Nor has it left the ufual bloody scar,

To fhew it coft its price in war;

War that mad game the world fo loves to play,
And for it does fo dearly pay;

For, though with lofs, or victory, a while
Fortune the gamefters does beguile,

Yet at the last the box fweeps all away.

VI.

Only the laurel got by peace

No thunder e'er can blaft:
Th' artillery of the skies

Shoots to the earth, and dies:

And ever green and flourishing 'twill laft,
Nor dipt in blood, nor widows' tears, nor orphans'
cries.

About the head crown'd with these bays,
Like lambent fire the lightning plays;

Nor, its triumphal cavalcade to grace,

Makes up its folemn train with death;

It melts the fword of war, yet keeps it in the fheath.

VII.

The wily fhifts of flate, thofe jugglers' tricks,
Which we call deep defigns and politicks,
(As in a theatre the ignorant fry,

Because the cords cfcape their eye,
Wonder to fee the motions fly)

Methinks, when you expofe the scene,
Down the ill-organ'd engines fall;

Off fly the vizards, and discover all:

How plain I fee through the deceit !

How fhallow, and how grofs, the cheat! Look where the pully's tied above!

Great God! (faid I) what have I seen!

On what poor engines move

The thoughts of monarchs, and defigns of ftates!
What petty motives rule their fates!

How the mouse makes the mighty mountain shake!
The mighty mountain labours with its birth,
Away the frighten'd peasants fly,
Scar'd at th' unheard-of prodigy,
Expect fome great gigantic fon of earth;
Lo! it appears!

See how they tremble! how they quake!
Out ftarts the little mouse, and mocks their idle fears.

VIII.

Then tell, dear favourite Mufe!

What ferpent's that which still reforts,

Still lurks in palaces and courts?

Take thy unwonted flight,

And on the terrace light.

See where fhe lies!

See how the rears her head,

And rolls about her dreadful eyes,

To drive all virtue out, or look it dead!
'Twas fure this bafilifk fent Temple thence,
And though as fome ('tis faid) for their defence
Have worn a cafement o'er their skin,
So he wore his within,

Made

up of virtue and transparent innocence; And though he oft' renew'd the fight, And almoft got priority of fight, B 4

He

He ne'er could overcome her quite,

In pieces cut, the viper ftill did re-unite;

Till, at last, tir'd with lofs of time and ease, Refolv'd to give himself, as well as country, peace.

ix.

Sing, belov'd Mufe! the pleasures of retreat,
And in fome untouch'd virgin ftrain,

Shew the delights thy fifter Nature yields;
Sing of thy vales, fing of thy woods, fing of thy fields;
Go, publifh o'er the plain

How mighty a profelyte you gain!
How noble a reprifal on the great!

How is the Muse luxuriant grown!
Whene'er she takes this flight,
She foars clear out of fight.

These are the paradifes of her own:
Thy Pegafus, like an unruly horse,
Though ne'er fo gently led,

To the lov'd pafture where he us'd to feed,
Runs violent o'er his ufual course.
Wake from thy wanton dreams,
Come from thy dear-lov'd ftreams,
The crooked paths of wandering Thames!
Fain the fair nymph would stay,
Oft' fhe looks back in vain,

Oft' 'gainst her fountain does complain,

And foftly steals in many windings down, As loth to fee the hated court and town, And murmurs as the glides away.

X.

In this new happy scene Are nobler fubjects for

your

Here we expect from you

learned pen;

More than your predeceffor Adam knew;
Whatever moves our wonder, or our fport,
Whatever ferves for innocent emblems of the court;
How that which we a kernel fee,
(Whofe well-compacted forms escape the light,
Unpierc'd by the blunt rays of fight)

Shall ere long grow into a tree;

Whence takes it its increafe, and whence its birth, Or from the fun, or from the air, or from the earth, Where all the fruitful atoms lie;

How fome

go

downward to the root,

Some more ambitioufly upwards fly,

And form the leaves, the branches, and the fruit. You ftrove to cultivate a barren court in vain,

Your garden 's better worth

your

noble pain,

Here mankind fell, and hence must rise again.

XI.

Shall I believe a spirit fo divine

Was caft in the fame mold with mine?

Why then does Nature fo unjustly share
Among her elder fons the whole eftate,

And all her jewels and her plate?

Poor we! cadets of Heaven, not worth her care, Take up at best with lumber and the leavings of a fare: Some the binds 'prentice to the spade,

Some to the drudgery of a trade;

Some

Some she does to Egyptian bondage draw,

Bids us make bricks, yet fends us to look out for straw:
Some the condemns for life to try

To dig the leaden mines of deep philosophy:
Me she has to the Mufe's gallies tied,
In vain I ftrive to crofs this fpacious main,
In vain I tug and pull the oar,

And when I almoft reach the fhore,

Straight the Mufe turns the helm, and I launch out again :

And yet, to feed my pride,

Whene'er I mourn, ftops my complaining breath, With promise of a mad reversion after death.

XII.

Then, Sir, accept this worthlefs verfe,

The tribute of an humble Muse,

"Tis all the portion of my niggard ftars; Nature the hidden spark did at my birth infuse, And kindled first with indolence and ease;

And fince, too oft' debauch'd by praise,

'Tis now grown an incurable difcafe:
In vain to quench this foolish fire I try
In wifdom and philofophy:.

In vain all wholefome herbs I fow,
Where nought but weeds will grow :

Whate'er I plant (like corn on barren carth)
By an equivocal birth

Seeds, and runs up to poetry.

ODE