Occafion'd by the foregoi VERSE S

By Mr. G. Granville.

Hoe're thou art, who tempt'ft in f

WH

ftrain,

Sweet is thy Syren Song, but Sung in vain: When the Winds blow, and loud the Bil

roar,

What Fool would put to Sea,and quit the SE
Early and Vain, into the World I came,
Big with false hopes, and eager after Fame:
Till looking round me, e're the Race begar
Madmen and giddy Fools were all that Ran
Reclaim'd betimes, I from the Lifts retire,
And thank the gods, who n.y retreat ins

L

Look round the World, and with impartial

eyes

Confider and examine all that rife;

Weigh well their Actions, and their treacherous ends,

How Greatness grows, and by what Steps afcends,

What Murders, Treafons, Perjuries, Deceit, How many fall, to make one Monster Great. Would you command? Have Fortune in your power?

Hug whom you Strike, and Smile when you

Devour;

Be Bloody, Falfe, Flatter, Forfwear, and Lye,
Turn Pandar, Pathick, Parafite, or Spy.
Such thriving Arts, may your wifht purpose

bring,

At least a General be,—— Perhaps a King.
Fortune we moft unjustly partial call,
A Miftrefs free, who bids alike to all
Na

But on fuch terms, as only fuit the Base, Honour denies, and fhuns the foul embrace The Honeft Man, who Starves and is Un Not Fortune, but his Virtue keeps him do Had Cato bent beneath the Conquering Cau He might have liv'd to give new Senates L But on vile terms, Difdaining to be Great, He perish❜t by his Choice, and not hiş Fate Honours and Life, th' Ufurper bids, and a That Vain miftaken Men, Good Fortune Virtue forbids, and sets before his Eyes An honest Death, which he accepts, and O glorious Refolution! Noble Pride! More honour'd than the Tyrant liv'd, he More lov'd, More prais'd, More envy'd doom,

Than Cæfar trampling on the Rights of The Virtuous nothing fear, but Life with S And Death's a pleasant Road, that leads to

On Bones, and fcraps of Dogs, let me be fed,
My Limbs uncover'd, and expos'd my Head

To bleakeft Colds, a Kennel be
my Bed,
This, and all other Martyrdom, for Tnee,
Seems glorious all, Thrice beauteous Honefty.

Ye great Disturbers, who in endless Noife, In Blood and Horror, feek unnatural Joys; For what is all this buftle, but to fhun

Thofe Thoughts, with which you dare not be alone?

As Men in mifery, oppreft with Care,
Seek in the rage of Wine, to drown Despair.

Let Others fight, and eat their Bread in Blood, Not caring if the Cause be bad or good; Or cringe in Courts, depending on the Nods Of fttrutting Pigmies, who would pass for gods; For me unpractis'd in the Courtier's School, Who loath a Knave and tremble at a Fool,

What can I hope in Courts? Or how Succeed?
Lyons and Wolves fhall in the Ocean breed,
The Whale and Dolphin in the Foreft feed,
And every Element exchange its kind,
When thriving Honefty in Courts we find.

Happy the Man, of mortals happiest he
Whofe quiet Mind, from vain defires is free;
Whom neither hopes deceive, nor fears torment,
But lives, at Peace within himself, Content;
In Thought, or A&t, accountable to none
But to himself, and to the gods alone.
O fweetness of Content, Seraphick Joy,
Which nothing wants, and nothing can de
stroy!

Where dwells this Peace, this freedom of the
Mind,

Where but in Shades, Remote from human

kind;

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