תמונות בעמוד
PDF

In haste I ran, unlock'd my gate,
Secure and thoughtless of my fate :

TO FORTUVE.
I set the child an easy chair

Wuust I in prison or in court look down, Against the tire, and drv'd his hair;

Nor beg thy favour, nor deserve thy frown, Brought friendly cups of cheerful wine,

In rain, malicious Fortune, hast thou try'd, And warm'l his little hands with mine.

By taking from my state, to quelliny pride : All this did I with kind intent;

Insulting girl! thy present rage abate, But he,' on wanton mischief bent,

And, would'st thou have me humbled, make me Sail, “ Dearest friend, this bow you see,

great,
This pretty bow, belongs to me:
. Observe, I pray, if all be right;

I fear the rain has spoild it quite."
He drew it then, and straight I found
Within my breast a secret wound.

NONPAREIL.
This done, the rogue no longer staid,

Let others from the town retire, But leapt away, and laughing said,

And in the field seek new delight; “ kind host, adieu ! we now must part ;

My Phillis does such joys inspire,
Safe is my bow, but sick thy heart!”

No other objects please my sight.
In her alone I find whate'er

Beauties a country lanciscape grace:
TO A POET OF QUALITY,

No shade so lovely as her hair,

Nor plain so sweet as in her face.
PRAISING THE LADY HINCHINBROKE.

Lilies and roses there combine,
Or thy judicious Muse's sense,

More brauteous than in flowery field; Young Hinchinbroke so very proud is,

Transparent is her skin so fine, That Sacharissa and Hortense

To this each crystal stream must yield. She looks, henceforth, upon as dowdies.

Her voice more sweet than warbling sound, Yet she to one must still submit,

Though sung by nightingale or lark; To dear mamma must pay her duty :

Her eyes such lustre dart around, She wonders, praising Vilmot's wit,

Compar'd to them, the Sun is dark. Thou should'st forget his daughter's beauty.

Both light and vital heat they give;

Cherish'd by them, my love takes root,

From her kind looks does life receive,
THE PEDANT.

Grows a fair plant, bears flowers and fruit

Such fruit, I ween, did once deceive LYSANDER talks extremely well;

The common parent of mankird, On any subject let him dwell,

And made transgress our mother Eve:
His tropes and figures will content ye:

Poison its core, though fair its rind.
Ile should possess, to all degrees,
The art of talk; he practises

Yet so delicious is its taste,
Full fourteen hours in four-and-twenty.

I caunot from the bait abstain,
But to th' enchanting pleasure haste,

Though I were sure 'twould end in pain,

CAUTIOUS ALICE. So good a wife doth Lissy make,

That from all company she flieth; Such virtuous courses doth she take,

That she all evil tongues deficth; And, for her dearest spouse's sake,

She with his brethren only lieth.

THE INCURABLE.
Philtis, you boast of perfect health in vain,
And laugh at those who of their ills complain ;
That with a frequent fever Chloe burns,
And Stella's plumpness into dropsy turns !
O Phillis, while the patients are nineteen,
Little, alas! are their distempers seen.
But thou, for all thy seeming health, art ill,
Beyond thy lover's hopes, or Blackmore's skill;
No lenitives can thy disease assuage,
I tell thee, 'tis incurable-'tis age.

CHASTE FLORIMEL,
No-I'll endure ten thousand deaths,

Ere any farther I'll comply ;
Oh, sir! no man on Earth that breathes,

Had ever yet his hand so high!
“Oh! take your sword, and pierce my heart,

Undaunted see me meet the wound;
Oh! will you act a Tarquin's part?
· A second Lucrece you have found.”
Thus to the pressing Corydon,

Poor Florimel, unhappy maid !
Fearing by love to he undone,

In broken dying accents said.
Delia, who held the conscious door,
| Ins, ir'd by truth and brandy, smil'd,
Knowing that, sixteen months before,

Our Lucrece had her second child

“ And, hark ye, madam !" cry'd the bawd;
“None of your nights, your high-rope dodging ;

UPON HONOUR,
Be civil here, or march abroad;
Oblige the squire, or quit the lodging.”

A FRAGMENT. « Oh! have l’-Florime went on-

Honour, I say, or honest fame, “ Have I then lost iny Delia's aid?

I mean the substance, not the name; Where shall forsaken Virtue run,

(Not that light heap of taudry wares, If by her friend she is betray'd?

Of ermine, coronets, and stars,

Which often is by merit sought, “ Oh! curse on empty Friendship's namo!

By gold and flattery oftener bought; Lord, what is all our future view!

| The shade, for which Ambition looks Then, dear destroyer of my fame,

| In Selden's“ or in Ashmore's' books) Let my last succour be to you!

