For various secrets there were brought to light
Of which Report on earth had nothing said.
VIII.
Virginites that close confin'd he thought
In th' other world he found above the sky;
His sister's and his cousin's there were brought,
Which made him swear tho' good St. John was by.32
IX.
But much his wrath increas'd when he espy'd
That which was Chloe's once, his mistress dear:
"Ah, false and treach'rous Fugitive!" he cry'd,
"Little I deem'd that I should meet thee here. 36
X.
"Did not thy owner when we parted last "Promise to keep thee safe for me alone ? "Scarce of our absence three short months are past, "And thou already from thy post art flown.
"Be not enrag'd," reply'd th' Apostle kind-
"Since that this Maidenhead is thine by right,
"Take it away, and when thou hast a mind
"Carry it thither whence it took its flight."
"Thanks, Holy Father!" quoth the joyous knight, "The Moon shall be no loser by your grace; "Let me but have the use on 't for a night "And I'll restore it to its present place."
TELL me, my Heart! fond slave of hopeless love,
And doom'd its woes without its joys to prove,
Canst thou endure thus calmly to erase
The dear dear image of thy Delia's face?
Canst thou exclude that habitant divine
To place some meaner idol in her shrine?
O task for feeble Reason too severe !
O lesson nought could teach me but despair!
Must I forbid my eyes that heav'nly sight
They 'ave view'd so oft' with languishing delight?
Must my ears shun that voice whose charming sound
Seem'd to relieve while it increas'd my wound?
O Waller! Petrarch! you who tun'd the lyre
To the soft notes of elegant desire,
Tho' Sidney to a rival gave her charms,
Tho' Laura dying left her lover's arms,
Yet were your pains less exquisite than mine;
'Tis easier far to lose than to resign !
PROLOGUE
TO THOMSON'S CORIOLANUS,
Spoken by Mr. Quin.
I come not here your candour to implore
For scenes whose author is, alas! no more;
He wants no advocate his cause to plead ;
You will yourselves be patrons of the dead.
No party his benevolence confin'd,
No sect-alike it flow'd to all mankind.
He lov'd his friends, (forgive this gushing tear;
Alas! I feel I am no actor here)
He lov'd his friends with such a warmth of heart,
So clear of int'rest, so devoid of art,
Such gen'rous friendship, such unshaken zeal,
No words can speak it, but our tears may tell.-
O candid truth! O faith without a strain !
O manners gently firm and nobly plain !
O sympathizing love of others bliss!
Where will you find another breast like his ?
Such was the Man-the Poet well you know,
Oft' has he touch'd your hearts with tender wo,
Oft' in this crowded house with just applause
You heard him teach fair Virtue's purest laws; 20
For his chaste Muse employ'd her heav'n-taught
None but the noblest passions to inspire;
Not one immoral one corrupted thought
One line which dying he could wish to blot.
Oh! may to night your favourable doom
Another laurel add to grace his tomb,
Whilst he superiour now to praise or blame,
Hears not the feeble voice of human fame.
Yet if to those whom most on earth he lov'd,
From whom his pious care is now remov'd,
With whom his lib'ral hand and bounteous heart
Shar'd all his little fortune could impart,
If to those friends your kind regard shall give
What they no longer can from his receive,
That, that, ev'n now, above yon' starry pole
May touch with pleasure his immortal soul.
You, who supreme o'er ev'ry work of wit,
In judgment here, unaw'd, unbiass'd, sit
The Palatines and Guardians of the pit;
minds this merely modern play
No useful sense, no gen'rous warmth, convey; 5
If fustian here thro' each unnat❜ral scene
In strain'd conceits sound high, and nothing mean;
If lofty Dulness for your vengeance call,
Like Elmerick judge, and let the guilty fall :
But if Simplicity with force and fire,
Unlabour'd thoughts and artless words, inspire;
If, like the action which these scenes relate,
The whole appear irregularly great;
If masterstrokes the nobler passions move,
Then, like the king, acquit us, and approve.
TO THE REV. DR. AYSCOUGH,
Written from Paris in the Year 1728.
SAY, dearest Friend! how roll thy hours away,
What pleasing study cheats the tedious day?
Dost thou the sacred volumes oft' explore
Of wise Antiquity's immortal lore,
Where virtue by the charms of wit refin'd
At once axalts and polishes the mind?
How diff'rent from our modern guilty art,
Which pleases only to corrupt the heart,
Whose curs'd refinements odious vice adorn,
And teach to honour what we ought to scorn!
Dost thou in sage historians joy to see
How Roman greatness rose with liberty,
How the same hands that tyrants durst control
Their empire stretch'd from Atlas to the Pole,
Till wealth and conquest into slaves refin'd
The proud luxurious masters of mankind?
Dost thou in letter'd Greece each charm admire,
Each grace, each virtue, Freedom could inspire,
Yet in her troubled state see all the woes
And all the crimes that giddy Faction knows, 20
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