Volume III Part 19 (1/2)

3. Several Epistles to his Friends under affliction.

4. Upon the Divine Attributes.

5. A Prospect of Death.

5. Upon the General Conflagration, and the ensuing Judgment. There were two pieces of our author's, published after his death by his friend Philalethes; the first of these ent.i.tled Reason, was wrote by him in the year 1700, when the debates concerning the doctrine of the Trinity were carried on with so much heat by the Clergy one against another, that the royal authority was interposed in order to put an end to a controversy, which could never be settled, and which was pernicious in its consequences. This is a severe satire, upon one of the parties engaged in that dispute, but his not inserting it amongst his other poems when he collected them into a volume, was, on account of his having received very particular favours, from some of the persons therein mentioned. The other is ent.i.tled Dies Novissima, or the Last Epiphany, a Pindaric Ode on Christ's second Appearance to judge the World. In this piece the poet expresses much heart-felt piety: It is animated, if not with a poetical, at least with so devout a warmth, that as the Guardian has observed of Divine Poetry, 'We shall find a kind of refuge in our pleasure, and our diversion will become our safety.'

This is all the account we are favoured with of the life and writings of Mr. Pomfret: A man not dest.i.tute either of erudition or genius, of unexceptionable morals, though exposed to the malice of antagonists. As he was a prudent man, and educated to a profession, he was not subject to the usual necessities of the poets, but his sphere being somewhat obscure, and his life unactive, there are few incidents recorded concerning him. If he had not fortune sufficient to render him conspicuous, he had enough to keep his life innocent, which he seems to have spent in ease and tranquillity, a situation much more to be envied than the highest blaze of fame, attended with racking cares, and innumerable sollicitudes.

The CHOICE.

If Heav'n the grateful liberty would give, That I might chuse my method how to live.

And all those hours propitious fate should lend, In blissful ease and satisfaction spend,

Near some fair town I'd have a private seat, Built uniform; not little, nor too great: Better if on a rising ground it flood On this side fields, on that a neighb'ring wood.

It should within no other things contain, But what were useful, necessary, plain: Methinks 'tis nauseous, and I'd ne'r endure The needless pomp of gawdy furniture.

A little garden, grateful to the eye, And a cool rivulet run murm'ring by: On whose delicious banks a slately row Of shady Lymes or Sycamores should grow.

At th' end of which a silent study plac'd, Should be with all the n.o.blest authors grac'd.

Horace and Virgil, in whose mighty lines Immortal wit and solid learning s.h.i.+nes.

Sharp Juvenal, and am'rous Ovid too, Who all the turns of love's soft pa.s.sion knew: He that with judgment reads his charming lines, In which strong art with stronger nature joins, Must grant his fancy, does the best excel; His thoughts so tender, and express'd so well.

With all those moderns, men of steady sense, Esteem'd for learning, and for eloquence.

In some of these, as fancy should advise.

I'd always take my morning exercise: For sure no minutes bring us more content, Than those in pleasing, useful studies spent.

I'd have a clear, and competent estate, That I might live genteely, but not great: As much as I could moderately spend, A little more, sometimes t' oblige a friend.

Nor should the sons of poverty repine Too much at fortune, they should taste of mine; And all that objects of true pity were Should be reliev'd with what my wants could spare: For that, our Maker has too largely giv'n, Should be return'd, in grat.i.tude to Heav'n, A frugal plenty mould my table spread; With healthy, not luxurious, dimes fed: Enough to satisfy, and something more To feed the stranger, and the neighb'ring poor: Strong meat indulges vice, and pamp'ring food Creates diseases, and inflames the blood.

But what's sufficient to make nature strong, And the bright lamp of life continue long, I'd freely take, and, as I did possess, The bounteous author of my plenty bless.

I'd have a little vault, but always stor'd With the best wines each vintage could afford.

Wine whets the wit, improves its native force, And gives a pleasant flavour to discourse: By making all our spirits debonair, Throws off the lees, the sediment of care, But as the greatest blessing Heav'n lends, May be debauch'd and serve ign.o.ble ends: So, but too oft, the Grape's refres.h.i.+ng juice Does many mischievous effects produce.

My house should no such rude disorders know, As from high drinking consequently flow: Nor would I use what was so kindly giv'n To the dishonour of indulgent Heav'n.

If any neighbour came, he should be free, Us'd with respect, and not uneasy be, In my retreat, or to himself or me.

What freedom, prudence, and right reason give, All men may with impunity receive: But the least swerving from their rule's too much; For what's forbidden us, 'tis death to touch.

That life might be more comfortable yet, And all my joys resin'd, sincere, and great; I'd chuse two friends, whose company would be A great advance to my felicity.

Well born, of humour suited to my own; Discreet, and men, as well as books, have known.

Brave, gen'rous, witty, and exactly free From loose behaviour, or formality.

Airy, and prudent, merry, but not light; Quick in discerning, and in judging right.

Secret they should be, faithful to their trust; In reas'ning cool, strong, temperate, and just.

Obliging, open, without huffing, brave, Brisk in gay talking, and in sober, grave.

Close in dispute, but not tenacious; try'd By solid reason, and let that decide.

Not p.r.o.ne to l.u.s.t, revenge, or envious hate; Nor busy medlers with intrigues of state.

Strangers to slander, and sworn foes to spight: Not quarrelsome, but stout enough to fight.

Loyal, and pious, friends to Caesar, true As dying martyrs, to their Maker too.

In their society I could not miss A permanent, sincere, substantial bliss.