none.

The Remedy to this were soon apply'd, Wou'd you be like the Bridegroom to the Bride.

But, for you say a long descended Race,
And Wealth, and Dignity, and Pow'r, and
Place,

Make Gentlemen, and that your high
Degree
380
Is much disparag'd to be match'd with me;
Know this, my Lord, Nobility of Blood
Is but a glitt'ring, and fallacious Good:
The Nobleman is he whose noble Mind
Is fill'd with inborn Worth, unborrow'd
from his Kind.

The King of Heav'n was in a Manger laid;
And took his Earth but from an humble
Maid:

Then what can Birth, or mortal Men bestow, Since Floods no higher than their Fountains flow?

We who for Name, and empty Honour strive,
Qur true Nobility from him derive. 391
Your Ancestors, who puff your Mind with
Pride,

And vast Estates to mighty Titles ty'd,
Did not your Honour,but their own advance,
For Virtue comes not by Inheritance.
If you tralineate from your Father's Mind,
What are you else but of a Bastard-kind?
Do, as your great Progenitors have done,
And by their virtues prove your self their
Son.

No Father can infuse, or Wit or Grace; 400
A Mother comes across, and marrs the Race.
AGrandsire or a Grandame taints the Blood;
And seldom three Descents continue Good.

Could never villanize his Father's Fame: But, as the first the last of all the Line, Wou'd like the Sun ev'n in Descending shine.

Take Fire, and bear it to the darkest House Betwixt King Arthur's Court and Caucasus, If you depart, the Flame shall still remain, And the bright Blaze enlighten all the Plain;

411

Nor, till the Fewel perish, can decay, By Nature form'd on Things combustible to prey.

Such is not Man, who mixing better Seed
With worse, begets a base, degenerate Breed:
The Bad corrupts the Good, and leaves
behind

No trace of all the great Begetter's Mind.)
The Father sinks within his Son, we see,
And often rises in the third Degree;
If better Luck, a better Mother give : 420
Chance gave us being, and by Chance we
J
live.

Such as our Atoms were, ev'n such are we,
Or call it Chance, or strong Necessity.
Thus, loaded with dead weight, the Will is
free.

And thus it needs must be: For Seed conjoin'd

Lets into Nature's Work th' imperfect
Kind:

But Fire, th' enliv'ner of the general Frame,
Is one, its Operation still the same.
Its Principle is in it self: While ours
Works, as Confederate's War, with mingled
Pow'rs:
430
Or Man, or Woman, which soever fails;
And, oft, the Vigour of the Worse prevails.
Ether with Sulphur blended alters hue,
And casts a dusky gleam of Sodom blue.
Thus in a Brute, their ancient Honour ends,
And the fair Mermaid in a Fish descends:
The Line is gone; no longer Duke or Earl;
But by himself degraded turns a Churl.
Nobility of Blood is but Renown

Of thy great Fathers by their Virtue
known,

440

And a long trail of Light, to thee descending down.

If in thy Smoke it ends, their Glories shine;
But Infamy and Villanage are thine.
Then what I said before, is plainly show'd,
That true Nobility proceeds from God: \\\

Nor left us by Inheritance, but giv'n
By Bounty of our Stars, and Grace of
Heaven.

Thus from a Captive Servius Tullus rose, Whom for his Virtues, the first Romans chose :

Fabritius from their Walls repell'd the Foe, Whose noble Hands had exercis'd the Plough. 451

From hence, my Lord, and Love, I thus conclude,

That tho' my homely Ancestors were rude,
Mean as I am, yet I may have the Grace
To make you Father of a generous Race
And Noble then am I, when I begin,
In Virtue cloath'd, to cast the Rags of Sin:
If Poverty be my upbraided Crime,
And you believe in Heav'n; there was a
time,
459
When He, the great Controller of our Fate
Deign'd to be Man, and lived in low Estate:
Which he who had the World at his dispose,
If Poverty were Vice, wou'd never choose.
Philosophers have said, and Poets sing,
That a glad Poverty's an honest Thing.
Content is Wealth, the Riches of the Mind;
And happy He who can that Treasure find,
But the base Miser starves amidst his Store,)
Broods on his Gold, and griping still at

choose:

Wou'd you I should be still Deform'd, and Old,

Nauseous to Touch, and Loathsome to
Behold;

On this Condition, to remain for life
A careful, tender and obedient Wife, 500
In all I can contribute to your Ease,
And not in Deed, or Word, or Thought dis-
please?

