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E. OF ROCHESTER.
ORILENCE! coeval with Eternity,
slept fast in thee.
Thine was the sway, ere heav'n was form’d,
or earth, Ere fruitful Thought conceiv'd creation's birth,
5 Or midwife Word gave aid, and spoke the
Then various elements against thee join'd,
In one more various animal combin'd, And fram'd the clam'rous race of busy Human
The tongue mov'd gently first, and speech
was low, 'Till wrangling Science taught it noise and
show, And wicked Wit arose, thy most abusive foe.
But rebel Wit deserts thee oft'in vain;
Lost in the maze of words he turns again, And seeks a surer state, and courts thy gentle reign.
Oppress'd with argumental tyranny,
With thee in private modest Dulness lies,
And in thy bosom lurks in Thought's disguise; Thou varnisher of Fools, and cheat of all the
Folly by thee lies sleeping in the breast, And 'tis in thee at last that Wisdom seeks for
Silence! the knave's repute, the whore's
good name, The only honour of the wishing dame; Thy very want of tongue makes thee a kind of
But could'st thou seize some tongues that now
are free, How Church and State should be oblig'd to
thee! At Senate, and at Bar, how welcome would'st thou be!
Yet speech ev'n there, submissively with
draws From rights of subjects, and the poor man's
cause : Then pompous Silence reigns, and stills the
Past services of friends, good deeds of foes, What Fav'rites gain, and what the Nation owes,
35 Fly the forgetful world, and in thy arms repose.
The courtier's learning, policy o'th' gown, Are best by thee express’d; and shine in thee
Lord's quibble, critic's jest; all end in thee, All rest in peace at last, and sleep eternally.
And wear a cleaner smock.
Are oddly join'd by fate :
That lies and stinks in state.
She wears no colours (sign of grace)
All white and black beside :
And masculine her stride.
All flutter, pride, and talk.
HRYNE had talents for mankind,
Like some free port of trade :
freight, And Agents from each foreign state, 5
Here first their entry made.
Spaniards or French came to her ;
10 'Twas Si, Signior, 'twas Yaw, Mynheer,
'Twas S'il vous plaist, Monsieur. Obscure by birth, renown'd by crimes, Still changing names, religions, climes,
At length she turns a Bride :
And flutters in her pride.
So have I known those Insects fair
Still vary shapes and dyes;
Then painted butterflies.
Are better than the Bishop's blessing.
He that has these, may pass his life,