A COURT OF JUDICATURE, In Imitation of LIBANIUS. WITH New Epigrams. By the Hand that translated Martial.  
— Servetur ad imum  
Qualis ab incepto processerit & sibi constet.  Hor. de Art. Poet. 
LONDON: Printed for Henry Bonwicke at the Red Lion in St. Paul's Churchyard, 1697.   

A Court of Judicature, In Imitation of LIBANIUS.  
To Desertus.  
WHEN to Disertus, Muse, I bid thee go,  
Why dost so timorous and so backward show?  
Say, he be reading, let not that affright,  
Nay more press on him though thou see'st him write.  
If thou attendest to find his Idle Hour,  
A Time to go, will ne'er be in thy Power.  
Thou sayest, When thou conceived'st well before  
Of any Work, thou think'st it mean and poor  
Approaching him. Be't so, thou dost not err,  
Yet let Conceited ignorance more deter,  
Than piercing Judgement and a Generous Mind,  
Which will be sure, what thou hast Good to find,  
Although thy modest self, art to it blind,  
'Tis true, Disertus does himself revere  
In what he judges: But how'er severe,  
Candour and Knowledge do his Censures steer,  
He is not like the vain pretending Crew,  
Who criticise on what they never knew,  
The Poets, Painters, Statuaries Skill,  
Make all take Laws from their bold Tongue and Quill,  
Tasso, Bernino, Raph'el, praise and blame,  
Pronounee what's in them Good, and what is Lame.  
He scorns to act these Vertuosoes Part,  
Himself's an Artist, as he judges Art,  
Would I, my Muse, upon the World impose,  
No Way, like this Address, I could have chose,  
What's too Disertus sent, when Men behold,  
Although but Brass, they will presume 'tis Gold,  

THE ARGUMENT.  
THE People in a certain State, being much addicted to make themselves away, young and old of both Sexes, a Law was made, Thar whosoever lay under any Affliction, should make their Case known to Judges appointed to heat them: Who, if they could not prevail to remove their Troubles, should allow them to take what Course they pleased: But if any, without making Application to these Judges, laid violent Hands on themselves, their Bodies should be exposed publicly naked, and cast out without Burial. Upon which many made their Discontents known.   

The first Address.  
A Discontented Poet.  
AN ancient Bard did thus his Case declare.  
My Lords, since first I drew a learned Air,  
Myself I too the Muses did devote,  
Esteemed a Poet of no Vulgar Note;  
My Numbers ravished all that did them hear,  
And more the Soul affected, than the Ear;  
I know not how! The World of late is changed,  
And from Parnassus every Heart's estranged;  
Who my Corrivals were, take to a Trade,  
Verse, once their Glory, now their Scorn is made.  
To read a Poem I did late attempt,  
But from a Friend I met with this Contempt,  
" Thy Toys at present, prithee Fool, forbear,  
" I'm serious, as thou see'st, and cannot hear;  
A Hog he was to sell, a Rick of Hay,  
And things Divine to these he made give way.  
My Labours all are lost, my Glory's fled,  
High time it is, my Lords, that I were Dead.  
One from the Bench replied, Why don't you learn  
From you wise Friends, Silver and Gold to earn?  
Gain has its Sweeness, Money has a Chime,  
Which will not yield unto the softest Rhyme.  
To this Advice the Discontented said,  
I with Ambrosia ever have been fed,  
And Generous Thoughts my Heart do still inspire,  
Husks I can't eat, nor wallow in the Mire.  
When from this Earth my Soul shall take her Wing,  
Apollo I shall hear, and Muses sing.  
judg.] The Worthy up to Death with Grief we give,  
Thy Nobler Part we wish may ever live.   

The second Address.  
An Envious Person.  
A Meager Wretch, rolling his bloodshot Eyes,  
What gripped his Heart unfolded in this wise.  
When I the Courses of the World do weigh,  
Not Gods, but Tyrants, seem th'Events to sway;  
Who all things act according to their Lust,  
Not by the Measures of what's Right and Just:  
Some are advanced, thro' Favour, 'bove the rest,  
While others, more deserving, are suppre'st;  
The very Bruts seem more to be heavens Care,  
Better than Men, in all respects, to far;  
A Wolf none richer, than a Wolf, does see,  
A Lion, 'bove a Lion, in degree;  
In Woods and Fields they equal Station keep,  
Drink the same Springs, and on the same Ground sleep:  
But the Supports of Life though all Men need,  
Some there are starve, while others do exceed,  
My House unto my Neighbour's House is joined,  
My door's as wide, why should not Riches find,  
An Ent'rance there, if Fortune were as kind?  
But while his Wealth all Bounds does overflow,  
I, extreme Penury, do only know.  
Cremes and I were seen for many Years,  
In every Circumstance, to be Compeers;  
One Bath served both, and the same common Meat,  
We, uninvited, with each other eat;  
My Purse his Wants, and his did mine supply,  
'Twas rare to find such great Equality;  
The Gods have raised him to a high Estate,  
(My Blood thrills in me, while I this relate)  
Upon a sudden, and to me unknown,  
Plebeian Cremes, a Patrician's grown;  
Who creeping went, and with his Head bowed low,  
Erect, and like a Hero, now does go;  
Me he despises, and no less does hate,  
Than the Condition he was in of late;  
Not as a Friend, but Vassal, does invite,  
Simo, says he, come sup with me to Night.  
My Gall overflowed: Yet I resolved to go,  
His Greatness not to stoop to, but to know.  
Good Gods! What Splendour did my Eyes behold!  
Tablc and Beds in or o'er-laid with Gold;  
Chargers and Goblets all of antic Plate,  
Massy, and which became a Prince's State;  
Whate'er was Rare, was set on's Lordly Board,  
All that the Sea and Land do Choice afford.  
The Mirth swelled high, the Cups went often round,  
While Wine the Rest, with Sorrow I was drowned;  
I saw a Feast, but did it not enjoy,  
What others did delight, did me annoy;  
Cremes ne'er marked, I might or fast, or eat,  
I was his Guest, but me he did not treat.  
In the Debauch and Tumults of the Meal,  
I, unobserved, unto my Home did steal:  
Nothing was splendid there, but sordid poor,  
I cast myself, for Anguish, on the Floor;  
The things I'd seen, my Heart did so molest,  
They were, like Furies, in my tortured Breast.  
Cremes and's Guests I cursed, wishing the Room,  
By Fire or Earthquake, might be made their Tomb.  
Nought, my despairing, raving Throws, could cheer,  
But th' Approach of Morn, and in this Court to appear.  
Many do under heavy Pressures lie,  
But find it easier far to bear, than die:  
Although the Fortunate I come behind,  
I want not yet a Great and Generous Mind.  
My Lords, I'm poor, yet sue for no Relief,  
But Death, the cheapest Remedy of Grief.  
The Hemlock Draught to me you will not grudge,  
Which you to Homicides and Traitors judge.  
The Senate asked, Has Cremes ought detained  
Of yours? Grown rich from Loss by you sustained?  
Not in the least, I freely do declare,  
Rather demand, What Prince made him his Heir?  
At what is't then, your wild Complaints do aim?  
For Spite and Spleen hope you to purchase Fame?  
To have your Malice, your Misfortune deemed?  
Envy, the hateful'st Vice, Virtue esteemed?  
What others hide, as their Reproach and Shame,  
Yourself you value on, in Court proclaim.  
To Bedlam go, and tell your Goodly Tale,  
Th' Account on which you'd Die, may there prevail '  
Be looked on as a Great and Glorious Deed:  
Hemlock you ask, but Hellebore you need.  
The Snake curl'd-up, shrouding his hated Head,  
Excluded from the Living, and the Dead.   

The third Address,  
A decayed Beauny.  
I Here deserted and forlorn do stand,  
Who, as a Princess, lately did command,  
O'er hundreds held a proud despotic Sway,  
The Rich and Noble both did me obey,  
To Crowned Heads not humbler Homage pay.  
Nor did Demains, or high Descent bestow  
This Power, I to my Beauty it did owe;  
Hence Wealth flowed to me, though no Arts I used,  
Much easy'r got, than 'twas to be refused.  
Men thought themselves enriched, by what they sent;  
Not in their Stock, but that they did present.  
I was the admired Star in the Parade,  
None, like to me, so bright a Figure made:  
Th' Ambition of all Treats, the Joy and Crown,  
My Presence, 'bove the Cost, gave them Renown;  
Guests, the Delights o'th' palate did despise,  
While they, on me, had leave to feast their Eyes.  
These Glories all, by Sickness, are defaceed,  
My Paradise, by 'tis Tyranny, laid waste:  
Lovers fly from me, Want does me oppress,  
The Court I had, is now a Wilderness;  
I saw my Face, as by my Glass I passed.  
And started at myself, as one aghast.  
Your Piety, my Lords, will easily doom,  
Unto a wretched wandering Ghost a Tomb.  
My Case y'ave heard, and little needs be said,  
To give her Leave to Die, 's already Dead.  
The Sense o'th' Court a Judge did thus declare.  
Aurelia's noble, rich, beloved, and Fair,  
Yet she, a high Delight, in Work does take,  
No Music thinks like that, her Loom does make '  
Your Life in Vice begun, in Virtue end,  
Project not to destroy it, but to mend.  
We will a Pension, with a Loom and Wool,  
To you allow— With Indignation full,  
She said, To remedy the State I'm in,  
I dare to Die, and therefore scorn to spin.  
They told her then, They left her to Despair,  
No Drugs they knew, Lost Beauty to repair.   

