Nor fame nor censure they regarded; Her maids she neither prais'd nor chid: So every servant took his course; They paid the church and parish rate, No man's defects sought they to know; Nor good, nor bad, nor fools, nor wise; Nor wish'd, nor car'd, nor laugh'd, nor cried: AN EPISTLE, DESIRING THE QUEEN'S PICTURE. WRITTEN AT PARIS, 1714; BUT LEFT UNFINISHED, THE train of equipage and pomp of state, My bright defender, and my dread delight Will thy indulgent hand, fair saint, allow queen; Her brow thus smooth, her look was thus serene; The mighty empress gave her high command, Higher to raise the glories of thy reign, In words sublimer, and a nobler strain, WRITTEN IN MONTAIGNE'S ESSAYS, GIVEN TO THE DUKE OF SHREWSBURY IN FRANCE, DICTATE, O mighty judge, what thou hast seen Through ages thus I may presume to live, Thus shall fair Britain, with a gracious smile, Accept the work; and the instructed isle, For more than treaties made, shall bless my toil. Nor longer hence the Gallic style preferr'd, Wisdom in English idiom shall be heard, While Talbot tells the world, where Montaigne Qrr'd. TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE COUNTESS DOWAGER OF DEVONSHIRE, ON A PIECE OF WIESSEN'S, WHEREON WERE ALL HER GRANDSONS PAINTED. WIESSEN and Nature held a long contest, With art increas'd, their utmost skill they tried, And, both well pleas'd they had themselves surpass'd, The goddess triumph'd, and the painter died. That both their skill to this vast height did raise, Be ours the wonder, and be yours the praise: For here, as in some glass, is well descry'd Only yourself thus often multiply'd. When Heaven had you and gracious Anna' made, What more exalted beauty could it add? ! Eldest daughter of the countess Having no nobler images in store, It but kept up to these, nor could do more That Thought can fancy, or that Heaven can form; So when the parent Sun, with genial beams, So when great Rhea many births had given, And to what god soe'er men altars rais'd, Honouring the offspring, they the mother prais'd. In short-liv'd charms let others place their joys, Which sickness blasts, and certain age destroys: Your stronger beauty Time can ne'er deface, 'Tis still renew'd, and stamp'd in all your race. Ah! Wiessen, had thy art been so refin❜d, As with their beauty to have drawn their mind, Through circling years thy labours would survive,` And living rules to fairest virtue give, To men unborn and ages yet to live: "Twould still be wonderful, and still be new, Against what Time, or Spite, or Fate, could do; Till thine confus'd with Nature's pieces lie, And Cavendish's name and Cecil's honour die. A FABLE, FROM PHÆDRUS. TO THE AUTHOR of the MEDLEY, 1710. THE Fox an actor's vizard found, And peer'd, and felt, and turn'd it round; Then threw it in contempt away, And thus old Phædrus heard him say: "What noble part canst thou sustain, Thou specious head without a brain?" TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE MR. HARLEY. HORACE, I EP. IX. IMITATED. Septimius, Claudi, nimirum intelligit unus, Quanti me facias, &c. DEAR Dick, howe'er it comes into his head, Believes as firmly as he does his creed, 2 Richard Shelton, esq. That you and I, sir, are extremely great; Though I plain Mat, you minister of state: One word from me, without all doubt, he says, Would fix his fortune in some little place. Thus better than myself, it seems, he knows, How far my interest with my patron goes; And, answering all objections I can make, Still plunges deeper in his dear mistake. From this wild fancy, sir, there may proceed One wilder yet, which I foresee and dread; That I, in fact, a real interest have, Which to my own advantage I would save, And, with the usual courtier's trick, intend To serve myself, forgetful of my friend. To shun the censure, I all shame lay by, And make my reason with his will comply; Hoping, for my excuse, 'twill be confest, That of two evils I have chose the least. So, sir, with this epistolary scroll, Receive the partner of my inmost soul: Him you will find in letters and in laws Not unexpert, firm to his country's cause, Warm in the glorious interest you pursue, And, in one word, a good man and a true. TO MR. HARLEY, WOUNDED BY GUISCARD, 1711. Ab ipso Ducit opes animumque ferro. The full extremes of Nature's force we find: How heavenly Virtue can exalt, or Rage Infernal how degrade the human mind! While the fierce monk does at his trial stand, He chews revenge, abjuring his offence: Guile in his tongue, and murder in his hand, He stabs his judge, to prove his innocence. The guilty stroke and torture of the steel Hor. Infix'd, our dauntless Briton scarce perceives: The wounds his country from his death must feel, The patriot views; for those alone he grieves. The barbarous rage that durst attempt thy life, Harley, great counsellor, extends thy fame: And the sharp point of cruel Guiscard's knife, In brass and marble carves thy deathless name. Faithful assertor of thy country's cause, And in her statutes shall thy