PENDRAGON; OR, THE Carpet Knight HIS CALENDAR.  
— Rubet Auditor cui frigida Mens est  
Criminibus, tacitâ sudant praecordia  
Culpâ.  Juv. Sat. 1. 
Why, let the strucken Deer go weep,  
The Hart ungalled go play:  
For some must watch, while some must sleep▪  
So runs the World away.  Hamlet. 
LONDON, Printed for john Newton at the Three Pigeons over against the Inner-Temple Gate in Fleetstreet, 1698.   

ADVERTISEMENT.  
BEcause it looks too naked to fall immediately from Title-page to Page the First, the Reader, in lieu of Fig-leaves, or a Screen to come betwixt, is presented with a short Advertisement concerning the Nature, Powers, and Privileges of Burlesque Verse.  
The Remarks thereupon, which the late Learned and Ingenious Sir Thomas Pope-Blount has collected from the Opinions of several Men, signify little more than that it is not to be meddled with for fear of doing Mischief: And so it is shamefully discouraged and Browbeaten by the Critics, because indeed they themselves are afraid of it.  
Should we suppose the Chief of our dead English Poets holding a Sessions with those who are now living, I cannot imagine where they would place the Author of Hudibras: To set him at the Upper End of the Table, above the Princes of Epic and Heroic, would be ridiculous; and no less so, to place him at the Bottom. In my Opinion he ought to be set, like Apemantus in the Play, at a Side-board by himself. Burlesque taking the Privileges of that surly Philosopher, no wonder if it is treated like him, but scurvily. But for the same Reason, why do not Men of the profoundest Literature and deepest Science fall foul on Cornelius Agrippa, for his ridiculing and showing the Vanity of Arts and Sciences; or on Solomon himself, for his Divine Book of the Ecclesiastes? But not to go too far that way, I would rather here speak of the Laws of Burlesque, (if I knew any it had:) It stands indeed upon Four Feet; but its Liberties and Privileges are unbounded; and those Four Feet are, I think, by no means obliged to be but Eight Syllables; for in place of the Last, it is a part of its Excellency sometimes to have Two, Three, or Four Syllables (like so many Claws) crowded into the Time of One Foot. The Duple and Triple Rhyme, in some other Poetry much blamable, are Beauties in this: And Burlesque esteems it no Fault, for Rymes sake, to borrow from any Language whatsoever.  
It's Nature is to Ridicule, Flatter, Huff, and Banter, by turns; to Scratch and Claw now, and anon to Grin and By't like a satire.  
I am ignorant of the true Reason why it is called Doggerel; but I know a witty young Gentlewoman, who has a small Talon that way, and she calls her own Burlesque, Bitcherel.  
It is wonderful to traverse its Arbitrary Power, how it proceeds without regard to Periods, Colons, or Commas: How sometimes it will change Accents for the sake of Rhyme, and, according to the most vulgar and careless Pronunciation, leave out what Consonants it pleases. It will end the Verse with a Preposition, and make Interjections at its own Libitum. It often uses Grammar so ill, that it will balk Orthography itself, rather than not assert its own Prerogative. All the Tropes, Figures, and Flowers in Rhetoric bend beneath it. The Synaelepha and Apostrophe, like two Executioners, are continually waiting upon its Absolute Will and Pleasure. Refining and Polishing, which gives Beauty to other Poetry, spoils this: As if the Printer should leave out the Flat Nose, Goggle Eyes, Hump Back, and Distorted Limbs, and call it The Picture of Aesop. It will break a Word in Two, and gather up the latter Part of it a good while after, when one would think it was quite lost. Sometimes it goes on with a long Beadrow of Monosyllables together, and esteems it no Blemish; at another time, one single Word, or two at most, shall compose the whole Line. Endless it would indeed be to recount its various Qualifications and wild Vagaries, or to say how many different Things it is like.  
As true Heroick may be compared to a Beautiful Well-dressed Lady, who, when she pays her Visit, le's down her Train at length, and advances with an even and graceful Motion; so Burlesque may be likened to her wanton Chambermaid, with her Petticoats tucked up, in her Masque and Pattens, who walks, runs, stumbles, stops, looks about, and laughs, and perhaps all in less than a Minute.  
Among many other Comparisons, (which are Odious) one of the worst Things Burlesque may be likened to, is Mr. Bays fierce Hero in the Rehearsal; who frights his Mistress, snubbs up Kings, baffles Armies, and does what he will, without regard to Numbers, Good Manners, or justice: And yet after all, this frightful Thing does no more harm, when set upon proper Subjects, than Dogs that kill Vermin.  
If the Author of Hudibras had a right or took liberty to ridicule particular Factions and Persuasions, as he thought them faulty, sure another Man must needs have the same Privilege to expose those who are apparently mischievous to Society, and destructive to good Established Government. Though I doubt whether ever any Man will arise with so transcendent a Genius and happy Talon for this purpose, as Mr. Butler; and great Pity it was, as well as Shame, that in one respect he was suffered to fall so low at the last.  
If our Author be mistaken in his Conceits about Burlesque, he presumes his Errors are of no dangerous Consequence; and for that Reason, is little concerned about them. Therefore, without detaining the Reader any longer, he is desired to fall to the following Pages, and make the best of them.   
PENDRAGON; OR, THE Carpet Knight HIS CALENDAR.  

January's CANTO.  
ARGUMENT.  

After a decent Introduction,  
Our Muse for better Satisfaction,  
Craves Aid and begs Assistances  
From the most valued Friend she has;  
Then gives Pendragon's Character  
While he sat writing in his Chair.   
CANTO.  

I Sing the Man of strange Renown,  
For Letters, not for Warfare known;  
Who did his Reputation raise  
From Skill in Style and Languages;  
From ranging Words in Order, and  
Keeping o'er Alphabet's Command,  
Which far and wide dispersed his Name,  
And got him Dignity and Fame.  
For Knighthood (the Reward of Fight)  
Was given him only for his writing.   

Not but the Gown does oft afford  
As Noble Honours as the Sword;  
The Gown distinguishes Degrees  
Of Men, in different Faculties,  
And tells us at a distance who  
Is walking off, or coming to;  
And Ermines, Scarlet Robes and Furs,  
Are deemed as worshipful as Spurs:  
Yet our famed Knight owed his Preferments  
To none of these exalted Garments;  
For his Advancement came alone,  
From's Morning, Night, or Studying-Gown.   

In former Days when Times were scurvy,  
And Government turned Topsy-turvy:  
When Rulers who should give Protection,  
Sat to administer Destruction;  
To change established Property  
To Bigotry and Slavery:  
When Pulpit Bout'feu's beat Alarms,  
And Evidences rose in Swarms;  
Whose Business was to cut the Weazon  
Of others differing in Persuasion:  
Tho' in declaring Overt Acts,  
Like makers of our Almanacs,  
In giving Judgement of the Wether,  
No two of them Agreed together:  
When greatest Virtues did but render  
The Man the greater an Offender:  
When Scribere in a Private Nature,  
Was Agere to make a Traitor:  
When Lord Chief Justices had Claws,  
And Daggers lay wrapped up in Laws;  
Then did Sir Knight, put Flame to Taper,  
Elbow to Board, and Pen to Paper.   

Now, tho' 'twas very Cold, he wrote  
As if the Season had been Hot;  
Tho' Sol through Capricorn was hying,  
His Brains were still in Cancer frying;  
He would maintain there could no Fault  
Possess a Minister of State,  
Who acting by his Prince's Will,  
By that was safe from doing Ill;  
Nor was he fit to be restrained  
By any public Laws o'th' Land:  
He taught all Subjects to obey,  
Dispensing, Arbitrary Sway;  
And who this Doctrine durst deny  
He'd prove a Foe to Monarchy:  
He chiefly bend the Nib of's Pen  
To write against the Golden Mean;  
To prove Men Wise and Moderate  
Were Enemies to Church and State;  
That to be still, and void of Action,  
Sedition was and downright Faction;  
And who in Speech was ne'er so silent,  
In Thought was represented Violent.  
'Twas thus his Fingers sought to cripple,  
And ham-string the King's best Leige-People,  
By laying about him might and Main,  
Daily with Paper, Ink and Pen.  
Whence (tho' the Sound be somewhat Pagan)  
Came his acquired Name Pendragon.  
And who but he in that vile Age  
In such Designs so fit t' engage?  
A pliant Tool, obliged with Knighthood  
And large Rewards, he was excited  
To serve the Times through all Excesses,  
And on foul Deeds to put fair Faces,  
Until he grew to be the great  
Prevaricator of the State:  
Thus all true Englishmen he found,  
Pendragon with his Pen dragooned.  
Success in Shame and Banter made him  
Proceed wherever the Maggot led him;  
That Maggot which doth turn and wind  
The greatest Part of Humane Kind.   

All hail thou mighty Worm which reigns  
Lord-Paramount in Mortals Brains,  
Patron of Whimsies, and the Itches  
Of Fancy, and the Mind's Caprices;  
Who grave Philosophers and wise  
Hast made to write in Praise of Lice,  
Fleas, Asses, Dogs, and Cats, and Owls,  
Hermaphrodites, and Apes, and Fools:  
Thou who inspir'st Disease and Frenzy,  
Grief and old Age with Wit and Fancy,  
Canst teach Men tortured with the Pox,  
To ease their Pain by breaking Jokes;  
And make the Raging of the Gout  
Into Poetic Rage break out:  
Thou who giv'st Coronets of Bays  
To Lords and to Apprentices;  
And hast thy Garlands ready made  
And sized to every fashioned Head,  
I beg th' Assistance all along  
To the Conclusion of my Song:  
Teach me new Notes, and as I do sing,  
To think well of my own Composing.  
Let me be positive and bold,  
As Bays of late, and Ben of old;  
And whatsoever Self brings forth,  
Applaud it as a thing of Worth:  
And as with a Crane-neck the Chariot  
Makes shorter Turns and quicker for it,  
So give me the bein Turn of Doggerel,  
That Muse may drive on, and not clog her Wheel:  
Send me one Rag of Butler's Mantle,  
And I can never fail to Cant well:  
Butler! the best of Buccaneers,  
Who taught us Piracy in Verse;  
From whom the boldest Critics run,  
And dare not stay to fire a Gun:  
May they no less my Rhymes come near,  
Or I their Patarero's fear.  
But if our Sense obtains, and Measures  
Contribute to a Prince's Pleasures;  
If he esteem 'em worth Recital,  
We hope he'll think 'em worth Requital;  
And not let (Butler-like) the Founder  
Neglected live, and run aground here.   

So much by way of Invocation:  
Now we'll proceed, without a Passion,  
And suffer no warm Thoughts to hurry us,  
While the Sun's tugging through Aquarius;  
While nipping Frosts, and Snows, and Hail,  
With Cold, and piercing Winds, prevail;  
While the Nights yet continuing long,  
Yield no good Subject for a Song.   

Let there a rousing Fire be made:  
Suppose it done as soon as said:  
Then draw the folding Table near,  
And place by that an Elbow-Chair;  
To which be Sir Pendragon put in,  
With all his Magazines about him,  
Of Paper, Wax, Wafers, and Sand,  
A well-cut Pen in his Right-hand,  
On his contracted Brows he wears  
A goodly Cap of Sable Furs;  
A Neckcloth round his Neck is tied  
Of finest Muslin flying wide;  
From Head to Foot he's covered down  
With the said gaudy Studying Gown,  
Made of a flowered Silk, whose Kind is  
Richest of Persia's or th' East-Indies;  
Which, with his Slippers of the same,  
To public view was all that came.   

His Person's very tall and strait,  
Exceeding much the common Height,  
Could we but make him stand upright.  
His Body, had it been exhibited  
Naked, One might have told each Rib it had:  
A Man so Lathy, long, and lean,  
Is very rarely to be seen.  
The Figure of his Face is Oval,  
Not broad at bottom, like a Shovel;  
Though on sinister part of Gullet  
Appears a Poke, or fleshy Wallet,  
A strongly radicated Tumour,  
Caused by an old Malignant Humour,  
Which he who skilled in Physics Trade is,  
Doth term the Scrophula, or Chaerades:  
Yet if our Knight did ever show  
In Lombard's Vale at Bergamo  
His Visage, with this Modish Swelling,  
No Man would there advise its Healing:  
For 'tis in Fashion so, the same is  
Esteemed an Ornament, no Blemish;  
And one would swear, he had so far gone  
Being versed in their peculiar Jargon,  
Which imitated very much is  
By famed Buffoons and Scaramouches.  
But not to suffer a Digression  
To put us by our proper Lesson:  
After the Colour of his Hair,  
We term him of Complexion Fair;  
His Eyes were of the lively Hazel,  
And Eyebrows large became his Face well;  
His Nose well-shaped, on Top of which  
Was fixed the Ciceronian Fetch,  
An Index of his Rhetoric,  
That is of Eloquence and Trick.  
His Visage wore an eager Air,  
Keen as the Season of the Year;  
His Forehead shone like Burnished Brass;  
Bright and Case hardened was his Face,  
Which nothing Foul could touch or take,  
But worse it still reflected back:  
Such was the Nature of the Mirror,  
To render no Ideas fairer.  
But the best Part about the Man  
Many will have to be his Brain,  
Always a working, never idle,  
Even when he takes in hand the Fiddle.  
In vain the Harmony's designed  
To quell the Discords of his Mind;  
The Faculties whereof were strong,  
Though constantly directed wrong.  
His Fancy too was most Luxurious,  
And fertile of an Offspring spurious.  
His Memory had Mansions many,  
And some as fair and large as any;  
But still the fairest and the best  
Were took up by th' foulest Guest.  
For Slanders vile, and lying Stories  
Lodged in its choice Repositories,  
Whilst all their Doors were shut and barred  
'Gainst Worth and Merit very hard.  
His Reason which of Right should Reign  
The lawful Monarch of his Brain,  
Was by his Will deposed, whose Rule  
Despotic was as Great Mogul,  
Would not be bound in any Case  
By any Reasonable Laws,  
Nor other Magna Charta own,  
Than what I please, That shall be done.  
Thus Qualified (while we take Breath)  
Let him write Dagger out of Sheath:  
Under Pretence of pulling down  
The Enemies to Church and Crown,  
He proves the worker of the Fall  
Of Sceptre, Diadem and Ball:  
While those Regalia he would pitch  
So high above all Humane Reach,  
They are but lodged the less secure,  
And can't from Age to Age endure.    

February's CANTO.  
ARGUMENT.  

The Squire comes next as necessary,  
To serve the Knight to fetch and carry:  
His Name is told, with a Relation  
Of Person, Birth, and Education.  
All Things succeed to both their Wishes,  
While the Sun flounders on through Pisces.   
CANTO.  

HE wants no Campany's Enjoyment,  
Whose Mind affords him full Employment.  
If then last Month our Knight was shown  
By himself, yet was he not alone;  
For he kept ev'ry Faculty  
Within him busy as a Bee;  
Which would be glad of an Occasion,  
To get a little Recreation:  
Such constant Labour, and turmoiling  
Without Relief's enough to spoil one;  
To fetch Materials, and employ 'em,  
Are two Men's Work, who e'er enjoys 'em;  
As Sir Pendragon best can tell,  
Who by Experience sensible,  
Performing both, found the Fatigue  
Was even for himself too big;  
When Fortune pitying his Condition,  
Sent him Help meet without Petition.   

For Fame did now the Labours bear,  
Of Sir Pendragon far and near;  
Whose writings took a larger Flight,  
Than e'er was reached by Paper-Kite:  
Each Week produced an Observator,  
Stuffed with variety of Matter;  
Which raised much Dust, and made a Noise  
Amongst Men of shallow Thoughts, and Boys:  
'Twas a supply to women's Prattle,  
At Gossip, and half their Tattle;  
Besides the Capers, and the Fleurets,  
It gave to little Priests and Curates;  
It raised the Passions and the Spleen,  
By various Means, in divers Men;  
Some wept, some laughed, and that which tickled  
One Sort, by others was ridiculed;  
Run down, and mocked, and much despised,  
However by th' adverse Party prized:  
For no small Numbers were of those  
Who fancied them of wondrous Use;  
Amongst whom there was a certain Squire  
Whose Elements were all of fire.  
His Salt, and Sulphur, acted by  
His sublimated Mercury,  
Disposed him to Euthusiasticks,  
Of different Kind's to Pryn's or Bastwick's:  
Who would his Thoughts sometimes express  
In stiff Bombast, affected Phrase;  
And at another time he'd talk  
As blundringly as other Folk.  
Reading the Doctrine of the Knight,  
He strangely was affected by 't,  
Broke out into Soliloquy's,  
Of which, amongst others, one was this▪  
" Were Fortune in my Power, or would  
" She condescend to what I sewed,  
" OH make (quoth he) 'tis all I ask her,  
" Pendragon King of Madagascar,  
" And let me be the (What d' ye call it?)  
" His Viceroy there, the Athe'madoulet.  
But upon second Thoughts he found  
Such idle Wishes wanted Ground;  
That the Conceit was vain and airy,  
And a fantastical Chimaera:  
Wherefore resolves on Application  
To th' Knight, and takes the first Occasion.  
He all Impediments removes,  
Calls for his Sword, and Hat, and Gloves,  
And his best Wigg; then out he goes,  
To find Pendragon at his House.  
The Walk could not be very far  
To Oldbourn High, from Oldbourn Bar.  
How he was introduced, the Greeting,  
And Compliments at their first Meeting,  
I choose to pass: Let it suffice,  
That after two or three Replies,  
The Squire declares the vast Deserts  
Of Sir Pendragon, and those Parts  
Which all the Kingdom so admires,  
Brought him to pay him his Devoirs,  
To tell him, none could truly blazon  
His great Achievements, or do Reason  
To such a Pillar of the Nation,  
Unless the King of Arms, the Garter,  
Would make his Hand and Pen Supporter.  
Fie, (cried Pendragon) Sir, forbear  
To talk of things I must not hear;  
Your Goodness sets too great a Value  
On my poor Labours; yet I'll tell you,  
There are some think the things I write here  
Do Service both to Crown and Mitre,  
Because considerable Gains  
Are sent me to reward my Pains,  
Which are not little, (tho' I say't)  
And sometimes press me with their Weight,  
That I have very often wished,  
I had a Friend, who could assist  
Me with Intelligence, and give notice  
Concerning some who live remotest.  
Sir, quoth the Squire, (for it was that  
He came on purpose to be at)  
I'll undertake in all reality  
Of Truth, Affection, and Fidelity,  
If you dare let on me the Trust lie,  
This Province to discharge most justly.  
I thank you, Sir, with all my Heart,  
(Pendragon said) then e'er we part,  
'Tis needful we confer about  
What Method's best to prosecute.  
For, Two Heads better are than one,  
And, Bow▪ long bend, will weaken soon.   

