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Whilf beauty spreads its sweetest charms § 106. A Thought upon Death. FITZGERALD,

around,
And airs ecitatic swell their tuneful sound,

IS vain, my soul, 'tis impious all,
T'S

The human lot to mourn,
Art thou within the pompous circle found? That life fo fuon must ficet away,
Does not thy influence more sedately thing?

And dust to dust return.
Can such tumultuous joys as these be thine ?
Surely more mild, more constant in their course,

Alas! from death the terrors fly,
Thy pleasures issue from a nobler source ;

When once 'uis understood ; From sweet discretion ruling in the breast,

'Tis Nature's call, 'tis God's decree, From pafsions temper’d, and from lusts represt;

And is, and must be good.
From thoughts unconscious of a guilty sinart, Wearicd his limbs with honest toil,
And the calm tranfports of an honest heart. And void of cares his brcast,

Thy aid, O ever faithful, ever kind ! See how the lab'ring hind links down
Thro' life, thro' death, attends the virtuous Each night to wholełome rest.
mind;

No nauseous fumies perplex his sleep,
Of angry fate wards from us ev'ry blow,

No guilty starts surprise ; Cures ev'ry hl, and softens ev'ry woe.

The visions that his fancy forms,
Whatever good our mortal state desires,

All free and cheerful rife.
What wisdoin finds, or innocence inspires ;
From nature's bountcous hand whatever Hows,

So thou, nor led by lufts astray,
Whate'er our Maker's providence bestows,

Nor galld with anxious strife, By thee mankind enjoys; by thee repays

With virtuous industry fulfil A grateful tribute of perpetual praise.

The plain intent of lifc.

Pass calmly thy appointed day,
s 107. On Industry. FITZGERALD. And utifully einploy,
UEEN of all virtues ! for whate'er wc call And then thou 're lure whatc'er succeed
Que

Godlike and great, 'tis thou obtain'st it all. Is reft, and pea e, and joy.
No talk too arduous for thy strong effay,
And art and nature own thy potent sway.

$ 109. Tbe Firea Side.

COTTON
Infpir'd by thee to each superior aim,
We press with ardour thro' the paths of fame,

DEAR Chloc, while thc busy crowd,

The vain, the wealthy, and the proud,
Up to the sacred top, and leave behind

In Folly's maze advance ;
Th’inglorious crowd, the herd of human kind; Tho' fingularity and pride
While wisdom round us pours her heavenly ray, Be call'd our choice, ive 'll step aside,
And old experience guides our steady way.

Nor join the giddy dance.
No anxious care, no furious lusts controul
The free habicual vigour of the foul.

From the gay world we 'll oft retire
Each part, cach station gracefully we fill,

To our own family and fire, And bend and shape our fortune to our will.

Where love our hours employs i The hero, down thro' ev'ry age renown'd,

No noily neighbour enters here,
With triumph, praise, and glorious titles crown'd, No intermeddling ftranger near,
By thee has gain d his honourable spoils,

To spoil our heart-felt joys.
And mighty famc achiev'd by mighty toils. If solid happiness we prize,
Tie sage, whilst learning studious he pursues, Within our breast this jewel lies ;
Be thee the stubborn sciences subdues;

And they are fools who roam :
Through truth's wide fieldsexpatiates unconfin’d, The world has nothing to beltow;
And stores for ever his capacious mind. From our own selves our joys must flow,
Nor leck the lower ranks thy aid in vain ;

And that dear hut, our home.
The poor mechanic and the lab’ring swain :

Of rest was Noah's dove bereft,
Health, peace, and sweet content to these it brings, When with impatient wing the left
More precious prizes than the wealth of kings. That fafc retreat, the ark;
When whelming round us death's fad terrors Giving her vain excursion o'er,
roll,

The disappointed bird once more
'Tis thou speak'st peace and comfort to the soul.
Then if our recolle&ting thoughts present

Explor'd the facred bark. A well-plann'd life in virtuous labour spent;

Tho' fools fpurn Hymen's gentle pow'rs, If useful we have pass d through every stage,

We, who improve his golden hours, And paid our debi of service to the age;

By sweet experience know, If fill we 've made our duty our delight,

That marriage, rightly understood, Nor hid our master's taient from our fight,

Gives to the tender and the good
All's well, 'tis all by our own heart approv'd,

A paradise below.
From hence we pass, by ijod and man belov'd; Our babes shall richest comforts bring;
Cicerful we pas, to Heaven's high will resign’d, If cutor'd right, they 'll prove a spring
And leave a blelied memory behind,

Whence pleasures ever rile,

We'll

We'll form their minds, with fiudious care, Forego the search, my curious friend,
To all that's manly, good and fair,

And husband time to better end.
And train them for the kics.

