A court of judicature in imitation of Libanius. With new epigrams. By the hand that translated Martial. Killigrew, Henry, 1613-1700. 1697 Approx. 106 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 54 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2004-08 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). A70401 Wing K443A ESTC R213555 99825908 99825908 30300 This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal . The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission. Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A70401) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 30300) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 1795:43) A court of judicature in imitation of Libanius. With new epigrams. By the hand that translated Martial. Killigrew, Henry, 1613-1700. [2], 100, [2] p. printed for Henry Bonwicke at the Red Lion in St. Paul's Church-yard, London : 1697. Hand that translated Martial = Henry Killigrew. Advertisement: [2] p. at end. Reproduction of the original in the Harvard University Library. Created by converting TCP files to TEI P5 using tcp2tei.xsl, TEI @ Oxford. Re-processed by University of Nebraska-Lincoln and Northwestern, with changes to facilitate morpho-syntactic tagging. Gap elements of known extent have been transformed into placeholder characters or elements to simplify the filling in of gaps by user contributors. 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Copies of the texts have been issued variously as SGML (TCP schema; ASCII text with mnemonic sdata character entities); displayable XML (TCP schema; characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or text strings within braces); or lossless XML (TEI P5, characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or TEI g elements). Keying and markup guidelines are available at the Text Creation Partnership web site . eng Epigrams, English -- Early works to 1800. 2004-05 TCP Assigned for keying and markup 2004-05 Aptara Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2004-06 Emma (Leeson) Huber Sampled and proofread 2004-06 Emma (Leeson) Huber Text and markup reviewed and edited 2004-07 pfs Batch review (QC) and XML conversion A COURT OF JUDICATURE , In Imitation of LIBANIUS . WITH New Epigrams . By the Hand that translated Martial . — Servetur ad imum Qualis ab incepto processerit & sibi constet . Hor. de Art. Poet. LONDON : Printed for Henry Bonwicke at the Red Lion in St. Paul's Church-yard , 1697. A Court of Judicature , In Imitation of LIBANIUS . To Desertus . VVHEN to Disertus , Muse , I bid thee go , Why do'st so tim'rous and so backward show ? Say , he be reading , let not that affright , Nay more press on him tho thou see'st him write . If thou attend'st to find his Idle Hour , A Time to go , will ne'er be in thy Pow'r . Thou say'st , When thou conceived'st well before Of any Work , thou think'st it mean and poor Approaching him . Be 't so , thou do'st not err , Yet let Conceited Ign'rance more deterr , Than piercing Judgment and a Gen'rous Mind , Which will be sure , what thou ha'st Good to find , Altho' thy modest self , art to it blind , 'T is true , Disertus does himself revere In what he judges : But how'er severe , Candor and Knowledge do his Censures steer , He is not like the vain pretending Crew , Who criticize on what they never knew , The Poets , Painters , Statuaries Skill , Make all take Laws from their bold Tongue and Quill , Tasso , Bernino , Raph'el , praise and blame , Pronounee what 's in them Good , and what is Lame . He scorns to act these Vertuosos Part , Himself 's an Artist , as he judges Art , Wou'd I , my Muse , upon the World impose , No Way , like this Address , I cou'd have chose , What 's to Disertus sent , when Men behold , Altho' but Brass , they will presume 't is Gold , THE ARGUMENT . THE People in a certain State , being much addicted to make themselves away , young and old of both Sexes , a Law was made , Thar whosoever lay under any Affliction , should make their Case known to Judges appointed to heat them : Who , if they cou'd not prevail to remove their Troubles , shou'd allow them to take what Course they pleas'd : But if any , without making Application to these Judges , laid violent Hands on themselves , their Bodies shou'd be expos'd publickly naked , and cast out without Burial . Upon which many made their Discontents known . The first Address . A Discontented Poet. AN ancient Bard did thus his Case declare . My Lords , since first I drew a learned Air , My self I to the Muses did devote , Esteem'd a Poet of no Vulgar Note ; My Numbers ravish'd all that did them hear , And more the Soul affected , than the Ear ; I know not how ! The World of late is chang'd , And from Parnassus ev'ry Heart 's estrang'd ; Who my Corrivals were , take to a Trade , Verse , once their Glory , now their Scorn is made . To read a Poem I did late attempt , But from a Friend I met with this Contempt , " Thy Toys at present , prethee Fool , forbear , " I 'm serious , as thou see'st , and cannot hear ; A Hog he was to sell , a Rick of Hay , And things Divine to these he made give way . My Labours all are lost , my Glory 's fled , High time it is , my Lords , that I were Dead . One from the Bench reply'd , Why don't you learn From you wise Friends , Silver and Gold to earn ? Gain has its Sweeness , Money has a Chime , Which will not yield unto the softest Rhime . To this Advice the Discontented se'd , I with Ambrosia ever have been fed , And Gen'rous Thoughts my Heart do still inspire , Husks I can't eat , nor wallow in the Mire . When from this Earth my Soul shall take her Wing , Apollo I shall hear , and Muses sing . Iudg. ] The Worthy up to Death with Grief we give , Thy Nobler Part we wish may ever live . The second Address . An Envious Person . A Meager Wretch , rolling his blood-shot Eyes , What grip't his Heart unfolded in this wise . When I the Courses of the World do weigh , Not Gods , but Tyrants , seem th' Events to sway ; Who all things act according to their Lust , Not by the Measures of what 's Right and Just : Some are advanc'd , thro Favour , 'bove the rest , While others , more deserving , are suppre'st ; The very Bruts seem more to be Heav'ns Care , Better than Men , in all respects , to fare ; A Wolf none richer , than a Wolf , does see , A Lion , 'bove a Lion , in degree ; In Woods and Fields they equal Station keep , Drink the same Springs , and on the same Ground sleep : But the Supports of Life tho all Men need , Some there are starve , while others do exceed , My House unto my Neighbour's House is joyn'd , My Dore 's as wide , why shou'd not Riches find , An Ent'rance there , if Fortune were as kind ? But while his Wealth all Bounds does overflow , I , extream Penury , do only know . Cremes and I were seen for many Years , In ev'ry Circumstance , to be Compeers ; One Bath serv'd both , and the same common Meat , We , uninvited , with each other eat ; My Purse his Wants , and his did mine supply , 'T was rare to find such great Equality ; The Gods have rais'd him to a high Estate , ( My Blood thrills in me , while I this relate ) Upon a sudden , and to me unknown , Plebeian Cremes , a Patrician's grown ; Who creeping went , and with his Head bow'd low , Erect , and like a Hero , now does go ; Me he despises , and no less does hate , Than the Condition he was in of late ; Not as a Friend , but Vassal , does invite , Simo , says he , come sup with me to Night . My Gall o'erflow'd : Yet I resolv'd to go , His Greatness not to stoop to , but to know . Good Gods ! What Splendor did my Eyes behold ! Tablc and Beds in or o'er-laid with Gold ; Chargers and Goblets all of antick Plate , Massy , and which became a Princes State ; Whate'er was Rare , was set on 's Lordly Board , All that the Sea and Land do Choice afford . The Mirth swell'd high , the Cups went often round , While Wine the Rest , with Sorrow I was drown'd ; I saw a Feast , but did it not enjoy , What others did delight , did me annoy ; Cremes ne'er mark't , I might or fast , or eat , I was his Guest , but me he did not treat . In the Debauch and Tumults of the Meal , I , unobserv'd , unto my Home did steal : Nothing was splendid there , but sordid poor , I cast my self , for Anguish , on the Floor ; The things I 'd seen , my Heart did so molest , They were , like Furies , in my tortur'd Brest . Cremes and 's Guests I curst , wishing the Room , By Fire or Earthquake , might be made their Tomb. Nought , my dispairing , raving Throws , cou'd cheer , But th' Approach of Morn , and in this Court to appear . Many do under heavy Pressures lye , But find it easier far to bear , than dye : Altho the Fortunate I come behind , I want not yet a Great and Gen'rous Mind . My Lords , I 'm poor , yet sue for no Relief , But Death , the cheapest Remedy of Grief . The Hemlock Draught to me you will not grudge , Which you to Homicides and Traitors judge . The Senate ask't , Has Cremes ought detain'd Of yours ? Grown rich from Loss by you sustain'd ? Not in the least , I freely do declare , Rather demand , What Prince made him his Heir ? At what is 't then , your wild Complaints do aim ? For Spight and Spleen hope you to purchase Fame ? To have your Malice , your Misfortune deem'd ? Envy , the hateful'st Vice , Vertue esteem'd ? What others hide , as their Reproach and Shame , Your self you value on , in Court proclame . To Bedlam go , and tell your Goodly Tale , Th' Account on which you 'd Dye , may there prevail ' Be look't on as a Great and Glorious Deed : Hemlock you ask , but Hellebore you need . The Snake curl'd-up , shrouding his hated Head , Excluded from the Living , and the Dead . The third Address , A decay'd Beauny . I Here deserted and forlorn do stand , Who , as a Princess , lately did command , O'er hundreds held a proud despotic Sway , The Rich and Noble both did me obey , To Crowned Heads not humbler Homage pay . Nor did Demains , or high Descent bestow This Pow'r , I to my Beauty it did ow ; Hence Wealth flow'd to me , tho no Arts I us'd , Much easy'r got , than 't was to be refus'd . Men thought themselves enrich't , by what they sent ; Not in their Stock , but that they did present . I was the admired Star in the Parade , None , like to me , so bright a Figure made : Th' Ambition of all Treats , the Joy and Crown , My Presence , 'bove the Cost , gave them Renown ; Guests , the Delights o' th' Pallat did despise , While they , on me , had leave to feast their Eyes . These Glories all , by Sickness , are deface't , My Paradise , by 'ts Tyranny , lay'd waste : Lovers fly from me , Want does me oppress , The Court I had , is now a Wilderness ; I saw my Face , as by my Glass I pass't . And started at my self , as one agast . Your Piety , my Lords , will eas'ly doom , Unto a wretched wand'ring Ghost a Tomb. My Case y 'ave heard , and little needs be se'd , To give her Leave to Dye , 's