Chapter 387

Go call a coach, and let a coach be called, And let the man who calleth be the caller; And in his calling let him nothing call But Coach! Coach! Coach! O for a coach, ye gods!

ISAAC WATTS. 1674-1748.

DIVINE SONGS.

To God the Father, God the Son, And God the Spirit, three in one, Be honor, praise, and glory given, By all on earth, and all in heaven.

* * * * *

Hush! my dear, lie still and slumber Holy angels guard thy bed! Heavenly blessings without number Gently falling on thy head.

* * * * *

Let dogs delight to bark and bite, For God hath made them so; Let bears and lions growl and fight. For 'tis their nature too.

* * * * *

How doth the little busy bee Improve each shining hour, And gather honey all the day, From every opening flower.

* * * * *

Hark! from the tombs a doleful sound. 'Tis the voice of the sluggard, I heard him complain, "You have waked me too soon, I must slumber again."

SIR SAMUEL TUKE. --1673.

_Adventures of Five Hours_. Act v. Sc. 3.

He is a fool who thinks by force or skill To turn the current of a woman's will.

* * * * *

AARON HILL 1685-1750.

_Epilogue to Zara_.

First, then, a woman will, or won't--depend on 't; If she will do 't, she will; and there's an end on 't. But, if she won't, since safe and sound your trust is, Fear is affront: and jealousy injustice.[17]

* * * * *

_Verses Written on a Window in Scotland_.

Tender-handed stroke a nettle, And it stings you for your pains; Grasp it like a man of mettle, And it soft as silk remains.

[Note 17: The following lines are copied from the pillar erected on the mount in the Dane John Field, Canterbury: "Where is the man who has the power and skill To stem the torrent of a woman's will? For if she will, she will, you may depend on 't; And if she won't, she won't; so there's an end on't."]

'Tis the same with common natures: Use 'em kindly, they rebel; But be rough as nutmeg-graters, And the rogues obey you well.

* * * * *

RICHARD SAVAGE. 1698-1743.

_The Bastard_. Line 7.

He lives to build, not boast a generous race: No tenth transmitter of a foolish face.

* * * * *

JAMES THOMSON. 1700-1748. THE SEASONS.

_Spring_. Line 283.

Base envy withers at another's joy, And hates that excellence it cannot reach.

Line 465.

But who can paint Like Nature? Can imagination boast, Amid its gay creation, hues like hers?

Line 1149.

Delightful task! to rear the tender thought,-- To teach the young idea how to shoot,--

Line 1158.

An elegant sufficiency, content, Retirement, rural quiet, friendship, books. Ease and alternate labor, useful life, Progressive virtue, and approving Heaven!

* * * * *

_Summer_. Line 1188.

Sighed and looked unutterable things.

Line 1285.

A lucky chance, that oft decides the fate Of mighty monarchs.

Line 1346.

So stands the statue that enchants the world.

* * * * *

_Autumn_. Line 204.

Loveliness Needs not the foreign aid of ornament, But is when unadorned, adorned the most.

Line 283.

For still the world prevailed, and its dread laugh, Which scarce the firm philosopher can scorn.

* * * * *

_Winter_. Line 393.

Cruel as death, and hungry as the grave.

* * * * *

_Hymn_. Line 25.

Shade, unperceived, so softening into shade.

Line 114.

From seeming evil still educing good.

Line 118.

Come then, expressive silence, muse his praise.

* * * * *

_Castle of Indolence_. Canto i. St. 69.

A little round, fat, oily man of God.

* * * * *

_Alfred_. Act ii. Sc. 5.

Rule Britannia, Britannia rules the waves; Britons never will be slaves.

* * * * *

_Song, "Forever, Fortune."_

Forever, Fortune, wilt thou prove An unrelenting foe to love; And, when we meet a mutual heart, Step rudely in, and bid us part?

* * * * *

_Sophonisba_. Act iii. Sc. 2.

O Sophonisba! Sophonisba, O![18]

[Note 18: This line was altered, after the second edition, to "O Sophonisba! I am wholly thine."]

* * * * *

JOHN DYER. 1700-1758.

_Grongar Hill_. Line 163.

Ever charming, ever new, When will the landscape tire the view.

Line 123.

As yon summits soft and fair, Clad in colors of the air, Which to those who journey near Barren, brown, and rough appear.

* * * * *

PHILIP DODDRIDGE. 1702-1751.

