Successful Kneller, whofe improving air
Adds light to light, and graces to the fair,
Thus may compleat the glories of his age,
And in one piece the whole soft sex engage;
Who fhall in crowds the lovely dead fúrround,
And weep rich gems upon his ftreaming wound;
By fad remembrance urg'd to fruitless moan,
And, loft in Dormer's charms, neglect their own.
Yet, artist, stop not here, but boldly dare
Next to defign, what next deserves thy care.
'Midft British fquadrons awefully ferene,
On rifing ground let MARLBOROUGH be feen,
With his drawn faulchion light'ning on the foe,
Prepar'd to ftrike the great decifive blow;
While phlegmatic allies his vengeance stay,
By abfence these, and by their prefence they.
Ill-fated Gauls to 'fcape his thunder fo,
And by a fhort reprieve inhance their woe!
When they in arms again the combat try,
Again their troops in wild disorder fly,
No ufual ties of clemency fhall bind,
No temper fhall affuage the victor's mind :
"How can I see the gay, the brave, the young,
"Fall in the cloud of war, and lie unfung!
"In joys of conqueft he refigns his breath,
And, fill'd with England's glory, fimiles in death."
But heaps on heaps atone the fatal wrong,
And rage unbounded drive the storm along.
Legions of foes refiftlefs fhall advance
O'er proftrate mounds, to shock the power of France,
Their loud demands to proud Lutetia tell,
And rouze th' inglorious tyrant' from his cell.
Then provinces releas'd fhall break their chain,
Forego their bondage, and forget their pain.
Iberia, with extended arms, fhall run
To liberty, to life, to Auftria's fon :
And by mild councils generously sway'd,
Own thy example, ANNA! and thy aid;
Whole kingdoms fhall be blefs'd, all Europe free,
And lift her hands unmanacled to thee.
In Imitation of SHAKSPEARE.
AREWELL, vain world! and thou its vaineft part,
O lovely woman! fram'd for man's deftruction!
Beauty, like nightshade to the teeming wife,
If feen, gives wishes retlefs, endless longings;
If tasted, death. Too hard decree of fate,
That life must be a burthen, or must end!
a Dr. Benjamin Ibbot, the son of a clergyman, was born at Beachamwell, in Norfolk, about 1680, and admitted of Clare-hall, Cambridge, 25th July, 1695. He took the degree of B. A. in 1699, and that of M. A. in 1703. He was patronifed by archbishop Tennifon, whe made him his chaplain, treasurer of the church of Wells, and rector of the united parishes of St. Vedafts, alias Fofters, and St. Michael Querne. The king appointed him one of his chaplains in ordinary in -1716, and the year following he had his mandate for the degree of D.D. He afterwards became rector of St. Paul's, Shadwell, preacher-affiftant at St. James's, in Westminster, and was installed a prebendary in the collegiate church of St. Peter therein, on the 26th November, 1724; but being then in an ill flate of health, he retired for the recovery of it to Camberwell, where he died, 5th April, 1725.
Farewel, vain world! dwelling of ills and fears,
Full of fond hopes, falfe joys, and fad repentance;
For though fometimes warm Fancy lights a fire,
That mounting upwards darts its pointed head
Up, through the unoppofing air, to heav'n;
Yet then comes Thought, and cold Confideration,
Lame Afterthought with endless scruples fraught,
Benumb'd with Fears, to damp the goodly blaze.
Farewel, vain world !-Yet, ere I die, I'll find
Contentment's feat, unknown to guilt or forrow;
Haste then, for nimble Death pursues me close,
Methinks I hear his fteps, though trod in air;
My fluttering foul seems like a bird entrapp'd,
That beats his wings against the prison walls,
And fain would be at liberty again;
And oft the death-watch with ill-boding beats
Hath warn'd me that my time would foon expire,
And that life's thread, ne'er to be wound up more,
Would by the fpring of fate be quickly drawn
To its full ftretch-Haste then, and let me find
A fhelter, that may fhut out noife and light,
Save one dim taper, whofe neglected fnuff,
Grown higher than the flame, fhall with its bulk
Almoft extinguish it; no noife be there,
But that of water, ever friend to thought.
Hail, gloomy fhade! th' abode of modesty
Void of deceit ; no glittering objects here
Dazzle the eyes; and thou, delightful Silence,
Silence, the great Divinity's difcourfe!
The angels' language, and the hermits' pride,
The help of waking wifdom, and its food;
In thee philofophers have juftly plac'd.
The fovereign good; free from the broken vows,
The calumnies, reproaches, and the lies
Of which the noify babbling world complains.
So the struck deer, with fome deep wound oppreit,
Lies down to die, the arrow in his breast;
There hid in fhades, and wasting day by day,
Inly he bleeds, and pants his life away.
In the PUMP-ROOM, BATH. 1753
AID of this healthful ftream,
Fair LAURENTIA, if I deem
Rightly of thy office here,
If the theme may please thine ear,
Liften gracious to my lays.
While the fprings of HEALTH I praise:
Thefe four lines are faid to be added by Mr. POPE.
a This celebrated pump-girl married, with an umblemished reputation, annnkeeper at Speenham Lands.
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