The Squire than elevates his Poll,  
And with the Knight lays Cheek by Jowl;  
Mean while they're set so closely to't,  
And wink, and nod, and scowl, and plot,  
We'll leave 'em making scurvy Faces,  
And tell you what the Squire's Case is.   

Tho' Critic, with Objection smartest,  
Cries out, This is not like an Artist,  
Some other Person should be near  
In call, to give the Character:  
We'll grant, perhaps 'tis better so;  
However, let Master Critic know,  
The Thing lies properly before us;  
For Muse and Author make a Chorus.  
But if it be a weighty Matter,  
It shall be otherwise hereafter:  
For this Time we'll take special care  
In managing the Squire's Affair.   

Whose Name on Working-days was Hugh▪  
But, not to curtail what's his Due,  
With loftier Tone, and better Phrase,  
He's Hugo called on holidays:  
Which signifies to slash, and cut,  
And to bring comfort every foot:  
It double Mystery does reveal,  
Of Power as well to wound as heal.   

As for his Person, (not to flatter)  
He was excessive low of Stature;  
The true Reverse to's Knight in that,  
Not only short, but thick and fat.  
'Twas not his Fault, but his Mishap,  
To be of Pun●henello's Shape.  
But what in's outward Man Offence is,  
His inward highly recompenses.  
To give you therefore but a Glance,  
Or Copy of his Countenance:  
You ne'er a Feature in't behold,  
But what is masculine and Bold,  
Much like the Sign of Saracin,  
With formidable Laugh and Grin,  
Which showed as fine a Set of Teeth  
As Chaps were ever furnished with;  
No Lady's, nor her Dog's, were seen  
More even, elegant, and clean.  
No better hung, or fashioned Ear,  
E'er was, (allowing Wear and Tear:)  
For one with Spanish Wool was stopped,  
The other by Offences cropped:  
Both which his Periwig does hide,  
Unless in Puff behind 'tis tied.  
For (tho' in Years) he wore his Clothes  
After the Fashion of the Beaux.   

His Birth was very Mean, his Father  
By Trade, was one that dealt in Leather;  
Of honest Calling, had his End  
Been so, and without Reprimend:  
But Discontents afforded String,  
To give himself a mortal Swing.   

Let no Man Hugh for this deride,  
Who got the Proverb on his Side,  
Which says, That happy Son shall live well,  
Whose Father goes before to th' Devil.  
Latin he got (at School a Novice)  
More than he needed in his Office:  
Bred up he was at Inn called Thavy's,  
(Which (some say) ne'er without a Knave is)  
Where Hugh got Skill enough in Law,  
Both to find out, and make a Flaw:  
Could raise a drooping Cause, 'twas known,  
By Affidavits of his own;  
And tho' he found it in the wrong,  
His Client's Cause would still prolong;  
And when at last he brought his Bill in,  
Could change a Groat into a Shilling:  
Defective Settlements could Fumpus,  
And make Will valid of Non compos.  
So qualified, he bent his Labours  
To grind and terrify his Neighbours;  
Which soon enriched him to that height,  
To purchase Manor with Estate:  
When out there comes a Tax on Poll,  
Which asks Five Pounds from willing Fool;  
Hugh paid it by his own desire,  
And from that Hour commenced Esquire;  
(Tho' paying Money on that Score,  
Makes no Man that he waned before.)   

I've heard of three Degrees of Squireship,  
Which canvased, bear not equal Worship.  
Hugo was Squire, Squiret, or Squirt;  
But which, let Bluemantle concert,  
Rogue Croix, Rogue Dragon, or Portcullis,  
Or any else, in whom true Skill is.   

Next, when the Hunt in every Quarter  
Was up against Corporations Charter,  
None made more loud and hideous Noise,  
With open and extended Jaws;  
None set them on, and cried Haloo,  
More frightfully and fierce than Hugh:  
If willingly you make Surrender,  
'Twill be received with greatest Tendeur;  
And for your old and mouldy Charter,  
You shall have new one, with new Fair t' her:  
But some o' th' Privileges you had,  
You must acknowledge forfeited:  
Which, if ye are stubborn, and will stand to  
Defend; the dreadful Quo Warranto  
Shall come, and make upon't a Seizure;  
And then reduced to Will and Pleasure,  
Ye Rebel Rogues, who merit none,  
May even go whistle for 't, when gone.   

Hard Words put many into Frights,  
And Knaves and Fools gave up our Rights;  
Who both of Sense and Conscience void,  
The Birthrights of Unborn betrayed.   

In Management of these Affairs  
Hugh and Pendragon bore their Shares:  
Hugh terrified them like a Beadle,  
Pendragon did both threat and wheadle.   

By this time the Politic Scheme  
Was finished betwixt both of them:  
Pendragon had his Part, and Hugh  
Was taught as well to know his Cue:  
When in there breaks a sweaty Fellow,  
And cries, Sir, I've good News to tell you;  
I've brought you Three and thirty Pound,  
From Town where Tory Fools abound:  
I wish 'twas double, for your sake;  
The Parsons gave you half the Stake.  
I thank you, Friend, (quoth Knight) and stared;  
Go out, and thou shalt find Reward.   

Applying then to trusty Hugo,  
Sir, let me tell you, before you go,  
we'll manage Matters well betwixt us,  
And be revenged of all that vexed us.  
You see a Sample here is sent me,  
(Tho' I confess 'tis somewhat scanty)  
Which does afford us fine Refresh;  
But greater Towns send greater Blessings.  
The Universities have sent me  
Of Guineas and Crown-pieces plenty.  
The next Purse we together share.  
Quoth Hugh, Your humble Servant, Sir:  
And left (when he had took his leave)  
Pendragon laughing in his Sleeve.    

March's CANTO.  
ARGUMENT.  

Sol having now bestrid the Ram,  
The Lady next our Verse does claim;  
Of whom to give Account at large,  
Laurence the Curate takes in Charge:  
Who quits himself so well i' th' Matter,  
He sets Pendragon's Chaps a water.   
CANTO.  

NO longer can our Muse forbear  
To sing the charming Lady fair:  
The Lady fair would think it Wrong  
To be neglected in our Song;  
When such a Subject aught to raise  
Our Measures, and our Roundelays.   

Some sing in lamentable Strains,  
Of Shepherdesses and their Swains,  
Who cry to Echo for Relief,  
And after Heart-stealer, Stop Thief.  
Others sing merry drunken Catches,  
Of beating Constables and Watches.  
One in Heroic Numbers sings  
Of Lovers, Battles, Hero's, Kings,  
Of Sieges, Conquests, Fire, and Sword,  
Of Storms, and Throwing over Board,  
(The dreadful Ornaments of Story.)  
Another sings plain Tory-Rory.  
The first is of too mournful Nature,  
And far too trivial is the latter,  
To be the Subject of our Muse,  
Who rather is disposed to choose  
This happy late-successful Track,  
Than a long painful Journey take,  
In search of Chronicles and Legends  
Of ancient Times, and distant Regions,  
For One whose mighty Deeds are yet hid,  
And in no Measures celebrated.  
Here's nothing tore from tattered Hist'ries;  
But 'tis a Modern Knight and Mistress  
We sing, whose powerful Charms and Wheadles  
Increase Love's Mysteries and Riddles;  
Whose airy Mein, and amorous Glances,  
Outvie the Beauties of Romances;  
Who with small Love-tricks makes more Conquests  
Than they can when their Charms are strongest;  
Which more agreeable may be  
Than Humdrum Love and Constancy.   

For when the curious Calprenedy,  
Or Scudery, hath framed a Lady  
Of finest Beauty, Shape, and Wit,  
To captivate a Hero fit,  
Yet then is this Celestial Creature  
(Maugre the private Pulls of Nature)  
Tied up by Gallantries to move  
In the Religious Laws of Love;  
Not budge a Step from Honour's Post,  
But to maintain't at any Cost.  
A more severe and rigid Duty  
Than ought to be imposed on Beauty;  
Beauty, which should be free as Air,  
And, as SELENA, void of Care.  
For She does all Restraint abolish,  
As a thing troublesome and foolish.  
In spite of Love, she'll have her Humour,  
And Frolicks, in despite of Rumour.  
She's strangely various in her Actions,  
As in her Will, and her Affections:  
She's merry, sullen, prays, or swears,  
According as her Maggot steers:  
For almost all she does perform,  
Is under Conduct of the Worm.   

Cease, cease, my Muse, to take upon ye  
That which requires more Ceremony:  
'Tis fitting you proceed no further,  
Without the Help of Man in Orders,  
Who more o'th' Sisters can command,  
And has the Graces too at hand.   

And such there was in Grays-Inn Walk  
At this time, busy held in talk  
With Sir Pendragon, whom he clawed  
With Flattery, and fulsome Laud.  
Beside, the Clapper of his Tongue  
On Twenty other Subjects rung.  
But with the most delight, his Chimes  
Were tuned to th' Changes of the Times:  
He told him, he was overjoyed  
That Places were so well employed  
In Church and State, and all Promotions  
Given to the Followers of his Notions.  
Pendragon exercised Forbearance,  
While thus he was addressed by Laurence,  
So was he called, a Curate, (yet  
A Bishop in his own Conceit)  
When happily a sudden Object  
Diverts them from the present Subject.  
Pray (quoth Pendragon) who was that  
Whom you saluted with your Hat?  
She seems as brisk as she is fine.  
Sir, 'tis one Mistress Thomasine,  
Laurence replied; she serves a Lady,  
The fair Selena. Ha! what said ye?  
Selena! She's a Nonparielle,  
I'm told, by those that know her well.  
Quoth Laurence, Let me tell you, Sir,  
She giveth me leave to visit her:  
She's certainly the charming, prettiest,  
The sweetest Creature, and the wittiest  
Of all her Sex that e'er was known.  
Then, prithee, let us both sit down,  
(Quoth Knight) and favour me to hear  
Her true impartial Character,  
That I may gratify a Friend.  
Quoth Laurence, That you may command.   

She's very slender, clean, and strait,  
Rather above the common Height,  
And of as delicate a Shape,  
Perhaps, as ever suffered Rape:  
Somewhat short-wasted if she is,  
She hast again in Legs and Thighs;  
These round and large, those long and neat,  
With very pretty little Feet.   

How, (said Pendragon) Sir, d'ye know't?  
Ha' you been beneath her Pettycoat?   

Not so, Sir, neither, (Laurence said)  
I learned it lately from her Maid,  
And therefore give me leave to know:  
But to her upper Parts I'll go,  
Where nothing can be fancied faulty;  
Her Forehead, as it should be, 's haughty;  
Her Eyebrows cut, and gummed, and laid well,  
According to the newest Model.   

Her Eyes, those flattering Looking-glasses,  
Make Bearded Men's, seem Baby's Faces;  
Whate'er Deformities inspect them,  
All Prettiness they back reflect them;  
And 'tis the easiest thing they do,  
They can be kind, and cruel too  
At the same time, and with a Twinkle  
Give Life, and Death when she don't think ill.  
Poetic Rapture now would swear,  
The God of Love himself comes there,  
To point his Darts, that in her Eyes  
His Arms and Ammunition lies,  
Ready to do on Lookers-on  
All kill Execution.  
But when she has no Design to slay,  
They can send forth a gentler Ray,  
And with short Looks, and languishing,  
Revive the miserable Thing.   

Her Air's agreeable, and each Feature  
Extremely Beautiful, or better:  
The length and largeness of her Nose,  
Her strength of Constitution shows:  
The Heat and Redness of her Lips  
Gives balmy Kiss, when Lover sips;  
The rising Plumpness of her Breast,  
Argues its fitness to be pressed.  
She has not a Pimple, Mole, or Wart,  
Without a Cause sufficient for't.   

These are peculiar Charms, (quoth Knight)  
Which you as pleasantly recite:  
But I'll not break the well-spun Thread  
Of your Discourse: Sir, pray proceed.   

Her Hair is of a lovely Brown,  
So too is her Complexion,  
Which she can, with the greatest ease,  
Correct, and alter, as she please,  
By mixing Red and White, and look as  
Fair as she list, by help of Fucus:  
(Who, since she so does still appear,  
She may be called the Lady Fair.)  
Nor is she less acquainted with  
The Arts of Patching, Cleansing Teeth,  
Scenting, Perfuming, making sweet  
Her Breath, and keeping clean her Feet;  
All which, with nipping out of Worms,  
She most judiciously performs.  
She's knowing in all sorts of Dresses,  
Tippets, Commodes, and Points, and Laces,  
And wearies out her poor Tirewoman  
With Language understood by no Man.  
For many times she doth affect  
A most peculiar Dialect,  
Which is good English sliced and mashed,  
With dry French Scraps together hash't,  
Before 'tis modified enough  
For fair Selena's pretty Mouth;  
And then she lisps it out, and breaks  
It 'twixt her Teeth the while she speaks.  
After this manner of Preparing,  
The Substance of't is worth the Hearing.  
She'll talk of Lovers Services,  
How some with furious Address  
Attack her; others fawn and creep,  
Complain, and always whine and weep.  
She'll tell sad Stories, how her cruel  
Beauties have caused many a Duel;  
What Huffing, Tilting, has been for her,  
By this and that emaged Adorer;  
What witty Verses have been made  
Upon her, and what fine things said;  
How Beauxes in Songs have often owned her  
Their Mistress, and how some Lampooned her:  
Who, cause she is not to be caught  
By them, do call her all to naught:  
A Trick, which tho' so many have,  
'Tis ungenteel, and like a Knave.   

She knows each wanton Artifice,  
To wheadle, vex, delight, and tease;  
With Subtlety and gentle Art  
To squeeze the Hand, and bruise the Heart;  
To throw Pretender off with Scorn,  
Then draw him on like Shooing-horn.   

When Fingers, Countenance, and Speech  
Act contradictory to each,  
How can the cunningest Lover know  
Which of them to give Credit to?   

Of all the Town-Accomplishments,  
There's none of any Worth she wants;  
She dances rarely well, and plays at  
The fashionable Game of Basset.  
But wherein most she doth exceed,  
She sings extremely fine indeed:  
Nor is 't so difficult a thing  
In Company to make her sing;  
She seldom pleads the want of Use,  
A Cold, or Hiccough, for Excuse;  
That she has lately lost her Voice,  
And shall but fright you with the Noise:  
Delays which very oft the Pretty  
Will practise when they love Entreaty;  
'Cause that which hardest Labour cost  
In getting, 's always valued most.  
The gay Selena's never wont to  
Strain for a Nicety or Punto;  
But as her present Humour is,  
Acts pleasantly, or otherwise:  
For if she says, she will not do't,  
The Devil's self can't bring her to't.  
She's worth Five thousand Pounds for certain;  
But it may be too long t' entertain  
You with the Means how she came by't.  
I'll look upon my Watch (quoth Knight.)  
Odds Bobbs! cries he, 'tis after Four,  
I've slipped my Time above an Hour.  
I find she's of transcendent Worth,  
And you, in setting of it forth.  
Much thanks t' you for this great Diversion:  
Better Acquaintance with your Person  
I covet; and good Luck be wi' you;  
Pray be so kind to let me see you.  
Quoth Laurence, I shall soon find Leisure  
To give myself so great a Pleasure▪  
So they shook Hands, when at the Parting  
Pendragon felt unusual Smarting  
About his Heart; beside, he itched  
All over, as if he add been bewitched.  
Little (thought he) did I conjecture  
To be affected with his Lecture  
To such Degree; it fires my Blood:  
I'll get Acquainted with the Toad;  
And must (if possible) possess  
The pretty charming Sorceress.   

Love bears an universal Sway,  
Whom Swains and Emperors obey:  
The wise Philosopher, and Fool,  
Bows to his Epidemic Rule.    

April's CANTO.  
ARGUMENT.  

The Knight takes little Ease and Pleasure  
With Thoughts of Madam, till he sees her.  
Cutbeard the Barber comes to shave him,  
Who some Account of Laurence gave him:  
And (Cutbeard having told him where)  
Knight finds the Lady out at Prayer.   
CANTO.  

NOthing completely proves a Boon  
Without Alloy, beneath the Moon:  
Either the Cook, or Meat, or Sauce,  
Yields somewhat to disrelish us.  
The Curate's Tale, which struck the Knight  
At first with▪ Pleasure and Delight,  
Afforded him Proportion equal  
Of Grief and Trouble in the Sequel:  
For Love, which entered like an Earwig,  
Teaz'd him on th' inside of his Perr'wig,  
And, like an Humblebee, it does  
Occasion mighty Hum and Buz.   

