Innocui Sales.  
A COLLECTION OF NEW EPIGRAMS. VOL. I.  
WITH A PRAEFATORY ESSAY ON Epigrammatic Poetry.  Epigrammatarius omnium Scenarum Homo. 
LONDON, Printed by T. Hodgkin; and are to be Sold by Matth. Gillyflower, in Westminster-Hall, 1694.   

A PREFATORY ESSAY ON Epigrammatic Poetry.  
'TIS strange that in such an improving Age as ours, when Wit and Learning run so high, that among all the parts of polite literature, and so many successful Attempts in pleasing and instructive Poetry, so few English Men, tho' invited thereto by the Example of that great Master in Poetry Ben. Johnson, have since his time addicted themselves to write Epigrams.  
And the more strange (if that be true which the Great Verulam in his Advancement of Learning asserts, That Poetry was ever thought to have some participation of Divinity) since in this Age those of the best parts are very impatient of hearing long Sermons, even now that Pulpit-Oratory is at the noblest height it ever was since the Apostle's time; and yet they endure not only to write, but to read long Poems, as if Poetry were not as expressive as Oratory, and a great deal might not be said in a few Lines of Verse as well as Prose.  
The most Ancient Philosophy was wrote in Hieroglyphics cut or graven upon Statues, Columns, Obelisks, and the like; afterwards when the interpretative Tradition of those Hieroglyphics was lost or varied, they wrote or engraved short Sentences in words at length, which were called Epigrams or Inscriptions, and these in Prose or Verse as it happened.  
But Poetry and Philosophy being contemporaries, the best Inscriptions or Epigrams were for the most part in Verse.  
The first sort of these were indeed plain, simple, and natural, without any affectation of either Wit or Humour, such as that of Pausanias in Thucydides.  

〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉,  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.   

Pausanias' chiefs of Greeks, the Medians routed,  
This Monument to Phoebus he devoted.   
This was as easy and unstudied as we can imagine; but they were not long contented with this plainness. That of Aristotle upon his Friend and Master Plato aims at something higher.  

〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.   

This Stone to Plato Aristotle raised  
To him, who must not be, by bad men, praised.   
But very low and humble if we consider the great Genius of the Author, and the Dignity of the Subject; yet the conciseness and the vivacity of this Epigram is much more admirable than any of those three which Naevius, Plautus, and Pacuvius made for their own Monuments; the best of the three in the Judgement of A. Gellius is that of the last; which that great Critic doth not stick to call Epigramma verecundissimum & purissimum dignumque ejus elegantissima gravitate, and this it is:  

Adolescens, tame●si properas, hoc te Saxum rogat  
Ut ad se adspicias, deinde quod Scriptum est legas:  
Hic sunt Po●tae Pacuvii Marci sita  
Ossa, hoc volebam nescius ne esses, Vale.   

Youth, tho' thou art in haste, yet this Stone prays,  
Towards it thou'dst look, and then read what it says;  
Pacuvius the Poet's Bones here lie,  
This I was willing thou shouldst know; God b'ye.   
I don't know whether I have translated it with that elegant Gravity, but I have kept to the sense, and cannot but wonder that so Noble a Critic as A. Gellius should bestow such Epithets upon a Piece that deserves not the reading (as the first word indeed intimates) of any but Boys; for Hic sunt Poetae Pacuvii Marci Ossa, was as much as any Man would desire to know; but that was a Melancholy Subject for a Man to write his own Epitaph, and so let it pass.  
Nor must we from hence conclude how little Wit was necessary to an Epigram among the Ancients, nor on the other side dare I affirm with some Modern Critics, that the reason why so few lay out their Talon in this vein, is, that it is an exceeding difficult Undertaking to make a good Epigram.  
And if either of these two different Propositions be true, Viz. That a little Wit will serve, or, That 'tis hard to write a good Epigram, the Bookseller will meet with very few Assistants, I doubt, to this well-designed Undertaking: For first, if that will do which every body is Master of, the more refined Understandings will not engage themselves in Concert with the Vulgar, they'll look upon it as a lessening of themselves, to go in among the Crowd of pretenders.  
But this Proposition is false; for a little Wit will not serve in proportion to the bigness of the Poem; there is much more Wit required in an Epigram, than in any other Poem proportionably to the number of lines; for tho' simple Epigrams, whose chief Ordonnance or Design is Narration, do not require much Wit; yet of the five sorts of Epigrams into which J. Caes. Scaliger divides this kind of Poetry, viz. Mel, Fel, acetum, Sal, & species mixta, i. e. sweet, bitter, sharp, salt, and the mixed sort; not any of the four first can consist without Wit, or that which is instead of it, and sometimes preferable to it, humour; but the fifth, viz. the Composite or mixed sort, even of those Contemporary with the forementioned Greek ones, are not only form with the truest Judgement, and dressed up in the richest and finest Language, but animated likewise with all the warmths of strong and lively Invention: And as I know no reason why the Collector or Compiler of the Greek Anthology should be successful above all that ever selected choice Epigrams, and who have had the Fortune to leave out as good as some they put in; so we should have been more beholding to him, if his Will or Abilities had furnished us with double the number out of those admirable Greek Epigrammatists. Palladas, Theaetetus the Poet, Straton, Theodorus, lucilius Tarraeus, Athenaeus the Poet, Democritus the Poet, Archytas the Poet, Dorias, Dorus, Erycius, and many others; beside Archimelus, who had 5000 Bushels of Wheat sent him by Hiero for one Epigram upon a new built Ship.  
The Latins took to this kind of Poetry in imitation of the Greeks, and well received it was at Rome; scarce any of the great Wits but showed their Abilities by venturing somewhat this way. Val. Aedituus, Porcius Licinius, Q. Catulus, Q. Hortensius the Orator, M. Brutus, Metellus, M. Octacilius, C. Val. Catullus, C. Licinius, M. T. Cicero, Laurea Tullius, Virgil, Seneca the Philosopher, Martial, Claudian, Ausonius, etc. tho' very little of all they wrote in that kind, hath come to our hands, unless it be of Catullus, Martial, and Ausonius; concerning the last of which three, I say heartily with Jul. Caesar. Scaliger Utinam Epigrammata ne Scripsisset: Yet by what remains of any of the rest, we can take as just a Measure of the Authors, Tanquam ex pede Hercules, as if they had left us no other of their Works; for as Virgil was the best of Poets, so that one Epigram which introduced him into the favour of the Roman Court, may challenge priority to any that was ever made,  

Nocte pluit tota redeunt Spectacula mane,  
Divisum Imperium cum Jove Caesar habet.   

All Night it reins, the Sights return next day;  
Thus Jove and Caesar bear an equal sway.   
as neat, as true, and as lofty a piece of Wit as ever came upon the World's Stage. Cicero's Talon lay much in Exaggeration, and so that piece of an Epigram, (for I can't think that Tetrastick was all in fundum Varronis) Shows, and withal that he would never have made a good Poet; tho' we have some better Verses of his making, still extant, than O Fortunatim Natam, which nevertheless might be industriously made trivial, that the Cantatores Cyclici might sing it to the Boys and Girls in the street, such like artifices of Popularity having ever been in use.  
Seneca in those Epigrams we have of his, speaks as strongly the Philosopher as in any of his Writings, 
— Vive tibi, nam Moriere tibi.  
Live to your own good, as you mean to die.  Comprehends a great part of his de Vita Beata: So 
— Lex est non poena perire;  
To dies the Law, and not the punishment;  is as high a Consolation as an Heathen could arrive to.  
To be brief, an Epigram gives as strong and ample a proof of any Man's Abilities in Poetry, as the longest and most elaborate piece can do. A Man's Wit, Judgement, and Literature, may be seen plainly in a few Lines (Protògenis knew Apelles' hand as well by drawing one line, as if he had painted a whole Figure) and that he writes no more, must be imputed to his want of Leisure, Industry or Ambition.  
As to the other Proposition, that 'tis hard to write a good Epigram, 'tis true; but then they who write many, may find excuse; he who writes some good, may afford to publish some indifferent: If Monsieur Rapin's Judgement may pass, who saith 'tis sufficient to have made one admirable Epigram in a Man's life. And Martial, who wrote the most good One's, hath wrote likewise the most of an other Character of any in the World; I don't mean only the Lascivious Ones, wherein he hath betrayed his want of judgement; for to write wantonly is as great an incontinency of the Mind, as to act it is of the Body; but in many of his other Epigrams, among his Xenia or Apophoreta especially, I can't for my part taste one Grain of Salt, or any thing that will pass in this Age for Wit: Many of his Epigrams are guilty likewise of Scurrility, which is mean always, and degenerous;  — Non est jocus esse Malignum. Sen. in Epigr. 
But for the many good Ones he hath wrote, he hath nevertheless obtained the Reputation of having formed proper Designs, carried 'em on clearly, and fully, in numerous and well-chose Words; concluding for the most part with something pointed, which the Vulgar take to be the best part of an Epigram, and in which the form of it chiefly consists: But if that were true, Catullus can scarce come into the Number of Epigrammatists, tho' the Learned place him first, who is not only very unequal to himself, as being now sweet, then harsh; now forced, by and by flowing; sometimes brisk, and otherwhiles flat; but he very often wants that poinancy in the latter end, and rather shines throughout the whole Epigram than in the Close.  
His broad Obscenity sometimes passes among the Injudicious for Wit; a Fault of Youth which he lived not long enough to correct, dying at the Age of Thirty: But his Latin is delicate and pure, beyond all contradiction, otherwise I doubt not but Andrea's Naugerius, who, as Paulus Jovius tells us, every Year on a certain Day dedicated to the Muses, burnt all the Volumes of Martial he could get; would have bestowed some Cost likewise on Catullus, instead of pretending the Ceremony done to his Manes; who comes as short of martials Wit and Fancy, as Martial doth of his Turn and Expressions.  
But an Apothegm, a Par●nomasia, a Pun, a Quibble, and indeed any manner of Point, is the least part of an Epigram; and they who will always esteem it so, may escape their Fate, who had rather many times lose their Jest than their Friend. And were a short and witty Poem as full a definition of an Epigram, as it is a common one, 'twould be easier to write Epigrams than any other Poetry: But that definition is imperfect, there being few Excellencies of Epic, and not many of Dramatic Poetry but are here required; here aught to be a regular Design, a clear and plain Narration, choice Epithets, proper Figures, smart Expressions, a happy Turn, and an entertaining Conceit: 'Tis a Poem that cannot be enlarged nor contracted; every thing must be exact and perfect, because the Reader will be more than ordinarily sharp and critical, he can take the whole to judge of at once, and is not so tired by the length, as to let pass Faults for his own Ease; and if an Epigram hath but one Word amiss, 'tis as much taken notice of, and the whole as much rejected, as if half a Page were faulty in a long Poem; This being in proportion to the whole, as that.  
So that it is not the easiest thing to write well in this sort of Poetry, in which so few have excelled, and of which we have scarce any exact Pattern and Example.  
There are indeed in Martial, Patterns as inimitable as the Odes of Horace; but there is in every one of his Books, so much Trumpery mixed, that every Reader must be a proper Judge of Excellency, to know which to account the Standard, and which the Alloy.  
The Westminster and the Ingolstad Excerptions take in too many, the Eton too few; and tho' the late Translator of Martial hath gone a Middle way, yet unless we knew who he is, his Authority cannot give any Rules; however, he hath rendered the Author's Sense in English more commendably than he himself did in Latin, occasioning such Critics as Jo. Pontanus, and Ra. Volaterrane to carp as much at his Style, as Ant. Muret and Lil. Gyraldus did at his Wit and Manners.  
But, after all, the difficulty of Excelling hath not discouraged the learned part of Mankind in all Ages from attempting to write Epigrams.  
We have not only the Example of Heathens, but of Christians too of great Fame; Boethius, that Noble and Pious Philosopher, Pope Damasus who adorned the Altars of St. Peter and St. Paul, and the Sepulchers of the Martyrs with Epigrams. Pope Sixtus III. Paulinus, Ennodius, Pope Urban VIII. and most of the noblest restorers of Learning in these last Centuries, have given their Performances in this Kind an Equality to the choicest of their Studies. Boissard, Buchanan, Grotius, Gruter, Heinsius, Petavius, Petrarch, Politian, the Scaligers, and Turnebus, are but a few of those I mean. I must needs say that every Nation in this only particular hath outdone England. The Empire boasts of Bersman, Chytraeus, Lau●●●bach, Sabin, and I don't know how many more. France, of Bellais, Beza, Mercer, Muret, Passeratius, Rapine, Sammathan, etc. Italy, of Alciate, Amalthaeus, Colosius, Gauricus, Musconius, Naugerius, Porcatius, Sannazarius, Strozza, Tebaldeus, Vitalis, etc. The Netherlands, of Barlaeus, Bauhusius, Benedictus, Douza, Grudius, Lernutius, Meursius, Secundus, Suertius, Zevecotius, etc. And We, beside Ben. Johnson, More, and Owen, have very few that deserve the Name of Epigrammatists; if the abundance, and the sprightliness of Owen's Wit may, notwithstanding his false Quantities and indifferent Latin, sustain that Character.  
Not that we want a Genius to Poetry in general, or that Masculine acuteness in particular which an Epigram requires; nor are we wanting at all I believe in this kind of Poetry: But a Modesty peculiar to this Nation, restrains always the most excellent of our Wits, from publisting any thing less than an entire work, without some Charitable Motive, or importunate Request; on which account some of our ablest Writers having not enough Epigrams of their own to make a Volume, have neglected the Publishing those those they have.  
And this might be a reason why so few Epigrams of the Ancients (of their modestest Writers especially) have come to our hands: I hope the Opportunity hereby given, will not only encourage many to communicate the performances they have already by 'em in this kind, but put 'em likewise upon writing more, since no Age hath ever afforded better Subjects than this, and no People are better able to write what they please than the English.  
This Undertaker therefore doth earnestly invite, and for the sake of Public benefit doth entreat all those of either Sex, who have any performances of this sort in their hands, that they will be pleased to Communicate 'em in Writing with liberty of Printing 'em, either in their own, or assumed Name.  
The Noble Probus hath begun his large Contribution, for which the lettered World will doubtless thank him; I wish indeed his Numbers had been more easy, and flowing; but he seems to be above that Consideration, and not to regard that Softness or Delicacy of Verse, so that his Sense be proper and his Expressions strong; his Designs are Natural and Pleasing, his Wit Solid and Universal, his Words Full and Elegant; many have an easier turn of Verse, but the elevation of his Thoughts, and the manliness of his Style, his continued Vivacity of Humour all along, and his frequency of Points in the Close, show us that he hath neither copied at Catullus or Martial, but successfully enough aimed at a proper Character of his own; if a just Idea, a temperament of Fancy, an universality of Literature, and proportion of Parts are elsewhere (altogether) rarely, if at all found.   

