days, the Poſſeſſor of the Pallace of Heaven laid to [] Sleep in a Manger, the Holy Jeſus who knew no Sin bearing the Sins of Men in his Body on the Tree, Agonies of Sorrow loading the Soul of him who was God over all Bleſſed for ever; and the Soveraign of Life ſtretching his Arms on a Croſs, Bleeding and Expiring: The Heaven and the Hell in our Divinity are infinitely more delightful and dreadful than the Childiſh Figments of a Dog with three Heads, the Buckets of the Belides, the Furies with Snaky Hairs, or all the Flow'ry Stories of Elyſium. Aud if we ſurvey the one as Themes Divinely True, and the other as a Medly of Fooleries which we can never believe, the advantage for touching the Springs of Paſſion will fall infinitely on the ſide of the Chriſtian Poet; our Wonder and our Love, our Pity, Delight, and Sorrow, with the long train of Hopes and Fears, muſt needs be under the Command of an Harmonious Pen, whoſe every Line makes a part of the Reader's Faith, and is the very Life or Death of his Soul.

If the trifling and incredible Tales that furniſh out a Tragedy are ſo arm'd by Wit and Fancy as to become Soveraign of the Rational Powers, to triumph over all the Affections, and manage our Smiles and our Tears at pleaſure; how wondrous a Conqueſt might be obtain'd over a wild World, and reduce it at leaſt to Sobriety, if the ſame Happy Talent were employed in dreſſing the Scenes of Religion in their proper Figures of Majeſty, Beauty and Terror. The Affairs of this Life with their reference to a Life to come, would ſhine bright in a Dramatick Deſcription. The Anguiſh of inward Guilt, the ſecret Stings [] and Racks and Scourges of Conſcience, the ſweet retiring Hours and Seraphical Joys of Devotion, the Victory of a Reſolved Soul over a thouſand Temptations, the Inimitable Love and Paſſion of a Dying God, the Awful Glories of the laſt Tribunal, the grand Deciſive Sentence from which there is no Appeal, and the Conſequent Tranſports or Horrors of the two Eternal Worlds. How would ſuch a Performance call back the dying Piety of the Nation to Life and Beauty: It would make Religion appear like it ſelf, and confound the Blaſphemies of a profligate World, ignorant of Pious Pleaſures.

But we have reaſon to fear that the Tuneful Men of our Day have not rais'd their Ambition to ſo Divine a Pitch; I ſhould rejoyce to ſee more of this Coeleſtial Fire kindling within them, for the Flaſhes that break out in ſome preſent and paſt Writings betray an Infernal Source. This the Incomparable Mr. Cowley in the latter End of his Preface, and the Ingenious Sir Richard Blackmore in the beginning of his have ſo pathetically deſcrib'd and lamented; and I rather refer the Reader to mourn with them than detain and tire him here. Theſe Gentlemen in their large and laboured Works of Poeſie have given the World happy Examples of what they wiſh and incourage in Proſe: The One in a rich Variety of Thought and Fancy; the Other in all the Beauties of Profuſe and Florid Diction.

If ſhorter Sonnets were compos'd on ſublime Subjects, ſuch as the Pſalms of David, and the Holy Tranſports interſpers'd in the other Sacred Writings, or ſuch as the Moral Odes of Horace, and the Ancient [] Lyricks, I perſwade my ſelf that the Chriſtian Preacher would find abundant Aid from the Poet in his Deſign to diffuſe Vertue and allure Souls to God. If the Heart were firſt inflam'd from Heaven, and the Muſe were not left alone to form the Devotion and purſue a Cold Scent, but only call'd in as an Aſſiſtant to the Worſhip, then the Song would end where the Inſpiration ceaſes; the whole Compoſure would be of a Piece, all Meridian Light and Meridian Fervor. And the ſame Pious Flame would be propagated and kept glowing in the Heart of him that reads. Some of the ſhorter Odes of the two Poets now mentioned, and a few of the Reverend Mr. Norris's Eſſays in Verſe are convincing Inſtances of the Succeſs of this Propoſal.

'Tis my Opinion alſo that the free and unconfin'd Meaſures of Pindar would beſt maintain the Dignity of the Theme, as well as give a looſe to the Devout Soul, nor check the Raptures of her Faith and Love. Tho' in my feeble Attempts of this kind I have moſt unhappily fetter'd my Thoughts in the narrow Numbers of our Old Pſalm-Tranſlators, I have contracted and cramp't the Senſe, or render'd it obſcure and feeble by the too ſpeedy and regular returns of Rhime.

If my Friends expect a particular account of this or any other Circumſtance relating to what I here Publiſh, they will be pleas'd to accept of this ſhort one.

[]
The TITLE
Aſſures them that Poeſy is not the Buſineſs of my Life, and if I ſeized thoſe Hours of Leiſure wherein my Soul was in a more ſprightly and tuneful Frame to entertain them or my ſelf with a Divine or Moral Song, I hope I ſhall find an Eaſy Pardon.
The SONGS Sacred to DEVOTION
Were never written with a deſign to appear before the Judges of Wit, but only to aſſiſt the Meditations and Worſhip of Vulgar Chriſtians, to whom the Meaſures of Hopkins by Cuſtom are grown Familiar and Natural, and eſteemed almoſt Sacred by being bound up in the ſame Volume with Scripture. Theſe are but a ſmall part of two hundred Hymns of the ſame kind which are ready for Public Uſe if the World receive favourably what I now preſent. The Reaſon that ſent theſe out firſt, and divided them from their Fellows, is, that in moſt of Theſe there are ſome Expreſſions which are not ſuited to the plaineſt Capacities, and differ too much from the uſual [] Methods of Speech in which Holy Things are propos'd to the general Part of Mankind.
The ODES to VERTUE &c.
Were form'd when the Frame and Humour of my Soul was juſt ſuited to the Subject of my Verſe: The Image of my Heart is painted in them; and if they meet with a Reader whoſe Soul is akin to mine, perhaps they may agreeably entertain him. The Dullneſs of the Fancy and Coarſeneſs of Expreſſion will diſappear, the ſameneſs of the Humour will create a Pleaſure, and inſenſibly overcome and conceal the Defects of the Muſe.
The IMITATIONS
Of that Nobleſt Latin Poet of Modern Ages Caſimire Sarbiewski of Poland would need no Excuſe, did they but ariſe to the Beauty of the Original. I have often taken the Freedom to add ten or twenty Lines, or to leave out as many, that I might ſuit my Song more to my own Deſign, or becauſe I found it Impoſſible to preſent the Force, the Fineneſs, and [] the Fire of his Expreſſion in our Language. I wiſh ſome Engliſh Pen would import ſome of the Treaſures of that rich Genius and bleſs our Nation.
The INSCRIPTIONS
To particular Friends are warranted and defended by the Practiſe of the two beſt Lyric Writers Horace and Caſimire: And tho' the Authority of the firſt be more Venerable, yet if in ſome Inſtances I prefer the latter, I pray the Criticks to forgive me; and I hope my Friends will excuſe the Freedom of the Addreſs.
In the POEMS of HEROIC Meaſure
I have attempted in Rhime the ſame variety of Cadence, Comma, and Period, which Blank Verſe Glories in as its peculiar Elegance and Ornament.
In the PINDARIQUES
I have generally conformed my Lines to the ſhorter Size of the Ancients, and avoided to imitate the Exceſſive Lengths to which ſome Modern Writers have ſtretched their Sentences, and eſpecially the concluding Verſe. In theſe the Ear is the trueſt Judge, nor was it made to be enſlav'd to any preciſe Model of Elder or Later Times.

After all, I muſt petition my Reader to lay aſide the ſowr and ſullen Air of Criticiſm, and to aſſume the Friend. Let him come with a deſign to be entertain'd and pleas'd, rather than to ſeek his own Diſguſt and Averſion, which will not be hard to find. I am not ſo Vain as to think there are no Faults, nor ſo Blind as to eſpy none: There is not one Copy that intirely pleaſes me: The beſt of them ſinks vaſtly below the Idea which I form of a Divine or Moral Ode. He that deals in the Myſteries of Heaven, or of the Muſes ſhould be a Genius of no Vulgar Mould; and as the Name of Vates belongs to both, ſo the Furniture of Both is compriz'd in that Line of Horace,

—Cui Mens Divinior, atque Os
Magna Locuturum—

[] But what Juvenal ſpake in his Age abides true in ours: A compleat Poet or a Prophet is ſuch an one ‘—Qualem nequeo monſtrare, & ſentio tantùm.’

Perhaps neither of theſe Characters in Perfection ſhall ever be ſeen on Earth, till the Seventh Angel has ſounded his Awful Trumpet, till the Victory be compleat over the Beaſt and his Image; when the Natives of Heaven ſhall joyn in Triumphal Conſort with Prophets and Tuneful Saints, and Sing unto their Golden Harps, Salvation Honour and Glory to him that ſits upon the Throne, and to the Lamb for ever.

A TABLE OF THE Songs, &c. in the Firſt Book.

[]
  • THE Divine Sovereignty Pag. 1
  • The Tranſcendent Glories of the Deity 4
  • God appears moſt Glorious in our Salvation by Chriſt 7
  • An Hymn of Praiſe to the God of England for Three Great Salvations, (viz.) from the Spaniſh Invaſion, from the Gunpowder Plot, and from Popery and Slavery by King William, in Two Parts 10
  • God Incomprehenſible 16
  • Sickneſs gives a Sight of Heaven 18
  • The Univerſal Hallelujah: Or Pſalm 148 Paraphras'd 21
  • The Love of Chriſt on his Croſs and on his Throne 25
  • Death a Welcome Meſſenger 27
  • Sincere Praiſe 29
  • God's Infinity 32
  • [] Longing for the ſecond coming of Chriſt 34
  • The Sufferings and Glories of Chriſt. A Song in Triſſyllable Feet 37
  • The Day of Judgment, an Ode, in Engliſh Sapphic 40
  • Confeſſion and Pardon 43
  • Jeſus the only Saviour 48
  • A Song of Praiſe to God, the 100th Pſalm. In Triſſyllable Feet 52
An Eſſay on a few Pſalms in Language more ſuited to the Goſpel.
  • The Happy Saint and Curſed Sinner, Pſalm 1. 54
  • Doubts and Fears ſuppreſt, Pſalm 3d. 56
  • Praiſe to the Lord from all Nations, Pſalm 100. 59
  • Brotherly Love, Pſalm 133. 61
  • The Pleaſure of Love to Chriſt preſent or abſent 62
  • A Sight of Chriſt 65
  • Longing for Heaven, or the Song of Angels above 70
  • God Sovereign and Gracious 76
An Eſſay on Divine Love in ſeveral following Odes, in imitation of Solomon's Song.
  • The Hazard of Loving the Creatures 78
  • Chriſt's Amazing Love and my Amazing Coldneſs 80
  • Wiſhing him ever with me 82
  • [] The Abſence of the Beloved 84
  • Sick of Love. Solomon's Song 1. 3. 86
  • Sitting in an Arbour 88
  • Bewailing my own Inconſtancy 90
  • Forſaken, yet hoping 93
  • The Law and Goſpel 95
  • The Death of Moſes: Deut. 32. 49, 50. and 34. 5, 6. or, the Injoyment of God worth dying for 97
  • Ad Dominum noſtrum & Servatorem Jeſum Chriſtum. Oda 100
  • Excitatio Cordis Coelum verſus. Ad Seipſum 106
  • Breathing toward the Heavenly Country 108
  • The Glories of God exceed all Worſhip 110

A TABLE OF THE Odes, Elegys, &c. in the Second Book.

[]
  • TO Her Majeſty Pag. 113
  • To Mr. John Lock, retir'd from Buſineſs 117
  • To Mr. John Shute, on Mr. Lock's laſt Sickneſs 119
  • To Mr. William Nokes. Friendſhip. (See more p. 237) 121
  • To Nathanael Gould Eſq Lawful Ambition 123
  • To Dr. Thomas Gibſon. The Life of Souls 125
  • To my Brothers E. and T. W. Falſe Greatneſs 128
  • To Mr. A. S. and Mr. T. H. Strict Religion exceeding rare 130
  • On the ſudden Death of Mrs. Mary Peacock 133
  • To the Reverend Mr. B. Rowe. 'Tis dangerous to follow the Multitude 136
  • To my Siſters S. and M. W. an Epiſtle 138
  • [] To Mr. C. and S. Fleetwood. The World vain, and the Soul Immortal 141
  • To Mr. William Blackbourn. Life flies too fast to be waſted 144
  • To Mr. Robert Atwood. The Kingdom of the Wiſe Man. Part 1. 145
  • Part. 2. Or the Bold Stoic 150
  • To the Reverend Mr. Thomas Rowe. Free Philoſophy 153
  • To the Reverend Mr. John Howe. The Vanity of Humane Cares 155
  • To Mr. Nicholas Clark. Complaining of Vapours or Diſorders of the Head 158
  • Upon the diſmal Narrative of the Afflictions of a Friend 161
  • The Reverſe, on the view of Remaining Comforts 164
  • To the Right Honourable John Lord Cutts. The Hardy Soldier 167
  • To Mrs. B. Bendiſh. Againſt Tears 169
  • A Word of Warning, or Few Happy Marriages 171
  • To Mr. Henry Bendiſh. The Indian Philoſopher, or Matches made above, but broke in coming down 175
  • To David Polhill Eſq An Epiſtle 180
  • To David Polhill Eſq An Anſwer to an Infamous Satyr againſt King William III. 182
  • To the Diſcontented and Unquiet. Vertue alone makes the Mind Eaſy 189
  • To John Hartopp Eſq Youth and Pleaſure tarry not 194
  • To Thomas Gunſton Eſq Happy Solitude 197
  • [] To John Hartopp Eſq The Diſdain of Senſual Joys 201
  • Fratri ſuo Dilecto R. W. Epiſtola 203
  • To Dr. John Speed of Southampton. An Epiſtle 207
  • Ad Reverendum Virum Dom. Johannem Pinhorne fidum pueritiae meae Praeceptorem. Oda. 209
  • Votum. Seu Vita in terris Beata. Ad Virum digniſſimum Johannem Hartoppium Baronettum 215
  • To the Lady Abney. A Funeral Poem on Tho. Gunſton Eſq, 219
  • To Mr. Arthur Shallett Merchant: An Elegiac Ode on the Reverend Mr. Thomas Gouge 247
  • An Epitaph on King William III. of Glorious Memory 264

ERRATA.

PAg. 41. lin. 13. read upon. P. 42. l. 10. for ariſe r. aſcend. P. 103. l. 4. after fructus dele [,] P. 126. l. 19. r. beat. P. 134. l. penult r. Sphere. P. 159. l. 2. for How r. Now. P. 190. l. 5. r. Breaſt. P. 197. l. 3. for They r. The. P. 204. l. 8. r. Patris. P. 214. l. 8. r. Numen, &.

BOOK I.
Songs and Hymns Sacred to DEVOTION.

[1]

THE Divine Sovereignty.

I.
GReat God, indulge a Mortal Tongue,
Nor let thy Thunders roar
Whilſt little Notes and feeble Song
Attempt th' Eternal Pow'r.
[2]II.
Life, Death, and Hell, and Worlds unknown
Hang on thy firm Decree;
Thou ſit'ſt on no precarious Throne,
Nor Borroweſt leave to Be.
III.
Thy Sovereign Voice bids ancient Night
Her Spacious Realms reſign,
And Lo! ten Thouſand Globes of Light
In Fields of Azure ſhine.
IV.
Thy Wiſdom with Superiour Sway
Guides this vaſt moving Frame;
Whilſt all the Ranks of Being pay
Deep Reverence to thy Name.
V.
Vengeance attends t' obey thy Frown,
And Bleſſings wait thy Smile;
A Wreath of Lightning arms thy Crown,
But Love adorns it ſtill.
[3]VI.
Unnumber'd Wonders in thee meet,
And various Glory ſhines;
The Croſſing Rays too fiercely beat
Upon our fainting Minds.
VII.
Angels are loſt in ſweet Surprize
If thou unvail thy Grace;
And humble Awe runs thro' the Skies
When Wrath arrays thy Face.
VIII.
When Mercy joyns with Majeſty
To ſpread their Beams abroad,
Not all the faireſt Minds on high
Are Shadows of a God.
IX.
Thy Mighty Works Great Gabriel Sings
In a too feeble Strain;
And labours upon all his Strings
To reach thy Thoughts in vain.
[4]X.
Created Powers how weak they be!
How ſhort our Praiſes fall!
So much akin to Nothing We,
And Thou th' Eternal All.

THE Tranſcendent Glories OF THE DEITY.

I.
GOD is a Name my Soul adores;
Th' Almighty Three, th' Eternal One:
Nature and Grace with all their Powers
Confeſs the Infinite Unknown.
II.
From thy Great Self thy Being Springs;
Thou art thine own Original;
[5] Made up of Uncreated Things,
And Self-Sufficience bears them all.
III.
Thy Voice hath form'd the Seas and Spheres,
Bid the Waves roar, and Planets ſhine;
But Nothing like thy Self appears
Thro' all theſe Spacious Works of thine.
IV.
Still rolling Nature dies and grows;
From Change to Change the Creatures run:
Thy Being no Succeſſion knows,
And all thy vaſt Deſigns are One.
V.
A Glance of thine runs thro' the Globes,
Rules the Bright Worlds, and moves their Frame:
Broad Sheets of Light compoſe thy Robes;
Thy Guards are form'd of living Flame.
VI.
Thrones and Dominions round thee fall
And Worſhip in Submiſſive Forms;
Thy Preſence ſhakes this lower Ball,
This little Dwelling Place of Worms.
[6]VII.
Then how ſhall trembling Mortals dare
To ſing thy Glory or thy Grace;
Beneath thy Feet we lie ſo far,
And ſee but Shadows of thy Face?
VIII.
Who can behold the Blazing Light?
Who can approach Conſuming Flame?
None but thy Wiſdom knows thy Might;
None but thy Word can ſpeak thy Name.

GOD Appears moſt Glorious IN OUR Salvation by CHRIST.

[7]
I.
FAther, how wide thy Glory ſhines!
How high thy Wonders riſe!
Known thro' the Earth by thouſand Signs,
By thouſand thro' the Skies.
II.
Thoſe mighty Orbs proclaim thy Power,
Their Motions ſpeak thy Skill;
And on the Wings of every Hour
We read thy Patience ſtill.
[8]III.
Part of thy Name Divinely ſtands
On all thy Creatures writ;
They ſhow the Labour of thine Hands,
Or Impreſs of thy Feet.
IV.
But when We view thy Strange Deſign
To ſave Rebellious Worms,
Where Vengeance and Compaſſion joyn
In their Divineſt Forms:
V.
Our Thoughts are loſt in Reverend Awe,
We Love and we Adore;
The talleſt Angel never ſaw
So much of God before.
VI.
Here the whole Deity is known,
Nor dares a Creature gueſs
Which of the Glories brighteſt ſhone,
The Juſtice or the Grace.
[9]VII.
When we tranſgreſs'd the Fathers Laws,
The dying Son atones;
Oh the Dear Myſteries of his Croſs!
The Triumph of his Groans!
VIII.
Now the full Glories of the Lamb
Adorn the Heavenly Plains;
And the Young Cherubs learn his Name,
And try their choiceſt Strains.
IX.
O may I bear ſome humble Part
In that Immortal Song;
Wonder and Joy ſhall tune my Heart,
And Love command my Tongue.

AN Hymn of Praiſe TO The God of ENGLAND, FOR Three Great Salvations.
(VIZ.)
• I. From the Spaniſh Invaſion, 1588. , • II. From the Gunpowder-Plot, Nov. 5. , and • III. From Popery and Slavery by King William of Glorious Memory, who landed Nov. 5. 1688. 

[10]
I.
INfinite God, whoſe Counſels ſtand
Like Mountains of Eternal Braſs,
Pillars to prop our Sinking Land,
Or Guardian Rocks to break the Seas.
[11]II.
From Pole to Pole thy Name is known,
Thee a Whole Heaven of Angels praiſe,
Our Laboring Tongues would ſtrike thy Throne
With the Loud Triumphs of thy Grace.
III.
Part of thy Church by thy Command
Stands rais'd upon the Brittiſh Iſles,
There, ſaid the Lord, to Ages ſtand
Firm as the Everlaſting Hills.
IV.
In vain the Spaniſh Ocean roar'd,
And roll'd its Billows to our Shore;
The Billows ſunk beneath thy Word,
And all the Floating War they bore.
V.
Come, ſaid the Sons of bloody Rome,
Let us provide new Arms from Hell,
And down they digg'd thro' Earth's dark Womb,
And ranſack'd all the burning Cell.
[12]VI.
Old Satan lent them fiery Stores,
Infernal Coal, and Sulph'rous Flame,
And all that burns, and all that roars,
Outrageous Fires of dreadful Name.
VII.
Beneath the Senate and the Throne
Engines of Helliſh Thunder lay,
There the dark Seeds of Fire were ſown
To ſpring a Bright, but diſmal Day.
VIII.
Thy Love beheld the black Deſign,
Thy Love that Guards thine England round;
Strange! how it quench'd the fiery Mine,
And cruſh'd the Tempeſt under Ground.

THE Second Part.

[13]
I.
ASſume my Tongue a Nobler Strain,
Sing the New Wonders of the Lord;
The Foes revive their Pow'rs again,
Again they die beneath his Sword.
II.
Dark as our Thoughts our Minutes roll
While Tyranny poſſeſt the Throne;
And Murtherers of an Iriſh Soul
Ran threatning Death thro' every Town.
III.
The Roman Prieſt and Brittiſh Prince
Joyn'd their beſt Force and blackeſt Charms;
And the fierce Troops of neighbouring France
Offer'd the Service of their Arms.
[14]IV.
'Tis done, they cry'd, and laught aloud,
The Courts of Darkneſs rang with Joy,
Th' Old Serpent hiſs'd, and Hell grew proud,
While Zion mourn'd her Ruine nigh.
V.
But lo! The great Deliverer Sails
Commiſſion'd from Jehovah's Hand;
And Smiling Seas, and wiſhing Gales
Convey him to the longing Land.
VI.
The happy Day and happy Year
Nov. 5. 1688.
Both in our new Salvation meet:
The Day that quencht the Burning Snare,
Nov. 5.
And Year that burnt th' Invading Fleet.
1588.
VII.
Now did thine Arm, O God of Hoſts,
Now did thine Arm ſhine dazling bright;
The Sons of Might their Hands had loſt,
And Men of Blood forgot to fight.
[15]VIII.
Brigades of Angels lin'd the way,
And guarded William to his Throne;
There, ye Celeſtial Warriours, ſtay,
And make his Palace like your own.
IX.
Thus, Mighty God, thy Praiſe Divine
From Heaven and Earth at once ſhall flow;
Angels and Men conſpire and joyn
In Hallelujahs, here below.
X.
All Hallelujah, Heavenly King,
Tis thy Victorious Arm we ſing;
Fly round the Globe, ye Ecchoing Joys,
And vaulted Skies repeat the Noiſe.

GOD Incomprehenſible.

[16]
I.
FAR in the Heav'ns my God retires,
My God, the point of my Deſires,
And hides his Lovely Face;
When he deſcends within my View
He charms my Reaſon to purſue,
But leaves it tir'd and fainting in th' unequal Chaſe.
II.
Or if I reach unuſual height,
Till near his Preſence brought;
There Floods of Glory check my Flight,
Cramp the bold Pinions of my Wit
And all untune my Thought;
Plung'd in a Sea of Light I roll,
Where Wiſdom, Juſtice, Mercy Shines;
Infinite Rays in Croſſing Lines
Beat thick Confuſion on my Sight, and overwhelm my Soul.
[17]III.
Come to my aid, ye Fellow-Minds,
And help me reach the Throne,
(What ſingle Strength in vain deſigns,
United Force hath done;
Thus Worms may Joyn, and graſp the Poles,
Thus Atoms fill the Sea,)
But the whole Race of Creature-Souls,
Stretch'd to their laſt extent of Thought plunge and are loſt in Thee.
IV.
Great God; behold my Reaſon lies
Adoring; yet my Love would riſe
On Pinions not her own:
Faith ſhall direct her humble Flight
Thro' all the trackleſs Seas of Light
To Thee th' Eternal Fair, the Infinite Unknown.

