New Amer. Mag., No. V-119, May 1758, Woodbridge in N. J.
THE RELAXATION OF WAR:
OR THE HERO'S PHILOSOPHY, &C. WROTE BY THE KING OF
PRUSSIA, DURING HIS RESIDENCE AT BRESLAU.
Love by Hope is still sustain'd,
Zeal by the Reward that's gain'd;
In Pow'r, Authority begins,
Weakness strength from Prudence wins;
Honesty is Credit's wealth,
Temp'rance the support of Health;
Wit from calm Contentment springs,
Content 'tis Competence that brings,
Competence, as all may see,
Springs from good Oeconomy.
Maids, to fan a lover's fire,
Sweetness more than charms require;
Authors more from Truth may gain
Than from tropes that please in vain;
Arts will less than Virtues tend
Happiness and Life to blend;
He that Happiness wou'd get
Prudence more must prize than Wit,
More than Riches rosy Health,
Blameless Quiet more than Wealth.
Nought to owe, and nought to hoard,
Little Land and little Board,
Little Fav'rite, true and kind,
These are blessings to my mind.
I, when winter comes, desire
Little Room but plenteous Fire,
Temp'rate Glasses, gen'rous Wine,
Dishes few whene'er I dine.
Yes, my sober thoughts are such,
Man must never have too much;
Not too much ... What solid sense.
Three such little words dispense!
Too much Rest benumbs the mind;
Too much Strife distracts mankind;
Too much Negligence is Sloth;
Too much Zeal is Folly's growth;
Too much Love our peace annoys,
Too much Physic life destroys;
Too much Cunning's fraudful art,
Too much Firmness want of heart
Too much sparing makes a knave;
Those are rash that are too brave;
Too much Wealth like weight oppresses;
Too much Fame with care distresses;
Too much Pleasure death will bring,
Too much Wit's a dang'rous thing;
Too much Trust is folly's guide,
Too much Spirit is but pride;
He's a dupe that is too free,
Too much Bounty weak must be;
Too much Complaisance a knave,
Too much Zeal to please a slave.
This TOO MUCH, tho' bad it seem,
Chang'd with ease to good you deem;
But in this you err my friend,
For on Trifles all depend.
Trifles great effects produce,
Both of pleasure and of use;
Trifles often turn the scale,
When in love or law we fail;
Trifles to the great commend,
Trifles make proud beauty bend;
Trifles prompt the poet's strain,
Trifles oft distract the brain;
Trifles, trifles more or less,
Give us, or withhold success;
Trifles, when we hope, can cheer,
Trifles smite us when we fear:
All the flames that lovers know,
Trifles quench and trifles blow.
N. B. This little poem is sold for 6d. sterl. in London, and 3d. here.
Amer. Mag. and Mo. Chron., I-440, June 1758, Phila.
ON READING IN THE PUBLICK PAPERS, OF
A LADY THAT HAD ORDER'D THE KING OF
PRUSSIA A PRESENT OF A THOUSAND POUNDS.
No more let haughty Austrians cry,
"Fred'rick our foe, has no ally."
The British fair are on his side,
And for the next campaign provide;
Their fortunes to his chests transfer ...
Money the sinews is of war.
For him they plead, and much can say,
For him they grow devout and pray!
For him their martial ardours rise,
And arm afresh their killing eyes;
Those shining warriors ne'er were beat,
But gain a conquest by retreat.
New Amer. Mag., No. VII-172, July 1758, Woodbridge in N. J.
Gentlemen.