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Mufick so foftens and difarms the Mind,
That not one Arrow does Resistance find :
Thus the fair Tyrant celebrates the Prize,
And acts her self the Triumph of her Eyes.
So Nero once with Harp in Hand survey'd
His flaming Rome, and as that burn'd he play'd. to To burning Rome when frantick Nero play'd,
Had he but heard thy Lute, he foon had found
His Rage eluded, and his Crime atton'd:
Thine, like Amphion's Hand, had rais'd the Stone,
And from Deftru&tion call’d a fairer Town:
Malice to Mufick had been forc'd to yield,
Nor could he burn so fast as thou could'st build.
L Y R E.
Awake, awako, my Lyre,
And tell thy filent Master's humble Tale,
In Sounds that may prevail;
Sounds that gentle Thoughts inspire :
Tho' so exalted The,
And I fo lowly be, 5 Tell her such different Notes make all thy Harmony..
Hark how the Strings awake,
s and tho' the moving Hand approach not near,
Themselves with awful Fear,
A kind of num'rous Trembling make:
Now all thy Forces try,
Now all thy Charms apply;
Revenge upon her Ear the Conquests of her Eye.
Weak Lyre, thy Virtue fure
Is useless here, since thou art only found
To cure, but not to wound,
And the to wound, but not to cure.
Too weak too wilt thou prove
My Passion to remove:
Phyfick to other Ills, thou'rt Nourishment to Love.
Sleep ! sleep again, my Lyre ;
For thou canft never tell my humble Tale
In Sounds chat will prevail,
Nor gentle Thoughts in her inspire:
áil chy vain Mirth lay by,
Bid thy Strings silentlie,
Sleep, fleep again, my Lyre, and let thy Matter die.
Now see that noble and molt sov'raign Reason,
Like sweet Bells jangled out of Tune and harsh
Mad as the Seas and Winds, when both contend
Which is the mightier.
She hems, and beats her Breast, Spurns enviously at Straws ; speaks things in Doubt, That carry but half Sense : Yet her unthap'd Use of Speech does move The Hearers to Collection: They aim at it, And her Words up-fit to their own Thoughts ; Which as her Winks, and Nods, and Gestures yield them, Indeed would make one think there would be Thoughts ; Tho' nothing suit, yer much, unhappily.
Sbak. Haml. Behold her lying in her Cell,
Her unregarded Locks-
Matted like Furies Treffes ; her poor Limbs
Chain'd to the Ground, and stead of those Delights,
Which happy Lovers tafte, her Keeper's Stripes,
A Bed of Straw, and a course wooden Difh
Of wretched Sustenance.
Observe the Gallantry of her Distraction :
Hark how she mouths the Heav'ns, and mates the Gods
Her blazing Eyes darting the wand'ring Stars,
While with her thund'ring Voice she threatens high,
And ev'ry Accent twangs with fmarting Sorrow. Lee Oedip
He raves : His Words are loose
As Heaps of Sand, and scatt'ring wide from Sense.
So high he's mounted in his airy Throne,
That now the Wind is got into his Head,
And turns his Brains to Frenzy.
Dryd, Span. Fry.
As a robb'd Tigress bounding o'er the Woods. 'Lee Oedip.
Wild as Winds, That sweep the Defarts of our moving Plains. Dryd. Don Seb.
There is a Pleasure fure in being mad, Which none but Madmen know.
Dryd. Span, Fry Madmen ought not to be mad, But who can help their Frenzy ?
Dryd. Span, Fry
A Woman! If you love my Peace of Mind,
Name not a Woman to me : But to think
Of Woman were enough to taint my Brains
Till they ferment to Madness. A Woman is the thing
I would forget, and blot from my Remembrance. Otw Orph.
To my charm'd Ears no more of Woman tell;
Name not a Woman and I shall be well:
Like a poor Lunatick that makes his Moan,
And for a while beguiles his Lookers on ;
He reasons well, his Eyes their Wildness lose,
He vows the Keepers his wrong'd Sense abusé :
But if you hit the Cause that hurt his Brain,
Then his Teeth gnash, he foams, he shakes his Chain,
His Eye-balls rowl, and he is mad again. Lee Caf. Borg
I have bethought my self
To take the basest, and the poorest Shape,
That ever Penury in Contempt of Man,
Brought near to Beast. My Face I'll grime with Filth,
Blanket my Loins, put all my Hair in Knots;
And with presented Nakedness out-face
The Winds and Perfecutions of the Sky.
The Country gives me Proof and Prelident
Of Bedlam Beggars, who with roaring Voices
Strike into their numr'd and mortify'd Arms
Pins, wooden Pricks, Nails, Sprigs of Rosemary
And with this horrible Objeet from low Farms,
Poor pelting Villages, Sheep cotes, and Mills,
Sometimes with lunátick Bans, sometimes with Pray'rs,
Lnforce their Charity.
Sbak. K. Lear.
MAN. See Babe, Creation, Philosophy.