He takes quick Turns about the Room;  
Then stopping short, t' himself cries, Hum!  
Am I a Man reputed Great  
For Learning, Loyalty, and Wit?  
Who Compliments receive, and Pence,  
From People, Parsons, Peers, and Prince;  
Presents of Puddings, Pigs, and Pies,  
From kind Inhabitants o' th' Skies,  
Or more obliging mortal Dames,  
Who all conceal from me their Names:  
Variety of such Good Things  
Still one or other Porter brings,  
Tho' none of them will tell the Sign  
So much as of the Carrier's Inn.  
I say, I, who have been carest  
So greatly, find myself distressed;  
Amidst a Multitude of Friends,  
I want to bring about my Ends;  
I want to know how, where, and when a  
Sight may be got of this Selena:  
Then I shall want as much to chat,  
And hold Discourse with the Prit-prat,  
To get Acquaintance more familiar,  
That I might play with her, and bill her,  
And bite, and pinch, and pull, and touse.  
But then reflecting, he cried Buz.  
The thinking on these wanton Tricks  
Puts me beside my Politics,  
Makes Head to ache, and Heart to beat  
Confoundedly, like Drums i' th' Street.  
I can't divert myself alone  
I find, nor do as I have done.  
My Beard's grown long, which makes me fretful,  
Uneasy, peevish, and forgetful.  
Sirrah, (cried he to's Boy) go, fly,  
Fetch me the Barber presently.  
A Body's filled with Discontents  
By nourishing ones Excrements.  
Our Grandsire's sure were ne'er in very  
Good Humour, or extremely merry,  
Who wore such Beards, the hairy Fardel  
Were fit to tuck within their Girdle.  
Yet for the same we have no Reason  
To tax them of an Indiscretion,  
If Beards then bore a Price, and th' Hairs  
Thereof were Merchantable Wares.   

Don john de Castro sent and pawned  
A few of his, which raised a Fund  
Sufficient to rebuild a Fortress;  
The Certainty of which Report is  
Confirmed, for that his Grandson hid  
Them in a Crystal Pyramid,  
Set in a Silver Foot, or Basis,  
Engraved with Verse, which told the Praises  
Of the famed Action, and set forth  
No less that Noble Hero's Worth:  
Which Relic his Posterity  
Preserves in Pious Memory.   

Such Thoughts to th' Knight gave Recreation,  
When enters Cutbeard with a Basin,  
Who made low Bow, and having drawn  
An Elbow-Chair, the Knight sat down.  
While Barber gets all Things prepared  
For Circumcision of his Beard,  
And fitted Linen Cap to's Head,  
Pendragon hawked, and spat, and said,  
Dost know by Hear-say, or by Sight,  
A Clergyman, one Laurence, (height?)  
Yes, Sir, I knew him in this Town  
Some Years before he wore a Gown,  
When he appeared a tearing Blade,  
And went most fashionably clad:  
I've sold him more than once or twice  
Long wigs of Eight or Ten pounds' price.   

How, Cutty! (quoth Pendragon) prithee  
Go on; it seems he as Dealings with thee.  
Ay, (quoth the Barber, and he sobs)  
He's in my Book for several Bobbs,  
And tells me, I shall ne'er be paid  
Till he's preferred, married, or dead.   

But, (quoth Sir Knight) let me request,  
What made him turn from Spark to Priest?   

That same which has no Law for what.  
It does, and makes the Old Wife trot;  
Necessity, and want of Bread,  
Or rather want of Wine indeed:  
For Custom is a Second Nature,  
And he was never used to Water.  
Oh! with your Wit (quoth Knight) and Razor  
Together, you have cut my Face, Sir,  
I know not which of them's the sharper.  
I'm sorry for it, (quoth the Barber.)  
Your Worship smiled, and so it were done  
By a Touch; I beg your Worship's Pardon.  
It scarcely bleeds, and can't be seen;  
I'll cure it straight with Benjamin.  
Well, (quoth Sir Knight) if it don't bleed,  
Sans Ceremony pray proceed.  
Then Cutbeard: Sir, I know his Fortune  
Was large, before he made it shorten,  
Paid him in ready Cash, as soon  
As he attained to Twenty one,  
At least Three thousand Pounds of Sterling,  
So much was he an Uncle's Darling,  
Who raised a plentiful Estate  
From Wrangling and eternal Prate,  
And whilom had in's Life-time been  
A Bencher sage of Lincolns-Inn;  
Who kept a memorable Reading,  
For Nosegays, Potherbs, Law, and Feeding;  
Descended from the ancient famous  
Conveyancer, (height) Ignoramus.  
But to the Nephew, Mr. Laurence,  
Although his Fortune was so fair once,  
He learned at University  
To make no little part on't fly;  
Where when his Wit and Humour ripe was,  
In's younger days, they made him Tripos;  
Renowned for Bottle, and for Jest,  
He was at every Treat a Guest.  
Then taking leave of Alma Mater,  
He came (to learn the Cinque and Quatre)  
To Town, the Palm and Slur to know,  
Tatts, Doctor, Fulham's High and Low:  
Tho' all this Knowledge but increased  
His Sorrow much the more at last.  
Yet while he was the 'foresaid Blade,  
No Man more Reputation had  
For Wit, in all the Town, than he,  
And the fine Turn in Poetry;  
Whose Talon being less laborious,  
Became the Envy of old Laurus;  
Tho' many, with good Reasons, will  
Have it, they both pissed in a Quill.  
But being a Man of various Fancies,  
And in at all Extravagances,  
In less than three Years Time, that I know,  
He made a Hand of ready Rhino,  
And brought himself to worse than Nothing.  
At length, grown shabby in his Clothing,  
When all th' Attendants on his Folly  
Were Want, and Rags, and Melancholy,  
And all the Hopes he had were vain ones,  
How to get rid of these Companions,  
Unless it were by means of Halter,  
Or flying to the Horns of th' Altar;  
Which Course he steered to cure moerores,  
Et nunquam sera ad bonos mores.   

You've satisfied me, (quoth the Knight)  
A Wit's a perfect Het'roclite.  
None but sheer Wit could give Defeat  
With such Dispatch to an Estate.  
In thy Profession there was never  
So expeditious a Shaver,  
Who did's own Business quick and clear  
As thou hast mine, not left a Hair.   

But, mark me; hast thou ever seen a  
Fair Lady, who is called Selena?  
No, but I've heard Discourses somewhere  
Much of her Beauty and her Humour.  
Could not you get me Information  
Where 'tis she dwells, upon occasion?  
That I can easily compass, Sir;  
It is not far from Westminster.   

Then (quoth Pendragon) two days hence  
(Now the Spring-Season does advance,  
And the Sun's got so far in Taurus,  
Phlebotomy being needful for us)  
Here let me see your Face again;  
But come betimes, to spring a Vein.  
Mean while, you, like a trusty Trojan,  
Cannot forget the Lady's Lodging.   

Cutbeard did every thing fulfil  
In time, according to his Will.   

And now Pendragon having learned  
The Thing for which he was concerned,  
And got thereby a Wrinkle more  
About him than he had before;  
Knowing that this same Lady fair  
Went frequently to Morning-Pray'r,  
A Coach was called without delay,  
Which hurried him to Church away.  
His Boy being sent that very Hour  
To watch, and play about her Door,  
And mark her Motions, found her Chair  
And Men stood ready to convey her.  
Away they trotted to St. Martin's,  
Where though she has no Place ascertained,  
Yet can her Silver Key undo  
In all the Church the fairest Pew.  
Church Turn-keys make ungodly Wages,  
Like their Great Grandsire Simon M●gus.  
A Shame, that every under Clerk yet  
In Pray'r-time keeps his highest Market.   

Noting the Seat in which she fixed,  
Pendragon gets into the next,  
Where he had full View of her Favour:  
But overlooking her Behaviour,  
He spied occasion to arraign her  
As guilty of a Misdemeanour.  
For when the rest t' appearance were  
Standing, or on their Knees at Prayer,  
Our Lady's Posture too does show,  
She does the same that others do;  
Devoutly turning up her Eyes,  
Who at a distance could surmise  
That her fair Hand held in the place  
Of Pocket Pray'r-book, Pocket-Glass?  
Or that she naughtily, instead  
Of Collects, Dress and Visage read?  
And sticking on her Cheek a Patch,  
Made the Responsal, We beseech, etc.  
And after Benediction,  
She shook her Head, and sighed, Amen.  
Moving her Limbs, to stand upright,  
With Amber Scent she struck the Knight:  
And turning round, her Skin or Clothes  
Gave him a Whiff of Tuberose.  
At her Go-off, she cast a Smile;  
He quite confounded all the while,  
Did like a Marble Statue stand,  
Or like one Planetstruck remained,  
Till every Body else was gone,  
Except the Clerk and he alone:  
Who coming to himself, did find  
The Danger of being left behind,  
Which he, by going out, declined.  
Tho's Heart was wounded, yet his Head  
Variety of Fancies fed.  
Reflecting that her Thoughss were roving,  
He deemed her the more fit for Loving:  
And from the Mixture of the Sinner,  
Conceived the greater Hopes to win her.  
For tho' in Faith he was not weak,  
Yet but for Hope his Heart must break.  
If the famed Knight o' th' Mancha knew well  
To feed his Flames with Fancy's Fuel,  
And burn outrageously for one  
Whose Visage was to him unknown,  
What fiercer Flames, and greater Raging,  
Must our Knight feel? (you may imagine)  
Who took the Philters charming Dose  
In at his Ears, and Eyes, and Nose?  
Which strongly seizing on his Heart,  
Diffused itself through every Part,  
That in this manner, as he walked,  
Disturb'dly to himself he talked.   

On me the Powers above have laid  
Enough to make another mad.  
If I'm the Atlas and the Prop  
O' th' Government, why let it drop.  
Let whigs and Trimmers take their ease,  
And set at Liberty their Bees,  
Go water their Ranunculus',  
And other Plants, in Pots and Cases:  
Let them pursue their Sports, make Playday  
Until a good while after May day,  
While I go in pursuit of Lady.  
Each Man has Business of his own,  
To be dispatched, or left undone.    

May's CANTO.  
ARGUMENT.  

Selena as she lies in Bed  
Holds Conversation with her Maid:  
A Visit puts her out of Order.  
Taking the Air, who then should board her,  
But Sir Pendragon, by the Way?  
All in the merry Month of May.   
CANTO.  

'tIs sit the Business of the State  
On that of mightier Love's should wait;  
While we are treating of Amours,  
On Politics to shut the Doors,  
And not to suffer them to enter  
At Times when they impertinent are.   

The glorious Lamp of Heaven, the Sun,  
Bright in at Chamber▪ window shone,  
E'er Madam does one Ray disclose,  
But fast locked up in deep Repose  
Senses and Beauties all lay hid,  
In Blankets, Sheets, and Coverlid.   

Mean while her Handmaid, who lay nigh,  
In a small dark Apartment by,  
From out her Bed in silence slips,  
With Petticoats about her Hips;  
Softly she came, and draws the Curtain,  
Finding her Mistress fast and snorting,  
In a low Voice she Madam cries,  
Good Madam, when d' you mean to rise?  
Selena then stirred, and began  
To stretch herself, and sigh, and yawn,  
To scratch her Bosom, Arms, and Neck,  
And opening of her Eyes, she spoke;  
Curse on you for a silly Whore;  
Speak, What a Devil d' wake me for?  
Troth, Madam, than quoth Thomasine,  
I'll take my Oath, 'tis after Nine;  
But if you find your Eyelids heavy,  
I'll go away again, and leave you.   

No, Housewife, you can do no worse;  
Judge if you don't deserve a Curse.  
Ah Wench! but just before you waked me,  
Methoughts a Warlike Man attacked me;  
Fierce, like the famed St. George, when I  
Did, like the Dragon at him fly,  
Tearing and biting with my Teeth,  
And grappling till I wanted Breath.  
Quite tired, I by main Strength was thrown  
Flat underneath the Champion:  
And who knows what had been my Doom,  
Had not you come into the Room?   

'Twas in good time (quoth Thom'sine) then,  
Or my poor Lady had been slain.  
In stead of raising of your Anger,  
Thank me, that you are out of danger.  
But may I speak my Mind t' you freely?  
This Dreaming, Madam, 's very silly,  
And only serves to make you talk,  
Like one who feeds on Dirt and Chalk.  
Was Beauty given you, and warm Blood,  
Nor for your own nor others good?  
In such a Frolic Age as this,  
Who durst report, you do amiss?  
As if the sooty Pottage-pot  
Would mock the Kettle for its Smut.  
Not, Madam, but one would abhor  
The broad and common Name of Whore,  
That's seldom given, but to the Poor.  
'Tis thousand Pities you should cumber  
Yourself with your Virgin'ty's Lumber,  
And carry every Night to Bed  
An aching, irksome Maidenhead,  
Which plagues its Keeper, but when gone  
Nor troubles her, nor any one.  
Are not you pleased with this Advice?   

Softly, the Lady than replies,  
By this Instruction one may guests well  
The Frailty of thy Earthen Vessel;  
And thy Advice most plainly speaks,  
Thy Pitcher's cracked, and therefore leaks:  
But, Thomasine, she foully does ill,  
Who measures mine by her own Bushel.  
Thou mak'st Reflections on thy Mistress,  
As if she was reduced to Distress.  
Has any one more Liberty  
Or Freedom in her Choice than I?  
Whether my Fortune 'tis, or Favour,  
Or something else which has the Savour  
To draw so many Supplicants  
Upon me, to relieve their Wants,  
And daily bring me in Addresses,  
Both from the smooth and withered Faces,  
'Tis not so easy to discover  
The Cause that animates the Lover.  
However, know, that 'tis decreed  
By Fate, (with all convenient speed)  
Nought shall resist my Vows to wed.  
I'll see them all; to whom I find  
Myself most furiously inclined,  
Him from among the Herd I'll choose, and  
Even take him for my Wedded Husband:  
Rather the Hazard run of Marriage,  
Than of a Clap, or a Miscarriage.  
If Matrimony, in conclusion,  
Agrees not with my Constitution,  
Then I'll turn Tail against its Force,  
And take a clear contrary Course.   

This Resolution's very sudden  
(Quoth Thom'sine) and perhaps a good one:  
For Wedlock is (though so sought after)  
The greatest Lottery in Nature.   

Let Fools depend (Madam replies)  
Upon their Luck in Lotteries:  
If any thing occurs of ill,  
By my Prerogative, my Will,  
I'll either overcome it quite,  
Or move myself out of its sight.  
Since almost every Faculty  
But Will, to Woman they deny,  
Can they expect she'll That surrender  
To their imperious Masculine Gender?  
Or less than unto Death maintain  
It, tho' fantastical and vain.   

Quoth Thomasine, these strange Persuasions  
Will plague you upon all Occasions;  
Let them seem ne'er so Great and Noble,  
You'll find them bring prodigious Trouble.  
For while without control, Dispute,  
Or Whartle, you rule Absolute,  
What precious Qual'ties would you have  
Endow your conjugated Slave?   

I'd have him (quoth Selena) be  
In his own Government as free;  
Our Wills act in a different Sphere,  
And one to th' others ne'er come near.  
Then, to be sure, he must be rich:  
Poverty's worse than Pox or Itch,  
Palsy, Deformity, or Frenzy,  
Folly, or Insufficiency.  
Of ancient Family descended,  
Or by his Money so befriended,  
To buy himself Titles of Worth,  
To hide th' Obscurity of Birth.   

Sir Grog'rams such a piece of Stuff;  
He's rich, and passable enough;  
And there's least Cause to be afraid  
Of marrying one who drives a Trade;  
When there's no danger of his Failure,  
I shall not stand in awe of's Valour.   

Young Parrot has a fair Estate;  
But 'tis a Fop so full of Prate,  
So disagreeable a Person,  
He very much is my Aversion.   

There's no Man pays me such Devoirs  
As Serjeant Widgeon, amongst the Lawyers;  
But woe be to his wedded Wife,  
Now he has laid aside his Coif,  
And spends whole Nights in Broils and Roaring,  
In Taverns, and in double Whoring.   

Since Age (if not too much decayed)  
You can dispense with, (quoth the Maid)  
Pray, Madam, how d' you like Squire Hugh?   

Fough! Nasty Fellow, I shall spew,  
(Quoth she.) Nay, (answered Thomasine)  
You wrong him; for he's very clean,  
And neither Money wants, nor Wit.   

No matter, do not make me spit,  
(Said she.) And going on with more,  
They hear a Rapping at the Door.  
Up Thomasine starts, holds fast the Latch,  
And cries, Who are you there? A Wretch,  
(Quoth Voice without) an humble Slave,  
The veriest. Vassal that you have.  
(Which Voice betrayed, it being a hoarse one,  
The Devil they did last discourse on.   

Ha! Hugo! (then the Lady said)  
Enter not here; I'm in my Bed:  
Without another Word be gone,  
And leap from Top to Bottom down.  
This is no time a Day to visit,  
Unless ye had Business to solicit.   

And so I have (quoth he:) My Heart  
Is wholly yours. (Quoth she) A Fart;  
And swelled, as if she'd burst with Choler,  
For want of utterance of her Dolour.   

While Hugh without doors says he'll thank her  
If she'll assuage her cruel Rancour;  
And promised, he would straightways leave her,  
Provided she will grant the Favour  
To condescend to bless his Eyes  
With a View of her as she lies:  
Engaging not t' advance one Step.  
Selena agrees to let him peep:  
But tipped the Wink, and made a Sign  
Well understood by Thomasine;  
Who played her part, and pinched full sore  
His Noddle 'twixt the Post and Door;  
But let him draw it back, for fear  
Of damaging the surdous Ear.  
Now while the Maid secures the Lock,  
The Lady leaps out in her Smock  
With all speed possible, puts on  
Her Shoes, and her loose-bodyed Gown,  
Advancing, threw the Door wide open,  
And bid her Maid she should not stop him.  
Enraged, she vents her fell Displeasure,  
Thus rounding him beyond all Measure.   

