That holds the Woods in awful Sov'raignty,
Requires a Depth of Lodging in the Ground,
And, next the lower Skies, a Bed profound:
High as his topmost Boughs to Heav'n afcend,
So low his Roots to Hell's Dominions tend;
Therefore nor Winds, nor Winter's Rage o'erthrows
His bulky Body, but unmov'd he grows :
For length of Ages lafts his happy Reign,
And Lives of mortal Man contend with his in vain.
Full in the midst of his own Strength he stands,
Stretching his brawny Arms and leafy Hands,
His Shade protects the Plains, his Head the Hill com-
(mands.
As when the Winds their airy Quarrel try,
Juftling from ev'ry Quarter of the Sky,
This Way and that the Mountain Oak they bend,
His Boughs they fhatter, and his Branches rend;
With Leaves and falling Maft they spread the Ground,
The hollow Valleys echo to the Sound :
Unmov'd, the royal Plant their Fury mocks,
Or fhaken, clings more clofely to the Rocks.
For as he shoots his tow'ring Head on high,
So deep in Earth his fix'd Foundations lie.
Thus two-tall Oaks, that Padys Banks adorn, Lift up to Heav'n their leafy Heads unshorn; And over-prefs'd with Nature's heavy Load, Dance to the whistling Winds, and at each other nod. (Dryd Virg.
As the ftout Oak, when round his Trunk the Vine Does in foft Wreaths, and am'rous Foldings twine, Eafy and flight appears; the Winds from far Summon their noify Forces to the War: But tho' fo gentle feems his outward Form, His hidden Strength out-braves the loudest Storm; Firmer he stands, and boldly keeps the Field; Showing stout Minds when unprovok'd are mild.
And him behind, a wicked Hagg did Stalke, In ragged Robes, and filthy Difarray;
Her other Leg was lame, that the no'te walk, But on a Staff her feeble Steps did stay; Her Locks, that loathly were, and hoary grey, Grew all afore, and loosely hung unroll'd; But all behind was bald, and worn away, That none thereof could ever taken hold, And eke her Face ill-favour'd, full of Wrinkles ald.
And ever as fhe went, her Tongue did walk
In foul Reproach, and Terms of vile Despight,
Provoking him by her outrageous Talk,
To heap more Vengeance on that wretched Wight,
Sometimes the raugh him Stones, wherewith to fmite,
Sometimes her Staff, tho' it her own Leg were,
Withouten which the could not go upright;
Ne evil Means he did forbeare,
That might him move to Wrath, and Indignation reare.
Some few, by Temp'rance taught, approaching flow
To diftant Fate, by eafy Journeys go.
Gently they lay them down, as Ev'ning Sheep
On their own woolly Fleeces fofily fleep.
So noifelefs would I live, fuch Death to find ;
Like timely Fruit, not fhaken by the Wind,
But ripely dropping from the faplefs Bough,
And dying, nothing to my felf would owe.
Thus daily changing, with a duller Tafte
Of lefs'ning Joys, I by Degrees would wafte:
Still quitting Ground, by unperceiv'd Decay, (of Inn.
And steal my felf from Life, and melt away. Dry, State
How happy is the Ev'ning Tide of Life!
When Phlegm has quench'd our Paffions; trifling out
The feeble Remnant of our filly Days
In Follies, fuch as Dotage beft is pleas'd with:
Free from the wounding and tormenting Cares,
That tofs the thoughtful, active, busy Mind!
Otw, Cai. Mar,
The Soul, with nobler Refolutions deck'd,
The Body ftooping, does her self erect.
Clouds of Affections from our younger Eyes,
Conceal that Happinefs which Age defcries.
The Soul's dark Cottage, batter'd and decay'd,
Lets in new Light, thro' Chinks that Time has made.
Stronger by Weaknefs, wifer Men become,
As they draw nearer their eternal Home.
Leaving the old, both Worlds at once they view,.
That ftand upon the Threshold of the new.
Jove! grant me Length of Life, and Years good Store
Heap on my bending Back, I ask no more :
Both fick and healthful, old and young confpire
In this one, filly, mifchievous Defire.
