To Count Montecuccoli; Against Pride upon Sudden Advancement

Proud and foolish noisy stream! Who to some muddy plash thy birth do'st owe, Which casually a brook became, Assisted by the rain and melting snow: Though now thou boast thy swelling tide, August will soon be here, and end thy short-liv'd pride.

The Thames, great king of floods! the Thames With peaceful course hastes gently to the main; Yet he upon his silent streams The tallest vessels does with ease sustain: And, while one summer thee devours, His flood shall ne'er decrease, nor time contract his shores.

Thou foam'st, and boil'st along the plain, The flocks and shepherds threatening by the way; Through borrow'd waters, basely vain, Lift'st up thy head, and do'st regardless stray; Troubled, oblique, and this alone, Thy noisy pride is all which thou canst call thy own.

I know, Sir, you may well admire To hear me reason with a deafening stream; But thus the Muse oft strikes the lyre, When she'd most lofty and majestic seem, And in mysterious numbers shrowd Deep oracles, too deep for the unthinking croud.

While thus I spake, there did appear Phoebus, the God of every tuneful lay; A laurel crown'd his beamy hair, Which with a brighter light improv'd the day; And thus he, what I saw, apply'd; " Short is th' uncertain reign and pomp of mortal pride:

New turns and changes every day Are of inconstant chance the constant arts; Soon she gives, soon takes away, She comes, embraces, nauseates you, and parts: But, if she stays, or if she goes, The wise man little joy or little sorrow shows.

Good is the pilot, who preserves His shatter'd vessel on the stormy main; But he no less applause deserves, Who fears the flattery of the watery plain; Who never trusts the fairest gale, But dreads to be o'erset, and spreads but little sail.

Of all the heroes known of old, I honour most Agathocles's name; Who, though he made the sparkling gold In polish'd goblets on his table flame; To temper and rebate its ray, He mixt his father's trade, the good old potter's clay."

While thus the charming God went on, And fix'd in wonder and delight I stood; Behold! the upstart stream was gone, No drop remain'd of it's insulting flood; But the worst cattle of the plain Trod o'er the thirsty sand, and spurn'd it with disdain.