Will: Buller,
J752.
AQUILA
NON
CAPIT MUSCAS
WILLIAM BULLER.
Hubbard
Imag, Voy.
PR
3720
1751
V.7
Susanna Cath : Buller
七つ
​to front Vol.7.
ALEX:
POPE Esq.
Ata. Lin.
氨
​J
THE
WORKS
O F
Dr. JONATHAN SWIFT,
Dean of St. Patrick's, Dublin.
VOL. VII.
CONSISTING OF
MISCELLANIES
In VERSE.
By Dr. SWIFT, Dr. ARBUTHNOT,
Mr. POPE, and Mr. GAY.
LONDON:
Printed for C. BATHURST, in Fleet-freet.
MDCCLI.
Res
409799
THE
CONTENTS
To VOL. VII.
N. B. Whatever are not marked with a
Star, are Dr. SWIFT's.
C
ADENUS and VANESSA.
Baucis and Philemon.
page 3
3 I
A Defcription of a City Shorver. In Imi-
tation of Virgil's Georg.
A Defeription of the Morning.
37
40
The Seventh Epifle of Horace imitated, and
addreffed to the Earl of Oxford, in the Year
1718.
41
48
Part of the fixth Satire of the fecond Book of
Horace, imitated.
*The Happy Life of a Country Parfon. In
Imitation of Martial.
53
A Tale of Chaucer, lately found in an old
Manufcript.
54
56
59
The Alley. An Imitation of Spencer.
*The Capon's Tale: To a Lady who fathered
ber Lampoons upon her Acquaintance.
Ferfes aurote on a Lady's Ivory Table-Book. 60
A 2
Frances
CONTENT S.
Frances Harris's Petition to their Excellencies
the Lords Fufices of Ireland.
A Ballad to the Tune of the Cutpurfe.
6r
67
69
V's Houſe. Built from the Ruins of White-
hall.
The Hiftory of V----'s Houſe.
73
The Virtues of Sid Hamet, the Magician's Rod.
75
78
Atlas, or the Minifler of State; to the Lord
Treaſurer of Oxford.
The Delcription of a Salamander. Out of Pli-
ny's Nat. Hift. Lib. 10. c. 67. and Lib.
29. cap. 4.
*The Elephant: Or, the Parliament-Man;
written many Years fince. Taken from Coke's
Inflitutes.
79
81
An Elegy on the fuppofed Death of Partridge,
the Almanack-Maker.
The Epitaph.
83
86
* Verjes to be prefixed before Bernard Lintot's
new Mifcellany.
87
*To Mr. John Moore, Author of the celebra-
ted Worm-Powder.
88
* Verjes occafioned by an &c. at the End of
Mr. D'Urfy's Name in the Title to one of
bis Plays.
* Prologue, defigned for Mr. Duify's laft Play.
90
93
* Prologue to the three Hours after Marriage.
94
* Sandy's Ghost : Or a proper new Ballad on
the new Ovid's Metamorphofis: As it was
intended
CONTENTS.
?
4
intended to be tranflated by Perfons of Qua-
lity.
* Umbra.
96
99
Duke upon Duke. An excellent new Ballad.
To the Tune of Chevy-Chase.
* Fragment of a Satire.
* Macer.
Sylvia, a Fragment.
Artimeſia.
Phryne.
On Mrs. Biddy Floyd.
100
106
109.
110
IIF
112
113
Apollo outwitted. To the Honourable Mrs.
Finch, under her Name of Ardelia.
114
* Impromptu, To Lady Winchelfea. Occa-
hioned by four Satyrical Verfes on Women-
Wits, in the Rape of the Lock.
* Epigram.
Stella's Birth-Day.
1718.
Stella's Birth-Day. 1720.
116
117
ibid.
118
Stella's Birth-Day. A great Bottle of Wine,
long buried, being that Day dug up, 1722.
Stella's Birth-Day.
1724.
Stella's Birth-Day, March 13, 1726.
120
123
125
*To Mrs. M. B. fent on her Birth-Day, June
15.
* Song.
By a Perfon of Quality.
* Ballad.
Ode for Mufick. On the Longitude.
128
129
130
132
* Epigram on the Feuds about Handel and
Bononcini.
* On Mrs. T----s,
133
ibid
A 3
• Trvo
CONTENTS.
* Two or Three ; or a Receipt to make a Cuc-
kold.
134
* On a Lady who p-ft at the Tragedy of Cato;
occafioned by an Epigram on a Lady who
wept at it.
134
* Epigram, in a Maid of Honour's Prayer-
Book.
Epigram.
The Balance of Europe.
135
136
ibid.
* A panegyrical Epifle to Mr. Thomas Snow,
&c. on the South-Sea Subfcriptions.
The South-Sea, 1721.
*A Ballad on Quadrille.
Molly Mogg.
* A new Song of new Similies.
137
140
147
159
152
155
* Newgate's Garland. A Ballad, &c.
Prometheus. On Wood the Patentee's Irish
Half-Pence.
Strephon and Flavia.
159
162
ibid.
Corinna.
* The Quidnuncki's. A Tale occafioned by the
Death of the Duke Regent of France.
* Ay and No: A Fable.
Phyllis Or, the Progress of Love.
The Progrefs of Poetry.
The Progress of Beauty.
Pethox the Great.
*A Gentle Ecbo on Woman.
164
166
167
170
172
176
180
Epilogue to a Play, for the Benefit of the Wea-
vers in Ireland.
Epitaph on a Mifer.
182
184
To
CONTENTS.
To Stella, who collected and tranſcribed his
Poems.
The Journal of a Modern Lady.
The Country Life.
A Paftoral Dialogue.
184
189
199
203
206
Mary the Cook-Maid's Letter to Dr. Sheridan.
A Dialogue between Mad Mullinix and Ti-
mothy.
* Epitaph on Fra---s Ch--s.
209
218
** on Picus Mirandula, apply'd to Fr.
C---s.
* Epigram.
* Another.
Epitaph [of By-Words.]
219
220
ibid.
ibid.
Epigram, on feeing a worthy Prelate go out of
Church in the Time of Divine Service, to
wait on his Grace the D. of D---
Epigram from the French.
221
222
Epitaph.
ibid.
* Epigram on the Toafs of the Kit-Cat Club,
Anno 1716.
*To a Lady with the Temple of Fame.
ibid.
223
* Verſes to be placed under the Picture of Eng-
land's Arch-Poet: Containing a Compleat
Catalogue of bis Works.
ibid.
Dr. Sw-- to Mr. P---e, while he was wri-
ting the Dunciad.
225
Bounce to Fop. An Epifle from a Dog at
Twickenham to a Dog at Court.
* On the Countess of B--- cutting Paper.
227
230
• On
CONTENTS.
1
* On a certain Lady at Court.
231
To Doctor D-- ·l---y on the Libels writ againſt
him.
ibid.
On Dreams. In Imitation of Petronius. 237
To Stella, vifiting me in my Sickneſs, 1727.
Verfes on the Death of Dr. Swift.
239
243
CADENUS
[ 3 ]
CA DE NUS
AND
VANESSA.
T
Written Anno 1713.
HE Shepherds and the Nymphs were ſeen
Pleading before the Cyprian Queen.
The Council for the Fair began,
Accufing the falle Creature Man.
The Brief with weighty Crimes was charg'd,
On which the Pleader much enlarg'd;
That Cupid now has loft his Art,
Or blunts the Point of ev'ry Dart;
His Altar now no longer fmokes ;
His Mother's aid no Youth invokes :
This tempts Free-thinkers to refine,
And bring in doubt their Pow'rs divine;
Now Love is dwindled to Intrigue,
And Marriage grown a Money-League.
Which Crimes aforefaid (with her Leave)
Were (as he humbly did conceive)
B
Againſt
4
CADENUS and VANESSA.
Againſt pur Sov`reign Lady's Peace,
Against the Statutes in that Cafe,
Againſt her Dignity and Crown:
Then pray'd an Anfwer, and fat down.
The Nymphs with Scorn beheld their Foes:
When the Defendant's Council rofe,
And, what no Lawyer ever lack'd,
With Impudence own'd all the Fact.
But, what the gentleſt Heart would vex,
Laid all the Fault on t'other Sex.
That modern Love is no fuch thing,
As what thoſe ancient Poets fing;
A Fire celeftial, chafte, refin'd,
Conceiv'd and kindled in the Mind,
Which, having found an equal Flame,
Unites, and both become the fame,
In diff'rent Breaſts together burn,
Together both to Afhes turn.
But Women now feel no fuch Fire,
And only know the grofs Defire;
Their Paffions move in lower Spheres,
Where-e'er Caprice or Folly fteers.
A Dog, a Parrot, or an Ape,
Or foine worfe Brute in hunian fhape,
Engrofs the Fancies of the Fair,
The few foft Moments they can ſpare
From Visits to receive and pay,
From Scandal, Politicks, and Play,
From Fans, and Flounces, and Brocades,
From Equipage and Park-Parades,
From all the thoufand Female Toys,
From ev'ry Trifle, that employs
The
CADENUS and VANESSA.
5
The out or infide of their Heads,
Between their Toylets and their Beds.
In a dull Stream, which moving flow
You hardly fee the Current flow,
If a ſmall Breeze obftructs the Courfe,
It whirls about for want of Force,
And in its narrow Circle gathers
Nothing but Chaff, and Straws, and Feathers;
The Current of a Female Mind
Stops thus, and turns with ev'ry Wind;
Thus whirling round, together draws
Fools, Fops, and Rakes, for Chaff and Straws,
Hence we conclude, no Womens Hearts
Are won by Virtue, Wit, and Parts ;
Nor are the Men of Senfe to blame
For Breaſts incapable of Flame:
The Fault must on the Nymphs be plac'd,
Grown fo corrupted in their Taſte.
The Pleader, having ſpoke his beſt,
Had Witneſs ready to atteft,
Who fairly could on Oath depofe,
When Queſtions on the Fact arofe,
That ev'ry Article was true;
Nor further thofe Deponents knew :
Therefore he humbly would infiſt,
The Bill might be with Cofts difmift.
The Cauſe appear'd of ſo much Weight,
That Venus from the Judgment-Seat
Defir'd them not to talk fo loud ;
Elfe the must interpofe a Cloud :
For if the Heav'nly Folk fhould know
Thefe Pleadings in the Courts below,
B 2
That
6
CADENUS and VANESSA,
That Mortals here difdain to love,
She ne'er could fhew her Face above.
For Gods, their Betters, are too wife
To value that, which Men defpife.
And then, ſaid ſhe, my Son and I
Muſt ſtrole in Air 'twixt Earth and Sky;
Or elfe, fhut out from Heav'n and Earth,
Fly to the Sea, my Place of Birth;
There live with daggl'd Mermaids pent,
And keep on Fifh perpetual Lent.
But fince the Cafe appear'd fo nice,
She thought it beft to take Advice.
The Muſes, by their King's Permiffion,
Tho' Foes to Love, attend the Seffion,
And on the Right Hand took their Places
In Order; on the Left, the Graces;
To whom the might her Doubts propoſe
On all Emergencies that rofe.
The Mujes oft were feen to frown ;
The Graces half afham'd look down;
And 'twas obferv'd, there were but few
Of either Sex among the Crew,
Whom he or her Affeffois knew.
The Goddeſs foon began to fee,
Things were not ripe for a Decree;
And faid he muſt confult her Books,
The Lover's Ilita's, Bracton's, Cokes.
First to a dapper Clerk fhe beckon`d,
To turn to Ovid, Bock the fecond;
She then referr'd them to a place
In Virgil (vide Dido's Cafe ; )
}
As
CADENUS and VANESSA. 7
As for Tibullus's Reports,
They never pafs'd for Law in Courts:
For Cowley's Briefs, and Pleas of Waller,
Still their Authority is ſmaller.
There was on both Sides much to ſay:
She'd hear the Cauſe another Day;
And ſo ſhe did; and then a Third;
She heard it
---
there she kept her Word;
But with Rejoinders and Replies,
Long Biils, and Anſwers, ſtuff'd with Lies,
Demur, Imparlance, and Effoign,
The Parties ne'er could Iffue join:
For Sixteen Years the Cauſe was ſpun ;
And then ſtood, where it first begun.
Now, gentle Clio, fing or fay,
What Venus meant by this Delay.
The Goddeſs, much perplex'd in Mind
To fee her Empire thus declin'd,
When first this grand Debate arofe
Above her Wifdom to compofe,
Conceiv'd a Project in her Head
To work her Ends; which, if it fped,
Wou'd fhew the Merits of the Cauſe
Far better, than confulting Laws.
In a glad Hour Lucina's Aid
Produc'd on Earth a wond'rous Maid,
On whom the Queen of Love was bent
To try a new Experiment.
She threw her Law-books on the Shelf,
And thus debated with herself.
Since Men alledge, they ne'er can find
Thofe Beauties in a Female Mind,
B 3
Which
8
CADENUS and VANESSA.
Which raife a Flame that will endure
For ever, uncorrupt and pure;
If 'tis with Reaſon they complain,
This Inſtant ſhall reftore my Reign.
I'll fearch, where ev'ry Virtue dwells,
From Courts inclufive down to Cells;
What Preachers talk, or Sages write,
Thefe I will gather and unite,
And repreſent them to Mankind
Collected in that Infant's Mind.
This faid,fhe plucks in Heav'n's high Bow'rs
A Sprig of Amaranthine Flow'rs,
In Nectar thrice infufes Bays,
Three Times refin'd in Titan's Rays:
Then calls the Graces to her aid,
And fprinkles thrice the new-born Maid;
From whence the tender Skin affumes
A Sweetness above all Perfumes;
From whence a Cleanlinefs remains,
Incapable of outward Stains;
From whence that Decency of Mind,
So lovely in a Female Kind,
Where not one careleſs Thought intrudes,
Lefs modeft than the Speech of Prudes;
Where never Bluſh was call'd in Aid,
The fpurious Virtue in a Maid,
A Virtue but at fecond-hand;
They blush, becauſe they underſtand.
The Graces next would act their Part,
And fhew but little of their Art;
Their Work was half already done,
The Child with native Beauty fhone,
The
CADENUS and VANESSA.
The outward Form no Help requir'd:
Each breathing on her thrice, infpir'd
That gentle, loft, engaging Air,
Which in old Times adorn'd the Fair;
And faid, "Vaneſſa be the Name,
By which thou shalt be known to Fame,
"Vaneſſa, by the Gods enroll'd :
"Her Name on Earth --- fhall not be told,"
But ſtill the Work was not compleat,
When Venus thought on a Deceit :
Drawn by her Doves, away fhe flies,
And finds out Pallas in the Skies :
Dear Pallas, I have been this morn
To fee a lovely Infant born:
A Boy in yonder Ifle below,
So like my own without his Bow,
By Beauty could your Heart be won,
You'd fwear, it is Apollo's Son:
But it fall ne'er be faid, a Child
So hopeful has by me been fpoil'd;
I have enough befides to fpare,
And give him wholly to your Care.
Wildom's above fufpecting Wiles:
The Queen of Learning gravely fmiles;
Down from Olympus comes with Joy,
Miſtakes Vaneſſa for a Boy;
Then fows within her tender Mind
Seeds long unknown to Womankind,
For manly Bofoms chiefly fit ;
The Seeds of Knowledge, Judgment, Wit:
Her Soul was fuddenly endu'd
With Justice, Truth and Fortitude ;
With
10 CADENUS and VANESSA.
With Honour, which no Breath can ſtain,
Which Malice muſt attack in vain ;
With open Heart, and bounteous Hand.
But Pallas here was at a Stand;
She knew, in our degen'rate Days
Bare Virtue could not live on Praiſe;
That Meat muſt be with Money bought s
She therefore, upon fecond Thought,
Infus'd, yet as it were by Stealth,
Some fmall Regard for State and Wealth ;
Of which, as she grew up, there ſtay'd
A Tincture in the prudent Maid :
She manag'd her Eſtate with Care,
Yet lik'd three Footmen to her Chair.
But left he ſhould neglect his Studies,
Like a young Heir, the thrifty Goddeſs
(For fear young Mafter ſhould be ſpoil'd,)
Wou'd ufe him like a younger Child;
And, after long computing, found
'Twou'd come to juft Five Thouſand Pound.
The Queen of Love was pleas'd, and proud,
To fee Vaneſſa thus endow`d;
She doubted not, but fuch a Dame
Thro' ev'ry Breaft would dart a Flame;
That ev'ry rich and lordly Swain
With Pride wou'd drag about her Chain ;
That Scholars wou'd forfake their Books
To ſtudy bright Vaneſſa's Looks :
As the advanc'd, that Womankind
Wou'd by her Model form their Mind,
And all their Conduct wou'd be try'd
By her, as an unerring Guide :
Offend-
CADENUS and VANESSA.
II
Offending Daughters oft would hear
Vaneſſa's Praiſe rung in their Ear :
Mifs Betty, when the does a Fault,
Lets fall her Knife, or fpills the Salt,
Will thus be by her Mother chid,
"Tis what Fanefja never did."
Thus by the Nymphs and Swains ador'd,
My Pow'r fhall be again reftor'd,
And happy Lovers bless my Reign.
So Venus hop'd, but hop'd in vain.
For when in Time the Martial Maid
Found out the Trick, that Venus play'd,
She ſhakes her Helin, fhe knits her Brows,
And fir'd with Indignation vows,
To-morrow, e'er the Setting-Sun,
She'd all undo, that ſhe had done.
But in the Poets we may find,
A wholeſome Law, time out of mind,
Had been confirm'd by Fate's Decree ;
That Gods of whatfoe'er Degree
Refume not, what themſelves have giv'n,
Or any Brother-God in Heav'n;
Which keeps the Peace among the Gods,
Or they must always be at Odds.
And Pallas, if the broke the Laws,
Muft yield her Foe the ftronger Caufe;
A Shame to one ſo much ador'd
For Wildom at Jove's Council-Board.
Befides, the fear'd the Queen of Love
Would meet with better Friends above.
And tho' fhe muft with Grief reflect,
To fee a mortal Virgin deck'd
With
12
CADENUS and VANESSA.
With Graces, hitherto unknown
To Female Breaſts, except her own ;
Yet fhe would act as beſt became
A Goddess of unſpotted Fame :
She knew by Augury Divine,
Venus wou'd fail in her Defign :
She ſtudy'd well the Point, and found
Her Foes Conclufions were not found,
From Premiſſes erroneous brought,
And therefore the Deduction's nought,
And muſt have contrary Effects
To what her treach'rous Foe expects,
In proper Seafon Pallas meets
The Queen of Love, whom thus the greets,
(For Gods, we are by Homer told,
Can in Celeſtial Language fcold)
Perfidious Goddefs! but in vain
You form'd this Project in your Brain,
A Project for thy Talents fit,
With much Deceit, and little Wit;
Thou haft, as thou shalt quickly ſee,
Deceiv'd thyself, inftead of me;
For how can Heav'nly Wiſdom prove
An Inftrument to Earthly Love?
Know'st thou not yet, that Men commence
Thy Votaries for Want of Senfe?
Nor fhall Vaneſſa be the Theme
To manage thy abortive Scheme;
She'll prove the greateſt of thy Foes,
And yet I fcorn to interpofe,
But ufing neither Skill, nor Force,
Leave all Things to their nat'ral Courſe.
The
CADENUS and VANESSA.
13
The Goddeſs thus pronounc'd her Doom.
When, lol Vaneſſa in her Bloom,
Advanc'd like Atalarta's Star,
But rarely feen, and feen from far:
In a new World with Caution ſtept,
Watch'd all the Company fhe kept,
Well knowing from the Books fhe read
What dang'rous Paths young Virgins tread §
Wou'd ſeldom at the Park appear,
Nor faw the Play-houſe twice a Year;
Yet not incurious, was inclin'd
To know the Converſe of Mankind.
Firſt iſſued from Perfumers Shops
A Croud of fashionable Fops;
They afk'd her, how the lik'd the Play?
Then told the Tattle of the Day;
A Duel fought last Night at Two,
About a Lady
You know who
Mention'd a new Italian, come
Either from Muscovy or Rome;
;
Gave Hints of who and who's together;
Then fell to talking of the Weather:
Laft Night was fo extremely fine,
The Ladies walk'd till after Nine.
Then in foft Voice, and Speech abſurd,
With Nonſenſe ev'ry fecond Word,
With Fuſtian from exploded Plays,
They celebrate her Beauty's Praile,
Run o'er their Cant of ftupid Lyes,
And tell the Murders of her Eyes.
With filent Scorn Vaneſſa fat,
Scarce lift'ning to their idle Chat ;
Further
14
CADENUS and VANESSA.
Further than fometimes by a Frown,
When they grew pert, to pull them down.
At laft the fpitefully was bent
To try their Wifdom's full Extent;
And faid, the valu'd nothing lefs
Than Titles, Figure, Shape, and Dreſs;
That Merit fhould be chiefly plac'd
In Judgment, Knowledge, Wit, and Tafte;
And thefe, the offer'd to difpute,
Alone diſtinguiſh'd Man from Brute :
That, prefent Times have no Pretence
To Virtue, in the Noble Senfe,
By Greeks and Romans underſtood,
To perish for our Country's Good.
She nam'd the ancient Heroes round,
Explain'd for what they were renown'd
Then ſpoke with Centure, or Applaute,
Of foreign Cuſtoms, Rites, and Laws;
Thro' Nature and thro' Art ſhe rang`d,
And gracefully her Subject chang'd:
In vain; her Hearers had no Share
In all the ſpoke, except to ftare.
Their Judgment was upon the Whole,
That Lady is the dulleft Soul
Then tipt their Forehead in a Jeer,
As who fhould fay fhe wants it here;
She may be handfome, young and rich,
But none will burn her for a Witch.
A Party next of glitt'ring Dames,
From round the Purlieus of St. James,
Came early, out of pure Good-will,
To fee the Girl in Deſhabille.
Their
CADENUS and VANESSA.
15
Their Clamour 'lighting from their Chairs
Giew louder, all the Way up Stairs;
At Entrance loudest, where they found
The Room with Volumes litter'd round;
Vane Ja held Montaigne, and read,
Whilt Mrs. Sujan comb'd her Head:
They call'd for Tea and Chocolate,
And fell into their uſual Chat,
Difcourfing with important Face
On Ribbons, Fans, and Gloves and Lace:
Shew'd Patterns juft from India brought,
And gravely aſk'd her what ſhe thought,
Whether the Red or Green were beſt,
And what they coft? Vanessa guefs'd,
As came into her Fancy firit;
Nam'd half the Rates, and lik'd the worſt.
To Scandal next----What aukward Thing
Was that, laft Sunday, in the Ring?
I'm forry Mopfa breaks fo faft;
I faid her Face wou'd never laſt.
Corinna, with that youthful Air,
Is Thirty, and a Bit to fpare.
Her Fondness for a certain Earl
Began, when I was but a Girl.
Phillis, who but a Month ago
Was marry'd to the Tunbridge Beau,
I faw coquetting t'other Night
In publick with that odious Knight.
They rally'd next Vaneſſa's Dreſs;
That Gown was made for old Queen Be's:
Dear Madam, Let me fet your Head;
Don't you intend to put on Red ?
C
A Petti-
16
CADENUS and VANESSA.
A Petticoat without a Hoop!
Sure, you are not aſham'd to ſtoop;
With handfome Garters at your Knees,
No matter what a Fellow fees.
Fill'd with Difdain, with Rage inflam'd,
Both of herſelf and Sex afham'd,
The Nymph flood filent out of Spight,
Nor wou'd vouchsafe to fet them right.
Away the fair Detractors went,
And gave by Turns, their Cenfures Vent.
She's not fo handfome, in my Eyes:
For Wit, I wonder where it lies.
She's fair and clean, and that's the most;
But why proclaim her for a Toaſt?
A Baby Face, no Life, no Airs,
But what ſhe learnt at Country Fairs:
Scarce knows what Diff'rence is between
Rich Flanders Lace, and Colberteen.
I'll undertake, my little Nancy
In Flounces has a better Fancy.
With all her Wit, I wou'd not aſk
Her Judgment, how to buy a Maſk.
We begg`d her but to patch her Face,
She never hit one proper Place;
Which ev'ry Girl at five Years old
Can do, as foon as the is told.
I own, that out-of-fashion Stuff
Becomes the Creature well enough;
The Girl might país, if we cou'd get her
To know the World a little better.
(To know the World! a modern Phrafe,
For Vifits, Ombre, Balls and Plays.)
Thus,
CADENUS and VANESSA.
17
Thus, to the World's perpetual Shame,
The Queen of Beauty loft her Aim.
Too late with Grief fhe understood,
Pallas had done more Harm than Good
For great Examples are but vain,
Where Ignorance begets Dildain.
Both Sexes, arm'd with Guilt and Spite,
Against Vanefa's Pow'r unite ;
To copy her few Nymphs afpir'd;
Her Virtues fewer Swains admir'd;
So Stars, beyond a certain Height,
Give Mortals neither Heat nor Light.
Yet fome of either Sex, endow'd
With Gifts fuperior to the Crowd,
With Virtue, Knowledge, Taſte and Wit,
She condescended to admit.
With pleafing Arts fhe cou'd reduce
Men's Talents to their proper Ufe;
And with Addreſs each Genius held
To that, wherein it moſt excell'd;
Thus making others Wiſdom known,
Cou'd pleaſe them, and improve her own.
A modeſt Youth faid fomething new,
She plac'd it in the ſtrongeſt View.
All humble Worth fhe ftrove to raiſe i
Wou'd not be prais'd, yet lov'd to praiſe,
The Learned met with free Approach,
Although they came not in a Coach.
Some Clergy too ſhe wou'd allow,
Nor quarrel'd at their aukward Bow;
But this was for Cadenus' Sake,
A Gownman of a different Make;
C 2
Whom
18
CADENUS and VANESSA.
;
Whom Pallas, once Vanella's Tutor,
Had fix'd on for her Coadjutor.
But Cupid, full of Miſchief, longs
To vindicate his Mother's Wrongs.
On Pallas all Attempts are vain
One Way he knows to give her Pain;
Vows, on Vaneſſa's Heart to take
Due Vengeance, for her Patron's Sake.
Thoſe early Seeds by Venus ſown,
In fpite of Pallas, now were grown ;
And Cupid hop'd they wou'd improve
By Time, and ripen into Love.
The Boy made uſe of all his Craft,
In vain diſcharging many a Shaft,
Pointed at Col'nels, Lords, and Beaux :
Cadenus warded off the Blows ;
For placing ſtill ſome Book betwixt,
The Darts were in the Cover fix`d,
Or often blunted and recoil'd,
On Plutarch's Morals ftruck, were spoil'd.
The Queen of Wiſdom could foreſee,
But not prevent, the Fates Decree :
And human Caution tries in vain
To break that Adamantine Chain.
Vaneſſa, though by Pallas taught,
By Love invulnerable thought,
Searching in Books for Wifdom's Aid,
Was, in the very Search, betray'd.
Cupid, though all his Darts were loft,
Yet ſtill refolv'd to fpare no Coft;
He could not anfwer to his Fame
The Triumphs of that ftubborn Dame;
A Nymph
CADENUS and VANESSA. 19
A Nymph ſo hard to be ſubdu`d,
Who neither was Coquette nor Prude.
I find, fays he, fhe wants a Doctor,
Both to adore her, and inftruct her:
I'll give her, what the moſt admires,
Among thoſe venerable Sires.
Cadenus is a Subject fit,
Grown old in Politicks and Wit
Carefs'd by Miniſters of State ;
Of half Mankind the Dread and Hate.
Whate'er Vexations Love attend,
She need no Rivals apprehend.
Her Sex, with univerfal Voice,
Muſt laugh at her capricious Choice.
Cadenus many Things had writ;
Vanefja much efteem'd his Wit,
And call'd for his Poetic Works!
Mean Time the Boy in Secret lurks,
And while the Book was in her Hand,
The Urchin from his private Stand
Took Aim, and fhot with all his Strength
A Dart of fuch prodigious Length,
It pierc'd the feeble Volume thro',
And deep transfix'd hér Bofom too.
Some Lines, more moving than the reſt,
Struck to the Point that pierc'd her Breast;
And, borne directly to the Heart,
With Pains unknown increas'd her Smart.
Vaneſſa, not in Years a Score,
Dreams of a Gown of forty-four;
Imaginary Charms can find
In Eyes with Reading almoft blind :
C 3
Cadenes
ZO
CADENUS and VANESSA.
Cadenus now no more appears
Declin'd in Health, advanc'd in Years:
She fancies Mufick in his Tongue;
Nor farther looks, but thinks him young.
What Mariner is not afraid
To venture in a Ship decay'd?
What Planter will attempt to yoke
A Sapling with a falling Oak?
As Years increaſe, She brighter fhines;
Cadenus with each Day declines;
And He must fall a Prey to Time,
While She continues in her Prime.
Cadenus common Forms apart,
In ev'ry Scene had kept his Heart;
Had figh'd and languiſh'd, vow'd and writ,
For Paftime, or to fhew his Wit;
But Time, and Books, and State Affairs,
Had fpoil'd his faſhionable Airs;
He now cou'd praiſe, eſteem, approve,
But understood not, what was Love.
His Conduct might have made him ſtil'd
A Father, and the Nymph his Child.
That innocent Delight he took
To fee the Virgin mind her Book,
Was but the Mafter's fecret Joy
In School to hear the fineſt Boy.
Her Knowledge with her Fancy grew ;
She hourly prefs'd for fomething new:
Ideas came into her Mind
So faſt, his Leſſons lagg'd behind;
She reafon'd, without plodding long,
Nor ever gave her Judgment wrong.
But
CADENUS and VANESSA.
21
But now a fudden Change was wrought ;
She minds no longer what he taught.
Cadenus was amaz'd to find
Such Marks of a diſtracted Mind;
For tho' fhe feem'd to liften more
To all he spoke, than e'er before;
;
He found her Thoughts would abfent range,
Yet quefs'd not, whence could ſpring the
And first he modeftly conjectures, [Change.
His Pupil might be tir'd with Lectures:
Which help'd to mortify his Pride,
Yet gave him not the Heart to chide
But in a mild dejected Strain
At laſt he ventur'd to complain:
Said, ſhe ſhould be no longer teiz'd;
Might have her Freedom, when the pleas'd;
Was now convinc'd, he acted wrong,
To bide her from the World ſo long ;
And in dull Studies to engage
One of her tender Sex and Age:
That ev'ry Nymph with Envy own'd,
How the might ſhine in the Grande Monde ;
And ev'ry Shepherd was undone
To fee her cloifter'd like a Nun:
This was a viſionary Scheme;
He wak'd, and found it but a Dream;
A Project far above his Skill,
For Nature must be Nature ftill:
If He was bolder, than became
A Scholar to a courtly Dame,
She might excufe a Man of Letters;
Thus Tutors often treat their Betters:
And,
22
CADENUS and VANESSA.
And, fince his Talk offenfive grew,
He came to take his laſt Adieu.
Vaneſſa fill'd with juft Difdain,
Would fill her Dignity maintain,
Instructed from her early Years
To fcorn the Art of Female Tears,
Had he employ'd his Time fo long
To teach her what was Right or Wrong,
Yet cou'd fuch Notions entertain,
That all his Lectures were in vain ?
She own'd the wand'ring of her Thoughts,
But He must answer for her Faults.
She well remember'd, to her Coft,
That all his Leffons were not loft.
Two Maxims fhe could ftill produce,
And fad Experience taught her Ufe;
That Virtue, pleas'd by being ſhown,
Knows nothing, which it dare not own ;
Can make us without Fear diſcloſe
Our inmoft Secrets to our Foes:
That, common Forms were not deſign'd
Directors to a noble Mind.
you
fee,
Now, faid the Nymph, I'll let
My Actions with your Rules agree;
That I can vulgar Forms deſpiſe,
And have no Secrets to difguife.
I knew, by what you faid and writ,
How dang'rous Things were Men of Wit:
You caution'd me against their Charms,
But never gave me equal Arms :
Your Leffons found the weakest Part,
Ann'd at the Head, but reach'd the Heart.
Cadenus
CADENUS and VANESSA. 23
Cadenus felt within him rife
Shame, Difappointment, Guilt, Surprize.
He knew not, how to reconcile
Such Language with her ufual Style:
And yet her Words were fo expreft,
He cou'd not hope the fpoke in jet.
His Thoughts had wholly been confin'd
To form and cultivate her Mind.
He hardly knew, till he was told,
Whether the Nymph were Young or old;
Had met her in a publick Place,
Without diftinguiſhing her Face;
Much less cou'd his declining Age
Vaneſſa's carliest Thoughts engage :
And if her Youth Indiffrence met,
His Perfon must Contempt beget;
Or grant her Paffion be fincere,
How fhall his Innocence be clear?
Appearances were all fo ftrong,
The World muſt think him in the wrong;
Wou'd fay, He made a treach'rous Uſe
Of Wit, to flatter and feduce:
The Town wou'd ſwear, he had betray'd,
By Magick-Spells, the harmleſs Maid;
And ev'ry Beau wou'd have his Jokes,
That Scholars are like other Folks;
That when Platonick Flights were over,
The Tutor turn'd a mortal Lover.
So tender of the young and Fair?
It fhew'd a true Paternal Care----
Five Thouſand Guineas in her Purſe ?
The Doctor might have fancy'd worſe.--
Hardly
24
CADENUS and VANESSA.
Hardly at length he Silence broke,
And faulter'd ev'ry Word he ſpoke;
Interpreting her Complaifance,
Juft as a Man fans Conſequence.
She rally'd well, he always knew ;
Her Manner now was fomething new ;
And what flie ſpoke was in an Air
As ferious, as a Tragick Player:
But thoſe who aim at Ridicule,
Shou'd fix upon fome certain Rule,
Which fairly hints, they are in Jeſt,
Elfe he must enter his Proteft;
For let a Man be ne'er fo wife,
He may be caught with fober Lies;
A Science, which he never taught,
And, to be free, was dearly bought ;
For, take it in its proper Light,
'Tis juft, what Coxcombs call a Bite.
But not to dwell on Things minute,
l'aneffa finish'd the Difpute;
Brought weighty Arguments to prove,
That Reafon was her Guide in Love.
She thought, he had himſelf defcrib'd,
His Doctrines when ſhe firft imbib'd;
What he had planted, now was grown ;
His Virtues fhe might call her own ;
As he approves, as he diſlikes,
F
Love or Contempt her Fancy ſtrikes.
Self-love, in Nature rooted faſt,
Attends us firft, and leaves us laſt :
Why the likes him, admire not at her }
She loves herfelf, and that's the Matter.
How
CADENUS and VANESSA.
25
How was her Tutor wont to praiſe
The Genius's of ancient Days!
(Thofe Authors he ſo oft had nam'd
For Learning, Wit, and Witdom fam'd)
Was ftruck with Love, Esteem, and Awe
For Perfons, whom he never faw.
Suppole Cadenus flouriſh'd then,
He must adore fuch God-like Men.
If one fhort Volume cou'd comprize
All that was witty, learn'd, and wife,
How wou'd it be eſteem'd, and read,
Altho' the Writer long were dead!
If fuch an Author were alive,
How all wou'd for his Friendſhip ſtrive;
And come in Crowds to fee his Face!
And this the takes to be her Cafe.
Cadenus anſwers ev'ry End,
The Book, the Author, and the Friend
The utmoſt her Defires will reach,
Is but to learn, what He can teach;
His Converſe is a Syftem fit
Alone to fill up all her Wit;
While ev'ry Paffion of her Mind
In him is center'd and confin`d.
Love can with Speech infpire a Mute ;
And taught Vaneſſa to difpute.
This Topick, never touch'd before,
Display'd her Eloquence the more :
Her Knowledge, with fuch Pains acquir'd,
By this new Paffion grew infpir'd.
Thro' this fhe made all Objects pafs,
Which gave a Tincture o'er the Mais;
As
26 CADENUS and VANESSA.
As Rivers, tho' they bend and twine,
Still to the Sea their Courſe incline
Or, as Philofophers, who find
Some fav'rite Syftem to their Mind,
In ev'ry Point to make it fit,
Will force all Nature to fubmit.
Cadenus, who cou'd ne'er fufpect
His Leffons wou'd have fuch Effect,
Or be fo artfully apply'd,
Infenfibly came on her Side.