Can you conceive that I'll dispense  
With this unequalled Impudence,  
To me, of making your Pretence?  
As well the Cobbler might address  
Himself with Passion to Queen Bess,  
And hope from her as good Success.  
Thy Phiz, more tough than Parent's Leather,  
Is able to out-wear the Wether,  
Outface the bright Meridian Sun,  
When lowing Herds to Coverts run:  
'Tis such, no Scandal, Gild, nor Shame,  
Can pump up Blush into the same.   

Hold, and contain yourself, (quoth he)  
You're out of Breath with Raillery:  
Come, pretty Lady, you must lack it;  
A Virgin may say Nay and take it.   

(Quoth she) Be gone, thou filthy Monster  
Fly from my sight; for if I once stir  
My Foot, and on the Board stamp thrice,  
Footmen with Cudgels shall arise,  
To give the swinging Bastinado,  
For which if thou art pleased to stay, do.   

(Quoth he) Since you're so humoursom,  
Farewell; I say no more but, Mum.  
I know you'll look, for all you're vexed,  
More kindly when I see you next.  
And Mistress Thomasine, with a P— x,  
I shan't forget your Christmas-Box.  
And thus compelled the Field to quit,  
He made inglorious Retreat.   

So Tory, when he would prevail  
For kind Caresses, wags his Tail;  
But when his Master chides, he flags,  
And sneaking claps it 'twixt his Legs.   

Selena too as much put out is  
Of humour; first i' th' Hoititoities  
She rants, and swears, and stairs, and flings  
About her Clothes, and tears her Things;  
Breaks China, clatters Looking-glasses,  
And calls him Twenty thousand Asses.  
Thom'sine, to put her by this Chafing,  
Set Thumbs to Sides, and fell a laughing.  
At that, the Lady on a sudden  
Changed her bad Humour for a good one;  
Bursts out into a Fit of Laughter,  
And eased herself by making Water.  
Gets on her Clothes with little pains,  
Dressed a-la-mode en negligence,  
With a laced Scarf and Vizor-Masque on,  
She gathers up her Galligascoins,  
And in St. James' Park she walks,  
Where, by the Ponds of Ducks and Drakes,  
By lucky Chance, and help of Scout,  
Bold Sir Pendragon finds her out;  
Who bearing up unto her close,  
Strikes Sail, and then attack's her thus:   

Sweet Lady, whose Perfumes environ  
Your Slaves, and draw like Grapling-iron,  
When you have boarded us per Force,  
Pray how d' you use your Prisoners?   

Those who have Worth (quoth she) I rifle,  
Others I value not a trifle.   

Being yours (quoth he then) by Reprisal,  
Tell me my Doom. (Quoth she) Go whistle  
For I believe you have no Treasure  
Of value, nor in Weight, nor Measure.   

And so, perhaps, you'll lose (quoth he)  
A Prize, through Infidelity.   

I may (said she) do so, perhaps;  
But Taste is flat in withered Grapes:  
And no Knight ever won my Grace  
Of th' Order of th' Ill-favoured Face.   

Well, (quoth Sir Knight) this your Reflection,  
I grant, would be enough to vex one  
Who has no other able Talents,  
That may with handsome Features balance.  
But Worth in Secret often lies.   

You'd fain insinuate (she replies)  
That you're possessed of Treasure hidden,  
Which is too good to be forbidden,  
And bear about you concealed Merit,  
Relating to your Flesh, or Spirit.  
The first I must suppose but weak;  
The latter for its self can speak:  
For Nothing's less a Secret, than  
The vast Productions of your Brain;  
Which, like a common Prostitute,  
Yields daily most unwholesome Fruit:  
Of which throughout the Kingdom surfeits;  
And it increases, not cures her Fits;  
Although the Press no Prints produces  
For more Variety of Uses.  
To Pies and Tarts your Papers cling,  
And make Band-boxes Covering;  
Beside the many thousand Pages  
Backside receives, and Privy lodges.  
Since then sufficiently you're known,  
I need not bid you to be gone,  
And haste home to your Pen and Ink-horn.  
He stared like Devil over Lincoln,  
His Speech being stopped through Wrath & Wonder.  
They parted several Ways asunder.  
Thus Days, and Hours, and Minutes fly,  
While the Sun goes through Gemini,  
To all alike not pleasantly.  
Great Wits, as well as Heroe's Great,  
Are never always Fortunate.    

June's CANTO.  
ARGUMENT.  

Selena's well, never looked finer,  
Laughed more, nor eat a heartier Dinner.  
Sir Grog'ram woos with costly Present:  
With other Matters not unpleasant;  
Which as you find them represented,  
Are very easily apprehended.   
CANTO.  

AT the Sun's entering into th' Crab, he  
Makes the long Day of bright Barnaby:  
When our famed Lady, no less bright,  
Triumphs o'er both the Squire and Knight.  
The first repulsed with Box o' th' Ear,  
The latter struck with Shame and Fear  
Of losing what he never had,  
His Heart was sunk and very sad,  
Which drove him almost to Despair,  
(I say, Not quite, but very near)  
Of ever getting Ladies Favour,  
At least so as to Hold and Have her.  
Whom for a time we leave to forage  
On his own preternat'ral Courage,  
And keep th' Headquarters of Affliction  
In Philosophy's Jurisdiction;   

While we shall, without Breach of Charity,  
Attend the Lady in Prosperity:  
Who th' other Day, tho' down in Crest,  
Behold her now completely dressed;  
Her sullen Dumps, and lowering Powts,  
Transformed to Waggery and Flouts.  
All Spirit, Life, and Air possess her,  
In stead of Chagrin and Displeasure:  
And tho' in Habit lately careless,  
Now her Attire was rich and peerless.   

And strange Conjectures may be made,  
According as a Woman's clad;  
The Body being much inclined  
To wear the Liv'ry of the Mind:  
And as the first is mobbed or dressed,  
The others Humour may be guest.   

Those Looking-glasses, which she threw  
About before are placed in view,  
And the Resemblance proudly bear  
Of gay Selena, lovely Fair.  
Charmed with her Features in the Mirror,  
She owns herself a Conqueror,  
Laughs at the Names of famed Statira,  
Of Parisatis, Albemira;  
The proper Lustre of her Eyes  
Strike such Reflections, which despise  
The Poet's Fopperies and Stories  
Of Phillis, Amoretta, and Chloris:  
Because she thinks herself possessed  
Of Charms as powerful as the best.  
Which pleasing Images are brought  
By needful Train of flattering Thought,  
First kindled at the sight of Skin,  
To blow up Self-conceit within:  
Which can be reckoned no Crime at all,  
If it be of Necessity Fatal.   

Many Conveniencies beside  
To Womankind accrue from Pride.  
'Tis that keeps Ladies under Switches,  
It dares not scratch where it does itch,  
Preserves the staggering Reputation  
Of many a Lady in the Nation,  
And that no more of them fall down  
To th' Lackey, Groom, or Country Clown;  
That makes them splendidly accoutered,  
And always sets the best Side outward,  
Appearing to the Stranger's Eye  
Of good sufficient Quality,  
When Wits Contrivance is put to 't  
To compass Morsel for the Gut:  
That hides Infirmities, Defects,  
And common Blemishes of Sex.  
That makes them, on occasion, swear  
Themselves much younger than they are;  
And when the Fortieth Year is gone,  
But Eight or Nine and twenty own.  
And that the same Assistance lends  
To Mankind, for the selfsame Ends.   

Now tho' Selena all this while  
Was pleased to have her Thoughts recoil,  
Yet so many strong Excellencies  
Tired almost her Intelligences:  
Variety new Pleasure brings;  
She trips about the Room, and sings  
To her soft Pendent-bearing Ears,  
Hence, hence ye vain fantastic Fears  
Of Ills to come— And so to th' end on't,  
In Airs melodiously transcendent.  
When Thom'sine came in to acquaint her,  
The Dinner on the Board did want her.   

Of which to make exact Relation,  
Would be below the Reputation  
Of any of the Highborn Muses,  
Such Common Work about the House is,  
Too sordid for the Child of jove,  
Got on Mnemosyne his Love.  
Ours therefore does forbear to treat  
Of the choice Bits the Lady eat;  
Or to demean herself to wait  
Behind a Chair to change a Plate;  
Or talk o'er all the Tittle-tattle  
Of women's Table-talk and Prattle:  
For even Selena the Accomplished  
Sometimes talks idly, and is nonplused.  
Let it suffice for us to tell,  
After she had dined extremely well,  
Victual, and Cloth, and all being gone,  
Grace, after new Mode, they had none;  
That still her Humour she maintains  
In Frolicks and Extravagance.  
She pinches her Companions Cheeks,  
And plays them twenty wanton Tricks;  
She gets across a Chair to ride,  
With her divided Legs astride;  
She challenges them All to leap,  
And straddle widest at a Step;  
From that, to moulding Cockle▪ bread:  
When in Sir Grog'ram puts his Head.  
Selen' who first cast Eyes on him,  
Set herself right, by saying Prim.  
The rest surprised, ran helter-skelter,  
As Shame does always seek for Shelter.  
He, seeing Coast on all Sides clear,  
Thus spoke, advancing up to her.   

Madam, I fear my bold Intrusion  
Has put the Ladies in confusion:  
But you may pardon the Surprise,  
Knowing the Vigour of your Eyes,  
And the Grand Embassage I carry  
From Love, Plenipotentiary.  
Sent hither solely on his Errand,  
Permit my Lips to kiss your bare Hand;  
And know, this silent eager Breath  
Plights Love and everlasting Faith,  
Passes my Worth, and all I am,  
Over to you, without a Sham.   

Quoth she, Sir Grog'ram, you're mistaken;  
I'm not the Person as you reckon.  
But setting Raillery apart,  
Suppose I should accept your Heart,  
With its Appurtenances, than  
You'd gladly eat your Words again;  
Or if we were about t' Indent,  
And Article for Settlement,  
The Terms on which I should insist,  
Would fright you like a Will i' Wisp;  
And at the Matrimonial Noose  
You'd be as daunted, I suppose.   

To which he answered, I imagine  
The Worst you'd have me to engage in:  
Hap what hap may, Fall Back fall Edge,  
Madam, I say, I do engage;  
Be your Conditions what they will,  
I'll to a Tittle them fulfil,  
If you with Matrimony close:  
Now, Lady, pray where's your Suppose?   

She not expecting him so ready  
In his Compliance, cried, God speed ye,  
Sir Grog'ram; for I shall require  
Wainscot of Cedar, Cedar Fire,  
Gold never to desert my Pockets,  
Nor Pearl my Neck, nor Arms rich Lockets:  
For other Parts, if ill supplied,  
I shall, as Need requires, provide:  
And, to that End, I shall demand  
A Coach and Six always at hand,  
With Footmen, Liveries, and Pages,  
Kept, as the Mode is, at Board-wages.  
Nor would I have you take 't in dudgeon,  
I tell you of a Blot in Scutcheon.  
Your Aunt, the Daughter of your Grannum,  
To whom ye allow Two Pound per Annum,  
Let her complain no more, nor mention  
The backward Payment of your Pension.   

Sir Grog'ram, tho' the thing was true,  
Was more concerned because she knew  
His mean Original and Kindred,  
Lest by 't his Marriage should be hindered;  
And fearing such another Bob,  
He steals his Fingers into Fob,  
And then replied, Madam, I'm sorry  
You're troubled at an idle Story:  
Alas! What has a viler Name  
For Lying, than Report and Fame?  
And he who credits all he hears,  
Prostrates his Faith, and fools his Ears.  
Pray let us talk no more about  
A thing so frivolous. Then out  
Drawing his clumsy Fingers forth,  
Madam, (says he) tho' 'tis not worth  
Th' acceptance of so fair a Lady,  
Yet 'tis presented to persuade you  
That He who gives it does bestow  
His Heart entirely with it too.   

Selena thought not sit to dally  
With any thing of such a value;  
And having well the Necklace eyed,  
Truly, Sir Grog'ram, she replied,  
I thank you for your Heart; but since  
When you depart you take that hence,  
This may content me for a Pawn,  
Or a Remembrance when you're gone.   

The secret Joy that he conceived  
Hereat, was scarce to be believed;  
Concludes himself cocksure to have her,  
Since she accepted what he gave her.  
Delighted with these happy Thoughts,  
Taking his Leave, away he trots.   

Selena, no less gratified,  
Her Speech thus to herself applied:  
" A Present of Five hundred Pound  
" Affords a comfortable Sound,  
" And is a most substantial Proof  
" The Donor loves me well enough.  
" There's nothing makes the Purse-strings fly  
" Of an old Fool, like Lechery.  
" But in return what must I do?  
" Marry, and kiss, and coke's him? Faugh!  
" That's but an awkerd sort of Pleasure:  
" I'll think upon it more at leisure.  
" Honey has Stings.— With that she stopped here,  
For in they came to interrupt her,  
To make a Jest and Sport about her,  
Having Sir Grog'ram for a Suitor.  
Selena no less merry was,  
And laughed most, having the most Cause.   

But let us leave her in fruition  
Of present prosperous Condition;  
And make a Visit to the Knight,  
Too long left out of Mind and Sight.  
(Note, When we say The Knight, we mean  
Sir Pendragon 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.)  
With whom the Curate, having heard  
How he in late Adventure fared,  
Does with submission offer Solace,  
In most obliging Terms, as follows.   

Sir, What the Lady to you said  
So smartly, was in Masquerade.  
Tho' she knew you, you can't infer  
From thence, She knew that you knew her.  
And 'twas but Raillery, to try  
Your Courage, or your Constancy.  
Had her own Father been in place,  
She'd not ha' bated him an Ace;  
But as she found him a-transgressing,  
Backward she would have asked him Blessing.  
Or had he attempted to abridge  
Her of her Sex's Privilege,  
To lay Restraint on Lingua Franc,  
She would have conned him scurvy Thank.   

Alas! (quoth Sir Pendragon) I  
With ease could bear her Raillery;  
But by some Words she did impart,  
I fear that she's a Whig at Heart:  
She told me, as I understood,  
My Writing did more Harm than Good;  
Wherein the Want of Jest does show  
The rather, she believes it True.  
If so, 'tis fit she should be mumbled,  
And in all sort of Senses humbled.   

Quoth Laurence, If she be a Whig,  
Then I'm a very Put, a Prigg.  
I know she very often speaks  
Perversely, for the nonce to vex;  
And nothing in the World's more pleasing  
To her, than being Cross and Teazing.  
Whate'er her Words may sound, she means  
Things of a clean contrary Sense,  
And must have almost all her Speeches  
Read backwards, like to other Witches.   

Here, to the Curate, and the Knight  
Enters the Squire, in dismal Fright,  
Upon whose Periwig did stand  
The Hairs, quite out of Curl, on end;  
And told them, (being asked, What News?)  
Worse than if Hell itself broke lose.  
The Stubborn Prelates, late committed,  
Have all been Tried, and are Acquitted.  
One Minute bore the cursed Shout  
Of Mob for several Miles about.  
We teach to Laymen Loyalty,  
Which Clergy, when concerned, defy:  
Passive Obedience ne'er begot 'em;  
And They, or We, are in wrong Bottom.   

Quoth Sir Pendragon, 'Tis amazing,  
And sets my inward Lights a-gazing.  
Too strong Convulsions needs must loosen  
The Macro, as the Microcosm:  
And Griping in the Guts does boad ill,  
Because it may affect the Noddle.  
Let us advise upon this Junto,  
Consider what it may amount to:  
For when Times wear a Face of Trouble,  
Then should our Diligence be Double.   

Quoth Hugo, Si non sero sapis,  
I hope you'll prove an Aesculapius.  
A Cloudy Morning may grow clear,  
And make an Evening Bright and Fair.    

July's CANTO.  
ARGUMENT.  

Knight, Squire, and Curate hold Debate  
Concerning— None of them know what.  
Yet each one eagerly maintains  
His own peculiar Sentiments:  
And many are severely chidden,  
Who will not do as they are bidden.   
CANTO.  

OLD Bays, according to his Name,  
Had long wo●e Chaplet of the same,  
That gracefully his Temples-crowned:  
But when Times changed, his Brows were bound  
With Rosary thereof in stead,  
Which caused new Singing in his Head.   

As he the famous Fable forges  
Of Beasts, and Birds, and Men, and Churches,  
He a new Method institutes,  
In managing his several Brutes:  
Which bona fide he commends  
To Smith and johnson, two old Friends.  
For out he brings his Wolf and Boar,  
And showed them; but he did no more:  
He would by no means let them fight,  
Which nor instructs, nor yields Delight;  
But when he ' add given the Character  
Of Hind and Panther, Fox and Bear,  
And all sufficiently were seen,  
He wisely shut them up again.   

So pardon if we imitate  
One of Authority so great:  
We shall not let our Hero's deal  
Either with Powder or with Steel;  
Tho' they may snarl, talk high, and chafe,  
Yet all the while we'll keep them safe.  
They really shall do no hurt;  
For, Mischief always spoileth Sport.  
But when they've run their Risque, and tried  
(While they had with them Wind and Tide)  
What they'd be at, by change of Wind  
We'll send them Puff as far behind;  
We'll make them scour (when the time's come)  
Abroad, or be confined at home.   

Such is the Contest in the Game,  
Of so much celebrated Fame;  
Which we in English call The Goose,  
And Rome's Wise Conclave did compose:  
Where every Party still does strive  
(Preserved by equal Hopes alive)  
To compass that, which can be done,  
In the conclusion, but by one.  
He that's repelled, as much of Chance has,  
As he who the mean while advances:  
And he that's laid in Custody,  
Looks for a Time to be set free,  
And feeds on Expectation  
To rise from Prison to a Throne,  
Till by the strong decisive Cast,  
The Fortunate confounds the rest.  
But 'tis not fit too long Preamble  
Should from the present Business ramble.   