But the true glory, which proceeds, “From Delia's rage, and Fortune's frown,

Reflected bright, from honest deeds, A wretched love-sick maid deliver;

Which we in our own breast perceive, Oh! tip me but another crown,

And kings can neither take nor give. Dear sir, and make me yours for ever."

ENIGMA
DOCTORS DIFFER.

ON PAM AT 100. W e Willis? of Ephraim heard Rochester* { By birth I'm a slave, yet can give you a crown, preach,

(brother, I dispose of all honours, myself having none; Thus Bentley said to him, “I pr’ythee, dear I'm oblig'd by just maxims to govern my life, Ilow lik'st thou this sermon ? 'tis out of my reach." Yet I hang my own master, and lie with his wife. “ His is one way,” said Willis, “ and ours is

When men are a-gaming, I cunningly sneak, another.

And their cudgels and shovels away from them take. I care not for carping; but, this I can tell,

Fair maidens and ladies I by the hand get, We preach very sadly, if he preaches well.”

And pick off their diamonds, though ne'er so well

set. For when I have comrades we rob in whole bards,

Then presently take of your lands from your EPIGRAM'.

hands.

But, this fury once over, I've such winning arts, Meex Francis lies here, friend : without stop or That you love me much more than you do your stay,

[way.

own hearts. As you value your peace, make the best of your

ANOTHER.
Though at pr sent arrested by Death's caitifi' paw,
If he stirs, he may still have recourse to the law;

Porm'half beneath, and half above the earth,
And in the King's-bench should a verdict be found, | We sisters owe to art our second birth;
That by livery and seisin his grave is his ground,

The smith's and carpenter's adopted daughters, He will claim to bimself what is strictly his due,

Made on the land, to travel on the waters. And an action of trespass will straightway ensue,

Swifter they more, as they are straiter bound, That you without right on his premises tread,

Yet neither tread the air, or wave, or ground: On a simple surmise that the owner is dead.

They serve the poor for use, the rich for whim,
Sink when it rains, and when it freezes, swim

ON BISHOP ATTERBURY'S

THE OLD GENTRY, BURYING THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHIAM, 1720.

| That all from Adam first began,

None but ungodly Woolston doubts; “I have no hopes," the duke he says, and dies; And that liis son, and his son's son, " In sure and certain hopes,” the prelate cries; Were all but plonghinen, clowns, and louis Of these two learneul peers I prythee, say, man, Who is the lying knave, the priest, or layman?

Each, when his rustic pains began, The duke he stands an infidel confest,

Tomcrit pleaded equal right, “ He's our dear brother” quoth the lordly priest.

| 'Twas only who left off at noon, The duke, though knave, still “ brother dear,” he

Or who went on to work till night. cries;

But coronets we owe to crowns,
And who can say the reverend prelate lies ?

And favour to a court's affcction;
By nature we are Adam's sons,

And sons of Anstis by election.
* Bishop of Gloucester.
4 Bishop Atterbury.
• See Atterbury's Letters, in Pope's works, ed.

“ Titles of Honour. ; Order of the Garten 1951.

• Garter King at Arms

Kingsale! eight hundred years have rollid

But yet till then it never did appear, Since thy forefathers held the plow;

That, as she wanted eyes, she could not hear; When this in story shall be told,

I begg d that she would give me leave to lose, Add, that my kindred do so now.

A thing she does not commonly refuse !

Two matadores are out against my game, The man who by his labour gets

Yet still I play, and still my luck's the sam : His bread, in independent state,

Inconquer'd in three suits it does remain, Who never begs, and seldom eats,

Whereas I only ask in one to gain;
Himself can fix or change his fate.

Yet she, still contradicting, gifts imparts, .
And gives success in every suit-but hearts.

THE INSATLABLE PRIEST.
Luke Preachill admires what we laymen can mean,

CUPID'S PROMISE,
That thus by our profit and pleasure are sway'd:
He has but three livings, and would be a dean;

A FRENCH SONG PARAPHRASED
His wife dy'd this year, he has marry'd his maid | Soer C.

Soft Cupid, wanton, amorous boy, To sippross all his carnal desires in their birth, | The other day mor'd with my lyre, At all hours a lusty young hussy is pear :

In flattering accents spoke his joy, 1 And, to take off his thoughts from the things of this And utter d thus his fond de sire. Earth,

« Oh! raise thy voice! one song I ask; He can be content with two thousand a year.

Touch then thy harmonious string :
To Thyrsis easy is the task,

Who can so sweetly play and sing.
A FRENCH SONG LMITATED.

