in vain! torments the present and the past:
in vain! in vain! said I,

in vain ! in vain! twice did I sadly cry;
in vain! in vain! the fields and floods reply.
No more shall fields or floods do so,

for I to shades more dark and silent go:
all this world's noise appears to me
A dull ill-acted comedy :

no comfort to my wounded sight,
in the sun's busy and impert'nent light.
Then down I laid my head,

down on cold earth, and for awhile was dead,
and my freed soul to a strange somewhere fled.

Ah! sottish soul ! said I,

when back to' its cage again I saw it fly : fool! to resume her broken chain,

and row her galley here again!

fool! to that body to return

where it condemn'd and destin'd is to burn!

once dead, how can it be

death should a thing so pleasant seem to thee, that thou shouldst come to live it o'er again in me?

THE WISH.

Well, then, I now do plainly see,

this busy world and I shall ne'er agree;

the very honey of all earthly joy
does of all meats the soonest cloy :
and they (methinks) deserve my pity
who for it can endure the stings,
the crowd, and buz, and murmurings,
of this great hive, the City.

Ah! yet, e'er I descend to th' grave,
may I a small house and large garden have!

and a few friends, and many books, both true,

both wise, and both delightful too!

and since Love ne'er will from me flee,

a mistress moderately fair,

and good as guardian angels are,

only belov'd, and loving me!

Oh! Fountains! when in you shall I

myself, eas'd of unpeaceful thoughts, espy?

Oh Fields! oh Woods! when, when shall I be made the happy tenant of your shade?

Here's the spring-head of Pleasure's flood, where all the riches lie that she

has coin'd and stamp'd for good.

Pride and ambition here,

only in far-fetch'd metaphors appear;

here nought but winds can hurtful murmurs scatter,

and nought but Echo flatter.

The gods, when they descended hither

from heav'n, did always choose their way;

and therefore we may boldly say,

that 't is the way, too, thither.

How happy here should I

and one dear she, live, and embracing die?
she who is all the world, and can exclude
in deserts solitude!

I should have then this only fear,
lest men, when they my pleasures see,
should hither throng to live like me,
and so make a city here.

RESOLVED TO BE BELOVED.

'Tis true, l'ave lov'd already three or four,
and shall three or four hundred more;

I'll love each fair one that I see,

till I find one at last that shall love me.
That shall my Canaan be, the fatal soil
that ends my wand'rings and my toil :
I'll settle there, and happy grow;

the country does with milk and honey flow.
The needle trembles so, and turns about,
till it the Northern point find out;
but constant, then, and fix'd, does prove,
fix'd, that his dearest pole as soon may move.
Then may my vessel torn and shipwreck'd be,
if it put forth again to sea;

it never more abroad shall roam,

tho' it could next voyage bring th' Indies home.

But I must sweat in love and labour yet,

till I a competency get;

they're slothful fools who leave a trade,

till they a moderate fortune by 't have made.

Variety I ask not; give me one

to live perpetually upon.

The person Love does to us fit,

like manna, has the taste of all in it.

AGAINST HOPE.

Hope, whose weak being ruin'd is,

alike if it succeed and if it miss,

whom good or ill does equally confound,

and both the horns of Fate's dilemma wound;

vain shadow! which dost vanish quite,

both at full noon and perf ect night!

the stars have not a possibility

of blessing thee:

if things, then, from their end we happy call, 'tis Hope is the most hopeless thing of all.

Hope! thou bold taster of delight,

who, whilst thou should'st but taste, devour'st it quite! thou bring'st us an estate, yet leav'st us poor, by clogging it with legacies before!

the joys which we entire should wed,

come deflow'red virgins to our bed. Good fortunes without gain imported be, such mighty customs paid to thee:

for joy, like wine, kept close does better taste; if it take air before, its spirits waste.

Hope! Fortune's cheating lottery!

where for one prize an hundred blanks there be;
fond Archer! Hope! who tak'st thy aim so far,
that still or short or wide thine arrows are!
thin empty cloud, which th' eye deceives
with shapes that our own fancy gives!
A cloud which gilt and painted now appears,
but must drop presently in tears!

when thy false beams o'er Reason's light prevail,
by ignes fatui for North-stars we sail.

Brother of Fear! more gayly clad;

the merrier fool o' th' two, yet quite as mad ; sire of repentance! child of fond Desire!

that blow'st the chemic's and the lover's fire! leading them still insensibly' on

by the strange witchcraft of Anon!

by thee the one does changing Nature through
her endless labyrinths pursue

and th'other chases woman, whilst she goes
more ways and turns than hunted Nature knows,

FOR HOPE.

Hope, of all ills that men endure,

the only cheap and universal cure!

thou captive's freedom! and thou sick man's health! thou loser's vict'ry! and thou beggar's wealth! thou manna, which from heav'n we eat,

to ev'ry taste a sev'ral meat!

thou strong retreat! thou sure entail'd estate,
which nought has pow'r to alienate!
thou pleasant, honest Flatterer! for none
flatter unhappy men but thou alone!

Hope! thou first-fruits of happiness!
thou gentle dawning of a bright success!
thou good prepar'tive, without which our joy
does work too strong, and whilst it cures, destroy;
who out of Fortune's reach dost stand,

and art a blessing still in hand!

whilst thee, her earnest-money, we retain,
we certain are to gain,

whether she her bargain break or else fulfil;
thou only good, not worse for ending ill.
Brother of faith! 'twixt whom and thee
the joys of heav'n and earth divided be!
tho' Faith be heir, and have the fix'd estate,
thy portion yet in moveables is great.
Happiness itself is all one

in thee or in possession !

only the future is thine, the present his!
thine is the more hard and noble bliss ;
best apprehender of our joys, which hast
so long a reach, and yet canst hold so fast!
No. 77.

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