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         Tate, Nahum, 1652-1715.
      
       
         
           1700
        
      
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         A63046
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         ESTC R14677
         11845454
         ocm 11845454
         49829
         
           
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             Panacea, a poem upon tea in two canto's [sic] / by N. Tate ...
             Tate, Nahum, 1652-1715.
          
           [16], 34, [5] p.
           
             Printed by and for J. Roberts,
             London :
             1700.
          
           
             Published in 1702 with title : A poem upon tea.
             Reproduction of original in Bodleian Library.
          
        
      
    
     
       
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         eng
      
       
         
           Tea -- Poetry.
        
      
    
     
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           PANACEA
           :
           A
           POEM
           UPON
           TEA
           :
           In
           Two
           CANTO'S
           .
        
         
           By
           N.
           TATE
           ,
           Servant
           to
           His
           MAJESTY
           .
        
         
           
             Innocuos
             Calices
             ,
             &
             amicam
             Vatibus
             Herbam
             ,
          
           
             Vimque
             datam
             Folio
             —
          
        
         
           Thor.
           de
           Poet.
           
        
         
           
             Planta
             Beata
             ,
             Decus
             Terrarum
             ,
             Munus
             Olympi
             !
          
        
         
           Idem
           .
        
         
           LONDON
           :
           Printed
           by
           and
           for
           J.
           ROBERTS
           .
           1700.
           
        
      
       
         
         
         
           TO
           THE
           RIGHT
           HONOURABLE
           Charles
           Montague
           ,
           
             Esq
          
           One
           of
           His
           MAJESTY's
           most
           Honourable
           Privy
           Council
           ,
           &c.
           
        
         
           
             SIR
             ,
          
        
         
           YOU
           can't
           be
           surpriz'd
           at
           the
           Addresses
           and
           Acknowledgments
           of
           the
           Muses
           ,
           whom
           YOU
           have
           Honour'd
           ,
           not
           Only
           in
           their
           own
           Province
           ,
           but
           likewise
           by
           convincing
           the
           World
           ,
           That
           the
           greatest
           Genius
           for
           Poetry
           ,
           can
           be
           as
           Eminent
           in
           
           Business
           of
           State
           ,
           and
           Affairs
           of
           the
           Publick
           .
        
         
           'T
           was
           but
           lately
           that
           the
           Fortune
           of
           Europe
           depended
           upon
           the
           Welfare
           of
           England
           ;
           when
           England
           her Self
           was
           under
           the
           most
           perplexing
           Exigencies
           ,
           by
           the
           ill
           Condition
           of
           our
           Coin
           ,
           Deficiency
           of
           Funds
           ,
           Loss
           of
           Publick
           Credit
           (
           when
           our
           Forces
           by
           Sea
           and
           Land
           ,
           Domestick
           and
           Foreign
           Commerce
           were
           to
           be
           provided
           for
           )
           with
           other
           Afflicting
           Circumstances
           that
           threatned
           our
           very
           Constitution
           ,
           and
           made
           our
           Affairs
           seem
           Desperate
           .
        
         
           The
           Redressing
           of
           all
           which
           Grievances
           ,
           (
           through
           Unparallel'd
           Difficulties
           )
           was
           ,
           by
           our
           SENATE
           (
           then
           Sitting
           )
           Undertaken
           
           with
           more
           than
           Roman
           Greatness
           of
           Spirit
           ;
           and
           Effected
           ,
           to
           the
           Preservation
           of
           Quiet
           amongst
           our Selves
           ,
           Astonishment
           of
           our
           Enemies
           ,
           and
           Benefit
           of
           all
           Europe
           .
        
         
           And
           ,
           SIR
           ,
           how
           Instrumental
           YOU
           were
           in
           those
           Transactions
           for
           the
           general
           Safety
           and
           Welfare
           ,
           Common
           Justice
           must
           Acknowledge
           ,
           and
           History
           informs
           us
           of
           Statues
           Erected
           for
           less
           Services
           to
           the
           Publick
           .
        
         
           I
           pretend
           not
           to
           Enumerate
           Particulars
           ,
           wherein
           (
           as
           Promoter
           ,
           or
           Principal
           )
           YOU
           have
           Merited
           the
           Thanks
           of
           the
           Age
           ,
           and
           demonstrated
           indefatigable
           Industry
           ,
           as
           well
           as
           most
           extraordinary
           Sagacity
           and
           Iudgment
           .
        
         
         
           Yet
           I
           cannot
           forbear
           mentioning
           One
           Consideration
           ,
           That
           so
           Refin'd
           a
           Spirit
           ,
           so
           Delicate
           a
           Genius
           ,
           as
           could
           be
           Delighted
           (
           to
           the
           Sublimest
           Degree
           )
           in
           the
           Retreats
           of
           the
           Muses
           ,
           and
           Gardens
           of
           Philosophy
           ,
           could
           Sacrifice
           it self
           to
           the
           Fatigues
           of
           Publick
           Business
           !
           but
           —
           
             Vincit
             Amor
             Patriae
             .
          
        
         
           SIR
           ,
           I
           know
           the
           Value
           of
           YOUR
           Time
           ,
           and
           the
           Freedom
           that
           I
           take
           in
           Presenting
           YOU
           with
           a
           Piece
           of
           Poetry
           ;
           which
           yet
           ,
           if
           it
           be
           not
           lessen'd
           by
           the
           Performance
           ,
           it
           will
           not
           be
           so
           ,
           in
           YOUR
           Esteem
           ,
           by
           
           the
           Slenderness
           of
           the
           Subject
           ,
           since
           
             
               In
               tenui
               Labor
               ,
               at
               tenuis
               non
               Gloria
               ;
               si
               Quem
            
             
               Numina
               laeva
               sinant
               ,
               auditque
               Vocatus
               Apollo
               .
            
          
        
         
           However
           ,
           I
           shall
           not
           repeat
           a
           Trespass
           in
           Detaining
           YOU
           with
           an
           Apology
           —
        
         
           Only
           ,
           That
           Zeal
           and
           Duty
           will
           be
           doing
           their
           Office
           ,
           and
           Respect
           pay
           its
           Attendance
           ,
           though
           neither
           Wanted
           nor
           Desir'd
           .
        
         
           Besides
           ,
           I
           have
           the
           same
           Right
           of
           Addressing
           to
           YOU
           ,
           as
           other
           Sons
           of
           the
           Muses
           ,
           and
           true
           Subjects
           of
           their
           
           King
           and
           Country
           :
           For
           whose
           United
           Interest
           and
           Service
           ,
           YOUR
           Health
           and
           Prosperity
           is
           most
           heartily
           wish'd
           ,
           by
        
         
           
             SIR
             ,
          
           
             Your
             most
             Obedient
             Humble
             Servant
             ,
             
               N.
               TATE
            
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           THE
           PREFACE
           .
        
         
           THE
           Tale
           in
           the
           First
           Canto
           of
           this
           Poem
           ,
           was
           taken
           (
           as
           Romantick
           as
           it
           may
           seem
           )
           from
           the
           Chinese
           History
           ,
           and
           ,
           with
           very
           modest
           Fiction
           ,
           accommodated
           to
           my
           Subject
           ;
           to
           make
           the
           Discovery
           and
           Production
           of
           the
           TEA-TREE
           more
           wonderful
           and
           surprizing
           .
           Which
           ,
           being
           in
           it self
           of
           most
           admirable
           Virtues
           ,
           and
           certainly
           One
           of
           the
           greatest
           Blessings
           of
           Nature
           ,
           I
           may
           as
           well
           suppose
           it
           to
           have
           been
           Miraculously
           Produc'd
           ,
           as
           Fracastorius
           his
           West-Indian
           Tree
           ,
           which
           his
           Poem
           tells
           us
           was
           
             Deûm
             manibus
             Sata
             ,
             Semine
             Sacro
             .
          
        
         
         
           And
           for
           my
           introducing
           the
           Deities
           in
           the
           Second
           Canto
           ,
           't
           is
           according
           to
           Petr.
           Arbiter's
           
             per
             Ambages
             &
             Deorum
             Ministeria
             praecipitandus
             liber
             Spiritus
             —
          
           I
           had
           as
           much
           Right
           for
           Interesting
           Them
           in
           this
           Sovereign
           Plant
           ,
           as
           the
           Foremention'd
           Fracastorius
           and
           Thorius
           for
           Those
           They
           Celebrated
           .
        
         
           The
           Delicacy
           of
           the
           Subject
           oblig'd
           me
           to
           treat
           it
           with
           some
           Gayety
           and
           Embellishment
           of
           Fancy
           ,
           but
           especially
           with
           Decency
           ,
           to
           make
           the
           Poem
           (
           like
           the
           Nepenthe
           on
           which
           't
           is
           writ
           )
           an
           Entertainment
           for
           the
           Ladies
           .
        
         
           If
           there
           be
           any
           Art
           or
           Beauty
           in
           the
           Piece
           ,
           they
           will
           be
           found
           by
           Persons
           of
           Judgment
           ;
           and
           if
           I
           have
           not
           the
           Fortune
           to
           please
           Them
           ,
           I
           am
           not
           solicitous
           for
           pleasing
           any
           Others
           .
        
      
       
         
         
           On
           our
           
             English
             Poetry
          
           ,
           and
           this
           Poem
           upon
           TEA
           .
        
         
           
             SEE
             
               Spanish
               Carderon
            
             in
             Strength
             outdone
             :
          
           
             And
             see
             the
             Prize
             of
             Wit
             from
             Tasso
             won
             :
          
           
             See
             
             Corneil's
             Skill
             and
             Decency
             Refin'd
             ;
          
           
             See
             
             Rapin's
             Art
             ,
             and
             
             Molier's
             Fire
             ,
             Outshin'd
             ;
          
           
             See
             
             Dryden's
             Lamp
             ,
             to
             our
             admiring
             View
             ,
          
           
             Brought
             from
             the
             Tomb
             to
             shine
             and
             Blaze
             anew
             !
          
        
         
           
             The
             British
             Lawrel
             by
             Old
             Chaucer
             worn
             ,
          
           
             Still
             Fresh
             and
             Gay
             ,
             did
             
             Dryden's
             Brow
             Adorn
             :
          
           
             And
             that
             its
             Lustre
             may
             not
             fade
             on
             Thine
             ,
          
           
             Wit
             ,
             Fancy
             ,
             Judgment
             ,
             Tate
             ,
             in
             thee
             combine
             .
          
           
             Thy
             pow'rful
             Genius
             thus
             ,
             from
             Censure
             's
             Frown
          
           
             And
             Envy's
             Blast
             ,
             in
             Flourishing
             Renown
             ,
          
           
             Supports
             our
             British
             Muses
             Verdant
             Crown
             .
          
           
             Nor
             only
             takes
             a
             Trusty
             
             Laureat's
             Care
             ,
          
           
             Lest
             Thou
             the
             Muses
             Garland
             might'st
             impair
             ;
          
           
             But
             ,
             more
             Enrich'd
             ,
             the
             Chaplet
             to
             Bequeath
             ,
          
           
             With
             Eastern
             TEA
             join'd
             to
             the
             Lawrel-Wreath
             .
          
        
         
           R.
           B.
           
        
      
       
         
         
           To
           the
           AUTHOR
           on
           his
           Poem
           upon
           TEA
           .
        
         
           LET
           Rustick
           Satyr
           ,
           now
           ,
           no
           more
           Abuse
           ,
        
         
           In
           rude
           Unskilful
           Strains
           ,
           thy
           Tuneful
           Muse
           ;
        
         
           No
           more
           let
           Envy
           lash
           thy
           true-bred
           Steed
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           cross
           thy
           easy
           ,
           just
           ,
           and
           prudent
           Speed
           :
        
         
           Who
           dext'rously
           dost
           bear
           ,
           or
           loose
           the
           Rein
           ,
        
         
           To
           climb
           each
           lofty
           Hill
           ,
           or
           scour
           the
           Plain
           :
        
         
           With
           proper
           Weight
           and
           Force
           thy
           Courses
           run
           ;
        
         
           Where
           still
           thy
           Pegasus
           has
           Wonders
           done
           ,
        
         
           Come
           home
           with
           Strength
           ,
           and
           thus
           the
           Prize
           has
           Won
           .
        