It was an unforeſeen Event;
Things took a Turn he never meant ;
Whoe'er excels in what we prize,
Appears a Hero to our Eyes :
Each Girl, when pleas'd with what is taught,
Will have the Teacher in her Thought:
When Mifs delights in her Spinnet,
A Fidler may a Fortune get;
A Blockhead, with melodious Voice,
In Boarding-Schools can have his Choice;
And oft' the Dancing-Mafter's Art,
Climbs from the Toe to touch the Heart:
In Learning let a Nymph delight,
The Pedant gets a Mitrefs by't.
Cadenus, to his Grief and Shame,
Cou'd fcarce oppofe l'anca' Flame;
But tho' her Arguments were ftrong,
At least cou'd hardly with them wrong.
Howc'er it came, he cou'd not tell,
But, fure, he never talk'd fo well.
His Pride began to interpofe;
Preferr'd before a Crowd of Beaux
So
CADENUS and VANESSA. 27
So bright a Nymph to come unfought!
Such Wonder by his Merit wrought!
'Tis Merit muſt with her prevail;
He never knew her Judgment fail :
She noted all the ever read;
And had a moft difcerning Head.
'Tis an old Maxim in the Schools,
That Vanity's the Food of Fools;
Yet now and then your Men of Wit
Will condefcend to take a Bit.
So, when Cadenus cou'd not hide,
He choſe to juſtify, his Pride ;
Conftring the Paffion fhe had fhown,
Much to her Praife, more to his Own.
Nature in him had Merit plac'd,
In her, a moft judicious Taste.
Love, hitherto a tranfient Gueft,
Ne'er held Poffeffion in his Breaft;
So long attending at the Gate,
Dildain'd to enter in fo late.
Love, why do we one Paffion call,
When 'tis a Compound of them all?
Where hot and cold, where fharp and ſweet,
In all their Equipages meet;
Where Pleaſures mix'd with Pains appear,
Sorrow with Joy, and Hope with Fear;
Wherein his Dignity and Age
Forbid Cadenus to engage.
But Friendſhip in its greateft Height,
A conftant, rational Delight,
On Virtue's Bafis fix'd to last,
When Love's Allurements long are past;
D
Which
28
CADENUS and VANESSA.
Which gently warms, but cannot buin;
He gladly offers in Return:
His want of Paffion will redeem,
With Gratitude, Refpe&t, Esteem ;
With that Devotion we beftow,
When Goddeffes appear below.
While thus Cademus entertains
Vaneſſa in exalted Strains,
The Nymph in fober Words intreats
A Truce with all fublime Conceits:
For why fuch Raptures, Flights and Fancies
To her, who durft not read Romances !
In lofty Style to make replies,
Which he had taught her to deſpiſe !
But when her Tutor will affect
Devotion, Duty, and Refpect,
He fairly abdicates his Throne;
The Government is now her own:
He has a forfeiture incurr'd ;
She vows to take him at his Word,
And hopes he will not take it ſtrange,
If both hou'd now their Stations change.
The Nymph will have her Turn, to be
The Tutor, and the Pupil, he :
Tho' the already can difcern,
Her Scholar is not apt to learn;
Or wants Capacity to reach
The Science, the deſigns to teach ;
Whe ein his Genius was below
The Skill of ev'ry common Beau ;
Who, tho' he cannot fpell, is wile
Enough to read a Lady's Eyes,
And
CADENUS and VANESSA.
29
And will each accidental Glance
Interpret for a kind Advance,
But what Succefs Vaneffa met,
Is to the World a Secret yet;
Whether the Nymph, to pleaſe her Swain,
Talks in a high romantick Strain;
Or whether He at laft defcends
To like with lefs Seraphick Ends;
Or to compound the Bus'nefs, whether
They temper Love and Books together,
Muft never to Mankind be told;
Nor fhall the confcious Mufe unfold.
Mean time the mournful Queen of Love
Led but a weary Life above.
She ventures now to leave the Skies,
Grown by Vaneffa's Conduct wile.
For tho' by one perverfe Event
Pallas had crofs'd her firft Intent;
Tho' her Deſign was not obtain'd,
Yet had the much Experience gain'd;
And, by the Project vainly try'd,
Could better now the Cauje decide.
She gave due Notice, that both Parties,
Coram Regina prox' die Martis,
Shou'd at their Peril without fail
Come and appear, and fave their Bail.
All met; and, Silence thrice proclaim'd,
One Lawyer to each Side was nam`d.
The Judge difcover'd in her Face
Refentments for her late Difgrace;
And full of Anger, Shame, and Grief,
Directed them to mind their Brief;
D 2
Nor
30
CADENUS and VANESSA.
Nor ſpend their Time to fhew their Reading →
She'd have a fummary Proceeding.
She gather'd under ev'ry Head
The Sum, of what each Lawyer faid;
Gave her own Reaſons laft; and then
Decreed the Cauſe againſt the Men.
But, in a weighty Cafe like this,
To fhew fhe did not judge amifs,
Which evil Tongues might elfe report,
She made a Speech in open Court;
Wherein the grievously complains,
"How ſhe was cheated by the Swains."
On whofe Petition (humbly fhewing
That Women were not worth the wooing,
And that unlefs the Sex would mend,
The Race of Lovers foon muſt end;)
"She was at Lord knows what Expence
"To form a Nymph of Wit and Senfe;
"A Model for her Sex defign'd,
"Who never could one Lover find.
“She ſaw her Favour was miſplac'd;
"The Fellows had a wretched Taſte ;
"She needs must tell them to their Face,
"They were a ſenſeleſs, ſtupid Race ;
"And were the to begin agen,
"She'd ſtudy to reform the Men ;
"Or add fome Grains of Folly more
"To Women, than they had before,
"To put them on an equal Foot;
"And this, or nothing elfe, wou'd do't.
"This might their mutual Fancy ſtrike,
"Since ev'ry Being loves its Like,
"But
BAUCIS and PHILEMON.
31
"But now, repenting what was done,
"She left all Bus'neſs to her Son;
"She puts the World in his Poffeffion,
"And let him uſe it at Difcretion."
The Cry'r was order'd to difmifs
The Court; fo made his laſt O yes !
The Goddeſs wou'd no longer wait
But rifing from her Chair of State,
Left all below at Six and Sev'n ;
Harneſs'd her Doves, and flew to Heav'n.
t;
Baucis and Philemon.
I
Imitated
from the Eighth Book of Ovid.
N ancient Times, as Story tells,
The Saints wou'd often leave their Cells,
And ftrole about, but hide their Quality,
To try good People's Hoſpitality.
It happen'd on a Winter Night,
As Authors of the Legend write,
Two Brother Hermits, Saints by Trade,
Taking their Tour in Maſquerade,
Difguis'd in tatter'd Habits, went
To a finall Village down in Kent ;
Where, in the Strollers canting Strain,
They begg'd from door to door in vain ;
Try'd ev'ry Tone might Pity win,
But not a Soul would let them in.
D 3
Our
32
BAUCIS and PHILEMON.
Our wand'ring Saints in woful ſtate,
Treated at this ungodly rate,
Having thro' all the Village paſs'd,
To a Imall Cottage came at laft;
Where dwelt a good honeft old Yeoman,
Call'd, in the Neighbourhood, Philemon,
Who kindly did theſe Saints invite.
In his poor Hut to pass the Night;
And then the hofpitable Sire
Bid Goody Baucis mend the Fire ;
While he from out the Chimney took
A Flitch of Bacon off the Hook;
And freely from the fatteft fide
Cut out large Slices to be fry'd;
Then ftepp'd afide to fetch 'em Drink,
Fill'd a large Jug up to the brink,
And faw it fairly twice go round;
Yet (what is wonderful) they found,
"Twas ftill replenish'd to the top,
As if they ne'er had touch'd a drop.
The good old Couple were amaz'd,
And often on each other gaz`d;
For both were frighted to the Heart,
And just began to cry, ----What art!
Then foftly turn'd afide to view,
Whether the Lights were burning blue.
The gentle Pilgrims foon aware on't,
Told 'em their Calling, and their Errant ;
Good Folks, you need not be afraid,
We are but Saints, the Hermits faid;
No Hurt fhall come to you or yours;
But for that Pack of churlish Boors,
Not
BAUCIS and PHILEMON.
33
Not fit to live on Chriſtian Ground,
They and their Houfes fhall be drown'd;
Whilft you fhall fee your Cottage rife,
And grow a Church before your eyes.
They ſcarce had ſpoke; when fair and foft
The Roof began to mount aloft;
Aloft rofe ev'ry Beam and Rafter,
The heavy Wall climb'd flowly after.
The Chimney widen'd, and grew higher,
Became a Steeple with a Spire.
The Kettle to the Top was hoist,
And there ſtood fasten'd to a Joiſt,
But with the Upfide down, to ſhow
Its Inclination for below;
In vain; for a fuperior Force
Apply'd at Bottom, ftops its courfe,
Doom'd ever in Sufpence to dwell;
'Tis now no Kettle, but a Bell.
A Wooden Jack, which had almoſt
Loft by difufe the Art to roaft,
A fudden Alteration feels,
Increas'd by new Inteftine Wheels;
And what exalts the Wonder more,
The Number made the Motion flow'r.
The Flyer, tho't had leaden Feet,
Turn'd round fo quick, you ſcarce cou'd fee't;
But flacken'd by fome fecret Pow'r,
Now hardly moves an inch an Hour.
The Jack and Chimney near ally'd,
Had never left each other's Side;
The Chimney to a Steeple grown,
The Jack would not be left alone;
But
34
BAUCIS and PHILEMON.
But up againſt the Steeple rear'd,
Became a Clock, and still adher'd;
And ftill its Love to Houfhold Cares
By a fhrill Voice at Noon declares,
Warning the Cook-Maid, not to burn
That Roaft-Meat, which it cannot turn.
The Groaning Chair began to crawl,
Like an huge Snail along the Wall;
There ſtuck aloft in publick view;
And with ſmall Change, a Pulpit grew.
The Porringers, that in a Row
Hung high, and made a glitt'ring Show,
To a lefs noble Subftance chang'd,
Were now but leathern Buckets rang'd,
The Ballads pafted on the Wall,
Of Joan of France, and English Moll,
Fair Rofamond, and Robin Hood,
The little Children in the Wood,
Now feem'd to look abundance better,
Improv'd in Picture, Size, and Letter;
And high in Order plac'd, deſcribe
The Heraldry of ev'ry Tribe.
A Bedstead of the antique mode,
Compact of Timber, many a Load,
Such as our Anceſtors did uſe,
Was metamorphos'd into Pews :
Which ſtill their ancient Nature keep,
By lodging Folks difpos'd to Sleep.
The Cottage, by fuch Feats as theſe,
Grown to a Church by juft degrees,
The Hermits then defir'd their Hoft
Toalk for what he fancy'd moſt.
Philemon
BAUCIS and PHILEMON.
35
i
Philemon having paus'd a while,
Return'd them Thanks in homely Style;
Then faid, my Houſe is grown ſo fine,
fo
Methinks I ſtill wou'd call it mine:
I'm old, and fain wou'd live at Eaſe;
Make me the Parfon, if you pleafe.
He ſpoke; and prefently he feels
His Grazier's Coat fall down his Heels
He fees, yet hardly can believe,
About each Arm a Pudding Sleeve;
His Waiſtcoat to a Caffock grew,
And both affum'd a fable Hue;
But being old, continu'd juſt
As thread-bare, and as full of Duft.
His Talk was now of Tythes and Dues;
He fmoak'd his Pipe, and read the News ;
Knew how to preach old Sermons next,
Vamp'd in the Preface and the Text;
At Chrift'nings well could act his Part,
And had the Service all by Heart;
Wiſh'd Women might have Children faſt 3
And thought whofe Sow had farrow'd laft;
Againſt Diſſenters would repine,
And ftood up firm for Right divine.
Found his Head fill'd with many a Syſtem,
But Claffick Authors,----he never mift 'em.
Thus having furbiſh'd up a Parfon,
Dame Baucis next they play'd their Farce on.
Inftead of Home-fpun Coifs were feen
Good Pinners edg'd with Colberteen ;
Her Petticoat transform'd a-pace
Became black Satin flounc'd with Lace.
Plain
36
BAUCIS and PHILEMON.
Plain Goody would no longer down,
'Twas Madam, in her Grogram Gown.
Philemon was in great Surprize,
And hardly could believe his Eyes,
Amaz'd to fee her look fo prim;
And fhe admir'd as much at Him.
Thus, happy in their Change of Life
Were fev'ral Years this Man and Wife ;
When on a Day, which prov'd their laſt,
Difcourfing o'er old Stories paft,
They went by chance amidſt their Talk,
To the Church Yard to take a Walk ;
When Baucis haftily cry'd out,
My Dear, I fee your Forehead fprout!
Sprout, quoth the Man! What's this you tell us?
I hope you don't believe me Jealous :
But yet, methinks, I feel it true;
And really, yours is budding too----
Nay, ----now I cannot ftir my Foot;
It feels as if 'twere taking Root.
Description would but tire my Muſe :
In fhort, they both were turn'd to Yews.
Old Goodman Dobſon of the Green
Remembers he the Trees has feen;
He'll talk of them from Noon till Night,
And goes with Folks to fhew the Sight:
On Sundays, after Ev'ning Pray'r,
He gathers all the Pariſh there;
Points out the Place of either Yeru;
Here Baucis, there Philemon grew,
Till once a Parfon of our Town
To mend his Barn cut Baucis down;
1
At
A DESCRIPTION of, &c. 37
At which, 'tis hard to be belicv'd,
How much the other Tree was griev'd;
Grew fcrubby, dy'd a-top, was ftunted;
So, the next Parlon ftubb'd and burnt it.
A Defcription of a City Shower.
In Imitation of Virgil's Georg.
C
AREFUL Obfervers may foretel the
Hour
(By fure Prognofticks) when to dread a
Show'r.
While Rain depends, the penfive Cat gives o'er
Her Frolicks, and purfues her Tail no more.
Returning Home at Night, you'll find the Sink
Strike your offended Senſe with double Stink.
If you be wife, then go not far to dine;
You'll spend in Coach-hire more than fave in
Wine.
A coming Show'r your fhooting Corns prefage,
Old Aches throb, your hollow Tooth will rage;
Saunt'ring in Coffee- Houfe is Dulman feen;
He damns the Climate, and complains of Spleen.
Mean while the South, riding with dabbled
Wings,
A fable Cloud a-thwart the Welkin flings,
That (will'd more Liquor than it could con-
tain,
And, like a Drunkard, gives it up again.
Brick
38
A DESCRIPTION of
Brifk Sufan whips her Linnen from the Rope,
Whilst the first drizzling Show'r is borne a-
Доре ;
Such is that Sprinkling, which ſome careleſs
Quean,
Flirts on you from her Mop, but not ſo clean;
You fly, invoke the Gods; then turning, ſtop
To rail; fhe finging, ſtill whirls on her Mop.
Not yet the Duft had fhun'd th' unequal Strife,
But, aided by the Wind, fought ſtill for Life,
And wafted with its Foe by violent Guſt,
'Twas doubtful which was Rain, and which
was Duft.
Ah! where muſt needy Poet fcek for Aid,
When Duſt and Rain at once his Coat in-
vade ?
His only Coat, where Duft confus'd with Rain
Roughen the Nap, and leave a mingled Stain.
Now in contiguous Drops the Flood comes
down,
Threat'ning with Deluge this devoted Town.
To Shops in Crowds the daggled Females fly,
Pretend to cheapen Goods, but nothing buy.
The Templar fpruce, while ev'ry Spout's a-
broach,
Stays till 'tis fair, yet feems to call a Coach.
The tuck'd up Semftrefs walks with hafty
Strides,
While Streams run down her oil'd Umbrella's
Sides.
Here various Kinds, by various Fortunes led,
Cominence Acquaintance underneath a Shed:
Triumphant
a CITY SHOWER.
39
Triumphant Teries, and defponding Whigs,
Forget their Feuds, and join to fave their Wigs.
Box'd in a Chair the Beau impatient fits,
While Spouts run clatt'ring o'er the Roof by
Fits;
And ever and anon with frightful Din
The Leather founds; he trembles from within:
So when Troy Chair-men bore the wooden
Steed,
Pregnant with Greeks impatient to be freed;
(Thofe Bully Greeks, who, as the Moderns de,
Inftead of paying Chair-men, run them thro',)
Laocoon ftruck the Outfide with his Spear,
And each impriſon'd Hero quak'd for Fear.
Now from all Parts the fwelling Kennels
flow,
And bear their Trophies with them as they go:
Filths of all Hues and Odours feem to tell,
What Street they fail'd from, by their Sight
and Smell.
They, as each Torrent drives, with rapid Force,
From Smithfield, or St. Pulchre's fhape their
Courſe,
And in huge Confluent join'd at Sncav-kill
Ridge,
Fall from the Conduit prone to Helbourn-Bridge :
Sweepings from Butcher's Stalls, Dung,
Guts and Blood,
Drown'd Puppies, ftinking Sprats, all
drench'd in Mud,
Dead Cats, and Turnip Tops, come tum-
bling down the Flood.
E
A De
[ 40 ]
A Defcription of the Morning.
N
OW hardly here and there an Hackney
Coach
Appearing fhew'd the ruddy Morn's
Approach.
Now Betty from her Mafter's Bed had flown,
And foftly ſtole to difcompofe her own.
The Slipshod 'Prentice from his Maſter's
Door
Had par'd the Dirt, and fprinkled round the
Floor.
Now Moll had whirl'd her Mop with dextrous
Airs,
Prepar'd to fcrub the Entry and the Stairs.
The Youth with broomy Stumps began to
trace
The Kennel-Edge, where Wheels had worn
the Place.
The Small-coal Man was heard with Cadence
deep,
Till drown'd in fhriller Notes of Chimney-
Sweep.
Duns at his Lordship's Gate began to meet ;
And Brick-Duft Moll had fcream'd thro' half
the Street.
The Turnkey now his Flock returning fees,
Duly let out a-nights to ſteal for Fecs.
The
An ADDRESS to the, &c. 41
The watchful Bailiffs take their filent Stands,
And School-Boys lag with Satchels in their
Hands.
Horace, Epiſtle VII. Book I.
Imitated, and addreffed to the Earl
of Oxford, in the Year 1713.
H
ARLEY, the Nation's great Support, I
Returning Home one Day from Court,
His Mind with publick Cares poffeft,
All Europe's Bus'nefs, in his Breaſt,
Obferv'd a Parfon near Whitehall,
Cheap'ning old Authors on a Stall,
The Priest was pretty well in Cafe,
And thew'd fome Humour in his Face ;
Look'd with an eafy, carelefs Mien,
A perfect Stranger to the Spleen;
ΙΘ
1. Strenuus & fortis, caufifque Philippus a-
gendis
Clarus ab officiis octavam circiter boram
Dum redit----
5. Confpexit, ut aiunt,
Adrafum quendam vacuâ tonforis in umbrâ
Cultello proprios purgantem leniter ungues,
E 2
of
42
An ADDRESS to the
Of Size that might a Pulpit fill,
But more inclining to fit ftill.
My Lord, (who, if a man may fay't)
Loves Mifchief better than his Meat,
Was now difpos'd to crack a Jeft,
And bid Friend Lewis go in queſt;
(This Lewis is a cunning Shaver,
And very much in HARLEY's Favour ;)
In queft, who might this Parſon be ?
15
What was his Name? of what Degree? 20
If poffible, to learn his Story,
And whether he were Whig or Tory.
Lewis his Patron's Humour knows ;
Away upon his Errand goes,
And quickly did the Matter fift ;
Found out, that it was Dr. Savift,
A Clergyman of ſpecial Note
For fhunning thofe of his own Coat ;
Which made his Brethren of the Gown
Take care betimes to run him down.
25
30
15. Demetri (puer hic non læve juſſa Philippi
Accipiebat) abi, quære, & rejer: Unde
domo, quis,
Cujus fortunæ, quo fit Patre, quove Pa-
trono ?
23, 25. It, redit, & narrat, Voltcium nomine
Manam.
No
Earl of OXFORD.
43
No Libertine, nor over nice,
Addicted to no Sort of Vice;
Went where he pleas'd, faid what he thought;
Not rich, but ow'd no Man a Groat ;
In State Opinions a la Mode;
He hated Wb-----n like a Toad;
Had giv'n the Faction many a wound,
And libell'd all the Junto round;
35
Kept company with Men of Wit,
Who often father'd what he writ ;
49
His Works were hawk'd in ev'ry Street,
But feldom rofe above a Sheet;
Of late indeed the Paper Stamp
Did very much his Genius cramp ;
And fince he could not ſpend his Fire,
He now intended to retire.
45
Said HARLEY, I defire to know
From his own Mouth, if this be fo?
Step to the Doctor ftrait, and fay,
I'd have him dine with me To-day.
3 I
Tenui cenju, fine crimine notum,
50
Et properare loco, & ceffare, & quærore,
& uti,
Gaudentem.
47. Scitari libet ex ipiò quodcunque refers. Dic
Ad cœnam venia. Nam ane crodcre
Mana;
Mirari¸ecum tac tu`.
E 3
Savif
44
An ADDRESS to the
Swift feem'd to wonder what he meant,
Nor would believe My Lord had ſent ;
So never offer'd once to ſtir ;
But coldly faid, Your Servant, Sir.
Does he refufe me? HARLEY cry'd :
He does, with Infolence and Pride.
Some few days after HARLEY fpies
The Doctor faften'd by the Eyes
At Charing-Cross, among the Rout,
Where painted Monſters are hung out.
He pull'd the String, and ſtopt his Coach,
Beck'ning the Doctor to approach.
Swift, who cou'd neither fly nor hide,
Came fneaking to the Chariot-fide,
And offer'd many a lame Excule;
He never meant the leaſt Abuſe
The Honour you defign'd
My Lord
Extremely proud
but I had din'd
I'm jure I never ſhould neglect
No Man alive has more Reſpect
54. Eenigne, Refpondet.
55. Negat ille mihi?
56. Negat improbus, & te
$7.
65.
Negligit, aut horret.
Volteium mane Philippus,
55
Vilia vendentem tunicato jeruta popello,
Occupat, & falvere jubet prior.
Ille Philippo
Excujare laborem.
60
65
70
66 Well,
Earl of OXFORD.
45
"Well, I fhall think of that no more,
"If you'll be fure to come at Four.”
The Doctor now obeys the Summons;
Likes both his Company, and Commons;
Displays his Talent; fits till Ten;
Next Day invited comes again;
Soon grows Domeſtick; ſeldom fails
Either at Morning, or at Meals ;
Came early, and departed late :
In short, the Gudgeon took the Bait.
MY LORD would carry on the Jeft,
And down to Windjor takes his Gueſt.
Serift much admires the Place and Air,
And longs to be a Canon there,
71.
Sic ignoviffe putato
75
80
Me tibi, fi canas hodie mecum. Ut libet.
Ergo
Poft nonam venies :
74. Ut ventum ad cœnam eft, dicenda, tacen-
da locutus
31.
Tandem dormitum dimittitur. Hic ubi
fæpe
Occultum vifus decurrere pifcis ad bamum,
Mane cliens, & jam certus conviva ;
Fubetur
Rura fuburbana indicis comes ire Latinis.
Impofitus mannis arvum cœlumque Sabi-
7126772
Non ceffat laudare.
En
46
An ADDRESS to the
In Summer, round the Park to ride;
In Winter, never to refide.
90
95
A Canon! That's a Place too mean:
No, Doctor, you ſhall be a Dean :
Two Dozen Canons round your Stall,
And You the Tyrant o'er them all.
You need but cross the Irish Seas,
To live in Plenty, Pow'r, and Eaſe.
Poor Swift departs; and, what is worſe,
With borrow'd Money in his Purfe;
Travels at leaſt a hundred Leagues,
And fuffers numberlefs Fatigues.
Suppofe him now a Dean compleat,
Devoutly lolling in his Seat;
The Silver Virge, with decent Pride,
Stuck underneath his Cuſhion Side :
Suppofe him gone thro' all Vexations,
Patents, Inftalinents, Abjurations,
First-Fruits and Tenths, and Chapter-Treats,
Dues, Payments, Fees, Demands, and
Cheats
The wicked Laity's contriving,
To hinder Clergymen from thriving.
Now all the Doctor's Money's ſpent ;
His Tenants wrong him in his Rent;
87. Videt, ridetque Philippus :
100
105
107. Oves Jurio, morbo periere cop l'a;
Spem mentila feges, bos efienectus arando;
The
Earl of OXFORD, &c.
47
The Farmers, fpitefully combin'd,
Force him to take his Tythes in Kind;
And * Parvifol diſcounts Arrears
By Bills for Taxes and Repairs.
Poor Swift, with all his Loffes vext,
Not knowing where to turn him next,
Above a Thoufand Pounds in Debt,
Takes Horſe, and, in a mighty Fret,
Rides Day and Night at fuch a Rate,
He foon arrives at HARLEY'S Gate;
But was fo dirty, pale and thin,
Old Read would hardly let him in.
110
115
120
Said HARLEY; Welcome, Rev'rend Dean:
What makes your Worfhip look ſo lean
Why fure you won't appear in Town
In that old Wig, and rufty Gown?
I doubt your Heart is fet on Pelf
So much, that you neglect yourſelf.
What! I fuppofe now Stocks are high,
You've fome good Purchaſe in your Eye ;
125
* The Dean's Agent, a Frenchman.
115. Offenfus, Damnis, mediâ de nocte ca-
ballum
Arripit iratufque Philippi tendit ad ædes.
The Lord Treafurer's Porter.
121. Quem fimul afpexit fcabrum intonfumque
Philippus :
Durus, ait, Voltei, nimis attentufque vi-
deris
Elle mihi.
Or
48 HORACE, Lib. II. Sat. VI.
Or is your Money out at Ufe?
Truce, good my LORD, I beg a Truce. 130
The Doctor in a Paffion cry'd
Your Raillery is mifapply'd;
I have Experience dearly bought :
You know I am not worth a Groat :
But refolv'd to have your Jelt,
you
And 'twas a Folly to conteft;
135
Then, fince you have now done your worst,
Pray leave me, where you found me firſt.
Horace, Lib. II. Sat. VI. Part
of it Imitated.
I
Often wifh'd, that I had clear
For Life fix hundred Pounds a Year,
A handfome Houfe to lodge a Friend,
A River at my Garden's End,
A Terras Walk, and half a Rood
Of Land ſet out to plant a Wood.
5
136. Quod te per Genium dextramque Deofque
Penatcs
Obfecro, & obteftor; vita me redde priori,
1. Hoc erat in votis : modus agri non ita mag-
nais,
Hortus ubi, & tecto vicinus jugis aquæ
fons,
Et paulum filvæ fuper his foret.
Well:
Imitated.
49
Well now I have all this, and more,
I ask not to increaſe my Store,
But fhou'd be perfectly content,
Cou'd I but live on this Side Trent ;
Nor cross the Channel twice a Year,
To ſpend fix Months with Statemen here.
I muſt by all Means come to Town,
'Tis for the Service of the Crown.
"Lewis; the Dean will be of Uſe,
"Send for him up; take no Excuſe.”
The Toil, the Danger of the Seas,
Great Minifters ne'er think of theſe
Or let it coft Five hundred Pound,
No Matter where the Money's found;
It is but fo much more in Debt,
And that they ne'er confider'd yet.
IO
15
20
12
"Good Mr. Dean, go change your Gown,
"Let my Lord know you're come to Town."
I hurry me in Hafte away,
Not thinking it is Levee-Day;
And find his, Honour in a Pound,
Hemm'd by a triple Circle round,
Chequer'd with Ribbons blue and green;
How thould I thrust myself between ?
7.
Auftius atque
Di melius fecere.
25
¦
30
17. Sive aquilo radit terras, feu bruma niva-
lem
Interiore diem gyro trahit, ire neceſſe eſt.
Some
50 HORACE, Lib. II. Sat. VI.
Some Wag obferves me thus perplext,
And fimiling, whispers to the next,
"I thought the D--n had been too proud
"To juttle here among a Croud.'
Another in a furly Fit
Tells me, I have more Zeal than Wit;
"So eager to exprefs your Love,
. You ne'er confider whom you fhove,
"But rudely prefs before a Duke."
I own, I'm pleas'd with this Rebuke;
And take it kindly meant to fhow
What I defire the World ſhould know.
I get a Whiſper, and withdraw :
When twenty Fools I never faw
Come with Petitions fairly penn'd,
Defiring I wou'd ftand their Friend.
This, humbly offers me his Cafe
That, begs my Int'reft for a Place
A hundred other Men's Affairs
Like Bees are humming in my Ears.
"To-morrow my Appeal coines on;
Without your Help the Caufe is gone
The Duke expects my Lord and you,
About fome great Affair, at Two
35
40
45
50
35. Quid vis infane, & quas res agis? impro-
bus urget,
Iratis precibus, tu pulſes omne quod obftat,
Ad Mecanatem memori ſi mente recurras.
Hoc juvat, & melli eft, non mentiar.
44. Aliena negotia centum,
Per caput, & circa faliunt latus.
----
" Put
Imitated.
Put my Lord Bolingbroke in mind
"To get my Warrant quickly fign'd:
Confider, 'tis my firft Requeſt.
Be fatisfy'd, I'll do my best :
Then prefently he falls to teize;
"You may for certain, if you pleaſe;
"I doubt not, if his Lordship knew-
55
60
65
And--- “ Mr. Dean, one Word from You---
'Tis (let me fee) three Years and more,
(October next it will be four)
Since HARLEY bid me firft attend,
And chofe for me an humble Friend;
Wou'd take me in his Coach to chat,
And question me of this and that ;
As, "What's a-Clock? And, "How's the
Wind?
"Whofe Chariot's that we left behind?
Or gravely try to read the Lines
Writ underneath the Country Signs ;
Or, "Have you nothing new To-day
"F-om Pope, from Parnel, or from Gay?
Such Tattle often entertains
My Lord and me as far as Stains,
60.
Si vis; potes, addit & inftat.
70
75
63. Septimus o&avo proprior jam fugerit annus,
Ex quo Mecenas me cœpit habere fuorvin
In numero; duntaxat ad hoc, quem tol-
lere rhcdà
Fellet iter faciens, & cui concredere nu-
gas
As
52 HORACE, Lib. II. Sat. VI. &c.
80
As once a Week we travel down
To Windfor, and again to Town;
Where all that paffes inter nos,
Might be proclaim'd at Charing Croſs.
Yet fome I know with Envy fwell,
Becauſe they ſee me us'd fo well :
"How think you of our Friend the Dean?
"I wonder what fome People mean!
"My Lord and he are grown fo great;
great; 85
"Always together, tête à tête !
"What, they admire him for his Jokes---
"See but the Fortune of fome Folks!
There flics about a ftrange Report
Of fome Exprefs arriv'd at Court;
I'm ſtopp'd by all the Fools I meet,
And catechis'd in ev'ry Street.
"You, Mr. Dean, frequent the Great;
Inform us, will the Emp'ror treat?
"Or, do the Prints and Papers lie?
Faith, Sir, you know as much as I.
"Ah Doctor, how you love to jeft?
" 'Tis now no Secret. I proteſt
"Tis one to me.- "Then tell us, pray,
"When are the Troops to have their
Pay?
81..
444
Subje&tior, in dicm & horam,
Invidia.
go
95
}
100
89. Frigidus à Rofiris manat per compita ru-
nior;
Quicunque obvius eft, me confulit.
And,
Happy Life of a Country Parfón. $3
And, tho' I folemnly declare,
I know no more than my Lord Mayor,
They ftand amaz'd, and think me grown
The clofeft Mortal ever known.
105
Thus in a Sea of Folly tofs'd
My choiceft Hours of Life are loſt ;
Yet always wiſhing to retreat :
Oh, could I fee my Country Seat!
There leaning near a gentle Brook,
Sleep, or perufe fome ancient Book;
And there in fweet Oblivion drown
Thoſe Cares, that haunt the Court and Town.
110
* The Happy Life of a Country
Parfon. In Imitation of Martial.
ARSON, thefe Things in thy poffeffing
Are better than the Bishop's Bleffing.
P₁
A Wife that makes Conferves; a Steed
That carries double, when there's Need:
101. Jurantem me jcire nihil, mirantur, ut
unum
Scilicet egregii mortalem, altique filenti.
108. O Rus, quando ego te afpiciam, quando-
que licebit
Nunc veterum libris, nunc fomno, & iner-
tibus horis
Ducere follicita jucunda oblivia vitæ ?
F 2
October,
54
A Tale of Chaucer.
October, Store, and beſt Virginia;
Tythe-Pig, and mortuary Guinea:
Gazettes lent gratis down, and frank'd,
For which thy Patron's weekly thank'd :
A large Concordance, (bound long fince)
Sermons to Charles the Firit, when Prince
A Chronicle of ancient ſtanding;
A Chryfoftom to fmooth thy Band in:
The Polyglott---three Parts,---my Text---
Howbeit,---likewiſe---now to my next---
Lo here the Septuagint,---and Paul---
To fum the whole,---the Clofe of all.
He that has theſe, may pals his Life,
Drink with the 'Squire, and kifs his Wife;
On Sundays preach, and eat his Fill;
And faft on Fridays, if he will;
Toaſt Church and Queen, explain the News,
Talk with Church-wardens about Pews,
Pray heartily for fome new Gift,
And fhake his Head at Doctor St.
*A Tale of Chaucer, lately found
in an Old Manufcript.
W
'OMEN, tho' nat fans Leacherie,
Ne fwinken but with Secrecie :
This in our Tale is plain y-fond
Of Clerk, that wonneth in Irelond:
Which
A Tale of Chaucer.
55
Which to the Fennes hath him betake,
To filch the gray Ducke fro the Lake.
Right then there paffen by the Way
His Aunt, and eke her Daughters tway:
Ducke in his Trowzes hath he hent,
Not to be ſpied of Ladies gent.
"But ho! our Nephew (crieth one,)
"Ho! quoth another Couzen John;
And ſtoppen, and lough, and callen out,---
This fely Clerk full low doth lout.
They afken that, and talken this,
"Lo here is Cox. and here is Mifs.
But, as he glozeth with Speeches foote,
The Ducke fore tickles his Erfe Roote:
Fore-piece and Buttons all to breſt,
Forth thruſt a white Neck and red Creft.
Te-he cry'd Ladics, Clerke not fpake :
Mifs ftar'd and gray Ducke crieth Quaake.
"O Moder, Moder, (quoth the Daughter)
"Be thilke fame Thing the Maids longen
a'ter ?
"Bette is to pyne on Coals and Chalke,
"Than truſt on Mon, whofe Yerde can
talke.
* The
F 3
[56]
An Imitation of
* The Alley.
Spencer.
I.
N ev'ry Town, where Thamis rolls his
IN eTide,
A narrow Pafs there is, with Houfes low;
Where ever and anon the Stream is ev'd,
And many a Boat foft fliding to and fro.
There oft' are heard the Notes of Infant
Woe,
The fhort thick Sob, loud Scream, and furil-
ler Squall:
How can ye, Mothers, vex your Children
fo ?
Some play, fome eat, fome cack against the
Wall,
And as they crouchen low, for Bread and
Butter call.
II.
And on the broken Pavement here and there
Doth many a stinking Sprat and Herring
lie;
A Brandy and Tobacco Shop is near,
And Hens, and Dogs, and Hogs, are feed-
ing by;
And here a Sailor's Jacket hangs to dry:
At ev'ry Door are Sun-burnt Matrons feen,
Mending old Nets to catch the fcaly Fry:
Now finging fhrill, and fcolding oft between,
Scolds anfwer foul-mouth'd $colds; bad
Neighbourhood Į ween.
The
The Alley.
57
III.
The fnappish Cur (the Paffenger's annoy)
Cloſe at my Heel with yelping Treble flies;
The whimp'ring Girl, and hoarfer-fcreaming
Boy,
Join to the yelping Treble fhrilling Cries;
The fcolding Quean to louder Notes doth
rife,
And her full Pipes thofe fhrilling Cries con-
found;
To her full Pipes the grunting Hog replies;
The grunting Hogs alarm the Neighbours
round,
And Curs, Girls, Boys, and Scolds, in
the deep Bafe are drown'd.
IV.
Hard by a Sty, beneath a Roof of Thatch
Dwelt Obloquy, who in her early Days
Baſkets of Fifh at Billing fgate did watch,
Cod, Whiting, Oyſter, Mackrel, Sprat, or
Plaice:
There learn'd the Speech from Tongues,
that never ceaſe.