SICKNESS GIVES A Sight of HEAVEN.

[18]
I.
OFT have I ſat in Secret Sighs
To feel my Fleſh decay,
Then groan'd aloud with frighted Eyes
To view this tott'ring Clay.
II.
But I forbid my Sorrows now,
Nor dares the Fleſh complain,
Diſeaſes bring their Profit too;
The Joy o'recomes the Pain.
III.
My chearful Soul now all the Day
Sits waiting here and Sings;
[19] Looks thro' the Ruins of her Clay,
And practiſes her Wings.
IV.
Faith almoſt changes into Sight,
While from afar ſhe Spies
Her fair Inheritance in Light
Above created Skies.
V.
Had but the Priſon-Walls been ſtrong,
And firm without a flaw,
In Darkneſs ſhe had dwelt too long,
And leſs of Glory ſaw.
VI.
But now the Everlaſting Hills
Thro' every Chink appear,
And ſomething of the Joy ſhe feels
While ſhe's a Pris'ner here.
VII.
The Shines of Heaven ruſh ſweetly in
At all the Gaping Flaws,
Viſions of Endleſs Bliſs are ſeen,
And Native Air ſhe draws.
[20]VIII.
O may theſe Walls ſtand tott'ring ſtill,
The Breaches never cloſe,
If I muſt here in Darkneſs dwell,
And all this Glory loſe.
IX.
Or rather let this Fleſh decay,
The Ruins wider grow,
Till glad to ſee the Enlarged way
I ſtretch my Pinions thro'.

THE Univerſal Hallelujah, OR, PSALM 148. PARAPHRAS'D.

[21]
I.
PRAISE ye the Lord each Heavenly Tongue
That ſits around his Throne:
Jeſus the Man ſhall lead the Song,
The God inſpire the Tune.
II.
Gabriel and all th' Immortal Quire
That fill the Realms above,
Sing, for the form'd you of his Fire,
And feeds you with his Love.
[22]III.
Shine to his Praiſe ye Chryſtal Skies,
The Floor of his Abode,
Or vail your little twinkling Eyes
Before a brighter God.
IV.
Thou rolling Globe of Golden Light
Whoſe Beams Create our Days,
Joyn with the Silver Queen of Night
To own your borrow'd Rays.
V.
Bluſh and refund the Honours paid
To your inferiour Names;
Tell the blind World, your Orbs are fed
By his O'reflowing Flames.
VI.
Winds, ye ſhall bear his Name aloud
Thro' the Ethereal Blue,
For when His Chariot is a Cloud
He makes his Wheels of you.
VII.
Thunder and Hail, and Fires and Storms,
The Troops of his Command,
[23] Appear in all your Dreadful Forms,
And ſpeak his awful Hand.
VIII.
Shout to the Lord, ye Surging Seas,
In your Eternal Roar,
Let Wave to Wave reſound his Praiſe,
And Shore reply to Shore:
IX.
While Monſters rolling on the Flood
In Scaly Silver ſhine,
Speak terribly their Maker-God,
And laſh the foaming Brine.
X.
But Gentler Things ſhall tune his Name
To ſofter Notes than theſe,
Young Zephyrs breathing o're the Stream,
Or whiſpering thro' the Trees.
XI.
Wave your tall Heads, ye lofty Pines,
To him that bid you grow,
Sweet Cluſters, bend the fruitful Vines
On every Thankful Bough.
[24]XII.
Let the ſhrill Birds his Honour raiſe,
And tune it in the Sky:
While groveling Beaſts attempt his Praiſe
With hoarſer Harmony.
XIII.
Thus while the meaner Creatures ſing,
Ye Mortals take the Sound,
Eccho the Glories of your King
Thro' all the Nations round.
XIV.
Th' Eternal Name muſt fly abroad
From England to Japan;
And the whole Race ſhall bow to God
That owns the Name of Man.

THE Love of CHRIST ON His CROSS AND On His THRONE.

[25]
I.
NOW let my Faith grow ſtrong and riſe,
And view my Lord in all his Love;
Look back to hear his Dying Cries,
Then mount and ſee his Throne above.
II.
See where he Languiſh'd on the Croſs;
Beneath my Sins he groan'd and dy'd;
See where he fits to plead my Cauſe
By his Almighty Father's Side.
[26]III.
If I behold his Bleeding Heart,
There Love in Floods of Sorrow reigns,
He triumphs o're the Killing Smart,
And buys my Pleaſure with his Pains.
IV.
Or if I climb th' Eternal Hills
Where the dear Conqueror ſits enthron'd,
Still in his Heart Compaſſion dwells
Near the Memorials of his Wound.
V.
How ſhall a pardon'd Rebel ſhow
How much I Love my Dying God?
Lord, here I baniſh every Foe,
I hate the Sins that Coſt thy Blood.
VI.
I hold no more Commerce with Hell,
My deareſt Luſts ſhall all depart;
But let thine Image ever dwell
Stampt as a Seal upon my Heart.

DEATH A Welcome Meſſenger.

[27]
I.
LORD, when we ſee a Saint of thine
Lie gaſping out his Breath,
With Longing Eyes, and Looks Divine,
Smiling, and pleas'd in Death;
II.
How we could e'en contend to lay
Our Limbs upon that Bed,
And ask thine Envoy to convey
Our Spirits in his ſtead.
III.
Our Souls are riſing on the Wing
To venture in his Place,
[28] For when grim Death has loſt his Sting,
He has an Angels Face.
IV.
Jeſus, then purge my Crimes away,
'Tis Guilt creates my Fears,
'Tis Guilt gives Death its fierce Array,
And all the Arms it bears.
V.
Oh, if my threatning Sins were gone,
And Death had loſt his Sting,
I could invite the Angel on,
And chide his lazy Wing.
VI.
Away theſe interpoſing Days,
And let the Lovers meet;
The Angel has a cold Embrace,
But kind, and ſoft, and ſweet.
VII.
I'de leap at once my Seventy Years,
And fly into his Arms,
And [...] and all my Cares
[...] [...]eavenly Charms.
[29]VIII.
Joyful I'd lay this Body down,
And leave the lifeleſs Clay,
Without a Sigh, without a Groan,
And Stretch and ſoar away.

Sincere Praiſe.

I.
ALmighty Maker God!
How wondrous is thy Name!
Thy Glories how diffus'd abroad
Thro' the Creations Frame!
II.
Nature in every Dreſs
Her humble Homage Pays,
And takes a Thouſand Ways t' expreſs
Thine Undiſſembled Praiſe.
III.
In Native White and Red
The Roſe and Lilly ſtand,
[30] And free from Pride their Beauties ſpread
To ſhow thy skilful Hand.
IV.
The Lark mounts up the Sky
With Unambitious Song,
And bears her Maker's Praiſe on high
Upon her Artleſs Tongue.
V.
My Soul would riſe and Sing
To her Creator too,
Fain would my Tongue adore my King,
And Pay the Worſhip due.
VI.
But Pride that buſie Sin
Spoils all that I perform,
Curs'd Pride, that creeps ſecurely in,
And ſwells a haughty Worm.
VII.
Thy Glories I abate,
Or praiſe thee with Deſign;
Some of thy Favours I forget,
Or would have ſomething mine.
[31]VIII.
The very Songs I frame
Are Faithleſs to thy Cauſe,
And ſteal the Honours of thy Name
Unto their own Applauſe.
IX.
Create my Soul anew,
Elſe all my Worſhip's vain;
This wretched Heart will ne'er be true
Until 'tis form'd again.
X.
Deſcend Celeſtial Fire,
And ſeize me from above,
Melt me in Flames of pure Deſire
A Sacrifice to Love.
XI.
Let Joy and Worſhip ſpend
The Remnant of my Days,
And to my God my Soul aſcend
In ſweet Perfumes of Praiſe.

GOD's Infinity.

[32]
I.
SOME Seraph, lend your Heavenly Tongue,
Or Harp of Golden String,
That I may raiſe a lofty Song
To our Eternal King.
II.
Thy Names, how Infinite they be!
Great Everlaſting One!
Boundleſs thy Might and Majeſty,
And Unconfin'd thy Throne.
III.
Thy Glories ſhine of Wondrous Size,
And wondrous Large thy Grace,
Immortal Day breaks from thine Eyes,
And Gabriel Vails his Face.
IV.
Thine Eſſence is a vaſt Abyſs
Which Angels cannot ſound,
[33] An Ocean of Infinities
Where all our thoughts are drownd.
V.
The Myſteries of Creation lie
Beneath Enlightned Minds,
Thoughts can aſcend above the Sky,
And fly before the Winds.
VI.
Reaſon may graſp the Maſſie Hills,
And ſtretch from Pole to Pole,
But Half thy Name our Spirit fills,
And Overloads our Soul.
VII.
In vain our Haughty Reaſon ſwells,
For Nothing's found in Thee
But Boundleſs Unconceivables,
And Vaſt Eternity.

LONGING FOR The Second Coming OF CHRIST.

[34]
I.
WHEN ſhall thy Shining Face be ſeen?
When ſhall our Eyes behold our God?
What lengths of Diſtance lie between,
And Hills of Guilt, a Heavy Load!
II.
Our Months are Ages of Delay,
And ſlowly every Minute wears;
Fly winged Time, and roll away
Theſe tedious Rounds of Sluggiſh Years.
III.
Ye Heavenly Gates, looſe all your Chains,
Let the Eternal Pillars bow,
[35] Dear Saviour, Cleave the Starry Plains,
And make the Chryſtal Mountains flow.
IV.
Hark how thy Saints unite their Cries,
And pray and wait the General Doom,
Come, thou the Soul of all our Joys,
Thou the Deſire of Nations, come.
V.
Put thy bright Robes of Triumph on,
And bleſs our Eyes, and bleſs our Ears,
Thou abſent Love, thou Dear Unknown,
Thou Faireſt of ten thouſand Fairs.
VI.
Our Heart-ſtrings groan with deep Complaint,
Our Fleſh lies panting, Lord, for thee,
And every Limb and every Joynt
Stretches for Immortality.
VII.
Our Spirits ſhake their Eager Wings,
And burn to meet thy rolling Throne,
We riſe away from Mortal things
To attend thy Shining Chariot down!
[36]VIII.
Now let our Chearful Eyes ſurvey
The blazing Earth and melting Hills,
And ſmile to ſee the Lightnings play,
And flaſh along before thy Wheels.
IX.
O for a ſhout of Violent Joys
To Joyn the Trumpets thundring ſound!
The Angel Herald ſhakes the Skies,
Awakes the Graves, and tears the Ground.
X.
Ye Slumbring Saints, a Heavenly Hoſt
Stands waiting at your gaping Tombs,
Let every Sacred Sleeping Duſt
Leap into Life, for Jeſus comes.
XI.
Jeſus the God of Might and Love
New moulds our Limbs of Cumbrous Clay,
Quick as Seraphick Flames we move,
Active and Young and Fair as they.
[37]XII.
Our airy Feet with unknown flight
Swift as the motions of Deſire
Run up the Hills of Heavenly Light,
And leave the Weltring World in Fire.

THE Sufferings and Glories OF CHRIST.
A SONG In Triſyllable Feet.

I.
I Long for a Conſort of Heavenly Praiſe,
To Jeſus the God, the Omnipotent Son,
My Voice ſhould awake in Harmonious Lays,
Could it tell half the Wonders that Jeſus has done.
[38]II.
I would ſing how he left his own Palace of Light,
And Robes made of Glory that dreſs'd him above;
Yet pleas'd with his Journey, and ſwift was his Flight,
For he rode on the Pinions of Infinite Love.
III.
Far down to the Place of our diſtant Abode
He came (we adore him) to raiſe us on high;
He came to attone the Revenge of a God,
And he took up a Life to be able to die.
IV.
All Hell and its Lyons ſtood Roaring around,
His Fleſh and his Spirit with Malice they tore;
While Worlds of Sorrow lay preſſing him down,
As vaſt as the Burden of Sins that he bore.
V.
Faſt bound in the Chains of Imperious Death
The Infinite Captive a Priſoner lay,
The Infinite Captive aroſe from the Earth,
And leap't to the Hills of Ethereal Day.
[39]VI.
Then mention no more of the Wrath of a God;
Of the Lyons of Hell and their Roarings no more;
We lift up our Eyes to his Shining Abode,
And our loudeſt Hoſannahs his Name ſhall adore.
VII.
We crown the Triumpher with the Honours he won,
Hoſannah thro' all the Coeleſtial Groves!
The God and the Man! how he fills up his Throne!
How He ſits! how He ſhines! how He looks! how He Loves!
VIII.
O happy ye Heavens, and happy ye Hills
Where he treads with his Feet and diffuſeth his Grace,
While Mercy and Majeſty, Glories and Smiles
Play gently around the ſweet Air of his Face.
IX.
Amongſt a [...] Choir of Archangels and Songs
The Mighty Redeemer Eternally reigns,
And the Sound of his Name from a Million of Tongues
Flies o're the bright Mountains and bleſſes the Plains.

THE Day of Judgment.
An ODE, Attempted in Engliſh Sapphick.

[40]
I.
WHEN the Fierce North-wind with his Airy Forces
Rears up the Baltick to a foaming Fury,
And the red Lightning with a Storm of Hail comes
Ruſhing amain down,
II.
How the poor Sailers ſtand amaz'd and tremble!
While the hoarſe Thunder like a Bloody Trumpet
Roars a loud onſet to the gaping Waters
Quick to devour them.
[41]III.
Such ſhall the Noiſe be and the Wild diſorder,
(If things Eternal may be like theſe Earthly)
Such the dire Terror when the great Archangel
Shakes the Creation,
IV.
Tears the ſtrong Pillars of the Vault of Heaven,
Breaks up old Marble the Repoſe of Princes;
See the Graves open, and the Bones ariſing,
Flames all around 'em.
V.
Hark the ſhrill Out-cries of the Guilty Wretches!
Lively bright Horror and amazing Anguiſh
Stare thro' their Eyelids, while the living Worm lies
Gnawing within them.
VI.
Thoughts like old Vultures prey upun their Heartſtrings,
And the ſmart twinges, when their Eye beholds the
Lofty Judge frowning, and a Flood of Vengeance
Rolling afore him.
[42]VII.
Hopeleſs Immortals! how they ſcream and ſhiver
While Devils puſh them to the Pit wide Yawning
Hideous and gloomy, to receive them headlong
Down to the Centre.
VIII.
Stop here my Fancy: (All away ye horrid
Doleful Ideas;) Come ariſe to Jeſus,
How he ſits Godlike! And the Saints around him
Thron'd and adoring!
IX.
O may I ſit there when he comes Triumphant
Dooming the Nations: Then ariſe to Glory,
While our Hoſannahs all along the Paſſage
Shout the Redeemer.

Confeſſion and Pardon.

[43]
I.
ALAS my aking Heart!
Here the keen Torment lies;
It racks my waking Hours with Smart,
And frights my Slumbring Eyes.
II.
Guilt will be hid no more,
My Griefs take vent apace,
The Crimes that blot my Conſcience o're
Fluſh Crimſon in my Face.
III.
My Sorrows like a Flood
Impatient of Reſtraint
Into thy Boſom, O my God,
Pour out a long Complaint.
[44]IV.
This impious Heart of mine
Could once defie the Lord,
Could ruſh with Violence on to Sin
In preſence of thy Sword.
V.
As often have I ſtood
A Rebel to the Skies,
The Calls, the Tenders of a God,
And Mercies Loudeſt cries.
VI.
He offers all his Grace,
And all his Heaven to me;
Offers! But 'tis to ſenſeleſs Braſs
That can nor feel nor ſee.
VII.
Jeſus the Saviour ſtands
To court me from above,
And looks and ſpreads his wounded Hands,
And ſhows the Prints of Love.
[35]VIII.
But I, a ſtupid Fool,
How long have I withſtood
The Bleſſings purchas'd with his Soul,
And paid for all in Blood?
IX.
The Heav'nly Dove came down
And tender'd me his Wings,
To mount me upward to a Crown
And bright Immortal things.
X.
Lord, I'm aſham'd to ſay
That I refus'd thy Dove,
And ſent thy Spirit griev'd away
To his own Realms of Love.
XI.
Nor all thine Heav'nly Charms,
Nor thy revenging Hand
Could force me to lay down my Arms,
And bow to thy Command.
[46]XII.
Lord, 'tis againſt thy Face
My Sins like Arrows riſe,
And yet, and yet (O matchleſs Grace)
Thy Thunder ſilent lies.
XIII.
O ſhall I never feel
The Meltings of thy Love?
Am I of ſuch Hell-harden'd Steel
That Mercy cannot move?
XIV.
Now for one powerful Glance
Dear Saviour, from thy Face!
This Rebel-heart no more withſtands,
But ſinks beneath thy Grace.
XV.
O'recome by dying Love I fall,
And at thy Croſs I lie;
I throw my Fleſh, my Soul, my All,
And Weep, and Love, and Die.
[47]XVI.
"Riſe, ſays the Prince of Mercy, riſe;
With Joy and Pity in his Eyes:
"Riſe and behold my wounded Veins,
"Here flows the Blood to waſh thy Stains.
XVII.
"See, my Great Father's reconcil'd:
He ſay'd, and Lo the Father ſmil'd;
The Joyful Cherubs clapt their Wings,
And ſounded Grace on all their Strings.

JESUS THE Only SAVIOUR.

[48]
I.
ADAM, our Head, our Father fell,
And Juſtice doom'd the Race to Hell:
The fiery Law ſpeaks all Deſpair,
There's no Reprieve, nor Pardon there.
II.
Call a bright Council in the Skies:
"Seraphs, the Mighty and the Wiſe,
"Say, what Expedient can you give
"That Sin be damn'd and Sinners live?
III.
"Speak, are you ſtrong to bear the Load,
"The weighty Vengeance of a God?
"Which of you loves our wretched Race,
"Or dares to venture in our Place?
[49]IV.
In vain we ask: For all around
Stands Silence thro' the Heavenly Ground:
There's not a glorious Mind above
Has half the Strength, or half the Love.
V.
But, O unutterable Grace!
Th' Eternal Son takes Adam's place;
Down to our World the Saviour flies,
Stretches his naked Arms and Dies.
VI.
Juſtice was pleas'd to bruiſe the God,
And pay its Wrongs with Heavenly Blood;
Infinite Racks and Pangs He bore,
And roſe. The Law could ask no more.
VII.
Amazing Work! Look down, ye Skies,
Wonder and gaze with all your Eyes,
Ye Heavenly Thrones ſtoop from above,
And bow to this Myſterious Love.
[50]VIII.
See, how they bend! See, how they look!
Long they had read th' Eternal Book,
And ſtudy'd dark Decrees in vain,
The Croſs and Calvary makes them plain.
IX.
Now they are ſtruck with deep Amaze,
Each with his Wings conceals his Face;
Now clap their ſounding Plumes, and cry,
"The Wiſdom of a Diety.
X.
Low they adore th' Incarnate Son,
And ſing the Glories he hath won,
Sing how he broke our Iron Chains,
How deep he ſunk, how high he reigns.
XI.
Triumph and reign Victorious Lord,
By all thy flaming Saints ador'd;
And ſay, dear Conqueror, ſay, how long
'Ere we ſhall fly to joyn their Song?
[51]XII.
Lo, from afar the promis'd Day
Shines with a well-diſtinguiſh'd Ray:
But my wing'd Paſſion hardly bears
Theſe tedious Rounds of rolling Years.
XIII.
Send down a Chariot from above
With fiery Wheels, and pav'd with Love;
Raiſe me beyond th' Ethereal Blue,
To Sing and Love as Angels do.

A Song of Praiſe TO GOD.
PSALM C. In Triſſyllable Feet.

[52]
I.
SIng aloud to the Lord: Let the two Frozen Poles
Awake to the Song, and diſſolve in the Praiſe;
At the Fiery Line will we kindle our Souls,
Nor the Worſhip be quench't by the Weſtern Seas.
II.
Come Nations adoring the Infinite King,
With Zeal in your Boſoms, and Joy in your Eyes:
His Wonderful Name ſhould eternally ring
Round the broad Globe of Earth to the Circling Skies.
[53]III.
'Twas he that gave Life to our Souls with a Breath,
He faſhion'd our Clay to the Figure of Men;
And when we had ſtray'd to the Regions of Death,
He reduc'd his own Sheep to his Paſtures again.
IV.
We enter his Gates with Hoſannahs and Songs,
The Arches reſound with the Notes that we raiſe;
Thus while our Devotions are paid with our Tongues,
Thy Temple adores by repeating the Praiſe.
V.
Thy Power ſhakes the World, and makes it ſelf known;
Thy Love like Eternity has ne're a Bound;
The Truth of our God muſt ſtand firm as his Throne
When the Wheels of old Time ſhall ceaſe to go round.

An Eſſay on a few of DAVID's PSALMS Tranſlated into Plain Verſe, in Language more agreeable to the clearer Revelations of the Goſpel.

[54]

THE HAPPY SAINT AND Curſed Sinner.
PSALM I.

I.
BLEST is the Man, whoſe cautious Feet
Shun the broad Path which Sinners chuſe,
Who hates the Houſe where Atheiſts meet,
And dreads the Words that Scoffers uſe.
[55]II.
He loves t' employ his Morning Light
Reading the Statutes of the Lord,
And ſpends the wakeful Hours of Night
With Pleaſure pond'ring o're the Word.
III.
He like a Plant by gentle Streams
Shall Flouriſh in Immortal Green;
And Heav'n will ſhine with Kindeſt Beams
On every Work his Hands begin.
IV.
But Sinners find their Counſels croſs'd:
As Chaff before the Tempeſt flies,
So ſhall their Hopes be blown and loſt
When the laſt Trumpet ſhakes the Skies.
V.
In vain the Rebel crouds to ſtand
In Judgment with the Pious Race;
The dreadful Judge with Stern Command
Divides him to a different Place.
[56]VI.
"Strait is the Way my Saints have trod,
"I bleſt the Path and drew it plain:
"But you would chuſe the crooked Road,
"And it leads down t' Eternal Pain.

Doubts and Fears SUPPRES'D.
PSALM III.

I.
LOOK, Gracious God, how numerous they
Whoſe envious Power and Rage
Conſpiring my Eternal Death
Againſt my Soul engage.
II.
The lying Tempter would perſwade
There's no Relief in Heaven;
[57] And all my ſwelling Sins appear
Too big to be forgiven.
III.
But God my Glory and my Strength
Shall tread the Tempter down,
And drown my Sins beneath the Blood
Of his Dear Dying Son.
IV.
I cry'd, and from his Sacred Hill
He bow'd a liſt'ning Ear;
I call'd my Father and my God,
And he diſpers'd my Fear.
V.
He threw ſoft Slumbers on mine Eyes
In ſight of all my Foes,
I 'woke, and wondred at the Grace
That guarded my Repoſe.
VI.
What, tho' the Hoſts of Death and Hell
All arm'd againſt me ſtood,
Terrors no more ſhall ſhake my Soul,
Nor Tremblings chill my Blood.
[58]VII.
Lord, I adore thy Wondrous Love,
And thy Salvation ſing:
My God hath broke the Serpents Teeth,
And Death has loſt his Sting.
VIII.
Salvation to the Lord belongs,
The Lord alone can ſave;
Bleſſings attend thy People here,
And reach beyond the Grave.

Praiſe to the LORD FROM All NATIONS.
PSALM C.

[59]
I.
SING to the Lord with Joyful Voice,
Let every Land his Name adore,
The Brittiſh Iſles ſhall ſend the Noiſe
Acroſs the Ocean to the Shore.
II.
With gladneſs bow before his Throne,
And let his Preſence raiſe your Joys,
Know that the Lord is God alone,
And form'd our Souls, and fram'd our Voice.
[60]III.
Infinite Power without our aid
Figur'd our Clay to humane Mould;
And when our Wandring Feet had ſtray'd,
He brought us to his Sacred Fold.
IV.
Enter his Gates with Thankful Songs,
Thro' his Wide Courts your Voices raiſe;
Almighty God, our Joyful Tongues
Shall fill thine houſe with ſounding Praiſe.
V.
Wide as the World is thy Command,
Vaſt as Eternity thy Love,
Firm as a Rock thy Truth muſt ſtand
When rolling Years ſhall ceaſe to move.

Brotherly Love.
PSALM CXXXIII.