         
           But
           now
           takes
           Wing
           ,
           and
           to
           the
           *
           Skies
           aspires
           ;
        
         
           While
           Vanquish'd
           Envy
           the
           bold
           Flight
           admires
           ,
        
         
           And
           baffled
           Satyr
           to
           his
           Den
           retires
           .
        
         
           T.
           W.
           
        
      
       
         
         
           THE
           INTRODUCTION
           .
        
         
           
             FAME
             Sound
             thy
             Trump
             ,
             all
             Ranks
             of
             Mortals
             call
             ,
          
           
             To
             share
             a
             Prize
             that
             will
             enrich
             'em
             All.
             
          
        
         
           
             You
             that
             with
             Sacred
             Oracles
             converse
             ,
          
           
             And
             clearly
             wou'd
             Mysterious
             Truths
             rehearse
             ;
          
           
             On
             soaring
             Wings
             of
             Contemplation
             rise
             ,
          
           
             And
             fetch
             Discov'ries
             from
             above
             the
             Skies
             ;
          
           
             Etherial
             TEA
             your
             Notions
             will
             resine
             ,
          
           
             Till
             you
             your selves
             become
             almost
             Divine
             .
          
        
         
           
             You
             Statesmen
             ,
             who
             in
             Storms
             the
             Publick
             Helm
          
           
             Wou'd
             Guide
             with
             Skill
             ,
             and
             Save
             a
             sinking
             Realm
             ,
          
           
             TEA
             ,
             your
             Minerva
             ,
             shall
             suggest
             such
             Sense
             ,
          
           
             Such
             safe
             and
             sudden
             Turns
             of
             Thought
             dispense
             ,
          
           
             That
             you
             ,
             like
             her
             Ulysses
             ,
             may
             Advise
             ,
          
           
             And
             start
             Designs
             that
             shall
             the
             World
             surprise
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             You
             Pleaders
             ,
             who
             for
             Conquest
             at
             the
             Bar
          
           
             Contend
             as
             Fierce
             and
             Loud
             as
             Chiefs
             in
             War
             ;
          
           
             Would
             you
             Amaze
             and
             Charm
             the
             list'ning
             Court
             ?
          
           
             First
             to
             this
             Spring
             of
             Eloquence
             resort
             :
          
           
             Then
             boldly
             launch
             on
             
             Tully's
             flowing
             Seas
             ,
          
           
             And
             grasp
             the
             Thunder
             of
             Demosthenes
             .
          
        
         
           
             You
             Artists
             of
             the
             Aesculapian
             Tribe
             ,
          
           
             Wou'd
             you
             ,
             like
             
             Aesculapius's
             Self
             ,
             Prescribe
             ,
          
           
             Cure
             Maladies
             ,
             and
             Maladies
             prevent
             ?
             —
          
           
             Receive
             this
             Plant
             from
             your
             own
             Phoebus
             sent
             ;
          
           
             Whence
             Life
             's
             nice
             Lamp
             in
             Temper
             is
             maintain'd
             ,
          
           
             When
             Dim
             ,
             Recruited
             ;
             when
             too
             fierce
             ,
             restrain'd
             .
          
        
         
           
             You
             Curious
             Souls
             ,
             who
             all
             your
             Thoughts
             apply
             ,
          
           
             The
             hidden
             Works
             of
             Nature
             to
             descry
             ;
          
           
             Why
             veering
             Winds
             with
             vari'd
             Motion
             blow
             ,
          
           
             Why
             Seas
             in
             settled
             Courses
             Ebb
             and
             Flow
             ;
          
           
             Wou'd
             you
             these
             Secrets
             of
             her
             Empire
             know
             ?
          
           
             Treat
             the
             Coy
             Nymph
             with
             this
             Celestial
             Dew
             ,
          
           
             Like
             Ariadne
             she
             'll
             impart
             the
             Clue
             ;
          
           
           
             Shall
             through
             her
             Winding
             Labyrinths
             convey
             ,
          
           
             And
             Causes
             ,
             sculking
             in
             their
             Cells
             ,
             display
             .
          
        
         
           
             You
             that
             to
             
             Isis's
             Bank
             ,
             or
             Cam
             retreat
             ,
          
           
             Wou'd
             you
             prove
             worthy
             Sons
             of
             either
             Seat
             ,
          
           
             And
             All
             in
             Learning's
             Commonwealth
             be
             Great
             ?
          
           
             Infuse
             this
             Leaf
             ,
             and
             your
             Own
             Streams
             shall
             bring
          
           
             More
             Science
             than
             the
             fam'd
             Castalian
             Spring
             .
          
        
         
           
             Wou'd
             you
             ,
             O
             Musicks
             Sons
             ,
             your
             Art
             compleat
             ,
          
           
             And
             all
             its
             ancient
             Miracles
             repeat
             ,
          
           
             Rouze
             Rev'ling
             Monarchs
             into
             Martial
             Rage
             ,
          
           
             And
             ,
             when
             Inflam'd
             ,
             with
             Softer
             Notes
             asswage
             ;
          
           
             The
             tedious
             Hours
             of
             absent
             Love
             beguile
             ,
          
           
             Charm
             Care
             asleep
             ,
             and
             make
             Affliction
             Smile
             ?
          
           
             Carouse
             in
             TEA
             ,
             that
             will
             your
             Souls
             inspire
             ;
          
           
             Drink
             
             Phoebus's
             Liquor
             ,
             and
             command
             his
             Lyre
             .
          
        
         
           
             Sons
             of
             Apelles
             ,
             wou'd
             you
             draw
             the
             Face
          
           
             And
             Shape
             of
             Venus
             ,
             and
             with
             equal
             Grace
          
           
             In
             some
             Elysian
             Field
             the
             Figure
             place
             ?
          
           
           
             Your
             Fancy
             ,
             warm'd
             by
             TEA
             ,
             with
             wish'd
             Success
             ,
          
           
             Shall
             Beauty's
             Queen
             in
             all
             her
             Charms
             express
             :
          
           
             With
             Nature's
             Rural
             Pride
             your
             Landschape
             fill
          
           
             The
             Shady
             Grotto
             ,
             and
             the
             Sunny
             Hill
             ,
          
           
             The
             Laughing
             Meadow
             ,
             and
             the
             Talking
             Rill
             .
          
        
         
           
             Sons
             of
             the
             Muses
             ,
             would
             you
             Charm
             the
             Plains
          
           
             With
             chearful
             Lays
             ,
             or
             sweet
             Condoling
             Strains
             ;
          
           
             Or
             with
             a
             Sonnet
             make
             the
             Vallies
             ring
             ,
          
           
             To
             Welcome
             home
             the
             Goddess
             of
             the
             Spring
             :
          
           
             Or
             wou'd
             you
             in
             sublimer
             Themes
             engage
             ,
          
           
             And
             sing
             of
             Worthies
             who
             Adorn
             the
             Age
             ?
          
           
             Or
             ,
             with
             Promethean
             Boldness
             ,
             wou'd
             aspire
          
           
             To
             catch
             a
             Spark
             of
             that
             Celestial
             Fire
          
           
             That
             Crown'd
             the
             †
             Royal
             Conquest
             ,
             and
             could
             raise
          
           
             
             Juverne's
             Boyn
             above
             *
             
             Scamander's
             Praise
             ?
          
           
             Drink
             ,
             drink
             Inspiring
             TEA
             ,
             and
             boldly
             draw
             ,
          
           
             A
             Hercules
             ,
             a
             Mars
             ,
             or
             a
             NASSAU
             .
          
        
      
    
     
       
         
         
           A
           POEM
           UPON
           TEA
           .
        
         
           In
           Two
           CANTOS
           .
        
         
           
             CANTO
             I.
             
          
           
             
               BY
               
               Avon's
               Stream
               (
               the
               Muses
               calm
               Retreat
               )
            
             
               Palaemon
               liv'd
               in
               his
               un-envy'd
               Seat
               ,
            
             
               None
               better
               knew
               ,
               or
               practis'd
               ,
               in
               his
               Cell
            
             
               The
               chast
               Delights
               that
               with
               Retirement
               dwell
               .
            
             
               And
               thus
               confin'd
               to
               Safety
               's
               humble
               Sphear
               ,
            
             
               Desiring
               Little
               ,
               had
               not
               Much
               to
               fear
               ;
            
             
             
             
             
             
             
               Was
               neither
               Fortune's
               Envy
               ,
               nor
               her
               Sport
               ;
            
             
               Free
               from
               the
               servile
               Arts
               of
               Town
               or
               Court
               ,
            
             
               The
               nauseous
               Task
               ,
               that
               gen'rous
               Souls
               contemn
               ,
            
             
               Of
               Knaves
               Caresses
               ,
               and
               Caressing
               them
               .
            
          
           
             
               Yet
               (
               whether
               Novelty
               his
               Fancy
               fir'd
               ,
            
             
               Or
               some
               Diviner
               Pow'r
               the
               Thought
               inspir'd
               ,
               )
            
             
               Through
               Foreign
               Climates
               he
               resolv'd
               to
               roam
               ,
            
             
               And
               view
               those
               Wonders
               which
               he
               read
               at
               home
               .
            
             
               Most
               strict
               Survey
               in
               every
               Realm
               he
               made
            
             
               Of
               Men
               and
               Manners
               ,
               Policy
               and
               Trade
               ;
            
             
               But
               none
               he
               found
               ,
               his
               gentle
               Soul
               to
               please
               ,
            
             
               Like
               the
               Refin'd
               and
               Civiliz'd
               Chinese
               .
            
          
           
             
               Rich
               in
               Improvements
               of
               his
               well-spent
               Time
               ,
            
             
               The
               Bard
               returns
               to
               his
               own
               Native
               Clime
               :
            
             
               The
               Neighb'ring
               Shepherds
               ,
               who
               his
               Absence
               mourn'd
               ,
            
             
               Visit
               with
               Joy
               their
               wandring
               Friend
               return'd
               .
            
             
               Short
               Salutation
               past
               ,
               he
               feasts
               their
               Eyes
            
             
               With
               pleasing
               View
               of
               Eastern
               Rarities
               .
            
             
               Nature
               and
               Art's
               choice
               Gift
               ,
               the
               Goa-stone
               ,
            
             
               With
               Plants
               and
               Herbs
               to
               Western
               Swains
               unknown
               .
            
             
             
               Yet
               ,
               more
               surpriz'd
               ,
               they
               found
               their
               Senses
               chear'd
               ,
            
             
               Soon
               as
               the
               Verdant
               fragrant
               TEA
               appear'd
               ;
            
             
               It
               's
               Nature
               ,
               Use
               ,
               confus'dly
               they
               demand
               ,
            
             
               What
               Name
               it
               bore
               ?
               The
               Product
               of
               what
               Land
               ?
            
             
               'T
               will
               Time
               require
               to
               have
               at
               full
               exprest
            
             
               (
               The
               Bard
               reply'd
               )
               what
               you
               in
               hast
               request
               .
            
             
               Come
               to
               my
               Bow'r
               ,
               and
               I
               'll
               inform
               you
               there
               ,
            
             
               What
               curious
               Souls
               must
               needs
               be
               pleas'd
               to
               hear
               .
            
          
           
             
               He
               said
               ,
               and
               with
               his
               willing
               Guests
               withdrew
               ,
            
             
               Where
               a
               new
               Scene
               of
               Wonders
               charm'd
               their
               View
               ;
            
             
               On
               burning
               Lamps
               a
               Silver
               Vessel
               plac'd
               ,
            
             
               A
               Table
               with
               surprising
               Figures
               grac'd
               ,
            
             
               And
               
               China-Bowls
               to
               feast
               their
               Sight
               and
               Tast
               :
            
             
               The
               Genial
               Liquor
               ,
               decently
               pour'd
               out
               ,
            
             
               To
               the
               admiring
               Guests
               is
               dealt
               about
               .
            
