VI.

With which in character the same,

Though in an humbler sphere it lies,
I count that soul of human fame,
The suffrage of the good and wise.

ODE VI.

TO WILLIAM HALL, ESQUIRE; WITH THE WORKS OF CHAULIEU.

I.

ATTEND to Chaulieu's wanton lyre;

While, fluent as the sky-lark sings
When first the morn allures its wings,
The epicure his theme pursues:
And tell me if, among the choir
Whose music charms the banks of Seine.
So full, so free, so rich a strain
E'er dictated the warbling Muse.

II.

Yet, Hall, while thy judicious ear
Admires the well-dissembled art
That can such harmony impart
To the lame pace of Gallic rhymes;
While wit from affectation clear,
Bright images, and passions true,
Recall to thy assenting view

The envied bards of nobler times;

III.

Say, is not oft his doctrine wrong?
This priest of Pleasure, who aspires
To lead us to her sacred fires,

Knows he the ritual of her shrine?
Say (her sweet influence to thy song
So may the goddess still afford)
Doth she consent to be ador'd

With shameless love and frantic wine?

IV.

Nor Cato nor Chrysippus here
Need we in high indignant phrase
From their Elysian quiet raise;
But Pleasure's oracle alone
Consult; attentive, not severe.

O Pleasure, we blaspheme not thee;
Nor emulate the rigid knee

Which bends but at the Stoic throne.

V.

We own had fate to man assign'd

Nor sense, nor wish but what obey
Or Venus soft or Bacchus gay,

Then might our bard's voluptuous creed
Most haply govern human kind;
Unless perchance what he hath sung
Of tortur'd joints and nerves unstrung,
Some wrangling heretic should plead.

VI.

But now with all these proud desires For dauntless truth and honest fame;

With that strong master of our frame,
The inexorable judge within,
What can be done? Alas, ye fires
Of love; alas, ye rosy smiles,
Ye nectar'd cups from happier soils!
Ye have no bribe his grace to win.

ODE VII.

Puidaric

TO THE RIGHT REVEREND BENJAMIN LO
LORD BISHOP OF

Hraday!

WINCHESTER. 1754.18

I. 1.

FOR toils which patriots have endur'd,
For treason quell'd and laws secur'd,
In every nation Time displays
The palm of honourable praise.
Envy may rail, and Faction fierce
May strive; but what, alas! can those
(Though bold, yet blind and sordid foes)
To Gratitude and Love oppose,
To faithful story and persuasive verse?

I. 2.

O nurse of freedom, Albion, say, Thou tamer of despotic sway, What man, among thy sons around, Thus heir to glory hast thou found? What page, in all thy annals bright, Hast thou with purer joy survey'd Than that where truth, by Hoadly's aid, Shines through imposture's solemn shade, Through kingly and through sacerdotal night?

I. 3.

To him the Teacher bless'd,

Who sent religion, from the palmy field

By Jordan, like the morn to cheer the west, And lifted up the veil which heaven from earth conceal'd,

To Hoadly thus his mandate he address'd:
"Go thou, and rescue my dishonour'd law
From hands rapacious and from tongues im-

pure:

Let not my peaceful name be made a lure
Fell persecution's mortal snares to aid:
Let not my words be impious chains to draw
The freeborn soul in more than brutal awe,
To faith without assent, allegiance unrepaid."

II. 1.

No cold or unperforming hand

Was arm'd by Heaven with this command.
The world soon felt it; and, on high,
To William's ear with welcome joy
Did Locke among the blest unfold
The rising hope of Hoadly's name;
Godolphin then confirm'd the fame;
And Somers, when from earth he came,
And generous Stanhope the fair sequel told.

II. 2.

Then drew the lawgivers around,
(Sires of the Grecian name renown'd)
And listening ask'd, and wondering knew,
What private force could thus subdue

BOOK II.

The vulgar and the great combin'd;
Could war with sacred folly wage;

Could a whole nation disengage

From the dread bonds of many an age, And to new habits mould the public mind.

II. 3.

For not a conqueror's sword,

Nor the strong powers to civil founders known, Were his; but truth by faithful search explor'd, And social sense, like seed, in genial plenty sown. Wherever it took root, the soul (restor❜d To freedom) freedom too for others sought. Not monkish craft the tyrant's claim divine, Not regal zeal the bigot's cruel shrine, Could longer guard from reason's warfare sage; Not the wild rabble to sedition wrought, Nor synods by the papal Genius taught, Nor St. John's spirit loose, nor Atterbury's rage.

III. 1.

But where shall recompense be found? Or how such arduous merit crown'd? For look on life's laborious scene: What rugged spaces lie between Adventurous Virtue's early toils And her triumphal throne! The shade Of death, meantime, does oft invade Her progress; nor, to us display'd, Wears the bright heroine her expected spoils.