“ Two kisses from my mother dear,

Thyrsis, thy due reward shall be; Way thas from the plain does my shepherdess rove, | None, none, like beauti's queen is fair, Forsaking her swain, and neglecting his love?

Paris has vouch'd this truth for me." You have heard all my grief, you see how I die,

I straight reply'd, “ Thou know'st alone
Oh! give some relief to the swain whom you fly.

That brightest Chloe rules my breast:
How can you complain, or what am I to say, | I'll sing thee two instead of one, .
Since my dog lies unfed, and my sheep run astray?! If thou'lt be kind, and make ine blest.
Need I tell what I mean, that I languish alone!

“One kiss from Chloe's lips, no more, When I leave all the plain, you may guess 'tis for

I crave:" he promis'd me success; one.

I play'd with all my skill and power,

My glowing passion to express.
A CASE STATED.

But, oh! my Chloe, beauteous maid !

Wilt thou the wish'd reward bestow ? "Now how shall I do with my love and my pride, Wilt thou make good what Love has said, Dear Dick”, give me counsel, if friendship has And, by thy grant, bis power show? any;"

[reply'd, * Pry'thee purge, or let blood !" surly Richard “ And forget the coquette in the arms of your Nanny !.."

TO THE EARL OF OXFORD. While I pleaded with passion how much I deserv'd,

WRITTEN EXTEMPORE IN LADY OXFORD'S STUDT, For the pains and the torments of more than a

1717. year: She look'd in an almanack, whence she observ'd, Pen, ink, and wax, and paper, send That it wanted a fortnight to Bart'l'mew fair.

| To the kind wife, the lovely friend : My Cowley and Waller low vainly I quote, Smiling bid her freely write While my negligent judge only hears with her | What her happy thoughts indite ; eye!

Of virtue, goodness, peace, and love, In a long flaxen wig, and embroider'd new coat,

Thoughts which angels may approve. Her spark, saying nothing, talks better than I.

[ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]

In double beauty say your prayer:

This stone had still remain d unmark'a, Our Father first, then Potre Pere:

I still writ prose, True still have bark'd. Anil, dearest child, along the day,

But envious Fate has claiu'il its due : In every thing you do and say,

Here lies the inortal part of True : Obey and please my lord and larly,

His deathless virtues must survive, So God shall love, and angels aid ye.

To better us that are alive. If to these precrpts yon attend,

His prudence and his wit were seen No second letter need I send,

In that, from Mary's grare and min,
And so I rest your constant friend.

He own’d the power, and lov'd the queen.
By long obedience he confest
That serving her was to be blest-

Ye murmurers, let True evince
LINES WRITTEN UNDER THE PRINT OP

That men are beasts, and dogs have sense!

His faith and truth all Whitehall knows,
TONI BRITTON THE SMALL-COAL-NAN,

He ne'er could far n or flatter those
PAINTED BY MR. WOOLASTON.

Whom he believ'd were Mary's foes:

Ne'er skulk'd from whence bis sovereign led him, Thougu doom'd to small-coal, yet to arts ally'd,

Or snart'd against the hand that fed him.Rich without wealth, and famous without pride;

Read this ye statesmen now in favour,
Music's best patron, judge of books and men,

And mend your own, by True's behaviour !
Belov'd and honour'd by Apollo's train :
In Greece or Rome sure never did appear
So bright a genius, in so dark a sphere :
More of the man had artfully been sav'd,
Vlad kneller painted, and had Vertue gravid.

EPIGRAM.
| To Richmond and Peterburgh, Matt gave his
letters,

betters. TRUTH TOLD AT LAST.

And thought they were safe in the hands of his

How happen'd it then that the packets were lost? Sars Pontius in rage, contradicting his wife, These were Knights of the Garter, not Knights of

the Post. “ You never yet told me one truth in your life.” Vext Pontia no way could this thesis allow, " You're a cuckold,” says she, “ do I tell you truth now?”

THE VICEROY,

A BALLAD.
WRITTEN IN

TO THB TUNE OF, LADY ISABELLA'S TRAGEDY.
LADY HONE'S OVID'S EPISTLES.

Op Nero, tyrant, petty king, However high, however cold, the fair,

Who heretofore did reign However great the dying lover's care,

In fam'd Hibernia, I will sing, Ovid, kind author, found him some relief,

And in a ditty plain. Rang'd his unruly sighs, and set his grief:

He hated was by rich and poor, Taught him what accents had the power to move,

For reasons you shall hear; And always gain'l him pity, sometimes love.