Miftaken Bleffing, which Old Age they call!
'Tis a long, nafty, darkfom Hofpital!
ropy Chain of Rheums! a Vifage rough, Deform'd, unfeatur'd, and a Skin of Buff.
A Stitch-fall'n Cheek, that hangs below the Jaw,
Such Wrinkles as a skilful Hand would draw
For an old Grandame Ape, when, with a Grace,
She fits at fquat, and fcrubs her leathern Face.
In Youth Diftinctions infinite abound :.
No Shape, no Feature just alike is found
The Fair, the Black, the Feeble, and the strong.
But the fame Foulnefs does to Age belong:
The felf-fame Palfie both in Limbs and Tongue.
The Skull and Forehead an old barren Plain,
And Gums unarm'd to mumble Meat in vain. Dry. Juv.
Thefe are th'Effects of doating Age,
Vain Doubts, and idle Cares, and Over-caution;-
The fecond Nonage of a Soul more wife,
But now decay'd, and funk into the Socket,
Peeping by Fits, and giving feeble Light. Dryd.Don.Seb:
It is not hard for one that feels no Wrong,
For patient Duty to employ his Tongue.
Oppreffion makes Men mad, and from their Breafts,
All Reafon and all Senfe of Duty wrefts.
The Gods are fafe, when under Wrongs we groan,
Only becaufe we cannot reach their Throne.
Shall Princes, then, who are but Gods of Clay,
Think they may fafely with our Honour play? Wall.
Be careful to withold
Your Talons from the wretched and the bold :
Tempt not the brave and needy to Defpair;
For tho' your Violence should leave them bare
Of Gold and Silver, Swords and Darts remain,
And will revenge the Wrongs which they fuftain.
The Plunder'd ftill have Arms.
See how refiftlefs Orators perfwade,
Draw out their Forces, and the Heart invade :
Touch ev'ry Spring and Movement of the Soul,
This Appetite excite, and that controul:
Their pow'rful Voice can flying Troops arreft,
Confirm the Weak, and melt th' obdurate Breast,
Chace from the Sad their melancholy Air,
Sooth Difcontent, and folace anxious Care.
Which haunts the ruin'd, Piles, and hallow'd Urns,
And beats about the Tombs with Nightly Wings,
Where Songs obfcene on Sepulchres the fings.
With boding Note
The folitary Screech-Owl ftrains her Throat;
Or on a Chimney's Top, or Turret's Height,
With Songs obfcene difturbs the Silence of the Night.
(Dryd. Virg.
Like as the facred Oxe, that careless stands
With gilden hornes, and flow'ry girlonds crown'd,
Proud of his dying honour and deary bands,
Whiles th' Altars fume with frankincenfe arownd,
All fuddenly with mortal Stroke aftownd,
Doth groveling fall, and with his streaming gore, Difdaines the pillours, and the holy ground,
And the faire flowres that decked him afore. Spen. As ftubborn Steers by brawny Plowmen broke, And joyn'd reluctant to the galling Yoak, A like Difdain with fervile Necks to bear Th' unwonted Weight, or drag the crooked Share, But rend the Reins, and bound a diff'rent Way, And all the Furrows in Confufion lay,
Valour or Strength, tho' matchlefs, quell'd with Pain,
Which all fubdues, and makes remifs the Hands
Of mightiest Men? Senfe of Pleasure we may well
Spare out of Life perhaps, and not repine,
But live content, which is the calmeft Life ;
But Pain is perfect Mifery, the worst
Of Evils; and exceffive, overturns
See, how Celestial Reason does command The ready Pencil in the Painter's Hand; Whofe Strokes affect with Nature's self to vye, And with falfe Life amufe the doubtful Eye. Behold the strong Emotions of the Mind, Exerted in the Eyes, and in the Face defign'd. Such is the Artift's wondrous Pow'r, that we Ev'n pitur'd Souls, and colour'd Paffions fee, Where without Words, (peculiar Eloquence) The bufy Figures speak their various Senfe,
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