already Dead . The Sense o' th' Court a Judge did thus declare . Aurelia's noble , rich , belov'd , and Fair , Yet she , a high Delight , in Work does take , No Musick thinks like that , her Loom does make ' Your Life in Vice begun , in Vertue end , Project not to destroy it , but to mend . We will a Pension , with a Loom and Wool , To you allow — With Indignation full , She se'd , To remedy the State I 'm in , I dare to Dye , and therefore scorn to spin . They told her then , They left her to Despair , No Drugs they knew , Lost Beauty to repair . The fourth Address . A Parasite . NExt one appear'd before the Judges Sight , With doleful Looks , and in a rueful Plight , And se'd , A Case , like mine , so full of Woe , So tragical , my Lords , you ne'er did know . I 've liv'd a Life in Pleasure and in Ease , Shun'd Labour , Business , all that might displease , To bathe , to keep my Body in good plight , To feast , with Roses crown'd , is my delight , In Compotations , Mirth , and Musick share , At others Charge , deliciously to fare . A Parasite I am , need say no more , Rich in Enjoyments , in Revenue poor . At ten Stones distance from this noble Town , A Farm my Patron has of much Renown : Where , two days since , he made a sumptuous Feast , I , tho no Prime , a Necessary Guest , With six choice Harlots , were t' adorn the Treat , 'Bove in-lay'd Tables , Pictures , Plate , and Meat . To give attendance with more Pomp and Grace , I hir'd a Horse was trained up to the Race , Trap't richly , and my self in best Array , Goodly to see it was , and hard to say , Whether the Beast , or Rider , were more gay . The Hamlets , as I pass't , took me for more , Than what I was , so fair a Port I bore , And little less they did , than me adore . Come to the Farm , an Altar there is seen , Which stands upon an open spacious Green , The Horse , this weening to have been the Race , Of 's own accord , began to mend his Pace ; The Altar , with the Meta , did confound , Which circling , like a furious Whirlwind , round , Back to the City me , perforce , he bore , Not stopping till he reach't the Stable Door . I drop't my Cloak and Bonnet by the way , Nor to recover them had pow'r to stay ; For fear let also go the Bridle Rein , To hold the Pommel and the Horses Mane. Hurry'd thus back , in such Unseemly wise , Those honour'd me before , did now despise ; Loud Laughter rais'd , and all at once 'gan hoot . Some Furlongs pass't , I heard the Rustick Shout . Thus hatter'd , baffl'd to my Home I came , Reflected on my Danger , Damage , Shame , All dismal seem'd , Darkness did me surround . My Thoughts did nought but various Deaths propound . But 'mong these Evils , this 'bove all the rest Like to a Viper , stung and gnaw'd my Breast , And which , even naming , makes me Tears to shed . I lost a Treat , and hungry went to bed . My self I did condemn , coming so near , As I the Kitchin smelt , the Cooks did hear , Their Choppings and their Ravings strok my Ear That to my Int'rest I did prove so slack , As not to cast me from the Horses Back . If so a Shoulder I had broke , or Arm , Alas , good Cheer wou'd have redress't the Harm Nor Evil did I ever know so Great , But Cure , or Comfort , I receiv'd by Meat . Desp'rat's my State , I can no longer speak , I find the Pow'rs of Nature in me weak . Nor to dispatch me needs there Cord or Sword , All Instruments of Death my Griefs afford ; Without regard to Laws , of Life bereave , Make haste , my Lords , or they 'll not stay your Leave The Harangue done , 't was with no little Pain , The Court from open Laughter did refrain : But siting there to save , not to despise , Their Sense , with gracious Smiles , they did disguise One to th' Afflicted se'd , 'T is my Birth-Day , Rejoyce with me , all Sadness cast away . Another , I shall hold an Annual Feast To morrow , come and be my chearful Guest . A third , My Daughter , three Days hence , is wed , Place , I 'll reserve you , on the second Bed. Ah! Gentle Lords , the Wretch did then reply , When Gods bid live , 't were Sacrilege to dye . Astrea deigns again to dwell on Earth , Justice and Mercy from your Words take Birth . Shou'd Iove invite me to his Board and Cup , I wou'd refuse , and with your Honours sup . Upon these Words , the Judges strait arose , Th' Adventure did them all to Mirth dispose : The Eating Varlet brought to Live again , Wagging his Tayl , follow'd their Lordships Train . The fifth Address . A Noble Virgin. A Person of a charming Grace and Mien , Tho veil'd , before the Judgment Seat was seen , The Cloud , a Matron from her Face with-drew , And , to th' Admiring Court , a Heaven did shew . Her Name and Vertue were to many known , Which caus'd thro all the Ranks a gen'ral Groan . My Lords , she said , in sad perplexing Care My Days I 'ave spent , and often in Despair ; Dangers amaze me , Persecutions , Fears , Numberless Evils , tho but few my Years . The Guardians of my tender Age did say , Apamia , if our Precepts you obey , In Safety they 'll preserve your Orphan State : But tho obey'd , such has not been my Fate . In a Retired Life's my greatest Joy , A Book 's my Pastime , Work is my Employ : Theaters , Triumphs , Places of Parade I ever shunn'd , and none can me upbraid , That in them once I e'er Appearance made . At solemn Times to th' Temple I do go , To pay the Duty to the Gods I owe : But while I there before their Altars pray'd , Two Noble Youths to Ruine I betray'd . As I am charg'd : Beauty , my constant Scorn , Is made my Crime , a Crime was with me born , If one , and which I never did adorn . Th' Addresses of all Lovers I oppose , But what shou'd make , alarms my soft Repose . My Strictness rude Insults , does often cause , To the Affront of Vertue and of Laws . Early this Morning I was thus advis'd , Stand on your Guard , or you will be surpriz'd , Our Neighbour Tyrant vows he 'll you obtain By Stratagem , or War , your Person gain . No Refuge I , a helpless Virgin , have , But in the Sanctuary of a timely Grave . A Judge , i' th' Name o' th' rest , did thus declare , Exc'lent Apamia , sink not in despair , Your Honour , as our own , we do respect , And as our Gods and Temples will protect : All here will bleed , who on this Bench do sit , Before the Wrong , you apprehend , permit . Is there , said she , that Witchcraft in my Face , As to confound the wisdom of this Place ? Who , to be Author of a War , am I ? And that the State shou'd be my Guaranté ? My Life , no way , can make my Country blest , And I 'll not be her Helen and her Pest. Regard , to this Tribunal , I have paid , Address , according to the Edict , made , To ease the Perturbations that I feel , There is no Way , but by this friendly Steel . While yet she spoke , she gave the fatal Wound , The Glory of the Age fell with her to the Ground . The sixth Address . A Philosopher . SInce Reason first awaken'd in my Soul , Lusts to subdue , and Passions to controul Have been my Strife ; on Vertue wholly bent , The Lectures of the Wise I did frequent ; The fam'd for Science , and good Conduct , heard , My Masters chose by Learning , not by Beard ; Like others of my Age , I did not rome , The Schools when shut , but ply'd good Books at home And when I more confirm'd in Strength did grow , The Duty all Men to their Country owe , Arm'd I 'mong her martial Squadrons show . Nor in the Camp was I of mean Renown , The Civil thrice I wore , and twice the Mural Crown . My Years of Warfare thus in Honour spent , To th' intermitted Schools again I went. Lectures of Use , not Ostentation , read , To Peace and War our younger Nobles bred . My Strength is spent , Age has my Vigour broke , A doted Trunk I 'm now , was once an Oak . Like to a Servant , past his Work , I sue For Manumission , as his Right and Due . Worthy Eubulus , 't was to him reply'd , Thy Vertuous Acts can be by none deny'd . And 't is the Senat 's great Reproach and Brand , That 'fore this sad Tribunal thou dost stand ; After a Life so good , deserts so high , That thou no Boon shou'd'st ask , but leave to dye . Does Grief afflict thee , or does Want oppress ? Thine will be held , the Commonwealths Distress . Eu. My Gracious Lords , 't wou'd my Pretences shame , On such Accounts , if for Support I came . My Ways were ever just , my Mind is sound , No Guilt I know , with little , I abound . Goodness it self cannot my Wants relieve , I 'm broke by time , and Youth you cannot give ; Useless I 'm grown , this Thought does me oppress , To see my Age , than my first Years , do less . A Service for me could you yet descry , I 'd it dispatch , and after that I 'd dye . But if 'gainst Nature I must only fight , Age , Aches , and Diseases put to flight , Against such Foes 't is Folly to contend , And Leave I beg , to make a Wise Man's End. If so resolv'd ; the Senate does decree , A Statue , to preserve thy Memory , And to thy own sage Counsel leaves thee free . The seventh Address . A desperate Lover . STrait , to th' amazed Bench , perk't up in View , One with a Garland hanging all askew , His loose Attire suiting his reeling Crown , Th' officious Guard address'd to pluck him down . But to the Lords , for Audience , he did cry , And said , I 'm one of those come here to dye . The Courts Regard I claim , and to be heard , No less than the last Speaker , grave Sir Beard . My Words despise not , 'cause I come thus dress'd , Haste urg'd me to unload my burden'd Breast . I from a Banquet leapt — My Lords of late T' an Hebrew Philosoph I did relate The Cause why here you sit , in short , to try To make Men live , or give them leave to dye . Says he , this hearing , " Make you then no Odds " Between your Senate , and a Bench of Gods ? " To punish Criminals with Death , I know " The Magistrates have Pow'r , but can they show " Commission too , th' afflicted to give leave " Themselves of Life , at Pleasure , to bereave ? " This high Prerogative is Heav'n's alone , " Nor , without Sacriledge , any can it own . " The meanest Soldier , that his Post forsakes " Without Dismission , his Deaths Process makes : " And , shall not those , who undismiss'd , do leave " This Life , as great a Penalty receive ? A Dotard pleads , Age , useless , him has made . By Sickness , Madam's Beauty is decay'd . A Gormand , losing his wild Boar and Pie , The Earth hangs round with Sables , and the Skie . But the black Guilt which presses you 'bove all , Divine Apamia , in this Court did fall . This makes me face you thus without all Dread ; To scorn your Fasces , now the Virgin 's dead . If these were Causes , Murder to avow , Why do you not all Crimes beside allow ? Make Theft and Incest to your Verdict bow ? Self-Murder's Murder , what Laws e'er you coyn , And while the Sin you licence , in 't you joyn . But a Barbarian does this Doctrine preach , Is Truth not Truth , unless a Greek it teach ? Pythagoras and Plato were more wise , These learn'd Barbarians