Advice to a Friend to Leave the Court When His Interest was on the Decline
If Thou thy Fortune would'st at Will command,
And still unwav'ring in her Graces stand,
To that Court-Jilt, as to a fickle Fair,
Grow coy, when she begins her Smiles to spare:
With prudent Carelessness repay Neglect,
And leave her when she wains in her Respect.
When Glory long pursued, thinks fit to fly,
Take Shelter in a safe Obscurity:
In clouded Fortune, like the setting Sun,
Retire, that none may mark your going down:
And, like the Sun's, it will be doubted so,
Whether your Glory be declin'd or no.
For then Mankind will that Declension call
Rather your wise Retirement, than your Fall.
The Fall, which we foresee, yet cannot shun,
We sure should lessen by our lying down.
Since Falls, from Fortune's giddy Chariot, seem
Less dang'rous still, as more we yield to them.
When up some steep and slipp'ry Ridge we go,
Cautious must be our Steps, our Motion slow;
Since, as to climb the Ridge most Haste we make,
We slide the faster, and the farther back.
So We, more soon at Eminence t' arrive,
Fortune's swift Wheel less furiously should drive:
Our fierce, wild, Passions like wild Horses bind,
And curb th' ambitious Sallies of our Mind;
That, as we onward toil, our Pace may grow
More sure and easie, as more smooth and slow.
If you would hope Misfortunes to controul,
'Gainst Fortune's Fickleness secure your Soul:
With Fortitude her shifting Moods redress;
(Your Constancy the more, as her's is less!)
And Disappointments better to prevent,
Expect the worst still from each Accident.
Since that, when we too strong perceive our Foe,
Our Dangers greater from our Strugglings grow.
And since the World in Motion still we see,
Think that no State can in it lasting be.
Nothing on Earth is ever at a Stay;
Perfection does but usher in Decay:
And Hopes, like Fruits, when to full Ripeness come,
Soon pall in Taste, and sicken in their Bloom.
Int'rest, as Beauty, falling to Decay,
At Court no longer, to be scorn'd, should stay:
We this, at least, to our own Honours owe,
Without Dismission, uncompell'd to go.
Since He who voluntary quits the Place,
He else by Force must leave, prevents Disgrace.
So worsted Gen'rals wisely do retreat,
And make a Triumph out of their Defeat;
When they no more can push their Fortune on,
With that Success which they before had done.
And still unwav'ring in her Graces stand,
To that Court-Jilt, as to a fickle Fair,
Grow coy, when she begins her Smiles to spare:
With prudent Carelessness repay Neglect,
And leave her when she wains in her Respect.
When Glory long pursued, thinks fit to fly,
Take Shelter in a safe Obscurity:
In clouded Fortune, like the setting Sun,
Retire, that none may mark your going down:
And, like the Sun's, it will be doubted so,
Whether your Glory be declin'd or no.
For then Mankind will that Declension call
Rather your wise Retirement, than your Fall.
The Fall, which we foresee, yet cannot shun,
We sure should lessen by our lying down.
Since Falls, from Fortune's giddy Chariot, seem
Less dang'rous still, as more we yield to them.
When up some steep and slipp'ry Ridge we go,
Cautious must be our Steps, our Motion slow;
Since, as to climb the Ridge most Haste we make,
We slide the faster, and the farther back.
So We, more soon at Eminence t' arrive,
Fortune's swift Wheel less furiously should drive:
Our fierce, wild, Passions like wild Horses bind,
And curb th' ambitious Sallies of our Mind;
That, as we onward toil, our Pace may grow
More sure and easie, as more smooth and slow.
If you would hope Misfortunes to controul,
'Gainst Fortune's Fickleness secure your Soul:
With Fortitude her shifting Moods redress;
(Your Constancy the more, as her's is less!)
And Disappointments better to prevent,
Expect the worst still from each Accident.
Since that, when we too strong perceive our Foe,
Our Dangers greater from our Strugglings grow.
And since the World in Motion still we see,
Think that no State can in it lasting be.
Nothing on Earth is ever at a Stay;
Perfection does but usher in Decay:
And Hopes, like Fruits, when to full Ripeness come,
Soon pall in Taste, and sicken in their Bloom.
Int'rest, as Beauty, falling to Decay,
At Court no longer, to be scorn'd, should stay:
We this, at least, to our own Honours owe,
Without Dismission, uncompell'd to go.
Since He who voluntary quits the Place,
He else by Force must leave, prevents Disgrace.
So worsted Gen'rals wisely do retreat,
And make a Triumph out of their Defeat;
When they no more can push their Fortune on,
With that Success which they before had done.
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