             
               Scarce
               had
               they
               drank
               a
               first
               and
               second
               Round
               ,
            
             
               When
               the
               warm
               
               Nectar
               's
               pleasing
               Force
               they
               found
               ,
            
             
               About
               their
               Heart
               enliven'd
               Spirits
               danc'd
               ,
            
             
               Then
               to
               the
               Brains
               sublimer
               Seat
               advanc'd
               .
            
             
               (
               Such
               Transport
               feel
               young
               Prophets
               when
               they
               Dream
               .
            
             
               Or
               Poets
               slumb'ring
               by
               
               Pirene's
               Stream
               .
               )
            
             
             
               With
               silent
               Wonder
               mutually
               they
               Trace
            
             
               Bright
               Joys
               reflected
               on
               each
               other's
               Face
               .
            
             
               Then
               thus
               the
               Bard
               —
               Fear
               no
               Circaean
               Bowls
               ,
            
             
               This
               is
               the
               Drink
               of
               Health
               ,
               the
               Drink
               of
               Souls
               !
            
             
               The
               Virtues
               This
               ,
               and
               This
               the
               Graces
               quaff
               ,
            
             
               Like
               Nectar
               chearful
               ,
               like
               Nepenthe
               safe
               .
            
             
               Not
               such
               the
               Plant
               which
               Bacchus
               first
               did
               nurse
               ,
            
             
               Heav'ns
               Blessing
               chang'd
               by
               Mortals
               to
               their
               Curse
            
             
               Ah
               Syren-Pleasure
               ,
               to
               Destruction
               turn'd
               !
            
             
               Ah
               woful
               Mirth
               to
               be
               for
               ever
               Mourn'd
               !
            
             
               How
               much
               more
               blest
               —
            
             
               You
               Swains
               who
               drink
               ,
               with
               Birds
               ,
               the
               running
               Spring
               ,
            
             
               And
               Innocent
               ,
               like
               them
               ,
               like
               them
               can
               sing
               .
            
             
               Another
               Round
               —
               Then
               ,
               if
               your
               Patience
               hold
               ,
            
             
               I
               shall
               the
               Charming
               History
               unfold
               ,
            
             
               How
               this
               rare
               Plant
               at
               first
               Divinely
               sprung
               ,
            
             
               Nor
               shall
               its
               Sov'raign
               Virtues
               rest
               unsung
               ,
            
             
               For
               which
               our
               Phoebus
               oft
               his
               Harp
               has
               strung
               .
            
          
           
             
               While
               the
               Chinese
               remain'd
               a
               Virtuous
               Breed
               ,
            
             
               From
               Western
               Vices
               and
               Distempers
               freed
               ;
            
             
               Or
               but
               with
               common
               Maladies
               were
               griev'd
               ,
            
             
               Which
               common
               Plants
               of
               Nature's
               Field
               reliev'd
               ;
            
             
             
               TEA
               was
               not
               sprung
               —
               reserv'd
               by
               friendly
               Fate
               ,
            
             
               For
               last
               Distress
               of
               
               China's
               suff'ring
               State.
            
             
               Whose
               Griefs
               and
               wondrous
               Cure
               I
               shall
               recite
               ,
            
             
               A
               Tale
               that
               may
               your
               Patience
               well
               requite
               .
            
          
           
             
               When
               KI
               ,
               a
               Name
               through
               Eastern
               Climes
               accurst
               ,
            
             
               (
               Last
               of
               his
               Race
               ,
               of
               wicked
               Kings
               the
               First
               )
            
             
               Prophan'd
               the
               Throne
               ,
               ill-boding
               Signs
               foreran
               ,
            
             
               And
               dreadful
               Prodigies
               his
               Reign
               began
               ;
            
             
               His
               monstrous
               Reign
               ,
               which
               justly
               you
               may
               call
            
             
               The
               most
               amazing
               Prodigy
               of
               All.
            
             
               Discarding
               all
               the
               Sages
               of
               the
               Realm
               ,
            
             
               Rash
               unexperienc'd
               Youth
               he
               sets
               at
               Helm
               :
            
             
               Till
               now
               ,
               from
               all
               its
               ancient
               Frame
               estrang'd
               ,
            
             
               The
               Government
               into
               a
               Farce
               was
               chang'd
               .
            
             
               Buffoons
               the
               Empire
               's
               Grand
               Affairs
               debate
               ,
            
             
               And
               Jesters
               are
               the
               Councellors
               of
               State.
            
             
               Pert
               ,
               smatt'ring
               Youngsters
               Judges
               of
               the
               Land
               ,
            
             
               And
               dressing
               Fops
               the
               Martial
               Troops
               command
               ,
            
             
               Those
               for
               Companion-Fav'rites
               he
               admits
               .
            
             
               Who
               had
               for
               Pleasure
               most
               inventive
               Wits
               :
            
             
             
               These
               Prodigals
               ingross
               the
               Monarch's
               Hours
               ,
            
             
               In
               rev'ling
               Grotto's
               ,
               and
               voluptuous
               Bow'rs
               :
            
             
               A
               Province
               must
               be
               Tax'd
               when
               e'er
               they
               Dine
               ,
            
             
               In
               Essences
               they
               rowl
               ,
               and
               Bathe
               in
               Pools
               of
               Wine
               .
            
          
           
             
               This
               soft
               Contagion
               ,
               in
               the
               Palace
               bred
               ,
            
             
               From
               Court
               to
               Town
               ,
               from
               Town
               to
               Country
               spred
               .
            
             
               Old
               Discipline
               through
               
               China's
               Empire
               fails
               ,
            
             
               And
               upstart
               Riot
               like
               a
               Plague
               prevails
               ;
            
             
               Expensive
               Idleness
               ,
               for
               frugal
               Pains
               ,
            
             
               In
               ev'ry
               City
               ,
               ev'ry
               Village
               reigns
               :
            
             
               Whence
               Poverty
               ,
               Fraud
               ,
               Rapine
               did
               ensue
               ,
            
             
               And
               these
               attended
               with
               a
               swarming
               Crew
            
             
               Of
               dire
               Diseases
               ,
               like
               their
               Vices
               ,
               New.
               
            
          
           
             
               But
               
               China's
               Nobles
               ,
               the
               discarded
               Race
            
             
               Who
               still
               did
               injur'd
               Virtue
               's
               Cause
               embrace
               ;
            
             
               With
               conscious
               silence
               could
               no
               longer
               view
            
             
               At
               once
               their
               Country's
               Shame
               and
               Ruin
               too
               .
            
          
           
             
               An
               ancient
               Mandarine
               ,
               wise
               ,
               pious
               ,
               just
               ,
            
             
               Who
               long
               had
               foremost
               serv'd
               in
               Publick
               Trust
               ,
            
             
             
               First
               Minister
               in
               prosp'rous
               Days
               of
               State
               ,
            
             
               Advances
               first
               against
               the
               Publick
               Fate
               :
            
             
               With
               rev'rend
               Aspect
               ,
               and
               with
               solemn
               Grace
               ,
            
             
               He
               represents
               the
               Empire
               's
               wretched
               Case
               ,
            
             
               And
               reprimands
               the
               Tyrant
               to
               his
               Face
               .
            
             
               The
               fiery
               Monarch
               (
               with
               a
               Jav'lin
               snatcht
            
             
               And
               through
               his
               kind
               Adviser's
               Throat
               dispatcht
               )
            
          
           
             
               Crys
               ,
               —
            
             
               —
               Formal
               grave
               Buffoon
               your
               Counsel's
               wrong
               ,
            
             
               And
               like
               your
               senseless
               Life
               spun
               out
               too
               long
               ,
            
             
               I
               cut
               'em
               short
               —
               harranguing
               Dotard
               go
               —
            
             
               The
               Ghosts
               have
               leisure
               —
               talk
               the
               rest
               below
               .
            
          
           
             
               Now
               Swains
               receive
               a
               Story
               strange
               and
               true
               ,
            
             
               And
               with
               Amazement
               let
               Fame
               listen
               too
               ,
            
             
               Of
               Graecian
               Worthies
               her
               stale
               Names
               give
               o'er
               ,
            
             
               And
               boast
               of
               Roman
               Gallantry
               no
               more
               :
            
             
               Hear
               greater
               Miracles
               of
               Honour
               ,
               done
            
             
               Beneath
               the
               Influence
               of
               the
               Rising
               Sun.
            
             
               But
               ah
               !
               this
               Eastern
               Glory
               to
               allay
               ,
            
             
               The
               changing
               Scene
               must
               frantick
               Vice
               display
               ;
            
             
             
               Such
               Pomp
               of
               Luxury
               as
               ne'er
               was
               seen
            
             
               'Twixt
               rev'ling
               Anthony
               and
               
               Egypt's
               Queen
               .
            
          
           
             
               While
               weltring
               in
               his
               Gore
               one
               Patriot
               lies
               ,
            
             
               Another
               Chief
               the
               Tragick
               Part
               supplies
               ,
            
             
               And
               in
               the
               Prologue
               of
               his
               Story
               dies
               ,
            
             
               A
               Third
               ,
               scarce
               enter'd
               on
               the
               bloody
               Stage
               ,
            
             
               A
               Victim
               falls
               to
               Arbitrary
               Rage
               ;
            
             
               Yet
               boldly
               to
               the
               desp'rate
               Charge
               succeed
            
             
               A
               Fourth
               and
               Fifth
               ,
               who
               ,
               like
               the
               former
               ,
               Bleed
               .
            
             
               The
               Sixth
               ,
               as
               if
               to
               triumph
               o'er
               his
               Fate
               ,
            
             
               Placing
               his
               Hearse
               before
               the
               Palace-Gate
               ,
            
             
               Rushes
               into
               the
               Slaughter-Room
               of
               State
               ,
            
          
           
             
               
                 Then
                 thus
                 the
                 Tyrant
                 ,
              
               —
               Dull
               aspiring
               Fool
               ,
            
             
               Who
               like
               a
               Pedant
               com'st
               thy
               Prince
               to
               School
               ,
            
             
               Thou
               would'st
               be
               Chronicled
               ,
               and
               have
               thy
               Name
            
             
               Distinguisht
               from
               thy
               Brother-Fools
               of
               Fame
               ,
            
             
               Recorded
               to
               have
               brav'd
               thy
               Monarch's
               Doom
               ,
            
             
               And
               then
               retire
               ,
               with
               State
               ,
               into
               thy
               Tomb.
            
             
               But
               know
               ,
               thy
               Plot
               for
               Glorious
               Death
               is
               vain
               ,
            
             
               Nor
               shall
               that
               Hearse
               a
               Traytor
               's
               Corps
               contain
               ;
            
             
             
               A
               Feast
               for
               savage
               Beasts
               thou
               shalt
               be
               made
               —
            
             
               And
               who
               dare
               next
               their
               Soveraign's
               Peace
               invade
               ,
            
             
               In
               wretched
               Torture
               shall
               their
               Treason
               rue
               ;
            
             
               And
               from
               the
               lingring
               Rack
               and
               Gaunches
               ,
               view
            
             
               Their
               Sons
               to
               speedier
               Execution
               led
               ;
            
             
               To
               vilest
               Slaves
               their
               Wives
               and
               Daughters
               wed
               .
            
          
           
             
               This
               Sentence
               past
               ,
               like
               an
               Infernal
               Charm
               ,
            
             
               Honour
               and
               Courage
               did
               at
               once
               disarm
               ;
            
             
               Stunn'd
               with
               the
               Sound
               ,
               and
               Thunder-struck
               ,
               they
               yield
            
             
               To
               lawless
               Vice
               the
               execrable
               Field
               .
            