they did not despise . What in their Writings so divine does show , Tho not confess'd , they unto these do owe. Hearing to gain , I said , I came to die , And my Contempt declares , I did not lie . The Court , Eubulus , all , did on him gape , But to his Speech no Answer they cou'd shape : Only , to save their Honour , did declare , So high an Insolence they ought not bear . But th' Effronté altho they did commit , On like Account they never more did sit . Epigram 1. To Candidus . THou art impetuous , I shou'd still write more , Tho thrice , in print , I 've promis'd to give o'er . ( and ) Promise a fourth time , so it will produce , An Epigram that 's good , there will need no Excuse . Altho thy Words do sound thus mad and wild . They flatter so , I am by them beguil'd . Into the Deep again my Bark I lanch , Where if it founder , prove not tight and stanch , In my Defence , thou art oblig'd to say , I , the old Fool , did to the Floods betray . Epigram 2. On the Right Reverend Dr. E. Stillingfleet , Lord Bishop of Worcester . When thou this Venerable Name do'st hear , Wholly confounded , Muse , thou do'st appear , From severe Studys , say'st , he 's never free : Nor to impede them , Fond one , send I thee . Thou add'st , tho none in antick Dust does rake Like him , for Truth such deep Researches make , A florid Muse , thro' all his Writings flows , And what 's profound , as beauteous also shows ; Him to salute , 's more than to win a Prize ! Forbear t' aspire , th' art here to sacrifice ; On th' Altar of his Worth a Grain to lay , A Debt all Ages , like to this , will pay . Conform unto my Will , thy self apply Without Reluctance , on his Board to ly , Among the barking Pamplets that attend , Till tir'd , he from his Study does descend . He 'll thee distinguish , from black-mouth'd T. Gs. I. Os , the Vnitarians , and R. Bs. Skill'd in all Ways , Ancients and Moderns write , Master of one , the rest he does not slight . He knows , the most that Epigrams pretend , Is to relax the Mind , and not to bend . Epigram 3. On Lewis the Great . Many beside have born this glorious Name , But , like to thee , none with so just a Claim . Pompey was stil'd , for early Conquests , Great , Henry the fourth , whose Prowess did defeat The League of France , combin'd with Rome and Spain , To this high Title likewise did attain . But what did these , to that which thou hast done ? Supported Asia , ruin'd Christendom ; All Lorrain , Flanders , Germany do show , The Devastations they to thee do owe : Thy treach'rous Plots have made all Nations quake Even the Foundations of thine own to shake : Nor against Men do'st only shew thy Might , But thy bold Hand dares 'gainst Religion fight ; The faithful in thy Kingdom undergo , Such Pursecutions Heathens ne'er did show . To the Great Turk true Brother and Allie , Thou do'st both Pope and Protestant defy , Witness thy Pillar , rais'd in Rome , of Infamy . And to maintain thy Name of Great thro' all , Great thy Disgraces are , and great thy Fall. All by Surprize , or Brib'ry thou hast won , Harra'st by Fire by Sword , and over-run , The injur'd Princes , with united Pow'r , Have forc'd thee vomit , as thou did'st devour ; Thy Forts have storm'd , thy Forces put to rout , Strip't thee unto the State thou first set'st out ; Nought but the Guilt and Horror do remain Of Millions thou hast begger'd , starv'd , and slain . Orange Despis'd wrought chiefly thy Defeat , Lewis [ in Querpo ] write , no more [ the Great . ] Epigram 4. On a scurrilous Detractor . Thou say'st 'gainst Lewis sharply I inveigh , But of King Iames I nothing ill do say . — And may my Tongue , and Vitals also rot , When I attempt his sacred Name to blot . In his disast'rous State , God's Hand , I see With deeper sense , tho from thy Malice free ; The Blessings from this Revolution flow , The Obligations all King William owe , To wit , the Kingdoms Safety , and Advance , That Slaves we are not made to Rome and France : Nor do I doubt , he justly fills the Throne , By Pleas , as strong as Birth , claims it his own . But what of this ? That which I ought revere , Reflect upon with a religious Fear , Shall I with Insolent and barb'rous Pride , Tread under Foot , and brutishly deride ? The Royal Head , a Crown did late adorn , Dress up a Trophy with Contempt and Scorn ? May Davids Curses fall on them delight , To persecute , whom God does wound and smite . This Prodigy our Eyes of late have seen , " The Sacrosanct blasphem'd ; Pug , made denote , a Queen ; " Vermin , our Prelats ; those o' th' scarlet Robes , " Judges and Lords , stil'd Scoundrels , Dunghil Rogues ; " Church Rites prophan'd , so little said to avail , " As not of worth to wipe a Porter's Tail ; " The Coronets of Barons , Dukes , and Earls , " Embellish't all with the like Gems and Pearls . Archbishop Land , whose Life , whose Death , whose Pen , Enrols him justly 'mong the greatest Men , And Cosins , who so many Years made good Our Churches Cause , the Rage of Priests withstood I' th' Lo●ver Walls , with Hazzard of his Blood ; With other Worthys vilely are defam'd , While wicked Iones is , as a Patriarch , nam'd . Whose Praise , with those the worthless Wretch did know , Makes all that 's writ beside , for nothing go . Did not the sordid Stile , the Thought gain-say , Some great one wou'd be said another Day , Things of so high a Nature to display . The num'rous Facts the Buffoon dares relate , No one cou'd know , tho Minister of State. What 's true , what 's false , what 's hearsay , and surmise , What few dare think , his scurrilous Leaves comprize . What can such matchless Impudence repay ? All his own Dirt , heap'd on him should we lay , As the Case stands , it were to do him Grace , Among the greatest and the noblest place . No Pow'r of Words can , what he is , express , Satyr wou'd fail , Invectives be found less ; His Prototype no Age before e'er saw , His loathed self must his loath'd 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 draw . Epigram 5. On Criticks . Suns wrapt in Mists , Stars in a cloudy Night , Who Darkness cast , where you do promise Light ; When Readers you have rack'd , and Authors vext , Your Gloss is oft' obscurer , than the Text ; Light , to some ins'lent Phrase , when any seek , Th' uncouth Latine , you explain by Greek ; And when one Word wou'd the hard Knot undo , Affect , your reading , not the Sense to shew ; You Ref'rences , with Heaps of Figures , make , Which rarely recompence the Pains Men take ; And always do presume , that Books are by , To clear a Trifle , ask a Lib'rary . To boast your selves to your own Tribe , you pride , To vie with Criticks , not the Novice guide . Epigram 6. On one that had a stinking Mouth . Thou oft complain'st , thy Meat does thee no good , Nor is it possible , it ever shou'd , Passing thy Mouth , thou art with Poison fed , The wonder only is , thou art not dead . Epigram 7. On Coscus . Coscus , whose Worth lyes all in his Estate , His Love to a fair Maid did thus relate . Your Beauty does so captivate my Heart , Your Chains I cannot break by any Art ; I have discours'd what Folly it will be , To yoke my Riches with your Poverty , With Reasons like : but all I found in vain , And nothing cou'd remove my senseless Pain , Or put a Period to this vexing Strife , Till I resolv'd to take you for my Wife . The Gen'rous Maid , hearing the Brutal Woe , Whether to frown or laugh , she did not know . But said , Who was it , Precious Sir , that told , I 'd be your Wife ? Was 't your Prophetick Gold ? Or your Oracular Land ? They both did lye , These , Cattel may , but Me they ne'er shall buy . Epigram 8. On one that had a stinking Breath . Thy poisonous Breath not able , when to bear , I turn'd my Face , but lent thee still My Ear ; But thou impatient to be understood , Turn'd as I turn'd , and right before me stood , Which forc't me thus my Suff'ring to disclose , Men with their Ears do hear , not with their Nose . Epigram 9. On a stupid rustick Sinner . When against Sin , in gen'ral , thou dost'st hear The heavy'st Threats , the Sound does strike thy Ear , But very little does affect thy Heart , Because , thou say'st , thou shalt but hear thy Part , And there 's a World , that must divide the Smart . When Knaves , thou hear'st , do only purchase Hell ▪ Thou say'st , My Gains are sweet , I cannot tell . That Drunkards unto Heaven shall never come . Body of me , say'st thou , a heavy Doom . No Fault thou do'st amend , no Truth deny , But in a drowry Way do'st live and dye ; And when thou com'st into Eternal Woe , Alas ! thou say'st , and is it so and so , These things , for Talk with me , did ever go . Epigram 10. On Aurelia . Siting by fair Aurelia , as she dress'd , Seriousness , mixt with Sharpness , she express'd . While , a Straws-bredth , she strove her Maid to show ▪ This she had pinn'd too high , and that too low . I gave o'er talk , and gaping did attend , How , and which way the nice Contest wou'd end . Which she observing , ask't me , what I thought ? Said I , Aurelia , I am this Day taught , When I some slight and trivial thing report , No more , as a Pin-Matter , to denote , For a Pin-Matter , 's Matter of Import ! Epigram 11. To the Muses . Ye sacred Sisters say upon what Score , Your Sons , however noble , still are poor . Muse. ] We are nine Virgins , and Immortal Pow'rs , The Sons , are all adopted , we eall ours , Of Soul and Body fram'd , of Humane Race , These Half ally'd to us we highly grace , Richly endow'd with Gifts that are Divine , Which so their Mortal Nature do refine , The World , unto the World , they do resign . Born up and soaring with inspired Wings , Disdain to stoop their Thoughts to Earthly things ; And while their Fancy 'mong the Stars does dwell , O'er-see their poor Estate , and homely Cell ; And cou'd their dazling Raptures always hold , Hunger they 'd never feel , nor Want , nor Cold. If so it chance , they to Demains are born , To nought they bring them by Neglect and Scorn . Poets , by Gen'rous Patrons , rich may be , But ne'er by Land , and drudging Industry . Epigram 12. On the unworthily advanced , and unworthily depressed . A Dwarf 's a Dwarf , tho set upon a Hill. A Giant in a Pit , 's a Giant still . Epigram 13. On Bassa . A Word , a Look strait , Bassa , thee alarms , And , Soldier-like , thou stand'st unto thy Arms , Assum'st the Weapons forg'd before thy Glass , Thy killing Smiles , quaint Leer , and sweet Grimace ▪ Tortur'st thy Features , to extract more Grace , Mak'st twenty Visors of one sorry Face . Keep thy own Looks , and still persist to frown , Cupid's at Paphos , at least out of Town To thee : Forget that thou art fair . I 'd know , What Holland , to six Pair of Socks , does go . Epigram 14. On the same . Thy Humour being known , the other Day A Drol , this Knavish Prank , with thee did play . Bassa , says he , a Gallant does desire To speak with you , At