Part 7 (1/2)

O Wretched Labour crown'd with such a Meed!

Too loud, O Fame! thy Trumpet is, too shrill, To lull a Mind to Rest, Or calme a stormy Breast, Which asks a Musick soft and still.

'Twas not _Amaleck_'s vanquisht Cry, Nor _Israels_ shout of Victory, That could in _Saul_ the rising Pa.s.sion lay, 'Twas the soft strains of _David_'s Lyre the Evil Spirit chace't away.

V.

But Friends.h.i.+p fain would yet itself defend, And Mighty Things it does pretend, To be of this Sad Journey, Life, the Baite, The sweet Refection of our toylsome State.

But though True Friends.h.i.+p a Rich Cordial be, Alas, by most 'tis so alay'd, Its Good so mixt with Ill we see, That Dross for Gold is often paid.

And for one Grain of Friends.h.i.+p that is found, } Falshood and Interest do the Ma.s.s compound, } Or coldness, worse than Steel, the Loyal heart doth wound. } Love in no Two was ever yet the same, No Happy Two ere felt an Equal Flame.

VI.

Is there that Earth by Humane Foot ne're prest?

That Aire which never yet by Humane Breast Respir'd, did Life supply?

Oh, thither let me fly!

Where from the World at such a distance set, All that's past, present, and to come I may forget: The Lovers Sighs, and the Afflicteds Tears, What e're may wound my Eyes or Ears.

The grating Noise of Private Jars, The horrid sound of Publick Wars, Of babling Fame the Idle Stories, The short-liv'd Triumphs Noysy-Glories, The Curious Nets the subtile weave, The Word, the Look that may deceive.

No Mundan Care shall more affect my Breast, My profound Peace shake or molest: But _Stupor_, like to Death, my Senses bind, That so I may antic.i.p.ate that Rest, Which only in my Grave I hope to find.

A Pastoral Dialogue.

_Amintor._ Stay gentle Nymph, nor so solic'tous be?

To fly his sight that still would gaze on thee.

With other Swaines I see thee oft converse, Content to speak, and hear what they rehea.r.s.e: But I unhappy, when I e're draw nigh, Thou streight do'st leave both Place, and Company.

If this thy Flight, from fear of Harm doth flow, Ah, sure thou little of my Heart dost know.

_Alinda._ What wonder, Swain, if the Pursu'd by Flight, Seeks to avoid the close Pursuers Sight?

And if no Cause I have to fly from thee, Then thou hast none, why thou dost follow me.

_Amin._ If to the Cause thou wilt propitious prove, Take it at once, fair Nymph, and know 'tis Love.

_Alin._ To my just Pray'r, ye favouring G.o.ds attend, } These Vows to Heaven with equal Zeal I send, } My flocks from Wolves, my Heart from Love, defend. }

_Amin._ The G.o.ds which did on thee such Charms bestow, Ne're meant thou shouldst to Love have prov'd a Foe, That so Divine a Power thou shouldst defy.

Could there a Reason be, I'd ask thee, why?

_Alin._ Why does _Licoris_, once so bright and gay, Pale as a Lilly pine her self away?

Why does _Elvira_, ever sad, frequent The lonely shades? Why does yon Monument Which we upon our Left Hand do behold, Hapless _Amintas_ youthful Limbs enfold?

Say Shepherd, say: But if thou wilt not tell, _Damon_, _Philisides_, and _Strephon_ well Can speak the Cause, whose Falshood each upbraids, And justly me from Cruel Love disswades.

_Amin._ Hear me ye G.o.ds. Me and my Flocks forsake, If e're like them my promis'd Faith I brake.

_Alin._ By others sad Experience wise I'le be. } } _Amin._ But such thy Wisdom highly injures me: } And nought but Death can give a Remedy. } Ye Learn'd in Physick, what does it avail, That you by Art (wherein ye never fail) Present Relief have for the Mad-dogs Bite?

The Serpents sting? the poisonous _Achonite_?

While helpless Love upbraids your baffl'd skill, And far more certain, than the rest, doth kill.

_Alin._ Fond Swain, go dote upon the new blown Rose, Whose Beauty with the Morning did disclose, And e're Days King forsakes th'enlighted Earth, Wither'd, returns from whence it took its Birth.