ADVERTISEMENT.  
THose that are pleased to communicate any thing of this Kind to be Printed in Easter-Term 1694, are desired to send it by the latter end of March, to Matth. Gillyflower Bookseller, at the Black Spread-Eagle in Westminster-Hall; or, to Thomas Hodgkin Printer, at his House in the New-Buildings, near Christ's Hospital, London.  
Those who are Bountiful in their Contributions shall have One of this, and One of every succeeding VOLUMES presented to 'em gratis, if they please to leave word withal how they may be sent.   

EPIGRAMS.  

1. EPIGRAM. To a Friend that asked me, Why translating so many EPIGRAMS, I made none.  

AMong th' inspired Choir I never sung,  
Metre, the love of Martial, from me wrung;  
And imitation has so cramped my strain,  
To seek it infranchized now, were labour vain.  
I may complain, but cannot mend my state,  
When I would write, I find I still translate.  
Harsh is my Style, rough Verse I only know,  
Nought that is numerous from my Pen will flow,  
Which these succeeding Epigrams will show.    

2. EPIGRAM. To the same.  

WEll, what I write, to print I may be slack,  
Were I so vain to think, I nought did lack  
To make a Poet, this would me restrain,  
A Work and Author new ne'er Praise did gain:  
He must be One, long to the Town that's known,  
And much in Vogue, before his Wit they'll own.  
Candour and Judgement high in them excel,  
Who, of a Novel Piece dare say, 'tis Well.    

3. EPIGRAM. To all English Men.  

THe pious Jews in times of War did fast,  
Even when no Foe did lay their Country waste;  
If, as they spoke, The Sword of Peaee passed by  
Their Coast, their Neighbours were at Enmity;  
On such account great Sorrow they expressed,  
And not endangered, held themselves distressed.  
What are the Duties then, this Land commands  
From us? What self-affliction from our hands?  
Which Turk and Treason, Hell and France withstands.    

4. EPIGRAM.— His Disciples came by night, and stole him away, while we slept.  

ORancorous and unbelieving Jew!  
Whose depraved Heart what words have power to show?  
Faithless; yet more false, more perverse, than blind;  
Blaspheming boldest, when Truth brightest shined;  
Who Miracles forbore not to traduce,  
To treat Heaven's highest Favours with abuse;  
Who God's own Law, to disannul, essayed,  
And holy Truths only more wicked made;  
Whose Fathers did their impious Hands imbrue  
I' th' Prophet's Blood, you Prince Messiah slew;  
Convinced, his Resurrection durst deny,  
And bribe the Soldiers to abet the Lye.   

The drowsy Guard did not your Trust betray,  
But while yourselves in sinful slumber lay,  
The faithful Gentiles stole your Christ away.    

5. EPIGRAM. On King William.  

WHile thine own Sword, brave Prince, maintains thy Right,  
Lewis does only by his Captains fight;  
He all his Conquests unto them does owe,  
Himself ne'er saw the Face of any Foe.  
What's needful for the Field, 's thy Royal Care,  
Plain are thy Garments, plainer yet thy Fare.  
Lewis, with all the Luxury of his Court,  
Marches not forth to fight, but for disport;  
With Strumpets takes his Post, from danger far,  
The Gen'ral? No: The Baggage of the War.    

6. EPIGRAM. On King William.  

HAd Lewis Heart with Valour been endued,  
His Forces might have many Lands subdued:  
But God, who wisely all things does accord,  
Put in his Hand a Whip, in thine a Sword.  
By Bribes, Assassins', he does act his Part,  
By impious Leagues and suchlike treacherous Art,  
Scourges the World; makes Millions to deplore.  
But Thou seem'st born, th' Nations to restore.    

7. EPIGRAM. The Virgin Martyred.  

THe Holy Virgin 'fore the Judgement stood,  
Bright in her Beauty, brighter in her Blood.  
When scourged and racked, branded and scorched with fire,  
With Pincers torn, & ready to expire,  
Her heavenly Graces all did yet admire.   

Cruel, she said, as born of Rock and Stone,  
Such Pains can you inflict, resenting none?  
Think you, because Faith does our Courage steel,  
Our Flesh, like Iron too, does nothing feel?  
You urge our Tortures to that high degree,  
Your Executioners even sufferers be.  
But w' are Christians! Ah, knew you what you say!  
It would your Rage, tho' greater, yet allay.  
Christians are those, do the True God adore,  
Mercy for them, that show them none, implore;  
Love all that's Good, hatred they do not know;  
Friends to Mankind, to Vice alone are Foe;  
Caesar they worship not, but for him pray,  
Obey him even, when Death is in their way.  
Those who do think, Incense is also due,  
The fabulous Giant's War 'gainst Heaven make true.   

Her strength here failed. Angels, says she, do call,  
To join them gladly here on Earth I fall.  
A Gen'ral Groan through all the Court did sound,  
And Converts 'mong the faithless Throng were found,  
Many with hands stretched out, aloud did cry  
I am a Christian too, and I, and I.    

8. EPIGRAM. On Jesuits.  

O Jesuits! Subtle i' th' Arts and Schools,  
Knaves in the World, and in Religion Fools;  
Christ's professed Servants, and the Slaves of Popes,  
But both defy, when they oppose your Hopes;  
Missioners ye are to the Earth's utmost ends,  
Feigned Lovers of the Faith, Riches true Friends;  
Who more prefer a Power in Courts to hold,  
Than even in Heaven to have your Names enrolled;  
Who further have prevailed, Truth to expel  
The Church of God, than even the Gates of Hell.    

9 EPIGRAM. On Julius.  

WHen Men to Honour raised, I oft did hear,  
(As then first being) they created were,  
It sounded strange: But since I Julius knew  
Ingenious, innocent, obliging, true,  
And saw that Honour rendered him uncivil,  
Vicious, false, proud, all that is counted evil,  
The Man's new made, I cried, he's now a Devil.    

10. EPIGRAM. On Procula, old and amorous.  

FOul Winter cease to think thy Age a Spring,  
Which nought but Cold and Dirt does with it bring:  
If it be possible thou canst any please,  
The same may also dote on a Disease.  
Thou sayest, thoust Charms; So Witches have theirs too,  
But such as Toads and Devils only woe.    

11. EPIGRAM. On Cotta.  

BUsiness thoust none at Court, nor Place dost hold,  
Yet none there's seen so busy & so bold;  
At Entertainments of the King and Queen,  
Where all forbidden are, thou yet art seen;  
Others hold Speech with one, at most with two,  
But with th' entire Assembly thou h'st to do;  
Swiftly thou mak'st thy way thro' all the Press,  
Like some important new-arrived Express,  
And whisperest one, another dost embrace,  
Kissesed a third, all in a Moment's space.  
Secrets of all Cabals thou canst relate,  
As if thou wert o' th' Cabinet of State;  
The King does favour thee, the Great Ones call  
Thee Intimate and Friend: But that's not all,  
Such Places shall be thine, when first they fall.   

After full thirty Years thus spent, and more,  
We see thee still impertinent and poor,  
Single-soled Cotta, as thou wert before.    

12. EPIGRAM. On Naevia.  

NAevia illbred, ill-fashoned, and ill-faced,  
Not more by Plutus, than by Venus graced.  
Her Mother not more wise, than she was fair,  
Having a Friend in Court, would place her there;  
And thus be-spoke him. 'T has been often seen,  
Great Fortunes they have reached, that serve the Queen.  
Naevia, suppose, were Maid of Honour made?  
The Courtier, but no flatterer, to her said,  
Yes; if 'twould do her Business, to make Sport,  
For the Deformed and Poor are Jests at Court.    

13. EPIGRAM. On Demetrius.  

Demetrius' famed for every Martial Feat,  
And in the Wars of Venus no less Great,  
Engaged in amorous Conflicts several Days,  
The Myrtle Wreath to win, as well as Bays,  
The Stratagem of Sickness did devise,  
His absence from his Father to disguise;  
Who when to see him came upon the place,  
Phryne shot forth with more than Starlike Grace.  
How is't Demetrius? said his Father then,  
Your Healths, I hope, returned to you again.  
Dem.] The Fever's gone, held me some time before.  
The King replied, I met It at the Door.    

14. EPIGRAM. On Phryne, accused before the Athenian Senate.  

NOne hated Phryne, Phryne ever saw,  
However wronged, endangered her by Law;  
Strangers they were, such Crimes of hers did urge,  
No Power of Rhet'ric could the Guilty purge.  
Her nonplussed Patron yet had this reserve,  
When's Art did fail, his Client to preserve.  
Tropes he renounced, and Arguments did wave,  
And made the Fair One her fair self to save.   