The fourth Address.  
A Parasite.  
NExt one appeared before the Judge's Sight,  
With doleful Looks, and in a rueful Plight,  
And said, A Case, like mine, so full of Woe,  
So tragical, my Lords, you ne'er did know.  
I've lived a Life in Pleasure and in Ease,  
Shunned Labour, Business, all that might displease,  
To bathe, to keep my Body in good plight,  
To feast, with Roses crowned, is my delight,  
In Compotations, Mirth, and Music share,  
At others Charge, deliciously to far.  
A Parasite I am, need say no more,  
Rich in Enjoyments, in Revenue poor.  
At ten Stones distance from this noble Town,  
A Farm my Patron has of much Renown:  
Where, two days since, he made a sumptuous Feast,  
I, though no Prime, a Necessary Guest,  
With six choice Harlots, were t' adorn the Treat,  
'Bove in-layed Tables, Pictures, Plate, and Meat.  
To give attendance with more Pomp and Grace,  
I hired a Horse was trained up to the Race,  
Trapped richly, and myself in best Array,  
Goodly to see it was, and hard to say,  
Whether the Beast, or Rider, were more gay.  
The Hamlets, as I passed, took me for more,  
Than what I was, so fair a Port I bore,  
And little less they did, than me adore.  
Come to the Farm, an Altar there is seen,  
Which stands upon an open spacious Green,  
The Horse, this weening to have been the Race,  
Of's own accord, began to mend his Pace;  
The Altar, with the Meta, did confound,  
Which circling, like a furious Whirlwind, round,  
Back to the City me, perforce, he bore,  
Not stopping till he reached the Stable Door.  
I dropped my Cloak and Bonnet by the way,  
Nor to recover them had power to stay;  
For fear let also go the Bridle Rein,  
To hold the Pommel and the Horses Mane.  
Hurried thus back, in such Unseemly wise,  
Those honoured me before, did now despise;  
Loud Laughter raised, and all at once began hoot.  
Some Furlongs passed, I heard the Rustic Shout.  
Thus hattered, baffled to my Home I came,  
Reflected on my Danger, Damage, Shame,  
All dismal seemed, Darkness did me surround.  
My Thoughts did nought but various Deaths propound.  
But 'mong these Evils, this 'bove all the rest  
Like to a Viper, stung and gnawed my Breast,  
And which, even naming, makes me Tears to shed.  
I lost a Treat, and hungry went to bed.  
Myself I did condemn, coming so near,  
As I the Kitchen smelled, the Cooks did hear,  
Their chopings and their Rave struck my Ear  
That to my Interest I did prove so slack,  
As not to cast me from the Horses Back.  
If so a Shoulder I had broke, or Arm,  
Alas, good Cheer would have redressed the Harm  
Nor Evil did I ever know so Great,  
But Cure, or Comfort, I received by Meat.  
Desp'rat's my State, I can no longer speak,  
I find the Powers of Nature in me weak.  
Nor to dispatch me needs there Cord or Sword,  
All Instruments of Death my Griefs afford;  
Without regard to Laws, of Life bereave,  
Make haste, my Lords, or they'll not stay your Leave  
The Harangue done, 'twas with no little Pain,  
The Court from open Laughter did refrain:  
But sitting there to save, not to despise,  
Their Sense, with gracious Smiles, they did disguise  
One to th' Afflicted said, 'Tis my Birthday,  
Rejoice with me, all Sadness cast away.  
Another, I shall hold an Annual Feast  
To morrow, come and be my cheerful Guest.  
A third, My Daughter, three Days hence, is wed,  
Place, I'll reserve you, on the second Bed.  
Ah! Gentle Lords, the Wretch did then reply,  
When Gods bid live, 'twere Sacrilege to die.  
Astrea deigns again to dwell on Earth,  
Justice and Mercy from your Words take Birth.  
Should jove invite me to his Board and Cup,  
I would refuse, and with your Honours sup.  
Upon these Words, the Judges straight arose,  
Th' Adventure did them all to Mirth dispose:  
The Eating Varlet brought to Live again,  
Wagging his Tail, followed their Lordship's Train.   

The fifth Address.  
A Noble Virgin.  
A Person of a charming Grace and Mien,  
Tho veiled, before the Judgement Seat was seen,  
The Cloud, a Matron from her Face withdrew,  
And, to th' Admiring Court, a Heaven did show.  
Her Name and Virtue were to many known,  
Which caused thro' all the Ranks a gen'ral Groan.  
My Lords, she said, in sad perplexing Care  
My Days I'ave spent, and often in Despair;  
Dangers amaze me, Persecutions, Fears,  
Numberless Evils, though but few my Years.  
The Guardians of my tender Age did say,  
Apamia, if our Precepts you obey,  
In Safety they'll preserve your Orphan State:  
But though obeyed, such has not been my Fate.  
In a Retired Life's my greatest Joy,  
A Book's my Pastime, Work is my Employ:  
theatres, Triumphs, Places of Parade  
I ever shunned, and none can me upbraid,  
That in them once I e'er Appearance made.  
At solemn Times to th' Temple I do go,  
To pay the Duty to the Gods I owe:  
But while I there before their Altars prayed,  
Two Noble Youths to Ruin I betrayed.  
As I am charged: Beauty, my constant Scorn,  
Is made my Crime, a Crime was with me born,  
If one, and which I never did adorn.  
Th' Addresses of all Lovers I oppose,  
But what should make, alarms my soft Repose.  
My Strictness rude Insults, does often cause,  
To the Affront of Virtue and of Laws.  
Early this Morning I was thus advised,  
Stand on your Guard, or you will be surprised,  
Our Neighbour Tyrant vows he'll you obtain  
By Stratagem, or War, your Person gain.  
No Refuge I, a helpless Virgin, have,  
But in the Sanctuary of a timely Grave.  
A Judge, i'th' Name o'th' rest, did thus declare,  
Excellent Apamia, sink not in despair,  
Your Honour, as our own, we do respect,  
And as our Gods and Temples will protect:  
All here will bleed, who on this Bench do sit,  
Before the Wrong, you apprehend, permit.  
Is there, said she, that Witchcraft in my Face,  
As to confound the wisdom of this Place?  
Who, to be Author of a War, am I?  
And that the State should be my Guaranté?  
My Life, no way, can make my Country blest,  
And I'll not be her Helen and her Pest.  
Regard, to this Tribunal, I have paid,  
Address, according to the Edict, made,  
To ease the Perturbations that I feel,  
There is no Way, but by this friendly Steel.  
While yet she spoke, she gave the fatal Wound,  
The Glory of the Age fell with her to the Ground.   

The sixth Address.  
A Philosopher.  
SInce Reason first awakened in my Soul,  
Lusts to subdue, and Passions to control  
Have been my Strife; on Virtue wholly bend,  
The Lectures of the Wise I did frequent;  
The famed for Science, and good Conduct, heard,  
My Masters chose by Learning, not by Beard;  
Like others of my Age, I did not room,  
The Schools when shut, but plied good Books at home  
And when I more confirmed in Strength did grow,  
The Duty all Men to their Country owe,  
Armed I 'mong her martial Squadrons show.  
Nor in the Camp was I of mean Renown,  
The Civil thrice I wore, and twice the Mural Crown.  
My Years of Warfare thus in Honour spent,  
To th' intermitted Schools again I went.  
Lectures of Use, not Ostentation, read,  
To Peace and War our younger Nobleses bred.  
My Strength is spent, Age has my Vigour broke,  
A doted Trunk I'm now, was once an Oak.  
Like to a Servant, past his Work, I sue  
For Manumission, as his Right and Due.  
Worthy Eubulus, 'twas to him replied,  
Thy Virtuous Acts can be by none denied.  
And 'tis the senate's great Reproach and Brand,  
That 'fore this sad Tribunal thou dost stand;  
After a Life so good, deserts so high,  
That thou no Boon shouldst ask, but leave to die.  
Does Grief afflict thee, or does Want oppress?  
Thine will be held, the Commonwealths Distress.  
Eu. My Gracious Lords, 'twould my Pretences shame,  
On such Accounts, if for Support I came.  
My Ways were ever just, my Mind is sound,  
No Gild I know, with little, I abound.  
Goodness itself cannot my Wants relieve,  
I'm broke by time, and Youth you cannot give;  
Useless I'm grown, this Thought does me oppress,  
To see my Age, than my first Years, do less.  
A Service for me could you yet descry,  
I'd it dispatch, and after that I'd die.  
But if against Nature I must only fight,  
Age, Aches, and Diseases put to flight,  
Against such Foes 'tis Folly to contend,  
And Leave I beg, to make a Wise Man's End.  
If so resolved; the Senate does decree,  
A Statue, to preserve thy Memory,  
And to thy own sage Counsel leaves thee free.   

The seventh Address.  
A desperate Lover.  
Straight, to th' amazed Bench, perked up in View,  
One with a Garland hanging all askew,  
His loose Attire suiting his reeling Crown,  
Th' officious Guard addressed to pluck him down.  
But to the Lords, for Audience, he did cry,  
And said, I'm one of those come here to die.  
The Courts Regard I claim, and to be heard,  
No less than the last Speaker, grave Sir Beard.  
My Words despise not, 'cause I come thus dressed,  
Haste urged me to unload my burdened Breast.  
I from a Banquet leapt— My Lords of late  
T' an Hebrew Philosoph I did relate  
The Cause why here you sit, in short, to try  
To make Men live, or give them leave to die.  
Says he, this hearing," Make you then no Odds  
" Between your Senate, and a Bench of Gods?  
" To punish Criminals with Death, I know  
" The Magistrates have Power, but can they show  
" Commission too, th' afflicted to give leave  
" Themselves of Life, at Pleasure, to bereave?  
" This high Prerogative is heavens alone,  
" Nor, without Sacrilege, any can it own.  
" The meanest Soldier, that his Post forsakes  
" Without Dismission, his Death's Process makes:  
" And, shall not those, who undismissed, do leave  
" This Life, as great a Penalty receive?  
A Dotard pleads, Age, useless, him has made.  
By Sickness, Madam's Beauty is decayed.  
A Gormand, losing his wild Boar and Pie,  
The Earth hangs round with Sables, and the Sky.  
But the black Gild which presses you 'bove all,  
Divine Apamia, in this Court did fall.  
This makes me face you thus without all Dread;  
To scorn your Fasces, now the Virgin's dead.  
If these were Causes, Murder to avow,  
Why do you not all Crimes beside allow?  
Make Theft and Incest to your Verdict bow?  
Self-Murder's Murder, what Laws e'er you coin,  
And while the Sin you licence, in 't you join.  
But a Barbarian does this Doctrine preach,  
Is Truth not Truth, unless a Greek it teach?  
Pythagoras and Plato were more wise,  
These learned Barbarians they did not despise.  
What in their Writings so divine does show,  
Tho not confessed, they unto these do owe.  
Hearing to gain, I said, I came to die,  
And my Contempt declares, I did not lie.  
The Court, Eubulus, all, did on him gape,  
But to his Speech no Answer they could shape:  
Only, to save their Honour, did declare,  
So high an Insolence they ought not bear.  
But th' Effronté although they did commit,  
On like Account they never more did sit.    


Epigram 1.  
To Candidus.  
THou art impetuous, I should still write more,  
Tho thrice, in print, I've promised to give over.  
(and) Promise a fourth time, so it will produce,  
An Epigram that's good, there will need no Excuse.  
Although thy Words do sound thus mad and wild.  
They flatter so, I am by them beguiled.  
Into the Deep again my Bark I launch,  
Where if it founder, prove not tied and staunch,  
In my Defence, thou art obliged to say,  
I, the old Fool, did to the Floods betray.   

Epigram 2.  
On the Right Reverend Dr. E. Stillingfleet, Lord Bishop of Worcester.  
When thou this Venerable Name dost hear,  
Wholly confounded, Muse, thou dost appear,  
From severe Studies, sayest, he's never free:  
Nor to impede them, Fond one, send I thee.  
Thou add'st, though none in antic Dust does rake  
Like him, for Truth such deep Researches make,  
A florid Muse, through all his Writings flows,  
And what's profound, as beauteous also shows;  
Him to salute, 's more than to win a Prize!  
Forbear t' aspire, thouart here to sacrifice;  
On th' Altar of his Worth a Grain to lay,  
A Debt all Ages, like to this, will pay.  
Conform unto my Will, thyself apply  
Without Reluctance, on his Board to lie,  
Among the barking Pamplets that attend,  
Till tired, he from his Study does descend.  
He'll thee distinguish, from black-mouthed T. Gs.  
I. Os, the unitarians, and R. Bs.  
Skilled in all Ways, Ancients and Moderns write,  
Master of one, the rest he does not slight.  
He knows, the most that Epigrams pretend,  
Is to relax the Mind, and not to bend.   

