Dissolution of all Things.
See Death.

So shall one Hour, at last, this Globe controul,
Break up the vast Machine, dissolve the Whole,
And Time no more thro' measur'd Ages roll.
Then Chaos hoar shall seize his former Right,
And reign with Anarchy and endless Night:
The starry Lamps shall combat in the Sky,
And lost, and blended in each other, die:
Quench'd in the Deep the heavenly Fires shall fall,
And Ocean, cast abroad, o'er spread the Ball.
The Moon no more her well known Course shall run,
But rise from Western Waves, and meet the Sun:
Ungovern'd, shall she quit her ancient Way,
Herself ambitious to supply the Day:
Confusion wild shall all around be hurl'd,
And Discord and Disorder tear the World.--

Jove too remember'd that a Time shall come,
For such is Fate's irrevocable Doom,
When Sea, and Earth, and Sky, shall glow with Fire,
And all this vast Machine in Flames expire.--
Disswasion.
See Intreaty.

My Son, says he, some other Proof require,
Rash was my Promise, rash is thy Desire.
I'd fain deny this Wish, which Thou hast made,
Or what I can't deny, wou'd fain disswade.
Too vast and hazardous the Task appears,
Not suited to thy Strength, nor to thy Years.
Thy Lot is mortal, but thy Wishes fly
Beyond the Province of Mortality.
Oh! don't, my Son, this fatal Gift require,
But, while Thou canst, recall thy rash Desire.
Chuse what Thou wilt from Seas, or Earth, or Skies,
For open to thy Wish all Nature lies:
Only decline this one unequal Task,
A Mischief not an Honour 'tis you ask.
You ask a real Mischief, Phaëton:
Nay, hang not thus about my Neck, my Son:
I grant your Wish, and Styx has heard my Voice:
Chuse what you will:--but make a wiser Choice.--

Me dost Thou fly?--By these distilling Tears,
By thy Right Hand, (since Nought else I've reserv'd
To wretched me,) by our connubial Rites,
And Hymenéal Loves but yet begun:
If ever I have ought of Thee deserv'd,
Or any Thing of mine was e'er to Thee
Delightful: pity my declining State:
And, Oh! if yet there's any room for Pray'r,
Be yet intreated,--yet thy Purpose change.--

O Gallant Youth! the more thy Valour boils
Exuberant, the more it me concerns
With Prudence to advise, and fearing weigh
All Hazards. Thee thy Father Daunus' Realms,
And many Cities vanquish'd by thy Arms,
Attend, to own thy Sway.--
Think on the various Chance of doubtful War:
Pity thy aged Father: whom from Thee
His distant City Ardea now divides,
Sad and disconsolate.--

The weeping Queen, ev'n dying with her Fears,
Hung on the ardent Hero. By these Tears,
I beg Thee, Turnus, grant this one Request:
If ought of Rev'rence ever touch'd thy Soul,
For poor Amata. Thou the only Hope
Art left, the Solace of my wretched Age:
On Thee Latinus' Fame, and Realm, on Thee
The Royal House with all it's Stress reclines.
Forbear: nor urge the Trojans to the Field:
Whatever Fortune waits Thee in the War,
Me too, my Turnus, waits.--
The fair Lavinia seconds with her Tears
Her Mother's Suit; and bathes her glowing Cheeks.--
Dogs.
See Flight. Hunting.

Nor be thy Care of Dogs the last: but feed
With fatt'ning Whey the brave Molossian Race,
And the fleet Spartân: Never (while they watch)
The nightly Thief, or Inroads of the Wolf,
Or ravaging Iberian, shalt thou fear.
Oft too with Hounds the timerous wild Ass
Thou shalt pursue: With Hounds the Hare, and Hind:
Oft from his wallowing Beds in Thickets rouse
The sylvan Boar, and chase him in full Cry:
And o'er the lofty Mountains, with a Shout,
The stately Stag into thy Toils impel.--
Doubt.

The Mother and the Sister long contest:
Two doubtful Titles, struggling in her Breast.
With Horror of the Fact, now pale she stood;
Now Rage boil'd high, and flush'd her Eyes with Blood:
Now dreadful Threats sat glaring in her Face,
And milder Mercy now again took Place:
Resolv'd, she doubts again: the Tears she dry'd
With burning Rage, are by new Tears supply'd.
And, as a Ship, which Winds and Waves assail,
Now with the Current drives, now with the Gale,
Both opposite, and neither long prevail:
It feels a double Force, by Turns obeys
Th' imperious Tempest, and the impetuous Seas:
So fares Althea's Mind: she first relents
With Pity, of that Pity then repents.--

'Twas now the Noon of Night, when Slumbers close
Our Eyes, and sooth our Cares with soft Repose.
But no Repose could wretched Myrrha find,
Her Body rolling, as she roll'd her Mind:
Mad with Desire, she ruminates her Sin,
And Wishes all her Wishes o'er again:
Now she despairs: and now resolves to try:
Wou'd not, and wou'd again, she knows not why:
Stops, and returns: makes, and retracts the Vow:
Fain wou'd begin, but understands not how.
As when a Pine is hew'd upon the Plains,
And the last mortal Stroke alone remains,
Tottering it stands aloft, and threatning all,
This Way, and that Way nods, uncertain where to fall:
So Myrrha's Mind, impell'd on either Side,
Takes every Bent, but cannot long abide:
Irresolute on which she should rely,
At last, unfix'd in all, is only fix'd to die.--

