1.

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The True-Born Engliſh-Man. A SATYR.

Statuimus Pacem, & Securitatem, & Concordiam Judicium & Juſtitiam inter Anglos & Norman⯑nos, Francos, & Britones Walliae & Cornubiae, Pictos & Scotos Albaniae, ſimiliter inter Francos & Inſulanos Provincias, & Patrìas, quae perti⯑nent ad Coronam noſtram, & inter omnes nobis Subjectos, firmiter & inviolabiliter obſervari.

Charta Regis Willielmi Conquiſitoris de Pacis Publica, Cap. 1.

Printed in the Year 1708.

(Price Three Pence.)

THE PREFACE.

[3]

THE End of Satyr is Reformation: And the Author, tho' he doubts the Work of Converſion is at a gene⯑ral Stop, has put his Hand to the Plow.

I expect a Storm of Ill Language from the Fury of the Town, and eſpecially from thoſe whoſe Engliſh Talent it is to Rail: And without being taken for a Conjurer, I may ven⯑ [...]ure to foretel, That I ſhall be Cavil'd at about my Mean Stile, Rough Verſe, and Incorrect Language; Things I might indeed have taken more Care in. But the Book is Printed; and tho' I ſee ſome Faults, 'tis too late to mend them: And this is all I think needful to ſay to them.

Poſſibly Somebody may take me for a Dutchman; in which [...]hey are miſtaken: But I am one that would be glad to ſee Engliſhmen behave themſelves better to Strangers, and to Governors alſo; that one might not be reproach'd in Foreign Countries, for belonging to a Nation that wants Manners.

I aſſure you, Gentlemen, Strangers uſe us better abroad; [...]nd we can give no reaſon but our Ill Nature for the contra⯑ [...]y here.

Methinks an Engliſhman, who is ſo proud of being call'd [...] Goodfellow, ſhou'd be civil: And it cannot be denied but [...]e are in many Caſes, and particularly to Strangers, the hurliſheſt People alive.

As to Vices, who can diſpute our Intemperance, while an Honeſt Drunken Fellow is a Character in a Man's Praiſe? [...]ll our Reformations are Banters, and will be ſo, till our Magiſtrates and Gentry Reform themſelves by way of Exam⯑ple; [4] then, and not till then, they may be expected to puniſh others without bluſhing.

As to our Ingratitude, I deſire to be underſtood of that particular People, who pretending to be Proteſtants, have all along endeavour'd to reduce the Liberties and Religion of this Nation into the Hands of King James and his Popiſh Powers: Together with ſuch who enjoy the Peace and Protection of the preſent Government, and yet abuſe and affront the King who procur'd it, and openly profeſs their Uneaſineſs under him: Theſe, by whatſoever Names or Titles they are dignified or diſtinguiſh'd, are the People aim'd at: Nor do I diſown, but that it is ſo much the Temper of an Engliſhman to abuſe his Benefactor, that I could be glad to ſee it rectified.

They who think I have been guilty of any Error, in expo⯑ſing the Crimes of my own Countrymen to themſelves, may among many honeſt Inſtances of the like nature, find the ſame thing in Mr. Cowly, in his Imitation of the ſecond Olympick Ode of Pindar: His Words are theſe;

But in this Thankleſs World the Givers
Are envi'd even by th' Receivers:
'Tis now the Cheap and Frugal Faſhion,
Rather to hide than pay an Obligation.
Nay, 'tis much worſe than ſo;
It now an Artifice doth grow,
Wrongs and Outrages to do,
Leſt Men ſhould think we Owe.

THE INTRODUCTION.

[5]
SPeak, Satyr, for there's none can tell like thee,
Whether 'tis Folly, Pride, or Knavery,
That makes this diſcontented Land appear
Leſs happy now in Times of Peace, than War:
Why Civil Feuds diſturb the Nation more
Than all our Bloody Wars have done before.
Fools out of Favour grudge at Knaves in Place,
And Men are always honeſt in Diſgrace:
The Court-Preferments make Men Knaves in courſe:
But they which wou'd be in them wou'd be worſe.
Tis not at Foreigners that we repine,
Wou'd Foreigners their Perquiſites reſign:
The Grand Contention's plainly to be ſeen,
To get ſome Men put out, and ſome put in.
[...]or this our S—rs make long Harangues,
[...]nd florid M—rs whet their poliſh'd Tongues.
[...]tateſmen are always ſick of one Diſeaſe;
[...]nd a good Penſion gives them preſent Eaſe.
[...]hat's the Specifick makes them all content
[...]ith any King, and any Government▪
[...]ood Patriots at Court-Abuſes rail,
[...]nd all the Nation's Grievances bewail:
[...]t when the Sovereign Balſam's once appli'd,
[...]he Zealot never fails to change his Side.
[...]nd when he muſt the Golden Key reſign,
[...]e Railing Spirit comes about again.
[6]Who ſhall this Bubbl'd Nation diſabuſe;
While they their own Felicities refuſe?
Who at the Wars have made ſuch mighty Pother,
And now are falling out with one another:
With needleſs Fears the Jealous Nation fill,
And always have been ſav'd againſt their Will:
Who Fifty Millions Sterling have disburs'd,
To be with Peace and too much Plenty curs'd.
Who their Old Monarch eagerly undo,
And yet uneaſily obey the New.
Search, Satyr, ſearch, a deep Inciſion make;
The Poyſon's ſtrong, the Antidote's too weak.
'Tis pointed Truth muſt manage this Diſpute,
And down-right Engliſh Engliſhmen confute.
Whet thy juſt Anger at the Nation's Pride;
And with keen Phraſe repel the vicious Tide.
To Engliſhmen their own beginning ſhow,
And ask them why they ſlight their Neighbours ſo.
Go back to Elder Times, and Ages paſt,
And Nations into long Oblivion caſt;
To Old Britannia's Youthful Days retire,
And there for True-Born Engliſhmen enquire.
Britannia freely will diſown the Name,
And hardly knows her ſelf from whence they came:
Wonders that They of all Men ſhould pretend
To Birth and Blood, and for a Name contend.
Go back to Cauſes where our Follies dwell,
And fetch the dark Original from Hell:
Speak, Satyr, for there's none like thee can tell.

The True-Born Engliſh-Man. PART I.

[7]
WHere-ever God erects a Houſe of Prayer,
The Devil always builds a Chapel there:
And 'twill be found upon Examination,
The latter has the largeſt Congregation:
For ever ſince he firſt debauch'd the Mind,
He made a perfect Conqueſt of Mankind.
With Uniformity of Service, he
Reigns with a general Ariſtocracy.
No Nonconforming Sects diſturb his Reign,
For of his Yoak there's very few complain.
He knows the Genius and the Inclination,
And matches proper Sins for ev'ry Nation.
He needs no Standing-Army Government;
He always rules us by our own Conſent:
His Laws are eaſy, and his gentle Sway
Makes it exceeding pleaſant to obey.
The Liſt of his Vicegerents and Commanders,
Outdoes your Caeſars, or your Alexanders.
They never fail of his infernal Aid,
And he's as certain ne'er to be betray'd.
[8]Through all the World they ſpread his vaſt Command,
And Death's Eternal Empire's maintain'd.
They rule ſo politickly and ſo well,
As if they were L— J— of Hell.
Duly divided to debauch Mankind,
And plant Infernal Dictates in his Mind.
Pride, the firſt Peer, and Preſident of Hell,
To his ſhare Spain, the largeſt Province, fell.
The ſubtile Prince thought fitteſt to beſtow
On theſe the Golden Mines of Mexico;
With all the Silver Mountains of Peru;
Wealth which would in wiſe hands the World undo:
Becauſe he knew their Genius was ſuch;
Too Lazy and too Haughty to be Rich.
So proud a People, ſo above their Fate,
That if reduc'd to beg, they'll beg in State.
Laviſh of Money, to be counted Brave,
And proudly ſtarve, becauſe they ſcorn to ſave.
Never was Nation in the World before,
So very Rich, and yet ſo very Poor.
Luſt choſe the Torrid Zone of Italy,
Where Blood ferments in Rapes and Sodomy:
Where ſwelling Veins o'erflow with livid Streams,
With Heat impregnate from Veſuvian Flames:
Whoſe flowing Sulphur forms Infernal Lakes,
And human Body of the Soil partakes.
There Nature ever burns with hot Deſires,
Fann'd with Luxuriant Air from Subterranean Fires▪
Here undiſturb'd in Floods of ſcalding Luſt,
Th' Infernal King reigns with Infernal Guſt.
Drunk'neſs, the Darling Favourite of Hell,
Choſe Germany to rule; and rules ſo well,
No Subjects more obſequiouſly obey,
None pleaſe ſo well, or are ſo pleas'd as they.
The cunning Artiſt manages ſo well,
He lets them Bow to Heav'n, and Drink to Hell.
[9]If but to Wine and him they Homage pay,
He cares not to what Deity they pray,
What God they worſhip moſt, or in what way.
Whether by Luther, Calvin, or by Rome,
They ſail for Heav'n, by Wine he ſteers them home.
Ungovern'd Paſſion ſettled firſt in France,
Where Mankind lives in haſte, and thrives by Chance.
A Dancing Nation, Fickle and Untrue:
Have oft undone themſelves, and others too:
Prompt the Infernal Dictates to obey,
And in Hell's Favour none more great than they.
The Pagan World he blindly leads away,
And Perſonally rules with Arbitrary Sway:
The Mask thrown off, Plain Devil his Title ſtands;
And what elſewhere he Tempts, he there Commands.
There with full Guſt th' Ambition of his Mind
Governs, as he of old in Heav'n deſign'd.
Worſhipp'd as God, his Painim Altars ſmoke,
Embru'd with Blood of thoſe that him Invoke.
The reſt by Deputies he rules as well.
And plants the diſtant Colonies of Hell.
By them his ſecret Power he maintains,
And binds the World in his Infernal Chains.
By Zeal the Iriſh; and the Ruſh by Folly:
Fury the Dane: The Swede by Melancholly:
By ſtupid Ignorance, the Muſcovite:
The Chineſe by a Child of Hell, call'd Wit:
Wealth makes the Perſian too Effeminate:
And Poverty the Tartars Deſperate:
The Turks and Moors by Mah'met he ſubdues:
And God has giv'n him leave to rule the Jews:
Rage rules the Portugueſe; and Fraud the Scotch:
Revenge the Pole; and Avarice the Dutch.
Satyr be kind and draw a ſilent Veil,
Thy Native England's Vices to conceal:
Or if that Task's impoſſible to do,
At leaſt be juſt, and ſhow her Vertues too;
Too great the firſt, Alas! the laſt too Few.
[10] England unknown as yet, unpeopled lay;
Happy, had ſhe remain'd ſo to this Day,
And not to ev'ry Nation been a Prey.
Her Open Harbours, and her Fertile Plains,
The Merchants Glory theſe, and thoſe the Swains,
To ev'ry Barbarous Nation have betray'd her,
Who conquer her as oft as they Invade her.
So Beauty guarded but by Innocence,
That ruins her which ſhould be her Defence.
Ingratitude, a Devil of Black Renown,
Poſſeſs'd her very early for his own.
An Ugly, Surly, Sullen, Selfiſh Spirit,
Who Satan's worſt Perfections does inherit:
Second to him in Malice and in Force,
All Devil without, and all within him Worſe.
He made her Firſt-born Race to be ſo rude,
And ſuffer'd her to be ſo oft ſubdu'd:
By ſev'ral Crouds of Wandring Thieves o'er-run,
Often unpeopl'd, and as oft undone.
While ev'ry Nation that her Pow'rs reduc'd,
Their Languages and Manners introduc'd.
From whoſe mix'd Relicks our compounded Breed,
By Spurious Generation does ſucceed;
Making a Race uncertain and unev'n,
Deriv'd from all the Nations under Heav'n.
The Romans firſt with Julius Caeſar came,
Including all the Nations of that Name,
Gauls, Greeks, and Lombards; and by Computation,
Auxiliaries or Slaves of ev'ry Nation.
With Hengiſt, Saxons; Danes with Sueno came,
In ſearch of Plunder, not in ſearch of Fame.
Scots, Picts, and Iriſh from th' Hibernian Shore:
And Conqu'ring William brought the Normans o'er.
All theſe their Barb'rous Offspring left behind,
The Dregs of Armies, they of all Mankind;
Blended with Britains who before were here,
Of whom the Welſh ha' bleſt the Character.
[11]From this Amphibious Ill-born Mob began
That vain ill-natur'd thing, an Engliſhman.
The Cuſtoms, Sirnames, Languages, and Manners,
Of all theſe Nations are their own Explainers:
Whoſe Relicks are ſo laſting and ſo ſtrong,
They ha' left a Shiboleth upon our Tongue;
[...]y which with eaſy ſearch you may diſtinguiſh
Your Roman-Saxon-Daniſh-Norman Engliſh.
The great Invading * Norman let us know
What Conquerors in After-Times might do.
To ev'ry † Muſqueteer he brought to Town,
He gave the Lands which never were his own.
When firſt the Engliſh Crown he did obtain,
He did not ſend his Dutchmen home again.
No Reaſſumptions in his Reign were known,
D'avenant might there ha' let his Book alone.
No Parliament his Army cou'd disband;
He rais'd no Money, for he paid in Land.
He gave his Legions their Eternal Station,
And made them all Freeholders of the Nation.
He canton'd out the Country to his Men,
And ev'ry Soldier was a Denizen.
The Raſcals thus enrich'd, he call'd them Lords,
To pleaſe their Upſtart Pride with new-made Words;
And Doomſday-Book his Tyranny records.
And here begins the Ancient Pedigree
That ſo exalts our Poor Nobility:
'Tis that from ſome French Trooper they derive,
Who with the Norman Baſtard did arrive:
The Trophies of the Families appear;
Some ſhow the Sword, the Bow, and ſome the Spear,
Which their Great Anceſtor, forſooth, did wear.
Theſe in the Heralds Regiſter remain,
Their Noble mean Extraction to explain.
Yet who the Hero was, no Man can tell,
Whether a Drummer or a Colonel:
[12]The ſilent Record bluſhes to reveal
Their Undeſcended Dark Original.
But grant the beſt, How came the Change to paſs;
A True-Born Engliſhman of Norman Race?
A Turkiſh Horſe can ſhow more Hiſtory,
To prove his Well-deſcended Family.
Conqueſt, as by the 3 Moderns 'tis expreſt,
May give a Title to the Lands poſſeſt:
But that the longeſt Sword ſhou'd be ſo Civil,
To make a Frenchman Engliſh, that's the Devil.
Theſe are the Heroes that deſpiſe the Dutch;
And rail at new come Foreigners ſo much;
Forgetting that themſelves are all deriv'd
From the moſt Scoundrel Race that ever liv'd.
A horrid Croud of Rambling Thieves and Drones,
Who ranſack'd Kingdoms, and diſpeopl'd Towns.
The Pict and Painted Britain, Treach'rous Scot,
By Hunger, Theft, and Rapine, hither brought.
Norwegian Pirates, Buccaneering Danes,
Whoſe Red-hair'd Offspring ev'ry where remains.
Who join'd with Norman-French, compound the Breed
From whence your True-Born Engliſhmen proceed.
And leſt by Length of Time it be pretended,
The Climate may this Modern Breed ha' mended,
Wiſe Providence, to keep us where we are,
Mixes us daily with exceeding Care:
We have been Europe's Sink, the Iakes where ſhe
Voids all her Offal Out-caſt Progeny.
From our Fifth Henry's time, the Strolling Bands
Of baniſh'd Fugitives from Neighb'ring Lands,
Have here a certain Sanctuary found:
The Eternal Refuge of the Vagabond.
Wherein but half a common Age of Time,
Borr'wing new Blood and Manners from the Clime,
Proudly they learn all Mankind to contemn,
And all their Race are True-Born Engliſhmen.
[13] Dutch, Walloons, Flemmings, Iriſhmen, and Scots,
Vaudois and Valtolins, and Hugonots,
[...]n good Queen Beſs's Charitable Reign,
Suppli'd us with Three hundred thouſand Men.
Religion, God we thank thee, ſent them hither,
Prieſts, Proteſtants, the Devil and all together:
Of all Profeſſions, and of ev'ry Trade,
[...]ll that were perſecuted or afraid;
Whether for Debt or other Crimes they fled,
David at Hackelah was ſtill their Head.
The Offspring of this Miſcellaneous Croud,
[...]ad not their new Plantations long enjoy'd,
[...]ut they grew Engliſhmen, and rais'd their Votes
[...]t Foreign Shoals of Interloping Scots.
The * Royal Branch from Pict-land did ſucceed,
With Troops of Scots and Scabs from North-by-Tweed.
The Seven firſt Years of his Pacifick Reign,
Made him and half his Nation Engliſhmen.
Scots from the Northern Frozen Banks of Tay,
With Packs and Plods came Whigging all away:
[...]hick as the Locuſts which in Egypt ſwarm'd,
With Pride and hungry Hopes compleatly arm'd:
With Native Truth, Diſeaſes, and No Money,
[...]under'd our Canaan of the Milk and Honey.
[...]ere they grew quickly Lords and Gentlemen,
[...]nd all their Race are True-Born Engliſhmen.
The Civil Wars, the common Purgative,
Which always uſe to make the Nation thrive,
[...]ade way for all that ſtrolling Congregation,
[...]hich throng'd in Pious † Ch—s's Reſtoration.
[...]e Royal Refugee our Breed reſtores,
[...]ith Foreign Courtiers, and with Foreign Whores:
[...]nd carefully repeopled us again,
[...]hroughout his Lazy, Long, Laſcivious Reign.
[...]ith ſuch a bleſt and True-born Englſh Fry,
[...] much Illuſtrates our Nobility.
[14]A Gratitude which will ſo black appear,
As future Ages muſt abhor to hear:
When they look back on all that Crimſon Flood,
Which ſtream'd in Lindſey's, and Caernarvon's Blood:
Bold Stafford, Cambridge, Capel, Lucas, Liſle,
Who crown'd in Death his Father's Fun'ral Pile.
The Loſs of whom, in order to ſupply
With True-Born Engliſh N—ty,
Six Baſtard Dukes ſurvive his Luſcious Reign,
The Labours of Italian C—n,
French P—h, Tabby S—t, and Cambrian.
Beſides the Num'rous Bright and Virgin Throng,
Whoſe Female Glories ſhade them from my Song.
This Offspring, if one Age they multiply,
May half the Houſe with Engliſh Peers ſupply:
There with true Engliſh Pride they may contemn
S—g and P—d, new-made Noblemen.
French Cooks, Scotch Pedlars, and Italian Whores,
Were all made L—ds, or L—ds Progenitors.
Beggars and Baſtards by his new Creation,
Much multipli'd the P—ge of the Nation;
Who will be all, e'er one ſhort Age runs o'er,
As True-Born L—ds as thoſe we had before.
Then to recruit the Commons he prepares,
And heal the latent Breaches of the Wars:
The pious Purpoſe better to advance,
H' invites the baniſh'd Proteſtants of France:
Hither for God's ſake and their own they fled,
Some for Religion came, and ſome for Bread:
Two hundred thouſand Pair of Wooden Shooes,
Who, God be thank'd, had nothing left to loſe;
To Heav'n's great Praiſe did for Religion fly,
To make us ſtarve our Poor in Charity.
In ev'ry Port they plant their fruitful Train,
To get a Race of True-Born Engliſhmen:
Whoſe Children will, when riper Years they ſee,
Be as Ill-natur'd, and as Proud as we:
[15]Call themſelves Engliſh, Foreigners deſpiſe,
Be Surly like us all, and juſt as Wiſe.
Thus from a Mixture of all Klnds began,
That Het'rogeneous Thing, An Engliſhman:
[...]n eager Rapes, and furious Luſt begot,
[...]etwixt a Painted Britton and a Scot:
Whoſe gend'ring Offspring quickly learnt to bow,
[...]nd yoke their He [...]fers to the Roman Plough:
[...]rom whence a Mongrel half-bred Race there came,
[...]ith neither Name nor Nation, Speech or Fame.
[...] whoſe hot Veins new Mixtures quickly ran,
[...]fus'd betwixt a Saxon and a Dane.
[...]hile their Rank Daughters, to their Parents juſt,
[...]eceiv'd all Nations with Promiſcuous Luſt.
[...]his Nauſeous Brood directly did contain
[...]he well-extracted Blood of Engliſhmen.
Which Medly canton'd in a Heptarchy,
Rhapſody of Nations to ſupply,
[...]mong themſelves maintain'd eternal Wars,
[...]nd ſtill the Ladies lov'd the Conquerors.
The Weſtern Angles all the reſt ſubdu'd;
[...] bloody Nation, barbarous and rude:
[...]ho by the Tenure of the Sword poſſeſt
[...]ne part of Britain, and ſubdu'd the reſt.
[...]nd as great things denominate the ſmall,
[...]he Conqu'ring Part gave Title to the Whole.
[...]he Scot, Pict, Britain, Roman, Dane ſubmit,
[...]nd with the Engliſh-Saxon all unite:
[...]nd theſe the Mixture have ſo cloſe purſu'd,
[...]he very Name and Memory's ſubdu'd:
[...] Roman now, no Britain does remain;
[...]les ſtrove to ſeparate, but ſtrove in vain:
[...]he ſilent Nations undiſtinguiſh'd fall,
[...]d Engliſhman's the common Name for all.
[...]te jumbl'd them together, God knows how;
[...]hat e'er they were, they're True-Born Engliſh now.
The Wonder which remains is at our Pride,
[...] value that which all wiſe Men deride.
[16]For Engliſhmen to boaſt of Generation,
Cancels their Knowledge, and lampoons the Nation.
A True-Born Engliſhman's a Contradiction,
In Speech an Irony, in Fact a Fiction.
A Banter made to be a Teſt of Fools,
Which thoſe that uſe it juſtly ridicules.
A Metaphor invented to expreſs
A Man a-kin to all the Univerſe.
For as the Scots, as Learned Men ha' ſaid,
Throughout the World their Wandring Seed ha' ſpread;
So open-handed England, 'tis believ'd,
Has all the Gleanings of the World receiv'd.
Some think of England 'twas our Saviour meant,
The Goſpel ſhould to all the World be ſent:
Since when the bleſſed Sound did hither reach,
They to all Nations might be ſaid to Preach.
'Tis well that Virtue gives Nobility,
Elſe God knows where we had our Gentry;
Since ſcarce one Family is left alive,
Which does not from ſome Foreigner derive.
Of Sixty thouſand Engliſh Gentlemen,
Whoſe Names and Arms in Regiſters remain,
We challenge all our Heralds to declare
Ten Families which Engliſh-Saxons are.
France juſtly boaſts the Ancient Noble Line
Of Bourbon, Mommorency, and Lorrain.
The Germans too their Houſe of Auſtria ſhow,
And Holland their Invincible Naſſau.
Lines which in Heraldry were Ancient grown,
Before the Name of Engliſhman was known.
Even Scotland too her Elder Glory ſhows,
Her Gourdons, Hamiltons, and her Monroes;
Dowglas, Mackays, and Grahams, Names well known,
Long before Ancient England knew her own.
But England, Modern to the laſt degree,
Borrows or makes her own Nobility,
And yet ſhe boldly boaſts of Pedigree:
[17] [...]epines that Foreigners are put upon her,
[...]nd talks of her Antiquity and Honour:
[...]er S—lls, S—ls, C—ls, De — M—rs,
[...]—ns and M—ues, D—s, and V—rs,
[...]ot one have Engliſh Names, yet all are Engliſh Peers.
[...]our H—ns, P—llons, and L—liers,
[...]ſs now for True-Born Engliſh Knights and Squires,
[...]nd make good Senate-Members, or Lord-Mayors.
[...]ealth, howſoever got, in England makes
[...]ords of Mechanicks, Gentlemen of Rakes
[...]ntiquity and Birth are needleſs here;
[...]is Impudence and Money makes a P—r.
[...] Innumerable City-Knights we know,
[...]om Bluecoat Hoſpitals and Bridewell flow:
[...]raymen and Porters fill the City Chair,
[...]nd Footboys Magiſterial Purple wear.
[...]ate has but very ſmall Diſtinction ſet
[...]etwixt the Counter and the Coronet.
[...]arpaulin L—ds, Pages of high Renown,
[...]iſe up by Poor Mens Valour, not their own.
[...]reat Families of Yeſterday we ſhow,
[...]nd Lords, whoſe Parents were the Lord knows who.

The True-Born Engliſh-Man. PART II.

[18]
THE Breed's deſcrib'd: Now, Satyr, if you can,
Their Temper ſhow, for Manners make the Man▪
Fierce as the Britain, as the Roman Brave;
And leſs inclin'd to Conquer than to Save:
Eager to fight, and laviſh of their Blood;
And equally of Fear and Forecaſt void.
The Pict has made 'em Sowre, the Dane Moroſe;
Falſe from the Scot, and from the Norman worſe.
What Honeſty they have, the Norman gave them,
And That, now they grow old, begins to leave them▪
The Climate makes them Terrible and Bold;
And Engliſh Beef their Courage does uphold:
No Danger can their Daring Spirit pall,
Always provided that their Belly's full.
In cloſe Intriegues their Faculty's but weak,
For gen'rally whate'er they know, they ſpeak:
And often their own Councils undermine
By their Infirmity, and not Deſign.
From whence the Learned ſay it does proceed,
That Engliſh Treaſons never can ſucceed:
[19] [...]or they're ſo open-hearted, you may know
Their own moſt ſecret Thoughts, and others too.
The Lab'ring Poor, in ſpight of Double Pay,
[...]re Sawcy, Mutinous, and Beggarly:
[...]o laviſh of their Money and their Time,
[...]hat want of Forecaſt is the Nation's Crime.
[...]ood Drunken Company is their Delight;
[...]nd what they get by Day, they ſpend by Night▪
[...]ull Thinking ſeldom does their Heads engage,
But Drink their Youth away, and hurry on Old Age.
Empty of all good Husbandry and Senſe;
[...]nd void of Manners moſt, when void of Pence.
[...]heir ſtrong Averſion to Behaviour's ſuch,
[...]hey always talk too little or too much.
[...] dull, they never take the pains to think;
[...]nd ſeldom are good-natur'd, but in Drink.
In Engliſh Ale their dear Enjoyment lies,
[...]or which they'll ſtarve themſelves and Families.
[...]n Engliſhman will fairly drink as much
[...]s will maintain Two Families of Dutch:
[...]ubjecting all their Labours to the Pots;
[...]he greateſt Artiſts are the greateſt Sots.
The Country Poor do by Example live;
[...]he Gentry lead them, and the Clergy drive!
[...]hat may we not from ſuch Examples hope?
[...]he Landlord is their God, the Prieſt their Pope
Drunken Clergy, and a Swearing Bench,
[...]as giv'n the Reformation ſuch a Drench,
[...] wiſe Men think there is ſome cauſe to doubt,
[...]ill purge Good Manners and Religion out.
Nor do the Poor alone their Liquor prize,
[...]he Sages join in this great Sacrifice.
[...]he Learned Men who ſtudy Ariſtotle,
[...]orrect him with an Explanation Bottle;
[...]aiſe Epicurus rather than Lyſander,
[...]d * Ariſtippus more than Alexander.
[20]The Doctors too their Galen here reſign,
And gen'rally preſcribe Specifick Wine.
The Graduates Study's grown an eaſier Task,
While for the Urinal they toſs the Flask.
The Surgeons Art grows plainer ev'ry Hour,
And Wine's the Balm which into Wounds they pour.
Poets long ſince Parnaſſus have forſaken,
And ſay the Ancient Bards were all miſtaken.
Apollo's lately abdicate and fled,
And good King Bacchus governs in his ſtead;
He does the Chaos of the Head refine,
And Atom-Thoughts jump into Words by Wine:
The Inſpiration's of a finer Nature;
As Wine muſt needs excel Parnaſſus Water;
Stateſmen their weighty Politicks refine,
As Soldiers raiſe their Courages by Wine.
Caecilia gives her Choriſters their Choice,
And lets them all drink Wine to clear the Voice.
Some think the Clergy firſt found out the way,
And Wine's the only Spirit by which they pray.
But others leſs prophane than ſo, agree,
It clears the Lungs, and helps the Memory:
And therefore all of them Divinely think,
Inſtead of Study, 'tis as well to drink.
And here I wou'd be very glad to know,
Whether our Aſgilites may drink or no.
Th' Enlightning Fumes of Wine would certainly
Aſſiſt them much when they begin to fly:
Or if a Fiery Chariot ſhou'd appear,
Inflam'd by Wine, they'd ha' the leſs to fear.
Even the Gods themſelves, as Mortals ſay,
Were they on Earth, wou'd be as drunk as they:
Nectar would be no more Celeſtial Drink,
They'd all take Wine, to teach them how to Think.
But Engliſh Drunkards, Gods and Men out-do,
Drink their Eſtates away, and Senſes too.
Colon's in Debt, and if his Friends ſhould fail
To help him out, muſt dye at laſt in Gaol:
[21]His Wealthy Uncle ſent a Hundred Nobles,
To pay his Trifles off, and rid him of his Troubles:
[...]ut Colon, like a True-Born Engliſhman,
[...]rank all the Money out in bright Champaign;
[...]nd Colon does in Cuſtody remain.
[...]runk'neſs has been the Darling of the Realm,
[...]er ſince a Drunken Pilot had the Helm.
In their Religion they are ſo unev'n,
That each Man goes his own By-way to Heav'n.
Tenacious of Miſtakes to that degree,
[...]hat ev'ry Man purſues it ſep'rately,
[...]nd fancies none can find the Way but he:
[...] ſhy of one another they are grown,
[...]s if they ſtrove to get to Heav'n alone.
[...]igid and Zealous, Poſitive and Grave,
[...]nd ev'ry Grace, but Charity, they have:
[...]his makes them ſo Ill-natur'd and Uncivil,
[...]hat all Men think an Engliſhman the Devil.
Surly to Strangers, Froward to their Friend;
[...]ubmit to Love with a reluctant Mind;
[...]eſolv'd to be ungrateful and unkind.
[...] by Neceſſity reduc'd to ask,
[...]he Giver has the difficulteſt Task:
[...]or what's beſtow'd they aukwardly receive,
[...]nd always Take leſs freely than they Give.
[...]he Obligation is their higheſt Grief;
[...]nd never love, where they accept Relief.
[...] ſullen in their Sorrows, that 'tis known,
[...]hey'll rather dye than their Afflictions own:
[...]nd if reliev'd, it is too often true,
[...]hat they'll abuſe their Benefactors too:
[...]or in Diſtreſs their Haughty Stomach's ſuch,
[...]hey hate to ſee themſelves oblig'd too much.
[...]ldom contented, often in the wrong;
[...]ard to be pleas'd at all, and never long.
If your Miſtakes their Ill Opinion gain,
[...]o Merit can their Favour reobtain:
[22]And if they're not Vindictive in their Fury,
'Tis their unconſtant Temper does ſecure ye:
Their Brain's ſo cool, their Paſſion ſeldom burns:
For all's condens'd before the Flame returns:
The Fermentation's of ſo weak a Matter,
The Humid damps the Fume, and runs it all to Water.
So tho' the Inclination may be ſtrong,
They're pleas'd by Fits, and never angry long.
Then if Good Nature ſhows ſome ſlender Proof,
They never think they have Reward enough:
But like our Modern Quakers of the Town,
Expect your Manners, and return you none.
Friendſhip, th' abſtracted Union of the Mind,
Which all Men ſeek, but very few can find:
Of all the Nations in the Univerſe,
None talk on't more, or underſtand it leſs:
For if it does the Property annoy,
Their Properry their Friendſhip will deſtroy.
As you diſcourſe them, you ſhall hear them tell
All things in which they think they do excel:
No Panegyrick needs their Praiſe record;
An Engliſhman ne'er wants his own good Word.
His Long Diſcourſes gen'rally appear
Prologu'd with his own wondrous Character:
But Firſt to illuſtrate his own good Name,
He never fails his Neighbour to defame:
And yet he really deſigns no wrong;
His Malice goes no further than his Tongue.
But pleas'd to Tattle, he delights to Rail,
To ſatisfy the Lech'ry of a Tale.
His own dear Praiſes cloſe the ample Speech,
Tells you how Wiſe he is; that is, how Rich:
For Wealth is Wiſdom; he that's Rich is wiſe▪
And all Men Learned Poverty deſpiſe.
His Generoſity comes next, and then
Concludes that he's a True-Born Engliſhman;
And they 'tis known, are Generous and Free,
Forgetting, and Forgiving Injury:
[23]Which may be true, thus rightly underſtood,
[...]orgiving Ill Turns, and Forgetting Good.
Chearful in Labour when they've undertook it;
[...]ut out of Humour, when they're out of Pocket.
[...]ut if their Belly and their Pocket's full.
They may be Phlegmatick, but never Dull:
And if a Bottle does their Brains refine,
[...] makes their Wit as ſparkling as their Wine.
As for the general Vices which we find
They're guilty of in common with Mankind,
[...]atyr, forbear, and ſilently endure;
[...]e muſt conceal the Crimes we cannot cure.
[...]or ſhall my Verſe the brighter Sex defame;
[...]or Engliſh Beauty will preſerve her Name.
[...]eyond diſpute, Agreeable and Fair;
And Modeſter than other Nations are:
[...]or where the Vice prevails, the great Temptation
[...]s want of Money, more than Inclination.
[...]n general, this only is allow'd,
They're ſomething Noiſy, and a little Proud.
An Engliſhman is gentleſt in Command,
Obedience is a Stranger in the Land:
Hardly ſubjected to the Magiſtrate;
[...]or Engliſhmen do all Subjection hate.
Humbleſt when Rich, but peeviſh when they're Poor;
[...]nd think whate'er they have, they merit more.
The meaneſt Engliſh Plowman ſtudies Law,
And keeps thereby the Magiſtrates in Awe:
Will boldly tell them what they ought to do,
And ſometimes puniſh their Omiſſions too.
Their Liberty and Property's ſo dear,
They ſcorn their Laws or Governours to fear:
[...]o bugbear'd with the Name of Slavery,
They can't ſubmit to their own Liberty.
[...]eſtraint from Ill is Freedom to the Wiſe;
[...]ut Engliſhmen do all Reſtraint deſpiſe.
[...]laves to the Liquor, Drudges to the Pots,
The Mob are Stateſmen, and their Stateſman Sots.
[24]Their Governours they count ſuch dangerous things,
That 'tis their Cuſtom to affront their Kings:
So jealous of the Power their Kings poſſeſs'd,
They ſuffer neither Power nor Kings to reſt.
The Bad with Force they eagerly ſubdue;
The Good with conſtant Clamours they purſue:
And did King Jeſus reign they'd murmur too.
A diſcontented Nation, and by far
Harder to rule in Times of Peace than War:
Eaſily ſet together by the Ears,
And full of cauſeleſs Jealouſies and Fears:
Apt to revolt, and willing to rebel,
And never are contented when they're well.
No Government cou'd ever pleaſe them long,
Cou'd tye their Hands, or rectify their Tongue.
In this to Ancient Iſrael well compar'd,
Eternal Murmurs are among them heard.
It was but lately that they were oppreſt,
Their Rights invaded, and their Laws ſuppreſt:
When nicely tender of their Liberty,
Lord! what a Noiſe they made of Slavery.
In daily Tumults ſhow'd their Diſcontent;
Lampoon'd their King, and mock'd his Government.
And if in Arms they did not firſt appear,
'Twas want of Force, and not for want of Fear.
In humbler Tone than Engliſh us'd to do,
At Foreign Hands for Foreign Aid they ſue.
William the Great Succeſſor of Naſſau,
Their Prayers heard, and their Oppreſſions ſaw:
He ſaw and ſav'd them: God and Him they prais'd;
To This their Thanks, to That their Trophies rais'd.
But glutted with their own Felicities,
They ſoon their New Deliverer deſpiſe;
Say all their Prayers back, their Joy diſown,
Unſing their Thanks, and pull their Trophies down▪
Their Harps of Praiſe are on the Willows hung;
For Engliſhmen are ne'er contented long.
[25]The Rev'rend Clergy too! and who'd ha' thought,
That they who had ſuch Non-Reſiſtance taught,
Should e'er to Arms againſt their Prince be brought?
Who up to Heaven did Regal Pow'r advance;
Subjecting Engliſh Laws to Modes of France.
Twiſting Religion ſo with Loyalty,
[...]s one cou'd never live, and t'other dye.
And yet no ſooner did their Prince deſign
Their Glebes and Perquiſites to undermine,
[...]ut all their Paſſive Doctrines laid aſide;
The Clergy their own Principles deny'd:
[...]npreach'd their Non-reſiſting Cant, and pray'd
To Heav'n for Help, and to the Dutch for Aid.
The Church chym'd all her Doctrines back again,
[...]nd Pulpit-Champions did the Cauſe maintain;
[...]lew in the Face of all their former Zeal,
[...]nd Non-Reſiſtance did at once repeal.
The Rabbies ſay it would be too prolix,
To tye Religion up to Politicks:
The Church's Safety is Suprema Lex.
[...]nd ſo by a new Figure of their own,
Their former Doctrines all at once diſown.
[...]s Laws Poſt Facto in the Parliament,
[...] urgent Caſes have obtain'd Aſſent;
[...]ut are as dangerous Preſidents laid by;
Made Lawful only by Neceſſity.
The Rev'rend Fathers then in Arms appear,
[...]nd Men of God became the Men of War.
[...]he Nation, fir'd by them, to Arms apply;
[...]ſſault their Antichriſtian Monarchy;
To their due Channel all our Laws reſtore,
[...]nd made things what they ſhou'd ha' been before.
[...]ut when they came to fill the Vacant Throne,
[...]nd the Pale Prieſts look'd back on what they'd done;
[...]ow Engliſh Liberty began to thrive,
[...]nd Church of England Loyalty out-live:
[...]ow all their perſecuting Days were done,
[...]d their Deliv'rer plac'd upon the Throne▪
[26]The Prieſts, as Prieſts are wont to do, turn'd Tail;
They're Engliſhmen, and Nature will prevail.
Now they deplore the Ruins they ha' made,
And murmur for the Maſter they betray'd.
Excuſe thoſe Crimes they cou'd not make him mend;
And ſuffer for the Cauſe they can't defend.
Pretend they'd not ha' carry'd things ſo high;
And Proto-Martyrs make for Popery.
Had the Prince done as they deſign'd the thing,
Ha' ſet the Clergy up to rule the King;
Taken a Donative for coming hither,
And ſo ha' left their King and them together,
We had, ſay they, been now a happy Nation.
No doubt we had ſeen a Bleſſed Reformation:
For Wiſe Men ſay 't's as dangerous a thing,
A Ruling Prieſt-hood, as a Prieſt-rid King.
And of all Plagues with which Mankind are curſt,
Eccleſiaſtick Tyranny's the worſt.
If all our former Grievances were feign'd,
King James has been abus'd, and we trepann'd;
Bugbear'd with Popery and Power Deſpotick,
Tyrannick Government, and Leagues Exotick:
The Revolution's a Phanatick Plot,
W— a Tyrant, S— a Sot:
A Factious Army and a Poyſon'd Nation,
Unjuſtly forc'd King James's Abdication.
But if he did the Subjects Rights invade,
Then he was puniſh'd only, not betray'd;
And puniſhing of Kings is no ſuch Crime,
But Engliſhmen ha' done it many a Time.
When Kings the Sword of Juſtice firſt lay down,
They are no Kings, though they poſſeſs the Crown.
Titles are Shadows, Crowns are empty things,
The Good of Subjects is the End of Kings;
To guide in War, and to protect in Peace;
Where Tyrants once commence, the Kings do ceaſe:
For Arbitrary Power's ſo ſtrange a thing,
It makes the Tyrant, and unmakes the King.
[27]If Kings by Foreign Prieſts and Armies reign,
[...]nd Lawleſs Power againſt their Oaths maintain,
[...]hen Subjects muſt ha' reaſon to complain.
If Oaths muſt bind us when our Kings do ill;
[...]o call in Foreign Aid is to rebel.
[...]y force to circumſcribe our Lawful Prince,
[...] wilful Treaſon in the largeſt Senſe:
[...]nd they who once rebel, moſt certainly
[...]heir God, and King, and former Oaths defy.
[...] we allow no Male-Adminiſtration
[...]ould cancel the Allegiance of the Nation;
[...]et all our Learned Sons of Levi try,
[...]his Eccles'aſtick Riddle to unty:
[...]ow they could make a Step to call the Prince,
[...]nd yet pretend to Oaths and Innocence.
By th' firſt Addreſs they made beyond the Seas,
[...]hey're perjur'd in the moſt intenſe Degrees;
[...]nd without Scruple for the time to come,
May ſwear to all the Kings in Chriſtendom.
And truly did our Kings conſider all,
[...]hey'd never let the Clergy ſwear at all:
[...]heir Politick Allegiance they'd refuſe;
[...]or Whores and Prieſts will never want excuſe.
But if the Mutual Contract was diſſolv'd,
The Doubtss explain'd, the Difficulty ſolv'd:
That Kings, when they deſcend to Tyranny,
Diſſolve the Bond, and leave the Subject free.
The Government's ungirt when Juſtice dies,
And Conſtitutions are Non-Entities.
The Nations all a Mob, there's no ſuch thing
As Lords or Commons, Parliament or King.
A great promiſcuous Croud the Hydra lies,
Till Laws revive, and mutual Contract ties:
A Chaos free to chuſe for their own ſhare,
What Caſe of Government they pleaſe to wear:
[...]f to a King they do the Reins commit,
All Men are bound in Conſcience to ſubmit:
[28]But then that King muſt by his Oath aſſent
To Poſtulata's of the Government;
Which if he breaks, he cuts off the Entail,
And Power retreats to its Qriginal.
This Doctrine has the Sanction of Aſſent,
From Nature's Univerſal Parliament.
The Voice of Nations, and the Courſe of Things,
Allow that Laws ſuperiour are to Kings.
None but Delinquents would have Juſtice ceaſe,
Knaves rail at Laws as Soldiers rail at Peace:
For Juſtice is the End of Government,
As Reaſon is the Teſt of Argument.
No Man was ever yet ſo void of Senſe,
As to debate the Right of Self-Defence;
A Principle ſo grafted in the Mind,
With Nature born, and does like Nature bind:
Twiſted with Reaſon, and with Nature too;
As neither one nor t'other can undo.
Nor can this Right be leſs when National;
Reaſon which governs one, ſhould govern all.
Whate'er the Dialect of Courts may tell,
He that his Right demands, can ne'er rebel.
Which Right, if 'tis by Governours deny'd,
May be procur'd by Force, or Foreign Aid.
For Tyranny's a Nation's Term for Grief;
As Folks cry Fire, to haſten in Relief.
And when the hated Word is heard about,
All Men ſhou'd come to help the People out.
Thus England groan'd, Britannia's Voice was heard;
And Great Naſſau to reſcue her appear'd:
Call'd by the Univerſal Voice of Fate;
God and the Peoples Legal Magiſtrate.
Ye Heav'ns regard! Almighty Jove look down,
And view thy Injur'd Monarch on the Throne.
On their Ungrateful Heads due Vengeance take,
Who ſought his Aid, and then his part forſake.
Witneſs, ye Powers! it was our Call alone,
Which now our Pride makes us aſham'd to own.
[29] [...]ritannia's Troubles fetch'd him from afar,
[...]o court the dreadful Caſualties of War:
[...]ut where Requital never can be made,
[...]cknowledgment's a Tribute ſeldom paid.
He dwelt in Bright Maria's Circling Arms,
[...]efended by the Magick of her Charms,
[...]om Foreign Fears, and from Domeſtick Harms.
[...]bition found no Fuel for her Fire,
[...]e had what God cou'd give, or Man deſire.
[...]ll Pity rous'd him from his ſoft Repoſe,
[...]s Life to unſeen Hazards to expoſe:
[...]ll Pity mov'd him in our Cauſe t' appear;
[...]ty! that Word which now we hate to hear.
[...]t Engliſh Gratitude is always ſuch,
[...]o hate the Hand which does oblige too much.
Britannia's Cries gave Birth to his Intent,
[...]d hardly gain'd his unforeſeen Aſſent:
[...]s boding Thoughts foretold him he ſhould find
[...]he People Fickle, Selfiſh and Unkind.
Which Thought did to his Royal Heart appear
[...]ore dreadful than the Dangers of the War:
[...]or nothing grates a generous Mind ſo ſoon,
[...]s baſe Returns for hearty Service done.
Satyr, be ſilent, awfully prepare
[...]ritannia's Song, and William's Praiſe to hear.
[...]and by, and let her chearfully rehearſe
[...]er Grateful Vows in her Immortal Verſe.
[...]oud Fame's Eternal Trumpet let her ſound;
[...]ſten ye diſtant Poles, and endleſs Round.
[...]ay the ſtrong Blaſt the welcome News convey
[...]s far as Sound can reach, or Spirit fly.
[...]o Neighb'ring Worlds, if ſuch there be, relate
[...]r Hero's Fame, for theirs to imitate.
[...]o diſtant Worlds of Spirits let her rehearſe:
[...]or Spirits without the helps of Voice converſe.
[...]ay Angels hear the gladſome News on high,
[...]ix'd with their everlaſting Symphony.
[30]And Hell it ſelf ſtand in Suſpence to know
Whether it be the Fatal Blaſt, or no.

BRITANNIA.

The Fame of Virtue 'tis for which I ſound,
And Heroes with Immortal Triumphs crown'd.
Fame built on ſolid Virtue ſwifter flies,
Than Morning-Light can ſpread my Eaſtern Skies.
The gath'ring Air returns the doubling Sound,
And loud repeating Thunders force it round:
Ecchoes return from Caverns of the Deep:
Old Chaos dreams on't in Eternal Sleep.
Time hands it forward to its lateſt Urn,
From whence it never, never ſhall return,
Nothing is heard ſo far, or laſts ſo long;
'Tis heard by ev'ry Ear, and ſpoke by ev'ry Tongue.
My Hero with the Sails of Honour furl'd,
Riſes like the great Genius of the World.
By Fate and Fame wiſely prepar'd to be
The Soul of War, and Life of Victory.
He ſpreads the Wings of Virtue on the Throne,
And ev'ry Wind of Glory fans them on.
Immortal Trophies dwell upon his Brow,
Freſh as the Garlands he has won but now.
By different Steps the high Aſcent he gains,
And differently that high Aſcent maintains.
Princes for Pride and Luſt of Rule make War,
And ſtruggle for the Name of Conqueror.
Some fight for Fame, and ſome for Victory:
He Fights to Save, and Conquers to ſet Free.
Then ſeek no Phraſe his Titles to conceal,
And hide with Words what Actions muſt reveal.
No Parallel from Hebrew Stories take,
Of God-like Kings my Similies to make:
No borrow'd Names conceal my living Theam;
But Names and Things directly I proclaim.
[31] [...]is honeſt Merit does his Glory raiſe;
[...]hom that exalts, let no Man fear to praiſe,
[...]f ſuch a Subject no Man need be ſhy;
[...]irtue's above the Reach of Flattery.
[...]e needs no Character, but his own Fame,
[...]or any flattering Titles, but his Name.
William's the Name that's ſpoke by ev'ry Tongue:
[...]illiam's the darling Subject of my Song.
[...]ſten ye Virgins to the Charming Sound,
[...]d in Eternal Dances hand it round:
[...]ur early Offerings to this Altar bring;
[...]ake him at once a Lover and a King.
[...]ay he ſubmit to none but to your Arms;
[...]or ever be ſubdu'd, but by your Charms.
[...]ay your ſoft Thoughts for him be all ſublime;
[...]d ev'ry tender Vow be made for him.
[...]ay he be firſt in ev'ry Morning-Thought,
[...]nd Heav'n ne'er hear a Pray'r where he's left out.
[...]ay ev'ry Omen, ev'ry boding Dream,
[...]e Fortunate by mentioning his Name.
[...]ay this one Charm Infernal Powers affright,
[...]nd guard you from the Terrors of the Night.
[...]ay every chearful Glaſs as it goes down
[...]o William's Health, be Cordials to your own.
[...]et ev'ry Song be Choruſt with his Name,
[...]nd Muſick pay her Tribute to his Fame▪
[...]et ev'ry Poet tune his Artful Verſe,
[...]nd in Immortal Strains his Deeds rehearſe.
[...]nd may Apollo never more inſpire
[...]he Diſobedient Bard with his Seraphick Fire▪
[...]ay all my Sons their grateful Homage pay;
[...]is Praiſes ſing, and for his Safety pray.
Satyr, return to our Unthankful Iſle,
[...]cur'd by Heaven's Regard, and William's Toil.
[...]o both Ungrateful, and to both Untrue;
[...]ebels to God, and to Good Nature too.
If e'er this Nation be diſtreſs'd again,
[...]o whomſoe'er they cry, they'll cry in vain.
[32]To Heav'n they cannot have the Face to look;
Or if they ſhould, it would but Heav'n provoke.
To hope for Help from Man would be too much;
Mankind would always tell 'em of the Dutch:
How they came here our Freedoms to maintain,
Were Paid, and Curs'd, and Hurry'd home again.
How by their Aid we firſt diſſolv'd our Fears,
And then our Helpers damn'd for Foreigners.
'Tis not our Engliſh Temper to do better;
For Engliſhmen think ev'ry Man their Debtor.
'Tis worth obſerving, that we ne'er complain'd
Of Foreigners, nor of the Wealth they gain'd,
Till all their Services were at an end.
Wiſe Men affirm it is the Engliſh way,
Never to Grumble till they come to pay;
And then they always think their Temper ſuch,
The Work too little, and the Pay too much.
As frighted Patients, when they want a Cure,
Bid any Price, and any Pain endure:
But when the Doctor's Remedies appear,
The Cure's too Eaſie, and the Price too Dear.
Great Portland ne'er was banter'd when he ſtrove
For Us his Maſter's kindeſt Thoughts to move.
We ne'er lampoon'd his Conduct, when employ'd
King James's Secret Councils to divide:
Then we careſs'd him as the only Man,
Which could the doubtful Oracle explain:
The only Huſhai able to repel
The dark Deſigns of our Achitophel.
Compar'd his Maſter's Courage to his Senſe;
The Ableſt Stateſman, and the Braveſt Prince.
On his wiſe Conduct we depended much,
And lik'd him ne'er the worſe for being Dutch.
Nor was he valu'd more than he deſerv'd;
Freely he ventur'd, faithfully he ſerv'd.
In all King William's Dangers he has ſhar'd;
In England's Quarrels always he appear'd:
[33]The Revolution firſt, and then the Boyne;
[...] both his Counſels and his Conduct ſhine.
[...]is Martial Valour Flanders will confeſs;
[...]nd France Regrets his Managing the Peace.
[...]aithful to England's Intereſt and her King:
[...]he greateſt Reaſon of our murmuring.
[...]en Years in Engliſh Service he appear'd,
[...]nd gain'd his Maſter's and the World's Regard:
[...]t 'tis not England's Cuſtom to Reward.
[...]he Wars are over, England needs him not;
[...]ow he's a Dutchman, and the Lord knows what.
[...] Schonbergh, the Ableſt Soldier of his Age,
With Great Naſſau did in our Cauſe engage:
[...]oth join'd for England's Reſcue and Defence,
The Greateſt Captain, and the Greateſt Prince.
With what Applauſe his Stories did we tell?
[...]ories which Europe's Volumes largely ſwell.
We counted him an Army in our Aid:
Where he commanded, no Man was afraid.
[...]is Actions with a conſtant Conqueſt ſhine,
[...]rom Villa-Vitioſa to the Rhine.
[...]rance, Flanders, Germany, his Fame confeſs;
[...]nd all the World was fond of him, but Us.
[...]ur Turn firſt ſerv'd, we grudg'd him the Command▪
[...]itneſs the Grateful Temper of the Land.
We blame the K— that he relies too much
[...]n Strangers, Germans, Hugonots, and Dutch;
[...]nd ſeldom does his great Affairs of State,
[...]o Engliſh Counſellors communicate.
[...]he Fact might very well be anſwer'd thus▪
[...]e has ſo often been betray'd by us,
[...]e muſt have been a Madman to rely
[...]n Engliſh G—ns Fidelity.
[...]or laying other Arguments aſide,
[...]his thought might mortifie our Engliſh Pride,
[...]hat Foreigners have faithfully obey'd him,
[...]nd none but Engliſhmen have e'er betray'd him.
[34]They have our Ships and Merchants bought and ſold,
And barter'd Engliſh Blood for Foreign Gold.
Firſt to the French they ſold our Turky-Fleet,
And Injur'd Talmarſh next at Camaret.
The King himſelf is ſhelter'd from their Snares,
Not by his Merit, but the Crown he wears.
Experience tells us 'tis the Engliſh way,
Their Benefactors always to betray.
And leſt Examples ſhou'd be too remote,
A Modern Magiſtrate of Famous Note,
Shall give you his own Hiſtory by Rote.
I'll make it out, deny it he that can,
His Worſhip is a True-born Engliſhman,
In all the Latitude that empty Word
By Modern Acceptation's underſtood.
The Pariſh-Books his Great Deſcent record,
And now he hopes e'er long to be a Lord.
And truly as things go, it wou'd be pity
But ſuch as he ſhou'd repreſent the City:
While Robb'ry for Burnt-Offering he brings,
And gives to God what he has ſtole from Kings.
Great Monuments of Charity he raiſes,
And good St. Magnus whiſtles out his Praiſes.
To City-Goals he grants a Jubilee,
And hires Huzza's from his own Mobilee.
Lately he wore the Golden Chain and Gown,
With which Equipp'd he thus harangu'd the Town.

His Fine Speech, &c.

WITH Clouted Iron Shooes and Sheep-skin Breech
More Rags than Manners, and more Dirt than Rich
From driving Cows and Calves to Layton-Market,
While of my Greatneſs there appear'd no Spark yet,
Behold I come▪ to let you ſee the Pride
With which Exalted Beggars always ride.
[35]Born to the Needful Labours of the Plow,
[...]he Cart-Whip grac'd me as the Chain does now▪
[...]ature and Fate in doubt what courſe to take,
Whether I ſhou'd a Lord or Plough Boy make;
[...]indly at laſt reſolv'd they wou'd promote me,
[...]nd firſt a Knave, and then a Knight they vote me.
[...]hat Fate appointed, Nature did prepare,
[...]nd furniſh'd me with an exceeding Care.
[...]o [...]it me for what they deſign'd to have me;
[...]nd ev'ry Gift but Honeſty they gave me.
And thus Equipt, to this proud Town I came,
[...] queſt of Bread, and not in queſt of Fame.
[...]ind to my future Fate, an humble Boy,
[...]ree from the Guilt and Glory I enjoy.
The Hopes which my Ambition entertain'd,
[...]ere in the Name of Foot-Boy all contain'd.
The Greateſt Heights from Small Beginnings riſe;
The Gods were Great on Earth, before they reach'd the Skies.
B.—well, the Generous Temper of whoſe Mind,
[...]as always to be bountiful inclin'd:
[...]hether by his ill Fate or Fancy led,
[...]irſt took me up, and furniſh'd me with Bread.
The little Services he put me to,
[...]eem'd Labours rather than were truly ſo▪
[...]ut always my Advancement be deſign'd;
[...]or 'twas his very Nature to be kind.
[...]arge was his Soul, his Temper ever free;
The beſt of Maſters and of Men to me.
[...]nd I who was before decreed by Fate,
[...]o be made Infamous as well as Great,
With an obſequious Diligence obey'd him,
[...]ill truſted with his All, and then betray'd him.
All his paſt Kindneſſes I trampled on,
[...]uin'd his Fortunes to erect my own.
[...]o Vipers in the Boſom bred, begin
To hiſs at that Hand firſt which took them in.
With eager Treach'ry I his Fall purſu'd,
And my firſt Trophies were Ingratitude.
[36]Ingratitude's the worſt of Humane Guilt,
The baſeſt Action Mankind can commit;
Which like the Sin againſt the Holy Ghoſt▪
Has leaſt of Honour, and of Guilt the moſt,
Diſtinguiſh'd from other Crimes by this,
That 'tis a Crime which no Man will confeſs.
That Sin alone, which ſhou'd not be forgiv'n
On Earth, altho' perhaps it may in Heav'n.
Thus my firſt Benefactor I o'erthrew;
And how ſhou'd be to a ſecond true?
The Publick Truſt came next into my Care,
And I to uſe them ſcurvily prepare:
My Needy Sov'reign Lord I play'd upon,
And lent him many a Thouſand of his own;
For which, great Int'reſts I took care to charge,
And ſo my Ill-got Wealth became ſo large.
My Predeceſſor Judas was a Fool,
Fitter to ha' been whipt, and ſent to School,
Than ſell a Saviour: Had I been at hand,
His Maſter had not been ſo cheap trepann'd;
I would ha' made the eager Jews ha' found,
For Thirty Pieces, Thirty Thouſand Pound▪
My Couſin Ziba, of Immortal Fame,
(Ziba and I ſhall never want a Name:)
Firſt-born of Treaſon, nobly did advance
His Maſter's Fall, for his Inheritance.
By whoſe keen Arts old David firſt began
To break his Sacred Oath to Jonathan:
The Good Old King, 'tis thought, was very loth
To break his Word, and therefore br—ke his Oath—
Ziba's a Traytor of ſome Quality,
Yet Ziba might ha' been inform'd by me:
Had I been there, he ne'er had been content
With half th' Eſtate, nor half the Government.
In our late Revolution 'twas thought ſtrange,
That I of all Mankind ſhou'd like the Change,
But they who wonder'd at it, never knew,
That in it I did my old Game purſue▪
[37] [...]or had they heard of Twenty thouſand Pound,
[...]hich ne'er was loſt, nor never yet was found.
Thus all things in their turn to Sale I bring,
[...]od and my Maſter firſt, and then the King:
[...]ill by ſucceſsful Villainies made bold,
thought to turn the Nation into Gold;
[...]nd ſo to Forg—ry my Hand I bent,
[...]ot doubting I could gull the Government;
[...]ut there was ruffl'd by the Parliament▪
[...]nd if I ſcap'd th' Unhappy Tree to climb,
Twas want of Law, and not for want of Crime.
But my * Old Friend, who printed in my Face
[...] needful Competence of Engliſh Braſs,
[...]aving more Buſineſs yet for me to do,
[...]nd loth to loſe his truſty Servant ſo,
Manag'd the Matter with ſuch Art and Skill,
[...]s ſav'd his Hero, and threw out the B—l.
And now I'm grac'd with unexpected Honours,
[...]or which I'll certainly abuſe the Donors:
[...]ighted, and made a Tribune of the People,
Whoſe Laws and Properties I'm like to keep well:
[...]he Cuſtos Rotulorum of the City,
[...]nd Captain of the Guards of their Banditti.
[...]rrounded by my Catchpoles, I declare
[...]gainſt the Needy Debtor open War.
[...]hang poor Thieves for ſtealing of your Pelf,
[...]nd ſuffer none to rob you, but my ſelf.
The King commanded me to help Reform ye,
[...]nd how I'll do't, Miſs M—n, ſhall inform ye.
[...] keep the beſt Seraglio in the Nation,
[...]nd hope in time to bring it into Faſhion.
[...]o Brimſtone Whore need fear the Laſh from me,
[...]hat part I'll leave to Brother Jeffery.
[...]ur Gallants need not go abroad to Rome.
I keep a Whoring Jubilee at Home.
[38]Whoring's the Darling of my Inclination;
A'n't I a Magiſtrate for Reformation?
For this my Praiſe is ſung by ev'ry Bard,
For which Bridewell wou'd be a juſt Reward.
In Print my Panegyricks fill the Street,
And hir'd Gaol-Birds their Huzza's repeat.
Some Charities contriv'd to make a ſhow,
Have taught the Needy Rabble to do ſo:
Whoſe empty Noiſe is a Mechanick Fame,
Since for Sir Belzebub they'd do the ſame.

THE CONCLUSION.

THEN let us boaſt of Anceſtors no more,
Or Deeds of Heroes done in Days of Yore,
In latent Records of the Ages paſt,
Behind the Rear of Time, in long Oblivion plac'd.
For if our Virtues muſt in Lines deſcend,
The Merit with the Families would end:
And Intermixtures would moſt fatal grow;
For Vice would be Hereditary too;
The tainted Blood wou'd of Neceſſity,
Involuntary Wickedneſs convey.
Vice, like Ill Nature, for an Age or two,
May ſeem a Generation to purſue:
But Virtue ſeldom does regard the Breed;
Fools do the Wiſe, and Wiſe Men Fools ſucceed.
What is't to us, what Anceſtors we had?
If Good, what better? or what worſe, if Bad?
[39] [...]amples are for Imitation ſet,
[...]et all Men follow Virtue with Regret.
Cou'd but our Anceſtors retrieve their Fate,
[...]nd ſee their Offspring thus degenerate;
[...]ow we contend for Birth and Names unknown,
[...]nd build on their paſt Actions, not our own;
[...]hey'd cancel Records, and their Tombs deface,
[...]nd openly diſown the vile degenerate Race:
[...]or Fame of Families is all a Cheat,
'Tis Perſonal Virtue only makes us great.
FINIS.

Appendix A A Catalogue of Poems, &c. Printed and Sold by H. Hill in Black-Fryars, near the Water-ſide; where ſeven more may be had that are not here Inſerted.

[]

2.

[]

An ELEGY ON THE AUTHOR OF THE True-Born-Engliſh-Man. WITH AN ESSAY On the Late STORM.

By the AUTHOR of the HYMN to the PILLORY.

LONDON: Printed in the Year 1708.

The PREFACE.

[]

THO' theſe Sheets have been Wrote ſeveral Months, and in a time that ſeem'd to make them ſomething more ſuitable than now: Yet the Occaſion renewing it ſelf every day, who can refrain from ſpeaking?

Had the ſcribling World been pleas'd to leave me where they found me, I had left them and Newgate both together; and as I am metaphorically Dead, had been effectually ſo, as to Satyrs and Pamphlets.

'Tis really ſomething hard, that after all the Mortification they think they have put upon a poor abdicated Author, in their ſcurrilous Street Ri⯑baldry, and Bear Garden Uſage, ſome in Proſe, and ſome in thoſe terri⯑ble Lines they call Verſe, they cannot yet be quiet, but whenever any thing comes out that does not pleaſe them, I come in for a ſhare in the Anſwer, whatever I did in the Queſtion, every thing they think an Au⯑thor deſerves to be abus'd for, muſt be mine.

Several plentiful Showers of Railery I have quietly ſubmitted to, an thought I had a Talent of Patience as large as might ſerve me in com⯑mon with my Neighbours, but there is a time when a Man can bear n [...] longer, and if the Man is in a little Paſſion, he thinks he ought to b [...] born with.

I tried Retirement, and baniſh'd my ſelf from the Town: I thought as the Boys us'd to say, 'twas but fair they ſhould let me alone, while did not meddle with them.

But neither a Country Receſs, any more than a Stone Doublet, on ſecure a Man from the Clamour of the Pen.

In the following Sheets I endeavour to ſtate the Caſe in order to Truce; for ſhame, Gentlemen, let him alone, why the Man's Dead: 't [...] a Cowardly Trick to beat a Man when he's down, but to fight a Dea [...] Man is the Devil.

And with Submiſſion, Gentlemen, the Allegory is juſt: for if bei [...] ⯑tied under Sureties and Penalties not to write, at leaſt not to write wh [...] ſome People may not like, be not equivalent to being Dead, as to the P [...] I know not what is.

But how do theſe People treat Mankind, that they pretend to Indict [...] Man for every thing they pleaſe, as if they had Power to Read his Cou [...] ⯑tenance in Letters, and ſwear to a Stile as they would to his Face?

'Tis eaſie to prove the Authors of Books, and no Man can be conceal [...] in ſuch Caſes; but for a Man to be charged with other Mens Faults, w [...] has too many of his own, is a method newly practis'd, and more up [...] me than any Body; and yet the Grief of this Uſage does not ſtick ſo [...] upon me, but that I may tell my Antagoniſts, if any think themſelv [...] deſerving that Name, that they are very welcome to go on their own w [...] and uſe me as they pleaſe, I ſhall always be ready to reply, or by my [...] ⯑lence let them ſee I do not think it worth my while.

An ELEGY on the Author of the True-Born Engliſh-Man.

[3]
SATYR ſing Lachrime, thou'rt dead in Law,
Thy fatal Hour draws on,
The Lines of thine own Exit draw,
And tell how thou'rt undone.
[...]end for the Prieſt, and ask Advice,
Reflect upon thy Time miſpent;
When Wit upon its Death-B [...]d lies,
'Tis high time to repent.
What canſt thou ſay old Pluto to appeaſe?
[...]hy Hymns in that dark World will never pleaſe:
[...]ilence, eternal S [...]lence is thy Lot,
[...]nd all thy Rhymes and all thy Hymns forgot:
[...]ury'd in dark Oblivion, there thou'lt lie
[...]or ſeven long Years, a Wit's Eternity.
Little thou thought'ſt in Verſes paſt,
[...]hoſe Songs of thine would be thy laſt:
'Tis hard thy vigorous Muſe ſhould lie,
[...] all her Strength of Thought, condemn'd to dye:
Tis hard to have her periſh in her Prime,
[...]nd moſt Men think ſhe dy'd before her time.
With Patience, Satyr, to thy Fate ſubmit,
[...]nd ſhow thy Courage can out-do thy Wit;
With Calmneſs meet the Sentence of thy Death,
[...]nd yield with Temper thy Poetick Breath.
[...]hat tho' to Silence they condemn thy Rhymes,
[...]en that Silence ſhall condemn the Times.
The World ſhall bluſh when e'er they Read,
[...]nd thou be ſtill a Satyr, tho' thou'rt Dead.
When Malefactors come to dye,
They claim uncommon Liberty:
Freedom of Speech gives no diſtaſte,
[...]hey let them talk at large, becauſe they talk their laſt;
'Tis hard thy dying Words ſhould give Offence,
And neither pleaſe in Language nor in Senſe;
He that muſt never open more,
Dearly attones for what he ſaid before.
[4] Departed Satyr! let thy Ghoſt appear,
To keep the vicious Town in fear;
Verſes ſhall from thy injur'd Aſhes riſe,
And Satyrs always pointed at their Vice:
No Man ſhall ſin in peace,
And Virtue only ſhall thy Shade appeaſe.
But ſince, dear Satyr▪ 'tis thy Lot
Thus to dye upon the ſpot,
In ſofteſt Notes ſing thine own Elegy,
Be ſilent Dead, but never ſilent dye.

The ELEGY.

Circled in Newgate's cold Embrace,
And reconcil'd to Death by ſuch a place,
I from the horrid Manſion fled,
And, as concerning Poetry, am dead:
To ſeven long Years of ſilence I betake,
Perhaps by then I may forget to ſpeak:
And thus I dy'd, and yield Satyrick Breath,
For to be Dumb, in Poetry is Death.
If you demand a Reaſon of my Fate,
Whether it came too ſoon, or came too late;
Whether Wiſe Heaven did this permit,
For want of Manners, or elſe for want of Wit;
Whether I ſaid too little or too much,
Or loaded any with too juſt Reproach,
If you would know the latent Cauſe,
Go ſearch the hidden Secret in the Laws.
Let not my Verſe my Verſes Crimes debate,
Go ask the powerful Engines of the State.
Beſides he muſt be void of Sense,
Who dare ſtand up in my Defence:
Behold that Power, which Men call Law,
Can keep even Innocence in awe.
Let it ſuffice this Elegy to read,
And tho' you ſee the Man,
All his Poetick Fancy's dead,
Nothing but Carcaſs can remain:
The Shadow of the Poet may appear,
No Subſtance can be there:
A walking Spectrum, with his Fancy fled,
And he that rais'd the Devil, the Devil has laid.
Yet I have Reaſon to complain,
I can not quiet in my Grave remain:
The World's diſturb'd about my Memory,
They'll neither let me live, nor let me dye.
If an ill-natur'd Muſe
Attempts the Nation to abuſe,
[5]If ſome unhappy Truths they tell,
[...]hich might have been conceal'd as well,
My Ghoſt's arraign'd, and I am ſaid
[...]ready to be Riſen from the Dead.
The Mob of wretched Writers ſtand
With Storms of Wit in every Hand,
[...]hey bait my Mem'ry in the Street,
[...]nd charge me with the Credit of their Wit;
I bear the ſcandal of their Crimes,
[...]y Name's the Hackney Title of the Times;
[...] ſome new Wit in Satyr lies conceal'd,
And lately in Lampoon reveal'd,
[...]y ſilent Aſhes are diſturb'd to know
Whether it's dated from below;
Whether it's mine or no.
[...] ſome in Paſquinades affront the State,
[...]d tempt their yet unpity'd Fate,
[...] willing to be cautious till too late,
[...]e ſubtil Mimicks to this Shadow fly,
Conceal their Guilt, and ſay 'tis I:
[...] Man can Satyrize a Man of Fame,
[...]t daily Curſes riſe againſt my Name.
[...]mn, Song, Lampoon, Ballad, and Paſquinade,
My recent Memory invade;
[...] Muſe muſt be the Whore of Poetry,
[...]d all Apollo's Baſtards laid to me.
If any Poet has but writ,
With an Exuberance of ſpight,
[...]s he the mighty Vices of the Age,
[...]d mighty Men too, brought upon the Stage;
As who can with his Pen forbear
[...] dreſs the S—s M—n in the Robes they're fond to wear?
[...]ey ſearch the deep Receſſes of my Grave,
[...]en to hear the ſleeping Genius rave:
Such is the Folly of their hate,
[...]at Death cannot their Jealouſies abate;
Such is the Force of Guilt, they ſee
[...]h Reaſon to expect Reproach from me,
Their Fancy harbours the Miſtake,
[...]eam in Death, and ſend my Ghoſt to ſpeak.
Yet undiſturb'd I ſafely ſleep,
And calm as Death my Silence keep;
[...]gh at all the Anger of Mankind,
[...] loth to bear the T—, my Pen confin'd:
[...] ſmile at Human Policy,
[...]o always ſtop that Mouth, whoſe words they can't deny:
[6]Yet let them not their Crimes conceal,
New Satyrs will their Crimes reveal;
More Poets from my Monument ſhall riſe,
Who ſhall like me their Power deſpiſe.
Who ſhall condemn a vicious Court,
And make the Nation's Knaves the Nation's ſport.
Naked as Nature's firſt Original
Vice ſhall before the Bar of Truth appear,
Keen Satyrs ſhall to Judgment call,
And Power ſhall not protect them there;
Satyr ſhall mighty Crimes rehearſe,
No Rogue's above the Quality of Verſe.
Satyr ſhall keep thoſe Knaves in awe,
Who are too cunning for the Law;
And ſhall at leaſt expoſe the Cheat
Of thoſe that think themſelves too great.
Fleets ſhall not ſpend a Seventeen Months advance,
To take the Air upon the Coaſt of France;
No ſham Deſcents ſhall e'er be made,
The Money ſpent, and Majeſty betray'd,
But laſting Verſe ſhall make the matter clear,
And what the Nation feels, the World ſhall hear.
Nor will there e'er be wanting to this Age,
Poets to ſpread their Errors on the Stage;
Oppreſſion makes a Poet; Spleen Endites,
And makes Men write by force, as G—n fights.
Was e'er ſuch broken Voyages made?
Was ever War ſo much a Trade?
If Fleets to Italy ſhall go,
And hardly tell the Foe
Whether they have been there or no:
Come back to let us know the Mony's ſpent,
And hardly knew for what they went;
The Nation ne'er can want a Poet long,
To turn ſuch juggling into Song.
When Traytors creep into th' Affairs of State,
Poets will always propheſie their Fate;
When Villains ſerve the Queen by halves,
And fleece the Nation to enrich themſelves;
Her Majeſty may ſtrive in vain,
Make Peace with Portugal, and War with Spain.
Fit Armies out, ſend Fleets to Sea,
The Mony's all but thrown away:
Unleſs the Heroes who command
Would learn to do as well as underſtand.
When the new Leagues with Portugal appear,
All honeſt Men rejoyce;
[7] [...]ut had they been ſecur'd before the War,
'T had been at half the price:
Had not the Nation been betray'd,
[...]isbon had long ago embrac'd Madrid;
[...]he Bourbon Lawrels had abandon'd Spain,
And Anjou's Triumphs been in vain.
Were I alive again, and could but hear
[...]he hopes we have of this Algarvian War,
My Satyr could no more forbear
[...]o pay the due to William's Character;
[...]he early Meaſures of this War he laid,
But 'twas his Fate to be betray'd;
[...]e form'd the League the Queen has now retriev'd,
And had he been believ'd,
[...]he Queen had not been now embroil'd with Spain,
[...]nd forc'd to purchaſe Portugal again.
[...]ain had long ſince an Auſtrian Monarch known:
[...]d rightful Princes had poſſeſt their own.
If ſome bold Satyr does not ſoon revive,
[...] let them know that Poetry's alive;
[...] we muſt always be embrac'd by Knaves,
[...]nd all the Nation's Work be done by halves;
[...] every Year endeavouring to be poor,
[...] always mending what we marr'd before;
[...]ave always ſomething to retrieve,
[...]nd always doing ſomething to deceive;
Vaſt Navies fitted out to Fight
A Foe that's always out of fight;
[...]nd yet the French in flying Squadrons Reign,
[...]ſult our Trade, and Bully all the Main,
[...]nd bravely dare our Ships to fight in vain:
If our Sea Captains when they run away,
Shall only forfeit three Months Pay;
If no new Genius riſes up to ſhow,
And let the injur'd Nation know
By whom they're thus betray'd, and how;
[...] fear, in ſpight of all that has been ſaid,
[...]hall be forc'd to ſpeak, altho' I'm Dead,
[...]ean while let Mercenary Poets ſtrive
[...]o make their Malice my Deceaſe out-live.
Let them reproach my Memory,
[...]nd write; for now they're ſure of no Reply:
[...]et them their True-Born Engliſh Temper ſhow,
[...]en in diſtreſs are always treated ſo:
[...]et them with wretched Satyrs glut the Town,
[...]xpoſe my Morals, and forget their own;
[6]
[...]
[7]
[...]
[8]This ſhall my Quiet never diſcompoſe,
Contempt's a Cure which preſent help beſtows;
Silence ſhall anſwer their Reproach,
For Silence is a Debt to ſuch.
But if ſome Satyrs ſhall aſſault my Hearſe,
And raiſe my frighted Ghoſt with their more frightful Verſe,
Let ſuch revengeful Wretches underſtand
I'll anſwer, when they'll ſatisfie my Bond:
If they my Pledges will defend,
I'll from this Grave ariſe,
I'll Reaſſume my Satyrs, and
Leave off thoſe Elegies;
The World ſhall have their Errors plainly ſhown,
I'll blaſt their Vices, and Reform my own.
Of all the Men that ever dy'd before,
Mine's the ſevereſt Caſe,
The Grave till now was always taken for
A place of Peace:
But I, as if ſome ſecret Power I had,
Give Bond to be at quiet when I'm dead;
My Enemies are not content to kill,
But take Security that I'll lie ſtill:
Jealous, it ſeems, my buſie Head
Should make me talk when I am dead.
Here's all the Reaſon I can make them give,
That tho' the Poet's dead, the Man's alive.
To which, as gravely I have ſaid,
That tho' the Man's alive, the Poet's dead.
He's bad indeed, who when he dies
Has none to mourn his Obſequies;
And of the Virtuous find me one,
But ſome rejoices when he's gone;
So I have Mourners who lament my Verſe,
And ſome Triumph upon the Satyr's Hearſe:
Some think I die without a Crime,
Some like my Fate, and think 'twas time.
But this Juſt Calculation I can make,
And there I think I can't miſtake,
The Wiſe and Virtuous Sorrow's Tribute pay,
And Vice alone keeps Holy-day;
This does my Judgment ſatisfie,
For ſo would every wiſe Man die:
So let the Cenſure of my Works be paſt,
So let me die, when I muſt die my laſt;
Let wiſe Mens Sorrow be my Choice,
And let the Knaves and Fools rejoice.
[9]'Tis true there is ſome Reaſon in the caſe,
Vice now has room to ſhew her Face;
[...]or now my walking Ghoſt is laid,
The Grand Contagion may the Nation ſpread;
Reproofs may ceaſe,
And all Men be as wicked as they pleaſe.
Cities may Magiſtrates Elect,
That may the Crimes they practice, there protect;
That all their D—men may out-ſwear,
And with exalted Drunk'neſs Grace the Chair.
No more departed Satyr can reproach,
No more the Crimes or Perſons touch.
S—May blaſt the Root from whence he came,
[...]nd load his Family with Pride and Shame.
The high exalted wretch untouch'd may live,
[...]ide in his Coach, and make his Father drive:
[...]nd leſt his Inſolence ſhou'd ever fail,
[...]as laid his own Progenitor in Jail.
Let future Poets blame the Law,
That keeps leſs Villains more in awe:
[...]ut ſuffers ſuch a Wretch to brave the State,
[...]nd ſin above the reach of Magiſtrate:
My Satyr, Silenc'd by the Times,
[...]ill ceaſe to Check the moſt unnatural Crimes.
Degenerate M— may now diſown
[...]is Mother's Senſe, in hopes to ſhow his own.
[...]ut ſure the Devil muſt be in the Chear,
[...]o tell him he could make it paſs for Wit,
[...]nd make him prove with ſuch exceſſive pains,
[...]is want of Manners by his want of Brains.
[...]he young unnatural Fop has ſtrove too long,
[...]ith empty Head, and inconſiſtent Tongue.
[...]ature to make amends for want of Senſe,
[...]as throng'd his Head with clear Impertinence.
[...]is Gay Out-ſide's a Satyr on the Fair,
[...]nd let us know what's moſt obliging there.
The Ladies who in Beaus delight,
[...]ake ſhift by Day, ſo they're but pleas'd at Night.
The Charms which pleaſe a vicious Bed,
Lie ſomewhere elſe than in the Head;
[...]nd if the ſuited Blockheads parts will hit,
They'll always bear with want of Wit.
[...]is own dear Jeſt he labours to enjoy,
[...]nd ſtudies how to live and die a Boy.
[...]ature that left the unfiniſh'd Fop too ſoon▪
[...]ſt lent him Senſe enough to be undone;
[10]And now he keeps a mighty pother,
And for Hereditary Wit indicts his Mother:
Rails that he's of his Brains bereft,
And yet pretends that ſhe has little left.
Bedlam ſome Title to him had,
But Fools, they ſay, are never Mad.
Were not my Satyr lately dead,
His juſter Character ſhould here be read;
Mean time would but his Mother take advice,
The vile unnatural Monſter to deſpiſe:
Nature the viperous Wretch would ſoon diſcard,
And in his Vices ſhow him his Reward.
G— may his weighty Senſe prepare,
G—'s An Elbow of the City Chair.
He boaſts himſelf the Churches chief ſupport,
I think the Church her ſelf ſhould thank him for't:
Tho' moſt ſuppoſe his Notions were but wild,
To fetch the Jew to Goſpellize his Child.
The Hebrew Rake from Synagogue diſmiſt,
Came in to Circumciſe the Feaſt,
And made the God-Father, but ſpoil'd the Jeſt.
Some ſay 'twas look'd upon as a Reproach,
And interloping on the Church:
But others ſay the Jew was rathet
A better Chriſtian than the D— Father,
And all agree
The Babe well Taught may be the beſt of all the three.
Let the uncircumcis'd alone,
The Iſraelite and he are much at one;
Both their Religions now they ſhew,
The Hebrew Chriſtian, and the Chriſtian Jew,
Some ſay my former Satyrs ſhow,
The Ebb of vicious Characters run low;
But if they'll pleaſe to think agen,
They'll find I never Tyth'd the Men,
Nor never throng'd my Verſe with one in Ten.
Why elſe ſhould S. and T. eſcape,
This for his Parricide, that his Inceſtuous Rape,
How came prodigious D— to be un-nam'd,
For Crimes unheard of lately fam'd.
Of all the Beaus and Brutes that croud the Town,
My modeſt Satyr choſe but one,
And he to all Men but himſelf unknown.
I never touch'd great M—
Whoſe Follies have not been a few;
Nor told the World of half the Crimes,
Which a fine Houſe can harbour from the Times.
[11] L— and W—t in ſpight of me,
[...]ave been as Lewd as R— and D—
I ſpar'd them for their Modeſty:
Becauſe their Vice was ſomething new,
[...]nd made one Whore between them ſerve the two.
Old lying B— ne'er met with my Reproof,
Tho' he gave always room enough.
My Satyr ſtrove to whet her Pen
Againſt the Crimes, and ſpar'd the Men:
But now the Faſhion of the Times,
Makes Poets Damn the Men without the Crimes.
If I have been too backward here,
To make the Vices of the Times appear,
If e'er I come to riſe again,
I'll make ye all amends, and name the Men.
Young S—t ſhall not the Houſe of God debauch▪
And meet with neither Cenſure nor Reproach.
If e'er my Satyr ſhould revive,
They ſhall reform, or be aſham'd to live.
But now my ſleeping Satyr quits the Stage,
And leaves untouch'd the vicious Age.
The eager Rakes may unreprov'd ſin on,
There's time enough to be undone.
No more my Satyr ſhall thoſe Follies touch,
No more the Crimes, no more the Men reproach.
M— may hug the Shorteſt Way,
And for its Execution pray:
Next to the Sacred Books he plac'd the Scheme,
And lov'd the Practice better than the Theme.
He always for his Sovereign pray'd,
But 'twas to have her be a Tyrant made;
To have her dip her hands in Blood,
And ruin all the Nation for their good.
But when the Hair-brain'd Zealot found
The Plot lay deeper under ground;
When he firſt felt the Satyr bite,
And found 'twas writ t' expoſe, and not excite,
He chang'd his Eccleſiaſtick Look,
And damn'd the Author, tho' he lov'd the Book.
My Satyr has the hardeſt Fate,
Her Book's the Contradiction of the State.
Riddle Aenigma double Speech,
Dark Anſwers, doubtful Scriptures, which
Puzzle the Poor, and poſe the Rich:
Are plain Explicite things to theſe,
Who puniſh Authors, when the Subjects pleaſe.
[12]Nothing but this can ſuch dark Steps explain;
They like the Doctrine, but they hate the Man▪
Grave Authors now may write Eſſays,
That with one Face look ſeveral ways,
Of Peace at home, and War abroad,
And damn the Subject which they wou'd applaud.
Banter the Queen with Dedications,
And call that Peace which will embroil three Nations.
S— may new Harangues endite,
To ſet Conformity in clearer Light:
Learned Quotations bring by Rote,
Wiſe as the Nations he thought fit to Quote,
Whoſe Laws he knew, but had their Names forgot.
'Twas his ſtrong Fore-caſt which foreſaw,
To damn Diſſenting by a Law,
Would make our fatal Quarrel ceaſe,
And bring the Nations all to Peace.
Ye Sons of Vice advance your Wit,
'Tis now your turn to reign;
Satyr's ſubdu'd, and muſt ſubmit,
And never like to raiſe again:
My Fate will dictate to the reſt,
In me, they know how they ſhall be oppreſt
My Doom will learn 'em to be wiſe,
And ne'er attempt Impoſſibilities.
The Magiſtrate may now be lewd,
The ſaucy Satyr ſhall no more intrude:
A Vicious Clergy may the Church ſupply,
Debauch the Gown, and give their Text the Lye▪
Smother their Morals in the Vine,
And prove the Bottle's Origine Divine.
Religion may be in a Blanket toſt,
From Hand to Hand, 'till 'tis as good as loſt▪
'Till Fate reſtore ſome Juſtice to the Times,
Satyr ſhall leave 'em to grow Old in Crimes.
Atheiſts may, unmoleſted, now Blaſpheme,
Slight Human Power, and banter the Supreme:
Allmighty Drunkenneſs bear Imperial Sway,
And Mankind be debauch'd th' Shorteſt Way.
The Poor, alone, find in their Crimes their Fate▪
And mock the Duty of the Magiſtrate;
They ſuffer for the Crimes the Rich commit,
For want of Mony, not for want of Wit.
Guilt may in ſplendor thro' the City ride,
With all the Court of Elders by her ſide;
Thoſe true Reformers need not fear,
A ſilent Satyr can do nothing here.
[13]Their ſham of Reformation they may Print,
With much of Canting Nonſenſe in't;
Cajole the People to believe they care
What Lewder Scenes are drawn in Smithfield Fair.
For having damn'd Prophaneneſs firſt,
Then they proclaim the Fair, and bid them do their worſt.
In grand Proceſſion to the place they go,
Was ever God Almighty banter'd ſo?
Let 'em go on, abſurdly act,
Firſt Vice condemn, then Vice protect;
My bury'd Satyr can no more reprove,
Leave them to Juſtice from above;
Refer them to their Orders for the Fair,
Prophaneneſs ſinks beneath the City Chair;
But rais'd by Proclamation lives again,
And every Booth's a Libel on the Men.
Yet let young Poets Reverence the Chair,
[...]or God's Vicegerent's Deputy ſits there:
With Annual Pomp, and Majeſty Enthron'd,
But how does Vice conniv'd his Seat ſurround!
What tho' no perſonal Crimes there could appear.
To ſoil the Brightneſs of his Character:
His weak purſuit of Vice the Law defeats,
For Negatives are Crimes in Magiſtrates.
Yet from my Ghoſt take this Prophetick Curſe,
The next the City chuſes ſhall be worſe.
Let 'em expect thoſe days to come.
When Vice ſhall be embrac'd, and Satyr dumb.
My Verſe beneath this Tomb contented lies,
[...]eproof's a Bleſſing none but Fools deſpiſe,
And they that hate it, never will be wiſe.
Ye Men of Might and muckle Power,
Who Rule Mankind, and all Mankind devour;
[...]f you would have my quiet Ghoſt remain,
Lock'd in the Laws too mighty Chain,
Obey the Nation's Intereſt and your own,
Learn to protect, and not betray the Throne.
Witneſs ye Powers! I promiſe now,
For ever Sacred be the Vow!
As long as Magiſtrates forbear,
In Crimes they puniſh to appear.
While Parſons ceaſe to Drink and Whore,
P—s to be Proud, Debauch'd, and Poor▪
While Lawyers ceaſe to talk Mankind to Death▪
[...]nd Murther Men with mercenary Breath.
While C—rs Promiſes regard,
And Princes Men of Faith reward.
[14]My Satyr ſhall in quiet ſleep,
Her Sentenc'd ſilence keep;
With-hold her Rage,
No more diſturb the Age;
No more the mighty Vices of the mighty Men engage.
When Soldiers haſten to diſpatch the War,
Their Country's Service to their Pay prefer;
Ceaſe to give thanks for Victory when they fly,
And give Almighty Truth the Lye.
As long as Navies, Fleets, and Men,
Come ſhatter'd home, and haſten out again:
While they protect our Trade, defend our Coaſt,
And bravely fight, what e'er it coſt.
While Actions good or ill have due regard,
The Coward Puniſhment, the Brave Reward.
While all our Publicans are juſt,
And faithfully diſcharge the People's Truſt;
Receivers due Accounts give in,
And duly pay it out again.
While needful Charges are defraid,
The Navy Mann'd as well as paid.
And no Commiſſion Officers preſume,
To take the Nation's Pay and ſtay at home.
When e'er theſe happy Articles appear,
There'll be no buſineſs for a Satyr here.
I may lie ſtill without Security,
There can be no occaſion then for me;
I ſhall have nothing left to ſay,
For this would ſtop my Mouth the Shorteſt Way.
I was in hopes with this Poetick Death.
Slander would die, and let me take ſome Breath:
But Envy never ſleeps, Report begins
To charge my Memory with my Neighbours ſins,
As if they had not known
I have too many of my own:
They tell me how the Party did combine
To bear my Charges, and to pay my Fine.
Malice is always Retrograde to Senſe,
And judges things without their Conſequence;
Willing her miſchievous Intent to ſhow,
She always goes too faſt, or elſe too ſlow.
They that this empty Notion rais'd,
Not me, but all the Party Satyriz'd.
Since all Men that know how to judge by Rules,
Know that the Men they mean were never Fools.
And their worſt Enemies would never try,
To brand them with the blame of Generoſity.
[15]But to remove this modern Doubt,
[...]'ll give five hundred Pound they'll make it out.
Thus like Old Strephen's Virtuous Miſs,
Who, fooliſhly too coy,
Dy'd with the ſcandal of a Whore,
And never knew the Joy.
So I, by Whigs abandon'd, bear
The Satyr's unjuſt Laſh,
Dye with the Scandal of their help,
But never ſaw their Caſh.
No Man of Crime that ſuffer'd Death
Was ever us'd like me,
[...]n Thefts and Treaſons, Rapes and Blood,
All Men have leave to die.
No Sentence ſure was half ſo hard as mine,
That could not die till I had paid my Fine.
Methinks to make me poor had been enough,
For when they had my Pelf,
Perhaps if they had given me Time
I might ha' hang'd my ſelf:
But this, and I ſhould think they needs muſt know it,
[...]s not The Shorteſt Way to kill a Poet.
In vain they ſpend their Time and Breath
To make me ſtarve, and die a Poet's Death:
Butler's Garret I ſhall ne'er appear,
Neither his Merit nor his Fate I fear.
Heavens keep me but from Bullet, Sword and Gun,
I'm not afraid of being undone;
[...]'m ſatisfy'd it never ſhall be ſaid,
But he that gave me Brains, will give me Bread.
Some People ask if I was fairly ſtain?
Tho' I think not, I ſhan't complain
Till I ha' ſlept my Time, and riſe again.
But they that are concern'd at this
Are freely left to gueſs
Why I am doom'd to write no more,
[...]f ſomething wan't too true I wrote before.
Why ſhould they thus deny
To let me write my Truer Hiſtory?
Why ſeven long Years of Silence now impoſe,
[...]f I had nothing to diſcloſe,
Nothing to make appear,
Nothing to ſay they cannot bear to hear.
But 'tis enough I loſt my Life by Law,
And ſtill by Rules am kept in Awe.
The Manner all Exact and Regular.
Whate'er the Conſequences are,
[16]Never demand if it were Juſt,
For if the Forms are right, the Matter muſt.
Law is a great Machine of State
With Hooks and Screws to make it Operate;
Which as they are wound up by Art,
With eaſe perform the Fatal Part;
Exactly anſwer to the Workman's Skill,
This way 'twill work to ſave, or that to kill.
Crime in this Management has no Concern,
No Man can Right from Wrong diſcern.
The Movement is ſo ſubtle, and ſo ſure,
And does ſuch certain Fate procure.
The Mathematicks are in vain,
Defenſive Study uſeleſs muſt remain.
This Monſter, whom it pleaſes will devour,
For Law is but a Heathen Word for Power;
A Metaphor, invented to confeſs
The Methods by which Men Oppreſs;
By which with Safety they deſtroy Mankind,
While Juſtice ſtands before, and Fraud behind.
Thouſands of little Wheels, and unſeen Parts
Of perjur'd Promiſes, and wheedling Arts,
This mighty Thing compoſe,
And no Man half its crooked Turnings knows.
The wild Meanders none can Trace,
Nor no Man knows it by its Face.
It learns to change with every Turn of Times,
And rings the Tune 'tis ſet to, like the Chimes.
'Tis by this Engine I thought fit to die,
And ſo has many a wiſer Man than I;
And by their broken Promiſes betray'd,
Satyr is thus upon its Death-Bed laid.
If e'er I come to Life again,
Coleman for that; I'll put no Faith in Man:
I that did on fair Quarter yield,
Laid down my Arms, and left the Field,
Did from my own Defence withdraw,
Thinking that Honeſty was Law,
Have loſt my Rhiming Life by this Deceit,
And I deſerve it for my want of Wit.
Had I remembred Days of Yore,
When we complain'd of Arbitrary Power,
When Lawyers were the Tools of State,
And hurried Men to haſty Fate.
When the great Engine was ſcrew'd up too high,
And Men were hang'd they knew not why;
[17]Had I remember'd Scrogg's Fame,
And known that Lawyers are in ev'ry Reign the ſame,
I ne'er had ventur'd to believe
Men, whoſe Profeſſion's to deceive.
Memento Mori here I ſtand
With Silent Lips, but Speaking Hand;
A walking Shadow of a Poet,
But bound to hold my Tongue, and never ſhow it:
A Monument of Injury,
A Sacrifice to Legal T—y.
I beckon to Mankind to have a Care,
And pointing, tell how I was loſt, and where;
I ſhow the dangerous Shore,
Where I have ſuffer'd Shipwrack juſt before.
If among Poets there remains a Fool,
That ſcorns to take this Notice for a Rule,
But ventures the Fidelity
Of thoſe whoſe Trade and Cuſtom 'tis to L—,
Let Men no Pity to him ſhow;
Let him to Bedlam, not to Newgate, go.

The STORM. An ESSAY.

I'M told, for we have News among the Dead,
Heaven lately ſpoke, but few knew what it ſaid;
The Voice, in loudeſt Tempeſts ſpoke,
[...]nd Storms, which Nature's ſtrong Foundation ſhook,
felt it hither, and I'd have you know
[...]eard the Voice, and knew the Language too.
Think it not ſtrange I heard it here,
[...] Place is ſo remote, but when he ſpeaks, they hear.
Beſides, tho' I am dead in Fame,
I never told you where I am.
Tho' I have loſt Poetick Breath,
I'm not in perfect State of Death:
[...]m whence this Popiſh Conſequence I draw,
I'm in the Limbus of the Law.
[...] me be where I will I heard the Storm,
[...]m every Blaſt it eccho'd thus, REFORM;
[...]t the mighty Shock, and ſaw the Night,
[...]hen Guilt look'd pale, and own'd he Fright;
And every time the Raging Element
[...]ok London's lofty Towers, at every Rent
[...]e falling Timbers gave, they cry'd, REPENT.
[18]I ſaw, when all the ſtormy Crew,
Newly commiſſion'd from on high,
Newly inſtructed what to do,
In Lowring, Cloudy, Troops drew nigh:
They hover'd o'er the guilty Land,
As if they had been backward to obey;
As if they wondred at the ſad Command,
And pity'd thoſe thoſe they ſhou'd deſtroy.
But Heaven, that long had gentler Methods tried.
And ſaw thoſe gentler Methods all defied,
Had now reſolv'd to be obey'd.
The Queen, an Emblem of the ſoft, ſtill, Voice,
Had told the Nation how to make their Choice;
Told them the only way to Happineſs
Was by the Bleſſed Door of Peace.
But the unhappy Genius of the Land,
Deaf to the Bleſſing, as to the Command,
Scorn to the high Caution; and contemn the News,
And all the bleſſed Thoughts of Peace refuſe.
Since Storms are then the Nation's Choice,
Be Storms their Portion, ſaid the Heavenly Voice:
He ſaid, and I could hear no more,
So ſoon th' obedient Troops began to roar:
So ſoon the blackning Clouds drew near,
And fill'd with loudeſt Storms the trembling Air:
I thought I felt the World's Foundation ſhake,
And lookt when all the wondrous Frame would break.
I trembl'd as the Winds grew high,
And ſo did many a braver Man than I:
For he whoſe Valour ſcorns his Sence,
Has chang'd his Courage into Impudence.
Man may to Man his Valour ſhow,
And 'tis his Vertue to do ſo.
But if he's of his Maker nor afraid,
He's not courageous then, but mad.
Soon as I heard the horrid Blaſt,
And underſtood how long 'twould laſt,
View'd all the Fury of the Element,
Conſider'd well by whom 'twas ſent,
And unto whom for Puniſhment:
It brought my Hero to my Mind,
William, the Glorious, Great, and Good, and Kind.
Short Epithets to his Juſt Memory;
The firſt he was to all the World, the last to me.
The mighty Genius to my Thought appear'd,
Juſt in the ſame Concern he us'd to ſhow,
When private Tempeſts us'd to blow,
Storms which the Monarch more than Death or Battel fear'd.
[19] [...]hen Party Fury ſhook his Throne,
[...]d made their mighty Malice known,
I have heard the ſighing Monarch ſay,
The Publick Peace ſo near him lay,
It took the Pleaſure of his Crown away.
It fill'd with Cares his Royal Breaſt;
[...]ten he has thoſe Cares Prophetickly expreſt,
That when he ſhould the Reins let go,
[...]aven would ſome Token of its Anger ſhow,
To let the thankleſs Nation ſee
[...]w they deſpis'd their own Felicity▪
This robb'd the Hero of his Reſt,
[...]ſturb'd the Calm of his ſerener Breaſt.
When to the Queen his Scepter he reſign'd,
With a reſolv'd and ſteady Mind,
[...]o' he rejoic'd to lay the Trifle down,
[...] pity'd Her to whom he left the Crown:
Foreſeeing long and vig'rous Wars,
[...]reſeeing endleſs, private, Party Jarrs,
Would always interrupt Her Reſt,
[...]d fill with Anxious Cares Her Royal Breaſt.
For Storms of Court Ambition rage as high
Almoſt as Tempeſts in the Sky.
Could I my haſty Doom retrieve,
[...]d once more in the Land of Poets live,
I'd now the Men of Flags and Fortune greet,
And write an Elegy upon the Fleet.
[...]ſt, thoſe that on the Shore were idly found,
[...]hom other Fate protects, while better Men were drown'd,
[...]ey may thank God for being Knaves on Shore,
[...]t ſure the Q— will never truſt them more.
They who rid out the Storm, and liv'd,
[...]t ſaw not whence it was deriv'd,
[...]ſleſs of Danger, or the mighty Hand,
[...]at could to ceaſe, as well as blow, command,
Let ſuch unthinking Creatures have a Care,
For ſome worſe End prepare.
Let them look out for ſome ſuch Day,
[...]hen what the Sea would not, the Gallows may.
[...]oſe that in former Dangers ſhunn'd the Fight,
[...] met their Ends in this Diſaſt'rous Night,
Have left this Caution, tho' too late,
That all Events are known to Fate.
[...]wards avoid no Danger when they run,
[...]d Cowards ſcapes the Death it would not ſhun;
T [...]e Nonſence from our Fate to fly,
Men muſt once have Heart enough to die.
[20]Thoſe Sons of Plunder are below my Pen,
Becauſe they are below the Names of Men;
Who from the Shores preſenting to their Eyes
The Fatal Goodwin, where the Wreck of Navies lyes,
A Thouſand dying Saylors talking to the Skies.
From the ſad Shores they ſaw the Wretches walk,
By Signals of Diſtreſs they talk;
There with one Tide of Life they're vext,
For all were ſure to die the next.
The Barbarous Shores with Men and Boats abound,
The Men more Barbarous than the Shores are found;
Off to the ſhatter'd Ships they go,
And for the Floating Purchaſe Row.
They ſpare no Hazard, or no Pain,
But 'tis to ſave the Goods and not the Men.
Within the ſinking Supplaints Reach appear,
As if they'd mock their dying Fear.
Then for ſome Trifle all their Hopes ſupplant,
W [...]th Cruelty would make a Turk relent.
If I had any Satyr left to write,
Cou'd I with ſuited Spleen Indite,
My V [...]rſe ſhould blaſt that Fatal Town,
And Drowned Saylors Widows pull it down;
No Footſteps of it ſhould appear,
And Ships no more caſt Anchor there.
The Barbarous Hated Name of Deal ſhou'd die,
Or be a Term of Infamy;
And till that's done, the Town will ſtand
A juſt Reproach to all the Land.
The Ships come next to be my Theme,
The Men's the Loſs, I'm not concern'd for them;
For had they periſh'd e'er they went,
Where to no Purpoſe they were ſent,
The Ships might ha' been built again,
And we had ſav'd the Money and the Men.
There the Mighty Wrecks appear,
Hic Jacent, Uſeleſs things of War.
Graves of Men, and Tools of State,
There you lye too ſoon, there you lye too late.
But O ye Mighty Ships of War!
What in Winter did you there?
Wild November ſhould our Ships reſtore
To Chatham, Portſmouth, and the Nore,
So it was always heretofore,
For Heaven it ſelf is not unkind,
If Winter Storms he'll ſometimes ſend,
Since 'tis ſuppos'd the Men of War
Are all laid up, and left ſecure.
[21]Nor did our Navy feel alone,
The dreadful Deſolation;
It ſhook the Walls of Fleſh as well as Stone,
And ruffl'd all the Nation.
The Univerſal Fright
Made Guilty H— expect his Fatal Night;
His harden'd Soul began to doubt,
And Storms grew high within, as they grew high without.
Flaming Meteors fill'd the Air,
But Aſgil miſs'd his Fiery Chariot there;
Recall'd his black blaſpheming Breath,
And trembling paid his Homage unto Death,
Terror appear'd in every Face,
Even Vile Blackbourn felt ſome Shocks of Grace;
Began to feel the Hated Truth appear,
Began to fear,
After he had Burleſqu'd a God ſo long,
He ſhould at laſt be in the wrong.
Some Power he plainly ſaw,
(And ſeeing, felt a ſtrange unuſual Awe;)
Some ſecret Hand he plainly found,
Was bringing ſome ſtrange thing to paſs,
And he that neither God nor Devil own'd,
Muſt needs be at a loſs to gueſs.
Fain he would not ha' gueſt the worſt,
But Guilt will always be with Terror Curſt.
Hell ſhook, for Devils dread Almighty Power,
At every Shock they fear'd the Fatal Hour,
The Adamantine Pillars mov'd,
And Satan's Pandemonium trembl'd too;
The tottering Seraphs wildly rov'd,
Doubtful what the Almighty meant to do;
For in the darkeſt of the black Abode,
There's not a Devil but believes a God.
Old Lucifer has ſometimes try'd
To have himſelf be Deify'd;
But Devil nor Men the Being of God deny'd,
Till Men of late found out New Ways to ſin,
And turn'd the Devil out to let the Atheiſt in.
But when the mighty Element began,
And Storms the weighty Truth explain,
Almighty Power upon the Whirlwind Rode,
And every Blaſt proclaim'd aloud
There is, there is, there is, a God.
Plague, Famine, Peſtilence, and War,
Are in their Cauſes ſeen,
The true Originals appear
Before the Effects begin:
[22]But Storms and Tempeſts are above our Rules,
Here our Philoſophers are Fools.
The Stagyrite himſelf could never ſhow,
From whence, nor how they blow.
'Tis all Sublime, 'tis all a Myſtery,
They ſee no manner how, nor Reaſon why;
All Sovereign Being is the amazing Theme,
'Tis all reſolv'd to Power Supreme;
From this firſt Cauſe our Tempeſt came,
And let the Atheiſts ſpight of Senſe Blaſpheme,
They can no room for Banter find,
Till they produce another Father for the Wind.
Satyr, thy Senſe of Sovereign Being declare,
He made the Mighty Prince o'th' Air,
And Devils recognize him by their Fear.
Ancient as Time, and Elder than the Light,
E'er the firſt Day, or antecedent Night,
E'er Matter into ſettl'd Form became,
And long before Exiſtence had a Name;
Before th' Expance of indigeſted Space,
While the vaſt No where fill'd the Room of Place.
Liv'd the Firſt Cauſe The Firſt Great Where and Why,
Exiſting to and from Eternity,
Of His Great Self, and of Neceſſity.
This I call God, that One great Word of Fear,
At whoſe great Sound,
When from his Mighty Breath 'tis ecchos'd round,
Nature pays Homage with a trembling bow,
And Conſcious Men would faintly diſallow;
The Secret Trepidation racks the Soul,
And while he ſays, no God, replies, thou Fool.
But call it what we will,
Firſt Being it had, does Space and Subſtance fill.
Eternal Self-exiſting Power enjoy'd,
And whatſoe'er is ſo, That ſame is God.
If then it ſhould fall out, as who can tell,
But that there is a Heaven and Hell,
Mankind had beſt conſider well for fear
'T ſhould be too late when their Miſtakes appear;
Such may in vain Reform,
Unleſs they do't before another Storm.
They tell us Scotland ſcap'd the Blaſt;
No Nation elſe have been without a Taſte:
All Europe ſure have felt the Mighty Shock,
'T has been a Univerſal Stroke.
But Heaven has other Ways to plague the Scots,
As Poverty and Plots.
[23]Her Majeſty confirms it, what She ſaid,
I plainly heard it, tho' I'm dead.
The dangerous So and has rais'd me from my Sleep,
I can no longer Silence keep,
Here Satyr's thy Deliverance,
A Plot in Scotland, Hatch'd in France,
And Liberty the Old Pretence.
Prelatick Power with Popiſh join,
The Queen's juſt Government to undermine;
This is enough to wake the Dead,
The Call's too loud, it never ſhall be ſaid
The lazy Satyr ſlept too long,
When all the Nations Danger claim'd his Song.
Riſe Satyr from thy Sleep of Legal Death,
And reaſſume Satyrick Breath;
What tho' to Seven Years Sleep thou art confin'd,
Thou well may'ſt wake with ſuch a Wind.
Such Blaſts as theſe can ſeldom blow,
But they're both form'd above and heard below.
Then wake and warn us now the Storms are paſt,
Leſt Heaven return with a ſeverer Blaſt.
Wake and inform Mankind
Of Storms that ſtill remain behind.
If from this Grave thou lift thy Head,
They'll ſurely mind one riſen from the Dead.
Tho' Moſes and the Prophets can't prevail,
A Speaking Satyr cannot fail.
Tell 'em while ſecret Diſcontents appear,
There'll ne'er be Peace and Union here.
They that for Trifles ſo contend,
Have ſomething farther in their End▪
But let thoſe haſty People know,
The Storms above reprove the Storms below,
And 'tis too often known,
That Storms below do Storms above Forerun;
They ſay this was a High-Church Storm,
Sent out the Nation to Reform;
But th' Emblem left the Moral in the Lurch,
For't blew the Steeple down upon the Church.
From whence we now inform the People,
The Danger of the Church is from the Steeple.
And we've had many a bitter ſtroke,
From Pinacle and Weather-Cock,
From whence the Learned do relate,
That to ſecure the Church and State,
The Time will come when all the Town
To ſave the Church, will pull the Steeple down.
[24]Two Tempeſts are blown over, now prepare
For Storm of Treaſon and Inteſtine War.
The High-Church Fury to the North extends,
In haſte to ruine all their Friends.
Occaſional Conforming led the Way,
And now Occaſional Rebellion comes in Play,
To let the Wond'ring Nation know,
That High-Church Honeſty's an Empty Show,
A Phantoſm of Deluſive Air,
That as Occaſion ſerves can diſappear,
And Loyalty's a ſenſleſs Phraſe,
An Empty Nothing which our Intereſt ſways,
And as that ſuffers this decays.
Who dare the Dangerous Secret tell,
That Church-men can Rebel.
Faction we thought was by the Whigs Engroſs'd,
And Forty One was banter'd till the Jeſt was loſt.
Bothwel and Pentland-Hills were fam'd,
And Gilly-Cranky hardly nam'd.
If Living Poets dare not ſpeak,
We that are Dead muſt Silence break;
And boldly let them know the Time's at Hand,
When Eccleſiaſtick Tempeſts ſhake the Land.
Prelatick Treaſon from the Crown divides,
And now Rebellion changes ſides.
Their Volumes with their Loyalty may ſwell,
But in their Turns too they Rebel;
Can Plot, Contrive, Aſſaſſinate,
And ſpight of Paſſive Laws diſturb the State.
Let fair Pretences fill the Mouths of Men,
No fair Pretence ſhall blind my Pen,
They that in ſuch a Reign as this Rebel
Muſt needs be in Confederacy with Hell.
Oppreſſions Tyranny and Pride,
May give ſome Reaſon to Divide;
But where the Laws with open Juſtice Rule,
He that Rebels Muſt be both Knave and Fool.
May Heaven the growing Miſchief ſoon prevent,
And Traytors meet Reward in Puniſhment.
FINIS.

3.

[]

A HYMN TO THE PILLORY.

LONDON: Printed in the Year 1708.

A HYMN TO THE PILLORY.

