Satyr Vi. The Spleen

Hail to the sacred silence of this Grove Hail to the greens below the greens above Oft have I found beneath these shady trees A reall in imaginary bliss for they my fancy sooth she's a cheat Which can agreably adorn deceit some state of life she draws with pleasing art brings Enchanted reason to her part Reason awhile is captive by consent acts from all its rigid rules unbent from our own selves conceales our reall case Nor shows us what may be but what may please When I by these am from my self with drawn I straight become what ere I think upon Now do I turn a statesman of the rate that furnishes the world beside with chat I many use I make a friend of none if I flatter tis my prince alone Mankind well versd in various villany Misrepresent each study'd Case to me in long petitions a present fee sayes one your Lordship has ye royall ear I some articles against me fear for sinking publick funds in such a year Then on my chair he layes a bag of coin Nor dares to offer what he woud have mine Another cryes I want a place at Court Your Lships word woud make ye buisness short I present two hundred guinnys for't This as I take it is a life of state when I think of this I think Ime great But now a leaf is noisy by my head My chain is broke all my greatness fled In vain I woud recall the vanishd thought Something I know did please I cant tell what as I hunt the traces of my mind In a new whim a new delight I find Now among books my chief diversion lyes I affect to be thought wondrous wise in strange experiment discovery's On All ye sorts shapes of flyes I read Or print a book of shells as Lister did when I meet a thing unknown till yn I write for Holland to ye Learned men the subtiltys of schooles with ease I cutt Where learnings nothing but a meer dispute With Ipse Dixit's fixd for arguments quibbles formd by rules hid with pains Waging a warr of words in spight of sense My skill in many languages is shown Altho' I gracefully can speak in none No Cares no business do my brain molest the world admires the treasures of my breast I in barren satisfaction rest Here do I change Insensibly again my gay fancy paints another scene Heark or a pleasing madness charms my sense Or I hear songs well tund instruments Yes tis a ball where I with airs cloths Engage the Ladys outshine the beaus I chuse a creature beautious as the light Of her I beg she denys a night Scorn with the fair does still attendant go they're proud because their outward charms they know fondly think them reasons to be so But passion hearts of any temper moves Anon shes complaisant anon she loves When sated with the bliss their arms I quitt I boast my triumph to each friend I meet for men are now so scandalously vain They think it less of pleasure to obtain their Joys then tell 'em or'e to other men more of grief to hide the ripe amour then twas to smother infant love before I drink I dance I swear I shake ye dice try each path of pleasurable vice till at ye last my wild unsettled life like Comedys is finishd in a wife by Just degrees the breezes louder grow the same breast they sooth they roughen too Methinks Ime strangely alterd in a trice All soft unmanly pleasures I despise Warr is my buisness honour is my prize I grasp it in my thoughts push along Nor mind the toiles by which it must be won With such bewitching powr the walking light leads men thro' all the dangers of the night Ore hills vales they hunt the dazzling game Nor feel the trouble while they see the flame Strange force of Glory what a world are slain to please the pride of two or three great men how towns have fed on ratts yt scornd to yield how dear ye hardy soldier buys ye field Warm without anger to their arms they crowd for anothers quarrell wast their blood some fight curse while others run pray In Camps they rook each other at their play then the loosers mutiny for pay are my brave followers slain why lett ym dy false musterd companys my purse supply Thus summers fraud feeds winters luxury When in warm quarters nature craves a punk for the Queen I loyally get drunk Give ore my wanton fancy now give ore the clouds are gath'ring anon they'le powr the pleasures of my groves are fled away the sacred silence ye shiny day what have you then to lull you in your play