My Lords, he cried, 'tis fit that you should know  
Whom you condemn, e'er you to Judgement go.  
And from her charming Face the Veil than drew▪  
From whence such flashing Beams of Beauty flew,  
Such fulgor, sweetness, from her radiant Eyes,  
As all with Love and Wonder did surprise!  
The Charge she scattered, like a metling Cloud,  
That vainly seeks the mid-day's Sun to shroud.  
Judges and Plaintiffs unto her did bow,  
Her Plea admit, and Innocence allow.  
In Words they did not, but in Heart decree,  
A Crime, in such Perfection, could not be.   

That she escaped, or was absolved, to say  
Would wrong her Fame, adored she went away.    

15. EPIGRAM. To Plancus.  

THou often Plancus proudly dost complain,  
While thou the Company wouldst entertain  
With something of Delight, or else of Weight,  
Some Piece of Learning, Wit, or Point of State,  
Demas turns all Discourse to what he wears,  
Or eats, how with the Stone and Gout he fares,  
His Issue runs, to Stool how oft he goes.  
What wouldst thou have? He speaks of all he knows.    

16. EPIGRAM. On Lesbian.  

BEcause fair Cloris excellent Verses writ,  
And 'bove her Beauty famed was for her Wit;  
As if to make a Poet nought did need,  
But to resolve to be one, and to speed,  
Thou tookst a Pen, and setst thyself to write;  
That is, unspotted Paper didst besh—  
For to express thy senseless sottish Stuff,  
Nought can be said, that's barbarous enough.  
Were't thou bewitched? I sought, thou sayest, for Fame.  
And of the greatest Fool thoust got the Name.    

17. EPIGRAM. On Milton and Marvel.  

MIlton and Marvel joined, 'gainst [P.] did thunder  
But poor Jack Marvel was alone no wonder.    

18. EPIGRAM. On Maevius.  

REfined Language, and in Mode's thy pride,  
That all thy Verse in flowing Numbers glide,  
Thy Wit abounds: But then thou dost not see,  
That these aught all subservient to be,  
T' improve and grace a well-conceived Design,  
'twas this that made the Ancients Works Divine.  
Wit, for itself, these Sages did deride,  
Reason they made their Polestar, & their Guide;  
What nought promoted, idle was, or vain,  
What Nature did distort, or over-strain,  
They held the Issue of a doting Brain.  
'Gainst Laws of Prudence they did ne'er rebel,  
To make their Fancies, by such means, excel.  
Their Heroes still were Men, however brave;  
Performed great things, and yet they did not rave   

A huffing Phantom, strained to th' highest Note  
Senseless and ranting, nought but Mouth & Throat  
Thou fond framest, who does a while amaze,  
But Boys do laugh at, while they on him gaze.  
In Shakespeare read the Reason mixed with Rage,  
When Brutus with fierce Cassius does engage  
In loud Expostulations in the Tent,  
The heights of Passion, Turns, and the Descent  
Observe, and what th' art likely to despise,  
Is that in which th' Excellence chiefly lies.   

Th' Ancients, when a Beauty they'd express,  
The Graces summoned the Fair-Piece to dress.  
A Figure, Indian-like, thou dost expose,  
With Jewels dangling at her Lips and Nose,  
Her Cheeks bor'd-thro' for Pearl & Rings of Gold,  
Spoiling what Nature did Divine unfold.  
But if she Gorg'ous be, with Riches flaunt,  
No Comeliness in her, thou think'st does want.   

All Wit misplaced, the Subject does disgrace,  
Like Gold that's carved into a lovely Face.  
The Poet's Art, not all that read, descry  
It like a Soul couched in each Limb does lie,  
Seen by its Power, not subject to the Eye.  
A cried-up Wit unto old Hobbs did say,  
Virgil nor Homer did deserve the Bay,  
And gave this Reason. 'Cause he could not meet  
One Epigram, in turning twenty Sheet.  
Before you judge, said he, go, Sot, to School,  
Turn them all oe'r, not once they'll play the Fool.  
Think'st thou such Droll their matchless Works would crown,  
Which joins in One the Hero and the Clown?    

19 EPIGRAM. On the Rich and Covetous.  

O Wretch! whose Wealth overflows, and yet is scant;  
Who, all thou hast not, & thou hast dost want;  
Whose thirst of Gold no Mines of Gold can suage,  
The more it gets, the more it still does rage.  
Wouldst thou be rich? Content, than Wealth, is more;  
Not who has little, but who wants, is poor;  
The Cynic nothing had, nor aught did need;  
Yet him in Riches he did far exceed,  
Who unto endless Conquests did aspire,  
And having one, more World's did yet desire.    

20. EPIGRAM. On the habitually Vicious.  

WHere Vice is loved, & in time Nature made,  
To tax it, seems even Nature to upbraid,  
And not the Man: Whom if you guilty show,  
He thinks you do not find, but make him so;  
Malice, not Truth, against him does conspire,  
That Innocent he is, the Charge a Liar.  
Did Martial than a thousand Years ago,  
Belly thy Follies, and thy Person know?  
Yet he with Spleen this Day against thee writ,  
Perhaps not half so home thy Follies hit.  
But a strong Fort more easy 'tis to storm,  
Than Vice, that's deeply rooted to reform.    

21. EPIGRAM. On Sin and Sorrow.  

SIn first the World with Sorrow did annoy,  
But bred a Child, the Parent does destroy.    

22. EPIGRAM. To a Friend, to whom he sent the foregoing Epigrams for a New-Year's-Gift.  

I Have no Turkey from the Coop to send,  
Nor Fatling of the Flock, my dearest Friend;  
Nor heap of Coin expect, when I do say,  
I for a Present here before you lay,  
All that this Christmas I have got by Play.    

23. EPIGRAM. On Paula.  

PAula, when ever she sits down to eat,  
A favourite Lap-Dog on each Hand does seat;  
The Children are at greater distance placed,  
And than the Brutes, in all respect, less graced,  
Which with choice Bits she faileth not to treat,  
While th' others have the coursest of the Meat.  
Children so Hopeful, Charming, and so Fair,  
No Wealth, no Jewels, can with such compare!  
But these as Burdens she beholds and Clogs.  
Were these her Issue, or the little Dogs?    

24. EPIGRAM. On Lelia.  

IF Wrinkles, rotten Teeth, and purchased Hair,  
If Paint and Patches make a Woman fair,  
I know not one with Lelia may compare.  
If Youth it speaks, where Folly does abound,  
In all the World not One's more youthful found.    

25. EPIGRAM. On the gay Ladies of the Time.  

WHen this fair Crew had canvased every Dress,  
What most becoming was, & what was less:  
The next Discourse was, Who did most excel  
In Bravery, 'mong the Gallants bear the Bell.  
One said, My young Lord D's from Travel come,  
In him you may all Grace and Virtue sum!  
It was replied, I pity thy dim Sight.  
What's he to Hart or Moon? The rest said, Right.    

26. EPIGRAM. To my Book.  

WOu'dst skill, what thoust good or bad? TO J. D. go.  
All Men judge: But he, how to judge, does know.    

27. EPIGRAM. On our Philosophical Atheists.  

GReat Lords of Sense, who can no way digest,  
What in the Sacred Volume is expressed,  
That an Eternal God the World did frame;  
From Divine Power and Wisdom all things came;  
To you 'tis clearer, all from Matter rose,  
The Dregs o' th' World did the whole World compose,  
Plants, Angels, Animals, Sun, Moon, & Stars,  
Nay, what we God do call, to th' knocks and jars  
Of Atoms, and their blundering Motions owe  
Their Forms and Being's, these did all bestow.  
Th' accurate System of the Heaven and Earth.  
Howe'er stupendious, from hence took its Birth,  
Opificer had here no hand, but Chance,  
All was produced by a blind rambling Dance.  
(O blessed Trinity! when such things I hear,  
How easy does thy Mystery appear?)   

But all wise Men Creation do disclaim,  
For out of Nothing, Nothing ever came.  
Be't so; as far as Nature's Power does reach.  
Tho' this orethrows, what they before did teach:  
For Life, from what itself was dead, they bring;  
Make wise-Contrivance, from no Thought to spring.  
But nothing, as absurd, these Men decry,  
But what abets and proves a Deity.  
Omniscience, as Nonsense, they despise,  
Omnipotent Power, infinitely Wise,  
Prescience, gen'ral Providence o'er all,  
Flatteries of God, by brainless Heads, they call.  
Such Attributes no Mortal can conceive,  
But were invented Idiots to deceive.   

O wondrous Reasoning! O convincing Plea!  
A narrow Bucket can't contain the Sea:  
Therefore there's none. Brutes may as well deny,  
What does transcend their dull Capacity.  
Retire into yourselves, go there to School,  
At home you'll find, and not abroad the Fool:  
That either Singularity and Pride  
Makes you, what others do revere, deride:  
Or else the Reason is, no God you own,  
Your impious Lives require there should be none.    

28. EPIGRAM. On a weak Poet.  

THat many give thy Verse a high Applause,  
Thy Treats, and not their Excellence, is the cause  
Those who eat freely at thy sumptuous Board,  
The Praise thou lik'st, not what is due, afford.  
This known, thou sayest, the matter to amend,  
The are good for thee, no great things does pretend.  
But who, to publish aught, takes up his Pen,  
Must that produce, that's Good to other Men.    

29. EPIGRAM. On Quintus.  

WHen thou luxuriously dost drink and eat,  
And knowst the Gout thou swallow'st with thy Meat,  
Yet in thy Pains thou never dost express  
Any dislike to thy belov'd excess:  
But lest thou sacred Gluttony shouldst wrong,  
Blamest a cold Night, or sayest, I stood too long.    

30▪ EPIGRAM. On the same.  

THou termest Hunger, the most sharp Disease,  
Did not its Remedy as highly please:  
Hungry, thou sayest, Provide me what is Good,  
Search me the Air, the Forest, and the Flood.  
This Flux and Surfeits often does procure,  
Thou fearest them not, thou hast for them a Cure '  
Thy Rosa-Solis, if but for these, were lost,  
Jelly, and all the Closet's precious cost;  
Many Good-things Distempers bring in play.  
Thus eating breeds, and drives thy Griefs away.  
That Fasting's good, 'twere Treason here to say.    

31. EPIGRAM. To Silvius.  

THat I for Hawking do so little care,  
For hnnting of the Fox, the Stag, or Hare,  
Thou wondr'st. But to speak the truth to thee,  
Hunting, a mad Man's journey, seems to me.    

32. EPIGRAM. On Cloe.  

thouart mean in Feature, always rich in Clothes,  
Which do not mend, but thy Defects expose,  
Thou sayest, when thouart most brave, I laugh or scoul,  
A Jest, or ominous, all Men count an Owl.    

33. EPIGRAM. On Posthumus.  

I Early waited, and some Suitors more,  
The opening first of the King's Chamber-dore,  
From whence came forth a Goodly Sir to see,  
Bulky, and seeming of no low Degree.  
He turned him round, as he a survey took,  
But rather seemed to overlook, than look.  
Him to inform me, I did humbly pray,  
If such a Lord in the King's Chamber lay.  
He gloted on me, but made no reply,  
And of a Cam'rade asked, wh other stood by,  
Shall we to Breakfast have the thing you know?  
And straight into the Chamber back did go.   

I blamed myself, that I the Rule had broke  
Of Distance, to so great a Personage spoke.  
When, to my wonder, he returned again,  
Took up a Broom, without the least disdain,  
Dog's Turds and Bones into a Shovel swept,  
But still his former State and Grandeur kept.    