Epigram 3.  
On Lewis the Great.  
Many beside have born this glorious Name,  
But, like to thee, none with so just a Claim.  
Pompey was styled, for early Conquests, Great,  
Henry the fourth, whose Prowess did defeat  
The League of France, combined with Rome and Spain,  
To this high Title likewise did attain.  
But what did these, to that which thou hast done?  
Supported Asia, ruined Christendom;  
All Lorraine, Flanders, Germany do show,  
The Devastations they to thee do owe:  
Thy treacherous Plots have made all Nations quake  
Even the Foundations of thine own to shake:  
Nor against Men dost only show thy Might,  
But thy bold Hand dares against Religion fight;  
The faithful in thy Kingdom undergo,  
Such Pursecutions Heathens ne'er did show.  
To the Great Turk true Brother and Ally,  
Thou dost both Pope and Protestant defy,  
Witness thy Pillar, raised in Rome, of Infamy.  
And to maintain thy Name of Great through all,  
Great thy Disgraces are, and great thy Fall.  
All by Surprise, or Brib'ry thou hast won,  
Harra'st by Fire by Sword, and overrun,  
The injured Princes, with united Power,  
Have forced thee vomit, as thou didst devour;  
Thy Forts have stormed, thy Forces put to rout,  
Stripped thee unto the State thou first settest out;  
Nought but the Gild and Horror do remain  
Of Millions thou hast beggared, starved, and slain.  
Orange Despised wrought chiefly thy Defeat,  
Lewis [in Querpo] write, no more [the Great.]   

Epigram 4.  
On a scurrilous Detractor.  
Thou sayest against Lewis sharply I inveigh,  
But of King james I nothing ill do say.—  
And may my Tongue, and Vitals also rot,  
When I attempt his sacred Name to blot.  
In his disastrous State, God's Hand, I see  
With deeper sense, though from thy Malice free;  
The Blessings from this Revolution flow,  
The Obligations all King William owe,  
To wit, the Kingdom's Safety, and Advance,  
That Slaves we are not made to Rome and France:  
Nor do I doubt, he justly fills the Throne,  
By Pleas, as strong as Birth, claims it his own.  
But what of this? That which I ought revere,  
Reflect upon with a religious Fear,  
Shall I with Insolent and barbarous Pride,  
Tread under Foot, and brutishly deride?  
The Royal Head, a Crown did late adorn,  
Dress up a Trophy with Contempt and Scorn?  
May David's Curses fall on them delight,  
To persecute, whom God does wound and smite.  
This Prodigy our Eyes of late have seen,  
" The Sacrosanct blasphemed; Pug, made denote, a Queen;  
" Vermin, our Prelates; those o'th' scarlet Robes,  
" Judges and Lords, styled Scoundrels, Dunghill Rogues;  
" Church Rites profaned, so little said to avail,  
" As not of worth to wipe a Porter's Tail;  
" The Coronets of Barons, Dukes, and Earls,  
" Embellished all with the like Gems and Pearls.  
Archbishop Land, whose Life, whose Death, whose Pen,  
Enrolls him justly 'mong the greatest Men,  
And Cousins, who so many Years made good  
Our Church's Cause, the Rage of Priests withstood  
I' th' Lo●ver Walls, with Hazzard of his Blood;  
With other Worthys vilely are defamed,  
While wicked jones is, as a Patriarch, named.  
Whose Praise, with those the worthless Wretch did know,  
Makes all that's writ beside, for nothing go.  
Did not the sordid Style, the Thought gainsay,  
Some great one would be said another Day,  
Things of so high a Nature to display.  
The numerous Facts the Buffoon dares relate,  
No one could know, though Minister of State.  
What's true, what's false, what's hearsay, and surmise,  
What few dare think, his scurrilous Leaves comprise.  
What can such matchless Impudence repay?  
All his own Dirt, heaped on him should we lay,  
As the Case stands, it were to do him Grace,  
Among the greatest and the noblest place.  
No Power of Words can, what he is, express,  
satire would fail, Invectives be found less;  
His Prototype no Age before e'er saw,  
His loathed self must his loathed 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 draw.   

Epigram 5.  
On Critics.  
Suns wrapped in Mists, Stars in a cloudy Night,  
Who Darkness cast, where you do promise Light;  
When Readers you have racked, and Authors vexed,  
Your Gloss is oft obscurer, than the Text;  
Light, to some ins'lent Phrase, when any seek,  
Th' uncouth Latin, you explain by Greek;  
And when one Word would the hard Knot undo,  
Affect, your reading, not the Sense to show;  
You Ref'rences, with Heaps of Figures, make,  
Which rarely recompense the Pains Men take;  
And always do presume, that Books are by,  
To clear a Trifle, ask a Lib'rary.  
To boast yourselves to your own Tribe, you pride,  
To vie with Critics, not the Novice guide.   

Epigram 6.  
On one that had a stinking Mouth.  
Thou oft complainest, thy Meat does thee no good,  
Nor is it possible, it ever should,  
Passing thy Mouth, thou art with Poison fed,  
The wonder only is, thou art not dead.   

Epigram 7.  
On Coscus.  
Coscus, whose Worth lies all in his Estate,  
His Love to a fair Maid did thus relate.  
Your Beauty does so captivate my Heart,  
Your Chains I cannot break by any Art;  
I have discoursed what Folly it will be,  
To yoke my Riches with your Poverty,  
With Reason's like: but all I found in vain,  
And nothing could remove my senseless Pain,  
Or put a Period to this vexing Strife,  
Till I resolved to take you for my Wife.  
The Generous Maid, hearing the Brutal Woe,  
Whether to frown or laugh, she did not know.  
But said, Who was it, Precious Sir, that told,  
I'd be your Wife? Was't your Prophetic Gold?  
Or your Oracular Land? They both did lie,  
These, cattle may, but Me they ne'er shall buy.   

Epigram 8.  
On one that had a stinking Breath.  
Thy poisonous Breath not able, when to bear,  
I turned my Face, but lent thee still My Ear;  
But thou impatient to be understood,  
Turned as I turned, and right before me stood,  
Which forced me thus my Suffering to disclose,  
Men with their Ears do hear, not with their Nose.   

Epigram 9  
On a stupid rustic Sinner.  
When against Sin, in gen'ral, thou dost'st hear  
The heavy'st Threats, the Sound does strike thy Ear,  
But very little does affect thy Heart,  
Because, thou sayest, thou shalt but hear thy Part,  
And there's a World, that must divide the Smart.  
When Knaves, thou hearest, do only purchase Hell▪  
Thou sayest, My Gains are sweet, I cannot tell.  
That Drunkards unto Heaven shall never come.  
Body of me, sayest thou, a heavy Doom.  
No Fault thou dost amend, no Truth deny,  
But in a drowry Way dost live and die;  
And when thou comest into Eternal Woe,  
Alas! thou sayest, and is it so and so,  
These things, for Talk with me, did ever go.   

Epigram 10.  
On Aurelia.  
Sitting by fair Aurelia, as she dressed,  
Seriousness, mixed with Sharpness, she expressed.  
While, a Straws-bredth, she strove her Maid to show▪  
This she had pinned too high, and that too low.  
I gave o'er talk, and gaping did attend,  
How, and which way the nice Contest would end.  
Which she observing, asked me, what I thought?  
Said I, Aurelia, I am this Day taught,  
When I some slight and trivial thing report,  
No more, as a Pin-Matter, to denote,  
For a Pin-Matter, 's Matter of Import!   

Epigram 11.  
To the Muses.  
Ye sacred Sisters say upon what Score,  
Your Sons, however noble, still are poor.  
Muse.] We are nine Virgins, and Immortal Powers,  
The Sons, are all adopted, we eal ours,  
Of Soul and Body framed, of Humane Race,  
These Half allied to us we highly grace,  
Richly endowed with Gifts that are Divine,  
Which so their Mortal Nature do refine,  
The World, unto the World, they do resign.  
Born up and soaring with inspired Wings,  
Disdain to stoop their Thoughts to Earthly things;  
And while their Fancy 'mong the Stars does dwell,  
O'er-see their poor Estate, and homely Cell;  
And could their dazzling Raptures always hold,  
Hunger they'd never feel, nor Want, nor Cold.  
If so it chance, they to Demains are born,  
To nought they bring them by Neglect and Scorn.  
Poets, by Generous Patrons, rich may be,  
But ne'er by Land, and drudging Industry.   

Epigram 12.  
On the unworthily advanced, and unworthily depressed.  
A Dwarf's a Dwarf, though set upon a Hill.  
A Giant in a Pit, 's a Giant still.   

Epigram 13.  
On Bassa.  
A Word, a Look straight, Bassa, thee alarms,  
And, Soldierlike, thou standest unto thy Arms,  
Assum'st the Weapons forged before thy Glass,  
Thy kill Smiles, acquaint Leer, and sweet Grimace▪  
Torturest thy Features, to extract more Grace,  
Mak'st twenty Visors of one sorry Face.  
Keep thy own Looks, and still persist to frown,  
Cupid's at Paphos, at least out of Town  
To thee: Forget that thou art fair. I'd know,  
What Holland, to six Pair of Socks, does go.   

Epigram 14.  
On the same.  
Thy Humour being known, the other Day  
A Drol, this Knavish Prank, with thee did play.  
Bassa, says he, a Gallant does desire  
To speak with you, At this, thou straight took'st fire,  
And in a Moment changed thy Dress and clothes,  
Thyself in the best Order didst compose,  
Thus fit to entertain some amorous News  
The Cobbler brought thee home thy mended Shoes.   

Epigram 15.  
On a Romantic Damsel.  
Mod'rately handsome, and but meanly rich,  
As if endowed even to the highest Pitch,  
Thou, to thy Suitors ' dost thyself demean,  
Like some fantastic, fair, Romantic Queen;  
By ways Heroic only wilt be won.  
Some, thou injoyn'st, against the Turk to fight,  
Others thy Glories (which none know) to write.  
All do receive with Smiles, what thou dost say,  
But, better offered, wed themselves next Day,  
Leaving to Fools, thy Humour to obey.  
The Pens thou hop'd'st should raise thee 'bove the Moon,  
For an Encomium, send thee a Lampoon.   

Epigram 16.  
On Hatred.  
Where Valour stops, Hatred goes on, and dares,  
For Reason, nor for Danger, aught forbears.  
The Valiant, their Designs, first wisely lay,  
Through Opposition than they out their Way.  
But desperate Hate unequal Force withstands,  
And shows its Teeth, even when it has no Hands.  
Nothing dismays it, forward to engage,  
O'er-pow'red and worsted, ceases not to rage.  
Evils can't tame, or make it to go less,  
It will its Foe, or else its self, oppress.  
When it can't hurt, the Heart is ever racked,  
A Habit 'tis, that always is in Act.  
As Love does raise Men 'bove their natural State,  
No way inferior are the Powers of Hate.   