this , thou strait took'st fire , And in a Moment chang'd thy Dress and Cloths , Thy self in the best Order did'st compose , Thus fit to entertain some am'rous News The Cobler brought thee home thy mended Shoes . Epigram 15. On a Romantick Damzel . Mod'rately handsome , and but meanly rich , As if endow'd even to the highest Pitch , Thou , to thy Suitors ' do'st thy self demean , Like some fantastick , fair , Romantick Queen ; By ways Heroick only wilt be won . Some , thou injoyn'st , against the Turk to fight , Others thy Glorys ( which none know ) to write . All do receive with Smiles , what thou do'st say , But , better offer'd , wed themselves next Day , Leaving to Fools , thy Humour to obey . The Pens thou hop'd'st should raise thee 'bove the Moon , For an Encomium , send thee a Lampoon . Epigram 16. On Hatred . Where Valour stops , Hatred goes on , and dares , For Reason , nor for Danger , ought forbeares . The Valiant , their Designs , first wisely lay , Thro' Opposition then they out their Way . But desp'rate Hate unequal Force withstands , And shews its Teeth , even when it has no Hands . Nothing dismays it , forward to engage , O'er-pow'r'd and worsted , ceases not to rage . Evils can't tame , or make it to go less , It will its Foe , or else its self , oppress . When it can't hurt , the Heart is ever rack't , A Habit 't is , that always is in Act. As Love does raise Men 'bove their nat'ral State , No way inferiour are the Pow'rs of Hate . Epigram 17. To my Muse. Droop not , my Muse , 'cause thou find'st little Praise , 'T is not their Worth , that Books do's always raise . As foulest Crimes , such as the Hurdle claim , Sooner arrive to Honour and to Fame , Than Vertues do : So Writings that abound With scurrilous Trash , that boldly dare confound All that is good and great , have strange Acceptance found . Oft' Oats's 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 shall Impressions know , While some rare Work does for Waste Paper go . Epigram 18. On a Good Man. He 's a Good Man , and in the first Degree , Who slights the Name of Goodness , good to be . Epigram 19. On the Honour of Women . The Honour 's great , Women may justly claim , As their Due Right , and not in Courtships Name . When Angels hourly did to Man address , And his Great Lord deign'd with him to converse ; When all in Sea and Land obey'd Man's Throne , Till Eve was giv'n , God said , He was alone . Epigram 20. On an Epicure . When God has given the Sea , the Land , the Air , To load thy Table with delicious Fare , This One Restraint , thou say'st , does spoil the Feast . Rejoyce thy Heart , but play not yet the Beast . At his own Bounty , think'st , he does repine , 'Cause to his Earthly Gifts , he adds Divine . Thy brutish Sense cannot this Truth descry , God is most lib'ral , when he does deny ; When he from Man appeareth ought to take , It is a hundred fold Return to make ; He took a single Rib from Adam's Side , Form'd Eve therewith , his bright and daz'ling Bride . Epigram 21. King Agesilaus Answer , being offer'd Presents from the King of Persia. I , from an Enemy , all Gifts abhor , What from a Foe I take , I take in War. Epigram 22. The like Answer from a Roman . Your Greatness 't is , vast Heaps of Gold to give , And mine is this , I without Gold can live . Epigram 23. On Separatists . Their Proofs in vain th'Episcoparians bring , From the Faiths early'st Dawning and its Spring ▪ For what they teach and do ; in vain oppose Our Discipline , and raving Ways expose : Hope to affright us with the fatal Change Of all to Pop'ry , while we from them range ; In vain our gather'd Churches seek to storm , Shewing the Monst'rous Sects which from then swarm ▪ In vain Triumph , th 'ave forc't us to deny They Papists are ▪ we still can them decry As Jacobites , such Slanders have at hand , No Innocence , whatever , can withstand . Think they our Scull's so thick , our Wit 's so gross , We 'll suffer Truth take place , that 's to our Loss ? The Means they hold , establish'd are by Law , We ours , from arbitrary Purses , draw : And shou'd we yield to that , which they require , Our Flocks wou'd wain , and leave us in the Mire ; ●chism's our Charter , rejecting their Communion , Our Tenure , Reputation , and our Union . The only way to win us , they forbear , Which were to say , We quit to you , not share , Our Dignities . This wou'd end all Dispute : No Truth , but Int'rest , Sep ' ratists confute . These gain'd , we 'd ope ' our Congregations Eyes , To honour that , we teach them to despise . We dread no King opposing , while we can , Thro' all his Pomp , discern he 's but a Man. We know Dominion founded is in Grace , The Scepter 's due unto our Godly Race . Nought can be nobler , than our Aim and Scope To make each Whig a King , each Whig a Pope . Epigram 24. On Decoctus . To put a Gloss upon thy needy State , Of Philosophick Meals thou oft' do's prate , How noble 't is , on undress'd Food to fare , All common Luxurys , Men use , to spare , Even a spread Table dayly to forbear . 'T is bravely done , thus to hold up thy Head , To feast on Glory , in the Want of Bread : For all thou say'st , tends to another End , Far from the Cynic Way thou dost pretend . While thou discoursest thus of various Meat , thou 'd'st only have it thought , that thou do'st eat . Epigram 25. To Caius . Oft' between those is found the greatest Strife , Caius , ought most agree , that 's Man and Wife . This Rule observe , always what 's Just to choose , But so , as thine own Justice not to lose ; Some are so furious others to reclaim , Themselves they render more , than them , to blame . Try , in next place , th' Effect of giving way , A sweet Compliance oft' has won the Day . The Roman Mob to mutine wou'd not cease , On any Terms make with the Senate Peace , Till a Plebeian Consul they obtain'd , And then , in threescore Years , not one they nam'd . Epigram 26. On the Stoicks . T' exalt your Sect , beyond the common Ken Of Humane Eyes , above the Race of Men ; Dangers , profess , to slight , Wrongs to digest , No outward Torments spoil your inward Feast . 'T is true , great things , you speak , and give the Odds , To your Wise Men , 'bove those you count your Gods ; Who are , by Nature , happy and Divine , But they , by Vertue equal with them shine . In Contemplation Souls high Flights do make Nought's so sublime , they dare not undertake . The Mischief is , the Soul then acts alone , Big of its self , the Flesh disdains to own : But when the Flesh does sharp Afflictions bear , And calls upon its Partner Soul to share , Then first the Soul its Impotency sees , That Sophistry's too weak to cope with Miseries . A Christian Martyr may the Flame despise , No less when felt , than absent from his Eyes ; In Death find nothing terrible or strange , 'Cause Earth , he knows , for Heav'n he does exchang● ▪ But those , who found their Courage on Discourse , When Evils press , do sink beneath their Force : The Stoick , who no absent Danger fear'd , Nigh ; A Dismay shews broader , than his Beard . Epigram 27. On a Modern Parasite . Having nor Wit , nor Worth thee to commend , Vertue of any kind of stand thy Friend , Th' ast taken up a Way , which makes thee pass ; Which , is by calling great Men Fool and Ass , Giving the Lye , protesting they are Scabs , Terming the Ladies Baggages and Drabs . This is thy Talent : Which does strangely take , Room for thee , at the Noblest Tables , make , Tho dull , as saucy ; brainless , as 't is rude ; Course Ribaldry , with Impudence imbu'd . How comes such Slanders unoffensive thought , Which mortal Feuds , and blood shed oft have wrought ? Least thou grow'st proud , the Myst'ry I will show , Thy Baseness makes thy Words for nothing go . Epigram 28. To Justus . Who , Justus , will the obstinate confute , With Fists , and not with Reasons , must dispute . Epigram 26. On Precisians . Austere , not righteous ; rig'rous , and not good ▪ Furious for Truth , a Sign , not understood : Your fiery Temper little does accord , With the meek Gospel of our gracious Lord : Who Mercy shew'd , and Mercy always taught , Your Looks , as well as Heart , with Rage are fraught The World you seek , with Joy , to reprobate , And then conclnde , you justly them may hate . Let Men be strictly pious in their Ways , Their Actions such , deserve the highest Praise , Chaste , Charitable , Peaceful , Sober , True ; These avail nought , if they are none of you . And Reason good , you say : You are th' Elect , In such alone , all Vertues have Effect . Malignant Tribe ! As God design'd the Jews , ( When them he did , from all the Nations , chuse ) His Priests and Prophets to the World to make , That all his saving Knowledge might partake , They grudg'd the Bounty , their Pride cou'd not bear , The Heathen shou'd , their Priviledges share . So you wou'd Heav'n restrain ( had you your Will ) Your Gang alone shou'd all its Mansions fill ; To gen'ral Love you brook not any Place , Grace must be partial , or it is not Grace . 'T is hard to say , which are Christ's greater Foes , Those that pervert the Faith , or those oppose ; Jews , who blaspheme , and wholly him reject , Or those confine him to their canker'd Sect. Epigram 30. To Drusilla . For Portion being of no small Renown , Thou lay'st sometime , incognito , in Town , An Equipage most charming to compleat , Like forreign Ministers , before they treat , Thy Dowry told , and seen in thy Parade , The Party , in cast Cloths , espous'd thy Maid . Epigram 31. On a Censurer . Epigrams nothing new , thou say'st , do show , To Actions past , or Reading , all they owe. Who in this Age o' th' World will write all new , Shall neither write what 's natural , nor true ; But while his Thoughts , by Patterns , scorns to shape , He 'll act the Ass , while he avoids the Ape . Epigram 32. On Prayer .. Great are th' Effects of a true faithful Pray'r , The Idle's framed of , it ends in Air. The Plowman prays , but here he does not stop , Labour he joyns , and gets a fruitful Crop. Plutarch , a Heathen , this Point rightly states , In Paulus and King Perseus various Fates : Paulus the Gods , with his drawn Sword , did pray , Perseus pray'd too , but then he run away . Epigram 33. The Reparty of a Spartan to an Athenian . When an Athenian proudly thus did boast . From smooth Cephissus Banks , and neighbouring Coasts . Our Troops have oft you Spartans put to flight , Mauger your vaunted Discipline and Might . To which the Spartan , smiling , did reply , Th' Athenians , from * Eurotas , ne'er did fly , Sparta , they never durst approach so nigh . Epigram 34. On a huge fat Host. Thy oyly Pate , with Sweat , does always flow , Thy Hair , like Flakes of o'er-boyl'd Beef , does show ; Thy blown-up Cheeks , like Aeolus's , swell , And all the Winds seem , in thy Womb , to dwell . Well , 'gainst thy Paunch , thy Limbs may mutiny , Who Belly art , from Chin