TO JOHN SHUTE, ESQ.,

NOW LORD BARRINGTON.

ON MR. LOCKE'S DANGEROUS SICKNESS, SOME

TIME AFTER HE HAD RETIRED TO

STUDY THE SCRIPTURES.

AND must the man of wondrous mind,
Now his rich thoughts are just refin'd,
Forsake our longing eyes ?

Reason at length submits to wear
The wings of Faith; and lo, they rear
Her chariot high, and nobly bear
Her prophet to the skies!

Go, friend, and wait the prophet's flight,
Watch if his mantle chance to light,

And seize it for thy own;

Shute is the darling of his years,

Young Shute his better likeness bears;

All but his wrinkles and his hairs
Are copied in his son.

Thus when our follies, or our faults,
Call for the pity of thy thoughts,

Thy pen shall make us wise,

The sallies of whose youthful wit

Could pierce the British fogs with light,
Place our true1 interest in our sight,
And open half our eyes.
June, 1704.

FRIENDSHIP.

TO MR. WILLIAM NOKES.

FRIENDSHIP, thou charmer of the mind,
Thou sweet deluding ill,

The brightest minute mortals find,
And sharpest hour we feel!

Fate has divided all our shares
Of pleasure and of pain;
In love the comforts and the cares
Are mix'd and join'd again.

But whilst in floods our sorrow rolls,
And drops of joy are few,
This dear delight of mingling souls

Serves but to swell our woe.

1" The Interest of England," written by Mr. Shute.

Oh, why should bliss depart in haste,

And friendship stay to moan?

Why the fond passion cling so fast,
When every joy is gone?

Yet never let our hearts divide,
Nor death dissolve the chain;
For love and joy were once allied,
And must be joined again.

1702.

TO NATHANAEL GOULD, ESQ

NOW SIR NATHANAEL GOULD.

'Tis not by splendor or by state,
Exalted mien or lofty gait,
My Muse takes measure of a king:
If wealth, or height, or bulk will do,
She calls each mountain of Peru

A more majestic thing.

Frown on me, friend, if e'er I boast
O'er fellow-minds enslav'd in clay,
Or swell when I shall have engrost
A larger heap of shining dust,

And wear a bigger load of earth than they.
Let the vain world salute me loud;

My thoughts look inward, and forget

The sounding names of High and Great,
The flatteries of the crowd.

When Gould commands his ships to run
And search the traffic of the sea,
His fleet o'ertakes the falling day,
And bears the western mines away,
Or richer spices from the rising sun;
While the glad tenants of the shore
Shout, and pronounce him senator;1
Yet still the man's the same:

For well the happy merchant knows
The soul with treasure never grows,
Nor swells with airy fame.

But trust me, Gould, 'tis lawful pride
To rise above the mean control

Of flesh and sense, to which we're tied:
This is ambition that becomes a soul.

We steer our course up through the skies;
Farewell this barren land!'

We ken the heavenly shore with longing eyes;
There the dear wealth of spirits lies,

And beckoning angels stand.

1704.

1 Member of Parliament for a port in Sussex.

THE LIFE OF SOULS.

TO DR. THOMAS GIBSON.

SWIFT as the sun revolves the day
We hasten to the dead,
Slaves to the wind we puff away,
And to the ground we tread.
'Tis air that lends us life, when first
The vital bellows heave:

Our flesh we borrow of the dust;
And when a mother's care has nurst

The babe to manly size, we must
With usury pay the grave.

Rich juleps drawn from precious ore

Still tend the dying flame;

And plants and roots of barbarous name, Torn from the Indian shore.

Thus we support our tottering flesh;

Our cheeks resume the rose afresh, When bark and steel play well their game To save our sinking breath,

And Gibson, with his awful power,
Rescues the poor precarious hour

From the demands of death.