Will you into your sacred throng admit You, general-council of the priests of Fame, A chain which will more pleasant seem to me Will ye to bind me with those mighty names submit, Whatever happy book is chained here, As when a seat in heaven Is to an unmalicious sinner given, } Who, casting round his wondering eye, Does none but patriarchs and apostles there espy; Martyrs who did their lives bestow, And saints, who martyrs liv'd below; With trembling and amazement he begins To recollect his frailties past and sins; He doubts almost his station there; His soul says to itself, "How came I here ?" When I myself with conscious wonder see } With hardship they, and pain, I think predestination only was my friend. Ah, that And business, which the Muses hate, And settled upon me, his child, somewhat to live, 'T had happier been for him, as well as me; We books, I mean, You books, will prove to be For, though some errors will get in, Yet sure we from our fathers' wit Draw all the strength and spirit of it, Leaving the grosser parts for conversation, As the best blood of man's employ'd in generation. ODE. SITTING AND DRINKING IN THE CHAIR MADE OUT OF THE RELICKS OF SIR FRANCIS DRAKE'S SHIP. CHEER up, my mates, the wind does fairly blow, Clap on more sail, and never spare; Farewell all lands, for now we are In the wide sea of drink, and merrily we go. Bless me, 't is hot! another bowl of wine, And we shall cut the burning Line: Hey, boys! she scuds away, and by my head I know What dull men are those that tarry at home, And gain such experience, and spy too Such countries and wonders, as I do! But pr'ythee, good pilot, take heed what you do, With gold there the vessel we 'll store, No, never be poor any more. What do I mean? What thoughts do me misguide? As well upon a staff may witches ride Their fancy'd journeys in the air, As I sail round the ocean in this chair! 'Tis true; but yet this chair which here For all tis quite now, and gravity, you see, Has wander'd and has travell'd more Than ever beast, or fish, or bird, or ever tree, before: The pious wanderer's fleet, sav'd from the flame A squadron of immortal nymphs became : Than those have done or seen, Ev'n since they Goddesses and this a Star has been), As a reward for all her labour past, Is made the seat of rest at last. Let the case now quite alter'd be, And, as thou went'st abroad the world to see, The world will do 't; for curiosity Does, no less than devotion, pilgrims make; And I myself, who now love quiet too, An old wheel of that chariot to see, Which Phaeton so rashly brake: [Drake? Yet what could that say more than these remains of (The great trade-wind which ne'er does fail) Shall drive thee round the world, and thou shalt run As long around it as the sun. The streights of Time too narrow are for thee; And steer the endless course of vast Eternity! UPON THE DEATH OF THE EARL OF BARCARRES. 'TIS folly all that can be said By living mortals of th' immortal dead, And I'm afraid they laugh at the vain tears we shed. 'T is as if we, who stay behind In expectation of the wind, Should pity those who pass'd this streight before, And touch the universal shore. Ah, happy man! who art to sail no more! |