English Poets of the Eighteenth Century. Various

can keep knaves nor honest men in awe;

       These are too hardened in offence,

       And those upheld by innocence.

      * * * * *

      Thou art no shame to truth and honesty,

       Nor is the character of such defaced by thee

       Who suffer by oppressive injury.

       Shame, like the exhalations of the sun,

       Falls back where first the motion was begun;

       And he who for no crime shall on thy brows appear

       Bears less reproach than they who placed him there.

      But if contempt is on thy face entailed,

       Disgrace itself shall be ashamed;

       Scandal shall blush that it has not prevailed

       To blast the man it has defamed.

       Let all that merit equal punishment

       Stand there with him, and we are all content.

      * * * * *

      Thou bugbear of the law, stand up and speak,

       Thy long misconstrued silence break;

       Tell us who 'tis upon thy ridge stands there,

       So full of fault and yet so void of fear;

       And from the paper in his hat,

       Let all mankind be told for what.

       Tell them it was because he was too bold,

       And told those truths which should not ha' been told,

      Extol the justice of the land,

       Who punish what they will not understand.

       Tell them he stands exalted there

       For speaking what we would not hear;

       And yet he might have been secure

       Had he said less or would he ha' said more.

       Tell them that this is his reward

       And worse is yet for him prepared,

       Because his foolish virtue was so nice

       As not to sell his friends, according to his friends' advice.

      And thus he's an example made,

       To make men of their honesty afraid,

       That for the time to come they may

       More willingly their friends betray;

       Tell them the m[en] who placed him here

       Are sc[anda]ls to the times;

       But at a loss to find his guilt,

       They can't commit his crimes.

JOSEPH ADDISON

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      FROM THE CAMPAIGN

      Behold in awful march and dread array

       The long-extended squadrons shape their way!

       Death, in approaching terrible, imparts

       An anxious horror to the bravest hearts;

       Yet do their beating breasts demand the strife,

       And thirst of glory quells the love of life.

       No vulgar fears can British minds control:

       Heat of revenge and noble pride of soul

       O'er look the foe, advantaged by his post,

       Lessen his numbers, and contract his host;

       Though fens and floods possessed the middle space,

       That unprovoked they would have feared to pass,

       Nor fens nor floods can stop Britannia's bands

       When her proud foe ranged on their borders stands.

      But, O my Muse, what numbers wilt thou find

       To sing the furious troops in battle joined!

       Methinks I hear the drum's tumultuous sound

       The victor's shouts and dying groans confound,

       The dreadful burst of cannon rend the skies,

       And all the thunder of the battle rise!

       'Twas then great Malborough's mighty soul was proved,

       That, in the shock of charging hosts unmoved,

       Amidst confusion, horror, and despair,

       Examined all the dreadful scenes of death surveyed,

       To fainting squadrons sent the timely aid,

       Inspired repulsed battalions to engage,

       And taught the doubtful battle where to rage.

       So when an angel by divine command

       With rising tempests shakes a guilty land,

       Such as of late o'er pale Britannia passed,

       Calm and serene he drives the furious blast,

       And, pleases th' Almighty's orders to perform,

       Rides in the whirlwind, and directs the storm.

      [DIVINE ODE]

      I

      The spacious firmament on high,

       With all the blue ethereal sky,

       And spangled heavens, a shining frame,

       Their great Original proclaim.

       Th' unwearied sun from day to day

       Does his Creator's power display;

       And publishes to every land

       The work of an almighty hand.

      II

      Soon as the evening shades prevail,

       The moon takes up the wondrous tale;

       And nightly to the listening earth

       Repeats the story of her birth:

       Whilst all the stars that round her burn,

       And all the planets in their turn,

       Confirm the tidings as they roll,

       And spread the truth from pole to pole.

      III

      What though in solemn silence all

       Move round the dark terrestrial ball;

       What though nor real voice nor sound

       Amidst their radiant orbs be found?

       In reason's ear they all rejoice,

       And utter forth a glorious voice:

       Forever singing as they shine,

       'The hand that made us is divine.'

MATTHEW PRIOR

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      TO A CHILD OF QUALITY FIVE YEARS OLD THE AUTHOR FORTY

      Lords, knights, and squires, the numerous band

       That wear the fair Miss Mary's fetters,

       Were summoned, by her high command,

       To show their passions by their letters.

      My pen amongst