« EelmineJätka »
WHILE Celia's Tears make forrow bright,
Grief fits fwelling in her eyes;
The Sun, next those the faireft light,
These filver drops, like morning dew,
So from one Cloud foft fhow'rs we view,
And blafting lightnings burst away. The Stars that fall from Celia's eye, Declare our Doom in drawing nigh.
The Baby in that funny Sphere
So like a Phaëton appears,
That Heav'n, the threaten'd World to spare,
Elfe might th' ambitious Nymph aspire,
E. of ROCHESTER,
ILENCE! coeval with Eternity;
Thou wert, ere Nature's felf began to be, 'Twas one vaft Nothing, all, and all slept fast in thee.
Thine was the fway, ere heav'n was form'd, or earth, Ere fruitful Thought conceiv'd creation's birth, 5 Or midwife Word gave aid, and spoke the infant forth. III.
Then various elements, against thee join❜d,
And fram'd the clam'rous race of busy Human-kind.
The tongue mov'd gently first, and speech was low, 'Till wrangling Science taught it noise and show, II And wicked Wit arose, thy most abusive foe.
But rebel Wit deferts thee oft' in vain;
Loft in the maze of words he turns again,
And feeks a furer ftate, and courts thy gentle reign. 15
Afflicted Senfe thou kindly doft fet free,
And routed Reafon finds a fafe retreat in thee.
With thee in private modest Dulness lies,
And in thy bofom lurks in Thought's difguife; 20 Thou varnisher of Fools, and cheat of all the Wife!
Yet thy indulgence is by both confest ;
And 'tis in thee at last that Wisdom seeks for rest.
Silence the knave's repute, the whore's good name, The only honour of the wifhing dame; Thy very want of tongue makes thee a kind of Fame.
But could'ft thou feize fome tongues that now are
How Church and State should be oblig'd to thee?
At Senate, and at Bar, how welcome would't thou be?
Yet speech ev❜n there, fubmiffively withdraws, From rights of fubjects, and the poor man's caufe: Then pompous Silence reigns, and fills the noify Laws,
Paft fervices of friends, good deeds of foes, What Fav❜rites gain, and what the Nation owes, Fly the forgetful world, and in thy arms repofe.
The country wit, religion of the town, The courtier's learning, policy o'th' gown, Are best by thee exprefs'd; and fhine in thee alone.
The parfon's cant, the lawyer's fophiffry, Lord's quibble, critic's jeft; all end in thee, All reft in peace at laft, and sleep eternally.
E. of DORSET.
HO' Artemifia talks, by fits,
Of councils, claffics, fathers, wits;
And wear a cleaner fmock.
Haughty and huge as High-Dutch bride,
Are oddly join'd by fate:
On her large fquab you find her spread,
That lies and ftinks in ftate.
She wears no colours (fign of grace)
All white and black befide:
And mafculine her ftride.
So have I feen, in black and white
A prating thing, a Magpye hight,
A ftately, worthless animal,
That plies the tongue, and wags the tail,
All flutter, pride, and talk.