258 THE POEMS or ANNE �To those, which threaten from on High, By him ne'er call'd upon before, Who also will suggest th' impossible Restore? �No; Mammon, to thy Laws he will be true, 170 �And, rather than his Wealth, will bid the World adieu. The Rafters sink, and bury'd with his Coin That Fate does with his living Thoughts combine; For still his Heart's inclos'd within a Golden Mine. �Contention with its angry Brawls By Storms o'er-clamour'd, shrinks and falls; Nor WHIG, nor TORY now the rash Contender calls. Those, who but Vanity allow'd, Nor thought, it reach'd the Name of Sin, To be of their Perfections proud, 180 �Too much adorn'd without, or too much rais'd within, Now find, that even the lightest Things, As the minuter parts of Air, When Number to their Weight addition brings, Can, like the small, but numerous Insects Stings, Can, like th' assembl'd Winds, urge Ruin and Despair. �Thus You've obey'd, you Winds, that must fulfill �The Great disposer's Righteous Will: Thus did your Breath a strict Enquiry make, Thus did you our most secret Sins awake, 190 �And thus chastis'd their 111. �Whilst vainly Those, of a rapacious Mind, �Fields to other Fields had laid, By Force, or by injurious Bargains join'd, With Fences for their Guard impenetrable made ; �The juster Tempest mocks the wrong, �And sweeps, in its directed Flight, �Th' Inclosures of another's Right, ��� �
Page:Poems of Anne Countess of Winchilsea 1903.djvu/396
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