          
           
             
               Now
               Banquets
               ,
               Musick
               ,
               Masques
               and
               Mimick
               Sport
            
             
               Are
               all
               the
               Business
               of
               th'
               Imperial
               Court
               ;
            
             
               From
               which
               the
               Monarch
               never
               did
               remove
               ,
            
             
               But
               to
               the
               dearer
               Solaces
               of
               Love.
            
             
               In
               ev'ry
               Passion
               of
               his
               roving
               Mind
            
             
               A
               Libertine
               ,
               but
               in
               Amour
               confin'd
               :
            
             
               Amira
               was
               the
               first
               who
               found
               the
               Art
            
             
               At
               once
               to
               conquer
               and
               enslave
               his
               Heart
               .
            
             
               One
               Evening
               when
               the
               wanton
               Zephyrs
               Play'd
               ,
            
             
               Repos'd
               beneath
               the
               Myrtle's
               am'rous
               shade
               ,
            
             
             
               All
               ravisht
               in
               his
               lov'd
               
               Amira's
               Arms
            
             
               (
               Brighter
               than
               Venus
               in
               her
               new-born
               Charms
               .
               )
            
             
               The
               Monarch
               sigh'd
               and
               said
               ,
               
                 Ah
                 fading
                 Ioy
              
               !
            
             
               Why
               should
               the
               Transports
               cease
               that
               never
               cloy
               ?
            
             
               Why
               are
               those
               Eyes
               ,
               than
               Stars
               more
               heav'nly
               bright
               ,
            
             
               Condemn'd
               to
               shine
               with
               Temporary
               Light
               ?
            
             
               Ah!
               might
               their
               lovely
               Lustre
               ever
               blaze
               ,
            
             
               As
               on
               their
               Glories
               I
               cou'd
               ever
               gaze
               !
            
             
               Must
               all
               this
               Bloom
               be
               nipt
               with
               Death's
               cold
               shade
               !
            
             
               Why
               should
               these
               Lillies
               ,
               why
               these
               Roses
               fade
               ?
            
             
               Why
               should
               th'
               Elysian
               Spring
               for
               ever
               last
               ,
            
             
               And
               Thine
               be
               doom'd
               to
               Fate
               's
               untimely
               Blast
               ?
            
             
               These
               pensive
               Thoughts
               ,
               like
               Furies
               ,
               haunt
               my
               Rest
               ;
            
             
               These
               Harpy-Guests
               my
               Feast
               of
               Love
               molest
               .
            
          
           
             
               The
               Queen
               ,
               her
               weening
               Lover
               to
               beguile
               ;
            
             
               (
               A
               Trickling
               Tear
               dissembling
               with
               a
               Smile
               )
            
             
               Replies
               ,
               Tho'
               envious
               Fates
               your
               Wish
               deny
               ,
            
             
               We
               may
               forget
               that
               we
               shall
               ever
               Die
               ;
            
             
               Our
               Life
               to
               unmolested
               Pleasure
               give
               ,
            
             
               And
               ,
               while
               the
               Scene
               lasts
               ,
               like
               Immortals
               live
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               Erect
               a
               Palace
               (
               than
               the
               Sun
               's
               more
               bright
               )
            
             
               Immur'd
               from
               Day
               ,
               but
               with
               more
               radiant
               Light
            
             
               Of
               ever-blazing
               Lamps
               and
               Tapers
               deckt
               ,
            
             
               And
               sparkling
               Gems
               the
               Lustre
               to
               reflect
               .
            
             
               Where
               Change
               of
               Seasons
               we
               shall
               never
               see
               ,
            
             
               To
               read
               us
               Lectures
               of
               Mortality
               .
            
             
               Grief
               be
               excluded
               from
               that
               happy
               Sphere
               ,
            
             
               And
               Pleasures
               only
               have
               Admittance
               there
               ;
            
             
               Which
               trusty
               Fav'rites
               ,
               (
               to
               secure
               their
               sway
            
             
               Abroad
               )
               shall
               Thither
               in
               full
               Tides
               convey
               .
            
             
               Of
               Empire
               you
               shall
               thus
               enjoy
               the
               Spoil
               ,
            
             
               The
               Fruit
               ,
               for
               which
               your
               Royal
               Vassals
               toil
               .
            
             
               The
               Pride
               of
               Nature
               there
               shall
               charm
               your
               Sight
               ,
            
             
               Her
               richest
               Luxury
               your
               Taste
               invite
               .
            
             
               Earth's
               scatter'd
               Blessings
               shall
               together
               meet
               ,
            
             
               And
               lye
               in
               smiling
               Heaps
               before
               your
               Feet
               .
            
             
               There
               Fountain-springs
               thro'
               artful
               Pipes
               shall
               move
            
             
               With
               all
               the
               Musick
               of
               the
               Spheres
               above
               ,
            
             
               To
               charm
               our
               Slumbers
               in
               the
               Bow'r
               of
               Love.
            
             
               Thus
               from
               the
               Cares
               of
               lower
               Empire
               free
               ,
            
             
               Blest
               ,
               like
               the
               First
               ,
               shall
               our
               new
               Eden
               be
               ,
            
             
               Where
               I
               to
               You
               ,
               You
               all
               the
               World
               to
               Me.
               
            
          
           
             
             
               The
               Monarch
               ,
               to
               indulge
               the
               pleasing
               Cheat
               ,
            
             
               With
               vast
               Expence
               builds
               this
               Inchanted
               Seat
               ;
            
             
               Where
               the
               fond
               Pair
               ,
               from
               Vulgar
               Mortal's
               sight
            
             
               With
               chosen
               Minions
               ,
               hide
               themselves
               in
               Light.
               
            
          
           
             
               The
               Provinces
               to
               Villains
               Hands
               assign'd
               ,
            
             
               Now
               ,
               for
               one
               Tyrant
               lost
               ,
               a
               thousand
               find
               ;
            
             
               While
               he
               absconds
               ,
               his
               lewd
               Trustees
               of
               Pow'r
               ,
            
             
               The
               bleeding
               Vitals
               of
               the
               State
               devour
               ,
            
             
               What
               Riot
               wastes
               with
               Rapine
               they
               supply
               ,
            
             
               And
               Rapine
               drein'd
               ,
               to
               Sacriledge
               they
               fly
               .
            
             
               The
               Country's
               Tillage
               ,
               and
               the
               City's
               Trade
            
             
               Exhausted
               ,
               they
               the
               Temples
               Rights
               invade
               ;
            
             
               Whose
               injur'd
               Pow'rs
               ,
               with
               just
               Resentment
               fir'd
               ,
            
             
               Discarded
               Chiefs
               with
               equal
               Rage
               inspir'd
               ,
            
             
               Who
               ,
               follow'd
               by
               a
               small
               but
               zealous
               Train
               ,
            
             
               In
               thin
               Batallion
               muster
               on
               the
               Plain
               .
            
          
           
             
               To
               head
               their
               num'rous
               Troops
               the
               Vice-roys
               Arm
               ,
            
             
               But
               quit
               the
               Field
               on
               Danger
               's
               first
               Alarm
               ;
            
             
               With
               their
               
               Beau-Captains
               —
               All
               more
               Courtly
               Bred
            
             
               Than
               to
               Desert
               their
               Gen'rals
               when
               they
               Fled
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               Mean
               while
               their
               Troops
               in
               Marshal'd
               Order
               stand
               ,
            
             
               But
               know
               not
               how
               to
               Charge
               without
               Command
               ;
            
             
               'Twixt
               Shame
               and
               Rage
               ,
               Disdaining
               and
               Amaz'd
               ,
            
             
               With
               silent
               Looks
               they
               on
               each
               other
               gaz'd
               .
            
             
               The
               Adverse
               Party
               stand
               in
               like
               Suspence
               ,
            
             
               To
               shew
               they
               took
               not
               Arms
               but
               for
               Defence
               .
            
             
               Till
               now
               both
               Hosts
               ,
               for
               Publick
               Good
               combine
               ,
            
             
               And
               ,
               tho'
               they
               met
               as
               Foes
               ,
               as
               Friends
               they
               join
               .
            
          
           
             
               This
               Revolution
               ,
               on
               the
               Wings
               of
               Fame
               ,
            
             
               To
               the
               Fantastick
               Lovers
               Palace
               came
               ;
            
             
               Whose
               Fairy-Joys
               transform'd
               to
               dismal
               Fright
               ,
            
             
               They
               quit
               their
               Mansion
               of
               perpetual
               Light
               ,
            
             
               To
               sculk
               in
               Caves
               and
               thickest
               shades
               of
               Night
               .
            
          
           
             
               The
               conscious
               Prince
               from
               Empire
               thus
               retir'd
               ,
            
             
               And
               all
               besides
               of
               Royal
               Race
               expir'd
               ,
            
             
               The
               Mandarins
               assemble
               ,
               to
               create
            
             
               A
               Monarch
               ,
               to
               Reform
               and
               Rule
               the
               State.
            
             
               On
               Others
               Merits
               freely
               they
               enlarge
               ,
            
             
               But
               for
               Himself
               each
               Chief
               declines
               the
               Charge
               ;
            
             
             
               O
               Piety
               of
               unexampled
               strain
               ,
            
             
               All
               ,
               for
               their
               Country's
               good
               ,
               prepar'd
               to
               drein
            
             
               Their
               Vital
               Blood
               ,
               yet
               none
               consent
               to
               Reign
               !
            
          
           
             
               The
               Lot
               decides
               ;
               and
               strait
               the
               gen'ral
               Voice
            
             
               With
               loud
               Applause
               approves
               of
               Fortune's
               choice
               ,
            
             
               The
               worthy
               Heir
               of
               him
               who
               did
               engage
               ,
            
             
               And
               fell
               first
               Victim
               to
               the
               Tyrant's
               Rage
               .
            
          
           
             
               Thus
               
               China's
               Realms
               their
               Ancient
               Form
               regain'd
               ;
            
             
               Their
               Vices
               cur'd
               ;
               but
               their
               Diseases
               reign'd
               ;
            
             
               Their
               Minds
               restor'd
               ,
               but
               still
               their
               Bodies
               pin'd
               ,
            
             
               Where
               dying
               Luxury
               left
               Stings
               behind
               ;
            
             
               Whose
               Smart
               ,
               enflam'd
               by
               Vengeance
               from
               above
               ,
            
             
               Too
               obstinate
               for
               Human
               Help
               did
               prove
               .
            
             
               Consumption
               ,
               Dropsie
               ,
               Racking
               Gout
               and
               Stone
               ,
            
             
               (
               Till
               then
               to
               happy
               Eastern
               Climes
               unknown
               )
            
             
               All
               Maladies
               that
               could
               on
               Nature
               fall
               ,
            
             
               With
               Spleen
               that
               feels
               ,
               or
               thinks
               it
               feels
               'em
               All.
            
             
               They
               Sigh
               all
               Day
               ,
               and
               Nightly
               Vigils
               keep
               ,
            
             
               To
               shun
               the
               Terrors
               of
               distracted
               Sleep
               .
            
             
             
               In
               Cities
               dear
               Society
               and
               Trade
               ,
            
             
               In
               Field
               the
               Tillage
               and
               the
               Vintage
               fade
               ;
            
             
               The
               Shepherd's
               Pipe
               forlorn
               beside
               him
               laid
               .
            
             
               In
               vain
               the
               Sick
               to
               Art
               or
               Nature
               fly
               ,
            
             
               While
               Sick
               as
               they
               ,
               both
               Art
               and
               Nature
               lye
               .
            
          
           
             
               The
               Wretches
               now
               to
               ev'ry
               Temple
               press
            
             
               In
               sighing
               Crowds
               ,
               not
               to
               implore
               Redress
               ,
            
             
               But
               own
               the
               Justice
               of
               their
               Doom
               ,
               and
               crave
            
             
               The
               Favour
               only
               of
               a
               speedy
               Grave
               .
            
             
               Which
               modest
               Penitence
               that
               Mercy
               drew
               ,
            
             
               For
               which
               the
               poor
               Delinquents
               durst
               not
               sue
               .
            
