Pastorals Epistles Odes (1748)/To the Right Honourable Robert Walpole Esq

3996622Pastorals Epistles Odes (1748) — To the Right Honourable Robert Walpole EsqAmbrose Philips

To the Right Honourable

ROBERT WALPOLE Esq;

June 15, 1724.
VOTARY to publick zeal,
Minister of England's weal,
Have you leisure for a song,
Tripping lightly o'er the tongue, 4
Swift and sweet in every measure,
Tell me, Walpole, have you leisure?
Nothing lofty will I sing,
Nothing of the favourite king, 8
Something, rather, sung with ease,
Simply elegant to please.

Fairy virgin, British muse,
Some unheard of story chuse: 12
Chuse the Glory of the swain,
Gifted with a magick strain,
Swaging grief of every kind,
Healing, with a verse, the mind: 16
To him came a man of power,
To him, in a cheerless hour;
When the swain, by Druids taught,
Soon divin'd his irksom thought, 20
Soon the maple harp he strung,
Soon, with silver accent, sung.

"Steerer of a mighty realm,
"Pilot, waking o'er the helm, 24
"Blessing of thy native soil,
"Weary of a thankless toil,
"Cast repining thought behind,
"Give thy trouble to the wind. 28
"Mortal, destin'd to excell,
"Bear the blame of doing well,
"Like the Worthies great of old,
"In the list of Fame enroll'd. 32
"What, though titles thou decline?
"Still the more thy virtues shine.
"Envy, with her serpent eye,
"Marks each praise that soars on high. 36
"To thy lot resign thy will:
"Every good is mix'd with ill.
"See, the white unblemish'd rose
"On a thorny bramble blows: 40
"See, the torrent pouring rain
"Does the limpid fountain stain:
"See, the giver of the day
"Urgeth on, through clouds, his way: 44
"Nothing is, entirely, bless'd;
"Envy does thy worth attest.

"Pleasing visions, at command,
"Answer to my voice and hand; 48
"Quick, the blissful scene prepare,
"Sooth the patriot's heavy care:
"Visions, cheering to the sight,
"Give him earnest of delight. 52

"Wise disposer of affairs,
"View the end of all thy cares!
"Forward cast thy ravish'd eyes,
"See the glad'ning harvest rise: 56
"Lo, the people reap thy pain!
"Thine the labour, their the gain.
"Yonder turn, a-while, thy view,
"Turn thee to yon spreading yew, 60
"Once the gloomy tree of fate,
"Once the plighted virgin's hate:
"Now, no longer, does it grow
"Parent of the warring bow: 64
"See, beneath the guiltless shade,
"Peasants shape the plow and spade,
"Rescued, ever, from the fear
"Of the whistling shaft and spear. 68
"Lo, where Plenty comes, with Peace!
"Hear the breath of murmur cease:
"See, at last, unclouded days:
"Hear, at last, unenvied praise. 72
"Nothing shall thy soul molest;
"Labour is the price of rest.

"Mortal, destin'd to excell,
"Bless the toil of doing well! 76