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.

Then let these useless streams be staid;
Wear native courage on your face:
These vulgar things were never made
For souls of a superior race.

If 'tis a rugged path you go,

And thousand foes your steps surround,
Tread the thorns down, charge through the foe;

The hardest fight is highest crown'd.

FEW HAPPY MATCHES.

SAY, mighty Love, and teach my song,
To whom thy sweetest joys belong,
And who the happy pairs

Whose yielding hearts, and joining hands,
Find blessings twisted with their bands,
To soften all their cares.

Not the wild herd of nymphs and swains
That thoughtless fly into thy chains,

As custom leads the way;

If there be bliss without design,

Ivies and oaks may grow and twine,
And be as blest as they.

Not sordid souls of earthly mould,
Who, drawn by kindred 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.

Not the mad tribe that hell inspires
With wanton flames; those raging fires
The purer bliss destroy:

On Ætna's top let Furies wed,
And sheets of lightning dress the bed
To improve the burning joy.

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 Stoic souls,

With osiers for their bands.

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'er a string,
Or none besides the bass.

Nor can the soft enchantments hold
Two jarring souls of angry mould,
The rugged and the keen;

Samson's young foxes might as well
In bands of cheerful wedlock dwell,
With firebrands tied between.

Nor let the cruel fetters bind
A gentle to a savage mind,

For love abhors the sight;
Loose the fierce tiger from the deer,
For native rage and native fear
Rise and forbid delight.

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.

August, 1701.

TO DAVID POLHILL, ESQ.

AN EPISTLE.

LET useless souls to woods retreat;
Polhill should leave a country seat
When virtue bids him dare be great.

Nor Kent,1 nor Sussex,1 should have charms, While liberty, with loud alarms,

Calls you to counsels and to arms.

Lewis, by fawning slaves ador'd,

Bids you receive a base-born lord; 2
Awake your cares! awake your sword!

8

Factions amongst the Britons rise,
And warring tongues, and wild surmise,
And burning zeal without her eyes.

A vote decides the blind debate;
Resolv'd, "'tis of diviner weight,
"To save the steeple than the state."

1 His country-seat and dwelling.

2 The Pretender, proclaimed King in France. 8 The Parliament.

The bold machine1 is form'd and join'd
To stretch the conscience, and to bind
The native freedom of the mind.

Your grandsire shades, with jealous eye,
Frown down to see their offspring lie
Careless, and let their country die.

If Trevia 2 fear to let you stand
Against the Gaul, with spear in hand,
At least petition for the land.
December, 1702.

THE CELEBRATED VICTORY

OF THE POLES OVER OSMAN, THE TURKISH
EMPEROR, IN THE DACIAN BATTLE.

TRANSLATED FROM CASIMIRE, B. IV. OD. 4, WITH LARGE

ADDITIONS.

GADOR, the old, the wealthy, and the strong,
Cheerful in years, (nor of the heroic muse
Unknowing nor unknown,) held fair possessions

1 The bill against occasional conformity.

2 Mrs. Polhill, of the family of the Lord Trevor.

3 Mr. Polhill was one of those five zealous gentlemen who presented the famous Kentish petition to the parliament, in the reign of King William, to hasten their supplies in order to support the king in his war with France.