Now every Leaf, and every moving Breath
Presents a Foe, and every Foe a Death.
Wearied, forfaken, and purfu'd, at last
All Safety in defpair of Safety plac'd,
Courage he thence refumes, refolv'd to bear
All their Affaults, fince 'tis in vain to fear.
And now too late he withes, for the Fight,
That Strength he wafted in ignoble flight:
But when he fees the eager Chafe renew'd,
Himself by Dogs, the Dogs by Men purfu'd;
He ftraight revokes his bold refolve, and more
Repents his Courage, than his Fear before;
Finds that uncertain ways unfafest are,
And Doubt a greater Mischief than Despair.
Then to the Stream, when neither Friends nor Force,
Nor Speed, nor Art avail, he fhapes his Courfe;
Thinks not their Rage so desperate t'affay
An Element more merciless than they.
But fearless they purfue, nor can the Flood
Quench their dire Thirft; alas, they thirst for Blood.
So towards a Ship the oar-fin'd Gallies ply,
Which wanting Sea to ride, or Wind to flie,
Stands but to fall reveng'd on thofe that dare
Tempt the laft Fury of extream Despair.
So fares the Stag among th' enraged Hounds,
Repels their Force, and Wounds returns for Wounds.
And as a Hero, whom his bafer Foes
In Troops furround, now thefe affails, now thofe,
Though prodigal of Life, difdains to die
By common Hands; but if he can defcry
Some nobler Foe approach, to him he calls,
And begs his Fate, and then contented falls.
So when the King a Mortal Shaft lets flie
From his unerring Hand, then glad to die,
Proud of the Wound, to it refigns his Blood,
And ftains the Crystal with a Purple Flood.
This a more innocent and happy Chafe,
Than when of old, but in the felf-fame Place,
* Fair Liberty, purfu'd, and meant a Prey
To lawless Power, here turn'd, and ftood at Bay.
When in that Remedy all Hope was plac'd,
Which was, or fhould have been at least, the laft. Here was that † Charter feal'd, wherein the Crown All Marks of Arbitrary Power lays down: Tyrant and Slave, thofe Names of hate and fear, The happier Style of King and Subject bear: Happy, when both to the fame Center move, When Kings give Liberty, and Subjects Love. Therefore not long in Force this Charter ftood; Wanting that Seal, it must be feal'd in Blood. The Subjects arm'd, the more their Princes gave, Th'advantage only took the more to crave. Till Kings by giving, give themselves away, And even that Power that fhould deny, betray. "Who gives constrain'd, but his own fear reviles, "Not thank'd, but scorn'd; nor are they Gifts but Spoils.
Thus Kings, by grasping more than they could hold, First made their Subjects by Oppreffion bold: And popular Sway, by forcing Kings to give More than was fit for Subjects to receive, Ran to the fame Extreams; and one Excefs Made both, by striving to be greater, lefs. When a calm River rais'd with fudden Rains, Or Snows diffolv'd, o'er-flows th' adjoyning Plains, The Husbandmen with high-rais'd Banks fecure Their greedy Hopes, and this he can endure. But if with Bays and Dams, they ftrive to force His Channel to a new or narrow Course, No longer then within his Banks he dwells, Firft to a Torrent, then a Deluge swells; Stronger and fiercer by reftraint he roars, And knows no Bound, but makes his Power his Shores.
* Runny-Mead, where that Great Charter was firft fealed. ↑ Magna Charta,
CHARITY; a Paraphrafe on the Thirteenth Chapter of the First Epiftle to the Corinthians.
ID fweeter Sounds adorn my flowing Tongue,
D'Than ever Men pronounc'd, or Angels fung:
Had I all Knowledge Humane and Divine,
That Thought can reach, or Science can define;
And had I Pow'r to give that Knowledge Birth,
In all the Speeches of the babling Earth:
Did Shadrack's Zeal my glowing Breaft inspire,
To weary Tortures and rejoice in Fire:
Or had I Faith like that which Ifrael faw,
When Mofes gave them Miracles and Law:
Yet, Gracious Charity, indulgent Gueft,
Were not thy Pow'r exerted in my Breaft,
Thofe Speeches would send up unheeded Pray'r:
That fcorn of Life wou'd be but wild Despair:
A Tymbal's found were better than my Voice,
My Faith were Form, my Eloquence mere Noife.
