Music's best patron, judge of books and men,
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 artfully1 been sav'd,
Had Kneller painted, and had Vertue grav'd.

TRUTH TOLD AT LAST.

SAYS Pontius in rage, contradicting his wife, "You never yet told me one truth in your life." Vex'd Pontia no way could this thesis allow,

"You're a cuckold, says she; do I tell

you

truth

now?"

WRITTEN

IN LADY HOWE'S OVID'S EPISTLES.

HOWEVER high, however cold, the fair,
However great the dying lover's care,
Ovid, kind author, found him some relief,
Rang'd his unruly sighs, and set his grief;

Oxford. Concerning the extraordinary man who is the subject of them, a very entertaining account is given by Sir John Hawkins, in his History of Music, vol. v. p. 70.

1 Sir John Hawkins observes, it is suspected that the insignificant adverb artfully was inserted by mistake of the transcriber, and that it originally stood probably.

Taught him what accents had the power to move,
And always gain'd him pity, sometimes love.
But, oh! what pangs torment the destin'd heart,
That feels the wound, yet dares not show the dart!
What ease could Ovid to his sorrows give,
Who must not speak, and therefore cannot live!

AN EPISTLE. MDCCXVI.

I PRAY, good Lady Harley, let Jonathan know, How long you intend to live incognito.

Your humble servant,

ELKANAH SETTLE.

ANOTHER EPISTLE.

I PRAY Lady Harriot the time to assign
When she shall receive a turkey and chine;
That a body may come to St. James's to dine.

TRUE'S EPITAPH.

IF wit or honesty could save

Our mouldering ashes from the grave,
This stone had still remain'd unmark'd,
I still writ prose, True still have bark'd.

But envious fate has claim'd its due,
Here lies the mortal part of True;
His deathless virtues must survive,
To better us that are alive.

His prudence and his wit were seen
In that, from Mary's grace and mien,
He own'd the power, and lov'd the queen
By long obedience he confess'd

That serving her was to be bless'd.-
Ye murmurers, let True evince

That men are beasts, and dogs have sense!
His faith and truth all Whitehall knows,
He ne'er could fawn or flatter those

Whom he believ'd were Mary's foes:

Ne'er skulk'd from whence his sovereign led him,
Or snarl❜d against the hand that fed him.—
Read this, ye statesmen now in favour,
And mend your own, by True's behaviour!

EPIGRAM.

To Richmond and Peterburgh, Mat gave his letters, And thought they were safe in the hands of his

betters.

How happen'd it then that the packets were lost? These were knights of the garter, not knights of the post.

THE VICEROY. A BALLAD.

TO THE TUNE OF LADY ISABELLA'S TRAGEDY.

Or Nero, tyrant, petty king,1
Who heretofore did reign
In fam'd Hibernia, I will sing,
And in a ditty plain.

He hated was by rich and poor,
For reasons you shall hear;
So ill he exercis'd his power,
That he himself did fear.

Full proud and arrogant was he,
And covetous withal;

The guilty he would still set free,
But guiltless men enthrall.

He, with a haughty impious nod,
Would curse and dogmatize;
Nor fearing either man or God:
Gold he did idolize.

A patriot 2 of high degree,

Who could no longer bear
This upstart Viceroy's tyranny,
Against him did declare.

1 Lord Coningsby, one of the lords justices of Ireland.He is the same person mentioned in Down-hall.

2 The Earl of Bellamont impeached Coningsby.

And, arm'd with truth, impeach'd the don

Of his enormous crimes, Which I'll unfold to you anon,

In low, but faithful rhymes.

'The articles recorded stand

Against this peerless peer,

Search but the archives of the land,1
You'll find them written there.

Attend, and justly I'll recite
His treasons to you all,

The heads set in their native light
(And sigh poor Gaphny's fall).

That traitorously he did abuse
The power in him repos'd;
And wickedly the same did use,
On all mankind impos'd.

That he, contrary to all law,

An oath did frame and make,

Compelling the militia

Th' illegal oath to take.

Free quarters for the army too
He did exact and force

On Protestants; his love to show,
Than Papist us'd them worse.

1 Journal, Sabbati 16 die Decembris, 1693.