34. EPIGRAM.  

GAlla wears rich Clothes, bears herself with Pride,  
Strange Arts! yet used, great Poverty to hide.  
But while she would a Lover thus betray,  
With too much cost and noise her Lime-twigs lay,  
She does not catch, but frights away the Prey.    

35. EPIGRAM. On Balbus.  

BAlbus, who boldly in his Life had taught,  
The Soul no real substance was, nor ought  
But the Result of Matter organised,  
Dissolved with it; their Theorem despised,  
(As Nonsense in more specious Terms disguised)  
Who it a Being did Immortal make,  
Found after Death, too late, his sad mistake;  
When real Fiends his living Soul did hale  
To Hell, and all his Sophistry did fail;  
When he beheld the Ghost without the Glass,  
He first confessed, he'd reasoned like an Ass.  
Surly yet still, and froward 'mong the dead,  
To's once denied Tormentors thus he said.   

Forbore accursed and ungrateful Crew,  
Who, like to me, both of your Prince and you  
Has so deserved? Who e'er did so refel  
What Men believed of God, of Heaven, and Hell?  
And while I ridiculed a Sinners Fate,  
I vastly have enlarged th' Infernal State.  
'Tis true, some Ancients did before me write,  
But weakly 'twas, and in an Age of Night,  
Not when Truth triumphed in Meridian height.  
The Fiends did here with feigned Obeisance bow,  
And all he spoke with reverent Mien allow,  
Told him, to their Dread Lord's Imperial Throne  
Their Orders were to bring him; where alone  
Grandees o' th' Realm allowed were the Grace,  
To share his Honours, and to see his Face;  
And doubted not, their King to him would doom  
A Crown of Flames, even 'bove some Popes of Rome.    

36. EPIGRAM.  — Crepereius Pollio, qui triplicem Usuram praestare paratus Circuit, & fatuos non invenit— 

TWo hundred Pound I to a Shop-man owe,  
Paying of one, the other he'll forgo,  
Lay down the Sum, and you the Gain shall have,  
My present Ease is all that I do crave.  
Thus Pollio said. To him I did reply,  
I never had for Gold a greedy Eye.  
To Merchants go, who for advantage thirst,  
I hate to trade, and equally to trust.    

37. EPIGRAM. On Sextus.  

THou sayst, thou hast of Vice the deepest sense,  
But this a Blind is only, and Pretence;  
Thou thou dst have it thought, when Partridge thou dost eat,  
Thou purchas't them as cheap as common Meat;  
When thou art drunk, what of the Case to think  
Thou dost not know, thou didst but so much drink.  
Thus Vice thou hat'st, but with it dost dispense,  
And thy whole Life's Apology, and Offence.  
Knaves sell false Wares, Mountebanks use deceit,  
But none like Thee, Himself did ever cheat.    

38. EPIGRAM. On a decayed Beau.  

Decrepit I am grown, and more my Purse,  
I seek not now a Mistress, but a Nurse.  
Solicitous I was rare Stuffs to choose,  
And richest Points, I'm now to mend my Shoes.    

39 EPIGRAM. To Festus.  

TO thee an Epigram a satire seems,  
That is, an allowed Libel thou it deems,  
Follies, thou sayst, they ever set in view,  
Which in particular Persons are found true.   

He that shall feign a Vice was never known,  
Indeed, by doing so, will injure none;  
But then this Error he does not descry,  
As he no Libel writes, he writes a Lye.  
That which in Nature never yet appears,  
And merits to be crowned with Ass' Ears.  
He sees not too, while his ore-cautious Mind  
Is none to gall, he slanders all Mankind.  
While he who in true Colours does expose  
Vice, but to Contempt no Man's Name disclose,  
(In that all Vice in many does agree)  
Tho' some are stung, all from Disgrace are free.  
The Crime, 'tis true, is set in broadest Light,  
But still the Man's unknown, and out of sight.  
And who shall say, such Verses him express?  
While no way, charged, he dOes his Gild confess.    

40. EPIGRAM. To the same▪  

I Not deny an Epigram to be  
A satire; but a satire unto thee  
And Libel are the same; to tax a Crime,  
And Virtue to defame in lewdest Rhyme  
All one; a Vice to scourge and to disgrace,  
And Honour's noblest Monuments to deface,  
As satire Vice exposes unto scorn,  
So it no less all Virtue does adorn:  
And as best Ages Libelers defame,  
Among their Priests their Satirists they name.    

41. EPIGRAM. To Sextus.  

TO eat what's wholesome is my chiefest Care,  
What pleases most the palate, is thy fare.  
Alas, I beg thy Pardon for my Treat,  
Which did thyself, thy Gout, and Stone defeat.    

42. EPIGRAM. To Rufus.  

IT Excuse thy silence, thou dost oft delight.  
Tho' nought to say. The Fault were then to write    

43. EPIGRAM. On Miss Nell.  

PRetty Miss Nell, her Mother being dead,  
Her Father brought to London to be bred.  
A Friend, 'mong other Sights, showed her the Park,  
Where she beheld each choice and ruffling Spark  
Of either Sex, and gilded Coaches full,  
Of Fops, and Beaus, and many a Gold-laced Trull.  
The gaudy Pageantry she did much admire,  
And their loose Courtship set her Heart on fire  
To bear a Part, tho' hopeless her desire.  
Returning home, her state she began compare  
With what she'd seen, and ready to despair,  
An unknown Hand Relief to her did bring.   

‛ I saw you, Sweet, said one, in Hide-Park-Ring,  
‛ In a vile Hackney, with a Bag of Hay,  
‛ And Figures at its Tale: If me ye obey,  
‛ There's not a Gaz'd-at Piece in all the Town,  
‛ Shall equal you in Glory and Renown.  
She had no strength 'gainst such a Powerful Spell,  
But closed straight, and bid no one farewell.   

Ere many Days did pass, the Country Girl  
Was richly Coached, set by a barehead Earl.  
Her flaunting Gallantry you might see afar,  
Whore now herself, a Wonder, and a Star.    

44. EPIGRAM. On Amarillis.  

Lose Amarillis, conscious of her Vice,  
Brands all her Sex, even the most chaste & nice.  
If you say, Fulvia bears a modest Brow,  
No modesty in her she will allow;  
That Marcellina's of unblemished Fame,  
She knows with whom she lost her virtuous Name;  
That Diana's self, than Silvia's not more pure,  
We err, she says, then most, when most secure;   

If you should reckon-up a hundred more,  
'Twixt Woman she no difference makes, and Whore.  
In Virtue 'cause with none she's equal found,  
With Gild all women's Honour she'd confound,  
To make them stand with her on level Ground,    

45. EPIGRAM. On Miss Nell.  

HOw is't, Miss Nelly? you seem wondrous sad.  
The wonder is, said she, I am not mad.  
I am undone, and by a paltry Jade,  
My Lord has cast me off, and ta'en my Maid.  
Think not your Case o're-strange, your Shoulders shrug,  
Beauty enjoyed, is after but a drug.    

46. EPIGRAM. Miss Nell revenged.  

MIss Nell, altho' forlorn and discontent,  
Home to return, her Heart would not consent:  
But after some debate, and inward strife,  
What Course to take, 'fore all an Actors Life  
Most took. In her gay Days some Plays she'd seen,  
And the Thought pleased, but even to act a Queen.  
Her Youth was fresh, her Fault did not impair  
Her Beauty, lovely she was still and fair;  
Nor readier this way she herself t' engage,  
Than they concerned t' admit her on the Stage.  
Where while she stood a Mute, boldness to acquire,  
Th' Aud'ence, 'bove all that spoke, did her admire.  
And when setoff w' th' Magic of a Part,  
All Eyes she daz'lled, ravished every Heart.  
The House, new Plays and Scenes, sometime might spare.  
'Twas Call enough, if Nell appeared there:  
Nor feared she now again to b' out of date,  
Her a new Creature each Day did create,  
A Nymph, a Goddess, Heroine, or Queen,  
All which she suited with a charming Mein.  
And none was found this Idol to adore,  
Like her false Lord, that slighted her before.  
He woos, he offers Land, for Love now dies,  
And her Turn 'twas, th' Inconstant to despise.    

47. EPIGRAM. On Zoilus.  

WHen thou nor Wealth, nor Beauty canst pretend,  
Thyself by Birth or Bravery commend,  
Which are the things take with the fairer Sex,  
Them, with thy hourly Courtship, why dost vex?  
The young and old thy very sight detest,  
Thy Rivals thee affront, and make their Jest.  
A Lover's high Ambition's to be prized;  
Is thine alone to be of all despised?    

48. EPIGRAM. On Bassus.  

WHo the Philosopher does so much affect,  
Comport so truly with in Words and sage Aspect,  
As Bassus does? so sharply who declames  
'Gainst Vice, the trifling'st Oversights so blames?  
And then the frailer Sex are most his Care,  
In Virtue's Paths to guide the Young and Fair.  
These he instructs, chides, of't in fervent Zeal  
Upon their Necks a Spiritual Kiss will seal.  
But this is far from any Wanton Feat,  
But done in Transport of a Holy Heat,  
When his Reproofs and Counsels are most warm,  
And far surmount the Power of Beauties Charm.  
If any start, or a dislike do show,  
What he has done, he lest himself does know,  
Amazedly asks, with an astonished Mein,  
Not discomposed, while they to Blush are seen.  
Then what he seems, nor should I judge him other,  
As Nell he kissed, if he had kissed her Mother.    

49. EPIGRAM. On Rodia.  

IF aught to Rodia you do give in Charge,  
And leave the thing to her to do at large,  
No thought about it she at all will take:  
But act like one, that is but half awake.  
Knowing of this, if you to her shall say,  
I'd have it done precisely such a way:  
Then she begins to think, each Stone to turn,  
An other way to do't, and yours to shun.  
If this displeases, she her Case bewails,  
Thinks you to blame, and that she never fails.  
There's no so awkward and vexatious Tool,  
As an unthinking or a thinking Fool.    

50. EPIGRAM. The Grove.  

Racked with sharp Pains, and quite cast-down with Grief,  
Into a Grove I walked, to seek relief.  
In a close shade a wanton Couple lay,  
I fled the sight, as they did fly the Day,  
And turned my steps into a pleasant Glade,  
Where the fresh Spring in gorg'ous Robes arrayed,  
The Air, the Flowers, and charming Sylvan Choir,  
To make a Paradise did all conspire.  
Among the Bows a wondrous Bird did sing,  
Brief Joys eternity of Woe do bring;  
Which answered was by one of the like kind,  
Sufferings, tho' short, eternal Bliss do find.  
ere my distracted Thoughts collect I could,  
A third Voice said, proceeding from the Wood,  
Both Songs are true, if rightful understood.   

Musing on what these Voices did relate,  
I found they Humane Joys and Griefs did state,  
Declared their present Lot, and future Fate.  
And tho' my Pains still urged me as before,  
Home I returned, and them more easily bore,  
And than the Wantoness Bliss esteemed them more.    

51. EPIGRAM. To the Virtuous▪  

'TIs said of Caesar, That he set at nought,  
The most Heroic Actions he had wrought,  
And still at Greater aimed, at the same rate  
Men Others do, Himself did emulate.   

In Virtue's Race the like Ambition show,  
Think nothing's done, while more thou hast to do.  
Those that stand still, this detriment have found,  
They ever lose, when they advance no Ground,  
Caesar ne'er stopped, till he attained a Crown,  
And thou, on this side Heaven, wilt sit inglorius down.    

