Desolation.

The tott'ring Pillars nodding Roofs sustain,
And, gaping wide, half ruin'd Walls remain:
Fv'n in th' Italian Cities, once so great,
Scarcely a living Creature now you meet:
Void of Inhabitants the Houses stand,
And Desolation reigns o'er all the Land:
The Fields, for Years untill'd, vile Weeds o'ergrow,
Nor Hands are left to exercise the Plow.--

Succeeding Nations by the Sword shall die,
And swallow'd up in dark Oblivion lye:
Almighty Latium with her Cities crown'd,
Shall like an antiquated Fable sound:
The Veïan and the Gabian Towers shall fall,
And one promiscuous Ruin cover all:
Nor, after Length of Years, a Stone betray
The Place where once the very Ruins lay:
High Alba's Walls, and the Lavinian Strand,
(A lonely Desart, and an empty Land,)
Shall scare afford, for needful Hours of Rest,
A single House to their benighted Guest.--

The Place he view'd, where ever dear to Fame,
Troy's City stood, e'er 'twas by fire consum'd;
And sought to find some Footsteps of the Walls
By Phoebus rear'd: but a thick Wood of Weeds,
And blasted mossy Trunks with Branches sear,
Grew o'er the Palaces of Priam's Race;
And with their Roots, now mould'ring into Dust,
Possess'd the sacred Temples of the Gods.--

With prickly Thorns, and Brambles over--run,
All rude, all waste and desperate is laid,
And ev'n the ruin'd Ruins are decay'd.--

Stand off, stand off, the Guide, a Phrygian, cries,
Nor trample o'er where mighty Hector lies:
Stones, here and there, lay scatter'd on the Ground,
But no Appearance of a Tomb was found.--
Despair.

--Let us die, and rush
Into the thickest Arms: to vanquish'd Men
The only Safety is to hope for none.

--Thence, like Wolves
Prowling in gloomy Shade, which Hunger blind
Urges along, while their forsaken Whelps
Expect them with dry Jaws: thro' Darts, thro' Foes
We march to certain Death.--

When with sad Eyes the venerable Sire,
Beheld his Ilion sunk in hostile Fire:
His Palace storm'd, the lofty Gates laid low,
His rich Pavilions crowded with the Foe:
In Arms, long since disus'd, the hoary Sage
Loads each stiff languid Limb that shook with Age:
Girds on an unperforming Sword, in vain!
And runs on Death amidst the hostile Train.--

So fares the Pilot, when his Ship is toss'd
In troubled Seas, and all its Steerage lost:
He gives her to the Winds, and in Despair,
Seeks his last Refuge in the Gods and Prayer.--

Thus when the stormy South is heard to roar,
And rolls huge Billows from the Lybian Shore:
When rending Sails flit with the driving Blast,
And with a Crash down comes the lofty Mast:
Some Coward Master leaps from off the Deck,
And hasty to Despair, prevents the Wreck:
And though the Bark unbroken hold her Way,
Her trembling Crew all plunge into the Sea.--

In sullen Peace, compos'd for Death, she lyes,
And waiting, longs to hear the Tempest rise:
She hopes the Seamen's Vows shall all be crost,
Prays for the Storm, and wishes to be lost.--

Soon as the Queen beheld the Foe advance
Against the Town, the Walls beleaguer'd round,
And to the Roofs the flaming Firebrands fly:
Frantic with sudden Grief Herself she calls
The Crime, the Head, the Cause of all their Woe:
A thousand Things she utters in Despair:
Distracted, wild: and rends her purple Robes,
And from a lofty Beam suspended tyes
The fatal Knot of ignominious Death.--
Detraction.

One Drop of Poyson in my Patron's Ear,
One slight Suggestion of a senseless Fear,
Infus'd with cunning, serves to ruin me.
Disgrac'd, and banish'd from the Family,
In vain forgotten Services I boast:
My long Dependance in an Hour is lost.--

Let him cry Blackmoor--Devil whose Skin is white;
And Bandy--Legs, who treads himself upright:
Let him reprove that's innocent:--in vain
The Gracchi of Sedition must complain.--

I shunn'd with Caution the officious Tale:
Saw what was bare, but ne'er withdrew a Veil.
I never forg'd, to urge another's Fate,
False Facts, nor did I those I knew relate.--

The Man who vilifies an absent Friend,
Or hears him scandaliz'd, and don't defend:
Who, much desiring to be thought a Wit,
Will have his Jest, regardless whom it hit:
Who what he never saw proclaims for true,
And vends for Secrets what he never knew:
Who blabs whate'er is whisper'd in his Ear,
And fond of Talk, does all he knows declare:
That Man's a Wretch:--of Him besure beware.--

If I'm bely'd, shall I turn pale for this?
False Honours please, and false Reports disgrace
And trouble, whom?--The Vicious and the Base.--

Let Men of Others to speak Ill forbear,
Or their own Follies they'll be sure to hear.--
Diana.
See Majesty.