[3]
HAIL Hi'roglyphick State Machin,
Contriv'd to puniſh Fancy in:
[...]n that are Men, in thee can feel no Pain,
[...]d all thy Inſignificants Diſdain.
Contempt, that falſe New Word for ſhame,
Is without Crime an empty Name,
A Shadow to Amuſe Mankind,
never frights the Wiſe or Well-fix'd Mind▪
Vertue deſpiſes Human Scorn,
And Scandals Innocence adorn.
Exalted on thy Stool of State,
at Proſpect do I ſee of Sov'reign Fate;
How th' Inſcrutables of Providence,
Differ from our contracted Senſe;
Hereby the Errors of the Town,
The Fools look out and Knaves look on.
[4]Perſons or Crimes find here the ſame reſpect,
And Vice does Vertue oft Correct,
The undiſtinguiſh'd Fury of the Street,
Which Mob and Malice Mankind Greet:
No Byaſs can the Rable draw,
But Dirt throws Dirt without reſpect to Merit, or to Law.
Sometimes the Air of Scandal to maintain,
Villains look from thy Lofty Loops in Vain:
But who can judge of Crimes by Puniſhment,
Where Parties Rule, and L—s Subſervient.
Juſtice with Change of Intereſt Learns to bow,
And what was Merit once, is Murther now:
Actions receive their Tincture from the Times,
And as they change are Vertues made or Crimes.
Thou art the State-Trap of the Law,
But neither can keep Knaves, nor Honeſt Men in Awe▪
Theſe are too hard'nd in Offence,
And thoſe upheld by Innocence.
How have thy opening Vacancys receiv'd,
In every Age the Criminals of State?
And how has Mankind been deceiv'd,
When they diſtinguiſh Crimes by Fate?
Tell us, Great Engine, how to underſtand,
Or reconcile the Juſtice of the Land;
How Baſtwick, Pryn, Hunt, Holingsby and Pye,
Men of unſpotted Honeſty;
Men that had Learning, Wit and Senſe▪
And more than moſt Men have had ſince,
Could equal Title to thee claim,
With Oats and Fuller, Men of lat [...] Fame:
Even the Learned Selden ſaw,
A Proſpect of thee, thro' the Law:
He had thy Lofty Pinnacles in view,
Bur ſo much Honour never was thy due:
Had the Great Selden Triumph'd on thy Stage,
Selden the Honour of this Age;
[5]No Man wou'd ever ſhun thee more,
Or grudge to ſtand where Selden stood before.
Thou art no ſhame to Truth and Honeſty,
[...]or is the Character of ſuch defac'd by thee,
Who ſuffer by Oppreſſed Injury.
Shame, like the Exhalations of the Sun,
Falls back where firſt the motion was begun:
[...]nd they who for no Crime ſhall on thy Brows appear,
[...]ar leſs Reproach than they who plac'd 'em there.
[...]t if Contempt is on thy Face entail'd,
Diſgrace it ſelf ſhall be aſham'd;
[...]andal ſhall bluſh that it has not prevail'd,
To blaſt the Man it has defam'd.
[...]et all that merit equal Puniſhment,
[...]nd there with him, and we are all Content.
There would the Fam'd S — ll ſtand
[...]ith Trumpet of Sedition in his Hand,
[...]unding the firſt Cruſado in the Land.
He from a Church of England Pulpit firſt
All his Diſſenting Brethren Curſt;
Doom'd them to Satan for a Prey,
And firſt found out the ſhortest way;
[...]ith him the Wiſe Vice-Chancellor o'th' Preſs,
[...]ho tho' our Printers Licences defy,
Willing to ſhow his forwardneſs,
Bleſs'd it with his Authority;
[...] gave the Churche's Sanction to the Work,
[...] Popes bleſs Colours for Troops which fight the Turk.
Doctors in ſcandal theſe are grown,
[...] Red-hot Zeal and Furious Learning known:
[...]feſſors in Reproach and highly fit,
[...] Juno's Academy, Billingſgate.
Thou like a True born Engliſh Tool,
Haſt from their Compoſition ſtole,
[...]d now art like to ſmart for being a Fool:
[6]And as of Engliſh Men, 'twas always meant,
They'r better to Improve than to Invent;
Upon their Model thou haſt made,
A Monſter makes the World afraid.
With them let all the States-men ſtand,
Who Guide us with unſteady hand:
Who Armies, Fleet, and Men betray,
And Ruin all the ſhortest way,
Let all thoſe Souldiers ſtand in ſight,
Who're Willing to be paid and not to fight.
Agents, and Colonels, who falſe Muſters bring,
To Cheat your Country firſt, and then your King:
Bring all your Coward Captains of the Fleet;
Lord! what a Crowd will there be when they meet?
They who let Pointi 'ſcape to Breſt,
With all the Gods of Carthagena Bleſt.
Thoſe who betray'd our Turkey Fleet;
Or Injur'd Talmaſh Sold at Camaret.
Who miſs'd the Squadron from Thouloon,
And always came too late or elſe too ſoon;
All theſe are Heroes whoſe great Actions Claim,
Immortal Honour to their Dying Fame;
And ought not to have been Denyed.
On thy great Counterſcarp, to have their Valour try'd.
Why have not theſe upon thy ſwelling Stage,
Taſted the keener Juſtice of the Age;
If 'tis becauſe their Crimes are too remote,
Whom leaden-footed Juſtice has forgot?
Let's view the modern Scenes of Fame,
If Men and Management are not the ſame;
When Fleets go out with Money, and with Men,
Juſt time enough to venture home again?
Navyes prepar'd to guard th' inſulted Coaſt,
And Convoy's ſettl'd when Our Ships are loſt.
Some Heroes lately come from Sea,
If they were paid their Due, ſhould ſtand with thee;
[7]Papers too ſhould their Deeds relate,
To prove the Juſtice of their Fate:
Their Deeds of War at Port Saint Mary's done,
And ſee the Trophy's by them, which they won:
Let Or—d's Declaration there appear,
He'd certainly be pleas'd to ſee 'em there.
Let ſome good Limner repreſent,
The raviſh'd Nuns, the plunder'd Town,
The Engliſh Honour how miſpent;
The ſhameful coming back, and little done.
The Vigo Men ſhould next appear,
To Triumph on thy Theater;
They, who on board the Great Galoons had been,
Who rob'd the Spaniards firſt, and then the Queen▪
Set up their praiſes to their Valour due,
How Eighty Sail, had beaten Twenty two,
Two Troopers ſo, and one Dragoon,
Conquer'd a Spaniſh Boy, a Pampalone.
Yet let them Or—d's Conduct own,
Who beat them firſt on Shore, or little had been done▪
What unknown ſpoils from thence are come,
How much was brought away, How little home,
[...] all the Thieves ſhould on thy Scaffold ſtand
Who rob'd their Maſters in Command:
The Multitude would ſoon outdo,
The City Crouds of Lord Mayors ſhow.
Upon thy Penitential ſtools,
Some People ſhould be plac'd for Fools:
As ſome for Inſtance who while they look on;
[...]ee others plunder all, and they got none.
Next the Lieutenant General,
To get the Devil, loſt the De'll and all;
And he ſome little badge ſhould bear,
Who ought in juſtice to have hang'd 'em there:
This had his Honour more maintain'd,
Than all the Spoils at Vigo gain'd.
[8]Then Clap thy wooden Wings for joy,
And greet the Men of Great Employ;
The Authors of the Nations diſcontent,
And Scandal of a Chriſtian Government.
Jobbers, and Brokers of the City Stocks,
With forty Thouſand Tallies at their Backs;
Who make our Banks and Companies obey,
Or sink 'em all the ſhortest way.
The Intrinſick Value of our Stocks,
Is ſtated in our Calculating Books;
Th' Imaginary Prizes riſe and fall,
As they Command who toſs the Ball;
Let 'em upon thy lofty Turrets ſtand,
With Bear-skins on the back, Debentures in the hand,
And write in Capital upon the Poſt,
That here they ſhould remain,
Till this Aenigma they explain,
How ſtocks ſhould Fall, when Sales ſurmount the Coaſt,
And riſe again when Ships are loſt.
Great Monſter of the Law, Exalt thy Head;
Appear no more in Maſquerade,
In Homely Phraſe Expreſs thy Diſcontent,
And move it in th' Approaching Parliament:
Tell 'em how Papers were inſtead of Coin,
With Int'reſt eight per Cent. and Diſcount Nine.
Of Iriſh Tranſport Debt unpaid,
Bills falſe Endors'd, and long Accounts unmade.
And tell them all the Nation hopes to ſee,
They'll ſend the Guilty down to thee:
Rather than thoſe who write their Hiſtory.
Then bring thoſe Juſtices upon thy Bench,
Who vilely break the Laws they ſhould defend;
And upon Equity Intrench,
By Puniſhing the Crimes they will not Mend.
Let every vicious Magiſtrate,
Upon thy ſumptuous Chariot of the State;
[9]There let 'em all in Triumph ride,
[...]heir Purple and their Scarlet laid aſide.
[...]et no ſuch Bride-well Juſtices Protect,
[...] firſt debauch the Whores which they Correct:
Such who with Oaths and Drunk'neſs ſi [...],
[...]nd Puniſh far leſs Crimes than they Commit:
Theſe certainly deſerve to ſtand,
[...]ith Trophies of Authority in Each Hand.
[...]oon thy Pulpit, ſee the Drunken Prieſt,
[...]ho turns the Goſpel to a daily Jeſt;
[...]et the Fraternity Degrade him there,
Leſt they like him appear:
[...]here let him, his Memento Mori Preach,
[...]nd by Example, not by Doctrine, Teach.
Next bring the Lewder Clergy there,
Who Preach thoſe Sins down, which they can't forbear;
[...]hoſe Sons of God who every day Go in,
[...]oth to the Daughters and the Wifes of Men;
[...]here Let 'em ſtand to be the Nation's Jeſt,
[...]nd ſave the Reputation of the reſt.
[...]—ll who for the Goſpel left the Law,
[...]nd deep within the Cleft of Darkneſs ſaw;
Let him be an Example made,
Who durſt the Parſons Province ſo Invade;
To his new Eccleſiaſtick Rules,
We owe the Knowledge that we all are Fools:
Old Charon ſhall no more dark Souls convey,
A—ll has found the ſhorteſt way:
Vain is your funeral Pomp and Bells,
Your Grave-ſtones, Monuments and Knells;
Vain are the Trophyes of the Grave,
A—ll ſhall all that Foppery ſave;
And to the Clergy's great Reproach.
[...]hall change the Hearſe into a Fiery Coach:
What Man the Learned Riddle can receive,
Which none can Anſwer, and yet none Believe;
[10]Let him Recorded, on the Liſt remain,
Till he ſhall Heav'n by his own Rules obtain.
If a Poor Author has Embrac'd thy Wood,
Only becauſe he has not underſtood,
They Puniſh Mankind but by halves,
Till they ſtand there,
Who againſt their own Principles appear:
And cannot underſtand themſelves.
Thoſe Nimſhites, who with furious Zeal drive on.
And build up Rome to pull down Babylon;
The real Author of the ſhorteſt way,
Who for Deſtruction, not Converſion pray▪
There let thoſe Sons of Strife remain,
Till this Church Riddle they Explain;
How at Diſſenters they can raiſe a Storm,
But would not have them all Conform;
For there their certain Ruin would come in,
And Moderation, which they hate, begin.
Next bring ſome Lawyers to thy Bar,
By Inuendo they might all ſtand there;
There let them Expiate that Guilt,
And pay for all that Blood their Tongues ha' ſpilt;
Theſe are the Mountebanks of State,
Who by the ſlight of Tongues can Crimes create,
And dreſs up Trifles in the Robes of Fate.
The Maſtives of a Government,
To worry and run down the Innocent;
There Sat a Man of Mighty Fame,
Whoſe Actions ſpeak him plainer than his Name;
In vain he ſtruggl'd, he harangu'd in vain,
To bring in Whipping Sentences again:
And to debauch a Milder Government;
With Abdicated kinds of Puniſhment.
No wonder he ſhould Law deſpiſe,
Who Jeſus Chriſt himſelf denies;
His Actions only now direct,
That we when he is made a Judge, expect:
[11]Let L—ll next to his Diſgrace,
With Whitney's Horſes ſtaring in his Face;
There let his Cup of Pennance be kept full,
Till he's leſs Noiſy, Inſolent and Dull.
When all theſe Heroes have paſt once thy Stage,
And thou haſt been the Satyr of the Age;
Wait then a while for all thoſe Sons of Fame,
Whom preſent Pow'r has made too great a name:
Fenc'd from thy hands, they keep our Verſe in Awe,
Too great for Satyr, and too great for Law▪
As they their Commands lay down,
They all ſhall pay their Homage to thy Cloudy Throne:
And till within thy reach they be,
Exalt them in Effigie.
The Martyr of the by-paſt Reign,
For whom new Oaths have been prepar'd in vain;
She—k's Diſciple firſt by him trepan'd,
He for a K —and they for F—s ſhould ſtand.
Tho' ſome affirm he ought to be Excus'd,
Since to this Day he had refus'd;
And this was all the Frailty of his Life,
He Damn'd his Conſcience, to oblige his Wife.
But ſpare that Prieſt, whoſe tottering Conſcience knew
That if he took but one, he'd Perjure two:
Bluntly reſolv'd he wou'd not break 'em both,
And Swore by G—d he'd never take the Oath;
Hang him, he can't be fit for thee,
For his unuſual Honeſty,
Thou Speaking Trumpet of Mens Fame,
Enter in every Court thy Claim;
Demand 'em all, for they are all thy own,
Who ſwear to Three Kings, but are true to none▪
Turn-Coats of all ſides are thy due,
And he who once is falſe, is never true:
[12]To Day can Swear, to Morrow can Abjure,
For Treachery's a Crime no Man can Cure:
Such without ſcruple, for the time to come,
May Swear to all the Kings in Chriſtendom;
But he's a Mad Man will rely
Upon their loſt Fidelity.
They that in vaſt Employments rob the State,
See them in thy Embraces meet their Fate;
Let not the Millions they by Fraud obtain,
Protect 'em from the Scandal, or the Pain:
They who from Mean Beginnings grow
To vaſt Eſtates, but God knows how;
Who carry untold Sums away,
From little Places, with but little Pay:
Who Coſtly Palaces Erect,
The Thieves that built them to protect;
The Gardens, Grotto's, Fountains Walks, and Groves
Where Vice Triumphs in Pride, and Lawleſs Loves:
Where mighty Luxury and Drunk'neſs Reign'd,
Profuſely Spend what they Prophanely Gain'd:
Tell 'em there's Mene Tekel's on the Wall▪
Tell 'em the Nations Money paid for all:
Advance by double Front and ſhow,
And let us both the Crimes and Perſons know:
Place them aloft upon thy Throne,
Who ſlight the Nation's Buſineſs for their own;
Neglect their Poſts, in ſpight of Double Pay,
And run us all in Debt the ſhorteſt way.
Great Pageant, Change thy Dirty Scene,
For on thy Steps ſome Ladies may be ſeen;
When Beauty ſtoops upon thy Stage to ſhow
She laughs at all the Humble Fools below.
Set Sapho there, whoſe Husband paid for Clothes
Two Hundred Pound a Week in Furbulo's:
There in her Silks and Scarlets let her ſhine,
She's Beauteous all without, all Whore within.
[13]Next let Gay URANIA Ride,
Her Coach and Six attending by her ſide:
Long has ſhe waited, but in vain,
The City Homage to obtain:
The Sumptuous Harlot long'd to Inſult the Chair,
And Triumph o'er our City Beauties there.
Here let her Haughty Thoughts be Gratifi'd,
In Triumph let her Ride;
Let DIADORA next appear,
And all that want to know her, ſee her there.
What tho' ſhe's not a True-Born Engliſh Who—re?
French Harlots have been here before;
Let not the Pomp nor Grandeur of her State
Prevent the Juſtice of her Fate,
But let her an Example now be made
To Foreign Wh—s who ſpoil the Engliſh Trade.
Claim 'em, thou Herald of Reproach,
Who with uncommon Lewdneſs will Debauch;
Let C—upon thy Borders ſpend his Life,
Till he Recants the Bargain with his Wife:
And till this Riddle both Explain,
How neither can themſelves Contain;
How Nature can on both ſides run ſo high,
As neither ſide can neither ſide ſupply:
And ſo in Charity agree,
He keeps two Brace of Whores, two Stallions ſhe.
What need of Satyr to Reform the Town?
Or Laws to keep our Vices down?
Let 'em to Thee due Homage pay,
This will Reform us all the Shortest Way.
Let 'em to thee bring all the Knaves and Fools,
Vertue will guide the reſt by Rules;
They'll need no Treacherous Friends, no breach of Faith,
No Hir'd Evidence with their Infecting Breath;
No Servants Maſters to Betray,
Or Knight o'th' Poſt, who Swear for Pay;
[14]No injur'd Author'l on thy Steps appear,
Nor ſuch as wou'd be Rogues, but ſuch as are.
The firſt Intent of Laws
Was to Correct th' Effect, and check the Cauſe;
And all the Ends of Puniſhment,
Were only Future Miſchiefs to prevent.
But Juſtice is Inverted when
Thoſe Engines of the Law,
Inſtead of pinching Vicious Men,
Keep Honeſt ones in awe;
Thy Buſineſs is, as all Men know,
To Puniſh Villains, not to make Men ſo.
When ever then thou art prepar'd,
To prompt that Vice thou ſhould'ſt Reward,
And by the Terrors of thy Griſly Face,
Make Men turn Rogues to ſhun Diſgrace;
The End of thy Creation is deſtroy'd,
Juſtice expires of Courſe, and Law's made void.
What are thy Terrors? that for fear of thee,
Mankind ſhould dare to ſink their Honeſty;
He's Bold to Impudence, that dare turn Knave,
The Scandal of thy Company to ſave:
He that will Crimes he never knew confeſs,
Does more than if he knew thoſe Crimes tranſgreſs:
And he that fears thee more than to be baſe,
May want a Heart, but does not want a Face.
Thou like the Devil doſt appear
Blacker than really thou art by far:
A wild Chimerick Notion of Reproach,
Too little for a Crime, for none too much:
Let none th' Indignity reſent,
For Crime is all the ſhame of Puniſhment.
Thou Bug-bear of the Law ſtand up and ſpeak,
Thy long Miſconſtru'd Silence break,
[15] [...]ll us who 'tis upon thy Ridge ſtands there,
So full of Fault, and yet ſo void of Fear;
And from the Paper in his Hat,
Let all Mankind be told for what:
All them it was becauſe he was too bold,
[...]d told thoſe Truths, which ſhou [...]d not ha' been told.
Extol the Juſtice o [...] the Land,
[...]o Puniſh what they will not underſtand.
Tell them he ſtands Exalted there,
For ſpeaking what we wou'd not hear;
And yet he might ha' been ſecure,
[...]d he ſaid leſs, or wou'd he ha' ſaid more.
Tell them that this is his Reward,
And worſe is yet for him prepar'd,
[...]auſe his Fooliſh Vertue was ſo nice
[...] not to ſell his Friends, according to his Friends Advice;
And thus he's an Example made,
To make Men of their Honeſty afraid,
That for the time to come they may,
More willingly their Friends betray;
Tell 'em the Men that plac'd him here,
[...]re Friends unto the Times,
But at a loſs to find his Guile,
They can't commit his Crimes.
FINIS.
[14]
[...]
[15]
[...]

Appendix A A Catalogue of Poems, &c. Printed and Sold by H. Hill in Black-Fryars, near the Water-ſide; where ſeven more may be had that are not here Inſerted.

[]

4.

[]

ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. A POEM.

—Si Propriùs ſtes
Te Capiet Magis—

LONDON: [...]rinted and Sold by H. Hills, in Black-fryars, near the Water-ſide, For the Benefit of the Poor. 1708.

TO THE READER.

[]

'TIS not my intention to make an Apology for my Poem: Some [...] think it needs no Excuſe; and others will receive none. The [...] ſign, I am ſure, is honeſt: but he who draws his Pen for one Party, [...] expect to make Enemies of the other. For, Wit and Fool, are Con⯑quences of Whig and Troy: And every man is a Knave or an Aſs [...] contrary ſide. There's a Treaſury of Merits in the Phanatick Churc [...] as well as in the Papiſt; and a Pennyworth to be had of Saintſhip, H [...] ⯑ſty and Poetry, for the Leud, the Factions, and the Blockheads: But [...] longeſt Chapter in Deutoromy, has not Curſes enough for an Anti-Bi [...] ⯑mingham. My Comfort is, their manifeſt Prejudice to my Cauſe, [...] render their Judgment of leſs Authority against me. Yet if a Poem h [...] a Genius, it will force its own reception in the World. For there's a ſw [...] ⯑neſs in good Verſe, which Tickles even while it Hurts: And no man [...] be heartily angry with him, who pleaſes him againſt his will. The Co [...] ⯑mendation of Adverſaries, is the greateſt Triumph of a Writer; b [...] it never comes unleſs Extorted. But I can be ſatisfied on more eaſie term If I happen to pleaſe the more Moderate ſort I ſhall be ſure of an h [...] Party; and, in all probability, of the beſt Judges: for the leaſt C [...] ⯑cern'd, are commonly the leaſt Corrupt. And, I confeſs, I have laid for thoſe, by relating the Satyr (where Juſtice would allow it) from ca [...]rying too ſharp an Edge. They, who can Criticize ſo weakly, as to im [...]gine I have done my worſt, may be convinc'd, at their own Coſt, that can write Severely, with more eaſe, than I can Gently. I have but laugh at ſome mens Follies. when I could have declaim'd againſt their Vice and, other mens Vertues I have commended, as freely as I have tax'd the Crimes. And now, if you are a Malicious Reader, I expect you ſhould turn upon me, that I affect to be thought more Impartial than I am. B [...] if men are not to be judg'd by their Profeſſions, God forgive you Comm [...] ⯑wealths-men, for Profeſſing ſo plauſible for the Government. You ca [...] be ſo Unconſcionable, as to charge me for not Subſcribing of my Name; [...] that would reflect too groſly upon your own Party, who never dare; then they have the advantage of a Jury to ſecure them. If you like not Poem, the fault may, poſſibly, by in my Writing: (though 'tis hard an Author to judge againſt himſelf;) But more probably 'tis in y [...] Morals, which cannot bear the truth of it. The Violent, on both ſi [...] will condemn the Character of Abſalom, as either too favourably, or [3] [...]ardly drawn. But they are not the Violent, whom I deſire to pleaſe. [...]he fault, on the right hand, is to Extenuate; Palliate and Indulge, [...]d, to confeſs freely. I have endeavoured to commit it. Beſides the reſ⯑ [...]ct which I owe his Birth, I have a greater for his Heroick Virtues: [...]d, David himſelf, could not be more tender of the Young man's Life, [...]an I would be of his Reputation. But, ſince the moſt excellent natures [...]e almoſt the moſt eaſie; and, as being ſuch. are the ſooneſt perverted [...] ill Counſels, eſpecially when baited with Fame and Glory; 'tis no [...]ore a wonder that he withſtood not the temptations of Achitophel, than was for Adam, not to have reſiſted the two Devils, the Serpent and the [...]oman: The Concluſion of the Story, I purpoſely forbore to proſecute: [...]cauſe, I could not obtain from my ſelf, to ſhew Abſalom Unfortunate. [...]e Frame of it was cut out, but for a Picture to the Waſte; and, if [...] Draught be ſo far true, 'tis as much as I deſign'd.

Were I the Inventor, who am only the Hiſtorian, I ſhould certainly [...]nclude the Piece, with the Reconcilement of Abſalom to David. And, [...]ho knows but this may come to paſs? Things were not brought to an [...]xtremity where I left the Story; There ſeems, yet, to be room left for a [...]mpoſure; hereafter, there may be only be for Pity. I have not ſo [...]ch as an uncharitable wiſh againſt Achitophel; but, am content to be [...]cus'd of a good natur'd Error; and to hope with Origen, that the [...]vil himſelf may, at laſt, be ſav'd. For which reaſon, in this Poem, [...] is neither brought to ſet his Houſe in order, nor to diſpoſe of his Perſon [...]terwards, as he in Wiſdom ſhall think fit. God is infinitely merciful: [...]d his Vicegerent is only not ſo, becauſe he is not Infinite.

The true end of Satyr, is the amendment of Vices by correction. And [...] who writes Honeſtly, is no more an Enemy to the Offender, than the [...]hyſician to the Patient, when he preſcribes harſh Remedies to an inve⯑rate Diſeaſe: for thoſe, are only in order to prevent the Chyrurgeon's [...]rk of an Enſe reſcindendum, which I wiſh not to my very Enemies. To [...]nclude all; If the Body Politique have any Analogy to the Natural, [...] my weak judgment, an Act of Oblivion were as neceſſary in a Hot, [...]iſtemper'd State, as an Opiate would be in a Raging Fever.

THE KEY.
[...]avid,
King Charles II.
Abſalom,
D. Monmouth,
Annabel,
Dutcheſs of Monmouth.
Achitophel,
Earl of Shaftsbury,
Zimri,
L. Gray.
Balaam,
Sidney.
Caleb,
Armſtrong.
Nadab,
Ferguſon.
Shimei,
Sheriff Bethel.
Corah,
Stephen College.
Bethſheba,
D. Porthſmouth, or any other Concubine.

Abſalom and Achitophel.

[4]
IN pious Times, e'er Prieſt-craft did begin,
Before Polygamy was made a Sin;
When Man on many, multiply'd his kind,
E'er one to one was, curſedly, confin'd:
When Nature prompted, and no Law deny'd
Promiſcuous uſe of Concubine and Bride;
Then, Iſrael's Monarch, after Heavens own heart,
His vigorous warmth did variouſly, impart.
To Wives and Slaves: and, wide as his Command,
Scatter'd his Makers Image through the Land.
Michal, of Royal Blood, the Crown did wear;
A Soil ungrateful to the Tiller's care:
Not ſo the reſt; for ſeveral Mothers bore
To God-like David, ſeveral Sons before.
But, ſince like Slaves his Bed they did aſcend,
No true Succeſſion cou'd their Seed attend.
Of all the numerous Progeny was none
So Beautiful, ſo Brave as Abſalom.
Whether, inſpir'd by ſome diviner Luſt,
His Father got him with a greater Guſt;
Or that his conſcious Deſtiny made way,
By manly Beauty to Imperial Sway.
Early in foreign Fields be won Renown,
With Kings and States Ally'd to Iſrael's Crown:
In Peace the thoughts of War he cou'd remove,
And ſeem'd as he were only born for Love.
What e'er he did, was done with ſo much eaſe,
In him alone, 'twas Natural to pleaſe:
His motions all accompany'd with grace:
And Paradiſe was open'd in his Face.
With ſecret Joy, indulgent David view'd
His Youthful Image in his Son renew'd:
To all his wiſhes nothing he deny'd;
And made the Charming Annabel his Bride.
What faults he had (for who from faults is free?)
His father cou'd not, or he wou'd not ſee▪
Some warm exceſſes, which the Law forbore,
Were conſtin'd Youth that purg'd by boiling o'er:
And Amnon's Mother by a ſpecious Name,
Was call'd, a juſt Revenge for injur'd Fame.
Thus prais'd, and lov'd, the noble Youth remain'd,
While David, undiſturb'd in Sion reign'd.
But Life can never be ſincerely bleſt:
Heav'n puniſhes the bad, and proves the beſt.
[5] [...]he Jews, a Head-ſtrong, Moody Murm'ring race,
[...]s ever try'd th' extent and ſtretch of grace;
[...]od's pamper'd People whom, debauch'd with eaſe,
[...]o King cou'd govern, nor no God cou'd pleaſe;
Gods they had try'd of every ſhape and ſize,
[...]hat God-ſmiths cou'd produce, or Prieſts deviſe:)
[...]heſe Adam-wits, too fortunately free,
[...]gan to dream they wanted Liberty,
[...]nd when no rule, no preſident was found,
[...]f men, by Laws leſs circumſcrib'd and bound;
They led their wild deſires to Woods and Caves;
And thought that all but Savages were Slaves.
They who, when Saul was dead, without a blow,
[...]ade fooliſh Iſhboſheth the Crown forego;
[...]ho baniſht David did from Hebron bring,
[...]d, with a General ſhout, proclaim'd him King:
[...]hoſe very Jews, who, at their very beſt,
[...]heir Humour more than Loyalty expreſt,
[...]ow, wondred why, ſo long, they had obey'd
[...]nd Idol-Monarch which their hands had made:
[...]hought they might ruin him they cou'd create;
[...] melt him to that Golden Calf, a State.
[...]t theſe were random bolts: No form'd Deſign,
[...]or Intereſt made the Factious Crou'd to joyn:
[...]he ſober part of Iſrael, free from ſtain,
[...]ell knew the value of a peaceful Reign;
[...]nd, looking backward with a wiſe affright,
[...] ſeams of wounds, diſhoneſt to the ſight:
[...] contemplation of whoſe ugly Scars,
[...]hey curſt the memory of Civil Wars.
[...]he moderate ſort of Men, thus qualifi'd,
[...]clin'd the Ballance to the better ſide:
[...]nd, David's mildneſs manag'd it ſo well▪
[...]e bad found no occaſion to Rebell.
[...]t, when to Sin our byaſt Nature leans,
[...]e careful Devil is ſtill at hand with means;
[...]d providently Pimps for ill deſires;
[...]e Good Old Cauſe reviv'd, a Plot requires.
[...]ots, true or falſe, are neceſſary things▪
[...] raiſe up Common-wealths, and ruin Kings.
Th' Inhabitants of Old Jeruſalem
[...]ere Jebuſites: the Town ſo call'd from them;
[...]d their's the Native right—
[...]t when the choſen People grew more ſtrong,
[...]e rightful Cauſe at lenght became the wrong:
[...]d every loſs the men of Jebus bore,
[...]ey ſtill were tought God's Enemies the more.
[...]us, worn and weaken'd, well or ill content,
[...]mit they muſt to David's Government:
[6]Impoveriſht and depriv'd of all Command,
Their Taxes doubled as they loſt their Land;
And, what was harder yet to fleſh and blood,
Their Gods diſgrac'd, and burnt like common Wood.
This ſet the Heathen Prieſthood in a flame;
For Prieſts of all Religions are the ſame:
Of whatſo'er deſcent their Godhead be,
Stock, Stone, or other homely Pedigree,
In his Defence his Servants are as bold,
As if he had been born of beaten Gold.
The Jewiſh Rabbins, though their Enemies,
In this conclude them honeſt men and wiſe:
For 'twas their Duty, all the Learned think,
T'eſpouſe his Cauſe by whom they eat and drink.
From hence began that Plot, the Nation's Curſe,
Bad in it ſelf, but repreſented worſe.
Rais'd in extreams, and in extreams decry'd;
With Oaths affirm'd, with dying Vows deny'd.
Not weigh'd, or winnow'd by the Multitude;
But ſwallow'd in the Maſs, unchew'd and crude.
Some truth there was, but daſht and brew'd with Lies,
To pleaſe the Fools, and puzzle all the Wiſe.
Succeeding Times did equal Folly call,
Believing nothing, or believing all.
Th' Aegyptian Rites the Jebuſites embrac'd;
Where Gods were recommended by their Taſte.
Such ſav'ry Deities muſt needs be good,
As ſerv'd at once for Worſhip and for Food.
By force they could not introduce theſe Gods;
For Ten to One, in former days was odds.
So Fraud was us'd, (the Sacrificer's Trade,)
Fools are more hard to conquer than perſwade.
Their buſie Teachers mingled with the Jews;
And rak'd for Converts, even the Court and Stews,
Which Hebrew Prieſts the more unkindly took,
Becauſe the Fleece accompanies the Flock.
Some thought they God's Anointed meant to ſlay
By Guns, invented ſince full many a day:
Our Author ſwears it not; but who can know
How far the Devil and Jebuſites may go?
This Plot, which fail'd for want of common Senſe,
Had yet a deep and dangerous Conſequence:
For as when raging Fevers boil the Blood,
The ſtanding Lakes ſoon floats into a Flood;
And ev'ry hoſtile Humour; which before
Slept quiet in its Chanels, bubbles o're:
So, ſeveral factions from this firſt Ferment,
Work up to Foam, and threat the Government.
[7] [...]ome by their Friends, more by themſelves thought wiſe,
[...]ppos'd the Pow'r, to which they could not riſe.
[...]ome had in Courts been great, and thrown from thence,
[...]ike Fiends, were harden'd in Impenitence.
[...]ome, by their Monarch's fatal mercy grown
[...]rom pardon'd Rebels, Kinſmen to the Throne;
[...]ere rais'd in Pow'r and publick Office high:
[...]rong Bands, if Bands ungrateful men cou'd tye.
[...]f theſe the falſe Achitophel was first:
[...] Name to all ſucceeding Ages curſt.
[...]or cloſe Deſigns, and crooked Counſels fit;
[...]igacious, Bold, and Turbulent of Wit:
[...]eſtleſs, unfixt in Principles and Place;
[...] Pow'r unpleas'd, impatient of Diſgrace.
[...] fiery Soul, which working out its way,
[...]retted the Pigmy-Body to decay;
[...]nd o're inform'd the Tenement of Clay.
[...] daring Pilot in Extremity;
[...]eas'd with the Danger, when the Waves went high
[...]e ſought the Storme: but for a Calm unfit,
[...]ould ſteer too nigh the Sands, to boaſt his wit.
[...]reat Wits are ſure to Madneſs near ally'd;
[...]nd thin Partitions do their Bounds divide;
[...]ſe, why ſhould he, with Wealth and Honour bleſt,
[...]efuſe his Age the needful hours of Reſt?
[...]uniſh a Body which he cou'd not pleaſe;
[...]ankrupt of Life, yet Prodigal of eaſe?
[...]nd all to leave, what with his Toil he won,
[...]o that unfeather'd, too legg'd thing, a Son:
[...]ot, while his Soul did huddl'd Notions try;
[...]nd born a ſhapeleſs Lump, like Anarchy.
[...] Fr'endſhip falſe, implacable in Hate:
[...]eſolv'd to Ruin or to Rule the State.
[...]o compaſs this, the Triple Bond he broke;
The Pillars of the Publick Safety ſhook:
[...]nd fitted Iſrael for a Foreign Yoke.
[...]hen ſeiz'd with Fear, yet ſtill affecting Fame,
[...]ſurp'd a Patriot's All-attoning Name.
[...]o eaſie ſtill it proves in Factious Times,
[...]ith publick Zeal to cancel private Crimes:
[...]ow ſafe is Treaſon, and how ſacred Ill,
Where none can ſin againſt the Peoples Will?
Where Crouds can wink; and no offence be known,
[...]nce in another's guilt they find their own.
[...]et, Fame deſerv'd, no Enemy can grudge;
The Stateſman we abhor, but praiſe the Judge.
[...] Iſrael's Courts ne'er ſat an Abbethdin
With more diſcerning Eyes, or Hands more clean;
[8]Unbrib'd, unſought, the Wretched to redreſs;
Swift of Diſpatch, and eaſie of Acceſs.
Oh, had he been content to ſerve the Crown,
With Virtues only proper to the Gown;
Or, had the rankneſs of the Soil been freed
From Cockle, that oppreſt the Noble Seed:
David, for him his tuneful Harp had ſtrung,
And Heav'n had wanted one Immortal Song.
But wild Ambition loves to ſlide, not ſtand;
And Fortunes Ice prefers to Virtues Land:
Achitophel, grown weary to poſſeſs
A lawful Fame, and lazy Happineſs;
Diſdain'd the golden Fruit to gather free,
And lent the Croud his Arm to ſhake the Tree.
Now, manifeſt of Crimes, contriv'd long ſince,
He ſtood at bold Defiance with his Prince:
Held up the Buckler of the Peoples Cauſe,
Againſt the Crown; and ſculk'd behind the Laws.
The wiſh'd occaſion of the Plot he takes;
Some Circumſtances finds, but more he makes.
By buzzing Emiſſaries, fills the ears
Of liſtning Crouds, with Jealouſies and Fears
Of Arbitrary Counſels brought to light,
And proves the King himſelf a Jebuſite.
Weak Arguments! which yet he knew full well,
Were ſtrong with People eaſie to Rebell.
For, govern'd by the Moon, the giddy Jews
Tread the ſame Track when ſhe the Prime renews:
And once in twenty years, their Scribes Record,
By natural Inſtinct they change their Lord.
Achitophel ſtill wants a Chief, and none
Was found ſo fit as War-like Abſalom:
Not, that he wiſh'd his Greatneſs to create,
(For Polititians neither love nor hate:)
But, for he knew, his Title not allow'd,
Would keep him ſtill depending on the Croud:
That Kingly pow'r, thus ebbing out, might be
Drawn to the Dregs of a Democracy.
Him he attempts, with ſtudied Arts to pleaſe,
And ſheds his Venom, in ſuch words as theſe.
Auſpicious Prince, at whoſe Nativity
Some Royal Planet rul'd the Southern Sky;
Thy longing Countries Darling and Deſire;
Their cloudy Pillar, and their guardian Fire:
Their ſecond Moſes, whoſe extended Wand
Divides the Seas, and ſhews the promis'd Land:
Whoſe dawning Day, in every diſtant Age,
His exercis'd the Sacred Prophet's rage:
[9]The Peopl's Pray'r, the glad Diviner's Theme,
[...]he Young mens Viſion, and the Old mens Dream!
[...]hee, Saviour, Thee, the Nations Vows confeſs;
[...]nd, never ſatisfi'd with ſeeing, bleſs:
[...]wift, unbeſpoken Pomps, thy ſteps proclaim,
[...]nd ſtammering Babes are taught to liſp thy Name.
[...]ow long wilt thou the general Joy detain;
[...]arve, and defraud the People of thy Reign?
[...]ontent ingloriouſly to paſs thy days
[...]ke one of Virtue's Fools that feeds on Praiſe;
[...]ll thy freſh Glories, which now ſhine ſo bright,
[...]row Stale and Tarniſh with our dayly ſight.
[...]elieve me, Royal Youth, thy Fruit muſt be,
[...] gather'd Ripe, or rot upon the Tree.
[...]eav'n has to all allotted, ſoon or late,
[...]me lucky Revolution of their Fate:
[...]hoſe Motions, if we watch and guide with Skill,
For humane Good depends on humane Will,)
[...]ur Fortune rolls as from a ſmooth Deſcent,
[...]nd, from the firſt Impreſſion, takes the Bent:
[...]t, if unſeiz'd, ſhe glides away like wind;
[...]nd leaves repenting Folly far behind.
[...]ow, now ſhe meets you with a glorious prize,
[...]d ſpreads her Locks before her as ſhe flies.
[...]d thus Old David, from whoſe Loins you Spring,
[...]t dar'd, when Fortune call'd him, to be King,
[...] Gath an Exile he might ſtill remain;
[...]d Heav'ns Anointing Oyl had been in vain.
[...]t his ſuccesful Youth your hopes engage;
[...]t ſhun th' example of Declining Age:
[...]hold him ſetting in his Weſtern Skies,
[...]e ſhadows lengthning as the Vapours riſe.
[...] is not now, as when on Jordan's Sand
[...]e joyful People throng'd to ſee him Land,
[...]'ring the Beech, and blackning all the Strand:
[...]t, like the Prince of Angels from his height,
[...]omes tumbling downward with diminiſh'd light:
[...]tray'd by one poor Plot to publick Scorn:
Our only bleſſing ſince his curſt Return:)
[...]hoſe heaps of People which one Sheaf did bind,
[...]own off, and ſcatter'd by a puff of Wind.
[...]hat ſtrength can he to your Deſigns oppoſe,
[...]ked of Friends, and round beſet with Foes?
Pharaoh's doubtful Succour he ſhould uſe,
Foreign Aid wou'd more incenſe the Jews:
[...]oud Aegypt wou'd diſſembled Friendſhip bring;
[...]ment the War, but not ſupport the King:
[10]Nor wou'd the Royal Party e'er unite
With Pharaoh's Arms, t'aſſiſt the Jebuſite;
Or if they ſhou'd, their Intereſt ſoon wou'd break.
And, with ſuch odious Aid, make David week.
All ſorts of men, by my ſucceſsful Arts,
Abhorring Kings, eſtrange their alter'd Hearts
From David's Rule: And 'tis their general Cry,
Religion, Common-wealth, and Liberty.
If you, as Champion of the Publick Good,
Add to their Arms a Chief of Royal Blood;
What may not Iſrael hope, and what Applauſe
Might ſuch a General gain by ſuch a Cauſe?
Not barren Praiſe alone, that Gaudy Flow'r,
Fair only to the ſight, but ſolid Pow'r:
And Nobler is a limited Command,
Giv'n by the Love of all your Native Land,
Than a ſucceſſive Title, Long and Dark,
Drawn from the Mouldy Rolls of Noah's Ark.
What cannot Praiſe effect in Mighty Minds,
When Flattery Sooths, and when Ambition Blinds!
Deſire of Pow'r, on Earth a Vitious Weed,
Yet, ſprung from High, is of Coeleſtial Seed:
In God 'tis Glory: And when Men Aſpire,
'Tis but a Spark too much of Heavenly Fire.
Th' Ambitious Youth, too Covetous of Fame,
Too full of Angels Metal in his Frame;
Unwarily was led from Virtues ways;
Made Drunk with Honour, and debauch'd with Praiſe.
Half loath, and half conſenting to the Ill,
(For Royal Blood within him ſtruggled ſtill)
He thus reply'ed.—And what Pretence have I
To take up Arms for Publick Liberty?
My Father Governs with unqueſtion'd Right:
The Faith's Defender, and Mankind's Delight:
Good, Gracious, Juſt, Obſervant of the Laws;
And Heav'n by Wonders has eſpous'd his Cauſe.
Whom has he wrong'd in all his Peaceful Reign?
Who ſues for Juſtice to his Throne in vain?
What Millions has he pardon'd of his Foes,
Whom Juſt Revenge did to his Wrath expoſe?
Mild, Eaſie, Humble, Studious of our Good;
Enclin'd to Mercy, and averſe from Blood.
If Mildneſs ill with Stubborn Iſrael Suit,
His Crime is God's beloved Attribute.
What could he gain, his People to Betray,
Or change his Right, for Arbitrary Sway?
Let haughty Pharaoh Curſe with ſuch a Reign,
His Fruitful Nile, and Yoak a Servile Train.
[11] David's Rule Jeruſalem Diſpleaſe,
[...]e Dog-ſtar heats their Brains to this Diſeaſe.
[...]hy then ſhould I, encouraging the Bad,
[...]rn Rebel, and run Popularly Made?
[...]ere he a Tyrant who, by Lauleſs Might,
[...]ppreſt the Jews, and rais [...]d the Jeſubite,
[...]ell might I mourn; but Natures holy Bands
[...]u'd Curb my Spirits, and reſtrain my Hands:
[...]he People might aſſert their Liberty;
[...]t what was Right in them, were Crime in me.
[...]s Favour leaves me nothing to require;
[...]events my Wiſhes, and out-runs Deſire;
[...]hat more can I expect while David Lives?
[...]l but his Kingly Diadem he gives▪
[...]nd that: But there he paus'd; then Sighing, ſaid,
Juſtly deſtin [...]d for a Worthier Head.
[...]r when my Father from his Toyls ſhall Reſt,
[...]nd late Augment the Number of the Bleſt:
[...]is Lawful Iſſue ſhall the Throne aſcend;
[...] the Collat'ral Line where that ſhall end.
[...]is Brother, though Oppreſt with Vulgar Spight,
[...]et Dauntleſs and Secure of Native Right,
[...]f every Royal Virtue ſtands poſſeſt;
[...]ill dear to all the Braveſt, and the Beſt.
[...]is Courage Foes, his Friends his Truth Proclaim,
[...]is Loyalty the King, the World his Fame.
[...]s Mercy ev'n th' Offending Croud will find;
[...]or ſure he comes of a Forgiving Kind.
[...]hy ſhould I then Repine at Heavens Decree;
[...]hich gives me no pretence to Royalty?
[...]et oh that Fate, Propitiouſly Inclin'd,
[...]ad rais'd my Birth, or had debas'd my Mind,
[...]o my large Soul, not all her Treaſure lent,
[...]nd then betray'd it to a mean Deſcent.
[...] find, I find my mounting Spirits Bold,
[...]nd David's Part diſdains my Mothers Mold.
Why am I ſcanted by a Niggard Birth?
[...]y Soul diſclaims the Kindred of her Earth;
[...]nd, made for Empire, Whiſpers me within;
[...]eſire of Greatneſs is a God like Sin.
Him Staggering ſo when Hells dire Agent found,
While fainting Virtue ſcarce maintain'd her Ground,
[...]e pours freſh Forces in, and thus Replies:
[...]h' Eternal God, Supremely Good and Wiſe,
[...]parts not theſe Prodigious Gifts in vain;
[...]hat Wonders are Reſerv'd to bleſs your Reign?
[...]gainſt your will your Arguments have ſhown,
[...]ch Virtue's only given to guide a Throne.
[12]Not that your Father's Mildneſs I contemn;
But manly Force becomes the Diadem.
'Tis true he grants the People all they crave;
And more perhaps than Subjects ought to have:
For laviſh grants ſuppoſe a Monarch tame,
And more his Goodneſs than his Wit proclaim.
But when ſhould People ſtrive their Bonds to break,
If not when Kings are Negligent or Weak?
Let him give on till he can give no more,
The Thrifty Sanhedrin ſhall keep him poor:
And every Sheckle which he can receive,
Shall coſt a Limb of his Prerogative.
To ply him with new Plots, ſhall be my care;
Or plunge him deep in ſome Expenſive War;
Which when his Treaſure can no more ſupply,
He muſt, with the Remains of Kingſhip, buy:
His faithful Friends, our Jealouſies and Fears,
Call Jebusites; and Pharaoh's Penſioners:
Whom, when our Fury from his Aid has torn,
He ſhall be naked left to publick Scorn.
The next Succeſſor, whom I fear and hate,
My Arts have made obnoxious to the State;
Turn'd all his Virtues to his Overthrow,
And gain'd our Elders to pronunce a Foe.
His Right, for Sums of necesſary Gold,
Shall firſt be Pawn'd, and afterwards be Sold:
Till time ſhall Ever-wanting David draw▪
To paſs your doubtful Title into Law:
If not the People have a Right Supreme
To make their Kings; for Kings are made for them.
All Empire is no more than Pow'r in Truſt:
Which when reſum'd, can be no longer Juſt.
Succeſſion, for the general Good deſign'd,
In its own wrong a Nation cannot bind:
If altering that, the People can relieve,
Better one ſuffer than a Nation grieve.
The Jews well knew their pow'r▪ e'er Saul they choſe,
God was their King, and God they durſt Depoſe.
Urge now your Piety, your Filial Name,
A Father's Right, and Fear of future Fame.
The Publick Good, that Univerſal Call,
To which even Heav'n ſubmitted, anſwers all.
Nor let his Love Enchont your generous Mind;
'Tis Nature's trick to propagate her Kind.
Our fond Begetters, who would never die,
Love but themſelves in their Poſterity.
Or let his Kindneſs by th' Effects be try'd,
Or let him lay his vain Pretence aſide▪
[13] [...]d ſaid he lov'd your Father; could he bring
better Proof, than to Anoint him King?
[...]ſurely ſhew'd he lov'd the Shepherd well,
[...]ho gave ſo fair a Flock as Iſrael.
[...]ould David have you thought his Darling Son?
[...]hat means he then, to Alienate the Crown?
[...]e name of Godly he may bluſh to bear:
[...]s after God's own heart to Cheat his Heir.
[...] to his Brother gives Supreme Command;
[...] you a Legacy of Barren Land.
[...]haps th' old Harp on which he thrums his Lays;
[...] ſome dull Hebrew Ballad in your Praiſe.
[...]en the next Heir, a Prince, Severe and Wiſe,
[...]ready looks on you with Jealous Eyes;
[...]es through the thin Diſguiſes of your Arts,
[...]d marks the Progreſs in the Peoples Hearts.
[...]ough now his mighty Soul its Grief contains;
[...] meditates Revenge who leaſt complains.
[...]d like a Lion, Slumbring in the way,
[...] Sleep diſſembling, while he waits his Prey,
[...]s fearleſs Foes within his Diſtance draws;
[...]nſtrains his Roaring, and contracts his Paws:
[...]ll at the laſt, his time for Fury found,
[...] ſhoots with ſudden Vengeance from the Ground:
[...]e Proſtrate Vulgar, paſſes o'er, and Spares,
[...]it with a Lordly Rage, his Hunters tears.
[...]our Caſe no tame Expedients will afford:
[...]ſolve on Death, or Conqueſt by the Sword,
[...]hich for no leſs a Stake than L [...]fe, you Draw;
[...]d Self-defence is Nature's Eldeſt Law.
[...]ave the warm People no Conſidering time:
[...] then Rebellion may be thought a Crime.
[...]evail your ſelf of what Occaſion gives,
[...]t try your Title while your Father lives:
[...]nd, that your Arms may have a fair Pretence,
[...]oclaim, you take them in the King's Defence:
[...]hoſe Sacred Life each minute would Expoſe,
[...] Plots, from ſeeming Friends, and ſecret Foes.
[...]d who can ſound the depth of David's Soul?
[...]rhaps his fear, his kindneſs may Controll.
[...] fears his Brother, though he loves his Son,
[...]r plighted Vows too late to be undone.
[...]ſo, by Force he wiſhes to be gain'd:
[...]ke Womens Leachery, to ſeem Conſtrain'd:
[...]ubt not: but, when he moſt affects the Frown.
[...]mmit a pleaſing Rape upon the Crown.
[...]cure his Perſon to ſecure your Cauſe;
[...]ey who poſſeſs the Prince, poſſeſs the Laws.
[14]He ſaid, And this Advice above the reſt,
With Abſalom's Mild Nature ſuited beſt;
Unblam'd of Life, (Ambition ſet aſide)
Not ſtain'd with Cruelty, nor poſt with Pride.
How happy had he been, if Deſtiny
Had higher plac'd his Birth, or not ſo high!
His Kingly Virtues might have claim'd a Throne;
And bleſt all other Countries but his own.
But charming Greatneſs, ſince ſo few refuſe;
'Tis Juſter to Lament him, than Accuſe.
Strong were his hopes a Rival to remove,
With Blandiſhments to gain the publick Love;
To head the Faction while their Zeal was hot,
And Popularly proſecute the Plot.
To further this Achitophel Unites
The Male-contents of all the Iſraelites:
Whoſe differing Parties he could wiſely Joyn,
For ſeveral Ends, to ſerve the ſame Deſign.
The Beſt, and of the Princes ſome were ſuch,
Who thought the pow'r of Monarchy too much:
Miſtaken Men, and Patriots in their Hearts;
Not Wicked, but ſeduc'd by Impious Arts.
By theſe the Springs of Property were bent,
And wound ſo high, they Crack't the Government.
The next for Int'reſt ſought t' embroil the State,
To ſell their Duty at a dearer rate;
And make their Jewiſh Markets of the Throne;
Pretending Publick Good, to ſerve their own.
Others thought Kings and uſeleſs heavy Load,
Who coſt too much, and did too little Good.
Theſe were for laying Honeſt David by,
On Principles of pure good Husbandry.
With them joyn'd all the Haranguers of the Throng,
That thought to get Preferment by the Tongue.
Who follow next, a double danger bring,
Not only hating David, but the King;
The Solymaean Rout; well Vers'd of old,
In Godly Faction, and in Treaſon bold;
Cowring and Quaking at a Conqu'ror's Sword,
But Lofty to a Lawful Prince Reſtor'd;
Saw with Diſdain an Ethnick Plot begun,
And Scorn'd by Jebuſites to be Out-done.
Hot Levites Headed theſe; who pull'd before
From th' Ark, which in the Judges days they bore,
Reſum'd their Cant, and with a Zealous Cry,
Purſu'd their old belov'd Theocracy.
Where Sanhedrin and Prieſt enſlav'd the Nation,
And juſtifi'd their Spoils by Inſpiration:
[15]For who ſo fit for Reign as Aaron's Race.
If once Dominion they could found in Grace?
Theſe led the Pack; though not of ſurest ſcent,
Yet deepeſt mouth'd againſt the Government.
A numerous Hoſt of dreaming Saints ſucceed;
Of the true old Enthuſiaſtick Breed:
'Gainſt Form and Order they their Pow'r employ:
Nothing to Build, and all things to Deſtroy.
But far more numerous was the Herd of ſuch,
Who think too little, and who talk too much.
Theſe out of more inſtinct, they knew not why,
Ador'd their Father's God, and Property:
And, by the ſame blind Benefit of Fate,
The Devil and the Jebuſite did hate:
Born to be ſav'd, even in their own deſpight;
Becauſe they could not help believing right.
Such were the Tools; but a whole Hydra more
Remains, of ſprouting heads too long to ſcore.
Some of their Chiefs were Princes of the Land:
In the firſt Rank of theſe did Zimri ſtand:
A man ſo various, that he ſeem'd to be
Not one, but all Mankinds Epitome.
Stiff in Opinions, always in the wrong;
Was every thing by ſtarts, and Nothihg long;
But, in the courſe of one revolving Moon,
Was Chymiſt, Fidler, Stateſ-man and Buffoon:
Then all for Women, Painting, Rhiming, Drinking:
Beſides ten thouſand Freaks that dy'd in thinking.
Bleſt Madman, who cou'd every hour employ,
With ſomething New to wiſh, or to enjoy!
Railing and praiſing were his uſual Themes;
And both (to ſhew his Judgment) in Extremes:
[...]o over Violent, or over Civil,
That every Man, with him, was God or Devil.
In ſquandering Wealth was his peculiar Art:
Nothing went unrewarded, but Deſert.
[...]eggar'd by Fools, whom ſtill he found too late:
[...]le had his Jeſt, and they had his Eſtate.
[...]e laugh'd himſelf from Court; then ſought Relief;
[...]y forming Parties, but coul'd ne'er be Chief:
[...]or ſpight of him, the weight or Buſineſs fell
On Abſalom, and wiſe Achitophel:
Thus, wicked but in Will, of Means bereft,
[...]e left not Faction, but of That was left.
[...] Titles and Names 'twere tedious to rehearſe
Of Lords, below the dignity of Verſe.
[...]its, Warriors, Common-wealths men, were the beſt:
[...]nd Husbands, and mere Nobles all the reſt.
[16]And therefore, in the name of Dulneſs, be
The well hung Balaam and cold Caleb free.
And Canting Nadab let Oblivion damn,
Who made new Porridge for the Paſchal Lamb▪
Let Friendſhips holy Band ſome Names aſſure:
Some their own Worth, and ſome let Scorne ſecure.
Nor ſhall the Raſcal Rabble here have Place,
Whom Kings no Titles gave, and God no Grace:
Not Bull-fac'd Jonas, we cou'd Statutes draw
To mean Rebellion, and make Treaſon Law.
But he, though bad, is follow'd by a worſe,
The Wretch, whoſe Heav'ns Anointed dar'd to Curſe,
Shimei, whoſe Youth did early Promiſe bring
Of Zeal to God, and Hatred to his King;
Did wiſely from Expenſive Sins refrain,
And never broke the Sabbath, but for Gain:
Nor ever was he known an Oath to vent,
Or Curſe, unleſs againſt the Government.
Thus, heaping Wealth, by the moſt ready way
Among the Jews, which was to Cheat and Pray;
The City, to reward his pious Hate
Againſt his Maſter, choſe him Magiſtrate:
His Hand a Vare of Juſtice did uphold;
His Neck was loaded with a Chain of Gold.
During his Office, Treaſon was no Crime.
The Sons of Belial had a Glorious Time:
For Shimei, though not prodigal of Pelf,
Yet lov'd his wicked Neighbour as himſelf:
When two or three were gather'd to Declaim
Againſt the Monarch of Jeruſalem,
Shimei was always in the midſt of them.
And, if they Curſt the King when he was by,
Would rather Curſe, than break good Company.
If any durſt his Factious Friends accuſe,
He pact a Jury of diſſenting Jews:
Whoſe fellow-feeling in the godly Cauſe,
Wou'd free the ſuff'ring Saint from Humane Laws.
For Laws are only made to puniſh thoſe
Who ſerve the King, and to protect his Foes.
If any leiſure time he had from Pow'r,
(Becauſe 'tis Sin to miſ-employ an hour:)
His Bus'neſs was, by Writing to perſwade,
That Kings were Uſeleſs, and a Clog to Trade:
And, that his noble Style he might refine,
No Rechabite more ſhun'd the fumes of Wine.
Chaſt were his Cellars; and his Shrieval Board
The Groſſneſs of a City Feaſt abhor'd:
[17] [...] Cooks, with long difuſe, their Trade forgot;
[...]ol was his Kitchen, though his Brains were hot.
[...]ch frugal Virtue Malice may accuſe;
[...]t ſure 'twas neceſſary to the Jew:
[...] Towns once burnt, ſuch Magiſtrates require
[...] dare not tempt God's Providence by Fire.
[...]ith Spiritual Food he fed his Servants well,
[...]t free from Fleſh, that made the Jews rebel:
[...]d Moſes's Laws he held in more account,
[...]r forty days of faſting in the Mount.
[...] ſpeak the reſt, who better are forgot,
[...]ould tire a well breath'd Witneſs of the Plot:
[...]t, Corah, thou ſhalt from Oblivion paſs;
[...]ect thy ſelf thou Monumental Braſs:
[...]gh as the Serpent of thy Metal made,
[...]hile Nations ſtand ſecure beneath thy ſhade.
That though his birth were baſe, yet Comets riſe
[...]om Earthly Vapours e're they ſhine in Skies.
[...]odigious Actions may as well be done
[...] Weaver's Iſſue, as by Prince's Son.
[...]is Arch-Atteſtor for the Publick Good,
[...] that one Deed Enobles all his Blood.
[...]ho ever ask'd the Witneſſes high Race,
[...]hoſe Oath with Martyrdom did Stephen grace?
[...]urs was a Levite, and as times went then,
[...]s Tribe were God Almighty's Gentlemen.
[...]k were his Eyes, his Voice was harſh and loud,
[...]e ſigns he neither Cholerick was, nor Proud:
[...]is long Chin prov'd his Wit; his Saint-like Grace
[...] Church Vermillion, and a Moſes's Face.
[...]s Memory miraculouſly great;
[...]ou'd Plots, exceeding Man's belief, repeat▪
[...]hich therefore cannot be accounted Lies,
[...]or Human Wit cou'd never ſuch deviſe.
[...]ome future Truths are mingled in his Book;
[...]t where the Witneſs fail'd, the Prophet ſpoke:
[...]ome things like Viſionary flights appear;
[...]he ſpirit caught him up the Lord knows where:
[...]nd gave him his Rabinical Degree,
Unknown to Foreign Univerſity.
[...] Judgment yet his Mem'ry did excell;
Which piec'd his wondrous Evidence so well:
[...]nd ſuited to the temper of the Times;
Then groaning under Jebuſitick Crimes.
Let Iſrael's Foes ſuſpect his Heav'nly call,
[...]nd raſhly Judge his Writ Apocryphal:
[...]r Laws for ſuch affronts have Forfeits made:
[...]e takes his Life, who takes away his Trade.
[18]Were I my ſelf in Witneſs Corah's place,
The Wretch who did me ſuch a dire diſgrace▪
Shou'd whet my memory, though once forgot,
To make him an Appendix of my Plot.
His Zeal to Heav'n, made him his Prince deſpiſe▪
And load his Perſon with indignities:
But Zeal peculiar privilege affords;
Indulging latitude to Deeds and Words.
And Corah might for Agag's Murther call:
In terms as courſe as Samuel us'd to Saul.
What others in his Evidence did join,
(The beſt that cou'd be had for love or coin,)
In Corah's own predicament will fall:
For Witneſs is a Common Name to all.
Surrounded thus with Friends of every ſort,
Deluded Abſalom, forſakes the Court:
Impatient of high hopes, urg'd with Renown,
And Fir'd with near Poſſeſſion of a Crown:
Th' admiring Croud are dazled with ſurprize,
And on his Goodly Perſon feed their Eyes:
His joy conceal'd, he ſets himſelf to ſhow;
On each ſide bowing popularly low:
His looks, his geſtures, and his words he frames,
And with familiar caſe repeats their Names.
Thus form'd by Nature, furniſht out with Arts,
He glides unfelt into their ſecret hearts.
Then, with a kind compaſſionating look,
And ſighs, beſpeaking pity e'er he ſpoke,
Few words he ſaid; but eaſie thoſe and fit,
More ſlow than Hybla-drops, and far more ſweet.
I mourn, my Country-men, your loſt Eſtate;
Though far unable to prevent your Fate:
Beholt a baniſht Man, for your dear Cauſe
Expos'd a Prey to Arbitrary Laws!
Yet oh! that I alone cou'd be undone,
Cut off from Empire, and no mare a Son!
Now all your Liberties a Spoil are made;
Aegypt and Tyrus intercept your Trade,
And Jebuſites your Sacred Rites invade.
My Father, whom with Reverence yet I name,
Charm'd into eaſe, is careleſs of his Fame:
And brib'd with petty ſums of Foreign Gold,
Is grown in Bathſheba's Embraces old:
Exalts his Enemies, his Friends deſtroys:
And all his pow'r againſt himſelf employs.
He gives, and let him give my Right away:
But why ſhould he his own, and yours betray?
[19]He only, he can make the Nation bleed,
And he alone from my Revenge is freed.
Take then my Tears (with that he wip'd his Eyes)
Tis all the Aid my preſent pow'r ſupplies:
No Court-Informer can theſe Arms Accuſe;
Theſe Arms may Sons againſt their Fathers uſe;
And 'tis my wiſh the next Succeſſor's Reign
May make no other Iſraelite complain.
Youth, Beauty, Graceful Action, ſeldom fail:
But Common Intereſt always will prevail:
And Pity never ceaſes to be ſhown,
To him, who makes the Peoples wrongs his own.
The Croud, (that ſtill believe their Kings oppreſs,)
With lifted hands their young Meſſiah bleſs:
Who now begins his progreſs to ordain;
With Chariots, Horſemen, and a num'rous Train:
From Eaſt to Weſt his Glories he diſplays:
And, like the Sun, the Promis'd Land ſurveys▪
[...]ame runs before him, as the Morning Star;
And ſhouts of Joy ſalute him from afar:
[...]ach houſe receives him as a Guardian God;
And Conſecrates the Place of his abode:
But hoſpitable Treats did moſt commend
Wiſe Iſſachar, his wealthy Weſtern Friend.
This moving Court, that caught the Peoples Eyes,
And ſeem'd but Pomp, did other Ends diſguiſe:
Achitophel had form'd it, with intent
To ſound the dephts, and fathom where it went,
The Peoples hearts; diſtinguiſh Friends from Foes;
And try their ſtrength, before they came to Blows.
Yet all was colour'd with a ſmooth pretence
Of ſpecious Love, and Duty to their Prince.
Religion, and Redreſs of Grievences,
Two names, that always cheat, and always pleaſes,
Are often urg'd; and good King David's life
Endanger'd by a Brother and a Wife.
Thus in a Pageant Show; a Plot is made;
And Peace it ſelf is War in Meſquerade.
Oh fooliſh Iſrael! never warn'd by ill!
[...]ill the ſame bait, and circumvented ſtill!
[...]d ever men forſake their preſent eaſe,
[...]o midſt of Health imagine a Diſeaſe;
[...]ake pains Contingent miſchiefs to foreſee,
Take heirs for Monarchs, and for God decree?
What ſhall we think! Can People give away,
[...]uch for themſelves and Sons, their native Sway?
[...]hen they are left defenceleſs to the Sword
[...]f each unbounded arbitrary Lord:
[20]And Laws are vain, by which we Right enjoy,
If Kings unqueſtion'd can thoſe Laws deſtroy.
Yet if the Croud be judge of fit and Juſt,
And Kings are only Officers in Truſt,
Then this reſuming Cov'nant was declar'd
When Kings were made, or is for ever bar'd:
If thoſe who gave the Sceptre cou'd not tie
By their own deed their own Poſterity,
How then cou'd Adam bind his future Race?
How cou'd his forfeit on Mankind take place?
Or how cou'd Heavenly Juſtice damn us all,
Who ne'er conſented to our Father's Fall?
Then Kings are ſlaves to thoſe whom they command,
And Tenants to their Peoples pleaſure ſtand.
Add, that the Power for Property allow'd,
Is miſchievouſly ſeated in the Croud:
For who can be ſecure of private Right,
If Sovereign Sway may be diſſolv'd by Might?
Nor is the Peoples Judgment always true:
The moſt may err, as groſly as the Few.
And faultleſs Kings run down, by Common Cry,
For Vice, Oppreſſion, and for Tyranny.
What Standard is there in a fickle Rout,
Which flowing to the Mark, runs faſter out?
Nor only Crouds, but Sanhedrins may be
Infected with this Publick Lunacy:
And Share the madneſs of Rebellious Times,
To Murther Monarch's for Imagin'd Crimes.
If they may give and take whene'er they pleaſe,
Not Kings alone, (the God head Images,)
But Government it ſelf at length muſt fall
To Nature's State, where all have Right to all.
Yet, grant our Lords the People Kings can make,
What prudent men a ſetled Throne wou'd ſhake?
For whatſoe'er their ſufferings were before,
That Change they Covet makes them ſuffer more.
All 'others Errours but diſturb a State;
But Innovation is the Blow of Fate.
If ancient Fabricks nod, and threat to fall,
To patch the Flaws, and Buttreſs of the Wall,
Thus far 'tis Duty; but here fix the Mark;
For all beyond it is to touch our Ark.
To change Foundations, caſt the Frame anew,
Is work for Rebels who baſe ends purſue:
At once Divine and Humane Laws controul;
And mend the Parts by ruin of the Whole.
The tamp'ring World is ſubject to this Curſe,
To Phyſick their Diſeaſe into a Worſe.
[21]Now what Relief can Righteous David bring?
[...]ow Fatal 'tis to be too good a King!
[...]iends he has few, ſo high the madneſs grows;
[...]ho dare be ſuch, muſt be the Peoples Foes:
[...]et ſome there were, ev'n in the worſt of days;
[...]me let me Name, and Naming is to Praiſe.
In this ſhort File Barzillai firſt appears;
[...]rzillai crown'd with Honour and with Years;
[...]ong ſince, the riſing Rebels he withſtood
[...] regions Waſte beyond the Jordan's Flood:
[...]nfortunately Brave to buoy the State;
[...]t ſinking underneath his Maſter's Fate:
Exile with his God-like Prince he mourn'd:
[...]r him he Suffer'd, and with him Return'd.
[...]e Court he practis'd, not the Courtier's Art:
[...]rge was his Wealth, but larger was his Heart:
[...]hich, well the Nobleſt Objects knew to chuſe,
[...]he Fighting Warriour, and Recording Muſe.
[...]s Bed cou'd once a fruitful Iſſue boaſt;
[...]ow more than half a Father's Name is loſt.
[...]s Eldeſt Hope, with every Grace adorn'd,
[...] me (ſo Heav'n will have it) always Mourn'd,
[...]d always honour'd, ſnatch'd in Manhoods prime
[...] unequal Fates, and Providences Crime:
[...]et not before the Goal of Honour own
[...]l Parts fulfill'd of Subject and of Son;
[...]ift was the Race, but ſhort the Time to run.
[...] Narrow Circle, but of Pow'r Divine,
[...]anted in Space, but perfect in thy Line!
[...] Sea, by Land, thy matchleſs Worth was known;
[...]ms thy Delight, and War was all thy Own:
[...]hy force, infus'd, the fainting Tyrians prop'd:
[...]nd haughty Pharaoh found his Fortune ſtop'd.
[...] Ancient Honour, Oh unconquer'd Hand,
[...]hom Foes unpuniſh'd never cou'd withſtand!
[...]t Iſrael was unworthy of his Name:
[...]ort is the date of all Immoderate Fame▪
[...] looks as Heav'n our Ruin had deſign'd,
[...]nd durſt not truſt thy Fortune and thy Mind,
[...]ow free from Earth, thy diſencumbred Soul
[...]ounts up, and leaves behind the Clouds and Starry Pole:
[...]om thence thy kindred Legions may'ſt thou bring,
[...] aid the Guardian Angel of thy King.
[...]ere ſtop, my Muſe, here ceaſe thy painful flight;
[...] Pinions can purſue Immortal height:
[...]ll good Barzillai thou canſt ſing no more,
[...]d tell thy Soul he ſhould have fled before;
[22]Or fled ſhe with his Life, and left this Verſe
To hang on her departed Patron's Hearſe?
Now take thy ſteepy flight from Heav'n, and ſee
If thou canſt find on Earth another He;
Another He would be too hard to fin [...],
See then whom thou can ſee not far behind
Zadoc the Prieſt, whom ſhunning, Pow'r and Place,
His lowly mind advanc'd to David's Grace:
With him the Sagan of Jeruſalem,
Of hoſpitable Soul, and noble S [...]em;
Him of the weſtern dome, whoſe weighty ſenſe
Flow in fit words and heavenly eloquence.
The Prophets Sons by ſuch Example led,
To Learning and to Loyalty were bred:
For Colleges on bounteous Kings depend,
And never Rebel was o Arts a Friend.
To theſe ſucceed the Pillars of the Laws:
Who beſt cou'd plead, and beſt can judge a Cauſe.
Next them a train of Loyal Peers aſcend,
Sharp judging Adriel, the Muſes Friend.
Himſelf a Muſe: —In Sanhedrins debate
True to his Prince; but not a Slave of State.
Whom David's Love with Honour did a⯑dorn,
That from his diſobedient Son were torn.
Jotham of piercing Wit, and pregnant Thought.
Endu'd by Nature and by Learning taught
To move Aſſemblies, who but only try'd
The worſe a-while, then choſe the better ſide:
Nor choſe alone, but turn'd the Balance too;
So much the weight of one Brave man can do.
Huſhai the Friend of David in diſtreſs,
In publick ſtorms of manly ſtedfaſtneſs;
By Foreign Treaties he inform'd his Youth;
And join'd Experience to his Native Truth.
His frugal care ſupply'd the wanting Throne
Frugal for that, but bounteous of his own:
'Tis eaſie Conduct when Exchequers flow:
But ha [...]e the task to manage well the low?
For Sovereign Pow'r is too depreſt or high,
When Kings are forc'd to ſell, or Crouds to buy▪
Indulge one labour more, my weary Muſe?
For Amiel; who can Amiel's praiſe refuſe
Of ancient Race by birth, but nobler yet
In his own worth, and without Title Great:
The Sanhedrin in long time as Chief he rul'd,
Their Reaſon guided, and their paſſion cool'd:
So dextrous was he in the Crown's defence,
So form'd to ſpeak a Loyal Nation's Senſe,
That as their Band was Iſrael's Tribeſſman
So fit was he to repreſent them all.
Now raſher Charioteers the Seat aſcend,
Whoſe looſe Careirs his ſteady Skill com⯑mend
They, like th' unequal Ruler of the Day▪
Msſguide the Seaſons, and miſtake the Way
While he withdrawn at their made Labo [...] smile
And ſafe enjoys the Sabbath of his Toil
Theſe were the chief; a ſmall but faithful Band
Of Worthies, in the Breach who dar'd to ſtand
And tempt th' united Fury of the Land.
With grief they view'd ſuch powerful [...] ⯑g [...]nes b [...]
To batter down the Lawful Governme [...]
A numerous Faction with pretended [...]rig [...]
In Sanhedrins to plume the Regal Righ [...]
The true Succeſſor from the Court remov [...]
The P [...]ot, by hireling Witneſſes, improv [...]
Theſe Ills they ſaw, and as their Duty B [...]
They ſhew'd the King the danger of [...] Wo [...]
That no Conceſſions from the Th [...] wou'd ple [...]
But Lenitives fomented the Diſeaſe:
That Abſalom, ambitious of the Crown
Was made the Lure [...]o draw the P [...] d [...]
That falſe Achitophel's pernicious Hate,
Had turn'd the Plot to ruin Church [...] St [...]
The Council violent, the Rabble worſe:
That Shimei taught Jerusalem to Curſe.
With all theſe loads of Injuries op [...]
And long revolving in his careful Brea [...]
Th' event of things; at last, his Pati [...] t [...]
Thus, from his Royal Throne, by He [...] inſ [...]
The God-like David ſpoke; with awful [...]
His Train their Maker in their Maſter h [...]
Thus long have I by Native Mercy ſway
My wrongs diſſembl'd, my Revenge [...] ſay
So willing to forgive th' Offending Age
So much the Father did the King Aſſwa [...]
But now ſo far my Clemency they ſligh [...]
Th' Offenders queſtion my Forgiv [...] Rig [...]
That one was made for many, they conte [...]
But 'tis to Rule, for that's a Monarch's E [...]
They call my tenderneſs of Blood, my Fe [...]
Though manly Tempers can the Long be [...]
[23] [...]et, ſince they will divert my Native courſe,
Tis time to ſhew I am not good by Force.
[...]hoſe heap'd Affronts that haughty Subjects bring,
[...]re Burthens for a Camel, not a King:
[...]ings are the publick Pillars of the State,
[...]orn to ſuſtain and prop the Nation's weight:
[...] my young Samſon will pretend a Call
[...]o ſhake the Column, let him ſhare the Fall:
[...]ut, oh, that yet he would repent and live!
[...]ow eaſie 'tis for Parents to forgive!
With how few Tears a Pardon might be won
[...]om Nature, pleading for a Darling Son!
[...]or, pitied Youth, by my Paternal care,
[...]ais'd up to all the height his Frame cou'd bear:
[...]ad God ordain'd his Fate for Empire Born,
[...]e wou'd have given his Soul another turn:
[...]ull'd with a Patriot's name, whoſe Modern ſenſe
[...] one that wou'd by Law ſupplant his Prince:
[...]he Peoples Brave, the Politicians Tool;
[...]ever was Patriot yet, but was a Fool.
Whence comes it that Religion and the Laws,
[...]hould more be Abſalom's than David's Cauſe?
[...]s old Inſtructor, e'er he loſt his Place,
Was never thought indu'd with ſo much Grace.
[...]ood Heav'ns, how Faction can a Patriot Paint!
[...]y Rebel ever proves my Peoples Saint:
Wou'd They impoſe an Heir upon the Throne?
[...]et Sanhedrins be taught to give their Own.
[...] King's at leaſt a part of Government;
[...]nd mine as requiſite as their Conſent:
Without my leave a future King to chooſe,
[...]fers a Right the Preſent to Depoſe:
[...]rue, they petition me t' approve their Choice:
[...]t Eſau's Hands ſuit ill with Jacob's Voice.
[...]y pious Subjects for my Safety pray,
Which to ſecure, they take my Pow'r away;
[...]om Plots and Treaſons Heav'n preſerve my Years,
[...]t ſave me moſt from my Petitioners.
[...]ſatiate as the barren Womb or Grave;
[...]d cannot grant ſo much as they can crave.
[...]hat then is left, but with a jealous Eye
[...] guard the ſmall Remains of Royalty?
[...]he Law ſhall ſtill direct my peaceful Sway,
[...]nd the ſame Law teach Rebels to obey:
[...]tes ſhall no more Eſtabliſh'd Pow'r control,
[...]h Votes as make a Part exceed the Whole:
[...] groundleſs Clamours ſhall my Friends remove,
[...]t Crouds have Pow'r to puniſh e'er they prove:
[24]For Gods, and God-like Kings their Care expreſs,
Still to defend their Servants in diſtreſs.
Oh, that my Pow'r to Saving were confin'd!
Why am I forc'd like Heav'n againſt my mind,
To make Examples of another Kind?
Muſt I at length the Sword of Juſtice draw?
Oh, curs'd Effects of neceſſary Law!
How ill my Fear they by my Mercy ſcan,
Beware the Fury of a Patient Man.
Law they require, let Law then ſhew her Face;
They could not be content to look on Grace
Her hinder Parts, but with a daring Eye
To tempt the Terrour of her Front, and Dy,
By their own Arts, 'tis Righteouſly decreed,
Thoſe dire Artificers of Death ſhall bleed.
Againſt themſelves their Witneſſes will ſwear,
Till, Viper-like, their Mother Plot they tear:
And ſuch for Nutriment that bloody Gore
Which was their Principle of Life before.
Their Belial with their Beelzebub will fight;
Thus on my Foes, my Foes ſhall do me right:
Nor doubt th' Event: for Factious Crouds engage
In their firſt Onſet, all their Brutal Rage.
Then let 'em take an unreſiſted Courſe:
Retire and Traverſe, and Delude their Force:
But when they ſtand all Breathleſs, urge the Fight,
And riſe upon 'em with redoubled Might:
For lawful Pow'r is ſtill Superiour found,
When long driv'n back, at length it ſtands the ground.
He ſaid. Th' Almighty nodding gavent conſent;
And Peals of Thunder ſhook the Firmament.
Henceforth a Series of new Time began,
The mighty Years in long Proceſſion ran:
Once more the God-like David was reſtor'd,
And willing Nations knew their Lawful Lord.
FINIS.

Appendix A ADVERTISEMENT.

TO prevent the Publicks being impos'd on; this is to give notice, to the Book lately Publiſh'd in 4to is very Imperfect and Uncert [...] ⯑in to much that above Thirty Lines are omitted in ſeveral Places, and ma [...] groſs Errors committed, which pervert the Sence.

5.

[]

THE TEMPLE OF DEATH, A POEM.

By the Right Honourable the Marquis of NORMANBY: A Tranſlation out of French.

With an ODE in Memory of Her late Majeſty Queen MARY.

By a Perſon of Quality.

—Poema
Eſt Pictura loquens.

LONDON: [...]inted and Sold by H. Hills, in Black-Fryars, near the Water-ſide. 1709.

THE TEMPLE OF DEATH.

[3]
IN thoſe cold Climates, where the Sun appears
Unwillingly, and hides his Face in Tears;
A dreadful Vale lies in a Deſert Iſle,
On which indulgent Heaven did never ſmile.
There a thick Grove of Aged Cypreſs Trees,
Which none without an awful horror ſees,
Into its wither'd Arms, depriv'd of Leaves,
Whole Flocks of ill-preſaging Birds receives:
Poiſons are all the Plants the Soil will bear,
And Winter is the only Seaſon there.
Millions of Graves cover the ſpacious Field,
And Springs of Blood a thouſand Rivers yield;
Whoſe Streams oppreſt with Carcaſſes and Bones,
Inſtead of gentle Murmurs, pour forth Groans.
Within this Vale a famous Temple ſtands,
Old as the World it ſelf, which it commands:
[4]Round is its Figure, and four Iron Gates
Divide Mankind, by order of the Fates.
There come in Crouds, doom'd to one common Grave,
The Young, the old, the Monarch, and the Slave.
Old Age, and Pains, which Mankind moſt deplores,
Are faithful Keepers of thoſe ſacred Doors;
All clad in mournful Blacks, which alſo load
The ſacred Walls of this obſcure Abode;
And Tapers of a pitchy Subſtance made,
With Clouds of Smoak increaſe the diſmal Shade.
A Monſter, void of Reaſon and of Sight,
The Goddeſs is, who ſways this Realm of Night.
Her Power extends o'er all Things that have Breath;
A cruel Tyrant, and her Name is Death.
The faireſt Object of our wond'ring Eyes,
Was newly offer'd up her Sacrifice;
The adjoining Places where the Altar ſtood,
Yet bluſhing with the fair Almeria's Blood.
When griev'd Orontes, whoſe unhappy Flame
Is known to all that e'er converſe with Fame;
His Mind poſſeſt by Fury and Deſpair,
Within the Sacred Temple made this Prayer:
Great Deity! Who in thy Hands do'ſt bear
That truſty Scepter, which poor Mortals fear;
Who wanting Eyes, thy ſelf reſpecteſt none,
And neither ſpares the Laurel, nor the Crown!
Oh thou, whom all Mankind in vain withſtands!
Each of whoſe Blood muſt one day ſtain thy Hands!
[5]Oh thou, who every Eye which ſees the Light,
Cloſeſt again in an Eternal Night!
Open thy Ears, and hearken to my Grief,
To which thy only Power can give Relief:
I come not hither to prolong my Fate,
But wiſh my wretched Life a ſhorter Date;
And that the Earth would in its Bowels hide
A Wretch, whom Heaven invades on every ſide:
That from the ſight of Day I could remove,
And might have nothing left me but my Love.
Thou only Comforter of Minds oppreſt,
The Port, where wearied Spirits are at Reſt;
Conductor to Elyſium! take my Life;
My Breaſt I offer to thy Sacred Knife:
So juſt a Grace refuſe not, nor deſpiſe
A willing, though a worthleſs Sacrifice.
Others their frail and mortal State forgot,
Before thy Altars are not to be brought
Without Conſtraint; the noiſe of dying Rage,
Heaps of the Slain of every Sex and Age,
The Blade all reeking in the Gore it ſhed,
With ſever'd Arms confus'dly ſpread,
The Rapid Flames of a perpetual Fire,
The Groans of Wretches ready to expire:
This Tragick Scene makes them in Terror live,
Till that is forc'd which they ſhould freely give,
Yielding unwillingly what Heaven will have,
Their Fears eclipſe the Glory of their Grave.
Before thy Face they make undecent Moan,
And feel a hundred Deaths in fearing one;
[6]The flame becomes unhallow'd in their Breaſt,
And he a Murtherer, who was a Prieſt;
His Hands profan'd in breaking Nature's Chain,
By which the Body does the Soul detain:
But againſt me thy ſtrongeſt Forces call,
And on my Head let all the Tempeſt fall;
No ſhrinking back ſhall any weakneſs ſhew,
And calmly I'll expect the fatal blow;
My Limbs not trembling, in my mind no fear,
Plaints in my Mouth, nor in my Eyes a Tear.
Think not that time, our wonted ſure relief,
That univerſal Cure for every grief,
Whoſe Aid ſo many Lovers oft have found,
With like ſucceſs can ever heal my wound;
Too weak's the Power of Nature, or of Art;
Nothing but Death can eaſe a broken heart.
And that thou mayſt behold my helpleſs ſtate,
Learn the extreameſt rigor of my Fate.
Amidſt th' innumerable beauteous Train,
Paris the Queen of Cities, does contain,
The faireſt Town, the largeſt, and the beſt,
So fair Almeria ſhin'd above the reſt.
From her bright Eyes to feel a hopeleſs flame,
Was of our Youth the moſt ambitious aim;
Her Chains were marks of Honour to the brave,
She made a Prince whene'er ſhe made a Slave.
Love under whoſe Tyrannick power I groan,
Shew'd me this Beauty e'er 'twas fully blown;
Her tim'rous charms, and her unpractis'd look,
Their firſt aſſurance from my Conqueſt took,
[7]By wounding me, ſhe learnt the fatal Art,
And the firſt ſigh ſhe had, was from my heart;
My Eyes with Tears moiſt'ning her ſnowy Arms,
Render'd the Tribute owing to her Charms:
But as I ſooneſt of all Mortals paid
My Vows, and to her Beauty, Altars made;
So among all thoſe Slaves that ſigh'd in vain,
She thought me only worthy of my Chain.
Love's heavy Burthen, my Submiſſive Heart
Endur'd not long, before ſhe bore her part;
My violent flame melted her frozen Breaſt,
And in ſoft Sighs her Pity ſhe expreſt;
Her gentle Voice allay'd my raging Pains,
And her fair hands ſuſtain'd me in my Chains;
Even Tears of Pity waited on my moan,
And tender Looks were caſt on me alone▪
My hopes and dangers were leſs mine, than hers,
Thoſe fill'd her Soul with Joys, and theſe with Fears:
Our hearts united, had the ſame deſires,
And both alike, burn'd in impatient Fires.
Too faithful Memory! I give thee Leave
Thy wretched Maſter kindly to deceive;
Make me not once Poſſeſſor of her Charms;
Let me not find her languiſh in my Arms;
Paſt Joys are now my Fancies mournful Theams;
Make all my happy Nights appear but Dreams:
Let not that Bliſs before my Eyes be brought:
Oh! hide thoſe Scenes from my tormenting Thought,
And in their place, diſdainful Beauty ſhew,
If thou would'ſt not be cruel, make her ſo;
[8]And ſomething to abate my deep Deſpair,
Oh, let her ſeem leſs Gentle, or leſs Fair.
But I in vain, flatter my wounded Mind,
Never was Nymph ſo lovely or ſo Kind:
No cold Repulſes, my Deſires ſuppreſt,
I ſeldom ſigh'd but on Almeria's Breaſt;
Of all the Paſſions which Mankind deſtroy,
I only felt Exceſs of Love and Joy:
Numberleſs Pleaſures charm'd my Senſe, and they
Were as my Love, without the leaſt Allay.
As pure, alas, but not ſo ſure to laſt,
For like a pleaſſing Dream, they all are paſt.
From Heav'n her Beauty like fierce Light'ning came,
Which breaks thro' Darkneſs with its glorious Flame:
A while it ſhines, a while our Sight it chears,
But ſoon the ſhort-liv'd Comfort diſappears;
And Thunder follows, whoſe reſiſtleſs Rage,
None can withſtand, and nothing can aſſwage.
So oft the Light which thoſe bright Flaſhes gave,
Serves only to conduct us to our Grave.
When I had juſt begun Loves's Joys to taſte,
(Thoſe full Rewards for Fears and Dangers paſt)
A Fever ſeiz'd her, and to nothing brought
The richeſt Work that ever Nature wrought.
All Things below, alas, uncertain ſtand;
The firmeſt Rocks are fix'd upon the Sand:
Under this Law both Kings and Kingdoms bend,
And no Beginning is without an End.
[9] [...] Sacrifice to Time, Fate dooms us all,
[...]nd at the Tyrant's Feet we daily fall:
[...]ime, whoſe bold Hand alike does bring to Duſt
[...]ankind, and all thoſe Powers in which they truſt.
Her waſted Spirits now begin to faint,
[...]et Patience ties her Tongue from all Complaint;
[...]nd in her Heart, as in a Fort, remains,
[...]ut yields at laſt to her reſiſtleſs Pains:
Thus while the Fever, am'rous of his Prey,
Through all her Veins makes his delightful Way;
[...]or Fate's, like Semile's, the Flames deſtroy
[...]hat Beauty they too eagerly enjoy.
[...]er charming Face is in its Spring decay'd,
[...]ale grow the Roſes, and the Lillies fade;
[...]er Skin has loſt that Luſtre which ſurpaſt
The Sun's, and did deſerve as long to laſt;
[...]er Eyes, which us'd to pierce the firmeſt Hearts,
[...]re now diſarm'd of all their Flames and Darts;
Thoſe Stars now heavily and ſlowly move,
[...]nd Sickneſs triumphs in the Throne of Love.
The Fever every moment more prevails;
[...]s Rage her Body feels, and Tongue bewails;
[...]he, whoſe Diſdain ſo many Lovers prove,
[...]ighs now for Torment, as they ſigh for Love,
And with loud Cries will rend the neighb'ring Air,
Wounds my ſad Heart, and wakens my Deſpair.
[...]oth Gods and Men I charge now with my Loſs,
And wild with Grief, my Thoughts each other croſs;
[10]My Heart and Tongue labour in both extreams,
That ſends up ſlighted Prayers, while this blaſphem
I ask their help, whoſe malice I defy,
And mingle Sacrilege with Piety:
But that which does yet more perplex my mind,
To love her truly, I muſt ſeem unkind:
So unconcern'd a Face my Sorrow wears,
I muſt reſtrain unruly floods of Tears.
My Eyes and Tongue put on diſſembling forms,
I ſhew a calmneſs in the midſt of Storms,
I ſeem to hope, when all my hopes are gone,
And almoſt dead, with Grief, diſcover none.
But who can long deceive a loving Eye,
Or with dry Eyes behold his Miſtreſs die;
When Paſſion had with all his Terrors brought
Th'approaching danger nearer to my thought,
Off on a ſudden fell the forc'd diſguiſe.
And ſhew'd a ſighing heart in weeping Eyes,
My apprehenſions now no more confin'd,
Expos'd my Sorrows, and betray'd my mind.
The fair afflicted, Soon perceive my Tears,
Explains my Sighs, and thence concludes my Fears
With ſad Preſages of her hopeleſs Caſe,
She reads her Fate in my dejected Face;
Then, feels my torment, and neglects her own,
While I am ſenſible of hers alone;
Each does the others burden kindly bear,
I fear her Death, and ſhe bewails my Fear;
Though we thus ſuffer under Fortune's Darts,
'Tis only thoſe of Love which reach our hearts.
[11] [...]ean-while the Fever mocks at all our Fears,
[...]ows by our Sighs, and rages at our Tears:
[...]oſe vain effects of our as vain deſire,
[...]ke Wind and Oyl increaſe the fatal fire.
Almeria, then, feeling the Deſtinies
[...]out to ſhut her Lips, and cloſe her Eyes,
[...]eeping, in mine fix'd her fair trembling hand,
[...]d with theſe words, I ſcarce could underſtand;
[...]er Paſſion in a dying Voice expreſs'd
[...]alf, and her Sighs alas, made out the reſt.
[...]is paſt; this pang, Nature gives o'er the ſtrife;
[...]hou muſt thy Miſtreſs loſe, and I my Life;
[...]dye, but dying thine, the Fates may prove
Their Conqueſt over me, but not my Love;
Thy Memory, my Glory, and my Pain,
[...] ſpight of death it ſelf, ſhall ſtill remain:
[...]h! Dear Orentes, my hard Fate denies
That hope is the laſt thing which in us dies:
[...]rom my griev'd Breaſt all thoſe ſoft thoughts are fled,
[...]nd Love ſurvives, although my hope is dead;
[...]yield my Life, but keep my Paſſion yet,
[...]nd can all thoughts but of Orontes quit;
[...]y flame increaſes as my ſtrength decays,
[...]eath, which puts out the Light, the heat does raiſe;
That ſtill remains, though I from hence remove,
[...]loſe my Lover, but I keep my Love.
The Sigh, which ſent forth that laſt tender Word,
[...]p towards the Heaven's like a bright Meteor ſoar'd,
[12]And the kind Nymph bereft of all her Charms,
Fell cold and breathleſs in her Lover's Arms;
Which ſhews, ſince Death could deny him Relief,
That 'tis in vain we hope to die with Grief.
Goddeſs, who now my Fate has underſtood,
Spare but my Tears, and freely take my Blood;
Here let me end the Story of my Cares,
My diſmal Grief enough the reſt declares.
Judge thou by all this Miſery diſplay'd,
Whether I ought not to implore thy Aid:
Thus to ſurvive, reproaches on me draws,
And my ſad Wiſhes have too juſt a Cauſe.
Come, then, my only Hope; in every Place
Thou viſiteſt, Men tremble at thy Face,
And fear thy Name; once let thy fatal Hand
Fall on a Swain, that does the Blow demand.
Vouchſafe thy Dart: I need not one of thoſe,
With which thou doſt unwilling Kings depoſe;
Thy weakeſt, my deſir'd Releaſe can bring,
And free my Soul already on her Wing.
But ſince all Prayers and Tears are vain, I'll try,
If, ſpight of thee, 'tis poſſible to die.

AN ODE in Memory of Her MAJESTY Queen MARY.

[13]
I.
LONG our divided State
Hung in the Ballance of a doubtful Fate,
[...]hen one bright Nymph the gath'ring Clouds diſ⯑pell'd
[...]d all the Griefs of Albion heal'd.
[...]r the united Land obey'd,
[...]o more to Jealouſies inclin'd,
[...]or fearing Pow'r with ſo much Virtue join'd.
[...]e knew her Task, and nicely underſtood
[...]o what intentions Kings are made,
[...]ot for their own, but for their Peoples good:
[...]was that prevailing Argument alone,
[...]etermin'd Her to fill the vacant Throne.
[...]nd yet with Sadneſs ſhe beheld
[...] Crown devolving on her Head,
[...]y the Exceſſes of a Prince miſled)
[...]hen by her Koyal Birth compell'd
[14]To what her God, and what her Country claim'd
(Tho' by a Servile Faction blam'd)
How graceful were the Tears ſhe ſhed!
II.
When waiting only for a Wind,
Againſt our Iſle the Pow'r of France was arm'd:
Here ruling Arts in all their Luſtre ſhin'd,
The Winds themſelves were by her Influence charm' [...]
Whilſt her Authority and Care ſupply'd,
That Safety which the want of Troops deny'd.
Secure and undiſturb'd the Scene
Of Albion ſeem'd, and like her Eyes, Serene:
Vain was th' Invader's Force, Revenge and Pride;
Maria Reign'd, and Heav'n was on our Side.
The Sceptre by her ſelf unſought,
Gave double Proofs of her Heroick Mind;
With Skill ſhe ſway'd it, and with Eaſe reſign'd:
So the Dictator, from Retirement brought,
Repell'd the Danger that did Rome alarm,
And then return'd contented to his Farm.
III.
Fatal to the Fair and Young,
Accurſt Diſeaſe, how long
Have wretched Mothers mourn'd thy Rage,
Rob'd of the Hopes and Comfort of their Age?
From the unhappy Lover's ſide,
How often haſt thou torn the blooming Bride!
Now like a Tyrant riſing by degrees
To worſe Extreams, and blacker Villanies.
[15] [...]ctis'd in Ruin for ſome * Ages paſt,
[...]ou haſt brought forth a gen'ral one at laſt!
[...]mmon Diſaſters, Sorrow raiſe,
[...] Heav'ns ſevereſt Frowns amaze!
[...]e QUEEN—a Word, a Sound,
[...] Nations once the Hope, and firm Support;
[...]ealth of the Needy, Guard of the Oppreſt,
[...]e Joy of all, the wiſeſt and the beſt;
Name that Ecchoes did rebound
[...]ith loud Applauſe from Neighb'ring Shores,
[...]heir Admiration, the Delight of ours)
[...]comes unutterable now!
[...]he Crowds in that defected Court
[...]here languiſhing MARIA lay,
[...]ant Power to ask the News they came to know;
[...]ent, their drooping Heads they bow:
[...]ence it ſelf proclaims the approaching Woe.
[...]'en He (MARIA's lateſt Care)
[...]hom Winter-Seaſons nor † contending Jove,
[...]or watchful Fleets, could from his glorious Purpoſe move,
[...]trepid in the Storms of War,
[...]nd in the midſt of flying Deaths ſedate,
[...]ow Trembles, now he ſinks beneath the mighty Weight,
[...]he Hero to the Man gives way.
IV.
Unhappy Iſle, for half an Age a Prey
[...]o fierce Diſſention, or Deſpotick Sway.
[16]Redeem'd from Anarchy to be undone
By the miſtaken Meaſures of the Throne;
Thy Monarchs meditating dark Deſigns,
Or boldly throwing off the Maſque,
(Fond of the Pow'r unequal to the Task)
Thy ſelf without the leaſt remaining Sings
Of ancient Virtue ſo deprav'd
As even they wiſh'd to be enſlav'd:
What more than Humane Aid
Could raiſe thee from a State ſo low,
Protect thee from thy ſelf, thy greateſt Foe?
Something Celeſtial, ſure a Heroine
Of matchleſs Form, and a majeſtick Mein;
By all reſpected, fear'd, but more belov'd,
More than her Laws, her great Example mov'd:
The Bounds that in her God-like Mind,
Were to her Poſſions ſet, ſeverely ſhin'd,
But that of doing Good was unconfin'd.
So Juſt, that abſolute Command,
Deſtructive in another Hand;
In hers had chang'd its Nature, had been uſeful made.
Oh! had ſhe longer ſtaid!
Leſs ſwiftly to her Native Heav'n retir'd,
For her the Harps of Albion had been ſtrung:
Th' Harmonious Nine could never have aſpir'd
To a more lofty and immortal Song.
FINIS.

6.

[]

A Congratulatory POEM To His Royal Highneſs Prince GEORGE OF DENMARK, Lord High Admiral of Great Britain, UPON THE Glorious Succeſſes at Sea.

By N. TATE Eſq Poet-Laureat to Her Majeſty.

To which is added Happy Memorable SONG, on the Fight near Audenarde, between the Duke of Marlborough and Vendome, &c.

LONDON: [...]inted by Henry Hills, in Black-fryars, near the Wa⯑ter-ſide. 1708.

To His Royal Highneſs The Moſt Illuſtrious Prince GEORGE of Denmark

[2]
BLeſs'd Prince! in Whom the Graces ſeem combi [...]
To raiſe the ſinking Glories of Mankind;
Our Iron Age with Vertues to Adorn,
Like th'infant World's, e'er Guilt and Grief were bo [...]
How dares a Rural Muſe approach your Court,
From Vales, where home-bred Nymphs and Swains ſ [...]
There let her entertain the penſive Hours
With ſympathizing Songs, in ſhady Bow'rs;
There let her act her Shepherdeſs's Part,
Where Innocence is Wit, and Nature Art.
To Villagers, in that forlorn Retreat,
Her Serious Antiquated Streins repeat,
And leave gay Rivals to careſs the Great.
Pretending Poet, (the griev'd Muſe replies)
With uncommiſſion'd Boldneſs you adviſe:
Without Offence I pay Attendance here,
When 'tis on Duty's Summons I appear;
[3]For, tho' retir'd to ſolitary Groves,
The Palace ſtill my Sylvan Song approves:
ANNA and GEORGE indulge the gen'rous Lays
I ſing (Unrival'd) in poor Virtue's Praiſe.
I love the Shades; but, from Elyſian Bow'rs
When Winter wreaths his hoary Head with Flow'rs;
When ſtarting Spring foreſtalls the Bloom of May,
And Summer's Sweets, to crown the * Royal Day;
Or when I hear our Britiſh Ocean roar
His GEORGE's Conqueſt to the ſhouting Shoar,
Muſt only I in ſhady Silence reſt,
And hear my Prince by all but me addreſt?
No, Shepherd; ſince ſuch charming Themes invite,
And I (tho' Rural) have a Muſe's Right;
Since ſure Diſgrace attends upon Deſpair,
And nobly they may Do, who nobly Dare:
Mounted on Rapture, and Devotion's Wing,
[...]ll ſally, and my Prince's Triumph ſing.
When vying Arts their proud Memorials raiſe,
[...]anes, Arches, Trophies, Pyramids of Praiſe,
[...]hat Time may in His doating Days repeat
[...]vading Gallia's ſcandalous Defeat,
[...]er Bold Pretender, and his Baſe Retreat:
[...]l fix my Pillar too, not wreath'd with Gold,
[...]ut ſuch a dazling Verſe, ſo juſtly bold,
[...]s in the Front of Fame's Records ſhall place
[...]EORGE's Renown, and Lewi [...]'s Diſgrace;
[4]His Babel-Project in Confuſion hurl'd,
And from Ambition's giddy Chariot, whirl'd
The Phaeton he rais'd to fright and fire the World.
Then think how graceful, how almoſt divine,
The gen'rous Guardian's Character will ſhine!
Therefore on Rapture, and Devotion's Wing,
I'll ſally, and the Beſt of Princes ſing.
What's that? The Beſt of Princes did you ſay?
See how your ruſtick Breeding you betray:
That an Encomium for a Muſe to pay?
Give Him the Title to his Station due,
The Beſt of Kings; yes, and of Emp'rors too;
Supream without the Pageantries of State,
Crowns, Scepters, that on vulgar Monarchs wait;
For Heaven does to this Favourite impart
The Nobleſt Empire,—That of ANNA's Heart;
That Vertue's ſacred Provinces contains;
Where all the Bliſs of Paradice remains,
And of that Eden He ſole Monarch Reigns.
Therefore proclaim Him (Muſe) from Pole to Pole,
Far as his Fleets can Sail, or Ocean rowl:
Tell Eaſtern Courts, for Grandeur ſo renown'd,
Great Britain's GEORGE with ANNA's Love is Crown'd
Hail! Royal PAIR, (thus Hymen's heard to ſay;)
Hail! happy PAIR, that keep my Garland gay
And flouriſhing, as on the Nuptial-Day.
[5]Freſh Glories ſpring with each advancing Hour;
Peace, Amity, and ev'ry gentle Pow'r,
For ever Smile, and Bleſs the Royal Bow'r.
Great Britain's Tutelary GEORGE proclaim,
Succeſſor to Her Sacred Champion's Name,
And more than a Succeſſor to his Fame.
The Firſt did Error's creeping Serpent quell;
Diſcord's wing'd Dragon by the Second fell:
The Firſt prevail'd by Truth's refulgent Arms,
The next by Truth's and Moderation's Charms;
Charms, that with ANNA's Sov'reign Influence join'd,
[...] Like Dew in ſome Coeleſtial Sphere refin'd)
Diſtilling from the Balmy Wings of Peace,
Made our Domeſtick Conflagrations ceaſe.
O! Fame, no longer boaſt your Graecian Pow'rs,
And mournful Fall of Priam's ſtately Tow'rs.
Muſt Miſchief a Maeonion Muſe employ?
Then what ſhould Piety, that quench'd our flaming Troy?
This Triumph for his riper Years Remain'd,
Whoſe Youth, in Field, the foremoſt Lawrels gain'd
But 'tis not for a Paſt'ral Muſe to ſing
The reſcu'd Brother, and protected King.
O Courage! that Bellona's Self amaz'd,
And ſtartl'd Mars upon the Wonder gaz'd;
Applauding Europe Bleſs'd her Northern Star,
The Phoſpher to Her Juſt and Glorious War;
[6]The Leading Light, that fir'd Her Sons of Fame;
From Hence Marlburian, and Eugenian Flame.
In Camps let thoſe Illuſtrious Chiefs perſue
Their Glorious Game, with Conqueſts ſtill in View;
Storm Hoſtile Forts, Confed'rate Cities ſhield,
But, Britain, to your GEORGE's Conduct yield
Your Floating Caſtles, and the Wat'ry Field.
Enamour'd Thetis courts Him with Succeſs,
And Victory, in ev'ry Change of Dreſs;
Sometimes She meets Him in Her Purple Pride,
Her Azure Waves in Crimſon Slaughter Dy'd:
Sometimes with Bloodleſs, Smiling Lawrels crown'd▪
Like Thoſe our Caledonian * Coaſt renown'd.
With prouder Pomp Old Oceon never ſwell'd,
Than when the Britiſh Squadron He beheld;
No, not when Venus, with the Wat'ry Pow'rs,
Sprang from the Criſtal Cells, and Coral Bow'rs;
Whilſt Gliſt'ring Gems did ſuch a Luſter dart
As dazl'd Day, and made to Sun the ſtart,
But when He ſends his awful Summons round,
Europe and Africk tremble at the Sound.
Fame's Pillars ſhake on Her Atlantick Shoar,
To hear Our GEORGE's Naval Thunder roar
In freſh Exploits, where Hercules gave o'er.
The Sea, that Barrier to Alcides Toils,
Opens Her Guardian GEORGE, a new vaſt World of † Spoils.
[7]
Yes, Muſe, with ſuch delightful Terror Blaz'd
Our Furniſh'd Fleet, and in an Inſtant Rais'd;
Nor ſooner the bold Leopard did Advance,
But Her firſt Broadſide, from their flatt'ring Trance,
Scar'd into ſhameful Flight the Threat'ning Fiends of France.
When Tyrant-Courts plot ſome enormous Crime,
The Prodigy muſt be the Work of Time.
Law, Juſtice, Reaſon, Conſcience, Honour, All
Sad Victims to the Riſing Moloch fall.
But pious Princes, from Above are Taught
To give their Juſt Efforts the Speed of Thought,
And Miracles are in a * Moment wrought.
Such Wonders wait on his Electing Skill
Of † Council and Commanders, to fulfill,
With Faith and Fame, their Great Director's Will.
And You (replies the Muſe) would here Retreat?
No, Swain; your Garland is but half Compleat:
Arrears of Tribute you have yet to raiſe,
Will riffle all your Flow'ry Fields of Praiſe:
Your Elogy, to perfect this Eſſay,
Muſt, with the Prince, the Glorious Man diſplay.
Beſides Prerogatives of Pow'r and Birth,
Vaſt Provinces of Independant Worth,
[8]Inherent Charms, that on His Perſon wait,
With Genuine Grandeur, and Pacifick State.
His Frame a graceful Palace, and deſign'd
The Manſion of a Truly Royal Mind;
Where Reaſon reigns, and Paſſions never move,
But by adjuſted Orders from above.
Hence inward Peace the pious Prince enjoys,
And with Succeſs Abroad, His Thoughts employs;
Taught by Superior Judgment to Advance
Beyond the boaſted Progreſſes of France:
Yet Policy, to Truth's ſtreight Courſe confines,
By Honour's Compaſs ſteers his vaſt Deſigns;
Shunning thoſe Rocks, where ſhifting Stateſmen ſplit,
With double Wreck of Honeſty and Wit.
While He, with fav'ring Gales of Fortune drives,
And Proſp'rouſly at the wiſh'd Port arrives.
A cloſe Spectator of the World's great Stage,
Yet ne'er Tranſported with its Mirth or Rage;
But from its Failures, Obſervation draws
To act a Part that wins the World's Applauſe;
Does Precedents to ev'ry Station give,
How Monarchs ought to Reign, and Subjects Live;
How Clemency can Princely Port maintain,
And Sov'reignty, by Condeſcending, gain:
In Court, more Morals has to Practice brought,
Than Cynick Schools and Cloyſters ever Taught.
Only the Vertue's and the Grace's Train,
Into His Favour can Admittance gain,
While Syren-Pleaſures Sing, and Smile, in Vain.
[9]Where Pride Controuls, Duty at diſtance ſtands,
But a cloſe Waiter on his juſt Commands;
Pleas'd with his Mandates, to her Poſt ſhe moves,
Like Zephyrs, order'd to the Myrtle Groves
On this lov'd Theme I could for ever dwell,
Might I but here, as at my Rural Cell;
Far from my Prince's Ear, in bold Eſſays
Launch out on the wide Ocean of his Praiſe;
While Philomel forgets her Savage Wrong,
And widow'd Turtles liſten to my Song;)
But modeſt Merit, charm'd with juſt Applauſe,
When paid to others, from its own withdraws.
Well; I deſiſt; but my Devoted Heart
Inſiſts on Priviledge, and will not part;
She crys, 'tis Luke-warm Paſſion, that will preſs
No longer than encourag'd to Addreſs.
But Raving Love will all Occaſions ſeize,
And ſometimes bravely venture to diſpleaſe:
At leaſt the Gen'rous Queen will intercede,
And for a fond Offender's Pardon plead:
ANNA, the Gracious ANNA, will forgive,
And kindly bid his poor Admirer live.
Why ſhould he with extenſive Luſtre Shine,
And think our Admiration to Confine?
Whoſe Preſence, like the Sun, Our Grief beguiles,
And ſullen Care at his Appearance ſmiles:
The Pride of Nature, and the World's delight,
Admir'd Veſpatian a leſs Charming Sight.
As Citizens Beſieg'd to Turrets throng,
To ſee their ſucc'ring Champion march along;
[10]When he approaches, our rouz'd Spirits riſe,
And wait him at the watch-tow'rs of our Eyes.
The Stars, that with auſpicious Aſpect Blaze,
Look down, and with delightful wonder gaze
On Hours, might be in Royal Eaſe enjoy'd,
So Gen'rouſly in publick cares employ'd!
Yet as we ſee the vaſt Machine above
Of Spheres and Stars, in tuneful order move,
He works his Orb of Bus'neſs in a Courſe
Of charming movement, and harmonious force.
Such is my Prince, mild as a Morning Ray,
As Ev'ning Calm, yet Active as the Day:
In publick, for Majeſtick Grace Admir'd;
But more; oh! more than Mortal when retir'd.
Might I his Cloſet's bleſs'd receſs diſplay,
New Scenes of dazling Wonders you'd ſurvey!
O Swain! that Sanctu'ry unveil'd would ſhow
Deſcended Seraphs, and a Heav'n below.
There Europe's Patron her juſt Cauſe ſupports,
By Correſpondence with Celeſtial Courts.
'Tis there the proſp'rous Schemes—
—Raſh Muſe, forbear;
'Tis Hallow'd Ground, and you approach too near.
I know't:—Yet Zeal, fond Zeal, would ſtill aſpire;
But Awful Rev'rence warns us to Retire,
And at juſt Diſtance ſilently Admire.

POSTSCRIPT.

[11]

THE ſame Zeal and Veneration, that put the Muſe on this Eſſay of his Royal Highneſs's Character, made her timerous of publiſhing her Performance, tho' [...]enſible that a pourtraict of ſo Incomparable a Prince may be very ſhort of the Original, yet anagreeable Picture.

And altho' 'twas impoſſible to come up to the Graces [...]f the Life, ſhe has ſet the moſt diſtinguiſhing Features [...] the foremoſt Light, and particularly His Patronnizing [...]f Piety and Publick Welfare.

For, when we have Summ'd up the Atchievements [...]f Heroes Renown'd by Antiquity, We ſhall find their [...]ffuſive Praiſe All Centre in Theſe Sovereign Vertues.

'Twas to Theſe they Rais'd Statues and Temples; and [...]ot ſatisfy'd with thoſe mouldring Monuments of Fame, [...]erpetuated their Memory by ever-living Hiſtories, Pa⯑ [...]egyricks, and Poems.

To which Honour nothing can be added, But that which tranſcends them all; that they are perſuant to [...]e principle and practice of the Beſt of Queens, Her Ma⯑ [...]ſty of Great Britain.

Therefore, under ſo National a Happineſs, 'tis the [...]oper province of Poets to preſent the people with the [...]eſt Memorials they can raiſe, to excite them to a thank⯑ [...]l Remembrance of ſuch Bleſſings, That being one [...]rely means of having them long continu'd.

[12]And if on the preſent occaſion, the delightfulneſs of the Subject has tranſported me beyond my uſual Reſer⯑vedneſs, I ſhall only repeat my plea already made for pardon from the worthy Dr. Gibbons. Perſon, to whole Learning and Judgment I am moſt oblig'd, and therefore moſt accountable, in any matter of the Muſes.

Forgive me, great Director of my Song;
Long may you live, that others may live long;
Whoſe Skilful Search of Learning's Secret Store,
Furniſh'd my Favour'd Muſe, and taught her more
Than Horace and Roſcommon had before.
Forgive, if now the Claſſic Road ſhe quit,
For Precipices of Advent'rous Wit:
If Fancy has a Daring Flight Aſpir'd,
'Tis what the Theme, the Glorious Theme, requir'd.

To Celebrate the Worthies of her own Age and Na⯑tion, is certainly one of the uſefulleſt Methods in which a Muſe can employ her Talent; becauſe it is doing Ju⯑ſtice to living Merit, and Tranſmitting its Glorious Example to Poſterity.

Mine, I confeſs, has but too much Reaſon to drea [...] the difficulty of ſuch Attempts; yet in this Effort o [...] Duty and Reſpect to his Royal Highneſs, ſhe can juſtl [...] challenge that Ancient Priviledge for a Favourable Re⯑ception, viz. In Magnis Rebus vel Conatus Laudari debe [...]

Claudian has mention'd the two principal Pillars o [...] Panegyric, which he thought ſingly ſufficient to ſupport [...] his Prince's Encomium—Ingenium Autoris vel Stilico [...] ⯑nis Amor. And however I may have fail'd in the for⯑mer, I am aſſur'd, that no Perſon can ſurpaſs me i [...] the latter.

[13]In a Seaſon of continu'd Sun-ſhine, 'tis Natural for Ha⯑ [...]ycons to exert their Harmony; and in ſo bright a train of Naval Succeſſes, as have, ſo early in the Year, Oc⯑ [...]aſion'd a * double diſappointment of the common Enemies Deſigns, together with a freſh and ſignal Vi⯑ [...]tory by the Conduct and Bravery of his Grace the Duke of Marlborough; in theſe proſperous and promi⯑ [...]ng Circumſtances of ſpeedily ſeeing the pious Endea⯑ [...]ours, of our moſt Gracious Queen and Prince com⯑ [...]leated in a happy Reſtauration of the Peace and Liber [...]y of Europe, 'Tis no wonder to hear the Congratulating Muſes ſing—.

Thro' Field and Flood our Royal pair maintain
[...]acifick Empire, juſt as here they Reign;
[...]ake Foreign Courts by their deciſive Doom,
[...]ractice the Juſtice which they act at home.
[...]ence all with Joy their riſing Glories ſee,
[...]uch Strength entruſted with ſuch Piety;
While from their well-plac'd pow'r Protection flows,
And with their Grandeur the World's Welfare grows.
FINIS.

A Happy Memorable Ballad, On the Fight near Audenarde, between the Duke o [...] Marlborough, of Great-Britain, and the Duke o [...] Vendome, of France. As alſo the ſtrange an [...] wonderful manner how the Princes of the Blood Royal of France were found in a Wood. In allu⯑ſion to the Unhappy Memorable Song common [...] call'd Chevy-Chace.

[14]
GOD proſper long our gracious Queen,
Our Lives and Safeties all,
A woful Fight of late there did
Near Andenard befal.
To drive the French with Sword and Gun,
Brave Marlborough took his way,
Ah! wo the time that France beheld
The Fighting of that day.
The Valiant Duke to Heaven had ſwore
Vendome ſhould pay full dear,
For Ghent and Bruges, e're his Fame
Should reach his maſter's Ear.
And now with Eighty Thouſand bold,
And choſen men of might,
He with the French began to wage
A ſharp and bloody fight.
The Gallant Britains ſwiftly ran
The French away to chaſe,
On Wedneſday they began to fight,
When Day-light did decreaſe.
And long before high-Night, they had
Ten thouſand Frenchmen ſlain,
And all the Rivers Crimſon flow'd,
As they were dy'd in grain.
[15]The Britains thro' the Woods purſu'd,
The nimble French to take,
And with their Cries the Hills and Dales,
And every Tree did ſhake.
The Duke then to the Wood did come,
In hopes Vendome to meet,
When lo! the Prince of Carignan
Fell at his Grace's Feet:
Oh! gentle Duke forbear, forbear,
Into that Wood to ſhoot;
If ever pity mov'd your Grace,
But turn your Eyes and look;
See where the Royal Line of France,
Great Lewis's Heirs do lie;
And ſure a Sight more piteous was
Ne're ſeen by mortal Eye.
What Heart of Flint but muſt relent,
Like Wax before the Sun,
To ſee their Glory at an end.
E're yet it was begun.
When as our General found your Grace
Wou'd needs begin to fight,
As thinking it wou'd pleaſe the Boys,
To ſee ſo fine a Sight,
He ſtraitway ſent them to the top
Of yonder Church's Spire,
Where they might ſee, and yet be ſafe
From Swords, and Guns, and Fire.
But firſt he took them by the Hand,
And kiſs'd them e're they went,
Whilſt Tears ſtood in their little Eyes,
As if they knew the Event.
Then ſaid, he would with ſpeed return,
Soon as the Fight was done,
But when he ſaw his men give ground,
Away he baſely run,
[16]And left theſe Children all alone,
As Babes wanting Relief,
And long they wandred up and down,
No hopes to chear their grief.
Thus hand in hand they walked, till
At laſt this Wood they ſpy'd,
And when they ſay the Night grow dark,
They here lay down and cry'd.
At this the Duke was inly mov'd,
His Breaſt ſoft pity beat,
And ſo he ſtreightway ordered
His men for to retreat.
And now but that my Pen is blunt,
I might with eaſe relate,
How Fifteen Thouſand French were took,
Beſides what found their Fate.
Nor ſhou'd the Prince of Hanover
In Silence be forgot,
Who like a Lyon fought on foot,
After his Horſe was ſhot.
And what ſtrange Chance likewiſe befel,
Unto theſe Children dear,
But that your Patience is too much
Already tir'd I fear.
And ſo God bleſs the Queen and Duke,
And ſend a laſting Peace,
That Wars and foul Debate henceforth
In all the World may ceaſe.
FINIS.

Appendix A ADVERTISEMENT.

WHEREAS the Printer hereof did receive two Letters by the General Poſt from an unknown Hand; the laſt dated July the 1ſt, 1708. If the Gentleman that ſent them ſhall be pleaſed to communicate any ſuch Copies as there mentioned, they ſhall be juſtly and faithfully Printed and Publiſhed, and the Favour moſt thankfully acknow⯑ledged, by

H. H.

7.

[]

WINDSOR-CASTLE: A POEM.

[...]nſcrib'd to the Immortal Ho⯑nour of our moſt Gracious Soveraign, ANNE, Queen of Great Britain, France, and Ireland.

To which is added, BRITAIN's JUBILEE; A New Congratulatory SONG, &c.

—Majora Canamus.

LONDON, [...]nted and Sold by H. Hills, in the Black-fryars, near Water-ſide, For the Benefit of the Poor. 1708.

WINDSOR-CASTLE A POEM.