_Epigram on his Family Arms_.

Live while you live, the epicure would say, And seize the pleasures of the present day; Live while you live, the sacred preacher cries, And give to God each moment as it flies. Lord, in my views let both united be; I live in pleasure, when I live to thee.

* * * * *

ROBERT DODSLEY 1703-1764.

_The Parting Kiss_.

One kind kiss before we part, Drop a tear and bid adieu; Though we sever, my fond heart Till we meet shall pant for you.

* * * * *

SAMUEL JOHNSON. 1709-1784.

_Prologue on the Opening of Drury Lane Theatre_.

Each exchange of many-colored life he drew, Exhausted worlds, and then imagined new, And panting time toiled after him in vain.

* * * * *

For we that live to please must please to live.

* * * * *

_Vanity of Human Wishes_.

Line 1.

Let observation with extensive view Survey mankind, from China to Peru.[19]

[Note 19: The Universal Love of Pleasure, line 1: "All human race, from China to Peru, Pleasure, however disguised by art, pursue." _Rev. Thos. Warton_.]

Line 159.

There mark what ills the scholar's life assail-- Toil, envy, want, the patron, and the jail.

Line 221.

He left the name, at which the world grew pale, To point a moral, or adorn a tale.

Line 257.

Hides from himself his state, and shuns to know That life protracted is protracted woe.

Line 306.

Superfluous lags the veteran on the stage.

Line 318.

And Swift expires, a driveller and a show.

Line 346.

Roll darkling down the torrent of his fate.

_London_. Line 166.

Of all the griefs that harass the distressed, Sure the most bitter is a scornful jest.

Line 176.

This mournful truth is everywhere confessed, Slow rises worth by poverty depressed.

* * * * *

_Lines added to Goldsmith's Traveller_.

How small, of all that human hearts endure, That part which laws or kings can cause or cure! Still to ourselves in every place consigned, Our own felicity we make or find. With secret course, which no loud storms annoy, Glides the smooth current of domestic joy.

* * * * *

_Line added to Goldsmith's Deserted Village_.

Trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay.

* * * * *

_From Dr. Madden's_ "_Boulter's Monument_."

_Supposed to have been inserted by Dr. Johnson_. 1745.

Words are men's daughters, but God's sons are things.

_Basselas_. Chapter i.

Ye who listen with credulity to the whispers of fancy, and pursue with eagerness the phantoms of hope; who expect that age will perform the promises of youth, and that the deficiencies of the present day will be supplied by the morrow; attend to the history of Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia.

* * * * *

_Epitaph on Robert Levett_.

In Misery's darkest cavern known, His useful care was ever nigh, Where hopeless Anguish poured his groan, And lonely Want retired to die.

* * * * *

_Epitaph on Claudius Phillips, the Musician_.

Phillips, whose touch harmonious could remove The pangs of guilty power or hapless love; Rest here, distressed by poverty no more, Here find that calm thou gav'st so oft before; Sleep, undisturbed, within this peaceful shrine, Till angels wake thee with a note like thine.

* * * * *

LORD LYTTELTON 1709-1773.

_Prologue to Thomson's Coriolanus_.

For his chaste Muse employed her heaven-taught lyre None but the noblest passions to inspire, Not one immoral, one corrupted thought, One line, which dying he could wish to blot.

_Epigram_.

None without hope e'er loved the brightest fair, But love can hope where reason would despair.

* * * * *

_Soliloquy on a Beauty in the Country_.

Where none admire, 'tis useless to excel; Where none are beaux, 'tis vain to be a belle.

* * * * *

_Song_.

Alas! by some degree of woe We every bliss must gain; The heart can ne'er a transport know, That never feels a pain.

* * * * *

EDWARD MOORE. 1712-1757.

_Fable IX. The Farmer, the Spaniel, and the Cat_.

Can't I another's face commend, And to her virtues be a friend, But instantly your forehead lowers, As if _her_ merit lessened _yours_?

_Fable X. The Spider and the Bee_.

The maid who modestly conceals Her beauties, while she hides, reveals; Give but a glimpse, and fancy draws Whate'er the Grecian Venus was.

* * * * *

But from the hoop's bewitching round, Her very shoe has power to wound.

* * * * *

_The Happy Marriage_.

Time still, as he flies, adds increase to her truth, And gives to her mind what he steals from her youth.

* * * * *

_The Gamester_. Act iii. Sc. 4.

