« السابقةمتابعة »
Thou base Debaucher of the gen'rous Heart,
That teaches all our Looks and A&ions Art!
What Love design'd a sacred Gift,
What Nature made to be possess'd,
Mistaken Honour made a Theft :
Thou Foe to Pleasure ! Nature's worft Disease!
Thou Tyrant over mighty Kings !
Be gone to Princes Palaces ;
But let the humble Swain go on
In the blest Paths of the first Race of Man ;
That nearest were to Gods ally'd,
And, form'd for Love, disdain'd all other Pride, Behri.
Have I o'ercome all real Foes,
And shall this Phantom me oppose ?
Noisy nothing ! Stalking Shade!
By what Witchcraft wert thou made ?
Empty Cause of solid Harms !
'Tis Pride's Original, but Nature's Grave,
Scorn'd by the Base, 'tis courted by the Brave ;
The Heroes Tyrant, and the Coward's Slave.
Born in the noisy Camp, it lives on Air ;
And both exists by Hope, and by Despair :
Angry whene'er a Moment's Ease we gain ;
And reconcil'd at our Returns of Pain.
It lives when in Death's Arms the Heroe lies,
But if his Safety he consults, it dies.
Bigotted to this Idol we disclaim
Rest, Health, and Ease, for nothing but a Name. Gari
What is this vain, fantastick, pageant Honour, This busy, angry thing, that scatters Discord, Amongst the mighty Princes of the Earth, And sets the madding Nations in an Uproar ? Row. Ull
This Honour is the veriest Mountebank; It fits our Fancies with affected Tricks, And makes us freakilh. What a Cheat must that be, Which robs our Lives of all their softer Hours ? Beauty, our only Treasure, it lays waste ; Hurries us over our neglected Youth, To the decested State of Age and Ugliness: Tearing our dearest Heart's Desire from us ; Then, in Reward of what it took away, Our Joys, our Hopes, our Wishes and Delights, It bountifully pays us all with Pride. Poor Shifts ! ftill to be proud, and never pleas'd! Yet this is all your Honour can do for you. Roch. Valente
Not all the Threats or Favours of a Crown,
A Prince's Whisper, or a Tyrant's Frown,
Can awe the Spirit or allure the Mind,
Of him who to ftri& Honour is inclin'd.
Tho' all the Pomp and Pleasure that does wait
On publick Places and Affairs of State,
Should fondly court him to be base and great ;
With even Passions and with settled Face,
He would remove the Harlot's false Embrace.
Tho' all the Storms and Tempefts should arise
That Church Magicians in their Cells devise,
And from their settled Basis Nations tear,
He would unmov'd the mighty Ruin bear ;
Secure in Innocence, contemn them all,
And, decently array'd in Honour, fall.
Honour, that Spark of the celestial Fire,
That above Nature makes Mankind aspire,
Ennobles the rude Passions of our Frame
With Thirft of Glory and Desire of Fame;
The richest Treasure of a gen'rous Breaft,
That gives the Stamp and Standard to the rest.
Wit, Strength, and Courage are wild dang'rous Force,
Unless this soften and direct their Course.
Of Honour, Men at first, like Women nice,
Raise maiden Scruples at unpraatis's Vice;
Their modeft Nature curbs the struggling Flame,
And stifles what they wish to a&t, with Shame :
But once this Fence thrown down, when they perceive
That they may taste forbidden Fruit and live;
They stop not here their Course, but safely in,
Grow strong, luxuriant, and bold in Sin ;
True to no Principles, press forward still,
And only bound by Appecite their Will;
Now fawn and flatter while this Tide prevails,
But shift with ev'ry veering Blast their Sails.
On higher Springs true Men of Honour move,
Free is their Service, and unbought their Love:
When Danger calls, and Honour leads the way,
With Joy they follow, and with Pride obey.
Hope, of all Ills that Men endure
The only cheap and aniverfal Cure!
Thou Captive's Preedom, and thou fick Man's Health!
Thou Loser's Vi&tory, and thou Beggar's Wealch!
Thou Manna, which from Heav'n we eat;
To ev'ry Taste a feveral Mear! Thou strong Retreat ! thou sure entaild Etate,
Which nought has Pow's 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,
Who out of Fortune's Reach doft ftand,
And art a Blessing ftill in Hand.
Happiness it felf's all one
In thee, or in Poffeffion :
Only the Future's thine, the Present his ;
Thinc's the more hard and noble Bliss.
Beft Apprehender of our Joys, which haft
So long a Reach, and yet canít hold fo faft!
Hope, thou fad Lovers only Friend!
Thou Way that may ft difpute it with the End!
Men leave thee by obtaining, and strait filee
Some other way again to thee.
Hope, whose weak Being ruin'd is
Alike, if it fucceed, and if it miss!
Whom Good or Ill does equally confound,
And both the Horns of Fati's Dilemma wound!
Vain Shadow, which do'st vanish quite,
Both at full Noon, and perfe& Night!
Hope, thou bold Taster of Delight!
Who, while thou should't but cafte, devour'ft it quite !
Thou bring ft us an Estate ; yet leav'st us poor,
By clogging it with Legacies before.
The Joys, which we intire Lould wed,
Come deflour'd Virgins to our Bed :
Hope, Fortune's cheating Lottery!
