Fire.
See Amazement. City Taken.

Fire lies in ev'ry thing: in Clouds it forms
The frightful Thunder, and delights in Storms:
It passes thro' the Earth, in Ætna raves,
And imitates Heav'n's Thunder in it's Caves:
In hollow Vales it boils the rising Floods:
In Flints 'tis found, and lodges in the Woods;
For toss'd by Storms, the Trees in Flames expire;--
So warm are Nature's Parts, so fill'd with Fire.--

Achates from a Flint struck out the Sparks,
The Fire inclos'd in Leaves, and round it pil'd
Dry Fuel: and blew up the sudden Flame.--

Nor in your Vineyards let wild Olives grow:
For oft, by careless Swains neglected Fire
Is left: Which first beneath the unctious Bark
Lurks unperceiv'd, invades the solid Wood,
And, rising thro' the higher Leaves, to Heav'n
With mighty Noise ascends: Then Victor reigns
Thro' the Top--Branches, and Triumphant rides,
Involving all the Grove in Flames: and throws
A Cloud of pitchy Vapour to the Sky:
Chiefly, if from the North a Tempest roars,
And driv'n by Winds the blazing Torrent rolls.--

As when the wish'd for Winds in Summer rise,
Thro' the thick Woods the Shepherd scatters Fire:
The middle Trees blaze sudden, and at once
Vulcan's dire Squadrons deluge all the Plains:
He, pleas'd, sits viewing the triumphant Flames.--

The Clouds disperse in Fumes:--
The High--Lands smoke, cleft by the piercing Rays,
Or, clad with Woods, in their own Fuel blaze.
Then o'er the Plains, where ripen'd Harvests grow,
The running Conflagration spreads below:
But these are trivial Ills: whole Cities burn,
And peopled Kingdoms into Ashes turn.--

I burn, I burn, like kindled Fields of Corn,
When by the driving Winds the Flames are born.--

High, o'er the Dome, the Flames emblaze the Air:
Fierce to devour, the fiery Tempest flies,
Swells in the Wind, and thunders to the Skies.--

--With loosen'd Reins
Among the Benches Vulcan rages fierce,
Among the Oars, and Decks of painted Fir.
--Beneath the warping Timber lives
The smouldring Tow, and vomits lazy Smoke:
A ling'ring Vapour eats the Ships, and o'er
The Fleet's whole Bulk the pitchy Plague descends.
Nor does the Labour of the Heroes aught
Avail, nor Rivers pour'd upon the Flames.--

He then commands, against the Ships to aim
Darts, that with Pitch and livid Sulphur flame.
The spreading Fire o'er--runs their unctious Sides,
And, nimbly mounting, on the Top--Mast rides:
Planks, Yards, and Cordage feed the dreadful Blaze,
And sinking Vessels hiss amidst the Seas:
While floating Arms and Men, promiscuous strow'd,
Deform the Surface of the azure Flood.
Nor does Destruction seize the Fleet alone,
But, driv'n by Winds invades the neighb'ring Town:
On rapid Wings the rolling Flames they bear,
In wavy Lengths along the red'ning Air:
Not much unlike, the shooting Meteors fly,
In gleamy Trails, a--thwart the midnight Sky.--
Firmness.
See Fortitude.

--Infatuate they demand
The impious War, and obstinately crowd,
With Tumult, round the King Latinus' Court.
He like a Rock amidst the Sea, unmov'd,
Stands opposite, resisting: like a Rock
Amidst the Sea; which, while the roaring Tide
Encroaches, with it's Weight Itself sustains
Among the noisy Waves: in vain the Cliffs
Foaming rebellow loud: and all around
The broken Sea--Weed dashes on it's Sides.--

He by no Tears is mov'd: untractable,
And deaf to all Intreaties: Fate forbids:
And Jove, o'er--ruling, stops his pitying Ears.
As when rough Alpine Winds, with struggling Gusts,
This way, and that, contend t' o'er--turn an Oak
Stubborn with aged Timber: roaring loud
The Branches bend: the stiff Trunk bows: the Leaves
Thick falling strew the Ground: Itself fast clings,
Fix'd in the Rocks: and high as it uprears
It's tow'ring Head in Air, so deep it's Root
Shoots downwards to the Center. With such Force,
And ceaseless Noise, the Hero on all Sides
Is batter'd: and within his manly Breast
Confines the Pain he feels: his Mind persists
Unmov'd: and Tears roll down his Cheeks in vain.--

He, like a Rock, which o'er the Ocean wide
Hangs prominent, expos'd to Winds and Waves,
And all the Rage of Sea and Sky endures;
Stands fix'd, unmov'd.--
Flattery.
See Courtship.

