The nymphs and fhepherds round him came ;
His grief fome pity, others blame;
The fatal caufe all kindly feek:
He mingled his concern with theirs ;
He gave 'em back their friendly tears;
He figh'd, but would not speak.
Clorinda came among the reft,
And fhe, too, kind concern expreft,
And afk'd the reafon of his woe:
She afk'd, but with an air and mion
That made it eafily foreseen
She fear'd too much to know.
The fhepherd rais'd his mournful head;
And will you pardon me, he said,
While I the cruel truth reveal,
Which nothing from my breast should tear,
Which never should offend your ear,
But that you bid me tell?
'Tis thus I rove, 'tis thus complain, Since
you appear'd upon the plain;
You are the caufe of all my care:
Your eyes ten thousand dangers dart,
Ten thousand torments vex my heart;
I love and I despair.
Too much Alexis I have heard:
'Tis what I thought, 'tis what I fear'd ; I pardon you, the cry'd:
fhall promise ne'er again
To breathe your vows or speak your pain.
He bow'd, obey'd, and dy'd.
HAT all from Adam firft began,
None but ungodly Whifton doubts,
And that his fon and his fon's fon
Were all but ploughmen, clowns, and louts.
'Twas only who left off at noon,
Or who went on to work till night.
III.
But coronets we owe to crowns,
And favour to a court's affection;
By nature we are Adam's fons,
And fons of Anftis by election.
Kingfale! eight hundred years have roll'd
Since thy forefathers held the plough ;
When this in ftory fhall be told,
Add, that my kindred do fo now.
The man who by his labour gets
His bread in independent state,
Who never begs, and feldom eats,
Himfelf can fix or change his fate.
THE PEDANT.
LYSANDER talks extremely well;
any fubject let him dwell,
His tropes and figures will content ye
He fhould poffefs to all degrees
The art of talk; he practises
Full fourteen hours in four-and-twenty.
WORSE THAN THE DISEASE.
SENT for Ratcliffe, was so ill, That other doctors gave me over, He felt my pulfe, prefcrib'd his pill, And I was likely to recover.
But when the wit began to wheeze,
And wine had warm'd the politician,
Cur'd yesterday of my difeafe,
I dy'd last night of my phyfician.
THE SECRETARY.
WRITTEN AT THE HAGUE, 1696.
7HILE with labour affiduous due pleasure I mix, And in one day atone for the bus'nefs of fix, In a little Dutch chaife, on a Saturday night, On my left hand my Horace, a W*** on my right: No memoirs to compofe, and no poftboy to move, That on Sunday may hinder the foftnefs of love; For her, neither vifits, nor parties at tea, Nor the long-winded cant of a dull refugee : This night and the next shall be her's, fhall be mine, To good or ill fortune the third we refign: Thus fcorning the world, and fuperior to fate, I drive on my car in proceffional ftate; So with Phia thro' Athens Pififtratus rode, Men thought her Minerva, and him a new god. But why fhould I stories of Athens rehearse, Where people knew love, and were partial to verfe; Since none can with juftice my pleasure oppofe, In Holland half drown'd in int'reft and profe? By Greece and paft ages what need I be try'd, When the Hague and the prefent are both on my fide? And is it enough for the joys of the day
To think what Anacreon or Sappho would fay?
When good Vendergoes and his provident Vrow,
As they gaze on my triumph, do freely allow
That fearch all the province, you'll find no man dar is
So bleft as the Englishen heer Secretar' is,
CONSIDERATIONS
ON PART OF THE LXXXVIIIth PSALM.
[A college exercise, 1690.)
EAVY, O Lord, on me thy judgments lie;
Accurft I am while God rejects my cry.
O'erwhelm'd in darkness and despair I groan,
And ev'ry place is hell, for God is gone.
O Lord arife, and let thy beams control
Thofe horrid clouds that prefs my frighted foul:
Save the poor wand'rer from eternal night,
Thou that art the God of light.
Downward I haften to my deftin'd place;
There none obtain thy aid, or fing thy praife.
Soon fhall I lie in death's deep ocean drown'd:
Is mercy there, or fweet forgiveness found?
O fave me yet whilst on the brink I stand;
Rebuke the ftorm, and waft my foul to land,
O let her reft beneath thy wing fecure,
Thou that art the God of pow'r.
Behold the prodigal! to thee I come.
To hail my father, and to feek my home.
Nor refuge could I find, nor friend abroad,
Straying in vice, and deftitute of God.
O let thy terrors and my anguish end!
Be thou my refuge, and be thou my friend:
Receive the fon thou didft fo long reprove,
Thou that art the God of love.
TWO RIDDLES, 1710.
PHINX was a monfter that would eat
Whatever stranger she could get,
Unless his ready wit difclos'd
The fubtile riddle the propos'd.
Oedipus was refolv'd to go
And try what ftrength of parts would do;
Says Sphinx, on this depends your fate;
Tell me what animal is that
Which has four feet at morning bright,
Has two at noon, and three at night?
'Tis Man, faid he, who, weak by nature,
At first creeps, like his fellow-creature,
Upon all four; as years accrue,
With sturdy steps he walks on two;
In age at length grows weak and fick,
For his third leg adopts the stick.
Now, in your turn, 'tis juft, methinks,
You should refolve me, Madam Sphinx,
What greater ftranger yet is he
Who has four legs, then two, then three;
Then lofes one, then gets two more,
And runs away at laft on four?
ON BEAUTY. A RIDDLE.
ESOLVE me, Cloe, what is this,
Or forfeit me one precious kifs.
'Tis the first offspring of the Graces
Bears diff'rent forms in diff'rent places;
Acknowledg'd fine where'er beheld,
Yet fancy'd finer when conceal'd.
'Twas Flora's wealth, and Circe's charm,
Pandora's box of good and harm;
'Twas Mars' with, Endymion's dream,
Apelles' draught, and Ovid's theme :
This guided Thefeus thro' the maze,
And fent him home with life and praise ;
But this undid the Phrygian boy,
And blew the flames that ruin'd Troy:
This fhew'd great kindness to old Greece,
And help'd rich Jafon to the fleece:
This thro' the East just vengeance hurl'd,
And loft poor Anthony the world:
Injur'd, tho' Lucrece found her doom;
This banish'd tyranny from Rome :
Appeas'd, tho' Lais gain'd her hire;
This fet Perfepolis on fire;
For this Alcides learn'd to fpin,
His club laid down, and lion's fkin:
For this Apollo deign'd to keep
With fervile care a mortal's fheep:
For this the father of the gods,
Content to leave his high abodes,
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