THE Comical Dream, OR, The Tempest: A Mock Poem.  
REPRESENTING The Humours of some Sea-sick Passengers Their feverish Valour, and their Aguish fears: WITH The true Description of a False Sea-Fight:  
Qui ducis Vultus, & non legis ista libenter, Omnibus invideas livide Nemo tibi.  Mart. Lib. I. Epig. 
London Printed by H. Bruges, 1674   

THE Comical Dream, OR The Tempest. A Mock Poem, etc.  
SIR,  

HIs humble Pen receives no Aid from those  
Who Thunder in Verse, and speak like Guns in Prose:  
Such Wit like Powder makes a horrid noise  
And with a bounceing-flash itself destroy's.  
These Empty-Authors only rich in sound  
With glorious Nonsense all their Books abound.  
O how ambitiously they Court the Press,  
To make the ignorant admire their dress:  
To gain the Applauses of a Vulgar breath  
Which once sucked in, like Poison, swells to death.  
Dull-Soulless-men! instead of natural parts,  
Their brains stuffed full with low Mechanic Arts.  
Few be so happy to reach DRYDEN'S height,  
Or if they should, the wit is out of sight!  
Then do not blame me for so low a stile,  
My Wit's compelled in other sports to toil,  
Or rather business calls me from my Pen,  
Such business as confounds the Wits of men.  
— Should I thus begin—   

It is well known to some, or most of ye,  
How Merchants go in Wood, cut out of Tree,  
To take fresh Air in crossing the salt Sea:  
But who the Devil would like such Ribaldry?   

My Taper here, seeing such wretched stuff,  
Ne'er took its leave but vanished in a snuff.   

LONDON, that Famous City for Commerce.  
Muses assist, to sing her praise in Verse.  
Let learned Historians tell her Founder's name;  
My work is to describe her present Fame.  
Hail Queen of Cities! mayst thou ever be,  
As now thou art, the Glory of the three.  
Thou art erected on foe firm a Base  
As neither time, nor envy, shall deface.  
And if one unexperienced, can divine,  
Thy glories ne'er shall set, but always shine  
In Honour's Orb, there fixed, thy Friends to cheer;  
But Meteor-like possess thy Foes with fear.  
If well built Ships, and stately buildings be  
Th' Effects of Art, and Ingenuity?  
And if these Arts do merit any praise?  
Thou, out of ruin didst thy Trophies raise:  
For Phoenixlike from Her bright Ashes came  
Another Phoenix to revive her name!  
So shall succeeding Ages much admire,  
How this great City fell and rise! by Fire!  
In lieu of Eggs to fill her empty nest,  
A City hatched: equal to none! the best!  
Each private building, like a Palace, shows;  
Contrived by Art in Uniformal-rowes:  
And in the middle of this glorious place,  
Is reared an Edifice of Royal-race:  
The Royal Exchange, where Merchants daily meet,  
Making the Pavements proud to kiss their Feet.  
To Noble Gresham, her first being owes,  
And now her Walls a Kingly Race enclose:  
In Efigie (though dead) they lively stand,  
Viewing the relics of their past-command.  
O'er the Piazzi of this noble-square,  
Live tempting Angles selling out their ware,  
Whose swe●t-alluring-smiles, and lovely looks,  
Take all the Fish that nibble at those hooks.  
Pride's sold byth' Piece, and Pleasure, by the Yard:  
But whom you Traffic with, have great regard;  
For some Commodities Infectious are—  
Though to the outward show appear most fair:  
Yet sometimes damaged prove, and burnt within;  
'Tis punishment to pay so dear for sin;  
And for a moment's tickling pleasure lie  
A Month in pain, then play the Fool and die.  
But here dull- Morpheus with his leaden Mace,  
Did throw a pleasing slumber o'er my face;  
Which slid into the Portals of mine eyes,  
And seized my senses with a quick surprise.  
Betwixt sleep and waking on my back, I lay  
When Fancy raised a Visionary-day;  
And bade my drowsy thoughts, sit down and see,  
While she presented them a Comedy.  
Faith, so it proved— Thrice had the Music played  
When various Antiques, danced in Masquerade.  
They vanished strait, and for a Prologue, comes  
A fellow in, full of his hauks, and humms:  
Dressed up in high-crowned Hat, and narrow band,  
Who for a while did like an Image stand:  
Into his mouth he sucked his snotty snout,  
He spit and spauled and gently trod it out:  
So having thus prepared himself to speak  
His tongue, like Bagpipes, through his Organs squeak.  
My thoughts sat sympring at this formal sight,  
Had it been real I had laughed outright.  
Mean while t'amuse my thoughts a Sister came,  
He touched her flesh, and asked her carnal name;  
The spirit moved him to salute her too,  
And in the Act, he whispered her, Woued do?  
Do ' (quoth she) what dost thou mean by this?  
T'increase the faithful; Lambs may play and kiss:  
The seed of Faith, sown upon fertile ground,  
Will make the faithful every where abound.  
His strong desire she faintly does refuse,  
And now his zeal the chase more hot pursues.  
Words, without Presents, take successless pains,  
No Love like that of Bracelets, Pearls, and Chains:  
Presents, in a dumb Language plead their mind,  
And cause the Object quickly to be Kind.  
With more than usual haste, urging her too't,  
He now presents her with some early fruit.  
No sooner tasted, but like Grannum Eve,  
She fell— and he upon her— here I leave.  
Should I proceed, 'twould titulate your blood,  
And make ye stand to things that are not good:  
Knowing how apt our Nature is that way,  
Though, in a full Career, it forced me, stay.   

