For Tournay's treach'rous tow'rs can tell
Britannia's children greatly fell.
No partial virtue of the plain !
She rous'd the lions of the main:
Hence Vernon's little fleet succeeds,
And hence the gen'rous Cornwall bleeds!+
Hence Greenville‡ glorious!—for she smil'd
On the young hero from a child.
Though in high life such virtues dwell,
They'll suit plebeian breasts as well.
Say that the mighty and the great
Blaze like meridian suns of state;
Effulgent excellence display,
Like Halifax, in floods of day;
Our lesser orbs may pour their light,
Like the mild crescent of the night.
Though pale our beams, and small our sphere,
Still we may shine serene and clear.
Give to the judge the scarlet gown,
To martial souls the civic crown:
What then? is merit theirs alone?
Have we no worth to call our own?
Shall we not vindicate our part,
In the firm breast and upright heart?
Reader, these virtues may be thine,
Though in superior light they shine.
I can't discharge great Hardwicke's trust-
True-but my soul may still be just.
And though I can't the state defend,
I'll draw the sword to serve my friend.
Two golden virtues are behind,
Of equal import to the mind;
Prudence, to point out Wisdom's way,
Or to reclaim us when we stray;
Temp'rance, to guard the youthful heart,
When Vice and Folly throw the dart;
Each virtue, let the world agree,
Daily resides with you and me.
+ Against the combined fleets of France and Spain. * Died in a later engagement with the French fleet.
And when our souls in Friendship join,
We'll deem the social bond divine;
Through ev'ry scene maintain our trust,
Nor e'er be timid or unjust.
That breast, where Honour builds his throne,
That breast, which Virtue calls her own,
Nor int'rest warps, nor fear appals,
When danger frowns, or lucre calls.
No: the true friend collected stands,
Fearless his heart, and pure his hands.
Let int'rest plead, let storms arise,
He dares be honest, though he dies.
FAIREST, this vision is thy due,
I form'd th' instructive plan for you.
Slight not the rules of thoughtful age,
Your welfare actuates every page;
But ponder well my sacred theme,
And tremble while you read my dream.
Those awful words, Till death do part,'
May well alarm the youthful heart:
No after-thought when once a wife;
The die is cast, and cast for life;
Yet thousands venture ev'ry day,
As some base passion leads the way.
Pert Sylvia talks of wedlock-scenes,
Though hardly enter'd on her teens;
Smiles on her whining spark, and hears
The sugar'd speech with raptur'd ears;
Impatient of a parent's rule,
She leaves her sire, and weds a fool.
Want enters at the guardless door,
And love is fled, to come no more.
Some few there are of sordid mould,
Who barter youth and bloom for gold;
Careless with what, or whom they mate,
Their ruling passion 's all for state.
But Hymen, gen'rous, just, and kind,
Abhors the mercenary mind:
Such rebels groan beneath his rod,
For Hymen's a vindictive god;
Be joyless ev'ry night, he said,
And barren be their nuptial bed.
Attend, my fair, to wisdom's voice,
A better fate shall crown thy choice.
A married life, to speak the best,
Is all a lottery confest:
Yet if my fair one will be wise,
I will insure my girl a prize;
Though not a prize to match thy worth,
Perhaps thy equal 's not on earth.
'Tis an important point to know,
There's no perfection here below.
Man 's an odd compound, after all,
And ever has been since the Fall.
Say, that he loves you from his soul,
Still man is proud, nor brooks control.
And though a slave in love's soft school,
In wedlock claims his right to rule.
The best, in short, has faults about him,
If few those faults, you must not flout him.
With some, indeed, you can't dispense,
As want of temper, and of sense.
For when the sun deserts the skies,
And the dull winter evenings rise,
Then for a husband's social pow'r,
To form the calm, conversive hour;
The treasures of thy breast explore,
From that rich mine to draw the ore;
Fondly each gen'rous thought refine,
And give thy native gold to shine;
Shew thee, as really thou art,
Though fair, yet fairer still at heart.
Say, when life's purple blossoms fade,
As soon they must, thou charming maid;
When in thy cheeks the roses die,
And sickness clouds that brilliant eye;
Say, when or age or pains invade,
And those dear limbs shall call for aid;
If thou art fetter'd to a fool,
Shall not his transient passion cool?
And when thy health and beauty end,
Shall thy weak mate persist a friend?
But to a man of sense, my dear,
Ev'n then thou lovely shalt appear;
He'll share the griefs that wound thy heart,
And weeping claim the larger part;
Though age impairs that beauteous face,
He 'll prize the pearl beyond its case.
In wedlock when the sexes meet,
Friendship is only then complete.
< Blest state! where souls each other draw, Where love is liberty and law!'
The choicest blessing found below,
That man can wish, or heaven bestow!
Trust me, these raptures are divine,
For lovely Chloe once was mine!
Nor fear the varnish of my style,
Though poet, I'm estrang'd to guile.
Ah me! my faithful lips impart
The genuine language of my heart!
When bards extol their patrons high,
Perhaps 'tis gold extorts the lie;
Perhaps the poor reward of bread-
But who burns incense to the dead?
He whom a fond affection draws,
Careless of censure, or applause;
Whose soul is upright and sincere,
With nought to wish, and nought to fear.
Now to my visionary scheme
Attend, and profit by my dream.
Amidst the slumbers of the night,
A stately temple rose to sight;
And ancient as the human race,
If nature's purposes you trace.
This fane, by all the wise rever'd,
To Wedlock's pow'rful god was rear'd.
Hard by I saw a graceful sage,
His locks were frosted o'er by age;
His garb was plain, his mind serene,
And wisdom dignified his mien.
With curious search his name I sought,
And found 'twas Hymen's fav'rite-Thought.
Apace the giddy crowds advance,
And a lewd satyr led the dance:
I griev'd to see whole thousands run,
For oh! what thousands were undone !
The sage, when these mad troops he spy'd,
In pity flew to join their side:
The disconcerted pairs began
To rail against him, to a man;
Vow'd they were strangers to his name,
Nor knew from whence the dotard came.
But mark the sequel-for this truth
Highly concerns th' impetuous youth:
Long ere the honey-moon could wane,
Perdition seiz'd on ev'ry twain;
At ev'ry house, and all day long,
Repentance ply'd her scorpion thong;
Disgust was there with frowning mien,
And every wayward child of Spleen.
Hymen approach'd his awful fane,
Attended by a num'rous train:
Love with each soft and nameless grace,
Was first in favour and in place:
Then came the god with solemn gait,
Whose ev'ry word was big with fate;
His hand a flaming taper bore,
That sacred symbol fam'd of yore:
Virtue, adorn'd with ev'ry charm,
Sustain'd the god's incumbent arm;
Beauty improv'd the glowing scene
With all the roses of eighteen :
Youth led the gaily-smiling fair,
His purple pinions way'd in air:
Wealth, a close hunks, walk'd hobbling nigh,
With vulture-claw, and eagle-eye,
Who three-score years had seen, or more
('Tis said his coat had seen a score);
Proud was the wretch, though clad in rags, Presuming much upon his bags.
A female next her arts display'd, Poets alone can paint the maid:
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