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Here orange-trees with blooms and pendants shine,
And vernal honours to their autumn join;
Exceed their promise in the ripen'd store,
Yet in the rising blossom promise more.
There in bright drops the crystal fountains play,
By laurels shielded from the piercing day;
Where Daphne, now a tree as once a maid,
Still from Apollo vindicates her shade;
Still turns her beauties from th' invading beam,
Nor seeks in vain for succour to the stream.
The stream at once preserves her virgin leaves,
At once a shelter from her boughs receives,
Where summer's beauty midst of winter stays,
And winter's coolness spite of summer's rays.

WEEPING.

WHILE Celia's tears make sorrow bright,
Proud grief sits swelling in her eyes;
The sun, next those the fairest light,
Thus from the ocean first did rise;
And thus through mist we see the sun,
Which else we durst not gaze upon.

These silver drops, like morning dew.
Foretell the fervour of the day;
So from one cloud soft showers we view,
And blasting lightnings burst away.
The stars that fall from Celia's eye
Declare our doom is drawing nigh.

The baby in those sunny spheres
So like a Phaeton appears,

That heav'n, the threaten'd world to spare,
Thought fit to drown him in her tears;
Else might th' ambitious nymph aspire
To set, like him, heav'n too on fire.

EARL OF ROCHESTER.

On Silence.

SILENCE! coeval with eternity;

Thou wert ere Nature's self began to be, 'Twas one vast nothing all, and all slept fast in thee.

Thine was the sway, ere heav'n was form'd, or earth,

Ere fruitful thought convceiv'd creation's birth, Or midwife word gave aid and spoke the infant forth.

Then various elements against thee join'd,
In one more various animal combin'd,

And fram'd the clamorous race of busy humankind.

The tongue mov'd gently first, and speech was low, Till wrangling science taught it noise and show, And wicked wit arose, thy most abusive foe.

But rebel wit deserts thee oft in vain;
Lost n the maze of words he turns again,
And seeks a surer state, and courts thy gentle reign.

Afflicted sense thou kindly dost set free,
Oppress'd with argumental tyranny,

And routed reason finds a safe retreat in thee.

With thee in private modest dulness lies,
And in thy bosom lurks in thought's disguise!
Thou varnisher of fools, and cheat of all the wise!

Yet thy indulgence is by both confest ;
Folly by thee lies sleeping in the breast,
And 'tis in thee that wisdom seeks for rest.

Silence the knave's repute, the whore's good name, The only honour of the wishing dame;

The very want of tongue makes thee a kind of fame.

But couldst thou seize some tongues that now are free,

How church and state would be oblig❜d to thee!

At senate and at bar how welcome wouldst thou be!

Yet speech, e'en there, submissively withdraws From rights of subjects, and the poor man's cause: Then pompous silence reigns, and stills the noisy laws.

Past services of friends, good deeds of foes;
What favourites gain, and what the nation owes,
Fly the forgetful world, and in thy arms repose.

The country wit, religion of the town,
The courtier's learning, policy o' th' gown,
Are best by thee express'd, and shine in thee alone.

The parson's cant, the lawyer's sophistry, Lord's quibble, critic's jest; all end in thee; . All rest in peace at last, and sleep eternally.

EARL OF DORSET.

Artemisia.

THOUGH Artemisia talks by fits
Of councils, classics, fathers, wits;

Reads Malbranche, Boyle, and Locke:
Yet in some things me thinks she fails :---
'Twere well if she would pare her nails,
And wear a cleaner smock.

Haughty and huge as High-Dutch bride,
Such nastiness and so much pride
Are oddly join'd by fate:

On her large squab you find her spread,
Like a fat corpse upon a bed,

That lies and stinks in state.

She wears no colours (signs of grace)
On any part except her face;

All white and black beside:

Dauntless her look, her gesture proud,
Her voice threatrically loud,
And masculine her stride.

So have I seen, in black and white,
A prating thing, a magpie hight,
Majestically stalk;

A stately worthless animal,

That plies the tongue, and wags the tail,
All flutter, pride, and talk.

PHRYNE.

PHRYNE had talents for mankind;
Open she was and unconfin'd,

Like some free open port of trade:
Merchants unloaded here their freight,
And agents from each foreign state
Here first their entry made.

Her learning and good breeding such,
Whether th" Italian or the Dutch,
Spaniards or French, came to her;
To all obliging she'd appear;

'Twas Si Signior, 'twas Yaw Mynheer,
'Twas S'il vous plait, Monsieur.

Obscure by birth, renown'd by crimes,
Still changing names, religions, climes,
At length she turns a bride:

In di'monds, pearls, and rich brocades,
She shines the first of batter'd jades,
And flutters in her pride.

So have I known those insects fair
(Which curious Germans hold so rare)
Still vary shapes and dyes;

Still gain new titles with new forms;
First grubs obscene, then wriggling worms,
Then painted butterflies.

THE

DUNCIA D.

TO DR. JONATHAN SWIFT.

BOOK I.

ARGUMENT.

The Proposition, Invocation, and Inscription. Then the original of the great empire of Dulness, and cause of its continuance. The College of the Goddess in the City, with her private academy for poets in particular; the governors of it, and the four cardinal virtues. The Poem hastes into the midst of things, presenting the Goddess, on the evening of a Lord Mayor's day, revolving the long succession of her sons, and the glories past and to come. She fixes her eyes on Bayes, to be the instrument of the event which is the subject of the Poem. He is described among his books, After debating whether to betake himself to the church, to gaming, or to party-writing, he raises an altar of proper books, and purposes theron to sacrifice all his unsuccessful writings. As the pile is kindled, the Goddess, beholding the flame, flies and puts it out, by casting on it the poem of Thule. She reveals herself to him, transports him to her Temple, unfolds her arts, and initiates him into her mysteries, then announcing the death of the Poet-Laureat, anoints him, carries him to Court, and proclaims him successor.

THE mighty mother, and her son who brings The Smithfield muses to the ear of kings,

REMARKS.

This Poem was written in the year 1726. In the next year an imperfect edition was published at Dub

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