1792- • • poetry. ^59 



I would be rich, but see men too unkind. 



Dig in the bowels of the richest mine: 



I would be wise, but that I often see 



The fox suspected, whilst the afs goes free: 



I would be fair, but see the fair and pioud, 



Like the bright sun, oft setting in a cloud : 



I would be poor, but know the humble grafs 



Sci!! trampled on by each unworthy afs : 



Rich hated : wise su5pected : scorn'd if poor : 



Great fear'd : fair tempted : high still envy'd more r 



I have wiA'd all ; but now I wifli for neither; 



Great, high, rich, wise nor fair; poor I'll be rather. 



Would tlie world now adopt me for her heir ; 



Would Beauty's Qo^een entitle me " The Fair;" 



Fame speak me Fortune's minion; could I vie 



Angeh with InJia; with a speaking eye 



Command bare heade, bow'd knees, strike justice dumb. 



As well as bhnd and la,rj«, or give a torgue 



To stones by epitnphs, be call'd great Master 



In the loose rliimcs of ev'ry poetaster ; 



Coul d I l)e more than any man that lives. 



Great, fair, rich, wise, ail in superlatives : 



Yet I more freely wDxiId these gifts resign, 



Tliau ever fortune would have made them mine. 



And huld one minute of this holy leisure 



Beyond the riches of this empty pleasure. 



Wekoine puie thoughts ! welcome ys silent groves ! 



These guests, these courts, my soul most dearly loves s 



Now the win^'d people of the Iky ihall sing 



My chearful anthems to the ghidsome spring ; 



A prayer-book now fliall be my loo.king-glafs, " 



111 which I will adore sweet virtue's f.;te. 



Here dwell ro I'.atcful looks, no palace-cares. 



No broken vo\ts dwell here, nor p.-ilc-fac'd feirs ; 



Th'.-n here I'll sit, and sigh my hot love's folly. 



And learn t' atTect an holy melancholy ; 



And if Conrentment be a stranger then, 



I'll ne'er look for it, but in Heaven agiin. 



Sir H. Wotton. 



VERSES TO HOPE. 



CizMSTiAL cl ild, fair Hope ! descend, 

 And dwell wi.hin my humble bow'r, 



With hcav'nly blifs, my soul defend, 

 In ev'ry da;k desponding hour. 



Far sweeter tjnn the budding ros:. 



Or fragrant smelling jefsamir.e, 

 From leiv'n to me thy s.vieis disclose, 



Oh fj»:d, d^ar Hop: ! ;i)y pow'r divine . M 



