monument! here thou shalt stand
Till the times fail in their last grain of sand.
And wheresoe'er thy silent relics keep,
This tomb will never let thine honour sleep,
Still we shall think upon thee; all our fame
Meets here to speak one letter of thy name.
Thou canst not die! here thou art more than safe,
Where every book is thy large epitaph.

THE IMPORTUNATE FORTUNE, WRITTEN TO DR. POWEL, OF CANTRE[FF].

For shame desist, why shouldst thou seek my fall?
It cannot make thee more monarchical.
Leave off; thy empire is already built;
To ruin me were to enlarge thy guilt,
Not thy prerogative. I am not he
Must be the measure to thy victory.
The Fates hatch more for thee; 'twere a disgrace
If in thy annals I should make a clause.
The future ages will disclose such men
Shall be the glory, and the end of them.
Nor do I flatter. So long as there be
Descents in Nature, or posterity,
There must be fortunes; whether they be good,
As swimming in thy tide and plenteous flood,
Or stuck fast in the shallow ebb, when we
Miss to deserve thy gorgeous charity.
Thus, Fortune, the great world thy period is;
Nature and you are parallels in this.
But thou wilt urge me still. Away, be gone,
I am resolv'd, I will not be undone.
I scorn thy trash, and thee: nay, more, I do
Despise myself, because thy subject too.
Name me heir to thy malice, and I'll be;
Thy hate's the best inheritance for me.
I care not for your wondrous hat and purse,
Make me a Fortunatus with thy curse.
How careful of myself then should I be,
Were I neglected by the world and thee?
Why dost thou tempt me with thy dirty ore,
And with thy riches make my soul so poor?
My fancy's pris'ner to thy gold and thee,
Thy favours rob me of my liberty.
I'll to my speculations. Is't best
To be confin'd to some dark, narrow chest
And idolize thy stamps, when I may be
Lord of all Nature, and not slave to thee?
The world's my palace. I'll contemplate there,
And make my progress into ev'ry sphere.
The chambers of the air are mine; those three
Well-furnish'd stories my possession be.
I hold them all _in capite_, and stand
Propp'd by my fancy there. I scorn your land,
It lies so far below me. Here I see
How all the sacred stars do circle me.
Thou to the great giv'st ri