unto the Knee . Thou do'st not walk , but like a Boul , do'st roll , A Lump unorganiz'd , without a Soul. How do'st thou live ? For sure thou can'st not , eat , Thou hast no Place to stow or Drink or Meat . How do'st thou sleep ? If thou along shou'd'st lie , Choak'd with thy Guts , and strangl'd , thou wou'd'st die , Thou laugh'st at this ; and say'st , in hopes of Gain , Thou can'st bestir thy Moles without Pain ? The lean , not nimbler are , to play the Knave , And count'st them Fools , much Flesh , do count a Grave . Epigram 35. On Aristides . When Aristides , nam'd deserv'dly Just , Being never known , to warp , in any Trust ; Causes , in Judgment , as he sate to hear , Two Litigants , before him , did appear ; Favour to gain , one , t'other , did accuse , That Aristides he did oft abuse . If you he wrong'd , says he , in ought declare , His Wrongs to me , whate'er they are , forbear ; I sit not here , Right to my self to do , But Justice , unto other Men , to shew . Epigram 36. On a very lean Person . Like to Camelions , do'st thou feed on Air ? So lank thou art , so rarefy'd , and spare ; So faint withal , so feeble , and so wan , That thou but seem'st the Shadow of a Man. Thy Body 's not a Body all decree , Only a fleeting Vehicle to be . Go forth , thou durst not , on a windy Day , Least thro' thee 't blow , or blow thee quite away . A Surgeon vow'd , he did in thee descry , More than he learn'd from an Anatomy ; Another meeting thee , did on thee stare As on a Skeleton , and madly sware , He wou'd go home , and see if's own were there . Did not thy Clothes , more than thy Flesh detect The Truth , all for a Ghost , wou'd thee suspect . When Love thou mad'st , the Maid did swoon for fear , And , sighing , said , I thought not Death so near . Epigram 37. On the Grecian and Roman Superstition . As the great Theban Gen'ral led his Bands , A profess't Augur thus , his March , withstands . Your Progress , Captain , I advise , forbear , Bad Omens I discern , are worth your Care. Says he , what Omens does your Knowledge see , Outweigh the Soldiers great Alacrity ? The States Defence , and Justice of her Cause ? The Gods I dread , revere their sacred Laws , But not a screeching Raven , or an Owl , A bolting Hare , or when a Wolf does howl . This said , on 's Expedition he did go , And conquer'd Superstition , and the Foe . The Roman Piety , on th' other side , Renounc'd a Victory , if the Gods deny'd ; Respect chose rather to their Rites to show , Than even an Enemy to overthrow . When , with bad Omen , they two Consuls chose , Home they recall'd them , and did both depose . Forbid them ought , i' th' publick Name , t' attempt , Least they it impious made by their Contempt ; And when Flaminius had , in Fight , Success , A high unfeign'd Displeasure did express . Declar'd it was more eligible far , To gain the Temples , than prevail in War ; Tho thousands of the Gauls did find their Graves , To have the Gods their Friends , than Gauls their Slaves . Epigram 38. To Honorius . When Faction reigns , and Envy does prevail , As in a Storm , discreetly strike your Sail : Who in a safe and fearless Posture lies , Tho' toss'd , the raging Billows , may despise . Give way , ly by : Do nothing rash , or poor , Having commanded , sue at no Man's Door ; This noble way , strive Malice to defeat , To be made angry , shew you are too great . Marius , i' th' Camp , both Foes and Friends did fear , But , like a rusty Harness , did appear Useless in Peace . And Pompey who did shine So bright in Arms , his Lustre did decline I' th' Senate , held not there that high Renown , But Crassus greater seem'd i' th' civil Gown . This the wise Theban saw , who rais'd the Fame Of his Boeotians , 'bove the Spartans Name , When he th' Arcadian Citys did refuse , And in the Fields t' incamp , did rather chuse , Telling his Soldiers , while they Arms did bear , And their bold Presence , their brave Acts declare , Their Neighbours , to their Friendship , wou'd aspire , But if they saw them , slothful , at the Fire , Parching of Beans , they 'd scorn , and not admire . Erect your Huts , and let them still behold , As stout 'gainst Foes , y' are hardy against Cold. Caution and Conduct , with War , do not cease , But useful Vertues are in Times of Peace ; When valiant Acts , there is no Place , to shew , Those Great appear , who nothing meanly do . Epigram 39. On Bassa . Like to the Stone all Metals turns to Gold , Thou deem'st 't is Love , if any thee behold . By others made a Jest , I spake thee fair , Thou strait conclud'st me caught within thy Snare , And being old , for fear I shou'd presume , Worse Looks than yet thy own thou did'st assume . Love to obtain , may well deserve thy Care , But to prevent , all Arts , as needless , spare . Th' art safer far , than Danae in the Tow'r , Thy Beautys need not fear a Golden Shower . Epigram 40. On the same . Thou hast an Art , that can at distance hold Thou say'st , a Lover , be he ne'er so bold . This Art thou boast'st , I can no way conceive , A Face , if thou had'st said , I shou'd believe . Epigram 41. On a Champion of the Seminary , W. S. Thy wrangling Sophistry did make some Noise In Doway , 'mong the Novices and Boys ; Puff't up with this , vast Thoughts thou did'st conceive And Brains and College both behind thee leave , And to the Field of Honour sally'd'st forth , Hero in Fancy , Pigmy in thy Worth. What Spoils from Rome reformed Churches bore , Resolving , by thy Prowess , to restore . A patcht , ill-suited Armor thou putt'st on , Resembling that of the Manchean Don ; Thy Lance was Demonstration , and thy Shield Tradition , temper'd to no Force to yield , But Paper found , and Bulrush in the Field . Sheep , Giants , Windmills , were to thee alike , Thou against all did'st couch thy daring Pike . The Mischief only was , thou did'st not find , The Christian Giants of the Pagan Kind : Who , of their Limbs , Knights Errant did bereave , And with one Blow , in halves their Bodys cleave . Hammond and Bramhall , all thou did'st attack , Baffl'd , unhors'd , and laid thee on thy Back , If to assault a Fort thou did'st aspire , Like a Fascin wert cast i'th'Ditch and Mire : But after bastinado'd , and defeat , Invincible remain'd , in thy Conceit . None , like to thee , so well deserv'd the Fame , Of Quixot of the Schools , to bear the Name . Epigram 42. On a Champion of the Conventicle , R. B. This Champion strip't , dares Multitudes defy , On a steel'd Heart , not Armour , does rely ; Inspir'd with Error , and enflam'd with Zeal , No Foe 's so strong , with whom he doubts to deal ; Gainst Sword and Spear he enter will the Lists , Encounter Canon with his naked Fists . That is , no Depth of Science does him daunt , Who has his Lights , can no Assistance want ; Small learning , and much tongue , speak greater Grac● Than Greek and Hebrew , 'mong the canting Race . He , Spider-like , intangl'd Gnats and Flies , And thinks , his Nets , and Eagle cou'd surprize . 'Gainst Stilling fleet his Force he dares oppose , Who when the sacred Truth he does disclose , It seems but Sham , if more than what he knows . His Pearls of Knowledge , saving and divine , Into the Dirt are trampl'd by this Swine ; And Folly he returns him , Scorn and Spite , Venom , or Cobweb , Summs what he does write . Epigram 43. On the Leviathan . I once did wonder , that no pious Hand , In a just Work , this cursed Piece did brand : Since I perceive , the Task they did not shun , But 't is a Work , that is not to be done . From off the Earth , if Footing cou'd be found , An Artist said , he 'd turn the Globe of 't round . No Footing's here , for any to dispute , No maxim , Medium , whereby to confute . All Reasoning Aristotle does decide , And , in his Dixit , Litigants abide . The sacred Writ all Controversies end , Which on religious Theories depend : But the Leviathan no Rule does own , A Law and Rule unto it self alone . The Monster , in the Seas , as soon will brook , To be controuled by a Line and Hook. The Author Scripture quotes , but 't is to show , With their own Weapons he can overthrow Fools , and Believers : And if's Proofs seem weak , He 'd have it thought , the Truth he durst not speak . The whole Oeconomy of Faith 's a Scheme To him , no better than an idle Dream . His Atheistic Ramble who'll declare , And answer ; Unto him we may compare , One who in Christmas Pastimes does behold , The Dance of Trenchmore led thro' Snow and Cold , Thro thick and thin , o'er Tables and o'er Chairs , Down to the Cellar , up the Garret Stairs , And at th'Extravance does gravely say , Thro' the Mid-Room there lay a fairer Way , When the Design , a Gambol , was to play : That Zeal for Truth is foolish , does aspire To answer Blasphemy with ought , but Fire . Epigram 44. On mean Poetry . Of a mean Artist , in a useful Trade , Horace observ'd , some use might yet be made . A Lawyer might , his Clients Cause defend , Who , unto Tully's Fame , did not pretend : But Poets and Musitians , who produce What meerly tends to Pleasure , not to Use , If mean and common , the judicious slight , And Fools alone , a vulgar Strain , delight . Of a bad Poet Martial smartly said , He does not write , who is by no Man read . As done , that ought not stand upon the List , Which , the whole Purpose of its doing , mist. Epigram 45. To my Precisian Censurer . What thee concerns , thou say'st , thou do'st despise , All that I write's Hyperboles and Lyes : Strict Mathematick Truth thou do'st require , As all who , to an honest Name , aspire : What thou exacts , thy Phrensy does not see , Tho' highest Caution us'd , yet cannot be ; Figures , thou think'st , in Verse are only found , In common Speech and Converse they abound , Without them Men in no Affairs cou'd deal , What they approve , or disapprove , reveal ; They give to things of Moment the due Weight , Vertue and Vice decypher to the height ; Myst'rys ineflable , by them , are shown , God's Glory , Mercys , and his Judgments known ; thou 'd'st see , were not a Mist before they Eyes , Truths self wou'd suffer , were 't not for these Lyes . Evils wou'd reign , which by these Spells are crost , Pow'rful Instruction and Reproof be lost . When Ely thus reprov'd in simple sort , His impious Sons , “ Nay , but no good Report “ I hear — In Figure had he shew'd them Hell , How in its Confines , their bold Crimes , did dwell , The Ark had not been ta'n , nor they in Battel fell . Epigram 46. On Popular Men. I Master of my Cattel seem to be , Said the old Herdsman in the Tragedy : But my Attendance on them , makes me know , I Servant am , who follow , where they go . So Demagogs a Shadow , entertain Of Sovereign Pow'r , but ware the Vulgar's Chain ; Conceive they bear o'er all a mighty Sway , While the Mob rules , and meanly they obey . Epigram 47. On old Leda . What do'st thou tell me of ten thousand Pound ? For any Price will Men be hang'd , or drown'd ? Gold has its Charms , but Beauty has far more ; Were thy Wealth trebl'd , thou wou'd'st still be Poor . Know that fair Flavia does my Heart surprize , Who brings the Indies in her charming Eyes ; Who her beholds , disdains the Thoughts of Pelf , Inestimable , as Peerless , in her self . Thy Earth , thou hop'st , can yet eclipse this Sun , Wert wise , thou from her splendid Beams wou'd'st run , And not expose thy self in so great Light , Devils brook only to be seen by Night . Epigram 48. To Honorius . When the Philistins drew , in Michmash , near , Saul , guilty of Impatience and of Fear , Distrusting God , and dreading of their Host , Usurp'd the Priesthood , and his Kingdom lost . More nobly far himself Pausanias bore , Altho a Heathen , when he stood before The Altar , what the Gods decreed to know , And Scouts , th' Approach o' th' Enemy , did show : Let none , says he , their Coming on affright , But firmly stand , undaunted , in their Sight ; At 's Feet , let ev'ry Man , cast down his Shield , Until the Gods their Answer to us yield . Which known , and good : They rais'd a chearful Shout , And the opposing Foe did with great Slaughter rout . Like as a stubborn Rock unmov'd does stand , 〈◊〉 Shocks both from the Sea and Land. 