Where for one Prize, a hundred Blanks there be :
Fond Archer Hope ! who tak ft thy Aim fo far,
That still, or short, or wide, thy Arrows are.
Thin.empty Cloud! which th’Eye deceiveg
With Shapes, that our own Fancy gives: A Cloud, which guilt and painted now appcars,
But must drop presently in Tears.
Brother of Fear! More gaily clad !
The merrier Fool o'th'Two, but quite as mad?
Sire of Repentance, Child of fond Desire !
Thou blow it the Chymicks and the Lovers Fire!
Leading them ftill insensibly along,
By the strange Witchcraft of Anon!
By thee, the one does changing Nature chro'
Her endless Labyrinths pursue:
And th'other chases Woman, while she goes
More Ways and Turns than hunted Natures knows.
Hope with a goodly Prospect feeds the Eye, Shews, from a riling Ground, Poffeffion nigh: Shortens the Distance, or o'er-looks it quite : So easy 'tis to travel with the Sight!
Our Hopes, like tow'ring Falcons, aim
At Objects in an airy Height ;
Buc all the Pleasure of the Game,
Is afar off co view the Flight.
The worthless Prey but only thews
The Joy consisted in the Staife:
Whate'er we take as soon we loses
In Homer's Riddle, and in Life.
So whilft in feav'rish Sleeps we thinki
We tafte what waking we defire
The Dream is better than the Deithet
Which only feeds the fickly Fire.
To the Mind's Eye things well appear
At Distance, thro' an artful Glass ;.
Bring but the flate'ring Obje&t near,
They're all a senseless gloomy Mass.
HORSE. See the Centaur Gyllariis.
Upright he walks, on Pafterns firm and straight,
His Motions easy; prancing in his Gate ;
The first to lead the way, to tempt the Flood,
To pass the Bridge unknown, nor fear the trembling Woods
Dauntless at empty Noises, lofry neck'd,
Sharp-headed, barrel-belly’d, broadly back'd :
Brawny his Chest, and deep; his Colour grey,
For Beauty dappled, or the brightest Bay :
Faine white and dun will scarce the Rearing paý.
The fiery Courser, when he hears from far.
. The sprightly Trumpets, and the Shout of War,
Pricks up his Ears, and trembling with Delight,
Shifts Place, and paws, and hopes the promis's Fight:
On his right Shoulder his thick Mane reclin'd
Ruffilles at speed, and dances in the Wind.
His horny Hoofs are jetty black and round;
His Chine is double : Starting with a Bound;
He turns the Turf, and shakes the folid Ground.
Fire from his Eyes, Clouds from his Nostrils flow;
He bears his Rider headlong on the Foe.
Drġd. Virg. The trembling Ground ch'outrageous Coursors tear, And snorting, blow their Foam into the Air. Their fervid Noftrils breath our Clouds of Smoke; And Flames of Fire from their hot Eye-balls broke :
With furious Hoofs o'er slaughter'd Heaps they Ay, ļ And dash up bloody Rain amidst the Sky.
Reeking in Sweat, and smear'd with Dirt and Gore,
They fpurn the Sand, and thro' the Bartel roar.
Pleas'd with the martial Noise, he snuffs the Air,
And finells the dusty Battel from afar ;
Neighs to the Captain's Thunder, and the Shouts of War. Blac.
Swift as a Dove pursu'd, or Mountain Hind, His nimble Feet could overtake the Wind; Leave flying Darts, and swifter Storms behind.
Blac. Thus form'd for Speed, he challenges the Wind, And leaves the Scythian Arrow far behind. He scours along the Field with loosen'd Reins, And creads fo light he scarcely prints the Plains. Dryd. Virg:
In such a Shape grim Saturn did restrain His heav'nly Limbs, and flow'd with such a Mane: When half surpriz'd, and fearing to be seen, The Leacher gallop'd from his jealous Queen ; Ran up the Ridges of the Rocks amain, And with thrill Neighings fill'd the neighb'ring Plain. Dr.Virg.
Wanton with Life, and bold with native Heat,
With thund'ring Feet he paws the trembling Ground,
He strikes out Fire, and spurns the Sand around;
Does with loud Neighings make the Valley ring,
And with becoming Pride his Foam around him fing.
So light he treads, he leaves no Mark behind,
As if indeed defcended from the Wind;
And yet so strong he does his Rider bear,
As if he felt no Burden but the Air.
A Cloud of Smoke from his wide Nostrils flies,
And his hot Spirits brighten in his Eyes.
At the shrill Trumpers Sound he pricks his Ears,
With brave Delight surveys the glitt'ring Spears,
And covetous of War, upbraids the Coward's Fears. Blac.
Freed from his Keepers thus, with broken Reins,
The wanton Courser prances o'er the Plains;
Or in the Pride of Youth o'er-leaps the Mounds,
And fnuffs the females in forbidden Grounds:
Or seeks his Wat’ring in the well-known Flood,
To quench his Thirst, and cool his fiery Blood;
He swims luxuriant in the liquid Plain,
And o'er his Shoulder flows his waving Mane :
He neighs, he snorts, he bears his Head on high;
Before his ample Chest the frothy Waters fly.
He fought the Courfers of the Thracian Race.
At his Approach they toss their Hords on high,
And proudly neighing, promVie
The Drifts of Thracian Snow were tcaici o white,
Nor northern Winds in Fleetneis match'd their Flight: