On my leaving S—y.

S—y thou dearest soft Retreat adieu
 Methink I tremble at the leaving you;
 You, whose safe Harbour kindly did receive,
 My Shipwrack'd Vessel and gave means to live:
 With Gilded Stern and Gaudy Sails I mov'd,
 Fraught with this Wish, be Great and be Belov'd. 
My Pageant Bark undauntedly I steer'd,
 No Rocks nor Wind, nor Enemies I fear'd:
 Young and unskill'd in this unlucky Sea,
 For want of Ballast, Storms did ruin me. 
That blast of Hell, rude spiteful Pop'ler breath,
 Tore all my Sails and threaten'd sudden Death;
 There was no casting Anchor in this Storm,
 That was but Ruin in another Form:
 For hope was all the lading I could boast,
 Thus was I most inevitably lost. 
Left to the Mercy of the faithless Winds,
 My tatter'd Bark no friendly shelter finds;
 Till some kind Star dear S—y mark'd out thee,
 For her repairer and security. 
'Tis true, thou couldst not fit her out again,
 With Masts and Tackling for the mighty Main;
 But as a Pleasure-Boat in thy smooth Streams,
 (Happy defect that keeps from such extreams,)
 Where no rough Winds but a safe Oar commands,
 And if I please at each bless'd Shade she Lands. 
There on a verdant Bank I set me down,
 Contemn persuit of Passion and Renown:
 At all my former daring Follies smile,
 And bless the Storms that blow'd me to this Isle;
 The Fortunate to me, and doth contain,
 Those solid Joys, I elsewhere sought in vain. 
But ah! the Fates again do summon me,
 To the loath'd Ocean Popularity;
 Guard me ye Gods with this one Bliss alone,
 Tho' I am seen, yet let me not be known.