Yet something did thy mighty Pow'r command, And from thy fruitful Emptiness's Hand, Snatch'd Men, Beasts, Birds, Fire, Air, and Land.
Matter, the wicked'st Off-spring of thy Race, By Form assisted, flew from thy Embrace, And rebel Light obscur'd thy rev'rend dusky Face.
With Form and Matter, Time, and Place did join, Body, thy Foe, with thee did Leagues combine To spoil thy peaceful Realm, and ruin all thy Line.
But turn-coat Time assists the Foe in vain, And, brib'd by thee, assists thy short-liv'd Reign. And to thy hungry Womb drives back thy Slaves again.
Tho' Mysteries are barr'd from Laick Eyes, And the Divine alone, with Warrant, pries Into thy Bosom, where the Truth in private lies.
Yet this of thee the Wise may freely say, Thou from the Virtuous nothing tak'st away, And to be part with thee the Wicked wisely pray.
Great Negative, how vainly wou'd the Wise Enquire, define, distinguish, teach, devise? Didst thou not stand to point their dull Philosophies.
_Is_, or _is not_, the two great Ends of Fate, And, true or false, the Subject of Debate, That perfect, or destroy, the vast Designs of Fate.
When they have rack'd the Politician's Breast, Within thy Bosom most securely rest, And, when reduc'd to thee, are least unsafe and best.
But, _Nothing_, why does _Something_ still permit, That sacred Monarchs should at Council sit, With Persons highly thought at best for nothing fit.
Whilst weighty _Something_ modestly abstains, From Princes Coffers, and from Statesmens Brains, And nothing there like stately _Nothing_ reigns.
_Nothing_, who dwell'st with Fools in grave Disguise, For whom they rev'rend Shapes and Forms devise, Lawn Sleeves, and Furs, and Gowns, when they like thee look wise.
_French_ Truth, _Dutch_ Prowess, _British_ Policy, _Hibernian_ Learning, _Scotch_ Civility, _Spaniards_ Dispatch, _Danes_ Wit, are mainly seen in thee.
The Great Man's Gratitude to his best Friend, King's Promises, Whores Vows tow'rds thee they bend, Flow swiftly into thee, and in thee ever end.
All Things submit themselves to your Command, Fair _Cælia_, when it does not Love withstand: The Pow'r it borrows from your Eyes alone; All but the God must yield to, who has none. Were he not blind, such are the Charms you have, He'd quit his Godhead to become your Slave: Be proud to act a mortal Hero's Part, And throw himself for Fame on his own Dart. But Fate has otherwise dispos'd of Things, In different Bands subjected Slaves and Kings: Fetter'd in Forms of Royal State are they, While we enjoy the Freedom to obey. That Fate like you resistless does ordain, To Love, that over Beauty he shall reign. By Harmony the Universe does move, And what is Harmony but mutual Love? Who would resist an Empire so divine, Which universal Nature does enjoin? See gentle Brooks, how quietly they glide, Kissing the rugged Banks on either Side. While in their Crystal Streams at once they show, And with them feed the Flow'rs which they bestow: Tho' rudely throng'd by a too near Embrace, In gentle Murmurs they keep on their Pace To the lov'd Sea; for Streams have their Desires; Cool as they are, they feel Love's powerful Fires; And with such Passion, that if any Force Stop or molest them in their amorous Course; They swell, break down with Rage, and ravage o'er The Banks they kiss'd, and Flow'rs they fed before. Submit then, _Cælia_, e'er you be reduc'd; For Rebels, vanquish'd once, are vilely us'd. Beauty's no more but the dead Soil, which Love Manures, and does by wise Commerce improve: Sailing by Sighs, thro' Seas of Tears, he sends Courtships from foreign Hearts, for your own Ends: Cherish the Trade, for as with _Indians_ we Get Gold and Jewels for our Trumpery: So to each other for their useless Toys, Lovers afford whole Magazines of Joys. But if you're fond of Baubles, be, and starve, Your Guegaw Reputation still preserve: Live upon Modesty and empty Fame, Foregoing Sense for a fantastick Name.