# The Poetical Works of the Right Hon. George Granville, Lord Lansdowne/80

TO MRS. HIGGONS, Occaſioned by ſome verſes written by that lady, and ſent the Author in his retirement, 1690.
Ceaſe, tempting Syren! ceaſe thy flatt’ring ſtrain; Sweet is thy charming ſong, but ſung in vain. When the winds blow, and loud the tempeſts roar, What fool would truſt the waves and quit the ſhore? Early and vain into the world I came,5 Big with falſe hopes, and eager after fame, Till looking round me ere the race began, Madmen and giddy fools were all that ran.
Reclaim’d betimes I from the liſts retire, And thank the gods who my retreat inſpire.10 In happier times our anceſtors were bred, When virtue was the only path to tread. Give me, ye Gods! but the ſame road to fame; Whate’er my fathers dar’d I dare the ſame. Chang’d is the ſcene; ſome baneful planet rules15 An impious world, contriv’d for knaves and fools. Look now around, and with impartial eyes Conſider and examine all who riſe; Weigh well their actions and their treach’rous ends, How greatneſs grows, and by what ſteps aſcends;20 What murders, treaſons, perjuries, deceit; How many cruſh’d to make one monſter great! Would you command, have Fortune in your pow’r? Hug when you ſtab, and ſmile when you devour; Be bloody, falſe, flatter, forſwear, and lie;25 Turn pander, pathic, paraſite, or ſpy; Such thriving arts may your wiſh’d purpoſe bring, A miniſter at leaſt, perhaps a king. Fortune we moſt unjuſtly partial call, A miſtreſs free, who bids alike to all;30 But on ſuch terms as only ſuit the baſe; Honour denies, and ſhuns the ſoul embrace. The honeſt man, who ſtarves and is undone, Not Fortune, but his virtue, keeps him down. Had Cato bent beneath the conqu’ring cauſe,35 He might have liv’d to give new Senates laws;
But on vile terms diſdaining to be great, He periſh’d by his choice, and not his fate. Honours and life th’ uſurper bids, and all That vain miſtaken men Good-fortune call;40 Virtue forbids, and ſets before his eyes An honeſt death, which he accepts, and dies. O glorious reſolution! noble pride! More honour’d than the tyrant liv’d he dy’d; More lov’d, more prais’d, more envy’d, in his doom45 Than Cæſar trampling on the rights of Rome. The virtuous nothing fear but life with ſhame, And death ’s a pleaſant road that leads to fame. On bones and ſcraps of dogs let me be fed, My limbs uncover’d, and expos’d my head50 To bleakeſt colds, a kennel be my bed: This, and all other martyrdom, for thee Seems glorious all, thrice-beauteous Honeſty! Judge me, ye Pow’rs! let fortune tempt or frown, I ſtand prepar’d; my honour is my own.55 Ye great Diſturbers! who, in endleſs noiſe, In blood and rapine, ſeek unnat’ral joys; For what is all this buſtle but to ſhun Thoſe thoughts with which you dare not be alone? As men in miſery, oppreſs’d with care,60 Seek in the rage of wine to drown deſpair. Let others fight, and eat their bread in blood, Regardleſs is the cauſe be bad or good,
Or cringe in courts, depending on the nods Of ſtrutting pigmies, who would paſs for gods;65 For me, unpractis’d in the courtiers’ ſchool, Who loathe a knave, and tremble at a fool; Who honour gen’rous Wycherley oppreſt, Poſſeſs’d of little, worthy of the beſt; Rich in himſelf, in virtue that outſhines70 All but the fame of his immortal lines, More than the wealthieſt lord, who helps to drain The famiſh’d land, and rs!ls in impious gain; What can I hope in courts, or how ſucceed? Tigers and wolves ſhall in the ocean breed,75 The whale and dolphin fatten on the mead, And ev’ry element exchange its kind, Ere thriving Honeſty in courts we find. Happy the man, of mortals happieſt he, Whoſe quiet mind from vain deſires is free;80 Whom neither hopes deceive nor fears torment, But lives at peace, within himſelf content; In thought or act accountable to none But to himſelf and to the gods alone. O ſweetneſs of Content! ſeraphic joy!85 Which nothing wants, and nothing can deſtroy. Where dwells this peace, this freedom, of the mind? Where but in ſhades remote from human-kind, In flow’ry vales, where nymphs and ſhepherds meet, But never comes within the palace-gate.90
Farewell then, Cities; Courts and Camps, farewell; Welcome ye Groves! here let me ever dwell; From cares, from bus’neſs and mankind, remove, All but the Muſes and inſpiring Love. How ſweet the morn, how gentle is the night!95 How calm the ev’ning, and the day how bright! From hence, as from a hill, I view below The crowded world, a mighty wood in ſhow! Where ſev’ral wand’rers travel day and night By diff’rent paths, and none are in the right.100