[2]
AFTER Great Naſſaw taught this Nation Wa [...]
And led them out with conduct, and with ca [...]
Britain's ungrateful Sons forgot the Hand
That had preſerv'd them by his wiſe Command:
When haughty French-men preſs'd his Troops in va [...]
'Till Landen's Plains were cover'd with the Slain;
While thro' their fierceſt and conqu'ring Cohorts, [...]
Made his bold Paſſage, like a Diety.
No Terrors could his fiery Paſſion cool;
His Armour was the Courage of his Soul:
Nor will the Pow'r from whom this Hero fought,
Permit his Mem'ry to be e're forgot;
For'midſt the eternal Monuments of Fame,
None will exceed Immortal William's Name.
He liv'd in foreign Camps, for Arms renown'd,
And dy'd with never-fading Lawrels crown'd.
While Europe did in Sorrow bathe their Eyes,
And Clouds with mourning Sables deck'd the Skies,
Till ANNA like another Sun did riſe.
[3]ANNA, whoſe pious Name tunes ev'ry Lyre,
And does my Muſe with boundleſs Thoughts inſpire,
From Royal Race her ſacred Breath ſhe drew,
And Britain well her Great Forefathers knew.
Divinely bright her glorious Actions ſhine,
[...]uch as deſcended from her ancient Line.
Upon her Brow a thouſand Graces meet,
Where they in Thrones of ſpotleſs Goodneſs ſit.
[...]o ev'ry Heart with Pleaſure ſhe commands;
No Heart, no Soul, her Lordly Pow'r withſtands.
Of Royal George ſhe lives the Vertuous Wife,
[...]ree from the Jars of Matrimonial Strife.
Heav'n ſuch a Bride-groom never yet deſcry'd;
Nor ever Earth ſo good and chaſt a Bride.
Their Hearts, like rowling Spheres, ſtill conſtant move,
[...]wimming in Waves of Joy and mutual Love;
While all the Soldiers round their Marlbro' throng,
[...]o bring him home with Triumph and a Song.
Near where of Old Iſis and Tame abode,
[...]ecurely tended by their Guardian God;
[...]here ſands a lofty Pile, which looking high, [Windſor Caſtle]
[...]ears up its ſtately head to meet the Sky.
[...]he beauteous Frame with curious Art is wrought,
With Stone from Portland, and Roch-Abbey brought:
With talleſt Oaks, that do the Foreſts ſhade,
Whereof the Beams and Rafters all are made.
[...]ch wondrous Architrave the Structure ſhows,
[...]s muſt the happy Architect diſcloſe.
[4]
One tow'ring Oak of huge Gigantick Size,
That did on Windſor's ſhady Foreſt riſe,
Does, by its Native Strength alone ſupport
The aſcending Ladder of this ſpacious Court.
A hundred Paces to the Floor you mount,
And twice two Hundred afterwards may count.
The Ceiling of ſtupend'ous Height does ſeem,
Shewing no Crack, or Flaw, or artleſs Beam.
But in the nobleſt Paintings, there divine,
Does all the glorious Acts of Europe ſhine.
Nor are the wond'rous Deeds of VVilliam here forgot,
And all the mighty Battels which he bravely fought.
A Lordly Dome raiſes its Antique Head, S.
George Ha [...]
Which o'er the Centre of the Buildings ſpread;
Two Hundred Cubits 'bove the Roof does riſe,
And the ſame Number ſpans the bulky Size;
VVith pond'rous Lead the Pile is cover'd o'er.
And Tuſcan Marble paves the inner Floor.
There Verrio's Skill in laſting Colours lives;
And there Immortal VVilliam ſtill ſurvives:
There you may ſee the great Deſighner dreſs
Art, as 't exceed ev'en Nature in Diſtreſs:
There Colours do by bold Expreſſions, tell
How the great Hero ſtood, when Schomberg fell:
How the firce Boyn could never ſtem the Tide
Of VVillam's Fire; he thro' the Flood would ride,
And force the Waves ſtand ſtill on either Side.
Beneath the Glories of this painted Sky,
Statues of laſting Fame ſtand mounting high,
At whoſe proud Feet numberleſs Trophies lie.
There Edward with his Garter-Knights is ſhown
In daring Forms, that does their Boldneſs crown.
Their Images appear of Giants Size;
Grim are their Looks, and Soldier like their Eyes.
No ſmiling Aſpects do the Heroes grace,
But grizly Death ſtares wildly in each Face.
[5]
Under theſe huge Coloſſus's you may ſee
Twelve ſpacious Arches for the Hierarchy:
[...]ence, by aſcending Steps you mount a Throne
[...]ut-ſhines the Chariot of the blazing Sun.
[...]ix'd o'er it's ſet a high Imperial Crown,
Which nought but Tyranny can tumble down.
There hangs on high a Canopy of State,
Where Anna like a pow'rful Monarch ſate.
Beneath this Palace flows fair Thames's Streams.
Where ſpreading Elms ſhade from the Sun's hot Beams;
Where beauteous Sea-Nymphs on the Waters ſport,
[...]nd bulky Tritons grace the ſplendid Court.
Here Ships from Indai ſafe at Anchor ride;
[...]ere Men of War bear out the foaming Tide,
While wanton Skiffs at Pleaſure o'er it glide.
[...]ere ſeaſon'd Aſhes makes the Sailors Oars,
And Oaks and Firs the Merchant hoards in Stores.
Experienc'd Work-men hew the Timber down,
And Naval Carpenters the Labour crown,
[...]am'd Britiſh Pilots ſteer her Ships to Land.
When in the Midſt, Maſts of tall Fir-Trees ſtand.
Up Thames reſurging Flood, ſwift ſailing come
Merchants from both the Indies, laden Home,
Coral and Agat they with Baubles buy,
And Guiny-Merchants trade in Ivory.
[...]or fineſt Wollen-Manufacture, they
[...]ring Gold and precious Stones from Raamah.
[...]weet Eaſtern Spices are exchang'd for Horn,
And for choice Rice and Coffee, barter Corn.
With Tin and Lead, Cornwall and Derby Trade,
And with fine Silver Home our Shipping lade.
[...]or Honey, wax, and Wheat of Minuith's Soil,
We bring back Olives, Caſſia, Wine, and Oil.
Thus are Thames flowing Streams more fruitful far
Than either Eaſt or Weſtern Oceans are:
[...]lenteous in all the Riches of the Weſt,
And ſtor'd with fine Apparel from the Eaſt.
[6]In rich Embroideries from Turky, ſhine,
And India's ſofter Linnen makes us fine.
Windſor-Park.
Near hence the moſt delightful Proſpect, lies
That with freſh Objects gratifies the Eyes.
Here well ſecur'd from Envy, Flatt'ry, Hate,
And Diſcontent, that oft on Great Men wait;
No clam'rous Laws can deafe the ſilent Ear,
Or noiſy Tumults raiſe up enxious Fear.
Here laviſh Nature, prodigal of Bliſs,
Shew us what Pleaſure in her Boſom lies;
What to the Earth her kindly Off ſpring bring,
And how her beauteous Bloſſoms freſhly ſpring.
Here Nature triumphs, and Heaven's ſmiling Brow
Does all the Sweets of infant Beauty ſhow.
The jovous Birds in little Songs conſpire
To raiſe De [...]ight, and melt us to Deſire.
All perfum'd Odours, that delight the Senſe,
Are here pour'd out in laviſh Affluence.
Not Ida's Fields, or Tempe's flow'ry Plain,
On which the ſtreaming Floods of Heaven rain,
Or Hybla's Thyme, but muſt compare with thee in vain.
To all theſe, Nature did ſome Sweets beſtow,
But in this 'Cloſure ev'ry Sweet does grow;
With various Mixtures ev'ry Bank ſhe's dy'd,
And damask'd all the Field with od'rous Pride.
In this fair Plain, ſuch Charms engage the Eye,
We ſcarce regard the Luſtre of the Sky,
Here Evening Breezes freſhly fan the Air,
Quench the hot Flame, and cool the Rage of Care.
But now the thoughtful Queen, by Heav'n inſpir'd,
And with the publick Good divinely fir'd,
Fix'd in her mind, her People's Cares revolv'd,
At laſt her teeming Thouhts ſhe thus reſolv'd.
[7]
Th' inſulting Gauls have long this Land perplex'd,
[...]nd long with treach'rous Arts have Europe vex'd.
[...]uis, their haughty Monarch, ev'ry where
[...]akes all then neighb'ring Countries, by Fear,
[...]y from his conqu'ring Troops with baſe Deſpair.
[...]hile all the Nations tremble at their flight,
[...]one dare reſiſt the Fury of his Might:
[...]or like ſome monſt'rous Tyger now o'er-grown,
[...]e lords it o'er the Forreſt, having none
That dare oppoſe his Tyranny alone.
[...]ll muſt ſubmit, or his Diſpleaſure find
[...] Rancour ſuited to his ſavage Kind.
VVhen this was ſaid, a Meſſage ſoon ſhe ſent,
[...]o call Great Britain's Council to her Tent.
Mean time, her weary'd Soul, with Cares oppreſt,
Drew down the Curtains of her Eyes, to reſt;
[...]xtended on a flow'ry Couch ſhe lay,
[...]ntranc'd, as Death had wing'd her Soul away,
While thus the Royal Dame took her Repoſe,
A ſudden Viſion to her Fancy roſe.
A Form appear'd, but ſo amazing bright,
[...]s Luſtre flaſh'd intolerable Light:
Her Knees together knock'd, her upright Hair,
With trembling Heart, confeſs'd unuſual Fear.
His Garments ſeem'd thin as the upper Air;
[...]weet was his Mein, his Face divinely Fair;
[...]oft as a Cloud, but more aetherial bright
His Image ſhone, like ſpringing Tides of Light:
Down on his Shoulders with an eaſy Care,
A flaming Meteor flow'd like Silver Hair:
His Cheeks were bluſhing as the Morning Sun;
His Eyes more darting than his Rays at Noon:
His Voice like Zephirs, that on Violets play,
Refreſhing Odours all the ſcorching Day.
Such Harmony his Numbers did inſpire,
Her Soul was tun'd to her melodious Lyre;
VVhen thus the ſacred Bard his Meſſage told:
[8]
ANNA, thou favourite Friend of Heaven, riſe,
Diſpel all Fears, wipe Sorrow from thy Eyes;
The Great Jehovah, Founder of this State,
The God that did on your Fore-fathers wait,
Will ſtill the wonders of his Mercy ſhow,
And make proud ſuperſtitious Nations know,
There is a Pow'r to whom they do not bow.
By thee, beſt of thy Sex, and moſt divine,
By thee—
Thou ſhalt in all thy glorious works ſucceed:
Obey my Words, for they're by Heav'n decreed.
Heaven which makes ev'n Kings deſcend their Thrones,
Stript of their Purple, and their ſhining Crowns,
Who boaſt of Strength, and truſt in that alone,
Are by the Breath of Heav'n ſoon tumbl'd down.
Myſterious Truths hid in the Veil of Night,
Are by his Pow'r produc'd to open Light.
In Plenty now the hap [...]y Nation lives,
And like a ſpreading Vine, the Country thrives▪
When ſudden deſolation, unforeſeen,
Reduces all her Pride to want again.
'Tis proſp'rous Villany, that now bears Sway;
The Rich tho' bad, the Vulgar ſtill obey.
The Robber fattens at the Land's Expence,
And thrives upon the Spoils of Providence;
Securely [...]ins, while Heav'n regardleſs ſmiles,
And ſeems to drive the Prey into his Toils.
The ſavage Kine, and thoſe that wing the Air,
If thou wilt ask, the Secret can declare
Whence this proceeds. The Tenants of the Sea,
Or Earth it ſelf, can ſhew the Myſtery.
Without God's Leave, nothing e'er was, or is;
Or Good, or Bad, Unhappineſs, or Bliſs.
Fate is his Slave, and does the Nod obey,
And only acts as he preſcribes the way.
[9] [...]ll that have Life are in his pow'rful Hand,
[...]nd flouriſh or decay at his Command.
[...]s by the Organs of the Ear, we try
[...]nd judge of Diſcord, or of Harmony;
[...]s by the Palate we diſtinguiſh Food,
[...]hun what is Bab, and chuſe whate'er is good;
[...]o by Old age, Experience does ariſe,
[...]nd Silver Hairs confirm the Owner wiſe.
The ancienteſt of Days, the God of all
[...] Wiſdom's Self, its great Original.
[...] full perfection Wiſdom there does ſhine:
And Pow'r and Judgment do with Wiſdom join.
At his Command the Waters backward fly,
Their Fountains ſeek, and leave the Channel dry;
When at a ſign, again their Torrents pour,
And roll their curling Heads above the Shore.
Houſes and Flocks are by the Deluge drown'd,
And Deſolation waſtes the neighbouring Ground.
Thus ſpoke the Angel, and then thus went on:
Call Britain's great Aſſembly inſtant here,
And tell this Meſſage in the People's Ear,
That ANNA's Sword ſhall curb the growing Pow'r
Of Proud aſpiring France, that waits each Hour
The Liberties of Europe to devour.
Of Britiſh Race, Churchill's the Hero's Name,
[...]mmortal Queen! that ſhall exalt thy Fame,
And bring on Louis everlaſting Shame.
[...]end for the Warrior, let the People know,
To Marl'brough's Genius, Burgundy muſt bow:
Conſult your Council for the dreadful War,
With all the Strength of your Allies prepare:
For French and Spaniards are united Friends,
And hatred Nations join for Hated Ends.
Then haſte to Arms, thou beſt of thy fair Race,
Let War thy Mind, while Smiles adorn thy Face:
Wake, glorious Princeſs, from thy reſt, and ſee,
Thou for a Guardian haſt a Deity.
[10]
Swift from her Eyes the Phantom made its way,
And nought remain'd to Sight, but lightſome day:
When all alone, ſhe was ſurpriz'd to find,
Such ſtrong Impreſſions on her feeble Mind.
No ſooner were the Clouds of Sleep diſpell'd,
And Morpheus loos'd the Fetters which he held,
But the great Council waited at her Tent,
To underſtand the Meſſage ſhe had ſent.
A goodly Frame rais'd high of carved wood,
Leaning its lofty Head, on Pillars ſtood
Near an old venerable Pile—VVeſtminſter.
Adorn'd with curious work of antique Hands.
There all the States in full Aſſembly met,
Where they in Princely Robes of Scarlet ſit;
Shining in coſtly Gems, each takes his place,
And fills the Senate with Majeſtick Grace.
There hangs the Ballance of the weighty State,
And there Rewards and Puniſhments do wait
A rigorous, or an equitable Fate.
There arbitrary Laws are curb'd and chain'd,
And there the ſummit of all Juſtice gain'd.
Judges themſelves, if Lawleſs, are not free
From this tribunal Seat of Equity.
Juſt Judgment there does without Brib'ry reign,
And wholſome Laws all Violence reſtrain.
Bleſs'd Liberty in Triumph ſits her down,
Nor hurts the State, nor ſhakes the Imperial Crown.
All now were met, the Council fill'd a-pace,
And ev'ry Stateſman took his wonted Place,
VVhen thus the Queen began—
My Lords, the Cauſe why you're aſſembl'd here,
'S to adviſe about the Buſineſs of the VVar.
Louis, you know, his Threatnings ſpreads around,
And Victory has ſometime his Armies crown'd.
[11]The ſlaviſh French deflow'r their Neighbours Fields,
Whilſt tamely they to their Incurſions yields:
And Japhet's Race, with heavy Burdens bent, The Spa⯑niards.
Submit to haughty Louis's Government.
The Might of this great Prince I need not tell,
Or all his vaſt Deſigns, you know too well,
Europe has felt the Fury of his Pow'r,
VVhen God like William reſcu'd you before.
But now more potent by his Allies grown,
He triumphs e're the Battel is begun:
VVhile all his num'rous Squadrons do prepare
For dreadful miſchief, and deſtructive VVar.
Whom ſhall I chuſe among my mighty Men,
The Hazard of a Battel to ſuſtain?
Who dare 'gainſt Burgundy his Courage try,
To conquer bravely, or as bravely die?
Then a bold Britain anſwer'd thus, and ſaid,
Churchill is only fit for ſuch a Head;
Who has th'illuſtrious Chiefs of Europe led,
And often for his Country's Honour Bled.
Courage and Conduct both in him remains;
By wiſe deſigns, as well as Blood he gains.
For he that ſingly does to Battel go,
With Courage only beats but half his Foe.
Mature in Councils Generals ought to be,
Not fill'd with Fire ſo much as Policy;
For Life's of more Concern than Victory.
Then Marlbro' humbly ſpoke—
Great Princeſs, and you Lords of Britain, hear
Who make Europe's Concern your conſtant Care;
You may remember when her Armies fled,
And German Princes ſtood like Statues dead,
[...]hen Churchill propt that proud ungrateful Race,
That now in Britain Marlbro' would diſgrace.
Oh' hear me Lords; ſpare your Reproaches now;
Did not all Europe to proud Louis bow?
Did not they cringe below the Tyrant's Feet,
And to the Laws his Arms preſcribe, ſubmite?
[12]
What then has Marlbro' done? Do Britiſh Peers
Deſpiſe the Man, that has diſpell'd their Fears?
Not for my Self did I this Honour ſeek,
My Country's Danger 'twas that made me ſpeak.
But ſince I find in faithleſs Britain, few,
When preſſing Dangers call, that dare be true,
I ſhall my Courage, for the future ſpare:
Cowards can boaſt, when Dangers ſeem not near.
With that, a noble Peer, tho' young, yet wiſe,
Stood up, and thus in Council did adviſe:
Tho' grey Experience has not reach'd my Years,
Nor have I been alarm'd with foreign Fears,
Yet I am ſenſible all Europe's Fate
Does much on our wiſe Councils wait:
Great Britain's Safety in our Conduct lies,
And Strength is nothing, if we are not wiſe.
Therefore, my Lords, I muſt my Judgment give
For Marlbro' which I hope you'll all receive.
Then all the Council mov'd with willing Ears,
Attended to the Wiſdom of his Years.
While thus the noble Youth continu'd on,
The brave Diſcourſe he had ſo well begun:
I am amaz'd, from this wiſe Board, to hear
One Soul of ancient Britiſh Race appear
Gainſt Marlbro': Did he not all Europe ſave?
Are not his Looks, his Words, his Actions, brave?
Don't we, by good Experience know, how great
He ſtood, at Great Ba [...]aria's laſt Defeat?
And what we by his prudent Councils gain,
Are like the Glories of a Monarch's Reign.
The pompous Luxury of Camps he flies,
While downy Reſt their Rioting ſupplies,
Who're chain'd in Sleep, when Sleep forſakes his Eyes.
He ſaid,—
And as the hollow Caverns of ſome Wood,
Send back, in Eccho's, the ſtill Voice, aloud,
[13] [...]o from the Silence of the Council roſe,
[...]o all his Words, a general Applauſe.
[...]ut Malice in th' Aſſembly ſtill remains,
Whilſt Maroc's Blood fermented in his Veins:
Who thus with cloudy Aſpect ſowr'd, ſpake,—
O, Princeſs! and you Lords of Britain, hear
What rev'rend Age is able to declare.
Has not Great France's pow'rful Monarch ſeen
Britain divided; Anna made their Queen?
What then remains for us to ſeek, but Peace?
At theſe baſe Words, the Queen in Paſſion roſe,
And with becoming Zeal did thus oppoſe;
Tho' ſhe was with the ſofteſt Nature bleſt,
Like ſleeping Doves, when on their downy Reſt.
For Europe's Cauſe ſhe was divinely fir'd,
And ſpoke theſe moving Words by Heav'n inſpir'd.
Tho' War, of all our Evils, is the worſt,
And brought on Man, when Man by Heav'n was curſt;
Yet ſuch the State of Britain is this day,
[...] ſought your Aid, knowing no other Way.
For Anna was expedient to maintain.
The Glories was expected from my Reign.
But wond'ring now I gaze with much Surprise,
And ſcarcely can believe the Object of my Eyes.
Is not that Maroc, Prince of Britiſh Blood?
That once for Britain like a Bulwark ſtood?
And can his Courage dwindle into Fear,
Cauſe Louis threats, and Burgundy draws near?
Have we not oft their boaſting Courage try'd?
And triumph'd o'er that ſawcy Monarch's Pride?
What have I heard pronounc'd from Maroc's Tongue,
Of Peace, who always has of Battels ſung?
What Peace from perjur'd Louis can we find?
Louis, the Monſter of the Monarch-kind.
[14]Has he not all his Ties of Friendſhip broke,
When he was fetter'd once with William's Yoke;
When he to Belgir's Lyon ſu'd for Peace,
But only kept it for his Soldiers Eaſe?
At this a general Murmur fill'd the Room,
Like whiſtling Winds, that from deep Caverns com
When ſtrait, behold thro' all the ſecred Place,
Conſent ſate chearfully on ev'ry Face;
And ev'ry One now ſtrove to looſe his Tongue
To Anna, then to Marlbro' make their Song.
Who can forget, O Queen! the happy Day
Thou bleſs'd our Iſarel with thy glorious Sway?
When Britain ſlept, thou ſav'd us from our Foes,
And as our leading Star, at Midnight roſe.
Heav'n did it ſelf in bright Apparel dreſs,
And tuneful Angels ſung ſoft Hymns of Peace
In dancing Airs, Stars from their Spheres were ſent,
And ſpringing Joy ſpread o'er your Royal Tent.
Why then ſhould we ungratefully oppoſe
Our Royal Miſtreſs? Why her Favours lofe,
Who ſuch vaſt Bounties on her Land beſtows?
Since Marlbro' is the Man by Heav'n decred,
Anna no more ſhall frown, or Marlbro' bleed;
For if nor Heav'n, nor yet the Queen had ſaid,
Marlbro' ſhould lead out Europe as their Head,
Is not his Courage and his Conduct known
To Britain, that we chooſe him for our own?
FINIS.

BRITAIN's Jubilee: A new Congratulary BALLAD, on the Glorious Victories obtain'd by the Duke of MARLBOROƲGH, over the French: Writ by the Famous Comedian, Mr. Eſcourt, and Sung by him to moſt of our Nobili⯑ty, with great Applauſe.

[15]
YOU Tell me Dick you've lately Read,
That we are beaten in Spain;
But prithee Boy hold up thy Head,
We'll beat 'em twice for it again:
With a fal la la la la la la la la la la la la, &c.
Is this the Courage you us'd to Boaſt,
Why thou art quite caſt down;
You can reflect on what we've Loſt;
But never think what we've Won.
With a fal, &c.
In War and Gaming it is the ſame,
According to the old ſaying;
Who's ſure to Conquer every Game,
Quite loſes the pleaſure of Playing.
With a fal, &c.
Then prithee Boy hold up thy Head,
For if we are beaten in Spain;
As ſure as Scarlet Colour is Red,
We'll beat 'em twice for it again.
With a fal, &c.
Thank God we have a Man of our own,
A Man if I may call him ſo;
For after thoſe great Deeds he has done,
I may queſtion if he's ſo or no.
With a fal, &c.
But there is a Man whoſe Name,
Is Johnny MARLBOROUGH;
The beaten French have felt his Fame,
And ſo ſhall the Spaniard too.
With a fal, &c.
[16]
Tho' now Jack Spaniard pretends to Bounce,
He ne'er ſhall do ſo again:
We took laſt Year as many Towns,
As they now have taken Men.
With a fal, &c.
Since Juſtice now we cannot do,
To every Victory:
Our hearty Zeal in Wine let's ſhew,
To our General Family.
With a fal, &c.
For he has Eight Fair Daughters,
And each of them is a Charmer:
Lady Rialton, Bridgewater,
Fine Sunderland, Lady Mount-Hermer ▪
With a fal, &c.
And as for the other Younger four,
They will with Raptures fill ye;
There's Lady Hochſtet, Schellenburgh,
Bright Blenheim, and Lady Ramillie.
With a fal, &c.
Theſe laſt are begotten ſo Fair and Strong▪
As ne'er in ſtory was told;
The other four ſhall ſtill be Young,
But theſe laſt ſhall not be Old.
With a fal, &c.
Now to make thy hopes more Strong,
And make thee look like a Man;
Remember all theſe do belong,
To the Queen of Great Britain.
With a fal, &c.
FINIS.

Appendix A ADVERTISEMENT.

WHEREAS the Printer hereof did receive two Letters, by th [...] General Poſt from an unknown Hand; the laſt dated July th [...] 1ſt 1708. If the Gentleman that ſent them ſhall be pleaſed [...] communicate any ſuch Copies as there mentioned, they ſhall be juſtly a [...] faithfully Printed and Publiſhed, and the favour moſt thankfully ackno [...]ledged, by

H. H.

8.

[]

AN ESSAY ON Tranſlated VERSE. BY THE EARL of ROSCOMON.

—Fungar vice Cotis, acutum
[...]eddere quae ferrum valet Exſori ipſa ſecandi.
Hor. de Art. Poet.

Cape Dona Extrema Tuorum.

V. 3. AE.

LONDON: [...]nted and Sold by H. Hills, in Black-fryars, near the Water-ſide. 1709.

TO THE Earl of ROSCOMON, On his Excellent ESSAY ON Tranſlated VERSE.

[3]
WHether the fruitful Nile or Tyrian Shore,
The ſeeds of Arts and Infant Science bore,
Tis ſure the noble Plant tranſlated firſt,
[...]dvanc'd its head in Grecian Gardens nurſt.
The Grecians added Verſe, their tuneful Tongue
Made Nature firſt, and Nature's God their Song.
Nor ſtopt Tranſlation here: For conquering Rome
With Grecian Spoils, brought Grecian Numbers home;
[...]nrich'd by thoſe Athenian Muſes more,
Than all the vanquiſh'd World cou'd yield before.
Till barb'rous Nations and more barb'rous Times
[...]ebas'd the Majeſty of Verſe to Rhimes;
Thoſe rude at firſt: kind of hobbling Proſe:
That limp'd along, and tincl'd in the cloſe:
[...]t Italy reviving from the Trance
[...]f Vandal, Goth, and Monkiſh ignorance,
With pauſes, cadence, and well vowell'd words,
[...]nd all the Graces a good Ear affords,
[...]ade Rhyme and Art, and Dante's poliſh'd page
[...]eſtor'd a ſilver, not a golden Age:
[4]Then Petarch follow'd, and in him we ſee,
What Rhyme improv'd in all its height can be;
At beſt a pleaſing ſound, and fair barbarity:
The French purſu'd their ſteps, and Britain, laſt
In Manly ſweetneſs all the reſt ſurpaſs'd.
The Wit of Greece, the Gravity of Rome
Appear exalted in the Britiſh Loome;
The Muſes Empire is reſtor'd agen,
In Charles his Reign, and by Roſcommon's Pen▪
Yet modeſtly he does his work ſurvey,
And calls a finiſh'd Poem an ESSAY;
For all the needful Rules are ſcatter'd here;
Truth ſmoothly told, and pleaſantly ſevere;
(So well is Art diſguis'd, for Nature to appear)
Nor need thoſe Rules to give Tranſlation light;
His own Example is a Flame ſo bright;
That he, who but arrives to copy well,
Unguided will advance: unknowing will excel.
Scarce his own Horace cou'd ſuch Rules ordain;
Or his own Virgil ſing a nobler ſtrain.
How much in him may riſing Ireland boaſt,
How much in gaining him has Britain loſt!
Their Iſland in revenge has ours reclaim'd,
The more inſtructed we, the more we ſtill are ſham'd,
'Tis well for us his generous Blood did flow
Deriv'd from Britiſh Channels long ago,
That here his Conquering Anceſtors were nurſt;
And Ireland but tranſlated England firſt:
By this Repriſal we regain our right,
Elſe muſt the two contending Nations fight,
A nobler quarrel for his Native Earth,
Than what divided Greece for Homer's Birth.
To what perfection will our Tongue arrive,
How will Invention and Tranſlation thrive
When Authors nobly born will bear their part,
And not diſdain th' inglorious praiſe of Art!
Great Generals thus deſcending from Command,
With their own toil provoke the Soldiers hand.
[5]How will ſweet Ovid's Ghoſt be pleas'd to hear
His Fame augmented by an Engilſh Peer, *
How he embelliſhes his Helen's loves,
Out does his ſoftneſs, and his ſenſe improves?
When theſe tranſlate, and teach Tranſlators too,
Nor Firſtling Kid, nor any vulgar vow
Should at Apollo's grateful Altar ſtand;
Roſcomon writes, to that auſpicious hand,
Muſe feed the Bull that ſpurns the yellow ſand.
Roſcomon, whom both Court and Camps commend,
True to his Prince, and faithful to his Friend;
Rosſcomon firſt in Fields of Honour known,
Firſt in the peaceful Triumphs of the Gown;
Who both Minerva's juſtly makes his own.
Now let the few belov'd by Jove, and they,
Whom infus'd Titan form'd of better Clay,
On equal terms of ancient Wit ingage,
Nor mighty Homer fear, nor ſacred Virgil's page:
Our Engliſh Palace opens wide in ſtate;
And without ſtooping they may paſs the Gate.
John Dryden.

AN ESSAY ON Tranſlated VERSE.

[6]
HAppy that Author, whoſe correct Eſſay,
Repairs ſo well our old Horatian way;
And happy you, who by propitious Fate
On great Apollo's Sacred Standard wait.
And with firſt Diſcipline inſtructed right,
Have learnt to uſe your Arms before you fight.
But ſince the Preſs, the Pulpit and the Stage
Conſpire to cenſure, and expoſe the Age;
Provok'd too far we reſolutely muſt
To the few Virtues that we have be juſt.
For who have long'd, or who have labour'd more
To ſearch the Treaſures of the Roman Store,
Or dig in Graecian Mines for purer Oar?
The nobleſt Fruits tranſplanted in our Iſle,
With early Hope, and Fragrant Bloſſoms ſmile.
Familiar Ovid tender Thoughts inſpires,
And Nature ſeconds all his ſoft Deſires;
Theocritus does now to us belong;
And Albion's Rocks repeat his rural Song.
Who hath not heard how Italy was bleſt,
Above the Mede, above the wealthy Eaſt?
Or Gallus Song, ſo tender and ſo true,
As ev'n Lycoris might with Pity view.
When mourning Nymphs attend their Daphnes's Herſe
Who doth not weep, that reads the moving Verſe.
But hear, O hear, in what exalted Strains
Scicilian Muſe thro' theſe happy Plains,
Proclaim Saturnian Times, our own Apollo reigns?
[7]When France had breath'd after inteſtine Broils,
And Peace and Conqueſt crown'd her Foreign Toils,
Their (cultivated by a Royal Hand)
Learning grew faſt, and ſpread, and bleſt the Land;
The choiceſt Books that Rome and Greece have known,
Her excellent Tranſlators made her own,
And Europe ſtill conſiderably gains,
Both by their good Example and their Pains.
From hence our generous Emulation came,
We undertook, and we perform'd the ſame:
But now we ſhew the World a nobler way,
And in Tranſlated Verſe do more than they.
Serene and clear harmonious Horace flows,
With Sweetneſs not to be expreſt in Proſe.
Degrading Proſe explains his meaning ill,
And ſhews the Stuff but not the Workman's Skill
[...] who have ſerv'd him more than Twenty years,
Scarce know my Maſter as he there appears,
Vain are our Neighbours hopes, and vain their Cares,
The fault is more the Languages than theirs.
[...]Tis courtly florid, and abounds in Words,
Of ſofter ſound, than ours perhaps affords;
But who did ever in French Authors ſee
The comprehenſive Engliſh Energy?
The weighty Bullion of one Sterling Line,
Drawn in French Wire would thro' whole Pages ſhine.
[...] ſpeak my private but impartial Sence,
With Freedom, and I hope without Offence;
For I'll recant, when France can ſhew me Wit,
[...]s ſtrong as ours, and as ſuccinctly writ.
[...]Tis true Compoſing is the Noble Part,
But good Tranſlating is no eaſiy Art:
For tho' Materials have long ſince been found,
Yet both your Fancy and your Heads are bound.
And by improving what was writ before,
[...]nvention labours leſs, but Judgment more.
The Soil intended for Pierian Seeds,
Muſt be well purg'd from rank Pedantick Weeds,
[8] Apollo ſtarts, and all Parnaſſus ſhakes,
At the rude rumbling Barulipton makes.
For none have been with Admiration read,
But who beſide their Learning were well bred.
The firſt great work (A Task perform'd by few)
Is that your ſelf may to your ſelf be true:
No Maſque, no Tricks, no Favour, no Reſerve;
Diſſect your Mind, examine ev'ry Nerve.
Whoever vainly on his Strength depends,
Begins like Virgil, but like Maevius ends.
That Wretch (in ſpite of his forgotten Rhymes)
Condemn'd to live in all ſucceeding times;
With pompous Nonſenſe, and a bellowing Sound,
Sung lofty Ilium, tumbling to the Ground.
And (if my Muſe can thro' paſt Ages ſee)
That nauſeous noiſy, gaping Fool was he.
Exploded when with univerſal Scorn,
The Mountains labour'd, and a Mouſe was born.
Learn, learn Gotona's brawny wreſtler crys,
Audacious Mortals, and be timely wiſe!
'Tis I that call, remember Millo's end,
Wedg'd in that Timber which he ſtrove to rend.
Each Poet with a different Talent writes,
One Praiſes, one Inſtructs, another bites.
Horace did ne'er aſpire to Epick Bays,
Nor lofty Maro ſtoop to Lyrick Lays.
Examine how your Humour is inclin'd,
And which the Ruling Paſſion of your Mind;
Then, ſeek a Poet who your way do's bend,
And chuſe an Author as you chuſe a Friend.
United by this Sympathetick Bond,
You grow Familiar, Intimate and Fond;
Your thoughts, your Words, your Stiles, your Souls agree,
No longer his Interpreter but He.
With how much eaſe is a young Muſe betray'd,
How nice the Reputation of the Maid!
Your early kind, paternal care appears,
By chaſte Inſtruction of her Tender Years.
[9]The firſt Impreſſion in her Infant Breaſt
Will be the deepeſt, and ſhould be the beſt.
[...]et no Auſterity breed ſervile Fear,
[...]o wanton Sound offend her Virgin-Ear.
[...]ecure from fooliſh Pride's affected ſtate,
[...]nd ſpecious Flattery's more pernicious Bait,
[...]abitual Innocence adorns her Thoughts
[...]ut your neglect muſt anſwer for her Faults.
Immodeſt words admit of no defence;
[...]or want of Decency, is want of Senſe.
What mod'rate Fop would rake the Park, or Stews,
Who among Troops of faultleſs Nymphs may chuſe?
[...]ariety of ſuch is to be found;
[...]ake then a Subject proper to expound:
[...]ut Moral, Great, and worth a Poet's Voice,
[...]or Men of ſenſe deſpiſe a trivial Choice:
[...]nd ſuch Applauſe it muſt expect to meet,
[...]s wou'd ſome Painter, buſie in a Street,
[...]o Copy Bulls and Bears, and ev'ry Sign
[...]hat calls the ſtaring Sots to naſty wine.
Yet 'tis not all to have a Subject Good,
[...] muſt delight us when 'tis underſtood.
[...]e that brings fulſome Objects to my view,
As many Old have done, and many New)
[...]ith nauſeous Images my Fancy fills,
[...]nd all, goes down like Oxymel of Squils.
[...]ſtruct the liſt'ning World how Maro ſings
[...]f uſeful Subjects, and of lofty Things.
[...]heſe will ſuch true, ſuch bright Idea's raiſe,
[...] merit Gratitude, as well as Praiſe.
[...]t foul Deſcriptions are offenſive ſtill,
[...]ther for being Like, or being Ill.
[...]r who, without a Qualm, hath ever lookt,
[...]n Holy Garbage, tho' by Homer Cookt?
[...]hoſe Rayling Heroes, and whoſe wounded Gods,
[...]ake ſome ſuſpect, he Snores, as well as Nods.
[...]t I offend— Virgil begins to frown,
[...]d Horace looks with Indignation down:
[10] My bluſhing Muſe with Conſcious fear retires,
And whom they like, Implicily Admires.
On ſure Foundations let your Fabrick Riſe,
And with attractive Majeſty ſurpriſe,
Not by affected, meritorious Arts,
But ſtrict harmonious Symetry of Parts.
Which through the whole, inſenſibly muſt paſs,
With vital Heat to animate the Maſs.
A Pure, an Active, an Auſpicious Flame,
And bright as Heav'n, from the Bleſſing came;
But few, oh few, Souls, praeordain'd by Fate,
The Race of Gods, have reach'd that envy'd Height.
No Rebel Titans ſacrilegious Crime,
By heaping Hills on Hills can thither climb.
The Greiſly Ferry-man of Hell deny'd
Aeneas entrance till he knew his Guide;
How juſtly then will impious Mortals fall,
Whoſe Pride would ſoar to Heaven without a call?
Pride (of all others the moſt dangerous fault;)
Proceeds from want of Sence, or want of Thought.
The Men who labour and digeſt things moſt,
Will much apter to deſpond than boaſt.
For if your Author be profoundly good,
Will coſt you dear before he's underſtood,
How many Ages ſince has Virgil writ;
How few are they who underſtood him yet?
Approach his Altars with Religious fear,
No vulgar Deity inhabits there;
Heav'n ſhakes not more at Jove's Imperial Nod,
Than Poets ſhould before their Mantuan God.
Hail mighty Maro! may thy Sacred Name,
Kindle my Breaſt, with thy coeleſtial flame;
Sublime Ideas, and apt words infuſe,
The Muſe inſtruct my Voice, and thou inſpire my Muſe.
What I have inſtanc'd only in the beſt,
Is in Proportion true of all the reſt.
Take Pains the genuine meaning to explore,
Their Sweat, there Strain, there lug the laborious Oar.
[11] [...]earch ev'ry Comment that your Care can find,
[...]ome here, ſome there, may hit the Poet's Mind;
Yet be not blindly guided by the Throng;
The Multitude is always in the wrong.
When Things appear unnatural, and hard,
Conſult your Author with himſelf compar'd;
Who knows what Bleſſing Phoebus may beſtow,
[...]nd future Ages to that Labour owe?
[...]uch Secrets are not eaſily found out,
[...]ut once diſcover'd leave no room for Doubt,
Truth ſtamps Conviction in the raviſht Breaſt,
[...]nd Peace and Joy attend the glorious Gueſt.
Truth ſtill is one, Truth is divinely bright,
No cloudy Doubts obſcure her Native Light;
While in your Thoughts you find the leaſt Debate,
You may confound, but never can Tranſlate.
Your Stile will this thro' all Diſguiſes ſhew,
[...]or none explain more clearly than they know.
[...]e only proves he underſtands a Text,
Whoſe Expoſition leaves it unperplext,
They who too faithfully on Names inſiſt,
[...]ather create, than diſſipate the Miſt;
[...]nd grow unjuſt by being over nice,
For Superſtitious Virtue turns to Vice)
[...]et Craſſus Ghoſt, and Labienus tell,
[...]ow twice in Parthian Plains their Legions fell,
[...]ince Rome hath been ſo jealous of her Fame,
[...]ew know Pacorus or Monaeſes Name.
Words in one Language elegantly us'd,
Will hardly in another be excus'd:
[...]nd ſome that Rome admir'd in Caeſar's time,
[...]ay neither ſuit our Genius, nor our Clime.
[...]he genuine Senſe intelligibly told,
[...]hews a Tranſlator both Diſcreet and Bold.
Excurſions are inexpiably bad,
[...]nd 'tis much ſafer to leave out, than add.
[...]bſtruce and Myſtic Thoughts you muſt expreſs,
[...]ith painful Care, and ſeeming Eaſineſs,
[...]r Truth ſhines brighteſt thro' the plaineſt Dreſs, And
[12]The Aenean Muſe, when ſhe prepares in ſtate.
Makes all Jove Thunder on her Verſes wait.
Yet writes ſometimes as ſoft, and moving Things,
As Venus ſpeaks, or Philomeſa ſigns.
Your Author always will the beſt advice,
Fall when he falls, and When he riſes riſe.
Affected noiſe, is the moſt wretched Thing,
That to Comtempt, can empty Scriblers bring.
Vowels and Accents regularly plac'd,
On even Syllables, (and ſtill the laſt.
Tho' groſs innumerable Faults abound,
In ſpite of Nonſcence never fail of Sound.
But this meant of even Verſe alone,
As being moſt harmonious and moſt known.
For if you will unequal Numbers try,
Their Accents on odd Syllables muſt lie.
Whatever Siſter of the Sacred Nine,
Does to your Suit a willing Ear incline,
Urge your Succeſs, deſerve a laſting Name,
She'll crown a grateful, and a conſtant Flame.
But if a wild Uncertainty prevail,
And turn your vearing Heart with ev'ry Gale,
You loſe the Fruit of all your former Care,
For the ſad Proſpect of a ſad Deſpair.
A Quack (too ſcandalouſly mean to Name)
Had by Man-midwifry got Wealth and Fame;
As if Lucina had forgot the Trade,
The lab'ring Wife invokes the ſurer Aid.
Well ſeaſon'd Bowls, the Goſſips Spirits raiſe,
Who while ſhe guzzles, chats the Doctor's Praiſe.
And largely what ſhe wants in Words, ſupplys.
With Maudling Eloquence of trickling Eyes.
But what a thoughtleſs Animal is Man,
(How very Active in his own Trepan!)
For greedy of Phyſicians frequent Fees,
From Female Mellow Praiſe he takes Degrees?
Struts in a new Unlicens'd Gown and then,
From ſaving Women falls to Killing Men.
[13] [...]nother ſuch had left the Nation Thin,
[...] ſpight of all the Children he brought in.
[...]is Pills, as thick as Hand Granadoes flew,
[...]nd where they fell, as certainly they ſlew.
[...]is Name ſtruck ev'ry where as great a Damp
[...]s Archimedes through the Roman Camp.
[...]ith this, the Doctors Pride began to Cool,
[...]or Smarting ſoundly may convince a Fool.
[...]ut now Repentance came too late, for Grace;
[...]nd meager Famine ſtar'd him in the Face.
[...]in would he to the Wives be reconcil'd,
[...]t found no Husband left to own a Child.
[...]he Friends, that got the Brats were poyſon'd too;
[...] this ſad caſe what could our Vermin do?
[...]orry'd with Debts and paſt all Hope of Bail,
[...]h' unpity'd wretch lies Rotting in a Jail.
[...]nd there with Basket-Alms, ſcarce kept alive,
[...]hews how Miſtaken Talents ought to Thrive.
I pity, from my Soul, Unhappy Men,
[...]ompell'd by want to Proſtitute their Pen;
Who muſt, like Lawyers either ſtarve or plead,
[...]nd follow, right or wrong, where Guynny's lead;
[...]ut you, Pompilian, wealthy, pamper'd Heirs,
Who to your Country owe your Swords and Cares.
[...]et no vain hope your eaſie mind ſeduce,
[...]or Rich Ill Poets are without Excuſe.
'Tis very Dangerous, Tampring with a Muſe.
[...]he Profit's ſmall, and you have much to loſe;
[...]or, tho' true Wit adorns your Birth, or Place,
[...]egenerate lines degrade th' attainted Race,
[...]o Poet any Paſſion can Excite;
[...]ut what they feel traſport them when they write.
[...]ave you been led through Cumaean Cave.
[...]nd heard th' Impatient Maid Divinely Rave?
[...]hear her now; I ſee her Rowling Eyes;
[...]nd panting; Lo! the God, the God ſhe cries;
[...]ith words, not Hers and more then humane ſound,
[...]e makes th' obedient Ghoſts peep trembling thro' the Ground,
[14]But tho' we muſt obey when Heaven Commands,
And Man in vain the ſacred Call withſtands,
Beware what Spirit rages in your breaſt.
For ten inſpir'd ten thouſand are poſſeſt.
Thus make the proper uſe of each Extream,
And write with Fury, but correct with Phleam.
As when the Chearful hours too freely paſs,
And ſparkling Wine ſmiles in the tempting Glaſs.
Your Pulſe adviſes, and begins to beat
Through every ſwelling Vein a loud retreat.
So when a Muſe propitiouſly invites
Improve her favours, and Indulge her flights,
But when you find that vigorous heat abate,
Leave off, and for another Summons wait.
Before the Radiant Sun a Glimmering Lamp,
Adult'rate Metals to the Sterling Stamp,
Appear not meaner, than mere humane Lines,
Compar'd with thoſe whoſe Inſpiration ſhines;
Theſe, Nervous, bold; thoſe Languid, and remiſs;
There, cold ſalutes, But here, a Lover's kiſs,
Thus have I ſeen a Rapid, headlong tide,
With foaming Waves the Paſſive Soan divide
Whoſe Lazy Waters without motion lay,
While he, with eager force, urg'd his Impetuous way.
The Priviledge that ancient Poets claim
Now turn'd to Licenſe by too juſt a Name,
Belongs to none but an Eſtabliſht Fame,
Which ſcorns to take it—
Abſurd Expreſſions, crude, Abortive Thoughts,
All the lewd Legion of exploded fau'ts,
Baſe Fugitives to that Aſylum fly,
And ſacred Laws with Inſolence defy.
Not thus our Heroes of the former Days,
Deſerv'd and Gain'd their never fading Bays:
For I miſtake, or for the greateſt part,
Of what ſome call Neglect was ſtudy'd Art.
When Virgil ſeems to Trifle in a Line,
'Tis like a Warning-piece, which gives the Sign.
[15] [...]o Wake your Fancy, and prepare your Sight,
[...]o reach the noble Height of ſome unuſual Flight.
[...]oſe my Patience, when, with Saucy Pride,
[...]y untun'd Ears I hear his Numbers try'd.
[...]verſe of Nature! ſhall ſuch Copies, then
[...]rraign th' Originals of Maro's Pen!
[...]nd the rude Notions of Pedantick Schools,
[...]laſpheme the ſacred Founders of our Rules!
The Delicacy of the niceſt Ear
[...]inds nothing harſh, or out of Order there.
[...]ublime or low, unbended or intenſe,
[...]he ſound is ſtill a Comment to the Senſe.
A skilful Ear, in Numbers ſhou'd preſide,
[...]nd all Diſputes without Appeal decide.
[...]his Ancient Rome and Elder Athens found,
[...]efore miſtaken ſtops debauch'd the ſound.
When, by Impulſe from Heaven, Tyrtaeus ſung,
[...] drooping Souldiers a new Courage ſprung.
[...]eviving Sparta now the fight maintain'd,
[...]nd what Two Gen'rals loſt, a Poet gain'd.
[...]y ſecret influence of Indulgent Skyes,
[...]mpire, and Poeſy together riſe.
[...]rue Poets are the Guardians of State,
And when they fail, portend approaching Fate.
[...]or that which Rome to Conqueſt did inſpire,
Was not the Veſtal, but the Muſes fire;
Heavens joyns the Bleſſings, no declining Age,
E'er felt the Raptures of Poetick Rage,
Of manv faults, Rhym is (perhaps) the Cauſe,
Too ſtrict to Ryhme we ſlight more uſeful Laws.
For that, in Greece or Rome, was never known,
Till by Barbarian Deluges o'reflown;
[...]ubdu'd, Undone, They did at laſt, Obey,
And change their own for their Invaders way.
I grant that from ſome Moſſie Idol Oak
[...]n Double Rhymes our Thor and Woden ſpoke;
And by ſucceſſion of unlearned Times,
[...]s Bards began, ſo Monks rung on the Chimes.
[15]But now that Phoebus and the ſacred Nine,
With all their Beams on our bleſt Iſland ſhine,
Why ſhould not We their ancient Rites reſtore
And be, what Rome or Athens were before?
Have we forgot how Raphaels Num'rous Proſe
Led our exalted Souls through heavenly Camps,
* And mark'd the ground where proud Apoſtate Thrones,
Defy'd Jehovah! Here, 'twixt Hoſt and Hoſt,
(A narrow but a dreadful Interval)
Portentous ſight! before the Cloudy Van,
Satan with vaſt and haughty ſtrides advanc'd,
Came tow'ring arm'd in Adamant and Gold.
There bellowing Engines with their fiery Jubes
Diſpers'd aetherial Forms, and down they fall,
By thouſands, Angels, on Arch-angels rowl'd;
Recover'd, to the Hills they ran they flew,
Which (with their ponderous Load, Rocks, Waters, Woo [...]
From their firm Seals torn by their ſhaggy Tops
They bore, like Shields before them thro' the Air,
'Till more incens'd, they hurl'd them all their Fees.
All was Confuſion, Heaven's Foundations ſhook,
Threatning no leſs then univerſal wrack.
For Michael's Arm main Promontorys flung,
And overpreſt their Legions weak with Sin;
Yet they blaſphem'd, and ſtruggled as they lay,
'Till the great Enſign of Maſſiah blaz'd,
And (arm'd with Fengeance) God's Victorious Son.
(Effulgence of Paternal Deity)
Graſping ten thouſand Thunders in his hand.
Drove the old original Rebels headlong down,
And ſent them flaming to the vaſt Abyſs.
O may I live o hail the glorious day,
And ſing loud Poems thro' the crowded way,
When in triumphant ſtate the Britiſh Muſe,
True to her ſelf all barbarous Aid refuſe.
And in the Roman Majeſty appear,
Which none knew better, and none came ſo near:
FINIS.

9.

[]

THE [...]LEASURES OF A Single LIFE, OR, THE MISERIES OF MATRIMONY.

Occaſionally Writ [...]pon the many DIVORCES lately Granted by Parliament.

WITH THE CHOICE, OR, THE [...]leaſures of a Country-LIFE,

Dedicated to the Beaus againſt the next Vacation.

[...]don: Printed and Sold by H. Hills, in Black-fryars, near the Water-ſide. 1709. Price One Penny.

THE Pleaſures of a Single LIFE OR, The Miſeries of Matrimony. Occaſionally Writ upon the many DIVORCE [...] lately Granted by Parliament.

[2]
WEdlock, oh! Curs'd uncomfortable State,
Cauſe of my Woes, and Object of my hate,
How bleſs'd was I? Ah, once how happy me?
When I from thoſe uneaſie Bonds were free;
How calm my Joys? How peaceful was my Breaſt,
Till with thy fatal Cares too ſoon oppreſt,
The World ſeem'd Paradice, ſo bleſs'd the Soil
Wherein I liv'd, that Buſineſs was no Toil;
Life was a Comfort, which produc'd each day
New Joys, that ſtill preſerv'd me from decay,
Thus Heav'n firſt launch'd me into pacifick Seas,
Where free from Storms I mov'd with gentle Breeze
My Sails proportion'd, and my Veſſel tite,
Coaſting in Pleaſures-Bay I ſteer'd aright,
Ballac'd with true Content, and fraighted with deligh [...]
Books my Companions were wherein I found
Needful Advice, without a noiſey Sound,
But was with friendly pleaſing ſilence taught,
Wiſdom's beſt Rules, to fructify my Thought,
Rais'd up our Sage Fore-fathers from the dead,
And when I pleas'd invok'd them to my Aid,
Who at my Study-Bar without a Fee would plead:
Whilſt I Chief-Juſtice ſat, heard all their Sutes,
And gave my Judgment on their learn'd Diſputes;
Strove to determine ev'ry Cauſe aright,
And for my Pains found Profit and Delight,
Free from Partiality; I fear'd no blame,
Deſir'd no Brib'ry, and deſerv'd no Shame,
[3] [...]it like an upright Judge, grudg'd no Expence
[...] time, to fathom Truth with Diligence,
[...]ading by Day, Contemplating by Night,
[...]ll Conſcience told me that I judg'd aright,
[...]en to my Paper-World I'd have recourſe,
[...] by my Maps run o'er the Univerſe;
[...]ll round the Globe, and touch at every Port,
[...]vey thoſe Shoars where Men untam'd reſort,
[...]ew the old Regions where the Perſian Lord
[...]ught Wooden Deities firſt to be Ador'd,
[...]ſnar'd at laſt to Sacrifice his life
[...] the baſe Pride of an Adult'rous Wife,
[...] where the Grecian Youth to Arms inur'd,
[...] hungry Soil with Perſian Blood manur'd,
There bold Buſephilus brutal Conduct ſhow'd,
[...] force of monſtrous Elephants withſtood,
[...] with his Rider waded through a purple Flood.
Then would I next the Roman Field ſurvey,
There brave Fabricius with his Army lay:
[...]m'd for his Valour, from Corruption free,
[...]de up of Courage and Humility.
[...]at when Encamp'd the good Man lowly bent,
[...]ok'd his own Cabbage in his homely Tent:
[...] when the Samnites ſent a Golden Sum,
[...]tempt him to betray his Country Rome,
[...] Droſs he ſcoffingly return'd untold,
[...] anſwer'd with a Look ſerenely bold,
[...]at Roman Sprouts would boil without their Grecian Gold:
[...]en eat his Cale-worts for his Meal deſign'd,
[...] beat the Grecian Army when he'd din'd.
Thus wou'd I range the World from Pole to Pole,
[...] encreaſe my Knowledge, and delight my Soul;
[...]vel all Nations, and inform my Sence;
[...]th eaſe and ſafety, at a ſmall Expence:
Storms to plough, no Paſſengers Sums to pay,
Horſe to hire, or Guide to ſhow the way,
Alps to climb, no Deſarts here to paſs,
Ambuſcades, no Thief to give me chaſe,
[4]No Bear to dread, or rav'nous Wolf to fight,
No Flies to ſting, no Rattle-Snakes to bite;
No Floods to ford, no Hurricans to fear;
No dreadful Thunder to ſurprize the Ear;
No Winds to freeze, no to Sun ſcorch or fry,
No Thirſt, or Hunger, and Relief not nigh.
All theſe Fatigues and Miſchiefs could I ſhun;
Reſt when I pleas'd, and when I pleaſe Jog on,
And travel through both Inides in an Afternoon.
When the Day thus far pleaſingly was ſpent,
And every Hour admin'ſtred Content,
Then would I range the Fields, and flow'ry Meads▪
Where Nature her exub'rant Bounty ſpreads,
In whoſe delightful Products does appear
Inimitable Beauty ev'ry where;
Contemplate on each Plant, and uſeful Weed,
And how its Form firſt lay involv'd in Seed,
How they're preſerv'd by Providential Care,
For what deſign'd, and what their Virtues are.
Thus to my Mind by dint of Reaſon prove,
That all below is ow'd to Heaven above,
And that no Earthly Temporals can be,
But what muſt Center in Eternity.
Then gaze aloft, whence all things had their Birth
And mount my prying Soul 'twixt Heaven and Ear [...]
Thus the ſweet Harmony o'th' whole admire,
And by due Search new Learning ſtill acquire,
So nearer ev'ry day to Truths Divine aſpire.
When tir'd with thought, then from my Pocket pl [...]
Some friendly dear Companion of a Book,
Whoſe homely Calves-skin fences did contain
The Verbal Treaſure of ſome Old good Man:
Made by long ſtudy and experience wiſe,
Whoſe piercing thoughts to Heavenly knowledge [...]
Amongſt whoſe Pious Reliques I would find,
Rules for my Life, Rich Banquets for my mind,
Such pleaſing Nectar, ſuch Eternal Food,
That well digeſted, makes a Man a God;
[5] [...]nd for his uſe at the ſame time prepares
[...] Earth a Heav'n in ſpight of worldly Cares,
[...]he day in theſe Enjoyments would I ſpend,
[...] chuſe at Night my Bottle and my Friend,
[...]ok prudent care that neither were abus'd,
[...] with due Moderation both I us'd.
[...]nd in one ſober Pint found more delight,
[...]han the inſatiat Sot that ſwills all Night;
[...]e'er drown my Senſes, or my Soul debaſe,
[...] drink beyond the reliſh of my blaſs
[...] in Exceſs good Heav'ns deſign is Croft,
[...] all Extreams the true Enjoyments loſt,
[...]ine chears the Heart, and elevates the Soul,
[...]t if we ſurfeit with too large a Bowl,
[...]anting true Aim we th' happy Mark o'er Shoot,
[...] change the Heavenly Image to a Brute.
[...] the great Grecian who the World ſubdu'd,
[...]nd drown'd whole Nations in a Sea of Blood;
[...] laſt was Conquer'd by the Power of Wine,
[...]nd dy'd a Drunken Victim to the Vine.
[...]y Friend, and I, when o'er our Bottle ſat,
[...]x'd with each Glaſs ſome inoffenſive Chat,
[...]lk'd of the World's Affairs, but ſtill kept free
[...]om Paſſion, Zeal, or Partiality;
[...]ith honeſt freedom did our thoughts diſpenſe,
[...] judg'd of all things with indifference;
[...] time at laſt did our Delights invade,
[...] in due ſeaſon ſeparation made,
[...]en without Envy, Diſcord or Deceit,
[...] like true Friends as loving as we meet.
[...]e Tavern change to a domeſtick ſcene,
[...]at ſweet Retirment, tho' it's ne'er ſo mean.
[...]us leave each other in a Cheerful Plight,
[...] enjoy the ſilent Pleaſures of the Night,
[...]hen home return'd, my Thanks to Heaven pay,
[...] all the paſt kind Bleſſing of the Day;
[...] haughty Help-mate to my Peace moleſt,
[...] treacherous Snake to harbour in my Breaſt;
[6]No fawning Miſtreſs of the Female Art,
With Judas Kiſſes to betray my Heart;
No light tail'd Hypocrite to raiſe my Fears,
No vile Impert'nence to torment my Ears;
No molted Off-ſpring to diſturb my Thought,
In Wedlock born but G—d knows where begot;
No luſtful Maſſalina to require
Whole Troops of Men to feed her Brutal Fire?
No Family Cares my quiet to diſturb;
No Head-ſtrong Humours to aſſwage or Curb
No Jaring Servants, no Domeſtick ſtrife,
No Jilt, no Termagent, no Faithleſs Wife,
With Vinegar or Gall, to ſowre or bitter Life.
Thus freed from all that could my Mind annoy,
Alone my ſelf, I did my ſelf enjoy:
When Nature call'd, I laid me down to reſt,
With a ſound Body, and a peaceful Breaſt;
Hours of Repoſe with Conſtancy I kept,
And Guardian Angels watch'd me as I ſlept,
In lively Dreams reviving as I lay,
The Pleaſures of the laſt precedent day,
Thus whilſt I ſingly liv'd, did I poſſeſs
By Day and Night inceſſant Happineſs,
Content enjoy'd awak'd, and ſleeping found no leſs.
But the Curs'd Fiend from Hell's dire Regions ſen [...]
Ranging the World to Man's Deſtruction bent,
Who with an Envious Pride beholding me,
Advanc'd by Virtue to Felicity,
Reſolv'd his own Eternal wretched ſtate,
Should be in part reveng'd by my ſad Fate;
And ſo at once my happy Life betray
Flung Woman, Faithleſs Woman in my way:
Beauty ſhe had, a ſeeming Modeſt Mein,
All Charms without, but Devil all within,
Which did not yet appear, but lurk'd, alas unſeen.
A fair Complection far exceeding Paint,
Black ſleepy Eyes that wou'd have Charm'd a Saint;
Her Lips ſo ſoft and ſweet, that ev'ry Kiſs,
Seem'd a ſhort Taſt of the Eternal Bliſs;
[7] [...]er ſet of Teeth ſo Regular and White,
[...]hey'd ſhow their Luſtre in the darkeſt Night;
[...]ound her Seraphick Face ſo fair and young,
[...]er Sable Hair in careleſs Dreſſes hung,
[...]hich added to her beauteous Features, ſhow'd
[...]ike ſome fair Angel peeping through a Cloud?
[...]er Breaſts, her Hands, and every Charm ſo bright,
[...]e ſeem'd a Sun by Day, a Moon by Night;
[...]er ſhape ſo raviſhing, that every Part,
[...]roportion'd was to the niceſt Rules of Art:
[...]o awful was her Carriage when ſhe mov'd,
[...]one could behold her, but he feard and lov'd,
[...]he danc'd well, ſung well, finely plaid the Lute,
Was always witty in her Words, or Mute;
[...]bliging, not reſerv'd, nor yet too free,
[...]ut as a Maid divinely bleſs'd ſhould be;
Not vainly gay, but decent in Attire,
[...]he ſeem'd ſo good, ſhe could no more acquire
Of Heaven, than what ſhe had, & Man no more deſire:
[...]ortune, like God and Nature too was kind,
And to theſe Gifts a copious Sum had joyn'd.
Who could the power of ſuch Temptations ſhun,
What frozen Synick from her Charms could run.
What Cloiſter'd Monk could ſee a Face ſo bright,
But quit his Beads and follow Beauty's Light,
And Its Luſtre hope to ſhun Eternal Night.
[...] ſo bewitch'd, and poyſon'd with her Charms,
Believ'd the utmoſt Heaven was in her Arms,
Methoughts the Goodneſs, in her Eyes I ſee,
Spoke her the Off-ſpring of ſome Deity.
Now Books and Walks, would no content afford,
She was the only Good to be Ador'd
In her fair Looks alone delight I found,
Love's raging Storms all other Joys had drown'd.
By Beauty's Ignus fatuus led aſtray,
Bound for Content, I loſt my happy way
Of Reaſon's faithful Pilot now bereft,
Was amongſt Rocks and Shelves in danger left,
[8]There muſt have periſh'd, as I fondly thought,
Leſt her kind Uſage my Salvation wrought;
Her happy Aid I labour'd to obtain,
Hop'd for Succeſs, yet fear'd her ſad Diſdain,
Tortur'd like dying Convicts whilſt they live,
'Twixt fear of Death, and hopes of a Reprieve.
Firſt for her ſmalleſt Favours did I ſue,
Crept, Fawn'd and Cring'd, as Lovers us'd to do?
Sigh'd e'er I ſpoke, and when I ſpoke look'd [...]
In words confus'd diſclos'd my mournful T [...]le?
Unpractiſed and Amour's fine Speeches co [...]d,
But could not utter what I well deſign [...]d.
Warm'd by her Charms againſt Baſh [...] ſtrove,
And trembling ſat, and ſtammer'd out my Love;
Told her how greatly I admir'd and fear [...]d,
Which ſhe 'twixt Coyneſs and Compaſſion hear'd,
Grutch'd no Expence of Money, or of Time,
And thought that not to adore her was a Crime;
The more each Viſit I acquainted grew,
Yet every time found ſomething in her new.
Who was above her Sex ſo fortunate,
She had a Charm for Man in every State;
Beauty for the Youthful Prudence for the Old,
Scripture for the Godly, for the Miſer Gold;
Wit for the Ingenious, ſilence for the Grave,
Flatt'ry for the Fool, and Cunning for the Knave:
Compounded thus of ſuch Varieties,
She had a knack to every Temper pleaſe.
And as her ſelf thought fit was every one of theſe.
I lov'd, I ſigh'd and vow'd, talk'd, whin'd, and pray'd
And at her Feet my panting Heart I lay'd;
She ſmil'd, then frown'd, was now reſerv'd, then fre [...]
And as ſhe play'd her part, oft chang'd her Key;
Not through Fantaſtick Humour but Deſign,
To try me throughly e'er ſhe ſhould be mine,
Becauſe ſhe wanted in one Man to have,
A Husband, Lover, Cuckold, and a Slave.
So Travellers, before a Horſe they buy,
His Speed, his Paces, and his Temper try,
[9]Whether h'ell anſwer Whip and Spur, thence Judge,
If the poor Beaſt will prove a patient Drudge:
When ſhe by wiles had heightned my Deſire,
And fain'd Lov's ſparkles to a raging Fire;
Made now for Wedlock, or for Bedlam fit,
Thus Paſſion gain'd the upper-hand of Wit,
The Dame by pity, or by Intereſt mov'd,
Or elſe by Luſt, pretended now ſhe lov'd;
After long ſufferings, her Conſent I got,
To make me happy, as I hop'd and thought,
But oh, the wretched hour I ty'd the Gordian Knot.
Thus through miſtake I raſhly plung'd my Life
Into that Gulph of Miſeries a Wife.
With joyful Arms I thus embrac'd my Fate,
Believ'd too ſoon, was undeceiv'd too late;
So hair-brain'd Fools to Indian Climates rove,
With a vain hope their Fortunes to improve;
There ſpend their ſlender Cargoes, then become
Worſe Slaves abroad than e'er they were at home.
When a few Weeks were waſted I compar'd,
With all due moderation and regard,
My former freedom, with my new reſtraint,
Judging which State afforded moſt content,
But found a ſingle Life as calm and gay,
As the delightful Month of blooming May,
Not chil'd with Cold, or ſcorch'd with too much heat.
Not plagu'd with flying Duſt, nor drown'd with wet,
But pleaſing to the Eyes, and to the Noſtrils ſweet.
But Wedlock's like the bluſtring Month of March,
That does the Body's Maims and Bruiſes ſearch,
Brings by cold nipping Storms unwelcom Pains,
And finds, or breeds Diſtempers in our Veins;
Renews old Sores, and haſtens on Decay,
And ſeldom does affords one pleaſant Day.
But Clouds diſſolve, or raging Tempeſt blow,
And untile Houſes, like the wrangling Shrow;
Thus March and Marriage juſtly may be ſaid,
To be alike, then ſure the Man is Mad,
That loves ſuch changling Weather where the beſt is bad.
[10]Though I once happy in a ſingle Life,
Yet Shipwrack'd all upon that Rock a Wife.
By Gold and Beauties Powerful Charms betray'd,
To the dull drudgery of a Marriage-Bed;
That Paradiſe for Fools, a Sport for Boys,
Tireſom its Chains, and brutal are its Joys,
Thou nauſeous Prieſtcraft that too ſoon appear'd,
Not as I hop'd, but worſe than what I fear'd,
All her ſoft Charms which I believ'd divine,
Marriage I thought had made them only mine;
Vain hope, alas for I too early found,
My Brows were with the Throne of Wedlock crown'd,
Jealouſies, firſt from Reaſon rais'd a doubt,
And Fatal Chance th' unhappy Truth brought out;
Made it ſo plain from all Pretences free'd.
That wicked Woman no Excuſe could plead;
And if ſhe wants device to hide her Shame,
Hell can no Umbrage for Adult'ry frame.
I thought it prudence the Diſgrace to hide,
Tho' rav'd and Storm'd, ſhe Pardon beg'd and Cry'd.
Yet with falſe Proteſtations ſtrove to Charm:
The Cuckold to believe ſhe'd done no harm,
Tho' taken by ſurprize (O curſe the Day)
Where all the Marks of paſt Enjoyment lay,
And ſhe diſorder'd by her luſtful freeks
Had Shame and Horrour ſtrugling in her Cheeks:
Yet, made Eſſays to cleer her Innocence,
And hide her guilt with Lyes and Impudence;
For luſtful Women like a vicious State,
Oft ſtifle Ills by others full as great,
But I convinc'd too plainly of her Guilt,
All her falſe Oaths and quick inventions ſpoilt,
Which when ſhe'd uſed in vain ſhe bluſh'd and cry'd,
And own'd her fault ſhe found ſhe could not hide.
This I forgave, ſhe promis'd to reclaim,
Vow'd future truth if I'd conceal the ſhame;
But what Strange Adamantine Chain can bind,
Woman corrupted to be juſt or kind:
[11]Or how can Man to an adultreſs ſhew
That Love, which to a faithful Wife is due,
I ſtrugled hard, and all my Paſſions checkt,
And chang'd Revenge into a mild Reſpect,
That Good for Ill return'd might touch her near,
And Gratitude might bind her more than fear;
My former Love I every day renew'd;
And all the Signals of Oblivion ſhew'd;
Wink'd at ſmall Faults, wou'd no ſuch Trifles mind,
As accidental Failings not deſigned.
I all things to her Temper eaſie made,
Scorn'd to reflect, and hated to upbraid;
She choſe (and rich it was) her own Attire,
Nay, had what a proud Woman could deſire.
Thus the new Covenant I ſtrictly kept,
And oft in private for her Failings wept,
Yet bore with ſeeming Cheerfulneſs thoſe Cares,
That bring a Man too ſoon to griſled Hairs.
But all this kindneſs I diſpens'd in vain,
Where Luſt and baſe Ingratitude remain.
Luſt, which if once in Female fancy fix'd,
Burns like Salt Petre, with dry Touchwood mix'd:
And tho' cold Fear for time may ſtop its force,
'Twill ſoon like Fire confin'd, break out the worſe,
Or like a Tide obſtructed, re-aſſume its courſe.
No Art cou'd e'er preſume the ſtincking Stote,
Or change the lecherous Nature of the Goat.
No skilful Whitſter ever found the ſlight,
To waſh or bleach an Ethiopian White.
No gentle Uſage truly will Aſſwage,
A Tyger's fierceneſs, or a Lyon's rage,
Stripes and ſevere Correction is the way,
When once they're thro'ly Conquer'd, they'll obey,
'Tis Whip and Spur, Commanding Reign and Bit,
That makes the unruly head-ſtrong Horſe ſubmit,
So ſtubborn faithleſs Woman muſt be us'd,
Or Man by Woman baſely be abus'd.
For after all the Endearments I ſhould ſhow,
At laſt ſhe turn'd both Libertine and Shrow,
[12]From my Submiſſion grew perverſe and proud,
Crabbed as Varges, and as Thunder loud;
Did what ſhe pleas'd, would no Obedience own,
And ridicul'd the Patience I had ſhown.
Fear'd no ſharp threatnings, valued no diſgrace,
But flung the wrongs ſhe'd done me in my Face;
Grew ſtill more head-ſtrong, turbulent and Lewd,
Filling my Manſion with a ſpurious brood.
Thus Brutal Luſt her humane Reaſon drown'd,
And her looſe Tail oblig'd the Country round;
Advice, Reproof, Pray'rs, Tears, were flung away,
For ſtill ſhe grew more wicked ev'ry day;
Till by her equals ſcorn'd, my Servants fed,
The Brutal Rage of her adultrous bed.
Nay, in my abſence trucled to my Groom,
And hug'd the ſervile Traytor in my Room;
When theſe ſtrange Tydings, Thunder ſtruck my Ear,
And ſuch Inhumane Wrongs were made appear,
On theſe juſt Grounds for a Divorce I ſu'd,
At laſt that head-ſtrong Tyrant Wife ſubdu'd,
Cancel'd the marriage-bonds, and baſtardiz'd her brood
Woman, thou worſt of all Church-plagues, farewel;
Bad at the beſt, but at the worſt a Hell;
Thou truſs of wormwood, bitter Teaz of Life,
Thou Nurſery of humane cares a wife.
Thou Apple-Eating Trayt'riſs who began
The Wrath of Heav'n, and Miſeries of Man,
And haſt with never-failing diligence,
Improv'd the Curſe to humane Race e'er ſince.
Farewel Church-juggle that enſlav'd my Life,
But bleſs that Power that rid me of my Wife.
And now the Laws once more have ſet me free,
If Woman can again prevail with me,
My Fleſh and Bones ſhall make my Wedding-Feaſt,
And none ſhall be Invited as my Gueſt,
T' attend my Bride, but th' Devil and a Prieſt.
FINIS.

THE CHOICE, OR, THE Pleaſures of a Country-LIFE, &c.

[13]
IF Heav'n the grateful Liberty wou'd give,
That I might chuſe my Method how to live:
And all thoſe Hours propitious Fate ſhou'd lend,
In blisful Eaſe and Satisfaction ſpend.
Near ſome fair Town I'd have a private Seat,
Built Uniform, not little, nor too great:
Better if on a riſing Ground it ſtood,
Fields on this ſide, on that a Neighb'ring Wood.
It ſhou'd within no other things contain,
But what are Uſeful, Neceſſary, Plain:
Methinks 'tis Nauſeous, and I'd ne'er endure
The needful pomp of gaudy Furniture:
A little Garden, grateful to the Eye,
And a cool Rivulet run murmuring by:
On whoſe delicious Banks a ſtately Row,
Of ſhady Limes, or Sicamores, ſhou'd grow.
At th' end of which a ſilent Study plac'd,
Shou'd with the Nobleſt Authors there be grac'd.
Horace and Virgil, in whoſe mighty Lines,
Immortal Wit, and ſolid Learning ſhines.
Sharp Juvenal, and am'rous Ovid too,
Who all the turns of Loves ſoft paſſion knew:
He, that with Judgment reads his Charming Lines,
In which ſtrong Art, with ſtronger Nature joins,
Muſt grant▪ his Fancy does the beſt excel:
His thoughts ſo tender, and expreſt ſo well;
With all thoſe Moderns, Men of ſteady Senſe,
Eſteem'd for Learning, and for Eloquence:
[14]In ſome of theſe, as Fancy ſhou'd adviſe,
I'd always take my Morning Exerciſe.
For ſure, no Minutes bring us more Content,
Than thoſe in pleaſing uſeful Studies Spent.
I'd have a clear and competent Eſtate,
That I might live Genteely, but not Great.
As much as I cou'd moderately ſpend,
A little more ſometimes t' oblige a Friend.
Nor ſhou'd the Sons of Poverty Repine
Too much at Fortune, they ſhou'd taſte of mine,
And all that Objects of true Pity were,
Shou'd be reliev'd with what my Wants cou'd ſpare;
For what our Maker has too largely giv'n,
Shou'd be return'd in gratitude to Heav'n.
A frugal Plenty ſhou'd my Table ſpread,
With healthful, not luxurious Diſhes fed:
Enough to ſatisfy, and ſomething more
To feed the Stranger, and th' Neighb'ring Poor▪
Strong Meat indulges Vice, and pampering Food
Creates Diſeaſes; and inflames the Blood.
But what's ſufficient to make Nature Strong,
And the bright Lamp of Life continue long,
I'd freely take, and as I did poſſeſs.
The bounteous Author of my Plenty bleſs.
I'd have a little Cellar, Cool and Neat,
With Humming Ale, and Virgin Wine Repleat.
Wine whets the Wit, improves its Native Force,
And gives a pleaſant Flavour to Diſcourſe;
By making all our Spirits Debonar,
Throws off the Lees, the Sedement of Care.
But as the greateſt Bleſſing Heaven lends
May be debauch'd, and ſerve ignoble Ends;
So, but too oft, the Grapes refreſhing Juice,
Does many miſchievous Effects produce,
My Houſe, ſhou'd no ſuch rude Diſorders know,
As from high Drinking conſequently flow,
Nor wou'd I uſe what was ſo kindly giv'n,
To the Diſhonour of Indulgent Heav'n.
If any Neighbour came he ſhou'd be free,
Us'd with Reſpect, and not uneaſy be,
In my Retreat, or to himſelf or me.
What Freedom, Prudence, and Right Reaſon give,
All Men may with impunity receive;
But the leaſt ſwerving from their Rules too much,
For what's forbidden us, 'tis Death to touch.
That Life might be more comfortable yet,
And all my Joys refin'd, ſincere and great,
[15] [...] chuſe too Friends, whoſe Company wou'd be
[...] great Advance to my Felicity.
Well born, of Humours ſuited to my own;
[...]iſcreet, and Men as well as Books have known.
[...]rave, Gen'rous, Witty, and exactly free
[...]rom looſe Behaviour or Formality,
[...]iry, and Prudent, Merry, but not Light,
Quick in diſcerning, and in Judging Right;
[...]ecret they ſhou'd, be faithful to their Truſt,
[...] Reaſoning Cool, Strong, Temperate and juſt.
[...]bliging, Open, without Huffing. Brave;
[...]riſk in gay talking, and in ſober Grave.
Cloſe in diſpute, but not tenacious, try'd
[...]y ſolid Reaſon, and let that decide;
Not prone to Luſt, Revenge, or envious Hate;
Nor buſy Medlers with Intrigues of State.
Strangers to Slander, and ſworn Foes to ſpight,
Not Quarrelſom, but Stout enough to Fight:
Loyal and Pious, Friends to Caeſar true
As dying Martyrs to their Maker too.
[...]n their Society I cou'd not miſs,
A permanent, ſincere, ſubſtantial Bliſs,
Wou'd bounteous Heaven once more indulge, I'd chuſe;
For, who wou'd ſo much ſatisfaction loſe,
As witty Nymphs in Converſation give)
Near ſome obliging modeſt-fair to live;
For there's that ſweetneſs in a female Mind.
Which in a Man's we cannot find;
That by a ſecret, but a pow'rful Art,
Wind up the Spring of Life, and do's impart
Freſh Vital Heat to the tranſported Heart.
I'd have her Reaſon, and her Paſſions ſway,
Eaſy in Company, in private Gay.
Coy to a Fop, to the deſerving free,
Still Conſtant to her ſelf and Juſt to me.
A ſoul ſhe ſhou'd have for great Actions fit,
Prudence, and Wiſdom to direct her Wit,
Courage to look bold danger in the Face,
No Fear, but only to be Proud, or Baſe:
Quick to adviſe by an Emergence preſt,
To give good Counſel, or to take the beſt.
I'd have th' Expreſſion of her Thoughts be ſuch,
She might not ſeem Reſerv'd, nor talk too much;
That ſhows a want of Judgment, and of Senſe;
More than enough is but Impertinence.
Her Conduct Regular, her Mirth refin'd,
Civil to Strangers, to her Neighbours kind.
[16]Averſe to Vanity, Revenge and Pride,
In all the Methods of Deceit untry'd:
So faithful to her Friend, and good to all,
No Cenſure might upon her Actions fall.
Then wou'd even Envy be compell'd to ſay,
She goes the leaſt of Woman kind aſtray.
To this fair Creature I'd ſometimes retire,
Her converſation wou'd new Joys inſpire,
Give Life and Edge ſo keen no ſurly Care
Wou'd venture to aſſault my Soul, or dare
Near my Retreat to hide one ſecret Snare.
But ſo Divine, ſo Noble a Repaſt,
I'd ſeldom, and with Moderation taſte.
For higheſt Cordials all their Virtue loſe,
By a too frequent, and too bold an uſe;
And what would cheer the Spirits in diſtreſs▪
Ruins our Health when taken to Exceſs.
I'd be concern'd in no litigious Jarr,
Belov'd by all, not vainly popular:
Whate'er Aſſiſtance I had power to bring
T' oblige my Country, or to ſerve my King,
Whene'er they call'd, I'd readily afford,
My Tongue, My Pen, my Counſel, or my Sword.
Law-ſuits I'd ſhun with as much Studious Care;
As I wou'd Dens where hungry Lyons are;
And rather put up Injuries than be
A Plague to him, who'd be a plague to me.
I value Quiet at a Price too great,
To give for my Revenge ſo dear a Rate:
For what do we by all our buſtle gain,
But counterfeit Delight for real Pain.
If Heav'n a date of many Years wou'd give,
Thus I'd in Pleaſure, Eaſe and Plenty live.
And as I near approach'd the Verge of Life,
Some kind Relation (for I'd have no Wife.)
Should take upon him all my Worldly Care,
While I did for a better State prepare.
Then I'd not be with any Trouble vext,
Nor have the Evening of my Days perplext.
But by a ſilent, and a peaceful Death,
Without a ſigh Reſign my Aged Breath:
And when committed to the Duſt, I'd have
Few Tears, but Frindly drop'd into my Grave.
Then wou'd my Exit ſo propitious be,
All Men wou'd wiſh to live and dye like me.
FINIS.

10.

[]

INSTRUCTIONS TO VANDER BANK, A Sequel to the Advice to the Poets: A POEM, Occaſion'd by the Glorious Succeſs of Her Majeſty's ARMS, under the Command of the Duke of MARL⯑BOROƲGH, the laſt Year in Flanders.

LONDON: [...]nted and Sold by H. Hills, in Black-fryars, near the Water-ſide. 1709.

Inſtructions to Vander Bank, &c.

[3]
HAve all thy Bards, Britannia, ſpent their Vein?
Not one rich Genius left that can ſuſtain
Th' expenſive Task of Marlbro's laſt Campaign?
[...]uin'd by Conqueſts do they pray for Peace,
That the hard Taxes on the Muſe may ceaſe?
Then, Artiſt, who doſt Nature's Face expreſs
[...] Silk and Gold, and Scenes of Action dreſs;
[...]oſt figur'd Arras animated leave,
[...]pin a bright Story, or a Paſſion weave;
By mingling Threads canſt mingle Shade and Light,
Delineate Triumphs, or deſcribe a Fight;
[...]o thou relate the Hero's Toil, record
The Train of new Events, that crown'd his hardy Sword.
Since Thou wilt ſome Illuſtrious Patron need,
[...]ANN propitious Smile, Thou muſt ſucceed:
Her High Command inſpir'd with Martial Flame
The Warrior's Breaſt. She by her pow'rful Name
[...]repar'd half-beaten Foes to yield the Day,
And for advancing Vict'rys made the Way.
Belgiam attend; and from thy noble Loom
[...]et the Great Chief Auguſt in Triumph come:
[...]or Blenheim's lofty Walls the Work deſign,
[...]n every Piece let Art and Labour ſhine;
[...]et Glorious Deeds the Briton's Palace crown,
Not thoſe of antient Heroes, but his own;
[...] the bright Series of his Story ſhow
What Albion, what Mankind to Marlbro' owe.
I only rude Materials can ſuggeſt,
[...]ome by thy Art too hard to be expreſt;
Chuſe what is proper, and neglect the reſt.
[...]f thou with Care, and that thy Genius may
[...]mprove theſe Hints, refine this crude Eſſay;
[4]Thou may'ſt Illuſtrious laſting Scenes contrive,
At leaſt the Work will by its Subject live.
Let the firſt Labour on this lofty Theme
Expreſs the Chief on Scalda's wondring Stream:
From him that Flood immortal Fame derives,
Rivals the Danube, and with Dola ſtrives.
Deſcribe his Steed, not patient of the Rein,
Champing his Foam, and bounding on the Plain;
Arch his high Neck, and graceful ſpread his Mane.
Give ample Noſtrils breathing inbred Fire,
Eyes that confeſs the generous Mare and Sire:
Such Life and Pride, as in the Race appear,
Which Great Arabian Lords, and Perſian Monarchs bear.
But with their chief Delight our Eyes to feed,
Mount the brave Leader on his manag'd Steed.
Give him a noble Seat, a Martial Mein,
Scornful of Danger. and in Arms ſerene:
Let his Right Hand his Sword vindictive ſway,
Graſp'd with vaſt Strength, and ſpreading dreadful Day,
By which the Tyrant Monſters are ſubdu'd,
Who ſurfeited with Spoil, and riotous in Blood,
Oppreſſion's howling Wilderneſs defend,
And Deſolation's empty Realms extend.
The Looks of Juſtice to the Warrior give,
Where Wrath and Mercy for Dominion ſtrive.
Intrepide Ardour well to Gallia known,
A Courtier Hero's Grace the mighty Briton's own.
When you expreſs the Leader's Face and Eyes,
Studious with daring Labour to ſurprize,
Cou'd you with inwrought Glory charm the Sight,
And interwoven Threads of labour'd Light,
You might ſucceed, and do the Conqueror Right.
Let Fame and Vict'ry, in inferior Sky,
Hover with balanc'd Wings, and ſmiling fly,
Above his Head, and on his Function wait,
Aſſiduous to pronounce Europa's Fate.
On adverſe Banks of Scalda's Silver Tide,
Delineate Gallia's Military Pride;
[5] [...]xpreſs the Cohorts cov'ring all the Plain,
[...]hick as the Waves that ſpread the troubled Main.
[...]how them advancing ſwift to Gaula's Walls,
Where Leſia's Current into Scalda falls:
[...]ill Marlbro's Marches did their Speed out do,
[...]nd ſtopt their Progreſs, to ſuſtain the Foe.
[...] when a Stag, the Glory of the Wood,
[...]f beautous Limbs, and branching Antlets proud,
[...]ears the ſhrill Horn, and hallowing Huntſman's Crys,
[...]ing thro the Foreſt, and embroil the Skys;
[...]e in experienc'd airy Feet ſecure,
[...]ſtens and mocks the Foe's collected Pow'r.
[...]he Noiſe augments; then fleeter than the Wind
[...] flys, and leaves the clamorous Bland behind:
[...]ll ſpent, he ſtands at Bay, he turns his Face,
[...]nd to a Fight decrees to change the Chace;
[...]etermined he expects th' invading War,
[...]eluctant ſtays, and combates from Deſpair.
O Belgian, work a Piece by this Cartone,
[...]nd be this Picture by thy Art out done.
[...] confluent Nations ſpread a ſpacious Loom,
[...]nd give the mighty Hoſt ſufficient room;
[...]here more Brigades form each extended Wing,
[...]an Eaſtern Monarchs to the Combate bring:
[...]ow the wide Van, th' unmeaſurable Rear,
[...]moderate Terror, and exuberant War.
[...]re let the Flow'r and Strength of Spain advance,
[...] there the Belgian Slaves that courted France.
[...] the Helvian Martial Yout compoſe
[...] threatning Front, fierce mercenary Foes
[...]ho trade in Blood and Rapine, let the Gaul
[...] to the Rear, a ſafer Station, fall.
[...]how bow the Chief ſprung ardent to the Fight,
Arms refulgent, as Meridian Light;
[...], if the Loom this Labour will allow,
[...] Hero in diſtinct Compartments ſhow,
[...]porting here his Friends, and breaking there the Foe.
[...] him in every Place ſurprize the Sight,
[...] diſpers'd and multiply'd in Fight:
[6]As if the Leader, watchful to protect
His Squadrons, did Ubiquity affect.
Here let him ſtand, intrepid and ſedate,
Diſpenſing high Commands, the Meſſages of Fate:
There let his Arms his reeking Fauchion weild,
Triumph in Slaughter, and pollute the Field
With glorious Spoil, while like the fabled God
Of War, thro thick embattled Deaths he rode:
Let him the Vale with Rout and Ruin fill,
Lik Torrents ruſhing from an Alpine Hill;
Or a high Wind, that o'er the Deſart ſweeps,
Lays waſt the Woods, and rolls the Sand in Heaps:
Where his deſtructive Sword the Foe purſu'd,
Expreſs the Lanes the glittring Feller hew'd
Wide, as the Openings in a waſted Wood.
Let Streams of Blood the Victor's Wrath atteſt,
A Purple Vintage from the Slain expreſt.
Show Warriors quiv'ring in the Pangs of Death,
Rolling their Eyes, and gaſping out their Breath:
While ſcatter'd Arms, and Horſe and Horſemen ſlain
And ignominious Medly ſpread the Plain.
Weave Deſolation, let prodigious Waſt,
And Tracks of Death mark where the Victor paſt,
As Conflagrations are by Ruins trac'd.
On a new Scene attentive Care beſtow,
A Princely Youth in poliſh'd Armour ſhow:
Let him advance, and as a Seraph bright,
Raviſh at once, and terrify the Sight.
Place him conſpicuous midſt the hoſtile Troops,
Hanover's Pride, and Albion's diſtant Hopes:
Whoſe early Deeds and bloſſoming Renown;
To wondring Europe have the Hero ſhown;
With brave Impatience let him ſeek the Fight,
Eager of Fame, and trembling with Delight.
As when the Eaglet, whom the Parent trys,
Not us'd to ſoar, nor conſcious of the Skys,
Againſt the brigheſt Radiance of the Sun
Mount bold, and makes the genuine Offspring know [...]
[7] [...]o the you Hero's Eyes undazled bear
The Beams of Glory, and the Blaze of War.
Thro glittring Deaths, Storms of exploded Flame,
Ardent aſpires to the bright Mark of Fame,
And makes his firſt Effort his high Deſcent proclaim.
[...]how how he flew intrepid on the Foe,
[...]lung'd deep amidſt the Files, and forc'd hi Paſſage thro.
[...]ow the great Youth with Veteran Captains vy'd,
What Trophys crown'd a Sword till then untry'd:
[...]o a young Lyon, of his matchleſs Pow'r
Yet ignorant, but grown for Fight mature,
[...]f he by Chance a ſhaggy Bear deſcrys,
Determin'd to the Combate rapide flys;
Laſhing his Sides he roars, and from afar,
Thro ecchoing Hills, denounces dreadful War.
An eaſy Conqueſt crown his firſt Campaign;
The Yellow Warrior, Maſter of the Plain,
Now in his vaſt diſcover'd Strength ſecure,
Wonders, and grieves he prov'd it not before.
Then let Germania's Angel, and his Own,
Each bearing high a Shield and Laurel Crown,
Fly watchful o'er his Head, with one to guard
His Life, with one his Valour to reward.
Artiſt record, how fair Britannia's Iſle,
When firſt ſhe heard th Youth's adventrous Foil,
Scarce pleas'd with Glory from too daring Fight,
Felt proffer'd Joy ſuſpended by Affright:
While her tall Oaks ſhake on the Mountain's Brow,
And refluent Streams their Conſternation ſhow.
Work a new Piece, deſcribe the Gallic Pow'rs
Quitting the Field to reach Gandava's Tow'rs;
Affright and Horror in their Looks expreſs
Finiſh'd Confuſion, and the laſt Diſtreſs.
Form pale Amazement's undiſſembled Air,
And the wild Features of extreme Deſpair:
[...]how how their Gen'rals, to reſtore the Fight,
Confirm their Legions, and prevent their Flight,
Aſham'd, enrag'd and griev', did theſe upbraid,
Encourage thoſe, ſome threaten, ſome perſuade.
[8]But how their fruitleſs Accents beat th Air?
What Words can charm inexorable Fears?
Can Terror liſten? Can Diſtraction hear?
Show how the Gauls diſorder'd Cohors fled,
Expreſs their Anguiſh, an perplexing Dread;
While Horſe and Foot ſtrove each to have the Van,
And Chiefs, Companions of the private Man,
Promiſcuous Shame, diſregimented ran.
So, when incumbent tempeſts preſs the Deep,
And rouſe the frighted Billows from their Sleep,
The liquid Legions crouding fly ſo faſt,
And ſhove each other with ſuch headlong haſt,
That ſometimes they are rid, and ſometimes ride,
By turns exalt their Heads, by turns ſubſide,
O'erwhelm each other, and diſtreſs the Tide.
The mighty General, whom the Gauls adore,
To Belgia's Plains call'd from Auſonia's Shore,
Gallia's declining Empire to reſtore,
To teach her Troops new Laurels to acquire,
And in their Breaſts rekindle Martial Fire,
Reluctant fled, in adverſe Fortune great,
Caught in the Eddy of his Monarch's Fate.
He blam'd the Stars, that on his Conduct frown'd,
And Marlbro, thy Superior Genius own'd.
So a fierce Boar, on Mauritania's Plain,
The Lion's Fury does a while ſuſtain,
Till torn and ſunk with vaſt Expence of Blood,
He quits the Field, and ſeeks the ſhelt'ring Wood;
He grinds his Teeth, impatient of Defeat,
Indignant foams, fain wou'd the War repeat,
Looks back and threatens in his four Retreat.
Then ſhow the Conqueror in another Scene,
Protecting with his Arms the brave Eugene;
While he the matchleſs Strength of Liſle aſſail'd,
And o'er her haughty Towr'rs with loud applauſe pre⯑vail'd
Witneſs ye ſix times twenty thouſands Gauls,
Who when advanc'd near Lilla's lofty Wals
To face the Foe, were honour'd with the Sight
Of the brave Cohorts, which you felt in Fight:
[9]Witneſs ye Generals, and ye Princes, proud
Of Veins diſtended with Imperial Blood,
For your Spectators of the Action ſtood.
Next let the Chief advance to Scalda's Banks,
To drive th' unactive Gaul, whoſe warlike Ranks
Spread thick as Locuſts, on the adverſe Side,
Did in their Guardian Flood, and high-rais'd Works confide.
Tis done; for when their Outgaurds ſaw from far
The Briton's Arms, and cry'd, for Fight prepare;
The boaſtful Warrious Hearts inglorious melt,
And ſtruck with his Approach, their well-known Paſſion felt.
Aſſur'd no more, while Marlbro's Sword invades,
By Rivers, Lines, and numberleſs Brigades;
As Terror dictates, they direct their Flight,
Spread all the Plain with Marks of wild Affright,
And ignominuous Rout, but none of Fight,
Let Churchill next his Conquering Cohorts lead,
To ſave Bruſſella, fair Brabantia's Head:
To break the united Arms of France and Spain,
And make the Threats of proud Bavaria vain.
Show how the Foe the Scheld's Contagion caught,
Gave cheap Renown, and left the Field unfought:
And how the Boian Prince, enrag'd to find
The Laurels blaſted for his Brow deſign'd,
With troubled Pride, and Anguiſh in his Eyes,
Chac'd a third time before the Briton flys:
He cu [...]s'd the Victo who his Arms repel'd,
And cruel Fate, that ſtill Succeſs withheld,
But more the Coward and Guardians of the Scheld.
So when a rav'ning Wolf has long patrol'd,
And found at length a Placr to leap the Fold,
He ſeems already of his Prey poſſeſt,
And licks his Jaws preluding to the Feaſt:
If then the Maſter Shepherd with his Band
Arrives their brandiſh'd Weapons in their Hand,
The prowling Robber ſhuns unequal Fight,
And grins, and growls, and rages in his Flight.
While Gallia's canton'd Troops inglorious reſt,
With conſtant Flights, and long unactive Toil oppreſt,
[10]O Britain! thy Great Chief his Eaſe denys,
Patient of Labour and inclement Skys,
Still with new Ardour, to new Conqueſt flys.
Here freſh Materials for the Loom prepare,
And weave a cold white Winter-Piece of War.
Ev'n then a Bloom of ſpreading Glory ſhow
And verdant Laurels forc'd from Beds of Snow.
Confed'rate Pow'rs of Flandria, Gallia, Spain,
A numerous Army deſtin'd to ſuſtain
Th' Invading Foe, did Ganda's Walls maintain.
Much in their Lines, and in the River's Tide,
Much in their Chiefs and Numbers they confide,
But more they truſted to th' intemperate Air,
And growing Rigour of th' expiring Year:
They hop'd that Tempeſts, arm'd with Snow and Sleet,
Winds, that from Hyperborean Mountains beat
With furious Wings the bleak untrodden Plain,
And Chryſtal Deſarts of the frocen Main,
That all the embattled Meteors wou'd conſpire
To charge and force the Briton to retire.
In vain — ev'n then the Hero undiſmay'd,
Advanc'd his Enſigns, and his wrath diſplay'd:
Againſt perfidious Ghent his Batt'ry rear'd,
And Winter-Thunder for her Walls prepar'd,
The Gallic Generals ſaw, and Marlbro's Arms rever'd
To pay due Honour to their Royal Head
Burgundia's Lord, they in his Footſteps tread,
Of Gallic Blood Effuſion to decline,
Yeild without Combate, and the Town reſign.
How Marlbro's Deeds ring thro the Belgian Skys!
How ſwift their Terror propagated flys!
How ſoon it reach'd the liſtning Towns around!
How Bruges Turrots trembled at the Sound!
How frighted, how amaz'd her Warriors ſtood,
Their Sinews ſlacken'd, and congeal'd their Blood!
Show, Artiſt, how their Cohorts, wing'd with Fear,
Fled from the Foe, e'er yet he did appear.
Thus Churchill ſends abroad a conquering Name,
And wounds at diſtance by his miſſive Fame.
[11]So oft whem Storms from Barbary's Sun-burnt Soil,
Advance impetuous, and the Deep embroil,
The flying Waves th' Infection ſwift convey,
And with their pannic Dread diſtract Heſperia's Sea,
Which rolls and works beneath a Sky ſerene,
Diſturb'd by VVinds unheard, and wrathful Clouds unſeen.
Then ſhow how Burga's Counſellers, of State,
And Lords deputed, on the Briton wait,
To make their low Submiſſion, and implore
His Mercy to protect them from his Pow'r.
The Hero's Triumphs equal thus appear,
Crowning alike each Seaſon of the Year;
Ev'n Winter's ſelf, whoſe frozen hoary Head
Was ne'er before with Martial Honours ſpread,
For want of Deeds Illuſtrious can't complain,
Sharing the Glory of this Great Campaign.
An Arch of Triumph in another Piece,
Artiſt, contrive, like thoſe of Rome or Greece.
VVhat Maſter-Sculptors from in Baſſe Relieve,
Do thou in bold expreſſive Figures weave.
Let Horſemen firſt in long Proceſſion bear
Unnumber'd Enſigns, high diſplay'd in Air,
The Glorious Trophys of ſucceſsful VVar:
Bavaria's Standards, Emblems of the Fall
Of Neighbour Power's that aid the faithleſs Gaul;
Falſe Flandria's Colours and Caſtilia's Pride,
And with thy VVarriors Blood, vain King, thy Lillys dy'd.
Next let the Train that bear the Spoils of France,
Augment the Triumph, and in Turn advance;
Deſcribe them lab'ring with th' unweildy Prize,
Their tortur'd Sinews, and their ſtarting Eyes:
Let them beneath their rich Oppreſſion bow,
And ſeem to groan and ſtagger as they go.
Shew how the Throng with Hands upheld adore
Juſtice Divine, that has, by ANNA's Pow'r,
Compel'd the Gaul his Rapine to reſtore:
That has aveng'd the injur'd Realms around,
Reſtrain'd licentious Might, and proud Ambition bound.
[12]In a high Car the laurel'd Victor place,
Drawn by the nobleſt ſteeds of Belgick Race:
Thro deep applauding Crowds on either ſide
Sublime, yet unelated, let him ride.
The ſeraph Chiefs ſuch Moderation ſhew'd,
When to the Gates of Hell their Hoſt purſu'd
The Rebel powers, and thro th' unlightſom way
Return'd in Triumph to the Coaſts of day.
Of various Nations let a confluent Throng
Hang on his Wheels, as ſlow they roll along:
Let them, like crouding Waves, each other preſs,
And ſtrain their eager Eyes to ſee and bleſs.
Add to the Martial Pomp an endleſs Train
Of Warrior Slaves that drag the Conqueror's Chain.
Let Lords and Chiefs, impatient of diſgrace,
With haughty Grief and melancholy Pace,
With ſcornful, ſullen ſhame their Fetters wear,
And pant amidſt the Croud behind the Hero's Car.
Let high Auguſta's Sons tranſported meet,
And with loud Joy th' advancing Victor greet;
And let her Speaker, for Superior Senſe
Renown'd, as well as Charming Eloquence,
A while the Progreſs of the Triumph ſtay,
While he Auguſta's Thanks does to the Conqu'ror pay.
Then let the Bards in humble manner ſtand,
With Diſtichs, Sonnets, Prologues in their Hand,
In Marlbro's Praiſe: 'Tis all, alas! we know
That from their duty exhauſted Springs can flow.
Let all the Pomp of Decoration grace
The high Pillaſters, and the Structure's Face;
Let curious Motto's, Hieroglyphic Art,
And myſtic Emblems ſhine on every Part.
Here Liberty in all her Heav'nly Charms,
With her gay Offspring plenty in her Arms,
With humble Geſture, and a chearful Grace,
May Homage pay, and Marlbro's Feet embrace;
Who broke her Chains, reſtor'd her Rights Divine,
And in her native Beautys bid her ſhine.
[13]There, to extend the Briton's juſt Renown,
Show dungeons open'd, priſons broken down,
Fetters and Chains in heaps neglected thrown:
Which late tormented Slaves and Captives wore,
But, O auſpious Day! ſhall wear no more.
Let ſhouting Throngs of theſe late reſcu'd Slaves,
Frequent as ſailing Clouds, or rolling VVaves;
With Flow'rs and verdant Branches ſpread his Road,
And proſtrate kiſs the Ground their brave deliv'rer trod
Then raiſe in Piles the Gibbet, Rack and VVheel,
And all the Tortures wrought of Cord or ſteell;
Plenty of death, and Luxury of Pain,
VVhich Maſter Tyrants from their fertile Brain,
And curſt Projectors of deſtruction find,
Curious in Torment to afflict Mankind.
Let theſe congeſted Engines, ſet on fire
By Marlbro's generous Hand, in Flames aſpire:
Let them as Fires of publick Joy ariſe,
VVith their applauded ruin fill the Skys,
To heav'n and Liberty a grateful Sacrifice.
Attempt another noble work, and raiſe
A lofty Column to the Hero's Praiſe.
VVhat tho Auguſta's Sons, who ſtill reveal
In Liberty's defence an ardent Zeal,
Studious of Truth and Juſtice, ne'er adore
Thy Alters, Rome, nor, Gaul, thy lawleſs Pow'r,
Shou'd, as they ought, a ſtately Pillar rear,
That may the Victor's weight of Glory bear;
Be this allow'd, do thou thy Task purſue:
For ſhou'd not all the Arts conſpire to ſhew
To the great Briton's Deeds the Honours due?
Then with the ſculptor and the Architect,
Artiſt, contend, and the proud Pile erect.
VVith Marlbro's wondrous ſtory fill the ſpace
Between the Spires, which the high Column grace,
Aſcending to the ſummit from the Baſe.
Be firſt his ſwit and glorious Courſe expreſt,
VVhen he from Belgia's Regions to the Eaſt
[14]Transfer'd the hardy War, did bold advance
To whelm the Danube o'ere the pride of France:
Thro diſtant Empires to extend the Fame
Of Albion's Arms, and ANNA's awful Name.
Immortal Deeds at Schelenbrug diſplay;
The Miracles of Blenheim's Glorious day,
Down all the Ebb of Time to Men unborn convey.
Next ſhew the Hero on Ramillia's plain,
His deathleſs Laurels, and th' Illuſtrious Train
Of fam'd Events, which crown'd that Great Campaign.
The Wonders done at Oudenard repeat,
The Briton's Triumphs, and the Gaul's defeat;
The matchleſs Conduct and the hardy Toil,
That wreſted from the Foe his darling Liſle;
The Honour won in paſſing Scalda's Flood,
Bruſſella ſav'd, and Ganda's Tow'rs ſubdu'd.
The Angle of the Pedeſtal you'l grace
With Figures proper to adorn each place;
Chuſe of the following which ſhall pleaſe you beſt,
If by the Loom all cannot be expreſt,
Chain'd Tyranny expoſe, delineate well
The odious Features of this Fiend of Hell.
To form a Figure, horrible to Sight,
All Scythia's Terrors Lybia's plagues unite,
A dreadful Combination of Affright.
Give to her Eyes a red malignant Glare,
And let the Monſter's threefold Head for Hair,
The Ornament of Fiends, long curling Vipers, wear.
Let them enrag'd their creſted Necks erect,
And forked Deaths with cloven Tongues eject,
The Poets, who in Arms their Pallas dreſt,
Had in their Fiction greater Art expreſt;
If in her fatal Schield they had diſplay'd
Fierce Tyranny's, and not the Gorgon's Head.
Give her the ſureſt VVeapons to deſtroy,
VVhich ſalvage Beaſts, and rav'ning Birds imploy:
The dragon's Teeth, the Alligator's Jaws,
The Eagle's pounces, and the Lion's paws;
[15]Diſtend her hedious Belly with a Load
Of Limbs devour'd, and Seas of guiltleſs Blood.
On the next Corner, with ingenious pains,
Show vanquiſh'd Envy bound with brazen Chains;
Let her lean Face infernal Features wear,
A ſpleenful Aſpect, and a ſcornful Air:
With its laſt dregs let a black Jaundice taint
Her hateful Skin, and loathſom Viſage paint.
Make her fietce Eyes, like livid Flames of Hell,
Burn bloodſhot in their urns, and backward dwell,
Deep in their Caves, like Furys in their Cell.
Let her, with endleſs ſelf-tormenting Care,
Gnaw her own Heart, and her own Bowels tear:
Show how her Jaws her meagre Limbs devour,
Green Floods of Hemlock, Gall and VVormwood pour
Down her wide Throat, to poiſon every Vein,
Inflame her Boſom, and diſtract her Brain.
Show with what Rage the Captive Fury views
The ſpreading Laurels on the Victor's Brows;
VVhile ſhe, as pale and hideous as deſpair,
Gnaſhes her Teeth, and graſps her ſnaky Hair.
Next on the Baſe, diſſimulation bind,
A mild and courteous, but an odious Fiend;
VVo labours moſt to win us to believe
Her Vows unfeign'd when moſt ſhe wou'd deceive.
Give her a plain and unaffected Air,
VVell imitated Truth, and Eyes ſincere,
[...]nd dropping here and there a faithleſs Tear.
Expreſs her artful ſmiles, that hide the Art,
[...] Friendly manner that enſnares the Heart.
[...]n her Right Hand a Monarch's Scepter place,
And her long Robe of State with Lillys grace;
Torn Treatys interweave, and ſolemn Leagues
Broke, or eluded by refin'd Intrigues:
[...]he mocks the Faith that once did Princes bind,
As the baſe Vertue of a Vulgar Mind:
Masks with her ſacred Vows deliberate Fraud,
And to atteſt her Guilt dares invocate her God.
[16]Expreſs Ambition next in Fetters bound,
Sunk from her tow'ring height, and grov'ling on the Ground [...]
Let thwarted pride ſit ſullen on her Brow,
And Indignation in her Eyeballs glow.
Let anxious Looks her inward Care attteſt,
And prove that deep deſigns are lab'ring in her Breaſt;
That warring Paſſions ſtrive within for vent,
Cruel Revenge, and haughty diſcontent:
Paſſions, that ſtill the Fury wakeful keep,
As turbulent as VVinds, and reſtleſs as the deep.
In ſome fit place let pleas'd Spactators ſee
The Marks of blaſted pomp, and ruin'd Dignity:
Rich purple Robes polluted, broken Crowns,
Fragments of Scepters, and ſubverted Thrones;
Sad VVrecks of Pow'r, which on th' Aſpiring wait
In troubled Empires, and in Storms of State.
Her adverſe Fate reluctant let her bear,
Her Fetters ſpurn, her Limbs in Anguiſh tear:
Shew how ſhe raves to find her pomp depreſs'd,
Her Foes exalted, and her Frinds diſtreſs'd;
That ſhe compel'd muſt Spoils immenſe reſtore,
Acquir'd by fraud, or graſp'd by greedy power;
Contract her Fronter, and her Slaves releaſe,
And beg the Conqueror to preſcribe a Peace.
FINIS.

11.

[]

DAPHNIS: OR, A Paſtoral Elegy Upon the Unfortunate DEATH OF Mr. THOMAS CREECH. WITH A POEM ON The Deſpairing Lover, and The Deſpairing Shepherd.

LONDON: [...]rinted and Sold by H. Hills, in Black-Fryars, near the Water-ſide, 1709.

Daphnis, &c.

[3]
THYRSIS. ALEXIS.
THE Roſie Morning with prevailing Light
Had now diſpell'd the humid Shades of Night,
[...]nd ſmiling Phaebus ſpread his Thirſty Beams
[...]o drink the Dew, and taſt the Silver Streams:
When on a riſing Mountain's fragrant Side
[...] Flora deck'd in all her gawdy Pride;
[...]he mourning Shepherd, young Alexis lay,
[...]ck'ning at Light, and weary of the Day:
[...]n conſcious Heav'n he fix'd his weeping Eyes,
[...] if he ſought his Daphnis in the Skies.
[...]aphnis, who from the Earth was lately fled;
[...]aphnis, (he living) lov'd and mourn'd for Daphnis dead.
[...]hen Generous Fortune kindly brought that way
[...] Thyrſis to aſſiſt the penſive Boy,
[...]o be the kind Companion of his Woe;
[...]hat both their Tears might in one Current flow:
[...]hus then the Youth began a doleful Strain,
[...]nd thus beſpoke the Sympathizing Swain.
Alexis.
Ah Thyrſis! haſt thou heard the diſmal Tale?
[...]ow Daphnis dy'd in yonder Gloomy Vale!
[...], could'ſt thou think that he, whoſe Verſe could move
Rock to Pity, or a Stone to Love:
[...]ho could, like Ovid, tend'reſt Thoughts inſtill
[...]ould fall a Victim to a Woman's Will?
Thyrſis.
[4]
Yes, Shepherd, yes; the Story is too true!
Look, how the Groves have chang'd their verdant Hue!
The wither'd Leaves he ſcatter'd all around,
And blaſted Flow'rs diſgrace the Sacred Ground.
Yes, he is dead! the poor unhappy Swain,
Lov'd beauteous LALAGE, but lov'd in vain;
Fantaſtick, proud, and conſcious of her Charms,
She ſcorn'd his Love, and fled his wiſhing Arms.
Nought cou'd prevail, tho' all Love's Arts he try'd:
She ſacrific'd the Shepherd to her Pride.
Ungentle Nymph, to thee we owe his Death,
'Twas LALAGE that rob'd poor Daphnis of his Breath
Alexis.
Ah cruel Nymph! we've loſt the learned'ſt Swa [...]
That ever ſung on our Arcadia's Plain:
What ſprightly Thoughts, what Joy did he inſpire!
When with ſuch Art he touch'd the Roman Lyre?
What tender Pity did our Souls invade,
When he bewail'd the Royal Grecian Maid?
How well his Muſe the Fatal Story told,
When ſhe the poor Lucretia's Fate condol'd?
When Daphnis Sung, how did our Groves rejoyce,
And Grotto's Eccho to his charming Voice?
How ſlow did ſilent Ouſa roll along,
When Daphnis taught us great Lucretia's Song?
Where wand'ring Atoms in Confuſion hurl'd,
Agreed by Chance, and ſo compos'd a World.
Whilſt Nervous Numbers with harmonious Feet,
In ſuch a ſoft, and tuneful Cadence meet;
As (to his laſting Honour) fully prove
Chance could not in ſuch Beauteous Order move.
Then, Cruel Nymph, how could thy Pride refuſe
So ſoft a Lover and ſo ſweet a Muſe?
Had'ſt thou but yielded to our Daphnis Love,
On every Green, in every blooming Grove,
The Nymphs and Swains had bleſt thy happy Name,
And LALAGE, and Daphnis fill'd the Mouth of Fam [...]
But now both Nymphs, and Swains unite their Breath,
To Curſe thy Scorn, and mourn the Shepherd's Death:
[5]Whoſe Shade now wand'ring in the penſive Grove,
[...]till, ſtill complains of LALAGE, and Love.
Daphnis farewel, farewel unhappy Swain!
May'ſt thou in Lethe's Lake forget thy Pain,
[...]nd in Oblivion ſleep, till thou no more
Remember what thou did'ſt, or what thou wert before.
Thyrſis.
See yonder Sheep, how ragged now and bare,
[...] happy Flock, whilſt they were Daphnis Care,
[...]ut now they mope, and ſtraggling o'er the Plain
Lament all Day, and mourn their abſent Swain:
No more they Joy to crop the tender Buds,
Nor ſeek at Noon cool Springs, and ſhady Woods.
[...]n neither Sun, nor Shade, they now delight,
Nor dread the Foxes, or the Wolves by Night.
Here pin'd to Death, a harmleſs Lambkin lies,
[...]nd there for Grief his bleating Mother dies:
[...]s if ſhe did with her departing Breath
[...]nvoke juſt Heaven t'avenge her Maſter's Death.
Alexis.
And Pan will ſure revenge the Shepherd's Fate
[...]ltho' perhaps his Vengeance comes but late.
Laſt Night returning home, in yonder Grove,
Where we were us'd to ſing and talk of Love,
[...] heard great Pan, and all the Sylvan Train
Of Daphnis Love, and Daphnis Death complain.
The weeping Heav'ns a Shower of Tears diſtill'd,
And all the Woods were with loud Sorrow fill'd.
Whilſt mournful Ecchoes all their Sighs rebound,
Wiſhing they had been ſomething more than Sound.
Pan moſt of all the Shepherd's Death deplor'd,
He Daphnis lov'd, and Daphnis him ador'd.
Oh (my dear Boy) he cry'd, why would'ſt thou dar [...]
To view a Face ſo tempting, and ſo Fair?
Why, why didſt thou indulge the ſecret Fire?
Ah! why would'ſt thou admit the [...]ond Deſire,
And hope th' imperious LALAGE to move?
Why didſt thou die? (alas!) why didſt thou Love?
But 'tis in vain to ask; 'twas ſo decreed,
So I coy Syrinx chas'd, and caught a trembling Reed.
[6]Fair Fatal Sex! who can our Souls ſurprize
With tender Looks, and ſoft bewitching Eyes,
Were you but half as pitiful and kind,
The God of Love had not been counted blind.
On you we Gaze, and feel a pleaſing Pain
Steal to our Hearts, and glide thro' every Vein.
Till drunk with Love our Weakneſs we betray;
And die, if you refuſe to yield the Joy!
More had he ſpoke; but Words began to fail,
And breathleſs Ecchoes murmur'd in the Vale;
Convulſive Sorrow ſwell'd his throbbing Breaſt,
Adieu! adieu! he cry'd, and ſigh'd the reſt.
Thyrſis.
But ſay what Chance, what luckleſs Fortune die
The ſcornful Virgin to the Shepherd's View?
Where did his fatal Paſſion firſt begin?
Ah! Where was ſhe by wretched Daphnis ſeen?
Alexis.
Beneath a Shade to ſhun the Heat of Day,
On Ouſa's flow'ry Banks our Daphnis lay;
Whilſt his glad Flocks around their Maſter feed,
Charm'd with the Muſick of his Voice, and Reed:
Of Chaos firſt he ſung, and boundleſs Space,
Before the Birth of Matter, Time, or Place:
Before Old Night had felt the piercing Ray
Of Light, and yielding to invading Day.
Then, how the wondrous Univerſe began,
What Order thro' the new-made Structure ran?
The Birth of Nature, and the Birth of Man.
Then chang'd his Subject, and in ſofter Strains
Diſcover'd Grecian Loves, to Britiſh Swains.
Whilſt LALAGE from an adjacent Glade,
(Where trembling Boughs compos'd a moving Shade)
With Pleaſure liſten'd to his warbling Airs,
And drunk the pleaſing Tales with greedy Ears:
Then o'er the Lawns ſhe trips with nimble Feet
To know who 'twas ſung ſo divinely Sweet;
And as ſhe paſs'd along, th' impatient Maid
With curious Eyes each ſecret Place ſurvey'd,
[7]Still following Eccho as a faithful Guide,
Till ſhe at diſtance had the Shepherd ſpy'd:
Thyrſis.
Ah happy Swain!
Hadſt thou but fled from that unhappy Place,
And never ſeen her fair enchanting Face,
Thou yet hadſt been the Lord of all our Plains,
And we yet heard thy ſoft harmonious Strains.
Alexis.
But Daphnis to his Fate with Pleaſure run,
He ſaw the Nymph, he lov'd, and was undone.
With haughty Looks, and a diſdainful Mien
Apace ſhe walk'd, and croſs'd the ſhaded Green;
The Shepherd view'd her as ſhe paſs'd along,
Drop'd down his Reed, and ſtrait forgot his Song,
With wiſhing Eyes he gaz'd upon her Charms,
And wou'd have dy'd t' have dy'd within her Arms;
Deep Draughts of Love he drunk, and ſtrong Deſire,
His Breaſt, like Aetna, glow'd with inward Fire;
Which when the Nymph perceiv'd, more proud and coy
She look'd, and ſmil'd with a malicious Joy.
Nor could he ſince the cruel Tyrant move
(Obdurate Maid) to Pity or to Love.
The ſad, the direful Paſſion ſtill increas'd,
Ten Thouſand raging Thoughts diſtract his Breaſt.
His Flock and darling Muſe no longer were
His dear Delight, his Pleaſure, and his Care;
The Nymph, the Nymph, he thinks of nought but her.
But hapleſs Youth!—
The more he lov'd, the more ſhe ſcorn'd his Flame,
And ſeem'd to hate both Love and Daphnis Name.
Then from our Groves to yonder Wood he flies,
(Strange Power of Love!) and there deſpairing dies.
Thyrſis.
The laſt time I the wretched Swain beheld,
Was on a Sunny Bank in Aegon's Field;
All Fire himſelf, he minded not to ſhun
The Heat of Day, or fly the ſcorching Sun,
Wildly he ſtar'd, his Face look'd pale, and wan,
He ſigh'd and languiſh'd like a dying Man.
[8]When to him thus I ſpoke—
Uhappy Youth!—and can there be no Cure,
What Tortures doſt thou feel, what Pains endure?
Whilſt by a cruel unrelenting Maid,
Thou art to Miſery, and Death betray'd.
Ah, canſt thou not forget her fatal Charms,
And take ſome kinder Beauty to thy Arms?
Return, return to our abandon'd Grove;
And there thou may'ſt be happy in thy Love.
For thee in amorous Fires Lycoris burns,
For thee the lovely Galatea mourns.
Wer't thou from this inglorious Bondage free,
A Thouſand Bleſſings wait to fall on thee.
The Jolly Troops that us'd to hear thy Lays,
And crown thy Brows with Wreaths of verdant Bays:
In Sighs and Tears of thy hard Fate complain,
Begging kind Heav'n to break the ſubtle Chain
Which holds thy Heart; and thy ſweet Muſe reſtore;
That thou may'ſt charm them as thou didſt before.
Thy ſcatter'd Flocks too o'er the Foreſts roam,
Wanting their Shepherd to compel them home.
Riſe then, dear Daphnis, give this Fondneſs o'er,
And think of cruel LALAGE no more.
Thus I—and thus reply'd the ſighing Swain,
Ah Thyrſis, if thou would'ſt remove my Pain,
Give me my Love, ſo I may ſooth my Grief,
Forget my Cares, and grow more fond of Life▪
For tho' ſo proud, diſdainful, and unkind,
Without her I can hope no Peace to find;
My wand'ring Thoughts her Form do's ſtill purſue,
And ſtill my Soul has LALAGE in view.
Ah ſavage Fair! would'ſt thou this Bounty give,
(For ſince thou wilt not Love, I cannot Live)
Would'ſt thou but deign to cloſe my trembling Eyes,
Or drop a Tear or two, as Daphnis dies:
With Joy, I'd meet the cold Embrace of Death,
And bleſs my Charmer with my lateſt Breath.
[9]Didſt thou but Rage with ſuch a fierce Deſire,
I'd ruſh thro' foaming Seas, and Storms of Fire,
[...]ttempt the greateſt Dangers, and not grieve
To part with Life, ſo LALAGE might Live.
But thou malicious Fair one, with Diſdain!
Laughs at my Grief, and ſmiling mock'ſt my Pain.
Be gone ye Quacks, your Arts no longer boaſt,
[...]n ſpight of all your Med'cines I am loſt;
Be gone ye Cheats, who with vain Charms pretend
To make departed Shades again aſcend:
Be gone ye Zealots, who at Altars bow;
The Gods are deaf, and cannot hear you now.
[...] rave, I rage, I burn, oh! let me fly
To ſome dark deſart Place, and there I'll die.
Thus ſpoke the Swain, and acted as he ſaid,
Raving to yonder gloomy Wood he fled.
Where, for a while, with piercing Sighs and Groans
He fills the Shades, and his dire Fate bemoans;
Repeating ſtill the cruel Charmer's Name,
And on each Tree records his hapleſs Flame.
Till quite o'erwhelm'd with Woe and drown'd in Grief,
He thus gave up the ſad remains of Life.
Farewel ye Swains! to Death's dark Courts I go
To mourn amongſt the weeping Shades below.
Farewel ye Streams, and conſcious Groves, he cry'd:
So did the dreadful Work of Fate, and dy'd.
Alexis.
Unhappy Youth! What could the Fates deſign
To bleſs the World with ſuch a Muſe as thine,
Yet ſuffer Death to raviſh her away,
[...]'er ſhe could half her ſmiling Charms diſplay?
What Star, what baleful Planet rul'd thy Birth?
[...]hedding malignant Rays upon the Earth,
That thou ſhould'ſt die amidſt thy Vernal Bloom,
[...]efore thy Muſe had brought her Harveſt home!
But 'twas a diſmal, ſad, untimely Death
That robb'd ſo ſoon the Shepherd of his Breath.
Thus blooming Trees are nipt with killing Froſt,
Thus budding Flow'rs harſh Mildews often blaſt.
[10]Hadſt thou ſurviv'd, what Wonders had we ſeen!
What liſt'ning Crouds had throng'd each Grove and Green
Upon thy Voice the Nymphs and Swains had hung,
As when before great Tyt'rus ſweetly ſung.
Thyrſis.
But Tytyrus is gone, and Daphnis fled,
And all our Hopes are with the Shepherds, dead.
Farewel dear Youth, ſo faſt my Tears do flow,
That Words are wanting to expreſs my Woe.
As Hebrus ſtop'd for Grief his golden Side,
When on its Banks the tuneful Orpheus dy'd;
So do our Groves, and Rivers ſeem to mourn,
In ſilent Sorrow, for their Swains return.
But thou can'ſt ne'er return—
For thou haſt croſs'd th' irreameable Lake,
And Chaeron's Boat comes always empty back.
Here did the Swains their mournful Theme give o'er,
Sighs ſtop'd their Words, and they could ſpeak no more.