Time was when we were low'd, and just began
From some few fruitful Drops, the Promise of a Man:
Then Nature's Hand (fermented as ic was)
Moulded to Shape the soft coagulated Mass;
And when the little Man was fully form'd,
The breathless Embryo with a Spirit warmd :
But when the Mother's Throes begin co come,
The Creature pent within the narrow Room,
Breaks his blind Prison, pushing to repair
His stifled Breath, and draw the living Air ;
Caft on the Margin of the World he lies
A helpless Babe, but by Instinct he cries :
He next efsays to walk, but downwards pressa,
On foyr Feet imitates his Brother-Beast:
By flow Degrees he gathers from the Ground
His Legs, and to the Rouling-Chair is bound :
Then walks alone, a Horseman now become,
He rides a Stick, and cravels round the Room.
In time he vaules among his youthful Peers,
Strong bond, and strung with Nerves, in Pride of Years.
He runs with Mettle his first merry Stage,
Maintains the next, abated of his Rage,
But manages his Strength and spares his Age:
Heavy the third, and stiff, he links apace,
And tho' 'tis Down-hill all, but creeps along the Race.
Now fapless on the Verge of Death he stands,
Contemplating his former Feet and Hands;
And, Milo like, his slacken's Sinews fees,
And wither'd Arms, once fit to cope with Hercules,
Unable now to shake, much less to tear the Trees.
Thus ev'n our Bodies daily Change receive,
Some Part of what was theirs before, they leave ;
Nor are to Day what Yesterday they were,
Nor the whole Same To-morrow will appear. Bryd. Ovid.
So Man, ac first a Drop, dilates with Heat;
Then form'd, the little Heart begins to beat :
Secret he feeds, unknowing in the Cell,
At length, for hatching ripe, he breaks the Shell,
And struggles into Breath, and cries for Aid,
Then helpless in his Mother's Lap is laid:
He creeps, he walks, and issuing into Man,
Grudges their Life from whence his own began
Rerchless of Laws, affe&ts to rule alone,
Anxious to reign, and restless on the Throne.
First vegetive, then feels, and reasons last,
Rich of three Souls, and lives all three to waste:
Some thus, but thousands more in Flow'r of Age,
For few arrive to run the latter Stage. Dryd. Pal. do Arci
Man is but Man, inconstant still and various.
There's no To-morrow in him like To-day:
Perhaps the Atoms rolling in his Brain,
Make him think honestly this present Hour ;
The next, a Swarm of base ungrateful Thoughts
May mount aloft.
Who would trust Chance, since all Men have the Seeds
Of Good or Ill, which should work upward first ? Dryd. Cleon.
Men are buç Children of a larger Growth,
Our Appetites as apt to change as theirs,
And full as craving too, and full as vain:
And yet the Soul, Thut up in her dark Room,
Viewing so clear abroad, at home fees nothing;
a Mole in Earth, busy and blind,
Works all her Folly up, and casts it outward
To the World's open View.
Drid. All for Love.
Ah! what is Man when his own With prevails!
How rash, how swift to plunge himself in Ill!
Proud of his Pow'r, and boundless in his Will!
With what unequal Tempers are we fram'd ?
One Day the Soul, fupine with Ease and Fullness,
Revels secure, and fondly tells her self,
The Hour of Evil can return no more:
1. The next, the Spirits pallid, and sick of Riot,
Turn all to Discord, and we hate our Beings;
Curse the past Joy, and think it Folly all,
And Bitterness and Anguilh.
Row. Fair. Pen.
Mankind one Day serene and free appear,
The next they're cloudy, lullen, and fevere.
New Passions new Opinions still excite,
And what they like at Noon despise at Night.
They gain with Labour what they quit with Ease,
And Health for want of Change becomes Disease.
Religion's bright Authority they dare,
And yet are Slaves to superstitious Fear.
They counsel others, but themselves deceive,
And tho' they're couzen'd still, they still believe,
Gar. Mankind upon each others Ruin rife, Cowards maintain the Brave, and Fools the Wise. How. Veft. Vir.
Mankind each others Stories still repeat, And Man to Man is a succeeding Cheat. How. D. of Lerm,
Were I, (who to my Cost already am One of those strange prodigious Creatures Man] A Spirit free to chuse for my own Share What Case of Flesh and Blood I'd please to wear ; I'd be a Dog, a Monkey, or a Bear, Or any thing but that vain Animal, Who is so proud of being rational. The Senses are too gross, and he'll contrive A fixth to contradi& the other five : And before certain Instinct will prefer Reason, which fifty times for one does err. Reason, an Ignis Fatuus in the Mind, Which leaving Light of Nature, Sense, behind, Pathless, and dang'rous wandring Ways it takes, Thro' Errors fenny Bogs, and thorny Brakes: While the misguided Follow'r climbs with Pain Mountains of Whimseys heap'd in his own Brain; Stumbling from Thought to Thought, falls headlong down Into Doubt's boundless Sea, where like to drown, Books bear him up a while, and make him try To swim with Bladders of Philosophy, In hopes still to o'ertake th'escaping Light; Till spent, it leaves him to eternal Night. Huddled in Dirt the reas'ning Engine lies, Who was so proud, so witty, and so wise : Pride drew him in, as Cheats their Bubbles catch, And made him venture to be made a Wretch: His Wifdom did his Happiness destroy; Aiming to know that World he should enjoy,