Classic Poem

EPILOGUE,

L OVE , Hope and Fear, Desire, Aversion, Rage,
All that can move the Soul, or can asswage,
Are drawn in Miniature of Life the stage.
Here you can view your Selves, and here is shown
To what you're born in Sufferings not your own.
The Stage to Wisdom's no Fantastick Way,
Athens her self learn't Virtue at a Play.
Our Author me to-Night a Souldier drew:
But faintly Writ, what warmly you pursue:
To his great purpose, had he Equal Fire,
He'd not aim to please only, but inspire;
He'd sing what hovering Fate attends our Isle,
And from base Pleasure rouse to glorious Toil:
Full time the Earth to a new Decision brings;
While William gives the Roman Eagle Wings:
With Arts and Arms shall Brittain Tamely end,
Which naked Picts so bravely could Defend?
The Painted Heroes on th' Invaders press,
And think their Wounds Addition to their Dress;
In Younger Years we've been with Conquest Blest,
And Paris has the Brittish Yoke confess'd;
Is't then in England , in lost England known,
Her King's are nam'd from a Revolted Throne?
But we offend — You no Examples need,
In Imitation of your selves proceed;
'Tis you your Countries Honour must secure,
Be all your Actions Worthy of Namur :
With Gentle Fires your Gallantry improve,
Courage is Brutal if untouch'd with Love:
If soon our utmost Bravery's not display'd,
Think that Right Circle must be Captives made.
Let Thoughts of saving them our Toils beguile,
And they Reward our Labours with a Smile.