Thus let my Life flide filently away,
With Sleep all Night, and Quiet all the Day.
Let Woods and Rivers be
My quiet, tho' inglorious Destiny:
In Life's cool Vale let my low Scene be laid.
Much will always wanting be
To him who much defires:
Thrice happy he,
To whom the wife Indulgency of Heav'n
With fparing Hand but juft enough has giv'n!
He does not Palaces nor Mannors crave,
Would be no Lord, but lefs a Lord would have:
The Ground he owns, if he his own can call,
He quarrels not with Heav'n becaufe 'tis fmail.
Let gay and toilfom Greatnefs others please,
He loves of homely Littleness the Eafe.
Plain was his Couch, and only rich his Mind;
Contentedly he slept as cheaply as he din'd.
His calm and harmlefs Life,
Free from th'Alarms of Fear and Storms of Strife,
Does with fubftantial Bleffedness abound,
And the foft Wings of Peace cover him round.
Their Wealth was the Contempt of it; which more
They valu'd, than rich Fools the fhining Ore.
Nor pompous Cares, nor Palaces he knew,
But wifely from th'infectious World withdrew,
He's no fmall Prince, who every Day,
Thus to himself can say:
Now will I fleep, now eat, now fit, now walk,
Now meditate alone, now with Acquaintance talk;
This will I do, here will I ftay;
Or if my Fancy calleth me away,
My Man and I will presently go ride,
For we have nothing to provide:
If thou but a fhort Journey take,
As if thy last thou wert to make,
Bus nefs must be dispatch'd e'er thou must go;
Nor canft thou ftir unless there be
A hundred Horfe and Men to wait on thee,
And many a Mule, and many a Cart,
What an unwieldly Man thou art!
The Rhodian Coloffus fo
A Journey too might go.
If thou be wife, no glorious Fortune chufe,
Which 'tis but vain to keep, yet Grief to lofe;
For when we place ev'n Trifles in the Heart,
With Trifles too unwillingly we part.
An humble Roof, plain Bed, and homely Board,
More clear untainted Pleasures do afford;
Than ali the Tumult of vain Greatness brings
To Kings, or to the Favourites of Kings.
Then might I live by my own furly Rules,
Not forc'd to worship Knaves, or flatter Fools;
And thus fecur'd of Eafe by thunning Strife,
With Pleasure would I fail down the fwift Stream of Life.Hør.
Since Wealth and Pow'r too weak we find
To quell the Tumults of the Mind;
Or from the Monarch's Roofs of State,
Drive thence the Cares that round him wait:
Happy the Man with little bleft,
Of what his Father left poffefs'd;
No bafe Defires corrupt his Head,
No Fears difturb him in his Bed.
Thy Portion is a wealthy Stock,
A fertile Glebe, a fruitful Flock,
Horfes and Chariots for thy Eafe,
Rich Robes to deck, and make thee please :
For me, a little Cell I chufe,
Fit for my Mind, fit for my Mufe;
Which foft Content does beft adorn,
Shunning the Knaves and Fools I fcorn.
MELANCHOLY. See Grief.
A fuddain Damp has fiez'd my Spirits,
And like a heavy Weight
Hangs on their active Springs.
A Kind of Weight hangs heavy at my Heart,
My flagging Soul flies under her own Pitch,
Like Fowl in Air too damp, and laggs along
As if the were a Body in a Body,
And not a mounting Subftance, made of Fire.
My Senfes too are dull and ftupify'd,
Their Edge rebated: Sure fome Ill approaches,
And fome kind Spirit knocks foftly at my Breaft
To tell me Fate's at Hand.
Some unborn Sorrow, ripe in Fortune's Womb,
Now coming tow'rds me, grieves my inmoft Soul. Shak.Rich.2.
Sure fome ill Fate's upon me:
Diftruft and Heaviness fit round my Heart,
And Apprehenfion fhocks my tim❜rous Soul.
This Melancholy flatters, but unmans you ;
What is it elfe but Penury of Soul?
A lazy Froft, a Numnefs of the Mind,
That locks up all the Vigour to attempt,
By barely crying, 'tis impoffible!
It makes a Toy prefs with prodigious Weight,
And fwells a Mole-hill to a Mountain's Height.
For melancholy Men lie down and groan,
Prefs'd with the Burthen of themselves alone.
Crufh'd with fantaftick Mountains they defpair,
Their Heads are grown vaft Globes too big to bear.
A little Spark becomes a raging Flame,
And each weak Blaft a Storm too fierce to tame.
So peevish is the quarrelfom Disease,
No profp'rous Fortune can procure it Eafe.
Some abfent Happiness they ftill pursue,
Dislike the prefent Good, and long for new.
Things which offend when prefent, and affright,
In Memory well painted move Delight.
I, thou poor Ghoft! while Memory holds a Seat
In this diftra&ted Globe. Remember thee!
Yes, from the Table of my Memory
I'll wipe away all trivial fond Records,
All Saws of Books, all Forms, all Preffures paft,
That Youth and Obfervation copy'd there;
And thy Commandment all alone fhall live
Within the Book and Volume of my Brain,
Unmix'd with baser Matter.