〈◊〉 Mount'nous Billows of the raging Main , Winds , Thunder , Lightning , Hurricans , sustain , And when the Sky's again serene and clear , Just as before , unalter'd does appear . So Constancy , Honorius , does despise Tho Storms from Malice which combin'd , arise . Things safe and common , common Men can do , What 's hard and dangerous , the brave alone force thro . With Steel in War , in Peace with Vertue , arm , Tempests bring greater Noise with them , than Harm . Epigram 49. On our common Atheists . Tho 't is but to an impious Name y' aspire , You are below the Name , that you admire . To be an Atheist , Knowledge asks and Skill , 'T is not the Brat of Ignorance and Will. Those who , of old , were branded with this Name , Came not behind the Learned'st in their Fame ; Nor vicious were they , Error they did teach , Because the Truth was 'bove their Humane Reach . Have you , like them , the Scheme of Heaven and Earth . Consider'd , and well weigh'd their Rise and Birth ? Objections in this Case , can you revolve ? All the Phoenomena , in Nature , solve ? Alas , your Strength is only to blaspheme , What checks your Vice , to make a drolling Theme . A Brothel was your School , Excess of Wine Turn'd you Philosophers , in plain Terms , Swine . Your Predecessors did , at most , but Doubt , The Being of a God , but you without All Proof or Search , boldly dare one deny , With Impudence as great , as your Impiety ; By Learning , nor Civility , confin'd , Saucily affront the Sense of all Mankind ; The fond Credulity of Faith deride , Blind to discern , 't is only on your Side ; Who do believe , while you a God disown , Him , 't is sufficient also , to unthrown . Thus , when 't was said , the Roman Host drew near , Tigranes , to declare he nought did fear . The Scout beheaded , as a noble Deed , And in Debauch and Riot did proceed , Ambitious , by a sottish Scorn , to teach , Danger despis'd , his Safety cou'd not reach . But few Hours after , he as basely fled , Casting the Royal Band from off his Head. Epigram 50. To Marcellus . Take here th' Advice , thou say'st , was thy Intent T' ave ask'd , before thou unto Flanders went. No Nations Martial Fame let thee dismay , This Deference to thy native Country , pay . 'T is not the Danube , Rhine , the South , the North , From their mere Climate , valiant Men send forth . But Education works this high Effect , Which teaches Men their Honour to respect 'Bove Life ; in a just Cause to choose to die , Rather than live , at ease , with Infamy . Orders receiv'd : Dispute not , but obey ; Let not thy Tongue , what 's thy Swords Duty , pay : If , with unequal Force , thou art o'erlaid , I am a Soldier say , Danger 's my Trade . But private Quarrels , and vain-glorious Strife Avoid ; Hazards not worthy of thy Life . Not only Fighting does Applause deserve , But a Man's self , in Safety , to preserve . More favourable , th' ancient Greeks , were far , To him that lost his Sword , than Shield in War ; Professing , when within their Pow'r it lay , A Citizen to save , or Foe to slay , The last they wou'd permit to scape away . Let none debauch , and lead thee into Vice , Listed a Soldier , still to sin , be nice . Iphicrates , the Athenian , chose to fill His Troops with those , were most addict to ill . Saying , That such , were greedy'st of the Prey , Their Lusts to feed , all Dangers wou'd assay : But tho such Villains valiant may be found To storm a Temple , they in Fight give Ground . 'T is Innocence alone , that knows no Fear , The Spirit , when all 's desp'rate , up will bear ; When thirst of Fame , Dominion , Riches , fail , Will all supply , and will alone prevail . Epigram 51. On a young Soldier . When Victors are allow'd , Trophies to raise , Thou askest , why thy self thou may'st not praise ? Praise made thee Valour , in great Dangers , show , And does engage thee greater things to do ; Honour i' th' Field , thou did'st , b' Example , teach , And now , by Glorying , Honour thou do'st preach . Be 't so : Yet nobler's he , no Acts does tell , But ' counts all Duty , when he does excel . To God alone just Glory does belong , Because his Glorying can no others wrong ; Competitor with him , none 's found to be Satan's a Rebel , but Slave-Enemy : Again , when God , his Mightniess , does show , 'T is infinitely , to what he is , below ; And did he not , in Part , himself reveal , Immensness wou'd the Deity conceal . Unless thy Deeds are such , none can declare , If thou art wise , to trumpet them , forbear . Epigram 52. To Sextus . I send thee here , all I have publick made , Except one Piece , which with my Will , is straid , Twenty two Sermons , in one Volume bound , What I have done in Verse , in two are found . Thou hum'st , and say'st , my Present thee does grace , But wou'd I 'd sent a Capon in its Place . Epigram 53. On Bastwick Oats . The Name I give , because your Nature Shapes , For , tho less witty , thou art Bastwick's Ape ; As scandalous and scurrilous in thy Phrase , Both holding Impudence , the highest Praise ; That Mountebank's mere Zany and his Fool , Preserver of his Excrements , his Close-stool . Worse utter'd , from good Manners wou'd not stray , Unto foul Language give too free a Way ; Speaking of Oats , none in this Point can fail , So base , to call him by his Name , 's to rail . Epigram 54. On an Independant . When Charles the first , I Saint and Martyr nam'd , Affirm'd none higher , in the Diptics , fam'd ; Firm in Religion , in all Vertues strong , None Love deserving more , or suff'ring Wrong ; In Scorn thou said'st , Canst thou the World acquaint . With any Wonders for this Martyr Saint , To testifie his Faith , Heaven ever wrought ? Yes : On three Realms his Blood Destruction brought , With-held before , Oppression , Tyranny , Prophaneness , Sacriledge , and Anarchy , The Cov'nant , Cromwell , Blasphemy , and Thee . Epigram 55. On the Covenant . This Monster , Scotland brooded , at the first , Revolting England foster'd up and nurst ; The Rebel offspring of a Rebel Race , In which the Parents Features you may trace ; Contempt of Pow'rs , the Height of Tyranny , Mocking of God , profound Hypocrisie . Christ's Natures both have been , by some , deny'd , One , as too much ; t'other , too mean , decry'd ; His Actions and himself allegoriz'd . But he who shall the Covenant dissect , Will yet much greater Blasphemys detect . This does not Errors and Mistakes disclose , But , wittingly , enormous Sins impose . Christ's Kingdom and a King , in Words , it owns ▪ And , by rebellious Actions , both dethrones ; Calls Heaven to witness , it true Duty pays , When it , most impudently , disobeys ; Episcopacy , Antichristian , stiles , And Regicide , to th' Gospel , reconciles . Engins have made whole Fleets and Armys quake , But this is one , the Christian World , to shake . Whose furious Operation knew no Bound , Till its wild Ravage , and destructive round , The Authors , with two Nations , did confound . Like to the seven times heated Furnace slew , Those , who into its Flames , the Faithful threw . Epigram 56. On Rushworth's Collections . Was 't not enough , that Faction did run down A righteous King , seize both his Life and Crown ? By diabolick Acts and Arts translate Into Confusion , the best model'd State ? A Church of pure and Apostolick Frame , Babylon , Whore , and Antichristian Name , Her learned Teachers slaughter and defame , Unless thou rear'd'st , false Rushworth , to the Skies , Th' impious Actors of these Tragedys ? Zeal and Ambition , set on fire by Hell , Like Furies , drove two Nations to rebel . But what mov'd thee , in calm and sober Mood , The Truth to stifle , and a Lie to brood ? Th' innocent Party , guilty to declare , Th' execrable set off upright and fair ? However foul a Sin is in the Act , His is yet fouler , justifies the Fact. Had not a faithful and industrious Hand , By Records shew'd , how falsly thou did'st brand That suff'ring Age , Posterity , the Right Had never known , bewilder'd in thy Night . I can't expose thy Treach'ry to the Height , Of lay upon it the deserved Weight : But Treach'ry is vile , however great , And Stocks , not Death , ' awarded to a Cheat ; Invectives , like a nobler Doom , wou'd grace What 's disingenuous , and in Nature base . For an Eternal Record of thy Shame , The P●n shall stand , that 's woven in thy Name . Epigram 57. On Moil the Grasier . For Sheep , for Hogs , a Wife , Moils way of Trade ▪ Was much alike , and the Respect he paid . Into a House he stept , where he was told , Out of great Choice a Wife he might behold . ●our comely Maids their Father made appear , All sightly in their Persons , and their Gear . Round them he walk'd , and after shook his Head , Mutt'ring , I find , I shall not here be sped . Their Father ask'd , If he could shew him more ? As if , like Sheep , he Daughters had by th' Score . The Good-man said , the eldest kept his House , ●rew'd , bak'd , made Butter , Cheese ; in Winter , Souce . But he 'd not deal , she look'd so poor and lank , A Wife he chose , like Bullocks , by the Flank . And to the Door , like a true Churl , he drew , Father nor Daughters bidding once adieu . I' th' Corner of a Close , as he did pass , Pitching of Dung , there was a sturdy Lass , Her Sleeves tuck'd up , her Coat not much below Her Knees , whose Legs did , like two Mill-posts show : Her Arms , like those of Oak ; her Skin , like Bark , As rough and chop'd , as scurfy and as Dark ; Aloud she baul'd , Hodge , let not out the Cow — And like to one , seem'd not to speak , but low . This precious Piece was , in his Eye , a Pearl , Long known , and fancy'd by him , from