In Grays-Inn Walks we lay the Scene  
Where Knight, Squire, Curate met again,  
And reassumed Discourse once more  
On that they entered on before.  
Pendragon first did Silence break,  
And thus from Second Thoughts he spoke.   

The Changes which are rung from Steeple  
Are always pleasing to the People:  
And the most dangerous Commotion  
Is kindled from too hot Devotion.  
But the poor Priest is more the Zealot:  
We seldom find it in the Prelate,  
Who having got a bigger Share  
Of this World's Goods, divides his Care,  
And makes him hold the Balance even  
As e'er he can, 'twixt Earth and Heaven:  
Yet spite on's Teeth, he'll be inclined  
To th' Scale where lies the Earth refined:  
While poorer Wretches, less content  
With that which Providence has sent,  
Raise Faction, and tear all in pieces,  
In hopes of better Benefices.  
But as for want of a Supply  
Of Fuel, Flames do quickly die;  
So will your formidable Shout  
In Fumo vanish, and go out.   

My Shout! Deliver me! (quoth Hugh)  
It does as much belong to you.  
What Hurt can I sustain, should all  
The Bishops in the Kingdom fall?  
And yet, on th' other Side, what Good  
Will that be to my Livelihood?  
Who am as firm a Son o' th' Church,  
Tho' I say 't myself, as D— B——  
Or as your Worship's self, Sir Knight,  
Tho you get much, I nothing by't.   

Nay, quoth Pendragon, if you're tasty,  
Try what you'll get by riding resty;  
And if you fancy you have fared ill,  
Go turn the Buckle of your Girdle.  
Howsoever myself I have acquitted,  
Let me be envied, and not pitied.   

Pray, quoth the Curate, give me leave  
This sudden Squabble to retrieve,  
And offer something in due season  
To Men of so much Worth and Reason;  
Who both are real Friends to th' Church,  
And scorn to leave her in the Lurch.  
(By Church, I mean the Hierarchy,  
Its Grandeur, Power, and Dignity.  
Coetus fidelium is the Mobb,  
Who may our Shrines and Altars rob.)  
Therefore to you I dare appeal,  
If what those Bishops did was well.  
I judge them damnably mistaken,  
Tho' by good Luck they saved their Bacon.  
The Crime was very great and foul,  
The Prince's Pleasure to control.  
Whatever he would have them read,  
They ought to do't; and so I did;  
And so should every Loyal Priest,  
Without Refusal, or Contest.  
If we have any who profess  
Supremacy beyond the Seas,  
In this they may comply, the rather,  
Because approved by Holy Father;  
With whom the Church in this our Nation  
Might meet with Reconciliation,  
If 'twas not kept at such a Distance  
By those who love to make Resistance.  
Why should we not in Manners come  
As near as e'er we can to Rome?  
Since she upon the Hills is high  
In Honour and in Quality,  
It is more reasonable and fitter  
That we should first advance to meet her:  
And if we're not too proud to stoop,  
With open Arms she'll take us up,  
Never reproach our going astray  
So long, and being out o' th' Way;  
But bid us Welcome, and caress  
Us with the greatest Tenderness.  
The Papist, and the Protestant,  
Exploded Terms of foolish Cant,  
When once made Friends, whoever thinks on,  
This or that Name for a Distinction,  
I'd have him hanged up by the Neck,  
Or Spitcocked for a Heretic.  
And here, Great Sir Pendragon, you  
May justly claim our Thanks as due,  
That the Church-Trimmers (who the while  
Widen what we would reconcile)  
Have that Nickname preserved alive,  
To make their Infamy survive.  
In all your Write your strong Reasons  
Have strangely mended my Persuasions.  
That which we call The Reformation,  
Is but a Scandal to the Nation;  
And for john Calvin and Mart. Luther,  
I won't say what I think they both were.   

Hold, quoth Pendragon, you say more  
Than e'er you had my Warrant for:  
You never met with such Expressions  
In all my First or Second Lessons.   

That's true, you are too wise a Man  
(Quoth he) to speak your Mind so plain:  
But you'll allow me so much Sense,  
From Doctrine to raise Inference.   

(Quoth Hugh) Methinks you both are in, and  
Out too, by turns, with your Opinion.  
Quicksilver very hard to fix,  
It has so many shifting Tricks:  
And Weather-glasses fall or rise  
According to the Clouds i' th' Skies.  
I've harkened to you till I'm giddy,  
And do but grow the more unsteady.  
Could I discern wherein you differ,  
My Thoughts were easier to deliver.  
You, Master Laurence, very fairly  
Seem to be bound for Rome thus early;  
And tho' I can't keep equal Pace,  
I love a Man that shows his Face;  
But wish your Riding so Tantivy  
(As the whigs call it) done't deceive you.  
If Sir Pendragon would unveil  
Himself as far, 'twould please me well;  
And not converse with us, when he has  
A Misty Cloak on, like Aeneas.   

Good Squire, compose yourself to rest,  
(The Knight replied) Repeal of Test  
We all are for, and think it just  
To gratify the Royal Lust.  
There's none of us would make Defeisance  
Of Active, or Passive Obeisance.  
And sure my Writings clear this Case  
Plain as the Nose upon your Face.  
All People that on Earth do dwell,  
But those who purpose to rebel,  
Without Conditions should obey  
What Rulers bid them do or say.   

Hamlet, because he was a Prince,  
The Lord Polonius could convince,  
That the same Cloud was like in all  
TO a Camel, Weasel, and a Whale:  
And make another (spite of Thought)  
Say as he pleased, 'twas Cold or Hot.   

Indostan's Greatest Emperor  
Rules with so uncontrol'd a Power,  
That if at Noon, when Sun shines bright,  
He says, 'tis middle of the Night,  
His Courtiers dare not for their Ears  
But cry, Behold the Moon and Stars.   

No Monarch in the Universe  
Has more his People's Dread and Fears,  
Than Boutan's Arbitrary Lord,  
Who's like a Deity adored.  
Being set, or Justice to dispense,  
Or to give needful Audience,  
Whos'e'er into his Presence goes  
Must clap his Hands together close  
Above his Forehead, then fall down  
At a good distance from the Throne.  
Thus prostrate on the Ground when laid,  
He dares not once rear up his Head;  
Which humble Posture and Condition  
Those use too, who prefer Petition;  
And he that makes Retirement quite,  
Moves backwards till he's out of sight.   

But what is yet more strange, and greater▪  
When e'er their King has eased his Nature,  
They carefully preserve his Ordure,  
And dry it like to Sneezing-Powder;  
Then, as we Snuff in Boxes shut,  
So they the choice Provant do put,  
And with them every Market-day  
They carry that, to give away  
To Men of Wealth, with whom they Trade;  
Which Kindness is by them repaid.  
Who thus possessed of Good so rare,  
Convey it home with no less Care;  
And when they invite their Friends to eat,  
They strew the Powder on their Meat.  
Two Boutan-Merchants, says my Author,  
Showed me their Boxes, and the Powder.  
These Eastern People can digest  
What ours would not vouchsafe to taste:  
They swallow a Sir-Reverence  
With greediness, that comes from Prince.  
Nothing goes down with us, forsooth,  
But what is pleasing to the Tooth.  
And more he was about to say,  
When he was called in haste away:  
The Squire and Curate at the Gate  
Parted too, without further Chat.   

'Twas now the Time the Politicians  
Seemed wondrous full of good Conditions,  
Made Proffers very much obliging  
To All of different Religion.  
And tho' Dispensing Power they held,  
Yet they in Lovingkindness yield  
To have all Penal Laws repealed,  
Which gave the Subject any Grief  
Concerning Matters of Belief.  
Some eagerly catched at the Bait,  
And with the Sugar-plums were caught;  
But others more considerate,  
At distance having spied the Trap,  
Sought Means the strong-laid Snare to scape.  
While those who were possessed of Places  
Found themselves driven to Distresses,  
From which they could have no Release,  
Unless they left behind their Fleece.   

For when the Question once was put,  
Yes, you must answer, or turn out.   

Will you at Call of Parliament  
Give Vote for such who will consent  
To take off Test and Penal Laws?  
He that said Yes, was where he was:  
He that unhappily said No,  
Was used untowardly, like a Foe;  
Threatened with Fines on Goods and Chattels,  
Confinement, and the Lord knows what else.  
Which Method, needs must be confessed,  
Was driving out of Test with Test.   

The Thoughts of riding in the Saddle  
Made weak Dissenter's Brains turn addle;  
He could not see (he grew so blind)  
The Jesuit getting up behind;  
Who soon with unexpected Flirt  
Would throw his Worship in the Dirt.   

Many they were to whom the Question  
Was boldly put: Among the rest, one,  
A stout and valiant Son of Mars,  
Who had spent all his Days in Wars,  
Regardless of Religion,  
'Twas thought that any might go down.  
Therefore they prayed him (with his leave)  
That he'd the Romish Faith receive.   

'Tis true (said he) that saying Prayers  
Has been the least of all my Cares;  
But if I ever change from That  
Wherein I first was bred and taught,  
My Honour is engaged t' embrace  
That of the Emperor's of Fez,  
Who showed me Death, and Blood, and Wounds,  
Yet could not get me to renounce.  
Poor Slaves were brought into his Court,  
And murdered, only to make Sport:  
The Agonies I saw, and Twitches,  
Of miserable dying Wretches,  
Yet I ne'er turned my Head awry,  
Nor frowned, nor asked that Monarch, Why  
He caused the needless Execution.  
Who when he saw my Resolution,  
And found me not inclined to Pity,  
Cried, Our Religion best would fit you.  
(You Christians use to show Remorse)  
Your Faith should be the same with ours,  
If I changed mine, I promised then  
That I would turn Mahometan.   

Their Wisdoms had as ill Success  
With other Closetting, as this;  
And Corporations Regulator  
Proved a good Subject, fit for Laughter.   

In Man no greater Folly is,  
Than that of being over-wise.    

August's CANTO.  
ARGUMENT.  

By Curate's Help, the Knight and Lady  
Meet merrily, and Days are gaudy  
A while, too hot to hold; Cold Dew  
Is ushered in by Barthol'mew.  
But yet the Curate's Heat does grow  
Towards Thomasine, and warms her too.   
CANTO.  

THO' Hero's Pictures best do show  
In Shades of Misery and Woe,  
And more the Lustre shines when set  
In Frame of Ebony or Jet,  
As all our Logicks tell us, else  
Their Rules of Opposites are false:  
Yet, on the other Hand, if they  
Should never see one happy day,  
Meet with no comfortable Chequer,  
Their very Vigour would grow weaker,  
And from the greatest Wits and Braves,  
Become the merest Sots and Slaves.   

Poor Sir Pendragon yet has had  
His Love-Concerns run Retrograde,  
Without Support of one kind Look,  
Which any other Heart had broke  
But his, that lay so fortified,  
Entrenched in Self-conceit and Pride.  
Now therefore 'tis extremely fit  
To let him lie no longer by 't,  
And for his Sally to set open  
Although but a Trap▪ door of Hope.   

Laurence, to further this Intent,  
Proves a successful Instrument;  
Who, big with joyful Tidings, came  
In so much haste to tell the same,  
That all in Sweat the thick round Drops  
Coursed one another down his Chaps.  
Some Time he took to gather Wind  
Sufficient to express his Mind.  
He to Pendragon then imparts  
That his unparallelled Deserts  
Were to Selena truly known,  
Which she in sober Mood did own;  
That all was Banter in the Park,  
And Random-shot beside the Mark.  
Nay, she requested me, moreover,  
(Quoth Laurence) very like a Lover,  
That I'd engage, without Delays,  
T' oblige her with the Happiness  
Of making you and her acquainted,  
And promised I should ne'er repent it,  
And made me in a manner swear  
That you should come and visit her.   

I thank you (quoth Pendragon) if  
'Tis safe to be of your Belief:  
Yet 'tis not strange; for there's no doubt  
But Weathercocks may turn about:  
Methinks 'tis worth my while to go  
And try if she continue so   

Ay, (quoth the Curate) pray be gone  
This instant, while the Day's your own;  
For to the Gods belongs to morrow,  
And who knows whether Joy or Sorrow?   

Cutbeard was called to cure Excrescence,  
And bring his Iass'mins' choicest Essence;  
To fill his Periwig with Powder,  
And dab it round about his Shoulder.  
Thus very smug, and very sweet,  
Dressed in all Circumstances neat,  
He sallies forth on bold Adventure,  
The charming Lady to encounter;  
And Laurence with him takes along,  
To be his Guarrantee from Wrong,  
That he receive no further Harms  
Than what come fairly from her Charms:  
And neither could th' Advantage carry  
By their Perfumes Auxiliary.  
After Attack betwixt their Cheeks,  
(As fitting) first Pendragon speaks.   

Madam, To Master Laurence I  
Pay Thanks for this Felicity;  
That he has brought me to salute you  
With all Devoir, and do my Duty  
Unto the fairest of the Sex  
Which our Horizon circumspects.  
Beauty and Wit surround your Throne,  
And you, like both the Sun and Moon,  
Maintain an equal Power and Right  
To govern us by Day and Night.   

Quarter, (Dread Sir) Selena cried;  
I can't so fierce a Charge abide:  
I'm altogether insufficient  
To prove your Stock of Ammunition,  
And do confess myself unfit  
T' engage with such a Fund of Wit,  
Whose strong Redoubts make all Opposers  
Retreat, and turn away the Losers.   

I bear no Terrors (quoth the Knight)  
Which may your Ladyship affright.  
What I pretend to of Abilities,  
With all th' Efforts of my Virilities,  
A Sacrifice without Reserve is  
Devoted solely to your Service.   

Beasts were for Sacrifice of old,  
(Selena said) as I've been told,  
Creatures with Horns and cloven Feet,  
Which after that were excellent Meat,  
First broiled on th' Altar of Devotion,  
Then served at Supper for Collation;  
Wherewith not only hungry Priest,  
But Wife and Children made a Feast.  
Now to suppose that you were slain  
On such account, 'twould be profane;  
Or were you to be carbonadoed,  
He gad! I could not be persuaded  
To suffer come betwixt my Lips  
The tightest Bit about your Hips.  
And tho' my Kindness may be great t' you,  
Yet not to that degree to eat you.   

(When Laurence thus engaged did see  
Them in slap-dash at Repartee,  
He slipped out of the Room unseen  
To find out Mistress Thomasine.)   

Quoth Knight, Dear Madam, have a care;  
You drive the Metaphor too far.  
In Lit'ral Sense I should be sorry  
To verify the Allegory,  
And run into that rash Mistake  
Which pious Origen did make;  
Who, to become more good and gracious,  
Parted with Movables so precious.  
To compliment away my Gender,  
Myself incapable would render  
To pleasure You, and do that Duty  
Which I in special manner vow t' you.   

Thank you (quoth she) that I'm befriended  
With so much kindness but intended;  
Although your promised Resolution  
Be frustrate of its Execution:  
For 'tis a Truth, That Ferdinando  
Can do no more than what he can do.  
And you shall find me so well bred,  
As to accept the Will for Deed.   

That's kindly said, (quoth he) Dear Lady:  
But it behoves me to persuade you  
(For Credit's sake, without Denial)  
To have this Business put to Trial.  
Suffer my Love to take its Course,  
And prove its energetic Force.   

Softly, good Sir, Selena cries;  
We be merry, and we should be wise.  
Determination of this Matter  
May be made time enough hereafter.  
We have advanced as far as fitting  
For any Two at their first Meeting.  
Blind Love ought to be gently led,  
And taught to step, and taught to tread.   

Mean while Pendragon slily strove  
To pull from off her Hand a Glove.  
She asked him if he meant by that  
To have it fastened in his Hat,  
And wore thereon, like Wedding-Garter,  
To show the Passion he did bear t' her;  
As Brunswick's Duke the like was seen  
To do for the Bohemian Queen.   

(Quoth he) That famous Duke of Brunswick  
Saving his Love, was mad and Brainsick;  
All whose frenetick Actions showed  
Him Cruel, Barbarous, and Lewd:  
And scarce, since julian that Apostate,  
Has the Church known a Foe more cross to't:  
For if on Steeple high as Paul's  
He spied a Workman stopping Holes,  
He ne'er ceased pelting him with Stone,  
Until he foully fetched him down;  
And such a Fall from Top of Steeple  
Must beat out Brains, or make a Cripple.   

In Munster's sacred Dome he sees  
The Twelve Apostles Images,  
All of substantial massy Plate;  
When pondering well their Worth and Weight,  
After reproachful Speech to th' Statues,  
For keeping idle Station gratis,  
He swore he'd make them travel through  
All Countries, as th' were bid to do.  
Then with them (coined into Rixdollars)  
He paid his Army off, and Follower's.   

To Priests he bore such fell Antipathy,  
He caused them to be smitten Hip and Thigh:  
Deaf to their miserable Moans,  
Either he cut their Throats or Stones.  
But I run on with a Discourse  
Unsuitable to Love-Affairs.   

She (looking round her with a Frown)  
Perceiving Laurence was withdrawn,  
Enquired, and found him not within,  
But gone abroad with Thomasine;  
Replies, O rare! Your Curate-Thief  
Has stole away, without my leave,  
Not only his own Loggerhead,  
But hers whom I do call my Maid:  
On what particular Pretence,  
A little Time will evidence.  
At present I'm become uneasy.  
Since than my Company can't please ye,  
You being a most accomplished Courtier,  
Will cut your Visit so much shorter.   

Madam (quoth he) I'll ne'er dispute,  
Your Will and Pleasure's absolute.  
Then bowing low, with a loud Smack  
He kissed her Hand, and turned his Back.   

