I. Erminia's steed (this while) his mistresse bore To beare her through the desart woods unseene Of her strong foes, that chas'd her through the plaine, And still pursu'd, but still pursu'd in vaine. II. Like as the wearie hounds at last retire, Windlesse, displeased, from the fruitlesse chace, Yet still the fearfull Dame filed, swift as winde, III. Through thicke and thinne, all night, all day, she driued, Her plaints and teares with euery thought reuiued, In Thetis waue, and wearie teame vntide, On Iordans sandie banks her course she staid, At last, there downe she light, and downe she laid. IV. Her teares, her drinke; her food, her sorrowings; Spred foorth his tender, soft, and nimble wings, And loue, his mother, and the graces kept Strong watch and warde, while this faire Ladie slept. V. The birds awakte her with their morning song, Of swaines and shepherd groomes that dwellings weare; VI. Her plaints were interrupted with a sound, Sat making baskets, his three sonnes among Beholding one in shining armes appeare You happy folke, of heau'n beloued deare, Work on (quoth she) upon your harmlesse traid, These dreadfull armes I beare no warfare bring To your sweet toile, nor those sweet tunes you sing. VIII. But father, since this land, these townes and towres, This wildernesse doth vs in saftie keepe, No thundering drum, no trumpet breakes our sleepe. IX. Haply just heau'ns defence and shield of right, X. O Pouertie, chefe of the heau'nly brood, XI. We little wish, we need but little wealth, From cold and hunger vs to cloath and feed; These are my sonnes, their care preserues from stealth XII. Time was (for each one hath his doating time, XIII. Entised on with hope of future gaine, I suffred long what did my soule displease; But when my youth was spent, my hope was vaine, I felt my native strength at last decrease; I gan my losse of lustie yeeres complaine, And wisht I had enjoy'd the countries peace; XIV. While thus he spake, Erminia husht and still To turne her home to her desired Lord. XV. She said therefore, O shepherd fortunate! That troubles some didst whilom feele and proue, Let my mishap thy thoughts to pitie moue, To entertaine me as a willing mate In shepherds life, which I admire and loue; Within these pleasant groues perchance my hart, Of her discomforts, may vnload some part. XVI. If gold or wealth of most esteemed deare, XVII. With speeches kinde, he gan the virgin deare But yet her gestures and her lookes (I gesse) XVIII. Not those rude garments could obscure, and hide POMFRET. Or Mr. JOHN POMFRET nothing is known but from a slight and confused account prefixed to his poems by a nameless friend; who relates, that he was the son of the Rev. Mr. Pomfret, rector of Luton, in Bedfordshire; that he was bred at Cambridge; entered into orders, and was rector of Malden, in Bedfordshire, and might have risen in the church; but that, when he applied to Dr. Compton, bishop of London, for institution to a living of considerable value, to which he had been presented, he found a troublesome obstruction raised by a malicious interpretation of some passage in his "Choice;" from which it was inferred, that he considered happiness as more likely to be found in the company of a mistress than of a wife. This reproach was easily obliterated; for it had happened to Pomfret as to almost all other men who plan schemes of life; he had departed from his purpose, and was then married. The malice of his enemies had however a very fatal consequence: the delay constrained his attendance in London, where he caught the smallpox, and died in 1703, in the thirtysixth year of his age. He published his poems in 1699; and has been always the favourite of that class of readers, who, without vanity or criticism, seek only their own amusement. His "Choice" exhibits a system of life adapted to common notions and equal to common expectations; such a state as affords plenty and tranquillity, without exclusion of intellectual pleasures. Perhaps no composition in our language has been oftener perused than Pomfret's "Choice." In his other poems there is an easy volubility, the pleasure of smooth metre is afforded to the ear, and the mind is not oppressed with ponderous or entangled with intricate sentiment. He pleases many; and he who pleases many must have some species of merit. |