THE Deſpairing Lover.

[11]
WIth inauſpicious Love a wretched Swain
Purſu'd the faireſt Nymph of all the Plain;
Faireſt indeed, but prouder far than fair,
[...]he plung'd him hopeleſs in a deep Deſpair:
Her Heavenly Form too haughtily ſhe priz'd,
His Perſon hated, and his Gifts deſpis'd:
Nor knew the Force of Cupid's cruel Darts,
Nor fear'd his awful Pow'r on humane Hearts;
But either from her hopeleſs Lover fled,
Or with diſdainful Glances ſhot him dead.
No Kiſs, no Look, to cheer the drooping Boy:
No Word ſhe ſpoke, ſhe ſcorn'd ev'n to deny.
But as a hunted Panther caſts about
Her glaring Eyes, and pricks her liſt'ning Ears to ſcour,
[...]o ſhe, to ſhun his Toils, her Cares imploy'd,
And fiercely in her ſavage Freedom joy'd.
Her Mouth ſhe writh'd, her Forehead taught to frown,
Her Eyes to ſparkle fires to Love unknown:
Her ſallow Cheeks her envious Mind did ſhow,
[...]nd every Feature ſpoke aloud the Curſtneſs of a Shrew.
Yet cou'd not he his obvious Fate eſcape,
His Love ſtill dreſs'd her in a pleaſing Shape:
[...]nd every ſullen Frown, and bitter Scorn
But fann'd the Fuel that too faſt did burn.
Long time, unequal to his mighty Pain,
He ſtrove to curb it, but he ſtrove in vain:
[12]At laſt his Woes broke out, and begg'd Relief
With Tears, the dumb Petitioners of Grief.
With Tears ſo tender, as adorn'd his Love;
And any Heart, but only hers wou'd move:
Trembling before her bolted Doors he ſtood;
And there pour'd out th' uprofitable Flood:
Staring his Eyes, and haggard was his Look;
Then kiſſing firſt the Threſhold, thus he ſpoke.
Ah Nymph! more cruel than of humane Race,
Thy Tygreſs Heart belies thy Angel Face:
Too well thou ſhow'ſt thy Pedigree from Stone;
Thy Grandames was the firſt by Pyrrha thrown:
Wnworthy thou to be ſo long deſir'd;
But ſo my Love, and ſo my Fate requir'd,
I beg not now (for 'tis in vain) to live;
But take this Gift, the laſt that I can give.
This friendly Cord ſhall ſoon decide the Strife,
Betwixt my ling'ring Love and loathſome Life;
This Moment puts an end to all my Pain;
I ſhall no more deſpair, nor thou diſdain.
Farewel Ungrateful and Unkind, I go
Condemn'd by thee to thoſe ſad Shades below.
I go th' extreameſt Remedy to prove,
To drink Oblivion, and to drench my Love.
There happily to loſe my long Deſires:
But ah, what Draught ſo deep to quench my Fires!
Farewel ye never opening Gates, ye Stones
And Threſhold guilty of my Midnight Moans;
What I have ſuffer'd here you know too well;
What I ſhall do the Gods and I can tell.
The Roſe is fragrant, but it fades in time,
The Violet ſweet, but quickly paſt the Prime;
White Lillies hang their Heads and ſoon decay,
And whiter Snow in Minutes melts away:
Such is your blooming Youth, and withering ſo;
The time will come, it will, when you ſhall know
[13]The Rage of Love; your haughty Heart ſhall burn
In Flames like mine, and meet a like return.
Obdurate as you are, oh, hear at leaſt
My dying Prayers, and grant my laſt Requeſt!
When firſt you ope your Doors, and paſſing by
The ſad ill Omend Object meets your Eye,
Think it not loſt, a Moment if you ſtay;
The breathleſs Wretch, ſo made by you, ſurvey:
Some cruel Pleaſure will from thence ariſe,
To view the mighty ravage of your Eyes.
I wiſh, (but Oh! my Wiſh is vain, I fear,)
The kind Oblation of a falling Tear:
Then looſe the Knot, and take me from the place,
And ſpread your Mantle o'er my grizly Face;
Upon my livid Lips beſtow a Kiſs:
O envy not the dead, they feel not Bliſs!
Nor fear your Kiſſes can reſtore my Breath;
Even you are not more pitileſs than Death.
Then for my Corps a homely Grave provide,
Which Love and me from publick Scorn may hide.
Thrice call upon my Name, thrice beat your Breaſt,
And hail me thrice to everlaſting Reſt:
Laſt let my Tomb this ſad Inſcription bear,
A Wretch whom Love has kill'd lies buried here;
Oh, Paſſengers, Aminta's Eye's beware.
Thus having ſaid, and furious with his Love;
He heav'd with more than humane Force, to m [...]e
A weighty Stone, (the Labour of a Team,)
And rais'd from thence he reach'd the Neighbouring Beam▪
Around its Bulk a ſliding Knot he throws;
And fitted to his Neck the fatal Nooſe:
Then ſpurning backward took a Swing, till Death
Crept up, and ſtopt the paſſage of his Breath.
The Bounce burſt ope the Door; the Scornful Fair
Relentleſs lookt, and ſaw him beat his quivering Feet in Air.
Nor wept his Fate, nor caſt a pitying Eye,
Nor took him down, but bruſht regardleſs by:
[14]And as ſhe paſs'd, her Chance or Fate was ſuch,
Her Garments touch'd the Dead, polluted by the touch.
Next to the Dance, thence to the Bath did move;
The Bath was ſacred to the God of Love:
Whoſe injur'd Image, with a wrathful Eye,
Stood threat'ning from a Pedeſtal on high:
Nodding a while; and watching of his Blow,
He fell; and falling cruſh'd th' ungrateful Nymph below:
Her guſhing Blood the Pavement all beſmear'd;
And this her laſt expiring Voice was heard;
Lovers farewel, Revenge has reach'd my Scorn;
Thus warn'd, be wiſe, and Love for Love return.

THE Deſpairing Shepherd.

[15]
ALEXIS ſhun'd his Fellow Swains,
Their rural Sports, and jocund Strains.
(Heav'n guard us all from Cupid's Bow,)
He loſt his Crook, he left his Flocks,
And wand'ring thro' the lonely Rocks,
He nouriſh'd endleſs Woe.
The Nymphs and Shepherds round him came,
His Grief ſome pity, others blame,
The fatal Cauſe all kindly ſeek;
He mingled his Concern with theirs,
He gave 'em back their friendly Tears,
He ſigh'd, but wou'd not ſpeak.
Clorinda came among the reſt,
And ſhe too kind Concern expreſt,
And ask'd the Reaſon of his Woe;
She ask'd but with an Air and Mein
That made it eaſily foreſeen,
She fear'd too much to know.
The Shepherd rais'd his mournful Head,
And will You pardon me, he ſaid,
Wh [...]e I the cruel Truth reveal?
Which nothing from my Breaſt ſhou'd tear,
Which never ſhou'd offend your Ear,
But that You bid me tell.
[16]
'Tis thus I rove, 'tis thus complain,
Since You appear'd upon the Plain,
You are the Cauſe of all my Care;
Your Eyes ten thouſand Dangers dart,
Ten thouſand Torments vex my Heart,
I love and I deſpair.
Too much, Alexis, I have heard,
'Tis what I thought, 'tis what I fear'd:
And yet I pardon you, ſhe cry'd;
But you ſhall promiſe ne'er again
To breath your Vows, or ſpeak your Pain:
He bow'd, obey'd, and dy'd.
FINIS

12.

[]

[...]USICA INCANTANS, SIVE POEMA EXPRIMENS Muſicae Vires, Juvenem in Inſaniam adigentis, ET MƲSICI inde PERICƲLƲM.

[...]thore ROBERTO SOUTH, Art. Bac. nunc S. T. P. & Aedis Chriſti Canonico.

LONDINI: [...]pis & Impenſis H. Hills, in Black-Fryars, propè Thameſin. Pretium 2 d.

[3]
ARGUMENTUM.

Juvenis quidam audita, quam ipſe enixe im⯑petrarat, Harmonia, in Iſaniam actus eſt, & ſeipſum in Mare Praecipitavit: Citha⯑raedus Judicio ſiſtitur, accuſatur Homi⯑cidii; ex Muſico, tum Orator factus, ſe⯑ipſum defendit, & abſolvitur.

NON, Ego, Caeſareas Acies; non Arma virum (que)
Sed Citharam, Plectrum (que) cano: nec inutile Numen
Invoco in auxilium: me vivus Anhelitus ille,
Quod ſolet inflari vocalis Tibia, pleno
Inſpirat Genio: Sed quae depingere Vocem
Dextra poteſt, Oculiſ (que) Eccho ſignare Videndam?
In ſua poſcebant antiqui carmina Vates
Centum Ora & Linguas: nos Centum poſcimus Aures,
Totque etiam Voces; quis enim laudare Choraulem.
Et Lyricam, poterit, niſi Centum vocibus, artem?
Doctus in Arcadicis vivehat Muſicus oris,
Clarus circa urbes, & famae Voce Lyraeque;
Illum laetus Hymen, plauſu, juvenumque Chorëis
Vicinâ quondam latè celebratus in urbe,
Cum Lyricis aliis, tanta ad Solennia traxit,
Spe pretii, pariterque dapis; pro more jugales
Ut caneret Ritus: nam quamvis nubere Muſa
Ignoret, celebrare tamen Connubia gaudet:
[4]Et ſi Muſa ſilet, torpent epulaeque Venuſque;
Bacchus & ipſa Ceres frigent ſine Apolline: feſta
Quis meliùs Lyrico celebret Convivia, qui cum
Voce ſuâ traxiſſe feras, Volucreſque ſolebat,
Non tantùm Citharâ novit Celebrare, ſed ipſo
Inſtaurare etiam potuit Convivia Cantu?
At tandem urgente die, feſtoque peracto,
Nota reverſurus cùm jam per prata rediret,
Elyſiis ſpatians olim velut Orphëus agris,
Incidit in Juvenem, qui poſt tranſacta ſerenus
Tempora coenandi, vicina exibat in arva:
Cui Juvenis (quis enim ſua non habet Obvia Fata?)
Inſcius occurrit: Venientem agnoſcit ab Ore,
Jamque Videre juvat, quia ſic Audire placebat:
Heu Miſer ignarus nim [...]ùm, quòd noſter hic Orpheus
Non tam Saxa trahat Secum, quàm triſte Sepulchrum!
At citò colloquio facto, dictâque ſalute,
Aggreditur Juvenis precibuſque, & laude Choraulem,
Et Citharae Vocem, facundâ Voce precatur:
Sollicitè ſua damna rogans: pretiumque petenti
Spondet, & oblato ſua Fata paſciſcitur Auro.
Tum Fidicen, ſumptâ Citharâ, trepidantia tentat
Fila manu, plectroque p [...]ù [...] quàm pangere carmen
Incipit, immutat chordas, & in ordini fili
Explorat cujuſque ſonum, cernitque peritus
Concordare fides quamvis diverſa ſonantes;
Tam placida, & Concors fuit haec diſcordia fratrum.
Saepè levi digito dum ſtringit fila, feritque
Tranſiliente manu▪ minimè meditatus, & Ultro
Incidit in Cantus, & prodit Neſcius artem.
Sic inſtruxit Ebur, ſuntque haec proludia cantûs
Artifices teſtata manus; dum nititur omnes
In Carmen citharae (que) ſuoſ (que) intendere Nervos.
Sic poſtquàm inſtituit chordas in carminis Uſum
[5] [...]ptatas; atque Arte Viam patefecit ad Artem:
[...]tiùs inſonuit, vox Creſcit & inſtar Alaudae,
[...]um canit, Exurgit. Digito Chelys icta loquaci
[...]c poſtquàm ſonuit; levâ huic in parte mamillae
[...]or Salit, & peragit Citharâ modulante Choreas:
[...]on aliter, quàm ſi ſalienti pollicis ictu
[...]ercuteret Cordis Fibras, vis tanta (que) plectri eſt,
[...]t valeat Filo captivam ducere mentem.
[...]ùmque animo Juvenis Victo ſuccumberet, uno
Concentu Vicit Fidicen, cecinitque Triumphum.
[...]extra facit cantum, ſonus exit ab ungue, videri
Poſſit ut à digito fluxiſſe melodia; Vocem
[...]pſa manus profert, arguta Vicaria linguae.
Non Aures ſolùm rapuit vis muſica, totum
Sed Juvenem; membro (que) miſer mutatur in omni:
Nunc rubuit Vultus, nunc palluit, ut (que) ſolebat
Vox variare ſonos, ſic hic Variare colores:
Pes ſaltar quidem potuit, ſed victus abire
Non tulit: in Venis ipſum Saliiſſe cruorem
Plus ſolito aſpiceres: ita demum quilibet artus,
Si non audire, at poterat Sentire canentem:
Den [...]que ſic motus, ſic toto eſt corpore raptus,
Ipſo animata putes ut Corporis Organa Cantu.
Anxius intereà, Caeco ſe Verbere carpi
Miratur, Fidicenque Lyrae quos incutit ictus,
Se ſentire putat Juvenis: ſic Verbera ſentit
Quae non ipſe tulit; miſera dum Vulnera plectrum
Dat Magico quodam Cantu, parterq, potenti
Ac Medea olim permulcet Carmine mentem.
Multa quidem cantat, quae vel Narrata placerent,
Scilicet imprimis Philomelae flebile fatum,
Et querulam hiſtoriam referunt modulantia Fila,
Quam Virgo narravit Acu, nunc furta deorum,
Innumeroſque Jovis recinit laſcivus amores:
Sed tamen haec Juvenis licèt audiat omnia, ſolo
[6]Captus Amore lyrae eſt; & cum divina canuntur
Furta, rapi à Citharâ potius ſua pectora credit,
Vimque ſibi inferri: quoties hinc fila Choraules
Percutit; hic geminat, maeſtoſ (que) reciprocat ictus
Pectora percutiens: ſic ſenſim in corda furorem
Incauta immittit fidicen, mentemque per aures Evocat.
At poſtq [...]àm citharae vim ſic Cantando probâſſet,
Ipſe ſimul cantat, pleno & modulantior ore
Naturae pariter Vires conjungit, & Artis.
Vox,, fateor, diverſa ſonat lyrici (que) lyrae (que)
Sed ſonat intereà Juvenis Vox una gementis.
Et quia Conjuncti Cantus Vis fortiùs urget,
Non tulit ulteriùs, ſed dum canit ille cruentus,
Concentuſque ſuos citharae Concentibus addit,
Prorumpit ſubitò rabies: & Muſicus ipſo
Enecat afflatu, mortemque effundit ab ore.
Ac tanquam in linguâ clauſum cantantis ineſſet
Neſcio quid, linguae ſoleat quod ineſſe Caninae,
Progignens rabiem, ſubiti mala cauſa furoris
Dementat Juvenem; rabieſque infuſa per aurem
Invadit Cerebrum, gemini (que) potentia cantus
Obruit invalidas aures: hoc ergo furorem
Intulit, auditâ modulantis voce Choraulis,
Credibile eſt propriâ ſaltâſſe è ſede Cerebrum.
Prodit inaſſueto jam ſe dementia geſtu,
Huc, illuc oculos rotat, ardet, & indice vultu
Attoniti dat ſigna animi, cerebro (que) ſoluto
Excurrunt profugi ruituro è Vertice Senſus.
Saepe caput quaſſat, tanquam Veſtigia cantus,
Quae vel adhuc retinet, quae mente tenaciter haerent,
Ex animo Excuteret: ſaepe ore, & vertice coelos
Suſpicit Erecto, jurans timerarius illuc
Se non venturum, quia dicitur aetheris axis
Circumagi Harmoniâ, & volvi concentibus orbes.
Sic loquitur rabies: celeri mox littora paſſu
Acer adit, totumque animo jam concipit aequor,
[7] [...]rqüe furit pelagi, turbati & pectoris aeſtus.
[...]ec fervente freto plùs fluctus ſpumeus albet,
[...]uàm ſpuma, huic madido rabies quam fudit ab ore.
[...] jam ferales cùm perveniſſet ad Undas,
[...]rtè fuit Refluxus aquae; ſolitoque relapſu
[...] tulit, & tanquam ſcelus hoc foret unda preoſa,
[...]iſa fuit regredi, timidioque recedere fluctu.
Conſtitit hic Amens, & tali Littora Vultu.
[...]ectat, quali Ajax olim Sigëia vidit.
[...]umq [...]e memor nimiùm, fixam tenet auribus Eccho,
[...]ethes optat Aquas, ſed cum contingere Lethen
[...]on datur, aequoreis Oblivia quaerit in undis;
[...]iluat ex animo ut cantus, dentur (que) dolenti,
[...]ltem inter mutos ſibi tuta ſilentia Piſces.
[...]um ſpectat fluctus, Rabiem, mentiſque tumultum
[...]omparat Aequoreo; nunc lata per aequora Demens
[...]e cupit, Curaſque animi committere Ventis.
[...]ulta quidem mala Pontus habet; tamen omnia ſpernit,
[...]um nullas videt hic Citharas: Creſcente furore
[...]ox Amens ubi ſit neſcit; qualique Charybdis
[...] Gyrum rapitur; tali huic Vertigine fertur,
[...]orripiturque Caput, Cerebrumque Natare videtur,
Quamvis nondum ullas, niſi viſu, tangeret undas
[...]aepe timet mortem. ſaepe optat, & Aequoris inſtar,
Nunc Animus Fluxus peragit, dubioſ (que) Reflexus.
Haec volvens ſubitò ſe mittit in aequora Saltu,
Et minùs inſanis demens ſe mergit in undis.
Hinc praeter Scyllae Rabiem, furor additus alter,
[...]cceſſi que mari Rabies, nova: fluctibus hauſtus
[...]rendet adhuc, ultroque licèt modò fata petebat,
[...]am tamen oppugnat, certatque obſiſtere morti.
Tandem Vorticibus raptus, victricibus undis
[...]ymphatus ceſſit: Citharaeque Lyraeque valete
[...]ixit, & acceptum bibulis trahit auribus aequor,
Occludit (que) Oculos verè hâc in morte Natantes.
[8]
Haud aliter. memini, facilem cùm durior Eccho
Narciſſus fugeret, periturum immerſerat Amens
Dilecti ſe fontis aquis; aequalia fata
Huic quòque contigerant, dulcem furioſior Eccho
Qui fugiens, pariter cecidit fatalibus undis:
Par hic morte fuit, par & novitate furoris,
Et dum proſpiceret vitreum moriturus in aequor,
Vel ſua Narciſſum non plus referebat Imago
Quem ſic lethiferis occidit muſicus Odi [...],
Credo hujus dirum primis Natalibus omen
Non fauſte Ceciniſtis Aves. In funera Muſae
Conſpirant; ſic Fata Novem ferus armat in Unum.
Verè erat hic Siren, non tam quia Voce ſonorus,
Et liquido aequoreos ſuperans modulamine cantus,
Quàm quoniam Harmoniâ, Sirenum more, Furentos
In mare deducat, cantuque impellat in aequor
Alter hic Amphion, nam vites artis uterque
Edidit aequales, niſi quòd tamen ille Ferarum
Mulcebat Rabiem; dedit Hic Cantando Furorem.
Hei mihi! quòd tam dulce melos, plectrum (que) Canoru [...]
Non foret innocuum, nec Ternae ſola ſororis,
Sad Citharae fuerint etiam Fatalia fila!
Quà non Verſatur Lacheſis, levis ictus in aurem
Si ſit lethalis, valeatque occidere cantus.
Et tenues jugulare ſoni, ſi vulneret Eccho!
Quin Arcus igitur, Lyricorum Antiſtes Apollo,
Projice, ſi Nervus plus ipſo Vulneret Arcu.
Dum cantu occumbunt proſtrati; credimus ipſas
Nunc bellare Tubas; nec jam res mira putetur,
Si gallus Superet, ſolùm cantando, Leonem.
O Vox ſaeva, necem peragens, & funeris Author!
Quâ non, Harmonici crudelior ipſa Neronis
[9]Vox fuit, & quâ non ſonat aptior ulla Tyranno:
Talis erit Fidicen ſaevus Nero, funebre cantans
Lethiferumque melos, & caede notabile carmen.
Hunc olim Empedocles, ſi plectro, & voce canentem
Audîſſet quamvis jam tum properâſſet ad Aetnam;
Fata, neciſque modum mutâſſet, & igne relicto,
Aetnaeiſ (que) rogis, ultro periiſſet in undis.
Si foret hic Paſtor, placido (que) Armenta, gregeſque
Carmine mulceret, cantuque per avia capras
Cogeret errantes, miri Vi carminis actus,
In freta grex rueret praeceps, pulureſ (que) videret
Per mare Phryxus Oves, pelaguſ (que) immane Natantes
Si poſt Stagnantem lethali gurgite mundum,
Tertius elapſus, communi è Strage ſuperſtes
Manſiſſet Fidicen, Tritonis numine Salvus;
Et tibi Deucalion ſimili lenire parâſſet
Concentu Cutas, etiam ipſe immerſus in aequor
(Crede mihi,) irrueres, & Te quoque pontus haberet.
Ignis Apollinei qui Vi liquefactus in altos,
Icare, concideras fluctus; velociùs iſſes
In medium, Citharâ compulſus Apollinis, aequor.
Si Cithara occidat, ſi fila ſonantia praeſtent
Officium gladii: cùm bella Pelaſga reliquit
Sumeret & Lyricum projectâ cuſpide plectrum,
Non arma abjecit, verùm Mutavit Achilles.
At jam Fama loquax, quae tam memorabile fatum
Et miras citharae voces, taciturna ſilere
Non poterat, ſubito tanquàm Vocalior Eccho
Auditos iterat Cantus: & ut omnia mendax
Aucta refert; ſic & pariter cum cantibus auget
Cantantis Crimen; portat (que) ad Judicis aures.
[10]
Et jam Cauſidicus, miſerandi in fata paratus
Fortiter Accuſat, Vexat, certat (que) ruentem
Harmoniae cauſam, rauca Subvertere Voce.
Convertens igitur Vultus, ad triſte Tribunal,
Concilium rigidum tail Sermone ſalutat.

Oratio Cauſidici Fidicinem Accuſantis.

'DA veniam (Praeſes Reverende) exponere paucis
'Hoc ſcelus; ante tuas quam Muſicus occupat aures.
'Siſtimus adductum huc, mirum Citharae (que) Neciſ (que)
'Artificem, cui non, hominem eſt Occidere major
'Quam Cantare, labor: ſed enim non poſſumus ultra
'In Terris Sirena pati, monſtrum Aequore majus.
'Dulce ſonant Citharae, verum Sonat altius illis
'Caedes; nec pariter Cantatis Crimina poſſunt
'Cum levibus tranſire Sonis: Se Muſicus ipſe
'Voce ſuâ prodit, proprio condemnat & Ore.
'Si Citharae haec vis eſt; merito diſcerpitur Orpheus,
'Dignus & Amphion tantum Comes eſſe Ferarum.
'Quod ſi ſic Volucres cantarent, quilibet eſſet
'Vultur; Voce ſua, non Roſtro pectora laedens.
'Sic ſtruit inſidias, mortemque Infernus hic Orpheus,
'Atque aufert Juveni mentem: qui protinus Amens
'Aequor amat, veluti quaedam Venus eſſet in illo,
'Deceptuſque Sono, dulces putat aequoris undas.
'Quid faceret Juvenis, quem prenſis fata tenebant
'Auribus? audito hoc Cantu, non Daedalus ipſe
'Aequora fugiſſet, niſi Ceram aptâſſet ad aures.
'Sic nec Terra ſatis Sceleri, ſimul adjicit aequor,
'Et juvenem mergens, ipſa quoque polluit undas
'Dum late Spatians crimen trans aequora currit.
'Sed non ulterius tantum durare ſub undis
[11]'Suſtinuit facinus, ſurgit, lucet (que) per ipſas
'Crimen aquas: & juſta diu quia poena Cruentum
'Non rapit, ipſe fremit Nereus; quoniam (que) moratur
'Vindicta, iratis ſecum mare murmurat undis.
'Si tamen haec natura lyrae eſt, ut Muſica mergat,
'Cur fuit in medio pelago tam tutus Arion?
'At Tu, ſi Juvenem miſiſti invitus in aequor,
'Saltem etiam poteras Cithara Delphina paraſſe.
'Nulla igitur ſonti remanet defenſio: Jura
'Exclamant, contra (que) reum juncta omnia Voce
'Juſtitiam reſonant: at (que) haec eſt Muſica Legum
Dixit: at hic tanquam damnato quiſque timebat
Pro lyrico; neqne enim quiſquam reſponſa daturum
Crediderat; verùm res haec miranda fuiſſet.
Muſica ſi taceat, ſi nil reſpondeat Eccho
Nec mora, Clamoſi Praeconis Voce citatus,
(Quamvis Harmoniam nullam Vox iſta ferebat,)
Accedit Fidicen trepidans, timideque labanti
Voce loquens, (tanquam Termor hic quòque Muſicus
Artis enim ſaepe eſt tremulas effingere Voces;)
Sic prodit, plectrumque humero lethale ſiniſtro
Suſpendens, Cauſam dicit; Vitamque diſertus
Quam propè Cantando amiſit, Dicendo tuetur.
Hiud ſecus ac Gracchus, qui cùm ſuggeſta Patronus
Facundus premeret, citharâ poſt terga Sonanti
Compoſuit Vocem; plectroque docente, loquelam
Formavit Variam. Tandem ipſa ſilentia ſervat
Lex, & Jura tacent: Fidicen dum talia [...]atur

Oratio Fidicinis ſe defendentis.

[12]
DET Miſero mihi Voce, precor, Sors mitis Eadem
Qua rapui alterius, propriam defendere Vitam.
At quia nulla unquam revocat Palinodia mortem,
Et pro Demerſo lacrymas dare, jure Vocetur
In mare fundere aquas: nulla revocabilis arte
Sit mea Culpa licet, forſan tamen Arte tuenda eſt.
Et certe cantus morienti impendere, caedem
Non facere eſt, querula ſed deplorare perempti
Exequias Cithara: Verum quia Carminis Author
Phaebus, & Inventor Citharae, pro more ſub undis
Fertur, & Heſperium tuto deſcendit in aequor;
Crediderim quod aquas ſimili ratione faventes
Harmoniae Dominus, pariter (que) Auditor haberet.
Finge tamen noſtro ſe projeciſſe Furentem
Impulſu in fluctus: haec Sola eſt Culpa? quis unquam
Navigat Anticyras, Cerebri medicamina quaerens,
Nec tamen intrat Aquas, nec ſe commiſerit undis?
At, bene ſi memini, Vitae cum traditur ortus,
Harmoniam eſſe Animam, Veterum mihi dogmata ſuadent;
Caedem ergo feciſſe Lyra, facilique cruentam
Cantu inferre necem, nimia eſt occidere Vita.
Eſſe tamen Lethale poteſt audire Canentem,
Cum neque nos unqam Mors ipſa Audita Necaret?
Sed quia Merſus erat, caedem Luſtralibus aequor
Purgat aquis; mortiſque genus mortem expiat ipſam,
Quae caedem fecitque eadem quoque diluit Unda.
At Vos ô fluctus, quoniam ſic cuncta ſoletis
Mergere Crudeles, noſtrum quoque mergite crimen.
Si tamen hoc moriar damnatus crimine quonam
Extinguar fato? num quae me Sylva ſecuta eſt,
Arboreum (que) nemus, tandem in ſuſpendia cedant,
Inque Cruces abeant? & ſic me Sylva ſequatur,
Ut ſaepe a tergo ſequitur Vindicta Nocentem?
Anne etiam terra obruerit? Lapideſque canenti
[13]Qui fuerant Comites, fient mihi ſaxa ſepulchra?
Si mihi cauſa Necis Lyra ſit, tunc inſtar Oloris,
Et ſalutem hoc, videar dicendus, nomine, Cygnus,
Carmina quod cecini propriae praenuntia mortis.
Crimen Ego Audivi, ſupereſt audire probatum;
An quia Merſus obit Juvenis, nos merſimus? ipſe
An feci, ut fureret, quia me cantate furebat?
Quod ſi dum canerem cecidiſſet Stella, quid ergo
Carmina de Coelo deducere Sydera credes?
Par certe furor eſt, in me transferre furorem
Alterius: Muſas tam ſtultum eſt dicere mortis
Fortuitae cauſas; Artique aſcribere caſum.
Nullum ego Carnifice effudi unquam Vocem cruorem;
Vos ſoli Legum Domini, qui jura tenentis,
Vos ſoli miſeros, occidere Voce poteſtis.
Sic fatus; Miſero, Exclamat, nec fata merenti,
Parcite clementes: Et Parcite rettulit Eccho.
Dixit; & hanc, memini, facili candore jocoſus
Impoſuit Judex dicto pro crimine poenam,
Ut, quoniam Lyricum ſuperaverat Orphea cantu,
Acceptâ citharâ Stygias inviſeret oras,
Et ſimili arte canens, quem demiſiſſet ad Umbras
Cantu, illum rurſus Cantu revocaret ab Umbris.
Si quis fortè roget, mihi cur dementia versùs
Materiam dederit; Furor ille Poeticus, inquam,
Impulit: & prohibens Muſarum in Fonte morari,
Proluere immenſo me juſſit in aequore Labra.
Adde, quòd excludit Sanos Helicone Poêta.
[...]nclyte Nervorum Rector, citharaeque magiſter,
Quis Te digna canat? regiones Muſicus Orpheus
[...]bat ad infernas: Tu vertice Sydera tangis:
Et Lyricus Vates ſuperas mea Carmina, ſolùm
Dircaei Cygni, Calamoque, & Voce ſonandus.
Famae implere Tubam valet haec Vox Sola trahebat
[...]lla quidem Sylvas; Lauri te ſponte ſequuntur.
Dignus es ut vivas poſt funera, Memnonis inſtar,
[14]Vocali inſignis Statua; tibi ut ipſe ſuperſtes
Te Solus recinas, tua ut ipſe Epicedia cantes;
Qui, poſt Demerſum hunc, monumenta perennia Vocis,
Et citharae laudes, ipſis inſcripſeris undis,
Cùm mea, per latum hoc Pelagus laudum (que) tuarum
Aequor, Vela feram, paene hic immergor & ipſe.
Nam patet in laudes vaſtus tibi Campus Aquarum;
Sed praeſtat regredi, & motos componere fluctus.
FINIS.

Appendix A A Catalogue of Poems, &. Printed and Sold by H. Hills, in Black-Fryars, near the Water-ſide; where ſeveral more may be had that are not here Inſerted.

[]

Appendix B A Catalogue of Sermons Printed and Sold by H. Hills, in Black-fryars, near the Water-aſide, where are ſeveral others too numerous to inſert.

[]

13.

[]

Moderation DISPLAY'D: A POEM.

— Ne (que) tempore in ullo
Eſſe queat duplici naturâ, & corpore bino
Ex alienigenis membris compacta poteſtas.
Lucret. lib. 5.

By the Author of Faction Diſplay'd.

LONDON: [...]nted and Sold by H. Hills, in Black-fryars, near the Water-ſide. 1709.

PREFACE.

[]

AT a Time when we are Celebrating the Succeſſes of our Arms Abro [...] and the Wiſdom of our Councils at Home; when there ſeems to b [...] no room left for Complaints, and the Nation is only prepared to receiv [...] Panegyrick; I am ſenſible a Piece of this kind will be ſeverely Cenſur' [...] For thoſe, that are taken up with the preſent appearances of Thing [...] who are, by much the greateſt part of the World, will be apt to ſay is Ʋnſeaſonable at leaſt, if not Falſe and Malicious. But, I hope, othe [...] who are not content with ſuch ſuperficial Views, (and to ſuch only wou'd write) will ſee the Reaſon and Truth of what I have ſaid, an [...] own that it could not be more Seaſonably Ʋtter'd than at this [...] Juncture, when we are lull'd with too much Security, and by th [...] means may give Opportunity to a New Sett of Men to Ruin bo [...] Church and State with their New Politicks. But if this Poem ca [...] out with all the Advantages imaginable, I am not yet grown ſo Erra [...] an Author, as to think becauſe the Firſt Part met with a favourab [...] Reception, that I am now therefore Privileg'd to Dictate to the Re [...]der's Judgment, and to aſcribe to my own Merit what was only [...]ing to his Candour, or perhaps Partiality. Be that the Buſineſs DEDICATING POETS. I have no Ambition of gai [...]ing the Reputation of one. 'Tis the laſt Thing I ſhould deſire.

My Aim is of another ſort, and I am abundantly Rewarded, if have been able to Contribute any thing to the Publick Service, by D [...]tecting the Principles and Practices of this New Party, who ha [...] Aſſum'd to themſelves a very Specious Name and Character, and wou [...] be thought the only Patriots of their Country. But Falſe Friends a [...] the most Dangerous Enemies, and they are yet much more ſo, wh [...] they are Invested with Power, and the Miniſtration of Affairs who put into their Hands.

'Tis to be wiſh'd there were no Occaſion for Invectives of this kin [...] that Great Men did always Execute their Truſts, and perform the Duty, and were only the Objects of our Esteem and Admiration. B [...] when the Caſe is quite otherwiſe, when they become Treacherous a [...] Betray the Authority Delegated to them; 'tis fit they ſhou'd hear their Faults, and the People be undeceiv'd, who are groſly impo [...] upon by the ſervile Flatteries of Hireling Scriblers. A Genera [...] [] [...]f Animals, that always Infeſt the Doors of Men in Power; and [...]ho' one wou'd think their Traſh could never paſs upon the Moderate, the Grave, and the Wife, yet they are ſometimes thought worthy of Penſions, and Places of 1200 l. a Year.

It is indeed the juſt Prerogative of the Throne to be approach'd with Humility and Petitions, even where the Subjects have Grievances to Repreſent. But I know of no ſuch Homage due to its Officers. Nor can I yet be convinced, that it is an Arrogant Preſumption in private Perſons (as ſome wou'd have it) to examine and cenſure the Actions of Publick Miniſters, who (ſay they) being neareſt the Helm, are conſequently best able to judge of what ought, and ought not to be done; whereas Men in a Remote Sphere, and at a diſtance, cannot poſſibly [...]nter into the Councils of State, and muſt therefore determine raſhly, and without knowledge. This is a Doctrine neceſſary to be Preach'd [...]p in Deſpotick and Arbitrary Governments, where all is Tranſacted in the Cabinet, where the Will and Choice of the Prince gives a San⯑ction to his Creatures, and cannot be controverted without Treaſon. But in a mixt and limited Monarchy, where the deepeſt Reſorts of Policy and Turns of Government are in ſome meaſure known to Men [...]f Rank and Condition, and where a right of Impeachment is lodged in the Houſe of Commons, it can never be maintained; for that it [...]rou'd deſtroy the Conſtitution, and render the Accuſation of Great Of⯑ficers, tho' never ſo Guilty, Impracticable. But I would not here be ſuppos'd to countenance that Scandalous Principle of Appealing to the Mob. I leave ſuch Maxims to the Relations and Friends of a certain Lawyer, who at the Obſervator's Tryal had the Impu⯑dence (as the Attorney-General very juſtly called it) to inſinuate that the Crown was in the Diſpoſal of the People. Nor wou'd I be thought in the least to detract from the Prerogative, which no Man living has in higher Veneration than my ſelf. For I think it never violated but by a profligate abandon'd Nation, and I wiſh, for the Honour of the Engliſh Name, our Annals had Recorded no In⯑ſtances of that kind.

But after all this New-Moderation Policy is not more pernici⯑ous and tending to the Deſtruction of the Government, than it is Ab⯑ſur'd and Ridiculous in it ſelf. For how can Men of Ʋnderſtanding pretend to look Two Ways at once, to blow Hot and Cold, and fancy that every Body does not ſee thro' the pitiful Diſguiſe and Artifice? They call themſelves True Sons of the Church, and yet make no ſcruple of oppoſing a Bill, which is abſolutely neceſſary for its Preſervation; becauſe forſooth it is offered at an unſeaſonable time; as if it was not as ſeaſonable to make wholeſom Laws, as to engage in a just and [] Honourable War for the Security of our Constitution; Can they hope for a better Opportunity than the Reign we now enjoy? They would be thought great Favourers of the Church Party, when upon all Oc⯑caſions they take care to Diſcountenance them, and Encourage only the Profeſt Enemies of Church and State, under a ſhallow Pretence, that they are a numerous and formidable Body of Men, and ought there⯑fore to be preferr'd to Places of Honour and Profit, that they may not grow Mutinous and complain of Perſecution; which methinks ſhould rather be a strong Argument for uſing all poſſible Means to ſuppreſs ſuch Turbulent Aſpiring Spirits. Nay, ſo Tender are they of their DIS⯑SENTING BRETHREN, that I am told it has lately been deliver'd as Law by a Great Man in W—————————r-Hall, that a Notorious Perjur'd Vagabond, with Two Wives at once, be⯑ing poſſeſs'd of a Separate Congregation, tho' without any Li⯑cence, or Legal Qualification to Preach to them, ſhall for that Reaſon only be exempt from the late Act for liſting Vagrants. I muſt confeſs I cannot imagine how they would define it, or what Mo⯑deration according to theſe Practices is. The Logicians have ſtated no Medium that I know of, between Truth and Falſhood, nor the Moraliſts any between Virtue and Vice: Every Propoſition and Prin⯑ciple muſt neceſſarily fall under one of theſe Heads.

There is no need of a Prophetick Spirit to foreſee, That they will ren⯑der themſelves Odious, and cannot Subſiſt long. I heartily Pity ſome young Gentlemen, who are unwarily drawn in; for they will fi [...] themſelves Deceiv'd by their Crafty Leader, and cannot expect to be receiv'd by their old Friends again. 'Tis much to be Lamented that a late Great Character Stain'd the latter part of his Life.— but De Mortuis nil niſi bonum.

I hope ſome Paragraphs in the cloſe of his Poem will at leaſt prove that I have not writ with Partiality, but have equally commende [...] Merit whereever I found it, without any regard to a Party.

Moderation DISPLAY'D.

[5]
AGain, my Muſe—Nor fear the ſteepy Flight,
Purſue the Fury thro' the Realms of Night;
Explore the Depth of Hell, the ſecret Cauſe,
Whence the New Scheme of Moderation roſe.
Now Faction re-aſſum'd her Native Throne,
Which proſtrate Fiends with awful Homage own.
A Crown of Eating Flame her Temples bound,
Darting a Blew Malignant Radiance round.
An Iron Scepter in her Hand ſhe bore,
Emblem of Vengeance and Deſtructive Pow'r.
A bloody Canopy hung o're her Head,
Where the Four falling Empires are pourtray'd.
Monarchs Depos'd beneath her foot-ſtool lie,
And all around is Hell and Anarchy.
Whilſt thus ſhe tow'ring ſat, the Subject Train
With Shouts proclaim'd the Triumphs of her Reign.
Then they the Chaos ſung, and Nature's Jars,
How the firſt Atoms urg'd their Medley Wars,
How Civil Diſcord and Inteſtine Rage
Have boil'd in ev'ry Nation, ev'ry Age.
They ſung Divided Albion's hapleſs State,
Her Claſhing Senate's Feuds, her lab'ring Church's Fate:
[6]And as her coming Ruin they expreſt,
A ſullen Rapture ſwell'd in ev'ry Breaſt.
For ſuch the Bent of their Diſtorted Will,
Only to know Delight in Thoughts of ill.
But on a ſudden, Lo! deſcending flew,
A Meagre Ghoſt, which ſoon the Fury knew,
Cethego newly Dead, her Darling Pride,
Whoſe Firm Unwav'ring Faith ſhe long had try'd,
Long in her Secret Councils had retain'd,
By which her Empire o're our Iſle ſhe gain'd.
No ſooner was arriv'd the Welcome Gueſt,
But him in ſoothing Terms, ſhe thus addreſt:
Hail beſt Belov'd of all my Sons, Receive
What Praiſe, what Joy theſe Gloomy Realms can give
For 'tis to thy Succeſsful Arts I owe
My Reign Above, my Triumph here below.
This ſaid, th' Unbodied Shade obſequious kneel'd,
Struck with Amazement, and with Rapture fill'd.
O Mighty Queen! permit me to Adore
Thy Awful Shrine, thy all Informing Pow'r,
Whoſe nearer Influence my Breaſt Inſpires
With Glorious Rage, and Miſchievous Deſires.
'Twas in Thy Cauſe I ſunk a mouldring Frame,
Unequal to the Hardy Task of Fame.
But ſtill my Mind releas'd from Mortal pains,
Her innate Faculty of Ill retains.
More he had ſaid, but the ſurrounding Throng,
Impatient of delay, purſu'd their Noiſy Song.
Mean time the Fiend revolving in her Thought
The mighty Change Cethego's Death had wrought,
Reſolv'd at length to Summon to her Aid
Each plotting Devil, each Seditious Shade.
She gave the Signal, and a Dreadful Sound
Ran Bellowing thro' all th' Abyſs profound.
Then thus ſhe eas'd her anxious Soul—
O deareſt Friends! O faithful Miniſters!
[7]Ye mutual Partners of my Joys and Cares,
New Ways, new Means my reſtleſs Thoughts imploy,
How Albion to reduce, her Peace deſtroy.
Long have I labour'd, but alas! in vain,
For now Succeeds the Heav'nly Anna's Reign;
Who watchful Guards a Stubborn People's Good,
By Fears not ſtagger'd, nor by Force ſubdu'd.
Such are the Gifts of her Capacious Mind,
Where Juſtice, Mercy, Piety are joyn'd.
As Motion, Light and Heat, combin'd in one,
Make up the Glorious Eſſence of the Sun.
But ſtill ſhe Mortal is, nor will I ceaſe.
Till my Revenge be Crown'd with wiſh'd Succeſs.
Firſt then, ſuppoſe we ſhou'd deveſt the Throne
Of Friends, whoſe Souls are kindred to her own,
Celſus Diſgrac'd, Hortenſio next appears,
Whoſe Vigilance ſtill Baffles all my Cares;
To whom by Right of Anceſtry belong
A Loyal Heart, and a perſwaſive Tongue.
Now Plots are form'd, and publick Tempeſts rowl,
He boaſts a ſtrong unſhaken Strength of Soul.
Fearleſs againſt her Foes the Church ſuſtains,
Alike their Friendſhip and their Hate diſdains,
Diſdains their Clamour and Seditious Noiſe,
Secure in the Applauding Senate's Voice.
Of Noble Stem, in whoſe Collat'ral Lines
Virtue with equal Force and Luſtre ſhines.
when Suada pleads, Succeſs attends the Cauſe,
Suada the Glory of the Britiſh Laws.
Not the Fam'd Orators of Old were heard
With more attentive Awe, more deep Regard,
When Thronging round them, their Charm'd Audience hung
On the attracting Muſick of their Tongue.
Nor Hell to Laelio can her Praiſe refuſe,
Whoſe Worth deſerves his own recording Muſe;
Who in Sophia's Court, with juſt Applauſe,
Maintain'd his Sov'raign Rights, his Country's Cauſe.
[8]For 'tis in him, with Anguiſh that I find
All the Endowments of a Gen'rous Mind,
Whate're is Great and Brave, whate're Refin'd
For 'tis in him Fame doubly does Commend
An Active Patriot, and a Faithful Friend.
Then from his near Attendance be remov'd
Urbano, tho' by All Admir'd and Lov'd;
Tho' his ſweet Temper and obliging Port,
Become his Office, and Adorn the Court
He ſeems by Nature form'd Mankind to pleaſe,
So Free, ſo Unconſtrain'd in his Addreſs,
Improv'd by ev'ry Vertue, ev'ry Grace.
Senato too, who Bravely does deride
Sempronia's little Arts, and Female Pride;
Whoſe Lofty Look, and whoſe Majeſtick Mein
Confeſs the towring God-like Soul within.
A Speaker of unparallel'd Renown,
Long in the Senate, long in Council known.
Ally'd to Celſus by the Nobleſt Claim,
By the ſame Principles, by Worth the ſame.
Old as he is, ſtill Firm his Heart remains,
And dauntleſs his declining Frame ſuſtains.
So, pois'd on its own Baſe, the Center bears
The Nodding Fabrick of the Univerſe.
Be theſe, and ſuch as theſe, diſcharg'd from Court▪
The Better Genii that the Crown ſupport.
Then in their ſtead, let Mod'rate Stateſmen reign,
Practice their new pretended Golden Mean.
A Notion undefin'd in Virtue's Schools,
Unrecommended by her ſacred Rules.
A Modern Coward Principle deſign'd
To ſtifle Juſtice, and unnerve the Mind.
A Trick by Knaves contriv'd, impos'd on Fools,
But Scorn'd by Patriot and Exalted Souls.
For Mod'rate Stateſmen, like Camelions wear
A diff'rent Form in ev'ry diff'rent Air.
[9] [...]hey ſtick at nothing to Secure their Ends,
[...]areſs their Enemies, betray their Friends.
Their Medley Temper, their Amphibious Mind
[...] fraught with Principles of ev'ry kind,
Nor ever can from Stain and Error free,
Aſſert its Native Truth, and Energy;
As the four Elements ſo blended were
[...]n their firſt Chaos, ſo united there,
That ſince they ne're could fully be disjoyn'd,
Each retains ſomething of each other's Kind.
Nor this is wholly Air, nor that pure Flame,
But ſtill in both ſome Atoms are the ſame.
Let Jano, ſecond of his Trimming Band,
Next to Volpone deck'd with Honours ſtand.
Like him for ſecret Policy Renown'd,
Like him with all the Gifts of Cunning crown'd.
None better can the Jarring Senate guide,
Or lure the Flying Camp to either ſide.
Of an invet'rate old Fanatick Race,
Or Canting Parents, ſprung this Child of Grace.
In Show a Tory, but a Whig in Heart,
For Saints may ſafely act the Sinner's part.
Once he was ours, and will be ours again,
For Art to ſtifle Nature ſtrives in vain,
For ev'ry thing, when from its Center born,
Still thither tends, ſtill thither will return.
Let him with theſe Accompliſhments ſupply
Hortenſio's ſteddy Faith, and Loyalty.
B [...]u [...]bus, for he has Wealth to buy a Place,
Shall wear Urbano's Key, his Poſt diſgrace.
A worthy Son, in whom collected ſhine
The Follies of his Mad and Ideot Line.
Lord of the woful Countenance, whoſe Skin
Seems fear'd without, and putrify'd within,
A Dapper Animal, whoſe Pigmy Size
Provokes the Ladies Scorn, and mocks their Eyes.
[10]But Balls and Muſick are his greateſt Care,
So willing is the Wretch to pleaſe the Fair.
'Tis ſtrange, that Men, what Nature has deny'd,
Should make their only Aim, their only Pride.
Let Britono, who from the Parent Moon
Derives his Welſh Deſcent directly down,
Succeed Senato in his High Command,
And bear the Staff of Honour in his Hand.
A flutt'ring empty Fop, that ev'ry Night,
Sits Laughing loud, and Jeſting in the Pit,
Whilſt a ſurrounding Croud of Whores and Bawds,
His ſprightly Converſe, and his Wit applauds.
An Atlas proper to ſuſtain the Weight
Of an Incumber'd and declining State.
Let theſe, as Uſeful Tools, a while poſſeſs
The Court Preferments, and Indulge their Eaſe,
But they ſhall fly, like Miſts, before the Sun,
When my Deſigns to full Perfection grown,
Exert their Pow'r, and make the ruin'd World my own.
When thus the Fury had her Scheme diſplay'd,
Aſſenting Hell a low Obeiſance paid.
Moloch, Protector of the Papal Chair,
Author of the Maſſacres and Chriſtian War,
Was now Convinc'd that Sanguinary Laws
Could nere the Reformation's Growth oppoſe,
Could nere in Albion's Church advance his Cauſe.
He therefore, urg'd with his old conſtant Hate,
By Mod'rate Means conſents to work her Fate.
He finds how ſoon by Toleration's Aid,
Her Pow'r is weaken'd, and her Rights Betray'd.
Nor doubts Occaſional Conformity
Will by degrees her Eſſence quite deſtroy.
Then Satan, Prince of the Fanatick Train,
Who form'd the Conduct of their Glorious Reign.
Approve the Scheme, not hoping to Reſtore
His Subjects to their late unbounded Pow'r.
[11] [...]or well he knew, their Avarice and Pride
[...]ad wean'd the Bankrupt Nation from their ſide.
[...]ut theſe Auſpicious Moderation Times,
[...]y not Detecting, Sanctify their Crimes,
[...]y Baffling Juſtice, and eluding Law,
Make Vice inſult, and Sin Triumphant grow.
Nay ſuch th' Effects of Moderation are,
The Guilty to Reward, as well as Spare.
Hence Foes to Prelacy are Clad in Lawn,
Hence Rebels are the Fav'rites of the Throne.
What could they more deſire, than thus to paſs
The bleſt Remainder of their happy Days,
[...]atted with Plunder, and diſſolv'd in Eaſe?
Nor Belial, th' Atheiſt's Patron could Complain,
[...]or Moderation would enlarge his Reign,
Where all unpuniſh'd Talk and live Profane.
Where Irreligion Providence denies,
Nor dreads the Laws of Earth, nor Thunder of the Skies.
Mammon, the Traders and the Courtier's God,
No ſooner heard the Project but allow'd;
For hence his two Vot'ries uncontroul'd might live,
And endleſs Frauds commit, and endleſs Bribes receive.
But moſt Cethego the Deſign approves,
Who dead and Living in Maeander's moves.
He knew how he deluded hapleſs James,
By the ſame wily Arts, and ſubtle Schemes.
Propoſes then, that he alone be ſent,
To execute the Fury's New Intent.
When he had ended, thus ſhe ſoon replies,
Bleſt be the Shade, that can ſo well adviſe,
On thee thy Goddeſs ſmiles, on thee relies.
Fly, nimbly to thy Native Soil repair,
Urge and Inforce the well form'd Council there.
Occaſion favours, the Cabal is met
At thy own Manſion, thy belov'd Retreat,
The Muſes Darling Theam, the Graces Seat.
[12]There Clodio's and Sigillo's anxious Thoughts,
Are brooding o're Imaginary Plots:
Whilſt Bibliopolo with his awkard Jeſts
Deſerves his Dinner, and diverts the Gueſts.
Bathillo, in his own unborrow'd Strains,
Young Sachariſſa's Angel Form profanes:
Whilſt her dull Husband, ſenſleſs of her Charms,
Lies lumpiſh in her ſoft encircling Arms.
For he to Wiſdom makes a Grave Pretence,
But wants alas! his Father's Depth of Senſe.
Howere, ſupplying all Defects of Wit,
He ſhews a true Fanatick Zeal and Heat.
She ſpoke—the Spectre in a moment gains
Altropia's Balmy Air, and Flowry Plains.
At his approach the Dome's Foundation ſhook,
When 'midſt their Revels ruſhing in he broke.
Involv'd in Wreaths of Smoak, awhile he ſtood,
Seeming at diſtance an unſhapen Cloud.
But ſoon, the Cloud aſcending to the Skies,
He manifeſt was ſeen before their Eyes.
Horror and Guilt ſhook ev'ry Conſcious Breaſt,
But Bibliopolo moſt his Fears expreſt,
Fainting he tumbled—Paſs we ore the reſt.
Clodio alone fixt and unmov'd appear'd,
And what the Phantom ſaid undaunted heard.
Forbear, my Friends, your Hot purſuits reſtrain,
Behold your lov'd Cethego once again.
From Faction's dark unbottom'd Cell I come,
Fraught with Britannia's Fate, and final Doom.
For, Meditating Vengeance in her Mind,
At length a Finiſh'd Plan ſhe has deſign'd.
Nor doubts by Mod'rate Methods to obtain,
What ſhe by rougher Arts has ſought in vain,
That Whigs ſhould Triumph in a To [...]y Reign.
Thus he began, and then proceeds to tell
What Faction had before reveal'd in Hell.
[13]
Clodio was Raptur'd, and in Terms like theſe,
[...]is Joy and Approbation did expreſs.
[...]nce thy Divided State permits, be thou
[...]s once a Friend, a Guardian Genius now.
[...]ive us to execute this Grand Deſign,
[...]hine be the Conduct, and the Glory thine.
[...]ttempts that often Baffle Human Care,
[...]y aiding Spirits ſoon effected are;
[...]heir Knowledge in immediate Intuition lies,
Nor does, like ours, from long Deduction riſe.
Pleas'd with this Anſwer, the retiring Ghoſt
Condens'd the ambient Air, and in a Cloud was loſt.
Here ceaſe thy Satyr, Muſe, and from thy Tongue
[...]o louder Numbers and Heroick Song:
Here Celebrate, unbyaſs'd as thou art,
The Triumphs of Sempronia's other Part,
Nor let her Stain the Hero's High Deſert.
Now the Imperial Eagle hung her Head,
[...]rooping ſhe Mourn'd her wonted Thunder fled,
Now was ſhe fitted for a foreign Yoke,
Her Sceptre nodded, her Dominion ſhook.
Such was the tott'ring State of Ancient Rome,
When Conqu'ring Hannibal pronounc'd her Doom▪
When yet the fatal Capua was unknown,
That blaſted all the Laurels Cannae won.
Where ſhall ſhe Succour ſeek? Or whither fly?
Shall ſhe for ever in Confuſion lie?
Shall the firſt Kingdom of the Chriſtian World
Be un-reliev'd in endleſs Ruine hurl'd?
Not ſo? her Aid Auſpicious Anna brings,
Anna the Angel of unhappy Kings.
She ſends Camillo with an Engliſh Force,
To ſtem the Ravaging Invader's Courſe.
France and Bavaria now in vain Combine,
In vain their Fierce unnumber'd Legions joyn,
[14]In vain the Thunderbolts of War oppoſe:
Eugenio and Camillo are their Foes.
Like Caeſar, both for Stratagems Renown'd▪
Like Alexander, both with Martial Fury crown'd.
At length the Great Deciſive Day drew near,
On which alone depended all the War.
At length the Fight began, the Canon roar'd,
Nor knew the Empire yet her Sov'reign Lord.
But ſoon Camillo with reſiſtleſs Arms,
With doubled Rage, the Hoſtile Troops alarms.
The Troops, that thought no Valour match'd their ow [...]
Till Engliſh Courage bore them headlong down.
Before his Conqu'ring Sword they Vanquiſh'd fly,
Or in the Field, or in the Danube die.
The Danube reeking ran a Purple Flood,
Swell'd and diſtain'd with Deluges of Blood.
O were I Poet equal to thy Theam!
The Future World ſhould wond'ring read this Stream;
Where many Thouſand Warriors more were ſlain,
Or than on Xanthus Banks, or the Pharſalian Plain:
Tho' theſe to all Exploits are far preferr'd,
One by the Grecian, one the Roman Bard.
Hence is the Empire to it ſelf reſtor'd,
Revolting Nations Recognize the Lord.
Lewis no more ſhall God-like Titles Claim,
Nor Europe aw'd and Trembling dread his Name.
Hence a new Scene of Happineſs appears,
A long Succeſſive Train of Golden Years.
So ſav'd Demetrius the Athenian State,
Oppreſs'd by Foes, and ſunk with adverſe Fate.
No ſooner was the Bloody Battle won,
But all his Fame with Adoration own;
But on the mighty Victor they beſtow'd,
The Sacred Stile and Honours of a God.
But tho' no Altars we profanely raiſe,
But tho' a leſs, we pay a juſter Praiſe,
[15]All but the Blind Idolatry intend,
Which ridicules the Glorious Worth it would com⯑mend.
When with his Eaſtern Spoils, returning home,
Auguſtus enter'd his applauding Rome,
[...]irgil and Horace waited on his Fame,
Glad to record the Muſes Patron's Name;
And well could they in everliving Strains,
Deſcribe his Triumphs, and Reward his Pains.
But Modern Heroes, tho' as truly Brave
As thoſe of Old, not equal Poets have.
No Virgils now, nor Horaces to raiſe
Trophies proportion'd to their Deathleſs praiſe.
An Addiſon perhaps, or Tate may write;
[...]olp [...]ne pays them for their Venal Wit.
But ſince my Muſe, warm'd with a Gen'rous Flame,
Unbrib'd would eternize Camillo's Name;
Let him accept ſuch Homage as ſhe brings,
Nor think that wholly uninſpir'd ſhe Sings.
But, Goddeſs, ſtill one Labour more remains,
Still Nereo claims thy Tributary Strains;
Tune thy Harmonious Voice to Nereo's Praiſe,
A Subject pregnant with immortal Lays.
'Tis he extends the Hev'nly Anna's Reign,
High as the Stars, unbounded as the main.
[...]Tis he, whoſe Valour the Batavian Wars
[...]nur'd to Glory, from his greener Years.
'Tis he Le Hogue's oppoſing Ord'nance bore,
Nor fear'd the Lightnings blaſts, nor Thunders roar.
'Tis He, with Scipio Darling of our Iſle,
From vanquiſh'd Vigo forc'd the Indian Spoil.
'Tis He the Streights Defence ſo lately ſtorm'd,
A Tow by Nature fortify'd and arm'd.
'Tis He, unequal far in force, o'recame
A Fleet ſecure of Conqueſt and of Fame,
A Flee by vaſt Expence for Fight prepar'd▪
At once the Spaniards Terror and their Guard.
[16]For what can Engliſh Bravery withſtand,
When Nereo or Camillo do Command?
It Vindicates the Sea, and Triumphs ore the Land.
'Tis He Detraction's Baleful Breath has born,
But with a Noble and Heroick Scorn.
For let his Foes this juſt Monition have,
Envy's the Coward's Homage to the Brave.
So Ariſtides long with Malice ſtrove,
Nor could his Virtue win a Factious Peoples Love.
FINIS.

14.

[]

THE HIND AND THE PANTHER, TRANSVERS'D To the Story of the Country-Mouſe and the City-Mouſe.

[...]uch Malice mingled with a little Wit.

Hind. Pan.

Nec vult Panthera domari.

Quae Genus.

LONDON: [...]inted and Sold by H. Hills, in Black-fryars, near the Water-ſide. 1709. Price Three Pence.

THE PREFACE.

[]

THE Favourers of the Hind and Panther will be apt to ſay in its Defence, That the beſt things are [...]apable of being turn'd to Ridicule; that [...]omer has been Burleſque'd, and Virgil [...]raveſted without ſuffering any thing in [...]heir Reputation from that Buffoonry; and [...]hat in like manner, the Hind and the Pan⯑ [...]er may be an exact Poem, tho' 'tis the Sub⯑ [...]ect of our Raillery: But there is this diffe⯑ [...]ence, that thoſe Authors are wreſted from [...]heir true Senſe, and this naturally falls in⯑ [...] Ridicule; there is nothing Repreſented [...]ere as monſtrous and unnatural, which is [...]ot equally ſo in the Original. Firſt as to [...]he General Deſign Is it not as eaſie to ima⯑ [...]ine two Mice bilking Coachmen, and ſup⯑ [...]ing at the Devil; as to ſuppoſe a Hind [...]tertaining the Panther at a Hermit's Cell, [...]iſcuſſing the greateſt Myſteries of Religion, [...]d telling you her Son Rodriguez writ very [...]od Spaniſh? What can be more improbable [] and contradictory to the Rules and Example [...] of all Fables, and to the very Deſign an [...] Ʋſe of them? They were firſt begun and rai⯑ſed to the higheſt Perfection in the Eaſter [...] Countries; where they wrote in Signs an [...] ſpoke in Parables, and delivered the moſ [...] uſeful Precepts in delightful Stories; whic [...] for their Aptneſs were entertaining to th [...] moſt Judicious, and led the vulgar into Ʋn⯑derſtanding by ſurprizing them with thei [...] Novelty, and fixing their Attention. A [...] their Fables carry a double meaning; th [...] Story is one and intire; the Characters th [...] ſame throughout, not broken or chang'd and always conformable to the Nature of th [...] Creatures they introduce. They never te [...] you that the Dog which ſnapt at a Shadow loſt his Troop of Horſe, that would be unin⯑telligible; a piece of Fleſh is proper for hi [...] to drop, and the Reader will apply it t [...] Mankind; they would not ſay that the Da [...] who was ſo proud of her borrow'd Plume [...] lookt very ridiculous when Rodriguez cam [...] and took away all the Book but th [...] 17th, 24th, and 25th Chapters, which ſh [...] ſtole from him: But this is his new way o [...] telling a Story, and confounding the Mora [...] and the Fable together.

Before the Word was written, ſaid th [...] Hind,
Our Saviour Preach'd the Faith to a [...] Mankind.

[]What relation has the Hind to our Sa⯑viour? or what Notion have we of a Pan⯑ [...]her's Bible? If you ſay he means the Church, how does the Church feed on Lawns, or range in the Foreſt? Let it be always a Church, or always the cloven-footed Beaſt, [...]or we cannot bear his ſhifting the Scene every Line. If it is abſurd in Comedies to [...]ake a Peaſant talk in the Strain of a Hero, [...]r a Country Wench uſe the Language of the Court; how monſtrous is it to make a Prieſt [...]f a Hind, and a Parſon of a Panther? To bring 'em in diſputing with all the For⯑ [...]alities and Terms of the School? Though [...]s to the Arguments themſelves, thoſe, we [...]onfeſs, are ſuited to the Capacity of the Beaſts, and if we would ſuppoſe a Hind ex⯑ [...]reſſing her ſelf about theſe Matters, ſhe [...]ould talk at that Rate.

As to the Abſurdity of his Expreſſions, [...]here is nothing wreſted to make 'em ridi⯑culous, the Terms are ſometimes alter'd to make the Blunder more viſible; Knowldge miſunderſtood is not at all better Senſe [...]han Underſtanding miſunderſtood, though tis confeſt the Author can play with words [...]o well, that this and twenty ſuch will paſs off [...]t a ſlight reading.

There are other Miſtakes which could not [...]e brought in, for they were too groſs for [] Bayes himſelf to commit. 'Tis hard to con⯑ceive how any Man could cenſure the Turk [...] for Gluttony, a People that debauch in Coffee are voluptuous in a Meſs of Rice, and keep the ſtricteſt Lent, without the Pleaſures of a Carnival to encourage them. But 'tis al⯑moſt impoſſible to think that any Man, wh [...] had not renounced his Senſes, ſhould rea [...] Duncomb for Allen: He had been told that Mr. Allen had written a Diſcourſe o [...] Humility;Difference betwixt a Proteſtant and Socini⯑an, p. 62. to which he wiſely anſwers, Tha [...] that magnified Piece of Duncomb's was Tran⯑ſlated from the Spaniſh of Rodriguez, and to ſet it beyond diſpute, makes the infallible Guide affirm the ſame thing. There are few Miſtakes,Pag. 92. but one may imagine how a Ma [...] fell into them, and at leaſt what he aim'd at; but what likeneſs is there betwee [...] Duncomb and Allen? do they ſo much as Rhime?

We may have this Comfort under the Se⯑verity of his Satyr, to ſee his Abilities e⯑qually leſſen'd with his Opinion of us; and that he could not be a fit Champion againſt the Panther till he had laid aſide all his Judgment. But we muſt applaud his Obe⯑dience to his new Mother Hind; ſhe Diſci⯑plin'd him ſeverely,Pag. 90. ſhe commanded him it ſeems, to Sacrifice his Darling Fame, and to do it effectually he publiſht this learned Piece. This is the favourable Conſtruction we would put on his Faults, tho' he takes [] care to inform us,Pref. that it was done from no Impoſition, but out of a natural Propenſity he has to Malice, and a particular Inclina⯑tion of doing Miſchief. What elſe could pro⯑voke him to Libel the Court, Blaſpheme Kings, abuſe the whole Scotch Nation, Pag. 87. rail at the greateſt Part of his own, and lay all the Indignities imaginable on the only eſta⯑bliſh'd Religion? And we muſt now Congra⯑tulate him this Felicity, that there is no Sect or Denomination of Chriſtians, whom he has not abuſed.

Thus far his Arms have with Succeſs been crown'd.

Let Turks, Jews and Infidels look to themſelves, he has already begun the War upon them. When once a Conqueror grows thus dreadful, 'tis the Intereſt of all his Neighbours to oppoſe him, for there is no Alliance to be made with one that will face about, and deſtroy his Friends, and like a ſecond Almanzor, change Sides meerly to keep his hand in ure. This Heroick Tem⯑per of his, has created him ſome Enemies, that did by no means affect Hoſtility; and he may obſerve this Candor in the Manage⯑ment, that none of his Works are concern'd in theſe Papers, but his laſt Piece; and I believe he is ſenſible this is a Favour. I was not ambitious of Laughing at any Per⯑ſwaſion, or making Religion the Subject of [] ſuch a Trifle; ſo that no Man is here con⯑cern'd, but the Author himſelf, and nothing ridicul'd but his way of arguing.

But, Gentlemen, if you won't take it ſ [...] you muſt grant my Excuſe is more reaſonabl [...] than our Author's to the Diſſenters.

THE HIND AND THE PANTHER, Tranſvers'd to the Story of the COUNTRY and the CITY-MOUSE.

[1]
Bayes, Johnſon, Smith.
Johnſon.

HAH! my Old Friend Mr. Bayes, What lucky Chance has thrown me upon you? Dear Rogue, [...]et me embrace thee.

Bayes,

Hold, at your Peril, Sir; ſtand off, and [...]ome not within my Sword's Poin [...] For if you [...]re not come over to the Royal Party, Pref. p. 1 [...] I expect nei⯑ [...]her fair War, nor fair Quarter from you

Johnſ.

How, draw upon your Friend, aſ⯑ſault your Old Acquaintance! O' my Conſcience, [...]y Intentions were Honourable.

Bayes,

Conſcience! Ay, ay, I know the Deceit of [...]hat Word well enough:Pref. ib. Let me have the Marks [...]f you Conſcience before I truſt it; for if it be not [2] of the ſame Stamp with mine, Gad I may b [...] knock'd down for all your fair Promiſes.

Smith.

Nay, prithee Bayes, what damn'd Vil⯑lainy haſt thou been about, that thou'rt under theſ [...] Apprehenſions? Upon my Honour I'm thy Friend yet thou lookeſt as ſneaking and frighted as a Do [...] that has been worrying Sheep.

Bayes,

Pref. ib.Ay, Sir, The Nation is in too high a Fe [...] ⯑ment for me to expect any Mercy, or I'gad, to tru [...] any Body.

Smith.

But why this to us, my Old Friend, wh [...] you know never trouble our Heads with Nationa [...] Concerns, till the third Botlle has taught us as muc [...] of Politicks as the next does of Religion?

Bayes.

Ah! Gentlemen, leave this Prophaneneſ [...] I am alter'd ſince you ſaw me, and cannot be [...] this looſe Talk now. Mr. Johnſon, you are [...] Man of Parts, let me deſire you to read the Gui [...] of Controverſy; and Mr. Smith, I would recom⯑mend to you the Conſiderations on the Council [...] Trent, Page 5. and ſo Gentlemen your humble Servant.— Good Life be now my Task.

Johnſ.

Nay, Faith, we won't part ſo: Belie [...] us, we are both your Friends; let us ſtep to th [...] Roſe for one quarter of an Hour, and talk ov [...] old Stories.

Bayes.

I ever took you to be Men of Honou [...] and for your ſakes I will tranſgreſs as far as o [...] Pint.

Johnſ.

Well, Mr. Bayes, many a merry Bo [...] have we had in this Houſe, and ſhall have again, hope: Come, what Wine are you for?

Bayes.

Gentlemen, do you as you pleaſe, for [...] part he ſhall bring me a ſingle Pint of any thing.

Smith.

How ſo, Mr. Bayes, have you loſt yo [...] Pallat? you have been more curious.

Bayes.

True, I have ſo; but Senſes muſt [...] ſtarv'd, Page 21. that the Soul may be gratified. Men [...] [3] [...]our Kidney make the Senſes the ſupream Judge, [...]nd therefore bribe 'em high, but we have laid [...]o [...]h the Uſe and Pleaſure of 'em aſide.

Smith.

What, is not there good Eating and Drinking on both ſides? You make the Separation [...]reater than I thought it.

Bayes.

No, no, whenever you ſee a Fat Roſie- [...]olour'd Fellow, take it from me,Ibid. he is either a [...]roteſtant or a Turk.

Johnſ.

At that rate, Mr. Bayes, one might ſuſ⯑ [...]ect your Converſion; methinks thou haſt as much [...]e Face of an Heretick as ever I ſaw.

Bayes.

Such was I, ſuch by Nature ſtill I am. Pag. 5. [...]ut I hope e'er long I ſhall have drawn this pam⯑ [...]er'd Paunch fitter for the ſtraight Gate.

Smith.

Sure, Sir, you are in ill hands, your Confeſſor gives you more ſevere Rules than he [...]ractices; for not long ago a Fat Friar was [...]ought a true Character.

Bayes.

Things were miſrepreſented to me: I [...]onfeſs I have been unfortunate in ſome of my Writings: But ſince you have put me upon that [...]ubject, I'll ſhow you a thing I have in my Pock⯑ [...] ſhall wipe off all that, or I am miſtaken.

Smith.

Come, now thou art like thy ſelf again. [...]ere's the King's Health to thee—Communicate.

Bayes.

Well, Gentlemen, here it is, and I'll be [...]old to ſay, the exacteſt Piece the World ever ſaw, [...] Non Pareillo I'faith. But I muſt beſpeak your [...]ardons if it reflects any thing upon your Perſwa⯑ [...]on,

Johnſ.

Uſe your Liberty, Sir, you know we are [...]o Bigots.

Bayes.

Why then you ſhall ſee me lay the Refor⯑ [...]ation on its Back, I'gad, and juſtifie our Religion [...]y way of Fable.

Johnſ.

An apt Contrivance indeed! What do [...]ou make a Fable of your Religion?

Bayes.
[4]

Ay, I'gad, and without Morals too; ſo [...] I tread in no Man's Steps; and to ſhow you how far I can out-do any thing that ever was writ in thi [...] kind, I have taken Horace's Deſign, but I'gad, have ſo out-done him, you ſhall be aſham'd fo [...] your Old Friend. You remember in him the Story of the Country-Mouſe, and the City-Mouſe; wha [...] a plain ſimple thing it is, it has no more Life an [...] Spi [...]it in it, I'gad, than a Hobby-horſe; and hi [...] Mice talk ſo meanly, ſuch common ſtuff, ſo lik [...] meer Mice, that I wonder it has pleas'd the Worl [...] ſo long. But now will I undeceive Mankind, and teach 'em to heighten, and elevate a Fable. I'l [...] bring you in the very ſame Mice diſputing th [...] Depth of Philoſophy, ſearching into the Fundamen⯑tals of Religion, quoting Texts, Fathers, Councils and all that, I 'gad, as you ſhall ſee either of 'e [...] could eaſily make an Aſs of a Country Vicar. Now whereas Horace keeps to the dry naked Hiſtory, [...] have more Copiouſneſs than to do that, I'gad Here, I draw you general Characters, and deſcrib [...] all the Beaſts of the Creation; there, I lanch ou [...] into long Digreſſions, and leave my Mice for twen⯑ty Pages together; then I fall into Raptures, and make the fineſt Soliloquies, as would raviſh you Won't this do, think you?

Johnſ.

Faith, Sir, I don't well conceive you all this about two Mice?

Bayes.

Ay, why not? Is it not great and Heroi⯑cal? But come, you'll underſtand it better whe [...] you hear it; and pray be as ſevere as you can, I'ga [...] I defie all Criticks. Thus it begins:

Pag. 1.
A Milk-white Mouſe immortal and unchang'd,
Fed on ſoft Cheeſe, and o'er the Dairy rang'd;
Without, unſpotted; innocent within,
She fear'd no danger, for ſhe knew no Gin.
Johnſ.
[5]

Methinks, Mr. Bayes, ſoft Cheeſe is a lit⯑tle too coarſe Diet for an immortal Mouſe; were there any neceſſity for her eating, you ſhould have conſulted Homer for ſome Coeleſtial Proviſion.

Bayes.

Faith, Gentlemen, I did ſo; but indeed I have not the Latin one, which I have mark'd by me, and could not readily find it in the Original.

Yet had She oft been ſcar'd by bloody Claws
Pag. 1.
O [...] winged Owls, and ſtern Grimalkins Paws
Aim'd at her deſtin'd Head, which made her fly,
Pag. 2.
Tho' She was doom'd to Death, and fated not to dye.
Smith

How came She that fear'd no Danger in the Line before, to be ſcar'd in this, Mr. Bayes?

Bayes.

Why then you may have it chas'd if you will; for I hope a Man may run away without be⯑ing afraid, mayn't he?

Johnſ.

But pray give me leave; how was She doom'd to Death, if She was fated not to die; are not Doom and Fate much the ſame thing?

Bayes.

Nay, Gentlemen, if you queſtion my Skill [...]n the Language, I'm your humble Servant; the Rogues the Criticks, that will allow me nothing elſe, give me that; ſure I that made the Word, [...]now beſt what I meant by it: I aſſure you, doom'd [...]nd fated, are quite different things.

Smith.

Faith, Mr. Bayes, if you were doom'd to [...]e hang'd, whatever you were fated to, 'twould [...]ive you but ſmall Comfort.

Bayes.

Never trouble your Head with that, Mr. Smith, mind the Buſineſs in hand.

Not ſo her young; their Linſy-woolſy Line,
Pag. [...].
Was Hero's make, half humane, half Divine.
Smith.

Certainly theſe Hero's, half Humane, half Divine, have very little of the Mouſe their Mother.

Bayes.

Gadſokers! Mr. Johnſon, does your [...]riend think I mean nothing but a Mouſe by all [6] this? I tell thee, Man, I mean a Church, and theſe young Gentlemen her Sons, ſignifie Prieſts, Mar⯑tyrs and Confeſſors, that were hang'd in Oats's Plot. There's an excellent Latin Sentence, which I had a mind to bring in Sanguis Martyrum ſemen Eccle⯑ſiae, and I think I have not wrong'd it in the Tranſlation.

Of theſe a ſlaughter'd Army lay in Blood,
Pag. 2.
Whoſe ſanguine Seed encreas'd the ſacred Brood;
She multiply'd by theſe, now rang'd alone,
Pag. 3.
And wander'd in the Kingdoms once her own.
Smith.

Was She alone when the ſacred Brood wa [...] encreaſed?

Bayes.

Why thy Head's running on the Mouſ [...] again; but I hope a Church may be alone, tho [...] the Members be encreaſed, mayn't it?

Johnſ.

Certainly, Mr. Bayes, a Church which i [...] a diffuſive Body of Men, can much leſs be ſaid to be alone.

Bayes.

But are you really of that Opinion? Take it from me, Mr. Johnſon, you are wrong; how⯑ever to oblige you, I'll clap in ſome Simile or other, about the Children of Iſrael, and it ſhall do.

Smith.

Will you pardon me one Word more, Mr. Bayes? What could the Mouſe (for I ſuppoſe you mean her now) do more than range in the Kingdoms, when they were her own?

Bayes.

Do! Why She reign'd; had a Diadem, Scepter and Ball, till they depos'd her.

Smith.

Now her Sons are ſo encreas'd, She may try t'other pull for't.

Bayes.

I'gad, and ſo She may before I have don [...] with Her; it has coſt me ſome pains to clear He [...] Title. Well, but Mum for that, Mr. Smith.

The Common Hunt, She timorouſly paſt by,
Pag. 5.
For they made tame, diſdain'd Her Company;
[7] They grin'd, She in a Fright tript o'er the Green,
For She was lov'd, where-ever She was ſeen.
Johnſ.

Well ſaid little Bayes, I'faith the Critick muſt have a great deal of leiſure, that attacks thoſe Verſes.

Bayes.

I'gad, I'll warrant him, whoe'er he i [...], [...]ffendet ſolido; but I go on.

‘The Independent Beaſt.Pag. 3.—’
Smith.

Who is that, Mr. Bayes?

Bayes.

Why a Bear: Pox, is not that obvious enough? ‘—In Groans Her hate expreſt.’ Which, I'gad, is very natural to that Animal. Well! there's for the Independent: Now the Qua⯑ker; what do you think I call him?

Smith.

Why, A Bull, for ought I know.

Bayes.

A Bull! O Lord! A Bull! No, no, a Hare, a quaking Hare.—Armarillis, becauſe She wears Armour, 'tis the ſame Figure; and I am [...]roud to ſay it, Mr. Johnſon, no Man knows how [...]o pun in Heroics but my ſelf. Well, you ſhall [...]ear.

She thought, and reaſon good, the quaking Hare
Her cruel Foe, becauſe She would not ſwear,
Pag. 3.
And had profeſs'd Neutrality.
Johnſ.

A ſhrewd Reaſon that, Mr. Bayes; but what Wars were there?

Bayes.

Wars! why there had been bloody Wars, [...]ho' they were pretty well reconcil'd now. Yet to [...]ing in two or three ſuch fine things as theſe, I [...]o'nt tell you the Lyon's Peace was proclaim'd till [...]fty Pages after, tho' 'twas really done before I [...]ad finiſh'd my Poem.

Next Her, the Buffoon Ape his Body bent,
Pag 3.
And paid at Church a Courtier's Complement.

[8]That Gauls ſomewhere; I'gad I can't leave▪ off, tho' I were cudgel'd every Day for it.

Pag. 4. The briſl'd Baptiſt Boar, impure as he.

Smith.

As who?

Bayes.

As the Courtier, let 'em e'en take it a [...] they will, I'gad, I ſeldom come amongſt 'em.

Pag. 10.
Was whiten'd with the Foam of Sanctity.
The Wolf with Belly-gaunt his rough Creſt rears,

And pricks up.—Now, in one Word, will abuſe the whole Party moſt damnably—an [...] pricks up.—I'gad, I am ſure you'll laugh—his predeſtinating Ears. Prethee, Mr. Johnſo [...] remember little Bayes, when next you ſee a Presby⯑terian, and take notice if he has not Predeſtinatio [...] in the Shape of his Ear: I have ſtudied Men [...] long. I'll undertake to know an Arminian, [...] the ſetting of his Wig.

His predeſtinating Ears. I'gad, there's ne'er Presbyterian ſhall dare to ſhow his Head without Border: I'll put 'em to that Expence.

Smith.

Pray, Mr. Bayes, if any of 'em ſhou [...] come over to the Royal Party, would their E [...] alter?

Bayes.

Would they? Ay, I'gad, they would ſh [...] their Fanatical Lugs, and have juſt ſuch we [...] turn'd Ears as I have; mind this Ear, this is a tr [...] Roman Ear, mine are much chang'd for the bett [...] within this two Years.

Smith.

Then if ever the Party ſhould chance fail, you might loſe 'em, for what may change, m [...] fall.

Bayes.

Mind, mind—

‘Pag. 11.Theſe fiery Zuinglius, meagre Calvin bred.’
Smith.

Thoſe, I ſuppoſe, are ſome Out-Lan [...] ⯑iſh Beaſts, Mr. Bayes?

Bayes.

Beaſts; a good Miſtake! Why they w [...] the chief Reformers, but here I put 'em in ſo b [...] Company becauſe they were Enemies to my Mo [...] [9] and anon when I am warm'd, I'gad you ſhall hear me call 'em Doctors, Captains, Pag. 39. Horſes and Horſe⯑men in the very ſame Breath. You ſhall hear how I go on now.

Or elſe reforming Corah ſpawn'd this Claſs,
When opening Earth made way for all to paſs.
Pag. 11.
Johnſ.

For all, Mr. Bayes?

Bayes.

Yes, They were all loſt there, but ſome of 'em wre thrown up again at the Leman-Lake: As a Catholick Queen ſunk at Charing-Croſs, and [...]oſe again at Queenhithe.

The Fox and he came ſhuffled in the dark,
Pag. 11.
If ever they were ſtow'd in Noah's Ark.

Here I put a Quaere, Whether there were any So⯑ [...]inians before the Flood, which I'm not very well ſatisfied in? I have been lately apt to believe that [...]he World was drown'd for that Hereſy; which [...]mong Friends made me leave it.

Quickned with Fire below, theſe Monſters breed
In Fenny Holland, and in Fruitful Tweed.
Pag. 12

Now to write ſomething new and out of the way, [...]o elevate and ſurprize, and all that, I fetch, you ſee, this Quickning Fire from the Bottom of Bogs and Rivers.

Johnſ.

Why, Faith, that's as ingenious a Con⯑ [...]rivance as the Virtuoſo's making a Burning-Glaſs [...]f Ice?

Bayes.

Why was there ever any ſuch thing? Let [...]e periſh if ever I heard of it. The Fancy was [...]eer new to me; and I thought no Man had re⯑ [...]oncil'd thoſe Elements but my ſelf. Well Gen⯑ [...]lemen! Thus far I have followed Antiquity, and [...]s Homer has numbred his Ships, ſo I have rang'd [...]y Beaſts. Here is my Boar and my Bear, and [...]y Fox, and my Wolf, and the reſt of 'em all [10] againſt my poor Mouſe. Now what do you think I do with all theſe?

Smith.

Faith I don't know; I ſuppoſe you make 'em fight.

Bayes.

Fight! I'gad, I'd as ſoon make 'em Dance. No, I do no earthly thing with 'em, no⯑thing at all, I'gad: I think they have play'd their Parts ſufficiently already; I have walk'd 'em out, ſhow'd 'em to the Company, and rais'd your Ex⯑pectation. And now whilſt you hope to ſee 'em bated, and are dreaming of Blood and Battels, they ſculk off, and you hear no more of 'em.

Smith.

Why, Faith, Mr. Bayes, now you have been at ſuch Expence in ſetting forth their Chara⯑cters, it had been too much to have gone through with 'em.

Bayes.

I'gad ſo it had: And then I'll tell you another thing, 'tis not every one that reads a Poem through. And therefore I fill the firſt part with Flowers, Figures, fine Language, and all that and then I'gad ſink by degrees, till at laſt I write but little better than other People. And wherea [...] moſt Authors creep ſervilely after the Old Fellows and ſtrive to grow upon their Readers; I take another Courſe, I bring in all my Characters toge⯑ther, and let 'em ſee I could go on with 'em; bu [...] I'gad, I won't.

Johnſ.

Could go on with 'em, Mr. Bayes! there' [...] no Body doubts that; You have a moſt particula [...] Genius that way.

Bayes.

Oh! Dear Sir, You are mighty oblig⯑ing: But I muſt needs ſay at a Fable or an Emble [...] I think no Man comes near me, indeed I have ſtu⯑died it more than any Man. Did you ever tak [...] notice, Mr. Johnſon, of a little thing that has ta⯑ken mightily about Town, a Cat with a Top-knot?

Johnſ.

Faith, Sir, 'tis mighty pretty, I ſaw [...] at the Coffee-Houſe.

Bayes.
[11]

'Tis a Trifle hardly worth owning; I was t'other Day at Will's throwing out ſomething of [...]hat Nature; and I'gad, the hint was taken, and out came that Picture; indeed the poor Fellow was ſo civil to preſent me with a dozen of 'em for my Friends, I think I have one here in my Pocket; would you pleaſe to accept it, Mr. Johnſon?

Johnſ.

Really 'tis very ingenious.

Bayes.

Oh Lord! Nothing at all, I could deſign [...]wenty of 'em in an Hour, if I had but witty Fel⯑ [...]ows about me to draw 'em. I was proffer'd a Pen⯑ſion to go into Holland, and contrive their Em⯑blems. But hang 'em, they are dull Rogues, and would ſpoil my Invention. But come, Gentle⯑men, let us return to our Buſineſs, and here I'll give you a delicate Deſcription of a Man.

Smith.

But how does that come in?

Bayes.

Come in? very naturally. I was talking of a Wolf and that ſuppoſes a Wood, and then I clap an Epithet to't, and call it a Celtic Wood: Now when I was there, I could not help thinking of the French Perſecution, and I'gad from all theſe Thoughts I took occaſion to rail at the French King, and ſhow that he was not of the ſame

Make with other Men, which thus I prove.
The Divine Blackſmith in th' Abyſs of Light,
Pag. 15.
Yawning and lolling with a careleſs beat,
Struck out the mute Creation at a Heat.
But he work'd hard to Hammer out our Souls,
He blew the Bellows, and ſtir'd up the Coals;
Long time he thought and could not on a ſudden
Knead up with unskim'd Milk this Reas'ning Pud⯑ding:
P [...]ge 16.
Tender, and mild within its Bag it lay
Confeſſing ſtill the ſoftneſs of its Clay,
And kind as Milk-Maids on their Wedding-Day.
Till Pride of Empire, Luſt, and hot Deſire
Did over-boil him, like too great a Fire,
[12]And underſtanding grown, miſunderſtood,
Burn'd Him to th' Pot, and ſour'd his curdle [...] Blood.
Johnſ.

But ſure this is a little prophane, Mr. Baye [...]

Bayes.

Not at all: Do's not Virgil bring in hi [...] God Vulcan working at the Anvil?

Johnſ.

Ay, Sir, but never thought his Hand the fitteſt to make a Pudding.

Bayes.

Why do you imagine Him an Earthly dirty Blackſmith? 'Gad you make it prophane in⯑deed. I'll tell you there's as much difference be⯑twixt 'em, I'gad, as betwixt my Man and Milton' [...] But now, Gentlemen, the Plot thickens, he [...] comes my t'other Mouſe, the City Mouſe.

Page 19.
A ſpotted Mouſe, the prettieſt next the White,
Ah! were her Spots waſh'd out, as pretty quite,
[...]ag. 23. Pag. 22.
With Phylacteries on her Forehead ſpread,
Crozi [...]r in Hand, and Mitre on her Head.
Pag. 84.
Three Steeples Argent on her Sable Shield,
Liv'd in the City, and diſd [...]in'd the Field.
Johnſ.

This is a glorious Mouſe indeed! but, a [...] you have dreſs'd her, we don't know whether ſ [...] be J [...]w, Papiſt or Proteſtant.

Bayes.

Let me embrace you, Mr. Johnſon, fo [...] that▪ you take it right. She is a meer Babel [...] Religions, and therefore ſhe's a ſpotted Mouſe her [...] and will be a Mule preſently. But to go on.

‘This Princeſs—’
Smith.

What Princeſs, Mr. Bayes?

Bayes.

Why this Mouſe, for I forgot to tell yo [...] an Old Lyon made a Left Hand Marriage with h [...] Mother,Pag. 20. and begot on her Body Elizabeth Schiſ [...] who was married to Timothy Sacriledg, and ha [...] Iſſue Graceleſs Hereſy. Who all give the ſa [...] Coat with their Mother, Three Steeples Argent, [...] I told you before.

[13]
This Princeſs tho' eſtrang'd from what was beſt,
Was leaſt Deform'd, becauſe Reform'd the leaſt.
Pag. 23.
There's De and Re as good I'gad as ever was.
She in a Maſquerade of Mirth and Love,
Pag. 22.
Miſtook the Bliſs of Heaven for Bacchinals above,
And grub'd the Thorns beneath our tender Feet,
To make the Paths of Paradiſe more ſweet.

There's a Jolly Mouſe for you, let me ſee any Body [...]lſe that can ſhew you ſuch another. Here now [...]ave I one damnable ſevere reflecting Line, but I [...]ant a Rhime to it, can you help me, Mr. Johnſon.

She—
Humbly content to be deſpis'd at Home,
Johnſ.

Which is too narrow Infamy for ſome.

Bayes.

Sir, I thank you, now I can go on with it.

Whoſe Merits are diffus'd from Pole to Pole,
Pag. 63.
Where Winds can carry, and where Waves can rowl.
Johnſ.

But does not this reflect upon ſome of our Friends, Mr. Bayes?

Bayes.

'Tis no matter for that, let me alone to [...]ring my ſelf off. I'll tell you, lately I writ a [...]amn'd Libel on a whole Party, ſheer Point and [...]atyr all through, I'gad: Call'd 'em Rogues, Dogs, [...]nd all the Names I could think of, but with an [...]xceeding deal of Wit; that I muſt needs ſay. [...]ow it happen'd before I could finiſh this Piece, [...]e Scheme of Affairs was altered, and thoſe Peo⯑ [...]le were no longer Beaſts: Here was a Plunge [...]ow: Should I loſe my Labour, or Libel my [...]riend? [...]Tis not every Body's Talent to find a [...]alvo for this: But what do I but write a ſmooth [...]elicate Preface, wherein I tell them that the Satyr [...]as not intended to them, and this did the Buſineſs.

Smith.

But if it was not intended to them againſt [...]hom it was writ, certainly it had no meaning [...] all.

Bayes.
[14]

Poh! There's the Trick on't. Poor Fool [...] they took it, and were ſatisfied: And yet it maul' [...] 'em damnably, I'gad.

Smith.

Why Faith, Mr. Bayes, there's this ver [...] Contrivance in the Preface to Dear Joys Jeſts.

Bayes.

What a Devil, do you think that l' ſteal from ſuch an Author? Or ever read it?

Smith.

I can't tell, but you ſometimes read a bad, I have heard you quote Reynard the Fox.

Bayes.

Why there's it now; take it from me Mr. Smith, there is as good Morality, and as ſoun [...] Precepts, in the Delectable Hiſtory of Reynard [...] Fox, as in any Book I know, except Seneca. Pra [...] tell me where in any other Author could I hav [...] found ſo pretty a Name for a Wolf as Iſgrim? B [...] prithee, Mr. Smith, give me no more trouble, an [...] let me go on with my Mouſe.

Pag. 29.
One Evening, when ſhe went away from Court,
Levee's and Couchee's paſt without reſort.

There's Court Language for you; nothing gives Verſe ſo fine a turn as an Air of good Breeding.

Smith.

But methinks the Levee's and Couchee of a Mouſe are too great, eſpecially when ſhe walking from Court to the cooler Shades.

Bayes.

I'gad, now have you forgot what I tol [...] you that ſhe was a Princeſs. But pray mind; he [...] the two Mice meet.

Pag. 16.
She met the Country Mouſe, whoſe fearful Face
Beheld from far the common watering Place,
Nor durſt approach—
Smith.

Methinks, Mr. Bayes, this Mouſe ſtrangely alter'd, ſince ſhe fear'd no Danger.

Bayes.

Godſokers! Why no more ſhe does n [...] yet fear either Man or Beaſt: But, poor Creatur [...] ſhe's afraid of the Water, for ſhe could not ſwi [...] as you ſee by this.

[15]
Nor durſt approach, till with an awful Roar.
Pag. 30.
The Soveraign Lyon bad her fear no more.

[...]ut beſides, 'tis above thirty Pages off that I told [...]u ſhe fear'd no Danger; and I'gad if you will [...]ve no Variation of the Character, you muſt have [...]e ſame thing over and over again; 'tis the Beauty [...] Writing to ſtrike you ſtill with ſomething new. Wee, but to proceed.

But when ſhe had this ſweeteſt Mouſe in view,
Pag. 30.
Good Lord, how ſhe admir'd her Heavenly Hiew!

[...]ere now to ſhow you I am Maſter of all Stiles, I [...] my ſelf down from the Majeſty of Virgil, to the [...]weetneſs of Ovid. ‘Good Lord, how ſhe admir'd her Heavenly Hiew!’ What more eaſie and familiar! I writ this Line for [...]e Ladies: The little Rogues weill be ſo fond of [...]e to find I can yet be ſo tender. I hate ſuch a [...]ough unhewen Fellow as Milton, that a Man [...]uſt ſweat to read Him; I'gad, you may run over [...]is and be almoſt aſleep.

Th' Immortal Mouſe who ſaw the Viceroy come
So far to ſee Her, did invite her Home.

There's a pretty Name now for the Spotted Mouſe, [...]e Viceroy!

Smith.

But pray why d'e call her ſo?

Bayes.

Why! Becauſe it ſounds prettily:Pag. 55. I'll [...]all her the Crown-General preſently if I've a mind [...]o it. Well.

—did invite her Home
To ſmoak a Pipe, and o'er a ſober Pot
Diſcourſe of Oates and Bedloe, and the Plot.
Pag. 31.
She made a Court'ſy, like a Civil Dame,
And, being much a Gentlewoman, came.
Pag. 32.

Well, Gentlemen, here's my firſt part finiſh'd, and [...] think I have kept my Word with you, and given [...] the Majeſtick turn of Heroick Poeſy. The reſt being matter of Diſpute, I had not ſuch frequent oc⯑ [...]aſion for the Magnificence of Verſe, tho' I'gad they [16] ſpeak very well. And I have heard Men, and con⯑ſiderable Men too, talk the very ſame things, a great deal worſe.

Johnſ.

Nay, without doubt, Mr. Bayes, they have received no ſmall advantage from the ſmooth⯑neſs of your Numbers.

Bayes.

Ay, ay, I can do't, if I liſt: though you muſt not think I have been ſo dull as to mind theſ [...] things my ſelf, but 'tis the advantage of our Coffee houſe, that from their Talk one may write a ver [...] good Polemical Diſcourſe, without ever troublin [...] one's Head with the Books of Controverſie. For can take the ſlighteſt of their Arguments, and cl [...] 'em pertly into four Verſes, which ſhall ſtare an [...] London Divine in the Face. Indeed your knou [...] Reaſonings with a long Train of Majors and M [...] ⯑nors, and the Devil and all, are too barbarous f [...] my Stile; but I'gad, I can flouriſh better with on [...] of theſe twinkling Arguments, than the beſt of 'e [...] can fight with t'other. But we return to our Mouſ [...] and now I've brought 'em together, let 'em 'e [...] ſpeak for themſelves, which they will do extream⯑ly well, or I'm miſtaken: And pray obſerve, Gen⯑tlemen, if in one you don't find all the Delicacy [...] a luxurious City-Mouſe, and in the other all th [...] plain Simplicity of a ſober ſerious Matron.

Dame,
Pag. 32.
ſaid the Lady of the Spotted Muff,
Methinks your Tiff is ſour, your Cates meer ſtuf [...]

There, did not I tell you ſhe'd be nice?

Your Pipe's ſo foul, that I diſdain to ſmoak;
And the Weed worſe than e'er Tom. I—s took.
Smith.

I did not hear ſhe had a Spotted Muff be⯑fore.

Bayes.

Why no more ſhe has not now: but ſ [...] has a Skin that might make a Spotted Muff. There a pretty Figure now unknown to the Ancients.

[17]
Leave, leave (
Poeta Loquitur.
ſhe's earneſt you ſee) this hoary Shed and lonely Hills.
And eat with me at Groleau's, ſmoak at Will's.
What Wretch would nibble on a Hanging-ſhelf,
When at Pontack's he may Regale himſelf?
Or to the Houſe of cleanly Reniſh go;
Or that at Charing-Croſs, or that in Channel-Row?

Do you mark me now? I would by this repre⯑ſent the Vanity of a Town-Fop, who pretends to be acquainted at all thoſe good Houſes, though perhaps he ne'er was in 'em. But heark! ſhe goes on.

Come, at a Crown a Head our ſelves we'll treat,
Champain our Liquor, and Ragouſts our Meat.
Then hand in hand we'll go to Court, dear Cuz,
To viſit Biſhop Martin, and King Buz.
With Evening Wheels we'll drive about the Park,
Finiſh at Locket's, and reel home [...]'th' Dark.
Break clattering Windows, and demoliſh Doors
Of Engliſh Manufactures—Pimps, and Whores.
Pag. 63.
Johnſ.

Methinks a Pimp or a Whore, is an odd ſort of a Manufacture, Mr. Bayes.

Bayes.

I call 'em ſo, to give the Parliament a hint not to ſuffer ſo many of 'em to be exported, to the decay of Trade at home.

With theſe Allurements Spotted did invite
From Hermits Cell, the Female Proſelyte.
Oh! with what eaſe we follow ſuch a Guide,
Where Souls are ſtarv'd, and Senſes gratifi'd.

Now would not you think ſhe's going? But I'gad, you're miſtaken; you ſhall hear a long Argument [...]bout Infallibility, before ſhe ſtirs yet.

[18]
Page 69.
But here the White, by Obſervation wiſe ▪
Who long on Heaven had fixt her prying Eyes.
With thoughtful Countenance, and grave Remark,
Said, or my Judgment fails me, or 'tis dark.
Leſt therefore we ſhould ſtray, and not go right,
Through the brown horrour of the Starleſs Night,
Pag. 37.
Haſt thou Infallibility, that Wight?
Sternly the Savage grin'd, and thus reply'd:
That Mice may err, was never yet deny'd.
That I deny, ſaid the Immortal Dame,
Pag. 37.
There is a Guide—Gad, I've forgot his Name.
Who lives in Heaven or Rome, the Lord know [...] where,
Spotted Mouſe Lo⯑quitur.
Had we but him, Sweet-heart, we could not err.
But heark you, Siſter, this is but a Whim;
For ſtill we want a Guide to find out Him.

Here you ſee I don't trouble my ſelf to keep on the Narration, but write white Speak [...] or dappl [...] Speaks by the ſide. But when I get any nobl [...] Thought which I envy a Mouſe ſhould ſay, I clap it down in my own Perſon with a Po [...]ta Loquitur;Page 69▪ which, take notice, is a ſurer ſign of a fi [...]e thing in my Writings, than a Hand in the Magent any⯑where elſe. Well, now ſays White,

What need we find Him, we have certain proof
That he is ſomewhere, Dame, and that's enough:
For if there is a Guide that knows the way,
Although we know not him, we cannot ſtray.

That's true, I'gad: Well ſaid White. You ſe [...] her Adverſary has nothing to ſay for her ſelf, and therefore to confirm the Victory, ſhe ſhall make [...] Simile.

Smith.

Why then I find Similes are as good after Victory, as after a Surprize.

Bayes.
[19]

Every Jot, I'gad, or rather better. Well, ſhe can do it two ways,Pag. 37. either about Emiſſion or Reception of Light, or elſe about Epſom-waters, but I think the laſt is moſt familiar; therefore ſpeak, my pretty one.

As though 'tis controverted in the School,
If Waters paſs by Urine or by Stool.
Shall we who are Philoſophers, thence gather
From this Diſſention that they work by neither.

And I'gad, ſhe's in the right on't; but mind now, ſhe comes upon her ſwop!

‘All this I did, your Arguments to try.’

And I'gad, if they had been never ſo good, this next Line confutes 'em.

‘Hear, and be dumb, thou Wretch,Pag. 54. that Guide am I.’

There's a Surprize for you now! How ſneak⯑ingly t'other looks? Was not that pretty now, to make her ask for a Guide firſt, and then tell her ſhe was one? Who could have thought that this little Mouſe had the Pope and a whole General Council in her Belly? Now Dapple had nothing to ſay to this; and therefore you'll ſee ſhe grows peeviſh.

Come leave your Cracking Tricks, and as they ſay,
Uſe not, that Barber that trims time, delay
Which I'gad is new, and my own.
I've Eyes as well as you to find the way.
Pag. 101.
Then on they jogg'd, and ſince an Hour of Talk
Might cut a Banter on the tedious Walk;
[20]As I remember, ſaid the ſober Mouſe,
I've heard mu [...]h talk of the Wits Coffee Houſe.
Thither, ſays B [...]indle, thou ſhalt go, and ſe [...]
Prieſts ſipping Coffee, Sparks and Poets Tea;
Here rugged Freeze, there Quality well dreſt,
Theſe baffling the Grand-Seigniour; thoſe the Teſt.
And hear ſhrew'd Gueſſes made, and Reaſons given,
Pag. 111.
That humane Laws were never made in Heaven.
But above all, what ſhall oblige thy Sight,
And fill thy Eye-B [...]lls with a vaſt Delight;
Is the Poetic Judge of Sacred Wit,
Who do's i' th' Darkneſs of his Glory ſit.
Pag. 28.
And as the Moon who firſt receives the Light,
With which ſhe m [...]kes theſe neither R [...]gions bright;
So does he ſhine, refl [...]cting from afar,
The Rays he borrow'd from a better Star:
For Rules which from Corneille and Rapin flow,
Admir'd by all the ſcribling Herd below.
From French Tradition while he does diſpence,
Unerring Truths, 'tis Schiſm, a damn'd Offence,
To queſtion his, or truſt your private Senſe.

Hah! Is not that right, Mr. Johnſon? Gad for⯑give me he is faſt aſleep! Oh the damn'd Stupidity of this Age! aſl [...]ep! Well, Sir, Since you'r ſo drouſy, your humble Servant.

Johnſ

Nay, Pray Mr. Bayes, Faith I heard you all the while. The White Mouſe.

Bayes.

The White Mouſe! ay, ay, I thought how you heard me. Your Servant, Sir, your Servant.

Johnſ.

Nay, Dear Bayes, Faith I beg thy Par⯑don, I was up late laſt Night, Prithee lend me a little Snuff, and go on.

Bayes.
[21]

Go on! Pox, I don't know where I was, well I'll begin. Here, mind, now they are both come to Town.

But now at Peccadille they arrive,
And taking Coach, t'wards Temple Bar they drive;
But at St. Clement's Church, eat out the Back;
And ſlipping through the Palſgrave, bilkt poor Hack.

There's the Utile which ought to be in all Poe⯑try, Many a Young Templer will ſave his Shilling by this Stratagem of my Mice.

Smith

Why, will any Young Templer eat out [...]he Back of a Coach?

Bayes.

No, I'gad, but you'll grant it is mighty natural for a Mouſe.

Thence to the Devil, and ask'd if Chanticleer,
Of Clergy kind, or Counſellor Chough was there;
Pag. 133.
Or Mr. Dove, a Pigeon of Renown,
By his high Crop, and corny Gizzard known,
Pag. 126.
Or Siſter Partle [...], with the Hooded Head;
Pag. 130.
No, sir. She's hooted hence, ſaid Will, and fled.
Why ſo? Becauſe ſhe would not pray a-Bed.
Johnſ.
aſide.

'Sdeath! Who can keep awake at [...]uch Stuff? Pray, Mr. Bayes, lend me your Box [...]gain.

Bayes.

Mr. Johnſon, How d'e like that Box? [...]ray take notice of it, 'twas given me by a Per⯑ [...]n of Honour for looking over a Paper of Verſes; [...]nd indeed I put in all the Lines that were worth [...]ny thing in the whole Poem. Well, but where [...]ere we? Oh! Here they are, juſt going up [...]airs into the Apollo; from whence my White [...]kes occaſion to talk very well of Tradition.

[22]
Thus to the Place where Johnſon ſat we climb,
Learning on the ſame Rail that guided him▪
And whilſt we thus on equal Helps rely,
Our Wit muſt be as true, our Thoughts as high.
Pag. 45.
For as an Author happily compares
Tradition to a well-fixt pair of Stairs,
So this the Scala Sancta we believe,
By which his Traditive Genius we receive.
Thus every ſtep I take my Spirits ſoar,
And I grow more a Wit, and more, and more.

There's Humour! Is not that the livelieſt Imag [...] in the World of a Mouſe's going up a pair of Stairs More a Wit, and more and more?

Smith.

Mr. Bayes, I beg your Pardon heartily I muſt be rude, I have a particular Engagemen [...] at this time, and I ſee you are not near an en [...] yet.

Bayes.

Godſ [...]kers! Sure you won't ſerve me ſo All my fineſt Deſcriptions and beſt Diſcourſe is ye [...] to come.

Smith.

Troth, Sir, if 'twere not an Extraor⯑dinary concern I could not leave you.

Bayes.

Well; but you ſhall take a little more and here I'll paſs over two dainty Epiſodes of Swal⯑lows, Swifts, Chickens, and Buzzards.

Johnſ.

I know not why they ſhould come in except to make yours the longeſt Fable that eve [...] was told.

Bayes.

Why, the Excellence of a Fable is in th [...] Length of it. Aeſop indeed, like a Slave as h [...] was, made little, ſhort, ſimple Stories, with a dr [...] Moral at the end of 'em; and could not form an [...] Noble Deſign. But here I give you Fable upo [...] Fable; and after you are ſatisfied with Beaſts i [...] the firſt Courſe, ſerve you up a delicate Diſh o [...] Fowl for the ſecond; now I was at all this pains t [...] [23] [...]buſe one particular Perſon; for I'gad I'll tell you what a Trick he ſerv'd me. I was once tranſlating [...] very good French Author, Varillas; but being ſomething [...]ong about it, as you know a Man is not always in [...]he Humour; What does this Jack do, but puts out [...]n Anſwer to my Friend before I had half finiſhed [...]he Tranſlation: So there was three whole Months [...]oſt upon his Account. But, I think, I have my Revenge on him ſufficiently, for I let all the World [...]now, that he is a tall, broad back'd, luſty Fellow, Pag. 137. of a Brown Complexion, fair Behaviour, a Fluent [...]ongue, and taking amongſt the Women; and to [...]op it all, that he's much a Scholar, more a Wit, [...]nd owns but two Sacraments. Don't you think [...]his Fellow will hang himſelf? But beſides, I have [...]o nickt his Character in a Name as will make you [...]plit. I call him—I'gad I won't tell you unleſs remember what I ſaid of him.

Smith.

Why, that he was much a Scholar, and more a Wit —

Bayes.

Right; and his Name is Buzzard, Ha! ha! ha.

Johnſ.

Very proper indeed, Sir.

Bayes.

Nay, I have a farther fetch in it yet [...]han perhaps you imagine; for his true Name be⯑gins with a B, which makes me ſl [...]ly contrive him [...]his, to begin with the ſame Letter: There's a [...]retty Device, Mr. Johnſon; I learn'd it, I muſt [...]eeds confeſs, from that ingenious Sport, I love my Love with an A, becauſe ſhe's Amiable; and [...] you could but get a Knot of merry Fellows to⯑ [...]ether, you ſhould ſee how little Bayes would top [...]m all at it, I'gad.

Smith.

Well, but good Faith, Mr. Bayes, I [...]uſt leave you, I am half an hour paſt my time.

Bayes.