[61]
I.
LO, what an entertaining Sight
Are Brethren that agree,
Brethren whoſe chearful Hearts unite
In Bands of Piety.
II.
When Streams of Love from Chriſt the Spring
Deſcend to every Soul,
And Sacred Peace with Balmy Wing
Shades and bedews the whole;
III.
'Tis like the Oyl on Aaron ſhed
Which choice Perfumes compoſe,
Down ſoftly from his Reverend Head
It trickled to his Toes.
[62]IV.
Tis pleaſant as the Morning Dews
That fall on Zion's Hill;
Where God his mildeſt Glory ſhews,
And makes his Grace diſtil.

THE PLEASURE OF Love to CHRIST Preſent or Abſent.

I.
OF all the Joys we Mortals know
Jeſus, thy Love exceeds the reſt;
Love, the beſt Bleſſing here below,
And neareſt Image of the Bleſt.
[63]II.
Sweet are my Thoughts, and ſoft my Cares
When the dear Heav'nly Flame I feel;
[...] all my Hopes and all my Fears
There's ſomething kind and pleaſing ſtill.
III.
While I am held in his Embrace
There's not a Thought attempts to rove;
Each Smile he wears upon his Face
Fixes and charms and fires my Love.
IV.
He ſpeaks, and ſtrait Immortal Joys
Run thro' my Ears, and reach my Heart;
My Soul all melts at that dear Voice,
And Pleaſure ſhoots thro' every Part.
V.
If he withdraw a Moments ſpace
He leaves a Sacred Pledge behind,
Here in this Breaſt his Image ſtays,
The Grief and Comfort of my Mind.
[64]VI.
While of his Abſence I complain,
And long, and weep as Lovers do,
There's a ſtrange Pleaſure in the Pain,
And Tears have their own Sweetneſs too.
VII.
When round his Courts by Day I rove,
Or ask the Watchmen of the Night
For ſome kind Tidings of my Love;
His very Name creates Delight.
VIII.
Jeſus my God; yet rather come;
Mine Eyes would dwell upon thy Face;
'Tis beſt to ſee my Lord at Home,
And feel the Preſence of his Grace.

A Sight of CHRIST.

[65]
The Subſtance of the following Copy, and many of the Lines as they here ſtand were ſent me by an Eſteemed Friend Mr. W. Nokes, with a deſire that I would form them into a Pindarick Ode; but I retain'd his Meaſures leaſt I ſhould too much alter his Senſe.
ANgels of Light, your God and King ſurround
With Noble Songs; in his Exalted Fleſh
He claims your Worſhip; while his Saints on Earth
Bleſs their Redeemer-God with humble Tongues.
Angels with lofty Honours crown his Head;
We bowing at his Feet, by Faith may feel
This diſtant Influence, and confeſs his Love.
[66]
Once I beheld his Face, when Beams Divine
Broke from his Eyelids, and unuſual Light
Wrap't me at once in Glory and Surprize.
My Joyful Heart high leaping in my Breaſt
With Tranſport cry'd, This is the Chriſt of God;
Then threw my Arms around in ſweet Embrace,
And clasp'd, and bow'd Adoring low, till I was loſt in him.
While he appears no other Charms can hold
Or draw my Soul aſham'd of former things,
Which no Remembrance now deſerve or Name
Tho' with Contempt, beſt in Oblivion hid.
But the bright Shine and Preſence ſoon withdrew;
I ſought him whom I Love, but found him not;
I felt his Abſence; and with ſtrongeſt cries
Proclaim'd, Where Jeſus is not, all is vain.
Whether I hold him with a full Delight,
Or ſeek him panting with Extream Deſire,
'Tis He alone can pleaſe my Wondring Soul;
[67] To hold or ſeek him is my only Choice.
If he refrain on me to caſt his Eye
Down from his Palace, nor my longing Soul
With upward Look can ſpy my Deareſt Lord
Thro' his Blue Pavement, I'll behold him ſtill
With ſweet reflection on the peaceful Croſs,
All in his Blood and Anguiſh, groaning deep,
Gaſping and dying there.—
This Sight I ne're can looſe, by it I live:
A Quickning Vertue from his Death inſpir'd
Is Life and Breath to me; His Fleſh my Food;
His Vital Blood I drink, and hence my Strength.
I Live, I'm Strong, and now Eternal Life
Beats quick within my Breaſt; my Vigorous Mind
Spurns the dull Earth, and on her fiery Wings
Reaches the Mount of Purpoſes Divine,
Counſels of Peace betwixt th' Almighty Three
Conceiv'd at once, and Sign'd without Debate
In perfect Union of the Eternal Mind.
With vaſt Amaze I ſee the Unfathom'd Thoughts,
Infinite Schemes, and Infinite Deſigns
[68] Of God's own Heart in which he ever reſts.
Eternity lies open to my View;
Here the Beginning and the End of all
I can diſcover; Chriſt, the End of all,
And Chriſt the great Beginning; He my Head,
My God, my Glory, and my All in All.
O that the Day, the joyful Day were come
When the firſt Adam from his Ancient Duſt
Crown'd with new Honours ſhall revive, and ſee
Jeſus his Son and Lord; while ſhouting Saints
Surround their King, and God's Eternal Son
Shines in the midſt but with Superior Beams,
And like himſelf; Then the Myſterious Word
Long hid behind the Letter ſhall appear
All Spirit and Life, and in the fulleſt Light
Stand forth to publick View, and there diſcloſe
His Father's Sacred Works and wondrous Ways:
Then Wiſdom, Righteouſneſs and Grace Divine
Thro' all the Infinite Tranſactions paſt
Inwrought and ſhining ſhall with double blaze
[69] Strike our aſtoniſh't Eyes, and ever reign
Admir'd and Glorious in Triumphant Light.
Death and the Tempter, and the Man of Sin
Now at the Bar arraign'd, in Judgment caſt,
Shall vex the Saints no more, but perfect Love
And loudeſt Praiſes perfect Joy create,
While ever-circling Years maintain the bliſsful State.

LONGING FOR HEAVEN, OR, THE Song of Angels Above.

[70]
I.
EARTH has detain'd me Priſoner long,
And I'me grown weary now;
My Heart, my Hand, my Ear, my Tongue,
There's nothing here for you.
II.
Tir'd in my Thoughts I ſtretch me down,
And upward glance mine Eyes,
Upward (my Father) to thy Throne,
And to my Native Skies.
III.
There the dear Man my Saviour ſits,
The God, how bright he ſhines!
[71] And ſcatters Infinite Delights
On all the happy Minds.
IV.
Seraphs with elevated Strains
Circle the Throne around,
And Move and Charm the Starry Plains
With an Immortal Sound.
V.
Jeſus the Lord their Harps employs,
Jeſus my Love they ſing,
Jeſus the Name of both our Joys
Sounds ſweet from every String.
VI.
Hark, how beyond the narrow Bounds
Of Time and Space they run,
And ſpeak in moſt Majeſtick Sounds
The Godhead of the Son.
VII.
How on the Father's Breaſt he lay
The darling of his Soul,
Infinite Years before the Day,
Or Heavens began to roll.
[72]VIII.
And now they ſink the lofty Tone,
And milder Notes they play,
And bring th' Eternal Godhead down
To dwell in humble Clay.
IX.
O the dear Beauties of that Man!
(The God reſides within)
His Fleſh all pure without a Stain,
His Soul without a Sin.
X.
Then, how he look't, and how he ſmild,
What wondrous things he ſaid,
Sweet Cherubs, ſtay, dwell here a while,
And tell what Jeſus did.
XI.
At his Command the Blind awake,
And feel the gladſome Rays;
He bids the Dumb attempt to ſpeak,
They try their Tongues in Praiſe.
[73]XII.
He ſhed a thouſand Bleſſings round
Where 'ere he turn'd his Eye;
He ſpake, and at the Sovereign Sound
The Helliſh Legions fly.
XIII.
Thus while with unambitious Strife
Th' Ethereal Minſtrels rove
Thro' all the Labours of his Life,
And Wonders of his Love.
XIV.
In the full Quire a broken String
Groans with a ſtrange Surprize;
The reſt in ſilence mourn their King
That Bleeds and Loves and Dies.
XV.
The little Saints with dropping Wings
Ceaſe their harmonious Breath,
No blooming Trees, nor bubbling Springs,
While Jeſus ſleeps in Death.
[74]XVI.
Then all at once to living Strains
They ſummon every Chord,
Break up the Tomb, and burſt his Chains,
And ſhow their riſing Lord.
XVII.
Around the flaming Army throngs
To guard him to the Skies,
With loud Hoſannahs on their Tongues,
And Triumph in their Eyes.
XVIII.
In awful State the Conquering God
Aſcends his ſhining Throne,
While tuneful Angels ſound abroad
The Vict'ries he has won.
XIX.
Now let me riſe, and Joyn their Song,
And be an Angel too;
My Heart, my Hand, my Ear, my Tongue,
Here's Joyful Work for you.
[75]XX.
[...] would begin the Muſick here
And ſo my Soul ſhould riſe,
Oh for ſome Heavenly Notes to bear
My Spirit to the Skies!
XXI.
There, ye that love my Saviour, ſit,
There I would fain have place,
Amongſt your Thrones, or at your Feet,
So I might ſee his Face.
XXII.
[...] am confin'd to Earth no more,
But mount in haſte above
To bleſs the God that I adore,
And ſing the Man I Love.

GOD Sovereign and Gracious.

[76]
I.
THE Lord! how fearful is his Name?
How wide is his Command?
Nature with all its Mighty Frame
Lies rolling in his Hand.
II.
Immortal Glory forms his Throne,
And Light his Awful Robe;
Whilſt with a Smile or with a Frown
He manages the Globe.
III.
A Word of His Almighty Breath
Can ſwell or ſink the Seas;
Build the vaſt Empires of the Earth,
Or break 'em as he pleaſe.
[77]IV.
Adoring Angels round him fall
In all their Shining Forms,
His Sovereign Eye looks thro' them all,
And pities Mortal Worms.
V.
His Bowels to our Worthleſs Race
In ſweet Compaſſion move;
He Cloaths his Looks with ſofteſt Grace,
And takes his Title, Love.
VI.
Now let the Lord for ever Reign,
And Sway us as he will,
Sick or in Health, in Eaſe or Pain,
We are his Favourites ſtill.
VII.
No more ſhall peeviſh Paſſion riſe,
The Tongue no more Complain;
'Tis Sovereign Love that lends our Joys,
And Love reſumes again.

THE HAZARD OF Loving the Creatures.

[78]
I.
WHERE'ere my Flatt'ring Paſſions rove
I find a lurking Snare;
'Tis dangerous to let looſe our Love
Beneath th' Eternal Fair.
II.
Souls whom the Tye of Friendſhip binds,
And Things that ſhare our Blood
Seize a large Portion of our Minds,
And leave the leſs for God.
III.
Nature hath ſoft but powerful Bands,
And Reaſon She controuls;
[79] While Children with their little Hands
Hang cloſeſt to our Souls.
IV.
Thoughtleſs they act th' Old Serpent's Part;
What tempting things they be!
Lord, how they twine about our Heart,
And draw it off from thee!
V.
Our haſty Wills ruſh blindly on
Where riſing Paſſion rolls,
And thus we make our Fetters ſtrong
To bind our Slaviſh Souls.
VI.
Dear Sovereign, break theſe Fetters off,
And ſet our Spirits free;
God in himſelf is Bliſs enough,
For we have all in thee.

Chriſt's Amazing Love AND My Amazing Coldneſs.

[80]
I.
COME let me Love: or is my Mind
Harden'd to Stone, or froze to Ice?
I ſee the Bleſſed Fair One bend
And ſtoop t' embrace me from the Skies!
II.
O 'tis a Thought would melt a Rock,
And make a Heart of Iron move,
That thoſe ſweet Lips, that Heavenly Look
Should ſeek my Kiſſes and my Love.
III.
I was a Traytor doom'd to Fire,
Bound to ſuſtain Immortal Pains;
He flew on Wings of ſtrong Deſire
Aſſum'd my Guilt, and took my Chains.
[81]IV.
Infinite Grace! Almighty Charms!
Stand in Amaze, ye rolling Skies,
Jeſus the God with naked Arms
Hangs on a Croſs of Love and Dies.
V.
Did Pity ever ſtoop ſo low
Dreſt in Divinity and Blood?
Was ever Rebel courted ſo
In Groans of an Expiring God?
VI.
Again He lives; and ſpreads his Hands,
Hands that were nay l'd to tort'ring Smart;
"By theſe dear Wounds, ſays He, and ſtands
And prays to claſp me to his Heart.
VII.
Sure I muſt Love; or are my Ears
Still Deaf, nor feel the Paſſion move?
Then let me melt my Heart to Tears,
And Die becauſe I cannot Love.

Wiſhing him ever with me.

[82]
I.
NOW be that ſmiling Moment bleſt
When Firſt I ſaw my Love,
Jeſus, the Faireſt and the Beſt
Of all the Forms above.
A thouſand Graces ever riſe
And bloom upon his Face,
A thouſand Arrows from his Eyes
Shoot thro' my Heart with ſweet Surprize,
And ſtand to guard the Place.
II.
All Natures Art ſhall never cure
The Heavenly Pains I found,
And 'tis beyond all Beauties Power
To make another Wound:
Earthly Beauties grow and fade,
Nature may heal the Wounds She made,
But Charms ſo much Divine
[83] Hold a long Empire of the Heart,
What Heaven has joyn'd ſhall never part,
And Jeſus muſt be mine.
III.
In vain the envious Shades of Night,
Or Flatteries of the Day
Would vail his Image from my Sight,
Or tempt my Soul away;
Jeſus is all my Waking Theme,
His Lovely Form meets every Dream,
And knows not to depart:
The Paſſion reigns
Thro' all my Veins,
And floating round the Crimſon Stream
Still finds him at my Heart.
IV.
Dwell there, for ever dwell, my Love;
Here I confine my Sence,
Nor dare my Wildeſt Wiſhes rove,
Nor ſtir a Thought from thence.
Let me be loſt in thine Embrace
As Rivers in the Sea;
[84] Or live Eternity of Days
To ſpend them all with thee.
Still I would lie in thoſe dear Arms
Diſſolving ſtill among thy Charms,
And as the Moments fly,
I'de Breathe away ſucceſſive Souls,
So Billow after Billow rolls
To kiſs the Shoar, and Dye.

THE Abſence of the Beloved.

I.
COME, lead me to ſome lofty Shade
Where Turtles moan their Loves;
Tall Shadows were for Lovers made,
And Grief becomes the Groves.
II.
Tis no mean Beauty of the Ground
That has inſlav'd mine Eyes,
[85] I faint beneath a Nobler Wound,
Nor love below the Skies.
III.
Jeſus the Spring of all that's bright,
The Everlaſting Fair,
Heavens Ornament and Heavens Delight
Is my Eternal Care.
IV.
But, ah! how far above this Grove
Does the dear Charmer dwell?
Abſence, that keeneſt Wound to Love,
That ſharpeſt Pain I feel.
V.
Penſive I climb the Sacred Hills,
And near him vent my Woes,
Yet his ſweet Face he ſtill conceals,
Yet ſtill my Paſſion grows.
VI.
I murmur to the hollow Vale,
I tell the Rocks my Flame,
And bleſs the Eccho in her Cell
That beſt repeats his Name.
[86]VII.
My Paſſion breaths perpetual Sighs
Till pitying Winds ſhall hear,
And gently bear them up the Skies,
And gently wound his Ear.

Sick of Love.
Solom. Song, i. 3.

I.
TELL me thou Faireſt of thy Kind,
My Love, my All-Divine,
Where may this fainting Head reclin'd
Relieve ſuch Cares as mine?
Ye Shepheards, Lead me to your Grove:
If burning Noon Infect the Sky,
The Sick'ning Sheep to Coverts fly,
The Sheep not half ſo Scorch't as I
Thus Languiſhing in Love.
[87]II.
Stretch't on the Flowry Shades along
There would I tune my Tender Song,
And drop a Melting Tear;
Muſick has wondrous Charms they ſay,
Muſick can raging Heats allay,
And Tame the wildeſt Care.
Begin my Song the Soothing Strain;
But the dear Flame is Charming Sweet,
I would not cool the Paſſion yet,
Nor can I bear the pain.
Strangely I'm Rack't in wide Extreams,
I burn, I burn, I burn, and yet I Love the Flames.
III.
Oh why ſhould Beauty Heavenly Bright
Stoop down to Charm a Mortals Sight,
And Torture with the Sweet exceſs of Light?
Our Hearts, alas! how frail their make!
With their own weight of Joy they break,
Oh why is Love ſo ſtrong, and Natures ſelf ſo weak?
[88]IV.
Dear Lord, forgive my raſh Complaint,
And Love me ſtill,
Againſt my froward Will,
Unvail thy Beauties tho' I faint.
Send the great Herald from the Sky,
And at the Trumpets awful roar
This feeble ſtate of things ſhall fly,
And Pain and Pleaſure mix no more.
Then I ſhall gaze with Strengthen'd Sight
On Glories Infinitely bright,
My Heart ſhall all be Love, my Jeſus all Delight.

Sitting in an Arbour.

I.
SWEET Muſe deſcend and bleſs the Shade,
And bleſs the Evening Grove;
Buſineſs and Noiſe and Day are fled,
And every Care but Love.
[89]II.
But hence, Ye Wanton Young and Fair,
Mine is a purer Flame,
No Phillis ſhall infect the Air
With her unhallowed Name.
III.
Jeſus has all my Powers poſſeſt,
My Hopes, my Fears, my Joys:
He the dear Sovereign of my Breaſt
Shall ſtill command my Voice.
IV.
Some of the faireſt Quires above
Shall flock around my Song,
With Joy to hear the Name they Love
Sound from a Mortal Tongue.
V.
His Charms ſhall make my Numbers flow,
And hold the falling Floods,
While Silence ſits on every Bough
And bends the Liſt'ning Woods.
[90]VI.
I'le carve our Paſſion on the, Bark,
And every wounded Tree
Shall drop and bear ſome Myſtick Mark
That Jeſus dy'd for me.
VII.
The Swains ſhall wonder when they read
Inſcrib'd on all the Grove,
That Heaven it Self came down, and bled
To win a Mortals Love.

BEWAILING My own Inconſtancy.

I.
I LOVE the Lord; but ah! how far
My Thoughts from the dear Object are!
This wanton Heart how wide it roves!
And Fancy meets a Thouſand Loves.
[91]II.
[...] my Soul burn to ſee my God
[...] tread the Courts of his abode,
But Troops of Rivals throng the place
And Tempt me off before his Face.
III.
Would I enjoy my Lord alone,
[...] bid my Paſſions all be gone,
All but my Love; and Charge my Will
To bar the Door and keep it ſtill.
IV.
But Cares or Trifles make or find
Still new Avenues to the Mind,
Till I with Grief and Wonder ſee
Huge Crouds betwixt my Lord and Me.
V.
Oft I am told the Muſe will prove
A Friend to Piety and Love;
Strait I begin ſome Sacred Song,
And take my Saviour on my Tongue.
[92]VI.
Strangely I loſe his Lovely Face
To hold the Empty Sounds in Chaſe;
At beſt the Chymes divide my Heart,
And the Muſe ſhares the larger part.
VII.
Falſe Confident! And falſer Breaſt!
Fickle and fond of every Gueſt:
Each Airy Image as it flies
Here finds admittance thro' my Eyes.
VIII.
This Fooliſh Heart can leave her God,
And Shadows tempt her Thoughts abroad,
How ſhall I fix this Wandring Mind,
Or throw my Fetters on the Wind?
IX.
Look gently down, Almighty Grace,
Priſon me round in thine Embrace:
Pity the Soul that would be thine,
And let thy Power my Love Confine.
[93]X.
Say, when ſhall that bright Moment be
That I ſhall live alone for thee,
My Heart no Foreign Lords adore,
And the wild Muſe prove falſe no more?

Forſaken, yet Hoping.

I.
HAPPY the Hours, the Golden Days
When I could call my Jeſus mine,
And ſit and view his Smiling Face,
And melt in Pleaſures all Divine.
II.
Near to my Heart within my Arms
He lay, till Sin defil'd my Breaſt,
Till broken Vows and Earthly Charms
[...]ir'd and provok'd my Heavenly Gueſt.
III.
And now He's gone, (O Mighty Woe)
Gone from my Soul and hides his Love!
[94] Curſe on you, Sins, that griev'd Him ſo,
Ye Sins, that forc'd him to remove.
IV.
Break, Break my Heart, Complain my Tongue,
Hither, my Friends, your Sorrows bring,
Angels, aſſiſt my Doleful Song,
If you have e're a Mourning String.
V.
But, ah! Your Joys are ever high,
Ever His Lovely Face you ſee,
While my poor Spirits pant and die,
And Groan for thee, my God, for thee.
VI.
Yet let my Hope look thro' my Tears
And ſpy afar his rolling Throne,
His Chariot thro' the cleaving Spheres
Shall bring the bright Beloved down.
VII.
Swift as a Roe flies o're the Hills
My Soul ſprings out to meet him high,
Then the dear Conqueror turns his Wheels,
And climbs the Manſions of the Sky.
[95]VIII.
There Smiling Joy for ever reigns,
No more the Turtle leaves the Dove;
Farewel to Jealouſies, and Pains,
And all the Ills of Abſent Love.

The Law and Goſpel.

I.
"CURST be the Man, for ever Curſt
"That doth the ſmalleſt Sin commit,
"Death and Damnation for the Firſt,
"Without Relief and Infinite.
II.
Thus Sinai roars; and round the Earth
Thunder and Fire and Vengeance flings;
[...] Jeſus, thy dear gaſping Breath
[...] Calvary ſays Gentler things.
III.
"Pardon, and Grace and boundleſs Love
"Streaming along a Saviour's Blood,
[96] "And Life and Joys and Crowns above
"Dear purchas'd by a Bleeding God.
IV.
Hark, how he prays, (the Charming Sound
Dwells on his Dying Lips) Forgive;
And every Groan and gaping Wound
Cries, "Father, Let the Rebels Live.
V.
Go you that reſt upon the Law,
And toil and ſeek Salvation there,
Look to the Flames that Moſes ſaw,
And ſhrink, and tremble, and deſpair.
VI.
But I'll retire beneath the Croſs,
Saviour, at thy dear Feet I lie;
And the keen Sword that Juſtice draws
Flaming and Red ſhall paſs me by.

THE Death of MOSES,
Deut. xxxii. 49, 50. and xxxiv. 5, 6.
OR THE Enjoyment of GOD VVorth Dying for.

[97]
I.
LORD, 'tis an Infinite Delight
To ſee thy Lovely Face,
To dwell whole Ages in thy Sight
And feel thy Kind Embrace.
II.
This Gabriel knows; and Sings thy Name
With his Immortal Tongue;
Moſes the Saint Enjoys the ſame,
And Loud repeats the Song.
[98]III.
All the bright Nation ſounds thy Praiſe
From the Eternal Hills,
While the Sweet Odour of thy Grace
The Heavenly Region fills.
IV.
Thy Charming Looks and Shining Power
Spread Life and Joy abroad:
O 'tis a Heaven worth dying for
To ſee a Smiling God.
V.
Shew me thy Face, and I'll away
From all Inferiour Things;
Speak, Lord, and here I quit my Clay,
And ſtretch mine Airy Wings.
VI.
'Twas a Sweet Journey to the Sky
The wondrous Prophet try'd,
"Climb up the Mount, ſays God, and Dye,
The Prophet Climb'd and Dy'd.
[99]VII.
Softly his fainting Head he lay
Upon his Maker's Breaſt,
His Maker Kiſs'd his Soul away,
And laid his Fleſh to reſt.
VIII.
In God's own Arms he left the Breath
That God's own Spirit gave;
His was the Nobleſt Road to Death,
And his the Sweeteſt Grave.

AD Dominum noſtrum & Servatorem Jeſum Chriſtum. ODA.

