Classic Poem

Bowman, amongst those whom kinder stars yet spare,
The eldest of my Friendship is thy share.
Who can unriddle the designes of Fate
Or say, before th'Event, what's fortunate?
One Storm on Land did force us both to Sea,
And in a forreign Region I found thee;
By whose sweet conversation's kind supply
My Country seem'd not alter'd with the Sky.
If the Beatitude of humane kind
Were nothing more then Epicure design'd,
Like those who on some Promontory stand
To view the dangers of the Sea from Land,
What lesse of bliss was ours when safely wee
Beheld the dangers of the Land from Sea?
But this Illusion Amity disprov'd,
Wee shar'd their griefs whom we so dearly lov'd.
In all diversions which abroad we found
None could assuage this symphathetick wound,
So she, struck Dear, changes with winged speed
The soil, but still fast sticks the deadly weed.
Nor were these griefs allay'd by thy return.
Thou then didst feel, what thou before didst mourn,
Who durst stand up, spight of the Tyrant's Lawes,
A Loyall Patron of Penruddock's Cause;
Just to thy selfe in him, whose veins did shed
Part of thy selfe, when he unjustly bled.
At length, who sits above, and does deride
The vaine designes of Man's rebellious pride,
To the Gigantick crowd in anger spoake,
Enthron'd our King, and all their factions broake.