Epigram 17.  
To my Muse.  
Droop not, my Muse, 'cause thou findest little Praise,  
'Tis not their Worth, that Books does always raise.  
As foulest Crimes, such as the Hurdle claim,  
Sooner arrive to Honour and to Fame,  
Than Virtues do: So Writings that abound  
With scurrilous Trash, that boldly dare confound  
All that is good and great, have strange Acceptance found.  
Oft Oats' 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 shall Impressions know,  
While some rare Work does for Waste Paper go.   

Epigram 18.  
On a Good Man.  
He's a Good Man, and in the first Degree,  
Who slights the Name of Goodness, good to be.   

Epigram 19  
On the Honour of Women.  
The Honour's great, Women may justly claim,  
As their Due Right, and not in Courtship's Name.  
When Angels hourly did to Man address,  
And his Great Lord deigned with him to converse;  
When all in Sea and Land obeyed Man's Throne,  
Till Eve was given, God said, He was alone.   

Epigram 20.  
On an Epicure.  
When God has given the Sea, the Land, the Air,  
To load thy Table with delicious Fare,  
This One Restraint, thou sayest, does spoil the Feast.  
Rejoice thy Heart, but play not yet the Beast.  
At his own Bounty, think'st, he does repine,  
'Cause to his Earthly Gifts, he adds Divine.  
Thy brutish Sense cannot this Truth descry,  
God is most liberal, when he does deny;  
When he from Man appeareth aught to take,  
It is a hundred fold Return to make;  
He took a single Rib from Adam's Side,  
Formed Eve therewith, his bright and dazzling Bride.   

Epigram 21.  
King Agesilaus Answer, being offered Presents from the King of Persia.  
ay, from an Enemy, all Gifts abhor,  
What from a Foe I take, I take in War.   

Epigram 22.  
The like Answer from a Roman.  
Your Greatness 'tis, vast Heaps of Gold to give,  
And mine is this, I without Gold can live.   

Epigram 23.  
On Separatists.  
Their Proofs in vain th'Episcoparians bring,  
From the Faiths early'st Dawning and its Spring▪  
For what they teach and do; in vain oppose  
Our Discipline, and raving Ways expose:  
Hope to affright us with the fatal Change  
Of all to popery, while we from them range;  
In vain our gathered Churches seek to storm,  
Showing the Monstrous Sects which from then swarm▪  
In vain Triumph, th'ave forced us to deny  
They Papists are▪ we still can them decry  
As Jacobites, such Slanders have at hand,  
No Innocence, whatever, can withstand.  
Think they our Scull's so thick, our Wit's so gross,  
We'll suffer Truth take place, that's to our Loss?  
The Means they hold, established are by Law,  
We ours, from arbitrary Purses, draw:  
And should we yield to that, which they require,  
Our Flocks would wain, and leave us in the Mire;  
●chism's our Charter, rejecting their Communion,  
Our Tenure, Reputation, and our Union.  
The only way to win us, they forbear,  
Which were to say, We quit to you, not share,  
Our Dignities. This would end all Dispute:  
No Truth, but Interest, Sep'ratists confute.  
These gained, we'd ope' our Congregations Eyes,  
To honour that, we teach them to despise.  
We dread no King opposing, while we can,  
Through all his Pomp, discern he's but a Man.  
We know Dominion founded is in Grace,  
The sceptre's due unto our Godly Race.  
Nought can be nobler, than our Aim and Scope  
To make each Whig a King, each Whig a Pope.   

Epigram 24.  
On Decoctus.  
To put a Gloss upon thy needy State,  
Of Philosophic Meals thou oft does prate,  
How noble 'tis, on undressed Food to far,  
All common Luxurys, Men use, to spare,  
Even a spread Table daily to forbear.  
'Tis bravely done, thus to hold up thy Head,  
To feast on Glory, in the Want of Bread:  
For all thou sayest, tends to another End,  
Far from the Cynic Way thou dost pretend.  
While thou discoursest thus of various Meat,  
Thou'dst only have it thought, that thou dost eat.   

Epigram 25.  
To Caius.  
Oft between those is found the greatest Strife,  
Caius, ought most agree, that's Man and Wife.  
This Rule observe, always what's Just to choose,  
But so, as thine own Justice not to lose;  
Some are so furious others to reclaim,  
Themselves they render more, than them, to blame.  
Try, in next place, th' Effect of giving way,  
A sweet Compliance oft has won the Day.  
The Roman Mob to mutiny would not cease,  
On any Terms make with the Senate Peace,  
Till a Plebeian Consul they obtained,  
And then, in threescore Years, not one they named.   

Epigram 26.  
On the Stoics.  
T' exalt your Sect, beyond the common Ken  
Of Humane Eyes, above the Race of Men;  
Dangers, profess, to slight, Wrongs to digest,  
No outward Torments spoil your inward Feast.  
'Tis true, great things, you speak, and give the Odds,  
To your Wise Men, 'bove those you count your Gods;  
Who are, by Nature, happy and Divine,  
But they, by Virtue equal with them shine.  
In Contemplation Souls high Flights do make  
Nought's so sublime, they dare not undertake.  
The Mischief is, the Soul than acts alone,  
Big of its self, the Flesh disdains to own:  
But when the Flesh does sharp Afflictions bear,  
And calls upon its Partner Soul to share,  
Than first the Soul its Impotency sees,  
That Sophistry's too weak to cope with Miseries.  
A Christian Martyr may the Flame despise,  
No less when felt, than absent from his Eyes;  
In Death find nothing terrible or strange,  
'Cause Earth, he knows, for Heaven he does exchange▪  
But those, who found their Courage on Discourse,  
When Evils press, do sink beneath their Force:  
The Stoic, who no absent Danger feared,  
Nigh; A Dismay shows broader, than his Beard.   

Epigram 27.  
On a Modern Parasite.  
Having nor Wit, nor Worth thee to commend,  
Virtue of any kind of stand thy Friend,  
thoust taken up a Way, which makes thee pass;  
Which, is by calling great Men Fool and Ass,  
Giving the Lie, protesting they are Scabs,  
Terming the Lady's Baggages and Drabs.  
This is thy Talon: Which does strangely take,  
Room for thee, at the Noblest Tables, make,  
Tho dull, as saucy; brainless, as 'tis rude;  
Course Ribaldry, with Impudence imbued.  
How comes such Slanders unoffensive thought,  
Which mortal Feuds, and blood shed oft have wrought?  
Lest thou growest proud, the Mystery I will show,  
Thy Baseness makes thy Words for nothing go.   

Epigram 28.  
To Justus.  
Who, Justus, will the obstinate confute,  
With Fists, and not with Reasons, must dispute.   

Epigram 26.  
On Precisians.  
Austeres, not righteous; rigorous, and not good▪  
Furious for Truth, a Sign, not understood:  
Your fiery Temper little does accord,  
With the meek Gospel of our gracious Lord:  
Who Mercy showed, and Mercy always taught,  
Your Looks, as well as Heart, with Rage are fraught  
The World you seek, with Joy, to reprobate,  
And then conclnde, you justly them may hate.  
Let Men be strictly pious in their Ways,  
Their Actions such, deserve the highest Praise,  
Chaste, Charitable, Peaceful, Sober, True;  
These avail nought, if they are none of you.  
And Reason good, you say: You are th' Elect,  
In such alone, all Virtues have Effect.  
Malignant Tribe! As God designed the Jews,  
(When them he did, from all the Nations, choose)  
His Priests and Prophets to the World to make,  
That all his saving Knowledge might partake,  
They grudged the Bounty, their Pride could not bear,  
The Heathen should, their Privileges share.  
So you would Heaven restrain (had you your Will)  
Your Gang alone should all its Mansions fill;  
To gen'ral Love you brook not any Place,  
Grace must be partial, or it is not Grace.  
'Tis hard to say, which are Christ's greater Foes,  
Those that pervert the Faith, or those oppose;  
Jews, who blaspheme, and wholly him reject,  
Or those confine him to their cankered Sect.   

Epigram 30.  
To Drusilla.  
For Portion being of no small Renown,  
Thou layest sometime, incognito, in Town,  
An Equipage most charming to complete,  
Like foreign Ministers, before they treat,  
Thy Dowry told, and seen in thy Parade,  
The Party, in cast clothes, espoused thy Maid.   

Epigram 31.  
On a Censurer.  
Epigrams nothing new, thou sayest, do show,  
To Actions past, or Reading, all they owe.  
Who in this Age o'th' World will write all new,  
Shall neither write what's natural, nor true;  
But while his Thoughts, by Patterns, scorns to shape,  
He'll act the Ass, while he avoids the Ape.   

Epigram 32.  
On Prayer..  
Great are th' Effects of a true faithful Prayer,  
The Idle's framed of, it ends in Air.  
The Ploughman prays, but here he does not stop,  
Labour he joins, and gets a fruitful Crop.  
Plutarch, a Heathen, this Point rightly states,  
In Paulus and King Perseus various Fates:  
Paulus the Gods, with his drawn Sword, did pray,  
Perseus prayed too, but then he run away.   

Epigram 33.  
The Reparty of a Spartan to an Athenian.  
When an Athenian proudly thus did boast.  
From smooth Cephissus Banks, and neighbouring Coasts.  
Our Troops have oft you Spartans put to flight,  
Maugre your vaunted Discipline and Might.  
To which the Spartan, smiling, did reply,  
Th' Athenians, from 
* Cephissus was the River of Athens, Eurotas of Sparta.  Eurotas, ne'er did fly,  
Sparta, they never durst approach so nigh.   

Epigram 34.  
On a huge fat Host.  
Thy oily Pate, with Sweat, does always flow,  
Thy Hair, like Flakes of o'er-boyled Beef, does show;  
Thy blown-up Cheeks, like Aeolus', swell,  
And all the Winds seem, in thy Womb, to dwell.  
Well, against thy Paunch, thy Limbs may mutiny,  
Who Belly art, from Chin unto the Knee.  
Thou dost not walk, but like a Boul, dost roll,  
A Lump unorganized, without a Soul.  
How dost thou live? For sure thou canst not, eat,  
Thou hast no Place to stow or Drink or Meat.  
How dost thou sleep? If thou along shouldst lie,  
Choked with thy Guts, and strangled, thou wouldst die,  
Thou laughest at this; and sayest, in hopes of Gain,  
Thou canst bestir thy Moles without Pain?  
The lean, not nimbler are, to play the Knave,  
And countest them Fools, much Flesh, do count a Grave.   

Epigram 35.  
On Aristides.  
When Aristides, named deservedly Just,  
Being never known, to warp, in any Trust;  
Causes, in Judgement, as he sat to hear,  
Two Litigants, before him, did appear;  
Favour to gain, one, t'other, did accuse,  
That Aristides he did oft abuse.  
If you he wronged, says he, in aught declare,  
His Wrongs to me, whate'er they are, forbear;  
I sit not here, Right to myself to do,  
But Justice, unto other Men, to show.   