[100]
I.
TE, Grande Numen, Corporis Incola,
Te, magna magni Progenies Patris,
Nomen verendum noſtri Jeſû
Vox, Citharae, Calami ſonabunt.
II.
Aptentur auro grandiſonae Fides,
Chriſti Triumphos incipe Barbite,
Fractoſque terrores Averni,
Victum Erebum, domitamque Mortem.
[101]III.
Immenſa vaſtos ſaecula circulos
Volvêre, blando dum Patris in ſinû
Toto fruebatur Jehovâ
Gaudia mille bibens Jeſus;
IV.
Donec ſuperno vidit ab Aethere
Adam cadentem, Tartara hiantia,
Unâque mergendos ruinâ
Heu nimium miſeros Nepotes.
V.
Vidit minaces Vindicis Angeli
Ignes & Enſem, Telaque Sanguine
Tingenda noſtro, dum rapinae
Spe fremuere Erebaea Monſtra.
VI.
Commota Sacras Viſcera protinus
Senſêre flammas, Omnipotens Furor
Ebullit, Immenſique Amoris
Aethereum calet Igne pectus.
[102]VII.
"Non tota prorſus Gens hominum dabit
"Hoſti triumphos: Quid Patris & Labor
"Dulciſque Imago? Num peribunt
"Funditus? O prius Aſtra caecis
VIII.
"Mergantur undis, & redeat Chaos.
"Aut ipſe diſperdam Satanae dolos,
"Aut ipſe diſperdar, & iſti
"Sceptra dabo moderanda dextrae.
IX.
"Teſtor paternum Numen, & hoc Caput
"Aequale teſtor, dixit, & Aetheris
Inclinat ingens culmen, alto
Deſiliitque ruens Olympo.
X.
Mortale corpus impiger induit
Artuſque noſtros, heu tenues nimis
Nimiſque viles! Vindicique
Corda dedit fodienda Ferro,
[103]XI.
Vitamque Morti; Proh dolor! O graves
Tonantis Irae! O Lex nimis aſpera!
Merceſque peccati ſevera
Adamici, vetitique fructus,
XII.
Non poena lenis! Quô ruis impotens!
Quo Muſa! largas fundere lachrymas,
Buſtique Divini triumphos
Sacrilego temerare fletu?
XIII.
Sepone queſtus. Laeta Deum cane
Majore Chordâ. Pſalle ſonoriùs
Ut ferreas Mortis cavernas
Et rigidam penetravit Aulam.
XIV.
Senſêre Numen Regna feralia,
Mugit Barathrum, contremuit Chaos,
Dirùm fremebat Rex Gehennae,
Perque ſuum tremebundus Orcum
[104]XV.
Latè refugit. "Nil agis Impie,
"Mergat vel Imis te Phlegethon vadis,
"Hoc findet undas fulmen, Inquit,
Et patrios Jaculatus Ignes
XVI.
Trajecit hoſtem. Nigra Silentia
Umbraeque flammas Aethereas pavent
Dudum peroſae, ex quo coruſco
Praecipites cecidere Coelo.
XVII.
Immane rugit jam Tonitru; fragor
Latè ruinam mandat: ab infimis
Lectaeque deſtinata genti
Tartara disjiciuntur antris.
XVIII.
Heìc ſtrata paſſim vincula, & heìc jacent
Unci cruenti, Tormina Mentium
Inviſa, ploratuque vaſto
Spicula Mors ſibi adempta plangit.
[105]XIX.
En, ut reſurgit Victor ab ultimo
Ditis Profundo, curribus aureis
Aſtricta raptans Monſtra Noctis
Perdomitumque Erebi Tyrannum.
XX.
Quanta Angelorum gaudia Jubilant
Victor paternum dum repetit Polum?
En qualis ardet, dum beati
Limina ſcandit Ovans Olympi!
XXI.
Io Triumphe plectra Seraphica,
Io Triumphe grex hominum ſonet,
Dum laeta quaquaverſus ambos
Aſtra repercutiunt Triumphos.

Excitatio cordis Coelum verſus.

[106]
Ad ſeipſum.
I.
HEU quot ſêcla teris carcere Corporis
Wattſi, quid refugis Limen & Exitum?
Nec meus Aethereum Culmen, & Atria
Magni Patris anhelitat?
II.
Corpus vile creat mille Moleſtias,
Circum Corda volant & Dolor, & Metus,
Peccatumque malis durius omnibus
Caecas Inſidias ſtruit.
[107]III.
Non hoc grata tibi Gaudia de ſolo
Surgunt. Chriſtus abeſt, deliciae tuae,
Longè Chriſtus abeſt, Inter & Angelos
Et picta aſtra perambulans.
IV.
* Coeli ſumma petas, nec Jaculabitur
Iracunda Tonans fulmina: Te Deus
Hortatur; Vacuum tende per Aëra
Pennas nunc homini datas.

Breathing towards the Heavenly Country. Caſimire. Book I. Od. 19. Imitated. ‘Urit me Patriae Decor, &c.

[108]
THE Beauty of my Native Land
Immortal Love inſpires;
I burn, I burn with ſtrong Deſires,
And ſigh and wait the high Command.
There glides the Moon her ſhining Way,
And ſhoots my Heart thro' with a Silver Ray;
Upward my Heart aſpires:
A thouſand Lamps of Golden Light
Hung high in vaulted Azure charm my Sight,
And wink and becken with their Amorous Fires.
[109] O Ye dear Glories of my Heavenly Home,
Bright Sentinels of my Fathers Court
Where all the happy Minds reſort,
When will my Father's Chariot come?
Muſt ye for ever walk the Ethereal Round,
For ever ſee the Mourner lie
An Exile of the Sky,
A Priſoner of the Ground?
Deſcend ſome ſhining Servant from on high,
Build me a haſty Tomb;
A Graſſie Turf will raiſe my Head,
The Neighbouring Lillies dreſs my Bed
And ſhed a cheap Perfume.
Here I put off the Chains of Death
My Soul too long has worn,
Friends, I forbid one groaning Breath,
Or Tear to wet my Urn;
Raphael, behold me all undreſt,
Here gently lay this Fleſh to reſt;
Then mount and lead the Path unknown,
Swift I purſue thee, Flaming Guide, on Pinions of my own.

THE GLORIES of GOD Exceed all Worſhip.

[110]
I.
ETERNAL Power! whoſe high Abode
Becomes the Grandeur of a God;
Infinite Lengths beyond the Bounds
Where the Skies roll their little Rounds.
II.
The loweſt Step about thy Seat
Riſes too high for Gabriel's Feet,
In vain the tall Arch-Angel tries
To reach thine height with wondring Eyes.
III.
Thy dazling Beauties whilſt he Sings
He hides his Face behind his Wings,
And Ranks of Shining Thrones around
Fall Worſhipping, and ſpread the Ground.
[111]IV.
Lord, what ſhall Earth and Aſhes do!
We would adore our Maker too,
From Sin and Duſt to thee we cry
The Great, the Holy, and the High.
V.
Earth from afar has heard thy Fame,
And Worms have learnt to liſp thy Name.
But, O, the Glories of thy Mind
Leave all our ſoaring Thoughts behind.
VI.
God is in Heaven, and Men below,
Short be our Tunes, our Words be few;
A Sacred Reverence checks our Songs,
And Praiſe ſits ſilent on our Tongues.
The END of the Firſt BOOK.
‘Tibi ſilet Laus, O Deus.’Pſal. lxv. 1.

BOOK II.
Odes, Elegies and Epiſtles, &c. SACRED TO VERTUE, LOYALTY AND FRIENDSHIP.

[113]

TO Her MAJESTY.

QUEEN of the Northern World, whoſe gentle Sway
Invites our Love, and binds our Hearts t' Obey:
[114] Forgive the Nation's Groan when William dy'd;
Lo, at thy Feet in all the Loyal Pride
Of riſing Joy Three Happy Realms appear,
And William's Urn almoſt without a Tear
Stands; nor Complains: While from thy Gracious Tongue
Peace flows in Silver Streams amidſt the Throng.
Amazing Balm, that on thoſe Lips was found
To heal the Twinges of that Mortal Wound,
The Danger, and the Scar! Far-diſtant Lands
Whoſe Lives lay truſted in Naſſovian Hands
Transfer their Souls, and live; ſecure they Play
In thy Mild Rays, and feel a growing Day.
Thy beamy Wing at once defends and warms
Fainting Devotion; whilſt in various Forms
Fair Piety ſhines thro' the Brittiſh Iſles:
Here at thy Side, and in thy kindeſt Smiles
Blazing in Ornamental Gold ſhe ſtands,
To Bleſs thy Councils, and Aſſiſt thy Hands,
And Crowds wait round her to receive Commands.
[115] There at a Humble diſtance from the Throne
Beauteous She lies; Her Luſtre all her own,
Ungarniſh'd; yet not bluſhing, nor afraid,
Nor knows Suſpicion, nor affects the Shade.
In Words of Solemn Form, or with a freer Cry
Warm as our Zeal for Thee, We Both addreſs the Sky,
Vow for thy Safety Both, and live beneath thine Eye.
PRINCESS, the World already owns thy Name;
Go, mount the Chariot of Immortal Fame,
Nor Die to be Renown'd: Fames loudeſt Breath
Too dear is purchas'd by an Angels Death.
The Thunder of thy Hand with general Joy
Shall cruſh Rebellion and the Rival Boy:
Thy Sounding Arms his Gallick Patron hears,
And ſpeeds his Flight; nor overtakes his Fears
Till hard Deſpair wring from the Tyrant's Soul
The Iron Tears out. Let thy Frown controul
Our Angry Jarrs at Home, till Wrath ſubmit
Her Bloody Banners to thine Awful Feet
[116] Mad Zeal and Frenzy with their Murtherous Train
Flee theſe Bleſt Realms in thine Auſpicious Reign,
Envy expire in Rage, and Treaſon bite the Chain.
Let no black Scenes affright the Brittiſh Stage,
Thy Thread of Life prolong our Golden Age,
Long bleſs the Earth: Then riſe and ſhine on high
The faireſt Glory of the Weſtern Sky;
There check the Rays of each Malignant Star,
Heal the dire Peſtilence, forbid the War,
Warm the chill North, Sooth the two Rugged Bears,
And ſtretch thy Peaceful Influence to the Southern Spheres.

TO Mr. John Lock Retired from The World of Buſineſs.

[117]
I.
ANGELS are made of Heavenly Things,
And Light and Love our Souls compoſe,
Their Bliſs within their Boſom ſprings,
Within their Boſom flows.
But narrow Minds ſtill make pretence
To ſearch the Coaſts of Fleſh and Sence,
And fetch Diviner Pleaſures thence.
Men are akin to Ethereal Forms,
But they belye their Nobler Birth,
Debaſe their Honour down to Earth,
And claim a ſhare with Worms.
[118]II.
He that has Treaſures of his own
May leave the Cottage or the Throne,
May Quit the Globe, and dwell alone
Within his ſpacious Mind.
LOCK hath a Soul wide as the Sea,
Calm as the Night, bright as the Day,
There may his vaſt Idea's play,
Nor feel a Thought confin'd.

TO Mr. JOHN SHUTE ON Mr. LOCK's Dangerous Sickneſs ſometime after he had retired to ſtudy the Scriptures.

[119]
I.
AND muſt the Man of wondrous Mind
(Now his rich Thoughts are juſt refin'd)
Forſake our Longing Eyes?
Reaſon at length ſubmits to wear
The Wings of Faith, and Lo they rear
Her Chariot high, and nobly bear
Her Prophet to the Skies.
[120]II.
Go, Friend, and wait the Prophet's Flight,
Watch if his Mantle chance to light
And ſeize it for thy own;
SHUTE is the Darling of his Years,
Young SHUTE his better Likeneſs bears,
All but his Wrinkles and his Hairs
Are copy'd in his Son.
III.
Thus when our Follies or our Fau'ts
Call for the Pity of thy Thoughts,
Thy Pen ſhall make us wiſe:
The Sallies of whoſe Youthful Wit
Could pierce the Britiſh Fogs with Light,
Place our true Intereſt in our Sight,
And open half our Eyes.

FRIENDSHIP.
TO Mr. William Nokes.

[121]
I.
FRIENDSHIP, thou Charmer of the Mind,
Thou ſweet deluding III,
The brighteſt Minute Mortals find,
And ſharpeſt Hour we feel.
II.
Fate has divided all our ſhares
Of Pleaſure and of Pain,
In Love the Comforts and the Cares
Are mix'd and joyn'd again.
[122]III.
But whilſt in Floods our Sorrow rolls,
And Drops of Joy are few,
This dear Delight of Mingling Souls
Serves but to ſwell our Woe.
IV.
Oh! why ſhould Bliſs depart in haſte,
And Friendſhip ſtay to moan?
Why the fond Paſſion cling ſo faſt,
When every Joy is gone?
V.
Yet never let our Hearts divide,
Not Death diſſolve the Chain:
For Love and Joy were once ally'd,
And muſt be joyn'd again.

TO Nathanael Gould Eſq
Lawful Ambition.

[123]
I.
'TIS not by Splendor, or by State,
Majeſtick Mien, or lofty Gate
My Muſe takes Meaſure of a King:
If Wealth or Height or Bulk will do,
She calls each Mountain of Peru
A more Exalted thing.
Frown on me, Friend, if e're I boaſt
O're Fellow Minds, enſlav'd in Clay,
Or ſwell when I ſhall have ingroſs't
A larger Heap of Shining Duſt,
And wear a bigger Load of Earth than they.
[124] Let the vain World Salute me loud,
My Thoughts look inward, and forget
The Sounding Names of High and Great,
The Flatteries of the Crowd.
II.
When GOVLD commands His Ships to run
And Search the Traffick of the Sea,
His Fleet o'retakes the falling Day,
And bears the Weſtern Mines away,
Or Richer Spices from the Riſing Sun:
While the glad Tenants of the Shoar
Shout and pronounce him Senator,
Yet ſtill the Man's the ſame:
For well the Happy Merchant knows
The Soul with Treaſure never grows,
Nor ſwells with airy Fame.
III.
But truſt me GOULD, 'tis lawful Pride
To riſe above the mean Controul
Of Fleſh and Sence to which we're ty'd;
This is Ambition that becomes a Soul.
[125] We ſteer our Courſe up thro' the Skies,
Farewel this Barren Land:
We ken the Heavenly Shoar with longing Eyes,
There the dear Wealth of Spirits lies,
And beckoning Angels ſtand.

TO Dr. Thomas Gibſon.
The Life of Souls.

I.
SWIFT as the Sun rolls round the Day
We haſten to the Dead,
Slaves to the Wind we puff away,
And to the Ground we tread.
'Tis Air that lends us Life, when firſt
The vital Bellows heave;
[126] Our Fleſh We borrow of the Duſt,
And when a Mothers Care has Nurſt
The Babe to Manly ſize, we muſt
With Uſury pay the Grave.
Juleps ſtill tend the dying Flame,
And Roots and Herbs play well their Game
To ſave our ſinking Breath,
While GIBSON brings his awful Power
To reſcue the precarious Hour
From the Demands of Death.
II.
I'de have a Life to call my Own
That ſhall depend on Heaven alone;
Nor Air, nor Earth, nor Sea
Mix their baſe Eſſences with mine,
Nor claim Dominion ſo Divine
To give me leave to Be.
III.
Sure there's a Mind within, that reigns
O're the dull current of my Veins,
I feel the Inward Pulſe bear high
With vigorous Immortality.
[127] Let Earth reſume the Fleſh it gave,
And Breath diſſolve amongſt the Winds;
GIBSON, the things that fear a Grave,
That I can looſe, or You can ſave,
Are not akin to Minds.
IV.
We claim acquaintance with the Skies,
Upward our Spirits hourly riſe,
And there our Thoughts Employ:
When Heaven ſhall ſign our Grand Releaſe,
We are no Strangers to the Place,
The Buſineſs, or the Joy.

TO My Brothers E. and T. W.
Falſe Greatneſs.

[128]
I.
BROTHERS, forbear to call him Bleſt
That only has a large Eſtate,
Should all the Treaſures of the Weſt
Meet and Conſpire to make him Great.
Let a broad Stream with Golden Sands
Thro' all his Meadows roll,
He's but a Wretch with all his Lands
That wears a narrow Soul.
II.
He ſwells amidſt his wealthy Store,
And proudly poizing what he weighs,
[129] In his own Scale he fondly lays
Huge Heaps of Shining Oar,
He ſpreads the Balance wide to hold
His Mannors and his Farms,
And cheats the Beam with Loads of Gold
He hugs between his Arms.
So might the Plough-boy climb a Tree,
When Craeſus mounts his Throne,
And both ſtand up and ſmile to ſee
How long their Shadow's grown;
Alaſs! how vain their Fancies be,
To think that Shape their own.
III.
Thus mingled ſtill with Wealth and State
Craeſus himſelf can never know;
His true Dimenſions, and his Weight
Are far inferiour to their ſhow;
Were I ſo tall to reach the Pole,
Or graſp the Ocean with my Span,
I muſt be meaſur'd by my Soul.
The Mind's the Standard of the Man.

TO Mr. A. S. and Mr. T. H.
STRICT RELIGION Exceeding Rare.

[130]
I.
I'ME born aloft and leave the Croud,
I ſail upon a Morning-Cloud
Skirted with dawning Gold:
Mine Eyes beneath the opening Day
Command the Globe with wide ſurvey,
Where Ants in buſie Millions play
And tug and heave the Mould.
II.
"Are Theſe the things, my Paſſion cry'd,
"That we call Men? Are Theſe ally'd
"To the fair Worlds of Light?
[131] "They have ras'd out their Maker's Name
"Grav'n on their Minds with pointed Flame
"In Strokes Divinely bright.
III.
"Wretches, they hate their Native Skies:
"If an Ethereal Thought ariſe
"Or Spark of Vertue ſhine,
"With cruel Force they damp its Plumes,
"Choke the Young Fire with ſenſual Fumes,
"And Chain their Souls to Sin.
IV.
"Lo, how they throng with panting Breath
"The broad deſcending Road
"That leads unerring down to Death,
"Nor miſs the Dark Abode.
Thus while I drop a Tear or two
On the wild Herd, a Noble Few
Dare to ſtray upward, and purſue
Th' unbeaten Way to God.
[132]V.
I meet their Spirits mounting high,
SHALLET I ſaw, and HUNT was there,
They break thro' loads of Pondrous Care,
With Morning Incenſe up they Fly
Perfuming all the Air.
Charm'd with the Pleaſure of the Sight
My Soul adores and Sings:
"Bleſt be the Power that aids their Flight,
"That ſtreaks their Path with heavenly Light,
"And gives them Zeal for Wings.

ON The Sudden Death OF Mrs. Mary Peacock.
An Elegiack Song.

[133]
I.
HARK! She bids all her Friends Adieu;
Some Angel calls her to the Spheres;
Our Eyes the radiant Saint purſue
Thro' liquid Teleſcopes of Tears.
II.
Farewell, bright Soul, a ſhort Farewel
Till We ſhall meet again above
In the ſweet Groves where Pleaſures dwell,
And Trees of Life bear Fruits of Love.
[134]III.
There Glory ſits on every Face,
There Friendſhip ſmiles in every Eye,
There ſhall our Tongues relate the Grace
That led us homeward to the Sky.
IV.
O're all the Names of Chriſt our King
Shall our harmonious Voices rove,
Our Harps ſhall ſound from every String
The Wonders of his bleeding Love.
V.
Come Sovereign Lord, Dear Saviour come,
Remove theſe ſeparating Days,
Send thy bright Wheels to fetch us home;
That Golden Hour, how long it ſtays!
VI.
How long muſt we lie ling'ring here,
While Saints around us take their Flight?
Smiling they quit this dusky Syhere,
And mount the Hills of Heavenly Light.
[135]VII.
Sweet Soul, we leave thee to thy Reſt,
Enjoy thy Jeſus and thy God,
Till we from Bands of Clay releas'd
Spring out and climb the ſhining Road.
VIII.
While the Dear Duſt ſhe leaves behind
Sleeps in thy Boſom, Sacred Tomb;
Soft be her Bed, her Slumbers Kind,
And all her Dreams of Joy to come.

TO THE Reverend Mr. B. Rowe.
'Tis Dangerous to follow the Multitude.

[136]
I.
ROWE, if we make the Croud our Guide
Thro' Life's uncertain Road,
Mean is the Chaſe; and wandering wide
We miſs th' Immortal Good.
Men live at random and by Chance,
Bright Reaſon never leads the Dance;
Whilſt in the broad and beaten Way
O're Hills and Dales from Truth we ſtray,
To Ruin we deſcend, to Ruin we advance.
[137]II.
Wiſdom retires, ſhe hates the Crowd,
And with a decent Scorn
Aloof ſhe climbs her ſteepy Seat,
Where nor the Grave nor Giddy Feet
Of the Learn'd Vulgar or the Rude
Have e're a Paſſage worn.
III.
Meer Hazard firſt began the Track
Where Cuſtom leads her Thouſands blind
In willing Chains and ſtrong;
There's not one bold, one noble Mind
Dares tread the fatal Error back,
But Hand in Hand our ſelves we bind
And drag the Age along.
IV.
Mortals, a Savage Herd, and loud
As Billows on a noiſy Flood
In rapid order roll:
Example makes the Miſchief good:
With jocund Heel we beat the Road
Unheedful of the Goal.
[138]V.
Me let ſome Friendly Seraph's Wing
Snatch from the Crowd, and bear Sublime
To Wiſdom's lofty Tower,
Thence to ſurvey that wretched Thing
Mankind; and in Exalted Rhime
Bleſs the delivering Power.

TO My Siſters S. and M. W.
An Epiſtle.

Dear Siſters,
READ the Love of my Heart in the firſt Line of my Letter, and believe it. I'me much concern'd to bear of my Mother's continued Weakneſs; we take our Share of thoſe painful Diſorders of Nature which afflict her whom we Honour and Love: I know alſo that your Hurries of Buſineſs muſt be more than doubled thereby; but we are daily leaving Care and Sin behind us: The paſt Temptations ſhall vex us no more, [139] the Months that are gone return not, and the Sorrows that we hourly feel leſſen the decreed Number; every Pulſe beats a Moment of Pain away, and thus by Degrees we arrive nearer to the ſweet Period of Life and Trouble.
Bear up (my dear Ones) thro' the ruffling Storms
Of a vain vexing World: Tread down the Cares
Thoſe ragged Thorns that lie acroſs the Road,
Nor ſpend a Tear upon 'em. Truſt me, Siſters,
The Dew of Eyes will make the Briars grow.
Nor let the diſtant Phantom of Delight
Too long allure your Gaze, or ſwell your Hope
To dangerous ſize: If it approach your Feet
And court your Hand, forbid the Intruding Joy
To ſit too near your Heart: Still may our Souls
Claim Kindred with the Skies, nor mix with Duſt
Our betterborn Affections: Leave the Globe
A Neſt for Worms, and haſten to our Home.
O there are Gardens of th' Immortal Kind
That Crown the Heavenly Edens riſing Hills
With Beauty and with Sweets; no Lurking Miſchief
Dwells in the Fruit, nor Serpent twines the Boughs:
[140] The Branches bend Laden with Life and Bliſs
Ripe for the Taſte; but 'tis a ſteep Aſcent:
Hold faſt the* Golden Chain let down from Heaven,
'Twill help your Feet and Wings; I feel its Force
Draw upward: Faſten'd to the Pearly Gate
It Guides the Way unerring: Happy Clue
Thro' this dark Wild! 'Twas Wiſdom's Nobleſt Work,
All joyn'd by Power Divine, and every Link is Love.

Sisters, Accept the ſudden Rapture kindly. The Muſe is not awake every Day, if ſhe has a Moments Releaſe from the Lethargy, ſee, 'tis devoted to ſerve and pleaſe you—&c.

TO Mr. C. and S. Fleetwood.
The World Vain AND The Soul Immortal.