worth be found. No son of hers could meditate this blow. Meantime thy pain is gracious Anna's care: Enough to thee of grief and fame is given. OUR weekly friends to morrow meet Crown with thy health the sprightly bowl; ERLE ROBERT'S MICE. TWAY mice, full blythe and amicable, They seem, God shield me! Mat and Charles," 66 Bad as sir Topas, or squire Quarles," (Matthew did for the nonce reply) At emblem, or device am I: But, could I chaunt, or rhyme, pardie, 66 PROTOGENES AND APELLES, Agreed these points of time and place, Piqu'd by Protogenes's fame, "Does squire Protogenes live here?""Yes, sir," says she, with gracious air, And court'sey low, "but just call'd out By lords peculiarly devout, Who came on purpose, sir, to borrow The most renown'd throughout all Greece; "Tea," says a critic big with laughter, "Was found some twenty ages after; Authors, before they write, should read," 'Tis very true; but we'll proceed. "And, sir, at present would yon please To leave your name."-" Fair maiden, yes. Reach me that board." No sooner spoke But done. With one judicious stroke, On the plain ground Apelles drew A circle regularly true: "And will you please, sweet-heart," said he "To show your master this from me? By it he presently will know How painters write their names at Co." He gave the pannel to the maid. Smiling and court'sying, Sir," she said, "I shall not fail to tell my master : And, sir, for fear of all disaster, I'll keep it my ownself: safe bind, Says the old proverb, and safe find. So, sir, as sure as key or lockYour servant, sir,-at six o'clock." Again at six Apelles came, Found the same prating civil dame, Sir, that my master has been here, Will by the board itself appear. If from the perfect line he found He has presum❜d to swell the round, Or colours on the draught to lay, "Tis thus (he order'd me to say), Thus write the painters of this isle: Let those of Co remark the style." 46 the arts of Greece She said; and to his hand restor'd The dullest genius cannot fail Shall the wreath surround my hair? EPITAPH. EXTEMPORE. NOBLES and heralds, by your leave, Can Bourbon or Nassau claim higher? FOR MY OWN TOMBSTONE. To me 'twas given to die: to thee 'tis given To live: alas! one moment sets us even. Mark! how impartial is the will of Heaven! FOR MY OWN MONUMENT. As doctors give physic by way of prevention, For delays are unsafe, and his pious intention Then take Mat's word for it, the sculptor is paid; eye; Yet credit but lightly what more may be said, His virtues and vices were as other men's are ; High hopes he conceiv'd, and he smother'd great fears, In a life party-colour'd, half pleasure, half care. Now in equipage stately, now humbly on foot, This verse little polish'd, though mighty sincere, If his bones lie in earth, roll in sea, fly in air, To Fate we must yield, and the thing is the same. And if passing thou giv'st him a smile or a tear, He cares not-yet pr'ythee be kind to his fame. GUALTERUS DANISTUNUS AD AMICOS. DUM studeo fungi fallentis munere vitæ, Vinaque Calicolis media inter gaudia libo; Quique superstes, Homo; qui nihil, esto Deus. Attamen esse hilares, & inanes mittere curas Proderit, ac vitæ commoditate frui, Et festos agitasse dies, ævique fugacis Et Mors; seu Divum, seu nihil, esse velit: Nam sophia ars illa est, quæ fallere suaviter horas Admonet, atque Orci non timuisse minas. IMITATED. STUDIOUS the busy moments to deceive, That fleet between the cradle and the grave, I credit what the Grecian dictates say, And Samian sounds o'er Scotia's hills convey. When mortal man resigns his transient breath, The body only I give o'er to death; The parts dissolv'd and broken frame I mourn: What came from earth I see to earth return. The immaterial part, th' ethereal soul, Nor can change vanquish, nor can death control. Glad I release it from its partner's cares, And bid good angels waft it to the stars. Then in the flowing bowl I drown those sighs, Which, spite of wisdom, from our weakness rise. The draught to the dead's memory I commend, And offer to thee now, immortal friend. But if, oppos'd to what my thoughts approve, Nor Pluto's rage there be, nor power of Jove; On its dark side if thou the prospect take ; Grant all forgot beyond black Lethe's lake; In total death suppose the mortal lie, No new hereafter, nor a future sky: Yet bear thy lot content; yet cease to grieve: Why, ere death comes, dost thou forbear to live? The little time thou hast, 'twixt instant now And Fate's approach, is all the Gods allow: And of this little hast thou aught to spare To sad reflection, and corroding care? The moments past, if thou art wise, retrieve With pleasant memory of the bliss they gave. The present hours in present mirth employ, And bribe the future with the hopes of joy: The future (few or more, howe'er they be) Were destin'd erst; nor can by Fate's decree Be now cut off betwixt the grave and thee. THE FIRST HYMN OF CALLIMACHUS. TO JUPITER. WHILE we to Jove select the holy victim, Whom apter shall we sing, than Jove himself, |