All my ambition is, I own, While they our wifeit hours engage,

To profit and to picase unknown; They 'll joy our you:h, support our age,

Like streams fupplied from tprings belowy And crown our hoary hair3:

Which featter bletlings as they How. They 'll grow in virtae ev'ry day,

Weic you discas'd, or press'd with paint, And thus our fondest loves repay,

Straight you 'd apply to Warwick Lanc. And recompense our caies.

The thoughtful Doctor feels your pulle No borrow'd joys, they're all our own,

(No matter whether Miead or Hulle), While to the world we live unknown,

Writos---- Arabic to you and me Or by the world forgot':

Then ligns his hand, and takes his fce. Monarchs! we envy not your fate;

Now, should the laye omit his name, We look with pity on the great,

Would not the cure remain the lame? And bless our humblo lot.

Not but phyfrians sign their bill,

Or when they cure, or when they kill. Our portion is not large, indeed;

'Tis often known, the mental race But then how little do we need?

Their fond ambitious fires disgrace. For nature's calls are few :

Dar'd I avow a parent's claim, In this the art of living lies,

Critics might sneer, and friends might blame. To want no more thou may fuffice,

This dang 'rous fecret let me hide, And make that little do.

I'll tell you ev'ry rhing, beside: We'll therefore relili, with content,

Not that it boots the world a tittic, Whate'er kind Providence has seni,

Whether the author's big or listle; Nor aim beyond our pow'r;

Or whether fair, or black, or brown; For, if our stock be very finall,

No writer's bue concerns the town. 'Tis prudence to enjoy it all,

I país the filent rural hour, Nor lose the prefent hour.

No llave to wealth, no tool to pow'r: To be resign’d when it's belil',

lly manfion 's warm, and

rery neat ; Patient when favours are denied,

You'd say, ' A pretty snug retreat And pleas'd with favour, given;

V rooms no colily paintings grace, Dear Chloc, this is wildom's part;

The humbler print fupplies their placé. This is that incense of the heart

Bebiad the houle my garden lics, Whose fragrance fiells re heaven, And opens to the southern kies: We'll aík nò long protracted treat,

The diitant hills gay profpects yield,
Since winter life is feldom fucet;

And plenty smiles in ev'ry field.
But, when our fealt is c'er,

The faithful maftiff is my guard :
Grateful from table we'll arte,

The feather'd tribes adorn my yard; Nor grudge our fons with envious eyes Alive my jor, my treat when dead, The relics of our ítorc.

And their loft plumes improve my bed.

MIV cow rewards me all the can Thus, hand in hand, thro' life we 'll go ;

Brutes leave ingratitude to man);
Its chequer'd paths of joy and you

She, daily thankful to her lord,
With cautious steps we 'li tread;
Quit iis vain scenes without a llar,

Crownsvith nectaneous (wceto my board :

Am I dilças'd: the cure is known,
Without a trouble or a rear.

Hier weeter juices mond my own.
And mingle with the dead.

I loe my house, and buldon roam;
Tbile conscience, like a faithful friend,

Tew vilies p!cate me more than heine:
Shall thro' the gloomy vale atrendy,

I pity that uniappy elf
And cheer oor dying breach ;

who lovts all company but self; Shall, when all orher comforts ccaft,

By idle pallions borne away
Like a kind angel whilper peace,

To opera, mafuerade, or play;
And smooth the bed of death.

Pond'of those bives where Folly reigns,

Ad Britain's peeps receive her chains § 110. Vifions for the Entertainmeni and Liftruc- Where the peri virgin flights a naine',

tion of younger Miracés. COTTON. And scorus to reddin into shame.
Virginibus pueritque canto.

but huoli, ny far to whom belong
The
peet

and his artless long, AUTHORS, you know, of greatest fume,

When finale checks refute to glow,
Thro' mode?'y Yuppre's their paine

Farewell to virtue here below!
And would you with me to reveal

Our lix is loft to ev'ry rulc; What these iuperior wits conceal?

Our folc distinction, kuave or fol. * Though Dr. Cotton is well known to have been the author of these Visions, they have generally beca published without prefixin: his name.

Tia

HOR.
TO THE READER.

