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Then, flying from the noisy throng, Seeks the diverfion of a fong. Mufic defcending on a filent cloud, Tun'd all her ftrings with endless art; By flow degrees from soft to loud Changing the rofe: The harp and flute Harmonious join, the hero to falute, And make a captive of his heart. Fruits, and rich Wine, and fcenes of lawless Love Each with utmost luxury ftrove
To treat their favourite best;
But founding ftrings, and fruits, and wine,
To make his virtue fleep, or lull his foul to rest.
He faw the tedious round, and, with a figh,
"In crowds of pleasure still I find
"A painful folitude of mind.
"A vacancy within which sense can ne'er fupply. "Hence, and be gone, ye flattering fnares, "Ye vulgar charms of eyes and ears,
"Ye unperforming promifers!
"Be all my bafer paffions dead,
"And bafe defires, by nature made
"For animals and boys :
"Man has a relifh more refin'd,
"Souls are for focial blifs defign'd,
"Give me a bleffing fit to match my mind,
"A kindred-foul to double and to fhare my joys."
Myrrha appear'd: "Serene her foul
"And active as the fun, yet steady as the pole :
"In fofter beauties fhone her face;
"Every Mufe, and every Grace,
"Made her heart and tongue their feat, "Her heart profufely good, her tongue divinely sweet "Myrrha the wonder of his eyes;" His heart recoil'd with sweet surprize, With joys unknown before: His foul diffolv'd in pleasing pain, Flow'd to his eyes, and look'd again, And could endure no more, "Enough! (th' impatient hero cries) "And feiz'd her to his breast, "I feek no more below the fkies, "I give my flaves the reft."
To DAVID POLHILL, Efq;
An Answer to an infamous Satyr, called, "Advice to a Painter;" written by a nameless Author, against King William III. of Glorious Memory, 1698.
WHEN you put this fatyr into my hand, you
gave me the occafion of employing my pen to anfwer fo deteftable a writing; which might be done
much more effectually by your known zeal for the intereft of his majefty, your counfels and your courage employed in the defence of your king and country. And fince you provoked me to write, you will accept of those efforts of my loyalty to the beft of kings, addreffed to one of the moft zealous of his fubjects, by
Your moft obedient fervant,
ND muft the hero, that redeem'd our land,
Here in the front of vice and scandal stand?
The man of wondrous foul, that fcorn'd his cafe,
To guard his England from the Irish knife,
And crush the French dragoon? Muft William's name,
Polhill, my blood boils high, my fpirits flame;
Audacious wretch! to ftab a monarch's fame,
O! could my thought but grafp the vast design,
I'd roufe Apelles, from his iron fleep,
And bid him trace the warrior o'er the deep:
Mark him again emerging from the cloud,
He wards the fate of nations, and provokes his own:
Now, noble pencil, lead him to our isle, Mark how the skies with joyful luftre fmile,
Then imitate the glory; on the strand
Spread half the nation, longing till he land.
Throne him on high upon a fhining feat,
Luft and prophaneness dying at his feet,
While round his head the laurel and the olive meet,
At his right hand pile up the English laws
Rife, ye old fages of the British isle,
On the fair tablet caft a reverend smile,
And blefs the piece; thefe ftatutes are your own,
Let liberty, and right, with plumes display'd,