Confider well the talent you poffefs;
To ftrive to make it more, would make it lefs:
And recollect what gratitude is due,
To those whofe party you abandon now.
To them you owe your odd magnificence,
But to your stars your magazine of fenfe.
Hafpt in a tombril, aukward have you shin'd,
With one fat flave before, and none behind.
Then hafte and join your true intrepid friends,
Succefs on vigour and difpatch depends.
Labouring in doubts Mirmillo stood; then said,
'Tis hard to undertake, if gain diffuade ;
What fool for noisy feuds large fees would leave?
Ten harvests more would all I wish for give.
True man! reply'd the elf; by choice difeas'd,
Ever contriving pain, and never pleas'd.
A prefent good they flight, an abfent choose;
And what they have, for what they have not, lofe.
Falfe profpects all their true delights destroy,
Refolv'd to want, yet labouring to enjoy.
In restless hurries thoughtlessly they live,
At fubftance oft' unmov'd, for shadows grieve.
Ver. 87-104. Originally thus,
But foon what they 've exalted they'll difcard,
And fet up Carus or the city Bard.
Alarm'd at this the Hero courage took,
And ftorms of terror threaten'd in his look.
My dread refolves, he cry'd, I'll ftraight purfue;
The Fury, fatisfy'd, in fmiles withdrew.
Children at toys, as men at titles, aim ;
And in effect both covet but the fame.'
This Philip's fan prov'd in revolving years;
And firft for rattles, then for worlds fhed tears.
The Fury spoke; then in a moment fir'd
The hero's breaft with tempefts, and retir'd.
In boding dreams Mirmillo spent the night,
And frightful phantoms danc'd before his fight,
Till the pale Pleiads clos'd their eyes of light.
At length gay morn glows in the eastern skies,
The larks in raptures through the æther rife,
The azure mifts feud o'er the dewy lawns,
The chaunter at his early matins yawns,
The amaranth opes its leaves, the lys its bells,
And Progne her complaint of Tereus tells.
As bold Mirmillo the
gray dawn defcries,
Arm'd cap-a-pe, where honour calls, he flies,
And finds the legions planted at their post;
Where mighty Querpo fill'd the eye the most.
His arms were made, if we may credit fame,
By Mulciber, the Mayor of Birmingham.
Of temper'd stibium the bright shield was cast,
yet the work the metal far surpass'd.
A foliage of the vulnerary leaves,
Grav'd round the brim, the wondering fight deceives.
Around the centre Fate's bright trophies lay,
Probes, faws, incifion-knives, and tools to flay.
Embost upon the field, a battle flood
Of leeches fpouting hæmorrhoidal blood.
The artist too exprefs'd the folemn state
Of grave phyficians at a confult met;
About each fymptom how they disagree,
But how unanimous in cafe of fee.
Whilft each affaffin his learn'd colleague tires
With learn'd impertinence, the fick expires.
Beneath this blazing orb bright Querpo fhone,
Himself an Atlas, and his fhield a moon.
A peltle for his truncheon led the van,
And his high helmet was a close-ftool pan.
His creft an Ibis, brandishing her beak,
And winding in loofe folds her fpiral neck.
This when the young Querpoïdes beheld,
His face in nurfe's breaft the boy conceal'd;
Then peept, and with th' effulgent helm would play,
And as the monfter gap'd, would fhrink away.
Thus fometimes joy prevail'd, and fometimes fear;
And tears and fmiles alternate paffions were.
As Querpo towering ftood in martial might,
Pacific Carus fparkled on the right.
An Oran Outang o'er his shoulders hung,
His plume confefs'd the capon whence it fprung.
His motley mail fcarce could the hero bear,
Haranguing thus the tribunes of the war:
For prefent triumphs born, defign'd for more,
Your virtue I admire, your valour more.
If battle be refolv'd, you'll find this hand
Can deal out Deftiny, and Fate command.
Our foes in throngs fhall hide the crimfon plain,
And their Apollo interpofe in vain.
Though Gods themfelves engage, a Diomed
With eafe could fhow a deity can bleed.
But war's rough trade fhould be by fools profeft,
The trueft rubbish fills a trench the best.
Let quinfies throttle, and the quartan shake,
Or dropfies drown, and gout and colics rack;
Let fword and peftilence lay wafte, while we
Wage bloodlefs wars, and fight in theory.
Who wants not merit, needs not arm for fame;
The dead I raife, my chivalry proclaim;
Difeafes baffled, and loft health reftor'd,
In Fame's bright lift my victories record.
More lives from me their prefervation own,
Than lovers lofe if fair Cornelia frown.
Your cures, fhrill Querpo cry'd, aloud
But wifely your mifcarriages conceal.
Zeno, a prieft, in Samothrace of old,
Thus reafon'd with Philopidas the bold:
Immortal Gods you own, but think them blind
To what concerns the ftate of human kind.
Either they hear not, or regard not prayer;
That argues want of power, and this of care.
Allow that wisdom infinite must know;
Power infinite must act. "I grant it fo."
Hafte straight to Neptune's fane; furvey with zeal 185
The walls. "What then?" reply'd the infidel.
Obferve those numerous throngs, in effigy,
The gods have fav'd from the devouring fea.
"Tis true, their pictures that efcap'd you keep,
"But where are theirs that perifh'd in the deep?" 190
Vaunt now no more the triumph of your skill,
But, though unfeed, exert your arm, and kill.
Our fcouts have learn'd the pofture of the foe;
In war, furprizes furest conduct show.
But Fame, that neither good nor bad conceals, 195 That Pembroke's worth, and Ormond's valour tells; How truth in Burnet, how in Cavendish, reigns, Varro's magnificence with Maro's strains;
But how at church and bar all gape and ftretch
If Winnington but plead, or South or Only preach;
On nimble wings to Warwick-lane repairs,
And what the enemy intends, declares.
Confufion in each countenance appear'd,
A council's call'd, and
His labouring lungs the throng'd prætorium rent, 205 Addreffing thus the paffive prefident:
+ Machaon, whofe experience we adore, Great as your matchlefs merit, is your power.
At your approach, the baffled tyrant Death
Breaks his keen fhafts, and grinds his clafhing teeth.
To you we leave the conduct of the day;
What you command, your vaffals must obey.
True to extremes, yet to dull forms a flave,
He's always dully gay, or vainly grave.
With indignation, and a daring air,
He paus'd awhile, and thus addrefs'd the chair.
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