Canto I

SPeak, Goddess! since 'tis Thou that best canst tell
How ancient Leagues to modern Discord fell;
Whence 'twas, Physicians were so frugal grown
Of others Lives, and lavish of their own;
How by a Journey to th' Elysian Plain
Peace triumph'd, and old Time return'd again.

Not far from that most celebrated Place,
Where angry Justice shews her awful Face;
Where little Villains must submit to Fate,
That great ones may enjoy the World in state;
There stands a Dome, majestick to the sight
And sumptuous Arches bear its oval height;
A golden Globe plac'd high with artful skill,
Seems, to the distant sight, a gilded Pill:
This Pile was by the pious Patron's aim,
Rais'd for a use as noble as its Frame;
Nor did the learn'd Society decline
The propagation of that great Design;
In all her mazes Nature's Face they view'd,
And as she disappear'd, they still pursu'd.
They find her dubious now, and then, as plain;
Here, she's too sparing, there profusely vain.
Now she unfolds the faint, and dawning strife
Of infant Atoms kindling into life:
How ductile Matter new Meanders takes,
And slender trains of twisting Fibres makes.
And how the viscous seeks a closer tone,
By just degrees to harden into bone;
Whilst the more loose flow from the vital Urn,
And in full Tides of Purple Streams return;
How from each sluice a briny Torrent pours,
T' extinguish feavourish heats with ambient show'rs;
Whence their mechanick pow'rs the Spirits claim,
How great their force, how delicate their Frame:
How the same Nerves are fashion'd to sustain
The greatest Pleasure and the greatest Pain.
Why bileous Juice a golden light puts on,
And floods of Chyle in silver Currents run.
How the dim speck of Entity began
T' extend its recent Form, and stretch to Man.
To how minute an Origin we owe
Young Ammon, Caesar, and the Great Nassau.
Why paler looks impetuous rage proclaim,
And why chill Virgins redden into flame.
Why Envy oft transforms with wan disguise,
And why gay Mirth sits smiling in the Eyes.
All Ice why Lucrece, or Sempronia, fire,
Why S—enrages to survive desire.
Whence Milo's Vigour at th' Olympicks shown,
Whence tropes to F—ch or impudence to S—
Why Atticus polite, Brutus severe,
Why Me—nd muddy, M—gue why clear.
Hence 'tis we wait the wondrous Cause to find,
How Body acts upon impassive Mind.
How Fumes of Wine the thinking part can fire,
Past Hopes revive, and present Joys inspire:
Why our Complexions oft our Soul declare,
And how the Passions in the Features are.
How Touch and Harmony arise between
Corporeal Substances, and Things unseen.
With mighty Truths, mysterious to descry,
Which in the Womb of distant Causes lie.

But now those great Enquiries are no more,
And Faction Skulks, where Learning shone before:
The drooping Sciences neglected pine,
And Poeans Beams with fading lustre shine.
No Readers here with Hectick looks are found,
Or Eyes in rheum, thro' midnight watching drown'd:
The lonely Edifice in Sweats complains
That nothing there but empty Silence reigns.

This Place so fit for undisturb'd repose,
The God of Sloth for his Asylum chose.
Upon a Couch of Down in these Abodes
The careless Deity supinely nods.
His leaden Limbs at gentle ease are laid,
With Poppys and dull Night-shade o're him spread;
No Passions interrupt his easie reign,
No Problems puzzle his lethargick Brain.
But dull oblivion guards his peaceful Bed,
And lazy Fogs bedew his thoughtless Head.

As at full length the pamper'd Monarch lay,
Batt'ning in ease, and slumbring life away
A spightful noise his downy Chains unties,
Hastes forward, and encreases as it flies.

Frst, some to cleave the stubborn Flint engage,
Till urg'd by blows, it sparkles into rage.
Some temper Lute, some spacious Vessels move;
These Furnaces erect, and Those approve.
Here Phyals in nice discipline are set,
There Gally-pots are rang'd in Alphabet.
In this place, Magazines of Pills you spy,
In that, like forrage, Herbs in bundles lye.
Whilst lifted Pestles, brandisht in the Air,
Descend in peals and civil Wars declare.
Loud stroaks, with pounding Spice, the Fabrick rend,
And aromatick Clouds in Spires ascend.
So when the Cyclops o're their Anvils sweat,
And their swol'n Sinews ecchoing blows repeat;
From the Vulcano's gross eruptions rise,
And, with curl'd sheets of smoak, obscure the Skies.