Slander befide her, like a Magpy, chatters;
With Engy (pitting Cat) dread Foe to
Peace;
Like a curs'd Cur, Malice before her clatters,
Anl vexing ev'ry Wight, tears Cloaths and
all to Tatters.
V. Her
58
The Alley.
V.
Her Dugs were mark'd by ev'ry Collier's
Hand,
Her Mouth was black as Bull-Dogs at the
Stall;
She fcratched, bit, and fpar'd not Lace nor
Band,
And Bitch and Rogue her Anſwer was at
all;
Nay, e'en the Parts of Shame by Name
wou'd call;
Whene'er the paſſed by a Lane or Nook,
Wou'd greet the Man, who turn'd him to
the Wall;
And by his Hand obfcene the Porter took,
Nor ever did afkance like modeſt Virgin look.
VI.
Such Place hath Deptford, Navy-building
Town,
Woolwich and Wapping, fmelling ftrong of
Pitch;
Such Lambeth, Envy of each Band and Gown,
And Twick'nam fuch, which fairer Scenes
enrich,
Grots, Statues, Urns, and Jo---n's Dog
and Bitch,
Ne Village is without, on either Side,
All up the filver Thames, or all a-down;
Ne
The Capon's Tale.
59
Ne Richmond's ſelf, from whofe tall Front are
ey'd
Vales, Spires, meandring Streams, and Wind-
for's tow`ry Pride.
* The Capon's Tale: To a Lady,
who father' & her Lampoons upon
ber Acquaintance.
I
N York/bire dwelt a fober Yeoman,
Whofe Wife, a clean, pains-taking Wo-
man,
Fed num'rous Poultry in her Pens,
And faw her Cocks well ferve her Hens.
A Hen fhe had, whofe tuneful Clocks
Drew after her a Train of Cocks;
With Eyes fo piercing, yet ſo pleaſant,
You wou'd have fworn this Hen a Pheaſant.
All the plum'd Beau-Monde round her gathers:
Lord! what a Bruftling up of Feathers!
Morning from Noon there was no knowing,
There was ſuch Flutt'ring, Chuckling, Crow-
ing;
Each forward Bird muft thruft his Head in,
And not a Cock but wou'd be treading.
Yet tender was this Hen fo fair,
And hatch'd more Chicks, than fhe could rear.
Our prudent Damę bethought her then
Of fome Dry-Nurfe to fave her Hen;
She made a Capon drunk; in fine
He eat the Sopps, fhe fipp'd the Wine ;
His
60 Verſes on a Lady's Table-Book.
His Rump well pluck'd with Nettles ftings,
And claps the Brood beneath his Wings.
The feather'd Dupe awakes content,
O'erjoy'd to fee what God had fent.
Thinks he's the Hen, clocks, keeps a Pother,
A foolish Fofter-Father-Mother.
Such, Lady Mary, are your Tricks;
But fince you hatch, pray own your Chicks :
You should be better fkill'd in Nocks,
Nor like your Capons, ferve your Cocks,
Verfes wrote on a Lady's Ivory
Table-Book.
PE
ERUSE my Leaves thro' ev'ry part,
And think thou feeft my Owner's Heart,
Scrawl'd o'er with Trifles thus, and quite
As hard, as fenfelefs, and as light;
Expos'd to ev'ry Coxcomb's Eyes,
But hid with Caution from the Wife.
Here you may read (Dear charming Saint)
Beneath (A new Receipt for Paint :)
Here in Beau-fpelling (tru tel Deth,)
There in her own (far an el breth.)
Here (lovely Nymph pronounce my Doom,)
There (a fafe Way to use Perfume ;)
Here a page fill'd with Billet-Doux ;
On t'other Side (laid out for Shoes :)
(Madam
Mrs. HARRIS's Petition. 61
(Madam I die without your Grace,)
(Item, for half a Yard of Lace.)
Who that had Wit wou'd place it here,
For ev'ry peeping Fop to jeer?
In Pow'r of Spittle, and a Clout,
Whene'er he pleaſe to blot it out;
And then, to heighten the Difgrace,
Clap his own Nonfenfe in the Place.
Whoe'er expects to hold his Part
In fuch a Book, and fuch a Heart,
If he be wealthy, and a Fool,
Is in all Points the fittelt Tool ;
Of whom it may be justly faid,
He's a Golden Pencil tipp'd with Lead.
To their Excellencies the Lords
Juftices of Ireland.
The humble Petition of Frances Harris.
И'ho must starve, and die a Maid, if u m
carrics;
Humbly Sherveth,
T
HATI went to warm myfelf in Lady
Betty's Chamber, becaule I was cold
And I had in a Purfe Seven Pound,
Four Shillings, and Six Pence, befides Far-
things, in Money and Gold;
So,
·
62
Mrs. HARRIS's Petition.
So, becauſe I had been buying Things for my
Lady laft Night,
I was refolv'd to tell my Money, to fee if it
was right:
Now you muſt know, becauſe my Trunk
has a very bad Lock,
Therefore all the Money I have, which
God knows, is a very fmall Stock,
I keep in my Pocket, ty'd about
next my Smock.
my Middle,
So when I went to put up my Purſe, as God
would have it, my Smock was unript,'
And instead of putting it into my Pocket, down
it flipt:
Then the Bell rung, and I went down to put
my Lady to Bed
;
And, God knows, I thought my Money was
as fafe as my Maidenhead.
So when I came up again, I found my Pocket
feel very light;
But when I fearch'd, and mifs'd my Purfe,
Lord! I thought I fhou'd have funk out-
right.
Lord! Madam, fays Mary, how d'ye do? In-
deed, fays I, never worfe :
But pray, Mary, can you tell what I have
done with my Purſe ?
Lord help me, faid Mary, I never ftir'd out of
this Place:
Nav, fa d I, I had it in Lady Betty's Cham-
ber, that's a plain Caſe;
So
Mrs. HARRIS's Petition.
63
So Mary got me to Bed, and cover'd me up
warm:
However, ſhe ſtole away my Garters, that I
might do myſelf no Harm;
So I tumbled and tofs'd all Night, as you may
very well think,
But hardly ever fat my Eyes together, or ſlept
a Wink.
So I was a-dream'd, methought, that we went
and fearch'd the Folks round,
And in a Corner of Mrs. Duke's Box, ty'd in
a Rag, the Money was found.
So next Morning we told Whittle, and he fell a
Swearing;
Then my Dame Wadgar came, and ſhe, you
know, is thick of Hearing:
Dame, faid I, as loud as I could bawl, Do you
know, what a Lofs I have had ?
Nay, faid the, my Lord * Colway's Folks are
all very fad;
For my Lord
without fail
1
Dromedary comes a Tuesday
Pugh faid I, but that's not the Bus'nefs that
I ail.
Says Cary, fays he, I have been a Servant this
five and twenty Years, come Spring,
And in all the Places I liv'd, I never heard of
fuch a Thing.
* Callway.
| Droghede.
G
Yes,
64
Mrs. HARRIS's Petition.
Yes, fays the Steward, I remember when I
was at my Lady Shrewſbury's,
Such a Thing as this happen'd, juſt about the
Time of Goofberries.
So I went to the Party fufpected, and I found
her full of Grief,
(Now you muſt know, of all Things in the
World I hate a Thief)
However, I was refolv'd to bring the Difcourfe
flily about;
Mrs. Dukes, faid I, here's an ugly Accident
has happen'd out:
'Tis not that I value the Money three skips of
a Loufe ;
But the Thing I ftand upon is, the Credit of
the Houſe ;
'Tis true, Seven Pounds, Four Shillings, and
Six Pence, makes a great Hole in my Wages;
Befides, as they fay, Service is no Inheritance
in theſe Ages.
Now, Mrs. Dukes, you know, and every Body
underſtands,
That tho' 'tis hard to judge, yet Money can't
go without Hands.
The Devil take me, faid fhe (bleffing herſelf,)
if ever I faw't !
So fhe roar'd like a Bedlam, as tho' I had call'd
her all to naught ;
So you know, what could I fay to her any
more;
I e'en left her, and came away as wife as I
was before.
Well:
Mrs. HARRIS's Petition.
65
Well; but then they would have had me gone
to the Cunning Man;
No, ſaid I, 'tis the ſame Thing, the Chaplain
will be here anon.
So the Chaplain came in; Now the Servants fay
he is my Sweetheart,
Becauſe he's always in my Chamber, and I al-
ways take his Part ;
So, as the Devil would have it, before I was
aware, out I blunder'd,
Parſon, faid I, can you caft a Nativity, when
a Body's plunder'd ?
(Now you must know, he hates to be call'd
Parfon like the Devil)
Truly, fays he, Mrs. Nab, it might become
you to be more civil ;
If your Money be gone, as a learned Divine
fays, d'ye fee,
You are no Text for my Handling, ſo take that
from me;
I was never taken for a Conjurer before, I'd
have you to know,
Lord, faid I, don't be angry, I am fure I never
thought you fo;
You know, I honour the Cloth; I defign to
be a Parfon's Wife ;
I never took one in your Coat for a Conjurer in
all my Life.
With that, he twisted his Girdle at me like a
Rope, as who ſhould ſay,
Now you may go hang yourfelf for me, and
fo went away.
G 2
Well;
66 Mrs. HARRIS's Petition.
Well, I thought I fhould have fwoon'd; Lord,
faid I, what fhall I do?
I have loft my Money, and ſhall lofe my True
Lone too.
Then my Lord call'd me; Harris, ſaid my
Lord, don't cry,
I'll give fomething towards thy Lofs; and fays
my Lady, fo will I.
Qh ! but faid I, what if, after all, my Chaplain
won't come to ?
For that, he ſaid (an't pleaſe your Excellencies,)
I muſt petition You.
The Premifes tenderly confider'd, I defire your
Excellencies Protection,
And that I may have a Share in next Sunday's
Collection:
And over and above, that I may have your
Excellencies Letter,
With an Order for the Chaplain aforefaid; or
inſtead of him, a better
And then your poor Petitioner, both Night and
Day,
Or the Chaplain, (for 'tis his Trade) as in Du-
ty bound, fhall ever pray.
Lady
[67]
Lady B---- B---- finding in the Au-
thor's Room fome Verfes unfiniſh-
ed, underwrit a Stanza of her
own, with Raillery upon him,
which gave Occafion to this Bal-
lad.
Ο
To the Tune of, The Cutpurse.
I.
NCE on a Time, as old Stories rehearſe,
A Friar would needs fhew his Talent
in Latin
But was forely put to't in the midſt of a Verſe,
Becauſe he could find no Word to come
pat in ;
Then at the Place
He left a void Space,
And fo went to Bed in a defperate Caſe;
When behold the next Morning, a wonder-
ful Riddle,
He found it was ftrangely fill'd up in the
Middle!
Chorus. Let cenfuring Criticks, then, think
what they lift on't,
Who would not write Verfes with
Juch an Afflant?
G 3
II. This
68
Ballad to the Lady B. B.
II.
This put me the Friar into an amazement,
For he wifely conſider'd it muſt be a Sprite,
That came thro' the Key-Hole, or in at the
Cazement,
And it needs muſt be one that could both
read and write :
Yet he did not know,
If it were Friend or Foe,
Or whether it came from above or below:
Howe'er it was civil, in Angel or Elf,
For he ne'er could have fill'd it fo well of
himſelf.
Cho. Let cenfuring, &c.
III.
Even fo Maſter Doctor had puzzled his Brains
In making a Ballad, but was at a Stand:
He had mix'd little Wit with a great deal of
Pains,
When he found a new Help from inviſible
Hand.
Then good Dr. S----
Pay Thanks for the Gift,
For you freely must own you were at a
dead Lift:
And tho' fome malicious young Spirit did
do't,
You may know by the Hand, it had no Clo-
ven Foot.
Cho. Let cenfuring, &c.
V...'s
[ 69 ]
V-----'s Houſe, built from the
Ruins of Whitehall, that was
burnt.
'N Times of Old, when Time was Young,
And Poets their own Verfes fung,
I
A Verfe could draw a Stone or Beam,
That now would over-load a Team;
Lead 'em a Dance of many a Mile,
Then rear 'em to a goodly Pile.
Each Number had its diff'rent Pow'r ;
Heroick Strains could build a Tow`r;
Sonnets, or Elegies to Chloris,
Might raiſe a Houſe about two Stories;
A Lyrick Ode wou'd flate; a Catch
Wou'd tile; an Epigram wou'd thatch,
But to their own, or Landlord's Coft,
Now Poets feel this Art is loft:
Not one of all our tuneful Throng
Can raiſe a Lodging for a Song.
For Jove confider'd well the Cafe,
Obferv'd they grew a num'rous Race,
And thou'd they Build as fast as Write,
"Twould ruin Undertakers quite.
This Evil therefore to prevent,
He wifely chang'd their Element:
On Earth the God of Wealth was made
Sole Patron of the Building Trade,
Leaving
70
-'s Houſe.
V-
*
Leaving the Wits the fpecious Air
With Licence to build Caftles there :
And 'tis conceiv'd, their old Pretence
To lodge in Garrets comes from thence.
Premifing thus, in modern Way,
The better Half we have to fay;
Sing, Mufe, the Houfe of Poet V----
In higher Strains than we began.
V (for 'tis fit the Reader know it,)
Is both a Herald and a Poet;
No wonder then if nicely fkill'd
In both Capacities to build.
As Herald, he can in a Day
Repair a Houje gone to Decay ;
Or by Atchievement, Arms, Device
Erect a new one in a Trice.
And as a Poet, he has Skill
To build in Speculation ftill.
Great Jove! he cry'd, the Art reftore,
To build by Verfe as heretofore;
And make my Muſe the Architect :
What Palaces fhall we erect!
No longer fhall forfaken Thames
Lament his old Whitehall in Flames;
A Pile fhall from its Afhes rife,
Fit to invade, or prop the Skies.
Jove fmil'd, and, like a gentle God,
Confenting with the ufual Nod,
Told ---- he knew his Talent beft,
And left the Choice to his own Breaft.
So V---- refolv'd to write a Farce;
But well perceiving Wit was fcarce,
With
V's Houfe.
71
With Cunning that Defect fupplies;
Takes a French Play as lawful Prize;
Steals thence his Plot, and ev'ry Joke,
Not once fufpecting Jove wou'd Smoke ;
And like a Wag, fat down to write,
Wou'd whifper to himself, a Bite:
Then from the motly, mingled Style
Proceeded to erect his Pile.
So Men of old, to gain Renown, did
Build Babel with their Tongues confounded.
Jove faw the Cheat, but thought it beft
To turn the Matter to a Jeft:
Down from Olympus' Top he flides,
Laughing as if he'd burft his Sides ;
Ay, thought the God, are thefe your Tricks?
Why then old Plays deſerve old Bricks ;
And fince you're ſparing of your Stuff,
Your Building ſhall be ſmall enough.
He fpake, and grudging lent his Aid;
Th' experienc'd Bricks, that knew their Trade,
As being Bricks at fecond Hand,
Now move, and now in Order ſtand.
The Building, as the Poet writ,
Rofe in Proportion to his Wit;
And first, a Prologue built a Wall,
So wide as to encompaſs all.
The Scene a Wood, produc'd no more
Than a few fcrubby Trees before.
The Plot as yet lay deep, and fo
A Cellar next was dug below;
But this a Work fo hard was found,
Two Acts it coft him under Ground,
TwQ
72
V's Houſe.
Two other Acts we may prefume
Were ſpent in building each a Room;
Thus far advanc'd, he made a Shift
To raiſe a Roof with A&t the Fifth.
The Epilogue behind did frame
A Place not decent here to name.
Now Poets from all Quarters ran
To fee the Houſe of Brother V---
Look'd high and low, walk'd often round,
But no fuch Houſe was to be found.
One aſks the Watermen hard by,
Where may the Poet's Palace lie?
Another of the Thames enquires,
If he has feen its gilded Spires?
At length they in the Rubbiſh ſpy
A Thing reſembling a Gooſe-Pye.
Farther in hafte the Poets throng,
And gaze in filent wonder long,
Till one in Raptures thus began
To praife the Pile and Builder V---
Thrice happy Poet! who may trail
Thy Houſe about thee like a Snail;
Or harneſs'd to a Nag, at Eaſe
Take Journies in it like a Chaife ;
Or in a Boat, whene'er thou wilt,
Canft make it ferve thee for a Tilt.
Capacious Houſe! 'tis own'd by all,
Thou'rt well-contriv'd, tho' thou art fmall;
For ev'ry Wit in Britain's Ifle
May lodge within thy fpacious Pile.
Like Bacchus thou, as Poets feign,
Thy Mother burnt, art born again;
Born
The Hiftory of V—'s Houſe.
Born like a Phonix from the Flame!
But neither Bulk nor Shape the same;
As Animals of largeſt Size
Corrupt to Maggots, Worms, and Flies.
A Type of Modern Wit and Style,
The Rubbish of an ancient Pile.
So Chymifts boaſt they have a Pow'r,
From the dead Aſhes of a Flow'r
Some faint Refemblance to produce,
But not the Virtue, Tafte, or Juice.
So modern Rhymers wifely blaft
The Poetry of Ages paft;
Which after they have overthrown,
They from its Ruins build their own.
The History of V——'s Houſe.
WH
73
HEN Mother Clud had rofe from Play,
And call'd to take the Cards away,
-----faw, but feem'd not to regard,
How Mifs pick'd ev'ry painted Card;
And bufy both with Hand and Eye,
Soon rear'd a Houfe two Stories high.
V-----'s Genius, without Thought or Lecture,
Is hugely turn'd to Architecture:
He view'd the Edifice, and ſmil'd ;
Vow'd it was pretty for a Child :
It was fo perfect in its Kind,
He kept the Model in his Mind.
But when he found the Boys at Play,
And faw them dabling in their Clay,
He
74
The Hiftory of V's Houfc.
He ſtood behind a Stall to lurk,
And mark the Progreſs of their Work ;
With true Delight obſerv'd 'em all
Raking up Mud to build a Wall:
The Plan he much admir'd, and took
The Model in his Table-Book;
Thought himſelf now exactly ſkill'd,
And fo refolv'd a House to build;
A real Houſe, and Rooms, and Stairs,
Five Times at leaſt as big as theirs ;
Taller than Mis's by two Yards;
Not a fham Thing of Clay or Cards.
And fo he did; for in a while
He built up fuch a monstrous Pile,
That no two Chairmen could be found
Able to lift it from the Ground:
Still at Whitehall it ftands in View,
Juft in the Place, where firit it grew;
There all the little School-boys run,
Envying to fee themselves out-done.
From fuch deep Rudiments as thefe,
V----- is become by due degrees
For Building fam'd, and justly reckon`d
At Court Vitruvius the Second;
No Wonder, fince wife Authors ſhow,
That beft Foundations muſt be low :
And now the Duke has wifely ta’en him
To be his Architect at Blenheim.
But, Raillery for once a-part,
If this Rule holds in ev'ry Art,
Or if his Grace were no more ſkill'd in
The Art of Battering Walls than Building,
We
SID HAMET.
75
We might expect to fee next Year
A Mouje-Trap Man chief Engineer.
The Virtues of Sid Hamet the
Magician's Rod.
T
HE Rod was but a harmleſs Wand,
While Moſes held it in his Hand;
But foon as e'er he laid it down,
'Twas a devouring Serpent grown.
Our great Magician, Hamet Sid,
Reverſes what the Prophet did;
His Red was honeſt Engliſh Wood,
That fenfelefs in a Corner ftood,
'Till metamorphos'd by his Graſp,
It grew an all-devouring Aſp;
Wou'd hifs, and fting, and roll, and twiſt,
By the mere Virtue of his Fift ;
But when he laid it down, as quick
Refum'd the Figure of a Stick.
So to her Midnight Feaſts the Hag
Rides on a Broomſtick for a Nag,
That rais'd by Magick of her Breech,
O'er Sea and Land conveys the Witch;
But, with the Morning Dawn, refumés
The peaceful State of common Brooms.
They tell us fomething ftrange and odd
About a certain Magick Rod,
That, bending down its Top, divines
Whene er the Soil has Golden Mines;
H
Where
76
SID HAMET.
Where there are none, it ſtands erect,
Scorning to fhew the leaft Refpect :
As ready was the Wand of Sid
To bend where Golden Mines were hid;
In Scottish Hills found precious Ore,
Where none e'er look'd for it before;
And by a gentle Bow divin'd,
How well a Cully's Purfe was lin’d;
To a forlorn and broken Rake
Stood without Motion, like a Stake.
The Rod of Hermes was renown'd
For Charms above and under Ground;
To fleep could mortal Eye-lids fix,
And drive departed Souls to Styx.
That Rod was juſt a Type of Sid's,
Which o'er a Britiſh Senate's Lids
Could fcatter Opium full as well,
And drive as many Souls to Hell.
Sid's Rod was flender, white and tall,
Which oft he us'd to fiſh withal;
A Plaife was faften'd to the Hook,
And many Score of Gudgeons took ;
Yet still fo happy was his Fate,
He caught his Fiſh, and fav'd his Bait.
Sid's Brethren of the Conj'ring Tribe
A Circle with their Rod defcribe,
Which proves a magical Redoubt
To keep mischievous Spirits out;
Sid's Rod was of a larger Stride,
And made a Circle thrice as wide;
Where Spirits throng'd with hideous Din,
And he food there to take them in,
But
SID HAMET.
17.
But when th' enchanted Rød was broke,
They vanish'd in a ſtinking Smoke.
Achilles' Sceptre was of Wood,
Like Sid's, but nothing near ſo good;
That down from Ancestors divine,
Tranfmitted to the Heroes Line;
'Thence thro' a long Defcent of Kings
Came at HEIR-LOOM, as Homer fings.
Tho' this Defcription looks fo big,
That Sceptre was a faplefs Twig;
Which from the fatal Day, when firſt
It left the Foreſt, where 'twas nurs`d,
As Homer tells us o'er and o'er,
Nor Leaf, nor Fruit, nor Bloffom bore.
Sid's Sceptre, full of Juice, did ſhoot
In Golden Boughs, and Golden Fruit ;
And he, the Dragon never fleeping,
Guarded each fair Hefperian Pippin.
No Hobby-horfe with gorgeous Top,
The dearest in Charles Mather's Shop,.
Or glitt'ring Tinfel of May-Fair,
Could with this Rod of Sid compare.
Dear Sid, then why wer't thou fo mad,
To break thy Rod like naughty Lad?
You thou'd have kifs'd it in your Diftrefs,
And then return'd it to your Miſtreſs :
Or made it a Newmarket Switch,
And not a Rod for thy own Breech.
For fince old Sid has broken this,
His next will be a Rod in Piſs.
II 2
Atlas,
[ 78 ]
}
Atlas, or the Minister of State; to
the Lord Treaſurer Oxford.
A
TLAS, we read in ancient Song,
Was fo exceeding tall and ftrong,
He bore the Skies upon his Back,
Just as a Pedlar does his Pack:
But, as a Pedlar overpreft,
Unloads upon a Stall to reſt;
Or, when he can no longer ftand,
Defires a Friend to lend a Hand;
So Atlas, left the pond'rous Spheres
Shou'd fink, and fall about his Ears,
Got Hercules to bear the Pile,
That he might fit and reft a while.
Yet Hercules was not fo ftrong,
Nor could have borne it half fo long.
Great Stateſmen are in this Condition,
And Atlas is a Politician,
A premier Miniſter of State,
Alcides one of fecond Rate.
Suppofe then Ailas ne'er fo wife,
Yet when the Weight of Kingdoms lies
Too long upon his fingle Shoulders,
Sink down he muſt, or find Upholders.
The
[ 79 ]
The Defcription of a Salamander.
Out of Pliny's Nat. Hift. Lib.
10. c. 67. and Lib. 29. c. 4.
A
S Maftive Dogs in modern Phraſe are
Call'd Pompey, Scipio, and Cæfar;
As Pyes and Darus are often ſtil'd
With Christian Nick-names like a Child
As we fay Monfieur to an Ape,
Without Offence to human Shape;
So Men have got from Bird and Brute
Names, that would beſt their Natures fuit,
The Lion, Eagle, Fox, and Boar,
Were Heroes Titles heretofore,
Beſtow'd as Hi'roglyphicks fit
T'exprefs their Valour, Strength, or Wit,
For what is underſtood by Fame,
Befides the getting of a Name?
But e'er fince Men invented Guns,
A diffrent Way their Fancy runs ;
To paint a Hero, we enquire
For fomething that will conquer Fire.
Would you deſcribe Turenne or Trump,
Think of a Bucket or a Pump.
Are theſe two low ?---- then find out grander,
Call my Lord C---- a Salamander.
'Tis well
; but fince we live among
Detractors with an evil tongue,
Who may object against the Term,
Pliny fhall prove what we affirm;
H 3
Pliny
80
The SALAMAND ER.
Pliny fhall prove, and we'll apply;
And I'll be judg'd by Standers-by.
First, then, our Author has defin'd
This Reptile of the Serpent Kind,
With gaudy Coat, and ſhining Train
But loathfome Spots his Body ftain:
Out from fome Hole obſcure he flies,
When Rains defcend, and Tempeſts rife,
Till the Sun clears the Air; and then
Crawls back neglected to his Den.
;
So, when the War has rais'd a Storm,
I've fcen a Snake in human Form,
All ftain'd with Infamy and Vice,
Leap from the Dunghill in a Trice,
Burniſh, and make a gaudy Show,
Become a Gen'ral, Peer, and Beau,
"Till Peace hath made the Sky fcrene;
Then ſhrink into its Hole again.
All this we grant----why then look yonder,
Sure that must be a Salamander !
Farther, we are by Pliny told,
This Serpent is extremely cold,
So cold, that, put it in the Fire,
"Twill make the very Flames expire:
Befide, it fpews a filthy Froth,
(Whether thro' Rage, or Love, or both,
Of Matter purulent and white,
Which happening on the Skin to light,
And there corrupting to a Wound,
Spreads Leprofy and Baldnefs round,
1
So
The Parliament-Man.
81
So have I feen a batter'd Beau,
By Age and Claps grown cold as Snow,
Whofe Breath or Touch, where-e'er he came,
Blew out Love's Torch, or chill'd the Flame.
And ſhou'd fome Nymph, who ne'er was cruel,
Like. Carleton cheap, or fam'd Du-Ruel,
Receive the Filth, which he ejects,
She foon wou'd find the fame Effects,
Her tainted Carcaſs to purſue,
As from the Salamander's Spue;
A difmal Shedding of her Locks,
And, if no Leprofy, a Pox.
Then I'll appeal to each By-Stander,
Is not this fame a Salamander?
* The Elephant: Or, The Parlia-
ment-Man; written many Years
fince. Taken from Coke's In-
fitutes.
E
'RE Bribes convince you whom to chufe,
The Precepts of Lord Coke perufe.
Obferve an Elephant, ſays he,
And let like him your Member be.
First, take a Man that's free from Gall;
For Elephants have none at all:
In Flocks or Parties he muſt keep;
For Elephants live just like Sheep :
Stubborn
82
The Parliament-Max,
Stubborn in Honour he must be ;
For Elephants ne'er bend the Knee :
Laft, let his Memory be found,
In which your Elephant's profound;
That old Examples from the Wife
May prompt him in his No's and I's.
Thus the Lord Coke hath gravely writ
In all the Form of Lawyers Wit;
And then with Latin, and all that,
Shews the Compariſon is pat.
Yet in fome Points my Lord is wrong:
One's Teeth are fold, and t'other's Tongue.
Now Men of Parliament, God knows,
Are more like Elephants of Shows ;
Whofe docile Memory and Senfe
Are turn'd to Trick, to gather Pence :
To get their Mafter half a Crown,
They fpread their Flag, or lay it down.
Thoſe who bore Bulwarks on their Backs,
And guarded Nations from Attacks,
Now practiſe ev'ry pliant Geſture,
Op'ning their Trunk for ev'ry Teſter.
Siam, for Elephants fo fam'd,
Is not with England to be nam'd ;
Their Elephants by Men are fold;
Ours fell Themſelves, and take the Gold.
t
An
[83]
An Elegy on the fuppofed Death of
Partridge, the Almanack-Maker.
W
ELL; 'tis as Bickerflaff has gueſs'ḍ,
Tho' we all took it for a Jeft;
Partridge is dead; nay more, he dy'd
E're he cou'd prove the good 'Squire ly’d.
Strange, an Aftrologer fhou'd die
Without one Wonder in the Sky!
Not one of all his Crony Stars
To pay their Duty at his Herfe!
No Meteor, no Eclipfe appear'd!
No Comet with a flaming Beard!
The Sun has rofe, and gone to Bed,
Just as if Partridge were not dead:
Nor hid himſelf behind the Moon
To make a dreadful Night at Noon.
He at fit Periods walks thro' Aries,
Howe'er our earthly Motion varies
And twice a Year he'll cut th' Equator,
As if there had been no fuch Matter.
Some Wits have wonder'd, what Analogy
There is 'twixt * Cabling and Aftrology :
How Partridge made his Opticks rife,
From a Shoe-Sole, to reach the Skies.
A Lift the Coblers Temples Ties
To keep the Hair out of their Eyes;
* Partridge was a Cobler.
From
84
An Elegy on Partridge.
From whence 'tis plain the Diadem,
That Princes wear, derives from them,
And therefore Crowns are now-a-days
Adorn'd with Golden Stars and Rays,
Which plainly fhews the near Alliance
"Twixt Cabling and the Planets Science.
Befides, that flow-pac'd Sign Bootes,
(As 'tis mifcall'd) we know not who 'tis
But Partridge ended all Diſputes;
He knew his Trade, and call'd it * Boots.
The Horned Moon, which heretofore
Upon their Shoes the Romans wore,
Whoſe Wideneſs kept their Toes from Corns,
And whence we claim our Shoving-Horns,
Shews, how the Art of Cobling bears
A near Refemblance to the Spheres.
A Scrap of Parchment hung by Geometry
(A great Refinement in Barometry)
Can, like the Stars, foretel the Weather;
And what is Parchment elfe but Leather,
Which an Aſtrologer might ufe,
Either for Almanacks or Shoes?
Thus Partridge, by his Wit and Parts,
At once did practiſe both theſe Arts:
And as the boading Owl (or rather
The Bat, becauſe her Wings are Leather)
Steals from her private Cell by Night,
And flies about at Candle-Light;
* See bis Almanack.
s
An Elegy on Partridge.
85
So learned Partridge could as well
Creep in the Dark from Leathern Cell,
And, in his Fancy, fly as far
To peep upon a twinkling Star.
Befides, he could confound the Spheres,
And fet the Planets by the Ears;
To fhew his Skill, he Mars could join
To Venus in Afpect Malign;
Then call in Mercury for Aid,
And cure the Wounds, that Venus made.
Great Scholars have in Lucian read,
When Philip King of Greece was dead,
His Soul and Spirit did divide,
And each Part took a diff'rent Side;
One roſe a Star, the other fell
Beneath, and mcnded Shoes in Hell,
Thus Partridge fill ſhines in each Art,
The Cobling and Star-gazing part ;
And is inftall'd as good a Star
As any of the Cæfars are,
Triumphant Star! ſome Pity fhew
On Coblers militant below,
Whom roguish Boys in Stormy Nights
Torment, by piffing out their Lights;
Or thro' a Chink convey their Smokę
Inclos'd Artificers to choke !
Thou, high exalted in thy Sphere,
May't follow ftill thy Calling there.
To thee the Bull will lend his Hide,
By Phoebus newly tann'd and dry'de
For thee they Argo's Hulk will tax,
And fcrape her pitchy Sides for Wax.
Then
86
An Epitaph on Partridge.
Then Ariadne kindly lends
Her braided Hair to make thee Ends.
The Point of Sagittarius' Dart
Turns to an Awl by heav'nly Art;
And Vulcan, wheedled by his Wife,
Will forge for thee a Paring-Knife.
For want of Room by Virgo's Side,
She'll ſtrain a Point, and fit * aftride
To take thee kindly in between ;
And then the Signs will be Thirteen.
H
The Epitaph.
ERE, five Foot deep, lies on his Back
A Cobler, Starmonger, and Quack;
Who to the Stars in pure Good-will
Does to his beft look upward ſtill.
Weep, all you Cuftomers, that use
His Pills, his Almanacks, or Shoes;
And you, that did your Fortunes feek,
Step to his grave but once a Week:
This Earth, which bears his Body's Print,
You'll find has ſo much Vertue in't,
That I durft pawn my Ears, 'twill tell
Whate'er concerns you full as well,
In Phyfick, Stolen Goods, or Love,
As he himself could, when above.
* Tibi brachia contrahet ingens
Scorpius, &c,
* Verſes
[ 87 ]
* Verfes to be prefixed before Ber-
nard Lintot's New Mifcellany.
S
OME Colinæus praife, fome Bleau,
Others account them but ſo fo ;
'Some Plantin to the reft prefer,
And fome eſteem Old Elzevir ;
Others with Aldus wou'd befot us;
I, for my Part, admire Lintottus---
His Character's beyond Compare,
Like his own Perfon, large and fair.
They print their Names in Letters fmall,
But LINTOT ſtands in Capital:
Author and He, with equal Grace,
Appear and ftare you in the Face :
Stephens prints Heathen Greek, 'tis faid,
Which fome can't conftrue, fome can't read :
But all, that comes from Lintot's Hand,
Ev'n Ra ----Son might underſtand.
Oft in an Aldus, or a Plantin,
A Page is blotted, or Leaf wanting;
Of Liniot's Books this can't be faid,
All fair, and not ſo much as read.
Their Copy coſt 'em not a Penny
To Homer, Virgil, or to any ;
They ne'er gave Six-pence for tavo Lines,
To them, their Heirs, or their Affigns;
But Lintot is at vaft Expence,
And pays prodigious dear for--Senfe.
I
Their
88 To Mr. JOHN MOORE.
Their Books are uſeful but to few,
A Scholar, or a Wit or two;
Lintot's for gen'ral Ufe are fit;
For fome Folks read, but all Folks fh---
* To Mr. John Moore, Author of
the celebrated Worm-Powder.
H°
OW much, egregious Moore, are we
Deceiv'd by Shews and Forms!
Whate'er we think, whate'er we fee,
All Humankind are Worms.
Man is a very Worm by Birth,
Vile, reptile, weak, and vain!
A while he crawls upon the Earth,
Then fhrinks to Earth again.
That Woman is a Worm, we find,
E're fince our Grandame's Evil ;
She first convers'd with her own Kind,
That ancient Worm, the Devil.
t
The Learn'd themſelves we Book-worms
name;
The Blockhead is a Slow-worm ;
The Nymph, whofe Tail is all on Flame,
Is aptly turn'd a Glow-worm ;
The
To Mr. JOHN MOORE.
89
The Fops are painted Butterflies,
That flutter for a Day;
Firft from a Worm they take their Rife,
And in a Worm decay.
The Flatterer an Earwig grows:
น
Thus Worms fuit all Conditions ;
Mifers are Muck-worms, Silk-worms Beaus,
And Death-watches Phyficians.
That Statefmen have the Worm, is ſeen
By all their winding Play ;
Their Confcience is a Worm within,
That gnaws them Night and Day.
Ah Moore! thy Skill were well employ'd,
And greater Gain wou'd riſe,
If thou could't make the Courtier void
The Worm, that never dies!
O learned Friend of Abchurch-Lane,
Who fet'ft our Entrails free,
Vain is thy Art, thy Powder vain,
Since Worms fhall eat ev'n thee!
Our Fate thou only can'ft adjourn
Some few fhort Years, no more:
Ev'n Button's Wits to Worms fhall turn,
Who Maggots were before.
* Verfes
I 2
[90]
* Verfes occafioned by an &c. at the
End of Mr. D'Urfy's Name in
the Title to one of his Plays.
J
OVE call'd before him t'other Day
The Vowels, U, 0, I, E, A.
All Dipthongs, and all Confonants,
Either of England, or of France;
And all that were, or wish'd to be,
Rank'd in the Name of Tom D'Urfy.
Fierce is this Caufe; the Letters spoke all
Liquids grew rough, and Mutes turn'à vocal.
Thofe four proud Syllables alone
Were filent, which by Fates Decroe
Chim'd in fo finoothly, one by one,
To the ſweet Name of Tom D'Urfy.
N, by whom Names fubfift, declar'd,
To have no Place in this was hard;
And 2 maintain'd, 'twas but his Due
Still to keep Company with U ;
So hop'd to ſtand, no leſs than he,
In the great Name of Tom D'Urfy.
