[An EPISTLE from the King of PRUSSIA, to Monsieur VOLTAIRE.] Frederick II, King of Prussia John Gilbert Cooper Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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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. 282-284. 6v.: music; 8⁰.

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[ An EPISTLE from the King of PRUSSIA , to Monsieur VOLTAIRE . ] Translated into English . By JOHN GILBERT COOPER , Esq ; VOLTAIRE , believe me , were I now In private life's calm station plac'd , Let Heav'n for nature's wants allow , With cold indiff'rence would I view Changing Fortune's winged haste , And laugh at her caprice like you . Th' insipid farce of tedious state , Imperial duty's real weight , The faithless courtier's supple bow , The fickle multitude's caress , And the great Vulgar's Littleness , By long experience well I know ; And , tho' a Prince and Poet born , Vain blandishments of glory scorn . For when the ruthless shears of Fate Have cut my life's precarious thread , And rank'd me with th' unconscious dead , What wil't avail that I was great , Or that th' uncertain tongue of Fame In Mem'ry's temple chaunts my name ? One blissful moment whilst we live Weighs more than ages of renown ; What then do Potentates receive Of good , peculiarly their own ? Sweet Ease and unaffected Joy , Domestic Peace , and sportive Pleasure , The regal throne and palace fly , And , born for liberty , prefer Soft silent scenes of lovely leisure , To , what we Monarchs buy so dear , The thorny pomp of scepter'd care . My pain or bliss shall ne'er depend On fickle Fortune's casual flight , For , whether she's my foe or friend , In calm repose I'll pass the night ; And ne'er by watchful homage own I court her smile , or fear her frown . But from our stations we derive Unerring precepts how to live , And certain deeds each rank calls forth , By which is measur'd human worth . Voltaire , within his private cell In realms where ancient honesty Is patrimonial property , And sacred Freedom loves to dwell , May give up all his peaceful mind , Guided by Plato's deathless page , In silent solitude resign'd To the mild virtues of a Sage ; But I , 'gainst whom wild whirlwinds wage Fierce war with wreck-denouncing wing , Must be , to face the tempest's rage , In thought , in life , in death a king .