Poems on several occasions. Humbly dedicated to the right honourable the Marchioness of Tavestock. By the author.

A Countrey Seat. To the Honoured J. W. Gent.

FOR once my Muse thy tender Pinions try, And to that most Beloved Mansion fly,

Longworth; which sure was heretofore the Abode And happy Palace of some Rural God; Whom when Jove Summon'd to keep Court in Heaven, This then was to his Mortal Favourite given, To hold of him without Dependencies, And only be a Tenant to the Skies.

Be He thy Patron then, and That thy Theme, For when thou Sing'st of That, thou Sing'st of Him. He will not sit with unconcern above, And view the Attempts of thy well-meaning Love: No, he will Poize thy Flight, and Tune thy Song, And lay just Accents on thy Artless Tongue: Heaven will no doubt for such a Task inspire And quicken Fancy with Celestial Fire.

When Nature did her wondrous Self dilate, To take the impressions of designing Fate,

She ask'd one Spot at first, whereon to show What would from her vast pregnant Compass flow; What all her Force exerted could produce, What for Divine, and what for Humane Use: And Lo the World in Min'ature appears! And Lo the Model rais'd for Building Years! Longworth 'twas thee, thou sure didst first arise From Chaos, and salute thy Maker's Eyes: On Thee his whole Idea was imprest, Till growing Nature stretcht it o're the Rest.

O had the World observed thy Pattern still, It had not been deform'd with so much ill: Had hapless Eve the Fairer Sylvia been, We had not known the Miseries of Sin; She had tempted Satan rather to be Good, And Man confirm'd by Her till now had stood: But Heaven is Just, and tho' our Race did fall, It deals not Curses all alike to all;

For those pure Minds that take not Stains of ill, Possess their Ancient Paradises still.

Hail then ye Blest, that yet haunt Longworth's Shades, Hail thou their Sire, and hail ye Beauteous Maids, That in Dear Pairs frequent those Sacred Groves, And Sing the Foreign Tales of disappointed Loves; Of the hard Sighings of neglected Swains, The Struggles of their Wo, the Anguish of their Pains, Till Eccho grows concern'd, and Word for Word complains. Old * 1.1 Lugg is Charm'd, and snatches up the Reins Of his loose Waves, and backs with both his Hands, Whilst heark'ning to your Song, he strokes their Silver Mains: Then on he drives, repeating as he goes, In loudest Murmurs, Strephon and his Woes, And acting his Despair, himself in † 1.2 Wye he throws.

The Sun, the Jealons Sun, with envious Eye, Is scarce perswaded to forsake the Sky; And yet in vain he looks, in vain he stays, In vain he downwards points his burning Rays; The happier Wood denies his too bold Sight, And only asks your Eyes to give it Light. With Fury then he rowls down the steep Skies, Leaving his Office to your brighter Eyes.

The Day deserted by Its Fiery God, You, and the Shade its self, then comes abroad; For Lo a Greensord Walk it self extends, Backt by the Wood, and Orchards at Its ends, Where the shy Nymphs from their close Thickets steal, And Golden Lap-fulls fetcht for every Meal.

But now the Pile recalls our wandering Eyes, The goodly Pile by gradual Steps does rise: The Chimneys first in orderly Array, Heave above Earth, and Smoke their use betray:

And now the Roof, and the first Tire of Light, Discovers you, and Sight returns for Sight: Onwards another, and another row, Number at last resigns Its tale to show.

And now fresh Objects throng the pleasing Way, And first an Arbor needs not ask your stay, Built on a rising Brow, where Alleys meet, And justling to a point, contend to have your Feet. One shews the Prospect where * 1.3 Ar'conium stands, On the indulgent Bosom of the Plains: And (Lo) the Minster lifts his Head in view, As taught by Him, the Lesser Temples do, And the † 1.4 Lay Crowd observe their Reverend Pastors too. There wanton Wye pours down his headlong Waves, And sometimes glibly Swims, and sometimes mad∣ly Raves;

Sometimes his Waters friendly Kiss the Shore, Anon fall out, and in meer Scorn dash o're, And Drown the Neighbouring Fields, and Foam and Roar. Far beyond this, to distant Wales the sight Pursues Its prospect with incessant flight, Nor stops till it has reach'd the very Verge of Night. Just opposite to this, another Walk Looks down upon a peaceful * 1.5 Valley Folk, Whom Fate a fruitful Soil in private gave, And bade Them happy live, even in the Grave. 'Long with your Eyes the winding Valley runs, And leads Them on, and calls Them back, at once. Another lays huge Malvern Hills in view; And every Path presents a Prospect new: Where Active Froomy cuts Its liquid way, And where Its Owner bids that Current stay, And for Its passage wonted † 1.6 Tribute pay.

Where Stripling Trees run down in decent Rows, And form the Grand Approach up to the House: Quite to the Road those Verdant Arches lead, And whisper Welcome o're the Stranger's Head. There gentle Zephir Sports his limber Wings, And Philomel with her full Choir Sings.

See there the Chappel where your Ancestors, With bended Knees put up Accepted Prayers, And Dy'd in Faith of having you their Heirs.

But now your weary Eyes can hardly reach To see where your own Fields their liberal Compass fetch: To see what Pleasures do Adorn each Place, And the Nice Order of their Beauty trace. See nearer then, a Walk direct attends, And as you tread upon it, see! it bends, And falls on purpose to a mild descent, And yields you Home, and further Toil prevents. Through Ever-open Doors unstaid you go, The Ever-open Doors are thought too few, For Ever-open Hearts you keep within them too. Courteous, not Formal, Handsom, yet not Proud, Rich for no other End but to be Good: To Virtues utmost pitch you bravely go; Are Good, and yet not Proud of being so.

As the House high, the Cellars sink as low, Where as from Springs the numerous Liquors flow: Liquors, not strange, but Natives of the Place, That free in Goblets rowl, ne'er prison'd up in Glass: It values not Oporto, nor the Rhine, But boasts the better Name of Longworth Wine, And dares oppose with That, the Ostentatious Vine.

FINIS.

Notes

• * 1.1

  The River Lugg, which runs by this Place.
• † 1.2

  And presently af∣ter loses it self in the River Wye.
• * 1.3

  Hereford.
• † 1.4

  The Houses.
• * 1.5

  Stoke.
• † 1.6

  A Mill belonging to the House.