[141]
I.
FLEETWOODS, Young Generous Pair,
Deſpiſe the Joys that Fools purſue;
Bubbles are light and brittle too,
Born of the Water and the Air.
Try'd by a Standard Bold and Juſt
Honour and Gold are Paint and Duſt;
How vile the laſt is, and as vain the firſt:
[142] Things that the Crowd calls Great and Brave,
With me how low their Value's brought!
Titles, and Names, and Life, and Breath,
Slaves to the Wind and born for Death;
The Soul's the only Thing We have
Worth an Important Thought.
II.
The Soul! 'tis of th' Immortal Kind,
Not form'd of Fire, or Earth, or Wind,
Outlives the mouldring Corps, and leaves the Globe behind.
In Limbs of Clay tho' She appears,
Dreſt up in Ears and Eyes,
The Fleſh is but the Souls Diſguiſe,
There's nothing in her Frame kin to the Rags ſhe Wears.
From all the Laws of Matter free,
From all we feel, and all we ſee
She ſtands Eternally diſtinct, and muſt for ever Be.
III.
Riſe then, my Thoughts, on high,
Soar beyond all that's made to Dye;
[143] Lo! on an Awful Throne
Sits the Creatour and the Judge of Souls,
Whirling the Planets round the Poles,
Winds off our Threads of Life, and brings our Periods on.
Swift the Approach, and Solemn is the Day,
When this Immortal Mind
Strip't of the Body's coarſe Array
To Endleſs Pain, or Endleſs Joy
Muſt be at once conſign'd.
IV.
Think of the Sands run down to waſte,
We poſſeſs none of all the Paſt,
None but the Preſent is our own;
Grace is not plac'd within our Power,
'Tis but one ſhort, one ſhining Hour,
Bright and declining as a Setting Sun.
See the white Minutes wing'd with haſt;
The NOW that flies may be the laſt,
Seize the Salvation e're 'tis paſt,
Nor mourn the Bleſſing gone:
[144] A Thoughts Delay is Ruine here,
A Cloſing Eye, a Gaſping Breath
Shuts up the Golden Scene in Death,
And drowns you in Deſpair.

TO Mr. William Blackbourn.
Life flies too faſt to be Waſted.

Quae tegit canas modo Bruma valles
Sole vicinos jaculante montes
Deteget rurſum— Caſimir. Lib. 2. Od. 2.
I.
MARK, how it Snows! how faſt the Vally fills?
And the ſweet Groves the hoary Garment wear;
Yet the Warm Sun-Beams bounding from the Hills
Shall melt the Vail away, and the young Green appear.
[145]II.
But when Old Age has drop't upon your Head
Her Silver Froſt, there's no returning Sun;
Swift rolls our Autumn, ſwift our Summer's fled,
When Youth, and Love, and Spring, and Golden Joys are gone.
III.
Then Cold, and Winter, and your Aged Snow
Stick faſt upon you; not the rich Array,
Nor the Green Garland, nor the Roſy Bough
Shall cancel or conceal the Melancholy Gray.
IV.
The Chaſe of Pleaſure is not worth the Pains,
While the Bright Sands of Health run waſting down
And Honour calls you from the ſofter Scenes
To ſell the gaudy Hour for Ages of Renown.
V.
'Tis but one Youth and ſhort that we can have,
And one Old Age diſſolves our feeble Frame;
But there's a Heavenly Art t' elude the Grave,
And with the Heroe-Race Immortal Kindred claim.
[146]VI.
The Man that has his Countries Sacred Tears
To drop upon his Herſe, has liv'd his Day:
Thus, BLACKBOURN, we ſhould leave our Names our Heirs;
Old Time and waning Moons ſweep all the reſt away.

TO Mr. Robert Atwood.
THE Kingdom of the Wiſe Man.

PART I.

THE riſing Year beheld th' Imperious Gaul
Stretch his Dominion, while a hundred Towns
Crouch'd to the Victor: But a ſteady Soul
[147] Stands firm on its own Baſe, and reigns as wide,
As Abſolute; and ſways ten thouſand Slaves,
Luſts and wild Fancies with a Soveraign Hand.
We are a little Kingdom: But the Man
That chains his Rebel Will to Reaſons Throne
Forms it a large one, ATWOOD, whilſt his Mind
Makes Heaven its Council, from the Rolls above
Draws his own Statutes, and with Joy obeys.
'Tis not a Troop of Well-appointed Guards
Create a Monarch, not a Purple Robe
Dy'd in the Peoples Blood, not all the Crowns
Or dazling Tiars that bend about the Head,
Tho' Gilt with Sun-Beams and beſet with Stars.
A Monarch He that Conquers all his Fears
And treads upon them; when he ſtands alone,
Makes his own Camp; four Guardian Virtues wait
His Nightly Slumbers and ſecure his Dreams.
Now dawns the Light; He ranges all his Thoughts
In ſquare Battalions, bold to meet th' Attacks
Of Time and Chance, himſelf a numerous Hoſt,
[148] All Eye, all Ear, all wakeful as the Day,
Firm as a Rock, and moveleſs as the Centre.
In vain the Harlot Pleaſure ſpreads her Charms
To lull his Thoughts in Luxuries fair Lap
To ſenſual Eaſe, (the Bane of little Kings,
Monarchs whoſe waxen Images of Souls
Are moulded into Softneſs) ſtill his Mind
Wears its own Shape, nor can the Heavenly Form
Stoop to be model'd by the wild Decrees
Of the mad Vulgar, that unthinking Herd.
He lives above the Crowd, nor hears the Noiſe
Of Wars and Triumphs, nor regards the Shouts
Of Popular Applauſe, that empty Sound,
Nor feels the flying Arrow of Reproach,
Or Spite, or Envy. In himſelf ſecure,
Wiſdom his Tower, and Conſcience is his Shield,
His Peace all Inward, and his Joys his Own.
Now my Ambition ſwells, my Wiſhes ſoar,
This be my Kingdom; ſit above the Globe
[149] My 'Riſing Soul, and dreſs thy ſelf around
And ſhine in Virtues Armour; Climb the height
Of Wiſdoms lofty Caſtle, there reſide
Safe from the Smiling and the Frowning World.
Yet once a Day drop down a gentle Look
On the great Molehill, and with pitying Eye
Survey the Buſie Emmets round the Heap
Crowding and Buſtling in a Thouſand Forms
Of Strife and Toil, to purchaſe Wealth and Fame,
A Bubble or a Duſt: Then call thy Thoughts
Up to thy ſelf to feed on Joys unknown,
Rich without Gold, and Great without Renown.

PART II. OR The Bold Stoick.

[150]
HOnour demands my Song. Forget the Ground
My Generous Muſe, and ſit amongſt the Stars;
There ſing the Soul, that Conſcious of her Birth
Lives like a Native of the Vital World
Amongſt theſe dying Clods, and bears her State
Juſt to her ſelf: How nobly ſhe maintains
Her Character, Superiour to the Fleſh,
She weilds her Paſſions like her Limbs, and knows
The Brutal Powers were only born't obey.
This is the Man whom Storms could never make
Meanly complain, nor can a flatt'ring Gale
Make him talk proudly: He hath no Deſire
To read his Secret Fate; yet unconcern'd
[151] And calm could meet his unborn Deſtiny
In all its Charming or its Frightful Shapes.
He that unſhrinking and without a Groan
Bears the firſt Wound may finiſh all the War
With meer Couragious Silence, and come off
Conqueror: For the Man that well conceals
The heavy Strokes of Fate he bears 'em well.
He, tho' th' Atlantick and the Midland Seas
With adverſe Surges meet, and riſe on high
Suſpended 'twixt the Winds, then ruſh amain
Mingled with Flames upon his Single Head
And Clouds and Stars and Thunder, he would ſtand
And from the lofty Caſtle of his Mind
Sublime look down and Joyfully Survey
The Ruins of Creation; he alone
Heir of the Dying World: A piercing Glance
Shoots upwards from between his cloſing Lids
To reach his Birth-place, then without a Sigh
He bids his batter'd Fleſh lie gently down
Amongſt its Native Rubbiſh; while his Soul
[152] Breaths and flies upward, an undoubted Gueſt
Of the third Heaven, th' unruinable Sky.
Thither when Fate has brought Our willing Souls,
No matter whether 'twas a Sharp Diſeaſe,
Or a ſharp Sword that help'd the Travellers on,
And puſh'd us to our Home. Bear up my Friend,
My ATWOOD, and break thro' the Surging Brine
With ſteddy Prow; Know, we ſhall once arrive
At the fair Haven of Eternal Bliſs
To which we ever ſteer; whether as Kings
Of wide Command we've ſpread the Spacious Sea
With a broad Painted Fleet, or Row'd along
In a thin Cockboat with a little Oar.
There let my narrow Plank ſhift me to Land
And I'll be happy, thus I'll leap Aſhore
Joyful and fearleſs on the Immortal Coaſt,
Since all I leave is Mortal, and it muſt be loſt.

Free Philoſophy.
To the much Honoured Mr. Thomas Rowe. THE Director of my Youthful Studies.

[153]
I.
CUSTOM, that Tyranneſs of Fools,
That leads the Learned round the Schools
In Magick Chains of Forms and Rules,
My Genius ſtorms her Throne:
No more ye Slaves with Awe profound
Beat the dull Track, nor dance the Round,
Looſe Hands, and quit th' Inchanted Ground,
Knowledge invites us each alone.
[154]II.
I hate theſe Shackles of the Mind
Forg'd by the haughty Wiſe;
Souls were not born to be confin'd,
And led like Sampſon Bound and Blind:
I love thy gentle Influence, ROWE,
Who only doſt Adviſe:
Thy gentle Influence like the Sun
Only diſſolves the Frozen Snow,
Then bids our Thoughts like Rivers flow,
And chuſe the Channels where they run.
III.
Thoughts ſhould be free as Fire or Wind;
The Pinions of a Single Mind
Will thro' all Nature fly:
But who can drag up to the Poles
Long fetter'd Ranks of Leaden Souls?
My Genius which no Chain controuls
Roves with Delight, or deep or high:
Swift I ſurvey the Globe around,
Dive to the Centre thro' the Solid Ground,
Or travel o're the Sky.

To the Reverend Mr. John Howe.
THE Vanity of Human Cares.

[155]
I.
GREAT Man, permit the Muſe to climb
And ſeat her at thy Feet,
Bid her attempt a Thought ſublime,
And conſecrate her Wit.
I feel, I feel th' attractive Force
Of thy ſuperiour Soul,
My Chariot flies her upward Courſe,
The Wheels Divinely roll.
Now let me chide the mean Affairs
And mighty Toyl of Men:
[156] How they grow grey in trifling Cares,
Or waſt the Motions of the Spheres
Upon Delights as vain!
II.
A Puff of Honour fills the Mind,
And Yellow Duſt is ſolid Good;
Thus like the Aſs of Savage Kind
We ſnuff the Breezes of the Wind,
Or ſteal the Serpents Food.
Could all the Choirs
That charm the Poles
But ſtrike one doleful Sound,
'Twould be imploy'd to mourn our Souls,
Souls that were fram'd of Sprightly Fires
In Floods of Folly drown'd.
Souls made of Glory ſeek a Brutal Joy,
How they diſclaim their Heavenly Birth,
Melt their Bright Subſtance down with droſſy Earth,
And hate to be refin'd from that impure Alloy.
III.
Oft has thy Genius rouz'd us hence
With Elevated Song,
[157] Bid us renounce this World of Sence,
Bid us divide th' Immortal Prize
With the Seraphick Throng:
"Knowledge and Love make Spirits bleſt,
"Knowledge their Food and Love their Reſt;
But Fleſh, the unmanageable Beaſt,
Reſiſts the Pity of thine Eyes
And Muſick of thy Tongue.
Then let the Worms of groveling Mind
Round the ſhort Joys of Earthy Kind
In reſtleſs Windings Roam;
HOWE hath an ample Orb of Soul,
Where ſhining Worlds of Knowledge roll,
Where Love the Center and the Pole
Compleats the Heaven at Home.

TO Mr. Nicholas Clark.
Complaining of Vapors, OR, Diſorders of the Head.

[158]
I.
TWAS in a Vale where Oſyers grow
By murm'ring Streams we told our Woe,
And mingled all our Cares:
Friendſhip ſat pleas'd in both our Eyes,
In both the weeping Dews ariſe
And drop alternate Tears.
[159]II.
The Vigorous Monarch of the Day
How mounted half his Morning Way
Shone with a fainter Bright,
Still ſickning and decaying ſtill
Dimly he wander'd up the Hill
With his Expiring Light.
III.
In dark Eclipſe his Chariot roll'd,
The Queen of Night obſcur'd his Gold
Behind her Sable Wheels:
Nature grew ſad to looſe the Day,
The Flow'ry Vales in Mourning lay,
In Mourning ſtood the Hills.
IV.
Such are our Sorrows, CLARK, I cry'd,
Clouds of the Brain grow black, and hide
Our darkned Souls behind;
In the young Morning of our Years
Diſtempering Fogs have climb'd the Spheres,
And Choke the Lab'ring Mind.
[160]V.
Lo the Gay Planet rears his Head
And overlooks the Lofty Shade
New-bright'ning all the Skies
But ſay, Dear Part'ner of my Moan,
When will our long Eclipſe be gone,
Or when our Suns ariſe?
VI.
In vain are potent Herbs apply'd,
Harmonious Sounds in vain have try'd
To make the Darkneſs fly.
But Drugs would raiſe the Dead as ſoon,
Or clatt'ring Braſs relieve the Moon,
When fainting in the Sky.
VII.
Some friendly Spirit from above,
Born of the Light, and nurs't with Love,
Aſſiſt our feebler Fires;
Force theſe Invading Glooms away;
Souls ſhould be ſeen quite thro' their Clay
Bright as your Heavenly Choirs.
[161]VIII.
But if the Fogs muſt damp the Flame,
Gently, kind Death, diſſolve our Frame,
Releaſe the Priſoner-Mind:
Our Souls ſhall mount at thy Diſcharge
To their bright Source, and ſhine at large
Nor clouded, nor confin'd.

UPON The Diſmal Narrative OF THE Afflictions of a Friend.

I.
NOW let my Cares all buried lie,
My Griefs for ever Dumb:
Your Sorrows ſwell my Heart ſo high
They leave my own no Room.
[162]II.
Sickneſs and Pains are quite forgot,
The Spleen itſelf is gone,
Plung'd in your Woes I feel them not,
Or feel them all in One.
III.
Infinite Grief puts Senſe to flight,
And all the Soul invades:
So the broad Gloom of ſpreading Night
Devours the Evening Shades.
IV.
Thus am I born to be Unbleſt!
This Sympathy of Woe
Drives my own Tyrants from my Breaſt
T' admit a Forreign Foe,
V.
Sorrows in long Succeſſion reign;
Their Iron Rod I feel,
Friendſhip has only chang'd the Chain,
But I'me the Pris'ner ſtill.
[163]VI.
Why was this Life for Miſery made?
Or why drawn out ſo long?
Is there no room amongſt the Dead?
Or is a Wretch too Young?
VII.
Move faſter on, Great Nature's Wheel,
Be kind, ye rolling Powers,
Hurl my Days headlong down the Hill
With undiſtinguiſht Hours.
VIII.
Be dusky all my riſing Suns,
Nor ſmile upon a Slave:
Darkneſs and Death, make haſt at once
To hide me in the Grave.

THE REVERSE; ON THE View of ſome of my Friends remaining Comforts.

[164]
I.
THUS Nature tun'd her Mournful Tongue,
Till Grace lift up her Head,
Revers'd the Sorrow and the Song,
And ſmiling thus ſhe ſaid.
II.
Were kindred Spirits born for Cares?
Muſt every Grief be mine?
Is there a Sympathy in Tears,
And Joys refuſe to Joyn?
[165]III.
Forbid it Heav'n, and raiſe my Love,
And make our Joys the ſame:
So Bliſs and Friendſhip joyn'd above
Mix an Immortal Flame.
IV.
Sorrows are loſt in vaſt Delight
That Brightens all the Soul,
As Deluges of dawning Light
O'rewhelm the Dusky Pole.
V.
Pleaſures in long Succeſſion reign
And all my Powers Imploy:
Friendſhip but ſhifts the pleaſing Scene,
And freſh repeats the Joy.
VI.
Life has a ſoft and ſilver Thread,
Nor is it drawn too long,
Yet when my vaſter Hopes perſwade
I'me willing to be gone.
[166]VII.
Faſt as ye pleaſe roll down the Hill,
And haſt away, my Years;
Or I can wait my Father's Will,
And dwell beneath the Spheres.
VIII.
Riſe glorious every future Sun,
And bright be all my Days,
Till Death that brighteſt Moment come
With well-diſtinguiſh't Rays.

To the Right Honourable JOHN Lord CUTTS.
[At the Siege of Namure.]
The Hardy Soldier.

[167]
I.
"O Why is Man ſo thoughtleſs grown?
"Why guilty Souls in haſt to dye?
"Vent'ring the Leap to Worlds unknown,
"And heedleſs to the Battel fly?
II.
"Are Lives but worth a Soldiers Pay?
"Why will ye joyn ſuch wide Extreams?
"And ſtake Immortal Souls in play
"At deſperate Chance and Bloody Games?
[168]III.
"Valour's a nobler Turn of Thought,
"Whoſe pardon'd Guilt forbids her Fears:
"Calmly ſhe meets the deadly Shot
"Secure of Life above the Stars.
IV.
"But Frenzy dares Eternal Fate,
"And ſpurr'd with Honour's Airy Dreams
"Flies to Attack th' Infernal Gate,
"And force a Paſſage to the Flames.
V.
Thus hov'ring o're NAMVRIA's Plains
Sung Heav'nly Love in Gabriel's form:
Young THRASO felt the moving Strains,
And Vow'd to pray before the Storm.
VI.
Anon the Thundring Trumpet calls,
"My Vows be damn'd, the Hero crys,
Then Swears by Heav'n, and Scales the Walls,
Drops in the Ditch, deſpairs, and dies.

Againſt Tears. The beginning of Ode 23. Book 4. of Caſimire Imitated.

Si, quae flent mala, lugubres
Auferrent Oculi, &c.


TO Mrs. B. Bendiſh.

[169]
MADAM,
I.
COULD you perſwade me Tears were Good
To waſh our Mortal Cares away,
Theſe Eyes of mine ſhould weep a Flood,
And Stream into a Briny Sea.
II.
Or if theſe Orbs are hard and dry,
(Theſe Orbs that never uſe to Rain)
I'de part with all I'me worth to buy
One Sovereign Drop for all my Pain.
[170]III.
Were both the Golden Indies mine,
I'de give both Indies for a Tear;
I'de Barter all but what's Divine,
Nor ſhould I think the Bargain Dear.
IV.
But Tears, alas, are trifling Things,
They rather feed than heal our Woe;
From trickling Eyes new Sorrow ſprings,
As Weeds in Rainy Seaſons grow.
V.
Thus Weeping urges Weeping on;
In vain our Miſeries hope Relief,
For one Drop calls another down,
Till we are drown'd in Seas of Grief.
VI.
Then let your ſtreaming Tears be ſtaid,
Wear Native Courage on your Face:
Theſe Vulgar Things were never made
For Souls of a Superior Race.
[171]VII.
If 'tis a Thorny Path you go,
And thouſand Foes your Steps ſurround,
Stamp the Thorns down, Charge thro' the Foe:
The Hardeſt Fight is Higheſt Crown'd.

A Word of Warning, OR Few Happy Marriages.

I.
SAY, Mighty Love, and teach my Song
To whom thy Sweeteſt Joys belong,
And who the Happy Pairs
Whoſe Yielding Hearts and Joyning Hands
Find Bleſſings twiſted with their Bands
To ſoften all their Cares.
[172]II.
Not the Wild Herd of Nymphs and Swains
That thoughtleſs fly into the Chains
As Cuſtom leads the way:
If there be Bliſs without Deſign,
Ivys and Oaks may grow and twine,
And be as Bleſt as they.
III.
Not Sordid Souls, whoſe Earthy Mould
Drawn by Congenial Charms of Gold
To dull Embraces move:
So two Rich Mountains of Peru
May ruſh to Wealthy Marriage too,
And make a World of Love.
IV.
Not the Mad Tribe that Hell inſpires
With Wanton Flames; thoſe raging Fires
The Purer Bliſs deſtroy:
On Aetna's top let Furies Wed,
And Sheets of Lightning dreſs the Bed
T' improve the Burning Joy.
[173]V.
Nor the Dull Pairs whoſe Marble Forms
None of the melting Paſſions warms,
Can mingle Hearts and Hands:
Logs of green Wood that quench the Coals
Are Married juſt like Stoick Souls,
With Oſyers for their Bands.
VI.
Not Minds of Melancholy Strain
Still Silent, or that ſtill Complain,
Can the dear Bondage bleſs:
As well may Heavenly Conſorts ſpring
From two old Lutes with ne're a String,
Or none beſides the Baſs.
VII.
Nor can the ſoft Enchantments hold
Two Jarring Souls of Angry Mould,
The Rugged, and the Keen:
Sampſon's young Foxes might as well
In Bonds of Cheerful Wedlock dwell
With Fire-brands ty'd between.
[174]VIII.
Nor let the Cruel Fetters bind
A Gentle to a Savage Mind;
For Love abhors the Sight:
Looſe the fierce Tyger from the Deer,
For native Rage and native Fear
Stand and forbid Delight.
IX.
Two Kindeſt Souls alone muſt meet;
'Tis Friendſhip makes the Bondage ſweet,
And feeds their mutual Loves:
Bright Venus on her Rolling Throne
Is drawn by gentleſt Birds alone,
And Cupids Yoke the Doves.

TO Mr. Henry Bendiſh.
[176]The Indian Philoſopher, OR Matches made Above, But Broke in coming down.

[175]
Dear SIR,
THE following Song was yours when firſt compos'd: The Muſe then deſcribed the general Fate of Mankind, that is, to be Ill-match'd: And now ſhe rejoyces that you have eſcaped the common Miſchief, and that your Soul has found its own Mate. Let this Ode then Congratulate you Both: Grow mutually in more compleat Likeneſs and Love; Perſevere and be Happy: Accept from the Preſs what the Pen more privately inſcribed to you.
I.
WHY ſhould our Joys transform to Pain?
Why gentle Hymen's Silken Chain
A Plague of Iron prove?
BENDISH, 'tis ſtrange the Charm that binds
Millions of Hands ſhould leave their Minds
At ſuch a looſe from Love.
II.
In vain I ſought the wondrous Cauſe,
Rang'd the wide Fields of Natures Laws,
And urg'd the Schools in vain;
[177] Then deep in Thought, within my Breaſt
My Soul retir'd, and Slumber dreſt
A bright Inſtructive Scene.
III.
O're the broad Lands and 'croſs the Tide
On Fancies Airy Horſe I ride,
(Sweet Rapture of the Mind)
Till on the Banks of Ganges Flood
In a tall Ancient Grove I ſtood
For Sacred Uſe deſign'd.
IV.
Hard by a Venerable Prieſt
Ris'n with his God the Sun from Reſt
Awoke his Morning-Song;
Thrice he conjur'd the Murm'ring Stream;
The Birth of Souls was all his Theme,
And half Divine his Tongue.
V.
"He Sang th' Eternal rolling Flame,
"That Vital Maſs, that ſtill the ſame
"Does all our Minds compoſe;
[178] "But ſhap'd in twice ten thouſand Frames,
"Thence differing Souls of differing Names,
"And Jarring Tempers roſe.
VI.
"The mighty Power that form'd the Mind
"One Mould for every Two deſign'd,
"And bleſs'd the New-born Pair:
"This be a Match for This, he ſaid,
"Then down he ſent the Souls he made
"To ſeek them Bodies here:
VII.
"But parting from their warm Abode
"They loſt their Fellows on the Road,
"And never joyn'd their Hands:
"Ah cruel Chance, and croſſing Fates!
"Our Eaſtern Souls have dropt their Mates
"On Europes Barbarous Lands.
VIII.
"Happy the Youth that finds the Bride
"Whoſe Birth is to his own ally'd,
"The Sweeteſt Joy of Life:
[179] "But Oh the Crowds of Wretched Souls
"Fetter'd to Minds of different Moulds,
"And chain'd t' Eternal Strife!
IX.
Thus Sang the wondrous Indian Bard,
My Soul with vaſt Attention heard,
While Ganges ceas'd to flow:
"Sure then, I cry'd, might I but ſee
"That gentle Nymph that twinn'd with me,
"I may be Happy too.
X.
"Some Courteous Angel tell me where,
"What diſtant Lands this unknown Fair
"Or diſtant Seas detain?
"Swift as the Wheel of Nature rolls
"I'de fly to meet and mingle Souls,
"And wear the Joyful Chain.

TO David Polhill Eſq
An Epiſtle.