So ill he exercis'd his power,
But, oh! what pangs torment the destin'l heart,

That he himself did fear.
That feels the wound, yet dares not show the dart;
What ease could (vid to his sorrows give,

Full proud and arrogant was he,
Who must not speak, and therefore cannot live? And covetons withal;

The guilty he would still set free,

But guiltless men enthral.
AV EPISTLE, 1716.

He, with a haughty impious nod,

Would curse and dogmatize; I pray, good lord Harley, let Jonathan know,

Not fearing either man or God: blow long you intend to live incognito.

Coid he did idolize.
Your humble servant
ELKANAH SETTLE.

A patriot' of high degree,

Who could no longer bear
ANOTHER EPISTIE

This upstart Viceroy's tyranny,

Against him did declare.
I pray lady Harriot the time to assign
When she shall receive a turkey and chine; | And, arm’d with truth, impeach'd the Don
That a body may come to St. James's, to dine. Of lis euormous crimes,

Which I'll unfold to you anon,

In luw, but faithful rhymes.
TRUE'S EPITAPIT.

? Lord Coningsby, one of the lords justices of Is wit or honesty conld save

Ireland. Our wouldering ashes froin the grave,

• The earl of Billamont impeached Coningsby.

The articles recorded stand

But for this horrid murder vile Against this peerless peer,

None did him prosecute; Search but the archives of the land",

His old friend help'd him o'er the stile : You'll find them written there.

With Satan who dispute ! Attend, and ju tly I'll recite

With France, fair England's mortal foe, His treasons to you all,

A trade he carryal on ; The heads set in their native light

Had any other don't, I trow, (And sigh poor Gaphny's fail).

To Tripos he had gone. That traitorously he did abuse

That he did likewise traitorously, The power in him repos'd,

To bring his ends to bear, And wickedly the same did use,

Enrich himself most knavishly; On all mankind impos'd.

O thief without compare! That he, contrary to all law,

Vast quantities of stores did he An oath did frame and make,

Embezzle and purloin; Comp-ling the militia

Of the king's stores he kept a key,
Th’illegal oath to take.

Converting them to coin.
Free-quarters for the army too
He did exact and force

The forfeited estates also,
On Protestants; his love to show,

Both real and personal,

Did with the stores together go,
Than Papist us'd them worse.

Fierce Cerberus swallow'd all,
On all provisions destin'd for
The camp at Liinerick,

Mean while the soldiers sigh'd and sobb'd, He laid a tax full hard and sore,

For not one sous had they; Though many men were sick.

His excellence had each man fobb’d,

For he had sunk their pay.
The sutlers too he did ordain
For licences should pay,

Nem, without the least disguise,
Which they refus'd with just disdain,

The Papists, at all times, And fled the camp away.

Still favour'd, and their robberies

Luok'd on as trivial crimes.
By which provisions were so scant,
That hundreds there did die;

The Protestants, who they did rob
The soldiers food and drink did want,

During his government, Nor famine could they fly.

Were fore'd with patience, like good Job,

To rest themselves content.
He so much lov'd his private gain,
He could not hear or see;

For he did basely thm refuse
They might or die, or might complain,

All legal remely; Without relief paidie.

The Romans still he well did use, That, above and against all right,

Still screen'd their roguery. By word of inouth did he,

Succinctly this to you I've told In council sitting, hellish spite !

How this Viceroy did reign; The farmer's fate decree:

And other truths I shall unfold, That he, o Cie!! without trial,

For tinith is always plain. Straightway shouli hanged be;

The best of queens he hath revil'd, Though then the courts were open all,

Before and since her death; Yet Nero judge would be.

He, cruth and ungrateful, sinil'd No sooner said, but it was done,

When she resign'd her breath. The bourreau did his worst;

Forgetful of the favours kind Gaphny, alas! is dead and gone,

She has on him bestow'd, And left his judge accurst.

Like Lucifer his rancorvus mind, In this concise despotic way

He lor'd nor her nur God. lohappy Gaphny fell,

But listen, Nero, lend thine cars, Woich did all honest men affray,

Asstill thou hast them on; As truly it might well.

Hear what Brijannia says, with iears, Full two good hundred ponnds a year,

Of Anna dead and gone.
This poor inau's real estate,
Hertilid on his favourite dear,

“Oh! sacred be her menory, And Culliford can say't.

For ever daar her naine!

There perer was, nor per can be, Besides, he gave five hundred pound

A brighter, juster danie, To Fielding, his own scribe, as his bal, one friend he found,

“ Plest be my sons, ani pkr all those he ow'd him to the bribe.

Who on her praises dwell!

She conquer'd Britain's tiercest lues, * Journal, Sabbati, 10 die Decernb. is, 1693. She dw all queous excl.

« הקודםהמשך »