Upon Nothing ; A POEM.

By the Duke of Buckingham, and the Earl of

Rochefter.

Nothing

Othing, thou Elder-Brother, even to shade,
Who had'f a being e'er the World was

made, And well fixt alone, of ending not afraid. Eer Time and Place were, Time and Place were

not, When primitive Nothing, Something strait be

got ; Then all proceeded from the great united What! Something, the General Attribute of all, Sever'd from Thee its sole Original, Into thy boundless Self, must undistinguisht fall. Yet something, did thy Nothing Power com

mand, And from thy Fruitful Emptineffes Hand, Snatch Men, Beasts, Birds, Fire, Water, Air

and Land. Matter, the wicked'It Off-spring of thy Race, By Form afsifted, fled from thy Embrace, And Rebel Light, obscur'd thy Rev'rend dusky Face, K 3

With

joyo ;

With Form and Matter, Time and Place did Body, thy Foe, with these did Leagues com

bine, To spoil thy Peaceful Reign, and ruin all thy

Line. But Turn-Coat Time, aslifts the Foe amain, And brib'd by Thee, destroys their short-livá

Reign, And to thy hungry Womb, drives back thy

Şlayes again. Thy Mysteries are bid from Laick Eyes, And the Divine alone by warrant pries Into thy Bosom, where the Truth in private lies. Yet this of thee, the Wise may truly say, Thou from the Virtuous, nothing tak ft away, And to be part of thee, the Wicked wifely Pray, Great Negative ! how vainly would the Wife Enquire, Design, Distinguish, Teach, Devise, Did'It not thou stand to point their Blind Phi

losophies. Is, or is not, the Two great Ends of Fate, Of True or False, the Subject of Debate, That perfects or destroys designs of State? When they have rackt the Politicians. Breast, Within thy Bosom most securely Relt, Reduc'd to Thee are least, tho' safe and best.

But

But Nothing, why doth Something still permit, That Sacred Monarchs should at Council fit With Persons thought, at best, for Nothing fit ? Wbilt weighty Something, modestly abstains From Princes Courts, and from our States-mens

Brains ; And Nothing there like stately Nothing Reigns. Nothing, that dwells with Fools, in grave dis

guise, For whom they Rev'rend Forms &Shapes devise, Lawn Sleeves, Furs, Gowns, when they like

thợe look Wire. French Truth, Dutch Prowess, British Policy, Hybernian Learning, Scotch Fidelity, Spaniards Dispatch, Danes Wit are mainly seen

in Thee. The Great Mans Gratitude to his best Friend, Kings Promises, Whores Vows, tow'rds thee

bend, Flow Swiftly into Thee, and in thee ever End. A Trial of the Poets for the Bays, in

Imitation of a Satyr in Boileau.
By the Duke of Buckingham, and the Earl of

Rochester.
Ince the Sons of the Muses grew num'rous

and loud, For th' appealing fo Fa&ious, and Clam'rous a Croud,

Apollo