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You rage and storm, and blasphemously loud,
As 8 Stentor bellowing to the Grecian Crowd,
Or Homer's 9 Mars, with too much warmth exclaim;
Jove, doft Thou hear, and is thy Thunder tame?
Wert Thou all Brass, thy Brazen Arm should rage,
And fix the Wretch a sign to future Age:
Else why Mou'd Mortals to thy Feasts repair,
Spend useless Incense, and more useless Prayer?
Bathyllus' 10 Statue at this rate may prove
Thy equal Rival, or a greater Jove
Be cool, my Friend. and hear my Muse dispence
Some sovereign Comforts, drawn from common Seafc;
Not fetch'd from Stoicks rigid Schools, nor wrought
By Epicurus' more indulgent Thought;
Who led by Nature, did with Ease pursue
The Rules of Lite; guess’d best, tho'miss'd the true,
A desperate Wound must skilful Hands employ,
But thine is curable by " Philip's Boy.
Look o'er the present and the former time:
If no Example of fo Vile a Crime
Appears, then Mourn; admit no kind Relief,
Rut beat thy Breast, and I applaud thy Grief;
Let Sorrow then appear in all her State,
Keep mournful Silenee, and shut fast thy Gate.
Let folema Grief on Money lost attend,
Greater than waits upon a dying Friend ;
: Stentor. A famous Crier Thousand Men shouting to the in the Grecian Army, whose Battel. single voice was as loud as 10 A Fidler and a Player: that of fifty Men together. But put here for an idle Scoun
9 Homer says that Mars being drel or insignificant Fellow. wounded by Diomedes, made II A Surgeon of no great as great an Out.cry, as Ten Credit and Reputation.
None feigas, none acted Mourning's forc'd to show,
Or squeeze his Eyes to make that Torrent flow;
For Money lost demands a hearrier due ;
Then Tears are real, and the Grief is true.
But if at each Aflize, and Term, we try
A thousand Rascals of as deep a Dye;
If Men forswear the Deeds and Bonds they draw,
Tho' Sign'd with all Formality of Law,
And tho the Writing and the Seal proclaim
The barefac’d Perjury, and fix the Shame;
Go, Fortuac's Darling, nor expect to bear
The common Lot, but to avoid thy share !
Heav'n's Favourite Thou, for better Fates defign'd,
Than we the Dregs and Rubbish of Mankind!
This petty Sinner scarce deserves thy Rage,
Compar'd with the great villains of the Age.
Here hir'd Allaflins kill; there, Sulphur thrown,
By treacherous Hands, destroys the frighted Town
Bold Sacrilege, invading Things Divine,
Breaks through a Temple, or destroys a Shrine,
The Reverend Goblets, and the ancient Plate,
Those grateful Presents of a Conqu’ring State,
Or pious King; or if the Shrine be, poor,
The Image fpoils: Nor is the God secure.
One seizes Neptune's Beard, one Castor's Crown,
Oi Jove himself, and melts the Thunderer dowa.
Here Pois’ners murder, there the impious Son,
With whom a guiltless 12 Ape is doom'd to drown,
Prevents old Age, and with a hafty Blow
Cuts down his Sire, and quickens Fates too low.
Yet what are these to those vast heaps of Crimes,
Which make the greatest Business of our Times,
12 The Villain that kill'd, Serpent, and an Ape, and his Father, was to be put into thrown into the Scan a Bag with a Dog, a Cock, a
Which Terms prolong, and which from Morn to Night
Amaze the Juries, and the Judges fright?
Attend the Court, and thou Thalt briefly find
In that one place the Manners of Mankind;
Hear the Indi&tments, then return again,
Call thy self Wrerch, and if thou dar'ít, complain.
Whom midst the Alps do hanging Throais surprize?
Who stares in Germany at watchet Eyes?
Or who in Meroë, when the Breast reclin'd,
Hangs o'er the Shoulder to the Child behind,
And bigger than the Boy? For Wonder's lost
When Things grow common, and are found in moft.
When Cranes invade, his little Sword and Shield
The Pigmy takes, and streight attends the Field :
The Fight's foon o'er; the Cranes descend, and bear
The sprawling Warriors through the liquid Air:
Now here thou'd such a Fight appear to view,
All Men wou'd split, the sight wou'd please whilst new;
There none's concern'd, where every day they fight,
And not one Warrior is a Foot in height.
