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Anne Kingsmill Finch - The Petition For An Absolute Retreat
Work rating: Medium

GIVE me O indulgent Fate!
Give me yet, before I Dye,
A sweet, but absolute Retreat,
`Mongst Paths so lost, and Trees so high, 

That the World may ne`er invade,
Through such Windings and such Shade,
My unshaken Liberty. 

   No Intruders thither come!
Who visit, but to be from home;
None who their vain Moments pass,
Only studious of their Glass,
News, that charm to listning Ears;
That false Alarm to Hopes and Fears;
That common Theme for every Fop,
From the Statesman to the Shop,
In those Coverts ne`er be spread,
Of who`s Deceas`d, or who`s to Wed,
Be no Tidings thither brought,
But Silent, as a Midnight Thought,
Where the World may ne`er invade,
Be those Windings, and that Shade: 
   Courteous Fate! afford me there
A Table spread without my Care,
With what the neighb`ring Fields impart,
Whose Cleanliness be all it`s Art,
When, of old, the Calf was drest,
(Tho` to make an Angel`s Feast)
In the plain, unstudied Sauce
Nor Treufle, nor Morillia was;
Nor cou`d the mighty Patriarch`s Board
One far-fetch`d Ortolane afford.
Courteous Fate, then give me there
Only plain, and wholesome Fare.
Fruits indeed (wou`d Heaven bestow)
All, that did in Eden grow,
All, but the Forbidden Tree,
Wou`d be coveted by me;
Grapes, with Juice so crouded up,
As breaking thro` the native Cup; 
Figs (yet growing) candy`d o`er,
By the Sun`s attracting Pow`r;
Cherries, with the downy Peach,
All within my easie Reach;
Whilst creeping near the humble Ground,
Shou`d the Strawberry be found
Springing wheresoe`er I stray`d,
Thro` those Windings and that Shade. 

  For my Garments; let them be
What may with the Time agree;
Warm, when Phoebus does retire, {1}
And is ill-supply`d by Fire:
But when he renews the Year,
And verdant all the Fields appear;
Beauty every thing resumes,
Birds have dropt their Winter-Plumes;
When the Lilly full display`d,
Stands in purer White array`d, 
Than that Vest, which heretofore
The Luxurious {2} Monarch wore, 
When from Salem`s Gates he drove,
To the soft Retreat of Love,
Lebanon`s all burnish`d House,
And the dear Egyptian Spouse. 
Cloath me, Fate, tho` not so Gay;
Cloath me light, and fresh as May:
In the Fountains let me view
All my Habit cheap and new;
Such as, when sweet Zephyrs fly, {3}
With their Motions may comply;
Gently waving, to express
Unaffected Carelessness: 
No Perfumes have there a Part,
Borrow`d from the Chymists Art:
But such as rise from flow`ry Beds,
Or the falling Jasmin Sheds!
`Twas the Odour of the Field,
Esau`s rural Coat did yield, {4}
That inspir`d his Father`s Pray`r,
For Blessings of the Earth and Air:
Of Gums, or Pouders had it smelt;
The Supplanter, then unfelt,
Easily had been descry`d
For One that did in Tents abide;
For some beauteous Handmaids Joy,
And his Mother`s darling Boy.
Let me then no Fragrance wear,
But what the Winds from Gardens bear,
In such kind, surprizing Gales,
As gather`d from {5} Fidentia`s Vales,
All the Flowers that in them grew;
Which intermixing, as they flew, 
In wreathen Garlands dropt agen,
On Lucullus, and his Men; {6}
Who, chear`d by the victorious Sight,
Trebl`d Numbers put to Flight. 
Let me, when I must be fine,
In such natural Colours shine;
Wove, and painted by the Sun,
Whose resplendent Rays to shun,
When they do too fiercely beat,
Let me find some close Retreat,
Where they have no Passage made,
Thro` those Windings, and that Shade. 

  Give me there (since Heaven has shown
It was not Good to be alone)
A Partner suited to my Mind,
Solitary, pleas`d and kind;
Who, partially, may something see
Preferr`d to all the World in me; 
Slighting, by my humble Side,
Fame and Splendor, Wealth and Pride.
When but Two the Earth possest,
`Twas their happiest Days, and best;
They by Bus`ness, nor by Wars,
They by no Domestick Cares,
From each other e`er were drawn,
But in some Grove, or flow`ry Lawn,
Spent the swiftly flying Time,
Spent their own, and Nature`s Prime,
In Love; that only Passion given
To perfect Man, whilst Friends with Heaven.
Rage, and Jealousie, and Hate,
Transports of his fallen State,
(When by Satan`s Wiles betray`d)
Fly those Windings, and that Shade! 