          
           
             
               The
               Solemn
               Day
               approacht
               ,
               when
               
               China's
               Court
            
             
               Must
               to
               the
               Great
               Confucius
               Cell
               resort
               ;
            
             
               The
               Cave
               in
               which
               the
               Hermit
               (
               long
               retir'd
               )
            
             
               Compil'd
               those
               Laws
               which
               Sacred
               Pow'rs
               inspir'd
            
             
               With
               Angel-Visits
               only
               entertain'd
               ;
            
             
               And
               in
               his
               Desart
               wond'rously
               Sustain'd
               ,
            
             
               Where
               no
               Relief
               of
               Plant
               or
               Herb
               was
               found
               ,
            
             
               Nor
               Spire
               of
               Grass
               through
               all
               the
               barren
               Ground
               .
            
          
           
             
               In
               Solemn
               Progress
               ,
               by
               Devotion
               drawn
               ,
            
             
               The
               Pious
               King
               prevents
               the
               early
               Dawn
               ;
            
             
             
               Leads
               the
               Procession
               ,
               and
               advancing
               near
               ,
            
             
               Beholds
               the
               Sun
               and
               Cell
               at
               once
               appear
               .
            
             
               But
               how
               Surpriz'd
               to
               find
               the
               Desart
               Ground
               ,
            
             
               With
               new-sprung
               Plants
               of
               lovely
               Verdure
               Crown'd
               ;
            
             
               There
               bloom'd
               the
               SOUMBLO
               ,
               there
               Imperial
               TEA
               ,
            
             
               (
               Names
               then
               unknown
               )
               and
               Sanative
               BOHE
               ;
            
             
               All
               deem'd
               ,
               in
               Honour
               to
               the
               Prophet's
               Shrine
               ,
            
             
               Produc'd
               ,
               with
               Virtues
               ,
               like
               their
               Birth
               ,
               Divine
               ,
            
             
               And
               sent
               a
               timely
               Cure
               of
               Publick
               Grief
               ;
            
             
               Experience
               soon
               Confirming
               that
               Belief
               .
            
          
           
             
               Thus
               far
               Tradition
               ,
               which
               I
               oft
               have
               heard
            
             
               By
               Eastern
               Priests
               ,
               as
               Oracles
               ,
               Averr'd
               .
            
          
           
             
               Next
               ,
               how
               their
               Poets
               sing
               (
               in
               bolder
               Verse
               )
            
             
               The
               VIRTUES
               of
               this
               Plant
               —
               I
               shall
               rehearse
            
             
               How
               happily
               their
               Art
               they
               have
               Express'd
               ,
            
             
               With
               useful
               Truth
               in
               pleasing
               Fable
               drest
               ;
            
             
               That
               sickly
               Mortals
               ,
               by
               the
               Tempting
               Lure
            
             
               Of
               Fiction
               ,
               may
               be
               drawn
               to
               certain
               CURE
               .
            
          
           
             The
             End
             of
             the
             First
             Canto
          
        
         
           
           
             CANTO
             II.
             
          
           
             
               WHen
               first
               Apollo
               ,
               in
               Celestial
               Bow'rs
               ,
            
             
               Treated
               with
               fragrant
               Tea
               ,
               th'
               immortal
               Pow'rs
               ,
            
             
               (
               That
               more
               than
               Nectar
               and
               Nepenthe
               pleas'd
               )
            
             
               The
               Goddesses
               with
               such
               Delight
               were
               seiz'd
               ;
            
             
               They
               fell
               to
               Strife
               about
               the
               foreign
               Tree
               ,
            
             
               Who
               should
               its
               Patroness
               and
               Guardian
               be
               :
            
             
               At
               last
               the
               Competition
               was
               referr'd
            
             
               To
               be
               before
               the
               Gods
               in
               Council
               heard
               ;
            
             
               Who
               Summon'd
               ,
               at
               
               Iove's
               Palace
               now
               were
               met
               ,
            
             
               And
               high
               above
               the
               rest
               the
               Thund'rer
               set
               .
            
          
           
             
               First
               IUNO
               thus
               ,
               with
               haughty
               State
               ,
               addrest
               ,
            
             
               And
               Looks
               that
               angry
               Majesty
               exprest
               ,
            
             
               Which
               ,
               e'er
               she
               spake
               ,
               the
               Queen
               of
               Heav'n
               confest
               ;
            
          
           
             
               "
               Let
               such
               impose
               upon
               their
               Judges
               sense
               ,
            
             
               "
               Sue
               Favour
               ,
               who
               to
               Right
               have
               no
               Pretence
               ;
            
             
             
               "
               With
               soothing
               Arts
               of
               Language
               strive
               to
               please
               :
            
             
               "
               I
               come
               not
               here
               to
               Plead
               ,
               but
               Claim
               and
               Seize
               :
            
             
               "
               Right
               I
               demand
               ;
               and
               Deities
               ,
               I
               know
               ,
            
             
               "
               Will
               do
               me
               Right
               —
               for
               ,
               Gods
               I
               'll
               have
               it
               so
               .
            
             
               "
               Shall
               Subject
               Goddesses
               with
               me
               contend
               ?
            
             
               "
               When
               once
               Imperial
               Iuno
               shall
               descend
            
             
               "
               To
               Competition
               ,
               Empire
               's
               at
               an
               End.
            
             
               "
               Shall
               Royal
               
               Iuno's
               Claim
               be
               disallow'd
            
             
               "
               To
               Tea
               ?
               with
               Sov'reign
               Properties
               endow'd
               ,
            
             
               "
               And
               Queen
               of
               Plants
               by
               Native
               Right
               allow'd
               .
            
             
               "
               Let
               that
               aspiring
               Goddess
               ,
               who
               shall
               dare
            
             
               "
               Here
               to
               Usurp
               my
               Patronage
               and
               Care
               ,
            
             
               "
               Pretend
               with
               me
               the
               Thund'rer's
               Bed
               to
               share
               .
            
             
               "
               The
               Rival
               of
               my
               Bed
               ,
               and
               what
               I
               prize
            
             
               "
               More
               Dear
               ,
               my
               Throne
               ,
               and
               Empire
               of
               the
               Skies
               .
            
             
               "
               Speak
               Iove
               ,
               decide
               ,
               e'er
               it
               begins
               ,
               this
               Strife
               ;
            
             
               "
               Respect
               the
               Empress
               ,
               tho'
               you
               Slight
               the
               Wise.
            
             
               "
               Assert
               ,
               in
               Mine
               ,
               your
               Own
               Celestial
               State
               :
            
             
               "
               Iove
               ,
               let
               us
               Reign
               ,
               or
               let
               us
               Abdicate
               .
            
             
               "
               Once
               to
               Immortals
               this
               Example
               show
               ,
            
             
               "
               What
               will
               your
               Stubborn
               Mortals
               do
               Below
               ?
            
             
             
               "
               Already
               grown
               Impatient
               of
               our
               Yoke
               ,
            
             
               "
               For
               seldom
               now
               we
               see
               our
               Altars
               Smoke
               ;
            
             
               "
               With
               sparing
               Hands
               They
               offer
               from
               the
               Store
            
             
               "
               Our
               Bounty
               lends
               ,
               and
               grudgingly
               Adore
               :
            
             
               "
               But
               from
               our
               Shrines
               intirely
               will
               Remove
               ,
            
             
               "
               Till
               Government
               is
               better
               fix'd
               Above
               ,
            
             
               "
               And
               till
               convinc'd
               —
            
             
               "
               That
               I
               am
               Iuno
               still
               ,
               and
               you
               are
               Iove
               .
            
             
               "
               O
               Iupiter
               ,
               a
               Monarch's
               Sway
               maintain
               ;
            
             
               "
               And
               shew
               the
               doubting
               World
               that
               you
               deserve
               to
               Reign
               .
            
          
           
             
               Saturnia
               Thus
               —
               whose
               Eyes
               ,
               as
               she
               withdrew
            
             
               Disdainful
               Fire
               back
               on
               th'
               Assembly
               threw
               ;
            
             
               Which
               through
               the
               Presence
               awful
               Terrour
               strook
               ;
            
             
               And
               on
               his
               Throne
               the
               very
               Thund'rer
               shook
               .
            
          
           
             
               MINERVA
               next
               ,
               with
               stately
               Mien
               ,
               advanc'd
               ;
            
             
               Her
               crested
               Plume
               in
               waving
               Lustre
               danc'd
               ,
            
             
               And
               Lightning
               from
               her
               burnish'd
               Helmet
               glanc'd
               .
            
             
               Delightful
               Terrour
               in
               her
               Aspect
               play'd
               ,
            
             
               While
               Thus
               ,
               with
               awful
               Grace
               ,
               the
               Goddess
               said
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               "
               If
               Merit
               must
               to
               Majesty
               give
               place
               ,
            
             
               "
               Immortals
               are
               in
               Mortals
               wretched
               Case
               ,
            
             
               "
               And
               Vassals
               we
               ,
               tho'
               of
               Celestial
               Race
               :
            
             
               "
               Let
               Nature
               in
               this
               Claim
               your
               Council
               Guide
               ;
            
             
               "
               Since
               she
               for
               publick
               Use
               this
               Plant
               suppli'd
               ,
            
             
               "
               Let
               Publick
               Use
               ,
               ye
               Gods
               ,
               the
               Cause
               decide
               .
            
             
               "
               If
               by
               that
               President
               you
               shall
               Decree
               ,
            
             
               "
               The
               Prize
               must
               fall
               to
               my
               Learn'd
               Sons
               and
               Me.
            
             
               "
               Why
               should
               I
               our
               known
               Services
               repeat
               ?
            
             
               "
               In
               Athens
               Name
               your
               Justice
               I
               entreat
               .
            
             
               "
               Or
               if
               my
               Plea
               of
               Athens
               you
               disclaim
               ,
            
             
               "
               Regard
               my
               Off-Spring
               more
               endear'd
               to
               Fame
               ,
            
             
               "
               My
               greater
               Sons
               of
               Isis
               and
               of
               Cam.
            
             
               "
               Think
               how
               of
               Life
               the
               Pleasures
               they
               resign
               ,
            
             
               "
               To
               delve
               ,
               for
               Publick
               good
               ,
               in
               Learning's
               Mine
               .
            
             
               "
               O
               Gods
               ,
               is
               't
               thus
               you
               treat
               industrious
               Wit
               ?
            
             
               "
               That
               does
               whole
               Years
               in
               brooding
               Study
               Sit
               ,
            
             
               "
               From
               early
               Dawn
               till
               Day
               forsakes
               the
               Sky
               ,
            
             
               "
               And
               Mid-night
               Lamps
               the
               absent
               Sun
               supply
               .
            
             
               "
               O
               why
               should
               they
               ,
               with
               Chymick
               Patience
               ,
               wait
            
             
               "
               Their
               Work
               's
               Perfection
               ,
               to
               enrich
               the
               State
               ?
            
             
             
               "
               Of
               Antient
               Arts
               the
               craggy
               Ruins
               climb
               ,
            
             
               "
               And
               backward
               tread
               the
               painful
               Steps
               of
               Time
               ,
            
             
               "
               Their
               Senses
               with
               long
               Contemplation
               wrought
            
             
               "
               To
               Element
               ,
               their
               Bodies
               pin'd
               to
               Thought
               ,
            
             
               "
               If
               you
               this
               cheap
               Relief
               to
               Souls
               deny
            
             
               "
               Who
               with
               Promethean
               Fire
               Mankind
               supply
               ,
            
             
               "
               To
               make
               those
               Sons
               of
               Clay
               the
               Gods
               Allies
               ,
            
             
               "
               And
               justifie
               their
               Kindred
               to
               the
               Skies
               .
            
          
           
             
               She
               paus'd
               ,
               and
               frown'd
               ,
               with
               such
               a
               dreadful
               Grace
               ,
            
             
               As
               when
               she
               charges
               on
               the
               Plains
               of
               Thrace
               .
            