These prudent Folks are full of Flattery:
They make a Wit of their insipid Friend,
His blubber Lips, and beetle Brows commend:
His long Crane--Neck, and narrow Shoulders praise,
You'd think they were describing Hercules.
A creaking Voice for a clear Treble goes,
Tho' harsher than a Cock's that treads and crows.--

'Tis all a Comedy: but laugh, and they
Return it louder than an Ass can bray:
Grieve, and they grieve: if You weep silently,
There seems a silent Eccho in their Eye,
They cannot mourn like You, but they can cry.
Call for a Fire, their Winter Cloths they take,
Begin but You to shiver, and they shake:
In Frost and Snow if You complain of Heat,
They rub th' unsweating Brow, and swear they sweat.--

Or Day, or Night, they're like a Looking--Glass,
Still ready to reflect their Patron's Face:
Their panegyrick Hand, and lifted Eye,
Are still prepar'd for fulsome Flattery:
Ev'n Nastiness Occasions will afford;
They praise a belching or well--p---ss---ng Lord.--

Nothing so monstrous can be said or feign'd,
But with Belief and Joy is entertain'd,
When to his Face the worthless Wretch is prais'd,
Whom vile Court--Flatt'ry to a God has rais'd.--

Deceitful Flatt'ry does the Soul betray,
As hollow Banks by Streams are worn away.
Tell her, her Face is fair, her Hair is sweet,
Her taper Fingers praise, and little Feet:
Such Praises ev'n the Chaste are pleas'd to hear:
Both Maids and Matrons hold their Beauty dear.
Praise the proud Peacock, and he spreads his Train:
Be silent, and he pulls it in again:
Pleas'd is the Courser in his rapid Race,
Applaud his running, and he mends his Pace,--

Thou, who desir'st to keep the fair One's Heart,
To flatter well apply thy utmost Art:
With frequent Raptures on her Beauty gaze,
And make her Form the Subject of thy Praise,
Purple commend, when she's in Purple dress'd:
In Scarlet, swear she looks in Scarlet best:
Array'd in Gold, her graceful Mein adore,
Vowing those Eyes transcend the sparkling Ore:
If Crape she wears,--What can become her more!
When dress'd in Colours, praise a colour'd Dress,
Her Hair, or curl'd, or comb'd, commend no less.
Singing, her Voice, dancing, her Air admire;
Complain when she leaves off, and still desire.--

In vain, mean Flatteries, ye try,
To gnaw the Lip, and fall the Eye:
No Man a God or Lord I name:
From Romans far be such a Shame!
Go teach the supple Parthian how
To veil the Bonnet on his Brow:
Or on the Ground, all prostrate fling
Some Pict, before his barbarous King.--

Please not thy self the flatt'ring Croud to hear,
Tis fulsom Stuff to feed thy itching Ear.
Reject the nauseous Praises of the Times:
Give the base Poets back their cobbled Rhimes:--
Thyself consider well, that Thou may'st find
How much there wants to furnish out thy Mind.--

As hired Mourners, at a Fun'ral, speak,
And act, with more Extravagance of Grief,
Than those, whose Hearts a real Sorrow know,
So flatt'ring Sycophants more Zeal betray,
Than real Friends.--

True Friends and faithless Flatt'rers differ more,
Than a chast Matron and a common Whore.--

There's a Sort of People in the World who set up for Wits of the first Rate, and yet have no more Brains than Maggots: Now these are the Men for my Turn: I laugh at them, and at the same Time praise their Parts to the Skies. If they say any Thing, I cry it up too: if they unsay it, I commend them for that too: what they deny, I deny: what they affirm, I affirm: In short, I've brought myself to be of their Mind in every Thing, and by this means I get many a sweet Bit and a sweet Penny.--
Flight.

Swift as the Wind, the Damsel fled away,
Nor did for these alluring Speeches stay.--
Stay, Nymph, he cry'd, I follow not a Foe,
Thus from a Lyon bounds the trembling Doe:
Thus from the Wolf the frighten'd Lamb removes,
And, from pursuing Falcons, fearful Doves:
All fly their Foes; but Thou fly'st him that loves.
Ah! lest some Thorn should pierce thy tender Foot!
Or Thou should'st fall in shunning my Pursuit!
To sharp uneven Ways thy Steps decline;
Abate thy Speed, and I will bate of mine.

