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Anne Kingsmill Finch - The Shepherd And The Calm
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Soothing his Passions with a warb`ling Sound, 
A Shepherd-Swain lay stretch`d upon the Ground;
Whilst all were mov`d, who their Attention lent,
Or with the Harmony in Chorus went,
To something less than Joy, yet more than dull Content. 
(Between which two Extreams true Pleasure lies, 
O`er-run by Fools, unreach`d-at by the Wise )
But yet, a fatal Prospect to the Sea
Wou`d often draw his greedy Sight away. 
He saw the Barques unlading on the Shore, 
And guess`d their Wealth, then scorn`d his little Store.
Then wou`d that Little lose, or else wou`d make it more. 
To Merchandize converted is the Fold,
The Bag, the Bottle, and the Hurdles sold;
The Dog was chang`d away, the pretty Skell
Whom he had fed, and taught, and lov`d so well. 


In vain the Phillis wept, which heretofore
Receiv`d his Presents, and his Garlands wore. 
False and upbraided, he forsakes the Downs,
Nor courts her Smiles, nor fears the Ocean`s Frowns. 
For smooth it lay, as if one single Wave
Made all the Sea, nor Winds that Sea cou`d heave; 
Which blew no more than might his Sails supply:
Clear was the Air below, and Phoebus laugh`d on high.
With this Advent`rer ev`ry thing combines,
And Gold to Gold his happy Voyage joins; 
But not so prosp`rous was the next Essay, 
For rugged Blasts encounter`d on the way, 
Scarce cou`d the Men escape, the Deep had all their Prey. 
Our broken Merchant in the Wreck was thrown
Upon those Lands, which once had been his own; 
Where other Flocks now pastur`d on the Grass, 
And other Corydons had woo`d his Lass. 
A Servant, for small Profits, there he turns, 
Yet thrives again, and less and less he mourns; 
Re-purchases in time th`abandon`d Sheep, 
Which sad Experience taught him now to keep. 
When from that very Bank, one Halcyon Day, 
On which he lean`d, when tempted to the Sea, 
He notes a Calm; the Winds and Waves were still, 
And promis`d what the Winds nor Waves fulfill, 
A settl`d Quiet, and Conveyance sure, 
To him that Wealth, by Traffick, wou`d procure.
 
But the rough part the Shepherd now performs,
Reviles the Cheat, and at the Flatt`ry storms. 
Ev`n thus (quoth he) you seem`d all Rest and Ease, 
You sleeping Tempests, you untroubl`d Seas, 
That ne`er to be forgot, that luckless Hour, 
In which I put my Fortunes in your Pow`r; 
Quitting my slender, but secure Estate, 
My undisturb`d Repose, my sweet Retreat, 
For Treasures which you ravish`d in a Day,
But swept my Folly, with my Goods, away. 
Then smile no more, nor these false Shews employ,
Thou momentary Calm, thou fleeting Joy; 
No more on me shall these fair Signs prevail, 
Some other Novice may be won to Sail, 
Give me a certain Fate in the obscurest Vale.
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