E fhew'd, a Comma ne'er could claim
A Place in any British Name;
;
* This Accident happen'd by Mr. D'Urfy's
having made a Flourish there, which the Print-
er miftook for an &c.
Yet
Verſes occafioned by an &c.
91
Yet making here a perfect Botch,
Thruits your poor Vowel from his Notch:
Hiatus mi valde deflendus !
From which good Jupiter defend us!
Sooner I'd quit my Part in thee,
Than be no Part in Tom D'Urfy.
P proteſted, puff'd, and fwore,
He'd not be ferv'd ſo like a Beaft;
He was a Piece of Emperor,
And made up half a Pope at leaſt.
C, vow'd, he'd frankly have releas'd
His double Share in Cæfar Caius,
For only one in Tom D'Urfeius.
, Confonant and Vowel too,
To Jupiter did humbly fue,
That of his Grace he wou'd proclaim
Durfeius his true Latin Name;
For tho' without them both, 'twas clear,
Himself could ne'er be Jupiter;
Yet they'd refign that Poft fo high,
To be the Genitive Durfei.
B and L fwore Bl--- and W---s,
Y and Z cry`d, P---x and Z-
Z----S,
Gfwore by G--d, it ne'er fhould be,
And W wou'd not lofe, not he,
An English Letter's Property
In the great Name of Tom Durfy.
In fhort; the reft were all in Fray,
From Chriflcroſs to Et cætera..
They, tho' but Standers-by too, mutter'd ;
Dipthongs, and Tripthongs, fwore and ſtut-
terd;
I 3
That
92
Verfes occafioned by an &C.
That none had ſo much Right to be
Part of the Name of ſtuttering T---
T-- Tom--a--as--- De---Dur---fy---fy.
Then Jove thus fpake; With Care and
Pain
We form'd this Name, renown'd in Rhyme;
* Immortal Neufgermain !
Not thine,
Coft ftudious Cabalifts more Time.
Yet now, as then, you all declare,
Far hence to Egypt you'll repair,
And turn ftrange Hieroglyphicks there;
Rather than Letters longer be,
Unleſs i'th Name of Tom Durfy.
Were you all pleas'd, yet what, I pray,
To foreign Letters could I fay?
What if the Hebrew next fhou'd aim
To turn quite backward D'Urfj's Name?
Shou'd the Greek quarrel too, by Styx, I
Cou'd ne'er bring in Pi and Xi ;
Omicron and Omega from us
Would cach hope to be O in Thomas ;
And all th' ambitious Vowels vie
No less than Pythagorick Y,
To have a Place in Tom D'Urfy.
}
Then, well-belov'd and truſty Letters!
Cons'nants, and Vowels, much their betters,
* A Poet, who used to make Verfes, ending
with the laft Syllables of the Names of thofe Per-
fons be praised: Which Voiture turned againſt
him in a Poem of the ſame Kind.
IVE,
Prologue for Mr. Durfy's Plag.
WE, willing to repair this Breach,
And all that in us lies, pleaſe each ;
Et cætra to our Aid muſt call,
Et cat'ra repreſents ye all;
Et cat'ra therefore, we decree,
Henceforth for ever join'd fhall be
To the great Name of Tom Durfy.
93
}
* Prologue, defigned for Mr. Dur-
fy's laft Play.
G
ROWN old in Rhyme, 'twere barba-
rous to diſcard
Your perfevering, unexhaufted Bard:
Damnation follows Death in other Men,
But your damn'd Poet lives, and writes again.
Th' advent'rous Lover is fucceſsful ſtill,
Who ſtrives to pleaſe the Fair against her Will:
Be kind, and make him in his Wiſhes eaſy,
Who in your own Despite has ftrove to pleaſe
ye.
He ſcorn'd to borrow from the Wits of yore;
But ever writ, as none e'er writ before.
You Modern Wits, fhou'd each Man bring
his Claim,
Have deſperate Debentures on your Fame;
And little wou'd be left you, I'm afraid,
If all your Debts to Greece and Rome were
paid:
From
94 Prologue to the Three Hours, &c.
From his deep-Fund ourAuthor largely draws,
Nor finks his Credit lower than it was.
Tho' Plays for Honour in old Time he made,
"Tis now for better Reaſons---to be paid.
Believe him, he has known the World too
long,
And feen the Death of much immortal Song.
He fays, poor Poets loft, while Players won,
As Pimps grow rich, while Gallants are
undone.
Tho' Tom the Poet writ with Eafe and Plea-
fure,
The Comick Tom abounds in other Treaſure.
Fame is at beft an unperforming Cheat;
But 'tis fubftantial Happiness to eat.
Let Eafe, his last Request, be of your giving,
Nor force him to be damn'd to get his Living.
*Prologue to the Three Hours
after Marriage.
A
UTHORS are judg'd by frange capri-
cious Rules;
↓
The great ones are thought mad, the
fmall ones Fools:
Yet fure the beſt are moſt ſeverely fated,
For Fools are only laugh'd at, Wits are hated.
Blockheads with reafon Men of Senſe abhor;
But Fool 'gainſt Fool, is barb`rous Civil War.
Why
Prologue to the Three Hours, &c. 95
Why on all Authors then fhou'd Criticks fall?
Since fome have writ, and ſhewn no Wit at all.
Condemn a Play of theirs, and they evade it,
Cry, "Damn not us, but damn the French
"who made it."
By running Goods theſe graceleſs Owlers
gain;
Theirs are the Rules of France, the Plots of
Spain:
But Wit, like Wine from happier Climates
brought,
Dafh'd by thefe Rogues, turns Engliſh com-
mon Draught.
They pall Moliere's and Lopez' ſprightly
Strain,
And teach dull Harlequins to grin in vain.
How ſhall our Author hope a gentler Fate,
Who dares moft impudently not tranſlate.
It had been civil in theſe ticklish Times
To fetch his Fools and Knaves from foreign
Climes,
Spaniards and French abuſe to the World's
End,
But ſpare old England, left you hurt a Friend.
If any Fool is by our Satire bit,
Let him hifs loud, to fhew you all, he's hit.
Poets make Characters, as Saleſmen Clothes ;
We take no Meaſure of your Fops and Beaus;
But here all Sizes and all Shapes you meet,
And fit yourſelves, like Chaps in Monmouth-
Street.
Gallants !
ინ
SANDY S's Ghoft.
Gallants! look here, this * Fools-Cap has
an Air
Goodly and finart, with Ears of Iffactar.
Let no one Fool engross it, or confine
A common Bleffing! now 'tis yours, now
mine.
But Poets in all Ages had the Care
To keep this Cap, for fuch as will to wear.
Our Author has it now, (for every Wit
Of courſe refign'd it to the next that writ ;)
And thus upon the Stage 'tis fairly † thrown ;
Let him that takes it, wear it as his own.
* Sandys's Ghoſt: Or a proper
new Ballad on the new Ovid's
Metamorphofis: As it was in-
tended to be tranflated by Per-
fons of Quality.
Y
E Lords and Commons, Men of Wit
And Pleafure about Town,
Read this, e're you tranflate one Bit
Of Books of high Renown.
* Stews a Gap with Ears.
† Flings down the Cap, and Exit.
Beware
SANDY S's Ghoft.
97
Beware of Latin Authors all :
Nor think your Verfes Sterling,
Tho' with a Golden Pen you fcrawl,
And fcribble in a Berlin :
For not the Deſk with filver Nails,
Nor Bureau of Expence,
Nor Standish well japan'd, avails
To writing of good Senſe.
Hear how a Ghoft in dead of Night,
With faucer Eyes of Fire,
In woeful wife did fore affright
A Wit and courtly 'Squire.
Rare Imp of Phœbus, hopeful Youth !
Like Puppy tame, that uſes
To fetch and carry, in his Mouth,
The Works of all the Muſes.
Ah! why did he write Poetry,
That hereto was ſo civil;
And fell his Soul for Vanity,
To Rhyming and the Devil?
A Deſk he had of curious Work,
With glitt'ring Studs about;
Within the fame did Sandjs lurk,
Tho' Quid lay without.
Now as he ſcratch'd to fetch up Thought,
Forth popp'd the Sprite fo thin;
And from the Key-hole bolted out,
All upright as a Pin.
With
98
SANDY S's Ghoft.
With Whiskers, Band, and Pantaloon,
And Ruff compos'd moſt duly;
This 'Squire he dropp'd his Pen full foon,
While as the Light burnt bluely.
Ho! Maſter Sam, quoth Sandy's Sprite,
Write on, nor let me fcare ye;
Forfooth, if Rhymes fall in not right,
To Budgel ſeek, or Carey.
I hear the Beat of Jacob's Drums;
Poor Ovid finds no Quarter!
See first the merry P---- comes
In Hafte, without his Garter.
Then Lords and Lordings, 'Squires and
Knights,
Wits, Witlings, Prigs, and Peers;
Garth at St. James's, and at White's,
Beats up for Volunteers.
What Fenton will not do, nor Gay,
Nor Congreve, Rore, nor Stanyan,
Tom B----t or Tom D'Urfy may,
John Dunton, Steele, or any one.
If Justice Philips' coſtive Head
Some frigid Rhymes diſburſes;
They fhall like Perfian Tales be read,
And glad both Babes and Nurſes.
Let W--rw--k's Mufe with Ab---t join,
And Ozel's with Lord Hervey's :
Tickell and Addiſon combine,
And P--fe tranſlate with Jervis.
UMBRA.
99
L---- himſelf, that lively Lord,
Who bows to ev'ry Lady,
Shall join with F
in one Accord,
And be like Tate and Brady.
Ye Ladies too draw forth your Pen
I pray where can the Hurt lie?
Since you have Brains as well as Men,
As witnefs Lady W—I—y.
Now, Tonfon, lift thy Forces all;
Review them, and tell Nofes;
For to poor Ovid ſhall befal
A ſtrange Metamorphofis.
A Metamorphofis more ſtrange.
Than all his Books can vapour :
To what, (quoth 'Squire) fhall Ovid
change?"
Quoth Sandys: To wafe Paper.
C
* UMBRA.
LOSE to the beſt known Author Umbra
fits,
The conftant Index to all Button's Wits.
Who's here? cries Umbra: Only Johnſon”-
Ob?
Your Slave, and exit; but returns with Rowe
K
i
Dear
roo DUKE upon DUKE.
Dear Rowe, lets fit and talk of Tragedies:
Not long, Pope enters; and to Pope he flies
Then up comes Steele; he turns upon his
Heel,
And in a Moment faſtens upon Steele :
But cries as foon, Dear Dick, I must be gone,
For, if I know his Tread, here's Addiſon.
Says Addifon to Steele, 'Tis Time to go;
Pope to the Clofet fteps afide with Rorve.
Poor Umbra, left in this abandon'd Pickle,
E'en fits him down, and writes to honeft T---、
Fool 'tis in vain from Wit to Wit to roam:
Know, Senſe, like Charity, begins at Home.
Duke upon Duke. An excellent
new Ballad.
T
To the Tune of Chevy-Chace.
O Lordings proud I tune my Lay,
Who feast in Bower or Hall:
Though Dukes they be, to Dukes I
fay,
That Pride will have a Fall.
Now, that this fame it is right footh,
Full plainly doth appear,
From what befel John Duke of Guife,
And Nic. of Lancaſterc.
When
DUKE upon DUKE.
IOI
When Richard Caur-de-Lyon reign'd,
(Which means a Lion's Heart)
Like him his Barons rag'd and roar'd,
Each play'd a Lion's Part.
A Word and Blow was then enough,
(Such Honour did them prick)
If you but turn'd your Cheek, a Cuff;
fe, a Kick,
And if your A-
Look in their Face, they tweak'd your Nofe
At ev'ry turn fell to't;
Toes;
Come near, they trod upon your
They fought from Head to Foot.
Of these, the Duke of Lancaſtere
Stood Paramount in Pride;
He kick'd, and cuff'd, and tweak'd, and trod
His Foes, and Friends befide.
Firm on his Front his Beaver fate,
So broad, it hid his Chin;
For why? he deem'd no Man his Mate,
And fear'd to tan his Skin.
With Spanish Wool he dy'd his Check,
With Effence oil'd his Hair;
No Vixen Civet-Cat fo fweet,
Nor could fo fcratch and tear.
Right tall he made himſelf to ſhow,
Though made full fhort by God:
And when all other Dukes did bow,
This Duke did only nod.
K 2
Yet
102
DUKE upon DUKE.
Yet courteous, blithe, and debonair
To Guife's Duke was he ;
Never was ſuch a loving Pair :
How could they diſagree?
Oh, thus it was.
He lov'd him dear,
And caft how to requite him :
And having no Friend left but this,
He deem'd it meet to fight him.
Forthwith he drench'd his deſp’rate Quill :
And thus he did indite :
"This Eve at Whiſk ourſelf will play,
"Sir Duke! be here To-night."
Ah no, ah no, the guilelefs Guiſe
Demurely did reply ;
I cannot go, not yet can ftand,
So fore the Gout have I.
The Duke in Wrath call'd for his Steeds,
And fiercely drove them on;
Lord! Lord! how rattl'd then thy Stones,
Oh Kingly Kensington!
All in a Trice he rufh'd on Guiſe;
Thruſt out his Lady dear;
He tweak'd his Nofe, trod on his Toes,
And fmote him on the Ear.
But mark, how 'midst of Victory,
Fate plays her old Dog Trick!
Up leap'd Duke John, and knock'd him down ;
And fo down fell Duke Nic.
Alas,
DUKE upan DUKE. 103
Alas, oh Nic! Oh Nic. alas !
Right did thy Goffip call thee:
As who should fay, alas the Day,
When John of Guiſe fhall maul thee!
For on thee did he clap his Chair,
And on that Chair did fit;
And look'd, as if he meant therein
To do what was not fit.
To do th
Up didſt thou look, oh woeful Duke!
Thy Mouth yet durft not ope,
Certes for fear of finding there
A T-d instead of Trope.
"Lie there, thou Caitiff vile! quoth Guife,
"No Sheet is here to fave thee;
"The Cafement it is fhut likewife;
"Beneath my Feet I have thée.
"If thou haft aught to speak, ſpeak out."
Then Lancastere did cry,
"Know'st thou not me, nor yet thyself?
"Who thou, and whom am I?
"Know'st thou not me, who (God be prais❜d)
"Have brawl'd, and quarrel'd more,
"Than all the Line of Lancaſtere
"That battl'd heretofore?
"In Senates fam'd for many a Speech,
"And (what fome Awe must give ye,
"Tho' laid thus low beneath thy Breech)
"Still of the Council Privy.
K 3
<< Still
-
104
DUKE upan DUKE,
"Still of the Dutchy Chancellor,
"Durante Life I have it;
"And turn, as now thou do'ſt on me,
“Mine A---e on them that gave it.”
But now the Servants they rufh'd in ;
And Duke Nic. up leap'd He :
I will not cope against fuch odds,
But, Guije! I'll fight with thee :
To-morrow with thee will I fight
Under the Greenwood Tree
"No, not to-morrow, but to night
(Quoth Guife) I'll fight with thee.”
FC
And now the Sun declining low
Beſtreak'd with Blood the Skies;
When, with his Sword at Saddle Bow,
Rode forth the valiant Guije;
Full gently praunch'd he o'er the Lawn;
Oft' roll'd his Eyes around,
And from the Stirrup ſtretch'd, to find
Who was not to be found.
Long brandish'd he the Blade in Air,
Long look'd the Field all o'er :
At length he ſpy'd the Merry-men brown,
And eke the Coach and four.
From out the Boot bold Nicholas
Did wave his Wand fo white,
As pointing out the gloamy Glade
Wherein he meant to fight.
AR
[
↓
1
DUKE upon DUKE.
105
All in that dreadful Hour, fo calm
Was Lancafiere to fee,
As if he meant to take the Air,
Or only take a Fee.
And fo he did---for to New Court
His rowling Wheels did run :
Not that he fhunn'd the doubtful Strife,
But Bus nefs muſt be done.
Back in the Dark, by Brompton Park,
He turn'd up through the Gore ;
So flunk to Cambden Houſe fo high,
All in his Coach and four.
Mean while Duke Guiſe did fret and ſume,
A Sight it was to ſee ;
Benumm`d beneath the Evening Dew,
Under the Greenwood Tree.
Then, wet and weary, home he far'd,
Sore mutt'ring all the way,
"The Day I meet him, Nic. fhall rue
"The Cudgel of that Day.
"Mean Time on ev'ry Piffing-Poſt
"Pafte we this Recreant's Name,
"So that each Piffer-by fhall read,
"And pifs againſt the ſame.
Now God preferve our gracious King!
And grant, his Nobles all
May learn this leffon from Duke Nic.
That Pride will have a Fall.
• Fragment
[ 106 ] -
I
*
Fragment of a Satire.
F meagre Gildon draws his venal Quill,
I wiſh the Man a Dinner, and fit ſtill.
If dreadful Dennis raves in furious Fret,
I'll answer Dennis, when I am in Debt.
Tis Hunger, and not Malice, makes them
print;
And who'll wage War with Bedlam or the
Mint ?
Should fome more fober Criticks come a-
broad,
If wrong, I fmile; if right, I kiſs the Rod.
Pains, Reading, Study, are their juſt Pretence;
And all they want is Spirit, Tafte, and Senfe.
Commas and Points they fet exactly right;
And 'twere a Sin to rob them of their Mite.
Yet ne'er one Sprig of Laurel grac'd thoſe Rib-
balds,
From flashing B----y down to pidling Tibbalds:
Who thinks he reads, when he but fcans and
Spells,
A Word-catcher, that lives on Syllables.
Yet ev❜n this Creature may fome Notice claim,
Wrapt round and ſanctify'd with Shakeſpear's
Name.
Pretty, in Amber to obferve the Forms
Of Hairs, or Straws, or Dirt, or Grubs, or
Worms:
The Thing, we know, is neither rich nor rare ;
But wonder, how the Devil it got there.
Are
1
Fragment of a SATIRE. 107
Are others angry? I excuſe them too;
Well may they rage; I give them but their
Due.
Each Man's true Merit 'tis not hard to find ;
But each Man's fecret Standard in his Mind,
That calling Weight Pride adds to Empti-
nefs;
This who can gratify; for who can guess?
The Wretch, whom pilfer'd Paftorals renown,
Who turns a Perfian Tale for half a Crown,
Juft writes to make his Barrenness appear,
And ſtrains from hardbound Brains fix Lines
a Year ;
In Senfe ſtill wanting, tho' he lives on Theft,
Steals much, fpends little, yet has nothing left:
Johnſon, who now to Senfe, now Nonfenfe
leaning,
Means not, but blunders round about a Mean-
ing:
And he, whoſe Fuſtian's ſo ſublimely bad,
+ It is not Poetry, but Profe run mad :
Should modeft Satire bid all theſe tranſlate,
And own, that nine fuch Poets make a Tate
How wou'd they fume, and ſtamp, and roar,
and chafe!
How wou'd they fwear, not Congreve's felf
was fafe!
Author of the Victim, and Cobler of Preſton.
†Verſe of Dr. Ev.
Peace
108 Fragment of a SATIRE.
Peace to all fuch! but were there one whoſe
Fires
Apollo kindled, and fair Fame inſpires,
Bleft with each Talent, and each Art to pleaſe,
And born to write, converfe, and live with
Eafe ;
Should fuch a Man, too fond to rule alone,
Bear, like the Turk, no Brother near the
Throne;
View him with ſcornful, yet with fearful Eyes;
And hate for Arts, that caus'd himſelf to rife;
Damn with faint Praife, affent with civil Leer,
And without fneering teach the reft to fneer;
Wiſhing to wound, and yet afraid to ſtrike,
Juft hint a Fault, and heſitate Diſlike;
Alike referv'd to blame, or to commend,
A tim'rous Foe, and a fufpicious Friend;
Dreading ev'n Fools; by Flatterers befieg'd,
And fo obliging that he ne'er oblig'd;
Who, if two Wits on rival Themes conteft,
Approves of each, but likes the worſt the beſt;
Like Cato gives his little Senate Laws,
And fits attentive to his own Applauſe;
While Wits and Templars ev'ry Sentence
raife,
And wonder with a fooliſh Face of Praiſe.
What Pity, Heav'n! if fuch a Man there be!
Who would not weep, if A----n were he ?
* Macer.
[ 109 ]
W
* Macer.
HEN fimple Macer, now of high
Renown,
First fought a Poet's Fortune in the
Town,
"Twas all th' Ambition his great Soul could
feel,
•
To wear red Stockings, and to dine with St---
Some Ends of Verſe his Betters might afford,
And gave the harmleſs Fellow a good Word.
Set up with theſe, he ventur'd on the Town,
And in a borrow'd Play, out-did poor Cr---n.
There he ſtopt fhort, nor fince has writ a Tittle,
But has the Wit to make the moſt of little
Like ftunted hide-bound Trees, that just have
got
Sufficient Sap at once to bear and rot.
;
* Now he begs Verfe, and what he gets com-
mends,
Not of the Wits his Foes, but Fools his Friends.
So fome coarfe Country Wench, almoſt de-
cay'd,
Trudges to Town, and firſt turns Chamber-
maid;
* He requested by publick Advertiſements the
Aid of the Ingenious to make up a Miſcellany in
8713.
Aukward
{
}
}
110 SYLVIA, a Fragment.
Aukward and fupple each Devoir to pay,
She flatters her good Lady twice a Day;
Thought wond'rous honeſt, tho' of mean Dc-
gree,
And ſtrangely lik❜d for her Simplicity ›
In a tranflated Suit then tries the Town,
With borrow'd Pins, and Patches not her own;
But just endur'd the Winter fhe began,
And in four Months a batter'd Harridan.
Now nothing's left, but wither'd, pale, and
fhrunk,
To bawd for others, and go Shares with Punk.
* Sylvia, a Fragment.
YLVIA my Heart in wond'rous wife a-
SYLV larm'd,
Aw'd without Senfe, and without Beau-
ty charm'd;
But fome odd Graces, and fine Flights, fhe
had,
;
Was, just not ugly, and was juſt not mad
Her Tongue ſtill run on Credit from her Eyes,
More pert than witty, more a Wit than wife.
Good Nature, fhe declar'd it, was her Scorn,
Tho' 'twas by that alone fhe could be born;
Affronting all, yet fond of a good Name:
A fool to Pleafüre, yet a Slave to Fame;
Now coy, and studious in no Point to fall,
Now all agog for D------y at a Ball:
New
ARTIMESIA.
III
Now deep in Taylor, and the Book of Martyrs,
Now drinking Citron with his Grace and
Charters.
Men, ſome to Bus'neſs, ſome to Pleaſure
take,
But ev'ry Woman's in her Soul a Rake.
Frail, fev'rifh Sex! their Fit now chills, now
burns;
Atheiſm and Superftition rule by Turns;
And the mere Heathen in her carnal Part,
Is ftill a fad good Chriſtian at her Heart.
T
* Artimefia.
HO' Artimefia talks, by Fits,
Of Councils, Clafficks, Fathers, Wits;
Reads Malbranche, Boyle, and Locke :
Yet in fome Things, methinks, the fails;
'Twere well, if the wou'd pare her Nails,
And wear a cleaner Smock.
Haughty and huge as Higb-Dutch Bride
Such Naftiness, and fo much Pride,
Are odly join'd by Fate :
On her large Squab you find her ſpread,
Like a fat Corpfe upon a Bed,
That lies and ftinks in State.
She wears no Colours (Sign of Grace)
On any Part except her Face;
All white and black befide :
L
;
Dauntless
112
PHRYN E.
Dauntless her Look, her Gefture proud,
Her Voice theatrically loud,
And mafculine her Stride.
So have I feen, in black and white,
A prating Thing, a Magpye Height,
Majeſtically ſtalk;
A ftately, worthless Animal,
That plies the Tongue, and wags the Tail;
All Flutter, Pride, and Talk.
* Phryne.
HRYNE had Talents for Mankind;
Popen the was, and unconfin'd,
Like fome free Port of Trade :
Merchants unloaded here their Freight ;
And Agents from each foreign State
Here first their Entry made.
Her Learning and good Breeding ſuch,
Whether th' Italian or the Dutch,
Spaniard or French came to her,
To all obliging fhe'd appear;
'Twas Si Signior, 'twas Yaw Mynheer,
'Twas S'il vous plaiſt, Monfieur.
Obſcure by Birth, renown'd by Crimes,
Still changing Names, Religions, Climes,
At length the turns a Bride ;
In Di'monds, Pearls, and rich Brocades,
She fhines the firft of batter'd Jades;
And flutters in her Pride,
Sø
On Mrs. BIDDY FLOYD. 113
So have I known thoſe I nfects fair,
Which curious Germans hold fo rare,
Still vary Shapes and Dyes;
Still gain new Titles with new Forms
Firft Grubs obfcene, then wrigling Worms,
Then painted Butterflies.
W
On Mrs. Biddy Floyd.
HEN Cupid did his Grandfire Jove
intreat
To form fome Beauty by a new Re-
ceipt,
Jove fent, and found far in a Country Scene
Truth, Innocence, Good-nature, Look ferene;
From which Ingredients firft the dex'trous Boy
Pick'd the Demure, the Aukward, and the Coy;
The Graces from the Court did next provide
Breeding, and Wit, and Air, and decent Pride;
Thefe Venus cleans'd from ev'ry fpurious Grain
Of Nice, Coquet, Affected, Pert, and Vain.
Jove mix'd up all, and his beft Clay employ'd;
Then call'd the happy Compofition, Floyd.
L z
Apollo
[114]
Apollo outwitted. To the Honour-
able Mrs. Finch, under her Name
of Ardelia.
P
HOEBUS now fhort'ning ev'ry Shade,
Up to the Northern Tropick came,
And thence beheld a lovely Maid
Attending on a Royal Dame.
The God laid down his feeble Rays,
Then lighted from his glitt'ring Coach;
But fenc'd his Head with his own Bays,
Before he durft the Nymph approach.
Under thofe facred Leaves, fecure
From common Lightning of the Skies,
He fondly thought he might endure
The Flaſhes of Ardelia's Eyes.
The Nymph, who oft had read in Books
Of that bright God, whom Bards invoke,
Soon knew Apollo by his Looks;
And gueſs'd his Bus'neſs e're he ſpoke.
He, in the old Celeſtial Cant,
Confefs'd his Flame, and ſwore by Styx,
Whate'er ſhe would defire, to grant ;
But wife Ardelia knew his Tricks.
Ovid had warn'd her to beware
Of itroling Gods, whofe ufual Trade is,
Under Pretence of taking Air,
To pick up Sublunary Ladies.
Howe'er,
To the Hon. Mrs. FINCH. 115
Howe'er, ſhe gave no flat Denial,
As having Malice in her Heart;
And was refolv'd upon a Trial
To cheat the God in his own Art.
;
Hear my Requeft, the Virgin faid
Let which I pleaſe of all the Nine
Attend, whene'er I want their Aid,
Obey my Call, and only mine.
By Vow oblig'd, by Paffion led,
The God could not refuſe her Pray'r :
He way'd his Wreath thrice o'er her Head,
Thrice mutter'd fomething to the Air.
And now he thought to feize his Due;
But the the Charm already try'd;
Thalia heard the Call, and flew
To wait at bright Ardelia's Side.
On Sight of this Celeſtial Prude
Apollo thought it vain to ſtay;
Nor in her Prefence durft be rude,
But made his Leg, and went away.
He hop'd to find fome lucky Hour,
When on their Queen the Muſes wait
But Pallas owns Ardelia's Pow'r;
For Vows divine are kept by Fate.
Then full of Rage Apollo ſpoke ;
Deceitful Nymph, I fee thy Art;
And tho' I can't my Gift revoke,
I'll diſappoint its nobler Part.
I s
S
Let
116 To Lady WINCHELSE A.
Let ftubborn Pride poffefs thee long,
And be thou negligent of Fame :
With ev'ry Mufe to grace thy Song,
May'st thou defpife a Poet's Name.
Of modeſt Poets be thou firft,
To filent Shades repeat thy Verfe,
Till Fame and Eccho almoft burſt,
Yet hardly dare one Line rehearſe.
And last, my Vengeance to compleat,
May you defcend to take Renown,
Prevail'd on by the Thing you hate,
A Whig, and one that wears a Gown.
*
I
Impromptu, To Lady Winchelfea.
Occafioned by four Satyrical Ver-
fes on Women-Wits, in the Rape
of the Lock.
N vain you boaſt Poetic Names of yore,
And cite thofe Sappho's we admire no more;
Fate doom'd the Fall of ev'ry Female Wit,
But doom'd it then, when firſt Ardelia writ.
Of all Examples by the World confeft,
I knew Ardelia could not quote the beſt;
Who, like her Miſtreſs on Britania's Throne,
Fights and fubdues in Quarrels not her own.
To write their Praife you but in vain effay;
Ev'n while you write, you take that Praiſe a-
way:
Light
STELLA's Birth-Day.
117
Light to the Stars the Sun does thus reſtore,
But ſhines himſelf, till they are ſeen no more.
* Epigram.
Biſhop by his Neighbours hated
A to
Has Cauſe to wifh himſelf tranflated.
But why fhou'd Hough defire Tranfla-
tion,
Lov'd and eſteem'd by all the Nation?
Yet if it be the old Man's Cafe,
I'll lay my Life, I know the Place.
"Tis, where God ſent ſome that adore him,
And whither Enoch went before him.
S&
Stella's Birth-Day. 1718.
TELLA this Day is Thirty-four,
(We ſhan't difpute a Year or more :)
Howe'er, Stella, be not troubled,
Altho' thy Size and Years are doubted,
Since first I ſaw thee at Sixteen,
The brightest Virgin on the Green.
So little is thy Form declin'd;
Made up fo largely in thy Mind.
Oh! wou'd it pleaſe the Gods to split
Thy Beauty, Size, and Years, and Wit,
No
118
STELLA's Birth-Day.
No Age could furnish out a Pair
Of Nymphs fo graceful, wife, and fair
With half the Luftre of your Eyes,
With half your Wit, your Years, and Size,
And then, before it grew too late,
How fhou'd I beg of gentle Fate,
That either Nymph might have her Swain,
To ſplit my Worſhip too in twain !
Stella's Birth-Day. 1720.
A
LL Travellers at firft incline,
Where-e'er they fee the fairest Sign;
And if they find the Chambers neat,
And like the Liquor and the Meat,
Will call again, and recommend
The Angel-Inn to ev'ry Friend:
What tho' the Painting grows decay'd,
The Houſe will never lofe its Trade :
Nay, tho' the treach'rous Tapfter Thomas
Hangs a new Angel two Doors from us,
As fine as Dawbers hands can make it,
In hopes that Strangers may miſtake it,
We think it both a Shame and a Sin
To quit the true old Angel-Inn.
Now, this is Stella's Cafe in Fact,
An Angel's Face, a little crack'd;
Could Poets, or could Painters fix
How Angels look at Thirty-fix.
This drew us in at firſt to find
In fuch a Form an Angel's Mind;
And
STELLA's Birth-Day.
119
And ev'ry Virtue now fupplies
The fainting Rays of Stella's Eyes.
See at her Levee crowding Swains,
Whom Stella freely entertains
With Breeding, Humour, Wit, and Senſe,
And puts them but to fmall Expence ;
Their Mind fo plentifully fills,
And makes fuch reaſonable Bills,
So little gets for what the gives,
We really wonder how ſhe lives!
And had her Stock been lefs, no doubt,
She must have long ago run out.
Then who can think, we'll quit the Place,
When Doll hangs out a newer Face;
Or ſtop and light at Cloe's Head,
With Scraps and Leavings to be fed?
Then Cloe, ftill go on to prate
Of Thirty-fix, and Thirty-eight;
Purfue your Trade of Scandal-picking,
Your Hints, that Stella is no Chicken;
Your Innuendo's, when you tell us
That Stella loves to talk with Fellows;
And let me warn you to believe
A Truth, for which your Soul fhould grieve;
That ſhould you live to fee the Day,
When Stella's Locks muſt all be grey,
When Age muft print a furrow'd Trace
On ev'ry Feature of her Face;
Tho' You, and all your fenfelefs Tribe,
Could Art, or Time, or Nature bribe
To make you look like Beauty's Queen,
And hold for ever at Fifteen ;
No
120
STELLA's Birth-Day.
No Bloom of Youth can ever blind
The Cracks and Wrinkles of your Mind:
All Men of Senſe will pafs your Door,
And crowd to Stella's at Fourfcore.
Stella's Birth-Day. A great Bottle
of Wine, long buried, being that
Day dug up. 1722.
ESOLV'D my annual Verfe to pay,
R By Duty bound, on Stella's Day
Furnish'd with Paper, Pens, and Ink,
I gravely fat me down to think :
I bit my Nails, and ſcratch'd my Head,
But found my Wit and Fancy fled;
Or, if with more than ufual Pain
A Thought came flowly from my Brain,
It cost me Lord knows how much Time
To ſhape it into Senfe and Rhyme;
And, what was yet a greater Curſe,
Long-Thinking made my Fancy worſe.
Forfaken by th' infpiring Nine,
I waited at Apollo's Shrine;
I told him, what the World would ſay,
If Stella were unfung To-day;
How I fhou'd hide my Head for Shame,
When both the Jacks and Robin came ;
How Ford would frown, how Jim would leer,
How Sh----r the Rogue would fneer,
And
STELLA's Birth-Day.
121
And fwear it does not always follow,
That Semel'n anno ridet Apollo.
I have affur'd them twenty Times,
That Phoebus help'd me in my Rhymes,
Phœbus infpir'd me from above,
And he and I were Hand and Glove:
But finding me fo dull and dry fince,
They'll call it all poetic Licence;
And when I brag of Aid divine,
Think Euſden's Right as good as mine.
Nor do I ask for Stella's Sake;
'Tis my own Credit lies at Stake:
And Stella will be fung, while I
Can only be a Stander-by.
Apollo having thought a little,
Return'd this Anſwer to a Tittle.
Tho' you should live like old Methusalem,
I furnish Hints, and you ſhould uſe all 'em,
You yearly fing as fhe grows old,
You'd leave her Virtues half untold.
But to ſay Truth, fuch Dulneſs reigns
Thro' the whole Set of I---riſh D---ns;
I'm daily ſtunn'd with fuch a Medley,
D--n W---, D--n D---l, and D--n S---- ;
That let what D--n foever come,
My Orders are, I'm not at Home;
And, if your Voice had not been loud,
You must have paſs'd among the Crowd.
But now your Danger to prevent,
You must apply to * Mrs. Brent ;
* The House-keeper.
For
122
STELLA's Birth-Day.
For fhe, as Prieſteſs, knows the Rites,
Wherein the God of Earth delights.
First, nine Ways looking, let her ſtand
With an old Poker in her Hand;
Let her defcribe a Circle round
In * Saunder's Cellar on the Ground;
A Spade let prudent † Archy hold,
And with Difcretion dig the Mould;
Let Stella look with watchful Eye,
Rebecca, Ford, and Grattons by.
Behold the BOTTLE, where it lies
With Neck elated tow'rds the Skies!
The God of Winds, and God of Fire,
Did to its wondrous Birth conſpire ;
And Bacchus for the Poet's Ufe
Pour'd in a ſtrong infpiring Juice:
See! as you raiſe it from its Tomb,
It drags behind a fpacious Womb,
And in the fpacious Womb contains
A fov'reign Medicine for the Brains.
You'll find it ſoon, if Fate confents;
If not, a thouſand Mrs. Brents,
Ten thouſand Archy's arm'd with Spades,
May dig in vain to Pluto's Shades.
From thence a plenteous Draught infuſe,
And boldly then invoke the Mufe;
(But first let Robert on his Knees
With Caution drain it from the Lees)
The Mufe will at your Call appear
With Stella's Praife to crown the Year.
*The Butler. The Footman.
Stella's
[ 123 ]
A
Stella's Birth-Day. 1724.
S when a beauteous Nymph decays,
We fay the's past her Dancing Days;
So Poets lofe their Feet by Time,
And can no longer dance in Rhyme.
Your annual Bard had rather chofe
To celebrate your Birth in Profe :
Yet merry Folks who want by Chance
A Pair to make a Country Dance,
Call the old Houſe-keeper, and get her
To fill a Place, for want of better:
While S-.
------ is off the Hooks,
And Friend D------y at his Books,
That Stella may avoid Difgrace,
Once more the D--n fupplies their Place.