Here, the Scene shifted to th' Royal Exchange:  
My wandering thoughts through every Walk did range.  
And leaning 'gainst a Pillar, heard some say,  
How that the first fair wind, they would away:  
And by discursive Circumstance, I found,  
They and the Captain, were for— bound.  
No sooner a desire possessed my mind;  
Of Place, and Persons, alteration find.  
Not lightning flashes swifter through the air;  
Nor Lovers fancies gazing on the Fair,  
Than did my Thoughts—  
The whispr'ing voices, and the silken ;  
Now changed to Tarry— and to ful-mouthed Oaths.  
The Boatswain, loudest, bade them make less noise;  
He licked the Younckers, kicked about the Boys.  
Me thoughts, at this I was concerned and vexed;  
And was afraid it might be my turn next.  
Hands o'er the side, the Captain's come aboard:  
And with him Merchants, with Provisions stored.  
The Anchor weighed, and Ship just under sail:  
When in an instant sprung a mighty Gale.  
She now gins to bouse it with her snout,  
And toss her new Inhabitants about:  
They, not inur'd to this unstable Place;  
It changed their mirth into a serious face.  
And all confused, cannot tell what to think,  
But reel and stagger, like as men in drink.  
No pleasing Object, now salutes the Eye,  
But ugly Scelletons are stalking by.  
A squeasy stomach bids them to prepare  
To take a Vomit, and to walk i'th' Air.  
One throws himself upon his little Bed,  
And on his hand, he leans his aching head.  
Another, o'er a Basin says his Prayers:  
What he eat last, for those will have it, spar●s.  
A third, into the Gallery runs, and there  
What he intends, those next him, smell and hear.  
Strip handsome women, let 'em naked stand;  
Should they with looks, entreat; with words, command:  
Should they fa●l back, and pluck them with 'em too,  
They'd rise again, and little say, or do.  
Few hours sickness altars Nature quite,  
And makes a Saint, of who before was Right.  
Had sea or wind, but any Sense of wrong,  
They would not have maintained the War so long.  
Boreas, puffed up the Sea with swelling Pride;  
Whose proud Ambitious waves, the Ship, defied:  
And rising up into a Mountaines height,  
Break in, and stagger her with no less weight.  
The Scud flies thick; such threatening clouds appear,  
Would melt a hardened courage into Fear:  
When Cowards, who the danger do not know,  
Can with a boldness to their ruin go:  
So Asses, in disguise, like Lion's show.  
The angry Elements, in thunder speak,  
As if they would, the course of Nature break;  
And all its order, into Chaos shake.  
All darkness is,— But when the Lightnings fly,  
And with their subtle fires inflame the Sky;  
Which, like a Prospect-glass, show dangers nigh.  
The Land (to many welcome!) now does roar,  
With foaming Billows beating on the Shoar.  
As hungry Lions, though they see their Prey  
Make towards 'em, Impatient of delay,  
Rouse up, and meet it above half the way.  
Even so th' Earth contra— to Nature's course,  
Moves in a dreadful shape to meet the source:  
Which, as Jaccals the silly beasts, decoy,  
So would the Seas, this beaten-ship, convoy  
To its Destruction; Had not Providence  
(Who acts beyond the reach of common sense)  
Made the big Clouds, a kind of sorrow show,  
And weep down blessings to the world below.  
Those, who in Taverns keep good Company,  
May partly guests what the disorders be;  
For when the Wine does elevate the man,  
He thinks, a could do more than others can.  
So have I seen, two Hectors stoutly draw,  
Whose very looks might keep a Fool in awe:  
A MISS (chief) st●ps between, and whispers one,  
That he shall use her first. The Quarrel's done.  
He takes her at her word, and o'er a Chair,  
Lays her down gently; fumbles out his—  
But that, alas! not in condition then;  
Peeped out its head, and shrunk it in again.  
Which when this Rival saw, he little said,  
But sent a bottle to his nodding-head,  
And after that, another: Both engage  
Armed Cap-a-pe, with folly, Wine, and Rage.  
The woman disappointed of her pleasure;  
Swears, the next time, that he shall wait her leisure:  
She quits the Room, goes to another Friend,  
Who of her business quickly made an end.  
For Men in drink can seldom go, or stand;  
Much less perform a Lady's strict command.  
Aboard, confusion much like this appears,  
They were surprised with drink, but these, with fears.  
For in Reels one, with Breeches in his hand,  
And what for fear and sickness, could not stand;  
Falls o'er another, whose gaping faint reply,  
Did let him know, he'd rather spew, than die.  
Though both helped up, by those which on them wait;  
Yet not so soon, but all Contaminate.  
An Hamper of wine o'reset, and washed away,  
The reeking Mixture, which by its Confines lay.  
No sooner they, within their Cabins stowed,  
The Sea was laid, and Wind more gently blowed.  
And having thus reposed themselves a while,  
Risen up, and at each others Fortunes, smile.  
All their discourse on the ensuing day,  
Was, of the several postures how they lay.  
But one more free than any of the rest,  
On his Companions of't would break a Jest.  
The Ghost of's Mother Came, whose envious frown,  
Dashed all their Mirth, and beat their smiling down!  
Not that they stood in fear, only because  
They would be subject unto Honour's Laws.  
Such is the nature of true Gentlemen,  
To take Abuse, and not to give't again.  
For they by Honour, not by Envy led,  
Take no Exception what is done or said.   