That Voice methinks I fhou'd have fomewhere heard,
But Floods of Woes have furry'd it far off
Pafs'd thro' my Ears;
But full of Hurry, like a morning Dream,
It vanish'd in the Bufinefs of the Day.
Like what we think can never fhun Remembrance,
Yet of a fuddain's gone beyond the Clouds.
MERCHANT. See Money.
So when the Merchant fees his Veffel loft,
Tho' richly freighted from a foreign Coast,
Gladly for Life the Treafure he would give,
And only withes to escape and live:
Gold and his Gains no more imploy his Mind,
But driving o'er the Billows with the Wind,
Cleaves to one faithful Plank, and leaves the reft behind. Row.
I, in my private Bark already wreck'd,
Like a poor Merchant driv'n on unknown Land,
That had by chance pack'd up his dearest Treafure
In one rich Casket, and fav'd only that;
Since I must wander further on the Shore,
Thus hug my little, but my precious Store,
Refolv'd to fcorn, and truft my Faté no more.
When Merchants break, o'erthrown
Like Ninepins, they strike others down.
MERCURY.
Hermes obeys; with golden Pinions binds
His flying Feet, and mounts the western Winds.
But firft he grafps within his awful Hand,
The Mark of fov'raign Pow'r, his magick Wand:
With this he draws the Ghofts from hollow Graves,
With this he drives them down to Stygian Waves;
With this he feals in Sleep the wakeful Sight,
And Eyes, tho' clos'd in Death, reftores to Light,
Thus arm'd, the God begins his airy Race,
And drives the racking Clouds along the liquid Space;
Now fees the Top of Atlas as he flies,
Where, pois'd upon his Wings, the God defcends:
Then, refted thus, he from the tow'ring Height
Plung'd downward with precipitated Flight;
Lights on the Seas, and skims along the Flood;
As Water-Fowl, who feek their fifhy Food,
Lefs and yet lefs to diftant Profpe& show,
By turns they dance aloft and dive below:
Like these the Steerage of his Wings he plies,
And near the Surface of the Waters flies;
Till having pafs'd the Seas, and crofs'd the Sands,
He clos'd his Wings, and ftoop'd on Lybian Lands. Dryd. Virg.
The Herald of the Gods.
His Hat adorn'd with Wings disclos'd the God,
And in his Hand he bore the Sleep-compelling Rod.
Such as he feem'd, when at his Sire's Command
On Argus Head he laid the fnaky Wand.
MERCY. See Justice.
Offspring Divine! in Heav'n the most belov'd,
By whom ev'n Fate unchangeable is mov'd:
Her Looks fo moving, fuch celeftial Grace,
So mild and fweet an Air dwells on her Face;
So tender and engaging all her Charms,
That oft th'Almighty's Fury fhe difarms:
Her Language melts Omnipotence, arrests
His Hand, and thence the vengeful Lightning wrefts.
To Threats the ftubborn Sinner oft is hard,
Wrap'd in his Crimes against the Storm prepar'd;
But when the milder Beams of Mercy play,
He melts, and throws his cumb'rous Cloak away.
Lightning and Thunder, Heav'n's Artillery,
As Harbingers, before th' Almighty fly :
Those but proclaim his Style, and disappear;
The stiller Sound fucceeds, and God is there.
Heav'n has but
Our Sorrow for our Sins, and then delights
To pardon erring Man. Sweet Mercy feems
Its darling Attribute, which limits Justice;
As if there were Degrees in Infinite,
And Infinite would rather want Perfection,
Than punish to Extent.
Curfe on th'unpard'ning Prince, whom Tears can draw
To no Remorfe; who rules by Lions Law;
And, deaf to Pray'rs, by no Submiffion bow'd,
Rends all alike, the Penitent and Proud.
But Kings too tame, are defpicably good:
For Goodness in Excefs may be a Sin,
Juftice muft tame whom Mercy cannot win.
Ev'n Heav'n is weary'd with repeated Crimes,
Till Lightning flashes round to guard the Throne,
And the curb'd Thunder grumbles to be gone. Dryd. D. of Guife.
Now thofe profounder Regions they explore,
Where Metals ripen in vaft Cakes of Ore:
Here, fullen to the Sight, at large is spread
The dull unweildy Mafs of lumpish Lead.
There glimm'ring in their dawning Beds are feen,
The more afpiring Seeds of fprightly Tin.
The Copper fparkles next in ruddy Streaks,
And in the Gloom betrays its glowing Cheeks.
The Silver then, with bright and burnish'd Grace
Youth, and a blooming Luftre in its Face,
To th' Arms of thofe more yielding Metals flies,
And in the Folds of their Embraces lies.
So close they cling, fo ftubbornly retire,
Their Love's more vi'lent than the Chymift's Fire.
A Way there is in Heav'ns expanded Plain,
Which, when the Skies are clear, is feen below,
And Mortals by the Name of Milky know:
The Ground-work is of Stars, thro' which the Road
Lies open to the Thunderer's Abode.
A broad and ample Road, whofe Duft is Gold,
And Pavement Stars, as Stars to us appear
Seen in the Galaxy that Milky-Way,
Like to a circling Zone, powder'd with Stars;
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