Beauty and Wit, too fad a Truth,
Have always been confin'd to Youth;
The God of Wit, and Beauty's Queen,
He Twenty-one, and the Fifteen:
No Poet ever ſweetly fung,
»
Unleſs he were like Phabus, young;
Nor ever Nymph inſpir'd to Rhyne,
Unleſs like Venus in her Prime.
At Fifty-fix, if this be true,
Am 1 a Poet fit for you?
Or at the Age of Forty-three,
Are you a Subject fit for me ?
Adieu bright Wit, and radiant Eyes;
You must be grave, and I be wife.
M
Our
124
STELLA's Birth-Day.
Our Fate in vain we would oppofe;
But I'll be ſtill your Friend in Profe;
Efteem and Friendship to exprefs,
Will not require Poetick Dreſs;
And if the Muſe deny her Aid
To have them Jung, they may be faid.
But, Stella fay, what evil Tongue
Reports you are no longer young?
That Time fits with his Scythe to mow
Where erſt fat Cupid with his Bow?
That half your Locks are turn'd to Grey ?
I'll ne'er believe a Word they ſay.
'Tis true, but let it not be known,
My Eyes are ſomewhat dimifh grown;
For Nature, always in the Right,
To your Decays adapts my Sight,
And Wrinkles undiſtinguiſh'd paſs,
For I'm afham'd to uſe a Glaſs;
And till I fee them with thefe Eyes,
Whoever fays you have them, lyes.
No length of Time can make you quit
Honour and Virtue, Senfe and Wit.
Thus you may ſtill be young to me,
While I can better hear than ſee :
Oh, ne'er may Fortune fhew her Spight,
To make me deaf, and mend my Sight!
Stella's
[125]
Stella's Birth-Day, March 13,
T
1726.
HIS Day, whate'er the Fates decree,
Shall ſtill be kept with Joy by me;
This Day then, let us not be told
That you are fick, and I grown old,
Nor think on our approaching Ills,
And talk of Spectacles and Pills;
To-morrow will be Time enough
To hear fuch mortifying Stuff.
Yet, fince from Reafon may be brought
A better and more pleafing Thought,
Which can, in fpite of all Decays,
Support a few remaining Days:
From not the graveſt of Divines
Accept for once fome ferious Lines."
Altho' we now can form no more
Long Schemes of Life, as heretofore;
Yet You, while Time is running faſt,
Can look with Joy on what is paſt.
Were future Happineſs and Pain
A mere Contrivance of the Brain,
As Atheiſts argue, to entice,
And fit their Profelytes for Vice ;
(The only Comfort they propofe,
To have Companions in their Woes.)
Grant this the Cafe, yet fure 'tis hard
That Virtue, ftil'd its own Reward,
M 2
And
126
STELLA's Birth-Day.
And by all Sages underſtood
To be the chief of human Good,
Shou'd acting die, nor leave behind
Some lafting Pleaſure in the Mind,
Which by Remembrance will affwage
Grief, Sickneſs, Poverty, and Age;
And ſtrongly ſhoot a radiant Dart
To fhine thro' Life's declining Part.
Say, Stella, feel you no Content,
Reflecting on a Life well ſpent :
Your ſkilful Hand employ'd to fave
Defpairing Wretches from the Grave;
And then fupporting with your Store
Thofe, whom you dragg'd from Death before;
So Providence on Mortals waits,
Preferving what it firſt creates :
Your gen`rous Boldnefs to defend
An innocent and abfent Friend;
That Courage, which can make you juſt
To Merit humbled in the Duſt ;
The Deteftation you exprefs
For Vice in all its glitt'ring Drefs:
That Patience under tort'ring Pain,
Where ſtubborn Stoicks wou'd complain.
Muſt theſe like empty Shadows paſs,
Or Forms reflected from a Glafs ?
Or mere Chimæra's in the Mind,
That fly, and leave no Marks behind?
Does not the Body thrive and grow
By Food of twenty Years ago?
And, had it not been ftill fupply'd,
It muſt a thouſand Times have dy'd :
Then,
STELLA's Birth-Day.
127
Then, who with Reafon can maintain
That no Effects of Food remain ?
And, is not Virtue in Mankind
The Nutriment, that feeds the Mind?
Upheld by each good Action paft,
And still continu'd by the laſt :
Then who with Reaſon can pretend,
That all Effects of Virtue end?
Believe me, Stella, when you ſhow
That true Contempt for Things below,
Nor prize your Life for other Ends
Than merely to oblige your Friends;
Your former Actions claim their Part,
And join to fortify your Heart.
For Virtue in her daily Race,
Like Janus, bears a double Face;
Looks back with Joy where fhe has gone,
And therefore goes with Courage on:
She at your fickly Couch will wait,
And guide you to a better State.
O then, whatever Heav'n intends,
Take Pity on your pitying Friends;
Nor let your Ills affect your Mind,
To fancy they can be unkind;
Me, furely me, you ought to ſpare,
Who gladly wou'd your Suff'rings fhare;
Or give my Scrap of Life to You,
And think it far beneath your Due;
You to whoſe Care fo oft I owe,
That I'm alive to tell you fo.
M 3
* To
[128]
**To Mrs. M. B. fent on her Birth-
Day, June 15.
H! be thou bleft with all that Heav'n can
fend,
Long Health, long Youth, long Plea-
fure, and a Friend!
Not with thofe Toys the Female Race admire,
Riches that vex, and Vanities that tire:
Not as the World its pretty Slaves rewards,
A Youth of Frolicks, an Old Age of Cards;
Fair to no Purpoſe, artful to no End:
Young without Lovers, old without a Friend;
A Fop their Paffion, but their Prize a Sot;
Alive ridiculous, and dead forgot!
Let Joy, or Eafe, let Affluence, or Content,
And the gay Conſcience of a Life well ſpent,
Calm ev'ry Thought, infpirit ev'ry Grace,
Glow in thy Heart, and finile upon thy Face!
Let Day improve on Day, and Year on Year,
Without a Pain, a Trouble, or a Fear;
Till Death unfelt that tender Frame deſtroy
In fome foft Dream, or Extafy of Joy :
Peaceful fleep out the Sabbath of the Tomb,
And wake to Raptures in a Life to come !
* Song.
[ 129 ]
* Song. By a Perfon of Quality.
I
SAID to my Heart, between Sleeping and
Waking,
Thou wild Thing, that always art leaping
or aking,
What Black, Brown, or Fair, in what Clime,
in what Nation,
By turns has not taught thee a Pit---a---pata-
tion ?
Thus accus'd, the wild Thing gave this fober
Reply:
See the Heart without Motion, tho' Calia pafs
by!
Not the Beauty fhe has, or the Wit that ſhe
borrows,
Gives the Eye any Joys, or the Heart any
Sorrows.
When our Sappho appears, the whofe Wit fo
refin`d,
I am forc'd to applaud with the reft of Man-
kind;
Whatever the fays, is with Spirit and Fire;.
Ev'ry Word I attend: but I only admire.
Prudentia as vainly would put in her Claim,
Ever gazing on Heaven, tho' Man in her Aim:
'Tis Love, not Devotion, that turns up her
Eyes;
Thofe Stars of this World are too good for the
Skies.
Eut
130
BALLAD.
But Cloe fo lively, fo eaſy, ſo fair,
Her Wit fo genteel, without Art, without Care!
When She comes in my way, the Motion, the
Pain,
The Leapings, the Akings, return all again.
O wonderful Creature! a Woman of Reaſon!
Never grave out of Pride, never gay out of
Seafon !
When ſo eaſy to gueſs who this Angel ſhould
be,
Would one think Mrs. H----d ne'er dreamt
it was She?
* BALLAD.
F all the Girls that e'er were feen,
There's none fo fine as Nelly,
OF
For charming Face, and Shape, and
Mien,
And what's not fit to tell ye.
Oh! the turn'd Neck, and fmooth white Skin,
Of lovely deareſt Nelly !
For many a Swain it well had been,
Had the ne'er paſt by Calai.
For when as Nelly came to France,
(Invited by her Coufins)
Acrofs the Tuilleries each Glance
Kill'd Frenchmen by whole Dozens.
The
BALLA D.
131
The King, as he at Dinner fat,
Did beckon to his Huſſar,
And bid him bring his Tabby-Cat,
For charming Nell to bufs her.
The Ladies were with Rage provok'd
To fee her ſo reſpected :
The Men look'd arch, as Nelly ſtrok'd,
And Pufs her Tail erected.
But not 2 Man did Look employ,
Except on pretty Nelly;
Then faid the Duke de Villeroy,
Ah! qu'elle eft bien jolie !
But who's that grave Philofopher,
That carefully looks a'ter?
By his Concern it fhou'd appear,
The Fair one is his Daughter.
May foy! quoth then a Courtier fly,
He on his Child does lear too :
I wish he has no Mind to try,
What fome Papa's will here do.
The Courtiers all with one Accord
Broke out in Nelly's Praifes,
Admir'd her Rofe, and Lys fans farde,
(Which are your Termes Francoijes.)
Then might you fee a painted Ring
Of Dames, that stood by Nelly;
She like the Pride of all the Spring,
And they, like Fleurs de Palais.
In
132
Ode, on the Longitude.
In Marli's Gardens and St. Clou,
I faw this charming Nelly,
Where ſhameleſs Nymphs, expos'd to View,
Stand naked in each Alley:
But Venus had a brazen Face
Both at Versailles and Meudon ;
Or else he had refign'd her Place,
And left the Stone fhe ftood on.
Were Nelly's Figure mounted there,
'Twould put down all th’Italian :
Lord! how thofe Foreigners would fare:
But I ſhould turn Pygmalion :
For Spite of Lips, and Eyes and Mien,
Me nothing can delight fo,
As does that Part, that lies between
Her Left Toe, and her Right Toc.
* Ode, for Mufick. On the
Longitude.
T
RECITATIVO.
HE Longitude miſt on
By wicked Will. Whifton;
And not better hit on
By good Maſter Ditton.
RITOR-
On Mrs. T-s.
133
RITORNELLO.
So Ditton and Whiston
May both be bep-ft on;
And Whiston and Ditton
May both be befh-t on.
Sing Ditton,
Befh-t on;
And Whifton,
Bep-ft on.
Sing Ditton and Whifton,
And Whiston and Ditton,
Besh-t and bep-ſt on,
Bep-ft and befh-t on.
DA CAPO.
**
ST
Epigram on the Feuds about
Handel and Bononcini.
TRANGE! all this Difference ſhould be
'Twixt Tweedle-Dum, and Tweedle-
Dee!
* On Mrs. T----s.
O bright is thy Beauty, fo charming thy
Song,
So
As had drawn both the Beafts and their
Orpheus along :
But
134
On a Lady, &c,
But fuch is thy Av'rice, and fuch is thy Pride,
That the Beafts must have ftarv'd, and the
Poet have dy'd.
* Two or Three; or a Receipt to
make a Cuckold.
T
WO or three Vifits, and two or three
Bows,
Two or three civil Things, two or
three Vows,
Two or three Kiffes, with two or three Sighs,
Two or three Jesus's and Let-me-die's,
Two or three Squeezes, and two or three
Towzes,
(With two or three thouſand Pound loft at
their Houles)
Can never fail Cuckolding two or three
Spouſes.
*On a Lady who P-ft at the Tra-
gedy of Cato; occafioned by an
Epigram on a Lady who wept
at it.
HILE maudlin Whigs deplor'd their
Cato's Fate,
WH
Still with dry Eyes the Tory Celia fate ;
But while her Pride forbids her Tears to flow,
The guſhing Waters find a Vent below;
Tho'
EPIGRA M.
135
Tho' fecret, yet with copious Grief the mourns,
Like twenty River-Gods with all their Urns.
Let others icrew their Hypocritick Face,
She fhews her Grief in a fincerer Place ;
There Nature reigns, and Paffion void of Art,
For that Road leads directly to the Heart.
* Epigram, in a Maid of Honour's
Prayer-Book.
W
HEN Ifrael's Daughters mourn'd
their paſt Offences,
They dealt in Sackcloth, and turn'd
Cynder-Wenches;
But Richmond's Fair-ones never fpoil their
Locks;
They uſe white Powder, and wear Holland
Smocks.
O comely Church! where Females find clean
Linnen
As decent to repent in, as to fin in.
N
Epigram.
136
The Balance of Europe.
A
Epigram.
S Thomas was cudgell'd one Day by his
Wife,
He took to the Street, and fled for his
Life;
Tom's three dearest Friends came by in the
Squabble,
And fav'd him at once from the Shrew and
the Rabble;
Then ventur'd to give him ſome ſober Ad-
vice
But, Tom is a Perfon of Honour ſo nice,
Too wife to take Council, too proud to take
Warning,
That he fent to all three a Challenge next
Morning:
Three Duels he fought, thrice ventur'd his
Life;
Went Home, and was cudgell'd again by his
Wife.
* The Balance of Europe.
OW Europe's balanc'd, neither Side
prevails,
Ν
Now
For nothing's left in either of the
Scales.
Y
* A Pane-
[ 137 ]
* A Panegyrical Epistle to Mr.
Thomas Snow, Goldsmith, near
Temple-Bar; Occafioned by his
Buying and Selling the Third
South-Sea Subfcriptions, taken
in by the Directors at a Thou-
fand per Cent.
D
Ifdain not, Snow, my humble Verſe to
hear;
Stick thy black Pen a while behind thy
Ear.
Whether thy Compter fhine with Sums untold,
And thy wide-grafping Hand grows black
with Gold;
Whether thy Mien erect, and fable Locks,
In Crowds of Brokers over-awe the Stocks:
Sufpend the worldly Bus'nefs of the Day,
And to enrich thy Mind attend my Lay:
O thou, whofe penetrative Wiſdom found
The South-Sea Rocks and Shelves, where
Thouſands drown'd!
When Credit funk, and Commerce gaſping
lay,
Thou ſtood'ſt: No Bill was fent unpaid a-
way !
When
N Z
138 Epifle to Mr. Thomas Snow.
When not a Guinea chink'd on * Martin's
Boards,
And Atavill's felf was drain'd of all his
Hoards,
Thou ſtood'ft: (an Indian King in Size and
Hue)
Thy unexhaufted Shop was our Peru!
Why did 'Change-Alley wafte thy precious
Hours
Among the Fools, who gap'd for Golden
Show'rs?
No Wonder if we find fome Pocts there,
Who live on Fancy, and can feed on Air;
No Wonder, they were caught by South-Sea
Schemes,
Who ne'er enjoy'd a Guinea, but in Dreams;
No Wonder, they their Third Subſcriptions
fold
For Millions of imaginary Gold;
No Wonder, that their Fancies wild can
frame
Strange Reafons, that a Thing is ſtill the
fame,
Though chang'd throughout in Subſtance
and in Name.
But You, whofe Judgment fcorns Poetick
Flights,
With Contracts furnish Boys for Paper Kites.
Let Vulture H---ns ftretch his rufty Throat,
Who ruins Thouſands for a fingle Groat.
** Names of eminent Goldliniths.
I know
Epifle to Mr. Thomas Snow. 139
I know thou ſcorn'ft his mean, his fordid
Mind;
Nor with Ideal Debts would'ſt plague Man-
kind.
Madmen alone their empty Dreams purfue,
And ſtill believe the fleeting Viſion true;
They fell the Treafures, which their Slum-
bers get i
Then wake, and fancy all the World in Debt.
If to inftruct thee all my Reaſons fail,
Yet be diverted by this Moral Tale.
Thro' fam'd Moor-Fields extends a ſpacious
Seat,
Where Mortals of exalted Wit retreat;
Where wrap'd in Contemplation, and in
Straw,
The wifer Few from the mad World with-
draw.
There in full Opulence a Banker dwelt,
Who all the Joys and Pangs of Riches felt ;
His Side-board glitter'd with imagin'd Plate;
And his proud Fancy held a vaſt Eſtate.
As on a Time he paſt the vacant Hours
In raiſing Piles of Straw, and twiſted Bowers;
A Poet enter'd of the neighbouring Cell,
And with fix'd Eye obferv'd the Structure
well :
A fharpen'd Skew'r cross his bare Shoulders.
bound
A tatter'd Rug, which dragg'd upon the
Ground.
N 3
The
140
The South-Sea.
The Banker cry'd, "Behold my Caſtle
Walls,
"My Statues, Gardens, Fountains, and Ca-
nals;
"With Land of twenty Acres round!
"All theſe I fell thee for ten thouſand Pound.
The Bard with Wonder the cheap purchaſe
faw;
So fign'd the Contract, as ordains the Law.
The Banker's Brain was cool'd; the Mift
grew clear;
The vifionary Scene was loft in Air.
He now the vanish'd Profpect underſtood;
And fear'd the fancy'd Bargain was not good
Yet loth the Sum intire fhould be deſtroy'd;.
"Give me a Penny, and thy Contract's void.
The ftartled Bard with Eye indignant
frown'd.
"Shall I, ye Gods, (he cries) my Debts
compound!
So faying, from his Rug the Skew'r he takes,
And on the Stick ten equal Notches makes :
With juſt Reſentment Alings it on the Ground;
"There, take my Tally of ten thouſand
Pound.
The South-Sea. 1721.
E wife Philofophers explain,
YⓇ
What Magick makes our Money rife,
When dropt into the Southern Main :
Or do theſe Juglers cheat our Eyes ?
[Put
+
The South-Sea.
141
Put in your Money fairly told;
Preflo be gone---'Tis here agen;
Ladies and Gentlemen, behold,
Here's ev'ry Piece as big as ten
Thus in a Baſon drop a Shilling,
Then fill the Veffel to the Brim ;
You ſhall obſerve, as you are filling,
The pond'rous Metal feems to fwim;
It rifes both in Bulk and Height;
Behold it fwelling like a Sop!
The liquid Medium cheats your Sight ;
Behold it mounted to the Top!
In Stock three hundred thouſand Pound;
I have in View a Lord's Eftate ;
My Manors all contiguous round;
A Coach and Six, and ſerv'd in Plate,
Thus the deluded Bankrupt raves;
Puts all upon a defperate Bett;
Then plunges in the Southern Waves,
Dipt over Head and Ears---in Debt.
So, by a Calenture milled,
The Mariner with Rapture fees
On the ſmooth Ocean's azure Bed
Enamel'd Fields, and verdant Trees:
With eager Hafte he longs to rove
In that Fantaſtick Scene, and thinks
It muſt be fome enchanted Grove;
And in he leaps, and down he finks.
Twe
142
The South-Sea.
Į
Two hundred Chariots, juſt beſpoke,
Are funk in theſe devouring Waves;
The Horfes drown'd, the Harneſs broke;
And here the Owners find their Graves.
Like Pharaoh, by Directors led
They with their Spoils went fafe before;
His Chariots, tumbling out the Dead,
Lay ſhatter'd on the Red-Sea Shore.
Rais'd up on Hope's afpiring Plumes,
The young Advent'rer o'er the Deep
An Eagle's Flight and State affumes,
And ſcorns the middle Way to keep :
On Paper Wings he takes his Flight,
With Wax the Father bound them faft
The Wax is melted by the Height,
And down the tow'ring Boy is caft.
His Wings are his Paternal Rent;
He melts his Wax at ev'ry Flame;
His Credit funk, his Moncy ſpent;
In Southern Seas he leaves his Name.
Inform us, You that beft can tell,
Why in your dang'rous Gulph profound,
Where Hundreds, and where Thouſands fell,
Fools chiefly float, the Wife are drown'd?
So have I ſeen, from Severn's Brink
A Flock of Geefe jump down together;
Swim where the Bird of Jove would fink,
And ſwimming never wet a Feather.
One
The South-Sea,
143
One Fool may from another win,
And then get off with Money ſtor'd;
But if a Sharper once comes in,
He throws at all, and fweeps the Board.
As Fiſhes on each other prey,
The Great ones fwallowing up the Small ;
So fares it in the Southern-Sea;
The Whale Directors eat up all.
When Stock is high, they come between,
Making by fecond-hand their Offers;
Then cunningly retire unſeen,
With each a Million in his Coffers.
So when upon a Moon-fhine Night
An Afs was drinking at a Stream,
A Cloud arofe, and ftopt the Light
By intercepting ev'ry Beam:
"The Day of Judgment will be foon,
Cries out a Sage among the Crowd;
"An Afs hath fwallow'd up the Moon,
The Moon lay fafe behind the Cloud.
Each poor Subfcriber to the Sea
Sinks down at once, and there he lies;
Directors fall as well as they;
Their Fall is but a Trick to rife:
So Fishes rifing from the Main
Can foar with moiften'd Wings on high ;
The Moiſture dry'd, they fink again,
And dip their Fins again to fly.
Undone
144
The South-Sea.
Undone at Play, the Female Troops
Come here their Loffes to retrieve;
Ride o'er the Waves in fpacious Hopes,
Like Lapland Witches in a Sieve :
Thus Venus to the Sea defcends,
As Poets feign; but where's the Moral?
It fhews the Queen of Love intends
To fearch the Deep for Pearl and Coral.
A Shilling in the Bath you fling,
The Silver takes a nobler Hue
By Magick Vertue in the Spring,
And feems a Guinea to your View ;
But as a Guinea will not paſs
At Market for a Farthing more,
Shewn thro' a multiplying Glafs,
Than what it always did before;
So caft it in the Southern-Seas,
And view it thro' a Jobber's Bill
Put on what Spectacles you pleaſe,
Your Guinea's but a Guinea ſtill.
One Night a Fool into a Brook
Thus from a Hillock looking down,
The Golden Stars for Guineas took,
And Silver Cynthia for a Crown.
The Point he could no longer doubt
He ran, he leapt into a Flood;
There ſprawl'd a While, and ſcarce got out,
All cover'd o'er with Slime and Mud.
Upon
The South-Sea.
145
Upon the Water caft thy Bread,
And after many Days thou'lt find it ;
But Gold upon this Ocean ſpread
Shall fink, and leave no Mark behind it.
There is a Gulph, where Thouſands fell;
Here all the hold Adventurers came;
A narrow Sound, tho' deep as Hell;
"Change-Alley is the dreadful Name.
Nine Times a Day it ebbs and flows;
Yet he that on the Surface lies
Without a Pilot ſeldom knows
The Time it falls, or when 'twill rife.
* Now bury'd in the Depth below,
Now mounted up to Heav'n agen,
They reel and flagger to and fro,
At their Wits End, like drunken Men.
Mean Time fecure on † Garr-way Cliffs
A Savage Race, by Shipwrecks fed,
Lie waiting for the founder'd Skiffs,
And ſtrip the Bodies of the Dead.
While fome build Caſtles in the Air,
Directors build them in the Seas;
Subſcribers plainly fee 'em there;
For Fools will fee as wife Men pleaſe.
* Pfalm cvii. + Coffee-House in 'Change-
Alley,
Thus
146
The South-Sea.
Thus oft by Mariners are fhewn
(Unless the Men of Kent are Liars,)
Earl Godwin's Caftles overflown,
And Palace-Roofs, and Steeple-Spires.
Mark where the fly Directors creep ;
Nor to the Shore approach too nigh:
The Monſters neftle in the Deep
To feize you in your paffing by.
Then like the Dogs of Nile be wiſe,
Who taught by Instinct how to ſhun
The Crocodile, that lurking lies,
Run as they drink, and drink and run,
Anteus could by Magick Charms
Recover Strength, whene'er he fell;
Alcides held him in his Arms,
And ſent him up in Air to Hell.
Directors thrown into the Sea
Recover Strength and Vigour there;
But may be tam'd another Way,
Sufpended for a While in Air.
Oh! may fome Western Tempeft ſweep
Thefe Locusts whom our Fruits have fed,
That Plague Directors, to the Deep,
Driv'n from the South-Sea to the Red!
May He, whom Nature's Laws obey,
Who lifts the Poor, and finks the Proud,
Quiet the Raging of the Sea,
And Still the Madneſs of the Crowd!
But
A Ballad on Quadrille.
147
But never ſhall our Iſle have Reft,
Till theſe devouring Swine run down,
(The Devils leaving the Poffeft,)
And headlong in the Waters drown.
The Nation then too late will find,
Computing all their Coft and Trouble,
Directors Promiſes but Wind,
South-Sea at beſt a mighty Bubble.
Apparent rari nantes in Gurgite vafto,
Arma virùm, tabulæque, & Troia gaza
per undas.
Virg.
* A Ballad on Quadrille.
I.
HEN as Corruption hence did go,
And left the Nation free ;
WH
When Ay faid Ay, and No ſaid No,
Without a Place or Fee;
Then Satan, thinking Things went ill,
Sent forth his Spirit call'd Quadrille,
Quadrille, Quadrille, &c.
II.
Kings, Queens, and Knaves made up his
Pack;
And four fair Suits he wore ;
His Troops they are with red and black
All blotch'd and ſpotted o'er ;
O
And
148
A Ballad on Quadrille.
}
And ev'ry Houſe, go where you will,
Is haunted by the Imp Quadrille, &c.
III.
Sure Cards he has for ev'ry Thing,
Which well Court-Cards they name;
And Stateſmen like, calls in the King,
To help out a bad Game ;
But if the Parties manage ill,
The King is forc'd to lofe Codille, &c.
IV.
When two and two were met of old,
Tho' they ne'er meant to marry,
They were in Cupid's Books enroll'd,
And call'd a Party Quarree;
But now meet when and where you will,
A Party Quarree is Quadrille, &e.
V.
The Commoner, and Knight, the Peer,
Men of all Ranks and Fame,
Leave to their Wives the only Care
To propagate their Name;
And well that Duty they fulfil,
When the good Huſband's at Quadrille, &c,
VI.
When Patients lie in piteous Cafe,
In comes the Apothecary;
And to the Doctor cries, Alas!
Non debes Quadrillare:
The Patient dies without a Pill;
For why the Doctor's at Quadrille, &c.
VII, Should
Á Ballad on Quadrille.
149
VII.
Should France and Spain again grow loud,
The Mufccvite grow louder;
Britain to curb her Neighbours proud,
Wou'd want both Ball and Powder;
Muft want both Sword and Gun to kill;
For why, the Gen'ral's at Quadrille, &c. .
VIII.
The King of late drew forth his Sword,
(Thank God 'twas not in Wrath)
And made of many a Squire and Lord
An unwash'd Knight of Bath;
What are their Feats of Arms and Skill?
They're but nine Parties at Quadrille, &c.
IX.
A Party late at Cambray met,
Which diew all Europe's Eyes;
'Twas call'd in Poft-Boy and Gazette
The Quadruple Allies;
But Somebody took Something ill,
So broke this Party at Quadrille, &c.
x.
And now, God fave this noble Realm,
And God fave eke Hanover
And God fave thofe, who hold the Helm,
When as the King goes over;
But let the King go where he will,
His Subjects muft play at Quadrille,
Quadrille, Quadrille, &o.
Q 2
* Molly
[150]
* Molly Mogg: Or, the Fair
Maid of the Inn.
S
AYS my Uncle, I pray you diſcover,
What hath been the Cauſe of your Woes,
Why you pine, and you whine, like a
Lover?
I have feen Molly Mogg of the Rofe.
O Nephew your Grief is but Folly,
In Town you may find better Prog;
Half a Crown there will get you a Molly,
A Molly much better than Mogg.
I know, that by Wits 'tis recited,
That Women at beft are a Clog:
But I'm not ſo eaſily frighted
From loving of fweet Molly Mogg.
The School-Boy's Defire is a Play-Day,
The School-Mafter's Joy is to flog;
The Milk-Maid's Delight is on May-Day;
But mine is on fweet Molly Mogg.
Will-a-wip leads the Traveller a gadding
Thro` Ditch, and thro' Quagmire and Bog;
But no Light can fet me a madding,
Like the Eyes of my fweet Molly Mogg.
For Guineas in other Mens Breeches
Your Gamefters will palm and will cog ;
But I envy them none of their Riches,
So I may win fweet Molly Mogg.
The
MOLLY MOGG.
151
But
The Heart, when half wounded, is changing ;
It here and there leaps like a Frog;
my Heart can never be ranging,
'Tis fo fix'd upon fweet Molly Mogg.
Who follows all Ladies of Pleaſure,
In Pleaſure is thought but a Hog;
All the Sex cannot give fo good Meaſure
Of Joys, as my fweet Molly Mogg.
I feel I'm in Love to Diſtraction,
My Sentes all loft in a Fog:
And nothing can give Satisfaction,
But th nking of fweet Molly Megg.
A Letter when I am inditing,
Comes Cupid and gives me a Jog,
And I fill all the Paper with writing
Of nothing but fweet Molly Mogg·
If I would not give up the three Graces,
I wish I were hang'd like a Dog,
And at Court all the Drawing-Room Faces,
For a Glance of my fweet Molly Mogg ·
Thoſe Faces want Nature and Spirit,
And feem as cut out of a Log;
Juno, Venus, and Pallas's Merit
Unite in my fweet Molly Mogg.
Thoſe who toast all the Family Royal,
In Bumpers of Hogan and Nog,
Have Hearts not more true or more loyal,
Than mine to my ſweet Molly Mogg-
0 3
Were
152 A Song of SIMILIES.
Were Virgil alive with his Phyllis,
And writing another Eclogue;
Both his Phyllis and fair Amaryllis
He'd give up for fweet Molly Mogg.
When the ſmiles on each Gueft, like her Li-
Then Jealouſy fets me agog ;
To be fure fhe's a Bit for the Vicar,
And fo I fhall lofe Molly Mogg-
[quor,
* A new Song of new Similies.
M
Y Paffion is as Muſtard ſtrong;
I fit all fober fad,
Drunk as a Piper all Day long,
Or like a March Hare mad.
Round as a Hoop the Bumpers flow
I drink, yet can't forget her;
For tho' as drunk as David's Sow,
I love her ſtill the better.
Pert as a Pear-monger I'd be,
If Molly were but kind;
Cool as a Cucumber could fee
The rest of Womankind.
Like a ſtuck Pig I gaping ftare,
And eye her o'er and o'er;
Lean as a Rake with Sighs and Care,
Sleek as a Moufe before.
;
Plump
A Song of SIMILIES.
153
Plump as a Partridge was I known,
And loft as Silk my Skin,
My Cheeks as fat as Butter grown ;
But as a Groat now thin!
I, melancholy as a Cat,
Am kept awake to weep;
But the, infentible of that,
Sound as a Top can fleep.
Hard is her Heart as Flint or Stone;
She laughs to fee me pale;
And merry as a Grig is grown,
And brifk as Bottled Ale.
The God of Love, at her Approach,
Is bufy as a Bee;
Hearts found as any Bell or Roach
Are fmit, and ſigh like me.
Ay me, as thick as Hops or Hail,
The fine Men crowd about her;
But foon as dead as a Door-Nail
Shall I be, if without her.
Strait as my Leg her Shape appears;
O were we join'd together!
My Heart wou'd be ſcot-free from Cares,
And lighter than a Feather.
As fine as five-pence is her Mien,
No Drum was ever tighter;
Her Glance is as the Razor keen,
And not the Sun is brighter.
A&.
154
A Song of SIMILIES.
As foft as Pap her Kiffes are,
Methinks I taſte them yet;
Brown as a Berry is her Hair,
Her Eyes as black as Jet.
As fmooth as Glafs, as white as Curds,
Her pretty Hand invites ;
Sharp as a Needle are her Words ;
Her Wit like Pepper bites.
Brifk as a Body-Loufe fhe trips,
Clean as a Penny dreſt ;
Sweet as a Rofe her Breath and Lips,
Round as the Globe her Breaft.
Full as an Egg was I with Glee,
And happy as a King ;
Good Lord! how all Men envy'd me !
She lov'd like any Thing.
But falfe as Hell, She like the Wind
Chang'd, as her Sex muſt do;
Tho' feeming as the Turtle kind,
And like the Goſpel true.
If I and Molly cou'd agree,
Let who wou'd take Peru!
Great as an Emp'ror fhould I be,
And richer than a Jew.
Till you grow tender as a Chick,
I'm dull as any Poft ;
Let us like Burs together ſtick,
And warm as any Toast.
You'll
Newgate's GARLAND. 155
You'll know me truer than a Dye,
And with me better ſped;
Flat as a Flounder when I lie,
And as a Herring dead.
Sure as a Gun, ſhe'll drop a Tear,
And figh perhaps, and wiſh,
When I am rotten as a Pear,
And mute as any Fiſh.
* Newgate's GARLAND: Being a
new Ballad, fhewing how Mr.
Jonathan Wild's Throat was cut
from Ear to Ear with a Penknife
by Mr. Blake, alias Bluefkin, the
bold Highwayman, as he stood at
bis Trial in the Old Baily, 1725.
Y
To the Tune of the Cut-purse.
I.
E Gallants of Newgate, whofe Fingers
are nice
i
In diving in Pockets, or cogging of Dice
Ye Sharpers fo rich, who can buy off the Noofe;
Ye honefter poor Rogues, who die in your
Shoes:
Attend
156 Newgate's GARLAND.
:
Attend and draw near,
Good News ye ſhall hear,
How Jonathan's Throat was cut from Ear
to Ear.
How Blueſkin's fharp Penknife hath ſet you af
Eafe,
And every Man round me may rob, if he
plcafe.
II.
When to the Old-Baily this Blueſkin was lcd,
He held up his Hand, his Indictment was read,
Loud rattl'd his Chains, near him Jonathan
ftood;
For full Forty Pounds was the Price of his
Blood.
Then hopeleſs of Life,
He drew his Penknife,
And made a fad Widow of Jonathan's Wife.
But Forty Pounds paid her, her Grief fhall ap-
peafe;
And every Man round me may rob, if he pleaſe.
III.
Some fay, there arc Courtiers of higheſt Re-
hown,
Who fteal the King's Gold, and leave him but
a Crown;
Some fay there are Peers, and fome Parliament
Men,
Who meet once a Year to rob Courtiers agen
Let
1
Newgate's GARLAND. 157
Let them all take their Swing
To pillage the King,
And get a Blue Ribbon inſtead of a String.
Now Bluefkin's fharp Penknife hath fet you at
Eafe,
And every Man round me may rob, if he pleaſe.
IV.
Knaves of old, to hide Guilt by their cunning
Inventions,
Call'd Briberies Grants, and plain Robberies
Penfions
;
Phyficians and Lawyers (who take their De-
grees,
To be Learned Rogues call'd their Pilfering
Fees;
Since this happy Day,
Now ev'ry Man may
Rob (as fafe as in Office) upon the High-
way.
For Bluefkin's harp Penknife hath ſet you at
Eafe,
Andev'ry Man round me may rob, if he pleaſe.
V.
Some cheat in the Cuftoms, ſome rob the Ex-
cife,
But he who robs both is eſteemed moft wife.
Church-Wardens, too prudent to hazard the
Halter,
As yet only venture to ſteal from the Altar :
-
But
158 Newgate's GARLAND.
But now to get Gold
They may be more bold,
And rob on the Highway, fince Jonathan's
cold.
For Bluefkin's fharp Penknife hath ſet you at
Eafe,
And ev'ry Man round me may rob, if he pleaſe.
VI.
Some by publick Revenues, which paſs'd thro'
their Hands,
Have purchas'd clean Houſes, and bought dir
ty Lands.
Some to ſteal from a Charity think it no Sin,
Which at Home (fays the Proverb) does al-
ways begin;
But, if ever you be
Affign'd a Truſtee,
Treat not Orphans like Mafters of the Chan-
cery,
But take the Highway, and more honeftly
feize;
For ev'ry Man round me may rob, if he pleaſe.
VII.
What a Pother has here been with Wood and
his Braſs,
Who would modeftly make a fewHalf-pennies
pafs !
The Patent is good, and the Precedent's old,
For Diomede changed his Copper for Gold :
But,
PROMETHEUS.
139
But, if Ireland deſpiſe
The new Half-pennies,
With more Safety to rob on the Road I ad-
vife.
For Blueſkin's ſharp Penknife hath ſet thee at
Eafe;
Andev'ry Man round me may rob, if he pleaſe.
Prometheus.
On Wood the Pa-
tentee's Irish Half-Pence.
HEN firft the 'Squire and Tinker,
W* Wood,
Gravely confulting Ireland's Good,
Together mingled in a Mafs
Smith's Duft, and Copper, Lead, and Braſs ;
The Mixture thus by Chymick Art
United cloſe in every Part,
In Fillets roll'd, or cut in Pieces,
Appear'd like one continu'd Species;
And by the forming Engine ftruck,
On all the fame Impreffion ftuck.