3

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+

Tis to your innocence we run;

Now the religion of your pretSave us, ye fair, or we're undone ;

Does not this little preface Thow it? Maintain your modetty and station,

My Visions if you scan with care, So women thall preserve the nation.

'Tis ten to one you 'll find it there. Mothers, 'tis faid, in days of old,

And if my actions suit my song,
Efreem'd their girls more choice than geld;

You can 't in conscience think me wrong.
Too well a daughter's worth they knew,
To make her cheap by public view :

§ 11. Vision I. Slander. Inscribed to M:5:***
Few, who their diamonds' value weigh, My lovely girl,,I write for you,
Expose those diamonds ev'ry day.

And pray believe my Visions true; Then, if Sir Plume drew near, and smil'd, They 'll form your mind to ev'ry grace, The parent trembled for her child:

They 'll add new beauties to your face; The first advance alarm'd her breast;

And when old age impairs your prime, And fancy pictur'd all the rest.

You'll triumph o'er the spoils of time. But now no mother fears a foe;

Childhood and youth engage my pen; To daughter shudders at a beau.

'Tis labour lost to talk to inen: Pleasure is all the reigning theme;

Youth may perhaps reform when wrong; Our Doon-day thought, our midnight dream. Age will not listen to my long. la Folly's chace our youths engage,

He who at fifty is a fool, And thameless crowds of tott'ring age.

Is far too liubborn grown for school. The die, the dance, th' intcmp'rate bowl,

What is that vice which fill prevails,
With various charms engross the soul.

When almost ev'ry pallion fails;
Are gold, fame, health, the terms of vice? Which with our very dawn begun,
The frantic tribes shall pay the price.

Nor ends but with our feiting lun;
But tho' to ruin post they run,

Which, like a noxious weed, can spoil They'll think it hard to be undone.

The fairest flow'rs, and choke the soil ? Do not arraigo my want of taste,

'Tis Slander-and, with shame I own, Or fight, to ken where joys are plac'd.

The vice of human kind alone. They widely err who think me blind;

Be Slander, then, my leading dream, And I disclain a stoic's mind.

Tho' you 're a stranger to the theme; Like yours are my sensations quite;

Thy fofter breast, and honest heart, I only ftrive to feel aright.

Scorn the defamatory art; My joys

, like streams, glide gently by ; Thy soul asserts her native skies, Tho' small their channel, never dry;

Nor asks detraction's wings to rise ; Keep a fill, even, fruitful wave,

In foreign spoils let others shine, And bless the neighb'ring meads they lave,

Intrinsic excellence is thine.
My fortune (for I 'll mention all,

The bird in peacock's plumes who shone
And more than you dare tell) is small; Could plead no merit of her own;
Yet ev'ry friend partakes my store,

The filly theft betray'd her pride,
And want goes smiling from my door. And spoke her poverty beside.
Will forty Billings warm the breast

Th’insidious fland'ring thicf is worse
Of worth or industry distrest-

Than the poor rogue who steals your purse. This fum I cheerfully impart,

Say, he purloins your glitt'ring store ;
Tis fourscore pleasures to my heart;

Who takes your gold, takes trash-no more ;
And you may make, by means like these, Perhaps he pilfers—to be fed-
Five talents ten, whene'er you please.

Ah, guiltless wretch who steals for bread!
Tis true, my little purse grows light;

But the dark villain who shall aim Bat then I sleep so sweet at night!

To blatt, iny fair, thy spotless name, This grand specific will prevail

He'd steal a precious gem away,
When all the doctor's opiates fail.

Steal what both Indies can't repay!
You ask what party I pursue;
I

Here the strong pleas of want are vain,
Perhaps you mean, «Whole fool are you?'

Or the more impious plcas of gain, The names of party I deteft ;

No linking family to lave! Badges of Navery at best :

No gold to glut th’insatiate knave ! I'se too much grace to play the knave,

Improve the hint of Shakspeare's tongue; And too much pride to turn a llave.

'Twas thus immortal Shakspeare sung** : I love my country froin my soul,

And trust the bard's unerring rule, And grieve when knaves or fools controul :

For nature was that poct's school. I'm pleas'd when vice and folly finart,

As I was nodding in my chair, Or at the gibbet or the cart :

I saw a rueful wild appear : Yet always pity where I can ;

No verdure met my aching fight, Abbor che guilt, but mourn the man. But hemlock and cold aconite ; Ochello.

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Two very pois'nous plants, 'tis true,

The savage gluts his fierce defires, But not to bad as vice to you.