Well, I've done, I've done. Here are [...]ght hundred Verſes upon a rainy Night, and [...] Bird's-Neſt; and here's three hundred more, [24] Tranſlated from two Paris Gazettes, in which th [...] Spotted Mouſe gives an account of the Treaty [...] Peace between the Czars of Muſcovy, and th [...] Emperour, which is a piece of News. White do [...] not believe, and this is her Anſwer. I am reſolv [...] you ſhall hear it, for in it I have taken occaſion [...] prove Oral Tradition better than Scripture. No [...] you muſt know. 'tis ſincerely my Opinion, that [...] had been better for the World, if we ne'er had an [...] Bibles at all.

E'er that Gazette was printed, ſaid the White,
Our Robin told another Story quite;
This Oral Truth more ſafely I believ'd,
My Ears cannot, your Eyes may be deceiv'd.
By word of Mouth unerring Maxims flow,
And Preaching's beſt, if underſtood, or no.
Pag. [...].
Words I confeſs bound by, and trip ſo light,
We have not time to take a ſteady ſight;
Yet fleeting thus are plainer than when writ,
To long Examination they ſubmit.

Hard things—Mr. Smith., if theſe two Lin [...] don't recompence your ſtay, ne'er truſt John Bay [...] again.

Hard things at the friſt Bluſh are clear and full,
Pag. 15.
God mends on ſecond thoughts, but Man grows du [...]

I'gad, I judge all Men by my ſelf, 'tis ſo wi [...] me, I never ſtrove to be very exact in any thi [...] but I ſpoil'd it.

Smith.

But allowing your Character to be tru [...] is it not a little too ſevere?

Bayes.

'Tis no matter for that, theſe gene [...] Reflections are daring, and ſavour moſt of a No [...] Genius, that ſpares neither Friend nor Foe.

Johnſ.
[25]

Are you never afraid of a drubbing for that daring of your Noble Genius?

Bayes.

Afraid! Why, Lord, you make ſo much of a Beating, I'gad, 'tis no more to me than a Flea biting. No, no, if I can but be witty upon 'em, let 'em 'en lay on, I'faith, I'll ne'er baulk my Fancy to ſave my Carkaſs. Well, but we muſt diſpatch, Mr. Smith.

Thus did they merrily carouſe all day,
And like the gaudy Fly their Wings diſplay;
And ſip the Sweets, and bask in great Apollo's ray.

Well, there's an end of the Entertainment; and Mr. Smith, if your Affairs would have permitted, you would have heard the beſt Bill of Fare that ever was ſerv'd up in Heroicks: But here follows a Diſpute ſhall recommend it ſelf, I'll ſay nothing for it. For Dapple, who you muſt know was a Proteſtant, all this while truſts to her own Judg⯑ment, and fooliſhly diſlikes the Wine; upon which our Innocent does ſo run her down, that ſhe has not one word to ſay for her ſelf, but what I put in her Mouth; and I'gad, you may imagine they won't be very good ones, for ſhe has diſoblig'd me, like an Ingrate.

Sirrah, ſays Brindle, Thou haſt brought us Wine,
Sour to my Taſt, and to my Eyes unfine.
Says Will, all Gentlemen like it, ah! ſays White,
What is approv'd by them muſt needs be right.
Tis true, I thought it bad,
Page 38.
but if the Houſe
Commend it, I ſubmit, a private Mouſe.

Mind that, mind the Decorum and Defference, which our Mouſe pays to the Company.

[26]
Nor to their Catholic Conſent oppoſe
My erring Judgment, and reforming Noſe.

Ah! ah! there ſhe has nick't her, that's up to thee Hilts, I'gad, and you ſhall ſe [...] Dapple reſ [...]nts it.

Why, what a Devil ſhan't I truſt my Eyes?
Muſt I drink Stum bec [...]uſe the Raſcal lyes?
And palms upon [...] Catholic Conſent,
To give ſophiſticated Brewings vent.
[...] 5.
Says White, What ancient Evidence can ſway,
If you muſt Argue thus and not obey?
Drawers muſt be truſted, th [...]ough whoſe hands con⯑vey'd,
You take the Liquor, or you ſpoil the Trade.
For ſure thoſe Honeſt Fellows have no knack
Of pu [...]ting of [...] ſtum'd Clar [...]t for Pon [...]ack.
How long, alas! would the poor Vintner laſt,
If all that drink muſt judge, and every Gueſt
Be allowed to have an underſtanding [...]aſt?
Thus ſhe: Nor could the Panther well inlarge,
With weak defence againſt ſo ſtrong a Charge.

There I call her a Panther, becauſe ſhe' [...] ſpotted, which is ſuch a Blot to the Reformation, as I war⯑rant 'em they will never claw off, I'gad.

But with a weary Yawn th [...]t ſhew'd her Pride,
Said, Spotleſs was a Villain, and ſhe lyed.
White ſaw her canker'd Malice at that Word,
And ſaid her Prayers, and dr [...]w her Delphic Sword
T'other cry'd Murther, and her Rage reſtrain'd:
And thus her paſſive Character maintain'd.
But now alas!—

Mr. Johnſon, Pray mind me this; Mr. Smith [...] you to ſtay no longer, for this that follow [27] is ſo engaging; hear me but two Lines, I'gad, and go away afterwards if you can.

But now, alas, I grieve, I grieve to tell
What ſad Miſchance theſe pretty things befel
Theſe Birds of Beaſts.—

There's a tender Expreſſion, Birds of Beaſts: 'tis the greateſt Affront that you can put upon any Bird, to call it, Beaſt of a Bird:Pag. 129. and a Beaſt is ſo fond of being call'd a Bird, as you can't imagine.

Theſe Birds of Beaſts, theſe learned Reas'ning Mice,
Were ſeparated, baniſh'd in a trice.
Who would be learned for their ſakes, who wiſe?

Ay, who indeed? There's a Pathos, I'gad, Gen⯑ [...]lemen, if that won't move you, nothing will, I can aſſure you: But here's the ſad thing I was [...]fraid of.

The Conſtable alarm'd by this Noiſe,
Enter'd the Room, directed by the Voice,
And ſpeaking to the Watch, with Head aſide,
Pag. 135.
Said, Deſperate Cures muſt be to deſperate Ills apply'd.
Th [...]ſe Gentlemen, for ſo their Fate decrees,
Can n [...]'er enjoy at once the But and Peace.
Pag. 115. Pag. 144.
[...]hen [...]ach have ſeparate Intereſts of their own,
Two Mice are one too many for a Town.
By Schiſm they are torn; and therefore, Brother,
[...]ok you to one, and I'll ſecure the t'other.
[...]w whither Dapple did to Bridewell go,
O [...] in the Stocks all Night her Fingers blow,
Pag. 98.
Or in the Compter lay, concerns not us to know.
[...]ut the immortal Matron, ſpotleſs White,
[...]orgetting Dapple's Rudeneſs, Malice, Spight,
[...]ook'd kindly back, and wept, and ſaid, Good Night.
[28]
Pag. 145.
Ten thouſand Watchmen waited on this Mouſe,
With Bills, and Halberde, to her Country-Houſe.

This laſt Contrivance I had from a judicious Au⯑thor, that makes Ten thouſand Angels wait upon hi [...] Hind, and ſhe aſleep too, I'gad.—

Johnſ.

Come, let's ſee what we have to pay.

Bayes.

What a Pox, are you in ſuch haſt? Yo [...] han't told me how you like it.

Johnſ.

Oh, extreamly well. Here, Drawer.

FINIS.

15.

[]

THE EAGLE and the ROBIN. AN APOLOGUE. [...]ranſlated from the Original of Aeſop, written Two Thouſand Years ſince, and now rendred in familiar Verſe. By H. G. L. Mag. With an OLD CAT'S PROPHECY. [...]ken out of an Old Copy of Verſes, ſuppos'd to be writ by John Lidgate, a Monk of Bury.

LONDON. [...]nted and Sold by H. Hills, in Black-fryars near the Water-ſide. 1709.

THE PREFACE,

[3]

GOOD Precepts and true Gold are more va⯑luable for their Antiquity. And here I preſent my good Reader with One, deliver⯑ [...] by the firſt Founder of Mythology, Aeſop him⯑ [...]f. Maximus Planudes takes Notice of it, as a [...]ery excellent Part of his Production; and Phoe⯑ [...]us, Cameratius, and others, ſeem to agree, that [...]s Eagle, and five others not yet tranſlated, are [...]al to any of his that are handed down to us. [...]ho' Mr. Ogleby and Sir Roger L'Eſtrange had the [...]nhappineſs to be unacquainted with them, yet I [...]d the good Fortune to diſcover them by the re⯑ [...]oval of my old Library, which has made me a⯑ [...]ends for the Trouble of getting to where I now each. They were Written, or Dictated at leaſt, [...] Aeſop, in the fifty fourth Olympiad: And tho' I [...]ſigned them chiefly for the uſe of my School, (this [...]ing tranſlated by a Youth deſign'd for a Greek Pro⯑ [...]ſſor,) yet no Man is ſo Wiſe as not to need Inſtru⯑ [...]ion, ay, and by the way of Fable too; ſince the [...]doly Scriptures themſelves, the beſt Inſtructors, [...]ach us by way of Parable, Symbol, Image and [...]igure; and David was more moved with Nathan's —Thou art the Man. than all the moſt rigid [4] Lectures in the World would have done. Whoeve [...] will be at the Trouble of comparing this Verſ [...] with the Original, let them begin at the tenth Lin [...] and they will find it Metaphraſtically done, Verbu [...] verbo, as the beſt way of Juſtice to the Author.

Thoſe that are meer Adorers of [...] w [...] not be angry that it is in this ſort of Metre, ſ [...] which I gave leave, the Lad having a turn to th [...] ſort of Meaſure, which is Pleaſant and Agreeabl [...] tho' not Lofty. For my own part, I concur with m [...] Maſter Ariſtotle, that [...], are ve [...] far from being unneceſſary or unpleaſant.

May this be of uſe to thee, and it will pleaſe.

Thine in all good Wiſhes, Horat. Gran [...]

THE EAGLE and the ROBIN. A FABLE.

[5]
A Lady liv'd in former Days,
That well deſerv'd the utmoſt Praiſe;
For Greatneſs, Birth, and Juſtice fam'd,
[...]nd every Virtue cou'd be nam'd.
Which made her courſe of Life ſo even,
[...]hat ſhe's a Saint (if dead) in Heaven.
This Lady had a little Seat
[...]ſt like a Palace, 'twas ſo neat,
[...]om ought (but Goodneſs) her Retreat.
One Morning in her giving way,
[...]s was her Cuſtom ev'ry Day,
[...]o cheer the Poor, the Sick and Cold,
[...]r with Apparel, Fookd, or Gold,
[...]here came a gazing Stranger by,
[...]n whom ſhe quickly caſt an Eye.
The Man admiring, made a ſtand;
[...]e had a Bird upon his Hand:
What's that, ſays ſhe, that hangs it Head,
[...]nking and faint? 'Tis almoſt dead.
[...]adam, a Red-Breaſt that I found,
[...] this Wet Seaſon almoſt drown'd.
[...]h! bring him in, and keep him warm;
[...]obins do never any harm.
[6]They ſoon obey'd, and chopt him Meat,
Gave him whatever he wou'd Eat;
The Lady Care her ſelf did take,
And made a Neſt for Robin's ſake:
But he perkt up into her Chair,
In which he plenteouſly did fare,
Aſſuming quite another Air.
The Neighbours thought, when this they ſpy'd,
The World well mended on his ſide.
With well-tun'd Throat he whiſtl'd long,
And every body lik'd his Song;
At laſt, ſaid they, this little Thing
Will kill it ſelf, ſo long to ſing.
Well, Cloſet him among the reſt
Of thoſe my Lady loves the beſt;
They little thought, that ſaw him come,
That Robins were ſo quarrelſome:
The Door they open'd, in he pops,
And to the higheſt Perch he hops;
The party-colour'd Birds he choſe.
The Gold-Finches, and ſuch as thoſe;
With them he'd Peck, and Bill, and Feed,
And very well (at times) agreed:
Canary Birds were his Delight,
With them he'd Teſt a Teſt all Night;
But the brown Linnets went to pot,
He kill'd 'em all upon the ſpot.
The Servants were employ'd each Day,
Inſtead of Work, to part ſome Fray,
And wiſht the aukard Fellow curſt
That brought him to my Lady firſt.
At laſt they all reſolv'd upon't,
Some way to tell my Lady on't.
Mean while he'd had a noble Swing,
And rul'd juſt like the Galli [...] King;
Having kill'd or wounded all,
Unleſs the Eagle in the Hall;
[7]With whom he durſt but only Jar▪
He being the very Soul of War:
But hated him for his Deſert,
And bore him Malice at his Heart.
This Eagle was my Lady's Pride,
The Guardian Safety of her Side:
He often brought home Foreign Prey,
Which humbly at her Feet he lay.
For Colour, Pinions and Stature,
The faireſt Workmanſhip of Nature.
[...]Twou'd do one good to ſee him move,
[...]o full of Grandeur, Grace and Love:
He was indeed a Bird for Jove.
He ſoar'd aloft in Brucum's Field,
And thouſand Kites and Vultures kill'd;
Which made him Dear to all that flew,
(Unleſs to Robin and his Crew)
One Day poor Bob, puff'd up with Pride,
Thinking the Combat to abide,
A Gooſe-quill on for Weapon ty'd,
Knowing by Uſe, that, now and then,
A Sword leſs Hurt do's than a Pen.
As for Example—What at home
You've well contriv'd, to do at Rome,
A Pen blows up—before you come.
You are ſuppos'd to undermine
The Foe,—in ſome immenſe Deſign.
A Pen can bite you with a Line;
There's forty ways to give a Sign.
Well,—all on Fire away he ſtalk'd,
Till come to—where the Eagle walk'd.
Bob did not ſhill I ſhall I go,
Nor ſaid one word of Friend or Foe;
But flirting at him made a Blow,
As Game-Cocks with their Gauntlets do.
At which the Eagle gracefully
Caſt a diſdaining, ſparkling Eye;
As who ſhould ſay,—What's this, a Flie?
[8]But no Revenge at all did take,
He ſpar'd him for their Lady's ſake;
Who ponder'd theſe things in her Mind,
And took the Conduct of the Eagle kind.
Upon Reflection now—to ſhew
What harm the leaſt of things may do,
Mad Robin, with his curſed Flirt,
One of the Eagle's * Eyes had hurt;
Inflam'd it, made it red and ſore:
But the Affront inflam'd it more.
Oh! how the Family did tear,
To fire the Houſe could ſcarce forbear:
With Scorn (not Pain) the Eagle fir'd,
Murmur'd Diſdain, and ſo retir'd.
Robin, to offer ſome Relief,
In words like theſe would heal their Grief.
Shou'd th' Eagle die,—which Heav'n forbid,
We ought ſome other to provide.
I do not ſay that any now
Are fit, but in a Year or Two.
And ſhou'd this mighty Warrior fall,
They ſhou'd not want a General.
As Men have long obſerv'd, that one
Misfortune ſeldom comes alone;
Juſt in the Moment this was done,
Ten Thouſand Foes in ſight were come.
Vultures, and Kites, and Birds of Prey,
In Flocks ſo thick—they darken'd Day.
A long-concerted Force and ſtrong,
Vermin of all kinds made the Throng;
Foxes, were in the Faction join'd,
Who waited their Approach to ground.
By every Hand, from common Fame,
The frightful Face of Danger came.
One cries, What help now—who can tell?
I'm glad the Eagle's here, and well:
[9]Another, out of Breath with fear,
Says, Thouſands more near Sea appear;
They'll ſwop our Chickens from the Door.
We never were ſo ſet before:
We are glad the Eagle will forget,
And the Invaders kill or beat.
Reſerv'd and Great, his Noble Mind
Above all petty things inclin'd;
Abhor'd the Thoughts of any thing,
But what his Lady's Peace cou'd bring.
Who Bleſt him firſt, and bad him do,
As he was wont, and beat the Foe.
Burning and reſtleſs as the Sun,
Until this willing Work was done;
He whets his Talons, ſtretcht his Wings,
His Lightning, Darts, and Terror flings:
Tow'rs with a flight into the Sky,
Theſe Million Monſters to deſcry,
Prepar'd to Conquer, or to Dye.
The Party, that ſo far was come,
Thought not the Eagle was at home:
To Fame and Danger uſed in Field,
They knew he'd quickly made 'em yield:
But on Aſſurance he was near,
Incumber'd, Faint, and Dead with fear;
They made with Hurry towards the Lakes,
And he his Pinions o'er 'em ſhakes;
They had not (with ſuch Horrour fill'd)
The Courage to let one be kill'd:
They fled, and left no Foe behind,
Unleſs it were the fleeting Wind:
Only—a Man by Water took
Two fine young Merlins, and a Roo [...]
The Family had now Repoſe:
But with the Sun the Eagle roſe;
Th' Imperial Bird purſu'd the Foe,
More Toil than Reſt inur'd to know.
[10]He wing'd his Way to Latian Land,
Where firſt was hatch'd this murd'ring Band;
He darted Death where-e'er he came,
Some of 'em dying at his Name.
Their mighty Foe—a fatal Pledge,
Their Bowels tore thro' ev'ry Hedge:
They Flutter, Shriek, and Caw, and Hiſs;
Their Strength decays, and Fears increaſe:
But moſt the Chevaliers, the Geeſe.
So many ſlaughter'd Fowl there was,
Their Carkaſſes blockt up the Ways;
The reſt he drove, half ſpent, Pell-mell,
Quite to the Walls of Pontifell.
Robin at home, tho' mad to hear
He ſhould ſo Conquer every where,
Expoſtulated thus with Fear.
Ungrateful I, that ſo have ſtir'd
Againſt this Generous, Noble Bird,
Waſt thou not firſt by him preferr'd?
Let's leave him in his Gall to burn,
And back to Pontifell return.
There ſome to Chimney-Tops aſpire,
To Turrets ſome that cou'd fly higher;
Some 'bove a Hundred Miles were gone,
To Rooſt them at Byzantium.
Alas! in vain was their Pretence,
He broke thro' all their ſtrong Defence:
Down went their Fences, Wires and all;
Perches and Birds together fall.
None hop'd his Power to withſtand,
But gave the Neſt to his Command;
They told him of Ten Thouſand more,
In Flocks along the Ganges Shore:
Safe in their Furrows, free from Trouble,
Like Partridges among the Stubble▪
He ſpreads himſelf, and cuts the Air,
And ſteady Flight ſoon brought him there.
[11]Lord, how deceiv'd and vext he was!
To find they were but meer Jackdaws.
A Hundred Thouſand all in ſight,
They all could Chatter, not one Fight.
I'll deal by them as is their due:
Shough, cry'd the Eagle; off they flew.
His flaſhing Eyes their Hearts confounds,
Tho' by their flight ſecure from Wounds;
Which was a ſignal, fatal Baulk,
To a late ſwift Italian Hawk.
The Eagle wou'd no Reſt afford,
Till he had ſent my Lady word;
Who when ſhe heard the dear Surpriſe,
Wonder and Joy ſtood in her Eyes.
My Faithful Eagle, haſt thou then
My Mortal Foes deſtroy'd again?
Return, return, and on me wait;
Be thou the Guardian of my Gate;
Thee and thy Friends are worth my Care,
Thy Foes (if any ſuch there are)
Shall my avenging Anger ſhare.
So—leſt new Ills ſhou'd intervene,
She turn'd the Robin out again.
The Samians now in vaſt Delight,
Bleſs their good Lady Day and Night;
Wiſh that her Life might ne'er be done,
But Everlaſting as the Sun.
The Eagle high again did ſoar,
The Lady was diſturb'd no more,
But all things flouriſh'd as before.

Robin Red Breaſt, with the Beaſts.

[12]
ONE that had in her Infant State,
While playing at her Father's Gate,
Seen, and was moſt hugely ſmitten
With young Dog and dirty Kitten,
Had took them up and lug'd 'em in,
And made the Servants waſh 'em clean.
When ſhe to a fit Age was grown,
To be ſole Miſtreſs of her own,
Then to her Favour and ſtrange Truſt,
She rais'd theſe two; in rank the firſt
The Dog: who with gilt Collar grac'd,
Strutted about. The Cat was plac'd
O'er all the Houſe to domineer,
And kept each Wight of her in fear;
While he o'er all the Plains had pow'r.
That ſavage Wolves might not devour
Her Flocks. She gave him charge great Care
To take: But Beaſts uncertain are.
Now ſee by theſe what Troubles riſe
To thoſe who in their Choice unwiſe
Put truſt in ſuch; for he ſoon join'd
With Beaſts of Prey the Dog combin'd,
Who kill'd the Sheep, and tore the Hind:
While he would ſtand, and grin and bark,
Concealing thus his Dealings dark.
A Wolf, or ſo, ſometimes he'd take,
And then, O what a Noiſe he'd make!
But with wild Beaſts o'er-run yet are
The Plains: Some die for want of Fare,
[13]Or torn, or kill'd; the Shepherds find
Each day are loſt of ev'ry kind.
Thy ſilly Sheep lament in vain,
Of their hard Fate, not him complain▪
The Shepherds, and the Servants all,
Againſt the Traitor loudly baul:
But there was none that dar'd to tell
Their Lady what to them befel;
For Puſs, a Fox of wondrous Art,
Brought in to help, and take their part,
By whoſe Aſſiſtance to deceive,
She made her ev'ry Lye believe.
One lucky Day, when ſhe was walking
In her Woods, with Servants talking,
And ſtop'd to hear how very well
A Red-Breaſt ſung, then him to dwell
With her ſhe call'd: He came, and took
His place next to a Fav'rite Rook.
Where Robin ſoon began to ſing
Such Songs as made the Houſe to ring;
He ſung the Loſs and Death of Sheep,
In Notes that made the Lady weep:
How for his Charge the Dog unfit,
Took part with Foes, and Shepherds bit;
Ev'n from his Birth he did him trace,
And ſhew him Cur of ſhabby Race;
The firſt by wandring Beggars fed,
His Sire advanc'd, turn'd Spit for Bread;
Himſelf each truſt had ſtill abus'd;
To ſteal what he ſhould guard, was us'd
From Puppy: known where-e'er he came,
Both vile and baſe, and void of Shame.
The Cat he ſung that none could match
[...]or venom'd Spite, or cruel Scratch;
[12] [...][13] [...]
[14]That from a Witch transform'd ſhe came,
Who kitten'd three of equal Fame:
This firſt, one dead, of Tabby Fur
The third ſurvives, much Noiſe of her
Had been: A Cat well known, with eaſe
On Errands dark, o'er Land and Seas,
She'd Journeys take to Cub of Bear,
From theſe intriguing Beaſts, who ſwear
They'll bring him to defend the Wrong
That they have done. Again he ſung,
How Tabby once, in Moon-light Night,
Trotted with Letter Fox did write;
In which he ſends his beſt Reſpects
To the She-Bear, and thus directs:
"Madam, ſaid he, your Cub ſafe ſend,
"None ſhall his Worſhip ſoon offend;
"It's all I can at preſent do
"To ſerve him, as his Friends well know.
At this the Beaſts grew in ſuch Rage,
That none their Fury could aſſuage;
Nay, Puſs her Lady would have ſcratch'd,
And tore her Eyes, but ſhe was watch'd;
For ſhe'd ſet up her Back, and mew,
And thrice ev'n in her Face ſhe flew.
The Dog, like an ungrateful Spark,
At her would dare to ſnarl and bark.
Her Tenants wondring ſtood to hear
That ſhe their Inſolence would bear;
And offer'd their Aſſiſtance to
Soon make them better manners know:
But ſhe, to avoid all farther Rout;
Her Window opening, turn'd Bob out;
Hoping that then her Beaſts would live
In Peace, and no Diſturbance give.
Yet nothing ſhe can do avails,
Their Rage againſt her ſtill prevails▪
[15]Tho' Puſs was warn'd to fear their Fate
[...]n Lines (by old Prophetick Cat,
Writ before her Transformation,
When ſhe was in the Witch's Station)
Foretelling thus: "When Beaſts are grown
"To certain heights, before unknown
"Of Human Race, ſome ſhall aloud
"Inflame and arm a dreadful Croud,
"Who in vaſt Numbers ſhall advance,
"And to new Tunes ſhall make them dance:
"When this begins, no longer hope,
"For all remains is Ax and Rope.
But not deter'd by this they dar'd,
With ſome who of their Plunder ſhar'd,
T' affront their Lady, and conſpire
To many with her Money hire,
Contemning her, to pay undue
Regards unto this Beſtial Crew:
Tho' theſe reſembled Human Shapes,
They were indeed no more than Apes;
Who ſome in Houſe, and ſome in Wood,
And others in high Boxes ſtood,
That chatt'ring made ſuch noiſe and ſtir,
How all was due to Fox and Cur:
Till by their falſe deluding way,
She found her Flocks begin to ſtray.
Still Robin does for her his Care
And Zeal expreſs, on whom yet are
His thoughts all fix'd. On her he dreams
Each Night. Her Praiſes are his Themes
[...]n Songs all day. Now perch'd on Tree,
Finding himſelf ſecure and free,
He pertly ſhakes his little Wings;
[...]ets up his Throat: Again he ſings,
That ſhe had left no other way
[...]o ſave her Flocks, and end this Fray▪
[14] [...][15] [...]
[16]But ſoon to her Aſſiſtance take
One who could make theſe Monſters ſhake;
A well-known Huntſman who has Skill
The fierceſt Beaſts to tame or kill:
At her Command he'd come, and he
Would make her great, and ſet them free;
That ſhould theſe Beaſts ſome evil day
Bring Cub into her Grounds, ſhe may
Depend that not her ſelf they'll ſpare,
Since to inſult her now they dare:
All ſhe at beſt can hope for then,
Is to be ſafe ſhut up in Den;
Since by ſure ſigns all theſe Ingrate
Are known to bear her deadly Hate.
He ends his Song, and prays to Heaven,
That ſhe may have the Wiſdom given,
Before it be too late to take
Such Reſolutions, as may make
Her ſafe, and that theſe Beaſts no more
To ravage in the Plains have pow'r.
FINIS.

16.

[]

A HYMN TO PEACE.

[...]ccaſion'd, by the Two Houſes Joining in One Addreſs to the QUEEN.

BY THE Author of the True-born Engliſh-Man.

LONDON: Printed in the Year MDCCIX.

A HYMN TO PEACE.

[3]
HAIL Image, of th' Eternal Mind,
The only perfect Bleſſing of Mankind;
Thou Emblem of the Sacred Reſt,
And ſureſt Pledge, it ſhall be once poſſeſs'd;
Where e're thou dwelleſt, 'tis always Calm and Clear,
Bright like thy Glorious ſelf and Fair:
No Clouds thy Heavenly Climates know,
Thou find'ſt it all Serene, or mak'ſt it ſo.
If Nations thou, or Souls haſt once poſſeſs'd,
From all their Broils and Burthens they're releas'd,
All Human Happineſs attends on thee,
In Gaol thou ſets the Pris'ner Free,
[...]f thou Unlock'ſt the Fetters of the Mind,
[...] ſpight of Bars and Bolts 'tis unconfin'd.
[4]Tell us, bright Nymph, by what ſtrange Art,
Thou fan'ſt the heated Souls of Men Oppreſs'd;
Cool'ſt all the Fury of the Heart,
And guid'ſt the Mind to Light and Reſt?
Tell us, Great Interpoſing Something, how,
To thy Great Influence, all the Paſſions bow;
How thou deny'ſt the Guſt of ſweet Revenge,
Can'ſt all to Calms and Softneſs change?
In the leaſt Moment act thy part,
And lock up all the Lab'rinths of the Heart?
Fill'd with juſt Rage, the Furious Sp'rits take Arms,
When Injury and Power to hurt Combine,
What Mind can once reſiſt th' Unhappy Charms,
Where wiſh'd Revenge, with wiſh'd Occaſion join.
When the Exaſperated Paſſions rage,
And all the Man againſt himſelf Engage;
The mighty Tempeſts riſe within,
And ſtrong Convulſions, act the ſwelling Spleen.
When Fury leads him to the Fatal Brink,
Thou turn'ſt him round but once, and mak'ſt him think;
The Ungovern'd Wretch in Arms appears,
Againſt his Eyes, againſt his Ears;
Judges of nothing, Scorns his Sence,
Lampoons his Nature, Bullies Providence;
Headlong he ſeeks to give his Fury vent,
Burſting with Rage, and ſwell'd with Diſcontent.
Then thy ſoft ſhowers diſtill upon the Soul,
And all the Frenzy of the Mind controul;
Reduce the Wretch, by Rage and Paſſions blind,
To Exerciſe the Opticks of his Mind;
Thy balmy Dews, the raging Storms reſtrain,
And Cool the Fermentations of his Brain;
Aſſiſting Reaſon in her juſt Defence,
And Hand in Hand, Conduct him to his Senſe;
[5]Diſperſes all the Vapours that remain,
Brings him to act, and ſo reſtores the Man.
Touch'd with thy Scepters Golden point,
The Hypochondraick Poiſons loſe their Taint;
Th' Infecting Venome of inflam'd deſire,
Flows back, and of it ſelf puts out the Fire:
The Soul returns to Rectitude, and ſhows,
That Heaven within, from whence that Influence flows.
Bleſt Peace! May every Soul that knows thy Name,
[...]an thy juſt Fires and keep alive the Flame;
[...]o their due Homage, to thy Bleſſing pay,
[...]o baniſh Storms, and baniſh Crimes away.
Hail, Virgin Peace, thou Branch of Innocence,
How art thou ſunk in early Crimes of Men,
How hard to be reſtor'd again,
And only art obtain'd in Penitence.
Thou bright Effluvium, of the Heavenly Ray,
[...]reat Emanation, from Eternal Day;
The Guilty only from thee run,
Like Storms and Darkneſs from the Sun;
Darkneſs and Storms, with Guilty pace,
[...]ee from the Glorious Luſtre of thy Face,
And Hell it ſelf's Enrag'd to know,
[...]hy Abſence helps to make her ſo.
When Men by Pride, and wild Ambition led,
[...]or wild Ambition, oft diſtracts the Head;
Contend for Trifles, and make War,
To be leſs Happy than they are.
[...]hen thus againſt their Native Happineſs,
[...]hey Fight with Plenty, and fall out with Peace;
[...]ow ſoon does War, its vile Effects Explain,
[...]nd his own Miſeries inform the Man;
Damn'd to Repentance, and his Fate
Shows him his Follies, but too late.
[6]With Crowds of conſequential Harms Oppreſs'd,
He Learns the Sweetneſs of unvalu'd Reſt,
But Learns it at a price ſo Dear,
As makes his Early Follies ſoon appear:
Both ſides well Beaten, call for Peace,
And find too late their Happineſs.
Their Mutual Miſchiefs, Mutual Wits reſtore,
And ſhow them both, that both were Fools before;
Then, Godd [...]ſs, to thy Courts they ſue,
With Penitence, moſt likely to be true,
For none Repent, like thoſe that feel,
The Smart of doing Ill.
Bleſt Peace! when Heaven, for Crimes of Guil [...]y Me [...]
Commands thy Abſence, whether do Nations run!
Kindoms in Tumults, and Confuſions Dye,
And ſink in Undirected Anarchy.
Societies with Juſtice ceaſe,
For what's our Property, without our Peace?
Contentions all Proſperity invade,
Like two fixt Stocks, to one Eaſt-India Trade;
Both Languiſh, while they ſtrive and Fight,
And both Succeed, when they Unite.
Not Heaven it ſelf, could Strife of Parties bear,
The firſt Attempt Un-Angel'd Lucifer;
The mighty Seraph from his Glory fell,
And want of PEACE made up his Hell.
That was the Fire and Brimſtone of the Place,
No Thoughts can form a more Diſtracted Caſe▪
Not Devils feel worſe Puniſhment,
Nor Words more Terror repreſent.
Nature in no worſe Figure can appear,
'Tis more than Natures ſelf can bear;
Debate no more the Place of Woe,
'Tis Myſt'ry all, and beſt it ſhould be ſo.
[7] [...]l me no more of wild Philoſophy,
[...]ere weak aſpiring Nature ſoars too high;
[...]hich Handmaid Senſe, bewilders and Confounds,
With Reaſons ill adapted Tools:
Attempts to ſquare th' Extent of Souls,
Men mark Lands, by Butts and Bounds.
Wou'd the Great Be, and not to Be Divide,
[...]d all the Doubts of Entity decide;
[...]e mighty Maze of Wondrous Nothing Tread,
[...]d form the wild Ideas in his Head:
[...]ou'd fathom Chaos, Life and Sp'rit diſſect,
And all Superiour Light reject.
Scorn the mean Helps of Speculations,
[...]d bring down God himſelf to Demonſtrations.
The two Great Ends of Nature twine,
[...]d Generation to Corruption join;
[...]ſt up the Hours beyond the Death of Time,
[...]d make the Humane comprehend Sublime;
[...]lineate Heaven, the Hills of Glory ſhow,
[...]d all the Vales of Darkneſs ſtretch'd below:
[...]eſcribe the Depth of theſe, of thoſe the Height,
Give the Square-Root of Infinite;
Unlock the Chain of Cauſe and Conſequence,
Diſmiſs Almighty Providence;
[...]he Bounds of Bright Eternal Day deſcry,
[...]nd form a Mathematical Eternity.
'Tis all in Vain, too ſhort the Reach of Senſe,
Embrance the high Dimeſions of th' Immenſe:
No Rules can ſquare, what we call GOD,
[...]o Geography deſcribe the Dark abode.
Bow, mighty Reaſon, to thy Maker's Name,
For GOD and PEACE, are juſt the ſame;
Heaven is the Emanation of his Face,
[...]nd want of Peace, makes Hell in every place.
[8]Tell us, ye Men of Notion, tell us why,
You ſeek for Bliſs and wild Proſperity,
In Storms and Tempeſts, Feuds and War,
Is Happineſs to be expected there?
Tell us what ſort of Happineſs,
Can Men in want of Peace poſſeſs?
Bleſt Charm of Peace, how ſweet are all thoſe Ho [...]
We ſpend in thy Society!
Afflictios loſe their Acid Powers,
And turn to Joys when join'd to thee.
The Darkeſt Article of Life with Peace,
Is but the Gates of Happineſs;
Death in its blackeſt ſhapes can never fright,
Thou can'ſt ſee Day, beyond his Night;
The Smile of Peace, can Calm the Frown of Fate,
And, ſpight of Death, can Life Anticipate;
Nay, Hell it ſelf, could it admit of Peace,
Would change its Nature, and its Name would ce [...]
The Bright Transforming Bleſſing would Deſtroy
The Life of Death, and Damn the Place to Joy;
'The Metamorphoſis, would be ſo ſtrange,
Twould fright the Devils, and make them bleſs [...] Chan [...]
Or elſe the Brightneſs would be ſo intenſe,
They'd ſhun the Light, and fly from thence.
Let Heaven, that Unknown Happineſs,
Be what it will, 'tis beſt deſcrib'd by Peace.
No Storms without, or Storms within;
No Fear, no Danger there, becauſe no Sin.
'Tis bright Eſſential Happineſs,
Becauſe He dwells within, whoſe Name is PEAC [...]
Who would not Sacrifice for thee,
All that Men call Felicity!
Since Happineſs, is but an empty Name,
A Vapour without Heat or Flame;
[9]But what from thy Original derives,
And Dyes with thee by whom it Lives.
When Kingdoms to the Laws of Peace ſubmit,
What mighty Bleſſings crowd about her Seat!
Under the Miniſtry of Peace,
How ſoon will all a Nations Miſchiefs ceaſe!
How ſoon the Mighty Scepter in her Hand,
Scatters the Plagues and Sorrows of a Land!
From her bright Face how ſoon,
Will all Oppreſſions, and Injuſtice run!
The Plots and Parties of a State,
In her bright Book may quickly read their Fate;
Nations and Men, when to their Senſe reſtor'd,
Will ſet the Scepter up to Rule the Sword.
Even Hypocrites, to thee pay Sacrifice,
Borrow thy Name for their Diſguiſe;
By thee conceal the Seeds of Strife,
And Sanctify the Villanies of Life.
Thou art the great Pretence of War,
When Tyrants in thy Robes appear,
When Kings by Luſt of Rule, and Power miſled,
Pamper'd by Providence and over fed;
Fall out for Power to Oppreſs,
And then pretend 'tis all for PEACE.
Ambition, that Old Painted Whore of State,
That ſhe may look as Fair as Great;
Wears thy old Cloaths, and in that Gawdy Dreſs,
With Eaſe obtains the Name of Peace.
Cloath'd in thy Robes, how Fair ſhe looks and Bright,
And ſhines Deluſive Beams of borrow'd Light.
Makes guilded Injury appear,
With Charms of Right, and Sanctifies the War;
As Princes, when they weaker Powers Oppreſs,
Firſt give them Poverty, then call it Peace.
[10]War, Devaſtation, Violence, and Blood,
As guilty Men would have them underſtood;
All in their turn pretend to Peace,
And cry out Property, when they Oppreſs;
Chaſt Nymph, how is thy Name Prophan'd,
When Villains tack thee to their wild Deſigns;
Till the Unnatural End's obtain'd,
And time the mighty Fraud explains!
In ſtrong Alliance, ſee the World combin'd.
To Injury and Wrong enclin'd,
The Embattl'd Squadrons, ſpread the Field of War,
The plunder'd Towns in Flames appear;
The General Ruin like a Flood,
Condemns the ravag'd Plains, to Barrenneſs and Blood:
The Royal Firebrands o'th' World appear,
And plead the Conſcientious Cauſe of War,
Blaſt Nations with their wild Succeſs,
And ſtill pretend 'tis all for Peace.
In Eccleſiaſtick Quarrels 'tis the ſame,
Where Hierarchy's the thing, and Peace the Name;
Th' Enthuſiaſtick Errors mad Men broach,
All cry the Peace and Union of the Church.
The mighty Cheat's in ſtrong Deluſions dreſt,
And Peace becomes the Church's Jeſt;
The Holy Varniſh colours the Deceit,
And High-Church Projects work beneath the ſacred Cheat.
Thus all the Tyranny of Prieſts.
Cover'd with Clouds, and Eccleſiaſtick Miſts,
In zealous Masks for Conſcience ſake oppreſs,
And damn Mens Souls to purchaſe Peace.
If Reaſon prompts an injur [...]d Land,
To take their due Defence in hand;
If Nations fly to Nature's Laws,
Howe'er provok'd, or whatſoe'er the Cauſe:
[11]Wild Power dreſt up like Juſtice takes the Sword,
Oppreſſions the Deſign, and Peace the Word;
The Innocent, as for Rebellion, dye,
The double Mask deceives the Eye:
Nations deluded hunt an empty Name,
Abus'd by [...]uſtom, and debauch'd by Fame,
Nature's brought in a Rebel t' her own Laws,
And ſtoops [...]o wild Pretence inſtead of Cauſe.
Yet Peace is ſtill the ſame, the Chaſte, the Fair,
Her i [...]tive Beauties will appear:
[...]n ſpight of Clouds and Counterfeits, her Name
Breaks thro' the Cheat, and well ſecures her Fame;
Where-e'er her Balmy Couch is ſpread,
Where-e'er ſhe makes her Flow'ry Bed,
Plenty, her Handmaid, brings her Cluſters in
The grateful Tribute of the Vine:
C [...]res brings loaden Sheaves, and N [...]ptun [...] Fleets,
And Foreign Wealth, with Native meets:
Celeſtial Odours crown her Spicy Bed,
And Rays of Goodneſs ſhine about her Head.
Th' Obſequiours Seaſons at her Elbow ſtand,
And Streams of Fulneſs flow from either Hand.
Th' Enlivening Sun-beams join their chearful Aid,
And wanton Nature ſports beneath her Shade.
Bleſt Peace, the higheſt Treaſure Men poſſeſs,
How happy are the Nations thou wilt bleſs!
How doubly Curs'd, if that can be,
And blind to his own Happineſs, is he;
That courts eternal Feuds, and loves to Jar;
That ſucks in native Strife, and feeds on War;
That covets Storms, and ſeeks to live in Flames,
And ſhuns the guilded Streams;
The gentle Calms of thy Pacifick Sea,
Where all's Delight and Harmony!
[12]Next her, the very Image of her Face,
Her Siſter Union takes her Place;
Twin-births of Wiſdom, he the Son of Time,
Of Genealogy Sublime:
God like the Race, and of Inlightned Birth,
And rarely, very rarely found on Earth.
The genial Flame from Heaven impregnate ſtands
And all the Kinds of Happineſs commands;
No Song their Luſtre can reherſe.
When hand in hand they gild the Univerſe:
They make the meaneſt Actions ſhine,
And Humane Wiſdom ſeems Divine.
When ſtruggling with the Luſts and Pride of Men,
Peace ſtrives to bleſs a Land in vain;
But, cruſh'd with Clamour and Ungovern'd Rage,
She quits th' Embarraſs'd Stage:
When War prevails, that Frenzy of the Mind,
That General Lunacy of all Mankind;
When thus the Bloody Scenes are drawn,
And all Reſtraints are gone;
Reaſon and Juſtice quit the Stage,
And Senſe it ſelf ſubmits to Tyrant Rage;
Her Siſter Union turns the happy Scale,
'Tis whom ſhe pleaſes ſhall prevail;
She only can the Strife decide,
And byaſs Vict'ry to the Weakeſt Side.
Union is Natures ſtrong Cement,
The Life of Power, and Soul of Government:
Without it, all the World's a Mob;
Confuſion's Univerſal Monarch of the Globe;
Armies are Crowds of Lunaticks got looſe,
Whoſe Power for want of Reaſon's out of Uſe;
Meer Hoords of Tartars, Wild and Rude,
Diſſolv'd in Mother Multitude.
[13]Even Government it ſelf muſt Dye,
[...]n Wild Uncultivated Anarchy;
The Bond diſſolves, what ſhould the Parts retain?
When once the Union of the whole's Deſtroy'd;
The Engine's uſeleſs, all the Parts remain,
Like Native Chaos, Vaſt and Void.
[...]nion's, the mighty Guide of Humane Things,
The Bond of Nations, and the Power of Kings.
Crowns without thee ſit looſe, and Tottering ſhow,
To what ſtrange Influence they their Safety owe:
The High Precarious gilded Trifles ſtand,
[...]ubject to every Tumults Vile Command:
The dang'rous Precipice of Diſcord lies,
The Gulph of Princes, and of Monarchy's;
The Ill ſupported State of Humane Power,
Deſtroys it ſelf, and muſt it ſelf Devour.
[...]ion once broke, the Power Diſſolves of Courſe,
[...]nd Laws and Conſtitutions loſe their force.
Chaos Succeeds on either Hand,
None can Obey, and none Command;
[...]he Fate of Government muſt ſoon appear,
[...]bble will Govern here, or Tyrants there.
Bright Charming Siſters, whither are you Fled?
Where is your bright Pavilion ſpread?
[...]hat Halcyon Climates cloſe your bleſt Abodes?
[...] 'tis with Men, you make thoſe Men like Gods!
There be my Portion, with what-e're Miſchance,
[...]o Ills can Countervail the Difference,
[...]o Ills can reach the Mind, that Peace ſecures,
Unmov'd, he Fortunes Storms endures.
[...]nd Fortune's Storms they ſhall endure, that Place
In thy bleſs'd Smiles their Happineſs:
Peace, while eclips'd with Fear and Doubt,
[...]hey that have moſt within, have leaſt without.
[14]Of all thy bleſs'd admiting Train,
'Tis hard that I alone ſhould wiſh in Vain!
That I at Diſtance view thy Shade;
Am Lean with Expectation made!
When to the World thou mak'ſt a ſhort return,
Me only thou haſt ſeem'd to ſhun!
Me thou re-viſit'ſt not; but Storms of Men,
Voracious and unſatisfy'd as Death,
Spoil in their Hands, and Poiſon in the Breath,
With Rage of Devils hunt me down,
And to abate my Peace, deſtroy their own.
Aſſaſſins, Men of Fire and Blood,
And that worſt Murther, Slander and Reproach,
Ages of Time my Soul has ſtood
The bitter Blaſts and Rage of ſuch;
Untainted yet with Vice, at War with Crime,
My ſtrong Appeal's to Truth, to Heaven, and Ti [...]
Beſieg'd by Men of Cruelty and Law,
Who kill by Rules, and call it juſt,
Who Right with Cords of Int'reſt draw,
Till Juſtice is with Humane Rage oppreſt:
That bind the Hands from Induſtry,
Pinion the willing Wings, and bid Men fly.
Theſe, like the Huſſars on the Rhine,
Whoſe Plund'rings are Compaſſions all to mine;
Ravage the Villages, lay waſt the Land,
And ſtill their Contributions they Demand;
So firſt they rifle me the ſhorteſt Way,
And when they've ſtript me Naked, bid me Pay!
In all their Fury, Rage, and Heat,
My Morning Vows, even for them I make.
I neither ſeek not wiſh their Fate,
Within my ſelf, I find a ſafe Retreat;
And Peace, no Power of Hell can ſhake.
[15]In forty Gaols, this Halycon Beam will ſhine,
The Malice ſhall be theirs, the Peace be mine.
'Tis vain to Conquer me by Fear,
I ſcorn the baſeneſs of Deſpair;
Brought up in Teaching Sorrows—School,
In Peace and Patience, I poſſeſs my Soul;
Am Maſter of my mind,
And there the Heaven of Satisfaction find.
Let them ten thouſand barb'rous Methods try,
When they'll no longer let me live, I'll die;
Of all their Fury I ſhall have
An Unconteſted Conqueſt in the Grave.
Till then, bleſt Angel of Eternal Light,
Soft Peace, be thou the Day's Delight,
Be thou my Solace in the Night:
'Tis thou alone inſpir'ſt my Pen,
And calm'ſt my Soul, and keep'ſt it ſmooth within;
Witneſs the daily Tribute that I pay,
Witneſs this very Hymn to thee.
The noiſie World diſtracts my Head no more,
Than raging Billows ſhake the ſhore;
The Foam and Froth they leave behind,
Tell us there have been Waves and Wind.
But the eternal Bound remains the ſame,
Fixt by th' Eternal Voice, and like his Name:
Unmov'd, it all their Watry Rage defies,
And ſends them back to quarrel with the Air;
So I the Rage of Men deſpiſe,
Unmov'd by Deſperation, or by Fear.
Firm as the Rocks, in rowling Seas abide,
When Floods of Doubts, and Dangers paſs beſide:
When Griefs Aſſault me, or when Comfort flows,
I'm Undepreſs'd by theſe, Unrais'd by thoſe;
[16]Miſchance can find no Footing to begin,
I'm Calm without, becauſe I'm Clear within.
Enquiring Poet ſearch among the dead;
'Tis thither Peace and Union fled;
However Rivall'd here, they're ſure to have,
An uncontroul'd Dominion in the Grave,
There all the Parties will unite;
No more for Air and Shadows fight,
Enlighten'd by the Change of Scenes they ſee,
Through all our Politick Hypocriſie.
All the Religious Shams we make,
When we the Nations Peace, for trifles break;
Naked and bare Pretence [...] there are ſeen,
The empty Shams of Weak Wiſe Men.
No Miſts of State can cloud thoſe Skies,
Souls ſee without the Agency of Eyes:
Mediums and Hieroglyphick Nature ceaſe,
And all Men know what all will not poſſeſs.
The Vails of thin Mortality withdrawn,
A bright eternal Day begins to Dawn.
A different Face of things appears in View,
And all falſe glimmering Lights, give way to true▪
Actions of Men, howe're conceal'd, muſt there,
In all their Native Nudities appear.
There Hypocrites will freely ceaſe,
To watch for Blood, and cant of Peace.
Unhappy England! How from thee,
Do crowds of blinded Fools, go there to ſee;
That Wedded to their Follies, part from hence,
Under the ſtrong Invaſions of their Sence.
Hag-rid by party Prejudice,
And prompted to depend on Lies;
Are ſent to Graves and Darkneſs for their Eyes:
Cou'd they return from that Dark ſhore,
And talk of what they Acted here before,
[17] [...]hey'd be like Men, from Holland lately come,
[...]hey that go High Church Out, come Low Church Home!
There Corion's Picture, will at large be ſhown,
[...]ho ſwears by forty Gods, believes in none;
[...]nd all his Cants of Liberty and Church,
[...]etected by himſelf, himſelf Reproach.
[...]—ly Unmask'd there, in his Native Dreſs,
[...]oes what he is appear, not what he does Profeſs;
[...]here they the ſtrange Aenigma's underſtand,
That harraſs this divided Land.
muſt be as Ridiculous as Plain,
[...]nd Miſts of Parties interpoſe in Vain.
What L —ly means, when he pretends,
Firſt to diſown the Church that he defends?
And how he'd have that Meaning known,
When he defends the Church that he'll diſown.
Was ever Nation mock'd with Peace like this?
[...]eace both our Happineſs, and our Diſeaſe!
[...]ll Men the mighty Benefit pretend,
And thoſe that mock the Means, will bleſs the End.
[...]nhappy Engliſhmen! at laſt be wiſe,
No more your proper Happineſs deſpiſe;
No more be led by Knaves in Fools Diſguiſe▪
[...]ummon your Reaſon in to be your Guide,
Or let your Senſe the mighty Cauſe decide.
Can Perſecution bring forth Peace?
And Miſeries be tack'd to Happineſs?
[...]laſpheme no more the Light of common Sence,
Nor let your Actions claſh with Providence;
[...]or Conſequence will always Cauſe obey,
And guide the World, as Light directs the Eye.
Confuſions never fail to p [...]ague a Land,
Where wild Precipitations go before;
Nature and Providence go Hand in Hand,
And this perm [...]ts, what that does firſt procure.
Bleſt Article of Humane Good,
How wilt thou have thy Name be underſtood?
[18]Unmask the noiſie Clamours of the Age,
And ſhew thy dazling Face upon our Stage.
How would our Hypocrites avoid thy Face!
Purple and Scarlet quit the Place!
How void would be the Pulpit, Bench, and Bar,
Where all thy Mimicks now appear!
How would they bluſh, when thy bleſt Face they ſee,
Withdraw their awkward Pageantry;
Pay their juſt Debt to Guilt in Shame,
And give due Homage to thy Rev'rend Name!
In every Province of this Land,
Heaven ſtop in Mercy his Revenging Hand!
What Monſters thy Commiſſion bear!
In thy Defence and Name, what R——kes appear!
That act the Mountebank of State,
And mock the Name of Magiſtrate!
Cover the Bench with Frauds and Vice,
With boaſted Bribes, and Partialities.
See the Illiterate Wretch enrob'd with Power,
The poor Man's Property devour;
Debauch'd with Pride, and wiſe by Chance,
He boaſts of Gravity and Ignorance.
Eternal Violence adorns his Gate,
The Motto of the Barren Magiſtrate;
Yet when by Law he ſtudies to oppreſs,
He's call'd a Juſtice of the Peace.
Thee Momus, Patron of the half-taught Race,
To our Surprize, and thy Diſgrace;
What Rabble haſt thou cloath'd with Power and Law
To keep Inferiour K—s in Awe!
Exalting Fools to make the Nations Wiſe,
And hoodwink Juſtice with the vile Diſguiſe.
Momus makes Juſtices, and liſts the Band,
That ſhould reform the vicious Land;
And from the huge Bordelloes of the Nation,
Sets Humane Devils up for Reformation.
Were all the Rabble of his Magiſtrates,
Upn the Stage of Shame do take their Seats;
[19]Never was ſuch a Cavalcade of Sin,
So grave without, ſo black within▪
Never was Peace buffoon'd at ſuch a r [...]te,
Or Crime ſo courted by the Magiſtrate.
See, ſleepy Momus, ſee thy choſen Race,
Hell in the Heart, and Juſtice in the Face!
The Country's Scandal, and thy Shame,
Lewd in their Manners, Vile in Name.
In Aſpect Grave, and diſſolute in Life,
Correct the Husband, and debauch the Wife.
Never was Bench of Juſtice ſo ſupply'd,
And Peace by her own Sons defy'd!
With Beaus and Boys, with Bullies and Buffoons!
Juſt ſo the French reform by their Dragoons.
Momus in ſtrict Confed'racy with Crime,
Too plain his Project, and too long his Time;
With ſublimated Spleen, and Party-Strife,
Debauch'd in Politicks, but grave in Life,
The Bench, the Pulpit, and the Bar,
Supplies with High Church Sons of War:
The Party, not the Manners, he enquires,
And thus he kindles High Church Fires.
W—h now no more ſhall modeſt Men alarm,
Debauch'd by Cuſtom, when he thinks no harm;
Ancient in Vice, and Inn [...]cent in Crime,
And quite worn out with Sin and Time.
Be Hell born Ch—s now the Satyr's Mark.
That ſwears by Day-light, murthers in the dark;
Supplies his want of Vice by want of Wit,
[...]nd boaſts of Crimes he never could commit;
[...]hat Balances his old Accounts with Hell
With L—s that no [...] an but himſelf can tell;
[...]angier, the Guard [...], and thirty Years Debauch,
[...]ompleated him a Champion of the Church;
[...]ray for that Town, good People, whoſe Conſent,
[...]low'd his Vices, their's ſhould Repreſent,
[...]nd ſtrove to ſend the Wretch to Parliament▪
[20]Could ſtupid Momus find no Wretch but this,
To Bully Juſtice on a Bench of Peace.
Our harden'd Sinners are but Fools to him,
He lives up to the Dignity of Crime,
Bawdy and Blaſphemy ſupply his Tongue,
Hurry the vile Diſtemper'd Wretch along;
To Villainies of ſuch uncommon ſize,
Makes Nature bluſh, and fills Mens ſurprize.
And ſhould he thirty Years command the Peace,
Our Verſe ſecures him this one Happineſs;
The harden'd, ſelf-condemn'd, abandon'd Elf,
Shall never puniſh V—n like himſelf.
Such, Momus, is thy Chequer-work, and Art,
So haſt thou Spangl'd every part,
Such Prodigies of Crime poſſeſs,
The high deputed Government of Peace.
Momus himſelf can never Name,
Tho' Sleepy Momus does not know,
Whether he can or no,
In forty Juſtices, one Man of common Fame.
Some are ſo ſcandalous in Lives,
Their Hiſt'ry has no Negatives:
Here from the Bawdy-houſe, to th' Bench they go,
And Fine the W—s, they firſt made ſo.
There W—field Juſtices, at Seſſions meet,
Sit Drinking o're the Judgment Seat,
Till Country Squire gets too Drunk to pay,
Then Bilks the Houſe, and Quorum ſneaks away.
Theſe Momus, are thy bleſt Reforming Crew,
For whoſe Advancement all the Whigs withdrew;
And you with hard Mouth'd Wretches fill their Plac [...]
That Swear by Piſtol-Light to Faces,
That Forge and Bribe, and Perjure all Mankind,
To carry on the Miſchief they deſign'd.
Yet, Momus, all things anſwer not thy End,
In B—gate's part, the Devil was not thy Friend;
Satyr, muſt B—gate's Modeſty protect,
Who knew himſelf too drunk to act;
[21]He bluſh'd to execute the vaſt extent
Of Power, that Momus never bluſh'd to grant;
'Tis hard his Drink ſhou'd Sence refine,
But ſee the Modeſty of Wine;
B—gate, the firſt Converting Church Dragoon,
[...]irſt mounts his Horſe, to pull Diſſenters down;
See him into the Aſſembly Ride,
The Juſtice tell the Prieſt he Ly'd.
The Language like the Poſture very Wiſe,
[...]uſt as he acted Peace, in Grave Diſguiſe.
He knows his Name's too ſcandalous, to bear,
That Badge of Juſtice, which he ought to fear;
He can't Conform his Vicious Will,
[...]exert that Whip, he knows he ought to feel;
Some Men have Modeſty in Vice,
And he's a Fool indeed, that's never Wiſe.
But we'll no more the Catalogue Survey,
Momus himſelf, has led the way:
May the Black Liſt, of his infernal Troop,
Like him to wiſer Agents ſtoop.
The bluſhing Nation long has ſeem'd to wait,
When Guilt ſhou'd make him Abdicate;
That meaner Men of Juſtice, may take Place,
That have it more in Head, and leſs in Face.
Nor ſhall our Verſe, examine here the Liſts,
Of his exalted Modern-Prieſts;
How like the reſt in Morals and in Sence,
And how by ſadder Conſequence:
Religion Languiſhes, and Juſtice Dyes,
O're run with Vice, and Immoralities;
How ſacred Oracles decay,
And Vice pulls down the Church the ſhorteſt way.
Tell us no more of Crown and Church,
No more our Loyalty Reproach:
The Men of God pull down your Fabrick more,
Than all the Sons of Hell, that went before:
When Laws with Ignorance o're run,
And Juſtice Dyes, the State's undone;
[22]When ſacred Veſtments, ſacred Villains hide,
And Crime's by Habit ſanctify'd.
Religion Proſtitute the Text prophan'd,
Good God, how can we think the Church ſhou'd ſtand!
Theſe her Foundations undermine,
And then to hide the Vile Deſign;
The Innocent in Ruder Terms Reproach,
And cry the Danger of the Church!
Nor let our [...]harity be cenſur'd here,
Becauſe we Crowds o [...] Characters forbear.
The Bead Roll of whoſe Crimes would ſhow,
Too back for our Poſterity to know;
And are conceal'd in meer Compaſſion,
Not to themſel [...]es a one, but all the Nation;
That Foreign Countries may not ſee,
Our Eccleſiaſtick Nudity;
And it become a New Proverbial Jeſt,
To be as Wicked, as an Engliſh Prieſt.
And yet our Lines muſt to our ſelves be Juſt,
Some Crimes may not be told, but others muſt;
When Men cannot their own D [...]ſgrace with-hold,
What cannot be avoided, muſt be [...]old:
Bluſh, Readers, for a bleeding Nation's Fate,
When we the Name of A— [...] relate;
A modeſt Pen can hardly bear to write,
The Crimes he never bluſhes to commit.
'Tis hard when Men run up to ſuch a Height,
What Poets would conceal, themſelves will write.
Their Actions ſuch a Vein of Crime contain,
'Tis their own Satyr, and they're ſpar'd in vain.
And ſhould I this one Character forbear,
The Stones themſelves the horrid Facts would ſpeak,
How he with Hypocritick Pray'r,
His Peoples Sundays Bleſſing can prepare,
And damns them all the Week.
Cover'd with Sacred Robes, he's White and Clean
But, black with Slander, 's all debauch'd within;
[23]Yet, leſt the Church's Cauſe ſhould ſink,
He dares to tread on the Commandments Brink;
Uſurps upon the Keeper of the Fold,
And ſwears his Curacy's a good Freehold.
And yet this Wretch with horrid Front pretends,
To rank himſelf among the Church's Friends.
Scandal to all Religions! Were the Church
Once freed from that too juſt Reproach;
That ſhe does not ſuch Sons of Crime expel,
She'd ſtand in Spight of all the Gates of Hell.
Was ever Nation thus Buffoon'd,
By her own Teachers ſhe's Lampoon'd.
Ye Hypocrites! If you can underſtand,
Reform your Clergy, and your Church will ſtand.
Vice is the Church's Danger and Diſeaſe.
'Tis Crime alone deſtroys her Peace;
Tis Crime lets Error in, and Error Strife,
You'd ſoon reform her Doctrine in her Life.
[...]f you would then the Church's Fame reſtore,
Give her but Peace ſhe asks no more:
Peace would turn all her Men of Scandal out,
Tell me the Church that ever ſtood without!
Tis done! Heaven ſaid Amen, the mighty Blow
Was heard where Diſcord reigns below.
Th' Auguſt Aſſemblies Hand in Hand proclaim
Their Homage PEACE to thy Eternal Fame;
With Joynt Aſſent approach the Throne,
Such Thunder needs muſt ſtrike the Hydra down,
To think their High Allies had loſt the Day,
And muſt to hated PEACE give way.
Hell trembled when the weighty News came down,
It ſhook the Black Imperial Throne;
[...]t ſtruck the Fallen Seraph with Surprize,
He knew the Dying Party ne'er could riſe.
When to his Oracle their Crouds repair,
The beſt Advice he gives them is, Deſpair.
He ſpoke, and all hi [...] Party has obey'd.
[...]ome Trifling Hopes indeed their Fear delay'd;
[24]But when Britannia's Sons addreſs'd their Queen,
Deſpair, that Mark of Hell, was plainly ſeen;
Pale with the Anguiſh of their Minds,
Their Envy no Emiſſion finds;
But dumb with Rage, they view the Hated PEAC [...]
That fixes England's Happineſs
Pity their weaken'd Rage, and take ſome Care,
Watch 'em, Good People all, leſt in Deſpair
They obey the Dey'l, and hang themſelves for Fear
'Tis done! Bright PEACE has got the D [...]
The Miſts of Parties flee away.
The Dazling Beams of Heavenly Glory ſhine,
Immortal PEACE, the Victory's fairly thine.
Where are thoſe Sons of Belial, bring them down,
That grudg'd th' Angelick Saint her Crown
That boldly ſaid ſhe ſhould not Reign.
Satyr—produce them, let them all the ſlain.
Let all thoſe Sons of God and Men appear,
Who Levied firſt this High-Church War.
Let them the wondrous Declaration read,
That ſtruck their Hydra thro' his Hundredth Head.
Let them their Pulpit-Ecchoes contradict.
'Twas there they did juſt PEACE reject.
'Twas there that Noiſe of Nothing firſt they broac [...]
Their Country and their Queen reproach'd;
Frighted our Children wi [...]h the uncouth Cry
Of Danger to the Church and Monarchy.
Alarm'd the Nation, rouz'd Britannia's Sons,
Each Hero to the Place of Hazard runs;
But to their Joy ſurpriz'd no leſs,
They found 'twas all in perfect PEACE.
Safety and PEACE in thriving Poſture grow,
And none ſaw Danger here, but thoſe that wiſh'd i [...]
Let all thoſe Mountebanks of State
Receive for PEACE is to Death to them, their [...]
Let all the Healing Breezes of thy Air,
Stagnate their Hopes of Party-War.
[25]Let Men of Strife and Chagrin feel within
The ſtrong Convulſions of Expiring Sin.
The Nation felt it like a Man poſſeſt,
And ſtrong Exorciſms diſlodge the Dreadful Gueſt.
The Struggles of Departing Feud
Will make perhaps ſome Ravings in the Blood,
Which vented at the Tongue with Rage and Pain,
May cauſe long Speeches to be made in vain.
'Tis but the Pangs of their Departing Breath,
Are there no Thunders, Tremblings of the Earth,
Day-Stars, and Comets to preſage?
Horror oft ſtirs when Devils quit the Stage.
Al [...]'s vaniſh'd here, the Fiends withdrew,
Their Party-ſtruggles mean and few.
Some ſmall Vulcano's belch'd their Stench and Fire,
But 'twas en paſſant, f—t, and ſo expire.
Like Meteors in the Air that flie,
As ſoon as they're Inflam'd they die;
Or Guns, where ſoon as Air has Vent,
Juſt as the Noiſe is made, 'tis ſpent;
So had our Clamours at th' Approach of PEACE,
Juſt Life enough to hiſs, and then deceaſe.
They're Dead! The blazing Aſpect of thy Face,
Immortal PEACE, has clear'd the Place.
See daily how their Fugitives come in,
And Crouds of Captives bow before thy Queen;
The Leaders own the fair Defeat,
And all their Bubbl'd Votaries ſubmit;
Pride boils in ſome, and makes them ſcorn to yield,
But Shame has bid them quit the Field,
Submit to unexpected Fate,
And own their Party-Fortunes Deſperate;
Nor is this all, Misfortune's ne'er alone,
Now they're in Danger to be quite undone,
The Circumſtance is very Dark,
They cannot bite and muſt not bark;
Or if they do, 'tis Frenzy all, and Feud,
And is but laught at by the Multitude.
[26]Hard Fate of Madmen, that when they're in Pain,
No Men regard when they complain.
Thus Feud and Party-Strife ſuppreſs'd and dead,
Millions of Miſchiefs with them fled.
Envy with Teeming Proſpects ſwell'd, and big,
Does now the Grave of her own Off ſpring dig.
Abortive P [...]ojects daily come,
The Nauſeous Froth of her Miſcarrying Womb;
Like Monſters by their Parents Hands they die,
And PEACE does calmly all their Rage defie.
What wild Effort? What ſtrange delirious Dreams?
What undigeſted half-drawn Schemes?
What Inconſiſtent unſubſiſting Thought
Have they from unperforming Envy brought?
What Brainleſs unconcocted things proceed,
Th' Effects of Windmills in the Head?
What Engines without Form or Shape
The Great Machine of Government to ape?
What Shifts, what Shams, what artleſs Terms of State,
That haſten rather than prevent their Fate?
Have all our Men of Speeches try'd
Before their ſick'ning Party dy'd?
Was ever Head with Brain and Learning ſtor'd,
That did of old ſuch wondrous things afford?
At one half Turn ſo gravely mad!
So many mean Incongruous Nothings ſaid:
How weak are all Diſg [...]iſes to conceal,
That Folly which its own Defects reveal!
Nonſenſe infallibly affords
Something that cannot be conceal'd by Words.
And Inconſiſtence will in Spight of Rule,
If it conceals the K——e, betray the F————l.
Therefore to judge them Termagant and Mad,
Are the beſt Natur'd things that can be ſaid;
For he that can his Native Country curie,
If he is [...] Di [...]t [...]acted, muſt be worſe.
Soft Gentle PEACE, p [...]cu [...]iar to thee,
How [...] leſs, is thy Victory▪
[27]The Rebels that withſtand thy Law,
Are only bound from Harms, and kept in Awe.
Their Schemes indeed are baulk'd, their Projects ſlain,
Their Perſons all in Life remain,
Are ſafe in their Subjection to thy Name,
Only receive their Puniſhment in Shame.
Nor does the Gentle Conqu'ror only ſpare
Her Rebels, but thoſe Rebels taſte her Care;
Under he [...] Soft and Gentle Shade,
[...]he keeps them happy that her Realms Invade;
Prevents them only of that Harm
They'd do themſelves, and with her Gentle Charm
[...]he [...]ts them all her Subjects Bleſſings Share,
And learns them thus the Difference of Peace and War.
Victorious PEACE, how happy are thoſe Lands
Where willing Princes bow to thy Commands!
No Nations are by far ſo bleſt as they
That ſeek to ſtoop to thy Eternal Sway;
Thy Kingdom Form, and thy Commands obey.
Britannia, yet a Stranger to thy Fame,
How does ſhe Glory now ſhe knows thy Name.
[...] vain ſha [...]l War remoter Empires pierce,
And Men of Terror vex the Univerſe;
[...] thy bleſt Scepter Governs US at home,
Naio [...]s will here to pay thee Tribute come;
The Wealth of all the World will round thee flow,
[...]nd Empires to Britannia's Scepter bow.
Nations with Envy ſhall our Safety ſee,
While Britain's Glorious QUEEN ſhall rule by thee.

CONCLUSION. TO THE QUEEN

[28]
HAil, Queen of PEACE, the Nation's beſt Defen [...]
Terror of Crime, and Shade of Innocence;
They Joy, the Pride, the Pleaſure of the Land,
Which You in Plenty guide, in PEACE comman [...]
Calm as that Heaven whoſe Circle bounds the Eye,
And bright from true Celeſtial Majeſty.
You Reign admir'd, the Helm with Glory ſteer,
And give us PEACE amidſt the Storms of War.
When we the Courſe of England's Fate review,
We find no Monarch guided right like You;
Your Majeſty by Heaven's ſecurer Hand,
Has learnt the True Arcana of Command.
Your Anceſtors by Policy or Power,
Strove our reſign'd Subjection to ſecure,
And made th' Obedient Nation tamely bear
Some Loads for Quietneſs, and ſome for Fear.
The Tottering Throne was Canker like maintain' [...]
By feeding on the Vitals of the Land;
The feeble Carcaſs of the Government,
By Tyranny and wild Oppreſſion rent,
Dy'd of that Hectick Fever, DISCONTENT.
Reviv'd in You, its Reſurrection ſhows,
What Government to Application owe [...]:
How Juſtice calls a Nation from the Dead,
And how the Body's influenc'd by the Head?
[29]They Rul'd by Politicks and ſtudied Arts,
But You have found the Paſſage to our Hearts.
Deſpotick Rule can there do Grievance prove,
For Arbitrary Power's no Crime in Love.
MADAM, this Title makes yon abſolute,
Where Love's the Bondage, Subjects ne'er Diſpute;
[...]rerogatives and Laws are Foreign things,
The Hearts of Subjects are the Strength of Kings.
Your Majeſty when You Invite to PEACE,
[...]roves that You can, Heaven Grant You due Succeſs;
[...]oth ſeek and underſtand our H [...]ppineſs.
Tis Peace and Union, makes the Nation Thrive,
Give Laws their Birth, and keeps thoſe Laws alive;
[...]nion's the Nation's Life, and Peace the Soul;
[...]nion preſerves the Parts, and Peace the whole;
[...]is Peace and Union that Support the Throne,
Union the Peoples Part, and Peace the Crown;
When Bodies Politick ſeem Sick and Dead,
Union revives the Members, Peace the Head;
The Siſters always Hand in Hand proceed,
Union to fortifie, and Peace to feed.
[...]o Nation can our Happineſs Invade,
Union our Hearts ſecures, an [...] Peace our Trade;
[...]eligion ſhares the Bleſſing theſe procure,
This will Diſſenters, That the Church ſecure;
[...]nd Chriſtian Graces in Conjunction move,
[...]eace, Charity procures; and Union, Love.
Union is Freedom join'd to Government,
[...]nd Peace is Property in due Extent.
[...] every Article the Bleſſing's ſeen,
[...]nion's a Parliament, and Peace the QUEEN:
There Peace and Union once a Land poſſeſs,
[...]he Houſes always Join, when they Addreſs.
[...]om the ſame Cauſe, to the ſame End they move,
[...]hey arm at Safety, and commence in Love;
[...]he Conſtituted Parts make up one whole,
[...]fferent in Body, but the ſame in Soul.
[...]nion's your Lords and Commons Hand in Hand,
[...]ating the ſteady Poſture of the Land.
[...]ce is the People's Joy, which they expreſs,
[...]outing a loud Amen to that Addreſs.
[...]on's your Living Spring, of Means and Ways,
[...]d Peace an unexhauſted Fund of Praiſe;
[...]nion with Hands up lift, ſeeks Aid from Heaven,
[...]d Peace returns with Thanks, for Aid that's given.
[30]Union's a People, willingly in awe,
And Peace a Princeſs, Governing by Law.
Union's a People, join'd with juſt Aſſent,
To bleſs their Maker for the Government;
Peace is a Prince, that Joys in that Succeſs,
Of which his People all the Fruits poſſeſs.
Thus Princes, when they Invite a Land to Peace,
Both ſeek and underſtand their Happineſs.
MADAM, when You our Party Peace propoſe,
You S [...]ab the Mighty Projects of your Foes;
Your Healing Words, as from your Lips the fall,
Are Wounds ſtruck deep, into their Party-Gall;
But when you ſtoop to argue and perſwade,
Your Words like Darts, the very Soul invade;
The moving Eloquence in Words of Peace,
When Princes Court their Peoples Happineſs,
Having ſomething ſo Unuſual, and ſo Great,
Such ſoft Impreſſions in the Soul Create;
As leave no room to Speak, but wonder at.
Peace like the Sun, when it draws near the Pole,
This melts the Frozen Zone, and that the Soul;
Mountains of Party-Fend and Rage give way,
And flie from Peace, as Night abſconds the Day.
The ſtrange Transforming Power of Peace appears,
And while You Speak, You mould the Soul that hears:
Thus MADAM, Heaven it ſelf You imitate,
And while You talk of Peace, Your Words Create:
Legions of Human Dev'ls Your Voice Transforms,
And at one Word You laid Three Nations Sto [...]ms.
Even Satyr feels the Sov'raign Influence,
Satyr provok'd, in Vertue's juſt Defence;
Engag'd with Devils and the Crimes of Men,
Yet while I Write of Peace, it Calms my Pen.
The Whips and Scorpions, MADAM, thrown away,
You call for Peace, and Satyr muſt Obey;
What tho' with Injury and Crouds Oppreſs'd,
Unhappy only as by You Unbleſs'd;
Yet in his Breaſt he Cruſhes his Deſigns,
And Writes for Peace in his Sereneſt Lines.
Your Majeſty the Pen it ſelf reforms,
And makes him Write of Peace, that Lives in Storm [...].
Compaſs'd with Parties, and the Rage of Men,
You Check the juſt Reſentment of his Pen;
To Temper turns, and with the calmeſt Air,
He ſings that Peace, of which he reaps no ſhare.
[31]Peace is the Baſis of Your Glorious Throne,
And Peace, the Brighteſt Jewel in your Crown,
[...]Tis Peace▪ would make your Enemies Deſpair;
[...]Tis Peace they more than all your Armies fear.
Union and Peace, Compoſe the high Intent,
This th' End of Juſtice, That of Government,
Kings that to any other purpoſe Reign,
The Sword they bear is always born in Vain,
By differing ways your Government's ſecur'd,
You by the Scepter Reign, and they the Sword.
Theſe we call Tyrants, tho' a King's the Name,
A Mask of Glory, on a Mock of Fame.
Your MAJESTY, while You to Peace Encline,
Has made your Scepter really Divine;
Kings that like You, the Ends of Ruling know,
[...]re truly Sacred, Heaven Declares them ſo:
While Heaven and You the ſelf ſame thing intend,
[...]ou Bleſs the Means, as You purſue the End.
The Royal Scepter which You timely bore,
And none e'er Grac'd that Royal Scepter more:
[...]o far's Divine, as by the High Decree,
The Means and End Join in Your Majeſty;
[...]or Crowns and Dignities are giv'n in Vain,
Where Kings for any End but Juſtice Reign;
[...]ower thus concurs to General Happineſs,
[...]or Juſtice always ends in Calms and Peace.
Suffer the Poet, MADAM, to aſpire,
And hear the Blaze, where You have rais'd the Fire;
Prophetick Ardour makes the ſtrong Impreſs,
Tis You gave Pinions to his Artleſs Verſe,
[...]umble and Mean, he never us'd to ſoar,
[...]nd ne'er could ſay, he was Inſpir'd before.
That Secret Hand, that did your Thoughts incline,
[...]or Heaven both mov'd the Act and the Deſign;
[...]as join'd Your own, to all Your Peoples Peace.
[...]nd on their Bleſſings, rais'd Your Happineſs;
[...]or is this all, for Heaven ne'er acts by Parts,
But forms at once his Empire in our Hearts.
That Hand that thus Your Soul to Peace muſt move,
Will ne'er deny the Peace he made You Love.
The Calm You move us to, You'll feel within,
There, MADAM, Your Celeſtial Crowns begin;
[...]eaven there Anticipated You'll Enjoy,
[...]hat Peace muſt all Your meaner Joys Deſtroy;
[...]he Satisfactions that may there be known,
[...]rpaſs the Envy'd Pleaſures of Your Crown:
[32]That Heaven has form'd You his Bleſt Inſtrument,
To Heal this Heart-ſick Nation's Diſcontent,
That all their Happineſs comes handed down,
From Him that gave, by You that wear the Crown;
That Heaven reſerv'd this Hour, till You ſhould Reign,
And Choſe You from the Bright Deſcended Train;
And ſuffer'd WILLIAM's ſelf to aim at it in Vain.
That he reſerv'd the Glory and Succeſs
For You, whom he Delights and has reſolv'd to Bleſs;
What Tranſports, MADAM, muſt poſſeſs your Mind!
What Proſpects of the Glories ſtill behind!
What Wonders Heaven has yet for You to do!
What vaſt Rewards of Glory to beſtow!
No Pen the ſoft Impreſſions can preſent,
Numbers are vaſtly ſhort, and Language faint;
No Simile due Parallel affords,
The Thoughts ſurpaſs the Agency of Words;
The Poet that conceives it can't reherſe,
'Tis above the Inſpiration of his Verſe;
The Wings of Fancy never ſoar'd ſo high,
'Tis only Sacred to Your MAJESTY.
'Tis You alone can feel th' amazing Joy,
Which like the Sun, does fainter Fires Deſtroy;
No Heart but Yours the Myſt'ry can unfold,
The Story muſt be felt, it can't be Told.
'Tis all a Heaven, as it from Heaven deſcends,
And only where that Heaven begins, it ends.
For Peace within is Heaven Anticipate,
And does Similitude to Heaven Create;
'Twill open that Bleſs'd Peace at once, and ſhow
That Preſence there, whoſe Glory makes it ſo.
'Twill Fire Your Soul with Beams of Sov'raign Grace,
And You'll grow Ripe for Heavenly Crowns apace:
There in Your Brighteſt Glory You'll appear,
And You that give us PEACE, ſhall find it there.
FINIS.

17.

[]

THE Female Reign: AN ODE, Alluding to Horace, B. 4. Od. 14. ‘Quae Cura Patrum, quaeve Quiritium, &c.’ Attempted in the Style of Pindar. Occaſion'd by the wonderful Succeſſes of the Arms of Her Majeſty and Her Allies. With a LETTER to a Gentleman in the Ʋniverſity.

By Samuel Cobb, M. A.

LONDON: Printed by H. Hills, and Sold by the Bookſellers of London and Weſtminſter, 1709.

[32]
[...]
[]
[...]

A LETTER to a Gentleman in the Univerſity.

[]
SIR,

THIS comes to Congratulate You on the agree⯑able News of ſome late extraordinary Succeſſes, which have bleſs'd the Arms of Her Majeſty, and Her Allies. I leave you to the Printed Papers for a particular Account of thoſe Actions, which have ſurpriz'd the World; and, we hope, given the laſt Stroke to the languiſhing Power of the Common Ene⯑my of Europe. They will furniſh noble Topics for the Wits of an Ʋniverſity, like yours, who can embelliſh (if that can be done) the Glories of a Female Reign with a juſter Sublimity of Verſe, than what you will find in the following Performance, which was written ſeveral Months ago, and not run over with a haſty Negligence. The Ode, from whence I take my Hint, is accounted by ſome Critics not inferior to the 4th of the ſame Book, which begins thus, ‘Qualem miniſtrum fulminis alitem, &c.’ And was written in Complement to Auguſtus, on oc⯑caſion of a famous Victory gain'd by Tiberius, as this, which I have aim'd to imitate, was written on the Praiſe of Claudius Nero. I need not inform Men of your Reading and Letters what occaſion'd both. The Poet, as he does in almoſt all his Odes, has ſhewn a peculiar Artfulneſs and Elegance, and turns all the Panegyric on the Emperor (who was not in the Action) with Te concilium, & tuos Praebente Divos. If You ask wherein I have trod in the Steps of Horace, You will find it in the Beginning. I have only kept him in view, and uſed him only where he was ſerviceable [] to my Deſign. He took the ſame liberty with Alcaeus, as appears from ſome Fragments of that Greek Lyriac, quoted by Athenaeus. In my Digreſſions and Tranſitions I have taken care to play always in ſight, and make eve⯑ry one of them contribute to my main Deſign. This was the Way of Pindar, to read whom, according to Rapin, will give a truer Idea of the Ode, than all the Rules and Reflections of the beſt Critics. I will not pretend to have div'd into him over Head and Ears, but I have endeavour'd to have made my ſelf not the greateſt Stranger to his Manner of Writing; which generally conſiſts in the Dignity of the Sentiments, and an ele⯑gant Variety, which makes the Reader riſe up with greater Satisfaction than he ſat down. And that which affects the Mind in Compoſitions of any ſort, will never be diſagreeable to a Gentleman of Ingenuity and Judg⯑ment. I have avoided Turns, as thinking that they de⯑baſe the Loftineſs of the Ode. You will eaſily perceive whether I have reach'd that acer Spiritus & Vis, re⯑commended by Horace, as the Genius of Poetry. Whe⯑ther you will call the following Lines a Pindaric Ode, or Irregular Stanza's, gives me no Diſturbance: For however the ſeeming Wildneſs of this ſort of Verſe ought to be reſtrain'd, the Strophe, Antiſtrophe, &c. will never bear in Engliſh, and it would ſhew a ſtrange [...] Debauchery in our Taſte, if it ſhould, as may be wit⯑neſſed by the ſervile Imitation of the Dactyles and Spondees uſed by Sir P. Sidney. But to make an e [...] of this tedious Epiſtle; you will ſee thro' the Whole, that Her MAJESTY is the Chief Heroine of the Ode; and the Moral, at the End, ſhews the ſolid Glo⯑ries of a Reign which is not founded on a pretended Juſtice, or Criminal Magnanimity.

Yours, &c. S. C

THE FEMALE REIGN: AN ODE.

[5]
I.
WHAT can the Britiſh Senate give
To make the Name of ANNA live
By Future People to be ſung,
The Labour of each grateful Tongue.
Can faithful Regiſters or Rhyme
In charming Eloquence, or ſprightly Wit,
The Wonders of her Reign tranſmit
To th' unborn Children of ſucceeding Time?
Can Painter's Oil, or Statuary's Art
Eternity to Her impart?
No—Titled Statues are but empty things
Inſcrib'd to Royal Vanity,
The Sacrifice of Flattery
To Lawleſs Nero's, or Bourbonian Kings.
True Virtue to Her kindred Stars aſpires,
Does all our Pomp of Stone and Verſe ſurpaſs,
And mingling with Aetherial Fires,
No uſeleſs Ornament requires
From Speaking Colours, or from Breathing Braſs.
[6]II.
Greateſt of Princes! where the wand'ring Sun
Does o'er Earth's habitable Regions rowl,
From th' Eaſtern Barriers to the Weſtern Goal,
And ſees Thy Race of Glory run
With Swiftneſs equal to his Own:
Thee on the Banks of Flandrian Scaldis ſings
The jocund Swain, releas'd from Gallic Fear;
The Engliſh Voice unus'd to hear,
Thee the repeating Banks, Thee every Valley rings.
The Gaul, untaught to bear the Flames
Of thoſe who drink the Maeſe or Thames,
From the Britannick Valour flies,
No longer able to withſtand
The Thunderbolt launch'd by a Female Hand,
Or Lightning darted from Her Eyes.
III.
What Treble Ruin Pious ANNA brings
On Falſe Electors, Perjur'd Kings,
Let the twice Fugitive Bavarian tell,
Who from His Airy Hope of better State
By Luſt of Sway, irregularly Great,
Like an Apoſtate Angel, fell.
Who, by Imperial Favour rais'd,
I'th' higheſt Rank of Glory blaz'd;
And had till now, unrival'd, ſhone
More than a King, contented with His Own.
But Lucifer's bold Steps he trod,
Who durſt Aſſault the Throne of GOD,
[7]And for contented Realms of bliſsful Light;
Gain'd [...]he ſad Privilege to be
The Firſt in Solid Miſery,
Monarch of Hell, and Woes, and Endleſs Night.
Corruption of the Beſt is Worſt,
And foul Ambition, like an Evil Wind,
Blights the fair Bloſſoms of a Noble Mind;
And if a Seraph fall, He's doubly Curs'd.
IV.
Had Guile and Pride, and Envy grown
In the black Groves of Styx alone,
Nor ever had on Earth the baleful Crop been ſown [...]
The Swain, without Amaze, had Till'd
The Flandrian Glebe, a guiltleſs Field:
Nor had He wond'red, when He found
The Bones of Heroes in the Ground.
No Crimſon Streams had lately ſwell'd
The Dyle, the Danube, and the Scheld.
But Evils are of Neceſſary Growth
To Rouze the Brave, and Baniſh Sloth.
And ſome are Born to win the Stars
By Sweat, and Blood, and Worthy Scars.
Heroic Virtue is by Action ſeen,
And Vices ſerve to make it keen;
And as Gigantick Tyrants riſe
NASSAU'S and ANNA'S leave the Skies
The Earth-born Monſters to Chaſtiſe;
While Cerberus and Hydra grow
For an Alcides, or a MARLBOROUGH.
[8]V.
If, Heav'nly Muſe, you burn with a Deſire
To Praiſe the Man whom all admire:
Come from thy Learnd'd Caſtalian Springs,
And ſtretch aloft thy Pegaſeian Wings;
Strike the loud Pyndaric Strings,
Like the Lark, who ſoars and ſings:
And as you ſail the Liquid Skies,
Caſt on * Menapian Fields your weeping Eyes:
(For weep they ſurely muſt
To ſee the bloody Annual Sacrifice;
To think how the neglected Duſt
Which, with contempt, is baſely trod,
Was once the Limbs of Captains, Brave and Juſt,
The Mortal Part of ſome Great DEMY-GOD:
Who for thrice Fifty Years of ſtubborn War,
With ſlaught'ring Arms, the Gun and Sword,
Have dug the Mighty Sepulcher,
And fell as Martyrs on Record
Of Tyranny Reveng'd, and Liberty Reſtor'd.)
VI.
See, where at Audenard, with Heaps of Slain
Th' Heroic Man, inſpir'dly Brave;
Mowing a-croſs, beſtrews the Plain,
And with new Tenants crowds the wealthy Grave.
His Mind unſhaken at the frightful Scene,
His Looks as chearfully ſerene
[9]The routed Battle to purſue,
As once adorn'd the Paphian Queen,
When to Her Thracian Paramour ſhe flew.
The gath'ring Troops He kens from far,
And with a Bridegroom's Paſſion and Delight
Courting the VVar, and Glowing for the Fight,
[...]e new Salmoneus meets, the Celtic Thunderer.
Ah curſed Pride! Infernal Dream!
VVhich drove him to this wild Extream
That Duſt a Deity ſhould ſeem.
[...]hought, as thro' the wond'ring Streets he rode,
Th' Immortal Man, or Mortal God.
VVith rattling Braſs, and trampling Horſe
Should counterfeit th' Inimitable Force
Of Divine Thunder: horrid Crime!
But Vengeance is the Child of Time,
And will too ſurely be repay'd
On his prophane, Devouted Head,
VVho durſt affront the Powers above,
And their Eternal Flames Diſgrace,
Too Fatal, brandiſh'd by the Rightful Jove,
Or (a) Pallas, who ſupplies his place.
VII.
The Britiſh Pallas! who as (b) Homer's did
For her lov'd Diomed,
Her Heroe's Mind with Wiſdom fills,
And Heavenly Courage in his Heart inſtills.
[10]Hence thro' the thickeſt Squadrons does He ride,
VVith ANNA's Angels by his ſide.
VVith what uncommon Speed
He ſpurs his foaming, fiery Steed!
And puſhes on thro' midmoſt Fires
VVhere France's Fortune with Her Sons retires.
Now here, now there, the ſweepy Ruin flies;
(c) As when the Pleiades ariſe,
The Southern Wind afflicts the Skies.
Then, muttering o'er the Deep, buffets th' unruly B [...]
Till Clouds and Water ſeem to joyn.
Or as a Dyke, cut by malicious Hands
O'erflows the Fertile Netherlands;
Thro' the wide Yawn, th' Impetuous Sea
Laviſh of his new Liberty,
Beſtrides the Vale, and with tumultuous Noiſe
Bellows along the delug'd Plain,
Deſtructive to the ripening Grain
For as th' Horizon he deſtroys:
The weeping Shepherd from an Hill, bewa [...]s the Wa [...] Rei [...]
VIII.
So rapid flows th' unpriſon'd Stream!
So ſtrong the Force of MINDLEHEIM!
In vain the Woods of Audenard
Would ſhield the Gaul, a fenceleſs Guard.
[11]As ſoon may Whirlwinds be with-held
As His Paſſage o'er the Scheld.
In vain the Torrent would oppoſe,
In vain arm'd Banks, and numerous Foes,
Who with inglorious haſte retire,
Fly faſter than the River flows,
And Swifter than our Fire.
[...]endoſm from far upbraids their nimble Shame,
And pleads his Royal Maſter's Fame.
by Conde's Mighty Ghoſt ▪ he cries,
By Turenne, Luxemburg, and All
Thoſe Noble Souls, who fell a Sacrifice
At (a) Lens, at Fleurus, and at Landen Fight,
[...]top, I conjure, your ignominious Flight:
But Fear is deaf to Honour's Call.
Each frowning Threat and ſoothing Prayer
Is loſt in the regardleſs Air.
As well He may
The Billows of the Ocean ſtay,
While CHURCHILL, like a driving Wind,
Or High Spring-Tide, purſues behind,
[...]d with redoubled Speed urges their forward Way.
IX.
Nor leſs, Euginious, Thy Important Care,
Thou Second Thunderbolt of War!
Partner in Danger and in Fame,
With Marlborough's the Winds ſhall bear
To diſtant Colonies Thy conqu'ring Name.
[12]Nor ſhall the Muſe forget to ſing
From Harmony what Bleſſings ſpring.
To tell how Death did enviouſly repine
To ſee a Friendſhip ſo Divine.
When in a Ball's deſtroying ſhape ſhe paſt,
And mark'd Thy threatned Brow at laſt.
But durſt not touch that Sacred Brain
Where the Concerns of Europe Reign;
For ſtraight ſhe bow'd her ghaſtly Head,
She ſaw the Mark of Heaven, and fled.
As Cruel Brennus once, inſulting Gaul,
When he, at Allia's fatal Flood,
Had fill'd the Plains with Roman Blood,
With conſcious Awe forſook the Capitol,
Where Jove, Revenger of Prophaneneſs, ſtood
X
But where the Good and Brave Command,
What Capitol, what Caſtle can withſtand?
Virtue, as well as Gold, can paſs
Thro' Walls of Stone, and Towers of Braſs.
LISLE, like a Miſtreſs, had been courted long,
And always yielded to the Bold and Young:
The faireſt Progeny of Vauban's Art,
Till Savoy's Warlike Prince withſtood
Her frowning Thunders, and thro' Seas of Blood
Tore the bright Darling from th' Old Tyrant's Hea [...]
Such (a) Buda ſaw Him, when Proud
He was Baſſaw of the City, and loſt his Life on the Br [...]ach.
Apti fel [...]
Unhappy, Valiant Infidel!
[13]Who, Vanquiſh'd by ſuperior Strength,
Surrendred up his haughty Breath,
Upon the Breach meaſuring his manly Length▪
And ſhu'd the Bow-ſtring by a Nobler Death.
XI.
Such (c) Harſcham's Field beheld Him in his Bloom,
When Victory beſpoke him for her Own,
Her Favourite, immortal Son,
And told of better Years revolving on the Loom [...]
How He ſhould make the Turkiſh Creſcent wane,
And choak (d) (d) Tibiſcus with the Slain.
While Viziers lay beneath the lofty Pile
Of ſlaughter'd Baſſaws who o'er Baſſaws rowl'd)
And all his numerous Acts ſhe told
From Latian Carpi down to Flandrian LISLE.
Where every Day new Conqueſts ſhould produce,
Labour for Envy, and a Muſe.
Where with her rattling Trumpet's ſound
Fame ſhould ſhake the Hills around;
Should tell how WEBB, nigh woody Wynendale.
Argu'd each Inch of the important Ground.
So much in Virtue's Scale
[14]True Valour Numbers can out-do,
And Thouſands are but Cyphers to a few.
XII.
Honour with open Arms receives at laſt
The Heroes, who thro' Virtue's Temple paſt.
And ſhow'rs down Lawrels from Above
On thoſe whom Heav'n and ANNA Love.
And ſome, not ſparingly, ſhe throws
For the Young Eagles, who could try
The Faith and Judgment of the Sky,
And dare the Sun with ſteddy Eye,
For Hanover's and Pruſſia's Brows,
Eugenes in bloom, and future Marlboroughs.
To Hanover, Brunſwiga's Second Grace,
Deſcendant from a long Imperial Race,
The Muſe directs an unaffected Flight,
And Prophecies, from ſo ſerene a Morn,
To what clear Glories He is Born,
When blazing with a full Meridian Light
He ſhall the Britiſh Hemiſphere adorn.
When Mars ſhall lay his batter'd Target down,
And He (ſince Death will never ſpare
The Good, the Pious, and the Fair)
In his ripe Harveſt of Renown,
Shall after his Great Father ſit,
(If Heav'n ſo long a Life permit)
And having ſwell'd the flowing Tide
Of Fame, which he in Arms ſhall get,
The Purchaſe of an Honeſt Sweat,
Shall ſafe in ſtormy Seas Britannia's Veſſel guide.
[15]XIII.
Britania's Veſſel, which, in ANNA's Reign
And prudent Pilocy, enjoys
The Tempeſt, which the World deſtroys,
And rides Triumphant o'er the Subject Main,
O may She ſoon a quiet Harbour gain!
And ſure the Promis'd Hour is come,
When in ſoft Notes the Peaceful Lyre
Shall ſtill the Trumpet and the Drum,
Shall play what Gods and Men deſire,
And ſtrike Bellona's Muſick dumb.
When War, by Parents curſt, ſhall quit the Field
Unbuckle his bright Helmet, and to reſt
His weary Limbs, ſit on his idle Shield
With Scars of Honour plow'd upon his Breaſt.
But if the Gallic Pharoah's ſtubborn Heart
Grows freſh for Puniſhment, and hardens ſtill,
Prepar'd for th' irrecoverable Ill.
[...]d force th' Unwilling Skies to act the Laſt Ungrateful Part:
Thy Forces, ANNA ▪ like a Flood, ſhall whelm
[...] Heav'n does Scepter'd Innocence maintain)
His famiſh'd, deſolated Realm,
[...]nd all the Sons of Pharamond in vain
(Who with diſhoneſt Envy ſee
[...]he ſweet forbidden Fruits of diſtant Liberty)
[...] Curſe their [...]igid Salic Law, and wiſh a Female Reign.
XIV.
A FEMALE REIGN, like Thine,
O ANNA, Britiſh Heroine!
[16]To Thee afflicted Empires fly for Aid
Where e'er Tyrannic Standards are diſplay'd,
From the wrong'd Iber to the threatned Rhine.
Thee, Where the Golden-ſanded Tagus flows
Beneath fair (a) Ulyſſippo's Walls
The frighted Luſitanian calls;
Thee, they who drink the Sein, with thoſe
Who plow Iberian Fields, implore
To give the lab'ring World Repoſe,
And Univerſal Peace Reſtore.
Thee Gallia, mournful to ſurvive the Fate
Of her fall'n Grandeur, and departed State,
By ſad Experience taught to own
That Virtue is a ſafer Way to Riſe,
A ſhorter Paſſage to the Skies
Than Pellion upon Oſſa thrown:
For they who by deny'd Attempts preſume
To reach the Starry Thrones, become
Sure Food for Thunder, and condemn'd to how [...]
In (a) Aetna, or in (b) Arima to rowl
By an inevitable Doom,
Gain but a Higher Fall, a Mountain for their Tomb.
FINIS.

18.

[]

THE MEDAL. A SATYR AGAINST SEDITION. By the Author of ABSALOM and ACHITOPHEL.

Per Graiû populos, mediaeque per Elidis Urbem
Ibat ovans; Divúmque ſibi poſcebat Honores.

LONDON: [...]rinted and Sold by H. Hills, in Black-Fryars, near the Water-ſide, 1709. Price One Penny.

UPON THE AUTHOR of the MEDAL.

[3]
ONCE more our awful Poet Arms, t' engage
The threatning Hydra Faction of the Age:
Once more pr [...]pares his dreadful Pen to wield,
And ev'ry Muſe attends him to the Field:
By Art and Nature for this Task deſign'd,
Yet modeſtly the Fight he long declin'd;
Forbore the Torrent of his Verſe to pour,
Nor loos'd his Satyr till the needful Hour:
His Sov'reign's Right by Patience half betray'd,
Wak'd his Avenging Genius to its Aid.
Bleſt Muſe, whoſe Wit with ſuch a Cauſe was Crown'd,
And bleſt the Cauſe that ſuch a Champion found.
With choſen Verſe upon the Foe he falls,
And black Sedition in each Quarter galls;
Yet, like a Prince with Subjects forc'd to engage,
Secure of Conqueſt he rebates his Rage;
His Fury not without Diſtinction ſheds,
Hurls mortal Bolts but on devoted Heads:
To leſs infected Members gentle found,
He ſpares, or elſe pours Balm into Wound.
such gen'rous Grace th' ingrateful Tribe abuſe,
And treſpaſs on the Mercy of his Muſe;
Their wretched dogrell Rhimers forth they bring
To ſnarl and bark againſt the Poets King;
A Crew, that ſcandalize the Nation more
Than all their Treaſon-canting Prieſts before;
On theſe he ſcarce vouchſafes a ſcornful Smile,
But on their Pow'rful Patrons turns his Style.
A Style ſo keen, as ev'n from Faction draws
The vital Poyſon, ſtabs to the Heart their Cauſe.
[...]ake then, great Bard, what Tribute we can raiſe;
Accept our Thanks, for you tranſcend our Praiſe.
N. TATE.

EPISTLE TO THE WHIGS.

[4]

FOR to whom can I dedicate this Poem, with ſo much Juſtice as to you? 'T [...]s the Repreſentation of your own Heroe: 'tis th [...] Picture drawn at length, which you prize and admire ſo much i [...] little. None of your Ornaments are wanting; neither the Landſcap [...] of the Tower, nor the Riſing Sun; nor the Anno Domini of your Ne [...] Sovereign's Coronation. This muſt needs be a grateful Undertaking [...] your whole Party: Eſpecially to thoſe who have not been ſo happy [...] to purchaſe the Original. I hear the Graver has made a good Marks of it: all his Kings are bought up already; or the value of the R [...] ⯑mainder ſo inhanc'd, that many a poor Polander, who would be gl [...] to worſhip the Image, is not able to go to the Coſt of him: But muſt [...] content to ſee him here. I muſt confeſs I am no great [...]rtiſt; but Sig [...] Poſt painting will ſerve the turn to remember a Friend by; eſpecial when better is not to be had. Yet for your Comfort the Lineame [...] are true: and though he fate not five times to me, as the did to [...] yet I have conſulted History; as the Italian Painters do, when th [...] wou'd draw a Nero or a Galigul [...]; though they have not ſeen t [...] Man, they can help their Imagination by a Statue of him, and ſ [...] out the Colouring from Suetomus and Tacitus. Truth is, you mig [...] have ſpar'd one ſide of your Medal: the Head would be ſeen to m [...] advantage, if it were plac'd on a Spike of the Tower; a little nearer [...] the Sun. Which wou'd then break out to better purpoſe. You tell [...] your Preface to the No-Proteſtant Plot, that you ſhall be forc'd [...] after to leave off your Modeſty: I ſuppoſe you mean that little which [...] left you: for it was worn to Rags when you put out this Medal. [...] [...] ⯑ver was there practis'd ſuch a piece of notorious Impudence in the f [...] of an Eſtabliſh [...]d Government. I believe, when he is dead, you [...] wear him in Thumb-Rings, as the Turks did Scanderbeg; as if [...] were Virtue in his Bones to preſerve you againſt Monarchy. Yet [...] this while you pretend not only Zeal for the Publick Good, but a due [...] [...]eration for the Perſon of the King. But all Men, who can ſee an [...] [5] before them, may eaſily detect thoſe groſs Fallacies. That it is neceſſa [...]y for Men in your Circumſtances to pretend both, is granted you; for without them there could be no ground to raiſe a Faction. But I would ask you one civil Queſtion, what right has any Man among you, or any Aſſociation of Men, (to come nearer to you,) who out of Parliament, cannot be conſider'd in a publick Capacity, to meet, as you daily do, in Factious Clubs, to vilify the Government in your Diſcourſes, and to libel it in all your Writings? Who made you Judges in Iſra [...]l? Or how [...] it conſiſtent with your Zeal of the Publick Welfare, to promote Se⯑dition? Does your Definition of Loy [...]l, which is to ſerve the King ac⯑cording to the Laws, allow you the Licence of traducing the Executive Power, with which you own he is inveſted? You complain that his Ma⯑jeſty has loſt the Love and Confidence of his People; and by your very urging it, you endeavour what in you lies, to make him loſe them. All g [...]od subjects abhor the thought of Arbitrary Power, whether it be in one or many: if you were the Patriots you would ſeem, you would not at this [...]ate incenſe the Multit [...]de to aſſume it; for no ſober Man can fear it, either from the King's Diſpoſition, or his Practice; or even, where you would odiouſly lay it, from his Miniſters. Give us leave to enjoy the Government and the Benefit of Laws under which we were born, and which we deſire to tranſmit to our Poſterity. You are not the Truſtees of the publick Liberty: and if you have not right to peti⯑tion in a Croud, much leſs have you to intermeddle in the Management of Affairs; or to arraign what you do not like: which in effect is every thing that is done by the King and Council Can you imagine that any reaſonable Man will believe you reſpect the Perſon of his Majeſty, when [...] apparent that your Seditious Pamphlets are ſtuff'd w [...]th particular Reflections on him? If you have the Confidence to deny th [...]s, 'tis eaſie to [...]e evinc'd from a thouſand P [...]ſſages, which I only forbear to quote, be⯑cauſe I deſire they ſhould d [...]e and be forgotten. I have perus'd many of [...]ur Papers; and to ſhew you that I have, the third part of your No-Proteſtant Plot is much of it ſtolen from your dead Author's Pamphlet [...]ll'd the Growth of Popery; as manifeſtly as Mil [...]on's Defence of the Engliſh People, is from Bucha [...]a [...] de jur [...] regn [...] apud Sco [...]os: or your firſt Covenant, and new Aſſocia [...]ion, from the holy League of the French Guiſards. Any one who reads D [...]vila, may trace your Practices all a⯑ [...]ong. There were the ſame pretences for Reformation, and Loyalty, the [...]ame Aſperſions of the King, and the ſame grounds of a Rebellion. I [...]ow not whether you will take the Hiſtorian's word, who ſays it was [...]eported, that P [...]ltrot a Hugonot, murther'd F [...]ancis Duke of Guiſe by [...]he Inſtigations of Theodore Reza: or that it was a Hug [...]ot Miniſter, [...]therwiſe call'd a Presbyterian, (for our Church abhors ſo deviliſh a [...]enet) who firſt writ a Treatiſe of the Lawfulneſs of d [...]p [...]ſing and mur⯑ [...]hering Kings, of a different Perſuaſion in Religion: But I am able to [...]rove from the Doctrine of Calvin, and Principles of Bu [...]h [...]man, that [...]hey ſet the People above the Magiſtrate; which if I miſtake not, is [6] your own Fundamental; and which carries your Loyalty no farther than your liking When a Vote of the Houſe of Commons goes on your ſide you a [...]e as ready to obſerve it, as if it were paſs'd into a Law: But wh [...] you are pinch'd with any former, and yet unrepealed Act of Parli [...]ment you declare that in ſome Caſes, you will not be oblig'd by it. The Paſ⯑ſage is in the ſame third part of the No-Proteſtant Plot; and is [...] plain to be denied. The late Copy of your intended Aſſociation, you nei⯑ther wholly juſtifie nor condemn: But, as the Papiſts, when they are u [...] oppos'd▪ fly out into all the Pageantries of Worſhip; but in times [...] War when they are hard preſs [...]d by Arguments, ly cloſe intrench [...]d be⯑hind the Council of [...]nt: So, now, when your Affairs are in a lo [...] Condition, you d [...]re not pretend that to be a legal Combination, [...] whenſ [...]ever you are afloat. I doubt not but it will be maintain'd a [...] juſtified to purpoſe For indeed there is nothing to defend it but t [...] Sword: 'tis the proper time to ſay any thing, when Men have all thing in their power.

In the mean time you wou'd fain be nibling at a Parallel betwixt t [...] Aſſociation, and that in the time of Queen Elizabeth. But there th [...]s ſmall difference betwixt them, that the ends of one are directly op⯑poſite to the other: one with the Queen's Approbation, and Conjuncti [...] as Head of it; the other without either the Conſent, or Knowledge the King, againſt whoſe Authority it is manifeſtly deſign'd. There [...] you do well to have recourſe to your laſt Evaſion, that it was contri [...] by your Enemies, and ſhuffled into the Papers that were ſeiz'd: wh [...] yet you ſ [...]e the Nation is not ſo eaſie to believe as your own Jury: [...] the Matter is not difficult, to find 12 Men in Newgate, who wou'd [...] quit a Malefactor.

I have one only Favour to deſire of you at parting, that when [...] think of anſwering this Poem ▪ you wou'd employ the ſame Pens aga [...] it, who have combated with ſo much Succeſs againſt Abſalom and A [...] tophel: for then you may aſſure your ſelves of a clear Victory, w [...] the leaſt Reply. Rail at me abundantly; and, not to break a Cuſto [...] do it without Wi [...]: By this Method you will gain a conſiderable Pe [...] which is wholly to wave the Anſwer of my Arguments. Never own [...] bottom of your Principles, for fear they ſhou'd be Treaſon. Fall ſeve [...] ⯑ly on the Miſcarriages of Government; for if [...]candal be not al [...]ow you are no free born Subjects. If God ha [...] not bleſs'd you with the [...] l [...]nt of R [...]iming, make u [...]e of my poor Stock and welcome: let [...] Verſes run upon my Feet: and for the utmoſt Refuge of notorious B [...] heads, reduc [...]d to the laſt extremity of Senſe, turn my own Lines [...] me, and in utter Deſpair of your own Satyr, make me Satyrize my [...] Some of you have been driven to this Bay already; but above all [...] reſt commend me to the Non-Conformiſt Parſon, who writ the Whip [...] Key. I am afraid it is not read ſo much as the Piece deſerves, bec [...] the Bookſeller is every Week crying help at the end of his Guzette, g [...]t it off. You ſee I am charitable enough to do him a Kindneſs, [...] [7] it may be publiſh'd as well as printed; and that ſo much Skill in He⯑brew Derivations, may not lie for Waſte-Paper in the Shop. Yet I half ſuſpect he went no farther for his Learning, than the Index of Hebrew Names and Etymologies, which are printed at the end of ſome Engliſh Bibles. If Achitophel ſignifie the Brother of a Fool, the Author of that Poem will paſs with his Readers for the next of Kin. And perhaps 'tis the Relation that makes the Kindneſs. Whatever the Verſes are; buy 'em up I beſeech you out of pity; for I hear the Conventicle is ſhut up, and the Brother of Achitophel out of Service.

Now Footmen, you know, have the Generoſity to make a Purſe, for a Member of their Society, who has had his Livery pull'd over his Ears: and even Proteſtant Socks are bought up among you, out of Veneration to the Name. A Diſſenter in Poetry from Senſe and Engliſh, will make as good a Proteſtant Rhimer, as a Diſſenter from the Church of Eng⯑l [...]nd a Protestant Parſon. Beſides, if you encourage a young Beginner, who knows but he may elevate his Style a little, above the vulgar Epi⯑the [...]s of prophane and ſawcy Jack and Atheiſtick Scribler, with which he treats me, when the Fit of Enthuſiam is ſtrong upon him: by which well-manner'd and charitable Expreſſions, I was certain of his Sect be⯑fore I knew his Name. What would you have more of a Man? he has damn'd me in your Cauſe from Geneſis to the Revelations: And has half the Texts of [...]both the Teſtaments against me, if you will be ſo civil to your ſelves as to take him for your Interpreter; and not to take them for Iriſh Witneſſes. After all perhaps you will tell me, that you re⯑tain'd him only for the opening of your Cauſe, and that your main Law⯑yer is yet behind. Now if it ſo happen he meet with no more Reply than his Predeceſſors, you may either conclude, that I truſt to the Goodneſs of my Cauſe, or fear my Adverſary, or diſdain him, or what you pleaſe, for the ſhort on't is, 'tis indifferent to your humble Servant, whatever your Party ſays or thinks of him.