Charity, Decent, Modeft, Eafie, Kind,
Softens the High, and rears the Abject Mind;
Knows with juft Reins and gentle Hand to guide,
Betwixt vile Shame and arbitrary Pride.
Not foon provok'd, the easily forgives,
And much the fuffers, as the much believes.
Soft Peace the brings where ever the arrives,
She builds our Quiet, as the forms our Lives,
Lays the rough Paths of peevish Nature ev'n,
And opens in each Heart a little Heav'n.
Each other Gift which God on Man bestows,
Its proper Bounds and due Reftriction knows;
To one fixt Purpose dedicates its Pow'r,
And finishing its Act, exifts no more.
Thus, in Obedience to what Heav'n decrees,
Knowledge shall fail, and Prophecy shall cease;
But lafting Charity's more ample tway,
Nor bound by Time, nor subject to decay,
In happy Triumph fhall for ever live,
And endless Good diffuse, and endless Praise receive, As thro' the Artist's intervening Glass,
Our Eye obferves the diftant Planets pafs,
A little we difcover, but allow
That more remains unfeen than Art can fhow; So whilft our Mind its Knowledge wou'd improve, (Its feeble Eye intent on things above)
High as we may we lift our Reason up,
By Faith directed, and confirm'd by Hope.
Yet are we able only to furvey
Dawnings of Beams and Promises of Day;
Peav'n's fuller Effluence mocks our dazl❜d Sight,
Too great its Swiftness, and too strong its Light.
But foon the Mediate Clouds fhall be difpell'd,
The Sun fhall foon be Face to Face beheld,
With all his Robes, with all his Glory on,
Seated Sublime on his Meridian 'Throne.
Then conftant Faith and holy Hope shall die,
One loft in Certainty, and one in Joy:
Whilft thou, more happy Pow'r, fair Charity,
Triumphant Sifter, greatest of the Three,
Thy Office and thy Nature ftill the fame,
Lafting thy Lamp, and unconfum'd thy Flame
Shalt ftill furvive-----
Shalt ftand before the Hoft of Heav'n confeft,
For ever bleffing, and for ever bleft.
To Henry Higden, Efq; On his Translation of the 10th Satyr of Juvenal.
HE Grecian Wits, who Satyr firft began, Were pleasant Pafquins on the Life of Man; At mighty Villains, who the State opprest, They durft not Rail, perhaps they lafh'd at least, And turn'd them out of Office with a Jeft,
No Fool could peep abroad, but ready ftand
The Drolls to clap a Bauble in his Hand:
Wife Legiflators never yet could draw
A Fop within the Reach of Common Law;
For Pofture, Dress, Grimace and Affectation,
Tho' Foes to Senfe, are harmless to the Nation
Our laft Redress is dint of Verse to try;
And Satyr is our Court of Chancery.
This way took Horace to reform an Age
Not bad enough to need an Author's Rage:
But *
yours, who liv'd in more degenerate Times,
Was forc'd to fasten deep, and worry Crimes.
Yet you, my Friend, have temper'd him fo well,
You make him smile in spight of all his Zeal:
An Art peculiar to your felf alone,
To join the Virtues of two Stiles in one.
Oh! were your Author's Principle receiv'd,
Half of the lab'ring World would be reliev'd:
For not to wifh is not to be deceiv'd.
Revenge wou'd into Charity be chang'd,
Because it cofts too dear to be reveng'd:
It costs our Quiet and Content of Mind,
And when 'tis compass'd leaves a Sting behind.
Suppofe I had the better End o' th' Staff,
Why should I help th' ill-natur'd World to laught
'Tis all alike to them who get the Day;
They love the Spight and Mischief of the Fray.
No; I have cur'd my self of that Difeafe;
Nor will I be provok'd, but when I please:
But let me half that Cure to you reftore;
You gave the Salve, I laid it to the Sore.
Our kind Relief against a Rainy Day
Beyond a Tavern, or a tedious Play,
We take your Book, and laugh our Spleen away.
If all your Tribe, (too ftudious of Debate)`
Would ceafe falfe Hopes and Titles to create,
Led by the Rare Example you begun,
Clients would fail, and Lawyers be undone.
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