a Girl . How do'st thou Meg ? Says he . — Thanks , Master M●● Come , go with me , and leave off here to toil . What to do Master ? If thou do'st agree , Forthwith I purpose , Meg , to marry thee . In earnest , say you ? Even with all my Heart , There shall not any Stop be on my Part , ' Parrel I 'll only fetch . There is no need , 'T will raise but Talk , and trash our purpos'd Speed ▪ The Courtship ended , they both jogg'd along , He with his Padlestaff , she with her Prong : At 's Farm , with nappy Ale , he did her treat , Kept by his private Key , and pouder'd Meat . Their Bellys full , they hasted both to bed , And some Weeks after , were , at leisure , wed . Epigram 58. On Fabella . Where-e'er thou com'st , thy Face assumes a Jeer , As if that something did absurd appear , Which others does invite , the Cause to see , But looking round , the Jest they find in thee . Epigram 59. On Priscus . That the Satyrick Mirror I do place Before my Books , them out of Hopes to grace , Whether more Pride or Folly I do show , Both are so eminent , thou do'st not know : For tho the Fancy well with Martial suits , My Epigrams , the meaning in 't , confutes . Counsel I 'll here return thee , for thy Scorn . Thy self with fair and borrow'd Plumes adorn , If they 'll engage thee , 'bove thy self , to live , Such Pride and Folly , all will thee forgive . Epigram 60. On Mercia . Three snotty Girls , and two can wipe their Nose , Th' art Mother of , and do'st thy self suppose A kind of Niobe ; ambitious art , That these thy beauteous Offspring bear a Part Among the Deitys , that rule this Town , Thinking , a Country Life , of no Renown . If this Conceit does from thy self arise , Whate'er thou dream'st , thou art not over wise . If from thy Children ; to comply , were cruel : To please the younger , in their Watergruel , Allow more Plums and Sugar ; a Lace more Or Fringe , unto the elder , on this score . A London Goddess , is a Bully's Whore. Epigram 61. To Justus . Where my best Pow'rs , thou say'st , shou'd all combine , T' extol the Great , my Verse does most decline . My Care 's not less , but such above it shine . Epigram 62. On the Present Parliament . The factious Members , the Year Fourty , met , The Ship o' th' State , when tight and stanch , o'erset : But when , by Storms , ready to bulge or strand , You , like good Pilots , brought her safe to Land ; When Shelves and Rocks did her Destruction doom , Worse than the Ocean knows , those in the See of Rome . The Dangers of the Main she easier bore , Than the fierce Hurricanes she met on Shore . But no black Clouds , your Counsels , overcast , Sent forth no ▪ ruffling , no seditious Blast ; Feign'd Jealousies , in you , no Place cou'd find , Ambition , or base Int'rest , taint your Mind ; But as the King , his Person , did expose , Your Aids , brought double Terror on our Foes ; The Wants in which our Fleet or Army , stood , Next Loyal Session , constantly , made good ; Even Mines , you feem'd to spring , of richest Oar , In this our Isle , were never known before ; The Kingdoms Strength we , to your Wisdoms , owe , Which , till you taught , our selves we did not know ; Th' insuperable Burdens we did fear , Easy and practicable , made appear Which Acts have purchas'd you this rare Renown , The Darling of the People , and the Crown . Epigram 63. On a Wittall . Vast in Estate , in Heart and Stature small , A Wife was given thee proud , majestick , tall ; Who , o'er thee , eas'ly did the Empire gain , Her Presence aw'd thee , to resign the Rein. Me , thy Comrade , thou brought'st with thee to dine , But did'st in this , I found , transgress thy Line : For when thy haughty Wife approach'd the Board , Led by two Gallants , she did not afford A Look to thee or me , her Bullys did caress , And all thy Servants did to them address ; They rul'd , commanded , revell'd in thy Cheer , Thou did'st the Guest , and they the Lords appear ▪ Both shameful and deplorable's thy Case , They seem'd to cuckold thee before thy Face ; And tho they planted on thy Brow the Horn , To flatter and collogue with thee did scorn . Aesop's old Fable's moral'd in thy House , The Marriage of the Lioness and Mouse . Epigram 64. On a Coward . Thy brawny Limbs , thee to bear Arms , betray'd , A Soldier first , and then a Captain , made ; Upon the Court of Guard , not any He Dares more profess , or durst do less , than thee ; Foe thou ne'er saw'st , but in a Fortress lay , For if thou had'st , thou wou'dst have run away ; Too good a Christian art , to fight a Duel , But where thou might'st with Safety , to be cruel Thou think'st it brave , also to rant and swear , If these are Crimes , know'st not what Vertues are . Drunk , on a Time , thou rudely did'st assay , The Vintner's Wife , but sorely for 't did'st pay ; Her Husband wou'd not pass it for a Slip , But his blew Apron drub'd thy Captainship ; Nor offer'd'st thou to draw , when he did rout thee , Thy Wits tho' lost , the Fears thou had'st about thee . Epigram 65. On three little Boys . Coming from Church upon a Holy-day , Their Father ask'd , What did the Vicar say ? What have you brought o' th' Sermon ? One did tell The Text , Chapter and Verse , and that was well , Apologiz'd , by Silence , for the rest : The Mother hugg'd the younger in her Breast , And ask'd , what have you brought my Joys and Loves ? He meekly said , my Handkercher and Gloves . Epigram 66. To Lupus . Thou call'st my Verses nought , and so much more , Because they come from fourscore Years and four . Name 'em not Verse , but Anguish and Disease , And then , perhaps , they will the better please ; For tho but mean vile Epigrams they prove , Groanings and Coughings th' are a Strain above . Epigram 67. On a conceited Poet. Conceit , like thee , did never Man deceive , Of Modesty and Judgment so bereave . Thou do'st avow , with Pride so over-grown , Mens Works thou read'st , but only lov'st thine own . Think'st that Apollo cannot reach thy Strain , Shou'd he attempt , he wou'd attempt in vain . Reciting ought , thou strangely do'st rejoyce , And shew'st it in thy Gestures , Looks , and Voice , At ev'ry Verse , behold'st the Hearers Face , How he approves th' inimitable Grace ; Thy Betters , Brother Poets , deign'st to call , Thinking the Honour , thou confer'st , not small ; Demand'st , if any equal thee in Wit ? When all 's Cacata Charta thou hast writ . This Lesson to thy self for Cure reherse , A Fool in Morals , is an Ass in Verse . Epigram 68. On Thyrsis . Sitting with Thyrsis by a purling Brook , In 's well tun'd Verses , I great Pleasure took . So soft , so gentle , so harmonious sweet , They mov'd like Down , which has the Air for Feet . He sung the Wonders in Amintas Face , Her charming Speech , and captivating Crace ; Shew'd her a Miracle awake , a-sleep , A seeming Goddess , when she drove her Sheep ; From Gems , from Flow'rs , from Stars their Beauty drew , Which brighter in her Form , than in themselves did shew . Astonish'd and transported with his Song , Thyrsis , said I even raving , how I long To learn thy Skill — He bid me take for Theme , Th' adjoyning Grove , and gently flowing Stream . My boist'rous Verse , of Leaves , bereav'd the Wood , And swell'd the gliding Waters to a Flood . My Friend , said he , your Metre wou'd not fail , To raise a Tempest in a Milk-Maid's Pail ; To Love , I soft and melting Numbers , owe , They not from reading , but from Passion flow ; Your Head is h●ary — Yet again I 'll try — But doting thus , within a Covert nigh , Both Cupid and my Muse I did espy , Her angry Sense , with Frowns , she did deliver , He laugh'd , and shook the Shafts from out his Quiver . Epigram 69. On a decay'd Beauty . Pouder'd and patch'd , thick laid with white and red , One of those Dames , feign Beauty , when 't is fled , Besought me with a quaint , well-bred Address , Her little Cur to celebrate in Verse ; Hoping , at least , I 'd make her hold the Dog. Embarras'd worse , than sunk into a Bog , Said I , no Mastiff , Madam , have you , nor a Hog ? Epigram 70. On the same . Without Resentment , tho thou did'st depart , My Answer vext thee to the very Heart . What ? Say'st thou , rather praise a filthy Hog , Or Mastiff , than my self , and genté Dog ? He shews , beside , a Person meanly bred , That talks , at such a rate , of white and red : Smutty were more agreeable Discourse , Than Language so uncourtly and so course . Epigram 71. On a Bumkin . There came , upon a Law Suit , to the Town , One , Master , call'd for 's Wealth , by Birth a Clown ; He ask'd a Friend , where he might daily eat ? Who answer'd , Ord'naries , at all Rates , treat . But there , I hear , they swagger and they fight , And I , in broken Pates , take no Delight . Be not then positive , no Man gainsay , Take care , a fair Respect to all you pay . 'Gainst Quarrels this he found a good Defence , Only his Stomach gave my Host Offence , Who often wish'd him , and his twelve pence thence . And once , sharp set on Beef , to none a Foe , One coming in , gave him aswinging Blow , But strait profess'd , it was upon Mistake , Nor know I , I protest , what of 't to make , Said he ; fed on , and the King's Peace ue'er brake . Epigram 72. On Lewis the 14th . While thou art safe , thy Soldiers , on thy score , By Thousands fall on Heaps all Europe o'er ; Th' Assassins undergo just Princes Rage , 'T is pitty , thou thy self dost ne'er engage . Epigram 73. Censorinus . Thou say'st , on trivial Subjects I do write , Things , of too mean a Nature , bring to light . What wou'dst thou have ? I shew the Ways of Me● And must , what 's wise , only take up my Pen ? Th' are Epigrams , to say no more , I frame , And Titles , of all sorts , answer their Name . Nor Martial , more than Nugae , his did call : Tho' things of Bulk vail oft' , to what are small . A Spark of Di'mant set in Gold by Art , Excells a Freestone , that will load a Cart ; A Piece by Browar , but of one Foot square In Worth , with vast Designs , of Rubens may compare If Storms , feign'd Wars , as great things , thee delight Virgil consult ; but Martial , why do'st slight ? Follys are trifling , nothing is more true , But trifling 't is not , them aright to shew , All Vice is mean , degen'rate , low , and base , Yet noble it may be , Vice to uncase . I rake in Mire , but not immer'st am seen , Dunghills I turn , but keep my self still clean , Favour no Crimes , nor am I found obscene . That Epigrammatist , he might appear , Soure Beza , to write Baudry , did not fear . Epigram 74. To Priscus . Thus [ to one David ] did a Person say , " Renowned David ! famous to this Day ! " Son of Goliah , who did Sampson slay . Epigram 75. On Planca . Thou laugh'dst aloud , to see Addresses paid To a fair Widdow , and thou by a Maid : But tho thou feign'dst to scorn , thy Heart is wrung , Youth was thought old , and Beauty ever young . Epigram 76. On the Poems on the Affairs of