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The RAPTUR E.

Yield, I yield, and can no longer stay

My eager thoughts, that force themselves away. Sure, none infpir'd (whose heat transports 'em still Above their reason, and beyond their will) Can firm against the strong impulse remain: Censure itself were not fo fharp a pain. Let vulgar minds fubmit to vulgar fway; What ignorance shall think, or malice fay, To me are trifles; if the knowing few, Who can fee faults, but can fee beautys too, Applaud that genius which themselves partake, And fpare the poet for the mufe's fake.

The mufe, who raises me from humble ground,
To view the vast and various world around:
How fast I mount! In what a wond'rous way
I grow transported to this large furvey !
I value earth no more, and far below
Methinks I fee the bufy pigmies go.

My
foul entranc'd is in a rapture brought
Above the common tracks of vulgar thought:
With fancy wing'd, I feel the purer air,
And with contempt look down on human care.
Airy ambition, ever foaring high,

Stands first expos'd to my cenforious eye.

Behold fome toiling up a flipp'ry hill,

Where, tho' arriv'd, they must be toiling still:
Some, with unsteady feet, juft fall'n to ground;
Others at top, whofe heads are turning round.
To this high sphere it happens ftill that fome,
The most unfit, are forwardeft to come;
Yet among thefe are princes forc'd to chufe,
Or feek out fuch as would perhaps refuse.
Favour too great is fafely plac'd on none;
And foon becomes a dragon or a drone;
Either remifs and negligent of all,
Or elle imperious and tyrannical.

The mufe inspires me now to look again,
And fee a meaner fort of fordid men
Doating on little heaps of yellow duft;
For that defpifing honour, eafe, and lust.
Let other bards, expreffing how it fhines,
Defcribe with envy what the mifer finds;
Only as heaps of dirt it seems to me,
Where we fuch despicable vermin see;
Who creep thro' filth a thousand crooked ways,
Infenfible of infamy or praise:

Loaded with guilt, they ftill purfue their courfe;
Not even restrain'd by love, or friendship's force.
Not to enlarge on fuch an obvious thought;
Behold their folly, which tranfcends their fault!
Alas! their cares and cautions only tend
To gain the means, and then to lose the end.
Like heroes in romances, ftill in fight
For mistresses that yield them no delight.
'This, of all vice, does most debase the mind,
Gold is itself th' allay to human-kind.

Oh, happy times! when no fuch thing as coin
E'er tempted friends to part, or foes to join!
Cattle or corn, among those harmless men,
Was all their wealth, the gold and filver then:
Corn was too bulky to corrupt a tribe,

And bell'wing herds would have betray'd the bribe.
Ev'n traffick now is intercourse of ill,

And ev'ry wind brings a new mifchief still;
By trade we flourish in our leaves and fruit,
But av'rice and excefs devour the root.

Thus far the mufe unwillingly has been
Fix'd on the dull, lefs happy forts of fin;
But, now more pleas'd, the views the diff'rent ways
Of luxury, and all its charms furveys.
Dear luxury thou foft, but fure deceit !
Rife of the mean, and ruin of the great!
Thou fure prefage of ill-approaching fates!
The bane of empires, and the change of states!
Armies in vain refift thy mighty pow'r;

Not the worst conduct would confound them more.
Thus Rome herfelf, while o'er the world fhe flew,
And did by virtue all that world fubdue,
Was by her own victorious arms opprefs'd,
And catch'd infection from the conquer'd East;
Whence all thofe vices came, which foon devour
The best foundations of renown and pow'r.

But oh! what need have we abroad to roam,
Who feel too much the fad effects at home,
Of wild excefs? which we fo plainly find,
Decays the body, and impairs the mind.
But yet grave fops must not prefume from hence
To flight the facred pleasures of the fense:

Our appetites are nature's laws, and giv'n
Under the broad authentick seal of heav'n.
Let pedants wrangle, and let bigots fight,
To put restraint on innocent delight;
But heav'n and nature's always in the right;
They would not draw poor wretched mortals in,
Or give defires that fhall be doom'd for fin.
Yet, that in height of harmless joys we may
Laft to old age, and never lose a day;
Amidft our pleasures we ourselves fhould fpare,
And manage all with temperance and care.
The Gods forbid but we fometimes may
steep
Our joys in wine, and lull our cares afleep.
It raises nature, ripens feeds of worth,
As moist'ning pictures calls the colours forth;
But if the varnish we too oft apply,

Alas! like colours, we grow faint and die.
Hold, hold, impetuous mufe: I would restrain
Her over-eager heat, but all in vain ;
Abandon'd to delights, fhe longs to rove;
I check her here, and now the flies to love;
Shews me fome rural nymph by fhepherd chas'd,
Soon overtaken, and as foon embrac❜d:
The grafs by her, as fhe by him is prefs'd;
For shame, my mufe, let fancy guess the rest:
At fuch a point fancy can never stay,
But flies beyond whatever you can say.
Behold the filent fhades, the am'rous grove,
The dear delights, the very act of love.
This is his lowest fphere, his country fcene,
Where love is humble, and his fare but mean;

Yet fpringing up without the help of art,
Leaves a fincerer relish in the heart,
More healthfully, tho' not so finely fed,

And better thrives than where more nicely bred.
But 'tis in courts where most he makes a show,
And high enthron'd, governs the world below;
For tho' in hiftories learn'd ignorance
Attributes all to cunning, or to chance;
Love will in those disguises often fmile,
And knows, the cause was kindness all the while.
What story, place, or perfon cannot prove
The boundless influence of mighty love?
Where-e'er the fun can vig'rous heat inspire,
Both fexes glow, and languish with desire.
The weary'd swain fast in the arms of fleep
Love can awake, and often fighing keep;
And bufy gown-men, by fond love disguis'd,
Will leifure find to make themselves defpis'd.
The proudeft kings fubmit to beauty's sway;
Beauty itself, a greater prince than they,
Lies fometimes languishing with all its pride
By a belov'd, tho' fickle lover's fide.

I mean to flight the soft enchanting charm,
But, oh my head and heart are both too warm,
I doat on womankind with all their faults;
Love turns my fatire into fofteft thoughts;
Of all that paffion which our peace destroys,
Instead of mifchiefs, I defcribe the joys.
But fhort will be his reign; (I fear too short)
And prefent cares fhall be my future fport.
Then love's bright torch put out, his arrows broke,
Loofe from kind chains, and from th' engaging yoke.

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