             
               Then
               thus
               renews
               her
               Plea
               —
            
          
           
             
               "
               Nature
               for
               Students
               this
               Regale
               design'd
               ,
            
             
               "
               Invention's
               Fountain
               to
               repay
               in
               Kind
               ,
            
             
               "
               The
               vast
               expences
               of
               their
               gen'rous
               Mind
               .
            
             
               "
               Till
               the
               spent
               Soil
               shall
               fresh
               Idea's
               yield
               ,
            
             
               "
               And
               new
               Plantations
               stock
               wide
               Fancy's
               Field
               .
            
             
               "
               From
               this
               Pirene
               ,
               this
               Castalian
               Spring
               ,
            
             
               "
               Exclude
               the
               Muses
               ,
               And
               what
               Muse
               will
               sing
               ?
            
             
               "
               And
               when
               no
               Poet
               will
               vouchsafe
               to
               write
               ,
            
             
               "
               What
               hardy
               Hero
               will
               vouchsafe
               to
               fight
               .
            
             
             
               "
               'T
               is
               Tea
               sustains
               ,
               Tea
               only
               can
               inspire
            
             
               "
               The
               Poet's
               Flame
               ,
               that
               feeds
               the
               Hero's
               Fire
               .
            
          
           
             
               Her
               Voice
               and
               Mien
               such
               deep
               impression
               strook
               ,
            
             
               The
               Goddess
               read
               Consent
               in
               ev'ry
               Look
               .
            
             
               Till
               VENUS
               ,
               (
               from
               her
               Chariot
               drawn
               by
               Doves
               ,
            
             
               Surrounded
               by
               a
               Troop
               of
               smiling
               Loves
               )
            
             
               Unveil'd
               the
               milder
               Glories
               of
               her
               Face
               ,
            
             
               With
               Native
               Charms
               ,
               and
               ev'ry
               study'd
               Grace
               :
            
             
               Which
               ,
               from
               her
               haughty
               Rivals
               ,
               heretofore
               ,
            
             
               On
               
               Ida's
               Mount
               ,
               the
               Prize
               of
               Beauty
               bore
               .
            
             
               Nor
               doubts
               she
               ,
               with
               the
               same
               resistless
               Smile
               ,
            
             
               The
               Gods
               ,
               as
               then
               the
               Shepherd
               to
               beguile
               .
            
             
               With
               lovely
               Pride
               She
               cast
               her
               Eyes
               around
               ,
            
             
               And
               gave
               with
               every
               pointed
               Glance
               a
               Wound
               .
            
             
               Which
               made
               the
               sternest
               in
               the
               Presence
               melt
               ,
            
             
               And
               sullen
               Saturn
               feel
               what
               Paris
               felt
               .
            
             
               Thus
               she
               advanc'd
               ;
               and
               ,
               while
               she
               urg'd
               her
               Plea
               ,
            
             
               She
               look'd
               and
               breath'd
               the
               fragrant
               Soul
               of
               Tea
               ,
            
          
           
             
               "
               In
               Beauty's
               Cause
               I
               sue
               —
               can
               Gods
               despise
            
             
               "
               A
               Blessing
               Mortals
               have
               the
               Sense
               to
               Prize
               ?
            
             
             
               "
               Tho'
               in
               your
               Looks
               I
               read
               a
               Senate's
               Awe
               ,
            
             
               "
               (
               How
               else
               should
               you
               the
               Publick
               Rev'rence
               draw
               ?
               )
            
             
               "
               Yet
               doubt
               I
               not
               the
               stubborn'st
               Breast
               to
               win
               ,
            
             
               "
               Having
               so
               strong
               a
               Party
               lodg'd
               within
               .
            
             
               "
               Tho'
               none
               in
               open
               Court
               appears
               my
               friend
               ,
            
             
               "
               I
               safely
               on
               your
               private
               Votes
               depend
               .
            
             
               "
               So
               shall
               your
               Goddesses
               and
               Nymphs
               be
               kind
               ,
            
             
               "
               As
               Love
               and
               Beauty
               your
               Protection
               find
               .
            
             
               "
               For
               Beauty's
               sake
               ,
               and
               her
               resistless
               Charms
               ,
            
             
               "
               The
               desp'rate
               Soldier
               rushes
               to
               Alarms
               ,
            
             
               "
               And
               for
               a
               Night
               of
               Love
               serves
               whole
               Campaigns
               in
               Arms.
            
             
               "
               To
               Stars
               the
               wakeful
               Shepherd
               sings
               his
               Lays
               ,
            
             
               "
               Which
               he
               by
               day
               compos'd
               in
               Phillis
               Praise
               ,
            
             
               "
               Hoping
               the
               Nymph
               he
               does
               Immortal
               make
               ,
            
             
               "
               Will
               Pity
               on
               her
               dying
               Lover
               take
               .
            
             
               "
               Look
               down
               ye
               Pow'rs
               ,
               the
               British
               Ladies
               View
               ,
            
             
               "
               See
               there
               the
               Effects
               of
               this
               Celestial
               Dew
               !
            
             
               "
               See
               there
               how
               grateful
               Tea
               ,
               their
               choice
               Delight
               ,
            
             
               "
               It's
               gen'rous
               Patronesses
               does
               requite
               !
            
             
             
             
             
             
             
               "
               Sublimes
               their
               Native
               Charms
               ;
               and
               makes
               'em
               shine
            
             
               "
               As
               bright
               ,
               almost
               ,
               as
               lasting
               too
               as
               mine
               .
            
             
               "
               Who
               then
               but
               Beauty's
               Goddess
               ,
               can
               pretend
            
             
               "
               A
               Title
               to
               the
               Plant
               that
               's
               Beauty's
               Friend
               ?
            
             
               "
               To
               me
               ,
               ye
               Pow'rs
               ,
               this
               Prize
               you
               must
               assign
               ,
            
             
               "
               For
               that
               which
               thus
               can
               Beauty's
               Charms
               refine
               ,
            
             
               "
               And
               keep
               them
               ever
               young
               ,
               for
               ever
               should
               be
               mine
               .
            
          
           
             
               She
               said
               —
               and
               reassum'd
               her
               Flying
               Chair
               ;
            
             
               While
               
               Cupid's
               fan
               ,
               with
               glossy
               wings
               ,
               the
               Air
               ,
            
             
               And
               Venus
               seem'd
               ey'n
               more
               than
               Venus
               Fair.
               
            
          
           
             
               Bright
               CINTHIA
               next
               appear'd
               with
               solemn
               Grace
               ,
            
             
               (
               A
               rosie
               Blush
               adorns
               her
               Virgin-Face
               )
            
             
               As
               from
               the
               Chase
               return'd
               ,
               her
               Vestments
               hung
            
             
               With
               careless
               Decency
               ,
               her
               Bow
               unstrung
               ,
            
             
               Her
               Quiver
               loose
               behind
               her
               Shoulder
               slung
               .
            
             
               High
               on
               her
               Front
               the
               silver
               Crescent
               blaz'd
               :
            
             
               The
               hush'd
               Assembly
               on
               her
               Figure
               gaz'd
               ,
            
             
               Surpriz'd
               and
               pleas'd
               ,
               Transported
               and
               amaz'd
               .
            
             
             
               Her
               Aspect
               ,
               Stature
               ,
               Movement
               ,
               Shape
               ,
               and
               Dress
            
             
               Did
               such
               Majestick
               Modesty
               express
               ,
            
             
               As
               when
               ,
               supported
               by
               her
               Forest
               Launce
               ,
            
             
               Before
               her
               thousand
               Nymphs
               she
               does
               advance
            
             
               On
               Cynthus
               Top
               ,
               and
               leads
               the
               Solemn
               Dance
               .
            
             
               Through
               ev'ry
               Breast
               a
               thrilling
               Pleasure
               ran
               ,
            
             
               While
               thus
               the
               Goddess
               of
               the
               Groves
               began
               .
            
          
           
             
               "
               Love
               's
               Queen
               ,
               despairing
               this
               chast
               Prize
               to
               win
               ,
            
             
               "
               Discreetly
               call'd
               the
               British
               Ladies
               in
               ;
            
             
               "
               And
               if
               for
               Beauty
               only
               they
               excell'd
               ,
            
             
               "
               The
               Queen
               of
               Beauty's
               Title
               must
               have
               held
               ;
            
             
               "
               But
               since
               they
               are
               no
               less
               for
               Vertue
               fam'd
            
             
               "
               Their
               Votes
               by
               me
               ,
               with
               nobler
               right
               ,
               are
               claim'd
               .
            
             
               "
               If
               Vertue
               then
               (
               which
               British
               Ladies
               Prize
            
             
               "
               Above
               the
               brightest
               Glances
               of
               their
               Eyes
               )
            
             
               "
               Not
               quite
               has
               lost
               her
               Int'rest
               in
               the
               Skies
               ,
            
             
               "
               To
               me
               you
               must
               assign
               the
               sacred
               Tree
               ,
            
             
               "
               To
               me
               the
               sacred
               Drink
               of
               Chastity
               ;
            
             
               "
               In
               which
               the
               Graces
               safely
               may
               rejoyce
               ,
            
             
               "
               Of
               Virgin
               Innocence
               the
               blameless
               Choice
               :
            
             
               "
               Then
               ,
               Deities
               ,
               join
               yours
               with
               
               Nature's
               Voice
               .
            
             
             
               "
               Who
               ,
               with
               this
               Chast
               Nepenthe
               ,
               would
               requite
            
             
               "
               Her
               Woods
               kind
               Patroness
               ,
               and
               Queen
               of
               Night
               .
            
             
               "
               When
               faint
               with
               Toil
               ,
               through
               Phoebus
               scorching
               Beams
               ,
            
             
               "
               My
               Nymphs
               and
               I
               retreat
               to
               shady
               Sreams
               ,
            
             
               "
               Can
               the
               cold
               Spring
               a
               fit
               Refreshment
               be
               ?
            
             
               "
               Which
               idle
               Naids
               drink
               as
               well
               as
               we
               ;
            
             
               "
               And
               Dryads
               ,
               who
               in
               Solitary
               Bow'rs
               ,
            
             
               "
               With
               Sleep
               or
               Revels
               pass
               their
               useless
               Hours
               .
            
             
               "
               Let
               then
               the
               Forest-Tyrants
               safely
               Reign
               ,
            
             
               "
               And
               Mountain-Savages
               lay
               waste
               the
               Plain
               :
            
             
               "
               Till
               Earth
               afford
               your
               Altars
               no
               Supplies
            
             
               "
               Of
               hallow'd
               Fruits
               ;
               no
               Flames
               of
               Incense
               rise
               ,
            
             
               "
               And
               Moonless
               Nights
               affright
               your
               guilty
               Skies
               .
            
          
           
             
               She
               ceas'd
               ;
               and
               Terror
               through
               the
               Presence
               strook
               ,
            
             
               Resuming
               now
               the
               same
               resenting
               Look
               ,
            
             
               As
               in
               her
               Bathing-Fountain
               when
               surpriz'd
               ,
            
             
               Luckless
               
               Actaeon's
               Error
               she
               chastisd
               .
            
             
               Then
               with
               a
               smile
               (
               as
               when
               she
               does
               unshroud
            
             
               Her
               Lustre
               ,
               starting
               from
               a
               sullen
               Cloud
               )
            
             
             
               In
               milder
               Accents
               thus
               —
            
             
               "
               No!
               Sacred
               Pow'rs
               ,
               for
               Cynthia
               to
               mistrust
            
             
               "
               Her
               Merit
               or
               your
               Honour
               ,
               were
               unjust
               !
            
             
               "
               It
               must
               not
               ,
               cannot
               be
               !
               (
               hence
               idle
               Fears
               !
               )
            
             
               "
               I
               still
               shall
               Guard
               your
               Earth
               ,
               and
               Gild
               your
               Spheres
               .
            