52. EPIGRAM. On C. O. being very Ingenious, and dying young.  

UNder this Leaf of Marble I do lie,  
Early I lived, as early I did die;  
As soon as I could read, I sought to know,  
Not Childish Tales, but how the World did go;  
How with the King the Houses did comply,  
What Interest France unto the Port did tie,   

The School was my Delight, the dread of Boys,  
But Sickness twice did snatch me from those Joys,  
My Spirit broke, and kept me ever low,  
Where I should soar, 'twas well if I could go.  
A powerful Preacher I did more admire,  
In Gifts, as Place, than's Hearers mounted higher  
Than all the Stages Gauds, and glittering Attire.   

In my ninth Year I felt the Flame of Love,  
All what that Passion had Divine, did prove;  
In an Abyss of Beauty I was lost,  
A brighter Form or Soul none e'er did boast,  
And none could say, which spoke the Angel most.  
Much I experienced in my Life's short span,  
Some threescore Years show not so much of Man,  
My Days were few, yet I outlived my Date,  
Great Care and Love did so contest with Fate.    

53. EPIGRAM. On Mrs. S. H.  

WHo Amber chafes, does nought but Odour find,  
Because the Mass is all of one rich kind:  
So who bright (H.) shall prove, will nought but Grace  
And Virtue find, what suits a Cherubs Face.  
And as the Angels, when on Message sent,  
Did Heaven bear with them, wheresoever they went:  
So such an Air of Ex'llence she does show,  
A Court seems with her, nay a Heaven to go.  
And when her Beauties near her any draw,  
Whom they attract, they also keep in awe;  
And all they act or speak is mixed with fear  
Wrapped, e'er aware, in so Divine a Sphere.    

54. EPIGRAM.  

GReat Lights o' th' Church, Glory o' th' latter Age,  
Who Popish Falsehood, and Schismatic Rage,  
So strongly stem, Hooker, Hammond, Usher,  
Morton, Andrews, Chillingworth, and Tailor,  
Jackson, Patrick, Stillingfleet, Cudworth, More.  
You few I name out of the mighty store,  
Not aiming a just Cat'logue to recite,  
But a short curtail Epigram to write:  
And that your Names in Rythm I not rehearse,  
Too Grave they are to jingle in a Verse.  
Nor hope I vainly here t' argument your Fame,  
But raise mine own, while you I barely name.    

55. EPIGRAM. To the Muses.  

NOt unto you, nor yet unto my Brain,  
I owe these Shreds of Verse, but unto Pain:  
Nor have I cause to grieve, if none they please,  
Since Laudanum and Rythm of't gave me Ease.    

56. EPIGRAM. To Admiral Killigrew.  

THe Standard bear aloft, and boldly show,  
Th' Ocean's Glory, Terror of the Foe;  
With outward Pride and Dread to all appear,  
And where thou ought'st, be a true Cause of Fear,  
But kind and civil unto all draw-near.  
Firmly thy just Authority maintain,  
But Insolent Command as much disdain.  
When thou assault'st, let th' Adversary find,  
Storm, Thunder, Lightning, in thy Ship combined.  
Should an unequal Force chance to distress,  
There let thy Courage rise, but not grow less;  
Buoy-up what's weak, bravely make good the spot,  
Valour has often turned in Fight the Lot.  
Thy God's, thy King's, thy Country's Interest bear  
In mind, with them let thine own Honour share,  
And what with these can poise, or yet compare?  
Alone then fear, when not, would Rashness show,  
When Danger's high, th' Advantage mean & low.  
Malice and Envy with Scorn only treat,  
Like little Billows 'gainst thy Ship that beat.   

Shall I now say, I'ave taught thee here thy Part?  
No: I have spoke, but what in truth Thou art.    

57 EPIGRAM. To the Poets of the Time.  

NO Age 'fore this so many Poets bred,  
Nor Wit was known to have so large a Spread;  
Time's pasted, who writ, rarely did miss of Fame,  
Good Verse now's read, & not th' Author's Name;  
What Works were then admired, & brightly shone,  
Are now new writ, eclipsed, and far outdone;  
The Classics we not only Englished see,  
But whom themselves Virgil's and Ovid's be;  
Nor Pindar's, nor Lucilius' are scant,  
Plautus and Sophocles yet less we want,  
The Stage was never in so high a Flaunt.   

But what's defective, and withal more strange,  
In this so large and bold Poetic Range,  
Not one attempts the Epigrammic strain,  
Has tried his Force in Marshal's sprightly Vein.  
Malice nor Slander dares this thing avow,  
None do his Wit conceive, or it allow.  
How comes it then, that he neglected stands,  
Or what's all one, left to Unskilful Hands?  
Is't Johnson does in Epigram excel?  
Be it so: Yet where he has writ as well,  
With Good Success some bravely have essayed,  
And Noble Voyages have also made.  
It satire were, if I the Cause should say,  
'Tis not in Mode, France has not led the Way.  
Let France teach Fops to Dance, & Girls to Dress,  
Preside o'er Shoe-tyes, not control our Press.    

58. EPIGRAM. To the same.  

I Here invite, if that won't do, I dare,  
The keenest Wits with Martial to compare.  
If with myself, you do suspect, I mean,  
I'll bear-up like Aspasia in the Scene,  
However weak, provoke, affront, defy,  
MY Aim being not to fight, but nobly die;  
Write therefore, nay abuse, I have my End,  
Whose Pen wounds deepest is my dearest Friend.    

59 EPIGRAM. To Linus.  

WHy ragest thou, when counselled for thy good?  
Have I traduced thee, or misunderstood?  
Exposed to shame, or what's more hardly boar▪  
Not sought thy Cure, but thee insulted o'er?  
If none of these, why without care of Right,  
Dost thou recriminate, to show thy Spite?  
Make me in thine, and yet worse Follies share?  
Triumph when done, as all with thee were fair?  
Canst thou believe, thy Spleen didst justly vent,  
An other's Gild can make thee Innocent?    

60. EPIGRAM. To the same.  

COnfute and Error in an honest Mind,  
Honour and Love you in return will find.  
But where Truth's hated, Error rootedin,  
They hate those bring a Light upon their Sin.    

61. EPIGRAM. On Goodness.  

GOodness o' th' Good does work, rarely on the Evil,  
An Angel first in Heaven became a Devil.    

62. EPIGRAM. The General Lover.  

I All do love are Excellent and Fair,  
My Mistresses, not knowing it, such are;  
The Witty, Shapely, Gallant, Brown and Bright,  
Their various Graces variously delight;  
When they are best setforth for Public view,  
And most ambitiously their Glories show,  
'Tis me they court, tho' nought they less design,  
Nor use I any Means to make them mine.  
If any scorn, and to show Pride affect,  
I pay them, unconcerned, the same Respect.  
Where Beauty reigns, I there no Fault do find,  
The are all alike to me Kind or Unkind.   

But thou who unto One thy Heart dost tie,  
Even those excel, disgust thy partial Eye;  
And if this One be moody or disdain,  
Thy Peace is lost, and wretched Thou art slain.  
But then thou sayest, while All I thus approve,  
Not One does me reciprocally love,  
Which thou esteemest the Quintessence of Joy,  
But I a fond and despicable Toy.  
Beauty, at distance, Divine Rays does shed,  
But none e'er met a Goddess in his Bed;  
Tho' Eyes, we Stars do call, when they are bright,  
A vulgar Error 'tis, they shine by Night.    

63. EPIGRAM. On Sextus.  

WHat ever Sea or Land do rare afford,  
In Seasons served at thy volupt'ous Board;  
Thy Cook with no less Art does these prepare,  
And for thyself is all this costly Fare:  
Yet thou a Glutton's Name in ill-part tak'st,  
And tell'st what sober Meals thou often mak'st.  
Were't thou not sick? or else disliked thy Meat?  
And think'st thouart temperate, when thou canst not eat.    

64. EPIGRAM. To Sillius.  

SIllius, of late, it was my chance to meet,  
Who with surprising Kindness did me greet,  
He hugged me, kissed me, even for Joy did weep.  
My best of Friends, said he, you'll also steep  
Your Eyes in Tears, when I shall let you know,  
What I in Persia late did undergo.  
Oh, the vast Deserts! Oh, the dangerous Sand!  
The Hardships I sustained by Sea and Land!—  
In short, his carriage had such tender Charms,  
As forced me sympathise in all his Harms.   

But when within my Mind I did revolve  
Our kind Encounter, it posed me to resolve,  
When our huge Amity at first began,  
All I could say, was, I had seen the Man;  
And wondered much at such his Magic Power,  
Could perfect Friendship less than in an Hour.  
While thus the Novelty did me confound,  
He did the Mystery himself expound.  
Thou needs, says he, must lend me Twenty-pound.    

65. EPIGRAM. On Zoilus.  

ZOilus, how do you? I did only say.  
My Lust, he answered, does not yet decay,  
Vastly I eat; and, laughing, did disclose,  
After a Feast, what late befell his Hose—  
Hold, I then cried, I see your Hand is inn—  
Plain Truth, I ne'er before, did think a Sin.    

66. EPIGRAM. On Bibulus.  

BIbulus, mean of Birth, but high in Place,  
Scarce to the Nobl'st will vouchsafe the Grace  
To resalute, or answer, when they speak,  
But from their Court regardlessly does break:  
While with Caresses some make humble suit,  
All Compliment, but unto all he's mute.  
Uneasy shows, even at a kind Address,  
As Courtesy itself did him oppress.   

As I did muse, who was the happy He,  
Could to's fastidious Humour grateful be,  
Into the Room there came an uncouth Wight,  
Known by Instinct, I think, e'er come in sight:  
For Bibulus, e'er you could say, What's this?  
Found him, embraced him, met him with a kiss;  
Hands they did shake, and for a pretty space,  
One's rub Nose joined tother's purple Face.   

They smiled, that could the Mystery unfold.  
The Man, it seems, drunk stiff, and good Wine sold.  
Lovers and Courtiers Rivals do not brook,  
But Drunkards kindly on their Rivals look.    

67. EPIGRAM. To the Generous.  

THe Jew all Interest was forbid to take,  
Advantage, from his Brother's Want, to make.  
Their wise Men, from this Law, did thus decree,  
Thy Brother Jew shall not Obsequious be,  
For any Loan pay servile Usury,  
Crouch, or demean himself more abject low,  
Pay a Respect, before he did not owe.    

68 EPIGRAM. On a Lady's Musick-Book richly bound.  

WHoever takes me in his Hand,  
These things I give him in Command.  
That he not, idly, let me fall,  
Nor hold me yet for good and all;  
That he defile me with no Smutch,  
My Gilding was not laid for such;  
That he transcrib's, by stealth, no Air,  
My Leaves, for any uses, tear;  
That he fills not my void-Spaces▪  
With the Draughts of filthy Faces;  
No, nor insert his Mistress Name,  
Or yet his own. Go seek thee Fame  
On Greenwich Leads, or top of Paul's,  
Where suchlike Worthies make their Scrolls,  
There leaving carved their Names and Feet,  
Monuments for their Glories meet.  
Art and Cost made me thus fair,  
To treasure, like myself, things rare;  
To serve a Mistress of Great Name,  
Of so Divine a Voice and Frame,  
That neither can the Ears or Eyes  
Say in which most the Angel lies.  
If then what's artless, vile, or rude,  
A brutish Hand shall here obtrude,  
Know, where Excellence high appears,  
There hideous show the Ass' Ears.    

69. EPIGRAM. On Rufus.  

THou often boast'st, how free thou art from blame,  
If none do praise thee, none can also shame.  
Boast thy good Luck, that thouart not understood,  
There must be Evil, where is found no Good.    

70. EPIGRAM. On the same.  

NO Drunkard, nor Adulterer thou art,  
With Cheat▪ or Robber ever act'st a part.  
The Riddle's dark, in truth, I can't deny:  
Faith, now expound, wherein thy Vices lie.    