Your Servant, Sir, (quoth she) God b' ye;  
Adieu to Love and my Dear joy—  
She softly sung in silent Tone,  
Till he was out of hearing gone.  
Then smiling said, I've seen enough  
Of this Sir Curly-murly Puff,  
Whose Screams (I'm told) are cursed loud  
Against Patriots for the Public Good:  
I'm sure his making Love's a Farce,  
In Strains untunable and harsh.  
If with his Quail-pipe he decoys  
Some heedless overgrown Scholar-Boys,  
Who with their Money part, to buy  
Dear pennyworths of false Loyalty;  
Let him not think that I'll be fed  
With his gilt printed Gingerbread.   

Infallibly that Man's in fault  
Who calls his Neighbours all to naught.  
Trimtram, such as this Master Tory,  
Such Man Squire Hugh, such Chaplain Laury.  
Then fretting at the Misbehaviour  
Of Thomasine, a while we leave her  
Riding on Grubb, a Trot most sore hard,  
And put the Clock a little forward,  
To make it just the Time o' th' Year  
Of famous Bartholmaean Fair.  
Not that we mean to sing the Matter  
Of such Variety for Laughter;  
But in brief only to disclose,  
Among the many Raree-Shows  
Then met to make all London Town stare,  
There was a Female Germane Monster  
Had Scales on one Side, like a Fish,  
T' other clear-skinned as one would wish;  
One Buttock was just like a Horse's,  
T' other like other Humane Arses;  
Misshapen Legs, and on Feet grows  
Members too big for Petit-Toes.  
She, the Chief Princess of this Sort,  
Could never fail of a full Court,  
To pay a Courtier's Compliment,  
Brought Sir Pendragon to her Tent.  
●t the same time, to gratify  
●n Itch of Curiosity,  
●nto the same identick Place  
blindfolded wanton Chance conveys  
Selena, splendid as the Moon,  
Well guarded by a Beau Garconne.  
The Knight, through his Sagacity,  
Had quickly got her in his Eye;  
When moving forward to salute her,  
●●e as quickly turned about, Sir.  
●t that, he changed his Course; she than  
●s nimbly tacked about again;  
●s he to get the nearer striven,  
Perceived she hitched the further off.  
He sat him down, o'er-whelmed with Grief,  
Despairing of the least Relief,  
Because his Noble Heart was sunk  
Down to the bottom of his Trunk.  
While thus in melancholy mood  
He chewed Tobacco and the Cud,  
And at a distance, with her Sentry,  
Selena looks for Monster's Entry,  
Laurence and Thomasine were got  
More close together, piping hot:  
Not in a Booth of Monsters frightful,  
But where they found it more delightful.  
No Puppet-Shews, nor Dancing Bears,  
Nor merry Drolls of Strouling Players;  
No Tumbling Andrew, nor jean Pudding,  
Could please them, who were set a brooding,  
And hovering o'er each others Love,  
In Box as warm as any Stove.  
To noisy Jests they bid Defiance  
With Sack and Sugar, Cates and Viands,  
And nothing wanting on the Place  
To make their amorous Flames increase;  
Which was performed by secret Course,  
Unsearchable as is the Source.  
Great was their mutual Satisfaction,  
Where Passion makes up all the Action,  
And Interjection all the Speech,  
Description is beyond our reach.  
By Thoughts, and in Dumb-shew, the rest  
Is with best Eloquence expressed.   

Laurence thus drawn (as with a Cable)  
By this Importance Comfortable,  
Had all the Faculties of is Mind,  
To gratify the Flesh, resigned;  
And his acute Intelligences  
Were humble Servants to his Senses.  
His Ratiocination fared ill,  
While his Wit worked beneath his Girdle:  
And him th' insatiate Gipsy drains  
Of Money, Blood, and Guts, and Brains.   

Among the poignant wise Adages,  
Recorded by th' Italian Sages,  
One is, Priests, Women, and the wide  
Ocean, are never satisfied.    

September's CANTO.  
ARGUMENT.  

Laurence and Thomasine's Proceeding,  
Who make at Westminster a Wedding.  
A Letter to the Knight does come,  
With Present, from he knows not whom;  
Which struck him with tormenting Cares,  
And dread of Change in State-affairs.   
CANTO.  

'tIs plain, by what was lately said,  
That Thomasine's a cunning Jade;  
Who having made a Wit a Fool.  
Had the Sense not to let him cool,  
But plied him with warm Clothes and Kisses,  
Till she add accomplished her Wishes,  
And got him hampered with a Padlock  
As strong as could be made of Wedlock.   

The better to bring this about,  
She most successfully had wrought  
Herself into her Lady's Favour,  
And her good Grace, as firm as ever:  
Which Reconcilement was so hearty,  
Selena was become a Party,  
An Accessary to the Chouse  
Of drawing Priest into the Noose:  
Who now grown pampered with high Feeding,  
Impatient grew to fix his Wedding;  
Of which was held Solemnization  
(Merely to give gratification  
To his own Humour) on those Days  
When London-Town was all on Blaze  
Just Two and twenty Years before,  
And Rome did brand her for The Whore,  
When their St. Peter mocked the Fall,  
And triumphed over our St. Paul.  
Let Rome Burlesque the same, while we  
Regret the sad Calamity.  
The Time's acoming, not far off,  
When we shall have our Turn to laugh.   

But other Matters press us much  
To give these Nuptials a Dispatch.  
At Westminster their Hands were joined,  
And at a Tavern there they dined;  
Its Sign (O wonderful in this Age!)  
Was the Pope's Nuncio, Dadas Visage.  
Selena's Bounty cleared those Scores,  
Beside a hundred Lovi ' d' Orseolo,  
Obliged for Portion of the Spouse,  
On Day of Marriage to depose.  
At Night she gave them a Sack-posset,  
And with the Stockin Bridegroom's Nose hit.  
Then after all the merry Guests  
Their Wits discharged in Bawdy Jests,  
Selena drew the Curtains close,  
And left them to their Discompose,  
Not suffering any one to come at  
The married Pair while they consummate.   

Pendragon, late oppressed with Wrong,  
Calls out to have his Cause come on,  
And prays he may no longer wait  
His Hearing in the Court of Fate;  
With Hopes to have from its Decrees  
Allowed him Costs and Damages  
For Falsehood and injurious Slight,  
Wherewith his Mistress did requite  
His Love unfeigned, and so debarred  
Both that and him of due Reward.  
Expecting Fortune more benign,  
In haste his Boy came running in,  
Tells him a Parcel's left i' th' Passage,  
By a Porter brought with blundering Message,  
Who being asked, he would not say  
From whence he came, but run away.  
That 'tis a very handsome Packet,  
And for his Worship's Use directed.   

Fetch it up hither, (quoth the Knight)  
I find I'm not forgotten quite:  
When the kind Donor will not tell you  
His Name, the Presents of most value.  
And here's a Parcel which within has  
For certain a good Purse of Guinea's.  
But first he found, handling the Matter,  
That the Direction was a Letter;  
Which shall be every Tittle read,  
Without the Breaks Pendragon made:  
And after that is fully done,  
We shall impart his Notes thereon.   

THE SUPER-SCRIPTION.  
THESE  
To Sir Pendragon be conveyed,  
At the next Door to Godfrey's Head,  
In Upper Oldbourn, toward St. Giles,  
Where there be Two or Three Turn-Stiles,  
Deliver,  
With a Parcel tied,  
Carriage paid and satisfied.   

The LETTER.  
SIR,  

AFter hearty Commendations  
Tendered to you and your Relations;  
Hoping your Healths as good a plight in  
As mine is at this present Writing.  
Accept these Lines from unknown Hand,  
Yet from a true unfeigned Friend,  
Who doing the Duty of Plain-dealer,  
Treats you with Terms the more familiar,  
To bring ye acquainted with your Sins,  
Which very seldom Favour wins;  
Yet much more Good may work upon you,  
Than gathering you a little Money,  
Than hawking for you up and down,  
To pick up here and there a Crown,  
From the unwilling Contributor,  
Who when hard pressed, is forced to do't, or  
With his Great Neighbour lose his Credit:  
Thus many against the Hair have paid it,  
And their own Foolery have blamed,  
For being topped upon, and shamm'd.   

Yet to tell Truth, and shame the Devil,  
Scarce Man of Honesty believe will  
The Sums that have been gathered for you,  
Of which thou art so little worthy,  
That put thy Merits, nay, put all  
Thy Loyalty into one Scale,  
And throw a single Brass Half-crown  
In the other, that shall weigh it down.  
The only Reason, I conceive,  
For your extravagant Relief,  
May be, that when there's a Collection  
Made for the Head of any Faction,  
You always greatest Gathering have  
For him who is the greatest Knave.  
So Beggars raise Supplies for Want,  
By their Felicity of Cant;  
Not he that needs it, most does get,  
But he who best can counterfeit:  
And 'tis a common thing to pay  
False Guides for leading us astray.  
This, to your former Comfort, you  
At others Costs have found so true.  
There's an old Proverb, which doth say,  
That every Dog shall have his Day.  
You have had many that are past,  
Successful to your Interest;  
Crowds of Disciples you have led on,  
Like Loyola, or john of Leyden;  
When many a small Highpriest did watch,  
Thy precious Oracles to catch,  
And preached them to their Congregations  
In Doctrines, and in Applications.   

As a famed Traveller once had  
His Ordure Sacred Relic made,  
When Votaries scraped clean his Breeches,  
So carried those to Church thy Speeches,  
And did on Sunday following vent  
For Holy Truth, thy Excrement:  
Which if a wiser Man then blamed,  
Or disapproved of, he was damned.  
Till Arbitrary Power, grown strong  
And malapert in doing Wrong,  
Seized on the Properties of Priest:  
Thenceforth thy Oracles have ceased;  
Exploded is thy slavish Lore,  
By those who cried it up before;  
Who blush to have been led aside  
By such an Hocuspocus Guide.  
The Blaze your Reputation kindled,  
Of late is grown so dim, and dwindled,  
And with that shameful haste declines,  
It with as little Lustre shines  
As Glow-worm, or Tobacco-coal,  
Or rotten Wood in a dark Hole.  
The Time is past which thou hast seen,  
And ne'er to come about again.  
Let Friar Bacon's Brazen Head  
Tell thee, thy Golden Days are fled.   

By this time you may grow impatient  
To be acquainted with your Present,  
(One may presume) and that you're scarce well  
At ease, until you've opened Parcel.  
Prepare yourself then, wipe your Eyes,  
And see how prettily it lies  
In Rolls, and Folds, which you may take  
Perhaps at first sight for a Snake;  
Like one in Timon's covered Course,  
To sting his viprous Senators.  
But bened affrighted; on my word,  
'Tis but an honest Hempen Cord,  
A Halter, which alone to you  
By your own Hands can Justice do;  
The due Reward of all your Pains,  
And best Cure for your Flux of Brains:  
Before the Mobb shall gut your House,  
And greater Troubles interpose;  
With that small Joy you yet possess,  
And every Day is growing less;  
While you have some Remains of Reason,  
Prithee make use of them in season;  
And without any more delay,  
In secret make thyself away.  
Dear Rogue, go hang thyself; I vow,  
I would not urge thee to it now,  
But that it will so well become you,  
And every one expects it from you.  
'Twill be the most Heroic thing,  
Resolved like a true Brentford King,  
Who by his own Hands would have fallen a  
Sad Sacrifice to dead Lardella.  
You may give out, Selena's Scorn,  
Intolerable to be born,  
Occasioned it; and you may feign,  
The dire Effects of her Disdain  
Cut you so deeply to the Heart,  
That it was better to depart  
This Life, and end your Miseries,  
Than to die daily by her Eyes.   

You've read o' th' Queen of Carthage, Dido,  
That dancing, drinking, merry Widow,  
When her belov'd Aeneas shook her  
Off, and unworthily forsook her,  
She grew the melancholiest Creature  
On Earth: She'd wring her Hands, and beat her  
Breast, plunged in rueful Woe: At last,  
Convinced all Hopes from him were passed,  
An end to her fell Grief she puts,  
By striking Dagger in her Guts.  
This useful Halter, if you please,  
Would fain afford you the same Ease,  
And free you by convenient Stretches  
From growing more and more a Wretch.  
Altering the Motion of a Muscle,  
Or so, does it without a Bustle.  
More Instances I dare engage  
To cite, and Arguments allege,  
To prove this Action truly needful,  
And graceful for you, tho' 'tis dreadful:  
But if you're scrupulous to do't,  
Let these Five Motives press you to't.   

First then, You far in Years are gone,  
And broke in Constitution;  
Your Vigour fails, and Natural Talon,  
Which best should fit you for a Gallant,  
Is now enfeebled, and become  
Already a mere Pendulum.  
Yet by your Freaks, and Monkey-Tricks,  
Do you debauch the weaker Sex.  
Not that the slender Wast of Miss  
By you receives a Prejudice;  
There your Efforts are ineffectual:  
But on their slenderer Intellectual,  
By the Fop doodle of your Wit,  
What horrid Rapes do you commit?  
And Ravishment, you know, is Death,  
Anno Dec. Oct. Elizabeth.   

Secondly, Once for all to dangle,  
Is better than continual Wrangle,  
Than Roguing the King's best Liege people,  
As meriting the Gallow Triple,  
Without affording the least Proof,  
As if thy Say-so was enough,  
And held by Patent Ipse dixit,  
Infamy where you please to fix it.  
No Man reputed Loyal was  
For his Obedience to the Laws,  
And therefore aught to be protected,  
But he who did as you directed.  
Go hang thyself, since Caesar's Due  
Is not to be purloined by you.   

Thirdly, You ought to close your Chaps  
By your own Hand, because, perhaps,  
Transgressions by thee perpetrated  
Are with that Subtlety committed,  
They cannot come within the reach  
Of Laws, or Cognizance of Catch;  
Yet, if well-weighed in their own Nature,  
They may be judged to merit greater,  
And should have Punishment severer,  
Than either Felon or Burglarer.  
Hence therefore you're obliged to be  
In Equity Felo de se.   

Fourthly, You cannot think it strange  
If Times should have a sudden Change:  
Nothing (you know) that's violent  
In Nature, can be permanent.  
Britannia sore with Wrongs oppressed,  
Has her Eyes fixed towards the East,  
And seems with eagerness from thence  
To look for a Deliverance.  
Such Revolution will for certain  
In no wise meliorate your Fortune.  
The Office may your House ensure,  
Yet not your Person be secure:  
For on so great an Alteration  
The Whipping-posts throughout the Nation,  
The Rods and Axes, Pill'ry, Gibbet,  
Will change their Side too, and distribute  
Due Punishments for old Abuses,  
On those who put them to wrong Uses.  
All this may come to pass, and rotten  
Eggs for a little may be gotten.  
Rather than (like Sir Hudibrass)  
With Orange-tawny Slime your Face,  
Some bold unlucky Knave should maul,  
Truss up yourself for good and all.  
Which brings me to the Fifth and Last  
Motive to make you tie it fast.  
(For do but you secure the Knot,  
I'll pass my Word the Rope holds out.)   

Fifthly, You can't for shame refuse  
To thrust your Head into the Noose,  
Because so many of your Followers  
At Tyburn have wore Hempen Collars.  
Thither your Devilish Doctrines brought them,  
Merely for doing as you taught them:  
Yourself the Procatarctic Cause  
Of their transgressing of the Laws.  
Your Will i' Wisp was their Undoing,  
And led the Wretches to their Ruin.  
Therefore what I advise you, do Man:  
You know 'twas usual with the Roman;  
Who when he found himself in trouble,  
Esteemed the Practice Brave and Noble  
Himself by Poniard to dispatch:  
Why not as Brave, by Rope to stretch?  
Why should the Rope be reckoned meaner?  
When Sons and Brothers o' th' Grand Signior  
Repute it no ignoble thing  
To have Death given them by a String.   

For Use then, Quae cum ita sint,  
You'll hang yourself, I'm confident.  
Let not one Doubt or Fear prevail;  
Be resolute, and you cannot fail.  
Farewell; make haste to Execution;  
Do't handsomely; and, for conclusion,  
When in th' Highway they've made your Grave,  
I'll give you this for Epitaph.   

EPITAPH.  
HERE lies (take notice you that travel)  
With Stake of Wood drove through his Navel,  
That which remains of Sir Pendragon,  
A famous Writer not long agone;  
Who, when his Ink-bottle was spent,  
Thus perished in a Discontent.  
Die with him all Prevarication  
On Laws, Religion, Prince, and Nation.   
Yours,—   

Yours,— (quoth the Knight) and there's an end.  
My what?— My precious loving Friend.  
A fine Epistle, to collogue  
Me to believe myself a Rogue!  
Nay, 'twould persuade me very fain  
I am so great a Rogue in Grain,  
That I without demurring aught  
Into this Rope to thrust my Throat,  
And (maugre natural Aversion)  
Destroy my goodly proper Person.  
Soft! if I've played the Knave, no Rule  
From thence, that I must play the Fool,  
Murder myself, for sneering Knave  
To gibe thereat, and jeer, and laugh.  
I'm not from Glory's Precipice  
So fallen, to follow this Advice.—  
And then he paused.— But yet I doubt  
My Candle is a going out.  
This filthy Letter does unfold  
More Truth than's fitting to be told,  
And hits some things so devilish pat,  
From Lapland it must bear its Date.  
What but some Devil-Scout could tell  
That lately all my Presents fail?  
Because I'm sure no Man alive  
Can ever prove a Negative.  
And what but such could undermine  
Each secret Practice and Design  
That I have driven on of late  
Both in Affairs of Church and State?  
What else could give that shameful Tergi-  
versation to me from the Clergy?  
And some of them who licked my spital  
Sent me perhaps this very Snittle.  
What made Selena (like a Jilt)  
To foster Love, and then to killed?  
As they who wrote this base Epistle  
Know that she used me like a Beast, ill.  
Yet I must yield, for want of Powers  
To force the Sex to pay her Scores.  
Tho' I bristle like a Turkeycock,  
I have not half so fine a Dock.  
'Tis as in vain t'attempt to spread  
My Tail, as it would be to tread:  
I'll walk no more amongst the Hens,  
Lest they find out my Impotence.  
A long Farewell to now the stupid  
And childish Fooleries of Cupid:  
But I've no Reason to complain  
Of Disabilities of Brain.  
Yet should the Fourth vile Motive prove  
A Truth, I may see Cause enough  
To hang myself; I should be a Man  
In worse Condition than was Haman:  
The very Thoughts whereof do make  
My Limbs and Faculties to shake;  
Because there flies a strong Report  
Concerning terrible Effort  
Preparing to be made against  
Our Tory Friends, and Popish Saints.  
But Hope says, Accidents may slip  
Betwixt the Cup and upper Lip:  
Let not (before the time, so soon)  
My noble Courage be cast down;  
And let not Fear with wonder gaze  
On what may never come to pass.  
I and my Monarch rest secure,  
Defended by the double Power  
Of potent Army in the Land,  
And Judges, who the Laws command.    