[180]
I.
LET uſeleſs Souls to Woods retreat,
POLHILL ſhould leave a Country Seat
When Vertue bids him dare be Great.
II.
Nor Kent, nor Suſſex ſhould have Charms
While Liberty with Loud Alarms
Calls you to Counſels and to Arms.
III.
Lewis by his own Slaves Ador'd
Bids you receive a Baſe-born Lord:
Awake your Cares! Awake your Sword!
[181]IV.
Young Tory Votes to Rule the People
By High-Church; Can you Swear and Tipple,
And fetch Commiſſions from the Steeple?
V.
Thy Grandſire-ſhades with Jealous Eye
Frown down to ſee their Offspring lie
Careleſs, and let their Country die.
VI.
If Trevia fear to let you ſtand
Againſt the Gaul with Spear in Hand,
At leaſt Petition for the Land.

TO David Polhill Eſq
AN Anſwer to an Infamous SATYR, CALL'D, Advice to a Painter, Written chiefly againſt King WILLIAM III. Of Glorious Memory.

[182]

PART I.

AND muſt the Hero that redeem'd our Land
Here in the Front of Vice and Scandal ſtand?
The Man of Wondrous Soul, that Scorn'd his Eaſe
Tempting the Winters and the faithleſs Seas,
[183] And paid an Annual Tribute of his Life
To guard his England from the Iriſh Knife
And cruſh the French Dragoon? Muſt WILLIAM's Name
That brighteſt Star that gilds the Wings of Fame,
WILLIAM the Brave, the Pious, and the Juſt
Adorn theſe gloomy Scenes of Tyranny and Luſt?
POLHILL, my Blood's a Fire, my Spirits flame;
Vengeance and Darkneſs on the Poets Name:
Why ſmoak the Skies not? Why no Thunders roll?
Nor kindling Lightnings blaſt his guilty Soul?
Audacious Wretch! to ſtab a Monarch's Fame,
And fire his Subjects with a Rebel-Flame,
To call the Painter to his Black Deſigns
To draw our Guardian's Face in Helliſh Lines:
Painter beware! the Monarch can be ſhown
Under no Shape but Angels or his own,
GABRIEL or WILLIAM on the Brittiſh Throne.
Oh! could my Thoughts but graſp the vaſt Deſign,
And Words with Infinite Ideas joyn,
[184] I'de rouſe Apelles from his Iron Sleep,
And bid him trace the Warriour o're the Deep:
Trace him Apelles, o're the Belgian Plain,
Fierce, how he climbs the Mountains of the Slain
Scattering Juſt Vengeance thro' the Red Campaign.
Then daſh the Canvas with a flying Stroke
Till it be loſt in Clouds of Fire and Smoak,
And ſay, 'Twas thus the Conqueror thro' the Squadrons broke.
Mark him again emerging from the Cloud
Far from his Troops; there like a Rock he ſtood
His Countries Single Barrier in a Sea of Blood.
Calmly he leaves the Pleaſures of a Throne,
And his MARIA Weeping; whilſt alone
He wards the Fate of Nations, and provokes his own:
But Heav'n ſecures its Champion; o're the Field
Paint hov'ring Angels; tho' they fly conceal'd,
Each intercepts a Death, and wears it on his Shield.
Now, noble Pencil; lead him to our Iſle,
Mark how the Skies with Joyful Luſtre ſmile,
[185] Then imitate the Glory; on the Strand
Spread half the Nation longing till he Land.
Waſh off the Blood, and take a peaceful Teint,
All Red the Warriour, White the Ruler paint,
Abroad a Hero, and at Home a Saint.
Throne him on high upon a ſhining Seat,
Luſt and Prophaneneſs dying at his Feet,
While round his Head the Lawrel and the Olive meet,
The Crowns of War and Peace; and may they blow
With Flow'ry Bleſſings ever on his Brow.
At his right Hand pile all the Engliſh Laws
In Sacred Volumes; thence the Monarch draws
His Wiſe and Juſt Commands—
Riſe ye Old Sages of the Brittiſh Iſle,
On the fair Tablet caſt a reverend Smile
And bleſs the Peice; theſe Statutes are your own,
That ſway the Cottage, and direct the Throne;
People and Prince are one in WILLIAM's Name,
Their Joys, their Dangers, and their Laws the ſame.
[186] Let Liberty and Right with Plumes diſplay'd
Clap their glad Wings around their Guardian's Head,
Religion o're the reſt her Starry Pinions ſpread.
Religion guards him; round the Imperial Queen,
Place waiting Vertues, each of Heav'nly Mien;
Learn their bright Air, and paint it from his Eyes,
The Juſt, the Bold, the Temperate, and the Wiſe
Dwell in his Looks: Majeſtick, but Serene;
Sweet, with no Fondneſs; Cheerful, but not Vain:
Bright without Terror; Great, without Diſdain.
His Soul inſpires us what his Lips command,
And ſpreads his brave Example thro' the Land,
Not ſo the former Reigns;—
Bend down his Ear to each afflicted Cry,
Let Beams of Grace dart gently from his Eye;
But the bright Treaſures of his Sacred Breaſt
Are too Divine, too Vaſt to be expreſt,
Colours muſt fail where Words and Numbers faint,
And leave the Hero's Heart for Thought alone to paint.

PART II.

[187]
NOW Muſe, purſue the Satyriſt again,
Wipe off the Blotts of his Invenom'd Pen;
Hark, how he bids the Servile Painter draw
In monſtrous Shapes the Patrons of our Law;
At one ſlight Daſh he cancels every Name
From the white Rolls of Honeſty and Fame:
This Scribbling Wretch marks all he meets for Knave,
Shoots ſudden Bolts promiſcuous at the Baſe and Brave,
And with unpardonable Malice ſheds
Poiſon and Spite on undiſtinguiſh'd Heads.
Painter, forbear; or if thy bolder Hand
Dares to attempt the Villains of the Land,
Draw firſt this Poet, like ſome baleful Star
With ſilent Influence ſhedding Civil War;
Or Factious Trumpeter, whoſe Magick Sound
Calls off the Subjects to the Hoſtile Ground,
And ſcatters Helliſh Feuds the Nation Round.
[188] Theſe are the Imps of Hell, that curſed Tribe
That firſt create the Plague, and then the Pain deſcribe.
Draw next above, the Great Ones of our Iſle,
Still from the Good diſtinguiſhing the Vile;
Seat 'em in Pomp, in Grandeur, and Command,
Feeling the Subjects with a greedy Hand:
Paint forth the Knaves that have the Nation ſold,
And tinge their greedy Looks with ſordid Gold.
Mark what a ſelfiſh Faction undermines
The Pious Monarch's generous Deſigns,
Spoil their own Native Land as Vipers do,
Vipers that tear their Mothers Bowels thro'.
Let great NASSAW beneath a careful Crown
Mournful in Majeſty, look gently down,
Mingling ſoft Pity with an Awful Frown:
He grieves to ſee how long in vain he ſtrove
To make us bleſt, how vain his Labours prove
To ſave the ſtubborn Land he condeſcends to Love.

TO THE Diſcontented and Unquiet.
Vertue alone makes the Mind Eaſie.

[189]
Imitated partly from Caſimire: Book 4. Ode 15.
Nil eſt, Munati, nil iterum canam
Mortale nil eſt immedicabilis
Immune taedî, &c.
MADAM, There's nothing here that's free
From weariſome Anxiety:
And the whole Round of Mortal Joys
With ſhort poſſeſſion tires and cloys:
'Tis a dull Circle that we tread
Juſt from the Window to the Bed,
[190] We riſe to ſee and to be ſeen,
Gaze on the World a while, and then
We Yawn and Stretch to Sleep again.
But FANCY, that uneaſie Gueſt
Still holds a Lodging in our Beaſt;
She finds or frames Vexations ſtill,
Her ſelf the greateſt Plague we feel.
We take ſtrange Pleaſure in our Pain,
And make a Mountain of a Grain,
Aſſume the Load, and pant and ſweat
Beneath th' Imaginary Weight.
With our dear ſelves we live at ſtrife,
While the moſt conſtant Scenes of Life
From Peeviſh Humours are not free;
Still we affect Variety:
Rather than paſs an Eaſie Day,
We Fret and Chide the Hours away,
Grow weary of this Rolling Sun,
And vex that he ſhould ever run
The ſame old Track; and ſtill, and ſtill
Riſe red behind yon Eaſtern Hill,
[191] And chide the Moon that darts her Light
Thro' the ſame Caſement every Night.
We ſhift our Chambers and our Homes
To dwell where Trouble never comes:
Sylvia has left the City Croud,
Againſt the Court exclaims aloud,
Flies to the Woods; a Hermit-Saint!
She loaths her Patches, Pins, and Paint,
Dear Diamonds from her Neck are torn:
But HUMOUR, that Eternal Thorn
Sticks in her Heart: She's hurry'd ſtill
'Twixt her Wild Paſſions and her Will:
Haunted and hagg'd where're ſhe roves
By purling Streams, and ſilent Groves,
Or with her Furies, or her Loves.
Then our own Native Land we hate,
Too Cold, too Windy, or too Wet;
Change the thick Climate, and repair
To France or Italy for Air;
[192] In vain we change, in vain we fly;
Go Sylvia, mount the Whirling Sky,
Or ride upon the Feather'd Wind;
In vain; If this Diſeaſed Mind
Clings faſt and ſtill ſits cloſe behind.
Faithful Diſeaſe, that never fails
Attendance at her Ladies ſide
Over the Deſart or the Tide
On rolling Wheels or flying Sails.
Happy the Soul that Vertue ſhows
To fix the place of her Repoſe,
Needleſs to move; for ſhe can dwell
In her Old Grandſire's Hall as well.
VERTUE that never loves to roam,
But ſweetly hides her ſelf at Home,
And eaſy on a Native Throne
Of humble Turf ſits gently down.
Yet ſhould Tumultuous Storms ariſe
And mingle Earth and Seas, and Skies,
[193] Should the Waves ſwell, and make her roll
Acroſs the Line or near the Pole,
Still She's at Peace; for well She knows
To lanch the Stream that Duty ſhows,
And makes her Home wher'ere She goes.
Bear her, ye Seas, upon your Breaſt,
Or waft her, Winds, from Eaſt to Weſt
On the ſoft Air; She cannot find
A Couch ſo eaſie as her Mind,
Nor breathe a Climate half ſo kind.

TO John Hartopp Eſq
Youth and Pleaſure tarry not.

[194]
Caſimire, Book 1. Ode 4. Imitated.‘Vive jucundae metuens juventae, &c.’
I.
LIVE, my Dear HARTOPP, live to Day,
Nor let the Sun look down and ſay,
"Inglorious here he lies.
Shake off your Eaſe, and ſend your Name
To Immortality and Fame
By ev'ry Hour that flies.
[195]II.
Youth's a ſoft Scene, but truſt her not,
Her Airy Minutes ſwift as Thought
Slide off the Slipp'ry Sphere;
Moons with their Months make haſty Rounds,
The Sun has paſs'd his Vernal Bounds
And whirls about the Year.
III.
Let Folly dreſs in Green and Red,
And Gird her Waſt with flowing Gold,
Knit bluſhing Roſes round her Head,
Alaſs! the gaudy Colours fade,
The Garment waxes old.
HARTOPP, mark the withering Roſe,
And the pale Gold how dim it ſhows!
IV.
Bright and laſting Bliſs below
Is all Romance and Dream,
Only the Joys Coeleſtial flow
In an Eternal Stream.
The Pleaſures that the Smiling Day
With large Right hand beſtows,
[196] Falſly her Left conveys away
And ſhuffles in our Woes.
So have I ſeen a Mother play
And Cheat her Silly Child,
She gave and took a Toy away,
The Infant cry'd, and ſmil'd.
V.
Airy Chance and Iron Fate
Hurry and Vex our Mortal State,
And all the Race of Ills create;
Now fiery Joy, now ſullen Grief
Commands the Reins of Human Life,
The Wheels impetuous roll;
The harneſt Hours and Minutes ſtrive,
And Days with ſtretching Pinions drive
down fiercely on the Goal.
VI.
Not half ſo faſt the Gally flies
O're the Venetian Sea,
When Sails and Oars and laboring Skies
Contend to make her Way.
[197] Swift Wings for all the flying Hours
The God of Time prepares,
They reſt lie ſtill yet in their Neſt
And grow for future Years.

TO Thomas Gunſton Eſq
Happy Solitude.

Caſimire Book 4. Ode 12. Imitated.‘Quid me latentem, &c.’
I.
THE noiſy World complains of me
That I ſhould ſhun their Sight, and flee
Viſits, and Crowds and Company.
[198] GUNSTON, the Lark dwells in her Neſt
Until ſhe mount the Skies;
And in my Cloſet I could reſt
Till to the Heavens I riſe.
II.
Yet they will urge, "This private Life
"Can never make you Bleſt,
"And twenty Doors are ſtill at Strife
"T' engage you for a Gueſt?
Friend, ſhould you ſee the Louvre, or Whitehall
Open their Royal Gates, and call,
And wait for WATTS to come,
He has no Buſineſs there at all
Who finds ſo much at Home.
III.
When I within my ſelf retreat,
I ſhut my Doors againſt the Great;
My buſy Eyeballs inward roll,
And there with large ſurvey I ſee
All the wide Theatre of Me,
And view the various Scenes of my retiring Soul;
There I walk o're the Mazes I have trod,
[199] While Hope and Fear are in a doubtful Strife
Whether this Opera of Life
Be acted well to gain the Plaudit of my God.
IV.
There's a Day haſtning, ('tis an Awful Day)
When the great Sovereign ſhall at large review
All that we ſpeak and all we do,
The ſeveral Parts we act on this wide Stage of Clay:
Theſe he approves, and thoſe he blames,
And Crowns perhaps a Porter, and a Prince he Damns
O if the Judge from his tremendous Seat
Shall not condemn what I have done,
I ſhall be Happy tho' unknown,
Nor need the gazing Rabble, nor the ſhouting Street.
V.
I hate the Glory, Friend, that ſprings
From Vulgar Breath and empty Sound;
Fame mounts her upward with a Flatt'ring Gale
Upon her Airy Wings
Till Envy Shoots, and Fame receives the Wound;
Then her flagging Pinions fail,
[200] Down Glory falls and ſtrikes the Ground
And breaks her batter'd Limbs.
Rather let me be quite conceal'd from Fame;
How happy I ſhould lye
In Sweet Obſcurity,
Nor the Loud World pronounce my little Name!
Here I could live and dye alone;
Or if Society be due
To keep our Taſt of Pleaſure new,
GVNSTON, I'de live and die with you,
For both our Souls are one.
VI.
Here we could ſit and paſs the pleaſing Hour,
And Pity Kingdoms and their Kings,
And ſmile at all their ſhining Things,
Their Toys of State, and Images of Power;
Vertue ſhould dwell within our Seat,
Vertue alone could make it ſweet,
Nor is her ſelf ſecure but in a cloſe Retreat.
While ſhe withdraws from publick Praiſe
Envy perhaps would ceaſe to rail,
[201] Envy it ſelf may innocently gaze
At Beauty in a Vail.
But if ſhe once advance to Light,
Her Charms are loſt in Envy's Sight,
And Vertue is the Mark of Univerſal Spight.

TO John Hartopp Eſq
THE Diſdain of Senſual Joys.

HARTOPP, I love the Soul that dares
Tread the Temptations of his Years
Beneath his Youthful Feet:
FLEETWOOD and all thy Heavenly Line
Look thro' the Stars, and Smile Divine
Upon an Heir ſo Great.
[202] Young HARTOPP knows this Noble Theme,
That the wild Scenes of Buſie Life,
The Noiſe, th' Amuſements, and the Strife
Are but the Viſions of the Night,
Gay Phantoms of deluſive Light,
Or a Vexatious Dream.
II.
Fleſh is the vileſt and the leaſt
Ingredient of our Frame,
We're born to live above the Beaſt,
Or quit the Manly Name:
Pleaſures of Sence we leave for Boys,
Be ſhining Duſt the Miſer's Food,
Let Fancy feed on Fame and Noiſe;
Souls muſt purſue Diviner Joys,
And ſeize th' Immortal Good.

EPISTOLA. Fratri ſuo dilecto R. W. J. W. S. P. D.

[203]
RUrſum tuas, Amande Frater, Accepi Literas, eodem fortaſsè momento quo meae ad te pervenerunt; Idemque qui te ſcribentem vidit Dies, meum ad Epiſtolare munus excitavit Calamum; Non Inane eſt inter nos Fraternum nomen, unicus enim Spiritus nos intùs animat, agitque, & Concordes in ambobus efficit motus: O Utinam creſcat indiès, & vigeſcat mutua Charitas; faxit Deus, ut amor ſui noſtra incendat & defoecet pectora, tunc etenim & alternis purae Amicitiae flammis erga nos invicèm Divinum in modum ardebimus; Contemplemur JESUM noſtrum, Coeleſte illud & adorandum Exemplar Charitatis. Ille eſt
[202]
[...]
[203]
[...]
[204]
Qui quondam aeterno delapſus ab Aethere Vultus
Induit Humanos, ut poſſet Corpore noſtras
Heu miſeras ſufferre vices; Sponſoris obivit
Munia, & in ſeſe Tabulae maledicta Minacis
Tranſtulit, & ſceleris poenas hominiſque reatu [...].
Ecce jacet deſertus humi, diffuſus in herbam
Integer, innocuas verſus ſua ſidera Palmas
Et placidum attollens Vultum, nec ad oſcula Patries
Amplexus ſolitoſve: Artus nudatus amictu
Sidereos, & ſponte ſinum patefactus ad Iras
Numinis armati. "Pater, hic infige * Sagittas,
"Haec, ait, iratum ſorbebunt Pectora Ferrum,
"Abluat Aethereus mortalia Crimina Sanguis.
Dixit, & horrendùm fremuerunt maenia Coeli
Infenſuſque Deus; (quem jam poſuiſſe paternum
Muſa queri vellet nomen, ſed & ipſa fragores
Ad tantos pavefacta ſilet,) Jam diſſilit Aether,
Pandunturque fores, ubi duro Carcere regnat
IRA, & Poenarum Theſauros mille coercet.
[205] Inde ruunt gravidi veſano Sulphure Nimbi,
Centupliciſque volant contorta Volumina Flammae
In Caput immeritum; diro hic ſub Pondere preſſus
Reſtat, compreſſos dumque ardens explicat artus
Purpureo Veſtes tinctae ſudore madeſcunt.
Nec tamen infando Vindex Regina labori
Segniùs incumbit, ſed laſſos increpat Ignes
Acritèr, & ſomno languentem ſuſcitat * Enſem:
"Surge, age, Divinum pete Pectus, & imbue ſacro
"Flumine mucronem; Vos hinc, mea Spicula, latè
"Ferrea per totum diſpergite tormina Chriſtum,
"Immenſum tolerare valet: Ad pondera Poenae
"Suſtentanda hominem ſuffulciet Incola Numen.
"Et tu ſacra Decas Legum, Violata Tabella,
"Ebibe Vindictam; vaſtâ ſatiabere caede,
"Mortalis Culpae penſabit dedecus ingens
"Permiſtus Deitate Cruor—
Sic fata, immiti contorquet Vulnera Dextrâ
Dilaniatque Sinus, Sancti penetralia Cordis
Panduntur, ſaevis avidus Dolor involat alis,
[206] Atque audax Mentem Scrutatur, & Ilia mordet.
Interea Servator * Ovat, Victorque Doloris
Eminet, Illuſtri perfuſus membra Cruore,
Exultatque Miſer fieri; nam fortius illum
Urget Patris honos, & non vincenda Voluptas
Servandi miſeros Sontes. O Nobilis Ardor
Poenarum! O quid non Mortalia pectora cogis
Durus amor? Quid non Coeleſtia?—

At ſubſidat Phantaſia, vaneſcant Imagines, Neſcio quo me proripuit amens Muſa; Volui quatuor lineas pedibus aſtringere, & Ecce! Numeri creſcunt in immenſum, dumque concitato Genio laxavi fraena, Vereor ne juvenilis Impetus Theologiam laeſerit, & audax nimis Imaginatio. Heri ad me allata eſt Epiſtola indicans Matrem meliuſculè ſe habere, licet Ignis febrilis non prorſus deſeruit mortale ejus Domicilium. Plura volui, ſed turgidi & creſcentes verſus noluêre plura, & coarctârunt Scriptionis limites. Vale, Amice Frater, & in ſtadio pietatis & artis Medicae ſtrenuus decurre. Datum a Muſaeo meo Londini, xv. Kalend. Febr. Anno ſalutis MDCXCIII.

TO Dr. JOHN SPEED of Southampton.
An EPISTLE, Occaſion'd by his Ingenious Satyr on the Diſſenters, mingled with his Encomium of Mr. Lloyd's Paraphraſe on Solomon's Song, printed in 8vo. 1682.

[207]
TRUE Son of Phoebus, Heir t' his Tuneful Quill,
His murthering Arrows, and his healing Skill:
Thy Bills his Med'cines are, his Lyre thy Song,
Thine Heart his Quiver, and his Bow thy Tongue:
[208] * But here's no Python: Sooth thine Arms a while,
And charm thy ſtately Rigor to a Smile,
For Schiſm prevails no more; we love to ſee
Our Words and Lines in Couplings well agree
Nor do we thus abhor Conformity.
Hymns may be ſoft and ſmooth and comely Dreſt
With humane Art, nor ſavour of the Beaſt,
A Lyrick Ode ſubmits to Godly Notes;
Harmonious Words no more offend our Throats.
Nor Rhime, nor Tune, nor Sacred Senſe confines
The Spirit, Freedom flows in tuneful Lines,
And Conſcience feels the Pleaſure, nor complains
Of Impoſitions, Priſons, Bonds, and Chains,
Whilſt pure Devotion ſings and ANNE th' Indulgent Reigns.
Then, Sir, Submit with Joy thine Iron Stile
To the ſoft Poliſh of a gentle File;
The Courteous Muſe ſhines brighteſt; and 'tis fit
Apollo's Heir ſhould deal in kinder Wit.
[209] SPEED to his Lute in Artful Numbers ſings
Melodious; till his Angry Bow he brings
Acroſs the Chorded Shell, and hurts the gentler Strings.

Ad Reverendum Virum Dom. Johannem Pinhorne, Fidum pueritiae meae Praeceptorem. Pindarici Carminis Specimen.

