An Ode to the Right Honourable the Lord LONSDALE. Robert Craggs Nugent, Earl Nugent Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
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Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T131163 K104099.002 Dodsley, Robert, 1703-1764. A Collection of Poems in Six Volumes. By Several Hands. Vol. II. London printed by J. Hughs, for R. and J. Dodsley 1763 [1st ed. 1758] pp. 213-215. 6v.: music; 8⁰.

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An Ode to the Right Honourable the Lord LONSDALE . By the Same . I. LONSDALE ! thou ever-honour'd name , For such is sacred virtue's claim , Say , why ! my noble friend ! While nature sheds her balmy powers O'er hill and dale , in leaves and flowers , Say , why my joys suspend ! II . Here spreads the lawn high-crown'd with wood , Here slopes the vale , there winds the flood In many a crystal maze ; The fishes sport , in silver pride Slow moves the swan , on either side The herds promiscuous graze . III . Or if the stiller shade you love , Here solemn nods th' imbow'ring grove O'er innocence and ease ; Whether with deep reflection fraught , Or in the sprightly stream of thought , The lighter trifles please . IV . Alluding to a certain scandalous libel . And should the shaft of treacherous spleen Glance venom'd through this peaceful scene , Unheeded may it fly . Provok'd , nor tempted to repay , Tho' truth severer prompt the lay , A mean prosaic lie . V. Here with the pheasant and the hare , Unfearful of the human snare , Have statesmen pass'd a day . While far from yon forbidden gate , Pale care and lank remorse await Their slow-returning prey . VI . O ! blind to all the joys of life , Who seek them in the storm of strife , Destroying , or destroy'd . Less wretched they , and yet unbless'd , Who batten in lethargic rest , On blessings unenjoy'd . VII . But come , my friend , the sun invites , For thee the town hath no delights , Distasted and aggriev'd ; While fools believe , while villains cheat , Too honest to approve deceit , Too wise to be deceiv'd . VIII . Or dost thou fear lest dire disease Again thy tortur'd frame may seize ; And hast thou therefore stay'd ? O ! rather haste , where thou shalt find A ready hand , a gentle mind , To comfort and to aid . IX . And while by sore afflictions try'd , You bear without the Stoic's pride , What Stoic never bore ; O ! may I learn like thee to bear , And what shall be my destin'd share , To suffer , not explore .