Friend in England,
In the Year, 1703.
ROM Utrecht's filent Walks, by Winds I
fend
Health and kind Wishes to my abfent
Friend.
The Winter spent, I feel the Poet's Fire;
The Sun advances, and the Fogs retire:
The genial Spring unbinds the frozen Earth,
Dawns on the Trees, and gives the Primrose Birth.
Loos'd from their friendly Harbours, once again
Confederate Fleets affemble on the Main:
The Voice of War the gallant Soldier wakes;
And weeping CHLOE parting Kiffes takes.
On new-plunn'd Wings the Roman Eagle foars;
The Belgick Lyon in full Fury roars.
Difpatch the Leader from your happy Coast,
The Hope of Europe, and Britannia's Boast:
O, Marlborough, come! fresh Laurels for Thee rife!
One Conqueft more; and Gallia will grow wife.
Old Lewis makes his laft Effort in Arms,
And fhews how, ev'n in Age, Ambition charms.
Mean while, my Friend, the pleasing Shades I haunt, And smooth Canals; and after Riv❜lets
pant:
The fmooth Canals, alas! to lifelefs fhow,
Nor to the Eye, nor to the Ear they flow.
Studious of Eafe, and fond of humble Things,
Below the Smiles, below the Frowns of Kings;
Thanks to my Stars, I prize the Sweets of Life,
No fleepless Nights I count, no Days of Strife.
Content to Live, content to Dye unknown,
Lord of my felf, accountable to none;
I Sleep, I Wake, I Drink, I fometimes Love,
I Read, I write, I Settle, and I Rove,
When and where-e'er I pleafe; thus ev'ry Hour
Gives fome new Proof of my defpotick Pow'r.
All that I Will, I can; but then, I Will
As Reafon bids; I meditate no Ill:
And pleas'd with Things that in my Level lie,
Leave it to Madmen o'er the Clouds to fly.
But this is all Romance, a Dream to you,
Who Fence and Dance, and keep the Court in view.
White Staffs and Truncheons, Seals and golden Keys,
And filver Stars your tow'ring Genius please.
Such manly Thoughts in ev'ry Infant rife,
Who daily for fome Tinsel Trinket crys.
Go on, and profper, Sir; but first from me
Learn your own Temper, for I know you Free.
You can be honeft; but you cannot Bow
And cringe beneath a fupercilious Brow;
You cannot Fawn, your ftubborn Soul recoils
At Baseness; and your Blood too highly Boils.
From Nature fome fubmiffive Tempers have,
Unkind to you, fhe form'd you not á Slave.
A Courtier must be fupple, full of Guile,
Must learn to Praife, to Flatter, to Revile
The Good, the Bad; an Enemy, a Friend;
To give false Hopes, and on falfe Hopes depend.
Go on, and profper, Sir; but learn to hide
Your upright Spirit; 'twill be conftru'd Pride.
The Splendor of a Court is all a Cheat a
You must grow Servile, e'er you can grow
Befides, your ancient Patrimony wafted,
Your Youth worn out, your Schemes of Grandeur blafted.
You may perhaps retire in Discontent,
And curfe your Patron for no ftrange Event:
The Patron will his Innocence protest,
· And frown in earnest, tho' he fmil'd in jest.
Man-only from Himself can fuffer Wrong;
His Reason fails, as his Defires grow ftrong:
Hence, wanting Ballaft, and too full of Sail,
He lies expos'd to ev'ry rising Gale.
From Youth to Age, for Happiness he's bound
He splits on Rocks, or runs his Bark aground;
Or, wide of Land, a defert Ocean views,
And, to the laft, the flying Port purfues
Yet at the laff, the Port he does not gain,
And, dying, finds too late, he liv'd in vain.
E, CUPID, KING, whose Arbitrary
Our Kindred Deities on high obey,
Whofe Pow'r invades the deep Infernal
Awes the grim King, and all the bloodless Ghosts,
Whofe Shrines the busy World for ever grace
With Vot'ries num'rous, as their Mortal Race.
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