H' allur'd the Love, and melted down the Hate
Of all He had no Enemy but Fate.
Pan kept the Fields, from Wolves fecur'd the Stall,
He guarded both the humble Shrubs, and Cedars tall.
The Summers Heat obey'd Pan's gentle Hand,
And Winter Winds blew foft at his Command, (Land.
He bleft the Swains with Sheep, and fruitful made their
Weep Shepherds, and in Pomp your Grief exprefs,
The Ground with Flowers, your felves with Cyprefs
(drefs
Let the Arcadians in a folemn Train
March flowly on, let mournful Accents fill the Plain,
Do this at least in Memory of Pan.
Daph.But why this vain Expence of Tears and Breath?
D'ye think Pan loft and swallow'd up in Death?
He lives, and with a pleas'd and wondering Eye
Contemplates the new Beauties of the Sky.
Whence on these Fields he cafts propitious Rays,
Now greater than our Sorrow, greater than our Praife,
I faw (for why mayn't I rehearfe the Sight)
Juft as the Stars were kindled by the Queen of Night
Another new-made milky Way appear,
I faw, and wonder'd what Event it might prepare.
When lo great Pan amaz'd my trembling Sight,
As through the Ethereal Plains he took his Flight
Deck'd round with Rays, and darting Streams of Light.
Triumphant was his March, a facred Throng
Of Gods inclofed him, Pan was all their Song,
The Sky fill brighten'd as they went along.
Men. Thy Vilion be all Truth
But who shall now the royal Sheep-crook hold,
Who patronize the Fields, who now fecure the Fold?
Daph. Difcharge that Care, the royal Stock does yield
Another Pan to patronize the Field.
An Heir of equal Conduct does the Scepter fway,
One who long nurtured in the Paftoral Way,
In Peace will govern the Arcadian Plains, (Swains.
Defend the tender Flocks, and chear the drooping
Thyr. Come then, let's tune the Pipe t' a brisker Key, Let's with a Dance our Sorrows chafe away, And to new Pan in Sports devote the Day.
Afte on dull Time, thy winged Minutes hafte,
I care not now how foon thou bring'ft my last.
By what I've liv'd 1 plainly know,
The total Sum of all below.
The Days to come, altho they promife more,
I know will be as falfe as thofe that went before.
The best of Life tho once enjoy'd, is vain,
And why ye Powers the felf-fame o'er again?
The Comedy's fo dull, I fear
'Twill not a fecond acting bear.
No, I've enough; I cannot like the Sun
Each Day the felf-fame Stage, and still unwearied, run.
What cruel Laws are thefe that me confine
Thus ftill to dig in a deceitful Mine?
Be just ye Powers, my Soul fet free,
Give her her native Liberty.
'Tis 'gainst the Stage's Law to force my Stay,
I've feen an Act or two, and do not like the Play.
Ince you defire of me to know
Who's the Wife Man, I'll tell you who.
Not he whofe rich and fertile Mind
Is by the Culture of the Arts refin'd;
Who has the Chaos of diforder'd Thought
By Reafon's Light to Form and Method brought.
Who with a clear and piercing Sight
Can fee through Niceties as dark as Night.
You err, if you think this is He,
Tho feated on the Top of the Porphyrian Tree.
Nor is it He to whom kind Heaven
A fecret Cabala has given
T'unriddle the mysterious Text
Of Nature, with dark Comments more perplext.
Or to decypher her clean writ and fair,
But most confounding puzling Character.
That can through all her Windings trace
This flippery Wanderer, and unveil her Face.
Her inmoft Mechanism view,
Anatomize each Part, and fee her through and through.
Nor he that does the Science know,
Our only Certainty below,
That can from Problems dark and nice
Deduce Truths worthy of a Sacrifice.
Nor he that can confefs the Stars, and fee
What's writ in the black Leaves of Destiny.
That knows their Laws, and how the Sun
His daily and his annual Stage does run;
As if he did to them difpence
Their Motions, and there fate fupream Intelligence.
IV.
Nor is it he (although he boast
Of Wisdom, and feem wife to most)
Yet 'tis not he, whofe bufie Pate
Can dive into the deep Intrigues of State.
That can the great Leviathan controul,
Manage and rule't, as if he were its Soul.
The wifeft King thus gifted was,
And yet did not in thele true Wifdom place.
Who then is by the Wife Man meant?
He that can want all this,and yet can be content.
TOW do I pity that proud wealthy Clown
That does with Scorn on my low State look down!
Thy vain Contempt dull Earth-worm ceafe,
I won't for Refuge fly to this,
That none of Fortune's Bleffings can
Add any Value to the Man.
This all the wife acknowledge to be true;
But know I am as rich, more rich than you.
While you a Spot of Earth poffefs with Care
Below the Notice of the Geographer,
I by the Freedom of my Soul
Poffefs, nay more, enjoy the whole;
To th' Universe a Claim I lay;
Your Writings fhew perhaps you'll fay,
That's your dull Way, my Title runs more high,
Tis by the Charter of Philofophy.
From that a firmer Title I derive
Than all your Courts of Law could ever give.
A Title that more firm doth fland
Than does even your very Land,
And yet fo generous and free
That none will e'er bethink it me,
Since my Poffeffions tend to no Man's Lofs,
I all enjoy, yet nothing I ingrofs.
Throughout the Works divine I cast my Eye,
Admire their Beauty, and their Harmony.
I view the glorious Host above,
And him that made them, Praise and Love.
The flowry Meads and Fields beneath,
Delight me with their odorous Breath.
Thus is my Joy by you not understood
Like that of God, when he faid all was good.
Nay (what you'd think lefs likely to be true)
I can enjoy what's yours much more than you.
Your Meadow's Beauty I furvey,
Which you prize only for its Hay.
There can I fit beneath a Tree,
And write an Ode or Elegy.
What to you care, does to me pleasure bring,
You own the Cage, I in it fit and fing.
N Power or Wisdom to contend with thee
Great God, who but a Lucifer would dare ?
Our Strength is but Infirmity,
And when we this perceive our Sight's most clear:
But yet I will not be excell'd thought 1,
In Love, in Love I'll with my Maker vy.
I view'd the Glories of thy Seat above,
And thought of every Grace and Charm divine,
And further to encreafe my Love
I measured all the Heights and Depths of thine.
Thus there broke forth a Strong and Vigorous Flame,
And almost melted down my mortal Frame.
But when thy Bloody Sweat and Death I view
I own (Dear Lord) the Conqueft of thy Love,
Thou doft my highest Flights outdo,
I in a lower Orb, and flower move.
Thus in this Strife's a double Weakness shewn,
Thy Love I cannot equal, nor yet bear my own.
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