'Tis now the summer of your youth: time has not cropt the roses from your cheek, though sorrow long has washed them.

* * * * *

WILLIAM SHENSTONE. 1714-1763.

_Written on the Window of an Inn_.

Whoe'er has traveled life's dull round, Where'er his stages may have been, May sigh to think he still has found His warmest welcome at an inn.

_Jemmy Dawson_.

For seldom shall you hear a tale So sad, so tender, and so true.

* * * * *

_The Schoolmistress_.

Her cap, far whiter than the driven snow, Emblems right meet of decency does yield.

* * * * *

JOHN BROWN. 1715-1766.

_Barbarossa_. Act. v. Sc. 3.

Now let us thank the Eternal Power: convinced That Heaven but tries our virtue by affliction, That oft the cloud which wraps the present hour Serves but to brighten all our future days.

* * * * *

DAVID GARRICK. 1716-1779.

_Prologue on Quitting the Stage in 1776, 10th of June_.

Their cause I plead--plead it in heart and mind; A fellow-feeling makes one wondrous kind.

_On the Death of Mr. Pelham_.

Let others hail the rising sun: I bow to that whose race is run.

* * * * *

THOMAS GRAY. 1716-1771.

_On a Distant Prospect of Eton College_.

Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade! Ah, fields beloved in vain! Where once my careless childhood strayed, A stranger yet to pain!

* * * * *

Alas! regardless of their doom, The little victims play; No sense have they of ills to come, Nor care beyond to-day.

* * * * *

No more: where ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise.

* * * * *

_Progress of Poesy_.

O'er her warm cheek and rising bosom move The bloom of young Desire, and purple light of Love.

* * * * *

Ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears. Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.

* * * * *

_The Bard_.

Give ample room, and verge enough.

* * * * *

Youth at the prow, and Pleasure at the helm.

* * * * *

_Elegy in a Country Churchyard_.

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.

* * * * *

The short and simple annals of the poor.

* * * * *

The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

* * * * *

Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.

* * * * *

Hands, that the rod of empire might have swayed, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre.

* * * * *

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

* * * * *

Some mute, inglorious Milton here may rest.

And read their history in a nation's eyes.

* * * * *

Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind.

* * * * *

Along the cool, sequestered vale of life They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.

* * * * *

Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.

* * * * *

And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die.

* * * * *

Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind.

* * * * *

E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, E'en in our ashes, live their wonted fires.

* * * * *

A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown.

* * * * *

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere.

* * * * *

He gave to misery (all he had) a tear.

* * * * *

The bosom of his Father and his God.

_Ode on the Pleasure arising from Vicissitude_.

The meanest floweret of the vale, The simplest note that swells the gale, The common sun, the air, the skies, To him are opening paradise.

* * * * *

WILLIAM COLLINS. 1720-1756.

_Ode in 1746_.

How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, By all their country's wishes blessed!

* * * * *

By fairy hands their knell is rung; By forms unseen their dirge is sung; There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay; And Freedom shall awhile repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there.

* * * * *

_The Passions_. Line 1.

When Music, heavenly maid, was young, While yet in early Greece she sung.

Line 10.

Filled with fury, rapt, inspired.

Line 28.

'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild.

Line 60.

In notes by distance made more sweet.

Line 68.

In hollow murmurs died away.

Line 95.

O Music! sphere-descended maid, Friend of pleasure, wisdom's aid!

* * * * *

_Eclogue_ 1. Line 5.

Well may your hearts believe the truths I tell; 'Tis virtue makes the bliss, where'er we dwell.

* * * * *

_Ode on the Death of Thomson_.

In yonder grave a Druid lies.

* * * * *

MARK AKENSIDE. 1721-1770.

_Epistle to Curio_.

The man forget not, though in rags he lies, And know the mortal through a crown's disguise.

* * * * *

NATHANIEL COTTON. 1721-1788.

_The Fireside_. St. 3.

If solid happiness we prize, Within our breast this jewel lies; And they are fools who roam: The world has nothing to bestow; From our own selves our joys must flow, And that dear hut--our home.

St. 13.

Thus hand in hand through life we'll go; Its checkered paths of joy and woe With cautious steps we'll tread.

* * * * *

JOHN HOME. 1722-1808.

_Douglas_. Act i. Sc. 1.

In the first days Of my distracting grief, I found myself As women wish to be who love their lords.