THOUGHTFUL Being, long and spare,
Our race of mortals call him Care
(Were Homer living, well he knew
What name the Gods have call'd him too),
With fine mechanic genius wrought,
And lov'd to work, though no one bought.
This being, by a model bred
In Jove's eternal fable head,
Contriv'd a fhape impower'd to breathe,
And be the worldling here beneath.
The man rofe ftaring, like a ftake;
Wondering to fee himself awake!
Then look'd fo wife, before he knew
The business he was made to do;
That, pleas'd to fee with what a grace
He gravely fhew'd his forward face,
Jove talk'd of breeding him on high,
An under-fomething of the fky.
But ere he gave the mighty nod,
Which ever binds a Poet's God
(For which his curls ambrofial shake,
And mother Earth's oblig❜d to quake),
He faw old mother Earth arise,
She ftood confefs'd before his eyes;
But not with what we read she wore,
A castle for a crown before,
Nor with long ftreets and longer roads
Dangling behind her, like commodes:
As yet with wreaths alone she drest,
And trail'd a landskip-painted veft.
Then thrice fhe rais'd, as Ovid faid,
And thrice she bow'd her weighty head.
Her honours made, Great Jove, fhe cry'd,
This thing was fashion'd from my fide:
His hands, his heart, his head, are mine;
Then what haft thou to call him thine?
Nay rather ask, the Monarch faid,
What boots his hand, his heart, his head,
Were what I gave remov'd away?
Thy part's an idle shape of clay.
Halves, more than halves! cry'd honest Care,
Your pleas would make your titles fair,
You claim the body, you the foul,
But I who join'd them, claim the whole.
Thus with the Gods debate began,
On fuch a trivial caufe, as man.
And can celeftial tempers rage?
Quoth Virgil, in a later age.
As thus they wrangled, Time came by ; (There's none that paint him fuch as I, For what the fabling Ancients fung
Makes Saturn old, when Time was young.)
yet
his winters had not shed
Their filver honours on his head;
He just had got his pinions free,
From his old fire, Eternity.
A ferpent girdled round he wore,
The tail within the mouth, before;
By which our almanacks are clear
That learned Egypt meant the year.
A ftaff he carry'd, where on high
A glass was fix'd to measure by,
As amber boxes made a fhow
For heads of canes an age ago.
His veft, for day and night, was py'd;
A bending fickle arm'd his fide;
And Spring's new months his train adorn!
The other Seasons were unborn.
Known by the gods, as near he draws,
They make him umpire of the cause.
O'er a low trunk his arm he laid,
Where fince his hours a dial made;
Then leaning heard the nice debate,
And thus pronounc'd the words of Fate:
Since body from the parent Earth,
And foul from Jove receiv'd a birth,
Return they where they firft began ;
But fince their union makes the man,
Till Jove and Earth fhall part
these two,
To Care who join'd them, man is due.
He faid, and fprung with swift career
To trace a circle for the year;
Where ever fince the Seafons wheel,
And tread on one another's heel.
'Tis well, faid Jove, and for confent Thundering he fhook the firmament.
Our umpire Time shall have his way,
With Care I let the creature ftay:
Let bufinefs vex him, avarice blind,
Let doubt and knowledge rack his mind,
Let error act, opinion speak,
And want afflict, and ficknefs break,
And anger burn, dejection chill,
And joy distract, and forrow kill.
Till, arm'd by Care, and taught to mow,
Time draws the long destructive blow;
And wafted man, whofe quick decay
Comes hurrying on before his day,
Shall only find by this decree,
The foul flies fooner back to me.
IMITATION OF SOME FRENCH VERSES.
RELENTLESS Time! destroying power,
Whom ftone and brafs obey,
Who giv'ft to every flying hour
To work fome new decay;
Unheard, unheeded, and unfeen,
Thy fecret faps prevail,
And ruin man, a nice machine,
By nature form'd to fail.
My change arrives; the change I meet,
Before I thought it nigh.
My spring, my years of pleasure fleet,
And all their beauties die.
In age I fearch, and only find
A poor unfruitful gain,
Grave wisdom stalking flow behind,
Oppress'd with loads of pain.
My ignorance could once beguile,
And fancy'd joys inspire;
My errors cherish'd Hope to smile
On newly-born defire.
But now experience fhews, the blifs
For which I fondly fought
Not worth the long impatient wish,
And ardour of the thought.
My youth met Fortune fair array'd,
In all her pomp she shone,
And might perhaps have well essay'd
To make her gifts my own:
But when I faw the bleffings shower
On fome unworthy mind,
I left the chace, and own'd the Power
Was justly painted blind.
I pafs'd the glories which adorn
The fplendid courts of kings,
And while the perfons mov'd my fcorn, I rose to scorn the things.
My manhood felt a vigorous fire
By love encreas'd the more;
But years with coming years conspire
To break the chains I wore.
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