Transcribed from British Library C.145.a.18

Anon, The Turkish Paradise or Vaux-Hall Gardens. Wrote at Vaux-Hall last Summer. The Prince and Princess of Wales, with many Persons of Quality and Distinction being in the Gardens.
London: T. Cooper, 1741. p.3-8

Why dies the Trumpets Sound? Strike every String;
The Love-tun'd Nightingale begins to sing,
With varied Melody, so soft and sweet,
As forces Silence slowly from her Seat;
O! meet once more her Note in trembling Air,
Lift up my Soul on high, and fix it there:
Renew those charming Sounds, or else my Eyes
Submit to Beauty: O divide the Price!
Musick and Wit, come each demand your Share,
Or all will be surrender'd to the Fair:
Let each to each with Admiration burn,
And Beauty, Wit and Musick, rule by turn.

APELLES rise from Death behold this Train,
Thy Pencil here might deathless Honour gain;
Observe their Air, their Motion, how much Ease,
To paint a Venus is to copy these.
In these such Liveliness of Sense is shewn,
They find Mens Wit but Echo's of their own:
[p.4] Awe-struck I view them as they pass along,
The Wonder, and Inspirers of my Song.

IN Times, not yet forgot, this ground was trod
By Lust and Folly, this was their Abode;
The Evening Shade that fell but serv'd to hide
The Shame of Drunkards, or the Harlot's Pride.
Here lost the Beau the Gold the Merchant won,
The Gamester finish'd what the Fool begun.
HOGARTH, with Ease, had hither trac'd his Rake,
And seen him sink whole Thousands at a Stake,
Feign'd Sighs, and purchas'd Vows were current there.
And Imprecations struck the peaceful Air.
Scandal who kept the Gate, and dress'd like Fame,
Grew soon familiar with the Guests that came,
Invited all who pass'd to enter in,
So tempted first, and then divulg'd the Sin;
The vicious Scene was set to publick View,
Known, censur'd, rail'd at, and yet wink'd at too,
Till with it's Weight of Infamy it fell,
And underwent a Change the Muse shall tell;
For now no regulating Hand was seen,
An unrestrain'd, confus'd, tho' natural green.
Nature, like generous Souls, untaught we find,
And Art, like Education, to the Mind;
The Paths that lead to Knowledge daily swept,
A bright Idea of Proportion kept,
Impertinence and Errors lopt away,
And all is smooth, and uniform and gay.
Thus Art has govern'd here, and by Degrees
Conquer'd the Rudeness of the stubborn Trees,
To equal Heights has taught their Shades to rise,
Stop'd their ambitious Tendence to the Skies,
Their Sides, with wanton Branches far out-grown,
Made plain and even like the polish'd Stone,
Has rais'd around, and interspers'd Alcoves,
And open'd Prospects of adjoining Groves;
From whence the rural Swain with Wonder sees
Picture, or Sculpture, thro' the opening Trees;
Or solitary Lover hears the Strains
That fly thro' them, and reach the distant Plains,
For Harmony reigns here, and at her Shrine
Is offer'd Musick as to Power Divine:
The Goddess smiles, while from her Temple flies,
Thro' the charm'd Air the grateful Sacrifice,
Inlarg'd the grateful Sacrifice rebounds,
And every Soul gives Echo to it's Sounds.

SOON as from western Skies the Sun's mild Ray
Retiring darts, and faintly governs Day,
To this attracting Theatre resort
The finish'd Beauties of the Town and Court;
This Stage, how can it fail to move the Heart,
Where all who see the Play perform a Part.
All chuse their own, what they can act with Ease,
And every one is pleas'd, and strives to please.
The Rivers Bank at once is crowded o'er,
Itself with Boats that press to gain the Shore,
Rich laden with our fairest courtly Dames,
Who add a Lustre to the Face of Thames,
And dazzle from afar: on these there wait
The choicest Spirits of the Brave and Great,
Proud to attend: the shining Troop behold,
Whose smallest Ornaments are Gems and Gold.
Here might the Muse indulge, and as they go,
Their Birth, their Charms, and their Perfections show,
Nor tire the Reader's Ear; but such a Task
Much greater Limit than we take would ask.
But not for this must in the noble Throng
Unheeded pass the Kingdoms hope along,
Hail Prince of glorious Race! hail Royal Heir!
Hail darling Object of the Peoples Care!
Thou common Good, propitious Heaven has sent
To silence Faction, and beget Content.
See, how like Rays his Smiles diffusive flow,
See, on his Cheek the Love of Freedom glow,
See, in his Breast what Tide of Virtue springs,
And Generosity, the Pride of Kings!
Long might I here have gaz'd with fixed Eye,
Had not AUGUSTA'S lovely Form been nigh,
Pair'd by his Side, like one come from above,
The Cause, the Emblem, and Reward of Love,
There to fix Peace, to make fresh Honours grow,
And Pleasures that in Streams like Rivers flow.
Lend me your Sounds, ye Instruments of Praise,
Lend me thy Song, thou Master of the Bays*
Help, ye immortal Dead, whose living Names
Survive like Gold, tho' try'd in critick Flames;
Since Liberty, with Hope, has join'd her Hand,
And bid her standing Army Fear, disband;
Blest be the happy Cause ---- stay hasty Pen,
Speak timely Praise, restrain thy Flight till then;
By Midwife-Time Events are timely born,
The noonday Service is too soon at Morn,
How will thy Verse appear, if it declare
Here Panegyrick, and a Satire there?
How would thy Verse appear?— I would have shewn
That general Love was settled near the Throne;
For who loves Liberty, loves you and me,
And blesses us in wishing we were free:
Extensive Freedom —without that we're lost,
And all the Millions which that Name has cost;
For then retire the Valiant, and the Great,
Give up their Power, and abandon State,
Resign the Sword, all Ensigns of Command,
And hide their Courage far within the Land.
How can a General be truly brave
If any one can call him Fellow-slave?
If there are Slaves in Britain, if there be
A Man who does not wish the World was free,
What tho' he has up-hoarded Sums of Gold,
His Price of Mischief when himself was sold;
Say half these Kingdoms in his Coffers lay:
O would he leave these Kingdoms and away
To hostile France, or yet unhumbled Spain,
Those Realms where all our Losses turn to Gain:
[p.8] But here, for ever blotted be his Name,
(The Robber of his Country, and the Shame)
Abhorrence on it, take a Briton's Curse,
What e're our Lot may prove, may his be worse.

No longer ye soft soothing Lyres be mute,
O now or never touch the breathing Flute;
Raise my sunk Mind —where has my Fancy stray'd?
How wander'd in the Maze itself had made!
But Hark! the Organ penetrates the Air.
As if Cecilia's Soul were Vocal there;
The Trumpet lives again, my Spirits wake,
And gloomy Thoughts my raptur'd Soul forsake.
Lights, Ladies, all appear again in View,
The Shades of Night have dress'd the Scene anew,
Anew my Bosom glows; at length the Fair
Part by Degrees; but first the Royal Pair.

O could our neighbouring Nations see this Sight,
But the Appearance of this happy Night,
Such natural Charms, Complexions all in Grain,
Such Modesty, unlike what others feign,
Such Excellence of Shape: how would they bear
Their Olive Beauties daily painted fair?
How would they gaze, and feast their wond'ring Eyes,



* Mr Pope









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