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The morals blacken'd when the writings 'scape,
A. But why insult the poor, affront the great ?
Yet soft by nature, more a dupe than wit, Sappho can tell you how this man was bit : This dreaded satirist Dennis will confess Foe to his pride, but friend to his distress : So humble, he has knock'd at Tibbald's door, Has drunk with Cibber, nay, has rhym'd for Moore. Full ten years slander'd, did he once reply?Three thousand suns went down on Welsted's lie. To please a mistress, one aspers'd his life ; He lash'd him not, but let her be his wife : Let Budgell charge low Grub-street on his quill, And write whate'er he pleas'd, except his will; Let the two Curlls of town and court abuse His father, mother, body, soul, and muse : Yet why? that father held it for a rule, It was a sin to call our neighbour fool; That harmless mother thought no wife a whore: Hear this, and spare his family, James Moore ! Unspotted names, and memorable long! If there be force in virtue, or in song.
Of gentle blood (part shed in honour's cause,
P. Their own ;
Born to no pride, inheriting no strife,
A. Whether that blessing be denied or giv'n, Thus far was right;-the rest belongs to Heav'n.
From Mr. Phillips to the Earl of Dorset.
Copenbagen, March 9, 1709. FROM frozen climes and endless tracks of snow,
From streams that northern winds forbid to flow, What present shall the Muse to Dorsét bring, Or how, so near the Pole, attempt to sing ? The hoary winter here conceals from sight All pleasing objects that to verse invite. The hills and dales, and the delightful woods, The fow'ry plains, and silver streaming floods, By snow disguis’d, in bright confusion lie, And, with one dazzling waste, fatigue the eye.
No gentle breathing breeze prepares the spring, No birds within the desert region sing. The ships, unmor'd, the boist'rous winds defy, While rattling chariots o'er the ocean fly. The vast Leviathan wants room to play, And spout his waters in the face of day. The starving wolves along the main sea prowl, And to the moon in icy valleys howl. For many a shining league the level main Here spreads itself into a glassy plain : There solid billows, of enormous size, Alps of green ice, in wild disorder rise, And yet but lately have I seen, e'en here, The winter in a lovely dress appear. Ere yet the clouds let fall the treasur'd snow, Or winds begun thro' hazy skies to blow, At ev'ning a keen eastern breeze arose ; And the descending rain unsullied froze. Soon as the silent shades of night withdrew, The ruddy morn disclos'd at once to view
The face of nature in a rich disguise,
Like some deluded peasant Merlin leads
NIGHT I. ON LIFE, DEATH, AND IMMORTALITY. To the Right Hon. Arthur Onslow, Esq. Speaker of
the House of Commons. Nature's sweet restorer, balmy Sleep! He, like the world, his ready visit pays Where Fortune smiles; the wretched he forsakes : Swift on his downy pinion flies from woe, And lights on lids unsullied with a tear.
From short (as usual) and disturb'd repose I wake : how happy they who wake no more! Yet that were vain, if dreams infest the grave. I wake, emerging from a sea of dreams Tumultuous; where my wreck'd desponding thought From ware to wave of fancied misery At random drove, her helm of reason lost. Though now restor'd 'tis only change of pain, (A bitter change!) severer for severe : The day too short for my distress; and night, Ey'n in the zenith of her dark domain, Is sunshine to the colour of my fate.
Night, sable goddess ! from her ebon throne, In rayless majesty, now stretches forth Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumbering world. Silence how dead! and darkness how profound! Nor eye nor listening ear an object finds; Creation sleeps. Tis as the general pulse of life stood still, and Nature made a pause; An awful pause! prophetic of her end. And let her prophecy be soon fulfill'd: Fate! drop the curtain; I can lose no more.
Silence and Darkness ! solemn sisters ! twins From ancient Night, who nurse the tender thought To reason, and on reason build resolve, (That column of true majesty in man) Assist me: I will thank you in the grave;