Complete Works of William Congreve
Page 14
Who sings of ANNA’ s Name.
The Lyre is struck! the Sounds I hear!
O Muse, propitious to my Pray’r!
O well known Sounds! O Melody, the same
That kindled Mantuan Fire, and rais’d Mæonian Flame! 35
II.
Nor are these Sounds to British Bards unknown,
Or sparingly reveal’d to one alone:
Witness sweet Spencer’s Lays:
And witness that Immortal Song,
As Spencer sweet, as Milton strong, 40
Which humble Boyn o’er Tiber’s Flood cou’d raise,
And mighty William Sing, with well-proportion’d Praise.
III.
Rise, Fair Augusta, lift thy Head,
With Golden Tow’rs thy Front adorn;
Come forth, as comes from Tithon’s Bed 45
With chearful Ray the ruddy Morn.
Thy lovely Form, and fresh reviving State,
In Crystal Flood of Thames survey;
Then, bless thy better Fate,
Bless ANNA’s most Auspicious Sway. 50
While distant Realms and neighb’ring Lands,
Arm’d Troops and hostile Bands
On ev’ry Side molest,
Thy happier Clime is Free,
Fair CAPITA L of Liberty! 55
And Plenty knows, and Days of Halcyon Rest.
I.
As Britain’s Isle, when old vex’d Ocean roars,
Unshaken sees against her Silver Shoars
His foaming Billows beat;
So Britain’s QUEEN, amidst the Jars 60
And Tumults of a World in Wars,
Fix’d on the Base of Her well-founded State,
Serene and safe looks down, nor feels the Shocks of Fate.
II.
But Greatest Souls, tho’ blest with sweet Repose,
Are soonest touch’d with Sense of others Woes. 65
Thus ANNA’s mighty Mind,
To Mercy and soft Pity prone,
And mov’d with Sorrows not her own,
Has all her Peace and downy Rest resign’d,
To wake for Common Good, and succour Human-kind. 70
III.
Fly, Tyranny, no more be known
Within Europa’s blissful Bound;
Far as th’unhabitable Zone
Fly ev’ry hospitable Ground.
To horrid Zembla’s Frozen Realms repair, 75
There with the baleful Beldam, NIGHT,
Unpeopl’d Empire share,
And rob those Lands of Legal Right.
For now is come the promis’d Hour,
When Justice shall have Pow’r; 80
Justice to Earth restor’d!
Again Astrea Reigns!
ANNA Her equal Scale maintains,
And MARLBRÔ weilds Her sure deciding Sword.
I.
Now, coud’st thou soar, my Muse, to Sing the MAN 85
In Heights sublime, as when the Mantuan Swan
Her tow’ring Pinions spread;
Thou should’st of MARLBRÔ Sing, whose Hand
Unerring from his QUEEN’s Command,
go Far as the Seven-mouth’d Ister’s secret Head,
To save th’Imperial State, Her hardy Britons led.
II.
Nor there thy Song should end; tho’ all the Nine
Might well their Harps and Heav’nly Voices join
To Sing that Glorious Day,
When Bold Bavaria fled the Field, 95
And Veteran Gauls unus’d to yield,
On Blenheim’s, Plain imploring Mercy lay;
And Spoils and Trophies won, perplex’d the Victors way.
III.
But cou’d thy Voice of Blenheim Sing,
And with Success that Song pursue; 100
What Art cou’d Aid thy weary Wing
To keep the Victor still in view?
For as the Sun ne’er stops his radiant Flight,
Nor Sets, but with impartial Ray
To all who want his Light 105
Alternately transfers the Day:
So in the Glorious Round of Fame,
Great MARLBRÔ, still the same,
Incessant runs his Course;
To Climes remote, and near, 110
His Conqu’ring Arms by turns appear,
And Universal is his Aid and Force.
I.
Attempt not to proceed, unwary Muse,
For O! what Notes, what Numbers cou’dst thou chuse,
Tho’ in all Numbers skill’d; 115
To Sing the Hero’s matchless Deed,
Which Belgia Sav’d, and Brabant Free’d;
To Sing Ramillia’s Day! to which must yield
Cannæ’s Illustrious Fight, and Fam’d Pharsalia’s Field.
II.
In the short Course of a Diurnal Sun, 120
Behold the Work of many Ages done!
What Verse such Worth can Raise?
Lustre and Life, the Poet’s Art
To middle Virtue may impart;
But Deeds sublime, exalted high like These, 125
Transcend his utmost Flight; and mock his distant Praise.
III.
Still wou’d the willing Muse aspire,
With Transport still her Strains prolong;
But Fear unstrings the trembling Lyre,
And Admiration stops her Song. 130
Go on, Great Chief, in ANNA’s Cause proceed;
Nor sheath the Terrors of thy Sword,
‘Till Europe thou hast freed,
And Universal Peace restor’d.
This mighty Work when thou shalt End, 135
Equal Rewards attend,
Of Value far above
Thy Trophies and thy Spoils;
Rewards even Worthy of thy Toils,
Thy QUEEN’s just Favour, and thy COUNTRY’S Love. 140
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE EARL OF GODOLPHIN
Lord HIGH-T REASURER of
GREAT BRITAIN.
