Sick Minds, like Bodies in a Feaver spent,
Turn Food to the Disease, not Nourishment.
Sometimes he ftole abroad, and fhrinking food,
Under the shelter of the friendly Wood;
Cafting his envious Eyes towards thofe Plains
Where with crown'd Joys, his mighty Rival Reigns..
He faw th' obeying Herd marching along,
And weigh'd his Rival's Greatness by the Throng.
Want takes false Measures, both of Power and Joys,
And envy'd Greatness is but Crowd and Noife.
Not able to endure this hated Sight,
Back to the Shades he flies to feek out Night.
Like Exiles from their native Soils, though fent
To better Countreys, think it Banishment.
Here he enjoy'd, what t'other could have there,
The Woods as fhady, and the Streams as clear,
The Paftures more untainted where he fed,
And every Night, chofe out an unpreft Bed.
But then his lab'ring Soul with Dreams was preft,
And found the greatest Weariness in Rest;
His dreadful Rival in his fleep appears,
And in his Dreams again, he fights, and fears:
Shrinks at the ftroaks of t'other's mighty Head,
Feels every wound, and dreams how faft he fled.
At this he wakes, and with his fearful Eyes
Salutes the Light, that fleet the Eastern Skies.
Still half amaz'd, looks round, and held by fear,
Scarce can believe, no Enemy was near.
But when he faw his heedlefs Fears were brought,
Not by a Subftance, but a drowfie Thought,
His ample fides he thakes, from whence the Dew
In scatter'd fhowers, like driven Tempefts flew.
At which, through all his Breaft new boldness spread,
And with his Courage, rais'd his mighty Head,
Then by his Love infpir'd, refolves to try
The Combat now, and overcome, or die.
Every weak Paffion fometimes is above
The fear of Death, much more the nobleft Love
By Hope 'tis fcorn'd, and by Despair 'tis sought,
Purfu'd by Honour, and by Sorrow brought.
Refolv'd the Paths of danger now to tread,
From his fcorn'd shelter, and his fears, he filed.
With a brave hafte now seeks a second Fight,
Redeems the base one by a noble flight.
In the mean time, the Conqueror injoy'd
That Power by which he was to be destroy'd.
How hard 'tis for the Profperous to fee,
That Fate which waits on Power, and Victory!
Thus he fecurely Reign'd, when in a Rout,
He saw th' affrighted Herd flying about;
As if fome Huntsmen did their Chase pursue,
About themselves in scatter'd Rings they flew.
He like a careful Monarch, rais'd his Head,
To fee what Cause that strange disturbance bred.
But when the fearcht-out Cause appear'd no more
Than from a Slave, he had o'ercome before,
A bold Difdain did in his Looks appear,
And shook his aweful Head to chide their Fear.
The Herd afraid of Friend and Enemy,
Shrink from the one, and from the other Fly;
They scarce know which they should obey, or truft,
Since Fortune only makes it safe and just.
Yet in defpight of all his Pride, he staid,
And this unlookt for Chance with trouble weigh'd... His Rage, and his Contempt alike, swell'd high, And only fear'd his Enemy fhould Fly;
He thought of former Conqueft, and from thence Cozen'd himself into a Confidence.
T'other that faw his Conqueror fo near, Stood ftill and liftned to a whifp'ring fear; From whence he heard his Conqueft, and his shame; But new-born Hopes his antient Fears o'ercame. The mighty Enemies now meet at length, With equal Fury, though not equal Strength; For now, too late, the Conqueror did find, That all was wafted in him but his Mind.
His Courage in his Weakness yet prevails,.
As a bold Pilot fteers with tatter'd Sails;
And Cordage crackt, directs no steddy Course,
Carry'd by Resolution, more than Force.
Before his once scorn'd Enemy he reels,
His Wounds encreasing with his Shame, he feels.
The others ftrength, more from his weakness grows,
And with one furious push, his Rival throws.
So a tall Oak, the Pride of all the Wood,
That long th' Affault of feveral Storms had ftood;
Till by a mighty Blaft more pow'rfully pusht,
His Root's torn up, and to the Earth he rufht.
Yet then he rais'd his Head, on which there grew Once, all his Power, and all his Title too ; Unable now to rife, and lefs to fight,
He rais'd those Scepters to demand his Right:
But fuch weak Arguments prevail with none,
To plead their Titles, when their Power is gone.
His Head now finks, and with it all defence,
Not only robb'd of Power, but Pretence.
Wounds upon Wounds the Conqueror ftill gives,
And thinks himself unfafe, while t'other lives:
Unhappy State of fuch as wear a Crown,
Fortune can never lay 'em gently down.
Now to the most scorn'd Remedy he flys,'
And for fome pity feems to move his Eyes;
Pity, by which the beft of virtue's 'try'd,
To wretched Princes ever is deny'd.
There is a Debt to Fortune, which they pay
For all their Greatnefs, by no Common way.
The flatt'ring Troops unto the Victor fly,
And own his Title to his Victory ;
The faith of moft, with Fortune does decline,
Duty's but Fear, and Conscience but Design.
The Victor now, proud in his great Succefs,
Haftes to enjoy his fatal Happiness ;
Forgot his mighty Rival, was destroy'd
By that, which he fo fondly now enjoy'd
In Paffions thus Nature her felf enjoys, Sometimes preferves, and then again destroys ; Yet all deftruction which Revenge can move, Time or Ambition, is fupply'd by Love.
Ranging the Plain one Summer's Night,
To pafs a vacant Hour,
I fortunately chanc'd to light
On lovely Phillis Bow'r :
The Nymph, adorn'd with thousand Charms,
In Expectation fate,
To meet thofe Joys in Strephon's Arms,
Which Tongue cannot relate.
Upon her Hand the lean'd her Head,
Her Breaft did gently rife;
That ev'ry Lover might have read
Her Withes in her Eyes.
At ev'ry Breath that moy'd the Trees,
She fuddenly would start;
A Cold on all her Body feiz'd,
A trembling on her Heart.
But he that knew how well the lov'd,
Beyond his Hour had ftay'd;
And both with Fear and Anger mov'd
The melancholy Maid.
Ye Gods, the faid, how oft he swore
He would be here by One;
But now, alas! 'tis Six and more,
And yet he is not come
HE Night her blackeft Sables wore,
And gloomy were the Skies;
And glitt'ring Stars there were no more,
Than those in Stella's Eyes:
When at her Father's Gate I knock'd,
Where I had often been ;
And throwded only with her Smock,
The fair one let me in.
Faft lock'd within her close Embrace, She trembling lay asham'd;
Her fwelling Breaft, and glowing Face, And every touch enflam'd.
My eager Paffion I obey'd,
Refolv'd the Fort to win;
And her fond Heart was foon betray'd, To yield and let me in.
Then! then! beyond expreffing,
Immortal was the Joy;
I knew no greater Bleffing,
So great a God was I.
And the transported with Delight,
Oft pray'd me come again;
And kindly vow'd, that every Night
She'd rife and let me in.
But, oh! at laft the prov'd with Bern,
And fighing fate, and dull;
And I that was as much concern'd
Look'd then just like a Fool.
Her lovely Eyes with Tears run o'er,
Repenting her rash Sin;
She figh'd, and curs'd the fatal Hour
That e'er the let me in,
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