Classic Poem

H OWE'ER we're wont to feign, we now appear
With true Concern, with undissembled Fear,
Our Disadvantage too, too well we know,
And here dare only Comic Humour show;
Our Tragic Pomps are for the World below.
They know not Sentiment from empty Rage,
When the Theatrick Monarch shakes the Stage;
Strides o'er his Realms with Scepter in his Hand,
By Heel and Feather, raising his high Stand,
Mantle and Train half covering his Command.
But Audiences, who weigh the Source of Things,
The Rise of Nations, and the Fate of Kings,
Detest an unexperienc'd, wild Essay,
And close examine, by the Life, a Play.
By such Stage-Heroes, with Contempt are seen,
Who swell with Rage, to form a Princely Mein.
The Counterfeit abhors a nearer View,
And Mimic Greatness dreads t'approach the True.
With easy, kind, familiar Power that reigns,
As Life informs our Frame, as Blood our Veins:
Terror and Noise spring from erroneous Force;
Thunder is an Offence in Nature's Course;
That bursts around, an empty Meteor forms,
It mounts in Vapours, and descends in Storms.
Nature's true Force is in calm Order seen;
Small Power is rough, Consummate is serene.
True Majesty's by smiling Virtue known,
Mix'd in a Crowd, attended, or alone
With conscious Goodness rais'd above its Throne.
Homage it loaths, delights to make Men free,
And raise the bended Suppliant from the Knee.
Rules not by stupid Pomp, but human Arts,
And, with the social virtues glads our hearts.
Smiles at our Follies, steals our Souls away,
And with our Wills, has arbitrary Sway.
Neglected Want, and friendless Merit trace,
In tender Features of a gracious Face;
Not the fierce Lord, but Friend of human Race:
As Grace and Favour Heav'n itself employs;
But, by its Angel's Ministring, destroys.
In gentle Acts of every passing Hour
The King diffuses, thro the Land his Power;
While conquering Arms and dreaded Fleets restrain
Rash distant Powers, and vindicate the Main .