Yet still the fruits of earth we see Plac'd the third story high in all her luxury. But with no sense the garden does comply, Though she on silver floors did tread, Though she look'd up to roofs of gold, And wealthy Hiram's princely dye; Though Ophir's starry stones met every-where her eye; Though she herself and her gay host were drest With all the shining glories of the East; When lavish art her costly work had done, Was by the garden from the palace won; The case thus judg'd against the king we see, * Matth. vi. 29. Nor does this happy place only dispense Such various pleasures to the sense; That salt of life, which does to all a relish give, The tree of life, when it in Eden stood, Did its immortal head to heaven rear ; It always here is freshest seen; If, through the strong and beauteous fence And wholesome labours, and a quiet mind, They must not think here to assail A land unarmed, or without a guard; Scarce any plant is growing here, Which against death some weapon does not bear. For life the ornaments of pride; Where does the wisdom and the power divine Where do we finer strokes and colours see Than when we with attention look Ev'n in a bush the radiant Deity. Although no part of mighty nature be God has so order'd, that no other part Such space and such dominion leaves for art. We no-where Art do so triumphant see, It over-rules, and is her master, here. It imitates her Maker's power divine, [fine: And changes her sometimes, and sometimes does re It does, like grace, the fallen tree restore To its bless'd state of Paradise before: Who would not joy to see his conquering hand And the wild giants of the wood receive He bids th' ill-natur'd crab produce The golden fruit, that worthy is He does the savage hawthorn teach To bear the medlar and the pear: Now wonders at herself, to see That she's a mother made, and blushes in her fruit. Methinks, I see great Dioclesian walk If I, my friends (said he), should to you show I walk not here with more delight, Than ever, after the most happy fight, In triumph to the capitol I rode, To thank the gods, and to be thought, myself, almost a god. VI. OF GREATNESS. SINCE we cannot attain to greatness (says the sieur de Montaigne), let us have our revenge by railing at it:" this he spoke but in jest. I believe he desired it no more than I do, and had less reason; for he enjoyed so plentiful and honourable a fortune in a most excellent country, as allowed him all the real conveniencies of it, separated and purged from the incommodities. If I were but in his condition, I should think it hard measure, without being convinced of any crime, to be sequestered from it, and made one of the principal officers of state. But the reader may think that what I now say is of small authority, because I never was, nor ever shall be, put to the trial: I can therefore only make my protestation, |