71. EPIGRAM. On Frances.  

FRances advanced to Chambermaid's degree,  
Vouchsafed sometimes her Country Friends to see:  
And more to show her Courtly Air and Art,  
As she wore Silks, she acted too the Part  
Of a fine Lady. On a sultry day,  
As soon as come, her Neck she did display,  
Much better hid, gave one her Scarf to hold,  
Her Fan and Gloves to those that were so bold  
(Which all were not) to touch such precious things.  
She stript-up high her Arms, brandished her Rings,  
Tossed her Locks, flounced t' express a gallant Mein,  
Tho' to say truth, not over-sweet nor clean.  
Talked loud and fulsome, wried her Mouth & Face,  
What ere she thought would add the greater Grace.   

To taste of their course Fare, they her did pray.  
Which squemishly, good Breeding to betray,  
She did accept: But like a Wolf did eat,  
(Laced Shoes at home abounded more than Meat.)  
When she was gone, and all began t' admire  
Her stately Way, Genteelness, and Attire,  
A Girl there said, Mother, what e'er you think,  
I, for my part, smelled Mistress Frances stink.    

72. EPIGRAM. On Scipio Africanus.  

Antiochus' chose rather to defy  
The Roman Power, than with it to comply:  
His Forces broke, and utterly defeat,  
In this submissive manner he did treat.  
Not what before the War you did demand,  
We yield, but all you shall beside command.   

The Noble Scipio thus did answer make,  
Rome no Advantage does from Fortune take,  
As she does scorn to stoop to adverse Fate,  
By Prosperous she is never more elate.  
Our Actions Justice, not Success, does guide,  
We ask the same, which you before denied.    

73. EPIGRAM. On Claudia.  

FAir Claudia wants no sweet and powerful Charms,  
Her Eyes wound deep, and cure the pleasing harms;  
None can her Graces with such truth impart,  
As I that feel them in my captived Heart.  
Yet when Divine Emilia does appear,  
Claudia, so many awes, herself does fear;  
Sighs and sheds Tears to see her Empire wain,  
A greater Excellence o'er her lesser Reign.   

While thus I spoke, the smart and angry twang  
Of Cupid's Bowstring i' the Air loudly rang.  
Traitor, said he, and canst thou then approve,  
An others Grace 'bove hers that thou dost love?    

74. EPIGRAM. On a feigned Friend.  

WHen ought thou needest, thou dost it so demand,  
Not as one sues, but one that does command  
In Friendship's Name. Thou sayest, a Friend is known,  
When in Distresses he his Friend will own.  
This is a Truth, which all will thee allow:  
But then at other times, I know not how,  
So strange thou art, thou scarce dost know my Face,  
Or with a bare Good-morrow will't me grace;  
Ore-see'st me oft, industriously dost shun,  
Is't Friendship only then, to serve thy turn?    

75. EPIGRAM. On Dionysius.  

DIonysius, ambitious was to be,  
Tyrant no less o'er Wit, than Sicily:  
As he his Country's Laws had broke before,  
The Muses he as barbarously ore-bore.  
A Poem to Phyloxenes did show,  
Commanding there-upon his Thoughts to know,  
Who true to's Judgement, to his Safety rash,  
Defaced the whole Performance with one dash.  
For which the Tyrant did in rage confine  
His Judge to dig in Fetters in the Mine.  
But disciplined, did him again restore,  
And showed him other Verses, as before,  
Reading them now, the better to display,  
Wherein their Grace and Elegancy lay.  
Phyloxenes, e'er half the Book was done,  
On's own accord, beckoned the Guards to come,  
And back convey him to the Mine again,  
To dig, than hear, holding it lesser Pain.    

76. EPIGRAM. On Dr. Rugely, robbed and wounded.  

GReat Nat'ralist, good Christian, and Divine,  
Tho' rarely seen, in thee they all combine.  
So knowing, yet so tender in thy Art,  
That Patient and Physician both thou art;  
And tho' Oracular th' Advices are,  
Yet for the Sick thou of't vouchsaf'st to fear.  
As robbed and wounded, hadst thou too been slain,  
How many Hundreds had received their Bain?  
Thy Goodness weighed, and Good that thou dost do,  
Death had been Sacrilege and Murder too.  
Fit Vengeance for this Crime no Tongue can tell,  
As it was hatched, it must be purged in Hell.    

77. EPIGRAM. On the young Man in the Gospel.  

THe rich young Man, who in the Gospel thought  
No Terms were hard, which unto Heaven Men brought,  
When our Lord said, If thou wilt perfect be,  
Sell all thou hast, and come and follow me.  
He thought even Heaven could not his loss repay:  
And tho' he briskly came, dejected went away.    

78. EPIGRAM. On Dionysius.  

PHyloxenes no Cruelties could tame,  
Or scorn the Tyrant Dionysius shame:  
But Verses on him he would still obtrude,  
However before his Censure had been rude.  
The Tyrant oft, reciting, dropped a Tear,  
Phyloxenes, affected to appear,  
Said, Me too, what you read, it pitied much to hear.    

79. EPIGRAM. On Madam Pen.  

WHy, Madam Pen, in such a fume and pet?  
Th' Affront, said she, would make even Patience fret.  
'Tis bad enough to call one Trapes and Jade,  
Insufferable, old and ancient Maid.    

80. EPIGRAM. On Rome.  

WE grudge not Rome thy Secular Renown,  
Usurped Primacy, or Triple-Crown;  
Right of Communion we do only claim,  
While with the ancient Church our Faith's the same,  
While her three Creeds and Councils we embrace,  
In all things strictly do her Footsteps trace;  
The Scripture Canon, which thou call'd'st thine own  
Four hundred Years, is that we also own,   

Enraged, thou sayest, What is all this to thee?  
Where is thy claimed Infallibility,  
Thy Purgatory, Power to dispense,  
With whatsoe'er the Scripture makes Offence?  
Thy Image-Worship, Worship of the Cross,  
Of Saints and Angels, be it with the loss  
Of a Commandment? Let Tramontans' rebel,  
Thy Power does yet extend to Heaven and Hell.  
Think we, 'cause Christians, to avoid the Doom  
Of Heretics, while Enemies to Rome?  
Thy Artifices we have all disclosed,  
Thy Cheats and Novelties to ' th' World exposed,  
Opened all Nations Eyes, and made them see,  
How weakly thy Pretences founded be.  
But what's our Gain? be th' Pains we have employed,  
W' have that confirmed, we hoped to have destroyed.  
What by a Criple-Faith thou hadst before,  
Thou hold'st by Interest now, a Nobler Score:  
All Kings and States are at this Day thy Friends,  
Not as, Times past, deceived, but for their Ends.  
Peter, his Keys, consigned in a Mist,  
And lost they head been, and perhaps never miss,  
Hadst thou not found & seized them: for a while,  
An ignorant World these served to beguile:  
But now thou dost not on such shifts rely,  
No power's so Great, thou darest not to defy.  
W' are saucy therefore thus to claim Communion,  
To hold with Thee a Parity and Union.  
Do we for Pardon sue, and for Protecttion?  
What we Communion call, should be Subjection.    

81. EPIGRAM. To Lelia.  

THou wouldst my Love I should to thee engage,  
Because we both do suit so well in Age:  
But my own Wrinkles me offend and fright,  
Expectest thou then I should in thine delight?  
The Motive used, ought rather us to sever,  
Or else to bed us in a Grave together.    

82. EPIGRAM. To my new Lord—  

BEcause thou saw'st I paid thee a Respect,  
Thou therefore didst return me thy Neglect:  
As if thy Honour were not thee allowed,  
Unless to those thou meetest, thou mightst be Proud.  
Civil to be, I ever held my part,  
Not that I valued thee, or what thou art.  
When next I meet thee, I'll no Cap afford.  
Senseless a 'Squire; but downright Brute, a Lord.    

83. EPIGRAM. On a Liar.  

WHen 'tis a Lie, thou tell'st it with that Art,  
Thou winnest belief from every Ear & Heart:  
But Truth so lamely always dost report,  
Because it needs no Wit for its support,  
That none receive the things that they do hear,  
But with a wrong and a mistaken Cheer.  
Held in the dark by that which thou dost tell  
Rejoice in Evil, mourn when all is well,  
Thou bane of Converse, and thou greatest Curse,  
Who stiflest Good, and of't mak'st Evils worse.    

84. EPIGRAM. By way of Dialogue between the Author and his Friend.  Fr.] 

WHat makes thee, Probus, in thy latter days,  
As youthful still, covet a Wreath of Bays?   Prob.] 

Some hours, in serious reading, I can spend,  
But long my Faculties I cannot bend,  
As in times past: Tired, I Refreshment find,  
In the Amusements of a roving Mind.  
All Pleasures of the World from me are fled,  
And (I rejoice) some Years before me dead.  
Friends say they come Respect and Love to pay,  
But glad they are, when they can get away:  
And 'twere a shame, at this my Age to show,  
Content to any, but myself, I owe.  
Epigrams afford a great Variety,  
And ne'er are tired, or tiring Company:  
The Wise, the Foolish, Jocular, and Sad,  
The Noble, Serious, I see here, and Mad.  
And like a Farce, if some appear but mean,  
Others display again a Glorious Scene.  
My Life I not with thine, but theirs, compare,  
Who droop their Days out in a sleeping▪ Chair.    

85. EPIGRAM. On Demas.  

ARt thou so mopeed, past fourscore Years, to wed?  
A Woman to betray (as may be said)  
Unto a Grave, not to a Nuptial-Bed?  
Thou call'st thy walking Skeleton, a Life;  
And avowed Bawdry, by the Name of Wife.    

86. EPIGRAM. On Laura.  

MOst lovely Maid! of so Divine a Frame,  
We see in thee, all we can Ex'llent name;  
The sweetness of a Spring thy Youth does sum,  
And promised Blessings of the Year to come.  
Yet thou wert slighted lately on the score,  
A Bunch-Back brought upon't two thousand more.  
With whom thy cautious Gallant did engage:  
But shortly after, purchas't from the Stage  
A Prostitute, set all, for her, at nought,  
And thought his Rotten-Ware was cheaply bought.  
Thus, when to seek a Wife, such Muck-Worms go,  
You'd swear they went to Market, not to woe;  
They do so huckster, bargain, and demur,  
Virtue and Beauty are not any Spur,  
To make their Earthy sordid Minds lay-hold  
On that, which gained, would all they have turn Gold.    

87. EPIGRAM. On Theonina.  

IN Censure spiteful, Defamation bold,  
Young but in Years, and yet in Mischief old;  
Lies are thy Pastime, Slander is thy Food,  
To hatch some Evil thou dost always brood;  
Thou fearest no Sin, where thou dost fear no Law,  
Punishment may, but Conscience ne'er did awe.  
Since in what's Bad thou glory'st to excel,  
There is a King: Be thou the Queen of Hell.    

88 EPIGRAM. To Decius.  

WHen thy rash Tongue 'gainst Virtue does transgress,  
Thus thou dost speak, to make thy Folly less.  
I never am straitlaced, Probus, 'fore thee,  
No Pedant, Noble, one of our Degree.   

What e'er thou mak'st me to thy self-appear,  
Noble I am, when Virtue I revere.    