PINDARIQUE ODE.
Quetmvis media erue turba:
Aut ob avaritiam, aut misera ambitione laborat.
Hunc capit argenti splendor
Hic mutât merces surgente a sole, ad eum quo
Vespertina tepet regio: quin per mala præceps
Fertur
Omnes hi metuunt versus, odere poetas.
Hor. Sat. 4. L. 1.
ODE.
I.
TO hazardous Attempts and hardy Toils,
Ambition some excites;
And some, Desire of Martial Spoils
To bloody Fields invites;
Others, insatiate Thirst of Gain, 5
Provokes to tempt the dangerous Main,
To pass the burning Line, and bear
Th’Inclemency of Winds, and Seas, and Air;
Pressing the doubtful Voy’ge ‘till INDIA’S Shore
Her spicy Bosom bares, and spreads her shining Ore. 10
II.
Nor Widows Tears, nor tender Orphans Cries,
Can stop th’Invader’s Force;
Nor swelling Seas, nor threatning Skies,
Prevent the Pirate’s Course:
Their Lives to selfish Ends decreed, 15
Thro’ Blood or Rapine they proceed;
No anxious Thoughts of ill Repute,
Suspend th’impetuous and unjust Pursuit:
But Pow’r and Wealth obtain’d, guilty and great,
Their Fellow-Creatures Fears they raise, or urge their Hate. 20
IIl.
But not for these, his Iv’ry Lyre
Will tuneful Phoebus string,
Nor Polyhymnia crown’d amid the Choir,
Th’immortal Epode sing.
Thy Springs, Castalia, turn their Streams aside 25
From Rapine, Avarice, and Pride;
Nor do thy Greens, shady Aonia, grow,
To bind with Wreaths a Tyrant’s Brow.
I.
How just, mo
st mighty Jove, yet how severe
Is thy supreme Decree, 30
That impious Men shall joyless hear
The Muses Harmony!
Their sacred Songs, (the Recompence
Of Virtue, and of Innocence)
Which pious Minds to Rapture raise, 35
And worthy Deeds, at once excite and praise,
To guilty Hearts afford no kind Relief;
But add inflaming Rage, and more afflicting Grief.
II.
Monstrous Typhœus, thus, new Terrors fill,
He, who assail’d the Skies, 40
And now, beneath the burning Hill
Of dreadful Ætna lyes.
Hearing the Lyre’s Celestial Sound,
He bellows in th’Abyss profound;
Sicilia trembles at his Roar, 45
Tremble the Seas, and far Campania’s Shoar;
While all his hundred Mouths, at once expire
Volumes of curling Smoke, and Floods of liquid Fire.
III.
From Heav’n alone, all Good proceeds;
To heav’nly Minds belong 50
All Pow’r and Love, GODOLPHIN, of good Deeds,
And Sense of Sacred Song!
And thus, most pleasing are the Muse’s Lays
To them who merit most her Praise;
Wherefore, for thee, her Iv’ry Lyre she strings, 55
And soars with Rapture while she sings.
I.
Whether, Affairs of most important Weight
Require thy aiding Hand,
And ANNA’s Cause and Europe’s Fate
Thy serious Thoughts demand; 60
Whether, thy Days and Nights are spent
In Cares, on Publick Good intent;
Or, whether, leisure Hours invite
To manly Sports, or to refin’d Delight;
In Courts residing, or to Plains retir’d, 65
Where gen’rous Steeds contest, with Emulation fir’d;
II.
Thee still she seeks, and tuneful sings thy Name,
As once she Theron sung,
While with the deathless Worthy’s Fame
Olympian Pisa rung: 70
Nor less Sublime, is now, her Choice,
Nor less inspir’d by thee, her Voice.
And now, she loves aloft to sound
The Man for more than Mortal Deeds renown’d;
Vary’ing anon her Theme, she takes Delight 75
The swift-heel’d Horse to praise, and sing his rapid Flight.
Ill.
And see! the Air-born Racers start,
Impatient of the Rein;
Faster they run, than flies the Scythian Dart,
Nor passing, print the Plain! 80
The Winds themselves who with their Swiftness vye,
In vain their airy Pinions ply;
So far in matchless Speed, thy Coursers pass
Th’Ætherial Authors of their Race.
I.
And now, a while, the well-strain’d Coursers breath; 85
And now, my Muse, prepare
Of 901ive Leaves a twisted Wreath
To bind the Victor’s Hair.
Pallas, in care of Human-kind,
The fruitful Olive first design’d; 90
Deep in the Glebe her Spear she lanc’d,
When all at once, the laden Boughs advanc’d:
The Gods with Wonder view’d the teeming Earth,
And all with one Consent, approv’d the beauteous Birth.
II.
This done, Earth-shaking Neptune next essay’d, 95
In Bounty to the World,
To emulate the blue-ey’d Maid;
And his huge Trident hurl’d
Against the sounding Beach; the Stroke
Transfix’d the Globe, and open broke 100
The Central Earth, whence, swift as Light
Forth rush’d the first-born Horse. Stupendous Sight!
