To the Honourable and Reverend F. C. Sneyd Davies Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T131163 K104099.006 Dodsley, Robert, 1703-1764. A Collection of Poems in Six Volumes. By Several Hands. Vol. VI. London printed by J. Hughs, for R. and J. Dodsley 1763 [1st ed. 1758] pp. 138-142. 6v.: music; 8⁰.

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To the Honourable and Reverend F. C. IN frolick's hour , ere serious thought had birth , There was a time , my dear C—s , when The Muse would take me on her airy wing And waft to views romantic ; there present Some motley vision , shade and sun : the cliff O'erhanging , sparkling brooks , and ruins grey ; Bad me meanders trace , and catch the form Of varying clouds , and rainbows learn to paint . Sometimes ambition , brushing by , wou'd twitch My mantle , and with winning look sublime Allure to follow . What tho' steep the track , Her mountain's top wou'd overpay when climb'd The scaler's toil ; her temple there was fine , And lovely thence the prospects . She cou'd tell Where laurels grew , whence many a wreath antique ; But more advis'd to shun the barren twig , ( What is immortal verdure without fruit ? ) And woo some thriving art : her num'rous mines Were open to the searcher's skill and pains . Caught by th' harangue , heart beat , and flutt'ring pulse Sounded irregular marches to be gone — What , pause a moment when Ambition calls ? No , the blood gallops to the distant goal , And throbs to reach it . Let the lame sit still . When Fortune gentle , at the hill's verge extreme , Array'd in decent garb , but somewhat thin , Smiling approach'd , and what occasion ask'd , Of climbing ? She already provident Had cater'd well , if stomach cou'd digest Her viands , and a palate not too nice . Unfit she said , for perilous attempt , That manly limb requir'd , and sinews tough . She took , and lay'd me in a vale remote , Amid the gloomy scene of fir and yew , On poppy beds , where Morpheus strew'd the ground : Obscurity her curtain round me drew , And syren Sloth a dull quietus sung . Sithence no fairy lights , no quick'ning ray , Nor stir of pulse , nor objects to entice Abroad the spirits ; but the cloyster'd heart Sits squat at home , like pagod in a nitch Obscure , or grandees with nod-watching eye , And folded arms , in presence of the throne , Turk , or Indostan . — Cities , forums , courts And prating sanhedrims , and drumming wars , Affect no more than stories told to bed Lethargic , which at intervals the sick Hears and forgets , and wakes to doze again . Instead of converse and variety , The same trite round , the same stale silent scene : Such are thy comforts , blessed Solitude ! But Innocence is there , but Peace all kind , And simple Quiet with her downy couch , Meads lowing , tune of birds , and lapse of streams , And Saunter , with a book , and warbling Muse , In praise of hawthorns . — Life's whole business this ! Is it to bask i' th' sun , if so , a snail Were happy crawling on a southern wall . Why sits Content upon a cottage-sill At eventide , and blesseth the coarse meal In sooty corner ? why sweet slumbers wait Th' hard pallet ? not because from haunt remote Sequester'd in a dingle's bushy lap : 'Tis labour makes the peasant's sav'ry fare , And works out his repose : for ease must ask The leave of diligence to be enjoy'd . Oh ! listen not to that enchantress Ease With seeming smile , her palatable cup By standing grows insipid ; and beware The bottom , for there's poison in the lees . What health impair'd , and crowds inactive maim'd ? What daily martyrs to her sluggish cause ! Less strict devoir the Russ and Persian claim Despotic ; and as subjects long inur'd To servile burden , grow supine and tame , So fares it with our sov'reign and her train . What tho' with lure fallacious she pretend From worldly bondage to set free , what gain Her votaries ? What avails from iron chains Exempt , if rosy fetters bind as fast . Bestir , and answer your creation's end . Think we that man with vig'rous pow'r endow'd , And room to stretch , was destin'd to sit still ? Sluggards are nature's rebels , slight her laws , Nor live up to the terms on which they hold Their vital lease . Laborious terms and hard , But such the tenure of our earthly state ! Riches and fame are Industry's reward ; The nimble runner courses Fortune down , And then he banquets , for she feeds the bold . Think what you owe your country , what yourself . If splendor charm not , yet avoid the scorn That treads on lowly stations . Think of some Assiduous booby mounting o'er your head , And thence with saucy grandeur looking down : Think of ( Reflection's stab ! ) the pitying friend With shoulder shrug'd , and sorry . Think that Time Has golden minutes , if discreetly seiz'd : And if some sad example , indolent , To warn and scare be wanting — think of me .