Epigram 36.  
On a very lean Person.  
Like to Chameleons, dost thou feed on Air?  
So lank thou art, so rarefyed, and spare;  
So faint withal, so feeble, and so wan,  
That thou but seem'st the Shadow of a Man.  
Thy Body's not a Body all decree,  
Only a fleeting Vehicle to be.  
Go forth, thou durst not, on a windy Day,  
Lest through thee't blow, or blow thee quite away.  
A Surgeon vowed, he did in thee descry,  
More than he learned from an Anatomy;  
Another meeting thee, did on thee stare  
As on a Skeleton, and madly swore,  
He would go home, and see if's own were there.  
Did not thy Clothes, more than thy Flesh detect  
The Truth, all for a Ghost, would thee suspect.  
When Love thou mad'st, the Maid did swoon for fear,  
And, sighing, said, I thought not Death so near.   

Epigram 37.  
On the Grecian and Roman Superstition.  
As the great Theban Gen'ral led his Bands,  
A professed Augur thus, his March, withstands.  
Your Progress, Captain, I advise, forbear,  
Bad Omens I discern, are worth your Care.  
Says he, what Omens does your Knowledge see,  
Outweigh the Soldiers great Alacrity?  
The State's Defence, and Justice of her Cause?  
The Gods I dread, revere their sacred Laws,  
But not a screeching Raven, or an Owl,  
A bolting Hare, or when a Wolf does howl.  
This said, on's Expedition he did go,  
And conquered Superstition, and the Foe.  
The Roman Piety, on th' other side,  
Renounced a Victory, if the Gods denied;  
Respect chose rather to their Rites to show,  
Than even an Enemy to overthrow.  
When, with bad Omen, they two Consuls chose,  
Home they recalled them, and did both depose.  
Forbid them aught, i'th' public Name, t' attempt,  
Lest they it impious made by their Contempt;  
And when Flaminius had, in Fight, Success,  
A high unfeigned Displeasure did express.  
Declared it was more eligible far,  
To gain the Temples, than prevail in War;  
Tho thousands of the Gauls did find their Graves,  
To have the Gods their Friends, than gaul's their Slaves.   

Epigram 38.  
To Honorius.  
When Faction reigns, and Envy does prevail,  
As in a Storm, discreetly strike your Sail:  
Who in a safe and fearless Posture lies,  
Tho' tossed, the raging Billows, may despise.  
Give way, lie by: Do nothing rash, or poor,  
Having commanded, sue at no Man's Door;  
This noble way, strive Malice to defeat,  
To be made angry, show you are too great.  
Marius, i'th' Camp, both Foes and Friends did fear,  
But, like a rusty Harness, did appear  
Useless in Peace. And Pompey who did shine  
So bright in Arms, his Lustre did decline  
I'th' Senate, held not there that high Renown,  
But Crassus' greater seemed i'th' civil Gown.  
This the wise Theban saw, who raised the Fame  
Of his Boeotians, 'bove the Spartans' Name,  
When he th' Arcadian Cities did refuse,  
And in the Fields t' incamp, did rather choose,  
Telling his Soldiers, while they Arms did bear,  
And their bold Presence, their brave Acts declare,  
Their Neighbours, to their Friendship, would aspire,  
But if they saw them, slothful, at the Fire,  
Parching of Beans, they'd scorn, and not admire.  
Erect your Huts, and let them still behold,  
As stout against Foes, ye are hardy against Cold.  
Caution and Conduct, with War, do not cease,  
But useful Virtues are in Times of Peace;  
When valiant Acts, there is no Place, to show,  
Those Great appear, who nothing meanly do.   

Epigram 39  
On Bassa.  
Like to the Stone all Metals turns to Gold,  
Thou deemest 'tis Love, if any thee behold.  
By others made a Jest, I spoke thee fair,  
Thou straight concludest me caught within thy Snare,  
And being old, for fear I should presume,  
Worse Looks than yet thy own thou didst assume.  
Love to obtain, may well deserve thy Care,  
But to prevent, all Arts, as needless, spare.  
The art safer far, than Danae in the Tower,  
Thy Beauties need not fear a Golden Shower.   

Epigram 40.  
On the same.  
Thou hast an Art, that can at distance hold  
Thou sayest, a Lover, be he ne'er so bold.  
This Art thou boast'st, I can no way conceive,  
A Face, if thou hadst said, I should believe.   

Epigram 41.  
On a Champion of the Seminary, W. S.  
Thy wrangling Sophistry did make some Noise  
In Douai, 'mong the Novices and Boys;  
Puffed up with this, vast Thoughts thou didst conceive  
And Brains and College both behind thee leave,  
And to the Field of Honour sally'd'st forth,  
Hero in Fancy, Pigmy in thy Worth.  
What Spoils from Rome reform Churches bore,  
Resolving, by thy Prowess, to restore.  
A patched, ill-suited Armour thou puttest on,  
Resembling that of the Manchean Don;  
Thy Lance was Demonstration, and thy Shield  
Tradition, tempered to no Force to yield,  
But Paper found, and Bulrush in the Field.  
Sheep, Giants, Windmills, were to thee alike,  
Thou against all didst couch thy daring Pike.  
The Mischief only was, thou didst not find,  
The Christian Giants of the Pagan Kind:  
Who, of their Limbs, Knights Errand did bereave,  
And with one Blow, in halves their bodies cleave.  
Hammond and Bramhall, all thou didst attack,  
Baffled, unhorsed, and laid thee on thy Back,  
If to assault a Fort thou didst aspire,  
Like a Fascin wert cast i'th'Ditch and Mire:  
But after bastinadoed, and defeat,  
Invincible remained, in thy Conceit.  
None, like to thee, so well deserved the Fame,  
Of Quixot of the Schools, to bear the Name.   

Epigram 42.  
On a Champion of the Conventicle, R. B.  
This Champion stripped, dares Multitudes defy,  
On a steeled Heart, not Armour, does rely;  
Inspired with Error, and inflamed with Zeal,  
No Foe's so strong, with whom he doubts to deal;  
'Gainst Sword and Spear he enter will the Lists,  
Encounter Canon with his naked Fists.  
That is, no Depth of Science does him daunt,  
Who has his Lights, can no Assistance want;  
Small learning, and much tongue, speak greater Grac●  
Than Greek and Hebrew, 'mong the canting Race.  
He, Spider-like, entangled Gnats and Flies,  
And thinks, his Nets, and Eagle could surprise.  
Against Stilling fleet his Force he dares oppose,  
Who when the sacred Truth he does disclose,  
It seems but Shame, if more than what he knows.  
His Pearls of Knowledge, saving and divine,  
Into the Dirt are trampled by this Swine;  
And Folly he returns him, Scorn and Spite,  
Venom, or Cobweb, Sums what he does write.   

Epigram 43.  
On the Leviathan.  
I once did wonder, that no pious Hand,  
In a just Work, this cursed Piece did brand:  
Since I perceive, the Task they did not shun,  
But 'tis a Work, that is not to be done.  
From off the Earth, if Footing could be found,  
An Artist said, he'd turn the Globe of't round.  
No Footing's here, for any to dispute,  
No maxim, Medium, whereby to confute.  
All Reasoning Aristotle does decide,  
And, in his Dixit, Litigants abide.  
The sacred Writ all Controversies end,  
Which on religious Theories depend:  
But the Leviathan no Rule does own,  
A Law and Rule unto itself alone.  
The Monster, in the Seas, as soon will brook,  
To be controlled by a Line and Hook.  
The Author Scripture quotes, but 'tis to show,  
With their own Weapons he can overthrow  
Fools, and Believers: And if's Proofs seem weak,  
He'd have it thought, the Truth he durst not speak.  
The whole Oeconomy of Faith's a Scheme  
To him, no better than an idle Dream.  
His Atheistic Ramble who'll declare,  
And answer; Unto him we may compare,  
One who in Christmas Pastimes does behold,  
The Dance of Trenchmore led through Snow and Cold,  
Thro thick and thin, o'er Tables and o'er Chairs,  
Down to the Cellar, up the Garret Stairs,  
And at th'extravagance does gravely say,  
Through the Mid-Room there lay a fairer Way,  
When the Design, a Gambol, was to play:  
That Zeal for Truth is foolish, does aspire  
To answer Blasphemy with aught, but Fire.   

Epigram 44.  
On mean Poetry.  
Of a mean Artist, in a useful Trade,  
Horace observed, some use might yet be made.  
A Lawyer might, his Clients Cause defend,  
Who, unto Tully's Fame, did not pretend:  
But Poets and Musicians, who produce  
What merely tends to Pleasure, not to Use,  
If mean and common, the judicious slight,  
And Fools alone, a vulgar Strain, delight.  
Of a bad Poet Martial smartly said,  
He does not write, who is by no Man read.  
As done, that ought not stand upon the List,  
Which, the whole Purpose of its doing, mist.   

Epigram 45.  
To my Precisian Censurer.  
What thee concerns, thou sayest, thou dost despise,  
All that I writes Hyperboles and Lies:  
Strict Mathematic Truth thou dost require,  
As all who, to an honest Name, aspire:  
What thou exacts, thy Frenzy does not see,  
Tho' highest Caution used, yet cannot be;  
Figures, thou think'st, in Verse are only found,  
In common Speech and Converse they abound,  
Without them Men in no Affairs could deal,  
What they approve, or disapprove, reveal;  
They give to things of Moment the due Weight,  
Virtue and Vice decipher to the height;  
Myst'rys ineflable, by them, are shown,  
God's Glory, Mercys, and his Judgements known;  
Thou'dst see, were not a Mist before they Eyes,  
Truth's self would suffer, were't not for these Lies.  
Evils would reign, which by these Spells are crossed,  
Powerful Instruction and Reproof be lost.  
When Ely thus reproved in simple sort,  
His impious Sons, “ Nay, but no good Report  
“ I hear— In Figure had he showed them Hell,  
How in its Confines, their bold Crimes, did dwell,  
The Ark had not been ta'en, nor they in Battle fell.   

Epigram 46.  
On Popular Men.  
I Master of my cattle seem to be,  
Said the old Herdsman in the Tragedy:  
But my Attendance on them, makes me know,  
I Servant am, who follow, where they go.  
So Demagogs' a Shadow, entertain  
Of Sovereign Power, but beware the Vulgar's Chain;  
Conceive they bear o'er all a mighty Sway,  
While the Mob rules, and meanly they obey.   

Epigram 47.  
On old Leda.  
What dost thou tell me of ten thousand Pound?  
For any Price will Men be hanged, or drowned?  
Gold has its Charms, but Beauty has far more;  
Were thy Wealth trebled, thou wouldst still be Poor.  
Know that fair Flavia does my Heart surprise,  
Who brings the Indies in her charming Eyes;  
Who her beholds, disdains the Thoughts of Pelf,  
Inestimable, as Peerless, in herself.  
Thy Earth, thou hop'st, can yet eclipse this Sun,  
Wert wise, thou from her splendid Beams wouldst run,  
And not expose thyself in so great Light,  
Devils brook only to be seen by Night.   

