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Another boasts a more substantial claim,
For him fair Plenty fills her golden horn,
A thousand flocks support his haughty flame,
A thousand acres crown’d with waving corn,
But I nor tread the mazes of the dance
With easy step, and unaffected air,
Nor rapture feign, nor roll a meaning glance,
To catch the open, easy-hearted fair.
I boast not Fortune's more substantial claim,
For me nor Plenty fills her golden horn,
Nor wealthy flocks support my humble flame,
Nor smiling acres crown?d with waving corn,
Say will thy gen'rous heart for these rejeet
A tender passion, and a foul fincere ?
For tho' with me you've little to expect,
Believe me, Sylvia, you have less to fear.
Come, let us tread the flow'ry paths of peace,
'Till Fate shall seal th' irrevocable doom ; Then foar together to yon realms of bliss, And leave our mingled afhes in the tomb.
Perhaps some tender sympathetic breast,
Who knows with Sorrow's elegance to moan,
May search the charnel where our relicks rest,
grave our mem'ry on the faithful stone.
X. « Tread
X. « Tread soft; ye lovers, o'er this hallow'd ground,
“ Here lies fond Damon by his sylvia's fide; “ Their souls in life by mutual love were bound,
“ Nor death the lasting union could divide.”
A POEM to the Memory of THOMAS, late
Marquiss of WHARTON, Lord Privy Seal.
AIN are these pomps, thy funeral rites to grace,
And blazon forth thy long Patrician race ;
These banners mark'd with boasted feats of old,
And streamers waving with distinguish'd gold.
Proud hieroglyphics ! where are darkly shown
Thy brave forefathers merits, not thy own.
Herald forbear! these painted honours give
To names that only in thy paint can live.
Thy colours fade near this illustrious clay,
And all thy gaudy gildings die away.
See, * heaven displeas'd thy fond attempt upbraids,
And claims the province thy bold hand invades;
Untimely darkness gathering round the skies,
Blackens the morn to grace his obfequies.
The fick’ning fun fhines dim, and in the fight
Of gazing crowds, resigns his waning light;
Mark how he labours with relapse of night!
* The marquiss was inter'd at Winchindon on the 22d of April 1715. The total eclipse of the fun happening whilft bis remains were on the road, popped the procesion..
How his diminish'd face a crescent seemis,
Like Cynthia newly silver'd with his beams.
But as in full eclipse his light expires,
Back to its source our gelid blood retires ;'.
Chill'd with surprize, our trembling joints unbrace,
And pale confusion sits on every face.
The bleating flocks, no more the shepherd's care,
Stray from those folds to which they wou'd repair.
Home to his young the raven wings his way,
And leaves untafted his yet bleeding prey.
While tow'ring larks their rival notes prolong,
They drop benighted in their morning song.
Darkness and horror reign o'er earth and skies,
And nature for awhile with Wharton dies.,
O! speak, refulgent parent of the day!
With beamy eye who doft the globe survey ;
Thou radiant source of wit's diviner fire !
Thou truest judge of what thou doft inspire!,
Say, haft thou seen in any age, or clime,
Since thy bright race began to measure time,
So great a genius rise in ev'ry part
So form'd by nature, finish'd so by art?
Such manly sense, with so much fire of mind?
Ś Judgment so strong, to wit fo lively join'd?
No prepoffeffion fway'd his equal soul,
Steady to truth the pointed as her pole:
Convinc'd of varying in the least degrees,
Her pliant index the reclaim'd with ease.
Early thro' cuftom's and prescription's yoke;
Tyrants of weaker fouls, his reason broke.
Good sense revering from the meaneft hand,
He durft authority in robes withstand.
Determin'd always on maturer thought,
Still by new reasons, to new inèasures brought ;
Firm, but not stubborn; thoughtful, not involv'd ;
Swift to perform what slowly he resolv'd.
No tempests rag'd within his peaceful breast,
Where kindling passion reason foon suppreft.
'Midft all events his firmness he maintain'd,
Struggled with great, but flighter ills disdain'd.
Thus what philosophers could only preach,
His inborn virtue did in practice reach.
Nature design'd him master of address ;
None knew it more, nor seem'd to know it lessa
It work'd like magic on your yielding heart,
Sure was the charm, but fecret was the art.
In human nature most exactly learn'd,
The artful man he through his masque discern'd.
With chosen baits that every temper take,
He knew of knave or fool good use to make.
His easy breeding free from form and rules,
That ftiffen the civility of fools,
Of various turn, for all occasion's fit,
Was squar'd with judgment, and well touch'd with wit.
Free of access, from affectation clean,
Great without pride, nor when familiar, mean.
Obliging always with good-natur'd sense,
Nor apt to give nor apt to take offence.
Nor fond when kind, nor harsh when moft severe,
Betwixt extremes he justly knew to steer.
In conversation wond'rous was his art
To guard his own, and fift another's heart.
To mirth and wit he led the cheerful way,
Reserv’dly open and discreetly gay ;
Nor could the softest hour his secret foul betray.
Bright as the youngest, as the oldeft wise,
In both extremes, alike he gave surprize.
In body active, yet his sprightly mind
Within that body felt herself confin’d.-
When thoughts important claim'd no longer place,
Then building, planting, and the speedy race,
Paintings, and books fucceffive took their round,
No blanks of time were in his journal found.
Skill'd in the ends of his existence, he
To be unuseful thought was not to be.
Polite his taste of arts, but vain was art
Where nature had so greatly done her part.
Through tiresome mediums we at truth arrive ;
His eafy knowledge seem'd intuitive.
No copy'd beauties meanly form'd his mind,
By heav'n a great original design d.
The feeds of science in his blood were fown,
Born with philosophy, 'twas all his own t.
+ The poet defign'd by this to cover the marquisi's want of literature, for he fudied men and the world more than books.