Part 3 (1/2)

There would be no End of it, if one should go about to enumerate such Instances as these out of _Milton_. His Poem of _Paradise lost_ is so full of them, that almost out of one Book one might collect as many such n.o.ble Pa.s.sages, as out of all the _aeneis_; and I would add the _Ilias_ too, if I understood _Greek_ half so well as the Translator.

Among the many Sketches of the glorious Character of King _William_ in that of _Tamerlane_, Mr. _Row_ has this, which I take to be a very n.o.ble Image:

_No l.u.s.t of Rule, the common Vice of Kings; No furious Zeal inspir'd by hot-brain'd Priests: Ill hid beneath Religions specious Name, E'er drew his temp'rate Courage to the Field.

But to redress an injur'd Peoples Wrongs, To save the weak One from the strong Oppressour Is all his End of War; and when he draws The Sword to punish, like relenting Heav'n, He seems unwilling to deface Mankind._

The Opposition in the following Pa.s.sage, carries with it its own Application:

--------_As oft regardless Of plighted Faith, with most unkingly Baseness Without a War proclaim'd, or Cause pretended, He has t'ane Advantage of their absent Arms To waste with Sword and Fire their fruitful Fields, Like some accursed Fiend, who 'scap'd from h.e.l.l, Poisons the balmy Air thro' which he flies, He blasts the bearded Corn, and loaded Branches, The lab'ring Hind's best Hopes, and marks his Way with Ruin._

Is there not something n.o.ble in what Mr. _Waller_ says to the Duke of _Monmouth_, at his Return from suppressing a Rebellion in _Scotland_:

_But seeing Envy like the Sun does beat, With scorching Rays, on all that's high and great, This, ill requited_ Monmouth, _is the Bough The Muses send to shade thy conqu'ring Brow; Lampoons like Squibs may make a present Blaze, But Time and Thunder pay Respect to Bays._

I hope I may make Use of Part of Mr. _Addison_'s Translation of the _Justum & Tenacem_ of _Horace_. The Translator having done me the Honour to render it in _English_ at my Request:

_The Man resolv'd and steady to his Trust, Inflexible to Ill, and obstinately just; May the rude Rabble's Insolence despise Their senseless Clamours, and tumultuous Cries.

The Tyrant's Fierceness he beguiles.

And the stern Brow, and the harsh Voice defies, And with superiour Greatness smiles._

Again,

_Should the whole Frame of Nature round him break In Ruin and Confusion hurl'd, He unconcern'd would hear the mighty Crack, And stand secure amidst a falling World._

Si fractus illabatur Orbis, Impavidum ferient Ruinae.

Is not this n.o.ble Thought the Original of that which ends the noted _Siloloquy_ of _Cato_:

_The Soul secure in his Resistance smiles At the drawn Dagger, and defies its Point: The Stars shall fade away, the Sun himself Grow dim with Age, and Nature sink in Years?

But thou shalt flourish in immortal Youth, Unhurt amidst the War of Elements, The Wrecks of Matter, and the Crush of Worlds._

The two Verses quoted out of _Horace_:

Si fractus, _&c._

are not so well imitated by the Gentleman that turned _Cato_'s _Siloloquy_ into _Latin_, as to defy a Comparison;

Orbesque fractis ingerentur orbibus Illaesa tu sedebis extra fragmina

But not to be always running back to the Antients, let us have Recourse to the Moderns, particularly _Quillet_, and we shall find something in this Kind of Thinking. _Tons. Callip._ p. 72.

_As far as thou may'st Nature's Depths explore Still inexhaustible, thou find'st the Store; Thee let the Order she observes suffice, What Laws controul our Earth, and what the Skies.

Mark how a thousand starry Orbs on high Around the Void with equal Motion fly; Mark how the huge Machine one Order keeps, And how the Sun th' Etherial Champian sweeps.

Both Earth and Air with genial Heat he warms, Gives ev'ry Grace, and every Beauty forms; Whether around the lazy Globe he rolls.

Or Earth is whirl'd about him on her Poles; G.o.d is the Mover, G.o.d the living Soul, That made, that acts, that animates the Whole.

Hence with thy Atoms, Epicurus; hence: Was all this wond'rous Frame the Sport of Chance!

Of Solids, they, 'tis true, the Matter make, Can Matter from itself its Figure take!

Can the bright Order in the World we see, The blind Effect of wanton Fortune be!