Imatges de pÓgina

1 grieve, this nobler work moft happily be


So quickly and fo wonderfully carry'd on,
May fall at laft to intereft, folly and abuse.
There is a noon-tide in our lives,

Which still the fooner it arrives,

Although we boast our winter-fun looks bright And foolishly are glad to fee it at its height, Yet fo much fooner comes the long and gloomy night.

No conqueft ever yet begun,

And by one mighty hero carried to its height, E'er flourish'd under a fucceffor or a fon;

It loft fome mighty pieces through all hands it

And vanish'd to an empty title inthe last.
For when the animating mind is fled,
(Which nature never can retain,

Nor e'er call back again)

The body, though gigantic, lies all cold and dead.


And thus undoubtedly 'twill fare, With what unhappy men fhall dare To be fucceffors to thefe great unknown, On learning's high-establish'd throne. Cenfure, and pedantry, and pride, Numberless nations, ftretching far and wide,


Shall (I foresee it) foon with Gothic swarms come


From ignorance's universal north,

And with blind rage break all this peaceful go


Yet fhall these traces of your wit remain,
Like a just map, to tell the vast extent
Of conqueft in your short and happy reign;
And to all future mankind fhew

How strange a paradox is true,

That men who liv'd and dy'd without a name, Are the chief heroes in the facred lift of fame.

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* O D E

To the Hon. Sir. WILLIAM TEMPLE.

Written at Moor-park, June 1689.

IRTUE, the greateft of all monarchies,
Till its firft emperor rebellious man
Depos'd from off his feat

It fell, and broke with its own weight
Into fmall states and principalities,
By many a petty lord poffefs'd,

But ne'er fince feated in one fingle breast.
"Tis you who muft this land fubdue,
The mighty conqueft's left for you,
The conqueft and discovery too;
Search out this Utopian ground,
Virtue's Terra incognita,

Where none ever led the way,

Nor ever fince but in defcriptions found,

Like the philofopher's ftone,

With rules to fearch it, yet obtain'd by none.

* When the author's pofthumous pieces were reprinted

in Ireland, this and the foregoing ode were omitted.


We have too long been led aftray,
Too long have our misguided fouls been taught
With rules from mufty morals brought,
"Tis you must put in the way;

Let us (for fhame) no more be fed
With antique reliques of the dead,
The gleanings of philosophy,
Philofophy, the lumber of the schools,
The roguery of alchymy;

And we the bubbled fools

Spend all our prefent life in hopes of golden rules.


But what does our proud ign'rance learning call?

We odly Plato's paradox make good, Our knowledge is but mere remembrance all; Remembrance is our treafure and our food; Nature's fair table-book, our tender fouls, We fcrawl all o'er with old and empty rules, Stale memorandums of the schools: For learning's mighty treasures look In that deep grave a book,.

Think that the there does all her treasures hide, And that her troubled ghoft ftill haunts there

fince the dy'd,

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Confine her walks to colleges and schools,

Her priests, her train and followers fhow
As if they all were spectres too,
They purchase knowledge at the expence
Of common breeding, common fense,
And at once grow scholars and fools;
Affect ill-manner'd pedantry,

Rudeness, ill-nature, incivility,

And fick with dregs of knowledge grown,
Which greedily they swallow down,
and naufeate company.

Still caft it up


Curft be the wretch, nay doubly curft, (If it may lawful be

To curfe our great enemy)

Who learnt himself that herefy first

(Which fince has feiz'd on all the reft)

That knowledge forfeits all humanity;
Taught us, like Spaniards, to be proud and


And fling our scraps before our door.

Thrice happy you have 'scapt this genʼral pest; Thofe mighty epithets, learn'd, good, and great, Which we ne'er join'd before, but in romances

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