But shall the Villain 'scape? Shall Perjury
Grow Rich and Safe, and Mall the Cheat be free?
Hadit thou full power (Rage asks no more) to kil,
Or measure out his Torments by thy Will;
Yet what couldst thou, Tormentor, hope to gain?
Thy Loss continues, unrepaid by Pain;
Inglorious Comfort thou shalt poorly meet,
From his mean Blood. But, oh! Revenge is sweet.
Thus think the Crowd, who, eager to engage,
Take quickly fire, and kindle into Rage;
Who nc'er confider, but without a pause,
in Passion what they want in Cause. Not so mild 13 Thales nor Chryfippus thought, , Nor that. Good Man, who drank the Pois’nous Draught 13 Philosophers of great Credit and Worth.
With Mind serene ; and cou'd not wish to see
His Vile Accuser drink as deep as He:
Exalted Socrates! Divinely brave!
Injur'd He fell, and dying he Forgave,
Too Noble for Revenge; which still we find
The weakest Frailty of a feeble Mind;
Degenerous Paffion, and for Man too base,
It fears its Empire in the Female Race,
There rages; and, to make its Blow fecure,
Puts Flatt'ry on, until the Aim be fure.
But why must those be thought to 'scape, that feel
Those Rods of Scorpions, and those Whips of Steel
Which Conscience fhakes, when she with Rage controuls,
And spreads amazing Terrors through their Souls?
Not sharp Revenge, not Hell it self can find
A fiercer Torment than a Guilty Mind,
Which Day and Night doth dreadfully accuse,
Conderons the Wretch, and still the Charge renews,
A trusted Spartan was inclin'd to Cheat,
(The Coin leok'd lovely, and the Bag was great,
Secret the Trust) and with an Oath defend
The Prize, and baffle his deluded Friend :
But weak in Sin, and of the Gods afraid,
And not well vers'd in the forfwearing Trade,
He goes to Delphos; humbly begs Advice,
And thus the Priestess by. Command replies:
Expect sure Vengeance by the Gods decreed,
To punish Thoughts, not yet improv'd to Deed.
At this he started, and forbore to swear,
Not out of Conscience of the Sin, but Fear.
Yet Plagues ensu’d, and the contagious Sin
Deitroy'd himself, and ruin'd all his Kin.
Thus suffer'd He for the imperfect Will
Tn fin, and bare Delign of doing ill:
For he that but conceives a Crime in Thoughts
Contracts the Danger of an Adnal Fault:
Then what must he expect that still proceeds
To finish Sin, and work up Thoughts to Deeds
Perpetual Anguish fills his anxious Breaft,
Not stopt by Business, nor compos'd by Rest:
No Mufick chears him, and no Feast can please)
He fits like discontented 14 Damocles,
When by the sportive Tyrant wisely shown
The dangerous Pleasures of a flatter'd Throne.
Sleep flies the Wretch; or when bis Care's oppreft,
And his toss'd Limbs are weary'd into Rest,
Then Dreams invade, the injur'd Gods appear,
All arm'd with Thunder, and awake bis Fear.
What frights him moft, in a Gigantick fize,
Thy facred Image flashes in his Eyes:
These shake his
Soul, and, as they boldly press,
Bring our his Crimes; and force him to confess.
This Wretch will start at ev'ry Flash that flies,
Grow pale at the firft murmur of the Skies,
Ere Clouds are form’d, and Thunder roars, afraid;
And Epicurus can afford no Aid,
His Nations fail: And the destructive Flame
Commision’d falls, not thrown by Chance, but Aimi
One Clap is paft, and now the Skies are clear,
A short Reprieve, but to increase his Fear:
Whilft Arms Divine, revenging Crimes below,
Are gathering up to give the greater Blow.
14 Damocles having very | Entertainment; but juft over much extoll'd the Happiness of his Head hung a Sword by a Kings, in the presence of Dio- Hair, with the Point downnyfius King of Syracuse; Dio ward. nyfius invited him to Dinner, 14 A Philosopher who thought plac'd him in a rich Throne, all things were by Chance. and gave him a vesy Splendid