I.
ET te, PINORNI, Muſa Triſantica
Salutat, ardens diſcipulam tuam
Graté fateri: Nunc Athenas,
Nunc Latias per amaenitates
Tutò pererrans te recolit Ducem,
Te quondam teneros & Ebraia per aſpera greſſus
Duxiſſe fidâ manu.
[210] Tuo pateſcunt lumine Theſpii
Campi atque ad arcem Pierid [...] iter.
En altus aſſurgens Homerus
Arma Deoſque Viroſque miſcens
Occupat Aethereum Parnaſſi culmen: Homeri
Immenſos ſtupeo Manes—
Te, Maro dulcé canens ſylvas, te bella ſonantem
Ardua, da veniam tenui venerare Camoenâ;
Tuaeque accipias, Thebane Vates,
Debita Thura Lyrae.
Vobis, magna Trias! clariſſima Nomina, ſemper
Scrinia noſtra patent, & Pectora noſtra patebunt,
Quum mihi cunque levem conceſſerit otia & horam
Divina Moſis pagina.
II.
Flaccus ad hanc Triadem ponatur, at ipſe pudendas
Deponat Veneres: Venias, ſed * purus & Inſons
Ut te collaudem, dum ſordes & mala luſtra
Ablutus, Venuſine, canis rideſve. Reciſae
Hâc lege accedant Satyrae Juvenalis, amari
Terrores vitiorum. At longè caecus abeſſet
[211] Perſius, obſcurus Vates, niſi lumina circumſcidiſſes.
Fuſa forent, Sphingiſque aenigmata, Bonde,
Grande ſonans Senecae Fulmen, grandiſque Cothurni
Pompa Sophoclei celſo ponantur eodem
Ordine, & ambâbus ſimul hos amplectar in ulnis.
Tutò, Poetae, tutò habitabitis
Pictos abacos: Improba Tinea
Obiit, nec audet ſaeva caſtas
Attingere Blatta Camaenas.
At tu renidens foeda Epigrammatum
Farrago inertûm, ſtercoris impii
Sentina ſoetens, Martialis,
In Barathrum relegandus imum
Aufuge, & hinc tecum rapias Catullum
Inſulsè mollem, naribus, auribus
Ingrata caſtis carmina, & improbi
Spurcos Naſonis Amores.
III.
Nobilis extremâ gradiens Caledonis ab orâ
En Buchananus adeſt. Divini Pſaltis Imago
Jeſſiadae Salveto; potens ſeu Numinis Iras
Fulminibus miſcere, ſacro vel lumine Mentis
[212] Fugare noctes, vel Citharae ſono
Sedare fluctus Pectoris.
Tu mihi haerebis comes ambulanti,
Tu domi aſtabis ſocius perennis,
Nunc Menſae tenui ſimul aſſidere
Dignabere, nunc Lecticae.
Mox recumbentis vigilans ad aurem
Aureos ſuadebis inire Somnos
Sacra ſopitis ſuperinferens oblivia curis.
Stet juxtà * Caſimirus, huic nec parciùs Ignem
Natura indulſit, nec Muſa armavit Alumnum
* Sarbivium rudiore Lyrâ.
Quanta Polonum levat aura Cygnum!
Humana linquens (en ſibi devii
Montes recedunt) luxuriantibus
Spatiatur in aëre pennis.
Seu tu fortè Virum tollis ad aethera,
Cognatoſve Thronos & patrium Polum
Viſurus conſurgis ovans,
[213] Viſum fatigas, aciemque fallis,
Dum tuum à longè ſtupeo volatum
O non Imitabilis Ales.
IV.
Sarbivii ad nomen gelida incalet
Muſa, ſimul totus ferveſcere
Sentio, Stellatas levis induor
Alas & tollor in altum.
Jam juga Zionis radens pede
Elato inter ſidera vertice
Longè deſpecto mortalia.
Quam juvat altiſonis volitare per aethera pennis,
Et ridere procul fallacia Gaudia ſêcli
Terrellae Grandia inania,
Quae mortale genus (heu malè) deperit.
O Curas hominum miſeras, Cano,
Et miſeras nugas Diademata,
Ventoſae ſortis Ludibrium!
En mihi ſubſidunt Terrenae à pectore Faeces,
Geſtit & effraenis divinum effundere Carme [...]
Mens afflata Deo—
—At vos Heroes & Arma
[214] Et procul eſte Dii, Ludicra Numina.
Quid mihi cum veſtrae pondere Lanceae,
Pallas! aut veſtris, Dionyſe, Thyrſis?
Et Clava, & Anguis, & Leo, & Hercules,
Et brutum Tonitru fictitii Patris
Abſtate à carmine noſtro.
V.
Te, Deus Omnipotens! Te noſtra ſonabit Jeſu
Muſa, nec aſſueto coeleſtes Barbiton auſû
Tentabit numeros. Vaſti ſine limite Numenet
Immenſum ſine lege Deum numeri ſine lege ſonabunt.

Sed Muſam magna pollicentem deſtituit vigor, Divino jubare perſtringitur oculorum acies: En labaſcit pennis, tremit artubus, ruit deorſum per inane Aetheris, jacet victa, obſtupeſcit, ſilet.

Ignoſcas Reverende Vir vano conamini, fragmen hoc rude licèt & impolitum aequi boni Conſulas, & gratitudinis jam diu debitae in partem reponas.

VOTUM. SEU Vita in terris beata. AD Virum Digniſſimum Johannem Hartoppium Baronettum. 1702.

[215]
I.
HARTOPPI, longo ſtemmate nobilis
Venâque Ingenii divite, ſi roges
Quem mea Muſa beat,
Ille mihi Felix ter & ampliùs,
Et ſimiles ſuperis annos agit
Qui ſibi ſufficiens ſemper adeſt ſibi.
Hunc longè à curis mortalibus
Inter agros, ſylvaſque ſilentes
[216] Se Muſiſque ſuis tranquillâ in pace fruentem
Sol oriens videt & recumbens.
II.
Non ſuae Vulgi favor inſolentis
(Plauſus inſani vacuus popelli)
Mentis ad ſacram penetrabit arcem
Feriat licèt aethera clamor.
Nec Gaza flammans divitis Indiae,
Nec, Tage, veſtrae fulgor Arenulae
Ducent ab obſcurâ quiete
Ad laquear radiantis Aulae.
III.
O ſi daretur ſtamina proprii
Tractare fuſi pollice proprio,
Atque meum mihi fingere Fatum;
Candidus vitae color innocentis
Fila nativo decoraret Albo
Non Tyriâ; vitiata conchâ.
Non aurum, non gemma nitens, nec purpura telae
Intertexta forent invidioſa meae.
Longé à Triumphis, & ſonitu Tubae
Longé remotos tranſigerem dies,
[217] Abſtate Faſces, ſplendida Vanitas,
Et vos abſtate, Coronae.
IV.
Pro meo tecto caſa ſit, ſalubres
Captet Auroras, procul Urbis atro
Diſtet à fumo, fugiatque longé
Dura Pthiſis mala, dura Tuſſis.
Diſplicet Byrſa, & fremitu moleſto
Turba Mercantûm; gratiùs alvear
Demulcet aures murmure, gratius
Fons ſalientis aquae.
V.
Litigioſa Fori me terrent jurgia, lenes
Ad Sylvas properans rixoſas execror artes
Eminus in tuto à Linguis—
Blandimenta artis ſimul aequus odi,
Valete, Cives! & amaena Fraudis
Verba; proh Mores! & inane Sacri
Nomen Amici!
VI.
Tuque, quae noſtris inimica Muſis
Felle ſacratum vitias amorem,
[218] Abſis aeternùm, Diva libidinis,
Et Pharetrate Puer!
Hinc hinc, Cupido, longius avola,
Nil mihi cum foedis, Puer, ignibus,
Aethereâ fervent face pectora,
Sacra mihi Venus eſt Urania,
Et juvenis Jeſſaeus Amor mihi.
VII.
Coeleſte carmen (nec taceat lyra
Jeſſaea) laetis auribus inſonet,
Nec Watſianis è medullis
Ulla dies rapiet vel hora.
Sacri Libelli deliciae meae,
Et vos, Sodales, ſemper amabiles,
Nunc ſimul adſitis, nunc viciſſim,
Et fallite taedia vitae.

A Funeral POEM ON Thomas Gunſton Eſq
Preſented to The Right Honourable The Lady ABNEY Lady Mayoreſs of London. July 1701.

[219]
MADAM,

HAD I been a common Mourner at the Funeral of the Dear Gentleman deceaſed, I ſhould have labour'd after more of Art in the following Compoſition to ſupply the defect of Nature and to feign [220] a Sorrow; but the uncommon Condeſcenſion of his Friendſhip to Me, the Inward Eſteem I pay his Memory, and the vaſt and tender Sence I have of our Loſs make all the Methods of Art needleſs, whilſt natural Grief ſupplies more than all.

I had reſolv'd indeed to lament in Sighs and Silence, and frequently check'd the forward Muſe when ſhe brought me Grief in Numbers, and urg'd me to a tuneful Mourning; but the Importunity was not to be reſiſted: Long Lines of Sorrow flow'd in upon my Fancy 'ere I was aware, whilſt I took many a Solitary Walk in the Garden adjoyning to his Seat at Newington: Nor could I free my ſelf from the Melancholy Idea's that crowded themſelves upon me, and your Ladyſhip will find throughout the Poem that the fair and unfiniſh'd Building which he had juſt raiſed for himſelf gave almoſt all the turns of Mourning to my Thoughts, for I purſue no other Topicks of Elegy then what my Paſſion and my Senſes led me to.

The Poem roves as my Eyes and Thoughts did, from one part of the Fabrick to the other: It riſes from the Foundation, ſalutes the Walls, the Doors, and the Windows, drops a Tear upon the Roof, and climbs the Turret that dear Retreat, where I promis'd my ſelf many ſweet Hours of his Converſation; there my Song wanders amongſt the delightful Subjects Divine and Moral which uſed to Entertain our happy leiſure, and thence flings her ſelf down to the Fields and the Shady Walks where I ſo often injoy'd his pleaſing Diſcourſe, and my Sorrows diffuſe themſelves there without a limit: [221] I had quite forgotten what I was writing, till I correct my ſelf and riſe to the Turret again to lament that Deſolate Seat, and how vainly ſhines the Golden Ball that Crowns it: Thus I have written without rule and with a negligence becoming Woe unfeigned.

Had I deſign'd a compleat Elegy on your Deareſt Brother and intended it for publick View, I ſhould have followed the uſual Forms of Poetry, ſpent whole Pages in the Character and Praiſes of the Deceaſed, and thence took occaſion to call Mankind to Complain aloud of the Univerſal and Unſpeakable Loſs: But I wrote meerly for my ſelf as a Friend of the Dead and to eaſe my full Soul by breathing out my own Complaint: I knew his Character and Vertues ſo well that there was no need to mention 'em while I talk'd only with my ſelf, for the Image of them was ever preſent with me, which kept my Sorrow lively and my Tears flowing with my Numbers.

Perhaps your Ladyſhip will expect ſome Divine Thoughts and Sacred Meditations mingled with a Subject ſo ſolemn as this is: Had I form'd a Deſign of offering it to your Hands I had compos'd a more Chriſtian Poem: But 'twas Grief purely natural for a Death ſo ſurprizing that drew all the Lines of it, and therefore my higheſt Reflections are but of a Moral Strain; Such as it is, your Ladyſhip requires a Copy of it, but let it not touch your Soul too tenderly, nor renew your own Mournings. Receive it, Madam, as a Sacrifice of Love and Tears offer'd at the Tomb of a Departed Friend, and let it abide with you as a Witneſs of that [222] Affectionate Reſpect and Honour that I bore him, all which as your Ladyſhips moſt rightful Due both by Merit and Succeſſion, is now humbly offered by

MADAM,
Your Ladyſhips moſt Hearty and Obedient Servant, I. Watts.

TO THE Dear Memory of my Honoured Friend Thomas Gunſton Eſq Who Died November 11. 1700. When he had juſt Finiſh't his Seat at NEWINGTON.

[223]
OF blaſted Hopes and of ſhort withering Joys
Sing Heavenly Muſe. Try thine Ethereal Voice
In Funeral Numbers and a doleful Song;
GUNSTON the Juſt, the Generous, and the Young,
GUNSTON the Friend is dead. O Empty Name
Of Earthly Bliſs! 'Tis all an Airy Dream,
All a Vain Thought! Our Soaring Fancies riſe
On treacherous Wings; and Hopes that touch the Skies
[224] Drag but a longer Ruine thro' the downward Air,
And plunge the falling Joy but deeper in Deſpair.
How did our Souls ſtand flatter'd and prepar'd
To ſhout him welcome to the Seat he rear'd!
There the Dear Man ſhould ſee his Hopes Compleat,
Smiling and taſting every lawful Sweet
That Peace and Plenty brings, while numerous Years
Roll'd happy Circles round the Joyful Spheres:
Revolving Suns ſhould ſtill renew his ſtrength,
And draw th' uncommon Thread to an unuſual Length.
But haſty Fate thruſts her dread Shears between,
Cuts the Young Life off, and ſhuts up the Scene
Thus Airy Pleaſure dances in our Sight
And ſpreads fair Images of Gay Delight
T' allure our Souls, till juſt within our Arms
The Viſion dies, and all the painted Charms
Flee quick away from the purſuing Sight,
Till they are loſt in Shades, and mingle with the Night.
[225] Muſe, ſtretch thy Wings and thy ſad Journey bend
To the fair * Fabrick that thy Dying Friend
Built Nameleſs: 'Twill ſuggeſt a thouſand things
Mournful and Soft as my Urania Sings.
How did he lay the deep Foundations ſtrong,
Marking the Bounds, and rear the Walls along
Solid and Laſting; there a numerous Train
Of Happy GUNSTON's might in Pleaſure reign
While Nations periſh and long Ages run,
Nations unborn, and Ages unbegun:
Not Time it ſelf ſhould waſte the Bleſt Eſtate,
Nor the Tenth Race rebuild the Ancient Seat:
How fond our Fancies are! The Founder Dies
Childleſs: His Siſters weep, and cloſe his Eyes,
And wait upon his Herſe with never-ceaſing Cries.
Lofty and Slow it moves unto the Tomb,
While weighty Sorrow nods on every Plume;
[226] A Thouſand Groans his dear Remains convey
To his cold Lodging in a Bed of Clay,
His Countries Sacred Tears well-watering all the Way.
See the dull Wheels roll on the Sable Load,
But no dear Son to tread the Mournful Road,
And fondly kind drop his young Sorrows there,
The Father's Urn bedewing with a Filial Tear.
O had he left us One behind to play
Wanton about the Painted * Hall, and ſay
"This was my Father's, with Impatient Joy
In my fond Arms I'de claſp't the Smiling Boy,
And call'd him my Young Friend: But Awful Fate
Deſign'd the mighty Stroke as laſting as 'twas great.
And muſt this Building then, this coſtly Frame
Stand here for Strangers? Muſt ſome unknown Name
Poſſeſs theſe Rooms, the Labours of my Friend?
Why were theſe Walls rais'd for this hapleſs End?
[227] Why theſe Apartments all adorn'd ſo Gay?
Why his rich Fancy laviſh't thus away?
Muſe, view the * Paintings, how the hovering Light
Plays o're the Colours in a wanton Flight,
And mingled Shades wrought in by ſoft Degrees
Give a ſweet Foyl to all the Charming Piece;
But Night, Eternal Night hangs black around
The diſmal Chambers of the hollow Ground,
And Solid Shades unmingled round his Bed
Stand Hideous: Earthy Fogs embrace his Head,
And noyſom Vapours glide along his Face
Riſing perpetual. Muſe, forſake the place,
Flee the raw Damps of the unwholſome Clay,
Look to his Airy ſpacious Hall, and ſay
How has he chang'd it for a loathſome Cave,
Confin'd and Crowded in a narrow Grave!
Th' Unhappy Houſe looks deſolate and mourns,
And every Door groans doleful as it turns;
The Pillars languiſh, and each lofty Wall
Stately in Grief, laments the Maſter's Fall
[228] In drops of Briny Dew; the Fabrick bears
His faint Reſemblance and renews my Tears.
Solid and ſquare it riſes from below;
A Noble Air without a Gaudy Show
Reigns thro' the Model, and adorns the Whole,
Manly and Plain juſt like the Builders Soul.
O how I love to view the Stately Frame,
That dear Memorial of the beſt-lov'd Name!
Then could I wiſh for ſome prodigious Cave
Vaſt as his Seat, and ſilent as his Grave,
Where the tall Shades ſtretch to the hideous Roof,
Forbid the Day, and guard the Sun-beams off;
Thither, my willing Feet, ſhou'd ye be drawn
At the gray Twilight, and the early Dawn;
There ſweetly ſad ſhou'd my ſoft Minutes roll,
Numbring the Sorrows of my drooping Soul.
But theſe are Airy Thoughts! Subſtantial Grief
Grows by thoſe Objects that ſhould yield Relief;
Fond of my Woes I heave my Eyes around,
My Grief from every Proſpect courts a Wound;
[229] Views the green Gardens, views the Smiling Skies,
Still my Heart ſinks, and ſtill my Cares ariſe;
My wandring Feet round the dear Manſion rove,
And there to ſooth my Sorrows I indulge my Love.
Oft have I laid the Awful Calvin by,
And the ſweet Cowley, with Impatient Eye
To ſee thoſe Walls, pay the ſad Viſit there,
And drop the Tribute of an hourly Tear:
Still I behold ſome Melancholy Scene,
With many a Penſive Thought, and many a Sigh between.
Two Days ago we took the Evening Air,
I, and my Grief, and my Urania there;
Say, my Urania, how the Weſtern Sun
Broke from Black Clouds, and in full Glory ſhone
Gilding the Roof, then dropt into the Sea,
And ſudden Night devour'd the ſweet remains of Day
Thus the dear Youth juſt rear'd his ſhining Head
From Obſcure Shades of Life, and ſunk among [...] Dead.
[230] The riſing Sun adorn'd with all his Light
Smiles on theſe Walls again: But endleſs Night
Reigns uncontroul'd where the dear GUNSTON lies,
He's ſet for ever, and muſt never riſe.
Then why theſe Beams, Unſeaſonable Star,
Theſe lightſome Smiles deſcending from afar
To greet a Mourning Houſe? In vain the Day
Breaks thro' the * Windows with a joyful Ray,
And marks a ſhining Path along the Floors
Bounding the Evening and the Morning Hours;
In vain it bounds 'em: While vaſt Emptineſs
And hollow Silence reigns thro' all the Place,
Nor heeds the cheerful change of Nature's Face.
Yet Natures Wheels will on without controul,
The Sun will riſe, the tuneful Spheres will roll,
And the two Nightly Bears walk round and watch the Pole.
See while I ſpèak, high on her Sable Wheel
Old Night comes rolling up the Eaſtern Hill:
[231] Troops of dark Clouds prepare her way; behold,
How their brown Pinions Edg'd with Evening Gold
Spread Shaddowing o're the Houſe, and glide away
Slowly purſuing the declining Day;
O're the broad * Roof they fly their Circuit ſtill,
Thus Days before they did, and Days to come they will;
But the Black Cloud that Shaddows o're his Eyes
Hangs there immoveable, and never flies:
Fain would I bid the Envious Gloom be gone,
Ah fruitleſs Wiſh! how are his Curtains drawn
For a long Evening that deſpairs the Dawn!
Muſe, view the Turret: Juſt beneath the Skies
Loneſome it ſtands, and fixes both mine Eyes
As it would ask a Tear. O Sacred Seat,
Sacred to Friendſhip! O Divine Retreat!
Here did I hope my happy Hours t' employ,
And fed beforehand on the promis'd Joy,
When weary of the noiſy Town, my Friend
From Mortal Cares retiring ſhou'd aſcend
[232] And lead me thither. We * alone wou'd ſit,
Free and ſecure of all Intruding Feet:
Our Thoughts ſhou'd ſtretch their longeſt Wings and riſe,
Nor bound their Soarings by the lower Skies:
Our Tongues ſhou'd aim at everlaſting Themes,
And ſpeak what Mortals dare, of all the Names
Of Boundleſs Joys and Glories, Thrones, and Seats
Built high in Heaven for Souls: We'd trace the Streets
Of Golden Pavement, walk each happy Field,
And climb and taſt the Fruits the ſpicy Mountains yield:
Then would we ſwear to keep the Sacred Road,
And walk right upwards to the bleſt Abode:
We'd charge our parting Spirits there to meet,
There Hand in Hand approach th' Almighty's Seat'
And bend our Heads adoring at our Maker's Feet.
Thus ſhould we mount on bold adventrous Wings,
In high Diſcourſe, and dwell on Heavenly things,
[233] While the pleas'd Hours in ſweet Succeſſion move,
And Minutes meaſur'd as they are above
By ever-circling Joys, and ever-ſhining Love.
Anon our Thoughts ſhould lower their lofty Flight,
Sink by degrees, and take a pleaſing Sight
A large round Proſpect of the ſpreading Plain,
The Wealthy River, and his Winding Train,
The Smoaky City, and the Buſie Men.
How we ſhould ſmile to ſee degenerate Worms
Laviſh their Lives, and fight for Airy Forms
Of Painted Honour, Dreams of empty ſound,
Till Envy riſe, and ſhoot a ſecret Wound
At ſwelling Glory; ſtrait the Bubble breaks,
And the Scenes vaniſh as the Man awakes:
Then the tall Titles Inſolent and Proud
Sink to the Duſt, and mingle with the Crowd.
Man is a reſtleſs Thing: Still vain and wild,
Lives beyond Sixty, nor outgrows the Child:
His hurrying Luſts ſtill break the Sacred Bound,
[234] To ſeek new Pleaſures on forbidden Ground,
And buy them all too dear. Unthinking Fool,
For a ſhort dying Joy to ſell a Deathleſs Soul!
'Tis but a Grain of Sweetneſs they can Sow,
And reap the long ſad Harveſt of Immortal Woe.
Another Tribe toyl in a different Strife,
And baniſh all the lawful Sweets of Life
To ſweat and dig for Gold, to hoard the Oar,
Hide the dear Duſt yet darker than before,
And never dare to uſe a Grain of all the Store.
Happy the Man that knows the Value juſt
Of Earthly Things, nor is enſlav'd to Duſt.
'Tis a rich Gift the Skies but rarely ſend
To Fav'rite Souls. Then happy thou, my Friend,
For thou hadſt learnt to Manage and Command
The Wealth that Heaven beſtow'd with Liberal Hand:
Hence this fair Structure roſe; and hence this Seat
Made to invite my not unwilling Feet;
In vain 'twas made! for We ſhall never meet,
[235] And Smile, and Love, and Bleſs each other here,
The Envious Tomb forbids thy Face t' appear,
Detains thee GVNSTON from my longing Eyes,
And all my hopes lie buried where my GVNSTON lies.
Come hither all ye tendereſt Souls that know
The heights of Fondneſs and the depths of Woe,
Young Mothers, who your darling Babes have found
Untimely Murd'red with a ghaſtly Wound;
Ye frighted Nymphs, who on the Bridal Bed,
Claſpt in your Arms your Lovers Cold and Dead,
Come; in the Pomp of all your wild Deſpair
With flowing Eyelids and diſorder'd Hair,
Death in your Looks; come mingle Grief with me,
And drown your little Streams in my unbounded Sea.
You Sacred Mourners of a Nobler Mould
Born for a Friend, whoſe dear Embraces hold
Beyond all Natures Ties; you that have known
Two happy Souls made intimately One,
[236] And felt a parting Stroke, 'tis you muſt tell
The Smart, the Twinges, and the Racks I feel:
This Soul of mine that dreadſul Wound has born,
Off from its Side its deareſt Half is torn,
The Reſt lies bleeding, and but lives to mourn.
Oh Infinite Diſtreſs! Such raging Grief
Shou'd command Pity, and deſpair Relief.
Paſſion methinks ſhould riſe from all my Groans,
Give Senſe to Rocks, and Sympathy to Stones.
Ye dusky * Woods and ecchoing Hills around
Repeat my Cries with a perpetual Sound:
Be all ye flowry Vales with Thorns o'regrown,
Aſſiſt my Sorrows, and declare your own,
Alas! your Lord is dead. The humble Plain
Muſt ne're receive his Courteous Feet again:
Mourn ye gay ſmiling Meadows, and be ſeen
In Wintry Robes inſtead of Youthful Green:
And bid the Brook that ſtill runs warbling by
Move ſilent on, and weep his uſeleſs Channel dry.
[237] Hither methinks the lowing Herds ſhou'd come,
And moaning Turtles murmur o're his Tomb:
The Oak ſhou'd wither, and the curling * Vine
Weep his Young Life out, while his Arms untwine
Their Amorous Folds, and mix his Bleeding Soul with mine.
Ye ſtately Elms in your long Order mourn,
Strip off your Pride to dreſs your Maſter's Urn:
Here gently drop your Leaves inſtead of Tears;
Ye Elms, the Reverend Growth of Ancient Years,
Stand tall and naked to the Bluſtring Rage
Of the mad Winds; thus it becomes your Age
To ſhow your Sorrows. Often ye have ſeen
Our Heads reclin'd upon the riſing Green;
Beneath your Sacred Shade diffus'd we lay,
Here Friendſhip reign'd with an unbounded ſway:
Hither our Souls their conſtant Off'rings brought,
The Burthens of the Breaſt, and Labours of the Thought;
Our opening Boſoms on the Conſcious Ground
Spread all the Sorrows, all the Joys we found,
[238] And mingled every Care; nor was it known
Which of the Pains or Pleaſures were our own;
Then with an equal Hand and honeſt Soul
We ſhare the Heap; yet both poſſeſs the Whole,
And all the Paſſions there thro' both our Boſoms roll.
By turns We Comfort, and by turns Complain,
And Bear and Eaſe by turns the Sympathy of Pain.
Friendſhip! Myſterious Thing, what Magick Powers
Support thy Sway, and charm theſe Minds of ours?
Bound to thy Foot we boaſt our Birth-right ſtill,
And dream of Freedom when we've loſt our Will,
And chang'd away our Souls: At thy Command
We ſnatch new Miſeries from a Foreign Hand
To call them ours, and thoughtleſs of our Eaſe
Plague the dear Self that we were born to pleaſe.
Thou Tyranneſs of Minds, whoſe Cruel Throne
Heaps on poor Mortals Sorrows not their own;
As tho' our Mother Nature cou'd no more
Find Woes ſufficient for each Son ſhe bore,
Friendſhip divides the Shares, and lengthens out the Store.
[239] Yet are we fond of thine Imperious Reign,
Proud of the Slavery, wanton in our Pain,
And chide the courteous Hand when Death diſſolves the Chain.
Vertue, forgive the Thought! The raving Muſe
Wild and deſpairing knows not what ſhe does,
Grows mad in Grief, and in her Savage Hours
Affronts the Name ſhe Loves and ſhe adores.
She is thy Votareſs too; and at thy Shrine
O Sacred Friendſhip! offer'd Songs Divine
While GUNSTON liv'd, and both our Souls were thine.
Here to theſe Shades at ſolemn Hours we came
To pay Devotion with a mutual Flame,
And roll'd in Pleaſures, while the Evening Breeze
Fann'd the Leaves gently, ſporting thro' the Trees,
And the declining Sun with ſloping Wheels
Roll'd down the Golden Day behind the Weſtern Hills.
[240]
Mourn ye young * Gardens, ye unfiniſh't Gates,
Ye Green Incloſures and ye growing Sweets,
Lament, for ye our Midnight Hours have known,
And watch'd us walking by the ſilent Moon
In Conference Divine, while Heavenly Fire
Kindling our Breaſts did all our Thoughts inſpire
With Joys almoſt Immortal; then our Zeal
Blaz'd and burnt high to reach th' Ethereal Hill,
And Love refin'd like that above the Poles
Threw both our Arms round one anothers Souls
In Rapture and Embraces. Oh forbear,
Forbear, my Song! this is too much to hear,
Too dreadful to repeat; ſuch Joys as theſe
Fled from the Earth for ever!
Oh for a general Grief! let all things ſhare
Our Woes that knew our Loves. The Neighbouring Air
Let it be laden with Immortal Sighs,
And tell the Gales, that every Breath that flies
[241] Over theſe Fields ſhou'd murmur and complain,
And kiſs the fading Graſs, and propagate the Pain
Weep all ye Buildings, and ye * Groves around
For ever Weep, This is an endleſs Wound
Vaſt and Incurable. Ye Buildings knew
His Silver Tongue, ye Groves have heard it too:
At that dear Sound no more ſhall ye rejoyce,
And I no more muſt hear the Charming Voice,
Wo to my drooping Soul! that Heavenly Breath
That could ſpeak Life lies now congeal'd in Death;
While on his folded Lips all Cold and Pale
Eternal Chains and heavy ſilence dwell.
Yet my fond Hope would hear him ſpeak again;
Once more at leaſt, one gentle Word; and then
GUNSTON aloud I call: In vain I cry
GUNSTON aloud; for he muſt ne're reply.
In vain I mourn, and drop theſe Funeral Tears,
Death and the Grave have neither Eyes nor Ears:
[242] Wandring I tune my Sorrows to the Groves,
And vent my ſwelling Griefs, and tell the Winds our Loves;
While the dear Youth Sleeps faſt and hears 'em not;
He has forgot me: In the loneſome Vault
Mindleſs of WATTS and Friendſhip there he lies
Deaf and Unthinking Clay.
But whither am I led? This Artleſs Grief
Hurries the Muſe on obſtinate and deaf
To all the nicer Rules, and bears her down
From the tall Fabrick to the Neighbouring Ground:
The pleaſing Hours and the dear Moments paſt
In theſe ſweet Fields reviving on my Taſt
Snatch me away reſiſtleſs with Impetuous haſt.
Spread thy ſtrong Pinions once again my Song,
And reach the * Turret thou haſt left ſo long:
O're the wide Roof its lofty Head it rears,
Waiting for our Converſe; but only hears
The noiſie Tumults of the Realms on high;
The Winds ſalute it Whiſtling as they fly,
[243] Or jarring round the Windows; Rattling Showers
Laſh the fair Sides, above loud Thunder roars,
But ſtill the Maſter Sleeps; nor hears the Voice
Of Sacred Friendſhip, nor the Tempeſts noiſe:
An Iron Slumber ſits on every Sence,
In vain the Heavenly Thunders ſtrice to rouze it thence.
One Labour more, my Muſe, the Golden * Sphere
Seems to demand: See thro' the Dusky Air
Downward it ſhines upon the riſing Moon,
And as ſhe labours up to reach her Noon,
The Ball purſues her Orb with ſtreaming Light,
And ſhoots a Golden Dày on the Pale Queen of Night:
But not one Beam can reach the darkſome Grave,
Or pierce the ſolid Gloom that fills the Cave
Where GUNSTON dwells in Death. My waking Eyes
Saw the laſt Midnight reigning o're the Skies,
[244] And Old Bootes drove his ſhining Carr
Thro' the Midheaven: Behold the Glittering Sphere
Bright as a Burning Meteor born on high,
Or ſome new Comet gla [...]ing thro' the Sky
It flam'd and mingled with the larger Stars;
In vain (ſaid I) the Golden Comet Glares,
In vain it ſtands; while with a diſmal Fall
He ſunk beneath the Ground that rais'd the Lofty Ball.
Now let me call the Joyful Day to mind;
'Twas a fair Morning; and the Bluſtring Wind
Slept in its peaceful Caverns, while he came
Gazing and pleas'd to ſee the Noble Frame
Crown'd with that ſhining Orb. "Stand there, he cries,
"Thou little Emblem of the boundleſs Skies
"Whither my Soul with fiery Paſſion tends;
The Emblem ſtands; and tells ſurviving Friends
Of the bright Palace and the Golden Throne
Where the Dear GUNSTON's better part is gone:
[245] His eager Thoughts bent on their ſhining way
Let the Clay drop to mingle with the Clay;
But his great Soul beyond the Stars is fled:
Then why, my Heart, why ſhould we Mourn him Dead?
Strangely, my Thoughts, ye let this cozening Grief
With a falſe Name impoſe on your Belief:
It ſaw the Fleſh ſink down with cloſing Eyes
To the cold Earth, and cry'd, 'tis GUNSTON Dies:
Miſtaken Grief! to call the Fleſh the Friend!
The Heavenly Court ſaw the Bright Youth aſcend,
Flew to embrace him with Immortal Love,
And ſung his Welcome to the Seats above.
The Building firm, and all the Manſions bright,
The Roof high-Vaulted with Aethereal Light:
Beauty and Strength on the tall Bulwarks Sate
In Heavenly Diamond: And for every Gate
On Golden Hinges a broad Ruby turns,
Guards off the Foe, and as it moves it burns.
Millions of Glories Reign thro' every part;
Infinite Power and Uncreated Art
[247] Stand here diſplay'd, and to the Stranger ſhow
How it out-ſhines the Nobleſt Seats below;
The Stranger juſt look'd down, and Smil'd upon 'em too.
Come, my Urania, leave the doleful Strain,
Let Heavenly Notes reſume their Joys again;
In Everlaſting Numbers ſing, and ſay,
"GUNSTON the Friend lives ſtill, and wipe our Tears away.

