Part 59 (1/2)

THE WISH.

I.

Lest the misjudging world should chance to say I durst not but in secret murmurs pray, To whisper in Jove's ear How much I wish that funeral, Or gape at such a great one's fall; This let all ages hear, And future times in my soul's picture see What I abhor, what I desire to be.

II.

I would not be a Puritan, though he Can preach two hours, and yet his sermon be But half a quarter long; Though from his old mechanic trade By vision he's a pastor made, His faith was grown so strong; Nay, though he think to gain salvation By calling the Pope the Wh.o.r.e of Babylon.

III.

I would not be a Schoolmaster, though to him His rods no less than Consuls' fasces seem; Though he in many a place, Turns Lily oftener than his gowns, Till at the last he makes the nouns Fight with the verbs apace; Nay, though he can, in a poetic heat, Figures, born since, out of poor Virgil beat.

IV.

I would not be a Justice of Peace, though he Can with equality divide the fee, And stakes with his clerk draw; Nay, though he sits upon the place Of judgment, with a learned face Intricate as the law; And whilst he mulcts enormities demurely, Breaks Priscian's head with sentences securely.

V.

I would not be a Courtier, though he Makes his whole life the truest comedy; Although he be a man In whom the tailor's forming art, And nimble barber, claim more part Than Nature herself can; Though, as he uses men, 'tis his intent To put off Death too with a compliment.

VI.

From Lawyers' tongues, though they can spin with ease The shortest cause into a paraphrase, From Usurers' conscience (For swallowing up young heirs so fast, Without all doubt they'll choke at last) Make me all innocence, Good Heaven! and from thy eyes, O Justice! keep; For though they be not blind, they're oft asleep.

VII.

From Singing-men's religion, who are Always at church, just like the crows, 'cause there They build themselves a nest; From too much poetry, which s.h.i.+nes With gold in nothing but its lines, Free, O you Powers! my breast; And from astronomy, which in the skies Finds fish and bulls, yet doth but tantalise.

VIII.

From your Court-madam's beauty, which doth carry At morning May, at night a January; From the grave City-brow (For though it want an R, it has The letter of Pythagoras) Keep me, O Fortune! now, And chines of beef innumerable send me, Or from the stomach of the guard defend me.

IX.

This only grant me, that my means may lie Too low for envy, for contempt too high.

Some honour I would have, Not from great deeds, but good alone: The unknown are better than ill known: Rumour can ope the grave.

Acquaintance I would have, but when 't depends Not from the number, but the choice of friends.

X.

Books should, not business, entertain the light, And sleep, as undisturbed as death, the night.

My house a cottage more Than palace, and should fitting be For all my use, not luxury; My garden, painted o'er With Nature's hand, not Art's, that pleasure yield Horace might envy in his Sabine field.

XI.

Thus would I double my life's fading s.p.a.ce; For he that runs it well twice runs his race; And in this true delight, These unbought sports, and happy state, I would not fear, nor wish my fate, But boldly say each night, To-morrow let my sun his beams display, Or in clouds hide them, I have lived to-day.

UPON THE SHORTNESS OF MAN'S LIFE.

1 Mark that swift arrow, how it cuts the air, How it outruns thy following eye!

Use all persuasions now, and try If thou canst call it back, or stay it there.

That way it went, but thou shalt find No track is left behind.

2 Fool! 'tis thy life, and the fond archer thou.

Of all the time thou'st shot away, I'll bid thee fetch but yesterday, And it shall be too hard a task to do.