Neptune, for human Good the Beast ordains,
Whom soon he tam’d to Use, and taught to hear the Reins.
III.
Thus Gods contended, (noble Strife! 105
Worthy the heav’nly Mind)
Who most should do to soften anxious Life,
And most endear Mankind.
Thus, thou GODOLPHIN, dost with MARLBRO strive,
From whose joint Toils we Rest derive: 110
Triumph in Wars abroad his Arm assures,
Sweet Peace at home thy Care secures.
IMPOSSIBLE THING.
A TALE.
TO thee, Dear Dick, this Tale I send,
Both as a Critick and a Friend.
I tell it with some Variation
(Not altogether a Translation)
From La Fontaine; an Author, Dick, 5
Whose Muse would touch thee to the quick.
The Subject is of that same kind,
To which thy Heart seems most inclin’d:
How Verse may alter it, God knows,
Thou lov’st it well, I’m sure, in Prose. 10
So, without Preface, or Pretence,
To hold thee longer in Suspence,
I shall proceed, as I am able,
To the Recital of my Fable.
A GOBLIN of the merry Kind, 15
More black of Hue, than curst of Mind,
To help a Lover in Distress,
Contriv’d a Charm with such Success;
That in short Space the cruel Dame
Relented, and return’d his Flame. 20
The Bargain made betwixt ’em both,
Was bound by Honour and by Oath:
The Lover laid down his Salvation,
And Satan stak’d his Reputation.
The Latter promis’d on his Part 25
(To serve his Friend and shew his Art,)
That Madam shou’d by twelve a Clock,
Tho’ hitherto as hard as Rock,
Become as gentle as a Glove,
And kiss and coo like any Dove. 30
In short, the Woman should be his,
That is, upon Condition — Viz:
That He, the Lover, after tasting
What one wou’d wish were everlasting;
Should, in Return for such Enjoyment, 35
Supply the Fiend with fresh Employment:
That’s all, quoth Pug: my poor Request
Is, only never to have Rest;
You thought, ’tis like, with Reason too,
That I should have been serv’d, not You: 40
But what? upon my Friend impose!
No — tho’ a Devil, none of those.
Your Business then, pray understand me,
Is nothing more but to Command me.
Of one thing only let me warn ye, 45
Which somewhat nearly may concern ye:
As soon as e’er one Work is done,
Strait name a new one; and so on;
Let each to other quick succeed,
Or else — you know how ’tis agreed — 50
For if thro’ any Hums or Haws
There haps an intervening Pause,
In which, for Want of fresh Commands,
Your Slave obsequious, Idle stands,
Nor Soul nor Body ever more 55
Shall serve the Nymph whom you adore;
But both be laid at Satan’s Feet,
To be dispos’d as he thinks meet.
At once the Lover all approves:
For who can hesitate that loves? 60
And thus he argues in his Thought:
Why, after all, I venture nought;
What Mystery is in Commanding?
Does that require Much Understanding?
Indeed, wer’t my Part to Obey, 65
He’d go the better of the Lay:
But he must do what I think fit —
Pshaw, pshaw, young Belzebub is bit.
Thus pleas’d in Mind, he calls a Chair,
Adjusts, and combs, and courts the Fair: 70
The Spell takes Place, and all goes right,
And happy he employs the Night
In sweet Embraces, balmy Kisses;
And riots in the Bliss of Blisses.
O Joy, cry’d he, that hast no Equal! 75
But hold — no Raptures — mark the Sequel.
For now, when near the Morning’s Dawn,
The Youth began as ‘twere to yawn;
His Eyes a silky Slumber seiz’d,
Or would have done, if Pug had pleas’d: 80
But that officious Demon, near,
Now buzz’d for Business in his Ear;
In Haste, he names a thousand things:
The Goblin plys his wicker Wings,
And in a Trice returns to ask 85
Another and another Task.
Now, Palaces are built and Tow’rs,
The Work of Ages in few Hours.
Then, Storms are in an Instant rais’d,
Which the next Moment are appeas’d. 90
Now Show’rs of Gold and Gems are rain’d,
As if each India had been drain’d:
And He, in one astonish’d View,
Sees both Golconda and Peru.
These Things, and stranger Things than these, 95
Were done with equal Speed and Ease.
And now to Rome poor Pug he’ll send:
And Pug soon reach’d his Journey’s End,
And soon return’d with such a Pack
Of Bulls and Pardons at his Back, 100
That now, the Squire (who had some Hope
In holy Water and the Pope,)
Was out of Heart, and at a Stand
What next to wish, and what command;
Invention flags, his Brain grows muddy, 105
And black Despair succeeds brown Study.
In this Distress the woful Youth
Acquaints the Nymph with all the Truth,
Begging her Counsel, for whose Sake
Both Soul and Body were at Stake. 110
And is this all? replys the Fair:
Let me alone to cure this Care.
When next your Demon shall appear,
Pray give him — look, what I hold here.
And bid him labour, soon or late, 115
To lay these Ringlets lank and strait.