But mild the Beauties of Diana were,
And all her Charms serene, and sweetly fair:
Her Brother's Looks adorn her radiant Face,
Her Cheeks and sparkling Eyes express his Grace:
The same she were, did not her Sex alone,
A Diff'rence cause, and make the Virgin known.
Her Arms are naked to th' admiring Eye,
And in the Wind her careless Tresses fly:
Her furnish'd Quiver on her Shoulder hung,
And her neglected Bow was now unstrung.
Her Cretan Vest, short gather'd from the Ground,
A double Girdle regularly bound.
There floating Delos the rich Robes display,
And round the wand'ring Isle is wrought a golden Sea.--
Difficulty.

Who soon is won, will soon her Lovers lose:
But who'd retain them long, must long refuse:
Oft at the Door make them for Entrance wait,
And much complain, and threaten, and intreat.
Bitters, when cloy'd with Sweets, our Taste restore;
Ships, by fair Winds, are sometimes drove ashore.
Hence springs the Coldness of a marry'd Life,
The Husband, when he pleases, has his Wife.
Bar but the Gate, and let the Porter cry,
Here's no Admittance, Sir: I must deny.
Such Opposition will increase Desire,
And kindle in thy Breast a fiercer Fire.--

We disesteem what's easy to obtain,
But what's forbidden are e'en mad to gain:
Had Danaë not been kept in brazen Tow'rs,
Jove had not thought her worth his golden Show'rs.--
Discontent.
See Care.

My Lord, how comes it, no One lives content,
With what himself has chose, or Fortune sent:
But madly doting on his Neighbour's Lot,
Contemns th' Advantages his own has got?

O happy Merchant! the old Soldier cries,
Broke with Fatigue and martial Exercise.
The Merchant, by the Billows toss'd on high,
Cries, happy is the Soldier's Fate: for why,
A Battle soon brings Death, or joyful Victory.

The hurrying Lawyer, calls the Farmer blest,
When early Clients interrupt his Rest.
The Farmer, whom some Business of the Law,
Does from the Country to the City draw,
Extols the Pleasures of the gaudy Town,
And thinks a City Life the only one.--

Your Country Life I judge an Happiness,
And mine in Town, you fancy, is no less:
Fond of each other's Lot, we hate our own,
And wrongly blame the Country, or the Town:
Fools both! for in the Place no Fault does lie,
But in the Mind,--from which there's none can fly.--
Discord.
See War Civil.

The Trumpets sound! when strait fell Discord rais'd
Her Stygian Head, and shook her matted Locks:
With clotted Blood her Face was cover'd o'er,
And gummy Horrors from her Eyes distill'd:
Two Rows of canker'd Teeth deform'd her Mouth,
And from her Tongue a Stream of Poison flow'd,
While hissing Serpents play'd around her Cheeks:
Her livid Skin with Rags was scarce conceal'd,
And in her trembling Hand a Torch she shook.

Ascending thus from the Tartarean Gloom,
She reach'd the Top of lofty Apennine:
Whence ev'ry Sea and Land she might behold,
And Armies moving over all the Globe:
Then from her furious Bosom thus she spoke.

Now rush, ye Nations, rush to mutual Arms:
And let Dissention's Torch for ever burn!
Let Flight no longer now the Coward save,
Nor Age, nor Sex, nor Childhood Pity move:
Let the Earth tremble, and her haughtiest Tow'rs
Shake, in convulsive Ruins, to the Ground.--

As stubborn Steers by brawny Plowmen broke,
And joyn'd reluctant to the galling Yoke,
Alike disdain with servile 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 Confusion lay:
Such was the Discord of the royal Pair,
Whom Fury drove precipitate to War.--
Dissimulation.

To Mercury Autolycus she brought,
Who turn'd to Thefts and Shifts his subtle Thought:
Possess'd he was of all his Father's Slight,
At Will made White look Black, and Black look White.--

--When all the Furies in her Breast
She had conceiv'd, o'ercome with wild Despair,
And resolute to die: the Time, and Means
She with herself contrives: and Thus accosts
Her mourning Sister: (her Design conceals
And smooths her Visage with dissembled Hope.)
Rejoice with me, my Sister: I have found
A sure Expedient, which will either bring
My Lover back, or free me from my Love.--

Mean while the Trojan Shepherds, shouting, dragg'd
A Youth, with pinion'd Arms, before the King:
Who with Design had fall'n into their Hands,
Unknown: to manage the concerted Plot,
And open to the Greeks the Gates of Troy:
Bold to attempt, and on both Sides prepar'd,
Either to meet Success, or certain Death.--

False Tears he shed, and from a joyful Breast
Fetch'd Sighs and Groans, believing Tears would best
The inward Pleasure of his Heart conceal,
Which otherwise he fear'd he should reveal.--

Does the fair Bride Love's Contest really dread
That she takes on so, when she's put to Bed?
Or, mind her Parents the dissembled Tear?
She does not weep in earnest, I dare swear.—