She heard not half: so furiously she flies:
And on her Ear th' imperfect Accent dies.
How lovely was she then! the Wind that blew
Expos'd her Beauties naked to his View:
And, as behind her careless Locks it bore,
Flight made her still more charming than before.
Now will the God no more Entreaties lose,
But urg'd by Love, with all his Force pursues.
She urg'd by Fear, her Feet did swiftly move,
But he more swiftly, who was urg'd by Love.
No Rest he gives, but close behind her bears,
Pants on her Neck, and breathes upon her Hairs.--

As trembling Doves from pressing Danger fly,
When the fierce Hawk comes sousing from the Sky;
And as fierce Hawks the trembling Doves pursue,
From him I fled, and after me he flew.--

Away she fled: Not Stags with half such Speed,
Before the prowling Wolf, scud o'er the Mead:
Not Ducks, when they the safer Flood forsake,
Pursu'd by Hawks, so swift regain the Lake.
As fast he follow'd in the hot Career:
Desire the Lover wing'd, the Virgin Fear.--

Now, with a Lion's Spoils, bespread, I take
My Sire, a pleasing Burthen, on my Back:
Close clinging to my Hand, and pressing nigh,
With Steps unequal, trip'd Iülus by.
Behind, my dear Creusa took her Way:
Thro' ev'ry lonely dark Recess we stray.
And I, who late th' embattled Greeks could dare,
Their flying Darts, and whole embody'd War,
Now take Alarm, while Horrors reign around,
At ev'ry Breeze, and start at ev'ry Sound.
With fancy'd Fears my busy Thoughts were wild,
For my dear Father, and endanger'd Child.--

Cheerless, the flying Chief renew'd his Speed,
And urg'd, with gory Spurs, his fainting Steed.
A thousand Terrors struggling in his Mind,
He turns where doubtful Paths obscurely wind.
He starts at ev'ry Rustling of the Trees,
And fears the Whispers of each murm'ring Breeze:
The Fellows of his Flight increase his Dread,
While hard behind their trampling Horses tread.--

Now to those Shores the hapless Pompey came,
Where hoary Peneus rolls his ancient Stream:
Red with Emathian Slaughter ran his Flood,
And dy'd the Ocean deep in Roman Blood.
There a poor Bark, whose Keel could scarcely glide
Safe down some River's smooth descending Tide,
Receiv'd the mighty Master of the Main,
Whose spreading Navies hide the liquid Plain.
In this, he braves the Winds and stormy Sea,
And to the Lesbian Isle directs his Way.--

As when the Pilot, from the black'ning Skies,
A gath'ring Storm of wintry Rain descries:
His Sails unfurl'd, and crowded all with Wind,
He strives to leave the threat'ning Cloud behind:
Full Speed he fled.--
Flight Secret.

At length arriv'd, with the revolving Night,
The chosen Hour appointed for his Flight:
He bids his Friends prevent the Seamen's Roar,
And still the deaf'ning Clamours on the Shore:
No Trumpets may the Watch by Hours renew,
Nor sounding Signals call aboard the Crew.
The heav'nly Maid her Course had almost run,
And Libra waited on the rising Sun,
When, hush'd in Silence deep, they leave the Land:
No loud mouth'd Voices call, with hoarse Command,
To heave the flooky Anchors from the Sand.
Lowly the careful Master's Orders past,
To brace the Yards, and rear the lofty Mast:
Silent they spread the Sails, the Cables haul,
Nor to their Mates for Aid, tumultuous, call.
The Chief himself to Fortune breath'd a Pray'r,
At length to take him to her kinder Care:
That swiftly he might pass the liquid Deep,
And lose the Land which she forbad to keep.
Hardly the Boon his niggard Fate allow'd,
Unwillingly the murm'ring Seas were plow'd:
The foamy Furrows roar'd beneath his Prow,
And sounding to the Shore alarm'd the Foe.
Strait thro' the Town their swift Pursuit they sped,
(For wide her Gates the faithless City spread)
Along the winding Port they took their Way,
And griev'd to find the Fleet had gain'd the Sea.—