October's CANTO.  
ARGUMENT.  

The Knight and Squire in Coffee-house  
Hear most unacceptable News:  
They meet their Match, being told their own  
By one to both of them unknown.  
Yet Laurence Tidings doth impart,  
Which puts them both again in Heart.   
CANTO.  

PEndragon, when we left him last,  
Promised Security and Rest  
TO himself, and those of his Adherence;  
But every Day gave less Appearance  
(From the black Clouds of threatening Storm)  
That he this Promise could perform.   

For not a Night he laid him down  
Without deep Sighs, and many a Groan.  
His Anguish sometimes made him Weep;  
And if by chance he fell asleep,  
It yielded melancholy Themes  
Dire Spectres, and most frightful Dreams;  
A formidable Whigg Hobgoblin,  
With Sawcer-Eyes, appears to trouble him,  
And running on, with crooked Prongs  
Pok'd at Sir Knight, for former Wrongs.  
If this withdrew, his Fancy next  
A Hempen Apparition vexed.   

While Hugh, kept waking with like Feats,  
Betimes unto the Knight repairs,  
To ask him whether he could tell  
If what was talked was credible;  
Or knew from out what Trumpet came  
This strange Report of tat'ling Fame.  
I'm in great hopes (quoth Hugh) it flies  
From that wherewith she scatters Lie.   

Pendragon said, I'm not without  
Some Fears, and Jealousies, and Doubt,  
That such concurring various Causes  
Might contribute some pretty Crosses:  
But saw no danger of Event  
To over-turn the Government:  
Nor did he think the Tales which flew  
About confus'd'ly, could be true.  
Yet that they well might understand too  
The Quis, Quid, Quomodo, Cur, Quando,  
Of this bold Whisper, Both agreed  
To walk with all convenient speed  
To the next Coffee-house of Fame,  
To learn the Certainty o' th' same.   

Mean while there's not a Word let drop  
About th' Adventure of the Rope;  
Of which the Knight as little said  
As Hugh when he was nipped o' th' Head.   

Crossing the Street, it so did fall  
By chance, that Hugh was next the Wall;  
For which he doth apologise,  
And cries, Sir, let me blush for this;  
'Tis indecorous; nor should I  
Take Place of better Quality,  
But that a Surdity in Ear sinister  
To me much Trouble doth admin'ster.   

The Knight replied, Custom and Use  
Was a sufficient full Excuse;  
And bid him speak no more of that,  
But keep the Wall, and put on's Hat.   

When they were come in Coffee-room,  
Through misty Clouds of different Fume  
Spying one empty Table there,  
They sat them down with prick'd-up Ear.   

No sooner each had called for's Dish,  
But enters one with smiling Phiz,  
With Riding-Whip, and dirty Boots,  
And in 'twixt Knight and Squire he puts.  
What News? was asked by every Body,  
Who had their Answers to't as ready.  
Yet Hugh this Stranger pumps beyond  
Good Manners, and the decent Bound  
Of Modesty, that he'd unload  
What he had gathered on the Road.   

Sir, quoth Ignotus, (so an't please ye  
We call the Stranger) You're uneasy  
Methinks, at these Reports which fly  
About our Ears, beneath the Sky:  
Therefore, for Satisfaction, know,  
Arthur of Britain, like a Crow,  
Has gone the World round many a Year,  
And just now we expect him here.  
Which News as sure and certain is,  
As that there was an Amadis  
De Gaul, a Fiarbras, or Guy  
Of Warwick, or of Burgundy  
A Lanc'lot de Lake, and Queen Genover,  
(Who by none living now were seen ever)  
A British Lady called Quintanione,  
Who drank as much Wine as did any one:  
Yet, says the Knight o' th' Mancha, those  
Must not be reckoned Fabulous.   

As sure as (I dare boldly say)  
Perseus relieved Andromeda,  
Prince Arthur's sailing cross the Seas,  
Even now, Britannia to release,  
To heal her Wounds, and break the Shackles  
Put on her by unnatural Rake-hells;  
Who by pretence of Loyalty,  
Would bring us into Slavery;  
And fain would coke's us, or affright,  
From Liberties, and Law, and Right:  
Who Rome's Religion here would fix,  
In Masses, and the Crucifix;  
And would have nothing more to do  
With the Old Testament, or New:  
As Dunkeld's Bishop told Dean Thomas,  
I've lived as comfortably as some has,  
And yet, upon my Word and Troth,  
I ne'er read either of them Both.  
Look you, Sir, whosoever you are,  
I know not, and as little care:  
But mind me; We have had of late  
Such precious Ministers of State,  
Such Priests, and Lawyers, who laid by  
Religion, Law, and Property.  
Once cried a Priest of ours, Alas!  
Why should we start at hearing Mass?  
We liked it once, before we lost it,  
And shall again when we are used to't.  
‛ When introduced (over or under)  
'twill give us about Nine Days Wonder.  
As well might the same Gentleman  
Have said Nine more for th' Alcoran.   

Another, some few Years before,  
Fond of a Popish Successor,  
In his Address he makes to th' King,  
Tells him, to fright him from the Thing,  
His next Heir's Disinherison  
Was such, that no Religion,  
No Law, no Fault, no Forfeiture,  
(Take Wind a little, Doctor G—)  
Could the same alter or diminish:  
And why not, add to, or replenish?  
Such was the Learned Doctor's Speech,  
As Cobblers, who when heard to preach,  
Do always go beyond their Last,  
This out run Constable as fast,  
Who might (upon a due Enquiry)  
Have seized him on a Praemunire.  
Thus 'tis when Priest will blindly rush on  
Things quite beside his Pulpit-Cushion.  
Suppose the next Heir was a Felon,  
And caught i' th' very Act of Stealing;  
Sure that which takes away his Life,  
Will of Succession him deprive.  
Which for a Truth you may rehearse.  
Sir, I love Reasoning in Verse.   

All this did Sir Pendragon hear,  
Who could not for his Blood forbear  
Longer from giving smart Reply;  
Sir, 'tis a saucy Liberty  
You take, in making these Reflections  
On statesmen's, Priests, and Princes Actions.  
You who the Government arraign  
For not conforming to your Brain,  
To know your Duty better aught,  
Or be t' its Rods Submission taught.  
'Tis therefore very fitting I  
Demand of you Security,  
Or make your Mittimus unto  
A Place where you'd be loath to go.   

How! (quoth Ignotus) What I've told  
Touches your Worship's Copyhold.  
Have I found where the Shoe doth pinch?  
I see I make a galled Horse winch.  
On second Thoughts you'll take Advice,  
And e'er you act, consider twice;  
Suspend your own Authority  
A while, and lay Resentment by.  
Not that I want sufficient Bail;  
But 'tis at present under Sail.  
I'll be forthcoming, on Parol,  
On day of Trial, safe and whole.  
You hear of strange unusual Lights  
Which in the Skies appear at Nights:  
Some wear a discontented Look,  
That High-Commission Seal is broke,  
Now that Old Charters are restored,  
And Councils tend to an Accord.  
He that afresh creates a Squabble,  
Displeases both the Court and Rabble.  
'Tis unsafe to lay a Man by th' Heels  
Now a Day's coming for Appeals.   

Pendragon gnashed his Teeth for Anger,  
Not knowing how to deal with Stranger.  
Hugh bit his Lips with Indignation,  
To hear of Charters Restoration;  
Grew pale, lest he who caused Surrender  
Should be impeached for an Offender.  
But the Knight muttered, Talks but idle,  
Licentious Tongues may meet a Bridle  
When least they think to feel Restraint.  
Then up he rose, and out he went.  
Hugh stands and strikes his Fist like Muttons  
On his own Breast, against his Buttons.  
Quoth he, No Man that wears a Head  
Durst speak the Things that you have said,  
Without being called t' account therefore:  
Then cocked, and strutted out a-door.  
Pendragon made a little Stop  
A Pissing-while, till Hugh came up;  
Then whispered, as along they sawntered,  
What a strange Fellow we encountered!  
Who, had he what to him belonged,  
Ought to be whipped, and racked, and hanged.  
A Commonwealths-man, you may swear,  
By his unlucky Looks, and Fleer;  
And in Religion his Opinion  
Is Calvinist, or else Socinian.  
I hate him for the News he told,  
Which makes my very Blood turn cold,  
Puts me all over into a Shiver,  
Like a strong Access of a Fever.  
Nor can I draw a Right Conclusion  
From Things appearing in Confusion.   

O lamentable, Sir, (quoth Hugh)  
What we have heard's most certain true;  
And should our Fears too come to pass,  
We're in a miserable Case;  
All of us ruined and undone,  
The Father, Mother, Sister, Son.  
Thus with Complaints most dolorous  
Hugh waits upon the Knight to's House:  
Where Laurence met them at the Door,  
And, seeing them look sad and sour,  
Courage, (he cried) my worthy Friends,  
Much better Fortune us attends,  
Perhaps, than may to you be known:  
By an Express this Afternoon  
Certain Intelligence is come,  
That adverse Storms have driven home  
Th' Armado, which it seems designed  
To reach our Coasts against the Wind.  
The Fleet which would have been invading  
Our Shore, is on their own unlading.  
Strong Boreas, and the gentle Zephir,  
(Thank them) have done their Business clever.  
And bravely whistled in the Poop  
Of those who bore so briskly up;  
Who sail without the leave of Neptune,  
And Aeole better might have kept in,  
Than thus to hazard what they've lost,  
That is, their Labour and their Cost.  
A most severe Rebuff from Fortune.  
And now the Days begin to shorten,  
Now Sol curtails his daily Journeys,  
No fear in haste of their Return is.  
In Arms next Spring we'll meet our Foes,  
And all the Winter sing Old Rose.   

Your welcome News (Pendragon said)  
Revives and makes my Spirits glad.  
In hopes kind Fortune won't forsake us,  
We'll make a Sacrifice to Bacchus.  
Come in, Friend Hugh, and honest Laurence,  
I'll find a double Flask of Florence;  
Of which we'll drink first every Man  
A Bumper to the Health of Pan.  
That down, we'll fill and drink another  
To beauteous Syrinx, happy Mother  
Of little Daphnis; then a Third  
To that young, thriving, hopeful Bird:  
And then, Confusion to all States,  
Founded on Piles, and Water-Rats.  
So these Canaries of a Feather  
Do for the present flock together.  
And 'tis but reasonable and fit  
That short-lived Pleasures should be sweet.  
Mensis Octobris explicit.  
So was Authentic Chaucer wont  
At a full Period or Point▪  
Of the same Tale, to close the Joint.    

November's CANTO.  
ARGUMENT.  

The last Month's Rumour true in this is:  
And Knight and Squire are broke in Pieces.  
The one the others Woe recites,  
While Sol in Sagitt●ry smites:  
And all unfortunate Presages  
Promise them Payment of their Wages.   
CANTO.  

JUst as old Time does Seasons vary,  
So does he all Things Sublunary.  
Fortune stands never at a Bay,  
But dances a continued Hay  
To the same Measures, and same Tune;  
As little Orbis, Sun and Moon.  
Things Good, Bad, and Indifferent are  
Making a Tripartite Indenture.  
Sometimes the Best, and sometimes Worst,  
Are First, and Last; and Last, and First.  
Of some sweet Pleasures the Acquaintance  
Is dearly purchased by Repentance.  
Joy ended, turns to Melancholy,  
And Wisdom quits the Chair to Folly.  
Sunshine doth for a Time prevail,  
Then down it pours in Rain and Hail.  
Riches themselves are brought to (by  
Privation of them) Poverty.  
Long Luxury and Idleness  
Make War succeed inglorious Ease.  
Which Aphorisms, like conj'ring Spells,  
Hebrew or Pagan Oracles,  
With the same ease may be read backward,  
And teach us how this World is chequered.  
As, War brings Poverty and Peace;  
And, When 't has reigned enough, 'twill cease.  
Health follows Sickness; Plenty, Dearth;  
And, Sorrow is relieved by Mirth.  
Pleasure arises from Disasters;  
And, Sores are cured by healing Plasters.  
Fortune the Riches may increase  
Of one so poor he scarce can piss,  
And such like intermediate Changes  
Turn on Occasions pliant Hinges.  
An Evil and a Happy Day  
By Turns each other will repay.  
The faulty Curate, Squire, and Knight,  
So lately wrapped in false Delight,  
Are now to drink unwelcome Dose;  
And, Sweet Meat must have sour Sauce.   

The Mirth which with the Flask was brought,  
Almost as soon as That, was out.  
Approaching Changes in the State  
Alarmed our wise Triumvirate,  
And made them shake their Ears, and rise  
From their mistaken Paradise.  
With Consternation they were struck,  
And showed it plainly in their Look;  
And the most wise amongst them knew  
Not what to think, or say, or do,  
Convinced that Laurence's glad Tiding  
They could no longer now confide in;  
Hearing the Wind about had turned,  
And quite contrary News confirmed.   

For Carriers, Travellers, and Post,  
Not only told, that Arthur's Host  
Was landed: but Bells jolly Ringing,  
And People's merry Looks and Singing,  
Proclaimed the glad Intelligence  
Of the Deliverer's Advance.   

As Hugh walked out, a Raven o'er  
His Head flew croaking,— Come ashore.  
To shun that Sight, he downward looking,  
Spied wrong side outward of his Stockin;  
And when at Dinner, by mishap,  
He spilt the Salt in his own Lap.  
Then hastening to Pendragon's House,  
Three Drops of Blood fell from his Nose.  
Entering he stumbled at the Threshold,  
And had fallen, had he not caught fresh Hold.  
All which ill Omens, so tremendous,  
Made Hugo sigh, Ye Powers defend us.   

The Knight received him with an Air  
Disclosing Grief and sad Despair;  
Not bid him Welcome, or Sat down;  
But wrapped up in his Studying-Gown  
The thoughtful Sir Pendragon sat,  
Most woefully disconsolate,  
Deprived a while as much from Speech  
As when Selena turned her Breech.  
Hugo, no less concerned, was fretted,  
And felt his Spirits agitated;  
Who thus accosts the Knight, Your Silence  
Was not so great, when but a while hence,  
Sir, you could laugh, and talk, and drink:  
Now, Sweet Sir, tell me what you think.  
They're landed, and advance; I pray,  
What is thy Counsel? Prithee say,  
What 'tis that you design to do?  
Sir, (quoth the Knight) What's that to you?  
Your Question's insolent and base;  
I lived before I saw your Face,  
And shall know how to steer my Course  
Unaided by your Silver Spurs.   

If this be all that I (quoth Hugh)  
Can for an Answer get from you,  
I ask no Succour from your Gilt ones;  
Your Par'dise is as lost as Milton's:  
Your Friend, the Devil, called Old Nick,  
Has served you but a slippery Trick,  
And keeps himself at greatest distance  
When you've most need of his Assistance.  
I thought the Articles, when drawn  
Betwixt you, had been made more strong,  
The mutual Compact and Agreement  
Been sealed with a more lasting Cement;  
Not to determine at a Day,  
But hold for Ever and for Ay:  
So that no Chance of War, no Change  
In Church or State, could make you strange  
To one another, once so loving,  
And in one Interest interwoven.   

Quoth Sir Pendragon, You're a Puppy  
To talk thus, and 'tis time to stop you.  
A saucy Jackanapes you are,  
Or turned as mad as March's Hare.  
You should be shackled, and sent home,  
And locked up in a darkened Room,  
Blooded and purged, to keep you quiet,  
With Meal and Water for your Diet;  
Fresh Straw, your Hair close cut, or Shaving  
Your Coxcomb, to prevent its raving.   

Quoth Hugh, You're sooner like to find  
A Lodging of another kind:  
Be sent to the same Place again  
Where you in former Days have lain,  
Safely by Locks and Bars secured,  
Betwixt thick Walls of Stone immured:  
The Room not dark, shall yield you Light  
Enough for you to see to write;  
Where Sunshine, Rain, Beetles, and Gnats  
Shall play betwixt the Iron Grates.  
The Walls embellished with the Slime  
Of Snails, which winding upward climb:  
In every Corner of the Room  
A Spider working at her Loom:  
Visits from Courteous Rats and Mice,  
Millions of Philanthropick Lice,  
Unwillingly will meet abstersion  
From close adherence to your Person:  
With great variety of swarming  
Infects, and pretty sort of Vermin.   

Thou tak'st a wonderful delight  
In thy own Prate, (replied the Knight)  
But canst thou think that I shall take it,  
Without belabouring thy Jacket?  
Or fairly breaking of the Scull  
Of such a gross insipid Fool;  
Whom nothing can retrieve, so lost in  
His Wits, but Cudgels and Dry-basting.   

