To this high Sphere it happens ftill that fome,
The most unfit, are forwardeft to come;
Yet among these are Princes forc'd to chufe,
Or feek out fuch as would perhaps refuse.
Pow'r, if too great, is fafely plac'd in none,
And foon becomes a Dragon, or a Drone.
Either remifs and negligent of all,
Or else Imperious and Tyrannical.
The Mufe infpires me now to look agen,
And fee a meaner fort of fordid Men,
Doating on little Heaps of yellow Duft;
For that, defpifing Honour, Eafe, and Luft.
Let other Bards, expreffing how it fhines,
Describe with Envy, what the Mifer finds;
But like fome Heap of Dirt it feems to me,
Where we may juft fuch crawling Vermine fee.
Through Filth they creep a thousand crooked ways,
Infenfible of Infamy or Praise.
Loaded with Guilt, they ftill purfue their Course;
Nor are to be reftrain'd by Friendship's facred Force.
Not to inlarge on fuch an obvious Thought;
Behold their Folly, which tranfcends their Fault !
Alas, their Cares and Caution only tend
To gain the Means, and then to lose the End.
Like Heroes in Romances, ftill in Fight
For Miftreffes that yield them no Delight.
This, of all Vice, does moft debafe the Mind,
And Gold is an Allay to Human-kind.
Oh, happy Times, when no such thing as Coin
E'er tempted Friends to part, or Foes to join?
Cattle, or Corn, among those harmless Men,
Was all their Wealth; the Gold and Silver then:
Corn was too bulky to corrupt a Tribe,
And bellowing Herds would have betray'd the Bribe..
Our Traffick is meer intercourfe of 111,
And ev'ry Wind brings a new Mifchief ftill;
By Trade we flourish in our Leaves and Fruit,
But Av❜rice and Excefs devour the Root..
Thus far the Mufe unwillingly has been
Fix'd on the dull, less pleasing forts of Sin;
But with Delight the views the diff'rent ways
Of Luxury, and all its Charms furveys.
Oh Luxury! thou foft, but fure Deceit !
Rife of the Mean, and Ruin of the Great!
Thou fure Prefage of ill approaching Fates!
The Bane of Empires, and the Change of States!
Armies in vain refift thy mighty Pow'r;
Not Plagues, or Famine would confound them more,
Thus Rome her felf, while o'er the World the flew,
And did, by Virtue, all the World fubdue,
Was by her own Victorious Arms opprest,
And catch'd Infection from the conquer'd Eaft;
Whence all thofe Vices came, which foon devour
The best Foundations of Renown and Pow'r.
But, oh, what need have we abroad to roam,
Who feel too much the fad Effects at home
Of wild Excefs; which we fo plainly find
Decays the Body, and impairs the Mind.
Yet the grave Fops muft not prefume from hence
To flight the facred Pleasures of the Sense;
Our Appetites are Nature's Laws, and giv'n
Under the broad Authentick Seal of Heav'n.
Let Pedants wrangle, and let Biggots fight,
To put restraint on innocent Delight,
But Heav'n and Nature's always in the right;
They wou'd not draw poor wretched Mortals in,
Nor give Defires that shall be doom'd for Sin.
But that, in height of harmless Joys, we may
Laft to old Age, and never lose a Day:
Amidft our Pleasures we our felves should fpare,
And manage all with Temperance and Care.
Yet Heav'n forbid, but we fometimes may fleep
Our Joys in Wine, and lull our Cares afleep :
It raises Nature, ripens Seeds of Worth;
Like Pictures wet, to fetch the Colours forth:
But if the Varnish we too oft apply,
Like Colours, we, alas! grow faint and die.
Hold, hold, impetuous Mufe: I wou'd reftrain
Her over-eager Heat, but all in vain ;
Abandon'd to Delights, the longs to rove;
I check her here, and now the flies to Love;
Shews me some rural Nymph by Shepherd chas'd,
Soon overtaken, and as foon embrac'd;
The Grafs by her, as the by him is preft;
For fhame, my Muse, let Fancy guess the reft;
At fuch a Point Fancy can never ftay,
But flies beyond whatever you can say.
Behold the filent Shades, the am'rous Grove,
The dear Delights, the very A&t of Love.
