But ftill tho dark below, 'twas clear above,
She had (as once her Son) her strengthning Angel by.
XIV.
Gabriel the chiefest of th' Almighty's train
That first with happy Tidings bleft her Ear,
The Archangel, Gabriel, was fent again,
To ftem the tide of Grief, and qualifie her Fear.
XV.
A large Profpective wrought by hands divine
He fet before her firft enlightned Eye,
'Twas hewn out of the Heaven Christalline,
One of whofe ends did leffen, th' other magnifie.
With that his Sufferings he expos'd to fight,
With this his Glories he did represent,
The weight of this made th' other feem but light,
She faw the mighty odds, ador'd, and was content.
Damon and Pythias: Or, Friendship in Perfection.
Pyth.IS true (my Damon) we as yet have been
Pyth.'T'Is Patterns of conftant Love, I know;
We have ftuck fo clofe no third could come between,
But will it (Ramon) will it still be fo?
Da. Keep your Love true, I dare engage that mine
Shall like my Soul immortal prove.
In Friendship's Orb how brightly shall we fhine
Where all fhall envy, none divide our Love!
Pyth. Death will; when once (as 'tis by Fate defign'd)
T' Elifinn you fhall be remov'd,
Such fweet Companions there no doubt you'll find,
That you'll forget that Pythias e'r you lov'd.
Da. No, banish all fuch fears; I then will be
Your Friend and guardian Angel too.
And tho with more refin'd Society
I'll leave Elyfium to converse with you.
Pyth. But grant that after Fate you still are kind,
You cannot long continue fo;
When I, like you, become all Thought and Mind,
By what Mark then fhall we each other know?
VI.
Da. With care on your laft hour I will attend,
And left like Souls fhould me deceive,
I closely will embrace my new-born Friend,
And never after my dear Pythias leave.
Hether 'tis from Stupidity or no,
I know not; but I ne're could find
Why I one Thought or Pallion fhould bestow
On Fame, that gaudy Idol of Mankind.
Call me not Stoick; no, I can purfue
Things excellent with as much Zeal as you :
But here I own my felf to be
A very luke-warm Votary.
Should thoufand Excellencies in me meet,
And one bright Conftellation frame,
'Tis fill as Mens phantaftick Humours hit
Whether I'm written in the Book of Fame.
So tho the Sun be ne're fo fair and bright,
Ahine with free, uninterrupted Light,
Tis as the Clouds difpofed are,
"'re he can paint his Image there.
The World is feldom to true Merit just,
Through Envy or through Ignorance,
True Worth, like Valour, oft lies hid in Duft,
While fome falfe Hero's grac'd with a Romance.
The true God's Altar oft neglected lies,
When Idols have Perfumes and Sacrifice.
And tho the true One fome Adore,
Yet those that do Blafpheme, are more.
IV.
Yet grant that Merit were of Fame fecure,
What's Reputation, what is Praise ?
Who'd one Day's Toil, or fleepless Night endure,
Such a vain Babol of Efteem to raise ?
Pleas'd with his hidden Worth, the Great and Wife Can, like his God, this foreign Good defpife; Whofe Happiness would ne'r be lefs,
Tho none were made to Praise or Blefs.
Even I who dare not rank my self with those
Who pleas'd, into themselves retire,
Find yet in great Applaufes lefs repofe,
And do Fame lefs, lefs than my self admire.
Let her loud Trumpet found me far and near,
Th' Antipodes will never of me hear.
Or were I known throughout this Ball,
I've but a Point, when I have All.
VI.
Then as for Glory which comes after Fate,
All that can then of me be faid,
I value leaft of all, it comes too late,
'Tis like th' embalming of the fenflefs dead.
Others with Pleasure, what me Labour cost
May read, and praife; but to me all is loft.
Just as the Sun no Joy does find
In that his Light, which chears Mankind.
Or fhould I after Fate has clos'd my Eyes,
Should I my living Glories know,
My wifer, improv'd Soul will then defpife
All that poor Mortals fay or think below.
Even they who of Mens ignorance before
Complain'd, becaufe few did their works adore,
Will then the felf fame Cenfure raise,
Not from their filence, but their praife.
Or grant 'twou'd pleasure bring to know that I
After my Death live still in Fame;
Thofe that admire me too muft fhortly dye,
And then where's my Memorial, where my name ?
My Fame, tho longer-liv'd, yet once shall have
Like me, its Death, its Funeral, its Grave.
This only difference will remain,
Ifhall, that never rise again.
IX.
Death and Destruction fhall e're long deface
The World, the work of Hands divine,
What Pillars then, or Monuments of Brass
Shall from the general Ruin rescue mine?
All then fhall equal be; I care not then
To be a while the talk and boast of Men.
This only grant, that I may be
Prais'd by thy Angels, Lord, and thee.
N other things I ne're admir'd to fee
Men injured by extremity.
. But little thought in Happiness
There might be danger of excess.
At least I thought there was no fear
Of ever meeting with too much on't here.
But now these melting founds ftrike on my fenfe
With fuch a powerful excellence;
I find that Happiness may be
Screw'd up to fuch extremity,
That our too Feeble Faculties
May not be faid t' enjoy, but fuffer Blifs.
III.
So frail's our Mortal State, we can sustain
A mighty Blifs no more than Pain.
We lofe our weak precarious breath
Tortur'd or tickled unto Death.
As Sprights and Angels alike fright
With too much Horror, or with too much Light.
Alafs! I'm over-pleas'd, what fhall I do
The painful joy to undergo?
Temper your too melodious Song,
Your dofe of Blifs is much too ftrong;
Like those that too rich Cordials have,
It don't fo much revive, as make me rave.
What Cruelty 'twou'd be fill to confine
A mortal Ear to Airs Divine?
The Curfe of Cain you have on me,
Inverted by your Harmony,
For fince with that you charm'd my Ear,
My Blifs is much too great for me to bear.
Relieve this Paroxyfm of delight,
And let it be lefs exquifite.
Let down my Soul; 'tis too high fer;
I am not ripe for Heaven yet.
Give me a Region more beneath,
This Element's too fine for me to breath.
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