English

Oh heav'ns! & must the dear Amilia's Name
Be thus expos'd to Infamy & Shame?
Must the fair Virtue Heav'n itself inspires
Thus meet the Fate of Vice's lawless Fires?
Disgrace be caus'd where Reputation's due
And, oh confusion! by Palemon's too? —
Can you behold me, Friend without Disdain,
Me the unhappy Cause of all your Pain?
Can You endure a Wretch by cruel Fate
Set up a Mark to Oblequy & Hate
Whose dang'rous Friendship makes you num'rous Foes
And thus involves you Partner in his Woes?

Tell me Palemon, in this mournfull Hour
When Providence displays chastising Pow'r
What Strain can chear us in this awfull gloom
Or drive from Thought our Countries hapless Doom
Can you attend to Love or Friendships Voice
While War with all her horrid Din & Noise
Invades our Land; a cruel savage Race
Infest our Borders & disturb our Peace
All things in prospect pain our streaming Eyes
And retrospective wound us with Surprize
When I, return'd from City-noise & Strife
Would sing once more my happy rural Life

Vast was the Joy my conscious Bosom knew
My Friend when your last Favour came to View
A Favour thro' a tedious Fortnight past
So much expected & obtain'd at last.
Less the delicious Dainties of a Feast
Regale the Senses of the famish'd Guest
Cool Fountains less refresh the thirsty Swain
Fatigu'd with Labour on the sunny Plain
Not half so chearing is the solar Ray
To the harsh Rigour of a Winter's Day
Nor half so gratefull fanning Breezes rise
When the hot Dogstar fires the summer Skies.

Aid me Palemon, with thy Genius aid
Your Friend deserted by each tunefull Maid
Since Health withdrew in vain do I implore
And its Return their Favour can't restore.
— But oh thou mighty Maker of my Frame
To thee I owe my Life's returning Flame
And will not that extort the noblest Lays
When Inspiration's center'd in thy Praise
Let me recall thy Love, thy Grace survey
While Life flow'd fast & Pulse forgot to play
Nature with vital Pain was sore oppress'd
My Spirits sunk my Soul was quite distress'd

Æmilia yet once more indulge your Friend
Nor let my blunt Impertinence offend
Tho' I may seem to act the Flatt'rers Part
I must disclose without Disguise or Art
The warm Emotions of an honest Heart.
I see your Cheek with decent blushes glow
While I so often Wreaths of Praise bestow
Yet oh indulge me in the fond Design
The Garland must be yours; — but oh the Bliss is mine!
The Num'rous Graces of Æmilia's Form
Might e'en a Stoic's frozen Bosom warm
Her intellectual Charms still more inspire

Well since the Matter's settled & the State
Of our Affairs stands poiz'd with equal Weight
You kindly do bestow & I receive
The utmost Pleasure that a Muse can give
My Pen shall rove, & all Disputes shall cease
The one in hand shall terminate in this
The Garland mine, be yours the Happiness.
But Nature does to sacred Themes invite
And Contemplation only can delight
Creation's Hush'd as in that silent Hour
When Chaos felt th'almighty forming Pow'r
Quite wearied out the feather'd Songsters sleep

Too well already lovely Maid, I know
What solid Pleasures from your Friendship flow,
Too plain I feel its Worth, to think it Cost.
Tho' to obtain it I my Garland lost:
With perfect Freedom ev'ry Spring I'd spare
To gain my Friend nor think the Purchase dear
But how mistaken was I to suppose
My with'ring Bays cou'd e'er adorn your Brows
Absurd! to think thus to improve your Crown
While you've more verdant Laurels of your own
The blooming Wreath the tunefull Sisters twine
For you, Bright Maid, wou'd be disgrac'd by mine

The Muse is languid & Æmilia too
So as You read keep these too things in view,
Yet 'tis with Joy I call Palemon Friend
Nor vainly know a Term like Condescend
For Virtue such as yours demands Regard
And carries with it more than a Reward;
But I the Laurel of your Brow disclaim
And will not purchase at your Cost my Fame
Nor think (I pray) my Principle too nice,
My Friendship is not worth so high a Price
But stop my Pen — there is a Maxim held
One which the wise do say has never fail'd,

Deigns then Æmilia, Fav'rite of the Nine
Kindly t' accept such mean attempts as mine
Hears She well-pleas'd a rustic Shepherd's Lays,
Nor thinks herself dishonour'd by his Praise
And oh! still farther does She condescend,
And will Æmilia be Palemon's Friend?
Charm'd with the Thought with Joy my Bosom grows
Gay prospects rise & splendid Scenes disclose;
My gratefull Heart beats high within my Breast
With Tender Passions not to be express'd;
Transported by the Soul-felt bliss, I cry,

Secure of Glory in Palemon's Lays
Æmilia now looks down on vulgar Praise
But oh the Muse such Raptures can't bestow
As those which only Friendships Vot'ries know
Her Joys are lasting & her pleasures sure
Blooming as Youth & as old age mature
Unbounded Confidence with placid Air
And Truth & Constancy belong to her
The mutual Wish the reciprocal Heart
The Soul-taught glow without th' allay of Art.
If I should strive t' impede its gentle Course
And damp with Custom's forms its sacred Force