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WHILE Celia's Tears make forrow bright,
The Sun, next those the fairest light,
Thus from the Ocean first did rise :
These filver drops, like morning dew,
So from one Cloud foft fhow'rs we view,
And blasting 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, 15
Elfe might th' ambitious Nymph aspire,
E. of ROCHESTER.
ILENCE! coeval with Eternity;
Thou wert, ere Nature's felf began to be, 'Twas one vast Nothing, all, and all slept fast in
Thine was the fway, ere heav'n was form'd, or earth,
Ere fruitful Thought conceiv'd creation's birth, Or midwife Word gave aid, and spoke the infant
Then various elements, against thee join'd,
And fram'd the clam'rous race of bufy Human
The tongue mov'd gently first, and speech was
'Till wrangling Science taught it noise and show,
And wicked Wit arofe, thy most abusive foe,
But rebel Wit deserts thee oft' in vain; Loft in the maze of words he turns again, And seeks a furer state, and courts thy gentle reign.
Afflicted Senfe thou kindly doft fet free, Oppress'd with argumental tyranny, And routed Reason finds a safe retreat in thee.
With thee in private modest Dulness lies, And in thy bofom lurks in Thought's disguise; Thou varnisher of Fools, and cheat of all theWise!
Yet thy indulgence is by both confest; Folly by thee lies fleeping in the breast, And 'tis in thee at last that Wisdom seeks for rest
Silence the knave's repute, the whore's good
The only honour of the wishing dame;
The very want of tongue makes thee a kind of Fame.
But could'st thou feize fome tongues that now are free,
How Church and State fhould be oblig'd to thee? At Senate, and at Bar, how welcome would'st thou be?
Yet speech ev'n there, fubmiffively withdraws, From rights of fubjects, and the poor man's caufe: Then pompous Silence reigns, and ftills the noify Laws.
Past services of friends, good deeds of foes, What Fav'rites gain, and what the Nation owes, Fly the forgetful world, and in thy arms repose.
The country wit, religion of the town,
The courtier's learning, policy o' th'
Are best by thee express'd; and shine in thee alone.
The parfon's cant, the lawyer's sophistry, Lord's quibble, critic's jeft; all end in thee, All reft in peace at last, and sleep eternally.
E. of DORSE T.
HO' Artemifia talks, by fits,
Of councils, claffics, fathers, wits;
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 state.
She wears no colours (fign of grace)
All white and black befide:
And masculine her ftride,