See, and revere th' Artillery of Heav'n, Drawn by the Gale, or by the Tempeft driv'n! A dreadful Fire the floating Batt❜ries make, O'erturn the Mountain, and the Forest shake: This Way and that Way drive the Atmosphere, And its wide Bosom from Corruption clear. While the bright Flame confumes the fulphur Trains, And noxious Vapours, which infects our Veins. Thus they refine the vital Element,
Secure our Health, and growing Plagues prevent.
With Terror thro' the dark Aerial Hall, A Peal of rattling Thunder roll'd along, And fhook the Firmament.
Muft'ring their Rage, and Heav'n resembles Hell.
The Thunder now
Wing'd with red Lightning, and impetuous Rage,
Has fpent its Shafts; it ceafes now to roar,
And bellow thro' the vast and boundless Deep. Milt.
Like as the tyde that comes fro th' Ocean maine,
Flowes up the Stream with contrary force,
And over-ruling him in his own reine,
Drives back the current of his kindly courfe,
And makes it seem to have some other fourse :
But when the floud is fpent, then back againe
His borrowed waters forct to re-disbourse,
He fends the Sea his own with double gaine,
And tribute eke withall, as to his Soveraigne. Spen.
Great enemie to it, and to all the reft
That in the Garden of Adonis fprings,
Is wicked Time; who with his Scythe addreft,
Does mowe the flowring herbes and goodly things,
And all their glorie to the ground down flings,
Where they doe wither, and are foully marr'd
He flies about, and with his flaggy wings, atla
Beates down both leaves and buds without regard. A
Time of it felf is nothing, but from Thought
Receives it Rife, by lab'ring Fancy wrought
From Things confider'd, while we think on fome
As prefent, fome as paft, or yet to come.
No Thought Can think on Time,
But thinks on Things in Motion or at Rest.' Cre. Lucr.
For Nature knows,
No ftedfaft Station, but or ebbs or flows.
Ever in Motion, the deftroys her old,
And cafts new Figures in another Mold.
Even Times are in perpetual Flux, and run,
Like Rivers from their Fountains, rolling on;
For Time, no more than Streams, is at a ftay,
The flying Hour is ever on her Way:
And as the Fountain ftill fupplies her Store,
The Wave behind impels the Wave before
Thus in fucceflive Course the Minutes run,
And urge their Predeceffor Minutes on.
Still moving, ever new; for former Things
Are fet afide, like abdicated Kings.
And ev'ry Moment alters what is done,
And innovates fome Act, 'till then unknown.
Time is th' Effect of Motion, born a Twin,
And with the World did equally begin:
Time, like the Stream, that haftens from the Shore,
Flies to an Ocean where 'tis known no more,
All must be fwallow'd in this endless Deep,
And Motion reft in everlasting Sleep.
Time glides along with undiscover'd Hafte,
The Future but a Length behind the paft,
So fwift are Years.
Obferve how others, that the Tongue poffefs,
Which Salts of various Shape and Size imprefs,
From their affected Fibres upward dart,
And diff'rent Strokes impart.
As the young Striplings whip the Top for Sport, On the fmooth Pavement of an empty Court; The wooden Engine whirls and flies about, Admir'd with Clamours of the beardlefs Rout. They lash aloud, each other they provoke, And lend their little Souls at ev'ry Stroke. The whirling Top they whip, And drive her giddy 'till the fall afleep.
As when a Torrent rouls with rapid Force,
And dathes o'er the Stones that stop the Course;
The Flood conftrain'd within a fcanty Space,
Roars horrible along th’uneasy Raçe :
White Foam in gath'ring Eddies floats around,
The Rocky Shores re-bellow to the Sound.
Thus when two neighb'ring Torrents rush from high, Rapid they run, the foamy Waters fry;
They roul to Sea with unrefifted Force,
And down the Rocks precipitate their Course.
TRAIN-B AND S.
The Country rings around with loud Alarms, And, raw in Fields, the rude Militia fwarms. Of feeming Arms they make a short Ellay; Then haften to be drunk, the Bus'nefs of the Day. (Dryd, Cym.ph. 'Twas not the Spawn of fuch as thefe, That dy'd with Punick Blood the conquer'd Seas, And quafh'd the ftern acides
Made the proud Afian Monarch feel,
How weak his Gold was against Europe's Steel :
Forc'd ev❜n dire Hannibal to yield,
And won the long-difputed World at Zama's fatal Field.
But Soldiers of a ruftick Mold,
Rough, hardy, feafon'd, manly, bold:
Either they dug the stubborn Ground,
Or thro' hewn Woods their weighty Strokes did found,
And after the declining Sun
Had chang'd the Shadows, and their Tafk was done: Home with their weary Team they took their way, And drown'd in friendly Bowls the Labour of the Day.
So fares the Traitor to an earthly Crown,
While Death fits threatning in his Prince's Frown,
His Heart's difmay'd, and now his Fears command
To change his native for a diftant Land:
Swift Orders Aly, the King's fevere Decree
Stands in the Channel, and locks up the Sea;
The Port he feeks, obedient to her Lord,
Hurls back the Rebel to his lifted Sword.
TREACHERY.
The good man of the houfe was Dolbon hight,
A man of fubtil wit and wicked mind,
That whilome in his youth had been a knight,
And armes had borne, but little good could find,
And much lefs honour, but that warlike kind
Of life; for he was nothing valorous,
But with flie shifts did ever undermine
All noble knights, which were adventurous,
And many brought to fhame by treason treacherous.
TRANSMIGRATION of SOULS.
Now fince the God infpires me to proceed;
Be thou, whate'er infpiring Pow'r, obey'd
For I will fing of mighty Mysteries,
Of Truths conceal'd before from human Eyes;
Dark Oracles unveil, and open all the Skies.
Pleas'd as I am to walk along the Sphere
Of thining Stars, and travel with the Year :
To leave the heavy Earth, and scale the Height
Of Atlas, who fupports the Heav'nly Weight. :
To look from upper Light, and thence furvey
Miftaken Mortals wand'ring from the Way,
And wanting Wisdom, fearful for the State
Of future Things, and trembling at their Fate.
Thefe I would teach, and by right Reafon bring
To think of Death, as but an idle Thing.
Why thus affrighted at an empty Name,
A Dream of Darkness, and fictitious Flame?
Vain Themes of Wit, which but in Poems pafs,
And Fables of a World, that never was.
What feels the Body when the Soul expires,
By Time corrupted, or confum'd by Fires?
Nor dies the Spirit, but new Life repeats
In other Forms, and only changes Seats.
Then Death, fo call'd, is but old Matter drefs'd
In fome new Figure, and a vary'd Veft.
Thus all Things are but alter'd, nothing dies,
And here and there th' unbody'd Spirit flies:
By Time, or Force, or Sickness difpoffefs'd,
And lodges where it lights, in Man or Beast.
Or hunts without, 'till ready Limbs it find,
And actuates thofe according to their Kind :
From Tenement to Tenement is tofs'd;
The Soul is ftill the fame, the Figure only loft.
And, as the foften'd Wax new Seals receives,
This Face affumes, and that Impreflion leaves;
Now call'd by one, now by another Name,
The Form is only chang'd, the Wax is still the fame :
So Death, fo call'd, can but the Form deface,
Th' immortal Soul flies out in empty Space,
To feek her Fortune in fome other Place.
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