Hither I foftly steal a Thought,
And by the fofter Mufick made;
With a sweet Lute in Charms well taught,
Sometimes I flatter her fad fhade;
Whilft of my Chords I make fuch choice,
To serve as Body to her Voice.
When from these Ruins I retire,
This horrid Rock I do invade,
Whose lofty Brow feems to enquire
Of what materials Mists are made:
From thence defcending leifurely,
Under the Brow of this fteep Hill,
It with great Pleasure I defcry,
By waters undermin'd, until
They to Palamon's Seat did Climb,
Compos'd of Spunges and of Slime.
How highly is the Fancy pleas'd,
To be upon the Ocean's Shore,
When she begins to be appeas'd,
And her fierce Billows cease to roar!
And when the hairy Tritons are
Riding upon the shaken Wave,
With what ftrange found they ftrike the Air
Of their Trumpets hoarfe and brave,
Whofe fhrill Report, does every wind
Unto his due fubmiffion bind!
Sometimes the Sea difpels the Sand,
Trembling and Murmuring in the Bay,
And rowls its felf upon the shells,
Which it both brings and takes away.
Sometimes expofes on the Strand,
Th' effects of Neptune's Rage and Scorn, Drown'd Men, dead Monfters caft on Land, And Ships that were in Tempefts tòrn,
With Diamonds and Amber-greece,
And many more fuch things as these.
XVII.
Sometimes fo fweetly fhe does fmile,
A floating Mirror the might be,
And you would fancy all that while,
New Heavens in her face to fee:
The Sun himself is drawn fo well,
When there he would his Picture view,
That our Eyes can hardly tell,
Which is the falfe Sun, which the true;
And left we give our Senfe the Lye,
We think he's fallen from the Sky.
Bernieres for whofe beloved fake,
My thoughts are at a noble Strife;
This my fantaftick Landskip take,
Which I have Copied to the Life.
I only feek the Defarts rough,
Where all alone I love to walk,
And with Discourse refin'd enough,
My Genius and the Mufes talk;
But the Converfe moft truly mine,
Is the dear Memory of thine.
Thou may'ft in this Poem find,
So full of liberty and heat,
What illuftrious Rays have fhin'd,
To enlighten my Conceit :
Sometimes penfive, fometimes gay,
Juft as that Fury does controul,
And as the Object I furvey,
The Notions grow up in my Soul,
And are as unconfin'd and free,
As the Flame which tranfported me.
Oh! how I Solitude adore,
That Element of nobleft Wit,
Where I have learn'd Apollo's Lore,
Without the pains to ftudy it:
For thy fake I in Love am grown,
With what thy fancy does purfue;
But when I think upon my own,
I hate it for that reafon too,
Because it needs muft hinder me
From feeing, and from ferving thee.
To Mr. RILE Y,
Drawing Mr. WALLER'S Picture.
OT Flesh and Blood can Riley's Pride confine,
He must be adding still some Ray Divine:
Nor is content when he true Likeness fhows,
Unless that Glory alfo crown the Brows.
This Subject, Riley, this (for long has he
Scow'rd the bright Roads of Immortality)
New Rapture wants: no human Touch can reach
His Lawrels, and Poetick Triumph's pitch.
On Face and Out-fide ftay thy bold Design;
'Tis Sacred, 'tis Apollo's all within.
Thou may'st slight Sketches of the Surface shew,
Not vex the Mine, whence God-like Treasures flow.'
Came twenty Nymphs, his Mufe contented all,
None went away without her Golden Ball;
The Gods of old were not fo liberal.
How many, free from Fate, enjoy his Song,
Drink Nectar, ever Gay, and ever Young?
Tho' to thy Genius no Attempt is vain,
Think not to draw the Poet, but the Man.
Yet, Riley, thus thou endless Fame muft fhare!
His Generous Pen thy Pencil fhall prefer,
It draw him Man, and he make it a Star.
A Character of the ENGLISH.
In Allufion to Tacit. de Vit. Agric.
By Mr. WOLSELEY.
HE Freeborn English, Generous and Wife,
Hate Chains, but do not Government despise;
Rights of the Crown, Tribute and Taxes, they,
When lawfully exacted, freely pay.
Force they abhor, and Wrong they scorn to bear,
More guided by their Judgment than their Fear;
Juftice with them is never held fevere.
Here Power by Tyranny was never got;
Laws may perhaps enfnare them, Force cannot
Rafh Counsels here have ftill the fame Effect;
The fureft way to reign, is to protect.
Kings are leaft fafe in their unbounded Will,
Join'd with the wretched Power of doing ill;
Forfaken moft when they're most Abfolute,
Laws guard the Man, and only bind the Brute.
To force that Guard, and with the worst to join,
Can never be a prudent King's Defign;
What King would chufe to be a Catiline?!
Break his own Laws, ftake an unqueftion'd Throne,
Conspire with Vaffals to ufurp his own?
'Tis rather fome base Favourite's vile Pretence,
To tyrannize at the wrong'd King's Expence.
Let France grow proud, beneath the Tyrant's Luft,
While the rackt People crawl and lick the Duft.
The mighty Genius of this Ifle difdains
Ambitious Slavery and Golden Chains.
England to fervile Yoke did never bow :
What Conquerors ne'er prefum'd, who dares do now?
Roman nor Norman ever could pretend
To have enflav'd, but made this Lle their Friend.
By the Author of Abfalom and Achitophel
Per Graiûm populos, mediaque per Elidis Urbem Ibat ovans; Divumque fibi pofcebat Honores.
LONDON:
Printed in the Year MDCC XVI.
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