89. EPIGRAM. On a debauched Wit.  

'T H'ast read some Poets, that the Grape adore,  
Idolise Wit, loose Life, a rampant Who—  
Despise all Virtue, as below their Care,  
And high, on these accounts, their Heads they bear.  
These thou admirest; their Lessons dost transcribe,  
And glori'st to be listed of their Tribe.  
Drinkest, rant'st, blasphemest, & often dost complain  
When thou dost want thy Vices to maintain,  
None do true Worth regard: and full of Wine,  
Think'st thou art Great in Parts, something Divine.  
Hadst thou thy due, thou should be ranked with Swine,    

90. EPIGRAM. On an Old Dotard.  

I'M fourscore Years & more: yet I would wed,  
Tho' past the Duties of the Marr'age-Bed.  
And sham'st thou not, such Thoughts to entertain,  
Which thy Religion, Honour, Age, do stain?  
Hast thou no Moral Strength, if not Divine,  
That thus below a Man thou dost decline?  
Let no false Principle thy Heart abuse,  
marriage itself will not thy Lust excuse.  
It was ordained this raging Sin to tame,  
Not to foment and keep alive its Flame.    

91. EPIGRAM. On a drunken Quack.  

BVtler, Great Butler, thou dost often say,  
I make my Rule, his Method, and his Way!  
He, a Goodfellow was, and loved good Wine,  
Nor to Morosness will I e'er incline.  
Thus Idle-hours, that is, thy Life, thou spendest,  
The Day in Drink beginnest, and in Drink end'st.  
Soak'st it like Butler, not like him dost read,  
A Bottle mak'st all Books to supersede.  
A Great Drunkard thou may'st arrive to be,  
But a Great Doctor we shall never see.    

92. EPIGRAM. The Invitation of a Friend.  

COme dine with me to day, and you'll revive,  
Those drooping Spirits, are but just alive.  
All sweet and pure you every where shall find,  
The Senses pleased, do recreate the Mind;  
Your Sight and Smell luxuriously I'll treat,  
E'er I do set before you ought to eat.  
Nor shall your Welcome yet be wholly airy,  
As if I feasted not a Man, but Fairy.  
Venison I have, young Partidges, and Hare,  
Some Home-Provisions, that may prove as rare;  
Wine from the Soil immediately that's brought  
Of various Kind's, all Presents, and not bought.  
Choice Fruits and Herbs I not vouchsafe to name,  
Aiming to day to reach Lucullus Fame.   

We'll eat alone, unless a Third appear,  
That will not check our Mirth, but mend our Cheer:  
Prudence in whom does so outvie what's fair,  
You'll think all Virtue present, when she's there.  
She'll not importune with her Speech or stay,  
Tho' all be Ex'llent that you hear her say,  
And sad you'll be, when she does go away.   

The Board removed, the sober Fumes of Wine  
Our Thoughts shall wing to something that's Divine,  
We'll that discourse, which Virtue may improve,  
Even at our Years, our Knowledge, & our Love;  
Confer what either's Muse▪ did late inspire,  
Thou mine shalt judge, while I do thine admire.    

93. EPIGRAM. To the Jealous Reader.  

Every new Epigram that thou dost see,  
Without all Cause thou fearest deciphers thee.  
But the Satyrick-Mirror shows the Case,  
Or Vice, never reflects men's outward Face.    

94. EPIGRAM. On Criticus.  

Marius', thou sayest, in Knowledge not abounds,  
His Books are few, and weak in Arts his Grounds;  
Thou, in all Learning and all Tongues, art skilled,  
Thy Shelves with numerous & best Authors filled.  
Yet whatsoe'er Marius does undertake,  
The most Judicious high Account of't make,  
And thy profound pretending Works despise,  
As Dulness clothed in a Learned Disguise.   

I thus in other Trades have seen such Fools,  
Who Bunglers are, yet proud of Ex'llent Tools.    

95. EPIGRAM. On the Wicked in the highest degree.  

VIcious, conceited, insolent, and proud,  
Void of all Worth, yet positive and loud;  
Ill Master, Father, Husband, Neighbour, Friend,  
Whom sense of Right or Wrong could never bend;  
Who God unseen not only dost despise,  
But fatten'st i' th' Oppressed's Tears and Cries;  
And smiling ask'st, What's, after all, the Evil?  
None: 'cause 'tis hoped, thou'lt fright from Earth the Devil.    

96. EPIGRAM. On the like.  

POor in thy Youth, sharking, and profligate,  
Unjust & proud, when raised to high Estate;  
Which thou conceivest thy Parts did bring thee to,  
But want of Wit did plainly thee undo.  
And when thou layest under the saddest Cross,  
The Vice of all three Fortunes didst engross.    

97. EPIGRAM. On a Lady Painter.  

WIth excellent mastery thou drawest the Face▪  
Each Feature dost express, and natural Grace.  
Were th' Inward-Man as well by me designed▪  
I should be styled, the Titian of the Mind.    

98. EPIGRAM. On the Enamoured of a false Beauty.  

A Well-bred Virgin, Vert'ous, Noble, Wise,  
Most Beautiful withal, thou dost despise.  
But Players, Dancers, Singers dost admire,  
These thou confessest, set thy Heart on fire.  
Didst never hear, how by a Magick-Spell,  
Dead-Bodies have been raised, and made to tell  
Some things above themselves, and then have sunk  
Again into a Ghastly loathsome Trunk?  
Such, if thy blindness would allow thee prove,  
Thou'dst find th' admired Object of thy Love;  
The Persons self, stripped of adulterous Art,  
Scarce would make good the Carcase of her Part;  
Withdraw the Poet's Words, the Stage Attire,  
And thou wilt loathe, what thou dost now admire.  
She, like the Scenes, appears a glorious Sky,  
A Sun, what not? false Lights deceive thine Eye,  
Both, Paint and Trash, are found, examined nigh.    

99 EPIGRAM. On a Coward.  

LIke thee, in safety, none's so fierce and bold,  
Danger approaching, none so faint and cold;  
The Brave, in Peril, do consult which way  
They may o'ercome; thou, which to runaway;  
They only ask, what is their Duty here;  
Thou, what's suggested by thy treacherous Fear;  
They face to face confront a daring Foe,  
Thy Malice, hid and skulking, thou dost show;  
When they subdue, their Anger they assuage,  
But here thy Fury first begins to rage,  
The Rancour Fear did in thy Heart suppress,  
Without all Mercy now thou dost express.  
In Private Converse th' art to all a slave,  
And certainly, in Public Trust, a Knave.    

100 EPIGRAM. What is Sweetest.  

What is so sweet, nought with it can compare?  
By Love perfumed, a virtuous Maid and fair.    

101. EPIGRAM. On a conceited Person.  

PErsuaded of thy Worth, thou longest to see,  
What some do sear, an Epigram on thee.  
But little Bad or Good of thee I know,  
And none delighted are with what's so so.  
This vulgar Proverb by thyself discuss,  
Souse a Sow's Ear, 'twill ne'ér make Velvet Purse.  
Those Subjects I passby, have no eselat,  
In Vice and Virtue common are and flat.    

102. EPIGRAM. On my Censorious Reader.  

THou sayest, I'm full of malice and of Spite,  
Ill-nature's seen, in all that I do write:  
Thy Censure does not wound, but me delight.  
'Gainst Vice I have, 'gainst Men I never wrote,  
Nor will for any Wrong or Price be brought,  
Be thou Good-natured then, to what is naught.    

103. EPIGRAM. On the same.  

MOre close and home thou yet dost me accuse,  
Sayest, in an Epigram, thy Words I use;  
Nay, a known Vice of thine display. Be 't so,  
Must I remember unto whom I owe  
All I have heard or seen? Or must Men know  
A Person by a Speech or Act? 'Tis true,  
Byth' Lion's Claw, a skilful Artist knew  
His bulk: But who shall only draw thy Toe,  
Thy Manners or thy Face will never show.    

104. EPIGRAM. On the same.  

DIspleased at the Freedom of my Pen,  
Which thou conceivest defects so many Men,  
Thou ask'st, If I myself from Vice am free?  
I wish I were: But what is this to thee?  
Why, thou wouldst have me my own Follies show.  
Alas, who is so happy them to know?  
But while thou think'st myself I do conceal,  
All that I write, my secret Thoughts reveal;  
What I do love, despise, admire, or hate,  
When least designing, I do truly state.  
One Epigram may on some One reflect,  
But they all join my Nature to detect.    

105. EPIGRAM. On a mistaken Epigrammatist.  

THou stillest, what's nothing like, an Epigram,  
And may'st as well, a Chicken term a Ram;  
Or draw an Ape, and then upon't endorse,  
The Animal you see, I call a Horse.  
On this, thou dost retort to me in spite,  
My Verse are harsh: Nor do I Sonnets write.  
My Bark oft buffets with a rugged Stream,  
And I must suit my stile unto my Theme.  
Painters, with flowing Oil, their Figures draw.  
But Carvers use the Chisel and the Saw.    

106. EPIGRAM. On an ungrateful Visitant.  

I'M often troubled when I see thee here,  
Too soon or late thou always dost appear:  
But the Mystery of this, in brief to sum,  
Thou canst not possibly in Season come.    

107. EPIGRAM. On the same.  

MAny Excuses thou dost often frame,  
For thy slack Visits, & thyself dost blame,  
You'd mend all Faults, if that you never came.    

108. EPIGRAM. More Cupid's than one are blind.  

TH' imposing Gang of those the World counts Wise,  
Only to Venus' Son allow no Eyes,  
While each their Cupid has, that's more a Child,  
And far more dark and witless may be styled:  
The Envious, Covetous, and Ambitious,  
Gluttonous, and who other ways are Vicious.  
For shall we say, Who Beauty loves is blind?  
Who dotes on Sin, has a discerning Mind?    

109. EPIGRAM. On Sempronia.  

THy tender Years had a strong bent to go  
An Evil way, e'er thou didst Evil know.  
Th' Examples ever pleased thee of the worst,  
What noble Virgins trembled at, thou durst.  
Thy Beauty thou didst early understand,  
And gav'st the Reigns, to that thou shouldst command.  
Thy Clothes excessive were, lose thy Address,  
All a close wanton Mind might loud express.  
Thus thy first Days in Luxury were spent.  
In Amorous Stealths all of thy Age outwent.   

Thy Flower of Youth and Beauty when decayed,  
With these all sense of Shame did also fade,  
And lewd Affections thee did only sway,  
The Laws of Lust bare-fac'dly to obey,  
Thy House thou mad'st a professed School of Vice,  
The Rendezvous of Riot, Whoredom Dice.  
Which those of either Sex that did not shun,  
Were in their Virtue, Fame, and State undone.  
Armed Cat'line made the Roman Hearts to quake,  
But thy Debauch did Rome's Foundations shake.    

110. EPIGRAM. On an old Amorous Coxcomb.  

TH'st thrown-away thy Nightcap, bought a Wig,  
Thy stumbling Gate converted to a Gig;  
Tied a broad flaunting Ribond in thy Hat,  
One, that out-stares thyself, at thy Cravat.  
And now dost hope, that the most searching Eyes,  
Cannot discern thy Age through this disguise;  
But joined with Wealth, thou'lt make a powerful Court  
Unto the Fair. Thou'lt make at least good sport.    

111. EPIGRAM. On the same.  

I Herd thy Rheum defeated thy Disguise,  
And that a Lady so did thee despise,  
She said, Old Sir, blow both your Nose, & Eyes.    

112. EPIGRAM. The Young and Old Schismatic.  Jun.] 

I Have been lately, where my Ears did glow,  
To hear the praise of one that was our Foe.   Sen.] 

Our Foe? Some Child of Hell, be sure, a Dog,  
A Reprobate, in Scripture stile, a Frog  
Of the deep Pit, a Jacobite, and Traitor.  
He must be these, professedly if our Hater,  
One that will set his Country at a Price.   Jun.] 
I do not find he's charged with any Vice.  Sen.] 

But you shall find. I'll black him with all Evil,  
If he be ours, he's God's Foe, and a Devil.    

