Another boasts a more substantial claim,
For him fair Plenty fills her golden horn,
A thousand flocks fupport 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 boaft not Fortune's more fubftantial claim,
For me nor Plenty fills her golden horn,
Nor wealthy flocks fupport my humble flame,
Nor fmiling acres crown'd with waving corn,
VII.
Say will thy gen'rous heart for these reject
A tender paffion, and a foul fincere?
For tho' with me you've little to expect,
Believe me, Sylvia, you have less to fear.
VIII.
Come, let us tread the flow'ry paths of peace,
"Till Fate fhall feal th' irrevocable doom;
Then foar together to yon realms of blifs,
And leave our mingled ashes in the tomb.
Perhaps fome tender fympathetic breast,
Who knows with Sorrow's elegance to moan, May search the charnel where our relicks rest, And grave our mem❜ry on the faithful stone.
"Tread foft, ye lovers, o'er this hallow'd ground,
"Here lies fond Damon by his Sylvia's fide;
"Their fouls in life by mutual love were bound,
"Nor death the lasting union could divide.”
A POEM to the Memory of THOMAS, late Marquifs 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 ftreamers waving with diftinguish'd gold.
Proud hieroglyphics! where are darkly shown
Thy brave forefathers merits, not thy own.
Herald forbear! thefe painted honours give
To names that only in thy paint can live.
Thy colours fade near this illuftrious clay,
And all thy gaudy gildings die away.
See, * heaven difpleas'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, refigns his waning light ;-
Mark how he labours with relapse of night!
The marquis was inter'd at Winchindon on the 22d of April 1715. The total eclipfe of the fun happening whilft bis remains were on the road, fopped the proceffion..
How his diminish'd face a crescent seems,
Like Cynthia newly filver'd with his beams.
But as in full eclipfe his light expires,
Back to its fource our gelid blood retires ;
Chill'd with furprize, our trembling joints unbrace,
And pale confufion fits on every face.
The bleating flocks, no more the fhepherd'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 fpeak, refulgent parent of the day!
With beamy eye, who doft the globe furvey;
Thou radiant fource of wit's diviner fire!
Thou trueft judge of what thou dost inspire!,
Say, haft thou seen in any age, or clime,
Since thy bright race began to measure time,
So great a genius rife in ev'ry part
So form'd by nature, finish'd fo by art?
Such manly fenfe, with fo much fire of mind?
Judgment fo ftrong, to wit fo lively join'd?
No prépoffeffion fway'd his equal foul,
Steady to truth fhe pointed as her pole:
Convinc'd of varying in the least degrees,
Her pliant index fhe reclaim'd with eafe.
Early thro' cuftom's and prescription's yoke;
Tyrants of weaker fouls, his reafon broke.
Good fenfe revering from the meaneft hand,
He durft authority in robes withstand.
Determin'd always on maturer thought,
Still by new reafons, to new measures brought;
Firm, but not ftubborn; thoughtful, not involv'd ;
Swift to perform what flowly he resolv'd.
No tempefts rag'd within his peaceful breast,
Where kindling paffion reafon foon fuppreft."
'Midft all events his firmnefs he maintain'd,
Struggled with great, but flighter ills disdain'd.
Thus what philofophers could only preach,
His inborn virtue did in practice reach.
Nature defign'd him master of address ;
None knew it more, nor feem'd to know it lefs.
It work'd like magic on your yielding heart,
Sure was the charm, but fecret was the art.
In human nature moft exactly learn'd,
The artful man he through his mafque difcern'd.
With chosen baits that every temper take,
He knew of knave or fool good use to make.
His eafy breeding free from form and rules,
That ftiffen the civility of fools,
Of various turn, for all occafions fit,
Was fquar'd with judgment, and well touch'd with wit.
Free of accefs, from affectation clean,
Great without pride, nor when familiar, mean.
Obliging always with good-natur'd fenfe,
Nor apt to give nor apt to take offence.
Nor fond when kind, nor harsh when most 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,
Referv'dly open and difcreetly gay;
Nor could the softeft hour his secret soul betray.
Bright as the youngest, as the oldeft wife,
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 fo greatly done her part.
Through tirefome mediums we at truth arrive;
His eafy knowledge feem'd intuitive.
No copy'd beauties meanly form'd his mind,
By heav'n a great original defign'd.
The feeds of fcience in his blood were fown,
Born with philofophy, 'twas all his own †.
+ The poet defign'd by this to cover the marquifs's want of literature, for he ftudied men and the world more than books.
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