Epigram 48.  
To Honorius.  
When the Philistines drew, in Michmash, near,  
Saul, guilty of Impatience and of Fear,  
Distrusting God, and dreading of their Host,  
Usurped the Priesthood, and his Kingdom lost.  
More nobly far himself Pausanias bore,  
Although a Heathen, when he stood before  
The Altar, what the Gods decreed to know,  
And Scouts, th' Approach o'th' Enemy, did show:  
Let none, says he, their Coming on affright,  
But firmly stand, undaunted, in their Sight;  
At's Feet, let every Man, cast down his Shield,  
Until the Gods their Answer to us yield.  
Which known, and good: They raised a cheerful Shout,  
And the opposing Foe did with great Slaughter rout.  
Like as a stubborn Rock unmoved does stand,  
〈◊〉 Shocks both from the Sea and Land.  
〈◊〉 Mount'nous Billows of the raging Main,  
Winds, Thunder, Lightning, Hurricans, sustain,  
And when the Sky's again serene and clear,  
Just as before, unalter'd does appear.  
So Constancy, Honorius, does despise  
Tho Storms from Malice which combined, arise.  
Things safe and common, common Men can do,  
What's hard and dangerous, the brave alone force thro'.  
With Steel in War, in Peace with Virtue, arm,  
Tempests bring greater Noise with them, than Harm.   

Epigram 49.  
On our common Atheists.  
Tho 'tis but to an impious Name ye aspire,  
You are below the Name, that you admire.  
To be an Atheist, Knowledge asks and Skill,  
'Tis not the Brat of Ignorance and Will.  
Those who, of old, were branded with this Name,  
Came not behind the Learned'st in their Fame;  
Nor vicious were they, Error they did teach,  
Because the Truth was 'bove their Humane Reach.  
Have you, like them, the Scheme of Heaven and Earth.  
Considered, and well weighed their Rise and Birth?  
Objections in this Case, can you revolve?  
All the Phoenomena, in Nature, solve?  
Alas, your Strength is only to blaspheme,  
What checks your Vice, to make a drolling Theme.  
A Brothel was your School, Excess of Wine  
Turned you Philosophers, in plain Terms, Swine.  
Your Predecessors did, at most, but Doubt,  
The Being of a God, but you without  
All Proof or Search, boldly dare one deny,  
With Impudence as great, as your Impiety;  
By Learning, nor Civility, confined,  
Saucily affront the Sense of all Mankind;  
The fond Credulity of Faith deride,  
Blind to discern, 'tis only on your Side;  
Who do believe, while you a God disown,  
Him, 'tis sufficient also, to unthrown.  
Thus, when 'twas said, the Roman Host drew near,  
Tigranes, to declare he nought did fear.  
The Scout beheaded, as a noble Deed,  
And in Debauch and Riot did proceed,  
Ambitious, by a sottish Scorn, to teach,  
Danger despised, his Safety could not reach.  
But few Hours after, he as basely fled,  
Casting the Royal Band from off his Head.   

Epigram 50.  
To Marcellus.  
Take here th' Advice, thou sayest, was thy Intent  
T'ave asked, before thou unto Flanders went.  
No Nations Martial Fame let thee dismay,  
This Deference to thy native Country, pay.  
'Tis not the Danube, Rhine, the South, the North,  
From their mere Climate, valiant Men send forth.  
But Education works this high Effect,  
Which teaches Men their Honour to respect  
'Bove Life; in a just Cause to choose to die,  
Rather than live, at ease, with Infamy.  
Orders received: Dispute not, but obey;  
Let not thy Tongue, what's thy Sword's Duty, pay:  
If, with unequal Force, thou art o'erlaid,  
I am a Soldier say, Danger's my Trade.  
But private Quarrels, and vainglorious Strife  
Avoid; Hazards not worthy of thy Life.  
Not only Fight does Applause deserve,  
But a Man's self, in Safety, to preserve.  
More favourable, th' ancient Greeks, were far,  
To him that lost his Sword, than Shield in War;  
Professing, when within their Power it lay,  
A Citizen to save, or Foe to slay,  
The last they would permit to scape away.  
Let none debauch, and lead thee into Vice,  
Listed a Soldier, still to sin, be nice.  
Iphicrates, the Athenian, chose to fill  
His Troops with those, were most addict to ill.  
Saying, That such, were greedy'st of the Prey,  
Their Lusts to feed, all Dangers would assay:  
But though such Villains valiant may be found  
To storm a Temple, they in Fight give Ground.  
'Tis Innocence alone, that knows no Fear,  
The Spirit, when all's desperate, up will bear;  
When thirst of Fame, Dominion, Riches, fail,  
Will all supply, and will alone prevail.   

Epigram 51.  
On a young Soldier.  
When Victors are allowed, Trophies to raise,  
Thou askest, why thyself thou may'st not praise?  
Praise made thee Valour, in great Dangers, show,  
And does engage thee greater things to do;  
Honour i'th' Field, thou didst, b' Example, teach,  
And now, by Glorying, Honour thou dost preach.  
Be't so: Yet nobler's he, no Acts does tell,  
But ' counts all Duty, when he does excel.  
To God alone just Glory does belong,  
Because his Glorying can no others wrong;  
Competitor with him, none's found to be  
Satan's a Rebel, but Slave-Enemy:  
Again, when God, his Mightniess, does show,  
'Tis infinitely, to what he is, below;  
And did he not, in Part, himself reveal,  
Immenseness would the Deity conceal.  
Unless thy Deeds are such, none can declare,  
If thou art wise, to trumpet them, forbear.   

Epigram 52.  
To Sextus.  
I send thee here, all I have public made,  
Except one Piece, which with my Will, is strayed,  
Twenty two Sermons, in one Volume bound,  
What I have done in Verse, in two are found.  
Thou hum'st, and sayest, my Present thee does grace,  
But would I'd sent a Capon in its Place.   

Epigram 53.  
On Bastwick Oats.  
The Name I give, because your Nature Shapes,  
For, though less witty, thou art Bastwick's Ape;  
As scandalous and scurrilous in thy Phrase,  
Both holding Impudence, the highest Praise;  
That Mountebank's mere Zany and his Fool,  
Preserver of his Excrements, his Close-stool.  
Worse uttered, from good Manners would not stray,  
Unto foul Language give too free a Way;  
Speaking of Oats, none in this Point can fail,  
So base, to call him by his Name, 's to rail.   

Epigram 54.  
On an Independent.  
When Charles the first, I Saint and Martyr named,  
Affirmed none higher, in the Diptics, famed;  
Firm in Religion, in all Virtue's strong,  
None Love deserving more, or suffering Wrong;  
In Scorn thou saidst, Canst thou the World acquaint.  
With any Wonders for this Martyr Saint,  
To testify his Faith, Heaven ever wrought?  
Yes: On three Realms his Blood Destruction brought,  
Withheld before, Oppression, Tyranny,  
Profaneness, Sacrilege, and Anarchy,  
The Covenant, Cromwell, Blasphemy, and Thee.   

Epigram 55.  
On the Covenant.  
This Monster, Scotland brooded, at the first,  
Revolting England fostered up and nursed;  
The Rebel offspring of a Rebel Race,  
In which the Parent's Features you may trace;  
Contempt of Powers, the Height of Tyranny,  
Mocking of God, profound Hypocrisy.  
Christ's Natures both have been, by some, denied,  
One, as too much; t'other, too mean, decried;  
His Actions and himself allegorized.  
But he who shall the Covenant dissect,  
Will yet much greater Blasphemies detect.  
This does not Errors and Mistakes disclose,  
But, wittingly, enormous Sins impose.  
Christ's Kingdom and a King, in Words, it owns▪  
And, by rebellious Actions, both dethrones;  
Calls Heaven to witness, it true Duty pays,  
When it, most impudently, disobeys;  
Episcopacy, Antichristian, styles,  
And Regicide, to th' Gospel, reconciles.  
Engines have made whole Fleets and Arms quake,  
But this is one, the Christian World, to shake.  
Whose furious Operation knew no Bound,  
Till its wild Ravage, and destructive round,  
The Authors, with two Nations, did confound.  
Like to the seven times heated Furnace slew,  
Those, who into its Flames, the Faithful threw.   

Epigram 56.  
On Rushworth's Collections.  
Was't not enough, that Faction did run down  
A righteous King, seize both his Life and Crown?  
By diabolick Acts and Arts translate  
Into Confusion, the best modelled State?  
A Church of pure and Apostolic Frame,  
Babylon, Whore, and Antichristian Name,  
Her learned Teacher's slaughter and defame,  
Unless thou rear'd'st, false Rushworth, to the Skies,  
Th' impious Actors of these Tragedys?  
Zeal and Ambition, set on fire by Hell,  
Like Furies, drove two Nations to rebel.  
But what moved thee, in calm and sober Mood,  
The Truth to stifle, and a Lie to brood?  
Th' innocent Party, guilty to declare,  
Th' execrable set off upright and fair?  
However foul a Sin is in the Act,  
His is yet fouler, justifies the Fact.  
Had not a faithful and industrious Hand,  
By Records showed, how falsely thou didst brand  
That suffering Age, Posterity, the Right  
Had never known, bewildered in thy Night.  
I can't expose thy Treach'ry to the Height,  
Of lay upon it the deserved Weight:  
But Treach'ry is vile, however great,  
And Stocks, not Death, ' awarded to a Cheat;  
Invectives, like a nobler Doom, would grace  
What's disingenuous, and in Nature base.  
For an Eternal Record of thy Shame,  
The P●n shall stand, that's woven in thy Name.   

Epigram 57  
On Moil the Grazier.  
For Sheep, for Hogs, a Wife, Moils way of Trade▪  
Was much alike, and the Respect he paid.  
Into a House he stepped, where he was told,  
Out of great Choice a Wife he might behold.  
●our comely Maids their Father made appear,  
All sightly in their Persons, and their Gear.  
Round them he walked, and after shook his Head,  
Muttering, I find, I shall not here be sped.  
Their Father asked, If he could show him more?  
As if, like Sheep, he Daughters had by th' Score.  
The Goodman said, the eldest kept his House,  
brewed, baked, made Butter, Cheese; in Winter, Souse.  
But he'd not deal, she looked so poor and lank,  
A Wife he chose, like Bullocks, by the Flank.  
And to the Door, like a true Churl, he drew,  
Father nor Daughters bidding once adieu.  
I'th' Corner of a Close, as he did pass,  
Pitching of Dung, there was a sturdy Lass,  
Her Sleeves tucked up, her Coat not much below  
Her Knees, whose Legs did, like two Mill-posts show:  
Her Arms, like those of Oak; her Skin, like Bark,  
As rough and chopped, as scurfy and as Dark;  
Aloud she bauled, Hodge, let not out the Cow—  
And like to one, seemed not to speak, but low.  
This precious Piece was, in his Eye, a Pearl,  
Long known, and fancied by him, from a Girl.  
How dost thou Meg? Says he.— Thanks, Master M●●  
Come, go with me, and leave off here to toil.  
What to do Master? If thou dost agree,  
Forthwith I purpose, Meg, to marry thee.  
In earnest, say you? Even with all my Heart,  
There shall not any Stop be on my Part,  
‛ Apparel I'll only fetch. There is no need,  
'Twill raise but Talk, and trash our purposed Speed▪  
The Courtship ended, they both jogged along,  
He with his Padlestaff, she with her Prong:  
At's Farm, with nappy Ale, he did her treat,  
Kept by his private Key, and powdered Meat.  
Their Bells full, they hasted both to bed,  
And some Weeks after, were, at leisure, wed.   