So to confound this hated Coin,
All Parties and Religions join;
Whigs, Tories, Trimmers, Hanoverians,
Quakers, Conformifts, Prefbyterians,
Scatch, Irish, English, French unite,
With equal Int'reft, equal Spight;
P
Together
160
PROMETHEUS
Together mingled in a Lump,
Do all in One Opinion jump;
And ev'ry one begins to find
The fame Impeflion on his Mind.
A STRANGE Event! whom Gold incites
To Blood and Quarrels, Brass unites ;
So Goldſmiths fay, the coarfeft Stuff
Will ferve for Solder well enough:
So, by the Kettle's loud Alarm
The Bees are gather'd to a Swarm :
So, by the brazen Trumpet's Blufter
Troops of all Tongues and Nations muſter:
And fo the Harp of Ireland brings
Whole Crowds about its brazen Strings.
II.
There is a Chain let down from Jove,
But falten'd to his Throne above;
So ftrong, that from the lower End,
They fay, all human Things depend :
This Chain, as ancient Poets hold,
When Jove was young, was made of Gold;
Prometheus once this Chain purloin`d,
Diffolv'd, and into Money coin'd;
Then whips me on a Chain of Braſs,
(Venus was brib'd to let it pass.)
Now while this brazen Chain prevail'd,
Jove faw, that all Devotion fail'd;
No Temple to his Godſhip rais'd ;
No Sacrifice on Altars blaz'd;
In ſhort, fuch dire Confation follow`d,
Earth muſt have been in Chaos ſwallow'd :
Jove
PROMETHEUS.
161
Jove flood amaz'd, but looking round,
With much ado the Cheat he found;
'Twas plain he cou'd no longer hold
The World in any Chain but Gold ;
And to the God of Wealth, his Brother,
Sent Mercury to get another.
III.
Prometheus on a Rock is laid,
Ty'd with the Chain himſelf had made,
On Icy Caucafus to fhiver,
While Vultures eat his growing Liver.
Ye Pow'rs of Grubfireet make me able
Diſcreetly to apply this Fable.
Say, who is to be underſtood
By that old Thief Prometheus: WOOD,
For Jove, it is not hard to gueſs him;
I mean his M, God bless him.
This Thief and Blackſmith was to bold,
He strove to fteal that Chain of Gold,
Which links the Subject to the King,
And change it for a brazen String.
But fire, if nothing elſe muſt paſs
Between the King and us, but Brafs,
Altho' the Chain will never crack,
Yet our Devotion may grow flack.
But Jove will foon convert,
This brazen Chain into a Rope;
With which Prometheus fhall be ty'd,
And high in Air for ever ride ;
Where if we find his Liver grows,
For want of Vultures we have Crows.
P2
hope,
* Strephon
16.2
CORINN A.
* Strephon and Flavia.
W¹
ITH ev'ry Lady in the Land
Soft Strephon kept a Pother,
One Year he languiſh'd for one Hand,
And next Year for the other.
Yet when his Love the Shepherd told
To Flavia fair and coy,
Referv'd, demure, than Snow more cold,
She fcorn'd the gentle Boy.
Late at a Ball he own'd his Pain:
She blush'd, and frown'd, and ſwore,
With all the Marks of high Diſdain,
She'd never hear him more.
The Swain perfifted ſtill to pray,
The Nymph ftill to deny;
At laft fhe vow'd ſhe wou'd not ſtay ;
He ſwore fhe fhou'd not fly.
Enrag'd, the call'd her Footman ſtrait,
And rufh'd from out the Room,
Drove to her Lodging, lock'd the Gate,
And lay with Ralph at Home.
TH
CORINN A.
HIS Day, the Year I dare not tell,
Apollo play'd the Midwife's Part;
Into the World Corinna fell,
And he endow'd her with his Art.
But
CORINNA.
163
But Cupid with a Satyr comes;
Both foftly to the Cradle creep;
Both ftroke her Hands, and rub her Gums,
While the poor Child lay faſt aſleep.
Then Cupid thus; This little Maid
Of Love thall always ſpeak and write.
And I pronounce (the Satyr faid)
The World fhall feel her fcratch and bite.
Her Talent ſhe diſplay'd betimes;
For in twice twelve revolving Moons
She feem'd to laugh and fquawl in Rhimes,
And all her Geftures were Lampoons.
At fix Years old the fubtle Jade
Stole to the Pantry-Door, and found
The Butler with my Lady's Maid;
And you may ſwear the Tale went round,
She made a Song, how little Miſs
Wa; kifs'd and flobber'd by a Lad;
And how, when Mafter went to p---,
Mifs came and peep'd at all he had.
At Twelve a Wit and a Coquette,
Marries for Love, half Whore, half Wiſe;
Cuckolds, elopes, and runs in Debt;
Turns Auth'refs, and is Curll's for Life.
Her Common-Place-Book all gallant is,
Of Scandal now a Cornucopia ;
She pours it out in an Atalantis,
Or Memoirs of the Nerv Utopia.
P 3
كرا
* The
[164]
*The Quidnuncki's: A Tale oc-
cafioned by the Death of the Duke
Regent of France.
OW vain are Mortal Man's Endea-
vours!
How
(Said, at * Dame Ellevi's, Mafter
Tr---s)
Good Orleans dead! in Truth 'tis hard:
Oh! may all Stateſmen die prepar`d!
I do foreſee (and for foreſeeing
He equals any Man in Being)
The Army ne'er can be difbanded.
---I wish the King were fafely landed.
Ah Friends! great Changes threat the Land!
All France and England at a Stand !
There's Meroveis--- mark! ſtrange Work!
And there's the Czar, and there's the Turk---
The Pope---An India-Merchant by,
Cut fhort the Speech with this Reply:
All at a Stand? You fee great Changes?
Ah, Sir! you never faw the Ganges,
There dwell the Nations of Quidnuncki's;
(So Monomotapa calls Monkies)
On either Bank, from Bough to Bough,
They meet and chat, as we may now;
Coffee-Heufe near St. James's.
Whiſpers
The QUIDNUNCKI's. 165
Whispers go round, they grin, they fhrug,
They bow, they fnarl, they ſcratch, they hug;
And, just as Chance, or Whim provoke them,
They either bite their Friends, or ſtroke them.
There have I ſeen fome active Prig,
To fhew his Parts, beftride a Twig:
Lord! how the chatt'ring Tribe admire,
Not that he's wifer, but he's higher :
All long to try the vent'rous Thing
(For Pow'r is but to have one's Swing.)
From Side to Side he fprings, he fpurns,
And bangs his Foes and Friends by Turns.
Thus, as in giddy Freaks he bounces,
Crack goes the Twig, and in he flounccs!
Down the fwift Stream the Wretch is born,
Never, ah never to return!
2----ds! What a Fall had our dear Bro-
ther!
Morblue! cries one, and Damme, t'other.
The Nation gives a gen'ral Screech;
None cocks his Tail, none claws his Breech;
Each trembles for the publick Weal,
And for a While forgets to fteal.
A While, all Eyes intent and fteddy
Purfue him, whirling down the Eddy.
But, out of Mind, when out of View,
Some other mounts the Twig a-new;
And Bus'nefs, on each Monkey Shore,
Runs the fame Track it went before.
* Ay
[166]
I
* Ay and No: A Fable.
'N Fable all Things hold Difcourfe ;
Then Words, no doubt, muſt talk of Courſe.
Once on a Time, near Channel-Rory,
}
Two hoftile Adverbs, Ay and No,
Were haft'ning to the Field of Fight,
And Front to Front ſtood oppoſite.
Before each Gen'ral join'd the Van,
Ay, the more courteous Knight, began.
Stop, peevish Particle! beware!
I'm told you are not ſuch a Bear,
But fometimes yield, when offer'd fair.
Suffer yon' Folks a While to tattle;
'Tis We who muft decide the Battle.
Whene'er we war on yonder Stage
With various Fate, and equal Rage,
The Nation trembles at each Blow,
That No gives Ay, and Ay gives No:
Yet in expenfive long Contention
We gain no Office, Grant, or Penfion.
Why then ſhould Kinfolks quarrel thus ?
(For Tavo of You make One of Us.)
To fome wife Statefman let us go,
Where each his proper Ufe may know.
He may admit two fuch Commanders,
And make thofe wait, who ſerv'd in Flanders.
Let's quarter on a Great-Man's Tongue,
A Treaſury Lord, not Mafter Y---g.
Obfequious at his high Command,
Ay fhall march forth to tax the Land.
Impeach-
The Progress of Love.
167
Impeachments No can beft refift,
And Ay fupport the Civil Lift;
Ay! quick as Cæfar wins the Day;
And No, like Fabius, by Delay.
Sometimes in mutual fly Difguife,
Let Ay's feem No's, and No's feem I's;
Ay's be in Courts Denials meant,
And No's in Bishops give Confent.
Thus, Ay propos'd---And, for Reply,
No, for the firft Time, anfwer'd I.
They parted with a thouſand Kiffes,
And fight e'er fince, for Pay, like Saviſſes.
Phyllis Or, the Progress of Love.
Efponding Phyllis was endu’d
With ev'ry Talent of a Prude:
She trembled when a Man drew near;
Salute her, and the turn'd her Ear ;
If o'er against her you were plac'd,
She durft not look above your Waiſt:
She'd rather take you to her Bed,
Than let you fee her drefs her Head:
In Church you hear her, thro' the Crowd,
Repeat the Abfolution loud;
In Church, fecure behind her Fan,
She durft behold that Monſter, Man:
There practis'd how to place her Head,
And bit her Lips to make them red;
Or,
168
The Progress of Love.
Or, on the Mat devoutly kneeling,
Wou'd lift her Eyes up to the Cieling,
And heave her Bofom unaware,
For neighb`ring Beaux to fee it bare.
At length, a lucky Lover came,
And found Admittance to the Dame.
Suppofe all Parties now agreed,
The Writings drawn, the Lawyer fee'd,
The Vicar and the Ring befpoke;
Guefs, how could fuch a Match be broke?
See then, what Mortals place their Bliſs in!
Next Morn betimes the Bride was miffing.
The Mother fcream'd, the Father chid;
Where can this idle Wench be hid ?
No News of Phyl! The Bridegroom came,
And thought his Bride had fculk'd for Shame
Becauſe her Father us'd to fay,
The Girl bad fuch a bashful Way.
Now John the Butler must be fent
To learn the Road, that Phyllis went.
The Groom was wifh'd to faddle Crop ;
For John muſt neither light, nor ſtop,
But find her wherefoe'er the fled,
And bring her back Alive or Dead.
See here again the Devil to do;
For, truly, John was miffing too;
The Horfe and Pillion both were gone!
Phyllis, it feems, was fled with John.
Old Madam, who went up to find
What Papers Phyl had left behind,
A Letter on the Toilet fees,
To my much Honour'd Father-Thefe.
('Tis
The Progrefs of Love.
169
Tis always done, Romances tell us,
When Daughters run away with Fellows)
Fill'd with the choiceft Common-Places,
By others us'd in the like Cafes !
"That long ago a Fortune-Teller
Exactly faid, what now befel her;
"And in a Glaſs had made her fee
"A Serving-Man of low Degree:
"It was her Fate, must be forgiven;
“For Marriages were made in Heaven:
"His Pardon begg'd; but, to be plain,
"She'd do't if 'twere to do again;
"Thank'd God, 'twas neither Shame nor Sir,
"For John was come of honeft Kin,
"Love never thinks of Rich and Poor;
"She'd beg with John from Door to Door.
"Forgive her, if it be a Crime,
"She'll never do't another Time.
" She ne'er before in all her Life
"Once disobey'd him, Maid nor Wife.
"One Argument fhe fumin'd up all in,
"The Thing was done, and paſt recalling ;
"And therefore hop'd, the fhould recover
"His Favour, when his Paffion's over!
“She valu'd not what others thought her,
"And was---his moft Obedient Daughter.
Fair Maidens all attend the Mufe,
Who now the wand'ring Pair purſues.
Away they rode in homely fort,
Their Journey long, their Money ſhort;
The loving Couple well bemir'd;
The Horfe and both the Riders tir'd;
Their
170
The Progrefs of Poetry.
Their Victuals bad, their Lodging worſe ;
Phyl cry'd, and John began to curfe;
Phyl wifh'd, that ſhe had ſtrain'd a Limb,
When first fhe ventur'd out with him
John wish'd, that he had broke a Leg,
When firft for her he quitted Peg.
But what Adventures more befel 'em,
The Mufe hath now no Time to tell 'em ;
How Johnny wheedled, threaten'd, fawn'd,
Till Phyllis all her Trinkets pawn'd:
How oft fhe broke her Marriage Vows,
In Kindneſs to maintain her Spouſe;
Till Swains unwholfome fpoil'd the Trade,
For now the Surgeons must be paid,
To whom thofe Perquifites are gone,
In Chriftian Juftice due to John.
When Food and Raiment now grew ſcarce,
Fate put a Period to the Farce,
And with exact Poetic Juftice;
For John is Landlord, Phyllis Hoſteſs :
They keep, at Staines, the Old Eluc-Boar,
Are Cat and Dog, and Rogue and Whore.
Τ'
The Progress of Poetry.
HE Farmer's Goofe, who in the Stub-
ble
Has fed without Reſtraint, or Trouble,
Grown fat with Corn and fitting ftill,
Can fcarce get o'er the Barn-Door Sill:
And
The Progress of Poetry.
171
And hardly waddles forth to cool
Her Belly in the neighb'ring Pool :
Nor loudly cackles at the Door;
For Cackling fhews the Goofe is
poor.
But when the muſt be turn'd to graze,
And round the barren Common itrays,
Hard Exerciſe, and harder Fare,
Soon make my Dame grow lank and ſpare:
Her Body light, fhe tries her Wings,
And fcorns the Ground, and upward fprings;
While all the Parish, as the flies,
Hear Sounds harmonious from the Skies.
Such is the Poet, fresh in Pay;
(The third Night's Profits of his Play)
His Morning Draughts 'till Noon can fwill
Among his Brethren of the Quill;
With good Roast Beef his Belly full,
Grown, lazy, foggy, fat, and dull.
Deep funk in Plenty, and Delight,
What Poet e'er could take his Flight?
Or ſtuff'd with Phlegm up to the Throat,
What Poet e'er could fing a Note;
Nor Pegaſus could bear the Load,
Along the high celeftial Road;
The Steed, opprefs'd, would break his Girth
To raife the Lumber from the Earth.
But, view him in another Scene;
When all his Drink is Hippocrene,
His Money spent, his Patrons fail,
His Credit out for Cheeſe and Ale;
His Two Years Coat ſo ſmooth and bare
Through ev'ry Thread it lets in Air;
е
With
172 The Progress of Beauty.
With hungry Meals his Body pin'd;
His Guts and Belly full of Wind;
And like a Jockey for a Race,
His Fleſh brought down to Flying-Cafe:
Now his exalted Spirit loaths
Incumbrances of Food and Cloaths:
And up he rifes, like a Vapour,
Supported high on Wings of Paper ;
He finging flies, and flying fings,
While from below all Grubftreet rings.
The Progrefs of Beauty.
WHE
HEN firft Diana leaves her Bed,
Vapours and Steams her Looks dif
grace;
A frowzy dirty-colour'd Red
Sits on her cloudy wrinkled Face :
But by Degrees, when mounted high
Her artificial Face appears
Down from her Window in the Sky,
Her Spots are gone, her Vilage clears.
"Twixt earthly Females and the Moon
All Parallels exactly run :
If Celia fhould appear too foon,
Alas, the Nymph would be undone !
To
The Progress of Beauty.
173
To ſee her from her Pillow rife,
All reeking in a cloudy Steam,
Crack'd Lips, foul Teeth, and gummy Eyes,
Poor Strepbon, how wou'd he blafpheme!
Three Colours, Black, and Red and White,
So graceful in their proper Place,
Remove them to a diff'rent Light,
They form a frightful hideous Face :
For Inftance, when the Lilly fkips
Into the Precincts of the Rofe,
And takes Poffeffion of the Lips,
Leaving the Purple to the Noſe.
So Celia went entire to Bed,
All her Complexion ſafe and found;
But, when the roſe, White, Black, and Red,
Tho' ftill in Sight, had chang'd their
Ground.
The Black, which would not be confin`d,
A more inferior Station feeks,
Leaving the fiery Red behind,
And mingles in her muddy Cheeks.
But Celia can with Eafe reduce,
By Help of Pencil, Paint, and Bruſh,
Each Colour to its Place and Ufe,
And teach her Cheeks again to bluſh.
She knows her early felf no more ;
But, fill'd with Admiration, ftands;
As other Painters oft adore
The Workmanship of their own Hands.
Thus,
174
The Progress of Beauty.
Thus, after four important Hours,
Celia's the Wonder of her Sex:
Say, which among the Heav'nly Pow'rs
Could caufe fuch marvellous Effects?
Venus, indulgent to her Kind,
Gave Women all their Hearts could with,
When firſt ſhe taught them, where to find
White Lead and * Lufitanian Dith.
Love with White Lead cements his Wings;
White Lead was fent us to repair
Two brighteſt, brittleft, earthly Things,
A Lady's Face, and China Ware.
She ventures now to lift the Saſh;
The Window is her proper Sphere :
Ah lovely Nymph! be not too raſh;
Nor let the Beaux approach too near ;
Take Pattern by your Sifter Star,
Delude at once, and blefs our Sight;
When you are feen, be feen from far;
And chiefly chule to fhine by Night.
But Art no longer can prevail,
When the Materials all are gone;
The beft Mechanick Hand muſt fail,
Where nothing's left to work upon.
* Portugal.
Matters
The Progrefs of Beauty.
175
Matter, as wife Logicians fay,
Cannot without a Form ſubſiſt ;
And Form, fay I, as well as they,
Muft fail, if Matter brings no Grift.
And this is fair Diana's Cafe ;
For all Aftrologers maintain,
Each Night a Bit drops off her Face,
When Mortals ſay ſhe's in her Wane;
While Partridge wifely fhews the Cauſe
Efficient of the Moon's Decay,
That Cancer, with his pois'nous Claws,
Attacks her in the Milky Way:
But Gadbury, in Art profound,
From her pale Cheeks pretends to fhew,
That Swain Endymion is not found,
Or else that Mercury's her Foe.
But let the Cauſe be what it will,
In half a Month ſhe looks fo thin,
That Flamstead can, with all his Skill,
See but her Forehead and her Chin.
Yet, as ſhe waſtes, fhe grows difcreet;
'Till Midnight never thews her Head:
So rotten Celia ftroles the Street,
When fober Folks are all a bed:
For fure if this be Luna's Fate,
Poor Celia, but of mortal Race,
In vain expects a longer Date
To the Materials of her Face.
Q3
Whe
176 PETHOX the Great.
When Mercury her Treffes mows,
To think of Black-Lead Combs is vain ;
No Painting can reſtore a Noſe,
Nor will her Teeth return again.
Ye Pow'rs, who over Love prefide,
Since Mortal Beauties drop fo foon,
If you would have us well fupply'd,
Send us New Nymphs with each Nev
Moon.
F
Pethox the Great.
ROM Venus born, thy Beauty fhows;
But who thy Father, no Man knows.
Nor can the ſkilful Herald trace
The Founder of thy ancient Race;
Whether thy Temper, full of Fire,
Diſcovers Vulcan for thy Sire,
The God who made Scamander boil,
And round the Margin fing'd his Soil;
From whence Philofophers agree,
An equal Pow'r defcends to thee.
Whether from War's ſtern God you claim
The high Defccnt, from whence you came,
And, as a Proof, fhew num'rous Scars
By fierce Encounters made in Wars;
(Thofe honourable Wounds you bore
From Head to Foot, and all before)
And
PETHOX the Great.
177
And ſtill the bloody Field frequent,
Familiar in each Leader's Tent.
Or whether, as the Learn'd contend,
You from the neighb'ring Gaul deſcend;
Or from Parthenope the proud,
Where, numberless, thy Vot`ries crowd.
Whether thy great Forefathers came
From Realms, that bear Vefputio's Name;
For fo Conjectors would obtrude,
And from thy painted Skin conclude.
Whether, as Epicurus fhows,
The World from juftling Seeds aroſe,
Which mingling with prolifick Strife
In Chaos, kindled into Life ;
So your Production was the fame,
And from contending Atoms came.
Thy fair indulgent Mother crown'd
Thy Head with ſparkling Rubies round;
Beneath thy decent Steps, the Road
Is all with precious Jewels ftrow'd.
The Bird of Pallas knows his Poft,
Thee to attend, where-e'er thou go'ſt.
*
Byzantians boaft, that on the Clod,
Where once their Sultan's Horfe hath trod,
Grows neither Grafs, nor Shrub, nor Tree;
The fame thy Subjects boaſt of thee.
The greateſt Lord, when you appear,
Will deign your Livery to wear,
* Bubo, the Owl.
In
178
PETHOX the Great.
In all the various Colours feen,
Of Red, and Yellow, Blue, and Green.
With half a Word, when you require,
The Man of Bus'nefs muſt retire.
The haughty Minister of State
With Trembling muft thy Leiſure wait;
And while his Fate is in thy Hands,
The Bus'neſs of the Nation ſtands.
Thou dar'ſt the greateſt Prince attack,
Can't hourly fet him on the Rack,
And, as an Inftance of thy Pow'r,
Inclofe him in a wooden Tow'r,
With pungent Pains on ev'ry Side;
So Regulus in Torments dy'd.
From thee our Youth all Virtues learn,
Dangers with Prudence to difcern;
And well thy Scholars are endu'd
With Temp'rance, and with Fortitude;
With Patience, which all Ills fupports,
And Secrecy, the Art of Courts.
The glittring Beau could hardly tell,
Without your Aid, to read or ſpell ;
But, having long convers'd with you,
Knows how to write a Billet-doux.
With what Delight, methinks, I trace
Your Blood in ev'ry Noble Race!
In whom thy Features, Shape, and Mien,
Are to the Life diftinctly ſeen.
The Britons, once a Šavage Kind,
By you were brighten'd and refin'd;
Defcendents of the barb'rous Huns,
With Limbs robuſt, and Voice that ſtuns ;
But
L
PETHOX the Great.
179
But you have molded them a-freſh,
Remov'd the tough fuperfluous Fleſh,
Taught them to modulate their Tongues,
And peak without the help of Lungs.
Proteus on you beftow'd the Boon
To change your Viſage like the Moon,
So fometimes half a Face produce,
Keep t'other Half for private Ufe.
**
How fam'd thy Conduct in the Fight
With Hermes, Son of Pleias bright.
Out-number'd, half encompass'd round,
You ftrove for ev'ry Inch of Ground;
Then, by a Soldierly Retreat,
Retir'd to your imperial Seat.
The Victor, when your Steps he trac'd,
Found all the Realms before him wafte
You, o'er the high triumphal Arch
Pontifick, made your glorious March;
The wond'rous Arch behind you fell,
And left a Chafin profound as Hell :
You, in your Capitol fecur'd,
A Siege as long as Troy endur'd.
* Mercury.
* A Gentle
[ 180 ]
*A Gentle Echo on Woman.
In the Dorick Manner.
Shepherd;
E
CHO, I ween, will in the Woods reply,
And quaintly anſwer Queſtion: Shall I
Shepherd;
try?
Echo; Try.
Echo; Prefs.
What must we do our Paffion to exprefs?
Shepherd;
How fhall I pleaſe her, who ne'er lov'd be-
fore?
Shepherd;
Echo; Before.
What moſt moves Women, when we them
addrefs?
Shepherd;
Echo; A Dress.
Say, what can keep her chaſte, whom I adore?
Shepherd;
Echo; A Door.
If Mufick foftens Rocks, Love tunes my
Lyre.
Shepherd;
Echo; Lyar.
Then teach me, Echo, how fhall I come by
her?
Shepherd;
Dear.
Echo; Buy her.
When bought, no queſtion, I ſhall be her
Echo; Her Deer.
Shepherd;
ECHO on WOMAN. 181
Shepherd;
But Deer have Horns; how muft I keep her
under ?
Shepherd;
Echo; Keep her under.
How fhall I hold her ne'er to part afunder?
Shepherd;
Echo; A---ſe under.
But what can glad me, when ſhe's laid on
Bier?
Shepherd;
Echo; Beer.
What must I do, when Woman will be kind?
Shepherd;
Echo; Be kind.
What must I do, when Women will be crofs?
Echo; Be cross,
Shepherd;
Lord what is the that can ſo turn and wind?
Echo; Wind,
Shepherd;
If the be wind, what ftills her when the blows?
Echo; Blows,
Shepherd;
But if the bang again, ftill fhou'd I bang her?
Shepherd;
Echo; Bang ber.
Echo; Hang ber.
Is there no Way to moderate her Anger?
Shepherd;
Thanks, gentle Echo, right thy Anſwers tell,
What Woman is, and how to guard her well.
Echo; Guard her well.
Epilogue
[182]
Epilogue to a Play for the Benefit
of the Weavers in Ireland.
WH
HO dares affirm this is no pious Age,
When Charity begins to tread the
Stage?
When Actors, who at beft are hardly Savers,
Will give a Night of Benefit to Weavers ?
Stay,--Let me fee, how finely will it found!
Imprimis, from his Grace, a hundred Pound.
Peers, Clergy, Gentry, all are Benefactors
And then comes in the Item of the Actors.
Item, the Actors freely give a Day:
The Poet had no more, who made the Play.
But whence this wond'rous Charity in
Play'rs ?
They learnt it not at Sermons, or at Pray`rs.
Under the Rofe, fince here are none but
Friends,
(To own the Truth) we have fome private
Ends;
Since Waiting-women, like exacting Jades,
Hold up the Prices of their old Brocades:
We'll drefs in Manufactures made at home,
Equip our Kings and Gen'rals at the Comb.
We'll rig in Meath-Street Ægypt's haughty
Queen;
And Anthony hall court her in Ratteen.
In blue Shalloon fhall Hannibal be clad,
And Scipio trail an Irijh Purple Plad.
In
Epilogue to a Play, &c.
183
In Drugget dreßt, of thirteen Pence a Yard,
Sce Philip's Son amidſt his Perfian Guard :
And proud Roxana, fir'd with jealous Rage,
With fifty Yards of Crape fhall fweep the
Stage:
In short, our Kings and Princeffes within
Are all refolv'd the Project to begin;
And you, our Subjects, when you here re-
fort,
Muſt imitate the Faſhions of the Court.
Oh! cou'd I fee this Audience clad in Stuff!
Tho' Money's fcarce, we fhould have Trade
enough :
But Chints, Brocades, and Lace take all away,
And ſcarce a Crown is left to fee a Play.
Perhaps you wonder whence this Friendship
fprings
Between the Weavers, and us Play-Houſe
Kings;
But Wit and Weaving had the fame Begin-
ning:
Pallas first taught us Poetry and Spinning;
And next obferve how this Alliance fits,
For Weavers now are just as poor as Wits;
Their Brother Quill-men, Workers for the
Stage,
For forry Stuff can get a Crown a Page;
But Weavers will be kinder to the Players,
And fell for Twenty-pence a Yard of theirs :
And, to your Knowledge, there is often lefs
in
The Poet's Wit, than in the Player's Dreffing.
Epitaph
R
[184]
B
Epitaph on a Mifer.
ENEATH this verdant Hillock lies
Demar, the Wealthy and the Wife.
His Heirs, that he might fafely reft,
Have put his Carcass in a Cheft:
The very Cheft, in which, they fay,
His other fel, his Money, lay.
And if his Heirs continue kind
To that dear Self he left behind,
I dare believe, that Four in Five
Will think his better Half alive.
To Stella, who collected and
tranfcribed his Poems.
A
S when a lofty Pile is rais'd,
We never hear the Workmen prais'd,
Who bring the Lime, or place the
Stones;
But all admire Inigo Jones:
So if this Pile of fcatter'd Rhymes
Shou'd be approv'd in After-times,
If it both pleaſes and endures,
The Merit and the Praiſe are yours.
Thou, Stella, wert no longer young,
When firſt for thee my Harp I ftrung,
Without
To STELLA:
185
Without one Word of Cupid's Darts,
Of killing Eyes, or bleeding Hearts :
With Friendſhip and Esteem poffeft,
I ne'er admitted Love a Gueft.
In all the Habitudes of Life,
The Friend, the Miſtreſs, and the Wife,
Variety we still purfue,
In Pleaſure feek for fomething new:
Or elfe, comparing with the reſt,
Take Comfort, that our own is beſt;
The beſt we value by the worft;
(As Tradefmen fhew their Trash at firſt :)
But his Purfuits are at an End,
Whom Stella chufes for a Friend.
A Poet, ftarving in a Garret,
Conning old Topicks like a Parrot,
Invokes his Miſtreſs and his Muſe,
And ſtays at Home for want of Shoes ;
Shou'd but his Mufe defcending drop
A Slice of Bread and Mutton-Chop;
Or kindly, when his Credit's out,
Surprize him with a Pint of Stout;
Or patch his broken Stockings Soals,
Or fend him in a Peck of Coals;
Exalted in his mighty Mind
He flies, and leaves the Stars behind;
Counts all his Labours amply paid,
Adores her for the timely Aid.
Or fhou'd a Porter make Enquiries
For Chloe, Sylvia, Phyllis, Iris,
Be told the Lodging, Lane, and Sign,
The Bow'rs that hold thofe Nymphs divine;
R 2
Fair
185
To STELLA.
Fair Chloe would perhaps be found
With Footmen tippling under Ground,
The charming Sylvia beating Flax,
Her Shoulders mark'd with bloody Tracks,
Bright Phyllis mending ragged Smocks,
And radiant Iris in the Pox.
Theſe are the Goddeffes enroll'd
In Curll's Collections, new and old,
Whofe Scoundrel Fathers wou'd not know
'em,
;
If they ſhould meet them in a Poem.
True Poets can deprefs and raife,
Are Lords of Infamy and Praiſe
They are not fcurrilous in Satire,
Nor will in Panegyrick flatter.
Unjustly Poets we afperſe:
Truth fhines the brighter clad in Verfe;
And all the Fictions they purfue,
Do but infinuate what is true.
Now fhould my Praifes owe their Truth
To Beauty, Drefs, or Paint, or Youth,
What Stoicks call without our Pow'r,
They could not be infur'd an Hour;
'Twere grafting on an annual Stock,
That muft our Expectation mock,
And making one luxuriant Shoot,
Die the next Year for want of Root:
Before I cou'd my Verfes bring,
Perhaps you're quite another Thing.
So Mævius, when he drain'd his Skull,
To celebrate fome Suburb Trull;
His
To STELLÀ.
187
His Similies in Order fet,
And ev'ry Crambo he cou'd get;
Had gone thro' all the Cominon-Places
Worn out by Wits, who rhyme on Faces;
Before he could his Poem clofe,
The lovely Nymph had loft her Noſe.
Your Virtues fafely I commend ;
They on no Accidents depend;
Let Malice look with all her Eyes,
She dares not ſay, the Poet lyes.
Stella, when you thefe Lines tranſcribe,
Left you ſhould take them for a Bribe,
Reſolv❜d to mortify your Pride,
I'll here expofe your weaker Side.
Your Spirits kindle to a Flame,
Mov'd with the lighteſt touch of Blame;
And when a Friend in Kindneſs tries
To fhew you where your Error lies,
Conviction does but more incenfe;
Perverſeneſs is your whole Defence :
Truth, Judgment, Wit, give Place to Spite,
Regardleſs both of Wrong and Right.
Your Virtues all fufpended wait,
Till Time hath open'd Reaſon's Gate;
And what is worſe, your Paffion bends
Its Force against your neareſt Friends :
Which Manners, Decency, and Pride,
Have taught you from the World to hide.
In vain for fee, your Friend hath brought
To publick Light your only Fault:
And yet a Fault we often find
Mix'd in a noble gen'rous Mind
R 3
And
188
To STELLA.
And may compare to Etna's Fire,
Which, tho' with Trembling, all admire;
The Heat, that makes the Summit glow,
Enriching all the Vales below.
Thofe, who in warmer Climes complain
From Phœbus' Rays they fuffer Pain,
Muft own, that Pain is largely paid
By gen'rous Wines beneath the Shade.
Yet when I find your Paffions rife,
And Anger ſparkling in your Eyes,
I grieve thofe Spirits fhould be ſpent,
For nobler Ends by Nature meant.
One Paffion with a diff'rent Turn
Makes Wit inflame, or Anger burn:
So the Sun's Heat, with diff'rent Pow'rs,
Ripens the Grape, the Liquors fours.
Thus Ajax, when with Rage pofleft,
By Pallas breath'd into his Breaſt,
His Valour wou'd no more employ,
Which might alone have conquer'd Troy ;
But blinded by Refentment, feeks
For Vengeance on his Friends the Greeks.
You think this Turbulence of Blood
From ftagnating preferves the Flood:
Which thus fermenting, by Degrees
Exalts the Spirits, finks the Lees.
Stella, for once you reafon wrong;
For fhou'd this Ferment last too long,
By Time fubfiding, you may find
Nothing but Acid left behind.
From Paffion you may then be freed,
When Peeviſhneſs and Spleen fucceed.
Say,
The JOURNAL of, &c.
189
Say, Stella, when you copy next,
Will you keep ftrictly to the Text?
Daré you let theſe Reproaches ftand,
And to your Failing fet your Hand?
Or if theſe Lines your Anger fire,
Shall they in bafer Flames expire?
Whene'er they burn, if burn they muft,
They'll prove my Accufation juft.
The Journal of a Modern Lady.
T was a moſt unfriendly Part
IT
In You, who ought to know my Heart :
So well acquainted with my Zeal
For all the Female Common-weal,
How cou'd it come into your Mind
To pitch on ine, of all Mankind,
Againſt the Sex to write a Satyr,
And brand me for a Woman-Hater?
On me, who think them all fo fair,
They rival Venus to a Hair;
Their Virtues never ceas'd to fing,
Since first I learn'd to tune a String,
Methinks I hear the Ladies cry,
Will He his Character bely?
Muft never our Misfortunes end?
And have we loft our only Friend?
Ah, lovely Nymphs, remove your Fears,
No more let fall thofe precious Tears.
Sooner
190
The JOURNAL of
Sooner fhall, &c.
[Here feveral Verfes are omitted.]
The Hound be hunted by the Hare,
Than I turn Rebel to the Fair.
Twas you engag'd me firſt to write,
Then give the Subject out of Spite.
The Journal of a Modern Dame,
Is by my Promiſe what you claim;
My Word is paſt, I mult fubmit ;
And yet perhaps you may be bit.
I but tranſcribe, for not a Line
Of all the Satyr fhall be mine.
Compell'd by you to tag in Rhimes
The common Slanders of the Times,
Of modern Times, the Guilt is yours,
And me my Innocence fecures.
Unwilling Mufe begin thy Lay,
The Annals of a Female Day.
By Nature turn'd to play the Rakewell,
(As we ſhall fhew you in the Sequel)
The modern Dame is wak'd by Noon,
Some Authors fay not quite fo foon,
Becauſe, tho' fore againſt her Will,
She fat all Night up at Quadrill.
She ftretches, gapes, unglues her Eyes,
And afks, if it be time to rife;
Of Head-ach, and the Spleen complains;
And then to cool her heated Brains,
Her Night-gown and her Slippers brought her,
Takes a large Dram of Citron-Water.
Then
a Modern Lady.
191
Then to her Glafs; and "Betty, pray,
"Don't I look frightfully To-day?
"But, was it not confounded hard?
"Well, if I ever touch a Card:
"Four Mattadores, and lofe Codill!
"Depend upon't, I never will.
"But run to Tom, and bid him fix
"The Ladies here To-night by Six."
Madam, the Goldfmith waits below:
He fays, his Buſineſs is to know,
If you'll redeem the Silver Cup,
You pawn'd to him ?---Firft fhew him up.
Your Dreffing Plate he'll be content
To take for Intereſt Cent, per Cent.
And, Madam, there's my Lady Spade
Hath fent this Letter by her Maid.
"Well, I remember what she won;
"And hath fhe fent fo foon to dun?
"Here, carry down thofe ten Piſtoles,
My Huſband left to pay for Coals :
"
"I thank my Stars, they are all light;
“And I may have Revenge To-night."
Now, loit'ring o'er her Tea and Cream,
She enters on her ufual Theme;
Her laft Night's ill Succefs repeats,
Calls Lady Spade a hundred Cheats:
She flipt Spadillo in her Breaſt,
Then thought to turn it to a Jeft.