             
               "
               My
               Cause
               no
               Competition
               can
               admit
               ,
            
             
               "
               Where
               Virtue
               pleads
               ,
               and
               Gods
               in
               Council
               sit
               .
            
          
           
             
               Diana
               thus
               —
               and
               ,
               with
               her
               Sylvan
               Train
            
             
               Of
               Nymphs
               attended
               ,
               mounts
               her
               Starry
               Wain
               .
            
          
           
             
               Scarce
               had
               the
               Court
               recover'd
               this
               Surprize
               ,
            
             
               When
               a
               new
               Scene
               of
               Glory
               charm'd
               their
               Eyes
               ;
            
             
               While
               THETIS
               and
               her
               Nereids
               they
               descry'd
               ,
            
             
               Adorn'd
               in
               all
               the
               Ocean's
               glitt'ring
               Pride
               ;
            
             
               Bright
               Shells
               and
               Gems
               ,
               that
               with
               reflected
               Fire
            
             
               Startled
               the
               Skies
               ,
               and
               made
               the
               Stars
               retire
               .
            
             
               Delightful
               Wonder
               all
               th'
               Assembly
               seiz'd
               ;
            
             
               But
               Neptune
               ev'n
               to
               Extasie
               seem'd
               pleas'd
               ,
            
             
               Who
               now
               display'd
               the
               same
               Pacifick
               Face
            
             
               That
               hush'd
               the
               Storm
               ,
               and
               sav'd
               the
               Trojan
               Race
               .
            
             
             
               In
               gentle
               Symphony
               the
               Nereids
               sung
            
             
               To
               twisted
               Shells
               ,
               on
               which
               the
               Tritons
               rung
            
             
               Loud
               Peals
               ,
               that
               to
               th'
               Olympian
               Confines
               ran
               ,
            
             
               While
               thus
               the
               Goddess
               of
               the
               Seas
               began
               .
            
          
           
             
               "
               'T
               is
               I
               that
               rule
               your
               watry
               World
               below
               ;
            
             
               "
               To
               Mortals
               I
               the
               Arts
               of
               Commerce
               show
               ,
            
             
               "
               To
               me
               your
               Albion
               does
               her
               Glory
               owe.
            
             
               "
               By
               Me
               her
               Fleets
               to
               Eastern
               Climates
               run
               ,
            
             
               "
               And
               spread
               their
               Wings
               beneath
               the
               rising
               Sun.
            
             
               "
               Thus
               your
               
               Augusta's
               floating
               Grandeur's
               shown
            
             
               "
               On
               Seas
               and
               Shores
               to
               Ancient
               Fame
               unknown
               ;
            
             
               "
               While
               Rome
               ,
               the
               World
               's
               fam'd
               Mistress
               she
               excels
               ,
            
             
               "
               As
               far
               as
               Thames
               above
               the
               Tyber
               swells
               .
            
             
               "
               Both
               Her
               's
               and
               Nature's
               Empire
               I
               sustain
               ,
            
             
               "
               By
               Correspondence
               'twixt
               her
               Earth
               and
               Main
               :
            
             
               "
               Her
               Tributary
               Streams
               ,
               to
               me
               convey'd
               ,
            
             
               "
               In
               just
               recruits
               are
               carefully
               repay'd
               :
            
             
               "
               Those
               Pastures
               where
               her
               Flocks
               and
               Herds
               are
               Bred
               ,
            
             
               "
               Themselves
               are
               from
               my
               Bounty
               cloath'd
               and
               fed
               .
            
             
             
               "
               The
               Plant
               and
               Nymph
               ,
               whose
               happy
               Nuptials
               give
            
             
               "
               This
               New-found
               Nectar
               ,
               by
               my
               Bounty
               live
               ;
            
             
               "
               From
               my
               fresh
               Stores
               the
               Nymph
               her
               cooling
               Dew
               ,
            
             
               "
               And
               from
               my
               Salts
               the
               Plant
               his
               *
               Vigour
               drew
               .
            
             
               "
               When
               ,
               deep
               in
               Briny
               Cells
               ,
               my
               Nymphs
               and
               I
            
             
               "
               The
               Business
               of
               your
               Ocean-Empire
               ply
               ,
            
             
               "
               Gods
               !
               Can
               you
               then
               this
               fresh
               Regale
               deny
               ?
            
             
               "
               Is
               't
               thus
               you
               treat
               the
               Goddess
               of
               the
               Sea
               ,
            
             
               "
               With
               Oozy
               Brine
               ?
               —
            
             
               "
               When
               happy
               Nymphs
               at
               Land
               rejoyce
               in
               Tea
               ?
            
             
               "
               Of
               all
               the
               Rarities
               our
               Waves
               convey
               ,
            
             
               "
               Give
               us
               but
               This
               ,
               our
               Service
               you
               repay
               :
            
             
               "
               Else
               from
               their
               dens
               your
               
                 prison'd
                 Winds
              
               release
               ,
            
             
               "
               Let
               Seas
               and
               Skies
               no
               longer
               be
               at
               Peace
               ,
            
             
               "
               Destructive
               Tempests
               reign
               ,
               and
               useful
               Traffick
               cease
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               Thus
               Thetis
               ,
               and
               resumes
               her
               Crystal
               Wain
               ,
            
             
               As
               when
               ,
               surrounded
               by
               her
               Ocean-Train
               ,
            
             
               She
               rides
               in
               Triumph
               o'er
               the
               wond'ring
               Main
               .
            
          
           
             
               To
               Crown
               the
               Scene
               
               HEALTH's
               Goddess
               last
               appears
               ,
            
             
               Who
               chearfully
               her
               Sanguine
               Aspect
               rears
               ;
            
             
               Fresh
               as
               the
               Spring
               ,
               when
               by
               Celestial
               show'rs
            
             
               To
               Earth
               invited
               ,
               from
               Elysian
               Bow'rs
               :
            
             
               Her
               sprightly
               looks
               the
               pleas'd
               Assembly
               drew
               ;
            
             
               While
               Spicy
               Zephyrs
               hov'ring
               round
               her
               flew
               ,
            
             
               And
               Odours
               ,
               sweeter
               than
               Ambrosia
               ,
               threw
               .
            
             
               Attended
               by
               a
               Troop
               of
               Nymphs
               and
               Swains
               ,
            
             
               The
               Pride
               of
               Nature
               ,
               Glory
               of
               the
               Plains
               ;
            
             
               The
               Youths
               ,
               like
               Oaken
               Plants
               ,
               all
               sternly
               Gay
               ,
            
             
               The
               Nymphs
               all
               Fair
               ,
               and
               Mild
               as
               blooming
               May
               ,
            
             
               Then
               with
               an
               Air
               ,
               that
               vital
               warmth
               display'd
               ,
            
             
               And
               healthful
               Fragrancy
               ,
               the
               Goddess
               said
               —
            
          
           
             
               "
               Celestial
               Pow'rs
               ,
               this
               Rural
               Tribe
               survey
               ;
            
             
               "
               You
               have
               no
               Vot'ries
               so
               sincere
               as
               They
               !
            
             
             
               "
               When
               Earth
               of
               your
               Astraea
               was
               berest
               ,
            
             
               "
               'Mongst
               these
               the
               Goddess
               her
               last
               Footsteps
               left
               .
            
             
               "
               If
               
               Venus's
               Plea
               this
               awful
               Court
               can
               move
               ,
            
             
               "
               Her
               Cupids
               are
               not
               better
               vers'd
               in
               Love
               :
            
             
               "
               Or
               if
               
               Diana's
               Title
               may
               be
               pass'd
               ,
            
             
               "
               They
               plead
               her
               Merit
               ,
               for
               their
               Loves
               are
               Chast
            
             
               "
               But
               't
               is
               not
               for
               their
               sakes
               I
               chiefly
               sue
               ,
            
             
               "
               Who
               Health
               enjoy
               without
               your
               healing
               Dew
               ;
            
             
               "
               For
               they
               from
               Nature's
               Cup
               ,
               the
               Crystal
               Spring
               ,
            
             
               "
               With
               Birds
               contentedly
               can
               Drink
               and
               Sing
               .
            
             
               "
               But
               far
               ,
               O
               far
               unlike
               to
               these
               ,
               a
               Throng
            
             
               "
               Of
               wretched
               Mortals
               to
               my
               Charge
               belong
               ;
            
             
               "
               Who
               with
               tormenting
               restless
               Sickness
               griev'd
               ,
            
             
               "
               About
               my
               Altar
               languish
               ,
               Unreliev'd
               :
            
             
               "
               O
               ,
               for
               their
               Suff'ring
               sakes
               ,
               in
               pity
               grant
            
             
               "
               This
               Panacea
               ,
               this
               Reviving
               Plant
               ;
            
             
               "
               Relieve
               their
               Mis'ry
               ,
               or
               revoke
               their
               Breath
               ;
            
             
               "
               Give
               'em
               the
               Drink
               of
               Health
               ,
               or
               give
               'em
               Death
               !
            
          
           
             
               Thus
               Salus
               urg'd
               her
               Charitable
               Plea
               ,
            
             
               That
               soon
               had
               Crown'd
               her
               Patroness
               of
               Tea
               :
            
             
             
               But
               Fiend
               Alecto
               ,
               in
               a
               Nymph's
               Disguise
               ,
            
             
               (
               Grudging
               the
               Sickly
               Earth
               so
               Rich
               a
               Prize
               )
            
             
               Amongst
               the
               Goddesses
               fresh
               Discord
               threw
               ,
            
             
               Which
               into
               Parties
               the
               Convention
               drew
               ;
            
             
               Mars
               swagger'd
               ,
               Aeol
               bluster'd
               ,
               Neptune
               rag'd
               ,
            
             
               Whom
               Iove
               with
               louder
               Thunder
               scarce
               asswag'd
               .
            
          
           
             
               SOMNUS
               ,
               whom
               
               Tea's
               delicious
               Fume
               had
               charm'd
            
             
               With
               golden
               Visions
               ,
               by
               the
               Dinn
               alarm'd
               ,
            
             
               Starts
               up
               ;
               and
               ,
               with
               a
               Look
               surprizing
               Gay
               ,
            
             
               To
               sudden
               Pleasure
               turn'd
               the
               sudden
               Fray.
            
             
               Pleas'd
               ,
               as
               a
               Prophet
               ,
               from
               his
               Dream
               he
               woke
               ,
            
             
               And
               ,
               like
               a
               Prophet
               ,
               Thus
               ,
               in
               Rapture
               spoke
               —
            
          
           
             
               "
               O
               Glorious
               Prospect
               !
               such
               delightful
               Fields
            
             
               "
               Elysium
               nor
               our
               own
               Olympus
               yields
               .
            
             
               "
               O
               Sacred
               Streams
               and
               Bow'rs
               !
               O
               Fragrant
               Seats
               ,
            
             
               "
               Of
               Elemental
               Joys
               the
               calm
               Retreats
               !
            
             
               "
               Come
               wretched
               Mortals
               ,
               in
               this
               Nectar
               steep
            
             
               "
               Your
               weary
               Souls
               ,
               and
               charm
               your
               Cares
               to
               Sleep
               .
            
             
             
               "
               That
               ,
               while
               the
               pleasing
               slumber
               lasts
               ,
               shall
               drown
            
             
               "
               Your
               Griefs
               ;
               and
               with
               success
               your
               Wishes
               crown
               .
            
             
               "
               That
               every
               dismal
               Object
               shall
               remove
               ,
            
             
               "
               And
               your
               Desires
               to
               Extasy
               improve
               .
            
