Pastorals Epistles Odes (1748)/From Holland, to a Friend in England, in the Year 1703

by Ambrose Philips

 

From Holland, to a Friend in England,
in the Year 1703.

 

ROM Utrecht's silent walks, by winds, I send
Health and kind wishes to my absent friend.
The winter spent, I feel the poet's fire;
The sun advances, and the fogs retire: 4
The genial spring unbinds the frozen earth,
Dawns on the trees, and gives the primrose birth.
Loos'd from their friendly harbours, once again
Confederate fleets assemble on the main: 8
The voice of war the gallant soldier wakes;
And weeping Cloë parting kisses takes.
On new plum'd wings the Roman eagle soars;
The Belgick lion in full fury roars. 12
Dispatch th e leader from your happy coast,
The hope of Europe, and Britannia's boast:
O Marlborough come! fresh laurels for thee rise!
One conquest more; and Gallia will grow wise. 16
Old Lewis makes his last effort in arms,
And shews how, even in age, ambition charms.

 Meanwhile, my friend, the thick'ning shades I haunt,
And smooth canals, and after rivulets pant: 20
The smooth canals, alas, too lifeless show!
Nor to the eye, nor to the ear, they flow.
Studious of ease, and fond of humble things,
Below the smiles, below the frowns of kings, 24
Thanks to my stars, I prize the sweets of life:
No sleepless nights I count, no days of strife.
Content to live, content to dy, unknown,
Lord of myself, accountable to none; 28
I sleep, I wake, I drink; I sometimes love;
I read, I write; I settle, and I rove,
When, and where-e'er, I please: thus, every hour
Gives some new proof of my despotick power. 32
All, that I will, I can; but then, I will
As reason bids; I meditate no ill;
And, pleas'd with things which in my level ly,
Leave it to madmen o'er the clouds to fly. 36

 But this is all romance, a dream to you,
Who fence and dance, and keep the court in view.
White staffs and truncheons, seals and golden keys,
And silver stars, your tow'ring genius please: 40
Such manly thoughts in ev'ry infant rise,
Who daily for some tinsel trinket cries.

 Go on, and prosper, Sir: but first from me
Learn your own temper; for I know you free. 44
You can be honest; but you cannot bow,
And cringe, beneath a supercilious brow:
You cannot fawn; your stubborn soul recoils
At baseness; and your blood too highly boils. 48
From nature some submissive tempers have;
Unkind to you, she form'd you not a slave.
A courtier must be supple, full of guile,
Must learn to praise, to flatter, to revile, 52
The good, the bad, an enemy, a friend,
To give false hopes, and on false hopes depend.
Go on, and prosper, Sir: but learn to hide
Your upright spirit: 'twill be construed pride. 56
The splendor of a court is all a cheat;
You must be servile, 'e're you can be great.
Besides, your ancient patrimony wasted,
Your youth run out, your schemes of grandeur blasted, 60
You may perhaps retire in discontent,
And curse your patron, for no strange event:
The patron will his innocence protest,
And frown in earnest, though he smil'd in jest. 64

 Man, only from himself, can suffer wrong;
His reason fails, as his desires grow strong:
Hence, wanting ballast, and too full of fail,
He lies expos'd to ev'ry rising gale. 68
From youth to age, for happiness he's bound:
He splits on rocks, or runs his bark a-ground,
Or, wide of land, a desert ocean views,
And, to the last, the flying port pursues, 72
Yet, to the last, the port he does not gain,
And dying finds, too late, he liv'd in vain.