Epigram 58.  
On Fabella.  
Wheree'er thou comest, thy Face assumes a Jeer,  
As if that something did absurd appear,  
Which others does invite, the Cause to see,  
But looking round, the Jest they find in thee.   

Epigram 59  
On Priscus.  
That the Satiric Mirror I do place  
Before my Books, them out of Hopes to grace,  
Whether more Pride or Folly I do show,  
Both are so eminent, thou dost not know:  
For though the Fancy well with Martial suits,  
My Epigrams, the meaning in't, confutes.  
Counsel I'll here return thee, for thy Scorn.  
Thyself with fair and borrowed Plumes adorn,  
If they'll engage thee, 'bove thyself, to live,  
Such Pride and Folly, all will thee forgive.   

Epigram 60.  
On Mercia.  
Three snotty Girls, and two can wipe their Nose,  
thouart Mother of, and dost thyself suppose  
A kind of Niobe; ambitious art,  
That these thy beauteous Offspring bear a Part  
Among the Deitys, that rule this Town,  
Thinking, a Country Life, of no Renown.  
If this Conceit does from thyself arise,  
Whate'er thou dreamest, thou art not over wise.  
If from thy Children; to comply, were cruel:  
To please the younger, in their Watergruel,  
Allow more Plums and Sugar; a Lace more  
Or Fringe, unto the elder, on this score.  
A London Goddess, is a Bully's Whore.   

Epigram 61.  
To Justus.  
Where my best Powers, thou sayest, should all combine,  
T'extol the Great, my Verse does most decline.  
My Care's not less, but such above it shine.   

Epigram 62.  
On the Present Parliament.  
The factious Members, the Year Forty, met,  
The Ship o'th' State, when tied and staunch, overset:  
But when, by Storms, ready to bulge or strand,  
You, like good Pilots, brought her safe to Land;  
When Shelves and Rocks did her Destruction doom,  
Worse than the Ocean knows, those in the See of Rome.  
The Dangers of the Main she easier bore,  
Than the fierce Hurricanes she met on Shore.  
But no black Clouds, your Counsels, overcast,  
Sent forth no▪ ruffling, no seditious Blast;  
Feigned Jealousies, in you, no Place could find,  
Ambition, or base Interest, taint your Mind;  
But as the King, his Person, did expose,  
Your Aids, brought double Terror on our Foes;  
The Wants in which our Fleet or Army, stood,  
Next Loyal Session, constantly, made good;  
Even Mines, you seem'd to spring, of richest Oar,  
In this our Isle, were never known before;  
The Kingdom's Strength we, to your Wisdoms, owe,  
Which, till you taught, ourselves we did not know;  
Th' insuperable Burdens we did fear,  
Easy and practicable, made appear  
Which Acts have purchased you this rare Renown,  
The Darling of the People, and the Crown.   

Epigram 63.  
On a Wittol.  
Vast in Estate, in Heart and Stature small,  
A Wife was given thee proud, majestic, tall;  
Who, o'er thee, easily did the Empire gain,  
Her Presence awed thee, to resign the Rein.  
Me, thy Comrade, thou brought'st with thee to dine,  
But didst in this, I found, transgress thy Line:  
For when thy haughty Wife approached the Board,  
Led by two Gallants, she did not afford  
A Look to thee or me, her Bullies did caress,  
And all thy Servants did to them address;  
They ruled, commanded, revealed in thy Cheer,  
Thou didst the Guest, and they the Lords appear▪  
Both shameful and deplorable's thy Case,  
They seemed to cuckold thee before thy Face;  
And though they planted on thy Brow the Horn,  
To flatter and collogue with thee did scorn.  
Aesop's old Fable's moraled in thy House,  
The Marriage of the Lioness and Mouse.   

Epigram 64.  
On a Coward.  
Thy brawny Limbs, thee to bear Arms, betrayed,  
A Soldier first, and then a Captain, made;  
Upon the Court of Guard, not any He  
Dares more profess, or durst do less, than thee;  
Foe thou ne'er saw'st, but in a Fortress lay,  
For if thou hadst, thou wouldst have run away;  
Too good a Christian art, to fight a Duel,  
But where thou mightst with Safety, to be cruel  
Thou think'st it brave, also to rant and swear,  
If these are Crimes, knowst not what Virtues are.  
Drunk, on a Time, thou rudely didst assay,  
The Vintner's Wife, but sorely for't didst pay;  
Her Husband would not pass it for a Slip,  
But his blue Apron drubbed thy Captainship;  
Nor offer'd'st thou to draw, when he did rout thee,  
Thy Wits tho' lost, the Fears thou hadst about thee.   

Epigram 65.  
On three little Boys.  
Coming from Church upon a Holiday,  
Their Father asked, What did the Vicar say?  
What have you brought o' th' Sermon? One did tell  
The Text, Chapter and Verse, and that was well,  
Apologized, by Silence, for the rest:  
The Mother hugged the younger in her Breast,  
And asked, what have you brought my Joys and Loves?  
He meekly said, my Handkerchief and Gloves.   

Epigram 66.  
To Lupus.  
Thou call'st my Verses nought, and so much more,  
Because they come from fourscore Years and four.  
Name 'em not Verse, but Anguish and Disease,  
And then, perhaps, they will the better please;  
For though but mean vile Epigrams they prove,  
Groan and Coughing the are a Strain above.   

Epigram 67.  
On a conceited Poet.  
Conceit, like thee, did never Man deceive,  
Of Modesty and Judgement so bereave.  
Thou dost avow, with Pride so overgrown,  
men's Works thou readest, but only lov'st thine own.  
Think'st that Apollo cannot reach thy Strain,  
Should he attempt, he would attempt in vain.  
Reciting aught, thou strangely dost rejoice,  
And show'st it in thy Gestures, Looks, and Voice,  
At every Verse, beholdest the Hearers Face,  
How he approves th' inimitable Grace;  
Thy Betters, Brother Poets, deign'st to call,  
Thinking the Honour, thou conferest, not small;  
Demandest, if any equal thee in Wit?  
When all's Cacata Charta thou hast writ.  
This Lesson to thyself for Cure rehearse,  
A Fool in Morals, is an Ass in Verse.   

Epigram 68  
On Thyrsis.  
Sitting with Thyrsis by a purling Brook,  
In's well tuned Verses, I great Pleasure took.  
So soft, so gentle, so harmonious sweet,  
They moved like Down, which has the Air for Feet.  
He sung the Wonders in Amintas Face,  
Her charming Speech, and captivating Crace;  
Showed her a Miracle awake, a-sleep,  
A seeming Goddess, when she drove her Sheep;  
From Gems, from Flowers, from Stars their Beauty drew,  
Which brighter in her Form, than in themselves did show.  
Astonished and transported with his Song,  
Thyrsis, said I even raving, how I long  
To learn thy Skill— He bid me take for Theme,  
Th' adjoining Grove, and gently flowing Stream.  
My boisterous Verse, of Leaves, bereaved the Wood,  
And swelled the gliding Waters to a Flood.  
My Friend, said he, your Metre would not fail,  
To raise a Tempest in a Milk-Maid's Pail;  
To Love, I soft and melting Numbers, owe,  
They not from reading, but from Passion flow;  
Your Head is hoary— Yet again I'll try—  
But doting thus, within a Covert nigh,  
Both Cupid and my Muse I did espy,  
Her angry Sense, with Frowns, she did deliver,  
He laughed, and shook the Shafts from out his Quiver.   

Epigram 69.  
On a decayed Beauty.  
Powdered and patched, thick laid with white and red,  
One of those Dames, feign Beauty, when 'tis fled,  
Besought me with a acquaint, well-bred Address,  
Her little Cur to celebrate in Verse;  
Hoping, at least, I'd make her hold the Dog.  
Embarrased worse, than sunk into a Bog,  
Said I, no Mastiff, Madam, have you, nor a Hog?   

Epigram 70.  
On the same.  
Without Resentment, though thou didst depart,  
My Answer vexed thee to the very Heart.  
What? Sayest thou, rather praise a filthy Hog,  
Or Mastiff, than myself, and genté Dog?  
He shows, beside, a Person meanly bred,  
That talks, at such a rate, of white and red:  
Smutty were more agreeable Discourse,  
Than Language so uncourtly and so course.   

Epigram 71.  
On a Bumkin.  
There came, upon a Law Suit, to the Town,  
One, Master, called for's Wealth, by Birth a Clown;  
He asked a Friend, where he might daily eat?  
Who answered, Ordinaries, at all Rates, treat.  
But there, I hear, they swagger and they fight,  
And I, in broken Pates, take no Delight.  
Be not then positive, no Man gainsay,  
Take care, a fair Respect to all you pay.  
Against Quarrels this he found a good Defence,  
Only his Stomach gave my Host Offence,  
Who often wished him, and his twelve pence thence.  
And once, sharp set on Beef, to none a Foe,  
One coming in, gave him aswinging Blow,  
But straight professed, it was upon Mistake,  
Nor know I, I protest, what of't to make,  
Said he; fed on, and the King's Peace ue'er broke.   

Epigram 72.  
On Lewis the 14th.  
While thou art safe, thy Soldiers, on thy score,  
By Thousands fall on Heaps all Europe over;  
Th' Assassins' undergo just Prince's Rage,  
'Tis pity, thou thyself dost ne'er engage.   

Epigram 73.  
Censorinus.  
Thou sayest, on trivial Subjects I do write,  
Things, of too mean a Nature, bring to light.  
What wouldst thou have? I show the Ways of Me●  
And must, what's wise, only take up my Pen?  
theyare Epigrams, to say no more, I frame,  
And Titles, of all sorts, answer their Name.  
Nor Martial, more than Nugae, his did call:  
Tho' things of Bulk veil oft, to what are small.  
A Spark of Di'mant set in Gold by Art,  
Excels a Freestone, that will load a Cart;  
A Piece by Browar, but of one Foot square  
In Worth, with vast Designs, of Rubens may compare  
If Storms, feigned Wars, as great things, thee delight  
Virgil consult; but Martial, why dost slight?  
Follies are trifling, nothing is more true,  
But trifling 'tis not, them aright to show,  
All Vice is mean, degenerate, low, and base,  
Yet noble it may be, Vice to uncase.  
I rake in Mire, but not immer'st am seen,  
Dunghills I turn, but keep myself still clean,  
Favour no Crimes, nor am I found obscene.  
That Epigrammatist, he might appear,  
Sour Beza, to write Baudry, did not fear.   

Epigram 74.  
To Priscus.  
Thus [to one David] did a Person say,  
" Renowned David! famous to this Day!  
" Son of Goliath, who did Samson slay.   

Epigram 75.  
On Planca.  
Thou laugh'dst aloud, to see Addresses paid  
To a fair Widow, and thou by a Maid:  
But though thou feign'dst to scorn, thy Heart is wrung,  
Youth was thought old, and Beauty ever young.   