             
               "
               What
               e'er
               you
               want
               or
               wish
               ,
               in
               Dreams
               is
               brought
               ,
            
             
               "
               (
               By
               Tea
               inspir'd
               )
               before
               your
               ravish'd
               Thought
               ;
            
             
               "
               Visions
               of
               Wealth
               the
               poor
               Man's
               Wants
               beguile
               ;
            
             
               "
               The
               hopeless
               Lover
               sees
               his
               Mistress
               smile
               :
            
             
               "
               The
               Voyager
               ,
               for
               some
               rich
               Coast
               design'd
               ,
            
             
               "
               Spreads
               all
               his
               Sail
               ,
               and
               runs
               afore
               the
               Wind
               ,
            
             
               "
               The
               Pleader
               ,
               Soldier
               ,
               Poet
               ,
               fierce
               and
               warm
               ,
            
             
               "
               Set
               boldly
               in
               ,
               and
               wond'rously
               perform
               :
            
             
               "
               Thus
               Human
               Life
               ,
               in
               cruel
               Fate
               's
               despight
               ,
            
             
               "
               May
               have
               its
               Sorrows
               checquer'd
               with
               delight
               ,
            
             
               "
               And
               if
               such
               Bliss
               can
               Mortal
               Sense
               employ
               ,
            
             
               "
               What
               Transport
               ,
               Deities
               ,
               must
               you
               enjoy
               !
            
             
               "
               For
               sure
               ,
               when
               sprightly
               Tea
               and
               Fancy
               join
            
             
               "
               Their
               Wond'rous
               Pow'rs
               ,
               the
               Work
               must
               be
               Divine
               .
            
             
             
               "
               How
               rich
               the
               Figures
               !
               how
               surprising
               bright
               !
            
             
               "
               Wrought
               on
               the
               sable
               Curtains
               of
               the
               Night
               .
            
          
           
             
               This
               strange
               Discov'ry
               both
               surpris'd
               the
               Gods
               ,
            
             
               And
               set
               the
               Goddesses
               again
               at
               Odds
               ;
            
             
               Whilst
               ,
               to
               secure
               the
               Quiet
               of
               the
               Skies
               ,
            
             
               The
               Thunderer
               once
               more
               was
               forc'd
               to
               rise
               .
            
          
           
             
               A
               Plant
               that
               can
               so
               many
               Virtues
               boast
               ,
            
             
               He
               judg'd
               too
               rich
               a
               Prize
               to
               be
               Ingross'd
               ;
            
             
               And
               to
               no
               single
               Goddess
               Lot
               should
               fall
               ,
            
             
               That
               merited
               the
               Patronage
               of
               All
               :
            
             
               Therefore
               ,
               at
               once
               to
               silence
               all
               their
               Pleas
               ,
            
             
               And
               yet
               Oblige
               his
               Female
               Deities
               ;
            
             
               In
               Common
               grants
               what
               they
               did
               singly
               claim
               ;
            
             
               And
               strait
               gives
               Orders
               for
               the
               Trump
               of
               Fame
            
             
               To
               sound
               aloud
               ,
               That
               *
               GODDESS
               was
               its
               Name
               .
            
          
           
             FINIS
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           THE
           
           TEA-TABLE
           .
        
         
           
             HAil
             Queen
             of
             Plants
             ,
             Pride
             of
             Elysian
             Bow'rs
             !
          
           
             How
             shall
             we
             speak
             thy
             complicated
             Pow'rs
             ?
          
           
             Thou
             Wond'rous
             Panacea
             ,
             to
             asswage
          
           
             The
             Calentures
             of
             Youth's
             fermenting
             Rage
             ,
          
           
             And
             Animate
             the
             freezing
             Veins
             of
             Age.
             
          
        
         
           
             To
             Bacchus
             when
             our
             Griefs
             repair
             for
             Ease
             ,
          
           
             The
             Remedy
             proves
             worse
             than
             the
             Disease
             :
          
           
             Where
             Reason
             we
             must
             lose
             to
             keep
             the
             Round
             ,
          
           
             And
             drinking
             Others
             Healths
             ,
             our
             Own
             confound
             :
          
           
             Whilst
             TEA
             ,
             our
             Sorrows
             safely
             to
             beguile
             ,
          
           
             Sobriety
             and
             Mirth
             does
             reconcile
             :
          
           
             For
             to
             this
             Nectar
             we
             the
             Blessing
             owe
             ,
          
           
             To
             grow
             more
             Wise
             ,
             as
             we
             more
             chearful
             grow
             .
          
           
           
             Whilst
             Fancy
             does
             her
             brightest
             Beams
             dispense
             ,
          
           
             And
             decent
             Wit
             diverts
             without
             Offence
             .
          
           
             Then
             in
             Discourse
             of
             Nature's
             mystick
             Pow'rs
          
           
             And
             Noblest
             Themes
             ,
             we
             pass
             the
             well-spent
             Hours
             .
          
           
             Whilst
             all
             around
             the
             Virtues
             Sacred
             Band
             ,
          
           
             And
             list'ning
             Graces
             pleas'd
             Attendants
             stand
             .
          
           
             Thus
             our
             
             Tea-Conversation
             we
             employ
             ,
          
           
             Where
             ,
             with
             Delight
             ,
             Instruction
             we
             enjoy
             ;
          
           
             Quaffing
             ,
             without
             the
             waste
             of
             Time
             or
             Wealth
             ,
          
           
             The
             Sov'reign
             Drink
             of
             Pleasure
             and
             of
             Health
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           POSTSCRIPT
           .
        
         
           MY
           Copy
           falling
           short
           ,
           and
           the
           Printer
           asking
           ,
           What
           shou'd
           be
           done
           with
           the
           following
           Pages
           ?
           I
           bethought
           me
           of
           some
           Civilities
           for
           which
           I
           stood
           indebted
           to
           our
           Critick-Poets
           ,
           without
           any
           Recognizance
           ,
           from
           me
           ,
           of
           their
           Favours
           .
        
         
           Therefore
           (
           without
           questioning
           their
           Authority
           ,
           or
           who
           made
           them
           Judges
           in
           Parnassus
           )
           I
           shall
           here
           say
           something
           ,
           not
           for
           Defence
           ,
           but
           ,
           least
           my
           Silence
           be
           taken
           for
           Contempt
           of
           the
           Court.
           
        
         
           Some
           have
           Censur'd
           me
           for
           a
           Cold
           Writer
           ;
           but
           *
           One
           of
           'em
           with
           the
           favourable
           Allowance
           ,
           That
           
             I
             have
             in
             Justness
             what
             I
             want
             in
             Fire
             .
          
        
         
           Another
           (
           in
           his
           Poetical
           Circuit
           some
           Years
           since
           )
           Doom'd
           me
           ,
           without
           Mercy
           ,
           for
           
             †
             A
             Slave
             to
             Sense
             ,
             and
             Cautious
             to
             a
             Fault
             .
          
        
         
           Now
           I
           must
           ingenuously
           confess
           ,
           That
           I
           pretend
           to
           no
           more
           Fire
           than
           consists
           with
           Justness
           :
           That
           I
           am
           a
           Slave
           to
           Sense
           (
           without
           any
           thoughts
           of
           changing
           my
           Master
           )
           and
           Caution
           is
           a
           Fault
           I
           shall
           never
           mend
           .
        
         
         
           So
           that
           I
           must
           humbly
           content
           my self
           with
           Admiring
           those
           Gentlemen
           who
           set
           up
           for
           Bold
           Writers
           ,
           and
           deserve
           the
           Character
           ,
           by
           venturing
           so
           hard
           for
           it
           ,
           even
           beyond
           the
           Regions
           of
           Sense
           .
        
         
           Happy
           Season
           ,
           when
           Wit
           and
           Criticism
           are
           come
           to
           their
           Meridian
           !
        
         
           Quintilian
           was
           a
           musty
           old
           Pedant
           ,
           and
           would
           have
           been
           pos'd
           with
           our
           new
           Figures
           of
           Speech
           —
           
             Iustness
             without
             Fire
             —
             Slavery
             to
             Sense
             ,
          
           &c.
           
           †
        
         
           His
           was
           a
           dull
           Age
           of
           Correctness
           ,
           unacquainted
           with
           our
           Elevation
           ,
           Sublime
           Conceits
           and
           Expression
           ,
           beyond
           the
           reach
           of
           common
           Capacity
           .
        
         
           'T
           is
           part
           of
           a
           Modern
           Character
           ,
           (
           no
           less
           famous
           for
           his
           Wit
           than
           Chivalry
           )
           that
           he
           scorn'd
           to
           say
           any
           thing
           in
           a
           Vulgar
           way
           ,
           and
           
             
               —
               Ne'er
               did
               ope
            
             
               His
               Mouth
               ,
               but
               out
               there
               flew
               a
               Trope
               .
            
             
               Hudib
               .
            
          
        
         
           The
           Reader
           must
           pardon
           me
           this
           Trifling
           ,
           't
           is
           paying
           Nonsense
           in
           its
           Own
           Coin
           ;
           and
           if
           you
           would
           have
           better
           from
           me
           ,
           you
           
             must
             stay
             till
             Wit
             comes
             in
             —
          
           as
           then
           you
           may
           depend
           on
           me
           ,
           sufficient
           *
           Authors
           (
           City
           Security
           )
           having
           vouch'd
           for
           my
           Honesty
           .
        
         
         
           In
           good
           Earnest
           ,
           't
           is
           high
           time
           for
           the
           Fraternity
           to
           return
           to
           their
           Senses
           ;
           they
           have
           so
           long
           Ridicul'd
           One
           Another
           ,
           till
           the
           Men
           ,
           that
           had
           some
           Wit
           ,
           are
           become
           Diversion
           for
           them
           that
           have
           None
           .
        
         
           'T
           is
           Pity
           but
           their
           Quarrels
           were
           over
           ,
           if
           only
           for
           leisure
           to
           think
           what
           they
           Quarrell'd
           about
           ,
           that
           is
           ,
           Poetry
           —
           which
           ,
           however
           worthy
           of
           Great
           and
           Wise
           Men
           ,
           as
           a
           Recreation
           ,
           yet
           't
           is
           Business
           and
           Employment
           only
           for
           the
           Unfortunate
           .
        
         
           Such
           as
           are
           too
           far
           engag'd
           ,
           must
           take
           their
           Chance
           ;
           but
           Others
           would
           do
           well
           to
           consider
           the
           present
           State
           of
           the
           Muses
           in
           our
           Nation
           ;
           where
           
           Zoilus's
           swarm
           ,
           and
           
           Mecaenas's
           are
           so
           Few
           ,
           that
           't
           is
           even
           shame
           and
           pity
           to
           see
           their
           Generosity
           so
           over-charg'd
           .
        
         
           I
           would
           not
           be
           thought
           to
           Disparage
           a
           Faculty
           ,
           to
           which
           I
           have
           done
           so
           little
           Credit
           :
           'T
           is
           noble
           Service
           —
           but
           ,
           fit
           for
           Volunteers
           ,
           who
           can
           be
           upon
           their
           own
           Subsistence
           ;
           and
           long
           to
           shew
           their
           Parts
           .
        
         
           FINIS
           .
        
      
    
     
       
         Notes, typically marginal, from the original text
         
           Notes for div A63046-e1220
           
             *
             Canto
             II.
             
          
        
         
           Notes for div A63046-e1540
           
             †
             Mr.
             
             Montague's
             incomparable
             Poem
             on
             His
             Majesty's
             Victory
             at
             the
             Boyn
             .
          
           
             *
             Where
             
             Homer's
             Trojans
             and
             Grecians
             Fought
             .
          
        
         
           Notes for div A63046-e2740
           
             *
             Sal
             Volatile
             .
          
           
             *
             
               〈◊〉
               〈◊〉
               〈◊〉
               〈◊〉
               〈◊〉
            
             .
          
        
         
           Notes for div A63046-e11850
           
             *
             Epistle
             concerning
             Poetry
             .
          
           
             †
             Mourning
             Muse.
             
          
           
             †
             But
             what
             if
             this
             was
             designed
             for
             Compliment
             ?
             The
             Complainants
             having
             had
             my
             Slavish
             sense
             and
             Caution
             at
             their
             Service
             ,
             when
             very
             much
             Wanted
             .
          
           
             *
             ●a●r
             against
             〈◊〉
             .
          
        
      
    
  

