Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, VERSES WRITTEN BY MRS. HUTCHINSON, by LUCY HUTCHINSON


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

VERSES WRITTEN BY MRS. HUTCHINSON, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: All sorts of men through various labours presse
Last Line: Or where is man soe uncontroul'd a lord?
Subject(s): Dreams; Freedom; Grief; Life; Nightmares; Liberty; Sorrow; Sadness


All sorts of men through various labours presse
To the same end, contented quietnesse;
Great princes vex their labouring thoughts to be
Possesst of an unbounded soveraignetie;
The hardie souldier doth all toyles susteine
That he may conquer first, and after raigne;
Th' industrious merchant ploughs the angrie seas
That he may bring home wealth, and live at ease,
Which none of them attaine; for sweete repose
But seldome to the splendid pallace goes;
A troope of restlesse passions wander there,
And private lives are only free from care.
Sleep to the cottage bringeth happie nights,
But to the court, hung round with flaring lights,
Which th' office of the vanisht day supplie,
His image only comes to close the eie,
But gives the troubled mind no ease of care;
While countrie slumbers undisturbed are;
Where, if the active fancie dreames present,
They bring no horrors to the innocent.
Ambition doth incessantly aspire,
And each advance leads on to new desire;
Nor yet can riches av'rice satisfie,
For want and wealth together multiplie:
Nor can voluptuous men more fullnesse find,
For enjoy'd pleasures leave their stings behind.
He's only rich who knows no want; he raignes
Whose will no severe tiranny constreins;
And he alone possesseth true delight
Whose spotlesse soule no guiltie feares affright.
This freedome in the countrie life is found,
Where innocence and safe delights abound:
Here man's a prince; his subjects ne'er repine
When on his back their wealthy fleeces shine:
If for his appetite the fattest die,
Those who survive will rayse no mutinie:
His table is with home-gott dainties crown'd,
With friends, not flatterers, encompast round;
No spies nor traitors on his trencher waite,
Nor is his mirth confin'd to rules of state;
An armed guard he neither hath nor needs,
Nor fears a poyson'd morsell when he feeds;
Bright constellations hang above his head,
Beneath his feete are flourie carpetts spred;
The merrie birds delight him with their songs,
And healthfull ayre his happie life prolongs.
Att harvest merrily his flocks he sheares,
And in cold weather their warme fleeces weares;
Unto his ease he fashions all his clothes;
His cup with uninfected liquor flows:
The vulgar breath doth not his thoughts elate,
Nor can he be o'erwhelmed by their hate;
Yet, if ambitiously he seeks for fame,
One village feast shall gaine a greater name
Then his who weares th' imperiall diadem,
Whom the rude multitude doe still condemne.
Sweete peace and joy his blest companions are;
Feare, sorrow, envie, lust, revenge, and care,
And all that troope which breeds the world's offence,
With pomp and majestie, are banisht thence.
What court then can such libertie afford?
Or where is man soe uncontroul'd a lord?





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