THE INCURABLE. PHILLIS, you boast of perfect health in vain, 10 TO FORTUNE. WHILST I in prison or in court look down, And, wouldst thou have me humbled, make me great. NONPAREIL. 1 Let others from the town retire, 2 In her alone I find whate'er Beauties a country landscape grace: 3 Lilies and roses there combine, More beauteous than in flowery field; Transparent is her skin so fine, To this each crystal stream must yield. 4 Her voice more sweet than warbling sound, 5 Both light and vital heat they give: 6 Such fruit, I ween, did once deceive 7 Yet so delicious is its taste, I cannot from the bait abstain, But to the enchanting pleasure haste, Though I were sure 'twould end in pain. CHASTE FLORIMEL. 1 No-I'll endure ten thousand deaths, Oh! sir, no man on earth that breathes 2 Oh! take your sword, and pierce my heart, Undaunted see me meet the wound, Oh! will you act a Tarquin's part? 3 Thus to the pressing Corydon, Poor Florimel, unhappy maid! Fearing by love to be undone, In broken dying accents said. 4 Delia, who held the conscious door, Inspired by truth and brandy, smiled, Our Lucrece had her second child. 5 And, hark ye! madam, cried the bawd, None of your flights, your high rope dodging; Be civil here, or march abroad; Oblige the squire, or quit the lodging. 6 Oh! have I-Florimel went on- 7 Oh! curse on empty friendship's name! 8 From Delia's rage, and fortune's frown, A wretched love-sick maid deliver! Oh! tip me but another crown, Dear sir, and make me yours for ever. DOCTORS DIFFER. WHEN Willis' of Ephraim heard Rochester2 preach, Thus Bentley said to him, I pr'ythee, dear brother, 1 Bp. of Gloucester.-2 Bp. Atterbury. How lik'st thou this sermon? "Tis out of His is one way, said Willis, and ours is another: I care not for carping; but this I can tell, We preach very sadly, if he preaches well. EPIGRAM ON BISHOP ATTERBURY. MEEK Francis lies here, friend: without stop or stay, ON BISHOP ATTERBURY'S BURYING THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM MDCCXX. 'I HAVE no hopes,' the duke he says, and dies; ‘In sure and certain hopes,' the prelate cries: Of these two learned peers, I pr'ythee, say, man, Who is the lying knave, the priest or layman? The duke he stands an infidel confessed, 'He's our dear brother,' quoth the lordly priest. The duke, though knave, still 'brother dear,' he cries: And who can say, the reverend prelate lies? UPON HONOUR. A FRAGMENT. HONOUR, I say, or honest fame, I mean the substance, not the name; 10 ENIGMA. By birth I'm a slave, yet can give you a crown; 1 Titles of honour.-2 Order of the Garter. 11 |