State. My Sense , Calenus , freely to relate O' th' Poems [ stil'd ] on the Affairs of State , Lampoons and Libels they , to me , do seem , The Church , the King , the Monarchy , their Theme ▪ But as they these , themselves they also brand , Malice and Lewdness going Hand in Hand . I thought at first , they were a mere Contest , Whether smooth Verse , or rough and strong were best , Denham's and Dryden's , Waller's Names were glad To see , but reading , this Conceit I had , Dryden writ young , Denham when he was mad . From Muse's Laws , the Waller ne'er did range , He , a wrong Cause to varnish , made not strange . Rochester , 'mong the best , I wou'd reherse , Were he as great in Vertue , as in Verse ; And noblest Wits wou'd sweat to reach his Praise , No Head , than his , deserving more the Bayes . In Marvels Vein , I fancy'd that I saw , The Chains in Bedlam , Ravings , and the Straw , As dark and mystical , as fierce and Wood , There ever best , where he 's least understood . Milton is also mention'd in the List , And present , but involv'd as in a Mist , And you may sep'rate Water mix'd with Wine , Sooner than 's Pen , from that before , disjoyn , Tho far unlike , as Sense , and empty prate , Milton the Venom adding and the Weight : Like Heat and Cold they , joyn'd together , thunder , But Marvel single , ne'er appear'd a Wonder . I doubt not but these Pieces were compos'd For sev'ral Ends , tho now , for one expos'd ; And Mastery in Verse is least design'd , Treason 's the Business , Poetry's the Blind : For not to name , what 's scurrilously writ O' th' Church [ late Ages common place of Wit. ] W' are told , if just and great things we affect , The State of Monarchy we must reject Such Blessings from a Commonwealth expect . That noble Monk play'd but the perjur'd Knave , When Rebels he deceiv'd , and did his Country save . Portentous Times ! that can produce thing thing , Friends joyn'd with Foes , to abrogate a King. Even those the King , Heaven's highest Blessing , own , With France and Rome , plot to subvert his Throne ; The Hellish Fogs of Forty One , arise , Threatning , a second Time , t' o'erspread our Skys . No Place is here , the Satyrist to play , Forbear my Muse , tehse Days call more to pray . Epigram 77. On Baccha . I know no Tyranny that can compare , With Kindness from a Woman that 's not fair . Probus , says Bacchae , tho you will not dine , Sit by me yet , and take a Glass of Wine . Vastly she eat , and did as largely drink , Broke Wind for Ease , and scrupl'd not to st — k. All she cought up , or from her Brain did flow , She swallow'd , which for second Course did go . Of green-fin'd Oysters sh 'ad a double Bed , One is her Stomach , t'other in her Head. Feeling a Qualm , abruptly I with-drew , Else , as I saw her eat , she'ad seen me sp . — Epigram 78. On the Priest's Girdle . The glorious God that did the World create , That those at 's Altar serv'd , might suit his State , Himself prescrib'd the Garments , they should wear , Nor were the Robes of Kings so gorgeous fair . The smallest Piece , the Girdle , did unfold Scarlet and Purple , interwove with Gold : Habits , not only made to take the Sight , But Rev'rence to conveigh with the Delight . This Age , whatever's holy dares defame , A Surcingle , the Sacerdotal Girdle , name ; And for a Myst'ry , the Reproach , must pass , It girds a Priest , that is , a blockish Ass. When Gentiles did the Deity display , Like to a Man , or Ox that eateth Hay , Well may his Servants the Disgrace digest , That Atheists martial them among the Beast . Epigram 79. To Eudora and Silvia . Prob. ] Most justly ( excellent and matchless Pair ) On your fair Arms you each a Garland wear ! Eudo. ] Without consulting , by our Genius led , We both conspir'd , with them to crown thy Head. Prob. ] No , glorious Nimphs ! Whos 's he , that dires deface Such divine Trophies , to assume their Grace ? Those , who your Vertues know , and Beautys see , These Laurels to your Merit will decree , Silv. ] Ambitiously we Honour came to pay , But more adorn'd our selves we go away . Epigram 80. On Damon and Phillis . Phillis , as proud in Youth , as she was fair , Fond Damon brought , well nigh , unto Despair ; Time did his Peace restore , her Grace decay , The Maid remain'd , when Beauty fled away : Disdaining now , he turn'd aside his Eye , And said , Times past how great a Fool was I ? Epigram 81. On Thyrsis and Alinda . Alinda , constant Thyrsis , did adore , And the bright Maid from all Pretenders bore . Grown grey himself , and she 'mong Matrons nam'd , He ne'er forgot , Times past , how she was fam'd ; But said , when all the Nymphs he did behold , None my Alinda equals , tho she 's old . Epigram 82. On Bardus . The noblest Marts of Books in all the Town Thou haunt'st , among the Learn'd to get Renown , Spend'st many Hours , in turning o'er and o'er Both Greek and Latine Authors a vast Store ; Feigning to read , but dost ( in truth ) but pore . Understand'st none , writ'st in a Book contains Just such a Treasure as thy worthless Brains : Exhaust'st thy Spirits , altho hail and strong , A Dog ' twoul'd tire , that did not sleep so long . The Pains thou tak'st thy Ign'rance to disguise , If well employ'd , wou'd make thee learn'd and wise . Epigram 83. A Farewel to Poetry . I yield at length : Reason and Age conspire , To quench the Flame of my Poetick Fire . — These Words , my Muse , scarce utter'd , yet did hear , And charm'd up , like a Spirit , did appear : Roses and Laurel were her Heads Attire , Her pearl-trimm'd Harp was strung with Golden Wyer . The Myst'ry in her Garments none cou'd spell Such wond'rous Fancy did in them excel . Thus in her Glory she her self array'd , More powerfully my fleeting to upbraid . Ingrate , she said , what is it you propose ? With what Support will next your Dotage close ? Who shall your Pains divert ? Droopings revive ? Men will say , There you sit , but not alive . — This , and much more , enraged and high-flown , She fiercely spoke , supposing me alone : But when she paus'd , surpriz'd , she did behold A rev'rend Dame , of Heav'nly Form , the old ; Her Hand a Book , her Mantle Stars adorn'd , Her Visuage , Moses like , was ray'd and horn'd , With God , as he , she nearly did converse , And of his Glory bore a bright Impress , DEVOTION was her Name . The Muse abash'd , Her Figure , 'fore she spoke , her Boldness dash'd , The Freedom she had shew'd , she blushing , blam'd , Even of her Youth and Beauty seem'd asham'd . Within your Bounds , the Matron said , contain , Divine Effects ascribe not to what 's vain ; Your Art cou'd Pains divert , but cou'd not cure , A Flash of Life infuse , not make t' endure ; The Ill-at-ease joy'd of 't to take the Air , In your rough , jolting , Epigrammic Chair Which vary'd Griefs , but did not them impair . On downy Wings I 'll bear him far above All that is Mundane , Pain , Ambition , Love ; Where all delights ; and nothing does annoy , Sorrows are drown'd in Extasies of Joy. These Words had Force , the Muse her self t' inspire ; Who to a higher Key strait wound her Lyre , And proselyted on the Earth cast down , Low at Devotions Feet , her Laurel Crown , Resolv'd hereafter ne'er to wear the Bayes , But on account of singing Heavenly Layes . ERRATA . PAge 3. line 7. read bear , p. 9. l. 14. r. Tables , p. 9. l. 16. r. Beauty , p. 45. l. 13. r. Y' exalt , p. 50. l. 12. f. it r. and , p. 53. l. 11. r. dar'st , p. 72. l. 11. r. Natures Shape , p. 84. l. 10. f He r. One , p. 94. l 10. r. theie days . FINIS . Books Printed for Henry Bonwicke , at the Red Lion in St. Paul's Church-yard . EPigrams of Martial Englished , with some other Pieces ancient and Modern . 8 o. Pia Desideria , or Divine Addresses ; in 3. Books . 1. Sighs of the Penitent Soul. 2. Desires of the Religious Soul. 3. Exstacies of the Enamoured Soul. Illustrated with 47. Copper Plates . Written in Latin : Englished by Edm. Arwaker . M. A. In 8 o. A New Description of Paris , containing a particular Account of all the Churches , Palaces , Monasteries , Colleges , Hospitals , Libraries , Cabinets of Rareties , Academies of the Virtuosi , Paintings , Medals , Statutes , and other Sculptures , Monuments , and Publick Inscriptions , with all other remarkable Matters in that great and famous City . Translated out of French. To which is added a Map of Paris . 12 o. Country Conversations , being an Account of some Discourses that happened in a Visit to the Country last Summer , on divers Subjects , chiefly of the Modern Comedies , of Drinking , of Translated Verse , of Painting , and Painters , of Poets and Poetry . 8 o. Letters of Religion and Vertue to several Gentlemen and Ladies to excite Piety and Devotion , with some short Reflections on divers Subject In 12 o. FINIS . The Kings-Bench Cabal , A SONG . To the Tune , hark , hark , I hear the Cannons rore I. ETernal Whig that still depends On Old Sham-Plots & perjured ends , Toth ' Kings-Bench amongst your friends Repair to make new Orders : Make haste , contrive some better way , Or by the Gods you 'll loose the day , Great York is now above half way , To Revenge all Rape and Murthers . II. We 're the best House of Commons now , That once have made three Kingdoms bow Put in , spew out , as you know how , fear Popery the old Notion : Let 's purge the House of all that 's good , That have our Cause so long withstood , And dares not thirst for guiltless blood , E'r York's upon the Ocean . III. Great Hamden , Rouse , thy wonted strain , Bring Trenchard into play again ; Vote down the guards and ev'ry swain , That dares oppose our pleasure : For to submit they would be loath , Thy Father and thy Grand-Sire both , To have ones hands ty'd up by Oath , That may be loose at leisure . IV. Let 's Vote the Duke out of the Town , The King out of both Life and Crown ▪ Vote Death to all that keeps us down , To leave the Cause a bleeding , Shall we lie here ty'd up like Dogs , Only Croaking our minds like Frogs , While here the Doctor swears and flogs ▪ And leaves off all proceeding . V. Come Speak and Bradon , Arnold too , Colt , and Caldron what shall 's do , Shall 's lie like Oysters here in stew ? And ne'r look out for help for 't ; Let 's send for Oxford Parliament , With all their Guards for murther bent , Come let 's attempt e'r Coin be spont , Tho' each one Damn himself for 't . VI. Shall we who were so great before , Have neither power to plot nor whore , Come let 's resolve , break down the dore , And joyn the Kent-street Rable . Then Wapping and the Rump will rise , The Tower and Westminster surprise , While Charles and York at Windsor lies , We 'll make this Town like Babel . LONDON Printed for J. Dean , Bookseller in Cranborn-street near Newport House in Leicester Fields , 1684. Notes, typically marginal, from the original text Notes for div A70401-e5020 * Cephissus was the River of Athens , Eurotas of Sparta .