TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
WILLIAM PULTENEY, ESQUIRE.
HO, much diftinguish'd, yet is bless'd?
Who, dignified above the reft,
Does, ftill, unenvied live?
Not to the man whofe wealth abounds,
Nor to the man whofe fame refounds,
Does heaven fuch favour give,
Nor to the noble-born, nor to the strong,
Nor to the gay, the beautiful, or young.
Whom then, fecure of happiness,
Does every eye beholding blefs,
And every tongue commend?
Him, Pulteney, who, poffeffing store,
Is not folicitous of more,
Who, to mankind a friend,
Nor envies, nor is envied by, the great,
Polite in courts, polite in his retreat :
Whofe unambitious, active foul,
Attends the welfare of the whole,
When public ftorms arise,
And, in the calm, a thoufand ways
Diversifies his nights and days,
Still elegantly wife;
While books, each morn, the lightsome foul invite,
And friends, with season'd mirth, improve the night.
IV.
In him do men no blemish fee;
And factions in his praise agree,
When most they vex the state:
Diftinguifh'd favourite of the skies,
Belov'd he lives, lamented dies:
Yet, fhall he not to fate
Submit entire; the refcuing Muse shall fave
and win him from the grave.
Too frail is brafs and polish'd ftone;
Perpetual fame the Muse alone
On merit can bestow:
Yet, muft the time-enduring fong,
The verfe unrival'd by the throng,
From Nature's bounty flow:
Th' ungifted tribe in metre pafs away,
Oblivion's sport, the poets of a day.
What laws fhall o'er the Ode prefide ?
In vain would art presume to guide
The chariot-wheels of praise,
When Fancy, driving, ranges free,
Fresh flowers selecting, like the bee,
And regularly ftrays,
While Nature does, disdaining aids of skill,
The mind with thought, the ears with numbers, fill.
As when the Theban hymns divine
Make proud Olympian victors shine
In an eternal blaze,
The varying measures, ever new,
Unbeaten tracks of fame purfue,
While through the glorious maze
The poet leads his heroes to renown,
And weaves in verfe a never-fading crown.
To Mifs MARGARET PULTENEY, Daughter of
DANIEL PULTENEY, Efq; in the Nursery.
APRIL 27, 1727.
IMPLY damfel, fweetly fmiling,
All careffing, none beguiling,
Bud of beauty, fairly blowing,
Every charm to Nature owing,
This and that new thing admiring,
Much of this and that enquiring,
Knowledge by degrees attaining,
Day by day fome virtue gaining,
Ten years hence, when I leave chiming,
Beardlefs poets, fondly rhyming,
(Fefcued now, perhaps, in spelling,)
On thy riper beauties dwelling,
Shall accufe each killing feature
Of the cruel, charming, creature,
Whom I knew complying, willing,
Tender, and averfe from killing.
To Mifs CHARLOTTE PULTENEY,
IMELY bloffom, infant fair,
Fondling of a happy pair,
Every morn, and every night,
Their folicitous delight,
Sleeping, waking, still at ease,
Pleafing, without skill to please,
Little goffip, blithe and hale,
Tattling many a broken tale,
Singing many a tunelefs fong,
Lavish of a heedlefs tongue,
Simple maiden, void of art,
Babbling out the very heart,
Yet abandon'd to thy will,
Yet imagining no ill,
Yet too innocent to blush,
Like the linnet in the bush.
To the mother-linnet's note
Moduling her flender throat,
Chirping forth thy petty joys,
Wanton in the change of toys,
Like the linnet green, in May,
Flitting to each bloomy spray,
Wearied then, and glad of reft
Like the linnet in the nest.
This thy present happy lot,
This, in time, will be forgot:
Other pleasures, other cares,
Ever-busy time prepares;
And thou shalt in thy daughter fee,
This picture, once, refembled thee.
JUNE 15, 1724,
VOTARY to publick zeal,
Minifter of England's weal,
Have you leifure for a foug,
Tripping lightly o'er the tongue,
Swift and fweet in every measure,
Tell me, Walpole, have you leifure?
Nothing lofty will I fing,
Nothing of the favourite king,
Something, rather, fung with ease,
Simply elegant to please.
Fairy Virgin, British Mufe,
Some unhear'd-of story chufe:
Chufe the glory of the swain,
Gifted with a magic ftrain,
Swaging grief of every kind,.
Healing, with a verse, the mind:
To him came a man of
To him, in a cheerless hour;
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