The Medal: A SATYR AGAINST SEDITION

[8]
OF all our Antick Sights, and Pageantry,
Which Engliſh Idiots run in Crouds to ſee,
The Poliſh Medal bears the Prize alone:
A Monſter more the Favourite of the Town
Than either Fairs or Theatres have ſhown.
Never did Art ſo well with Nature ſtrive;
Nor ever Idol ſeem'd ſo much alive?
So like the Man; ſo golden to the ſight,
So baſe within, ſo counterfeit and light.
One ſide is fill'd with Title and with Face;
And, leſt the King ſhou'd want a regal Place,
On the reverſe, a Tow'r the Town ſurveys;
O'er which our mounting Sun hi [...] Beams diſplays.
The Word pronounc'd aloud by Shrieval Voice,
Laetamur, which, in Poliſh, is rejoyce.
The Day, Month, Year, to the great Act are join'd,
And a new Canting Holiday deſign'd.
Five Days he ſate, for every Caſt and Look;
Four more than God to finiſh Adam took.
[9]But who can tell what Eſſence Angels are,
Or how long Heav'n was making Lucifer!
Oh, cou'd the Style that copy'd every Grace,
And plough'd ſuch Furrows for an Eunuch Face,
Cou'd it have form'd his ever-changing Will,
The various Piece had tir'd the Graver's Skill!
A Martial Hero firſt, with early Care,
Blown, like a Pigmy by the Winds, to War.
A Beardleſs Chief, a Rebel, e'er a Man:
So young his Hatred to his Prince began.)
Next this, (How wildly will Ambition ſteer!)
A Vermin, wriggling in the Uſurper's Ear.
B [...]tt'ring his venal Wit for Sums of Gold
He caſt himſelf into the Saint-like Mould;
Groan'd, ſigh'd and pray'd, while Godlineſs was Gain;
The [...]udeſt Bag-pip [...] of the Sqeaking Train.
[...]ut, as 'tis hard to cheat a Juggler's Eyes,
His open Lewdneſs he cou'd ne'er diſguiſe.
There ſplit the Saint: for Hypocritick Zeal
[...]llows no Sins but thoſe it can conceal.
Whoring to Scandal gives too large a ſcope:
[...]aints muſt not trade; but they may interlope.
[...]h' ungodly Principle was all the ſame;
[...]ut a groſs Cheat betrays his Partner's Game.
[...]eſides, their pace was formal, grave and ſlack:
[...]is nimble Wit out-ran the heavy Pack.
[...]et ſtill he found his Fortune at a ſtay;
Whole Droves of Blockheads choaking up his way:
They took, but not rewarded, his Advice;
[...]illain and Wit exact a double Price.
[...]w'r was his aim: But, thrown from that pretence,
[...]he Wretch turn'd Loyal in his own Defence;
[...]nd Malice reconcil'd him to his Prince.
[...]m, in the Anguiſh of his Soul he ſerv'd;
[...]warded faſter ſtill than he deſerv'd.
[...]hold him now exalted into Truſt;
[...]s Counſel's oft convenient, ſeldom juſt.
[...]'n in the moſt ſincere Advice he gave,
[...]e had a grudging ſtill to be a Knave.
[10]The Frauds he learnt in his Fanatick Years
Made him uneaſie in his Lawful Gears.
At beſt as little honeſt as he cou'd:
And, like white Witches, miſchievouſly good.
To his firſt Byaſs, longingly he leans;
And rather wou'd be great by wicked means.
Thus, fram'd from Ill, he loos'd our Triple hold;
(Advice unſafe, precipitous, and bold.)
From hence thoſe Tears! that Ilium of our Woe!
Who helps a pow'rful Friend, fore-arms a Foe.
What Wonder if the Waves prevail ſo far,
When He cut down the Banks that made the Bar?
Seas follow but their Nature to invade;
But he by Art our Native Strength betray'd.
So Sampſon to his Foe his force confeſt;
And, to be ſhorn, lay ſlumb'ring on her Breaſt.
But, when this fatal Counſel, found too late,
Expos'd its Author to the publick Hate;
When his juſt Sovereign, by no impious way;
Cou'd be ſeduc'd to Arbitrary ſway;
Forſaken of that Hope, he ſhifts the ſail;
Dri [...]es down the Current with a pop'lar Gale;
And ſhews the F [...]end confeſs'd without a Veil.
He preaches to the Crowd, that Pow'r is lent,
But not convey'd to Kingly Government;
That claims ſucceſſive bear no binding force;
That Coronation Oaths are things of courſe;
Maitains the Multitude can never err;
And ſets the People in the Papal Chair.
The Reaſon's obvious; Int'reſt never lyes;
The moſt have ſtill their Int'reſt in their Eyes;
The Pow'r is always theirs, and Pow'r is ever wiſe.
Almighty Crowd, thou ſhorten'ſt all diſpute;
Power is thy Eſſence; Wit thy Attribute!
Nor Faith nor Reaſon make thee at a ſtay,
Thou leap'ſt o'er all Eternal Truths, in thy Pindarique wa [...]
Athens, no doubt, did righteouſly decide,
When Phocion and when Socrates were try'd:
[11]As righteouſly they did thoſe dooms repent,
Still they were wiſe, whatever way they went.
Crouds err not, though to both Extreams they run;
To kill the Father, and recal the Son.
Some think the Fools were moſt, as times went then;
But now the World's o'er-ſtock'd with prudent Men.
The common Cry is ev'n Religion's Teſt;
The Turks is, at Conſtantinople, beſt;
[...]dols in India, Popery at Rome;
And our own Worſhip only true at home.
And true, but for the time, 'tis hard to know
How long we pleaſe it ſhall continues ſo.
This ſide to day, and that to morrow burns;
So all are God a mighties in their turns.
A Tempting Doctrine, plauſible and new:
What Fools our Fathers were, if this be true?
Who, to deſtroy the ſeeds of Civil War,
[...]nherent Right in Monarchs did declare:
And, that a lawful Pow'r might never ceaſe,
Secu [...]'d Succeſſion, to ſecure our Peace,
Thus Property and Sovereign Sway, at laſt
[...]n equal Balances were juſtly caſt:
But this new Jehu ſpurs the hot-mouth'd Horſe;
[...]nſtructs the Beaſt to know his Native Force:
To take the Bit between his Teeth and fly
To the next headlong Steep of Anarchy.
Too happy England, if our good we knew;
Wou'd we poſſeſs the Freedom we purſue!
The laviſh Government can give no more:
[...]et we repine; and plenty makes us poor.
God try'd us once; our Rebe-fathers fought:
[...]e glutted 'em with all the Pow'r they ſought:
[...]ll, maſter'd by their own uſurping Brave,
[...]he free-born Subject ſunk into a Slave.
We loath our Manna, and we long for Quails;
[...]h, what is Man, when his own Wiſh prevails!
[...]ow raſh, bow ſwift to plunge himſelf in Ill [...];
[...]roud of his Pow'r, and boundleſs in his Will
[10]
[...]
[11]
[...]
[12]That Kings can do no wrong we muſt believe:
None can they do, and muſt they all receive?
Help Heav'n! or ſa [...]ly we ſhall ſee an Hour,
When neither wrong nor right are ni their Pow'r!
Already they have loſt their beſt Defence,
The Benefit of Laws, which they diſpence.
No Juſtice to their righteous Cauſe allow'd;
But baffled by an Arbitrary Croud.
And Medals grav'd, their Conqueſt to record,
The Stamp and Coyn of their adopted Lord.
The Man who laugh'd but once, to ſee an Aſs
Mambling to make the croſs-grain'd Thiſtles paſs:
Might laugh again, to ſee a Jury chaw
The Prickles of unpalatable Law.
The Witneſſes, that, Leech-like, liv'd on Blood,
Sucking for them were med'cinally good;
But, when they faſten'd on their feſter'd Sore,
Then, Juſtice and Religion they forſwore;
Their Maiden Oaths debauch'd into a Whore.
Thus Men are rais'd by Faction, and decry'd;
And Rogue and Saint diſtinguiſh'd by their Side.
They rack ev'n Scripture to confeſs their Cauſe;
And plead a Call to preach, in ſpight of Laws.
But that's no News to the poor injur'd Page,
It has been us'd as ill in every Age;
And is conſtrain'd, with Patience, all to take;
For what Defence can Greek and Hebrew make?
Happy who can this Talking Trumpet ſeize;
They make it ſpeak whatever Senſe they pleaſe!
'Twas fram'd, at firſt, our Oracle t' enquire;
But, ſince our Sects in Prophecy grow higher,
The Text inſpires not them; but they the Text inſpire.
London, thou great Emporium of our Iſle,
O, thou too bounteous, thou too fruitful Nile,
How ſhall I praiſe or curſe to thy Deſert!
Or ſeparate thy Sound, from thy corrupted part!
I call'd thee Nile; the parallel will ſtand:
Thy Tides of Wealth o'erflow the fatten'd Land;
[13] [...]et Monſters from thy large Increaſe we find.
[...]ngender'd on the Slyme thou leav'ſt behind.
[...]edition has not wholly ſeiz'd on thee;
Thy nobler Parts are from Infection free.
[...]r Iſrael's Tribes thou haſt a numerous Band;
[...]ut ſtill the Canaanite is in the Land.
Thy Military Chiefs are brave and true;
[...]or are thy diſinchanted Burghers few.
The Head is Loyal which thy Heart commands;
[...]ut what's a Head with two ſuch gouty Hands?
The wiſe and wealthy love the ſureſt way;
[...]nd are content to thrive and to obey.
[...]t Wiſdom is to Sloth too great a Slave;
[...]one are ſo buſie as the Fool and Knave.
Thoſe let me curſe; what Vengeance will they urge,
Whoſe Ordures neither Plague nor Fire can purge;
[...]or ſharp Experience can to Duty bring,
[...]or angry Heaven, nor a forgiving King!
[...] Goſpel-phraſe their Chapmen they betray:
Their Shops are Dens, the Buyer is their Prey.
The Knack of Trades is living on the Spoil;
They boaſt e'en when each other they beguile.
Cuſtoms to ſteal is ſuch a trivial thing,
That 'tis their Charter to defraud their King.
[...]ll hands unite of every jarring Sect;
They cheat the Country firſt, and then infect.
They, for God's Cauſe their Monarchs dare dethrone;
[...]nd they'll be ſure to make his Cauſe their own.
[...]hether the plotting Jeſuit lay'd the Plan
Of murth'ring Kings, or the French Puritan,
[...]our Sacrilegious Sects their Guides out-go;
[...]nd Kings and Kingly Pow'r wou'd murther too.
What means their Trait'rous Combination leſs,
Too plain t' evade, too ſhameful to confeſs.
[...]ut Treaſon is not own'd when 'tis deſcry'd;
[...]ucceſsful Crimes alone are juſtify'd.
The Men, who no Conſpiracy wou'd find,
Who doubts, but had it taken, they had join'd.
[14]Join'd, in a mutual Cov'nant of Defence;
At firſt without, at laſt againſt their Prince.
If Sovereign Right by S [...]vereign Pow'r they ſcan,
The ſame bold Maxim holds in God and Man [...]:
God were not ſafe, his Thunder cou'd they ſhun
He ſhou'd be forc'd to crown another Son.
Thus, when the Heir was from the Vineyard thrown,
The rich Poſſeſſion was the Murth'rers own.
In vain to Sophiſtry they have recourſe:
By proving theirs no Plot, they prove 'tis worſe;
Unmask'd Rebellion, and audacicus Force.
Which, though not Actual, yet all Eyes may ſee
'Tis working, in th' immediate Pow'r to be;
For, from pretended Grievances they riſe,
Firſt to diſlike, and after to deſpiſe.
Then, Cyclop-like in humane Fleſh to deal,
Chop up a Miniſter, at every Meal;
Perhaps no [...] wholly to melt down the King;
But clip his Reg [...]l Rights within the Ring.
From thence t' aſſume the pow'r of Peace and War;
And eaſe him by degrees of publick Care.
Yet, to conſult his Dignity and Fame,
He ſhou'd have leave to exerciſe the Name;
And hold the Cards, while Commons play'd the Game.
For what can Pow'r give more than Food and Drink,
To live at Eaſe, and not be bound to think?
Theſe are the cooler Methods of the Crime;
But their hot Zealots think 'tis loſs of time:
On utmoſt Bounds of Loyalty they ſtand,
And grin and whet like a Croatian Band;
That waits impatient for the laſt Command.
Thus Out-laws open Villainy maintain;
They ſteal not, but in Squadrons ſcour the Plain:
And, if their pow'r the Paſſengers ſubdue;
The moſt have right, the wrong is in the Few.
Such impious Axiomes fooliſhly they ſhow;
For, in ſome Soils Republicks will not grow:
Our Temp' rate Iſle will no Extreams ſuſtain,
Of pop'lar Sway, or Arbitrary Reign [...]
[15]But ſlides between them both into the beſt;
Secure in Freedom, in a Monarch bleſt.
And though the Climate, vext with various Winds,
Works through our yielding Bodies on our Minds,
The wholſome Tempeſt purges what it breeds;
To recommend the Calmneſs that ſucceeds.
But thou, the Pander of the Peoples Hearts,
[...]O Crooked Soul, and Serpentine in Arts,)
Whoſe Blandiſhments a Loyal Land [...] have whor'd,
And broke the Bonds ſhe plighted to her Lord;
What Curſes on thy blaſted Name will fall!
Which age to Age their Legacy ſhall call;
[...]or all muſt curſe the Woes that muſt deſcend on all.
Religion thou haſt none: thy Mercury
Has paſs'd through every Sect. or theirs through Thee.
[...]ut what thou giv'ſt, that Venom ſtill remains;
[...]nd the pox'd Nation feels Thee in their Brains.
What elſe inſpires the Tongues, and ſwells the Breaſts
Of all thy bellowing Renegado Prieſt [...],
[...]hat preach up thee for God; diſpence thy Laws;
[...]nd with thy Stumm ferment their fainting Cauſe?
[...]ſh Fumes of Madneſs raiſe; and toil and ſweat
To make the formidable Cripple great.
[...]t, ſhou'd thy Crimes ſucceed, ſhou'd lawleſs Pow'r
Compaſs thoſe Ends thy greedy Hopes devour,
Thy Canting Friends thy Mortal Foes wou'd be;
Thy God and Theirs will never long agree.
[...]or thine, (if thou haſt any,) muſt be one
That lets the World and Humane Kind alone;
[...] jolly God, that paſſes hours too well
[...]o promiſe Heav'n, or threaten us with Hell.
[...]hat unconcern'd can at Rebellion ſit;
[...]nd wink at Crimes he did himſelf commit.
Tyrant theirs; the Heav'n their Prieſthood paints;
Conventicle of gloomy ſullen Saints;
Heav'n, like Bedlam, ſlovingly and ſad;
[...]ore-doom'd for Souls, with falſe Religion mad.
Without a Viſion Poets can fore-ſhew
[...]hat all but Fools, by common Senſe my know:
[16]If true Succeſſion from our Iſle ſhou'd fail,
And Crouds profane, with impious Arms prevail,
Not thou, nor thoſe thy Factious Arts ingage
Shall reap that Harveſt of Rebellious Rage,
With which thou flatter'ſt thy decrepit Age.
The ſwelling Poiſon of the ſev'ral Sects,
Which wanting vent, the Nation's Health infects,
Shall burſt its Bag; and fighting out their way
The various Venoms on each other prey.
The Presbyter, pufft up with ſpiritual Pride,
Shall on the Necks of the lewd Nobles ride:
His Brethren damn, the Civil Pow'r defy;
And parcel out Republick Prelacy.
But ſhort ſhall be his Reign: his rigid Yoke
And Tyrant Pow'r will puny Sects provoke;
And Frogs and Toads, and all the Tadpole Train
Will croak to Heav'n for help, from this devouring Cran [...]
The Cut-throat Sword and clamorous Gown ſhall jar,
In ſharing their ill-gotten Spoils of War:
Chiefs ſhall be grudg'd the part which they pretend,
Lords envy Lords, and Friends with every Friend
About their impious Merit ſhall contend.
The ſurly Commons ſhall Reſpect deny;
And juſtle Peerage out with Property.
Their Gen'ral either ſhall his Truſt betray,
And force the Crowd to Arbitrary Sway;
Or they ſuſpecting his ambitious Aim,
In hate of Kings ſhall caſt a new the Frame;
And thruſt out Collatine that bore the Name.
Thus in-born Broils the Factions wou'd ingage;
Or Wars of Exil'd Heirs, or Foreign Rage,
Till halting Vengeance overtook our Age:
And our wild labours, wearied into Reſt,
Reclin'd us on a rightful Monarch's Breaſt.
—Pudet haec opprobria, vobis
Et dici potuiſſe, & non potuiſſe refelli.
FINIS.

19.

[]

Love given over: OR, A SATYR AGAINST THE Pride, Luſt, and Inconſtancy, &c. OF WOMAN. WITH SYLVIA'S REVENGE, OR, A SATYR AGAINST MAN, In Anſwer to the Satyr againſt Woman. Amended by the AUTHOR.

LONDON [...]inted and Sold by H. Hills, in Black-fryars near the Water-ſide. 1710.

To the Reader.

[2]

THE Pious Endeavours of the Gown, have not prov [...] more ineffectual towards reclaiming the Errors of a v [...] ⯑tious Age, than Satyr (the better way, tho' leſs practis'd) t [...] Amendment of Honeſty, and good Manners among us. Nor [...] it a wonder, when we conſider that Women, (as if they ha [...] the ingredient of Fallen-Angels in their Compoſition) the mo [...] they are laſh'd, are but the more hardned in Impenitence: A [...] as Children in ſome violent Diſtemper, commonly ſpit out th [...] cheriſhing Cordials, which, if taken, might chaſe away t [...] Malady: So they (inſpir'd as 'twere with a natural averſ⯑neſs to Virtue) deſpiſe that wholſom Counſel, which is Relig⯑ouſly deſign'd for their future good, and happineſs. Judge the [...] if Satyr ever had more need of a ſharper ſting than now: wh [...] hen can look out of his Cell on no ſide but ſees ſo many obje [...] beyond the reach of indignation. Nor is it altogether unre⯑ſonable for me (while others are laſhing the Rebellious Tim [...] into Obedience) to have one fling at Woman, the Origi [...] of Miſchief. I'm ſenſible I might as well expect to ſee Tr [...] and Honeſty uppermoſt in the World, as think to be free fr [...] the bitterneſs of their Reſentments: But I have no reaſon to concern'd at that; ſince I'm certain my Deſign's as far fr [...] offending the good, (if there are any amongſt 'em that can ſaid to be ſo) as thoſe few that are good, would be offended their Reception into the Eternal Inhabitations of Peace, to Crown'd there with the Sacred Reward of their Labours. for thoſe that are ill, if it Gall them, it ſucceeds according my wiſh; for I have no other deſign but the Amendmen [...] Vice, which if I could but in the leaſt accompliſh, I ſhould well pleas'd; and not without reaſon too; for it muſt need ſome ſatisfaction to a young unskilful Archer, to hit the [...] Mark he ever aim'd at.

Love given over: OR, A SATYR againſt WOMAN.

[3]
AT length from Love's vile Slav'ry I am free,
And have regain'd my ancient Liberty:
[...]e ſhook thoſe Chains off which my Bondage wrought,
[...]n free as Air, and unconfin'd as Thought;
[...]or Faithleſs Sylvia I no more adore,
[...]neel at her Feet, and pray in vain no more:
[...]o more my Verſe ſhall her fled Worth proclaim,
[...]nd with ſoft Praiſes celebrate her Name:
[...]er Frowns do now no awful Terrors bear;
[...]er Smiles no more can cure or cauſe Deſpair.
[...]ve baniſh'd her for ever from my Breaſt,
[...]aniſh'd the proud Invader of my Reſt,
[...]aniſh'd the Tyrant-Author of my Woes,
That robb'd my Soul of all its ſweet repoſe:
[...]ot all her treach'rous Arts bewitching Wiles,
[...]der Sighs, her Tears, nor her deluding Smiles,
[...]hall my eternal Reſolution move,
Or make me talk, or think, or dream of Love:
The whining Curſe I've baniſh'd from my Mind,
[...]nd with it, all the Thoughts of Womankind.
Come then my Muſe, and ſince the Occaſion's fair;
[...]gainſt that Sex proclaim an endleſs War;
Which may renew as ſtill my Verſe is read,
[...]nd live, when I am mingled with the dead.
Woman! by Hev'ns the very Name's a Crime,
[...]nough to blaſt, and to debauch my Rhyme.
[...]ure Heav'n it ſelf (intranc't) like Adam lay,
Or elſe ſome baniſh'd Fiend uſurp't the [...]way
When Eve was form'd; and with her uſher'd in
[...]lagues, Woes, and Death, and a new World of Sin.
[4]The fatal Rib was crooked and unev'n,
From whence they have their Crab-like Nature giv'n;
Averſe to all the Laws of Man and Heav'n.
O Lucifer, thy Regions had been thin,
Wer't not for Woman's propagating Sin:
'Tis they alone that all true Vices know;
And ſend ſuch Throngs down to thy Courts below:
Nay there is hardly one among 'em all,
But envics Eve the Glory of the Fall:
Be cautious then, and guard your Empire well;
For ſhould they once get Power to rebel,
They'd ſurely raiſe a Civil-War in Hell,
Add to the Pains you feel, and make you know,
W'are here above, as Curſt as you below.
But we may thank our ſelves; is there a Dog,
Who when he may have Freedom, wears the Clog?
But Man, vain Man, the more imprudent Beaſt,
Drags the dull weight when he may be releas't:
May ſuch, (and, ah! too many ſuch we ſee)
While they live here, juſt only live, to be
The Mark of Scorn, Contempt and Infamy.
But if the Tide of Nature boiſtrous grow,
And would Rebelliouſly its Banks o'erflow,
Then chuſe a Wench, who (full of lewd Deſires)
Can meet your Floods of Love with equal Fires;
She only damns the Soul: but an ill Wife
Damns that, and with it all the Joys of Life:
And what vain Blockhead is ſo dull, but knows,
That of two Ills the leaſt is to be choſe?
But now, ſince Woman's Luſt I chance to name,
Woman's unbounded Luſt I'll firſt proclaim:
And ſhow that our lewd Age has brought to view,
What Sodom, when at worſt, has bluſht to do.
True, I confeſs, that Rome's Emperial Whore,
(More Fam'd for Vice than for the Crown ſhe wore)
Into the publick Stews (diſguis'd) wou'd [...]hruſt,
To quench the raging Fury of her Luſt;
And by ſuch Actions bravely got her Name,
Born up for ever on the Wings of Fame:
[5] [...]et this is poor, to what our Modern Age
[...]as hatch'd, brought forth, and acted on the Stage:
Which for the Sex's Glory I'll rehearſe;
[...]nd make that deathleſs, as that makes my Verſe.
Who knew not (for to whom was ſhe unknown)
[...]or late prodigious Bewley? (true, ſhe's gone
[...]o anſwer for the num'rous Ills ſhe's done;
[...]o [...] if there is no Hell for ſuch as ſhe,
[...]eav'n is unjuſt, and that it cannot be.)
[...] Albion's Iſle faſt rooted in the Main,
[...]es the rough Billows raging force Diſdain,
[...]hich tho' they foam, and with loud Terror roar,
[...]t they can never reach beyond the Shore.
[...]o ſhe with Luſt's Enthuſiaſtick Rage,
[...]uſtain'd all the ſalt Stallions of the Age.
Whole Legions ſhe encounter'd, Legions tyr'd;
[...]ſatiate yet, ſtill freſh Supplies deſir'd.
[...]uſtrious Bawd! may thy Name live, and be
[...]bhorr'd by all, as 'tis abhorr'd by me;
[...]hou foremoſt in the Race of Infamy!
[...]t Bodies muſt decay; for 'tis too ſure,
There's nothing from the Jaws of Time ſecure,
[...]et when ſhe found that ſhe could do no more,
[...]hen all her Body was one putrid Sore,
[...]dded with Pox, and Ulcers quite all o'er;
[...]en then, by her deluſive treach'rous Wiles,
[...]or that's moſt ſpecious ſtill, which moſt beguiles)
[...]'enroll'd more Females in the Liſt of Whore,
[...]an all the Arts of Man e'er did before.
[...]eſt with the pond'rous Guilt, at length ſhe fell,
[...]d through the ſolid Centre ſunk to Hell [...]
[...]e murm'ring Fiends all hover'd round about,
[...] in hoarſe Howls did the great Bawd ſalute;
[...]az'd to ſee a ſordid lump of Clay,
[...]n'd with more various bolder Crimes than they:
[...]or were her Torments leſs; for the dire Train,
[...]on ſent her howling through the rowling Flame,
[...] the ſad Seat of everlaſting Pain.
[6] Creſwel, and Stratford, the ſame Path do tread,
In Sin's black Volume ſo profoundly read,
That whenſoe'er they die, we well may fear,
The very Tincture of the Crimes they bear,
With ſtrange Infuſion may inſpire the Duſt,
And in the Grave commit true Acts of Luſt.
And now, i [...] ſo much to the World's reveal'd,
Reflect on the vaſt ſtores that lie conceal'd,
How oft into their Cloſets they retire,
Where flaming Dil—does inflame Deſire,
And Gentle Lap-d—s feed the am'rous fire.
How curſt is Man! when Brutes his Rivals prove,
Ev' in the Sacred Buſineſs of his Love!
Unleſs Religion pious Thoughts inſtil,
Shew me the Woman that would not be ill,
If ſhe conveniently could have her will.
And when the Mind's corrupt, we all well know,
The Actions that proceed from't muſt be ſo.
Their Guilt's as great who any ill wou'd do,
As their's who actually that ill purſue,
That they would have it ſo their Crime aſſures;
Thus, if they durſt, moſt Women would be Whores.
That is, (and 'tis what all Men will allow)
There's many wou'd be ſo, that yet ſeems vertuous now
Forgive me, Modeſty, if I have been,
In any thing I have mention'd here, obſcene;
Yet ſtay—Why ſhould I ask that Boon of thee,
When 'tis a doubt if ſuch a thing there be?
For Woman, in whoſe Breaſts thou'rt ſaid to reign,
And ſhow the glorious Conqueſts thou doſt gain,
Deſpiſes thee, and only courts the Name:
(Sounds, tho' we cannot ſee, yet we may hear,
And wonder at [...]heir echoing through the Air)
Thus, l [...]d by what deluſive Fame imparts,
We think thy Throne's erected in their Hearts;
But w'are deceiv'd, as faith we ever were,
For if thou art, I'm ſure thou art not there:
Nothing in thoſe vile Manſions does reſide,
But rank Ambition, Luxury and Pride.
[7]Pride is the Deity they moſt adore,
Hardly their own dear ſelves they cheriſh more:
Survey their very Looks, you'll find it there;
How can you miſs it when 'tis ev'ry where?
Some through all hunted Natures Secrets trace.
To fill the Furrows of a wrinkl'd Face;
And after all their toyl (pray mark the Curſe)
They've only made that which was bad much worſe,
As ſome in ſtriving to make ill Coin paſs,
Have but the more diſcover'd that 'twas Braſs.
Nay, thoſe that are reputed to be fair,
And know how courted, how admir'd they are,
Who one would think God had form'd ſo compleat,
They had no need to make his Gifts a Cheat;
Yet they too in Adulteration ſhare,
And wou'd in ſpight of Nature, be more fair.
Deluded Woman! tell me, where's the Gain,
In ſpending Time upon a thing ſo vain?
Your precious Time, (O to your ſelves unkind!
When 'tis uncertain you've an hour behind
Which you can call your own: For tho' y'are Fair.
And beautiful as Guardian Angels are?
Adorn'd by Nature, fitted out by Art,
In all the Glories that delude the Heart:
Yet tell me, tell; have they the pow'r to ſave?
Or can they privilege you from the Grave;
The Grave, which favours not the Rich or Fair;
Beauty with Beaſt lies undiſtinguiſh'd there.
But hold—methinks I'm interrupted here,
By ſome vain Fop I neither Love nor Fear:
Who in theſe words his weakneſs does reveal,
And hurts that Wound which he ſhou'd ſtrive to heal.
'Soft, Sir, methinks you too inveterate grow;
'And more your Envy than Diſcretion ſhow.
'Who'd blame the Sun becauſe he ſhines ſo bright,
'That we can't gaze upon his dazling Light,
'When at the ſame time he chears the Earth,
'And gives the various Plant and Bloſſoms Birth?
'How does the Winter look, that naked thing,
'Compar'd to the freſh Glories of the Spring?
'Rivers adorn the Earth; the Fiſh, the Seas;
'Flowers and Graſs, the Meadows; Fruit, the Trees;
'The Stars, the Fields of Air thro' which they ride;
'And Woman all the Works of God beſide:
'Yet baſe detracting Envy won't allow
'They ſhould adorn themſelves; then pray, Sir, now
[8]'Produce ſome Reaſons why you're ſo ſevere;
'For, envious as you are, you know they're fair.
And ſo were Sodom's Apples heretofore,
But they were ſtill found rotten at the Core.
Nature without diſpute made all things fair;
And dreſs'd 'em in an unaffected Air:
The Earth, the Meadows, Rivers, ev'ry Flower.
Proclaim the Skill of their great Maker's Pow'r;
But they, as they were made at firſt, remain,
And all their ancient Luſtre ſtill retain.
Nothing but vain fantaſtick Woman's chang'd;
And through all Miſchiefs various Mazes rang'd▪
Yet that they're beautiful is not deny'd;
But tell me are the Unhandſome free from Pride?
No, no; the Strait, the Crooked, Ugly, Fair,
Have all, promiſcuouſly, an equal ſhare.
Thus, Sir, you ſee how they're eſtrang'd and ſtray'd.
From what by Nature they at firſt were made.
Already many of their Crimes I've nam'd,
Yet that's untold for which they moſt are Fam'd:
A Sin (tall as the Pyramids of old)
From whoſe aſpiring top we may behold
Enough to damn a World!—what ſhould it be,
But (Curſe upon the Name!) Inconstancy?
O tell me, does the World thoſe Men contain,
(For I have look'd for ſuch, but look'd in vain)
Who ne'er were drawn into that fatal Snare:
Fatal I call it, for he's curſt that's there.
Inſpir'd then by my Fellow-ſufferers wrongs,
And glad I am, the Task to me belongs;
I'll bring the Fiend unmask'd to humane ſight,
Tho' hid in the black Womb of deepeſt Night.
No more the Wind, the faithleſs Wind, ſhall be
A Simile for their Inconſtancy,
For that ſometimes is fixt; but Woman's Mind
Is never fixt, or to one Point inclin'd:
Leſs fixt than in a Storm the Billows are,
Or trembling Leaf the Aſpen-Tree does bear,
Which ne'er ſtand ſtill, but (ev'ry way inclin'd)
Turn twenty times with the leaſt breath of wind.
Leſs fixt than wanton Swallows while they play
In the Sun-beams, to welcome in the Day:
Now yonder, now they're here, as ſoon as there,
In no Place long, and yet are ev'ry where.
Lake a toſs'd Ship their paſſions fall and riſe
One while you'd think it touch'd the very Skies,
When ſtreight upon the S [...]n [...] it groveling lies.
[9]Ev'n ſhe her ſelf, Sylvia, th' lov'd and Fair,
Whoſe one kind Look cou'd ſave me from Deſpair;
She, ſhe whoſe Smiles I valu'd at that rate,
To enjoy them I ſcorn'd the Frowns of Fate;
Ev'n ſhe her ſelf, (but Ah! I'm loth to tell,
Or blame the Crimes of one I lov'd ſo well;
But it muſt out) ev'n ſhe, ſwift as the Wind,
Swift as the airy Motions of the Mind,
At once prov'd falſe, and perjur'd, and unkind.
Here they to Day invoke the Pow'rs above,
As Witneſſes to their Immortal Love;
When (lo!) away the airy Fantom flies,
And e'er it can be ſaid to live, it dies:
Thus all Religious Vows they break,
With the ſame Eaſe and Freedom as they ſpeak.
Nor is that ſacred Idol, Marriage, free,
Marriage! which muſty Drones affirm to be
The tye of Souls, as well as Bodies! nay,
The Spring that does through unſeen Pipes convey
Freſh Sweets to Life, and drives the bitter Dregs away!
The Sacred Flame, the Guardian Pile of Fire,
That guides our Steps to Peace! nor does expire,
Till it has left us nothing to deſire!
Ev'n thus adorn'd, the Idol is not free
From the ſw [...]ft turns of their Inconſtancy.
Witneſs th' Epheſian Matron —
Who to the Grave with her dead Husband went,
And clos'd her ſelf up in his Monument;
Where on Marble ſhe lamenting lay,
[...]n ſighs, ſhe ſpent the Night; in Tears, the Day,
And ſeem'd to have no uſe of Life, but mourn it all away,
The wond'ring World extoll'd her faithful Mind,
Extoll'd her as the beſt of Woman-kind:
But ſee the World's Miſtake; and with it, ſee
The ſtrange effect of wild Inconſtancy?
[...]or ſhe her ſelf, ev'n in that Sacred Room,
With one brisk, vig'rous On-ſet was o'ercome,
[...]nd made a Brothel of her Husband's Tomb:
Whoſe pale Ghoſt trembl'd in his Sacred Shrowd,
Wond'ring that Heav'n t [...]' Impious Act allow'd:
[...]orror in Robes of Darkneſs ſtalkt around;
[...]nd through the frighted Tomb did Groans reſound,
[...]he very Marbles wept, the Furies howl'd,
[...]nd in hoarſe Murmurs their Amazement told.
[...]ll this ſhook no [...] the Dictates of her Mind,
[...]t with a Boldneſs, ſuited to her kind,
[10]She made her Husband's Ghoſt, (in Death, a Slave!)
Her neceſſary Pimp ev'n in his Grave!
What need I fetch theſe Inſtances from old?
There now live thoſe that are as bad, and bold,
Of Quality too, Young, Vig'rous, Luſtful, Fair;
But for their Husbands ſakes their Names I ſpare.
Are theſe (ye Gods) the Virtues of a Wife?
The Peace that crowns a Matrimonial Life?
Is this the Sacred Prize for which we fight,
And hazard Life and Honour with delight?
Bliſs of the Day, and Rapture of the Night?
The Reins, that guide us in our wild Careers,
And the Supporter of our feeble Years?
No, no, 'tis Contradiction; rather far
They are the cauſe of all our Boſom War:
The very Source, and Fountain of our Woe,
From whence Deſpair, and Doubt for ever flow:
The Gall, that mingles with our beſt delight;
Rank to the Taſte, and nauſeous to the Sight:
A Days, the weight of Care that clogs the Breaſt,
At Night the Hags that does diſturb our Reſt,
Our mortal Sickneſs in the midſt of Health;
Chains in our Freedom; Poverty in Wealth:
Th' Eternal Peſtilence, and Plague of Life;
Th' Original, and Spring of all our Strife;
Theſe rather are the Virtues of a clam'rous Wife!
O why, ye awful Pow'rs, why was't your Will?
To mix our ſolid Good with ſo much Ill?
But you foreſaw our Crimes wou'd ſoar too high,
And ſo made them your Vengeance to ſupply:
For not the wild deſtructive waſte of War,
Nor all the endleſs Lab'rinths of the Bar,
Famine, Revenge, perpetual loſs of Health,
No, nor that grinning Fiend, Deſpair it ſelf,
When it inſults with moſt tyrannick ſway,
Can plague or torture Man ſo much as they.
But hold —don't let me blame the Pow'rs Divine;
Or at the wondrous Works they made, repine.
All at firſt was good, form'd by the unerring Will,
Tho' much has ſince degen'rated to ill.
Ev'n Woman was (ſay they) made chaſte and good;
But Ah! not long in that bleſt State ſhe ſtood;
Swift as a Meteor glides thro' Air ſhe fell,
And ſhow'd, to love that Sex too much, is one ſure way to Hell
But ſtop my Pen; for who can comprehend,
Or trace thoſe Crimes, which n [...]'er can have an end?
[11]The Sun, the Moon, the Stars that gild the Sky,
The World, and all its Glories too muſt dye,
And in one univerſal Ruin lye:
But they ev'n Immortality will gain,
And live—but muſt for ever live in pain;
For ever live, damn'd to eternal Night,
And never more review the Sacred Light.
Beware then, dull, deluded Man, beware;
And let not vicious Women be the Snare,
To make you the Companions with 'em there:
Scorn their vain Smiles, their little Arts deſpiſe,
And your Content at that juſt value prize,
As not to let thoſe rav'nous Thieves of Prey
Rifle, and bear the ſacred Gueſt away;
'Tis they, 'tis they that rob us of that Gem;
How could we loſe it were it not for them?
Avoid 'em then, with all the gaudy Arts,
They daily practiſe to amuſe our Hearts;
Avoid 'em, as you wou'd avoid their Crimes,
Or the mad Follies that infeſt the Times.
But now ſhou'd ſome (for doubtleſs we may find
Many a ſtupid Aſs among Mankind,)
Shou'd ſuch contemn the wholſome Rules I give,
And in contempt of what I've ſpoke, ſtill live
Like baſe ſoul'd Slaves, and Fetters chuſe to wear,
When they may be as unconfin'd as Air,
Or the wing'd Race that do inhabit there;
May all the Plagues an ill Wife can invent,
Purſue 'em with eternal Puniſhment:
May they—but ſtay, may Curſes I foreſtall;
For in that Curſe I've comprehended all—
But ſay, Sir, if ſome Pilot on the Main
Shou'd be ſo mad, ſo reſolutely vain,
To ſteer his Bark upon that fatal Shore,
Where he has ſeen ten thouſand wrack't before,
Tho' he ſhou'd periſh there; ſay, wou'd you not
Beſtow a Curſe on the Notorious Sot;
Truſt me, the Man's as much to blame as he,
Who ventures his frail Bark out wilfully,
On the Wild, Rocky, Matrimonial See;
When round about, and juſt before his Eyes,
Such a deſtructive waſte of fatal Ruine lies.
FINIS.

The Epiſtle Dedicatory to the Snarling Curs the CRITICKS.

[12]

AND why all this Noiſe and Splutter againſt the Women, Harmleſs Creatures▪ What have they done to deſerve ſo many Lampoons, Libels, Satyrs? But methinks Gen⯑tlemen, 'tis not fair Dealing to commit A [...]ts of open Hoſtility before you proclaim a War. And we know what Feats you brag have been done, by our little Fire-ſhip call'd the Satyr againſt Woman: This Preface therefore is only to let you know, that we have rig'd our a Female Man of War (if that been't Nonſenſe) with 30 G [...]s of a ſide, which I'gad Gentlemen, (as Mr. Bays has it) we hope will maul you: and ſo much for that Point.

But Now—what now? why, it ſeems 'twas Nero, and not Caligula, that made ſuch a Wiſh, mention'd in Page 2d. Why Gentlemen, I hope you'll excuſe the want of Learning in a Woman; ſince upon my word, I never read Suetonius nor Tranquills, for you all know, That a Box of Marmalade, Culpepper's Midwifery, a Prayer-Book, and two or three Plays, is all the Furniture of a Woman's Study,

If any of the Characters ſuit with ſome Perſons to me unknown, I ſolemnly profeſs, there is not one of them levell'd againſt any Perſon whatſoever, but a Skilful Painter may by the ſtrength of Fancy, draw a Face repreſenting ſome Body, tho' no Body ſ [...] for the Picture.

Madam,
TH' Invaſion firſt with fierce Aſſaults began,
And ſcatter'd wild Diſorder as it ran,
It was a War betwixt our Sex and Man.
With haughty Pride the bold Triumphers boaſt,
And cry the weaker Veſſel's ſunk and loſt;
Trophies along the gaudy Strand diſplay [...]d,
And never ſuch Inſulting Poeans made.
Yet true it is, without a Bluſh we own,
Our Force in part was ſcatter'd and o'erthrown▪
With Fright ſurpriz'd we knew not then the Foe,
With Noiſe they hurry'd on, and fluſh't with ſhow;
Yet ſtill unmov'd our Body did remain,
They only took ſome Straglers on the Plain.
To you the News with winged haſte we bore,
You ſmil'd, and bid us ſtand, and ſaid no more.
Long you delay'd indeed to aid us there,
And they miſtook your Scorn of them, for fear.
You ſent one Muſe to view their Strength, ſhe came
And told you 'twas but Noiſe and babling Fame.
Unguarded, and how looſe the Forces lay,
And would you then advance you'd with the Day.
With this alarm'd your God-like Genius roſe,
Lord! how agaſt appear'd your frighted Foes?
At your approach, foil'd and diſarm'd they yield,
And ſcatter ſtrange Confuſion o'er the Field.
With Numbers ſweetly rank't you brought us Aid,
[...]nd ſhew you can defend us and invade:
[...]bmiſſive at your Feet their General craves,
And you a [...] Pleaſure wound the baff [...]d [...]laves.
M P.

A SATYR againſt MAN.

[13]
THen muſt it thus, Ye Heavens for ever be,
Will no kind Fate our Sex from Cenſure free?
Muſt ill-bred Satyrs chaſe us through the World,
And ſhall no Thunder at the Slaves be hurl'd?
Ye Gods! how long ſhall injur'd Virtue groan?
How long ſhall Innocence be trampl'd on?
Shall a bold Scribling Fop whoſe Head contains,
A Thouſand Maggots for One Dram of Brains,
In Doggrel Rhime, and much more Doggrel Senſe,
Vomit ſix Pen'worth of Impertinence;
Thruſt it abroad, and in a Stile not common,
Call it forſooth—A Satyr againſt Woman?
A pretty Title—ſure the Book muſt ſell,
Cries a Clapt-Spark, and likes it wondrous well,
Another Laughs, and Snuffling in the Noſe,
E'gad (ſays he) the Subjects rarely choſe;
A third,—but hold, the Slaves I muſt engage,
Inſpire me Juno with a Woman's Rage,
A Rage like that, when you by Spies were told,
How finely Jupiter intreagu'd with Gold;
Or when the Shape of Bull and Swan put on,
To get ſome Mortal Maiden-Head was gone:
Aſſiſt dear Goddeſs, teach me how to write,
Inform my Satyr when, and where to bite,
That all the Race of lewd inconſtant Men,
May curſe the time they rous'd a Woman's Pen▪
'Tis done,—a glowing heat my Breaſt inſpires,
Revenge inflames me with its eager Fires;
Oh were the Races of Mankind in my Power,
By all my Hopes, they ſhould not live an hour,
[14]By Heaven, Caligula, 'twas bravely done,
To wiſh all Necks in Rome were ſhrunk to one,
That at one blow they might receive their Fate,
Yet Caeſar, you were moderate in your hate,
A part of Mankind, at your Rage would fall,
But mine, (would Heaven would grant it) flies at all.
Fear not my Muſe the Monſter to engage,
But ſlight the paſſes of a Scribler's Rage;
What tho' he ſtruts in big affected Notes,
You know the Muſes ſtill wear Petticoats,
Thoſe Darling Shes, their Sexes Cauſe will own,
Shall Angel-Woman be by Man o'erthrown?
—Man, the ignoble word of Tell-tale Fame,
My Paper bliſters as I write the Name,
Man, muſt I then the hated Name rehearſe,
Lord! how it ſtains my Ink and ſpoils my Verſe,
Man, by ſome angry God in paſſion hurl'd
Down, as a Plague to vex the Female World.
A Spirit of Air and Flame may be withſtood,
But who can ſhun a Devil of Fleſh and Blood?
Man! hold my Muſe, thy Epithets give o'er,
A Nobler Task will ſoon employ thy Store,
Expoſe the Wretch in all his vicious Shapes,
Trace him through all Diſguiſes, all Eſcapes,
For tho' his Vices are become his Trade,
Yet Vice will ſometimes Act in Maſquerade.
Let no fond pity thy Reſentments ſpare,
Let nought of Woman make the Laſh forbear;
Let him be Fop, Pimp, Cully, Fool, or Knave,
Laſh till he fly for ſhelter to the Grave:
That undeluded Females may be ſhown,
What a choice Creature 'tis they dote upon.
Nature has ſcarce wrote Man upon his Chin;
But ſtrait to Love the Stripling does begin.
Tho' what it is he underſtands no more,
Than Sailors did the Compaſs heretofore.
Whether the Play-houſe, Church, or Boarding-School,
Did with a Miſtreſs furniſh the young Fool,
[15]We cannot tell—but one at laſt is found,
Whoſe Charms the Heart of young Philander Wound
The Trifle humbly at her Feet he lays,
[...]nd has the Way of Courtſhip now a days:
[...]ome Preſent—for a Bribe does ſlily uſe,
[...]o by a Gift—his want of Gifts excuſe;
[...]nd that his Plot be more ſecurely laid,
[...]e gets an Intereſt in the Chamber-Maid:
[...]ut if from's Vows ſhe turns her Scornful Eyes,
[...]nd with diſdain his formal Courtſhip flyes;
[...] Lunatick transform'd he then deſpairs,
[...]ooks wild, ſtorms, rages, and devoutly ſwears,
That if his Sylvia ſends another Frown,
[...]imſelf, himſelf, the Wretch himſelf will drown
[...]efore th' arrival of the next days Sun,
[...]nd the next Tavern ſees the Buſineſs done.
[...]ollow my Muſe, you may if not too Clamorous,
[...]n a Red-Sea of Claret find Sir Amorous.
Where powerful Love, yields to more powerful Wine,
And prompts his Fancy to ſome new Deſign:
His former Miſtreſs like a Caſt off Suit,
Thrown by—another does his Heart recruit,
[...]o whom obliging Nature has been kind,
[...]n all the Gifts of Body and of Mind,
Nor muſt her Fortune be forgot behind;
[...]'ith her he uſes all the little Arts,
[...]nvented to ſurprize unguarded Hearts.
No T [...]eats are wanting that may bribe her Senſe,
And to her Heart convey ſoft Love from thence.
[...]o Balls and Plays ſhe's daily uſher'd in,
Tell me St. Jaeme's-Park how oft you've ſeen
The perjur'd Wretch conduct her through the Grove,
And whiſper Tales of his pretended Love.
How oft he kiſt her hand, and ſoftly [...]re,
That ſhe, and none but ſhe he could adore,
When the ſame time he Ogl'd at a Whore.
His vig'rous Courtſhip overcomes the Fair,
She can no longer ſuch brisk Sallyes bear.
With bluſhes which too well the Heart diſcover,
The cred'lous Phillis owns her ſelf a Lover,
Which mighty Secret when the Wretch has known
Retires, and all his Paſſion does diſown▪
Diſown't ſaid I?—Ah certainly he'd none;
And 'its a part of his Diverſion made,
To tell the World how th' Fair One was betray'd,
Your Thunder Gods! to ſtrike the Villain dead.
[16]O could my Pen dart Lightning at the Slave,
A Fate deſerv'd his Perjuries ſhould have:
But a Curſt Impotence attends me ſtill,
And Men muſt for the Deed accept the Will;
But yet to ſhow how far a Woman's Paſſion
Exceeds that Modiſh Raillery now in faſhion.
For once let cheated Ariadne ſpeak,
And if you any ſenſe of Shame partake:
Know perjur'd Men, 'twill make your Hearts to ake.
And will oblige our injur'd Sex to know it,
The Story's true, no matter who's the Poet.
When Theſius falſe by unexpected Theft,
Had Ariadne on black Naxos left,
By him and this kind Sex expos'd a Prey
To Wolves and Tygers milder Beaſts than they,
Long her low Love and Nature's ſervile Chain,
Her juſt, her pious Curſes did reſtrain:
But when far off his Perjur'd Gally flies,
And riſing Billows ſcreen her following Eyes,
All Woman in her's baniſh'd by deſpair,
Leaving a brave a dreadful Angel there;
Thus did She all his treacherous Sex engage,
And thus curſt on, inſpir'd with Heav'nly Rage.
Fly Villain, Monſter, Traytor, if I can,
I'll call thee more than all, I'll call thee Man.
Man—Nature's Bluſh, Medly of Luſt and Blood,
All Man —degen'rate from thy Native Mud,
Pure Sedement of Chaos, Devil all o'er,
Thy ſelf thy ſelf, what need I call the more;
Perjur'd, and Treach'rous, Monſtrous, and Ingrate,
Deadly's your Love, more deadly than your Hate.
Your charming Eyes are thoſe which have betray'd,
A tame, an eaſie, fond believing Maid.
Find me one Wretch in all your Helliſh Bands,
Whoſe Tongue han't done more Murders than his Hands.
Crocadile are your Tears, ſly ſilent Lyes,
Hyena's Voice, and Cockatrices Eyes.
Angels before you've cheated us, and then,
The Cloven-foot peeps out, and you'r all Devils agen.
When I my own weak Soul and Sex review,
I hate my ſelf and them as much as you.
Why has black Deſtiny oblig'd us thus,
To dote upon a Mortal-Incubus?
Oh that I could on the tame Fools prevail,
W [...]'d die to make their vip'rous Off-ſpring fail [...]'
[17]'Twould be but one curſt Age before they fell,
And moulder'd back into their native Hell.
By Heaven, 'twas nobly wiſht and bravely thought,
Were all our Sex with ſuch Intentions fraught,
Hell would not long the treacherous Vermin ſpare,
For ſlighted Love who can with Patience bear?
And tho' our Spark was Perjur'd once before,
He'll tick with Hell for one falſe Promiſe more,
And a whole Race of feigned Vows run o'er.
No Woman ſhall monopolize his Heart,
But every Female ſhall pretend a part.
Inconſtancy the Practic'd Vice of th' Age,
Makes him all Women that he ſees engage.
One Woman takes him with her charming Air,
This 'cauſe ſhe's Black, the other 'cauſe ſhe's Fair.
Now now he dies for Sylvia's Charming Eyes,
Till Caelia's Singing did his Soul ſurprize;
His trifling Heart ſhe for a while poſſeſt,
Till 'twas remov'd to Roſalinda's Breaſt:
She could not long of her new Treaſure boaſt,
The Skittiſh thing ſoon took another Poſt.
Octavia next would the Gay Bubble claim,
But ſtill for Daphne he'd a greater Flame;
For her he languiſht in ſoft fond Deſire,
[...]ill Florimena ſet his Heart on fire.
A while indeed he revel'd in her Arms,
But ſoon was captiv'd with Almeria's Charms▪
[...]or full ſix hours ſhe held her Aiery Lover,
T [...]ll Arabella did new Charms diſcover:
Her welcome Gueſt ſhe did not long enjoy,
But Lydia was preſented with the Toy;
And tho' ſhe'd Magick that might cauſe its ſtay,
Yet Clariſtilla beckon'd it away:
[...]n two hours time the inclination fled,
[...]nd Belvedira reigned in her ſtead;
[...]s Miſtreſs long ſhe had not bore Command,
[...]ut th' Scepter was reſign'd to Flora's Hand,
[...]alſe as the Wind, inconſtant as the Weather,
[...] ran away from her the Lord knows whither.
His Love being thus in various Channels cut,
[...]old Luſt flows in, as faſt as Love ebbs out.
[...]uſt, like a Fiend his Soul doth haunt and vex,
[...]uſt, the Familiar Devil of the Sex;
[...]ll ſenſe of Reputation once abhorring,
[...]e liſts himſelf a Proſelyte for Whoring.
Whoring—what pleaſure does the ſound afford?
[...]horing, that lovely fine delicious Word,
[18]A Virtuous Woman's troubled with Ill-Nature,
But yet a Whore's a moſt obliging Creature,
With her all his broken Vows repeats,
With her he values no Expence in Treats.
Whatever her fond Appetite can crave,
Tis but to ask, and ſhe as ſoon ſhall have.
The Park and Play-houſe ſee 'em ſtill together,
And he's her Cully for all ſorts of Weather;
And tho' ſome Years before the Nothing fled,
Yet he'll be thought to have her Maiden-head.
A vicious Conſtancy he now will own,
And is not weary of her Service grown;
While in her Lap th' inchanted Coxcomb rocks,
She lovingly requites him with a P—
But hold a-while m'unwary head-ſtrong Muſe,
In taxing Men I my own Sex Accuſe,
The Dart which at the other Sex was thrown,
Recoils with all its Force upon our own:
And while the Cully I would fain explore,
In lively Colours diſplay the Whore.
Like Sampſon's Foxes tail to tail they're ty'd,
And who, the Loving Couple would divide?
Yet this for Jilts muſt in excuſe be ſaid,
'Twas falſe, baſe treach'rous Man that them betray'd,
And if ſome Helliſh Arts and Tricks they know,
To you kind Men, they all their Knowledge owe,
They were not Devils till you made 'em ſo.
From Fluxing or from private Hot Houſe come,
For our laſt mentioned Cully make ſome Room.
Who tho' ſeverely chaſtened for his Sins,
His much lov'd Trade of Whoring ſoon begins,
So Flood-gates which have long ſtopt Water-courſe,
When opened make it fly with greater force.
Not virtuous Ladies in his Luſt he'd ſpare,
Did not their Frowns make the bold Wretch forbear.
His Luſt all manner of diſtinction Damns,
'Twixt Country nut-brown, or fine Court Madams.
Ugly or handſome, fair, black, brown, or yellow,
Tall, ſhort, fat, lean, he ſwears ſhe's not her fellow.
Abroad he faſtens upon all he meets,
The Sexes common Scare crow in the Streets.
Where Widows, Wives, and Maids, he boldly ſeizes,
Ones Breaſt, and t'others Hand he rudely ſqueezes.
But if he finds 'em civil or not right,
Damn 'em, ſays he, they're, Virtuous out of ſpite.
He roves not long till ſome kind Jenny paſs,
And ſhe with him takes one refreſhing Glaſs.
[19]Some paultry Chink to tempt her he'll expoſe,
And ſhe on him a ſwinging Clap beſtows.
Who in few days finding his old Gueſt come;
At ſome Quack Doctors takes a private Room,
The Quacks thoſe lewd Impoſtors of the times,
Fam'd for their Pills, their Spirits, and their Rhimes.
With promis'd hopes, expecting [...]ops betray,
And ſend them more Diſtemper'd thence away,
Call'd of their Health, and cheated of their Pay.
Death through the Town is ſcatter'd in their Bills,
And Execution ſwallow'd with their Pills.
'Twould blaſt a modeſt Muſe t'approach too near,
A Dire Infection ſtains the neighbouring Air.
Here draw the Veil and let the Wretches lie,
Curſing the effects of their baſe Leachery.
What Gaudy thing from China or Japan,
Is this appears?—it cannot ſure be Man.
And yet it talks, and looks, and walks like one,
Of thoſe we call the modiſh Sparks o'th' Town.
Man's the leaſt part about him that appears,
Sure he was got between ſome Taylors Shears.
Oh [...] what a breadth, what mighty Port he bears;
A dozen Farms upon his back he wears.
Point de Venee muſt now adorn his Knees;
Whoſe Anceſtors wore nought but homely Frieze.
[...]n a long Wig muſt our Sir Taudry ſtrut [...];
Whoſe Father wore the old Geneva-cut.
Dreſſing himſelf till noon the Fop muſt be,
The Royal Soveraign's ſooner rig'd than he.
Each day he ſpends ſome hours before the Glaſs,
To make himſelf a moſt accompliſht Aſs.
Studies new Smiles and Cringes when alone,
And practices abroad what there was done;
Pride is the Mistreſs he does hourly ſerve,
His Ear is bor'd and he muſt never ſwerve:
Price, which to learn the Women but begin,
[...]n Men is grown a moſt habitual Sin.
Along the Park methinks I ſee him paſs,
With formal ſteps he traverſes the Graſs;
[...]f any Ladies Eyes but towards him move,
He thinks, (Vain Fool,) that they're with him in Love.
But if t'advance, and to him come but nigh,
He gives 'em the kind ſquint and paſſes by;
Indeed he does it moſt Judiciouſly.
Then Spaniſh Snuſh, to Modiſh Noſe is put,
At which Perfum'd Handkerchief's drawn out;
[20]T'adjuſt ſome bold diſorder in the Face,
And put the Chin-patch in it proper place.
Then hums a Tune paſſing through the Streets
With his dear Friend, the brisk Sir Fopling meets;
With open Arms they embrace—Dear Jack how is't?
Welcome from France, and then I think they kiſt.
What News from Paris? Are the Ladies fine?
Shall we at Locket's Ordinary Dine?
What Novels, Songs, or Faſhion haſt brought over,
Are th' Ladies kind, I prithee Jack diſcover?
And thus does more Impertinence run thro'
Than ever Goſſips at a Chriſtning knew.
Nay—'tis not all his Huffing ſhall excuſe,
The Bully from the Laſh of angry Muſe;
Bully, how great i'th' Mouth the Accent ſounds;
Bully who nothing breaths but Bl———d and W—d [...];
Some Devil did ſure on Nature act a Rape,
And his own Likeneſs get in humane ſhape;
More Oaths and Curſes not the Damned Vent,
Than from the Bully's Brimſtone-Lungs are ſent.
The Devil himſelf is all amaz'd to ſee,
A Wretch more impiouſly bold than he;
He for one daring Act was ſent to Hell,
But th' others loud G—————d D————m's who can tell?
Like Tom a Bedlam he invades the Streets,
And Quarrels, Huffs, and Fights with all he meets.
But if that one whoſe Valour ſeems to ſtoop,
To Noiſe and Nonſenſe, take the Villain up;
And ſatisfaction for the Affront demand,
Sir Fright-All lowers his Top-ſail to your hand.
Your Pardon Sir, ſays he, I muſt requeſt,
By G——— I thought you'd underſtood a Jeſt,
His Bilboe ſh [...]ath'd he decently retires,
Tutor to young raw Fops and Country Squires,
Would you my Muſe of Hell the Picture view,
And what diſtracted Looks the Damned ſhew;
Go to ſome Gaming-Ordinary where,
Shamwell and Cheatly and ſuch Rooks repair,
To ſharp the City Prigg or Country-Heir.
Oaths loud as Thunder, ſhake the trembling Room,
And pointed Curſes ſign each others Doom.
The Pox, the Plague, and all the Ills that fall,
On wretched Mort [...]ls on themſelves they call;
While th [...]y by the uncertain chance of Dice,
Loſe Mannors, Lands, and Lordſhips in a trice.
And what Old Gripe well, Scores of Years was getting,
I [...] oft at [...] in an [...] ſitting▪
[21]The loſs of Guineas proves the loſs of ſenſe.
[...]r againſt Chance how can there be Defence?
[...]nger, Deſpair and Fury fill the Face;
[...]nd Paſſion juſtles Reaſon out of Place.
[...]t laſt a Wretch with whom the Furies dwell,
[...] by a fatal thruſt diſmiſt to Hell.
[...] inform old Nick, that all the reſt agree,
[...]ortly to come and bear him Company.
The keeping Spark ſhould next have been expos'd,
[...]t that's a Text has one great Poet pos'd,
Satyr cannot fright him into ſhame,
[...]hoſe Preſence damn'd the well-wrote Limber ham.
[...]ought have told what Arts and Tricks are laid,
[...]ſnare the vertuous young unthinking Maid.
What ſly decoys are us'd t'intrap the Fair?
What truſty Pimp did in the Office ſhare?
[...]hat Rev'rend Bands made uſe of to intice.
The Fair One's liking of that modiſh Vice?
[...]o [...] ſhe at laſt is guided to his Arms;
Where Victor like he triumphs in her Charms.
[...]o [...] long ſhe does the Airy Title hold,
[...]nd how her Joys are ſcarce a twelve Month old,
[...]efore kind Keeper takes another Miſs;
[...]t ſad experience knows too much of this.
My Task were endleſs, I ſhould never ſtop;
[...]ere I oblig'd t'expoſe each ſort of Fop.
[...]he rambling Fop from France but newly come,
[...]hat went out ſound and brought Diſeaſes home.
[...]he ſqueamiſh Fop ſo nice in all things grown,
[...] Courtly has his fellow Fools in Town.
The Lazy Fop that lies a Bed till Noon,
[...]nd wonders how he chanc'd to riſe ſo ſoon:
The Fop which does to buſineſs make pretence,
[...]et never guilty known of too much Senſe;
The City Fop that modiſh would appear,
[...]nd puts on Sword and Wig at Temple-bar.
The Cringing Fop that does to all Men bow;
The Sharping Fop that lives the Lord knows how▪
The Noiſy Fop would talk a Man to Death,
The Swearing Fop that lives on perjur'd Breath:
[...]ut hold—I might as well attempt to ſhow
[...]hat various Weeds on Banks of Nilus grow:
[...]hat ſorts of Monſters Africks Deſarts bear,
[...] tell how many ſorts of Fops there are;
[...]e need not long be puzzl'd how to call Men,
[...] Fop is grown a common Name for all Men.
[22]Forgetful Muſe that 'mongſt the Slaves that vex,
And daily torture our too harmleſs Sex,
You ſhould forget that hateful Plague of Life,
Husband, the Conſtant Jaylor of a Wife;
Husband—the curſt Alotment of our Fate,
Husband, the thing which of all things we hate;
Fops plague us but by turns, and then they've done,
But Husbands Plagues are ever but begun;
And tho' each Day, we wiſh the Slav'ry done,
We find our Chains as conſtant as the Sun.
If Jealouſie, That Maggot of the Pate,
Poſſeſs the Sot, how violent is his Hate?
What curſt Suſpicions haunt his tortur'd Mind,
And make him look, for what he would not find?
To th' Looking-glaſs he dare not caſt an Eye,
For fear he ſhould his fine Brow-Antlers Spy,
Nothing but Females muſt i'th' Houſe appear,
And not a Dog or Cat that's Male be there:
Nay leſt th' unhappy Wife ſhould have her Longings,
He cu [...]s out all the Men i'th' Tapſtry-Hangings.
If but a harmleſs Letter to her's ſent,
He'll make it own worſe than e'er it meant,
And e'er the Letter from his hands be caſt,
He'll make it ſpeak ſome deadly Crime at laſt.
In a curſt Garret cloyſter'd up for Life,
Lives Female-Innocence miſcall'd a Wife.
Deny'd thoſe Pleaſures are to Virtue granted,
Yet by the Devil of a Husband haunted:
For a Releaſe, ſhe cannot hope nor pray,
Till milder, Death take him, or her away:
If her ſhe's happy—and if him ſhe's bleſt;
Till to her Arms ſhe take a ſecond Gueſt:
But where's a Woman of all Senſe ſo void,
Won't ſhun—
That Gulph wherein ſhe'd like t've been deſtroy'd
If Beauty, Wit, or Complaiſance could do,
Here's Woman that can all theſe Wonders ſhew;
Beauty that might new Fire to Hermits lend,
And Wit which ſerves that Beauty to defend.
When courted, ſhe did Wonders with her Charms,
Till Parſon conjur'd her to Husbands Arms.
And tho' the ſame Perfections ſtill remain,
Yet nothing now can the Dull Creature gain;
No Looks can win him, nor no Smiles invite;
The Wretch does her and her Endearments [...]ight;
And leaves thoſe Graces which he ſhould adore,
To dote upon ſome ugly Suburo Whore ▪
[23]Whilſt poor neglected Spouſe remains at home,
With diſcontent and ſorrow overcome.
No Prayers nor Tears, nor all the Virtuous Arts,
Which Women uſe to tame Rebellious Hearts
Can the Incorrigible Husband move,
And make him own his once ſo promis'd Love.
Conſider, Lord! 'twould make his Head grow giddy,
He ſays he is not yet for Bedlam ready:
But the next time that you thro' Ludgate paſs,
Through Grates you'll ſee the loving Spend-All's Face▪
And 'twill ſome Pleaſure be the Wretch to view,
Angling for ſingle Money in a Shoe.
Tell me you grave Diſputers of the Schools,
You Learned Cox Combs, and you well-read Fools:
You that have told us Man muſt be our Head:
And made Dame Nature Pimp to what you've ſaid,
Tell me when Husband drencht in Claret reels,
[...]nd ſlips by th' Motion of his treach'rous Heels.
That Head he has we all confeſs and own,
But what's the Head, when once the Senſe is gone?
Oh! ſhe's a happy, too too happy Bride,
That has a Husband ſnoring by her ſide:
[...]elching out Fumes of undigeſted Wine,
[...]nd lies all Night like a good-natur'd Swine:
Whoſe ſnoring ſerves for Muſick to her Ears;
[...]nd keeps true Conſort with her ſilent Tears:
That can himſelf no more than Chaos move,
[...]nd ſtill neglects the great Affair of Love.
[...]he may indeed aſſume the Name of Wife,
[...]ut others know ſhe's but a Nurſe for Life.
A Drunken Husband may pretend good Nature [...]
[...]ut here's a Sullen Matrimonial-Creature;
[...]ill, and will not, will ask, and will deny;
[...] Peeviſh, Croſs, and cannot tell for why.
[...]ot one kind Look he will to Spouſe afford,
[...]ot one kind Smile, perhaps not one good Word.
[...]ll the obliging Arts that ſhe can uſe,
[...]o reconcile this angry peeviſh Spouſe;
[...]vail no more, than if ſhe took delight
[...] waſhing Bricks, or ſwarthy Negroes white,
[...]ns and Tygers Men have learnt to tame,
[...]etaining nothing frightful but their Name:
[...]ith low Submiſſion have their Keepers own'd,
[...]nd trembled when their Maſters have but frown'd▪
[...]t Man, unruly Man, that Beaſt of Reaſon,
[...]ainſt Woman ſtill continues in his Treaſon:
[24]No Charms his damn'd ill-nature can releaſe,
Satan, muſt only Satan Diſpoſſeſs.
Are theſe ye Gods, the Sov'reigns we muſt own?
Muſt we before theſe golden Galves bow down?
Forgive us Heaven if we renounce the Elves,
We'll make a Common-Wealth among our ſelves:
Where, by the Laws that we ſhall then Ordain,
We'll make it Capital to mention Man.
Man, we'll for ever baniſh from our ſight,
Not talk by day, nor think of them by night:
We'll ſhun their Courtſhip, as we'd do the Plague,
And loath 'em more, than they a toothleſs-Hag:
'Tis not their Sighs, their Cringing nor their Prayers,
Their ſupple Whinings, nor their treach'rous Tears.
That ſhall one kind Return for ever gain:
But when t' oblige us they've done all they can,
We'll laugh, deride, and ſcorn the Foppiſh Sex;
And wrack Invention for new ways to vex.
Till they to ſhun us, prompted by Deſpair;
Or drown themſelves, or hang in cleanly Air.
Thus when to Hell by Shoals the Men are hurl'd▪
Women will Reign as Monarchs of the World.
But if amongſt us there ſhould chance to be,
On ſ [...]ly fond regardleſs fooliſh She:
That ſpight of all our Edicts will maintain,
A League with that deteſted Creature Man:
Good Counſel firſt ſhall ſtrive to bring her off;
But if the Fool with that good Method ſcoff;
We'll try what next our heavy Threa [...]'nings do;
But her curſt Treaſons, if ſhe ſtill purſue.
If ſhe the freedom of her Sex will leave,
And love a Wretch ſhe knows that will deceive?
From Pity we'll exempt the Female Sot;
That wretched thing, a Husband be her Lot.
Jealous by Day, and Impotent by Night;
Have neither ſhape nor mein to pleaſe the Sight.
Diſeas'd in Body and deform'd in Soul,
Conceited, Proud, yet all the while a Fool.
Poor to a Proverb, Lazy, yet as Poor,
And ſtill want Credit for to run on Score.
May ſhe with him ſpin out a tedious Life;
Bleſt with that much admir'd Title Wife.
And may no Female better Fate partake,
That dares profane the wholſ [...]m Laws we make.
FINIS.

20.

[]

THE Long Vacation: A SATYR. Addreſs'd to all Diſconſolate Traders.

LONDON: [...]inted and Sold by H. Hills, in Black-fryars, near the Water-ſide. 1709.

THE PREFACE.

[3]

TO all you Gentlemen (if ſo I may ſtile you, ſince you are hardly well-bred, and tell ſo many Lies every Day behind the Counter) who are born Cookneys, and [...]ive within the Sound of Bow-Bell, I make theſe following Papers as a Preſent, well knowing, that you now ſit biting [...]our Fingers in your Shops, or toying with your Wives, and [...]ave little or nothing to do. All the fine Birds are flown, be Beau Monde have forſaken you, and what you get now, [...] believe, in a whole Summer's Day, you may put in your Eyes, [...]nd 'twill no ways hinder you from ſeeing your Horns, unleſs [...]ou are fond of thoſe Vipers which you hug in your Boſoms; and [...]re ſo wonderfully complaiſant to your Wives that you will give [...]m no manner of Occaſion to think you any ways troubleſome [...]nd impertinent, by having jealous Pates, or encroaching up⯑ [...]n that Liberty and Freedom, which your Wives, as Citizens [...]hink, they have a Charter for.

Perhaps the following Lines may give you ſome Entertain⯑ [...]ent, or ſerve to amuſe you a While, 'till Fame's loud Trum⯑ [...]t ſhall eccho a Victory to our Shore, which will be more a⯑ [...]eable to you, than thoſe stollen Delights, which your Help⯑ [...]es are now enjoying your abſence, are to them. But, alas! [...]t moſt of you are hornify'd, is no more News, (tho' you mentedly enough put the Diſgrace in your Pockets) than if [...]y one ſhould ſay, there is Bribery us'd in Elections; that ſome the Parliament Houſe are wiſer than others; or that a young [...]idow, who has had the Pleaſure of the ſhaking of the She [...]ts, [...]ls to be marry'd again. Come, come, take Heart of [4] Grace, my Lads; don't be diſconſolate; I make no Doubt, but that you will ſhortly hear of a Battle, that will find you Yalk enough for all the Vacation, and ſet your Tongues a mov⯑ing as nimbly in every Coffee-houſe you come at, as that of [...] Court-Lady ſomewhat overtaken with drinking Harts-hor [...] and Brandy.

As I ſaid before, ſeeing you have little or nothing to do tho' you had rather be accounted Cuckolds, than jealous Hu [...] bands, yet it would not be amiſs to viſit your Wives once [...] Week, that ſo by the Beating of their Pulſe, you may diſcove [...] whether their Blood be in a Ferment or no, or when laſt thei [...] Bodies had ſome unlawful Agitations. Beſides, ſince Natu [...] is very craving, and her Wants muſt one Way or other be ſu [...] ⯑ply'd, it would be better for you to enjoy the lawful Embrace of your own Spouſes, than engender with that fulſome Crap [...] which at this dead Time of the Year is left in Town.

I proteſt I almoſt pity you, and am ſorry, that your Wiv [...] ſhould ſo impoſe upon you. Some roaring Bully, or recruiti [...] Officer in the Country, makes his own Game with them; an [...] Women are in one Reſpect the Reverſe of the Turkey-Coc [...] they are wonderfull affected with a Red Coat. Since th [...] your Shops are ſo empty of Cuſtomers, and your Trade is ſo dea [...] I would adviſe you to repent of all the Lies that you told b [...] ⯑hind your Counters laſt Term, to make your Accompts up bo [...] between God and Man; go to Church with a ſafe Conſcience read the News chearfully; and ſince your Circumſtances [...] preſent will not allow you to drink Wine, fancy Tea and Coffe [...] B [...]rgundy and Campaign.

THE Long Vacation.

[5]
BLESS us! how ſilent is the noiſy Gown?
How quiet are the Temples, Park, and Town?
As if Aſtraea (Great in Anna's Reign)
Had baniſh'd Law to ſome deſerted Plain.
No Gouty J—ce ſits upon the Bench,
[...]ndulgent to a Bottle and a Wench;
Altho' his Rev'rend Garb, and Brow ſevere,
Promiſe his Morals, and his Sould auſtere.
Now ſacred Peace, finds a ſecure Retreat
Where Laws and Juſtice held their awful Seat:
Not on Demurrers now the Serjeants drudge,
Nor crabbed Pleas detain the hungry Judge.
Each S— now may reſt in Elbow-Chair
His veterane Limbs, broke with nocturnal Care,
[...]n turning over Volumes, and the Fair.
No knotty Doubts his ſolid Eaſe beguile,
His Rev'rend Coke the duſty Cobwebs ſpoil:
Grave Littleton, and Leveing too, lie idle,
He reads them now no oftner than the Bible.
The jangling Laws, tho' inſolently rude,
Dare not upon his peaceful Hours intrude.
Wine chears his Soul, and his obliging Eyes
[...]hew he's not dead to charming Miſtreſſes;
Tho' at the Bar, in Term you'd hardly think,
That he had Pow'r enough to whore or drink;
But that the charming Beauties of the Fair,
Were far above his Notice, or his Care,
[...]uch Furrows in his aged Cheeks appear:
[6]Yet ho's his Looks, an Air moſt ſolemn ſhew,
His powder'd Wig diſcovers he's a Beau;
And that when ſerious Buſineſs don't intrude,
His Worſhip can be both gallant and lewd.
THe C—t's Kitchin, as his Brains is cold,
No longer now litigious Crowds make bold
To knock him up, and buy their Peace with Gold.
No more he ſees his Chambers like a Fair,
Of Clients full, and nev'r a Pauper there.
No longer now he props with nobleſt Wines
His Age, and at the Devil ſups and dines.
Nor does the Porter light him to his Bed
'Twixt Twelve and One, by truſty Drawers led.
The Petty-fogger, who keeps ſuch a Houſe
Would ſtarve a Church, or ancient College Mouſe,
Hangs down his Ears, and now begins to miſs
His ſumptuous Meals, and Term-time Luxuries:
Juſt as his Looks, ſo does his Purſe grow thin,
Paleneſs without, and Emptineſs within.
Quickly he thinks it prudent to repair
To ſome convenient Seat for Country Air;
Carrying himſelf with Paultry preſent down,
His Board he ſpunges on ſome Rural Clown,
'Till the kind Term returns him to the Town.
Truſting in Impudence, which ſeldom fails,
Some ſilvane Nymph, perchance, the Fop aſſails.
The ruddy Maid at firſt receives his Flame,
And vows her Spark's a pretty Gentleman;
Tho' whatſoe'er he to his Miſtreſs ſays,
Is ſtoll'n from D'Urfey's, or from Settle's Plays:
In vain he ſhews th' abundance of his Senſe,
And charms the Fair with borrow'd Eloquence▪
For ſoon malicious Fortune makes it clear,
That he's ſom paultry tricking Wappineer:
Good Gods! how dull his Courtſhip is! How lame [...]
How ſoon he quits his bold preſumptuous Flame!
[7]Wing'd with Diſgrace, he flies the Hills and Groves,
And Vallies, conſcious of his ſlighted Loves;
He haſtes to Town, there meets what he deſerves,
And twice two Months the Scoundrel Scribler ſtarves;
[...]Till the returning Winter chears the Laws,
And the glad Term, a Scene of Buſineſs draws.
Thus, when the Woods, by ſome Autumnal Blaſt,
Their verdant Leaves, and ſhady Honours caſt,
The ſick'ning Trees, their raviſh'd Beauties mourn,
[...]Till circling Hours the joyful Spring return;
[...]Till the warm Sun, with his reſplendent Beams,
Thaws Nature's Bolts, and ſoon unlocks the Streams:
His vital Heat, the flowing Rills enlarge,
And the glad Fiſh from Icy Nets diſcharge.
So at th' Appearance of the blooming Spring,
The Feather'd Quoiriſters rejoyce and ſing:
While they in Fields, their tuneful Notes prepare,
And with ſoft Muſick, bleſs th' harmonious Air.
The weary Preſs, at Eaſe in Safety ſleeps,
No ſupple Oil the Poliſh'd Iron keeps,
The Hawkers now we very rarely meet,
Faction and Treaſon venting in the Street.
From Will's and Tom's, the well-dreſs'd Youths are fled,
And Silence there with Poppies binds her Head.
To Country Seats the Men of Senſe go down,
And for their rural Joys neglect the Town.
Some few ſham Battles bellow'd out at Night,
And Apparitions now the Mob affright.
Commets and Armies, fighting in the Air,
Seen by the Lord knows whom, the Lord knows where.
Our tuneful Bards, and Pamphleteers are fled,
Morphew and Bragge proteſt their Trade is dead.
Upon the Stage no new-born Scenes ariſe,
No Lightnings flaſh from Imoinda Eyes.
The Baſtard's Blood not injur'd Edgar ſpills,
[...]o ſave a Father, not a Brother kills:
[8]Nor yet blind Glouceſter's ſad Intent defeats,
And his raſh Sire with pious Falſhood cheats;
Near Elſenore, nor Hamlet's regal Ghoſt,
Speaks to his Son on young Horatio's Poſt;
Themſelves, not Aetius, or Lucina kill,
The paſſive Subjects to a Tyrant's Will.
With lawleſs Fires, nor does not Barry burn,
And lewdly act the Daughter of the Sun.
No captive Bajazet, or Heroes ſtorm;
No Deſdamona, with Angelick Form,
Is doom'd (moſt lovely as ſhe is) to die,
For her Othello's hot-brain'd Jealouſy.
No loſt Statira, with her blooming Charms,
Enſnares Great Phillip's from Wars and Arms:
No diff'rent paſſions now the Hero move,
And wreck his Soul 'twixt Empire and Love.
Here no Sir Fopling, with his modiſh Dreſs,
Laughs at the Age's monſt'rous Fopperies,
No merry Beggars here their Revels keep;
The Poets ſtarve, and the nine Siſters ſleep.
Far from the Town the fair Camilla fled,
To Tunbridge, there the rural Graſs to tread.
Arſinoe, the Theatre forſakes,
And from Auguſta far her Lodging takes.
The Actors too, muſt take the pleaſant Air,
To Oxford ſome, to Sturbridge ſome repair,
And quite debauch the hopeful Students there.
There in ſome Country Shed, —
The Tinfel Kings contentedly lie down,
And quite forget the Buſineſs of a Crown.
No coſtly Wines, their wond'ring Guſt ſurprize,
Brandy and Ale their Royal Thirſt ſuffice;
And when their Hearts by nappy Bowls made light,
Some ruddy Blouze ſprawl in their Arms at Night;
Whoſe vig'rous Race are well by Fate decreed,
To help our Peers, and mend St.—'s Breed.
[9]
The Britiſh Beauties, now in Crowds reſort
Within Vinſoria's Walls, or Hampton-Court,
Where Royal Anna keeps her ſtately Seat,
And free from Crowds, enjoys a ſoft Retreat.
Some to the Bath moſt cautiouſly repair,
To keep their Beauties from polluted Air;
And blooming Nature Fence from fatal Shocks,
Both of the leſſer and the greater Pox:
There they a thouſand Pangs and Joys impart,
And with ſure Arrows wound the boldeſt Heart:
There they diſplay the Glories of their Eyes,
And make unguarded Man a Sacrifice;
Between their Bed, the Toylet and their Glaſs,
And giving Viſits, all their Moments paſs:
Th' admire the Beaus and are by them admir'd,
With equal Charms the wanton Crowd is fir'd:
They laugh, they ſport, they dance, they toy and ſing,
No days nor Hours the Fops to Reaſon bring.
Here Clòe once moſt inſolently coy,
Who hated Love, and Love's ſurprizing Joy;
She, who in Town, the fierceſt Storms withſtood,
Plainly diſcovers now ſhe's Fleſh and Blood,
And gives her Virgin-Treaſure, which before
She valu'd higher than the glitt'ring Store
Of Tagus Golden Sands. —
Athieſts and Parſons here, alike repair,
To drink the Waters, and imbibe the Air:
Bawds, Matrons, Punks, commend the pregnant Steel;
But ſomething elſe the fertile Ladies feel.
Sharpers, at Dice, conſume the waſting Day;
The Fair for ſomething elſe than Money play:
And when vaſt Sums theſe lovely Loſers ſet,
They, with their Perſons, pay the deſp'rate Debt.
They Cit to Epſom brings that Chain of Life,
That ſawcy, ſcolding Termagant, his Wife;
[10]Where, for two Months, that ſhe may gay appear,
He ſpends the future Gains of half a Year.
Whate'er the Hills or richer Vales produce,
The Swains prepare for her luxurious Uſe.
Mutton the Downs, Caſe-Hanton Trouts afford,
And ev'ry Park finds Ven'ſon for her Board.
But little thinks the wild expenſive Fair,
What fertile Ills her Vanities prepare.
Twice e'er the fiery Courſers of the Sun,
Have view'd each Pole, (their annual Labour done)
In the Queen's-B [...]nch we ſhall her Husband meet,
In Ludgate lock'd, or Pris'ner in the Fleet.
Commiſſion'd Harpies his Effects ſhall claim,
And the Gazette ſhall publiſh thrice his Name.
But fearleſs now of Dangers unforeſeen,
He haunts the Walks, the Coffee-houſe, and Green.
Waters and Wine do all his Hours divide,
Heated and cool'd by their alternate Tide.
With Mirth and Wine th' uxorious Coxcomb drunk,
Little Regards his dear diſſembling Punk,
Who, to the crowded Play-houſe, 'mongſt the Beaus,
Reſorts, or elſe to New Spring-Garden goes:
For here the famous * Roſcius of the Age,
In tragick Buskins treads the rural Stage.
The ancient Bards in long loſt Plays revive,
And by their Wit, th' induſtrious Actors thrive.
Each conſcious Scene th' am'rous Jilt admires,
And in her Boſom, feels extinguiſh'd Fires.
For ſome looſe Actor's brawny Back ſhe burns,
Is lewd again, and her hot Fit returns.
Gods! how ſhe praiſes Valentinian's Shape,
And ſighing, wiſhes chaſt Lucina's Rape!
With that fierce Joys could ſhe † Antonio meet,
Was he not quite ſo lewd, and more diſcreet!
For bold Almanzor's Strength the Wanton dies,
And views his Action with deſiring Eyes.
[11]
When the gay Scenes are o'er, the Fair retreat
To ſilent Shades, where they their Lovers meet;
And in freſh Raptures, all their Joys repeat.
The Country 'Squire makes his Acquaintance drunk,
And falls enamor'd on ſome London Punk,
Who ſets the ruſtick Coxcomb all on Fire,
And Warms his Breaſt with impudent Deſire.
Hither the Covent-Garden Crack repairs,
With bought Complection, and with borrow'd Hairs▪
And while her Spark whole Towns to Aſhes turns,
His Dam'ſel here intriguing Coxcombs burns.
At firſt, my Lord, with a reluctant Frown,
Pulls up her Cloaths and throws the Wanton down▪
But when Neceſſity and Want aſſail,
Int'reſt and Gain above her Pride prevail:
On eaſy Terms ſhe'll on the Graſs be ſtill,
And let his Lordſhip's Butler kiſs his Fill.
The ſmiling Semptreſs now her Shop forſakes,
Here vents her Ware, and better Bargains makes.
Here in unlawful Joys, and ſtoll'n Delight,
Both Rich and Poor ſpend the polluted Night.
The Bankrupt Vintners ſtarve for want of Trade,
Few Payments now are to the Merchants made.
Score in the Bar, the Maſter ſeldom bawls,
Nor little Bell, the tardy Drawer calls.
Rarely the Cook now Cutlets broils of Veal,
But unemploy'd, into the Cellar ſteals:
There ſhe and Tom, to broach a Cask combine,
And 'gainſt a Butt ſhe ſpills her Maſter's Wine.
Few drunken Catches now at Night we hear,
Sad penſive Looks in ev'ry Poſt appear:
Their Dragon, Horns, and Fiſh neglected lie,
And all the Rubies in their Faces die.
[12]No dirty Feet pollute their cleanly Floors,
Nor three for two the ſleepy Miſtreſs ſcores:
Whilſt new-come Gueſts, paſt one, diſturb her Nap,
And to get in, at the clos'd wicket rap.
Their Brewings, Mixtures, all are at a Stand,
And their Prick'd Cyder, frets upon their Hand.
The Merchant now to rural Village runs,
Enjoys the Country Air, and ſcapes his Duns;
Who only now can teaze him by the Poſt,
For Goods exported in the Tygar, loſt.
The buzzing Change, and Greſham's Walks grow thin,
Catch-poles without, and Brokers ſweat within.
Few others to the ſtately Dome repair,
Now unfrequented as a Houſe of Pray'r.
Guy's Infantry unarm'd, and idle ſtands,
No Quarts or Glaſſes tire their trembling Hands.
To Jonathan's but few Stock-Jobbers go,
They only meet to forge good News, or ſo.
The Quack forbears to ſwell the Weekly Bills,
And avaritious Death but ſlowly kills.
Fevers can ſcarce the Doctor's Room ſupply,
And cheap and honeſtly the Vulgar die.
The Sexton groans to view his ruſty Spade,
And greedy Curates moan their Want of Trade▪
The Bearers ſigh, and the ſad Paſſing-Bell
Bur rarely now the Deads Departure tell.
Late to the Park no whining Beaus repair,
And tell their Paſſion to th' am'rous Fair:
No burning Flambeaux light the doleſome Shade,
Nor Waxen Beams ſtrike thro' the verdant Glade.
The fierce Patroul, which march the Rounds by Night,
Wild Ducks and Geeſe their ſole Spectators fright.
[13]Round the Canal no new-made Prints appear;
No cooing Lovers in the Grove we hear;
The waking Soldiers only guard the Deer.
On the Parade no haughty Col'nels meet,
In Order to conſult where they may eat;
Or to adviſe who ſells the nobleſt Wine,
And where from Duns they may ſecurely dine.
Young Enſigns now at Man's no longer ſwear,
Nor cully'd Gameſters fret and wrangle there.
Trick-track and Baſſet now no longer pleaſe,
And Cards are baniſh'd, but from Refugees.
The Parſon in a melancholy Tone
Harrangues at Church, now half his Flock is gone.
Each Rev'rend Accent now neglected falls,
C— prays, and P—d to little purpoſe bawls.
His num'rous Pariſh various Journeys take,
Theſe for the Bath, and thoſe for Tunbridge make;
And the loſt Sheep their paſt'ral Lord forſake.
The B—s to their proper Sees repair,
For Conſcience ſome, and ſome for Country Air,
And grace with Lawn, their rich Cathedral-Chair.
B—, whoſe Tongue is merry and divine,
Can't to the Town, his wand'ring Lambs confine.
His pretty Audience crowd to Hudſons-Lane,
And the Saint-Player, yields to the Prophane.
The godly, conſcientious Holder-forth,
For rural Pleaſure, leaves the Bull and Mouth,
And lodges at ſome Country Quaker's Inn,
Mov'd by the Spirit, and the Light within,
Where holy Siſter, with religious Seed
Is fructify'd, and bears a pious Breed.
[14]Others to Briſtol's noted Fair retreat,
And with a pious Fraud, th' Ungodly cheat.
But nobler Youth, a lovelier Game purſue,
And at St. Edmund's Virgin-Beauties view,
Whoſe nat'ral Bluſhes raiſe ungovern'd Fires,
And warm the Wildeſt with ſincere Deſires.
From Hills and Vales a Tide of Beauty flows,
And a new Spring the glitt'ring Meadow ſhows.
Their lovely Bloom takes the moſt guarded Heart,
And Nature fram'd 'em in Deſpight of Art.
The love-ſick Beaus with real Paſſion burn,
Unhurt they came, but wounded Home return▪
Wiſdom nor Pow'r the Great or Wiſe ſecure,
Where Beauty wounds, and Fame denies a Cure▪
No wanton Art their firm Affections win,
Scorn rules without, and Honour guards within;
Their equal Minds no troubl'd Paſſions try,
But all's ſerene as the ſuperior Sky.
Here Love does all his keeneſt Darts prepare,
And keeps a Magazine in ev'ry Fair.
At lovelier Breaſts ne'er Cupid bent his Bow,
Nor ſtronger Charms Arabian Virgins know;
Tho' when their Joys Great Mecca's Prieſt did prove,
He found a Heav'n, and fix'd its Bliſs in Love.
With Eyes like theirs, Venus did once perſwade
The Trojan Youth, when he for Love betray'd
High Ilium's Tow'rs, and low his City lay'd;
On Venus only he conferr'd the Prize,
For matchleſs Beauty, and bewitching Eyes.
But ſhould once more that am'rous Swain revive,
And o'er the Seas at Bury Fair arrive,
Not one alone would claim the Prize, but all,
And each he'd judge deſerv'd the Golden Ball.
To Granta's Str [...]ams the ſtudious Youths retreat,
Where Arts prophane, and ſacred Knowledge meet;
And where the Muſes chu [...]e their Halcyon Seat.
[15]Learning, by Chance, to other Climes reſorts,
But here ſhe keeps her ſage eternal Courts.
To her Apartments, all Admittance find,
Whoſe pleaſing Fetters circumſcribe the Mind:
Her Labour, Nature's dark Receſſes ſhows,
And the coy Maid, by Time, familliar grows.
Thro' ev'ry Maze, Art ſees the Virgin clear,
And her bright Charms without a Vail appear.
There Galen's Sons learn Paan's balmy Skill,
Uſe wholeſome Med'cines, and forget to kill:
The various Force of Trees and Plants they know,
From the tall Cedar, to the Shrubs below.
The Seeds of Things theſe Rev'rend Sages tell,
Why Roſes ſweet as Indian Spices ſmell;
Whence lofty Elms by Ivy are entwin'd.
Why in deep Slumbers droſſy Poppies bind;
Why potent Opiats ſtop the haughty Pride
Of raging Peſts, and cool Life's purple Tide;
Whence lazy Colds heat the fermenting Blood;
And why the Bark ſtagnates the boiling Flood;
What Accidents give Plagues and Fevers Birth;
Which ſcorch theſe mouldring Tenements of Earth;
The Scurvy, what malignant Atoms breed;
What ſwelling Springs the tumid Dropſy feed.
[...]lomon, the Royal Simpler by th' Almighty taught,
Who firſt preſcrib'd, and Cures predeſtin'd wrought,
With readier Art could ſcarce the Sick relieve,
Or ſooner Health to wounded Patients give,
[...]han skilful Leaches, who, near * Granta's Shore,
[...]ature inſpect, and all her Pow'rs explore.
Others to bolder Themes their Thoughts direct,
[...]nd all the Wonders of the Sky detect;
[...]heir Art explains—
[16]How angry Winds the Heav'ns with Horror ſhake,
And lab'ring Clouds with dreadful Thunder break;
Why Light'ning flaſhes from the Realms above,
And Streams of Fire in rapid Torrents move;
Whence bearded Meteors threaten in the Sky,
And ſhed their baleful Influence as they fly;
What pow'rful Force the Alps aſunder breaks,
And why the Earth with dire Convulſions quakes.
From Realms above they view the hoary Deep,
Where mighty Stores the Mother Waters keep;
Where murm'ring Thetis lulls her infant Waves,
Beneath Earth's Bottom, and her fartheſt Caves;
Where Night and Horror bear eternal Sway,
Secure from Light, and radiant Beams of Day.
There theſe dark Pow'rs their dusky Godheads hide.
And wrapt in Miſts, their ſooty Empire guide.
There ſacred Bards in humble Cells confin'd,
Sore thro' the Heav'ns with their aſpiring Mind.
Homer, the Brave, to War and Battles warns,
Urges the ſlothful, and the tim'rous Arms.
A [...]acreon there, does the Recluſes move
To ſoft Delight, and Sapho bids them love.
Heſiod, the Birth does of the Gods rehearſe,
And fictious Pow'rs immortal, prove by Verſe.
'Tis he to Jove, that does his Thunder give,
The Poet makes the Cloud-Compeller live.
Pindar, in bold unimitable Strains,
Soars high, and tow'ring wings th' Aetherial Plains▪
A thouſand Joys the ſafe Collegiates pleaſe,
And bleſs their Hours with Happineſs and Eaſe.
Did but the Crowd, which in Auguſta dwells,
Taſte the ſoft Bliſs of theſe retired Cells,
The Term's Approach, th' inſtructed Youth would fear▪
And a Vacation wiſh throughout the Year.
FINIS.

21.

[]

THE Yorkſhire-Racers, A POEM. [...]n a LETTER from H———— S———————ton, to his Friend T————— P————————n.

LONDON. [...]nted for the Uſe of all Sorts of Iockeys, whether North, South, Eaſt, or Weſt.

THE Yorkſhire-Racers.

[3]
FRet not, dear TOM, that thou ha'ſt loſt the Race;
You ſhew'd good Skill, and rid it with a Grace.
But ſome muſt loſe; and ſince it was your Fate,
Envy not thoſe, whoſe Luck has won the Plate:
Your Friends and ours their utmoſt Skill did ſhew;
And as you jockey'd us, we jockey'd you.
* PROBUS came firſt, and rid it like the Wind;
The ſlower Racers whipp'd and ſpurr'd behind.
A well-bred Horſe, his Fore-hand is but courſe,
With a ſlack he Rein diſtanc'd ev'ry Horſe.
His Feeding's good, his Airing's clear and pure;
He moves with Order, and his Steps are ſure.
He's tender-mouth'd, manag'd with eaſy Bit;
Runs true to th' laſt, and has no reiſty Fit;
Keeps the right Track, and ſcorns to glent aſide;
None can a truer Engliſh Horſe beſtride.
† EUCUS came next, a batter'd fiery Steed,
Deſcended from the old Cromwellian Breed.
[3] [...]
[4]He yells and neighs, and in Horſe-language ſwears,
Snorts, paws, and champs, rouſes his Aſs's Ears:
But what is worſe, he's maukeen, and half mad,
Has taſted Blood, and muſt by Blood be fed.
This founder'd Stallion, gentle as a Bear,
May ſerve to horſe ſome courſe Eaſt riding Mare;
Or being ſpavin'd, wind-gall'd, full of Flaws,
May make a Pack-Horſe for the good old Cauſe:
H's run his laſt, his racing Days are done,
And leaves his Vertues to an hopeful Son.
* AULUS came next, a right New-Market Crimp,
He runs off faſt, but has a plaguy Limp;
A Hinch in's Gate, (as in the North we cry)
Sometimes he ſtumbles, oft he treads awry.
Back'd by old ROKUS, and his Pagan Crew,
Went off ſo faſt, he did not run, but flew;
But ſoon his Sinews fail'd, his Paſtorns feeble grew;
† ROKUS did manage well on AULUS Side,
Gawſter'd and bawl'd, and often ſwore and ly'd;
Vow'd him an Horſe of noble Stud and Breed;
But none who ROKUS knew, will ROKUS heed;
An errant Jockey, born to lie and cheat;
He ne'er rid true, nor carry'd Horſe-man's Weight;
By Fraud he thrives, by Villainy grows great.
* CAIUS run well, and bravely rid his Courſe,
He ſtarted laſt, but prov'd a true-bred Horſe;
[5]Runs light and fine; for the next Plate he'll ſhew
A Pair of Heels to diſtance EUC. and AU.
His Training's good, his Limbs are fine and clear,
No knaviſh Wind-galls do in him appear.
The modern Spavins have not made him limp,
Nor the Court-Jokeys match'd him for a Crimp▪
Runs true to th' laſt, his Wind no Taint has got,
'Mongſt Racers now an epidemick Fau't.
His Sire was ſtaunch, of honeſt Engliſh Breed,
Sure then the Colt will have both Truth and Speed!
* LENTO came lagging on, a formal Steed,
Of Spaniſh Gravity, and Spaniſh Speed;
His Steps he counts, and numbers every Stroke,
As if he were in Cavalcade to walk;
Or meaſuring out the Courſe with ſober Stride,
Whilſt whipp'd and ſpurr'd the Racers by him ride▪
In pompous City-Triumph he may do,
Wear the great Saddle at a Lord-May'r's Show;
But for a Northern Race he's much too ſlow.
Courage he wants, with active Speed and Fire,
The noble Vertues of his martyr'd Sire:
Honeſt, but ſlow; a true Feſtina Lente,
If match'd again, the Odds to one, are twenty.
The tawny † OSMAN, ſprung from Turkiſh Sire,
A Beaſt unruly, full of Flame and Fire;
Never well-broke, impatient of his Rein,
Champs on the Bit, bounces, and fumes amain;
[6]Scorns to be rid, or train'd, an head-ſtrong Horſe,
By Chance has won a little paultry Courſe.
The Race he'd loſt, had not JOCUNDO lent
His winning Whip, and laſh'd him as he went:
For tho' he cracks of Native Speed and Heels,
He's only ſwift in Wickedneſs and Ills.
For the next Plate he'll ſpare no Pains or Coſt,
Tho' oft he runs o'th' wrong Side of the Poſt.
* SANCTO run ſtrong, and ſtrain'd him till he ſtard
Fear and Diſorder in his Looks appear'd.
Grim OSMAN ſwore, and zealous SANCTO pray'd;
Yet at the Bottom SANCTO's but a Jade:
The Raſcal Principles lurk in his Blood,
And Nature Education hath withſtood;
Not worth a Button, ſhould he OSMAN beat,
He'll prove a Crimp, that's (Anglice) a Cheat.
A merry Greek we may † JOCUNDO call,
Fearleſs of Danger, Sprightly, Runs at all;
Treads ſafe, and at the Bottom's true and good,
Tho' late he wore the Liv'ry Cloths and Hood;
With Curb ſome thought to've rid this bonny Steed,
Taught him to pace and amble, as They did;
Made him a Stalking-Horſe, a Pad of State,
To Neigh, or as they pleaſe, Vociferate.
JOCUNDO ſcorn'd to Bray, or be their Aſs,
So loſt his Liv'ry, and was turn'd to graſs.
[7] [...]n Time to come, kind Fate the Wheel may move,
That he a Charging-Horſe 'gainſt ſome may prove.
Oh! that my ſilly Pencil could depaint
This Courſe betwixt JOCUNDO, TURK, and SAINT.
Here Palmeſtry and myſtick Arts were try'd,
With Buttocking, or elſe they are bely'd;
Here Scarves, ſilk Stockings, Stays, and ſilver Ladles,
Were Stirrops helpful to get into th' Saddles.
* QUAERE and CALCAR both at † Noppir run,
The interloping * TIT was quite undone;
At double Diſtance poorly did he move,
Yet did his beſt to pleaſe his † Lord above.
Spur-gall'd and cut, from Neck to Buttock flee'd,
This poor pretending Colt is almoſt dead;
Beſides his Stable-Room and Keeping are unpaid.
Thus aſpiring Tools are whipp'd and ſpurr'd,
To gratify ſome proud inſulting L — d,
Who to their Sores and Galls no Bal [...]am will afford.
CALCAR's a well-bred Colt, and true may ride,
If glitt'ring Baubles turn him not aſide.
His Sire runs well, and keeps a ſteady Courſe;
Then CALCAR, ſure, may prove an uſeful Horſe.
Old † ORTHODOX, the Gray, was CALCAR's Sire,
A noted Steed for Vigor, brisk as Fire;
[8]An early Courage did his Fame advance
Againſt the Bulls of Rome, and Wolves of France.
Tho' now he's bent by Years, and Cares oppreſt,
And ſometimes kick'd by an unruly Beaſt:
Th' old Engliſh Courſe he keeps, gads not aſtray,
Jumps o'er each little Saw-pit in the Way,
Contemns each Aſs, tho' loudly he may Bray.
In higheſt Stall his Merits do him place,
And ſpight of Malice, is an Horſe of Grace.
Where the old * Chaos ſits in awful State
† QUADRATO and ROTUNDO won the Plate.
Here Rocks from lapideſcent Juices grow,
From healing Fountains, Life and Vigour flow,
And barren Females pregnant Secrets ſhow.
Prancing QUADRATO here is Lov'd and known;
His Courage gives him Praiſe, his Speed Renown.
This Sea-horſe once Leviathan attack'd,
Had hook'd his Noſe, had he been fairly back'd;
But the Great Monſter broke the harping Line;
For in his Aid, the Gramps and Sea-Calves join,
And Terrene Knav'ry, pleads for Villainy Marine.
Thus far'd it with QUADRATE. Thrice happy we,
Would ev'ry Courſer Courage ſhew like thee!
Or would ROTUNDO's Arts like thine appear,
But Problem hard the Circle is to ſquare,
Or make a Round-head turn a Cavalier.
[9] * RAW-HEAD and BLOODY-BONES, two frightful Steeds,
Of equal Parts, of equal Heels and Heads;
Both by Dame Nature blended in a Bowl,
A double Body, but a ſingle Soul.
This, like a ſolid Dumplin, boil'd in Pot,
That, like a Fritter, beſt when piping hot.
For ſober Parts, this does Advancement find;
That for th' illuſtrious Glories of his Mind.
This caſts the Water of a ſickly State;
That Judgment gives, all Oracle of Fate,
And yet but one identical Clod-pate.
Thus have I ſeen the Head of COLLY's Son,
By skilful Cook, ſplit, and made two from one;
The pale Side boil'd, the other grill'd with Bread,
This taught to judge, and this to talk and plead,
Yet both were one Original Calve's-head.
The Iſurian Plate this noble Pair hath won,
By Duke † HOLDF ASTO train'd and taught to run.
Th' Ebraukian Race the two * VOLANTO'S gain;
They neither whipp'd, nor ſpurr'd, nor made one Strain,
But half-bred Horſes, gallop as they pleaſe,
And both infected with the ſame Diſeaſe.
Their Wind's not good, they ſeldom gallop true;
They trot, and pace, canter, and amble too.
[10]They will not gallop fine; and what is more,
They're apt to put the wrong Foot oft before.
Were they well manag'd by a Man of Skill,
Way'd to the Courſe, and gallop'd true and well,
They'd win the Plate, and bear away the Bell.
For the ſmall Braſian Plate * LEPULLUS run;
A Courſe which oft his head-ſtrong Sire had won.
A promiſing Colt, of hopeful Heels and Speed,
But Faults oft lurk in the paternal Seed;
From vicious Stallions, ill-bred Colts proceed.
With him old † SACCAR as a Collegue joins,
Weak in the Gaskins, feeble in the Loins,
All patch'd and paultry, a New-Market Cheat,
Batter'd and founder'd both in Head and Feet.
He ne'er runs true, at ev'ry Turn gets Ground,
In others Loſſes ſtill his Gain he found;
But Good ill-got, prove rotten and unfound.
* TANDEM and SLY againſt them both contend;
And TANDEM ſtakes both for himſelf and Friend.
Their utmoſt Skill theſe noted Jockeys ſhow,
As far as Yorkſhire Horſemanſhip can go:
From diff'rent Poſts the various Racers ſtart;
The dubious Plate is claim'd on either Part;
And different Judges, choſe on either Side,
All ſhout, they've won, and Victory is cry'd.
[11]
* CARBONO the ſole Arbiter is made,
For Foſſe Sapientiae guards his Head;
Yet Courage fails, and his poor Heart's afraid.
Thus private Int'reſt makes Men Daſtards grow;
Some own a God above, ſome Lords below,
To the Great HIPPODROME all's now referr'd,
Where Cauſes for Affection oft are heard;
Where byaſs'd Judges rule; and what is worſe,
Determine Races as they like the Horſe;
Where he who wins, a Loſer oft is made,
And a good Horſe is voted but a Jade,
And ſelling Wind, is grown a thriving Trade.
Cunning CARBONO now the Cauſe transfers
From's own Tribunal, to the Senator's.
CARBONO is a ſpick and ſpan new 'Squire,
The Cent'ral Son of ſubterranean Sire,
And, Salamander like, ſubſiſts by Fire;
True Heir to PLUTO, VULCAN's eldeſt Son,
Who thro' th' Abyſs, long Voyages have run
Without the Guidance of the Stars or Moon;
Seen Mother Chaos in her native Bed.
Before ſhe'd waſh'd her Hands, or comb'd her Head;
Beheld the Elements in Rubbiſh lie,
E'er this was taught to ſink, and that to flie.
Here he his Option made; the Choice was Fire,
The Patient granted, as he did require.
[12]Hence he the Force of Winter-Rage does tame,
And chilling BOREAS dreads his pow'rful Name;
He maſters all the Strength of Ice and Snow,
Can, with his Breath, the frozen Mountains thaw;
He Greenland into Italy can turn;
And, CAESAR like, he'll conquer, or he'll burn.
The fiery Element he does ſupply,
And at his Pleaſure, Man muſt ſtarve or fry.
No ſmoaky Idol ever was ador'd
Like this infernal Necromantick L—d.
Vaſt Caravans attend his Court each Hour,
And darling Wealth into his Boſom pour;
From ev'ry Part his humble Vot'ries come,
Empty their Purſes, yet go loaded Home.
His Pow'r is great, Armies he can command,
And from the Stygian Lake calls his Train-band.
Grim PLUTO trembles, if he do but ſrown,
And the black Regions ſcarce dare call his own.
Fear's an Invaſion from his dreadful Pow'r,
And finds his Scepter ſinking ev'ry Hour.
Thus does CARBONO keep both Worlds in Awe,
Above he domineers, and rules below.
The ſulph'rous Damps ſtifle my tender Muſe,
Some nobler Subject gladly would ſhe chuſe;
Her Wings grow heavy, and her Flight is low,
And want of Strength her feeble Pinions ſhow;
Fain would ſhe breathe a while, and try her Skill,
To plume herſelf, and prune each weary Quill;
That the heroick TACKERS ſhe may praiſe,
And crown their Mem'ries with immortal Bays.
[13]The Subject's great, requires a tow'ring Flight,
And calls for all that's excellent and bright.
To draw their Acts, requires a Maſter's Hand,
And DOLL's or KNELLER's Pencil may command.
My feeble Colours never can expreſs
Their ſterling Courage, Truth, and Steadineſs;
Immortal Heroes of the darling Tribe.
Since CAESARS only CAESARS can deſcribe,
Let me the Sketches of their Vertue draw,
Thoſe Out-Lines with true Engliſh Courage ſhew.
Th' unfiniſh'd Piece I'll leave to ſome great Hand,
Whoſe Pencil livelier Colours can command.
When Vertue was a Crime, you durſt be good,
Firm to the Church, and ſteady to your God,
And true, when Truth was neither ſeen, felt, heard, nor underſtood.
You ſcorn'd the Frowns of C—t, deſpis'd the Great,
Oppos'd the rampant Villainy of Fate;
God and his Church's Cauſe you never ſold,
[...]or barter'd off your Conſciences for Gold;
You ſhar'd not in the Gains of publick Chink,
Nor at exorbitant Accounts would wink;
[...]or damn'd the Bill to make us juſt and true,
[...]ypocriſy to quaſh, and Sin undo.
[...]ou ſtrove to make us honeſt, if you cou'd;
[...]ut we rebell'd, and all your B— withſtood;
[...]ttl'd Hypocriſy, our Folly choſe,
[...]id Goſpel-Decency with Zeal oppoſe,
[...]nd made Men Atheiſts by new A————s and L————s.
[...]ur Freeborn Right to Sin we did maintain,
[...]llow'd diſſembling both with God and Man;
[14]As our Fore-fathers for BARABBAS cry'd,
The ſaving JESUS we have crucify'd;
Old MƲGGLETON we've made a Babe of Grace,
LAELIUS SOCINUS claims a nobler Place;
GEORGE FOX's Goſpel with St. JOHN's may vie,
And TOLAND's Faith exclude all Myſtery.
On a ſafe Level ev'ry Sect does ſtand,
And S—e [...] Protection juſtly may command.
Hail, Maſter, crucify, are now the ſame,
And Chriſtian is an odd and motely Name.
The woven Coat is patch'd with Shreds and Rags,
And Jockey now of Grace and Saint-ſhip brags.
To Unity and Peace we've bid good Night,
And learnt to praiſe the Deeds of forty eight.
We ſhape Religion as we ſhape our Cloaths,
And daily ſtrive t' advance the good old Cauſe.
Here GOG and MAGOG their ſly Intereſts join
With buckram Quaker, and ſoft Libertine.
Old LOYOLA the ſaving Jump puts on,
And LESSIUS calls the independant Son.
SUAREZ and CALVIN Hand in Hand do walk,
Cov'ring their Knav'ry with the ſelf ſame Cloak.
Impunity and Safety are the Word,
We value not our Enemies a T—d.
Briars and Thorns no longer are a Curſe,
By ſpick and ſpan new Laws theſe Shrubs we nurſe.
The harmleſs Nettle now has loſt its Sting,
JACK Presbyter can cry, God ſave the King.
Thus by the Rules of modern Policy,
Scaffold and Ax are Signs of Loyalty.
[15]
But you theſe growing Villanies foreſaw;
Aim'd to ſecure us by a wholeſome Law,
Did all that noble Patriots could invent,
To ſerve the Queen, the Church, and Government.
We loath'd our Manna, did your Acts deſpiſe,
And ſcorn'd, by former ſuff'rings, to grow wiſe.
Foſter'd they lie like Serpents in our Breaſts,
'Till Warmth ſhall both erect their Stings and Creſts.
FINIS.

Appendix A A Catalogue of Poems, &c. Printed and Sold by H. Hills, in Black-Fryars, near the Water-ſide; where ſeveral more may be had that are not here Inſerted.

[]

22.

[]

LUCRETIUS: A POEM AGAINST THE Fear of Death.

WITH AN ODE In MEMORY of The Accompliſh'd Young Lady Mrs. ANN KILLIGREW, Excellent in the [...]wo Siſter Arts of Poetry and Painting.

LONDON: [...]inted and Sold by H. Hills, in Black-Fryars, near the Water-ſide, 1709. Price One Penny.

LUCRETIUS A POEM AGAINST The Fear of Death

[2]
WHat has this Bugbear Death to frighten Man,
If Souls can die, as well as Bodies can?
For, as before our Birth we felt no Pain
When punick Arms infeſted Land and Main,
When Heav'n and Earth were in Confuſion hurl'd
For the debated Empire of the World,
Which aw'd with dreadful Expectation lay,
Sure to be Slaves, uncertain who ſhou'd ſway:
So, when our mortal Frame ſhall be disjoyn'd,
The lifeleſs Lump, uncoupled from the Mind,
From Senſe of Grief and Pain we ſhall be free;
We ſhall not feel, becauſe we ſhall not Be.
Though Earth in Seas, and Seas in Heav'n were loſt,
We ſhou'd not move, we only ſhou'd be toſt.
Nay, ev'n ſuppoſe when we have ſuffer'd Fate,
The Soul cou'd feel in her divided ſtate,
What's that to us, for we are only we
While Souls and Bodies in one Frame agree?
[3]Nay, tho' our Atoms ſhou'd revolve by chance,
[...]nd Matter leap into the former Dance;
Tho' time our Life and Motion cou'd reſtore,
[...]nd make our Bodies what they were before.
What Gain to us wou'd all this buſtle bring,
The new made Man wou'd be another thing;
Then once an interrupting pauſe is made,
That Individual Being is decay'd.
[...]e, who are dead and gone, ſhall [...]ear no part
[...] all the Pleaſures, nor ſhall feel the ſmart,
Which to that other Mortal ſhall accrew,
Whom of our Matter Time ſhall mould anew.
[...]or backward if you look, on that long ſpace
[...]f Ages paſt, and view the changing Face
[...]f Matter, toſt and variouſly combin'd
[...] ſundry Shapes, 'tis eaſie for the mind
[...]rom thence t' infer, that Seeds of things have been
[...] the ſame Order as they now are ſeen:
Which yet our dark Remembrance cannot trace,
[...]ecauſe a pauſe of Life, a gaping ſpace
[...]as come betwixt, where Memory lies dead,
[...]nd all the wandring Motions from the Senſe are fled.
[...]or whoſoe'er ſhall in Misfortunes live
Muſt Be, when thoſe Misfortunes ſhall arrive;
[...]nd ſince the Man who Is not, ſeels not Woe,
For Death exempts him, and wards off the Blow,
Which we, the living, only feel and bear)
What is there left for us in Death to fear?
When ocne that pauſe of Life has come between,
[...]is juſt the ſame as we had never been.
[...]nd therefore if a Man bemoan his Lot,
[...]hat after Death his mouldring Limbs ſhall rot,
[...] Flames, or Jaws of Beaſts devour his Maſs,
[...]now he's an unſincere, unthinking Aſs.
[...] ſecret Sting remains within his mind,
The Fool is to his own caſt Offals kind;
[...]e boaſts no ſenſe can after Death remain,
[...]et makes himſelf a part of Life again,
[...]s if ſome other He could feel the pain.
[4]If, while he live, this Thought moleſt his Head,
What Wolf or Vulture ſhall devour me dead.
He waſts his Days in idle Grief, nor can
Diſtinguiſh 'twixt the Body and the Man:
But thinks himſelf can ſtill himſelf ſurvive;
And what when dead he feels not, feels alive.
Then he repines that he was born to die,
Nor knows in Death there is no other He,
No living He remains his Grief to vent,
And o'er his ſenſeleſs Carcaſs to lament.
If after Death 'tis painful to be torn
By Birds and Beaſts, then why not ſo to burn,
Or drench'd in Floods of Honey to be ſoak'd,
Imbalm'd to be at once preſerv'd and choak'd;
Or on an airy Mountain's Top to lie
Expos'd to Cold and Heav'ns Inclemency,
Or crouded in a Tomb to be oppreſt
With Monumental Marble on thy Breaſt?
But to be ſnatch'd from all thy Houſhold Joys,
From thy Chaſt Wife, and thy dear prattling Boys,
Whoſe little Arms about thy Legs are caſt,
And climbing for a Kiſs prevent their Mother's haſt,
Inſpiring ſecret Pleaſure thro' thy Breaſt,
All theſe ſhall be no more: thy Friends oppreſt,
Thy Care and Courage now no more ſhall free:
Ah Wretch, thou cry'ſt, ah! miſerable me.
One woful Day ſweeps Children, Friends, and Wife,
And all the brittle Bleſſings of my Life!
Add one thing more, and all thou ſay'ſt is true;
Thy want and wiſh of them is vaniſh'd too,
Which well conſider'd were a quick Relief,
To all thy vain imaginary Grief.
For thou ſhalt ſleep and never wake again,
And quitting Life, ſhall quit thy living Pain.
But we thy Friends ſhall all thoſe Sorrows find,
Which in forgetful Death thou leav'ſt behind,
No time ſhall dry our tears, nor drive thee from our mind.
[5]The worſt that can befal thee, meaſur'd right,
[...]s a ſound Slumber, and a long good Night.
Yet thus the Fools, that would be thought the Wits,
Diſturb their Mirth with melancholy Fits,
When Healths go round, and kindly Brimmers flow,
Till the freſh Garlands on their Foreheads glow;
They whine, and cry, let us make haſte to live,
[...]hort are the Joys that human Life can give.
Eternal Preachers, that corrupt the Draught,
[...]nd pall the God that never thinks, with Thought;
deots with all that Thought, to whom the worſt
Of Death, is want of Drink, and enleſs Thirſt,
Or any fond Deſire as vain as theſe,
[...]or ev'n in Sleep, the Body wrapt in Eaſe,
[...]upinely lies, as in the peaceful Grave,
[...]nd wanting nothing, nothing can it crave.
Were that ſound Sleep Eternal it were Death,
[...]et the firſt Atoms then, the Seeds of Breath
[...]re moving near to Senſe, we do but ſhake
[...]nd rouze that Senſe, and ſtreight we are awake.
Then Death to us, and Death's Anxiety
[...] leſs than nothing, if a leſs cou'd be.
[...]or then our Atoms, which in order lay,
[...]re ſcatter'd from their heap, and puff'd away,
[...]nd never can return into their place,
When once the pauſe of Life has left an empty ſpace.
[...]nd laſt, ſuppoſe Great Nature's Voice ſhou'd call
[...]o thee, or me, or any of us all,
What doſt thou mean, ungrateful Wretch, thou vain,
[...]hou mortal thing, thus idly to complain,
[...]nd ſigh and ſob, that thou ſhalt be no more?
[...]or if thy Life were pleaſant heretofore,
[...] all the bounteous Bleſſings I cou'd give
[...]hou haſt enjoy'd, if thou haſt known to live,
[...]nd Pleaſure not leak thro' thee like a Sieve,
Why doſt thou not give thanks as at a plenteous Feaſt
[...]am'd to the Throat with Life, and riſe and take thy Reſt?
[6]But if my Bleſſings thou haſt thrown away,
If indigeſted Joys paſs'd thro' and wou'd not ſtay,
Why doſt thou wiſh for more to ſquander ſtill?
If Life we grown a Load, a real Ill,
And I wou'd all thy Cares and Labours end,
Lay down thy Burden Fool, and know thy Friend.
To pleaſe thee I have empti'd all my Store,
I can invent, and can ſupply no more;
But run the round again, the round I ran before.
Suppoſe thou art not broken yet with Years,
Yet ſtill the ſelf-ſame Scene of things appears,
And wou'd be ever, cou'dſt thou ever live;
For Life is ſtill but Life, there's nothing new to give.
What can we plead againſt ſo juſt a Bill?
We ſtand convicted, and our Cauſe goes ill.
But if a Wretch, a Man oppreſt by Fate,
Shou'd beg of Nature to prolong his Date,
She ſpeaks aloud to him with more Diſdain,
Be ſtill thou Martyr Fool, thou covetous of Pain.
But if an old decrepit Sot lament;
What thou (She cries) who haſt out-liv'd content!
Doſt thou complain, who haſt enjoy'd my Store?
But this is ſtill th' effect of wiſhing more!
Unſatisfy'd with all that Nature brings;
Loathing the preſent, liking abſent things;
From hence it comes thy vain Deſires at ſtrife
Within themſelves, have tantaliz'd thy Life,
And ghaſtly Death appear'd before thy ſight
E'er thou hadſt gorg'd thy Soul, and Senſes with delight
Now leave thoſe Joys unſuiting to thy Age,
To a freſh Comer, and reſign the Stage.
Is Nature to be blam'd if thus ſhe chide?
No ſure; for 'tis her Buſineſs to provide,
Againſt this ever changing Frame's decay,
New things to come, and old to paſs away.
One being worn, another Being makes;
Chang'd but not loſt; for Nature gives and takes:
[7]New Matter muſt be found for things to come,
And theſe muſt waſte like thoſe, and follow Nature's Doom.
All things, like thee, have time to riſe and rot;
And from each other's Ruin are begot;
For Life is not confin'd to him or thee;
[...]Tis giv'n to all for Uſe; to none for Property.
Conſider former Ages paſt and gone,
Whoſe Circles ended long e'er thine begun,
Then tell the Fool, what part in them thou haſt?
Thus may'ſt thou judge the future by the paſt.
What Horror ſeeſt thou in that quiet State,
What Bugbear Dreams to fright thee after Fate?
No Ghoſt, no Goblins, that ſtill paſſage keep,
But all is there ſerene, in that eternal Sleep.
For all the diſmal Tales that Poets tell,
Are verify'd on Earth, and not in Hell.
No Tantalus looks up with fearful eye,
Or dreads th' impending Rock to cruſh him from on high:
But Fear of Chance on Earth diſturbs our eaſie Hours:
Or vain imagin'd Wrath, of vain imagin'd Pow'rs.
No Tityus torn by Vultures lies in Hell;
Nor cou'd the Lobes of his rank Liver ſwell
To that prodigious Maſs for their eternal Meal.
Not tho' this monſtrous Bulk had cover'd o'er
Nine ſpreading Acres, or nine thouſand more;
Not tho' the Globe of Earth had been the Giants Floor.
Nor in eternal Torments cou'd he lie;
Nor cou'd his Corps ſufficient Food ſupply.
But he's the Tityus, who by Love oppreſt,
Or Tyrant Paſſion preying on his Breaſt,
And ever anxious Thoughts is robb'd of Reſt.
The Siſiphus is he, whom Noiſe and Strife
[...]educe from all the ſoft retreats of Life,
To vex the Government, diſturb the Laws,
Drunk with the Fumes of popular Applauſe,
He courts the giddy Croud to make him great,
And ſweats and toils in vain, to mount the ſovereign Seat.
For ſtill to aim at Pow'r, and ſtill to fail,
Ever to ſtrive and never to prevail,
[8]What is it, but in Reaſon's true Account
To heave the Stone againſt the riſing Mount?
Which urg'd, and labour'd and forc'd up with Pain,
Recoild and rowls impetuous down, and ſmokes along t [...] Pla [...]
Then ſtill to treat thy ever craving mind
With ev'ry Bleſſing, and of ev'ry kind,
Ye never fill thy rav'ning Appetite,
Though Years and Seaſon vary thy Delight,
Yet nothing to be ſeen of all thy ſtore,
But ſtill the Wolf within thee barks for more.
This is the Fable's Moral, which they tell
Of fifty fooliſh Virgins damn'd in Hell
To leaky Veſſels, which the Liquor ſpill;
To Veſſels of their Sex, which none cou'd ever fill.
As for the Dog, the Furies, and their Snakes,
The gloomy Caverns, and the burning Lakes,
And all the vain infernal Trumpery,
They neither are, nor were, nor e'er can be.
But here on Earth the guilty have in view
The mighty Pains to m [...]ghty Miſchiefs due:
Racks, Priſons, Poiſons, Tarpeian Rock,
Stripes, Hangmen, Pitch, and ſuffocating Smoak,
And laſt, and moſt, if theſe were caſt behind,
Th' avenging horror of a Conſcious mind;
Whoſe dealy Fear anticipates the Blow,
And ſees no end of Puniſhment and Woe:
But looks for more, at the laſt Gaſp of Breath:
This makes an Hell on Earth, and Life a Death.
Mean time when Thoughts of Death diſturb thy Head;
Conſider, Ancus great and good is dead;
Ancus thy better far, was born to die,
And thou, doſt thou bewail Mortality?
So many Monarchs with their mighty State,
Who rul'd the World, were over-rul'd by Fate.
That haughty King, who Lorded o'er the Main▪
And whoſe ſtupendo [...]s Bridge did the wild Waves reſtrain,
(In vain they foam'd, in vain thy threatned Wreck,
While his pro [...]d Le [...]ions march'd upon their Back:)
[9]Him Death, a greter Monarch, overcame;
Nor ſpar'd his Guards the more, for their Immortal Name.
The Roman Chief, the Carthaginians dread,
Scipio the Thunder-Bolt of War is dead,
And like a common Slave, by Fate in Triumph led.
The Founders of invented Arts are loſt;
And Wits who made Eternity their Boaſt.
Where now is Homer who poſſeſt the Throne?
Th' immortal Work remains, the mortal Author's gone.
Democritus perceiving Age invade,
His Body weaken'd and his Mind decay'd,
Obey'd the Summons with a chearful Face;
Made haſte to welcome Death, and met him half the Race.
That Stroke, ev'n Epicurus cou'd not bar,
Though he in Wit ſurpaſs'd Mankind as far
As does the Mid-day Sun, the Mid-night Star.
And thou, doſt thou diſdain to yield thy Breath,
Whoſe very Life is little more than Death?
More than one half by lazy Sleep poſſeſt;
And then a wake, thy Soul but nods at beſt,
Day-dreams and ſickly Thoughts revolving in thy Breaſt.
Eternal Troubles haunt thy anxious Mind,
Whoſe Cauſe and Cure thou never hop'ſt to find;
But ſtill uncertain, with thy ſelf at ſtrife,
Thou wander'ſt in the Labyrinth of Life.
O, if the fooliſh Race of Man, who find
A weight of Cares ſtill preſſing on their Mind,
Cou'd find as well the Cauſe of this unreſt,
And all this Burthen lodg'd within the Breaſt,
Sure they wou'd change their Courſe; nor live as now,
Uncertain what to wiſh or what to vow.
Uneaſie both, in Country and in Town,
They ſearch a place to lay their Burthen down.
One reſtleſs in his Palace, walks abroad,
And vainly thinks to leave behind the Load.
But ſtraight returns; for he's as reſtleſs there;
And finds there's no Relief in open Air.
Another to his Villa wou'd retire,
And ſpurs as hard as if it were on Fire;
[10]No ſooner enter'd at his Country Door,
But he begins to ſtretch, and yawn and ſnore;
Or ſeeks the City which he left before.
Thus every Man o'er-works his weary Will,
To ſhun himſelf, and to ſhake off his ill;
The ſhaking Fit returns and hangs upon him ſtill.
No proſpect of Repoſe, nor hope of Eaſe;
The Wretch is ignorant of his Diſeaſe;
Which known wou'd all his fruitleſs Trouble ſpare;
For he wou'd know the World not worth his Care:
Then wou'd he ſearch more deeply for the Cauſe;
And ſtudy Nature well, and Nature's Laws:
For in this moment lies not the Debate;
But on our future, fix'd, Eternal State;
That never-changing State which all muſt keep
Who Death has doom'd to everlaſting Sleep.
Why are we then ſo fond of mortal Life,
Beſet with Dangers and maintain'd with Strife?
A Life which all our Care can never ſave;
Our Fate attends us; and one common Grave.
Beſides we tread but a perpetual round,
We ne'er ſtrike out; but beat the former Ground,
And the ſame maukiſh Joys in the ſame Track are found.
For ſtill we think an abſent Bleſſing beſt;
Which cloys, and is no Bleſſing when poſſeſt;
A new ariſing Wiſh expels it from the Breaſt▪
The feav'riſh Thirſt of Life increaſes ſtill;
We call for more, and more, and never have our Fill▪
Yet know what to Morrow we ſhall try,
What Dregs of Life in the laſt Draught may lie.
Nor, by the longeſt Life we can attain;
One moment from the length of Death we gain;
For all behind belongs to his Eternal Reign.
When once the Fates have cut the mortal Thread,
The Man as much to all Intents is dead,
Who dies to day, and will as long be ſo,
As he who dy'd a thouſand Years ago.

