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A mournful theme: while, on raw pinions, I
But flutter, and make weak attempts to fly :
Content, if, to divert my vacant time,
I can but like fome love-fick fopling rhyme,
To fome kind-hearted mistress make my court,
And, like a modish wit, in fonnet sport.

Let others, more ambitious, råck their brains
In polish'd fentiments, and labour'd strains:
To blooming Phyllis I a song compose,
And, for a rhyme, compare her to the rofe;
Then, while my fancy works, I write down morn,
To paint the blush that does her cheek adorn,
And, when the whiteness of her skin I show,
With ecftafy bethink myself of fnow.

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Thus, without pains, I tinkle in the clofe,

And sweeten into verfe infipid profe.

The country scraper, when he wakes his crowd,
And makes the tortur'd cat-gut fqueak aloud,
Is often ravish'd, and in transport loft:

What more, my friend, can fam'd Corelli boaft,
When harmony herself from heaven defcends,
And on the artist's moving bow attends?
Why then, in making verses, should I strain
For wit, and of Apollo beg a vein ?

Who ftudy Horace and the Stagyrite ?

Why cramp my dulnefs, and in torment write?
Let me tranfgrefs by nature, not by rule,
An artless idiot, not a study'd fool,

A Withers, not a Rymer, fince I aim

At nothing lefs, in writing, than a name.

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48 FROM

FROM HOLLAND, TO A FRIEND IN

ENGLAND, IN THE YEAR 1703.

FR

ROM Utrecht's filent walks, by winds, I send
Health and kind wishes to my absent friend.

The winter spent, I feel the poet's fire;
The fun advances, and the fogs retire :
The genial fpring unbinds the frozen earth,
Dawns on the trees, and gives the primrose birth.
Loos'd from their friendly harbours, once again
Confederate fleets affemble on the main :
The voice of war the gallant soldier wakes;
And weeping Cloë parting kiffes takes.
On new-plum'd wings the Roman eagle foars;
The Belgick lion in full fury roars.

Dispatch the leader from your happy coaft,
The hope of Europe, and Britannia's boaft:
O, Marlborough, come! fresh laurels for thee rise !
One conqueft more; and Gallia will grow wife.
Old Lewis makes his laft effort in arms,

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And fhews how, ev'n in age, ambition charms.

Meanwhile, my friend, the thickening shades I haunt,

And smooth canals, and after rivulets pant :
The fmooth canals, alas, too lifeless show!
Nor to the eye, nor to the ear, they flow.
Studious of ease, and fond of humble things,
Below the fmiles, below the frowns of kings,
Thanks to my stars, I prize the sweets of life:
No fleepless nights I count, no days of strife.

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Content

Content to live, content to die, unknown,
Lord of myself, accountable to none;

I fleep, I wake, I drink; I fometimes love;

I read, I write; I settle, and I rove,

When, and where-e'er, I please: thus, every hour
Gives fome new proof of my defpotic power.

All, that I will, I can; but then, I will

As reason bids; I meditate no ill;

And, pleas'd with things which in my level lie,
Leave it to madmen o'er the clouds to fly.
But this is all romance, a dream to you,

Who fence and dance, and keep the court in view.
White staffs and truncheons, feals and golden keys,
And filver stars, your towering genius please:
Such manly thoughts in every infant rise,
Who daily for fome tinfel trinket cries.

Go on, and profper, Sir: but first from me
Learn your own temper; for I know you free.
You can be honeft; but you cannot bow,
And cringe, beneath a fupercilious brow:
You cannot fawn; your stubborn foul recoils
At bafenefs; and your blood too highly boils.
From nature fome fubmiffive tempers have;
Unkind to you, she form'd you not a slave.
A courtier must be fupple, full of guile,
Must learn to praise, to flatter, to revile,
The good, the bad, an enemy, a friend,
To give falfe hopes, and on falfe hopes depend.
Go on, and profper, Sir: but learn to hide
Your upright fpirit: 't will be conftrued pride.

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The

The splendor of a court is all a cheat;
You must be fervile, ere you can be great.
Befides, your ancient patrimony wasted,

Your youth run out, your schemes of grandeur blafted,

You may perhaps retire in discontent,

And curfe your patron, for no strange event:

The patron will his innocence protest,

And frown in earnest, though he smil'd in jest.
Man, only from himself, can fuffer wrong;
His reafon fails, as his defires grow ftrong:
Hence, wanting ballaft, and too full of fail,
He lies expos'd to every rising gale.

From youth to age, for happiness he's bound :
He splits on rocks, or runs his bark aground,
Or, wide of land, a defert ocean views,
And, to the laft, the flying port pursues,
Yet, to the laft, the port he does not gain,
And dying finds, too late, he liv'd in vain.

TO THE EARL OF DORSET.

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Copenhagen, March 9, 1709.

FROM frozen climes, and endless tracts of now,

From ftreams which northern winds forbid to flow,

What present shall the Mufe to Dorset bring,
Or how, fo near the Pole, attempt to fing?
The hoary winter here conceals from fight
AH pleafing objects which to verfe invite.

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The hills and dales, and the delightful woods,
The flowery plains, and filver-ftreaming floods,
By fnow difguis'd, in bright confusion lie,
And with one dazzling waste fatigue the eye.

No gentle breathing breeze prepares the spring,
No birds within the defert region fing.
The fhips, unmov'd, the boisterous winds defy,
While rattling chariots o'er the ocean fly.
The vaft Leviathan wants room to play,
And spout his waters in the face of day.
The starving wolves along the main sea prowl,
And to the moon in icy valleys howl.
O'er many a fhining league the level main
Here spreads itself into a glassy plain :
There folid billows of enormous size,
Alps of green ice, in wild diforder rife.

And yet but lately have I feen, ev'n here,
The winter in a lovely drefs appear.

Ere yet the clouds let fall the treasur'd snow,
Or winds begun through hazy skies to blow,
At evening a keen eaftern breeze arofe,
And the defcending rain unfully'd froze.
Soon as the filent fhades of night withdrew,
The ruddy morn difclos'd at once to view
The face of Nature in a rich difguife,
And brighten'd every object to my eyes:
For every fhrub, and every blade of grafs,
And every pointed thorn, feem'd wrought in glass;
In pearls and rubies rich the hawthorns fhow,
While through the ice the crimfon berries glow.

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