Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

TEMPERANCE, OR THE CHEAP PHYSICIAN.
Peaceable nations, neighb'ring, or remote,
Made captive, yet deserving freedom more
Than those their conquerors, who leave behind
Nothing but ruin wheresoe'er they rove,

And all the flourishing works of peace destroy,
Then swell with pride, and must be titled Gods,
Great benefactors of mankind, deliverers,
Worshipp'd with temple, priest and sacrifice;
One is the son of Jove, of Mars the other;
Till conqu'ror Death discover them scarce men,
Rolling in brutish vices, and deform'd,
Violent or shameful death their due reward.
But if there be in glory aught of good,
It may by means far different be attain'd,
Without ambition, war, or violence;
By deeds of peace, by wisdom eminent,
By patience, temperance: I mention still

223

Him whom thy wrongs with saintly patience borne,
Made famous in a land and times obscure;
Who names not now with honour patient Job?
Poor Socrates, who next more memorable?
By what he taught and suffer'd for so doing,
For truth's sake suffering death unjust, lives now
Equal in fame to proudest conquerors.
Yet if for fame and glory aught be done,
Aught suffered; if young Africane for fame
His wasted country freed from Punic rage,
The deed becomes unprais'd, the man at least,
And loses, though but verbal, his reward.

RICHARD CRASHAW:

DATE OF BIRTH UNCERTAIN; PROBABLY ABOUT 1615; DIED, 1650.

TEMPERANCE, OR THE CHEAP PHYSICIAN.

Go now, and with some daring drug
Bait thy disease; and whilst they tug,
Thou, to maintain their precious strife,
Spend the dear treasures of thy life.

Go, take physic, dote upon
Some big-named composition,
The oraculous doctors' mystic bills-
Certain hard words made into pills;
And what at last shalt gain by these?
Only a costlier disease.

That which makes us have no need
Of physic, that's physic indeed.
Hark, hither, reader! wilt thou see
Nature her own physician be?
Wilt see a man all his own wealth,
His own music, his own health;
A man whose sober soul can tell
How to wear her garments well;
Her garments that upon her sit,
As garments should do, close and fit;

A well-clothed soul that's not oppressed,

Nor choked with what she should be dressed:

A soul sheathed in a crystal shrine,

Through which all her bright features shine; As when a piece of wanton lawn,

A thin aërial veil, is drawn

O'er beauty's face, seeming to hide,

More sweetly shows the blushing bride;

A soul, whose intellectual beams

No mists do mask, no lazy steams

A happy soul, that all the way

To heaven hath a summer's day?

Wouldst see a man whose well-warmed blood

Bathes him in a genuine flood?

A man whose tunèd humours be

A seat of rarest harmony?

Wouldst see blithe looks, fresh cheeks, beguile

Age? Wouldst see December smile?

Wouldst see nests of new roses grow

In a bed of reverend snow?

Warm thoughts, free spirits flattering
Winter's self into a spring?

THE HAPPY MAN.

In sum, wouldst see a man that can
Live to be old, and still a man?

Whose latest and most leaden hours

Fall with soft wings, stuck with soft flowers;
And when life's sweet fable ends,
Soul and body part like friends;
No quarrels, murmurs, no delay;
A kiss, a sigh, and so away.

This rare one, reader, wouldst thou see?
Hark, hither! and thyself be he.

[blocks in formation]

THE HAPPY MAN.

CONTENT with poverty my soul I arm,

And virtue, though in rags, will keep me warm.
What is't to me,

Who never sail on fortune's faithless sea,

If storms arise, and clouds grow black,
If the mast split and threaten wreck?
Then let the greedy merchant fear
For his ill-gotten gain,

While the debating winds and billows bear
His wealth into the main,
For me, secure of fortune's blows,
Secure of what I cannot lose,
In my small pinnace I can sail,

Contemning all the blust'ring roar;

And running with a merry gale,
With friendly stars my safety seek
Within some little winding creek,
And see the storm ashore.

225

REAL NOBILITY.

SEARCH We the springs,

And backward trace the principles of things:
There shall we find that when the world began,
One common mass compos'd the mould of man;
One paste of flesh on all degrees bestow'd;
And kneaded up alike with moist'ning blood.
The same Almighty pow'r inspir'd the frame
With kindled life, and form'd the souls the same.
The faculties of intellect and will,

Dispens'd with equal hand, dispos'd with equal skill;
Like liberty indulg'd, with choice of good or ill.
Thus born alike, from Virtue first began

The diff'rence that distinguish'd man from man.
He claim'd no title from descent of blood,
But that which made him noble, made him good.
Warm'd with more particles of heavenly flame,
He wing'd his upward flight, and soar'd to fame;
The rest remain'd below, a tribe without a name.
This law, though custom now diverts the course,
As nature's institute, is yet in force,

Uncancell'd, though diffus'd: and he whose mind
Is virtuous, is alone of noble kind;

Though poor in fortune, of celestial race:
And he commits the crime, who calls him base.

MATTHEW PRIOR.

BORN, 1664; DIED, 1721.

REFLECTIONS ON HUMAN LIFE.

THUS, through what path soe'er of life we rove,
Rage companies our hate, and grief our love.
Vex'd with the present moment's heavy gloom,
Why seek we brightness from the years to come?
Disturb'd and broken, like a sick man's sleep,
Our troubled thoughts to distant prospects leap,

THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL

Desirous still what flies us to o'ertake;

: 227

For hope is but the dream of those that wake;
But, looking back, we see the dreadful train
Of woes anon, which were we to sustain,
We should refuse to tread the path again;
Still adding grief, still counting from the first,
Judging the latest evils still the worst;
And, sadly finding each progressive hour
Heighten their number, and augment their power,
Till, by one countless sum of woes opprest,
Hoary with cares, and ignorant of rest,
We find the vital springs relax'd and worn,
Compell'd our common impotence to mourn.
Thus through the round of age to childhood we return,
Reflecting find, that naked from the womb
We yesterday came forth; that in the tomb
Naked again we must to-morrow lie;

Born to lament, to labour, and to die.

[blocks in formation]

Supreme, all-wise, eternal Potentate!
Sole Author, sole Disposer of our fate!
Enthroned in light and immortality,

Whom no man fully sees, and none can see!
Original of beings! Power divine!

Since that I live, and that I think, is thine;
Benign Creator! let thy plastic hand
Dispose its own effect; let thy command
Restore, great Father, thy instructed Son;
And in my act may thy great will be done.

JOSEPH ADDISON.

BORN, 1672; DIED, 1719.

SOLILOQUY ON THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL.
It must be so-Plato, thou reason'st well-

Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,
This longing after immortality?

« AnteriorContinuar »