To the Pious Memory of the Accompliſh'd Young Lady Mrs. ANN KILLIGREW. Excellent in the two Siſter Arts of Poeſy and Painting. An ODE.

[11]
I.
THou youngeſt Virgin-Daughter of the Skier,
Made in the laſt Promotion of the Bleſt;
Whoſe Palms, new pluck'd from Paradice,
In ſpreading Branches more ſublimely riſe,
Rich with Immortal Green above the reſt:
whether, adopted to ſome Neighbouring Star,
Thou roll'ſt above us, in thy wand'ring Race,
Or, in Proceſſion fixt and regular,
Mov'd with the Heav'ns Majeſtick Peace;
Or, call'd to more Superiour Bliſs,
Thou tread'ſt, with Seraphims, the vaſt Abyſs.
What ever happy Region is thy place,
Ceaſe thy Celeſtial Song a little ſpace;
(Thou wilt have time enough for Hymns Divine,
Since Heav'ns Eternal Year is thine.)
Here then a Mortal Muſe thy Praiſe rehearſe,
In no ignorable Verſe;
But ſuch as thy own Voice did practiſe here,
When thy Firſt [...]fruits of Poeſie were givn'd;
To make thy ſelf a welcome Inmate there:
While yet a young Probationer,
And Candidate of Heav'n.
II.
If by Traduction came thy Mind,
Our Wonder is the leſs to find
A Soul ſo charming from a Stock ſo good;
Thy Father was transfus'd into thy Blood:
[12]So wert thou born into a tuneful ſtrain,
(An early, rich, and inexhauſted Vein.)
But if thy Prae-exiſting Soul
Was form'd, at firſt, with Myriads more,
It did through all the Mighty Poets roul,
Who Greek or Latin Laurels wore.
And was that Sappho laſt, which once it was before▪
If ſo, then ceaſe thy flight, O Heaven-born Mind!
Thou haſt no Droſs to purge from thy Rich Ore:
Nor can thy Soul a fairer Manſion find,
Than was the Beauteous Frame ſhe left behind:
Return, to fill or mend the Quire, of thy Celeſtial kind.
III.
May we preſume to ſay, that at thy Birth,
New Joy was ſprung in Heav'n, as well as here on Earth.
For ſure the milder Planets did combine
On thy Auſpicious Horoſcope to ſhine,
And ev'n the moſt malicious were in Trine.
Thy Brother-Angels at thy Birth
Strung each his Lyre, and tun'd it high,
That all the People of the Sky
Might know a Poeteſs was born on Earth.
And then if ever, mortal Ears
Had heard the Muſick of the Spheres!
And if no cluſt'ring Swarn of Bees
On thy ſweet Mouth diſtill'd their Golden Dew,
'Twas that, ſuch vulgar Miracles,
Heav'n had not leiſure to renew:
For all the Bleſt Fraternity of Love
Solemniz'd there thy Birth, and kept thy Holy day above.
IV.
O Gracious God! How far have we
Prophan'd thy Heav'nly Gift of Poeſy?
Made proſtitute and profligate the Muſe,
Debas'd to each obſcene and impious Uſe,
Who Harmony was firſt ordain'd Above
For Tongues of Angels, and for Hymns of Love?
[13]O wretched We! why were we hurry'd down
This lubrique and adult'rate Age,
(Nay added fat Pollutions of our own)
T' increaſe the ſteaming Ordures of the Stage?
What can we ſay t' excuſe our Second Fall?
Let this thy Veſtal, Heaven, attone for all?
Her Arethuſian Stream remains unſoil'd,
Unmixt with Foreign Filth, and undefil'd,
Her Wit was more than Man, her Innocence a Child!
V.
Art ſhe had none, yet wanted none:
For Nature did that Want ſupply,
So rich in Treaſures of her Own,
She might our boaſted Stores defy:
Such Noble Vigour did her Verſe adorn,
That it ſeem'd borrow'd, where 'twas only born.
Her Morals too were in her Boſom bred,
By great Examples daily fed,
What in the beſt of Books, her Father's Life, ſhe read.
And to be read her ſelf ſhe need not fear,
Each Teſt, and ev'ry Light, her Muſe will bear,
Though Epictetus with his Lamp was there.
Ev'n Love (for Love ſometimes her Muſe expreſt)
Was but a Lambent-flame which play'd about her Breaſt:
Light as the Vapours of a Morning Dream,
So cold her ſelf, whilſt ſhe ſuch Warmth expreſt,
'Twas Cupid bathing in Diana's Stream.
VI.
Born to the ſpacious Empire of the Nine,
One wou'd have thought, ſhe ſhou'd have been content
To manage well that mighty Government;
But what can young ambitious Souls confine?
To the next Realm ſhe ſtretcht her Sway
For Painture near adjoyning lay,
A plenteous Province, and alluring Prey.
A Chamber of Dependencies was fram'd,
(As Conquerors will never want pretence,
When arm'd, to juſtifie th' Offence)
And the whole Fief, in right of Poetry ſhe claim'd.
[14]The Country open lay without Defence:
For Poets frequent In-rodes there had made,
And perfectly cou'd repreſent
The Shape, the Face, with ev'ry Lineament;
And all the large Demains which the Dumb-ſiſter ſway'd,
All bow'd beneath her Government,
Receiv'd in Triumph whereſoe'er ſhe went.
Her Pencil drew, what e'er her Sold deſign'd,
And of the happy Draught ſurpaſs'd the Image in her Mind.
The Sylvan Scenes of Herds and Flocks,
And fruitful Plains and barren Rocks,
Of ſhallow Brooks that flow'd ſo clear,
The bottom did the top appear;
Of deeper too and ampler Floods,
Which as in Mirrors, ſhew'd the Woods;
Of lofty Trees, with ſacred Shades,
And Perſpectives of pleaſant Glades,
Where Nymphs of brighteſt Form appear,
And ſhaggy Satyrs ſtanding near,
Which them at once admire and fear.
The Ruines too of ſome Majeſtick Piece,
Boaſting the Pow'r of ancient Rome or Greece.
Whoſe Statues, Freezes, Columns broken lie,
And tho' defac'd, the Wonder of the Eye,
What Nature, Art, bold Fiction e'er durſt frame,
Her forming Hand gave Feature to the Name.
So ſtrange a Concourſe ne'er was ſeen before,
But when the Peopl'd Ark the whole Creation bore.
VII.
The Scene then chang'd, with bold Erected Look
Our Martial King the ſight with Reverence ſtrook:
For not content t' expreſs his Outward Part,
Her Hand call'd out the Image of his Heart,
His Warlike Mind, his Soul devoid of Fear,
His High-deſigning Thoughts, were figur'd there,
As when, by Magick, Ghoſts are made appear.
Our Phenix Queen was portray'd too ſo bright,
Beauty alone cou'd Beauty take ſo right:
[15]Her Dreſs, her Shape, her matchleſs Grace,
Were all obſerv'd, as well as Heavenly Face.
With ſuch a Peerleſs Majeſty ſhe ſtands,
As in that Day ſhe took the Crown from ſacred Hands:
Before a Train of Heroins was ſeen,
In Beauty foremoſt, as in Rank, the Queen!
Thus nothing to her Genius was deny'd,
But like a Ball of Fire the further thrown,
Still with a greater Blaze ſhe ſhone,
And her bright Soul broke out on ev'ry ſide.
What next ſhe had deſign'd, Heaven only knows,
To ſuch Immod'rate Growth her Conqueſt roſe,
That Fate alone its Progreſs cou'd oppoſe.
VIII.
Now all thoſe Charms, that blooming Grace,
The well-proportion'd Shape, and beauteous Face,
Shall never more be ſeen by mortal Eyes;
In Earth the much lamented Virgin lies!
Not Wit, nor Piety cou'd Fate prevent;
Nor was the cruel Deſtiny content
To finiſh all the Murder at a Blow,
To ſweep at once her Life, and Beauty to;
But, like a harden'd Felon, took a Pride
To work more miſchievouſly ſlow,
And plunder'd firſt, and then deſtroy'd.
O double Sacrilege on things Divine,
To rob the Relique, and deface the Shrine!
But thus Orinda dy'd:
Heaven, by the ſame Diſeaſe, did both tranſlate,
As equal were their Souls, ſo equal was their Fate.
IX.
Mean time her Warlike Brother on the Seas
His waving Streams to the Winds diſplays,
And vows for his Return, with vain Devotion, pays,
Ah, Generous Youth, that Wiſh forbear,
The Winds too ſoon will waſt thee here!
Slack all thy Sails, and fear to come,
Alas, thou know'ſt not, thou art wreck'd at home!
[16]No more ſhalt thou behold thy Siſter's Face,
Thou haſt already had her laſt Embrace.
But look aloft, and if thou ken'ſt from far,
Among the Pleiad's a New-kindled Star,
If any Sparkles, than the reſt, more bright,
'Tis ſhe that ſhines in that propitious Light.
X.
When in mid-Air, the Golden Trump ſhall ſound,
To raiſe the Nations under Ground;
When in the Valley of Jehoſaphat,
The Judging God ſhall cloſe the Book of Fate;
And there the laſt Aſſizes keep,
For thoſe who Wake, and thoſe who Sleep;
When ratling Bones together fly,
From the four Corners of the Sky,
When Sinews o'er the Skeletons are ſpread,
Thoſe cloath'd with Fleſh, and Life inſpires the Dead;
The Sacred Poets firſt ſhall hear the Sound,
And foremoſt from the Tomb ſhall bound:
For they are cover'd with the lighteſt Ground,
And ſtreight, with in-born Vigour, on the Wing
Like mounting Larks, to the New Morning ſing.
There Thou, ſweet Saint, before the Quire ſhalt go,
As Harbinger of Heaven, the Way to ſhow,
The way which thou ſo well haſt learnt below.
FINIS.

23.

[]

ELEONORA: A PANEGYRICAL POEM, Dedicated the MEMORY Of the Late COUNTESS OF ABINGDON.

LONDON: [...]inted and Sold by H. Hills, in Black-Fryars, near the Water-ſide, 1709. Price One Penny.

To the Right Honourable the EARL of ABINGDON, &c.

[3]
MY LORD,

THE Commands, with which You honour'd me ſome Months ago, are now perform'd: They had been ſooner; but betwixt ill Health, ſome Buſineſs, and many Troubles, I was forc'd to deferr them till this time. Ovid, going to this Baniſh⯑ment, and Writing from on Ship-board to his Friends, ex⯑cus'd the Faults of his Poetry by his Misfortunes; and told them, that good Verſes never flow, but from a ſerene and compos'd Spirit. Wit, which is a kind of Mercury, with Wings faſten'd to his Head and Heels, can fly but ſlowly, in a damp Air. I therefore choſe rather to Obey You late, than ill: if at leaſt I am capable of writing any thing▪ at any time, which is worthy Your Peruſal and Your Patronage. I cannot ſay that I have eſcap'd from a Shipwreck; but have only gain'd a Rock by hard ſwimming; where I may pan [...] a while and gather Breath: For the Doctors give me a ſad Aſſurance that my Diſeaſe never took its leave of any Man, but with a purpoſe to return. However, my Lord, I have laid hold on the Interval, and manag [...]d the ſmall Stock which Age has left me, to the beſt Advantage, in performing this inconſide⯑rable Service to my Lady's Memory. We, who are Prieſts of Apollo, have not the Inſpiration when we pleaſe; but muſt wait till the God comes ruſhing on us, and invades us with a Fury, which we are not able to reſiſt: which gives us double Strength while the Fit continues, and leaves us languiſhing and ſpent, at its Departure. Let me not ſeem to b [...]aſt, my Lord; for I have really felt it on this Occaſion; and prophe⯑cy'd beyond my natural Power. Let me add, and hope to be believ'd, that the Excellency of the Subject contributed much to the Happineſs of the Execution: And that the weight of thirty Years was taken off me, while I was writing. I ſwom with the Tide, and the Water under [...]e was buoyant. The Reader will eaſily obſerve that I was tranſported, by the Multitude and Variety of my Similitudes; which are generally the Product of a luxuriant Fancy; and the Wantonneſs of Wit. Had I call'd in my Judgment to my Aſſistance, I had certainly retrench'd many of them. But I defend them not; let them paſs for beautiful Faults amongſt the better ſort of Criticks. For the whole Poem, though writ⯑ten in that which they call Heroick Verſe, [...]s of the Pind [...]rick Nature, as well in the Thought as the Expreſſion; and as ſuch, requires the ſame Grains of Allowance for it. It was intended, as your Lordſhip ſees in the Title, not for an Elegy, but a Panegyrick. A kind of Apotheoſis, indeed; if a Heathen Word may be applyed to a Chriſtian Uſe. And on all Occaſions of Praiſe, if we take the Ancients for our Patterns, we are [4] bound by Preſcription to employ the Magnificence of Words, and the force of Figures, to adorn the Sublimity of Thoughts. Iſocrates amongſt the Grecian Orators, and Cicero, and the younger Pliny, amongſt the Ro⯑mans, have left us their Precedents for our ſecurity: For I think I need not mention the inimitable [...]indar, who ſtretches on theſe Pinnions out of ſight, and is carried upward, as it were, into another World.

This at leaſt, my Lord, I may juſtly plead, that if I have not per⯑form'd ſo well as I think I have, yet I have us'd my beſt Endeavours to excel my ſelf. One Diſadvantage I have had, which is, never to have known, or ſeen my Lady: And to draw the Lineaments of her Mind, from the Deſcription which I have receiv'd from others, is for a Painter to ſet himſelf at work without the living Original before him. Which the more beautiful it is, will be ſo much the more difficult for him to conceive; when he has only a relation give him, of ſuch and ſuch Fea⯑tures by an Acquaintance or a Friend; without the Nice Touches which give the best Reſemblance▪ and make the Graces of the Picture. Every Artiſt is apt enough to flatter himſelf, (and I amongſt the reſt) that that their own ocular Obſervations, would have diſcover'd more Perfe⯑ctions, at leaſt others, than have been deliver'd to them: Though I have receiv [...]d mine from the beſt hands, that is, from Perſons who neither want a just Underſtanding of my Lady's Worth, nor a due Veneration for her Memory.

Doctor Donn the greatest Wit, though not the greateſt Poet of our Nation, acknowledges, that he had never ſeen Mrs. Drury, whom he has made immortal in his admirable Anniverſaries; I have had the ſame fortune; though I have no ſucceeded to the ſame Genius. How⯑ever, I have follow [...]d his Footſteps in the Deſign of his Panegyrick, which was to raiſe an Emul [...]tion in the living, to Copy out the Example of the dead. And therefore it was, that I once intended to have call'd this Poem, the Pattern: And though on a ſ [...]cond Conſideration, I chang'd the Title into the Name of that Illustrious Perſon, yet the Deſign con⯑tinues, and Eleonora is ſtill the Pattern of Charity, Devotion, and Humility; of the beſt Wife, the beſt Mother, and the beſt of Friends.

And now, my Lord, though I have endeavour'd to anſwer Your Com⯑mands, yet I could not [...]nſwer it to the World, nor to my Conſcience, if I gave not Your Lordſhip my Teſtimony of being the beſt Husband now living: I ſay my Teſtimony only: For the Praiſe of it, is given You by Your ſelf. They who deſpiſe the Rules of Vertue both in their Practice and their Morals, will think this a very trivial Commendation. But I think i [...] the p [...]culiar Happineſs of the Counteſs of Abingdon, to have been ſo truly lov'd by you, while ſhe was living, and ſo gratef [...]lly ho⯑nour'd, after ſhe was dead. Few there are who have either had, or co [...]'d have ſuch a Loſs; and yet fewer who carried their Love and Con⯑ſtancy beyond the Grave. The exteriours of Mourning▪ a decent Funeral, and black Habits, are the uſual ſti [...]s of Common Husbands: and per⯑haps their [...] deſerve no better than to be mou [...]d with Hypocriſie▪ [5] and forgot with eaſe. But you have diſtinguiſh'd your ſelf from ordi⯑nary Lovers, by a real, and laſting Grief for the Deceas'd. And by en⯑deavouring to raiſe for her, the moſt durable Monument, which is that of Verſe. And ſo it would have prov'd, if the Workman had been equal to the Work; and your Choice of the Artificer, as happy as your Deſign. Yet▪ as Phidias when he had made the Statue of Minerva, cou'd not forbear to ingrave his own Name, as Author of the Piece: ſo give me leave to hope, that by ſubſcribing mine to this Poem, I may live by the Goddeſs, and tranſmit my Name to Poſterity by the Memory of Hers. 'Tis no Flattery to aſſure Your Lorſhip, that ſhe is remember'd in the preſent Age, by all who have had the Honour of her Converſation and Acquain⯑tance. And that I have never been in any Company ſince the News of her Death was firſt brought me, where they have not ex [...]ol' [...] her Vir⯑tues; and even ſpoken the ſame things of her in Proſe, which I have done in Verſe.

I therefore think my ſelf oblig'd to thank Your Lordſhip for the Com⯑miſſion which You have given me: How I have acquitted my ſelf of it, muſt be left to the Opinion of the World, in ſpight of any Proteſtation, which I can enter againſt the preſent Age, as Incompetent or Corrupt Judges. For my Comfort they are but Engliſhmen, and as ſuch, If they Think ill of me to Day, they are inconſtant enough, to Think well of me to Morrow. And after all, I have not much to thank my Fortune that I was born amongſt them. The Good of both Sexes are ſo few▪ in [...]ngland, that they ſtand like Exceptions againſt General Rules: And though one of them has deſerv'd a greater Commendation, than I cou'd give her, they have taken care, that I ſhou'd not tire my Pen, with frequent Ex⯑erciſe on the like Subjects▪ that Praiſes, like Taxes, ſhou' [...] be appropri [...] ⯑ted; and left almoſt as Individual as the Perſon. They ſay my Talent is Satyr; if it be ſo, 'tis a fruitful Age; and there is an extraordinary Crop to gather. But a ſingle Hand is inſufficient for ſuch a Harveſt: They have ſown the Dragons Teeth themſelves; and 'tis but juſt they ſhou'd reap each other in Lampoons. You, my Lord, who have the Cha⯑racter of Honour, though 'tis not my Happineſs to know You, may ſtand [...]ſide, with the ſmall Remainders of the Engliſh Nobility, truly ſuch, and unhurt your ſelves, behold the mad Combat. If I have pleas'd you, and ſome few others, I have obtain'd my end. You ſee, I have diſabled my ſelf, like an Elected Speaker of the Houſe; yet like him I have un⯑dertaken the Charge; and find the Burden ſufficiently recompenc'd by the Honour. Be pleas'd to accept of theſe my unworthy Labours, this Paper Monument; and let her Pious Memory, which I am ſure is Sacred to You, not only Plead the Pardon of my many Faults, but gain me your Protection, which is ambitiouſly ſought by,

MY LORD, Your Lordſhip's moſt Obedient Servant,
JOHN DRYDEN.

ELEONORA: A Panegyrical Poem, Dedicated to the Memory of the Late Counteſs of ABINGDON.

[6]
* AS, when ſome Great and Gracious Monarch dies,
Soft Whiſpers, firſt, and mournful Murmurs riſe
Among the ſad Attendants; then, the Sound
Soon gathers Voice, and ſpreads the News around,
Through Town and Country, till the dreadful Blaſt
Is blown to diſtant Colonies at laſt;
Who, then perhaps, were off 'ring Vows in vain,
For his long Life, and for his happy Reign:
So ſlowly, by degrees, unwilling Fame
Did Matchleſs Eleonora's Fate proclaim,
Till publick, as the Loſs, the News became.
The Nation felt it, in th' extreameſt parts;
With Eyes o'erflowing, and with bleeding Hearts:
† But moſt the Poor, whom daily ſhe ſupply'd;
Beginning to be ſuch, but when ſhe dy'd.
For, whilſt ſhe liv'd, they ſlept in Peace, by Night;
Secure of Bread, as of returning Light;
And, with ſuch firm dependance on the Day,
That need grew pamper'd; and forgot to pray:
[7]So ſure the Dole, ſo ready at their Call,
They ſtood prepar'd to ſee the Manna fall.
Such Multitudes ſhe fed, ſhe cloath'd, ſhe nurſt,
That ſhe, her ſelf, might fear her wanting firſt.
Of her five Talents, other five ſhe made;
Heaven, that had largely giv'n, was largely paid:
And, in few Lives, in wondrous few, we find
A Fortune better fitted to the Mind.
Nor did her Alms from Oſtentation fall,
Or proud deſire of Praiſe; the Soul gave all:
Unbrib'd it gave; or, if a Bribe appear,
No leſs than Heaven; to heap huge Treaſures, there▪
Want paſs'd for Merit, at her open Door,
Heaven ſaw, he ſafely might increaſe his Poor.
And truſt their Suſtenance with her ſo well,
As not to be at Charge of Miracle.
None cou'd be needy, whom ſhe ſaw, or knew;
All, in the Compaſs of her Sphear, ſhe drew:
He who cou'd touch her Garment, was as ſure,
As the firſt Chriſtians of th' Apoſtle's Cure.
The diſtant heard, by Fame, her pious Deeds▪
And laid her up, for their extremeſt needs;
A future Cordial, for a fainting Mind;
For, what was ne'er refus'd, all hop'd to find;
Each in his turn: The Rich might freely come,
As to a Friend; but to the Poor, 'twas Home.
As to ſome Holy Houſe th' Afflicted came;
The Hunger-ſtarv'd, the Naked, and the Lam [...]:
Want and Diſeaſes fled before her Name.
For Zeal like hers, her Servants were too ſlow;
She was the firſt where need requir'd, to go;
Her ſelf the Foundreſs, and Attendant too.
Sure ſhe had Gueſts ſometimes to entertain,
Gueſts in Diſguiſe, of her Great Maſter's Train:
Her Lord himſelf might come, for ought we know;
Since in a Servant's Form he liv'd below▪
Beneath her Roof, he might be pleas'd to ſtay:
Or ſome benighted Angel, in his way
[8]Might eaſe his Wings; and ſeeing Heav'n appear
In its beſt Work of Mercy, think it there,
Where all the Deeds of Charity and Love
Were in as conſtant Method, as above:
All carry'd on; all of a piece with theirs,
As free her Alms, as diligent her Cares;
As loud her Praiſes, and as warm her Pray'rs.
* Yet was ſhe not profuſe; but fear'd to waſt,
And wiſely manag'd, that the ſtock might laſt;
That all might be ſupply'd; and ſhe not grieve
When Crouds appear'd, ſhe had not to relieve.
Which to prevent, ſhe ſtill increas'd her ſtore;
Laid up, and ſpar'd, that ſhe might give the more:
So Pharaoh, or ſome Greater King than he,
Provided for the ſeventh Neceſſity:
Taught from above, his Magazines to frame;
That Famine was prevented e're it came.
Thus Heaven, though All-ſufficient, ſhows a thrift
In his Oeconomy, and bounds his Gift:
Creating for our Day, one ſingle Light;
And his Reflection too ſupplies the Night:
Perhaps a thouſand other Worlds, that lye
Remote from us, and latent in the Sky,
Are lighten'd by his Beams, and kindly nurſt;
Of which our Earthly Dunghil is the worſt,
Now, as all Virtues keep the middle Line,
Yet ſomewhat more to one Extreme incline,
Such was her Soul; abhorring Avarice,
Bounteous, but, almoſt bounteous to a Vice
Had ſhe giv'n more, it had Profuſion been,
And turn'd th' Exceſs of Goodneſs, into Sin.
† Theſe Vertues rais'd her Fabrick to the Sky▪
For that which is next Heav'n, is Charity.
But, as high Turrets, for their Airy ſteep
Require Foundations, in proportion deep:
[9]And lofty Cedars, as far upward ſhoot,
As to the neather Heavens they drive the Root▪
So low did her ſecure Foundation lye,
She was not Humble, but Humility.
Scarcely ſhe knew that ſhe was great, or fair,
Or wiſe, beyond what other Women are,
Or, which is better, knew; but never durſt compare.
For to be conſcious of what all admire,
And not be vain, advances Vertue high'r:
But ſtill ſhe found, or rather thought ſhe found,
Her own worth wanting, others to abound:
Aſcrib'd above their due to ev'ry one,
Unjuſt and ſcanty to her ſelf alone.
* Such her Devotion was, as might give Rules
Of Speculation, to diſputing Schools;
And teach us equally the Scales to hold
Betwixt the two Extreams of hot and cold;
That pious heat may mod'rately prevail,
And we be warn'd, but not be ſcorch'd with Zeal.
Buſineſs might ſhorten, not diſturb her Pray'r;
Heaven had the beſt, if not the greater ſhare.
An active Life, long Oraiſon [...] forbids;
Yet ſtill ſhe pray'd, for ſtill ſhe pray'd by Deeds▪
Her ev'ry day was Sabbath: Only free
From hours of Pray'r, for hours of Charity.
Such as the Jews from ſervile Toil releaſt;
Where Works of Mercy were a part of Reſt:
[...]uch as bleſt Angels exerciſe above,
[...]ary'd with Sacred Hymns, and Acts of Love;
[...]uch Sabbaths as that one ſhe now enjoys,
[...]v'n that perpetual one, which ſhe employs,
For ſuch Viciſſitudes in Heav'n there are)
[...] Praiſe alternate, and alternate Pray'r.
[...]ll this ſhe practis'd here; that when ſhe ſprung
[...]midſt the Quires, at the firſt ſight ſhe ſung.
[...]ung, and was ſung her ſelf, in Angels Lays;
[...]or praiſing her, they did her Maker praiſe.
[10]All Offices of Heav'n ſo well ſhe knew,
Before ſhe came, that nothing there was new.
And ſhe was ſo familiarly receiv'd,
As one returning, not as one arriv'd.
* Muſe, down again precipitate thy Flight;
For how can Mortal Eyes ſuſtain Immortal Light▪
But as the Sun in Water we can bear,
Yet not the Sun, but his Reflection there,
So let us view her here, in what ſhe was;
And take her Image, in this watry Glaſs:
Yet look not ev'ry Lineament to ſee;
Some will be caſt in Shades; and ſome will be
So lamely drawn, you ſcarcely know, 'tis ſhe.
For where ſuch various Vertues we recite,
'Tis like the Milky-Way, all over bright,
But ſown ſo thick with Stars, 'tis undiſtinguiſh'd Light.
Her Vertue, not her Vertues let us call,
For one Heroick comprehends 'em all:
One, as a Conſtellation is but one;
Though 'tis a Train of Stars, that, rolling on,
Riſe in their turn, and int he Zodiack run.
Evern in Motion; now 'tis Faith aſcends,
Now Hope, now Charity, that upward tends,
And downwards with diffuſive Good, deſcends.
As in Perfumes compos'd with Art and Coſt,
'Tis hard to ſay what Scent is uppermoſt;
Nor this part Musk or Civet can we call,
Or Amber, but a rich Reſult of all;
So, ſhe was all a ſweet; whoſe ev'ry part,
In due proportion mix'd, proclaim'd the Maker's Art.
No ſingle Vertue we cou'd moſt commend;
Whether the Wife, the Mother, or the Friend;
For ſhe was all, in that ſupreme degree,
That, as no one prevail'd, ſo all was ſhe.
The ſev'ral parts lay hidden in the Piece;
Th' Occaſion but exerted that, or this.
[11] * A Wife as tender, and as true withal,
[...]s the firſt Woman was, before her Fall:
[...]ade for the Man, of whom ſhe was a part;
[...]ade, to attract his Eyes, and keep his Heart.
ſecond Eve, but by no Crime accurſt;
[...]s beauteous, not as brittle as the firſt.
[...]ad ſhe been firſt, ſtill Paradiſe had bin,
[...]nd Death had found no entrance by her ſin.
[...] ſhe not only had preſerv'd from ill
[...]r Sex and ours, but liv'd their Pattern ſtill.
Love and Obedience to her Lord ſhe bore,
[...]e much obey'd him, but ſhe lov'd him more.
[...]ot aw'd to Duty by ſuperior ſway;
[...]t taught by his Indulgence to obey.
[...]hus we love God as Author of our good;
[...] Subjects love juſt Kings, or ſo they ſhou'd.
[...]or was it with Ingratitude return'd;
[...] equal Fires the bliſsful Couple burn'd:
[...]ne joy poſſeſs'd 'em both, and in one Grief they mourn'd.
[...]is Paſſion ſtill improv'd: he lov'd ſo faſt
[...]s if he fear'd each Day would be her laſt.
[...]oo true a Prophet to foreſee the Fate
[...]hat ſhou'd ſo ſoon divide their happy State:
[...]hen he to Heav'n entirely muſt reſtore
[...]hat Love, that Heart, where he went halves before.
[...]et as the Soul is all in ev'ry part,
[...] God and He, might each have all her Heart.
† So had her Children too; for Charity
[...]as not more fruitful, or more kind than ſhe:
[...]ch under other by degrees they grew;
[...] goodly Perſpective of diſtant view:
[...]nchiſes look'd not with ſo pleas'd a Face,
[...] numb' [...]ing o'er his future Roman Race,
[...]nd Marſhalling the Heroes of his Name
[...], in their Order, next to light they came;
[...]or Cybele with half ſo kind an Eye,
[...]rvey'd her Sons and Daughters of the Skie.
[12]Proud, ſhall I ſay, of her immortal Fruit.
As far as Pride with Heavn'nly Minds may ſuit.
* Her pious Love excell'd to all the bore;
New Objects only multiply'd it more.
And as the Choſen found the pearly Grain
As much as ev'ry Veſſel cou'd contain;
As in the Bliſsful Viſion each ſhall ſhare,
AS much of Glory, as his Soul can bear;
So did ſhe love, and ſo diſpenſe her Care.
Her eldeſt thus, by conſequence, was beſt;
As longer cultivated than the reſt:
The Babe had all that Infant Care beguiles,
And early knew his Mother in her Smiles:
But when dilated Organs let in Day
To the young Soul, and gave it room to play,
At his firſt aptneſs, the Maternal Love
Thoſe Rudiments of Reaſon did improve:
The tender Age was pliant to command;
Like Wax it yielded to the forming hand:
True to th' Artificer, the labour'd Mind
With eaſe was pious, generous, juſt and kind;
Soft for Impreſſion, from the firſt, prepar'd,
Till Vertue, with long Exerciſe, grew hard;
With ev'ry Act confirm'd; and made, at laſt
So durable, as not to be effac'd,
It turn'd to Habit; and, from Vices free,
Goodneſs reſolv'd into Neceſſity.
Thus fix'd ſhe Vertue's Image, that's her own,
Till the whole Mother in the Children ſhone;
For that was their Perfection: ſhe was ſuch,
They never cou'd expreſs her Mind too much.
So unexhauſted her Perfections were,
That, for more Children, ſhe had more to ſpare▪
For Souls unborn, whom her untimely Death
Depriv'd of Bodies, and of mortal Breath;
And (cou'd they take th' Impreſſions of her Mind)
Enough ſtill left to ſanctifie her Kind.
[13] † Then wonder not to ſee this Soul extend
[...]he Bounds, and ſeek ſome other ſelf, a Friend:
[...] ſwelling Seas to gentle Rivers glide,
[...]o ſeek repoſe, and empty out the Tide;
[...] this full Soul, in narrow Limi [...]s pent,
[...]nable to contain her, ſought a vent,
ſo iſſue out, and in ſome friendly Breaſt
[...]charge her Treaſures, and ſecurely reſt.
[...] unboſom all the ſecrets of her Heart,
[...]ake good Advice, but better to impart.
or 'tis the Bliſs of Friendſhip's Holy State
[...]o mix their Minds, and to communicate;
[...]hough Bodies cannot, Souls can penetrate.
[...]x [...] to her Choice; inviolably true;
[...]nd wiſely chuſing, for ſhe choſe but few.
[...]me ſhe muſt have; but in no one cou'd find
Tally fitted for ſo large a Mind.
[...]he Souls of Friends, like Kings in progreſs are;
[...]ll in their own, though from the Palace far:
[...]hus her Friend's Heart her Country Dwelling was,
[...] ſweet Retirement to a coarſer place:
[...]here Pomp and Ceremonies enter'd not;
[...]here Greatneſs was ſhut out, and Bus'neſs well forgot.
This is th' imperfect Draught; but ſhort as far
[...] the true height and bigneſs of a Star
[...]ceeds the Meaſures of th' Aſtronomer.
[...]e ſhines above we know, but in what place,
[...]w near the Throne, and Heav'ns Imperial Face,
[...] our weak Opticks is but vainly gheſt;
[...]tance and Altitude conceal the reſt.
† Tho' all theſe rare Endowments of the Mind
[...]e [...]e in a narrow ſpace of Life confin'd,
[...]e Figure was with full Perfection crown'd;
[...]ough not ſo large an O [...]b, as truly round.
As when in Glory, through the publick place,
[...]e Spoils of conquer'd Nations were to paſs,
[14]And but one day for Triumph was allow'd,
The Conſul was conſtrain'd his Pomp to croud;
And ſo the ſwift Proceſſion hurry'd on,
That all, though not diſtinctly, might be ſhown▪
So, in the ſtraiten'd Bounds of Life confin'd,
She gave but Glimpſes of her glorious Mind:
And Multitudes of Vertues paſs'd along;
Each preſſing foremoſt in the mighty Throng;
Ambitious to be ſeen, and then make room,
For greater Multitudes that were to come.
Yet unemploy'd no Minute ſlipt away;
Moment were precious in ſo ſhort a ſtay.
The haſte of Heav'n to have her was ſo great,
That ſome were ſingle Acts, though each compleat;
But ev'ry Act ſtood ready to repeat.
Her Fellow Saints with buſie Care, will look
For her bleſt Name, in Fate's Eternal Book;
And, pleas'd to be out-done, with Joy will ſee
Numberleſs Vertues, endleſs Charity;
But more will wonder at ſo ſhort an Age;
To find a Blank beyond the thirti'th Page;
And with a pious Fear begin to doubt
The Piece imperfect, and the reſt torn out.
* But 'twas her Saviour's time; and, cou'd there be
A Copy near th' Original, 'twas ſhe.
As precious Gums are not for laſting Fire,
They but perfume the Temple, and expire.
So ſoon was ſhe exhal'd, and vaniſh'd hence▪
A ſhort ſweet Odour, of a vaſt Expence
She vaniſh'd, we can ſcarcely ſay ſhe dy'd;
For but a Now, did Heaven and Earth divide:
She paſs'd ſerenely with a ſingle B [...]eath,
This Moment perfect Health, the next was Death▪
† One Sigh, did her Eternal Bliſs aſſure;
So little Penance needs, when Souls are almoſt pure.
As gentle Dreams our waking Thoughts purſue;
Or, one Dream paſs'd, we ſlide into a new;
[15](So cloſe they follow, ſuch wild Order keep,
We think our ſelves awake, and are aſleep:)
So ſoftly Death, ſucceeded Life, in her;
She did but dream of Heav'n, and was there.
No Pains ſhe ſuffer'd, nor expir'd with Noiſe;
Her Soul was whiſper'd out, with God's ſtill Voice.
As an old Friend is beckon'd to a Feaſt,
And treated like a long familiar Gueſt;
He took her as he found; but found her ſo,
* As one in hourly Readineſs to go.
Ev'n on that Day, in all her Trim prepar'd;
As early notice ſhe from Heav'n had heard,
And ſome deſcending Courtier, from above
Hav giv'n her timely warning to remove:
Or counſel'd her to dreſs the Nuptial Room;
For on that Night the Bridegroom was to come.
† He kept his Hour, and found her where ſhe lay
Cloath'd all in white, the Liv'ry of the Day▪
Scarce had ſhe ſinn'd, in Thought, or Word, or act;
Unleſs Omiſſions were to paſs for Fact:
That hardly Death a Conſequence cou'd draw,
To make her liable to Nature's Law.
And that ſhe dy'd, we only have to ſhow,
The mortal part of her ſhe left below:
The reſt (ſo ſmooth, ſo ſudenly ſhe went)
Look'd like Tranſlation, through the Firmament;
O [...] like the fiery Carr, on the third Errand ſent.
* O happy Soul! if thou canſt view from high▪
Where thou art all Intelligence, all Eye,
If looking up to God, or down to us,
Thou find'ſt, that any way be pervious,
Survey the Ruines of thy Houſe, and ſee
Thy widow'd, and thy Orphan Family;
Look on thy tender Pledges left behind:
And, if thou canſt a vacant Minute find
[16]From Heavenly Joys, that Interval afford
To thy ſad Children, and thy mourning Lord.
See how thy grieve, miſtaken in their Love,
And ſhed a Beam of Comfort from above;
Give 'em as much as mortal Eyes can bear,
A tranſieth View of thy full Glories there;
That they with mod'rate Sorrow may ſuſtain
And mollifie their Loſſes, in thy Gain.
Or elſe divide the Grief, for ſuch thou wert,
That ſhou'd not all Relations bear a part,
It were enough to break a ſingle Heart.
* Let this ſuffice: Nor thou, great Saint, refuſe
This humble Tribute of no vulgar Muſe:
Who, not by Cares, or Wants, or Age depreſt,
Stems a wild Deluge with a dauntleſs Breaſt:
And dares to ſing thy Praiſes, in a Clime.
Where Vice Triumphs, and Vertue is a Crime:
Where ev'n to draw the Picture of thy Mind,
Is Satyr on the moſt of Humane Kind:
Take it, while yet 'tis Praiſe; before my Rage
Unſafely juſt, break looſe on this bad Age;
So bad, that thou thy ſelf had'ſt no Defence,
From Vice, but barely by departing hence.
Be what, and where thou art: To wiſh thy place,
Were in the beſt, Preſumption, more than Grace.
Thy Reliques (ſuch thy Works of Mercy are)
Have, in this Poem, been my holy Care.
As Earth thy Body keeps, thy Soul the Sky,
So ſhall this Verſe preſerve thy Memory;
For thou ſhalt make it live, becauſe it ſings of thee.
FINIS.

24.

[]

The Rambling Fuddle-Caps: OR, A Tavern-Struggle FOR A KISS. By the Author of HUDIBRASS REDIVIVUS.

LONDON: Printed and Sold by H. Hills, in Black-fryars near the Water-ſide. 1709.

[16]
[...]
[]
[...]

The Rambling Fuddle-Caps: OR, A Tavern-Struggle FOR A KISS.

[3]
THo' Fuddl'd o'er Night, the next Morning we found,
That Sleep had recover'd what Claret had drown'd;
And all our numb'd Members, ſo feeble and weak,
That we ſcarcely were able to walk, or to ſpeak,
Were now by kind Morpheus with Strength reimpower'd,
And all to their primitive Vigour reſtor'd.
Our Thoughts were ſo ſprightly, our Humours ſo gay,
That we both were as brisk as a Milk-maid in May.
And as for the Rudders that ſteer our Affections,
As Fancy, that Pilot, ſhall give 'em Directions;
Which were made over Night ſo incapably tender,
Were now grown as ſtiff as a Bullock's Defender:
That wanting Diſcretion I'd like to 've miſcarry'd,
And thoughtleſs of Cuckldom wiſh my ſelf marry'd:
[4]Well knowing deſire of unchaſte Copulation,
Had been an Affront to our new Reformation;
And therefore reſolv'd to forbear the ſweet Evil,
Tho' hugely inclin'd to the Fleſh and the Devil.
But yet notwithſtanding our over-Night's Fuddle,
That made us ſo brisk in the Tail and the Noddle,
We both were as dry, I may juſtly maintain,
As a Rat that is poyſon'd by eating his Bane.
In order to quench our immod'rate Droughts,
That burnt in our Stomachs, and ſcorch'd up our Mouths▪
We leap'd out of Bed with a ſtrong Appetitus,
To ſwallow a Hair of the Dog that had bit us.
We ſhifted our Linen, and whip'd on our Cloaths,
And powder'd our Wigs like a couple of Beaus,
Then quitted our Lodging till Night, with deſign,
To quench with that Engine, a Flask full of Wine,
The Fire which God Bacchus, as well as Fair Venus,
By th' help of brisk Claret, had kindl'd within us.
So frenſical Wretches their Senſes reſtore,
By clawing the Hag who bewitch'd 'em before.
And skilful Phyſicians their Patients recover,
Of one Doſe of Poyſon, by th' pow'r of another.
With this Reſolution we croſs'd to S—Lane,
'Twixt which and B—Y—hangs a Buſh and a Sign,
Which ſome call the Tuns, by whoſe ſize one wou'd gueſs,
They were three Brandy Runlets of Gallons a piece,
Well, well, ſays my Friend, you may deſcant upon 'em,
And for their diminutive ſizes untun 'em:
But when within Doors you may think 'em much wider,
And Judge by the Wine they are Hogſheads of Cider.
However, ſaid I, let us once venture in,
If it be for no cauſe, but to ſee and be ſeen:
For tho' it proves Cider 'twill quench us and clean us,
And waſh down thoſe ſooty remains that are in us,
Condens'd from the Poyſon of Necotianus.
With that we went into a pretty long Entry,
At th' end of which Paſſage a Female ſtood Centry,
[5]As ſtiff in her Box, and as ſtarch'd in her Dreſs,
As an old Abby-Figure of Wax in a Preſs,
Where any for Three-pence may behold,
What ſtiff body'd Queens liv'd in Ages of old.
To ſay that ſhe Paints it might juſtly provoke her,
I'm ſure that ſhe does not, except 'tis with Oker:
Nor did ſhe look warm'd with Canary or Brandy,
But juſt of the Colour of brown Sugar-candy.
From whence we may ſay, without any Reflection,
She's bleſt with a ſweet and a melting Complexion.
Her Bubb [...]es, which juſt peep'd above to invite ye,
By th' help of her S [...]ays look'd ſo round and ſo pretty,
That had but her Skin been a little more fair,
Like a Stone Horſe enrag'd I'd leap'd over the Bar;
But the Ginger-bread Colour ſhe wore in her Cheeks,
Was to me as offenſive as Garlick or Leeks:
For Yellow I hate, and I'll tell you for what,
'Tis the Mutton Complexion that dies of the Rot.
And who'd be ſo fond of a Kiſs or a Touch,
With a Lady that looks not as ſound as a Roach?
Her Hips, I confeſs, were ſo charmingly plump,
And between them a Hillock adorning her Rump,
That when ſhe turn'd round, by a glimpſe I could find
All the beſt of her Beauty was ſeated behind.
Tho' perhaps upon ſearch it wou'd have prov'd but a Cuſhion,
That rais'd up her A—ſe to the height of the Faſhion.
After Ogling, and Talking, and taking a view,
As ſhe ſtood in the Bar, like a Jilt in a Pew.
The Drawer, according to our deſire,
Shew'd us into the Kitchin, for ſake of the Fire:
For cold was the Wind, and impleaſant the Weather,
Which made us both willing to follow him thither.
No ſooner we'd enter'd the Cook's Territories,
Where commonly either a Slut or a Whore is)
[...]ut a ſwinging Bellona we ſaw at the Dreſſer,
[...]nd a drunken young Rake-hell juſt going to Kiſs her.
[6]The maſculine Jade had the Fork in her Hand,
And bid him ſtand off at the Word of Command:
And being a Laſs both of Virtue and Value,
She cry'd▪ Keep your Gound, or, by Heavens, I'll maul ye.
The Spark in his Cups, full of Courage and Vigour,
In ſpight of her Threats, rally'd on like a Tyger,
With his Arm, like a Fencer, he parry'd her Poker,
And running within her did further provoke her,
By falling moſt roughly and rudely upon her,
And bobbing his Hand at the Seat of her Honour;
But ſtill with ſuch Art ſhe defended her Lips,
And now and then gave him ſuch Pinches and Nips,
That I would not have born, to have purchas'd a Kiſs,
From the Lips of Queen Dido, or Helen of Greece.
He ſwore that he would, but ſhe vow'd that he ſhould not:
He ſtrove, but ſhe ruſtled ſo hard that he could not.
But as they contended thus, who ſhould be Maſter,
I'th' the Scuffle there happen'd a ſcurvy Diſaſter:
A Pudding, with Plumbs, ſtanding by on a Stool,
Ready mix'd for the Bag, temper'd up in a Bowl,
Unhappily met with a Fall in the Joſtle,
And between 'em was thrown on the Ground in the buſtle;
The Cook at this ſorrowful ſight grew inflam'd,
And wiſh'd her Antagoniſt rotted and damn'd.
The Spark in return to the Quean of the Kitchin,
In wonderful Rage went to Curſing and Bitching:
But ſtill in a Paſſion purſuing his Matter,
They ſcuffled about Ankle deep in the Batter:
As Soldiers hard ſet in a Battle do uſe,
To fight 'till the Blood waſhes over their Shooes.
The ſturdy Defendant her Pudding beholding,
Fell now in good earneſt to ſcratching and ſcolding.
And fought like a Cat when her Paſſion was ſtir'd,
To ſee the good Food trod about like a T—d,
Her Greaſineſs now all Venom and Gall,
Who ſwore ſhe'd admit of no Kiſſing at all;
And with that ſhe exerted her Maſculine Force,
Who was almoſt as ſtrong a Mare or a Horſe,
[7]And puſh'd down the Spark, who moſt decently lay,
In the midſt of the Pudding that fell in the Fray.
With that he aroſe full of Malice and Spight,
To ſee his black Cloaths painted over with white:
And look'd in this pickle, without any Lying,
Like a piece of fat Tripe dry'd in Batter for Frying.
The Curls of his Wig were ſo paſted and ma [...]ted,
All over ſo daub'd, ſo beplumb'd and befatted;
So Eggy withal, that a Man would have ſworn,
He had juſt in the Pill'ry been taking a Tu [...]n:
And being Lent-time, that ſome ill-natur'd Creatures,
Had pelted the Rogue with their Pancakes and Fritters.
Pray Sir, ſays my Friend, to th' unfortunate Lover,
D [...]d ever you read the Fam'd Hiſtory over,
Of a dapper, diminutive, comical Fellow,
Much leſs than a Barthol'mew-Fair Punchanello.
Methinks (tho' I ſpeak not by way of Deriſion)
As now you appear in that dripping Condition;
You look like that little Tom Thumb, by my Soul,
[...]uſt waded from out of the great Pudding-Bowl;
[...]nd have brought away Batter enough on your Back,
Which if ſavingly ſcrap'd from your Cloaths that are black,
[...]nd improb'd into Dumplins, would make ſuch a Feaſt,
That would tempt you with Patience to ſwallow the Jeſt.
Pray Sir, cries the Spark, in his Puddingy Robes,
[...]eep your Flirts to your ſelf, and your merry dry Bobs;
[...]or I value not you or your Jeſts of a Clout,
[...]m good Fleſh within, tho' I'm Pudding without;
[...]nd if you, like the Bitchington, think you can beat me,
[...]s drunk as I am, when you've done you ſhall eat me.
[...]ut if you won't Fight, let my Follies alone,
[...]r I'll Pudding your Jacket as bad as my own.
Dear Sir, ſays my Friend, in a bantering manner,
[...]ope, like the Cook, you'll not turn Painter-ſtainer;
[8]If you do, notwithſtanding your huffing and prating,
The Proof of the Pudding ſhall be in the eating.
But, Sir, ſays our Pye-colour'd Sot of a Beau,
Why ſo much upon Pudding, I deſire to know.
What tho' I'm bitterly daub'd with the Batter,
Muſt every Fool take a lick at the Matter.
Ca [...]'t a Man tumble down in a Pudding, Ads fiſh,
But another muſt fling it ſo oft in his Diſh.
The Cook in a Corner ſtood fleering and laughing▪
The Spark ſhe had tam'd ſtagger'd fretting and chaffing,
So near to the Fire, in a mighty diſguſt,
Till the Pudding was bak'd on his B [...]ck to a Cruſt.
Beholding the Rattle-brains, marry thought I,
I have heard of a Puppy put into a Pye,
But never yet met with a Story alluding,
To ſuch a great Whelp that was bak'd in a Pudding.
By this time the Miſtreſs, that ſat in the Bar,
Being told the Misfortune by Fennick the Draw'r,
Step'd in to enquire out the truth of the Matter,
And view, with ſad Eyes, the poor down-fallen Batter,
Says Madam to Nell, in a wonderful Paſſion,
You impudent Baggage, pray what's the occaſion,
The Pudding deſign'd for your Maſter's own Table,
Is thus trod about like a T—d in a Stable?
O Heavens! pray what has this Termagant Blowze
Been a doing to th' Gentleman's Wig and Cloaths?
Zounds, Madam, crys Nell, I have done him no Hurt,
It was all his own Fault, he may thank himſelf for't.
For tho' I'm a poor Kitchin-Wench, let me tell ye,
I will not be tumbled and touz'd by the Belly;
Nor ſl [...]bber'd or Kiſs'd, as a Slut that was ready
To pleaſure each Sot, like a Night-walking Lady.
I'd have you to know, I am Honeſt, tho' Poor,
And diſd [...]in to be us'd like a Water-Lane Whore.
[9]
With that Madam Coming-Sir, cocking her Head,
Cry'd, Marry-come-up, you're a Beautiful Jade,
You had need brag ſo much of your Hypocrites Vertue,
A Gentleman's Kiſs would have mightily hurt you!
You ſh [...]ll be ſo proud, you're ſo handſome a Piece,
So perfum'd with your Sweat, and adorn'd with your Greaſe,
That a Gentleman for your Charms muſt approve you,
And if he once ſmel [...]s you, muſt certainly love you.
Go, go, you're a Slu [...], I would have you to know;
Nay, a S [...]u [...]pet, to ſerve any Gentl [...]man ſo:
As for one ſilly Kiſs to beget ſo much Strife,
And to ſpoil the beſt Pudding you've mix'd in your Life.
Says Nell to her Miſtreſ [...], I ſcorn to be tumbl'd,
Let thoſe play [...]he Fool that delight to be Fumbl'd:
But you that are marry'd may do as you liſt,
For a Cut of a Cut Loaf can never be miſt.
Tho' you ſay I'm a Strumpet, remember, good Madam,
As bad as I am, I was never at Had'em:
Nor ever did I from my Modeſty vary,
So far as to jumble a Pipe of Canary;
Or ever commit ſo notorious a Fault,
As be catch'd with a Drawer below in the Vault,
In marking that Pipe which was beſt for your turns
On the Head, with the ſcandalous Sign of Horns.
Horns! Huſſy, ſays Madam, you impudent Quean,
Who is't you reflect on, what is it you mean?
Did ever you hear, thro' the courſe of you [...] Life,
That I ever prov'd worſe than a good Wiſe?
Tis amazing to me! I'm aſtoniſh'd to think
What your Impudence aims at, why ſure you're in Drink;
Or elſe to your Miſtreſs you never would prate,
[...] ſo baſe a provoking and ſaucy a rate.
Z [...]nes, Madam, ſays Nell, in a damnable Fury,
Won't be th [...]s ſ [...]ub'd and abus'd, I aſſure ye,
[10]Altho' I'm a Scrub that is doom'd to a Kitchin,
I never was yet catch'd a Whoring or Bitching;
Nor am I got drunk, as your Ladyſhip ſays,
Tho' I know ſhe that was, to her ugly Diſgrace,
And was found with a Spark hovering over her Chair,
With a Hand on her Breaſts, and the other elſewhere.
With that, ſays the Miſtreſs, You ill-natur'd Devil,
For ſhame hold your Tongue, that implacable Evil.
Come, mop up the Batter you've trampl'd and ſtood in,
And let me, I ſay, have no more of the Pudding.
Whoſe Fault is't, crys Nell, get you into the Bar,
Pray, what bus'neſs have you to come prying in here?
For the longer you ſtay, or the more that you talk,
You ſhall fare but the worſe, ſo it's better to walk.
Well, Huſſy, ſays Madam, for once you ſhall win me,
To uſe the Good-nature and Patience that's in me.
Now I ſee you're enrag'd, I will ſhew a Conceſſion,
But rattle you off when you're out of your Paſſion.
Thus Madam return'd to her Station the Bar,
With a Nettle t'her Breech, and a Flea in her Ear;
Being glad to withdraw from the Rubs and the Railings
Of Nell, that was privy to ſome of her Failings.
Said I, honeſt Nell, you've an excellent Tongue,
That, according to Phraſe, is moſt notably hung,
For it ſounds like a Bell, and goes off with a Twang.
But I hope you'll excuſe me, invincible Nelly,
If I, like a Friend, take the Freedom to tell ye,
You banter too hard on the Brows of your Maſter,
And open thoſe Sores that have need of a Plaiſter.
With that the huge termagant Devil turn'd back;
I believe (ſays the Jade) you come in for a ſnack:
[11]They are Sparks like your ſelf, and not I (crys the Blowze)
That with Antlers and Buds injure honeſt Mens Brows;
And when they are abſent, by kiſſing their Spouſes,
Make Bridges of many poor Cuckoldly Noſes.
Thought I, it's more Prudence my Tongue to with-hold,
Or much better to talk to a Poſt than a Scold;
Cauſe they both to all Reaſon are deaf as a Drum,
Which the S [...]old will out-rattle, when the Poſt will be dumb.
Mr. Prim, who with ſhame to Elegant Beaus,
Had, for ſake of a Kiſs, ſo beſpatter'd his Cloaths,
And made the whole Houſe ſo confounded uneaſy,
By ſlabb'ring a Slut, but ſo ugly and greaſy;
O'erpower'd with Wine, and Nocturnal Upſitting,
Fell aſleep in a Nook, for a Sot very fitting,
With a Coat ſo beſmear'd in his amorous Fight,
That he look'd like a Magpy, half black and half white;
And might juſtly be ſtil'd, for the Badges he wore,
The compleateſt Jack-pudding that we e'er ſaw before.
As thus the young Drunkard was ſleeping and ſnoring,
And dreamnig, no doubt on't, of Drinking or Whoring,
[...] chanc'd that his Father, with Carbuncle Face,
Thoſe glorious effects of the Bottle and Glaſs,
Came in with a Friend for a whet of good Red,
Leſt his Rubies and Roſy Pimginets ſhould fade:
For Flowers we know ſoon their Colours would loſe,
[...]f they were not refreſh'd with the Rains and the Dews▪
So the Noſe of a Sot, which with pleaſure we ſtare at,
Would fade, if not daily repleniſh'd with Claret.
The hearty Old Dad had no ſooner came in,
And gave order to Fennick to draw him his Wine,
Turn'd his Noſe to the Door, and his Arſe to the Fire,
A Habit true Engliſhmen always acquire;
But the ſharp fighted Fox round the Kitchin did look,
And ſaw Daddy's n'own Son drunk a ſleep in a Nook.
With that he advances up cloſe to the place,
Turns his Wig a one ſide, ſtares his Son in the Face;
[12]Catches hold of his Noſe in a damnable Paſſion,
And pulling on't, breaks into this Exclamation:
A Beau to the Life! a fine Spark, by my Soul,
You drunken young Rake-hell, come out of your hole:
Let us ſee in the Light what a Figure you make;
A moſt exquiſite Sot, a true Orthodox Rake,
A hopeful young Student, a rare Inns of Courtier:
Nouns, what has the Dog been a treading of Mortar?
Adſheart, now I look on his Wig and his Back,
He's all cover'd with Plumbs like an Iſlington Cake.
I'll be hang'd if the Whelp had not Pudding for Supper,
And eat till he ſpew'd from his Head to his Crupper.
The Son very drunk, alſo equally drowſy,
Firſt ſhrug'd up his Shoulders as if he were Louſy;
Then ſtagg'ring about, betwixt ſleeping and waking,
B'ing ready to ſpew, I ſuppoſe, by his kecking;
Not knowing his Father, he damn'd him and ſwore,
He that took him by th' Noſe was a Son of a Whore.
Then Curſing and Raving, like one in Diſtraction,
He vow'd for th' Affront he would have Satisfaction.
You Dog, ſays his Daddy at every word,
D' you offer to lay your vile Hand on your Sword!
Thou villainous Rebel, you undutiful Sot you,
D' you lift up your Arm againſt him that begot you?
Sure never poor Mortal e'er father'd before,
Such a Rakebelly Rogue of a Son of a Whore.
With that the young Prodigal (hearing the Name
Of a Father) began to be little more tame:
And looking about him, at laſt had the Grace,
To know 'twas his Dad by his Carbuncle Face:
Then after a Keck, and a Hick-cough or two,
Like a Sot over-charg'd that was going to ſpew,
He crys to his Father, (provoking our Smiles)
You're the old Turky [...]c [...]ck, by your fiery Gills:
[13] [...]ut what need you Cobble ſo loud at a Body,
[...] Tavern ſometimes is as good as a Study:
[...]ve heard you oft ſay, That Converſing and Drinking,
Muſt quicken our Brains more than Reading and Thinking,
And that Lawyers Littleton, Bracton, and Cook,
Did agree it was good for a Student to look
[...]n the brisk merry Bottle, as well as the Book.
'Tis true, the ſaid the Father, I always allow'd ye,
To chear up your Heart with a Glaſs after Study;
But not ſtretch your Guts like a Porter or Carman,
And turn a worſe Sot than thoſe guzling Vermin.
Pray Gentlemen ſee but his Coat and his Wig here,
Did ever a Beau make ſo beaſtly a Figure!
He looks, by my Soul, from the Head to the Rump,
[...]ke a Pick-pocket juſt run away from the Pump.
You Rogue had I thought you'd have prov'd ſuch an Idle
Young Dog, I'd have choak'd you with Pap in the Cradle.
And never have been at the chargeable keeping
Of ſuch a rude Raſcal that daily is heaping
Such Cares and Vexations upon my Gray Hairs,
That in ſight of you all makes me burſt into Tears.
For ſhame, ſays his Friend, do not ſhew your ſelf ſuch
[...]n old Tony to cry, you unman your ſelf much:
Tis time to be ſhedding of Tears when you find him
Ty'd faſt in a Cart with the Horſes behind him.
Have I, ſays the Father, ſate early and late,
[...]ike a Drudge at my Desk, to acquire an Eſtate,
And all for the ſake of a profligate So [...],
That will ſpend it much faſter then ever 'twas got:
But, Nouns, if the Rake-hell continues thus looſe,
[...] Revenge, I'll not leave the young Rebel a Sous:
[...]y my Generous Living I'll give him the Go-by,
[...]nd ſpend what I meant for the Prodigal Booby.
[14]
Here Drawer, ſays Rake, bring my Father a Quart,
I'll be hang'd if 'twill do the old Toaſt any hurt.
Be nimble, you Dog, draw it brisk, neat and fine,
For a Glaſs of true Claret, or any good Wine,
He loves in a Morning, I've oft heard him ſay;
Nay, at Night, or indeed any time of the Day;
My Grandſire I've heard, always drank like a Fiſh,
And his Children all lov'd to about with the Diſh;
So what's bred in the Bone, will ne'er out of the Fleſh:
Therefore why ſhou'd not I love a Cup of the Creature,
As well as my Father, by Inſtinct of Nature.
Pray judge, crys the Dad, do ye think I'm not bleſt,
With a hopeful young Bird, but juſt flown from the Neſt,
Who is ready to ſee, e'er he's well knit together,
To pick out the Eyes of his tender old Father.
However, you Drawer, here bring us a Quart,
Since my dutiful Son's ſo importunate for't,
I'm reſolv'd for this once will I humour the Brat,
'Cauſe I'll ſee what the Reprobate Rogue would be at.
With that the Old Gentleman ſat himſelf down,
And requeſted the like of his Friend and his Son.
The Quart was brought in, and the Glaſs fill'd around,
As the Wine went about Daddy's Paſſion was drown'd,
'Till his Fatherly Love prevail'd above Anger,
It made him unable to vex any longer,
His Rubies now look'd of ſo noble a Red,
Like the Bunches of Grapes round a Bacchus's Head,
That by ſqueezing his Noſe one wou'd eaſily have thought
The good Juice muſt have flown again into the Pot.
Ah Dick, ſays the Dad to his Prodigal Son,
If it was not for me, what a Race wou'dſt thou run;
Yet for all my Reproof, my Advice, and my Care,
You're a wicked young Raſcal, you know that you are▪
[15]However, in time thou wilt ſurely recant,
will once more forgive thee whatever comes on't.
So Dick here's a Bumper of Pacification,
Moſt heartily wiſh [...]ng thy new Reformation;
For Drinking, thou know'ſt, is a very ſad Evil,
And Whoring and Gaming, the Fleſh and the Devil.
Abandon, my Boy, all ſuch things that have hurt in,
Or elſe for theſe Sins thou'lt be damn'd of a certain.
Says Dick to his Father how cou'd you ſuppoſe,
When you got your poor Son with that Clarety Noſe,
But that he muſt love, by the dint of each Ruby,
The Bottle, when wean'd from its Likeneſs the Bubby.
My Father and Mother have always lov'd Claret,
And hew do you think that the Son ſhou'd forbear it,
Whoſe Blood I might venture to ſwear, without ſinning,
Was but Claret refin'd at the very beginning?
Says Daddy, did ever Man hear ſuch a Dog,
[...]uch a witty young Cub, ſuch a bantering Rogue,
[...]uch a pleaſant and merry Companion, who rather
Than ſtifle a Jeſt, will make one of his Father?
Ah, Dick, if thy Wit was but balanc'd with Grace,
Thou for certain wou'dſt ne'er let it fly in my Face.
But howe'er, ſince the Bottle has got the aſcendant,
[...]or once I'll forgive thee, and ſo there's an end on't,
[...]n hopes, when you're ſober, you Manners will mend on't.
O Father, ſays Dick, could you taſte the delights
That my ſelf and Companions enjoy a Nights,
Were you once but to hear the Cunnundrums and Quibbles,
The Retorts and the Puns, the Lampoons and the Libels,
The Rhimes, Repetitions, the Songs and the Catches;
The Whims and the Flirts, and the ſmart witty Touches,
That over the Flask we moſt lovingly vent,
[...]ou wou'd think a whole Night moſt gloriouſly ſpent;
[...]nd wou'd gueſs by our Wit, and the courſe that we follow,
We cou'd all be no leſs than the Sons of Apollo.
[16]
Ah, Dick, ſays the Father, take care, I entreat ye,
Thou'dſt better be hang'd, of the two than be witty;
For if thou'rt once thought, by the Studies and Labours,
To've acquir'd more Wit than the reſt of thy Neighbours,
Thou'lt be piſs'd on by Fools, and be fear'd by thy Betters,
And hunted about by Whores, Bayliffs and Setters.
Thy Lodging muſt be in ſome Nine-penny Garret,
Thy Drink Porters Guzzle much oftner than Claret:
Thy Coat muſt through all the four Seaſons be worn,
Till it's robb'd of its Nap like a Sheep newly ſhorn:
You muſt always ſeem pleaſant, that is, if you can,
Keep your Wits ready prim'd for a flaſh in the Pan:
When your Pockets are empty, your Brains muſt project
Puns, Quibbles, and Tales to ſupply the Defect;
That whenever you meet with a generous Chub,
You may ſneak out a Jeſt in the room of your Club:
For a Wit is no more than a merry Tom Fool,
A ſatyrical Scourger or flattering Tool;
The Son of Nine Whores, that's compell'd by his Mothers,
To ſtarve, or to pleaſe (like the reſt of his Brothers)
The Pride of ſome Men, or the Malice of others.
FINIS.

25.

[]

THE Libertine's Choice: OR, The Miſtaken Happineſs OF THE FOOL in FASHION.

LONDON: [...]inted and Sold by H. Hills, in Black-fryars near the Water-ſide. 1709.

THE Libertine's Choice: OR, The Miſtaken Happineſs OF THE FOOL in FASHION.

[3]
LET Holy Guides prevail on Tim'rous Fools,
T' abridge their Pleaſure, and conform to Rulees,
[...]pos'd on Youth, by hoary Heads long ſince,
[...]hen dwind [...]d into Age and Impotence;
[...]ating their Vig'rous Progeny ſhould taſte
[...]hoſe Luſhious Joys their own weak Loins were paſt,
[...]ho in their Strength did Nature's Will obey,
[...]nd ne'er grew Temp'rate till their Hairs grew Grey;
[...]hen with a Pious Rage, and Anxious Mind,
[...]ewing their Youthful Pleaſures far behind:
[...]iev'd and Perplex'd would all thoſe Joys deſpiſe,
[...]o which their Gouty Dotage could not riſe;
[...] when the Hare does her loud Foes defeat,
[...]he Huntſman damns the Bitch for ſorry Meat;
[...]ngry to ſee his Hopes and Pleaſures croſt,
[...]temns the Game he valu'd till 'twas loſt.
[4]
Grave, Toothleſs Grandſires, tell me but the Cauſ [...]
Why you preſcribe to Youth ſuch Rigig Laws?
Why you thus fright us with Infernal Pains,
To chill Love's gentle Fire that warms our Veins?
When you, like us, once found the pleaſing Heat,
As Nat [...]ral as your Appetites to eat;
Pur [...]u'd thoſe Bleſſings which you held ſo dear,
And could not ſhun what you'd have us forbear.
Look back, when you were Juvenile and Strong;
Remember what you were, when Brisk and Young.
How did you then regard the Sage Advice,
Giv'n by the Old, who call themſelves the Wiſe?
Could your Fond Parents fright you from the Arms
Of the Fair Sex, and their alluring Charms?
Could all the ſober Counſels they could give,
Make you without your Friend and Bottle live?
Could the grave Guide, with his Authentick Tale
Of Flames and Furies on your Youth prevail?
Could all his mild Reproofs, or Holy Threats,
Repel the warm Deſires that Love begets?
No, the Rebellious Fever prov'd too hot
To be ſubdu'd; but that's, alas! forgot.
Old Men are ſubtile, and their Judgments ſtrong,
They won't remember what they were when Young [...]
But as in us their Youthful Lives are ſeen,
So by our ſelves we know what you have been.
Why then ſo Envious, to debar our Taſte
From Pleaſures, which your wrinkled Brows are paſt,
Such as your wiſer ſelves could not forbear,
When Gay and Vig'rous as your Sons now are?
What tho' the Gout your crazy Limbs torment,
Or if the Stone perplex you, be content;
Why ſhould our Joys encreaſe your Puniſhment?
'Tis Devil-like, to with an Envious Eye,
Behold paſt Bleſſings which you can't enjoy;
[5] [...]nd give us, by falſe Tales, an ill Conceit
Of Pleaſures which your ſelves once found ſo ſweet.
[...]uch Uſage ſeem'd as if you aim'd to gain
That Pow'r o'er Youth, as Satan did o'er Man:
[...]nd by the ſubtile Force of your Advice,
[...]love us to loſe our preſent Paradiſe,
Thro' hopes of future Joys beyond the Skies.
Th' Infernal Tempter cunningly began
With Stratagems like theſe to ruin Man.
To this effect the Treach'rous Serpent ſaid,
[...]ke, Eat this Fruit; do but as I perſwade,
[...]nd from that happy Moment you ſhall prove,
[...]iſe and Immortal as the Gods above:
[...]t when the cunning Fiend had made them cat,
They found the Luſhious Promiſe but a Cheat.
Thus did the Devil their Happineſs moleſt,
[...]ecauſe himſelf was curs'd, and Man was Bleſt.
Who knows but Age, when doom'd to Pain and Care,
[...]o Joyful Youth may the like Envy bear:
[...]ating, beneath their own Decay, to ſee
[...]he Young ſo bleſt, from a [...]l Afflictions free,
[...]nd their own frozen Limbs by Age declin'd,
[...] Crutches, Beds, and Elbow-Chairs confin'd;
[...]ſt ſo the Barren Woman does with Hate,
[...]hold the Fruitful in a Pregnant State.
With what Aſſurance can we then obey
[...]he Rules your Aged Heads before us lay;
[...]ho ſtrive t' incline us by your Sage Advice,
[...] quit known Pleaſures for uncertain Bliſs?
[...]we thoſe Bleſſings you report, purſue;
[...] looſe the preſent Joys within our View,
[...]en thoſe you promiſe mayn't perhaps accrue.
[...] Humane Soul can no clear Proſpect have
Torments, or of Joys beyond the Grave.
[...]poſe we had, and future Worlds could ſee,
[...]r Doom to us would ſtill uncertain be.
[6]Tho' Hell be fill'd with Diſcord, Heav'n with Peace,
The Gods reward poor Mortals as they pleaſe:
For Man, th [...]' ever ſo devoutly given,
Can plead no Merit to the Gifts of Heaven;
But muſt as Bounty, und [...]ſerv'd, receive
Thoſe Bleſſings, which the Gods think fit to give.
Some Guides of Old inſtruct us to deſpiſe,
And look with Scorn upon Terreſtrial Joys,
Extol the Chryſtal Stream above the Vine,
Prefer dull Element to Noble Wine.
Tell us ſoft Beauty's but a Charming Evil,
That all Delights are Off ſprings of the Devil.
Ill Manners ſure to ſuch Aſperſions caſt
On Bleſſings which we find oblige our Taſte:
And highly Impious to condemn as vain,
What the kind Gods for Humane Uſe ordain.
If 'tis Ill-breeding, proudly to withſtand
The meaneſt Gift, from a ſuperiour Hand:
Surely, without Offence, we cannot ſlight
What Bounteous Heav'n has giv'n for our Delight.
Shall I, if I've an Appetite to eat,
For Roo [...]s and Herbs forſake much better Meat▪
Or if my Heart to Hymen does incline,
Muſt I drink Water, when I luſt for Wine?
No, let d [...]ll Bigots with the Stream agree,
Bacchus ſhall be the Jolly God for me.
What if Celinda's Graces I admire,
And her ſoft Charms ſhould ſet my Breaſt on Fire;
Why ſhould not we, if the kind Dame agrees,
Our loving ſelves, inſtead of others, pleaſe?
In doing which, we mutually approve
The Works of Heav'n in the Delights of Love:
Love! which ſublimes the Bleſſings we purſue,
And makes the Gods well pleas'd with what we do.
[7]
Let the Old Cinick (from the World retir'd)
Rail in his Age, at what his Youth admir'd:
To's Hut confin'd, drink Water and repent,
Feed on raw Roots, and boaſt of his Content;
Hug his own Follies, and thoſe Joys deſpiſe,
Which not his Vertues, but his Age denies;
Snarl at our Pleaſures, and our Pomp abuſe,
Which he wants Wealth t'uphold, or Strength to uſe.
Thus like Town Bullies his Ill-Nature ſhew,
Who damn thoſe Beauties which they can't ſubdue.
Our wiſer Guides may tell us if they pleaſe,
True Happineſs conſiſts in Whims like theſe;
And that the Old Moroſe Athenian Grub,
Who ſnarling liv'd in's Penitential Tub;
Poſſeſs'd more Comforts, and enjoy'd more Eaſe,
Than Princes in their Gaudy Palaces.
Such Frantick Doctrine may ſometimes perſwade,
Beggars and Slaves, when melancholy mad,
That Wealth is Dirt, and Honour but a Toy,
And none except the Poor true Peace enjoy;
Who elſe can fancy true Felicity,
Conſiſts in ſtinking Rags and Poverty;
And that a ſcanty Meal is better far,
Than all the coſtly Dainties we prepare;
That nothing truly can afford Content,
But cold Retirement, and a ſelf Reſtraint.
If Peace and her Companion Vertue dwells
[...]n Caves, and Tubs, and Subterranean Cells;
And ſtarving Cinicks in their Lonely Huts,
Who pride themſelves in puniſhing their Guts;
Can happy be who Happineſs deſpiſe,
Then to be mad, is ſurely to be wiſe.
O Great Lucretius, thou ſhalt be my Guide,
Like thee I'll live, and by thy Rules abide:
[8]Meaſure my Pleaſures by my Appetites,
And unconfin'd, purſue the World's Delights.
For Liberty makes every Action ſweet,
And reliſhes our Joys, as Salt our Meat:
Without, we no true Happineſs could boaſt,
The Taſte of every Bleſſing would be loſt;
The ſweeteſt Bliſs, would but a Slav'ry prove,
And we ſhould then but hate what now we love.
My Native Freedom, therefore I'l [...] employ,
Chuſe what I like, and what I like, enjoy.
Suppoſe bright Beauty ſhould invade my Breaſt,
And with her pleaſing Darts, diſturb my Reſt;
So that I ſigh all Day, and wiſh all Night
For her, my only Object of Delight:
What muſt I marry? No, I'll not be cloy'd,
The B [...]it I'll nibble, but the Hook avoid;
For cold Reſtraint makes every thing ſeem worſe,
And often turns our Bleſſings to a Curſe.
I love my Bed, when I my Reſt would take;
Muſt it be therefore corded to my Back?
If I delight my Gelding to beſtride,
Muſt I be always to the Saddle ty'd?
What th [...] I chiefly love one ſort of Meat,
'Tis Puniſhment to've nothing elſe to eat:
The Charming Sex I'cknowledge, I adore,
And value Beauty much, but Freedom more;
If the kind Nymph will yield to my Deſires
And w [...]th her Fa [...]ours quench Loves pleaſing Fires;
I'll not with Oaths and Vows her Faith deceive,
But prove as kind as Nature givers me leave;
Be conſtant too, as long as e'er I can,
But will not promiſe to be more than Man:
And when I'm tir'd, that ſhe the Truth may know,
I'll frankly, without Flatt'ry, tell her ſo.
[9]Thus would I deal with Love's Rebellious Flame,
When cloy'd with one, I'd ſtill purſue freſh Game;
And not enſlave my ſelf, or yet deceive the Dame.
When one Delight by Uſe Inſipid grew,
I'd change the ſtale Enjoyment for a New;
From Am'rous Sports to th' Bottle I'd repair,
To fill thoſe Veins I'd empty'd with the Fair;
Drink till my W [...]ts were ripe, and Brains were full,
For to be ſober, is but to be dull,
Songſters and Wits I'd for Companions chuſe,
One for their Muſick, th' other for their Muſe,
That ſome kind Voice might readily ſupply
Our Thoughtful Intervals with Harmony;
Thus would we chaſe Old Father Time all Night,
Shorten our Days to lengthen our Delight:
Drink Healths, ſing Catches, talk of paſt Intrigues,
And ſtrengthen Bottle Friendſhip with new Leagues;
Swallow down Bumpers to each Left hand Friend,
And Vow a Thouſand things we ne'er intend.
When thus well fraighted with the chearful Juice,
We'd ſally forth and give our ſelves a looſe,
Break Broth [...]l Windows, ſcour the crazy Watch,
And with freſh Miſchiefs crown the Night's Debauch;
But ſoon as bright Aurora ſhould draw nigh,
And with her Bluſhes gild the Eaſtern Sky,
Drowſie and drunk we'd ſtagger to our Beds,
And in Sot's Hev'n compoſe our aching Heads;
There drown in Sleep the Mem'ry of our Sins,
And riſe refreſh'd, as Drury-Lane begins:
For new Diverſions to the Play-Houſe fly,
Seek out new Faces, and their Humours try,
Flatter the Coy, and ridicule the Free,
Tattle with Punks, and ogle Quality;
Who in their upper Region awful ſit,
And cull their brawny Stallions from the Pit:
[10]Sometimes I'd be attentive to the Stage,
The Poet's Princeſs ſhou'd my Eyes engage;
If ſhe perform'd her Part with Excellence,
And trod the Stage with Graceful Impudence,
I'd clap the Dowdy till my Arms were ſore,
As ſhe perhaps had many a Spark before;
With Pleaſure hear the O'er-grown Poppet whine,
And proſtrate mourn o'er ſome dead Lover's Shrine;
Laugh in my Sleeve to know the cunning Jade
Kneels down a W—re, yet riſes for a Maid.
Next Scene perhaps ſome Hero might appear,
That liv'd long ſince, the Lord knows when or where;
Who in a Raving Fit of Jealous Love,
Would curſe his angry Stars, and threaten Jove;
That the Fair Sex might with Concern behold,
How Hen-peck'd Monarchs rav'd, and lov'd of old;
And learn from thence to over Kings prevail,
And make the Head ſubſervient to the Tail.
Thus on each Scene would I my Judgment ſpend,
Clap when they pleas'd, and hiſs ſhould they offend;
Applaud the Poet, when his Lines were full,
Commend his Wit, but damn his Muſe when dull;
Keck when I heard the Barnet Mimick raiſe,
His croaking Voice in Fam'd Ben Johnſon's Plays.
Bluſh that full Boxes, and a crowded Pit,
Should delight more in Apiſh Whims than Wit.
For what dull Miſcreant, could with Patience ſee
A Noble Play quite ſpoil'd with Foolery?
And French Jack-Puddings, in a thankleſs Age
Affront Immortal Shakeſpear on the Stage;
So Nice Fop Epicures diſdain to eat,
Without ſome Foreign Sauce, true Engliſh Meat;
And think thro' a Miſtake the wholeſome Food,
Cannot without ſuch pault'ry Stuff be good;
When all their ill-mix'd Rareties at laſt
Spoil the Regale, and but confound the Taſte.
[11]
When for three Hours I'd thus with Pleaſure view'd
The ſtrutting Mimicks, and their liſt'ning Crowd,
Till a dull Epilogue, perhaps new writ,
B [...] ſome young Upſtart Rhimer in the Pit;
Should gain a Clap to dignifie his Verſe,
Fit only to adorn a Smithfield Farce.
Then to ſome Brothel would I ſteer my Courſe,
Where Beauty needs no Flattery or Force:
But where a Golden Bribe will purchaſe Bliſs,
And open all the Gates of Paradice.
Gold, whoſe prevailing Touch we daily ſee,
Will charm the Soul of the moſt Charming ſhe,
Who when the pow'rful Indian God's in view,
Wil [...] ſacrifice their All to Gold and you:
Thus would I conquer who I moſt admir'd;
Triumph o'er Beauty till my Loins were tir'd;
Wal [...]ow in Love, and by exerting much,
Work out the Dregs of the laſt Night's Debauch.
Re [...]reſh my Limbs by a kind pleaſing Sweat,
Better than with a Bagnio's painful Heat.
Thus ſhould my Chloe double Kindneſs ſhew,
And be both Doxy and my Doctreſs too.
Supple my Joints at once, and cool my Flame,
And when I'd gratify'd the obliging Dame,
I'd leave her to the next Lewd Rake that came.
Then I'd repair to Queen Fortuna's Court,
Where Hawk-ey'd Bullies, and Rich Fools reſort,
Where Wolves with Lambs, and Kites with Chickens play,
And Eagles do on Gaudy Peacocks prey.
Where many ſeek, but very few can find,
The fickle Dame they co [...]rt continue Kind;
Who, like a ſubtle Jilt, ſeems often vex'd;
And if ſhe ſmile [...] one Minute, fro [...]s the next,
There with the fatal Inſtruments of Chance,
Hazard my Store in hopes to more advance.
[12]Draw in Rich Bubbles, Cog, Lie, Flatter, Cheat,
And puſh at all to be Profuſely Great.
With eager Hopes Blind Fortune thus purſue;
And win from Nobles what's their Tradeſmen's Due.
But ſhould the fickle Dame her Smiles refuſe,
I'd damn the ſullen Jilt that made me loſe;
Confound the Tongue that taught me firſt to Game;
And curſe th' uncertain Dice that croſt my Aim.
For each at play this Privilege may take;
Winners may ſmile, and Loſing Gameſters ſpeak.
No ſneaking Sum ſhould my Ambition bound,
I'd be a B—ch'r, or my All con [...]ound;
Inſinuate with my wealthy Lady's Son,
Cringe to the Fop, and cheat him when I'd done:
Drink with young Heirs, then draw them in to play,
Praiſe them for Wits, and on their Weakneſs prey;
For unexperienc'd Fools we dialy ſee,
Tho' ne'er ſo ſtubborn, bend to Flattery.
Should Hood-wink'd Chance, to gratifie my Pride,
Thus kindly place me on the winning ſide,
And guide the Dice with her prevailing Hand,
Till my extenſive Wiſhes I had obtain'd;
Fortune would I adore, and only ſhe,
For her paſt Favours ſhould my Goddeſs be;
A Coach and Six I'd to her Glory raiſe,
And o'er the Stones would rattle forth her Praiſe;
Proud of my ill-got Wealth, with Scorn look ou [...],
And laugh at Honeſt Fools that walk on Foot.
Contented to be poor for Conſcience ſake,
Whilſt Libertines by Fraud their Fortunes make.
To thee, kind Chance that does allot the Prize,
Thou partial Goddeſs of the Cards and Dice;
I'd ſacrifice from out the Numerous Swarm,
Some poor Levantine Bully every Term,
Till none ſhould dare thy Altars to abuſe,
And puſh at all who nothing have to loſe;
[13]But creep behind and with a Courtly Mein,
Turn humble Supplicants to thoſe that win.
Then to advance my own immortal Fame,
And make diſtreſſed Punks adore my Name;
I'd build an Alms-Houſe for each caſt-off Whore,
And as I'd gull'd the Rich, I'd feed the Poor:
Bribe Iriſh Stallions with my Engliſh Gold,
To pleaſe the Lame, Blind, Ugly and the Old;
That thoſe courſe Objects we deſpiſe, might ſhare,
What's now engroſs'd by th' Youthful and the Fair;
Thus every Hump and Squinny ſhould enjoy,
As much of Love as they could well employ,
With new found Acts of Charity, like theſe,
Ne'er yet perform'd, the Sinful World I'd pleaſe,
Till ev'ry ill-ſhap'd Dowdy ſhou'd confeſs,
To me alone ſhe own'd her Happineſs;
And ſay there goes the Man, G—d ſpeed him well,
That ſav'd our Souls from leading Apes in Hell;
Nay, Toothleſs Beldams wrinkl'd and defac'd,
Should mumble out their Bleſſings as I paſs'd:
And cry all Honour be my Maſter's due,
Who feeds thoſe Mouths that have no Teeth to chew,
This would I do, tho' by the Saints revil'd,
Where I as Rich as D—b or as C—d.
Like Quality the Sunday would I ſpend,
And duly Covent-Garden Church attend;
Religion would I modiſhly profeſs,
By Seven riſe, and take three Hours to dreſs;
Then in my Chariot rattle thro' the Street,
To Church, where Hypocrites in Cluſters meet.
Amongſt the liſt'ning Crowd I'd ſqueeze for Room,
And with my Snuſh the Sweaty Air perfume;
Till the Pew-Keeper, more for Gain than Grace,
Should wedge me into ſome Commodious Place;
Where I the Gaudy Chriſtian Herd might view;
And to the Fair my own Deportment ſhew:
[14]I'd pierce the Ladies with an amorous Eye,
But all their pious Looks and Cheats defie.
Take notice who was Faireſt, or moſt Fine,
Who had the Blackeſt Hair, or Whiteſt Skin;
What Charming Phubſy had the Loveli'ſt Breaſt,
Who was the moſt Devout, and pray'd the beſt,
Who had the bri [...]keſt Eye, and fulleſt Brow,
Denoting a good Furbulo below,
Who had an Awful Look, and Modeſt Grace,
And who a Luſtful Air, and Tempting Face:
Thus as an Obſervator would I ſit;
Inſpect the Galleries firſt, and then the Pit:
And from the diff'rent Saints in ſundry Pews;
At once learn how to Judge, and how to Chuſe.
Perhaps behold ſome Lewd Notorious Punk,
That never prays but when ſhe's Maudlin Drunk;
Pluck down her Hoods, kneel low amongſt the reſt,
And ſeem as quaint a Chriſtian as the beſt;
Hold up her ſinful Hands, reſpond as loud
As th' upright'ſt Saint in all the Holy Croud.
And when ſhe's done, reſume her matted place,
With Sin and Sorrow bluſhing in her Face,
Yet all pure Art, without one ſpark of Grace.
When Pray'r was o'er, with Patience would I ſit,
And hear Old Sternhold Rhime to David's Wit.
But ſmile to ſee the Clark his Looks compoſe,
And ſaddle, with his Spectacles, his Noſe;
Then coughing ſpit, and when his Lungs were calm,
Turn to his Book, and ſnuffle out a Pſalm;
Wherein each Zealot fond of ſinging Praiſe,
Might ſqueak their Ekes, and grumble out their Ayes:
Over the doleful Song I'd yawn and gape,
What Chriſtian could reſolve againſt a Nap,
Or who forbear to doſe at every Line,
That did not in the drowſie Chorus joyn?
My Head, I'm ſure, their grave ſlow Time would keep,
For whilſt they chanted, I ſhould nod and ſleep;
[15]Like Gammer Friskit in her Wicker Chair,
Lull'd by, Now ponder well you Parents dear.
Thus during Pray'rs the painful Hour I'd ſpend,
And ſmall Attention to the Sermon lend;
But e'er 'twas well begun, ſtill wiſh it at an End.
With Patience I would hear the Preacher throw
His Darts upon the ſinful Croud below;
Obſerve his Knack, when prettily he talk'd,
How well he hem'd, how gracefully he haulk'd;
How mannerly he did his Noſtrils blow,
And how he lugg'd the Cuſhion to and fro;
How earneſtly ſometimes his Words came out,
And how he thraſh'd the Pope and Dev'l about.
When the laſt Sand of the long Hour had run,
And told old Spintext when 'twas time to've done,
I'd riſe among the reſt, and gaze around,
Till I ſome fam'd Intriguing Lady found.
Invited by her Eyes and ſome kind Smile,
As ſhe walk'd out, I'd meet her in the Iſle;
With Am'rous Whiſpers I'd her Ears approach,
Squeeze her ſoft Hand, conduct her to her Coach,
And lay the Ground-work of a new Debauch.
Then to ſome Rakiſh Friends my courſe I'd ſteer,
Strangers to Faith, and Enemies to Fear;
There Ridicule with them the Canting Prieſt,
And make Religion but our common Jeſt;
Raiſe up dead Hobs to juſtifie our Cauſe,
And overthrow Divine, by Nature's Laws;
Burleſque the Scriptures, and aſperſe the Creed,
Aw'd by no muſty Rules; Love, Drink and Feed:
This is the happy Life we Modiſh Rakes would lead.
FINIS.

Appendix A A Catalogue of Poems, &c. Printed and Sold by H. Hills, in Black-Fryars, near the Water-ſide; where ſeveral more may be had that are not here Inſerted.

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26.

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COOPERS-HILL. A POEM, Written by the Honourable Sir JOHN DENHAM, Knight of the Bath.

LONDON: [...]rinted and Sold by H. Hills, in Black-Fryers, near the Water-ſide, 1709.

TO THE KING.

[]
SIR,

AFter the delivery of Your Royal Father's Perſon into the hands of the Army, I undertaking to the Queen Mother, that I would find ſome means to get acceſs to him ſhe was pleaſed to ſend me, and by the help of Hugh Peters I got my admittance, and coming well inſtructed from the Queen (his Majeſty having been long kept in the dark) he was pleaſed to diſcourſe very freely with me of the whole ſtate of his Affairs: But, Sir, I will not launch into a Hiſtory, inſtead of an Epiſtle. One morning waiting on him at Cauſham, ſmiling upon me, he ſaid he could tell me ſome News of my ſelf, which was, that he had ſeen ſome Verſes of mine the Evening before (being thoſe to Sir Richard Fanſhaw) and asking me when I made them, I told him two or three years ſince; he was pleaſed to ſay, that having never ſeen them before, He was afraid I had written them ſince my return into England, and though he liked them well, He would adviſe me to write no more, alledging, that when men are young, and have little elſe to do, they might vent the overflowings of their Fancy that way; but when they were thought fit for more ſerious Employments, if they ſtill perſiſted in that courſe, it would look as if they minded not the way to any better.

Whereupon I ſtood corrected as long as I had the honour to wait upon him, and at his departure from Hampton Court, he was pleaſed to com⯑mand me to ſtay privately at London, to ſend to him and receive from him all his Letters from and to all his Correſpondents at home and abroad, and I was furniſh'd with nine ſeveral Cyphers in order to it: Which truſt I performed with great ſafety, to the perſons with whom we correſponded; but about nine months after being diſcovered by their knowledge of Mr. Cowley's Hand I happily eſcaped both for my ſelf, and thoſe that held correſpondence with me; that time war too hot and buſie for ſuch idle ſpeculations, but after I had the good fortune to wait upon Your Majeſty in Holland and France, You were pleaſed ſometimes to give me Arguments to divert and put off the evil hours of our Baniſhment, which now and then fell not ſhort of Your Majeſty's expectation.

After, when Your Majeſty departing from St. Germans to Jerſy, was pleaſed freely (without my asking) to confer upon me that place wherein I have now the honour to ſerve You, I then gave over Poetical Line, [] and made it my buſineſs to draw ſuch others as might be more ſerviceable to Your Majeſty, and I hope more la [...]ing Since that time I never diſobeyed my old [...]aſter's Commands till this [...]ummer at the We [...]s my Retirement the [...] te [...]pting me to divert thoſe melancholy Thoughts, which the new Apperit [...]n [...] of Foreign Invaſion, and Domeſtick Di [...]content gave us: But the [...]e Clouds being now happily blown over, and our Sun clearly ſhining out again, I have recovered the Relapſe, i [...] being ſuſpected that it would have proved th [...] Epidemical Diſeaſe of Age, which is apt to fall back in⯑to the Fo [...]es in You [...]h; yet Socrates, Ariſtotle and Ca [...]o did the ſame, and Scaliger ſaith that [...]ragment of Ariſtotle was bey [...]nd any thing that Pin⯑dar or Homer ever wrote I will not call this a Dedication, for thoſe Epiſtles are commonly greater Abſurdities than any that come after▪ For what Author c [...]n reaſonably believe, th [...]t fixing the great Name of ſome eminent Patron in the Forehead of his Book can charm away Cenſure, and that the firſt Leaf ſhould be a Curtain to draw over and hide all the de⯑formities that ſtand behind it? Neither have I any need [...]f ſuch ſh [...]f [...]s, for moſt of the Parts of thi Body have already had your Majeſty's View▪ and having paſt the Teſt of [...]cle [...] ſharp ſighted a Judgment, which has as good a Title to give Law in Matters of this Nature as in any other, they wh [...] ſhal [...] preſume to diſſent from Your Majeſty, will do more wrong to their own Judgment, than their Judgment can do to me. And for thoſe latter Parts which have not yet received your Majeſty's favourable Aſpect, if they who ha [...]e ſe [...]n them do not fl [...]tter me, (for I dare not truſt my own Judgment) they will make it appear, that it is not with me as with moſt of Mankind, who never forſake their Darling Vices, till their Vices for⯑ſake them; and that this Divorce was not Frigiditatis causâ, but an Act of Choice, and not of Neceſſity. Ther [...]fore, Sir, I ſhall only call it an humbl [...] Petition, That Your Majeſty will p [...]eaſe to pardon this new Amour to my old Miſtreſs and my Diſobedience to his Commands▪ to whoſe Memory I look upon with great Reverence and Devotion, and making a ſeriouus Re⯑flection upon that wiſe Advice, it carries much greater weight with it now than wh [...]n it was given; f [...]r when Age and Experience has ſo ri⯑pened Man's Diſcre [...]ion as to make it fit for uſe, either in private or publick [...] Affairs, nothing blaſts and cor [...]upts the Fruit of it ſo much as the empty, airy Reputation of being nimis Poeta; and therefore I ſhall take my leave of the Muſes, as two of my Predeceſſors did, ſaying,

Splendidis longum vale dico nugis,
Hic verſus & caeſera ludiera pono.
Your Majeſty's moſt faithful and loyal Subject, and moſt dutiful and devoted Servant, JO. DENHAM.

COOPERS-HILL.

[5]
SURE there are Poets which did never dream
Upon Parnaſſus, nor did taſte the Stream
Of Helicon; we therefore may ſuppoſe
Thoſe made not Poets, but the Poet thoſe.
And as Courts make not Kings, but Kings the Court,
So where the Muſes and their Train reſort,
Parnaſſus ſtands; if I can be to thee
A Poet, thou Parnaſſus art to me.
Nor wonder, if (advantag'd in my Flight,
By taking Wing from thy Auſpicious Height)
Through untrac'd Ways, and airy Paths I fly,
More boundleſs in my Fancy than my Eye:
My Eye, which ſwift as Thought contracts the Space
That lies between, and firſt ſalutes the Place
Crown'd with that ſacred Pile, ſo vaſt, ſo high,
That whether 'ts part of Earth, or Sky,
Uncertain ſeems, and may be thought a proud
Aſpiring Mountain, or deſcending Cloud:
Paul's the late Theme of ſuch a Muſe whoſe Flight
M. W.
His bravely reach'd and ſoar'd above thy Height;
Now ſhalt thou ſtand, though Sword, or Time, or Fire,
Or Zeal more fierce than they, thy Fall conſpire,
Secure, whilſt thee the beſt of Poets ſings,
Preſerv'd from Ruin by the beſt of Kings.
[6]Under his proud ſurvey the City lies,
And like a miſt beneath a Hill doth riſe;
Whoſe ſtate and wealth the buſineſs and the Crowd,
Seems at this diſtance but a darker Cloud:
And is to him who rightly things eſteems,
No other in effect than what it ſeems;
Where, with like haſte, tho' ſeveral ways, they run,
Some to undo, and ſome to be undone;
While Luxury and Wealth, like War and Peace,
Are each the others ruine, and increaſe;
As Rivers Loſt in Seas ſome ſecret Vein
Thence re-conveys there to be loſt again.
O happineſs of ſweet retir'd content!
To be at once ſecure, and innocent.
Windſor the next (where Mars with Venus dwells,
Windſor
Beauty with ſtrength) above the Vally ſwells.
Into my eye, and doth it ſelf preſent
With ſuch an eaſie and unforc't aſcent,
That no ſtupendious precipice denies
Acceſs, no horror turns away our eyes:
But ſuch a Riſe as doth at once invite
A pleaſure and a reverence from the ſight.
Thy mighty Maſter's Emblem, in whoſe Face
State Meekneſs, heightned with Majeſtick Grace;
Such ſeems the gentle Height, made only proud
To he the Baſis of that pompous load,
Than which, a nobler weight no Mountain bears,
But Atlas only that ſupports the Sphears.
[7]When Nature's hand this ground did thus advance,
'Twas guided by a wiſer power than Chance;
Mark'd out for ſuch a uſe. as if 'twere meant
T' invite the Builder, and his choice prevent.
Nor can we call it choice, when what we chuſe,
Folly, or Blindneſs only could refuſe.
A Crown of ſuch Majeſtick Tow'rs doth grace
The God's great Mother, when her heavenly race
Do homage to her, yet ſhe cannot boaſt
Amongſt that numerous, and Celeſtial Hoſt;
More Hero's than can Windſor, nor doth Fame's
Immortal Book record more noble Names.
Not to look back ſo far, to whom this Iſle
Owes the firſt Glory of ſo brave a Pile,
Whether to Caeſar, Albanact, or Brute,
The Britiſh Arthur, or the Daniſh Knute,
(Though this of old no leſs conteſt did move,
Than when for Homer's Birth ſeven Cities ſtrove)
Like him in Birth, thou ſhoul'dſt be like in Fame,
(As thine his Fate, if mine had been his Flame)
But whoſoe'er it was, Nature deſign'd
Firſt a brave place, and then as brave a mind.
Not to recount thoſe ſeveral Kings, to whom
It gave a Cradle, or to whom a Tomb,
But the (great * Edward) and thy greater Son,
(The Lillies which his Father wore, he won)
And thy † Bellona, who the Conſert came
Not only to thy Bed, but to thy Fame,
[8] * She to the Triumph led one Captive King,
And brought that Son, which did the ſecond bring
Then didſt thou found that Order (whether Love
Or Victory thy Royal Thoughts did move)
Each was a Noble Cauſe, and nothing leſs
Than the Deſign, has been the great Succeſs:
Which Foreign Kings and Emperors eſteem
The ſecond Honour to their Diadem.
Had thy great Deſtiny but giv'n the Skill,
To know, as well as Power to act her Will,
That from thoſe Kings, who then thy Captives were,
In After-time ſhould ſpring a Royal Pair,
Who ſhould poſſeſs all that thy mighty Power,
Or thy Deſires more mighty, did devour;
To whom their better Fate reſerves whate'er
The Victor hopes for▪ or the Vanquiſh'd fear;
That Blood, which thou and thy Great Granſire ſhed,
And all that ſince theſe Siſter Nations bled,
Had been unſpilt, had happy Edward known
That all the Blood he ſpilt, had been his own.
When he that Patron choſe, in whom are injoy'd
Souldier and Martyr, and his Arm's confin'd
Within the Azure Circle, he did ſeem
But to foretel and propheſie of him,
Who to his Realms that Azure Roun hath joyn'd,
Which Nature for their Bound at firſt deſign'd.
That Boun [...], which to the World's extreameſt ends,
End [...] it ſelf, [...]s Liquid Arms extends;
[9]Nor doth he need thoſe Emblems which we Paint,
But is himſelf the Souldier and the Saint.
Here ſhould my Wonder dwell, and here my Praiſe,
But my fixt Thoughts my wandring Eye betrays;
Viewing a Neighbouring Hill, whoſe Top of late
A Chappel crown'd, till in the common Fate,
The adjoyding Abbey fell: (May no ſuch Storm
Fall on our Times, where Ruin muſt reform.)
Tell me (my Muſe) what monſtrous dire Offence,
What Crime could any Chriſtian King incenſe
To ſuch a Rage? Was't Luxury, or Luſt?
Was he ſo Temperate, ſo Chaſte, ſo Juſt?
Were theſe their Crimes? They were his own much more:
But Wealth is Crime enough to him that's poor;
Who having ſpent the Treaſures of his Crown,
Condemns their Luxury to feed his own.
And yet this Act, to varniſh o'er the Shame
Of Sacriledge, muſt bear Devotion's Name.
No Crime ſo bold, but would be underſtood
A real, or at leaſt a ſeeming good;
Who fears not to do ill, yet fears the Name,
And free from Conſcience is a Slave to Fame.
Thus he the Church at once protects, and ſpoils:
But Princes Swords are ſharper than their ſtiles.
And thus to th'Ages paſt he makes amends,
Their Charity deſtroys, their Faith defends.
Then did Religion in a lazy Cell,
In empty, airy Contemplations dwell;
[10]And like the Block, unmoved lay: but ours,
As much to active, like the Stork devours.
Is there no temperate Region can be known,
Betwixt their Frigid, and our Torrid Zone?
Could we not wake from that Lethargick Dream,
But to be reſtleſs in a worſe Extream?
And for that Lethargy was there no Cure,
But to be caſt into a Calenture?
Can knowledge have no bound, but muſt advance
So far, to make us wiſh for ignorance?
And rather in the dark to grope our way,
Than led by a falſe Guide to erre by day?
Who ſees theſe diſmal Heaps, but would demand
What barbarous Invader ſack'd the Land?
But when he hears, no Goth, no Turk did bring.
This deſolation, but a Chriſtian King;
When nothing, but the Name of Zeal, appears
'Twixt our beſt actions, and the worſt of theirs,
What does he think our Sacrilege would ſpare,
When ſuch th' effects of our Devotion are?
Parting from thence 'twixt anger ſhame and fear,
Thoſe for what's paſt, and this for what's too near:
My eye deſcending from the Hill, ſurveys
Where Thames amongſt the wanton Vallies ſtrays.
Thames, the moſt lov'd of all the Ocean Sons,
Thames.
By his old Sire to his embraces runs,
Haſting to pay his tribute to the Sea,
Like mortal life to meet Eternity.
[11]Though with thoſe ſtreams he no reſemblance hold,
Whoſe foam is Amber, and their Gravel Gold;
His genuine, and leſs guilty wealth t' explore,
Search not his bottom, but ſurvey his ſhore;
O're which he kindly ſpreads his ſpacious wing:
And hatches plenty for th' enſuing Spring.
Nor then deſtroys it with too fond a ſtay,
Like Mothers which their Infants overlay:
Nor with a ſudden and impetuous wave,
Like profuſe Kings, reſums the wealth he gave
No unexpected inundations ſpoil
The Mowers hopes, nor mock the Plowmans toyl:
But Godlike his unwearied Bounty flows;
Firſt loves to do, than loves the Good he does:
Nor are his Bleſſings to his banks confin'd,
But free, and common, as the Sea or Wind;
When he to boaſt or to diſperſe his ſtores
Full of the tributes of his grateful ſhores,
Viſits the World, and in his flying towers
Brings home to us, and makes both Indies ours;
Finds wealth where 'tis, beſtows it where it wants,
Cities in deſarts, Woods in Cities plants.
So that to us no thing, no place is ſtrange,
While his fair boſom is the World's exchange.
O could I flow like thee, and make thy ſtream
My great example, as it is my theme!
Though deep, yet clear, though gentle, yet not dull,
Strong without rage, without o're-flowing full.
[12]Heaven her Eridanus no more ſhall boaſt,
Whoſe Fame in thine, like leſſer Currents loſt;
Thy nobler Streams ſhall viſit Jove's Aboads,
To ſhine among the Stars, and bathe the Gods:
Here Nature,
The Forreſt [...]
whether more intent to pleaſe
Us, or her ſelf with ſtrange Varieties;
(For Things of Wonder give no leſs Delight
To the wiſe Makers, than Beholder's Sight.
Though theſe Delights from ſeveral Cauſes wove,
For ſo our Children, thus our Friends we love)
Wiſely ſhe knew the Harmony of Things,
As well as that of Sounds, from Diſcords ſprings.
Such was the Diſcord, which did firſt diſperſe
Form, Order, Beauty, through the Univerſe;
While Drineſs, Moiſture, Coldneſs, Heat reſiſts,
All that we have, and that we have ſubſiſts.
While the ſteep horrid Roughneſs of the Wood
Strive with the gentle Calmneſs of the Flood.
Such huge Extreams when Nature doth unite,
Wonder from thence reſults, from thence Delight;
The Stream is ſo tranſparent, pure and clear,
Narciſſus.
That had the ſelf-enamour'd Youth gaz'd here,
So fatally deceiv'd he had not been,
While he the Bottom, not his Face had ſeen.
But his proud Head the airy Mountain hides
Among the Clouds; his Shoulders, and his Sides
A ſhady Mantle clothes; his curled Brows
Frown on the gentle Stream, which calmly flows,
[13]While Winds and Storms his lofty Forehead beat
The common Fate of all that's High or Great.
Low at his Foot a ſpacious Plain is plac'd,
Between the Mountain and the Stream embrac'd:
Which Shade and Shelter from the Hill derives,
While the kind River, Wealth and Beauty gives;
And in the mixture of all theſe appears
Variety, which all the reſt indears.
This Scene, had ſome bold Greek, or Britiſh Bard
[...]eheld of old, what Stories had we heard
Of Fairies, Satyrs, and the Nymphs, their Dames,
Their Feaſts, their Revels, and their Amorous Flames?
Tis ſtill the ſame, altho' their airy Shape,
All but a quick Poetick Sight eſcape.
There Faunus and Silvanus keep their Courts,
[...]nd thither all the horned Hoaſt reſorts,
To graze the ranker Mead, that noble Heard
On whoſe ſublime and ſhady Fronts is rear'd
Nature's great Maſter-Piece; to ſhew how ſoon
Great things are made, but ſooner are undone.
Here have I ſeen the King, when great Affairs
[...]ave leave to ſlacken, and unbend his Cares,
[...]ttended to the Chaſe by all the Flower
Of Youth, whoſe Hopes a nobler Prey devour:
[...]leaſure with Praiſe, and Danger, they would buy,
[...]nd wiſh a Foe that would not only fly.
The Stag now conſcious of his fatal Growth,
[...]t once indulgent to his Fear and Sloth,
To ſome dark Covert his Retreat had made,
Where no Man's Eye, nor Heaven's ſhould invade
[...]'s ſoft Repoſe; when th' unexpected Sound
[...]f Dogs and Men, his wakeful Ear doth wound:
[...]ouz'd with the Noiſe, he ſcarce believes his Ear;
[...]illing to think th' Illuſions of his Fear
[...] given this falſe Alarm, but ſtrait his View
[...]onfirms, that more than all he fears is true:
[14]Betray'd in all his Strengths, the Wood beſet,
All Inſtruments, all Arts of Ruine met
He calls to mind his Strength, and then his Speed,
His winged Heels, and then his Armed Head;
With theſe t' avoid, with that his Fate to meet:
But fear prevails, and bids him truſt his Feet.
So faſt he flies, that his reviewing eye
Has loſt the Chaſers, and his ear the Cry:
Exulting, till he finds, their Nobler Senſe
Their diſproportion'd Speed does recompenſe.
Then curſes his conſpiring Feet, who ſcent
Betrays that ſafety, which their ſwiftneſs lent.
Then tries his Friends, among the baſer heard,
Where he ſo lately was obey'd, and fear'd,
His ſafety ſeeks: the Herd, unkindly wiſe,
Or Chaſes him from thence, or from him flies.
Like a declining Stateſman, left forlorn
To his Friends pity, and Purſuers ſcorn;
With ſhame remembers, while himſelf was one
Of the ſame Herd, himſelf the ſame had done.
Thence to the Coverts, and the conſcious Groves,
The Scenes of his paſt Triumphs, and his Loves;
Sadly ſurveying where he rang'd alone
Prince of the Soil, and all the Herd his own;
And like a bold Knight Errant did proclaim
Combat to all, and bore away the Dame;
And taught the Woods to Echo to the Stream
His dreadful Challenge, and his claſhing Beam:
Yet fairly now declines the fatal ſtrife;
So much his Love was dearer than his Life.
Now every Leaf, and every moving Breath
Preſents a Foe, and every Foe a Death.
Wearied, forſaken, and purſu'd, at laſt
All ſafety in deſpair of ſafety plac'd,
Courage he thence reſumes, reſolv'd to bear
All their Aſſaults, ſince 'tis in vain to fear.
[15]And now too late he wiſhes for the fight,
That ſtrength he waſted in ignoble flight:
But when he ſees the eager Chaſe renew'd
Himſelf by Dogs, the Dogs by Men purſu'd:
He ſtrait revokes his bold reſolve, and more
Repents his courage, than his fear before;
Finds that uncertain ways unſafeſt are,
And Doubt a greater miſchief than Deſpair.
Then to the Stream, when neither Friends, nor Force,
Nor ſpeed, nor Art avail, he ſhaps his courſe;
Thinks not their rage ſo deſperate t' aſſay
An Element more mercileſs than they.
But fearleſs they purſue, nor can the Flood
Quench their dire Thirſt; alas, they thirſt for Blood.
So toward a Ship the oarefin'd Gallies ply,
Which wanting Sea to ride, or Wind to fly,
Stands but to fall reveng'd on thoſe that dare
Tempt the laſt fury of extream Deſpair.
So fares the Stag among the enrag'd Hounds,
Repels their force, and wounds returns for wounds
And as a Hero, whom his baſer Foes
In Troops ſurrounds, now theſe aſſails, now thoſe,
Though Prodigal of Life, diſdains to dye
By common hands; but if he can deſcry
Some nobler Foes approach, to him he calls,
And begs his Fate, and then contented falls.
So when the King a mortal Shaft lets flye
From his unerring hand, then glad to dye,
Proud of the wound, to it reſigns his Blood,
And ſtains the Cryſtal with a purple Flood.
This a more innocent and happy Chaſe,
Than when of old, but in the ſelf-ſame place,
* Fair Liberty purſu'd, and meant a Prey
To lawleſs power, here turn'd, and ſtood at Bay.
[16]When in that Remedy all hope was plac'd,
Which was, or ſhould have been at leaſt, the laſt.
Here was that Charter ſeal'd, wherein the † Crown
All marks of Arbitrary Power lays down:
Tyrant and Slave, thoſe Names of hate and fear,
The happier Style of King and Subject bear:
Happy when both to the ſame Center move,
When Kings give Liberty, and Subjects Love.
Therefore not long in Force this Charter ſtood;
Wanting that Seal, it muſt be ſeal'd in Blood.
The Subjects arm'd, the more their Princes gave,
Th' advantage only took the more to crave.
Till King's by giving, gave themſelves away,
And even that Power that ſhould deny, betray.
"Who gives conſtrain'd, but his own Fear reviles,
"Not thank'd, but ſcorn'd; nor are thy Gifts, but Spoils.
Thus Kings, by graſping more than they could hold,
Firſt made their Subjects by Oppreſſion bold:
And popular Sway, by forcing Kings to give
More than was fit for Subjects to receive,
Ran to the ſame Extreams; and one Exceſs
Made both, by ſtriving to be greater, leſs.
When a calm River rais'd with ſudden Rains,
Or Snows diſſolv'd▪ o'erflows the adjoyning Plains,
The Husbandmen with high-rais'd Banks ſecure
Their greedy Hopes, and this he can endure;
But if with Bays and Dams, they ſtrive to force
His Chanel to a new or narrow Courſe;
No longer then within his Banks he dwells,
Firſt to a Torrent, then a Deluge ſwells:
Stronger and Fiercer! by Reſtraint he roars,
And knows no Bound, but makes his Powers his Shores.
FINIS.

