Thy Heav'nly Notes, like Angels' Mufick, cheer
Departing Souls, and footh the dying Ear.
An aged Peasant, on his latest Bed,
Wish'd for a Friend fome godly Book to read
The pious Grandson thy known Handle takes,
And (Eyes lift up), this fav'ry Lecture makes.
Great A he gravely roar'd; th' important Sound
The empty Walls and hollow Roof refound:
Th' expiring Antient rais'd his drooping Head,
And thank'd his Stars that Hodge had learnt to read.
Great B the Youngker bawls: O Heav'nly breath!
What ghostly Comforts in the Hour of Death!
What Hopes I feel! Great C pronounc'd the Boy;
The Grandfire dies with Ecftafy of Joy.
Yet in fome Lands fuch Ignorance abounds, Whole Parishes scarce know thy useful Sounds, Or ken which End of Thee ftands uppermoft, Be the Priest abfent, or the Handle loft,
Of Essex Hundreds Fame gives this Report;
But Fame, I ween, fays many things in fport.
Scarce lives the Man to whom thou'rt quite un-
[known,
Tho' few th' extent of thy vaft Empire own.
Whatever Wonders magic Spell can do,
In Earth, in Air, in Sea, and Shades below;
What Words profound and dark wife Mah'met
[spoke,
When his old Cow an Angel's Figure took;
What ftrong Enchantments fage Canidia knew,
Or Horace fung, fierce Monsters to subdue,
O mighty Book, are all contain'd in you!
All human Arts and every Science meet
Within the Limits of thy fingle Sheet,
From thy vaft Root all Learning's Branches grow,
And all her Streams from thy deep Fountain flow.
And lo! while thus thy Wonders I indite,
Inspir'd, I feel the Pow'r of which I write.
The gentler Gout his former Rage forgets,
Lefs frequent now and lefs fevere the Fits;
Loose grow the Chains which bound my useless
[Feet,
Stiffness and Pain from ev'ry Joint retreat ;
Surprizing Strength comes ev'ry Moment on,
I ftand, I step, I walk, and now I run.
Here let me cease, my hobling Numbers stop, And at thy Handle hang my Crutches up.
Monster, in a Course of Vice grown old,
Leaves to his gaping Heir his ill-gain'd
Streight breathes his Bust, streight are his Virtues
Their Date commencing with the fculptur❜d Stone.
If on his fpecious Marble we rely,
Pity a Worth like His fhou'd ever die !
If Credit to his real Life we give,
Pity a Wretch like Him should ever live!
A PROLOGUE Spoken before the BEAUXSTRATAGEM, acted by fome young Perfons of Quality.
ET Play-house Actors crowded Seats defire,
LET Actors crowded Seats
And stretch their venal Voices for their Hire: We practise not for Gain, to grieve, or rage; But enter, gratis, on a private Stage.
Expect not Here to see th' Ambitious rife,
To weep the falling Great, or wretched Wife.
Pleas'd if our Sport a Father entertains,
Or Mother's Joys fhall recompense our Pains:
Our End is Mirth, our Characters are low,
A finish'd Rake, and Fortune-hunting Beau.
A Pair unhappy, parted by Consent,
And freed without an Act of Parliament.
T'obtain your Smiles with comic Scenes we try:
'Tis wholefomer to laugh, than 'tis to cry.
What tho' they tell us Griefs, and Pains, and Cares
Oppress with Loads of Woe the hoary Hairs:
Those come too foon, how long foe'er they stay.
Indulge the present Hour, and laugh to-day ;
Our Years excufe us, 'tis our Time to play.
Occafion'd by the Death of Sir Godfrey Kneller.
Las! to this we come- Why, why is Life
Thus led in Care, and Toil, and Pain, and [Strife?
A falfely studied, a mistaken Thing,
That in its Folly, with a Moment's Wing,
Breaks like the Bubble of the filver Spring!
So is the Hoard of Knowledge render'd vain,
So end the Labours of the busy Brain.
For this we fit up late, and early rise,
For this we tire the Hand, and dim the Eyes:
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