And blearing innocence expires. The dreary profpe&t spread around;

Slander (mild horiibly, to view Deep snow had whiten'd all the ground:

How wide her conquests daily grew : A bleak and barren mountain nigh,

Around the crowded levees wait, Expos'd to ev'ry friendless íky!

Like oriental Naves of ftate; Here foul-mouth'd Slander lay reclin'd, Of either lex whole armies prest, Her snaky treffes hiss'd behind;

But chiefly of the fair and bcft. • A bloated toad-fool rais'd her head,

Is it a breach of friendship's law, • The plumes of ravens were her bed *;' To say what female friends I law ? She fed upon the viper's brood,

Slancér allumes the idol's part,
And Nak'd her impious thirst with blood. And claims the tribute of the heart;
The rising fun, and western ray,

The beft, in fome unguarded hour,
Were witnels to her diftant sway.

Have bow'd the knee, and own's her paw's. The tyrant claim'd a mightier hoft

Then let the poet not reveal
Than the proud Persian c'er could boast. What candour wishes to conceal.
No conquest grac'd Darius' fon +,

If I beheld some faulty fair,
By his own numbers half undone :

Much worse delinquents crowded there: Success attended Slander's pow'r;

Prelates in facred lawn I saw, She reap'd freth laurels ev'ry hour.

Grave plıyfic, and loquacious law; Her troops a deeper scarlet wore

Courtiers, like fummer flies, abound; Than ever armies knew before.

And hungry pocis fivarın around. No plea diverts the fury's rage,

But now my partial story ends, The fury spares nor sex nor age.

And makes my femalcs full amends. E'en Merit, with destructive charms,

If Albion's ille such dreams fulfils, Provokes the vengeance of her arms.

Tis Albion's ifle which cures thete ills : Whene'er the tyrant sounds to war,

Fertile of ev'ry worth and grace Her canker'd trump is heard afar.

Which warm ihc heart and futh the face. Pride, with a heart unknown to yield,

Fancy disclos'd a fmiling train Commands in chief, and guides the field; Of British nymphs that tripp'd the plain. He stalks with valt gigantic stride,

Good-nature first, a fylvan queen, And scatters fear and ruin wide:

Altir'd in robes of cheerful gieen; So the impetuous torrents fivecp

A fair and smiling virgin the ! At once whole nations to the deep.

With ev'ry ch: rm ihat thines in thee. Revenge, that balc Hesperian I, known Prudence atžum'd the chief command, A chief fupport Slander's thienc,

And tore a mirior in her hand; Amidfi the bloody crowd is seen,

Grey was the matron's head by age, And treach'ry brooding in his mien;

Her mind by long experience fage ; The monfter often chang'd his gait,

Of ev'ry distant ill afraid, But march'd refolv'd and fix'd as fate.

And anxicus for the fimp'ring maid. Thus the fell kite, whoin hunger ftinys, The Giacos danc'd before the fair; Now slowly moves his out-stretch'd wings; And white-rob'd Innocence was there. Now swift as lightning bears away,

The trees with golden fruits were crou n'd, And darts upon his trembling prey.

And rising flow'rs adorn'd the ground; Envy commands a sacred band,

The tun display'd each brighter ray, With livord and poison in her hand.

And Ihone in all the pride of day : Around her huggard eye-balls roll;

When Slander ficken'd at the fight,
A thousand fiends poííets her soul.

And iculk'd away to thun the light.
The artful unfufpected sprite
With fatal aim attacks by night.

112. Vision II. Plealiare. Her troops advance with filent ercad,

HFAR, ye fair mothers of our illc

, And ftab the hero in his bed;

Nor fcoru your Poet's homely style. Or shoot the wing'd malignait lye,

What tho' my thoughts be quamt or.new, And female honours pinc and die.

I'll warrant that my doctrine 's true :
So prowling wolves, when darkness reigns, Or, if my sentiments he old,
Intent on murder, scour the plains;

Remember truth is iterling gold.
Approach the folds where lambs repose,

You judge it of important weight, Whole guileless breasts suspect no focs; To keep your rifing offspring straight;

Garth's Dispensatory. + Xerxes, king of Persia, and son of Darius. He invaded Greece with an army consisting of more than a million of men (some say more than two millions); who, together with their cattle, perstlied in a great measure through the inability of the countries to supply such a vait noft with provision.

† Hesperia includes Ital; as well as Spain; and the inhabitants of both are remarkablc for their revengeial difpofitions.