This is his loweft Sphere, his Country Scene,
Where Love is humble, and his Fare but mean,
Yet springing up, without the Help of Art,
Leaves a fincerer Relish of the Heart ;:
More healthfully, tho' not fo finely fed,
And better thrives than where more nicely bred:
But 'tis in Courts where moft he makes a Show,
And high Enthron'd, governs the World below;
For, though in Hiftories learn'd Ignorance
Attributes all to Cunning, or to Chance,
Love, in that grave Disguise, does often smile,
Knowing the Caufe was Kindness all the while.
What Story, Place, or Perfon does not prove
The boundless Influence of mighty Love?
Where-e'er the Sun does vigious Heats infpire,
Both Sexes love and languish in Defire.
The weary'd Swain, faft in the Arms of Sleep,
Love can awake, and often fighing keep;
And bufie Gown-men, by fond Love difguis'd,
Will leafure find to make themselves defpis'd.
Imperious Kings fubmit to Beauty's fway;
Beauty it felf, a greater Prince than they,
With all its Vanity, and all its Pride,
Lyes often languifhing by fome blefs'd Shepherd's fide,
I meant to flight the foft bewitching Charm,
But yet my Head and Heart are both too warm
I doat on Womankind with all its Faults,
Love turns my Satyr into fofteft Thoughts;
Of all that Paffion which our Peace deftroys,
Inftead of Mischiefs I defcribe the Joys. "
But short will be its Reign (1 fear too short)
And prefent Cares fhall be my future Sport.
Then, Love's bright Torch put out, his Arrows broke,
Loofe from kind Chains, and from obliging Yoke,
To all fond Thoughts I'll fing fuch counter Charms
The Fair fhall liften in their Lovers Arms.
Now the Enthusiastick Fit is spent,
1 feel my Weakness, and too late repent.
As they, who walk in Dreams oft climb too high
For Senfe to follow with a waking Eye;
And, in fuch dang'rous Paths, are blindly bold,
Which afterward they tremble to behold;
So I review the Sallies of my Pen,
And modeft Judgment is return'd agen;
My Confidence I curfe, my Fate accufe,
Scarce hold from cenfuring the facred Muse.
No wretched Poet of the railing Pit,
No Critick curs'd with the wrong-fide of Wit,
Is more fevere from Ignorance and Spite,
Than I with Reason against all I Write.
The Speeches of Brutus and Cato. Tranflated from Lucan, Lib. 2. Lin. 234.
In the latter part of the First Book, and the beginning of the Second, the Poet, after having defcrib'd the Prodigies that fore-ran the Civil Wars, gives an Account of the general Confternation every Body was under at Rome, from an Apprehenfion of the Calamities they were to fuffer between the two Factions. From thence
he takes an occafion to introduce the Famous M. Bru tus confulting Cato concerning the War that was likely to enfue, which is the Subject of the two following Speeches.
Iftracted thus with Fears, prefaging Rome
But Brutus Temper fail'd not with the reft,
Nor with the common Weakness was oppreft,
But kept the Native Peace within his manly Breaft.
'Twas when the folemn dead of Night came on,
When bright Califto, with her fhining Son,
Now half their Circle round the Pole had run;
When Brutus, on the bufie Times intent,
To virtuous Cato's humble Dwelling went.
Waking he found him, careful for the State,
Grieving and fearing for his Country's Fate.
For Rome, and wretched Rome alone he fear'd;
Secure within himself, and for the worst prepar'd.
To him thus Brutus fpoke. O thou, to whom
Forfaken Virtue flies, as to her Home :
Driv'n out, and by an impious Age opprest,
She finds no room on Earth but Cato's Breaft;
There, in her one good Man, the reigns fecure,
Fearless of Vice, or Fortune's Hoftile Pow'r.'
Then teach my Soul, to Doubt and Error prone,
Teach me a Refolution like thy own.
Let partial Favour, Hopes, or Int'reft guide,
By various Motives, all the World befide,
To Pompey's, or ambitious Cafar's Side;
Thou, Cato, art my Leader. Whether Peace
And calm Repofe, amidst these Storms shall pleafe;
Or whether War thy Ardour fhall engage,
To gratifie the Madness of this Age,
Herd with the factious Chiefs, and urge the People's
The Ruffian, Bankrupt, loose Adulterer,
All who the Pow'r of Laws and Juftice fear,
From Guilt learn fpecious Reasons for the War.
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