AN ELEGY ON THE Reverend Mr. Tho. Gouge.

[246]

TO Mr. Arthur Shallett Merchant.

Worthy SIR,

THE Subject of the following Elegy was high in your Eſteem and enjoy'd a large ſhare of your Affections. Scarce doth his Memory need the Aſſiſtance of the Muſe to make it perpetual, [248] But when She can at once pay her Honours to the Venerable Dead, and by this Addreſs acknowledge the Favours She has received from the Living, 'tis a double Pleaſure to

SIR,
Your obliged humble Servant,

TO THE MEMORY OF THE Reverend Mr. Tho. Gouge, Who Died January 8. 1699/1700.

[249]
I.
YE Virgin Souls, whoſe Sweet Complaint
Could teach * Euphrates not to flow,
Could Sion's Ruine ſo Divinely Paint
Array'd in Beauty and in Woe;
Awake, ye Virgin Souls, to mourn,
And with your Tuneful Sorrows dreſs a Prophet's Urn.
[250] O could my Lips, or Flowing Eyes
But imitate ſuch Charming Grief,
I'de teach the Seas, and teach the Skies
Wailings, and Sobs, and Sympathies,
Nor ſhould the Stones, or Rocks be deaf;
Rocks ſhall have Eyes, and Stones have Ears,
While GOUGE's Death is Mourn'd in Melody and Tears.
II.
Heaven was impatient of our Crimes,
And ſent his Miniſter of Death
To Scourge the bold Rebellion of the Times,
And to demand our Prophet's Breath;
He came commiſſion'd for the Fates
Of Awful MEAD, and Charming BATES,
There he eſſay'd the Vengeance firſt,
Then took a diſmal Aim and brought great GOUGE to Duſt.
III.
Great GOUGE to Duſt! How Doleful is the Sound?
How vaſt the Stroke is? And how wide the Wound?
[251] Yes, 'tis a vaſt uncommon Death,
Yes, 'tis a Wound unmeaſurably wide;
No Vulgar Mortal Dy'd
When he reſign'd his Breath.
The Muſe that Mourns a Nations Fall
Shou'd wait at GOVGE's Funeral,
Should mingle Majeſty and Groans
Such as ſhe Sings to ſinking Thrones,
And in deep-ſounding Numbers tell
How Sion trembled when this Pillar fell.
Sion grows Weak, and England Poor,
Nature her ſelf with all her Store
Can furniſh ſuch a Pomp for Death no more.
IV.
The Reverend Man let all things mourn;
Sure he was ſome Aethereal Mind,
Fated in Fleſh to be confin'd,
And order'd to be Born.
His Soul was of th' Angelick frame,
The ſame Ingredients, and the Mould the ſame,
When the Creator makes a Miniſter of Flame;
[252] He was all form'd of Heavenly Things,
Mortals, believe what my Urania Sings,
For ſhe has ſeen him riſe upon his Flamy Wings.
V.
How would he mount, how would he fly,
Up thro' the Ocean of the Sky
Tow'rd the Coeleſtial Coaſt!
With what amazing ſwiftneſs ſoar
Till Earth's dark Ball was ſeen no more
And all its Mountains loſt.
Scarce could the Muſe purſue him with her Sight,
But, Angels, you can tell,
For oft you met his Wondrous Flight,
And knew the Stranger well;
Say, how he paſt the radiant Spheres
And viſited your happy Seats,
And trac'd the well known Turnings of the Golden Streets,
And walk'd among the Stars.
VI.
Tell how he climb'd the Everlaſting Hills
Surveying all the Realms above,
[253] Born on a Strong-wing'd Faith, and on the Fiery Wheels
Of an Immortal Love.
'Twas there he took a glorious Sight
Of the Inheritance of Saints in Light,
And read their Title in their Saviour's Right.
How oft the humble Scholar came,
And to your Songs he rais'd his Ears
To learn the Unutterable Name,
To view the Eternal Baſe that bears
The New Creations Frame.
The Countenance of God he ſaw
Full of Mercy, full of Awe,
The Glories of his Power, and Glories of his Grace:
There he beheld the Wondrous Springs
Of thoſe Eternal Sacred Things
The Peaceful Goſpel and the Fiery Law
In that Majeſtic Face.
That Face that all his Gazing Powers employ
With moſt profound Abaſement and exalted Joy.
[254] The Rolls of Fate were half unſeal'd,
He ſtood adoring by;
The Volumes open'd to his Eye,
And ſweet Intelligence he held
With all his ſhining Kindred of the Sky.
VII.
Ye Seraphs that ſurround the Throne,
Tell how his Name was thro' the Pallace known,
How warm his Zeal was, and how like your own:
Speak it aloud, let half the Nation hear,
And bold Blaſphemers ſhrink and fear:
Impudent Tongues, to blaſt a Prophet's Name!
The Poiſon ſure was fetch'd from Hell
Where the old Blaſphemers dwell,
To taint the pureſt Duſt, and blot the whiteſt Fame.
Impudent Tongues! You ſhould be darted thro',
Nail'd to your own Black Mouths, and lie
Uſeleſs and Dead till Slander die,
Till Slander die with you.
[255]VIII.
"We ſaw him, ſay th' Ethereal Throng,
"We ſaw his warm Devotions riſe,
"We heard the fervour of his Cries,
"And mixt his Praiſes with our Song:
"We knew the ſecret Flights of his retiring Hours,
"Nightly he wak'd his inward Powers,
"Young Iſrael roſe to Wreſtle with his God,
"And with unconquer'd Force ſcal'd the Coeleſtial Towers
"To reach the Bleſſing down for thoſe that ſought his Blood.
"Oft we beheld the Thunderer's Hand
"Rais'd high to cruſh the Factious Foe;
"As oft we ſaw the rolling Vengeance ſtand
"Doubtful t' obey the dread Command,
"While his aſcending Pray'r witheld the falling Blow.
IX.
Draw the paſt Scenes of thy Delight
My Muſe, and bring the Wondrous Man to Sight.
[256] Place him ſurrounded as he ſtood
With Pious Crowds, while from his Tongue
A Stream of Harmony ran ſoft along,
And every Ear drank in the flowing Good:
Softly it ran its Silver Way,
Till warm Devotion rais'd the Current ſtrong;
Then fervid Zeal on the ſweet Deluge rode,
Life, Love, and Glory, Grace, and Joy
Divinely roll'd promiſcuous on the Torrent-Flood,
And bore our Raptur'd Senſe away, and Thoughts and Souls to God.
O might we dwell for ever there!
No more return to breath this groſſer Air,
This Atmoſphere of Sin, Calamity, and Care.
X.
But Heavenly Scenes ſoon leave the Sight
While we belong to Clay,
Paſſions of Terror and Delight
Demand alternate Sway.
Behold the Man whoſe awful Voice
Could well proclaim the Fiery Law,
[257] Kindle the Flames that Moſes ſaw,
And ſwell the Trumpets Warlike noiſe.
He ſtands, the Herald of the Threatning Skies,
Lo, on his Reverend Brow the Frowns Divinely riſe,
All Sinai's Thunder on his Tongue, and Lightning in his Eyes.
Round the high Roof the Curſès flew
Diſtinguiſhing each guilty Head,
Far from th' unequal War the Atheiſt fled,
His Kindled Arrows ſtill purſue,
His Arrows ſtrike the Atheiſt thro',
And fix him down to Dread.
The Marble Heart groans with an inward Wound:
Blaſpheming Souls of harden'd Steel
Shriek out amaz'd at the new Pangs they feel,
And dread the Eccho's of the Sound.
The Lofty Wretch Arm'd and Array'd
In gaudy Pride ſinks down his Impious Head,
Plunges in dark Deſpair, and mingles with the Dead.
[258]XI.
Now Muſe aſſume a ſofter Strain,
Now ſooth the Sinners Raging Smart,
Borrow of GOVGE the wondrous Art
To calm the Surging Conſcience, and aſſwage the Pain.
He from a Bleeding God derives
Life for the Souls that Guilt had ſlain,
And ſtrait the dying Rebel lives,
The Dead ariſe again.
The opening Skies almoſt obey
His powerful Song, a Heavenly Ray
Awakes Deſpair to Light, and ſheds a cheerful Day.
His wondrous Voice rolls back the Spheres,
Recalls the Scenes of Ancient Years
To make the Saviour known;
Sweetly the flying Charmer roves
Thro' all his Labours and his Loves,
The Anguiſh of his Croſs, and Triumphs of his Throne.
[259]XII.
Hark, he invites our Feet to try
The ſteep aſcent of Calvary,
And ſets the fatal Tree before our Eye:
See here Coeleſtial Sorrow reigns;
Rude Nails and ragged Thorns lay by
Ting'd with the Crimſon of Redeeming Veins.
In wondrous Words he ſung the Vital Flood
Where all our Sins were drown'd,
Words fit to heal and fit to wound,
Sharp as the Spear, and Balmy as the Blood.
In his Diſcourſe Divine
Afreſh the Purple Fountain flow'd,
Our falling Tears kept Sympathetick Time
And trickled to the Ground,
While every Accent gave a doleful Sound,
Sad as the breaking Heart-ſtrings of th' Expiring God.
XIII.
Down to the Manſions of the Dead
With trembling Joy our Souls are lead,
The Captives of his Tongue;
[260] There the dear Prince of Light reclines his Head
Darkneſs and Shades among.
With pleaſing Horror we ſurvey
The Caverns of the Tomb,
Where the Belov'd Redeemer lay
And ſhed a ſweet Perſume.
Hark, the Old Earthquake roars again
In GOUGE's Voice, and breaks the Chain
Of heavy Death, and tears the Tombs;
The Riſing God! he comes, he comes,
With Throngs of waking Saints, a long triumphing Train.
XIV.
See the bright Squadrons of the Sky,
Downward on Wings of Joy and Haſt they fly,
Meet their returning Sovereign and attend him high.
A ſhining Carr the Conqueror fills
Form'd of a Golden Cloud;
Slowly the Pomp rolls up the Azure Hills,
Old Satan foams and yells aloud,
And gnaws th' Eternal Braſs that binds him to the Wheels.
[261] The opening Gates of Bliſs receive their King,
The Father-God Smiles on his Son,
Pays him the Honours he has won,
The lofty Thrones adore, and little Cherubs Sing.
Behold him on his Native Throne,
Glory ſits faſt upon his Head;
Dreſs't in new Light and Beamy Robes
His Hand rolls on the Seaſons and the ſhining Globes,
And ſways the living Worlds and Regions of the Dead.
XV.
GOUGE was his Envoy to this Realm below,
Vaſt was the Truſt, and great his Skill,
Bright the Credentials he could ſhow,
And Thouſands own'd the Seal.
His Hallowed Lips could well impart
The Grace, the Promiſe, and Command:
He knew the Pity of EMMANUEL's Heart,
And Terrors of JEHOVAH's Hand.
How did our Souls ſtart out to hear
The Embaſſies of Love he bore,
[262] While every Ear in Rapture hung
Upon the Charming Wonders of his Tongue.
Lifes buſie Cares a Sacred Silence bound,
Attention ſtood with all her Powers,
With fixed Eyes and Awe profound,
Chain'd to the Pleaſure of the Sound,
Nor knew the flying Hours.
XVI.
But Oh! my everlaſting Grief!
Heaven has recall'd his Envoy from our Eyes,
Hence Deluges of Sorrow riſe,
Nor hope th' Impoſſible Relief.
Ye Remnants of the Sacred Tribe
Who feel the Loſs, come ſhare the Smart,
And mix your Groans with mine:
Where is the Tongue that can deſcribe
Infinite Things with Equal Art,
Or Language ſo Divine?
Our Paſſions want the Heavenly Flame,
Almighty Love Breaths faintly in our Songs,
And Awful Threatnings languiſh on our Tongues;
HOWE is a Great, but ſingle Name.
[263] Amidſt the Crowd he ſtands alone;
Stands yet, but with his Starry Pinions on,
Dreſs't for the Flight and ready to be gone:
Eternal God, command his Stay,
Stretch the dear Months of his Delay;
O we could wiſh his Age were one Immortal Day!
But when the Flaming Chariot's come
And ſhining Guards t' attend thy Prophet Home,
Amidſt a thouſand Weeping Eyes
Send an Eliſha down, a Soul of Equal Size,
Or burn the Worthleſs Globe, and take us to the Skies.

AN EPITAPH ON King WILLIAM III. Of Glorious Memory, Who Died March 8th. 1701.

[264]
I.
BEneath theſe Honours of a Tomb
GREATNESS in humble Ruine lies:
(How Earth confines in narrow Room
What Heroes leave below the Skies!)
II.
Preſerve, Oh Venerable PILE,
Inviolate thy Sacred Truſt;
To thy cold Arms the BRITTISH Iſle
Weeping commits her Richeſt Duſt.
[265]III.
Ye gentleſt Miniſters of FATE
Attend the Monarch as he lies,
And bid the Softeſt SLUMBERS wait
With Silken Cords to bind his Eyes.
IV.
Reſt his dear SWORD beneath his Head;
Round him his Faithful ARMS ſhall ſtand;
Fix his bright ENSIGNS on his Bed,
The Guards and Honors of our Land.
V.
Ye Siſter Arts of PAINT and VERSE,
Place ALBION fainting by his Side,
Her Groans ariſing 'ore the Herſe,
And BELGIA ſinking when he Dy'd.
VI.
High o're the Grave RELIGION ſet
In Solemn Gold: pronounce the Ground
Sacred, to bar unhallow'd Feet,
And plant her Guardian VERTUES round.
[266]VII.
Fair LIBERTY in Sables dreſt
Write his lov'd Name upon his Urn,
WILLIAM, the Scourge of Tyrants paſt,
And Awe of Princes yet Unborn.
VIII.
Sweet PEACE his Sacred Relicks keep
With Olives blooming round her Head,
And ſtretch her Wings acroſs the Deep
To bleſs the Nations with the Shade.
IX.
Stand on the Pile, Immortal FAME,
Broad Stars adorn thy brighteſt Robe,
Thy thouſand Voices ſound his Name
In Silver Accents round the Globe.
X.
FLATTERY ſhall faint beneath the Sound,
While Hoary TRUTH inſpires the Song;
ENVY grow pale and bite the Ground,
And MALICE gnaw her Forky Tongue.
[267]XI.
NIGHT and the GRAVE remove your Gloom;
Darkneſs becomes the Vulgar Dead;
But GLORY bids the Royal Tomb
Diſdain the Horrors of a Shade,
XII.
GLORY with all her Lamps ſhall burn,
And watch the Warriors ſleeping Clay,
Till the laſt Trumpet rouze his Urn
To aid the Triumphs of the Day.
FINIS.

Appendix A BOOKS Printed for John Lawrence at the Angel in the Poultrey.

[]

VIndiciae Mentis. An Eſſay of the Being and Nature of the Mind: Wherein the Doſtinction of Mind and Body, the Subſtantiality, Perſonality, and Perfection of Mind is aſſerted; and the Original of our Minds, their Preſent, Separate, and Future ſtate, is freely inquired into, in order to a more certain Foundation for the Knowledge of God and our Selves, and the Clearing all Doubts and Objections that have been, or may be made concerning the LIFE and IMMORTALITY of our SOULS. In a new Method. By a Gentleman. 8vo.

New Eſſays on Trade, wherein the preſent State of our Trade, its Great Decay in the Chief Branches of it, and the Fatal Conſequence thereof to the Nation (unleſs timely remedy'd) is Conſider'd, under the moſt Important Heads of Trade and Navigation. By Francis Brewſter Kt. In 8vo.

Exercitations, Critical, Philoſophical, Hiſtorical, and Theological. On ſeveral important Pieces in the Writings of the Old and New Teſtament. By John Edwards D. D. 8vo.

Theo-Politica: Or a Body of Divinity, containing the Rules of the Special Government of GOD, according to which he orders the Immortal and Intellectual Creatures, Angels, and Man, to their Final and Eternal State. Being a Method of thoſe Laving Truths, which are contain'd in the Canon of the Holy Scripture, or abridg'd in thoſe Words of our Saviour Jeſus Chriſt [Go and teach all Nations, &c.] which were the Ground and Foundation of thoſe Apoſtolical Creeds and Forms of Confeſſions, related by the Ancients; and in particular by Irenaeus and Tertullian. By that Learned Divine George Lawſon late Rector of More in the County of Salop. 8vo.

Notes
*
Vide Horat. Lib. 1. Od. 3.
*
The Goſpel.
*
Job 4. 6.
Luc. 22. 44.
*
Zec. 13. 7.
*
2 Col. 15.
22 Luc. 44.
*
Neque ſempec arcum Tendit Apollo. Horat. lib. 2. Od. 10.
*
Horat. Lib. 1. Sat. 6.
*
M. Caſimirus Sarbiewski Poeta inſign is Polonus.
*
M. Caſimirus Sarbiewski Poeta inſign is Polonus.
Od. 5. Lib. 2.
*
The Houſe.
The Foundations.
The Walls.
*
The Hall.
The Rooms.
*
The Paintings.
The Doors.
*
The Windows.
*
The Roof.
The Turret.
*
Our Converſation there.
*
The adjacent Country.
The Brook.
*
The Trees.
*
The Gardens.
The Air.
*
The Groves.
*
The Turret.
*
The Golden Ball.
*
Pſalm Cxxxvii.
Lam: 1. 2, 3.
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TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 4672 Horà lyricà Poems chiefly of the lyric kind In two books By I Watts. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-5942-6