English

While stormie seas grow calme,
while custom tempers love:
How patiently mishaps to beare,
I shall the practise prove.
If not, my life to spill
with full intent I mind:
Of crueltie thou canst not long
in me a subject find.
Would God thou didst but see
mine Image as I wright:
I wright, and full against my breast
thy naked sword is pight.
And downe my cheeks along
the teares do trickling fall:
Which by and by in stead of teares,
ingrayne in blood I shall.
How well with this my fate,

Into the Mead he comes, nor (seen) doth fright;
The Virgins to approach him all delight,
And stroke the lovely Bull, whose divine smell
Doth far the Meads perfumed breath excell:
Before unblam'd Europa's feet he stood
Licking her neck, and the Maid kindly woo'd:
She stroak'd and kiss'd him; and the foam that lay
Upon his lip wip'd with her hand away:
He softly bellow'd, such a humming sound
Forth breathing as Mygdonian Pipes resound.
Down at her feet he kneels viewing the Maid

Strange power of song! the strain that warms the heart
Seems the same inspiration to impart;
Touched by the extrinsic energy alone,
We think the flame which melts us is our own;
Deceived, for genius we mistake delight,
Charmed as we read, we fancy we can write:
Though not to me, sweet Bard, thy powers belong,
The cause I plead shall sanctify my song.
The Muse awakes no artificial fire,
For Truth rejects what Fancy would inspire:
Here Art would weave her gayest flowers in vain,

If Heaven has into being deign'd to call
Thy light, O liberty! to shine on all;
Bright intellectual sun! why does thy ray
To earth distribute only partial day?
Since no resisting cause from spirit flows.
Thy universal presence to oppose;
No obstacles by nature's hand imprest,
Thy subtle and ethereal beams arrest;
Not swayed by matter is thy course benign.
Or more direct or more oblique to shine;
Nor motion's laws can speed thy active course,
Nor strong repulsion's pow'rs obstruct thy force;

We imitate, oh horror! tops and bowls
in their eternal waltzing marathon;
even in sleep, our fever whips and rolls —
like a black angel flogging the brute sun.
Strange sport! where destination has no place
or name, and may be anywhere we choose —
where man, committed to his endless race,
runs like a madman diving for repose!
Our soul is a three-master seeking port:
a voice from starboard shouts, " We're at the dock!"
Another, more elated, cries from port,
" Here's dancing, gin and girls!" Balls! it's a rock!

[ Perjury and revenge ]

Little do folks the heav'nly Powers mind,
If they but scape the knowledg of Mankind:
Observe, with how demure, and grave a look
The Rascal lays his hand upon the Book:
Then with a praying face, and lifted Eye
Claps on his Lips, and Seals the Perjury;
If you persist his Innocence to doubt,
And boggle in Belief; he'l strait rap out
Oaths by the volley, each of which would make
Pale Atheists start, and trembling Bullies quake;

But say you, if each private Family
Doth not produce a perfect Pamela ;
Must ev'ry Female bear the Blame
Of one low private Strumpet's Shame?
See then a dignify'd Example,
And take from higher Life a Sample;
How Horns have sprouted on Heads Royal,
And Harry 's Wife hath been disloyal.
When she perceiv'd her Husband snoring,
Th' Imperial Strumpet went a Whoring:
Daring with private Rakes to solace,
She preferr'd Ch [ a ] rl [ e ] s Street to the Palace:

[ The power of song ]

Orpheus, we learn from Ovid and Lempriere,
Led all wild beasts, but women, by the ear,
And had he fiddled at the present hour,
We'd seen the lions waltzing in the Tower;
And old Amphion, such were minstrels then,
Had built St. Paul's without the aid of Wren.
Verse too was justice, and the bards of Greece
Did more than constables to keep the peace;
Abolish'd cuckoldom with much applause,
Call'd county-meetings, and enforced the laws;

[Opening questions]

A Paynter if he shoulde adjoyne
unto a womans heade
A longe maires necke, and overspred
the corps in everye steade
With sondry feathers of straunge huie,
the whole proportioned so
Without all good congruitye:
the nether partes do goe
Into a fishe, on hye a freshe
Welfavord womans face:
My frinds let in to see the sighte
could you but laugh a pace?

THIRD ODE .

B E void of feeling!
A heart that soon is stirr'd,
Is a possession sad
Upon this changing earth.

Behrisch, let spring's sweet smile
Never gladden thy brow!
Then winter's gloomy tempests
Never will shadow it o'er.

Lean thyself ne'er on a maiden's
Sorrow-engendering breast.
Ne'er on the arm,
Misery-fraught, of a friend.

Already envy
From out his rocky ambush
Upon thee turns
The force of his lynx-like eyes,