113. EPIGRAM. The Reflection.  

AS from the shore I safely did behold,  
(My own days spent) how mortal Men were rolled,  
With the World's Billows, some for Riches moiled,  
Others for Honour, with more hazard, toiled,  
While they their Lusts and Vanity to please,  
Oft lost the Life, they sought to spend in ease.  
I said, were I again my Race to run,  
What Troubles and what Dangers could I shun?   

First, I would weigh the shortness of my Days,  
Yet, well employed, the Power they had to raise  
Their Length 'bove what Arithmetic can count.  
Yet never their Glory and their Bliss surmount.  
By this I'd steer my Course, here fix my Eye,  
Renounce what with this Truth did not comply;  
No avaricious or ambitious Itch  
Should my stayed Mind with their false Charms bewitch.   

Next in what State Providence me had placed,  
I would regard, and with what Parts had grace't;  
These I'd improve, aiming at no Employ,  
Admit none offered with least sense of Joy.  
Yet on my Charge I'd ever be intent;  
Duty secure, what e'er were the Event.  
So that what e'er Misfortune happed to be,  
Men should reproach the Chance, not censure me.    

114. EPIGRAM. On Lewis XIV.  

THe Life, the Soul, Upholder of the Port,  
Whose Arms the Crescent 'gainst the Cross support;  
Want of true Greatness, and the thirst of Sway  
All that is Sacred makes thee to betray,  
Faction and Treason to foment and nurse  
In every Land, Europe's, even France's, Curse;  
For thou no less thy Agents dost employ,  
Thy Subjects, than thy Neighbours, to destroy;  
Myriad of harmless Souls thou hast undone,  
With loss of Justice their Land from them won;  
And while they mourn, thy Pleasure thou dost take,  
Upon a Couch War with the World dost make;  
Slothful thyself, by others gets Renown,  
Thou winnest a Game at Cards, while they a Town.  
Empire alone is that with thee does weigh,  
Which, so thou gettest, it matters not which way,  
No scruple mak'st, so that thou hast success,  
Whether 'tis Heaven or Hell thy Forces bless.  
Lucifer to justify, thy Actions tend,  
'Tis hoped, thou see'st thy fall, and mak'st a Friend.    

115. EPIGRAM. On Lamia.  

Deformed th' art seen to be in every Part,  
Beyond the Remedy of Wit and Art;  
Cease then to jet, and tweer, and make ado,  
Ugly thou canst not be, and Pretty too.    

116. EPIGRAM. On the same.  

OLd crooked Claudia has a sober Grace,  
And honoured is, where e'er she comes in place;  
What she was made, she is content to be,  
And none do want of Beauty in her see;  
Prudence and Goodness all Defects supply,  
Even pleasing make her to a curious Eye.   

But thou, tho' most deformed, dost not despair,  
Agreeable to be, tho' nothing fair,  
By acting what thou see'st the Fair to do,  
As if the same, the same were, done by two:  
But fallest so short of that which thou dost hope,  
Thou play'st Jack-Pudding on the lower Rope;  
And what w'ad admire in Clora, when we see,  
Our Stomach turns, when we behold in thee.  
The Charms, th' Affects, the Sweetness, & the Grace,  
Essential are unto a Lovely Face;  
Which when thou ape'st, and vilely dost repeat,  
'Tis much that thou escap'st from being beat.    

117. EPIGRAM. On the same.  

OF thine own self thou such Conceit dost hold,  
That Buckram on thy Back seems Cloth-of-Gold;  
Whereas o' th' contrary, it is enough,  
Tissue to make the vilest of all Stuff  
If worn by thee: But Garb, and thy Grimmace  
For Beauty, thou believest, with all do pass:  
Tho' these all loath, destest, and every Tongue  
Swears, as th' art Ugly, thou wert never young.    

118. EPIGRAM. On Nanus.  

NAnus, tho' little, yet is fierce and bold,  
Scorns by the Proudest He to be controlled,  
And braves all Men, while such a Foe they eat,  
By whom Disgrace may be, no Honour won.    

119. EPIGRAM. On a young She-Libertine.  Lib.] 

WHo did this Law impose upon our Sex,  
Our Peace, our Lives eternally to vex,  
That Maids, forsooth, must die in deep Despair,  
Rather than love, to those they love, declare?   Friend.] 
Nature herself.  Lib.] 

Nature I never saw,  
Nor will I be a Slave unto her Law;  
By Looks, Address, I will my Mind impart,  
These failing, speak in plainest Words my Heart.  
Shall Princes noble be, and Statesmen wise,  
Tho' they miscarry in an Enterprise,  
And I alone, deterred by the Event,  
Desist, cause New, to make a brave Attempt?    

120. EPIGRAM. On a high-kept Miss.  

COstly in Clothes, and haughty in thy Mein,  
Thou wouldst be thought to be a petty Queen;  
Contemnest thy Betters, boast'st of what's thy shame,  
As if by Birth thy Greatness to thee came:  
When all that know thee, this truth also know,  
Thy Glory unto Baseness thou dost owe;  
And that thy Sin's the same, with that o' th' Poor,  
Tho' Madam thou art styled, & they termed Whore.  
Tho' Coach and Palace varnish o'er thy Blot,  
The Stocks and Bridewell are those Wretches Lot.  
Thou liv'st by Lust, while they but make a slip,  
And more deserv'st the Cart-tail, and the Whip.    

121. EPIGRAM. On my Epigrams.  

I Only Vice at random do rehearse,  
'Tis Gild that makes a Libel of my Verse;  
The Good and Sound, with what they read, are pleased,  
The Grieved are the Vicious & Diseased,    

122. EPIGRAM. On the unworthily Fortunate.  

WHile that a prosperous & foreright Gale,  
Fills the expanded Bosom of thy Sail,  
Thou happy seem'st, and all to thee do bow,  
All, but thyself, thy Glories do allow:  
But while they stoop, applaud, and matter find  
T' extol, thou sadly want'st it in thy Mind.    

123. EPIGRAM. On Paris.  

FOrbear to boast thy infamous success,  
That thou the Great Achilles didst suppress,  
When hid, and trembling thou didst only act,  
And 'twas, in truth, a Goddess did the Fact,  
Guided thy poisoned Arrow to his Heel,  
While the brave Hero to the Gods did kneel.    

124. EPIGRAM. On Sir Irus.  

A Noble Lady at her generous Board  
Access to half-starved Irus did afford,  
As old as poor, to these, as little wise,  
Her Goodness did not yet the Wretch despise▪  
A Knight he was, but not of antic Fame,  
Who Giants split, and Monsters used to tame.  
But his Adventures now he first began,  
And much like Him, who at the Windmill ran.  
Heartened and warm, by being daily fed,  
The Snake aspired unto the Ladies Bed.  
'Twould honour him to say, He was defeat,  
And lost his Aim. No: but he lost his Meat.  
Tho' Dotage be high ranked in Cupid's School,  
He thence expels an aged, needy, Fool.    

125. EPIGRAM. On the Shepherds, Luke 2.  

WHile on soft Plumes the Rich did sleep,  
Or Riot them did waking keep,  
Consuming in Debauch the Night,  
Acting black Sins in Chambers bright:  
We poor and hardy Shepherd Swains,  
Freed at no Season from our Pains,  
Under the shelter of a Rock,  
In Winter Nights did guard our Flock;  
When, lo, a bright and glorious Ray,  
The Sun outshining at Midday,  
Surrounded us with great Dismay.  
A Choir of Angels thus did sing,  
Good Tidings to the Earth we bring,  
A Saviour to the World is born,  
There never rose so Blessed a Morn!  
Peace unto Earth, Good Will to Men.  
Glory, i' th' highest be to Heaven!  
The Child to know, we give this Sign,  
A Manger holds the Babe Divine!   

We found that true the Angels said,  
And our Account filled all with Dread.  
The Vision thus when we had spread,  
Adored, and offered up a Lamb,  
Back to our Folds with Joy we came,  
Our honest Labour easily bore,  
Finding Heaven's Shepherd self was poor.    

126. EPIGRAM. On the wise Men, Matth. 2.  

THe Eastern Sages came from far,  
Led by Devotion and a Star,  
And Heaven's King did Homage pay,  
When Poor he in a Stable lay!  
To Gentiles God did thus reveal,  
What from proud Jews he did conceal:  
But these embroiled in factious Wars,  
In covetous and ambitious Jars,  
Wise to the Earth, were blind to Stars.    

127. EPIGRAM. On Spurius.  

MUch thou dost glory in thy Father's Name,  
Ore-seeing of thine own, & Mother's shame:  
The sway of Lust lodged in thy spurious Blood,  
To Vice ore-bears thee, like a Potent Flood:  
Nor known's the Crime th' art not engulfed in,  
A Grandee seen, and Prince in every Sin.  
Wouldst thou be truly Great? Virtue embrace,  
Rescind the Curse entailed on Bastard-Race.    

128. EPIGRAM. The Prisoner.  

THe Court was up, and I had ta'en a stand,  
(Being a stranger) to behold near hand  
The Prisoner, and besought my Friend to show  
By some Remark, how I the Man might know.   

That's he, he said, which you see march alone,  
Whom many bow to, tho' they fear to own.   

What, he that bears such Brightness in his Face,  
Such high Assurance, and serene a Grace?  
That's sure the Judge, his Guard, that armed Throng.   

It is the Prisoner that they lead along.  
O blessed Land! I cried, if such I see  
Be Criminals, thy Just must Wonders be!  
I hardly spoke, when I was bid to view  
A sneaking, abject, and down-looking Crew,  
Whose Malice the brave Prisoner had run-down,  
Having no other Crime, but his Renown.  
Let mean Men Vice avoid, the Generous Fame,  
There's nought more dangerous, than a Noble Name.    

129. EPIGRAM. To Silius.  

Thou'dst have a hundred Pound by way of Loan,  
In greatest need I this way trouble none,  
And to deny such Suits, shame not to own.  
Ten pound thou sayest I lent thee. To a Friend  
What I can lose, I am content to lend.    

130. EPIGRAM. On the like.  

A Noble Lord five hundred Pounds did lend,  
Out of mere Greatness, to a slippery Friend,  
Who, beyond hope, the Money did repay;  
But, in few days, a larger sum did pray,  
Which was denied, and that upon the score,  
He had so much deceived the time before.  
Which when the wondering Borrower did deny!  
My Lord faceciously did thus reply.  
The Money lent, I never hoped to see,  
But twice deceived I'll ne'er consent to be.    

131. EPIGRAM. On Pompillius.  

POmpillius has attained, at last, his Post,  
As he complained, as much he now does boast;  
A Charge he has at Court, no common Grace,  
And his Success is portrayed in his Face;  
Ore-looks not only such as you, and me,  
But his Great-Self does also oversee;  
Usurps the Parts he has not, and the Power,  
Fancies he's Wise, and Potent in an hour,  
When Saucy, Witty; Courtly, when most rude;  
Obliging, where his Folly does obtrude.   

Some smile, some jest: All, he believes, admire,  
And ne'er will see, till he's again i' th' Mire.    

132. EPIGRAM. On Fungus.  

A Truant Youth, and Loyt'rer in the Arts,  
Trifling that time, should have improved thy Parts,  
Th'uncultivated Mind now nothing breeds,  
But the most vicious, rank, and poisonous Weeds;  
And Idleness, which thee times past did please,  
Is now a burdensome and sore Disease.  
Labour does not the Ploughman so annoy,  
As Rest does thee, and want of all Employ.  
In Drink, or worse Debauch, thou spendest the Day,  
The next thou play'st at Dice, or see'st a Play;  
The third, and fourth, and fifth being at a loss,  
Thou scarce, without a Halter, bearest the Cross.  
Physicians, in this Malady, abjure,  
Seek not the Wells, but Galleys, for thy Cure.    
FINIS.