There's Mrs. Cut and fhe combine,
And to each other give the Sign.
Through ev'ry Game purfues her Tale,
Like Hunters o'er their Evening Ale.
Now
192
The JOURNAL of
Now to another Scene give Place:
Enter the Folks with Silks and Lace:
Tresh Matter for a World of Chat,
Right Indian this, right Macklin that ;
Obferve this Pattern; there's a Stuff;
I can have Cuſtomers enough.
Dear Madam, you are grown fo hard;
This Lace is worth twelve Pounds a Yard;
Madam, if there be Truth in Man,
I never fold fo cheap a Fan.
This Bufinefs of Importance o'er,
And Markim almoſt dreft by Four,
The Footman, in his ufual Phrafe,
Comes up with, Madam, Dinner ſtays;
She anſwers in her ufual Style,
The Cook must keep it back a while
I never can have Time to drefs,
No Woman breathing takes
I'm hurried fo, it makes me fick
I wish the Dinner at Old Nick.
At Table now the acts her Part,
Has all the Dinner-Cant by Heart :
"I thought we were to dine alone,
up
leſs;
My Dear, for fure if I had known
"This Company would come To-day---
"But really 'tis my Spouſe's Way;
"He's fo unkind, he never fends
"To tell, when he invites his Friends:
"I wiſh ye may but have enough."
And while, with all this paultry Stuff,
She fits tormenting ev'ry Gueft,
Nor gives her Tongue one Moment's Reft,
Int
a Modern Lady.
193
In Phraſes batter'd, ftale, and trite,
Which modern Ladies call polite ;
You fee the Booby Huſband fit
In Admiration at her Wit!
But let me now a while furvey
Our Madam o'er her Ev'ning Tea ;
Surrounded with her noify Clans
Of Prudes, Coquets, and Harridans :
When frighted at the Clam'rous Crew,
Away the God of Silence flew.
And fair Difcretion left the Place
And Modefty with bluſhing Face.
Now enters over-weening Pride,
And Scandal ever-gaping wide,
Hypocrily with Frown ſevere,
Scurrility with gibing Air;
•
Rude Laughter feeming like to burſt,
And Malice always judging worft ;
And Vanity with Pocket-Glaſs,
And Impudence with Front of Braſs;
And ſtudied Affectation came,
Each Limb, and Feature out of Frame;
While Ignorance with Brain of Lead,
Flew hov'ring o'er each Female Head.
Why should I aſk of thee, my Muſe,
An hundred Tongues, as Poets uſe,
When, to give ev'ry Dame her Due,
An Hundred Thoufand were too few!
Or how ſhould I, alas! relate
The Sum of all their Senſeleſs Prate,
Their
194
The JOURNAL of
Their Innuendo's, Hints, and Slanders,
Their Meanings lewd,and double 'Entendres!
Now comes the general Scandal Charge;
What fome invent, the reſt enlarge;
And, Madam, if it be a Lye,
"You have the Tale as cheap as I :
"I must conceal my Author's Name,
"But now 'tis known to common Fame,
Say, foolish Females, old and blind,
Say, by what fatal Turn of Mind
Are you on Vices moft fevere,
Wherein yourſelves have greateſt Share?
Thus every Fool herſelf deludes;
The Prudes condemn the abfent Prudes;
Mopfa, who tinks her Spouſe to Death,
Accufes Chloe's tainted Breath;
Hircina rank with Sweat, prefumes
To cenfure Phyllis for Perfumes
While crooked Cynthia fwearing fays,
That Florimel wears Iron Stays;
Chloe's of every Coxcomb jealous,
Admires how Girls can talk with Fellows
And full of Indignation frets,
That Women fhould be fuch Coquets :
Iris, for Scandal moft notorious,
Cries, "Lord, the World is fo cenforious!
And Rufa with her Combs of Lead,
Whispers, that Sappho's Hair is red:
Aura, whofe Tongue you hear a Mile hence,
Talks half a Day in Praiſe of Silence;
And Sylvia, full of inward Guilt,
Calls Amoret an arrant Jilt.
Now
a Modern Lady.
195
Now Voices over Voices riſe,
While each to be the loudest vies:
They contradict, affirm, diſpute;
No fingle Tongue one Moment mute;
All mad to speak, and none to hearken,
They fet the very Lap-Dog barking;
Their Chattering makes a louder Din
Than Fish-Wives o'er a Cup of Gin :
Not School-boys at a Barring-out
Rais'd ever fuch inceffant Rout:
The Jumbling Particles of Matter
In Chaos make not fuch a Clatter:
Far lefs the Rabble roar and rail,
When Drunk with four Election Ale.
Nor do they trust their Tongue alone
To ſpeak a Language of their own;
But read a Nod, a Shrug, a Look,
Far better than a printed Book;
Convey a Libel in a Frown,
And wink a Reputation down ;
Or by the toffing of the Fan
Defcribe the Lady and the Man.
But fee! the Female Club difbands
Each, twenty Vifits on her Hands.
Now all alone poor Madam fits,
In Vapours and Hyfterick Fits:
"And was not Tom this Morning fent 2
"I'd lay my Life he never went :
"Paft Six, and not a living Soul!
I might by this have won a Vole."
A dreadful Interval of Spleen !
How thall we pass the Time between?
S
Hera
196
The JOURNAL of
"Here Betty', let me take my Drops,
"And feel my Pulfe, I know it ſtops:
This Head of mine, Lord, how it ſwim!
"And ſuch a Pain in all my Limbs !
Dear Madam, try to take a Nap---
But now they hear a Foot-Man's Rap
"Go, run, and Light the Ladies
up:
"It must be One before we Sup."
The Table, Cards, and Counters fet,
And all the Gamefter-Ladies met,
Her Spleen and Fits recover'd quite,
Our Madam can fit up all Night.
"Whoever comes I'm not within---
Quadrill's the Word, and fo begin.
How can the Mufe her Aid impart,
Unſkill'd in all the Terms of Art ?
Or in harmonious Numbers put
The Deal, the Shuffle, and the Cut?
All the fuperfluous Whims relate,
That fill a Female Gameſter's Pate ?
What Agony of Soul fhe feels
To fee a Knave's inverted Heels?
She draws up Card by Card, to find
Good Fortune peeping from behind;
With panting Heart, and earneft Eyes,
In hope to fee Spadillo rife :
In vain, alas, her Hope is fed!
She draws an Ace, and fees it red
In ready Counters never pays,
But pawns her Snuff-box, Rings, and Keys,
Ever with fome new Fancy ftruck,
Tries twenty Charins to mend her Luck.
** This
a Modern Lady.
197
"This Morning, when the Parfon came,
"I faid I fhould not win a Game.
This odious Chair, how came I ftuck in't?
"I think I never had good Luck in't.
"I'm fo uneafy in my Stays;
"Your Fan a Moment, if you pleaſe.
"Stand further Girl, or get you gone,
I always lofe when you look on.”
Lord, Madam, you have loft Codill:
I never faw you play fo ill.
Ch
Nay, Madam, give me leave to fay,
'Twas you, that threw the Game away;
"When Lady Tricky play'd a Four
"You took it with a Matadore.
* I ſaw you touch your Wedding-Ring
Before my Lady call'd a King.
"You spoke a Word began with H,
"And I know whom you meant to teach,
"Becauſe you held the King of Hearts :
"Fie, Madam, leave thefe little Arts."
That's not ſo bad, as one that rubs
Her Chair to call the King of Clubs,
And makes her Part'ner underſtand
A. Matadore is in her Hand.
"Madam, you have no Cauſe to flounce;
"I fwear I faw you thrice renounce.
And truly, Madam, I know when
Instead of Five you fcor'd me Ten.
Spadillo here has got a Mark,
A Child may know it in the Dark:
I guess the Hand; it feldom fails;
I wish fome Folks would pare their Nails.
Sz
While
198 The JOURNAL of, &c.
While thus they rail, and ſcold and ſtorm,
It paffes but for common Form :
Molt confcious that they all ſpeak true,
And give each other but their Due;
It never interrupts the Game,
Or makes 'em ſenſible of Shame.
The Time too precious now to waſte,
And Supper gobbled up in haſte,
Again a-fresh to Cards they run,
As if they had but juſt begun :
Yet fhall I not again repeat
How oft they Squabble, Snarl and Cheat.
At laft they hear the Watchman knock,
A Frofty Morn---Paft Four a-Clock.
The Chairmen are not to be found;
"Come, let us play the t'other Round.
Now, all in hafte they huddle on
Their Hoods, their Cloaks, and get them
gone;
But firft the Winner muft invite
The Company to-morrow Night.
Unlucky Madam left in Tears,
Who now again Quadrill forfwears,
With empty Purfe, and aching Head,
Steals to her fleeping Spouſe to Bed.
The
[ 199 ]
T
The Country Life.
HALIA tell in fober Lays,
How George, Nim, Dan, Dean paſs
their Days.
Begin, my Mufe: Firft from our Bow'rs
We illue forth at diff'rent Hours:
At feven, the Dean in Night-gown dreft
Goes round the Houſe to wake the reft:
At nine, grave Nim and George facetious
Go to the Dean to read Lucretius:
At ten, my Lady comes and hectors,
And kiffes George, and ends our Lectures;
And when he has him by the Neck faſt,
Hauls him, and fcolds us down to Break faſt.
We fquander there an Hour or more,
And then all Hands, Boys, to the Oar;
All, Heterofil Dan except,
Who neither Time, nor Order kept,
But by peculiar Whimſies drawn,
Peeps in the Ponds to look for Spawn,
O'erfees the Work, or Dragon *rows,
Or ſpoils a Text, or mends his Hofe;
Or---but proceed we in our Journal---
At two, or after, we return all.
From the four Elements affembling,
Warn'd by the Bell, all Folks come trembling;
*My Lord's Boat.
S 3
From
200
The Country Life.
From airy Garrets ſome deſcend,
Some from the Lake's remoteft End:
My Lord and Dean the Fire forfake;
Dan leaves the Earthly Spade and Rake:
The Loit'rers quake, no Corner hides them,
And Lady Betty foundly chides them.
Now Water's brought, and Dinner's done :
With Church and King the Lady's gone:
(Not reck'ning half an Hour we pafs
In talking o'er a moderate Glafs.)
Dan growing drowſy, like a Thief,
Steals off to dofe away his Beef,
And this muſt pafs for reading Hammond---
While George and Dean go to Back-Gam
mon.
George, Nim, and Dean fet out at four,
And then again, Boys, to the Oar,
But when the Sun goes to the Deep,
(Not to diſturb him in his Sleep,
Or make a Rumbling o'er his Head,
His Candle out, and He a-bed)
We watch his Motions to a Minute,
And leave the Flood, when he goes in it.
Now ftinted in the ſhort'ning Day,
We go to Pray'rs, and then to play,
Till Supper comes; and after that,
We fit an Hour to drink and chat.
Tis late---the old and younger Pairs,
By * Adam lighted, walk up Stairs.
* The Footman.
The
5
The Country Life.
201
The weary Dean goes to his Chamber,
And Nim and Dan to Garret clamber.
So when the Circle we have run,
The Curtain falls, and we have done.
I might have mention'd fev'ral Facts,
Like Epiſodes between the Acts;
And tell who lofes, and who wins,
Who gets a Cold, who breaks his Shins;
How Dan caught nothing in his Net;
And how the Boat was over-ſet :
For Brevity I have retrench'd,
How in the Lake the Dean was drench'd:
It would be an Exploit to brag on,
How valiant George rode o'er the Dragen,
How fteddy in the ftern he fat,
And fav'd his Oar, but loft his Hat:
How Nim (no Hunter e'er could match him,)
Still brings us Harcs, when he can catch 'em i
How fkilfully Dan mends his Nets;
How Fortune fails him, when he fets
Or how the Dean delights to vex
The Ladies, or lampoon the Sex:
Or how our Neighbour lifts his Nofe
To tell what ev'ry School-boy knows,
Then with his Finger on his Thumb
Explaining, ftrikes Oppofures dumb :
Or how his Wife, that Female Pedant,
(But now there need no more be faid on't)
Shews all her Secrets of Houſe-keeping;
For Candles how the trucks her Dripping :
Was forced to fend three Miles for Yelt
To brew her Ale, and raife her Paste ;
Tells
202
The Country Life.
Tells ev'ry thing, that you can think of;
How the cur'd Tommy of the Chin-cough;
What gave her Brats and Pigs the Meazles,
And how her Doves were kill'd by Weezles;
How Jowler howl'd, and what a Fright
She had with Dreams the other Night.
But now, fince I have gone fo far on,
A Word or two of Lord Chief Baron:
And tell how little Weight he ſets
On all Whig Papers, and Gazetts ;
But for the Politicks of Pue*
Thinks ev'ry Syllable is true:
And fince he owns, the King of Sweden
Is dead at last, without evading,
Now all his Hopes are in the Czar ;
"Why, Muscovy is not fo far,
"Down the Black Sea and up the Streights,
"And in a Month he's at your Gates;
"Perhaps, from what the Packet brings,
"By Chriſtmas we ſhall ſee ſtrange things."
Why ſhould I tell of Ponds and Drains,
What Carps we met with for our Pains;
Of Sparrows tam'd, and Nuts innumerable
To choak the Girls, and to confume-a-Rabble.
But You, who are a Scholar, know
How tranfient are all things below,
How prone to change is human Life.
Laft Night arriv'd Clem. and his Wife---
*A News-Writer.
This
A Paftoral Dialogue.
203
;
This grand Event half broke our Meaſures;
Their Reign began with cruel Seizures;
The Dean muft with his Quilt fupply
The Red, in which theſe Tyrants lie
Nin loft his Wig-Block, Dan his Jordar,
(My Lady fays the can't afford one)
George is half fcar'd out of his Wits,
For Clem. gets all the dainty Bits.
Henceforth expect a diff'rent Survey,
This Houfe will foon turn topsy-turvy :
They talk of further Alterations,
Which caufes many Speculations.
A Paftoral Dialogue.
DERMOT, SHEELAH.
A Nymph and Swain, Sheelab and Dermot
hignt,
Who want to weed the Court of Gosford
Kaight,
While each with ftubbed Knife remov'd the
Roors,
That rais'd between the Stones their daily
Shoots;
As at their Work they fat in counterview,
With mutual Beauty limit, their Paffion grow.
Sing heavenly Mufe in tweetly flowing Strain
The foft Endearments of the Nymph and Swain.
DERMOT
204
A Paftoral Dialogue.
DERMOT.
My Love to Sheelab is more firmly fixt
Than ſtrongeſt Weeds, that grow theſe Stones
betwixt :
My Spud theſe Nettles from the Stones can
part,
No Knife fo kecn to weed thee from my Heart.
SHEELA H.
My Love for gentle Dermot fafter grows
Than yon tall Dock, that riſes to thy Noſe.
Cut down the Dock, 'twill ſprout again; but
O!
Love rooted out, again will never grow.
DERMO T.
No more that Bry'r thy tender Legs fhall
rake
(I fpare the Thiſtle for Sir Arthur's Sake.)
Sharp are the Stones, take thou this rufhy Matt;
The hardeſt Bum will bruize with fitting fquat.
SHEELA H.
Thy Breeches torn behind ſtand gaping
wide ;
This Petticoat fhall fave thy dear Back-ſide;
Nor need I bluſh, although you feel it wet;
Dermot, I vow, 'tis nothing elſe but Sweat.
DERMOT.
A Paftoral Dialogue.
205
DERMOT.
At an old ſtubborn Root I chanc'd to tug,
When the Dean threw me this Tobacco Plug:
A longer half-porth never did I ſee;
This, dearest Sheelab, thou fhalt ſhare with me.
SHEELA H.
In at the Pantry door this Morn I flipt,
And from the Shelf a charming Cruft I whipt;
Dennis was out, and I got hither fafe;
And thou, my Dear, fhalt have the bigger half,
DERMOT.
When you faw Tady at long Bullets play,
You fat and lows'd him all the Sunshine Day.
How could you, Sheelah, liften to his Tales,
Or crack fuch Lice as his between your Nails?
SHEELA H.
When you with Oonah ſtood behind a Ditch,
I pecp'd and faw you kifs the dirty Bitch.
Dermot, how could you touch thoſe nafty Sluts?
I almost wifh'd this Spud were in your Guts.
DERMO T.
If Oonab once I kiſs'd, forbear to chide ;
Her Aunt's my Gothip by ray Father's Side:
But, if I ever touch her Lips again,
May I be doom'd for Lite to weed in Rain.
SHEELAH.
206
The Cook-Maid's Letter
SHEELA H.
Dermot, I fwear, tho' Tady's Locks could
hold
Ten thouſand Lice, and ev'ry Loufe was God,
Him on my Lap you never more fhould fee;
O may I lose my Weeding-knife---and Thee.
DERMOT.
O, could I earn for thee, my lovely Lafs,
A Pair of Brogues to bear thee dry to Mals!
But fee, where Norabwith the Sowins comes---
Then let us rife and reft our weary Bums.
Mary the Cook-Maid's Letter to
Dr. Sheridan.
WE
ELL; if ever I ſaw ſuch another Man,
fince my Mother bound my head!
You a Gentleman, mary coine up ;
I wonder where you were bred!
I am fure fuch Words do not become a Man
of your Cloth,
I would not give fuch Language to a Dog,
faith and troth.
Yes; you call'd my Mafter a Knave: Fie
Mr. Sheridan, 'tis a Shame
For a Parfon, who ſhou'd know better Things,
to come out with fuch a Name.
Knare
to Dr. SHERIDAN.
207
Knave in your Teeth, Mr. Sheridan ; 'tis both
a Shame and a Sin;
And the Dean my Maſter is an honeſter Man
than you and all your Kin :
He has more Goodness in his little Finger,
than you have in your whole Body,
My Maſter is a parfonable Man, and not a
fpindle-fhank'd hoddy-doddy.
And now whereby I find you would fain make
an Excufe,
Becauſe my Mafter one day in Anger call'd
you Goole.
Which, and I am fure I have been his Servant
four Years fince October,
And he never call'd me worſe than Sweetheart
drunk or fober :
Not that I know his Reverence was ever con-
cern'd to my Knowledge,
Tho' you and your Come-rogues keep him
out fo late in your College.
You fay you will eat Grafs on his Grave: a
Chriſtian eat Grafs !
Whereby you now confefs yourſelf to be a
Goofe or an Aſs :
But that's as much as to fay, that my Mafter
ſhould die before ye;
Well, well, that's as God pleaſes; and I don't
believe that's a true Story,
And ſo ſay I told you fo, and you may go tell
my Maſter; what care I?
And I don't care who knows it, 'tis all one to
Mary
I
Every
208 The Cook-Maid's Letter, &c.
Every body knows, that I love to tell Truth
and fhame the Devil,
I am but a poor Servant, but I think Gentle-
folks fhould be civil.
Belides you found fault with our Vittles one
Day that you was here,
I remember it was on a Tueſday of all Days
in the Year.
And Saunders the Man fays, you are always
jefting and mocking :
Mary faid he (one Day, as I was mending my
Master's Stocking,)
My Mafter is fo fond fo that Minifter, that
keeps the School,
I thought my Matter a wife Man, but that
Man makes him a Fool.
Saunders faid I, I would rather than a Quart
of Ale,
He would come into our Kitchin, and I would
pin a Diſh-clout to his Tail.
And now I must go, and get Saunders to di-
rect this Letter,
For I write but a fad Scrawl, but my Siſter
Marget the writes better.
Well, but I muſt run and make the Bed before
my Maſter comes from Pray'rs ;
And fee now, it ftrikes ten, and I hear him
coming up Stairs :
Whereof I cou'd fay more to your Verfes, if
I cou'd write written hand,
And fo I remain, in a civil way, your Servant
to command,
Mary.
A Dia
[209]
A Dialogue between Mad Mullinix
and Timothy.
M. I
Own, 'tis not my Bread and Butter:
But prithee, Tim, why all this Clutter?
Why ever in theſe raging Fits,
Damning to Hell the Jacobites?
When, if you ſearch the Kingdom round,
There's hardly twenty to be found ;
No, not among the Priefs and Fryers.
T. Twixt you and me, G-- Damn the
Lyars.
M. The Tories are gone ev'ry Man over
To our illuftrious Houſe of Hanover ;
From all their Conduct this is plain :
And then----
T. G-- Damn the Lyars again.
Did not an Earl but lately vote
To bring in (I could cut his Throat)
Our whole Accounts of publick Debts?
M. Lord, how this frothy Coxcomb frets?
[afuli.]
7. Did not an able Stateſman B---
This dang'rous horrid Motion diſh-up
As Popish Craft? Did he not rail on't ?
Shew Fire and Faggot in the Tail on't?
Proving the Earl a grand Offender,
And in a Plot for the Pretender?
Whoſe Flect, 'tis all our Friends Opinion,
Was then embarking at Avignon.
Τε
Thele
210
A Dialogue between
Theſe brangling Jars of Whig and Tory
Are ftale, and worn as Troy-Town Story.
The Wrong, 'tis certain, you were both in;
And now you find you fought for nothing.
Your Faction, when their Game was new,
Might want fuch noify Fools as you ;
But You, when all the Show is paſt,
Refolve to ftand it out the laft;
Like Martin Marral, gaping on,
Not minding when the Song is done.
When all the Bees are gone to fettle,
You clatter ftill your Brazen Kettle.
The Leaders, whom you lifted under,
Have dropt their Arms, and feiz'd the Plunder;
And when the War is paſt, you come
To rattle in their Ears your Drum:
And as that hateful hideous Grecian
Therfites (he was your Relation)
Was more abhor'd and fcorn'd by thofe
With whom he ferv'd, than by his Foes ;
So thou art grown the Deteftation
Of all thy Party through the Nation;
Thy peevish and perpetual Teazing,
With Plots, and Jacobites, and Treaſon ;
Thy bufy, never-meaning Face,
Thy fcrew'd-up Front, thy State-grimace,
Thy formal Nods, important Sneers,
Thy Whifp'rings foifted in all Ears,
(Which are, whatever you may think,
But Nonfenfe wrapt up in a Stink)
Have made thy Prefence, in a true Senſe,
To thy own Side ſo damn'd a Nuiſance,
That
Mad Mullinix and Timothy.
211
That when they have you in their Eye,
As if the Devil drove, they fly.
T.
My good friend Mullinix, forbear;
I vow to G-- you're too ſevere;
If it could ever yet be known,
I took Advice, except any own,
It fhou'd be yours: But D--- my Blood,
I must purſue the publick Good:
The Faction (is it not notorious?)
Keck at the Memory of Glorious :
'Tis true, nor need I to be told,
My quondam Friends are grown fo cold,
That fcarce a Creature can be found,
To prance with me his Statue round.
The publick Safety, I foreſee,
Henceforth depends alone on me ;
And while this vital Breath I blow,
Or from above, or from below,
I'll putter, fwagger, curfe and rail,
The Tories Terror, Scourge and Flail.
M. Tim, you Miſtake the Matter quite :
The Tories! you are their Delight :
And ſhould you act a different Part,
Be grave and wife---'twou'd break their Heart.
Why, Tim, you have a Tafte I know,
And often fee a Puppet-show;
Obferve, the Audience is in Pain,
While Punch is hid behind the Scene;
But when they hear his rufty Voice,
With what Impatience they rejoice!
And then they value not two Straws,
How Solomon decides the Caule,
T 3
Which
}
313
A Dialogue between
Which the true Mother, which Pretender;
Nor liften to the Witch of Endor;
Shou'd Fauftus with the Devil behind him
Enter the Stage, they never mind him.
If Punch, to fpur their Fancy, fhows
In at the Door his monftrous Nofe,
Then fudden draws it back again;
O what a Pleaſure mixt with Pain !
You ev'ry Moment think an Age,
'Till he appears upon the Stage:
And firft his Bum you fee him clap
Upon the Queen of Sheba's Lap ;
The Duke of Lorrain drew his Sword,
Punch roaring run, and running roar`d,.
Revil'd all People in his Jargon,
And fold the King of Spain a Bargain;
St. George himſelf he plays the Wag on,
And mounts aftride upon the Dragon;
He gets a thoufand Thumps and Kicks,
Yet cannot leave his Roguish Tricks ;
In ev'ry Action thrufts his Nofe,
The Reaſon why, no Mortal knows ;
In doleful Scenes, that break our Heart,
Punch comes, like You, and lets a F--t.
There's not a Puppet made of Wood,
But what wou'd hang him, if they cou'd
While teazing all, by all he's teaz'd,
How well are the Spectators pleas'd!
Who in the Motion have no Share,
But purely come to hear and ftare;
Have no concern for Sabra's Sake,
Which gets the better, Saint or Snake,
*
S
Provided
Mad Mullinix and Timothy. 213
Provided Punch (for there's the Jeft)
Be foundly mawl'd, and plague the reft.
Thus, Tim, Philofophers fuppoſe,
The World confijis of Puppet-flows i
Where petulant conceited Fellows
Perform the Part of Punchinelloes;
So at this Booth, which we call Dublin,
Tim, thou'rt the Punch to ftir up Trouble in:
You wriggle, fidge, and make a Rout,
Put all your Brother Puppets out,
Run on in a perpetual Round
To teaze, perplex, diſturb, confound,
Intrude with Monkey Grin and Clatter,
To interrupt all ſerious Matter,
Are grown the Nuiſance of your Clan,
Who hate and fcorn you to a Man.
But then, the Lookers on, the Tories
You ſtill divert with merry Stories;
They wou'd confent, that all the Crew
Were hang'd, before they'd part with you.
But tell me, Tim, upon the Spot,
By all this Coyl what haft thou got?
If Tories must have all the Sport,
I fear you'll be difgrac'd at Court.
T. Got? D--- my Blood, I frank my Letters,
Walk by my Place before my Betters,
And ſimple as I now ſtand here,
Expect in Time to be a P-----
Got? D---- mẹ, why I got my Will !
Ne'er hold my Peace, and ne'er ſtand ſtill:
I f---t with twenty Ladies by;
They call me Beast; and what care I ?
I bravely
214
A Dialogue between
I bravely call the Tories, Jacks,
And Sons of Whores----behind their Backs.
But could you bring me once to think,
That when I ftrut, and ftare, and ftink,
Revile, and flander, fume and ſtorm,
Betray, inake Oath, impeach, inform,
With fuch a conftant loyal Zeal
To ferve myfelf and Common-weal,
And fret the Tories Souls to Death,
I did but lofe my precious Breath;
And when I damn my Soul to plague 'em,
Am, as you tell me, but their May-game;
Confuine my Vitals! they fhall know,
I am not to be treated fo;
I'd rather hang myself by half,
Than give thofe Rafcals Caufe to laugh.
But how, my Friend, can I endure,
Once fo renown'd, to live obfcure ?
No little Boys and Girls to cry
There's nimble Tim a paſſing by.
No more my dear delightful Way tread,
Of keeping up a Party-Hatred.
Will none the Tory Dogs purfue,
When thro' the Streets I cry Hallooe?
Muft all my D--mee's, Bloods, and Wounds,
Paſs only now for empty Sounds ?
Shall Try Rafcals be clected,
Although I fwear them difaffected?
And when I roar, a Plot, a Plot,
Will our own Party mind me not
So qualified to fwcar and lye,
Will they not truft me for a Spy?
Dear
Mad Mullinix and Timothy. 215
Dear Mullinix, your good Advice
I beg; you ſee the Caſe is nice :
O, were I equal in Renown,
Like thee, to pleaſe this thankleſs Town!
Or bleft with fuch engaging Parts
To win the truant School-boys Hearts!
Thy Virtues meet their juft Reward,
Attended by the Sable Guard.
Charm'd by thy Voice the 'Prentice drops
The Snow-ball deftin'd at thy Chops.
Thy graceful Steps, and Col'nel's Air,
Allure the Cinder-picking Fair.
•
M. No more---- In Mark of true Affection,
I take thee under my Protection :
Thy Parts are good, 'tis not deny'd;
I wish they had been well apply'd.
But now obferve my Counfel, (viz.)
Adapt your Habit to your Phyz;
You muſt no longer thus equip ye,
As Horace fays, optat Ephippia :
(There's Latin too, that you may fee
How much improv'd by Dr.------)
I have a Coat at home, that you may try,
'Tis juſt like this, which hangs by Geometry's
My Hat has much the nicer Air,
Your Block will fit it to a Hair:
That Wig, I would not for the World
Have it fo formal, and fo curl'd;
"Twill be fo oily and fo fleek,
When I have lain in ita Week!
You'll find it well prepar'd, to take
The Figure of Toupee or Snake.
Thos
I
216
A Dialogue between
Thus drefs'd alike from Top to Toe,
That which is which 'tis hard know,
When firſt in Publick we appear,
I'll lead the Van; keep You the Rear:
Be careful as you walk behind;
Uſe all the Talents of your Mind ;
Be ftudious well to imitate
My portly Motion, Mien and Gate;
Mark my Addrefs, and learn my Stile,
When to look ſcornful, when to imile
Nor ſputter out your Oaths fo faſt,
But keep your Swearing to the laſt.
Then at our Leifure we'll be witty,
And in the Streets divert the City:
The Ladies from the Windows gaping,
The Children all our Motions aping,
Your Converfation to refine,
I'll take you to fome friends of mine,
Choice Spirits, who employ their Parts,
To mend the World by ufeful Arts;
Some cleanfing hollow Tubes, to spy
Direct the Zenith of the Sky;
Some have the City in their Care,
From noxious Steams to purge the Air;
Some teach us in theſe dang`rous Days
How to walk upright in our Ways;
Some, whofe reforming Hands engage
To lafh the Lewdneſs of the Age;
Some for the publick Service go
Perpetual Envoys to and fro,
Whoſe able Heads fupport the Weight
Of twenty M-----rs of State,
We
Mad Mallinix and Timothy. 217
We fcorn, for want of Talk, to jabber
Of Parties o'er our Bonny-Clabber :
Nor are we ftudious to enquire,
Who Votes for Manours, who for Hire;
Our Care is to improve the Mind,
With what concerns all human Kind;
The various Scenes of mortal Life ;
Who beats her Huſband, who his Wife;
Or how the Bully at a Stroke
Knock'd down the Boy, the Lanthorn broke
One tells the rife of Cheeſe and Oatmeal;
Another, when he got a hot Meal :
One gives Advice in Proverbs old,
Inftructs us how to tame a Scold;
Or how by Almanacks 'tis clear,
That Herrings will be cheap this Year,
T. Dear Mullinix, I now lament
My precious Time fo long miſpent,
By Nature meant for nobler Ends:
O, introduce me to your Friends!
For whom by Birth I was defign'd,
"Till Politicks debas'd my Mind,
I give myſelf intire to you;
G--d--- the Whigs and Tories too,
* Epitaph.
[ 218 ]
* EPITAPH.
H
HERE continueth to rot
The Body of FRA---S CH---IS,
Who, with an INFLEXIBLE CONSTANCY
and INIMITABLE UNIFORMITY of Life,.
PERSISTED,
In Spite of AGE and INFIRMITIES,
In the Practice of EVERY HUMAN VICE,
Excepting PRODIGALITY and HYPOCRISY.
His Infatiable AVARICE exempted him from
The firft;
His Matchlefs IMPUDENCE from the fecond.
Nor was he more fingular in the un-deviating
Pravity of his Manners, than fuccefsful in
Accumula
ting WEALTH..
For, without TRADE or PROFESSION,.
Without TRUST of PUBLICK MONEY,.
And without BRIBE-WORTHY SERVICE,
He acquired, or more properly Created,
A MINISTERIAL ESTATE.
He was the only Perfon of his Time,
Who cou'd CHEAT without the Maſk of
HONESTY,
Retain
EPITAPH.
Retain his Primeval MEANNESS, when pof-
fefs'd of TEN THOUSAND a YEAR;
And having daily deferv'd the GIBBET for
what he did,
Was at laſt condemn'd to it for what he could
not do.
Oh Indignant Reader!
Think not his Life Ufelefs to Mankind!
PROVIDENCE conniv'd at his execrable De-
figns,
To give to After-AGES a confpicuous PROOF
and EXAMPLE
Of how fmall Eſtimation is EXORBITANT
WEALTH in the Sight of GOD, by his
beftowing it on the moft UNWORTHY of
ALL MORTALS.
*Joannes jacet bic Mirandula-
norunt
cætera
Et Tagus & Ganges-forfan & Antipodes.
H
Apply'd to F. C.
ERE Francis Ch---s lies---- Be civil !
The reft God knows--- perhaps the De-
vil.
U
* Epigram.
[220]
VAL
PET
*
Epigram.
ETER complains, that God has given
To his poor Babe a Life fo fhort:
Confider Peter, he's in Heaven;
'Tis good to have a Friend at Court.
* Another.
OU beat your Pate, and fancy-Wit will
You
come :
Knock as you pleafe, there's no Body at
home.
* Epitaph [of By-Words.]
ERE lies a round Woman, who thought
mighty odd
HR
Every Word, fhe e'er heard in this
Church about God.
To convince her of God the good Dean did
endeavour,
But ſtill in her Heart the held Nature more
clever.
"Tho' he talk'd much of Virtue, her Head al,
ways run
Upon fomething or other, the found better Fun;
For
EPIGRA M.
221
For the Dame, by her ſkill in Affairs Aftre-
nomical,
Imagin'd, to live in the Clouds was but comi-
cal.
In this World, fhe deſpis'd every Soul fhe met
here;
And now the's in t'other, fhe thinks it but
Queer.
Epigram.
On feeing a worthy Prelate go out of
Church in the Time of Divine Ser-
vice, to wait on his Grace the D.
of D-
L
ORD Pam in the Church (cou'd you
think it) kneel'd down,
When told the Lieutenant was juſt come
to Town,
His Station defpifing, unaw'd by the Place,
He flies from his God to attend on his Grace:
To the Court it was fitter to pay his Devotion,
Since God had no Hand in his Lordſhip's Pro-
motion.
U z
* Epigram,
[ 222 ]
S
* Epigram from the French.
I R, I admit your gen'ral Rule,
That every Poet is a Fool:
But you yourſelf may ſerve to ſhow it,
That every Fool is not a Poet.
* Epitaph.
ELL then, poor G--- lies under
Ground!
WⓇ
So there's an End of honest Jack.
So little Juftice here he found,
'Tis ten to one he'll ne'er come back.
*
Epigram
On the Toafts of the Kit-Cat Club,
W
Anno 1716.
Hence deathlefs Kit-Cat took its Name
Few Criticks can unriddle ;
Some fay from Fafiry-Cook it came,
And fome from Cat and Fiddle.
From no trim Beaus' its Name it boaſts,
Grey Statefmen, or Green Wits ;
Bu
Verſes on England's Arch-Poet.
But from this Pell-mell-Pack of Toafts,
Of old Cats and young Kits.
223
*To a Lady with the Temple of
Fame.
HAT's Fame with Men, by Cuſtom
of the Nation,
WH
Is call'd in Women only Reputation :
About them both why keep we fuch a pother?
Part you with one, and I'll renounce the other.
* Verfes
To be placed under the Picture of
England's Arch-Poet: Contain-
ing a compleat Catalogue of his
Works.
SE
EE who ne'er was or will be halfread!
Who first fung 1 Arthur, then fung 2 Al-
fred,
Prais'd great 3 Eliza in God's Anger,
Till all true Englijhmen cry'd, hang her!
I Two Heroick Poems in Folio, twenty
Books.
2 Heroick Poems in twelve Books.
3 Heroick Poems in Folio, ten Books.
U 3
Made
224 Verfes on England's Arch-Poet.
Made William's Virtues wipe the bare A----
And hang up Malborough in 4 Arras :
Then hits'd from Earth, grew Heav'nly quite ;
Made ev'ry Reader curfe the 5 Light;
Maul'd human Wit in one thick 6 Satyr,
Next in three Books, fent 7 human Nature,
Un-did 8 (reation at a Jerk,
And of 9 Redemption made damn'd Work.
Then took his Mufe at once, and dipt her
Full in the Middle of the Scripture.
What Wonders there the Man grown old did?
Sternhold himſelf he out Sternbolded.
Made 10 David feem fo mad and freakish,
All thought him just what thought King Achiz.
No Mortal read his 11 Salomon,
But judg'd Roboam his own Son.
Moſes 12 he ferv'd as Mofes Pharaoh,
And Deborah, as She Siferah :
4 Inftructions to Vanderbank a Tapeſtry-
Weaver.