27.

[]

THE DUEL OF THE STAGS, A POEM, Written by the Honourable Sir ROBERT HOWARD. Together with An EPISTLE TO THE AUTHOR, By Mr. John Dryden.

LONDON: Printed and Sold by H. Hills, in Blackfryars, near the Water-ſide. 1709.

[16]
[...]
[]
[...]

THE DUEL of the STAGS.

[3]
IN Windſor Foreſt, before War deſtroy'd
The harmleſs Pleaſures which ſoft Peace enjoy'd;
[...] mighty Stag grew Monarch of the Herd,
[...]y all his Savage Slaves obey'd, and fear'd:
[...]nd while the Troops about their Sovereign fed,
[...]hey watch'd the awful nodding of his Head.
[...]till as he paſſeth by, they all remove,
[...]roud in Dominion, Prouder in his Love:
And while with Pride and Appetite he ſwells;)
[...]e courts no choſen Object, but compels:
[...]o Subject his lov'd Miſtreſs dares deny,
[...]ut yields his hopes up to his Tyranny.
Long had this Prince imperiouſly thus ſway'd,
[...]y no ſet Laws, but by his Will obey'd,
[...]is fearful Slaves, to full Obedience grown,
[...]dmire his ſtrength, and dare not uſe their own.
One Subject moſt did his ſuſpicion move,
[...]hat ſhow'd leaſt Fear and counterfeited Love:
[...] the beſt Paſtures by his ſide he fed,
[...]rm'd with two large Militia's on his head:
[4]As if he practis'd Majeſty he walk'd,
And at his Nod, he made not haſt, but ſtalk'd.
By his large ſhade, he ſaw how great he was,
And his vaſt Layers on the bended Graſs.
His thought as large as his proportion grew,
And judg'd himſelf as fit for Empire too.
Thus to Rebellious hopes he ſwell'd at length,
Love and Ambition growing with his ſtrength.
This hid Ambition his bold Paſſion ſhows,
And from a Subject to a Rival grows.
Sollicites all his Princes fearful Dames,
And in his fight Courts with rebellious flames.
The Prince ſees this with an inflamed Eye,
But looks are only ſigns of Majeſty:
When once a Prince's Will meets a reſtraint,
His Power is then eſteem'd but his Complaint.
His Head then ſhakes, at which the affrighted Herd
Start to each ſide; his Rival not afear'd,
Stands by his Miſtreſs ſide, and ſtirs not thence,
But bids her own his Love, and his Defence,
The Quarrel now to a vaſt height is grown,
Both urg'd to fight by Paſſion and a Throne;
But Love has moſt excuſe; for all, we find,
Have Paſſions, tho' not Thrones alike aſſign'd.
The Sovereign Stag ſhaking his loaded head,
On which his Scepters with his Arms were ſpread,
Wiſely by Nature, there together fix'd,
Where with the Tittle, the Defence was mixt.
The pace which he advanc'd with to engage,
Became at once his Majeſty, and Rage:
[5]'Tother ſtands ſtill with as much confidence,
To make his part ſeem only his defence.
Their heads now meet, and at one blow each ſtrikes
As many ſtrokes, as if a Rank of Pikes
Grew on his brows, as thick their Antlets ſtand,
Which every Year kind Nature does disband.
Wild Beaſts ſometimes in peace and quiet are,
But Man no ſeaſon frees from Love or War.
VVith equal ſtrength they met, as if two Oaks
Had fell, and mingled with a thouſand ſtrokes.
One by ambition urg'd, t'other diſdain,
One to preſerve, the other fought to Gain:
The Subjects and the Miſtreſſes ſtood by,
VVith Love and Duty to crown Victory:
For all Affections wait on proſperous Fame,
Not he that climbs, but he that falls, meet ſhame.
VVhile thus with equal Courages they meet,
The wounded Earth yields to their ſtrugling Feet;
And while one ſlides, t'other purſues the Fight,
And thinks that forc't Retreat looks like a Flight:
But then aſham'd of his Retreat, at length
Drives his Foe back, his Rage renews his ſtrength.
As even weights into a motion thrown,
By equal turns, drive themſelves up and down;
So ſometimes one, then 'tother Stag prevails,
And Victory yet doubtful, holds the Scales.
The Prince aſham'd to be oppos'd ſo long,
VVith all his ſtrength united ruſhes on;
The Rebel weaker, than at firſt appears,
And from his Courage ſinks unto his Fears.
[6]Not able longer to withſtand his might,
From a Retreat, at laſt ſteals to a Flight.
The mighty Stag purſues his flying Foe,
Till his own Pride of Conqueſt made him ſlow;
Thought it enough to ſcorn a thing that flies,
And only now purſu'd him with his Eyes.
The vanquiſh'd as he fled turn'd back his fight,
Aſham'd to flie, and yet afraid to fight:
Sometimes his wounds, as his excuſe ſurvey'd,
Then fled again, and then look'd back and ſtay'd:
Bluſh't that his wounds ſo ſlight ſhould not deny
Strength for a fight, that left him ſtrength to flie.
Calls thoughts of Love and Empire to his Aid,
But fears more powerful than all thoſe perſuade,
And yet in ſpight of them retains his ſhame,
His cool'd ambition, and his half-quench'd flame,
There's none from their own ſenſe of ſhame can flie,
And dregs of Paſſions dwell with miſery.
Now to the ſhades he bends his feeble courſe,
Deſpis'd by thoſe that once admir'd his force:
The VVretch that to a ſcorn'd Condition's thrown,
VVith the VVorld's Favour, loſes too his own.
VVhile fawning Troops their Conquering Prince enclos'd,
Now render'd abſolute by being oppo [...]'d;
Princes by Diſobedience get Command,
And by new quench'd Rebellions firmer ſtand
Till by the boundleſs offers of ſucceſs,
They meet their Fate in ill-us'd happineſs.
[7]The vanquiſh'd Stag to thickeſt ſhades repairs,
VVhere he finds ſafety puniſh't with his Cares;
Thorough the VVoods he ruſhes not, but glides,
And from all ſearches but his own he hides;
Aſham'd to live, unwilling yet to loſe
That wretched life he knew not how to uſe.
In this Retirement thus he liv'd conceal'd,
Till with his wounds his fears were almoſt heal'd;
His ancient Paſſions now began to move,
He thought again of Empire and of Love:
Then rouz'd himſelf and ſtretch'd at his full length,
Took the large meaſure of his mighty ſtrength;
Then ſhook his loaded Head; the ſhadow too,
Shook like a tree, where leaveleſs Branches grew:
Stooping to drink, he ſees it in the Streams,
And in the Woods hears claſhing of his Beams;
No Accident but does alike proclaim
His growing ſtrength, and his encreaſing ſhame.
Now once again, reſolves to try his Fate,
[...] for Envy always is importunate;)
And in the mind perpetually does move,
A fit Companion for unquiet Love.
He thinks upon his mighty Enemy,
Circl'd about with Pow'r and Luxury.
And hop'd his ſtrength might ſink in his deſires,
Remembring he had waſted in ſuch Fires.
Yet while he hop'd by them to overcome,
He wiſh'd the others fatal joys his own.
Thus the unquiet Beaſt in faſety lay,
VVhere nothing was to fear, nor to obey;
[8]Where he alone commanded, and was Lord
Of every Bounty Nature did afford,
Choſe Feaſts for every Arbitrary Senſe,
An Empire in the ſtate of Innocence.
But all the Feaſts Nature before him plac't,
Had but faint reliſhes to his loſt taſte,
Sick Minds, like Bodies in a Fever ſpent,
Turn Food to the Diſeaſe, not nouriſhment.
Sometimes he ſtole abroad, and ſhrinking ſtood,
Under the ſhelter of the friendly Wood;
Caſting his envious Eyes towards thoſe Plains
Where with crown'd joys, his mighty Rival Reigns.
He ſaw th' obeying Herd marching along,
And weigh'd his Rival's Greatneſs by the Throng.
Want takes falſe Meaſures, both of Power and Joys,
And envy'd Greatneſs is but Crowd, and Noiſe.
Not able to endure this hated ſight,
Back to the Shades he flies to ſeek out Nigt.
Like exiles from their native Soils, though ſent
To better Countries, think it Baniſhment.
Here he enjoy'd what t'other could have there,
The woods are ſhady, and the ſtreams as clear,
The Paſtures more untainted where he fed,
And every Night choſe out an unpreſt Bed.
But then his lab'ring Soul with Dreams was preſt,
And found the greateſt wearineſs in reſt;
His dreadful Rival in his ſleep appears,
And in his Dreams again, he fights and fears:
Shrinks at the ſtrokes of t'others mighty Head,
Feels every wound, and dreams how faſt he fled.
[9]At this he wakes, and with his fearful Eyes,
Salutes the light that fleet the Eaſtern Skies,
Still half amaz'd, looks round, and held by fear,
Scarce can believe no Enemy was near.
But when he ſaw his heedleſs fears were brought
Not by a Subſtance, but a drowſie Thought.
His ample ſides he ſhakes, from whence the dew
In ſcatter'd Showers like driven Tempeſts flew,
At which, through all his breaſt new boldneſs ſpread,
And with his Courage rais'd his mighty head.
Then by his Love inſpir'd, reſolves to try
The Combat now, and overcome, or die.
Every weak Paſſion ſometimes is above
The fear of death, much more the nobleſt love.
By hope 'tis ſcorn'd, and by deſpair 'tis ſought,
Purſu'd by Honour, and by Sorrow brought.
Reſolv'd the paths of danger now to tread,
From his ſcorn'd ſhelter, and his fears he fled.
VVith a brave haſt now ſeeks a ſecond Fight,
Redeems the baſe one by a Noble Flight.
In the mean time, the Conqueror enjoy'd
That Power by which he was to be deſtroy'd.
How hard 'tis for the Proſperous to ſee,
That fate which waits on Power, and Victory.
Thus he ſecuerly Reign'd, when in a Rout
He ſaw th' affrighted Herd flying about;
As if ſome Huntſmen did their Chaſe purſue,
About themſelves in ſcatter'd Rings they flew,
He like a careful Monarch rais'd his Head,
To ſee what cauſe that ſtrange diſturbance bread.
[10]But when the ſearcht-out Cauſe appear'd no more,
Than from a Slave, he had o'ercome before,
A bold diſdain did in his looks appear,
And ſhook his aweful Head to chide their Fear.
The Herd afraid of Friend and Enemy,
Shrink from the one, and from the other fly;
They ſcarce know which they ſhould Obey, or Truſt,
Since Fortune only makes it Safe and Juſt.
Yet in deſpight of all his Pride, he ſtaid,
And this unlook't for Chance with trouble weigh'd,
His Rage, and his Contempt alike, ſwell'd high,
And only fear'd his Enemy ſhould fly;
He thought of former Conqueſt, and from thence
Cozen'd himſelf into a Confidence.
T'other that ſaw his Conquerer ſo near,
Stood ſtill and liſt'ned to a whiſp'ring fear;
From whence ſhe heard his Conqueſt and his Shame.
But new-born Hopes his ancient Fears o'recame.
The mighty Enemies now meet at length,
VVith equal Fury, though not equal Strength
For now, too late the Conquerer did find,
That all was waſted in him but his Mind.
His Courage in his VVeakneſs yet prevails.
As a bold Pilot ſteers with tatter'd Sails,
And Cordage crackt, directs no ſteddy Courſe,
Carry'd by Reſolution, more than Force.
Before his once ſcorn'd Enemy he reels,
His wounds encreaſing with his ſhame, he feels
The others ſtrength more from his weakneſs grows,
And with one furious puſh, his Rival throws.
[11]So a tall Oak, the Pride of all the VVood,
That long th'aſſault of ſeveral ſtorms hath ſtood,
Till by a mighty blaſt more pow'rfully puſh't,
His Roots torn up, and to the Earth he ruſht.
Yet then he rais'd his Head, on which there grew,
Once, all his Power and all his Title too;
Unable now to riſe, and leſs to fight,
He rais'd thoſe Scepters to demand his Right.
But ſuch weak Arguments prevail with none,
To plead their Titles, when their Power is gone.
His Head now ſinks, and with it all defence,
Not only robb'd of Power but Pretence.
Wounds upon wounds, the Conqueror ſtill gives.
And thinks himſelf unſafe, while t'other lives:
Unhappy State of ſuch as wear a Crown,
Fortune does ſeldom lay'em gently down.
Now to the moſt ſcorn'd Remedy he flies,
And for ſome Pity ſeems to move his Eyes,
Pity, by which the beſt of Vertu's try'd,
To wretched Princes ever is deny'd,
There is a Debt to Fortune, which they pay
For all their Greatneſs, by no common way.
The flatt'ring Troops unto the Victor fly,
And own his Title to his Victory;
The Faith of moſt, with Fortune does decline,
Duty's but Fear, and Conſcience but Deſign.
The Victor now, proud in his great ſucceſs,
Haſtes to enjoy his fatal happineſs;
Forgot his mighty Rival was deſtroy'd
But that, which he ſo fondly now enjoy'd.
In Paſſions, thus Nature her ſelf enjoys,
Sometimes preſerves, and then again deſtroys;
Yet all Deſtruction which Revenge can move,
Time or Ambition, is ſupply'd by Love.

To my Honoured Friend Sir ROBERT HOWARD, On his Excellent Poem.

[12]
By Mr. John Dryden.
AS there is Muſick uniform'd by Art
In thoſe wild Notes, which with a Merry heart
The Birds in unfrequented Shades expreſs,
VVho better taught at home, yet pleaſe us leſs:
So in your Verſe, a Native ſweetneſs dwells,
VVhich ſhames Compoſure, and its Art excels.
Singing no more can your ſoft numbers grace,
Than Paint adds Charms unto a beauteous face.
Yet as when mighty Rivers gently creep,
Their even Calmneſs does ſuppoſe them deep;
Such is your Muſe: No Metaphor ſwell'd high
VVith dangerous boldneſs lifts her to the Sky;
[13]Thoſe mounting Fancies, when they fall again,
Shew Sand and Dirt at bottom do remain.
So firm a Strength, and yet withal ſo ſweet,
Did never but in Sampſon's Riddle meet.
'Tis ſtrange each Line ſo great a weight ſhould bear,
And yet no ſign of Toil, no Sweat appear.
Either your Art hides Art, as Stoicks feign
Then leaſt to feel, when moſt they ſuffer pain;
And we, dull Souls admire, but cannot ſee
What hidden Springs within the Engine be:
Or, 'tis ſome happineſs that ſtill purſues
Each Act and Motion of your graceful Muſe.
Or is it Fortune's Work, that in your Head
The Curious * Net that is for Fancies ſpread,
Lets through its Meſhes every meaner thought,
While rich Idea's there are only caught.
Sure that's not all; this is a piece too fair,
To be the Child of Chance, and not of Care.
No Atums caſually together hurl'd
Could e'r produce ſo beautiful a VVorld.
Nor dare I ſuch a Doctrine here admit,
As would deſtroy the Providence of wit,
Tis your ſtrong Genius then which does not feel
Thoſe weights would make a weaker Spirit reel.
To carry weight, and run ſo lightly too,
Is what alone you Pegaſus can do.
Great Hercules himſelf could ne'er do more,
Than not to feel thoſe Heav'ns and Gods he bore.
[14]Your eaſier Odes, which for delight were penn'd,
Yet our Inſtruction make their ſecond End:
VVere both enrich'd and pleas'd like them that wooe,
At once a Beauty, and a Fortune too.
Of Moral Knowledge Poeſy was Queen,
And ſtill ſhe might, had wanton wits not been;
VVo like ill Guardians liv'd themſelves at large,
And not content with that, debauch'd their Charge:
Like ſome brave Captain, your ſucceſsful Pen
Reſtores the Exil'd to her Crown again;
And gives us hope that having ſeen the Days
VVhen nothing flouriſh'd but Phanatick Bays,
All will at length in this Opinion reſt,
A Sober Prince's Government is beſt.
This is not all, your Art the way has found
To make Improvement of the richeſt Ground,
That Soil which thoſe Immortal Laurels bore,
That once the ſacred Maro's Temples wore.
Eliſa's Griefs are ſo expreſt by you,
They are too Eloquent to have been true.
Had ſhe ſo ſpoke, Aeneas had obey'd
VVhat Dido, rather than what Jove had ſaid.
If Funeral Rites can give a Ghoſt repoſe,
Your Muſe ſo juſtly has diſcharged thoſe,
Eliſa's Shade, may now its wandring ceaſe,
And claim a Title to the Fields of Peace.
But if Aeneas be oblig'd no leſs
Youd Kindneſs great Achilles doth confeſs;
VVho dreſs'd by Statius in ſo bold a look,
Did ill become thoſe Virgin Robes he took.
[15]To underſtand how much we owe to you,
VVe muſt your Numbers with your Author's view;
Then we ſhall ſee his work was lamely rough,
Each Figure ſtiff, as if deſign'd in Buff;
His Colours laid ſo thick on every place,
As only ſhew'd the Paint, but hid the Face.
But as in Perſpective we beauties ſee,
VVhich in the Glaſs, not in the Picture be;
So here our Sight obligingly miſtakes
That wealth which his your bounty only makes.
Thus vulgar Diſhes are by Cooks diſguis'd,
More for their dreſſing than their ſubſtance priz'd.
Your curious * Notes to ſearch into that Age,
VVhen all was Fable but the ſacred Page,
That ſince in that dark Night we needs muſt ſtray,
VVe are at leaſt Miſled in pleaſant way.
But what we muſt admire your Verſe no leſs
The Prophet than the Poet doth confeſs.
E're our weak Eyes diſcern'd the doubtful ſtreak
Of Light, you ſaw Great Charles his Morning break [...]
So skilful Seamen ken the Land from far,
VVhich ſhews like Miſts to the dull Paſſenger.
To Charles your Muſe firſt pays her Dutious Love,
As ſtill the Antients did begin from Jove.
VVith Monck you end whoſe Name preſerv'd ſhall be
As Rome Recorded † Rufus Memory.
[16]VVho thought it greater Honour to obey
His Countrys Intereſt, than the world to ſway.
But to write worthy things of worthy Men,
Is the peculiar talent of your Pen:
Yet let me take your Mantle up, and I
VVill venture in your Right to Propheſie.
"This work by Merit firſt of Fame ſecure,
"Is likewiſe happy in its Geniture:
"For ſince 'tis born, when Charles aſcends the Throne,
"It ſhares at once, his Fortune and his own.

FROM THE Greek of MEN AGE.

WHen thro' the Streets the Paphian Goddeſs run,
And cry'd the Fugitive her darling Son;
A Kiſs was the Reward to be beſtow'd,
More ſweet than Nector, or Ambroſial Food.
Your Son, the Fugitive you ſeek is here,
Within my Breaſt is hid the Wanderer:
Give me kind Goddeſs, give the charming kiſs,
Or bid fair Celia, and improve the Bliſs.
FINIS.

28.

[]

CYDER. A POEM. In TWO BOOKS.

—Honos erit huic quo (que) Pomo?

Virg.

WITH THE SPLENDID SHILLING; PARADISE LOST, And Two SONGS, &c.

LONDON: [...]inted and Sold by H. Hills, in Black-Fryars, near the Water-ſide. 1709.

CYDER. BOOK I.

[2]
WHAT Soil the Apple loves, what Care is due
To Orchats, timelieſt when to preſs the Fruit [...]
Thy Gift, Pomona, in Miltonian Verſe
Adventrous I preſume to ſing; of Verſe
Nor skill'd, nor ſtudious: But my Native Soil
Invites me, and the Theme as yet unſung.
Ye Ariconian Knights, and faireſt Dames,
To whom propitious Heav'n theſe Bleſſings grants,
Attend my Layes; nor hence diſdain to learn,
How Nature's Gifts may be improv'd by Art.
And thou, O Moſtyn, whoſe Benevolence,
And Candor oft experienc'd, Me vouchſaf'd
To knit in Friendſhip, growing ſtill with Years,
Accept this Pledge of Gratitude and Love.
May it a laſting Monument remain
Of dear Reſpect; that, when this Body frail
Is moulder'd into Duſt, and I become
As I had never been, late Times may know
I once was bleſt in ſuch a matchleſs Friend.
Who-e'er expects his lab'ring Trees ſhou'd bend
With Fruitage, and a kindly Harveſt yield,
Be this his firſt Concern; to find a Tract
Impervious to the Winds, begirt with Hills,
That intercept the Hyperborean Blaſts
Tempeſtuous, and cold Eurus nipping-Force,
Noxious to feeble Buds: But to the Weſt
Leſt him free Entrance grant, let Zephyrs bland
Adminiſter their tepid genial Airs;
[3]Naught fear he from the Weſt, whoſe gentle Warmth
Diſcloſes well the Earth's all-teeming Womb,
Invigorating tender Seeds; whoſe Breath
Nurtures the Orange, and the Citron Groves,
Heſperian Fruits, and wafts their Odours ſweet
Wide thro' the Air, and diſtant Shores perfumes.
Nor only do the Hills exclude the Winds:
But, when the blackning Clouds in ſprinkling Show'rs
Diſtill, from the high Summits down the Rain
Runs trickling; with the fertile Moiſture chear'd,
The Orchats ſmile; joyous the Farmers ſee
Their thriving Plants, and bleſs the heav'nly Dew.
Next, let the Planter, with Diſcretion meet,
The Force and Genius of each Soil explore;
To what adapted, what it ſhuns averſe:
Without this neceſſary Care, in vain
He hopes an Apple-Vintage, and Invokes
Pomona's Aid in vain. The miry Fields,
Rejoycing in rich Mold, moſt ample Fruit
Of beauteous Form produce; pleaſing to Sight,
But to the Tongue inelegant and flat.
So Nature has decreed; ſo, oft we ſee
Men paſſing fair, in outward Lineaments
Elaborate; leſs, inwardly, exact.
Nor from the ſable Ground expect Succeſs,
Nor from cretaceous, ſtubborn and jejune:
The Muſt, of pallid Hue, declares the Soil
Devoid of Spirit; wretched He, that quaffs
Such wheyiſh Liquors; oft with Colic Pangs,
With pungent Colic Pangs diſtreſs'd, he'll roar,
And toſs, and turn, and curſe th' unwholſome Draught▪
But, Farmer, look, where full-ear'd Sheaves of Rye
Grow wavy on the Tilth, that Soil ſelect
For Apples; thence thy Induſtry ſhall gain
Ten-fold Reward; thy Garners, thence with Store
Surcharg'd, ſhall burſt; thy Preſs with pureſt Juice
Shall flow, which, in revolving Years, may try
Thy feeble Feet, and bind thy fault'ring Tongue.
[4]Such is the Kent-church, ſuch Dantzeyan Ground,
Such Thine, O learned Brome, and Capel ſuch,
Williſian Burlton, much-lov'd Geers his Marſh,
And Sutton Acres, drench'd with Regal Blood
Of Ethelbert, when to th'unhallow'd Feaſt
Of Mercian Offa he invited came,
To treat of Spouſals: Long connubial Joys
He promis'd to himſelf, allur'd by Fair
Elfrida's Beauty, but deluded dy'd
In height of Hopes—Oh! hardeſt Fate, to fall
By Shew of Friendſhip, and pretended Love!
I nor adviſe, nor reprehend the Choice
Of Marcley-Hill; the Apple no where finds
A kinder Mold: Yet 'tis unſafe to truſt
Deceitful Ground: Who knows but that, once more,
This Mount may journey, and his preſent Site
Forſaking, to thy Neighbours Bounds transfer
The goodly Plants affording Matter ſtrange
For Law-Debates? If therefore, thou incline
To deck this Riſe with Fruits of various Taſtes,
Fail not by frequent Vows t'implore Succeſs;
Thus piteous Heav'n may fix the wandring Glebe.
But if (for Nature doth not ſhare alike
Her Gifts) an happy Soil ſhould be with-held;
If a penurious Clay ſhou'd be thy Lot,
Or rough unweildy Earth, nor to the Plough,
Nor to the Cattle kind, with ſandy Stones
And Gravel o'er-abounding, think it not
Beneath thy Toil; the ſturdy Pear-tree here
Will riſe luxuriant, and with tougheſt Root
Fierce the obſtructing Grit, and reſtive Marle.
Thus naught is uſeleſs made; nor is there Land,
But what, or of it ſelf, or elſe compell'd,
Affords Advantage. On the barren Heath
The Shepherd tends his Flock, that daily crop
Their verdant Dinner from the moſſie Turf,
Sufficient; after them the Cackling Gooſe,
Cloſe-grazer, [...]inds wherewith to eaſe her Want.
[5]What ſhou'd I more? Ev'n on the cliffy Height
Of Penmenmaur, and that Cloud-piercing Hill,
Plinlimmon, from afar the Traveller kens
Aſtoniſh'd, how the Goats their ſhrubby Brouze
Gnaw pendent; nor untrembling canſt thou ſee,
How from a ſcraggy Rock, whoſe Prominence
Half overſhades the Ocean, hardy Men,
Fearleſs of rending Winds, and daſhing Waves,
Cut Sampire, to excite the ſqueamiſh Guſt
Of pamper'd Luxury. Then, let thy Ground
Not lye unlabour'd; if the richeſt Stem
Refuſe to thrive, yet who wou'd doubt to plant
Somewhat, that may to Human Uſe redound,
And Penury, the worſt of Ills, remove?
There are, who, fond ſtudious of Increaſe,
Rich Foreign Mold on their ill-natur'd Land
Induce laborious, and with fatning Muck
Beſmear the Roots; in vain! the nurſling Grove
Seems fair a while, cheriſh'd with foſter Earth:
But, when the alien Compoſt is exhauſt,
It's native Poverty again prevails.
Tho' this Art fails, deſpond not; little Pains,
In a due Hour employ'd, great Profit yield.
Th' induſtrious, when the Sun in Leo rides,
And darts his ſultrieſt Beams, portending Drought,
Forgets not at the Foot of ev'ry Plant
To ſink a circling Trench, and daily pour
A juſt Supply of alimental Streams,
Exhauſted Sap recruiting; elſe, falſe Hopes
He cheriſhes, nor will his Fruit expect
Th'autumnal Seaſon, but, in Summer's Pride,
When other Orchats ſmile, abortive fail.
Thus the great Light of Heav'n, that in his Courſe
Surveys and quickens all things, often proves
Noxious to planted Fields, and often Men
Perceive his Influence dire; ſweltring they run
To Grots, and Caves, and the cool Umbrage ſeek
Of woven Arborets, and oft the Rills.
[6]Still ſtreaming freſh reviſit, to allay
Thirſt inextinguiſhable: But if the Spring
Preceding ſhou'd be deſtitute of Rain,
Or Blaſt Septentrional with bruſhing Wings
Sweep up the ſmoaky Miſts, and Vapours damp,
Then wo to Mortals! Titan then exerts
His Heat intenſe, and on our Vitals preys;
Then Mala dies of various Kinds, and Names
Unknown, malignant Fevers, and that Foe
To blooming Beauty, which imprints the Face
Of faireſt Nymph, and checks our growing Love,
Reign far and near; grim Death, in different Shapes,
Depopulates the Nations, thouſands fall
His Victims, Youths, and Virgins, in their Flower,
Reluctant die, and ſighing leave their Loves
Unfiniſh'd, by infectious Heav'n deſtroy'd.
Such Heats prevail'd, when fair Eliza, laſt
Of Winchcomb's Name (next Thee in Blood and Worth.
O faireſt St. John!) left this toilſome World
In Beauty's Prime, and ſadden'd all the Year:
Nor cou'd her Virtues, nor repeated Vows
Of thouſand Lovers, the relentleſs Hand
Of Death arreſt; She with the Vulgar fell,
Only diſtinguiſh'd by this humble Verſe.
But if it pleaſe the Sun's intemp'rate Force
To know, attend; whilſt I of ancient Fame
The Annals trace, and Image to thy Mind,
How our Fore-fathers, (luckleſs Men!) ingulf,
By the wide yawning Earth, to Stygian Shades
Went quick, in one ſad Sepulchre enclos'd.
In elder Days, e'er yet the Roman Bands
Victorious, this our other World ſubdu'd,
A ſpacious City ſtood, with firmeſt Walls
Sure mounded, and with numerous Turrets crown'd,
Aerial Spires, and Citadels, the Seat
Of Kings and Heroes reſolute in War,
Fam'd Ariconium; uncontroul'd, and free,
'Till all ſubduing Latian Arms prevail'd.
[7]Then alſo, tho' to foreign Yoke ſubmits,
She undemoliſh'd ſtood, and even 'till now
Perhaps had ſtood, of ancient Britiſh Art
A pleaſing Monument, not leſs admir'd
Than what from Attic, or Etruſcan Hands
Aroſe; had not the Heav'nly Pow'rs averſe
Decreed her final Doom: For now the Fields
Labour'd with Thirſt, Aquarius had not ſhed
His wonted Show'rs, and Sirius parch'd with Heat
Solſtitial the green Herb: Hence 'gan relax
The Ground's Contexture, hence Tartarean Dregs,
Sulphur, and nitrous Spume, enkindling fierce,
Bellow'd within their darkſom Caves, by far
More diſmal then the loud diſploded Roar
Of Brazen Enginry, that ceaſeleſs ſtorm
The Baſtion of a well-built City, deem'd
Impregnable: Th' infernal Winds, 'till now
Cloſely impriſon'd, by Titanian Warmth,
Dilating, and with unctuous Vapours fed,
Diſdain'd their narrow Cells; and their full Strength
Collecting, from beneath the ſolid Maſs
Upheav'd, and all her Caſtles rooted deep
Shook from their loweſt Seat; old Vaga's Stream,
Forc'd by the ſudden Shock, her wonted Track
Forſook, and drew her humid Train aſlope,
Crankling her Banks: And now the low'ring Sky,
And baleful Lightning, and the Thunder, Voice
Of angry Gods, that rattled ſolemn, diſmaid
The ſinking Hearts of Men. Where ſhou'd they turn
Diſtreſs'd? Whence ſeek for Aid? when from below
Hell threatens, and ev'n Fate ſupream gives Signs
Of Wrath and Deſolation? Vain were Vows,
And Plaints, and ſuppliant Hands, to Heav'n erect!
Yet ſome to Fanes repair'd, and humble Rites
Perform'd to Thor, and Woden, fabled Gods,
Who with their Vot'ries in one Ruin ſhar'd,
Cruſh'd, and o'erwhelm'd. Others, in frantick Mood
Run howling thro' the Streets, their hideous Yells
[8]Rend the dark Welkin; Horrour ſtalks around,
Wild-ſtaring, and, his ſad Concomitant,
Deſpair, of their abject Look: At ev'ry Gate
The thronging Populace with haſty Strides
Preſs furious, and too eager of Eſcape,
Obſtruct the eaſie Way; the rocking Town
Supplants their Footſteps; to and fro, they reel
Aſtoniſh'd, as o'er charg'd with Wine; when lo!
The Ground aduſt her riven Mouth diſparts,
Horrible Caſm, profound! with ſwift Deſcent
Old Ariconium ſinks, and all her Tribes,
Heroes, and Senators, down to the Realms
Of endleſs Night. Mean while, the looſen'd Winds
Infuriate, molten Rocks and flaming Globes
Hurl'd high above the Clouds; 'till, all their Force
Conſum'd, her rav'nous Jaws th' Earth ſatiate clos'd.
Thus this fair City fell, of which the Name
Survives alone; nor is there found a Mark,
Whereby the curious Paſſenger may learn
Her ample Site, ſave Coins, and mould'ring Urns,
And huge unwieldy Bones, laſting Remains
Of that Gigantic Race, which as he breaks
The clotted Glebe, the Plowman haply finds,
Appall'd. Upon that treacherous Tract of Land,
She whilomeſtood; now Ceres, in her Prime,
Smiles fertile, and, with ruddieſt Freight bedeckt,
The Apple-Tree, by our Fore-Fathers Blood
Improv'd, that now recalls the devious Muſe,
Urging her deſtin'd Labours to purſue.
The Prudent will obſerve, what Paſſions reign
In various Plants (for not to Man alone,
But all the wide Creation, Nature gave
Love, and averſion:) Everlaſting Hate
The Vine to Ivy bears, nor leſs abhors
The Coleworts Rankneſs; but with amorous Twine,
Claſps the tall Elm: The Paeſ [...]an Roſe unfolds
Her Bud, more lovely, near the fetid Leek,
(Creſt of ſtout Britons,) an inhances thence
[9]The Price of her celeſtial Scent: The Gourd,
And thirſty Cucumer, when they perceive
Th' approaching Olive, with Reſentment fly
Her fatty Fibres, and with Tendrils creep
Diverſe, deteſting Contract; whilſt the Fig
Contemns not Rue, nor Sage's humble Leaf,
Cloſe Neighbouring; the Herefordian Plant
Careſſes freely the contiguous Peach,
Hazel, and weight-reſiſting Palm, and likes
T' approach the Quince, and th' Elder's pithy Stem;
Uneaſie, ſeated by funeral Yeugh,
Or Walnut, (whoſe malignant Touch impairs
All generous Fruits,) or near the bitter Dews
Of Cherries. Therefore, weigh the Habits well
Of Plants, how they aſſociate beſt, nor let
Ill Neighbourhood corrupt thy hopeful Graffs.
Wouldſt thou, thy Vats with generous Juice ſhould froth?
Reſpect thy Orchats; think not, that the Trees
Spontaneous will produce an wholeſom Draught.
Let art correct thy Breed: from Parent Bough
A Coyn meetly ſever; after, force
A way into the Crabſtock's cloſe-wrought Grain
By Wedges, and within the living Wound
Encloſe the Foſter Twig; nor over-nice
Refuſe with thy own Hands around to ſpread
The binding Clay e're-long their differing Veins
Unite, and kindly Nouriſhment convey
To the new Pupil; now ſhoots his Arms
With quickeſt Growth; now ſhake the teeming Trunk,
Down rain th' impurpl'd Balls, ambroſial Fruit.
Whether the Wildings Fibres are contriv'd
To draw th' Earth's pureſt Spirit, and reſiſt
It's Feculence, which in more porous Stocks
Of Cydar Plants finds Paſſage free, or elſe
The native Verjuice of the Crab, deriv'd
Thro' th' infix'd Graff, a grateful Mixture forms
Of tart and ſweet; whatever be the Cauſe,
This doubtful Progeny by niceſt Taſtes
[10]Expected beſt Acceptance finds, and pays
Largeſt Revenues to the Orchat-Lord,
Some think, the Quince and Apple wou'd combine
In happy Union; Others fitter deem
The Sloe-Stem bearing Sylvan Plums auſtere.
Who knows but Both may thrive? Howe'er, what loſs
To try the Pow'rs of Both, and ſearch how far
Two different Natures may concur to mix
In cloſe Embraces, and ſtrange Off-ſpring bear?
Thoul't find that Plants will frequent Changes try,
Undamag'd, and their marriageable Arms
Conjoin with others. So Silurean Plants
Admit the Peache's odoriferous Globe,
And Pears of ſundry Forms; at diff'rent times
Adopted Plums will aliene Branches grace;
And Men have gather'd from the Hawthorn's Branch
Large Medlars, imitating regal Crowns.
Nor is it hard to beautifie each Month
With Files of parti-colour'd Fruits, that pleaſe
The Tongue, and View, at once. So Maro's Muſe,
Thrice ſacred Muſe! commodious Precepts gives
Inſtructive to the Swains, not wholly bent
On what is gainful: Sometimes ſhe diverts
From ſolid Counſels, ſhews the Force of Love
In ſavage Beaſts; how Virgin Face divine
Attracts the hapleſs Youth thro' Storms, and Waves,
Alone, in deep of Night: Then ſhe deſcribes
The Scythian Winter, nor diſdains to ſing,
How under Ground the rude Riphaean Race
Mimic brisk Cyder with the Brakes Product wild;
Sloes pounded, Hips, and Servis harſheſt Juice.
Let ſage Experience teach thee all the Arts
Of Grafting, and In-Eyeing; when to lop
The flowing Branches; what Trees anſwer beſt
From Root, or Kernel: She will beſt the Hours
Of Harveſt, and Seed time declare; by Her
The diff'rent Qualities of things were found,
And ſecret Motions; how with heavy Bulk
[11]Volatile Hermes, fluid and unmoiſt,
Mounts on the Wings of Air; to her we owe
The Indian Weed, unknown to ancient Times
Nature's choice Gift, whoſe acrimonious Fume
Extracts ſuperfluous Juices, and refines
The Blood diſtemper'd from its noxious Salts;
Friend to the Spirits, which with Vapours bland
It gently mitigates, Companion fit
Of Pleaſantry, and Wine; nor to the Bards
Unfriendly, when they to the vocal Shell
Warble melodious their well-labour'd Songs.
She found the poliſh'd Glaſs, whoſe ſmall Convex
Enlarges to Ten Millions of Degrees
The Mite, inviſible elſe, of Nature's Hand
Leaſt Animal; and ſhews, what Laws of Life
The Cheeſe-Inhabitants obſerve, and how
Fabrick their Manſions in the harden'd Milk,
Wonderful Artiſts! But the hidden Ways
Of Nature wouldſt thou know? how firſt ſhe frames
All things in Miniature? thy Specular Orb
Apply to well-diſſected Kernels; lo!
Strange Forms ariſe, in each a little Plant
Unfolds its Boughs: obſerve the ſlender Threads
Of firſt-beginning Trees, their Roots, their Leaves,
In narrow Seeds deſcrib'd; Thou'lt wond'ring ſay,
An inmate Orchat ev'ry Apple boaſts.
Thus All things by Experience are diſplay'd,
And moſt improv'd. Then ſedulouſly think
To meliorate thy Stock; no Way, or Rule
Be unaſſay'd; prevent the Morning Star
Aſſiduous, nor with the Weſtern Sun
Surceaſe to work; lo! thoughtful of Thy Gain,
Not of my Own, I all the live-long Day
Conſume in Meditation deep, recluſe
From human Converſe, nor, at ſhut of Eve,
Enjoy Repoſe; but oft at Midnight Lamp
Ply my brain racking Studies, if by chance
Thee I may counſel right; and oft this Care
[12]Diſturbs me ſlumbring. Wilt thou then repine
To labour for thy Self? and rather chuſe
To lye ſupinely, hoping, Heav'n will bleſs
Thy ſlighted Fruits, and give thee Bread unearn'd?
'Twill profit, when the Stork, ſworn-Foe of Snakes,
Returns, to ſhew Compaſſion to thy Plants,
Fatigu'd with Breeding. Let the arched Knife
Well ſharpen'd now aſſail the ſpreading Shades
Of Vegetables, and their thirſty Limbs
Diſſever: for the genial Moiſture, due
To Apples, otherwiſe miſpends it ſelf
In barren Twigs, and for th' expected Crop,
Naught but vain Shoots, and empty Leaves abound.
When ſwelling Buds their od'rous Foliage ſhed,
And gently harden into Fruit the Wiſe
Spare not the little Off-ſprings, if they grow
Redundant: but the thronging Cluſters thin
By kind Avulſion: elſe, the ſtarv'ling Brood,
Void of ſufficient Suſtenance, wil] yield
A ſlender Autum; which the niggard Soul
Too late ſhall weep, and curſe his thrifty Hand,
That would not timely eaſe the pond'rous Boughs.
It much conduces, all the Cares to know
Of Gard'ning, how to ſcare nocturnal Thieves,
And how the little Race of Birds, that hop
From Spray to Spray, ſcooping the coſtlieſt Fruit
Inſatiate, undiſturb'd. Priapus's Form
Avails but little; rather guard each Row
With the falſe Terrours of a breathleſs Kite.
This done, the timorous Flock with ſwifteſt Wing
Scud thro' the Air; their Fancy repreſents
His mortal Talons, and his rav'nous Beak
Deſtructive; glad to ſhun his hoſtile Gripe,
They quit their Thefts and unfrequent the Fields.
Beſides, the filthy Swine will oft invade
Thy firm incloſure, and with delving Snout
The rooted Foreſt undermine forthwith
Alloo thy furious Maſtiff, bid him vex
[13]The noxious Herd, and print upon their Ears
A ſad Memorial of their paſt Offence.
The flagrant Procyon will not fail to bring
Large Shoals of ſlow Houſe-bearing Snails, that creep
O'er the ripe Fruitage, paring ſliming Tracts
In the ſleek Rinds, and unpreſt Cyder drink.
No Art averts this Peſt; on Thee it lyes,
With Morning and with Evening Hand to rid
The preying Reptiles; nor, if wiſe, wilt thou
Decline this Labour, which it ſelf rewards
With pleaſing Gain, whilſt the warm Limbec draws
Salubrious Waters from the nocent Brood.
Myriads of Waſps now alſo cluſtring hang,
And drain a ſpurious Honey from thy Groves,
Their Winter Food; tho' oft repulſt, again
They rally, undiſmay'd: but Fraud with eaſe
Enſnares the noiſom Swarms; let every Bough
Bear frequent Vials, pregnant with the Dregs
Of Moyle, or Mum, or Treacle's viſcous Juice;
They, by th' alluring Odor drawn, in haſte
Fly to the dulcet Cates, and crouding ſip
Their palatable Bane; joyful thou'lt ſee
The clammy Surface all o'er-ſtrown with Tribes
Of greedy Inſects that with fruitleſs Toil
Flap filmy Pennons oft, to extricate
Their Feet in liquid Shackles bound, 'till Death
Bereave them of their worthleſs Souls: Such doom
Waits Luxury, and lawleſs Love of Gain!
Howe'er thou mayſt forbid external Force,
[...]nteſtine Evils will prevail; damp Airs,
And rainy Winters, to the Centre pierce
Of firmeſt Fruits, and by unſeen Decay
The proper Reliſh vitiate: then the Grub
Oft unobſerv'd invades the vital Core,
[...]ernicious Tenant, and her ſecret Cave
[...]nlarges hourly, preying on the Pulp
[...]eaſeleſs; mean while the Apple's outward Form
[...]electable the witleſs Swain beguiles,
[14]'Till, with a writhen Mouth, and ſpattering Noiſe,
He taſtes the bitter Morſel, and rejects
Diſreliſht; not with leſs Surprize, then when
Embattled Troops with flowing Banners paſs
Thro' flow'ry Mead delighted, nor diſtruſt
The ſmiling Surface; whilſt the cavern'd Ground,
With Grain incentive ſtor'd, by ſuddain Blaze
Burſts fatal, and involves the Hopes of War
In firy Whirles; full of victorious Thoughts,
Torn and diſmembred, they aloft expire.
Now turn thine Eye to view Alcinous' Groves,
The Pride of the Phaeacian Iſle, from whence,
Sailing the Spaces of the boundleſs Deep,
To Ariconium pretious Fruits arriv'd:
The Pippin burniſht o'er with Gold, the Moile
Of ſweeteſt hony'd Taſte, the fair Permain,
Temper'd, like comlieſt Nymph, with red and white.
Salopian Acres flouriſh with a Growth
Peculiar, ſtyl'd the Ottley: Be thou firſt
This Apple to tranſplant; If to the Name
It's Merit anſwers, no where ſhalt thou find
A Wine more priz'd, or laudable of Taſte.
Nor does ths Eliot leaſt deſerve thy Care,
Nor John-Apple, whoſe wither'd Rind, entrencht
With many a Furrow, aptly repreſents
Decrepid Age; nor that from Harvey nam'd
Quick-reliſhing: Why ſhould we ſing the Thrift,
Codling, or Pomroy, or of pimpled Coat
The Ruſſet, or the Cats-Head's weighty Orb,
Enormous in its Growth; for various Uſe
Tho' theſe are meet, tho' after full repaſt
Are oft requir'd, and crown the rich Deſert?
What, tho' the Pear-Tree rival not the Worth,
Of Ariconian Products? yet her Freight
Is not contemn'd, yet her wide-branching Arms
Beſt ſcreen thy Manſion from the fervent Dog
Adverſe to Life; the wintry Hurricanes
In vain imploy their Roar, her Trunc unmov'd
[15]Breaks the ſtrong Onſet, and controls their Rage,
Chiefly the Bosbury, whoſe large Increaſe,
Annual, in ſumptuous Banquets claims Applauſe.
Thrice acceptable Bev'rage! could but Art
Subdue the floating Lee, Pomona's ſelf
Would dread thy Praiſe, and ſhun the dubious Strife.
Be it thy Choice, when Summer-Heats annoy,
To ſit Beneath her leafy Canopy,
Quaffing rich Liquids: Oh! how ſweet t' enjoy,
At once her Fruits and hoſpitable Shade!
But how with equal Number ſhall we match
The Musk's ſurpaſſing Worth? that earlieſt gives
Sure hopes of racy Wine, and in its Youth,
Its tender Nonage, loads the ſpreading Boughs
With large and juicy Offsſpring, that defies
The Vernal Nippings, and cold Syderal Blaſts!
Yet let her to the Red-ſtreak yield, that once
Was of the Sylvan Kind, unciviliz'd,
Of no Regard, 'till Scudamore's skilful Hand
Improv'd her, and by courtly Diſcipline
Taught her the ſavage Nature to forget:
Hence ſtyl'd the Scudamorean Plant; whoſe Wine
Who-ever taſtes, let him with grateful Heart
Reſpect that ancient loyal Houſe, and wiſh
The Noble Peer, that now tranſcends our Hopes
In early Worth, his Country's juſteſt Pride,
Uninterrupted Joy, and Health entire.
Let every Tree in every Garden own
The Red-ſtreak as ſupream; whoſe pulpous Fruit
With Gold irradiate, and Vermilian ſhines
Tempting, not fatal, as the Birth of that
Primaeval interdicted Plant, that won
Fond Eve in hapleſs Hour to taſte, and die▪
This, of more bounteous Influence, inſpires
Poetic Raptures, and the lowly Muſe
Kindles to loftier Strains; even I perceive
Her ſacred Virtue. See! the Numbers flow
Eaſie, whilſt, chear'd with her nectareous Juice,
[16]Hers, and my Country's Praiſes I exalt.
Hail Herefordian Plant, that doſt diſdain
All other Fields! Heav'ns ſweeteſt Bleſſing, hail!
Be thou the copious Matter of my Song,
And Thy choice Nectar; on which always waits
Laughter, and Sport, and Care beguiling Wit,
And Friendſhip, chief Delight of Human Life.
What ſhou'd we wiſh for more? or why, in queſt
Of Foreign Vintage, inſincere, and mixt,
Traverſe th' extreameſt World? Why tempt the Rage
Of the rough Ocean? when our native Glebe
Imparts, from bounteous Womb, annual Recruits
Of Wine delectable, that far ſurmounts
Gallic, or Latin Grapes, or thoſe that ſee
The ſetting Sun near Calpe's tow'ring Height.
Nor let the Rhodian, nor the Lesbion Vines
Vaunt their rich Muſt, nor let Tokay contend
For Sov'ranty; Phanaeus ſelf muſt bow
To th' Ariconian Vales: And ſhall we doubt
T' improve our vegetable Wealth, or let
The Soil lye idle, which, with fit Manure,
Will largeſt Uſury repay, alone
Impow'red to ſupply what Nature asks
Frugal, or what nice Appetite requires?
The Meadows here, with bat'ning Ooze enrich'd,
Give Spirit to the Graſs; three Cubits high
The jointed Herbage ſhoots; th' unfallow'd Glebe
Yearly o'ercomes the Granaries with Store
Of Golden Wheat, the Strength of Human Life.
Lo, on auxiliary Poles, the Hops
Aſcending ſpiral, rang'd in meet Array!
Lo, how the Arable with Barley-Grain
Stands thick, o'er-ſhadow'd, to the thirſty Hind
Tranſporting Proſpect! Theſe, as modern Uſe
Ordains, infus'd, an Auburn Drink compoſe,
Wholeſome, of deathleſs Fame. Here, to the Sight,
Apples of Price, and Plenteous Sheaves of Corn,
Oft interlac'd occurr, and both imbibe
[17]Fitting congenial Juice; ſo rich the Soil,
So much does fructuous Moiſture o'er-abound!
Nor are the Hills unamiable, whoſe Tops
To Heav'n aſpire, affording Proſpect ſweet
To Human Ken; nor at their Feet the Vales
Deſcending gently, where the lowing Herd
Chews verdious Paſture; nor the yellow Fields
Gaily enterchang'd, with rich Variety
Pleaſing as when an Emerald green, enchas'd
In Flamy Gold, from the bright Maſs acquires
A nobler Hue, more delicate to Slight.
Next add the Sylvan Shades, and ſilent Groves,
(Haunt of the Druids) whence the Hearth is fed
With copious Fuel; whence the ſturdy Oak,
A Prince's Refuge once, th' Eternal Guard
Of England's Throne, by ſweating Peaſants fell'd.
Stems the vaſt Main, and bears tremendous War
To diſtant Nations, or with Sov'ran Sway
Aws the divided World to Peace and Love.
Why ſhou'd the Chalybes, or Bilboa boaſt
Their harden'd Iron; when our Mines produce
As perfect Martial Ore? Can Tmolus' Head
[...]ie with our Safron Odours? Or the Fleece
Baetic, or fineſt Tarentine, compare
With Lemſter's ſilken Wool? Where ſhall we find
Men more addaunted, for their Country's Weal
More prodigal of Life? In antient Days,
The Roman Legions, and great Caeſar found
Our Fathers no mean Foes: And Creſſy Plains,
And Agincourt, deep ting'd with Blood, confeſs
What the Silures Vigour unwithſtood
[...]ou'd do in rigid Fight; and chiefly what
Brydges' wide waſting Hand, firſt Garter'd Knight,
[...]uiſſunt Author of great Chandois' Stemm,
High Chandois that tranſmits Paternal Worth,
[...]rudence, and ancient Proweſs, and Renown,
[...]his Noble Off-ſpring. O thrice happy Peer!
[...]hat, bleſt with hoary Vigour, view'ſt Thy ſelf
[18]Freſh blooming in thy Generous Son; whoſe Lips,
Flowing with nervous Eloquence exact,
Charm the wiſe Senate, and Attention win
In deepeſt Councils: Ariconium pleas'd,
Him, as her choſen Worthy, firſt ſalutes.
Him on th' Iberean, on the Gallick Shore,
Him hardy Britons bleſs; His faithful Hand
Conveys new Courage from afar, nor more
The General's Conduct, than His Care avails.
Thee alſo, Glorious Branch of Cecil's Line,
This Country claims; with Pride and Joy to Thee
Thy Alterennis calls: yet ſhe endures
Patient Thy Abſence, ſince Thy Prudent Choice
Has fix'd Thee in the Muſe's faireſt Seat,
Where Aldrich reigns, and from his endleſs Store
Of univerſal Knowledge ſtill ſupplies
His noble Care; He generous Thoughts inſtills
Of true Nobility, their, Countrys Love,
(Chief End of Life) and forms their ductile Minds
To Human Virtues: By his Genius led,
Thou ſoon in every Art preeminent
Shalt grace this Iſle, and riſe to Burleigh's Fame.
Hail High-born Peer! And Thou, great Nurſe of Ar [...]
And Men, from whence conſpicuous Patriots ſpring,
Hanmer, and Bromley; Thou, to whom with due
Reſpect Wintonia bows, and joyful owns
Thy mitred Off-ſpring; be for ever bleſt
With like Examples, and to future Times
Proficuous, ſuch a Race of Men produce,
As, in the Cauſe of Virtue firm, may fix
Her Throne inviolate. Hear, ye Gods, this Vow
From One, the meaneſt in her numerous Train;
Tho' meaneſt, not leaſt ſtudious of her Praiſe.
Muſe, raiſe thy Voice to Beaufort's ſpotleſs Fame,
To Beaufort, in a long Deſcent deriv'd
From Royal Anceſtry, of Kingly Rights
Faithful Aſſerters: In Him centring meet
Their glorious Virtues, high Deſert from Pride
[19]Disjoin'd, unſhaken Honour, and Contempt
Of ſtrong Allurements. O Illuſtrious Prince!
O Thou of ancient Faith! Exulting, Thee
[...]n her fair Liſt this happy Land inrolls.
Who can refuſe a Tributary Verſe
To Weymouth, firmeſt Friend of ſlighted Worth
[...]n evil Days? whoſe hoſpitable Gate,
Unbarr'd to All, invites a numerous Train
Of daily Gueſts; whoſe Boar'd, with Plenty crown'd,
Revives the Feaſt-rites old: Mean while His Care
Forgets not the Afflicted, but content
[...]n Acts of ſecret Goodneſs, ſhuns the Praiſe,
That ſure attends. Permit me, bounteous Lord,
To blazon what tho' hid will beauteous ſhine;
And with Thy Name to dignifie my Song.
But who is He, that on the winding Stream
Of Vaga firſt drew vital Breath, and now
Approv'd in Anna's ſecret Council ſits,
Weighing the Sum of things, with wiſe Forecaſt
[...]ollicitous of Publick Good? How large
His Mind, that comprehends what e'er was known
To Old, or Preſent Time; yet not elate,
Not conſcious of its Skill? What Praiſe deſerves
His liberal Hand, that gathers but to give,
[...]reventing Suit? O not unthankful Muſe,
Him lowly reverence, that firſt deſign'd to hear
Thy Pipe, and skreen'd thee from opprobrious Tongues
Acknowledge thy Own Harley, and his Name
[...]ſcribe on ev'ry Bark; the wounded Plants
Will faſt Increaſe, faſter thy juſt Reſpect.
Such are our Heroes, by their Vertues known,
Or▪ Skill in Peace, and War: Of ſofter Mold
The Female Sex, with ſweet attractive Airs
[...]ubdue obdurate Hearts. The Travellers oft,
That view their matchleſs Forms with tranſient Glance,
[...]atch ſuddain Love, and ſigh for Nymphs unknown,
[...]mit with the Magic of their Eyes: nor hath
[...]he Daedal Hand of Nature only pour'd
[20]Her Gifts of outward Grace; their Innocence
Unfeign'd, and Virtue moſt engaging, free
From Pride, or Artifice, long Joys afford
To th' honeſt Nuptial Bed, and in the Wane
Of Life, rebate the Miſeries of Age.
And is there found a Wretch, ſo baſe of Mind,
That Woman's pow'rful Beauty dares condemn,
Exacteſt Work of Heav'n? He ill deſerves
Or Love, or Pity; Friendleſs let him ſee
Uneaſie, tedious Days, deſpis'd, forlorn,
As Stain of Human Race: But may the Man,
That chearfully recounts the Females Praiſe
Find equal Love, and Love's untainted Sweets
Enjoy with Honour. O, ye Gods! might I
Elect my Fate, my happieſt Choice ſhould be
A fair and modeſt Virgin, that invites
With Aſpect chaſt, forbidding Looſe Deſire,
Tenderly ſmiling; in whoſe Heav'nly Eye.
Sits pureſt Love enthron'd: But if the Stars
Malignant, theſe my better Hopes oppoſe,
May I, at leaſt, the ſacred Pleaſures know
Of ſtricteſt Amity; nor ever want
A Friend, with whom I mutually may ſhare
Gladneſs, and Anguiſh, by kind Intercourſe
Of Speech, and Offices. May in my Mind,
Indelible a grateful Senſe remain
Of Favours undeſerv'd!—O Thou! from whom
Gladly both Rich, and Low ſeek Aid; moſt Wiſe
Interpreter of Right, whoſe gracious Voice
Breaths Equity, and curbs too rigid Law
With mild, impartial Reaſon; what Returns
Of Thanks are due to Thy Beneficence
Freely vouchſafe, when to the Gates of Death
I tended prone? If Thy indulgent Care
Had not preven'd, among unbody'd Shades
I now had wander'd; and theſe empty Thoughts
Of Apples periſh'd: But, uprais'd by Thee,
I [...]une my Pipe afreſh, each Night, and Day
[21]Thy unexampled Goodneſs to extoll
Deſirous; but nor Night, nor Day ſuffice
For that great Task; the highly Honour'd Name
Of Trevor muſt employ my willing Thoughts
[...]nceſſant, dwell for ever on my Tongue.
Let me be grateful, but let far from me
Be fawning Cringe, and falſe diſſembling Look,
And ſervile Flattery, that harbours oft
[...]n Courts, and gilded Roofs. Some looſe the Bands
Of ancient Friendſhip, cancel Nature's Laws
[...]or Pageantry, and tawdry Gugaws. Some
[...]enounce their Sires, oppoſe paternal Right
[...]or Rule, and Power; and other's Realms invade,
With ſpecious Shews of Love. This traiterous Wretch
[...]etrays his Sov'ran. Others, deſtitute
Of real Zeal, to ev'ry Altar bend,
[...]y Lucre ſway'd, and act the baſeſt Things
To be ſtyl'd Honourable: Th' Honeſt Man,
[...]imple of Heart, prefers inglorious Want
[...]o ill-got VVealth; rather from Door to Door
[...]jocund Pilgrim, tho' diſtreſs'd, he'll rove,
[...]han break his plighted Faith; nor Fear, nor Hope,
Will ſhock his ſtedfaſt Soul; rather debar'd
[...]ach common Privilege, cut off from Hopes
[...]f meaneſt Gain, of preſent Goods deſpoil'd,
[...]e'll bear the Marks of Infamy, contemn'd,
[...]npity'd; yet his Mind, of Evil pure,
[...]pports him, and Intention free from Fraud.
[...]no Retinue with obſervant Eyes
[...]ttend him, if he can't with purple ſtain
[...]f cumbrous Veſtments, labour'd o'er with Gold,
[...]zle the Croud, and ſet them all agape;
[...] clad in homely VVeeds, from Envy's Darts
[...]emote he lives, nor knows the nightly Pangs
[...] Conſcience, nor with Spectre's griſly Forms,
[...]emors, and injur'd Souls, at Cloſe of Day
[...]noy'd, ſad interrupted Slumbers finds.
[...]t as a Child, whoſe inexperienc'd Age
[22]Nor evil Purpoſe fears nor knows,) enjoys
Night's ſweet Refreſhment, humid Sleep, ſincere,
VVhen Chaunticleer, with Clarion ſhrill, recalls
The tardy Day he to his Labours hies
Gladſome, intent on ſomewhat that may eaſe
Unhealthy Mortals, and with curious Search
Examines all the Properties of Herbs,
Foſſils, and Minerals, that embowell'd Earth
Diſplays, if by his Induſtry he can
Benefit Human Race: Or elſe his Thoughts
Are exercis'd with Speculations deep
Of Good, and Juſt, and Meet, and the wholſome Rule
Of Temperance, and aught that may improve
The moral Life; not ſedulous to rail,
Nor with envenom'd Tongue to blaſt the Fame
Of harmleſs Men, or ſecret Whiſpers ſpread,
'Mong faithful Friends to breed Diſtruſt, and Hate
Studious of Virtue, he no Life obſerves
Except his own, his own employs his Cares,
Large Subject! that he labour to refine
Daily, nor of his little Stock denies
Fit Alms to Lazars, merciful, and meek.
Thus ſacred Virgil liv'd, from courtly Vice,
And Baits of pompous Rome ſecure; at Court
Still thoughtful of the rural honeſt Life,
And how t'improve his Grounds, and how himſelf:
Beſt Poet! fit Exempler for the Tribe
Of Phaebus, nor leſs fit Maeonides.
Poor eyleſs Pilgrim! and if after theſe,
If after theſe another I may name,
Thus tender Spencer liv'd with mean Repaſt
Content, depreſs'd by Penury, and Pine
In Foreign Realm: Yet not debas'd his Verſe
By Fortunes Frown. And had that Other Bard,
Oh, had but He that firſt enobled Song
With holy Raptures, like his Abdiel been,
'Mong many faithleſs ſtrictly faithful found;
Unpity'd, he ſhould nor have wail'd his Orbs,
[23]That roll'd in vain to find the piercing Ray,
And found no Dawn, by dim Suffuſion veild!
But He—However, let the Muſe abſtain,
Nor blaſt his Fame, from whom ſhe learnt to ſing
In much inferior Strains, grov'ling beneath
Th' Olympian Hill, on Plains, and Vales intent,
Mean Follower. There let her reſt a while,
Pleas'd with the fragrant Walks, and cool Retreat.

CYDER. Book II.

O Hartcourt, Whom th' ingenious Love of Arts
Has carry'd from thy native Soil, beyond
Th' eternal Alpine Snows, and now detains
In Italy's waſte Realms, how long muſt we
Lament Thy Abſence? Whilſt in ſweet Sojourn
Thou view'ſt the Reliques of old Rome; or what,
Unrival'd Authors by their Preſence; made
For ever venerable, rural Seats,
Tibur, and Tuſculum, or Virgil's Urn
Green with immortal Bays, which haply Thou,
Reſpecting his great Name, doſt now approach
With bended Knee, and ſtrow with purple Flow'rs;
Unmindful of Thy Friends, that ill can brook
This long Delay. At length, Dear Youth, return,
Of Wit, and Judgment ripe in blooming Years,
And Britain's Iſle with Latian Knowledge grace.
Return, and let Thy Father's VVorth excite
Thirſt of Preeminence; ſee! how the Cauſe
Of Widows, and of Orphans He aſſerts
With winning Rhetoric, and well argu'd Law!
Mark well His Footſteps, and, like Him, deſerve
Thy Prince's Favour, and thy Country's Love.
Mean while (altho' the Maſſie Grape delights
Pregnant of racy Juice, and Formian Hills
Temper Thy Cups, yet) wilt not Thou reject
[24]Thy native Liquors: Lo! for Thee my Mill
How grinds choice Apples, and the Britiſh Vats
O'erflow with generous Cyder; far remote
Accept this Labour, nor deſpiſe the Muſe,
That, paſſing Lands, and Seas, on Thee attends.
Thus far of Trees: The pleaſing Task remains,
To ſing of VVines, and Autumn's bleſt Increaſe.
Th' Effects of Art are ſhewn, yet what avails
'Gainſt Heav'n? Oft, notwithſtanding all thy Care
To help thy Plants, when the ſmall Fruit'ry ſeems
Exempt from Ills, an oriential Blaſt
Diſaſtrous flies, ſoon as the Hind, fatigu'd,
Unyokes his Team; the tender Freight, unskill'd
To bear the hot Diſeaſe, diſtemper'd pines
In the Year's Prime, the deadly Plague annoys
The wide Incloſure; think not vainly now
To treat thy Neighbours with mellifluous Cups,
Thus diſappointed: If the former Years
Exhibit no Supplies, alas! thou muſt,
With taſtleſs VVater waſh thy Droughty Throat.
A thouſand Accidents the Farmer's Hopes
Subvert, or checque; uncertain all his Toil,
'Till luſty Autumn's luke-warm Days, allay'd
VVith gentle Colds, inſenſibly confirm
His ripening Labours: Autumn to the Fruits
Earth's various Lap produces, Vigour gives
Equal, intenerating milky Grain,
Berries, and Sky-dy'd Plums, and what in Coat
Rough, or ſoft Rind, or bearded Husk, or Shell;
Fat Olives, and Piſtacio's fragrant Nut,
And the Pine's taſtful Apple: Autumn paints
Auſonian Hills with Grapes, whilſt Engliſh Plains
Bluſh with pomaceous Harveſts, breathing Sweets.
O let me now, when the kind early Dew
Unlocks th' emboſom'd Odors, walk among
The well rang'd Files of Trees, whoſe full-ag'd Sto [...]
Diffuſe Ambroſial Streams, than Myrrh, or Nard
More grateful, or perfuming flow'ry Beane:
[25]Soft whiſp'ring Airs, and the Larks mattin Song
Then woo to muſing, and becalm the Mind
Perplex'd with irkſome Thoughts. Thrice happy time,
Beſt Portion of the various Year, in which
Nature rejoyceth, ſmiling on her VVorks
Lovely, to full Perfection wrought! but ah,
Short are our Joys, and neighb'ring Grief diſturb
Our pleaſant Hours. Inclement VVinter dwells
Contiguous; forthwith froſty Blaſts deface
The blithſome Year: Trees of their ſhrivel'd Fruits
Are widow'd, dreery Storms o'er all prevail.
Now, now's the time; e'er haſty Suns forbid
To work, disburthen thou thy ſapleſs Wood
Of its rich Progeny; the turgid Fruit
Abounds with mellow Liquor; now exhort
Thy Hinds to exerciſe the pointed Steel
On the hard Rock, and give a wheely Form
To the expected Grinder: Now prepare
Materials for thy Mill, a ſturdy Poſt
Cylindric, to ſupport the Grinder's Weight
Exceſſive, and a flexile Sallow entrench'd,
Rounding, capacious of the juicy Hord.
Nor muſt thou not be mindful of thy Preſs
Long e'er the Vintage; but with timely Care
Shave the Goats ſhaggy Beard, leaſt thou too late,
In vain ſhoud'ſt ſeek a Strainer, to diſpart
The husky, terrene Dregs, from purer Muſt.
Be cautious next a proper Steed to find,
VVhoſe Prime is paſt; the vigorous Horſe diſdains
Such ſervile Labours, or if forc'd, forgets
His paſt Atchievements, and victorious Palms.
Blind Bayard rather, worn with VVork, and Years,
Shall roll th' unwieldy Stone; with ſober Pace
He'll tread the cirkcling Path 'till dewy Eve,
From early Day-ſpring, pleas'd to find his Ag [...]
Declining, unuſeful to his Lord.
Some, when the Preſs, by utmoſt Vigour [...]w'd
Has drain'd the pulpous Maſs, regale their Swine
[26]VVith the dry Refuſe; thou more wiſe ſhalt ſteep
Thy Husks in VVater, and again employ
The pondrous Engine. VVater will imbibe
The ſmall Remains of Spirit, and acquire
A vinous Flavour; this the Peaſants bliſh
VVill quaff, and whiſtle, as thy tinkling Team
They drive and ſing of Fuſcae's radiant Eyes,
Pleas'd with the medly Draught. Nor ſhalt thou now
Reject the Apple-Cheeſe, tho' quite exhauſt;
Ev'n now 'twill cheriſh, and improve the Roots
Of ſickly Plants; new Vigour hence convey'd
VVill yield an Harveſt of unuſual Growth.
Such Profit ſpring from Musk diſcreetly us'd!
The tender Apples, from their Parents rent
By ſtormy Shocks, muſt not neglected lye,
The Prey of VVorms: A frugal Man I knew
Rich in one barren Acre, which, ſubdu'd
By endleſs Culture, with ſufficient Muſt
His Casks repleniſht yearly: He no more
Deſir'd, nor wanted, diligent to learn
The various Seaſons, and by Skill repell
Invading Peſts, ſucceſsful in his Cares,
'Till the damp Lybion VVind, with Tempeſts arm'd
Outrageous, bluſter'd horrible amidſt
His Cyder-Grove: O'er-turn'd by furious blaſts,
The ſightly Ranks fall proſtrate, and around
Their Fruitage ſcatter'd, from the genial Boughs
Stript immature: Yet did he not repine,
Nor curſe his Stars; but prudent, his fall'n Heaps
Collecting, cheriſh'd with the tepid Wreaths
Of teddid Grafts, and the Sun's mellowing Beams
Rival'd with artful Heats, and thence procur'd
A coſtly Liquor, by improving Time
Equal'd with what, the happieſt Vintage [...]ears
But this I warn Thee, and ſhall alway warn
No heterogeneous Mixtures uſe, as ſome
With watry Turneps have debas'd their Wines,
Too frugal; nor let the crude Humors dance
[27]In heated Braſs, ſteaming with Fire intenſe;
Altho' Devonia much commends the Uſe
Of ſtrengthening Vulcan; with their native Strength
Thy Wines ſufficient, other Aid refuſe;
And, when th' allotted Orb of Time's compleat,
Are more commended than the labour'd Drinks.
Nor let thy Avarice tempt thee to withdraw
The Prieſt's appointed Share; with cheerful Heart
The tenth of thy Increaſe beſtow and own
Hea'v'ns bounteous Goodneſs, that will ſure repay
Thy grateful Duty: This neglected fear
Signal Avengeance, ſuch as over-took
A Miſer, that unjuſtly once with-held
The Clergy's Due; relying on himſelf,
His Fields he tended with ſucceſsleſs Care,
Early, and late, when, or unwiſh't for Rain
Deſcended or unſeaſonable Froſts
Curb'd his increaſing Hopes, or when around
The Clouds dropt Fatneſs, in the middle Sky
The Dew ſuſpended ſtaid, and left unmoiſt
His execrable Glebe; recording this,
Be Juſt, and Wiſe, and tremble to tranſgreſs.
Learn now, the Promiſe of the coming Year
To know, that by no flattering Signs abus'd,
Thou wiſely may'ſt provide: The various Moon
Prophetick, and attendant Stars explain
Each riſing Dawn; e'er Icy Cruſts ſurmount
The current Stream, the heav'nly Orbs ſerene
Twinkle with trembling Rays, and Cynthia glows
With Light unſully'd: Now the Fowler, warn'd
By theſe good Omens, with ſwift early Steps
Treads the crimp Earth, ranging thro' Fields and Glades
Offenſive to the Birds, ſulphureous Death
Checques their mid Flight and heedleſs while they ſtrain
Their tuneful Throats, the tow'ring, heavy Lead
O'er-takes their Speed; they leave their little Lives
Above the Clouds, praecipitant to Earth.
[28]The VVoodcocks early Viſit, and Abode
Of long Continuance in our temperate Clime,
Foretell a liberal Harveſt: He of Times
Intelligent, th' harſh Hyperborean Ice
Shuns for our equal Winters; when our Suns
Cleave the chill'd Soil, he backward wings his Way
To Scandinavian frozen Summers, meet
For his num'd Blood. But nothing profits more
Than frequent Snows: O, may'ſt Thou often ſee
Thy Furrows whiten'd by the woolly Rain,
Nutricious / Secret Nitre lurks within
The porous Wet, quick'ning the languid Glebe.
Sometimes thou ſhalt with fervent Vows implore
A moderate Wind; the Orchat loves to wave
With Winter-Winds, before the Gems exert
Their feeble Heads; the looſen'd Roots then drink
Large Increment, Earneſt of happy Years.
Nor will it nothing profit to obſerve
The monthly Stars, their pow'rful Influence
O'er planted Fields, what Vegetables reign
Under each Sign. On our Account has Jove
Indulgent, to all Moons ſome ſucculent Plant
Allotted, that poor, helpleſs Man might ſlack
His preſent Thirſt, and Matter find for Toil:
Now will the Corinths, now the Raſps ſupply
Delicious Draughts; the Quinces now, or Plums,
Or Cherries, or the fair Thisbein Fruit
Are preſt to Wines; the Britons ſqueeze the Works
Of ſedulous Bees, and mixing od'rous Herbs
Prepare balſamic Cups, to wheezing Lungs
Medicinal, and ſhort breath'd, ancient Sires.
But, if Thou'rt indefatigably bent
To toil, and omnifarious Drinks wou'dſt brew;
Beſides the Orchat, ev'ry Hedge, and Buſh
Affords Aſſiſtance; ev'n afflictive Bi [...]ch,
Curs'd by unletter'd, idle Youth, diſtills
A limpid Current from her wounded Bark,
Profuſe of nurſing Sap. When Solar Beams
[29]Parch thirſty human Veins, the damask't Meads,
Unforc'd diſplay ten thouſand painted Flow'rs
Uſeful in Potables. Thy little Sons
Permit to range the Paſtures; gladly they
Will mow the Cowſlip-Poſies, faintly ſweet,
From whence thou artificial Wines ſhalt drain
Of icy Taſte, that, in mid Fervors, beſt
Slack craving Thirſt, and mitigate the Day.
Happy Irene, whoſe moſt wholeſome Air
Poiſons envenom'd Spiders, and forbids
The baleful Toad and Viper from her Shore!
More happy in her Balmy Draughts, (enrich'd
With Miſcellaneous Spices, and the Root
For Thirſt-abating Sweetneſs prais'd,) which wide
Extend her Fame, and to each drooping Heart
Preſent Redreſs, and lively Health convey.
See how the Belgae, Sedulous, and Stout,
With Bowls of fat'ning Mum, or bliſsful Cups
Of Kernell-reliſh'd Fluids, the fair Star
Of early Phoſphorus ſalute, at Noon
Jocund with frequent-riſing Fumes! by Uſe
Inſtructed, thus to quell their Native Flegm
Prevailing, and engender wayward Mirth.
What need to treat of diſtant Climes, remov'd
Far from the ſlopeing Journey of the Year,
Beyond Petſora, and Iſlandic Coaſts?
Where ever-during Snows perpetual Shades
Of Darkneſs, would congeal their livid Blood,
Did not the Arctic Tract, ſpontaneous yield
A cheering purple Berry, big with Wine,
Intenſely fervent, which each Hour they crave,
Spread round a flaming Pile of Pines, and oft
They interlard their native Drinks with choice
Of ſtrongeſt Brandy, yet ſcarce with theſe Aids
Enabl'd to prevent the ſuddain Rot
Of freezing Noſe, and quick-decaying Feet.
Nor leſs the Sable Borderers of Nile,
Nor who Taprobane manure, nor They,
[30]Whom ſunny Borneo bears, are ſtor'd with Streams
Egregious, Rum, and Rice's, Spirit extract.
For here, expos'd to perpendicular Rays,
In vain they covet Shades, and Thraſcia's Gales,
Pining with Aequinoctial Heat unleſs
The Cordial Glaſs perpetual Motion keep,
Quick circuiting; nor dare they cloſe their Eyes,
Void of a bulky Charger near their Lips,
With which, in often interrupted Sleep,
Their frying Blood compells to irrigate
Their dry-furr'd Tongues, elſe minutely to Death
Obnoxious, diſmal Death, th' Effect of Drought!
More happy they, born in Columbus' World,
Carybbes, and they, whom the Cotton Plant
With downy-ſprouting Veſts arrays! Their Woods
Bow with prodigious Nuts, that give at once
Celeſtial Food, and Nectar; than, at hand,
The Lemmon, uncorrupt with Voyage long
To vinous Spirits added (heav'nly Drink!)
They with Peneumatic Engine, ceaſeleſs draw,
Intent on Laughter; a continual Tide
Flows from th' exhilerating Fount. As, when
Againſt a ſecret Cliff, with ſuddain Shock
A Ship is daſh'd, and leaking drinks the Sea,
Th' aſtoniſh'd Mariners all ply the Pump,
No Stay, nor Reſt, 'till the wide Breach is clos'd,
So they (but chearful) unfatigu'd, ſtill move
The draining Sucker, then alone concern'd,
When the dry Bowl forbids their pleaſing Work.
But if to hording Thou art bent, thy Hopes
Are fruſtrate, ſhou'dſt Thou think thy Pipes will flow
VVith early-limpid VVine. The horded Store,
And the harſh Draught, muſt twice endure the Sun's
Kind ſtrengthning Heat, twice Winter's purging Cold.
There are, that a compounded Fluid drain
From different Mixtures, Woodcock, Pippin, Moyle,
Rough Eliot, ſweet Permain, the blended Streams
(Each mutually correcting each) create
[31]A pleaſurable Medly, of what Taſte
Hardly diſtinguiſh'd; as the ſhowry Arch,
With liſted Colours gay, Or, Azure, Gules,
Delights, and puzles the Beholder's Eye,
That views the watry Brede, with thouſand Shews
Of Painture vary'd, yet's unskill'd to tell
Or where one Colour riſes, or one faints.
Some Cyders have by Art, or Age unlearn'd
Their genuine Reliſh, and of ſundry Vines
Aſſum'd the Flavour; one ſort counterfeits
The Spaniſh Product, this, to Gauls has ſeem'd
The ſparkling Nectar of Champaigne; with that,
A German oft has ſwill'd his Throat, and ſworn,
Deluded, that Imperial Rhine beſtow'd
The Generous Rummer, whilſt the Owner pleaſ'd,
Laughs inly at his Gueſts, thus entertain'd
With Foreign Vintage from his Cyder-Cask.
Soon as thy Liquor from the narroct Cells
Of cloſe-preſt Husks is freed, thou muſt refrain
Thy thirſty Soul; let none perſuade to broach
Thy thick unwholſome, undigeſted Cades:
The hoary Froſts, and Northern Blaſts take care
Thy muddy Beu'rage to ſerene, and drive
Praecipitant the baſer, ropy Lees.
And now thy Wine's tranſpicuous, purg'd from all
It's earthy Groſs, yet led it feed a while
On the ſat Refuſe, leaſt too ſoon disjoin'd
From ſpritely, it, to ſharp, or vappid change.
When to convenient Vigour it attains,
Suffice it to provide a brazen Tube
Inflext; ſelf-taught, and voluntary flies
The deſecated Liquor, thro' the Vent
Aſcending, then by downward Tract convey'd,
Spouts into ſubject Veſſels, lovely clear.
As when a Noon-tide Sun, with Summer Beams,
Darts thro' a Cloud, her watry Skirts are edg'd
With lucid Amber, or undroſly Gold:
So, and ſo richly, the purg'd Liquid ſhines.
[32]Now alſo, when the Colds abate, nor yet
Full Summer ſhines, a dubious Seaſon, cloſe
In Glaſs thy purer Streams, and let them gain,
From due Confinement, Spirit, and Flavour new
For this Intent, the ſubtle Chymiſt feeds
Perpetual Flames, whoſe unreſiſted Force
O'er Sand, and Aſhes, and the ſtubborn Flint
Prevailing, turns into a fuſil Sea,
That in his Furnace bubbles ſunny-red:
From hence a glowing Drop with hollow'd Steel
He takes, and by one efficadious Breath
Dilates to a ſurprizing Cube, or Sphaere,
Or Oval, and fit Receptacles forms
For every liquid, with his plaſtick Lungs,
To human Life ſubſervient; by his Means
Cyders in Metal frail improve; the Moyle,
And taſtful Pippin, in a Moon's ſhort Year,
Acquire compleat Perfection: Now they ſmoke
Tranſparent, ſparkling in each Drop Delight
Of curious Palate, by fair Virgins crav'd.
But harſher Fluids different lengths of time
Expect: Thy Flask will ſlowly mitigate
The Eliot's Roughneſs. Stirom, firmeſt Fruit,
Embottled (long as Priameian Troy
Withſtood the Greeks) endures, e'er juſtly mild.
Soften'd by Age, it youthful Vigor gains,
Fallacious Drink! Ye honeſt Men beware,
Nor truſt its Smoothleſs; The third circling Glaſs
Suffices Virtue: But may Hypocrites,
(That ſlyly ſpeak one thing, another think,
Hateful as Hell) pleas'd with the Reliſh weak,
Drink on unwarn'd, 'till by inchanting Cups
Infatuate, they their wily Thoughts diſcloſe,
And thro' Intemperance grow a while ſincere.
The Farmer's Toil is done; his Cades mature,
Now call for Vent, his Lands exhauſt permit
T'indulge a while. Now ſolemn Rites he pays
To Bacchus, Author of Heart-cheering Mirth.
[33]His honeſt Friends, at thirſty hour of Dusk,
Come uninvited; he with bounteous Hand
Imparts his ſmoaking Vintage, ſweet Reward
Of his own Induſtry; the well-fraught Bowl
Circles inceſſant, whilſt the humble Cell
With quavering Laugh, and rural Jeſts reſounds,
Eaſe, and Content, and undiſſembled Love
Shine in each Face; the Thoughts of Labour paſt
Encreaſe their Joy. As, from retentive Cage
When ſullen Philomel eſcapes; her Notes
She varies, and oft paſt Impriſonment
Sweetly complains; her Liberty retriev'd
Cheers her ſad Soul, improves her pleaſing Song.
Gladſome they quaff, yet not exceeding the Bounds
Of healthy Temp'rance, nor incroach on Night,
Seaſon of Reſt, but well bedew'd repair
Each to his Home, with unſupplanted Feet.
E'er Heav'n's emblazon'd by the roſie Dawn
Domeſtic Cares awake them; brisk they riſe,
Refreſh'd, and lively with the Joys that flow
From amicable Talk, and moderate Cups
Sweetly interchang'd. The pining Lover finds
Preſent Redreſs, and long Oblivion drinks
Of Coy Lucinda. Give the Debtor Wine;
His Joys are ſhort, and few; yet when he drinks
His Dread retires, the flowing Glaſſes add
Courage, and Mirth; Magnificent in Thought,
Imaginary Riches he enjoys,
And in the Goal expatiates unconfin'd.
Nor can the Poet Bacchus' Praiſe indite,
Debarr'd his Grape: The Muſes ſtill require
Humid Regalement, nor will ought avail
Imploring Phoebus, with unmoiſten'd Lips.
Thus to the generous Bottle all incline,
By parching Thirſt allur'd: With vehement Suns
When duſty Summer bakes the crumbling Clods,
How pleaſant is't, beneath the twiſted Arch
Of a retreating Bow'r, in Mid-day's Reign
[32] [...][33] [...]
[34]To ply the ſweet Carouſe, remote from Noiſe,
Secur'd of fev'riſh Heats! When th' aged Year
Inclines, and Borea's Spirit bluſters frore,
Beware th' inclement Heav'ns; now let thy Hearth
Crackle with juiceleſs Boughs; thy lingring Blood
Now inſtigate with th' Apples powerful Streams
Perpetual Showers, and ſtormy Guſts confine
The willing Ploughman, and December warns
To Annual Jollities; now ſportive Youth
Carol incondite Rhythms, with ſuiting Notes,
And quaver unharmonious; ſturdy Swains
In clear Array, for ruſtic Dance prepare,
Mixt with the Buxom Damſels; hand in hand
They frisk, and bound, and various Mazes weave,
Shaking their brawny Limbs, with uncouth Mein,
Tranſported, and ſometimes, an oblique Leer
Dart on their Loves, ſometimes, an haſty Kiſs
Steal from unwary Laſſes; they with Scorn,
And Neck reclind, reſent the raviſh'd Bliſs.
Mean while, blind Britiſh Bards with volant Touch
Traverſe loquacious Strings, whoſe ſolemn Notes
Provoke to harmleſs Revels; theſe among,
A ſubtle Artiſt ſtands, in wondrous Bag
That bears impriſon'd Winds, (of gentler ſort
Than thoſe, which erſt Laertes Son enclos'd.)
Peaceful they ſleep, but let the tuneful Squeeze
Of labouring Elbow rouſe them, out they fly
Melodious, and with ſpritely Accents charm.
'Midſt theſe Diſports, forget they not to drench
Themſelves with bellying Goblets, nor when Spring
Returns, can they refuſe to uſher in
The freſh-born Year with loud Acclaim, and ſtore
Of jovial Draughts, now, when the ſappy Boughs
Attire themſelves with Blooms, ſweet Rudiments
Of future Harveſt: When the Gnoſſian Crown
Leads on expected Autumn, and the Trees
Diſcharge their mellow Burthens, let them thank
Boon Nature, that thus annually ſupplies
[35]Their Vaults, and with her former Liquid Gifts
Exhilerate their lanquid Minds, within
The Golden Mean confin'd: Beyond, there's naught
Of Health, or Pleaſure. Therefore, when thy Heart
Dilates with fervent Joys, and eager Soul
Prompts to purſue the ſparkling Glaſs, be ſure
'Tis time to ſhun it; if thou wilt prolong
Dire Compotation, forthwith Reaſon quits
Her Empire to Confuſion, and Miſrule,
And vain Debates; then twenty Tongues at once
Conſpire in ſenſeleſs Jargon, naught is heard
But Din, and various Clamour, and mad Rant:
Diſtruſt, and Jealouſie to theſe ſucceed,
And anger-kindling Taunt, the certain Bane
Of well-knit Fellowſhip. Now horrid Frays
Commence, the brimming Glaſſes now are hurl'd
With dire Intent; Bottles with Bottles claſh
In rude Encounter, round their Temples fly
The ſharp-edg'd Fragments, down their batter'd Cheeks
Mixt Gore, and Cyder flow: What ſhall we ſay
Of raſh Elpenor, who in evil Hour
Dry'd an immeaſurable Bowl, and thought
T'exhale his Surfeit by irriguous Sleep,
Imprudent? Him, Death's Iron-Sleep oppreſt,
Deſcending careleſs from his Couch; the Fall
Luxt his Neck-joint, and ſpinal Marrow bruis'd.
Nor need we tell what anxious Cares attend
The turbulent Mirth of Wine; nor all the kinds
Of Maladies, that lead to Death's grim Cave,
Wrought by Intemperance, joint racking Gout,
Inteſtine Stone, and pining Atrophy,
Chill, even when the Sun with July-Heats
Frys the ſcorch'd Soil, and Dropſy all a-float,
Yet craving Liquid: Nor the Centaurs Tale
Be here repeated; how with Luſt, and Wine
Inflam'd, they fought, and ſpilt their drunken Souls
At feaſting Hour. Ye Heav'nly Pow'rs, that guard
The Britiſh Iſles, ſuch dire Events remove
[36]Far from fair Albion, nor let Civil Broils
Ferment from Social Cups: May we, remote
From the hoarce, brazen Sound of War, enjoy
Our humid Products, and with ſeemly Draughts
Enkindle Mirth, and Hoſpitable Love.
Too oft alas! has mutual Hatred drench'd
Our Swords in Native Blood, too oft has Pride,
And helliſh Diſcord, and inſatiate Thirſt
Of other's Rights, our Quiet diſcompos'd.
Have we forgot, how fell Deſtruction rag'd
Wide-ſpreading, when by Eris' Torch incens'd
Our Fathers warr'd? What Hero's, ſignaliz'd
For Loyalty, and Proweſs, met their Fate
Untimely, undeſerv'd! How Bertie fell,
Compton, and Gravill, dauntleſs Sons of Mars,
Fit Themes of endleſs Grief, but that we view
Their Virtues yet ſurviving in their Race!
Can we forget, how the mad, headſtrong Rout
Defy'd their Prince to Arms, nor made account
Of Faith, or Duty, or Allegiance ſworn?
Apoſtate, Atheiſt Rebels! bent to Ill,
With ſeeming Sanctity, and cover'd Fraud,
Inſtill'd by him, who firſt preſum'd t' oppoſe
Omnipotence; alike their Crime, th' Event
Was not alike; theſe triumph'd, and in height
Of barbarous Malice, and inſulting Pride,
Abſtain'd not from Imperial Blood. O Fact
Unparallel'd! O Charles! O beſt of Kings!
What Stars their black, diſaſtrous Influence ſhed
On Thy Nativity, that Thou ſhoud'ſt fall
Thus, by inglorious Hands, in this Thy Realm,
Supreme, and Innocent, adjudg'd to Death
By thoſe, Thy Mercy only wou'd haye ſav'd!
Yet was the Cyder-Land unſtain'd with Guilt;
The Cyder-Land, obſequious ſtill to Thrones,
Abhor'd ſuch baſe, diſloyal Deeds, and all
Her Pruning-hooks extended into Swords,
Undaunted, to aſſert the trampled Rights
Of Monarchy; but, ah! ſucceſsleſs She
[37]However faithful! then was no regard
Of Right, or Wrong. And this, once happy Land,
By home-bred Fury rent, long groan'd beneath
Tyrannic Sway, 'till fair revolving Years
Our exil'd Kings, and Liberty reſtor'd.
Now we exult, by mighty ANNA's Care
Secure at home, while She to foreign Realms
Sends forth her dreadful Legions, and reſtrains
The Rage of Kings: Here, nobly She ſupports
Juſtice oppreſs'd; here Her victorious Arms
Quell the Ambitions: From Her Hand alone
All Europe fears Revenge, or hopes Redreſs.
Rejoice, O Albion! ſever'd from the World
By Nature's wiſe indulgence, indigent
Of nothing from without; in One Supreme
Intirely bleſt; and from beginning time
Deſign'd thus happy; but the fond Deſire
Of Rule, and Grandeur, multiply'd a Race
Of Kings, and numerous Sceptres introduc'd,
Deſtructive of the public Weal: For now
Each Potentate, as wary Fear, or Strength,
Or Emulation urg'd, his Neighbour's Bounds
Invades, and ampler Territory ſeeks
With ruinous Aſſault; on every Plain
Hoſt cop'd with Hoſt, dire was the Din of War,
And ceaſeleſs, or ſhort Truce haply procur'd
By Havoc, and Diſmay, 'till Jealouſy
Rais'd new Combuſtion: Thus was Peace in vain
Sought for by Martial Deeds, and Conflict ſtern:
'Till Edgar grateful (as to thoſe who pine
A diſmal half-Year Night, the orient Beam
Of Phaebus Lamp) aroſe, and into one
Cemented all the long-contending Pow'rs,
Pacific Monarch; then Her lovely Head
Concord rear'd high, and all around diſtas'd
The Spirit of Love; at Eaſe, the Bards new ſtrung
Their ſilent Harps, and taught the Woods, and Vales,
In uncouth Rhythms, to eccho Edgar's Name.
Then Gladneſs ſmil'd in every Eye; the Years
[38]Ran ſmoothly on, productive of a Line
Of wiſe, Heroic Kings, that by juſt Laws
Eſtabliſh'd Happineſs at home, or cruſh'd
Inſulting Enemies in fartheſt Climes.
See Lyon-Hearted Richard, with his Force
Drawn from the North, to Jury's hallow'd Plains!
Piouſly valiant, (like a Torrent ſwell'd
With wintry Tempeſts, that diſdains all Mounds,
Breaking a Way impetuous, and involves
Within its Sweep, Trees, Houſes, Men) he preſs'd
Amidſt the thickeſt Battel; and o'er-threw
Whate'er withſtood his zealous Rage; no Pauſe,
No Stay of Slaughter, found his vigorous Arm,
But th' unbelieving Squadrons turn'd to Flight
Smote in the Rear, and with diſhoneſt Wounds
Mangl'd behind: The Soldan, as he fled,
Oft call'd on Alla, gnaſhing with Deſpite,
And Shame, and murmur'd many an Empty Curſe.
Behold Third Edward's Streamers blazing high
On Gallia's hoſtile Ground! his Right with-held,
Awakens Vengeance; O imprudent Gauls,
Relying on falſe Hopes, thus to incenſe
The warlike Engliſh! one important Day
Shall teach you meaner Thoughts: Eager of Fight,
Fierce Brutus Off-ſpring to the adverſe Front
Advance reſiſtleſs, and their deep Array
With furious Inroad pierce; the mighty Force
Of Edward, twice o'erturn'd their deſperate King,
Twice he aroſe, and join'd the horrid Shock:
The third time, with his wide extended Wings,
He fugitive declin'd ſuperior Strength,
Diſcomfited; purſu'd, in the ſad Chace
Ten Thouſands ignominious fall; with Blood
The Vallies float: Great Edward thus aveng'd,
With golden Iris his broad Sheild emboſs'd.
Thrice glorious Prince! whom, Fame with all her Tongues
For ever ſhall reſound. Yet from his Loins
[39]New Authors of Diſſention ſpring; from him
Two Branches, that in hoſting long contend
For Sov'rain Sway; (and can ſuch Anger dwell
In nobleſt Minds?) but little now avail'd
The Ties of Friendſhip; every Man, as lead
By Inclination, or vain Hope, repair'd
To either Camp, and breath'd immortal Hate,
And dire Revenge: Now horrid Slaughter reigns;
Sons againſt Father tilt the fatal Lance,
Careleſs of Duty, and their native Grounds
Diſtain with Kindred Blood, the twanging Bows
Send Showers of Shafts, that on their barbed Points
Alternate Ruin bear. Here might you ſee
Barons, and Peaſants on th' embottled Field
Slain, or half dead, in one huge, ghaſtly Heap
Promiſcuouſly amaſt: with diſmal Groans,
And Ejulation, in the Pangs of Death
Some call for Aid, neglected; ſome o'erturn'd
In the fierce Shock, lye gaſping, and expire,
Trampled by fiery Courſers; Horror thus,
And wild Uproar, and Deſolation reign'd
Unreſpited: Ah! who at length will end
This long, pernicious Fray? What Man has Fate
Reſerv'd for this great Work?—Hail, happy Prince
Of Tuder's Race, whom in the Womb of Time
Cadwallador foreſaw! Thou, Thou art He,
Great Richmond Henry, that by nuptial Rites
Muſt cloſe the Gates of Janus, and remove
Deſtructive Diſcord: Now no more the Drum
Provokes to Arms, or Trumpet's Clangor ſhrill
Affrights the Wives, or chills the Virgin's Blood;
But Joy, and Pleaſure open to the View
Uninterrupted! With preſaging Skill
Thou to Thy own uniteſt Fergus' Line
By wiſe Alliance; from thee James deſcends,
Heav'ns choſen Fav'rite, firſt Britannic King.
To him alone, Hereditary Right
Gave Power ſupreme; yet ſtill ſome Seeds remain'd
[40]Of Diſcontent; Two Nations under One,
In Laws and Int'reſt diverſe, ſtill purſu'd
Peculiar Ends, on each Side reſolute
To fly Conjunction; neither Fear, nor Hope,
Nor the ſweet Proſpect of a mutual Gain,
Cou'd ought avail, 'till prudent ANNA ſaid
Let there be ƲNION; ſtrait with Reverence due
To Her Command, they willingly unite,
One in Affection, Laws, and Government,
Indiſſolubly firm; from Dubris South,
To Northern Orcades, Her long Domain.
And now thus leagu'd by an eternal Bond,
What ſhall retard the Britons' bold Deſigns,
Or who ſuſtain their Force; in Union knit,
Sufficient to withſtand the Pow'rs combin'd
Of all this Globe? At this important Act
The Mauritanian and Cathaian Kings
Already tremble, and th' unbaptiz'd Turk
Dreads War from utmoſt Thule; uncontrol'd
The Britiſh Navy thro' the Ocean vaſt
Shall wave her double Croſs, t' extreameſt Climes
Terrifie, and return with odorous Spoils
Of Araby well fraught, or Indus' Wealth,
Pearl, and Barbaric Gold; mean while the Swains
Shall unmoleſted reap, what Plenty ſtrows
From well ſtor'd Horn, rich Grain, and timely Fruits
The elder Year, Pomona, pleas'd, ſhall deck
With ruby-tinctur'd Births, whoſe liquid Store
Abundant, flowing in well blended Streams,
The Natives ſhall applaud; while glad the talk
Of baleful Ills, caus'd by Bellona's Wrath
In other Realms; where e'er the Britiſh ſpread
Triumphant Banners, or their Fame has reach'd
Diffuſive to the utmoſt Bounds of this
Wiſe Univerſe, Silurian Cyder borne
Shall pleaſe all Taſts, and triumph o'er the Vine.
THE END.

THE SPLENDID SHILLING: IN Imitation of MILTON.

[41]
—Sing Heav'nly Muſe,
Things unattempted yet in Proſe or Rhyme,
A Shilling, Breeches, and Chimera's dire.
HAppy the Man, who void of Cares and Strife,
In Silken or in Leathern Purſe retains
A Splendid Shilling: he not hears with pain
New Oyſters cry'd, nor ſighs for cheerful Ale;
But with his Friends, when nightly Miſts ariſe,
To Juniper's, or Magpye, or Town-Hall repairs,
Where mindful of the Nymph, whoſe wanton Eye,
Transfix'd his Soul, and kindled Amorous Flames.
Chloe or Phillis; he each Circling Glaſs
Wiſheth her Health, and Joy, and equal Love.
Mean while he Smoaks, and Laughs at merry Tale,
Or Pun ambiguous, or Conundrum quaint.
But I whom griping Penury ſurrounds,
And Hunger, ſure Attendant upon Want,
With ſcanty Offals, and ſmall acid Tiff
(Wretched Repaſt) my meagre Corps ſuſtain;
Then Solitary walk, or doze at home
In Garret vile, and with a warming puff
Regale chill'd Fingers, or from Tube as blac [...]
As Winter's Chimney, or well-poliſh'd Jett,
[42]Exhale Mundungus, ill-perfuming Smoak.
Not blacker Tube, nor of a ſhorter Size
Smoaks Cambro-Britain (vers'd in Pedigree,
Sprung from Cadwalader and Arthur, ancient Kings,
Full famous in Romantick tale) when he
O'r [...] many a craggy Hill, and fruitleſs Cliff.
Upon a Cargo of fam'd Ceſtrian Cheeſe,
High over-ſhadowing rides, with a deſign
Te vend his Wares, or at the Arvonian Mart,
Or Maridunum, or the ancient Town
Hight Morgannumia, or where Vaga's Stream
Encircles Ariconium, fruitful Soil,
Whence flow Nectareous Wines, that well may vye
With Maſſic, Setian, or Renown'd Falern.
Thus while my joyleſs Hours I lingring ſpend,
With Looks demure, and ſilent pace a Dund,
Horrible Monſter! hated by Gods and Men,
To my aerial Citadel aſcends;
With Vocal Heel thrice Thund'ring at my Gates,
With hideous Accent thrice he calls; I know
The Voice ill boding, and the ſolemn Sound;
What ſhou'd I do, or whether turn? amaz'd,
Confounded, to the dark Receſs I fly
Of Woodhole; ſtreight my briſtling Hairs erect,
My Tongue forgets her Faculty of Speech,
So horrible he ſeems; his faded Brow
Entrench'd with many a Frown, and conic Beard,
And ſpreading Band admir'd by Modern Saint
Diſaſtrous Acts forbode; in his Right hand
Long Scrolls of Paper ſolemnly he waves,
With Characters and Figures dire inſcribed
Grievous to mortal Eye, (ye Gods avert
Such Plagues from Righteous Men) behind him ſtalks
Another Monſter, not unlike himſelf,
Of Aſpect ſullen, by the Vulgar called
A Catchpole, whoſe polluted hands the Gods
With Force incredible, and Magic Charms
Erſt have indu'd, if he his ample Palm
[43]Should haply on ill-fated Shoulder lay
Of Debtor, ſtreight his Body to the touch
Obſequious (as Whilom Knights were wont)
To ſome enchanted Caſtle is convey'd,
Where Gates impregnable, and coercive Charm
In durance vile detain him, till in form
Of Money, Pallas ſet the Captive free.
Beware, ye Debtors, when ye walk, beware,
Be circumſpect; oft which inſiduous Ken,
This Caitiff eyes your ſteps alooff, and oft
Lies perdue in a Creek or gloomy Cave,
Prompt to enchant ſome inadvertent wretch
With his unhallow'd Touch. So (Poets ſing)
Grimalkin to Domeſtick Vermin ſworn
An everlaſting Foe, with watchful eye,
Lyes nightly brooding ore a chinky gap,
Protending her fell claws, to thoughtleſs Mice
Sure ruin. So her diſembowell'd Web
The Spider in a Hall or Kitchin ſpreads,
Obvious to vagrant Flies: ſhe ſecret ſtands
Within her woven Cell; the Humming Prey
Regardleſs of their Fate, ruſh on the toils
Inextricable, nor will ought avail
Their Arts nor Arms, nor ſhapes of lovely Hue,
The Waſp inſidious, and the buzzing Drone,
And Butterfly proud of expanded Wings
Diſtinct with Gold, entangled in her Snares,
Uſeleſs reſiſtance make: with eager ſtrides
She tow'ring flies to her expected Spoils;
Then with envenom'd Jaws the vatal Blood
Drinks of reluctant Foes, and to her Cave
Their bulky Carcaſſes triumphant drags.
So paſs my days. But when Nocturnal Shades
This World invelop, and th' inclement Air
Perſwades Men to repel benumming Froſts,
With pleaſant Wines, and crackling blaze of Wood;
Me lonely ſitting, nor the glimmering Light
Of make-weight Candle, nor the joyous talk
[44]Of lovely friends delights; diſtreſs'd, forlorn,
Amidſt the Horrors of the tedious Night,
Darkling I ſigh, and feed with diſmal Thoughts
My anxious Mind; or ſometimes mournful Verſe
Indite, and ſing of Groves and Myrtle Shades,
Or deſperate Lady near a purling ſtream,
Or Lover pendant on a Willow-tree:
Mean while I labour with eternal drought,
And reſtleſs wiſh, in vain, my parched Throat
Finds no relief, nor heavy Eyes repoſe:
But if a Slumber haply do's invade
My weary Limbs, my Fancy ſtill awake,
Longing for Drink, and eager in my Dream,
Tipples Imaginary Pots of Ale.
Awake, I find the ſetled Thirſt—
Still gnawing, and the pleaſant Phantom curſe.
Thus do I live from Pleaſure quite debarr'd,
Nor taſt the Fruits that the Sun's genial Rays
Mature, John-apple, nor the Downy Peach,
Nor Walnut in rough-furrow'd Coat ſecure,
Nor Medlar Fruit delicious in decay;
Afflictions great, yet greater ſtill remain,
My Galligaskins that have long withſtood
The Winter's Fury, and encroaching Froſts,
By Time ſubdu'd, (what will not Time ſubdue!
A horrid Chaſm diſcloſe, with Orifice
Wide diſcontinuous; at which the Winds
Eurus, and Auſter, and the dreadful force
Of Boreas, that congeals the Cronian Waves,
Tumultuous enter with dire chilling Blaſts,
Portending Agues. Thus a well-fraught Ship
Long ſail'd ſecure, or through the Egean Deep,
Or the Ionian, 'till Cruiſing near
The Lilybean Shoar; with hideous Cruſh
On Scylla or Charybdis dangerous Rocks
She ſtrikes rebounding, whence the ſhatter'd Oak,
So fierce a Shock unable to withſtand,
Admits the Sea, in at the gaping Side,
[45]The crouding Waves guſh with impetuous Rage,
Reſiſtleſs overwhelming; Horrors ſeize
The Marriners Death in their Eyes appears,
They ſtare, they lave, they plump, they ſwear, they pray:
Vain Efforts, ſtill the battering Waves ruſh in
Implacable, 'till delug'd by the foam,
The Ship ſinks found'ring in the vaſt Abyſs.

TO A LADY: WITH Milton's Paradiſe Loſt.

SEE here how bright the Firſt-born Virgin ſhone!
And how the firſt Fond Lover was undone:
Such powerful Words our Charming Mother ſpoke,
As Milton's are, and ſuch as Yours her Look.
Your's the beſt Copy of the Original Face,
Whoſe Beauty was to furniſh all her Race.
Your Charms no Author can eſcape but he;
There's no way to be ſafe, but not to ſee.

A SONG.

[46]
I.
WHat! put off with One Denial?
And not make a Second Tryal?
You might ſee my Eyes conſenting,
All about me was relenting:
Women oblig'd to dwell in Forms,
Forgive the Youth who boldly ſtorms.
II.
Lovers, when you Sigh and Languiſh;
When you tell us of your Anguiſh;
To the Nymph you'll be more pleaſing,
When thoſe Sorrows you are reaſing:
We love to try how far Men dare,
And never wiſh the Foe ſhould ſpare.

A SONG.

[47]
By Mr. Cheek.
BRight Cythia's Power, divinely Great;
What Heart is not Obeying?
A Thouſand Cupids on her wait,
And in her Eyes are playing.
She ſeems the Quee [...] of Love to reign,
For ſhe alone diſpences
Such Sweets as beſt can entertain
The Guſt of all the Sences.
Her Face a Charming Proſpect brings;
Her Breath gives balmy Bliſſes:
I hear an Angel when ſhe Sings,
And taſte of Heaven in Kiſſes.
Four Sences thus ſhe Feaſts with Joy,
From Nature's chiefeſt Treaſure:
Let me the other Sence employ,
And I ſhall dye with Pleaſure.

Appendix A A Catalogue of Poems, Printed and Sold by H. Hills in Black-Fryars, near the Water ſide.

[48]

A Congratulatory POEM to his Royal Highneſs Prince George of Denmark, Lord High Admiral of Great Britain, upon the Glo⯑rious Succeſſes at Sea. By N. Tate Eſq Poet-Laureat to Her Ma⯑jeſty. To which is added a Happy Memorable Song, on the Fight near Audenarde, between the Duke of Marlborough and Vendome, &c.

Windſor Caſtle: A POEM. Inſcrib'd to the Immortal Honour of our moſt Gracious Sovereign, Anne, Queen of Great Britain, France, and Ireland. To which is added, Britain's Jubilee; a new Congra⯑tulatory SONG, &c.

Marlborough Still Conquers: Or, UNION hath got the Day. A POEM, upon the late Victory obtained by the Prince and Duke of Marlborough; And UNION of the Two Kingdoms. By J. Gaynam,

The Battel of Audenarde. A POEM, occaſion'd by the Glorious Victo⯑ry obtain'd over the French near that Place, the 11th of July, 1708. N. S. by the Confederate Army under the Command of his Grace the Duke of Marlborough, Monſieur D' Auverguerque, and Prince Eugene of Savoy. With the Characters of the General Officers, who were preſent in the Engagement. Alſo a New Copy of Verſes of Jack French-man's Lamentation.

The Flight of the Pretender, with Advice to the POETS. A POEM, in the Arthurical,— Jobical.—Elizabethical Style and Phraſe of the ſublime POET MAƲRƲS.

Honeſty in Diſtreſs; But reliev'd by no Party. A Tragedy, As it is Acted on the Stage, &c.

St. Jame's Park: A SATYR.

The Kit-Cats. A POEM. To which is added the PICTURE, in Imitation of Annacreon's Bathillus. As alſo the Coquet Beauty, by the Right Honourable the Marquis of Normanby.

WINE, A POEM. To which is added Old England's New Triumph [...] ▪ Or, the Battel of Audenard. A SONG.

A POEM, occaſion'd by the much lamented Death of Mrs Heſter Buckworth, only Daughter of Sir John Buckworth, Kt. and Bar.

The LONG VACATION. A SATYR Addreſs'd to all Diſ⯑conſolate TRADERS.

FINIS
Notes
*
William the Conqueror.
†
Or Archer.
3
Dr. Sherl. de Facto.
*
K. J. I.
†
K. C. II.
*
The Drunkards Name for Canary.
*
The Devil.
*
The ſmall-Pox is ſaid to have Reign'd in England about 250 Years.
†
Foul Weather.
*
The 6th of February, her Majeſty's Birth Day.
*
The Chaſsing the French Fleet, &c. from the Coaſt of North Britain, by Admiral Bing.
†
The Man of War, and Barks with Proviſions, Ammunition, &c. lately taken from the French in the Mediterranean, by Admiral Leake: And the rich Merchant-Ships, by the lord Durſley, &c.
*
The wonderful Expedition in ſetting forth that Fleet.
†
Of the Admiralty
*
In his intended Invaſion of North-Britain, and breaking his Meaſures Spain.
*
The Earl of Mulgrave.
*
An Eſſay on blank Verſe out of the 6th Book of Paradiſe loſt.
*
[...] amongſt the Greeks, ſignifies Honour as tender the Eye.
*
The Menapii were the ancient Inhabitants of Flanders.
(b)
Homer in his Fifth Iliad, becauſe the Heroe of that Book is to do [...]nders beyond the Power of Man, premiſes in the beginning, that Pallas [...] pecularly fitted him for that Day's Exploits.
(c)
Indomit as prope qualis undas
Exercet Auſter, Pleaïdum choro
Scindente nubes, impiger hoſtium
Vexare turmas, & frementem
Mittere equum meaios per ignes.
Sic tauriformis volvitur Auſidu
Qui regna Dauni praefluit Appul [...]
Cum ſaevit, horrendam (que) cultis
Diluviem meditatur agris.
(a)
Near this Place the Prince of Conde gave the Spaniards a very great [...]throw, 1648.
(a)
He bore a conſiderable ſhare in the Glory of that Day on w [...] B [...]da was taken.
(c)
This was a fatal Battle to the Turks in the Year 1687. Prince Eugene the Regiments of his Brigade was the firſt who enter'd the Trenches▪ for that reaſon had the Honour to be the firſt Meſſenger of this happy [...]to the Emperor.
(d)
Vicem gerit ill [...] Tonantis.
(d)
This Battle was fought on the 10th of October 1697; where Prince [...]e Commanded in Chief; in which there never happen'd ſo great and [...]ible a Deſtruction to the Ottoman Army; which ſell upon the Princi-Commanders more than the Common Soldiers; for no leſs than Fit [...]ee [...] [...], (Five of which had been Viziers of the Bench) were kill'd, beſides Supream Vizier.
(a)
The Old Name of Lisbon, ſaid to be Built by Ulyſſes.
(a)
The Old Name of Lisbon, ſaid to be Built by Ulyſſes.
(b)
Two Mountains where Jupiter Lodg'd the Giants.
*
Powell.
†
One of the Libertines Companions.
*
Cambridge.
*
Lord D.
†
Sir W. S.
*
Mr. D.
†
L—d W▪
*
Sir A. K.
*
Mr. W.
†
Mr. L▪
*
Mr. W.
†
Sir J. B. of P.
*
Mr. A. and Mr. S.
†
Rippon.
*
Sir R. B.
†
L—d W.
†
A. B.—p of Y.
*
Knareſborough.
†
Mr. B. and Mr. S.
*
Mr. J. of K. Mr. M. of A.
†
D. of N.
*
York, Sir W. R. and Mr. B.
*
Malton, Mr. S.
†
Mr. P.
*
Mr. S. and Mr. P's Antagoniſts.
*
Mr. J. a Coalgetter.
*
The Introduction.
†
Of her Charity.
*
Of her prudent Management.
†
Of her Humility.
*
Of her Piety.
*
Of her various Vertues.
*
Of her Conjugal Vertues▪
†
Of her Love to her Children.
*
Her Care of their Education.
†
Of her Friendſhip.
†
Reflections on the Shortneſs of her Life.
*
She died in her Thirty third Year.
†
The manner of her D [...]
*
Her Preparedneſs to dye.
†
She dy [...]d on Whitſunday Night.
*
Apoſtrophe her Soul.
*
Epiphonema▪ Or Cloſe of the Poem.
*
Edward Third, and the Black Prince.
†
Queen Philipa.
*
The Kings of France and Scotland.
*
Runny Mead, where that Great Charter was firſt ſealed.
†
Magna Charta.
*
Rete mirabile.
*
Annotations on Statius.
†
Hic ſitus eſt Rufus, qui pulſo vindice quendam
Imperium aſſeruit non ſibi ſed Patriae.
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