  Thus from Crouds, and Noise remov`d,
Let each Moment be improv`d; 
Every Object still produce,
Thoughts of Pleasure, and of Use:
When some River slides away,
To encrease the boundless Sea;
Think we then, how Time do`s haste,
To grow Eternity at last,
By the Willows, on the Banks,
Gather`d into social Ranks,
Playing with the gentle Winds,
Strait the Boughs, and smooth the Rinds,
Moist each Fibre, and each Top,
Wearing a luxurious Crop,
Let the time of Youth be shown,
The time alas! too soon outgrown;
Whilst a lonely stubborn Oak,
Which no Breezes can provoke,
No less Gusts persuade to move,
Than those, which in a Whirlwind drove,
Spoil`d the old Fraternal Feast,
And left alive but one poor Guest; 
Rivell`d the distorted Trunk,
Sapless Limbs all bent, and shrunk,
Sadly does the Time presage,
Of our too near approaching Age.
When a helpless Vine is found,
Unsupported on the Ground,
Careless all the Branches spread,
Subject to each haughty Tread,
Bearing neither Leaves, nor Fruit,
Living only in the Root;
Back reflecting let me say,
So the sad Ardelia lay; {7}
Blasted by a Storm of Fate, {8}
Felt, thro` all the British State; 
Fall`n, neglected, lost, forgot,
Dark Oblivion all her Lot;
Faded till Arminda`s Love, {9}
(Guided by the Pow`rs above)
Warm`d anew her drooping Heart,
And Life diffus`d thro` every Part; 
Mixing Words, in wise Discourse,
Of such Weight and wond`rous Force,
As could all her Sorrows charm,
And transitory Ills disarm;
Chearing the delightful Day,
When dispos`d to be more Gay,
With Wit, from an unmeasured Store,
To Woman ne`er allow`d before.
What Nature, or refining Art,
All that Fortune cou`d impart,
Heaven did to Arminda send;
Then gave her for Ardelia`s Friend:
To her Cares the Cordial drop,
Which else had overflow`d the Cup.
So, when once the Son of Jess,
Every Anguish did oppress,
Hunted by all kinds of Ills,
Like a Partridge on the Hills;
Trains were laid to catch his Life,
Baited with a Royal Wife, 
From his House, and Country torn,
Made a Heathen Prince`s Scorn;
Fate, to answer all these Harms,
Threw a Friend into his Arms. {10}
Friendship still has been design`d,
The Support of Human-kind;
The safe Delight, the useful Bliss,
The next World`s Happiness, and this.
Give then, O indulgent Fate!
Give a Friend in that Retreat
(Tho` withdrawn from all the rest)
Still a Clue, to reach my Breast.
Let a Friend be still convey`d
Thro` those Windings, and that Shade! 

  Where, may I remain secure,
Waste, in humble Joys and pure,
A Life, that can no Envy yield;
Want of Affluence my Shield. 
Thus, had {11} Crassus been content, 
When from Marius Rage he went, {12}
With the Seat that Fortune gave,
The commodious ample Cave,
Form`d, in a divided Rock,
By some mighty Earthquake`s Shock,
Into Rooms of every Size,
Fair, as Art cou`d e`er devise,
Leaving, in the marble Roof,
(`Gainst all Storms and Tempests proof)
Only Passage for the Light,
To refresh the chearful Sight,
Whilst Three Sharers in his Fate,
On th` Escape with Joy dilate,
Beds of Moss their Bodies bore,
Canopy`d with Ivy o`er;
Rising Springs, that round them play`d,
O`er the native Pavement stray`d; 
When the Hour arriv`d to Dine,
Various Meats, and sprightly Wine,
On some neighb`ring Cliff they spy`d;
Every Day a-new supply`d
By a Friend`s entrusted Care;
Had He still continu`d there,
Made that lonely wond`rous Cave
Both his Palace, and his Grave;
Peace and Rest he might have found,
(Peace and Rest are under Ground)
Nor have been in that Retreat,
Fam`d for a Proverbial Fate;
In pursuit of Wealth been caught,
And punish`d with a golden Draught.
Nor had {13} He, who Crowds cou`d blind, 
Whisp`ring with a snowy Hind,
Made `em think that from above,
(Like the great Imposter`s Dove)
Tydings to his Ears she brought,
Rules by which he march`d and fought, 
After Spain he had o`er-run,
Cities sack`d, and Battles won,
Drove Rome`s Consuls from the Field,
Made her darling Pompey yield, {14}
At a fatal, treacherous Feast,
Felt a Dagger in his Breast;
Had he his once-pleasing Thought
Of Solitude to Practice brought;
Had no wild Ambition sway`d;
In those Islands had he stay`d,
Justly call`d the Seats of Rest,
Truly {15} Fortunate, and Blest, 
By the ancient Poets giv`n
As their best discover`d Heav`n. 
Let me then, indulgent Fate!
Let me still, in my Retreat,
From all roving Thoughts be freed,
Or Aims, that may Contention breed: 
Nor be my Endeavours led
By Goods, that perish with the Dead!
Fitly might the Life of Man
Be indeed esteem`d a Span,
If the present Moment were
Of Delight his only Share;
If no other Joys he knew 
Than what round about him grew:
But as those, who Stars wou`d trace
From a subterranean Place,
Through some Engine lift their Eyes
To the outward, glorious Skies;
So th` immortal Spirit may,
When descended to our Clay,
From a rightly govern`d Frame
View the Height, from whence she came;
To her Paradise be caught,
And things unutterable taught.
Given me then, in that Retreat,
Give me, O indulgent Fate! 
For all Pleasures left behind,
Contemplations of the Mind.
Let the Fair, the Gay, the Vain
Courtship and Applause obtain;
Let th` Ambitious rule the Earth;
Let the giddy Fool have Mirth;
Give the Epicure his Dish,
Ev`ry one their sev`ral Wish;
Whilst my Transports I employ
On that more extensive Joy,
When all Heaven shall be survey`d
From those Windings and that Shade.
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