5 Hymn to the Light.
6 Satyr against Wit.
7 Of the Nature of Man.
8 Creation, a Poem in feven Books.
9 The Redeemer, another Heroick Poem in
fix Books.
10 Tranſlation of all the Pfalms.
11 Canticles and Ecclefiaft.
12 Paraphraſe of the Canticles of Mofes and
Deborah, &c.
Made
On writing the Dunciad.
225
Made 13 Jeremy full fore to cry,
And 14 Job himſelf curfe God and die.
What Puniſhment all this muſt follow?
Shall Arthur uſe him like King Tollo?
Shall David as Uriah flay him?
Or dextrous Deb`rah Sifera-him?
Or fhall Eliza lay a Plot
To treat him like her Sister Scot ?
Shall William dub his better End,
Or Marlb`rough ſerve him like a Friend?
No, none of theſe. Heav'n fpare his Life!
But fend him, honeft Job, thy Wife.
*
Dr. Sw―― to Mr. P————e,
While he was writing the Dunciad.
P
OPE has the Talent well to ſpeak,
But not to reach the Ear;
His loudest Voice is low and weak,
The Dean too deaf to hear.
13 The Lamentations.
14 The whole Book of Job, a Poem in Folio.
* Kick him on the Breech, not Knight him
on the Shoulders.
A while
226 On writing the Dunciad.
A while they on each other look,
Then diffrent Studies chufe ;
The Dean fits plodding on a Book,
Pope walks, and courts the Mufe.
Now Backs of Letters, though defign'd
For thoſe who more will need 'em,
Are fill'd with Hints, and interlin'd,
Himſelf can hardly read 'em.
Each Atom by fome other ſtruck,
All turns and Motion tries,
Till in a Lump together ſtuck,
Behold a Poem rife!
Yet to the Dean his Share allot ;
He claims it by a Canon;
That, without which a Thing is not,
Is, caufa fine quâ non.
Thus, Pope, in vain
you
boaſt your
Wit;
For, had our deaf Divine
Been for your Converfation fit,
You had not writ a Line.
Of Prelate thus, for preaching fam'd,
The Sexton reaſon'd well,
And justly half the Merit claim'd,
Becauſe he rang the Bell.
Bounce
[ 227 ]
Bounce to Fop.
An Epiſtle from a Dog at Twick-
enham to a Dog at Court.
T
O thee fweet Fop, theſe Lines I fend,
Who, tho' no Spaniel, am a Friend.
Tho' once my Tail in wanton Play,
Now frisking this and then that way,
Chanc'd, with a Touch of just the Tip,
To hurt your Lady-lap-dog-fhip;
Yet thence to think I'd bite your Head off!
Sure Bounce is one you never read of.
For you can dance, and make a Leg,
Can fetch and carry, cringe and beg,
And (what's the Top of all your Tricks
Can ſtoop to pick up Strings and Sticks.
We Country Dogs love nobler Sport,
And icorn the Pranks of Dogs at Court.
Fye, naughty Fop! where-e'er you come,
To f--t and p--fs about the Room,
To lay your Head in every Lap,
And, when they think not of you---fnap € .
The worst that Envy, or that Spite
E'er faid of me, is, I can bite :
That idle Gypfies, Rogues in Rags,
Who poke at me, can make no Brags;
And that to towze fuch Things as flutter,
To honeft Bounce is Bread and Butter.
While
→
}
[
1
}
228 BOUNCE to FOP.
·
While You, and every courtly Fop,
Fawn on the Devil for a Chop,
I've the Humanity to hate
A Butcher, tho' he brings me Meat;
And let me tell you, have a Nofe,
(Whatever ſtinking Fops fuppoſe)
That under Cloth of Gold or Tiffue,
Can ſmell a Plaiſter, or an Iffue.
Your pilf'ring Lord, with fimple Pride,
May wear a Pick-lock at his Side;
My Mafter wants no Key of State,
For Bounce can keep his Houſe and Gate.
When all fuch Dogs have had their Days,
As knaviſh Pams, and fawning Trays ;
When pamper'd Cupids, beastly Ven's,
And motly, quinting Harlequini's,
Shall lick no more their Lady's Br-
But die of Loofènefs, Claps, or Itch :
Fair Thames from either ecchoing Shore
Shall hear and dread my manly Roar.
See Bunce, like Berecynthia, crown'd
With thund'ring Offspring all around,
Beneath, beſide me, and a top,
A hundred Sons ! and not one Fop.
Before my Children ſet your Beef,
Not one true Bounce will be a Thief;
Not one without Permiffion feed,
(Tho' fome of J----n's hungry Breed)
* Alii legunt Harvequini's.
Bus
BOUNCE to FOP.
229
But whatfoe'er the Father's Race,
From me they fuck a little Grace,
While your fine Whelps learn all to ſteal,
Bred up by Hand on Chick and Veal.
My Eldeft-born refides not far,
Where ſhines great Strafford's glittering Star;
My fecond, Child of Fortune! waits
At Burlington's Palladian Gates:
A third majeſtically ſtalks,
Happiest of Dogs! "in Cobham's Walks
One ufhers Friends to Bathurst's Dcor,
One fawns, at Oxford's, on the Poor,
Nobles, whom Arms or Arts adorn,
Wait for my Infants yet unborn.
None, but a Peer of Wit and Grace,
Can hope a Puppy of my Race.
And O! wou'd Fate the Blifs decree
To mine, a Bliſs too great for me!
That two, my talleft Sons, might grace,
Attending each with stately Pace,
Inlus's Side, as erſt Evander's,
To keep off Flatt'rers, Spies, and Panders;
To let no noble Slave come near;
And ſcare Lord Fannys from his Ear :
Then might a royal Youth, and true,
Enjoy at leaſt a Friend-----or two :
A Treaſure, which of Royal Kind
Few but hiinſelf deſerve to find.
* Virg. Æn, 8,
Then
230
On the Countess of B-
Then Bounce ('tis all that Bounce can crave).
Shall wag her Tail within the Grave.
On the Countess of B cutting
Paper.
PAL
;
ALLAS grew vap'rifh once and odd
She would not do the leaſt right thing
Either for Goddeſs or for God,
Nor work, nor play, nor paint, nor fing.
Jove frown'd, and "Ufe (he cry'd) thofe
Eyes
"So kilful, and thofe Hands fo taper;
"Do fomething exquifite, and wife---
She bow'd, obey'd him, and cut Paper.
This vexing him, who gave her Birth,
Thought by all Heav'n a burning Shame ;
What does the next, but bids on Earth
Her B--1--n do juſt the ſame.
Pallas, you give yourſelf ſtrange Airs:
But fure you'll find it hard to ſpoil
The Senſe and Taſte of one, that bears
The Name of Savil and of Boyle.
Alas! one bad Example ſhown,
How quickly all the Sex purſue !
See Madam! fee, the Arts o'erthrown
Between John Overton and You.
* O*
Dr. D-l-y, on the, &c. 231
I
* On a certain Lady at Court.
Know the Thing, that's moſt uncommon :
Envy, be filent, and attend!
I know a reaſonable Woman,
Handſome and witty, yet a Friend.
Not warp'd by Paffion, aw'd by Rumour,
Not grave thro' Pride, or gay thro' Folly,
An equal Mixture of good Humour,
And fenfible fort Melancholy.
"Has fhe no faults then (Envy ſays) Sir ?"
Yes the has one, I muſt aver
When all the World confpires to praiſe her,
The Woman's deaf, and does not hear.
To Doctor D-1-y on the Libels
writ against him.
A$
S fome raw Youth in Country bred,
To Arms by Thirft of Honour led,
When at a Skirmiſh firſt he hears
The Bullets whiftling round his Ears,
Will duck his Head afide, will ſtart,
And feel a trembling at his Heart:
Till, 'ſcaping oft' without a Wound,
Leffens the Terror of the Sound:
X
Fly
232
Dr. D-l-y, on the
Fly Bullets now as thick as Hops,
He runs into a Cannon's Chops.
An Author thus, who pants for Fame,
Begins the World with Fear and Shame.
When firft in Print, you fee him dread
Each Pot-gun level'd at his Head :
The Lead you Critick's Quill contains,
Is deftin'd to beat out his Brains.
As if he heard loud Thunders roll,
Cries, Lord have Mercy on his Soul!
Concluding, that another Shot
Will ftrike him dead upon the Spot.
But, when with fquibbing, flashing, popping,
He cannot fee one Creature dropping:
That, miffing Fire, or miffing Aim,
His Life is fafe, I mean his Fame;
The Danger paft, takes Heart of Grace,
And looks a Critick in the Face.
Though Splendor gives the fairest Mark
To poilon'd Arrows from the Dark,
Yet, in yourself when jmooth and round,
They glance afide without a Wound.
'Tis faid, the Gods try'd all their Art,
How Pain they might from Pleasure part;
But little could their Strength avail,
Both ftill are faften'd by the Tail.
Thus, Fame and Cenfure with a Tether
By Fate are always link'd together.
* In feipfo totus teres atque rotundus.
Why
Libels writ againſt him.
233
Why will you aim to be preferr'd
In Wit before the common Herd;
And yet grow mortify'd and vext
the Penalty annext?
To pay
Tis Eminence makes Envy rife,
As fairest Fruits attract the Flyes.
Shou'd ſtupid Libels grieve your Mind,
You foon à Remedy may find:
Lie down obfcure, like other Folks,
Below the Lafh of Snarler's Jokes.
Their Faction is five hundred odds;
For, ev'ry Coxcomb lends them Rods:
And fneers as learnedly as they,
Like Females o'er their Morning Tea.
You fay, the Mufe will not contain;
And write you muſt, or break a Vein ;
Then, if you find the Terms too hard,
No longer my Advice regard :
But raile your Fancy on the Wing;
The Irish Senate's Praiſes fing:
How jealous of the Nation's Freedom!
And for Corruptions, how they weed 'em!
How each the Publick Good purſues,
How far their Hearts from private Views?
Make all true Patriots up to Shoe-boys
Huzza their Brethren at the Blue-boys.
And dread no more the Rage of Grub ;
You then may foon be of the Club.
How oft' am I for Rhime to feek?
To drefs a Thought I toyl a Weck:
And then, how thankful to the Town,
If all my Pains will earn a Crown!
X 2
While
234
Dr. D-l-y, on the
Whilst ev'ry Critick can devour
My Work and me in half an Hour.
Would Men of Genius ceaſe to write,
The Rogues muft die for Want of Spight,
Muft die for want of Food and Rayment,
If Scandal did not find them Payment.
How chearfully the Hawkers cry,
A Satire, and the Gentry buy!
While my hard-labour'd Poem pines
Unfold upon the Printer's Lines.
A Genus in the Rev'rend Gown
Muft ever keep its Owner down :
'Tis an unnatural Conjunction,
And fpoils the Credit of the Function.
Round all your Brethren caft your Eyes;
Point out the fureft Men to rife:
That Club of Candidates in Black,
The leaft deferving of the Pack,
Afpiring, factious, fierce and loud,
With Grace and Learning unendow'd
Will fooner coin a Thouſand Lyes,
Than fuffer Men of Parts to rife:
They croud about Preferment's Gate,
And prefs you down with all their Weight.
For, as of old, Mathematicians
Were by the Vulgar thought Magicians;
So Academick dull Ale-drinkers.
Pronounce all Men of Wit, Free-thinkers.
Wit, as the chief of Virtue's Friends,
Difdains to ſerve ignoble Ends.
Obſerve, what Loads of ſtupid Rhimes
Opprefs us in corrupted Times.
What
Libels writ againſt bim.
235
What Pamphlets in a Court's Defence
Shew Reafon, Grammar, Truth, or Senfe?
For, though the Mufe delights in Fiction,
She ne'er infpires against Conviction.
Then keep your Virtue ftill unmixt,
And let not Faction come betwixt.
By Party Steps no Grandeur climb at,
Tho' it would make you England's Primate «
Firſt learn the Science to be dull;
You then may foon your Confcience lull:
If not; however ſeated high,
Your Genius in your Face will fly.
{
When Jove was, from his teeming Head,
Of Wits fair Goodness brought to Bed,
There follow'd at his Lying-in
For After-birth a Sooterkin;
Which, as the Nurſe purfu'd to kill,
Attain'd by Flight the Mufe's Hill:
There in the Soil began to root,
And litter'd at Parnaffus' Foot.
From hence the Critick Vermin fprung
With Harpy Claws and Pois'nous Tongue,
Who fatten on Poetick Scraps,
Too cunning to be caught in Traps.
Dame Nature, as the Learned fhow,
Provides each Animal its Foe:
Hound hunts the Hare, the wily Fox
Devours your Geefe, the Wolf your Flocks,
Thus Envy pleads a nat'ral Claim
To perfecute the Mufes Fame,
On Poets in all Times abusive,
From Homer down to Pope incluſive.
X 3
Yet,
236
Dr. D-l-y, on the, &c.
Yet, what avails it to complain?
You try to take Revenge in vain.
A Rat your utmoft Rage defies,
That fafe behind the Wainscot lies:
Say, did you ever know by Sight
In Cheeſe an individual Mite?
Shew me the fame numerick Flea,
That bit your Neck but yeſterday :
You then may boldly go in Quest
To find the Grubſtreet Poet's Neft.
What Spunging-Houfe in dread of Jayl
Receives them, while they wait for Bayl:
What Alley they are nestled in
To flourish o'er a Cup of Gin:
Find the laſt Garret where they lay,
Or Cellar, where they ſtarve To-day.
Suppofe you had them all trepann'd
With each a Libel in his Hand,
What Puniſhment would you infli&t ?
Or call 'em Rogues, or get 'em kickt ?
Theſe they have often try'd before ;
You but oblige 'em fo much more :
Themſelves would be the first to tell,
To make their Traſh the better fell.
You have been Libel'd---Let us know
What fenfelefs Coxcomb told you fo.
Will you regard the Hawker's Cryes,
Who in his Titles always lyes?
Whate'er the noify Scoundrel fays,
It might be ſomething in your Praiſe :
And, Praiſe beſtow'd in Grubftreet Rhîmes,
Would vex one more a thouſand Times.
Til
On DREAMS, &c.
237
Till Blockheads blame, and Judges praiſe,
The Poet cannot claim his Bays.
On me when Dunces are fatyrick,
I take it for a Panegyrick.
Hated by Fools, and Fools to hate;
Be that my Motto, and my Fate!
On Dreams, an Imitation of
Petronius.
Somnia quæ mentes ludunt volitantibus
umbris, &c.
HOSE Dreams that on the filent
TH
The Night intrude,
And with falfe flitting Shades our
Minds delude,
Jove never fends us downward from the Skies,
Nor can they from infernal Manſions riſe;
But all are meer Productions of the Brain ;
And Fools confult Interpreters in vain.
For, when in Bed we reſt our weary Limbs,
The Mind unburthen'd ſports in various
Whims ;
The bufy Head with mimick Art runs o'er
The Scenes and Actions of the Day before.
The drowly Tyrant, by his Minions led,
To regal Rage devotes fome Patriot's Head.
With
238
On DREAMS, &c.
With equal Terrors, not with equal Guilt,
The Murd'rer dreams of all the Blood he fpilt.
The Soldier fmiling hears the Widow's
Cries,
And ftabs the Son before the Mother's Eyes.
With like Remorfe, his Brother of the Trade,
The Butcher fells the Lamb beneath his Blade.
The Stateſman rakes the Town to find a
Plot,
And dreams of Forfeitures by Treafon got.
Nor lefs Tom T- d-Man, of true Stateſman
Mold,
Collects the City Filth in ſearch of Gold.
Orphans around his Bed the Lawyer fees,
And takes the Plaintiff's and Defendant's
Fees:
His Fellow Pick Purſe, watching for a Job,
Fancy's his Fingers in the Cully's Fob.
The kind Phyſician grants the Huſband's
Pray'rs,
Or gives Relief to long expecting Heirs.
The fleeping Hangman ties the fatal Noofe,
Nor unfuccefsful waits for dead Mens Shoes.
The grave Divine with knotty Points per-
plext,
As if he was awake, nods o'er his Text:
While the fly Mountebank attends his Trade,
Harrangues the Rabble, and is better paid.
The hireling Senator of modern Days
Bedaubs the Guilty Great with nauseous
Praiſe :
And,
To STELLA.
239
And Dick the Scavenger, with equal Grace,
Flirts from his Cart the Mud in---'s Face.
To Stella, Vifiting me in my Sick-
nefs, October 1727.
PAL
LLAS, obferving Stella's Wit
Was more than for her Sex was fit,
And that her Beauty, foon or late,
Might breed Confuſion in the State;
In high Concern for human Kind,
Fixt Honour in her Infant Mind.
But, (not in Wranglings to engage
With fuch a ſtupid vicious Age)
If Honour I would here define,
It anſwers Faith in Things divine.
As nat❜ral Life the Body warms,
And, Scholars teach, the Soul informs;
So Honour animates the Whole,
And is the Spirit of the Soul.
Thoſe num'rous Virtues, which the Tribe
Of tedious Moralifts defcribe,
And by fuch various Titles call,
True Honour comprehends them all.
Let Melancholy rule fupreme,
Choler prefide, or Blood, or Phlegm,
It makes no Diff'rence in the Cale;
Nor is Complexion Honour's Place.
But, left we ſhould for Honour take
The Drunken Quarrels of a Rake,
240
To STELLA,
Or think it feated in a Scar,
Or on a proud triumphal Car,
Or in the Payment of a Debt
We loſe with Sharpers at Picquet;
Or, when a Whore in her Vocation
Keeps punctual to an Affignation;
Or that, on which his Lordſhip ſwears,
When vulgar Knaves wou'd loſe their Ears:
Let Stella's fair Example preach
A Leffon, fhe alone can teach.
In Points of Honour to be try'd,
All Paffions must be laid aſide;
Afk no Advice, but think alone;
Suppoſe the Queſtion not your own ;
How fhall I act? is not the Cafe ;
But how wou'd Brutus in my Place?
In fuch a Caufe wou'd Cato bleed ;
And how wou'd Socrates proceed?
Drive all Objections from your Mind,
Elfe you relapſe to Human kind;
Ambition, Avarice, and Luft,
And factious Rage, and Breach of Truſt,
And Flatt'ry tipt with naufeous Fleer,
And Guilt and Shame, and fervile Fear,
Envy, and Cruelty, and Pride,
Will in your tainted Heart preſide.
Heroes and Heroins of old
By Honour only were enroll'd
Among their Brethren in the Skies,
To which (tho' late) fhall Stella riſe.
Ten thouſand Oaths upon Record
Are not ſo facred as her Word
The
To STELLA.
241
The World fhall in its Atoms end,
E're Stella can deceive a Friend.
By Honour, feated in her Breaſt,
She ftill determines what is beſt.
What Indignation in her Mind
Against Enflavers of Mankind!
Baſe Kings and Miniſters of State,
Eternal Objects of her Hate!
She thinks, that Nature ne'er defign'd
Courage to Man alone confin'd;
Can Cowardice her Sex adorn,
Which most expofes ours to Scorn?
She wonders, where the Charm appears
In Florimel's affected Fears;
For Stella never learn'd the Art,
At proper Times to ſcream and ſtart
Nor calls up all the Houfe at Night,
And fwears the faw a Thing in White:
Doll never flies to cut her Lace,
Or throw cold Water in her Face,
Becauſe he heard a fudden Drum,
Or found an Earwig in a Plum.
Her Hearers are amaz'd, from whence
Proceeds that Fund of Wit and Senſe;
Which, tho' her Modeſty wou'd ſhroudy
Breaks like the Sun behind a Cloud,
While Gracefulneſs its Art conceals,
And yet thro' ev'ry Motion ſteals.
Say, Stella, was Prometheus blind,
And forming you, mistook your Kind ?
No; 'twas for you alone he ſtole
The Fire, that forms a manly Soul;
Then,
241
To STELLA
Then, to compleat it ev'ry way,
He moulded it with Female Clay;
To that you owe the nobler Flaine,
To this the Beauty of your Frame.
How wou'd Ingratitude delight,
And how wou'd Cenfure glut her Spight,
If I fhould Stella's Kindness hide
In Silence, or forget with Pride?
When on my fickly Couch I lay,
Impatient both of Night and Day,
Lamenting in unmanly Strains,
Call'd ev'ry Pow'r to cafe my Pains,
Then Stella ran to my Relief
With chearful Face, and inward Grief:
And tho' by Heav'n's ſevere Decree
She fuffers hourly more than me,
No cruel Maiter could require
From Slaves, employ'd for daily Hire,
What Stella, by her Friendship warm'd,
With Vigour and Delight perform'd.
My finking Spirits now fupplies
With Cordials in her Hands, and Eyes;
Now with a foft and filent Tread,
Unheard ſhe moves about my Bed.
I ſee her taſte each nauſeous Draught,
And fo obligingly am caught;
I blefs the Hand from whence they came,
Nor dare diſtort my Face for Shame.
Beft Pattern of true Friends! beware:
You pay too dearly for your Care,
If while your Tenderneſs fecures
My Life, it must endanger yours :
For
VERSES on the Death, &c. 243
For fuch a Fool was never found,
Who pull'd a Palace to the Ground,
Only to have the Ruins made
Materials for an Houfe decay'd.
Verfes on the Death of Dr. Swift,
occafioned by reading the follow-
ing Maxim in Rochfoucault.
Dans l'adverfité de nos meilleurs amis nous
trouvons toujours quelque chofes, qui ne nous
déplaiſt pas.
A
S Rochfoucault his Maxims drew
From Nature, I believe 'em true :
They argue no corrupted Mind
In him: The Fault is in Mankind.
This Maxim more than all the reſt
Is thought too bafe for human Breaſt:
"In all Diftreffes of our Friends
“We firſt conſult our private Ends:
"While Nature, kindly bent to eale us,
"Points out fome Circumftance to pleaſe us."
If this perhaps your Patience move;
Let Reafon and Experience prove.
We all behold with envious Eyes
Our Equal rais'd above our Size.
I love my Friend as well as you:
But why should he obſtruct my view ?
Y
Then
244
VERSES on the
cropt
Then let me have the higher Poft;
Suppoſe it but an Inch at moſt.
If in a Battle you ſhould find
One, whom you love of all Mankind,
Had fome heroick Action done,
A Champion kill'd or Trophy won ;
Rather than thus be overtopt,
Wou'd you not with his Laurels
Dear honeft Ned is in the Gout,
Lies rack'd with Pain, and you without :
How patiently you hear him groan!
How glad the Cafe is not your own!
What Poet would not mourn to fee
His Brother write as well as he?
But rather than they fhould excell,
He'd with his Rivals all in Hell.
Her End when Emulation miffes,
She turns to Envy, Stings and Hiffes:
The ſtrongeſt Friendship yields to Pride,
Unless the Odds be on our Side.
Vain human Kind! fantaſtick Race!
Thy various Follies who can trace ?
Self-love, Ambition, Envy, Pride,
Their Empire in our Hearts divide.
Give others Riches, Power, and Station :
'Tis all on me a Ufurpation.
I have no Title to aſpire,
Yet when you fink, I feem the higher.
In Pope I cannot read a Line,
But with a Sigh I wish it mine :
When he can in one Couplet fix
More Senfe, than I can do in fix,
Death of Dr. SWIFT.
245
It gives me fuch a jealous Fit;
I cry, Pox take him and his Wit.
I grieve to be outdone by Gay
In my own humorous biting way.
Arbuthnot is no more my Friend,
Who dares to Irony pretend';
Which I was born to introduce
Refin'd it firſt, and fhew'd its Ufe.
St. John, as well as Pultney, knows
That I had ſome Repute for Profe;
And, till they drove me out of Date,
Could maul a Miniſter of State.
If they have mortify'd my Pride,
And made me throw my Pen afide;
If with fuch Talents Heav'n hath bleft 'em ;
Have I not reaſon to deteſt 'em?
To all my Foes dear Fortune fend
Thy Gifts, but never to my Friend :
I tamely can endure the first;
But this with Envy makes me burſt.
Thus much may ſerve by way of Proem ;
Proceed we therefore to our Poem.
The Time is not remote, when I
Muft by the Courfe of Nature die;
When I foreſee, my fpecial Friends
Will try to find their private Ends :
And tho' 'tis hardly underſtood,
Which way my Death can do them good;
Yet thus, methinks, I hear them fpeak:
See, how the Dean begins to break!
Poor Gentleman! he droops apace ;
You plainly find it in his Face.
Y 2
That
246
VERSES on the
That old Vertigo in his Head
Will never leave him, till he's dead.
Befides, his Memory decays:
He recollects not, what he ſays:
He cannot call his Friends to mind:
Forgets the Place, where laft he din'd:
Plies you with Stories o'er and o'er ;
He told 'em fifty times before.
How does he fancy, we can fit
To hear his out-of-fafhion Wit?
But he takes up with younger Folks,
Who, for his Wine, will bear his Jokes.
Faith, he must make his Stories fhorter,
Or change his Comrades once a Quarter:
In half the time, he talks them round;
There muſt another Sett be found.
For Poetry, he's past his Prime;
He takes an Hour to find a Rhime:
His Fire is out, his Wit decay'd,
His Fancy funk, his Mufe a jade.
I'd have him throw away his ren;
But there's no talking to fome Men!
And then, their Tenderness appears,
By adding largely to my Years:
He's older than he would be reckon'd,
And well remembers Charles the Second.
He hardly drinks a Pint of Wine;
And that, I doubt, is no good Sign.
His Stomach too begins to fail :
Laft Year we thought him strong and hale
But now he's quite another thing;
3
I wiſh he may hold out till Spring.
Then
Death of Dr. SWIFT.
247
Then hug themſelves, and reaſon thus:
It is not yet fo bad with us.
In fuch a Cafe they talk in Tropes;
And by their Fears exprefs their Hopes.
Some great Misfortune to portend,
No Enemy can match a Friend.
With all the Kindneſs they profeſs
The Merit of a lucky Gueſs.
When daily Howd'y's come of Courſe,
And Servants anfwer, "worſe and worſe!"
Wou'd pleaſe 'em better, than to tell,
That, God be prais'd, the Dean is well.
Then He, who prophefy'd the beſt,
Approves the Judgment to the reſt:
"You know, I always fear'd the worst,
"And often told you fo at first.
He'd rather chooſe, that I ſhould die,
Than his Prediction prove a Lye.
Not one foretels, I fhall recover;
But all agree to give me over.
Yet fhould fome Neighbour feel a Pain
Juft in the Parts, where I complain;
How many a Meffage would he fend!
What hearty Prayers, that I ſhould mend!
Enquire, what Regimen I kept;
What gave me Eafe, and how I flept:
And more lament when I was dead,
Than all the Snivelers round my Bed.
My good Companions, never fear;
For, though you may miſtake a Year,
Though your Prognoſticks run too faſt,
They must be verify'd at laſt.
Y 3
Behold
248
VERSES on the
Behold the fatal Day arrive!
How is the Dean? he's juft alive.
Now the departing Prayer is read :
He hardly breathes. The Dean is dead.
Before the Paffing-Bell begun,
The News thro' half the Town has run.
Oh! may we all for Death prepare!
What has he left? And who's his Heir?
I know no more, than what the News is;
'Tis all bequeath'd to publick Ufes.
To publick Ules! there's a Whim!
What had the Publick done for him?
Mere Envy, Avarice, and Pride :
He gave it all---but firſt he dy'd.
And had the Dean in all the Nation
No worthy Friend? No poor Relation?
So ready to do Strangers Good,
Forgetting his own Flesh and Blood!
Now Grubftreet Wits are all employ'd;
With Elegies the Town is cloy'd :
Some Paragraph in every Paper
To curse the Dean, or bless the Drapier.
The Doctors, tender of their Fame,
Wifely on me lay all the Blame.
We must confefs his Cafe was nice ;
But he would never take Advice:
Had he been rul'd, for ought appears,
He might have liv'd thefe twenty Years:
For, when we open'd him, we found,
That all his vital Parts were found.
From Dublin foon to London ſpread,
'Tis told at Court, the Dean is dead.
And
Death of Dr. SWIFT.
249
And Lady S------ in the Spleen
Runs laughing up to tell ***
** fo gracious, mild and good,
Cries, is he gone! 'tis time he ſhou'd.
<<
Now Chartres, at
*
Levee,
Tells with a Sneer the Tidings heavy :
Why, if he dy'd without his Shoes,
(Cries ------) I'm forry for the News:
Oh, were the Wretch but living ſtill,
And in his Place my good Friend Will!
Or had a Mitre on his Head,
Provided Bolingbroke were dead!
Now Curl his Shop from Rubbiſh drains :
Three genuine Tomes of Savift's Remains!
And then to make them pafs the glibber,
Revis'd by Tibbalds, Moore and Cibber.
He'll treat me, as he does my Betters,
Publiſh my Will, my Life, my Letters;
Revive the Libels born to die;
Which Pope muft bear, as well as I.
Here shift the Scene, to reprefent
How thoſe I love my Death lament.
Poor Pope will grieve a Month, and Gay
A Week, and Arbuthnot a Day.
St. John himſelf will ſcarce forbear
To bite his Pen, and drop a Tear.
The
250
VERSES on the
The reſt will give a Shrug, and cry,
"I'm forry, but we all muft die!
Indiff'rence clad in Wifdom's Guife
All Fortitude of Mind fupplies :
For how can ſtony Bowels melt
In those, who never Pity felt?
When we are lafht, they kifs the Rod,
Reſigning to the Will of God.
The Fools, my Juniors by a Year,
Are tortur'd with Sufpence and Fear;
Who wifely thought my Age a Screen,
When Death approach'd, to ftand between;
The Screen remov'd, their Hearts are trem -
bling:
They mourn for me without diffembling.
My female Friends, whofe tender Hearts
Have better learn'd to act their Parts,
Receive the News in doleful Dumps :
"The Dean is dead (pray what is Trumps?)
"Then, Lord, have Mercy on his Soul!
"(Ladies, I'll venture for the Vole)
Six Deans, they fay, muſt bear the Pall,
(I wish I knew what King to call.)
"Madam, your Hufband will attend
"The Fun'ral of fo good a Friend.
"No, Madam, 'tis a fhocking Sight;
"And he's engag'd To-morrow Night;
"My Lady Club will take it ill,
"If he fhou'd fail her at Quadrill.
"He lov'd the Dean; (I lead a Heart)
. But dearest Friends, they fay, muft part,
"His
Death of Dr. SWIFT.
251
"His Time was come, he ran his Race;
"We hope he's in a better Place.
Why do we grieve, that Friends ſhould die ?
No Lois more eaty to ſupply.
One Year is paft; a different Scene!
No farther mention of the Dean :
Who now, alas! no more is miſt,
Than if he never did exift.
---
Where's now the Favourite of Apollo ?
Departed: And his Works muſt follow:
Muft undergo the common Fate;
His kind of Wit is out of Date.
Some Country Squire to Lintot goes,
Enquires for Swift in Verfe and Profe,
Says Lintot, "I have heard the Name;
"He dy'd a Year ago. The fame.
He fearches all the Shop in vain.
"Sir, you may find them in Duck-Lane.
"I fent them with a Load of Books
"Last Monday to the Paſtry Cooks.
"To fancy, they could live a Year !
"I find, you're but a Stranger here.
"The Dean was famous in his Time,
"And had a kind of Knack at Rhime:
"His way of Writing now is paſt :
"The Town has got a better Tafte.
"I keep no antiquated Stuff,
"But Spick and Span I have enough.
Pray, do but give me leave to fhew 'em :
"Here's Colley Cibber's Birth-day Poem.
"This Ode you never yet have ſeen
"By Stephen Duck upon the Queen.
" Then
252
VERSES on the
"Then, here's a Letter finely pen'd
"Againſt the Craftſman and his Friend
"It clearly fhews, that all Reflection
"On Minifters is Dif-affection.
"Next, here's Sir Robert's Vindication,
"And Mr. Henley's laſt Oration :
"The Hawkers have not got 'em yet:
"Your Honour pleaſe to buy a Sett?
Suppofe me dead; and then fuppofe
A Club affembled at the Rofe :
Where, from Difcourfe of this and that,
I grow the Subject of their Chat :
The Dean, if we believe Report,
Was never ill receiv'd at Court.
Altho' ironically grave,
He fham'd the Fool, and lafh'd the Knave.
"Sir, I have heard another Story;
"He was a moft confounded Tory;
"And grew, or he is much bely'd,
"Extremely dull before he dy`d.
Can we the Drapier e'er forget?
Is not our Nation in his Debt ?
Twas he that writ the Drapier's Letters---- ?
"He fhou'd have left them for his Betters :
"We had a hundred abler Men,
"Nor need depend upon his Pen----
"Say what you will about his reading,
"You never can defend his Breeding :
"Who, in his Satyrs running riot,
"Could never leave the World in quiet---- ;
"Attacking, when he took the Whim,
"Court, City, Camp; all one to him----.
"But,
Death of Dr. SWIFT.
253
"But, why wou'd he, except he flobber'd,
"Offend our Patriot, Great Sir R---- ?
" Whoſe Councils aid the Sov'reign Pow's
"To jave the Nation ev'ry Hour.
"What Scenes of Evil he unravels,
"In Satyrs, Libels, Lying Travels !
"Not fparing his own Clergy-Cloth,
"But, eats into it like a Moth---- !
Perhaps I may allow, the Dean,
Had too much Satyr in his Vein;
And feem'd determin'd not to ſtarve it,
Because no Age could more deferve it.
Vice, if it e'er can be abash'd,
Must be or Ridicul'd, or Lash'd.
If you refent it, who's to blame?
He neither knew You, nor your Name.
Should Vice expect to 'fcape Rebuke,
Becauſe its Owner is a Duke ?
His Friendships, ftill to few confin'd,
Were always of the midling Kind:
No Fools of Rank, or Mongrel Breed,
Who fain wou'd país for Lords indeed,
Where Titles give no Right or Power,
And Peerage is a wither'd Flower.
He wou'd have deem'd it a Diſgrace,
If fuch a Wretch had known his Face.
He never thought an Honour done him.
Becauſe a Peer was proud to own him :
Wou'd rather flip afide, and chooſe
To talk with Wits in dirty Shoes;
And fcorn the Tools with Stars and Garters,
So often feen carelling Charters.
Ha
254
VERSES on the
He kept with Princes due Decorum ;
Yet never ftood in Awe before 'em.
He follow'd David's Leffon juſt ;
In Princes never put his Truſt :
And, would you make him truly fower,
Provoke him with a Slave in Power.
"Alas, poor Dean! his only Scope
"Was to be held a Miſanthrope.
"This into gen'ral Odium drew him,
"Which if he lik'd, much Good may do him!
"His Zeal was not to laſh our Crimes,
"But, Difcontent against the Times:
"For, had we made him timely Offers
"To raife his Poft, or fill his Coffers,
"Perhaps he might have truckled down,
"Like other Brethren of his Gown:
For Party he would fcarce have bled---- ;
"I fay no more----, becaufe he's dead----.
"What Writings has he left behind--- ?
I hear, they're of a different kind :
A few, in Verfe; but moſt, in Profe-
"Some high flown Pamphlets, I ſuppoſe.
"All fcribbled in the worst of Times,
"To palliate his Friend Oxford's Crimes,
"To praiſe Queen Anne, nay more, defend
her,
"Aş never fav'ring the Pretender-
❝ Or Libels yet conceal'd from Light,
"Against the Court to fhew his Spight;
"Perhaps, his Travels, Part the Third,
A Lye, at ev'ry fecond Word :
"Offenfive
Death of Dr. SWIFT. 255
"Offenſive to a Loyal Ear—
"But
not one Šermon, you may ſwear---.
As for his Works, in Verſe or Proſė,
I own myſelf no Judge of thofe.
Nor can I tell, what Criticks thought 'em ;
But this I know, all People bought 'em,
As with a moral View defign'd,
To pleafe, and to reform Mankind;
And, if he often miſs'd his Aim,
The World must own it, to their Shame,
The Praiſe is His, and Theirs the Blame.
He gave the little Wealth he had,
To build a Houſe for Fools and Mad;
To thew, by one Satyric Touch,
No Nation wanted it fo much :
And fince you dread no farther Laſhes,
Methinks you may forgive his Aſhes.
Z
The End of the Seventh Volume.
1837
ARTES
LIBRARY
SCIENTIA
VERITAS
OF THE
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN |
OF
TUEBOR
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