(Quoth Hugh) before you go to Blows,  
Think what you're like to get or lose.  
Tho' I so Low, and you so Tall,  
Your Haughtiness may catch a Fall;  
And when I've got you underneath,  
Should you escape with any Teeth,  
With Limbs un-broke, or Life, I dare say,  
'Twill be all owing to my Mercy:  
Or if I leave that Nose your Face on,  
Thanks to my Bowels of Compassion.   

Hear me (quoth Knight) e'er Passion rise  
To these most dire Extremities.  
Before you further me provoke  
To such an all-confounding Stroke  
As may prove fatal to Squire Hugh:  
'Twere better timely he withdrew;  
'Tis worth his while t' avoid the Blow,  
And while Skin's whole, to keep it so;  
To fly from Lord and Master's Anger,  
Before 'tis grown to too much Rancour.   

So then (quoth Hugh) since both to quarrel  
Are thus agreed, whichever Barrel  
Betwixt us be the better Herring,  
Give me, before we part, a Hearing.  
You've been a sort of Lord and Master  
To me and many in Disaster;  
But such an one as no Description  
Will suit, but that of an Egyptian,  
Expecting from us Labour hard,  
And Toil, without the least Reward.  
thou'rt Author of our Griefs and Ails,  
But never got us any Veils.  
Is it enough to call me Friend,  
Without a Penny Dividend?  
Crosses indeed I've shared, but not  
One Cross in all the Coin you've got;  
Maugre your specious Promises,  
And cheating me of all my Fees;  
Maugre the Sums that you have gathered,  
My Nest's not much the better feathered.  
Take notice, that I let you know,  
I'll not go Snips with you in Woe.  
I doubt not but to make good shift,  
When thou art sadly run a-drift.  
Whatever Turn of Times we see,  
My Legs shall be at Liberty,  
When yours, committed to a Jail,  
Shall lie without Mainprize or Bail.   

So, (quoth Pendragon) like a Dolt  
Thou wisely hast discharged thy Bolt:  
'Tis ned strange when Cowards and Poltrons  
The Cause they have espoused, renounce;  
Who make by their vile treacherous Fears  
The weakest sometimes Conquerors.  
Thou hast betrayed thyself too soon,  
And dost, before thou needest, run:  
You change your Side, before you know  
On which Side Victory will go.  
But should the Foe receive Defeat,  
I'll stop you from a fresh Retreat.  
No petty Riot in the West  
Of Loyalty shall me divest;  
Not Arthur shall obstruct the Course  
Of my all-conquering Monarch's Force.   

Tho' 't may be so, (quoth Hugh) it is  
More likely to be otherwise:  
Because I'm very confident  
You're not so blind and ignorant  
As not to know, Shoals of Deserters  
Run daily into Arthur's Quarters.  
His Army gathers like a Snowball,  
While the other only grows in trouble;  
As plainly may be seen (I fack!)  
By th' Face of every Teague and Mac,  
Who frighted, starts at his own Shadow.   

Be gone, thou scoundrel Renegado,  
Take that ill-boding Phiz (quoth Knight)  
Henceforth for ever from my Sight.   

For ever théns (quoth Hugh) farewell;  
And in my Breast, where Love did dwell  
To thankless Knight, let Hatred come,  
With Wrath, and fill up all the Room.  
Let me with Scorn as much despise  
The Blockhead I once thought was wise.   

Pendragon could for's Skin and Bones  
No longer put up these Affronts,  
Nor more such Provocations bear;  
But up he rises from his Chair,  
(With much ado he did refrain  
From meddling with his Sword or Cane)  
Takes Hugh by th' Shoulder, and per Force  
Thrust him directly out of Doors.  
Which, tho' it vexed him to the Guts,  
Yet walking forth, he cocks and struts.   

Pendragon, in distracted Thought,  
Now found it time to cast about  
What Course was best to save his Bacon,  
Suppose his Cause should be forsaken.  
Like Hugh he could not save himself,  
Because he wanted Hugoes Pelf:  
And, for Offences more notorious,  
He feared Catastrophe inglorious.  
The great Volpone was at a stand,  
Driv'n, by his Fears, to his Wit's end.  
The▪ crafty, but distressed Ulysses  
Himself most woefully bepisses.    

December's CANTO.  
ARGUMENT.  

In haste Selena gets a Spouse.  
Laurence in haste from his gets loose;  
Who crossed the Seas, with many more,  
Whom guilty Consciences made scour.  
Hugo runs in, with Coin compounds.  
Pendragon in Despair absconds.   
CANTO.  

ONE Labour more (Dear Arethuse)  
Thou canst perform beyond a Muse:  
For none of them, like thee, can sing  
Of Scouring and of Scampering;  
Who learned to play at Hide-and-Seek  
When Alpheus put thee to the Squeak.  
Perform this Task which I impose  
Upon thee, and I'll let thee lose.  
But it will prove like that which shuts well  
All Homer's Iliads in a Nutshell.   

Since Phoebus last was in the Balance,  
Selena had tried all her Gallants,  
Searched each Man's Humour, Wit, and Person,  
Estate in Present, and Reversion:  
And having weighed them all, she found  
Sir Grog'ram heaviest many a Pound;  
Who had not only the best Purse,  
But took the most obliging Course.  
Whats'e'er she asked, he granted all;  
His Love was Unconditional.  
She was supplied of every Want,  
And unconfined without Restraint:  
While he consented to be tied,  
And make all binding on his Side.  
What Woman can on Terms like those  
A Husband get among the Beaus?  
Beau would be free himself, yet have  
His Wife a perfect Indian Slave.   

Pendragon, grown both Old and Poor,  
She slighted; but a great deal more,  
For that so much concerned he was  
In the declining Tory-Cause,  
Now like to bring him to a Noose  
Much worse than that of Married Spouse.   

'Twas she, assisted by Whigg-Friend,  
Who jointly did compile and send  
That Roguish Letter, and the Cord,  
Which he was told of afterward.  
The more she saw the Times unsettled,  
She grew the more agog and nettled  
To marry; for her Character  
Was to do nothing Regular.  
Since Handmaid Thomasine was gone,  
Friend, Servant, and Companion  
In her was lost; but yet she found  
No Woman in the versal Round  
E'er met Encouragement to Wed  
On Terms so advantageous made:  
So, without any further arguing,  
She boldly struck the Marriage-Bargain,  
And swore she'd tri't, whate'er it cost her,  
Tho' undone, as Man undoes Oyster.  
To whom we have no more to say,  
But send the Violins away,  
The Drums, the Trumpets, and Hautbois,  
To wish them all the thundering Joys.   

Mean time, one melancholy Morn,  
About Sol's entering Capricorn,  
As Thomasine lay fast a snorting,  
Laurence lay thinking of His Fortune.  
Unwilling to disturb her Sleep,  
He slily out of Bed did creep,  
Groping for Slippers underneath,  
He brought out a Glass-bottle, with  
This Paper Label fixed thereon,  
Aqua Te-tra-chi-ma-ga-gon:  
Which Sentence struck him so, he took hold  
(Being satisfied he was a Cuckold)  
Of Thom'sine's Headclothes, whom with Shriek  
Most dismal, he compelled to wake:  
Then cried, Look here, (my precious Evil,  
Fit to be married to the Devil)  
What a Discovery have I made!  
Thou damnable confounded Jade.  
She soon obtained her Breath, and she  
Was not behind in Repartee;  
When the best Words in either's Speech  
Were Whore and Rogue, and Dog and Bitch▪  
Which Decency will not repeat,  
Nor will our Brevity admit.  
Laurence grown sensible beside  
Of the quick Turning of the Tide;  
Finding both Spouse and Times too hot  
For his abiding on the Spot;  
Resolved, since he could have no Room here,  
Straightways to pack off to St. Omar.  
And in the Turning of one's Back  
Behold him under Sail of Smack.  
Thom'sine put Finger in her Eye  
At Parting, but she could not cry;  
When all she said was, Since 'tis so.  
As he came, lightly, let him go.   

Many with Laurence put to Sea,  
And some of Highest Quality.  
The Mixture was as universal  
As that of Grand Dance in Rehearsal.  
Here a fat Friar may be seen  
Shouldering and sidling to a Queen:  
A Foot man there in Cabin thrust is  
With one but late a Lord Chief-Justice.  
A Prelate, lately clad in Purple,  
Stuck 'twixt a Laundress and a Tarpol.   

So may be seen, in the same Cellar,  
In London-Town, of some close Dweller,  
Cold Scraps set by, with Shoes and Sandals,  
Raw Joint hung up near Pound of Candles,  
Drink-Barrel, Cobwebs, Culm, and Coal,  
Behind the Door the Privy-hole.   

As different Sort did now embark,  
As once were stowed in Noah's Ark:  
But only those were Beasts and Fowl,  
And these had once a Humane Soul;  
Which now transformed to that of Hare,  
Was put in such a Fright and Scare,  
That every pitiful Crowdero,  
That could but tune or sing Burlero,  
Beyond-Sea drove the flying Hero.  
Even Fear in Triumph rides and seizes  
All Sorts now; (Pardon Catechresis)  
Not only those who were surrounded  
With Gild, were by its Terrors wounded;  
But Men of Honesty Britannic  
Were strangely struck with Horror Panic,  
As if Old England was to perish  
By a small Handful of Wild Irish;  
Towns burnt, Throats cut i' th' Neighbourhood,  
Tho' no Man saw nor Smoke nor Blood.  
Yet the false terrible Alarms  
Provoked the Peasant to his Arms.  
Great was the Outcry in its kind,  
Which, carried on the Wings o' th' Wind,  
Left Danger, Fears, and Foes behind.  
Tho' soon the frightful Dream was over,  
And Foes, Fears, Danger, out of door.  
Who fell on Thursday in a Swoon,  
Oppressed with Laughter, tumbled down  
On Friday Morning, for the Cause  
Of Terror so ridiculous.  
So soon the Innocent were freed  
From Harm and Peril, Fear and Dread.  
But to th' Obnoxious, various Ill  
Doth threaten to continue still.   

Tho' Hugo was last Month o'er-run  
So far with Superstition,  
Made by ill-boding Birds afraid,  
Which muted (as they flew) on's Head;  
Yet he took Heart-a-grace, and tried,  
By the quick changing of his Side,  
His Neck and Substance both to save,  
For all he ' add played so much the Knave.   

Perceiving where his Bread was buttered,  
(Himself equipped and well accoutered)  
Away he gallops on his Horse,  
Until he met with Arthur's Force;  
Whom he shakes kindly by the Hands,  
And cries, You're welcome, my dear Friends:  
This is the joyful Day indeed  
When we shall be from Bondage freed:  
The Popish Priests and Emissaries  
Rub off in Mists, like juggling Fairies;  
Our Properties are laid a whitning,  
And our Foes fly away like Lightning.   

Strangers believed the Man spoke true,  
Because they saw him clad in Blue;  
And if it was Dissimulation,  
He managed it with great Discretion.  
He patiently Reproaches bore  
From those who knew him heretofore;  
And if he met with Kick or Cuff,  
Put it up quietly enough.  
Who of his past vile Actions told,  
Had his Mouth straightways stopped with Gold▪  
Hugh's open Purse was held in Common,  
And many a Friend he made with Mammon.  
He now stands (having paid his Fine)  
Rectus in Curia, by his Coin.   

Not so Pendragon, whom we said  
Was sore afflicted and dismayed:  
He knew not where he best could stay,  
Nor had the Power to run away.  
If seized, he must expect to far  
Alike with Aesop's Trumpeter:  
His pleading that he ne'er drew Blood,  
Would do him very little good;  
Himself not fight, only was  
An Aggravation to his Case;  
Because it was most evident,  
That he had been an Instrument  
To blow the Bellows of Destruction,  
Who shares more Gild than he who looks on.   

A Tyrant in his raging Fits  
Owes half the Murders he commits  
To scoundrel Cowards, who incense  
Him with the specious Pretence,  
That Cutting Throats, and Desolation,  
Is for the Public Good o'th' Nation;  
That driving Subjects from their Dwelling,  
Is but to hinder their Rebelling;  
To burn, and stab, and hang, and flea,  
Means of expelling Heresy;  
And the well-exercised Dragoon  
Fittest to plant Religion;  
That Monarches who the same won't licence  
Aught to be made away with Poisons.   

Sick at the Heart Pendragon grew,  
And as unsavoury as a jew:  
It cut him to the very Soul  
To meet with nothing but Control;  
To find the Politics he taught  
Were rendered false, and worse than naught.;  
His Wit, so sharp in the Lampoon  
On Mobb, was by the Mobb run down;  
And for the Crimes his Wit committed,  
By Mobb he feared to be De Witted.  
All his Offences with his Pen  
Were by the same paid home again:  
Exposed and made ridiculous,  
And peppered worse than D'avenant's Mouse,  
Which got (poor Thing!) a Pocky Clap:  
But a more fatal dire Mishap  
Impended o'er Pendragon's Head;  
For when an Act of Grace was read,  
(Pardon almost for every Crime  
Was granted to the present Time)  
He heard (poor harmless Wretch!) by Name  
Himself excepted in the same.   

Nay then (quoth he) wherever I go,  
The Halter still does me pursue.  
Of all the Friends I lately had,  
There's none in Circumstance so bad.  
Laurence, who parted with his Faith,  
With a false Consort parted hath;  
Welcome to his Fraternity,  
He's safe enough, from Hanging free.   

Madam, once Darling of my Soul,  
Has played the Jilt, but not the Fool:  
She's married to a wealthy Cit,  
And Money far surpasses Wit..   

Witness that Rogue my quondam Squire,  
Lately so much at my devoir,  
Abused me grossly to my Throat,  
And turned (without a Blush) his Coat.  
His having Money, makes the Knave  
Now in his Life and Fortunes safe.  
Easily that Wretch doth Scandal slight,  
Who saves his Life and Substance by't.   

My Life's on Wing, my Fortune's flown,  
And Infamy survives alone.  
A Diego's Will before my Death,  
(When I have Nothing to bequeath)  
Would but expose me to the Mock  
Of all Men for a Laughingstock.   

Strange Things my Fancy doth presage;  
It sets before my Eyes a Sledge,  
By which there stands, with uncombed Hair,  
A Blear-eyed Executioner,  
With Nightcap, Halter, Saws, and Knife,  
Prepared to take away my Life.  
My Ears hear nothing but the Knell  
And Sound of St. Sepulchre's Bell.   

The Turks believe, and Tunquinese,  
That Death most Honourable is  
Which sheds no Blood through any Hole,  
But keeps the Skin entire and whole:  
Then Hanging they must needs prefer.  
But what make Saws and Hatchets there?  
Avaunt— My Brains grow hot, and burn;  
And tho' I can't, yet they may turn,  
And so may prove the happiest Remedy  
That can assist me in Extremity.   

Mean time, these frightful Sentiments  
Do not become a Man of Sense,  
A celebrated Wit to cry,  
Because he is about to die.  
For shame! Since Power is left me yet  
To walk, and talk, and drink, and eat,  
I Life enjoy, and so long hope  
That I may slip beside the Rope.  
Which to effect, it will be wise  
To put myself in such Disguise  
That none can know me, and then skulk  
Close under a Translator's Bulk.    

THE CLOSE.  

THE Farce is ended: What remains  
Will not become our Dogg'rel Strains.  
Let a refined Heroic Verse  
Great Arthur's History rehearse:  
Be That committed to the Care  
Of wise Apollo's Son and Heir,  
Who all (so wondrous are his Merits)  
His Father's Faculties inherits.  
His Cures extend to Humane Kind,  
Diseased in Body and in Mind;  
Expels the Modern Malady  
Which had o'er-run our Poetry.  
His Verse, so purged and fined from Dross,  
Exalted, others doth surpass  
Far as the Hero whom he sings  
Excels all other Mortal Kings.   

Burlesque may serve us to remove  
(Wheel-barrow-like) our Dunghills off;  
To clear the Rubbish from our Home:  
But He must sing of King Dom. Com.    
FINIS.  

Books printed for john Newton at the Three Pigeons in Fleetstreet.  
THE Honourable Hugh Hare Esq his Charge at the General Quarter-Sessions of the Peace for the County of Surrey, held at Darking. The Second Edition, corrected.  
An Historical Relation of the Conspiracy of John Lovis Count de Fieschi, against the City of Genova, in the Year 1547. Written in Italian by Augustin Mascardi, Gentleman of the Bedchamber to Pope Urban the Eighth. Done into English by the Honourable Hugh Hare Esq  
Dr. Falle's Account of the Isle of Jersey, with a New Map, dedicated to the King.  
—— His Three Sermons on several Occasions.  
Sir Francis Bacon's Essays.  
A Discourse of Natural and Revealed Religion, in several Essays: Or, The Light of Nature a Guide to Divine Truth. By Mr. Timothy Nurse.  
The Anatomy of the Earth. By Thomas Robinson, Rector of Busbie in Cumberland.  
New Observations on the Natural History of the World of Matter, and this World of Life. In Two Parts. Being a Philosophical Discourse, grounded upon the Mosaic System of the Creation and the Flood. To which are added, Some  
Thoughts concerning Paradise, the Conflagration of the World and a Treatise of Meteorology. With Occasional Remark upon some late Theories, Conferences, and Essays. By Mr. Tho Robinson.  
Pendragon: Or, The Carpet-Knight his Calendar A Poem.  
A Panegyric to the KING on the Peace. By Jo. Glanvill Esq of Lincolns-Inn.  
The History of the Campagne in Flanders, for the Years 1692, 1693, 1694, 1695, 1696, and 1697, being the Ye● of Peace. All written by Ed. d' Auvergne, M. A. Rector of St. Brelade in the Isle of Jersey, Chaplain to His Majesty's Regiment of Scots Guards.