More, t'allay their Mirth, and raise their Fear:  
A Tartàn brings News, th' Hollanders are near.  
Hammocks all down, and all the Guns put out:  
The men half frighted, staring, run about!  
Some up the Shrowds; one above all Espies  
Small Fishermen, the Hollanders, he cries.  
No sooner from his mouth the Alarm given:  
The Passengers bequeath their Souls to Heaven!  
One shivering stands, and whispering to his Friend;  
Dam! these Wars will never have an end.  
A second stamps, and in his passion cries,  
My Friends have sent me, for a Sacrifice!  
A little man, more serious than they,  
Told them, this was no time, to curse, but Pray.  
A fourth, for his Pistols calls; his Hanger tries  
Upon a Gun, that when most need on't, flies.  
The most Devout, in haste runs to his Chest,  
For that good Book, which Pious men love best;  
But being stowed away beneath the rest  
Could not be found,— faith 'twas a pretty Jest!  
For up he snatches one, One which he took  
By the Cover, to be a Sermon book;  
Into the Cabin presently repairs,  
And after he had mumbled o'er his Prayers;  
With a composed and serious look gins  
To read, the just reward of all our Sins.  
So was the Book Entitled; but alas!  
This gran-mistake must now no longer pass.  
In stead of such a Chapter, such a Verse;  
There was a Duke brought in upon a Hearse.  
A Prologue for the Text. One overlooks  
Tells him he wonders, he will read such Books.  
He in a Fury throws the Book away,  
The other out of roguery bids him Pray:  
Because that he but half an hour before,  
Bade him not Curse, but say his Prayers o'er.   

BRight Sol to the Antipodes was gone,  
When silver Luna, did ascend her throne;  
Whose fainter Beams shone with a glimmering light;  
And took her brother's part, made Day, of Night!  
Night roused with anger, from a sable shroud,  
In circled all her glories in a Cloud.  
This is the time most Creatures go to rest,  
This is the time, which married men love best.  
This is the time, that women love to play,  
And with Love-tricks, to Kiss Oldtime away.  
Just here, I waked, and with my longing arms,  
Embraced an empty shadow, without charms.  
I turned about, and to my Pillow bowed;  
In stead of Juno, I embraced a Cloud.  
It would vex you, or any one beside,  
To have an empty shadow for your Bride.  
Your Pardon Sir,— I'm out of humour quite,  
I shall grow tedious, should I further write,  
Therefore, without a Compliment, Good Night.   

EPILOGUE.  

MEthinks I hear some Petty-Critticks say,  
In all these Lines, he has not touched the Play:  
We did expect his satire in a rage,  
Might scare the dancing Devils off the Stage.  
To undeceive such expectation, know  
This Dream was Writ (not many Months ago)  
A thousand Leagues from Hence; and by a Pen,  
That vallues not the Damming of those Men,  
Whose foppish humours to that pass are grown,  
Nothing is Good, but what is like their Own!  
Full of stiff-Nonfence, Raill'ry A-la-mode!  
Where every Devil thunders like a god.  
The very sound o'th' Words, do drown the Sense,  
And their strong Lines are full of Impotence!  
Yet if you Read, and not the Verse commend;  
Damn 'em, They'll presently a Challenge send.   
By ID, ESt,— That is to say,  
The Best, and Worst, that ever writ a Play.  
FINIS.