For

For this such anxious moments feel,

Teach them to spurn inglorious reft, And ask the friendly aids of steel;

And rouse the hero in their breast : For this import the distant cane,

Paint Creffy's vanquish'd field anew, Or ilty the monarch of the main.

Their souls thall kindle at the view ; And thall the soul be warp'd aside

Resolv'd to conquer or to fall, Bi pallion, prejudice, and pride?

When Liberty and Britain call. Deformity of heart I call

Thus shall they rule the crimson plain, The worit deformity of all.

Or hurl their thunders thro' the main ; Your cares to body are confin'd;

Gain with their blood, nor grudge the cost, Feus fear obliquity of mind.

What their degen’rate fires lave lost : Why not adorn the better part ?

The laurel thus ihall grace their brow, This is a nobler theme for art.

As Churchill's once, or Warren's now. For what is form, or what is face,

One summer's evening, as I stray'd But the foul's index, or its care?

Along the filent moon-light glade, Now take a simile at hand,

With these reflections in my brealt, Campar: the mental foil to land.

Beneath an oak I sunk to reft; Shall fields be till’d with annual care,

A gentle number intervenes, And minds lie fallow ev'ry year?

And fancy dress’d instructive scenes. Oh, fince the crop depends on you,

Methought a spacious road I spied, Gire them the culture which is due:

And stately trees adorn'd its side; He ev'ry weed, and dress the soil,

Frequented by a giddy crowd Sy harvest thall repay your toil.

Of thoughtless mortals, vain and loud; If human minds resemble trees

Who tripp'd with jocund heel along, (Ascire moralift agrees),

And badc me join their smiling throng, Prude all the stragglers of your vine,

I ftraight obey'd-perfuation hung Then Thall the purple clusters shine. Like honey on the speaker's tongue: The gard'ner knows that fruitful life

A cloudless fun improv'd the day, Demands his falutary knife:

And pinks and roles strew'd our way. Fnzer sy wild luxuriant shoot

Now as our journey we pursue, Or robs the bloom, or starres the fruit.

A beauteous fabric rose to view ;
A satirift * in Roman times,

A stately dome, and sweetly grac'd
When Rome, like Britain, groan'd with crimes, W'ith ev'ry ornament of taste.
Afferts it for a sacred truth,

This structure was a female's claim,
That pleasures are the bane of youth;

And Pleasure was the monarch's name. That sorrows such pursuits attend,

The hall we enter'd uncontrould, Or fuch pursuits in sorrows end :

And saw the queen enthron’d on gold: That all the wild advent'rer gains,

Arabian fiveets perfum'd the ground, Are periis, penitence, and pains.

And laughing Cupids flutter'd round; Approve, ye fair, the Roman page,

A flowing veit adorn’d the fair, And bid your sons revere the sage ;

And How'ry chaplcts wreath'd her hair. In ftudy spend their midnight oil,

Fraud tanght the queen a thousand wiles,
And ftring their nerves by manly toil.

A thousand loft insidious smiles ;
Tras fhalt they grow, like Temple, wise; Love taught her lifping tongue to speak,
Thus future Leckes and Newtons rise ; And forin'd the dimple in her cheek;
Or hardy chiefs to wield the lancc,

The lily and the damask rose
And save us from the chains of France. The tincture of her face compose;
Yes, bid your fons betimes forego

Nor did the god of wit disdain
Those treach'rous paths where plcasures grow; To mingle with the thining train.
Where the young mind is Folly's llave; Her vot'ries flock from various parts,
Where ev'ry virtue finds a grave.

And chiefly youth refign'd their hearts ;
Let each brigirt character be namid, The old in sparing numbers press’d,
For wisdom or for valour fam’d.

But awkward devotees at best!
Are the dear youths to science p:one?

• Now let us range at large,' we cried, Tell how th' immortal Bacon sone !

• Thro' all the garden's boatted pride.' Who, leaving meaner joys to kings,

Here jasmincs spread the silver flow'r, Sard high on contemplation's wings;

To deck the wall, or wcave the bow'r; Rang'd the fair fields of nature o'er,

The woodbines inix in am'rous play, Where never mortal trod before :

And breathe their fragrant lives away. Bacon! whose vaft, capacious plan

Here rising myrtles forin a shade; Bespoke him angel more than man!

There roses bluth, and scent the glade ; Does love of martial fame inspire ?

The oringe, with a vernal face, Chusik, ye fair, the gen'rous Are ;

Wcars ev'ry rich autumnal grace ;

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