Or would you rather have me Young and
Fair,

And take the Chance that happens to your share?

Temptations are in Beauty, and in Youth, And how can you depend upon my Truth? Now weigh the Danger with the doubtful Bliss,

And thank your self, if ought should fall amiss.

Sore sigh'd the Knight, who this long
Sermon heard ;

At length considering all, his Heart he chear'd,

510

And thus reply'd, My Lady, and my Wife, To your wise Conduct I resign my Life: Choose you for me, for well you understand The future Good and III, on either Hand: But if an humble Husband may request, Provide, and order all Things for the best; Your's be the Care to profit, and to please: And let your Subject-Servant take his Ease. Then thus in Peace, quoth she, concludes

the Strife,

Since I am turn'd the Husband, you the Wife: 520

The Matrimonial Victory is mine,
Which having fairly gain'd, I will resign;
Forgive if I have said, or done amiss,
And seal the Bargain with a Friendly Kiss:

Lightnings Artillery) As Harbingers before th' Almighty fly: Those, but proclaim his Stile, and disappear; The stiller Sound succeeds; and God is there. 41

and Thunder (Heav'ns

The Tythes, his Parish freely paid, he took;

But never Su'd; or Curs'd with Bell and Book.

With Patience bearing wrong; but off'ring

none:

Since every Man is free to lose his own. The Country-Churles, according to their Kind,

(Who grudge their Dues, and love to be behind,)

The less he sought his Off'rings, pinch'd the

more;

And prais'd a Priest, contented to be Poor.
Yet, of his little, he had some to spare, 50
To feed the Famish'd, and to cloath the Bare:
For Mortify'd he was to that degree,
A poorer than himself, he wou'd not see
True Priests, he said, and Preachers of the
Word,

Were only Stewards of their Soveraign Lord,
Nothing was theirs; but all the publick
Store,

Intrusted Riches to relieve the Poor.
Who, shou'd they steal, for want of his
Relief

He judg'd himself Accomplice with the Thief.
Wide was his Parish; not contracted close
In Streets, but here and there a straggling
House;

61

Yet still he was at Hand, without Request To serve the Sick; to succour the Distress'd;

Tempting, on Foot, alone, without affright, The Dangers of a dark, tempestuous Night.

All this the good old Man perform'd alone, Nor spar'd his pains; for Curate he had

none.

Nor durst he trust another with his Care; Nor rode himself to Pauls, the publick Fair, To chaffer for Preferment with his Gold, 70 Where Bishopricks, and sine Cures are sold. But duly watch'd his Flock, by Night and Day;

And from the prowling Wolf, redeem'd the Prey,

And hungry sent the wily Fox away.

The Proud he tam'd, the Penitent he chear'd:

Nor to rebuke the rich Offender fear'd. His Preaching much, but more his Practice wrought;

(A living Sermon of the Truths he taught ;) For this by Rules severe his Life he squar'd: That all might see the Doctrin which they heard. 80

For Priests, he said, are Patterns for the

rest:

(The Gold of Heav'n, who bear the God Impress'd :)

But when the precious Coin is kept unclean,
The Soveraign's Image is no longer seen.
If they be foul, on whom the People trust,
Well may the baser Brass contract a rust.

The Prelate for his Holy Life he priz'd;
The worldly Pomp of Prelacy despis'd.
His Saviour came not with a gawdy Show,
Nor was his Kingdom of the World below. 90
Patience in Want, and Poverty of Mind,
These Marks of Church and Churchmen he
design'd,

And living taught; and dying left behind.)
The Crown he wore was of the pointed Thorn:
In Purple he was Crucify'd, not born.
They who contend for Place and high Degree,
Are not his Sons, but those of Zebadee.

Not, but he knew the Signs of Earthly
Pow'r

Might well become St. Peter's Successor ; The Holy Father holds a double Reign, Ico The Prince may keep his Pomp; the Fisher must be plain.

Such was the Saint; who shone with every

Grace:

Reflecting, Moses-like, his Maker's Face.
God saw his Image lively was express'd;
And his own Work, as in Creation, bless'd.
The Tempter saw him too, with envious
Eye,

And, as on Job, demanded leave to try.
He took the time when Richard was depos'd,
And High and Low with happy Harry clos'd.
This Prince, tho' great in Arms, the Priest
withstood,

Near tho' he was, yet not the next of Blood.
Had Richard unconstrain'd, resign'd they
Throne,

A King can give no more than is his own: The Title stood entail'd, had Richard had a Son.