The slumbring God amaz'd at this new din,
Thrice strove to rise, and thrice sunk down agen.
Then, half erect, he rubb'd his opening Eyes,
And faulter'd thus betwixt half words and sighs.

How impotent a Deity am I!
With Godhead born, but curst, that cannot dye!
Thro' my indulgence 'tis, that Mortals share
A grateful negligence, and ease from Care.
Lull'd in my arms, how long have I with-held,
The Northern Monarchs from the dusty Field.
How have I kept the Brittish Fleet at ease,
From tempting the rough dangers of the Seas.
Hibernia owns the mildness of my Reign,
And my Divinity's ador'd in Spain.
I Swains to Sylvan Solitudes convey,
Where stretch'd on Mossy Beds, they waste away,
In gentle inactivity, the day.
What marks of wondrous Clemency I've shown,
My bright and blooming Clergy hourly own.
Triumphant Plenty, with a chearful grace,
Basks in their Eyes, and sparkles in their Face.
How sleik their looks, how goodly is their Mien,
When big they strut behind a double Chin.
Each Faculty in blandishments they lull,
Aspiring to be venerably dull.
No learn'd Debates molest their downy Trance
Or discompose their pompous ignorance:
But undisturb'd, they loiture life away,
So wither Green, and blossom in decay.
Deep sunk in Down, they by my gentle Care
Avoid th' Inclemencies of Morning Air,
And leave to tatter'd Crape the Drudgery of Pray'r.

Mankind my fond propitious Pow'r has try'd,
Too oft to own, too much to be deny'd.
And in return I ask but some recess,
T'enjoy th' entrancing Extasies of Peace.
But that, the Great Nassau's heroick Arms
Has long prevented with his loud Alarms.
Still my indulgence with contempt he flies,
His Couch a Trench, his Canopy the Skies.
Nor Skies nor Seasons his resolves controul,
Th' Aequator has no heat, no Ice the Pole.
From Clime to Clime his wondrous Triumphs move,
And Iove grows jealous of his Realms above.

But as the slothful God to Yawn begun,
He shook off the dull Mist, and thus went on.

Sometimes among the Caspian Cliffs I creep,
Where solitary Batts, and Swallows sleep.
Or if some Cloyster's refuge I implore,
Where holy Drones o're dying Tapers snore;
Still Nassau's Arms a soft repose deny,
Keep me awake, and follow were I flie.

Now since he has vouchsaf'd the World a Peace,
And with a Nod has bid Bellona cease:
I sought the Covert of some peaceful Cell,
Where silent Shades in harmless raptures dwell;
That Rest might past Tranquility restore,
And Mortal never interrupt me more.

'Twas here, alas! I thought I might repose,
These Walls were that Asylum I had chose.
Nought underneath this Roof, but Damps are found,
Nought heard, but drowzy Beetles buzzing round.
Spread Cobwebs hide the Walls, and Dust the Floors,
And midnight Silence guards the noiseless Doors.
But now some busie Wretch's feavourish Brain,
Invents new Fancies to renew my Pain,
And labours to dissolve my easie Reign.

With that, the God his darling Phantom calls,
And from his fault'ring Lips this Message falls.

Since Mortals will dispute my Pow'r, I'le try
Who has the greatest Empire, they or I.
Find Envy out, some Princes Court attend,
Most likely there, you'l meet the famish'd Fiend.
Or in Cabals, or Camps, or at the Bar,
Or where ill Poets Pennyless confer,
Or in the Senate-house at Westminster.
Tell the bleak Fury what new Projects reign,
Among the Homicides of Warwick-Lane.
And what th' Event, unless her Care enclines,
To blast their Hopes, and baffle their Designs.

More He had spoke but sudden Vapours rise,
And with their silken Cords tye down his Eyes.