Epigram 76.  
On the Poems on the Affairs of State.  
My Sense, Calenus, freely to relate  
O'th' Poems [styled] on the Affairs of State,  
Lampoons and Libels they, to me, do seem,  
The Church, the King, the Monarchy, their Theme▪  
But as they these, themselves they also brand,  
Malice and Lewdness going Hand in Hand.  
I thought at first, they were a mere Contest,  
Whether smooth Verse, or rough and strong were best,  
Denham's and Dryden's, Waller's Names were glad  
To see, but reading, this Conceit I had,  
Dryden writ young, Denham when he was mad.  
From Muse's Laws, the Waller ne'er did range,  
He, a wrong Cause to varnish, made not strange.  
Rochester, 'mong the best, I would rehearse,  
Were he as great in Virtue, as in Verse;  
And noblest Wits would sweat to reach his Praise,  
No Head, than his, deserving more the Bays.  
In Marvels Vein, I fancied that I saw,  
The Chains in Bedlam, Rave, and the Straw,  
As dark and mystical, as fierce and Wood,  
There ever best, where he's least understood.  
Milton is also mentioned in the List,  
And present, but involved as in a Mist,  
And you may separate Water mixed with Wine,  
Sooner than's Pen, from that before, disjoin,  
Tho far unlike, as Sense, and empty prate,  
Milton the Venom adding and the Weight:  
Like Heat and Cold they, joined together, thunder,  
But Marvel single, ne'er appeared a Wonder.  
I doubt not but these Pieces were composed  
For several Ends, though now, for one exposed;  
And Mastery in Verse is least designed,  
Treason's the Business, Poetry's the Blind:  
For not to name, what's scurrilously writ  
O'th' Church [late Ages common place of Wit.]  
W' are told, if just and great things we affect,  
The State of Monarchy we must reject  
Such Blessings from a Commonwealth expect.  
That noble Monk played but the perjured Knave,  
When Rebels he deceived, and did his Country save.  
Portentous Times! that can produce thing thing,  
Friends joined with Foes, to abrogate a King.  
Even those the King, Heaven's highest Blessing, own,  
With France and Rome, plot to subvert his Throne;  
The Hellish Fogs of Forty One, arise,  
Threatening, a second Time, t' overspread our Skies.  
No Place is here, the Satirist to play,  
Forbear my Muse, tehse Days call more to pray.   

Epigram 77.  
On Baccha.  
I know no Tyranny that can compare,  
With Kindness from a Woman that's not fair.  
Probus, says Bacchaes, though you will not dine,  
Sat by me yet, and take a Glass of Wine.  
Vastly she eat, and did as largely drink,  
Broke Wind for Ease, and scrupled not to st k.  
All she caught up, or from her Brain did flow,  
She swallowed, which for second Course did go.  
Of green-fined Oysters she'd a double Bed,  
One is her Stomach, t'other in her Head.  
Feeling a Qualm, abruptly I withdrew,  
Else, as I saw her eat, she'ad seen me sp.—   

Epigram 78.  
On the Priest's Girdle.  
The glorious God that did the World create,  
That those at's Altar served, might suit his State,  
Himself prescribed the Garments, they should wear,  
Nor were the Robes of Kings so gorgeous fair.  
The smallest Piece, the Girdle, did unfold  
Scarlet and Purple, interwove with Gold:  
Habits, not only made to take the Sight,  
But reverence to convey with the Delight.  
This Age, whatever's holy dares defame,  
A Surcingle, the Sacerdotal Girdle, name;  
And for a Mystery, the Reproach, must pass,  
It girds a Priest, that is, a blockish Ass.  
When Gentiles did the Deity display,  
Like to a Man, or Ox that eateth Hay,  
Well may his Servants the Disgrace digest,  
That Atheists martial them among the Beast.   

Epigram 79.  
To Eudora and Silvia.  
Prob.] Most justly (excellent and matchless Pair)  
On your fair Arms you each a Garland wear!  
Eudo.] Without consulting, by our Genius led,  
We both conspired, with them to crown thy Head.  
Prob.] No, glorious Nymphs! Whose he, that dires deface  
Such divine Trophies, to assume their Grace?  
Those, who your Virtues know, and Beauties see,  
These Laurels to your Merit will decree,  
Silu.] Ambitiously we Honour came to pay,  
But more adorned ourselves we go away.   

Epigram 80.  
On Damon and Phillis.  
Phillis, as proud in Youth, as she was fair,  
Fond Damon brought, well nigh, unto Despair;  
Time did his Peace restore, her Grace decay,  
The Maid remained, when Beauty fled away:  
Disdaining now, he turned aside his Eye,  
And said, Time's past how great a Fool was I?   

Epigram 81.  
On Thyrsis and Alinda.  
Alinda, constant Thyrsis, did adore,  
And the bright Maid from all Pretenders bore.  
Grown grey himself, and she 'mong Matrons named,  
He ne'er forgot, Times past, how she was famed;  
But said, when all the Nymphs he did behold,  
None my Alinda equals, though she's old.   

Epigram 82.  
On Bardus.  
The noblest Marts of Books in all the Town  
Thou hauntest, among the Learned to get Renown,  
Spendest many Hours, in turning over and over  
Both Greek and Latin Authors a vast Store;  
Feigning to read, but dost (in truth) but poor.  
Understandest none, writ'st in a Book contains  
Just such a Treasure as thy worthless Brains:  
Exhaust'st thy Spirits, although hail and strong,  
A Dog 'twould tire, that did not sleep so long.  
The Pains thou tak'st thy ignorance to disguise,  
If well employed, would make thee learned and wise.   

Epigram 83.  
A Farewell to Poetry.  
I yield at length: Reason and Age conspire,  
To quench the Flame of my Poetic Fire.—  
These Words, my Muse, scarce uttered, yet did hear,  
And charmed up, like a Spirit, did appear:  
Roses and Laurel were her Heads Attire,  
Her pearl-trimmed Harp was strung with Golden Wyer.  
The Mystery in her Garments none could spell  
Such wondrous Fancy did in them excel.  
Thus in her Glory she herself arrayed,  
More powerfully my fleeting to upbraid.  
Ingrate, she said, what is it you propose?  
With what Support will next your Dotage close?  
Who shall your Pains divert? Drooping revive?  
Men will say, There you sit, but not alive.—  
This, and much more, enraged and highflown,  
She fiercely spoke, supposing me alone:  
But when she paused, surprised, she did behold  
A reverend Dame, of Heavenly Form, the old;  
Her Hand a Book, her Mantle Stars adorned,  
Her Visuage, Moses like, was rayed and horned,  
With God, as he, she nearly did converse,  
And of his Glory bore a bright Impress,  
DEVOTION was her Name. The Muse abashed,  
Her Figure, before she spoke, her Boldness dashed,  
The Freedom she had showed, she blushing, blamed,  
Even of her Youth and Beauty seemed ashamed.  
Within your Bounds, the Matron said, contain,  
Divine Effects ascribe not to what's vain;  
Your Art could Pains divert, but could not cure,  
A Flash of Life infuse, not make t'endure;  
The Ill-at-ease joyed of't to take the Air,  
In your rough, jolting, Epigrammic Chair  
Which varied Griefs, but did not them impair.  
On downy Wings I'll bear him far above  
All that is Mundane, Pain, Ambition, Love;  
Where all delights; and nothing does annoy,  
Sorrows are drowned in Ecstasies of Joy.  
These Words had Force, the Muse herself t'inspire;  
Who to a higher Key straight wound her Lyre,  
And proselyted on the Earth cast down,  
Low at Devotions Feet, her Laurel Crown,  
Resolved hereafter ne'er to wear the Bays,  
But on account of singing Heavenly Lays.    

ERRATA.  
PAge 3. line 7. read bear, p. 9 l. 14. r. Tables, p. 9 l. 16. r. Beauty, p. 45. l. 13. r. YE exalt, p. 50. l. 12. f. it r. and, p. 53. l. 11. r. dar'st, p. 72. l. 11. r. Nature's Shape, p. 84. l. 10. f He r. One, p. 94. l 10. r. they days.  
FINIS.   

Books Printed for Henry Bonwicke, at the Red Lion in St. Paul's Churchyard.  
EPigrams of Martial Englished, with some other Pieces ancient and Modern. 8o.  
Pia Desideria, or Divine Addresses; in 3. Books. 1. Sighs of the Penitent Soul. 2. Desires of the Religious Soul. 3. Exstacies of the Enamoured Soul. Illustrated with 47. Copper Plates. Written in Latin: Englished by Edm. Arwaker. M. A. In 8o.  
A New Description of Paris, containing a particular Account of all the Churches, Palaces, Monasteries, Colleges, Hospitals, Libraries, Cabinets of Rareties, Academies of the Virtuosos, Paintings, Medals, Statutes, and other Sculptures, Monuments, and Public Inscriptions, with all other remarkable Matters in that great and famous City. Translated out of French. To which is added a Map of Paris. 12o.  
Country Conversations, being an Account of some Discourses that happened in a Visit to the Country last Summer, on divers Subjects, chiefly of the Modern Comedies, of Drinking, of Translated Verse, of Painting, and Painters, of Poets and Poetry. 8o.  
Letters of Religion and Virtue to several Gentlemen and Ladies to excite Piety and Devotion, with some short Reflections on divers Subject In 12o.  
FINIS.   

The Kings-Bench Cabal, A SONG.  
To the Tune, hark, hark, I hear the Cannon's roar  

I  
ETernal Whig that still depends  
On Old Sham-Plots & perjured ends,  
Tothth' Kings-Bench amongst your friends  
Repair to make new Orders:  
Make haste, contrive some better way,  
Or by the Gods you'll lose the day,  
Great York is now above half way,  
To Revenge all Rape and Murders.   

II.  
We're the best House of Commons now,  
That once have made three Kingdoms bow  
Put in, spew out, as you know how,  
fear Popery the old Notion:  
Let's purge the House of all that's good,  
That have our Cause so long withstood,  
And dares not thirst for guiltless blood,  
E'er York's upon the Ocean.   

III.  
Great Hamden, Rouse, thy wont strain,  
Bring Trenchard into play again;  
Vote down the guards and every swain,  
That dares oppose our pleasure:  
For to submit they would be loath,  
Thy Father and thy Grandsire both,  
To have one's hands tied up by Oath,  
That may be loose at leisure.   

IV.  
Let's Vote the Duke out of the Town,  
The King out of both Life and Crown▪  
Vote Death to all that keeps us down,  
To leave the Cause a bleeding,  
Shall we lie here tied up like Dogs,  
Only Croaking our minds like Frogs,  
While here the Doctor swears and flogs▪  
And leaves off all proceeding.   

V.  
Come Speak and Bradon, Arnold too,  
Colt, and Cauldron what shall's do,  
Shall's lie like Oysters here in stew?  
And ne'er look out for help for't;  
Let's send for Oxford Parliament,  
With all their Guards for murder bend,  
Come let's attempt e'er Coin be spont,  
Tho' each one Damn himself for't.   

VI  
Shall we who were so great before,  
Have neither power to plot nor whore,  
Come let's resolve, break down the door,  
And join the Kent-street Rabble.  
Then Wapping and the Rump will rise,  
The Tower and Westminster surprise,  
While Charles and York at Windsor lies,  
We'll make this Town like Babel.   
LONDON Printed for J. Dean, Bookseller in Cranborn-street near Newport House in Leicester Fields, 1684.