--His wavering Mind divides
A Thousand Ways: now This, now That resolves,
And turns on every Side it's shifting Thoughts.
As when in brazen Vats the trembling Light
Of Water, from the Sun's reflected Beams,
Or from the Image of the radiant Moon,
Flits all around, and now is whirl'd aloft
To the high Roof, and dances in the Air.--

Should Joy, or Grief, she said, possess my Breast,
To see my Country by a War opprest?
I'm in Suspence! For, tho' 'tis Grief to know
I love a Man who is declar'd my Foe;
Yet, in my own Despite, I must approve
That lucky War, which brought the Man I love.--
Dreams.
See Sleep.

Folded in Sleep whilst all the Members lie,
And the whole Body is to Rest compos'd,
Then, even then, we fancy we're awake,
And move, and act, and view the glorious Sun,
And chearful Day;--tho' pitchy Night it be:
Then too, tho' all the while in Bed confin'd,
Imaginary Climes we journey thro':
O'er various Seas, Rivers, and Mountains steep,
And flow'ry Fields we range: and Voices hear,
And Answers apt return; tho' all around,
Reigns solemn Silence, and a Hush profound.--

Whatever Studies please, whatever Things
The Mind pursues, or dwells on with Delight,
The same, in Dreams, engage our chief Concern:
The Lawyers plead, and argue what is Law:
The Soldiers fight, and thro' the Battle rage:
The Sailors Work, and strive against the Winds:
Me, an Enquiry into Nature's Laws,
And writing down my Thoughts continually employs.--

Whatever Actions often are perform'd,
On every Creature else, as well as Man,
Have this Effect: Stout Horses you shall see,
(Whilst at their Length, and fast asleep they lie,)
Lather'd with Sweat, snorting, and panting quick:
As if, the Barrier down, with all their Strength,
They stretch'd, and were contending for the Palm.
Hounds too are often hunting in their Sleep,
And fling about their Limbs, and open oft,
And often snuff the Air, as on full Scent,
Pursuing close the Footsteps of their Prey.--

But He, of Dreams the Parent, does excite
Morpheus that artful masquerading Sprite:
Morpheus, of all his num'rous Sons, express'd
The Shape of Man, and imitated best:
The Walk, the Words, the Gesture could supply,
The Habit mimic, and the Mein belie:
Plays well, but all his Action is confin'd,
Extending not beyond our human Kind.
Another Birds, and Beasts, and Dragons apes,
And dreadful Images, and Monster shapes:
This Demon, Icelos, in Heav'n's high Hall,
The Gods have nam'd: but Men Phobetor call.
A third is Phantasus, whose Actions roll
On meaner Thoughts, and Things devoid of Soul:
Earth, Fruits, and Flow'rs, he represents in Dreams,
And solid Rocks unmov'd, and running Streams.--

Two Gates of Sleep there are: the one of Horn,
Thro' which with Ease the real Fantoms pass:
With polish'd Elephant the other shines,
Thro' which the Manes send false Dreams to Light.--

So when a Dream our sleeping Sight betrays,
And to our View some hidden Gold conveys,
Our busy Hands th' inviting Treasure seize,
And short--liv'd Joys our working Fancy please:
But straight, we sweat with Dread, lest any Spy,
Should find the Secret, and our Theft descry.
Nay, even when the charming Dream is o'er,
When we're awake, and as we were before,
Sighing, we wish the fancy'd Loss regain'd,
And with the Image still are entertain'd.--

When, in our Dreams, the Forms of Things arise,
In mimic Order plac'd before our Eyes,
Nor Heav'n, nor Hell, the airy Vision sends,
But ev'ry Breast it's own Delusion lends.
For when soft Sleep the Body lays at Ease,
And from the heavy Mass our Fancy frees,
Whate'er it is in which we take Delight,
And think of most by Day, we dream at Night.--

Thus he who shakes proud States, and Cities burns,
Sees Show'rs of Darts, forc'd Lines, disorder'd Wings,
Fields drown'd in Blood, and Obsequies of Kings:
The Lawyer dreams of Terms, and double Fees,
And trembles when he long Vacations sees:
The Miser hides his Wealth, new Treasure finds:
In ecchoing Woods his Horn the Huntsman winds:
The Sailor's Dream a shipwreck'd Chance describes:
The Whore writes Billet doux: Th' Adultress bribes:
The op'ning Dog the tim'rous Hare pursues:
And Misery in Sleep it's Pain renews.--

Still Slumbers Erisichthon's Senses drown,
And sooth his Fancy with their softest Down.
He dreams of Viands delicate to eat,
And revels on imaginary Meat.
Chaws with his working Mouth, but chaws in vain,
And tires his grinding Teeth with fruitless Pain:
Deludes his Throat with visionary Fare,
Feasts on the Wind, and Banquets on the Air.—