Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, VISIONS IN VERSE: 4. CONTENT, by NATHANIEL COTTON


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

VISIONS IN VERSE: 4. CONTENT, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Man is deceiv'd by outward show
Last Line: And inconsistent dreams of day.
Subject(s): Courts & Courtiers; Friendship - False Friends; Royal Court Life; Royalty; Kings; Queens; Fair Weather Friends


MAN is deceiv'd by outward show—
'Tis a plain homespun truth, I know,
The fraud prevails at every age,
So says the school-boy and the sage;
Yet still we hug the dear deceit,
And still exclaim against the cheat.
But whence this inconsistent part?
Say, moralists, who know the heart:
If you'll this labyrinth pursue,
I'll go before, and find the clue.
I dreamt ('twas on a birth-day night)
A sumptuous palace rose to sight;
The builder had, through every part,
Observ'd the chastest rules of art;
Raphael and Titian had display'd
All the full force of light and shade:
Around the liveried servants wait;
An aged porter kept the gate.
As I was traversing, the hall,
Where Brussels' looms adorn'd the wall,
(Whose tap'stry shews, without my aid,
A nun is no such useless maid)
A graceful person came in view
(His form, it seems, is known to few;)
His dress was unadorn'd with lace,
But charms! a thousand in his face.
'This, sir, your property?' I cried—
Master and mansion coincide:
Where all, indeed, is truly great,
And proves, that bliss may dwell with state,
Pray, sir, indulge a stranger's claim,
And grant the favour of your name:
'Content,' the lovely form replied;
But think not here that I reside:
Here lives a courtier, base and sly;
An open, honest rustic, I.
Our taste and manners disagree,
His levee boasts no charms for me:
For titles, and the smiles of kings,
To me are cheap unheeded things.
('Tis virtue can alone impart
The patent of a ducal heart:
Unless this herald speaks him great,
What shall avail the glare of state?)
Those secret charms are my delight,
Which shine remote from public sight:
Passions subdued, desires at rest—
And hence his chaplain shares my breast.
There was a time (his grace can tell)
I knew the duke exceeding well;
Knew every secret of his heart;
In truth we never were apart:
But when the court became his end,
He turn'd his back upon his friend.
One day I call'd upon his grace,
Just as the duke had got a place:
I thought (but thought amiss, 'tis clear)
I should be welcome to the peer,
Yes, welcome to a man in pow'r;
And so I was—for half an hour.
But he grew weary of his guest,
And soon discarded me his breast;
Upbraided me with want of merit,
But most for poverty of spirit.
You relish not the great man's lot?
Come, hasten to my humbler cot.
Think me not partial to the great,
I'm a sworn foe to pride and state;
No monarchs share my kind embrace,
There's scarce a monarch knows my face:
Content shuns courts, and oft'ner dwells
With modest worth in rural cells;
There's no complaint, though brown the bread,
Or the rude turf sustain the head;
Though hard the couch, and coarse the meat,
Still the brown loaf and sleep are sweet.
Far from the city I reside,
And a thatch'd cottage all my pride.
True to my heart, I seldom roam,
Because I find my joys at home:
For foreign visits then begin,
When the man feels a void within.
But though from towns and crowds I fly,
No humorist, nor cynic, I.
Amidst sequester'd shades I prize
The friendships of the good and wise.
Bid Virtue and her sons attend,
Virtue will tell thee I'm her friend:
Tell thee, I'm faithful, constant, kind,
And meek and lowly, and resign'd:
Will say, there's no distinction known
Betwixt her household and my own.
Author. If these the friendships you pursue,
Your friends, I fear, are very few.
So little company, you say,
Yet fond of home from day to day?
How do you shun detraction's rod?
I doubt your neighbours think you odd!
Content. I commune with myself at night,
And ask my heart if all be right:
If, 'right,' replies my faithful breast,
I smile, and close my eyes to rest.
Author. You seem regardless of the town:
Pray, sir, how stand you with the gown?
Content. The clergy say they love me well,
Whether they do, they best can tell:
They paint me modest, friendly, wise,
And always praise me to the skies;
But if conviction's at the heart,
Why not a correspondent part?
For shall the learned tongue prevail,
If actions preach a different tale?
Who'll seek my door or grace my walls,
When neither dean nor prelate calls?
With those my friendships most obtain,
Who prize their duty more than gain;
Soft flow the hours whene'er we meet,
And conscious virtue is our treat;
Our harmless breasts no envy know,
And hence we fear no secret foe;
Our walks Ambition ne'er attends,
And hence we ask no powerful friends;
We wish the best to church and state,
But leave the steerage to the great;
Careless, who rises, or who falls,
And never dream of vacant stalls;
Much less by pride or interest drawn,
Sigh for the mitre and the lawn.
Observe the secrets of my art,
I'll fundamental truths impart:
If you'll my kind advice pursue,
I'll quit my hut, and dwell with you.
The passions are a numerous crowd,
Imperious, positive, and loud:
Curb these licentious sons of strife;
Hence chiefly rise the storms of life:
If they grow mutinous and rave,
They are thy masters, thou their slave.
Regard the world with cautious eye,
Nor raise your expectation high:
See that the balanc'd scales be such,
You neither fear nor hope too much.
For disappointment's not the thing,
'Tis pride and passion point the sting.
Life is a sea where storms must rise,
'Tis Folly talks of cloudless skies:
He who contracts his swelling sail,
Eludes the fury of the gale.
Be still, nor anxious thoughts employ,
Distrust embitters present joy:
On God for all events depend;
You cannot want when God's your friend.
Weigh well your part, and do your best;
Leave to your Maker all the rest.
The hand which form'd thee in the womb,
Guides from the cradle to the tomb.
Can the fond mother slight her boy;
Can she forget her prattling joy?
Say then shall sovereign Love desert
The humble and the honest heart?
Heav'n may not grant thee all thy mind;
Yet say not thou that Heaven's unkind.
God is alike, both good and wise,
In what he grants, and what denies:
Perhaps, what goodness gives to-day,
To-morrow goodness takes away.
You say, that troubles intervene,
That sorrows darken half the scene.
True—and this consequence you see,
The world was ne'er design'd for thee:
You're like a passenger below,
That stays perhaps a night or so;
But still his native country lies
Beyond the boundaries of the skies.
Of Heav'n ask virtue, wisdom, health,
But never let thy prayer be wealth.
If food be thine, (though little gold)
And raiment to repel the cold;
Such as may nature's wants suffice,
Not what from pride and folly rise;
If soft the motions of thy soul,
And a calm conscience crowns the whole;
Add but a friend to all this store,
You can't in reason wish for more:
And if kind Heav'n this comfort brings,
'Tis more than Heav'n bestows on kings.
He spake—the airy spectre flies,
And straight the sweet illusion dies.
The vision, at the early dawn,
Consign'd me to the thoughtful morn;
To all the cares of waking clay,
And inconsistent dreams of day.





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