And, wheresoe'er they stay, and wheresoe'er they go,
Impertinencies round them flow:
These are the small uneasy things
Which about greatness still are found,

And rather it molest than wound:

Like gnats, which too much heat of summer brings; But cares do swarm there, too, and those have

stings:

As, when the honey does too open lie,

A thousand wasps about it fly:

Nor will the master even to share admit ;

The master stands aloof, and dares not taste of it.

'Tis morning well; I fain would yet sleep on: You cannot now; you must be gone

To court, or to the noisy hall:

Besides, the rooms without are crowded all;
The stream of business does begin,

And a spring-tide of clients is come in.

Ah cruel guards, which this poor prisoner keep!
Will they not suffer him to sleep?

Make an escape; out at the postern flee,
And get some blessed hours of liberty:
With a few friends, and a few dishes, dine,
And much of mirth and moderate wine.

To thy bent mind some relaxation give,
And steal one day out of thy life to live.
Oh happy man (he cries) to whom kind Heaven
Has such a freedom always given!

Why, mighty madman, what should hinder thee
From being every day as free?

In all the freeborn nations of the air,

Never did bird a spirit so mean and sordid bear,
As to exchange his native liberty

Of soaring boldly up into the sky,
His liberty to sing, to perch, or fly,
When and wherever he thought good,
And all his innocent pleasures of the wood,
For a more plentiful or constant food.
Nor ever did ambitious rage
Make him into a painted cage,
Or the false forest of a well-hung room,
For honour and preferment, come.

Now, blessings on you all, ye heroick race,

Who keep your primitive powers and rights so well, Though men and angels fell!

Of all material lives the highest place

To you is justly given;

And ways and walks the nearest heaven.

Whilst wretched we, yet vain and proud, think fit

To boast, that we look up to it.

Ev'n to the universal tyrant, Love,

You homage pay but once a-year :
None so degenerous and unbirdly prove,
As his perpetual yoke to bear;
None, but a few unhappy household fowl,
Whom human lordship does control;

Who from their birth corrupted were By bondage, and by man's example here.

He's no small prince, who every day

Thus to himself can say:

Now will I sleep, now eat, now sit, now walk, Now meditate alone, now with acquaintance talk; This I will do, here I will stay,

Or, if my fancy call me away,

My man and I will presently go ride

(For we, before, have nothing to provide,

Nor, after, are to render an account)
To Dover, Berwick, or the Cornish mount.
If thou but a short journey take,

As if thy last thou wert to make,
Business must be dispatch'd, ere thou canst part,
Nor canst thou stir, unless there be

A hundred horse and men to wait on thee,
And many a mule, and many a cart;

What an unwieldy man thou art!

The Rhodian Colossus so

A journey, too, might go.

Where honour, or where conscience does not bind,

No other law shall shackle me;

Slave to myself I will not be,

Nor shall my future actions be confin'd

By my own present mind.

Who by resolves and vows engag'd does stand
For days that yet belong to Fate,

Does, like an unthrift, mortgage his estate
Before it falls into his hand :

The bondman of the cloister so,

All that he does receive, does always owe;
And still as time comes in, it goes away
Not to enjoy, but debts to pay.
Unhappy slave, and pupil to a bell,

Which his hours-work, as well as hours, does tell!
Unhappy, till the last, the kind releasing knell.

If life should a well-order'd poem be

(In which he only hits the white

Who joins true profit with the best delight),
The more heroick strain let others take,
Mine the Pindarick way I'll make;

The matter shall be grave, the numbers loose and free.
It shall not keep one settled pace of time,
In the same tune it shall not always chime,
Nor shall each day just to his neighbour rhyme;

A thousand liberties it shall dispense,

And yet shall manage all without offence

Or to the sweetness of the sound or greatness of the

sense;

Nor shall it never from one subject start,

Nor seek transitions to depart,

Nor its set way o'er stiles and bridges make,
Nor thorough lanes a compass take,

As if it fear'd some trespass to commit,
When the wide air 's a road for it.
So the imperial eagle does not stay
Till the whole carcase he devour,
That's fallen into its power:

As if his generous hunger understood
That he can never want plenty of food,
He only sucks the tasteful blood;

And to fresh game flies cheerfully away;
To kites, and meaner birds, he leaves the mangled

prey.

II.

OF SOLITUDE.

NUNQUAM minus solus, quam cum solus," is now become a very vulgar saying. Every man, and almost every boy, for these seventeen hundred years, has had it in his mouth. But it was at first spoken by the excellent Scipio, who was without question a most eloquent and witty person, as well as the most wise, most worthy, most happy, and the greatest of all mankind. His meaning, no doubt, was this, that he found more satisfaction to his mind, and more improvement of it, by solitude than by company; and, to shew that he spoke not this loosely or out of vanity, after he had made Rome mistress of

VOL. III.

K